Category: English

It was ten years after the divorce when our daughter, Phoebe, was hauled into the precinct for a street fight. The detective assigned to question her, by some cruel twist of fate, was her mother, Simona—the woman she hadn’t seen in a decade. I watched, a helpless ghost, as Simona’s eyes scanned Phoebe’s tattooed forearm and the shocking electric-blue streaks in her hair. She clamped down on her fury and snapped: “Phoebe Hawthorne, look at the state of you! Fighting, skipping school, running with riff-raff—” “What the hell has your father been teaching you? How could he let you become this?!” Phoebe, who had been silent, suddenly lifted her head. Her eyes were raw with accusation. “My fighting is my own business. You have no right to talk about my dad!” Slap! The sharp crack of a hand striking flesh echoed through the large, sterile room. Simona’s hand froze mid-air, trembling slightly. She took a deep, shuddering breath, then commanded the nearby officer, “Riley, get me Reid Hawthorne’s number. Tell him that since he clearly can’t parent, I’m taking the child starting today.” As they disappeared, the young officer, Riley, stared at his computer screen. Right there, stark and inescapable on my record, were four chilling words: DEATH REGISTERED. 1 My soul immediately followed Simona and Phoebe out. Phoebe stumbled as Simona hauled her along, the left side of her face already bright red and swelling. My heart twisted. I reached out, desperate to soothe her cheek, but my fingers passed uselessly through the angry redness. I hovered next to Simona, my gaze full of mute accusation. Simona, how could you hit her? Don’t you know how hard it was for her to survive at all? Simona shoved Phoebe into the passenger seat of her SUV. She didn’t start the car, instead gripping the steering wheel until her knuckles were white. Her eyes were dark and stormy. “Buckle up,” she said, her voice tight. Phoebe turned her head, staring out the window, completely still. Simona swiveled to glare at her. “Did you not hear me?” “I heard you.” Phoebe’s voice was a whisper, laced with a choked sob. “I just don’t want to listen to you.” “You—” Simona sucked in another breath, desperately trying to contain her rage. “Fine. Fine. Reid really has raised quite the daughter.” “Don’t you dare talk about my dad!” Phoebe spun back, her tear-filled eyes locked on Simona. “Ten years! Have you cared about me for a single day? Don’t pretend to be a mother now!” Simona laughed, a short, bitter sound. “I didn’t care about you? Who was it that fought tooth and nail for custody? Who swore he could give you the best life even without me?” “Look at you now, Phoebe. Just look at yourself!” “Street fighting, police records, hair dyed like some juvenile delinquent, and this trash tattooed on your arm.” “Is this his ‘best life’?” Phoebe’s lips began to tremble. “You don’t understand…” “I don’t understand?” Simona cut her off, her voice rising. “I only know that a decent father doesn’t raise a child like this! If Reid truly cared, he would have taught you right from wrong, not let you run wild with strangers on the street!” “He didn’t!” Phoebe shrieked, tears finally bursting free. “He did care! He cared more about me than anyone in the world! You don’t get to talk about him! You don’t deserve to!” I floated in the backseat, reaching out in vain to hold my daughter’s shaking shoulders. Phoebe, Daddy’s here, Daddy’s right here… But only the rushing night wind could hear my voice. Simona’s phone vibrated. Annoyed, she fumbled for it. The screen lit up with a text preview from Riley. She glanced at it, about to tap it open. “What do you know?!” Phoebe screamed. “My dad already—” “Already what?” The intensity of Phoebe’s words made Simona furious. She backed out of the message and threw the phone onto the center console. “Already too lazy to care about you? Already found a new flame and tossed you aside?” “Phoebe, I’m telling you, you’re under my roof now. Those bad habits? I’ll break every single one of them out of you!” Phoebe opened her mouth as if to say something else, but instead just wiped her eyes, turned away, and fell silent. Curled up in the seat, she looked so small, so fragile. I watched her stubborn profile, my heart being shredded. The car finally pulled up outside a tattoo parlor. “Get out.” Simona unbuckled her seatbelt. Phoebe looked at the storefront in alarm. “What are you doing?” “Getting it removed.” Simona pointed to the tattoos on her arm, her tone brooking no argument. “No daughter of mine is going to walk around with that kind of trash.” “No!” Phoebe shrank back violently. Simona got out, rounded the car, pulled the door open, and reached for her. “Let go! I won’t do it!” “You don’t have a choice!” As they struggled, the tattoo parlor door opened. A man with sleeves of ink on his arms poked his head out. He saw Phoebe and frowned. “Who the hell are you? Bullying a kid?” 2 Phoebe looked like she’d found a lifeline. “Vin!” Simona paused, her eyes sharp as she swept her gaze over the man. “And who are you?” Vin ignored her. He walked right up to Phoebe, positioning himself between her and Simona. “Ma’am, in broad daylight… well, it’s night, but still. Dragging a kid around like this isn’t right, is it?” “I am her mother,” Simona stated, each word clipped. Vin raised an eyebrow, gave her a long appraisal, and then smiled, but without warmth. “Oh, I get it. You must be Reid Hawthorne’s deadbeat ex-wife, Simona. So, suddenly decided you had a daughter after all this time?” Simona’s face darkened. “That is none of your concern.” She looked the man up and down, her voice dripping with undisguised contempt. “Hmph. Reid’s social circle is truly broad these days. It’s no wonder he raised his daughter like this, running around with riff-raff.” With that, she wrenched Phoebe, who was sobbing and trying to squat on the ground, back onto her feet. “Since this is a friend’s shop, we’ll go to another one.” Simona’s voice was final. “I won’t go! Vin! Help me!” Phoebe struggled in vain, casting a desperate look at the man. Vin stepped forward, his brow furrowed. “Simona, be reasonable! The kid doesn’t want to, you—” “I’m her mother!” Simona cut him off, her eyes cold. “How I discipline my daughter is not up to an outsider.” She half-pulled, half-carried Phoebe toward the car. Just before yanking the door open, Simona stopped and spoke without turning around. “Since you’re Reid’s friend, do me a favor and pass him a message.” “I’ve taken the child. If he has an ounce of fatherly instinct left, he can come find me to discuss it.” Then, she unceremoniously shoved Phoebe back into the car and prepared to leave. Vin stood rooted to the spot, stunned for a half-second, before erupting in a curse. “Is she a psychopath?… The man’s been dead for seven, eight years!” “How the hell am I supposed to give him a message? Go down to the damn underworld?” The thud of the car door slamming shut completely drowned out Vin’s words. The car pulled away, and Simona never heard him. Vin watched the taillights disappear, then sighed, his eyes slightly red. I looked at the man’s genuine sorrow and bowed silently before him. Vin, thank you for looking after Phoebe all these years. Unfortunately, as a ghost, my gratitude was lost to the night air. I turned and chased after the car that was vanishing around the corner. Inside, Phoebe was curled up in the passenger seat, tears streaming silently down her face. Simona glanced at her, breaking the silence with a hard, unyielding voice. “From now on, you are not to associate with people like that man.” “Your father only got worse mixing with that kind of trash! Look at you now…” “My dad is not!” Phoebe snapped her head up, her voice hoarse and crying. “Vin is a good person! You can’t—” “A good person?” Simona scoffed, interrupting her. “A good person encourages a fourteen-year-old to get tattoos? Lets you run around the streets?!” “Phoebe, your father was led astray by people like that—poor judgment, a messy circle, incapable of even raising his own child properly!” The more she spoke, the more convinced she sounded. Her tone was final. “You’re with me now. All those messy relationships are cut off.” “When your father realizes his mistake, then we can talk.” Phoebe looked utterly drained of strength and stopped arguing. Floating beside them, I looked at Simona’s self-righteous profile, my heart tearing apart. She didn’t know that after I died, my daughter had only survived thanks to the very people she labeled as “trash.” The car entered a quiet, high-end residential complex. Simona parked the car, took off her coat, wrapped it around Phoebe’s thin frame, and pulled her toward the building. Phoebe moved like a puppet, numbly following behind. Simona unlocked the door. Warm light and the aroma of cooked food spilled out. “You’re back? Why so late? Noah’s already asleep…” A gentle male voice rang out, and footsteps approached. A tall, handsome man in comfortable loungewear appeared in the entryway. His gaze went naturally to Simona, warm and intimate, but when he saw my daughter, his smile froze instantly. And my soul, upon seeing his face, completely seized up. 3 The man before me was my own brother, Logan. When our parents divorced, he went with our mother, and I stayed with our father. Over the years, we’d seen each other only a handful of times. I never imagined he would become my ex-wife’s current husband. Looking at the polished ease and refined warmth in his eyes, I could barely recognize him. When had they gotten together? How could it be him? A hundred questions flooded my consciousness. Logan looked at Phoebe’s face, a face that bore a slight resemblance to his own, and a flash of panic crossed his eyes. “This… this is Phoebe, right?” His voice sounded unnatural. He quickly looked over at Simona, his eyes shifting nervously. “Did you… did you run into Reid? Why… why didn’t he come up with you?” His fingers unconsciously twisted the hem of his shirt, a hint of guilt in his posture. Simona frowned, taking off her jacket with an annoyed gesture. “I didn’t run into him. I found her at the precinct. She was arrested for fighting.” She walked into the living room, sounding exhausted. “Look at the way she is! How is Reid even a father? He’s raised the child into this mess!” She grew angrier as she spoke, turning to Logan with an eager need for validation. “Logan, I plan to bring the child back and raise her myself. You don’t object, do you?” A flicker of jealousy, quickly suppressed, crossed Logan’s eyes before he gently put an arm around Simona’s shoulder. “Of course, I don’t object. She’s your daughter, which makes her our daughter.” “It’s just… Reid might…” He trailed off. “Don’t mention him!” Simona waved her hand dismissively. “If he had an ounce of conscience, he’d have come looking for me already!” “Since he doesn’t care, then he’ll never care!” Logan lowered his head, a nearly imperceptible curve forming at the corner of his mouth. “Alright, let’s not talk about that now. I made soup. It’s been keeping warm. Come eat something.” He said this and reached out to take Phoebe’s hand. Phoebe abruptly recoiled, stepping back and avoiding his touch. Logan’s hand froze in mid-air, a look of embarrassment crossing his face. Simona’s temper flared again. “Phoebe Hawthorne! What is that attitude!” “It’s fine, it’s fine. The child just got back, she’s probably scared,” Logan quickly intervened. “Phoebe, let’s just eat.” Phoebe just pressed her lips together and remained silent. After dinner, Simona checked the time and said to Logan, “Let Phoebe stay in the guest room tonight.” Logan looked troubled, hesitating. “The guest room… it hasn’t been cleaned in ages. I doubt we can get it ready tonight.” “How about we let Phoebe make do in the small spare room for tonight? It’s cramped, but it’s clean.” The so-called spare room was really a utility closet that had been sectioned off from the laundry area—a narrow space. Simona nodded, seemingly not noticing the slight. “Fine. That will have to do for now.” Phoebe remained silent the entire time, following Logan toward the tiny room. I floated beside her, looking at the space where it would be difficult even to turn around, and I felt a gut-wrenching ache. Is this my daughter’s place in this house? As soon as the door closed, Phoebe numbly lifted the hem of her hoodie. A cut was visible near her waist. With practiced ease, she pulled iodine swabs and a clean bandage from her backpack, setting about cleaning the wound herself. Sweat beaded on her forehead from the pain, but she didn’t make a sound. My spirit shook. Tears streamed down my face. My Phoebe, these ten years, you truly suffered so much. After dressing the wound, she collapsed onto the narrow, hard bed and fell into a deep sleep. I sat by her side, watching her sleeping face, stroking her cheek over and over. In the middle of the night, Phoebe’s breathing suddenly grew shallow and rapid. Her cheeks were flushed with an unnatural color. She was burning up. It must be a severe infection from the injury. “Phoebe? Phoebe!” I urgently called out to her, trying to shake her awake, but my ghost body only passed through her again and again. Seeing the continuous sweat on my daughter’s brow, I was frantic. I have to find Simona. I floated toward the master bedroom, rushed to Simona’s bedside, and screamed at her. “Simona! Wake up! Phoebe has a fever! Go check on her! She’s burning up!” But my desperate cries only dissolved into the quiet hum of the air conditioning. I tried to tap the nightstand lamp, to make a noise, but it was all useless. I could only watch Simona’s peaceful, sleeping profile. What do I do? Will my Phoebe be okay? She’s so small. What if the fever damages her? I rushed back to the spare room and stood guard by her bed. Watching her face contort in increasing pain, I was heartbroken and powerless. Was I wrong to divorce her so impulsively, to take our daughter away from her? Just then, Phoebe began to seize because of the high fever. I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably, trying again and again to hold her. “Help me. Someone help my daughter, save her.” But my daughter’s body didn’t move. My pleas vanished into the dark air. Just as I sank into despair, I heard a soft click. The door was slowly pushed open from the outside. 4 It was Logan. I latched onto him like a drowning man. My spirit surged forward frantically. “Brother, please, save her! Please, save Phoebe! She has a high fever! I beg you!” Logan saw Phoebe curled up on the bed. He frowned and instinctively turned, seeming ready to wake Simona. But just as he touched the doorknob, he hesitated. “Go! Go call Simona!” I frantically spun around him, urging him, trying to push him with my ethereal hands. Logan slowly turned back, his gaze fixed again on the moaning, suffering Phoebe on the bed. A mixture of struggle and jealousy flickered in his eyes. My gut feeling of dread sharpened instantly. Then, I heard his quiet murmur: “Why didn’t you just die with your father…” “It’s been ten years… ten years of peace… why did you have to show up now?” I froze. My spirit felt like it was fracturing. His words triggered a decade’s worth of memories in my mind. It was the fifth year of my marriage to Simona. Phoebe was four. For those five years, I genuinely believed I was living in a perfect world. Our daughter was sweet and lovable, and my wife was thoughtful and devoted. I thought we would be happy forever. The disaster struck on our sixth wedding anniversary. I had cooked a special dinner, but when I waited until midnight, all I got was a drunken Simona. I helped her into bed, but beneath her open collar, I saw a constellation of glaring hickeys. In that moment, my world imploded. I shook her awake, forcing an answer. In my hysterics, she admitted it, brazenly. She said she’d had too much to drink at an event and had a one-night stand with a business partner—that was all. “It was just a mistake any woman could be forgiven for, Reid. Do you have to make such a scene?” She rubbed her temples, her voice carrying a hint of impatience. Her cavalier attitude chilled me more than the betrayal itself. I couldn’t accept it and filed for divorce that very night. I was arrogant and proud, believing with foolish certainty that I could raise my daughter perfectly well without her—even better, in fact. The divorce was fast. I moved out with Phoebe. However, fate did not favor my stubbornness. In the first year after the divorce, I was in a car accident. My life was spared, but I was permanently paralyzed from the waist down. Sitting in that wheelchair, looking at my innocent daughter, I felt despair for the first time. I tried to contact Simona, wanting to send Phoebe back to her, but her phone number was disconnected. I finally found out through inquiries that she had moved to another city for work. I dragged my broken body and my daughter to a dilapidated tenement building. To survive, I learned to do handicrafts in my wheelchair and shamefully set up a small table on the street. It was the kindness of our neighbors—a shared meal, a handed-down piece of clothing—that helped us barely scrape by for another two years. But misery loves company. Two years later, I was diagnosed with leukemia. The doctor told me I had, at most, three months left. The day I got the diagnosis, I wheeled myself out of the hospital, my heart dead. At the hospital entrance, I ran into Logan, whom I hadn’t seen in years. He was well-dressed and healthy-looking. I wept, begging him to find Simona and give Phoebe to her. I tremblingly wrote a short letter, pressing it into his hand, pleading with Simona to take care of Phoebe for the sake of their mother-daughter bond. Logan took the letter, looking at me with what I took to be deep pity. He promised me he would find Simona. I believed him. I spent the next three months in agony, clinging to that final, weak hope. Three months later, I died. And my Phoebe never saw Simona. I had always thought that Logan hadn’t been able to find her. Only now, seeing him as Simona’s husband, did I realize: He never delivered the letter. “What’s wrong?” Simona’s sleepy voice suddenly broke through my painful memory. Logan’s body jerked. The next second, he quickly turned, his face instantly shifting into a perfectly crafted mask of panic and concern. “Sav! Come quickly! Phoebe looks sick!” Simona’s face changed. She rushed into the cramped spare room. “To the hospital!” Simona acted decisively, wrapping Phoebe tightly in a blanket and picking her up. Logan scrambled to follow. The lights in the late-night ER were stark and pale. The doctor examined the injury, frowned deeply, and sighed with a touch of exasperation. “This girl, she was fighting again, wasn’t she?” “The injury is serious this time. The infection caused the high fever. Any later, and it might have been really bad.” Simona keenly picked up on the information in the doctor’s words. Her brows furrowed. “You know her?” The doctor looked up at Simona. “Yes, this child is here every few months.” “Her father died of leukemia seven or eight years ago. She has no family to care for her, so she’s been scratching out a living on her own. It’s not easy…” Simona froze, her face a mask of disbelief. “What!? Leukemia?”

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I married an old-fashioned doctor. He always said I was too young. Yet he was willing to unbutton his shirt to keep my sister warm. Disheartened, I sighed. He said, “Just talk. Can you button my shirt back up first?” I ran away from home. He caught me at a hotel: “Not coming home? Planning to elope with that brat?” “Did he know you have to cuddle me to sleep every night?” “Speak.” That night, I was terrified. I had never seen Dr. Lee lose control like that. 1. I woke up from a nap at 6:30 PM. Calculating the time, Adrian Lee should be off work. [Hubby, are you off work?] [Can I come pick you up?] [A new bakery opened on Food Street. The cupcakes look so pretty! I want to eat them! Look!] Shutterstock I put down my phone. I put on makeup and changed my clothes. An hour passed. The chat box still only had my ramblings. Adrian hadn’t replied. I patted my cheeks, cheering myself up. It’s normal. Adrian is a doctor. Work is busy. He can’t always reply instantly. Forget it, I’ll just go to the hospital to pick him up. Just as I was about to leave, I got a call from my mom. “Luna, where are you?” “Come to the hospital quickly!” “Something happened to your sister!” 2. Rushing to the hospital, I saw Adrian first. My sister was crying, saying something I couldn’t hear. He sighed. Unbuttoned his white coat and draped it over my sister’s shoulders. My steps paused. My mom saw me: “Luna, come here!” I pretended nothing was wrong. Walking over, I realized my sister was covered in blood. “Sis! What happened! Are you okay?” My sister’s face was pale. She smiled and said, “It’s okay, this isn’t my blood. Don’t worry.” My sister encountered a car accident. As a doctor, she gave first aid on the roadside. My mom saw her covered in blood on the news. Scared, she called me. My sister wiped her tears and said, “Thanks to Adrian. He accepted this batch of patients. Otherwise, I really wouldn’t know what to do.” Adrian shook his head: “It’s nothing. Just doing my job.” My sister’s eyes reddened again: “Just a pity, a few of them couldn’t be saved…” As she spoke, she sobbed softly. Adrian handed her a tissue and said, “You did your best.” My sister shook her head, saying, “No. If I had been a little faster, appeared a little earlier, maybe I could have saved them.” I patted my sister’s shoulder to comfort her. Only then did Adrian seem to notice me, turning his head to ask, “Why are you here?” I froze for a moment, replying blankly: “To pick you up from work.” “No need. I have to work overtime tonight. You go back first.” Adrian’s voice was always steady, no matter who he was talking to. “Oh.” He was already walking away. My sister stood up and chased after him: “I happen to be free. Is there anything I can help with?” The two left together. I looked at their backs. Truly a perfect match. 3. When Adrian came back, it was deep into the night. He slept in the guest room. Always like this. Married for half a year, he refused to touch me. Every time we were together, he would say: “You’re still too young.” “Be good, listen.” I didn’t want to listen. I got up. Like every night, I crawled into his bed. Adrian had just showered, wearing a towel around his waist. Water dripped from his hair onto his collarbone. I swallowed and heard him say: “Come here.” I ran over foolishly. He gave me his slippers. “Not wearing shoes again.” It’s this time already. Who cares about shoes? I pounced on him, ready to devour him. Ah, abs. Ah, V-line. Ah… Adrian pushed me away. His gaze was a bit unnatural. The towel tented up slightly. Adrian fled in defeat. “I’m going to take another shower.” I hugged him from behind. “Adrian Lee, do you plan to hide from me forever?” “Either consummate the marriage, or divorce.” “You choose.” 4. Adrian was very stiff. His body was hot yet cold. The little girl’s small hands were like fire, igniting flames wherever they touched. “Luna, listen, you’re still too young.” “I’m not young. I’m graduating next year.” I walked in front of Adrian. His eyes held emotions I couldn’t understand, suppressing something. I cupped his face, looking into his dark eyes. “Hubby, don’t you want me?” The next moment. Kisses overwhelmed me. Landing all over my body. Water droplets from Adrian’s hair hit me. Very cold, a bit stinging. He picked me up. His whole being wrapped around me. It hurt. I felt his deep possessiveness. Burning hot. Different from his usual calm demeanor towards everything. I could feel he was loving me fiercely. That night was long. Couldn’t stop at all. We tossed and turned until the sun rose. I was so sleepy I couldn’t take it anymore, finally begging for mercy repeatedly. I only heard Adrian’s hoarse voice: “Call me Hubby.” “Hubby.” His bite mark landed on my back. I passed out. 5. When I woke up, Adrian wasn’t by my side. “Urgent task at the hospital. I’ll try to come back early. Food is warm in the pot, eat when you wake up.” I let out a long sigh of relief. Covered the marks all over my body with the quilt. Turned over, wanting to sleep a bit more. My phone vibrated non-stop. It was my friend, Sam. I picked up: “Spit it out.” My voice was frighteningly hoarse. Sam was startled: “Grandma, do you have a fever again? Why do you sound like Marge Simpson?” It was from screaming last night. Adrian, that psycho. Tormenting me in all kinds of ways. I blushed and said: “None of your business. What is it?” “Oh, the thing you asked me to check before, I checked it.” “What thing?” I forgot. “About Adrian and your sister. Didn’t you suspect there was something between them? You forgot?” I really… forgot. Remembering my sister crying yesterday, my heart sank. “What… did you find out?” Sam sighed, his tone rarely serious. “Luna, are you sure you want to know?” “If you don’t want to hear it now, it’s not too late.”

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My childhood friend’s girlfriend is a chronic doomscroller, obsessed with the latest TikTok trend. She pestered him to play along: “Julian, you’re a year older than me. Why didn’t you come see me when I was born? Do you not love me?” Julian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He casually played along, then turned to his serious, old-fashioned uncle who happened to be there: “Uncle Adrian, how would you answer that?” Adrian, usually a man of few words, said: “I did go see her.” “Not only did I see her, I even held her when she was a baby.” As he spoke, his gaze slowly landed on me. 1. Julian and I were childhood sweethearts. For the first twenty years of our lives, we were inseparable. Not just me, but our parents and all our friends thought we were a match made in heaven. When I was 18, my parents brought up the idea of a marriage alliance with the Sterling family and asked for my opinion. I actually had feelings for Julian. If our families could unite, it would be a beautiful story. We were too young then, so the engagement was put on hold, but we went to the same Ivy League university. During those two years, our friendship was solid, but romance hadn’t quite blossomed. Everyone around us thought it was just a matter of time, and I allowed my feelings for Julian to deepen bit by bit. Until the winter of our sophomore year, Julian excitedly told me: “Elara, I met a girl I like!” It wasn’t me. He was so happy. Turns out, in the past twenty years, he never developed romantic feelings for me. Those hand-holdings and hugs were just what best friends do in Julian’s eyes. Feelings can’t be forced, and I wouldn’t debase myself. I took back my heart. So, under the surprised gazes of everyone around us, Julian started dating a girl from an ordinary middle-class family. The girl was pretty, a bit spoiled, clearly cherished by her parents. He introduced his girlfriend to everyone in our circle. My existence seemed a bit awkward. But our mutual friends weren’t optimistic about them. They always believed that once Julian’s novelty wore off, he would realize that he and I were the true match. Someone comforted me: “Elara, Julian is just looking for something fresh. He’s never seen such a naive and innocent girl. He’ll get tired of it after a while.” That didn’t happen. Julian dated her for two years. For two years, he paraded his girlfriend around town. Not only me, but my parents and his parents heard about it. My dad was so angry he wanted to go over and curse them out. My mom stopped him: “If we don’t become in-laws, we don’t. Why make it ugly? Is our daughter worried about finding someone?” “Is this about not becoming in-laws?” My dad was still angry. When the two families discussed the engagement back then, Julian couldn’t possibly have been unaware. He was an adult. At the very least, his attitude was tacit consent. Even though he and I were never officially together, we almost got engaged. It was my mom who said we were too young and should spend more time together. In terms of social etiquette, he embarrassed me and my family. But he and I were still friends. Our families had business dealings, and we had to maintain appearances. But we could only be friends. Tonight was Julian’s birthday. He booked a huge private room at a high-end club and invited quite a few people. I was among them. Of course, his girlfriend, Bella, was there too. 2. After Julian started dating, my contact with him decreased. But there were some historical issues. Before Julian met Bella, our chat history and interactions on social media weren’t exactly platonic. After he started dating, his girlfriend naturally had the right to check his phone. They fought about this a few times. Once, when Julian apologized to me, I learned that Bella had taken his phone and deleted my contact info. At that time, I hadn’t contacted him for a while, so I didn’t even notice. Bella wanted to enter Julian’s circle, so she inevitably heard about me. These rich kids who grew up together were somewhat exclusive, and someone must have told her something. I understood the situation and stayed away from Julian. For his birthday, I originally planned to drop off the gift and leave. But as soon as I entered, my gaze swept over a figure in the corner. I froze for a second, then my phone lit up. After reading the message, I silently found a seat and sat down. “Elara, you came?” Julian looked a bit surprised. “I heard you’ve been interning with your dad recently. I thought you wouldn’t have time.” I smiled and handed him the birthday gift: “Happy birthday.” “Elara,” Bella’s voice rang out, “Long time no see. Why the mature style recently? You look like you’re pushing thirty.” Bella was wearing a custom pink evening gown worth tens of thousands, her hair curled, looking exceptionally playful. She certainly didn’t lack emotional intelligence; she was doing this on purpose. I looked down at the women’s suit I was wearing and chuckled lightly: “Right? That means I look like a female entrepreneur.” Julian smoothed things over: “Elara, Bella is just joking. Don’t take it to heart.” Of course I didn’t take it to heart. Not everyone deserves a place in my heart. I sat a bit far from them, but my vision and hearing were good enough. Bella probably saw a new trend on TikTok and suddenly asked Julian: “Julian, you’re a year older than me. Why didn’t you come see me when I was born? Do you not love me?” After this sentence, not only Julian laughed, but the people next to him also laughed and teased: “Yeah, Julian, why didn’t you bring baby formula to see your future wife back then?” This teasing was well-intentioned. Bella was pretty, the innocent kind of pretty. Her personality wasn’t bad either. Having dated Julian for two years, she had some friendship with some of the people here. So her emotional intelligence wasn’t low. Julian replied casually: “I was busy getting spanked by my mom for not drinking my milk properly back then.” Laughter erupted again. Julian turned around and saw his uncle, who had unexpectedly said he would come to celebrate, was still there. He asked playfully: “Uncle Adrian, if it were you, how would you answer?” Julian’s uncle, Adrian Sterling. Five years older than us. A late child of the Sterling grandparents. He was the “other people’s child” since he was little. Although only a few years older, his seniority was there. Plus, Adrian’s resume was simply too outstanding. The rich second generation in the circle were quite afraid of him. I used to call him Uncle Adrian too. Julian probably just wanted to see what kind of brain circuit his steady and slightly old-fashioned uncle would have. Someone laughed: “Julian, don’t make it hard for Uncle Adrian. He’s busy with a myriad of affairs every day, where would he find time to date?” The next second, Adrian spoke: “I did go see her.” “Huh?” The man who usually didn’t smile much added softly: “Not only did I see her, I even held her when she was a baby.” Unnoticed by others, his gaze landed straight on me. “…” The others thought he was joking: “Hahahaha Uncle Adrian, didn’t expect you to be so good at playing along.” No one took it seriously. Except me. Adrian’s gaze didn’t move away. Even though I didn’t meet his eyes, I felt it was a bit blatant. After the party, I found my car in the parking lot. Only after getting in did I realize someone was already there. The driver hesitated to speak. Adrian’s light laughter came: “Mind giving me a ride? I didn’t drive tonight.” The car door closed, and I heard the person beside me say: “I can’t remember the way home. Miss Li, is it convenient to let me stay for a night?” 3. Adrian pretended to be drunk and leaned on my shoulder. His warm breath occasionally landed on the skin of my neck, making his presence very felt. I looked out the window, remembering the night Julian announced his relationship on Instagram two years ago. Saying I wasn’t sad would be a lie. Julian announced it less than a month after telling me he met a girl he liked. I was still thinking about how our families’ relationship should end. What caught me even more off guard was that at the same time, he took his girlfriend to meet our mutual friends. Maybe Julian just wanted to show how much he liked his girlfriend, but there were always people in the circle who didn’t like me. During that time, some sarcastic remarks naturally followed. Whether I cared or not, I couldn’t avoid being mocked. Adrian came back at that time. He seemed to be following up on a project in New York that hadn’t finished yet. During those days, I didn’t want to see anyone from the Sterling family, but Adrian just appeared directly in front of me. It was winter break. Adrian asked me if I wanted to go to the US with him to relax. I was stunned, not understanding what he meant. For a long time, Julian and I were a bit afraid of this uncle of his. Although only five years older, since I can remember, Adrian clearly didn’t play with us childish kids. Genes favored him; Adrian was so outstanding it left people speechless. As we grew older, he gradually became an existence to look up to. His courage and handsome appearance were clearly superior to his peers, and many girls liked him. I didn’t talk to him much. Many times, even if we had contact, it was because of Julian. So I didn’t understand why he invited me to New York. Adrian asked me: “Do you still like Julian?” I was silent for a moment, not knowing how to answer his question. “It doesn’t matter if you still like him. He’s just a man,” Adrian said. “You’ll meet more than one in your life.” I didn’t know if he was comforting me. “Julian likes someone else. Have you considered liking someone else?” Adrian looked at me and said in a very calm tone, “Considered me?” Shock overwhelmed my sadness more directly. Tears that were welling up now fell, but my eyes were full of speechless shock. Adrian gently wiped my cheek with a tissue, wiping away that tear. “Don’t cry for someone who isn’t worth it,” he paused, then added slowly, “Of course, you can treat it as a detox for your body.” “…” It was the first time I knew Adrian had such a sense of humor. He said: “If your initial intention for choosing Julian was to consider the marriage alliance between the two families, then my conditions overall should be better than his.” More than just a bit better. Adrian was almost certainly the next head of the Sterling family. Julian didn’t have this ambition, and his sophistication was far inferior to this uncle. “If you just purely liked Julian as a person, then he has withdrawn from the journey to win your heart. I think I’m not being immoral.” 4. Going to New York with Adrian to relax wasn’t because I was moved by his words, but because he asked: “Do you plan to enter the family company after graduation?” “I’m discussing a project in New York. Want to come and see?” Adrian’s ability was obvious to all. At that time, many people, including me, admired him. Admiration for the strong is a very normal mindset. I really wanted to see Adrian’s work. So even when he volunteered to be my marriage partner, I still went to New York with him. Adrian took me with him for two weeks. There was no adult romance. He taught me a lot like a senior taking care of a junior. I saw his strategizing and calmness in business. Without any personal feelings, choosing Adrian was far better than Julian. The benefits were more direct. “But, Uncle Adrian, Julian is your nephew.” The night before leaving New York, in the hotel’s lounge bar, I sat opposite Adrian, soothing jazz music playing in my ears. The bar’s lighting was dim, tinged with a hint of ambiguity. Adrian’s expression didn’t change. Those calm eyes landed on my face, meeting my gaze: “Yes, what he did wasn’t kind. You can consider becoming his aunt. In the future, you’ll be his elder.” “…” Be Julian’s aunt? I admit Adrian’s words were tempting, but I had other considerations for my life. Julian hurt me, but he couldn’t affect my next step in life. “Uncle Adrian, I have another question.” Adrian: “You can ask many questions. Also, you can call me by my name directly.” Call him by his name. I’ve called him Uncle since I was a kid, following Julian. Naturally, I treated him as an elder. But now, our relationship was heading in another direction, adding a sense of immorality. “What is your view… on me?” I paused. “Do you want to ask if I’m pursuing you for profit or something else?” Adrian asked back. Before I could answer, he said: “Elara, a five-year age gap shouldn’t be too big. Besides Julian, I can also be considered your childhood friend, right?” I was stunned. “I’m a few years older than you. Before you went to kindergarten, you often ran over to play with Julian. At that time, the adults at home were busy, and you and Julian both stuck to me quite a bit, remember?” Adrian said softly. His words triggered my memories. It seems kids always like to play with older kids. Julian and I pestered Adrian when we were little. But as we grew older, Adrian was busy with school, then with business. He became the best among his peers, and our relationship naturally changed. “When you graduated from high school, my brother and sister-in-law hoped you would be their daughter-in-law and discussed the engagement with your parents. At that time, you and Julian were close,” Adrian changed the subject, “But Elara, now he withdrew first. Even if I’m his elder, it’s not immoral for me to pursue a single girl, right?” Adrian took me home. During the half month in New York, he didn’t cross the line at all. That Chinese New Year, Julian and his parents probably were too embarrassed to come to my house for New Year greetings because of his relationship. The Sterling family sent Adrian over. That day, there were many people. No one knew that Adrian asked me in my bedroom: “Elara, have you thought about it?”

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The woman my husband always loved was pregnant after a violent assault. And so was I, his wife. The day I gave birth, Adrian Blackwood served me divorce papers at my hospital bed. “Isabella is planning her comeback,” he said, his voice void of emotion. “She can’t be dragged down by a scandal. You need to make way for her and the child.” I picked up the pen and signed my name with a clean, steady hand. In my last life, I had refused. I’d fought him, clung to our marriage, and gone on live television with my son, exposing everything and shattering her career. She was blacklisted, bankrupted, and finally, she took her own life. Afterward, Adrian arranged her funeral with a chilling calm. Then he stood by and allowed her loyal followers to orchestrate an “accident” that claimed the lives of both me and my son. It was only in my final moments, as the life bled out of me, that I finally understood the icy hatred in his eyes as he turned away. He had wanted me dead all along. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in this hospital room, the divorce papers lying on the sheets before me. … My son, Noah, was born premature and rushed immediately to the NICU. And it was in that moment of vulnerability that Adrian chose to hand me the papers. “You know Isabella was a principal dancer before… all this,” he said, as if reasoning with a child. “These past few months have already cost her the performance season.” “If news breaks that she’s an unwed mother, her career is over. Utterly destroyed.” I was fresh out of the operating room. Every tiny movement sent a searing pain through the stitches in my abdomen. To be reborn on this day… it meant fate was giving me a second chance. A chance to choose differently. “I’ll sign,” I said, my voice hoarse. “But first, you get our son a birth certificate. And I want compensation.” Adrian had clearly prepared a whole speech to wear me down. My calm acceptance caught him off guard, and a wave of relief washed over his face. “Fine. Two million. Is that enough for you?” He was the heir to a corporate empire, and he was offering me a paltry two million dollars. My knuckles were white where I gripped the thin hospital sheet. I knew arguing for more was pointless. I just nodded. He took care of the certificate, and after I confirmed every detail was correct, I signed his papers. With the agreement in hand, Adrian couldn’t leave fast enough to rush to Isabella’s side. He didn’t even spare a single thought, not one glance, for our son. From the room next door, I could hear laughter and the cheerful clicks of a camera as a family gathered around their newborn. But I was utterly alone. The man who had been my husband was now a stranger. Two days later, Noah was released from the NICU. I wrapped my baby in the softest swaddle I had and prepared to leave the hospital. Just as I was about to get into the car, a message came through from Adrian’s secretary. “Ms. Audrey, please cooperate by reposting the corporation’s official statement.” We weren’t even officially divorced, but I was already stripped of the title “Mrs. Blackwood.” To protect Isabella’s pristine image, Adrian wanted me to publicly state that our divorce was due to a simple, mutual drifting apart. I agreed, but my phone was about to die. I decided I’d handle it when I got home. When I arrived at the villa, I asked the housekeeper to turn up the heat, but no one answered. As I walked toward the nursery with Noah in my arms, I heard their hushed voices from the kitchen. “The nerve of her, bringing back a bastard she had with another man.” “Mr. Blackwood is too kind not to press the matter. And instead of being grateful, she has the audacity to demand a payout!” I froze, a cold sweat breaking out on my back despite the thick robe I was wearing. Drifting apart? When did the story change to me being an adulterer? “What are you all talking about!” I demanded, pushing the kitchen door open. The maids, who once respectfully called me “ma’am,” looked up at me with open contempt. Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper, was the boldest. She sneered right at my face. “What are we talking about? The statement is already public. Are we not allowed to speak the truth about your infidelity?” I rushed back to my room, plugged in my phone, and frantically pulled up the news. The top headline was “Blackwood Heir Announces Divorce.” The article read: “Due to Ms. Audrey’s unfaithful conduct during their marriage, Mr. Adrian Blackwood has terminated their marital relationship. This statement serves as official notice.” A roar filled my ears, the world tilting on its axis. To pave the way for Isabella, Adrian was willing to utterly annihilate my reputation. I was about to type a furious rebuttal in the comments when my phone vibrated, startling Noah awake in my arms. It was the police. “Ms. Audrey, we have a breakthrough in your case!” the familiar officer’s voice was filled with excitement. “Your abduction originated in Crestwood!” “We’ve cross-referenced their missing children files with local police. We need you to come in for a DNA test as soon as possible!” My heart, shattered by Adrian, suddenly reignited with a flicker of hope. Tears streamed silently down my face. Since being kidnapped at the age of six and brought to this city, I had never known the warmth of a family. I thought marrying Adrian was a new beginning, but it was just another nightmare. But now… now I might find my real parents. My son could have a family that would truly love him. After hanging up, I quickly packed a small bag and turned to the nursery to grab a few essentials for Noah. My hand had just closed around the doorknob when the front door of the villa was thrown open. “Audrey! Who said you could touch anything in there?” Adrian stood in the doorway, his brows furrowed in annoyance. “I was just getting a few changes of clothes for the baby.” “Those were prepared for Isabella’s child,” he snapped. “If you need something, go buy it yourself.” Every single item in that nursery was something I had picked out with love and care during my pregnancy. Now, he was giving it all to Isabella’s child. A child that wasn’t even his. I swallowed the bitter pill of his cruelty, knowing it was a battle I couldn’t win right now. But then Mrs. Gable suddenly grabbed my arm, her face a hard mask, and began dragging me toward the door. “Mr. Blackwood has ordered us to go to the rehabilitation center to look after Miss Frost.” A sharp, tearing pain shot through my stitches. “I just gave birth too!” I cried out. “I need to rest!” Adrian didn’t even look back. “Which means you have experience.” “Stop whining,” he said dismissively as he slid into his sedan. “You grew up doing manual labor. Your body can handle it. You don’t need bed rest.” He drove off, and I was shoved into an SUV heading for the center. When we arrived, Isabella was reclining on a lounge chair, surrounded by a team of at least five or six nurses. Seeing me, she made a show of trying to sit up. “Audrey, you’re here! Please, sit down. You must be exhausted from childbirth…” Adrian gently pressed her back down, then shot me a glare. “She once worked through a high fever. This is nothing for her.” He turned his cold eyes on me. “Audrey, if you take good care of Isabella, I’ll add another half a million to your payout. A fair deal, don’t you think?” Another half a million. It was tempting. I bit my lip. “I can’t. My baby is home alone with no one to watch him.” A flash of impatience crossed his face, but Isabella softly took his hand. “Adrian, darling, if she doesn’t want to, don’t force her. I don’t want to make things difficult for you.” Adrian’s grip on her hand tightened, and when he looked back at me, his expression was pure disgust. “Letting you take care of her is a favor. You’re an orphan with nothing and no one. Marrying you brought me absolutely no benefit, and you can’t even do this one simple thing. Serving Isabella is the only value you have left.” He belittled me with the ease of habit, completely ignoring my pale, drawn face. He waved a hand, telling Mrs. Gable to go back and watch the baby. But Mrs. Gable had always despised me. How could I trust her to care for my son? Adrian ignored my silent plea and ordered me to feed Isabella her nutritional meal. I looked back at the closed door, realizing I was trapped. Dragging my weak body, I prepared the food. As I brought a spoonful of the warm broth to her lips, she suddenly recoiled, crying out in pain. “It’s hot!” Adrian snatched the bowl from my hands and slammed it down at my feet. Hot liquid splashed all over my pants. “What is your problem? If you’ve burned her, you won’t be eating today!” Isabella nestled against his shoulder, her eyes shimmering with tears. “Adrian, please don’t be angry. I’m sure she didn’t mean it…” “Stop calling her that. She won’t be Mrs. Blackwood for much longer! We’re signing the papers tomorrow!” I was left standing there, stained and humiliated, while no one offered me so much as a glance. The next day, Adrian took me from the center to the city registrar’s office to finalize the divorce. As we stepped out of the building, he walked straight to his car. “I’m going to order a custom performance gown for Isabella. You can get back on your own.” He paused, his face grim. “Audrey, if you’re not back at the center in forty minutes, you’ll regret it.” The car sped away, leaving me in a cloud of exhaust. I hailed a cab, but instead of going to the center, I went back to the villa. The moment I stepped through the gate, I heard a baby’s cry coming from the storage shed in the backyard. That’s where they kept the gardening tools! I burst in and found Noah lying on a cold, stone slab. There was formula and fresh diapers right beside him, but his tiny face had a bluish tint, his cries were faint whimpers. He hadn’t been fed or changed since yesterday. There was no time to confront Mrs. Gable. I snatched up my son, feeding him and changing him with trembling hands. As I burped him, Noah gave me a blurry, unfocused smile. My eyes burned, and a tear splashed onto his clothes. Isabella’s child was being coddled by a legion of staff, while mine was forgotten in a shed, starved and cold. “It’s okay, Noah,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Mama’s going to get you out of here.” Suddenly, there was a loud banging on the front door. I had just opened it when Adrian’s hand flew out, and the force of his slap sent my head ringing. “Audrey! How dare you bring trash like this into my home!” I shielded Noah as Adrian shoved me into the living room. Isabella followed, wrapped in a cashmere shawl and flanked by her nurses. The scene inside made me gasp. Several strange men were sprawled across the carpet, the stench of cheap liquor hanging heavy in the air. The entire villa was in disarray, looking like the aftermath of a wild party. There were men passed out in the bedrooms and the study. On our master bed, three people were tangled together, their clothes in disheveled piles. I shook my head, horrified. “It wasn’t me! I wasn’t even here yesterday!” Mrs. Gable stepped forward, her expression one of deep disappointment. “Sir, a group of men forced their way in last night. They said Ms. Audrey gave them a keycard and invited them for a party…” “They complained the baby’s crying was annoying them, so they moved him to the shed…” I was trembling, my voice desperate. “I don’t know them! I was at the rehab center all day, how could I have given them a keycard?” “That’s true…” Isabella said softly, tugging on Adrian’s sleeve. “Audrey was taking care of me yesterday. Adrian, dear, why don’t we just ask one of them?” Adrian’s hard expression softened slightly. He ordered his men to wake the nearest man. “Who let you in here!” he roared. The man blinked, his eyes bleary with drink. “Some chick named Audrey gave us a keycard. Said the place was empty and told us to have some fun… Hey, where’s the booze?” He waved his hand, and dangling from his fingers was my keycard, instantly recognizable by the small, hand-braided lanyard I’d made myself. I instinctively checked my pocket. It was empty. “No, my keycard was stolen! It wasn’t me!” “Still lying!” Adrian’s face was contorted with rage. “If Isabella hadn’t been worried about you and insisted on coming back, I would have never known about your filthy little secrets!” “You wanted this house so you could cheat with these degenerates!” His patience snapped. He ordered Mrs. Gable to lock me in the storage shed. As the door closed, I heard Isabella’s gentle voice. “Adrian, darling, she was probably just having some fun. Don’t be so angry…” “She needs to be taught a lesson! This house is disgusting now. We’re staying at the city apartment.” The shed door was bolted shut. Through the grimy window, I watched them drive away. Just before she got in the car, Isabella glanced back at the shed. She gave me a triumphant, venomous smile. Late that night, after I finally managed to soothe Noah to sleep, the single lightbulb in the shed flickered and died. It was probably old wiring. I turned on my phone’s flashlight to check the bus schedule. Suddenly, I heard the sound of the bolt being drawn back. Isabella stood silhouetted in the pale moonlight. With no one else around, the pure, naked malice in her eyes was terrifying. “You got divorced and you still want his money? Audrey, have you no shame?” I immediately clutched Noah tighter and backed into a corner. There was nowhere to run. “Isabella, I have never done anything to you. Why are you so determined to destroy me?” “Never done anything?” she hissed. “If it weren’t for you, I would have been the one to marry Adrian!” I stared at her, stunned. She was right. Someone with my unknown background had no business marrying into the Blackwood family. Years ago, Adrian’s grandfather had collapsed from a stroke on the street, and I was the one who found him, got him to a hospital, and paid his initial medical bills. To repay this debt of gratitude, the old man had forced Adrian to marry me, threatening to cut him off completely if he refused. We got the license, but we never even had a wedding. Adrian treated me like I was invisible, until one night he came into my room, drunk. One time was all it took. His grandfather passed away two months into my pregnancy, and with him went my only protector. So Isabella truly believed I had stolen her life. “You have what you wanted now,” I said, my voice shaking. “Why can’t you just let me go?” “No!” she shrieked. “If you hadn’t married him, I never would have gone to that bar to drown my sorrows! I never would have ended up with this… this bastard growing inside me!” “It’s all your fault! Audrey, I’m going to make you pay with your life!” She grabbed a pair of garden shears from the corner and lunged at me. I dodged, my heart pounding. But in the next second, she let out a piercing scream, slammed herself hard against the edge of a metal shelf, and collapsed to the floor. Adrian burst in. “Audrey! Are you insane!” Blood was streaming down Isabella’s arm. She fell weakly into his embrace. “Adrian, darling… I was just worried she wasn’t comfortable here, so I came to check on her…” “But she… she called me a cheap dancer and she attacked me…” Adrian pressed his hand against her wound, his eyes blazing with fury as he looked at me. “Audrey! Isabella has shown you nothing but kindness, and you push her, again and again!” “She has to perform again! Are you trying to destroy her career, her entire life?” Noah, terrified by the shouting, began to wail. I tried to comfort him while defending myself. “Adrian, you just believe everything she says?” “Who else could it be! I am sick to death of your pathetic, vicious act!” Adrian lifted Isabella into his arms and nodded at Mrs. Gable to restrain me. “You’re coming to the hospital with us! If that cut leaves a scar and affects her performance, I’ll make you pay a thousand times over!” In the hospital corridor, Mrs. Gable couldn’t be bothered to watch me. She wandered to the end of the hall, scrolling on her phone. Noah was still crying, unsettled and scared. A kind-looking woman with a gentle smile came out of a nearby room. Seeing me struggling with the baby, she offered me a pack of tissues. “Here, wipe your brow,” she said softly. “The little one might just be hungry.” I nodded my thanks, her simple act of kindness a stark contrast to the cruelty of my child’s own father. After changing Noah’s diaper, I saw Mrs. Gable was still engrossed in her phone. I clutched Noah and made a move for the stairwell. But I ran straight into Adrian, who was rushing down the hall with Isabella. The moment he saw me, he struck. Another slap, sharp and brutal. “You bitch! I should have taken your ID and passport!” I stumbled backward, and Mrs. Gable rushed over to block my path. As I regained my balance, Isabella, her arm now wrapped in a clean white bandage, began to sob for all to hear. “Audrey… before you and Adrian divorced, we were just old friends. How could you go online and slander me as a homewrecker? If you want to ruin me this badly, I might as well just die!” Adrian pulled her into a protective embrace. At his silent command, Mrs. Gable lunged and snatched Noah from my arms. “Give me back my son!” I screamed, scrambling forward. But Adrian’s hand shot out, closing around my throat. He squeezed, holding me there until my vision started to spot and my lungs burned. Only then did he release me. “Get your phone. Start a livestream. Now,” he commanded, his voice deadly calm. “You will confess that you were the one who cheated. That Isabella and I are innocent.” “Do it. Or you will never see your son again.” I gasped for air, my throat raw. Over his shoulder, I saw Isabella give Mrs. Gable a subtle nod. The housekeeper then took out a handkerchief and pressed it firmly over Noah’s mouth and nose. She was trying to suffocate my child. Noah’s cries began to weaken. And Adrian just watched. He didn’t care. He had never once seen Noah as his own flesh and blood. Panic, cold and absolute, seized me. I dropped to my knees. “Okay! I’ll do it! Please, just don’t hurt my baby!”

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I ordered an extra-large suitcase in the middle of the night, only to have the delivery guy press me onto the bed the moment he walked in, accusing me of being a psycho killer trying to dispose of a body. He cuffed one end of a restraint to the headboard. His voice was shaking as he leaned in, his question a terrified gasp: “Ordering a suitcase this size at midnight… who are you planning to put in it?” I surveyed the wreckage of my hotel room—the mountains of souvenirs, the ripped-up packing foam. I sighed, a sound of utter defeat: “It’s your fault. Now it looks like I’ll have to buy a second one to fit everything.” The color instantly drained from his face. The small, two-way radio clipped to his belt looked like it might slip right out of his trembling hand. 1 I’d dedicated the last day of my Charleston trip to being a “marathon shopper.” Now, staring at the Everest of local artisanal products piled on the hotel carpet, my composure completely fractured. Who understands this panic? I’d sworn when I left home I wouldn’t overbuy, but here I was, looking like I’d single-handedly looted the entire historic district and needed to ship it back. To make matters worse, the giant, carry-my-entire-life suitcase I’d brought with me had vanished yesterday. Poof. Gone. I sat on the bed for a frantic minute, then surrendered, grabbing my phone and firing up the Blitz-Ship app. The order note was written through gritted teeth: [URGENT: MUST BE GIANT! 28 inches minimum, 30 is better! Must hold an obscene amount of junk!] I hit send, then looked around at the overflow of pottery, jams, and vintage finds. Still not safe. I quickly added an addendum: [Seriously, the case needs to be big enough to comfortably fit half of an adult human.] The order was picked up immediately. I took a deep breath and continued my desperate battle with the loose-leaf tea and novelty crab-themed figurines. Just before midnight, a knock came at the door. The app tracker confirmed my delivery was here. I peeled off the packing gloves and shuffled over in my slippers. “Hi, is that the suitcase?” Standing in the hallway was a tall, lean guy with a striking face, holding a massive black roller case. One glance, and my heart sank. Damn it. That case still looked borderline too small. “Char Miller?” He stared at me, his eyes guarded, a flicker of hesitation in his gaze. “Is this the case you ordered?” I nodded, reaching for it. But the guy subtly shifted his grip, pulling the suitcase back behind him. I frowned. What was this, a sit-down strike? His nose was red from the cold. Fine. It was late. “Look, it’s freezing. I’ll add an extra twenty to your tip for the trouble?” “It’s not the money…” He lowered his voice, his expression tight. “Why do you need a suitcase this large, this late?” I couldn’t help but laugh. “To pack my stuff, obviously. What else would I use it for? As a minimalist art piece?” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “And you need one this big?” I paused, looking back at the overflowing disaster zone of my room, then back at the case in his hand. A wave of profound grief washed over me. It genuinely wouldn’t be enough. “You’re right,” I murmured, utterly defeated. “One is absolutely not enough. I’m going to have to buy a second one.” The instant those words left my mouth, I saw his pupils dilate with terror. The fear was so intense it was almost comical. But before I could reassure his fragile male ego, my phone buzzed. The pottery studio texted: the twenty-plus delicate clay figurines I’d made were baked and ready for pickup tomorrow. Oh, hell. Two cases definitely wouldn’t be enough. “Ma’am… if I may ask,” the guy’s voice was strained, “why a second one? This one is already substantial.” I sighed, pulling myself back to the conversation. “Because the amount of things I need to pack just increased.” His face went white. “What else do you need to pack?” My mind was still on the kiln-fresh statuettes. I answered without thinking: “People.” He froze. 2 Well, clay people were still people, weren’t they? No ethical problem there. The handsome delivery guy was now trying to subtly retreat, his hand hovering near his back pocket. “Right, ha ha ha. Well, I shouldn’t keep you. The package is delivered. I’m heading out…” “Wait! Don’t go!” A brilliant idea struck me. I grabbed the sleeve of his winter jacket. “Hey, seriously, can you do me a favor?” He yanked his arm back like I’d shocked him with a cattle prod. “No! No! I’m slammed tonight! I have at least five other deliveries!” “Come on. This case is going to weigh a ton when it’s full. I’m a petite woman; I can’t haul it. Can you strap it to your bike and take it to the FedEx Kinko’s around the corner? It’s two blocks away, max. I’ll give you a hundred dollars!” One hundred dollars for five minutes of work. At the mention of FedEx, his body language relaxed a fraction. He hesitated, then asked, testing the waters: “What exactly is going into this case?” I ticked off the inventory on my fingers: “A dozen ceramic mugs, a bunch of hand-stitched dolls, some blown-glass art, and ten pounds of cured country ham. Checked baggage will shatter them all. FedEx is the only way.” He exhaled a massive sigh of relief. He suddenly looked like a normal person again. “Oh. That makes sense.” He paused. “Could I… maybe peek at some of the local specialties? I wanted to grab something for my family.” “Be my guest.” I gestured him in. “Go ahead, look around. If you like something, I’ll send you the link.” He stepped inside. After two steps, his brow furrowed. “You know, you shouldn’t let strangers into your room, especially this late. You’re alone.” I grinned, flexing my biceps (which were completely non-existent). “Don’t worry. I’m fine. I have a black belt in Taekwondo.” He was momentarily speechless, but he followed me in. He hadn’t gotten halfway across the room before he stopped dead. His handsome eyes were fixed on the bathroom door. His entire body snapped taut, transforming into a coiled spring. I followed his line of sight. Underneath the frosted glass door of the bathroom, a slow, dark stream of vivid red liquid was creeping across the floor. 3 Oh, holy hell. The bathroom light was a dim, sickly yellow. The winding trail of scarlet looked, for all the world, like blood draining from a fresh kill. My heart lurched. My first thought was a burst pipe. I took a step toward the bathroom. “Don’t move!” The delivery guy suddenly exploded into action, his voice a guttural command. “Freeze!” I hopped, frustrated. “I can’t freeze! The room is flooding!” As I lunged for the door, he executed a textbook takedown—one dizzying whirl, and I was pinned on the bed. A second later, a sharp, cold metallic click was followed by another. I was stunned. That tactile sensation… it was exactly like the handcuffs in procedural TV shows. I craned my neck to look down. Sure enough! A pair of honest-to-god steel cuffs. Sensing my shock, he put more pressure on my arm. “Stay put! Hands behind your back!” My arm was screaming. I wailed in genuine pain: “Dude, lighten up! You’re going to break my wrist!” His face was cold, his voice like chipped ice. “How about that for a light touch? Did you think about going easy when you were dismembering someone?” Wait, what? My brain completely short-circuited. Murder? Dismembering? Me? He gave me a sneer, secured the other cuff to the metal bed frame, and took a deep, fortifying breath. He looked like a man marching to his execution as he moved toward the bathroom door. “Hey!” I struggled to sit up, both terrified and baffled. “There’s no body! I didn’t kill anyone!” He ignored me completely, dismissing my plea as a predictable lie. With a powerful kick, he sent the bathroom door slamming open. A few seconds passed. The bathroom door reopened. The handsome delivery guy was holding a wet, sodden, crimson wad of fabric. His expression was so complex, he looked like he’d swallowed a live housefly. “What in God’s name is this?” 4 What else could it be? It was my new “Warrior Gown,” a silk designer slip I’d splurged on. I hadn’t even gotten to wear it before some clumsy hotel staffer had doused it in an entire carafe of coffee! I stared at the dripping red material in his hand, my heart breaking all over again. “That’s my dress! My silk dress! It was stained with coffee, so I thought I’d let it soak…” “I totally forgot to turn the water off when you knocked!” The gown was extremely delicate, not only intolerant of long soaking but also prone to severe bleeding of the red dye. The dye had mixed with the overflowing water and turned my tiny bathroom into a terrifyingly authentic crime scene. The delivery guy stood stock-still, petrified, holding the evidence of my shopping addiction. I looked at the ruined dress, then at the souvenirs on the floor now stained pink by the red flood, and my composure utterly snapped. I burst into tears. “I told you I didn’t kill anyone! I’m just a victim of my own souvenir addiction who needed a damn suitcase!” “Hey! Don’t cry!” He panicked, fumbling with the handcuff key, his guilt palpable. He spoke in a rush, explaining everything. Apparently, my midnight order for a massive, adult-sized case was so suspicious that when he picked up the order, his police instincts kicked in. He had immediately called it in. “My name is Jonathan Ryan, and I’m with the City PD Homicide division,” he said, unlocking the cuff and immediately massaging my raw, reddened wrist. He was contrite. “I’m really sorry. There was a dismemberment case in this precinct years ago, and I have a bad case of occupational paranoia, so…” I sniffled. “So I get to be the collateral damage, is that it?” I was just a shopaholic with zero self-control! What was my crime? Jonathan raked a hand through his hair, embarrassed. “Look, about that… you said you needed another case, right? I’ll buy it. The most expensive one. It’s on me. My apology.” I gave him a side-eye. “I want a nice one. With a combination lock.” Jonathan visibly relaxed. “Done. Whatever the cost.” The case issue was settled, but I was still mourning the silk slip. Jonathan ran his hand over his head again. “The dress… I’ll replace that too?” “Forget it.” I climbed off the bed. “No hard feelings. I’m going to see if I can salvage it once it’s dry. Why don’t you help me wring the excess water out?” Jonathan was determined to atone for his mistake. We spent the next several minutes grunting and hauling the heavy fabric in the bathroom. We finally managed to twist the dress into a pathetic, crimson rope. I looked at my wrinkled, ruined warrior gown. My heart ached. “My beautiful gown—wait, what is that?” I stopped, staring at a fresh, darker drip of water on the fabric. “Where did that come from?” Was the ceiling leaking? Jonathan and I looked up simultaneously. Near the sewage line, a large, dark water stain had bled through the ceiling drywall. A fat drop of liquid was forming under the force of gravity, gathering weight, and then falling. The color of the bead was a sickening, undeniable crimson. 5 Jonathan and I both froze. Having just gone through the whole dress debacle, I spoke first. “Maybe someone upstairs is washing clothes? Or did a really messy hair dye job?” Jonathan didn’t answer. He crouched down, dipped a finger into the liquid on the floor, and brought it close to his nose. The next second, he stood up, his expression hardening. “Call 911.” “It’s real blood.” “And based on the drop rate and the saturation upstairs, there’s a lot of bleeding. This is very, very bad.” I jumped, reaching instinctively for my phone, but then thought better of it. I leaned in and whispered, “Are you sure it’s human?” Jonathan frowned. “What are you saying?” I coughed. “I saw a video once. Some weirdos actually butcher chickens or fish in hotel rooms—for rituals or cooking, you know.” Jonathan was taken aback. “People actually do that?” I shrugged. “It’s a big, strange world. We don’t want you rolling up here with a SWAT team only to find two dead trout, that would be embarrassing.” Jonathan’s mouth twitched. “You’ve got a point.” He started to head for the door, grabbing the large, brand-new suitcase I’d just purchased. I panicked. “Hey! That’s my case!” Jonathan didn’t look back. “I’m borrowing it! If this is a murder, this is an immediate evidence container. I’ll replace it with two later!” I was furious! Was this about the cost of the suitcase? No! This was about getting a front-row seat to the scandal! I snatched the ruined dress off the floor and followed him without hesitation. 6 “What are you doing? Get back to your room!” Jonathan frowned, annoyed that I was sticking to him like a burr. “If there’s danger—” I flexed my non-existent bicep again. “It’s fine. Black belt.” Jonathan swallowed whatever retort he had planned. Since it was off-season, the hallway was silent. Only four rooms had the “Occupied” light on. The room directly above mine was 709, right in the middle of the corridor. Jonathan stuck to the classic protocol, standing by the door and giving a soft knock. “Room service, your order is here.” Silence. Dead, absolute silence. No answer. I tutted. “Your knock sounds like a kitten scratching. They won’t hear you if they’re in the bathroom.” I stepped forward, took a deep breath, and hammered on the door so hard it rattled. “Maintenance! Water leak inspection! Anyone home?” Still nothing. Jonathan scowled. “I’m calling the front desk for a master key.” I nodded, but instinctively reached out and pressed the door handle. Click. The door swung inward slightly. It wasn’t locked. Jonathan moved lightning fast, yanking me behind him and drawing a handgun from the holster hidden beneath his jacket. I peered through the crack in the door. That one glance made me gasp. Propped against the far wall, dark and imposing, was a half-man-sized object… It looked exactly like the limited-edition suitcase I had lost yesterday.

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At twenty-five, I saved Sean Vance’s life and became a vegetable. Sean worked himself to the bone, day and night, to cover the staggering medical bills that kept me alive in a private ICU. When I woke up seven years later, the world had been turned upside down. Terrified and disoriented, I waited for Sean to come and take me home. But when I saw him again, my young lover had fine lines etched around his eyes. He knelt before my wheelchair, holding another girl’s hand. And begged me to set him free. … When I first woke up, the hospital was full of strangers. The world had moved on for seven years, and I was terrified. I kept calling Sean’s name, my voice a slurred whisper. My caregiver tried to comfort me. “I’ve never seen a more devoted man than your boyfriend,” she said. “The nurses told me that on the night you were brought in, you were covered in blood. Your boyfriend held you and just sobbed his heart out.” “He swore he’d get you the best treatment, no matter the cost. And those astronomical bills? He’s never missed a single payment.” “In the beginning, he was here every day, washing you, talking to you.” “He must be incredibly busy now, that’s why he comes less often.” “But he still has me send him a picture of you every single day.” Hearing this, the panic I’d felt when I first saw my atrophied muscles and the scars that littered my body seemed to fade, just a little. Sean finally appeared two weeks after I woke up. He stood taller, his features sharper and more mature than the boy in my memory. His hands inexpertly wiped away my tears, his voice filled with a bittersweet nostalgia. “You’re awake.” I learned that for my sake, Sean had worked himself half to death, drinking so much at business dinners that he’d ended up with a perforated stomach. He’d heard about advanced medical technology overseas and flew back and forth constantly. He’d humbled himself, bowing and begging strangers, just to find better treatment options for me. For him, I gritted my teeth and forced myself to stand. The pain of physical therapy was excruciating, but I never made a sound. I hated that I couldn’t get better faster. It went on until my doctor, his face stern, finally put a stop to it. He turned on Sean, who had rushed to the hospital. “What kind of family member are you?! You can’t rush rehabilitation like this!” Sean stood to the side, his expression unreadable. When I tentatively reached for him, he flinched away. Then he exploded, a stranger in a familiar body. “Clara Hale, I’ve spent almost twenty million dollars on you! When you first had the accident, I couldn’t sleep for nights on end. Can you please, for once, stop making me worry?” “My life doesn’t revolve around you! Why is it that the moment you wake up, you’re causing me trouble?” “What’s the difference between you and an invalid right now? Do you think you’re healthy? That you can just push yourself like this?” His eyes were red as he screamed, his voice raw with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. I tried to take his hand, but he shook me off again. All I could do was offer him a placating smile. “I’m sorry, Sean. I didn’t mean to.” Sean started supervising my physical therapy sessions. He never looked happy, but he never looked unhappy either. He just grew quieter. The seven-year gap between us felt like a chasm, and I didn’t know how to cross it. Back when our love was new, whenever I was upset, Sean would make silly faces to cheer me up. Now, when I clumsily tried to imitate him, he just pinched the bridge of his nose. “Clara, you’re thirty-two now. Try to be a little more mature.” He turned his back on me. I slowly lowered my hands, my heart sinking. The days in the hospital were a monotonous blur. One afternoon, as Sean was helping me practice walking, he looked up and froze. Through the window, a young woman was staring at us, tears streaming down her face. She was young, beautiful. She looked just like I did, back when I was healthy. The moment he saw her, his hand supporting me was suddenly gone. His eyes trembled. He ran after her in such a hurry that he slammed into the wall, never even noticing that I, having lost my balance, had crashed heavily to the floor behind him. I dragged myself to the wall and slowly pulled myself up. And I finally understood. All of Sean’s recent distraction, his unspoken words, it all made sense now. A smile, uglier than any sob, stretched across my face. Waking up has been so bitter. 2 Sean came back late that night, carrying the faint, unfamiliar scent of another woman’s perfume. I turned away from him, my eyes shut tight. He sat down on the edge of my bed, his exhaustion a palpable weight in the room. “I broke up with her.” He paused for a long time. When he spoke again, his voice was thick with tears. “But God, Clara, I hate you. I hate you for saving me that day.” Business is a cutthroat world. Sean had climbed too high, too fast, making enemies along the way. Some were jealous enough to hire a hitman. That day, when the car came barreling toward him, my body had moved on pure instinct. I’d used every ounce of strength I had to push him out of the way. “For years, I sat by your side, day and night. You were just… a living corpse lying there, and no one could tell me what to do.” “I watched your body waste away. You couldn’t even control your own functions… I had to clean you.” “I waited for you, year after year, but you never woke up. In my darkest moments, I thought about us just dying together.” “I was so tired. I would have rather been the one lying in that bed.” “I had finally, finally crawled out of your shadow. I was ready to start a new life. I had someone new to love.” “She could cry, and laugh, and share things with me. She wasn’t just lying there, motionless.” “So why, Clara? Why did you have to wake up now?” I bit down on my lip so hard I could taste blood, fighting to keep my own sobs from escaping. So, my waking was no longer something my lover had hoped for. He resented me. I had become his burden. He bent over, his body wracked with sobs, a man at the end of his rope. “You just can’t stand to see me happy, can you?” “Whatever I owed you, haven’t I paid it back by now? After all these years? Why are you doing this to me?” My throat was raw, and my heart felt like a gaping wound, cold wind howling through it. The next day, however, Sean acted as if nothing had happened. He took my hand, a robot going through the motions. “Sorry I wasn’t with you yesterday.” I saw the dark circles under his eyes. I hadn’t slept either. I gently pulled my hand away, forcing a light, cheerful tone. “If you have things to do, you should go. Don’t worry about me.” “Those first two weeks, I was on my own anyway.” Sean’s face darkened instantly. He grabbed me from behind, his body trembling with a suppressed violence. “Clara, what’s that supposed to mean? Are you blaming me?” “What right do you have to blame me?” His voice rose to a desperate shout, a release of pent-up frustration. His grip was painful. I sniffled, my nose stinging with unshed tears, but I kept the smile on my face. “Sean, you misunderstood.” “I really can manage on my own.” He took a deep, shuddering breath and slowly released me, his expression smoothing over into a calm mask. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion, tinged with a weary resignation. He sounded like a man surrendering to his fate. “Alright, Clara. Stop it.” “You can barely walk. What could you possibly do by yourself?” “I don’t have anything else to do. I made all this money to pay for your treatment in the first place.” An impulse seized me. “Sean,” I asked, “do you still want to marry me?” His hand stiffened. After a long pause, he sighed. “When you’re better, we’ll get married.” He lowered his eyes, his expression wooden. It was the look of a man accepting a life sentence. Before the accident, when I was twenty-five, Sean and I had already started planning our wedding. We were excited, getting married for the purest reason: because we were in love. Now, it was just something he repeated, as if trying to convince himself as much as me. “We should have been married a long time ago.” “Marrying you… it’s the right thing to do.” 3 The second time I saw Chloe, she came to the hospital to find me. She told me she’d met Sean in my fourth year of the coma. He was in a terrible state back then, and she had burst into his world like a ray of sunshine. At first, he’d ignored her, but slowly, he’d softened. They traveled together. The number of photos grew—holding hands, kissing, embracing. The smile had gradually returned to Sean’s face. “He loves me,” she said, her voice sharp. “If it weren’t for me, the torture of you lying there like a zombie would have broken him long ago.” Those two weeks after I woke up, they had been on a trip for her twenty-fifth birthday. “When he got the call that you were awake, it was like he was dragged right back to the day I met him. A walking corpse.” “He’s only taking care of you now because you saved his life. He can’t abandon that responsibility. I’m begging you, can’t you just let him go?” Before I could form a response, Chloe cried out in pain and stumbled to the floor. I looked up and saw Sean standing a few feet away. He rushed over, shoved me aside—my wheelchair slammed into the wall with a dull thud—and knelt by Chloe, frantically checking if she was hurt. Then he turned to me, his eyes cold, a deep-seated resentment simmering beneath the surface. “Clara, I already promised I’d marry you. What more do you want?” He was so blinded by worry, he’d forgotten. I didn’t even have the strength to push a healthy adult to the ground. The day I was discharged, Sean carried me to the car. He barely spoke to me. In his free moments, he just stared at his phone, unconsciously scrolling through pictures of Chloe. I had snuck a look at his phone once. The moment it unlocked, my eyes had filled with tears. His passcode was still my birthday. I also saw that he had muted all notifications from my caregiver. There were nearly a thousand unread messages. He hadn’t opened a single one. I held his phone, laughing and crying at the same time. Pathetic. Tragic. My love was no longer my love, and I didn’t know who to blame. A specially designated ringtone shattered the silence in the car. I saw Sean’s eyes light up. He answered the call with an almost reverent tenderness. The voice on the other end was frantic. “Mr. Vance, you asked us to help Ms. Chen move out today.” “She got really emotional… she took a bunch of pills. We’re at the hospital now.” Sean lost all composure. The calm he had so carefully constructed shattered into a million pieces. The car screeched to a halt. His face was a blank mask as he practically threw me out onto the side of the road. He didn’t even bother to get my wheelchair out of the trunk. The car spun around and sped away. I stood there as the wind whipped past my exposed skin, a chilling breeze that brought tears to my eyes. The moon rose, but no one came back for me. So I started walking, one unsteady step at a time, leaning heavily on my cane. I had no phone, no money. A few passersby looked like they wanted to help, but their companions pulled them back. “Don’t. What if she tries to scam you?” The sky grew dark, and a heavy rain began to fall. Finally, following the faint path of my memory, I made it back to the home Sean and I once shared. My hair and clothes were soaked, plastered to my skin. I shivered. Through the black curtain of rain, Sean’s car pulled up. He was holding an umbrella, his other arm wrapped around Chloe. When he saw my pathetic, drenched figure, his eyes widened in shock, as if he’d only just remembered he’d left me behind. But his attention was quickly drawn back to the woman in his arms, and he walked past me into the house. I was exhausted. Just as my last ounce of strength gave out, Sean reappeared and helped me into my wheelchair. The house, which I hadn’t seen in seven years, was filled with the scent of another woman. Matching couples’ mugs, stuffed animals scattered about, his-and-hers pajamas draped over the sofa. Sean began to unpack the boxes Chloe had started to fill, putting each item back in its place. I watched him shield Chloe, fussing over her, giving her medicine, drying her hair. He tucked her into bed and pressed a gentle good-night kiss to her forehead. And I sat by the door, still dripping water onto the floor. The house was so big, but there seemed to be no place for me. Sean quietly closed the bedroom door and finally seemed to notice me. He walked over and slowly knelt before me. His voice was steady and clear. “Clara, I’m sorry. Let’s break up.” “When you were twenty-five, I lost you. Now she’s twenty-five. I can’t lose her too.” “I’ll take care of you until you’ve recovered. I’ll compensate you.” His eyes were red. “Please, just set me free.” I lifted my hand, but before I could touch him, the world went black. I never got to give Sean my answer. What a shame. Such a terrible shame. The last time he had knelt before me, he was proposing. His hand, holding the ring, had been trembling. He had said, “I will only ever love one person in my life: Clara Hale.” I woke up from a long sleep only to realize I was the only one still trapped seven years in the past. 4 I fell ill, a high fever that took three days to break. Sean wouldn’t let me leave my room. “Chloe’s not well either. I don’t want you getting her sick.” The room was too quiet, which only made the sounds from the other side of the wall seem louder. I heard Sean coaxing Chloe to take her supplements, telling her with a pained voice that she couldn’t play with her health like that. I heard them discussing when I would leave. I heard them watching a movie. Sean slipped socks onto Chloe’s feet, telling her she couldn’t walk around barefoot. Chloe snuggled into his arms. “Then you’ll just have to carry me everywhere.” Sean’s voice was gentle. “Okay. I’ll always carry you.” Always. What a beautiful word. He’d said it to me, too. I buried my head under the covers, weeping silently in the dark. When I was better, it was time for me to go. “Clara, I’ve picked out a new house for you.” “Chloe… she’s used to this place. She doesn’t want to move.” He had arranged everything, down to the last detail. I finally cut him off. “I get it. I’m not a fool. You should go back to her.” His hand opened and closed, over and over. He started to say my name, but I looked down, hiding my tear-filled eyes, and quickly pushed him out the door. “Go on, go. Go back to her.” I saw him glance back once before he walked away, disappearing from view. I lived alone, recovered alone. The next time I heard Sean’s voice, it felt like a lifetime had passed. He was flipping through my old sketchbook. “Clara, I’m getting married.” “Chloe found your old design portfolio. She saw the wedding dress you designed and fell in love with it. We were hoping to buy the design from you.” I had designed that dress for my wedding with Sean. It had taken months, with countless revisions. But we would never use it now. I smiled. “No need. Consider it a wedding gift.” “It’s not like I have anything else to give you.” Sean’s brow furrowed. He opened his mouth, then closed it. “Clara, you don’t have to be like this, trying to make me feel guilty.” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I wanted to explain, but the words wouldn’t come. When my body was almost fully recovered, I received an invitation to Sean’s wedding. It was a fairytale ceremony. Staring at the names of the bride and groom printed side-by-side, I felt a surprising sense of calm. I stood in the very back, watching Sean as if it were the last time I would ever see him in this life. They read their vows, exchanged rings, did all the things I had once dreamed of a thousand times over. “Goodbye, Sean.” I lowered my head and turned to leave, bumping into a mutual friend from our past. She stared at me, stunned. I was walking too fast for her to keep up. “Clara? Is that you, Clara Hale?” Sean’s kiss on his new bride faltered. He instinctively looked in the direction of the voice. But there was nothing there. Only a branch of flowers, swaying in the wind.

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On every wedding anniversary, my husband, Christopher Kane, brings home a woman he picked up from the streets, claiming it’s for me to “train.” On our tenth anniversary, Christopher brought home a cocktail waitress from a cheap club, dressed in a skimpy bunny suit. “She doesn’t have a gown. Give her your wedding dress. And that set of jewelry I gave you last time, give her that too. As for shoes… the ones on your feet look fine.” “Oh, right. She’s young and inexperienced. Teach her well, especially about… bedroom matters.” Everyone waited for me to become a joke again. Instead, I fulfilled their expectations by saying I wanted a divorce. Christopher snorted, looking at me with contempt and mockery. “Sarah, how many times have you said you want a divorce? I’m sick of hearing it. It’s even more annoying than your moans in bed!” “If you really divorce me, I’ll give you a hundred million dollars!” The crowd roared with laughter again, whispering that I was just playing hard to get, that I didn’t know my place. What they didn’t know was that this was the 100th time I said I wanted a divorce. And it was the only time I truly meant it. Chapter 1 All eyes were on me. Even the cocktail waitress covered her mouth, giggling along. “Come on, place your bets! I bet a million she regrets it before she even walks out that door.” “I’m in for three hundred thousand!” Betting on whether I would divorce Christopher had become a stale tradition at every anniversary party. Many people hated me for losing money on me, and those who won didn’t necessarily like me either. I shook my head with a light laugh, scolding myself internally for being so spineless. It took ten years to finally decide to leave Christopher. “I bet she leaves!” A deep voice came from the crowd. Others tried to dissuade him from throwing his money away. I looked toward the sound but couldn’t see who it was. “Christopher, I’ll send the divorce papers to your office. Remember to sign them.” I had threatened divorce hundreds of times, but this was the first time I mentioned papers. Christopher straightened up, ash falling from the cigarette in his hand. I ignored him, squatted down, unbuckled my high heels, and placed them at the girl’s feet. Her name was Lily. She was in her early twenties, very pretty. “These shoes pinch a bit. You’ll get used to them after a while.” “As for the dress and jewelry Christopher mentioned, I’ll have the housekeeper bring them to you.” “Before you, Christopher brought back nine other girls. If you have any questions, ask them. They live on the third floor. Your room is the last one on the right.” In ten years of marriage, the women Christopher brought home could fill a harem. Tall, short, curvy, thin, innocent, glamorous, aloof, lively—he had them all. Rumor had it he wanted to collect a full set of “Twelve Beauties.” But I wasn’t blessed enough to be one of them. I brushed invisible dust off my bare feet, stood up, and walked toward the main door. Before I could step out, a strong force yanked me back. “Sarah Vance, if you want to leave, leave clean. Is there a single thing on your body that wasn’t bought with my money?” My bare feet felt like they were stepping on blades of ice. Even my breath trembled. “You want me to strip?” Christopher raised an eyebrow, his gaze light as if seeing right through me. “When your family went bankrupt, didn’t your mother strip you naked and shove you into my bed? Leave the same way you came!” “Or do you regret it? That’s fine. Kneel down and put the shoes on for her, and I’ll forgive you.” The crowd behind Christopher laughed so hard they doubled over. Years ago, shortly after Christopher and I started dating, the Vance family went bankrupt. My father jumped off a building and ended up in a vegetative state. Afraid the Kane family wouldn’t help, my mother drugged both Christopher and me. Afterward, she did everything she could to blow the incident up, forcing the Kane family to take responsibility. That night was the beginning of all my humiliation. It also completely destroyed the love Christopher and I had shared since we were teenagers. Christopher was forced to marry me. On our wedding night, he brought a woman home to humiliate me. He did everything in front of me. I even had to open the condom wrapper and hand it to him. I spent the next day on my hands and knees, cleaning up the mess. I lived this servile life for ten years. Now, I couldn’t do it anymore. “I’ll strip.” Before anyone could react, I undid the clasp of my shawl. It was deep winter. The heating inside was strong, but I was standing by the door. Cold wind poured up my skirt, raising goosebumps on my exposed arms and shoulders. I reached back and unzipped the dress. The thin fabric slid down. Shoulders and skin were exposed to the air. “Oh my god!” Some timid people covered their eyes. The men watched with keen interest. Only Christopher’s eyes were dark as ink, his thin lips pressed tight. The only sign of his agitation was the slight tremor in the fingers holding his cigarette. As the dress fell, I stood almost naked before the crowd. The cigarette burned Christopher’s fingers. He threw it down, ripped off his jacket, and covered me with it. “Sarah, you must have a death wish!” “Everyone close your damn eyes! If anyone says a word about what happened today, you won’t see the sun tomorrow!” “Get out! All of you!” Christopher rarely lost his temper, especially in public. Those present were old acquaintances who knew when to leave. The nine other girls Christopher had brought home scurried upstairs. Only Lily remained standing there. “Christopher, are you satisfied? Can you let me go now?” I looked up at him stubbornly. Tears swirled in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I had cried for Christopher too many times. I didn’t want to cry for him anymore. “Sarah, quit these hard-to-get games. It disgusts me.” Christopher still didn’t believe me, warning me not to embarrass the Kane family. I took a deep breath. “Christopher, I really want a divorce this time.” Christopher looked at me like he’d heard the world’s biggest joke. He grabbed the back of my neck and forced me to bend over. “Do you dare to divorce me? Can you afford your father’s daily hospital bills? Can you pay for your mother’s shopping sprees?” “Sarah, your mother would be the first to kneel before me and beg me not to divorce you!” Christopher’s loathing for my mother and me had nowhere left to hide. He hated my mother for the drugs, and he hated me for my inaction. “Even if your mother hadn’t drugged us, I would have married you. I would have helped you. But you used the methods I despise the most!” “Sarah, you destroyed our feelings with your own hands!” No matter how many times I explained, Christopher would never believe me. Seeing my silence, Christopher frowned deeper. He dragged me over and forced me to kneel in front of Lily, pressing on my neck to make me put shoes on her. “Put them on her. You’ve done this for ten years. You should be an expert by now!” For ten years, I not only took care of Christopher but also served those nine girls. Things I should do, things I shouldn’t, things forced, things voluntary—I did too many things I despised myself for. But now, I just wanted it all to end quickly. So, I obediently put the shoes on the girl again. Perhaps my obedience bored Christopher. He angrily dragged me into his room and stripped Lily in front of me. I had seen this scene many times. Sometimes Christopher even demanded I join in to “teach” them. Like before, I tore open a condom wrapper and handed it over. But this time, Christopher pushed it away. “Not needed this time.” My hand trembled as I pulled it back. Christopher didn’t stop his movements, but he glanced at me—something he rarely did. I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t be bothered. Christopher got angry again. He locked me in the bathroom. That night, the snowstorm outside was heavy, and the noise inside was loud. I sat there listening all night. In a daze, I was awakened by an urgent phone ring. “Is this Miss Vance? Your mother was in a car accident. She’s in critical condition. Please come to City Memorial Hospital immediately.” My heart suspended in mid-air. “Christopher!” I started pounding on the door, trying to interrupt the sounds outside. Christopher opened the door wrapped in a bathrobe, his loose collar revealing hickeys. The woman in his arms clung to him. “What?” “My mom was in a car accident. Can you take me to the hospital? Please?” I knelt and begged him, tears streaming down, terrified he wouldn’t take me because he was unhappy. “Sister, do you even draft your lies? It’s 3 AM and snowing heavily. Normal people are at home. Did a car crash into your mom’s house?” Lily sneered, pointing at the dark, snowy night outside. Christopher laughed along, not even lifting his eyelids. “Sarah, you’d lie about this?” “What? Can’t stand the noise anymore?” Christopher locked the door again. The louder I shouted, the louder the noise outside became. Desperate, I picked up a stool and smashed the window, climbing out. Sharp glass sliced my leg, blood flowing instantly. Because it was late and snowing, I couldn’t get a cab. I ran forward like a zombie, leaving shocking red trails in the snow. Beep beep. A black Cayenne stopped beside me. “Get in.” Inside the dim car, the man in the driver’s seat never looked back at me. I kept thanking him, but he didn’t say another word. As I got out, I heard him say: “Sarah, you have other choices besides Christopher Kane.” “If you figure it out, find me.” He handed me a gold-stamped business card. I took it with both hands, thanking him profusely. My mind was entirely on my mother; I put it in my pocket without looking. I stumbled into the ER. Before I could ask, I saw nurses pushing a gurney covered with a white sheet out of the operating room. “Where is the family of Susan Vance?” “The patient is dead, and the daughter still isn’t here. Unbelievable.” The nurses’ whispers pierced my heart effortlessly. I rushed over and lifted the white sheet. The face, usually so exquisitely maintained, was covered in cuts. Her body was broken. Regarding Christopher, I had resented my mother every minute for ten years. I had even viciously wished the whole family would die. But now that she was truly dead in front of me, I only felt heartache. With no family left, there was no funeral to plan. I sat by my father’s bedside for a while, talking about Mom, about myself. I spoke intermittently until dawn. Before leaving, I looked at my father, who hadn’t moved in ten years, and spoke with a sob: “Dad, I’m tired.” My mother was cremated early the next morning. I put her urn in a box and took it home. I also brought home the divorce agreement I had commissioned. Walking in, I bumped into Christopher and his Tenth Beauty chatting and laughing at the dining table. “Sign it.” I slammed the divorce papers on the table, my voice cold. “So you snuck out last night just to get these papers?” “Sarah, you really are rebelling!” I hugged the urn tightly, head down. “Christopher, let’s let each other go.” “I don’t love you anymore.” In the past, I would argue with Christopher. When tempers flared, we even got physical. I would point at his nose and ask if his declarations of love back then were just a joke. Most of the time, I held onto a sliver of hope, hoping he would forgive me, hoping we could salvage the marriage. So if he liked wild, I learned to please him in bed. If he liked pure, I wore his favorite clothes to make him happy. But as woman after woman moved in, my heart grew silent bit by bit. Those tricks to please him became my shame, and his outlet to humiliate me. “What fell out of your pocket, sister…?” “Adrian Sterling?” Lily picked up the card I dropped and read the name. It was Adrian Sterling. Christopher’s lifelong nemesis, the one who had been across the ocean, unseen for years. The next second, a dark-faced Christopher slapped me. “You say you don’t love me because you found someone else?!” “Do you know what kind of person Adrian Sterling is?!” My ears rang. I couldn’t stand steady. The urn in my hands fell and shattered. Watching the dust fly, I stood there, paralyzed. I instinctively knelt, trying to gather the ashes. But no matter how I scooped, it was useless. Lily poured a glass of milk on the floor. The others followed suit, pouring drinks. The powder turned into a sticky mess. “Ah!” In that moment, something snapped. I grabbed a stool like a madwoman and smashed it at Lily. Christopher couldn’t react in time. Lily was on the ground, clutching her head. “Christopher…” “It hurts.” Someone called an ambulance. Christopher grabbed my hand, forcing me to watch at the hospital. “If anything happens to her, you’re going down with her!” That day, I was forced to give blood to Lily. Again and again, until the doctor refused to take more. Only then did Christopher let me go, saying I deserved it. For those few days, I hid in my father’s ward, never leaving. “Sister is hiding here! Thanks to your hit, Christopher treats me so well now.” “Is this your dad? Why doesn’t he move?” Lily, now favored, walked and talked arrogantly. She flicked my father’s oxygen tube, asking curiously what it was. “Don’t touch it!” I pushed her away. She stumbled back, clutching her head. The next second, she yanked the tube out, playing with it in her hand, smiling. “Do you think Christopher will blame me for this?” Then Christopher walked in. He froze at the scene, looking back and forth between us. After a long pause, he said: “Lily is young, she doesn’t know better. Your dad was hopeless anyway. Ending it early is a mercy.” “I’ll just send your mom more money in the future.” The monitor flatlined. The sound announced my father’s death. I stood there, frozen. Beyond sadness, I felt a sense of relief. Christopher didn’t care about me anymore. He picked up Lily and left. Collapsed on the floor, I kept apologizing to my dad. But I didn’t know who in this world had ever done right by me. I took out the card and dialed the number. “Mr. Sterling, pick me up tonight.” Same cremation, one more time. This time, I left my father’s ashes in the columbarium at the funeral home. When I returned to the Kane house, Christopher wasn’t back yet. The Nine Beauties kept buzzing in my ear that Christopher was angry, that I was finished. I turned a deaf ear. They relentlessly asked if I was really divorcing. I didn’t answer. I just opened my bedroom door. “Choose. Everything in here is yours.” At my words, they swarmed in, emptying the room instantly. Only a few photos of Christopher and me from our youth lay scattered on the floor, ignored by everyone. I locked myself in the room until nightfall. Christopher sent the housekeeper to check on me. I only asked her to deliver the divorce papers. “Divorce again.” “A hundred times. Sarah, aren’t you done playing?” Christopher tore the papers to shreds. “Starve her! Bring her food when she stops acting up!” Christopher thought my divorce talk was fake. He thought my saying I didn’t love him was fake too. But love really can run out. Ten years. I really couldn’t love anymore. Now that I was utterly alone, what couldn’t I let go of? That night, I climbed out the window and got into Adrian Sterling’s car. Chapter 2 The next day, Christopher woke up and didn’t see my busy figure in the kitchen. There were no wontons he loved on the table, no hand-brewed coffee, no ironed and matched clothes on the rack. Christopher rushed upstairs in a panic and opened my door, only to find it empty. He picked up the photos from the floor, flustered. “Martha! Where is Sarah?!” The housekeeper ran over, spatula in hand, looked at the empty room, and shook her head. “I’ll call her mother.” Martha paused, asking instinctively: “Young Master, didn’t Miss Sarah’s mother die? She was cremated the next day.” Christopher flashed back to me holding the urn that day. His breath hitched. He bent down to pick up the photo, pupils dilating, looking like the life had been sucked out of him. In ten years, he never thought I would actually leave him. The photo in his hand was us in our early twenties, taken on a street in Paris. Back then, just starting out, he didn’t even dare put his arm around my shoulder in the photo. But seeing his nervousness, I had leaned my head on his shoulder. Christopher carefully wiped the dust off the photo. He tried hard to smooth the creases, but it was futile. “Martha is making wontons today, we gotta get downstairs fast.” “This dress is beautiful. Designer stuff really is different.” “This hairpin is nice too.” “Do these shoes look good?” Chattering voices came from outside. Christopher frowned and looked out. At a glance, he saw Lily wearing a pink maxi dress. He had bought that dress in Italy for me. It was our one-month anniversary gift. “Stop!” Christopher rushed out, shouting sternly. He saw things he had given me scattered on everyone—scarves, coats, skirts, bags, shoes. One of them was even wearing our wedding ring. “Who told you to wear her clothes! Take them off!” “Who told you to wear that ring!” “Take off everything that doesn’t belong to you!” Christopher’s gaze lingered briefly on each person, but he couldn’t remember their faces. He didn’t even remember their names. Normally, to provoke me, he indulged them in everything. This was the first time they saw him so angry. Terrified, they stripped off the items. Lily, inexperienced, muttered a refusal. Red-eyed, Christopher marched up and tore the dress off Lily. “I give you five minutes. Put everything you took from her back where it belongs!” Christopher had Martha watch them while he rushed downstairs to check the surveillance footage. Security showed him the footage from the past few days. Christopher saw me running in the snowy night, the shocking red blood trail behind me. He saw me get into Adrian’s car. Twice. Both times Adrian. “Damn it!” “I shouldn’t have let that bastard attend!” Christopher cursed and returned to the house. As soon as he entered, he saw the women chatting in the living room. In the past, seeing me surrounded by them, daring to be angry but not speak, he felt a secret pleasure. But now without me, he only found it noisy. “Without Sarah, life feels meaningless.” “Usually she’d be washing our socks by now, and making snacks later.” “You know, I kinda miss her!” Christopher stood at the door, eyes icy. Even though he had tacitly allowed all of this. Hearing it with his own ears, every word felt like a cut. Telling him that he forced Sarah away. “Martha!” “Tell them to pack their things and get the hell out!” Christopher’s sudden roar scared everyone in the living room. They apologized involuntarily, promising not to gossip anymore. But Christopher wouldn’t listen. He ordered Martha to supervise their packing. Lily, bold as ever, stood in front of Christopher, blocking him. “I’m pregnant.” Lily touched her flat stomach, a smug look on her face. But she was surprised to see the other sisters’ faces change. They rushed upstairs, packed in minutes, and fled the Kane house. Lily was confused. Shouldn’t pregnancy give her leverage over Christopher? Why were they so panicked? The next second, Christopher grabbed her and threw her into the corner. Pain shot through her back. Christopher stood there, composed and cold. When he spoke, the words were lethal. “Martha, call Dr. Chen to come over for an abortion.” A simple sentence proved this wasn’t the first time in the Kane household. What Lily didn’t know was that I used to handle this for him. Christopher never let any woman bear his child. Including me. In the second month of our marriage, I found out I was pregnant. Afraid Christopher would hurt me and the baby, I tried to run. But no matter how I ran, he caught me. During the struggle, I miscarried. That day, Christopher’s red-rimmed eyes were full of hatred for me. He called me cruel, heartless. To this day, I don’t understand. He caused the miscarriage, why was I the cruel one? Lily didn’t understand either, just like I hadn’t. So she knelt and begged: “No, I don’t want an abortion.” “Mr. Kane, didn’t you say you loved me? You said I was your favorite. Why can’t I have it?” Christopher looked down, contempt and disdain flashing in his eyes. “Love?” “You think you deserve it?” Lily looked into those deep eyes and trembled with fear. Christopher ordered Martha to clean Lily up, then drove away. He had more important things to do. Martha sighed, coaxing Lily to wait for the doctor.

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My best friend was becoming my sister-in-law. I was thrilled. I volunteered to edit the “Love Journey” video for their wedding reception myself. My brother, Mason, smiled and went to get the footage. But the moment he opened my best friend’s laptop, his expression darkened. He kicked her, over and over again, breaking her ribs before locking her in the basement. “You filth! I finally found you!” My parents took one look at the laptop screen, and their eyes turned cold and predatory. “Drain her blood. Hang her up. Only pain can purify her sins.” I didn’t understand. I tried to speak, to stop them, but a heavy blow to the back of my head silenced me. As I lay dying, a string of floating text drifted across my vision: [Run, Harper! Your best friend is bad news!] [Your whole family is psycho! Run, you innocent flower!] It was too late. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the morning of the wedding…

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My tab for the evening: two simple, honest dishes, barely scraping seventy dollars. The table next to me, however, was a different story. Four men in power suits, drowning in high-dollar Scotch and enough premium Napa Cabernet to flood a small cellar. Boston lobster shells piled up like tiny monuments to excess. When the waiter slid the check onto my table, I stared at the total: $1,260.50. I froze. “I only ordered two things,” I said. The waiter, with a practiced, neutral expression, nodded toward the now-empty round table. “Ma’am, your party left a moment ago. They instructed us to put the check on your table.” My friends? I had never seen them before in my life. I demanded the security footage. The manager, a thick-set man in a black suit, sneered when I pointed out the man in the video simply pointing at me, then swaggering out. “Don’t try to pull a fast one,” he growled. “You came in together.” That was the moment I pulled out my phone and dialed the number. The manager’s cold smirk instantly melted away. 01 The screen on my phone glowed, showing 7:00 PM. Noah’s text popped up: Traffic’s a nightmare, babe. Maybe thirty minutes late. Go ahead and grab a table. I quickly texted back a ‘thumbs up’ emoji and tucked the phone away. Tonight was our three-year wedding anniversary. A month ago, Noah had booked this place, Aura on the Ascent. He’d promised a refined atmosphere and exquisite food—a proper celebration. I sat at the window-side table for two, the clean, cream linen crisp beneath my elbows. A waiter poured me some chilled lemon water. I opened the menu. The prices were predictably steep. I bypassed the showy entrees and ordered a couple of our favorites—a delicate Pan-Seared Halibut and a plate of buttery, seasonal Asparagus with Hollandaise. Just the two dishes, well under a hundred dollars. I didn’t want to be extravagant, but I wanted the night to be perfect. I looked out the window. The city lights were beginning their nightly display, the traffic below looking like streaks of colored ribbon. “Waiter! Another bottle of the Macallan!” A loud, booming voice shattered the restaurant’s cultivated quiet. I flinched, glancing at the round table next to mine. Four men, all about forty, dressed in glossy, expensive suits. Their hair was slicked back, and their gold watches flashed under the ambient light. Their table was a disaster of high-end consumption. The man in charge, addressed as “Mitch” by the others, was scarlet-faced and waving his phone, bragging loudly. “I told the CEO, ‘Under five hundred million, we don’t even talk.’ The man poured me another drink right there!” His companions immediately fell all over themselves with sycophantic praise. “Legend, Mitch!” “We’re just happy to drink the runoff, boss.” I turned back to the window. I had no energy to waste on people who treated every public space like their own private stage. My two dishes arrived quickly. The halibut was perfectly browned; the asparagus was a tender, vibrant green. I left them untouched, waiting for Noah. The clamor next door was reaching a crescendo. Mitch seemed to notice me. He raised his wine glass and his eyes drifted over, a vague, knowing smirk on his lips. He spoke to the man beside him in a voice calibrated just loud enough for me to hear. “These young girls, coming to a place like this, ordering two sides just to take a picture for Instagram. All for show.” I didn’t even blink. Dealing with that kind of insecurity would only pull me down to their level. They drained another round, then finally seemed ready to disperse. Mitch staggered to his feet and wobbled toward the host stand. The remaining three men slapped each other on the back, and as they passed my table, one of them made a point of bumping my chair. I held my tongue. I saw Mitch interact with the server near the front. He said something, then explicitly pointed in my direction. The server nodded. Mitch and his buddies then swaggered straight out the main doors. 02 I watched them disappear, feeling a vague sense of irritation, but nothing more. Maybe he’d just asked the server to take his call at his table. Ten minutes later, Noah texted: In the lobby! Be right up! My mood lifted instantly. I reached for my phone, ready to tell the kitchen to warm up my order. A young server approached my table, a check presenter in hand. He placed it gently on the table. “Ma’am, your total comes to $1,260.50.” I was stunned. I picked up the check and opened it. A long, dense list of items—Scotch, the pricey Cabernet, the Boston Lobster—everything the table next to me had consumed. I looked up at the server. “Did you make a mistake? I only ordered two dishes.” He maintained a professional, if distant, smile. “No mistake, ma’am.” He gestured to the now-busser-cleared table beside mine. “The gentlemen who just left, your friends? They told us the bill was being settled by you.” Friends? I didn’t know them. A spike of pure heat rushed through me, but I forced my voice to remain even. “I don’t know those men. Please get your manager.” The smile dropped from his face, replaced by a look of stern professionalism. “Ma’am, please don’t joke. Mr. Hawthorne was very clear. He said you were a friend, and he was leaving the tab.” “I’m telling you one more time: I don’t know them.” My voice was now cold. “Get your manager.” The server looked flustered, clearly not equipped for a confrontation. He mumbled something into his earpiece. Moments later, a man in a black suit with a “Floor Manager” badge—Gary Benson—approached. He was stout and impeccably groomed, with a tight, judgmental expression. “Ma’am, I’m the manager. Gary Benson. What seems to be the trouble?” I pushed the bill toward him. “This isn’t mine. I ordered less than a hundred dollars in food. This three-course bill belongs to the table that just left. Your server has mistakenly charged it to me.” Gary Benson picked up the check, scanned it, then looked me up and down. A faint, contemptuous smile played on his lips. “Ma’am, I just confirmed with the host stand. Mr. Hawthorne explicitly stated you would be settling up. Look, we’re all adults here. It’s a bit over a thousand dollars. No need to make a scene, is there?” His tone was heavy with implication, suggesting I was a cheap opportunist trying to dine and dash. “A scene?” I laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. “Strangers ate and drank a thousand dollars of food and told a restaurant I would pay for it. And you think I’m the one making a scene? Is this how Aura on the Ascent does business?” His face hardened. “Ma’am, please watch your tone. We operate on good faith here. We have every reason to believe you were part of that party. Trying to skip out on the bill now won’t work.” His voice was low, but several nearby tables heard the exchange. Heads snapped toward me, their expressions a mix of curiosity and thinly veiled scorn. I felt the blood rush to my face. Not from shame, but from pure, incandescent rage. 03 “I am not skipping out. I will not pay a single cent for what I didn’t consume,” I said, locking eyes with Gary Benson. “Proof?” I countered. “Where is your proof that we were a party?” He was momentarily taken aback, but quickly recovered, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked down at me with disdain. “Proof? Our server heard Mr. Hawthorne say it with his own ears. Besides, you came in around the same time and sat this close to them. You expect us to believe you didn’t know them?” The sheer audacity of the logic made me speechless for a moment. “So, because my table was adjacent, I’m financially liable for strangers? Is this restaurant’s seating chart based on ‘Friendship Affinity’?” My voice was dripping with sarcasm. Gary Benson’s mask of pseudo-professionalism finally shattered. “Ma’am, I will tell you one last time. You are settling this bill tonight. Otherwise, we will be forced to follow protocol.” “And what is your protocol?” “We have the right to escort you to the security office until you decide to be reasonable and pay up.” He glanced pointedly toward the main doors. Two large security guards in black uniforms immediately detached themselves from the entrance and took up menacing positions flanking my table. The surrounding diners began whispering. “Look how ordinary she’s dressed. Probably trying to scam them.” “Right? Who comes to a place like this and doesn’t know their party?” “Trying to fake it till you make it, I guess. Never works at Aura.” The comments felt like pinpricks. In my thirty years, I had never faced such blatant public humiliation. My hands, hidden beneath the table, were clenched into white-knuckled fists. I took a slow, deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. Arguing was useless. They had already decided I was a fraud. “I want to see the security footage,” I stated. Gary Benson scoffed as if I’d suggested something hilarious. “Fine. But I’ll warn you, if that footage confirms you were part of the group, settling the bill will be the least of your problems.” “And if the footage proves we were not together?” I pressed. “Then the meal is on me, and I will apologize to you in front of every guest here,” he said with absolute certainty, clearly believing he had me trapped. “Deal.” I stood up. “Let’s go.” Gary Benson led the way, me following under the gaze of the entire dining room, with the two security guards trailing behind like escorts for a criminal. A wave of dizziness washed over me, not from fear, but from the raw heat of my fury. This anniversary, meant to be warm and romantic, had been completely poisoned by this man’s corruption. 04 The manager’s office smelled of stale coffee and a faint, metallic scent of a bad temper. Gary Benson sat behind his desk, indicating a small, uncomfortable stool opposite him. “Sit.” I didn’t. I stood, facing him across the desk. “The footage?” He took his time, slowly picking up a mug, blowing on the surface, and taking a deliberate sip. “Relax, kid. This is Aura on the Ascent. Our security is state-of-the-art. No one’s running away from this.” He clicked a few times on his computer, pulled up a video window, and spun the monitor toward me. “See for yourself.” The screen showed the host stand’s camera angle. I watched the man, Mitch Hawthorne, walk up to the counter. He spoke to the server, and then, exactly as described, he raised his hand and pointed in the vague direction of my table. The footage stopped there. Gary Benson leaned back in his chair, a smug, triumphant look on his face. “Well? There it is. He points right at you and tells our server, ‘That’s my friend, put it on her tab.’ Now, what do you have to say?” I stared at the frozen image, my mind racing. The footage was deliberately misleading. First, there was no sound. What they actually said was entirely his word against mine. Second, the angle was too limited. It showed the pointing, but not the server’s facial expression or any prior exchange. Third, why only this clip? Where was the full, uncut footage from the moment they walked in until they left? “I want to see the complete, uncut video log,” I said. “From the moment they entered until they left, from all available angles. Especially any that might have ambient audio.” His victorious smile flickered, then settled back into place. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, ma’am. Our dining room cameras are silent to protect guest privacy. As for the full log, that involves other patrons. We can’t just hand it over.” It was the perfect, airtight excuse. I understood then. They were in this together. Gary Benson was never interested in resolving a mistake; he intended to pin this bill on me from the start. Seeing my silence, he must have assumed I was defeated. He stood and placed a patronizing hand on my shoulder. “Listen to me, little girl. In business, reputation matters. A thousand bucks isn’t much. Chalk it up to a lesson learned. You take the loss, and you leave. But if you keep pushing this, it’s going to get very ugly, and trust me, you don’t want that.” His voice was laced with an undeniable threat. I jerked his hand away and took a step back. “I told you. It’s not my money. I won’t pay a cent.” His last thread of patience snapped. The false professionalism evaporated, replaced by something dark and ugly. “You’re asking for it, huh? Fine. We’ll see how long you can hold out!” He grabbed the desk intercom and barked a command: “Tony, Mike, get her back out to her table! And keep her there! If she tries to bolt, I don’t care what you have to do!” 05 I was physically escorted—practically held—by the two guards and placed back in my original seat. Gary Benson followed, standing over me, and raised his voice to ensure everyone in the restaurant could hear. “Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for the disruption. This woman consumed over a thousand dollars in food and beverage and is now attempting to skip the bill. We are handling the situation and apologize for the inconvenience.” The moment he finished speaking, I became the center of the restaurant. All eyes were on me, filled with a sickening mix of contempt, amusement, and self-righteous judgment. I felt like an exhibit, a spectacle. The blood was pounding in my ears. Then I saw Noah. He had just stepped into the restaurant and was scanning the room. He saw me—trapped between two guards—and his smile vanished. He hurried toward my table. “Naomi, what is going on?” “Stay back!” I yelled at him. I didn’t want him involved. I didn’t want him to see me in this humiliating, vulnerable position on our anniversary. Noah stopped dead, his eyes wide with panic. Gary Benson saw Noah and his eyes lit up; he had found a fresh target. “Oh, your friend showed up? Perfect. Since she won’t settle the bill, you can take care of it. $1,260.50.” He shoved the check toward Noah. Noah looked from the bill to me, his face registering pure confusion and disbelief. “We didn’t order any of this!” “She said the same thing,” Benson snapped, waving a dismissive hand. “I don’t care if you’re a party or not. Someone is paying this bill tonight. Otherwise, neither of you is leaving.” He pointed a finger at me, addressing Noah. “I suggest you pay up now. Otherwise, I’m calling the police and pressing charges for disturbing the peace and dining-and-dashing. You’ll have a permanent record. This isn’t just about a thousand dollars anymore.” It was a blatant, ugly threat. Watching Noah’s helpless, anxious face, watching Gary Benson’s triumphant smirk, and feeling the cold judgment of the crowd, the last wire of my patience snapped. Fury and humiliation erupted in my chest like a violent geyser. But I knew I couldn’t lose control. If I laid a hand on him, I’d lose the battle. I had to be surgical. I slowly turned back to Gary Benson, speaking each word with careful deliberation. “Are you absolutely certain you want to call the police?” Benson crossed his arms, leaning in with a mocking laugh. “What, you scared now? Too late! Even if you pay, I’m going to make sure you know the price of causing trouble in my house!” He was reveling in his power. “Good,” I nodded. I reached into my bag and pulled out my phone.

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I have a body like a pin-up model, but a voice that sounds like a toddler who swallowed a helium balloon. It’s a fatal mismatch. Every time I open my mouth, I get roasted. [Shut up! Does it hurt to pinch your throat like that all day?] [Stop faking it! You have a femme fatale face, why force the baby voice? Unfollowing!] The entire internet had been dragging me for a year. But I was a coward, so I never dared to clap back. Then came the reality show. I was publicly humiliated, pointed at, and cursed out in the streets. I finally snapped. I grabbed the Film Emperor standing next to me and wailed, completely breaking down. “Waaaah! I told you I wasn’t faking it! I wasn’t!” Unexpectedly, the usually toxic-tongued Film Emperor broke character instantly. His ears turned bright red, and he patted my head, looking completely panicked. The netizens, ready for a show, were confused. [Wait, is she… is she crying or flirting? Is it physically possible to sound that cute while having a breakdown?] [Xavier, why are you mute? Tell her she’s fake! Why are you blushing like a schoolboy?!] [LOL, spread the word! Hollywood’s sharpest tongue has malfunctioned. I think his bones just melted from that voice!] 01 I’ve had this baby voice since I was a kid. I also hit puberty early. Because of this, my dad hated me, and my mom said I was born to be a trophy wife for some rich old man. Later, a talent scout scouted me for my looks. When I debuted, my manager, Sarah, swore on her life I’d be a star. “With that face! With that body! You just stand there and you’ll be trending in minutes!” She laughed at the sky, convinced I’d take over Hollywood. But everyone underestimated the destructive power of my squeaky voice. A whole year passed, and my public image was in the gutter. It got to the point where people rolled their eyes the moment I opened my mouth. [Chloe Song is such a pick-me! If she just acted like a cool girl, I’d stan. Why force this sweet girl persona?] [Honestly, it was cute at first, but now it’s just annoying.] [Can she just shut up? If she wants to seduce men, go to a club, don’t disgust us on the internet!] The insults were endless. But I was too timid. I could only bite my blanket and swallow my tears. Sarah tried to comfort me. “Bad publicity is still publicity! Listen to me, with this contrast, if we just focus on your career, you’ll be rich sooner or later!” I burst into tears. “Is this the netizens’ revenge?” Sarah, a fiery Texan woman, felt she had developed the patience of a kindergarten teacher after managing me for a year. My voice made women scream and men weak in the knees. But the contrast between the sound and my appearance was too great. No one believed it was natural! The damn netizens insisted Sarah had no taste, ruining a “cool girl” by forcing her to be a “cutesy baby.” Who would understand her pain? “I begged every contact I have and got you a spot on a huge reality show,” Sarah said, gritting her teeth. “This time, we’re taking back everything that belongs to us!” She believed that once people saw me up close, men and women alike would fall into my net. Sarah giggled, lost in her own fantasy. 02 But before I even got to the variety show, I was trending for all the wrong reasons. #XavierKnightCallsChloeSongDisgusting# #ChloeSongFakeVoice# The trending topic was a clip of Xavier Knight, the youngest Film Emperor, streaming a video game. It had over a million reposts in half an hour. In the video, a teammate was dragging the team down. After dying a few times, she apologized in a pinched, nasal voice. Xavier laughed in anger and started roasting her. “Wow, did you swallow glue? Why are you pinching your throat like that?” “If you can’t speak normally, shut up! Don’t bark here! Your mouth is spewing nonsense.” Xavier had incredible acting skills, but his reputation was mixed. His mouth was venomous. His sarcasm was unmatched, making fans love and hate him. This had nothing to do with me, until Bella, the current “It Girl,” commented under the video. [That girl’s voice is so sweet, just like our Chloe on set.] A vague comment that twisted the narrative instantly. Netizens turned their firepower on my Twitter. [I knew that pick-me voice sounded familiar. It’s Hollywood’s resident baby, Chloe Song!] [Who else is that fake? Daring to use a baby voice in front of Xavier? Everyone knows he hates that.] [Doesn’t sound like her to me… Chloe is annoying, but not that bad, right?] [Comment above is a paid bot. If not her, is it Bella? Bella is known for being naturally sweet, they aren’t even comparable!] The internet was full of curses. I was almost dug out of my grave by netizens analyzing every video of me speaking. I was sitting at home, minding my own business, when the pot fell from the sky. Sarah was furious. “That damn Bella is the real fake! She thinks just because she has a cute face I can’t tell? That teammate was probably her, and she dragged you down to hide it!” Even though I was used to being flamed for my voice, this was my first time being mass-attacked on a trending topic. I felt like dying. I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. The next second, my phone rang. “Chloe! Log in! Bro is gonna take you to the Rift to slap Xavier Knight in the face!” 03 Jordan is the most famous male voice actor in the industry. We met in a dubbing club in college. He was indignant. “WTF, my sister’s voice is so sweet. Is Xavier deaf or just looking for a fight?” I was moved to tears, swearing to hug this brother’s thigh forever! Before I could react, Jordan pulled me into a lobby and matched us against Xavier. I started playing in a panic. But I suck at games. Fierce as a tiger in spirit, 0-5 in stats. Xavier’s gnashing teeth came through the headset. “Uninstall the game. Go play Candy Crush! You’re so bad you’re carrying the other team.” The chat went wild. [Did Xavier step in dog poop today? His luck with teammates is terrible.] [It’s probably another girl. Is she gonna apologize in a baby voice again?] Jordan was anxious, urging me on the phone. “Scold him back! Why are you here? If you don’t roast him, you’re getting flamed for nothing!” provoked, I turned on my mic. But having always been the one scolded, I stuttered for a long time before weakly replying: “So… so what?” Jordan almost coughed up blood. “Listen to me! I’ll say a line, you repeat it!” I nodded like a chicken pecking rice, stammering as I roared after him. “Did I eat your rice? Why do you care so much?” “If you hate me that much, you can die first!” “Did I ask you to speak? Why are you barking!” Just as I was getting into the rhythm, Jordan went silent. I was dumbfounded. And then? I froze for a while. Then, Xavier’s stammering voice sounded. “Sorry.” On the screen, the tips of his ears seemed a bit red. “Another round? Duo queue?” AHHHH! I curled my toes in embarrassment, my hand shook, and I swiftly exited the game. 04 I ran away, but the internet exploded. [Holy crap, so sweet! Who can resist that little voice?!] [Wait, she scolded him and ran? Who taught her that? Did you see Xavier freeze up?] [LMAO, this guy changed faces so fast. Half an hour ago he was a demon! But that girl’s voice really is too sweet!] Even more ridiculous, Xavier posted a tweet apologizing for his behavior tonight. [I was too fierce tonight, don’t take it to heart…] Since Xavier didn’t know it was me, I casually replied. [It’s okay, it’s okay. Just another day of being blamed for things I didn’t do.] I scolded him back anyway. Maybe because I was too D-list, I never realized the impact of interacting with a Film Emperor. My casual reply caused my notifications to explode. [You? Chloe Song, where do you get the nerve to leech off this?] [Do you really not know how annoying your voice is? Don’t make us laugh!] [It’s easy to tell the difference between a fake pick-me and a natural sweet voice, okay?] The harsh comments kept coming. But among them, I noticed a default-avatar account constantly defending me. [Her voice is sweet! What’s it to you?] [So what? I like it!] [Still calling her fake? What are you? Deaf?] [Damn it, if my main account wasn’t banned, I’d expose you all!] He attacked every negative comment indiscriminately. The style was vaguely similar to… Xavier? I shook the thought from my head, moved to tears. I secretly liked a few of his comments. Brothers for life!

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389251”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel