Category: English

1 When the fire broke out, Mom grabbed my little sister, and Dad hoisted my older brother onto his back. They ran. They left me behind in the flames. My face was burned. And just like that, the demanding, attention-seeking child I once was… disappeared. I was dying anyway. Let them have the scraps of love I no longer wanted. But then they regretted it. They held my thin, scarred hand and begged, “Please, just throw one more tantrum for us. Please?” Mom held my sister, Maya, close. Dad carried my brother, Leo, on his back. They burst out of the burning house and clung to each other, sobbing with relief. “Is there anyone else inside?” a firefighter yelled, rushing toward them. Mom spun around, her eyes frantically scanning her children. She pointed to my brother and sister. “Leo and Maya. Both of them are here. They’re all here!” “Are you sure?” the firefighter pressed. But Mom’s world had shrunk to just the two of them. She didn’t answer, just kept murmuring, “They’re safe, they’re safe,” pulling them into an even tighter hug. That’s when I stumbled out of the house, my hand over my mouth, coughing. Her words made me feel like a pathetic joke. My body was covered in soot, my clothes in tatters. They, having escaped early, were practically untouched. The strength that had gotten me out of the house evaporated. My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the ground. A searing pain shot through my back. My name is Clara. But I’ve always been the extra one. 2 “Leo, stop tickling me!” Once the initial shock wore off, Maya and Leo started playing, their laughter a small comfort to my distraught parents. But then Maya tripped, and her hand landed directly on the raw, open burn on my back. “Ah!” I screamed. I could feel the freshly dressed wound tear open, blood seeping through the bandages. Maya scrambled to her feet, hiding behind Leo, her dark eyes wide with fear. “Clara!” Mom’s voice was sharp with reprimand. “Stop throwing a fit! Why did you yell at your sister?” Her gaze landed on my face, and she flinched, a look of disgust flashing in her eyes. It was the burns, I knew. And she thought I was faking because her attention had been so focused on the other two that she hadn’t even seen the firefighters tending to my back. She never saw me. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I ran to the edge of the lawn and sobbed, my cries echoing in the night. They all fell silent. When I finally quieted down, Mom came over, holding Maya’s hand. She reached for mine. I flinched away. Her hand froze in mid-air. “Clara, please try to understand,” she said, her voice weary. “It’s not that we don’t love you. It’s just… Leo is in the middle of a big promotion at work, and Maya is so young…” I looked at her through my tears. “Can’t you just be the sensible one, for once?” I had to laugh. It was so absurd. The sensible one. The one who was always expected to make do with the leftovers. Seeing me laugh, Mom must have thought I was over it. She grabbed my hand and placed it on top of Maya’s. “There, that’s better. Now, say you’re sorry to your sister, and we can all move on. We’re a family, after all.” Her voice was gentle, but her eyes were fixed on Maya, cooing and comforting her. I snatched my hand back. Mom’s face hardened. “I have three children,” she said, her words like daggers, “and you’re the only one who turned out so spoiled.” She scooped Maya into her arms and walked away. Spoiled. Demanding. That’s what they called me. I used to fight for their attention, for every scrap of affection. I knew if I didn’t, I would get nothing at all. But now… I was dying. I had an illness they didn’t know about. I was done fighting. 3 Our house was gone. We needed a new place to live. “Finding a place for a family of five is going to be tough,” Dad said. “We’ll have to split up for a while. We can take two of the kids, but we’ll have to send one to stay with relatives.” All eyes turned to me. I just smiled a bitter smile. The old me would have thrown a massive tantrum, would have cried and screamed until they gave in. But Leo and Maya never had to scream to get what they wanted. This time, I didn’t make a scene. I just nodded and took a step back. “I’ll go,” I said, my voice hoarse. They all looked surprised, but no one argued. So I was sent to live with my uncle. Life there was a tightrope walk. At first, they were kind. But soon, the smiles faded, replaced by cold, hard stares. It didn’t matter that I woke up early to do all the chores, or that I collected cans to earn a little money to give to them. Nothing I did was ever enough. One afternoon, I overheard them talking. “When is she leaving?” my aunt asked. “Just a few more days,” my uncle sighed. “I can’t stand it. She… she smells. Every time I talk to her, I feel like I need to take a shower. And another mouth to feed… it’s a lot of pressure.” I looked down at my clothes. They wouldn’t let me use the shower, afraid I’d use too much hot water. That night, at dinner, I forced a smile. “Uncle, I think I’d be more comfortable in the basement. And I can just make my own meals from now on.” They looked at each other, and for the first time in weeks, the tension in their faces eased. “Here, Clara,” my aunt said, placing a piece of chicken on my plate. “You’re too thin. You need to eat.” 4 The basement was freezing. The wind whistled through the cracks in the door, a thousand tiny needles pricking at my burns. I wrapped myself in a threadbare blanket, my body shaking. I hadn’t had anything to drink all day. The thirst was unbearable. I crept upstairs. A stray cat was lapping at a puddle of dirty water on the floor. I hesitated, then knelt beside it. When you’re dying of thirst, dignity doesn’t seem so important. The water was cold and sweet. When I stood up, I saw my brother, Leo, standing there, his face a mask of cold fury. He had been watching me. He was the last person I expected to see. I tried to run, to hide, but he grabbed my arm. “We’re going home. It’s New Year’s Eve.” I shrank away, terrified he would smell the stench of the basement on me. But he just tightened his grip. “Let’s go.” I found myself in front of their new home, a charming two-story house with a small yard. They weren’t struggling financially. So why couldn’t they have taken me with them? I hesitated at the door. Inside, I could hear them laughing, my parents calling Maya their “sweet baby girl.” I didn’t belong here. “Where’s Clara?” Maya asked suddenly. The laughter stopped. “She burned our house down,” my mother’s voice was like ice. “She’s lucky we’re even letting her come for dinner. When she gets here, we’re going to give her a piece of our minds.” I looked at Leo in disbelief. “You were there. You know it was Maya who started the fire…” “Shut up!” he hissed, his voice low and threatening. I flinched, my body tensing. I had become so sensitive to anger, to any hint of disapproval. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Maya is fragile,” he said, his voice a little softer. “Don’t make a scene. Does it really matter who started it?” It mattered to me. But I just nodded. “I won’t say anything.” He seemed to relax. “Come on, let’s go eat.” I shook my head. “Can you give me some money? I need to buy medicine.” His face hardened again. “Is that all you ever think about? You finally come home, and the first thing you do is ask for money?” He pulled a few bills from his wallet and threw them at me. I knelt to pick them up, my face impassive. “Is that it?” he sneered. “I humiliate you like that, and you don’t even fight back?” The old me would have. But I was tired. I just wanted to leave. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my abdomen. My period had started, and I had just drunk dirty, cold water. “Can I have a glass of hot water?” I begged, my voice trembling. “Please?” Seeing me so weak, a smirk played on his lips. He said nothing, just turned and went inside, slamming the door behind him. “She’s not coming,” I heard him announce. The pain was overwhelming. I collapsed onto the cold steps, and the world went black. Vaguely, through the haze, I thought I saw their horrified faces. 5 I woke up to the smell of antiseptic and the sight of a white ceiling. A nurse smiled at me. “You’re awake.” “Who brought me here?” I asked. “Your family,” she said. My heart twisted. They had brought me to the hospital. The nurse hesitated, then patted my hand and left. I lay there, tears streaming down my face, until I fell back asleep. Later, I heard the nurse whispering to a colleague. “It’s so sad. Their other kid wanted to go out to eat, so they just left her here. Who does that?” The pain in my chest was worse than the pain in my back. I thought I didn’t care anymore. Why did it still hurt so much? 6 That night, they brought me leftovers from the restaurant. “Clara, we brought you food!” Maya chirped, running toward my bed. I quickly lifted my arm, moving the IV out of her way. They all froze. I knew what they were thinking. There she goes again, being difficult. I forced a smile and took the food. “Thank you. I’m starving.” The food was cold, but it tasted like heaven. When I was done, I huddled under the blanket. “Thank you for bringing me to the hospital,” I said, trying to sound as cheerful and grateful as I could. They exchanged glances and left without a word. “It’s like she’s trying to make us feel guilty,” I heard Leo mutter as he slammed the door. I flinched and pulled the blanket over my head.

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1 The day my husband’s first love died during a rock-climbing trip, he left a suicide note and jumped off a thousand-foot cliff. It was then I knew he’d never loved me. Then I woke up—reborn in my college years. This time, my now-ex Kevin broke up with me immediately and ran to his first love Daisy. Watching him leave, I finally let go, erasing him from my heart. Eight years later, I saw him again at a gala for Sterling City’s most powerful magnate. Kevin was a finance titan, Daisy still sparkling on his arm. Spotting me alone in a corner, he frowned in annoyance. “Elara, you’ve got nerve tracking me here,” he said contemptuously. “Stop chasing me. Even in eighty years, I’d never choose you.” I glanced at him, then walked toward my daughter hiding under a table, secretly drinking juice. His face twisted with rage. “You married some random guy and had a kid just to make me jealous? Have you no shame?” … Seeing that familiar figure across the crowded ballroom sent a jolt through me, a flicker of disbelief in my eyes. I never imagined that the next time I’d cross paths with Kevin Sterling would be at a gala thrown for Ethan Thorne’s return to the country. In the center of the room, Kevin’s arm was draped possessively around Daisy’s shoulders. He moved through the crowd with an easy smile, schmoozing with practiced charm. The quiet, brooding artist I once knew was gone, replaced by a polished executive. “Mr. Sterling, congratulations! You’re the youngest CEO in Sterling City’s financial sector. The sky’s the limit for you!” “Indeed! An invitation from the Thorne family at your age? You’re destined for greatness.” “And is this your lovely wife? You two make a perfect couple.” Kevin accepted the flattery with a gracious nod. “Daisy is my fiancée,” he announced, his smile widening. “We’re getting married in July. I expect to see all of you there.” A chorus of “Absolutely!” and “We’ll be there!” followed. Then, a former classmate of Kevin’s chimed in. “Kevin, you and Daisy were the campus golden couple. Why the eight-year marathon to the altar?” At that, I set down my glass, my gaze drawn back to him. Truthfully, I wanted to know the answer to that myself. After all, Kevin had loved Daisy to the point of madness. In my past life, the news of her death had driven him to leap from a cliff, ending his own life without a second thought. And in this life, when we were reborn back in college, he’d dropped me like a hot stone to chase after her. How could two people so supposedly in love still not be married after all this time? It was bizarre. Across the room, Kevin’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, a shadow of awkwardness crossing his face before he smoothed it over. “Daisy was my first love, the only woman I’ve ever truly wanted. I refused to let her settle for anything less than perfect,” he said, his voice dripping with carefully crafted sincerity. “That’s why I’ve worked myself to the bone all these years—to give her the wedding of her dreams, the grandest the world has ever seen.” He looked down at Daisy, his eyes shining with a devotion so intense it felt theatrical. Daisy beamed, leaning into him. “I can’t wait, Kevin.” Watching them, a wave of bitter irony washed over me. So this is what Kevin looked like when he was truly in love—considerate, devoted, willing to build a world for someone. It was a universe away from the man he’d been with me. In our last life, no matter how much I gave, he refused to marry me. It was only when I became pregnant by accident and his grandfather intervened that he grudgingly agreed. I’d had enough of this charade. The party felt suffocating. I stood, ready to leave, when a flash of movement under a nearby table caught my eye. A little girl with two pigtails was hiding there, downing glass after glass of fruit punch. I shook my head with a sigh and started walking toward her. In my haste, my elbow clipped a wine glass on the edge of a table. CRASH! The crystal shattered, scattering like diamonds across the marble floor. “Hey! Who are you?” a waiter snarled, stepping in front of me, blocking my path. “Who let you in here? Do you have any idea how much that glass you just broke costs?” His expression was pure contempt. The entire room went silent. Every head turned in our direction. Kevin’s eyes found me, and he froze, shock widening his gaze. “Elara?” he breathed out, then his expression hardened. “You’d even crash a party hosted by the Thornes just to get to me?” The crowd murmured, their curiosity piqued. “Mr. Sterling, you mean she’s not an invited guest?” Kevin’s jaw tightened, a hint of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. “My apologies, everyone, for the interruption. She’s… an ex.” 2 At the word “ex,” knowing smirks spread across the faces in the crowd. “Quite the collection of beauties, Kevin! An ex and a fiancée, both stunning!” “Wait a minute… didn’t he say Miss Daisy was his first love?” “So where does this ‘ex’ fit in?” The questions hung in the air, and Kevin’s face turned rigid. Daisy, nestled in his arms, shot me a look brimming with a venomous mix of disgust and resentment. “It’s a misunderstanding,” Kevin said quickly, his tone dismissive. “She’s not really an ‘ex.’ More of a… rebound I had during a brief argument with Daisy.” Having delivered his explanation, he turned to the waiter. “Put the glass on my tab,” he commanded. “And get her out of here.” Throughout the entire exchange, he never once looked directly at me, treating me like some piece of filth he was ashamed to acknowledge. A part of me was just… tired. But another part was relieved. This was good. In this life, I wanted nothing to do with him. “Alright, you heard him. Let’s go,” the waiter said, shoving me impatiently. “Look at the state of you. As if you ever had a chance with a man like Mr. Sterling.” He sneered, his eyes flicking over my slightly dusty sweatsuit. My patience wore thin. “Just a moment,” I said, my voice firm. “I need to find someone. Once I do, I’ll leave.” The waiter scoffed. “Find someone? Do you take me for an idiot? I’ve seen your type a million times. Don’t think you can hang around here scouting for your next meal ticket.” He grabbed my arm, his grip tight, and started dragging me toward the exit. Suddenly, a voice cut through the air. “Wait.” It was Daisy. She glided toward us, her arm looped possessively through Kevin’s, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. “Elara, Kevin has never loved you. You need to stop harassing him,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “We’re getting married. What you’re doing… it’s no different from being a homewrecker.” “She’s right,” Kevin added, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “I never loved you. Stop clinging to fantasies. It’s been eight years. You could wait another eighty, and I would still never be with you.” He paused, then offered, as if granting a great favor, “Look, I’ll transfer you a million dollars. Just promise you’ll disappear from my life for good.” He had Daisy pull his phone from her purse. He opened his banking app, then froze. “Elara? You… you blocked me?” His voice cracked with disbelief, rising in pitch. “What else was I supposed to do?” I replied, a hint of exasperation in my tone. We made a clean break. Why would I keep his number? Besides, the man in my life now is the king of jealousy. If he ever found out I still had an ex’s contact information, he’d throw a fit to end all fits. My casual question seemed to enrage him. His face darkened. Daisy immediately jumped to his defense. “How dare you, Elara! Playing these pathetic games again!” she spat. “Did you really think a cheap trick like blocking him would make him feel sorry for you? Dream on!” She pressed herself against Kevin’s arm, purring, “Kevin, darling, don’t waste another second on her. It’s obvious she found out you’re a CEO and came crawling back. Women like her are nothing but gold-diggers.” “I know,” Kevin muttered, nodding as he shot me a look of pure disgust. Daisy’s eyes raked over me, from my worn sneakers to my simple ponytail. “You graduated from a top university, for God’s sake. Couldn’t you use all that energy you spend chasing men to build a career? Look at you. You’re pathetic. You look worse than a beggar on the street.” Her words were so ludicrous, I couldn’t help but laugh. Daisy, of all people, had clearly forgotten the mud she’d crawled out of. 3 Daisy’s family were dirt-poor farmers from generations back, living in some forgotten corner of the mountains. Worse, she was utterly devoted to her parasitic younger brother, treating him like a king. After she got with Kevin, she sold every single gift he ever gave her to fund her brother’s life. The first time I met Kevin, he was in the hospital. He’d been working a side job to give Daisy’s brother some cash and had ended up with a broken leg. Under pressure from his family, who despised Daisy, he’d finally broken up with her. That was the darkest period of his life. And I was the one who sat by his side, slowly helping him find the light again. Kevin loved to paint, so I hunted down tickets to every exclusive art exhibition I could find, no matter the cost. I was his driver, his nurse, his companion, flying with him all over the world to see the great masters. I bought him the finest canvases and pigments money could buy. I took care of everything—his meals, his laundry, his life. All he had to do was be happy. Even his own friends said I was the girlfriend of the century. Everyone assumed I was madly in love with him, but the truth was, Kevin was the one who asked me to be his girlfriend. I never saw his confession coming. He was always logging into a secret social media account to stalk Daisy’s life. I thought he was still hung up on her. But then he looked at me, his eyes full of a deep, earnest emotion. “Elara,” he said, his voice soft. “You’re my salvation. Without you, I don’t think I’d still be in this world. I’ve fallen in love with you. I want to spend every day with you.” My heart soared. I said yes. We were together for eight years. Even Kevin’s parents were shocked that their restless, impulsive son had settled into such a stable relationship with me. But no one knew the truth. Over those eight years, I asked him to build a home with me, to start a family, more times than I could count. Each time, he found an excuse to say no. It wasn’t until I accidentally got pregnant and his parents found out that he was forced, under immense pressure from his family, to marry me. He didn’t even want our child. During our marriage, we were on an outdoor adventure trip when he heard the news of Daisy’s death. He locked himself in a room for three days and three nights. On the fourth day, when I finally broke down the door, all I found was a note. Daisy was the only love of my life. Without her, my existence is meaningless. In the next life, I hope I can give her the grandest wedding of all. It was then I realized that the night before, Kevin had followed his first love into death, leaping from a cliff. My heart turned to ash. So, in this new life, when he wanted to leave me for Daisy, I didn’t try to stop him. I felt nothing but relief—an overwhelming sense of gratitude for a second chance, a new future free of him. I turned to leave the party, but Daisy stepped in my way again, her chin held high. “Elara, look at that sweatsuit. That style went out a decade ago! You look absolutely pathetic. How about I ask Kevin to pull some strings and get you a job as a server here?” “Miss Daisy is too kind,” a man trying to suck up to Kevin chimed in. He glanced at me, his lip curled in a sneer. “This is the most luxurious ballroom in Sterling City. A server’s tips here can reach thirty thousand a month! A woman like you has probably never seen that much money in her life. You should get on your knees and thank her!” A wave of irritation washed over me. “I have a job, thank you. I don’t need your charity.” But Daisy wasn’t finished. “Oh, really? I bet you’re lying. What kind of job?” “I’m an artist. I paint.” At my words, Kevin, who had been silent, suddenly snapped his head up. His eyes locked on mine, a storm of complicated emotions swirling within them. “Painting?” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. After a moment, he looked at me, his expression softening into something like pity. “I only said I liked to paint on a whim back then. I can’t believe you took it so seriously. Fine. For old times’ sake, I can offer you a decent job.” I blinked, realizing his mistake. He thought I’d chosen to become an artist because of him. The truth was far simpler. When I was reborn, I discovered I’d already spent all my savings on exhibition tickets and art supplies for him. Not wanting them to go to waste, I started painting myself. And somewhere along the way, I fell in love with it. Now, years later, my work has gained some renown across the country. I even get invitations to hold exhibitions overseas. My income is significantly higher than Kevin’s, the so-called young CEO. But I wasn’t going to tell him that. Kevin had never been one to believe me anyway. Besides… I glanced down at my clothes. My sweatsuit was a bit grubby. But I’d been driven to the gala straight from the airport after a week of sketching in the mountains. I hadn’t had time to change. What did it matter? I met Kevin’s gaze, my voice cool and distant. “I love my work. I plan to keep painting. But thank you for your concern.” His face darkened instantly. “Elara, do you have to be so stubborn?” “Kevin, let it go. She’s not worth getting angry over,” Daisy cooed, trying to pull him away. Just then, the waiter from before stormed over, his face contorted in fury. He pointed an accusing finger at me. “You’re a thief!” “What?” “That sweatsuit! You stole it from one of the other guests, didn’t you?” “That’s ridiculous. I bought this myself,” I said, frowning. “Liar! I recognize the brand. It’s a bespoke label! Someone like you couldn’t even afford one of the buttons!” Hearing this, Kevin’s expression soured into disgust. “Elara, what has happened to you?” “So that’s your ‘job,’ huh? A petty thief!” Daisy sneered. “You have two hands and two feet. How could you resort to stealing?” I felt the weight of dozens of judgmental stares. The whispers started around me, and my face grew cold. These people would say anything to get on Kevin’s good side. My patience was gone. “I said, this is my clothing!” My voice was sharp, cutting through the murmurs. “If you don’t believe me, call the police. Otherwise, I’ll sue you for slander.” The waiter’s bravado faltered, a flicker of fear in his eyes. “Why are you getting so defensive? If it weren’t for the fact that I don’t want a lowlife like you ruining Mr. Thorne’s gala, I’d have you arrested right now!” “Speaking of which,” someone in the crowd piped up, “isn’t it strange that Ethan Thorne hasn’t made an appearance yet?” “A man of his stature always makes a grand entrance at the pivotal moment,” Kevin said confidently. “I heard he brought his wife and child back with him this time!” “Really? Which family’s daughter was lucky enough to capture his heart?” “A titan like Ethan Thorne… he lives in a different world from us.” As the crowd buzzed with speculation, a thrilled smile spread across Daisy’s face. “Kevin, darling, do you think you could invite Mr. Thorne to our wedding? Imagine how prestigious that would be!” “I’ll do my best,” Kevin said, his chest puffed with confidence. Just as he spoke, the venue manager, flanked by a dozen security guards in black suits, hurried toward the crowd, his expression grim. 4 “Ladies and gentlemen,” the manager announced, his voice tight with anxiety, “have any of you seen a little girl, about this tall?” He held his hand out, measuring the height in the air. A collective gasp went through the room. People exchanged nervous glances. It had to be Ethan Thorne’s child. Who else could command such a frantic, high-level search at his own party? “I heard Mr. Thorne’s child is a little girl!” “Yes, yes, around four or five years old!” someone added. A jolt of excitement shot through the crowd. They had been racking their brains for a way to connect with the legendary Ethan Thorne, and now, fate had dropped the perfect opportunity right in their laps. Instantly, the ballroom erupted in motion as guests fanned out, eagerly searching for the missing child based on the manager’s description. Kevin and Daisy were at the forefront, pushing past others in their haste. I watched the chaotic scene unfold and shook my head with a wry smile. This little troublemaker really knows how to make an entrance. I walked straight to the juice station. There she was, my daughter, downing another glass as if her life depended on it. I crossed my arms, my brow furrowed. “Still thirsty?” She spun around. When she saw it was me, a sheepish grin spread across her face, guilt flashing in her eyes. “Come on. We’re going home,” I said sternly. “No!” She shook her head so hard her pigtails flew, clutching her juice glass like a precious treasure. I took a step forward, reaching for the cup. But in a flash, Daisy threw herself between us. “Elara! How dare you!” she shrieked, her voice loud enough to command the entire room’s attention. “Do you have any idea who she is? She’s the Thorne family’s little princess! You’re actually going to lay a hand on her? Are you out of your mind?!” Everyone froze. All eyes snapped back to us. Kevin rushed forward, his face a mask of disgust. “Elara, I haven’t seen you in years, but I never thought you’d stoop this low. I know you’re desperate for money, but this is beyond pathetic!” Before I could even open my mouth to explain, the waiter who had accused me of theft cut in. “You worthless parasite! How dare you cause trouble at a Thorne family event!” He glared at me, then turned to the frantic manager. “Sir, it’s her! Not only did she steal clothes from a guest, but now she’s trying to harm the young miss!” The manager’s face went pale with fury. “Men! Detain this woman immediately!” he roared. “I’ll personally escort her to the police station! And be careful! Don’t frighten the young lady!” Two hulking guards immediately moved toward me, their expressions menacing. Daisy, seizing her moment, crouched down and gave my daughter her most winning smile. “It’s okay, sweetie. Don’t be scared,” she cooed. “Aunty has taken care of the bad woman who was trying to hurt you.” My daughter blinked at her, then walked straight past her, over to me. She wrapped her arms tightly around my leg and looked up with a trembling lip. “Mommy,” she whimpered, “this lady is scary.”

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1 Everyone noticed I wasn’t chasing Asher anymore. Including Asher himself. After class, he blocked my path, his face cold. “About the other night,” he said. “I’m only explaining this once. Believe it or not, it’s up to you.” “Mia was being hassled by some drunk guys. I went to help.” “I was wrong for forgetting to text you.” The “other night” was his birthday. He was in a fight for Mia, while I waited for him at the amusement park. All day. So, he thought I was just sulking about that. I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.” Then, under his dark, unreadable gaze, I quietly walked past him. He didn’t know that because he’d ditched me again, the system had declared my mission a failure. In one month, I would be “erased” and sent back to my real world. And this body would be given back to its original owner. 2 The third time the park employee told me they were closing, the system in my head sighed. Flora, let’s go home. Asher isn’t coming. He’s with Mia right now. He’s completely forgotten he was supposed to meet you. I stomped my aching feet, picked up the cake box, and turned to leave. “Okay.” All the excitement from that morning had been ground down to nothing. All I felt was a flat, gray calm. Even when the system announced my failure. In one month, you will be in a severe car accident. This is your punishment for failing the mission. While you are in a coma from the injuries, I will send your soul back to the real world. This body will be taken over by the original Flora. After delivering the notice, the system went silent. I pulled out my phone to call a ride-share. The battery icon was red. 1%. The screen went black. And I had no cash for a cab. I finally gave in and started the long walk home. I’d always known failure was a possibility. But in that moment, an overwhelming exhaustion flooded my body, making every step feel impossibly heavy. 3 The walk home took me past the school. It was a Saturday night. The campus should have been empty. But on a bench just outside the gates, I saw two familiar figures. Mia was holding a Hostess Cupcake with a single, unlit match stuck in the frosting. “I’m sorry, Asher…” she was saying, her voice soft. “I only just found out today was your birthday. I didn’t have time to get a cake… I hope you don’t mind this.” The boy across from her had fresh cuts on his cheekbone. A bandage was wrapped around his forehead, mostly hidden by his messy bangs, giving him a lazy, restless look. He didn’t seem to think the cupcake was ridiculous at all. He even took out a Zippo and lit the match. “I don’t.” His voice was as cool as ever. “I think it’s great.” But I could hear a trace of warmth in it. An attempt to soothe her. I couldn’t help but remember last night. I was in the school’s home-ec room, showing him the birthday cake I’d finally perfected after three failed attempts. “What do you think? Is it good?” He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. His eyes flicked to my hand, which was red and blistering from a burn. His voice was laced with annoyance. “Looking at your hand is enough to make me lose my appetite.” I flushed, trying to hide my hand in my hoodie sleeve. He looked tired. He walked over, grabbed my wrist, and started dragging me to the pharmacy. “What are you hiding it for?” he snapped. “Don’t you have a brain? You burn yourself, you use medicine.” He looked furious, but his hands were incredibly gentle as he applied the burn cream. I’d worked up my courage again. “Asher… do you like the cake, though?” He stared at the blister, his brow furrowed. “It’s ugly as hell.” At the time, the system had comforted me: Don’t listen to him! He’s just mad you got hurt making it. He’s just being difficult. He’s worried about you! My thoughts snapped back to the present. I stood across the street, watching Asher gently reassure Mia that her last-minute cupcake was fine. It hit me, all at once. Even someone as difficult and angsty as Asher… when he actually likes someone, he can be gentle. He can pull in his thorns. He can be careful with her feelings, so she doesn’t feel small. I didn’t know what Asher felt for me. But I knew, with certainty, that it wasn’t love. 4 I turned to leave. “Flora?” Mia spotted me. “What are you doing here?” Asher’s head whipped around. His eyes landed on the cake box in my hand, and he froze. He’d just remembered. Mia saw the cake, too. “Oh! You were looking for Asher, weren’t you?” “I heard you were supposed to celebrate at the amusement park today.” “I’m so sorry, Flora. He had to ditch you because of me.” Her apology was lazy, almost automatic. Like she was already used to Asher dropping everything for her, and she knew I wouldn’t—couldn’t—do anything about it. I’d just sulk for a day, then go right back to chasing him. I shook my head, denying her first question. “I was just passing by.” Asher stared at me, his expression unreadable. Mia just smiled, clearly assuming I was making a pathetic excuse to save face. “Well,” she said, “since you brought the cake anyway, we can celebrate now!” She reached for the box. I stepped back, moving it out of her reach. “It’s spoiled,” I said. “You can’t eat it.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s… it’s getting late. I’m going home.” “Bye.” Mia looked genuinely surprised. Usually, I’d use any excuse to stick to Asher’s side. Now, I was willingly leaving them alone. I walked a few steps, then remembered. I turned back, embarrassed. “Mia? Can I borrow twenty bucks? My phone’s dead, and I can’t get a cab.” “I’ll take you.” Asher spoke the instant I finished, his voice fast and tight. I acted like I hadn’t heard him. Mia fumbled in her purse. “Oh! Uh, sure…” She handed me a bill. “Thanks. I’ll pay you back on Monday.” I took the money and left. From start to finish, I never looked at Asher once. 5 Maybe because I knew I was going home soon, I dreamed of my old life. I was in a massive college lecture hall, reading a novel and sobbing. My friend passed me a tissue. “I thought you said that was a romance?” “It is,” I hiccupped. “But not for the second male lead, Asher. His life is just… tragic.” “He’s been in love with the main girl, Mia, since high school. But he’s poor and has all this baggage, so he never tells her. He just… protects her from the shadows, even after he becomes this huge CEO.” “And the worst part! He spends all of high school being bullied by the villainess, this rich, evil bitch named Flora!” My friend checked the cover. “Her name’s Flora, your name’s Laura. Kinda close.” I slammed the book down. “Don’t remind me. It’s humiliating.” That night, I woke up in the book. As Flora. The system’s directive was simple: Win Asher’s heart. In this timeline, I was the person he hated most. Difficulty: SSS-level. The system sounded bored as it looked at me, practically vibrating with excitement. This is a hell-mode mission. Why are you so happy? “Because I can change it! I can fix his awful teenage years!” I was so happy I was bouncing. “I’m going to give him everything. He’ll never have to suffer again!” The system had no faith in me. It said it was just counting down the days until it had to send me back. I spent two years trying to break down his walls. I chipped away at his hatred. His “affection” meter got so high that even the system thought I might actually win. But I still failed. In the end, I couldn’t even blame Asher. He was written to love Mia. It was his entire character. Putting her first was his default. It’s a simple truth I only managed to understand once I finally stopped loving him. 6 I’d been out in the wind all night. I woke up the next morning, unsurprisingly, with a nasty cold. After taking some medicine, I got a call from one of Asher’s friends. “Flora! Hey, Asher’s doing a re-do for his birthday today.” “At the amusement park, the one you guys were supposed to go to. You coming?” Asher never cared about birthdays. I knew what this was. It was a peace offering for standing me up. My voice was thick with congestion. “You guys have fun. I’m… I’m going to the library.” The guy’s voice got muffled. “Ash! Flora said she’s not coming.” A few seconds of silence, then I heard Asher’s short, sharp laugh. It was full of scorn. “Whatever. Let her.” I wasn’t surprised. That was the most I could expect from him. It was, for Asher, a major concession. I coughed, a dry, racking sound. The friend was back on the phone. “Whoa, Flora, you sound sick.” “Okay, you know what? Never mind. You just rest up.” Right before he hung up, I heard him ask, “Hey, where’d Ash go?” Someone else answered, “Looked like he was heading to the pharmacy.” “Why? His face is fine, he just changed the bandages…” “Dunno.” 7 I went to the library with Ryan. Ryan. The real Flora’s childhood best friend. And the only person in this world who knew I was a “transmigrator.” He’d figured me out a few weeks after I arrived. He’d just stared at me, his eyes narrowed. “Stop lying,” he’d scoffed. “You can’t fool me. I know Flora better than anyone.” After I told him the truth, he was stunned… for about five minutes. Then he just accepted it. Maybe because I looked like his friend. He’d been good to me these last two years. One of my only real friends here. On the way to the library, I told him the mission had failed. “So, that’s it? You’re leaving in a month?” “Yep. The real Flora gets her body back soon. You’ll have your best friend back.” Ryan’s messenger bag bumped against his back as he walked. He gave a short laugh but didn’t say anything. His eyes looked empty. 8 We stayed until the library closed. Ryan’s house was right next to mine. When we got to his gate, I stopped to say goodnight. But Ryan was just… staring. Motionless. I followed his gaze. To my front porch. Asher was standing there, his black windbreaker making his pale face look even colder. The cuts on his cheek and jaw made him look feral. He was holding a small paper bag from a pharmacy. I turned back to Ryan. “Well, you’re home. I’ll see you tomorrow. ‘Night.” He knew I didn’t want him involved. He just nodded. “Text me if you need anything.” I heard his front door click shut. Asher’s gaze shifted to me as I walked up the path. “Do you need something?” I asked. He ignored me. “You’re sick?” he demanded. “You were laughing with him just fine. You looked pretty healthy to me.” As if on cue, my throat itched. I broke into a fit of coughing. The scorn in his eyes faded. I sniffled. “If that’s all, I’m going inside.” He moved, blocking the door. A wave of cold radiated off him. He must have been standing out here for hours. “You’re sick. What the hell are you doing running around with him?” He shoved the pharmacy bag at me. “And about the other night,” he said, his voice clipped. “I’m only explaining this once. Believe it or not, it’s up to you.” He wasn’t good at apologies. It came out stiff. “Mia was being hassled by some drunk guys. I went to help.” “But I forgot to text you. I made you wait. That was my fault.” I’d never, ever heard him clarify or apologize for anything. I was… shocked. But that’s all. The old fluttery feeling was gone. I pushed the bag back at him. “Thanks, but I can’t take this. I can buy my own medicine.” I looked up at him. “And I accept your apology.” “Is there anything else? I’m really tired.” Asher’s jaw tightened. He just stared at me. He was searching my face, silently asking, What is wrong with you? When he didn’t say anything, I took it as a ‘no.’ “Bye, then.” I sidestepped him and went inside. From my bedroom window, I looked down. He stood frozen on the sidewalk for a long time. Then, as if he finally understood, he let out a bitter laugh. He tossed the bag of medicine into the neighbor’s trash can and walked away. I think he finally got it. I wasn’t sulking. I was done.

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Caleb Astor didn’t like me, his fiancée from out of town. To get me to break off our engagement, he had a scholarship kid from our school pretend to be him. “A new-money girl and a guy who can barely afford lunch,” his friends joked. “It’s a perfect match.” “I’ll bet you a grand she won’t last three days. She’ll call the whole thing off for sure.” The scholarship kid was tall and quiet, with a kind of beautiful, broken-down stillness to him. I actually believed the story—that the Astors had gone bankrupt and he was starving. I could almost hear my dad’s voice in my ear: “Sweetheart, so what if they’re broke? We’re not snobs who chase money. We’ve got enough to take care of him.” So, when he was hungry, I brought him food. When he worked his part-time jobs, I played bodyguard. When his mom was hospitalized, I paid the bills. I took very good care of my dirt-poor fiancé. Until one day, a handsome, preppy-looking guy snatched the breakfast I had carefully made. I was about to blow a fuse when he looked at me, a frustrated pout on his face. “Maya, open your eyes. I’m your fiancé.” 1 My dad told me I had a fiancé in the city. To give me a choice in the matter, and to make sure I got into a good college, he enrolled me at Northwood High for my junior year, right in Caleb Astor’s class. I’d heard the Astors were practically royalty in Cedar Creek, old money with deep roots. My dad even made me pack a bunch of nice things to make a good impression. But when I got off the train, no one from the Astor family was there to pick me up. I was a little annoyed, but all of that vanished the second I got to school and saw him—thin, dressed in a faded t-shirt that had been washed a hundred times. A friendly student I’d met on the way to the office had looked at the photo on my phone and offered to show me the way. “Room 203? You’re looking for Caleb Astor? Oh, yeah, I know him. C’mon, I’ll show you.” He pointed through the classroom window. I followed his finger. There, sitting by the window, was a boy with a ramrod-straight back, looking clean but worn. Afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, casting stripes across his profile. A stray breeze ruffled his hair, revealing a sharp brow bone and a smooth forehead. I glanced down at the photo, then back at him. The friendly student’s voice echoed in my head, filled with pity. “You didn’t know? The Astor family went bankrupt a couple of years back. Caleb’s on financial aid now. He works a bunch of jobs after school. Sometimes, he can’t even afford to buy lunch.” Our families hadn’t been in close contact, and I guess a proud family like the Astors wouldn’t exactly advertise their bankruptcy to my dad out in Austin. I let out a soft “Oh,” and nodded like a bobblehead, promising the student I wouldn’t spread it around. “This is our new transfer student, Maya Lin. Let’s give her a warm welcome,” the teacher announced, pointing to an empty desk in the back. “You can sit there for now.” I looked up. It was right next to Caleb. From the moment I walked in until I sat down, he never once looked up. He was completely focused on whatever he was writing. I had to squeeze behind his chair to get to my seat. As I passed, my backpack snagged on something. I gave it a gentle tug, and an old metal thermos clattered out of his desk. It rolled on the floor with a loud clang, and the lid popped off. Half of a dry-looking sandwich tumbled out, picking up a layer of dust. I saw his shoulders tense, just for a second. His knuckles went white around his pen, but he didn’t turn around. A few muffled snickers came from nearby. I saw a couple of guys whispering behind his back, their eyes full of scorn. So, it was true. He was really struggling. The vibrant, confident boy in the old photos was gone, replaced by someone who couldn’t even afford a decent meal. I bit my lip, clutched my backpack, and sat down. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to.” He still didn’t look at me. He just picked up the dusty sandwich half, put it back in the thermos, and shoved the whole thing back into his desk. “I’m Maya Lin,” I tried again, leaning closer. “Do you remember me?” When he was six, we met once. Like my mom, I’ve always been a sucker for a pretty face, and little Caleb was adorable. I followed him around everywhere. Of course, that was before I convinced him to help me “catch” a rooster at a petting zoo and he got pecked for his trouble. He didn’t speak to me for the rest of the day. Good to know he grew up just as handsome. My sudden closeness seemed to startle him. He leaned back slightly, his eyes finally lifting to meet mine. They were beautiful, like polished obsidian. His lashes were so long and dark that when he looked down, they veiled his gaze, making him seem less distant. But after the initial surprise, he went back to being silent. I scratched my head. “I’m your fiancée, remember?” He was taking a sip of water and choked, coughing into his fist. I reflexively patted his back. When he recovered, he gave me a strange look, a faint blush creeping up his neck. Maybe he didn’t remember. Or maybe losing everything had changed him. Whatever it was, I got the message. We’d just start over. I smiled and held out my hand. “Well, we’re desk partners now. I’m Maya. It’s nice to meet you. Hey, could I ask you for a favor?” I expected him to ignore me again, but this time he spoke, his voice cool and distant. “I don’t have time.” 2 Meanwhile, that “friendly” student who showed me the way? The second I was in the classroom, he ducked into the stairwell where a few other preppy kids were waiting. Gavin rushed over to the handsome boy at the center of the group. “Cal, it’s done. That girl’s not the brightest bulb.” “She believed every word. I pointed out Liam Jiang, told her the Astors were broke and that you couldn’t afford lunch. Her jaw just about hit the floor.” “She even saw his sad little sandwich. Who in their right mind would want to stick around for that kind of charity case?” “I bet you a thousand bucks, in three days, she’ll be begging her dad to call the whole thing off.” Caleb Astor looked bored, but he double-checked. “You’re sure? Three days? She really bought it?” “I saw the picture she had. It was just a side profile of you. Honestly, it could’ve been Liam. Close enough.” “I even told her that after the ‘bankruptcy,’ you changed your name to avoid creditors. She totally fell for it.” “And if you ever do run into her, just say you have the same name. Easy. She won’t be able to latch onto you.” Caleb leaned back against the wall, a smirk playing on his lips. “A new-money girl from out of town. Who even does arranged marriages anymore? It’s not the dark ages.” “Seriously,” another friend chimed in. “The Astors have a hundred-year legacy. You should be marrying someone from a family like the Prescotts, like your brother did. Not some… country bumpkin.” “Tell me about it. My mom’s been on a hunger strike trying to get my dad to cancel this thing.” “But you know my dad. He does whatever Grandpa says, and Grandpa is all about ‘honor’ and ‘keeping promises’ to his old army buddies.” “By the way,” Gavin said, a little hesitantly, “that fiancée of yours…” Caleb shot him a cold look. Gavin corrected himself. “That girl… she’s actually pretty hot. I snapped a pic. You wanna see? Maybe you’ll change your mind.” Caleb scoffed. “Are you kidding? You think I have a thing for girls from the sticks?” Gavin mumbled to himself, “For real, though. She’s way prettier than your girl, the ‘queen bee’ of Northwood.” 3 I didn’t know any of that. At that moment, my world revolved around Liam Jiang. That’s the name he told me, and that’s what everyone called him. The Astors really must have gone to great lengths to hide, even changing his name. I spent the whole day trying to talk to him. He rarely answered, sometimes pretending not to hear me at all. But I’m a chatterbox, just like my dad. My dad can talk to a herd of cattle for an entire day and not get bored. Plus, I’ve never been shy. I can basically have a full conversation by myself. “So, what’s good to eat around here? It’s my first day, I’m totally lost.” “Do you live on campus or off?” “Hey, why is this math formula different from what I learned back home?” “Where’s the water fountain? I’m dying of thirst.” Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. “Just try to pay attention in class,” he muttered. After a beat, he added, “The fountain is outside room 207. You can go after the bell.” By the time the bell rang, I’d forgotten all about being thirsty. I immediately called my dad and told him about the Astor family going bankrupt. He sounded surprised. “What? Really? Well, shoot. It’s okay, sweetheart. If they’re broke, they’re broke. We’re not the kind of people who kick someone when they’re down. This is when you see a person’s true character. If you really like the kid, what’s the big deal? We’ll support him.” I nodded. It wasn’t that I liked him liked him. Not yet. It was just that… Liam seemed so pathetic. I don’t have a lot of things, but I do have a lot of money. And right now, money was what he needed most. Our family got rich the year I was born. My dad saw a tiny article about real estate reform in the corner of a newspaper and immediately bought up an old, abandoned grain depot on the edge of town. Later, when the city expanded, he cashed in big. Then came the tech boom. He didn’t understand any of it, but he understood how to invest in people who did. We were “new money,” for sure. Compared to a family with generations of wealth like the Astors, I was definitely what people online would call nouveau riche. But being new money has its perks. For one, my dad hands me credit cards like they’re playing cards, without blinking an eye. I could probably buy the diner where Liam works his night shift, but I didn’t want to be that obvious. It took me a few days of pestering, but I finally figured out where he worked. Liam at his night job was different from the Liam at school. His clothes were more casual, his hair a little messy. I had followed him there, so when he saw me, his brow furrowed into a deep V. “What are you doing in a place like this?” He pulled me into the stairwell. “You shouldn’t be here.” Well, at least he was talking more now. I pulled a sandwich out of my backpack and stuffed it into his hand. Liam froze, his hand hovering in mid-air. “Eat it,” I urged. “I, uh, bought too many. The guy at the deli said it’ll be stale by tomorrow, and I’m full. It’s a waste to throw it out, so you can have it.” I’d done my research. Every day after school, Liam worked at least three jobs. First, handing out flyers downtown. Then, he’d run his own little noodle cart. After closing that down, he’d come here, to the diner, to work the late shift as a busboy. A bowl of noodles from his cart sold for seven bucks, but he never ate one himself. He’d either make do with the sad sandwich from the morning or wait for leftover food from the diner’s kitchen. I’d gotten friendly with my classmates over the last few days. A few of them had warned me not to get too close to Liam. They said he was weird, gloomy, and never talked to anyone. They told me his mom had kidney failure and he had a disabled younger sister. Wait, Caleb Astor’s mom was that sick? I didn’t want to ask Liam about it. I was afraid it would just make him feel worse. “Why are you doing this?” Liam asked, his gaze fixed on the sandwich in his hand. I waved my hand dismissively, my eyes wide. “What do you mean ‘why’? You’re my desk partner. And you helped me with that math problem today.” I nodded firmly. “That’s right! My dad says if I don’t get into a good college, he’s gonna break my legs. So, consider this a bribe, Liam. That sandwich isn’t free. You have to help me with my homework again tomorrow.” I had peeked at his test scores. The guy got a 1590 on his SATs. He was a genius. He pressed his lips together. “Aren’t you… grossed out by me?” My eyes went wide again. “Why would I be?” I leaned in and took a dramatic sniff around him. “Don’t you know how clean your mom washes your clothes? I sit next to you all day, and the wind blows this nice, fresh laundry soap smell over to me. Look at my shirt…” I held up my own slightly grubby sleeve. “I’m way dirtier than you. Are you grossed out by me?” In the dim light of the stairwell, Liam looked up at me, his eyes shining like stars. He clutched the sandwich and slowly shook his head. I lifted my chin smugly. “That’s more like it. I’m your fi—” I caught myself just in time. 4 Liam got off work ten minutes early and insisted on walking me home. He also tucked a notebook full of his study notes into my backpack. My dad had bought me a house in The Pines, an exclusive gated community, before I even moved here. Ever since my mom passed, he’s been super protective. He wanted to quit his job and move with me, but I managed to talk him out of it. Instead, he hired a lovely lady to be my live-in chaperone and cook. As we got close to the entrance of The Pines, I quickly steered Liam down a different street, one with more modest houses. His family was broke; seeing all these mansions would probably just make him feel bad. “This is me!” I said, pointing randomly at a house. “You should get home, too.” Liam looked up at the house, then suddenly reached out and gently patted the top of my head. “See you tomorrow, desk partner.” If any of our classmates had been there, they would have seen a different Liam. It was like a black-and-white photo that had suddenly been colorized. The heavy, world-weary look was gone, replaced by something that looked a little like… hope. As soon as he was gone, I sprinted back towards The Pines. I was running fast, and as I rounded the corner to my street, I nearly crashed into someone. The person reacted instantly, shooting out an arm to steady me. I looked up and found myself staring into a handsome, finely chiseled face. Huh. I frowned. He looked familiar. Kind of like Liam, actually. But why was he just staring at me like that? I waved a hand in front of his face. “Hello? I’m fine. You can let go now.” He blinked, then quickly dropped his hand. “Sorry.” I shrugged it off, nodded, and started to walk away. “Hey, do you go to Northwood—” he called out from behind me. But just then, my little golden retriever, Sunny, came bounding out to greet me. “Sunny!” I cried, running to him and scooping him up, completely forgetting about the boy behind me. Caleb Astor stood frozen, watching the girl disappear around the corner, happily cuddling her dog. By the time he snapped out of it and ran after her, she was gone. He pulled out his phone and typed in his group chat: Any of you guys know a girl at our school with long hair, super tall, big round eyes, and a tiny mole by her nose? Ever seen her? Someone replied: What’s up, Cal? Meet a new girl? Love at first sight? Another message popped up: No way, Caleb’s standards are way too high. He wouldn’t even look at the homecoming queen. Caleb propped his feet up on the coffee table, staring at the words “love at first sight” for a long moment. Cut the crap, he typed back. Just tell me if you’ve seen her or not. Long hair, check. Big eyes, check. Tall, check. But that specific combo? Never seen her. Don’t worry, man. We’ll be on the lookout tomorrow. If she goes to Northwood, she can’t hide. Caleb typed back lazily: Find her, and there’s a big reward in it for you. Caleb Astor came from a wealthy family and was blessed with good looks. He had a natural confidence that told him anything he wanted, he could get.

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My neighbor pounded on my door in the middle of the night, a deep gash on her hand. I grabbed my first-aid kit and patched her up. The next day, she reported me to the state medical board for practicing medicine illegally. I didn’t argue. I quietly accepted my suspension from the hospital and waited for the investigation. In the community group chat, she gloated: “That’ll teach these little nurses a lesson!” Five days later, her elderly father choked on a piece of food and stopped breathing. She hammered on my door, screaming for help. I stood on the other side and said calmly, “I’m on suspension. I can’t risk practicing medicine illegally. You’ll have to wait for the paramedics.” 1 It was one in the morning when the frantic ringing of my doorbell jolted me awake. “Sarah! Sarah! Open the door! Help me!” It was my neighbor, Linda. Her voice was a terrified shriek, laced with tears. I threw on a robe and rushed to the door. The moment I opened it, the thick, coppery smell of blood hit me, making me gag. Linda stood there, her face ghostly white. Her left hand was crudely wrapped in a kitchen towel, but blood had already soaked through, dripping between her fingers onto the floor. “I was cutting fruit… I think I hit an artery! Sarah, you’re a nurse, right?” “Please, help me! I’m getting so dizzy!” She swayed on her feet, about to collapse. I didn’t have time to think. I pulled her inside. “Don’t panic. I’ll take care of it.” I sat her down on the sofa, ran to my bedroom, and grabbed the professional-grade first-aid kit I always kept on hand. As a surgical nurse at City General, this kind of trauma was second nature to me. “Hold still. This is going to sting.” I carefully cut away the blood-caked towel. A deep wound, almost down to the bone, gaped at the base of her thumb. It was bleeding profusely, but she’d missed the main artery, only severing a small vein. I pulled on a pair of sterile gloves and began to clean the wound with an iodine swab. “Ah! That hurts! Be gentle!” Linda screamed. “There are shards of glass in the wound. They have to come out, or it will get infected,” I explained, my hands never wavering. Decontaminate, disinfect, apply ointment, pack with gauze, and secure with a pressure bandage. The whole process took less than ten minutes. The bleeding stopped completely. A fine sheen of sweat had broken out on my forehead. “There. It’s not too deep, and you didn’t damage any tendons.” “Keep it dry for a few days and go to a clinic to get the dressing changed regularly.” I took a fresh sterile gauze pad and a roll of bandages from my kit and handed them to her. “Take these for your dressing change tomorrow.” Linda stared at her neatly bandaged hand and let out a long, shuddering breath. “Sarah, thank you so much! You’re my savior!” “I have to take you out to dinner to thank you properly!” She grabbed my hand, gushing with gratitude. I just waved it off, feeling a deep exhaustion settle over me. “It’s nothing. We’re neighbors. Just go get some rest.” After she left, I looked at the puddle of blood on my living room floor and the stained sofa cushion and sighed. I started cleaning. I didn’t get back to sleep until three. The next morning, I went to work with dark circles under my eyes. That afternoon, while I was preparing medications, the head nurse called me into her office. “Sarah, did you treat a neighbor’s wound at your home last night?” “Yes. She was bleeding heavily, it was an emergency,” I answered truthfully. The head nurse slapped a file down on her desk. “Your neighbor, Linda, filed a formal complaint with the medical board this morning.” “She’s accusing you of practicing medicine illegally without a license in an uncertified location. She claims your improper procedure caused a severe infection.” “She’s demanding you pay for her medical bills, lost wages, and pain and suffering. A total of fifty thousand dollars.” Fifty thousand dollars. My mind went blank. A chill spread through my limbs. The same woman who had called me her “savior” just hours before had turned around and stabbed me in the back. “She also said…” the head nurse paused, “that the medical supplies you used were expired, and that your hostile attitude caused her extreme psychological trauma.” Rage surged through me, so hot it felt like my blood was boiling. A fire lodged in my throat, and I couldn’t speak. Every single item in my kit was from the latest batch, purchased through the hospital’s internal supply channels each month. There was no way anything was expired. I looked at my boss, my voice raspy. “That’s a complete lie.” “Whether it’s a lie or not isn’t the point right now,” she sighed. “The medical board has accepted the case. The investigators will be here tomorrow. Sarah, according to protocol, you’re suspended, effective immediately, pending a full investigation.” 2 I walked out of the head nurse’s office in a daze. My colleagues looked at me with a mixture of pity and curiosity, but mostly, they just looked away. “Illegal practice.” For anyone in the medical field, it’s a career-destroying accusation. I could hear the whispers from the corner of the nurses’ station. “See? No good deed goes unpunished. She stuck her neck out and got it chopped off. Serves her right.” “Fifty grand? That neighbor is ruthless. It’s a straight-up shakedown.” “You never know, though. How do we know her supplies were clean? What if she really did mess it up?” The words were like needles, piercing my heart. I went home, and before I could even catch my breath, my phone started buzzing violently. The community group chat. It was Linda. She had tagged me in a post to all three hundred members. She’d attached a photo. Her hand was re-bandaged, but she’d deliberately loosened the wrapping to make it look sloppy. The skin around it had been photoshopped to a raw, swollen red, making it look “severe.” I could tell instantly the “redness” was just smeared-on lipstick. Immediately, a woman named Janet chimed in. She was the head of the community association, a notorious gossip who loved to stir up trouble. What’s going on here, Sarah? The chat exploded. Neighbors who knew nothing about the situation piled on. “That’s horrible! How could you betray someone’s trust like that?” “Exactly! Don’t offer to help if you don’t know what you’re doing!” “What a terrible nurse. Using expired supplies just to save a few bucks?” I stared at the cascade of false accusations. I wanted to fight back, to post all my evidence and tear their lies apart. But as I typed the first word, I stopped. I suddenly understood. Arguing with a mob fueled by outrage was pointless. They didn’t want the truth. They wanted a spectacle. I deleted my message and left the group chat. I took a deep breath, walked into my bedroom, and locked the very first-aid kit that had saved Linda’s life deep inside a closet. Then, I sent a text to my head nurse. I accept the hospital’s decision. I will cooperate fully with the investigation. To Linda and Janet, my silence was an admission of guilt. It was weakness. Their performance became even more theatrical. BREAKING NEWS! That nurse Sarah has been suspended! See? Justice will be served! Thank you, Janet, for standing up for me! And thanks to all my wonderful neighbors for your support! That’s how you deal with these nurses! They think a white uniform makes them angels? Look, she’s too scared to say a word. She knows she’s guilty! This isn’t over until I get my $50,000. Not a penny less! She’s going to pay! I could almost see Linda’s gloating face through the screen. I smiled. It was a quiet, cold smile that I could feel on my own lips. 3 The days of my suspension were harder than I could have imagined. I couldn’t go to the hospital, couldn’t put on my scrubs. I felt like the core of my identity had been ripped out. I replayed every detail of that night in my head, confirming again and again that my procedure had been flawless. I photographed the lot numbers, manufacturing dates, and expiration dates of every single item in my first-aid kit. I even managed to pull the security footage from my apartment hallway. The video was grainy, but it clearly showed the stark contrast between Linda’s panicked arrival and her calm departure. With all my evidence prepared, I waited for the investigators’ summons. Meanwhile, Linda and Janet’s show continued in the new HOA group chat they’d created. Every day, Linda posted an “update” on her condition. One day, the wound was supposedly filled with pus. The next, she couldn’t lift her arm. The day after, a doctor had supposedly told her she might have permanent nerve damage. She painted herself as a tragic victim, brutalized by a negligent nurse. Janet, for her part, fanned the flames. She even posted a notice on the community bulletin board titled: “Official Condemnation of Resident Sarah Jenkins of Unit 1502 for Endangering the Safety of Her Neighbors.” It was printed on red paper in stark black ink, like a public shaming notice, nailing me to a pillar of disgrace. Every time I went out to take out the trash, I could feel the other residents’ eyes on me. Contempt, avoidance, smug satisfaction. Once, in the elevator, an older woman saw me, immediately grabbed her grandson, and pulled him into the corner, muttering under her breath. “Stay away from her, sweetie. Her hands are dirty, and so is her heart. You might catch it.” An invisible hand squeezed my heart, so tight I couldn’t breathe. I was the one who had saved a life. Why was I the one being publicly crucified? Five days later, the call from the investigation team finally came. I went to the hospital with all my evidence. Facing the two grim-faced investigators, I felt no fear. I presented my evidence, one piece at a time: the photos of the supply lot numbers, the clear expiration date records, the hallway security footage, and even photos showing how I had properly disposed of the medical waste. I calmly recounted every step of the procedure, from cleaning the wound to bandaging it, along with the medical justification for each action. “Based on my assessment of the wound and the sterile procedure I followed,” I concluded, “the probability of infection occurring during my treatment is less than one in a thousand.” “If Ms. Linda’s claim of a ‘severe infection’ is true, there are only two possibilities.” “First, after receiving my emergency aid, she removed the bandage herself, causing a secondary contamination of the wound.” “Second, she deliberately faked an infection in order to extort money from me.” My words shifted the atmosphere in the room. The investigators exchanged a look. When the interview was over, I walked out of the hospital into the blinding sunlight, a massive weight lifted from my shoulders. I trusted the facts to clear my name. When I got home, my phone showed that Linda was still performing in the group chat. Today happened to be a holiday, the Festival of Lights. Linda had posted a photo of a lavish dinner, with a bowl of steaming sweet rice balls in the foreground. Happy festival, everyone! Once I get my settlement money, I’m treating all my supportive neighbors to a huge feast! @Linda, congrats in advance! You can’t go easy on people with no medical ethics! A chorus of agreement followed, all of them praising her “brave” fight for “justice.” I looked at the screen, at all those hypocritical faces, and turned off my phone. I boiled a bowl of frozen dumplings and ate them alone, in silence. Outside my window were the lights of a thousand homes and the occasional firework. My own world felt cold and empty. Just as I was finishing my meal… BANG! BANG! BANG! A pounding on my door, even more frantic than before. It was followed by Linda’s voice, now a distorted, desperate shriek of pure terror. “Sarah! Open the door! Please, open the door!” “Help me! My dad… My dad is dying!” 4 Through the peephole, I saw a face twisted in absolute horror. Linda, her hair a wild mess, was throwing her body against my door, creating a series of dull, heavy thuds. “Sarah! I’m begging you! Please come out and look!” “My dad choked on a sweet rice ball! He can’t breathe!” Her voice was raw, every word trembling. I didn’t move. I didn’t make a sound. THUD! Linda started kicking the door, making the heavy steel frame vibrate. “Sarah, are you even human?! You’re a nurse!” “If you let him die, you’re a murderer!” She started screaming curses, spewing every vile word she could think of. I could picture the scene on the other side of the door. A life, slipping away with every second. My hand clenched into a fist, my nails digging deep into my palm. As a nurse, saving lives is my instinct. My brain was racing, every step of the Heimlich maneuver flashing through my mind. If I opened the door, it would take me maybe thirty seconds to save a man’s life. But… I remembered her gloating in the group chat. “That’ll teach these little nurses a lesson!” I remembered the notice on the bulletin board, its angry red paper burning in my mind’s eye. I remembered the old woman in the elevator, her look of disgust. I remembered the lonely, sleepless nights of my suspension, the feeling of being utterly alone and betrayed. Why? Why should I? Why did they get to hurt me, to trample on my profession and my dignity, and then demand my help as if it were their right? I slowly walked to the door and leaned against the cold, hard steel. Outside, Linda’s screams and curses continued, now mixed with desperate pleas. “Sarah, please, I was wrong! I’m not human, I’m an animal!” “I shouldn’t have reported you! I don’t want the fifty thousand! I’ll get on my knees for you!” “Please, just save my dad!” THUD! THUD! THUD! She’d given up kicking and was now banging her head against the door. I took one final, deep breath, suppressing the last flicker of a nurse’s impulse. Then, through the door, in a voice that was perfectly calm and clear, I said: “Linda, I’m very sorry.” “I am currently on suspension. I am the one you reported for practicing medicine illegally.” “I can’t break the law. You’ll have to wait for the paramedics.”

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The transmigrator who possessed my body for five years finally got bored. She left me with a ruined, weakened body and a shattered family. I cried, throwing my arms around my husband, thinking I was finally home. But he pushed me away. “Where is she?” I froze. A second later, glowing text—like comments on a livestream—scrolled past my eyes: 【Ugh, so annoying. Now the ‘Villainess’ is going to pull that ‘abused wife’ crap, where she leaves heartbroken just to make them all regret it!】 【But she’s the one who came back and stole the Female Lead’s husband and son! What’s she even complaining about?!】 【THIS. I hate this ‘playing the victim’ girl-on-girl drama! The cat-and-mouse game between the real Heroine and the Male Lead was so good. Who wants to watch this green-tea snake?】 I stared at the comments. Then I backhanded my husband across the face. “So you knew. You knew that thing… wasn’t me.” Cole was stunned. The floating comments were just strings of question marks: 【Wait, that’s not right. The Villainess is supposed to cry and wail about how this body was hers first, and ‘why did you fall in love with her soul?’】 【Why? Because our Heroine is a million times more charming, that’s why! If I were a guy, I’d choose the Heroine too.】 【I get it. This is a new tactic. She’s playing hard to get. Just watch, if he actually gets mad, she’ll go right back to the ‘abused wife’ script.】 Mad? I stared coldly at Cole. His stunned expression slowly morphed into something else. “Elara?” “Since you know who I am,” I said, my voice like ice, “you will never say that woman’s name in front of me again.” I shoved past him and went to my room. The comments exploded: 【Who the hell does she think she is! The one he’s been obsessed with for five years is our Heroine!】 【Exactly! She’s the one who hijacked the situation, and now she’s the one making demands?】 【Just wait. This kind of manipulative snake will get what’s coming to her. The Heroine and Male Lead will have their happy ending!】 Get what’s coming to me? I let out a cold laugh. She possessed my body for five years, drove it into the ground, and I’m the one who needs to be “cleared”? We’ll see who clears whom. That transmigrator had ruined me. My body, which I’d kept in peak condition, was now a weak, frail thing. I got winded just walking up the stairs. I stormed into the bedroom. I grabbed the mountains of cutesy, pink makeup cases and tacky stuffed animals and hurled them down the stairs. I ripped the frilly, floral wallpaper from the walls. I called an interior designer. “I’m sending you the original blueprints for my master suite. I want it back to exactly how it was.” Then, I opened the closet to find something to wear. It was a sea of pastel, ruffled “princess” dresses. I finally found one simple, blue silk nightgown. The moment I touched it, the comments flared. 【Here it is! I knew this snake was faking! How else would she ‘coincidentally’ pick the exact nightgown the Male Lead had custom-made for our Heroine?】 【I can’t take it, I’m spoiling it: The script says she wears this, he yells at her, and she acts all victimized.】 【Then, because she’s incapable of just talking, it causes more drama, and she throws down divorce papers and leaves, triggering the ‘chase her to the ends of the earth’ plot.】 【Seriously, lady? Who wants to watch a homewrecker get her ‘groveling chase’ plot? It’s just playing the victim to manipulate him.】 【The commenter above gets it! She only acts ‘hurt’ so he’ll regret it, chase her, and finally give her his whole heart.】 【She’s nothing like our Heroine. Our girl is spontaneous, fun, says what she means! That’s the kind of woman a man obsesses over!】 【It doesn’t matter. In the end, Elara is just the evil side-character. Let her have her moment. She’ll be dealt with soon enough.】 My hand tightened on the silk. So that was my “plot.” I put the nightgown on without a second thought. 【SEE! I TOLD YOU! She knows it was made for the Heroine! She’s wearing it just to provoke him!】 【I see you, girl. I’m a snake too, I get it.】 “Elara.” Cole’s voice came from the doorway. I turned. He was frowning at the nightgown. “This dress…” “You have a problem with it?” I asked, my voice flat. He hesitated. I ripped the giant, fluffy bow off the neckline and threw it in the trash. “This is ridiculous. It’s a nightgown, not a costume! Can’t you buy anything normal?” 【AAAAH I’M SO MAD! This ‘not-like-other-girls’ snake! That was the Heroine’s favorite bow!】 “Now that I’m back, everything in this house is going back to my standards. I want all her things out of my house within 24 hours. Or I’ll do it myself.” He just stood there, watching me. I stepped closer. “What’s wrong? You upset to see me wearing her clothes?” “It’s beautiful.” He smiled, a small, soft smile. I froze. Cole was looking at me with that old, familiar tenderness. The way he looked at me before. “I was just going to say,” he said, “it’s beautiful on you.” I was completely blindsided. The comments were just as shocked: 【COLE, WAKE UP! SHE’S THE VILLAIN! YOUR TRUE LOVE IS THE HEROINE!】 【You’re a CHEATER! The Heroine hasn’t even been gone 24 hours and you’re already moving on?! I’m out!】 【Ummm… guys? Isn’t it possible he was… her husband first?】 That last comment was immediately buried in an avalanche of hate: 【Don’t blame him! This Villainess is just a master manipulator! She’s playing hard to get, but everything she’s doing is just a game to steal him!】 【THIS. ‘Not-like-other-girls’ or ‘green tea,’ it’s all just a type of snake!】 “If you don’t like these,” Cole said gently, taking my hand. “I’ll have new ones made. I meant no offense, wife.” Wife… How long had it been since I’d heard him say that? The last time… I was bleeding out on the asphalt after pushing him and our son out of the way of that car. He’d held me, screaming it… “Wife! Elara!” I thought I’d never see them again. But then… I woke up, trapped in my own mind, as another soul opened my eyes and called my husband… “honey.” “Who said you could wear my mommy’s dress!” A small body slammed into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I staggered, catching myself on the bedpost. My son, Leo, was glaring at me, his face red with anger. “Daddy had that made for Mommy! Take it off! You’re a bad lady!” I frowned. “Leo, it’s me. I’m Mommy. I’m back.” “I know! But you’re not her! My real mommy came back five years ago! You can’t wear her clothes! Take it off!” He lunged and tore at the silk, trying to rip the gown from my body. My voice was shaking. “Leo, don’t you remember? Don’t you remember how I used to take care of you?” “Pfft!” He put his hands on his hips. “She’s the one who made me better! She made me run around and get her packages and work out! You’re just a lazy fake who reaped the benefits!” The comments were hysterical: 【Aww, Leo is so cute! He can already spot a snake! He’s a genius!】 【You tell her, Leo! Put that fake mommy in her place!】 【It’s true! If the Heroine hadn’t made him run errands all the time, he’d still be sick! This villain has some nerve trying to take credit!】 I closed my eyes. She had made him better? Leo was born frail, constantly sick. I was the one who spent years hunting down specialists. I was the one who spent ten hours a day brewing that bitter, complex medicinal formula. He was too sick for school, so I homeschooled him. We were finally, finally healthy, a normal family, when that car hit me. That transmigrator didn’t “train” him; she abused the healthy body I had painstakingly built. And for him to know this… for him to say this… there was only one way… I turned to Cole. CRACK. I slapped him again, harder this time. “Is this what you’ve been teaching our son?” Cole stared at me, holding his cheek. Leo is ten. A child’s behavior is a reflection of his parents. If Cole didn’t respect me, Leo never would. “You bad lady! Don’t hit my dad!” Leo lunged at me, but Cole grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. “Leo. Apologize to your mother. Now.” Seeing his father’s serious expression, Leo’s lip trembled. “Why? She’s the one who stole Mommy’s body…” “Apologize!” Cole’s voice had the same authority that silenced boardrooms. Leo’s face crumpled, but he just glared at me. “S-sorry…” I turned and walked away. The child could be dealt with later. This house was contaminated. I was halfway down the stairs when I felt a violent, two-handed shove from behind. My body, weakened from five years of atrophy, had no balance. I tumbled, head-first, down the entire flight of stairs. My whole body exploded in pain. I looked up. Leo was at the top, grinning, his hands on his hips. He stuck his tongue out. “Hah! That’s what you get for wearing Mommy’s dress! And for making Dad yell at me! Serves you right!” The comments were cheering him on:

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My daughter was eight months old when I finally took some vacation time to visit my parents. My brother, Mike, picked me up from the airport. Back at home, Mom had made my favorite dinner, and Dad was busy hauling my suitcases upstairs. I was basking in the warm glow of a family reunion, the kind of happiness you can only find at home. Then Mike sidled up to me, rubbing his hands together nervously. “Hey, sis,” he started. “That round trip to the airport and back is over a hundred miles. An Uber would’ve cost you at least two hundred bucks.” He paused, then forged ahead. “But since you’re family, just Venmo me for gas and tolls. Let’s call it an even eighty.” 1 I couldn’t believe my ears. Was my own brother really charging me for a ride home? I stared at him, my mouth hanging open. “Mike, what are you talking about?” He shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable but doubling down on his logic. “Look, picking you up ate up my whole afternoon. I’m not making money, sure, but I can’t be losing money either, right? Business is business, even with family. Especially since you’re married now.” I hadn’t been back home since my daughter, Lily, was born. It wasn’t just the distance; traveling with a baby is a logistical nightmare of diapers, formula, and a million other things. But Mom had been crying on the phone. “I’ll have Mike come get you. Please, just come home for a few days. I miss you so much I can’t sleep.” I’d tried to get her to visit me instead, but she always had an excuse about the house needing her. So, I took the time off. Formula, diapers, a bottle warmer, a portable sterilizer… I packed three massive suitcases with Lily’s gear. On the drive home, I sat in the back with Lily, while Mike chattered on about old childhood memories. The long drive flew by, filled with laughter. When we pulled up, Mom and Dad were already waiting on the porch. Mom took Lily from my arms, but her eyes were fixed on me. “You’re so thin! Having a baby has worn you down to nothing.” Her own eyes welled up with tears. Dad, seeing us get emotional, turned away and started silently unloading the car. Mom wiped her eyes and pulled me towards the kitchen. “Look what I made! I got a fresh organic chicken from the farmer’s market just for you. The soup’s been simmering since noon. I’ll whip up a few more of your favorites, and we’ll have a real welcome-home dinner.” My own eyes grew misty. My heart felt warm and full. There’s no place like home. My childhood home would always be my home. No matter how old I got, I could always walk through that door and find people who loved and cherished me. 2 I was lost in this sweet, nostalgic daydream when Mike’s cold demand for gas money shattered it completely. What did being “married now” have to do with anything? Was I no longer my parents’ daughter, his sister? Was I not family anymore? My brow furrowed. “I’m married, Mike, not disowned. Do you charge Mom and Dad for rides?” He scoffed. “That’s different. They’re my immediate family. You’re married off, you belong to someone else’s family now. If you use our family’s resources, you’ve got to pay up.” I was shaking with anger. Before Lily was born, I used to drive myself home all the time. Every single visit, my car was loaded with gifts: wine for Dad, new kitchen gadgets for Mom, the latest video game for Mike. I never once asked him to chip in for the things I brought for him. And now, for one ride, he was demanding a price that was probably more than the actual cost. On what planet was that fair? “I’m not paying,” I said, my voice firm. Mike has a stubborn streak and a short fuse. My refusal instantly made his face darken. “Oh, you are paying. Today. You used my car, you pay the fee.” I let out a cold laugh. “Fine. First, you can pay me back the three thousand dollars I gave you. Then we’ll talk about your eighty-dollar fee.” The car he was driving? I’d paid for a third of it. The first year after I graduated and got a job, Dad had mentioned they were thinking of buying a car. It wasn’t convenient living in the suburbs without one. Just a trip to the grocery store was a twenty-minute walk each way. I remembered Mom coming home, her fingers red and indented from the heavy grocery bags. Without a second thought, I gave them all of my savings at the time. The car cost nine thousand dollars. I paid three, my parents paid three, and Mike paid three. Except Mike didn’t have the money, so he “borrowed” it from our parents. The car was supposed to be in Dad’s name, but somehow, the title ended up in Mike’s. I have no idea if he ever paid Mom and Dad back. “You have some nerve,” Mike sneered, “asking for that three grand back after all the money this family spent raising you.” He lifted the lid of the soup pot, pointing at the chicken. “This chicken cost twenty-five bucks. It was for you. You can pay for that, too.” I was about to explode. We were both their children. Why did Mike automatically assume that everything in this house belonged to him? I was about to let him have it when Mom pushed him out of the kitchen. “What is wrong with you? Asking your own sister for money? Get out!” She tore a big, juicy chicken leg from the bird and pressed it into my hand. “Sweetheart, don’t mind your brother. His freelance work has been slow, and he’s stressed. You just eat. I raised this chicken myself, he doesn’t get a say.” I lifted the chicken leg to my lips. Just then, Dad’s voice boomed from the other room. “What is all this? Why is every one of these suitcases filled with baby stuff?” 3 I put the chicken down and walked out of the kitchen. In the guest room, Dad had opened all three of my suitcases. Their contents were strewn across the floor. “Dad,” I asked, stunned, “what are you looking for?” He kicked at a can of formula with his foot, his face a mask of annoyance. “Three huge bags, and not a single thing for us! You’re a college-educated woman, for God’s sake. Don’t you know basic etiquette? Who shows up to their parents’ house empty-handed?” I stared at him in shock. I had never heard of bringing hostess gifts to your own home. The reason I used to show up with a car full of presents was because I loved them. I wanted to spoil them, to make them happy. I never knew they saw it as an obligation. So it wasn’t just Mike. My own father saw me as a visitor now. An outsider. I stood there, frozen, watching my mom kneel on the floor, frantically trying to tidy the mess. Dad grumbled something under his breath and stormed out of the house. When Mike heard I hadn’t brought gifts, he took the entire pot of chicken soup and carried it next door to our grandma’s house. “You show up with nothing and expect a free meal?” he called over his shoulder. “Have you no shame?” A hot rush of anger surged through me. I started stuffing all of Lily’s things back into the suitcases. I’d grab my daughter and leave. I had money; there were hotels in town. If this house didn’t want us, somewhere else would. Mom grabbed my arm, her voice choked with tears. “It’s getting dark, honey. How will you manage with the baby and three suitcases? Please, I’m begging you, just stay the night. Your father is a stubborn old man and your brother is being a jerk, just ignore them. I’ve waited so long to see you. Just stay with me, please?” My resolve softened. She was right. This was my home, too. Why should I let them chase me out? Not only was I going to stay, but I was going to demand the same treatment as my brother. I turned to her. “Mom, are there any more chickens? Because I’m still hungry.” “Yes, yes, of course.” 4 I marched out to the chicken coop in the backyard and caught the biggest rooster. With one swift, decisive motion, I did what I had to do. A few minutes of plucking and cleaning, and that big, plump bird was in the pressure cooker. When Dad and Mike came back, Mom and I were sitting at the kitchen table, happily chewing on chicken wings, our fingers slick with grease. “What… what did you do? You killed another chicken?” Mike stammered. I sucked the meat off a chicken foot. “What, you guys get to eat and we don’t?” Mike, furious, turned on Mom. “Mom, we only have a few chickens left! You killed two in one day! What am I supposed to eat later?” “What about me?” Mom looked straight at him, her voice quiet but firm. “When you took the soup I spent all afternoon making over to Grandma’s, did you think about me?” Mike was speechless. He mumbled for a moment before finally spitting out, “I was just so angry, I wasn’t thinking straight.” He wasn’t thinking straight, but he always forgot Mom. It was a pattern. The sad, funny thing was, Mom did more for this family than anyone, yet she was always the one who was overlooked. I remembered a business trip I took to New Orleans a few years ago. I shipped a box of beignets home. By the time Mom finished her chores, all that was left was a plate of powdered sugar. Dad and Mike were content and full, completely oblivious. Another time, Mike got his first paycheck from an internship. He bought himself new sneakers, a new electric razor for Dad, and a blood pressure monitor for Grandma. Mom watched as the shopping bag grew emptier, the hope in her eyes slowly fading to disappointment. His excuse then was the same. “Oh, man, I was just so excited, I totally forgot.” Mom’s love was like the air in our house. They breathed it in every day without a second thought, but they never felt the need to acknowledge its existence. I’m sure she was thinking about all that now. She didn’t say anything, just kept her head down and quietly chewed her chicken. Dad tried to needle us. “You’re lucky you live in modern times. Back in my day, a wife who ate like that would’ve been kicked out of the house.” Mom and I ignored him. He and Mike eventually gave up and left the kitchen. Mom put a chicken wing in my bowl. “Eat up, sweetheart. Tomorrow, I’ll make you my barbecue ribs.” 5 I absolutely loved my mom’s barbecue ribs. The next morning, while Lily and I were still asleep, Mom was already up and heading to the local market for fresh pork ribs. She came back with a huge rack, more than enough for all of us.

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I was the least favorite princess. Before my father, the King, kicked the bucket, my eight older siblings were at each other’s throats for the throne. Historians would later call this period “The Nine Dragons’ Brawl for the Harley-Davidson.” And me? I was the wildcard in this royal rumble, operating on the principle of “It’s not the winning, it’s the messing-with-people that counts.” By making a bunch of empty promises to various powerful figures, I somehow got crowdfunded onto the throne. Now, as I gaze at the three women I verbally promised to make my queens, a single drop of cold sweat trickles down my temple. This whole “absolute power” thing is turning out to be a bit of a handful. 1 My father, King Harley, was on his last legs. It was pretty clear he wasn’t going to make it through the winter. And so, my eight beloved siblings kicked off the glorious Nine Dragons’ Brawl for the Harley-Davidson. Oh yeah, my dad’s name is actually Harley Davidson. Seriously. I’m the ninth and least favorite of his kids, basically just here to round out the numbers. But participation is key, and I was enthusiastically participating in the chaos. The most critical piece on the chessboard of this succession crisis was the Queen. King Harley and Queen Beatrice were childhood sweethearts, deeply in love. He consulted her on almost everything. Luckily for the rest of us, she was barren. Otherwise, this whole war would’ve been over before we were even embryos. My siblings weren’t idiots. They swarmed the Queen’s chambers like bees to a honeypot. I rushed over, but I was too late. The place was already packed with my fawning relatives. My eldest brother, Prince Albert, was on his knees, declaring, “If you support me, Mother, I will formally adopt you as my own. I will build you a grand cathedral and serve you day and night!” My second sister, Princess Diana, shoved him aside. “Albert, your own mother is still alive! What right do you have to be adopted by the Queen?” Then she turned to Beatrice, her face a mask of sincerity. “Mother, my own mother has passed. My devotion to you will surely surpass my brother’s. Please, think of me as your own daughter!” I discreetly shuffled to the side, hoping the Queen wouldn’t have a sudden maternal meltdown and start adopting people on the spot. My own mother was also gone, and she’d had a hard enough time birthing and raising me. I had zero interest in calling some other woman “Mom.” The other princes and princesses were just as shameless. Some promised to make the Queen’s nephew a Duke, others offered to marry her nieces. One even offered to marry her entire… extended family of unmarried women. Thank God. For a second, I thought her eighty-year-old great-aunt was about to have a very eventful year. My siblings prattled on, but the Queen just maintained a serene smile, giving nothing away. Suddenly, her gaze fell on me in the corner. “Ellie,” she called out. “Do you have anything you’d like to say?” “Huh?” Every head in the room swiveled in my direction. My first instinct was to just parrot some generic flattery like everyone else. But faced with their hostile glares, my rebellious streak kicked in. It’s not like I was going to win anyway. I might as well go nuts while we were all still candidates. They couldn’t do anything to me yet. So, with an air of supreme confidence, I announced, “If I become Queen, I’ll set you up with ten gorgeous boy toys to keep you entertained.” 2 The room went dead silent. Then, chaos. Prince Albert shot to his feet, pointing an accusing finger at me. “Eleanor, have you lost your mind? How can you say such a thing to the Queen? It’s an insult!” The others chimed in. “What do you take her for? She’s not some scandalous historical figure who needs a harem of young men!” “Exactly, Ellie! The Queen is devoted to the King! If he heard you say that, you could kiss any chance of the throne goodbye!” A few of my sisters seemed a little less convincing in their outrage. I rolled my eyes. The old man wasn’t exactly a looker to begin with, and now he was a sickly, wrinkling mess. How was he supposed to hold a woman like Beatrice’s attention? Besides, I wasn’t suggesting she start now. But once King Harley was six feet under, she’d be all alone. Wouldn’t ten handsome companions be a comfort? I was sure the old man’s spirit would appreciate the gesture. The Queen covered her face with her sleeve, trying to hide a laugh. When she’d composed herself, she said, “Now, now. Ellie means well. Don’t be so hard on your sister.” She then turned to me, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Ellie, no more jokes, now.” “Of course, Mother,” I said with a grin. No one took me seriously, but I had successfully derailed my siblings’ plans. They left in a huff, each one muttering threats as they passed me. “Ellie, you don’t even have a shot. Why are you acting so crazy?” “Just wait until I’m on the throne. You’ll be sorry!” “You? On the throne? Father would give it to Ellie before he gave it to you!” “What did you just say to me?!” Within seconds, they were at each other’s throats again. Mission accomplished. 3 The next morning, the battle resumed in the royal classroom. Our tutor was the brilliant and handsome Julian Croft, a rising star in the court whom the King had appointed to educate his children. He was smooth, never showing favoritism, which made him a key ally to win over. My siblings tried their best. The brainy ones impressed him with eloquent essays and poetry. The less-than-brainy ones tried to bribe him with expensive art and rare books. I was broke and not particularly bright, so I decided my best strategy was to just annoy him to death. If I could make him quit, all their efforts would be for naught. Heh. After class, I was the only one held back. The jealous glares from my siblings could have drilled holes in me. They couldn’t fathom how I’d managed to get such exclusive time with our tutor. Of course they couldn’t. It involved getting my head whacked repeatedly. Julian held a thick bamboo scroll and used it to rhythmically tap my skull. “Ow, ow, ow!” I yelped. He paused, looking thoughtfully at the scroll. “First time I’ve ever heard a scroll cry out.” “I’m sorry, Tutor,” I said, rubbing my head. “I promise, when I’m Queen, I’ll pay attention in class.” Heh, sucker. The first thing I’ll do when I’m Queen is have you executed. Julian sighed. “You becoming Queen would be the greatest insult to my teaching career.” “Tutor, please listen. I’m just so worried about my father’s health, I can’t concentrate.” “If you were truly worried about your father, you wouldn’t have produced a translation like this.” I looked down at my work. The text was a classic proverb: While your parents are alive, do not wander far. If you must, have a clear destination. My translation: Your parents are my hostages. You won’t get far. And even if you do, I have ways of dragging you back. What was wrong with that? The look on his face told me I wasn’t getting his endorsement. My frustration boiled over. I gave him a cold, threatening smile. “Tutor, I suggest you be nicer to me. Otherwise, when I’m Queen, the very first thing I’ll do is make you my personal plaything. And when I’m bored with you, I’ll have you thrown in the dungeon.” Julian’s long eyelashes fluttered. He leaned in close, his voice a whisper by my ear. “And what if I am nicer to you? How will Your Majesty reward me?” He smelled amazing, a scent completely different from the other stuffy courtiers. My mind went a little fuzzy. “I’ll make you my King Consort!” I blurted out. Thwack. Another hit to the head. I whimpered, looking at him pitifully. Yeah, definitely executing him. Julian just smiled his gentle, infuriating smile. “Go copy the Royal Code of Conduct. Ten times.” 4 That afternoon, I left the palace, books in tow. My escort was Captain Marcus Thorne, the head of the Royal Guard. The King, worried about his children assassinating one another, had ordered that a guard escort was mandatory for any royal leaving the palace grounds. This made Marcus, with his control of the military, a very important person. For me, however, who made daily trips to the city’s finest purveyor of trashy romance novels, it was just awkward. It had taken me a month to go from embarrassed to shamelessly proud of my literary tastes. It took Marcus only three days to go from respectful to disgusted. The first day, it was “Your Highness.” By the third, it was “Alright, smut-peddler, had enough yet?” Today, he greeted me with a deadpan expression. “Smut-peddler. I did some recon yesterday. The book you want, Reborn: I Was a Monk in the Royal Palace, is on the first shelf, third row, tenth from the left. Grab it and let’s go.” I hesitated. “But… there are other books I wanted to get…” “Name them.” “My Husband Ran Off With My Bun in the Oven and Gave Birth to Ten Babies.” Marcus’s face twitched. “Third shelf, first row, seventh from the left.” “A Eunuch’s Tale: The Nine-Thousand-Year-Old Virgin’s Conquest.” “Third shelf, sixth row, fifth from the left.” I stared at him, impressed. My first act as Queen would be to appoint him Royal Librarian. At the bookshop, I met up with my two best friends and partners-in-crime: the Prime Minister’s daughter, Clara, and the Grand Tutor’s son, Leo. Under Marcus’s death glare, I quickly made my purchases and we retreated to a nearby tea house. The Prime Minister was backing my third brother. The Grand Tutor was backing my fourth sister. Their delinquent children were backing me. Completely useless. “I really want to be Queen,” I sighed dramatically. “I really want to marry my darling Caspian,” Clara sighed back. “But he’s just an actor…” I couldn’t bear to see her so sad. “Clara, don’t worry. When I’m Queen, I’ll order you two to be married.” “Me too!” Leo chimed in. Clara shot him a suspicious look. “You’re in love with Caspian too?” “No! I’m in love with his co-star, Julian.” That was… also not ideal. But he was looking at me with such hopeful eyes. I couldn’t play favorites. “When I’m Queen, I’ll order you two to be married as well.” Leo dropped to his knees. “Thank you, Your Majesty!” Marcus looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. “I think all these books have rotted your brain.” I suddenly remembered he was there. Everyone gets a prize. “Captain Thorne, is there anyone you have your eye on? I could arrange a marriage for you too.” “There was,” he said grimly. “But then I saw these books.” I guess the Captain was a man of high literary standards. I laughed. “Don’t worry, Captain. I’m quite fond of you. When I’m Queen, I’ll make you my King Consort, and we can read together!” Marcus’s face went through several shades of red, white, and green. He finally settled on green and ground out one word: “Smut-peddler!” 5 I was just joking with my friends, but they took me seriously. They insisted I go see the Royal Seer to pick auspicious dates for their weddings. I was hesitant. The Seer held a special, powerful position in the court. If I was seen consulting him, my siblings might actually think I was a contender for the throne. Which, I mean, I was. I hurried over to the Seer’s temple before it got dark. The Seer himself, a man named Sterling, stopped me at the entrance. “Before you enter, take out what you’re hiding.” I patted myself down. “I’m not carrying any weapons.” Sterling gave me a cool, appraising look. “What you have is more dangerous than any sword.” I pulled out the book from my coat: My Nights of Captive Passion with the Ice-Cold Royal Seer. He didn’t even glance at it. He just turned away. “Burn it.” I reluctantly tossed my beloved book into the brazier. I didn’t get it. What was so dangerous about a book? Finally inside, my first question was, “Master Seer, can you tell me what day would be most auspicious for my coronation?” “Today would be an excellent day for Your Highness to ascend… to the heavens.” That wasn’t the kind of ascending I had in mind! “Fine,” I pressed on. “Then can you tell me when the old man is going to kick the bucket?” Sterling frowned. “Your Highness, the King is your father.” I didn’t say he wasn’t. “Okay, fine. You can’t do that, you can’t do this. Can you at least give me two auspicious dates for a wedding?” “Your Highness, I am the Royal Seer. I only read the heavens for the monarch.” To the dungeon with you! Sterling sat in the courtyard, brewing tea. His profile was elegant, his aura cool and distant. Before he became the Royal Seer, I used to visit him all the time. I’d ask him to tell me when my mother would come back, when my father would remember I existed. He’d done the calculations and told me I was fated for a lonely, difficult childhood, unloved by both parents. I’d thrown a fit and told him he was a terrible fortune-teller. The next day, he was appointed Royal Seer, which just infuriated me more. I sighed. “I’m kidding. But if I made you my King Consort, could you just find me two good dates for our wedding?” His hand, pouring the tea, paused. He stood up abruptly. “Wait here.” He disappeared into his chambers and didn’t return until nightfall. He looked pale and exhausted. He handed me a stack of ten slips of paper. “These are ten auspicious dates for a wedding. Take them. I will continue my calculations tomorrow.” I stared at the stack of dates, bewildered. Okay, now even I’m starting to ship us. Barely two weeks later, the King was fading fast. He summoned all of us to his bedside.

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I’m secretly married to a university professor who rarely cracks a smile. During one of his public lectures, I accidentally broadcast a steamy romance novel from my phone. He was the male lead. I was the author. The resulting uproar nearly blew the roof off the lecture hall. Dr. Miles’s gaze cut through the crowd and landed squarely on me. “My office. After class.” That night, he pinned me against the door, and I was trembling like a leaf. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I’ll never write it again.” He loosened his tie, his voice a low whisper. “Too late. Ten minutes for every word. You do the math.” 1 It was the first open lecture of the new semester. The hall was packed, standing room only. The moment my roommate dragged me inside, my eyes met a cool, impossibly handsome face. My heart stopped. The man stood at the podium in a crisp white shirt, his calm, intelligent eyes looking at me through thin-framed glasses, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he took in my deer-in-the-headlights expression. “Class is about to start,” he said, his voice smooth as velvet. “Please find a seat.” My roommate grabbed my arm, foiling my escape attempt, and pulled me into the front row. “Let me introduce you,” she whispered excitedly. “Professor Miles. My ultimate crush.” His hands, shuffling papers on the lectern, were just inches away. A simple wedding band gleamed on his ring finger. It was a perfect match for the one hanging on a chain around my neck. The second our eyes met again, I ducked my head, my entire body rigid. Oh, God. Can someone please tell me why my practically-a-stranger husband, who was supposed to be doing research abroad, is suddenly back in the country? Last month, in a drunken fit of madness, I’d sent him a series of progressively thirstier photos in the middle of the night. Dr. Julian Miles, ever the gentleman, had simply pretended he never saw them. When I sobered up, I remembered we barely knew each other. Our marriage was a family arrangement, a convenience. So why in the world was he suddenly here, at my university, as my new physics professor? This was a nightmare. Professor Miles stood straight, his gaze sweeping over my huddled form before that faint smile returned. “Due to some unforeseen circumstances, I will be taking over this physics course for the semester. I look forward to a productive term with all of you.” His voice was like a cool spring breeze, but it brought back a flood of memories that were suddenly attacking me. His faculty position… it was at Ashton University. I could feel his eyes on me, and I shrank further into my seat. Was he really going to fail me just because I’d sent him a few suggestive texts? He said nothing more about it, and the first lecture of the semester began. Sitting directly under his gaze, listening to that cool, melodic voice, I felt a wave of drowsiness wash over me. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was my editor. Talia, your professor character is pure fire. Polish this up, we’re taking it live! Half-asleep, I tapped the file she sent. The screen froze. A few seconds later, a robotic female voice emanated from my phone’s speaker. “In the dead of night, I slipped on Professor Miles’s white shirt and stumbled through his door, crashing into his arms.” “Oh, Professor… please, hold me tighter…” I jolted awake. My phone’s text-to-speech feature was on, broadcasting my R-rated prose to the entire lecture hall. I fumbled to silence it, but it was too late. Oh my God, oh my God, make it stop… The room was dead silent. Professor Miles had stopped talking. His expression was as serene as ever, but I felt his gaze on me like a physical weight, and I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. “I’m so sorry, my phone is broken…” I stammered, tears welling in my eyes. In my panic, I accidentally turned the volume up. The AI voice launched into the next, even spicier scene. The students around me were beet red, frozen in stunned silence. Professor Miles tapped a piece of chalk against the lectern. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound echoed in the suffocating silence. Finally, he spoke to me for the first time since his return. “Thank you for that… contribution. Please see me in my office after class.” 2 The silence in his office was deafening. I sat across from him, the ticking of the clock in the corner marking every second of my agony. Professor Miles was grading papers, his head bowed. The late afternoon sun slanted through the window, its warm, golden light filtering through the leaves and falling across his perfectly tailored shirt, casting long, elegant shadows. He hadn’t said a word to me since I’d walked in. He hadn’t even mentioned the novel. Was he going to divorce me for writing fanfiction about him? “Um, Professor, I’m really sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.” He looked up and smiled faintly. “I understand. Artistic expression.” His gentle tone completely disarmed me. I managed a weak smile back. “Right, right… as long as you understand. I’m actually a very conservative person. My editor makes me write those scenes… there aren’t many of them.” The atmosphere seemed to relax. He pulled out a gift bag and placed it on the desk. His voice was polite and warm. “My return was a bit rushed, so I only managed to get you a cashmere scarf. The shirt will have to wait until next time.” Shirt? Professor Miles’s shirt?! I met his gentle gaze and realized he had completely misunderstood. Oh God, he thinks I’m a creep… Just as I was about to try and salvage my reputation, my phone exploded with a flurry of messages from my editor. The notification sounds drew both of our attention. “Does Julian really like doing it in the kitchen?” “That’s a fire hazard. I suggest you change it.” “The office scene is hot, though! Spill water on him, then pounce, use ‘changing clothes’ as an excuse to get him… where do you come up with this stuff?” My head shot up. Professor Miles’s calm gaze was fixed on my phone screen. Then, his eyes slowly lifted to the cup of water I was clutching in my hands. He smiled. “Are you… going to spill it?” A strange, mortifying silence filled the room. Finally, blushing furiously, I managed to choke out, “I would never do that. You have my word.” 3 After leaving his office, Professor Miles drove me to my parents’ house for dinner. They were thrilled he was back and had cooked a feast. I sat in the passenger seat, feeling like my soul had left my body. My editor was trying to comfort me via text. “Relax. He’s a serious academic. You think he has time to read smut on some little writing platform?” I snuck a glance at him. My heart immediately started doing a frantic tap dance against my ribs. He was focused on the traffic, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the steering wheel. The neon lights of the city washed over his handsome profile, painting him in shifting colors. The air in the car suddenly felt very hot. “He probably thinks I’m a total pervert,” I texted. “Well, aren’t you?” she shot back, along with a screenshot of an illustration I had drawn for the story. The caption read: Professor Miles’s Laundry Day. The top comment: “If you know, you know. He’s doing his own laundry because someone made a mess… and he was happy to do it.” “Someone explain?” a newer comment asked. “Go play somewhere else, kid.” I quickly logged onto the site and posted an update. “Taking a short break, guys. The subject has returned. Please, let’s all be cool.” My fans, however, were anything but. “Let’s go, girl! Get this story to #1 so the Professor can see it!” “A happy author means a happy fandom!” “OMG, this is like a live feed! Author, please, live in my phone!” “We’re here. There’s a car behind us,” Miles’s voice pulled me from my phone. “I didn’t write about a car! You’re mistaken!” I blurted out, shoving my phone away. I looked up and saw his baffled expression. I realized he was talking about the rearview mirror. “So,” he asked, a hint of amused resignation in his voice, “what exactly have you been writing?” “…” Kill me now. I was so flustered that I nearly walked into traffic getting out of the car. Miles grabbed my hand to pull me back. The gentle warmth of his skin and the subtle, woody scent of his cologne was like a spark landing in my palm, spreading a dizzying heat through me. Remembering my disastrous physics grades, I said anxiously, “I’ll study really hard. I promise.” He just grunted in response. Fearing he didn’t believe me, I raised my hand as if taking an oath. “I mean it! I’ll be a model student. Please, just don’t tell my parents about my grades.” He must have seen the genuine panic in my eyes because a soft, helpless laugh escaped him. “Alright,” he said. “I won’t.” His gaze made my heart flutter. Before I could respond, my mother’s booming voice came from the front door. “Talia, what is this you posted online? ‘Used to be scared to tell my parents I was dating, now I’m scared to tell my husband’? What is that supposed to mean?” I froze on the spot. I met Miles’s questioning look and blurted out, “My boyfriend is a fan-art character on a website—” I clamped my mouth shut, nearly biting my tongue. It was fan-art of him, and the thirsty comments were still all over it. Thankfully, he didn’t press for details. He just politely greeted my mom, who immediately forgot her anger and ushered him inside. As we walked in, I heard his low, warm chuckle. “I hope dinner tonight isn’t keeping you from your boyfriend.” “…” I am going to die. That night, to prevent him from finding the story, I frantically deleted comments. My readers were having a field day. “Oh ho, the plot thickens.” “Two minutes and another comment is gone. Don’t worry, I took screenshots. Professor, DM me, I’ll send them for free.” I barely tasted my food. When dinner was over and Miles stood up to leave, I finally breathed a sigh of relief. “You two head home,” my mom said with a loving smile. “Drive safe.” I blinked. “Me too?” “You’re married. If you don’t go home with your husband, where else would you go?” I turned and saw Miles standing by the door, holding my coat, waiting for me. My face went pale. This was a lamb walking willingly into the lion’s den. And so, I was brought to his home. After we’d signed the papers, he’d left for his research fellowship abroad. This was the first night we would ever spend alone together. My heart was pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I stood in the doorway like an ostrich, refusing to go any further. “The master bedroom is that way. Your clothes are in the closet. You can shower first.” I found myself staring at the alluring line of his waist as he bent down to take off his shoes. “So… am I showering alone?” I asked, my face burning. In the dim light, his gaze found mine. “You’re certainly… direct.” I snapped back to my senses and scurried into the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. My whole body felt like it was boiling. I could die of embarrassment. After my shower, I furiously texted my friends. “How do you make a man fall hopelessly in love with you?” My roommate replied instantly: “Talia! Look at you go! Already staying out all night, huh? And you’re still thinking about chasing guys?” They sent me a link to a post on the university’s online forum. My “glorious” moment in the lecture hall had gone viral. Someone had uploaded the video. It already had thousands of comments. “HOLY CRAP, TALIA VANCE IS LADY T! You can find her new story, My Wild Days with Professor Miles, on the Crimson Quill platform!” “Are she and the professor for real? Is this, like, a memoir?” “No way! That’s Julian Miles! Ashton’s untouchable Ice King! His failure rate is insane; they call him the Gentle Blade. Talia’s screwed for finals.” “Noooo, my professor’s reputation! He has such a pure, ascetic face, there’s no way he’s like that in private…” My personal social media accounts had been blown up. People were demanding an explanation. Worse, they were flooding Professor Miles’s official university profile page. “Professor Miles, you should sue her. For real.” “Look at what she wrote about you! (See attached screenshot)” Oh god, they were posting excerpts of my story and the fan-art directly on his page. I could feel a heart attack coming on. It was over. There was no hiding it now. Then, Chloe, the most popular girl in my year, chimed in. “But… isn’t Professor Miles married?” She posted a photo. A clear shot of his hand, with the wedding band unmistakable on his ring finger. Chloe added: “I know his wife. I just spoke with her tonight. My cousin said she had no idea about any of this.” The gossip mill went into overdrive. “Wait, you call her your cousin?” “Yes, we’re very close. She said she hopes Talia Vance will stop fantasizing about her husband. It’s making her very uncomfortable.” “By the way, she’s flying back to the States soon. She said she’d like to treat everyone to dinner to thank them for their support.” The tide of public opinion turned in an instant. “Does anyone know this Talia girl? Tell her to stop embarrassing the rest of us.” “The real wife is coming back. The delulu fanfic girl must be terrified now, lol.” Her words were so confident, for a second, I actually doubted myself. Did I dream up my own marriage? I pulled up the digital copy of our marriage certificate on my phone and stared at it. A handsome man, a beautiful woman. A match made in heaven. Even if God himself descended, I was still Julian Miles’s wife. 4 The internet mob was terrifyingly efficient. Within minutes, Professor Miles’s profile page was wallpapered with my writing and drawings. The thought of him seeing it all made me want to spontaneously combust. I had to get to his phone and delete everything before he saw it. Half an hour later, I pushed open his study door, my heart pounding. The room was quiet. He was sitting at his desk, the soft glow from his laptop screen illuminating the sharp angles of his face. He looked up at the sound, his brow furrowing slightly when he saw me standing there, barefoot. “Still awake?” As I got closer, he finally took in my attire—one of his white button-down shirts. Oh god, this looked less like a stealth mission and more like a seduction attempt. A hot blush flooded my face. His gaze traveled slowly down from my collarbone, over my waist, down my thighs, before finally meeting my crimson face. “Talia,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “What is this?” He set his pen down on the desk with a soft click. The small sound sent a shiver down my spine. My legs were shaking. I started babbling nonsense. “I… I was cold. Just looking for something to wear…” He leaned back in his chair, a half-smile playing on his lips. “This is a study,” he reminded me, his tone laced with amusement. My eyes locked onto his phone, sitting on the corner of the desk. Steeling myself, I swung my leg over and sat on the desk, right in front of him. I managed to snatch the phone. In doing so, I blocked the light from his small desk lamp. His face was instantly plunged into shadow, his expression unreadable. After a long moment, his voice, now husky and deep, drifted out of the darkness. “Talia, you are currently sitting on your physics homework.” “Do you have any idea what this behavior constitutes?” I held my breath, planting a foot on his thigh for balance. “Um, what? I’m just…” In a flash, he was on his feet, his hands on either side of me, trapping me against the desk. Click. He turned off the lamp. Darkness swallowed the room whole. I was enveloped in that woody scent, and before I could react, a strong hand curved around my waist. His voice was a hot breath against my ear. “You’re showing contempt for classroom decorum.” “And disrespecting your professor.” “And, you’ve managed to get your own homework wet.” “I have never had such a difficult student.” There was a hint of censure in his cool tone now. My body went limp. I rested my forehead against his shoulder, on the verge of crying from pure shame. “I’m sorry, Professor…” “I don’t accept apologies. Look at me.” The command was absolute. The moment I lifted my head, his mouth was on mine. Fireworks exploded behind my eyes. My hands scrabbled uselessly at his shirt as I surrendered completely to his aggressive conquest. In the darkness, he paused, his voice laced with a helpless amusement. “You really do have a thing for my shirts, don’t you?” My breathing was ragged, my skin on fire. I was so overwhelmed I thought I was going to pass out. I had pushed his phone aside during the kiss. Suddenly, the screen lit up, a blinding notification cutting through the darkness.

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Eight months pregnant, and I was at the hospital alone for a check-up. As I passed a park bench, I saw my husband, Vincent, who was supposed to be on an overseas business trip. He was kneeling, gently massaging the ankle of his childhood sweetheart, Stella. Vincent, always a man of few words, was now murmuring endless reassurances, making promises to soothe Stella’s petty pouting, letting none of her complaints fall on deaf ears. The sweet nothings I’d never heard from him made her giggle coquettishly. The Vincent I saw then was a stranger, a completely different person from the man I knew. This time, I didn’t collapse. I didn’t rush forward screaming and shouting like I used to. Instead, I slipped the wedding ring from my finger and tossed it onto the side of the road. In the third year of our marriage, I decided I wanted a divorce. 1 It was three in the morning when Vincent finally came home. He froze for a second when he saw me sitting on the sofa, then walked over, the faint scent of another woman’s perfume still clinging to him. “Why are you still up so late? Is the baby kicking up a fuss?” I shook my head and pushed the divorce papers across the coffee table toward him. “Let’s get a divorce.” Vincent let out a soft, weary sigh. He spoke with the casual, placating tone one might use with a child. “Oh, I see. Don’t you think it’s time for bed?” I unlocked my phone, pulled up the photo I’d taken that afternoon, and held it in front of his face. “I saw everything.” He paused for a fraction of a second, his expression unchanging, a familiar look of weary resignation settling on his features—the look that said I was overthinking things, as always. “I just see her as a sister.” With that, he sat down on the sofa opposite me, calmly waiting for the storm to break. He was prepared for the usual scene: me, hysterical and relentless, interrogating him, cornering him, demanding an answer he would never give. He would just sit there, silent, letting me unleash my fury, letting me smash things around the house until I collapsed onto the floor, exhausted. Then, he would shatter my remaining strength with a single, dismissive phrase. “Don’t be dramatic.” He would methodically clean up the chaos I’d created, replacing every broken object with an identical new one, putting everything back in its place. He would help me up, guide me back to our room, and, completely unfazed, even bring me a glass of water. “You must be tired. Have some water. It’ll soothe your throat.” Looking at Vincent’s impassive face, a profound exhaustion washed over me. It all felt so pointless. My emotional turmoil was just a performance to him, and in his eyes, I was no different from a madwoman. The eight-month belly was a heavy, leaden weight, and my legs were swollen and stiff. I calmly pushed myself up from the sofa and presented the signed divorce papers to him again. “Sign it.” My composure seemed to catch him off guard. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then finally relented with a condescending smirk. “Who put you up to this? Playing for such high stakes this time? Aren’t you afraid I’ll actually walk away?” “Fine, I’ll sign. Then you go to bed. Remember the baby.” He added, almost as an afterthought, “We have to go to my parents’ place in a few days. I’ll come and pick you up then.” I knew he wasn’t taking the divorce seriously. He thought that with me being eight months pregnant, an abortion was out of the question. To him, this was just a more sophisticated tantrum than smashing vases. Signing a piece of paper meant nothing; it was just a way to placate me. He scrawled his name with the practiced ease of someone signing a trivial document—messy and indifferent. After signing, he even noticed me struggling to stand and came over to massage my cramping legs, cooing at the baby in my belly. But this time, I was serious. 2 Everyone said I’d married a wonderful man. Mature, stable, and endlessly patient with all my moods. A rising star in the business world with a brilliant future, he was the perfect match for a pampered girl like me. And Vincent played the part perfectly. When we first married, I tried to be the perfect wife. I, who had never cooked a day in my life, tried to make him a meal and nearly burned the kitchen down. As I stood there crying in fear, Vincent came home. He said nothing, just quietly cleaned up the mess. “We have a housekeeper. Just tell her what you want to eat.” The dish I had painstakingly prepared was unceremoniously dumped in the trash. Whenever I clumsily messed something up, whenever I was heartbroken and falling apart, there was no comfort. My feelings were ignored, though he always efficiently fixed the problem. Then he would say: “Crying over something so small is pointless.” I thought that was normal. I thought I was just too clumsy, too sensitive. During my pregnancy, I couldn’t keep anything down. Morning sickness was an all-day affair. The constant nausea and discomfort, a double torment, made my temper increasingly volatile. I’d break down over the smallest things or burst into tears when I caught the scent of an unfamiliar perfume on his clothes. Vincent would just watch. Sometimes, he’d shut me in a room and let me scream and rage, never offering an explanation or a defense. “Pregnant women are sensitive. You’re overthinking it.” And yet, in his own way, he was good to me. He would drive four hours in the middle of the night to get me the specific cream-filled donuts I was craving. He would stand in line for five hours just to buy my favorite cake. He always remembered my cycle, ready with a cup of hot tea and a heating pad. Piece by piece, these gestures built a picture of a perfect, problem-solving husband. But my emotions, never acknowledged, never soothed, were like nails hammered into a board; the slightest touch sent a fresh wave of pain through me, leaving behind a scarred and splintered surface. Looking back on our three years of marriage, I realized I’d become a caricature of a bitter, nagging wife. 3 I packed a bag and went to my best friend’s place. Anna’s jaw dropped when she saw me on her doorstep, pregnant and hauling a suitcase. “You and Vincent had a fight?” she asked, her expression pure disbelief. “No way. It takes two to argue, and Vincent is basically a brick wall. I don’t believe it.” Before I could answer, a small, sweet-smelling bundle of energy launched herself at me. Anna’s four-year-old daughter, Lily, beamed up at me. “Auntie Aria, I missed you so much!” I smiled and stroked her hair. “See? Auntie came to visit you.” Anna gently pulled her daughter back. “You little rascal, be careful! Auntie has a baby in her tummy. Go get her a glass of water.” Watching Lily’s vibrant energy, I instinctively cradled my belly. A faint flutter, a tiny movement, answered my touch. I wondered if my baby would be just like her. I sat down, catching my breath, and got straight to the point. “I got a divorce.” Anna choked on her water. “A divorce? You? I don’t believe it.” “Vincent is so good to you! He remembers every little thing, drives across the state for your cravings, even lets you get away with murder at his company.” “And you,” she continued, “you’re head over heels for him. You analyze every little thing he does, get lost in your thoughts, cry yourself to sleep at the slightest hint of trouble.” “If you two could get a divorce, I’d give up on love entirely.” A tired smile touched my lips. “But that’s not what I wanted. He could handle any problem, but he could never handle my emotions.” “What he felt for me… it wasn’t love. It was a sense of duty.” Anna was speechless, her face etched with concern. “What about the baby? You want your child to be born without a father?” I bit my lip, feeling a wave of uncertainty as my hand went to my stomach again. Seeing my expression, Anna sighed in resignation. “Alright, forget it. Just get some rest for now.” I was drifting in a hazy sleep when a knock on the door startled me awake. A glance at the clock showed it was three in the morning. I opened the door to find Vincent standing there. He was holding a bag. “You didn’t tell me you were staying at a friend’s. You forgot your usual toiletries, and I brought them over, worried you wouldn’t be comfortable. I’ll come back to take you home in a few days.” He then turned to Anna, who had appeared silently behind me. “Pregnant women can be like that,” he said, his tone dripping with false apology. “Please bear with her. I really appreciate you looking after her.” I stared at him. He was so considerate, even bringing a gift for Anna. But he never once asked me why I had left. He just had his one-size-fits-all explanation: she’s pregnant, she’s hormonal, she’s irrational. As Vincent drove away, the passenger-side window rolled down. In the dim glow of the streetlights, I saw her. Stella’s profile. Three in the morning. A man and a woman, alone. A cold, humorless laugh escaped my lips. My heart felt surprisingly calm. So this is what it feels like to be completely numb. If all those unresolved emotions were the fuse, his infidelity was the final, crushing weight that made me certain: I had to get a divorce. 4 The first time I suspected Vincent was cheating was in our second year of marriage, at his company’s annual gala. That night, a torrential downpour swept through the city. I was late because I had been visiting my mother’s grave. Vincent was a man of rigid principles. Punctuality was paramount. So, he left me behind and went to the event by himself. The cemetery was in a remote area. I was soaked to the bone after waiting half an hour in the rain before a car finally stopped for me. By the time I arrived, the gala had already been underway for thirty minutes. I searched everywhere for Vincent but couldn’t find him. I called his assistant, whose voice was hesitant and stammering. “Mr. Blackwood ran into Ms. Stella on the way… she wanted to stop for bubble tea… He’ll probably be here in another half hour.” I waited. Finally, I saw them. Vincent and Stella, arm in arm, strolling into the grand hall. Rage erupted in me. I stormed over, tore Stella away from him, and grabbed the front of his suit jacket. My eyes were red with fury as I confronted him in front of everyone. “So you left me behind to go pick her up?” “Vincent, I am your wife!” Whispers rippled through the crowd. The accusations flew. Vincent, publicly humiliated, didn’t even flinch. Only after I had vented my rage did he speak, his voice smooth and placating. “Aria, Stella is like a sister to me. We grew up together.” He reached for my hand, but I slapped it away. With a sigh of theatrical helplessness, he pulled me into his arms. “My dear wife, you always misunderstand. Isn’t my devotion to you enough? What more do you want from me? Should I tear my heart out for you to see?” He looked out at the guests, his eyes filled with a look of indulgent apology, as if to say, forgive my wife, she has a bit of a temper. The onlookers chuckled knowingly. They saw me as the spoiled princess and him as the doting, world-class husband. Stella chimed in, her voice dripping with innocence. “Aria, please don’t misunderstand. There’s nothing between Vincent and me. If something were going to happen, it would have happened years ago.” I was half-convinced, calmed by Vincent’s gentle reassurances. But the fact that he had broken his own rigid rules for Stella left a deep unease in my heart. It was the first time I had ever seen him bend his principles for anyone. Later, I found out I was pregnant. Vincent’s attitude towards me didn’t change; if anything, he became even more attentive. I let the incident go, but life had another blow waiting for me. I accidentally saw his chat history with Stella on his computer. Their conversation was a constant stream of messages, back and forth, about everything from a stray dog on the street to planning her upcoming birthday. Their chat window was full, vibrant, and alive. I slumped in the chair and opened my chat with him. A month’s worth of my one-sided chatter, my attempts to connect, was met with his terse replies. “Okay.” “Fine.” “Got it.” I had always thought Vincent was just a man of few words. I never realized he saved his words, his stories, and his comfort for someone else. When I brought him lunch at his office, I discovered Stella had become his personal assistant. Vincent seemed rushed when he came out to meet me. As he leaned in, I saw it—a smudge of lipstick on his collar. I don’t remember how I got out of there. All I recall is the image of the overturned lunchbox and Stella crying in Vincent’s arms. It was the first time I had ever seen him comfort someone. He was so gentle, so patient. But I was already pregnant. I didn’t want my child to grow up in a broken home. I didn’t want my child to be without a father. Through countless nights, awake with pain and crying until my pillow was soaked, my spirit completely crumbled. I kept asking myself, what is the point of marriage? Is this what love is supposed to look like? But for the sake of my child, I swallowed the bitter pill and carried on.

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