Category: English

Mom always told me I was born broken. For as long as I can remember, I have been confined to a wheelchair. My legs were dead weight, completely incapable of even the slightest twitch. Every single aspect of my life depended on my mother. I never knew my father. Mom said he walked out on us. Every day, she vlogged her life as my full time caretaker on social media. Her followers flooded the comments, calling her the most beautiful, resilient mother on the internet. Viewers would constantly send tips and donate to our GoFundMe. I was thrilled about it, thinking the money would finally lift some of the crushing weight off her shoulders. Even though I was dealt a bad hand in life, I considered myself incredibly blessed to have such a devoted mother. That was until I uncovered her sick secret. That was when I realized just how deeply she had destroyed my life. 1 Mom always blamed herself. She claimed she accidentally took the wrong medication while she was pregnant with me, resulting in my lifelong paralysis. She apologized to me every single day. She cried about failing to give me a healthy body and swore she would spend the rest of her life making it up to me. My dad left when I was just a toddler. Mom used to hold me tight, rocking me back and forth while whispering softly. “It is just you and me against the world now, Mona. We are all we have.” And for years, she genuinely took immaculate care of me. I was the perfect, obedient daughter, doing everything in my power to be a burden free child. Long before the sun came up, I would hear the familiar clinking of pots and pans in the kitchen. Without fail, Mom was already up preparing my breakfast. I lay in my small bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. This was our daily routine. She woke up earlier than anyone else in our neighborhood. She would get the oatmeal simmering on the stove, then head to the bathroom to draw warm water. By the time I opened my eyes, the water was at the exact perfect temperature for my morning sponge bath. Shortly after, she would walk in carrying a washbasin, stepping lightly so she would not startle me. “Morning, my sweet Mona. Are you awake?” She would walk over with a warm smile, gently resting the back of her hand against my forehead. “No fever today. Thank goodness.” She would prop me up, stuffing thick, plush pillows behind my back before carefully slipping off my pajamas. My arms were weak, making even the simple act of lifting them a massive chore. Getting dressed relied entirely on her. Her fingers were incredibly nimble and practiced, always terrified of hurting me. While wiping me down, she would always murmur the same hopeful words. “Mona’s legs are just sleeping right now. If we take really good care of them, maybe one day they will wake up.” Her eyes would always glass over with tears when she said that. I used to think those tears came from a place of pure, agonizing maternal love. I learned later it was nothing but an Oscar worthy performance. She made my breakfast at four in the morning. Terrified I might choke or struggle to chew, she boiled the oats until they were practically liquid. She peeled my hard boiled eggs with surgical precision, ensuring not a single speck of shell remained. When she fed me, she blew on every single spoonful until it was exactly body temperature. She never ate with me. By the time I finished my bowl, her own portion on the counter was always ice cold. After breakfast came the medication. Chalky white pills dissolved in a cup of lukewarm water. It tasted horrible. But she always had a strawberry gummy waiting in her pocket. The second I swallowed the bitter medicine, she popped the candy into my mouth. “There is my brave girl. All gone,” she would say with a bright smile. Once the dishes were cleared, she dragged a small wooden stool to my bedside and began massaging my dead legs. She would rub her palms together to generate heat before pressing into my muscles. The pressure was firm but soothing, creating a dull ache in my calves. “Tell Mommy if it hurts.” She would look up at me periodically, her voice dripping with absolute tenderness. I always shook my head. I never told her it hurt. I did not want to add to her stress. I knew how exhausting it was for her. Every time she finished massaging my legs, I saw her secretly rubbing her aching lower back. “Mommy isn’t tired. As long as my Mona gets better, I would do anything.” Around ten in the morning, the ring light clicked on. She opened her phone and began filming our daily routine. She angled the camera toward me, her voice dropping into a soft, vulnerable register. “Hey everyone. Mona is doing so well today. She ate a good portion of her breakfast and was so brave during her physical therapy.” Then she flipped the camera to show her own hands. They were visibly weathered, lined with wrinkles, the knuckles slightly swollen. “These hands dress her, cook for her, and massage her every single day. It is exhausting, but having my beautiful girl smiling beside me makes every second worth it.” The moment the video went live, the comment section exploded. 2 “Your strength is incredible. You are the absolute definition of a supermom.” “Mona is such an angel. Praying for a miracle for you both.” “It breaks my heart seeing a single mother raise a disabled child completely alone. You have so much patience.” “Just sent twenty bucks to your CashApp. I hope Mona gets better soon and you can finally get some rest, mama.” “Supermom! Keep fighting!” Mom would scroll through the comments, reading them aloud to me with a glowing smile. “Look at this, Mona. So many people are rooting for us. You are going to walk one day, I just know it.” Back then, I swallowed every single word. I truly believed the kindness of these internet strangers was easing my mother’s heavy burden. I believed her bone deep exhaustion was the price she was paying for my hypothetical recovery. I believed that even though I was trapped in a wheelchair, having a mother like her made me the luckiest girl in the world. “Once you are all better, I will take you to the countryside. We will climb trees and pick wild apples together.” My eyes lit up at the thought. I leaned over the armrest of my wheelchair, looking up at her. “Really? I could really climb a tree?” She stroked my hair softly. “Of course, baby. As long as you take your medicine and do your massages, you will absolutely get there.” With that, she walked over to the counter to prep my pills. Two small brown tablets sat in a little porcelain dish next to a glass of water. “Time for your meds, Mona. This is what helps your legs wake up.” I obediently opened my mouth. The pills slid down my throat, leaving a faint, bitter metallic aftertaste. Back then, the thought never even crossed my mind. Those two daily pills were not the key to my recovery. They were the chemical chains keeping me locked in that wheelchair. But I was oblivious. I had no idea the “recovery” I prayed for every night was never meant to arrive. My mother’s grueling sacrifices were nothing but a meticulously crafted illusion. And I was the naive, grateful little fool playing the starring role in her twisted reality show. It happened on a random Tuesday morning. Mom stepped out onto the balcony to hang the laundry, leaving me alone in the sunlit living room. The warmth seeped into my legs. Suddenly, I remembered a faint tingling sensation in my knees from the massage a few days prior. Acting on a bizarre impulse, I tried to flex my muscles. First, my big toe twitched. Then, miraculously, my knee slowly lifted upward. The movement was agonizingly slow and incredibly weak, but my leg was actually moving! A rush of pure adrenaline and joy hijacked my body. My voice shook violently as I screamed for her. “Mom! Mom! Look! My leg moved! I just lifted it!” I fully expected her to drop the laundry basket, rush over, and sob tears of joy with me. Instead, she froze dead in her tracks. The soft smile vanished from her face instantly, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated panic. Her eyes darted around like a cornered animal. She practically lunged at me, pressing her hands heavily onto my thighs. Her posture was completely rigid. “Mona, are you sure you aren’t imagining things?” “You have never had feeling down there. How could it just suddenly move?” “You are just tired, sweetheart. It was probably just a muscle spasm.” “It wasn’t a spasm!” I argued desperately. I tried to lift my leg again to prove it. But this time, no matter how hard I strained my brain, my legs felt like solid blocks of concrete. They refused to budge. Mom let out a very audible exhale, her shoulders dropping. She patted the back of my hand. “See? It is okay. Don’t overthink it. Just rest, I will go make breakfast.” She spun on her heel and speed walked into the kitchen. She was moving so fast she completely forgot about the wet laundry sitting on the balcony rail. I sat in my chair, a strange knot forming in my stomach. Why wasn’t she happy? Did she not want me to walk? That night, I woke up around 2 AM. I heard muffled voices coming from the living room. I silently peeled back my bedroom curtain just a fraction. Mom was pacing in the dark, her back to me, gripping her phone tightly against her ear. “…I didn’t miss a dose! Who could have predicted she would suddenly claim she could feel her legs today?” “…She physically lifted her knee. Is her body building a tolerance to the dosage?” “I don’t know what happened! I gave her the exact amount you told me to…” “Fine. I understand. I will come pick up the stronger batch tomorrow…” I could not make out the person on the other end, but my mother’s hushed, frantic tone echoed in the quiet house. The very next afternoon, she returned home with an unlabeled amber pill bottle. The tablets inside were larger and a much darker shade of brown. She shook one out, pressed it to my lips, and gave me her signature warm smile. “Mona, Mommy reached out to a holistic specialist out of state. He sent over this new medication. It is supposed to work miracles.” “If we stick to this routine, you might just be walking in no time.” For the next few days, I swallowed the new pills. Whatever faint tingling I had experienced was completely eradicated. My knees felt completely numb again. My legs returned to being two cold, lifeless stones. 3 Mom walked toward me holding a glass of water, pinching that new, oversized white pill between her fingers. Her smile was as gentle and loving as ever, but looking at it now made my chest constrict with anxiety. “Time for your medicine, sweetie.” She pressed the pill against my lips and tipped the glass toward my mouth. “Drink up and take a nice long nap. Maybe tomorrow your legs will feel brand new.” I stared at the chalky tablet, the memory of her frantic late night phone call screaming in my head. But I kept my face totally blank. I parted my lips and let her place it on my tongue. She watched me closely. I took a large gulp of water, tilted my head back, and put on a show of swallowing hard. Seeing my throat bob, her loving smile deepened. She reached out and stroked my hair. Her palm was physically warm, but to me, it felt like freezing ice. “Such a good girl. Always so cooperative. You are going to be completely healed before you know it.” “Get some rest.” She turned off the lamp and gently pulled my bedroom door shut. The absolute second the latch clicked, I shot up in bed. I slapped my hand over my mouth and coughed violently. The pill, which I had jammed deep under my tongue, popped out into my palm. It was perfectly intact, leaving a sour, chemical burn on my taste buds. I was terrified to leave it in the trash or on the nightstand where she might find it. Running my fingers along the side of my wheelchair, I found a small tear in the fabric underneath the seat cushion. I shoved the pill deep inside the foam padding, smoothed the fabric over, and lay back down as if nothing had happened. I stayed wide awake staring at the ceiling until dawn. Without the drugs coursing through my system, that heavy, leaden feeling in my lower half began to fade. By the early hours of the morning, a faint, electric buzzing sensation returned to my kneecaps. That tiny spark of feeling filled me with a chaotic mix of elation and sheer terror. Elation because my body was actually capable of healing. Terror because if my mother found out I was faking it, I had no idea what she was capable of doing to me. Just as the sun started to rise, the door creaked open. Mom stepped in and froze when she saw my open eyes. “You are up early, Mona. Did you sleep poorly?” I quickly softened my expression, rubbing my eyes to feign grogginess. My voice was sweet and innocent. “No, Mommy. The birds outside just woke me up.” She walked over, automatically checking my forehead for a fever before her eyes darted straight down to my legs. “Any discomfort down there? Need Mommy to rub them out?” I could feel the intense, paranoid scrutiny in her gaze. My heart hammered against my ribs, but I forced a bright smile. “Nope! Still feel exactly the same. But maybe yesterday’s medicine is working its magic deep down.” Hearing that, her tense shoulders visibly relaxed. The sickeningly sweet smile returned to her face. But hiding beneath it was a dark, calculating look I was finally learning to recognize. “Don’t lose hope. We will take another pill today, and the results will be even better.” I nodded enthusiastically. As she turned her back to head to the kitchen, I clenched my fists tightly under the blanket. I knew right then and there. From the moment I spit that pill out, the game had completely changed. I could no longer afford to be the obedient little doll. I needed to find out exactly what she was feeding me. And more importantly, I needed to know why she was doing this to her own flesh and blood. For the next few days, I executed my routine flawlessly. When pill time came, I happily opened my mouth. The second her back was turned, I spat it into a napkin and stuffed it into the secret compartment of my wheelchair. As my stash of hidden pills grew, my body started waking up. It started with the tingling in my knees. Then, I found I could slightly flex my calf muscles. By the fifth night, sitting alone in the dark, I gripped the edge of my mattress and dragged my dead weight forward. I managed to swing both legs over the side of the bed. When the bare soles of my feet actually felt the freezing chill of the hardwood floor, I broke down. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at my toes, tears streaming down my face in the dark. They were not tears of sorrow. It was pure, unadulterated triumph. I focused all my energy downward, and my toes curled against the wood. I wasn’t permanently broken. I actually had a chance to walk on this earth just like a normal person. But as the euphoria faded, the grim reality settled back in. What the hell was in those pills? Why did taking them turn me into a vegetable, and stopping them bring me back to life? I had to get to the bottom of this. Not just to save myself, but to expose the monster playing house with my life. 4 Whenever the camera was rolling, I was the picture perfect disabled daughter. When Mom set up a vlog, I would stare wistfully out the living room window, perfectly portraying a girl longing to play outside. When she cried to her live stream audience, I would lower my head and look heartbreakingly pitiful. When viewers asked me in the chat, “Do you want to walk, Mona?” I recited the exact script she had drilled into my head. “More than anything. I want to walk in the park with my mom so she doesn’t have to carry me anymore.” The moment the camera turned off, she would shower me with praise. “Good girl, Mona. You really know how to help Mommy out.” She would pull up her banking app, showing me the massive spikes in donations. “Look at this. People feel so bad for you. Keep this up, and we will have enough for your treatments in no time.” But looking at her glowing face, I felt nothing but a chilling disgust. During one particular live stream, a viewer dropped a comment that caught traction. “What exact medication is Mona taking? Maybe we can crowdfund a better specialist or find imported alternatives.” Mom’s eyes flickered with panic for a fraction of a second, but she quickly smoothed it over. “It is a highly specialized prescription. The name is ridiculously long and complicated.” “Her doctor explicitly warned me not to share the name online so people don’t try self medicating.” A troll in the chat immediately pounced on the excuse. “Sounds like a scam to me. She’s faking it for the GoFundMe money.” The chat quickly spiraled. “Actually, yeah. Refusing to name the meds is super sketchy.” “Is she even paralyzed? The internet is full of grifters faking illnesses for clout these days.” “No medical records, no doctor names… this has scam written all over it.” Mom’s face drained of all color. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish, completely failing to come up with a believable lie on the spot. A lightbulb went off in my head. I was trapped in this house and couldn’t test the pills myself. But the media could. I immediately leaned into the frame, putting on my best performance. My voice trembled with forced indignation and desperate tears. “How can you guys say that about my mom?!” I gripped the fabric of my shirt, forcing my eyes to water. “She wakes up in the middle of the night to take care of me!” “She dresses me, feeds me, and massages my legs until her hands cramp!” “She works night shifts just to keep the lights on. She measures my medicine down to the milligram because she is terrified of hurting me. How could you call her a liar?!” I took a shaky breath, staring directly into the lens with fierce determination. “If you don’t believe us, then call a news station! Tell them to come broadcast our life live on TV!” “They can film her waking me up, doing my physical therapy, and putting me to bed.” “Let them see for themselves if my legs work, and let them see how hard my mom fights for me!” The energy in the chat did a complete 180. “Mona is right. A kid that age wouldn’t lie like that.” “You trolls are disgusting, bullying a single mom at her breaking point.” Right on cue, a verified account pinned a comment. “We are producers from the local Channel 7 News. We would love to do a live documentary on your daily routine tomorrow. Would you be open to this?” Mom sat completely paralyzed in her chair. She stared at me, her eyes wide with shock. She clearly never expected me to hijack the stream like that. I turned to her, flashing my most innocent, angelic smile. I whispered so the mic would barely catch it. “Mommy, this way nobody can ever call us liars again.” Once the stream ended, she hovered over me, her expression incredibly tense. “Mona, why on earth did you invite a news crew here? What if… what if something goes wrong on live TV?” Her voice lacked its usual confidence. She could not even make eye contact with me. I looked down, softly tracing the fabric over my numb knees. “Mom, I just couldn’t stand them attacking you like that.” “You sacrifice everything for me. You break your back working late, and they treat you like a criminal. It made me so angry.” I looked up, letting my eyes shine with naive hope. “Besides, isn’t this a good thing? If we go viral on the news, everyone will see how amazing you are.” “The donations will go through the roof. You won’t have to work those awful night shifts at the convenience store anymore.” She stared hard into my eyes for several agonizing seconds, searching for any sign of deception. Finally, she let out a long breath, her vanity winning out over her paranoia. “My sweet girl is growing up. You are really looking out for Mommy.” “Okay. You are right. Let the reporters come tomorrow.” I nodded obediently. I knew exactly why she caved so fast. She genuinely believed her acting was flawless enough to fool a professional camera crew. But she had no idea what I was actually planning. I did not want the media here to validate her “sacrifices.” I wanted them here with high definition lenses to witness her force feeding me those pills. I wanted them here to broadcast her fraudulent tears to millions of viewers. I was using this live documentary to burn her empire of lies to the ground. That night, I spit my pill out into my palm again. Lying in the dark, I practiced firing the muscles in my thighs. My calves were actually responding to my commands now. Give me a few more days, and I might actually be able to pull myself up using the bedframe. I slipped my hand under the cushion, brushing my fingers against my hidden stash of pills. Mom, I thought to myself into the darkness. Everything you took from me… you are going to pay it back in full.

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My arrogant, domineering childhood nemesis suddenly went blind. He lost his job, his girlfriend ran off, and with nowhere else to go, he came to me for refuge. I took care of him for half a month, until I accidentally saw a text message on his phone. “You little faker, you’re putting on quite the show.” “How long are you planning to crash there?” That night, I silently swapped my cotton teddy bear pajamas for a hot, silk slip dress. 01 Mason Sterling had been crashing at my place for half a month when I accidentally saw his phone screen light up. “Has your little childhood sweetheart realized you’re faking it yet?” “Half a month of playing the blind guy is enough, right?” “If you don’t come back soon, the company is actually going to collapse!” The sound of running water stopped. Mason was done with his shower. A moment later, his pitiful voice echoed from inside. “Chloe, I can’t get out by myself~” I marked the messages as unread, placed the phone exactly where I found it, and slowly walked over. Inside the bathroom. Mason sat on the edge of the toilet, a white towel wrapped around his waist. His head was bowed, and he was twiddling his thumbs like a wronged child. “Hearing” me walk in, his face contorted into a pout. “What took you so long? “You know I feel insecure after going blind, yet you’re taking your sweet time. “I was so scared sitting alone in this dark, damp place.” I let out a soft scoff. “Got it. This humble servant is here to escort the young master to bed.” Only then did Mason reluctantly stand up. It wasn’t until he was safely tucked into the guest bedroom that I changed out of my conservative cotton bear pajamas. I reached into my closet and pulled out a hot, sexy, silk slip dress. I put on a full face of bold makeup and knocked on Mason’s door again. “I’m heading out for a bit.” “Where are you going this late?” “Grocery shopping.” Mason raised an eyebrow. The sarcastic remark on the tip of his tongue was forcefully swallowed back down. “Grocery shopping at this hour? I’m blind, Chloe, not stupid.” “Oh, so you aren’t stupid…” I dragged out the syllables playfully, then went up on my tiptoes. My lips grazed the man’s ear. “You’re right, I’m not going grocery shopping.” “But where I’m going isn’t suitable for a little blind boy. “Be a good boy and wait for me at home.” 02 Mason Sterling was the quintessential spoiled rich kid. My mom was the Sterling family’s live-in housekeeper. Growing up, I practically lived at the Sterling estate. Since childhood, this young master had a terrible temper—volatile, arrogant, and incredibly childish. His absolute favorite pastime was bullying me. But I was no pushover. When he ordered me to massage his arms and legs, I charged him by the minute and scammed him out of his allowance. When he tried to scare me with caterpillars, I immediately snitched to his parents and claimed he was bullying his classmates. We fought our way from kindergarten all the way to high school. Our dynamic finally shifted during the summer before our junior year. We were walking home together after late-night SAT prep. Out of nowhere, he asked, “Want to kiss?” I said, “Sure.” And just like that, we started dating. The year we graduated, he completely rejected his family’s plans to send him to Europe for college. Instead, he applied to Boston University—the exact same school as me. I thought it was because of me, until I accidentally overheard him talking to his friends. “Chloe? I’d have to be literally blind to actually fall for her! “Please, I’m only going to Boston for Lexi!” Lexi Harper. The absolute beauty of our graduating class. Whenever our school hosted events, she and Mason were the designated co-hosts. They were everyone’s golden couple. I didn’t cause a scene. I just quietly changed my college application at the last minute. I blocked Mason on everything. I moved to Seattle and didn’t speak a single word to him for seven entire years. Until a few days ago, when my mom suddenly called me. She told me Mason had been in a terrible car accident and completely lost his sight. “He wants to go to Seattle to relax and get away from everything. You two grew up together, Chloe. Please, help take care of him.” The Sterling family had always been kind to us. Morally and logically, I couldn’t say no. When I rushed to the airport, the once-arrogant heir looked like an abandoned puppy standing on the curb, gripping a white cane. “Long time no see.” He froze, then replied, “Long time no see.” He paused, letting out a bitter laugh. “Though I guess I don’t really have a chance to ‘see’ you anymore.” A wave of indescribable emotion hit my chest. I patted him on the shoulder. “Come on. I’m taking you home!” 03 Facts have proven that feeling sorry for a man only leads to misfortune. As the cold night wind hit me, I pulled my coat tighter and instantly snapped back to reality. The apartment was mine. The heating was mine. Why was I the one getting pushed out the door?! He should be the one to get out! Just as I turned around, preparing to storm back inside, someone called my name. “Chloe?” “Mr. Vance?” Ethan Vance had traded his usual crisp business suit for a beige athletic set. His hair was slightly damp, indicating he had just finished a night run. “Are you heading out?” Given my current outfit, claiming I was just taking out the trash would be an insult to his intelligence. I nodded. “I’m going to get a drink.” “By yourself?” “Yeah.” Ethan chuckled softly. “What a coincidence. I was just heading out for a drink too. Want company?” I almost laughed out loud. Going for a drink immediately after a sweaty cardio session? What a terrible excuse. But I didn’t expose his lie. I just ran my fingers through my long hair. “Sure.” Ethan was the newly appointed director of my department. A Stanford grad, returning from overseas. He was gentle, gentlemanly, came from serious money—the textbook definition of a high-value bachelor. The day he took the job, half the girls in the office swooned. I had observed him for a while. He arrived at exactly 8:00 AM and left at exactly 7:00 PM. He bought a black coffee every morning and hit the gym every night. His life was incredibly disciplined. Naturally, he became my “target.” At the time, I perfectly timed my commutes to fake “accidental” encounters. I “coincidentally” ordered the same coffee at his favorite cafe. I even went out of my way to buy a ridiculously expensive membership at his gym. But I had only gone twice before Mason suddenly crashed into my life and ruined my plans. I had been so busy serving the blind young master lately that I had completely forgotten about Ethan. But clearly, sometimes when pursuing a man, the “cold shoulder” treatment works best. Ethan had actually taken the bait. We didn’t take Ethan’s car to go drinking. While we were waiting for an Uber, he glanced at me and asked, “Cold?” I gave a very calculated, delicate shiver and rubbed my arms. “A little.” He smiled faintly, took off his jacket, and handed it to me. “Do you mind?” “Of course not.” Our eyes met. Between adults, some signals don’t require words. I draped Ethan’s jacket over my shoulders and was about to speak when my phone started buzzing relentlessly. Mason: “When are you coming back?” Mason: “You aren’t here and I just fell over.” Mason: “I’m craving a late-night chili dog, can you grab me one on your way back?” Seeing that last text, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. He couldn’t even fake being blind properly. What kind of blind person furiously speed-texts on an iPhone?! “What are you looking at? You’re smiling so happily.” “Just looking at a dog.” Ethan stepped back into a polite, respectful stance. “A pet?” “You could say that. I just adopted him recently.” A dog who fakes being blind. Worse than an actual dog. I shoved my phone into my pocket and dropped the subject. That night, Ethan escorted me all the way back to my apartment building. “I haven’t seen you at the gym lately.” “I’ve had some family stuff to deal with.” “Night run tomorrow?” I hadn’t expected Ethan to be this proactive, but I was thrilled. “Sure. I’m a beginner though, so I’ll be relying on you to guide me.” Ethan’s lips curled into a smile. “I’ll come pick you up tomorrow.” When I walked into my apartment, Mason was sitting alone on the living room sofa. I jumped in surprise. “Why are you sitting here in the pitch black?” Mason’s tone was airy and tragic. “Day or night, what difference does it make to me? “It’s all just endless darkness anyway.” He was getting way too into this role. Suddenly, he leaned closer to me and wrinkled his nose. “You drank?” “Mhm.” “And you smell like a man.” I looked down, realizing I was still wearing Ethan’s jacket. I didn’t expose Mason’s terrible acting. I just patted his head. “So smart.” “Who is it?” “Is that any of your business?” Mason froze. He looked at me, his eyes perfectly “vacant.” “Do you… not want me anymore?” The question caught me completely off guard. Before I could respond, Mason kept going. “Seven years ago, you left without saying goodbye. “But I don’t recall ever agreeing to break up. “Chloe, are you still my girlfriend?” 04 Girlfriend? The word felt burning hot. It rolled around on my tongue before I finally swallowed it down. I let out a soft laugh. “Are you saying you want to pursue me?” “Can I? Can we keep being together?” “Of course.” I leaned in, my warm breath brushing against Mason’s ear. “But… it depends on your performance.” Mason’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “What kind of performance?” “I happen to like good boys.” In truth, I really did love Mason back then. During the confusing rush of puberty, he was the only boy occupying my thoughts. We held hands secretly in crowds and kissed in the quiet shadows. During the year we dated, I gave him endless patience and affection. Childhood sweethearts. I truly believed we were going to make it to the end. Until that summer, when he told his friends: “I’d have to be crazy to actually fall in love with the maid’s daughter. “Besides her pretty face, what part of her even acts like a girl? “Look at Lexi—she’s so sweet and obedient. If I wasn’t worried about distracting Lexi from her SATs, do you think I would have picked Chloe?” The irony was, after Mason’s car crash, the “sweet and obedient” girl dumped him immediately. That night, I slept terribly. I had disjointed, fragmented dreams. I dreamt of our elementary school sports day. I fainted from low blood sugar, and Mason sprinted over and put me on his back. He was a scrawny kid, but he stubbornly refused to put me down. Eventually, his legs gave out, and he collapsed holding me right at the clinic doors. Under the blazing sun, we looked at each other and laughed like two complete idiots. I dreamt of being bullied by older boys. He tried to fight them off and ended up getting beaten black and blue. Wincing through the pain, he still tilted his chin up and bragged to me, “You should see the other guys!” During my senior year, I stayed at the Sterling mansion, and the young master personally tutored me in math. When I couldn’t grasp a concept, he’d mock me, saying my brain was full of concrete. I’d give him the silent treatment, and he would shower me with feather-light kisses from my forehead down to my nose. Every kiss was a soft, silent I’m sorry. I cried in my sleep. Eventually, I woke up with wet cheeks. Maybe even now, I still didn’t understand. How did two people who cared about each other so much end up like this? I woke up with a pounding headache. The inexplicable melancholy carried all the way to work. In the elevator, Ethan stood impeccably dressed in his tailored suit. With his gold-rimmed glasses, he looked like the epitome of refined restraint. But I wasn’t in the mood to chat, so I just gave a polite nod. The moment I stepped into my office, Ethan texted me. Ethan: “Didn’t sleep well last night?” I yawned and typed a careless reply. Me: “Yeah, ran into my crush last night. Was too excited to sleep.” Ethan: “Is that so? That crush is a very lucky man.” Ethan: “I accidentally bought an extra coffee. Want it?” Me: “Accidentally?” Ethan: “Alright, I bought it specifically for you. Will you do me the honor of drinking it?” Before I could text back, my office desk phone rang. Ethan’s professional, authoritative voice came through the line. “Chloe, come to my office for a moment.” I hung up, and a coworker leaned over. “The boss wants to see you first thing in the morning?” I faked a heavy sigh. She patted my shoulder sympathetically. “Good luck.” I smiled, grabbed a random file to look busy, and walked over. I gave a very professional knock on his door. Seeing me walk in, Ethan smiled and handed me a paper bag. It was from the cafe he frequented. I didn’t take it immediately. I smiled and asked, “Does this count as an abuse of power?” “The coffee doesn’t. Using work as an excuse to get you into my office does.” “Is this a classic Ethan Vance tactic?” “It’s my first time trying it, so I’m a bit rusty.” Only then did I take the cup. I looked down and took a sip. Iced Americano. The bitterness made me frown slightly. Back when I was trying to catch his attention, I had bought a few of these. But compared to black coffee, I heavily preferred lattes. Not planning to force myself to drink something bitter, I pressed my lips firmly against the rim, leaving a perfect lipstick mark. I set the cup back down on his desk. “I’ll leave a little marker and store it here. It’ll give you a few more excuses to abuse your power.” Ethan clearly hadn’t expected such a bold move. He raised an eyebrow, then let out a low chuckle. The way he looked at me held ten times more interest than before. Right before I clocked out, Ethan texted me again. Ethan: “See you tonight?” I tapped my fingers on the desk, waited a few minutes, and replied: “OK.” 05 “You’re going out again?” I had just changed into my running gear when Mason blocked the door, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Where are you going tonight? Don’t tell me you’re buying groceries again.” “I’m going running with a friend.” “Friend? Guy or girl?” Hearing that, I couldn’t help but laugh. “As far as I’m aware, you haven’t won me back yet.” Mason froze. I reached out and tapped a single finger against his chest. “So, don’t act like a jealous, neglected husband demanding a status report.” Mason looked annoyed. “But you said you’d give me a chance.” “I did. That’s why you need to be a good, obedient boy. Understand?” As I was about to leave, Mason suddenly spoke up. “Chloe, did I mention this? “My blindness was caused by a blood clot pressing on my optic nerve. “It might fully heal, or it might be permanent. It depends on luck.” Hearing that, I nearly laughed right in his face. The young master was actually using his brain. A blood clot pressing on the nerve. Depends on luck. What a perfect excuse to give himself a way out whenever he needed one. I feigned immense joy. “It can be cured?! That’s amazing!” Before Mason could respond, I kept pushing. “So are you planning to stay here until you’re fully healed, or are you heading home in a few days?” Mason’s face went rigid. “Chloe?” “I’m really running late! We’ll talk when I get back!” I ignored him and walked straight out the door. Downstairs, Ethan was already waiting for me. “Sorry, I’m late.” “I just got here too.” Ethan smoothly handed me a bottle of water. As I took it, our fingers brushed against each other before slowly sliding apart. The air was thick with tension. Ethan cleared his throat softly. “You didn’t finish your coffee earlier today.” “I know. What did you do with it?” “I poured the coffee out.” “What a waste.” “I kept the cup.” I looked up at him. He smiled faintly. “I couldn’t bear to throw it away.” “A man like you, getting attached to a paper cup?” “I have plenty of cups. But there’s only one with a certain someone’s lipstick mark.” I tilted my head, looking straight into his eyes. He held my gaze, completely unapologetic. I knew it. Ethan was hooked. After that day, I ran with Ethan every single night. Sometimes we talked about work, but mostly we talked about our lives. On weekends, we started grabbing dinner together. Spending so much time with Ethan meant I inevitably started ignoring Mason. One day when I got home, he suddenly asked me. “Did you get a boyfriend?” I didn’t hide it. “I’m currently seeing someone, yes.” “But you promised me.” “I promised I would let you pursue me. I never said no one else could.” “That’s cheating.” “Young master, you literally live in my apartment. You have the ultimate home-court advantage.” Mason stormed back to his room. He slammed the door so hard the walls shook. That night, I went for my usual run with Ethan. My argument with Mason had clearly messed with my head. Several times when Ethan spoke to me, I was completely zoned out. “Tired?” I forced myself to focus. “Yeah, I just haven’t been sleeping well.” “Stress from work? You’re making me feel like I’m failing as your boss. “Tell me what’s wrong. Let’s see if I can fix it.” “A subordinate can’t sleep at night. How does the boss plan to fix that?” “Does the subordinate have any suggestions?” I pretended to think hard. “The boss personally coming over to tuck me in sounds like a pretty good start.” Ethan laughed and stopped jogging. “How did I not realize earlier that you were such a little fox?” “So… do you like foxes?” Ethan’s smile faded as he slowly leaned in closer. I didn’t back away. Our noses brushed. “I want to kiss you. Can I?” “Are you always this much of a gentleman?” He let out a low laugh, and finally closed the distance. As I tilted my head up, I suddenly caught a glimpse of a shadow hiding on my apartment balcony. I narrowed my eyes, but I didn’t stop the kiss. When we finally pulled away, Ethan’s eyes were hazy as he stepped back into a respectful distance. “What are you looking at?” He followed my gaze up to my apartment. There was no one there anymore. Just the curtains swaying slightly in the dark night. I shook my head. “Nothing.”

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1 After the breakup, my feelings became tradable commodities. A single dose of heartbreak could sell for ten thousand dollars. A flare of anger was worth five grand. I fast-tracked my way to financial freedom entirely on the back of getting dumped. Just as I was about to bundle up ten pounds of sorrow to sell to the system, my ex-boyfriend suddenly showed up. He cornered me against a brick wall, his eyes bloodshot, his voice trembling. “Why aren’t you sad anymore? Did you ever even love me?” I looked right past his face. Hovering above his head was a massive, glittering orb of affection, easily worth a cool million. Without a second thought, I reached out and grabbed it. Sold! … On the first day after Carter and I broke up, I locked myself in my room and cried until I was severely dehydrated. Three years together. From cramped college dorms to the ruthless corporate world, I really thought we were going to make it to the altar. Reality handed me a brutal slap in the face. Carter’s family company hit a massive financial crisis. To save it, he chose another girl, someone who could offer him the perfect corporate marriage of convenience. That girl was Valerie. His childhood neighbor and our mutual friend. On the day we split, Carter couldn’t even look me in the eye. Guilt dripped from his every word. “Stella, I’m so sorry. I don’t have a choice. This company is my dad’s entire life’s work. I can’t just stand by and watch it go under.” I stared at him, finding the whole thing incredibly absurd. “So your solution is to throw away everything we built just to buy a bailout with a wedding ring?” He stayed silent. When I dragged my suitcase out of the cozy little apartment we had shared, all those sweet memories we made suddenly morphed into jagged shards of glass, slicing my heart to ribbons with every step I took. I barely made it back to my cheap, rundown rental before I completely broke down. Just as I thought the suffocating grief was literally going to kill me, a mechanical, synthesized voice echoed inside my skull. [Severe emotional fluctuation detected. Emotion Trading System officially activated.] [Host, would you like to sell your ‘Heartbreak’?] I froze. I honestly thought the crying had finally short-circuited my brain. “Who is that? Who’s talking?” [I am Emotion Trading System 007. My primary function is helping the Host convert useless emotions into immense wealth. I have detected a premium-grade ‘Heartbreak’ currently in your possession. Estimated market value: $10,000. Would you like to sell?] Ten thousand dollars? The number hit me like a freight train. Since when did a broken heart pay out in cash? I tested the waters, asking in my mind: “How do I do it?” [Please confirm by selecting ‘Yes’ or ‘No’.] Well, I was already at rock bottom. Could things get any worse? “Yes!” I screamed in my head, clenching my jaw. In the very next second, the tearing, agonizing pain in my chest receded like a pulling tide. My heart still felt hollow, but the suffocating torture was completely gone. Right on cue, my phone buzzed. A banking notification popped up on the screen. [City Bank: A deposit of $10,000.00 was made to your account ending in 4592 on October 25. Current balance: $10,521.34.] Before I could even celebrate, another line of tiny text flashed across my vision. [System Warning: High-energy emotional trade detected. Market regulation protocols have been triggered. Please regulate your trading behavior.] Regulation protocols? I didn’t care at all. I brushed it off as some standard terms of service nobody reads. I just kept staring at those digits on my phone screen, counting the zeros over and over to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. It was real. This was actual money! A tidal wave of absolute ecstasy drowned out whatever lingering doubts I had. Who cares about the pain of a breakup? If it could be swapped for cold hard cash, that was the ultimate comfort! 2 To test the system’s limits, I started digging up every little memory Carter and I shared. From the first time he smiled at me on the college basketball court, to the nights he stayed up late just to queue for that limited-edition vinyl record I wanted, all the way to our early startup days when we practically lived on cheap ramen… The more I thought about it, the more a bitter, burning sensation bubbled up in my chest. Why should I be sitting here mourning our past while he gets to comfortably prep for a flashy engagement with another woman? Why did three years of loyalty mean absolutely nothing against a single corporate bankruptcy threat? [Medium-grade ‘Anger’ detected. Estimated market value: $5,000. Would you like to sell?] “Sell! Absolutely sell!” [City Bank: A deposit of $5,000.00 was made to your account…] That suffocating fury vanished into thin air. I actually wanted to laugh out loud. This felt incredibly surreal. All I had to do was flick a mental switch, dwell on some ancient history, and money literally deposited itself into my bank account. For the next few days, I became obsessed with my new career as an emotion trafficker. I scrolled through our old text threads, staring at his “Goodnight, my sweet girl” messages. Then I sold the ‘Sweet Nostalgia’ for two grand. I pulled up the photo gallery of him lifting me over his shoulders at a music festival. I sold the ‘Melancholic Longing’ for three grand. Eventually, I actively started looking for triggers. I clicked onto Valerie’s Instagram. She and Carter had officially announced their engagement. The photo showed Carter looking sharp in a tailored tuxedo, with Valerie draped in a custom white gown. The blinding sparkle of their diamond rings felt like a physical jab to my eyes. The comment section was flooded with congratulations, mostly from people in our shared friend circle. [Complex emotion ‘Jealousy and Resentment’ detected. Premium quality. Estimated market value: $15,000. Would you like to sell?] “Take it!” Watching my bank balance skyrocket, I realized for the very first time that getting dumped was the absolute best thing the universe could have done for me. In just one week, my pathetic savings skyrocketed into the six-figure range. The very first thing I did was pack my bags, ditch that depressing little rental, and sign a lease on a gorgeous luxury loft right in the heart of downtown. I went on a massive shopping spree, swiping my card for designer bags and clothes I used to only admire through storefront windows. I booked the most expensive spa treatments and soaked up top-tier luxury. But there was a catch. My emotions were drying up. When I opened up Valerie’s page to look at their couple selfies again, I felt absolutely nothing. A flatline. The system stayed dead silent. My emotional gold mine was completely tapped out. No, I had to manufacture some new feelings. I tried binging tragic romance movies and listening to indie sad-girl playlists, but the results were pathetic. Best case scenario, I squeezed out a few bucks worth of ‘Mild Melancholy’. Better than nothing, but hardly a living. Just as I started stressing over my future cash flow, the system dropped a new objective. [Milestone Task: Bulk Sale. Accumulate 10 pounds of ‘Sorrow’ for a packaged transaction. Price payout will be doubled.] Ten pounds of sorrow? Since when did feelings come with a weight limit? Still, double the payout sounded way too good to pass up. I went on the offensive. I called up my best friend Brooke, met her for coffee, and put on an Oscar-worthy performance. I tearfully unloaded all of Carter’s sins onto her, successfully harvesting a solid wave of ‘Grievance’ and ‘Self-Pity’. [Accumulating Sorrow. Current progress: 0.5 / 10 pounds.] It worked like a charm. I figured out that venting to an audience was the ultimate sorrow-production factory. For the next couple of days, I went on a systematic pity tour, visiting every sympathetic friend I knew and repeating my tragic sob story on a loop. My acting skills leveled up. I could summon tears on command and build a heartbreaking atmosphere out of thin air. Soon enough, my sorrow inventory hit nine and a half pounds. I was inches away from the finish line. I needed a grand finale. I picked the city park where Carter and I had our very first date to brew that final batch of misery and close the big deal. Sitting on a familiar green bench, I forced myself to visualize that exact afternoon. The sun had been perfect. Carter was wearing a crisp white button-down, blushing furiously as he nervously handed me a bouquet of roses. Just picturing his clumsy teenage smile actually brought a genuine, long-forgotten ache to my chest. [Accumulating Sorrow. Current progress: 9.8 / 10 pounds.] So close! I took a deep breath, ready to push out the last few tears. But right at that moment, a shadow fell over me. A familiar yet strangely foreign figure stood blocking my light. It was Carter. He looked like absolute garbage. Dark circles bruised his eyes, a rough shadow of stubble coated his jaw, and his insanely expensive suit looked like he had slept in it. He was staring at me, his eyes rimmed red. 3 My first reaction wasn’t shock. It was pure annoyance. What the hell was he doing here? He was interrupting my cash flow. I stood up, planning to just walk around him. Instead, his hand shot out and gripped my wrist. “Stella, please. We need to talk.” “What is there left to talk about?” I yanked my hand back with icy precision. “Mr. Sinclair, you are an engaged man. Messing around with your ex-girlfriend in a public park is a bad look. Aren’t you worried Valerie might get the wrong idea?” My words hit him like a physical blow. All the color drained from his face, and his voice visibly shook. “Why? Why aren’t you hurting at all?” He pointed a shaking finger at my brand-new designer coat. “You’re doing great, aren’t you? You upgraded your apartment, you bought a new car… Did you ever even care about me?” Looking at his dramatic breakdown, I found the whole thing incredibly hilarious. “I’m devastated, obviously.” I brushed a piece of lint off my sleeve. “I’m so devastated I managed to commodify my grief and achieve financial independence.” He clearly thought I was just throwing out sarcastic insults. “Stella, please don’t do this to me.” He took a heavy step forward, trapping me against the brick wall of the park’s pavilion. His tall frame completely boxed me in. “I’ve been losing my mind these past few days. I close my eyes and all I see is you. I know I’m a bastard. I know I picked the company over us. But I physically cannot stop thinking about you.” He sounded so raw, so agonizingly sincere. A tear actually slipped from his red eyes. If this were the old me, I probably would have caved instantly. But right now, he was just loud and annoying. And that was when I saw it. Hovering right above his head was a massive, blindingly bright, golden orb of pure energy. [Alert. Ultra-pure unowned emotion detected nearby: ‘Love’. Quality: Legendary. Estimated market value: $1,000,000.] [Severe Warning. Any unauthorized extraction of external emotions is a major violation and will trigger high-level regulatory intervention.] [Notice: This emotional energy is exceedingly massive. Direct absorption may cause system shock. Attempt capture anyway?] One million dollars? My eyes practically turned into dollar signs. Violation? Regulation? Those threatening words briefly flashed through my mind, only to be instantly vaporized by the blinding glow of that seven-figure payout. I had already triggered a warning once anyway. What was one more? Fortune favors the bold! Without a single drop of hesitation, I reached my hand up and grabbed that giant orb of ‘Love’ right off the top of his head. The second my fingertips breached the golden light, a surging, scalding wave of power rushed down my arm and flooded my veins. Carter’s entire body went rigid. The look in his eyes morphed instantly. All that agonizing, desperate affection evaporated, replaced entirely by a hollow, vacant void. It was as if I had violently ripped out his soul. Meanwhile, inside my head, the system alerts were screaming like air raid sirens. [WARNING! Ultra-high energy contraband emotion breach! System overload! Initiating forced upgrade sequence!] [Ding! ‘Legendary Love’ captured successfully. $1,000,000 deposited into system escrow. Funds will be available for withdrawal upon upgrade completion!] [System Upgrading: 1%… 10%… 50%…] Before I could even process the absolute chaos happening in my brain, Carter’s knees buckled. He collapsed forward, dead weight against my shoulder. I shoved him off me, scrambling to check his pulse. He was breathing. But the way he looked at me… it was like looking at a blank wall. Empty. Devoid of any recognizable human feeling. My stomach plummeted. I think I just went way too far. I didn’t just sell all my own sorrow. I literally ripped his love right out of his chest and pawned it.

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My unemployed best friend recently moved into my place. She claimed she did not want to be a freeloader and insisted on doing the chores. I never expected that after just one day, she would treat my Tiffany necklace as literal trash and toss it out. For the sake of our years of friendship, I bit my tongue. But a few days later, my insanely expensive designer clothes vanished without a trace. Her excuse was totally unapologetic. She said the clothes looked out of season, assumed I did not want them, and dropped them in a charity donation bin. Since she was supposedly doing a good deed, I let it slide. I simply warned her to never touch my things again. That was until I walked out carrying my limited edition Hermes Birkin, and a friend gently pointed out that the stitching looked a bit off. I rushed home, tore through my closet, and realized every single authentic bag I owned had been swapped for a cheap replica. Suddenly, I remembered her mentioning a luxury resale app. I immediately typed in her phone number to search. Her bio hit me right in the face. It read: “Turning trash into treasure. Hustling my way to the top.” What a hustle indeed. Without missing a beat, I reported her seller account, getting all her transactions permanently frozen by the platform. Blissfully unaware of her impending doom, she booked a VIP table that very night. She popped champagne with ten gorgeous male promoters to celebrate. But when the bill arrived, her card declined. She was backed into a corner and forced to borrow cash from some very dangerous street lenders right on the spot. 1 Sitting on the floor by my display cabinet that afternoon, I tapped into Stella’s Instagram page. My jaw practically unhinged at the sight of her casually holding a seventy thousand dollar Gucci bag. Her makeup was flawless. Her cocktail dress screamed old money. She was lounging in a Michelin star restaurant, serving up effortless poses for the camera. I zoomed in on that Gucci bag sitting perfectly in the frame, examining the hardware over and over again. My fingers actually trembled as I scrolled down. Every single photo dump was flooded with the same ridiculous tags. #OldMoneyAesthetic #RichWifeEnergy #DayInTheLife Stella paired every single outfit with a different bag. We were talking pieces ranging from ten to a hundred grand. No exceptions. Strictly top tier luxury. Compared to those wannabe influencers who split the bill for a staged photoshoot, her daily high end splurges and endless rotation of designer pieces made her wealth look incredibly authentic. The reality was that half a month ago, Stella could barely afford a decent meal. After college, she took a safe corporate desk job while I refused to settle for mediocrity. I chose the startup route. The early days were brutal. I worked from dawn until midnight and barely scraped by. The last two years finally brought my big break in the import business. Every time I closed a massive overseas deal, I rewarded myself by taking a small fraction of the profits to buy a luxury bag. My collection grew from a couple of pieces to dozens. I was overflowing with a sense of achievement, watching my life finally fall into place. Stella, on the other hand, lost her job and got dumped. She could not make rent, got evicted, and spent over two hours sobbing on the phone to me. I drove over, packed up her life, brought her to my place, and treated her to a Wagyu steak dinner. After stuffing herself, she looked down in embarrassment, admitting she did not even have twenty bucks to her name. Seeing her hit rock bottom, I told her she could stay in my guest room rent free. I covered all her meals. I told her to just get settled first. She could take her time finding a job, and if she was willing to grind and polish up her Spanish, I could even bring her into my import business. But Stella just sighed. She told me she was so beaten down by her recent failures that she was borderline depressed. All she wanted to do was rot in bed all day. I had no choice but to tell her to rest up and figure the rest out later. A few days ago, she bounced into the kitchen looking ecstatic. She claimed she found a gold mine of a career path. She was going to be an influencer. I just smiled and nodded. I did not take it seriously because making it on social media is a brutal game. Who would have thought that in just two weeks, her follower count would skyrocket past eighty thousand. Her entire brand was built on flexing insane wealth. Her comment section was a sea of absolute worship. “Oh my god, she is so filthy rich!” “I can practically smell the expensive perfume through the screen. Please adopt me, sugar mommy!” “Living my literal dream.” “Wait, is that the crocodile leather Birkin? That is worth like over a hundred grand!” Seeing that specific Hermes mention, my ears started ringing. A suffocating wave of panic crashed over me. Stella had not suddenly struck it rich. Every single bag she was using to flex for the internet belonged to me. Earlier today, a friend warned me that the Hermes I was carrying looked like a replica. I almost lost my mind on the spot. That bag was my holy grail. I had taken fifty percent of the profit from a grueling, massive deal just to bite the bullet and buy it. I dropped everything at work and sped home to authenticate my entire collection. Every single designer bag in my custom cabinet had been swapped out for a high tier fake. It took me a long time to stop shaking and force myself to breathe. At first, I tried to rationalize it. Maybe she was just blinded by vanity. Maybe she swapped them with fakes just so she could borrow the real ones for her photoshoots without me noticing. But my brain immediately caught the flaw in that logic. You cannot stage those photos with just a bag. Where did she get the money for the diamond jewelry, the couture gowns, and the tabs at five star restaurants? I backed out of her Instagram and remembered she mentioned a luxury resale app a while back. I typed in her cell number and hit enter. Her seller profile made my blood run cold. Every single bag featured in her aesthetic photos, along with several of my other personal luxury items, was listed for sale. 2 The completed transaction history left me completely speechless. The Tiffany necklace she claimed was accidentally thrown out in the trash? Sold for three thousand dollars. The designer clothes she supposedly donated to a charity drive? Sold for thirty thousand dollars. She even sold the empty Chanel perfume bottles off my vanity and the branded Louis Vuitton paper shopping bags I kept in the closet corner for a few bucks each. If it had a brand name, she liquidated it. She did not waste a single opportunity. I grabbed a calculator and furiously punched in the numbers. She had already pocketed around fifty thousand dollars of my money. Her seller bio mocked me from the top of the screen. “Turning trash into treasure. Hustling my way to the top.” Staring at those words, I zoned out for a few seconds before letting out a dry, bitter laugh. Her newest listing description read: “Fresh drop of dozens of authentic luxury bags. Can be verified at any boutique. Everything must go at fifty percent off retail. First come, first served!” I felt like I had been struck by lightning. Most of those bags were practically untouched. I barely even took them out of their dust bags. Especially that crocodile leather Hermes. I painstakingly conditioned it on a strict schedule, terrified of a single scratch ruining its value. Just to get fast cash, Stella was slashing the prices in half. A bag worth over a hundred grand, a rare custom piece with incredibly low global production, was sitting on a secondhand app for fifty grand. And the buyers were going feral. Just in the few minutes I spent scrolling, several listings updated to “Payment Pending.” I could not stomach another second of it. I slammed the report button. I submitted a mountain of evidence to the platform’s fraud department to prove she was fencing stolen goods. My paper trail was bulletproof. I uploaded original boutique receipts, bank statements, and close up photos matching the exact wear and tear I had left on specific bags. The verdict was swift. The platform slapped her account with a permanent ban and froze every single penny in her seller wallet. Seeing that notification finally brought me a sliver of peace. I did some quick mental math. If she sold that entire batch at half price, she would be sitting on around three hundred thousand dollars. Add the fifty thousand she had already stolen and spent, and we were way past the threshold for felony grand theft. If I called the cops right now, with this dollar amount, Stella was looking at serious prison time. But thinking about our shared history, my hand hovered over the phone. I could not bring myself to nuke her life just yet. I still vividly remembered our first year out of college, renting a cramped, drafty apartment in the bad part of town. I caught a terrible fever in the middle of the night, and she walked me to the ER in the pouring rain. When I was unemployed for three months, she split her meager savings with me, laughing and saying I could just pay her back when I was a CEO. Back then, we used to share a single iced latte to save money. She always let me have the last sip. I do not know exactly when she morphed into this monster. Maybe it started when she maxed out her first credit card on a bag that cost three months of her salary. Maybe it was when she figured out how to fake location tags at exclusive resorts with stolen Pinterest quotes. She became obsessed with the fictional version of herself in the eyes of strangers, and completely detached from the real people right in front of her. I had tried to warn her. I told her the economy was tough and she needed to build a safety net. She just rolled her eyes, claiming her designer pieces were investments that she could always flip for cash, so she was never actually losing money. I just never imagined I would become her primary inventory. Thinking about all those memories, I let out a heavy sigh. She used to be my sister, my closest confidant. If she walked through the door right now, gave me a genuine apology, handed over whatever cash she had left, and returned the unsold bags, I would consider the matter closed. My phone buzzed. The platform’s customer service rep confirmed that the three hundred thousand dollars in pending funds had been locked and would automatically refund to the buyers in three days. That took a massive weight off my chest. I decided to wait on the sofa for Stella to come home so we could have a brutal but necessary heart to heart. But dinnertime came and went. The front door remained shut. Thinking back on her recent schedule, she had been out every single night at high end VIP lounges, burning cash on bottle service and club promoters. Once, I even saw some bleached blonde frat boy drop her off, making out with her right on my driveway. And to think, just two weeks ago she was screaming and crying over her ex, claiming she could not survive a single day without him. I was debating whether to call her and demand she come home right now. Then my phone lit up with a text from a mutual friend. “Blair, check Stella’s live stream right now. She is dropping bags on bottle boys at the club!” 3 The screen loaded, revealing Stella sitting in the dead center of a plush velvet booth, completely surrounded by a crew of styled, attractive male promoters. Her viewer count was surging, and the chat was moving at warp speed. “Three hundred bucks for a single bottle? And she is on her fifth in ten minutes? Okay, sugar mommy is loaded!” “She literally carries bags worth a house. A few grand on drinks is pocket change.” “Look at those guys practically begging for her attention. They know who pays the bills!” Watching Stella hold court, casually dropping luxury brand names and acting like royalty, I felt completely entirely disconnected from her. I had a sinking feeling in my gut. The Stella I knew was dead and gone. A younger looking promoter slid right up against her side, pouting his lips and putting on the charm. “Gorgeous, think you could treat your favorite boy to a nice watch? Nothing crazy, maybe just ten grand or so.” “The nightlife hustle is rough. I just need something flashy to show these other guys I’m doing well.” “You have so much money, your jewelry changes every day. You probably have a whole vault of watches collecting dust at home, right?” The chat went wild. “Typical club boy behavior. They flirt a little and immediately beg for handouts. Do not give him a dime!” “Well, he just said he would take something cheaper too. If it’s just a few hundred bucks, why not throw him a bone?” “A rich goddess giving out cheap gifts? That ruins the aesthetic. If she gives something, it has to be a Rolex.” “Wait, did you guys see her eyes light up when he said ‘cheaper’? Is she actually broke?” Stella caught that last comment. The arrogant smirk on her face froze for a split second. She quickly recovered, raising her voice loud enough for the microphone to catch. “Of course, babe. I will bring you a stunning piece next time. Give me a second, I need to use the powder room.” The moment the bathroom door clicked shut, my phone started ringing. It was Stella. Taking time out of her massive VIP flex to call me? I narrowed my eyes. I answered the call anyway. “Blair, babe, you up?” Hearing her fake sweet tone made my skin crawl. I was about to answer. But she immediately launched into her web of lies. “Hey, remember those luxury vintage watches you bought for your dad? He is always traveling and never wears them. How about you let me take them off your hands?” “I met these poor, struggling boys downtown. They cannot even afford a clock for their apartment. It is honestly heartbreaking. Giving them your dad’s watches to tell time would be such a good deed.” The remaining warmth in my chest instantly turned to ice. Poor, struggling boys? She meant the bottle service guys charging hundreds for a pour of vodka. She was trying to steal my dad’s watches to flex on club boys? “Blair, I will be home a bit later to grab them. Could you do me a huge favor and pack them up? Preferably in the original velvet boxes? You are the best, babe.” I was so furiously angry I actually let out a quiet laugh. I wanted to rip her to shreds right then and there. But knowing she was coming back soon, I decided this needed to be handled face to face. I swallowed the venom in my throat and kept my voice perfectly flat. “Fine. Come home. We have a lot to talk about anyway.” She totally misinterpreted my tone, squealing with absolute delight. “Oh my god, you are an angel! Love you, bye!” She hung up instantly, rushing back to her booth to brag about the imaginary luxury watches she was about to rain down on her admirers. The chat and the guys showered her in another wave of aggressive flattery. “By the way, gorgeous, what kind of ride do you usually take to the club?” one of them asked. “I swear I saw someone who looked exactly like you stepping off the city bus today. Same dress and everything. Must have been a glitch in the matrix.” Stella almost choked on her champagne. “Excuse me? I ride in a Lamborghini. Your eyes are definitely broken, babe.” The promoter leaned in. “Then how come we never see you pull up in it?” Stella’s eyes darted around the room. She stammered for a second. “I… I do not really like driving. My personal female chauffeur usually takes the wheel.” “I will just have her pick me up later. You will see.” Right on cue, a text notification popped up at the top of my screen. It was from Stella. “Babe, it is super late and I cannot get an Uber. Be a lifesaver and come pick me up? And please take the Lamborghini, you know normal cars give me motion sickness.”

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I thought my ex-husband talked too much. So, after the divorce, I found myself a mute boyfriend. My “little mute” was young, sweet, and practically perfect in my eyes. One day, I went to his college dorm to pick him up. Instead, I overheard a conversation with his roommate. “Cam, how long are you going to keep pretending?” “Until I get bored.” 01 Just as I stepped into the men’s dorm hallway, I heard someone laughing. “Cam, what’s it like playing the mute card to hook up with your own aunt?” I subconsciously stopped and stood by the door. After a long pause, a deeper voice replied. “It’s whatever.” Through the crack in the door, I saw a tall college boy sitting on a chair, legs crossed. His eyelids drooped, giving him an incredibly aloof, “over-it” look. “So when are you going to dump her? Isn’t it annoying not being able to talk every day?” “Is it annoying for you to talk every day?” He spun his phone in his hand, looking utterly impatient. “I’ll do it when I get bored.” I didn’t make a sound. Pretending I hadn’t heard anything, I turned and walked back downstairs. I sent him a text: “I’m here, where are you?” The reply came quickly. “Got it, coming right down!” Seconds later, a figure dashed out of the dorm building. Cameron Reed was still wearing the same black hoodie. But the annoyed expression was gone, replaced by a sunny, enthusiastic face. He walked up to me with a wide grin, looked down, and tapped on his phone. [Hey, did you wait long?] “Not too long.” He looked at me for two seconds, blinked, and typed again. [You look upset. Are you annoyed from waiting?] I turned to look at the boy holding up his phone, carefully trying to please me. I let out a breath. “No, just work stuff.” [Oh.] The boy lowered his eyes, looking disappointed. This demeanor was too different from what I had just seen in his dorm. It almost made me doubt if the previous scene was just my imagination. He sat obediently in the passenger seat, then suddenly thought of something. [Can you wait a few more minutes?] I nodded, and he immediately opened the car door and ran out. While waiting for him, I hesitated for a moment before clicking on Richard Sterling’s profile. “You mentioned before that you have a nephew. What’s his name?” Soon, the man I hadn’t contacted in ages replied. Richard: “Cameron Reed.” Richard: “Why?” I was about to reply when the car door suddenly opened. I hurriedly shoved my phone into my pocket as Cameron got in. With one hand in his pocket, he buckled his seatbelt and then suddenly pulled out a lollipop. Strawberry flavored. He pushed it toward me. “For me?” The boy nodded, [Don’t be mad anymore, okay?] 02 I was a low-income student sponsored by Richard Sterling. Marrying him was purely because he needed it. He needed an obedient, compliant wife to deal with his grandfather pushing him to get married. And I was the perfect, easily manipulated candidate. While we were together, I rarely had the chance to learn about his family. But I did have a vague impression of this nephew who was always shipped off to boarding schools. A reckless, spoiled rich kid. A young master whose wild antics gave even Richard headaches. And this very terror was now sitting next to me, looking like a total angel. Putting on such a good act—I found it quite amusing. The car stopped at a red light, and I looked at him. “Kiss me.” The boy froze, then his eyes gradually deepened. I didn’t need to ask twice; he leaned over and grabbed my chin. And gave me a solid, passionate kiss. No matter how well Cameron pretended in daily life, he could never hide that primal, predatory instinct when things got physical. Suddenly, a car next to us honked twice. Before I could react, it honked again. I turned and saw the window of the adjacent car rolling down. Revealing a very familiar face. Richard Sterling? I tensed up instinctively, but then realized he couldn’t control me anymore. The man’s expression was far from pleasant, his tone sarcastic. “So desperate you can’t even wait?” I flashed a smile. “Young people have a lot of energy. Forgive the show, Mr. Sterling.” Richard’s face darkened, his gaze bypassing me to look at the passenger seat. I subconsciously tensed and blocked his view. “The light’s green, I shouldn’t hold up traffic.” With that, I rolled up my window first. Looking at Cameron again, he was staring out the window, lost in thought. I suddenly wondered what Richard’s expression would have been if he had discovered that the person passionately kissing me today was his own nephew. But this situation was too interesting. I really didn’t want it to end just yet. 03 As soon as we got inside my apartment, Cameron couldn’t wait and threw himself at me. He held me urgently, kissing my lips. [I don’t like him.] “Don’t like who?” [Your ex-husband.] “Oh.” I leaned in, brushing against his earlobe. “What a coincidence, I don’t like him either.” He scooped me up with one arm and tossed me onto the bed. I let out a gasp and wrapped my arms tightly around his neck. He silently smirked, a flash of triumph in his eyes. I suddenly remembered what his roommate asked him today. “What’s it like hooking up with your aunt?” He said, “It’s whatever.” But I felt differently. Hooking up with my ex-husband’s nephew. That feeling… was fucking fantastic. Richard used to be wild too. But it was the wildness of someone in power. It was all taking; I didn’t enjoy it at all. But Cameron was different. I knew he was trying to please me. This pleasure reached its peak after discovering his true identity. Just as he was impatiently trying to get started. My doorbell suddenly rang. [Ignore it.] Soon, the doorbell turned into my phone ringing. “Must be something important.” I patted Cameron’s head soothingly. And grabbed the phone with one hand. “Open the door.” It was Richard. “I’m not home.” “I saw your car, open the door.” I paused. “It’s not a good time right now.” The person outside seemed to be lighting a cigarette. “Are you with that guy?” “We’re divorced, it’s none of your business.” “Then let’s get remarried.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he seemed shocked by them himself. Neither of us said anything else. A faint static hummed through the phone line. I spoke first. “You’re drunk. Have your assistant take you home.” “Open the door first.” “It’s really not a good time.” “Heh, Audrey, you’re getting bolder and bolder.” He let out a scoff, as if remembering something. “Wait, I almost forgot. Taking advantage of me being drunk to steal a kiss, playing dumb to propose to me—you’ve always been pretty bold.” The call ended. I was still caught up in Richard’s words. I really did love him back then. The first time I saw Richard was right after I started college. Full of reckless courage, I marched into his company just to see the benefactor who sponsored me. Falling for him seemed like the most natural thing in the world. I never thought I’d actually marry him one day. After getting married, I lived in my own pink bubble. Thinking my love alone could sustain a relationship for two. Until Chloe’s appearance shattered my dream. [Audrey?] A hand reached from behind me. I turned around. Cameron was standing right behind me. I was suddenly very curious. If this guy knew that the real reason Richard and I divorced was because of another woman… What would he do? Would he go play the mute to seduce Chloe? The mute act is getting old, maybe he could pretend to have a limp… Thinking this, I couldn’t help but laugh. I patted Cameron’s cheek. “I’m not really in the mood right now. Let’s take a rain check.” With that, I stood up and put on my robe. Completely missing the increasingly complex expression on Cameron’s face. 04 That night, I was sleeping groggily when a vibration woke me up. S: [Cam, we’re just waiting on you at The Enigma.] S: [Got some really hot girls here, you sure you don’t want a drink?] That’s when I realized. I was holding Cameron’s phone. Hearing the shower running in the bathroom, I placed the phone back on the nightstand. A few minutes later, Cameron came out. Afraid of waking me, he tiptoed to his side of the bed. He picked up his phone, swiped a few times, tossed it aside, and grabbed his jacket. I pretended to just wake up and opened my eyes. “Going out?” [My advisor needs to see me about something. I have to go back to campus.] “Now? It’s almost midnight.” Cameron spread his hands in a helpless gesture. I scoffed inwardly. It was a waste of talent that this rich kid hadn’t gone into acting. Suppressing the urge to roll my eyes, I patted his head comfortingly. “A senior’s life is a tough one, no human rights. I get it.” I waited a few minutes after Cameron left before slowly getting out of bed. I grabbed my car keys and followed him out. Honestly, it wasn’t for anything specific, just curiosity. I wanted to see what the real Cameron, who played the sweet, pitiful boy for me, was actually like. After all, the first time I met Cameron. Was at the hospital. I had just had surgery. I couldn’t move easily and needed to hire an aide. Cameron was the one who applied for the job. Initially, I was hesitant about him. Not because he was “deaf-mute,” but because I wanted a female aide. But the boy was incredibly persistent. [I’ve taken care of my mom since I was little, I’m very experienced.] [I promise I can do whatever they can do, and do it well.] I had to admit, in that moment, my heart softened. I didn’t have a father. My mother was paralyzed, and I had taken care of her since I was little, just like he claimed to have done. Later, if it hadn’t been for Richard’s sponsorship. I probably wouldn’t have even finished high school. So, I let him stay. It was exactly as Cameron had promised. He was sweet, hardworking, and incredibly thoughtful. Other aides would sneak out to rest whenever they had a chance. Only he stayed by my side all day long. Emptying my bedpans and urinals. When I was feeling down, he tried every possible way to cheer me up. My appetite was terrible then, so this guy cooked for me himself. He’d arrange the bento boxes into cute cartoon characters just to coax me into taking a bite. The old lady in the next bed laughed watching him. She told me, “This kid is treating you like you’re his girlfriend.” So later, it was only natural that we started dating. During all this time, I never doubted Cameron’s identity. He would often uncontrollably use sign language with me. Sometimes, when he was in the mood, I’d even have him teach me a few signs. Even in our most passionate moments, he never made a sound. He just looked at me with those wet, puppy-dog eyes, like a satisfied dog. Of course, the biggest reason I never doubted him was. What kind of spoiled rich kid could endure this much! He was so patient I almost wondered if he thought he was some historical figure enduring hardship to build character! 05 I used to be a regular at bars, too. Most of the time, I was brought there by Richard. He drank, I drove. And on the way back, we did all sorts of crazy things in his obnoxiously aggressive Hummer. Shaking off the memories, I was about to look for Cameron’s private booth. Suddenly, a hand grabbed me. “Came specifically to find me?” I looked up. Richard had actually appeared in front of me. “You refused to see me earlier, and now you can’t wait to run over here. Playing hard to get?” “I’m here to find my boyfriend.” I avoided his intense gaze, turned, and tried to leave. But he tightened his grip on my wrist and pulled me straight into a men’s bathroom stall. “Richard!” “Yell louder, let’s get everyone in here.” I glared at him. He rubbed his thumb across my lips. “Did he kiss you here today?” “None of your business, let me go!” “The little kitten is showing her claws. You’ve changed quite a bit since the divorce.” Richard scoffed. “Break up with him.” “Why should I?” “Audrey, you should know I hate it when people touch my things.” His finger traced my cheek. “There’s a limit to throwing tantrums. Don’t dance on my landmines.” I was about to argue back, but he continued. “Agreeing to the divorce was granting your wish. It doesn’t mean you can escape my control. I blame myself for giving you too much freedom this past year. It made you forget who you belong to.” Richard was domineering and arrogant. If he wanted to, he could make all my efforts in work and life vanish into thin air. But what gave him the right? What gave a man who betrayed our marriage the right to say such things so brazenly? “You already have Chloe, isn’t that enough?” At the mention of that name, Richard furrowed his brow in disgust. “I told you, there’s nothing going on between me and her.” “Nothing? Photos of you two kissing were all over the tabloids!” “Yeah, it was just a kiss. Is that worth throwing a fit over?” You couldn’t reason with him. What a piece of trash! I didn’t want to listen to him anymore and forcefully tried to break free from his grip. Suddenly, a man’s voice came from outside. “Uncle Richard, are you done in there?” My whole body froze. Cameron? Richard was about to push the door open and walk out, but I yanked him back. He raised an eyebrow at me, and I avoided his sharp gaze. Richard stopped moving and asked, “What is it?” Separated only by a thin wall, Cameron’s slightly impatient voice drifted over. “I’m heading out. Let me borrow your driver.” “So early?” “Yeah.” Richard called his driver, and only then did Cameron leave. Before he left, he whistled. “Still going strong for an old guy. Have fun.” Looking up, I met Richard’s thoughtful gaze. “You know Cam?” “No.” “Then why did you avoid him?” “A man and a woman alone in a men’s bathroom stall… Mr. Sterling might not care about his reputation, but I care about mine.” With that, I kicked the door open. This time, Richard didn’t stop me.

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During an experiment in the quantum computing lab, the graduate student I was mentoring suddenly asked me, “Professor, do you know the saying, ‘From chaos, duality’?” I set down the equipment I was holding, but before I could answer, she let her lab coat slip from her shoulders, followed by everything else. She guided my hand to the warmth between her legs. Her captivating eyes locked onto mine. “From chaos, duality,” she whispered. “From duality, unity.” “The highest form of purity is also the highest form of debauchery.” That night, my restraint finally broke. 1 My wife’s beauty had long since faded, and my life was consumed by my work. It had been a long time since I’d felt such a release. Afterward, I rested my hand on Isabelle’s waist. “What do you want?” I asked. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, strangely vacant. “Someone once said that for kids from towns like mine, the most powerful person we’ll ever meet is our university advisor.” “I refused to believe that was my limit. I sent my resume to company after company. They’d grant me an interview out of respect for you, but the questions were always about you. Once they realized our relationship was purely professional, the offers would vanish into thin air. I haven’t received a single one.” “Professor,” she said, her voice hardening, “I want a position at Elysian Dynamics. I’ve given you the most valuable thing I have to trade for it.” She added, almost as an afterthought, “It was my first time.” In the dim, hazy light, I studied her. She was undeniably beautiful; otherwise, she never could have tempted me to cross this line. Her face was a portrait of conflict: one half pained innocence, the other half ruthless ambition. I dressed and, before leaving, told her, “You’ll get what you want. The offer from Elysian will be in your inbox tomorrow.” My reputation in the field is formidable. A word from me was all it took. After I made the call, I found my wife staring at me. Her expression was placid, but her words were like needles. “You’ve never involved yourself in student placements before.” “What’s different today?” “Is there something special about this student? I think I saw her once, at that university gala.” “She’s very beautiful. It makes sense you’d take such an interest. I just…” “That’s enough.” I cut her off before she could finish. “She’s from a poor background. Life is harder for kids like her. Besides, her academic record is exceptional. I’m just giving her a hand up. Is there a problem with that?” My wife, Connie, looked at me, stunned. I rarely used such a sharp tone with her. But tonight, for some reason, the sight of her sagging cheeks and her shocked expression filled me with an intense irritation. My mind involuntarily flashed back to Isabelle’s smooth, pale skin, and the flicker of panic in her eyes as I entered her. I couldn’t stop myself. I went to see Isabelle again. She smoothed her hair, her voice unnervingly calm. “Professor, a one-time transaction can be born of desperation. But to continue… that would make me no better than a prostitute.” She bowed deeply. “Professor, despite what happened, I still believe you are a man of principle. You wouldn’t force me if I wasn’t willing, would you?” After she left, I sat there, rubbing the rim of a paper cup. She was right. I wouldn’t force her. But there were other ways to make her willing. Isabelle was gambling on my character. I was gambling on her breaking point. Isabelle’s new job at Elysian quickly became a nightmare. She was hitting roadblocks at every turn. It was my doing, of course. I hadn’t needed to say much. Just a single, casual comment to a senior executive: “That student of mine, Isabelle… I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s become rather difficult lately. I suppose a big offer from a company like yours has gone to her head.” We were all seasoned players. The executives at Elysian understood immediately. They began applying pressure from all sides. I expected her to last a week, maybe less. To my surprise, two weeks passed, and she still hadn’t contacted me. A flicker of annoyance sparked within me. I had been a master puppeteer for years; this was the first time a string had gone slack in my hands. I called the executive and arranged a dinner meeting for that evening. Isabelle, naturally, was required to attend. Throughout the dinner, she played her part perfectly, smiling and making conversation as the wine flowed. But afterward, her face was etched with fatigue. “Professor,” she said, her voice low. “I didn’t think a man like you would resort to such petty, dirty tricks.” I cornered her by the restrooms, my hand moving to her blouse, undoing the buttons one by one. “Isabelle, there’s a beast I’ve kept caged inside me for a long time. You’re the one who unlocked the cage. Are you just going to walk away and leave it hungry now?” Just as the pale curve of her breast was about to be exposed, she clamped her hand over mine. Her eyes, when they met mine, were shockingly resolute. “Don’t push me, Professor. I told you, our transaction is over. Don’t try to use my job to threaten me. I may be an ant trying to shake a tree, but if I make our story public… even if no one believes me, even if I have no evidence… it would still damage your reputation, wouldn’t it?” Her voice was cold and steady. “You value your reputation above all else. You wouldn’t want to tarnish it, would you?” She then proceeded to button her blouse, her gaze never wavering from mine. I let out a soft, sharp laugh. To kill a snake, you strike it where it’s most vulnerable. I had been too hasty. I had someone look into her background. I needed to understand this sudden, fierce resistance. Once you take the easy road, it’s hard to go back to walking the hard path. The report arrived on my phone that afternoon. It turned out Isabelle’s fiancé had come to the city to be with her. Interesting. According to the file, he had paid for her entire education, from her undergraduate degree through her master’s, with his own labor. They had planned to get married in a month. I sighed, zooming in on a photo of the two of them on my phone. Her fiancé—a man named Rocco—looked like he’d just finished a shift on a construction site, covered in grime. But Isabelle was kneeling beside him, holding a lunchbox, looking at him with a smile of pure adoration. True love… If it was true love, then why did she climb into my bed? Another hypocrite, tainted like the rest. After some thought, I made a call to a friend in real estate. The very next day, Isabelle was in my office. “Professor… was it you?” I feigned ignorance. “What are you talking about?” She took a deep breath. “My fiancé… he doesn’t have the connections. No one would just hand him a major construction contract out of the blue. I don’t believe in miracles. So, what is your price?” I gestured behind her. She turned her head. Through the one-way glass of my office wall, she could see Rocco in the hallway, his face alight with a joyous, triumphant smile. I felt her entire body begin to tremble. I stepped closer, putting my arms around her. “Don’t be afraid. He can’t see in. But look at him… look how happy he is. Do you have the heart to shatter that beautiful dream of his?” As she watched him, I pressed her against the cold glass and slipped my hand beneath her blouse. Once you’ve tasted something, you develop a craving. I was beginning to realize I was becoming obsessed with her. The first person to notice my change was my wife. She confronted me, holding up one of my shirts, a smear of lipstick on the collar. “Alistair,” she pleaded, “this was a mistake, wasn’t it?” I could see the desperation in her eyes. She was begging me to lie. How pointless. To come looking for an answer you already know, hoping I’ll tell you what you want to hear. I took the shirt from her calmly. “No, Connie. It’s exactly what it looks like. I’m having an affair.” She began to shake. “But… why?” Why? My mind drifted back to a suffocating summer afternoon decades ago. I was just a junior lecturer back then, a boy from a small town who had clawed his way to the big city. I was called a genius back home, but here, I was just one among many. I had neither top-tier talent nor powerful connections. Advancement seemed impossible. The day before my tenure review, when I had finally understood the unwritten rules of the world and was on the verge of despair, Connie told me she had to work late. The Dean, however, had told me to wait for him in the office next to his. He had something to discuss with me. I assumed he wanted a bribe for the promotion, a bribe I couldn’t afford. But I didn’t wait long.

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I used to be the ex-boyfriend of the survivor base’s ultimate leader. Because of my terrible attitude and spoiled nature, I was despised by everyone and eventually thrown right into a horde of zombies. After miraculously surviving and escaping, I discovered a terrifying truth. My world was actually a post-apocalyptic novel, and I was nothing more than a pathetic, tragic villain meant to die early. To keep myself alive, I decided to completely abandon the main plotline and live a quiet, peaceful life on my own. That was my plan, at least. But one day, the leader of the base suddenly tracked me down. His eyes were completely bloodshot, and the first words out of his mouth were breathless and broken. “I thought I would never see you again.” 1 “Felix, you are being completely unreasonable again.” Kieran’s cold, detached voice rang out right behind me. I jolted, stiffly turning around to meet his gaze. His eyes held nothing but impatience and anger. That familiar, indulgent love he used to reserve only for me was entirely gone. Normally, I was at least a little intimidated by him. I do not know what got into me this time, but my temper snapped, and I screamed right back at his face. “Yes! I am being unreasonable! What exactly are you going to do about it?” Kieran clearly did not expect such a fiery outburst from me. A second later, his rage spiked. His intimidating aura crashed down over me like a tidal wave, completely crushing my brief moment of bravery. His face darkened so much it looked like a storm cloud ready to burst. “Felix, have I been too lenient with you?” My anger was still there, but my courage had officially checked out. I am not an idiot. I can tell the difference between Kieran being annoyed and Kieran being genuinely furious. When he truly loses his temper, he becomes terrifying. “Dinner is ready, so I am leaving.” I dropped that single sentence and bolted. Nothing matters more than eating in the apocalypse. As long as I mentioned food, Kieran would not keep picking a fight. Sure enough, I had not walked far before that chilling pressure behind me vanished, replaced only by his muffled, frustrated sigh. We only had a little argument. Did he really need to be that fiercely intimidating? My nose stung slightly, and I cursed him in my head. What a petty jerk. 2 On the way back to our quarters, people on the street shot me dirty, hostile glares. I glared right back, fierce and unyielding. The people in the base absolutely hated me. Ordinary folks worked the fields to earn their keep. Those with combat abilities risked their lives outside the walls killing zombies. I was the only one living like a delicate parasite, clinging tightly to Kieran for survival. I never thought there was anything wrong with that. It was a mutual agreement between two consenting adults. What right did anyone else have to judge us? But people still constantly harassed me, claiming they were acting on behalf of the base and trying to “save” Kieran from my toxic influence. My first major fallout with Kieran happened because I got into a physical fight. Someone was talking trash about me behind my back, and I happened to overhear it. I had zero combat power, so it was a completely one-sided beatdown. I looked incredibly pathetic by the end of it. But the part that infuriated me the most was Kieran. He did not check on my injuries first. Instead, he walked over and apologized to the guy who beat me up. I gave him the silent treatment for three days after that. He eventually went on a scavenging run and brought back a box of rare chocolate to beg for my forgiveness. Lately, our arguments had become far more frequent. At first, Kieran would at least pretend to coax me out of my bad moods. As time went on, the bastard stopped trying entirely. He refused to say a single comforting word, always using meal times as a cheap excuse to break the ice. Eat, eat, eat! I hoped he would choke on his food. Kieran had just brutally scolded me in front of the entire base again, stripping away every ounce of my dignity. I was supposed to be his boyfriend, yet he never once defended me. He just stood there and allowed them to humiliate me. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I marched right up to Kieran and demanded a breakup. He stayed completely silent, staring down at me with those pitch-black, bottomless eyes. After a long agonizing moment, he let out a dark sneer. “Felix, what exactly gives you the delusion that you can survive out there without me?” All my righteous anger instantly deflated. He was right. I did not know how to kill zombies, and I was terrified of scavenging for supplies. My food, water, and shelter all depended entirely on him. Kieran and I actually met before the apocalypse ruined the world. Back then, he was just a nameless, poor kid. I still have no idea where he got the audacity to think he was worthy of courting someone from my social class. But he was incredibly handsome. In a crowd of utterly average faces, his sharp, striking looks were a breath of fresh air. Having him around was good for my eyes. Relying entirely on his pretty face, I decided to give him a chance. After we got together, Kieran was completely obedient. If I told him to walk east, he would never dare look west. I can confidently say that my current terrible temper is at least fifty percent his fault! I just did not understand how things had devolved into this nightmare. The base residents held a deep, venomous grudge against me, acting as if I had dragged their majestic, awe-inspiring leader into the gutter. The pure contempt in their eyes made my blood boil. If it were not for this godforsaken apocalypse, people with their low status would not even be qualified to tie my shoes! And Kieran was no longer my shield. He stopped prioritizing my feelings, and whenever I got into a shouting match, he blamed me without even asking what happened! It is true what they say. The moment a man gains power and status, his heart completely changes. 3 To vent my bitter frustration, I waited until Kieran was sound asleep in the middle of the night. Then, I planted my foot firmly against his sculpted abs and kicked him right off the bed. While he was still inhaling sharply on the floor, trying to process the pain, I moved like lightning. I grabbed the heavy quilt, threw it entirely over his head, and delivered several blind punches to his skull. Finally, I bolted out of the bedroom like a frightened rabbit, locked the door from the outside, and casually made myself comfortable on the living room sofa. Kieran violently twisted the doorknob a few times. He started pounding on the wood. His hoarse, deeply agitated voice seeped through the door. “Felix, what the hell are you throwing a tantrum over now?” I completely ignored him. A few minutes later, his voice dropped into a terrifying, bone-chilling octave. “Fine, Felix. If you have any guts at all, do not ever come back into this room.” I curled up tighter on the sofa and sniffled. Why should I listen to you? I will go wherever I please! When daylight finally broke, the harsh sunlight pierced my eyes, making me scowl. After the apocalypse, the flora, fauna, and even the sun’s rays had mutated to become incredibly harsh and burning. If Kieran did not specifically hunt down high-grade sunscreen for me during his supply runs, my skin would have peeled off a long time ago. I pulled the soft blanket up to my chin, happily dozing off again before my brain caught up with reality. Wait, a blanket? I snapped my eyes open, a smug grin spreading across my face. Oh, Kieran. Even when we are in a bitter cold war, you still obediently sneak out to tuck me in. Feeling like I had finally scored a victory, my mood skyrocketed. I decided I might actually give him a decent smile when he came back. Kieran had specifically warned me to never leave our housing sector. I did not have any friends in the base anyway, so I usually spent my entire day locked safely indoors. But I never expected trouble to come knocking directly on my front door. Looking at the fierce, vicious men blocking my entryway, my stomach dropped. Usually, when Kieran was around, I would confidently hurl insults right back at them. But when he was gone, I absolutely never dared to provoke them. These men chopped off zombie heads without blinking. My neck was significantly softer than a rotting corpse’s. The burly man in the front crossed his arms. “Felix, we are not trying to make things difficult for you. But lounging around being utterly useless every single day is getting a bit ridiculous, do you not think?” I swallowed hard, desperately trying to maintain my usual arrogant, superior facade. “Did Kieran not make it clear to you? I belong to him. He contributes more than enough for the both of us. Do you really dare go against his orders?” The men erupted into cruel, mocking laughter. “You really still think you are some precious treasure? Commander Kieran already has a new lover. A smart person would take the hint, pack up quietly, and leave with some shred of dignity. You better start thinking about your own survival.” I felt like I had been struck by lightning. I stood completely frozen. A new lover? Kieran found someone else? Why did I not know about this? A tidal wave of absolute terror consumed me. In that moment of panic, I did not even stop to question if their words were true. The thugs kept talking. “Honestly, you are the most pathetic waste of space in this entire base. Even the street walkers know how to use their bodies to please a man and earn their keep. But you? You hide behind the Commander’s protection, parading around like you own the place. A whore should at least have the self-awareness of a whore. Since you clearly do not know how to serve a man, you are coming outside the walls to scavenge with us.” My eyes widened in sheer horror. I had spent all this time perfectly sheltered under Kieran’s wings, completely oblivious to the real, lethal dangers of the apocalypse. I was still acting like the spoiled rich kid I used to be. I fought tooth and nail, refusing to go with them. But my scrawny arms were no match for grown, battle-hardened men. I was brutally dragged and tossed into the back of their armored truck. The vehicle violently rumbled out of my familiar, safe haven. Separated by a single concrete wall, one side was humanity, and the other was absolute hell. I finally witnessed the true, unfiltered apocalypse. The putrid, rotting stench in the air was so thick I could barely breathe. In that moment of nausea, I finally understood why Kieran always scrubbed himself raw in the shower before he even tried to touch me. The last time I had faced a zombie up close was at the very beginning of the outbreak. Back then, the infection rate was low, and society was still desperately holding onto a shred of order. Kieran had grabbed my hand and fought his way out of our university campus, dragging me through unspeakable horrors until we reached this city and built the survivor base. Sitting in the truck, I desperately missed his warmth. He loved me so deeply back then. Could he really betray me for someone else? Or perhaps he truly did love me once, but my terrible behavior finally pushed him past his breaking point, and he simply decided I was not worth loving anymore? 4 The truck screeched to a halt in a desolate, ruined city. The streets looked completely dead and abandoned. Was there actually anything left to scavenge here? I eyed the men suspiciously as they prepared to disembark. I desperately wanted to stay in the vehicle, but I was too terrified to remain alone. If a horde swarmed the truck, these men would absolutely never come back to save me. After weighing my terrible options, I shakily followed them out. We entered a massive, crumbling department store. The shelves were completely barren and coated in a thick layer of grey dust. It looked like the place had been picked clean years ago. Suddenly, a violent tremor shook the concrete floor beneath my feet. By the time I realized what was happening, the men were already sprinting toward the exit at top speed. My brain short-circuited. Pure instinct took over, and my legs carried me after them. The men piled into the truck, slammed the doors, and the engine roared to life. They were not waiting for me! They intentionally brought me out here to dispose of me! The realization hit me like a physical blow. Uncontrollable, suffocating terror gripped my throat. “Do not leave! Wait! Please do not leave me behind!” I sprinted after the tires with everything I had, but the truck left me entirely in the dust. They were gone. And I was completely surrounded by the undead. As the rotting, foul-smelling corpses dragged their feet closer and closer, I accepted my fate and squeezed my eyes shut. The ruined city was blanketed by a thick, oppressive layer of grey clouds. Amidst the gloom, a gust of wind carrying the stench of blood and decay swept through the street. A large, reinforced cargo truck slowly pulled to a stop nearby. The noise attracted a few straggling zombies on the road. Before the monsters could even lunge, a group of people hopped out of the truck, wielding heavy blades. With terrifying efficiency, they severed the rotting heads from their bodies. Startled by the commotion, I peeked through the narrow crack of the rusted dumpster I was currently hiding inside. Their combat movements were brutally efficient. The three men in the group barely even blinked, decapitating zombies with single, fluid strikes. After clearing the immediate area, the group began packing up, preparing to leave. Panic surged through my chest. I did not care if they were saints or murderers. This city had been dead for years, and who knows when I would ever see living humans again. I scrambled out of the filthy dumpster and sprinted awkwardly toward them. Hearing footsteps, they instantly assumed I was a running mutant. One of the men whipped out a machete and swung it directly at my skull. I shrieked, dropping to my knees and covering my head. “Please do not kill me! I am human! I am a good person!” The sharp blade halted a millimeter above my scalp. A few strands of my severed hair fluttered to the asphalt. I sat completely paralyzed on the ground, a cold sweat drenching my back. The man stared down at me, his face an absolute mask of ice, and slowly lowered his weapon. 5 Another man strolled over, crouching down to inspect me with wide, amused eyes. “Well, look at that! A living, breathing human in this hellhole!” A second later, his cheerful expression twisted in absolute horror. He violently stumbled backward. “Holy crap! What is that smell?! You are going to suffocate me!” My face burned bright red. I lowered my head in deep shame. “I am so, so sorry.” A young woman with short, practical hair stepped up to me. “Can you tell me why you are completely alone out here?” She scratched her head, looking puzzled. “Or rather, how are you even alive right now?” The dam finally broke. The memory of those bastards tossing me into a zombie horde flooded my mind, and I started sobbing uncontrollably. By all logic, I should have been ripped to shreds within two seconds. But for some inexplicable reason, the surrounding zombie horde suddenly scattered into the alleys. Clutching my painfully racing heart, I had frantically crawled into this dumpster and stayed paralyzed in the filth for two entire days. I fully believed I would either be eaten alive or starve to death in the dark. I never expected to be saved. Through choked sobs, I briefly explained how my squad had maliciously abandoned me to die. The short-haired girl’s eyes softened with instant sympathy and outrage. My eyes were red and swollen, tears pooling pitifully in my lashes. I looked exactly like a tragic, helpless victim who had been cruelly betrayed. I had absolutely zero leverage or survival skills. Playing the pathetic, harmless victim was my only strategy to win their sympathy. Thankfully, my fragile appearance and tragic story successfully lowered their guards. “Can you please take me with you? I promise I will not be a burden. I can do anything you ask, just please do not leave me in this place.” The girl turned her head, looking at the three men for permission. The guy who had complained about my smell gave a lazy, indifferent shrug. “Might as well bring him. Look at how scrawny he is. It is not like he is going to eat much of our rations.” I immediately nodded frantically. “Yes! Exactly! I barely eat anything at all!” The other two men remained silent, which in the apocalypse essentially meant yes. Just like that, I climbed into the back of their cargo truck and finally left that city of nightmares behind. I had narrowly escaped death, and I should have been overjoyed. But a heavy, suffocating dread settled in my chest instead. During those two terrifying days huddled in the dumpster, a flood of bizarre, cinematic visions had violently forced their way into my brain. Every single vision was about Kieran. The Kieran in my mind felt terrifyingly unfamiliar. He did not look like the man who sighed helplessly at my tantrums, nor the man who scolded me with a stern face. He radiated a bone-chilling, absolute frost. He barely looked like a man with a beating heart. In those visions, I was completely absent. He stood entirely alone, ruling with an iron fist, slaughtering his enemies, expanding his territory, and ultimately ascending to become the absolute sovereign of the wasteland. At the very end of those flashing memories, a line of glowing text appeared in my mind. Commander Kieran was no longer the underdog a piece of trash like Felix could humiliate. He was the sole hope of humanity, destined to lead the survivors and ensure the fire of civilization never extinguished. Reading that sentence and piecing all the memories together, the horrific truth became crystal clear. This world was a published novel. Kieran was the unstoppable protagonist. And I was just a petty, malicious early-game villain who bullied him when he was weak. A worthless cannon fodder destined to be torn apart by zombies at the very beginning of the story.

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There were five people in our family. Dad bought 10 crabs. But when they were steamed and served on the table, only 4 were left. Grandma naturally dropped one into her own bowl, leaving mine completely empty like a sick joke. Before I could even pout or feel wronged, Mom, who had just gotten off work late, marched up and snatched the crab right out of Grandma’s bowl with her fork and handed it to me. She glared at her and said, “At your age, do you really deserve the best meat? Here’s a leg, suck on it yourself.” 01 I look exactly like my mom, but my personality is as soft as my maternal grandpa’s. Whenever I came home crying after being bullied, Mom would sigh, wondering how I managed to skip a generation and inherit Grandpa’s temperament. “Chloe, don’t be scared. Mom will teach you. If a boy bullies you, kick him where it hurts. If a girl bullies you, punch her in the chest. Works every time.” She would crouch in front of me, patiently teaching me how to retaliate swiftly and ruthlessly. Sitting nearby, my dad, Mark, would shift uncomfortably, crossing his legs tight, and soon make an excuse about needing a smoke to escape to the porch. I would stare at my mom in innocent confusion, not quite understanding how she could use such a beautiful face to drop eight F-bombs in a single sentence. It wasn’t until I saw her and my maternal grandmother getting drunk and trading dirty jokes that I learned what the phrase “runs in the family” truly meant. Mom was at her wits’ end with my absolute inability to toughen up. She would sigh and tell Dad that one day she’d have to find me a six-foot-four lumberjack to protect me. Fortunately, my younger brother, Leo, stepped up to fill that role early. At barely eight years old, he was already unusually tall, clearly destined to be a big, tough guy. But Leo was energetic and mischievous. Mom and Dad worked and traveled a lot, so they didn’t always have time to watch him, and with my soft personality, Leo wasn’t exactly intimidated by me. That’s when Dad’s mother—my paternal grandmother—chimed in. She said she had plenty of free time to help raise the kids and actively volunteered to move in. My parents thought it would be a great opportunity for us to bond with her, so they didn’t refuse. So, the year Leo was seven and a half and I was twelve, Grandma officially moved in with us. Leo and I didn’t have many memories of her. Aside from visiting her for a few days during the holidays, we hardly ever saw her. But Dad had told us many stories about her life, explaining how hard things were for her when she was young, and reminding us to always love our grandmother. So, I was genuinely looking forward to her arrival. But I was sorely disappointed… “What is this? Why is there such a huge difference between Chloe’s room and Leo’s?” She hadn’t even put her suitcases down before she toured the whole house, hands behind her back. She pointed at my bedroom and asked Dad: “Why does a girl need a room this big? Look at poor Leo, stuck in that little space…” Saying that, she crouched down and asked my brother, who was bouncing a soccer ball, if he wanted to trade rooms with his sister. Leo didn’t say a word. He just rolled his eyes at her, grabbed my hand, and pulled me toward the front door. “I’m meeting my friends for soccer. Dad, you entertain Grandma yourself!” His attitude made Grandma furious. Even from down the street, we could hear her screaming inside the house about how my mother had raised a disrespectful brat. “Listen to me, you need to toughen up. Just ignore Grandma, you hear?” At the convenience store, Leo bought a Popsicle, broke it in half, and handed me a piece. “At her age, she’s still playing that sexist ‘boys are better than girls’ garbage. Totally delusional.” I held the Popsicle, taking a bite, not really knowing how to respond. After a long pause, I just squeezed out, “She’s our grandma. Surely she won’t be that bad.” “Whatever. I’m just going to have to keep a closer eye on you, otherwise she’ll sell you out and you’ll be happily asking if she got a good price.” Leo sighed helplessly. Standing almost as tall as me, he reached out and pinched my nose. “You’re such a pushover.” “Ugh, stop! Show some respect, I’m your older brother, don’t pinch my nose!” I chased him playfully in the sunlight, angry but laughing, while he dodged me with a grin. I thought the room-swapping comment was just a minor hiccup. I never expected it to be just the beginning. 02 Mom reacted to the room-swapping complaint by cold-laughing and pretending she didn’t hear it. No matter how many outdated, old-school traditions Grandma cited, it was useless. If Mom ignored it, Dad—the ultimate devoted husband—would never agree to it either. As for Leo, the fact that he didn’t actively argue with her face-to-face was already the peak of his respect for his elders. And then there was me. For days, Grandma couldn’t stand the sight of me. But she didn’t dare say anything in front of my parents. Instead, she would corner me in secret, talking about how back in her day, girls were put to work in the fields by age seven. She told me that once I finished middle school, I’d be going back to the country with her to do manual labor. It gave me nightmares for days. I dreamed of angry cows and sheep chasing me, asking why I hadn’t cut the grass for them yet. Leo noticed I looked exhausted and asked what was wrong. I hesitated, genuinely scared, but eventually told him. He didn’t say anything. But that night, he snuck into Grandma’s room wearing a creepy mask and played ghost noises on his phone. It scared the old woman so badly she slipped, fell hard on her tailbone, and had to be rushed to the ER for X-rays and a cast. Before my parents could double-team him with a spanking, Leo sneaked into my room, crouched by my bed, and said: “You know, you’d rather have nightmares for days than just tell me. You might as well stop being my older sister and just be my little sister.” “Come on, call me ‘Big Brother’ and let me enjoy it.” Before I could snap back at him, Mom threw the door open, her face dark like a storm cloud, and hauled him out by his collar. Then came the soprano roaring: “You little punk! You’re getting too bold! First you make your grandmother fall, and now you’re making your sister call you ‘Big Brother’?” “If I don’t keep you in check, you’re gonna start acting like you own this house!!!” Then came the smack smack sounds of a spanking. Leo was tough—he didn’t let out a single cry. A few minutes later, he even provoked Dad, saying, “Didn’t even hurt.” So Dad rolled up his sleeves and tagged in. I hid behind my door, trying to step out and stop them several times, but Leo kept waving me back. He mouthed silently: [I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt. Don’t get involved, or that old witch will hold a grudge and make your life hell when she gets back.] I nodded, crying. But after a few minutes, I couldn’t hold it in. I ran out and told my parents the whole story, cause and effect. They were stunned, but after hearing me out, they didn’t say much. While Dad was putting an ice pack on Leo’s backside, he turned to me: “Chloe, all those things I told you before… I didn’t mean you have to just take whatever Grandma dishes out. Girls from her generation had it rough, working the fields at eight or nine was normal, but that doesn’t mean it applies today.” Mom took over: “When your dad and I were kids, the hardest thing we ever did was maybe feed the neighbor’s chickens a few times. Ignore your grandmother. Quitting school to do manual labor? That’s total bullshit!” When Mom gets fired up, her language belongs in a dive bar, but beneath the crude words was nothing but fierce love for me. I wiped my tears, nodded, and promised them I wouldn’t listen to Grandma anymore. To me, the incident was over. But it left a massive knot in my mom’s heart. When Grandma got discharged from the hospital, Mom bought her a smartphone and taught her how to use Facebook and TikTok. Whenever Mom had free time, she would send Grandma videos. They were all highly targeted clips with titles like “Gossiping Old Woman Bitten by Dog,” “Mean Grandma Hit by Grocery Cart,” or “Karma: Falling Flowerpot Hits Toxic Elder.” Grandma didn’t know how to block people, so she spent every day with a dark scowl, watching videos of people her exact age suffering horrific accidents because of bad karma. “Don’t be scared of her, Chloe,” Mom said gently while helping me wash my hair in the tub. “Old folks like your grandmother are paper tigers. One match and they go up in smoke.” “Next time she dares to talk trash to you, I’ll have your dad boot her right back to her hometown so she can relive her glorious childhood of farm labor.” 03 Maybe my family’s protectiveness was a bit too obvious, because Grandma never made those kinds of comments to me again. But her dislike for me was very real. Walking home from school, I often saw her chatting with the other elderly ladies in the neighborhood. Whenever my name came up, she would complain that my parents spoiled me, saying I was too pampered and didn’t know my place, and that I’d suffer terribly when I got married. I didn’t understand why, as a woman herself, she felt the need to project such a malicious future onto me. But I had promised my parents and Leo that I wouldn’t take her words to heart. So I walked up to her naturally and said, “Grandma, I’m hungry.” She jumped, sending peanut shells flying from her lap as she stood up. “Oh, Chloe… why… why are you home so early?” “It’s Friday, we get out a period early.” I smiled at her. “Grandma, I’m hungry.” “Listening to you talk, I thought Chloe had turned into a complete delinquent, but she’s just the same sweet girl as always!” Mrs. Henderson, one of the neighbors chatting with her, rolled her eyes at Grandma. “If I hadn’t watched this kid grow up, I’d have thought you were talking about someone else’s daughter.” “Exactly. If you said that about the Smith kid or the Johnson kid, I’d believe it, but Chloe? Give me a break.” The other ladies chimed in, shutting Grandma down. Her face looked awful. She couldn’t take it for more than a minute before making an excuse and hurrying inside. “Chloe, tell your mom to keep a closer eye on her mother-in-law,” Mrs. Henderson called out to me. “We all know your family, we know you’re a good kid. But strangers don’t! She’s out here running her mouth every day, spilling the family’s business like a leaky bucket!” “Okay, I’ll tell Mom!” I said goodbye to the ladies and hurried upstairs. I dropped my backpack and started my homework, planning to tell Mom when she got home later. Dad also came home early that day. He was carrying a large styrofoam cooler and mysteriously called Leo and me over to look. “Wow! These crabs are huge!” Leo picked up two massive Blue crabs, holding one in each hand to play with. “Dad, let’s not eat them yet. Let me play with them for a couple of days.” “You little punk, if you play with them for two days they’ll be dead and rotting. You can play with them for a bit right now.” “Awesome! Then we can eat rotten crab!” “You little brat!” I gently poked a bubbling crab with a chopstick, smiling as I listened to them bicker. Grandma poked her head out of the kitchen, saw the cooler of crabs, and looked incredibly moved. “Mark, how did you know I was craving crab lately?” “Huh? You like crab, Mom?” Dad scratched his head. “I never heard you mention it. I would have bought more. There’s only 10 here.” “That’s plenty, plenty!” Grandma came out and carried the cooler into the kitchen. “That’s more than enough!” Without the crabs to play with, Leo huffed and went back to his room. I didn’t have much to say to Grandma, so I went back to mine too. It wasn’t until the rich, savory smell of steamed seafood filled the entire house that we finally came out and sat at the dining table. “So big!” Leo drooled looking at the plate. Grandma smiled and served him the two biggest ones. Then she gave Dad two. But when it came to me, the plate was empty. “Mom?” Dad paused with his fork and looked at her. “Where’s Chloe’s?” “What’s the rush? Don’t you see I don’t have one either? The rest aren’t done steaming yet.” Grandma took a bite of her green bean casserole. “Big crabs take longer to steam. We have to wait for the others, or we’ll get food poisoning.” That made sense, so Dad didn’t say anything else. But as we ate, hearing the crack crack of Leo breaking crab shells made me feel a little left out. “I’ll let you have one to satisfy your craving, look at you pouting.” Suddenly, a bright red crab appeared in my bowl. Leo bumped my arm. “But I get to pick your biggest one later!” “Okay.” I smiled and picked up the crab, but just as I was about to crack the shell, Grandma snatched it away with her tongs. “Why are you taking his? There’s barely enough to go around as it is. What kind of older sister acts like this?” I was stunned. I watched helplessly as Grandma dropped the crab back into Leo’s bowl and pressed it down into his rice. Instantly, the crab was covered in sticky white rice. My heart gave a sharp twinge, and my eyes welled up. “What are you doing?! I wanted to give it to her! Mind your own business!” Leo slammed his fork down and stood up, furious. “Leo Evans!!!” Seeing Leo about to start swearing, Dad got angry. “She is your grandmother! Do not speak to her like that!” “Just because she’s old doesn’t mean she’s great! Why does she get to bully my sister?!” “…Grandma might not know how to express it, but she doesn’t hate your sister. Didn’t you notice her bowl is empty too?!” That argument shut Leo down. It was true. Grandma hadn’t eaten a crab either. Snatching Leo’s away didn’t necessarily mean she was targeting me. So I swallowed the lump in my throat, rubbed my eyes, and kept eating my rice. Leo didn’t say a word. He picked up his dropped fork, walked over to Grandma, muttered a stiff “Sorry,” then went to the kitchen to grab a clean fork. Dinner resumed, but the atmosphere was incredibly oppressive. Dad tried to give me the crab from his bowl, but I refused. I looked at Grandma and said quietly, “Grandma hasn’t had one yet. Give it to her first.” Dad patted my head and praised me for being so mature. And just like that, the crab went into Grandma’s mouth. Even after dinner ended, the steamer pot in the kitchen was still humming. I figured saving the remaining four crabs for a late-night snack with Mom wasn’t a bad idea, so I didn’t bring it up. But late into the night, after Mom had showered and was sitting on the couch with a face mask watching Netflix, the crabs still hadn’t appeared. I couldn’t describe how I felt. My eyes just burned, and I wanted to cry. “What’s wrong, Chloe? Did your brother prank you again?” Mom waved me over. “Don’t cry. As soon as I take this mask off, I’ll go beat him up for you.” “Sniff… Mom…” I buried my face in her shoulder. “Why doesn’t Grandma like me?” “Huh? Her?…” Mom pulled me onto her lap and stroked my hair. “Because she’s brain-damaged. She suffered when she was young, so now she wants to tear up everyone else’s umbrella. She’s crazy, just ignore her.” “Today she…” Hugging Mom’s arm, I told her exactly what happened. Hearing this, Mom ripped her face mask off and marched me right into the kitchen. “Crabs, huh? Well, Mom’s on her period so I shouldn’t eat much seafood anyway. You can eat all four of them, kiddo.” She smiled and opened the fridge. “We won’t give any to that little brat. They’re all yours.” I smiled through my tears and nodded vigorously. But we turned the entire kitchen upside down and couldn’t find the remaining crabs. Logically, there should have been six left. Yet aside from a lingering seafood smell in the air, there were zero crabs. Mom took a deep breath, grabbed my hand, and marched to Grandma’s bedroom door, knocking loudly. The heavy, rhythmic pounding reflected exactly how impatient Mom was. Leo poked his head out of his room, signing to me to ask what was wrong. I shook my head and told him, “The crabs are missing.” “What? You STILL haven’t eaten?!” Leo sprinted out of his room, completely baffled. “It’s been like six hours! How have you not eaten yet?” “…” I didn’t answer. I just hung my head in silence. 04 “What are you doing this late?! I’m trying to sleep!” Grandma opened the door, her face dark. “I don’t keep the same crazy hours as you people.” “Oh! I thought you were hiding in your room eating in secret and were too scared to open the door!” Mom rolled her eyes, pushed past her, walked into the room, and sat down, crossing her legs. “Where are my crabs? Mark bought crabs and I haven’t seen a single leg. Where did you hide them?!” “Who said they were for you? Mark bought those to respect his mother!” “Please. You’ve probably never even seen a crab in your village, why would he buy them for you?” Mom tossed her hair, her expression full of absolute disdain. “Stop changing the subject. Where are my crabs!” “You!” Grandma choked on her rage, rolled her eyes, and aimed her guns at me. “Well aren’t you something, Chloe. I stop you from stealing your brother’s crab at dinner, so you go crying to your mother behind my back? You don’t even—” “I said stop changing the subject! WHERE ARE THE CRABS!!!” Mom slammed her fist on the table, stood up, and towered over Grandma. “I’m asking you a question! Dare to say one more word about Chloe and see what happens!” The room was packed with gunpowder. Grandma glared at me venomously and shut her mouth. I took a step back, feeling a chill run down my spine. I didn’t understand why Grandma was looking at me with such pure hatred. Was it just because I asked about the food that was supposed to be mine? Leo stepped in front of me, glaring back at her. “Let me guess, you only served four crabs on purpose just to mess with my sister and make sure she couldn’t eat, right?!” “What kind of grandmother are you? Even Mrs. Henderson next door treats us better!” “YOU!!!” Grandma clutched her chest and collapsed onto the floor, wailing, “I’m so old and I have to suffer like this! I don’t want to live anymore!!!” She was making so much noise that Dad, who was up in his second-floor office, got startled and hurried down to see what was going on. Seeing Dad, Grandma found her savior. She immediately grabbed him and demanded he mediate. “Crabs? Why are we fighting about crabs again?” Dad was confused and looked at Mom. “Did Leo complain to you? He was the one out of line this afternoon, you can’t just listen to his nonsense.” “Does your son look like the kind of kid who complains when he loses?! It was your daughter!” Mom impatiently kicked the bedroom door. “Your wonderful mother lied to Chloe’s face, telling her to wait for her food, and now it’s almost the next day and she hasn’t had a single bite!” “No way. Mom!” Dad looked at Grandma in disbelief. “Didn’t you say you’d bring them to her room later? Where are the crabs?!” “Yeah! Where are they!” Mom crossed her arms and sneered. “Where did you hide them? If you love them so much, why don’t you take them back to your farm and plant them in the dirt? Maybe you’ll grow a whole crab tree next spring.” 05 The pressure was entirely on Grandma. The glaring eyes were practically burning holes through her. Seeing that Dad wasn’t defending her, Grandma sat on the floor and started wailing again: “Why am I even alive?! Interrogating me over a few stupid crabs! Oh, Mark’s father, why did you have to die so early?!” When old people decide to be utterly unreasonable, it’s incredibly draining. But Mom’s temper was notoriously stubborn and fierce. She raised an eyebrow and glanced at Leo. The smart kid instantly got the memo. He dragged a huge basket of snacks from the living room cabinet, set it on the desk, and pulled me down to sit beside him, eating chips while watching Grandma cry. At first, Dad wanted to say something, but after catching the suppressed, violent rage in Mom’s eyes, he wisely kept his mouth shut. So, in Grandma’s bedroom, the four of us sat in a row on the bed, each holding a bag of snacks, munching away while watching Grandma weep on the floor. “Here, crab-flavored sunflower seeds. Eat these first so you don’t starve.” Leo handed me a bag, clicking his tongue in awe at the wailing woman on the floor. “This is my first time seeing an adult throw a literal tantrum on the floor up close. Really expanding my horizons here.” Hearing this, Mom laughed. “Well, you got a free show. Hurry up and thank your grandmother.” Dad and I stayed silent, chewing our snacks and waiting patiently. We waited for about four or five minutes. Grandma finally ran out of energy to cry. She sat on the floor, glaring at us. “Done crying? If you’re done, let’s talk about the crabs.” Mom spoke lazily. “If you can’t explain it clearly, you can go back to crying. I’m in no rush.” Lying on the floor, Grandma gritted her teeth in pure hatred. She suddenly scrambled up, pointed at Mom, and screamed: “So what if I just didn’t want you two eating them?! I gave the rest of those crabs away to the neighbors, and I made sure not to save a single bite for you!” Then she turned and pointed a wrinkled finger at me. “Such a manipulative little schemer at this age! Running your mouth and complaining! Let me tell you something—where I grew up, a useless little thing like you would have been thrown in the river and drowned the second you were born!!” The sheer malice in her words was terrifying. I shrank back, shivering in absolute fear, almost dropping my bag of snacks. “You motherf—!!!” Mom lunged off the bed straight at her. “How DARE you say that to Chloe!” Mom wasn’t a big woman, but according to her, she used to be the toughest girl in her high school. She was never afraid of a fight, routinely taking on six people at once. So, from the moment she lunged to the moment she tackled Grandma onto the bed, pinning her down, the rest of us were in total shock. Dad reacted the fastest. He rushed over, grabbed Mom, and physically peeled her off Grandma: “Sarah, calm down, calm down! Two more punches and you’ll actually kill the old lady!” “Yeah, Mom! Going to jail for manslaughter isn’t worth it!” Snapping out of his shock, Leo chimed in: “I’m weak, I’ll take the assault charge! Let me get revenge for my sister!” Saying that, he tried to dive onto the bed to claw at Grandma. Luckily, Dad had quick reflexes and snagged Leo by the collar, hauling him back. Otherwise, there was no telling how badly Grandma would have been beaten. Honestly, I never expected things to escalate like this. I watched in a daze as Dad played human shield, blocking Mom and Leo, who had both transformed into ferocious dragons. “I don’t want to live!!!” Grandma, who had been pushed down, wailed even louder, rolling around on the floor. “Beating me over a few crabs! Just let me die!”

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1 At thirty-five, I was a financial wreck, living paycheck to paycheck and blowing each one on trendy restaurants or concert tickets within days. After five years, I had no savings. When I got sick, I could not afford treatment. I died in a hospital bed, full of regret. Reborn, I vowed to save. But as soon as my salary arrived, the urge to spend took over. I turned to credit cards, and only when I faced a twenty five thousand dollar statement did I realize I needed someone to manage my money. But who would take on such a job? My best friend mentioned her cousin Simon, and a light went on. Simon was a finance director famous for his frugality. He split bills to the soda, kept hotel toiletries, and sold raffle prizes the same night. At thirty-five, he was still single. His penny pinching scared everyone away. I put down my bubble tea, a plan forming. A meticulous finance director obsessed with saving. He was the personal money manager I had been searching for. He was exactly what I needed. My best friend thought I’d lost my mind. “What do you even see in him?” she asked, bewildered. “Are you excited for him to take you on dates to Taco Bell? Or to make you go Dutch on everything?” “You don’t get it,” I said, my eyes gleaming. “I need someone to control my spending. I just can’t do it myself.” She sat across from me, frowning. “Then find a normal guy! Simon has a problem! It’s like a compulsion!” I just grinned. “Isn’t that perfect? I’m a spender, he’s a saver. We’ll balance each other out.” She rolled her eyes. “You two get together, and I guarantee he’ll be logging the cost of your morning bagel into a spreadsheet. You know that, right?” I took a long sip of my tea and nodded enthusiastically. “I know. That’s why I need him.” When my parents found out, their reaction was even stronger. “Simon? You mean the guy who’s so cheap he made the local news?” My mother nearly fainted. “Chloe, sweetie, you’re already so extravagant. If you get with a guy like that, you’ll be fighting every single day!” My dad had a slightly different take. “Being responsible with money is a good thing,” he mused, “but he does take it to an extreme.” I wrapped my arms around my mom, trying to win her over. “Mom, think about how much money I’ve wasted over the years. I need someone who can keep me in check.” “But not a complete Scrooge!” she lamented, sinking into the sofa in despair. I ignored their protests and had my friend set up a dinner for me and Simon. For our first meeting, I chose a budget-friendly diner—about twenty dollars a person. Simon was even more handsome than I’d expected: tall, slim, with sharp features behind a pair of glasses. He wore a faded navy-blue sweater. The first thing he did after sitting down was pull out his phone and open the calculator app. “This place averages twenty dollars a head, according to Yelp,” he stated. “The most recommended dishes are the spicy fish and the sweet and sour pork. For two of us, two entrees and a soup should be plenty. We can keep the total under fifty. Does that work for you?” I was stunned for a second. Not because he was being cheap, but because… it was such a relief. He had no idea how much anxiety a menu usually gave me. I always wanted to order everything, but my budget was limited, and I almost always overspent. Now, here was someone who had done all the math for me, right down to the final total. I didn’t have to think at all. I nodded shyly. “Okay. I trust your judgment.” After dinner, he walked me home. Standing at the entrance to my apartment building, I took a deep breath. “Simon,” I said, my courage wavering. “I’d like to try… with you.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Try what?” My face grew hot. “Dating.” Simon was silent for three full seconds. Then he spoke. “I’m open to that. But first, we need to sign a financial agreement.” I thought he was joking. He wasn’t. The next day, he emailed me a “Relationship Financial Management Agreement.” It stipulated that both parties would cover their own daily expenses, and all shared costs would be split 50/50. Each month, both parties were required to save no less than 30% of their income, with proof of savings subject to mutual review. Any non-essential purchase over fifty dollars required prior notification and justification. Neither party was to give the other gifts exceeding one hundred dollars, with a holiday gift budget capped at fifty dollars. If either party violated these terms, they would be required to pay the other 200% of the difference as a penalty. I stared at the document for a full ten minutes. Then, I burst out laughing. This man was completely serious. He wasn’t trying to take advantage of me. He just wanted to manage my money. 2 On our first official day of dating, Simon took over my finances. He had me show him everything: all my bills, my credit card statements, my payment apps. After reviewing them, he was silent for a full minute. “Chloe.” I couldn’t bring myself to look up. Twenty-five thousand dollars in debt was, admittedly, a bit beyond my ability to repay. His voice rose, but he didn’t mention the debt. Instead, he pointed at my order history. “You spent over a hundred and fifty dollars on bubble tea last month?” “I think so…” I wished the floor would swallow me whole. “One a day?” he asked, and I could hear him gritting his teeth. I mumbled, “Sometimes two.” He took a deep breath and scribbled a line in his notebook: “Bubble tea: limited to two per week, maximum four dollars per cup.” I scrambled over, trying to snatch the notebook away. “You might as well just kill me.” Simon held the notebook out of my reach, looking down at me. “You spend a hundred and fifty a month on tea. That’s nearly two thousand a year. If you saved that money, in three years you’d have enough for a down payment on a small condo.” My mouth fell open, but no words came out. He was right. In the weeks that followed, I learned what true budgeting really meant. He helped me cancel two streaming subscriptions I never used. He turned off the auto-renew feature on all three of my food delivery apps. He disabled push notifications for every shopping app on my phone. He even created a new lunch plan for me. The company cafeteria offered a meat and two-veg special for five dollars. It was healthy and cheap. I’d always found the cafeteria food disgusting and had never once eaten there. He joined me for lunch every day for a week, and I had to admit, it wasn’t half bad. In the first month, my spending dropped by a thousand dollars compared to the month before. I stared at the positive balance in my bank account—a first for me—and my eyes welled up. This time, I finally had money. This time, I wouldn’t die in a hospital bed because I was broke. The next day, I went for a full medical check-up. The results came back perfect. To celebrate, I treated myself to a spicy noodle soup that night. But after just a few bites, I was hit with a violent bout of food poisoning. My fever shot up to 102. By the middle of the night, I couldn’t take it anymore. I called Simon. He was at my door in twenty minutes. The first thing he did wasn’t ask how I was. He glanced at my takeout history on my phone. “What did you eat tonight?” I clutched my stomach, a cold sweat breaking over my body. “Spicy noodle soup…” Simon shoved the phone in front of my face, his expression grim. “Again? You just had that last Friday. I told you, you need to cut back on that stuff. It’s unhealthy and it’s not cost-effective.” I was delirious with fever, and hearing him talk about cost-effectiveness sent a surge of anger through me. “Simon, I’m dying here, and you’re still talking about money?” His tone was calm, almost clinical. “I’m not talking about money. I’m helping you analyze the cost-benefit. If you go to the ER now, the visit will be at least five hundred dollars. Do you even have that in your health savings account?” I turned my head away, refusing to answer. After a minute, I heard him sigh. “Fine. I’ll take you to the hospital.” I slapped his hand away. “I’m not going! All you care about is money!” Simon stood frozen, his eyes turning a little red. “Chloe, if I only cared about money, I wouldn’t have a taxi waiting downstairs with the meter running.” I blinked. Peeking out the window, I saw the flashing hazard lights of a cab parked by the curb. “Let’s go,” he said, reaching for my hand again. This time, I didn’t pull away. 3 At the hospital, he was a whirlwind of efficiency—registering, paying, picking up prescriptions. I sat in a chair in the treatment room, an IV drip in my arm. By three in the morning, my fever had broken and my head was clear. I watched him dozing in the uncomfortable plastic chair beside me, and a wave of guilt washed over me. “Simon.” “Hmm?” He opened his eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you earlier.” “It’s okay.” He paused. “But I still have to say it: that noodle soup was not a good value. Ten dollars for a meal that makes you sick. The hospital visit cost over five hundred dollars. Your total cost for that one meal was nearly six hundred. That’s enough to cover our cafeteria lunches for half a month.” I looked at his dead-serious expression and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Can’t you just be a little concerned about my health?” Simon reached out and felt my forehead. “Your health is fine now. But your spending habits are not. If you don’t change them, this will happen again.” He pulled a thermos from his bag and handed it to me. “Drink some warm water. The IV will make your hands cold.” I took the thermos, and the last bit of my irritation melted away. This was just his way of caring for me. A year passed just like that. For our first anniversary, I decided to buy Simon a new phone. He’d been using the same one for five years; the screen was so cracked he’d put tape over it to hold it together. While he was in the shower, I took his old phone to transfer the data. That’s when I saw it: a transfer record for two thousand dollars. Two thousand? I froze. Simon’s total monthly expenses were never more than a few hundred dollars. Where did this transfer come from? I glanced towards the bathroom but decided not to ask him yet. I put the old phone back where I found it and said nothing about the new one. But over the next few days, I started paying attention. I discovered a recurring transfer every month. The amounts varied—sometimes a thousand, sometimes fifteen hundred, but the two-thousand-dollar one was the largest. The recipient was always the same account. What was stranger was that after every transfer, he would delete the confirmation text from the bank. He was hiding something from me. My mind started racing. Did someone in his family need money for medical bills? But he’d never mentioned anything. Was he seeing another woman? The thought made my stomach twist into a knot. But no, that didn’t make sense. Simon wouldn’t even splurge on a movie ticket for our dates. How could he possibly afford to support another woman? What was it, then? I wracked my brain until one possibility emerged. Was he paying back an ex-girlfriend? I remembered my friend telling me that when he and his last girlfriend broke up, he’d given her an itemized list of shared expenses. Maybe she was turning the tables on him? All these theories battled in my head, keeping me up for nights. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. We were eating at a cheap food stall one evening when I just came out with it. “Simon, who are you sending money to every month?” The hand holding his chopsticks froze mid-air. “You went through my phone?” I shook my head, fighting the lump in my throat. “I’m willing to live this frugal life with you, but are you giving all our money to some other woman?”

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The glory of the World Championship win had barely settled when a man I once refused to sign stormed up to me, eyes burning with hatred. Surrounded by reporters, he angrily accused me of match-fixing. “If you hadn’t taken dirty money and undercut me, I’d be holding that trophy!” he shouted, yanking up his sweatpants to reveal a carbon-fiber prosthetic leg. The reporters erupted. Flashbulbs exploded as they shouted, “You belong in prison!” I raised my hands. “This is a misunderstanding.” “A misunderstanding?” He threw a medical report at me. “Two years ago today, in that playoff game—were you or were you not Kieran?” My stomach dropped. My name is Kieran, and I was involved—but as the head coach. I never stepped on the court. He took my silence as guilt. “You ruined my life!” he screamed. “I’ll make you pay!” The cruel irony: that day, I wasn’t even at the arena. An obsessed fan had drugged me, filmed me unconscious, and blackmailed me. But what stunned me most was his “witness.” “My girlfriend saw everything!” he yelled. “I won’t let you walk away with that trophy!” I looked at the woman beside him, clinging to his arm. My blood ran cold. It was her—the same fan who had ruined me two years ago. 1 When the woman finally got a good look at my face, a flash of pure panic and guilt crossed her eyes. Unfortunately, the crippled player completely missed her silent freak-out. He just pulled her forward, playing directly to the cameras. “I have been with my girl for seven years. Her biggest dream in the world was to see me win a championship.” “She dressed up that day, sitting in the bleachers with so much hope, just to watch me play. And what happened? Kieran maliciously stepped under my feet while I was shooting a three-pointer. My ankle shattered so badly they had to amputate. He killed my entire career in a split second!” He even held up a hospital billing statement. Under the ‘Guarantor for Medical Expenses’ section, my name was printed in black and white. Kieran. But that was because I was the coach of the opposing team. Naturally, I stepped up to cover the injured player’s medical bills out of basic human decency. I reached out, trying to pat his shoulder. “Bro, hold on a second. I am incredibly sorry about what happened to you, but you have the wrong guy.” “The wrong guy? You think you can just write off my ruined life as a misunderstanding?!” Tears streamed down his face. He looked completely unhinged as he roared at me. “My name is Silas! The Silas whose life you completely destroyed!” “If a monster like you gets to be crowned a World Champion, I would rather die right here to prove my innocence!” The media crowd gasped collectively. Every single camera lens pivoted directly to my face. The reporters were practically foaming at the mouth with righteous indignation. “Kieran, you know exactly how vital a player’s legs are. What exactly possessed you to do something so sick?” “Nobody would joke about losing a limb! Have you no conscience? Are you really going to stand there and deny it?” How the hell was I supposed to confess to something I never did? I had been dragged through hell that day too. I was just a clean-cut, hardworking coach back then. And that woman completely violated my boundaries. She drugged me, recorded my most vulnerable, humiliating moments on camera, and used the footage to try and force me into a relationship with her. God only knows how much money and sanity it cost me to finally bury that nightmare. I took a deep breath, fighting to keep my voice level. “I remember you. You were a prospect I rejected during the draft trials. You can’t just accuse me of ruining your life because I bruised your ego.” “I was merely the coach during that minor league game. I never subbed in. I never stepped on the court. I physically could not have fouled you.” Let alone the fact that I wasn’t even in the building. I waved my hand, gesturing for my legal team to step in and handle this circus. But before I could even turn my head, Silas lunged forward and snatched my World Championship trophy right off the podium. This was the holy grail my teammates and I had bled and sweat for over three years. It was the ultimate proof of our international dominance. As the team captain, I was supposed to be the one lifting it to the rafters. If Silas hadn’t hijacked the press conference to smear my name, my boys and I would be popping champagne right now. Instead, Silas held the heavy gold trophy high above his head. Pure malice spilled out of his eyes. My posture instantly turned lethal. “What do you think you are doing? Put that down and think very carefully about your next move.” Silas ground his teeth. “Kieran, you destroyed my life. If you do not confess to the whole world right now and show them the ugly freak you really are, you are not leaving this stage!” Seeing that he was entirely prepared to burn everything to the ground, I stopped moving. “Do you have any idea that slandering me on global television will land you in a federal prison?” “And the trophy you are holding represents the glory of an entire nation! Do not let your petty, delusional vendetta ruin this!” Silas just let out a disdainful snort. “You think I would come up here to expose you without hard proof?” “Look closely, everyone! This is the raw broadcast footage from that exact day. World Champion? Please. He is a career-ending thug!” He uploaded a video file directly to the event’s public feed. The reporters and the millions of fans watching the live stream immediately pulled it up. My eyebrows knit together in sheer confusion. What the hell was going on? The player in the video who viciously undercut him looked exactly like me. The footage Silas provided even had a verified timestamp. It was definitively from that minor league game. Realizing the massive severity of the situation, the tournament organizers routed the video to the jumbotron above us. Everyone watched as a player wearing my exact face deliberately slid his foot under Silas while he was airborne for a three-pointer. Silas came down hard, his ankle snapping in a sickening way as he collapsed in agony. The entire arena exploded into chaos. Fans from all over the world stared at the stage in absolute horror. “I can’t believe their World Champion is a dirty player. What an absolute disgrace!” My die-hard fans tried to scream in my defense, but the supporters of the team we had just defeated mercilessly attacked them. “Your idol is a literal criminal! This whole championship is tainted. We demand a complete rematch!” People started hurling cups of soda and half-eaten hotdogs at my supporters in the stands. The reporters didn’t hesitate. They shoved their microphones practically down my throat. “Kieran, are you still going to lie to our faces?” “Whether you took a bribe or did it out of spite, you intentionally maimed Silas and forced him into an amputation! That is an indisputable fact!” “A degenerate like you belongs behind bars. How dare you even touch that trophy? It is a desecration to the sport!” I tried to speak, but my voice was completely drowned out by the tidal wave of accusations. We had bled for our country. Now, our crowning achievement was being dragged through the mud. My fans in the audience were being shoved and bullied. My teammates, who had been crying tears of joy just ten minutes ago, now stood with their heads bowed, looking utterly lost and completely humiliated. Meanwhile, Silas soaked up the sympathy of the press, offering the cameras a tragically broken smile. “I used to be a kid with big dreams. I never thought the world could be this cruel. The woman I love was sitting right there in the crowd, and all she got to see was my most pathetic, broken moment.” “If life was fair, I would be the one holding this trophy today. But Kieran, that disgusting thief, stole everything from me!” Silas clutched the trophy my team had earned, weeping and playing the victim, acting like it rightfully belonged to him. That gold was forged from our blood, sweat, and sleepless nights. Why the hell should I let him tarnish it with his baseless, psychotic lies? I took a deep breath, forcing my heart rate down. I had no idea how my face ended up in that game footage. But there was one thing I knew with absolute, terrifying certainty. A human being cannot physically exist in two places at once. The day I was drugged and dragged into that hotel room, the lobby security cameras and the vile video Sloane filmed on her phone both had rock-solid timestamps. They were my unbreakable alibis. I just wondered if Silas would be able to handle the truth when I shoved it down his throat. I glared at him with ice in my veins. “We live in an era where deepfakes are practically flawless. Are you absolutely certain the guy in that video is me?” Silas gritted his teeth. “Who else could it be?! Everyone can see it perfectly. That is your face! You are just too much of a coward to admit it until the coffin is nailed shut!” Right on cue, his girlfriend Sloane stepped into the spotlight. “My boyfriend’s dream was always to win the World Championship. He was a generational talent. Before I met him, he had never lost a single game.” “Kieran was obviously insanely jealous of his natural gifts! That is why he refused to sign him, and that is exactly why he took a cheap shot and crippled him when they finally faced off!” She puffed out her chest, speaking with absolute, unwavering conviction, painting a vivid picture of the tragedy she supposedly witnessed that day. I would never be able to scrub Sloane’s sickening face out of my memory. I was the one who survived a nightmare because of her. Back then, I was just a regular coach grinding my way up. But my looks caught Sloane’s attention, and she developed a completely unhinged obsession with me. She tried to buy me with money. She tried to pressure me using her family’s connections. Nothing worked. I refused to cave. So she resorted to the lowest, most despicable tactic imaginable. She slipped a drug into my drink. She was in that hotel room. She took complete advantage of my paralyzed state to film an explicit, non-consensual video. The entire horrific ordeal was documented on her phone. I couldn’t even stomach the thought of watching it a second time. She was only bold enough to publicly slander me right now because she assumed I had permanently deleted that traumatic footage the second our legal battle ended. But the truth was, just in case this psychopath ever returned. I had kept a heavily encrypted backup. I stared dead into Sloane’s heavily plastic-surgeried face, a wave of pure revulsion rolling off me. “You claim I was on the court undercutting Silas that day. Then let me ask you something. Who was the guy passed out in the penthouse suite of the Grand Plaza Hotel that exact same afternoon?” Sloane violently flinched. She snapped her head toward me. “What, are you going to start spreading slut-shaming rumors about me now? Is this how a World Champion behaves?!” Silas clenched his fists. He immediately pulled Sloane behind his back, puffing up like a righteous savior. “I thought you were just an overly competitive thug who played dirty because you were terrified of losing to me. But at least I thought you had some backbone! Dragging an innocent woman’s reputation through the mud? You are not even a real man!” The reporters eagerly typed away, practically salivating. They were already painting me as a mob-connected enforcer who intentionally crippled rookies. Now, they were slapping a ‘misogynist’ label on me, condemning me for throwing a woman under the bus to save my own skin. I kept my tone dangerously calm. “I grew up in a working-class neighborhood. I am not some mobster intentionally breaking people’s legs.” Sloane pointed a manicured finger right at my nose. “That is exactly why you took the dirty money! You did a hit job to eliminate a player who actually had real talent!” “I saw the whole thing from the bleachers. Do not even try to lie your way out of this! Whether it is his leg or that championship trophy, you owe my boyfriend your life. You do not deserve any of it!” I had pushed through three years of brutal injuries. Three years of sleepless, agonizing training camps. And she had the sheer audacity to say I didn’t deserve it? I took a step back, putting distance between myself and Sloane. “A single video clip proves absolutely nothing. I am calling the police right now to pull my geolocation data and hotel records from that day.” “First of all, I was the head coach. There is zero possibility I subbed into the game. Second, I was never even inside that arena!” I locked eyes with Sloane, my gaze utterly lethal. “Where I was, and exactly what I was doing that day, is something you know very, very intimately, Sloane. Do not push me to the point of no return.” It was a highly explicit, deeply violating video involving both of us. Even though I didn’t grow up rich, my parents raised me to be a gentleman. I truly did not want to destroy a woman’s dignity on international television. But Silas didn’t care. At that exact moment, he hoisted the trophy high into the air and violently slammed it down onto the hard stage floor. A deafening crack echoed through the stadium. The honor my teammates and I had bled for over three years, a multimillion-dollar international trophy representing the pride of our entire nation, shattered into a dozen jagged pieces. I saw red. “Silas, have you completely lost your mind?! That is a national treasure!” More importantly, the sentimental value of that trophy was something a hundred thousand Silases could never afford to repay. Silas just pointed a venomous finger right at my face. “Let me make this crystal clear. I would rather smash this trophy to dust than let a piece of trash like you ever hold it again!” “Who knows if you are going to bribe the cops and the media to fabricate some fake alibi later!” He turned to the completely stunned crowd, speaking with fanatical devotion. “I swear on my actual life, Kieran is the one who took my leg. That video is one hundred percent authentic.” “If he can genuinely prove he didn’t do it, I will take a knife and end my own life right here on this stage! Are you all satisfied now?!” Betting his own life on the line. That was all it took for the scales of public trust to permanently tip in his favor. The tournament officials looked at us with deep apprehension. The gold medals that were supposed to be draped around our necks were quietly packed away. My fans, who had been fiercely fighting back just moments ago, went completely still. They squatted in the stands, quietly weeping as they absorbed the humiliation. A few of my teammates broke down sobbing, dropping to their knees and pounding their fists against the stage floor in sheer, helpless agony. The rookie I had personally mentored looked up at me. His eyes were bloodshot and completely shattered. “Captain… did you really do those things?” “Please tell me it is a lie. You are not that kind of person, right?” Looking into his completely broken eyes, I knew he was hanging on by a thread. I was the leader of this franchise. I was the idol my fans looked up to. I represented the country. If I didn’t completely annihilate these lies and clear my name right here, right now, the people who loved and trusted me would suffer a permanent psychological collapse. And all of this nightmare was meticulously orchestrated by Silas and Sloane. Silas, you really wanted to play this game? You better pray you can survive the fallout. I pulled out my phone and unlocked the heavily encrypted hidden folder in my gallery. “We actually do not need to wait for the police. I have a video right here that explicitly proves I was nowhere near that basketball court.” I already had the media control booth’s email from the press briefing. I attached the file and hit send. “Put it on the jumbotron. The raw, real-time footage from that afternoon is more than enough to clear my name!”

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