Category: English

My father’s mistress stormed our home, planting herself on our sofa and smugly demanding my mother step aside. Furious, my mother immediately demanded a divorce. My father agreed in a heartbeat, wrapping his arm around the other woman and ordering my mother to get out. As my mom grabbed my hand to leave, I pulled away and linked my arm through my father’s. “I’m not leaving,” I said. “I’m staying with Dad.” My mother’s family called me an ungrateful viper. I treated the mistress with the utmost respect, and when she became pregnant, I doted on her tirelessly. She loved to tell people she’d gained a devoted daughter for free, that she’d never have to worry about being cared for in her old age. But she had no idea that there’s a certain kind of manipulation, a special kind of trap, known as praise-killing. 1. I was walking home from school, and before I even reached the front door, I could hear shouting. My parents’ voices were sharp and angry, but they were tangled with the voice of a woman I didn’t recognize. The moment I stepped inside, my mother’s voice, stretched to its breaking point, cut through the air. “Since you’ve brought your mistress here to stage a coup, let’s just get a divorce!” My father’s eyes flickered toward me. Seeing me just quietly setting down my schoolbag, showing no reaction, he boomed, “Fine by me! I’ve been putting up with you for years, always nagging, always controlling! Not an ounce of softness in you! And after all this time, you couldn’t even give me a son. Who’s supposed to inherit the family business?” My mother let out a bitter, humorless laugh. She grabbed my arm. “So it’s just me and our daughter who are in your way? Fine! We’ll leave. You can shack up with your little homewrecker and have your precious son!” A flicker of panic crossed my father’s face. “Lara is my daughter! You can’t take her!” Though he’d always wanted a son, I had to admit, my father had always doted on me. If I wanted something, he almost always gave it to me. My mother’s grip tightened. “We’ll see if Lara even wants to go with you. Lara, let’s go!” She pulled at my arm, but I stood my ground, unmoving. That’s when the other woman saw her opening. Her voice was syrupy sweet. “Now, now, you can’t force her. It doesn’t look like Lara wants to leave with you.” Her voice was gentle, her face a mask of innocence. No wonder my father fell for her. My mother shot her a venomous look, her voice rising. “Lara, you tell us. Who are you going with?” I gently pulled my hand from my mother’s grasp, turned, and linked my arm through my father’s. “Mom, I’m not leaving,” I said softly. “I’m staying with Dad.” 2. My father roared with laughter, one arm slung around his mistress, the other pulling me close. “That’s my girl!” My mother’s hand trembled as she pointed at me, speechless. Finally, the words tore from her throat. “Fine. Just fine. Like father, like daughter. Two heartless snakes in the same pit!” She spun around and slammed the door, the sound echoing through the house. I watched her leave, my face a blank mask, my nails digging so deep into my palms that they drew blood. “Dad,” I said quietly, “I’m going to pack a few things for Mom to take with her.” As I was folding my mother’s clothes, my father came into the room with the other woman. He put a hand on my shoulder. “Lara, don’t blame me. You’re too young to understand adult relationships. Eva and I… this is true love. Since you chose to stay, I hope you can accept her. A happy home makes for a happy life, right? I can’t focus on my business if you two aren’t getting along.” Eva stepped forward and took my hand, her touch warm and cloying. “Lara, if you’re not comfortable, you can keep calling me Aunt Eva after your father and I are married. I don’t mind at all.” I smiled inwardly at her magnanimous act. Trying to look like the bigger person so Dad will admire you? I won’t let you have that satisfaction. If this was a game of shamelessness, I could play it better than she ever could. I summoned a brighter, more enthusiastic smile and placed her hand back in my father’s. “Don’t be silly! If you’re marrying my father, you’ll be my mother. Mom,” I said, looking her straight in the eye, “congratulations on your wedding. I wish you and Dad all the happiness in the world.” A cheater and a homewrecker. Better to keep them chained together where they couldn’t ruin anyone else’s lives. Eva was stunned, clearly not expecting this reaction. My father, however, was beaming. He ruffled my hair. “Lara, you’re so grown up. So understanding. I knew I wasn’t wrong to spoil you all these years.” Seeing him in such a good mood, I seized the opportunity. “Dad, I’m starting my junior year soon. You know how tough it gets. I was thinking of taking an advanced prep course over the summer to make sure I can get into a top university.” 3. “Of course! My daughter is so ambitious, I’ll give you whatever you need!” He didn’t hesitate. He pulled out his phone and, with a grand flourish, transferred ten thousand dollars into my account. “This is a start. If you need more, just ask!” I gave him my sweetest smile. “You’re the best, Dad!” I picked up the suitcase I’d packed. “I’ll just drop this off for Mom. Bye, Dad. Bye, Mom.” As I walked away, I saw their reflection in the glass of the front door. He was holding Eva, kissing her passionately. I caught my own reflection in the car’s rearview mirror and allowed myself a cold, hard smile. This was just the beginning. First things first, I needed to win back my real mother and make sure she was on my side. I drove to my grandmother’s house and rang the bell. My uncle answered, his face a thundercloud. “What is that little traitor doing here? Go on, go back to your father and live the high life!” I held up the suitcase. “I’m just dropping off some of Mom’s things.” He reached for it, but an older, wrinkled hand shot out and stopped him. “We don’t want her charity. As if we can’t afford to buy a few new clothes.” It was my grandmother. She shoved me back, her breath coming in angry gasps. “Get out! You’re not welcome here! As of today, I don’t have a granddaughter!” The door started to swing shut. I dropped the suitcase, wedging my body in the opening. “Mom!” I yelled into the house. “You left! If I leave too, are you just going to hand everything over to them on a silver platter?” My grandmother and uncle froze. In that brief moment of hesitation, I pushed past them and into the house. My mother was sitting on the living room sofa, silently wiping away tears. When she saw me, her eyes turned red all over again. My heart ached. I rushed to her and wrapped her in a hug. “Mom, don’t cry. The only way we can get what we deserve is if I stay with him. You were with him for years, from when he had nothing until his business was a success. You can’t let that woman waltz in and steal it all!” 4. I showed her the banking notification on my phone. “Look, Dad just gave me ten thousand dollars. I’ll transfer it to you. To keep me and that woman on good terms, he’s going to keep giving me money and gifts. I’ll save everything for you. Once I graduate from college, I’ll cut them off and we can start a new life together, just the two of us!” She hugged me tightly, her voice thick with emotion. “But you’ll be miserable, having to see their faces every day!” I smiled. “It’s not a sacrifice. It’s an investment in our future. It’s worth it.” Miserable? Far from it. Leading them step by step into the trap I’d designed, watching them stumble around, blind and self-satisfied… it was going to be incredibly entertaining. All my life, people had been fooled by my sweet, innocent exterior, calling me a good, obedient child. Not even my own mother knew the truth: I have a dark streak. I enjoy the game, the intricate dance of manipulation. And now, a brand-new toy had been delivered right to my doorstep. It would be rude not to play. When I returned home, I made sure my eyes were red and puffy. As I expected, my father saw my tear-streaked face and immediately assumed I’d been given a hard time. He pulled me into a protective hug. “Don’t you ever go back to that witch’s house again. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” I dabbed at my eyes with a tissue. “But she’s my mother,” I sobbed. “It hurts that she’d treat me like that.” He immediately went to his safe and pulled out a thick gold chain. Eva’s eyes widened, but she didn’t dare say a word. He fastened it around my neck. “Your birthday is in a few days. Think of this as an early present. We’ll have a huge party for you.” A few days later, he did just that, throwing me a lavish birthday party and handing me a thick envelope of cash. I made sure to pose for photos with him and Eva, my arms linked through theirs. He was ecstatic, bragging to everyone about his perfect life: a beautiful wife and a devoted daughter. 5. The following months were a blur of studying for my final exams. I told my dad I needed to live in the dorms to focus. Thrilled by my diligence—and no doubt happy to have me out of the house so he and Eva could have their privacy—he readily agreed, setting up a generous monthly allowance for me. After covering my expenses, I transferred every remaining dollar to my mother. The semester flew by. When I came home for winter break, I found my father and Eva had prepared a feast to welcome me. “What a wonderful day! Lara’s home from school, and I have some great news to announce!” My father was grinning from ear to ear. I glanced at Eva’s gently rounded belly and the triumphant smirk on her face. I smiled brightly. “Am I going to be a big sister?” Eva nestled against my father’s side, feigning shyness as she nodded. “Congratulations, Mom and Dad!” I raised my glass to toast them. My father clapped me on the shoulder, his face glowing with satisfaction. “I couldn’t be happier. A smart, loving daughter, and a pregnant wife. What more could a man ask for? If it’s a boy, my life will be truly complete.” Eva rested a hand on her stomach, her chin held high. “Everyone says I’m carrying low. It’s definitely a boy. Don’t you worry, David. The Clark family business will have its heir.” They were so lost in their happy fantasy, they didn’t notice the flicker of ice in my eyes. Talking about a son inheriting everything, right in front of me, as if I didn’t even exist. Fine. If that’s how you want it, then I won’t hold back. But whether that son of yours will ever be born… that remains to be seen. 6. As Eva started to get up to get rice from the kitchen, I gently pushed her back down and took her bowl. “Mom, let me. You’re pregnant now, you should rest.” She watched, a smug smile playing on her lips, as I respectfully placed the steaming bowl of rice in front of her. “You’re such a good girl, Lara.” My father nodded in approval. As I served her food, I said, “It’s perfect timing, with my winter break. I can take care of Mom at home. You can focus on your business trips, Dad. I’ve got everything handled here.” Eva hesitated, her hand instinctively going to her belly. She gave me a wary look, as if trying to figure out my angle. But my expression was one of pure sincerity, impossible to fault. Hearing my father sing my praises, she had no choice but to force a smile and agree. The next day, I was up at dawn. I made breakfast and then slipped out of the house. Eva didn’t wake up until noon. She came downstairs to an empty house and frowned. When I returned, she was sitting on the sofa, looking thoroughly annoyed. She shot me a sideways glance. “Some caregiver you are. First day of break and you disappear. I was starving.” I put on a hurt expression and pointed to the dining table. “Mom, I made you breakfast before I left. You were still sleeping, so I went out to buy a few things…” My father walked in behind me and glared at Eva. “You’re getting spoiled. Lara is a high school student, and she got up at the crack of dawn to make you breakfast. Then she dragged me out to buy you new slippers because she was worried yours weren’t comfortable enough. And you, not a word of thanks, just complaints. She’s my daughter, not your servant.” 7. Eva’s eyes welled up with tears. “I’m carrying your son, a Clark heir, and you talk to me like that!” I saw my father was about to retort. I hid my smile and stepped in to play peacemaker. “Dad, please don’t. Mom is pregnant, her emotions are all over the place. We have to be more understanding. Besides, I did promise to take care of her. It’s natural for her to be a little anxious when she wakes up and I’m not here.” My father muttered under his breath, “Your own mother was never this dramatic when she was pregnant with you…” I scoffed internally. So now you remember how good she was? Pathetic. I pulled a new pair of slippers from my shopping bag and knelt at Eva’s feet. “Mom, these have extra-soft soles. They’ll be really comfortable. Your feet will probably start to swell soon, so I got them a size bigger.” Her expression softened as she watched me put the slippers on her feet. I helped her to the table with a cheerful smile, showing no sign of resentment. Then I went to the balcony to bring in the laundry. My father followed me, pressing a wad of cash into my hand. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this, Lara,” he whispered. I just smiled and gently pushed him toward the door. “It’s okay. Mom is carrying the future of our family. A little hardship is nothing. You should get to the office, Dad. You have a lot to deal with.” He left, beaming with pride. I turned back to look at Eva, sitting at the table like a queen waiting to be served, and my own smile widened. Just you wait. I’ll put you on a pedestal so high, the fall will be spectacular. And it will hurt so much more. Losing everything is far more painful than never having had it at all. 8. In the days that followed, my care for Eva was nothing short of meticulous. I supported her when she walked. I prepared whatever food she craved. I brought her a blanket when she was cold and a basin of warm water to soak her feet before bed. I was like a handmaiden from an ancient imperial court. Under my constant pampering, Eva’s weight ballooned. In less than a month, she gained thirty pounds. Her doctor issued a stern warning about her diet. But I had already stretched her appetite beyond her control. I served her six meals a day. In between the main courses, there was a never-ending parade of fresh fruit, milk, and expensive supplements like bird’s nest soup and sea cucumber stew—all, I claimed, to nourish her baby brother. Faced with such delicacies, her doctor’s orders were quickly forgotten. With my constant attention, it wasn’t just her body that expanded; her temper did too. I flattered her relentlessly, praising the baby in her womb as if it were a divine gift. She began to believe it, carrying herself with an air of immense self-importance, as if she were performing some heroic feat. She stopped being sweet and affectionate with my father. When he came home late from work, she would accuse him of cheating, her voice dripping with suspicion. Their arguments became more frequent. Each time, I would step in to calm my father down. Seeing Eva’s behavior, he became convinced that I was suffering under her tyranny at home. I would force a brave smile and tell him it was fine. Overcome with guilt and admiration, he would transfer thousands more dollars to my account as “compensation.” This cycle repeated itself several times a week. As their fights grew more bitter, my phone would chime with one deposit notification after another, not to mention the constant stream of small gifts my father brought home for me. I would sit in my room, watching the balance in my bank account grow, and laugh. Then I’d transfer every cent to my mother. 9. After weeks of being worshipped like a goddess, Eva finally let her guard down around me. She even started taking me with her when she met her friends for lunch. They were stunned to see me waiting on her hand and foot. Eva would preen under their attention. “This is my stepdaughter,” she’d announce proudly. “She’s just wonderful to me. See? I got a free daughter to take care of me. That ex-wife of David’s is such a loser. She lost her husband, and even her own daughter wouldn’t go with her!” I stood by silently, a placid smile on my face, as she bad-mouthed my mother. One of her friends shot me a nervous glance. “Eva, the kid’s right here. Lower your voice.” Eva waved a dismissive hand, not even looking at me. “What’s there to be afraid of? She’s a pushover. She chose her father, so she wouldn’t dare defend her mother. She knows who pays the bills.” I acted as if I hadn’t heard a thing, calmly refilling her teacup. “You must be thirsty from all that talking, Mom. Have some tea.” Her friends left that day marveling at what a well-behaved and devoted stepdaughter she had. Soon, everyone in her circle knew it. The winter break flew by. I looked at Eva’s swollen, ungainly form as she struggled to walk and smiled with satisfaction. It was time for the next phase of the plan. She was resting comfortably in bed. I placed a fresh set of clothes for her in the bathroom. “Mom, I have to go back to school soon, and I still have some homework to finish. I’m going to go upstairs and work on it. Your clothes are all ready for you when you want to take a shower.” She waved me away without a second thought and rolled over to sleep. I walked calmly to my room and closed the door. My hands were trembling with excitement. I put on my headphones, and the mechanical voice of an English language recording filled my ears, slowly calming my racing heart. The moment was almost here. I just wondered if she would be able to handle it.

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The real estate agent was showing me the house when a line of text suddenly floated before my eyes: [The male lead will eventually buy this house back for ten times the price. I wonder which lucky girl is going to get rich off this place.] I stared blankly for three seconds, then decisively signed the contract. That night, calculating the mortgage payments, I fell into a pit of despair. I started to suspect I’d gotten food poisoning from some cheap takeout to be hallucinating a live comment feed in my reality. But then, the comments exploded again: [Did the female lead just throw out all the luxury gifts the male lead gave her?] [OMG, can someone transport me there?! I want to go pick them up!] I shot out of bed, hopped on my little food trike, and sped toward the main couple’s address. Whether it was real or not, my time for a windfall had finally come! 1 “Miss Vance, you’ve looked at this place five times already. It’s an older house, but for the price, it’s a steal. You really shouldn’t hesitate.” I clutched the crumpled flyer in my hand, trailing behind the real estate agent as I surveyed the house for the fifth time. I knew it was a good deal, but the down payment would drain my entire life savings and bury me in debt. I was just about to give up when words materialized in the air in front of me. [I can’t believe she’s actually selling this house. This was the love nest she shared with the male lead back when they were poor!] [Well, Landon was a total jerk. I don’t blame Claire for giving up on him.] I rubbed my eyes. It wasn’t a hallucination. Just then, another comment drifted by: [I wonder who the lucky buyer will be. Landon is going to buy this back for ten times the price later on.] Ten times the price? I’d be rich! Barely containing my excitement, I casually asked the agent, “So, uh, what’s the owner’s name again?” He waved a dismissive hand. “Claire Sterling. Her boyfriend is loaded, not in our league at all. That’s probably why the house is priced so cheap.” Oh my god. It all matched the comments. The agent was getting impatient. “Miss Vance, maybe I should show you some more affordable options.” “No!” I grabbed his arm. “I’ll take it.” 2 The deal was done in a flash. We finished the paperwork by noon, and I moved in that afternoon. Thanks to the comments, I figured it out: I was living inside a “make him grovel” romance novel. The main couple was currently on the rocks, and by buying their house, I was basically profiting from their relationship drama. That night, lying in my new bed, I stared at my zeroed-out bank account and felt like I was in a dream. Thinking back on the floating text… had I eaten too much cheap takeout and started seeing things? Who in their right mind sees a live comment feed in real life? The thought made me sit bolt upright. I had poured my entire savings of ten thousand dollars into this house and was now saddled with a massive mortgage. What if there was no “male lead” coming to the rescue? On my meager income from selling crepes from a cart, how many lifetimes would it take to pay this off? I smacked my forehead in frustration. A white glow flickered in my vision again. For a second, I thought I’d hit myself so hard I was seeing stars, but a closer look revealed more comments. [Claire is really furious this time. She’s throwing out everything Landon ever gave her.] [And today is their fifth anniversary! Landon actually spent the night at the other woman’s place!] [Landon is the worst. And I actually thought he wasn’t all bad deep down.] Amidst the chorus of outrage directed at the male lead, one comment caught my eye. [Don’t throw them away, honey! Sell them! You could get so much money for all that!] Throwing things away? That could be sold for cash? Was this really happening? I scrambled out of bed and dialed the agent’s number, my voice trembling with excitement. “Hey, so the previous owner left some things behind. Could you give me her current address? I want to return them to her.” The agent was clearly half-asleep. “It’s the middle of the night. For this? Her boyfriend is the CEO of the King Corporation. They live in the most exclusive condo complex in the city. You think she cares about a few forgotten items? She told me specifically she didn’t want anything left behind. Just toss whatever you find.” He didn’t give me the address. I was sweating with anxiety. Opportunity waits for no one! If I was late, someone else might scoop up all the good stuff. Just before he hung up, I blurted out, “It’s their sentimental keepsakes!” “Huh? What keepsakes?” “You know, from Mr. King! I saw their names engraved on something. What if this causes a huge misunderstanding between them? You have to give me the address!” The agent was silent for a long moment, then his voice turned grim. “Then I especially can’t tell you. You think I have a death wish, giving out Landon King’s home address?” He hung up. I threw my phone onto the bed in frustration. The live feed was still giving a play-by-play of the drama at Claire’s. [Holy crap, she’s throwing away a Patek Philippe? Is she insane?] [OMG, can someone transport me there?! I want to go pick it up!] I paced around in a panic, and then it hit me. The agent had told me the address. I threw on a jacket and hopped onto my trusty crepe trike. Half an hour later, I pulled up to the most luxurious residential complex in the city: The Grandview Estates. The complex was huge, but at two in the morning, someone repeatedly hauling boxes to the curb was as obvious as a lighthouse in a storm. Claire Sterling, carrying a heavy-looking cardboard box, walked to the dumpster and dumped its contents without a second glance. Sweet mother of fortune! The moment she went back inside, I pedaled over to the dumpster, pulled out a large burlap sack, and started stuffing it with treasures. One eye on the goods, the other on the villa’s front door. A few minutes later, Claire emerged with another big box. I quickly hid. As soon as she was gone, I rushed back and continued my haul. Just as my sack was about to burst, she came out with a third box. I tried to drag my full sack away to hide again, but it was incredibly heavy. She was almost at the door. In a panic, I gave it one last desperate tug. Riiiiip— The bottom of the sack tore open, spilling its contents all over the pavement. I froze. My eyes met Claire’s from across the driveway. The comment feed went wild. [HOLY SHIT SOMEONE IS ACTUALLY PICKING IT UP!!] [This is literally like winning the lottery!] [Isn’t that the girl who bought the house today? She’s struck gold twice in one day. How can one person be this lucky?!] [Honey, get your stuff back! It’s not too late! Take it back and sell it yourself!] 3 Before I could even think, I’d thrown myself over the pile of luxury goods like a mother hen protecting her chicks. I’d pedaled all the way here in the dead of night for this. If she took it all back, my efforts would be for nothing. But… I felt a pang of guilt. Claire’s eyes were red and swollen, and her slender frame looked impossibly fragile in the cold wind. The box in her hands was filled with expensive things, but the contrast between their value and her heartbreak was palpable. [Honey, you need money to have the freedom to leave that bastard!] [Love is gone, but you can’t let the money be gone too!] Looking at the comments, then back at Claire, my heart softened. As much as it pained me, I slowly straightened up, forcing the words out through a tight throat. “Um, if you want it…” “I would have just given it to you if I’d known you were here.” Claire managed a strained smile and placed the box gently at my feet. “If you like it, just take it all.” Her gaze fell on my torn sack. After a moment, she said, “Wait here a second.” She turned and jogged back into the house, returning a moment later with three large, plaid-patterned tote bags. I marveled. Rich people used these kinds of bags too. But a comment quickly corrected my ignorance. [Those are the limited edition Louis Vuitton woven totes!] LV? Limited edition? “Your sack is broken. Use these.” Claire knelt and started helping me pack the scattered luxury goods into the LV totes. Oh, my god. Was this the legendary kindness of a female lead? I stared at her for a long moment, then finally managed to ask, “This stuff… it could sell for a lot of money. Are you sure you’re just giving it to me?” She paused, then spoke after a long silence, her voice thick with emotion. “I never needed that much money anyway.” She even helped me load the three overflowing LV totes onto my crepe trike, seeing I couldn’t manage it alone. She was an angel. I could cry. “You know how to make crepes?” she asked, looking at my setup. I carefully arranged the three massive totes in the back of my trike, then puffed out my chest with pride. “You bet! All the neighbors say my crepes are the best. Business is great!” Claire reached out and touched my little trike, a hint of envy in her eyes. “It must be nice, being able to support yourself.” Her words sent the comment feed into another frenzy. [My baby is too delicate to be selling crepes out in the elements.] [Are you serious? Selling crepes is a thousand times better than being miserable with Landon!] [It’s the middle of the night and now I’m craving a crepe. drooling.jpg] It was almost three in the morning. I wondered if Claire was hungry. After a fight like that with Landon, she probably hadn’t eaten dinner. I expertly fired up my stove and pulled out my tools. “Miss Sterling, you’ve been so kind to me. As a humble crepe vendor, I have nothing to offer in return but this ‘fully loaded’ supreme crepe!” I may have only been twenty, but I already had a decade of crepe-making experience. I wasn’t bragging, but no one who’d eaten my crepes had ever had a bad word to say. Claire initially tried to refuse, but the aroma of food in the dead of night was too tempting. She fell silent, her eyes fixed on my griddle. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a comment mention that Landon couldn’t see Claire on the security cameras, couldn’t reach her by phone, and was now on his way back. With a final flick of my wrist, I folded a crepe bigger than my head and placed the deluxe masterpiece in Claire’s hands. “Here you go! It was nice meeting you. Thank you for the gifts! I will be grateful for the rest of my life!” Before Claire could respond, I was already pedaling away like a madwoman. If Landon saw me, not only would I lose all my treasures, but I’d probably face some kind of retaliation. The thought made me pedal so fast I felt like I was about to break the sound barrier. 4 It took a monumental effort, but I finally got everything home. I didn’t even stop to catch my breath before I started using my phone’s image search to identify each item. Hermès, Chanel, Patek Philippe, Bvlgari… With every price I looked up, I had to press a hand to my chest, afraid I might pass out from sheer excitement. The very next day, I picked out one of the less expensive-looking bags and took it to a luxury consignment shop. When twenty thousand dollars landed in my bank account, the reality of it all finally hit me. Good heavens. Me, Lucy Vance, had finally made it! The old saying was true: you don’t get rich without a little luck. And my lucky break had finally arrived. I used some of the money to buy a decent outfit and a pair of shoes. Back home, I followed a fashion blogger’s tutorial, styling myself with some of the items from the totes. The comments had said Landon would be coming to buy the house back soon, so I had to sell everything quickly. But first, I needed to look the part of a wealthy person. Otherwise, I might get arrested just for walking into a high-end store. I looked in the mirror and nodded with satisfaction. Not bad. Clothes really do make the woman. I looked quite convincing. But something still felt off. I studied my reflection for a long time before I realized what it was: my hair and my hands. The clothes were expensive, and I could use foundation to touch up my face, but my hands and hair were dead giveaways. I’d been working outside since I was ten, and my hands were rough and chapped, not like those of a young woman. When I was shopping for the clothes earlier, I hadn’t even dared to touch the silk items, afraid I’d snag the fabric and have to pay for it. For years, I’d scrimped and saved to buy a proper burial plot for my grandpa. After I finally managed that, I started saving for a house. I always bought the cheapest food. As a result, my hair was dull and brittle from a lack of nutrition, like a bundle of dead straw. I ruffled my hair in frustration. I never thought I’d be stressing about how to look rich. A moment later, an idea struck me. I rushed out and bought a pair of nice gloves and a wig. Looking in the mirror this time… perfect! I blew myself a kiss. Absolutely gorgeous. The next day, I hauled a massive load of luxury goods to the consignment shop. I held my chin high, trying to channel the energy of a proud swan, refusing to let my confidence waver. I was genuinely terrified the police would be called on me. Luckily, my acting skills were decent. The shop staff not only didn’t suspect a thing, but they were incredibly enthusiastic, telling me to come back anytime. A week later, I had sold everything. That included the clothes, shoes, gloves, and wig I’d bought to play the part of a rich woman. They were completely impractical and had a terrible cost-performance ratio. They were not worthy of being my possessions. Lying on my bed again, I checked my bank balance. The feeling was completely different from the first time. Back then, I wanted to die. This time, I was scared to death. Twenty million dollars!! And according to the comments, that was just a fraction of the gifts Landon had given her. The world of the rich was truly unimaginable. Being suddenly wealthy was an incredible feeling. For the first few days, I would wake up in the middle of the night, laughing in my sleep. The moment my eyes opened, I’d order the most expensive takeout and pair it with the fanciest cheese-foam tea from the cheapest boba place in town. Life was looking up.

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College had barely started when my new roommate, Jenna, announced she was going to cook in our dorm room to save cash. I was about to talk her out of it when the pop-ups appeared. 【DON’T, HAILEY. She’ll blame you for starving her and drag your name through the mud in the freshman group chat.】 【She’ll rally every student on financial aid, claim you look down on poor people, and get you socially canceled.】 【Later, you’ll give in. She’ll start a fire with her illegal hot plate, then lock the door on her way out, leaving you to burn to death.】 A chill shot down my spine. I immediately started packing a bag to go see the Resident Director about a room transfer. 1 When I blinked, the strange, transparent comments faded from the air. In front of me, Jenna was still pleading her case, her voice a little too whiny. “My family’s broke, Hailey. They scraped together every penny just to get me here.” “My parents are simple, blue-collar folks. I can’t keep asking them for money.” “If I cook for myself, I can save a ton. Plus, I’ll have more time for my online side-hustle instead of running to the dining hall.” She gestured around the room. “Besides, you guys probably have crazy schedules. I eat like clockwork. If you’re ever hungry, you can grab a bite with me.” “I won’t even charge you, I promise. C’mon, be a good roomie, please?” She was asking, but her cooking gear—a sketchy-looking hot plate and a collection of mismatched pots—was already spread all over the floor. She was also on a video call, clearly broadcasting this whole negotiation. It was a hostage situation, and I was the hostage. I was in a tough spot. Because of some weird housing lottery fluke, our four-person suite only had three of us. Our third roommate, Brianna, had some medical issues and was deferring her arrival for a couple of months. Over the call, Brianna, who just wanted a quiet place to recover, barely registered the conversation and just said “Sure, whatever,” before hanging up. That left me as Jenna’s sole target. Just then, the pop-ups flickered back into existence above her head. 「Poor Hailey. First week of college and she gets a roommate from hell.」 「Seriously, she needs to run. Whether you say yes or no, this type of person will pin any problem on you and drag you down with them.」 「It’s so tragic. In the original timeline, you almost escaped the fire. But Jenna ran back, not to help, but to lock the door so you couldn’t snitch.」 My blood ran cold. Jenna was that vicious? 2 I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. Under Jenna’s expectant gaze, I started cautiously. “Jenna, it’s not that I don’t want you to cook… it’s just, the housing agreement explicitly forbids high-wattage appliances. That hot plate…” I trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air. The thing looked like it was from the 90s, caked with years of grime. I was half-convinced it would explode the second she plugged it in. But I couldn’t just say that. Jenna, thinking she was winning, puffed out her chest. “Don’t worry! If anything happens, I’ll take full responsibility. It’ll have nothing to do with you, I swear!” I still pretended to be hesitant. “Even if the RA doesn’t do a room check, what if there’s a fire…?” “Oh, is that what you’re worried about?” Jenna visibly relaxed. “I’ll go to Target tomorrow and buy a couple of fire extinguishers for the room. See? Problem solved.” “But…” Seeing me still on the fence, a flicker of annoyance crossed her face, but she quickly masked it, throwing her arms around my shoulder. “C’mon, Hailey. Just say yes.” “…Alright, fine,” I sighed, as if worn down by her persistence. “But you remember what you said. If there’s any trouble, it’s on you.” “Of course, of course!” With Jenna appeased, I grabbed my phone and walked out of the room. Only after the door clicked shut did I look at the pop-ups, which were going ballistic. 「Hailey, you can’t be this naive! Her verbal promise is worthless.」 「It won’t be long before her cooking trips the circuit breaker for the whole floor. You’ll be home for the weekend, and she’ll stash the hot plate in your closet to frame you.」 「You get written up for that. When you try to explain, she’ll play the victim card about being poor.」 Honestly, I didn’t doubt them for a second. My old self probably would have caved to her sob story and taken the fall. But this time… 3 I glanced down at my phone. The recording app was still running. I had every single one of Jenna’s promises on tape. There was no way she could pin this on me now. With the Jenna situation temporarily handled, I didn’t waste a second. I headed straight for the Housing Office. No matter what, getting away from a person like that was the top priority. “You want to switch rooms?” The Housing Coordinator, Ms. Davis, looked at me with a pained expression. “Hailey, you know we’re over-enrolled this year. Every bed is taken. I pulled a lot of strings to get you this suite.” Ms. Davis was the daughter of my mom’s college friend. She had intentionally placed me in a less-crowded suite to give me a better freshman experience. Neither of us could have predicted a roommate like Jenna. “I know, and I appreciate it. But I can’t stay there. It’s… a really bad fit.” I chose my words carefully. I couldn’t tell her the whole truth. If Jenna found out I’d gone behind her back, she’d make my life a living hell. Seeing my determination, Ms. Davis sighed and handed me a form. “Fill this out, and I’ll submit it. But I can’t make any promises. Even if it’s approved, with the way things work around here, it could take a month, minimum.” I nodded. A month. I could live with that. I’d just have to make myself scarce. I asked Ms. Davis to keep my request confidential. Back at the dorm, Jenna had already launched her culinary enterprise. For the first few days, it wasn’t so bad—just ramen or some simple soup. The smell was contained. It made me wonder if I was overreacting, if I was trusting these weird pop-ups too much. So, I started spending a bit more time in the room during the day instead of staying out until late. Until one afternoon, as I was walking back to my building, a girl stopped me. “Are you from room 2632?” 4 Our building was #2, sixth floor, room 32. 2632. My stomach dropped. I had a very bad feeling. Before I could ask, the girl rolled her eyes and walked away, muttering under her breath. “Unbelievable. This is a university, not a damn food truck. If you’re gonna be a line cook, do it somewhere else. No wonder she’s broke.” I couldn’t judge the girl without knowing the full story. But my gut told me this had everything to do with Jenna. “Jenna, what are you doing?” Sure enough, as I hit the sixth-floor landing, I was assaulted by the thick, choking smell of burnt chili. It was so strong my eyes started watering. Covering my mouth, I ran to our door, expecting to find our room filled with smoke. But inside, it was surprisingly clear. The air was fresh. A group of strangers was sitting around Jenna’s hot plate, laughing and eating. When I walked in, Jenna’s face flashed with guilt. “Oh, Hailey! You’re back.” She grabbed a disposable bowl. “Here, have some! It’s on the house.” I opened my mouth to ask what the hell was going on, but Jenna was frantically shaking her head and widening her eyes, silently begging me not to make a scene. I scanned the room and decided to wait until her “customers” left. I shut my mouth and walked towards the door to turn off the fan. My fan. It was positioned to blow all the fumes out into the hallway. I had to get it back; I’d overheard someone downstairs saying they were getting the RA. If my fan was part of the evidence, I’d be implicated. But as I reached for it, one of the girls—the one with a sharp bob—snapped at me. “Who are you? You can’t just waltz in here, get free food, and turn off our fan.” Her comment set off a chain reaction. The whole group started grumbling. One of the guys turned on Jenna. “Hey, Jenna, we all chipped in for this. If you’re bringing in extra people, you owe us a refund.” Forgetting about me, Jenna rushed to placate them. “No, no, this is my roommate! Don’t worry, she’s eating too, so she’ll definitely cover today’s meal for everyone.” She turned to me, her eyes pleading. “Right, Hailey?” 5 My head was spinning. Since when was I eating, let alone paying? “Hailey, please,” Jenna whispered, pulling me aside. “These are my first real customers. Just let me make a little money, okay?” There it was again. The guilt trip. As if on cue, the pop-ups returned, more frantic than ever. 「Jenna is shameless. Using Hailey’s fan, their shared electricity, and probably Hailey’s water, too. All she provides is the pot, and she pockets all the cash.」 「Don’t give in, Hailey! If you back down now, the next time you try to stop her, she’ll say you’re jealous of a poor student trying to get by.」 「Yeah, and to keep their cheap meals coming, they’ll all team up to bully you out of the room. They’ll spread rumors about you on the campus gossip app.」 「You’ll be forced to move out and rent an expensive off-campus apartment.」 Reading those comments, a light bulb went off in my head. I was struggling to find a legitimate reason to get my room change approved. Now, they were handing one to me on a silver platter. I cleared my throat and looked at the girl who’d spoken up first. “Oh, you’re all here for Jenna’s… food, right? My bad, total misunderstanding.” I plastered on a fake smile. “You guys go ahead and eat. Just be careful with my stuff, okay? It’s all pretty expensive, so please don’t touch anything.” The people who came to Jenna for cheap food were, by definition, on a tight budget. My comment hit them like a slap in the face. They were instantly furious. 6 “What’s that supposed to mean?” the girl with the bob shot back. “Just because we’re on financial aid, you think we’re thieves? How dare you insult us like that!” Yep. Birds of a feather. They were just like Jenna. Ignoring her, I turned and headed for the door. Jenna was trying to calm everyone down, but not before shooting me a venomous glare. “Hailey, how could you say that? We might be poor, but we have dignity!” she hissed. “You’ve really disappointed me.” In a few short sentences, she’d successfully painted me as a snobby, toxic rich girl. But now wasn’t the time to argue. Just before leaving, I paused in the doorway and added, helpfully, “By the way, I saw the RA heading this way with a couple of people. If you don’t want to get written up, you should probably pack this all up. Like, right now.” “What? Why didn’t you say so sooner?!” Jenna’s face went pale. Forgetting her customers’ hurt feelings, she and the group scrambled to hide the evidence. I allowed myself a small, satisfied smile. As I rounded the corner of the stairwell and saw the RA approaching, I knew the show was about to begin. 7 Jenna got caught. So did her entire dinner club. A few academic advisors got involved, but their hands were tied. These were all scholarship students, and unless they committed a major offense, the university couldn’t punish them too harshly. That night, when I got back to the room, Jenna confronted me. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you, Hailey?” I played dumb. “Did what?” “You knew the RA was coming. You stalled and wasted our time so we’d get caught. You enjoyed watching that, didn’t you?” “Jenna, I was trying to help you. How could you accuse me of something like that?” I managed to sound genuinely hurt, though inside I was ecstatic. “I was out all day, how was I supposed to know you were running a restaurant in here? If you’d given me a heads-up, I could have been a lookout for you.” My performance must have been convincing, because her expression softened slightly. “Really?” she asked, still suspicious. “Really.” I pouted. “Besides, I haven’t even complained to you yet. You guys made all my clean clothes smell like chili. I’m going to have to get them all dry-cleaned. Maybe you should ask your friends from today to chip in for the bill?” “You should have put your clothes away! Don’t you dare try to scam me with your designer labels. I’m a scholarship kid, I don’t have that kind of money!” Just like that, her brief moment of calm vanished. “You’re such a jinx!” she spat. “I’ve been doing this for a week, and nothing went wrong until the day you decided to come back early!” I pretended to be angry, too. “I never asked you for money! But if my being here is such an inconvenience, why don’t you just move in with one of them?” With that, I drew the curtain around my bed. “I’m going to sleep.” The pop-ups appeared again, this time almost cheering. 「Don’t be mad, Hailey, don’t be mad!」 「Yeah! If Jenna’s friends move in here, you might actually avoid the fire!」 I was faking my anger, but inside, I was celebrating. When a pop-up confirmed that Jenna was already messaging her friends about a potential room swap, I was too excited to sleep.

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1 As the head chef, I didn’t think it was a big deal to skip chopping vegetables for one day. The general manager, however, saw it differently. He flew into a rage and threatened to fire me on the spot. I told him he’d need the owner’s approval for that. He just sneered. “I’m the general manager. What’s the big deal about firing a slacker head chef? When I say you’re out, you’re out!” I took off my chef’s hat and dialed my wife’s number. “I’m about to be fired. Did you know?” … “I know,” she said, her voice strained. “But I told them it was a… a staffing adjustment. They must have misunderstood.” I hung up. It was clear. This arrogant manager was acting on her orders. He watched me end the call, a smug, triumphant look on his face. “What’s the matter? The owner not on your side this time? If I were you, I’d just crawl out of here with my tail between my legs.” “How dare you speak to him like that?” Before I could say a word, one of my apprentices stepped forward, and the others quickly followed. “Our master is the head chef! His job is to oversee the kitchen, not do prep work! What do you know about it? Who do you think you are, talking to him like that?” “Yeah! What the hell do you know? Can you even cook?” The manager’s face darkened as he looked at the young, defiant chefs. “Shut up! Who gave you permission to speak? Bunch of troublemakers, forming your little gang. You’re lucky I’m not firing all of you! You think you can stand up to me?” “You—!” My youngest apprentice started to surge forward again. I grabbed his arm, shaking my head at his wounded expression. “It’s fine,” I told all of them. “It’s not a big deal. Don’t do anything rash.” The front-of-house manager, a smarmy yes-man who always had a smile on his face, stepped up. He wasn’t as harsh as the GM, but he loved to kick a man when he was down. “Come on, Leo,” he said soothingly. “There are other fish in the sea. Besides, we all got here because of the owner, right? When you’ve fallen out of favor, you just have to accept it.” “Is that so?” I shot back. “How did you get here?” He had always been beneath me, and now he was reveling in my downfall. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped, his friendly mask dropping. I stood tall, meeting everyone’s gaze, and took a long look around the kitchen where I had worked for five years. “Let’s be clear,” I said, my voice ringing with authority. “The Phoenix Court is what it is today because of me. And I’m telling you all right now, when I walk out that door, this restaurant is finished.” My apprentices murmured their agreement behind me. The GM and the front-of-house manager just laughed, a long, derisive sound. “Leo, you’ve got a big ego,” the GM sneered. “Let me tell you something. The Phoenix Court won’t miss you one bit. The owner made this decision, and I’m sure she has her reasons.” “Does she?” I muttered. If my wife, anette, truly had her own reasons, she wouldn’t have made me head chef in the first place. The restaurant’s success was built entirely on my reputation. But now, it was clear she was just a shortsighted businesswoman with no real vision. Even if she was my wife. As the tension in the kitchen reached a breaking point, a man walked in, a wide smile on his face, completely unfazed by the hostile atmosphere. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I’m Victor, the new head chef replacing Leo. I’m sure you all know who I am.” I had to laugh. Of course, I knew him. An old acquaintance. Victor had been a guest chef at The Phoenix Court a few times for special banquets, mostly handling Western dishes. We had collaborated, briefly. Everyone present knew him, but no one expected him to be my replacement. I looked him up and down. “Well, well, Chef Victor. A French-trained chef taking over the hottest Chinese restaurant on the block. Aren’t you brave?” My apprentices snickered behind me. “What’s a Western chef doing here? Does he even know how to use a cleaver?” “Exactly. He probably can’t even do a decorative cut, and he’s the head chef.” Victor’s face hardened. “Leo, it doesn’t matter if you like it or not. This is the owner’s decision. She wants to move away from traditional Chinese cuisine and create a global, fusion menu.” He paused, lifting his chin at me. “Your style is old news. And when she tells you to get lost, you get lost.” “Is that right?” I scoffed. “Are you so eager to say all that because it’s what the owner really wants, or is it because of your old flame? You know the truth.” My smile vanished, and the air in the room grew heavy. Victor’s face paled. He was Annette’s first love. Five years ago, The Phoenix Court was failing. Annette’s grandfather, a proud old man, had called on an old army buddy for a favor—my grandfather, the heir to a line of imperial chefs. My grandfather was too old to help, so he sent me instead. To seal the deal, Annette’s grandfather had even arranged for us to be married. Annette and Victor were forced to break up. I heard she’d fought it for a while, but when I asked her if she wanted to back out, she didn’t seem to have any regrets. In fact, she seemed willing. I thought she had moved on, so I agreed to try and build a life with her. But looking at them now, it was obvious. Their flame had never died. And I was utterly disappointed in Annette. Five years in the same bed… even without love, there should have been some affection. But she had cast me aside without a second thought. I looked at Victor. “Are you sure you want this job?” Before he could answer, Annette herself swept into the kitchen, dressed in a designer trench coat and high heels. She went straight to Victor and took his arm, a faint smile on her red lips. “I’m sure,” she said. Before I could speak, she continued, her voice defiant. “I heard what you said from the hallway, Leo. Since you know, there’s no point in hiding it. I’m still in love with Victor. I was never in love with you.” I saw the managers’ faces light up with schadenfreude. “Marrying you was just a way to save the restaurant,” Annette went on. “As the eldest daughter of the family, my duty is done. Now I have the right to pursue my own happiness.” I was so stunned by her brazenness that I started to laugh, a harsh, angry sound. My fists were clenched so tight my knuckles cracked. “Fine,” I said. “Does your grandfather know about you pursuing your happiness?” Annette flinched, but her bravado returned. “My grandfather is old. He doesn’t involve himself in the business anymore. Don’t you dare use him to threaten me, Leo. I can make my own decisions now.” “Alright, didn’t you hear the owner?” the GM chimed in. “She said get lost!” “Just go, Leo,” the other manager added with a sneer. “Why keep fighting for something that was never yours? Don’t be pathetic.” Just as I was about to lose my temper, Victor spoke, his voice dripping with triumph. “Leo, you were nothing but a dog to the family. Now that you’re no longer useful, of course they’re going to kick you out.” “What did you say?” I lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar. Before anyone could react, my fist connected with his jaw. Victor cried out in pain. Annette screamed, grabbing my wrist. “Leo! What are you doing? Are you insane? This is not your place to cause trouble!” I turned to look at the woman I had spent five years of my life with. My heart felt like it was being torn apart. She had stood by and said nothing while everyone else insulted me, but the moment Victor took one punch, she was full of concern. “Let him go! What is wrong with you? Haven’t you embarrassed yourself enough?” she shrieked. I suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion wash over me. I released my grip on Victor, my voice hoarse. “Annette, I’m asking you one last time. In all these five years, did you ever have any feelings for me at all?” She rushed to Victor’s side, fussing over him. He wiped a trickle of blood from his nose and started toward me. “Who the hell do you think you are? Just a used-up mutt getting arrogant!” “Victor, stop!” Annette knew my temper. She knew if he came at me again, I wouldn’t hold back. She pulled him back, then looked at me, her face set. “That’s right, Leo. I never loved you.” And just like that, the fire inside me died out. I was completely and utterly done. “Fine.” I ripped the chef’s emblem off my uniform and threw it in the trash. “I’ll see you at the courthouse tomorrow. You two can have each other.” A wave of triumph washed over their faces. They looked like they were on top of the world. I was filled with a cold rage. My apprentices were furious. “Why, Master? Why should you be the one to leave when they’re the ones sneaking around?” “Master, if you go, I’m going with you!” Annette’s face soured as she watched them. “What is this, a rebellion? Don’t you forget who signs your paychecks!” Her threat did nothing. If anything, it made them angrier. I just laughed at her inability to command their respect. “It’s alright, everyone,” I said to my apprentices. “Don’t be rash. You have families to support. Thank you for everything. I hope we’ll have a chance to work together again someday. The world is a small place.” A few of them, the ones I was closest to, had tears in their eyes. I had trained them all myself over the past five years. “Are you done with the goodbyes?” the GM barked. “Get out! Before I throw you out myself!” My apprentices looked furious, but they were powerless. They could only watch as I walked out, the sound of Annette’s and her cronies’ laughter following me. I gathered my things and walked out the main entrance. I looked back at the sign one last time. I knew I was done with The Phoenix Court forever. We rose together, and we would fall together. I’d like to see how long Annette could keep the place running without me. The next day, Annette and Victor met me at the courthouse to finalize the divorce. She was dressed to the nines, her face perfectly made up. I was much calmer than I had been the day before. The process was quick and smooth. We walked out of the building without a word and went our separate ways. That same day, Annette held a grand welcoming ceremony for Victor. “A warm welcome to the new head chef of The Phoenix Court! We promise better dishes and more impeccable service in the future. We invite all our valued customers, new and old, to hold us to it!” I saw the video, saw her gushing over Victor and making her empty promises. I just smirked and turned it off. That night, Victor sent me a picture of a hotel room key card, along with a taunting voice message. “Admit it, Leo. You lost.” I didn’t reply. I took a screenshot, then blocked both of them. What Annette didn’t know was that while she was celebrating, my phone had been ringing off the hook. Calls from every major Chinese restaurant in the country, all offering me the position of head chef. I turned them all down. I had my own plans, and they were already in motion. Two weeks later, Annette and Victor stormed into my new establishment, their faces contorted with rage. “Leo! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

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The day we filed for divorce, Evan brought his stepsister with him. I didn’t argue with him like I usually would have. I was silent through the whole process—handing over documents, signing my name on the line. As I was leaving, I heard him comforting her. “Alana, don’t blame yourself. She won’t actually go through with it. I’ve let her get away with too much these last few years. This will be good for her. A little time to cool off, get some perspective. Otherwise, you and Leo will never have any peace here.” His stepsister sighed. “Evan, maybe I should just take Leo and find another place. What if she’s still angry in a month? What if you two actually get divorced? I’d feel like the villain.” Evan let out a short, dismissive laugh. “Impossible. She’s just using the thirty-day waiting period to threaten me. You just wait. When the time comes, Clara won’t even show up.” “Well, if you’re sure…” 1 The wind was vicious that day. When Alana got out of the car, a gust knocked her off balance. She stumbled, falling right into Evan’s chest. He caught her instinctively, his hand steadying her shoulder. He smiled down at her, about to say something, when he saw me walking around the corner. In an instant, his expression turned cold. His voice was laced with ice. “Clara, don’t get the wrong idea. I was just catching Alana. We’re at the county courthouse, try to have some class…” “Let’s go inside,” I said, cutting him off and walking straight past them. He seemed to freeze for a second. I guess he was expecting a fight. In the past, a scene like this would have sent me into a spiral of accusations and fury. Then, he must have decided I was playing some new game. As I walked into the main hall, I heard his familiar, long-suffering sigh behind me. We sat in the waiting area, Evan across from me, Alana beside him. He frowned, his voice low and flat. “I had to take Leo for his entrance interview at the new private school. They were on my way. It’s not some ridiculous power play, Alana isn’t trying to provoke you.” Alana shot him a chiding look. “Evan, you’re always so gentle when you talk to me. Why are you being so harsh with Clara? Stop it.” Evan pressed his lips together and said nothing more. “Clara,” Alana began, her voice soft and earnest. “I came because I wanted to talk you out of this. We’re family. I don’t hold any of your past misunderstandings against you. Marriage is hard work. Please don’t do something this impulsive.” She finished, watching me with a placid smile. She had one of those faces—poised and dignified. When she spoke in that calm, measured way, it was easy to believe she was the most reasonable person in the room. I didn’t answer. I just looked past her, at the digital queue screen on the wall. They were on number 9. I was number 12. Three more to go. At about fifteen minutes each, that meant I had forty-five minutes left. I started a silent countdown in my head. 2 “Clara, can you please stop being so childish? Alana is my sister. The least you could do is show her some basic respect. Your attitude is making everyone uncomfortable.” My eyes drifted from the screen back to them. Evan was staring at me, his expression a familiar mix of frustration and exhaustion. Beside him, Alana gave a sad little smile and turned her head away slightly. She was a master of wordless performance art. “Then you should probably comfort your sister,” I said, my voice empty of emotion. A flash of anger crossed Evan’s face. He spoke through gritted teeth. “There you go again. Always attacking Alana. You know, Clara, there are consequences for acting like a brat. If you push things too far, you might not get a chance to take it all back.” The last part was a clear threat. I just watched him. He was handsome, tall, with a deep, resonant voice. Objectively, he was flawless. I used to joke during our arguments, “Fine, fine, you win. I’ll let it go, but only because you’re so damn pretty.” At night, when my crazy hospital shifts left me too wired to sleep, I’d make him talk to me, his voice the only thing that could lull me into rest. Now, I raised a single finger to my lips. “Shhh. We’re in a public place. You shouldn’t raise your voice.” His voice hadn’t been loud. But I wanted the quiet. … The filing process was smooth. I barely spoke, just calmly handed over the papers, signed where I was told, and pressed my thumb into the ink pad. The separation agreement was simple. Four years of marriage, no children. His family’s company had nothing to do with me. The house, cars, and investments we acquired after the wedding would be split fifty-fifty. I remembered the day I handed him the printed agreement. He was on his way out with Alana and Leo to visit his father, who had Alzheimer’s. He’d glanced at it for a second, scrawled his name, and slammed the door behind him. Today was the same. He didn’t read a word. He just signed and walked away, as if it were all a game he couldn’t be bothered to play. Outside the courthouse, the wind was still howling. My car was covered in a blanket of dead leaves. As I patiently brushed them off, I heard Evan’s voice carried on the wind. He was comforting Alana. “Alana, don’t blame yourself. She won’t actually go through with it. This thirty-day wait will give her time to get over this tantrum. Otherwise, you and Leo will never have any peace here.” Alana’s voice was heavy with regret. “Evan, maybe I should just take Leo and find another place. What if she’s still angry in a month? What if you two actually get divorced? I’d feel like the villain.” Evan scoffed. “Impossible. She’s just using the waiting period to threaten me. You just wait. When the time comes to finalize this, Clara won’t even show up.” A huge gust of wind ripped through, swallowing the rest of his words. It scoured my car clean, sweeping away every last leaf, every speck of dust. “Nice,” I murmured, looking up at the sky. Then I got in my car and drove away. 3 When I got back to the house, our housekeeper, Rosa, was directing a team of movers. “Ma’am,” she said, pointing. “I didn’t dare touch this wall. I think you’ll need a specialist. It would be a shame to damage any of it.” It was an entire wall covered in photos. A timeline of my four years with Evan. I’d spent years curating the frames, arranging the layout, and I always insisted on cleaning the glass myself every weekend. “Throw it all out,” I said without looking up, heading for the stairs. Rosa’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Ma’am, forgive me for saying so, but all couples fight. Mr. Knight is so good to you. You can scare him with the moving boxes, that’s enough. They’re just brother and sister, after all. A woman can’t be too—” I stopped on the second-floor landing and looked down at her. “Rosa, after you’re done here today, you’re free to go.” She froze. “What do you mean? It’s so late, where would I go?” “I mean you’re fired. As for where to go, Alana is staying with Evan at his condo downtown. You can go to her.” “Why would I go to her?” Rosa asked, genuinely confused. “Aren’t you two close?” I asked, my voice cool. “Didn’t you bring her that expensive single-origin coffee from your trip home? It seems only right that she’d take you in.” Rosa’s face went pale. “I… I just felt sorry for her and her son. I brought her a little coffee, that’s all.” “You felt sorry for her, so you brought her coffee that costs two hundred dollars a pound?” I was expressionless. “I gave you two thousand dollars to buy that coffee for our house. The bag you brought back for me costs ten bucks at the grocery store. Before you leave, make sure you return the difference.” Panic flooded her face. She started rambling, her voice rising. “Ma’am, I spent the whole two thousand on coffee, I swear! I just figured, you’re all family, it doesn’t matter who gets the expensive stuff and who gets the cheap stuff, and Mr. Knight said to treat her like one of the owners—” I turned and walked into my bedroom, closing the door behind me. I opened Instagram. Sure enough, Alana had just posted a new story. It was a photo from an upscale restaurant. Three hands clinking glasses. Two adult, one child. No caption. It didn’t need one. Someone had already replied to it: “Does Leo have a new dad? Congrats!” Alana’s response was coy: “Don’t be silly! We’re celebrating him getting into his new school.” I stared at the man’s hand in the photo. Though his cuff covered most of his wrist, a small, pale scar was visible just below his watch. It was from the night we first met. He got it shielding me from a knife. Six years ago, I was a resident doctor on a late shift in the ER. A patient’s distraught family member went berserk. He pulled a knife and lunged at me. In that split second, a man’s arm shot out to protect my throat. Evan was slashed several times. His arm was slick with blood. After security subdued the attacker, I helped Evan, my hands shaking as I disinfected and bandaged his wounds. He leaned back in the chair, watching me for a long moment before he smiled. “Hey, Doc,” he said softly. “If you keep shaking like that, I’m going to bleed out before you’re done.” I was mortified and grateful all at once. “Thank you! I’m so sorry!” As he was about to leave, I summoned my courage and called out, “If you’re so worried about bleeding out, maybe you should stop trying to kill yourself.” Next to the deep gashes from the attack were several smaller, cleaner cuts. They were fresh, but neat and parallel—clearly self-inflicted. He’d been at the hospital that night to get those treated. He stared at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. After a few seconds, he gave a careless shrug. “You’ve got it wrong. I’m not suicidal. It’s just… pressure. You know? Sometimes one kind of pain helps you forget another.” It was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard, and I didn’t believe a word of it. I frowned, staring him down, trying to use my best “doctor’s authority” voice to make him see sense. He looked at my serious expression and, for some reason, laughed again. “Okay, Doc. Thanks for the warning.” 4 After we started dating, I found out that Evan wasn’t just handsome; he was successful, wealthy, the whole package. But I didn’t care about that. I just loved him. His assistant once asked me, “Ms. Reed, how did you stay so calm when you first started seeing Mr. Knight? Weren’t you intimidated?” I was confused. “He’s always smiling. He’s kind, he’s a hero. Why would I be intimidated?” The assistant looked at me like I’d just claimed the sky was green. “Mr. Knight? Smiles? Is *kind*?” Evan eventually told me the full story about that night in the ER. “After my dad got Alzheimer’s, his so-called friends and business partners turned on him. Vultures. One guy even used a blank sheet of paper my dad had signed to forge a massive debt. The company went bankrupt. His second wife left. I was nineteen. I had to handle everything. For years, I felt like I was suffocating under the pressure. I had to find… extreme ways to cope. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have made it.” My heart ached for him. “So that’s what you meant? Using one pain to mask another? Evan, you can’t ever do that again! Promise me. Or I’ll… I’ll never speak to you again!” He held me so tight then, his eyes shining. “Never again. I promise. When I’m with you, it’s like all the pressure just melts away. The moment I see you, I can’t help but smile. Clara, you were sent to me as a reward for surviving all that, weren’t you?” Imagine a man like that comes into your life. A man who fought against impossible odds and won. Who loves you, spoils you, and treats you like you’re the only person in the world. Who looks like every fantasy you ever had as a teenager. And who saved your life. Would you be able to resist falling in love with him? I fell, hard and fast. After we got married, he was even better. My erratic work schedule ruined my sleep, so he sold his downtown penthouse and bought a beautiful, quiet house in the suburbs. It was less than a mile from the hospital. His commute to the city became a three-hour round trip every day. When I worked a night shift, if he was in town, his car would be waiting for me at the hospital entrance no matter the hour. Once, I was sent to a two-month training program in Boston. In those two months, Evan flew back and forth twenty-eight times, sometimes just to have lunch with me. The only shadow was that I never got pregnant. I knew that on the surface he said, “It’ll happen when it happens,” but deep down, he desperately wanted a child. His father had forgotten everything and everyone, but when he saw a picture of Evan as a little boy, he could still say his name. “If Dad could see a little version of me running around,” Evan had told me, “maybe he’d remember me, too. All these years, I’ve felt so alone, like I have no family. But now I have you. And soon, we’ll have our kids. I’ll finally have more family.” I grew up in a small, quiet town in the South. My parents were loving, middle-class people. I was a good kid, got good grades, and life had always been pretty easy for me. I understood that life wasn’t perfect. It had joy and boredom, surprises and disappointments. The pregnancy issue was just a test. I accepted it peacefully and threw myself into living a good, optimistic life. At the hospital, I was gentle and patient with my patients. At home, I loved my husband and the life we were building with everything I had. I thought I could be this happy forever. Until six months ago. When his stepsister, Alana, came back. 5 It was a night of torrential rain. I got off a late shift, and for the first time ever, Evan’s car wasn’t there. I called him, but his phone went straight to voicemail. Worried something had happened, I didn’t even bother with a rideshare. I just ran home through the downpour. When I burst through the front door, soaked and shivering, I found him sitting perfectly fine on the living room sofa. In the armchair across from him sat a beautiful, unfamiliar woman, smiling at me. That was the first time I saw Alana. Evan saw me, dripping all over the floor, and jumped up. “Clara! Why didn’t you call me to pick you up?” he asked, helping me out of my wet coat. I glanced at the phone on the coffee table. “I did. You didn’t answer.” He looked away, his expression tight. “Ah, I must have forgotten to turn the ringer back on after my afternoon meeting.” From the armchair, Alana’s smile widened just a fraction. When Evan introduced her as his stepsister, I was shocked. He’d mentioned his father’s second wife briefly once. His stepmother had a daughter two years older than him. They lived together for four years, and after the company went bankrupt, they both left. He’d been so casual about it, he’d never even mentioned her name. I figured they weren’t close and would probably never see each other again. When Alana left that night, Evan didn’t get up. He just sat on the sofa, looking distant and cold. She didn’t seem to mind. She gave me a warm hug and said, “You’re lovely. My little brother is a lucky man.” After she was gone, Evan apologized sincerely. I pouted and grumbled for a minute, then asked why she was suddenly back in his life. He explained that her mother had passed away, her husband had died, and her son was sick. She’d come back to the States for a new treatment. I felt a pang of sympathy. “She seems so elegant, despite everything she’s been through. But you were pretty cold to her tonight.” He was silent for a moment, then scoffed. “The second my dad got sick, her mom divorced him and took every last cent from their accounts. They left me with nothing. The fact that I can even sit in the same room with her now is me being polite.” I didn’t push it. It was his past, his pain. He had the right to feel how he felt. That night in bed, Evan was rough, almost violent. It was nothing like his usual tender, careful lovemaking. At one point, I cried out, “Evan, that hurts!” He froze. In the darkness, he stared down at me for a few seconds, then said in a raw voice, “Call me Ev.” 6 The next time I saw Alana, I was coming home from a two-week medical conference. I’d come back a day early, hoping to surprise Evan. I walked in the door and heard a woman’s laughter coming from the kitchen. I followed the sound and saw Alana at the stove, with Rosa helping her. In the living room, Evan was on the floor, playing chess with a little boy around five or six. The table was set with steaming dishes, the TV was murmuring in the background. It was a perfect, cozy family scene. Alana saw me first. “Clara!” she said, surprised. “You’re back!” Evan turned, his eyes widening. He got up and walked toward me, echoing her question. “Clara, what are you doing home?” I swallowed the discomfort in my throat, said hello, and muttered something about being tired before heading upstairs. Evan followed me. He told me Alana and her son, Leo, were moving in for a while. I stared at him. “Moving in? Here?” He hesitated, a look of weary resignation on his face. “Leo has a rare genetic disorder—he can’t feel pain. There’s a specialist at your hospital who’s pioneering a new gene therapy, and Alana brought him here for the trial. She begged me, Clara. The house is close to the hospital, and with Rosa here and you being a doctor… if Leo gets hurt, someone will be around to help.” “But I thought you hated her,” I said, confused. His expression darkened. “There’s no point in holding onto the past. She’s the only other family my dad has left besides me. I was thinking, if she visits him more, maybe it will help his condition… Look, it’s just for a few months. I just agreed to it today, I was going to tell you. I hope you don’t mind.” I didn’t say anything else. As much as I hated it, his reasoning was sound. Evan had so little family. If I made a fuss, I’d be the heartless one. Seeing his apologetic face, I reached out and gently tapped his nose. “Honestly? I did mind, for a second. But it’s okay now.” He smiled at me, relieved. At dinner, Alana thanked me profusely. I told her that if she needed any help navigating the hospital system for Leo, she could always ask me. At the time, I thought it was a small thing. A few months. That’s all. I was so naive. When did things start to change? It was gradual. The collection of designer art toys I kept in the glass cabinet were shoved into a corner, replaced by a squad of broken Transformers. Women’s clothes, including lacy underwear, started appearing on the back of the living room sofa. The cream-colored rug I loved was now a canvas of crayon marks, spilled juice, and shredded tissues. Alana began acting more and more like the lady of the house. My schedule got crazier—clinic hours, surgeries, endless rounds. One day, after being on my feet for twelve hours straight in the OR, I was exhausted and craving the comfort of Rosa’s chicken soup. I called her ahead of time to ask her to make it for dinner. But when I got home that night, there was a large pot of fish soup on the table. “Where’s the chicken soup?” I asked. Rosa shrugged. “Alana said Leo wanted fish soup. I figured since Mr. Knight was eating out, it was just us, and one soup is enough.” I was quiet for a moment. “Rosa, you know I’m allergic to fish, right?” She remembered then, her face flushing with embarrassment. Alana just laughed and patted her shoulder. “It’s my fault, not Rosa’s. Clara, if you’re really set on chicken soup, I can order some for you.” Just then, Leo pointed at me and started shouting. “I hate her! She doesn’t want me to have fish soup! She’s mean! Make her leave!” I just stood there. *She’s Evan’s sister,* I told myself. *Leo is a sick child. They’ll be gone soon.* *I’m doing this for Evan.*

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The day before I was supposed to walk down the aisle, my best friend Sophia and I were kidnapped by a cartel and dragged to a remote island off the coast of Colombia. My fiancé, Ethan Cole, a former Navy EOD specialist, planned a secret mercenary rescue. But the plan went to hell. The cartel leader strapped a vest of explosives to my chest. And as the rescue chopper’s blades beat the humid air, Ethan looked at Sophia, her body wracked with tremors, and then he looked at me, a human time bomb. To calm her, he didn’t hesitate. He swept Sophia into his arms and carried her onto the helicopter. Leaving me behind to wait for a rescue that never came. For six years, I was the cartel kingpin’s property. I carried four of his children. None of them survived. Then came the fifth pregnancy. An ultrasound confirmed it was a boy, and the monster holding me captive finally loosened his grip, allowing me to be moved to a mainland hospital to ensure the heir’s survival. It was the only chance I’d ever had. I made contact with an undercover DEA agent, feeding him everything I knew. Together, we brought the entire network down. I came home, my body a wreck, my belly swollen, only to find Ethan at that same hospital, his arm wrapped gently around Sophia as she got her own prenatal check-up. His face turned to stone when he saw me. “Why couldn’t you have just stayed gone?” he asked, his voice a low growl. My own voice was a trembling whisper. “But Ethan… you said you’d never give up on me.” 1 I stumbled after him, my fingers just grazing the sleeve of his jacket. He turned, and the look in his eyes was so cold it burned, a frost that seeped straight into my bones. My whole body shuddered. My legs gave out, and I collapsed in a heap against the cold tile of the hallway wall. “Why?” I tilted my head back, looking up at Ethan and Sophia, who stood over me like twin statues carved from ice. The question that had been buried in my heart for six years finally clawed its way out. Six years I had scraped by, surviving moment to moment on a forgotten island, and I come home to find my fiancé cradling another woman’s baby bump, planning the lavish wedding that was supposed to have been ours. Ethan pulled Sophia closer, shielding her behind him. His brow was knitted, a flicker of something—pity? memory?—in his eyes. For a second, I thought he might reach down for me. But then his gaze dropped to the gentle swell of Sophia’s stomach, and that flicker of warmth vanished. “Just let it go, Evelyn,” he said, his voice devoid of any emotion. “I’ve done more than enough for you.” His eyes, full of contempt, swept over my own pregnant belly. I forced a smile that felt more like a grimace, a desperate, pleading thing. My voice shook uncontrollably. “Ethan, please, let me explain… The baby… none of this is what you think. I wrote to you, didn’t you get my letters? You have to know…” I was naive enough to think it was just my “unholy” child he couldn’t stand. My words only made his frown deepen. Before he could speak, Sophia cut in with a soft, mournful sigh. “Evie, don’t do this to yourself,” she said, her hand resting protectively on her stomach. Her face was a mask of profound sorrow. “Six years ago, when the Cole family’s company was on the verge of bankruptcy, you staged your own kidnapping with criminals to try and get your hands on Ethan’s shares.” “He nearly bankrupted himself trying to raise the money to save you,” she continued, her voice breaking with theatrical pain. “And you… you chose to stay with that man, all for money and a life of luxury.” She paused, letting the poison sink in before delivering the final, unthinkable blow. “The scandal… the shock of it killed his grandmother.” A roar filled my ears, and the world went white. Staged it myself? For his shares? Killed his grandmother? Sophia kept talking, her gentle voice a swarm of needles piercing my heart. In her version of the story, I was a monster, a manipulative, black-hearted villain. When she finished, she put on an air of magnanimous grace. “But don’t you worry. What’s past is past. If you’ll let us, Ethan and I will give you a generous sum. Enough to make sure you’re comfortable for the rest of your life.” “Hah.” A humorless, disgusted sound escaped Ethan’s lips. He took a step back, pulling Sophia with him. He took her hand, his voice softening as he spoke to her. “You’re too kind, Soph. Always have been. If you hadn’t been there for me… I don’t know what I would have become.” He looked back at me, his face hard again. “Let’s go. Don’t waste another breath on a woman like her. It’s not worth it.” I was frozen, my lips sealed shut as if by glue. I couldn’t form a single word. “But you were the one who took her!” The words burst out of me in a desperate, wounded shout, tears finally streaming down my face. “You put Sophia on the helicopter and left me on that island to work as an informant!” Ethan just laughed, a bitter, self-mocking sound. He said I was always the same, always shifting blame, always painting myself as a hero. He was tired of it. I tried to speak again, to force the story of those six years of humiliation and struggle past my lips. But a sharp, twisting pain erupted in my abdomen, stealing my breath and draining all the strength from my body. My hand flew to my belly, trembling. I felt a sticky warmth spreading through my clothes. The pain intensified, a heavy, pulling sensation deep inside. I looked down. A bright, crimson river was trickling down my inner thigh, dripping, drop by drop, onto the pristine white floor. “Doctor! Somebody get a doctor!” The sight of the blood shattered Ethan’s composure. His shout was raw, instinctive. But Sophia leaned in close, whispering something urgent in his ear, words only for him. The last trace of panic on Ethan’s face evaporated. He retracted every ounce of concern, turned his back on me, and walked away without a second glance. I watched him go, the air growing thin in my lungs. The world began to spin, and my consciousness sank into a deep, welcoming darkness. As they wheeled me into the operating room, I vaguely heard a nurse’s anxious voice. “What do we do? The next of kin outside says she’s allergic to anesthesia!” “But she’s this far along… a D&C without anesthesia? The pain will kill her!”

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I started dating a student from a poor family. A month after we became a couple, he told me he had cancelled his poverty assistance. “Then how are you going to get your living expenses next month?” “Isn’t that what I’m looking for? You’re so rich anyway, let’s give this spot to someone who needs it more.” Ha, so I wasn’t here to date, I was here to help the poor. 1 “Babe, this new sushi place has insane ratings on Yelp, and the aesthetic is perfect for your Insta. I’m taking you this weekend.” I stared at the link my new boyfriend, Alex, had just sent me. A little confused. Wasn’t his family struggling? I knew for a fact he was on a full-ride scholarship that barely covered his living expenses. Why was he suggesting a place where the Omakase started at $200 a person? Maybe he just wants our first real date to be special, I thought. Doesn’t want to seem cheap. “It looks cute,” I typed back, “but honestly, places like that are more for the pictures than the food. We don’t have to go somewhere so expensive. I’m totally down for just getting some tacos or a pizza.” His reply was instant. “No way. This is our first official date since I finally landed you. It’s gotta be special. Plus, the reviews are amazing. It’ll be good, I promise.” Okay, fine. I’d actually been there a couple of times. The food was legitimately good. I was just trying to be considerate of his budget. “Alright,” I replied. “So, are you coming to my dorm, or should I meet you there?” “I’ll come to you. You just call the Uber when it’s time. I can’t have my girl trekking all the way across campus to see me.” A little flutter went through my chest. That was sweet. Alex and I had just made it official last week. We’re in different schools within the university, but we met at a startup competition. He was our team lead. Super dedicated, totally responsible. He didn’t have much, but he was a hustler. His leadership skills were off the charts, and he led our team all the way to first place. Somewhere between all the late-night brainstorming sessions, he asked me out. I said no at first. But he was persistent. And me, a girl who’s been single since, well, forever, eventually caved. There were no flowers, no grand romantic gesture. We were in the campus dining hall. It was the tenth time he’d told me, “Hailey, I really like you. And I’m not giving up.” I looked into his earnest brown eyes and finally sighed. “Okay. Let’s… give it a try?” He whooped and pulled me into a hug right there in front of the salad bar. And that was that. We were a couple. 2 Our dorms were on opposite ends of campus. I was in the South Quad, he was all the way up in North. It was a good fifteen-minute bike ride. So him offering to come all the way to me? It felt nice. Like he was making a real effort. The next day, I called the Uber a few minutes before our agreed-upon time. I watched the little car on the map get closer and closer, but there was no sign of Alex. “Where are you?” I texted. “Almost there! Just passing the football stadium.” “The stadium? The driver is almost here. You’d better bike fast.” “Oh, I’m walking.” “What? We were supposed to meet at nine. It’s 9:05, and you’re still at the stadium? Walking?” “Babe, just tell the driver to wait, it’s fine. I’ll run. Ten minutes, tops.” “Alex, they charge extra for wait time, and I ordered an Uber Black. It’s not cool to make the driver wait. Just grab one of those campus scooters, you’ll make it.” “Ugh, those things are such a rip-off. It’s like, a dollar-fifty for ten minutes!” I felt a flash of annoyance. How was I supposed to respond to that? Tell him he couldn’t afford $1.50? Ask him why he didn’t just leave ten minutes earlier? I took a deep breath. First date. Don’t make it weird. I Venmo’d him $15. “Just get a scooter over here.” The money was accepted instantly. “Thx sugar mama 😉 Let me be your boy toy [cat with heart eyes emoji]” I frowned at the message. It left a weird, sour taste in my mouth, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on why. Two minutes later, Alex on a scooter and the sleek black SUV pulled up at the exact same time. I gave him a look. I was still a little pissed about him being late. 3 Then he did something that melted me, just a little. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a slightly squashed breakfast taco. “I know you probably didn’t have time for breakfast,” he said, holding it out. “I brought you this.” The annoyance from a moment ago vanished. I took the taco. It was still warm. “See? Good, right?” he beamed. “It’s the bacon, egg, and cheese. Two bucks each.” Okay. So maybe he was cheap about the $1.50 scooter, but he’d spent two dollars on a taco for me. I decided to let the lateness slide. “Why’d you get an Uber Black, though?” he asked as we got in the car. “It’s like, three times the price of a regular one. We could’ve used that money for something else.” “I just prefer it. They’re cleaner and more comfortable.” “Wow,” he said, sinking into the leather seat. “My first time in one of these. Guess I’m getting a taste of the good life with you.” I just smiled and didn’t answer. 4 We had some time to kill before our reservation, so we decided to pop into a Whole Foods. I started grabbing my usual stuff—some snacks I liked, a big container of pre-cut watermelon. Alex’s eyes were wide as he watched me fill the cart. “Babe, what’s your monthly allowance? You’re buying a lot.” I thought for a second. “Well, my mom gives me four thousand, and then my dad usually slips me another two. And my clothing budget is separate.” “Whoa,” he whistled. “You really are a sugar mama. My parents give me four hundred a month, and I get another four hundred from my scholarship. You get ten times what I do.” Hearing him lay it out like that made me feel a little awkward. “Hey, you know what?” I said. “We could just go to that new ramen place I was telling you about. It’s super good and way cheaper.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Nah. Ramen’s whatever. I’ve never had real, high-end sushi before. Our first date has to be memorable.” If he was so insistent, who was I to argue? I made a mental note to discreetly help him out with his expenses back on campus. Plus, his birthday was coming up. I could get him a really nice gift. I noticed he hadn’t put a single thing in the cart for himself. “Aren’t you getting anything?” I asked. “Me? Oh, okay. Well, thank you, sugar mama.” Huh? Thank me for what? I was about to find out. 5 It was like a switch flipped. Alex went into what I can only describe as a supermarket sweep mode. Protein bars, Red Bull, instant noodles, bags of chips, fancy imported fruit—he was tossing things into the cart like it was the apocalypse and this was the last grocery store on Earth. “Okay, let’s go,” he said finally, looking pleased with his haul. “Time for sushi.” At the checkout, the cashier asked, “All together?” I was about to say separate, but Alex beat me to it. “Yep, all together. Can we get two of the big reusable bags, please?” “That’ll be $286.50,” the cashier said. I glanced over at Alex, who was busily bagging up his groceries. I sighed. “I’ve got it.” “Would you like delivery?” “Yes, please,” I said. “Oh, no, no, we can carry it,” Alex said quickly. I tugged on his sleeve, confused. “Why not just have it delivered?” “It costs extra,” he said, hoisting the two heavy bags. “Besides, they only deliver to the campus mailroom. You can just give me the delivery fee, and I’ll carry it straight to your dorm room for you.” I just… laughed. It was easier than arguing. We could take an Uber back; it wouldn’t be that bad. At the restaurant, I wasn’t that hungry after the greasy breakfast taco. Plus, I figured if I ordered light, it would be less of a hit to his wallet. I ordered a small appetizer and a couple of pieces of nigiri. “Is that all you’re getting?” Alex asked, looking concerned. “Are you on a diet? You’re already so skinny. You don’t need to lose weight. I’ll still like you even if you gain a few pounds.” I took a sip of water, not wanting to get into it. Then I watched as Alex proceeded to order half the menu. Toro, uni, wagyu beef, caviar. It was a spectacle. I put a hand on his arm. “Don’t order so much. We’ll never finish it all.” He puffed out his chest. “Don’t worry. I have a big appetite. Nothing will go to waste.” And he kept ordering. I just shrugged. His money, his choice. 6 My appetizer, a delicate pumpkin panna cotta, arrived first. Before I could even pick up my spoon, Alex had dug his own spoon in and taken a huge bite. “Eh, it’s okay,” he said, chewing with his mouth open. “Not as good as I expected.” I silently pulled the rest of my appetizer closer to me. We were still new. I wasn’t ready for the shared-saliva stage of the relationship. Next, he attacked the sushi platter I’d ordered for myself. He didn’t even finish a single piece. He’d take one bite of each, then move on to the next. “Just taste-testing for you,” he explained. “They’re all different.” He chomped down on a piece of tuna. “Mmm, this one’s good. I only took a little bite, you can have the rest.” A piece of rice flew out of his mouth and landed on my panna cotta. I felt my stomach turn. “You know what?” I said, pushing the plate away. “I’m not really feeling rice right now. You can have it. I’ll just order something else.” “See, this is what I’m talking about. You order food and don’t eat it. Good thing I’m here, or it would all go to waste. A boyfriend is basically a human garbage disposal. But you shouldn’t be so wasteful when I’m not around. Or you could just pack it up and bring it back for me.” He kept talking, and eating, and occasionally spraying food particles in my direction. “How are you?” he asked, seeing my expression. “Fine,” I mumbled. “Just going to the restroom.” 7 I hid in the bathroom for a solid ten minutes, texting my best friend a long, incoherent rant about everything that was wrong with the date. When I came back out, the table looked like a war zone. I just sat there and watched him eat. “You should eat something,” he said, gesturing with a piece of shrimp tempura. “Here, have some of mine.” I shook my head. “I’m good. Not hungry.” He shrugged and continued his monologue. “You know, for how expensive this place is, it’s really not that special… You really shouldn’t skip meals like this, it’s bad for you… Look at all this food you ordered that you didn’t even touch. You really need to thank me for being here to finish it.” “You’re right,” I said, my voice flat, inching my chair away from the splash zone. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he was done. “Alright, let’s pay and head back,” he said, standing up. “Sounds good,” I replied. “You go ahead, I just need to use the restroom again.” “Waiter!” he called out, flagging someone down. “Check, please!” Then he turned and headed for the men’s room. A server appeared at my table. “Your total is $562. How would you like to pay?” Even for a relationship newbie like me, the red flags were now a full-blown marching band parade. Who goes to the bathroom the exact moment the check arrives? And the grocery bill… I did a quick mental calculation. My stuff was probably only about a hundred bucks. This meal, I’d had exactly one bite of. I was so stupid. I’d told him we could go somewhere cheaper. Just then, my phone buzzed. A text from Alex. “My stomach is killing me. Might be a while. You can just wait for me at a boba shop or something.” I didn’t reply. I turned to the server. “Actually, I’m still hungry. Can I get a new table and order some more food? And then you can just add it all to the same check.” “Of course,” she said. I thought for a moment. “On second thought, can I just make it a to-go order?” I ordered all my favorite dishes. By the time the server brought out the neatly packed bags, the Postmates driver I’d summoned was waiting outside. “Can you take all of this, plus those two grocery bags, to this address?” I said, handing him everything. “No problem,” he said. As I was about to walk out, the server stopped me. “Ma’am, with the new order, your total is now $831.” I smiled sweetly. “The gentleman I was with is paying. He’s in the restroom.” I walked toward the bathroom and called out, loud enough for him to hear. “Alex! I’m thirsty, I’m gonna go grab a boba tea!” His voice came back, muffled. “Okay, babe! I’ll be out in a minute!” I gave the server a little wave. She nodded, understanding perfectly. “Right this way, ma’am.” And she escorted me to the door.

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I walked into the supermarket, my phone live-streaming, and shot the camera a defiant grin. “Alright, folks, today I’m going on a zero-dollar shopping spree.” The live chat exploded. “Are you insane? Live-streaming yourself stealing? You trying to get arrested?” I ignored the comments, piling things into my shopping cart with a manic energy. Once it was full, I just pushed the cart straight out the door and ran. It didn’t take long for the police to track me down using my stream’s location data. In my past life, my twin sister murdered her billionaire ex-boyfriend and then vanished with her new lover. I was home alone, with no alibi, no one to prove the killer wasn’t me. They sentenced me to death. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of the murder. If she could forge evidence to place me at the scene, then I would use the entire internet and the police department’s own records to prove my alibi. At the exact time of the murder, I would be sitting in a police precinct holding cell for shoplifting. This time, I was going to make damn sure she was the one with nowhere left to run. 1 I stood at the entrance of Brighton’s Market, my fingers trembling slightly as I tapped my phone to go live. My own pale, nervous face stared back at me from the screen. Taking a deep breath, I forced a wild, exaggerated smile. “Hey everyone! Today, we’re doing a five-finger discount haul!” The live chat instantly blew up. 【Has this streamer lost her mind? Is this how people try to go viral now?】 【Shoplifting at a supermarket? Enjoy your jail cell!】 【Already reported. You’re welcome.】 I ignored the torrent of comments scrolling past and pushed a cart straight toward the snack aisle. The red lights of the security cameras blinked down at me, feeling just like the cold, accusatory lenses in the courtroom of my past life. My throat tightened, but my hands were steady as I began grabbing things off the shelves with frantic purpose. My cart quickly filled with high-priced items designed to look cheap: bulky bags of chips, boxes of cookies, and cases of water. Things that didn’t cost a fortune but took up a massive amount of space. The comments kept flying. 【She’s just grabbing cheap junk. Nothing valuable.】 【Yeah, this is totally for clout. Even a full cart of that stuff won’t be more than a hundred bucks.】 【But is she actually going to walk out without paying? Even if it’s under a hundred, she’ll still get arrested.】 【Lame. If you’re gonna steal, steal something big. What’s the point of this?】 【It’s probably just an act. She’ll go pay for it in a minute. People will do anything to get famous these days.】 The debate sent my viewer count soaring. A crowd was gathering online to watch me furiously load up my cart. Since I had my location services on, people quickly identified the exact store, and the supermarket’s security guards started watching me, though they didn’t intervene yet. Feeling the eyes of the world on me, I let out a loud laugh and shouted at my phone. “Okay, folks, watch closely! I’m heading to the checkout now!” With that, I shoved the heaping cart forward and sprinted for the exit. The security alarm shrieked to life the second I passed the threshold. I didn’t care. I just kept running, feeling the frantic footsteps of someone chasing me from behind. The live chat went insane again. 【HOLY CRAP, SHE’S FOR REAL.】 【Is this staged? Did she really just walk out without paying?】 【LOL, look at the security guard behind her! He ran so fast his shoe fell off! This can’t be an act.】 【COPS ARE HERE!! Look!!】 I glanced up and saw them. Two police officers, hands on their holsters, standing directly in my path. They must have gotten the call the moment I started my “shopping spree.” Before they could even shout, I let go of the cart, sending it rolling away, and raised my hands high above my head. “Don’t shoot! I surrender! Take me in.” The younger officer frowned, confused by my bizarrely cooperative attitude, while the older one had already pulled out his handcuffs. The cold kiss of metal on my wrist sent a shiver through me—the exact same sensation as my arrest in my past life. But this time, it was my choice. “Take her away,” the officer said curtly. As I was escorted to the patrol car, I made a point to look back at the supermarket’s entrance camera. The angle would have perfectly captured the exact time I was taken into custody: 3:27 PM. Plenty early. As the car pulled away, I saw several bystanders filming with their phones. Good. Their videos would become another link in the chain of my evidence. I leaned back against the seat, closed my eyes, and let the tide of memory pull me under. 2 The last image from my past life was the blinding white light of the execution chamber. And now, my story had to begin in that nightmare. I was a crime novelist, writing under the pen name Jane Night. I was moderately well-known in the community but had never had a breakout hit. In my previous life, today was the day I was arrested. I was rushing to meet a publisher’s deadline, writing the most crucial chapter of my new book, The Perfect Double. The protagonist had just discovered his identical twin brother had stolen his identity to commit a murder. I had just typed the line, “He stared at the security footage, at the face that was a mirror image of his own, and suddenly realized the only person in the world who could perfectly replicate him was his own flesh and blood,” when my keyboard jammed. Looking back, it was a cruel joke played by fate itself. When the police smashed through my door, I was on the floor with a screwdriver, trying to fix the keyboard. The explosive crash of the door made me slip, and the screwdriver sliced open my index finger. Blood dripped into the crevices of the keyboard, which later became evidence in court of my “violent tendencies.” “Anna Jane, you’re under arrest for the murder of Marcus Thorne and the theft of a large sum of cash.” I collapsed on the floor as they pulled a blood-stained shirt from the back of my closet. It had my fingerprints on it, and traces of Marcus Thorne’s. “That’s impossible…” My voice trembled. “I haven’t left my apartment in three days. That’s not mine…” But the security footage shattered every one of my denials. On the screen, “I” was wearing the black baseball cap I always wore and carrying my one-of-a-kind backpack, a gift from fans at a book signing, covered in their signatures. “I” showed up on camera at Marcus Thorne’s penthouse apartment. The footage clearly showed me plunging a knife into his chest, then taking a stack of documents from a safe in the bedroom. The most ironic part was the look on Marcus’s face before he died—not fear, but pure shock. He must have recognized that face, too. “So you’re telling us you have an identical twin sister, and she was Marcus Thorne’s mistress?” In the interrogation room, the lead detective tapped his pen against the case file. “Yes. Check his phone. I guarantee you’ll find tons of messages and pictures of my sister.” The detectives interviewing me huddled together and left the room. When they returned, they showed me a photo. It was a picture my parents had provided, showing my sister, Nina, smiling at an airport gate. The electronic departures board behind her clearly displayed the date and time: 12:15 PM on the day of the murder. The murder took place at 3:50 PM. At that time, her plane hadn’t even landed. My editor, Lucy, once told me that the alibis in my novels were too perfect, that reality was never that convenient. Now I knew she was right. It wasn’t a coincidence. My gut screamed that the photo was a fake. But no one believed me. My parents’ testimony in court was the final, fatal blow. My mother cried until she nearly fainted, but she insisted they had personally driven Nina to the airport that morning. My father produced ticket stubs and parking receipts as proof. “Anna was never as smart as her sister,” he said, his voice choked with false grief. “She was always secretly jealous. When they were little, she used to cut up Nina’s dolls with scissors. But I never, ever thought she would be jealous of her sister’s boyfriend, too. It’s our fault. We failed as parents.” They sobbed hysterically on the stand, and everyone in the courtroom was convinced I had been a monster since childhood. And me? A reclusive writer who spent all her time locked in her apartment. I barely even appeared on my own building’s security cameras. No one could prove I was at home when the murder happened. “The defendant is a long-term recluse with severe social anxiety…” The prosecutor’s words flayed my ears. “Her novels repeatedly depict meticulously planned perfect crimes, proving she has the capacity for premeditation…” It wasn’t until the death sentence was handed down that I finally understood how all the pieces fit together. But it was too late. I had become my sister’s perfect scapegoat. Three hours before my lethal injection, Nina came to visit. Through the bulletproof glass, her lips, painted a slash of crimson, moved. “By the way,” she mouthed, “I helped you finish your new book. The protagonist confesses in the end. A beautiful story of repentance, don’t you think?” She didn’t even stay to claim my body. She was finally free to run off with the pretty college boy she’d been keeping on the side. 3 I never expected to open my eyes again. But here I was, reborn two hours before the murder. I was sitting at my computer, the document’s last save time showing 1:27 PM. Nina’s murder of Marcus was set to happen at 3:50 PM. I spent the first twenty minutes doing three things: First, I looked up the local laws and confirmed that theft of property under $200 was a misdemeanor, punishable by a maximum of fifteen days in jail. Second, I researched the police response times for precincts in the area. The one covering Brighton’s Market was the fastest. Third, I checked Nina’s social media. She had posted an airport selfie that morning. As I grabbed my jacket and rushed out the door, I made sure to take the black baseball cap and the limited-edition backpack—the very items Nina had used to frame me in my past life. This time, they would appear with me on the supermarket’s security cameras, becoming a crucial part of my alibi. “Name?” In the interrogation room, the officer’s voice snapped me back to the present. “Anna Jane. My pen name is Jane Night.” I mentioned my profession intentionally, planting a seed for the media storm I knew was coming. The officer raised an eyebrow. “A writer? What do you write?” “Crime fiction,” I said with a bitter smile. “Funny how life turns out to be stranger than any story I could ever make up.” The clock on the wall read 3:45 PM. Nina should be inside Marcus’s building by now. According to the police timeline from my past life, she would be swiping my key card—which she had stolen—to get into the lobby. She would flash my signature little lip-biting smile for the camera, a micro-expression she had spent three months perfecting. “You’re saying you caused this disturbance at the market on purpose?” The officer’s voice sounded distant. “Yes.” I dug my nails into my palms, my eyes darting uncontrollably toward the clock. The officer slid a photo across the table. “We’ve totaled up the value of the items you stole. It’s less than two hundred dollars…” 3:48 PM. My temples throbbed. On the security footage, Nina would be taking off the baseball cap now, shaking out her long hair. Hair that was identical to mine, right down to the carefully replicated split ends. When Marcus opened the door, he would be stunned. The last time he’d seen me was at a book signing. “According to Section 49 of the Public Order Act…” The sound of the officer flipping through his file was eerily similar to the judge turning the pages of my death sentence. 3:49 PM. Nina would have locked the door from the inside by now. She would be holding the knife in her left hand. She wasn’t left-handed, but she had practiced writing and eating with her left hand for months just to imitate me perfectly. The coroner’s report had noted the angle of the wounds indicated a left-handed killer. “Miss Jane? Are you listening?” I looked up suddenly. “Can I have a glass of water?” The officer frowned but motioned for his colleague to get one. 3:50 PM. On the dot. My throat went dry. I could almost hear the second hand ticking. Right now. Nina’s knife would be plunging into the space between Marcus’s third and fourth ribs—the exact same spot I described in my novel when the protagonist committed his murder. A cool, disposable cup was pressed into my hand. I stared at my reflection in the water’s surface and, for a dizzying moment, saw Nina stuffing blood-soaked cash into my backpack. “You’re trembling,” the officer observed. I looked down and saw that the surface of the water was rippling. 3:52 PM. Nina would be cleaning the scene now. She’d use my favorite brand of sanitizing wipes on the doorknob but intentionally leave a partial print on the coffee table—my fingerprint, which she had collected earlier on a piece of tape. “I have low blood sugar,” I managed, forcing a smile. I watched the officer write “emotionally unstable” in his report. Every word he wrote would become my shield. I didn’t hear a single thing the police said after that. I knew Nina had succeeded. By now, she would be on her way to my apartment to plant the t-shirt stained with Marcus’s blood in my closet. In my past life, I was taking a nap at this time. She was so quiet I never even knew she’d been there. But she wouldn’t succeed this time. She had no idea about the little surprise I’d left for her in my apartment. Before I left, I had deliberately left my computer on, the screen displaying the latest chapter of The Perfect Double: “The moment the double believes they have won is the exact moment the protagonist’s counterattack begins.” I remained silent, no matter what the police asked. My goal had been achieved. Anything more felt like a waste of effort. “Sign here.” The officer pushed the report and a pen toward me. “Given the circumstances, you’ll be detained for a few days. Do you need to call a lawyer? Or family?” An image of my parents testifying against me flashed in my mind. I shook my head quickly, grabbed the pen, and signed my name.

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The first thing I saw when I turned from the billing counter was a strange woman dragging my fifty-five-year-old mother-in-law toward the abortion clinic by a fistful of her silver-streaked hair. The sight sent a splinter of ice straight through my heart. I started to run, to scream, but a nurse grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Don’t,” she hissed, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and excitement. “That’s Eleanor Reed, our Dean’s wife. She’s dealing with a mistress. You don’t want to get in the middle of that.” I frowned, the world tilting on its axis. “Eleanor Reed? But… my father-in-law is Dr. Robert Reed. My mother-in-law is his wife.” The woman’s grip on my mother-in-law’s hair tightened. “You pathetic bitch! You’ve got one foot in the grave and you’re still trying to pop out another heir to steal my son Ethan’s inheritance? You have no shame!” My mother-in-law, a gentle soul I’ll call Catherine, clung desperately to the doorframe of the clinic, her knuckles white. “I’ve been married to Robert for thirty years!” she cried, her voice raw with anguish. “Ethan is the son I raised! How dare you call him your son, your husband!” I twisted out of the nurse’s grasp and rushed forward, planting myself between them. “I’m Ethan Reed’s wife,” I declared, my voice shaking but firm. The woman, Brenda, just snorted, a cold, dismissive sound. “Well, look at this. I’ve stumbled into a whole nest of whores today.” Before I could process the insult, she had her phone out, a sharp-nailed finger jabbing at the screen. “Ethan, you’re not going to believe this. It’s not just your father who’s cheating. You are too.” Her voice dripped with saccharine poison. “You better get down here and handle your little slut before Ashley finds out.” The words hit me like a physical blow. Robert and Ethan? Father and son, both cheating? 1 Brenda hung up, a cruel smirk playing on her lips. I was still reeling, lost in the dizzying possibility of Ethan’s betrayal, and I didn’t see her move. One moment I was standing, the next my hair was being yanked, and my head slammed against the cool, sterile wall of the hospital corridor. Stars exploded behind my eyes. “Like father, like son, I guess,” she snarled, her face a mask of rage. “What did we ever do to you people? Did our family dig up your ancestors’ graves? Why are you two, mother and daughter, so hell-bent on ruining my life and my daughter-in-law’s?” Catherine, tears streaming down her face, scrambled to pull me into her arms. “We are not mistresses!” she screamed at Brenda. “Robert has been my husband for thirty years, and Ethan is the son I spent three decades raising! Olivia is his legally wedded wife!” She took a ragged breath, her voice trembling with conviction. “And I believe in them. My husband and my son would never cheat. You have to be mistaken!” Brenda let out a laugh that was more of a bark. She gestured wildly to the crowd of onlookers that had gathered. “Mistaken? Ask any nurse in this hospital who I am! Ask them if I’m Robert Reed’s wife! If I’m Ethan Reed’s mother! Are they all mistaken, too? Did I pay off the entire hospital staff just to frame you?” The nurse who had stopped me earlier nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes! That’s the Dean’s wife! Mrs. Reed! The young Mr. Reed and his wife always accompany her on her visits. We’ve all heard them call her ‘Mom.’ There’s no mistake!” She paused, then delivered the final, devastating blow. “But… the wife who comes with Mr. Reed isn’t this lady.” Vindicated, Brenda’s arrogance swelled. “See? The nerve of mistresses these days! Caught red-handed and still spinning lies. It’s a good thing this happened in my husband’s hospital, or I might have actually had a hard time proving it!” 2 While my father-in-law, Robert, was technically the Dean of Hillside Medical Center, he had stepped back from all administrative duties five years ago, leaving everything but his surgical practice in the hands of my husband, Ethan. In the years since, Ethan had implemented sweeping changes, and the hospital was full of new faces. The nurses here in the outpatient wing were all recent hires; they wouldn’t know Catherine or me from Adam. Seeing our silence, Brenda must have thought we were scared. She sneered. “Go on, what other tricks do you have up your sleeve?” she taunted. “I should have just exposed you online from the start. I was trying to be discreet, but I guess you flies can always smell the filth.” The murmurs from the crowd grew louder, stinging like paper cuts. “They look so well-dressed and put-together. Why would they lower themselves to being homewreckers?” “Oh, you know how it is. You can’t judge a book by its cover. They look all clean and innocent, but who knows what kind of dirty business they’re into behind closed doors.” “And you know… that other thing…” A man winked suggestively, and the crowd chuckled knowingly, their laughter echoing in the hallway. Catherine was a simple, kind woman. Her family had sheltered her growing up, and after she married Robert, he had preserved that innocence. The world knew that the brilliant Dr. Reed was married, but almost no one knew what his wife looked like. She had never been subjected to this kind of public humiliation, this vile language. Her face went deathly pale, and she clutched her stomach as a wave of pain washed over her. She looked so fragile, like she might shatter into a million pieces. I bit the inside of my cheek, hard, the sharp tang of blood forcing a sliver of clarity through my panic. The reason we were here. The appointment. “Mom!” I said, my voice urgent. “The marriage certificate!” Her eyes, cloudy with shock, cleared. “Yes, yes! The certificate!” Her hands trembled as she pulled it from her purse. The small, heavy booklet felt like our last hope, a tangible proof of our lives. But the moment it was out, Brenda snatched it from her hands. Her face, which had been a tight mask of suspicion ever since I’d mentioned it, twisted into a bizarre expression the moment she opened it. Then, she began to laugh. A wild, unhinged cackle that echoed off the tiled floors. She laughed so hard that tears streamed from her eyes. Catherine and I exchanged a look. A cold, dreadful feeling began to pool in my stomach. Finally, Brenda gasped for air, and under the bewildered gazes of the crowd, she threw the certificate to the ground. A beat of silence, and then the crowd erupted in laughter, too. “Not only are they shameless mistresses, they’re con artists!” “Hahaha, you had me going there for a second! I really thought there was going to be a twist. But this? This is hilarious!” In disbelief, I knelt and picked up the certificate. I flipped it open. Where the official text, our names, and Robert’s and Catherine’s wedding photo should have been, there was only a child’s crayon drawing of smiling stick figures under a lopsided sun. Catherine stared, her eyes wide with horror. She took the fake certificate from me, turning it over and over in her hands as if the truth might be hiding on the back. “How… how can this be?” she whispered, tears falling freely now. “I’ve kept it in the safe all this time… How did this happen?” Her eyes suddenly lit with a desperate spark. “Your father has another copy! Call him, have him bring it!” She reached for her phone, but Brenda was faster. She grabbed it, smashed it on the floor, and then, with a vicious swing, slapped both of us across the face. 3 “Enough of this!” Brenda spat, her voice dripping with contempt. “You two clowns are wasting my time.” She reached into her own designer handbag and produced a marriage certificate, dangling it in front of our faces. “Since you’re so interested, let me show you what a real one looks like.” She opened it, flashing it to the crowd. “See? The official seal! The photograph! The registration number! All here!” She looked down at us, crumpled on the floor, her eyes filled with scorn. “Have you seen enough, you hillbillies? How pathetic. You’ve probably never even seen a real marriage certificate. Had to draw one yourselves. You must be desperate to marry into the family.” She had flashed it so quickly, I hadn’t gotten a clear look. When I asked to see it again, she simply slapped me. “You don’t give up, do you?” she sneered. “You want another look so you can make a better forgery next time? Nice try.” The shock was becoming too much for Catherine. She swayed, about to faint, and I quickly caught her, holding her steady. “Mom, stay calm! You’re pregnant! You have to control your emotions!” She gripped my hand tightly, her other hand pressed against her abdomen. “Olivia,” she gasped, her face contorted in pain. “My stomach… it hurts.” Brenda just spat on the floor near us. “Serves you right. You sleep with another woman’s husband, you try to use a baby to secure your position. Did you ever look in a mirror? Who do you think you are?” Her voice was laced with venom. “I bet the little bastard in your belly knows its mother is a whore and is trying to kill itself out of shame.” The cruel words seemed to suck the air from Catherine’s lungs. Her breathing became rapid and shallow. I rubbed her back, trying to soothe her. “Deep breaths, Mom. Just breathe.” I fought to keep my own voice steady. “There has to be a misunderstanding! Please, have some decency!” Catherine was in a bad state. I knew as long as Brenda was here, no doctor would dare help us. I pulled out my own phone to call for help, but there was no signal. A signal jammer. Brenda smiled, a predator’s smile. “You idiot. You’re on my turf. Do you really think anyone is coming to save you?” Her eyes, glinting with malice, fixed on Catherine’s stomach. “You should have thought about the consequences when you spread your legs. You brought this on yourselves.” And then, she drew back her foot and kicked. Catherine was only a few months along. A blow like that could be disastrous. Without thinking, I threw myself in front of her. The impact felt like my insides were being rearranged. A strangled scream escaped my lips. Catherine heard my cry and held me tight, her own pain forgotten. “Olivia is a Thornton!” she yelled at Brenda. “She’s from the Thornton family! Stop this, right now!” Brenda just laughed as if it were the funniest joke she’d ever heard. “Still trying to bluff your way out of this? Name-dropping at a time like this?” Just as she raised her hand to strike Catherine, a stern voice cut through the chaos. “What is going on here? This is a hospital, not a marketplace for your brawls!” The crowd parted, and a man in a doctor’s coat strode through. Dr. Peterson, the Vice Dean. Relief washed over me. Ignoring the throbbing pain in my side, I waved at him. “Dr. Peterson! It’s me! My mother is here, too!” He froze for a second, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. But as he started to move toward us, the nurse who had first stopped me intercepted him. “Dr. Peterson, sir, don’t be fooled by how pitiful they look! These two are mistresses to the Dean and his son. The Dean’s wife caught them in the act! Mrs. Reed has barely touched them, and they’re acting like they’re about to die!” Dr. Peterson’s gaze shifted to Brenda. She sniffed haughtily. “What took you so long? This hospital’s standards are really slipping. Are we letting just any riff-raff in now? It’s ruining our reputation as the top private hospital in the city.” Dr. Peterson’s brow furrowed. He shot a strange, unreadable look at Catherine and me, and my heart sank. Just as I feared, his expression slowly changed. “Ah, Mrs. Reed! Forgive my old eyes. It’s been so busy at the hospital lately, I didn’t recognize you. My sincerest apologies!” The flattery worked. Brenda’s expression softened. “It’s not your fault,” she said magnanimously. “This is a hospital, after all. Everyone who comes is a patient. I was just here for my routine check-up when I stumbled upon this… disgusting mess.” Hearing the Vice Dean himself confirm Brenda’s identity, the crowd’s murmuring turned into a chorus of sycophantic agreement. “This mother-daughter pair is really something else! The evidence is stacked against them and they’re still trying to lie their way out.” “And she even claimed to know the Vice Dean! Does she think she can just claim acquaintance with anyone? He’s already confirmed who the real Mrs. Reed is. I’d love to see what other lies they can come up with.” Dr. Peterson, as if just noticing our condition, adopted a tone of magnanimous professionalism. “While their moral character may be questionable, they are in a hospital, and as doctors, we must treat everyone equally.” The crowd burst into applause, moved by his display of impartiality. Under the cover of their admiration, he approached to examine us. I pleaded with him in a low voice. “Uncle Pete, you know this isn’t the truth. Why are you siding with her?” He knelt beside me, his voice a barely audible whisper. “This little gift… it’s from your husband, isn’t it? Such a good nephew.” He smiled, a chilling, empty gesture. “I was wondering how I’d ever get a leg up on the Dean. It seems I owe your husband my thanks.” Behind me, I felt Catherine’s hand grip mine with all her remaining strength. She must have heard. “I’m so sorry, Olivia,” she choked out. Then, a dark stain of red began to spread on the floor beneath her. Panic seized me. My mother-in-law’s life was on the line. I swallowed my pride. “Whatever it is, we were in the wrong today! Please, I’m begging you, just save my mother! She’s bleeding!” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, my gaze fixed on the growing pool of crimson. We were childhood sweethearts, Ethan and I. And Catherine had treated me like her own daughter since the day we met. I couldn’t let her die. Brenda just shrugged. “I was going to make her get rid of that bastard to clear the way for my son anyway. Her bleeding now just saves me the trouble.” Dr. Peterson, despite his ambition to oust Robert, didn’t want a death on his hands. He was about to speak, but another voice interrupted. “Mom! What’s going on? Are you alright?” 4 The newcomer rushed to Brenda’s side, frantically checking her for injuries. Only after she was satisfied did she let out a sigh of relief. Speaking into her phone, she said, “Ethan, Mom’s fine. Don’t worry.” Brenda beamed, letting the young woman fuss over her. “Ashley, you’re so sweet! That worthless boy of mine calls but doesn’t even show his face.” Ashley smiled patiently. “Mom, Ethan’s parking the car! He was worried you were in danger, so he sent me up first to check.” Their warm, familial scene was a dagger in my heart. So it was true. Ethan had cheated. Catherine squeezed my hand, her voice a ragged whisper filled with apology. “I’m sorry, Olivia. It’s all my fault. I failed to raise my son properly. You shouldn’t have to suffer like this.” I wiped away my tears and squeezed back. “It’s not your fault, Mom. None of this is on you.” I looked back at Dr. Peterson. “Uncle Pete, please, get a doctor for my mother!” Before he could answer, he was shoved aside. Ashley, the woman who had just been so concerned for Brenda, launched herself at me, kicking and punching. “You slut! How dare you seduce my husband! I’m going to kill you today!” Catherine, with a sudden surge of strength, threw her body over mine, shielding me from the blows. “Olivia, it’s my fault,” she wept. “I had this whim to come to the hospital like a normal person, to experience it all. If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t be going through this.” Her voice broke. “Don’t worry. When you divorce Ethan, I’ll support you.” My own tears started to flow, hot and unrestrained. How could this be her fault? Catherine’s upbringing was one of privilege. Her marriage to Robert was arranged, but they had fallen deeply in love. They had a private family doctor, but by a cruel twist of fate, he had been in a car accident a few days ago and had broken his leg. I was the one who had jokingly suggested we could try being normal people for a day, waiting in line and filling out forms. Catherine, sweet and impulsive, had remembered and decided to do just that for this check-up. This was my fault. If I hadn’t had such a stupid, romantic idea, Catherine wouldn’t be in this pain, and her baby might still be safe… The scene devolved into chaos. People in the crowd, seeing the blood spreading, finally intervened, pulling Ashley away. And then, he arrived. Ethan. Ashley immediately threw herself into his arms. He held her, his expression tender. “Honey, does your hand hurt?” She pouted theatrically. “My hand doesn’t hurt, but my heart does! That woman over there claims you’re her husband!” Ethan’s eyes met mine for a fleeting second before sliding away as if he’d never seen me before. He raised a hand as if taking an oath. “Baby, that’s not true. It’s never been true! There’s only ever been you.” I bit my lip until it bled, forcing down the wave of grief and betrayal that threatened to drown me. Catherine was fading. “Dr. Peterson! Please, save my mom!” Ethan shot me a look of pure disgust. “Save who? If something happens, I’ll take responsibility. People have to pay for their mistakes.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Ethan, how can you be so cruel? That’s your mother! She’s unconscious!” Brenda’s face flushed with fury. “Son! You tell her! You tell her who your real mother is!” Ethan frowned, his gaze sweeping over me and the motionless form of Catherine in my arms, her face obscured. “My mother is standing right here, perfectly fine! Who are you trying to curse? Your own mother passed out? What’s that got to do with me? I don’t even know you. Stop trying to latch onto me.” With those words, the last bit of strength seemed to drain from Catherine. She went completely limp in my arms. I held her, pleading with them, with anyone. “She’s unconscious! Please, for God’s sake, get her help!” A triumphant, twisted smile spread across Brenda’s face. “I want her to bleed out. I dare anyone here to treat her!” Suddenly, a furious voice roared from the edge of the crowd, a voice I knew as well as my own. “I’d like to see who dares to not treat my wife!” This marks the end of the first translated segment, as per the original text’s paywall point.

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I was just making polite small talk with my neighbor. “Your grandson is so cute,” I said. “I wish I had one just like him.” I went home for the summer, and my parents presented me with a baby brother. “It was *your wish* that made him happen,” they said. “You have to be responsible for him.” They completely checked out. My brother’s entire life became my problem. From his homework to his job, from his first car to his first house. Eventually, when I couldn’t afford to buy him a house, my brother murdered me. I opened my eyes and I was back on that day, admiring the neighbor’s kid. “Wow, he’s so cute,” I began. “I wish I had…” My parents’ eyes lit up, a predatory glint in them. I paused. “…a mansion!” I finished. “And a yacht!” “And a scholarship to study abroad!” “And ten billion dollars in cash!” 1 Our neighbor, Mrs. Gable, brought her little grandson over to our place. My mom watched my face like a hawk. “Jessie,” she said, testing the waters, “look how adorable he is. If you had a sweet little brother like this, I’d be the happiest mom in the world.” I almost laughed out loud. Having lived this nightmare once before, I knew the truth. It didn’t matter what I wanted. The “brother” was already on his way. This whole song and dance with Mrs. Gable was just a setup, a way to trick me into saying, “I wish I had a brother,” so they could saddle me with the crushing responsibility of raising him. In my last life, I fell for it. I was that naive. Because I said, “He’s so cute, I wish I had one,” my parents became deadbeats the second my brother was born. They dumped him on me, making me responsible for his every need. As he grew up, everything fell on my shoulders: his tutoring, his job applications, his car, and his down payment. If I showed the slightest hesitation, the guilt-tripping would start. “It was *your wish* that brought him into this world! You have to be responsible for his life!” My wish could make someone pregnant? Their excuses for wanting a son were more creative than a sci-fi writer. The tragedy is, they repeated it so often that they completely brainwashed my brother. If he failed a test, it was my fault for not finding a better tutor. If he couldn’t get a job, it was my fault for not having the right connections. If he couldn’t afford a house, it was because I wasn’t working hard enough. It all came to a head when he came at me with a knife, screaming, “Why did you even have me if you’re broke?! This is all your fault! If you hadn’t wished for me, I wouldn’t be in this hellhole! Just die!” The little brother I had raised from infancy murdered me in cold blood. And my parents? They signed a document saying they wouldn’t press charges. I was the only one who got hurt in the end. This time, I wouldn’t make the same mistake. When I didn’t say anything, Mrs. Gable gave her grandson a little nudge. “Go on, sweetie. Say hi to your aunty Jessie. Let her hold you.” The kid just stared at me blankly. “See, Jessie?” Mrs. Gable pushed. “He’s such a darling. You should tell your mom to have one for you.” My mom held her breath, her eyes glued to my mouth. She might as well have had “SAY YOU WANT A BROTHER” tattooed on her forehead. I smiled. “Wow, he is so cute. I wish…” My parents’ eyes lit up with pure joy. They both leaned forward, practically vibrating with anticipation. “…I had a mansion!” I declared. “And a yacht!” “And a full ride to Yale!” “And ten billion dollars cash!” The living room went dead silent. Mrs. Gable’s smile froze on her face. My mom’s mouth hung open in shock. My dad’s hand trembled, and he spilled hot tea all over the coffee table. “What kind of nonsense are you talking?!” my mom finally sputtered, her face burning with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. My dad’s face was grim. He set down the teapot with a thud. “Jessie, don’t joke around. We’re talking about something serious.” I blinked innocently. “What’s serious?” “Mrs. Gable asked if you wanted a little brother. What do you think?” I played dumb. “You mean if I want one, I can just have one?” “Of course,” they said in unison. “Anything you wish for, we’ll do our best to make it happen.” “That’s great!” I beamed. “Okay, so, a mansion, a yacht, a scholarship, and ten billion dollars. Which one are you getting me first?” Silence. I raised my voice. “I said! I want a mansion! I want a yacht—” “Enough!” my mom shrieked. The fake smiles were completely gone. 2 Mrs. Gable mumbled an excuse and hurried out with her grandson. The second the door closed, my mom was in my face, her voice dripping with fake concern. “Jessie, be honest. Don’t you want a real brother?” “No,” I said, flatly. “It’s for your own good! You’ll have someone to look out for you.” She was trying to paint a rosy picture of family bonds. “I have friends. I have a boyfriend. I don’t need a brother messing things up.” I picked up an apple from the table and took a loud, deliberate bite. My dad jumped in, using his authoritarian parent voice. “What do you know! When you get married, you’ll be at a disadvantage if you don’t have a brother at home to back you up!” “Oh, well, then I just won’t get married.” I chewed my apple, my voice muffled but clear. “Just date, no marriage. Way less drama.” “Even better!” my mom blurted out. “Then your brother can take care of you when you’re old!” And there it was. The mask finally slipped. They didn’t give a damn about my happiness. They just wanted a son. “Expecting my brother to take care of me in my old age?” I said with a humorless smile. “I’d rather just drop dead now.” “Even if you don’t think about yourself, think about us,” my dad pleaded. “A son is our security! Without a son, people will look down on us. Your mother and I have been pushed around our whole lives. It’s time we had some respect.” I had an answer for that one, too. “Don’t worry. By the time your ‘security’ is grown up, you’ll be in your seventies. At that age, no one’s going to be pushing you around. You could fall flat on your face and no one would even dare to help you up.” My dad’s face turned beet red. He slammed his hand on the table. “How dare you! Is that how you talk to your parents? It’s our right to have a son! We’ve raised you, fed you, clothed you! It’s not your place to tell us what to do!” Finally. The act was over. I put down the apple core and slowly wiped my hands. “You should have just said that from the start. You want a kid, fine. Why drag me into it? What’s the matter…” I leaned forward, staring into their evasive, guilty eyes. “Were you planning on popping him out and then dumping him on me? Making me a free nanny and ATM for your perfect little family of three for the rest of my life?” Their faces crumpled. He’d hit the nail on the head. My dad was shaking with rage, pointing a finger at me. “You ungrateful brat! We wasted our lives raising you! What’s wrong with a man wanting a son to carry on the family name? You’re the older sister! It’s your duty to help your brother! It’s the natural order of things!” I threw my hands up. “The only way I’m helping him is by preventing him from being born in the first place.” “We’re broke. You two don’t even have retirement savings. Bringing a child into this is just cruel.” Seeing that yelling wasn’t working, my mom switched tactics instantly. She clutched her still-flat stomach, her eyes welling up with tears. “Jessie, look at me, I’m not young anymore. The baby is already four months along, I can feel him moving. And an abortion would be so hard on my body… can’t you have a little sympathy for your own mother?” “Sympathy?” I scoffed, my voice sharp as a razor. “Did you think about how ‘hard on your body’ it would be when you were getting it on? You don’t use protection, you have your fun, and now you want me to feel sorry for you? You deal with the consequences of your own carelessness. Don’t you dare try to guilt-trip me.” They were stunned by my bluntness, their faces a spectacular kaleidoscope of red and white. My dad was practically apoplectic. “We’re having this baby!” The fox was finally out of the bag. 3 Seeing them furious but helpless, I knew my moment had come. I whipped out my phone, hit record, and aimed the camera straight at their shocked faces. “See? All you had to do was admit you wanted him. No need to pin it on me.” “Hey, future-brother, what’s up,” I said to the camera. “Just so you know, for the record, I was completely against this. It was Mom and Dad’s idea. So if your life sucks, you can blame them. Your big sister has nothing to do with it.” “There’s no throne for you to inherit in this family, just a sink full of dirty dishes. You’re being born to be a wage slave, a cog in the machine, another speck of cosmic dust.” “Mom and Dad brought you into this miserable world, but they don’t have the means to give you a good life. You’re on your own, kid.” “Good luck! We’re all just trying to survive out here~” I stopped the recording and calmly hit “save.” On the screen, my parents’ faces had gone from red to purple to a pasty, dead gray. “You… you heartless monster!” my dad finally found his voice, screaming with pure, unadulterated rage. “You say no? Fine! We’re having him anyway!” I raised an eyebrow. “Go for it. Be my guest. Just remember what I said today.” I had my video evidence. In my last life, whenever things didn’t go my brother’s way, he took it out on me, physically. My parents would either pretend not to see or add fuel to the fire. “You’re the big sister. You should be more patient with him.” “If it wasn’t for you wanting a brother, he wouldn’t even be here.” “He has feelings. You need to be his punching bag.” This time, let’s see how “patient” they are when they’re the ones being blamed and screamed at. When winter break ended, the first thing I did back at college was start posting my daily workouts on social media. I’d finish my last sprint, my sweat-soaked tank top clinging to my stomach. It was flat and toned, with zero signs of childbirth. I’d zoom in on my abs and hit record. “Two miles done! Let’s get it again tomorrow!” It was crucial to document my body’s status during my mom’s pregnancy. In my last life, I didn’t know she was pregnant. I came home for the summer and was handed a baby. I was sitting outside with the newborn when a high school classmate walked by. She stared at my puffy, sleep-deprived eyes and the screaming baby in my arms. “Wow, Jessie,” she blurted out. “You’re only a junior and you already have a kid?” My mother didn’t correct her. Instead, a sly little smile played on her lips. “Oh, we just call him her little brother, hehe.” She deliberately let people believe he was mine. No matter how much I tried to explain, no one believed me. This time, I posted everywhere. Every day, a two-mile run. Hiking on weekends. Crunches in my dorm room at night. My roommates thought I’d lost my mind. “Jessie, you’re already so skinny! Why are you trying to kill yourself? You’re making the rest of us look bad!” They didn’t understand. I was doing it to stay alive. The semester flew by. I had killer abs to show for it. I had just posted a new ab-selfie to my Instagram story when my dad called. “Summer break started two days ago. Why aren’t you home yet?” “I just sent you two hundred bucks. Buy a bus ticket. I expect you home tomorrow!” Oh, here we go. They were summoning me home to be their free postpartum nurse. I accepted the $200, then immediately bought a ticket on a bus heading south. [Dad, I got a summer job at a factory with some friends. Won’t be home.] My parents were cheap. Even if I didn’t come home, they’d never pay for a real nurse. And my dad was the laziest man alive. With him in charge of my mom’s recovery, things were about to get very interesting at home. 4 For the first few days after the baby was born, my mom’s Facebook page was a highlight reel of a perfect life. Close-ups of the baby’s tiny hands. A loving portrait of their happy family of three. She posted nine-picture collages eight times a day. The captions were triumphant. [It just had to be a son. Now that I have a son, even the air I breathe is sweeter!] [Finally did right by our ancestors. The family name won’t die with us.] [The happiest family of three!] Too bad their perfect life didn’t even last a week. My dad called me in the middle of the night, his frustration practically sizzling through the phone. “Your mother is impossible! I close my eyes for two minutes, and she’s whining that her head hurts, her back hurts, her bones are falling apart, and I need to give her a massage. Who doesn’t hurt after having a baby? Back in my day, women were back in the fields the next day!” “I wake up before dawn to make her oatmeal, and she complains it’s bland! I buy the best pork hock for a soup, slave over it, bring it to her, and she says it’s too greasy! She’s acting like a damn princess just because she had a C-section!” “It’s one thing after another, I swear to God! I’m done! I’m not waiting on her hand and foot anymore!” My mom was even worse. She sent me a flood of tearful voice messages, with the baby wailing in the background. “Your father is a useless idiot! He’s going to be the death of me! Your brother is screaming his head off from hunger, I tell him to make a bottle, and he uses boiling water! The formula just clumps up! A pig could learn how to do it, but I’ve told him a thousand times and he still can’t remember!” “He sleeps like the dead at night. I have to shove him just to wake him up. I finally get him up to change a diaper, and he just wipes the baby’s butt with a wet wipe and shoves him back into a new diaper without drying him off! It’s been five days! Five days! And the baby’s butt is already raw!” It was like they’d coordinated. One after another, they gave me my royal decree. “You have to come home! We can’t handle this!” In my last life, when I was the one taking care of her, she called me an ungrateful brat if I did the slightest thing wrong. If the water was one degree too cold, I was useless. If the chicken soup wasn’t hot enough, I was trying to poison her. When my dad came home, she’d tell him exaggerated stories, and then they’d both scream at me. Now that they had to do it themselves, they couldn’t stand each other after less than a week. I’d rather be a wage slave in a factory than go home and face the three of them. Go home? Only if I had a death wish. [I don’t want to get in the way. It’s better if you three just work things out and have a happy life!] I really hoped they’d just forget I existed. And stop trying to drag me down with them. 5 After a long day at the factory, I checked my phone and it had exploded. In the family group chat, my parents and the entire extended family were putting on a real show for me. It started with a video my dad posted. In it, my mom was curled up in bed, looking pale as a ghost. The sheets beneath her were stained with blood. Her moans were faint but constant. He wrote: [Your mother’s C-section incision is infected, she has a 102-degree fever, and her daughter is out having the time of her life. What a disgrace to this family!] The rest of the relatives immediately piled on. Aunt Carol: [Your mother risked her life to give you a companion, and this is how you repay her? You ungrateful brat, get your ass home and take care of her!] Aunt Sue: [How did you raise such a daughter? You never should have let her go to college! Education makes women wild!] Uncle Bob: [Get home and do your duty! If a girl doesn’t learn how to keep a house and raise kids, what man is ever going to want to marry you!] … Wow, they were really laying on the guilt. Fine. Two can play at that game. [@Aunt Carol, didn’t you stick Grandma in a nursing home and not visit for three years? Don’t pretend you’re some great saint now.] [@Aunt Sue, isn’t your son-in-law cheating on your daughter and beating her? Maybe you have bigger things to worry about?] [@Uncle Bob, did your son ever pay back that $30,000 he owes the loan sharks? Next time they show up at my door, should I tell them where you’re hiding?] The group chat exploded again. When they couldn’t win with logic, they pulled rank. [We are your elders! How dare you speak to us that way!] I ignored them. [Yeah, yeah, you’re all saints, and I’m the monster. Since you all feel so sorry for my mom, why don’t you take turns taking care of her?] [First person to volunteer, I’ll pay for your Uber.] The chat went dead silent. The profiles that had been so self-righteous just a second ago all went quiet. I see these relatives once a year, if that. I wasn’t afraid of burning bridges. They wanted to guilt-trip me? Not a chance. Finally, my mom jumped in, playing the victim. [Jessie, please. Your brother cries all night, your dad can’t even make a bottle right. We need you. Please, have pity on me. The pain from my incision is so bad I want to jump off a roof!] So now she feels the pain. We’re just getting started. In my last life, I was her slave that summer. At 3 AM, I’d be pacing the balcony with a screaming baby, and she’d yell from her bed, “Hold him tighter! If you drop my son, I’ll skin you alive!” I washed so many cloth diapers that my hands were raw and cracked. I helped her get up and walk around every day until my own back ached constantly. After a month of non-stop work, my mom was fully recovered, healthy and strong. I looked like I’d given birth to octuplets and developed chronic joint pain. And all I got for it was, “The pain you feel is a sweet pain. Your brother will repay you when he grows up.” This time, all the pain of childbirth was hers to bear. So I gave her own words right back to her: [Pain is good. It’s the ‘sweet pain’ of motherhood. You brought a son into this world, you’ve brought honor to the family. It’s all worth it! I’m sure your son will repay you when he grows up!] And how will he repay you? By screaming at you, by hitting you, and eventually, by coming at you with a knife. Now that’s a repayment that really hits deep.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385489”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel