Category: English

My older sister never really liked me. She was cold, distant, and sometimes downright mean. She stole my toys. She tore up my homework. But after a building collapse that buried us both, everything changed. My sister suddenly became a different person. Chapter 1 My sister, Harper, is five years older than me. When Mom was giving birth to me, there were complications. Harper, just a toddler then, was terrified. She screamed and cried, yelling, “Put her back! I don’t want a bad sister!” It became a family joke, but the truth was, she never really warmed up to me. We were polar opposites. I loved Barbies; she loved Power Rangers. I loved singing and dancing; she loved kickboxing and MMA. By the time I was mastering ballet, she was a black belt in Taekwondo. Naturally, I never won a fight. My parents never gave her the “you’re the older sister, let her win” speech. Whenever I ran to them crying, clutching my bruised arm, they’d just shrug. “You poked the bear, kiddo. We can’t help you.” My “newborn protection period” expired the moment I learned to walk. I didn’t get the memo, though. I kept provoking her. After countless beatings, I finally understood the hierarchy of our household: Might makes right. And Harper was the Supreme Leader. Being adaptable, I tried sucking up to her. I’d bring her water, offer to massage her shoulders. Harper would just glare at me suspiciously. “Chloe, what are you plotting?” The audacity! I was just trying to survive! However, the Supreme Leader had a weakness: Grandma. Grandma raised Harper until I was born. She always took my side. “Harper, why did you make Chloe cry again?” “You’re the big sister, you need to know better.” And where was seven-year-old me? Hiding behind Grandma’s legs, chirping, “Yeah! Big sisters are supposed to be nice!” I was bold only because Harper wouldn’t hit me in front of Grandma. Our parents knew Harper felt sidelined, so they tried to balance it out at home. They told her: “It’s okay to be a kid sometimes.” They told me: “Sisters should support each other. Keep taddling, and you’re on your own.” I was a tyrant at Grandma’s house and a peasant in my own home. So, I learned quickly: apologize fast, apologize loud. Chapter 2 Harper was a vault. While I apologized at the speed of light, she kept her mouth shut tight. In third grade, we had a writing assignment: “My Hero.” I thought about it for a long time and wrote about Harper. I used every fancy adjective my eight-year-old brain knew. It was basically a fan letter. When I proudly showed it to her, she ripped it in half. “Garbage. Rewrite it.” I was devastated. I ran to Mom, sobbing. “Harper tore up my homework!” Mom patted my head. “It probably wasn’t very good then. Ask her to help you rewrite it.” “It was good! She did it on purpose!” Mom was busy. “Harper, help your sister.” So Harper dragged me back to our room and shoved a giant rainbow lollipop in my mouth. She never apologized. She just bribed me into silence. And I fell for it every time. I rewrote the essay. Harper said the first one was too superficial. “You have to praise a person’s character, not just their face,” she lectured. Later, that torn-up essay disappeared. I assumed I lost it and asked Mom for a new notebook. Chapter 3 I had a healthy amount of fear and respect for Harper. She was ruthless, quiet, and brilliant. As much as I hated to admit it, she was a genius. Just… icy. Especially to me. We rarely had a peaceful conversation. Our biggest fight happened on my twelfth birthday. Harper was a junior in high school, swamped with AP classes and SAT prep, but she came home for the party. Mom got me a huge cake with a pink bow. Lots of friends came. I got tons of gifts. Including one from the neighbor’s kid, Leo. It was an adorable teddy bear. Leo said his dad brought it back from London just for me. When Harper came home, I showed it to her. “Isn’t it cute?” She glanced at it and gave a dismissive nod. That night, after the guests left, I took the bear into Harper’s room. She was studying. She didn’t look up. “What?” I sat on her bed, swinging my legs. “When do you go back to school?” “Tomorrow.” “So soon?” I pouted. “Can’t you stay?” “No.” I slumped. She turned around and pulled a box from her backpack. “Happy Birthday.” I froze. She rarely gave me gifts. “Open it later.” “Thanks, Harper,” I stammered. She looked at the bear in my arms. “Who gave you that?” “Mr. Miller next door. From London.” Harper’s face changed instantly. She snatched the bear, opened the window, and threw it out. We lived on the first floor, so it landed in the bushes. “Why did you do that?!” I yelled. She closed the window calmly. “Don’t go get it.” I ignored her. I put her gift down and ran outside. Harper followed me. The bear was in the mud. Just as I stepped into the bushes, she grabbed my arm. “I said, leave it.” “Let go! It’s my birthday present!” I screamed, wrestling my arm free. I don’t know if I was strong or if she let go so she wouldn’t hurt me. But she beat me to the bear. She picked it up and ripped its head off. She held up the ruined toy. “You still want it?” I stared in shock, then stomped my foot. “Harper! What is wrong with you?!” Mom and Dad ran out. “What’s going on?” Harper didn’t say a word. She walked past us and dropped the shredded bear into the dumpster. “I hate you!” I shoved her and ran to my room. My parents held a family meeting in the living room that night. “Why did you throw away her bear?” Mom asked. “I didn’t like it,” Harper said, face blank. I pointed at her. “See?! She’s crazy!” They scolded her and told her to buy me a new one when she got a job. I went back to my room and threw a tantrum on my bed. Then I saw the box on my desk. I opened it. It was a vintage CCD digital camera. I was obsessed with photography back then. My parents’ phones were full of my selfies because they wouldn’t buy me a phone until middle school. I always begged to use Harper’s phone. She always said, “Dream on.” I never thought she remembered what I liked. That camera must have cost her months of allowance. My anger vanished. The next morning, before she left for school, I begged her to take a picture with me. She agreed on one condition. “Stay away from Mr. Miller and his family.” “Okay,” I promised. Two years later, the Millers moved away. That morning, as the garbage truck came, I saw a small black square fall out of the torn bear’s body. It looked like a camera lens. Chapter 4 Harper went to college out of state. Mom said she was independent. Low maintenance. Grandma died when I was in eighth grade. Harper cried for days. Her eyes were swollen shut. She knelt by Grandma’s grave, whispering secrets I couldn’t hear. Before my high school entrance exams, I got a package from Harper. It was a plush bear, similar to the one she destroyed. And a note: [Good luck, Chloe.] I sent her a selfie with the bear. [Received!] She replied: [Good.] Still so cold.

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Three days before the wedding, during the final fitting of my dress, the phone rang. “Ellie.” Just two syllables, and I knew exactly who it was. But we hadn’t spoken in eight years. The last time I saw him, he was at the prenatal clinic, guiding her through the door. “What do you want?” I kept my voice flat, professional. The sharp intake of breath on the other end was audible, and his voice came back, strained and urgent: “Ellie, I heard you’re getting married. Can you let me see your mother?” “The three of us. A family reunion.” A reunion? I lowered my head, my fingers automatically touching the silver locket hidden beneath the lace. Inside, two small, laminated black-and-white photos: my mother and me. I gave a short, brittle laugh. “You want to see my mother? Wait until you’re dead.” 1 I hung up, and Jack stepped out of the fitting room. He saw the locket open on my chest and his warm smile faded just a touch. “Thinking about your mom again?” He drew me into his embrace, his hug gentle but with a subtle, cautious probe in his voice. “It’s been so many years, El. Are you sure you don’t want to invite your father to the wedding?” My body stiffened in his arms, turning instantly cold. “He stopped being my father eight years ago.” “But—” Jack started to say something more, but my phone rang again. It was my grandmother. She said Victor—my father, Victor Hayes—had somehow found out about the wedding. He was hounding her, demanding to be there. She asked if I wanted to tell him the truth about Mom. My face felt like stone. I replied, one word at a time. “Ignore him.” Ever since that day, eight years ago, I haven’t had a father. Grandma simply hummed, not pressing the issue. But right before she hung up, she sighed, a sound worn smooth by time and grief. “Ellie, honey, the things that happened back then… it wasn’t easy for your dad, either.” Grandma had forgiven him. My eyes burned, and I almost laughed aloud—a harsh, ugly sound I barely managed to swallow. I didn’t understand. My mother was the one who was betrayed, thrown out of her home, and ultimately, who died of a broken heart. Eight years later, how could anyone say he was the one who didn’t have it easy? Was it just because he was my father? Because of some flimsy, so-called blood tie? What a joke. I ended the call, changed out of the beautiful silk wedding dress, grabbed my car keys, and headed for the door. Jack followed me out, his expression worried. “Ellie, where are you going? Not back to the hotel?” “No. To the cemetery. To see my mother.” The black Audi pulled up to the gates of Evergreen Cemetery. I got out, bought a bunch of lilies—Mom’s favorite—and knelt expertly before the tombstone in the third row, seventh plot. “Mom, I’m here.” I carefully arranged the lilies in front of the smooth granite, then tugged on Jack’s arm. “This is your son-in-law, Jack Dawson. We’re getting married the day after tomorrow.” I paused, pressing down the sob that threatened to rise. “And Mom, he came looking for me.” “Grandma said he wants to attend the wedding. I said no.” “Don’t worry. I will never forgive him for you.” “I miss you, Mom.” I spoke softly, my hand brushing away a stray piece of dust from the engraving. It revealed a face that was a softer version of my own—gentle, smiling. It was a photo from her happiest day. My father’s company had just gone public; I had just been accepted into my dream university. At my acceptance party, the photographer had captured the unconcealed pride and love in her eyes as she looked at my father and me. It was her most joyful image, the one that spanned years of sacrifice. None of us could have known then that this photograph would be the one etched onto her tombstone, just eight years later. 2 On the drive back, I leaned my head against the cold glass, letting the wind dry the dampness in the corners of my eyes. Jack, trying hard to soothe me, racked his brain for jokes to make me smile. My mouth lifted slightly, and I was about to speak when my eyes caught something sharp and unwelcome. A man was pacing near the entrance of our hotel. “What are you doing here!” My body instantly bristled, all sharp edges. I slammed the car door and charged at him, demanding an answer. Victor Hayes saw me, and the tentative smile on his face immediately crumpled into a look of raw distress. “I… I just wanted to see you.” “I’m your father. You’re getting married, and of course I should—” “You are not my father!” I cut him off, spinning around and pulling Jack sharply toward the hotel lobby. “If you have an ounce of decency left, don’t ever let me see your face again.” In the reflection of the glass doors, I saw Victor take two stumbling steps after me, his voice tearing in the wind. “Ellie! At least tell me… is your mother alright?” I halted for a fraction of a second, then quickly moved on. Alright? She’s dead. So, yes, she’s finally alright. We got to the front desk. I was just about to tell the manager that Victor Hayes was not to be allowed on the property when the manager approached me. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Stone, but your wedding reception hall has been booked by someone else.” “What?” I froze, then the realization hit me like a blow. “He did this, didn’t he?” I didn’t need to say his name. The manager’s face went momentarily pale. “We can’t disclose guest names, ma’am, but the client said that if he could just meet with you and your mother, he would release the venue, free of charge.” Jack looked at me with deep concern. “Ellie, let’s just forget it…” “I’ll call other hotels right now.” I shook my head, already defeated. “It won’t work.” “When he makes up his mind about something, no amount of running or struggling will help.” That was a lesson I learned eight years too late. I took out my phone, hesitated for a long moment, and finally dialed the number I hadn’t deleted. “Ten AM tomorrow. Coffee shop. We meet.” My voice was ice-cold, but Victor on the other end sounded like he’d won the lottery. “Yes! Yes! Ellie, I won’t be late, I promise. Tell me, is your mother still a fan of—” I hung up before he could finish. That evening, Aunt Sophia arrived on a late flight. Eight years ago, she was still studying overseas and learned everything second-hand. Eight years later, the moment she saw me, her eyes were instantly red-rimmed. “How dare that despicable bastard show his face around you?” She gripped my hands, her whole body shaking with rage. “He was the one who disowned you eight years ago! How can he have the nerve to crash your wedding?” “Does he think he deserves it?” “And your mother…” Sophia choked on the name. “How could she be so damn generous? She slaved away, working multiple jobs just to scrimp and save to fund that viper’s startup.” “And then, when he finally made it big, the first thing he did was cheat, find a mistress, and break your mother’s heart until it stopped.” “Your mother was only forty years old when she died!” Sophia was sobbing uncontrollably. I just stood there, silent. Because she was right. My mother was too selfless. When she married my father, he was just a broke street kid—a nobody who barely had two pennies to rub together. His mother had died young, and his father was a gambler; his life was a total wreck. But my mother was a fool. Because he saved her once from a mugging on the way home from school, she gave him her whole heart. At eighteen, they had their first time. At twenty-two, they got married and had their first and only child—me. At forty, I got into college, and he cheated. The most hateful thing he ever said to her was: “I might be shameless, but you slept with me when you were eighteen. What right do you have to judge me?” That was the first time I saw utter despair in my mother’s eyes. The pain in that gaze was so deep that eight years later, I still woke up from nightmares, regretting what I did. Regretting that I ever told her about his affair. 3 I first discovered my father’s affair at my college acceptance party. It should have been the happiest day of my mother’s life. My father’s company was listed on the stock exchange; I was off to my dream school. The smile never left her face for the entire night. Until I used the excuse of needing fresh air to slip onto the balcony to text a friend. Just a few feet away, my father was locked in a tight embrace with a woman. I knew that woman. She was my mother’s best friend, her confidante for eighteen years. The first fancy party dress I ever owned was a gift from her. I froze on the spot, my mind a blank slate. The next thing I knew, a piercing scream, raw and bloody, tore out of me. My mother rushed over, worried. When she saw the scene, her soul shattered. I heard her ask my father: “Why?” “Why her?” The woman she had treated like a sister for nearly two decades. “And why today?” On our daughter’s big day. I don’t remember much after that. I only remember the lights in our house stayed on all night. My father smoked, lighting one cigarette after another. My mother sat lifelessly on the sofa, her makeup smeared and streaked. They made a pact: my father would cut ties with the other woman, and my mother would pretend nothing happened for my sake, so my education wouldn’t be affected. My mother, naïve as she was, still believed they could start over. Until the second time. My mother came home from grocery shopping. The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and the two of them were tangled up, half-dressed. On the nightstand right next to the bed sat our family photo—the three of us, smiling. That was the moment she completely lost it. She flung the groceries at them, smashing every single photo frame in the house. My father just stood there, watching her, shielding the other woman with his body. “Caroline, stop this ridiculous scene and close the door.” “Ellie will be home soon. It wouldn’t look good.” He remembered I was coming home, yet when he was with that woman, he didn’t even bother to close the door. I wasn’t told what happened next. I only knew my mother wanted a divorce and asked if I would go with her. Of course, I said yes. I had seen the evidence of his betrayal with my own eyes. I couldn’t bear to live under the same roof as him. To stick up for my mom, I even dragged a couple of friends to the mistress’s house. I called her a homewrecker, trashed her living room, and warned her never to show her face to my mom again. But my father struck back, and quickly. He didn’t hurt me. He just called the police for her and hired the best lawyer in town. “Even though you’re my daughter, the mother is to blame for the child’s mistakes. You dared to bully Aunt Vanessa, so your mother will have to apologize for you.” “This is a small warning. If it happens again, I won’t spare you, even if you are my child.” I will never forget that day I was left alone at the precinct. My mother rushed over, hysterical, and—in front of the police officers—she knelt before that woman. She bent low, her palms raw from digging her nails into them, kneeling before my father and Vanessa Pierce. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t raise my daughter properly.” “She’s still young. She needs to go to college. She can’t have a record. Please, let her go.” “I promise… I will teach her better. She won’t cause trouble again.” “Please.” That was the first time—the absolute first time—I wished my father dead. But my wish didn’t come true. He went on living perfectly fine. Even worse, after that incident, he stopped trying to hide his affair. He started bringing that woman home frequently, asking me to call her “Stepmom” right in front of my mother. He didn’t care that my mother cried all night, every night. He didn’t care that the hatred in my eyes grew daily. He was entirely consumed by his extramarital life. Then, a month later, my mother, distracted and distraught, was in a car accident. That was the first time I saw my father cry. 4 I remember it was the last private room on the hospital floor. My mother was asleep, sedated by the anesthetic. My father held her hand, his eyes red-rimmed. “Caroline, let’s stop fighting, okay?” “We’ll go back to how we were. We’ll be a proper family again.” My mother must have heard him, for a single tear slipped from the corner of her eye. She said nothing. After that day, my father was like a different person. He never mentioned that woman, and he stopped staying out all night. He came to the hospital every day at 8 AM sharp to accompany my mother to her checkups and would push her wheelchair around the garden in the afternoon. He seemed to have reverted to the good husband and father he used to be. My mother still wouldn’t speak to him, but she didn’t chase him away either. Then one evening, she quietly asked me: “Ellie, do you want a whole family again?” I knew she still couldn’t let go. In the past, I would have instantly refused, listing a dozen reasons why men never truly change. But her car accident had been so severe; she had nearly died. Seeing her frail, thin body, I couldn’t bring myself to hurt her again. So I said: “Whatever you decide, Mom.” Things seemed to be slowly improving. Until the day the doctor asked me to take my mother to the third floor for a CT scan. My father was coming out of the Obstetrics and Gynecology department, supporting that woman. My mother broke down again. She screamed, demanding to know if he wasn’t going to be a good husband, if he wasn’t ashamed that that woman was pregnant! The smile froze on my father’s face. He suddenly stepped forward and slapped my mother across the face, snarling: “I’m shameless? You slept with me when you were eighteen! What right do you have?” A surge of hot blood rushed to my head. I felt like a rabid animal, wanting to tear apart the bad people who were hurting my mother. But I was too weak. I couldn’t fight a forty-something-year-old man. I was slapped so hard two of my teeth chipped, and my nose wouldn’t stop bleeding. My mother panicked, desperate to protect me even though she was confined to a wheelchair. In the end, Victor Hayes won. He put his arm around the startled Vanessa, threw down two words— “I want a divorce!”—and stormed off. My face swollen and stinging, I watched the nurses rush my mother into the operating room. Her wounds had burst open. She was hemorrhaging, and they couldn’t stop the bleeding. … Soon after, the divorce papers were mailed to the hospital. Grandma rushed from her country home to help me deal with Mom’s funeral arrangements. Mimicking my mother’s handwriting, I signed the divorce agreement in her name. That was exactly eight years ago. A knock on the guest room door startled me. It was Jack, asking my aunt and me to come down for dinner. I was busy searching for a tissue to wipe away my tears when my phone rang, a frantic, urgent sound. It was the hotel front desk number. I thought there was another issue with the wedding venue and quickly answered. But the voice on the other end was Victor Hayes, trembling. “Ellie, why did the hotel staff say… that your mother is gone…”

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After five years of marriage and two children, my body was a roadmap of stretch marks and the soft, loose skin that now draped my midsection. Predictably, my CEO husband, Blake Harrington, had found himself a young secretary—barely out of college—and was now flaunting her on his arm, in the open, for anyone to see. Consumed by a grief so sharp it felt like physical pain, I fled to my wealthy mother’s office to cry. She sat behind her massive mahogany desk, lit a cigarette, and watched me with unconcealed disdain. “He keeps a mistress, why don’t you keep a boy?” I sputtered, “Mom? Are you telling me to cheat?” She shook her head. “No, Anna. I’m teaching you to love yourself.” 1 I was driving the boys to school when I found out Blake was cheating. Amid the cacophony of the morning traffic and the usual sibling squabble in the back seat, my own pulse was a frantic, off-key drumbeat. I managed to hit the power button on my phone, killing the screen and hiding the image of Blake and Kira Bell—his new secretary—locked in a desperate, office-supply-closet kiss. My hands trembled on the steering wheel. Landon, my older son, demanded, “Mom, please hurry. I’m going to be late.” He was the spitting image of Blake: polite, reserved, and strangely self-sufficient. I used to be proud of his composure, convinced I had raised a remarkably mature child. Now, looking at his cool, indifferent hazel eyes, I felt a sudden, chilling fear. “Honey,” I asked, the words catching in my throat. “If your father and I were to separate, who would you choose?” Landon Harrington glanced at me, his expression flat, and said nothing. When we reached the school curb, he gathered his backpack. He looked at me with the calculation of a much older man. “Mom, you don’t have a job, and you haven’t spoken to Grandma Sterling in years. If you separate, I’ll have to choose Dad.” My younger son, Carter, who usually followed Landon’s lead on everything, piped up instantly. “I want Dad too. I’ll choose Dad!” I felt as if I’d plummeted through thin ice into a freezing lake. After dropping Carter off at his pre-school, I drove to the nearest empty park and finally allowed myself to open the image again. The sender was an anonymous account, but the message was a deluge. Mrs. Harrington, you’re too sweet and devoted. I didn’t want you to be blindsided. Kira, she explained, had started as a client assistant. Blake, upon meeting the “cute and hyper-competent” girl, immediately promoted her to his executive assistant. Stop being a naive housewife, Anna. You need to start thinking about yourself. If you don’t fight back, she’s going to take your life. Blake is flying out this week, and he specifically requested her. He had someone book a king-sized suite and a bouquet of a hundred roses. A king-sized suite. A hundred roses. The symbols of romance Blake had only offered me during our brief, feverish courtship were now being packaged for another woman. My palm felt icy cold. I clenched and unclenched my fist, leaving half-moon indentations in my skin. I knew I wasn’t a master strategist. I certainly wasn’t the cunning type. After exhausting all my useless internal debates, I reached for my phone and called my mother’s private line. 2 Dana, my mother’s secretary, escorted me into Vicky Sterling’s presence half an hour later. Five years had passed, and my mother was more formidable, more stunning than ever. The sharpness in her dark eyes felt like a physical assault. My legs went soft, and my first instinct was to bolt. “Scared, Anna? Still so gutless.” She saw right through me. That was always the way it was. Even at my lowest, my mother’s first instinct was to wound. My eyes immediately began to sting, and my throat tightened. “Yes, I’m useless,” I whispered, the bitterness overwhelming me. “That’s why my life is a mess. That’s why I’m here.” He promised to love me forever. It had only been five years. Vicky ignored the plea for comfort and twisted the knife. “What can you do besides throw temper tantrums at my feet? You couldn’t even keep a mediocre man interested. Are you satisfied with your failure?” Her words broke the dam. The tears I’d been holding back all morning streamed down my face. “I am useless! I’m a mess! I don’t know what to do when my husband cheats!” I wailed, collapsing onto the leather sofa, grabbing fistfuls of tissues. “Go ahead, call me a loser! I don’t even want to live anymore!” Vicky looked past me to Dana. “Record that, Dana. This pathetic display is perfect for the internet.” My sobbing stopped instantly. I stared at her, horrified. “Mom! How can you—I’m your daughter!” Vicky walked over and sharply poked me in the forehead. “How did I give birth to such a pathetic coward?” She was a force of nature. When she found out my father had cheated right after I was born, she divorced him without a word. She took his small appliance company and built it into a multinational high-end electronics firm. Once, when a foreign vendor tried to fleece her, she swept the entire negotiation table clean. “Do you think we Americans are easy to cheat? If you try to back out of this contract, I’ll make sure you never see home again. We’ll both go down.” My fierce, lioness of a mother had somehow produced me—a classic example of a doormat. Other than decent grades, I had none of her fire. I was a hopeless romantic, a love drunk who had married Blake simply because I was obsessed with his handsome face, despite my mother’s warnings that he was untrustworthy. Vicky stared at me for a long time, and a sliver of softening appeared in her expression. She sighed. “He keeps a mistress, why don’t you keep a boy? We certainly have the funds.” “I have a dozen students I sponsor for college. Pick one.” I was dumbfounded. “Mom! Are you telling me to cheat?” She shook her head again. “No, Anna. I’m teaching you self-respect.” I was still reeling. I didn’t see the connection, but I knew my mother’s logic was absolute. “Relationships are currency, Anna. They’re built on mutual transaction,” she stated, leaning back. “When you married him, you were fresh, beautiful, and compliant. He was happy to spend his time and attention on you.” “Five years later, the novelty is gone. You stay home all day, looking like a tired house-sitter. To Blake, you have no business value, and you certainly have no emotional value. What, exactly, does he need you for?” I mumbled, “But I gave him two children…” “Any fertile woman can do that. And you are not a broodmare.” Vicky lit another cigarette, a slight, knowing smile playing on her lips. “Anna, your grandparents raised you. I was working. I know they instilled a lot of outdated values in you. Things like ‘be loyal’ and ‘be conscientious.’ Those values aren’t inherently wrong.” “But if you apply them to someone who doesn’t deserve them, you’re a fool. You’re easy prey.” “I don’t think Blake is wrong for cheating, frankly. If I were in his shoes, I’d probably do the same. It costs him nothing. He’s secure in the knowledge that you’ll just quietly suffer.” Her words sliced straight to my core. I wiped my eyes. “So what do I do?” “Go find a fun, young guy to play with.” 3 I had never contemplated anything so scandalous in my entire life. I just stared at her blankly. “…A what?” “You’re going to get yourself looking drop-dead gorgeous. Stop revolving your life around a husband and two kids who barely notice you. Cultivate your own interests, your own life, and find a handsome boy to keep you entertained.” Vicky sat at her desk, tapping a manicured finger on the polished surface. “Anna Pierce. You can be a queen or a caretaker. You choose.” “You only get one chance. Mess this up, and I won’t help you again. We won’t speak again.” She meant it. When I insisted on marrying Blake, she hadn’t taken my calls for five years. She’d even moved abroad and had my younger half-sister—twenty-five years my junior—essentially saying she’d wasted time on her “first draft” child and needed to start over. Her force of will was terrifying. If I hadn’t been absolutely desperate, I never would have groveled to her. “Mom,” I said weakly. “Can I just think about it?” She pointed to the door. “Twenty-four hours. After that, the offer is off the table. Now get out. I have a board meeting.” She dismissed me like a nuisance. On the drive home, my mind raced. She’d once told me she hated Blake because he was the youngest child in his family. Men like that, she said, were spoiled, entitled, and lacking empathy. He’d been cheating since junior high, a fact I’d willfully ignored because of his striking face. My mother, I had to admit, had foresight. When I stepped into the house, I realized the atmosphere was strangely domestic. Blake was home, and he’d brought company. Kira Bell, an undeniably beautiful girl in a white summer dress, was curled up on my pristine, designer sofa. My two sons were flanking her, watching her play a mobile game, while Blake sat nearby, reviewing a document. From my angle, they looked like the perfect family portrait. But I knew the truth: my family of four hadn’t sat down for a meal together in months. Blake was always in his study, and the boys avoided me, claiming I was too strict and complicated. Now, Landon, usually aloof, was excitedly gripping Kira’s arm. “Ms. Bell, you’re amazing! You actually beat the final boss! My mom can’t even play.” Kira smiled, her eyes crinkling. “Well, I was the core player on my college’s esports team.” Blake smoothly handed her a glass of milk. “Here, Kira. Drink this first, or you’ll get a stomach ache.” “Anna will be back soon to make her famous shrimp scampi. I’m sure you’ll love it.” They spoke about me so casually, as if I were not the mistress of the house, but the hired help. I glanced at the reflection in the hall mirror—the ghost staring back at me with sallow skin and exhausted eyes. I instinctively dropped the grocery bag in my hands and bolted. 4 I drove back to the city, arriving at Vicky’s corporate tower less than twenty minutes later. I didn’t knock. I rushed in, slid across the marble floor, and knelt before her. “Mom,” I choked out, my voice loud and desperate. “Help me. I don’t want to be a tired house-sitter anymore. I’ll listen to every word you say.” Vicky put down her chopsticks and walked over. She didn’t hesitate. She delivered a sharp, stinging slap across my face. The force made my ears ring, and my cheek instantly felt hot. But the fog of misery in my mind seemed to be violently shaking apart. Vicky’s voice was ice. “Does that hurt, Anna Pierce?” “Y-yes,” I stammered. “Good. You remember that. I hit you because you wasted five years. You made a terrible choice, and now you expect me to clean up the mess. You take your punishment, and you stand straight.” She turned and went back to hug my little sister. I wiped my face, stood up, and walked out. When I got back to Blake’s house, the Harringtons hadn’t even noticed my brief return and disappearance. Carter, seeing the plastic bag on the floor, whined, “Mom, I’m hungry. I want your Coca-Cola chicken wings, and Landon wants shrimp scampi. Dad needs his special yam and pork rib soup for his stomach.” Not a single dish was simple. Blake and the boys had notoriously finicky digestive systems, hereditary to the Harrington family. They were allergic to tomatoes, eggs, and certain spices. Anything too rich gave them severe cramps. Before our marriage, we had a professional chef. But my mother-in-law insisted I was home all day, so I needed to learn to “care for my family.” I had studied, taken classes, and learned to cook perfectly balanced, delicious meals to cater to their delicate systems. I had become the perfect Harrington caretaker, and in doing so, had become a complete drudge. A cold realization washed over me: Blake’s company was worth hundreds of millions. The dividends from my mother’swedding gift alone netted me a six-figure income monthly. Why had I tormented myself like this? I tossed the bags onto the kitchen counter and looked at them. “I’m too tired to cook today. Order takeout.” “Tomorrow, I’m hiring a private chef. From now on, you can tell the chef exactly what you want.” I started to walk away, but Blake blocked my path. “Anna, what is this attitude? We have a guest! You can’t let her eat takeout!” “A guest?” I slowly turned back to Kira. “She’s your company secretary. Why do I, the lady of the house, need to personally cater to her?” Kira’s eyes instantly welled up. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Harrington. I’ve caused trouble.” She picked up her bag, looking suitably distressed. “I’ll leave right now. Please don’t fight with Mr. Harrington on my account.” Landon was the first to rush to her defense. “Mom, how can you be so rude? Kira is my friend!” Carter, the little echo, added, “Yeah, Mom, you cook every day anyway. What’s the big deal about making food for Ms. Bell? Isn’t that what Dad married you for?” Their righteous indignation made me feel like a complete joke. The slap from that afternoon still stung. My husband, who I’d given my youth to, and my sons, who I’d risked my life to bring into the world, were all siding with a stranger. I couldn’t help but laugh, a cold, dry sound. Anna Pierce, you are a spectacular failure. Blake, mistaking my reaction for a childish tantrum, gave a dismissive sigh. “Fine, if you won’t cook, then don’t. Come on, Kira, I’ll take you out.” The boys clamored to go with them. As they left, Landon deliberately took Kira’s hand, looking back at me as if to prove a point. He hated physical affection, yet he was practically clinging to her. It was clear he adored her. I reached up, touching my chest, expecting the familiar ache of heartbreak. But the space was hollow, filled only with an infinite cold. My heart was too frozen to break. 5 I took a long shower and went to bed. The next morning, no one came to wake me up or ask me to drive them to school. I slept until eleven. After a long, indulgent bath, I checked my phone. Dana had scheduled an entire week of appointments: a new salon, wardrobe shopping, spa treatments, and over a dozen aesthetic consultations. As I got into the car, Dana looked at me, a polite embarrassment on her face. “Is something wrong?” I asked. She gave a strained smile. “No, Mrs. Harrington. I just assumed when I saw your casual attire the other day, you were running errands. I didn’t realize that your entire closet was…” She didn’t have to finish the sentence. My wardrobe was 90% T-shirts and ill-fitting, baggy jeans. A wave of self-pity washed over me. “I know. I’ve been an embarrassment to my mother.” Dana chose her words carefully. “I think Ms. Sterling is simply protective of you. She just doesn’t know how to show it.” “I understand,” I sighed. I truly was dense. It took me twenty-seven years and a monumental betrayal to understand the simple truth: If you don’t value yourself, no one else will. I followed Dana’s instructions, first to a high-end salon, where my messy, utilitarian bob was transformed into cascading, coppery waves. Then, we bought dozens of outfits—silks, leathers, form-fitting dresses, and designer heels. The final stop was a specialized medical aesthetic center for a consultation on postpartum restorative treatments. Emerging from the doctor’s office, my face was hot. “Dana,” I whispered. “Is this really all necessary?” Dana was utterly professional. “Mrs. Harrington, this is not just a health issue. It is a matter of physical and psychological well-being. It is, in fact, the most important thing you can do for yourself right now.” She was right. I’d been embarrassed by pelvic floor issues for years. Since Carter’s birth, a simple sneeze sometimes meant an immediate wardrobe change. During the few intimate moments Blake and I shared, he found me frustratingly unsatisfying. Eventually, he stopped touching me altogether. When I tried to initiate intimacy, he’d often find an excuse to sleep in his study. Dana was absolutely right. This was not a luxury. It was a foundational repair.

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I chased Luke Sterling for two years. Every gift I gave him, he tossed to his roommate with a look of pure annoyance. So, on his birthday, I skipped the middleman. I gave the gift directly to his roommate and vanished. Later, Luke called, his voice thick with irritation. “What did she send this time? What kind of game is she playing?” His roommate glanced at me, currently lounging on his bed, and replied in a lazy drawl. “Something to eat.” “Did you take it?” Jax hummed a “yes,” lowering his head to meticulously clean the sheets. “Yeah.” “I ate it all. Don’t bother coming back.” 1 The day before Luke’s birthday, my roommate asked me, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Jenna, what did you get Luke this time?” I didn’t even look up from my laptop. “Nothing.” She paused, stunned. “But… isn’t his birthday tomorrow? You’re obsessed with him. Usually, you go all out…” I cut her off. “I don’t like him anymore.” She stared at me like I’d just announced the sky was green. “Are you joking? Is this because Luke was grinding on that girl, Chloe, at the mixer?” Predictable. At the Freshman Welcome Mixer, the crowd had peer-pressured Luke and Chloe, the campus “It Girl,” into a slow dance. It got heated. It got intimate. The air was thick with tension. Everyone in the room had turned to look at me. They expected a breakdown. A scene. Tears. But I just smiled, turned around, and walked away in silence. Everyone knew I had a thing for Luke Sterling. For two years, I had been his shadow. Need coffee at 6 AM? I was there. Forgot an assignment? I dropped it off. For his birthday last year, I spent two months and half my savings tracking down a signed jersey from his favorite NBA player. When I dropped it off at his dorm, he didn’t even look at it. “I didn’t ask for this,” he scoffed. “I’m busy. Just give it to Jax.” I had heard that sentence so many times my ears were bleeding. Jax was Luke’s roommate. Ten times I went to see Luke, nine times he “wasn’t there.” When I asked where he was, he’d just tell me to leave my stuff with Jax. But Jax—Jax Wilder—was the campus “Ice King.” Every time I knocked on their door, he looked at me like I was a pest. Eventually, I stopped wanting to bother him, too. 2 My declaration that I was “over Luke” spread through the dorms like wildfire overnight. The next day, I went to the campus mail center to pick up a package. On my way back, I ran into Luke and his entourage. Someone spotted the box in my hands and laughed. “See, Luke? No way Jenna is over you.” “She was just jealous yesterday. Playing hard to get.” “Look at that box. She obviously bought you a gift anyway.” Luke looked over. The stormy expression he’d worn earlier softened into something smug. He smirked, extending a hand toward me with rare generosity. “Since we’re both here, just hand it over.” I clutched the box tighter and took a step back. “Hand what over?” Luke froze. His brow furrowed in annoyance. “Don’t play dumb.” “Jenna, I don’t have time to flirt with you right now.” I looked him dead in the eye and asked, sincerely: “Then can you stop blocking the sidewalk?” Luke’s hand was still hovering in the air, stiff as a board. I walked around him without looking back. Behind me, the whispers started immediately. “Luke, don’t be mad. She’s just salty about yesterday.” “That box had ‘Gift’ written all over it. Who else would it be for?” “She probably wants to go back and wrap it properly. You know how extra she is.” Through the chorus of excuses, I heard Luke scoff coldly. “Whatever. Who cares.” 3 I was planning to wrap the gift. But it wasn’t for Luke. A week ago, I heard Luke was sick. I rushed to the pharmacy, bought cold meds, and ran to his dorm. But before I got to the door, I saw Luke and his friends walking out. One of them was tossing a pile of stuff into the dumpster by the entrance. “I don’t get why Jenna sends all this junk,” he complained. “She made this herself, right? Craftsmanship is okay, I guess.” “So what? Chloe didn’t like it, so Luke had to toss it.” “She should’ve sent something expensive. At least we could’ve pawned it…” “Hey, think she’ll bring medicine today since Luke’s sick?” “Duh. I bet twenty bucks on it.” Luke’s voice cut through the air, cold and dismissive. “Don’t bet on things that don’t matter.” They walked away, laughing. The “junk” in the dumpster was everything I had given Luke. Two years of gifts. Things I made because he said he liked a certain style. Things I queued for hours to buy because he liked a post on Instagram. Handmade. Custom-ordered. Heartfelt. And now, trash. Watching their backs, I suddenly felt… empty. I was about to throw the bag of medicine into the dumpster too. But then, a shadowy figure emerged from the dorm hallway. Cap pulled low, mask up. He looked around cautiously, then dove into the trash. He started picking up the things Luke had just thrown away. He gathered them up and sprinted back into the building. He was careful, terrified of being seen. But as he reached for a box, his sleeve rode up. I saw the limited-edition Patek Philippe watch. And I recognized the broad shoulders beneath the black hoodie. It was Jax. 4 Jax Wilder was actually more popular than Luke. Richer, hotter, taller. The guy everyone whispered about but no one dared approach because he radiated “Do Not Disturb” energy. I remembered the first time I gave Luke cookies I baked myself. Luke glanced at the tin and tossed it onto his desk with a sneer. “You made these? Is it safe to eat?” I stood there, humiliated, staring at the tin. Jax was in the room, leaning back in his chair. Without a word, he reached out with a long arm, snagged the tin, and popped a cookie into his mouth. “No poison. Tastes fine.” Luke clicked his tongue. “You like ’em? You take ’em.” Jax shrugged, grabbing another one. “Sure.” Luke had always dumped my gifts on Jax. Jax had always been rude, but he had never rejected them. But I never imagined… That the high-and-mighty Jax Wilder, the campus prince, would dig through a dumpster for my “junk.” 5 I wrapped the package and walked to the boys’ dorm. I called Jax. “Jax, I’m downstairs. I have something for you.” The background noise on his end was loud. His voice came through, lazy and indifferent as always. “Luke’s birthday gift?” I rushed to correct him. “No. It’s a gift for you.” Silence. A long pause. “For me?” His tone was skeptical. “Yeah. Can you come down?” He was down in two minutes. He looked like he hadn’t even checked a mirror—hair messy, a long black trench coat thrown over a t-shirt. “What is it?” I tugged gently on his sleeve. “Can we go inside?” Jax’s eyes narrowed instantly. “You want to go up to my room?” I nodded. His voice dropped several degrees. “So you can wait there for Luke to come back?” He let out a short, cold laugh, eyeing the box in my hand. “Is this a bribe?” Jax rarely showed emotion. Even over the phone, I could handle him. But face-to-face with those icy eyes, I was intimidated. “No…” He turned to leave. My hand moved faster than my brain. I grabbed his forearm. My voice wobbled. “Jax, please believe me.” “I’m not looking for Luke. I don’t like him anymore…” “Can you just… not mention him?” Jax stopped. He turned slowly, staring at my face. “Why are you crying?” His voice was gruff. Almost annoyed. I sniffled, looking up at him. “I swear.” Jax stared at me for what felt like forever. Then he looked away, waving a dismissive hand. “Whatever. Don’t tell me that stuff.” “I’m not interested.”

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I used to mock “love at first sight”—until I crashed into campus royalty Alistair Roth freshman year. One look, and I understood: a man so handsome even thrift‑store clothes looked runway‑ready. I’m shallow; I spent years obsessed with his face and body. So when his family’s fortune crashed, I threw money at him until he became my boyfriend. Three years in, his pride was bending. He was ready to “settle” for me; our families even planned a wedding. Then Serena appeared—bright, gentle, everything Alistair wanted. Overnight, his gaze turned from indifference to contempt. That night, reeking of alcohol, he kissed me but whispered her name. My heart clenched. I pushed him away. “You’re drunk.” I lay in bed pretending to sleep, too cowardly to tear our paper‑thin facade. In the dark, he hissed, “Sadie, you really know how to take it. How can you be so pathetic?” I knew he regretted it. But I was hopeless—the thought of not seeing that face every morning ached. So I swallowed my pride, played dumb, and wasted three more years. Until the night I went to drag him from a bar. Pushing the door open, I met another man. The impact short‑circuited my brain. My heart stopped; I forgot to wipe my tears. I stammered, “Wh‑what’s your name?” He looked sweet, his voice impossibly clean. “Rhys Bowen.” In that moment, 1:27 a.m., I knew clearly: My years‑long obsession with Alistair Roth had vanished like smoke. … 1. It was midnight when Alistair was once again dropped off at home by a junior from his department. Woken by the noise, I threw on a robe and leaned against the doorframe, watching the girl’s flushed cheeks. “You shouldn’t have brought him back all by yourself. It’s a lot for one person.” I moved to take Alistair from her, but he shoved my hand away. The air grew thick with awkwardness. As the junior stammered out an explanation, my eyes landed on Alistair’s hand, clenched tightly around the strap of her tote bag. His knuckles were sharp and defined, as beautiful as ever, but now he was clinging to another woman like she was his lifeline. My throat felt dry. I watched her soothe the drunken Alistair, coaxing him into my arms. It was pretty clear why she was the one to bring him home. The moment he was in my arms, the overpowering stench of alcohol hit me, and a wave of nausea washed over me. Wiping his face, changing his clothes, getting him to take some medicine… Once it was all done, I sat quietly by the bed, studying his elegant, chiseled face. Fine brows, long eyes, a high-bridged nose, and thin lips. The open collar of his shirt revealed the firm, porcelain-like skin of his chest. I leaned in close, whispering softly, “I love you so much, Alistair.” He turned his head away, his brow furrowed in a pained groan. I strained to make out the name he was muttering, my cheek almost touching his lips. “Sera…” If I remembered correctly, the junior who brought him home was named Serena. A first-year grad student, and very popular. Just how close had they gotten for a man as reserved as Alistair to be using her nickname? I didn’t want to think of Alistair as some morally bankrupt cheat. He was one of the few genuinely decent men I’d ever met, which was one of the reasons I’d pursued him so relentlessly. Of course, the main reason was that face—the face that held my entire world captive. Shoving my feelings aside, I lay down beside him. I wanted to kiss his lips, but the smell of alcohol was too strong, so I pulled back with a sigh. “Goodnight,” I murmured. A second later, Alistair’s arm wrapped around me, pulling me into his embrace. Just like countless nights before, he buried his head in the crook of my neck. I’d been up until the early hours taking care of him, and with work being so hectic lately, I was sleeping poorly. So, the moment Alistair stirred, I was awake. He released his hold on me and sat on the edge of the bed, his back to me, for a long moment. I had no idea what was on his mind. Just as I was about to ask, his phone rang. The balcony door was open, and Alistair’s smooth voice drifted back to me. “Yeah, just woke up. You? Did you sleep well?” I couldn’t hear the reply, but Alistair chuckled softly. I hadn’t heard him laugh in so long. For some reason, their simple conversation felt like nails on a chalkboard, a sour, indescribable knot tightening in my chest. 2. My boyfriend was cheating on me. Not in the physical sense, but an emotional affair. He was on his phone more often. When we talked, he was either distracted or completely silent. He no longer held me, no longer kissed me. When he looked at me, his eyes were chillingly cold. This was Alistair’s classic move. Over the past three years, whenever he regretted being with me, he’d try to drive me away with the silent treatment. But I could never bring myself to part with that ethereal face of his, so I clung to him shamelessly, and three more years slipped by. He had been on the verge of giving in, ready to just settle for a life with me. Our families had even discussed a wedding date not long ago. But then Serena appeared. The bright, gentle girl was a perfect match for Alistair’s ideal type. They had endless things to talk about, inside jokes, and secrets. They were a perfect fit, from their looks to their souls. And me? My conversation was shallow, my actions clumsy. I was nothing but an embarrassment to him. I tried to break up with him, just like he wanted. But every time I was about to say the words, he would glance over with those narrow, almond-shaped eyes, and the words would die in my throat. All I wanted to do was kiss him. The thought of waking up and not seeing that face was enough to make me want to cry. So I chose to continue this pathetic existence, playing dumb as long as he didn’t explicitly end it. He’d pull all-nighters in the lab with Serena; I’d send worried texts that went unanswered. He’d leave in the morning; I’d have his outfit picked out from the night before. He’d go out with friends and colleagues; I’d be the designated driver to pick him up. Every time his friends would laugh and tease, “Man, your girl really takes care of you,” the look in Alistair’s eyes would grow a little colder. He silently got into the passenger seat. I smiled and chatted with his friends for a bit before waving goodbye. Of course, I noticed Serena’s pale face in the corner. “It’s getting colder lately. Remember to dress warmly, Sera, don’t catch a cold,” I said deliberately before leaving. Her lips trembled as she mumbled a soft “okay,” and a moment later, she removed the dark blue scarf from around her neck. The same scarf I had spent three months knitting for Alistair. When I had put it on him, he hadn’t even bothered to look down, his gaze simply drifting over me as I stood on my tiptoes, struggling to wrap it around his neck. So how did he end up tying my scarf around another girl’s neck? Did he bend down for her? Did he smile? I didn’t dare to imagine it. I didn’t want to. On the drive home, Alistair was silent. Following my principle of “if he doesn’t move, I don’t move,” I chatted with him as usual about trivial, everyday things. His replies were sparse. Just before we got out of the car, he suddenly leaned in close. His dark hair fell forward, perfectly framing his sharp nose, beautifully shaped lips, and clean jawline. His lashes fluttered as his gaze drifted down to my lips. The sweet scent of liquor filled the small space. I held my breath, my heart pounding like a drum. We hadn’t kissed in so long. For the first time, I nervously closed my eyes. Usually, I could never bear to. But the next word out of his mouth sent a chill through my entire body. “Sera…” He did it on purpose. My heart skipped a beat, a dull pain spreading through me. I turned my head and pushed him away. “You’re drunk.” When Alistair got home, he found the clean clothes and hangover soup I had prepared for him, just like always. I lay in bed, feigning sleep, with no courage or resolve to face the truth. As I drifted off, I thought I heard Alistair’s voice, seething with anger, “Sadie, you really can take anything, can’t you? You’re just that pathetic…” Don’t let his righteous, old-fashioned demeanor fool you. When he was angry, he’d said much worse. I was used to it. I fell asleep quickly. 3. Alistair’s neglect became blatant. He started disappearing, ignoring my calls and texts. Not seeing his face drove me crazy. Finally, I spotted him on a mutual friend’s social media feed. He was at a quiet bar, leaning in and talking to Serena. I skillfully cropped Serena out and saved the picture. After getting the address from our friend, I took a cab and rushed over. Alistair’s expression soured the moment he saw me. Serena looked visibly flustered, only calming down after Alistair gave her a reassuring look. “Hey, Sadie! Good to see you! Come have a drink!” “Yeah, it’s been a while! We were starting to get unused to you not keeping tabs on Professor Roth here.” Everyone laughed. I ignored Alistair’s glare and quickly blended in with the group. Before I knew it, I’d been pressured into drinking more than I should have, and my head was spinning. I sat down in the spot they made for me, about to lean on Alistair’s shoulder to steady myself, when he abruptly stood up. He was tall, and the sudden movement drew everyone’s attention. “Rhys, let’s switch seats.” Everyone froze, their eyes darting between me and Alistair. “Come on, Alistair, that’s pretty harsh on Sadie…” a friend tried to mediate. I pressed my temples. I was shocked at the sheer venom in his actions. He was willing to give up a chance to talk to Serena just to avoid sitting next to me. “It’s fine…” I tried to smooth things over, but before I could finish, Alistair cut me off. He glanced at me, his tone dripping with contempt. “Don’t worry, she’s got thick skin. She can talk to anyone. She knows her way around places like this.” Few people knew that after high school, I worked at a hotel for six months to save up for college tuition. I had endured a terrible environment, nearly getting assaulted several times. I had told Alistair this during one of my most vulnerable moments. He had held me tight back then, stroking my back and comforting me. Now, he was using it as a weapon to hurt me. I looked up at him in disbelief. For a split second, he looked shocked too, then frowned in annoyance and avoided my gaze. No apology. Alistair never apologized. I was exhausted. I didn’t fight back, didn’t scream. My heart just ached, as if being struck repeatedly with a blunt axe. A guy sat down next to me, wearing a light blue plaid shirt. He passed me tissues and a glass of warm water a few times. Halfway through the night, Serena suddenly clutched her stomach in pain. Alistair was the first to panic. Ignoring everyone, he scooped her up into his arms and rushed out. No one, including me, had ever seen him that frantic. “I always thought Professor Roth only showed normal human emotions when he was with you, Sadie. Haha, guess he really cares about his junior.” Someone remarked, then trailed off, realizing I, the actual girlfriend, was still sitting right there. He quickly tried to backtrack. He watched my expression cautiously. “It’s okay. Sera isn’t feeling well. Alistair is definitely worried about her,” I said, my eyes crinkling into a smile, but my voice was tinged with a faint bitterness. “Still, that’s going too far. His girlfriend is right here…” someone else muttered under their breath. I took a sip of my drink, and my headache intensified. The person next to me handed me another tissue and swapped my glass for one with warm water. That’s when I realized I was crying. “Haha, how embarrassing, for someone to see me in such a mess.” Tears blurred my vision, but through the haze, the first thing I saw was a breathtakingly handsome face. So handsome it made my blood rush, my whole body feel clear. My mouth fell open, and I forgot to even wipe away my tears. I stammered, “Wh-what’s your name?” The guy was sweet, his voice impossibly gentle. “Rhys Bowen.” At 1:27 AM, I was certain. My obsession with Alistair Roth was completely gone. 4. Alistair came home the next afternoon. When he walked in, I was sitting at the dining table, eating leftover cake from last night. I was in a good mood, swinging my feet and occasionally replying to a text from Rhys. They were just simple, polite greetings, a bit distant, but much warmer than anything I’d gotten from Alistair recently. “Today… is it your birthday?” Alistair finally realized something. His grip on his phone tightened, and a flicker of regret and panic crossed his placid eyes. Last night, I had called him more than once. And he had just watched his phone screen light up, letting me go crazy at home alone. Now he finally remembered what day it was. The day that, three years ago, he had promised he would be by my side no matter what. I took a bite of fluffy cream and waved my fork. “Wrong. It was yesterday.” I didn’t question him, didn’t berate him, didn’t dissolve into a puddle of tears begging for his affection like a kicked puppy. This was what he had been expecting, but strangely, a secret unease began to gnaw at his heart. He stood by the door, his expression conflicted. I tapped the table, motioning for him to sit. “We need to talk.” Alistair instinctively took this as a peace offering. He let out a sigh of relief and sat down opposite me, completely unguarded. I continued eating my cake. He was still in yesterday’s clothes, his cuffs wrinkled. I could guess the faint smell of stale smoke and alcohol clinging to him. His hair was unkempt, falling over his tired eyes. “I was too busy yesterday, I didn’t mean to forget your birthday. How about we celebrate today?” As Alistair spoke, the first thing I noticed were his dry, chapped lips. His lips, his tongue, his teeth… at this moment, they all seemed dull, and I couldn’t find a single thing about them to praise. I cut off his self-assured planning. “Let’s break up.”

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My wife and I were the ultimate power couple—both graduates of an Ivy League track, top of our class, with IQs that were practically footnotes in our resumes. Yet our son, Fitch, couldn’t grasp simple addition and subtraction up to ten. I dragged him for ten separate paternity tests, driving myself insane. Every single report was unequivocal: Paternal Relationship Confirmed. I sank into a deep, terrifying self-doubt until I accompanied my wife back to her hometown. There, while idly flipping through her old high school yearbook, a faded photograph tucked inside the pages made my world shatter. The photo showed my wife locked in a close embrace with a stranger—a man whose face bore an uncanny, seven-eighths resemblance to my son. 1 A deathly silence held the living room captive. The only sound was the mechanical tick of the sleek, Danish-design wall clock. I stared at Fitch’s crumpled homework sheet on the coffee table, a vein throbbing wildly in my face. “Ten minus seven. What. Is. The. Answer?” My voice was a low rasp, forced out between clenched teeth, barely suppressing a volcanic rage. Fitch hunched his shoulders, refusing to meet my eyes. He held out his chubby little fingers, clumsily counting, a mumbled mantra escaping his lips. One, two, three… Sweat beaded on his forehead, his small face flushed crimson from the effort and the fear. Finally, he raised his head timidly and ventured a guess: “It’s… two?” The last taut wire in my brain snapped. Rage, a fiery torrent, shot to my head. I could feel my own blood burning. “Serena!” I roared toward the kitchen. My wife, Serena, wearing an apron, hurried out, a handful of fresh green onions in her hand. She took one look at my face and then at our son, who was on the verge of tears, and immediately understood. “Graham, don’t you dare scare him.” She walked over, gently pulled Fitch into her embrace, and stroked his back. “Fitch’s tired now. Why don’t we take a break, okay?” Her soft, soothing voice, her gentle tenderness, only amplified my irritation. I, Graham Vance, had earned my Ph.D. with highest honors at thirty and was now a tenured Associate Professor at a prestigious university. Serena, my wife, had entered that same elite university beside me and was universally hailed as a brilliant mind. We were a match made in the upper echelon, the quintessential power couple. Our union was seen as a deliberate act of genetic optimization, a guaranteed jackpot in the intellectual lottery. Everyone had predicted a child prodigy. Reality had slapped me across the face. Fitch, nearing seven, couldn’t master the most rudimentary arithmetic. I snatched the stack of documents from the side table and slammed them onto the mahogany surface. The papers scattered, the title on the top sheet a fresh, chilling insult: “DNA Paternity Analysis Report.” This was the tenth one. Each result was an ice-cold confirmation: Results support Graham Vance as the biological father of Fitch Vance. Paternal Relationship Confirmed. Those words, in clinical black and white, were a dull, relentless blade carving away at my dignity as a man, as a supposed elite. I looked at the scene before me: the perfect wife, the slow son, a domestic picture that was both warm and incredibly, savagely ironic. My chest tightened with a sense of suffocating absurdity. “Serena, tell me. Why is this happening?” I pointed at the reports on the floor, my voice shaking uncontrollably. “Science tells me he’s mine, but everything I see with my own eyes tells me he can’t be!” My words were poisoned arrows aimed at the woman I thought I knew. Serena’s face instantly paled, drained of all color. She tightened her hold on Fitch, her body trembling slightly. “Graham, how can you say that?” Her tears began to fall, one by one, hitting her son’s soft hair. “You can doubt me, but you can’t doubt science.” She didn’t argue, didn’t fight; she just wept silently. That kind of wordless accusation was worse than any hysterical outburst. Just then, my phone rang. My mother. I took a deep breath, trying to normalize my voice as I answered. “Hello, Mom.” “Graham, how’s Fitch’s schooling going? Has he mastered the new curriculum I sent over?” My mother’s enthusiastic voice grated on my nerves. Every word felt like a pinprick. “He’s… fine,” I hedged vaguely. “‘Fine’ isn’t enough! You need to push him! Your father and I’s greatest achievement was raising an Ivy League Ph.D., and a Vance grandson cannot fall behind! We’ve told all our colleagues he’s destined for the Senate, Graham. A genius mind. You can’t let us down!” Her words felt like a millstone around my neck, crushing the air out of me. I hung up the phone, completely drained. I looked at Fitch. He was gazing up at me with those clear, bewildered eyes, a mix of fear and desperate wanting-to-please in his expression. A sharp pang of guilt pierced my heart. He was only a child. He didn’t understand any of this. But immediately following the guilt was a deeper, corrosive sense of failure and bewilderment, clinging to me like ivy. This home, this house wrapped in expectations and privilege, had become a suffocating cage. “Graham,” Serena suddenly spoke, her voice thick and hoarse from crying. “This weekend, let’s go visit my parents.” She avoided my gaze and spoke softly. “It’s been too long. It will be a… change of scenery.” I looked at her pale profile, my mind a turbulent mess. Getting away from here sounded like a necessary escape. “Fine,” I exhaled wearily. 2 Saturday morning broke gray and heavy. Our family of three embarked on the drive to Serena’s hometown. As we left the gleaming skyscrapers of the city behind, the scenery grew sparse and dilapidated. High-rises gave way to crumbling shacks, smooth interstate to cracked asphalt. The atmosphere in the car was heavier than the weather outside. Serena and I sat side-by-side, having exchanged no words since starting the ignition. In the rearview mirror, I could see her tightly drawn profile and the faint redness around her eyes. An invisible wall, cold and solid, separated us. Only Fitch seemed oblivious to the tension. “Daddy, look! Cows!” “Daddy, that scarecrow is so funny!” He was pressed against the window, excitedly pointing at the vast, desolate fields. He asked an endless stream of innocent, often nonsensical questions. I responded with curt, noncommittal grunts, my mind too consumed by my own chaos to share his simple joy. After three hours of bumpy driving, we arrived at Serena’s childhood home—a small, slightly dilapidated town nestled deep in the forgotten hills of the state. My in-laws were waiting anxiously by the door. Seeing our car, they immediately plastered on welcoming smiles. “Serena, Graham, you’re finally here! Fitch, let Grandpa hold you!” Her father, Stan, enthusiastically took the luggage from me, while her mother, Alice, grabbed Fitch, kissing him repeatedly on the cheek. Their overly effusive warmth felt distinctly off. There was a hint of desperate, careful appeasement behind their smiles, an underlying unnaturalness. The feeling intensified at the dinner table. “Graham’s an Associate Professor now, such an impressive achievement. Our Serena is so lucky.” Stan raised his glass, beaming with what looked like pride. “You must be earning a great deal now, aren’t you? Is the cost of living in the city too much?” Alice served a heap of food onto my plate, her casual questioning thinly veiling a deep curiosity about my status and income. They spoke of my job, my money, as if I weren’t their son-in-law, but a highly anticipated investment. Serena was visibly uncomfortable. “Mom, Dad, just eat. Stop asking so many questions.” She tried several times to interrupt her parents, her face growing increasingly strained. I ate in silence, covertly observing them. I noticed the oddity in my in-laws’ interaction with Fitch. They hugged him, kissed him, and fed him, showing all the usual affection of grandparents. But beneath the surface, I kept catching a fleeting, complex expression in their eyes—a mixture of evasion, pity, and a sharp thread of guilt. It was as if they knew something I didn’t. After dinner, I excused myself, claiming I needed to stretch my legs. I wandered into the yard alone. The house was an old, two-story structure, its paint peeling, exuding a pervasive sense of decay and suppression. I drifted upstairs and pushed open the door to Serena’s old room. It was small but meticulously tidy. The walls were plastered with ribbons and certificates from elementary school through high school—Honor Roll, Student of the Year—a gallery of past glory. Yet, in stark contrast to the wall of honors, the small bookshelf contained almost no fiction or literature, only outdated textbooks. This didn’t align with the image of the well-read Serena I had married. My gaze landed on the desk. On the corner sat a dark blue, hard-backed notebook, its embossed title faded: “Memories: Class of ‘05.” Her old high school yearbook. An inexplicable urge seized me. Driven by a ghost in my own head, I reached out and opened it. The aged paper smelled faintly of dust and mildew. It was filled with old school photos and flowery farewell messages. I flipped through the pages, my heart unmoved by the goofy faces and dramatic teenage prose. Just as I was about to close the book, my fingertip brushed against something stiff. 3 A single, yellowed photograph slipped from between the pages of the yearbook, fluttering softly to the floor. I bent down to pick it up. The background appeared to be the shore of a park lake. In the photo, a young Serena, her hair pulled back in a bright ponytail, smiled a brilliant, naive smile. Standing beside her was a tall, slender boy, his arm draped affectionately over her shoulder. They were pressed tightly together, like any couple in the throes of first love. My eyes locked onto the boy’s face. My heart felt as if an invisible hand had violently seized it, stopping its beat instantly. That man. That stranger… His eyebrows, the curve of his eyes, the slope of his nose, the shape of his lips, even the slightly dull, vacant look in his expression… He was the spitting image of my son, Fitch. Seven-eighths, maybe more, of a match. I was struck by a cold, searing shock, paralyzed from head to toe, my blood turning instantly to ice. Betrayal. The word detonated in my mind like a bomb. All my long-suppressed suspicions, all the desperate, logical acrobatics I’d performed to deny the impossible, had just found their most direct, most cruel piece of evidence. But… the ten paternity reports… The scientific certainty, in black and white, could it all be a lie? An utterly absurd thought flashed: Could Serena have— No. Impossible! The monumental contradiction tore at my sanity. I felt myself spiraling toward madness. I gripped the thin photo, my knuckles white with strain. The edge of the print dug painfully into my palm. Like an enraged bull, I charged down the stairs, the photograph clenched in my fist. Serena was sitting on a small wooden bench in the yard, talking quietly with her parents. Sunlight bathed her, making her look like the gentle, composed wife I thought I knew. “Serena!” I bellowed. I crossed the yard in three strides. My sudden appearance and my distorted face startled them all. Serena jumped up, looking at me with confusion. “Graham, what is it?” I didn’t answer. I just slammed the photograph down in front of her. “Who. Is. This?” Serena’s eyes fell to the picture. In that instant, the color visibly drained from her face until she was ashen. Her body began to tremble uncontrollably. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. It was the absolute terror of someone caught exposing her most shameful secret. Her parents looked even more panicked. Stan practically leaped up, reaching out to snatch the photo from my hand. “Graham, what are you doing! We can talk this out!” I sidestepped him, holding the photo high, the fire in my eyes ready to consume them all. “Talk this out? How can we talk this out!” I pointed from the man’s face in the photo to Fitch, who was staring blankly nearby. “You tell me! What is going on! Why does my son look exactly like him!” My roar echoed in the small yard, startling the birds from the trees. The air solidified around us. My in-laws stood motionless, faces like death masks. Serena swayed, looking as if she might collapse at any moment. Suddenly, all the strength left her. Her composure shattered completely. With a sound ripped from her soul, she dropped to the ground, covering her face with her hands, a long-suppressed, gut-wrenching wail escaping her. “Don’t ask… Please, Graham, don’t ask any more…” She wept uncontrollably, her shoulders violently shaking. “I haven’t wronged you… I truly haven’t…” Her cries, her pleas, that desperate, hollow assurance that she hadn’t wronged me, wrapped my anger and my rationality in a dense fog. I stood in the center of the yard, the photo burning like a branding iron in my hand. I looked at my weeping wife, my terrified in-laws, and my confused son. The answer I needed, the one that could drag me back from this pit of hell, was right there. But they sealed it off with their tears and their silence. 4 That night lasted an eternity. Serena and I slept in separate rooms. I lay on the cold, hard guest bed, eyes wide open, staring into the dark. The yellowed photograph rested on the pillow beside me. In the faint moonlight filtering through the window, I scrutinized the man’s face again and again. Then I opened my phone and pulled up Fitch’s picture. I held the two faces side-by-side, comparing them obsessively. The angle of the eyebrows, the curve of the eyes, the height of the bridge of the nose, the shape of the lips. The more I looked, the heavier my heart sank. The more I looked, the more terrifying the similarity became. This deep-seated resemblance could not be dismissed as coincidence. The thought of betrayal surfaced again, gnawing at my sanity like a poisonous snake. Yet, the ten scientific reports pressed down on me like a mountain, suffocating me. I couldn’t accept a marriage built on deceit, but I couldn’t explain this scientific impossibility either. I felt trapped in a maddening paradox, with no clear way out. From the adjacent room, I could hear Serena’s muffled, persistent sobs. The sound was broken, like a persistent little feather, endlessly tickling my already frayed nerves. I pulled the blanket over my head, trying to block out the sound, but it seemed to penetrate the walls, drilling into my ears, giving me no peace. I finally drifted into a chaotic, shallow sleep only as the night gave way to morning. I was awakened by the first crowing of a rooster. It was barely dawn. I rubbed my aching neck and stepped out of the room to find the house eerily empty. Serena was gone. My in-laws were gone. There wasn’t even breakfast waiting on the table. A cold tide of dread instantly washed over me. Where had they gone? Had they fled, taking their secret with them? Panic surged. I grabbed my jacket and bolted out the door. The village was quiet in the early morning, only a few elderly people walking with tools toward the fields. They shot me curious glances, a stranger in their midst. I stopped an elderly woman sweeping her porch, trying to keep my voice calm. “Excuse me, ma’am. Have you seen Serena and her parents?” She looked up, her clouded eyes taking my measure, and then she quickly looked away. “The Sue family? Oh… they might have… gone up the mountain.” Her words were evasive, and she immediately resumed sweeping, clearly unwilling to say more. I persisted, asking a few other people chatting nearby. Their reactions were uniformly evasive. They either claimed ignorance or their eyes darted away, their silence deafening. This collective secrecy only intensified my spiraling suspicions. What were they all hiding?

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While I was being harassed by a client, Luke was busy drinking a “lovers’ shot” with his female assistant next to me. To secure the investment, I drank until my stomach bled, my face pale from the pain. But Luke couldn’t be bothered to spare me a glance. Instead, he was focused on picking the green onions out of his assistant’s bowl, feeding her with a doting expression. After the dinner, the assistant casually mentioned she was bored, so he left me on the roadside and took her sightseeing. “Bella has been running around for me these past few days. I’m taking her out to relax.” “You’re getting older and need your rest. Don’t come along and cause trouble.” “Also, I’m pulling an all-nighter with Bella tonight. The plan to get our marriage license tomorrow? Let’s take a rain check on that.” Our wedding ceremony was seven years ago, and this was the 100th time Luke had notified me that we’d have to take a rain check on getting the license. I nodded in agreement. Since he was too busy to find time for the license, then there was no point in getting it at all. 1. The passenger window rolled down, and Bella, sitting inside, pouted and apologized to me: “Sorry, Sarah. It’s all because Luke spoils me like a child. When he gets back, I’ll make sure he prepares breakfast for you!” Before I could speak, Luke gently rubbed her head first. “Bella, you think everyone is as greedy as you?” “Don’t mind her. Don’t wait until later to say you’re not feeling well again. I don’t have time for your little games.” So he knew I wasn’t feeling well just now, but he subconsciously thought it was a ploy to gain his sympathy because I was jealous. In the past, I would have broken down crying by this point, arguing with Luke and telling him the truth. But now, I didn’t make a scene like a shrew as I usually did. Instead, I whispered: “Okay, you guys be safe and have fun.” Luke was stunned for a moment when he heard this, then returned to his playful self. “As long as you don’t cause drama.” The car sped away. As they left, Luke, worried that Bella would get carsick, rolled down all the windows. I get severe motion sickness and would feel nauseous and vomit whenever I rode in Luke’s car. But he was never willing to roll down the windows for me: “If the windows are always open, dirty things will get into the car. Why are you so high-maintenance?” I completely figured it out. I took off the wedding ring from my ring finger and threw it into the dirty trash can. The next day, I arrived early at the theater and handed in my resignation. Luke had debuted years ago as a theatrical prodigy, and I had always been in charge of him. “You’re resigning? Does Luke know about this?” The boss was shocked. “When the next agent takes over, he’ll understand.” As soon as I finished speaking, I walked in the empty hallway. I happened to bump into Luke, who was wearing new clothes and smelled of body wash. He stretched and looked down at me: “I was too drunk to drive last night, so I got a hotel room alone to sleep. That’s why I didn’t come home.” In the twelve years I’ve known him, this was the first time Luke had actively explained the situation to me. I gave a “hmm” and ignored him. He asked, “Do you have anything else to do this morning?” I looked up at him, remembering that the day after every dinner party, I would set an alarm for 3 or 4 a.m. to get up and prepare hangover soup and stomach-soothing herbal meals for him. This habit had continued since he debuted at seventeen. So it was normal for him to be confused when he came home and saw an empty dining table. I said, “You’re not wrong.” As soon as I finished speaking and was about to turn and leave, Luke, who had been frowning, grabbed my wrist with a cold face. “Sarah, why are you endless?” “It’s just postponing getting the license. It’s not like I’m breaking up with you. Stop being unreasonable with me!” But I didn’t plan to make a scene with him, nor did I want to get the license with him anymore. Thinking it would be better to explain things clearly to him, I just moved my mouth when I heard Bella’s charming voice with a hint of complaint: “Luke! It’s your fault!” “The things you bought for me this morning were totally wrong!” “The daily ones are too short! You’re such a straight guy, Luke!” Bella angrily rolled her eyes behind me, pouting like a goldfish. When Luke saw her, he immediately threw away my hand, ran to her, and picked her up in a princess carry. 2 His face was panicked: “How dare you walk around barefoot on the floor when you have your period? Aren’t you afraid of pain?” Watching him eagerly carry Bella to the bedroom bed reminded me of something from the past. Once, because I was sick and my period came, the cramps were extremely severe. I couldn’t straighten my back from the pain, and my face was pale. I begged Luke to buy me pads and painkillers. He said impatiently with a cold face, “How could a man like me buy that stuff?” “Women get it every month. Just endure it for a few days and it’ll be over. Don’t always trouble others!” Separated from the memories, Luke’s comforting words to Bella became more and more distant. I stopped paying attention, forced down the bitterness in my heart, took out my phone, and contacted the company that had always wanted me to work abroad. After booking the flight, I casually opened my social media and saw a post Bella had just made. It was a three-second video. I subconsciously clicked on it and saw a pair of large hands with well-defined joints gently rubbing her belly in circles. The video contained her moved voice: “Luke, you really know how to feel for people~ Your hands are so warm, rubbing it makes it hurt less~” Even the caption for this video was: [My brother feels bad for my period cramps and is rubbing the pain away! It feels so good to be pampered in the palm of someone’s hand~] I sneered. The little girl’s thoughts really couldn’t be hidden. I casually liked it, then opened my own profile and changed the cover photo from the wedding photo with Luke. … Today, many actors from the theater company were coming for exchanges. I was responsible for taking these guests to the break room to rest for a while. A group of people followed behind me. Just as I pushed open the door, I saw Luke feeding Bella. “Wow, I heard long ago that the genius Luke married his agent Sarah years ago. I didn’t expect the two of them to still be so affectionate and loving!” “That’s right, that’s right! And as a theatrical artist, his voice is the most precious and needs to be cherished the most. He is actually willing to eat spicy food with his wife.” That’s right, as a dramatist, the most important thing is the voice. In these twelve years, I have handled all his affairs, just afraid that his voice would be damaged in the slightest. But now, he actually accompanied Bella to eat this kind of food, breaking his consistent principles. The envious sounds beside me were finally heard by those two people. Bella looked up and saw me, and immediately pouted and complained to me aggrievedly. “Sarah, control Luke! He’s forcing me to eat meat. I’ve been fed several pounds heavier!” Luke couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to me and dotingly wiped the corner of Bella’s mouth. “You have to be obedient and eat this clean. Later, I’ll feed you some brown sugar water.” The discussion behind me stopped awkwardly. I looked at everyone’s gossipy and pitiful gazes, smiled unchanged, and guided them to their seats. After arranging everyone, I took out my phone and started making an appointment for online visa processing. Luke walked quietly behind me. He saw the message on the phone, his expression cold, his eyes full of doubt. “Visa? You’re going abroad?” I was thinking about how to hide it, but he suddenly grabbed my hand and questioned me in a surprised tone. “Sarah, where is your wedding ring!?” “Don’t tell me you accidentally lost it!” I knew very well inside why he lost his composure like this. Married for ten years, I have always carried the wedding ring with me. But his wedding ring has never been worn in public. Thinking of my unusual behavior before, Luke had a bad premonition. 3 He held my hand and kept applying force, staring at me fixedly: “Explain it clearly to me!” Just as I was about to speak and answer truthfully, I was suddenly interrupted. Bella suddenly screamed, crying beautifully like a pear blossom bathed in rain. “Ah! It hurts so much! Luke…” Everyone subconsciously turned their heads to look. Bella knelt on the ground, her clasped palms constantly bleeding. Luke suddenly knocked me away and immediately ran over to hold her in his arms to comfort her. “Why so careless? Pay attention!” Bella’s tears fell like big beads, and her whole body trembled in Luke’s arms. She occasionally looked at me with frightened eyes several times. “I don’t understand either… Obviously, Sarah wiped the fan used in the play clean yesterday. Bella also doesn’t know why a small knife would be hidden inside the fan…” “Boohoo… Luke, Bella is in unbearable pain…” Luke looked at the small blade stained with blood next to the fan and was immediately furious. The next second, he glared fiercely at me and roared. “Sarah, have you learned to frame others after being unreasonable until now?!” “Hurry up and kneel on the ground and apologize to me!” Ignoring the contemptuous looks everyone cast at me, I slowly met his gaze. “This matter is someone framing me.” “Why have you learned to lie now! The entire theater troupe knows that you are extremely jealous. The tools for my performance have always been kept and checked by you alone!” After Luke accused me, he picked up a ceramic cup placed on the table without a word and smashed it angrily on the ground. He crazily pinched my wrist and pressed it onto the fragments on the ground. My hands instantly became bloody and mangled, countless fragments piercing into my flesh. “This is the lesson you deserve! No one is allowed to treat her wounds!” “I’ll wait for you to think things through clearly, realize your mistakes, and then come to apologize!” After Luke finished speaking, he held Bella in his arms and turned away firmly. Looking at his back as he left, my eyes instantly turned red, and my vision gradually became blurred. My tears fell one by one onto the broken ceramic cup. My hand really hurt so much, and my heart was pressed by intense pain so much that I couldn’t breathe. The pattern on the ceramic cup fell apart. This cup was specially made by Luke alone in a pottery shop when he confessed his love to me. At that time, the young man’s heart and eyes only held me. He said: “Sarah, this cup was completed by me alone. It symbolizes that I want to be with you for a lifetime, never to be separated.” But now, the cup is broken, and his vows have long been self-defeating. I swept the fragments clean, together with all our past and my feelings for him, and threw them into the trash can. Walking into the lobby, Luke had just finished his performance. In the venue, the audience continued to applaud vigorously. Luke was high-spirited, walked off stage, took Bella’s hand, and walked onto the stage together to express thanks. This unique highlight time for dramatists, Luke has long experienced countless times. A few months ago, I accidentally heard the boss ask him: “Sarah has taken care of you painstakingly for eight years. You are both partners and companions. Why don’t you bring her to appear in front of the audience together?” The contempt in Luke’s words was undisguised, “I reached where I am today entirely on my own talent and hard work.” “She at most relies on my fame. Now she is no longer young. I don’t want to take her to embarrass myself!” Returning to my senses and looking at the stage, Bella stood beside Luke beaming with joy. The lights kept shining on the two of them, looking quite like a match. Just then the phone notification sound happened to ring. The visa was finally handled successfully. I returned home to pack things, packing everything of my existence into the suitcase. Luke just happened to come home. He took out half a bottle of white medicine from his pocket and threw it at me. “The medicine I bought for you.” I picked up the medicine bottle on the ground. I was very familiar with this bottle of medicine. In the friend circle Bella just posted, Luke used it to gently apply medicine to her. But, I am allergic to alcohol. Luke emerged at seventeen, and he, with excellent talent, was already regarded as a future master of drama, in the limelight. An actor with a deep background became jealous and viciously found someone to scratch his face. At that time, I desperately blocked in front of Luke. Because the injury was not too serious, a kind little girl in the theater troupe used alcohol disinfection to help me treat the wound. I had a severe allergy on the spot and even stopped breathing once. I was pulled into the operating table by ambulance and rescued for two full days before I regained consciousness. Later I heard the nurse mention how long I was rescued on the operating table, how long Luke accompanied outside the operating room, crying to collapse. After returning to the theater troupe later, Luke flew into a rage and threw away all the alcohol in the theater troupe cleanly, not allowing this thing to appear in front of me again. Unexpectedly, his memory is so bad. It’s only been so long and he has forgotten this matter. I lowered my head and threw the alcohol into the trash can. Luke raised his eyebrows irritably when he saw that I didn’t know what was good for me. “Forget it if you don’t use it!” The sound of message notifications kept ringing. Luke took out his phone and looked at the messages intently, looking doting. Gently warned: “Bella, the wound must not touch water, be careful of infection.” “Before the wound recovers, you can’t eat spicy and greasy food. When your wound heals, brother will take you to eat all kinds of delicious food again.” Perhaps a little surprised that I didn’t make a big noise as before, Luke’s eyes couldn’t help but stop on me. Finally broke the deadlock first: “What happened today was just me killing the chicken to warn the monkey. You should know very well in your heart that there are many people in the theater troupe harboring evil designs.” “The reason I treated you like that today was just to give others a warning.” “As for caring about Bella, it’s also a means to protect you.” I hummed, not planning to argue with him about this topic anymore. “I understand your well-intentioned efforts.” Luke was stunned in place. Just as he was about to speak, I pushed open the bathroom door to pack toiletries. What entered my view inside the sink was a pair of black lingerie that did not belong to me, crumpled into a ball and thrown inside. Outside the door, Luke also appropriately clicked on a voice message: “Luke, the underwear I changed in your bathroom this morning was forgotten by me to throw away in your house…” “Bring it over for me! The bottle of body wash in your house smells too good. I want you to help me bring a bottle over!” No wonder Luke would wear colors of clothes he didn’t like at all when coming to the company. The fragrance emitting from his body was also a style he wouldn’t choose at all. He really has been trained into an obedient dog. Luke finished listening to the voice message seriously and hastily pushed open the door. As soon as he came in, he saw me staring at the black intimate clothing in the sink. The guilty conscience in his eyes was undisguised, “This morning Bella suddenly had something to look for me, but she accidentally spilled a drink on herself, so I let her take a shower here.” “I know.” I didn’t pay much attention, but turned sideways to let him pass. Luke put that piece of intimate clothing into his pocket. He was about to raise his foot to walk out, but then suddenly stopped. “If you mind, then I won’t go over.” I shook my head to indicate that I didn’t care. Luke stood hesitantly in place. Bella called him again to urge him to go over quickly. Hanging up the phone, Luke lowered his eyes and said to me: “I’ll rush home immediately after delivery. You just happen to make an appointment for marriage registration, and tomorrow we will get the marriage license.” As soon as his voice fell, he couldn’t wait to leave. After packing up the things, I opened the social media app casually. Bella posted on social media again. It was another close-up of fingers, putting water in the bath. The second photo was Bella taking a selfie in the mirror, and behind her was the profile of a man intently washing her hair. [Brother said it’s inconvenient for me to take a shower with my hand injured, so he has to help me take a shower personally~ So shy…] Looking at the hands tightly wrapped in gauze, I turned and left the house I had lived in with Luke for ten years. Luke happened to send me a message: [Suddenly there is something to deal with, can’t go home. Can’t get the marriage license tomorrow.] I sent him a “hmm” indifferently. Anyway, I didn’t take his words seriously. Pulling the suitcase out of the house, I took a taxi to the airport. After sending a breakup text message to Luke, I stepped onto the plane without hesitation.

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On my wedding day, my childhood sweetheart—a chaotic heir from a military dynasty—kicked open the chapel doors with his posse of rich frat boys. He declared he was going to marry me and take me away. But not five minutes after dragging me out of the venue, he dropped my hand and smirked lazily at his friends. “Alright, boys, I win again. That’s the hundredth bet. Pay up.” He turned back to look at me, eyes full of mockery. “I was just joking. You didn’t actually think I was serious, did you? Go on back inside and get married.” They all laughed, mocking how I had chased him for ten years, how I would do anything for him. But what neither they—nor Chase—knew, was that this “kidnapping” was just a scheduled part of my wedding itinerary. 1 As I stood outside the hotel, shivering in the wind, I looked at the group of men in tactical gear and buzz cuts leaning against a vintage Ford Mustang. They were sparing no effort in roasting me. “Man, Hailey, do you ever use that brain of yours?” “It’s actually hilarious. Did you really hallucinate that Chase would marry you? That you’d be the General’s daughter-in-law?” Chase, the man who had just dragged me out of my wedding, looked at me with pure disdain. “It was just a bet, Hailey. Get a clue.” Hearing their relentless ridicule, I instinctively clenched my dress, my nails digging into my palms. Chase’s eyes were cold. “Hailey, if you’re thinking about how to cling to me right now, I suggest you give up. My wife could never be a stupid woman like you.” The laughter grew louder. I turned around sharply. A strong hand clamped down on my arm. Years of military training made his grip like iron; I winced. “Where are you going?” “Back to get married.” Chase froze for a second, then let out a scoff. “Hailey, when it comes to being pathetic, no one beats you.” I closed my eyes. Even now, that sentence made my heart skip a beat in pain. Did he think I was blind? When I went to drop off the invitation, I heard the bet myself. “Interesting. She’s actually getting married this time,” someone had said. “Is it real?” “No way,” a friend chimed in. “Everyone knows she’s obsessed with Chase. She’s probably just jealous of his new girl and wants attention.” Chase’s new girl was Sasha. A rising Hollywood starlet. She had performed at a charity gala on the base, and Chase fell for her instantly. Sasha had picked up my invitation, glanced at it, and tossed it on the floor, giggling. “She looks cheap. If I were a man, I wouldn’t look twice.” Amidst the laughter, Chase toyed with a lock of Sasha’s hair. “Wanna bet?” “Let’s see if she’ll run away from the altar for me.” Everyone bought in. “That’s a huge bet. No way she’d bail on her own wedding. Count me in.” “Yeah, Hailey might be obsessed, but she’s from the Enclave too. She has dignity… right?” My hands had trembled then. A tear had fallen before I could stop it. I left. Staring blankly ahead now, I let out a short, dry laugh. Absurd. Pathetic. 2 Chase and I grew up together in the Enclave—an exclusive community for military families in D.C. We were inseparable. After high school, he got into West Point. It meant strict discipline and limited contact. Back then, Chase held my hand and told me to wait for him. To wait until he graduated, climbed the ranks, and became a commander. He promised he’d come back to marry me. But somewhere along the way, he forgot. He forgot the boy he used to be. The first time I felt it was when he looked at me like a stranger and said: “With my status, I can’t marry some desperate girl. Are you trying to blackmail me with our past?” No matter how hard I tried, the distance between us only grew. So, I gave up. But why? I was already getting married. I had already admitted defeat. Why couldn’t he just let me go? “Hailey, you’re actually an idiot.” “Are you done acting?” “We grew up in the same circle. If I were the groom, I’d slap you the second you walked back in. Do you know how cheap you look right now?” Chase was yelling at me, spitting insults. I just felt exhausted. I shook off his hand. “Is that so? Watch me.” I walked away. Chase’s voice trailed behind me, impatient and cruel. “Fine. Don’t come crying to me when you get humiliated. I don’t have the time to babysit you.” I didn’t look back. When I re-entered the chapel, the confetti cannons popped on cue. Pop! Gold streamers rained down on my head. The guests applauded. “I didn’t believe the program when it said there was a ‘Runaway Bride’ skit, but that was intense!” “Adds a little spice, doesn’t it?” “What was the meaning again? ‘True love survives all obstacles’?” I kept a straight face and walked back up the aisle. The heavy oak doors closed, leaving Chase standing outside, frozen in shock. We exchanged rings. We said our vows. During the reception, I checked my phone. Chase had sent a barrage of texts. What was that? Hailey, did you just play me?! 3 Yes. I played him. I was tired of being the puppy he summoned and dismissed at will. I hoped he learned some boundaries. I didn’t reply. Just as I was about to block him, he called. I declined. He called again. I finally picked up. Chase’s voice was dripping with rage. “Hailey. You have three minutes. Come out here and explain yourself.” I answered casually. “Chase, the bet is over, right? You got the outcome you wanted. You won the money.” He took a deep breath, suppressing a scream. I was about to hang up when his tone shifted. “You really went all out just to make me jealous. A fake wedding? Was it fun?” “Fake wedding?” “Hailey, I’m putting it out there. After today, don’t expect to ever see me again.” It wasn’t like I could see him before. Every time I brought homemade food to the base, the MPs turned me away. “Captain Chase said no entry for Hailey.” Chase was always arrogant. Whether he believed me or not, I didn’t care. I rubbed my temples. “That would be best.” I hung up. Suddenly, a shadow fell over me. I turned and bumped into Quinn. He was leaning against the wall, taller than Chase, his dress blues immaculate. The silver oak leaves on his shoulders—Lieutenant Colonel—radiated a silent pressure. “Who was on the phone?” I paused. There was a hint of jealousy in his voice. We hadn’t known each other long. The marriage was… sudden. Before I could speak, he leaned in. His breath was close. I held mine. Before I could ask if this was too fast, he grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing tray and smiled at my reddening ears. “To celebrate? Cheers?” 4 Quinn swapped my champagne for juice. We leaned against the balcony railing. He suddenly asked, “You never told me why you were at the City Clerk’s office that day.” I’m a lightweight. The alcohol from the toast was already hitting me. I squinted. “Just a coincidence.” But that day was actually my birthday. I hadn’t heard from Chase in months. He suddenly contacted me, saying he had a birthday surprise. Even though I knew better, I went. Near the City Hall, I heard the familiar roar of a jeep. I looked back. A military jeep decked out in flowers, with a trail of petals behind it. Chase was in the driver’s seat, smiling at me. My heart hammered against my ribs. The petals were custom-made. I picked one up. Be mine— My phone rang. It was Chase. “Told you it was a surprise.” I froze. Because I unfolded the petal and saw the name on the back: Sasha. Chase laughed over the roar of the engine. “Hailey! She said yes! Wish me a happy relationship!” I went cold. I couldn’t hear what he said after that. I thought about the time in the Enclave when Chase first “confessed” to me. He lost a game of Truth or Dare. I was the only girl around. It was a joke. I should have laughed. But I thought he just needed courage. So I said yes. We were “together” for four years. I looked at the petals on the ground. I realized Chase and I had never even had a sincere “I like you.” I was so tired. No matter how hard I tried, Chase and I were a dead end. That’s when Quinn walked out of the marriage license bureau toward me. He was breathtakingly handsome, ignoring the group of women ogling his uniform. He grabbed my arm. “Help me out. Pretend to be my girlfriend for five minutes.” One afternoon later, we had a marriage certificate. It felt unreal. He said his family was pressuring him. I was 28, exhausted from chasing a ghost. It clicked. Why not?

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At the victory party for my fiancé, his assistant got wasted. She staggered over to me and, with a clumsy sweep, knocked the glass of juice in front of me to the floor. “You malicious bitch! Mr. Peter is allergic to mango—were you trying to kill him?” “Chug three shots of tequila, and I’ll tell Mr. Peter to forgive you.” Her entitlement was staggering, yet her devotion to Hudson Peter was absolute. It made Hudson laugh. He pulled her into his arms and looked at me with a practiced, weary expression. “She’s totally tanked, Ari. Don’t hold it against her. When she sobers up, I’ll make her apologize.” But the little assistant, Talia, wasn’t done. She protested she wasn’t drunk, not yet. She insisted she needed to see me drink the shots—something stronger than juice—to be satisfied. Finally, Hudson sighed, sounding like the put-upon hero. “Ariel, just take one shot to humor her. Please.” 1 Hearing Hudson’s words, I thought he’d lost his mind. I’m not a patient person. But tonight was his celebration. He’d barely slept in six months to secure the Beaumont Deal, and this victory was hard-won. I hadn’t wanted to cause a scene. So I endured his showing up with the young assistant. I endured their vaguely inappropriate intimacy in front of our guests. But now, to indulge her, he was asking me—someone with a severe, potentially life-threatening alcohol allergy—to drink hard liquor. I couldn’t endure that. I wouldn’t. Smash! The crystal decanter full of expensive Scotch collided with the side of Hudson’s head. The glass shattered instantly, leaving a ragged, crimson gash above his temple. Blood mixed with the amber liquor flowed down his face. “Oh my God! What did you do?!” Talia was sober in an instant. She fumbled wildly to wipe the blood away but only managed to push a sliver of glass deeper into the cut. “Shit,” Hudson hissed, his face draining white from the pain. I ignored them both. I picked up a linen napkin and carefully wiped the droplets of Scotch from my fingers. I tossed the napkin onto Hudson’s chest. “You’re my fiancé, Hudson. Consider that your portion.” Hudson bit his lip, letting the blood obscure his vision. He seemed to be only just realizing exactly who I was. The celebration was already a disaster. Staying would only turn me into a punchline. I grabbed my clutch and mumbled an apology to the room—I have to take an urgent call. But before I could turn, Talia blocked my way. “You can’t leave! You assaulted Mr. Peter! I’m calling the police!” Her drunken swagger was gone, replaced by a reckless, sober ferocity. “Talia. Come here.” Hudson’s voice was low and tightly controlled. “She hit you, and you’re just going to let it go?” “I said, come here.” Hudson’s hands were fisted, his words ground out between his teeth. Talia finally stomped her foot, but before retreating behind him, she pointed a finger directly at my face. “So what if you’re his fiancée? He’s a person, not a dog you keep on a leash!” “You old hag! If I ever see you lay a hand on him again, I swear I’ll—” Slap! My patience evaporated. I delivered a swift, ringing backhand across her cheek. “Try pointing that finger at me one more time, and I’ll see to it those fingers never dial a phone again.” 2 I’d met Hudson’s assistant a few times. Young, pretty, enthusiastic. The first time, my friends had joked. “Putting someone that attractive next to your fiancé? You’re not worried he’ll wander?” I told them I wasn’t. I had confidence in Hudson. We weren’t a typical couple. In business, we were a unified force. Our engagement was a strategic alliance layered with a thousand financial entanglements. As the illegitimate son his family had largely ignored, he knew better than anyone that he needed the foundation of the Maxwell Corporation behind him. I wasn’t worried because he couldn’t afford to be unfaithful. But I’d forgotten the classic male flaw. Achieve a little success, and suddenly you forget who brought you to the dance. Those constant ‘Mr. Peter’s from Talia made him forget he wasn’t a self-made man. No matter. I was here to remind him. Hudson cupped Talia’s face. She was stunned into silence, tears welling up in her eyes. I could see the anger—the protectiveness—surging through him. The veins in his forehead were visibly throbbing. “Ariel Maxwell, you’ve gone too far!” I raised an eyebrow. Too far? I was just getting started. Spencer and Brooks, who were sitting near me, finally decided they’d seen enough drama and stood up to mediate. “Hey, come on, you two. Don’t fight over an outsider.” Spencer stepped between us. “Yeah, Hud, you know Ari’s temper. Don’t make us watch this circus.” Brooks followed suit. They were our mutual friends, or at least, they were part of the inner circle. We’d been neighbors since I was fifteen, when the whole generation of the city’s top entrepreneurs moved into the exclusive hilltop community. But they were also the ones who most wanted to see Hudson fail. They resented the bastard son sitting at their table. Their ‘mediation’ was clearly meant to fan the flames. Spencer played the role of the sympathetic advisor, leaning into me. “Look, Ari, a guy having a little female companion is normal. You can’t be this jealous before you’re even married. What will you do afterward?” Brooks spoke to Hudson. “And you, man, you know the Maxwell temper. Just apologize before she really blows up. After all, without her, you wouldn’t have The Beaumont Deal.” Hudson’s lips tightened, his gaze dark and unreadable. Normally, he’d shoot back a quick retort. But he was drunk, bloody, and had just watched the woman he was protecting get slapped by his fiancée. He was beyond swallowing his pride. 3 He threw a hand up, adopting the pose of the wounded, self-respecting man. He pointed at me. “Ariel, apologize to Talia. If you don’t, I’ll—” Slap! “I’ll—” Slap! “I—” Slap! Three sharp slaps, one after the other. My palm was tingling. I looked at Hudson’s swelling, red face and smiled faintly. “Or what, Hudson? You’ll call off the engagement?” He fell silent. The words cancel the engagement were ones he couldn’t afford to utter. In his hesitation, Talia made the choice for him. “Cancel it then! You just look down on Mr. Peter for being a bastard anyway!” she screamed, still hiding behind him. “Well, I’ll tell you something! Who says an illegitimate son can’t achieve greatness?” A deathly silence fell over the room. Hudson was brought into the family at thirteen, but Victor Peter (his father) had always covered it up, calling him a “younger cousin” or “my youngest son.” Only a handful of insiders, like those of us at this table, knew the truth. This was a victory party, packed with business rivals Hudson had invited to gloat over. Now, thanks to his faithful assistant, his secret—and his biggest weakness—was exposed. I couldn’t help but laugh, watching the speculative, judging eyes in the room turn toward him. What a spectacular blunder. Talia’s face turned scarlet. She learned quickly, hiding further behind Hudson, but she kept shouting at me. “Don’t pretend! You and Mr. Peter are only a business deal; there’s no love! Have you ever truly cared for him? Where were you when he was lonely? When he was heartbroken? I was the one who was there, who helped him through the rough times!” I stared at her excited face. I didn’t understand why enduring ‘rough times’ with him was a point of pride. But if they loved ‘rough times’ so much, I decided to be generous. They were about to have more than they could handle. I pushed past Spencer, who tried to restrain me, and, under the gaze of everyone eager for a show, I pronounced Hudson’s doom. “The engagement is off, Hudson.” “The Beaumont Deal is collapsing, your stock is about to tank, and you’re going back to being the nobody you started as. That’s the agony a thankless bastard like you deserves.” 4 From the hotel, I drove straight to the office. The top floor of the Maxwell Tower was alight. I sat in the executive chair, listening to my secretary’s report. “Madam Maxwell, releasing the Peter Group’s current scandals gives us an 80% chance that the Beaumont will replace their primary partner.” I had first brought the Beaumont project to the Peter Group three years ago. I had just taken over Maxwell Corp and wasn’t ready to absorb a project of that magnitude. Hudson was the perfect buffer. If he succeeded, we both won. If he failed, he was ruined, and I had minimal losses. But things were different now. I had cemented my position. I could swallow any project I wanted. The market has no morals. Hudson wasn’t the only one who could burn bridges. Within half an hour, my private investigator had compiled everything on Hudson and Talia. She came from an impoverished background, dropped out of high school, and worked as an orderly. A year ago, Hudson’s biological mother was transferred to her hospital for chemotherapy. Hudson frequently visited, and they grew close. His mother was suffering from advanced gastric cancer. He was low, vulnerable. I understood, and I ran interference with the Peter family so he could spend time with her. And in that time, they started their affair. Hudson had covered his tracks meticulously. Before the Beaumont project was secured, he wouldn’t dare bring her out in the open. I don’t know if he felt secure enough to finally defy me, or if he genuinely believed he could manage both of us. Either way, he would regret that choice forever. The news of the cancelled engagement was released. Thirty minutes later, the simultaneous leak of Hudson’s affair and his illegitimate status hit the wires. My PR team was relentless. The scandals dominated every major publication. In this day and age, no one cares about ‘true love conquers all’ when corporate power is on the line. The official Peter Group social media was flooded with vitriol. Public opinion was universally against him. I sat in my office, watching the Peter Group stock ticker. The night was young. Plenty of people were more anxious than I was. The first person to burst in was my father, Robert Maxwell. We hadn’t seen each other in six months. He was currently distracted by a mistress younger than me, a young woman who’d successfully eroded what little common sense he possessed. “Ariel, what the hell are you doing now?!” he bellowed, charging into my office. I took a slow sip of coffee, waved the secretaries out, and looked at him. “Dad, I’m not playing games. I’m dissolving a liability and securing the maximum benefit for Maxwell Corp.” “Bullshit!” He slammed his hand on my desk, the dull thump echoing in the silence. This wasn’t the first time he’d accused me of “playing games.” When I initiated massive corporate reform, he slapped me. When I fired his leech-like friends from the board, he trashed my office. Here we go again. “What maximum benefit? Ariel, you think just because you’ve run the company for a few years, you understand the world? This isn’t how you do business! Not on the street!” “Recall every announcement now and come with me to apologize to the Peters. Old Man Peter has called me a dozen times! Also, your brother just graduated. I’m putting him in the company to keep an eye on you. This company cannot be run by your whims anymore!” I looked at him calmly. “I’m an only child, Dad. Where did I get a brother?”

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I was ready to go to war with the finance department over a $300 plane ticket. “Rules are rules. Not a single penny over budget,” the finance manager declared, her voice dripping with condescension. As a result, our company lost an eight-and-a-half-million-dollar contract. At the debriefing, the CEO was incandescent with rage. “Will someone please explain to me what the hell happened?” I stood up, met the eyes of everyone in the room, and said calmly, “It happened because I couldn’t afford the plane ticket to deliver the proposal to the client.” 01 The conference room was suffocatingly silent. The massive, polished mahogany table reflected every twisted and humiliated face around it. The echoes of CEO Mark Harrison’s roar still vibrated in the air. “Eight and a half million dollars!” He slammed the file in his hand onto the table. The thud was like a sledgehammer to the chest of everyone present. “A project we’ve been working on for six months, gone, right at the finish line!” “Can anyone give me an explanation?” No one dared to speak. The executives sat bolt upright, their eyes fixed on nothing, as if they’d all turned to stone. I sat at the very end of the table, in a corner that was almost always overlooked. I could feel the eyes of my direct supervisor, Sales Director John Miller, boring into me. His gaze was a frantic cocktail of anxiety, warning, and a kind of pathetic pleading. He mouthed the words silently: Stick to the plan. The “plan” was the story he had cornered me with in the breakroom just before the meeting, delivering it not as a request, but as an order. “Amber, you’re going to take the fall for this one. Just say you were careless and forgot to send the proposal before the deadline. The company won’t fire you. At worst, you’ll get a reprimand and lose your bonus. It’s okay for young people to make mistakes. It’s the attitude that counts.” I had just stared at his greasy face and his shifty, shameless eyes, and said nothing. Now, his eyes were flashing that same message again, a desperate urging that made my stomach turn. I lowered my gaze, my fingers tracing the cold edge of my phone under the table. My heart was a drum against my ribs, heavy and loud. I knew this was my only chance. Either I could continue to be the doormat I’d been for the past two years, the disposable pawn they pushed out to take the blame, or I could flip this whole goddamn table over. “Is no one going to speak?” The CEO’s voice was ice. His eyes, like a hawk’s, scanned each face. “John, you’re the sales director. You led this project. You tell me!” John flinched as if he’d been struck. He shot to his feet, beads of sweat instantly dotting his forehead. “Sir, the… the ultimate responsibility is mine. I failed to properly supervise.” He started by shouldering a meaningless sliver of blame, then pivoted. “However, there was a… a small hiccup in the execution. The employee responsible for delivering the proposal, Amber Lin, she…” He pointed at me. In an instant, every executive in the room swiveled their head, their gazes like searchlights, all fixed on me. There was scrutiny, contempt, a little bit of schadenfreude, and a whole lot of cold indifference. I was the eye of the storm. A flicker of relief crossed John’s face. He thought he’d successfully diverted the fire to the “temp.” He looked at me, his voice dripping with fake sympathy and a “magnanimous” boss’s tone. “Amber, why don’t you explain to the CEO what happened.” Under the weight of all those stares, I slowly got to my feet. My body was stiff from sitting for so long, but I straightened my spine. I pushed my black-framed glasses up the bridge of my nose, the lenses hiding the emotion in my eyes. “Mr. Harrison.” My voice wasn’t loud, but in the dead silence of the room, it was terrifyingly clear. I ignored John and looked directly at the man at the head of the table. I saw his brow furrowed in impatience and suspicion. “I can explain.” Then, I said the words I had practiced in my head a thousand times. “It happened because I couldn’t afford the plane ticket to deliver the proposal to the client.” One second. Two seconds. You could have heard a pin drop. Then, a wave of suppressed gasps and murmurs. I saw John’s face drain of all color, then flush a deep, mottled purple. He clearly hadn’t expected me, the quiet, head-down workhorse, to say something like that in this setting. Across from me, the finance manager, Susan Hayes, her face a mask of perfect makeup, went from shocked to crimson. “What nonsense are you spouting!” Her sharp voice shattered the room’s bizarre tension. She shot up, her finger with its perfectly manicured red nail practically jabbing me in the face. “Amber Lin, don’t you dare make baseless accusations! You messed up, and now you’re trying to blame the finance department?” “Company policy is company policy. Your flight was over budget. I was following the rules. What did I do wrong?” Her voice was high and shrill, filled with righteous indignation and the arrogance of someone who believes they are untouchable. She saw herself as the embodiment of “the rules.” I looked at her coldly, as if she were a clown. “Susan,” I said, my calm voice cutting through her tirade. “You want to talk about the rules? Fine. Let’s talk about the rules.” I pulled my phone from my pocket, opened the photo gallery, and walked to the center of the table. I held up the screen for everyone to see. “This is an expense report from three months ago, for entertaining clients from the Sterling Group. Total: four hundred and thirty-two dollars. I paid out of pocket. According to company policy, reimbursement should be processed within ten business days. It has now been over seventy days. I haven’t seen a dime.” “I followed up with your department three times. Each time, your assistant told me you were busy, that you didn’t have time to sign off on it.” I swiped to the next picture. “This is a stack of taxi receipts. Over the past six months, I worked overtime one hundred and twenty times to keep this project on track. I took a taxi home one hundred and twenty times. Total: one hundred and ninety-six dollars. All paid out of pocket. I submitted the collated receipts to you last week. Your response was that the company does not reimburse for any single trip under five dollars. Susan, is that actually a company policy?” My gaze was ice. Her lips trembled. She couldn’t get a word out. She’d clearly never imagined that a nobody like me would have kept all the evidence. I put my phone away and looked back at the CEO. “So, Mr. Harrison,” my voice was laced with a barely suppressed sneer, “when an employee has fronted over six hundred dollars of their own money and can’t get it back for months, why on earth would you expect her to have the capacity to front another three hundred dollars for a plane ticket?” “I didn’t have the money. That’s my explanation.” “A company that can’t even reimburse its employees in a timely manner expects them to have unlimited dedication and financial resources in a crisis. Don’t you think that’s a little… ridiculous?” I was finished. The room was deathly silent. I saw the sweat soaking the collar of John’s white shirt. I saw Susan’s face go from red to a ghastly white, her body swaying. And I saw the CEO, Mark Harrison, his face so dark it looked like it was about to storm. His gaze was no longer on me. It was fixed on Susan and John. He looked at them like they were already dead. 02 The meeting was adjourned. Or rather, it was adjourned for everyone but me. The executives filed out as if granted a pardon, none of them daring to look at me. John and Susan were pinned to their seats by Harrison’s parting shot—”You two, wait for me”—their faces ashen. Only I was politely escorted to a smaller conference room by the CEO’s assistant, a sharp, capable woman. “Ms. Lin, please wait here. The CEO will be with you shortly.” Her form of address had shifted from “Amber” to “Ms. Lin,” her tone from business-like to respectful. I nodded and sat alone in the empty room. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sky was a dreary gray. I looked at my own blurry reflection in the glass: a pale girl with black-framed glasses, her expression unnervingly calm. I’d won the first round. But I knew this was just the beginning. The door was shoved open violently. John stormed in, locking the door behind him. His mask of civility was gone, replaced by a snarling, furious desperation. “Amber! Are you insane?” he hissed, spittle flying from his lips. “Who told you to say that? We had a deal!” I leaned back, disgusted, putting some distance between us. “Let me correct you, John. It wasn’t ‘we’ who had a deal. It was ‘you’ who unilaterally informed me that I was to be the scapegoat. When did I ever agree to that?” He was speechless for a moment, his face growing even uglier. “You! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What good does it do you to drag this in front of the CEO? Do you want to get fired?” He had moved on to naked threats. I looked at him and, to my own surprise, felt a small, bitter laugh bubble up. “Fired?” I repeated the word softly. “Fine. Go tell the CEO right now. Tell him that because I, Amber Lin, refused to be your scapegoat, you’re going to fire me. Go on. Say it.” John’s breath hitched. This was not the reaction he’d expected. I took off my glasses and slowly began to polish the lenses with a tissue, my movements deliberate and calm. “John, the proposal for this project had three core technical sections. The two most critical parts, the ‘Cloud-Based Dynamic Data Matching’ and the ‘User Behavior Prediction Model,’ you took from my email at eleven o’clock on Tuesday night, didn’t you? You said you needed to ‘polish’ them yourself to present to the CEO, to give the project a final review.” I looked up, my eyes behind the lenses like scalpels, slicing through his facade. “I just have one question for you. Those two sections… did you even understand them?” His pupils contracted. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. I saw the panic in his eyes. Of course he didn’t understand them. He was a fraud who had climbed the ladder by sucking up and stealing credit. He probably couldn’t even grasp the basic algorithms. His “polishing” consisted of deleting my name and typing his own. I continued, each word a nail in his coffin. “The final version submitted to the client was the one you edited. You deleted the two key appendices on risk mitigation from my original draft. You probably thought they were just fluff, too wordy, not befitting your ‘visionary’ leadership. If I’m not mistaken, the real reason the client rejected our bid wasn’t because we were late. It was because they saw a castrated, deeply flawed proposal. “John, you took something you didn’t even understand and used it to compete for an eight-and-a-half-million-dollar project. You tell me, who is really responsible for this failure?” John’s face shifted between shades of green and white. He pointed a trembling finger at me, shaking with rage and fear. “You… you…” He couldn’t form a coherent sentence. Threats? He had no leverage. Anger? He had no ground to stand on. For the first time, he was seeing that the subordinate he had pushed around and exploited at will had a strength he couldn’t control. She wasn’t a sheep. She was a wolf in waiting. “Fine… fine…” he finally managed to choke out, his eyes filled with venom. “Amber Lin, you just wait!” He turned and fled, practically stumbling over his own feet. Watching him go, I felt no thrill of victory, only a cold, bone-deep exhaustion. Fighting with people like him was draining. I sat there for a long time, until the tension in my body and mind began to ease. There was another knock on the door. It was the CEO’s assistant again. She handed me a document, her expression unreadable. “Ms. Lin, this is your temporary suspension notice. The CEO asks that you go home and rest while the company reaches a final decision.” I took the thin piece of paper. The cold, printed words announced another crisis in my career. But strangely, I felt calm. I knew this chess game wasn’t over yet. 03 The days of my suspension were harder than I’d expected. My apartment was small, with a single north-facing window that required the lights to be on even during the day. I cut off most contact with the outside world, leaving all the company group chats. But the rumors still seeped in like greasy sludge through the cracks of the internet. Someone sent me a screenshot from a private chat. “Did you hear? Amber in sales screwed up big time, lost that eight-mil project.” “That’s not all. I heard she talked back to the CEO in the debriefing. She’s crazy.” “People like her should just be fired. She’s a menace.” The most active person spreading these rumors had an unfamiliar profile picture. Someone told me it was the finance manager Susan’s nephew, who had just been hired. Susan herself was busy poisoning the well at the office. She was telling everyone I was incompetent, that I’d gotten by on luck and my true colors were finally showing. She claimed I had been trying to falsify my expense reports to cheat the company, and she, with her “eagle eyes,” had caught me. She painted herself as a dedicated hero, protecting the company from a corrupt employee. I was the villain. I stared at the screen, at the black-and-white lies, and felt no anger. Just a coldness that went to my bones. This was the corporate world. When you fall, there will always be people eager to tear at your flesh and spit on your bones. I turned off my phone. I didn’t want to see any more of it. Just then, the screen lit up. A new message. From David in the tech department. “Amber, don’t listen to the gossip. Get some rest. We all know what you’re capable of. The truth will come out.” David was one of the company’s few veteran engineers, a man in his forties with salt-and-pepper hair. He was quiet, a true tech expert, and one of the few people in the company I genuinely respected. When I first started, he had patiently helped me with a few technical problems. After I was moved under John’s supervision, we didn’t interact as much. But I knew he had always appreciated my work. At a time when I was being isolated and slandered by everyone, his simple words of encouragement were like a faint but warm beam of light in my dark room. My eyes started to burn. I replied, “Thank you, David.” He messaged back quickly. “Susan is acting so high and mighty because she just got her useless nephew a job in procurement. She’s trying to assert her authority, and you’re the example she’s making. She wants to show everyone she’s not to be trifled with. Be careful. She holds a grudge.” Reading that, my gratitude slowly hardened into something else. I understood. Susan’s cruelty wasn’t just her personality; it was a power play. I was just the chicken she was sacrificing to scare the monkeys. I replied, “I understand, David. Thank you for telling me.” I put down my phone and went to my desk, opening my laptop. The screen’s glow reflected on my expressionless face. I wasn’t here to be a sacrifice. If they wanted me dead, I was going to take a few of them down with me. I started to compile every digital trace I had left at that company over the past two years. The draft proposals John had taken with a casual “Let me see that.” The late-night emails with his commands to revise the plans. The meeting minutes where I had proposed Plan A, only to have him shoot it down and then present it as his own idea in another meeting. The personal projects and performance bonuses I had to give up to complete his last-minute “urgent” tasks. Emails, chat logs, file revision histories, server access logs… I was a detective, methodically gathering evidence of my own existence. I had once thought this evidence would rot on my hard drive forever. I had told myself so many times to just let it go, to endure it. But I realized now that endurance doesn’t earn you respect. It only earns you more exploitation. When they pushed me to the edge of the cliff, it was no longer a dead end. It was my battlefield. This crisis was, perhaps, truly an opportunity. An opportunity to settle all the old scores, with interest. 04 The days dragged on. The third day of my suspension, the fifth, the seventh. Silence from the company. It was as if they had forgotten I existed. The waiting was like being slowly cut with a dull knife. Sometimes I wondered if the CEO had already bought John and Susan’s story and was just planning to quietly let me go. If so, would I even have a chance to present my evidence? Anxiety grew like a weed in my solitude. But I forced myself to stay calm. I reviewed the files I had compiled, refining my narrative over and over. Whatever the outcome, I had to be prepared. On the afternoon of the eighth day, my phone rang. An unknown number. I hesitated, then answered. “Hello, is this Ms. Amber Lin?” A polite, controlled female voice. I recognized it. The CEO’s assistant. My heart skipped a beat. “Yes, this is she.” “Ms. Lin, hello. The CEO would like you to submit a detailed written report regarding the loss of the eight-and-a-half-million-dollar project.” My fingers tightened around the phone. “A written report?” “Yes. Please be completely factual and provide a detailed account of everything that happened, from the project’s inception until your suspension, including your personal analysis and perspective on the matter. Once the report is complete, please encrypt it and send it directly to the CEO’s private email. I will text you the address shortly. Also,” she paused, then added, “the CEO has stipulated that this report will not be seen by anyone else. Please feel free to speak your mind without any reservations.” After hanging up, I stood there, my heart pounding. I hadn’t received a termination letter. I had received this. A direct line to the top. Mark Harrison hadn’t fired me immediately. He hadn’t completely believed John and Susan. He was investigating. My mind raced. Why would the CEO of a company with over a thousand employees go to such trouble for a low-level employee? Was it because my “I can’t afford a plane ticket” line had struck a nerve? Or was the loss of eight and a half million dollars so significant that he had to get to the bottom of it? Probably a bit of both. But more likely, he had sensed something was off from my unusual behavior. A normally quiet employee suddenly launching a kamikaze attack on two mid-level managers in a high-level meeting. There had to be a deeper reason. A man like Harrison was suspicious and controlling. He would not tolerate an undercurrent in his company that he couldn’t control. He would have pulled my personnel file, my performance reviews. He would have seen that every project I was a part of became a success, and that the project lead was, without exception, John Miller. He would have seen that my performance ratings were always consistently average—never outstanding, never poor—as if carefully managed. He would have seen the stark contrast between the person who could write those brilliant proposals and the person who was quibbling over a plane ticket. He was suspicious. So, he needed a report from me, the person at the center of the storm. The raw, unfiltered version. He wanted to hear my side of the story. My chance had come. I took a deep breath, calming the excitement and nerves. I went to my computer and sat down. The sky outside had darkened, and the city lights were beginning to twinkle. I hadn’t turned on the lights in my room. Only the screen illuminated my face. I knew this report would decide my fate. And it would decide the fates of John and Susan as well. I cracked my knuckles. Then, I placed my hands on the keyboard. The battle had begun.

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