Category: English

To welcome my son’s girlfriend for her first visit, I’d orchestrated the evening with the precision of a state dinner. The warm, lively atmosphere at the dining table shattered the moment Leo said the word, “Mom.” His girlfriend’s eyes raked over me, sharp as a surgeon’s scalpel, her brow furrowed in a tight knot. She turned to my son, her voice laced with venom. “So this is the ‘sweet stepmom’ you told me about? The one you’re so close with?” She made a small, contemptuous sound. “A young widow and a boy turning into a man, all alone in a big house,” she continued, each word a deliberate sting. “It’s a tinderbox waiting for a match, isn’t it?” Leo and I froze, the words hanging in the air between us like poison. But then she just waved a dismissive hand, her face morphing into a mask of magnanimity. “Whatever. It’s not a big deal,” she announced. “I get it. This whole taboo stepmom thing is a popular fantasy, right? We’ll just… turn the page.” 1 Leo had told me he was bringing his girlfriend, Krystal, home to meet me. They’d been together for two years, and marriage was on the horizon. That day, I had the house staff polish every surface until it gleamed and arranged for a lavish dinner to be catered from a Michelin-starred restaurant. “We’re home!” I heard Leo’s cheerful voice from the second-floor landing. As I descended the staircase, I saw him sorting through a small mountain of luggage. Standing beside him, engrossed in her phone, was a petite, pretty girl. “This is my girlfriend, Krystal.” Krystal finally looked up from her screen, her gaze sweeping over me for a fraction of a second before being drawn to the soaring ceilings and expensive decor of the foyer. She said nothing. She was the woman Leo loved, and this was her first time in our home. I took a deep breath, forced a smile, and stepped forward to greet her. By lunch, I was trying to bridge the awkward silence. I used the serving utensils to place a delicate piece of Chilean Sea Bass on her plate. “This is the restaurant’s signature dish,” I said warmly. “It’s exquisite. Even their regulars have to order it weeks in advance. You have to try it.” Leo chimed in, oblivious. “Yeah! The sea bass is the best thing they make. It’s Mom’s favorite. You’ll love it!” The effect was instantaneous. Krystal, who had been smiling just a moment before, went rigid. Her face darkened, her knuckles white around her fork. “Leo, what did you just call her? She’s too young to be your mother.” Leo blinked. “Didn’t I tell you? My parents passed away when I was young. My stepmom, Ava, raised me. It’s always just been the two of us.” Krystal’s face was a storm cloud. Her eyes darted between me and Leo as if she were connecting invisible, sordid dots. Finally, while Leo and I were still trying to understand what was happening, she slammed her fork down on the table. “If I had known you had a ‘stepmom’ like this,” she spat, “why would I have even come here?!” Leo and I just stared at each other, speechless. She shoved her plate away. It didn’t break, but rice and fish flew across the table, splattering my face and my silk blouse. “The sea bass? What exactly were you trying to say with this dish, Ava?” she sneered. “A little reminder that even though Leo and I are in love, his taste is still your taste? That you’re the queen of this castle?” “You look like you’re in your thirties. How much older are you than him, really? A widow who never remarried, choosing instead to stay here and raise this handsome young man? Don’t insult my intelligence. I know exactly what kind of arrangement you two have.” What in God’s name was she talking about? Leo finally snapped out of his stupor. “Krystal, what is wrong with you? Have you lost your mind? Ava is my mother! Our relationship is completely platonic! I love her like my own mom!” he insisted. “And you know how I feel about you!” I sighed, about to murmur some platitude to smooth things over. But Krystal violently pushed Leo away. She glared at me, her eyes burning with a hatred so intense it was as if I’d stolen him from her right then and there. “Relax. Both of you,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m not an idiot. I’ll keep your dirty little secret.” Then her eyes welled up with crocodile tears. “Ava, you’re still a beautiful woman, and I know it hasn’t been easy raising Leo all these years.” “But you can’t use that as leverage to emotionally blackmail my boyfriend! I won’t allow it!” In all my years, I had never encountered a creature so thoroughly delusional. If this lunch continued, I was certain my composure would crack. It was better to let Leo handle it. Young couples fight; they would sort it out. “I’m full,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “You two eat. Your room is on the second floor. It’s been prepared.” I turned to leave. “Oh, finally found your sense of shame?” Krystal’s voice followed me, sharp and ugly. “What kind of ‘stepmom’ raises a boy in every sense of the word, huh?” “What are you even imagining? Nothing ever happened!” Leo’s voice rose, pulling her back into an argument that quickly escalated into a full-blown shouting match. I closed my bedroom door, and the world finally went quiet. I didn’t see either of them until dinner. When I came down to the dining room, the table was set, but Leo was nowhere to be seen. He wasn’t answering my texts. I figured they’d gone out somewhere to cool off. But as I turned, a figure emerged from the shadows. Krystal was standing right behind me like a ghost. I gasped, stifling a scream. “Krystal? Are you eating alone? Where’s Leo?” A triumphant smirk played on her lips. She deliberately bumped my shoulder as she passed me and sank into a chair. “Seeing me here by myself must be breaking your heart, huh, Ava? So sad and angry?” My gaze drifted to the tureen of hot soup on the table. I felt a sudden, childish urge to see if dumping it over her head might shock her back to reality. She jutted her chin out, arrogant. “I knew you wouldn’t give up so easily after lunch. But I didn’t think you’d be so desperate you’d change your outfit just for dinner.” “Hoping to lure him into your room tonight? Dream on,” she hissed. “We were very… busy this afternoon. He’s exhausted. You probably won’t see him until tomorrow. So you changed for nothing, you old hag.” I was speechless. She had apparently forgotten that she was the one who had flung food all over me. And my current outfit—tailored trousers and a long-sleeved cashmere sweater—was modest enough for a trip to the grocery store. Seductive it was not. She, on the other hand, was poured into a spaghetti-strap top and shorts so small they were more of a suggestion. Her skin was a canvas of angry red marks. For a second, I thought she’d been beaten. I gathered my patience, what little of it remained, and issued a final warning. “Krystal, I don’t know what kind of twisted script you’re reading from, but Leo and I are mother and son. Period. If you continue to sling this filth, I don’t care if you become his wife—you will be out of this house.” I wasn’t joking. It was clear that being gracious with her was pointless; it only invited more aggression. My words seemed to puncture her bravado. “Who the hell are you to tell me to get out?” she shrieked. “This is my man’s house!” “You’re just a bitter old woman who’s losing her mind! Don’t think you can control Leo just because he has a soft spot for you. You’re the one who should get out!” she yelled. “You’re lucky you live here. Back where I’m from, they’d have dealt with a woman like you a long time ago!” I smiled at her, a slow, cold smile. “If there were even a hint of what you’re imagining between Leo and me,” I said softly, “do you really think there would have been any room for you?” With that, I calmly sat down and began to eat my dinner. Krystal stared at me, so enraged she was sputtering. “You’re not eating?” I asked casually. “Well, in that case, you’re free to go ask him right now. Ask him who should be the one to leave.” Her eyes practically bulged out of her head. Finally, she threw down her napkin in defeat. “You just wait! He’d have to be blind to choose you over me!” She stormed away, her retreat looking more like a panicked flight. I almost laughed out loud as I enjoyed the sumptuous dinner in blessed solitude. Less than an hour later, the sound of their fighting was loud enough to penetrate my bedroom walls. “Leo! Who do you really love? If you love me, you’ll kick your stepmom out!” “There is no way she and I can live under the same roof!” I found Leo in the grand foyer, rubbing his forehead in frustration, dark circles already forming under his eyes. Krystal was clinging to his arm, relentless. “Didn’t you tell me yourself that your dad was perfectly healthy before he married her? How did he just drop dead three years into the marriage? You two, all alone together? Ha! I think you were just lucky you survived this black widow!” “Are you going to kick her out, or do you want to end up like your dad?” Leo lowered his hand, his brow furrowed, his expression wavering. I descended the stairs. Our eyes met across the cavernous space. Neither of us spoke. Krystal’s face twisted with even more jealousy. “See! Look at the two of you! Don’t tell me you’re just mother and son!” “This afternoon, I asked you if I made you feel better than your stepmom does, and you said yes!” she screamed at him. “How would you know what’s ‘better’ if you’ve never been with her?” Leo’s jaw dropped. He stammered, “I—I didn’t even understand what you were asking! How could I possibly compare you two in that way? Krystal, don’t misunderstand!” He shot a panicked look at me. “Ava, you can’t misunderstand, either. I truly don’t have any other… feelings…” Before he could finish, Krystal let out a choked sob, smashed a porcelain vase on the hall table, and ran out into the night. “Krystal!” Leo looked from her to me and back again, swore under his breath, and chased after her. I lowered my gaze, the curtain falling on a ridiculous, exhausting drama. I had a company to run in the morning. I needed to sleep. But when I woke up the next morning, I found my house filled with a crowd of strangers. As soon as I appeared on the landing, a stout, round woman bustled forward and grabbed my arm to help me down the stairs. “So this must be Leo’s stepmom!” she gushed. “You’ve kept yourself so well! You look like you’re in your twenties, even prettier than our Krystal!” Given Krystal’s behavior yesterday, I expected her to erupt. Instead, she stood silently by the sofa, unnervingly quiet. I pulled my arm away and stood my ground on the stairs. “And you are?” “Oh, where are my manners! Honey, I’m Krystal’s mother. Name’s Brenda. You can just call me Brenda.” She beamed, trying to project an image of rustic warmth, but her eyes glittered with shrewd calculation. “Krystal told us she was coming home with her boyfriend to meet the family. This is a big deal! Of course we had to come along for the ride!” I rested my hand on the banister, looking down at this troupe, and waited for the next act to begin. It wasn’t long. A strange man detached himself from the group and sidled up to me, a leering grin on his face. I recoiled, but he stuck to me like glue, even reaching out as if to embrace me. “Sir, I suggest you step away from me,” I said, my voice ice. “Or I will call the police and report you for harassment.” He acted as if he hadn’t heard me, his hands still reaching. Just as I was about to kick him where it counted, Brenda scurried over and grabbed his arm. “Don’t you worry now, honey. This is my brother, Mitch. It seems he’s fallen for you at first sight!” The man, Mitch, muttered, “So pretty… why can’t I touch? When we’re married, I’ll touch all I want.” My face hardened. “Does your brother need to see a doctor?” Krystal suddenly found her voice. “Don’t you say that! My uncle is perfectly smart!” Mitch’s eyes roamed over my body, his face twitching. “You… you better listen,” he mumbled, his voice thick and garbled. “Or… husband’s gonna have to teach you a lesson…” “You’ve been a widow for years, haven’t you?” Krystal said, her chin high. “This is my uncle’s first marriage. You should be grateful!” “Once you’re family, I’ll forget all about your disgusting little affair with Leo. But if you don’t play along, I’ll post everything online and make you two a trending topic,” she threatened. “Leo will be a social pariah, and you can kiss your precious career goodbye.” Leo sat on the sofa through it all, his head bowed, saying nothing, as if he were a mere spectator at this circus. When he felt my eyes on him, he didn’t even flinch. It was clear he intended to sit back and watch this absurd shakedown play out. My disappointment in him was a physical blow. After his father died, I had poured everything into this boy. I treated him as my own flesh and blood, nurturing him, guiding him, giving him every advantage. Brenda smiled her folksy, menacing smile. “It’s how the world works, honey. A woman’s gotta get married! Besides,” she added with a wink, “a stepmom and her grown stepson living under the same roof… tsk, tsk. It doesn’t look good, does it?” Mitch continued to undress me with his eyes, a line of saliva glistening at the corner of his mouth. I looked down at their greedy, vicious faces, and a slow smile spread across my own. Brenda, in her mountain of garbage, had managed to say one true thing. I couldn’t live with Leo anymore. “You’re right,” I said. “It’s time for a change.” No one expected me to cave so easily. Krystal, who had a whole speech ready, was left speechless. Brenda was overjoyed. She slapped her thigh and shoved her brother toward me. “Mitch, you’ve got yourself a wife! Go on, give her a hug!” She was beaming. “Quick, quick, someone take a picture for social media! Our Mitch has a wife!” she crowed to the rest of her clan. Then she turned back to me. “See? It’s better this way. What kind of life is there for a widow? You need a man.” “And if it weren’t for Krystal, for making you family, we wouldn’t even consider a woman like you. Bad luck, you are, sending your first husband to an early grave.” “From now on, you serve my brother well. Give me three healthy nephews, and our family won’t treat you badly.” “First,” I said calmly, “there’s something I have to do.” Their expressions immediately soured, afraid I was about to back out. “I am still Leo’s stepmother, the lady of this house. To marry your brother just like this… it’s not right.” “First, I need to inform my late husband. And I need to formally sever my maternal ties with Leo. Only then can I move on with a clean slate. Don’t you agree?” Brenda stared at me, her eyes narrowed with suspicion, but she couldn’t find a flaw in my logic. She reluctantly nodded. Krystal looked satisfied. The venom was gone from her face as she ran over to loop her arm through Leo’s. What a perfect, loving little couple they made. I led the procession to the study on the ground floor, where a portrait of my late husband, Arthur, hung in a place of honor. His black-and-white image looked down on us all. Leo dutifully knelt. I lit a stick of incense. Through the fragrant smoke, I felt a sting in my eyes. “Arthur,” I said softly, “you see what’s happening in our home.” “It’s been so many years since you’ve been gone. I raised Leo, and now he’s a man, ready to start his own family.” “So today, in front of you, Leo and I are severing our ties. From this day forward, we are strangers.” Leo repeated the vow, his voice flat, and bowed his head to the floor three times. I took a deep, steadying breath, a profound sense of peace settling over me. Then I pointed to the front door. “There,” I announced. “You are all witnesses. Leo and I have no relationship.” “Now, all of you, please take your things and get out of my house.”

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The boss I was secretly in love with suddenly gave me a fountain pen. In that instant, a stream of text scrolled across my vision, bright and intrusive like a chat feed on a live stream. 【Hehe, our girl has no idea that pen is empathically linked to the male lead, does she?】 【This is gonna get so good! I heard the smut in this is top-tier, is that true?】 【Totally true. The guy’s an absolute stallion. This story is a five-star read, guaranteed!】 I froze on the spot, my mind reeling. I reached out and stroked the pen. The next second, the man sitting across from me—my boss—let out a sharp, muffled grunt. 1 Nobody is supposed to be in love with their boss. Except for me. Because he was good to me. Impossibly good. I’d been working in the Executive Office ever since I graduated, straight into the lion’s den of Cole Corp. My boss, Mr. Liam Cole, was a man carved from ice. He was cool, distant, and spoke only when necessary. But if someone on his team screwed up, he could dress them down with a glacial fury that left them weeping at their desks. But with me… I always felt he was different. It’s normal to be clumsy with procedures when you’re fresh out of college. The other executive assistants in the office were drowning in their own work, so no one had time to mentor the new girl. It was my own fault, really. I was just dumb enough to make a colossal mistake. The moment I was summoned to his office, the senior assistants all looked at me with the kind of pity you reserve for the condemned. My heart hammered against my ribs as I walked the green mile to his door. But inside, Liam Cole’s expression was perfectly calm. He just asked me if I was adjusting to the company, if I felt comfortable, if my colleagues were treating me well. He never even mentioned the mistake. When I walked back out, every head in the office snapped toward me. I quickly bowed my head, pretending to sniffle back tears. I might have been new to the corporate world, but I understood that much. Special treatment breeds jealousy. It was better to look like I’d been chewed out, just like everyone else. 2 I worked at Cole Corp for over a year. Every day, my senior colleagues were hounded and stressed, running around like their hair was on fire. I, on the other hand, had to pretend to be hounded and stressed. To deserve the quiet grace Liam Cole showed me, I threw myself into my work, becoming more meticulous, more dedicated than anyone. I couldn’t betray the unspoken faith he had in me. I could never quite figure out what it all meant. What I meant to him. But I wanted to do everything in my power to make him see me, to impress him. I knew, in that quiet place in my heart, that his kindness toward me was unique. It wasn’t overt, nothing anyone could point a finger at. Maybe it was just a hint of affection, a flicker of something more. I told myself not to overthink it. It was enough to see him every day. I was earning a fantastic salary for a job that, for me, was surprisingly calm. What more could I possibly ask for? 3 The company landed a massive new account. Everyone who had worked on the deal was getting a bonus. For the Executive Office, those bonuses were handed out personally by the CEO himself. I filed into his office with my colleagues. Liam Cole produced a stack of thick envelopes, his voice as cool and crisp as ever. “For your efforts.” As the newest hire, I was last in line. One by one, my colleagues accepted their envelopes, their faces lit with joy. When my turn came, there was nothing left. Liam’s face was unreadable. “Ellie, you’ve only been with the company for a little over a year. Your seniority doesn’t quite qualify for this tier. I got you something else.” My colleagues craned their necks, their curiosity piqued. He slid a sleek, dark blue box across the mahogany desk. “Open it.” What could possibly be better than a fat check? Confused, I lifted the lid. Nestled in the velvet lining was a handsome fountain pen, its body the color of a midnight sky. Tied around it was a tiny, almost comically delicate, pink ribbon. And in that instant, a stream of text scrolled across my vision, bright and intrusive like a chat feed on a live stream. 【OMG, he basically just handed over his junk! LMAO!】 【Hehe, our girl has no idea that pen is empathically linked to the male lead, does she?】 【This is gonna get so good! I heard the smut in this is top-tier, is that true?】 【Totally true. The guy’s an absolute stallion. This story is a five-star read, guaranteed!】 I froze, my fingers hovering over the box. Junk? Empathically linked? Stallion? Was I hallucinating? Maybe it was all the late nights I’d spent binge-watching shows. Liam Cole’s voice, a little strained now, pulled me back. “You don’t like it?” 【Aww, our poor guy is shattering.】 【What if she doesn’t like my gift? It’s literally my soul in a pen!】 【Ellie, just nod! Say you like it! PLEASE!】 【Look at him, trying to act all cool, but he’s probably gripping the underside of his desk so hard his knuckles are white.】 “I love it,” I blurted out. Then, on a whim, driven by a bizarre impulse, I reached into the box. My heart started to pound, a frantic, wild rhythm. I only meant to touch the pen, just to feel it. “Wait—” Liam started to say. But my fingers had already closed around the smooth, cool barrel of the pen, stroking it firmly. Across the desk, a low, guttural sound escaped his lips. He let out a sharp grunt, and the tips of his ears instantly flushed a deep, tell-tale red. The sound was so intimate, so charged, it sent a shiver straight through me. My colleagues stood awkwardly to the side, confused but too intimidated to speak. A slow smile spread across my face. “Thank you, Mr. Cole. This pen… I absolutely love it.” 【AAAAH! He’s dying! One touch and our boy is losing his mind!】 【I live for moments like this. When she plays him like a fiddle!】 【OMG, this is way too hot. Ellie, you keep doing you. Wreck him!】 【I’d be different. If my boss’s junk was linked to a pen, I’d stomp on it. Just sayin’.】 I caught it then—the subtle tightening of his jaw. Was he gritting his teeth? Fighting for control? “If you like it, then take good care of it,” he said, his voice a little rough. “Don’t disappoint me.” I nodded, my smile widening. “Of course. I’ll make sure you’re completely satisfied.” I had no idea where he’d found a pen with an empathic link, but one thing was suddenly crystal clear. I was living in a trashy romance novel. And with a world built on bizarre rules like this, who was I to argue? 4 As soon as we left his office, Liam strode past us, his steps clipped and fast, heading straight for the men’s restroom. 【Hehe, couldn’t hold it in anymore? Gotta go relieve some pressure?】 【Just one little touch and he’s already at his limit. This guy has zero self-control. I’m worried for our girl’s future.】 【Wait, she’s reaching for it! What’s she gonna do?! Oh my god!】 【OMG, if she carries that pen with her everywhere, does that mean he’s going to be at full mast 24/7?】 So, Liam Cole was a closet freak. After more than a year of pining, the most he could manage was to secretly gift me his… remote control. Fine. I could be generous. I’d help him get his release. From now on, the ball was in my court. Back at my desk, I took the pen from its box. I untied the little pink ribbon and ran my fingers up and down its length. Then, I uncapped it and tentatively started to write on a notepad. Just as I suspected. The pen was full of ink. The characters flowed onto the page, rich and dark. 【AAAAAH! HE’S ON THE TOILET AND HE’S GONNA DIE!】 【HOLY SHIT, ELLIE, YOU ARE A NATURAL AT THIS!】 【Stop writing, stop writing! He’s literally biting his tongue!】 【Jesus, this guy is bold. Isn’t he afraid of dying from dehydration?】 An image of him, undone and losing control, flashed through my mind, and a wave of heat washed over me. Suddenly, a hand snatched the pen from my grasp. It was Chloe, my least favorite colleague. “Tch. It’s just a regular pen. Nothing expensive. I can’t believe he’d give you this as a bonus,” she sneered. This pen was linked to Liam Cole. It couldn’t be in her hands. That would mean he was… 【Phew, our guy is smart. The pen is only bonded to Ellie. Even he can’t activate it by touching it himself.】 【He must have planned for this. Knew that other people would inevitably touch it.】 【He’s coming out of the restroom now. Wonder what his face will look like when he sees his junk in someone else’s hand.】 【Ellie looks like she’s about to cry, my poor baby!】 “Give it back!” I snapped. Knowing it was safe, thanks to the chat feed, didn’t stop the surge of anger. I wanted to snatch it back, but I was afraid she wouldn’t let go. What if she damaged it? What would that do to him? “Whoa, so protective,” Chloe taunted, inspecting the pen from end to end. “There’s nothing special about it. Lame.” She tossed it back on my desk. “But seriously, Ellie. Are you into Mr. Cole or something?” Her voice was deliberately loud. The entire office turned to look. My face caught fire. “That’s ridiculous!” Just then, a cold voice cut through the tension from behind me. “What are you all talking about?” 【Ooh, you bad girl, Ellie. Just a minute ago you were playing with him until he was seeing stars, and now you’re denying it!】 【He’s breaking. I can practically see the cracks forming. His hands are shaking.】 【Oh my god, he’s the petty type. Ellie, you better watch out. He’s gonna get you back for this until you can’t see straight.】 【Hehe, and I, for one, can’t wait!】 I turned around. Liam’s face was so dark it looked like a storm cloud had settled over his features. I’m screwed. That was my first thought. Chloe immediately started playing the victim. “Mr. Cole, I just wanted to look at her pen, and she got so nasty with me.” Before I could even open my mouth to defend myself, Liam let out a cold, humorless laugh. “That’s her property. Did you ask for her permission before you took it?” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Chloe, you’re a senior member of this office. How have your manners gotten so sloppy?” He stared her down. “Give it back to her. And don’t make me say it again.” The other assistants were practically vibrating with the drama. With Liam backing me up, what did I have to be afraid of? “Chloe,” I said, my voice sweet as poison. “Could you please wipe it clean and put it back in the box for me? It was a gift from Mr. Cole, you see. I treasure it.” Chloe’s face contorted with rage. “Mr. Cole, look at her! You’re spoiling her! She’s getting arrogant, walking all over everyone!” Liam’s expression darkened even further. “Did you not hear what I just said?” Chloe deflated instantly. She fumbled for a tissue, wiped down the pen with shaking hands, and placed it back in its box. I looked up at Liam. “Don’t worry, Mr. Cole. I promise I’ll take very good care of your pen. I’ll keep it with me at all times, where no one else can touch it.” He gave me a long, deep look. Without another word, he turned and went back into his office. For some reason, he seemed even angrier than before. 【Ellie is being so formal. Our poor guy is heartbroken.】 【Well, she doesn’t know how he feels about her yet! She’s just trying to appease her boss.】 【When is this plot going to speed up? I’m so over the slow burn!】 5 That evening, I sat on my bed, staring at the pen in its open box. I was afraid to touch it, worried about what might be happening on his end. 【He’s in the shower! AAAAAH!】 【Damn, he has a nice body. Abs, pecs, delts… It’s just, that one area is all pixelated, I can’t see.】 【You don’t need to see it to imagine it. This is a spicy romance novel; you think the author would give him anything less than a cannon?】 【Whoa, he’s washing himself so… thoroughly. I feel like I shouldn’t be watching this.】 He was in the shower? Without a second thought, I snatched the pen and wrapped my hand around it. The chat feed exploded in a collective shriek. 【AAAAAHHHHH! SO SUDDEN! His knees buckled! He almost fell! Thank god he caught himself on the wall!】 【OH MY GOD, ELLIE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! MORE! GIVE US MORE!】 【His face is so red! He looks like he’s about to pass out from pleasure!】 【Ellie, Ellie, your timing is impeccable!】 I thought for a moment, then uncapped the pen. As expected, a single, dark drop of ink welled at the nib and fell onto the tissue below. It had leaked. 【HOLY HELL. So he wasn’t washing himself?】 【He was ‘polishing the silver’! No wonder it seemed so weird!】 【I mean, his expression was so stoic, how were we supposed to know?!】 【I can’t wait to see if he keeps that same poker face when he’s doing the deed with Ellie…】 “Huh. The quality of this pen isn’t that great,” I murmured to myself. I took a tissue and dabbed at the inky tip, then gripped the barrel again. 【AAAAAH, is she gonna do it again?!】 【I think she’s going to write something. HOLY SHIT! Can he handle it? Don’t make him spit ink and stick his tongue out again!】 【Please, wait a second, Ellie! Let the man recover!】 【This novel is so damn good. Author, please write another one! I’ll preorder it right now!】 Suddenly, my phone rang. Liam’s voice came through the line, tight with restraint. “What are you doing?” What do you think I’m doing, baby? “Just looking at my phone,” I said innocently. “There’s a file that needs your attention,” he said, his tone clipped and professional. “Drop what you’re doing and come into the office.” Work overtime? He had to be kidding me. I squeezed the pen a little harder. 【AAAAAH, HE CAN’T TAKE IT, ELLIE!】 【He’s so desperate he’s resorting to making up work for her! He’s running on empty, baby!】 【Hahaha, is this the same overpowered male lead I know and love?】 【Well, she did make him spit a lot of ink at the office today. He’s probably scared.】 A beat of silence, then: “Are you… using the pen right now?” “I am.” Another pause. “Stop using it for now. The ink cartridge in that pen regenerates a little ink automatically each day. If you use too much, it’s bad for the… the pen. You should use it sparingly. Cherish it.” 【I have a feeling he’s not talking about the pen.】 【Of course he is, baby. What else would he be talking about? ;)】 【Girl, you’re reading a smutty novel and you don’t get the subtext? Come on!】 【Ellie’s blushing! Why is she blushing?】 【Something feels weird… It’s almost like Ellie knows…】 “I understand, Mr. Cole.” My voice became a little husky, a little sweet. “I’ll be very careful with the pen. But I don’t want to work overtime. Is that okay?” Perhaps it was the knowledge of the power I held. I couldn’t help but sound a little coquettish. His voice on the other end was barely a whisper. “Okay. Then… come to my office tomorrow.” “Mmm, I will, Mr. Cole,” I cooed. 【She’s so happy she doesn’t have to work overtime! She’s so cute, I could just die!】 【So sweet I’m getting a cavity. Of course our boy is at full mast again!】 【With this little self-control, Ellie is going to be the death of him.】 【I can’t wait, I can’t wait! Plot, move faster!】 【And just like that, he’s back to polishing the silver.】 【Ellie, touch the pen again! I’m begging you!】 I considered it for a moment, but decided to give him a break. I carefully wrapped the pen in a tissue and placed it back in its box for the night. 6 The next morning, I brought the file Liam had mentioned to his office. The door was shut tight. I remembered seeing Chloe go in just a few minutes earlier with coffee. Suddenly, I heard a woman’s sharp gasp from inside. Something wasn’t right. I gave the door a perfunctory knock. “Mr. Cole, I’m coming in.” “Wait—” His word was cut off as I pushed the door open. Inside, Chloe was kneeling at his feet, her hands on his thighs. The position was so compromising, it was impossible not to jump to conclusions. 【The side character spilled coffee on our man’s lap! I hope his family jewels weren’t scalded!】 【Aaaah, Ellie saw! Is she going to misunderstand?!】 【Ellie, punish him! Punish him hard!】 Liam’s face was flushed with anger. “Get out!” Chloe shot me a triumphant smirk. “Ellie, you really need to learn some manners. You can’t just barge in when the CEO doesn’t invite you. You should be more careful in the future.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Now, run along. Mr. Cole and I have things to discuss. You can—” “I was talking to you,” Liam bit out, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly cold register. I’d never heard him sound like that, not even when he was tearing into a subordinate. Chloe froze. “But, Mr. Cole…” “Get. The hell. Out.” He didn’t even look at her. Chloe stood, shot me a venomous glare, and stormed out of the office. “…What do you want?” he asked, his voice strained. I placed the file on his desk. “This is the document you wanted me to work on last night. It’s finished. For your review.” My eyes drifted down to the dark stain on his trousers. “Perhaps you should go change first, Mr. Cole?” The tension in his shoulders finally eased. He knew I hadn’t misunderstood. “Yes. You can go now,” he said. “Just leave the file here. I’ll look at it later.” “Of course.” I turned to leave. As he stood, glancing down at the coffee stain, he disappeared into his private lounge. 【Thank god Ellie didn’t get the wrong idea. That would have been so awkward.】 【Seriously, dude, you have a mouth, don’t you? Why didn’t you just explain?】 【He’s the classic cold, stoic type. He can only crush from afar in secret.】 【When are they finally going to hook up?! Is the ice ever going to break? This is killing me!】 I reached the door, then stopped. Slowly, I unclipped the fountain pen from my breast pocket. Gripping it tightly, I turned and walked back to his desk. I uncapped it, poised to write. Liam burst out of the lounge, his eyes wide and wild. The corners were startlingly red, his gaze almost wet with panic. “Ellie, what are you doing?!” I looked up. He had already taken off his shirt, revealing a torso of hard, defined muscle. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist—a perfect physique. But that wasn’t the most important part. The most important part was below his waist. His trousers were tented, forming a prominent, undeniable bulge. The size of it… My stare must have felt like a physical touch, because his entire body flushed a deep crimson. 【Damn, I think Ellie is about to have a nosebleed!】 【AAAAH, he’s so flustered! So flustered!】 【Oh my god, is it about to happen?!】 【Ellie, you’re still holding the pen! Do something!】 “Mr. Cole, I… I just remembered there was a spot on the file I needed to sign,” I stammered, my eyes still glued to him. He took a tiny, hesitant step forward. “Don’t… don’t use that pen. Find a ballpoint on my desk.” “Okay, Mr. Cole.” My voice was obedient, but my gaze didn’t waver. He squeezed his eyes shut in pure mortification. “I’m sorry you had to see this,” he whispered. “I’m not a pervert, I swear. I thought you had come back for something else…” Such a prude, baby. “I know you’re not a pervert,” I said, a new, wicked confidence blooming inside me. My eyes drifted back down to the tent in his pants. “The coffee must have been hot. Thermal expansion, right?” 【AAAAAH ELLIE, WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?! How did you get like this?!】 【I’m going to faint. Ellie, you are so bad!】 【Is she flirting with him? Our girl is a pro!】 【I command you, right here, right now, get it on!】 【Is it just me, or did the tent just get bigger?】 “Mr. Cole,” I continued, my voice low. “If I hadn’t walked in just now… were you going to let Chloe help you change? Treat your… burn?” He shook his head frantically. “No. That was an accident. I told her to leave, she wouldn’t go…” I calmly walked right up to him until we were inches apart, staring directly into his panicked eyes. I held up the pen between us. “Don’t you think you’re a little overly concerned about this pen?” I asked softly. “Liam Cole. What exactly did you do?” He was so stunned by my shift in demeanor, so shocked that I had used his first name, that he couldn’t form a coherent thought. “I… I just wanted you to take good care of it…” “Really?” I pressed. His throat worked, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “Yes. It was your bonus. I just wanted you to treasure it.” 【He’s so close, how is he not kissing her?】 【Aaaah, Ellie, if you take one more step you’ll be touching the tent!】 【So our sweet Ellie is a bad girl underneath it all. I love it.】 【Keep going, keep going! Do the deed!】 Suddenly, the office door flew open again. It was Chloe. “Mr. Cole, I brought you a change of—” She stopped short, her eyes widening. “What are you two doing?!” What was with her tone? Like a wife catching her husband cheating. I turned and gave her an epic eye-roll. “Get out,” Liam said, his voice flat and devoid of patience. “I’ll go, but she goes with me,” Chloe demanded, pointing a trembling finger at me. Liam’s brows knitted together. “You will leave by yourself. We have things to discuss.” “What could you possibly have to discuss?” she whined. “You two are…” “Don’t make me say it a second time. Get lost!” “…Fine.” Chloe reluctantly closed the door, her footsteps echoing her defeat. The moment the latch clicked, Liam grabbed my arm and pulled me into the lounge, locking the door behind us. My back hit the cool wood of the door as he pressed his warm, bare chest against me. There was nowhere to run. He enveloped my hand, the one holding the pen, with his own. His voice was a raw, ragged whisper next to my ear. “Do you like the pen I gave you?” I turned my head, dodging the kiss I knew was coming. “Mr. Cole, you…” “It’s empathically linked to me,” he confessed, all at once. My head whipped back around to face him. “…What?” He moved his hips, pressing the hard ridge of his erection against my stomach. “This pen. It’s linked to me. When you touch it… I feel everything.” 【??? The male lead just confessed?】 【Wait, this is my second read-through, and something feels off. The plot is moving way faster than I remember!】 【So the secret is out just like that?】 【Is Ellie going to think he’s a total creep? Is this about to become a forced-seduction plot?】 【Oh, this is getting more and more interesting.】 Seeing the genuine shock on my face, a flicker of satisfaction crossed his. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. “Help me. Please? It’s… thermal expansion. It’s not going down.”

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Another cold war with Noah. I was just about to type out a long, rambling apology text when a line of text scrolled across my vision, like a live-stream commentary only I could see: 【Here we go again. The male lead’s buddies egged him on to give the female lead the silent treatment. So dumb.】 【Watch him step out from under his friends’ umbrella only to realize it isn’t even raining. LMAO.】 【Keep it up. The second he actually breaks up with her, his ‘buddies’ will be lining up to take his place.】 【Hey, female lead, look at his best friend, the one who supposedly hates you. If you even smiled at him, he’d give you his life.】 I froze. Half-skeptical, half-intrigued, I typed out a different message instead. A picture of a cocktail with the caption: Happy single life to me. The next second, my Instagram story blew up with likes. 1 It happened again. Another fight with Noah. This time, he accused me of being too controlling. “What’s the big deal if I grab a drink with the guys? Why do you have to make everything into such a huge fucking deal?” Noah’s voice was frayed with annoyance. It was already 11:30 p.m. “You have a sensitive stomach, you can’t drink too much.” Clearly, Noah didn’t care. I could faintly hear the jeers from his friends in the background. “Dude, how old are you? Still getting called home by the warden.” “Just go, man. Don’t want to make the missus mad. We all know who wears the pants in your house, haha.” The mockery was a direct hit to Noah’s pride. Humiliated, he snapped and hung up on me. When I called back, he immediately declined it. I was about to try a third time when the text feed appeared again: 【LMAO, his bros talked him into fighting with her again.】 【He secretly loves it when she calls him home, but he’s too proud to admit it.】 【Bet he’s staring at his phone right now, waiting for that third call. His thumb is probably raw from refreshing.】 I stood there, stunned. Was this… about me? Was I the female lead? And Noah was the male lead? It sort of made sense. Noah was stubborn and emotionally constipated, always resorting to the silent treatment. But if I took the first step, made the first move to reconcile, he would usually accept it with a carefully constructed air of reluctance by the third try. The comments were urging me on, telling me to call again. But my attention was snagged by that first comment. Talked him into it? Noah’s friends. My lips thinned. A spark of anger lit in my chest, and I dialed another number. “Why do you always drag Noah out drinking? Don’t you know he has someone waiting for him at home?” There was a pause on the other end, then a cool, detached voice answered, “When did I take Noah out for a drink?” Ethan. Noah’s best friend since childhood. And the one who hated me the most. He never gave me the time of day, never had a kind word for me. My anger was boiling over, and I didn’t care about our past friction. “Who else would it be? You know he has stomach issues. What’s your game, dragging him to a bar every night?” There was a beat of silence, then Ethan let out a dry, almost amused laugh. “I just got home from a business trip. Haven’t been to any bar.” A photo notification popped up on my screen. It was a selfie from Ethan. He looked like he’d just showered, his expression lazy, a hint of abs visible below the towel slung around his neck. A new text followed. “And for the record, I have a personal curfew. I have to be home by ten.” His next message felt pointed. “I’m not like other people. If I had a girlfriend, I’d actually listen to her.” 2 “I’m sorry,” I texted back, then quickly turned off my phone, my face burning with embarrassment. The mix-up was so awkward that I completely forgot to call Noah a third time. When Noah came home the next day, his face was a thundercloud. I asked if he wanted breakfast. He ignored me, treating me like I was part of the furniture. The cold war lasted for a whole week, right up until a college reunion dinner. At the table, Noah and I sat at opposite ends. The couple that was usually inseparable now looked like strangers. Chloe, Noah’s childhood sweetheart, leaned intimately against his shoulder and giggled. “Noah, fighting with your girlfriend again? You’re a grown man, don’t be so petty with her.” Chloe. In the days before me, she had also been Noah’s on-again, off-again girlfriend. They had a messy history that spanned years before they finally settled into being “just friends.” We had fought about Chloe more times than I could count, but Noah always dismissed my concerns with an impatient wave. “We tried, it didn’t work. If we were meant to be, would you even be in the picture?” His friends would laugh and tell me I was overthinking it. “You’re the first girl Noah’s ever talked about marrying. For a player like him to settle down for you? That’s love, right there.” Watching them now, whispering and laughing together without a care in the world, I had to take a deep breath and tell myself it was just normal friendly interaction. When the food arrived, the main dish placed in front of me was a pineapple fried rice. Chloe gasped, as if she’d just remembered. “Oh, I completely forgot your girlfriend is allergic to pineapple! Noah, why didn’t you remind me?” She made a show of offering me her seafood risotto, her voice laced with reluctance. “The waiter said this was the last portion. Oh well… since your girlfriend loves it so much, she can have it.” Her words painted me as some kind of tyrant, snatching the last plate of food from a starving child. It was just risotto, for God’s sake. I was about to refuse when Noah cut me off. “You eat yours. She doesn’t need it. Who does she think she is, anyway?” A sudden hush fell over the table. Chloe tugged on Noah’s sleeve, her brow furrowed as she chided him softly. “What are you doing? Just let her have it. It’s no big deal, I can eat the pineapple rice.” Noah didn’t budge. His voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. “What girlfriend? We’re not married. And even if we were, people get divorced. We’re just dating.” One of his friends chimed in, half-joking, “Whoa, what’s this? You thinking of breaking up, Noah?” Noah’s immediate reply was defensive. “No.” The friend smirked, his tone deceptively casual. “That’s what I thought. Ava has you on such a short leash, you have to report in every time you have a drink. You might give her the silent treatment to throw a little tantrum, but you’d never actually dare to break up with her.” The taunt hit its mark. Noah’s face flushed with anger. “Who says I wouldn’t? I’ll do it right now…” The words “break up” were on the tip of his tongue, but he stopped short, changing course mid-sentence. “But I’m not going to stoop to her level. Ava’s petty, but we’ve been together for a while. I’ll give her one last chance to apologize.” A flicker of disappointment crossed the friend’s eyes, but Noah didn’t see it. Chloe linked her arm through Noah’s, her voice playful. “Well, if you do break up, you can always date me again. Don’t let some outsider get the prize.” Noah’s lips curved into a smirk as he ruffled her hair. His gaze swept over to me, cold and dismissive. “Of course. Some people are just too much drama. You’ve always been the easy one.” 3 Everyone left. I was the only one left stranded on the curb. The restaurant was in a remote part of town. Getting a cab here had been easy; getting one back was proving to be a nightmare. Noah had refused to give me a ride and had actively stopped anyone else from offering. The text feed flickered back into existence. 【She’s so dumb. All she had to do was say something nice and he would’ve kicked the childhood sweetheart out of the car and driven her home himself.】 【He’s just stubborn, still pissed about the other night at the bar. If she had just called him that third time, he would’ve come home. He waited at the bar all night, fuming. It was her fault to begin with, why can’t she just suck it up and apologize?】 【He’s actually still driving around the area. He knows this place is sketchy and he’s worried something might happen to her. He does love her.】 【Oh my god, this protagonist is so annoying. Why can’t she just give in? Is saying sorry that hard?】 I pulled out my phone, my thumb hovering over Noah’s contact. I knew if I called, he’d probably turn the car around in a heartbeat. But my fingers wouldn’t move. I put the phone away. I couldn’t help it. I crouched down by the side of the road and started to cry. I didn’t understand what I had done so wrong. Noah was always like this, using the silent treatment again and again to force me to be the one to surrender. I used to think it was just his personality. But it wasn’t. I’d seen him, more than once, coaxing and soothing Chloe with a gentle voice when she was upset. He had patience and tenderness; he just never gave them to me. Every time he got angry, he would dangle the threat of a breakup over my head. He did it because he knew I would always be the one to back down. But this time, he was wrong. I walked for an hour before I finally found a cab. I was so exhausted I could barely stand. But I never made that call to Noah. 4 When I got back, I started packing. I moved my things out of our apartment. For the next three days, I didn’t send Noah a single text. Then, for the first time in a long while, he called me. “Hey. Wear something nice tonight. You’re coming with me to a gala.” His tone was as stiff as a board, but for Noah, this was the equivalent of extending an olive branch. But I refused. “I’m not going. Find someone else.” There was a stunned silence on the other end. “Find someone else?” Noah’s voice was laced with disbelief. “Everyone’s bringing their girlfriend. Who am I supposed to bring?” “Anyone,” I said. “Chloe, or whatever other girl is around.” “Ava, how many times do we have to go over this? We’re just friends. Are you seriously going to bring up old shit again? Is that all you know how to do?” “You’re the one who said you’d get back with her if we broke up. Do you need me to repeat your exact words back to you?” His breathing on the other end became heavy, ragged with fury. “Fine. Then we’re done. Let’s see who comes crawling back like a dog, begging for a second chance.” Noah was confident. Our friends didn’t know that we had broken up once before. He had never mentioned it, as if always leaving himself an escape route. For him, the words “let’s break up” were just code for: “I’m mad. You need to fix it. Once you’ve begged enough, we can get back together.” But one person can only be the first to apologize so many times. No matter how much love there is, it starts to feel like a burden. “Fine. Let’s break up,” I said. Maybe it was the night at the bar, or maybe it started long before that, but I was just tired. I finally understood that in Noah’s world, my concern was being controlling. My calls were an embarrassment. My love was a cage. If that’s how he saw it, then I would let him go. Here’s your freedom, Noah. 5 After Noah and I officially broke up, the text feed went wild. 【Wait, I haven’t checked in for a few days, how did they break up?】 【Ugh, it was definitely his toxic ‘friends’ again. They can’t stand to see anyone happy just because they’re single.】 【Watch him step out from under his friends’ umbrella only to realize it isn’t even raining. LMAO.】 【Keep it up. The second he actually breaks up with her, his ‘buddies’ will be lining up to take his place.】 【Come on, girl, get it together. If he can run around with his childhood sweetheart, you can find yourself a hot younger guy. Why should guys have all the fun?】 To say I wasn’t hurting would be a lie. A multi-year relationship doesn’t just vanish overnight. But I couldn’t let myself spiral. I had my own life to live. I didn’t believe a word the comments were saying about his friends. They had always treated me poorly, warning me in hushed tones that I wasn’t good enough for Noah, pressuring me to leave him. The worst was Ethan. He once cornered me against a wall, demanding to know what I saw in Noah. I thought he was just being an overprotective friend, so I said the most obnoxious thing I could think of. “His money. I have a thing for rich guys.” From that day on, Ethan started wearing a different luxury watch—sometimes multiple—on his wrist every day. I thought he was trying to mock me, so I sniped at him, calling him a peacock. I asked if his family had gone bankrupt and he’d been forced to become a watch model. He was so pissed that he showed up the next day with a bare wrist. But now, reading the comments, I hesitated. As a test, I posted a story on my Instagram: a simple text post on a black background. 【Officially single. Here’s to new beginnings.】 It was two in the morning. I didn’t think anyone would see it. The next second, my phone started vibrating nonstop. It was an avalanche of likes. The names were all familiar—people who had never once interacted with my posts before. It was Noah’s entire circle of friends. I refreshed my feed, and a new post popped up at the top. It had been posted one minute ago. It was from Ethan. Ethan: 24, 6’3″, grad degree, no childhood sweetheart baggage, 10 p.m. curfew, dislikes arguments and the silent treatment, a good listener. Currently single and available. I thought about the comment telling me to find a hot younger guy. I tapped on Ethan’s profile and sent a message. Me: 【Hi.】 He replied instantly. Ethan: 【Yes. I’ll post that we’re official right now.】 Me: 【?】 Me: 【But I wasn’t asking you out.】

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When I found out my wife’s family group chat didn’t include me, but did include our male neighbor, I told her I wanted a divorce. She was giving our daughter a bath at the time and just laughed. “Your daddy’s getting so sensitive in his old age,” she said to our little girl. “Wants to throw his family away over a group chat!” She thought I was just jealous. She had no idea I’d already bought a one-way ticket for a job overseas. For ten years, I’d been the perfect, selfless husband. I was more of a shadow in Chloe’s life than a person, my own needs and desires completely erased. But not anymore. I was done. Soon, it wouldn’t just be the family group chat that I wasn’t in. It would be the family itself. 1 “It’s just an old stock trading group, Mark,” Chloe explained, her voice tight with forced patience. “Noah added me to it ages ago. I knew you were busy with work and don’t care about stocks, so I didn’t mention it. I didn’t want to bother you.” Today was my mother-in-law’s birthday. I’d taken the afternoon off to cook her favorite meal, a whole spread of dishes that took me hours. But as the sun went down, no one came home. I called Chloe. She answered, already angry. “Mom sent a message to the family chat,” she snapped. “She said we were going out to eat. Even Noah saw it. How could you miss it?” I felt a familiar pang of guilt and self-blame. I opened my messaging app, refreshing it again and again. But the last message in our family group was from six months ago. It was from my mother-in-law, tearing into me for booking a cruise for my own parents. [Michael, you need to remember you’re a married man with a wife and child to support. Your money, even if your parents aren’t spending it, should be ours. You need to ask me, your father-in-law, and your sister-in-law if we need anything. And if we don’t, you should be saving it. Your parents have no right to your money anymore.] I closed the app, about to ask her where she’d sent the message, when I heard my daughter’s voice in the background. “Mommy, can Uncle Noah be my daddy for tonight? I don’t want Daddy here. He’ll just tell me I can’t have any cake.” The words I was about to say died in my throat. I looked at the family portrait on the living room wall. Last week, our daughter had proudly taped a picture of Noah right over my face. Suddenly, a profound weariness washed over me. For this family, for these people, I had only one thought left. “Forget it.” 2 Noah is our neighbor. He’s also one of Chloe’s most important clients. Before he moved in across the hall, I only knew his name from Chloe’s constant complaints. “This guy needs to get a life. He spends all day torturing us.” “He’s the king of passing the buck. He should have been a chef.” Back then, Noah was a monster in her stories. Then he moved in. He asked if he could carpool with Chloe to work. She was hesitant, but I encouraged her. He was a client, after all. I never thought twice about it. Until one night, we were at a party with friends. I mentioned the carpool situation, and Chloe, after a couple of glasses of wine, slammed her hand on the table and slurred, “You spend all day in the kitchen. You’re just a junior accountant in your thirties. What the hell do you know about a man like Noah?” “Chloe! How can you say that?” one of our friends fired back, indignant on my behalf. “If you hadn’t forced Michael to quit his job to be a stay-at-home dad, he’d probably be a vice president by now!” Chloe just scoffed. In that moment, I knew. There was someone else in her heart. She apologized profusely afterward, blaming it on the wine. My friends told me to let it go. “You and Chloe have been together forever. She loves you. You have a daughter. Are you really going to let some other guy walk in and take your family?” I turned off the shower, my friend’s words echoing in my head. As I reached for the bathroom door, I heard a low laugh from the bedroom. “I have to say, Michael’s a lucky guy,” a man’s voice said. “Beautiful, successful wife, adorable daughter. And all that free time… must be nice for a grown man to have so much time to let his mind wander.” “He’s even got time to worry about a lonely old bachelor like me.” The voice was crystal clear. It could only mean one thing. Noah was in my house. In my bedroom. Talking to my wife. I glanced at my phone. It was 11:30 PM. “Uncle Noah, can I come over and play video games tonight?” my daughter chirped. “I don’t like it when Daddy says mean things about you!” “No,” Chloe cut in sharply. “Uncle Noah has a big presentation tomorrow. He needs his rest. Do you want Uncle Noah to be tired, or do you want Daddy to be tired?” Disappointment coiled in my gut. I didn’t want to cry, but after hearing my daughter’s words, I couldn’t stop the tears. I wiped my eyes with a towel before quietly opening the door. Chloe was on our bed in a low-cut lace nightgown, reading our daughter a story. Noah was sitting across from them, smiling fondly. The three of them looked like a perfect, happy family. I was the intruder. When I stepped into the room, Noah jumped up, looking flustered. “Oh, Michael, sorry. I just came over to explain a few things, and Lily asked for a story, so I…” “Don’t worry about it,” I said, my voice flat. “I should be thanking you for the new sheets and pajamas. They look great on my wife.” Last week, Chloe had come home with a new bedding set. The gray and white pattern surprised me; she always preferred bright colors. She said it was a sample from a client, so I didn’t think much of it and gave it to my sister. When Chloe got home and found it missing, she flew into a rage. She made me drive to my sister’s house at 2 AM to get it back and put it on our bed right then and there. I didn’t understand why it was so important. Until now, seeing Noah standing there in matching gray and white pajamas. The smug, triumphant look in his eyes was unmistakable, though his voice was thick with fake sincerity. “Michael, you’ve got it all wrong. I just felt bad for always bumming rides, so I wanted to get you both a little something.” At the sight of Noah apologizing, Chloe and my daughter turned on me. “He’s my client, Michael! How am I supposed to work if you’re going to be like this?” “I hate Daddy! I want Uncle Noah!” my daughter shrieked. I looked at the two most important people in my life and gave a bitter, defeated shake of my head. “Chloe,” I said quietly, “let’s just forget it.” 4 I loved Chloe so much that for ten years, I never dared to say no to her. She knew it, and she used it. Whenever her mother was being particularly cruel, Chloe would just say, “Are you trying to start a fight with my mom? Do you not want to be married to me anymore?” and I would immediately back down, apologizing. I never threatened to leave. But tonight, I’d mentioned divorce twice. She must have sensed something was different. Her tone softened. “I know this all looks bad, but you’re really overthinking it. Let me just walk Noah home, and we can talk when I get back.” She and my daughter rushed out. Ten minutes later, I got a text. [Noah tripped on his way home. Lily and I are taking him to the hospital.] [Michael, don’t be mad. I promise I’ll explain everything when I get back.] It was followed by a picture of a leg with a tiny scrape, the kind you’d get from a mosquito bite. As I was looking at the photo, a new message popped up in that other family chat, the one I wasn’t in, broadcast from my daughter’s GPS watch. It was my mother-in-law. [You two just stay there with Noah tonight. I’d like to see that pathetic loser Michael try to run this family.] Noah replied a moment later. [Thanks, Mom.] I put the watch down and started packing. My flight was in ten days. I needed to get my things to my parents’ house and file for divorce. We had almost no shared assets. Years ago, my mother-in-law, paranoid that I was after their money, had forced me to sign everything over to Chloe. Even the TV and the refrigerator were legally in her name. It meant that even though she was the one cheating, a divorce would leave me with nothing. I didn’t have much. By dawn, I had packed up my entire life into four suitcases. A decade of marriage, gone. It was pathetic. As I loaded the last box into my car, Chloe pulled up, carrying two large bags of takeout breakfast. She didn’t see me at first. She was on the phone, laughing. “Did I wake you? After how hard you worked last night, the least I could do was get you some breakfast.” “I’m not tired,” a man’s voice replied. “I’m your man, after all.” As she was about to enter our building, she looked up and saw me. The smile froze on her face. 5 Chloe and I met in college. We were broke. To save for a down payment on a house, I worked nights after my classes. She would wake up early to buy me breakfast, wait for me at the bus stop when I got off my shift, and tell me to go back to sleep. On New Year’s Eve, she lied to her mother, said she had to work, just so she could eat takeout with me in our tiny, rented room. All the things she was doing for Noah now. Seeing her do them for another man, my chest physically ached. “Michael, where are you going?” she asked, her voice tight with panic as she hung up the phone. She tried to cross the street to get to me, but the usually quiet road was suddenly filled with a steady stream of cars, a physical barrier between us. Her call came through a moment later. “I have to go on a business trip,” I said. Hearing that I wasn’t bringing up anything else, she let out a sigh of relief. “Okay, honey. I’m sorry about last night. I promise, when you get back, I’ll make it up to you. Lily and I will pick you up from the airport.” “Okay, Chloe. I’m going.” “Take care of yourself.” “Goodbye.” I hung up. She stood on the other side of the street, a flicker of unease on her face. If she had looked a little closer, if she had thought for just one second, she would have realized. Who takes a moving van on a business trip? But she didn’t. The panic passed, and she hurried back to Noah’s apartment. “Is Chloe insane? She spent years complaining about this guy, and now she’s sleeping with him?” “You can’t let this go, Mike! They’ve treated you like dirt for years! They control all the money, make you do all the work… they even had the damn floorboards notarized in her name! It’s ridiculous!” My two best friends were ready to go over there and start a war on my behalf, but I stopped them. I’d just received two text messages that changed everything. “It’s okay,” I told them. “A direct confrontation is too easy. I have a little surprise planned for them.” 6 Two hours after I left, Noah officially moved into my bedroom. My mother-in-law was thrilled, even helping him unpack. “Whoever marries Noah is the luckiest woman in the world,” she gushed. “He’s successful, and so generous! Not like some other useless people I know.” My daughter was just as excited. “From now on, Uncle Noah can be my daddy. He doesn’t nag, and he’s nicer to me.” Noah gave Chloe a suggestive look. “I’m not the marrying type,” he said smoothly. “But being here with you two… this is all I need. I’m happy.” Chloe and her mother exchanged delighted glances. The three of them sat down to a cheerful breakfast. For the next few days, my mother-in-law cooked all of Noah’s favorite dishes. In the ten years I was married to Chloe, she never once set foot in the kitchen. Even when I was sick with a fever, she made me get up and cook. At night, the woman who always claimed she was too tired to watch her own granddaughter now happily took her for the night. “You two have had a long day,” she’d say. “You need your rest.” I watched the steamy footage from the hidden cameras I’d set up and had to laugh. I remembered asking if Chloe and I could have just one night to ourselves. My mother-in-law had sent me a novel-length text about what a deadbeat father I was. It seemed everything in that house could change, just not for me. Three days went by. Chloe didn’t notice that all my clothes were gone, or that my side of the bathroom counter was now covered in Noah’s things. This morning, after getting ready, she sent me a text. [Honey, what time does your flight land today? I’ll come get you.] As she was about to close the app, she realized I hadn’t sent a single message since I’d left. A sense of unease crept in. Just then, our daughter ran in. “Mommy, I can’t find my watch! I haven’t seen it for days!” Chloe remembered that I was the one who charged Lily’s watch every night. “Did you wear it to Uncle Noah’s that night?” 7 Lily shook her head. “It’s been missing since then.” Something clicked in Chloe’s mind. She started frantically searching the closets, the shoe rack. But all she found were Noah’s things. Mine were gone. She was about to call me when her own phone rang. “Chloe, you need to get to the office right now. There’s a huge problem with the project!” As she hung up, Noah’s phone rang. “Get all the project files and financial records and be in the main conference room in thirty minutes.” Noah felt a twitch in his eye but didn’t think much of it. “See, Chloe? Your new assistant is useless. She must have messed something up. We have to fire her after this meeting.” Chloe, still preoccupied, just mumbled in agreement. When they walked into the conference room together, they found the bosses from both their companies waiting for them. The look on their faces was thunderous. Noah’s boss turned to Chloe’s young assistant. “Everyone’s here. You can present your findings now.” Chloe looked at the girl, whose eyes were red from crying. “Ashley? What’s going on?” The young woman didn’t say a word. She just clicked the mouse. The large screen at the front of the room lit up with a live feed from the camera in my bedroom. Noah’s voice filled the room. “So, Chloe… who’s better in bed? Me, or your husband? You keep me happy, and I’ll make sure you get the next few contracts.”

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When our R&D Director Marcus Vance publicly accused me—again—of trapping him as a “baby daddy,” I didn’t argue. I calmly rejected his purchase order, stating “department funds exhausted.” He stormed over. “The budget was just approved! Where’s the money, Reed?” I ignored him, approving an operations team order right in front of him while rejecting his again. Furious, he dragged our boss Henderson into it. “She’s sabotaging a million-dollar project! If she stays, I quit!” Amid the tension, I pulled out my resignation letter. Marcus grinned triumphantly. Then I handed Henderson a stack of R&D project quotes. His smile vanished. He went pale. … Maybe he thought my silent defiance was a direct challenge to his authority. Marcus snatched the documents from my hand and flung them into the air. Papers fluttered down around me like dead leaves. The office fell dead silent. Every eye was on me, a chorus of whispers rising from the cubicles. “Did your ex-husband take your brain with him when he left?” Marcus sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. “You dare to reject my purchase order?” He leaned against my desk, a smug thug, tapping his index finger on the surface. Tap. Tap. Tap. “Let me ask you something,” he said, raising his voice so everyone could hear. “The new budget just came in, and you’re telling me it’s gone? I wonder if someone’s been using company funds to buy baby formula.” I didn’t react, didn’t even look at him. I calmly bent down to pick up the scattered papers, even the one he was stepping on. “The R&D department’s discretionary fund has, in fact, been depleted,” I said, my voice even. “I can’t process the payment. If it’s urgent, you can seek special approval from senior management.” My calm response seemed to throw him off. He shot a glare at the gawking colleagues around us, his tone shifting to a low threat. “It’s Jenna, right? I’m giving you one last chance. Think very carefully before you speak.” I slowly rose to my feet and offered a faint smile. “It’s Ms. Reed, Marcus. And you can give me a thousand chances. The answer will still be the same. No funds, no approval.” He clearly hadn’t expected me to push back so directly. His face contorted with fury, and he pointed a finger right at my nose. “Who the hell do you think you are? You’re just a glorified shopper, and now you’re on a power trip!” he bellowed. “The company allocates a hundred thousand dollars to my department every month! It was just deposited ten minutes ago! And you’re telling me it’s gone? Do your damn job or get the hell out!” His voice escalated into a full-blown roar. My colleagues shrank in their seats, not daring to breathe. I remained silent through his tirade. I simply turned and accepted a new purchase order from the Admin department. Right there, in front of him, I submitted it for payment. Less than three minutes later, the confirmation receipt from Finance pinged in my inbox. That single action sent Marcus over the edge. “Jenna, what the hell is your problem?” he shrieked. “You just said there was no money! How can you approve Admin’s request but not mine?” He stepped closer, invading my personal space. “I work my ass off day and night for this company’s products! What are you? A nobody with a little bit of power, using it to screw me over. You better give me a damn good explanation, or I swear to God, you’ll regret this.” Seeing him about to explode, a few of his sycophantic underlings scurried over to play peacemaker. “Easy, Marcus. Don’t let her get to you,” one of them said with a sneer in my direction. “You know what they say—’mommy brain’ is a real thing. Don’t waste your energy on someone like that.” A few others, people I’d once considered friendly, chimed in. “Some people just can’t handle their own miserable lives. Divorced with a kid, so they think the whole world owes them.” “Seriously. Does she think she’s eighteen again, looking for a meal ticket?” “Yeah, well, her personal vendetta is going to screw us all. If this project gets delayed, I can’t even pay my rent…” I quietly organized the papers I’d picked up, my fingers tapping away on my calculator. Click, click, clack. When the final number was entered, I looked up at Marcus, my voice still perfectly level. “Marcus, the items on the Admin department’s order were all priced below market average. Furthermore, they were using their own unspent budget rolled over from last month. Per company policy, their request was eligible for immediate approval.” I held up his signed purchase order. “Your department’s request, on the other hand, is not only marked up by eighty percent, but your budget was already in the red from last month. Therefore,” I delivered the final blow, “all procurement requests from your department will be rejected. Not just for this month, but for the entire quarter.” The quiet hum of the office was suddenly replaced by the frantic clatter of keyboards as every single person who had been watching the drama pretended to be absorbed in their work. No one could believe it. Me—a divorced new mom with no connections, no seniority—had just openly defied the untouchable Director of R&D. Everyone knew Marcus was the boss’s golden boy. He answered to no one but Mr. Henderson and treated every other department like his personal fiefdom. He never imagined he’d be publicly humiliated by a junior employee in the middle of her lactation period—an employee whose name he could barely remember. He glared at me, his eyes filled with venom, before storming off. The door to his corner office slammed with a thunderous crack that echoed through the entire floor. Down below, my coworkers exchanged uneasy glances. A few colleagues who had also been bullied by Marcus in the past sent me private messages, urging me to apologize. Jobs are hard to find… You have a child to think about… Just smooth it over. Apologize? For what? It’s true that I got divorced while on maternity leave. It’s also true that I was transferred to the procurement department just two months ago when I returned to work. But from the moment I took over purchasing for R&D, I realized their books were a complete disaster. At first, they took advantage of my inexperience, sneaking everything from toilet paper for their department bathroom to personal snacks onto their purchase orders. I was the one who got chewed out for it. Then, they started using the excuse of “urgent project needs” to get me to pay for things out of my own pocket. It began with a friendly, manipulative tone. “Jenna, this project is critical, we’re just missing this one component. Could you please just front the money for it? I’ll sign off on the expense report next month, and you’ll get it back from the R&D budget. I promise.” I was soft-hearted. I believed him. I mean, why would a high-level director go out of his way to cheat a single mom with a new baby? But when I brought him the receipts for reimbursement, he acted like he had no idea what I was talking about. After that happened a few times, I saw him for who he really was. When his team tried to get me to front money again, I refused flat out. That’s when he started using my performance reviews to threaten me. “Jenna, raising a kid on your own must be tough financially,” he’d say with a fake smile. “Just keep up the good work, and I’ll put in a good word for you with Mr. Henderson. Promotion, raise, you name it. But if the project gets delayed… well, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Pay for what needs to be paid for. You’ll get every penny back when the project funds come through.” He talked a good game, but he still owed me for a three-hundred-dollar consumable he’d promised to reimburse months ago. Just yesterday, when I approached him again about signing my expense form, he didn’t just yell at me in front of the entire office—he twisted the story and accused me of trying to seduce him. “You were the one who was so eager to pay for me, weren’t you?” he’d sneered. “I thought your intentions were suspicious from the start, but I let it slide for the sake of the project. But you? You’re always looking for a shortcut. If you put half the energy you spend chasing me over a few hundred bucks into your work, maybe you wouldn’t be a divorced mother right now.” I trembled with a rage so pure it felt like ice in my veins. I couldn’t believe a man in his position could be so shamelessly vile. To date, I had fronted over a thousand dollars for the R&D department, much of it on my credit card. Meanwhile, because he’d had me transferred, my salary had been cut in half when I returned from leave. I was struggling to support my parents and my baby. The formula was almost gone. My mortgage was three months overdue. If I didn’t get that money back, my family would be out on the street. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I spent all night digging through historical purchasing contracts, compiling a detailed list of every procurement Marcus had overseen. What I found was staggering. Underneath the veneer of legitimate contracts and invoices was a cesspool of massively inflated prices. Worse, many of the specified high-grade materials had been swapped out for cheap substitutes. I cross-referenced the purchase orders with the actual delivery inspection reports. The rot in this R&D project went far deeper than I could have ever imagined. Marcus thought I was just some clueless new mom he could walk all over. He even started a rumor that I was obsessed with him, that I was using the reimbursements as an excuse to harass him after he’d rejected my advances. That’s why this morning, he didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for the money he owed me. He felt entitled. Arrogant. From his office, I could hear his booming voice, a mix of furious rant and whiny complaints to Mr. Henderson. Everyone was whispering, waiting for the show to begin. But I was waiting, too. Waiting for Marcus to push it too far. Waiting for him to play with fire and burn his whole world to the ground. His obsequious, ass-kissing voice drifted down from the office. Everyone knew how this would end. It was an open-and-shut case. Marcus would win, effortlessly. The atmosphere in the office began to shift. The colleague who used to eat lunch with me suddenly had to “work overtime” when I invited her, but I later saw her laughing with the new intern from R&D in the cafeteria. At lunchtime, I always ended up at the back of the line. Just as it was my turn, a group of R&D engineers would cut in front of me. “Must be nice to just clock out for lunch,” one would say loudly. “Unlike us workhorses who have to fight for every second.” “Leave her alone,” another would add with a smirk. “She’s got to breastfeed. If she doesn’t eat on time, the milk will dry up!” Then they would all look at my chest and erupt in loud, vulgar laughter. I’d clench my jaw and say nothing. By the time I finally got to the front, there was nothing left but scraps and watery soup. As soon as I sat down, the cleaning lady would come over and start aggressively wiping my table with a greasy rag, right next to my plate, huffing with disdain. This was just the beginning of Marcus’s campaign. When I returned to my desk, it was buried under a mountain of purchase requests, both urgent and trivial. The intern stood there, holding another thick pile of files, an arrogant look on her face. “Jenna, Marcus said he needs a full report on the supplier qualifications for all products purchased in the last three years. He needs it by the end of the day for a presentation tomorrow.” The whispers and snickers from the surrounding desks followed me. Day after day, the verbal abuse didn’t stop. My silence only seemed to encourage them. Within a week, I’d gone from “the divorced mom” to “the desperate office slut who throws herself at any man who looks her way.” They started openly commenting on my body. “How can she eat that much? Does she think she’s a sow for milking?” “You don’t get it. It’s an excuse to slack off. She goes to the pumping room, locks the door, and disappears for half the day. Who knows what she’s really doing in there?” “Look at those two sad, deflated sacks on her chest. No wonder her husband left her. It’s enough to make you sick.” It didn’t stop there. Trash—fruit peels and crumpled paper—started appearing on my desk. In the wide hallway, people would “accidentally” bump into me, hard. I was called into more and more pointless meetings about my work, with other departments making increasingly bizarre and impossible demands. My desk phone, with its dedicated extension, started ringing with obscene calls. “Fifty bucks an hour. You available?” Marcus thought he could break me, force me to quit. But I played deaf and dumb. The more he harassed me, the more flawlessly I did my job. And the calmer I remained, the more furious he became. Finally, after another week passed and he still hadn’t received my resignation, he snapped. Mr. Henderson returned from his business trip. Not five minutes later, Marcus was scurrying into his office, laptop in hand. The storm was about to break. Sure enough, half an hour later, Marcus emerged from the office like a preening rooster that had just won a cockfight. He announced an emergency, all-hands-on-deck meeting. I was at the front desk picking up a package of supplier invoices and missed the announcement. By the time I arrived, every single person in the conference room was staring at me. Before Mr. Henderson could even speak, Marcus launched his attack. “See, Mr. Henderson? It’s bad enough that she intentionally slows down all of our R&D work, but now she can’t even be bothered to show up to your meetings on time. The company’s generous policies for female employees? She’s exploiting every single one of them to slack off!” Mr. Henderson, fiddling with a string of wooden beads, frowned deeply. “Jenna Reed, is it?” His voice was low but heavy with anger. I didn’t answer. “Why is it that every simple purchase for the R&D department becomes a major drama the second it crosses your desk?” he demanded. “Our key projects are stalled because you can’t get them the materials they need. Our top engineers are threatening to quit because they aren’t getting their project bonuses! This market is a battlefield! Every day you delay is another day you’re handing an advantage to our competitors!” He slammed the string of beads onto the table. They scattered, clattering across the polished wood and onto the floor with a deafening rattle. “This company pays you for eight hours a day. Have I ever shorted any of you on your paychecks?” he roared. “Our frontline teams are bleeding to win us this market share, and you’re going to throw it all away because of some internal ‘procedure’ or ‘budget limit’? Are you all fresh out of grade school? Do I really need to spell this out?” He never said my name, but every word was a bullet aimed directly at me. Across the table, Marcus was on his knees, piously picking up the scattered beads, shooting me a look of pure, malicious triumph. I suddenly felt so tired. This company, so rotten from the inside that its leaders couldn’t see the truth. The “hard-working frontline engineers” he was defending had already hollowed it out like termites. And I, the one holding the line, was getting screamed at. Fine. I let out a long, quiet sigh and answered calmly. “Understood, Mr. Henderson. I know what to do now.” My compliance seemed to please him. His tone softened slightly. “It’s good for young people to be driven. You should learn from Marcus here. Be more tactful in how you handle things.” I nodded numbly and turned to leave. The long-running drama, a performance I had endured for weeks, was finally reaching its curtain call. But then, Marcus’s voice stopped me. “Wait! For the damage you’ve caused our team, I demand that you publicly apologize to us. Now.” “Apologize?” For a second, I thought I’d misheard. But then I saw Mr. Henderson give a subtle, permissive nod. The room erupted in a low buzz of whispers, contempt, and ridicule that washed over me like a tidal wave. The people who had bullied me, isolated me, insulted me, and spread disgusting rumors about me were now demanding an apology. From me. I clenched my fists so tight my nails dug into my palms, forcing myself to stay calm. Seeing my hesitation, Marcus put on a show of being deeply wounded. “Mr. Henderson, just because I didn’t want to be a father to her child, she sabotages my work. Is it too much to ask for an apology? I’m being magnanimous here, letting it go with just an apology, but look at her attitude!” He puffed out his chest, delivering the ultimatum. “I’m putting it all on the line. She apologizes right now, or either she walks, or I walk!” In the tense silence that followed, I stepped forward and placed the resignation letter I had prepared on the conference table. Marcus broke into a triumphant smirk. But when I immediately followed it with a thick stack of R&D project quotes for Mr. Henderson, the smirk vanished. His face went pale.

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My family decrees that the heir must wed a woman of beauty and strength. In my last life, I chose Isabelle Thorne—New York’s radiant darling. She promised me everything, yet five months into our engagement, she locked me in a dog cage, forcing me to watch her with Julian Reed. “You owe him this,” she spat. “His shattered leg, his dead parents—it’s your fault.” Within days, my sister jumped to her death, my father was imprisoned, and Isabelle took over my empire. I died on the ninth day, hearing her laugh as she handed my fortune to Julian. Reborn at the ceremony, I bypassed Isabelle and chose Seraphina Vance—the disfigured “madwoman” everyone feared. Later, it was Isabelle who knelt madly before that same cage, beating her head against the bars. 1 Before a lavish, long table, a dozen men in bespoke suits sat in stern silence. The elders of our Circle. My father, at the head of the table, gave me a warm, encouraging smile. “Asher, it’s time to choose. These uncles and family friends are all eager to see you settled.” On the table lay an array of ivory tokens, each engraved with the name of a daughter from a prominent family. Only one token, tucked away in a corner, looked as if it had never been touched, its ivory yellowed with neglect. My gaze fell upon it. Seraphina Vance. The name was a curse whispered in the gilded halls of the city’s elite. The madwoman. The pariah. Rumor had it she’d set the fire that killed her mother, a blaze that had left her scarred and her left leg permanently damaged. The Vance family hadn’t even sent a proper elder, just a distant cousin to represent her name in the selection. But I remembered. I remembered being trapped in that cage, the sycophantic smiles of these same men turning to cold amusement as they snapped photos of my humiliation. Only Seraphina, in the final moments before I died, had slipped through the guards. She had brought a clean handkerchief and gently wiped the blood and grime from my face. My hand shot out, my fingers closing around the faded token without a hint of hesitation. The room fell into a dead, suffocating silence. My father’s face paled. “Asher! You—” “I choose her,” I said, my voice cutting through the quiet like steel. My father stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief, before collapsing back into his chair with a heavy sigh. “Fine! But if she ever dares to harm a single hair on your head…” He didn’t need to finish. Everyone in that room understood the weight of his unspoken threat. As I left the hall, I ran straight into Isabelle and Julian. Julian’s eyes were red-rimmed, his shoulders trembling as if he were bearing the weight of the world. “Asher,” he choked out, his voice thick with unshed tears. “I know you despise me, but my art studio… it was my life’s work. Why did you have to destroy it?” Isabelle’s gaze turned to ice. “Asher, did you have to be so cruel just to win my hand?” I gave them a dismissive glance. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I tried to walk past, but she grabbed my wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. “Apologize! And you will pay for every penny of damage! Otherwise, you can forget about me ever stepping foot in the Grey family mansion!” Julian quickly tugged at her arm. “Isabelle, don’t! Asher, it’s all my fault, all of it!” He looked at me, tears glistening in his eyes. “I’ll get on my knees. Just please, give me back my studio.” His performance only fueled Isabelle’s fury. “Apologize to Julian. His health is fragile—give him your private clinic. And twenty of the best nurses, a dedicated medical team, on call 24/7.” I ripped my arm from her grasp and let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Isabelle, are you delusional? You vastly overestimate your own importance.” “The token I chose… it wasn’t yours.” A flicker of something unreadable crossed Julian’s face. “What did you say?” Isabelle’s pupils contracted, then her lips twisted into a mocking smile. “Stop posturing. Are you really this jealous of the attention I give Julian?” I couldn’t be bothered to argue. I turned and walked away, a wave of relief washing over me. This time, I was free. Free from the madness of Isabelle Thorne. The next day, I went to my private art gallery, intending to select a painting as a welcoming gift for Seraphina. But when I pushed open the heavy oak doors, I froze. 2 The walls were a shrine to Julian Reed. Portraits of him in every conceivable pose: dashing and confident, brooding and melancholic, a lazy, seductive smile playing on his lips. Each canvas was meticulously framed, gleaming under the gallery lights. “Do you like them?” Isabelle’s voice was a soft caress as she stroked the painted cheek of one of the portraits. “From now on, for every birthday, I’ll give you the most special gift.” A faint blush colored the tips of Julian’s ears. “Isabelle, you’re too good to me. How can I ever repay you?” he murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips. The kiss deepened, turning desperate and hungry. I rapped my knuckles sharply on the doorframe. They sprang apart, flustered. Isabelle frowned. “What are you doing here?” “My own gallery. Do I need to report to you to enter it?” A familiar tightness gripped my chest. It was here, in this very room, that I had once signed over the keys to my family’s empire to this venomous woman. A smirk played on her lips. “Why so hostile?” She let out a derisive scoff. “Asher, haven’t you been trailing after me like a lost puppy since we were children? What is this, some new game? Playing hard to get?” “Stop pretending,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt. “You love me so much. You could never truly let me go.” “Security!” My voice was ice. “Get this trash—the paintings and the people—out of my sight!” “Don’t! Isabelle gave these to me!” Julian lunged for my arm, but the moment his fingers brushed my sleeve, he theatrically threw himself backward, stumbling into a glass coffee table. Shards of glass sliced into his calf, and blood began to well up. “Asher!” Isabelle shrieked, shoving me with all her might. I staggered back, crashing into a metal easel. A warm liquid trickled down my cheek, but I felt no pain. Isabelle grabbed a can of paint thinner from a nearby cart and hurled its contents at me. “Asher! Are you insane?” She helped a whimpering Julian to his feet and stormed out. I knelt amidst the wreckage, a sudden, horrifying thought striking me. “My mother’s painting… Spring Serenity… where is it?” A trembling gallery assistant pointed to a corner. The painting, my mother’s last gift to me, was completely defiled by streaks of crimson paint. “Mom…” I whispered, clutching the ruined canvas. Tears mixed with the blood on my face, dripping onto the canvas. Whir… whir… The soft, rhythmic sound of a wheelchair approached. I looked up. A figure sat at the edge of the light, half in shadow. A silver mask gleamed coldly, but it couldn’t hide the slight tremble of her long lashes. It was Seraphina. “Don’t be sad,” she said, her gaze flickering from the gash on my forehead before quickly looking away. “Ointment.” She held out a small, pearlescent tube. Her fingers were long and elegant, but they curled inward as my eyes met hers. “It will scar otherwise.” I stared at the tube in my hand. Of course. The Vance family was a medical dynasty, their name synonymous with healing, their corporation holding a near-monopoly on the city’s pharmaceutical industry. As I took it, her fingertips brushed mine. She flinched as if burned and snatched her hand back. “I know you were forced to choose me,” she said, her voice a low, raspy whisper. Each word was spoken slowly, deliberately. “I will have the engagement annulled. You don’t have to put yourself through this.” The wheels of her chair squeaked as she turned to leave. “Wait!” I scrambled to my feet, blocking her path. Her entire body went rigid. She averted her face, her posture screaming panic. “I’m serious,” I said, looking directly at her, willing her to see the truth in my eyes. “It was always you I chose.” Her fingers gripped the armrests of her wheelchair so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her ears flushed a deep, beautiful crimson. After a long moment, she gave a tiny, almost inaudible nod. “Okay.” 3 Seraphina sent over a trove of medicinal herbs and restorative tonics. The cut on my forehead had already scabbed over. Each time I applied the soothing balm, the image of her crimson ears would flash in my mind, warming me from the inside out. One afternoon, I was heading into a high-end boutique on Fifth Avenue when Julian’s cloying voice drifted out. “Izzy, darling, I adore all of these suits!” As he spoke, he idly fiddled with a cufflink, though his eyes kept darting toward the most expensive items in the showroom. Isabelle’s tone was pure indulgence. “If you like them, take them all. Put it on Asher’s tab.” I stepped through the door with a cold smile. Seeing me, Isabelle showed no guilt, only lifting her chin in defiance. “You hurt Julian the other day. Consider this your apology.” Suddenly, Julian’s eyes landed on the trench coat I was wearing. They lit up. “Isabelle, that coat Asher has on… I want one too.” The store manager looked uncomfortable. “My apologies, sir, but that piece is a limited edition. Mr. Grey placed his reservation for it six months ago.” Julian’s face fell instantly. “Oh, never mind then…” he sighed. “Someone like me, from a simple background… I could never deserve something so fine.” As he spoke, he subconsciously rubbed his left calf, the very spot he’d “accidentally” injured at the gallery. Isabelle’s heart melted. She turned to me, her voice now a sharp command. “Asher, your closet is overflowing. Give him the coat.” I laughed. “And why should I?” “As compensation,” she hissed under her breath. “That push you gave him at the gallery? He was in pain for two weeks.” Before I could retort, Julian let out a pained gasp. Isabelle was at his side in an instant. “What is it? Is it hurting again?” “It’s nothing…” he said weakly, shaking his head, though beads of sweat were already forming on his brow. Isabelle’s eyes hardened into daggers. “Asher. Give him the coat.” I turned to my bodyguards at the door. “Please escort these two out.” But the two men, men my father had hired, merely hesitated. “Mr. Grey, sir, you’ll be marrying Miss Thorne soon. Perhaps it’s best to just listen to her…” Before I could process their betrayal, Isabelle gave a subtle nod. In a flash, the bodyguards seized my arms, twisting them behind my back and forcing me to my knees on the cold marble floor. “Strip it off him!” Isabelle’s voice rang out from above me. The store staff froze, horrified. Isabelle scoffed. “He’s been chasing me for years. Once we’re married, what’s his is mine. Now do it.” A trembling salesman stepped forward and undid the buttons of my coat. As the fabric was torn from my shoulders, my hands clenched into fists, my knuckles turning white. Isabelle draped the coat over Julian’s shoulders. “It looks much better on you, my dear,” she cooed. Julian bit his lip. “But… won’t Asher be angry?” Isabelle pulled out her phone and, aiming it at my disheveled form, snapped several photos. “Asher, if you dare cause Julian any more trouble, I’ll make sure the whole world sees you like this.” “Isabelle,” I ground out, my voice dangerously low. “You are truly disgusting.” The memories of my past life surged, her sneering face overlapping with the one before me now. One of the staff, unable to watch any longer, quietly handed me a spare jacket. I threw it on and stormed out of the store. When my father saw my state, he shattered his teacup against the wall in a blind rage. “That Thorne girl dares to treat you this way?! I’m going to their family right now and demand an explanation!” “Dad, calm down,” I said, wiping the sweat from my brow. “I have a way to handle them. But first, let’s deal with those traitors.” A week before the wedding, I went to the cemetery alone. “Mom, I won’t make the same mistake again.” My phone buzzed. An urgent notification from my bank. My private $50 million trust fund had been completely emptied. 4 I immediately called my assistant. “Sir, someone forged your signature and transferred the entire amount!” Twenty minutes later, I stormed into Julian Reed’s newly opened studio. “Isabelle!” My voice cut through the air, silencing the entire space. “Who gave you permission to touch my trust fund?” She turned around slowly, a picture of nonchalance. “Asher, you’ve bullied Julian time and again. Consider this money an apology.” She deliberately raised her voice for all to hear. “Besides, it’ll all be community property after we’re married. Don’t be so petty.” My chest heaved. The room began to spin. Just then, a familiar glint of green on Julian’s hand caught my eye. It was my mother’s emerald signet ring, her most cherished possession, which I kept locked away in a bank vault. I grabbed Julian’s wrist. “Take that ring off.” Julian’s eyes immediately welled with tears as he scrambled to hide behind Isabelle. Isabelle sighed in annoyance. “It’s just an old ring…” “I said, take it off!” I lunged for it. In the struggle, the ring slipped from his finger, clattering against the marble floor. A hairline fracture spiderwebbed across the emerald’s surface. Crack! The sharp sound of my hand striking his face echoed in the room. Julian clutched his cheek. Isabelle, incensed, shoved me back. “Have you lost your mind?” I lifted my head, my gaze cold and hard as I stared her down. She was so taken aback by the look in my eyes that she took an involuntary step back, her voice losing its edge. “It-it’s just a ring. Why are you so angry…?” I slowly knelt, my fingers trembling as I picked up the fractured pieces. Back in my car, the veins on the hand clutching the broken ring stood out like cords. I opened my phone. The internet had exploded. #HeirStrippedInPublic The article featured the photos from the boutique: me, clothes in disarray, while Julian stood beside Isabelle, wearing my coat. The caption read: “Some things, even when stolen, will never truly belong to you.” I shut my phone off. The same words, I thought, could be said for him. Stolen things never last. The online abuse was relentless, a flood of hateful comments that cut like knives. “Asher Grey is such a doormat, letting his fiancée walk all over him!” “Look at that pathetic loser. He deserves to be treated like dirt.” My voice was terrifyingly calm when I called my assistant. “Scrub those posts from the internet. And I want that money back, every last cent. No matter the cost, no matter the means. If the bank gives you any trouble, tell them to prepare for a lawsuit. And if anyone gets in our way…” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Remind them what happens when you cross the Grey family.” On the morning of the wedding, Isabelle called. “Asher…” Her voice was laced with the same old arrogance and certainty. “You terrified Julian the other day over that silly ring. His nerves are completely shot; the doctor says he needs absolute peace and quiet!” I stood before my closet mirror, adjusting my cufflinks. My reflection smirked back at me. “So you plaster my humiliation all over the internet to soothe your little lover’s feelings?” She scoffed. “Don’t forget, your father’s mining venture still depends on my family’s connections. Who else but me can pull those strings for you?” I slowly straightened my tie, my fingers drumming a soft rhythm on the mahogany dresser. “How about this,” she said, her tone that of a queen bestowing a great favor. “Transfer fifty percent of your shares to Julian. Think of it as a pre-wedding gift to me.” She let out a light laugh. “After all, once we’re married, what’s mine is yours.” In the background, I heard Julian call out “Isabelle” affectionately. Her voice instantly softened. “I’ll be right there!” “Just agree to my terms, and I promise, I’ll be at the altar on time.” I ended the call and blocked her number. Inside the grand ballroom, a collective gasp went through the crowd as Seraphina’s wheelchair was guided down the aisle. She wore a simple, elegant silver mask, but when her eyes met mine, they curved into a breathtaking smile. BANG! The main doors were thrown open. Isabelle stormed in, wearing a magnificent white wedding gown, a triumphant smile already on her lips. But when her gaze fell upon Seraphina beside me, her face contorted into a mask of pure fury. “Asher,” she hissed, her voice trembling, “what is the meaning of this?” “Seraphina Vance!” she shrieked suddenly. “What are you doing here?” It was the question on every guest’s mind. The reclusive Seraphina Vance never attended social functions. I took a step forward, placing myself protectively in front of Seraphina’s wheelchair. Isabelle’s face turned a shade of sickly green. “Asher, today is our wedding day. Why is she here?” Julian scurried up beside her. “Asher, even if Isabelle has been spending a bit more time with me lately, you didn’t have to hire a cripple just to make her jealous, did you?” I took a deep breath. “Isabelle—” “Enough!” She lunged forward and grabbed my arm. “I am your wife-to-be! How dare you play these childish games?” I violently shook her off. At that exact moment, the officiant’s voice boomed through the hall’s sound system, clear and resolute. “Distinguished guests, we welcome you to celebrate the union of Mr. Asher Grey and Miss Seraphina Vance.”

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All the children born to Arthur Croft’s girlfriends had something wrong with them. Only the daughter from his first marriage was perfect, and he adored her for it. The son I bore him—the sweet, challenged boy I loved—was thrown to his death by that same daughter. Then, she stabbed me, her voice a venomous whisper in my ear. “So what if you had a son? He was a defective. He was never going to be a Croft.” Now, I’m back. Reborn in a moment before the end, and this time, I’ve woken up with something new. A power I’ll call the Legacy System. The System allows me to conceive with ease. More than that, it lets me choose the sex and the intelligence of my children. This time, I will give Arthur Croft a litter of brilliant, perfect sons. 1 I returned to find my son’s body on the polished marble floor. Sophie, Arthur’s daughter, stood over him, a triumphant smirk on her face. “It’s what he deserved,” she said, her voice chillingly casual. “A defective thing like that has no place here.” I collapsed, gathering my little boy into my arms, the sheer force of my hatred a physical blow. The crack of my palm against her cheek echoed in the cavernous foyer. In the life that was stolen from me, this girl, Sophie, was the one who ended me with a knife. This time, I would settle that debt. She struggled against my grip, her arrogance melting into a child’s panicked tears. “Dad, help me! This psycho is attacking me!” Arthur appeared in seconds, his tailored suit unruffed, his expression unreadable. He saw our son, lifeless in my arms, and his face showed no flicker of pain. His first instinct was for her. “Are you all right, Sophie?” Arthur is my husband. He was always kind to me, in his own distant way. I was, after all, the only woman who had ever given him a son. The fact that the boy had developmental issues, that he could never inherit the Croft empire, was a constant, unspoken tragedy between us. “What’s going on? Who is bullying my granddaughter?” His mother, Mrs. Croft, swept into the room. Seeing me on the floor, she marched over, her hand raised to strike. I caught her wrist, my grip like iron. “She killed my son. Don’t I have the right to touch her?” In my last life, I was a doormat. I absorbed every slight from Sophie, every backhanded comment from her grandmother, and said nothing. Not again. “He’s dead, so he’s dead. He was a defective,” Mrs. Croft said, her voice utterly devoid of warmth. “Sophie was just… cleaning house. Culling a useless person from the Croft line.” I looked at Arthur. He remained silent. Sophie, emboldened, jutted out her chin. “Grandma’s right. Useless things should be disposed of. I’m the future heir to the Croft legacy. I have the right to make these decisions.” She turned her angelic, deceitful face to her father. “Dad, since this woman can’t give you a smart child either, why don’t you just get rid of her?” My heart seized. I couldn’t leave. The Crofts were titans in this city, their fortune woven into its very foundations. To be cast out was to be erased, to be left with nothing. “Arthur,” I said, my voice shaking but clear. “I can give you a brilliant son.” His head snapped toward me, his eyes wide with disbelief. Even his mother paused, her cold fury replaced by a flicker of intense curiosity. Arthur had been with many women, fathered many children. All of them, save Sophie, were born with severe cognitive or physical disabilities. He’d had them all… taken care of. Quietly institutionalized and erased from the family record. He dreamed of a healthy son to carry on the family name, a tradition of male primogeniture that stretched back generations. His generation was the first to falter. But now, I had the Legacy System. Just moments ago, a voice had bloomed in my mind: [Host, you have been activated. If you use the Legacy System to bear Arthur Croft four children, your mission will be complete. You will be granted infinite wealth.] [Furthermore, you can use this system for vengeance. You may bear as many children as you desire, and you may determine their sex and level of intelligence at will.] I had agreed without a second’s hesitation. I would have my revenge, and I would complete my mission. 2. “Dad, don’t listen to her,” Sophie pleaded, rushing to his side. “How could she possibly guarantee a smart son? That’s not something you can just decide to do.” Arthur’s brief flicker of hope died. He looked at me, his expression hardening. “You already gave me a son with problems. That suggests any others would be the same.” He sighed, a gesture of finality. “But you were always the most obedient of my wives, and the only one to give me a boy at all. I’ll give you two million dollars. It’s time for you to leave.” He turned to walk away. I scrambled forward and wrapped my arms around his leg, looking up at him with every ounce of conviction I possessed. “Trust me one more time. I promise you, I can do this. If I fail, if the child isn’t perfect, you can throw me out then. It won’t be too late.” “You manipulative bitch,” Sophie spat, trying to kick me away. But Arthur stopped her. He looked down at me, his voice a low murmur. “You’re sure?” “I swear it.” My certainty caught his mother’s attention. A flame of desperate hope ignited in her eyes. “If you can actually do it,” she said slowly, “then I will finally accept you as my daughter-in-law.” Arthur was swayed. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll try.” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and tightened my grip on my son’s cooling body. Don’t worry, my love, I thought. Mommy will make them all pay. Sophie threw a tantrum. “Dad, you can’t believe her! She’s lying to you!” “Sophie,” I whispered, my voice trembling with practiced vulnerability. “I know you’ve always been afraid a brother would challenge your position as heir. Don’t worry. I would never let him compete with you.” I saw a flash of pity in Arthur’s eyes. He bent down and pulled me into his arms, then looked coldly at his daughter. “That’s enough!” he snapped. “Whether she can do it or not is not for you to decide. We will find out soon enough. And if it is a boy, and if he is healthy… he will be the Croft heir.” The color drained from Sophie’s face. She opened her mouth to argue but choked on the words, silenced by her father’s authority. I hid a smirk against Arthur’s chest. You want the inheritance so badly, Sophie? I will make sure you never see a single dime. 3. My promise to produce an heir transformed my status overnight. Arthur’s demeanor toward me softened, and he even arranged a lavish funeral for our son. At the cemetery, Sophie glared at me, her eyes burning with a hatred so intense it was almost palpable. I ignored her, tightening my grip on Arthur’s arm. In my mind, I whispered to my lost child: Rest now, my sweet boy. Mommy’s work is just beginning. “Darling,” I said to Arthur as we walked back to the car. “Let’s start trying again. Tonight.” A slow smile spread across his face. “All right, Vivi. I’ll trust you this one time. If you can really give me a high-IQ son, I’ll give you the world.” “I will,” I promised. Later that day, I found Sophie waiting for me in the rose garden. Her expression was venomous. “Don’t get too comfortable. When you fail to produce a boy, my father will throw you out so fast your head will spin. And you will fail. After all, it’s his genes that are defective.” “If his genes are defective,” I said, stepping closer until we were inches apart, “then how are you so perfect?” Panic flared in her eyes. She stammered, “I… I misspoke.” In that instant, everything clicked into place. The cold, brutal truth of it settled in my gut. Of course. That was why all of Arthur’s other children had problems. His genetics were flawed. And if Sophie was perfectly healthy… it meant she wasn’t his daughter at all. I said nothing more and walked away, leaving her flustered and exposed. That night, Arthur and I were together. I asked him about the genetic issue, and he admitted he’d been undergoing treatments for years. He believed the problem was likely resolved by now. It didn’t matter to me. Even if his genes were still a mess, the System would correct for it. Afterward, as I lay in the dark, the System’s voice echoed in my mind: [Host, a fertilized egg has implanted. You may now select its sex and intelligence level.] Without hesitation, I gave my command. Boy. High intelligence. I had already lost one son. This next one, and all the ones to follow, would have the world at their feet. They would live the life their older brother never could. 4. A month later, the test was positive. I was pregnant. Arthur was ecstatic. He lifted me up and spun me around the living room, laughing with pure, unadulterated joy. “This is it, Vivi! I love you! The Croft heir is on his way!” “I hope it’s a boy,” he murmured against my hair. “Dad, aren’t you afraid she’ll just pop out another defective one?” Sophie’s voice cut through the moment like a shard of glass. She turned to her grandmother. “Grandma, you know Dad has genetic problems. That’s a fact. So this baby of hers is guaranteed to be a defective, too!” “But if Arthur’s genes are the problem,” I asked softly, “how did you turn out so perfectly normal?” I couldn’t believe she’d be foolish enough to fall into the same trap twice. The expressions on Arthur and his mother’s faces soured as the same realization dawned on them. The air grew thick with suspicion. Just as Arthur was about to speak, his ex-wife, Eleanor, swept into the room. “The doctors explained this years ago,” she said smoothly, coming to her daughter’s rescue. “They said that even with Arthur’s condition, there’s a small chance of a child being born without any issues. Sophie was just our miracle.” She shot a sharp, warning glance at Sophie. Sophie quickly caught on. “Right! Besides, I look just like Dad. How could I not be his daughter?” She rounded on me, her voice dripping with accusation. “I see what you’re doing, Vivian. You’re trying to drive a wedge between us!” “No, I’m not,” I whispered, shrinking back into Arthur’s arms. “Arthur, you believe me, don’t you? I would never.” I knew my husband’s weakness: he had a savior complex. He was drawn to fragile women. As expected, he tightened his hold on me, his protective instincts kicking in. He glared at Eleanor and Sophie. “That’s enough. I don’t want to hear another word about my genes in front of her. I have faith that Vivi’s baby will be perfectly healthy.” But later, in the privacy of our bedroom, his confidence wavered. I saw the worry etched on his face. I wrapped my arms around his neck, my voice a soothing balm. “Don’t worry, Arthur. This child is perfect. I have a friend who’s a doctor, a specialist with cutting-edge equipment. She already ran some preliminary tests for me.” His eyes lit up. “Really?” “Of course,” I lied smoothly. “It’s a healthy baby.” Relief washed over him. He pulled me close, kissing me again and again, his eyes wet with grateful tears. He cared so much about this child. I would use that devotion to control him completely. The Croft fortune, the Croft legacy—everything would belong to my sons. The next morning, Sophie brought me a glass of milk. She was smiling, a saccharine, unsettling expression. “Aunt Vivian, I’m so sorry for how I’ve been acting. Please accept this as an apology.” I looked at the milk. Does she really think I’m that stupid? I knew it was drugged. But I smiled back at her, thanked her, and drank every last drop. Minutes later, a searing pain ripped through my abdomen. Blood streamed down my thighs. I collapsed onto the floor, screaming for help. Sophie stood over me, spitting on the floor beside my head. “There goes your precious baby,” she sneered, her voice full of laughter. “Hahaha! Let’s see how you win my father’s favor now.”

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I died on the eve of the Fourth of July, my neck sliced open by the furious father of a victim. It happened because my husband, a Deputy Chief of Detectives, decided it would be a brilliant PR move for his career to have our five-year-old daughter present a bouquet of flowers to the city’s most notorious serial killer. I fought it with every fiber of my being, and in doing so, became public enemy number one. My husband stared at me, his face a mask of disappointment. “How can you be so selfish?” My daughter screamed through her tears, “Mommy’s bad! I don’t want this mommy! I want a new mommy!” The entire internet branded me a heartless monster. Even the killer, from behind the bars of his cell, claimed that my interference was the only thing stopping him from confessing his crimes. Now, I’ve been reborn. I’m standing here again, surrounded by the blinding flash of media cameras, watching my daughter clutch a bouquet of flowers as she takes timid steps toward that blood-soaked demon. This time, I’ve melted into the crowd. This time, I’m just going to watch. 1 The first thing I did after being reborn was take a pair of nail clippers and a brush to David and Zoe. Then I went straight to a DNA lab. “I want a new mommy! I don’t want this mommy! I hate her!” My daughter’s shrieks from my past life were still ringing in my ears, but it was the two different uses of the word “mommy” that now haunted me. My husband David’s department had already formed a special task force for this case. The lead suspect would be caught soon, which meant I didn’t have much time. I paid extra for a rush job at the lab, and just before they announced the killer’s capture, I got the results. When I opened the envelope and saw the words printed on the page, my legs gave out. The strength drained from my body, and I nearly collapsed right there on the pavement. RESULTS: David Reed is confirmed as the biological father of the subject, Zoe Reed. RESULTS: Claire Sterling is conclusively excluded as the biological mother of the subject, Zoe Reed. The world tilted on its axis. David was Zoe’s father, but I… I had no biological connection to the child I had raised. No wonder Zoe’s attitude toward me had soured over the years, escalating into open defiance. They say children can’t hide their true feelings. Even if she didn’t know the words, her actions had screamed the truth all along. I stumbled out of the clinic and started to laugh, a raw, broken sound. I was such a fool. An absolute idiot. My own husband had cheated on me, swapped our child, and I never suspected a thing. During the storm of public hatred in my past life, it was Zoe’s childish voice that had delivered the final, killing blow. Her televised interview had sent my reputation spiraling into an abyss from which it never recovered. I’d questioned everything—my sanity, my judgment, my very worth as a human being—but I never once questioned my own womb. Thinking back, that sudden blackout I experienced during labor… it had to be his doing. A setup. He had swapped our real baby for this one. For years, he’d used my father’s political influence to claw his way up from a beat cop to Deputy Chief. Now that my father’s power was waning, he wanted me gone. He wanted to bring Zoe’s real mother into our home. He knew I adored Zoe, that I would die for her. So he used that love as a weapon. He orchestrated the whole flower ceremony knowing I would object. It was a win-win for him. If it worked, he’d be hailed as a compassionate genius, paving the way for his next promotion. When I inevitably intervened, he could paint me as an unhinged, hysterical woman, giving him the perfect public excuse to divorce me and play the victim. My fingers crumpled the DNA report into a tight ball. If I was a fool for meddling last time, then this time, I would respect the natural order of things. This time, I’d let fate run its course. The next morning, after an all-night manhunt, one of the lead suspects in the serial robbery-homicides, Carl Russo, was finally in custody. Just like last time, he was a brick wall. No matter how they interrogated him, no matter what evidence they presented, he just stared blankly and repeated the same line. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything.” The case had the city in a panic, and the pressure from above was immense. They had three days to crack it, or the entire task force would be demoted to street patrol. Russo’s known family were all dead. So, with time running out, Deputy Chief David Reed proposed a radical idea. The same idea as last time. They would appeal to the killer’s humanity. They would use the innocence of a child to awaken his conscience. His own daughter, Zoe, would present the killer with flowers. It would be a powerful, emotional spectacle, designed to break down the suspect’s psychological defenses. The proposal was risky, but his superiors, desperate for a breakthrough, approved it. To ensure that I, the mother, would show up at the perfect moment to create a scene, David had a “sympathetic” subordinate place an anonymous tip. In my last life, I took that call and charged onto the scene like a raging bull, screaming and shouting, destroying the ceremony in front of the entire world’s media. This time, when the same number flashed on my screen, I silenced it. I watched the screen light up and go dark, again and again. Thirty minutes before the ceremony was scheduled to begin, I “noticed” the missed calls and raced to the scene. I didn’t ram my car through the police barricades like before. I parked blocks away, slipped into the back of the crowd, and waited. In the center of the cordoned-off area, Zoe stood in a pristine white princess dress, clutching a bouquet. Her eyes darted nervously at the cameras and the murmuring crowd. Carl Russo, shackled at the hands and feet, was led out. I heard the raw cries of anguish and rage from the victims’ families in the crowd. My husband, in his immaculate uniform, knelt beside Zoe. He patted her head, whispering words of encouragement, but his eyes were frantically scanning the crowd. I knew who he was looking for. I ducked lower. The show had to go on. With me still a no-show, David had no choice but to give Zoe a gentle push forward. Just as Zoe stood on her tiptoes, holding the flowers up to the killer, all hell broke loose. With a sudden, violent twist, Russo threw the guards off him. In one fluid motion, he lunged forward, his shackled hands snatching Zoe and pulling her against his body like a shield. “What kind of moronic idea was this?” Russo spat, his voice a low growl. “You people really are idiots.” He tightened his arm around Zoe’s neck, his eyes burning with feral intensity. “I’ve killed enough people to know the more I talk, the faster I die.” “Get me five hundred thousand in cash and a car. Now. Or I’ll snap this little brat’s neck!” The next second, before anyone could react, Russo jammed his thumb into Zoe’s eye socket. With a sickening pop, he ripped the eyeball out. Zoe’s scream was inhuman. Russo threw the severed eye to the ground and crushed it under his heel. By the time I burst screaming from the crowd, Carl Russo was twisting Zoe’s arm, a look of manic glee on his face. The sharp crack of bone breaking, mingled with Zoe’s piercing shriek, sent a wave of nausea through me. Several officers intercepted me, holding me back. I dropped to my knees on the pavement, my voice cracking. “Please! Please, don’t hurt my daughter anymore!” I begged Russo. “She’s only five years old! Let her go, I’m begging you! I’ll do anything, whatever you want, just let her go!” Russo’s eyes glinted as he looked from me to David. “Well, Chief Reed, is this your wife? Not bad looking at all!” He tightened his grip on Zoe, his gaze mocking. “You were so eager to slap the cuffs on me, weren’t you, Chief? What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” “I don’t know how a moron like you made it to Deputy Chief, honestly. You personally delivered a hostage right into my hands. If you weren’t the one who arrested me, I’d think you were my partner.” His expression turned vicious. He leaned down and bit into Zoe’s ear. I screamed as he tore it clean off with his teeth. Zoe went limp in his arms, mercifully unconscious. David’s face was a mask of pure fury, but he was frozen, helpless. “I told you!” Russo roared. “Half a million and a car! You have twenty minutes. If I don’t see it…” CRACK! A single gunshot shattered the air. A blossom of red exploded on Russo’s shoulder, a gaping wound. Instantly, officers swarmed him, wrestling the now-unconscious Zoe from his grasp and slamming him to the ground. A frantic scramble, and Zoe’s limp, bloody body was rushed into an ambulance. In the sterile corridor outside the hospital operating room, I had my hands buried in the collar of David’s uniform, my palms connecting with his face again and again, the slaps echoing in the quiet hall. “Why would you do this? Isn’t she your daughter?” I shrieked. “David, I don’t care if you want to climb the corporate ladder, but to use your own flesh and blood to do it? Are you even human?” His colleagues finally intervened, pulling me away as David’s face began to swell. “That’s enough, Claire!” he finally roared, pushing them off. “If you have a problem, take it up with me! Don’t attack my team!” He pointed a trembling finger at me. “This is all your fault! If you had just shown up on time and stopped the ceremony like you were supposed to, none of this would have happened!” “Yes, it was my idea! But it was for the good of the city! I have a duty to the victims’ families! I have a duty to this uniform!” “I’m busy, I’m at work all the time. I thought I could count on you to take care of her, but you were so careless. You let this happen.” He shook his head, his voice dripping with disappointment. “Zoe is maimed because of you, Claire. I’m so, so disappointed in you.” Seeing his feigned despair, I grabbed a nearby metal trash can and hurled it at him. “You son of a bitch!” I screamed. “You kept this whole thing a secret from me, and now that it’s blown up in your face, you dare to blame me? How dare you?” “If one of your men hadn’t called me, I’d still be in the dark! What happened to Zoe is your fault, and yours alone! If she doesn’t make it, I swear to God, I will kill you!” “Get out!” I shrieked, my voice raw. “All of you, just get the hell out of my sight!” Just then, the light above the operating room door went out. The surgeon emerged, his face grim. I pushed past the officers and rushed to him. “Doctor, my daughter… is she going to be okay?” “The broken bones will heal,” he said, his voice heavy with pity. “But her eye, and her ear… there was nothing we could do.” He sighed. “She’s only five. Such a tragedy.” In the private room, Zoe lay still, her head wrapped in so many bandages she looked like a tiny mummy. Looking at the ruin of her face, the empty socket where an eye used to be, and remembering the words on that DNA report, I felt nothing. Not a single shred of pity. “Mommy is always so strict with me. She makes me do homework all the time. If I don’t listen, she hits me. Sometimes I think she’s going to kill me.” “Daddy is the best. He takes me to the park and buys me ice cream. Mommy just tells me to behave. She never lets me have any fun.” “My daddy is the greatest man in the world. I want to help him. If Mommy didn’t hold him back all the time, he would probably be the police commissioner by now.” “I hate my mommy. Daddy says she’s just dragging him down. I wish I didn’t have a mommy.” I sat by the bed, her words from my past life echoing in my mind. Even if she knew about her birth mother, those weren’t the words of a normal five-year-old. Someone had coached her. Someone had fed her those lines. As I was lost in thought, a soft groan came from the bed. She was awake. The moment her one good eye focused on me, a tear trickled down her cheek. But the words that came out of her mouth were laced with an icy resentment that chilled me to the bone. “It’s all your fault! Daddy said he called you! Why were you so late?” “If you had come sooner, it wouldn’t hurt so much! I hate you!” “I want my mommy! Not you! I want my other mommy!” David had been called back to the station for an emergency meeting about the catastrophic failure of his plan. We were alone. Seeing her writhing and screaming in the bed, I dropped the loving mother act. “You got what you deserved,” I said, my voice flat. “What happened to you today is your father’s fault. It has nothing to do with me.” “You’re lying!” she shrieked. “Daddy told me you never liked me! He wouldn’t lie to me!” “Oh, really? Then why am I the only one here with you right now? Why isn’t your precious daddy here? And this ‘other mommy’… if she loves you so much, where is she?” “Because you’re a bad person!” Zoe sobbed, her remaining eye glaring at me with pure hatred. “Daddy said you’re a bad person, and if my other mommy saw you, you would hurt her! That’s why she has to hide!” I let out a cold laugh. “He’s quite the storyteller, isn’t he? He’s also a liar. The truth is, he and your mother don’t really care about you. They care more about having a little baby boy.” “Why else would your father send you to give flowers to a monster? He never wanted you to survive. If he really cared, why didn’t he stop you himself? Why did he have to call me? It’s not like he’s paralyzed.” A five-year-old’s logic is a fragile thing. My words hit their mark. Her face crumpled, and fresh tears began to fall. “You’re lying,” she whimpered. “Daddy and Mommy love me the most.” I patted her bandaged head. “Keep dreaming, you poor thing.” “Your IV is almost empty. I’m going to get the nurse. You stay here and don’t move.” I walked out of the room and ran right into David, who was just returning from his meeting. “How’s Zoe?” he asked, his tone clipped. “She’s awake. I was just getting the nurse to change her drip.” He crooked a finger at me. “Come with me. I need to talk to you about something.” I followed him to the stairwell. The moment we were inside, the heavy fire door slammed shut behind me. Before I could turn, two of David’s colleagues grabbed me, pinning me against the cold concrete wall. “David, what are you doing?” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and an ink pad. He grabbed my hand and forced my index finger onto the ink. “Zoe’s injuries… there’s going to be an internal investigation,” he said, his voice low. “I can’t take the fall for this, Claire. The whole department would be disciplined. So I need a scapegoat. And that’s you.” “All you have to do is put your fingerprint on this Guardianship Consent Form. It says you voluntarily allowed Zoe to approach the suspect. That way, I keep my job.” “For my career,” he whispered, his face inches from mine, “I’m afraid I have to ask you for this little favor… honey.”

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For twenty-five years, I was in love with a boy from the wrong side of the tracks. We tumbled through life together, a chaotic whirlwind of shared struggles and scraped-together dreams. My sister, Rory, had a different kind of love story. Her boyfriend treated her like a princess, enshrined in gold and jade. When someone made a pass at her once, the man’s hands and feet were broken, and he was thrown into the sea for the sharks by the next morning. The day a rival of Ash’s couldn’t find him and took out their anger on me instead, smashing the fish stall that was my entire livelihood, I cried until I couldn’t breathe. That same night, my sister’s boyfriend forgot to give her a goodnight kiss, so he had fireworks set off across the entire city for three days and three nights just to apologize. Her legendary romance went viral. A legion of followers waited with bated breath for every update. I was one of them. The day Ash was supposed to propose to me, he vanished. At the same time, I was scrolling through my phone when I saw Rory’s latest post. “This time, I’ll let you have your happiness with her.” The accompanying photo showed her locked in a fierce kiss, the corner of her lip bitten red. The man’s face was pixelated, a mosaic of blurred color. But the scar on the back of his hand, a pale, jagged mark from a burn… it was identical to Ash’s. … 1 “Oh my god, my favorite love blogger just updated!” “Damn, her boyfriend has so much tension. Even his scars are sexy.” Hearing the chatter from the customers at my stall, my focus slipped. The blade in my hand slid, slicing deep into my finger. “Are you blind?” a man barked, pointing at the fish on the cutting board. “You cut the gallbladder. How are we supposed to eat that now?” “I’m so sorry, so sorry,” I stammered, bowing my head, my words tumbling out in a frantic apology. “I’ll give you another one, on the house.” Thankfully, a regular customer nearby stepped in to smooth things over, and the man didn’t escalate. “But Anya,” the regular said kindly after he’d left, “that dress really isn’t practical for cleaning fish.” I looked down at the fabric clinging to my body, a bitter taste filling my mouth. I hated this dress. It was tight, impractical, and stained easily. But today was the day Ash was supposed to propose. I just wanted to look beautiful for him. Finally, after the last customer of the rush was gone, Ash came running up, his breath coming in ragged pants as he wrapped his arms around me. “Did some bastard give you trouble just now? I’ll go kill him.” Any other time, I would have grabbed his arm, pleaded with him not to cause a scene. But as I watched him clench his fist, my eyes fixed on the familiar scar on his hand. I took an involuntary step back. I refused to let myself entertain the possibility. Just then, my phone rang. It was Rory. “Congratulations, big sis! Did he pop the question?” “I have good news, too! I got the scholarship, and my boyfriend bought me a huge condo!” I forced my lips into a smile. “That’s amazing, Rory. Congratulations.” “Anya? What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice sharp, sensing the tremor in mine. “It’s nothing. I just cut my hand while cleaning a fish,” I said softly. “No way. Put me on speaker!” The moment I did, her voice, sharp and furious, blasted from the phone. “Ash, you son of a bitch! Aren’t you supposed to be proposing to my sister? Why is she still gutting fish?” Ash shot back without missing a beat, “You don’t know shit. Mind your own business.” He scowled. “Proposal or not, she’s my wife.” He hung up, his brow furrowed. I watched him, his eyes red-rimmed with what looked like concern as he rummaged for a Band-Aid, and I pushed down the strange, sick feeling coiling in my stomach. Not long after, Rory herself burst onto the scene, a full-blown paramedic’s first-aid kit in her arms. “I’m really fine, Rory. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” I said, feigning annoyance. She pouted, her expression petulant. “When it comes to my sister, nothing is ever too much!” She looked around my cramped, damp stall. “You should move into the condo my boyfriend gave me.” “How could I possibly do that?” “Your boyfriend is so good to you. Maybe he’s planning for it to be your marital home?” A faint blush crept up Rory’s cheeks. Ash, who had been leaning against the counter, glanced over at her, the corner of his mouth twitching into a slight, almost imperceptible smile. Then Rory’s tone shifted, a sharp edge returning to her voice. “Unlike some people, who can’t even take care of their own wife properly,” she said, directing a pointed look at Ash. “Still needs me, the family servant, to come running.” With that, she took a roll of gauze and began wrapping my finger with practiced ease. At her last words, Ash’s brow twitched again, a flicker of something I couldn’t name. A strange impulse took hold of me. I looked at him. “Ash,” I said, my voice steady. “Let’s just get married.” I turned to my sister. “Rory isn’t married yet. She can be our maid of honor.” Rory froze. The half-wrapped roll of gauze slipped from her fingers and fell to the wet floor. “I’m not planning on getting married,” she said, her head bowed so low I couldn’t see her face. “I’m just playing around.” Ash’s body went rigid at her words. “How can you say that? You have to take relationships seriously!” I said, reaching out to touch the top of her head. She flinched away, a subtle but definite movement. “It’s impossible for us,” she murmured. Then she lifted her head, a bright, brittle smile plastered on her face. “You have to be happy, Anya. Promise me.” “I still want to beat the hell out of that guy,” Ash grumbled, his voice laced with frustration, breaking the strange tension. “Who the hell does he think he is, making you bow and scrape like that?” “Ash!” I grabbed his arm, stopping him. “You promised me you wouldn’t get into any more trouble. We’re just ordinary people. We can’t afford to cross someone with money and power.” He stopped, his body still, and a strange expression crossed his face. Rory let out an ill-timed laugh. I looked at her, confused. Realizing her slip, she quickly linked her arm through mine, her touch intimate. “It’s just… this is the first time I’ve ever seen him back down. It’s kind of funny.” For a split second, I thought I saw a look of pure indulgence in Ash’s eyes as he looked at her. I shook my head, clearing it. These two were the most important people in my life. Ash could be impulsive, but he was devoted to me in every other way. Besides, he was a street brawler and I was a fishmonger. Where would he get the kind of money to turn someone into a princess? When Rory left, she clung to me, her face a mask of reluctance. But my eyes caught a glimpse of her phone screen. Her pinned chat at the top of her messaging app was with someone named “Mr. Won’t Say Yes.” I remembered her joking back in high school. “One day, I’m going to call myself ‘Miss Courageous,’” she’d declared. “And I’ll go after anyone I want.” “What are you staring at?” Ash’s voice broke through my thoughts as he wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Are you mad that I missed the proposal today?” He lifted me effortlessly, settling me onto his lap. “I ran into someone I have a history with. An old enemy.” He held me tight. “I was afraid he’d find out about you, threaten you. So I led him away.” He kissed my temple. “We’ll have another proposal ceremony, I promise.” I remained still, my fingers tracing the scar on his hand. “I saw one just like this today…” He immediately pulled his sleeve down, covering the mark, and changed the subject. “You’re on your period. You shouldn’t be getting your hands in cold water. I’ll wash your underwear for you.” I leaned back on the sofa, my heart a hollow drum, and mindlessly scrolled through short videos on my phone. Suddenly, I landed on the campus confession page for my sister’s university. I tapped on it out of curiosity. I saw that the page was obsessed with a specific couple, secretly documenting their moments. I chuckled at the blogger’s sneaky devotion to her ‘ship.’ Then I saw a video where the girl was wearing a dress identical to Rory’s. It was a designer piece I had bought for her birthday, a gift that had cost me nearly a year’s savings. She had told me she adored it, that no one else at school would have anything like it. I stared at the screen, my finger hovering over the video, trembling slightly. I scrolled down. The blog had started shipping this couple three years ago. Three years ago? That was when Rory had just started college here. A chill spread through my entire body. I clicked on the very first video. Rory’s back was to the camera. She was calling out to a man, her voice sweet as honey. “Brother…” The camera angle shifted. The man’s face wasn’t visible, but the hand that reached out to cup her cheek was identical to Ash’s. Even the scar—its position, its size—was exactly the same. In the next few videos, the girl’s face was never shown. But the moment I heard her voice, a roar filled my ears, and my breath caught in my throat. The comment section was a frenzy of excitement. “OMG, you can just tell from her voice she’s gorgeous!” “I’m so jealous of the OP, getting to see this up close every day!” The account owner replied: “She’s my roommate! They’re so in love, but the guy is trapped by some other woman who he’s indebted to for saving his life. She’s demanding he marry her.” “I’ve had to wipe her tears so many times. I swear, I want to kill that bitch myself!” Tears blurred my vision completely. I swiped to the next video. The date stamp was the day of my fifth anniversary with Ash. Rory was passed out drunk at a karaoke bar. A moment later, a man burst into the frame, his movements frantic as he gathered her into his arms. After checking that she was okay, he pressed her down onto the sofa, his anger melting into a series of desperate, punishing kisses. Finally, he lifted her into his arms, his breath ragged. Before he left, he shot a warning glare at the camera, and the screen went black. Staring at the final, familiar half-profile of his face, I felt a profound and bottomless despair. The caption read: “Risking my life for this content. Guess if my OTP finally went all the way tonight!” The comments flooded in: “I’ll bet you a bag of chips they did!” “Isn’t it obvious?!” The last video was the one with the highest view count. It was a video of the two of them kissing on the Concord Bridge. The date was today. The day Ash was supposed to propose to me. The Concord Bridge was the highest bridge in the city, the most popular spot for couples. I had asked Ash so many times to go there with me. I’d told him we didn’t even have to go onto the bridge itself, knowing he was afraid of heights. Every single time, without exception, he had refused. The reason was always the same: it was for my own good, for my safety. It turned out he had already done it. With another woman—my own sister. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t go. It was that he wouldn’t go with me. I collapsed onto the floor. My heart felt like it was being slowly, methodically flayed by a dull knife, the pain so intense it made me tremble. Just then, a street sweeper passed by outside. I was too close to the roll-up door and didn’t have time to move. A spray of filthy water drenched me. Looking at the grime staining my clothes, my stomach churned violently. I scrambled to the bathroom and threw up until I was dizzy and empty.

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My brother and the fifty-something man from next door were in the middle of it when I walked in. My mother completely lost it. She broke a chair over the old man’s groin, permanently ending his fun. And for that, my brother hated me. He drugged me, stuffed me in a sack, and left me at an abandoned construction site to be used and discarded by strangers. I died. Then I opened my eyes. I was back on that same day, right before I opened the door to my brother’s room. This time, I quietly turned the lock. Let them have their fun. 01 “Ugh… Are you sure it won’t hurt? Be gentle… I’ve… I’ve never done this before…” Hearing my brother’s voice from behind the door, I realized I was back. Reborn. In my last life, it was this same sweltering afternoon. I was taking out the trash when I heard strange noises coming from my brother’s room. On a whim, I crept closer. The door wasn’t fully closed. Through the crack, I saw my brother, pinned to the bed by Mr. Henderson from next door. They were in a… complicated position. A rush of blood went to my head. I thought my brother was being assaulted. Mr. Henderson was my dad’s best friend of over twenty years, for god’s sake. I screamed and threw the door open. My mother heard the commotion and came running. The sight made her snap. She grabbed a wooden stool and brought it down on Mr. Henderson, again and again. In a symphony of screams, his future as a man was destroyed. And my nightmare began. My mother blamed me for everything. “If you’d kept a better eye on your brother, this pervert would have never gotten to him!” They pulled me out of school and made me go with my brother to therapy. With professional help, he eventually started showing interest in girls again. Everything seemed to be back on track. But my brother never forgave me. He put something in my drink, stuffed me in a burlap sack, and dumped me at an abandoned construction site. That day, my fingernails were torn from their beds. I heard the sickening crack of my own bones. Fists, cigarette butts, beer bottles… I was a broken doll, torn apart again and again. I died in agony. As my consciousness faded, I saw my brother standing a short distance away, recording it all on his phone. “You bitch,” he sneered. “You ruined my life. You deserve this.” After I died, my mother shed a few tears. Then she sighed. “You were always unlucky, sweetie. I’ve already lost you. I can’t lose your brother, too.” Because I had died a “dirty” death, a disgrace to the family name, I wasn’t even allowed to be buried in the family plot. My mother sold my body for a pittance to be the “ghost bride” for some old bachelor who had died young. She used the money to bribe a third-rate college to accept my brother. “Oh… Mr. Henderson…” “Relax, kiddo. Just let it happen. I promise you’ll love it…” The grotesque sounds from the room pulled me back to the present. I crept forward and quietly, firmly, locked the door. This time, let him have all the fun he wants. 02 The second I walked back in the house, my mother grabbed my ear and twisted, her voice a sharp hiss. “Where the hell have you been, you useless girl? Taking out the trash isn’t an all-day affair! Always looking for a way to slack off!” Her eyes were filled with impatience. “What are you standing there for?” She gave me a hard shove. “Go make dinner! Your brother is a growing boy. If he goes hungry, I’ll skin you alive!” On the couch, my dad sat with his feet up, smoking. As I passed, he blew a cloud of smoke in my face. “Told you girls don’t need an education,” he drawled. “Fills their heads with nonsense. My buddy Rick’s daughter, she dropped out of middle school to work in a factory. Sends her old man three hundred bucks a month, regular as clockwork. Rick just found her a husband, too. Guy paid twenty grand for the dowry!” I tuned him out and went into the kitchen. On the cutting board was a mountain of fiery habanero peppers. My brother loved spicy food. I was severely allergic. Even a drop of the juice would make my skin break out in painful, blistering welts. But in this house, for as long as I could remember, there was never a single dish on the table I could eat. I’d tried to protest once. My mother had just scoffed. “Allergic? You’re just being dramatic. Fine, don’t eat. You’re fat as a pig anyway.” I looked down at my arms. My wrist bones jutted out, sharp and skeletal. I was five-foot-one and weighed ninety pounds. I thought about what I had just seen. Mr. Henderson was a gym teacher, all muscle and sinew. My brother’s frail frame… His first time was probably not going to be a gentle experience. Tearing was a definite possibility. A wicked idea began to bloom in my mind. A slow, cruel smile spread across my face. So, you like it spicy, do you, dear brother? Well, tonight, your big sister is going to treat you. You’ll eat until you’re full, until it hurts, until you never forget it. I turned on the faucet, the water rushing. I pulled on a pair of gloves and grabbed a handful of peppers, three times the usual amount. The sharp, acrid smell filled the kitchen. 03 This time, since they weren’t interrupted, my brother didn’t get home until seven. The whole family was already at the table, waiting for him. He was walking strangely, his legs held stiffly apart, each step a pained, awkward shuffle. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead. The moment my mother saw him, she shot out of her chair, her face a mask of concern. “Honey! What’s wrong? What happened?” “N-nothing…” my brother stammered, waving a weak hand. “I just… I fell.” “You fell?” My mother’s voice shot up an octave. “Where did you fall? Let me see! Is it bad?” She reached for his waistband, ready to inspect him right there. My brother flinched back in horror. The sudden movement clearly sent a jolt of pain through him. He sucked in a sharp breath, the sweat on his forehead beading up. He was mortified, and his voice was practically a shout. “Mom! I’m not a kid anymore! Stop trying to pull my pants down all the time!” My mother froze, then replied, bewildered. “You’ll always be my baby! There isn’t a part of you I haven’t seen! Now let me look, or I’ll worry myself sick!” Trapped, my brother had no choice but to pretend he was fine. “I’m really okay, Mom! It doesn’t hurt anymore!” “Really?” she asked, her eyes still glued to his rear end. “Really! Look!” To prove his point, he clenched his jaw and managed a couple of small, stiff hops. With each landing, his face twitched uncontrollably. He quickly changed the subject. “I’m starving, Mom! Can we eat now?” The word “starving” was the magic password. My mother’s attention immediately shifted. “Yes, yes, of course! We can’t let my baby boy go hungry!” She bustled him to the table and pushed him down onto a hard wooden chair. I watched, impassive, as his body went rigid the moment he made contact with the seat. He subtly shifted his weight, perching precariously on the very edge of the chair, most of his weight supported by his legs. My mother, oblivious, was already piling food onto his plate. “Here, honey, your favorite spicy chicken gizzards! I told your sister to add extra peppers, just for you! And the fried intestines! Eat up! Everything is extra hot and spicy tonight!” My brother stared at the volcanic mound of food on his plate, his hand trembling as he picked up his fork. He slowly, painfully, brought a bite to his mouth. With every swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbed in agony. The sweat never stopped trickling down his face. But the slower he ate, the more my mother piled on. “What’s wrong, sweetie? You don’t like it? Is it where you fell? Does it hurt?” He could only shake his head, forcing out a muffled “I’m fine” before shoveling another fiery mouthful into his mouth. I sat quietly across the table, eating my plain boiled vegetables, hiding my smile behind my bowl. 04 That night, just as I finished the dishes, there was a knock at the door. It was a delivery. Curious, I opened the package. The contents were… educational. A tube of ointment for treating tears and abrasions. A bottle of personal lubricant. And a small, uniquely shaped toy. The note read: “Loosen up. It won’t hurt so much next time.” Mr. Henderson was so thoughtful. I had just put everything back in the bag when my brother shuffled out of his room, clutching his backside. He glared at me. “Emily! Who said you could touch my stuff? Keep your grubby hands to yourself!” He snatched the bag and limped back to his room, slamming the door. I have to say, the ointment worked wonders. The pain subsided quickly. Now, my brother heads next door every day, claiming he’s “working on his core” with Mr. Henderson. My parents, unbelievably, bought it. My mother even started making him special “strengthening” soups when she noticed the faint red marks on his neck. This went on for almost a month before my mother finally got suspicious. Deep in the back of the bathroom cabinet, she found the half-empty bottle of lube and the toy, still sticky with a faint yellowish residue. She exploded. 05 “Emily!” My mother stormed into my room and slapped me across the face. My ears rang, my vision swam. When I could finally focus again, I looked up at her, my eyes stinging. “Mom, what did I do now?” “Don’t play dumb with me!” she shrieked, her body trembling with rage. She threw the items at my face, her disgust absolute. “You disgusting slut! How dare you buy this filth and hide it in my house! Tell me! How many boys have you been with? I knew I should have smothered you in your crib!” Right. My birth. She just had to bring that up. When she was pregnant with me, all the signs pointed to a boy. She was ecstatic. Then I came out, a girl. Her first instinct was to abandon me at the hospital. It was my grandmother who stopped her, claiming a fortune teller had said I was a “brother-bringer,” that having a daughter first would ensure a son would follow to be cared for. That’s the only reason I’m here. And sure enough, a year later, my brother, Evan, was born. From that moment on, my only purpose in life was to take care of him. My mother even made me start school a year late so we would be in the same grade, so I could look after him. I got the highest score in the city on the high school entrance exam, but I had to go to a private school. The principal had promised that if I enrolled, they would accept my brother, despite his abysmal grades. And for that, I was grateful. If I hadn’t been useful in that way, I probably would have been forced to drop out and get a job. I stared at her, my voice hard. “Mom. That’s not mine.” Her face turned purple with rage. She raised her hand to hit me again. “Only girls use this stuff! If it’s not yours, is it mine? You’re still going to lie when the evidence is right here? I’ll beat the truth out of you, you little whore!” This time, I dodged it. Her hand froze in mid-air, her face a picture of shock. It was the first time I had ever defied her. In the past, the slightest hint of rebellion would be met with the threat of being pulled out of school. And for the chance to escape this house one day, I had endured it. For years. But I’ve already died once. What was there left to be afraid of? I met her stunned gaze, my voice steady. “I said it’s not mine. There are other people in this house. Why am I the first one you suspect? And…” I glanced at the items in her hand, my voice dripping with sarcasm, “do you really think I could afford to buy this?” 06 In this house, my brother’s daily allowance was five dollars. Mine was five dollars a month. We weren’t allowed to have leftovers. To save money, I skipped breakfast, chugging water to quell the dizziness from hunger. I used the cheapest, no-name brand tampons, carefully rationing each one. I’d thought about collecting cans after school, but between the endless chores and tutoring my brother, there was barely enough time to sleep. And still, my mother called me an “ungrateful brat.” That lube and toy didn’t look cheap. It would probably take me a year to save up enough to buy them. Her expression shifted. She knew I was right. Her eyes darted around as a new, horrifying thought occurred to her. “That bastard, John!” she snarled. “He’s been bringing his cheap whores into my house! I’ll kill them both!” She stormed into the kitchen. I followed silently. She rummaged through the junk drawer until she found a tube of industrial-strength superglue. She swapped the lube for the glue. Then, she took a habanero pepper from the fridge and meticulously coated the toy, inside and out, a cruel smile on her face. “You wanna mess with my husband, you little tramp? I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.” She put the items back in their hiding place. When she turned and saw me, she pointed a finger in my face. “If you breathe a word of this to your father, I’ll rip your tongue out and throw you out on the street! Do you hear me?” I nodded obediently. “Don’t worry, Mom. My lips are sealed.” Oh, dear mother. I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you realize you’re the one who just destroyed your precious son. 07 My brother came back from next door, smelling of sweat and something else I didn’t want to identify. But this time, Mr. Henderson was with him. “Hey, Sarah,” he said to my mom with a folksy grin. “Sorry to bother you so late. My power’s out. The repairman can’t come ’til morning.” My mother was all hospitality. “Don’t be a stranger, David! Evan’s been doing so well since he started training with you. He looks stronger, taller even. You’re staying here tonight! Emily!” she barked at me, “you’re sleeping on the couch. Get your room ready for your uncle.” Before I could say anything, Mr. Henderson jumped in. “Oh no, Sarah, don’t trouble the girl. It’s not right.” He slung an arm around my brother’s shoulders. “I’ll just bunk with Evan. We can talk strategy before bed, right, sport?” My brother’s face turned beet red. “Yeah, Mom,” he mumbled. “Let Uncle David stay with me. Don’t make Sis sleep on the couch.” My mother saw nothing wrong with this. “Alright then! That’s settled. Come on, sit down, dinner’s ready.” She turned and saw me still standing there, and her good mood vanished. She pinched my arm, hard. “Emily! What are you waiting for? Get your uncle a plate!” I bit back a cry of pain and went to the kitchen. When I came back, the scene under the table was… illuminating. Mr. Henderson’s foot was rubbing against my brother’s calf, slowly, inch by inch, making its way up his pant leg. My brother was rigid, his ears bright red, his head bowed low over his plate. Mr. Henderson’s toes finally reached their destination. “Ah!” My brother shot up from his chair. “Honey! What’s wrong?” my mother asked, alarmed. “N-nothing!” he stammered. “Just… just a leg cramp!” Mr. Henderson smoothly retracted his foot. “Don’t worry, Sarah. Probably just overdid it with the core exercises this afternoon. I’ll give him a good stretch and massage in the room later. That’ll fix him right up.” My mother was overjoyed. “Oh, David, you’re too good to him! You take better care of him than I do!” Mr. Henderson shot a meaningful look at my blushing brother. “Well, Sarah, Evan’s like a… son to me. Who else am I going to spoil?” My mother just beamed and put another chicken leg on my brother’s plate. “Eat up, sweetie! You need your strength!” Then she tossed the greasy chicken skin into my bowl. “What are you staring at? Eat! And then go clean up your brother’s room.” I picked up my chopsticks and started eating, a small smile playing on my lips. Tonight was going to be a long night. 08 In the middle of the night, a bloodcurdling scream echoed from my brother’s room.

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