Category: English

My husband, Logan Cole, never wanted children with me. Then suddenly, he became relentless, taking me for three days and three nights without any protection. I thought he had finally accepted me. Blushing, I took the pregnancy test to his office to share the good news, only to hear him laughing in the lounge with his childhood sweetheart, Ivy, and his two best friends. “You guys spoil me too much! I was just curious whose baby she’d end up with if we did that. You three really treated Scarlett like a ragdoll. Will she be mad if she finds out the father is unknown?” My husband, Logan, scoffed. “Mad? I was rewarding her! You have no idea how happy she was when she heard we were trying for a baby.” “But seriously, Logan, Scarlett is naturally seductive!” “Only you, Logan, would be generous enough to share!” “Why don’t we make a bet? Who’s going to hit the jackpot? The loser has to buy Ivy a piece of jewelry at the auction, no less than ten million!” With their male pride at stake, the three men eagerly raised the stakes. Ivy watched them argue with flushed faces, laughing delightedly. through the blinds, she cast a dismissive glance at me. Chapter 1 “Logan, what if Scarlett finds out the baby isn’t yours? What then?” Logan sneered contemptuously. “Carrying another man’s seed just proves she’s a slut. Cheating and getting knocked up? Even if she finds out, would she have the face to tell anyone?” “Besides, do you think I don’t cover my tracks?” He pulled a stack of photos from his pocket and threw them on the table. “Damn, you didn’t even blur her face! If anyone sees these, her reputation is toast, hahaha.” “Just like those magazines from overseas. You can feel the slutiness through the photos!” Ivy picked one up, looked at it with disgust, and tossed it aside. The photo slid precisely through the gap under the door, landing right in front of my eyes. My breath hitched. I threw myself to the floor, grabbing my dignity and face, stuffing the photo desperately into my sleeve. Tears wouldn’t stop flowing. Logan was forced to marry me by his parents. For years, he barely touched me. I thought I had finally moved him. So, even knowing the wine was drugged, I drank it obediently, letting my reason be stripped away bit by bit. To have a child, to please him, I spent those three days shamelessly welcoming him, responding to him. I didn’t even know when they switched places, or when the photos were taken. All of this, just because of one sentence from Ivy, the childhood sweetheart they held in their palms. I ran out of the office building as if for my life. Even though I was fully clothed, I felt everyone’s gaze was stripping me naked, like in those photos. The immense shame almost crushed me. I ran with my head down, a few minutes’ walk feeling like a century. Back home, I rushed to the shredder, destroying the photo again and again. I wished I could shove my dirty self in there too. A loud slam of the door made me jump. It was Logan. “Did your period come this month?” I didn’t react for a moment. “W-what?” He smirked, a teasing lilt in his voice. “My little cream puff, it was three whole days. I’m pretty confident in my abilities. Come downstairs, I’m taking you to the hospital for a checkup.” Logan grabbed me and dragged me to the garage. Seeing me sitting dazedly in the passenger seat, he sighed and buckled my seatbelt. I grabbed his hand, blurting out: “Going to the hospital to check if I’m pregnant? Logan, do you really want a child with me?” He ruffled my hair, his eyes so gentle they could drip water. “What nonsense. Of course I do. A girl like you, a boy like me. Perfect.” He acted so well. If I hadn’t heard their conversation at the office, I would have believed him. When we arrived at the hospital, Logan’s two friends and Ivy were already waiting. They looked me up and down maliciously. The naked, sticky gazes of the two men gave me goosebumps. Logan pulled me behind him. “They heard you might be pregnant and came to congratulate you.” The blood test was quick. Just like my home test, I was pregnant. Logan held the report. I couldn’t read his expression, but Ivy was visibly unhappy. He looked up at the doctor. “Can we do a paternity test now?” The doctor looked back and forth between me and Logan. “It’s only been three weeks. It’s possible, but generally, we don’t recommend—” He interrupted in a low voice. “Just do it. Do it now.” The doctor quickly added, “We can only do chorionic villus sampling right now. It’s risky for the mother and fetus, and we can’t use anesthesia. It will be very painful. Sir, maybe reconsider?” He frowned, impatient. “No anesthesia means no anesthesia. Do you not understand English?” The doctor turned to ask me. I gave a bitter smile. “Do it.” The paternity test takes a week. They couldn’t wait to open the prize. Any later and they’d miss Ivy’s auction. They didn’t care if I got hurt. In the crowded waiting area, people started pointing at me. After the doctor took samples, Logan dropped another bomb. “Collect samples from my two friends too. Test them all together.” The crowd exploded. “What’s going on? This woman plays hard? With three men?!” “Why else would a husband bring his newly pregnant wife for a paternity test? He doesn’t know whose seed it is!” “Her husband is tall and handsome, yet she cheats. Ungrateful. If I were him, I’d beat her to death!” The doctor, who had just pitied me, felt deceived. Without anesthesia, his hand was heavy. A sharp pain shot through my abdomen, blinding me. Tears rolled down my face. I walked out holding the wall. Logan strode forward, ready to hug me. But then Ivy ran off with red eyes. Logan’s two friends chased after her. The man who had just put his arm around me froze, then let go. I fell hard onto the floor. “Go home yourself. I need to check on Ivy.” He turned and ran towards Ivy. Look, he runs when he goes to her. The onlookers, seeing my pathetic state, gloated. “A bus anyone can ride. Deserves to have her husband run off!” “Hey beauty, got a number? How much for a night? I can definitely afford you.” “She charges? Free! Just call and she’ll jump in your bed!” I crawled up using the handrail, head down, staring at my toes as I shuffled out. By the time I cabbed home, it was dark. Panting, I grabbed the doorknob. As soon as I opened it, a humid, ambiguous smell hit me. The sounds of Ivy and Logan entangled almost pierced my eardrums. I slammed the door shut, slid down the wall, and held my head. Enough! Really enough! I don’t want to hear it! I don’t want to hear anything! I don’t know how much time passed before the door opened again. Ivy was dressed skimpily, her face flushed, red marks dotting her slender neck. The sound of a shower came from the bathroom. She leaned against the doorframe arrogantly, looking down her nose at me, her voice vicious. “Shamelessly seducing Logan every day to have a baby with you. Where do you get the nerve?!” “You love breeding so much? Are you happy now? Just one word from me, and all three of them will take turns on you again. Maybe next time we’ll toss you in a homeless shelter?” She stepped closer as she spoke, forcing me back. “Even if you made Logan marry you, so what? His heart is only with me. Did you ever see the way he looked at me just now, so serious and passionate? You pathetic wretch, you’re just a tool for venting lust!” Ivy’s red lips moved, but all I saw was jealousy written all over her face. I smirked internally. Being used by three men, ruined… was she envious of that too? No, she envied the one-third chance I had of carrying Logan’s child. Thinking of this, I instinctively touched my lower abdomen. But this small movement made Ivy explode. “A bastard with an unknown father! What are you proud of? Do you deserve it?!” Worried Logan might hear, I played dumb. “Ivy, what are you saying? I don’t understand. I don’t know why Logan took me for a paternity test, but it’s definitely his child!” She was frantic with jealousy. “Who allowed you to carry his child? Who allowed it! I can’t give him a child, and neither can you!” With that, she shoved me hard. My heels caught on the stairs, and I fell backward. The world spun, pain everywhere, especially in my stomach. Hearing the noise, Logan rushed out. Ivy threw herself onto the floor, screaming: “I call you sister-in-law, see you’re pregnant, come to help clean up, and you hit me?!” “Why did you throw yourself down? Are you trying to frame me? I didn’t push you! Scarlett, why are you doing this to me!” Then, pretending to just see Logan, she sobbed in my defense: “Logan, don’t worry about me, check on Scarlett. She fell down accidentally.” Logan saw the red marks on Ivy’s exposed skin, guilt flashing in his eyes. He quickly took off his jacket and covered her. “Ivy, are you hurt? I’ll take you to the hospital!” “I’m fine, just my leg hurts a bit. Scarlett looks worse…” He gave me a cold look, picked Ivy up, and yelled at me, “Don’t think I didn’t hear! Ivy came to help out of kindness. I didn’t know you were so ungrateful!” Lying on the floor, feeling my eyelids heavy, I trembled out an explanation: “No, I didn’t, she pushed—” “Stop playing the victim! Framing Ivy? You can’t even lie well. She’s frail, can’t even open a bottle cap. Could she push you? Besides, Ivy is kind-hearted. What reason would she have? Scarlett, when did you become like this?!” He carried Ivy downstairs, kicking me like a dog as he passed. “If you like lying there, stay there! Just don’t block the way!” Ivy turned her head and gave me a provocative smile. The sound of the car engine faded. My vision went black. But I couldn’t sleep. The pain in my stomach wasn’t normal. Logan wouldn’t come back for me. I had to save myself. After a long while, I gathered enough strength to grab the railing and stand up. Afraid of what might flow out, I didn’t dare call a cab. I walked to the hospital. The night nurse saw blood on my lower body and my pain, quickly registering me. Looking at my chart from the day, the doctor sighed. “Miss, who does a puncture at three weeks? The fetus wasn’t even stable! Your uterus contracted from the trauma, plus the fall… the baby probably won’t make it.” After the exam, the doctor scolded me anxiously. “You can really tolerate pain. Delaying so long with heavy bleeding? Do you want to die?!” I let out a long breath and laughed. “Doctor, just give me the abortion surgery.” From the moment I knew the truth, every second I felt nauseated by the unresponsive fetus in my belly. Gone. Good. This pregnancy was like a dream. Waking up, it’s all over.

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My coworker was heading overseas for a vacation and asked me to book her flight. “I’ll transfer you the money in a bit,” she said casually. I booked the ticket. It cost me two thousand dollars. I waited all day. No transfer came through. I nudged her about it. She replied, “I already sent it. Check again.” I checked my Venmo, my PayPal, my bank accounts. I even counted the change in my digital wallet. Nothing. An hour before her flight was scheduled to take off, I canceled the ticket. She called me from the airport, screaming, “Are you insane?!” I replied calmly, “No money, no ticket.” The next day, she blasted me on social media for being heartless. My only response was a single screenshot: the cancellation confirmation next to our chat history. 01 I posted the screenshot—the one showing both the successful ticket cancellation and my unanswered requests for payment—to my own social media feed. I didn’t add a single word of commentary. Afterward, I placed my phone face down on the desk, trying to detach myself from the whole messy affair. But the quiet didn’t last long. My phone began to vibrate violently, like a bomb about to detonate. I knew what had happened. Someone had dropped the screenshot into our 300-person company-wide group chat. Sure enough, when I tapped the blinking icon, the message count was already at 99+. “Whoa, is Mindy really that savage?” “Two thousand dollars is no small amount. I’d have canceled it too.” “Seriously, what’s wrong with Phoebe? Saying she paid when she didn’t? Is she playing people for fools?” The support lasted for all of three messages before the tide turned. A woman named Sienna, a core member of Phoebe’s office clique, fired the first shot. “Mindy, aren’t you overreacting a little? So Phoebe was a bit late with the money. For two grand, you’re just going to leave her stranded at the airport? You’ve ruined her entire vacation!” Another one quickly followed. “Exactly! Phoebe is in tears. She said the signal at the airport was terrible and the transfer was delayed. Couldn’t you have just waited a little longer?” And then, the main actress made her entrance. A sixty-second voice memo popped up. I pressed play, and Phoebe’s choked, tear-filled voice filled the air. “Mindy… I really… I really did send it… I was looking for a signal for ages, the Wi-Fi was just so bad… I tried calling you but you didn’t pick up… How could you… how could you just cancel the ticket… sob…” She wailed as if she’d suffered the world’s greatest injustice. She followed up with a few more fragmented voice notes, each one perfectly crafted to fit her “innocent victim” narrative. “I just assumed you’d received it… I trusted you so much…” “Did you do this on purpose… were you just waiting to see me humiliated…” “I’m all alone at the airport now, my luggage is already checked in, what am I supposed to do…” The group chat began to waver. Even Mark, a colleague I was usually on good terms with, sent a message: “Mindy, I think you went a bit too far this time. Phoebe’s all by herself at the airport, imagine how helpless she must feel.” Mark’s words felt like an icy hand squeezing my heart. See? This is the corporate world. No one cares about the truth. They only care about who seems more pitiful. Just then, a red exclamation point appeared on my screen. It was from my direct supervisor, Sarah, the administrative manager. “This is a work channel. Keep personal matters out of it!” The moment her profile picture appeared, the noisy chat fell silent. But before I could even breathe a sigh of relief, a private message from Sarah popped up. “Mindy, come to my office.” Her tone was cold, sharp, and displeased. I took a deep breath, pushed back my chair, and stood up. When I walked into her office, she was leaning back in her chair, arms crossed, her eyes a mixture of judgment and disapproval. “Mindy, how long have you been with the company?” she asked. “A year and a half, Sarah.” “A year and a half, and still so impulsive.” Her fingertips tapped lightly on the desk, each tap a hammer blow to my nerves. “I know you feel wronged, but you need to be more tactful. Phoebe was being immature by escalating this, but when you followed suit, it became your problem too.” “Is it worth destroying a professional relationship over a few thousand dollars? How are you supposed to work with her now? What do you think this makes the rest of the department think of you?” Her words were like a thousand tiny cuts, shredding my already frayed nerves. Wronged? No. What I felt was a bone-deep chill and a profound sense of disgust. I listened to her “rules for corporate survival” in silence, not uttering a single word of protest. Only when she said, “Alright, go back to your desk and think about this,” did I turn and leave. Back at my desk, my phone screen was lit up with a private message from Phoebe. “Mindy, I know you didn’t do it on purpose. I don’t blame you. We’re still best friends.” It was followed by a “hugging” emoji. Reading those words, a wave of nausea churned in my stomach. I laughed, my shoulders shaking. Best friends? Fine. Let’s make this storm a hurricane. 02 Phoebe didn’t come to work the next day. But her battle had just begun, and her chosen arena was social media. It was a meticulously crafted, thousand-word essay, accompanied by a perfectly lit selfie of her at the airport, a single tear clinging to her eyelash, looking utterly heartbroken. The title: “To Mindy, the Sister I Once Trusted Most.” She used flowery, dramatic language to recount our “deeply moving” friendship. She wrote about how, when I was a new hire, she had “held my hand” and taught me the ropes. In reality, she had dumped all her menial tasks on me while she went for coffee and chatted with other colleagues. She wrote about how she had “stood up for me” when I was criticized by our boss. In reality, she had stolen credit for my project, and when a flaw was discovered, she had thrown me under the bus to take the blame. In her version of events, black was white and white was black. The ticket incident was framed as “a premeditated and malicious act of revenge, born from her jealousy of my overseas vacation.” She tearfully condemned my cold-hearted cruelty. At the end of her post, she casually mentioned, “I just can’t believe our friendship isn’t even worth two thousand dollars. That amount is nothing to me. What truly hurt me was your cold, unfeeling heart.” To support her “I’m too rich to care about the money” persona, she included a few old photos of herself wearing knock-off luxury bracelets and handbags. The post exploded across our shared social circles. The comments were a one-sided massacre. “Mindy is disgusting. So jealous.” “You never really know a person. Poor Phoebe.” “Stay away from people like that. You never know when they’ll stab you in the back.” I even saw that Mark, my “friend,” had liked the post. That tiny red heart was like a white-hot needle piercing my eye. Rage, hot as lava, churned in my chest, threatening to burn away my reason. I gripped my phone, my knuckles white with tension. Calm down. Mindy, you have to stay calm. Anger wouldn’t solve anything. It would just turn me into a raving lunatic, just like her. I forced myself to take deep, slow breaths, pushing the searing fury back down. Then, I started scrolling through two years of my chat history with Phoebe. I opened the file archive on my work computer. One by one, the incidents came back to me. All the moments I had dismissed, all the times I had told myself, “It’s not worth making a fuss over,” were now laid bare before me. And then I found it. The presentation for that major client, the one that won Phoebe the “Employee of the Quarter” award. I checked the file properties. Author: Mindy. Creation time: 3:15 AM. I found the chat log where I sent her the source file. The timestamp was 4:00 AM. My message: “Phoebe, take a look and see if anything else needs changing.” Her reply: “You’re the best, Mindy! It’s perfect! Thanks for your hard work!” My fingertip traced the cold screen, and a cold sense of satisfaction bloomed in my chest. So you like to act, do you, Phoebe? Fine. I’ll build you a bigger stage. Without a word to anyone, I saved these screenshots, along with records of every other time she had taken advantage of me, into a new folder on my desktop. I named the folder: “Judgment.” 03 The moment I stepped into the office the next day, I could feel the suffocating weight of my isolation. The air itself felt thick. Colleagues were clustered in small groups, their conversations halting the second I appeared. They stared at me with a strange mix of contempt and pity. Their whispers buzzed around me like flies. Phoebe was there. She was wearing a new dress and her makeup was flawless. Her eyes were a little puffy, but her face held the smug look of a victor. She didn’t confront me directly. As she passed my desk, she said to the person next to her, just loud enough for me to hear, “Some people just can’t stand to see others happy.” I ignored her, put on my headphones, and started to work. Around ten o’clock, a commotion erupted outside. A flashy red Porsche had pulled up in front of the building, and a man got out. He was dressed in loud, logo-covered streetwear, his hair slicked back with too much gel. He looked like your typical trust-fund kid, hollowed out by booze and late nights. He stormed into our office, with a demure Phoebe trailing behind him like a loyal puppy. “Who’s Mindy?” the man bellowed, his voice dripping with arrogance. Every head in the office turned toward me. He strode over to my desk and pointed a finger in my face, his spittle flying. “You’re Mindy? Some broke, gold-digging nobody, and you dare to bully my Phoebe? What, are you just jealous that she gets to travel the world while you’re stuck here being a corporate slave?” His voice was shrill, each word an insult. The office was dead silent. Everyone had become an audience to this drama. I even saw Mark in the corner, discreetly filming the scene with his phone. The man, seeing I wasn’t reacting, pulled a thick wad of cash from his designer wallet—maybe a few hundred dollars—and threw it contemptuously onto my desk. The bills scattered, each one a mocking sneer. “Take it. That’s for the ticket, and for your troubles. Now, apologize to Phoebe. Immediately.” He ordered me around as if he were bestowing upon me a great favor. A current of pure humiliation shot through me. My body began to tremble, not from fear, but from rage. And in that moment, I smiled. I slowly rose from my chair, my gaze traveling past him to the woman trying to hide behind him. Then, I spoke, my voice low but clear enough to carry across the entire office. “First, she owes me two thousand dollars, not a few hundred.” “Second, I don’t want your dirty money.” “And third, tell her—Phoebe—to talk to me herself.” With that, I bent down and picked up the scattered bills, one by one. Then, I walked calmly to the window. As everyone watched in stunned silence, I pushed it open and flung my arm forward.

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Gage had Bipolar Disorder. After every time he hit me, he would send a remorseful transfer of ten thousand dollars. I never fought back. I just silently collected the funds, covering the bruises with a thick layer of foundation. My best friend, Sasha, called me sick and begged me to get a divorce. I checked my account balance and forced a cold, calculated smile. “Not yet,” I told her. “The pig isn’t fat enough to butcher.” Until the day he punched me in the stomach, and I lost the baby. 1 “Deposit alert. Ten thousand dollars.” The voice assistant’s mechanical sound echoed in the empty living room, jarring and loud. I spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva. Metallic. It tasted like rust. Gage sat across the room on the sofa, his head buried in his hands. Shame and regret were woven into the tangled mess of his hair—the result of him frantically clawing at his scalp during his latest episode. “I’m sorry… Naomi, I’m so sorry… I just can’t control myself…” His voice was a choked sob, trembling like a dead leaf in the wind. I didn’t say anything. I just quietly got up from the floor. My knee was throbbing, a searing pain where I’d hit the coffee table corner. Probably bruised deep purple. I shuffled to the mirror in the foyer. My left cheekbone was swollen. The clear imprint of five fingers was stark, a deep, angry crimson. Gage hadn’t held back this time. He really meant to kill me, or rather, the “sick” version of him intended to. I picked up the concealer and layered it on, thick coat after thick coat. The liquid foundation was cool, a shock against my inflamed skin, and the sudden temperature change was enough to bring my mind back into focus. I heard Gage’s heavy footsteps behind me. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, burying his face in the crook of my neck. His hot tears dropped onto my collar, making me flinch. “Please, hit me, scream at me… I’m a monster…” “It’s okay.” I stared at my reflection, forcing a perfect, forgiving, almost Madonna-like smile. “I know you’re sick. I don’t blame you.” Gage broke down again, weeping like a small child caught stealing. He pulled out his phone again. “Deposit alert. Ten thousand dollars.” That made twenty thousand dollars for the evening. One punch, twenty grand. Worth it. My salary at the office was barely four thousand a month, and I had to endure my boss’s bad breath and demanding clients. Here, at home, I just had to grit my teeth through a few minutes of pain to make three months’ wages. The math always worked out in my favor. Gage Harrington was an heir to old money, a factory owner’s son. Money was just a number to him. To me, it was freedom. It was my life. 2 Gage was asleep. Lashing out, especially with such unrestrained hysteria, was clearly exhausting. I covered him with the duvet, staring at his sleeping face, which even in repose seemed clouded with a lurking darkness. When he wasn’t in the throes of an episode, Gage was objectively handsome. High cheekbones, a sharp nose, and a pair of eyes that could look devastatingly tender. Who would ever guess that a wild animal was caged beneath such a perfect facade? I closed the bedroom door, walked to the balcony, and lit a cigarette. I’m not a regular smoker. I only indulge when the aching is too intense to let me sleep. My phone screen glowed. A text from Sasha. “Still alive?” I took a screenshot of my bank balance and sent it. She was silent for a moment before sending a long, furious voice note. “Naomi, are you out of your mind? Do you have some kind of victim complex? Twenty thousand dollars buys your silence? Don’t you know domestic abuse is a zero-tolerance game? Zero times or a million times? What are you going to do when he kills you? Spend your few million in the afterlife?” Sasha’s anger was harsh, but I knew it came from a place of love. She was the only person who knew what Gage was doing to me. I blew a stream of smoke into the night air, watching the vapor dissipate. I typed back: “Almost.” “Almost what?” “The pig is almost fat enough.” Sasha replied with a string of ellipses, clearly convinced I was beyond help. I wasn’t crazy. I was lucid. More lucid than anyone. I touched my stomach. It was flat, soft, and currently devoid of any life. But I needed there to be one. Gage’s episodes were escalating. First, it was just throwing things. Then, pushing. Now, it was full-force punches. The frequency had also ramped up, from once a month to once a week. I knew the tipping point was coming. Once we crossed that line, I might actually end up dead. But I couldn’t leave yet. The Gage of today, remorseful as he was, wasn’t quite broken enough. His guilt quota hadn’t reached the figure I needed. I wanted more than a couple of thousand dollars in pocket change. I wanted all of it. Or, perhaps, his life. 3 The preparations were nearly complete. I’d bought the stage blood online—movie quality, realistically viscous, even with a faint, sickening iron smell. As for the “fetus.” I’d sourced a specimen model through some specialized channels. It was tiny, palm-sized, a barely formed chunk of purple-black tissue that was terrifying to look at. I hid it in the deepest freezer drawer, triple-bagged in black plastic. Every time I opened the fridge for milk, I felt that cold mass staring at me. This was insane, I knew. But to hunt a beast, the hunter must be madder than the beast. This Friday was Gage’s birthday. As was tradition, he would drink. Alcohol was a deadly cocktail with his medication, especially mixed with the kind of drugs I planned to use. But I’d bought him the best Bordeaux I could find, a bottle of Romanée-Conti. It cost me a fraction of the money I’d saved from his “guilt transfers.” An investment, I told myself. There had to be a cost. Gage returned at seven that evening. He seemed to be in good spirits, holding a large Hermès shopping bag. “Happy birthday, Naomi.” I blinked. “It’s your birthday.” Gage smiled, walking over to kiss my forehead. “I know, but I wanted to give you a gift. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.” For a split second, I felt a familiar pang of disorientation. If you could ignore the violent nights, Gage was, in many ways, the perfect husband. Wealthy, romantic, and gentle. Too bad he was a psychopath. I unwrapped the gift—a limited edition Birkin bag. “Do you like it?” he looked at me, full of eager expectation. “I love it,” I smiled, nodding. “Let’s eat. I made your favorite sweet and sour pork ribs.” At the dinner table, candlelight flickered. Gage drank one glass. Two. Three. His eyes started to glaze over, his face flushed, and his voice became loud and booming. The chemicals were starting to take effect. It wasn’t just the wine. It was the “seasoning” I’d added. A psychoactive agent, designed to amplify mood and induce aggression. Gage had been taking his prescribed Lithium, but I had long since replaced his pills with innocuous-looking Vitamin C tablets. The real poison was in the wine. “Naomi…” Gage suddenly slammed his glass onto the table. Red wine splattered across the white linen tablecloth like an exploding blood flower. “You look down on me, don’t you?” His eyes had changed. That familiar, murderous, and violent glare had returned. The show was starting. 4 I feigned panic, shrinking back in my seat. “Gage, what’s wrong? How could I look down on you?” “You do! You think I’m a freak! You think I’m just sponging off my family!” Gage lunged up, knocking his chair over. He rounded the table, advancing toward me one step at a time. Instead of retreating, I stood my ground, my hands clamped tightly over my abdomen. That action was the catalyst he needed. “What’s in your belly, huh? Is it a bastard?” That line of delusion was unexpected. His paranoia was escalating faster than I’d anticipated. But it worked perfectly with my plan. “Gage! Are you insane? It’s your child! I’m three months pregnant!” I shrieked, my voice sounding shrill and desperate. “My child? Hahahaha! I can’t have children! I’m sick! I’m a lunatic! How could a lunatic have a child!” Gage roared, like a mad boar losing its mind. He charged, grabbed my hair, and slammed my head against the wall. BAM! It hurt. A deep, blinding pain. But I held the scream in. I collapsed to the floor, curling into a tight ball. “Don’t hit me… please… don’t hurt the baby…” I wailed, my voice fading. But my plea didn’t stir his conscience. Instead, it was like a stimulant, driving him further into madness. “Just die! All of you, just die!” Gage lifted his foot and kicked my stomach hard. Once. Twice. I felt the terrifying illusion of a broken rib. But I had to wait for the hardest one. Now! I violently squeezed the blood bag I’d taped inside my dress. Warm, viscous liquid immediately gushed out, soaking my skirt and streaming down my legs to the floor. Bright red blood spread across the white tile, a horrifying and visceral sight. I let out one final, piercing scream, then pushed the pre-prepared “fetus” out from beneath my skirt. It lay in the pool of blood, a small, dark purple, terrifying chunk of tissue.

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After my brother became an idol, I became his dedicated fansite photographer. In my photos, the background was razor-sharp, but my brother’s face was melted like butter. After seeing the pictures, my brother was silent for a long time. He Venmoed me fifty bucks to delete them. I didn’t give up. I tried again and again, failing every time. Finally, my brother couldn’t take it anymore and told me to go photograph his “nemesis,” Julian Chen. The result? A casual snap I took became a legendary photo, gaining Julian 100,000 followers overnight. Unwilling to admit defeat, my brother made me, who had already infiltrated Julian’s fandom as a “big fan,” come back to photograph him. After I “left the fandom,” countless fellow fans DM’d me crying, begging me to return. One DM stood out. It was from Julian himself. “Am I really not as good as him?” 1 My brother, Liam, went abroad to study but ended up becoming an idol halfway through, ruining my hobby of chasing stars. I switched to photography but struggled to find subjects. Liam had a brilliant idea: “Why don’t you be my fansite master? How are your photography skills?” I answered cautiously, “Uh, passable.” I asked him for front-row tickets to his latest concert and went with my heavy-duty camera lens. Liam was a bit awkward but excitedly instructed me: “Sis, make sure you make your bro look handsome.” Me: “Got it, got it, Bro.” After the show started, Liam glanced at my spot several times. Even his teammate, Julian Chen, looked over. But I was wearing a mask and dressed like an auntie; no one recognized me. I gave Liam a determined look. He returned an even more determined look. Then Liam started posing and dancing on stage, while I sat below on pins and needles. After all, watching your own brother twerk requires a certain amount of courage. Suddenly, a scream erupted from the crowd. I looked. Oh god, Liam took his shirt off. Thankfully, just the top. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, and I squeezed mine shut tight too. Fans around me screamed hoarsely: “Liam Su! Legendary photo incoming! It’s here!” Subconsciously, I pressed the shutter. After snapping hundreds of shots blindly, I finally dared to open my eyes. No, Bro, why are you still shirtless! Are you trying to ruin me? Desperately, I turned my lens toward his teammate, Julian Chen, and survived the rest of the concert relying on his peerless beauty. After the concert, I didn’t check the photos and rushed backstage to wait for Liam. Liam was taking forever. I huddled in a corner, texting him to hurry up. Suddenly, a shadow fell over me. I heard a hesitant voice. “…Harper?” I looked up to see Julian’s calm face. He was still wearing his stage outfit. His blonde hair was soaked with sweat, and as the lights swept over him, he seemed to shimmer with starlight. I smiled awkwardly. “Long time no see. You’re even more handsome than in high school.” He looked down at me, sweat sliding down his neck into the slightly open collar of his outfit. His dark eyes landed on my face. “Long time no see. Are you… waiting for someone?” 2 Liam never knew that his teammate was my high school deskmate. In our sophomore year, Julian suddenly dropped out and left school quietly. I lost my study buddy! Later, when Liam complained about an annoying junior member parachuting into the group, I realized Julian had also become an idol. Their group was a limited-time project pushed by the company. Liam was just living out his idol fantasy; he’d have to come back and inherit the family business with me eventually. Julian was different. In Liam’s description, Julian got into the company relying solely on his face, easily securing a debut spot. But during training, he worked harder than anyone. He was young, hardworking, and polite to everyone—except he was cold to Liam. Liam, having been a young master for over twenty years, had a bad temper and almost fought Julian several times. After debuting, they became “nemeses” because they were equally popular. He called me every day to complain about Julian. I could only nod along. I didn’t dare reveal my high school connection with Julian. Similarly, I didn’t dare let Julian find out that the teammate he had been feuding with for three years was my brother. I answered vaguely, “Yeah, I’m a fan of Liam Su. Used some connections to get in… Is he busy now?” Julian’s thick eyelashes trembled imperceptibly. “He shouldn’t be free right now. I saw the manager looking for him.” But Liam clearly said he asked for leave and would come find me right after the concert? I looked at my phone, confused. “Don’t wait here. Let me treat you to dinner?” Julian suddenly stepped closer, interrupting my thoughts. I hesitated for a second, then heard my brother’s voice. “Harper, waited long?” Liam walked out of the lounge briskly. Before he looked over, I subconsciously stepped back, putting distance between me and Julian. “Didn’t wait long… Starving! Let’s go get late-night snacks!” I hugged my brother’s arm and guiltily dragged him away. Liam glanced at the dejected Julian but noticed nothing, asking smugly: “How was Bro on stage just now?” I perfunctorily said, “Bro was so handsome, handsome to death!” But I couldn’t help looking back. I saw half of Julian’s face hidden in the shadows, his expression unreadable. 3 After eating with Liam, I imported the 700+ photos to my phone and looked through them with him. Opening shot: Lightning strike. In the first photo, the background was razor-sharp, but Liam’s face was melted like butter. A second before Liam exploded like gasoline. I quickly said, “Don’t panic! That was an accident!” I thought, out of 700 photos, there must be one good one, right? Until we scrolled to the last one, the private room remained in dead silence. In the few photos where his face was visible, Liam either looked like his dentures had fallen out or his face was as rugged as moon craters. It wasn’t that I didn’t capture him; I just precisely captured every moment Liam rolled his eyes. Liam didn’t speak. He opened his front-facing camera to confirm he hadn’t mutated. Then he asked me. “Harper, you did this on purpose, right?” I lowered my head: “Even on purpose, I couldn’t take photos like this, right?” Liam nodded: “True. Even my enemies would forgive me after seeing these.” He Venmoed me fifty bucks to delete them. I was reluctant. This was the first time I photographed my brother’s concert. It had sentimental value. I explained, “Bro, I think it’s not my technique, it’s the camera.” “What’s wrong with the camera?” “It’s a Nikon. Maybe if you imitate a bird, spreading your arms and hopping on stage? It might focus better!” Liam asked in disbelief, “You’re saying, let me, an idol, fly like a bird on stage? Am I crazy? Isn’t there a more dignified way to get good photos?” I whispered, “Bro, don’t you want to see the legendary photos your dear sister took of you?” Liam sneered: “No.” At the second concert, during Liam’s part. Everyone saw him singing, his expression suddenly becoming determined. Then, inexplicably, he spread his arms and flapped them vigorously with conviction. I quickly snapped the shot. Afraid that if I was a second late, Liam would flap himself into a cold. The audience fell silent for a few seconds. “What is Liam Su doing?” “I don’t remember this move in the dance?” “So weird.” Surprisingly, Liam’s teammates held it together and didn’t laugh on stage. Otherwise, it would have been a stage accident. Julian couldn’t help but look back at Liam several times. Then with a dark face, his gaze precisely found my direction. My hand shook, and I accidentally took a photo of Liam looking like a Special Grade Curse. I left halfway through, ran to the hotel, and started editing photos furiously. This time, although the focus was clear, I couldn’t find a single one that looked human. I closed my eyes and decided to act first, report later. I uploaded a few barely passable photos to my newly registered account “BowlOfFish.” I believed there must be fellow fans who could appreciate them! Two minutes later. I was dragged into the anti-black list by Liam’s fans. Sky fell! 4 I tried to explain in the Super Topic that I wasn’t an anti-fan, even posting photos of the merch Liam gave me to prove my fan status. But they firmly reported my photos and advised me together. “Go home, child, okay? We’re glad you like Liam Su and have unique insights, but liking him doesn’t mean you have to take photos of him.” Liars, they didn’t believe me at all. My alt account lurking in the fan group clearly saw them discussing. [She’s an anti, right? And a solo stan for someone else. She made our 6-foot Liam look like Danny DeVito, but P-shopped Julian, who only showed half a face next to him, to be so handsome. Who believes she’s a fan?] [Stabilize her first, or we’re doomed if she posts more black photos.] [What sin did Oppa commit to meet someone like this!] The next second, Liam called. “Harper, I beg you, delete the photos!” He sounded broken. I refused toughly: “No! Where are they ugly? You look exactly like in the photos!” Liam was almost driven mad, cursing: “Delete them, hear me? Keep them as family heirlooms or what?” I lifted my chin: “Yeah!” “Try making a donkey noise at me again? Harper, I’m telling you, I’ve tolerated you for a long time. If you don’t delete them, wait for a beating!” Phantom pain hit my body. I remembered Liam hadn’t beaten me for three years since going abroad. Just as I was about to yield to the Demon King, Liam’s cursing suddenly paused. I heard Liam’s impatient voice fuzzily from the other end: “Julian Chen, are you sick? I wasn’t scolding you, why are you so agitated?” My heart moved. Julian was there? Feeling an approaching low pressure, Liam covered the phone mic and turned, looking at his teammate who was emitting a chill. “Who did you say you were going to beat?” Julian’s face was dark, eyes deep. He just came out of the practice room, wearing a simple black t-shirt, arm muscles smooth but tense. His cold gaze fell on the phone Liam was covering. Liam was confused but instinctively cursed back. “Took the wrong meds? None of your business! You want a beating too?” Julian took a deep breath, laughing in extreme anger: “So, this is how you usually treat her.” From that accidental glimpse of his teammate’s lock screen, the darkness and jealousy that continued until now seemed like a joke. So the person he was jealous of was just a man who would speak abusively to her? Liam asked back with clear stupidity: “Otherwise? Treating her like an ancestor? Just coaxing her!” Julian suddenly smiled self-deprecatingly. “Indeed, I have no right to blame you.” He looked at Liam steadily and said word by word: “Treat her better.” Watching him walk away, Liam picked up the phone again: “My teammate seemed to have an episode just now. You think he’s actually sick?” I didn’t dare say a word the whole time, and I didn’t dare comment now. I had a flash of wit: “Bro, did you block me on Weibo?” Liam: “Yeah.”

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My husband died on the operating table. When I went to claim the body, the doctor handed me a surgical consent form. It read: [Donor acts voluntarily. All risks accepted.] In the relationship column, he had written: [Father]. Mark’s ghost hovered beside me, waiting to see me break down and cry. Instead, I calmly took the clipboard and asked the doctor: “I want him cremated immediately. Is there an extra fee for express service?” 1 The doctor had probably never seen a wife so eager to turn her husband into dust. His expression was a mix of shock and confusion. “Mrs. Vance, regarding the accident during the procedure… would you like to know the details?” I glanced at the Patek Philippe on my wrist. “Save it. Just speed up the paperwork. I have to pick up my daughter from school.” “Elena, are you doing this out of spite?” Mark floated in mid-air, his eyes wide with disbelief. I stared right through him for a few seconds, quickly accepting the reality that he was now a ghost. “Top priority, private furnace. I want the ashes in an hour.” I pulled out my Black Card and handed it to the assistant standing nearby. The doctor was stunned into silence. But he nodded professionally, gesturing for us to sign so they could proceed. The assistant asked tentatively, “Does… the rest of the family need to be notified for a viewing?” “No need.” I folded the surgical consent form. Then I stuffed it into my Birkin bag. “Elena! What is this attitude?” Mark’s voice rose an octave. “Yes, I lied to you. Leo is indeed my biological son. But he has leukemia! I’m his father. Was I supposed to just watch him die?” “If it were you, would you have stood by? You’re a mother too. How can you be so ununderstanding?” The more he spoke, the more self-righteous he felt. “Besides, I’ve already paid with my life! Doesn’t death wipe the slate clean?” He roared impatiently. “Why are you in such a rush to burn me? What will Chloe think? What will Leo think? They didn’t even get to see me one last time! Elena, you are vicious!” I smirked, the corner of my mouth lifting slightly. So what if I am? “The law states that I am your next of kin. I am the only person authorized to sign off on your remains.” “The moment you felt smug about marrying me for my money, you handed over all your post-mortem rights to me.” “As for your true love and your illegitimate son? Sorry. Even their right to see your dead face requires my approval.” “Not happy about it? Deal with it.” 2 By the time Chloe Miller and Mark’s mother stormed into the funeral home lounge, Mark had already been reduced to a pile of warm ash. He was packed into a cheap, nondescript wooden box. “Mark! Oh, my Mark!” My mother-in-law, Barbara, couldn’t accept reality. She hugged the box, rolling on the floor, wailing uncontrollably. Chloe was dressed in her usual “fragile flower” outfit—white dress, slightly messy hair, pale face. She grabbed my arm. “You are so cruel! Even if the surgery had an accident halfway through, the marrow extraction could have continued! They could have used a machine to get it out!” “You burned him so fast… you didn’t just burn him, you burned my son’s life!” Mark floated behind Chloe. He had been ready to comfort her broken heart. He even opened his arms to hug her. But hearing those words, his hands froze in mid-air. A crack appeared on his facade of noble sacrifice. I shook off Chloe’s hand with disgust and pulled out a wet wipe to sanitize the spot she touched. I pointed to the box in Barbara’s arms. “You wanted Mark so badly? He’s all yours.” “Burned at 1800 degrees. Very clean. The bone marrow you wanted is just carbon now. Do you want to grab a handful and mix it into a protein shake for Leo?” “AHHHH—!!!” Chloe finally snapped, letting out a piercing shriek. She grabbed my shoulders, cursing: “You knew Leo was waiting for this to save his life! How could you cremate him so fast! You probably didn’t know, right? That was Mark’s biological son! His own flesh and blood!” I opened my mouth to say, I knew. SLAP! A crisp sound echoed in the room. Barbara slapped Chloe across the face. “You garbage! How dare you talk to Elena like that!” 3 Chloe’s head snapped to the side. She covered her face, looking at the small, elderly woman in disbelief. Barbara’s hand was still trembling. “It’s all because of you, you homewrecker! It’s you! You killed my Mark!” Barbara seemed to age ten years in an instant. She sat on the floor, hugging Mark’s ashes, crying bitterly. “My son! How could you be so stupid! You studied hard for ten years to get out of that small town. You had a bright future, you had a good wife like Elena… how did you… how did you let the devil blind you!” “For a mistress? For a bastard child? You lost your life! How is your mother supposed to live now?” Mark, floating above, turned red-eyed. “Mom, I did it voluntarily. Leo isn’t a bastard, he carries the Vance bloodline…” Unfortunately, the dead cannot speak to the living. Barbara couldn’t hear him. She poured all her hatred onto Chloe. She scrambled up and grabbed Chloe by the hair. “Give me back my son! You bring nothing but bad luck! As long as I’m alive, I will never let you have peace!” Chloe was shoved around, unable to say a word. When security finally dragged her out, she looked back at Barbara with shock, like she was looking at an ally who had suddenly betrayed her. I felt a blockage in my chest. Even an uneducated woman like Barbara knew that Mark’s good life was hard-earned. Only Mark himself didn’t cherish it. After Chloe left, Barbara gingerly tugged at my sleeve. “Elena… my heart hurts.” “Mark was foolish, but he’s gone now. Shouldn’t we… hold a proper funeral for him?” I replied coldly. “You handle it. Mark died a sudden death. Superstition says big funerals for bad deaths bring bad luck.” “Besides, the company is busy. I don’t have time to entertain relatives I’ve never met.” Barbara froze, looking at my icy profile. She seemed to realize something. Without Mark, she was nothing in this house. She stammered for a moment, then finally sighed. “I’ll… I’ll listen to you.” “Mom will listen to whatever you say now.” 4 Over the next few days, Mark’s ghost grew increasingly agitated. I didn’t need my assistant’s report to know why. I could see it in his anxious face. Leo’s vitals were dropping. Chloe had spent her savings trying to keep her son alive, but it was a drop in the bucket. Mark screamed impotently at me while I was in a Zoom meeting. “Elena! Could you at least lend Chloe some money? Loan it! She’ll pay you back!” “How can you be so cold-blooded? If Leo dies, his blood is on your hands too!” I took a slow sip of my coffee. “My money is hard-earned. Why should I give it to a woman who makes a living sleeping with married men?” “What does that child’s life or death have to do with me? Why should I be responsible for the product of your dirty affair?” Mark couldn’t answer either question. He floated there, mouth opening and closing, turning purple with rage like a semi-transparent balloon. I rubbed my temples, wondering when I could hire an exorcist to send him away for good. In the afternoon, I went to pick up Mia from school. At the school gate, Chloe rushed out again. Her son must really be dying. She radiated the desperation of a cornered animal. “Elena! Elena, stop!” My bodyguards immediately stepped forward to block her. Chloe dropped to her knees with a thud. “Elena, I beg you! Save Leo!” It was dismissal time. Surrounded by parents and students. Her kneeling instantly drew a crowd. She looked up, blood on her forehead, looking pitiful. “You’re a mother too! How can you watch a six-year-old boy die?” “Leo is fading fast! Mark is dead, but there’s still Mia!” “Mia and Leo are half-siblings! The match probability is high!” “It’s only right for a sister to save her brother! Mark would have wanted Leo to live. Why can’t your daughter donate some bone marrow?” The crowd went into an uproar. Countless eyes turned on me like spotlights. Mia was terrified and shivered behind me. Chloe cried even more miserably. “Mia is seven! She’s healthy! Taking a little marrow won’t hurt her! Leo is Mark’s only son. I beg you, please save him!” The setting sun hit Chloe’s bloodied face, giving her a halo of tragic martyrdom. And I, standing there in high-end black couture, looked cold and heartless. The bystanders’ cheap sympathy began to overflow. “That mom looks so pitiful.” “Yeah, the kid is innocent. Only six years old. A life is a life.” “A sister won’t save her brother? That’s too cold. Rich people really have hearts of stone.” A random middle-aged woman stepped forward, looking righteous, to lecture me. “Ma’am, you need to be bigger than this. If you can save him, let your daughter help. It’s good karma.” I let out a cold laugh. Absurd. I signaled the bodyguards to put Mia in the car first. Then I looked at the woman. “Ma’am, your grandson is about six, right? Why don’t you let him donate bone marrow?” “Since you’re so big on karma.” The woman’s face changed, and she backed away awkwardly. “I… I’m not related to her…” I smiled, then spoke clearly to the crowd, enunciating every word. “This woman is my husband’s first love. Knowing he was married, she willingly became a mistress and gave birth to an illegitimate child.” “My husband died on the operating table a few days ago trying to donate bone marrow to this illegitimate child. She caused me to lose a husband, and my daughter to lose a father.” “Now, to save her son, she wants to harvest my daughter.” I looked around, my voice icy. “A mistress demanding the wife’s daughter donate bone marrow? Is this what you people call ‘being the bigger person’?” Dead silence. The people who were pointing fingers shut their mouths instantly. Looks of disdain and disgust shifted from me to Chloe.

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My mother-in-law, Mrs. Lockwood, was desperate for a grandchild, but my husband, Preston, was keeping himself pure for his One True Love. Then, he had the audacity to bring her home to our penthouse, warning me to never, ever make life difficult for his ‘Innocent Ideal.’ I had no choice but to adjust the playing field. The only reasonable solution was to invite my current boyfriend and my two most devoted—and highly useful—admirers to move into the house, too. This way, I could not only focus on giving Mrs. Lockwood the required heir but also keep myself too preoccupied to even notice Preston’s ‘Madonna.’ So, when Preston cornered me, demanding to know why I had pushed his precious Penelope down the stairs last night, his two best friends immediately stepped up as my alibi. “Aria was with us all night, Pres. She wouldn’t have had time to stage a crime.” Preston froze. 1 Preston and I were a standard-issue business merger in the form of a marriage. Before we exchanged vows, every one of our mandated meetings was a study in glacial contempt. He looked at me as if I owed him eight figures, minimum. On our wedding night, his tone was dry ice. “Sloane,” he told me, using my first name like a reprimand, “this marriage is a simple corporate alliance. My heart belongs to Penelope Davis. I will not touch you. In a few years, we will divorce.” I was genuinely stunned. My only reason for agreeing to the alliance in the first place was that he was gorgeous. I figured I’d at least get a good lay out of the deal. Instead, he was reserving the most coveted seat in the house and refusing to use it. Why couldn’t he have mentioned this little vow of chastity before I signed the prenup? Preston was constantly traveling, immersed in his business, and lost in the distant memory of Penelope. He treated me like expensive, ornamental furniture. Luckily, I had my own businesses, and, more importantly, I had Kian. 2 Kian Reynolds, my college boyfriend, had been a beautiful, broke artist when we met. Loads of socialite daughters and bored heiresses wanted to put him on retainer, but I was the only one who got to keep him for free for years. Now, he’d successfully launched his own tech company and was absolutely new money—a high-flying success, but still nowhere near the entrenched wealth of the Lockwoods. He was well outside my approved marriage bracket, but we had never truly cut ties. We’d had one messy, dramatic breakup right after the wedding, but I won him back with a classic ‘damsel in distress’ routine, and he had agreed to maintain our mutually beneficial arrangement. Preston’s neglect only cleared my calendar, so I continued to see Kian. Since our offices were close in the City, we usually met during the workday. If we needed a longer block of time, we’d tag along on each other’s business trips. After all, the boss gets to choose the destination. 3 It was during one such “business trip” to the Amalfi Coast that Preston’s friend spotted us. His friend was a doctor, Dr. Miles Shaw. Miles was suave, impeccably dressed, and possessed that kind of long-limbed, elegant grace that screamed Old Money, even in a linen shirt. I tracked down Dr. Shaw immediately. Tearing up, I pleaded, “It’s not what it looks like, Miles. There is absolutely nothing going on between me and that man. Please, don’t misunderstand.” Miles adjusted his sleek, rimless glasses, a picture of polite confusion. “I saw you holding hands. And then I saw the kissing. A full-on French kiss, Sloane. That’s nothing?” Even in the upper echelons of old wealth, where marriages were often transactional dumpster fires, maintaining appearances was paramount. We all had to preserve a certain decorum. So, I had to double down on the absurd explanation. “He… he’s actually a professional mime, and he’s completely blind. I was merely guiding him. And the kissing? He was terribly parched, and we couldn’t find a clean source of water.” Miles merely nodded, a slight, knowing smirk playing on his lips. Then, he leaned in and pressed his mouth to mine—a deep, lingering, unmistakably French kiss. When he finally pulled back, he straightened his glasses and murmured, “Thank you. I found that quite thirst-quenching, too.” I hadn’t expected him to be that kind of man. 4 Cheating is a slippery slope. You either do it zero times or you find yourself on a fast track to infinity. Next thing I knew, Miles was saying he was fascinated by human anatomy and asked me to model for him. He also felt it was only fair to reciprocate, offering to demonstrate his own understanding of human aesthetics for me. We thoroughly explored the texture and taste of various parts of the human body. We conducted intense field research into the mechanics of physical connection. He even taught me a surprising amount of medical knowledge. We were truly bathing in the ocean of knowledge, achieving mutual advancement. We quickly became very close friends, and he was now my personal physician. I made sure to schedule a check-up every few weeks. 5 One day, while we were in his private office, deeply engrossed in a discussion using aggressive, non-verbal body language, the door burst open. The intruder was stunningly handsome, with a dangerous, untamed quality. It was Zane Maverick, the A-list rock star. He took in our state of undress and, instead of retreating, leaned against the doorframe, a cigarette dangling from his lip. “Well, well. What have we here?” Miles launched a stethoscope at him, sending the star flying backward, slamming the door shut. Zane was also one of Preston’s best friends. The Top Star needed no other title. “He won’t tell Preston, will he?” I asked, suddenly nervous. I didn’t feel any actual guilt, but the thrill of doing it in secret was part of the fun. Miles assured me, “I’ll make sure he keeps quiet. Don’t worry, they both come to me whenever they have a medical ’emergency.’” I accepted this. Miles and I quickly straightened our clothes. When we emerged, Zane was draped across Miles’s massive desk, his feet up, taking a long drag on his cigarette. He blew a perfect smoke ring and waved a hand at me. “Sloane, long time no see.” I managed a weak, awkward smile. He continued, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I never imagined our reunion would be on Dr. Shaw’s examination table. Does Xander know you’re this… sick?” He used Preston’s casual nickname. 6 Miles cleared his throat. “Don’t be an idiot, Zane. We were engaged in a diagnostic procedure. To a doctor, there’s no distinction between male and female.” Zane laughed, a deep, resonant sound. “Right, right. Sloane, did your treatment work? If Miles can’t cure you, you could always try an exorcism. I happen to be an expert in the black arts.” I was so flustered I bolted immediately. But just as I reached my car, Zane caught up to me. He cornered me against the door, his body trapping me, making me utterly helpless. He was intimidatingly close, and I couldn’t deny his face was a masterpiece of aggressive male beauty. Okay, I admitted it: part of the reason I kept accepting Preston’s early dinner invitations was the vague hope of meeting his entourage. My dream had apparently materialized. I felt heat rush into my face, and I lowered my gaze. Zane tilted my chin up forcefully. “Sloane, why can’t you look at me? Are you under a spell? Let me suck the demon right out of you.” He asked a question, but his actions were anything but hesitant. He kissed me with the ferocity of someone trying to pull a spirit from my soul, and I genuinely felt like my consciousness was being drawn right out of my body. 7 The next thing I knew, he was driving my car, and we were heading to his massive, industrial-chic loft downtown. He tied me up and used a silk scarf to punish the demon possessing my body. He was convinced I was ridden with evil and needed to be thoroughly cleansed—if one session wasn’t enough, there would be many more. I decided he was a dedicated Samaritan whose techniques were profoundly effective and trustworthy. We cemented a deep and serious revolutionary friendship. So, while Preston was busy preserving his virtue for Penelope, I was constantly flying out of town, getting medical check-ups, and scheduling exorcism appointments. Kian’s tech company often brought in nine-figure returns, and since I had a hefty stake, I was quite satisfied. Miles’s parents were such heavy hitters that a collective cough from them made the entire City banking sector tremor. Thanks to Miles, my various development projects were not only moving forward smoothly but I was also effortlessly securing new ones. Zane became the face of one of my key luxury lines. His endorsement fees were minimal, but his fan base’s buying power was astronomical. Soon enough, I also invested in his new record label. Besides emotion, the one thing I valued most was money. Conveniently, I enjoyed talking money in my relationships and finding emotional connections in my business dealings. I don’t involve myself with “broke artists” unless they are potential goldmines, like Kian. Life was effortless. Then, Preston’s One True Love decided to come home. 8 On the weekend, Preston and I performed our standard marital duty, attending a family dinner at the estate. I happened to see the text pop up on his phone: Penelope had sent him her flight details. Meanwhile, Mrs. Lockwood was, as always, pressuring me about children. “Sloane, darling, you and Pres have been married for three years now. Why no baby yet? You need to start early. A boy, ideally.” I glanced at my husband, who was now a pillar of selective deafness, and sighed internally. I gave my mother-in-law my most sincere, dutiful smile. “I’ll try my best, Mother.” Honestly, I agreed with her. It was time for a child. There was far too much family wealth to risk letting it fall into the hands of an outsider. On the drive back to the penthouse, Preston broke the news. “Penelope is moving back from Europe. She needs a place to stay, so I’m letting her move in with us.” He looked at me, a subtle, implicit threat in his eyes. “I expect you to be civil to her.” I gave him the look of a perfectly accommodating wife. “Of course. Let her move in. The place is enormous. It’s dreadfully lonely with just the two of us.” 9 My emotional complexity, I realized, still lagged behind that of a man. Look at Preston—he simply brought his ‘Innocent Ideal’ right to our shared front door. And what was I doing? I was driving all over town. An hour to Kian’s office, another hour to Miles’s private clinic, then driving cross-town when Zane was free for a ‘spiritual consultation.’ It was such a colossal waste of time. Manhattan traffic was a nightmare. A two-mile drive could take forty-five minutes on a bad day. And when you meet someone for a rendezvous, you can’t just jump straight into the… revolutionary friendship. We were people, not animals. So, I’d grab dinner first, then drive to the secret location, then sit in traffic again. It was exhausting. But if my three closest business partners/friends/confidants all lived under my roof, I could simply drive straight home from the office. Our chef prepared meals that weren’t pre-packaged, and the dining was guaranteed. We would all eat well and save a ton of time. It was a quadruple win. I called up my two co-conspirators. 10 Miles and Zane knew about each other. Kian, however, still held a special, elevated status in my life. I wasn’t quite brazen enough to introduce him to his two new competitors just yet. To save time, I broke the news about Penelope moving in to our trio’s group chat. Miles: Isn’t your place too cramped? You should come stay with me. Pres will be busy with his… guest. Naturally, I must step in to look after Sloane. Zane: Babe, you want me to kick his ass? Divorce him and marry me. The biggest demon in your life is that lowlife husband of yours. Marriage is not a game. One doesn’t just casually divorce. Who was he trying to challenge? I quickly typed: I think the best solution is for both of you to move in with me. You can handle Xander; just come up with your own reasons. He already warned me not to be mean to his White Moonlight. I need two witnesses to confirm that I did absolutely nothing. They spent the next hour alternating between reassuring me and thoroughly roasting my husband. I felt a profound sense of shared purpose. 11 The day Preston’s ‘Innocent Ideal’ moved in, Miles arrived shortly after with his own custom leather luggage and rang the bell. Preston stared at him in disbelief. “Miles? What are you doing here?” Miles adopted a look of weary resignation. “Penelope is back, Xander. Remember how you used to call me in the middle of the night to examine one of you when she was here before? I fear a return to those late-night emergencies.” He paused, then added, “So, I decided to move in. Call me the live-in medical concierge. If anything comes up, I’m already here.” Miles shot a quick, triumphant look at me. His eyes were clearly saying, Applaud me. Preston was speechless and simply let him move in. I quickly turned to my husband. “You handle Penelope’s arrangements. I’ll get Miles settled.” Preston and I occupied separate master suites on the second floor. The second floor also housed two studies and two enormous closets but no extra bedrooms. Preston had already assigned Penelope the guest suite on the third floor. For convenience, I put Miles on the fourth floor. The moment we were through the door, Miles grabbed me and pushed me against the wall. “Miss me?” He pressed his lips to mine, and my heart hammered against my ribs. This was already too much fun. We stayed tangled up on the bed for a very long time, thoroughly enjoying ourselves. 12 At dinner, Penelope spoke to me, all wide-eyed gratitude. “Sloane, thank you so much for taking me in.” I gave her a magnanimous wave. “Don’t worry about it, Penny. Make yourself at home.” There were four people at the table. Penelope and Preston were deep in conversation about her ‘struggles’ abroad. Miles and I sat in silence, utterly unable to join the conversation. If I had been alone, I would have been completely isolated. Now, Miles and I were allies. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. The housekeeper answered, and Zane Maverick strode in, pulling a battered, monogrammed suitcase. Preston’s jaw dropped again. “Zane? Why are you here, too?” Zane surveyed the four of us, lit a cigarette, and exhaled a long plume of smoke. “Did I interrupt something? If I’m not welcome, I can leave.” He said this, but he dropped his suitcase and pulled up a chair at my table, already planning to eat. As the housekeeper brought him a place setting, he explained, “Xander, my psycho fans tracked me down again. It’s too dangerous to go back to my place right now. I’m crashing here for a bit.” Preston merely grunted. Zane then turned his full charm on me. “Sloane, I hope I’m not too much of an inconvenience.” I curved my lips into a pleased smile. Watching handsome men fight over me always improved my mood. 13 The dinner table instantly became two distinct camps: me, Miles, and Zane in one chat group, and Preston and Penelope in the other. Miles and I were mid-story, laughing about how Zane was almost force-kissed by a crazed fan, when Penelope suddenly apologized. “Sloane, are you upset that I’ve moved in? Are you deliberately ignoring me?” Her voice was laced with artificial vulnerability. “I’m so sorry, I can’t afford a hotel, and my parents aren’t here. I know I’m not a rich socialite like you…” Zane snorted with laughter. “Sloane, she just called you ‘Sister Sloane,’ and she’s older than you. Hahaha.” Miles chimed in, “Penelope, I can vouch for Sloane. She’s not ignoring you. Zane is the one who’s ignoring you.” Zane immediately agreed. “I can also vouch. Sloane isn’t ignoring you. Miles is the one who’s ignoring you.” Miles leaned back, utterly at ease. “I’m just afraid Xander will get jealous.” Zane emphatically agreed, throwing his hands up. “Me, too. It’s better if we three stick together. We wouldn’t want to get dirty looks.” Preston shot me an icy, reproving glare, as if I had somehow orchestrated this triple alliance to bully his darling Penelope. Zane calmly spooned some mashed potatoes onto my plate and then addressed Preston. “Xander, you brought your mistress home and warned your wife not to lift a finger against her. How much more do you plan to abuse Sloane?” Miles, ever the picture of lazy elegance, draped an arm over the back of his chair. “Xander, harassing women? That’s not a good look for a businessman.” Preston was so enraged he pushed his chair back. “I’ve lost my appetite. Enjoy your meal.” He stormed upstairs. Penelope immediately followed, trying to grab his arm. “I’m so sorry, Xander. I just don’t want there to be conflict between you and your wife because of me.” Zane instantly turned to me. “Sloane, I’m so sorry, I spoke up too loudly. I just don’t want there to be conflict between you and your husband because of me.” Miles and I burst into laughter. 14 Later, after I’d finished my nighttime routine, there was a knock on my door. I opened it, and Zane slipped inside, immediately wrapping me in a bear hug. “Sloane, my little devil, want to play with my big toy?” I laughed, and we tumbled onto the bed. Just as he reached for my belt, another, more insistent knock sounded. I quickly opened the door. It was Miles. Miles slipped in, slamming the door shut, and pinned me to the bed. “Did you miss me?” Then he kissed me deep and hard. Zane cleared his throat. “Dr. Shaw, it’s late. Don’t you have to operate tomorrow?” Miles looked up, unbothered. “What are you doing here?” “Doing what I do best, of course.” “I have to treat Sloane’s condition. You need to leave.” Zane laughed. “I have to exorcise the demon. You need to leave. Sloane, who are you choosing tonight? Treatment or Exorcism?” I gave them an apologetic shrug. “I think I’ll work late.” I opened my laptop and started reviewing my Q3 project proposal. 15 An hour later, they were still there, lying on either side of my King-sized bed, scrolling through their phones. The scene was strangely harmonious. Neither was willing to give ground. With them both there, I felt like the house had finally acquired a kind of warmth. I didn’t want them to leave. Just then, there was another, softer knock. I tensed up. Was it Preston? It wasn’t. I opened the door to see Penelope. “Sloane, I came to apologize. I shouldn’t have questioned you so suddenly at dinner. Please, forgive me.” I gave her a gentle, practiced smile. “It’s nothing, Penny. Don’t worry about it. Get some rest. Good night.” I closed the door immediately. 16 The next morning, we all gathered at the breakfast table, yawning and bleary-eyed. Preston suddenly erupted. “Sloane, why did you push Penelope down the stairs last night? She says she fell, and you know she had to wait there all night because she couldn’t get up!” “Wait, what?” I said, genuinely taken aback. I hadn’t realized there was a sequel to the night’s drama. Zane jumped in immediately. “Xander, you’re mistaken. Penny came to apologize to Sloane last night. She was fine when we saw her.” Miles agreed. “Yes, Penelope was fine when she apologized. How can you say Sloane pushed her?” Preston cut him off. “She must have pushed her later.” Zane shook his head, a look of utter conviction on his face. “That’s impossible. Sloane was with me all night. She didn’t leave my sight. She had no time to commit a crime.” Preston’s expression froze. He looked at the three of us with incomprehension.

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Three months postpartum, and I broke my leg. My husband, Mark, felt terrible for me. He spared no expense, hiring the most sought-after maternity nurse in the city. The deposit alone was five thousand dollars. My mom was looking over the nurse’s resume, gushing with praise and just about to call to have her start the next day. I pressed the end-call button on her phone. “Don’t bother. Aunt Brenda is about to swoop in and try to steal her.” For as long as I can remember, my mother has played the role of a living saint. The second my aunt’s family started crying poor, every good thing we had was offered up to them first. My mom proudly called it “helping others,” oblivious to the fact that behind her back, Aunt Brenda called her a “gullible fool.” But my mother insisted I was the cynical one, that her sister-in-law wasn’t that kind of person. She picked up the phone to dial again. Just then, the door swung open. It was Aunt Brenda, grabbing my mother’s hand and immediately starting to dab at her eyes. She wailed that her daughter-in-law’s milk hadn’t come in and begged my mom to let them have the maternity nurse. My mom stood there, phone in hand, looking utterly mortified. I crossed my arms, a cold smirk on my face. “Well, Mom? What’s it going to be this time? Yes or no?” 1. Aunt Brenda wiped at tears that weren’t there, her eyes darting to my mother’s face. “Sharon, you know my grandson was born premature. He’s so fragile, and his mother can’t produce any milk. If we don’t have a professional looking after him, I’m afraid the baby might not…” She let the sentence hang, swallowing the word “die” but leaving the terror of it to poison the air. My mother, predictably, took the bait. She glanced at my leg, hoisted high in its plaster cast, then at my daughter sleeping peacefully in her bassinet. My mom bit her lip and turned to me. “Anna, you heard her. This is a life-or-death situation for your aunt’s family.” “Your leg is already broken. It just needs time to heal. But if that baby dies, it would be a terrible sin.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I pointed to my leg, then to the bassinet. “Mom, I am your daughter. Your daughter. I just gave birth, I have a broken leg, and I can’t even take care of myself.” “Mark paid a five-thousand-dollar deposit for this nurse specifically because she has a background in physical therapy and rehabilitation.” “And you want me to just give her away? What about me? What about your granddaughter?” My mother’s brow furrowed, as if I were being completely unreasonable. “Why do you have to be so selfish?” “You have money. You can just hire another one. Your aunt’s family is struggling; they can’t afford someone like this.” “Saving a life is the greatest good you can do. Don’t you understand something so simple?” Sensing my mother’s resolve wavering, Aunt Brenda immediately pressed her advantage. “That’s right, Anna. We all know you’re doing well for yourself, not like us, poor as church mice.” “About the nurse’s salary… we could chip in a few hundred bucks, you know, as a token of our appreciation. For the rest, maybe you could…” Unbelievable. Not only did she want the nurse, but she also wanted me to foot the bill. She wanted me to pay for someone to take care of her grandson. And my mother was actually nodding along. “A few hundred is a nice gesture. Anna’s not short on cash.” A fire ignited in my chest. This wasn’t my mother; she was an unofficial member of Aunt Brenda’s household. I grabbed the mug from my bedside table and hurled it to the floor. CRACK! The sharp sound echoed through the room. Water splashed everywhere, and a shard of ceramic skittered to a stop near Aunt Brenda’s foot. She shrieked and jumped back. “My God! Are you trying to kill me?” My mom, startled at first, shot me a thunderous look. “Anna! What is wrong with you? Have you lost all your manners?” “You want manners? Fine.” “This nurse is under an exclusive contract. The cancellation fee is ten thousand dollars.” “Whoever wants to take her can put that ten grand on the table right now.” “Furthermore, her services were approved as a special benefit through my husband’s company. Transferring her privately could be considered fraud. We can call the police right now and see what a judge thinks about that.” The mention of “ten thousand” and “police” made Aunt Brenda’s face go pale. People like her were terrified of spending money and even more terrified of jail time. Her eyes shifted nervously. She resorted to whining. “Oh, Sharon, look at your Anna. The richer she gets, the stingier she becomes. Who is she trying to scare…” “Fine, don’t lend her to us! Why go crazy over it? It’s true what they say: the rich forget all about their poor relatives!” Muttering under her breath, Aunt Brenda stormed out, spitting on the floor for good measure on her way through the door. I thought my mom might ask if I had hurt myself in my anger. Instead, her face was a stony mask as she pointed a finger at me and began her tirade. “You chased your aunt away over such a trivial matter. How am I supposed to face our relatives now?” “Everyone praises me, calls me a saint, and you! You’re determined to ruin my reputation!” 2. My mother lectured me for a solid thirty minutes. She only stopped when Mark got home. He came in looking tired from a long day, carrying a strawberry cheesecake, my favorite. The moment he stepped inside, he could feel the tense atmosphere. The broken porcelain was still on the floor. My mother was on the sofa, wiping her eyes, while I lay in bed, my face a cold mask. Mark’s expression changed instantly. He didn’t even bother to take off his shoes before rushing to my bedside. “Honey, what’s wrong? Is your leg hurting?” He anxiously checked my cast, then glanced at our sleeping daughter, breathing a sigh of relief only when he confirmed we were both okay. Seeing Mark, my mom found a new audience for her grievances. “Mark, you be the judge of this.” “Anna is becoming more and more cold-hearted. Her own relatives are in trouble. What’s wrong with lending a hand?” “Her aunt was practically on her knees, and she threatened to call the police on her!” After hearing the whole story, the warmth vanished from Mark’s face. He stood up, positioning himself between me and my mother, his tone firm. “Mom, the nurse was hired to care for Anna and our baby.” “Anna has a broken bone. She needs professional care right now. If we let the nurse go and Anna’s injury doesn’t heal properly, who’s going to be responsible?” “You are Anna’s mother. Is some outsider’s opinion more important than your own daughter’s health?” My mother was speechless. She clearly hadn’t expected her usually polite son-in-law to confront her so directly. She froze for a moment, then, flustered and angry, she resorted to playing the victim. “Oh, wonderful. Now the two of you are ganging up on a poor old woman!” “Do you think it’s been easy for me, helping out relatives all these years? Everyone calls me a good person. Was I wrong?” “Who do you think I’m doing it for? It’s to build up good karma for Anna!” “Good karma?” I couldn’t take it anymore. I told Mark to go to the study and get the old notebook. It was a record of all the injustices I’d endured since I was a child. I had him open it and read the entries aloud to my mother. “Sophomore year of college. You took the eight hundred dollars I earned from my part-time job and work-study scholarship to buy my cousin a new gaming console. You said it was a ‘loan.’ It was never paid back.” “First year of my career. That gourmet gift basket my company sent, you gave it to Aunt Brenda before I even had a chance to open it. I never saw a single shrimp.” “The small condo my parents gave me as a wedding gift. You forced me to let Aunt Brenda’s family use it as my cousin’s marital home. You said it was temporary. They’ve been living there for three years, rent-free. I’m still the one paying the utility bills!” Mark’s face grew darker with every word he read. “Mom, your precious reputation was built by carving pieces out of me.” “I am your daughter, not your personal blood bank!” Exposed, my mother couldn’t stand the humiliation. She shot up from her seat, snatched the notebook from Mark, and threw it on the floor. “I raised you! What’s wrong with using your things? You’re just like your good-for-nothing father, completely heartless!” With that, she stormed into the guest room, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. Mark wrapped his arms around me, his touch gentle as he stroked my back. “Don’t be angry. It’s bad for you. I’m here now. I won’t let them drain you dry ever again.” His embrace was warm, but it couldn’t dispel the deep chill that had settled in my heart. Late that night, my phone buzzed. It was a voice message from Aunt Brenda. All traces of the day’s conflict were gone, replaced by a tone of entitled greed. “Anna, dear, I’ll drop the subject of the nurse. But my daughter-in-law is so weak after the delivery, you know. I heard you have some kind of imported therapy machine? Could we borrow it for a bit?” “Your leg is what it is, anyway. A couple of days without it won’t make a difference.” This family was a swarm of leeches. Once they latched on, they never let go. 3. The next morning, as soon as Mark left for work, Aunt Brenda showed up with my cousin, Kevin, in tow. They were smarter this time, bringing a basket of bruised, mealy-looking apples as a peace offering. “Oh, Anna, I was just so worried yesterday. I spoke too harshly. Please don’t take it to heart.” Aunt Brenda set the apples on the table, her eyes already scanning the room. Finally, her gaze landed on the physical therapy machine humming quietly beside my leg. Mark had a friend ship it over from Germany. It was worth over eight thousand dollars and was specifically designed to prevent muscle atrophy after surgery like mine. My doctor had been adamant: I needed to use it for at least four hours every single day. “So this is that therapy machine, huh? Looks pretty high-tech.” Aunt Brenda walked over and reached for the plug. “Perfect. My husband’s back has been acting up, and my daughter-in-law is sore all over. We’ll just take it back and let the whole family have a go.” I slammed my hand down on the machine. “No.” “This is medical equipment, not a flashlight. You could hurt someone by misusing it. Besides, I’m in the middle of my rehab. I can’t stop.” Aunt Brenda’s face fell instantly. “Anna, why are you so selfish? It’s not going to break if we just borrow it!” Kevin, who had been silent until now, suddenly lunged forward and shoved my hand away. “Mom, why are you wasting your breath on her? Aunt Sharon already said we could take it!” With that, he started to lift the machine. Panicked, I ignored the cast on my leg and struggled to stop him. “That’s mine! I’m not lending it to you! This is robbery!” Just then, my mother came out of the kitchen, a spatula still in her hand. She didn’t even look at me, her words aimed directly at my head. “Anna! Let go!” “It’s just a stupid machine! What’s the big deal if your cousin uses it for a couple of days?” “His wife could end up with lifelong health problems from childbirth. A couple of days without it won’t kill you!” I stared at my mother in disbelief. “Mom, this is my lifeline! The doctor said even one missed day could lead to muscle atrophy!” “Stop listening to doctors trying to scare you! You’re just being dramatic!” my mother snapped, walking towards me. To help Kevin get the machine, she reached out and shoved me. Hard. “Let go! Why are you being so difficult!” I was sitting in a wheelchair. Her push landed squarely on my shoulder, causing the chair to tip over. My entire body slammed onto the hard marble floor. The leg that had just been surgically repaired, the bones carefully set, struck the ground with brutal force. CRACK! An excruciating pain, sharp as an electric current, shot through my entire body. A piercing scream tore from my throat as cold sweat instantly drenched my clothes. Aunt Brenda and Kevin froze, nearly dropping the machine. But they didn’t stop. They seized the opportunity, hoisting the therapy unit and bolting for the door. “She fell on her own! It has nothing to do with us!” Kevin shouted as he ran. Aunt Brenda was even faster. “That’s right, Sharon, you saw it! We didn’t touch her!” They vanished out the door, clutching the machine that was supposed to save my leg. And my own mother just stood there. She looked down at me on the floor, a flicker of panic in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by annoyance. “What are you screaming for? You’re fine.” “You just had to fight with your own family. You fell? You deserved it!” 4. The blinding pain made my vision swim in and out of focus. I felt a warm, sticky liquid seeping from my cast, quickly staining my pajama pants red. The bone had shifted, probably tearing a blood vessel. In her bassinet, my daughter, startled by my scream, began to wail. With a monumental effort, I lifted my head and looked at my mother. “Mom… help me…” “There’s so much blood… take me to the hospital…” When she saw the blood pooling on the floor, her expression finally changed. She took an instinctive step towards me, as if to help me up. Just then, Aunt Brenda’s anxious voice called from outside. “Sharon! Get down here and give us a hand! This thing is too heavy to fit in the trunk!” My mother’s movement halted. She looked at me, drenched in a cold sweat and on the verge of passing out. Then she looked towards the door. Aunt Brenda called again, more impatiently this time. “Sharon! Hurry up! Don’t let that brat Anna change her mind and come after us!” My mother hesitated for a single, eternal second. Then she turned back to me, pointed a finger, and spat, “Stop faking it! A little blood won’t kill you!” “I’m going to help your aunt get this thing downstairs. I’ll deal with you when I get back.” With that, she turned and walked out. I watched in despair as the door clicked shut. This was my mother. At the moment my life hung in the balance, she chose to help the robbers carry away their loot. My consciousness began to fade, consumed by the agony. But I couldn’t die. My daughter was still crying. I bit my lip until I tasted blood, using my elbows to drag my body across the floor, inch by painful inch, towards the coffee table. A thick, horrifying trail of red marked my path. Finally, my fingers brushed against my phone. I managed to unlock it, my bloody fingertips smudging the screen before the sensor finally registered. I dialed Mark’s number. “Hello? Honey?” The moment he answered, I used my very last breath to force out a single word: “Help…” The phone slipped from my grasp. Darkness swallowed me whole. I don’t know how much time passed. I heard the sound of the front door being forced open with a violent crash. “ANNA!!!” It was Mark’s voice, a raw, gut-wrenching roar. It was followed by frantic footsteps and the panicked shouts of the building’s security guard. And then, another sound from the doorway. Someone humming a cheerful little tune. It was my mother. She had finished her task and was returning at her leisure. “What’s all the racket? You’re going to break the door!” “She just took a little fall. Is all this drama really necessary…” Her voice died in her throat as she took in the scene: the room full of people and the dark, spreading pool of blood on the floor. Mark, cradling my blood-soaked body, lifted his head. His eyes were blazing red as he stared at her with pure, unadulterated hatred. I wasn’t “faking it.” I was, in fact, dying.

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Slacking off during work hours—a boss’s prerogative—I was scrolling through a popular jobs forum when a headline caught my eye. [Gen Z Intern Calls Bullshit on the ‘Most Humane’ Company in the City.] The description sounded uncomfortably familiar. I frowned. Just that morning, I’d called a meeting to ask if anyone had issues with our company benefits. Ashley, our newest intern, had stood up. “I don’t think our benefits are comprehensive enough,” she’d announced. “If we’re really aiming to be a ‘humane’ company, we should have fully catered meals, corporate housing, and a daily car service for everyone’s commute.” I already provided a combined monthly stipend of twenty-five hundred dollars for housing and transportation. It was more than enough for anyone to find a decent apartment and cover their commute. So, I shot down her request but offered a compromise: employees could choose between the stipend and a company-leased apartment. I told them to discuss it, come to a consensus, and let me know. I never imagined that later that night, the original poster would update their thread. [UPDATE: The CEO is having a meltdown. She’s threatening to cancel our housing stipends. AVOID FIREFLY INC. AT ALL COSTS.] 1 Seeing those words, I knew for sure. The author was Ashley. Because “Firefly” was the name of my company. The comment section below the post was a wildfire. [WTF! Firefly Inc.? My friend and I were just talking about applying there! I heard the benefits are insane, like a four-day work week!] Ashley’s reply was swift: [You’re so naive. It’s a four-day week, but you’re working until midnight every single one of those days. You’d learn quick.] [No way! Firefly is famous for its perks. My company gives us a two-hundred-dollar transit pass. I bet Firefly’s is closer to two thousand.] Ashley shot back: [And what if you live far from the office? Two grand sounds like a lot, but you can’t buy back the time you waste commuting!] The commenter was instantly swayed, agreeing that she had a point. Then another comment appeared: [I heard a rumor that the CEO of Firefly is some trust-fund baby, just playing at starting a business for fun.] I had no idea where they’d heard that rumor, but they weren’t wrong. My family was rich. Absurdly, ridiculously rich. I could do nothing for the rest of my life and still have enough money to last ten lifetimes. I started this company purely out of boredom. In the beginning, I had no grand ambitions of building an empire. I just wanted to create a truly humane workplace. So I designed the best benefits package I could imagine. A four-day work week—two on, one off, two on, two off. That generous stipend for housing and transit. If an employee was ever in a tight spot, they could get an advance on it. Whenever I felt like having afternoon tea, I ordered it for the entire office. Birthdays and holidays were always celebrated with gifts and surprises. Honestly, I enjoyed planning those things more than the actual work. I could have paid everyone to do nothing and the company would have been fine. But the incredible benefits had an unexpected side effect: my employees felt a deep sense of gratitude. To show their appreciation, they worked harder than I ever could have asked. After three years, not only had I not lost money, but Firefly had become surprisingly profitable. It even shocked my family. That was why I’d kept it going for so long. But the anonymous commenters on the thread didn’t see it that way. [A trust-fund baby? Of course she doesn’t know how to run a company. She’s just LARPing as a CEO!] [The only reason that place hasn’t gone bankrupt is because her daddy’s footing the bill.] [That explains why their benefits are so good, but you never see employees bragging online. Who knows if they’re even real.] [The poster above gets it. Working for a place like that is terrifying. Piss off the wrong rich girl and you’ll be blacklisted from the industry.] A humorless smile touched my lips. Had it ever occurred to them that my employees kept quiet because they didn’t want more competition? Staff turnover at Firefly was practically nonexistent. In three years, I could count the number of people who had voluntarily resigned on one hand. I didn’t reply to the thread. Instead, I copied the link and pasted it into our company-wide group chat. Let’s see how Ashley reacts to this. 2 After I shared the link, the group chat fell silent for a full thirty minutes. The first reply was from Ashley herself. [I wrote the post. So what? I was just raising a valid point for discussion!] She had the right to a discussion. She didn’t have the right to spew complete nonsense. I didn’t bother arguing. I just typed out a single message. [Meeting tomorrow morning, 9 AM sharp. We’re settling this.] I thought I had been perfectly clear earlier in the day. I wasn’t against providing housing. I had asked them to come to a unified decision, and I would make the arrangements. Apparently, that wasn’t good enough. And I had a sinking feeling that while the other employees hadn’t spoken up, they had been swayed. I knew my team. We’d worked together for years. They loved the company culture and they respected me as their boss. Normally, any message I sent to the group chat would be met with a flurry of enthusiastic replies. It was clear Ashley hadn’t just been stirring up trouble behind my back. She had succeeded. The next morning, when I walked into the conference room, everyone was already there. The atmosphere was a complete reversal from the day before. It was tense, almost hostile. I walked to the head of the table and placed my hands on its surface, about to speak. A voice cut through the silence. “So, have you figured out how you’re going to fix this, Sienna?” I looked up. It was Ashley, looking at me with her chin tilted in a way that screamed defiance. For a second, I couldn’t tell if she was just young and reckless or if she had been sent here deliberately to cause chaos. I ignored her, my gaze sweeping over the rest of the room. “What are all of your thoughts?” The silence stretched for several long seconds. Finally, one of my veteran employees, Carla, spoke up. “Sienna, I actually think corporate housing would be more convenient. Ashley might be young, but she has a point. We never considered it before, but now that she’s brought it up, I support the idea.” I nodded, my mind racing. I remembered Carla’s interview. She was a brilliant professional who had been forced out of the workforce by family issues and had struggled to find her way back. I’d given her a chance. For three years, she had been my most diligent and grateful employee. This was the first time she had ever voiced a complaint. Then another employee chimed in. “Yeah, my landlord decided to sell my apartment last month. I had to scramble to find a new place. If the company provided housing, that never would have happened.” The dam had broken. One by one, they all started talking. “I agree! It would take away a lot of stress so we can focus on our work.” As they spoke, I could feel Ashley’s smug, challenging gaze on me. When most of them had finished, two young women who had been sitting quietly in the corner stood up. Rachel and Wendy. They had joined last year. Both were introverted and had struggled to find jobs where they felt comfortable. They weren’t vocal, but their private messages to me were always full of gratitude. “Sienna, we have no objections,” Rachel said softly. “We’re happy with whatever the company decides.” To say I wasn’t disappointed by the others would be a lie. But the simple loyalty from those two calmed the storm brewing inside me. Before I could respond, Ashley scoffed loudly. “Are you two idiots? We’re fighting for our rights here! Unbelievable.” I shot Ashley a withering glare. She was a fresh college graduate. During her interview just a week ago, my impression of her had been “sweet and polite.” It hadn’t taken long for the mask to slip. A dry, humorless smile touched my lips. “Fine,” I said, my voice cool. “Since you’ve all reached a consensus, the new policy will take effect next month. We will provide corporate housing and a car service for everyone. The housing and transit stipends will be canceled.” I had given them exactly what they asked for. But as my words sank in, the triumphant looks on their faces curdled into shock and disbelief. 3 I paid their reactions no mind. “If there’s nothing else,” I said, “this meeting is adjourned.” I waited a moment. When no one spoke, I turned to leave. I had barely reached the door when Ashley’s voice rang out again. “What’s the meaning of this, Sienna? Are you trying to threaten us by canceling the stipends?” I turned back, genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?” Her voice was indignant, as if I were the one being unreasonable. “If you weren’t threatening us, why would you cancel the stipends?” For a second, I didn’t grasp the implication. “Because you all wanted corporate housing instead,” I said, stating the obvious. “So just because you provide housing, you get to take away our other benefits? I thought you were a rich heiress! How can you be so petty?” The accusation and entitlement in her tone were so astounding, I almost laughed. If I hadn’t understood her angle before, it was crystal clear now. My eyes swept across the room. On the faces of the others, I saw the same look of entitled agreement. So that was it. They wanted it all. They wanted the twenty-five hundred dollars a month, and a free apartment, and a private car service. Where on earth did they think such a deal existed? If they weren’t going to respect me, I had no reason to indulge them. I’d been coddled my entire life; not even my parents had ever made me feel this disrespected. Now I was supposed to take it from my own employees? I slapped the folder I was holding onto the table. “Let me get this straight,” I said, my voice dripping with ice. “You want me to provide housing, a car service, and pay you a cash stipend? Are you that naive, or do you think I’m that stupid?” “You’ve all worked at other companies. Tell me, which one of them had benefits even half as good as what you have here? And now you’re letting a brand-new intern, a child, lead you around by the nose. It’s pathetic.” Seeing my anger, a few of them finally had the decency to look ashamed. It seemed I’d been too nice for too long. They’d forgotten I had a spine. The others fell silent, but Ashley, fearless as a cornered badger, kept pushing. “It’s only twenty-five hundred dollars! Why are you making such a big deal about it? It’s not like you’re short on cash!” she sneered. “Or is that whole ‘heiress’ thing just a lie?” I didn’t understand the source of her venom, and frankly, I didn’t care. Whether it was youthful arrogance or pure jealousy, she was insignificant to me. I didn’t need her approval, and I certainly didn’t owe her an explanation. I gave her one last, long look. “Since you clearly aren’t interested in a good-faith negotiation, this discussion is over. The existing benefits package will remain as is. No further applications for changes will be accepted.” My gaze hardened as I focused solely on her. “Instead of wasting your time trying to stir up drama,” I said, my voice a low warning, “you should be thinking about whether you’re going to pass your internship. Because if you don’t, none of this company’s ‘amazing’ benefits will have anything to do with you.” I wouldn’t fire an employee without cause, but with her attitude, she had just landed herself on my permanent blacklist. She finally seemed to grasp the implication, and her face paled. I turned my attention back to the rest of them. “If you’re unhappy with the benefits here, you are more than welcome to resign and find a better opportunity. I won’t stop you. But if you try to pull another stunt like this in my company, you will find that I am not so accommodating.” This time, when I turned and walked out of the room, no one dared to stop me. By the end of the day, not a single person had submitted their resignation. I put it out of my mind and went home. But that night, out of morbid curiosity, I checked the thread again. Ashley had posted a new update. And this one included a photo. [LMAO, so much for being an heiress. Turns out she’s just a homewrecker’s side piece. No wonder she’s so cheap with the perks—guess her sugar daddy’s cutting her off!]

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My online boyfriend loves playing “abstract.” When his mom called him home for dinner, he said, “Heading back to the old manor to dine with the matriarch.” I played along. When my friends called me over for poker and needed a fourth, I said, “It’s an old-money gathering. I can’t leave; no one dares to move.” My online boyfriend deeply agreed. I always thought we were a couple of abstract artists, spinning tales for fun. Until right before the holidays, when he pulled me into his group chat with his childhood friends. “They all grew up together. They want to meet you.” I clicked on the member list and froze. Why is the stoic, unsmiling CEO of my company in this group? His nickname: Ethan’s Loyal Lapdog. Oh right, my online boyfriend’s name is Ethan Vance. The CEO tagged me in the group. [Sister-in-law, say something!] [Cute Cat.jpg] I didn’t dare move. I literally didn’t dare move! I thought we were just playing pretend? How come you guys are actually real?! 1 Actually, the moment Ethan pulled me into the group, I sensed something was wrong. The four-person group chat was buzzing, and no one noticed my arrival yet. I watched their conversation and fell into deep thought— Sterling: [It’s winter. Let’s go skiing in Zermatt. I lost to Lucas last year; I have to win it back this year!] Ethan’s Loyal Lapdog: [You couldn’t beat me last year, so you think you can this year?] Song: [I’m out. I have to accompany my fiancée to St. Barts for vacation (distressed emoji).] Sterling: [Oof, good luck. Your fiancée is no walk in the park.] … I stared at my phone, rubbing my chin. Something’s off. Something’s really off. Why do these names look so familiar? Especially the one nicknamed [Ethan’s Loyal Lapdog], Lucas… The name Lucas is familiar, and his profile picture of him skiing looks even more familiar! While I was racking my brain, someone in the group finally noticed my existence. Ethan’s Loyal Lapdog: [Eh? There’s an extra person in our group!!] Ethan: [Let me introduce you. This is my girlfriend.] He tagged me. The group went silent for two seconds, then messages flooded in. Sterling: [Sister-in-law!] Ethan’s Loyal Lapdog: [Sister-in-law!] Song: [Sister-in-law!] Ethan’s Loyal Lapdog: [Finally! We’ve been pestering Ethan for so long, and he finally let us meet you!] [I’m so curious. Who is the goddess that managed to take down Ethan?!] I suddenly felt a bit shy. I’ve been online dating Ethan for over two years, and this was my first contact with his friends. Just as I was about to type something, I caught a glimpse of [Ethan’s Loyal Lapdog]’s profile picture again, and my hands froze. I suddenly remembered where I had seen that face! My brain buzzed. I immediately switched out of the chat interface and clicked onto my company’s official website. After rummaging through the backend, I finally found a photo. It was taken three months ago when the company reached a business cooperation with a foreign firm. In the photo, a young man in a suit stood unsmiling. Standing next to the foreign partners, he didn’t lose an ounce of presence. I stared at the caption for a long time. The name Lucas Reed stood out. Lucas Reed, the CEO of our company. And the only son of our company’s founder. Ah… Ah? Messages flashed in the group. [Ethan’s Loyal Lapdog: @Tired Corporate Slave Sister-in-law, your WeChat name is hilarious hahahaha] [Ethan’s Loyal Lapdog: How did you and Ethan meet?] [Ethan’s Loyal Lapdog: Sister-in-law, say something.] [Ethan’s Loyal Lapdog: Cute Cat.jpg] 2 The cute cat sticker spun before my eyes. I randomly sent a greeting sticker and exited. Then, with trembling hands, I clicked open the private chat with Ethan, pretending to be casual: “Babe, your ‘Loyal Lapdog’ looks a bit familiar to me.” Ethan replied instantly: “He’s got a jumpy personality. Did he scare you?” “His name is Lucas Reed, the CEO of SkyHigh Tech. Your family business is extensive; maybe you’ve met him before.” My brain was a mess. While replying to Ethan, I started searching for information on the other group members online. Then, my suspended heart finally died. Sterling, the youngest son of real estate tycoon Sterling Strong, currently studying in the US. Song, the second son of the founder of Nanyang Construction, a veritable rich second generation… My brain could no longer think independently. My fingers unconsciously typed Ethan’s name into the search box. Soon, the search results popped up. Ethan Vance, the eldest grandson of the founder of Dingyan Group, the youngest director of the group, driving corporate innovation and transformation, worth over… I counted the number of zeros. Then I sucked in a breath of cold air and almost fainted. In the group chat, “Ethan’s Loyal Lapdog” was still clamoring. “Sister-in-law, Sister-in-law, how did you guys meet?” “I’m too curious. Tell us, tell us.” Ethan: [Online dating. How else? Met online.] Ethan’s Loyal Lapdog: [Can you be more specific…] 3 Online dating needs caution! For the first time, I truly realized the importance of this sentence. I met Ethan because I saw a help post. “Question: Why is one grilled sausage three dollars, but two are five dollars?” I thought the poster was kind of funny, so I commented casually: “Don’t you know the first thing to do after buying a $9.90 membership?” The other party replied quickly: “Right, right, right! I got that question wrong too!” He praised me for being smart and awesome. In my ordinary 24 years, this was the first time I received such straightforward praise. I suddenly got interested and started discussing with this netizen. Chatting and chatting, we added each other on WeChat. At first, we weren’t that familiar until he discovered I was playing a popular mobile game. So he took the initiative to ask: “Is it fun?” I was enthusiastic: “It’s fun! Do you want to play? I’ll carry you; I’m super good.” “Okay, I’ll go get an account… I’m familiar with this game, but I haven’t really played it. I might be bad, don’t be mad.” … We played games for three months. I found that although this guy’s gaming skills were average, his quality was high. He didn’t curse, his voice was nice, and he was emotionally stable! And he wasn’t illiterate! My favorability towards him multiplied, so I started to take the initiative… After confirming our relationship with Ethan, our chats gradually became more relaxed. I have to say, this guy really suits my taste! It’s just that sometimes, he talks weirdly abstractly. His mom called him home for dinner, he said: “Heading back to the old manor to dine with the matriarch.” He had a civil servant friend, he said: “My close friend is in politics; it’s not convenient to meet up.” Rejecting a blind date arranged by his family, he said: “I don’t like family alliances.” I got it. And quickly applied it. Friends called me over for poker, needing a fourth, I said: “It’s an old-money gathering. I can’t leave; no one dares to move.” Chasing stars and watching concerts, I said: “I’m going to visit a child I’ve been sponsoring for a long time.” Ordering a group meal, I said: “Investing in an online catering project with several partners; the risk is relatively high.” Ethan deeply agreed. “It seems our life status is very similar.” He sent a “Cheers” emoji. “We are truly a match made in heaven.” … I always thought Ethan and I were a couple of abstract artists. Never suspected a thing. Until today, my worldview collapsed. No, so I’m the only one playing abstract? You guys are actually real?! 4 I was dazed at my workstation holding my phone when my colleague, Little Yang, poked me. “Jenny, still on your phone?” She leaned in and whispered, “Rumor has it the CEO might drop by our department for inspection today, but no one knows the exact time. Don’t get caught.” Little Yang and I joined the company around the same time. Except for the two of us, most of the department were returnees or well-connected people. Naturally, we huddled together for warmth. She also knew my family background was average, and it took a lot of effort to get into SkyHigh Tech. If the leader caught me slacking off during work hours, at best my salary would be deducted, at worst I’d be kicked directly into next quarter’s layoff list! Little Yang reminded me out of kindness. I snapped back to reality. CEO? Isn’t that Lucas Reed? Buzz buzz buzz— My phone vibrated twice in the small group chat. It was a new message from Lucas. “Can’t chat anymore, I have something to do.” Song: [Where are you going? Coming back for dinner?] “Going to inspect various departments of the company today. Have to go, my dad ordered it.” [@Tired Corporate Slave Sister-in-law, let’s chat next time!] [I’ll treat you to dinner when I have time!] [Cute Cat.jpg] Song: [Aren’t you just near the company?] Lucas: [Yeah, five minutes away. Gotta go, bye.] … Ten minutes later, I saw him in the company. The lively and jumpy person online transformed into a noble young master surrounded by stars. Lucas was in a decent suit, his hair meticulously styled. Surrounded by several directors, he walked slowly through the corridor. His expression was indifferent. The usually high-and-mighty leaders seemed to become different people in front of him… Fawning, flattering. Lucas didn’t stay in our marketing department for too long. His gaze didn’t even fall on me for a second. For people like them, we live in two different worlds. Giving attention to us is a waste. He is like this. Let alone Ethan. At this moment, I understood the gap between me and them.

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Senior year was the year I hit rock bottom. I tried to pull a move on Leo Vance, thinking I’d finally get a kiss out of him, but his older brother caught us in the act. His brother, Silas, cornered me in a dark alleyway behind the gym. He grabbed me by the hair and leaned in, his voice a low, dangerous growl: “You want to kiss someone so bad? I’ll give you something to kiss.” Blood rushing to my head, I fumbled with my belt and smirked. “Bring it.” 01 I wasn’t going down easy. I’d been beaten before, and I wasn’t scared. I licked the blood from the corner of my mouth and tugged at my waistband, completely ignoring Silas’s thunderous expression. “What are you waiting for? I thought you wanted this,” I taunted, tilting my head back with a death-wish level of defiance. “Get on your knees and do it.” Silas let out a dark, dry laugh. Then he punched me. Right in the gut. The bastard played dirty. I doubled over, the wind knocked out of me, but my spite only burned hotter. “If you don’t want to do it, why did you ask? I wanted Leo. If you’re too much of a coward, I’ll just go find him and make him do it.” I knew exactly which buttons to push. Silas lived for his “perfect” little brother. In his eyes, Leo was an angel in a varsity jacket. And me? I was the trash. Silas looked at me like I was a virus that would infect Leo if I got too close. Silas reached into his pocket and pulled out a box cutter. The cold, steel blade slid slowly down my chest toward my stomach. I swallowed hard. Since when did this guy carry a weapon like that? His eyes were hidden behind the glare of his glasses, but his anger was a heavy, suffocating thing. “Tell me again. Who are you going to touch? Where?” I finally shut up. I stood there, frozen, terrified that one slip of his hand would end my bloodline right then and there. He tapped the flat side of the blade against my hip. I shivered, nearly losing it. “Silas… put the knife away,” I managed to rasp out, trying to sound tougher than I felt. “I promise. I’ll stay away from Leo.” Silas didn’t move. He looked at me, his voice dropping to a freezing temperature. “Kiss me.” What? The blade moved, a shimmering threat. Silas repeated the command, devoid of any emotion: “Kiss me.” I cursed under my breath. Fine. Silas was a good-looking guy; it wasn’t like I was losing out. The moment our lips touched, he grabbed me by the throat and shoved me back. “Not like that.” His cold gaze swept down. He smirked slightly and whispered, “Get down.” My eyes widened. He wanted me to… I clenched my fists, looking for a way to bolt. Silas read my mind instantly. “If you run, I’ll catch you before you hit the end of the block. And then I’ll cut off that restless little part of you that keeps getting you into trouble.” He pressed his hand onto the top of my head and forced me down. It wasn’t a violent shove, but it was absolute. “If you try to bite, I’ll knock every single tooth out of your head.” I knelt at his feet, teeth gritted in a mix of fury and helplessness. He had worked me over pretty good; I couldn’t run even if I tried. He tapped the blade against my cheek. Silas’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Zane. Open up.” I closed my eyes in total despair. Silas didn’t treat me like a person. He was brutal. When it was over, he pinched my chin, staring at my swollen lips. “How does it feel to be forced, Zane?” He was doing this for Leo. To “protect” him by ruining me. My throat burned. My voice came out as a hoarse wreck. “Try it yourself and find out.” Silas laughed. Up close, I could see his eyes behind the lenses. They were beautiful, but the pupils were so dark it felt like drowning in an abyss. “With a mouth that soft, you should learn to say softer things.” He pulled out a tissue, wiped his hands, and threw the crumpled paper at me as if I were a piece of garbage. “Not a word of this to Leo. I’ll be watching you, Zane.” 02 Silas left me there in the dirt. I was curled in the corner of the alley like a pile of trash. It started to rain. I could smell the dumpster nearby, and honestly, I didn’t smell much better. I fumbled for a crumpled cigarette, but my hands were shaking so hard I couldn’t get the lighter to spark. I threw the lighter against the wall and cursed the world. I limped my way home. From a distance, I saw someone standing perfectly straight at the end of the street. Clean-cut, black-rimmed glasses, a sweater vest over a collared shirt. The picture-perfect student. That was Leo. He heard my footsteps and looked over. He froze, then ran toward me, looking terrified. “Zane? What happened? Did you get into another fight?” I pushed him away. “None of your business.” Leo bit his lip. He fumbled through his pockets for a long time and pulled out a wad of crumpled bills. He handed them to me, his eyes pleading. “Here. Take it.” I didn’t count it. I just grabbed the cash and looked at him. “Get lost, Leo. Stop looking for me.” Leo didn’t move. “Is it because of the other day? Because I wouldn’t kiss you? I wasn’t trying to be mean, Zane. I just… I wasn’t ready. I’ve never done anything like that before…” His voice softened. “Zane, please don’t be mad.” Leo seemed to make a decision. He grabbed my shoulders and slowly leaned in, his eyelashes fluttering. He was offering me exactly what I had wanted. I looked at his nervous, desperate face. Then I stepped back and shoved him away. “I’m not mad,” I said, pocketing the money. “I never liked you anyway. I only hung around because you’re pretty and your family has money.” It was a lie, but it was a necessary one. Leo’s family was wealthy. He was a straight-A student, polite, and soft-spoken. For a delinquent like me, guys like him were the easiest targets. You get money, and you get a sense of power. When I ended up in the same class as Leo, I bullied him constantly, shook him down for “protection money.” Leo was a coward; he never told his parents. Then some of the guys started saying Leo was so pretty he looked like a girl. They told me I should just “date” him so I could have a permanent ATM and a pretty face to look at. I listened. I forced Leo into a relationship. Leo was too scared to say no. He had asked me, trembling, “If I date you, will you stop hitting me?” I thought it was cute. I laughed and said, “Yeah. I won’t hit you. I’ll take care of you.” He believed me. He became like a loyal dog, giving me every cent he had. “Zane, I’ll give you all my allowance, just please stop fighting people.” My crew used to tease him, calling him “the bride.” They cheered and told me to kiss him to see if he tasted like money. Leo was terrified. He shook his head and begged me not to. I didn’t care. I put out my cigarette, grabbed him by the hair, and slammed him against a wall to force a kiss on him. That was the moment Silas saw us. And that was why I was currently bleeding. Leo’s face went pale. His voice trembled. “You’ve been with me for so long… why won’t you even look at me now?” Because your brother will kill me. My throat was raw, but I forced a cruel grin. “Because I realized I like your brother more.” 03 Leo gave me $645—enough to eat for two months. When I got home, my mom, Lily, was lying on the couch smoking. Her skin was covered in a rash. Her heart condition was getting worse, but she refused treatment because we had no money. I counted out $500 and put it on the coffee table for her meds and food. I didn’t want to come home one day and find a corpse. I couldn’t sleep. Everything ached. I dreamed of Silas. He was hitting me, kicking me, grinding his shoe into my face. He looked like he wanted to kill me. I woke up shaking. The day Silas transferred into my class, I was passed out at my desk in the back row. He pulled out the chair next to me and sat down. When the bell rang, he grabbed me by the hair and yanked my head up. I was ready to swing at whoever woke me, but when I saw Silas, I swallowed every curse word in my throat. Hell. Why was this psycho here? Silas flipped through my textbook. He saw the blank pages and laughed. “I’ve seen a lot of losers, but you’re a pure-bred specimen, aren’t you?” I was furious, but I was also terrified. My throat still hurt just looking at him. Being insulted was better than being cut. I ignored him and tried to go back to sleep. Silas slammed the book against my head. “Sit up. Pay attention.” Even a dog has limits. I rubbed my head and snapped, “Mind your own business! You listen to the lecture, I’ll sleep. If I’m such a problem, change seats!” Silas looked at me sideways. “Leo came home crying the other night. We had a big fight.” Not my problem. “He told me you’re in love with me,” Silas continued, his voice mocking. I was suddenly wide awake. That kid… why would he tell his brother that?! Silas leaned back, enjoying my panic. “So. You like me?” I swallowed hard. “I was lying to him.” Silas acted like he didn’t hear me. He pulled his chair closer. “Pay attention to the teacher. I don’t like being liked by losers.” Damn it. Silas was doing this purely to torture me. He didn’t just make me listen; he checked my notes after every class. I didn’t understand a word of it, and my notes looked like chicken scratch. Silas frowned, threw his own notebook at me, and told me to copy it. “I need to use the bathroom,” I grumbled. Silas smiled thinly. “Hold it.” I spent the whole break catching up on notes. By the time the next class started, I was sweating from holding it in. Silas wouldn’t let it go. While I was trying to solve a problem, he reached over and pressed his hand against my lower stomach. Gently. Firmly. I shuddered, letting out a muffled groan as I slumped over the desk. From the corner of my eye, I saw Silas’s lips curl into a tiny, satisfied smile. The man was a total freak. 04 The second the bell rang, I bolted for the restroom. I was just finishing up when someone threw an arm around my shoulder. I looked up. It was Brooks. Brooks was the leader of the local gang—the “Alpha” of our school’s delinquents. He didn’t look at me. He just stared ahead and said, “Zane. I heard you and Leo broke up.” I didn’t answer. Brooks loved knowing everything. He probably knew how many times a day I used the bathroom. He zipped up, turned to me, and said, “Since you’re done with him, mind if I take a turn? He’s a pretty little thing.” “Back when you said he was yours, I gave you a pass. I didn’t touch him out of respect for our brotherhood. But now, you can’t stand in my way.” Brooks was a sadistic prick. When he targeted someone, he didn’t stop until they were broken. I’d seen him bully a kid into a total breakdown before. The only reason I had “dated” Leo was to keep Brooks away from him. I had told Brooks I wanted him for myself, and Brooks had backed off. Now, I had no reason to stop him. “Do whatever you want,” I said. I was trash anyway, and I had my own problems. Besides, Leo had a brother to protect him now. I skipped the rest of class to go work my shift at the BBQ joint. When I walked back into the neighborhood that night, I saw Brooks in the alley. He had a dozen guys with him. Leo was on his knees in the dirt. His face was bruised and swollen. His glasses had been knocked off, and he was crawling around, frantically searching for them. Brooks was smiling as he raised his foot to stomp on Leo’s hand. I looked for a split second, then turned my head and kept walking. As I stepped out of the alley, I ran into Silas. He was drenched in sweat, looking frantic. Searching. I paused. “He’s in the alley.” Silas gave me a look of pure hatred. He grabbed a lead pipe from the ground, pushed past me, and charged into the darkness. I took a deep breath of the damp air. Suddenly, a hot, strong hand grabbed my arm and yanked me backward. Silas had the pipe in one hand and me in the other. “You think you can just walk away? Not a chance.”

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