Category: English

My brother sent a text to his girlfriend, but accidentally sent it to me: “Babe, I’m at the school gate, where are you?” I narrowed my eyes, a wicked smile curling on my lips. “Babe, I just walked out of the classroom.” The chat box showed [Typing…] for a long time. I continued to fire back: “Babe, did you wait just to walk home with me? I’m so moved!” “Babe, why aren’t you saying anything?” My brother, furious and embarrassed, finally replied: “Are you sick? That’s enough!” Five minutes later, he Venmo-ed me $50. “Please, don’t tell Mom and Dad I’m dating.” 1. SATs were finally over. Walking out of the exam hall, I turned off airplane mode. Notifications flooded my screen. Just as I cleared them, a message from my brother, Carter, popped up. “Babe, I’m at the school gate, where are you?” I instinctively shuddered. Frowning hard. What kind of possessed nonsense is Carter spouting? I stared at the message for a moment. Suddenly, I remembered overhearing him call someone “Babe” on the phone at home. I had suspected he was dating early. But I had no concrete evidence. Whenever I asked indirectly, he would deny it with that arrogant attitude of his. Today, he delivered the evidence right to my doorstep. A wicked smile floated onto my lips. I tapped out a reply: “Babe, I just walked out of the exam hall.” Calling my brother “Babe” made me nauseous. But thinking about how it would disgust him even more made me happy. As soon as the message was sent. I saw the “Typing…” bubble appear and disappear in our chat. Over and over. Ten minutes passed. I walked from the building to the school gate, and he still hadn’t replied. He chose to play dead. Ignore it. Pretend nothing happened. I wasn’t going to let him off that easily. I continued texting: “Did you wait just to walk home with me, Babe? I’m so moved.” “Babe, why are you so good to me!” I added sarcastically: “Babe, why aren’t you talking?” [Babe???] Finally, Carter couldn’t take it anymore. He replied furiously: “Maya, are you sick? That’s enough!” I laughed at the screen. “Babe, I discovered someone is dating early!” “Mom and Dad would be very interested to know, right?” Five minutes later. Carter Venmo-ed me. For once, his attitude softened: “I’m begging you, don’t tell Mom and Dad.” I remained unmoved. I didn’t accept the money. And I didn’t reply anymore. I could already see Carter standing at the school gate from a distance. I have to admit, my brother has good genes. Even in a crowd of students, that face and figure stood out. I slowed down. Hiding behind a pillar to observe. I wanted to see who my brother’s girlfriend was. Waited for five or six minutes. Didn’t see my brother’s girlfriend, but saw someone unexpected. A boy in a white shirt and black casual pants rode his bike and stopped next to my brother. The boy had handsome features and a clean, cool temperament. His side profile when he smiled slightly was dazzling than the sun. His name is Julian. He’s the school heartthrob and my brother’s childhood friend. Top-tier looks and IQ. Half the girls in school probably have a crush on him. Ranked first in the grade, he already got early acceptance to Harvard. Just standing casually in the crowd, he attracted countless gazes. So handsome it made me dizzy. In my view, my brother was chatting with Julian while scanning the crowd from time to time. I carefully dodged his line of sight. A moment later. A girl with a high ponytail suddenly appeared. She naturally hugged my brother’s arm. Her upturned face carried a sweet smile. I quickly took out my phone to record a video. The girl’s face wasn’t unfamiliar. I remembered her name was Bella. A famous beauty in school, an art student. Damn it! My brother actually eats this good! 2. I recorded a video. Took photos too. Sent one to my brother. In the distance, he looked down at his phone, his face darkening. My phone buzzed. He messaged: “Don’t you like Julian?” “I’ll help you chase him.” I raised an eyebrow. Didn’t expect my brother to use this to make a deal, trying to shut me up. Julian and we are neighbors. He treats me better than my brother does. Handsome, smart, good family background. Not only gentle to me, but also often gave me small gifts. Hard not to like him. He was born to be liked by girls. I am a mundane person, no exception. I sent an OK emoji. Then showed myself, jogging up to my brother and them. Pretending it was a chance encounter. “Brother!” Carter looked at me, face slightly sour. Bella hurriedly let go of his hand, blushing as she greeted me. Julian smiled at me, “How did the exam go?” I smiled back, “Pretty good.” Looking at their expressions, I asked, “Do you guys have plans?” Julian nodded: “Yes.” My brother’s voice was a bit cold: “We have something to do, you go home first.” I ignored his dismissal: “Count me in, I’m bored after the exam anyway.” “Okay?” This was directed at Julian. He was a head taller than me. His long, beautiful eyes lowered slightly, lips curving into a smile. Gentle agreement: “Okay.” “No!” That was my brother. “Maya, you weren’t part of the plan tonight. You can’t just butt in.” I looked at my brother quietly. The atmosphere was a bit off. Bella pulled my brother’s sleeve: “Actually, it’s fine.” Julian also spoke up: “It’ll be lively with Maya.” “She’s not a stranger.” Suppressing the annoyance on his brow, my brother dropped a “Whatever.” And walked ahead pulling Bella. Julian patted my head, leaned in close, and whispered in my ear. “Don’t be unhappy. Your brother just doesn’t know how to interact with you.” My heartbeat skipped a beat. Julian’s proximity surrounded me with his scent. I smelled the fresh laundry scent on his clothes. As for what he said. I didn’t respond. 3. My brother and I are fraternal twins. Our relationship has been terrible since we were little. Arguing and fighting were daily meals. Loving each other was a fantasy. When we were little, he lost me for five years. From age five to ten. I was “lucky” to be adopted by a “kind family.” Found by my parents at ten. When I accused my brother of deliberately losing me in front of our parents. What I got was their defense of him. “You remembered wrong.” “Your brother isn’t that kind of person.” “That was just an accident.” “You can’t blame your brother anymore, okay?” From then on, I hated my brother. Hated Carter. At my most hateful, I cursed him to fall down stairs, choke on water, choke on food, get struck by lightning… Various vicious thoughts hovered in my heart. Five years of disconnection didn’t bring deeper love and protection from parents, but a faint alienation. They felt I wasn’t as well-behaved and cute as when I was little. Felt I was taught badly during the five lost years. Petty. Narrow-minded. Calculating. Vulgar and mean. These were their private evaluations of me. Late one night after just returning home, unable to sleep, I crawled up to find Mom and Dad, and accidentally heard their conversation in the living room. My brain felt like it was hammered hard. Holding back sobs, I shed tears in the dark for a long time. I also saw the crack of the door opening in the next room. My brother heard it too. Through my tears, I saw him hesitate, wanting to approach me, then shrinking back. Finally, when he walked towards me, I immediately hid in my room. Locked the door. Since that night, I learned to pretend to be good. 4. I went to dinner with my brother and them. At the table, Julian took good care of me. Putting food on my plate from time to time. My brother was absent-minded. Didn’t know what he was thinking. Maybe thinking about how to kick me out of their circle. Bella was eating when suddenly she put down her chopsticks and waved towards the door. I turned my head instinctively. The moment I saw who was coming, my heart sank to the bottom. Chloe. The person I loathed the most. She was the one brought back to my home to replace me during the five years I was missing. When I came back, I made a huge scene to force her to leave my house. My rejection of Chloe, my brother knew perfectly well. Turns out all these years they kept in touch behind my back, their relationship so good they formed a small circle. I looked at my brother hatefully. He was looking at me, expression cold and mocking: “Told you not to come, you insisted.” My brother’s words were always so sharp and piercing. Julian frowned upon hearing this, kicking my brother under the table. Tone slightly heavy: “Carter!” I suppressed the gloom in my heart, staring at Julian’s side profile, heart feeling sour yet sweet. Only he would protect me. Chloe walked over smiling. “Sorry for the wait!” When her gaze swept over me, her smile froze slightly. Expression became cautious, calling my name unexpectedly: “Maya?” “You’re here too?” Maybe I’m biased. Or maybe sensitive. Chloe’s words made me slightly unhappy. I felt her subtext was that I shouldn’t be here. Usually, I wouldn’t give her a pleasant face. But in front of others, especially Julian, my temper was always good. I forced a smile. Nodded, and left it at that. Chloe looked at the seats, looking troubled. “Where do I sit?” Julian beckoned her: “There’s a seat next to me, sit here.” This was a table for six. I sat with Julian. My brother and Bella sat opposite. Chloe could have sat on my brother’s row, but as soon as Julian spoke, the corners of my mouth dropped instinctively. “Great, all my favorites.” Chloe naturally sat on Julian’s left, expressing happiness staring at the food on the table. She ate bite after bite. Appetite was good. “How did you guys do on the exam? Confident?” “We agreed to go to the same university, you have to respect the agreement.” Chloe chatted while eating. My brother smiled: “Don’t worry, no problem.” Bella echoed: “I think I can too.” Julian smiled faintly: “Good for you guys, looks like I’m going to school alone.” “You’re just showing off, genius.” “Too much! Harvard admits are forbidden from chatting with us!” They talked and laughed. Chatting about topics and stories I didn’t know. That familiar tacit understanding was like an invisible barrier isolating me. I ate silently. Chewing became more and more tasteless. Half the dishes on the table were ordered by Julian. Turns out they were all Chloe’s favorites. Listening to the laughter in my ears, my gaze fell on the tea cup at my hand. To cut the grease, also out of habit. I ordered tea. They all ordered sodas. Only I was out of place. At this moment, staring at the barely visible layer of oil floating on the tea, I had an urge to vomit. Turns out my brother, Julian, and Chloe, the three of them were so close. Even Bella and Chloe seemed like old friends. I wasn’t close to my brother’s girlfriend at all, in fact, met her just today. And it was under the circumstance of bumping into them and being forced to introduce. Their gathering of four, I was the fifth wheel forced in. Clearly, I am Carter’s biological sister. Clearly, I knew Julian first. But I became the extra one.

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1 On the last day of December, Mom took my five-year-old hand and led me out of the orphanage. She named me Eve. “Eve, your sister’s name is Hope. Your birthday is on New Year’s Day. It symbolizes a new beginning.” “So, every year on your birthday, you must make a wish. A wish means a fresh start, something full of hope.” I nodded hard, my teeth chattering from the cold. Back then, I didn’t understand. For every wish I made, Mom would take something from me. At six, I wished to see fireworks, and she took my bone marrow. At seven, I wished for a doll, and she took a kidney. At eight, I wished for a birthday cake, and she took a piece of my liver. This year, I am ten. Mom looks at me tenderly in the soft glow of the candles. “Make a wish, Eve.” As the candlelight flickers, I close my eyes. This year, I have only one wish. I wish to live through the year. … The fireworks outside dance in Mom’s gentle eyes. She asks softly, “What did my Eve wish for this year?” I look into her eyes, searching for the warmth I’ve craved all year. I inch closer, my voice a whisper. “I wished for Mommy to love me forever.” Her expression freezes for a second. Then, she opens her arms and pulls me into a hug. It’s tight, so tight I can barely breathe. She smells faintly of perfume. My cheek presses against her soft sweater, and my eyes instantly burn. “Silly girl,” Mom’s voice comes from above me, laced with a smile. “Of course, Mommy loves you. As long as you’re a good girl, as long as your sister Hope can live, Mommy will love you forever.” I nod forcefully, wiping my tears on her sweater. Mom only ever hugs me when I make a wish. This is the hug I have waited a whole year for, from last New Year’s Day until now. As I raise my thin arms to hug her back, she lets go. She cups my face in her hands, her thumbs wiping away my tears. “Such a good, sensible girl. Now that Mommy has granted your wish, will you grant Mommy’s wish and help your sister one more time?” I nod. It’s always like this. I’m used to it. “Hope’s heart is getting weaker,” Mom’s voice is still gentle. “The doctor says she needs a healthy heart. Eve, are you willing to give your heart to your sister?” “Tomorrow, Mommy will take you to the hospital for a compatibility test. If it’s a match, Hope can live. You want your sister to live, don’t you, Eve?” I look at her expectant eyes, at the gentle smile on her lips. “Okay,” I say. Mom’s smile brightens. She hugs me again, this time a light, quick squeeze. “I knew you were the best girl.” As she turns to cut the cake, the living room door bursts open. My sister Hope rushes in, wrapped in a thick down jacket, her cheeks flushed from the cold, her eyes sparkling. “Mom! The countdown event is starting in the square! Mrs. Peterson said she can get us front-row seats for the fireworks show!” Mom immediately puts down the cake knife and walks over to Hope, brushing the snowflakes from her shoulders. “Sweetheart, slow down, don’t get choked up. It’s so cold out. Why don’t we wait until after your surgery?” “But I want to go!” Hope whines, tugging on Mom’s hand. “It’s only once a year! And the doctor said I’m stable right now…” Mom glances back at me, then at Hope’s eager face. The glance is so fleeting I can’t decipher the emotion in it. “Alright, alright. But only for a little while. You can’t get tired.” Her tone is filled with a fondness I’ve never heard directed at me. Then she turns to me. “Eve, you have the compatibility test tomorrow. You need to rest early tonight, so you’ll stay home.” My mouth opens. I want to say that I want to see the fireworks too. A real fireworks show. On my sixth birthday, Mom had promised. I remember her smiling as she said, “Of course, sweetie. As soon as you’ve helped your sister, Mom will take you.” But after I donated my bone marrow on the operating table, all she did was pat my head and say, “We’ll see the fireworks next time. Your sister can’t wait.” The words die on my tongue. Mom is already at the door, holding Hope’s hand, not looking back. “Eve, don’t eat anything after you finish your cake. You need an empty stomach for tomorrow.” The door clicks shut. 2 I stand there, still holding the piece of cake Mom handed me. The living room is suddenly silent, except for the boisterous sounds of the New Year’s Eve show on TV. The host is counting down excitedly, “Ten minutes to go! A new year is coming!” I take my cake and slowly walk back to my small room. The storage closet has no windows. I sit on my little cot and take small bites of the cake. It’s sweet. So sweet it’s bitter. I remember that night when I was seven, after the kidney surgery. The anesthesia wore off, and the incision burned like fire. I cried for my mom. A nurse came in and told me Mom was in Hope’s room because Hope had a nightmare. That night, I counted the cracks in the ceiling. I reached three hundred and twenty-seven before the sun came up. After the liver surgery when I was eight, I was violently ill. Mom came to my room, looked at me with a frown, and asked the nurse, “Why is her reaction so strong? It won’t affect the quality of the liver, will it?” She never asked if I was in pain. She never asked if I was scared. She only cared about the organ that was no longer inside my body. The cake is gone, but the emptiness and a sharp pain in my stomach are even worse. All I’ve had to eat since this afternoon is this one small piece of cake. Mom said I needed an empty stomach, but no one told me it would feel this bad. The old scar on my abdomen begins to ache. Ever since they took my kidney, I haven’t been able to sleep through the night without pain. The lights in the living room are off. Mrs. Peterson must have gone to bed after cleaning the kitchen. The house is silent, except for the rumbling in my stomach and the distant pop of firecrackers. I try to endure it, but finally, I quietly push open the door to my room. There should be something to eat in the kitchen. Even a slice of bread. In the fridge, there’s a bowl of soup that looks delicious. I swallow hard. “Eve?” Mrs. Peterson’s voice comes from behind me. I jump, nearly dropping the bowl. “Are you hungry?” she asks, a troubled look on her face. “But your mother gave me specific instructions. You have a blood test tomorrow. You have to have an empty stomach…” “Just one sip,” I plead, my stomach letting out another loud growl. “Please, I’m so hungry. My tummy hurts…” Mrs. Peterson hesitates. She looks at the clock on the wall, then at my pale face and the hand clutching my stomach. She sighs. “Alright, just a tiny sip. I mean it. If your mother finds out, I’ll be in big trouble.” She takes the bowl from the fridge, pours a small amount into a mug, and heats it in the microwave. In those few seconds, the rich aroma fills the air, and my stomach clenches as if squeezed by an invisible hand. “Here. Drink it slowly.” The moment the warm liquid touches my throat, I almost cry. I’m so hungry that every warm sip feels like salvation. I cradle the mug, taking tiny sips, afraid it will be gone too soon. Just then, I hear a key turning in the front door. Dad, Mom, and Hope are back. Dad is carrying Hope, her little face buried in his shoulder, her breathing even. Mom follows behind, carrying Hope’s small backpack. Their smiles freeze when they see me in the kitchen, holding the mug. “Eve? Didn’t I tell you to have an empty stomach?” Mom rushes over and snatches the mug from my hands. The sudden movement startles Hope awake. She sees Mom’s angry face and shrinks back into Dad’s arms. “Mommy…” I look at her, tears welling up in my eyes. “I was so hungry. My tummy hurt so much…” I point to the side of my abdomen where my kidney used to be. It’s throbbing with a dull ache from the hunger and the cold. “What do you mean, it hurts? You’re doing this on purpose! You don’t want to give your heart to your sister, so you’re eating on purpose, aren’t you?” “No, Mommy, I was really hungry…” I sob, reaching for her sleeve. Dad frowns, turns, and carries Hope toward the master bedroom. “Honey, put Hope to bed first. Don’t scare her.” Mom’s finger is practically jabbing my nose. “Eve Chen, didn’t I tell you that Mommy would love you if you were a good girl? Didn’t you promise to give your heart to your sister?” “I promised, I promised! Mommy, please don’t yell at me, please don’t leave me…” I cry, gasping for breath. “You’re a liar! You just don’t want to save your sister! I raised you for nothing!” She grabs my arm, her grip so tight it feels like she’s going to crush my bones, and drags me toward the storage closet. A familiar tide of fear washes over me. She’s going to abandon me. Just like the ladies at the orphanage said, children who don’t behave get thrown away. Mom shoves me hard into the closet. I stumble and fall, a searing pain shooting through me. “You selfish, ungrateful brat! You can stay in here and think about what you’ve done!” The door slams shut, and the familiar darkness swallows me whole. 3 I curl up in the cold corner, my stomach a hollow, aching pit. Hunger gnaws at me from the inside, making my body cold and shaky. Worse than the hunger is the itching. I can’t stop scratching, my nails leaving red welts on my skin. The more I scratch, the more it itches, a maddening, deep itch that makes me want to writhe on the floor. “Don’t be hungry anymore… Mommy doesn’t want me anymore…” I mumble, my fingers digging into my skin. “It will be better after the transplant… If I scratch myself clean, Mommy will come back…” My nails break the skin. Warm liquid oozes out, and the pain finally overwhelms the itch. The darkness has stolen my sight, but it sharpens my other senses. I can hear my own ragged breathing. I can smell the sweet scent of dumplings from somewhere in the house. It’s New Year’s Day. Every family is eating dumplings. I want some too. My consciousness begins to fade. I see her again. On a snowy night, a woman in a thin cotton coat holds a bundled-up child. I can’t see her face, only that she’s crying, her shoulders shaking violently. She places the child on the cold steps and walks away. “Mama… Mama…” the child cries, reaching out a small hand. That’s me. At one or two years old. The woman hesitates but doesn’t turn back. The snow falls on her, quickly turning her into a white silhouette. “Mama, take me with you! I’ll be good!” “Don’t leave me… Please… don’t leave me…” I cry and chase after her, but her figure shrinks, disappearing into the blizzard at the corner of the street. I kneel in the snow, crying until my throat is raw, until my body is stiff with cold. A lady from the orphanage comes out, scoops me up like a piece of trash, and throws me into the small, windowless dark room. “What are you crying for? Your mother doesn’t want you! Crying won’t help!” The sound of the lock turning is the same as tonight. “No… Mama… don’t leave me…” I wake up from the dream, sobbing, my face wet with either cold sweat or tears. It’s morning. I struggle to my feet. The scratches have formed thin scabs that tear open with every movement. I lean against the wall and slowly make my way to the door, pushing it open a crack. The living room is brightly lit. On the dining table sits a large platter of plump, white dumplings. Hope is sitting in her special high-backed chair, a few dumplings in her small bowl. Mom is picking one up, carefully blowing on it, and bringing it to Hope’s lips. “Here, sweetie, open up. These are good luck dumplings. They’ll bring you peace and health in the new year.” Hope obediently opens her mouth and takes a bite, a happy smile spreading across her face. “Yummy!” “If you like them, have some more,” Dad says, smiling as he pours Hope a glass of warm milk. “It’s New Year’s Day. Our Hope needs all the good luck she can get.” My eyes are fixed on the platter of dumplings. I’m hungry, so hungry my vision is starting to blur. I forget the pain, forget last night’s punishment. All I see is food. “Eve?” Dad sees me first, a look of surprise on his face. Mom and Hope turn to look at me. But I don’t care. My attention is completely focused on a dumpling that has fallen from Hope’s bowl. My fingertips are about to touch it when Hope, trying to protect her food, accidentally knocks my hand. I am already weak. The slight touch sends me toppling over, crashing into the dining table and sending everything flying. Hope lets out a loud wail, tears streaming down her face. “My dumplings… my good luck dumplings… they’re all gone… waaaah…” Mom’s face turns livid. She stands up abruptly, and a heavy slap lands on my cheek. My head snaps to the side, my ear ringing, one side of my face numb and burning. “Eve Chen, did you do that on purpose? You can’t stand to see your sister happy, can you? You even have to ruin her good luck dumplings?” I shake my head, crying, my insides twisting with fear. “I’m so hungry… I want to save Hope, I’ll give her my heart… please let me eat something…” Mom lets out a cold, sharp laugh and grabs my arm, dragging me toward the door. “Then let’s go to the hospital right now and get it over with! At least then you won’t be in the house, plotting against your sister!” The cold morning wind cuts my face like a knife. I’m still in my thin pajamas as Mom shoves me into the car. We drive to the hospital. I’m taken to a brightly lit room. A doctor in a white coat looks at my bruised and scratched body and frowns. “Mr. and Mrs. Chen, this child can’t be more than ten. She’s severely malnourished and has undergone significant physical trauma. Are you sure you want to proceed with a heart compatibility test right now?” “Is the child willing? Have you asked for her consent?” Mom’s face is hard. “She’s willing.” I don’t know where the strength comes from, but I drop to my knees in front of her, tears streaming down my face. “Mom, Dad, I want to eat good luck dumplings. I want Mommy to call me sweetheart. I want Mommy to love me.” “I want to live through the year too.”

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The day I got out of prison, my parents dragged me straight to a promotion party for one of their star students. Three glasses of champagne in, the student, Noah Gallagher—now a District Attorney—leaned toward my parents, his speech slurring slightly. “Professor, Mrs. Albright, you are my saving grace! I wouldn’t be here today if Rory hadn’t taken the fall for me!” I assumed it was drunken hyperbole. “Come now, Noah, you’re the DA. You make it sound like my parents, both brilliant attorneys, would actually throw their own daughter under the bus.” I offered a tight smile. “I was careless. I was the one who accidentally leaked the confidential national security data.” He froze, missing the frantic, subtle headshakes my mother was giving him. “You don’t know? You didn’t volunteer to take the fall? Your dad was running point, waving your signed confession around town…” He stopped, staring at me with genuine surprise. “He said you were underage and would be out in a couple of years. But if I’d had that felony on my record, my career would be dead on arrival.” Slowly, deliberately, I turned my head to face my parents. They lowered their wine glasses, their voices dropping to a conspiratorial hush. “Rory, Noah is a young man. He’s like a son to us now. He needs a spotless career trajectory. He can’t have a stain.” “You’re different. A girl’s career isn’t as critical. Besides, we were able to negotiate an excellent plea deal. We never intended for you to truly suffer.” Never intended for me to truly suffer? Five years of beatings, the electric shock therapy, the solitary confinement… Every spoonful of rancid slop I’d swallowed was a biting reminder of how utterly ridiculous that claim was. I laughed, tears streaming down my face. With a sudden surge of strength, I swept my arm across the table, sending the towering champagne flute pyramid crashing down. “So, having high-powered attorney parents means I deserve to be locked away?” The sound of glass shattering was deafening. “Well, today, I’m an orphan.” 1 Glass shards scattered, one slicing my forearm. Blood mingled with expensive wine, dripping steadily onto the pristine white carpet. I didn’t flinch. I just stared at my parents. How could the people who came to visit me every week, rain or shine, be the architects of my destruction? They didn’t even look at me. My father, Victor Albright, turned to the stunned guests, plastering on his professional, reassuring smile. “Please forgive the scene, everyone. Our daughter… she’s just been released. She’s experiencing a severe psychological break.” My mother, Elaine, nodded in practiced synchronization, her eyes immediately welling up with tears. “It’s been a traumatic five years for her. We haven’t managed her PTSD well. It’s entirely our fault.” The guests instantly switched from shock to sympathy. A few older family friends came over, patting my shoulder. “Rory, sweetie, don’t make a scene. Your parents love you. They only have one daughter; they would never harm you.” “Exactly. Your mother and father made an immense, selfless contribution to the field. They channeled their devotion to you into academic excellence—publishing her case study in the Journal of Criminology. You should be proud of them.” The blood drained from my head. The weekly, mandatory visits. The careful, probing questions about my emotional state, my interactions, the disciplinary measures. They weren’t acts of care. They were data collection. I wasn’t just a scapegoat. I was their lab rat. The final, frayed wire in my brain snapped. I stumbled back, catching the edge of a small side table and flipping it completely. “How could you?! How could you do this to me?!” The scream ripped through my throat. I was blind with fury, oblivious to my father’s hand as it swung high in the air. Snap! The sharp crack of his palm against my cheek echoed the falling table. A stinging cut immediately bloomed where his wedding ring had scraped my skin. I slowly turned, looking at him. He was staring at me, his lips moving, the words more damning than any sentence. “Have you made enough of a spectacle? Stop embarrassing us! You’re having a breakdown. Get home and take your medication!” Drained of all strength, I was yanked out of the ballroom, through the service entrance, and shoved into the back of their waiting car. The moment we were inside the house, my mother slammed me to my knees on the hardwood floor. “Rory Albright!” Her eyes were blazing, devoid of the slightest maternal warmth, only cold, calculated rage. “Do you have any idea what you just ruined? That was Noah’s crucial promotion dinner!” “He’s on the fast track to the DA’s office. You humiliated him in front of the entire Judiciary Committee! How is he supposed to manage his career now?!” My father stood behind her, his voice a chilling monotone. “We poured money and connections into him for five years. We plucked him out of the rural Midwest, put him through school, and worked the entire system for this moment. Your tantrum could have completely destroyed our investment.” “And what about me? I was sixteen, I got into Georgetown Law, and you personally destroyed my future for him…” My father cut my protest off, his tone detached, like a closing argument in court. “Rory, be rational. Noah is a man. He must have a future; a single stain would prevent him from ever recovering.” “You? You’re a juvenile female. The system is more forgiving. The national security leak charge was manageable, and your mother and I mitigated the sentence. It was the only rational, optimal solution.” “Optimal solution?” I laughed, blood and tears mixing on my face. “Were the beatings, the shock therapy, the solitary confinement… were those also part of your calculated, necessary costs?” My mother’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You have the nerve to bring that up? Clearly, the lessons in that facility weren’t harsh enough! You didn’t learn a thing!” “You’re twenty-one, and you’re still throwing public tantrums? You embarrassed us in front of our entire professional network!” My father took over, his voice utterly cold. “That’s right. You’ve always been stubborn and disobedient. Going in was good for you. A little suffering, a little character adjustment. You needed to see how harsh the world is, so you’d finally learn to obey.” My mother nodded, a sickeningly self-righteous tone creeping into her voice. “A criminal record isn’t a bad thing. It ensures you’ll always rely on us. A girl should be obedient.” I felt as if I’d been plunged into an ice bath. Every punch I took, every hour of solitary confinement, had been a planned component of their warped “tough love” educational program. Even the permanent felony—the lifelong stain—was a deliberate insurance policy to keep me tethered to them. “Are you even human?!” I shrieked. “I’m cutting all ties with you! I want nothing to do with you!” My father’s face hardened. He grabbed my arm, his grip vise-like, threatening to crush the bone. My mother quickly opened a bedroom door, and together they shoved me inside. “You stay in there and think about what you’ve done,” my father’s voice came from the hall, devoid of warmth. “Think about it carefully. Without us, where can a felon go? What can you possibly do?” My mother’s voice followed, softer but even more chilling. “Rory, you’ll realize soon enough. You can’t survive without us.” The lock clicked shut. I collapsed onto the floor, staring at my childhood room. The pale pink walls were long gone, replaced by a cold institutional gray. In the closet, a rack of expensive, tailored men’s shirts hung, clearly not mine. The air was thick with Noah’s high-end cologne. The space in their hearts belonged to him. Now, even my physical space was gone. Sometime after midnight, in the suffocating silence, I fumbled in a desk drawer and found an old, bent bobby pin. My hands were shaking violently, but I gritted my teeth and began slowly picking the lock. I slipped out of that house and into the night. 2 I spent the night curled up in a 24-hour ATM vestibule, hidden from the cold. My parents didn’t come looking for me. As long as I wasn’t actively blocking Noah’s path, they likely couldn’t be bothered. Good. The second the sun rose, I started looking for work. Felony conviction. High school diploma (the college acceptance meant nothing now). Those two labels were plastered across my forehead. Everyone who interviewed me looked at me as if they already knew the whole story. No one would hire me. My cash was running low. I planned to buy a train ticket to a small town in the Midwest, a place where no one knew the Albright name, a place my parents’ influence couldn’t reach. But at the payment screen, a red alert flashed: “Warning: Legal Hold Applied. Cannot purchase ticket.” I tried buying a Greyhound bus ticket. The same message. I froze for a second, then gave a bitter laugh. My parents knew exactly how to use the legal system—the laws they’d sworn to uphold—to legally cripple and confine me. Completely broke, I flipped through my phone contacts, stopping on the name “Uncle David.” He was the only person besides my parents who had visited me in prison. The phone rang for a long time before a nervous voice answered. “Hello?” “Uncle David, it’s Rory.” “Rory?! Where are you?!” His voice was instantly raised. “Your parents said you had a psychological break! They’ve been circulating an official statement on your mental fitness to the Bar Association, asking everyone not to engage with you!” My grip on the phone tightened. “The statement is a lie. They forced it. Uncle David, I need a little cash…” “Rory, listen to your uncle. Just come home.” He lowered his voice, but the fear and helplessness were palpable. “Your father called me personally. He said anyone who helps you is making an enemy of him, and he has the means to destroy anyone who crosses him…” “Rory, it’s not that I don’t care, but I have a family to support…” My heart was sinking with every word. “Noah is a good boy; he treats your parents like his own. Your parents are just ambitious for him, that’s all. They love you, Rory. Everything they did was for the good of the family…” “Uncle David.” I cut him off, my voice dangerously calm. “Do you know about the abuse I suffered in prison? The beatings, the electric shocks, the solitary confinement? Those were all explicitly requested by my parents to ‘teach me submission.’” “Do you know my dream? I killed myself studying to get into Georgetown Law so I could become a prosecutor. They personally destroyed it, just to pave a clean path for Noah.” “I’d rather die than have parents like that. Please take care of yourself.” Penniless, I ended up sleeping on a park bench next to a dumpster. The stench mixed with the cold wind. A single, stale bagel lasted me three days. But it was, at least, freedom. A few days later, I finally found a job: working the janitorial night shift at a massive downtown shopping center. The balding, middle-aged manager looked me up and down. “It’s tough work, kid. You won’t last. Just give me two weeks’ notice if you quit, so you don’t screw up my schedule.” The work was brutal. The mall was always crowded; the restrooms were a constant disaster. Mopping floors, scrubbing toilets, unclogging sinks, changing overflowing trash cans—my hands never stopped moving. The caustic chemicals burned my eyes. Within days, my hands were raw, wrinkled, and covered in thin, painful blisters. Sometimes a drunk customer would vomit all over the floor. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the sting of my mother’s words. My phone rang—an unknown number. I thought it might be a job interviewer, hastily wiped my hands on my scrubs, and answered. “Have you finished playing games? It’s time to come home.” My mother’s voice was like ice. “You won’t find a job, Rory. We’ve made sure of that. No one will hire a documented felon with a psychological record.” I didn’t speak, my fingernails digging into my palm. She must have heard my ragged breathing. Her tone softened slightly, making her words even more suffocating. “Rory, stop being stubborn. I’ve arranged a position for you—a receptionist at your father’s law firm.” “It’s a light schedule, nine to five. Everyone there knows you served time and have emotional issues. No one will pressure you.” I didn’t reply. I hung up the phone and jammed the scrub brush deep into the toilet bowl, scouring the stains with every ounce of frustration I had. Water splashed my face. It tasted salty. I thought that was the end of it. Three days later, she showed up. 3 I was kneeling on the cold tile, wiping up a mess a customer had thrown up, when I heard my mother and Noah laughing nearby. “That custom suit fits you perfectly, Noah. I have no doubt you’ll be the youngest presiding DA in the city’s history.” The conversation stopped abruptly. She had spotted me. Our eyes met. The triumphant smile instantly froze on her face. She strode over quickly, her eyes raking over my ill-fitting uniform and the filthy mop in my hand. “You… you’re working here… doing this?” Her voice was a low, disgusted whisper, a verbal whiplash. I said nothing, bending back down to scrub the floor. “Rory Albright!” She grabbed my wrist. The force of her grip popped one of the thin blisters on my palm. Yellow pus smeared onto her manicured hand, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Look at the state of you! Who are you trying to ruin? Yourself?!” “What will people say about me? About your father? Where will we put our faces?” I yanked my hand back, looking straight into her eyes. “Were you concerned about ‘what people would say’ when you locked me in a federal facility?” She choked on her words, her face cycling from white to deep crimson. She took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. “Rory, stop the theatrics. Let’s talk rationally. You working in a place like this… It breaks my heart.” “Breaks your heart?” I gave a humorless laugh. “Do you care about me, or are you just embarrassed that your daughter, the brilliant Professor Albright’s daughter, is scrubbing a public toilet?” Her face flushed completely, her chest heaving. “Rory! How long are you going to keep this up?! You refuse to work at the family company, you insist on cleaning filth in this mall—you’re doing this just to spite us, aren’t you?!” I stopped working, turning to face her fully. “Mom, the truth is, you knew Noah’s paper contained the stolen data. You could have pulled the paper, published an erratum, and used your influence to clear him quietly.” I took a step closer, staring her down. “But you didn’t. You waited until the FBI was involved, and you sacrificed me—the kind-hearted idiot who collected the data for him—as a quick, clean solution. You saved time, and you saved Noah’s pristine resume.” “Only I got thrown into prison, and everything I worked for was destroyed. You can’t tell me this level of misogyny and favoritism is normal, even for you.” My mother’s lips trembled. She glanced away, unable to meet my gaze. “Investigating your own parents? Rory, we gave you life, we raised you. Is this how you repay us? This petty, destructive revenge?” A deep, angry voice cut in. My father, Victor Albright, marched over from the other side of the mall, his face thunderous. Behind him, the balding manager trailed nervously. “Mr. Albright, Mrs. Albright, this…” the manager began, wringing his hands, trying to de-escalate. Victor ignored him, turning on the manager with chilling authority. “Mr. Rogers, my daughter is mentally unstable. She cannot be employed here. It poses a risk to your customers and the mall’s reputation.” “But… Mr. Albright, that’s not exactly procedure…” “Procedure?” Victor sneered. “Would you prefer I discuss labor laws with you, or perhaps the few dozen fire code and safety violations I noticed on my way in?” The threat was blatant. The manager’s face crumpled. He glanced at me, sighed, and looked away. “…Rory, gather your things. You need to leave.” I knew then. I wouldn’t be getting my final paycheck. “You are a disgrace! Come on!” Victor didn’t look at me again, turning his attention to Noah. Noah stood impeccably dressed in his bespoke suit, bathed in the mall’s bright, clean light. I stood in rubber boots and industrial scrubs, smelling of antiseptic and trash. The contrast was blinding. Blood rushed to my head. “Fine! You want to play dirty? I’ll go online! I’ll expose the truth about five years ago and everything you did after! Let’s see who looks like the disgrace then!” Victor’s eyes narrowed. A flicker of genuine fear crossed the fury in his face. He paused for a few seconds, then softened his voice, the shift unnerving. “We didn’t come here to threaten you.” “Your little stunt at the party did cause issues for Noah. A few key people have begun to question his background.” Noah stepped forward, wearing a carefully calibrated expression of regret and plea. “Rory, all the blame is mine. Look, how about this? Record a short video. Just say that the crime five years ago was entirely your fault, that your parents had no involvement, and that you regret your actions. I’ll compensate you. I’ll give you half a million dollars.” Victor glanced at the scrub brush still in my hand, his tone patronizing, as if granting a privilege. “If you record this, we promise never to contact you again, and you can continue with… whatever this work is.” A crushing sense of powerlessness washed over me. I knew, with sickening clarity, that I could not win against them. “…I’ll record it. But I don’t want the money. Just leave me alone.” Noah and my father exchanged a look. Noah bit his lip. “No! You have to take the money, Rory. I couldn’t live with myself otherwise.” I was stunned. The desperate need to escape overwhelmed my growing sense of dread. I recited the statement my father had conveniently already drafted, gritting my teeth as the camera recorded my confession. After they left, I clutched the prepaid debit card with the half-million on it. I felt no relief. I quickly packed the few things I had and rushed to the bus station. But at the gate, two police officers stopped me. “Rory Albright, you are being detained on suspicion of felony extortion. Please come with us.” 4 It was only after I was formally charged and placed on a travel restriction that I realized Noah had filed the extortion complaint. My parents were his defense attorneys. They were preparing to personally send me back to prison. Before the trial even began, public opinion had turned into a firing squad. My father used his firm’s official account to publish a lengthy article: “A Father’s Agonizing Choice: When Your Daughter Becomes an Extortionist.” The text was melodramatic, painting me as a vicious, manipulative daughter who had repeatedly victimized her grieving parents. The final line, “As legal professionals, we cannot tolerate crime—even from our own blood,” garnered tens of thousands of likes. My mother, Elaine, posted a case study on prominent law school forums: “From Juvenile Prodigy to Blackmail Felon: A Psychological Case Study.” In it, Noah was a paragon of strength overcoming adversity, while I was the pathological negative example. She framed my search for the truth as a criminal’s sick attempt to project blame onto a loving family. Trolls and bots swarmed the internet. My jail mugshot, a grainy photo of me scrubbing the floor, and even my cheerful sixteenth birthday photo were unearthed, analyzed, and accompanied by the vilest commentary. My phone was flooded with harassing, hateful calls. Every single comment was a deliberate cut to my already shredded nerves. And the handle of the knife was held by my mother and father. Before the hearing, I made one request: the proceedings would be live-streamed. Since they wanted my social death to be a public spectacle, I would make sure the spectacle was complete. On the day of the trial, silence fell the moment I walked into the courtroom. Hundreds of eyes, filled with disgust and condemnation, were fixed on me. Almost simultaneously, Noah entered, flanked by Victor and Elaine. Victor naturally reached out, smoothing a non-existent wrinkle on Noah’s suit jacket, then gave his arm a tiny, approving squeeze—a gesture he only used when he was deeply satisfied. Elaine produced a thermos, unscrewed the top, and handed it naturally to Noah. “Take a sip, Noah. Don’t strain your voice.” My lips were dry and cracked from stress and dehydration. No one offered me a sip of water. The trial began. Victor stood first, presenting the evidence with practiced calm. The first piece was the confession I had been coerced into signing at sixteen. He tapped my youthful signature with a pointed finger, his expression full of painful disappointment. “Sixteen years old. The handwriting of a child, but the actions of a calculated criminal…” He paused for effect, allowing the unspoken accusation to hang heavy in the air. Next, he presented the desperate letters I had written to them during my time in prison. He pulled one out, reading the most desperate line aloud: “‘Dad, Mom, I’m dying in here, please save me…’” Then, he dropped the letter, delivering his devastating conclusion. “This was not a cry for help, Your Honor. This was a performance. A deliberate, five-year-long act of laying groundwork for an eventual appeal and slander campaign. Note the depth of the defendant’s malicious forethought.” Finally, he displayed the forced video clarification. Victor pointed to my numb, vacant face on the screen. “Look at her eyes. No remorse, only the fanatical resentment of a guilty party. This was not an apology. This was a challenge to justice.” With every piece of evidence, the gallery whispered and hissed its disgust. The live-stream comments exploded: [Born Bad!] [Psycho!]. I sat there, feeling as though I was being drawn and quartered by their words. Elaine rose next. Her posture was elegant, her words lethal. “Your Honor, based on my twenty-one years of intimate, close-proximity observation of the defendant, coupled with her behavioral patterns inside and outside the facility, I can confirm that Rory Albright suffers from classic Paranoid Personality Disorder, accompanied by severe Victim Complex and Antisocial Tendencies.” She even offered an anecdote. “When she was seven, she tore up a neighbor’s child’s award ribbon out of sheer spiteful jealousy. We dismissed it as childish mischief. In retrospect, that was the pathological genesis of her current destructive and possessive nature.” She then pivoted to Noah, her tone shifting to proud relief. “In contrast, the plaintiff, Noah Gallagher, has steadfastly served the public interest despite the malicious framing. His psychological resilience and social adaptation stand in stark contrast to the defendant’s deterioration.” Finally, she faced the judge, her voice sincere and firm. “As both a mother and a professional scholar, I implore the court to impose the harshest penalty possible, accompanied by long-term mandatory psychological intervention and isolation. This is our duty to her, and to society.” With that, she turned away, dabbing a corner of her eye with a tissue, the picture of heartbroken restraint. “Life sentence!” someone in the gallery yelled, instantly met with murmurs of agreement. The chat was pure [SUPPORT!] Noah seized his moment, looking at me with a complicated expression. “Rory, our professors have your best interests at heart. Sometimes, a temporary personal sacrifice serves a far greater blueprint. You should try to understand that scale.” A sudden, sharp spasm hit my stomach. It was the physical manifestation of days of fear and pressure. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and my vision swam. Finally, Victor stood, his conclusion definitive. “The defendant shows zero remorse, and her danger to society is extreme. As her legal guardians and attorneys, we request that the court sentence her to a minimum of ten years in a federal penitentiary, to uphold the law!” Elaine faced the judge, her voice softening slightly. “The plaintiff, Mr. Gallagher, is a man of high moral character. Though deeply traumatized, he has voluntarily waived all civil compensation claims, highlighting the vast moral chasm between him and the defendant’s actions.” The pain in my stomach intensified. I had to bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to remain seated. The entire courtroom was waiting for the judge’s gavel to fall and sweep me, the toxic waste, out of their lives forever. I gripped the edge of the table, slowly standing up. “Your Honor, I deny all charges.” “I request permission to call my witness.” A flicker of confusion, then outright contempt, crossed the faces of my parents and Noah. They likely assumed I’d managed to find some irrelevant, broken soul from the park to vouch for me. They stopped sneering the moment the side door opened. Their faces instantly went white.

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One in the morning, and my phone rang. It was my mom. “Honey, the Evans boy downstairs… his parents died in a car crash. It’s just awful. He’s all alone. Can’t you do something to help him?” I yawned. “Mom, I only make five thousand a month. How am I supposed to help him?” A few minutes later, she called back. “He’s got that limp, he can’t find a job. Why don’t you talk to your boss, see if they can give him a position at your company?” Drowning in sleep, I mumbled a few noncommittal words. Half an hour later, the ringing jolted me awake again. “No, I just can’t bear it. My heart aches for him. You know what? You should marry him. That way, you can take proper care of him.” I fought back a surge of anger. “Mom, you need to let go of this savior complex and respect other people’s lives. Besides, I already have a boyfriend!” I figured that was the end of it, turned off my phone, and went back to sleep. The next morning, I turned it on to a flood of notifications: 99+ missed calls. 1 My stomach dropped. Worried something had happened to my mom, I immediately called her back. She picked up on the first ring, and her voice exploded through the receiver. “Clara! What do you think you’re doing, turning off your phone like that?!” “Have you no conscience? You think you’re all grown up now, too good to care about your own mother?” I held the phone an inch from my ear, rubbing my throbbing temples. “Mom, I have to be at work early. It’s normal to turn my phone off when I sleep.” “Normal? The Evans boy’s parents just died! He’s all alone in the world! I was so worried about him I couldn’t sleep a wink, and you were sleeping soundly?” Caleb Evans. Again. Ever since his parents died in that car crash a week ago, his was the only name on her lips. “I want you to go to his apartment right now,” she commanded. “Check on him. Comfort him! It’s what any decent human being would do!” “Mom, I’ve told you,” I said, my patience fraying. “I have a boyfriend. His name is Marcus. It’s not appropriate for me to go visit a single man alone.” I’d never liked the quiet, withdrawn Caleb. There was something dark in his eyes, a brooding intensity that made me want to keep my distance. “Boyfriend? What boyfriend? Without my approval, he’s just some random guy!” Her tone turned sharp and venomous. “He’s not from around here. Do we know anything about his family? Can you trust him? I’m telling you, Clara, I will never approve of this relationship. You can forget about it right now.” “Caleb is a good boy. I’ve known him since he was a baby! And now, after this tragedy… if you marry him, he’ll worship you like a saint for the rest of his life. He’ll be eternally grateful!” Her logic was so twisted it was almost laughable. “It’s my life, Mom. If you keep talking like this, I’m hanging up.” “You wouldn’t dare—” I was already late for work. I ended the call and rushed out the door. I had just reached the lobby of my office building when my phone vibrated again. I answered, exasperated. “Mom, I’m at work! Whatever it is, it can wait until I get off!” But it was an unfamiliar man’s voice on the other end. “Hello, is this Ms. Clara Reed?” “Yes?” “I’m a community outreach officer. Your mother is here at our office. She’s extremely agitated. She’s claiming that you’re abusing her, that you don’t feed her and you’ve kicked her out of the house.” “I need you to come down here immediately.” My head felt like it was splitting in two. I had no choice but to call in late to work and race over to the community center. I could hear my mom’s wailing before I even stepped inside. “You’re here to serve the people, you have to help me! You have to be the judge of this!” “My daughter… she has no conscience! I’m a good mother, a kind person. People say I’m a living saint! How could I have raised such a cold, heartless child?” “That poor Caleb Evans downstairs, his parents gone, his leg crippled… All I wanted was for her to help him, to marry him, and she turns on me! Says she wants to disown me!” She twisted the facts, painting me as an ungrateful, monstrous daughter. The young officer looked completely overwhelmed. “Ma’am, marriage is a serious decision. We really can’t interfere. It has to be Ms. Reed’s own choice.” “I don’t care! She’s been brainwashed by that boy from out of town!” My mom slapped her thigh and began to make a scene. “If you don’t solve this for me today, if you don’t make her agree to marry Caleb, I’ll be back here every single day! I’ll sleep on your doorstep!” The room spun. I had to grab the doorframe to steady myself. I walked in, forcing myself to sound conciliatory. “Mom, stop it. I never said I wouldn’t help Caleb. If he’s really in trouble, I can help. But marrying him is out of the question.” I turned to the officer. “I’m so sorry to trouble you. My mother just has… an overabundance of empathy.” While I was talking to the officer, my mom lunged, snatching the phone right out of my hand. “Let’s just see what kind of poison that boy has been feeding you!” “Mom! Give it back!” I cried, lunging for it. She dodged me, her fingers flying across the screen. She’d known my password for years. She opened my messaging app. My chat with Marcus was pinned to the top. All of our sweet, sometimes intimate messages were laid bare for her to see. “Disgusting! You have no shame! So cheap!” she spat, her body trembling with rage as if I’d committed some heinous crime. The next thing I knew, she had pressed the call button, video calling Marcus. He answered. My mother shoved her face up to the screen. “Hello! You must be that Marcus character. I want you to stay away from my daughter! Clara is going to marry Caleb! A poor nobody like you from out of town doesn’t deserve her!” “Are you crazy?!” I screamed, tears finally breaking free. I lunged again and managed to wrestle the phone away from her. The call had already disconnected. I stared at her, my whole body shaking as I sobbed. “Why are you doing this to me? Why are you trying to ruin my life?” Her eyes were red too, but her justification plunged me into an icy abyss. “Because my heart aches for him! I can’t stand to see Caleb suffer! He’s been through so much, I just want him to have a better life!” There it was again. That damned, twisted, suffocating “empathy.” When I was in elementary school, my mom had just gotten paid. On her way home, she saw a beggar kneeling on the sidewalk, claiming his child was sick and needed money for treatment. Without a second thought, she emptied her wallet, handing over her entire month’s salary. The man didn’t even say thank you. He just grabbed the cash and ran. Our family ate plain rice porridge and pickles for a month. Years later, my dad got pneumonia. He needed surgery, and we were short on money. My grandmother told my mom to ask our neighbor to repay a loan. But my mom just wrung her hands. “They’re not well-off either,” she’d said. “How could I ask them for the money back?” My dad died in a cold hospital bed because we couldn’t afford the surgery. His death was a wound in my heart that never healed. My hands trembled as I tried to call Marcus back, to explain. The phone rang and rang, but he didn’t pick up. Looking at this unreasonable woman, lost in her own self-righteous martyrdom, my heart felt like a dead thing in my chest. “Mom,” I said, my voice numb. “Go home. Let me think about it.” I was on edge for days. Marcus never returned my call, and my messages went unanswered. With a knot of dread in my stomach, I left work and headed home. As I approached my apartment building, I glanced up at my window and my blood ran cold. The light was on. I crept up the stairs, my keys in hand, only to find the door was unlocked. The scene inside made me gasp. My mother was helping a man move a pile of shabby luggage into my bedroom. That man was Caleb Evans. He moved awkwardly on his bad leg, but the smile on his face was chilling. “What are you doing?!” I demanded. My mother saw me and showed not a shred of guilt. “Oh, you’re back. Perfect timing. Give us a hand.” “I asked you, how did you get a key to my apartment!” My voice was shaking. “I had a copy made last time I was here,” she said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. I saw black spots. “Even if you wanted to stay, you should have at least told me!” “It’s not for me,” she said, pointing at Caleb. “It’s for Caleb.” Her face glowed with a saintly light. “Caleb is all alone, and with his leg, it’s hard for him to manage. I figured you have plenty of space here, so he could move in with you. That way, you can look after him.” “Besides,” she added brightly, “you’re going to marry him sooner or later anyway.” Caleb stopped what he was doing and turned to face me. His dark, unsettling eyes raked over my body, as if he were inspecting a piece of property that already belonged to him. My skin crawled. I vaguely remembered his parents as quiet, humble country folk. I couldn’t imagine how they had produced a son so different. I swallowed down my fear and disgust. “I said I would think about it! I never agreed to anything! I want you both out of my apartment, now!” My mother’s face hardened. “What has gotten into you?” “Don’t push it, Clara. A daughter is supposed to listen to her mother. I’ve already made the decision for you! You two will be married by the end of the year!” “You have no right to make my decisions for me! I am your daughter, not your pet!” My control finally snapped. “Get your things and get out! If you don’t leave right now, I’m calling the police!” “You dare!” she shrieked, pointing a finger in my face. “You’d call the cops on your own mother, for a stranger? Clara, has your conscience been eaten by a dog?!” “Yes! I have no conscience! I’m not a saint like you!” I screamed, pulling out my phone and dialing 911 without hesitation. My mother froze, shocked that I’d actually done it. The police arrived quickly. After hearing the story, they looked exhausted by the sheer absurdity of the forced matchmaking. They gave my mother and Caleb a stern lecture. Under their supervision, my mother and Caleb reluctantly began to move the luggage back out. As she left, my mom stood in the doorway and screamed a torrent of vile, unspeakable insults at me. As Caleb limped past me, he paused. He leaned in close, his voice a low whisper only I could hear. “You’re even prettier up close. I like that.” His voice was a cold, sticky thing, like a snake’s tongue flicking against my ear. A violent shudder went through me, and I stumbled back. He just smiled, a cruel, possessive smirk that promised he would get what he wanted. As I watched them leave, I sank to the floor, my clothes soaked through with cold sweat. I couldn’t stay here. I had to move, immediately. I had to get as far away from them as possible. I found a new apartment with frantic speed, packed through the night, and moved out the very next day. For two weeks, there was peace. My mom didn’t find me. Caleb seemed to have vanished from my world. Marcus finally called back. After I tearfully explained everything, he just said, his voice warm and gentle, “You silly girl. Why would I ever listen to those words? I just had something important come up that I had to deal with, I didn’t have a chance to call back.” What could be so important he couldn’t even answer his phone? A sliver of unease pricked at me, but I chose to trust him. Friday afternoon, I was in a meeting at work. Halfway through the presentation, the conference room door was thrown open with a bang. My mother stood there, dragging Caleb behind her. The entire room fell silent, every head turning to the door. The moment I saw them, my mind went blank. The blood froze in my veins. “Clara Reed!” My mother’s voice boomed through the room, capturing everyone’s attention. She pointed a trembling finger at me, her voice breaking with crocodile tears. “Everyone, look! Look at my wonderful daughter! She’s a social-climbing gold digger who abandoned her disabled fiancé and abuses her own mother!” Caleb stood meekly in the doorway, the picture of innocence. Fiancé? A wave of murmurs swept through the room. Everyone was staring at me, their eyes filled with morbid curiosity. I was shaking with rage. I shot to my feet. “Mom! What are you talking about? Since when is he my fiancé?” “I’m not lying!” Seeing she had an audience, my mother hammed it up even more. “My daughter and Caleb were promised to each other as children! All our neighbors know! But now that his family has fallen on hard times, she’s trying to back out of it!” “My conscience wouldn’t let me stand by and do nothing, so I had to come here today! I hope you, her bosses, will help me talk some sense into her!” “If she doesn’t have a sense of responsibility, she certainly can’t handle her work!” I never imagined my own mother would publicly slander and humiliate me like this. She wasn’t just trying to ruin my reputation; she was trying to destroy my career. Caleb stood behind her, his head bowed, his leg bent at an angle, playing the part of the long-suffering victim to perfection. “Wow, I never would have guessed Clara was that kind of person.” “You really can’t judge a book by its cover. Abandoning your family… that’s cold.” “I just hope this doesn’t reflect badly on the company.” My mother, completely ignoring the professional setting, pointed at my boss. “Sir, I came here today to ask the company to step in. Order my daughter to see reason and marry Caleb! If she refuses, you should fire her! Our family can’t afford this kind of embarrassment!” The room was tilting. I felt faint. “Clara, would you care to explain what’s going on?” My boss’s face was as dark as thunder. I was trapped, speechless, about to be drowned in a sea of shame. Just then, a familiar voice cut through the chaos from the doorway. “This wedding… I’m afraid it’s not going to happen.”

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When I was 20, my husband, Liam Sterling, lost his first love, Sophia. She died saving my life. From that moment on, he clipped my wings, turning me into a useless bird in a gilded cage. Today, my grandfather’s heart condition relapsed, and I begged Liam for the money for surgery. He just smiled, pointing to the frozen lake outside the penthouse window. “Sure. Jump from here, and I’ll consider it.” When my body was pulled from the icy water, his “dead” first love was officially reinstated to the police force. Chapter 1 Liam is my ex-husband. Our marriage lasted all of a month and a half. Despite the divorce, I still lived in his house. He made me work as a maid and fulfill “marital duties.” If I refused, he would cut off my grandfather’s medical expenses. He said it was a debt I owed. I didn’t know anyone else in New York who could help. Desperate, I had to beg him. “Are you serious? If I jump, you’ll save my grandfather?” Liam swirled the red wine in his glass, indifferent. “You can try.” This was the 12th floor. I looked down at the thin layer of ice on the lake below. I was a strong swimmer, but fear still gripped my heart. Seeing my hesitation, Liam mocked, “Scared? Guess your grandfather isn’t that important to you after all.” He stood up to leave. I immediately took off my coat and leaped. “Mr. Sterling, will Miss Harper be okay?” Liam didn’t even glance back at his assistant’s concern. He headed straight for the office. “Tell my secretary, Ms. Grant, to contact the cardiology specialists.” The moment my body smashed through the ice, I knew I was done for. My legs went numb instantly, and I sank into the darkness. Soon, I saw my own body settle at the bottom of the lake. Christmas was coming. Grandpa would have to eat Christmas dinner alone this year. “Liam, remember your promise.” Chapter 2 Liam returned to the office and buried himself in work. He once dreamed of being a police officer, but now he was just a workaholic CEO. He worked until the early hours every day. Unless he was on a business trip, no matter how late, he always went home. Ms. Grant, his secretary, resolved the hospital matter and walked in with a stack of files. “Mr. Sterling, the situation in Boston needs you to personally oversee it.” Liam didn’t look up, flipping through documents. “Book the earliest flight. Pack your things; you’re coming with me.” Ms. Grant’s lips curled into a faint, imperceptible smile. “Yes, sir.” When Liam returned from the business trip, the first thing he did was look for me. “Chloe.” The master bedroom was empty. His face darkened. “Not replying to texts, not answering calls. I’ve spoiled you too much!” He swept his arm across the dresser, sending everything crashing to the floor. He glanced at the mess indifferently, then stomped heavily on a pink notebook lying on the ground. He knew it was my diary. It was an act of pure spite. Furious, Liam called Ms. Grant. “Stop all treatments for her grandfather.” Then he texted me. [Disappearing without reason has consequences. You have one hour to get back here, or your grandfather’s life is no longer my concern.] His usually obedient pet had suddenly rebelled. Liam was in a foul mood all night. Chapter 3 I had been at the hospital with Grandpa the whole time. Since the payments stopped, he was kicked out. The old man could barely walk, carrying his own bag, trying to call me over and over again. No answer. “Grandpa!” I reached out to support him countless times, but my hands passed right through him. He looked so sick that no taxi would pick him up. It snowed heavily that night. I walked home with Grandpa in the storm. The next day, his condition worsened. I watched him put on his glasses, trembling as he dialed Ms. Grant’s number. “Ms. Grant, have you seen our Chloe?” The woman’s voice on the other end was arrogant and cold. ” haven’t seen her.” “Sorry to bother you. I know I don’t have long, I’m not asking for money. You don’t need to worry about me clinging to you. “I just can’t find Chloe. I heard she’s close with Mr. Sterling. Could you ask him where she is? “Or could you give me Mr. Sterling’s number? I’ll ask him myself.” “Mr. Sterling is very busy.” She hung up. It was the first time I saw Grandpa cry. As he wept, his lips turned purple, gasping for air. I knew it was a heart attack. I reached for the phone to call 911. But my hand passed through the table. I knew then that I could do nothing. I could only watch helplessly as the old man died. The first night after Grandpa passed away, I went to find Liam. He was working late at the office, as always. I wanted to kill him, but I couldn’t even touch him. “Liam Sterling, you bastard! Why did you do this to me?” Chapter 4 Three days later, Liam arrived at the office to find the lobby crowded with people. Seeing Ms. Grant arguing with someone, he frowned. “What’s going on?” Before she could explain, a man rushed over and grabbed Liam by the collar. “You killed him! Why did you stop my dad’s treatment? Now he’s dead, are you happy?” Liam froze. “What did you say?” I stood beside him, watching coldly. The man was my father, a gambler. He probably went home to steal money, found Grandpa dead, and came to extort compensation. In this moment, I wished my father had a knife to stab Liam! But I knew my dad just wanted money to gamble. In the five years I was with Liam, this day was the most frequently he tried to contact me. Ms. Grant, having been hit, was indignant. “Mr. Sterling, why should we pay compensation?” Liam glanced at her with cold eyes. “Regarding Chloe’s grandfather, did you forget to report any details to me?” Ms. Grant was too scared to speak at first, then stuttered, “Four days ago, her grandfather called, asking you to help find his granddaughter. I refused…” Just as I wanted to slap her, a cold voice spoke from behind. “Impressive. Even her grandfather didn’t know where she was.” Liam closed his eyes briefly. “Your bonus for this year is gone. Get out!” Hearing the door close, he opened his eyes, looking out the window with hatred. “Chloe Harper, you really are cold-blooded. Can’t handle even this? How dared you take Sophia’s token to ask my father for money back then?” Chapter 5 I laughed sarcastically. Even now, he wasn’t worried about my safety at all. And my grandfather’s life was worth just a year-end bonus to him. But for what happened with Sophia, he took half my life. Christmas Eve. Liam’s grandfather insisted he bring his “wife” to the family mansion for the holidays. Liam still couldn’t reach me. He started losing his temper. The quiet assistant driving the car suddenly remembered the lake incident from long ago. “Mr. Sterling, could something have happened to Miss Harper? Jumping from the 12th floor in winter…” Liam cut him off without thinking. “Impossible. She won a swimming championship in college! She’s deliberately hiding to get my attention. She’s vicious and cunning! Forget her. Turn around, go to the mansion.” The assistant wanted to say more but was silenced by a glare. I sat next to him, my heart sinking to the bottom. But thinking about it, my life meant nothing to him anyway. So whether I was dead or alive didn’t matter. Maybe dead was better. Grandpa Sterling was disappointed to see Liam arrive alone. “Chloe hasn’t come back?” Liam’s face went cold. “Doesn’t answer calls, doesn’t reply to texts. Like she’s dead!” I am dead. Liam, you should be happy! Grandpa Sterling slammed his hand on the table. “Why didn’t you help with her grandfather? That was your wife’s grandfather’s life! “She’s not home now, aren’t you worried? Did you go handle the old man’s funeral?” “She doesn’t even care about her own grandfather, why should you worry for her!” Liam was annoyed too. He left without eating dinner. Chapter 6 Grandpa’s funeral was eventually arranged by Grandpa Sterling. It was grand. But few people came. Even my dad didn’t show up. Just Grandpa Sterling and the funeral staff. After everyone left, I stayed by Grandpa’s tombstone. I didn’t know what I was waiting for. Liam didn’t show up anyway. Grandpa was gone. Maybe it was a release for him. I went back to the lake house where I jumped. My only wish now was for Liam to find my body soon. Only when my body was recovered and put to rest could I leave this place completely. I wanted to be reincarnated. I never wanted to be human again. While I was wishing to be a seagull in my next life, Liam arrived. He drank a lot. As soon as he entered, our eyes met. My heart raced. “Liam? Can you see me? Hurry, go fish my body out!” But he quickly looked away. I knew it was my illusion. He stayed there for a long time, standing right where I jumped. Staring at the lake… I don’t know if it was my imagination, but I saw a flash of grief on his face. I had wondered how he would react when he saw my body. But I knew in my heart, I was just a toy for his atonement. But I clearly remember, the only person I wronged was Sophia Vance. Near dawn, Liam made a call. “Send someone to drag the lake.”

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It’s been five years since I died. My mom went on a national TV show with my sister, calling me an ungrateful daughter. “Chloe Starling, when your sister needed a heart transplant, you vanished.” “Now, you won’t even show up for your own father’s funeral!” “A person like you deserves to be spat on while alive and burn in hell when dead!” Amidst the gasps of the audience, a woman stood up. “Chloe isn’t coming.” My mom sneered. “Bullshit! Even if she’s hiding at the ends of the earth, I’ll find her!” The woman walked onto the stage and handed a USB drive to the host. “The truth you’re looking for is in here.” …… Chapter 1 “I don’t want the ‘truth,’ I want to see Chloe! If you know her, tell her to get her ass here right now!” Mom rolled her eyes, yelling directly into the camera. “Chloe, do you know your dad looked for you for five whole years? He worked himself to death just last month trying to find you!” “Are you out there living the high life with his money?” “You won’t even show your face at his funeral. You heartless, ungrateful brat!” She finished her rant and glared at the woman who had come onstage. “If you know where she is, hand her over!” The host turned to the woman. “Ma’am, what is your relationship with Chloe Starling?” The woman pulled a business card from her purse and held it up to the camera. “Hello everyone, I’m Sarah Cole, head of the Memory Capsule Project.” “Chloe was a participant in our internal trials. We became friends through the process.” A murmur ran through the audience. “I’ve heard of Memory Capsule. It extracts memories from the brain and turns them into video, like watching a movie.” “So this USB drive… it has Chloe’s memories on it?” “Who wants to see the memories of an ungrateful brat like that?” “Is she sick in the head? Won’t see her family, but sends them her memories…” The scene was chaotic. The host quickly took control. “Since Ms. Cole claims to be Chloe’s friend, let’s see what secrets this drive holds.” A staff member plugged the USB into a laptop. My sister, who had been silent, suddenly stood up in a panic. “We came to find Chloe, not watch this garbage.” “Mom, let’s go.” Mom always listened to my sister. She grabbed her hand and started walking offstage. Sarah reached out and blocked their path. “If you leave now, you will truly never see her again.” Mom hesitated. Finally, she led my sister back to their seats on stage. “Hmph. I want to see what kind of game Chloe is playing!” The lights dimmed, and the big screen flickered to life. It was me at six years old. I had been living in the countryside with my grandparents. Because I had to start elementary school, Mom and Dad brought me back to their city home. I looked enviously at the Elsa princess dress my sister was wearing and spoke timidly. “Hi, big sister.” My sister glanced at my faded t-shirt and shorts, tilting her chin up. “I don’t have a little sister. Mom said you’re my slave!” I tried to explain. “No, you’re the big sister, and I’m the little sister.” Before I finished, my sister burst into loud tears. “I don’t want a little sister, Mommy…” Mom rushed out of the kitchen at the sound, knocking me over as she scooped my crying sister into her arms. “Chloe, why are you so difficult? Bullying your sister the second you get back?” “Did you forget everything I told you in the car?” Seeing the devouring anger in Mom’s eyes, I trembled with fear. “N-no, I remember.” “Listen to your sister. Whatever your sister does, she is always right.” “Then apologize to her!” Mom glared at me coldly. I sniffled, my voice choked with sobs. “Sister, I’m sorry.” Mom patted my sister’s back, comforting her gently. “Luna, no one can ever take your place in Mommy’s heart. You are Mommy’s only treasure.” Later, Mom took my sister to the mall and bought her lots of beautiful new clothes. She stuffed the old clothes that wouldn’t fit in my sister’s closet into my room. “Chloe, these are gifts from your sister.” I had never seen so many pretty clothes. Even if they were my sister’s hand-me-downs, I was overjoyed. “Thank you, big sister.” That night, I woke up from a nightmare and went to find Mom. I saw my sister sleeping in Mom’s arms, looking up coquettishly. “Mommy, why is my name Luna and hers is Chloe?” Mom kissed her cheek. “Because the stars revolve around the moon. Mommy had your little sister just so she could keep you company.” My sister smiled smugly. “So little sister is my slave, right?” “Of course. Stars are born only to guard the moon.” Tears welled up in my eyes. I stood frozen in place. Only when the lights in the room went out did I drag my numb legs back to my room. The words echoed in my ears. Stars are born only to guard the moon… Chapter 2 The first memory clip ended, and the studio was dead silent. Until someone in the audience couldn’t hold back. “Such favoritism from a young age. No wonder Chloe ran away from that toxic family.” That one comment opened the floodgates. The crowd erupted in discussion. “She calls herself a mother? If you can’t treat them equally, don’t have a second child!” “I’d run too if I grew up in a house like that!” Accused by everyone, Mom jumped up anxiously from her seat. “Stop talking nonsense! I don’t have favorites! There was a reason…” The screen lighting up again cut off Mom’s words. I was ten years old. Today was Mom’s birthday. I used the allowance I had saved for a long time to pick out the most beautiful bouquet of lilies at the flower shop. I carried them carefully all the way home. But when I got to the door, I was dumbfounded. Nobody was home. I couldn’t get in. Mrs. Davis next door saw me sitting on the steps in a daze, looking surprised. “Chloe, your mom said they were going out for a birthday dinner. I saw her leave with Luna to meet your dad. How did they forget you?” I explained stubbornly, my eyes red. “I didn’t want to go. And I forgot my key.” They didn’t come back until late at night. I couldn’t help but complain. “Mom, Dad, how could you forget me?” Dad explained. “Your mom said you didn’t want to go out tonight. I even saved you a piece of cake.” I thought Mom would explain, but she used a matter-of-fact tone. “Chloe, I forgot to tell you. Your sister wanted to celebrate my birthday alone with me, so we didn’t call you.” Hearing this, Dad frowned in confusion. “Linda, how long are you going to keep this favoritism up? Isn’t Chloe your daughter too?” Mom sneered. “Mark, Luna has said many times she just wants the three of us to go out, but you always have to bring Chloe along. You don’t care about Luna’s feelings at all.” “You promised me you wouldn’t neglect Luna before I agreed to have a second child. But you haven’t kept your word all these years. You only care about Chloe!” Dad quickly covered my ears. “What nonsense are you spouting in front of the child? Have you cared for Chloe at all since she came back?” “Do you know Chloe already has serious psychological issues? She has to see a therapist every month!” Hearing this, a trace of panic flashed across Mom’s face. But she quickly calmed down. “What psychological issues can a child have? I think she just wants to compete for attention with Luna and is acting out to trick everyone!” “If you really think I made her sick, then send her back to your mother’s house.” Dad stared wide-eyed in disbelief. “Linda, do you know what you’re saying?” Mom’s face was cold. “I only know that Luna has heart disease. She can’t handle any stimulation. She can’t suffer any grievances!” They started arguing about it again. I lowered my head and went back to my room. That night, I endured the hunger and hid under the covers, crying myself to sleep. The next day, I found the bouquet of lilies was gone. I thought Mom had accepted my gift. “Mom, those flowers…” Before I could finish, Mom interrupted me. “Chloe, don’t bring messy flowers into the house anymore. Your sister said they stink.” My smile froze on my face. My gaze fell into the trash can nearby. The withered flowers were mixed with leftover food, emitting a foul smell. It was nauseating. I bit my lower lip hard, tears falling spinelessly. “Mom, that was my birthday gift to you…” Suddenly, my sister pointed to a new drawing hanging on the wall and laughed happily. “Mommy, you hung up the birthday gift I gave you! Thanks for liking it, Mommy!” Mom gave my sister a thumbs-up proudly. “Baby’s own drawing is so beautiful. Mommy should thank you.” Then she glanced at me with disgust. “Cry, cry, cry. All you know how to do is cry. Why did I give birth to a debt collector like you?” “Chloe, stop standing in the kitchen and getting in the way!” The scene ended there. Before the audience could react, Mom immediately grabbed the microphone. “This video must be faked with software! I don’t remember this happening at all!” “Director, even if you want ratings, you can’t slander us like this, right?” “I’m not recording this show anymore!” Chapter 3 Mom got up to leave. The host looked helplessly at the staff offstage. “Mom, don’t go.” Behind her, my voice came out with a sob. Mom stopped in her tracks. The screen lit up again. “Mom, please don’t leave me, okay?” I grabbed Mom’s sleeve, begging bitterly. The house was suddenly engulfed in raging fire. Flames and thick smoke were everywhere. Mom threw off my hand. “Luna is still sleeping in the big room. I have to find her first.” “Chloe, you stay here and be good. I’ll come save you after I find your sister!” I watched helplessly as Mom disappeared into the fire. I was choked by the thick smoke until tears streamed down my face. I don’t know how long it took, but firefighters rushed in and saved me from the sea of fire. Dad, who was at work, got the news and rushed to the hospital. I needed immediate surgery because of severe burns on my legs. Dad paced anxiously in the hallway. He turned and saw Mom leading my sister past him. “Linda!” Seeing Dad, Mom walked over excitedly. “Did you get my message? The house suddenly caught fire. Luckily, I got Luna to the hospital in time. The doctor said if we had been any later, and she inhaled too much smoke, her heart wouldn’t have been able to take it.” “I plan to let Luna stay in the hospital for a few days for observation. Anyway, the house isn’t livable anymore…” “Where’s Chloe?” Dad interrupted her with a dark face. Hearing my name, Mom was visibly stunned. Panic quickly welled up in her eyes. “Chloe… Chloe was still in the house. I was too anxious and forgot her. Honey, what do we do?” Dad laughed in anger at her reaction. Pointing at the operating room door, he roared. “Linda, are you crazy? The fire was so big, and you left Chloe alone in the room? Did you want to kill her?” “If the firefighters hadn’t saved Chloe in time, she might already be dead!” Hearing the news that I was saved, Mom breathed a sigh of relief. “As long as she’s okay. Wasn’t I just too worried because Luna has heart disease?” “When Chloe wakes up, I’ll explain it to her properly.” Seeing Mom’s indifferent attitude toward me. Dad clenched his fists and swallowed the words he was about to say. For the next few days, perhaps out of guilt, Mom stayed at the hospital to take care of me. Mom slept with me for the first time. Mom braided my hair for the first time. Mom fed me for the first time. …… So many firsts made me greedy for this hard-won motherly love. I even felt that this fire was a good thing. The cause of the fire was investigated. It was my sister lighting my Barbie doll on fire that caused it. But Mom blamed me instead. “Why didn’t you put your things away properly? Why did you leave them lying around?” I subconsciously retorted. “Even if I left things lying around, sister shouldn’t have started a fire in the house and destroyed our home!” A slap to the face stunned me. Mom’s eyes were red. “Chloe, did you forget what I told you? Whatever your sister does, she is always right. What right do you have to criticize her?” “If you hadn’t left things lying around, would she have started a fire? You are not allowed to mention this again!” The scene changed. I had already gotten into college. My sister and I attended the same university. She was a junior, and I was a freshman. On this day, a senior from a club confessed his love to me in front of everyone on the playground, using candles to form a heart shape. The video went viral online that night. The next night. My sister asked to meet me at a secluded intersection. “Chloe, first you steal Mom and Dad, and now you steal the man I like.” “Did you forget how Mom raised you? You are my slave. You have to listen to me. You can’t do anything to hurt me!” These words haunted me like a curse. My whole body froze. “Sister, I… I didn’t agree to him. I’ll give you whatever you want.” My sister sneered. “Give me everything?” “Chloe, it would be so good if you just died…” As her voice fell, a large truck sped through the intersection. The blinding headlights made people close their eyes. Just then, my sister pushed me toward the road. Honk honk honk— “Ah—” Chapter 4 The screen paused at the moment the truck ran over me. The whole audience gasped. Mom’s face was pale as she looked at my sister in disbelief. “Is… is this real?” A commotion broke out in the audience. “Did Chloe really die?” “This sister is too evil. The family already favors her so much, and she still wants to kill her sister?” “Is this a missing persons show or a true crime show?” “It seems Chloe isn’t hiding; she’s been dead for a long time.” My sister’s eyes flickered with terror. Her hands trembled as she held Mom’s arm. “I didn’t! Mom, you have to believe me! I didn’t kill Chloe!” “You don’t have proof! Don’t talk nonsense! I’m not a murderer!” Someone in the audience sneered. “The video is right in front of everyone. Who’s talking nonsense?” “Exactly. You had the guts to kill your own sister, why don’t you have the guts to admit it now?” My sister was anxious to the point of tears. “I didn’t! Mom, explain it for me, hurry!” Mom subtly withdrew her arm from my sister’s grasp. After hesitating again and again, she finally spoke. “But Chloe did disappear after that day. Her phone couldn’t be reached.” “You came home and told us Chloe ran away because she was mad at us. That’s why I didn’t call the police to look for her.” “Luna, tell Mom the truth now, okay?” My sister was red-faced with embarrassment, fine sweat covering her forehead. “I pushed her and was scare so I ran back to the dorm. But I went back an hour later.” “She and the truck were gone. There was no blood on the ground. I thought she was okay.” “But then she disappeared. I was afraid you guys would find out, so I lied to you. I didn’t mean to hurt her!” Mom swayed and slumped to the floor. “How could this happen? Luna, you’ve always been so kind. How could you harm your sister?” Seeing that even her doting mother didn’t believe her. My sister completely broke down. “Mom, I really didn’t kill her! Later, I went to the nearby hospitals to ask. They didn’t receive any car accident victims that day.” “I even went to the traffic police department. There was no record of that accident at all.” But no one on set believed her. Even the director’s crew was preparing to call the police. Just then, Sarah stood up. “I can prove that Luna Starling did not kill Chloe.” “The Memory Capsule isn’t finished. Let’s wait until everyone finishes watching before drawing conclusions.” My sister gave Sarah a grateful look and helped Mom back to her seat on the stage. The screen changed again. This time the background was a hospital. The truck driver had taken me for a checkup. I waved my hand at him. “Sir, my arm is just scraped a little. Some ointment will fix it.” But the driver insisted I get a full body checkup. “Miss, we can’t delay treatment in case there are internal injuries that we can’t see.” “I already paid the fees. Go get checked out quickly.” After the checkup, the driver handed me a bottle of milk and some bread. I took a few bites, and my stomach suddenly felt a sharp pain. I couldn’t help but vomit. “Miss, you’re vomiting blood!” The driver was scared and quickly called for a doctor. I was taken for another exam. When the results came out, the doctor looked at me solemnly. “Chloe, the results show you have advanced stomach cancer. The situation is not optimistic.” I looked at the doctor calmly. “How long do I have to live?” “If we treat it conservatively, at least six months…”

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The moment I bought Blair Sutton at that exclusive private charity auction, with a bid that made the entire room go silent, she laid down three non-negotiable rules. First, I had to give her an unlimited-use platinum Amex. Second, I was to cover the fallout and legal costs for any behavior she chose to engage in. And finally, I was absolutely forbidden from asking about her private life. Only if I agreed to all three would she consent to leave with me. Everyone in my circle thought she was delusional, an amateur playing a high-stakes game. They were convinced I’d never agree to such brazen conditions. I simply nodded. “Just promise me you’ll take care of your face.” For the next three years, I poured well over a hundred million dollars into her life—an exorbitant price to pay for a ghost. My associates often laughed, whispering that I had lost my mind to a fleeting obsession. But I ignored them. I always got what I wanted, no matter the cost. The day my father died—the day my world was already cracking—she totaled one of my cars in a reckless street race. I shoved my grief down and rushed to the emergency room to handle the mess. But before I could step inside, I heard Blair talking to her friends. “Blair, he’s wrapped around your finger, like a house pet,” one giggled. “You’ll be set for life when you marry him.” “Seriously. Once the old man is gone, the Harrington fortune is all yours, right?” another chimed in. A chorus of easy laughter followed. Then came Blair’s voice, sharp and cold, cutting through the noise. It was the voice of a queen delivering a sentence. “Marry him? Please. He’s a walking ATM who got lucky. He doesn’t have the spine.” The door swung inward. In the stunned silence of her friends, I walked calmly toward Blair. I ignored the faint look of alarm that flickered across her features. I gently, meticulously brushed a speck of dirt from her forehead, letting out a small sigh of relief. “Good. Your face is fine.” 1 Blair jerked her head away, impatience radiating off her. “It was barely a scratch, Lachlan. God, are you always going to be this dramatic?” The sudden tension was thick enough to choke on. Her friends rushed to smooth things over, making clumsy small talk, covertly trying to figure out if I’d heard the contempt in their earlier conversation. Blair shot me a slightly anxious glance, too. Looking at that face—a mirror image of the woman I truly loved—I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I shook my head slowly. “I only just arrived.” She exhaled, relief softening her expression. But that moment was immediately broken by a flurry of activity at the entrance. Finn Delaney. Her childhood friend. Blair’s entire demeanor changed. She rose quickly, her voice taking on a delicate, soothing quality I had never once heard directed at me. “Finn, why did you come? I told you I was fine. You shouldn’t have run out in this downpour.” Finn clutched an umbrella, his eyes welling up with tears the moment he saw her scraped elbow. “I was so worried. When I saw the news alert, I just… panicked.” Blair gently wiped a tear from his cheek. “It’s late. I’ll drive you home.” With that, the two of them gathered their things and left. I stood there, silently watching, while the others shifted uncomfortably. This was the arrangement, after all. The first rule she set the day I bought her: I don’t ask about her private life. I don’t ask about Finn. Before she reached the exit, Blair threw a casual line over her shoulder. “My car is wrecked. Take mine. You figure out your own way home.” Then, she carefully draped her cashmere coat over Finn’s shoulders and walked out, her arm linked with his. She didn’t spare a single thought for how I would get home on a stormy night, dealing with the shock of my father’s death. “Lachlan, Blair she…” one of the friends stammered. “Save it,” I interrupted. I knew the calculus. In Blair’s mind, I would always be secondary to Finn. The few scraps of patience and genuine warmth she possessed were entirely devoted to him. I had long since accepted the truth: no matter how perfectly that face resembled the one I yearned for, she was never going to be her. But just to look at the contours of that face—the face I saw in my dreams—I was willing to pay any price, endure any humiliation. I called my driver, then left to begin making arrangements for my father’s funeral. It was well past midnight when I finally returned home. The lights were on in the living room, which surprised me. Usually, she was asleep by now. Seeing the exhaustion etched on my face, Blair frowned. “Why are you home so late?” “Business,” I replied curtly. She scoffed, disbelieving. “Honestly, what are you trying to prove?” “I only went to comfort Finn. He’s sensitive—a little boy, really. He panicked and ran out in the rain to see me. Sending him home was the least I could do.” There was zero consideration for the fact that I had dropped everything and rushed to her side in the middle of the night, consumed by my own sorrow. I massaged my head, too tired to argue. Seeing my weary state, Blair walked up to me and grabbed my chin. A gesture of forced affection, she leaned in for a kiss, an attempt at a generous truce. I turned my head, avoiding her lips. Her face darkened immediately. “Don’t be ridiculous, Lachlan. What’s with the drama?” “My father died. I’m not in the mood.” Blair froze. I didn’t wait for a reply. I just turned and walked into the master bedroom. A while later, Blair slipped into bed beside me, smelling faintly of the expensive, shared shower gel. She took my hand gently. “I didn’t know,” she murmured. I said nothing. She continued, talking mostly to herself. “Finn’s birthday is coming up. I saw an old Patek Philippe in a magazine, a limited-edition one. It was beautiful.” “I tried to find it, but it’s considered an antique—unavailable. Then I remembered you have one just like it in your safety deposit box. You never wear it. Why don’t you just give it to Finn? He’d love it.” My headache worsened, and my voice was dangerously quiet. “That was my mother’s watch. I will not give it away.” The hand that held mine went rigid. It was the first time I had ever refused her. She bit her lip, snatched her hand away, and got out of bed, pulling on her clothes. When she left, the door slammed shut with a violence that rattled the floorboards. I simply turned over and fell into a heavy, restless sleep. 2 I drove myself to the funeral the next morning. The moment I opened the car door, I spotted a pair of men’s boxers on the passenger seat, noticeably soiled with a white residue. This car had only been driven by Blair when she took Finn home the night before. I was already running late. I quickly swapped cars and headed to the ceremony. The guests were beginning to arrive when Blair and Finn finally sauntered in, noticeably late. “Finn wasn’t feeling well this morning,” Blair announced coolly. “We had a bit of a slow start.” “Take a seat,” I replied, keeping my eyes lowered. The room was warm, and Finn eventually slipped off his designer trench coat. In an instant, he became the focal point of every whispering glance. He was wearing a blazing crimson shirt. Finn shrank back, sensing the sudden scrutiny, and hid behind Blair. “What is it? Why are they all looking at me?” he whispered, clutching her sleeve. Blair stroked his hair, sheltering him and offering soft words of comfort. My temper, usually iron-clad, finally snapped. I fixed him with an icy stare. “You will either take that garment off immediately, or you will get out.” “Wearing bright red at my father’s funeral? Mr. Delaney, your manners are impeccable.” The guests around us held their breath. Finn’s eyes went instantly red, as if he had suffered the ultimate offense. He bit his lower lip. “Fine! I’ll go!” He bolted, grabbing his coat, which had been tossed over a chair, and running out the door. Blair glared at me, her face dark with fury, and chased after him. I shut my eyes tightly, taking several deep breaths. “My apologies. Please, continue,” I said, and everyone quickly returned to their seats, pretending the scene had never happened. I sank into my chair, drained. I could already picture the scathing gossip that would follow this event. A sharp ache rose in my nose and throat. If only she were here. Blair returned after the ceremony ended, her clothes slightly rumpled. She marched over to me, her brow furrowed in anger. “Did you really have to humiliate Finn in front of all those people over something so petty?” “He’s just a kid; he doesn’t understand those rules. Why punish him?” “Was this about me going to his place to comfort him the other day? That was days ago, why are you still so insecure?” Her relentless accusations made me laugh, a dry, bitter sound. Ordinarily, I would have swallowed my anger, but not today. “It was my father’s funeral,” I countered, the sarcasm heavy. “Who, exactly, was trying to stir up trouble?” She flinched, avoiding my gaze. After a long pause, she offered a condescending compromise. “Fine, I’ll talk to him later. But he is still not your place to discipline.” “Finn fell when he ran out earlier. He needs a check-up. You own a hospital—get them to prepare the best suite immediately. A full battery of tests. Do that, and we can put this behind us.” I refused without hesitation. “Absolutely not.” I agreed to clean up her messes, but I wouldn’t fund her lover’s medical care. “You are becoming increasingly impossible,” Blair spat. She ripped the white mourning corsage from her lapel, threw it on the ground, and stormed out. I arrived home that night to find Finn seated at my place at the dining table. In front of him was the signature wellness smoothies my housekeeper, Mrs. Wong, always prepared for me after stressful days. Finn looked up, a triumphant smirk touching his lips. “Locke’s home? Blair said Mrs. Wong’s smoothies is the most nourishing, so I’m having some to help me recover.” He gestured to the glass. “You should have a glass, too.” I barely spared him a glance, walking past the table. Blair rushed to intercept me, looping her arm through mine, her tone unusually soft. “I thought it over. You don’t want to give up the hospital suite? Fine. Our house doctor can handle it, and Finn can stay here. It’s the same thing.” “He likes the sunniest master suite—the one that’s yours now. Give it to him. He needs a nice, bright room to recover in and keep his spirits up.” Blair was utterly certain I would agree. After all these years, I had spoiled her beyond measure. She asked, and I gave. Whether it was an impossible reservation or a million-dollar hypercar, I never blinked. 3 Before I could answer, Blair pulled me toward the dining table. She pushed a can of pickles toward me. “I got those pickles you love from that place downtown. Eat up.” I stared at the meal. It wasn’t my favorite. It was hers. The one I had lost. Since her accident, this dish had become my self-deceiving comfort food. I picked up a piece with my forks. It tasted exactly the way I remembered. Seeing me eat, Blair’s expression softened slightly. Finn, jealousy flashing in his eyes, quickly scooped a piece of roasted pork filet into my plate. He immediately gasped and stammered, “Oh, I’m so sorry, Locke! I forgot your father… because of his heart condition…” “I’m always so clumsy. Don’t be mad.” He gave a desperate, pleading look to Blair. Blair patted Finn’s head, her expression sickeningly indulgent. “It’s okay, baby, I’ve got you.” She looked at me, her voice flat. “Finn is young. Let it go.” She then rolled up her sleeves and began deftly peeling a shrimp for him. Faced with their sickeningly intimate dynamic, I lost all appetite. I put down my forks. Seeing I was done, Blair seized the opportunity. “Finn’s lease on his apartment is up soon. You should give him one of your properties to tide him over.” “Your downtown penthouse is perfect. The decor is gorgeous, and it’s right near where he needs to look for work.” The penthouse she was referring to was the apartment I had purchased to be my wedding home. Every detail of the interior design was personally chosen by her. I felt a sudden, hollow laugh bubble up inside me. My complete lack of boundaries had truly warped her perception of reality. She believed I would never stop making concessions for her. But when it came to the one I loved, I had a line. “Blair,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Are you asking me to finance your mistress?” Finn shot up, his face crimson with indignation. “Locke, I know you resent my closeness with Blair, but we are innocent! Our relationship is completely pure.” He turned tearfully to Blair. “I’m interrupting. I’m so sorry, Blair, I’ll leave right now.” Blair quickly grabbed his hand, her gaze turning frigid as she faced me. “Apologize to him.” I scoffed. “Did I say anything untrue?” “Or was that pair of soiled boxers in my passenger seat not yours?” Finn began to hyperventilate, his face swelling with blood. He shook his head wildly. “You’ve completely misunderstood! I was just really upset that day, and Blair… she just used her hand to help me. We’ve been close since childhood. It’s nothing!” Blair pulled him into a hug, stroking his back reassuringly. “You don’t need to explain yourself. He’s been paranoid all week.” She looked at me with cold contempt. “Do you actually believe being this irrational is going to make me look at you differently?” “You need to find a limit for your tantrums. I’ll spend more time with you later, okay?” “But Finn cannot be stressed right now.” “If you keep this up, I’ll just take Finn and we’ll both move out.” I recognized the threat. In the past, that sentence alone was enough to make me cave immediately. I would apologize profusely, meet her demand, and she would then “graciously” forgive me. But my attention was suddenly elsewhere. It was fixed on the phone in my hand. A text message. It was from a number I knew intimately, a number I was convinced would never contact me again. Locke, wait for me. Four simple words. I gripped the phone, tears suddenly blurring my vision. 4 Was this a cruel prank? Or was she, the one I’d mourned for three years, truly back? The possibility made my eyes burn. The phone was snatched from my grasp. Blair frowned as she looked at me. “Why are you crying?” She glanced at the screen, but it had already gone dark. She tried to input a few common passcodes, failing each time. Frustrated, she tossed the phone onto the table. “Did you hear what I said? Are you listening to me?” My mind was a fog of shock and desperate hope. I couldn’t waste any more energy on this charade. I grabbed my phone and stood up. “I think we both need some space to cool down.” Seeing my retreating back, Blair looked utterly stunned. It was the first time I had walked away first. In every argument, she was the one who stormed off, and I was the one who chased after her, apologizing, begging her to return. Maybe he’s just really upset this time, she thought. He’ll be over it in a few days. After that night, I didn’t return home for nearly a week, nor did I text Blair. She started to panic. Her friends were quick to reassure her. “Please, Blair, don’t worry. We all see how much he loves you.” “He’s a man; let him cool off. He’ll come crawling back to his goddess, he always does.” They laughed. Finn nodded, refilling her wine glass. “Exactly, Blair. It’s nothing. Locke is just throwing a tantrum, waiting for you to come beg him.” “Besides, his dad just died. You’re the closest thing he has left. He’s not going to risk losing you.” Blair remembered seeing her own face as the wallpaper on my phone that night. The image was grainy, probably a stolen photo, but it was unmistakably her. I know he’s obsessed with me. He wouldn’t just throw this away. She finally relaxed. “You’re right. Lachlan takes over as CEO next week. I’ll show up at his succession party. He’ll fall back in line then.” At the party, I was going through the motions, toasting with partners. After that initial text, the number had gone silent again. I forced myself to be patient. If it was truly her, she would come to me when the time was right. I just had to wait. I took a sip of champagne, then saw Blair walk into the ballroom with Finn. My smile vanished. Finn was wearing a perfectly tailored navy suit—the exact suit my mother had commissioned from a world-renowned designer for my twenty-first birthday. It had taken six months to make. I strode toward them, my voice laced with fury. “Take that off! Who gave you permission to wear that?” Finn recoiled, intimidated by my gaze. But remembering Blair was nearby, he puffed out his chest. “What’s your problem?” I didn’t wait for an answer. I grabbed the fabric, pulling at his lapel. Blair, incensed by my aggression, yanked me away. Caught off balance, my lower back hit the edge of a long banquet table. The towering champagne pyramid on top shattered, crashing to the floor. The enormous noise drew the attention of every guest. My succession party had devolved into a public farce. Blair stepped in front of Finn, shielding him. She looked at me with utter contempt. “How long are you going to keep this act up, Lachlan? I came here, didn’t I?” “That suit was never a good color on you. It looks much better on Finn—he’s young. You have dozens of suits. Why are you making a scene and humiliating him in public?” She finally seemed to notice the champagne dripping from my clothes and the small shards of glass embedded in my leg. A fleeting look of something like pity crossed her face. She reached out to help me up. “Stop throwing a tantrum. I’ll buy you a new one later, okay?” But I barely registered the pain in my leg or the sound of her voice. My eyes were fixed on the person standing just behind her, a figure I knew impossibly well. All the blood in my body seemed to freeze. Blair followed my gaze and slowly turned around. When she saw the woman’s face, her pupils dilated in pure, raw shock.

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Bad news: My husband, who is five years older than me, seems to be able to hear my thoughts. Worse news: He can only hear a few words. Me: “Hmm, Elias, the roast beef you made today is a bit tough.” What he heard: 【Elias is a bit tough.】 Me: “It’s getting late to take Elias out for dinner. How about we go for Peking duck tomorrow instead.” What he heard: 【Elias is no match for a duck.】 Me: “If my bestie doesn’t hurry up, I’m going to sneak a piece of cake. Gogogo.” What he heard: 【Sneak out to eat. Gogogo.】 … In the last few days, I’ve noticed Elias looking at me with a strange expression—aggrieved, restrained, and despairing. He seems about to shatter. 1 At my best friend’s birthday party. I lost a round of Truth or Dare. Under everyone’s pressure, I posted a Facebook status— “Just dropped off my young boyfriend with the six-pack. Lit a cigarette in the car, mind filled with thoughts of my white moonlight ex. Checked my phone, and my washed-up old husband messaged again asking why I’m not home yet. Ugh, so annoying. If he rushes me again, I’m divorcing him.” After editing, I hit send without hesitation. My best friend giggled and draped her arm around my shoulder: “My dear princess, aren’t you going to block your lawyer husband from seeing this post? Be careful, if he sees it and gets jealous, you might be in trouble when you get home tonight.” I shook my head subconsciously: “He won’t.” My best friend blinked excitedly and patted me firmly: “Who would’ve thought, Stella. I never expected that boring, rigid, stick-in-the-mud old relic, Elias, would be so easily wrapped around your finger?” Stumped by her question, I paused gloomily for a few seconds, then reached out to spin the bottle on the table. “Today is your birthday, why are we talking about me? Let’s keep playing.” At my urging, the game quickly moved to the next round. No one took my best friend’s passing remark to heart. Except for me. I stared quietly at the spinning bottle on the table. By some strange impulse, I clicked into my chat with Elias. The latest notification on the screen read: The other party retracted a message. It was two minutes after I posted that Facebook status. Elias sent me two messages in a row, then retracted both. I frowned in confusion and sent a question mark. Elias replied instantly. 【No, it’s nothing, just a slip of the hand. I didn’t mean to rush you, absolutely not.】 【I just wanted to say… that restaurant you love is now delivering. You’ve been using a lot of energy, do you want me to order you something to replenish it?】 He paused, then added. 【…I, I’ll order a meal for two.】 I glanced at my buzzing phone and replied while playing the game. 【Not now, my mouth is numb and spicy from all the food, it’s a bit inconvenient.】 Elias suddenly went quiet. 2 The party ended at 11 PM. My best friend thoughtfully called her college cousin to be my designated driver. The alcohol went to my head, and in my daze, I couldn’t help but recall the bits and pieces of this marriage. Elias and I were in an arranged marriage. At the time, my parents asked me to choose between two stepbrothers from the Xi family. One was the calm and reserved Elias, five years my senior. The other was Elijah, my age, lively and outgoing. Initially, I chose the younger brother, who had a similar personality and shared interests with me. But on the day of the engagement, Elijah overslept after partying with his friends the night before. His car broke down on the way over. When he finally arrived at the venue, he opened the box containing his engagement suit, only to find Crayon Shin-Chan pajamas inside. This series of events made the usually proud me lose face in front of everyone. In my anger, I grabbed Elias, who was standing beside me dressed like a peacock and looking perfectly suited for the role of the groom. Then, I kissed him hard on the lips, tasting the faint peppermint flavor in his mouth. I still can’t forget Elias’s expression—shocked, angry, astounded. He looked like a good man who was being forcibly taken but was helpless to resist. Under everyone’s gaze, he pursed his lips tightly, pointed a trembling finger at me, and said word by word: “I am a decent man from a good family, an innocent young lad…” Me: … And so, Elias and I were united by a strange turn of events. Over these two years of marriage, I’ve discovered that Elias has a very different attitude toward this marriage than his rigid appearance suggests. He is extremely indulgent with me, not caring who I go out with or what time I come home at night. Even if I stay out until 2 AM, all I get is the living room light left on, a bowl of hangover soup with an increasingly strong aroma on the table, and a nonchalant remark: “You have work tomorrow, go to sleep early.” Although we started as an arranged marriage, Elias is tall, handsome, and capable. He’s incredibly service-oriented, reliable, and has plenty of money. I’ve gotten used to his presence, his habits, and I even get butterflies from his inadvertent touches. But when I think about my best friend’s analysis of his personality and his actual attitude toward me, I can’t help but feel distressed. Elias seems to regard our relationship merely as an arranged marriage. He fulfills his duties and obligations as a husband, but has no romantic feelings for me. 3 The more I thought about it, the more my headache grew. I stumbled as I pushed open the front door, suddenly sensing something was wrong. Usually, the house is brightly lit, but tonight only a single chandelier in the living room was on. The entire house seemed shrouded in an oppressive atmosphere of resentment, thick and damp, like it could breed a hundred evil spirits. I shook my head, laughing at myself for drinking too much and hallucinating. But when I turned around, I was startled and jumped by Elias standing in the shadows behind the door. Elias was shirtless, looking like he had just returned from a run outside. His cool white skin was flushed an unnatural red, his abdominal muscles trembling slightly with his breath, and his wrists had several scrapes oozing blood droplets. I patted my chest and said irritably: “Elias! What are you doing standing here like a ghost?” Elias’s dark eyes locked onto me. After a long silence, he mechanically moved his lips. “You’re back. I’m here waiting for you to come home.” His voice was hoarse, his tone flat like dead water, sounding for all the world like a loyal husband waiting for his wife who returned late from drinking. I sniffed. Besides the citrusy hormonal scent on him, I seemed to smell an out-of-place scent of skincare products, very much like my whitening and brightening serum. Elias pursed his lips in forbearance, his dark gaze bypassing me to look gloomily out the window. I followed his gaze and saw the retreating figure of my best friend’s cousin. I subconsciously explained: “Oh, that person is…” Before I could finish, Elias interrupted me hurriedly, his voice trembling slightly. “Person? …Where is a person? What person? I was just thinking about work matters, I didn’t see any person, completely didn’t see anyone, where is there a person…” I was silent for a moment, examining Elias with a strange look. Elias immediately turned his head to avoid my gaze and whispered. “Why don’t you change your shoes first… I, I’ll get you a glass of water.” With that, without waiting for my reply, he fled into the kitchen. The sound of water boiling soon came from the kitchen. But besides the sound of water boiling, there seemed to be other strange noises mixed in. I listened carefully. Hmm, when did Elias buy another kettle? And one that made such desperate and miserable crying sounds. So noisy. 4 Half an hour later. Elias finally emerged from the kitchen. Besides hot water, he also brought a late-night snack. I leaned comfortably on the sofa, waiting for him to serve me. The light from above the coffee table annoyed me, and I waved my hand vigorously. “The living room lights are too yellow. It’s hurting my eyes. So annoying.” As soon as I spoke, Elias paused. Boiling water splashed out. Instantly scalding the back of his hand red. Yet he seemed not to feel the pain. Instead, he pressed hard on the burn on his hand as if punishing himself. After a few seconds of eerie silence, he murmured softly: “Is the lighting… really all you wanted to talk about?” I tilted my head in confusion: “Elias, are you talking to me? What did you say? My headache made me miss it…” Elias turned away, brought the water glass over, and forced a stiff smile: “No, nothing. Drink some water.” I blinked, my gaze falling on an open, exquisite gift box on the table. Inside the box lay a chain with several large, sparkling diamonds embedded in it, and two silver letters—X and W—hanging at the end. Elias wasn’t the kind of romantic man who would buy a necklace as a gift. So, it’s very likely that this necklace was given to him by someone else. I hesitated for two seconds, then whispered sourly: “Where did this necklace come from? Such an old-fashioned style and design, looks like something older people would buy to wear…” As soon as the words fell, the air in the living room suddenly solidified. Elias’s breathing stopped abruptly, as if someone was choking him. I sensed something strange and looked up at him instinctively. Under the glaring light, Elias stood stubbornly, looking shattered, his eyes empty, like a pathetic puppy abandoned by its owner. This reminded me of our wedding night. At that time, Elias was on the verge of losing control. His eyelashes trembled, his voice choked up, and warm tears fell like broken beads onto my collarbone. At the very last moment, he buried his face in the crook of my neck and said huskily and seductively: “Stella, it feels so good…” …

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I discovered that my husband had secretly bought a voice recorder. When I asked about it, he exploded immediately: “It’s for work! Why are you interrogating me?” “If you’re so bored, go find a job!” I didn’t argue. I simply swapped the recorder’s internal memory card for a micro-transmitter. The next day, he took his mistress to his car for a thrill. Every word they said was transmitted via Bluetooth… Directly to the massive speakers used for the neighborhood Zumba class. 1 Mrs. Robinson, the Zumba instructor, was about to change the song when Dance Monkey cut off abruptly. Replacing it was a burst of harsh static, followed by sounds that made everyone blush, blasting from the high-wattage outdoor speakers. “Caleb… gentle…” A coquettish female voice, amplified by the heavy bass, rolled like thunder across the entire community square. Hundreds of retirees stretching their arms and legs froze mid-motion, like someone had pressed the pause button. Following that was Caleb’s familiar voice, dripping with a greasy arrogance I had never heard before: “Scared of what? This car has great soundproofing. That yellow-faced woman is still at home like an idiot, waiting for me to ‘work late’.” Dead silence fell over the square. Only the unbearable sounds from the speakers continued, wave after wave, clear as if they were whispering in our ears. Mrs. Robinson stood stunned for a few seconds, her fan dropping to the ground with a clatter. She was closest to the speaker; the sound made her heart palpitate. “This… whose couple is this, leaving their windows open?” someone in the crowd muttered. “Couple? Listen to those words. That’s an affair!” I sat on a bench at the edge of the square, pulling the brim of my baseball cap low, clutching the receiver’s control unit in my hand. I watched the black BMW X5 with dark tinted windows parked not far away. The car was rocking in rhythm with the sounds from the speaker. The conversation continued, getting even more explosive. “So when are you going to divorce her? I don’t want to keep sneaking around like this.” “Soon, soon,” Caleb’s voice carried a ruthless edge. “That idiot is trying to get pregnant recently, forcing me to take vitamins every day. She doesn’t know I swapped her bottle of prenatal vitamins for long-term contraceptives ages ago. I even added a little ‘extra spice’.” “As long as she can’t conceive and her health collapses, my mom will naturally force her out.” If people were just watching for the drama before, this sentence changed the atmosphere in the square completely. The seniors, who had been whispering, now had faces of iron. Everyone there had children. Who could stomach such a conscience-less, evil scheme? “Is he even human? Poisoning his wife?” “That’s wicked! That’s trying to kill someone!” Listening to the curses around me, I dug my nails deep into my palms but felt no pain. So that was it. That was why my health had deteriorated over the last two years, why I had unexplained bleeding. It was all thanks to him. Rage boiled in my blood, but I had to stay calm. 2 “Ugh, don’t mention that buzzkill woman,” the female voice whined. “Caleb, doing this here… will we get caught?” “Don’t worry, I scouted this place ages ago,” Caleb gloated. “Those old geezers dancing Zumba play their music so loud it covers everything. They make their noise, we have our fun. It’s exciting.” The words “old geezers” were like a spark dropping into a powder keg. Mrs. Robinson trembled with rage, picking up her fan and waving it fiercely: “Bullying us! Doing dirty deeds right under our noses and calling us names?” “It’s under the shade trees! I’ve been eyeing that black car for a while!” Someone shouted, and hundreds of pairs of eyes swept toward the roadside parking spots. The black BMW X5 stood out glaringly under the streetlamp. “Let’s go! Let’s see which animal it is!” The crowd surged toward the car like a flood breaking a dam. I merged into the back of the crowd, watching Caleb’s car get surrounded tightly. The people inside clearly hadn’t realized what was happening until the woman screamed in panic: “Caleb, outside… why are there so many people?!” “What?!” Caleb’s terrified roar came through the speakers, followed by the frantic rustling of clothes being put on. People started banging on the windows: “Get out! Explain yourself to everyone!” “Poisoning people and cursing us in the street? Get out here!” The BMW rocked like a small boat in a stormy sea, shoved by the angry mob. Caleb panicked. He tried to start the car, but he was blocked in front and back. He rolled the window down a crack, yelling furiously: “What are you doing? Get away! This is my private business! Move or I’m calling the police!” This shout, transmitted clearly through the “pen” clipped to his collar, once again boomed across the square. “Police? Call them!” Mrs. Robinson had a fiery temper. She pointed the Zumba microphone directly at the car window. “Let the police see who’s in the wrong—you poisoning people, or us catching perverts!” Caleb’s face appeared intermittently behind the glass, pale as a sheet. He probably never dreamed his every word and action was being “livestreamed” right there. As the standoff continued, I tapped my phone screen lightly. If I’m going to hammer him, I’ll hammer him so deep he never gets up. I switched the signal source. No longer livestreaming real-time audio, I played an encrypted file recovered from the recorder—one he had hidden very deep. 3 The noise from the speakers vanished. Replacing it was the sound of a very quiet room, followed by Caleb’s lowered voice, dark and greedy. “Mr. Lee, I’ve handled the inspection report for this batch of steel. So what if they’re sub-standard? Buried in cement pillars, even God won’t see them. As soon as the three million hits my account, I’ll stamp the approval for the new Horizon project.” The seniors who were banging on the car stopped in unison. The air froze. Horizon City was the biggest unfinished construction project in the area, recently revived. Many of the people present had poured their children’s savings, or even their own retirement funds, into those apartments. “Steel… sub-standard?” “What is he saying? Those are our homes!” Fear spread faster than anger, followed by an explosion a hundred times more violent than before. “Caleb? You’re Caleb from Horizon?!” “You bastard! That’s tofu-dreg construction! How many people will you kill?!” If before it was just moral judgment, now it was a matter of life and death. Someone picked up a brick and—SMASH—hurled it at the BMW’s windshield. Spiderweb cracks spread instantly. “Smash his car! Don’t let him run!” “This scum needs to go to jail!” Inside the car, Caleb broke down completely. He leaned on the horn frantically, but amidst the roar of hundreds of people, the honking was insignificant. He couldn’t understand why top-secret evidence of commercial crime was being broadcast over Zumba speakers at this exact moment. Sirens wailed in the distance, getting closer. I stood in the shadows, watching the police struggle to push through the angry crowd, dragging a disheveled, bleeding Caleb out of the car. The mistress was paralyzed with fear, curled up under the seat, shivering. As Caleb was handcuffed, his eyes searched the crowd blankly, seeming to look for the mastermind who had ruined him. But he was destined not to find them. 4 I turned and left. Back home, the house was pitch black and terrifyingly quiet. But I knew that tomorrow, this place would be incredibly lively. Police would come for evidence, creditors would block the door, and the home buyers would come for answers. And I, as the sole “unaware victim,” would extract myself cleanly. I would sue for divorce as a victim, take back everything that belonged to me, and more. I walked into the bathroom, poured the swapped “vitamins” into the toilet, and watched the pills swirl and vanish. My phone vibrated. It was a WeChat message from Caleb, probably sent with his one phone call chance before being put in the squad car. Just three words,透ing with bone-chilling coldness and despair: [Was it you?] I poured myself a glass of red wine and toasted the pale but bright-eyed woman in the mirror. Then, I slowly replied: [Hubby, what are you saying? I’ve been home waiting for you to come drink soup! Mrs. Robinson said they caught a pervert in the square. Are you okay?]

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I hadn’t even driven my new Glacier Blue Aston Martin GT, a half-million-dollar masterpiece, out of the Sterling Motor Group dealership lot when my phone buzzed. It was Chad Dillon, my sales consultant. He sounded clipped, a little rushed. He claimed the onboard diagnostics system needed an urgent, mandatory offline patch, an “emergency software update.” Could I please leave the key with him for thirty minutes? Half an hour later, I saw my car. It wasn’t parked in the service bay. It was plastered all over the Instagram story of some heavily filtered blonde sales associate named Brittany Wells. Chad, my grinning, overconfident salesman, had his arm draped around her, one hand on the steering wheel of my Glacier Blue GT. The caption read: “Fresh whip! Taking my babe for a spin.” I didn’t call, didn’t text, and didn’t leave a comment. I simply opened the Aston Martin’s companion app on my phone and, with a few taps, remotely locked the vehicle down. Engine ignition disabled. Doors bolted. The GPS showed them static, deep in the hills on the Sunset Canyon Loop, twenty miles outside of Palm Springs. Two hours later, the call came—not from the dealership, but from the Palm Springs Police Department. The tone, though slightly distorted by the phone line, carried the unmistakable, unyielding weight of official authority. “Mr. Alexander Derrick? Is that correct?” I stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the dealership’s waiting lounge, watching the evening traffic stream past. I kept my voice steady. “It is.” “This is the Palm Springs PD Command Center. We’ve received an urgent 911 call. Two individuals are reporting that they are trapped inside a blue sports car, license plate number [Placeholder for Plate Number], on the Sunset Canyon Loop.” 01 I’d only just selected that plate number half an hour before. “The caller alleges the owner, you, deliberately initiated a remote lock, confining them inside. Sir, we have a report of Unlawful Confinement.” The voice on the line paused, then sharpened, cutting through the sterile silence of the lounge. “We are instructing you to immediately, and I mean immediately, disable the vehicle lock and proceed to the nearest precinct for questioning.” Unlawful Confinement. The charge hit my ears like a pair of icy handcuffs snapping shut. I didn’t immediately explain or erupt in indignant rage. I just felt a strange, absurd humor rise in my chest. I could almost see the officer on the other end: a bored cop envisioning me as a jealous ex-boyfriend, using a tech trick for a melodramatic act of revenge, or maybe just some spoiled, clueless tech bro who’d accidentally played with his expensive new toy too hard. My fingertips traced the cool metal frame of my Tom Ford glasses. My gaze remained level, calm as a lake in the shadow of a mountain. Was this the tax of being a victim in the modern world? To be questioned as the perpetrator simply because I possessed the means of the offense? It was certainly a novel experience. I took a deep breath, letting the low hum of the city filter out. My voice, when it crossed the wire, was clear, unhurried, and devoid of any tremble. “Officer.” Another pause from the other end. “I have a preliminary question.” “Go ahead.” “If a person steals your property while attempting to move it,” I began, my tone measured, as if debating a point of law, “and you, the owner, use entirely legal, pre-installed technology to track that property and prevent its further movement… is that still considered a crime?” The air of unshakeable authority from the police department seemed to crack just a little. “…What are you implying? You need to state your situation clearly, Mr. Derrick.” The officer’s voice softened, now tinged with confusion instead of command. I allowed a faint, satisfied half-smile to touch my lips. That was the response I needed. “The situation is perfectly clear,” I said. “First, the blue sports car—license plate [Placeholder for Plate Number]—is my legal property. I, Alexander Derrick, purchased it in full for cash at 3:15 PM today from the Sterling Motor Group. I can email the contract and wire transfer receipt right now.” “Second, the caller, if I am correct, is your dealership’s sales consultant, Chad Dillon. He obtained my key less than an hour ago under the false pretense that the vehicle needed an ‘emergency offline system update.’” “Third, his ‘update’ was, in fact, taking my brand new, unregistered vehicle, with his accomplice, Brittany Wells, on an unauthorized joyride and photo shoot to the Sunset Canyon Loop.” I narrated the facts as if reading a dry deposition. As I spoke, I pulled up the high-resolution screenshot I’d already taken of Brittany’s Instagram story. The photo was a parade of poor judgment: Chad, in a cheap knock-off designer shirt, smugly steering with one hand, the other around Brittany, who was pouting for the camera. The background was the desolate, rocky outline of the Sunset Canyon highway at dusk. The caption: “Fresh whip! Taking my babe for a spin.” The geotag was brutally specific: Sunset Canyon Loop, Mile Marker 11. “I have already forwarded this time-stamped, geotagged evidence, along with my proof of ownership, to your department’s designated investigation email address,” I informed him. I then opened the companion app again. The crimson dot of my Aston Martin was motionless on the digital map. I clicked the share function. “Furthermore, to fully cooperate with your investigation, I have temporarily granted your department real-time access to the vehicle’s GPS data and the cloud-stored footage from the dashcam and interior security camera.” My voice dropped, taking on a cool edge. “You can now see everything happening inside. Let me be clear. This car is my full-cash, legally-acquired property. It contains unopened personal items. My remote lock is a rational and legal act of loss prevention, taken to secure my assets against unauthorized and frankly criminal misuse. I see no issue with this course of action.” A long, heavy silence followed. I could hear muffled, confused voices on the other end—a low, chaotic murmur. “…He can do that?” “…The evidence trail is airtight.” “…That salesman has some nerve.” I waited. I didn’t need to push. I was the master of the long game. Meanwhile, I activated the app’s interior camera feed—a premium security feature I’d paid extra for. The small window showed a dim, claustrophobic scene, illuminated only by the faint glow of the dash. Chad Dillon’s formerly cocky face was a mask of panic and raw desperation. He was frantically pulling at the door handle. The car was dead; the mechanical locks were useless. He started smashing at the double-layer acoustic glass—with his elbow, his fist, even the heel of his shoe—the thick glass absorbing the impacts with dull, sickening thuds. Each impact was a direct, sickening blow to my chest. This was my new car. The one I’d waited six months for. The one where I hadn’t even pulled the protective plastic film off the seats yet. The girl, Brittany, was hysterical. Her carefully applied makeup was ruined, black streaks running down her cheeks like war paint. She was slumped against the passenger seat, chest heaving, clearly hyperventilating from fear and the enclosed space. Watching their pathetic display, the furious heat in my chest didn’t flare; instead, it subsided, transforming into a deep, chilling reservoir of resolve. Finally, the police officer’s voice returned, the tone utterly transformed. “Mr. Derrick, we have a preliminary understanding of the situation.” “Thank you for your cooperation.” “We require you to report immediately to the Westside Precinct to file a detailed statement. As for the individuals in the vehicle…” He chose his words with care. “We will dispatch a unit immediately to the scene for their ‘extraction’ and to have them ‘transported’ for questioning.” Extraction. Transported. The change in terminology was everything. My victim status was now officially recognized. My suspicion had been cleared. “I’ll be there momentarily.” I hung up. My finger lingered on the screenshot of Chad and Brittany’s smiling, arrogant faces. The curve of my own mouth tightened into something cold and dangerous. The game had just begun. The Westside Precinct was bathed in the harsh, white light of fluorescent bulbs, a place that smelled faintly of stale coffee and industrial-strength sanitizer. I arrived moments before Chad and Brittany were brought in by the patrol car. They were draped in thick, beige police-issue blankets, clutching Styrofoam cups of lukewarm water, playing the role of the traumatized victims. The moment they saw me walk through the door, their eyes flashed with raw hostility. Not guilt, but pure, unadulterated venom. I, the man whose property they had stolen, was, in their minds, the villain. I met their gazes without flinching, my Tom Ford lenses shielding any hint of emotion. The officer who’d taken my call—a Sergeant Miller—gestured toward an empty chair. “Mr. Derrick, please take a seat.” Before I could settle, Brittany’s high-pitched, frantic wail sliced through the station’s quiet hum. “Officer! That’s him!” She pointed a trembling finger at me, tears streaming down her face. “He deliberately tricked us into going out there and then locked us in! He… he had malicious intent!” She gasped, dramatically clutching her chest. “We almost died in there! We were hyperventilating! We were running out of air!” The sheer audacity of turning a theft and joyride into a case of sexual predation and attempted homicide stunned me. 02 To accuse the victim of being the aggressor. It wasn’t just a lie; it was a character assassination. I didn’t dignify the outburst with anger. My expression remained impassive. I watched her performance like one might watch a particularly bad high school play. Chad immediately chimed in, his voice hoarse from shouting and panic. “Exactly, Officer! We were just borrowing the car! You know, friends hanging out, having some fun! Kids being kids!” He attempted to frame his crime as a simple, harmless “borrow.” Then, he wheeled on me, eyes blazing. “And because of his recklessness, Brittany is severely traumatized! Her heart is pounding! I’m telling you, Alex, this isn’t over! We will press charges for reckless endangerment and deliberate emotional distress!” Their coordinated attack was seamless. They banked on the age-old courtroom trick: whoever cries the loudest and throws the dirtiest mud first often wins the jury. I ignored their hysterics. From my leather briefcase, I methodically began to take out a stack of documents. I placed the printed, signed purchase contract on the metal table. I placed the wire transfer confirmation for the full $485,000 on top of it. I placed the enlarged, high-resolution printout of Brittany’s Instagram screenshot, with the time stamp and geotag visible, next. One sheet. Two sheets. Three sheets. My movements were slow, deliberate, each quiet rustle of paper sounding like a slap in the tense silence. Their frantic shouting began to falter. Finally, I took my phone, tapped the screen, and played an audio recording. “Hey, Alex, so here’s the thing. The car’s backend is showing an urgent offline system update is required. It’s a mandatory patch. It’ll only take half an hour. Could you leave the key, and I’ll handle it in the bay?” Chad’s oily, familiar voice echoed clearly in the precinct. “It’s quick, just grab a coffee in the lounge, and it’ll be done before you know it.” The recording ended. The silence that followed was absolute. Chad’s face drained from red to white, then to a sickening shade of gray. He gaped, struggling for air, a trapped, terrified animal. Brittany stopped sobbing, her eyes wide with incomprehension and dawning horror as she looked from Chad to me. At that moment, the door burst open. In strode a man in a too-tight suit, a comb-over barely concealing a receding hairline, and a stomach straining against his belt—Hank Peterson, the dealership’s General Manager. He locked onto me immediately. A forced, practiced smile, like wrinkled cellophane, plastered itself onto his face. He rushed over, grabbing my hand in a sweaty, aggressive handshake. “Mr. Derrick! My God, Mr. Derrick! I am so, so sorry! This is a terrible misunderstanding! Absolute carelessness on the part of some young, foolish employees! I apologize for the trouble!” He shook my hand vigorously, as if we were long-lost fraternity brothers. I calmly, smoothly, extracted my hand. Hank didn’t miss a beat. He turned to Sergeant Miller, his tone instantly shifting to dismissive corporate charm. “Officer, thank you for your service. This is an internal matter, really, a simple misunderstanding between the dealership and a valued customer. We’ll take care of it ourselves and won’t waste any more of your valuable public resources.” He was trying to immediately classify the crime as a “minor internal incident.” He pulled me aside, lowering his voice into a confidential, oily whisper. “Alex, look, here’s what we’ll do. The kids were idiots, they’re already suspended. To make this right, I’m personally authorizing two years of our top-tier, all-inclusive service package—that’s a five-thousand-dollar value! Plus, a set of genuine Aston Martin custom floor mats! They’re German leather! Thousands of dollars!” He leaned in closer, reeking of cheap cologne and desperation. “Let’s just let this go, okay? The car is fine, no harm done. Blowing this up helps no one—not you, not us. We’re offering a great resolution. Deal?” I looked at his face—a landscape of feigned solicitude and practiced opportunism. I listened to his condescending offer, a pittance meant to buy my silence. I smiled then. The warmth did not reach my eyes. I addressed Hank, but my voice was clear enough for everyone to hear, especially the officers documenting the case. “Mr. Peterson.” “Do you know why I waited six months for this specific car?” “Do you know the premium I paid for that exclusive Glacier Blue finish?” “Do you know that car was not just transportation; it was a trophy—a personal symbol of years of brutal work and sacrifice?” I paused, locking eyes with him. “And now?” “Now, that car means only one thing to me.” “An insult.” The insult of being deceived. The insult of having my property treated with such reckless disrespect. The profound insult of being offered the equivalent of table scraps for my silence. Hank’s corporate smile froze, melting like low-grade butter. He hadn’t expected this level of pushback from a “regular customer.” My refusal to accept his small-time bribery instantly shifted his expression to wounded, simmering rage. I ignored his anger and addressed my demands clearly to the room, ensuring the police record was perfect. “Mr. Peterson, I must correct you.” “This is not a ‘misunderstanding,’ and it is certainly not a ‘minor internal incident.’” “It is Grand Theft Auto, and it is Systematic Fraud.” The words Theft and Fraud hit Hank like a gut punch. His face was now a tight, angry red. I continued, my voice measured and unwavering. “Therefore, I will not be accepting any form of private settlement.” “I am formally presenting my demands to the Sterling Motor Group.” I held up one finger. “First, the compromised vehicle is unacceptable. I require either a full, immediate refund, or a replacement—a brand new, equivalent specification, zero-mileage vehicle, air-freighted directly from the factory line.” I held up a second finger. “Second, the employees responsible for the theft and the subsequent slander in this precinct—Chad Dillon and Brittany Wells—must be immediately and publicly terminated.” I held up a third finger. “Third, the Sterling Motor Group must purchase a full-page advertisement in the LA Times and publish a corresponding, unedited public apology on its corporate website, addressed specifically to me, Alexander Derrick.” My demands were absolute. The precinct was utterly silent. Chad and Brittany’s faces were ghostly white. They had finally grasped that their little “spin” had consequences far beyond a verbal warning. Hank, now a furious shade of eggplant, stared at me for a few long seconds, then let out a cold, venomous laugh. “Ha. A full-page ad. You’ve got nerve, kid.” The professional “Mr. Derrick” was gone, replaced by the condescending “kid.” His posture shifted from conciliatory to confrontational. “The car is registered to you; it’s off the lot. A replacement? That’s not happening. An apology? Who do you think you are?” He turned to the officer. “Officer, you see? He’s being completely unreasonable, demanding the world. This is purely a civil matter, and we’re willing to compensate. He’s refusing. I suggest you close the case.” Sergeant Miller pushed his glasses up, maintaining his neutrality. “Mr. Peterson, we are still investigating the criminal nature of Mr. Dillon’s actions. However, Mr. Derrick’s civil claims fall under mediation. We advise you to proceed with that.” Hank realized the police wouldn’t back his bullying. All his fury turned back to me. 03 He took a menacing step closer, his eyes narrowing into slits of pure malice. “Alex, listen to me. I’m giving you one last piece of advice. In this business, you leave a little room for error. The Sterling Motor Group has deep pockets, and we have people. The owner is Mr. Sinclair—the biggest name in California real estate development.” “You make us an enemy over a set of floor mats, and I guarantee you won’t be able to turn a corner in this city without running into a problem. Think carefully.” It was an open, ugly threat. The arrogance of the corporate bully was on full, brazen display. He assumed that I, a successful but ultimately singular young man, would fold under the pressure of local political and financial muscle. He assumed wrong. I looked directly into his venomous eyes and spoke one slow, even word. “Really?” “Then today, I guess I’ll have to see just how unbearable you really are.” I didn’t wait for his response. I calmly reached into my suit pocket, took out my phone, unlocked it, opened my call recorder app, and pressed the bright red “Record” button. I placed the phone gently on the table, screen up, pointed directly at Hank Peterson.

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