Category: English

She came to me for a pimple. One look, and I knew it was cancer. I scheduled a biopsy and surgery immediately. Instead, she claimed I was deliberately trying to scar her face to ruin her title as the “Nation’s Ageless Goddess.” Guided by her, a massive swarm of fans launched a cyberbullying campaign against me. “A dermatologist trying to treat cancer? Stay in your lane. If you can’t cure it, don’t touch it.” “What kind of quack is this woman? You’re just jealous because my queen is young and beautiful!” My husband—the hospital director—didn’t stand by me either. He forced me to issue a public apology online. I laughed in sheer disbelief. Twenty years of practicing medicine, countless patients healed, and this was how I was repaid? Framed and slandered. In a rage, I quit my job, filed for divorce, and left the country to travel the world. I didn’t expect that a few months later, those same fans would be blocking my driveway. “Dr. Song, please, we’re begging you! Save her!” 1 “Serena is glowing!” “Serena, get out of that hospital! Don’t let that butcher touch your face!” “Don’t be scared, Serena! We’ll protect you!” Serena Vance, forty years old but looking twenty-five, stood in the hospital lobby. Wearing oversized sunglasses and a designer mask, she waved to her screaming fans with a detached, arrogant grace. She acted like she was walking the Met Gala red carpet, not standing in a medical facility. I was just trying to get to work. I pushed through the crushing crowd, struggling to reach the entrance. Suddenly, I was yanked backward. My spine slammed against a marble pillar, the pain making me break out in a cold sweat. I glared at the woman who grabbed me. Instead of apologizing, she smirked and “accidentally” splashed her hot Starbucks latte all over my scrubs. “Oh my god! Isn’t this the great Dr. Song? So sorry, I didn’t see you there.” She covered her mouth, giggling. The fans around her sneered, looking at me like I was trash. It was a freezing Chicago winter. The wet scrubs clung to my skin, sending a violent shiver down my spine. I was about to argue when a cold voice cut through the noise. It was my husband, Richard, the hospital director. “Dr. Song, you’re ten minutes late. What are you doing loitering? Come to my office. Now.” I wasn’t surprised. I’d been getting doxxed and harassed online for a week because of Serena’s diagnosis. It was disrupting the hospital’s operations. But what he said next made me shake with rage. “We’ve received a coordinated complaint from the fan club,” Richard said, closing the door. They accused me of malpractice and practicing outside my scope. They demanded my immediate termination and a video apology posted to all social media platforms. I frowned deeply. “Richard, we’ve been married for decades. Do you honestly think I would misdiagnose someone on purpose? My records are in the system. Send an auditor. I have nothing to hide.” I was the top dermatology resident in my class. I followed Richard to this hospital right out of med school. Twenty years later, my record was spotless. I slept well at night knowing I did my job. And now, they were lying through their teeth, and my own husband wasn’t defending me? “Katherine, I know you’re good,” Richard said, sipping his coffee. “But doctors make mistakes. Serena is a national treasure. Her fanbase is massive. I’m your husband, yes, but I’m also the director of this hospital. My hands are tied.” My face went pale. “What are you saying?” He sighed. “Apologize. Or step down as Chief of Dermatology. Take a sabbatical until the mob calms down.” I laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. I followed protocol. Why should I take the fall for a diagnosis I knew was right? If I apologized, I was admitting guilt. My career would be over. “Richard, let Serena go to another specialist. Let them prove me wrong. Until then, I admit nothing!” Richard slammed his mug on the desk. “Katherine! Don’t be selfish! Think about the hospital’s reputation! Everyone knows you’re my wife. Do you want them to think I’m covering for you? Have you thought about me at all?” I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw ached. “But—” “Get out,” he snapped. “Tomorrow morning, I want to see that apology video. Or you can pack your bags and go home. You’re getting too old for this stress anyway.” I walked back to my office, chest tight with anger and grief. But I couldn’t even get inside. My office was packed with fans. 2 “Apologize, you witch!” The roar stunned me. A middle-aged man, clearly a superfan, threw a stack of photos at me. The corner of one sliced my cheek, drawing blood. “Katherine Song, don’t pretend you didn’t target Serena on purpose! You know your husband and Serena were childhood sweethearts. You’ve been jealous for years! You finally found a chance to ruin her face!” I looked down at the photos scattered on the floor. Richard and Serena, looking very cozy. I took a deep breath. “I am a doctor. My treatment plan has nothing to do with my husband. If you don’t trust my diagnosis, take her to Mayo Clinic. Take her to Johns Hopkins. Go anywhere else!” A few young girls in “Team Serena” hoodies chimed in. “Serena already sent photos to a specialist in Switzerland. The results are coming in any minute. We’re going to expose you as a fraud.” “We’re livestreaming this. Don’t try to run.” My intern, Holly, tried to shield me. “Dr. Song is a board-certified expert! She wouldn’t make a diagnosis like that without certainty. Wait for the facts!” The middle-aged man sneered. “My son is in med school. He looked at Serena’s Instagram photos and said her skin is fine.” “Exactly. Does she think she’s the only doctor in the world?” Holly wanted to argue, but I shook my head. “If you want to wait,” I said calmly, “we wait.” I knew what I saw. That lesion on Serena’s face was a basal cell carcinoma. It is the most common form of skin cancer. Highly treatable if caught early. A simple excision. But because I suggested surgery, she spun a narrative that I was out to disfigure her. Looking at the photos on the floor, the way Richard looked at her… I connected the dots. They were likely having an affair. That was why she was so paranoid about me holding a scalpel to her face. A notification pinged on a fan’s phone. “See! Switzerland says it’s just cystic acne!” “In your face, Doctor!” “Apologize! Now!” I shook my head in disbelief. “Telemedicine has limits. You can’t diagnose texture through a filtered photo. We need a biopsy.” The word ‘biopsy’ set them off again. “Biopsy implies cutting! She starts filming her new movie next week! You just want to scar her!” I tried to reason with them, but the mob had made up its mind. 3 #UnethicalDoctor #FireDrSong #JusticeForSerena We were trending on X (formerly Twitter). The narrative was set: The jealous wife utilizing her medical license to disfigure her husband’s beautiful celebrity friend. Strangers flooded the hospital’s Yelp and Google reviews. “Is this where they hire butchers? Zero stars.” “This woman treated my mom once. She has RBF (Resting Bitch Face). Never smiled once.” “I heard she starves her inpatients. Revoke her license!” I read the comments, clutching my chest. As a Chief Resident, I worked 12-hour shifts. I skipped lunch. I didn’t have the energy to smile 24/7. And “starving” patients? That’s called NPO—nothing by mouth before surgery. Basal cell carcinoma rarely spreads, but rarely isn’t never. If she ignored it… I worried about my patients until I developed chronic migraines. And this was the thanks I got. To make matters worse, Richard issued a statement on the hospital’s official account, apologizing for “personnel misconduct” and promising “internal restructuring.” He threw me under the bus. Then, Serena tweeted. @SerenaVance: “Thanks for the love, guys! I’m fine. Dr. Song and I are friends—she was just teasing me because we go way back. Please don’t be mean! <3" She attached the Swiss "diagnosis." It looked like she was defending me, but it was a calculated move. She tagged my personal account. Within minutes, my inbox exploded. "Nice try, Karen. If you're lonely, get a cat, don't come for Serena." "Jealous much? You're old and dried up. Serena is timeless." "My dad is a lawyer. We're going to sue you into homelessness." The notifications were a ceaseless drone of hate. I wanted to quit right then. But I had inpatients who needed me. I didn't sleep a wink that night. 4 The next morning, I dragged myself to work. I just needed to discharge my current patients. Then I could figure this out. I walked onto the ward and saw Richard surrounded by a group of angry family members. "Dr. Evans, we trust you," a woman shouted. "But we don't trust your wife! You need to assign a new doctor to my mother immediately!" "Yes! She brings personal vendettas into the exam room!" Richard held up his hands. "I understand. Dr. Song was out of line. I’m handling it." I recognized the woman. Brenda. Her mother had a growth on her neck. "Brenda," I stepped forward. "I have been treating your mother for three years. You can request a transfer, but you cannot question my medical expertise." Richard glared at me. "Katherine! Watch your tone! Apologize to them." I ignored him. Brenda pointed a finger in my face. "If you had a conscience, you'd quit. If anything happens to my mom, I'm suing!" I looked around. Patients I had treated for years looked away, refusing to meet my eyes. Something inside me snapped. The thread I had been holding onto for twenty years... it just broke. It wasn't worth it. I took a deep breath. I took off my white coat. "Fine," I said. My voice was eerily steady. "I quit." Richard paused, then nodded, satisfied. "Good. You should have done that yesterday." I looked him in the eye. "But I will not apologize." "And Richard? I resigned. You didn't fire me." "And if you all think I’m biased, find someone else. Good luck." Richard’s face darkened. "Katherine, admit you were wrong. Is your ego that big?" I laughed. "I wasn't wrong." "Come home tonight. We need to discuss the divorce." 5 My mother-in-law called to scream at me, telling me I was being dramatic and ungrateful. I hung up on her. I had carried that family and that hospital on my back. I was the one working double shifts while Richard played golf and networked. I was packing my clothes when I found it. A diamond earring, wedged between the cushions of our sofa. I recognized it immediately. Serena had worn the pair in a magazine shoot last month. I gripped the earring until it dug into my palm. So, I was right. Serena came to the hospital not for medical advice, but to mark her territory. My suggestion of surgery spooked her, so she weaponized her fanbase to remove me from the equation. And Richard helped her. He gaslit me into an apology to protect his mistress. Honestly? I didn't even feel sad. Just disgusted. If Serena wanted to ignore a cancerous tumor because her boyfriend said it was "just a pimple," that was natural selection at work. I slept like a baby that night. The divorce was fast. Richard wanted me gone. I took my half of the assets—liquid cash and investments. He kept the house. On my last day at the hospital to sign paperwork, the fan club was waiting outside with a banner: "DING DONG THE WITCH IS GONE." Brenda was there, chatting with them, laughing about how Serena would stay young forever. "The old hag finally left," someone shouted as I walked to my car. Holly, my intern, walked me out, tears in her eyes. "Dr. Song, I know the truth. They're idiots." I patted her hand. "Let them be. You can't save people who don't want to be saved." I was 49. I was wealthy. I was single. I booked a one-way ticket to Europe. For twenty years, I hadn't taken a real vacation. I had missed weddings, birthdays, and life, all for the hospital. Now? The world was mine. A month later, while sipping wine in a vineyard in Tuscany, I saw Serena on the cover of Vogue. She looked stunning. But I noticed the heavy makeup on her cheek, and the strategic placement of a feather accessory covering the lesion. Marketing accounts posted side-by-sides of her face and my old diagnosis, mocking me. "Dr. Song said this was cancer. Look at her now! glowing!" "Serena 1, Haters 0." Some med students commented, "Actually, she should really get that checked again..." They were swarmed by the hive. "Stop spreading anxiety!" "Are you Song's burner account?" I clicked "Not Interested" and locked my phone. You can't cure stupid. 6 Two weeks later, Holly texted me. Holly: Dr. Song... Richard and Serena just went public. She sent a photo. Paparazzi caught them kissing in Malibu. I texted back: What’s the narrative? Holly: They’re claiming 'True Love.' Check trending. I downloaded X again. #SerenaRichardLove #Soulmates #FinallyTogether Serena posted a photo of a marriage license. @SerenaVance: "Yes, Richard and I are together. We were childhood sweethearts, but life kept us apart. After 20 years, and his divorce, we reconnected. I want a family. I want love. We are legally married! @RichardEvans" Richard quoted it: "No more regrets. @SerenaVance" The comments were nauseatingly positive. "So brave! Love wins!" "Finally! They look so good together." "That ex-wife was definitely the problem." My name wasn't mentioned once. They had clearly hired a PR firm to scrub me from the narrative. I clicked on a fan video of them walking down Rodeo Drive. They were holding hands. But Serena looked... gray. She was thin. Too thin. And she kept coughing. I zoomed in. The lesion on her face had grown. She had covered it with a heavy-duty bandage, trying to pass it off as a fashion statement. I shook my head. Richard, the great doctor, was blind. Or maybe he just didn't want to see it. Metastasis. It was happening. I grabbed my popcorn. The show was just starting.

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The day of our wedding, Beckett Thorne was diagnosed with psychogenic mutism. He ran, abandoning the ceremony, saying he couldn’t bear to drag me down. Tears streaming, I held him, swearing I would love him forever, even if he never spoke another word. Beckett’s pride was a fragile, towering thing, and from that day on, he rarely left our small apartment. To keep us afloat and pay for his endless, specialist appointments, I worked three jobs. I bussed tables, scrubbed floors, and washed dishes in cold water even during my heaviest cycle. I never complained. Until the day a raging fever finally brought me down. Semi-conscious in bed, I heard him on the phone. “Five years, Gigi. I kept my promise. I haven’t said a single word to her, I’ve kept my identity a secret, and I haven’t spent a dime of my real money on her.” “Isn’t it time for the agreement to end? Come home. I miss you.” Georgina Sinclair. His childhood sweetheart. I didn’t say a word. I simply booked a flight for the following week. It’s alright, Beckett. This game ends now. 1 I wiped my eyes dry, repositioned myself in bed, and called his name, pretending I’d just woken up. Beckett’s voice—which I had just heard speaking sweet nothings to another woman—fell instantly silent. He hurried to my side, kneeling. He saw the faint redness around my eyes, and his brow furrowed. He typed quickly on his phone and held the screen out: Why are you crying? “I dreamed you spoke again.” He shot up, kicking the old wooden stool beside him with a violence that made the cheap frame rattle. I knew I had pushed him. Any mention of his voice turned Beckett into a cornered, feral animal. He looked down, his fingers flying across the screen before he thrust it at me: Sylvia, you’re tired of me, aren’t you? If you think I’m a burden, you can walk out right now. In the past, I would have thrown my arms around him, promising him I’d never leave. But this time, I felt only a crushing tide of weariness, swallowing me whole. I turned away from him and murmured, “That’s not what I meant. I’m just tired. I’m going back to sleep.” A strange, heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by the loud, rattling hum of the ancient air conditioner. In the dark, I pulled out my phone and finalized the ticket purchase. Then, on a sudden impulse, I searched his name: Beckett Thorne. The results popped up immediately. Heir apparent of the Sampson Group. Tears tracked silently into the pillow. I dug my fingernails into my palm, punishing myself for five years of blindness, of desperate, pathetic devotion. I didn’t know whether to blame him for concealing it so expertly, or myself for loving so deeply, so blindly. Five years, and I hadn’t known a single truth. I lay awake all night. Beckett never returned to bed. He stayed in the living room, chain-smoking and whispering those rehearsed declarations of love into his phone—all of them for Georgina. He never talked to me like that. When we fought, he never comforted me. He only ever pushed me to the brink of hysterics, then calmly typed: Sylvia, I can’t speak. I can’t comfort you. Even when I was shaking with the flu, delusional with fever, after he’d finally called 911, he still hadn’t uttered a sound. The EMTs had thought it was a prank call, and if not for our neighbor, I might have genuinely died that winter. I gave a self-mocking laugh. It seemed my life was less valuable to him than Georgina’s amusement. Suddenly, the fierce grip of my love felt weaker, brittle. 2 Beckett was up early. For once, he had made a table full of breakfast. He took out a tarnished metal lunchbox we hadn’t used in years, polished it bright, and covered it with little stickers. It was as if nothing had happened the night before. He typed: You’re still sick. I made Pecan and Brown Sugar Oatmeal. I put in extra pecans, just the way you like them. Eat up. I’m going to meet a friend. My spoon froze halfway to the bowl. My heart clenched, a sudden, sharp spasm. I was severely allergic to pecans. Georgina liked pecans. If I wasn’t mistaken, the “friend” he was meeting was at the airport, on the receiving end of his trip. Seeing my hesitation, he gave my head a tender, patronizing rub. What’s wrong? Still no appetite? I looked down, my voice muffled. “I’m fine. You should go.” It didn’t matter anymore. He smiled, then moved past me to retrieve something: a pair of stunning, charcoal cashmere gloves. He carefully wrapped them and tucked them into his bag. I went numb. Weren’t those supposed to be my birthday present? His phone buzzed on the table. Georgina. Don’t forget my gloves! It’s freezing in Crestwood, and a woman’s hands are her second face! My eyes burned with unshed tears. Beckett snatched up his phone and made for the door. “Beckett,” I called out, stopping him. “Do you remember what today is?” He rushed back, bending down to type: I know you’re upset and want me to stay. Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon. With that, he walked out. Tears dripped, one by one, into my bowl of pecan oatmeal. I finally gave in, burying my face in my hands. It was my birthday. I’d seen those gloves and convinced myself they were for me. I had stared at them for days, afraid to even touch them. I had planned to give him a huge kiss when he presented them, and buy him that expensive goose-down jacket he needed for winter. Everything had been a beautiful mirage. I shouldn’t have hoped. In five years, he had never once remembered my birthday. I held up my hands, covered in chapped, cracked skin from years of cold water and harsh soap. I knew a woman’s hands were her second face, but what choice did I have? If I didn’t wash those dishes, if I didn’t do that brutal labor, we wouldn’t eat, and he couldn’t see his doctors. It wasn’t that Beckett was absentminded. His care and thoughtfulness were simply reserved for others. Our meeting had been dramatic enough for a film. He was a popular radio host then, and he frequented the high-end restaurant where I worked. He claimed he’d fallen for me at first sight. I was deeply insecure and avoided him. Until one night, a drunken client cornered me after my shift. Beckett rushed in and smashed a wine bottle over the man’s head. He spent the night in a police holding cell, emerging the next morning with a goofy smile. “As long as you’re okay,” he typed. My parents died when I was young. For the first time in my life, someone had genuinely cared for me. A tight, protective string deep inside snapped. I accepted his pursuit, and we quickly planned a wedding. Then, on the very day of the ceremony, Beckett was abruptly fired from his job and, hit by the shock, supposedly lost his ability to speak. He fled the altar. For the last five years, I had held no bitterness, believing he was a shattered man. But combined with last night’s phone call, I saw the truth: it had been a calculated performance, a game orchestrated by Beckett and Georgina. The private amusement of the rich and bored, with me as the unsuspecting pawn. I was morbidly curious about the nature of their “agreement.” A fog thickened in my head. As I tipped the bowl of oatmeal into the trash, I noticed a discarded prescription bottle—Atenolol, for phobic speech disorders. I laughed. A bitter, tearing sound. I laughed at my own foolishness, at the futility of my sacrifice. I didn’t want to fight for him. I didn’t want to challenge this. If this was a game, I was withdrawing my piece. Beckett, I don’t want to love you anymore. 3 My landlady called. “Sylvia, rents are going up around here. I’ve only held back because I pity you, dear. The lease expires tomorrow. You see…” I tossed the empty oatmeal bowl into the sink. “I won’t be renewing the lease.” The notification on my phone flashed: Tomorrow morning, 9:00 AM flight to the Opal Coast, the one place I’d always dreamed of visiting but never could afford. This month’s paycheck was due. If I wasn’t paying for Beckett’s non-existent treatment, I had enough saved to make a start. At 5:00 PM, I left for work as usual. After changing into my uniform, my coworker frowned. “Sylvia, your boyfriend is here.” “I thought you said he never left the apartment? How does he have so many friends?” “Also, I thought you two were strapped for cash? How can he afford this kind of exclusive club?” Her words felt like thousands of tiny needles pricking my skin. Just then, the manager called out, “Sylvia, take a bottle of that pricey single-malt up to VIP Suite 8888.” I seized the opportunity to escape, barely hearing my coworker’s hissed, “Hey, your boyfriend is in there!” When I reached the suite, the door was slightly ajar. The room was loud and celebratory. Inside, a woman in a dazzling gown and a diamond tiara looked every inch the princess. That had to be Georgina. The man in the center of the room, his eyes fixed on her, was singing “Happy Birthday.” It was Georgina’s birthday, too. His singing voice was soft, rich, and achingly beautiful. If that man wasn’t Beckett, I might have genuinely felt happy for them. When he finished, a round of applause broke out. “Thorne,” one of the men slurred, “you are a goddamn legend. To test your devotion, Gigi asks you to chase a waitress, you do it. She asks you to run from your own wedding, you do it. She asks you to fake being a mute pauper for five years, and you endure it.” “Now that Gigi’s back, your true feelings are clear. When’s the wedding?” “When are you finally dumping that chick?” The agreement was far more sickening than I’d imagined. They had played with a human life, high and mighty. I was just the fool who took it seriously. Beckett took a swig of scotch, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. “Not yet,” he said. “She’s so dependent on me, so completely in love. I just worry about what she’ll do.” I smiled and wiped a solitary tear. That was the old me, Beckett. Now, I despise you. I knocked and entered. The room instantly fell silent. Someone nudged Beckett’s arm. As his gaze snagged on my uniform, a rare panic crossed his face. I kept my eyes down, placing the bottle on the table. I spoke softly. “The scotch is here. Enjoy your evening. Call if you need anything else.” Beckett rushed toward me. Our eyes met. He slowly reached up and traced the edge of my eye. “Crying?” His first words to me in five years. I turned my face away. “I’m fine. Just enjoy your party.” I backed out and closed the door, leaving behind a room full of stunned, silent faces. Beckett didn’t chase me. The silence lasted maybe a second. Then the laughter and noise started up again. I was, truly, insignificant. Not even a footnote. 4 Beckett and his friends partied late. At 2:00 AM, my manager insisted I go home, concerned about my health. I walked in the door, and Beckett followed right behind. He was carrying a crushed, discarded cake box, still bearing smudges of pink icing. “It was Georgina’s birthday cake. They barely touched it, so I brought the rest home for you,” he typed. I know you love sweets. Was I supposed to commend him for his thoughtfulness? He offered no words, no explanations. He seemed certain that no matter what he did, I would forgive him. I thought about asking him if he remembered that it was my birthday, too, but then decided against it. It was pointless. We wouldn’t see each other again anyway. I murmured an “Okay,” and went to the closet to pack my clothes. The small wardrobe held only a few items of mine: a thin, polyester coat and a couple of pilled sweaters. That’s how I had survived five winters. What are you doing? he typed, suddenly behind me. I stopped. Let it go. I’d buy new ones. “Nothing. Just looking for a sweater.” Beckett smiled and took my hand. Don’t worry about it. You have tomorrow off. I’ll take you out. We can buy a whole new wardrobe. Before I could reply, his phone rang. I saw the caller ID: Georgina. He turned away and answered, his voice dripping with affection. “You want to see me? Okay. I’ll be right there.” He didn’t even try to hide it. He walked toward the door without hesitation. “You should sleep. Don’t wait up.” A sudden, overwhelming impulse seized me. “Beckett,” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “Do you love me?” His expression faltered. He only typed: What is wrong with you? Tears burst forth. All the suppressed humiliation, the exhaustion, the pain—it erupted in great, wracking sobs. I clung to his arm, pleading over and over: “Beckett, just say you love me. Please. Just one time.” Please, I thought. Just let me win this one thing. But slowly, agonizingly, he pulled my hands off his arm. He typed: I’m sorry. I’ve just started talking again. I’m still struggling with certain sounds. Then, he walked out without looking back. I stayed on the floor, crying until my eyes were swollen shut and I had no more tears left. When the sun finally rose, I gathered my documents. I took one last, long look at the small, suffocating apartment, and then I left. 8:30 AM. Thirty minutes until my flight. A message from Beckett popped up. Where are you? Overtime again? I’m better now. You don’t have to work so hard. I remember you love the sourdough toast from the bistro on East Street. I picked some up. I didn’t reply. At 8:50, he sent a photo of a small, perfect chocolate cake. You didn’t touch the cake last night. You probably didn’t like it. I bought you a new one. Should I pick you up after your shift? At 8:55 AM, I typed my reply. Beckett, yesterday was my birthday, too. I know about the agreement between you and Georgina. I know all your secrets. We’re done. I’m leaving. Then, I powered down the phone. The plane began its slow taxi and takeoff. I looked out the window as a final tear slipped down my cheek. Beckett, goodbye forever.

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My high-maintenance, aloof crush suddenly disappeared for a week. Bored, I posted on my Instagram Story: [Hired a hot D1 athlete. Insane body. Venmo me $50 for a pic of his abs.] Unexpectedly, my crush saw it and bombarded me with texts: [Accidental abs pic. live photo] [.] [Wrong chat, can’t unsend.] [The one you mentioned in your story.] [Transfer: $50,000.00] [Can you show me?] [If you like that type, I can do that too.] [Sophie, you’re not replying… are you playing with him? It’s okay, I can wait until you’re done.] [Can I… come over now?] [You can sample the goods first.] 1 A few hours later. Me, seeing the messages: ? I’ve had a crush on Ethan Sterling for three months. This is the first time he’s sent me more than two words. I’m flattered, but… I like what type? Do what? Sample what? Is this the same cold, quiet Ethan I know? I held my phone in disbelief, re-reading the messages. Finally, I lowered my screen brightness, made sure my privacy screen protector was working, and sneakily tapped on the live photo of Ethan’s abs. I played it over and over again. Good lord. What a specimen. And what a… Bargain. Slurp. The inability to unsend after a certain time is truly the greatest invention! Stimulated by the eye candy, I finally connected the dots. Ethan saw my joke about the D1 athlete? But I was just memeing about KFC Crazy Thursday (or a similar viral trend). He… is? Wait, didn’t he say he never looks at social media? A while back, I was obsessed with this Korean BBQ place. I mentioned it to Ethan, and he asked for the name. Thinking I was slick, I replied: “Check my latest Insta story~ The grilled intestines are to die for! Highly recommend!” Ethan replied instantly: “Sorry, I don’t usually check social media.” I froze. I clenched my fists, fingertips turning white. The atmosphere got awkward. I opened my mouth, not knowing what to say. But then, Ethan looked at me intently. “Ms. Bennett, I mean… we could just go. My treat this time. You navigate?” His voice was deep, questioning. I felt like my soul was being hooked. I stared at him blankly and nodded. Just when I thought things were going well after that meal… He ghosted me for a week. Vanished from the face of the earth. 2 Ethan was video calling me. Probably because I hadn’t replied for hours, breaking my habit of instant replies. The moment it rang, I instinctively hit decline. I couldn’t exactly tell him I muted his notifications because I was mad he disappeared. Or that I spent the time ignoring him eating KFC with my brother. But Ethan rarely initiates contact. And he sent “benefits.” I quickly typed a lie to cover it up. [Ah, I’m in a meeting at work, can’t video chat right now, sorry!] [Just saw your messages.] [QAQ Sorry, my story was a joke! Don’t take it seriously.] [I’ll treat you to dinner tonight!] [Hehe, returning the favor for the K-BBQ~] As I was typing furiously, my brother, Leo, leaned over and peeked at my screen. He burst out laughing. “Nice. Another victim of the ‘Venmo me $50’ meme.” “Who is this guy? Rich enough to drop 50k to see a D1 athlete?” “From Dubai? LMAO, that’s wire fraud if he reports you…” Leo’s eyes drifted to the contact name at the top of the chat: [Aloof but Hot Future Husband]. His laughter cut off abruptly. I moved with zero frame delay. Before Leo could react, I slapped the back of his head. “Leo! Bennett!” Yes. Leo is my biological brother. And the first victim of my meme. This morning, I saw the trend on TikTok and thought it was hilarious. So I copy-pasted: [Hired a hot D1 athlete. Insane body. Venmo me $50 for a pic of his abs.] My brother was the first to Venmo me $50. “I gotta see what kind of D1 demon makes you, the cheapskate queen, spend money. I need to broaden my horizons.” So I brought him to KFC. 3 Leo rubbed his head, wincing. “Sophie, that contact name is shameless.” He sneered. I was pissed. I grabbed him, ready to slap him again. Leo spun around slippery as an eel. He laughed and put me in a headlock from behind to stop me. “Sis, how are you gonna catch a man like this?” “So violent in public…” I rolled my eyes and elbowed him. “Should I learn from you? Getting hit on by a hundred dudes a day?” “Leo, get your paws off me…” Suddenly, a chill ran down my spine. I looked up instinctively through the glass window. I froze. Ethan stood there, cold brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. His gaze was intense, locked onto me and Leo. The moment our eyes met, time paused. Why is Ethan here?! When did he get here?! I just lied about being in a meeting. And now I’m caught red-handed by my crush?! In the time it took me to panic, Ethan pushed the door open and strode towards us. “Ms. Bennett, just finished your meeting?” I didn’t have time to think. “Yes, yes, just finished. Grabbed some lunch.” Then I remembered. Ethan knows where I work. But right now… I’m at the KFC near my apartment. My eyelid twitched uncontrollably. I’m cooked. Ethan paused. His gaze swept coldly over Leo, then he asked in a low voice: “And this is… your colleague?” My heart rate spiked. I elbowed Leo again, guilty for no reason. Just as I was about to introduce him: “He is…” Leo didn’t let go. Instead, he leaned into my ear and whispered: “Men… I understand them. Let me be your wingman. You’re welcome.” 4 Leo’s hand slid from my shoulder to link arms with me intimately. “Sister, who is he?” Leo asked in a fake, affected voice. He didn’t forget to shoot Ethan a provocative look. Me: … Thanks, I hate it. Ethan’s expression froze. His gaze slowly lowered to Leo’s hand on my arm. “This… gentleman. Please have some self-respect in public.” Ethan spoke coldly, his deep voice icy. I felt like I was being stabbed in the back. What is this weird “caught cheating” atmosphere?! It’s noon. KFC is packed. People were staring. Especially after Ethan’s comment. I forced a stiff smile and pinched Leo hard on his back. “Bro, ther, act normal. Let go,” I hissed. Leo grimaced in pain. He tsked and reluctantly let go. I quickly changed the subject, introducing them awkwardly: “Ethan Sterling.” I pointed at Leo, instinctively omitting his last name. “…Leo.” “Oh, I have to get back to work. Maybe we chat later?” Actually, I had the day off after a night shift. But with this brat Leo causing trouble, I didn’t dare let him speak. I didn’t feel like he was helping; I felt doomed. Leo acted like he didn’t hear me. He leaned in “affectionately” and whispered loudly: “Sister, your friend is so mean…” A fleeting darkness flashed in Ethan’s eyes. I caught a glimpse of it. Ethan lowered his lashes slowly. When he looked up again, his expression was normal. He ignored Leo and turned to me: “Sophie, didn’t you ask me to dinner?” Ethan’s voice was hoarse, with a hint of a tremor. As if afraid I’d interrupt or reject him, he spoke quickly: “If you… are busy with him, I can go back and wait for your message.” I inexplicably heard a pitiful tone in his voice. Ethan is acting weird today. This is the first time he’s called me “Sophie.” Very different from his usual aloof self. But… I kinda like it. I want him even more now.

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I walked out on my own wedding day, frantic. I’d just gotten the call: my mother had been in a terrible car accident. But when I reached the hospital, she was fine. Unscathed. And my bank account had an extra ten million dollars—a deposit from my soon-to-be father-in-law. Camilla Blackwood dragged me back to her Hamptons estate, her manicured fingers pinching my chin, her laugh a cold, brittle thing. “Ten million is what it cost to buy off my little traitor, then?” From that night on, she brought different men home, night after night. I was a captive in the guest suite, forced to listen to the sounds of her retribution echoing through the wall. It lasted for three years. Until I found myself retching into the porcelain, a medical report confirming what my gut already knew: a terminal diagnosis. I watched the news from the bathroom floor—a live feed of Camilla on her private island, celebrating the birthday of A-list actor Ryan Foster, with drones spelling out a giant heart in the night sky. I steadied myself against the vanity and called her. “I want a divorce,” I rasped. Her reply was immediate and sharp. “Fine. But first, you pay back that ten million dollars. With interest.” 1 I gripped the phone so tightly my knuckles went white, a heavy silence settling in. “Well, Jasper?” Camilla’s voice crackled, impatience barely veiled. “Do you have the ten million ready?” “Oh, Cam, is this your ‘husband’?” A man’s light, mocking voice cut through. “The guy who checks his pockets for fifty bucks before he buys coffee? Where’s he going to find ten million?” Camilla’s tone was pure, cutting mockery. “Hear that? No money, no divorce. You’re stuck, Jasper.” Her words were like shards of ice, shattering the last fragments of my sanity. Since the disastrous non-wedding, Camilla had kept me a prisoner in this gilded cage of a marriage, and revenge had become her only sport. I’d stay up making her late-night detox smoothies, only for her to pour the drink down the sink in front of her friends. Her expression was one of cool disdain. “An amenity bought for ten million? I find the service rather distasteful.” Even when she allowed me into her bed, her last words, as she pulled away, were always cold. “Ten thousand dollars a pop, deducted from your account. Satisfied?” Gathering every ounce of courage, I reached for her sleeve. “The day of the wedding, I actually—” She yanked her arm free, her eyes two chips of frozen glass. “Still making up stories? Is the next one going to be that you’ve got a terminal illness?” “You cursed your own mother with a car crash for money, Jasper. What lie are you incapable of telling?” Her companion, the one with the snide voice, wrapped an arm around her and chuckled. “Cam, even I stopped using that one in middle school.” She grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet her gaze, her words dropping like stones. “Jasper Lowe, is there one single, solitary truth that’s ever passed your lips?” 2 My heart sank into a well of absolute despair. I looked at the massive, unusable number sitting in my banking app, my fingertips cold. I hadn’t touched a single cent of that ten million since my father-in-law deposited it. “I haven’t spent any of it, Camilla,” I explained into the phone, my voice raw and brittle. “Haven’t spent it?” She scoffed. “Jasper Lowe, why did you take it, then? Who are you trying to fool now? The account’s monthly activity is zero because you moved it already, didn’t you?” “You forcefully claimed half of it under the pretense of joint marital assets!” I was trembling. “The remaining five million—” That remaining five million had been frozen by Jonathan Blackwood, making it impossible for me to pay Camilla back. “What, you can’t access it?” Her voice was laced with derision. “Or you just don’t want to? I haven’t forgotten the look on your face when you abandoned me at the altar for cash, Jasper. Now you want to play the martyr, pretending you’re morally above it?” The line went dead, the click of the disconnect jarringly final. I slid down the cold tile wall, collapsing onto the floor. Camilla had been unbelievably stingy post-marriage, barely providing enough for basic living. I had to report every expense over a hundred dollars, subjecting it to the ruthless scrutiny of her secretary. The remaining five million was an astronomical figure to me. I had no idea how I would ever repay it. The phone’s busy signal buzzed for a long time before I finally lowered the hot device. A crushing sense of powerlessness enveloped me. Everyone in the city believed I was the Cinderella story come true—the fortunate Mr. Lowe who had married into the Blackwood dynasty. But no one knew this little songbird in a golden cage wasn’t even allowed to flutter his wings. Camilla had seized all my identification, locking me in this villa. She’d promised she wouldn’t give me another chance to escape. As for money… she allotted me only enough for subsistence, with every dime monitored. Loud, exaggerated gasps of admiration drifted up from the living room below. The news was still broadcasting the show. The brilliant, heart-shaped drone formation dominated the night sky. “Oh my God, Cam is so romantic! I heard she bought him that island as a birthday gift!” “Now that’s true love, isn’t it? Dropping millions just for a movie star’s smile.” “Ugh, I bet the guy upstairs couldn’t even afford the catering for that party, let alone the drone show.” “Of course not. A man who runs off for ten million? What does he have besides a pretty face? He’s not even in the same league as Ryan Foster.” 3 I used to be the subject of a real-life fairy tale. Camilla was the sole heir to Blackwood Industries, worth billions, proud and untouchable. I was just a kid raised by a single mother from a working-class background. We were worlds apart. Yet, this woman, this untouchable queen, had never shown a hint of contempt when she found out I was working late shifts at a convenience store to help my mom. The very next day, she quietly tucked a homemade lunchbox into my backpack, with a note: “Don’t work on an empty stomach.” Later, when my mother needed surgery, Camilla secretly settled every bill. When I found out, I was overwhelmed and speechless. She simply wiped the tears from my face, pressed her forehead against mine, and whispered: “Jasper, you don’t have to carry the world alone anymore. From now on, you have me.” In that moment, the sincerity and tenderness in her eyes made me believe the fairy tale was real. Until the wedding. In my tuxedo, waiting in the groom’s suite, I got the call from the hospital: Mom was gravely injured. My mind went blank. I ran out, frantic, without a word to Camilla, who was already walking down the aisle. When I burst into the hospital, I found my mother sitting up, perfectly fine, and my father-in-law, Jonathan Blackwood, standing there with a grim smile. He shoved a transfer confirmation slip into my hand, his voice like chipped granite. “Ten million. It’s the price for you to disappear. Remember, if you breathe one word of this to Camilla… next time, the accident won’t be a staged one.” I felt like I’d been plunged into a freezing lake. That’s when Camilla, who had come running after me, walked in. She saw me, holding the receipt, standing next to my perfectly healthy mother. The light in her eyes went out. Later, she defied her entire family, dragging me back with a nearly obsessive zeal, though her eyes were now filled only with hatred. “Jasper Lowe, is money really all you love?” I wanted to explain, but Jonathan’s cold threat echoed in my head. I bit my lip until it bled, swallowing every word of explanation, every ounce of my humiliation, along with that ten-million-dollar anchor. But seeing the tabloids—Camilla and the actor Ryan Foster embracing on a private beach—the self-deception finally shattered. The look of utter adoration in her eyes in the photo was identical to the one she’d once reserved for me. My hands trembling, I waited for her to return in the dead of night and grabbed her sleeve. “Camilla…” My voice was a choked whisper. “Let’s not do this, please. Don’t make me live like a joke.” She paused, her eyes slowly descending to my white-knuckled grip, then rising to my face. She looked at me like I was an irrelevant object. “A joke? Jasper, the moment you ran off for ten million at the altar, you became the biggest joke in the city.” She leaned in, her breath cold against my ear. “A commodity with a price tag doesn’t get to negotiate terms with me. Your only value now is to stay right here and pay for your choice.” Since that day, the rumors of Camilla and Ryan had become inescapable. A churning wave of nausea rose in my throat. I stumbled into the bathroom, dry-heaving violently, nothing coming up. The feeling of suffocation was overwhelming. I needed air. I put a hand against the wall and walked toward the front door. My fingers had just brushed the handle when two large, dark-suited bodyguards materialized in front of me. “Sir, Mrs. Blackwood gave strict instructions. You are not to leave the premises while she is away.” I clenched my hands, my voice tight. “I just want to walk in the garden.” The bodyguard’s face was impassive. “Apologies, Sir. Mrs. Blackwood’s order permits no form of exit without her express permission.” 4 I stood frozen in the foyer, watching the sliver of sunlight cut by the doorframe, a profound emptiness consuming me. I remembered how Camilla used to take me everywhere. Under the vast, silent stars of the Southwestern desert, she promised we’d see the world. In the morning mist by the coast, she promised me limitless freedom. Even outside my shabby childhood home, she seriously planned a trip for my mother and me to see the Northern Lights. On our one-year anniversary, Camilla took me on a road trip across the Great Plains. Huddled against me under the endless night sky, she pointed to the horizon and whispered: “Jasper, see how big the world is? You can go anywhere you want. I want you to be my free little prince forever.” But now, she’d trapped me in this villa, swearing she would never let me escape again. I rushed back to the bathroom, another wave of retching, my throat burning, but still nothing. “Uncle Jasper?” A clear voice broke through the panic. Nolan, Camilla’s young nephew, stood at the door, his eyes filled with worry. He was staying for the summer—the only source of warmth in this cold house. “Come with me.” He took my hand and led me through the hallway to the balcony of his room. As the glass door slid open, the night air, mixed with the scent of pine and grass, rushed in. I inhaled greedily, gasping, tears streaming down my face, uncontrolled. Nolan quietly handed me a tissue. “Uncle Jasper, I know what they say… but I don’t believe you’re like that. Is there some kind of mistake between you and Aunt Cam? I’ve seen the photo in her study drawer—the one from the Plains. The way she looked at you… she can’t fake that.” A lump formed in my throat. A teenager understood this simple truth, but Camilla refused to see it. Sometime after midnight, the sound of the front gate opening jolted me awake. A minute later, the unmistakable sounds of drunken laughter, low moans, and whispered exchanges drifted from the master suite next door. It lasted until dawn. The next morning, I went downstairs to find Camilla and Ryan eating breakfast in the sunlit dining room. She was spreading jam on his toast, her lips curled into a gentle smile I hadn’t seen in years. Normally, her “guests” were gone before sunrise. This was the first time she’d kept a man for breakfast. Ryan looked up and saw me, a smug smirk curving his thin lips. “Ah, you must be Mr. Lowe. I’ve heard so much. Did you catch the drone show last night, at home? Pity. It was truly stunning in person.” I ignored him, walking straight to Camilla, and placing the folded divorce papers next to her hand. Ryan faked surprise. “A divorce, Mr. Lowe? But I thought you owed Cam a rather large sum of money?” I looked into Camilla’s deep, emotionless eyes. Every word was deliberate. “I will pay the money back. In whatever way I can.” Camilla slowly set down her knife and fork. After a long pause, she spoke, her voice distant. “Fine. Starting today, I will grant you three hours of unsupervised time outside. Let’s see how you intend to repay the debt.” “But if you fail to repay it, don’t ever dream of freedom.” 5 I started looking for work, but the power of the Blackwood name was absolute. No company dared to hire me. I knew Camilla was trying to break me. I picked up a broom and became a municipal street cleaner. My meager wages were a drop in the ocean compared to the “debt,” but three hours of freedom a day—even sweeping the sidewalk—was better than permanent captivity. Passersby stared, their gazes a mix of shock, contempt, and morbid pleasure. Their whispers followed me like an infection. “Look! It really is Mr. Lowe! Why’s he sweeping the street? Hasn’t he drained Blackwood dry yet?!” “Ugh, ‘Mr. Lowe’ my foot. Just a discarded trophy husband. That’s what you get for betraying Cam.” “Ran off for ten million, now he’s paying the price. Good for him!” “Seriously, he can’t even hold a candle to Ryan Foster.” I kept my head down, my spine straight, my nails digging into the broom handle. It doesn’t matter. At least the air out here was moving. Just then, the screech of an engine tore through the air. I looked up just as a bright blue McLaren jumped the curb onto the sidewalk. CRASH—! The car slammed into me, knocking me hard to the ground. A blinding pain shot up my right leg, and the broom clattered away. I gasped, a faint, worrying ache blooming in my abdomen. Ryan stumbled out of the car, reeking of alcohol. Perhaps because I was wearing a generic uniform, he didn’t immediately recognize me. “Watch where you’re going, garbage man! Trying to scam me, are you? Targeting my car?” His voice was grating. I gritted my teeth, trying to push myself up. “You… you drove onto the sidewalk.” “Bullshit!” He spat, and three or four stylishly dressed friends spilled out of the car, immediately crowding around and joining the attack. “Foster, don’t waste your breath on a street rat. He’s clearly a professional fraud artist!” “Desperate for cash, huh? Trying to pull a big one?” The insults rained down like dirty water. “You hit me. You have to take responsibility,” I managed. Ryan threw his head back, laughing hysterically. “Responsibility? Do you know who my wife is? You think you can blackmail me?” He pulled out his phone, his voice instantly turning into a pathetic whine. “Baby—! Come quick! Some crazy man deliberately hit my car and is yelling at me! It’s on my usual street, I’m so scared…” Camilla arrived quickly. I remembered months ago when I’d had a fever so high I was barely conscious. I’d managed to call her, but all I got was a clinical busy signal, followed by the sound of her and another man in the room next door later that night. Her gaze landed first on Ryan. She rushed to him, checking him for injuries. “Are you alright?” she asked, her voice tight with a concern I hadn’t heard in ages. Only then did she turn her attention to me—battered, bruised, and sitting in the dirt. Her eyes were calm, devoid of expression, as if looking at a piece of roadside trash. “What happened?” Her tone was coolly distant. “He intentionally walked into my car, then demanded money!” Ryan nestled into her embrace. I bit my lip, refusing to speak, instead pointing to my bleeding arm and scraped knees, and then to the clearly illegal position of the sports car. Her gaze paused on my wounds for a fraction of a second, so quickly I thought I imagined it. “Jasper Lowe, apologize.” 6 Ryan recognized me then, his pupils shrinking, quickly replaced by a smug grin. “He hit me!” I refused. “I said, apologize.” Her voice deepened, and the air around us immediately solidified. “I won’t!” Camilla seemed momentarily enraged, then a cold smile touched her lips. She took two steps forward, leaned down, and spoke one word at a time. “You want a divorce, don’t you?” My heart stopped. She straightened up, her voice ringing clearly across the shocked onlookers. “Apologize to Ryan and his friends. Three deep bows, head to the pavement, for each of them. Do that, and I’ll sign the papers immediately.” The world went silent. She was using the one thing I desperately wanted to crush the last vestige of my dignity. The memory of the disconnected fever-call screamed in my ears. She wasn’t going to show me mercy. She hadn’t for a long time. I closed my eyes, inhaling the freezing air. When I opened them, only a dead emptiness remained. I didn’t look at anyone. I braced my hands against the filthy asphalt, dragging my injured leg, and slowly, deliberately, bent my spine. The moment my forehead touched the rough pavement, a fresh wave of jeers and whistles erupted around me. The first bow: for the betrayal purchased by ten million dollars. The second bow: for my love and dignity ground into the dust. The third bow: for all the pathetic, remaining illusions I held onto. Each forced bend was like a thousand-pound hammer striking my back. When the third bow was complete, I stayed there, forehead pressed to the ground, tears silently mixing with the dirt and blood. “That’s enough,” she said, two frigid words. She didn’t spare me another glance, turning to wrap an arm around Ryan. Her tone softened instantly. “Feel better now, darling? Let’s go.” Before leaving, Ryan exchanged a meaningful glance with his friends. I was still kneeling, the dust and blood a sticky mask on my face. My stomach was cramping violently, but my mind felt only the desolate cold of the Arctic. Suddenly, several shadows, reeking of stale alcohol and cheap cologne, loomed over me. It was Ryan’s group of “friends.” “Lowe, that was a good thump,” the woman with the gold chain slurred, squatting down. “Camilla doesn’t want you anymore. How about us girls take care of you?” Another, with a cheap peroxide perm, leaned close. “Want to go to the hospital? We can take you. But you’ll have to show us how grateful you are…” They exchanged vulgar smiles, dragging me toward a dark, secluded alley, surrounding me completely, blocking out the last of the light. Late that night, Camilla’s face was chalk-white as she turned on the house manager. “It’s hours past his three-hour limit! Where is he? What kind of job are you people doing?” The manager lowered his head. “We… we assumed, since you agreed to sign the divorce papers, that you no longer required us to restrict Mr. Lowe’s movements…” “You fool!” She violently slammed her wine glass down. Before she could erupt, her phone buzzed with a news alert. The headline was stark: “Municipal Worker Found Dead After Violent Assault at 3:28 AM…”

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The week before New Year’s Eve, I realized my boyfriend had become a different person. It wasn’t just his habits that had changed; he seemed more mature, more grounded. Even his hobbies were different. He was suddenly into artisanal teas and wellness, no longer obsessed with extreme sports. In bed, he was… reserved. Almost disciplined. Never greedy. I thought he’d finally grown up, that he was ready to settle down with me and build a future, done with the usual parade of party girls. But then I came home early to surprise him for his birthday and overheard him on the phone. “Bro, just keep Aria steady for a little while longer. I’ll be back in a bit. Thanks for covering for me.” My boyfriend’s voice replied, “It’s fine. By the way, what brand of condoms do you usually use? I think Aria is allergic to everything I’ve tried.” Hearing that, my breath hitched. So, the changes weren’t my imagination. Without me knowing, my boyfriend’s twin brother had quietly clocked in for his shift. 1. The voice on the other end—Declan’s voice—stuttered. “Bro, why are you asking that? We don’t usually use them. She’s on the pill.” “Just curious,” Rhys, the man in my apartment, replied. “Is she giving you a hard time? Women are like that, always needy. Just ignore her. Give her the cold shoulder for a few days, and she’ll fall in line.” Even though Declan was confident his brother wouldn’t be interested in me, a hint of unease crept into his voice. “Bro, maybe you should move out. The less you see her, the better. We can just coordinate online. Sloane insisted I take this trip with her, and we’re still on the road.” Rhys’s voice was low. “I know.” I stood in the shadows, holding my breath. So, Declan was on a trip with Sloane. It was almost funny. They swore there was nothing between them, that they were just “best friends.” Yet he would rather have his twin brother live alone with his girlfriend than miss a secret vacation with Sloane. The truth of it left my mind a blank slate. My first instinct was to flee, but in my haste, I bumped into the robotic vacuum cleaner on the floor. The living room light flicked on. Rhys’s eyes found me instantly. My heart leaped into my throat. I forced myself to look at him, to really observe him. He was different from Declan. Rhys’s gaze was deep, unreadable. Declan’s eyes always had a mischievous glint, constantly calculating his next lie. Just as I thought he was about to blow his cover, he simply said, “Is that cake for me?” I lifted the box. Declan’s name was written on it in frosted icing. Before I could speak, he took it from my hands. “Thank you. I love it. I almost forgot it was my birthday.” Of course. They were twins. It was his birthday, too. “Happy birthday,” I heard myself say. Rhys closed the distance between us and wrapped his arms around my rigid body, his lips gently brushing against mine. I took a sharp breath. I didn’t know when they’d switched, but in the time since, he and I had done… everything. My heart hammered against my ribs. I fumbled in my pocket and pulled out his gift. “For you.” It was a tie, a ridiculously expensive one. The color was bright, flashy—a color Declan loved, but one I doubted Rhys would ever choose for himself. Yet he opened it without a change in expression, took my hand, and guided me to tie it around his neck. His large hand rested on the small of my back, his touch sending shivers through me as his eyes darkened with a familiar hunger. “…” Wait, wasn’t this the guy who was into “wellness” and self-restraint? The next thing I knew, he was carrying me into the bedroom, his kisses peppering my skin. He used the new tie to gently bind my wrists above my head. I started to struggle, but his next words stopped me cold. “I took one of your birth control pills. So this time, you won’t have a reaction.” 2. The first time I suspected something was wrong with “Declan” was when he suddenly started using condoms. That was completely out of character. It started as a nagging suspicion, but then things got worse. Sex, which had always been great, suddenly became painful. I picked a huge fight with him over it. The next morning, I woke up covered in a painful, swollen rash. I was convinced he’d done something weird and stormed into his office to confront him. It was only later that I found out I was allergic to the latex. After that, “Declan” didn’t touch me for a week. He was incredibly attentive, personally applying cream to the rash. This pampered rich boy, who had never set foot in a kitchen, actually started cooking for me. The day I saw him making me soup, I was genuinely terrified. In all my years with the real Declan, he’d never so much as boiled water. At the time, I thought it was a sign he was finally changing, the playboy settling down. I never imagined the man himself wasn’t the original model. Once the rash cleared up, Rhys tried a different type of condom. I had another allergic reaction, though milder this time. The look on his face when he saw the rash was thunderous. I braced myself for an outburst, but instead, he just said, “I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful.” I was speechless. In all my time being mistreated by the arrogant real Declan, I had never once heard him apologize. “It’s… it’s okay…” Rhys pulled me into a tender embrace, his lips finding mine. I melted into the kiss, my head spinning. At the same time, a thought drifted through my mind: When did Declan get so good at kissing? It wasn’t that he was better, just… gentler. The real Declan used to bite. Especially my collarbone. It hurt like hell. Day by day, Rhys’s every action drew me in more. On weekends, he no longer disappeared to clubs with his “girlfriends.” Instead, he’d hold me in his lap and teach me calligraphy, his warm breath tickling my ear as he guided my hand. His voice was a low murmur that made my heart pound. No! If this continues, I’m going to actually fall for him. Loving the real Declan was a losing game. It was all about his money and his face, nothing more. But this man seemed determined to make me fall. When I was working, he’d massage my shoulders. When I was relaxing, he’d hold me close. Even in bed, he was never forceful. Afterwards, no matter how late it was, he would gently clean me up. I was so overwhelmed by the change that I had to debrief with my friends. Their verdict was unanimous. “He’s in love with you! He wants to marry you!” Hearing that, I’ll admit, I was thrilled. But was it really possible? Could a serial cheater, a man who flirted with anything that moved, truly change his ways? Now I knew the answer. No. Not only would he not change, he’d literally sell his own girlfriend out. The man who had been so good to me was Rhys. Declan’s twin brother. A bitter taste filled my mouth. But hey, if this was his choice, who was I to complain? 3. The next morning, I woke up in Rhys’s arms, our naked skin pressed together. His perfectly sculpted chest was right under my palm. I swallowed hard. Rhys, his eyes still closed, nuzzled my cheek. “You’re awake,” he murmured, his voice husky with sleep. “Hungry?” As if on cue, my stomach growled. A smile touched Rhys’s lips. He sat up, wrapped me in the duvet, and scooped me into his arms. I looped my arms around his neck. “Baby, will you love me forever?” I cooed, playing the part. He was a natural liar, not even blinking. “Of course I will.” He carried me to the bathroom, brushed my teeth for me, and dressed me. Breakfast, a lavish spread he’d had delivered, was already waiting. I sat at the table, watching him. “Declan, you know, you’ve changed a lot lately.” His fingers froze for a split second. “Oh? How so? Changed in a way you like better?” he asked, mimicking Declan’s playful tone, his eyes dancing. It was the same face, but the feeling was completely different. “You were never this gentle before.” His long eyelashes fluttered. He brought my hand to his lips and kissed my wrist. “Baby, I just want to make things better for you.” You can’t provoke a man, especially by comparing him to another. The moment I put my fork down, he swept me up and carried me back to the bedroom. If it weren’t for the fact that his hand was already sliding under my shirt, his serious expression might have convinced me he had business to attend to. “Is this better, or was it better before?” he asked, his voice strained. I closed my eyes, feigning concentration. “Now is better, definitely better.” His hand tightened on my waist, a drop of sweat falling from his forehead onto my cheek. When it was over, I lay in bed, scrolling on my phone. Rhys went to take a shower. His phone, left on the nightstand, buzzed. A message from Declan popped up on the screen. [Bro, how are things with Aria? Has she suspected anything?] [Bro, I’ll try to be back soon. I got you a gift.] Below it was a picture. Two hands, Declan’s and Sloane’s, pressed together, holding a pink crystal rose. [Bro, isn’t this crystal gorgeous? If you like it, I’ll bring one back for you.] Declan’s hands were identical to Rhys’s, right down to the lines on his palm. A wicked smile spread across my face. I tapped out a reply. [Who’s this? My boyfriend’s in the shower.] There was a long pause from the other end. A second later, the bathroom door flew open. Rhys emerged, a towel wrapped around his waist. He saw me with his phone and rushed over. “Someone keeps calling you ‘bro’,” I said innocently. “Who is he?” Rhys masked the complex emotions in his eyes. “He’s the neighbor’s kid.” I suppressed a laugh. I wondered how Declan would feel knowing his own brother had demoted him to the kid next door. “He said he’s bringing you a gift. That crystal is really pretty.” Rhys pulled me into a hug, kissing my cheek. “I’ll buy you one, honey.” And as he held me, I slipped the tiny listening device I’d bought to catch Declan cheating into his pocket. The deal had been fifty grand for every time I caught him. The phone in Rhys’s hand started buzzing incessantly. I guessed Declan was starting to panic. A few seconds later, it rang. A call. Rhys pulled away. “I’ve got to take this. You get some rest.” I watched him go, the smile slowly fading from my eyes. 4. “Bro, what are you and Aria doing? Why did she just message me from your phone?” Out in the hallway, Rhys listened to Declan’s suspicious tone, his own voice perfectly calm. “My clothes were dirty, so I was taking a shower.” Declan audibly relaxed. “Oh, is that it? Good. I was thinking of cutting the trip short anyway. I’ll be back tomorrow.” Rhys didn’t say anything. Declan suddenly sounded anxious. “Bro, I think I’m done playing around. Being out here made me realize how good Aria is. You’d be okay with me marrying her, right?” The question was laced with a desperate, thinly veiled attempt to gauge Rhys’s feelings. “Of course. If that’s what you both want.” Declan let out a huge sigh of relief. What was he thinking? Rhys had seen all kinds of women; why would he ever be interested in a woman his own brother had slept with? He felt foolish for even suspecting him. After a few more pleasantries, Declan made an excuse and hung up. When Rhys came back, I found an opportunity to retrieve the bug. “Declan, what happened?” I asked, my face a mask of innocence. “You look so preoccupied.” Rhys cupped my face, his voice low. “Aria, will you stay with me forever?” “Of course I will.” “And do you like me now, or the way I was before?” he pressed, even though he’d asked the same question just three hours ago. My lips curved into a small smile. “I like them both.” I wasn’t about to give him a straight answer. If Rhys decided this game was over, I could still go back to Declan. But if he wanted to keep playing, the pressure was all on him. Just as I predicted, my answer left him looking lost. He pulled me into a tight hug, as if clutching something he was about to lose. The moment was charged with a desperate longing, and soon we were kissing again, a tangle of limbs and soft murmurs. He unzipped my dress, his body pressing me down onto the bed. But the next second, the doorbell rang. The carefully constructed atmosphere shattered. This apartment was a gift from Declan. No one else would just show up unannounced. There was only one possibility. Declan was back. Ahead of schedule. And the room, littered with the evidence of our afternoon, was not fit for company. I looked up at Rhys. He swallowed hard. “I’ll get it.” Sooner or later, this had to happen. He opened the door. Declan stood there, still in his hiking gear. The smile on his face vanished the moment he saw the rose petals scattered across the floor. I looked straight at him. “Oh, you must be Declan’s brother,” I said sweetly. “Can I help you?” I knew Declan had a twin. A pained, forced smile stretched across Declan’s face, but his eyes burned with rage. Aria hadn’t even recognized him. Did he mean anything to her at all? “I’m here to see him,” Declan ground out, his gaze fixed on Rhys. “We need to talk. Outside.” His fists were clenched at his sides. I smiled, adding more fuel to the fire. I wrapped my arms around Rhys’s arm and kissed his cheek. “Honey, come back soon. I’ll be waiting for you.” In less than a second, Rhys shoved me away. Declan’s fist connected with his face. I let out a theatrical shriek. “What are you doing? Don’t hit my boyfriend!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389613”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Six years after breaking up with Julian Thorne, I died from an illness caused by overworking, leaving behind our five-year-old daughter. Julian, devastated, handled my funeral. He raised our daughter with spoiling love and care. But our daughter always resented him for my death and even ran away from home with a gold-digger boyfriend. The System had no choice but to recall me. “Every time she causes trouble, she uses you, her dead mother, as a shield.” “Hurry back and set her straight.” “Your stay is limited, so hurry up.” 1 The living room was a mess. Porcelain shards littered the floor, and tea stains spread across the carpet. The girl in the center was still looking for things to smash. Julian stood in the entryway. His back slightly bent, eyelids lowered, taking a deep breath. “Are you done venting?” He said. “Put on your shoes, don’t cut your feet. I’ll have someone clean up.” The girl’s face visibly flushed red again. “I don’t need you to care! What right do you have to manage me!” “Because I am your biological father.” “You didn’t even marry my mom, who recognizes you?” “…That guy is no good. He can’t give you a good life.” “Hilarious. You were bankrupt when you were with my mom. Now you look down on others?” “I just didn’t have money back then, not lack of ability.” “Right, you’re capable. Did she enjoy a day of blessing from you?” Silence fell. Julian’s Adam’s apple bobbed several times. Head lowered, he adjusted his cuffs helplessly. The girl stepped over the shards and ran upstairs. Stopped at the turn of the stairs. Maliciously, she spoke again. “My mom broke up with you even when she was pregnant. How good could you be?” Julian raised his bloodshot eyes. “I didn’t know she was pregnant with you!” “If you knew, you wouldn’t have borrowed money to invest?” She enunciated every word. “Stop pretending to be affectionate.” The servants were silent as cicadas in winter. Julian walked to the center of the living room and sat on the sofa. Arms resting on his knees, looking around at the mess. Bullet comments flashed before my eyes. [Bringing up the past as soon as they argue, Julian really has no moves left.] [Lily knows exactly where to stab to hurt the most.] [With this mental state, I feel she has a psychological disorder.] [Normal. Julian was almost breaking down when he collected the heroine’s body. Lily was only five then, watching her own mom vomit blood and die, definitely traumatized.] [Where’s the heroine? Didn’t they say she’s resurrected? Why haven’t I seen anyone?] [Heard she’s still a ghost.] [Reshaping the body takes time, just wait.] So much happened in these eleven years. A massive amount of information impacted my mind. I recalled the girl just now in disbelief. Silver hair, tube top, low-rise cargo pants. Obvious lip piercing, and seemed to have a tattoo on her waist. Sixteen years old? My daughter? Lily Thorne, you really need a slap in the face. The System ran back and forth in my mind. “She just got caught running away from home with a gold-digger boyfriend.” “Luckily she wasn’t tricked into pregnancy.” “If she got pregnant, this NPC would completely collapse. My points would be deducted to zero!” “Think of a way to straighten her out. My year-end bonus depends on you!” Making it hard for a ghost? I didn’t say a word. Floated to Julian’s side and sat down. Sixteen or seventeen years have passed since we broke up. You’re old. I said in my heart. Didn’t expect you to still be so handsome in your forties. Indeed, an old Ferrari is still a Ferrari. Julian pressed his brow. Took out his wallet and pulled a photo halfway out. … I was slightly stunned. It was a two-inch ID photo with a blue background. Used for submitting resumes after graduation. Wearing a suit from the photo shop. Smile stiff, photoshopped deadly white. Consciousness dissipated for too long; I almost forgot what I looked like when I was young. I thought it was ugly and should have disposed of the unused ones. Don’t know where this one came from. Over the years, the photo had blurred a lot. Only the eyebrows and mouth were still somewhat clear. Julian touched the face in my photo. The phone suddenly popped up a call. He slowly put away the wallet and calmly started talking about business. I floated up and circled him a few times. Things in the past had their difficulties. He wasn’t wrong, and neither was I. I stopped blaming him long ago. 2 Julian came from a Hong Kong merchant family. He was a rich young master when he was young. It’s just that his father went bankrupt, and he had to make a living himself. If not for this, he wouldn’t have met me. Wouldn’t have been chased and caught by me relentlessly. Wouldn’t have squeezed into a tiny rental apartment with me. I was 22 when I met Julian. Just graduated. Sending resumes everywhere in the talent market. Couldn’t find a job. Had to look at the long line of applicants, thinking about which bubble tea shop was better to work at. But Julian was different. He was very popular. Luxury counters and high-end sales positions fought over him. There were also some livestreaming positions and bar waiter jobs trying to squeeze in. It took Julian half a day to escape the crowd. I kindly went to help him avoid pitfalls. Sales is tiring, luxury counters are competitive. Livestreaming and bars trick people into shady business. Don’t go to any of them. If asked, say they contacted me too, and I know the inside story. Julian listened to me patiently. Then said, he wasn’t looking for a job. … I knew it. Wearing this old-school custom suit, he didn’t look short of money at a glance. Didn’t expect. That night I saw him being kicked out of an office building by security. He sat under a tree, slowly patting the dust off his clothes. Later I learned he was seeking investment. Seeking investment, finding talent, cultivating an unknown team. Many said he was a madman. Including my boss. Julian was too good-looking. I thought about getting close to him and introducing him to rich ladies. Then I could definitely get a big, big red packet. Heard someone did this. A rich lady wanted to keep him with a Maserati. An intermediary came to persuade him to sell himself. Resulted in eating a punch from Julian, getting a black eye. I started paying attention to Julian. His actions were very regular. People around occasionally mentioned him with mockery. Fragments plus action trajectory could piece together what he did and who he met. During a carefully arranged encounter. He came out of the office building where I worked. Obviously, seeking investment failed again. Too many “chance encounters,” we were familiar with each other. He recognized me and nodded politely. I treated him to a glass of draft beer. Then said, I thought he could make it. After all, the bosses only mocked him for wanting to take a radical path in a conservative market. Never said his eye for products was bad. Julian’s polite and gentle expression froze. Lifted his bloodshot eyes, staring at me motionless. Corners of his mouth trembled. Before lowering his eyelids and forcing a bitter smile. Drank a bit too much that night. Life taught me to strike quickly and grab everything I wanted. Even failure wouldn’t lose anything. So borrowing the courage from alcohol, I kissed him in the alley. Julian’s back pressed against the alley bricks, frozen. He was at a loss, very embarrassed. Maybe felt I was offensive. But he started adding me to his social circle. Introducing me to others, from shyly teasing me as “talent scout.” To serious “friend.” Finally becoming “my lover.” I was satisfied to have him in my bag. He was a qualified lover. Loyal, patient, unruly, a bit machismo. Cohabiting for two and a half years, never let me spend a penny. But what made us quarrel and part ways in the end was also money. Julian disregarded his life when he acted. Could bet his entire net worth on one choice. When the team he favored officially started financing. He mortgaged all his remaining fixed assets in Hong Kong for cash. Plus borrowed money, exchanged for more than eight million. Invested all into the market. During this period, he made many similar investments. Just not heavily invested. He also didn’t ask me for money, so I had no reason to object. But this time it was eight million. He was 27. I had also been working for two and a half years. Knowing what a figure in the millions meant for ordinary people. I wanted to ask him to be more cautious. Ask him to consider our future. … And I was pregnant. I didn’t say this sentence. Because Julian’s expression was too cold. Too stubborn. On the table was the money he borrowed from former friends. And loan certificates from the bank. A few thin sheets of paper, pressed under the ledger. Julian sank into the sofa, smoking one cigarette after another. I choked and wanted to cry. “Can you not smoke?” He put out the cigarette and went to rinse his mouth. I grabbed his sleeve tightly. “Carrying so much debt, have you considered me?” “That check in the room is for you.” He lowered his eyelids. Emotionlessly, wiped away my tears with his thumb. “Following me, you don’t need to carry debt. If you want to leave, that money counts as my compensation to you.” Maybe pregnancy makes one easily break down. I started screaming in disbelief. “Do I want your money? Have you ever thought about what if you don’t succeed? Will you commit suicide?” “I will succeed.” “So many times before, which time did you bring back good results?” Julian pursed his lips tight, looking at me. The light in his eyes seemed to go out. Half disappointment, half relief. He gently brushed away my hand and turned his back. The smell of smoke rose again. He leaned sideways against the wall, back bent wearily. Simple white shirt and suit pants, worn nobly. His back blurred in my eyes. I knew he would succeed. But didn’t know how many times he would fail before succeeding. Also didn’t know if I could last until the day he succeeded. He was ambitious. And I wanted a stable life. Not on the same path, we would separate sooner or later. I wiped my tears and went to pack my clothes. Counted everything I could take away. Walked towards the door. Julian suddenly called me. Rarely, a bit incoherent. He said, “A few days ago… a friend of mine said he saw you go to the hospital.” I touched my stomach. The test strip result was only a faint gray double line, uncertain. So I went to the hospital to confirm the pregnancy. He didn’t know. I originally wanted to tell him tonight. Then we could have a good talk about the future. I said softly. “Nothing, endocrine disorder, prescribed some medicine.” Suitcase wheels rolling. “Chloe!” He called me. Lips moved, then said. “I remember that suitcase is broken.” I didn’t respond. His retention was too euphemistic. So I had the right not to understand. I packed a few clothes and moved out that night. Didn’t take the check he gave. Didn’t take anything related. Every penny might be his future retreat. This was my last kindness. No contact after separation. That year at 25. I gave birth to Lily, still drifting in Beijing. Her arrival brought me good luck. In the next four years, I kept getting raises. Salary enough for me to move into a slightly larger rental in the East City, and still have savings. I didn’t pay attention to financial news. Until Julian’s face frequently appeared in short videos, I realized. He indeed succeeded. That eight million investment leveraged everything. His net worth skyrocketed, and he began to redeem assets in Hong Kong one after another. We were all moving in a good direction. Thought I could raise Lily smoothly. Then let her choose whether to see her biological father. Things went contrary to wishes. Long-term accompanying dinner parties, I drank a lot of alcohol. Alcohol caused problems in my body quickly. After drinking once, the sink was dyed red by the blood I vomited. Premonition before death. Too late. I didn’t call 911, nor the police. Because I wasn’t sure who the police would give custody of Lily to after I died. I wasn’t assured leaving her to my parents. Even less hoped she would be sent to an orphanage. So while vomiting blood, I dialed Julian’s number. Didn’t even finish that call. Just reported the community unit. Before losing consciousness, I felt pity. Pity dying at home instead of the company. Couldn’t get compensation. Lily cried loudly by my leg. I heard Julian’s voice. Panicked, hoarse, and broken. “Chloe Vance!” He was calling me. “I’m coming right away, you can’t hang up!” Vaguely heard him choking. All sounds faded away. I thought he would take good care of Lily. He did take good care. Raised her into whatever. Spoiled into lawlessness. When I come back, I’ll slap her. Bullet comments suddenly covered the sky, dense and invisible. [Holy crap holy crap, what is Lily Thorne doing!] [Want to escape prison shouldn’t jump off building damn it] [That dead mother phoenix man is still tricking her to secretly transfer dad’s money!] [Anyone with a brain wouldn’t jump from the third floor right?] [Break a leg then, taken away by phoenix man exploited completely, honest at home] [Where’s the butler, servants, no one found the miss climbing the window?] I floated to the third floor. Thanks to wall-passing skills, found her quickly. She hesitated by the window. Even with the green belt as a buffer, injury was inevitable. “Too high, have to think of other ways.” She was on the phone, rubbing her head irritably. The person on the other side answered quickly. “Okay, no rush. Your dad shouldn’t have cut off your card yet, right? Need to prepare early.” “Cut off long ago. It’s okay, I know what to do, don’t worry about money. You book the hotel and tickets first.” “…Lily,” the man smiled bitterly, “Booking a hotel will max out my card, you book the ticket yourself.” “I’ll transfer to you.” “Sorry, letting you burden this little money.” “Take it and cut the crap.” Anger rose from my heart. Wanted not to look at her to calm down, turned head, saw the magnificent room. One room, with a living room and terrace, cloakroom full of luxury brands. Bathroom bigger than the bedroom I rented before. Even more annoyed. Julian raised her like gold and jade. For her to let a phoenix man suck blood? I wanted to wake her up. Hands passed through her shoulders, grabbing nothing. I called out the System. “Hurry up and give me a body, my hands are itching.” System categorical. “Tech department is working overtime, definitely ready by tomorrow evening!” Have to wait another day. I gritted my teeth. She shuffled in slippers, lying on the bed. Familiar with tapping the screen. Opened a bank account. Frowned, as if hesitating. Repeatedly deleted and typed password. Finally gritted teeth, transferred a sum of money. And dashingly transferred twenty thousand to another account. [Using dad’s money to tip men… hard to comment.] [Not earned by self so no heartache ha] [Hey where is she going?] [I remember Lily Thorne specifically contacted a servant before, probably running away] I followed her closely. Sure enough. A middle-aged woman pushed a dining cart, stopped at the room door. Quietly dropped a key on the carpet. Kicked it into the door crack. Lily lay on the ground, quickly grabbed the key. Cautiously waited half an hour before opening the door to leave. I gritted my teeth following Lily. Probably her grounding wasn’t public. Security heard she was going to dinner with a friend, quickly dispatched a car. [Why isn’t Julian home?] [He just finished a call and went to the company] [Male lead come back quickly, daughter gone if not back!] [He’s still in a meeting now, can’t even answer phone.] [It’s okay, finishing meeting seeing bank card transaction info will know] Arriving at the restaurant. Driver drove away. She went into a coffee shop. Quickly put on mask and cap. Sat by the window, looking around. Ten minutes later. A tall and thin handsome man knocked on the glass. Lily walked a few steps fast, jumped into his arms. I closed my eyes tight. Too late to curse, sudden dizziness. System shouted excitedly. [Fast fast! Loaded complete you have a body!] 3 I felt death again. No concept of time. Only void blackness left. Like the black seen covering one eye. Sound arrived one step before light. Quarreling again. Lily had been caught back home. [Actually hiding under Julian’s information network for three days, Lily Thorne still has some skills] [Originally not stupid, just pure rebellious] [She’s underage can’t lock hotel info, otherwise caught back in half a day] I opened my eyes. Soul half stuck outside body, half melted into flesh. Crying in the study. Julian pursed his lips tight, hands curled stiffly. Finger marks clear on the girl’s face. Staring in disbelief, tears popping out quickly. Julian swallowed slightly, didn’t move gaze. “Know your mistake?” Lily gritted teeth staring at him fiercely, not saying a word. “Lily Thorne, speak!” Desk thudded heavily. “Buying gifts to see that man’s family, showing off wealth?” “If I didn’t find you, do you know how dangerous you were?” “This kind of place, police can’t even enter the village entrance when you die!” Julian threw a stack of HD photos on the table. “How did I know his home was so remote?” She wiped eyes talking back, sobbing intermittently. “My mom never hit me… if my mom was still here she definitely wouldn’t let you hit me.” Julian clenched fists tightly, red oozing out of eyes again. Turned back, breathing deeply and shallowly. Lily bumped past his shoulder, pulled door hard. My body loading complete. Feet on ground. Through soft carpet, still had unrealistic floating feeling. I couldn’t see my face. Delicate reflective skin on back of hand made one trance. Door in front suddenly pulled open. I met Lily’s gaze. She inherited her father’s height advantage. Already grew a bit taller than me. Seeing me, she froze for a long time. Suddenly grabbed my hand, dragged me into the study. “Julian!” She pointed at me, questioning him angrily. “Who is she? When did she come?” “Finding such a young one, do you have no shame!” Julian slammed desk with anger, “What did I find?” I was dragged staggering. Stumbled forward a few steps, barely stood firm. Julian leaned sideways on desk, gaze slanting disdainfully. Atmosphere stagnated instantly. On his face was nearly foolish blankness. Long time, only slightly moved cervical vertebra. Driving body, slowly turned front to me. I unconsciously smoothed hair. Didn’t know where to put sight. Had countless words to say when ghost. Old friends reuniting, after years, how to greet. … You aged a lot? Seems inappropriate. Directly confess? Probably too scary. Resurrection from dead, facing it know how absurd. Lily between us, looking left and right. “What do you mean?” Her breathing slowly weakened, somewhat unstable. “You guys hooked up long ago? Just happened to be here this time, accidentally bumped into?” “Lily out!” Julian suddenly spoke. She stubbornly fixed in place, “Why should I go out?” “Lily Thorne!” Julian pointed at door, harsh voice and stern countenance. “Out, close the door, don’t let me repeat.” Door slammed an echo. Ground vibrated. I looked back, no one there anymore. Julian cleared throat. Futile, vaguely carried choking. “Miss, you are…” He covered face pressed temples, exhaled. “Estate security very strict, may I ask how you entered?” I hesitated to speak. Words to mouth, turned corner. “Convenient to let me go to bathroom first?” Julian stunned again. Trance-like, pointed to northeast corner. “There… over there.” I supported wall, walked crookedly to bathroom. Just entered this body. Limbs soft like noodles, forgot how to walk. Guess I should be like a congenitally disabled person with cerebellar hypoplasia now. Door cut off that sight always following my back. Face in mirror childish. Hair down, no makeup, youth that staying up late eating takeout couldn’t hide. Was me just graduated. System urged me out to see Julian. [How long can you hide here?] “Then what to do,” I said, “Go out say hi I’m your ex-girlfriend, I’m reborn, in this life I want to take back everything belonging to me?” System didn’t squeak. I splashed water rinsing face. “What identity did you arrange for me?” [You have no new identity.] System silent a while. [Inserting a completely new name register is troublesome, need match very much social information. You won’t stay long, no need arrange new card.] “Meaning I am currently undocumented?” [Strictly speaking, yes.] No money no phone. Face recognition would recognize me as dead Chloe Vance. Hard to move an inch out door. I dried water on face, walked out of bathroom. Warm yellow desk lamp soft and dim. Study not bright, blackout curtains to ground, swallowing sunlight. Julian stiff on sofa like stone block. Laptop in front honestly presenting surveillance screen. No one seen entering estate. Outside study. I appeared out of thin air. He repeatedly dragged progress bar, looked up in disbelief. Looking at me, eyes full of bloodshot. I put hands behind back clenched fists, clench release. I said, “Long time no see.” He motionless, staring at me himself. Suddenly stood up, one arm supporting waist, paced a few steps back turned, then turned back. Seemed to have tears. I inexplicably had a kind of guilt of faking death. “Julian, hard to explain, but…” I paused a while, anger surfaced with hindsight. “Let’s not talk about this first, you raised Lily too spoiled, she actually wanted to jump off building to find her boyfriend, I very much support you beating her once in this situation. Who did she learn this from?” His Adam’s apple rolled violently. Light suddenly appeared in eyes. I stood by bookshelf, watching him approach. Heartbeat fast for no reason. Only one arm distance left. He lifted arm. Closed eyes eased a bit, reached out to me. I conditionally reached back to hold, unconsciously shook lightly. He swallowed, voice a bit shaky. “Recently okay?” “Should be not too good,” I incoherent, “You know, just came back to life, a bit unaccustomed.” Unexpectedly cold field. I lowered head, withdrew hand awkwardly. But couldn’t pull back. Julian tightened knuckles increasingly, almost wrapped my whole palm. He asked hoarsely. “Can hug once?” “Ah, sure, sure… mm!” Air squeezed out of chest cavity. I felt I became a stress relief toy, squeak once when pinched. Body temperature conducted through thin shirt. Muscle direction, breathing ups and downs, belt edges, all printed on body front. He bowed body, pushed me to chest. Embrace completely strange. But swept away the restraint just now. Forty-four year old Julian’s fitness traces very clear. Although I can’t remember his figure in twenties clearly. But seems, more lean and strong than before. “Have time to work out, seems life is good.” I pressed against his chest. Pulled out a section of shirt, probed into hem. Apollo’s belt deep on waist side, just right to put thumbs. Julian grabbed my hand, pressed on face. “I’m old.” He said. “Arrived age to maintain body.” Skin under palm, had matte texture. Couldn’t see stubble, rubbing sandily on hand, itchy. Compared to plump collagen, more was bone. Bone covered with thin layer of skin and flesh, showing cold hardness familiar with worldly affairs. Julian buried in my hair. Hugged hard once, slowly released. His breathing calmed down, couldn’t see more emotions in eyes. “Just live here?” “I can’t go out, I’m undocumented.” “It’s okay,” He raised hand, supported my back neck, pulled towards front, “Many rooms at home. Are you hungry?” “Not hungry.” “Mm, good. Good.” He responded absently. Gaze wandered several times, fell on my face again. His eyelids flushed. Suddenly circled me tight again, air sound low and weak. “Hug again.” 4 The study was like a barrier. Just stepped out the door, bullet comments covered the sky. [What happened just now? Why all black screen] [What thing not let my noble VIP see?] [Heroine hurry to third floor, your daughter seems to have 1.4 (GPA? or height? assuming trouble/height of conflict)] [No big deal, Lily Thorne thinks dad has new love, crying in quilt] Julian gently pinched my fingertips. “What’s wrong?” I came back to senses. “Want to see Lily, she looks misunderstood.” Julian let go, sighed deeply and shallowly. “There’s a monitor at her bedroom door, easy to find. I won’t go up, she doesn’t like me finding her.” I spoke coolly. “Aren’t you afraid she beats me as mistress?” He pursed lips, led way silently. I gestured. “She’s so much taller than me, not like me at all.” Julian laughed once. “Yes, she looks like me… temper like you, does whatever she wants, listens to no one’s persuasion.” I said, “Aren’t you the same?” His smile solidified, quickly put away. Probably both remembered those not so good memories. Simply silent. Corridor extended front and back, music low and slow. Not approached yet, a surveillance probe slowly turned over. Aimed at me, started talking. “Take your mistress roll as far as you can!” “I move out next month, give each other some face these days, don’t disturb each other, okay?” Julian pressed operation screen on wall, asked servant to bring key. I frowned, “Open directly?” “Can’t communicate at this time.” Julian pulled a bitter smile. “If talk nicely to her, she will leave us hanging here all day.” I waved hand, signaled him to go first. “I talk two sentences with her first.” Julian silent moment, nodded. Footsteps away. I faced monitor, puzzled. “Lily Thorne, is your brain damaged?” “I worked hard to find you a good dad, you play cutting off relations this play?” “Still move out, don’t want money?” Silence inside for a while. Inconceivable tone exactly same as mine. “Are you f***ing crazy?” I pointed at myself. “Recognize my face before speaking.” “Also, if you say one more dirty word involving mom—” “I will let people beat your boyfriend into a sandbag.” [Holy crap laughing to death] [Boyfriend: Who made a sound for me] [Being only child too long brain easy to rust, suggest send to study abroad deep cultivating] [Fighting for property with illegitimate child is honest] Door pulled open fiercely. Lily Thorne shuffled in slippers, whole body alert. “Who are you?” She stared at me, trying to identify. “My mom died early, never said she had any sisters.” “Letting people stand at door talking is very impolite.” “You haven’t even entered Liang family door, still want me to talk politeness with you?” “Whether your boyfriend will become hand-beaten beef balls depends on you.” “Haven’t become my stepmom yet f***ing pretending high right? Don’t know who I am? Julian gave you much face?” Small age. I raised palm, slapped crisply. She visibly furious, grabbed my collar. I sneered, “Knew earlier you would be crooked like this in Liang family, my call should have been to your grandma. Also, running away from home still saying I definitely won’t hit, now I tell you, I not only will whip you, but also whip you into a top.” Strength on her hand suddenly loosened. I finished scolding word after word, palm hot. Surged a few points of regret again. Did I hit too hard. This situation, asking me to talk nicely, unacceptably too hard on people. Which biological mother seeing daughter like this can be calm. She stared at me dead. “Who exactly are you?” I looked up at her. She gritted teeth, “My mom died early.” “Then just treat me as temporarily returned soul.” I withdrew sight, passed by her. Didn’t walk a few steps, feet started to become weak. Buzzing non-stop in brain. System beeped warning. [This body rushed made a bit rough, not compatible with your soul nodes, need repair now] [Quickly protect head, you going to faint!] No… I fell straight down. Lily Thorne jumped like thunder. “??? Doing what?” “Framing?” “Loss I still believed you—Hurry help me! Call my dad!”

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Seven days after I was found and brought back home, I stumbled upon a confession post online. [Actually, the year my parents adopted me, I knew the real daughter was also in the orphanage. But I didn’t dare say anything. I was afraid I wouldn’t have a home and would continue to be bullied by the director.] [Now my parents favor me and treat her badly. I feel so guilty. How can I make it up to her?] In my past life, I discovered the poster was the fake daughter, Chloe. I broke down and dragged my crippled right leg to confront her. But that night, she couldn’t handle the pressure and jumped off a building. My parents blamed me for her death, screaming out of control for me to pay with my life. Only my adoptive brother protected me. He took me away to live elsewhere. But he refused to get me a doctor and tormented me daily. “You drove Chloe to her death. You killed a vibrant life with your own hands. You must use your life to atone and repent.” In the end, I fell into severe depression and jumped off a building, just like the fake daughter did years ago. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I discovered the post. 1 Netizens thought Chloe was just fishing for attention to gain followers and left all sorts of sarcastic comments. She continued updating. [My parents raised me for eighteen years. They have feelings for me and couldn’t bear to send me away, so they let me be the real daughter’s sister.] [The first time my sister and I met, we were both five. We became best friends in the orphanage. But I was afraid her parents would recognize her and not adopt me, so that day I tricked her into playing hide-and-seek and told her to hide.] [Later, I wanted to find her, but she had been adopted. She lived a very bitter life all these years. Her leg is crippled, and she’s skin and bones.] [I heard her adoptive family was terrible, beating and scolding her, neglecting her. They made her drop out before finishing middle school to fend for herself.] [In contrast, I grew up in luxury, never lacking money. If I so much as sneezed, my parents and brother would nervously call the family doctor. I also attend a top private high school. I really feel sorry for her…] In my past life, it was because I read these that I completely exploded. How could I not hate? The first day I was recognized back into the Moore family, my mother hugged me and cried bitterly. My stern-faced father’s eyes reddened. My adoptive brother, Lucas, gently patted my head. We should have lived happily ever after. But Chloe appeared. Wearing a beautiful dress, wearing diamonds I had only seen in advertisements, smelling sweet and soft. I subconsciously lowered my head. My right leg, crippled by my adoptive father, barely supported my malnourished body. My $9.99 bargain bin clothes smelled weird after being worn for too long, and black lint from the fabric was stuck under my fingernails. Why? She occupied my life. I hated Chloe. She had changed too much, so I didn’t recognize her as “Dumpling” from the orphanage. After getting lost back then, I was sent there by kind people. Never full, never warm. The director was fierce, but nice to Dumpling. Every time the director took Dumpling away to “play games” and brought her back, she would have a bag of snacks. I wanted snacks too, so I asked her how to play the games. She said: “The games aren’t fun at all. They hurt, and they smell bad. If you want to eat something, I can share with you.” “But you can’t become clean, or the director will easily force you to play games.” I believed her and played in the dirt every day like a little monkey. Until one day, six months later, Dumpling suddenly wanted to play hide-and-seek with me. When I came out of the closet. It was dark. She had been adopted by rich people. I felt happy for my best friend. But she lied to me. The truth was ripped open, bloody and raw. In my past life, I went crazy and hit Chloe. Attracting my parents and Lucas. Learning that Chloe caused me to be separated from them for thirteen years, my parents couldn’t believe their obedient daughter was so vicious. She cried and apologized over and over. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I ruined your life. I’m sorry…” Not long after, Chloe jumped off the building and died in front of me. My parents, who were originally angry at her deception, collapsed the moment they saw her body. Mom grabbed my collar, out of control. “What did Chloe do wrong! She was just too afraid of being bullied by the director! She wanted parents to protect her! Why did you have to expose her and drive her to death!” “She was also my daughter!” Then what did I do wrong? Being crippled at the best age of my life. Starving until I picked trash to eat, wearing one pair of shoes for four seasons. Is whoever dies the innocent one? I forgot how I left the Moore house that day. I only remember Lucas hugging me, separating me from my parents. His embrace and voice were equally warm. “Don’t be afraid. Brother is here.” But his existence was also because Chloe wanted a brother, so they adopted him. 2 Lucas settled me in his apartment and wiped away my tears. “From now on, you’ll live with me, right here.” But Chloe’s death became my nightmare. When I woke up screaming at night, it was Lucas who held me tight, coaxing me softly. “Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid. Brother is with you.” “Brother will find a movie for you to watch. Distract yourself and don’t think about those things.” But scenes of falling in movies made me even more afraid. So Lucas switched to opera. The passionate voices tugged at my nerves. Only by holding Lucas’s hand could I feel a moment of peace. Like duckweed, relying on the water source that allowed me to survive. Love grew in despair. My mental state got worse and worse, and I tried to save myself. “Take me to see a psychiatrist tomorrow.” Lucas refused. He pressed close to my ear and asked gently. “When Chloe died, her head was smashed. Have you thought about how much it hurt?” “Do you remember? Before she died, she was apologizing to you. Do you forgive her in your dreams every night?” “Sarah, you are a murderer.” “You drove Chloe to her death. You killed a vibrant life with your own hands. You must use your life to atone and repent.” It turned out Lucas didn’t take me away because he knew I wasn’t wrong. He did it to torture me and avenge Chloe. So in this life, I closed that post and pretended not to see it. I didn’t want to become a sinner again. I wanted to use the Moore family’s influence to climb up. Then leave this place forever and live the life I want. Only I can make myself feel safe relying on myself. So, I went downstairs and told my mom. “I want to continue studying.” 3 When I first came home, Mom mentioned transferring me to the high school Chloe attended. I hated her and was afraid of being mocked as a cripple, so I refused immediately. Now that I brought it up myself, Mom was very happy. “That’s great. Chloe will have company at school from now on.” “Sarah, you’ve missed a lot of classes. Your brother happens to be a junior in college. He can tutor you. Ask him if you don’t understand anything.” Lucas was sitting nearby watching TV. Hearing this, he looked up. Still the gentle appearance in my memory. But I didn’t want to have anything to do with him anymore, so I shook my head. “No need to trouble Brother. I can ask the teacher.” Lucas lowered his eyelashes slightly. “Suit yourself.” “Let’s eat.” Chloe came downstairs too. She sat opposite me cautiously. Mom put food in our bowls and smiled, mentioning I would go to school. Chloe’s face turned slightly pale. “It’s good that sister is willing to study. I will take care of sister at school…” I interrupted her softly. “Mom, I can’t eat celery. I’m allergic to celery.” I discovered this when working part-time. I was so hungry I ate leftovers from customers, but broke out in a rash and had difficulty breathing. The shop owner was scared and called an ambulance. Afterwards, because I affected the shop’s business, he deducted my $100 salary for that month. Mom was stunned, and quickly picked the celery out of my bowl. “It’s Mom’s fault. Mom will remember from now on.” “Chloe, you eat it. You like celery the most.” But she threw away that piece of celery and picked a new piece for Chloe, as if my bowl was unclean. Mom picked up another piece of fish, carefully removed the bones, and teased Chloe. “You have to eat a bite of meat after eating celery, otherwise it won’t be the balanced diet you want.” The love that should have belonged to me fell on Chloe. Chloe carefully observed my reaction. I just took big bites of meat. The fake beef I ate before was soft and tasted like tofu. Unlike the meat I was eating now, bouncy and savory. I ate very quickly. Suddenly there was an extra piece of ribs in my bowl. Lucas picked it. “Ribs are delicious too. You can’t just eat beef.” I froze, daring not to touch it. Subconsciously guessing, is there something wrong with the ribs? My nose felt hot. He quickly took a tissue to help me wipe the nosebleed. I stood up in panic and backed away. The chair legs dragged on the ground making a harsh sound. Mom looked over, and I spoke in a panic. “I’m full.” Running upstairs, I heard Lucas’s low instructions. “Mama Wang, Sarah seems to have internal heat. Cook her some sweet soup to cool it down.” Lucas was such a considerate person. After I came home, even if we had no feelings, he would care about me, whether I was used to living here, whether my clothes were warm enough. That’s why in my past life I never suspected that his kindness to me hid hatred. But it doesn’t matter. In this world, Chloe won’t die. And I won’t have a mental breakdown and jump off a building. The enrollment procedures were done quickly. On Monday morning, I could go to school with Chloe. She came to my room. 4 Chloe was holding an orange bag with a backpack inside. I had seen customers carrying it when I delivered food part-time. It was called Hermes or something, very expensive. “Sister, your school bag is a bit small. There are many subjects in high school, it won’t fit. This one is new, I’m giving it to you.” From the day I came back, Chloe found excuses to give me expensive things. I thought she was showing off and refused coldly every time. Now I realized that was her compensation for guiltily stealing my identity. This time, I accepted it without hesitation, estimating the resale price. After all, money won’t lie to people. Seeing I didn’t refuse, Chloe’s steps leaving were a bit lighter. I took the bag downstairs, ready to go to school. Passing the living room, Mom suddenly stopped me. “Sarah, do you like Hermes too?” “If you like it, Mom can buy it for you, but you shouldn’t steal…” Mom coughed lightly and changed to a euphemism, “You shouldn’t take Chloe’s bag.” I was stunned. “Chloe gave this to me.” “Impossible. Chloe treasures this limited edition the most. Usually she can’t bear to use it. Once when I teased her about giving it away, she even cried.” At this moment, Chloe came down. Hearing Mom’s words, she hurriedly admitted. “I gave it to Sister.” Mom didn’t understand. “Don’t you like this bag very much?” “I…” Chloe stammered, daring not to tell the truth. But it made Mom misunderstand that I bullied her, and her face darkened. Lucas walked over. “It was indeed Chloe who gave it. I heard it upstairs just now.” Chloe nodded immediately. “That’s right, Brother can testify for me.” But Lucas had been downstairs with Mom the whole time. Mom sighed. “You siblings are just too soft-hearted.” “Then let’s forget about this matter.” Lightly glossed over, I became a thief who couldn’t be cleared. I clenched my hands and didn’t explain further. Mom wouldn’t believe me. They were Chloe’s family. Whatever I did was wrong, so why say more? I turned around and found a consignment shop to sell the bag. Seven figures. A number I couldn’t earn even if I died working. Being treated as a thief was worth it.

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For five years, we tried. Twelve rounds of IVF. Finally, Nicholas and I had our child. The day he was born, Nicholas, always so composed, broke down in tears. He gripped my hand, his voice thick with emotion. “Annette, I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you. You and our boy… you’re my everything now.” He held our son with a reverence I’d never seen, hesitating before daring to touch the baby’s soft cheek. “We’ll call him Max,” he whispered. “For a life filled to the absolute maximum with joy and peace.” That was before his first love’s daughter was diagnosed with kidney failure. “Lily is a prodigy,” he’d said, his voice strained. “She’s destined to be a world-class painter. We can’t let her health stand in her way.” Then he was on his knees in front of me, stripped of all his pride, his voice a desperate plea. “Annette, I checked. Max is a perfect match for Lily. Please… just let him give her one of his kidneys. Please?” … Nicholas was a man defined by his pride. He never bowed his head for anyone or anything. Even when he proposed, he hadn’t asked. He’d simply tossed a ring box at me and said, “Marry me. You won’t regret it.” But now, for Claire’s daughter, he was on his knees, as pathetic as a stray dog begging for scraps. In the sweltering summer heat, an icy chill spread through my bones. I closed my eyes, the world spinning. “Nicholas, do you have any idea what you’re saying?” A tiny, foolish part of me held out hope. If he would just say it was a moment of madness, that he didn’t mean it, I could forgive him. We could pretend this conversation never happened. But Nicholas remained silent, his jaw set. He took a deep breath, his resolve hardening. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but people can live perfectly normal lives with just one kidney.” When I didn’t answer, his voice turned to steel. “If you won’t agree, then I’ll have to remind you that I am also Max’s legal guardian. I have the right to sign the consent forms.” The air left my lungs. A wave of grief and fury so powerful it almost knocked me over washed through me. “Absolutely not,” I choked out, the words tasting like poison. He reached out, his expression pained, and tried to stroke my hair. “Annette, don’t make this difficult.” I flinched away, hammering my fists against his chest. “You said we were your everything!” I sobbed. “The day Max was born, you promised! Nicholas, that was only three years ago!” I collapsed against him, my fight draining away. “There has to be another way, right? Medicine is so advanced now. Can’t they just wait? Maybe another donor will come along. Please.” A flicker of sorrow crossed his face. “If there were any other option, of course I wouldn’t want Max to—” His phone rang. He glanced at the screen: Claire. Without a second’s hesitation, he pushed me away and answered. Claire was hysterical on the other end. “Nicholas, Lily’s back in the ICU! I’m here all alone, I don’t know what to do…” The tenderness on Nicholas’s face vanished, replaced by sheer panic. He grabbed his car keys and bolted for the door, not even looking back. “We can’t wait any longer,” he threw over his shoulder, his voice cold and final. “Don’t worry. I’ll perform the surgery myself. I’ll make sure both children are safe.” Max, who had just woken up from his nap, toddled after him, calling out, “Daddy, where go? Max go too!” Nicholas didn’t even glance back. He let Max stumble and fall on the front steps, his cries echoing in the sudden silence of the house. In that moment, my heart turned to ice. I wiped my tears, scooped up my wailing son, and sent Nicholas a text. “I want a divorce.” Nicholas didn’t reply. He came home late that night, laden with toys and candy, and Claire was trailing behind him. Before I could stop him, Max had already run into his father’s arms. Nicholas smiled, handing Max a brightly colored plastic toy. “Do you like it? Daddy and Auntie Claire picked it out just for you. And look, your favorite snacks.” He settled Max on his lap, tore open a bag of candy, and popped a piece into our son’s mouth. Max, having already forgotten the morning’s abandonment, snuggled against his father’s chest, giggling happily. I watched them, a cold knot tightening in my stomach. Max adored his father, even more than he did me. And this man, this father, was willing to carve a kidney out of his own son. It was Claire who nudged him, reminding him of my presence. Nicholas looked up and pulled a necklace from his pocket. “It’s a wishbone, Annette. For you. From now on, whatever you wish for, I’ll make it happen.” I stared at him, my expression unreadable, and pushed his hand away. “My only wish is for you to call off this donation.” He looked down, mumbling something under his breath. “Annette, do you think this is easy for me? Max is my flesh and blood. But I’ve watched Lily grow up, too. I can’t just let her die.” “Nicholas, let it go,” Claire whispered, her eyes welling up. “It was my fault. I was impulsive to even suggest that Max could help Lily. I’ve caused nothing but trouble for your family. It’s all my fault.” She bowed her head, shoulders shaking with silent sobs, the very picture of tragic beauty. Watching her tears splash onto the polished floor, Nicholas’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white. “How could this be your fault?” he said, his voice fierce. “Even if you hadn’t said anything, I would have offered.” The intimacy between them was a physical pain, a blade twisting in my gut. I took a deep breath to keep from screaming. The tension in the room made Max start to cry, but Nicholas only had eyes for Claire, his gaze full of pity and protection. The blood in my veins ran cold. Before I married Nicholas, I knew he had a childhood sweetheart. When I’d hesitated about our future, he’d sworn to me that he and Claire were just friends, that she would never come between us. Lies. All of it. When Claire went into labor, Nicholas abandoned a career-making international conference to be by her side. The day Lily was born, Nicholas, a man who scoffed at sentimentality, went to a high-end auction and bought a custom-made pink diamond tiara as a welcome-to-the-world gift for another man’s child. The moment Lily showed a flicker of interest in art, he pulled strings to have the country’s most renowned painter take her on as a private student. And my Max? When he was born, all he got was a small, silver locket. Two days later, his father volunteered for a medical mission in Africa and was gone for a month. He claimed to love us, to love me and Max above all else, but he always, always put Claire and her daughter first. For years I had lied to myself, pretending not to see. But I couldn’t lie anymore. Max was still holding the cheap toy Nicholas had brought, the cloyingly sweet candy still in his mouth. He never liked things like this, but because it was from his father, he treasured it. “Max, spit that out,” I said softly. “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it.” “That’s enough, Annette!” Nicholas snapped. “If you have a problem with me and Claire, say it to my face! Don’t take it out on our son! What kind of mother are you?” Even now, he was defending her. “If our Max had kidney failure, Claire and Lily would donate in a heartbeat! Annette, you can’t be this selfish!” “Don’t say that, Nicholas,” Claire sobbed, pressing herself against his chest. “Just pretend you never knew me. Pretend Lily and I don’t exist.” Nicholas’s eyes were glacial as he glared at me. “We’ve been married for years, and it’s only now that I see how cold and heartless you truly are.” A memory surfaced, sharp and painful. Our honeymoon in Hawaii. In the middle of it, Claire got divorced. She posted a single sad selfie on Instagram, and Nicholas, without a word to me, booked the next flight back to comfort her. He stayed by her side for two weeks. While I walked alone on beaches crowded with happy couples, Claire’s feed was full of pictures of the “World’s Best Friend,” featuring Nicholas in her kitchen, making her heart-shaped pancakes. While I sat by myself under a palm tree, her story was a picture of Nicholas’s profile in a darkened movie theater, captioned, “The secret from when we were eighteen.” For two weeks, I woke up every morning and scrolled through her life, my tears falling until I was just numb. But I still trusted him. I still believed him. Watching the undisguised tenderness in his eyes as he held Claire, a bitter laugh escaped my lips. “So, if we had gotten married just a little later, you would have called it off and married her instead, wouldn’t you?” Crack. The sting of his palm against my cheek exploded across my face. Nicholas’s eyes were bloodshot with fury. “Yes, I was in love with Claire. That’s not a secret. But I gave up a world of memories with her for you! Isn’t that enough? Why do you have to say things like that just to hurt me?” His cruel words were a knife, carving out my heart. The tears I had held back for so long finally broke free, streaming down my face. When I looked up at him again, there was nothing left in my eyes. No love, no pain. Just emptiness. “No,” I said, my voice hollow. “You don’t have to give up anything. From now on, you will never see me or Max again.” I scooped Max into my arms and turned to leave. But Nicholas blocked my path. “You can go,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “But Max stays.” My lips parted, but all that came out was a broken, mirthless laugh. “Nicholas, do you really have to be so cruel?” He didn’t answer. In one swift movement, he snatched Max from my arms and shoved me so hard I fell to the floor. He handed our crying son to Claire. “Take him and go! Now!”

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When I revived the first time, Liam Sterling was ecstatic, wishing he could lay the best things in the world at my feet. The second time I revived, Liam wept, swearing he would never let me get hurt again. By the fifth time, Liam begged me to donate my heart to save his senior, Sarah. This is the ninth time. Sarah and I were kidnapped together. When forced to choose, he shot me without hesitation. “I hate being threatened!” But what he didn’t know was that this time, I was truly dead. Later, everyone said the head of the Sterling family went mad after his wife died. Not only did he refuse to bury her, but he also hired numerous priests and monks to draw arrays in his home, turning a perfectly good mansion into a haunted house, chanting every day. “Revive, revive.” 1 Pain! It hurts too much! On a ship in international waters, my face was stepped into the ground, dust filling my nose and mouth. Vicious kidnappers surrounded me, fists raining down like hail. Beside me being beaten, a delicate woman was shivering. She is Liam’s senior—Sarah Miller. She crawled to my side, sobbing softly: “I’m sorry, Chloe, I didn’t know they would beat you like this, I’m sorry woo woo woo…” Watching her fake cry without a single tear, I felt only speechlessness. At least act a bit more convincingly. I was almost out on the speedboat. If not for her scream, would I have been dragged back to be beaten? Thinking of this, I spat out another mouthful of dirty blood, chest throbbing with pain. My ribs were probably broken. Just then, footsteps sounded again. The kidnappers were back! I skillfully covered my head, but wasn’t beaten. Instead, a large man grabbed my hair, slapped me, and turned on the phone speaker. “Does it hurt? If it hurts, scream louder! Call him to save you, hahaha…” “Liam, when will you arrive?” I bit my teeth hard to stop myself from groaning. Unexpectedly, Sarah started crying again. “Liam, woo woo woo… don’t worry about us, we’re fine, I wasn’t beaten woo woo woo…” Hearing Sarah’s crying, Liam instantly panicked. “Sarah, Sarah, what’s wrong? Chloe Vance, was Sarah beaten? Why didn’t you help her! You know she’s different from you!” My heart went cold instantly. Didn’t want to listen to this idiot rambling anymore, I hung up the kidnapper’s phone and threw it away. Earned another slap. The kidnappers separated Sarah and me. When we appeared on the deck again. Her face was bruised, and one arm was dislocated. Making it look like I was doing pretty well. Since both sides didn’t trust each other—the kidnappers wanted money first, Liam wanted people released first. The kidnapper had already unlocked the gun’s safety. Liam was anxious, finally reluctantly agreeing to pay half the money to release one person. The one released first, of course, was Liam’s dear senior who looked more miserable, not me, his wife of hardships. I was so angry I almost spat out another mouthful of old blood. Seeing Sarah already on the speedboat back, the kidnappers urged for the second ransom. Liam had someone bring it over. Just then, Liam’s assistant walked up. “President, it’s clear. The IP address of the other party trading with the kidnappers is at… your home…” Instantly, everyone’s face changed drastically. My brain was buzzing. What’s the situation? First, I didn’t hire anyone to kidnap us. So Liam hired someone to kidnap us? Impossible! What for? For excitement? Before I could think clearly. Liam ordered his people to leave and not look back. His face was gloomy, pulling a gun from his waist. “I hate being threatened the most!” Under everyone’s horrified gaze. Liam shot me straight in the chest. I felt something gushing out. In a trance, it seemed Liam closed my eyes. “This is a lesson for your jealousy!” 2 I died. This was my ninth death, and the last. I remembered everything. Actually, I am a cat, the kind with nine tails. On my coming of age day, my mom told me. “Finding a partner and having cubs is very simple for our clan. Find a person to repay kindness for nine lives, and you can abduct him back to Spirit Mountain for immortality!” Unfortunately, I remembered wrong and brought all nine tails to this one life. I waited by the River of Forgetfulness for a long time until the first kind person willing to give me dried fish appeared. I decisively erased my memory and chose him. I thought. Liam and I would become an immortal couple in Spirit Mountain like my parents. But didn’t expect, let alone nine lives, even spending nine lives in one lifetime didn’t end well. While waiting for Mom to pick me up, I still had to follow Liam. Liam was like the previous times. After I was completely cold, he took me back to the villa and put me in the ice coffin custom-made after my third revival. Based on past experience, I only needed three days to revive. The only two exceptions were when my heart was dug out for Sarah and the car accident after a quarrel. Just a pity, this time Liam will be disappointed. My lives are used up. Let alone three days, I won’t live even in three years. After putting me in the ice coffin, Liam ignored my body. Turned and went to the hospital. Seeing Liam arrive, Sarah spoke first: “Liam, how is sister Chloe? She didn’t intentionally let the kidnappers beat me, please don’t blame her!” I listened dumbfounded. So she used to arrange me like this in front of Liam? No wonder my quarrels with Liam were endless. Liam, this idiot, also lowered his eyes, hesitatingly starting to apologize. “Sorry Sarah, the kidnapping was done by Chloe. She had no malice, maybe just jealous. I’ll make her apologize to you in two days!” I didn’t miss the ecstasy in Sarah’s eyes. “Really? Although I suffered such heavy injuries, don’t blame sister Chloe either.” I finally figured it out now. The assistant said, the IP address hiring kidnappers on the dark web was at my home. First, not Liam, because he’s just a bit brain-dead, not a psychopath. Second, not me as Liam thought, after all, wouldn’t I know if I did it? Then it could only be Sarah, who treats my home as hers and can enter Liam’s study freely. Bitch, quite scheming! I was already angry, seeing Liam serving Sarah hand and foot made me even angrier. Hating that I couldn’t beat him up. When returning home in the evening, Liam glanced at my body in front of the ice coffin and actually sneered. “Chloe Vance, when you wake up, you’d better have thought of how to explain to me!” Explain my ass, get lost! Why isn’t Mom here yet? When can I have a physical body to beat up Liam? 3 Sarah was discharged the next day. Liam picked her up personally. But unexpectedly, surrounded by reporters as soon as they left the hospital gate. He flew into a rage, but I heard a reporter in the back asking aggrievedly. It was clearly Sarah who notified them, why were they the ones being scolded? The news that the Sterling Group president’s lover was the big star Sarah Miller shocked the entire entertainment industry. Accompanied by a big picture of Liam holding Sarah in a princess carry and scolding paparazzi. “This news…” Liam frowned and was about to say something when Sarah entered. She opened her mouth delicately. “Liam, don’t worry about me, clarifying is urgent. Being laughed at for throwing myself at you is nothing.” Hearing this, Liam suddenly tightened his grip on the pen, and said after a moment, “No need to clarify. Ignore this kind of gossip and it will be gone in a few days.” “Chloe will make a fuss if she knows, right?” Hearing this, Liam relaxed completely: “It’s okay, she won’t know.” Heh! He just thinks I haven’t revived yet, so he can do whatever he wants, right? I used to think the rumors about Liam and Sarah were unknown to Liam. Turns out this bastard wouldn’t handle it even if he knew? Truly wonderful, wonderful to the extreme! I started to rejoice that this nine-life reincarnation wasn’t completed and he wouldn’t enter Spirit Mountain with me. Back home, Liam put a bouquet of roses in the ice coffin for me, self-touchingly moved. “I won’t blame you anymore. Consider this scandal your apology to Sarah.” I was speechless, rolling a huge eye against the ice coffin. Three days passed quickly. Liam guarded my ice coffin at 12 o’clock sharp. But I didn’t wake up. Liam looked solemn. But soon he remembered after the 5th time heart removal and the 8th time car accident after quarreling, I took five and seven days to revive respectively. The first time I didn’t wake up in three days, he sent me to the Sterling family’s private lab. Finally determined, the unknown healing power in me could last for 7 days. But actually, starting from the third day, my body had finished repairing and had the ability to wake up. The four days after were actually me not wanting to wake up. So now time passed minute by second, my body motionless. Liam also thought it was me unwilling to wake up. “Chloe Vance, did wrong and still putting on airs to scare me? Don’t wake up if you don’t want to!” He pulled out the flowers from my ice coffin and kicked it before walking out. I watched bafflingly. Psycho! But before sleeping, he still called Assistant Zhang. “Confirm the IP address contacting kidnappers was at my home?” Getting a positive answer, he finally went to sleep. Next morning he got up early, checked me in the room with the ice coffin first. Seeing I hadn’t woken up, this dog man actually lost his temper at the SA who came to deliver clothes. “Return them! With such a big temper, what haute couture, what anniversary!” 4 Day 5, I still hadn’t woken up. The week’s outfits I prepared for Liam had run out. Liam dug out a dozen ties and found none matched. Holding a cat fishing tie, he came to my ice coffin exasperatedly. “How long are you going to throw a tantrum? Revive quickly if you’re going to. The house is in chaos, and what kind of stuff did you buy me?” But I was dead, dead people don’t move. The temper he threw had to be cleaned up by himself. He gloomily picked up the tie thrown on my ice coffin, stuffed it back into the cloakroom. Went to work disheveled like his wife died. Not long after he started working, Sarah came to his office. Without knocking. I had to contact the assistant for an appointment every time, and Sarah never had to knock, right? The more I thought, the angrier I got. Deserved he couldn’t find clothes to wear. Sarah actually took out a tie and gently tied it for Liam. “Did you quarrel with Chloe? She’s too insensible. Angry is angry, how can she ignore your dignity?” “Nothing like that.” Liam irritably loosened the tie Sarah just tied for him. I turned my back, out of sight, out of mind. Liam seemed to have forgotten the promise he made to me when we got married. Whether it was the passenger seat or intimate things like tying a tie, they belonged to me alone. Forget it, I’m dead, just right to let them love each other. Sarah seemed to speak casually: “Actually, there are techniques for getting along as a couple. Liam, you can’t always yield to Chloe.” Liam’s face was gloomy and silent. Sarah wasn’t anxious either, poured a cup of coffee for Liam and sat back on the sofa. “I want to ask you a favor.” Sarah wanted to borrow a house from Liam for variety show recording. Preferably one that is lived in often, and she needed a guest to appear on the show as her relative. I understood immediately, the only house meeting these conditions was the villa Liam and I lived in. Sarah clearly wanted Liam to record a variety show with her at my home and stir up scandals. Everyone knew her intentions, except Liam. But he didn’t agree either. Sarah didn’t seem anxious, just kindly gave Liam advice when leaving. “You’ve been married for seven years, sometimes old couples still need some sense of crisis.” If my relationship teacher were here. He would probably urge me to take out a notebook to record these green tea quotes for future use. Liam actually listened to this. He made further efforts and had his own insights. Back home, he sat on a small stool next to my body. Took out the scandals about him and Sarah printed by Assistant Zhang and read them to me word by word. Finally stood up and said. “Although these are fake now. But if you don’t wake up, be careful we make them real!” I was full of speechlessness. Yes yes yes, real, you two are a match made in heaven. Pity he couldn’t hear me. It was the sixth day. Seeing no movement from me in front of the ice coffin, Liam’s face was dark as ink, and he made a call on the spot. “Sarah, come to my house to record. Anyway, Chloe doesn’t plan to come back!”

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I had just closed a ten-million-dollar deal. The entire compound was popping champagne and lighting fireworks. Suddenly, the Young Master stormed into the compound, an assault rifle in hand, and pressed the cold barrel against my forehead. “Who the f*** taught you to flirt with eight men at the same time?” Trembling in terror, I pointed a shaking finger at the man next to me, who was calmly lighting a cigar. “Your dad.” The Young Master: “So, it was you who made her play with my feelings?” His Dad: “So, this ten million dollars… you scammed it from my son?” 1 In the damp, gloomy basement, I was clutching my phone, playing hard-to-get with the man on the screen. “Stop contacting me. I’m getting married.” “If I fill the gap in your father’s company funds, does that mean you don’t have to marry that other guy?” “What do you take me for? I wouldn’t take your money even if I were selling my body on the street.” “You’d take that other guy’s money but not mine? What does that mean?” “You’re different.” “Don’t give me that bullshit. If you don’t send me your account number tonight, we are done. I’m blocking you immediately.” I feigned helplessness, typed out the offshore account number, and added a final hook: “Even if you send it, I won’t touch a cent. If you force me, I’ll kill myself.” After sending that, the sound of glock slides racking echoed around me. Several guns were pointed at my head. I felt like my head would be blown off in the next second. Then, the software chimed: Received $1,500,000. The compound boss, Victor, slammed his hand on the desk. “That’s a wrap. Light the fireworks.” Only then did my soul return to my body. I immediately blocked and deleted the contact saved as [Bryce / 6’2″ / London / Rich & Lonely]. 2 Outside, the roar of fireworks was deafening. In the office, people surrounded me. “Chloe, you’re a legend.” “You just became our Top Earner in one shot.” I smiled awkwardly. “Honestly, he was just easy to trick.” They started analyzing the ‘kill’. “True, that idiot was dumb as a rock. Wiring over a million without even meeting?” “What do you guys know? Single parent home, studying abroad, just went through a breakup. People like that are starved for affection. Buy him a Starbucks and he’d probably die of gratitude.” “I wonder what kind of moron father raises such a moron son.” Hahaha. The room erupted in laughter. Victor knocked on the table to summarize. “Indeed, a total moron.” He stood up, grabbed a stack of cash, and shoved it down the front of my shirt. “Tomorrow, your team leader Shane will take you to the mall. Don’t worry about saving me money.” I clutched my chest. “Thank you, Boss.” But Victor didn’t let go. His rough hand moved recklessly inside my clothes. The others acted like they saw nothing, continuing to joke. I was covered in goosebumps, about to give up resisting, when— “Boss, another whale just came online.” Team Leader Shane walked over with a phone. Only then did Victor reluctantly pull his hand back. After they left, I walked back to the basement, still shaken, carrying a piece of cake. The moment I opened the door, a broom handle smashed into my face. “You sell out your own people! Your conscience has been eaten by dogs!” I didn’t care. I even forced a smile. “Anyone want some cake?” They rushed me, slapping me wildly. “Another family ruined because of you, and you have the nerve to eat cake?” “We’d rather starve to death than eat that blood-soaked cake.” They knocked the cake onto the dirty floor, calling me a bitch, a traitor. They didn’t stop until I hit the emergency bell and Shane arrived. After that, they didn’t dare touch me. I cursed at them—starving for two days and still having that much strength—while picking the cake up off the floor. I ate the whole thing, then went to sleep. The moment I closed my eyes, I saw the last message from the man I scammed: “I love you. Please don’t die.” But right after he sent it, the message turned into a red exclamation mark. He must be regretting everything right now. 3 When everyone was asleep, I pulled out a burner phone hidden inside my mattress. I sent screenshots of all the chats and transfer records to a strange number. The reply came quickly: “Are you injured?” “No. I can go to the mall tomorrow.” “Tomorrow, 12:00 PM. By the flagpoles. White van.” “Okay.” I stared at the phone for a few seconds, then typed: “Can I bring the other girls?” “Can you guarantee there are no moles for Victor among them?” I couldn’t. I didn’t even dare talk to them for fear of my life. “They will die.” “But this is your only chance to go home.” I stayed silent for a few seconds, deleted the screenshots, and hid the phone. I stared at the ceiling. Thinking of the word “Home,” my heart skipped a beat. I tried to trace the letters in the air, but my hand was shaking too much to write. My fingers brushed against the tally marks scratched into the wall. I sighed. The girls in my room had changed eight times already. The current batch arrived a month ago, lured by high salaries for customer service or livestreaming jobs. When they realized it was a scam factory, they protested, cried, and refused to work. I knew their fate all too well. Either you scam, or you end up in the Red Light District. If you still don’t listen, one needle in the arm turns you into a slave to your own addiction. I was different. I was the biggest idiot. I had a legitimate tech job after graduation. The company offered a “team building retreat” overseas as a reward for top performance. Greedy for a free trip, I worked my ass off to be number one. I came, and I never left. To stay alive, I used to close small deals—a few thousand here and there—just to meet the quota. But last month, I overheard Victor and Shane. Victor said my numbers were too low. He was planning to sell me to another syndicate. I didn’t want to die. I just wanted to go home. 4 I didn’t sleep a wink. The next day, I wore my nicest dress and got into the van with Shane. Shane looked decent, handsome even. You’d never guess he was a scammer. But to sit in the Team Leader’s chair, his hands couldn’t be clean. He put a black hood over my head as soon as I got in. There were a few other “top earners” in the van. They were excited. I didn’t say a word. My fingernails dug into my palms, cold sweat trickling down my neck. After buying a few random clothes, I sat in a café by the window, staring at the flagpoles in the plaza below. Shane sat opposite me. “What are you looking at?” I jumped. “Just… that kid dropped his ice cream and is crying. Kind of funny, isn’t it?” He followed my gaze and warned me, “Don’t even think about wandering off.” “I used to cry for three days if I dropped my ice cream.” He looked like he wanted to say something, but his phone rang. His expression turned grave as he answered. He glanced at me. My heart sank. I had a bad feeling. While he was distracted, I slipped into a lingerie store next door. I grabbed a few items and ran into a fitting room. I locked the door immediately. I pulled the phone from my bra and texted the number. “Can you come early?” “Something’s wrong.” No reply. I was frantic. Suddenly, a knock on the door. Shane’s voice. “Chloe, we have to go.” “Okay, coming!” My heart was in my throat. I texted again: “Please, pick me up now. They are making me leave.” Reply: “The van is 30 minutes away.” “30 minutes is too late.” I couldn’t stall for thirty minutes. The knocking got louder. “Chloe, what are you doing? I’m breaking the door down.” My scalp went numb with fear. “The zipper is stuck! Just a second!” I started stripping off my clothes while waiting for a message. Reply: “We have to wait for next time.” I lost it. “My grandparents won’t survive until next time.” Just as I hit send— BANG! The door was kicked open. Shane walked in. His eyes scanned me for a few seconds, then checked the fitting room. Confirming there was no other exit, he threw the clothes at me. “Put them on.” “I’m watching.” I was already naked before he entered. Being watched by a man while changing is humiliating, but in this hellhole, shame is a luxury we can’t afford. I had accepted my fate long ago, but I still couldn’t stop my face from burning red. Terrified he would find the phone hidden in the pile of clothes, I was shaking the entire time. After I put on the lingerie, he finally spoke: “Take the black set. It suits you.” “Okay.” He finally turned his back, letting me finish dressing, then dragged me out. The others were waiting outside. Seeing me and Shane walk out of the fitting room together, with my face flush red, they exchanged knowing looks and dirty smiles. Shane paid, and we were herded back to the van. In the car, Shane suddenly said, “You all know what to say and what not to say, right?” The group nodded in unison. “We’re all men here, blood runs hot. We understand.” “Leader, we get it.” Shane didn’t explain. I had no energy to explain. I stared at the spot by the flagpoles. The white van never came. I felt like my soul had died. 5 The moment we got back to the compound, Victor grabbed me by the hair and dragged me into his office. He slammed me onto the desk. “So the million dollars you scammed… it was from my son?” I was confused. “I don’t know.” “He didn’t tell you his name is Bryce White?” “He just said his name was Bryce.” I raised my hands to block his fists. “You taught us! When working the overseas market, never ask for real names. It looks unprofessional.” I survived this long because I have a degree in Creative Writing. I graduated with honors. I never thought I’d use it for catfishing. Victor froze for a second, veins bulging on his forehead, then backhanded me across the face. “Who the f*** taught you that?” I shook with fear. “Shane… It was Shane.” Great. Now both Shane and I were in for a beating. As for why I threw Shane under the bus… I admit, it was personal. He shouldn’t have watched me change. He’s just Victor’s dog. I was beaten until my face was covered in blood, then thrown back into the basement like trash. I found out later the money had cleared the night before. Victor only found out today. His son transferred a million dollars out of his account, and he was furious. Victor is a sophisticated monster. He usually kills with elegance. This was the first time I’d seen him lose control. Honestly? It felt a little good.

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