Category: English

I am a born mimic. Whatever they did, I did back, often with a ruthless, escalating accuracy. Pop-Pop said my long hair meant short wits and cut it off. So, I waited until he was asleep and cut the longest thing I could find on him. Nana, furious, sold me to some strange man. So, I waited for a moment of inattention, shoved her into his rusty pickup truck, took the thousand dollars he paid for me, and bought myself enough junk food to last a week. I was happily gorging on chips when a sleek, black Rolls-Royce pulled up to the shack. A woman with tear tracks and a pearl necklace informed me I was Rue Ashworth, the true heiress, switched at birth. My real parents, Richard and Eliza Ashworth, dabbed at their eyes with silk handkerchiefs and pushed a girl in a spotless dress toward me. “Rue, Briar is your sister now. You need to get along with her.” The fake heiress, Briar, smiled sweetly and called me “Sister.” The next day, while we were shopping at Bergdorf’s, she slipped a million-dollar diamond necklace into my jacket pocket and then casually accused me of theft. I blinked. Then, I copied her move, pulling the necklace from my pocket and swiftly tucking it into Dad’s—Richard Ashworth’s—back pocket. 1 The moment the necklace was “discovered” missing, the air in the jewelry department turned instantly cold. Briar Ashworth covered her mouth, her eyes fixed on me with a knowing, saccharine pity. “Sister,” she murmured, loud enough for a sales associate to hear. “I know people from the sticks are always sticky-fingered, but you’re an Ashworth now. You shouldn’t embarrass the name like this.” My parents and my older brother, Holden, turned their gazes on me, heavy with disgust and disappointment. I was, in their minds, the thief. But I didn’t wait for the interrogation. I simply copied the most extreme reaction I could think of. I ripped off my jacket and sweater in one clean, startling movement. “I didn’t take it!” The sheer vulgarity of the action, the startling flash of skin in the luxury store, stunned them into silence. Mom rushed forward to cover me with my jacket. “Rue, what are you doing? It’s fine if it’s not you. Briar has a quick temper, don’t mind her.” I nodded, accepting the apology I hadn’t asked for. Then, I turned to Briar, copying the exact, veiled suspicion she’d just worn. I covered my mouth and lowered my voice. “I think I saw you take that necklace, Briar. If you have it, you should really take it out. Don’t make things worse.” Briar jumped. “You’re lying! I did not!” I ignored her, acting as her emotional echo chamber, repeating her words back with subtle changes. “But it was only us and our parents here. If it wasn’t you or me, was it Mom? Or Dad? Or Holden?” An embarrassed flush crept up their necks. The store manager was hovering, agitated. “That’s enough,” Dad sighed. “We’ll all be searched. Briar, don’t worry, we know it’s not you. We’re doing this together.” But the next moment, their embarrassment became full-blown shock. The missing necklace was found in the back pocket of my father’s tailored trousers. The store manager looked at the CEO of Ashworth Industries like a common shoplifter. I gasped, copying Briar’s former smug expression and adding a theatrical wink. “See? Told you city folk were sticky-fingered.” Dad’s face went crimson. “I am a CEO! I didn’t steal a necklace! This is preposterous. Check the security feed! Now!” Briar tried to stop him, but my father was desperate to clear his name. The footage showed Briar quickly pocketing the necklace, then slyly slipping it into my jacket pocket. And then it showed me, seconds later, slipping it just as slyly into Dad’s. Confronted, Briar started to sob uncontrollably, clutching her chest like she was about to faint. I rushed over, performed a flawless, movie-style round of CPR to revive her, brought her back to startled life… and then promptly gave a dramatic ‘Guh-buh!’ and collapsed myself. My parents and Holden scrambled to hold me, calling for a medic. Briar, jolted back to consciousness by my overzealous chest compressions, stood motionless, speechless with fury. Heh. That’s just how students of human behavior operate. When I woke up, my entire new family was surrounding the hospital bed. “The doctor says it’s malnutrition, Rue. You’ve suffered too much.” “Briar just lacks a sense of security, dear. You shouldn’t blame her. We’ve told her to apologize.” Briar, tearful, presented me with a box of fried chicken, mumbling an apology. “Sister, I specially made this fried chicken for you.” Mom and Dad beamed with satisfaction. “Rue, d it. It’s Briar’s way of showing she cares.” 2 I eyed the chicken. A faint sheen of oil drifted across the weak, beneath which the glassy eyes of a half-dead chicken stared up at me. It looked utterly unappetizing. But I obediently accepted the container. A fleeting look of triumph crossed Briar’s face. Then, I dramatically grabbed my head and sank back onto the pillow. “My head. It’s pounding. I’m so dizzy.” Mom and Dad panicked, calling the nurse. Only Holden, my brother, looked cold and skeptical. “Rue, Briar spent hours to learn how to make the fired chicken. Her hands are blistered. Are you pretending to be sick because you just don’t want to eat it?” I rolled my eyes, then copied an act of exaggerated virtue. “I’m so sorry, Holden. This broth is my sister’s precious gift. I can’t bear to waste it. Please, you eat it for me.” Just as some saintly child in a fable might offer the best portion to an elder, Rue offered the poison to her brother. Holden, delighted by my generosity, proudly accepted the container. Briar lunged to stop him, but it was too late. Holden downed the entire thing in one gulp. The next second, his face flushed crimson, he clawed at his throat, and collapsed to the floor. “H-help…” The doctor called in to treat my “dizziness” rushed Holden off to the ER. Two hours later, he was successfully installed in the bed next to mine. “Briar, what exactly did you put in that broth?” Dad demanded. Briar continued to sob and refused to admit anything. But from then on, my parents were extremely cautious. They forbade Briar from preparing any food for either of us. I happily stayed in the hospital for two weeks, eating room service and gaining a noticeable five pounds. When I finally returned to the family’s three-story home, Briar was waiting in my new bedroom with all of her designer clothes, jewelry, and several bank cards. “Sister, all of this should have been yours. I’m returning it to its rightful owner. Just please—please don’t kick me out. Just give me a place to stay.” Ah? I copied her, falling to the floor and wailing, pushing the pile of loot back toward her. “Sister, I can’t take these. They’re yours! Please, I beg you, don’t kick me out! Just give me a place to stay!” Briar’s tears stopped mid-sob. She ground her teeth and sank to her knees again. “I’m begging you, Sister.” I copied her again, falling to my knees opposite her. “I’m begging you, Sister.” When my parents opened the door, they found Briar and me facing each other on the floor, weeping and clutching the haul of clothes and gold, as if performing a bizarre, tear-soaked ritual. Mom’s eye twitched. They almost called a priest. Instead, they split the non-clothing items equally between us. Briar seethed, forcing a smile. I smiled, too, but mine was genuine. Selling Nana only got me a thousand dollars. This pile of jewelry was worth a thousand Nanas. My parents didn’t understand my sudden joy. Mom gently stroked my hair. “Rue, you’ll have everything Briar has, from now on.” They meant it. Because Briar had a fiancé—a promising young man from a powerful family. So, two days later, they found me one of my own: Harrison Vance, from a family of equal standing to Briar’s fiancé, Grant Song. “His parents said you two should date for a bit before the engagement party.” Harrison looked at me with open distaste, but his eyes were full of an unspoken, longing affection when they landed on Briar. The first time we met, he didn’t so much look at me as look past me, striding right up to Briar. “Briar,” he purred. “May I call you that from now on?” 3 Briar shyly consented, shooting me a triumphant glance. Harrison gave her expensive jewelry. He gave me a generic silk scarf—a promotional gift-with-purchase. He bought her a custom gown. He sent me a coupon for a spa. He and Briar were caught in a stairwell making out. He gave me… nothing. My complimentary item had been fully revoked. But I had learned. I found Grant Song, Briar’s intended fiancé, and I stole kisses from him. Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss. He wasn’t as tall as Harrison, but he was sweet enough to bend down so I could reach. While Harrison and Briar were busy having a clandestine affair and burning through cash, Grant and I were busy having a sweet, clandestine affair and being perfectly pleasant. My parents watched our supposed sisterly harmony and smiled, satisfied. “This is better,” Dad said. “You girls should spend more time together. Briar, take Rue out and introduce her to your friends.” So Briar, Harrison, and a large group of her socialite friends decided to take me hiking in a remote wilderness area. Briar’s friends barely spoke to me, only exchanging knowing glances. “You can’t polish a turd,” one whispered, loud enough to be overheard. Briar stood at the center of her court like a spoiled princess. “My sister is from a dirt farm, and she brought all her backwater habits with her. She grew up with a couple of old people, and the day we picked her up, she smelled like…” A few girls instantly covered their noses, fanning themselves dramatically. I understood. This was the moment for vicious, social-climbing gossip. “It’s true, I grew up with them. But Briar is their blood,” I chimed in, perfectly mimicking her casual cruelty. “They were anti-laundry, anti-shower. She inherited the ‘unwashed’ gene. Sometimes she goes weeks without changing her clothes or washing her feet.” I covered my nose and fanned the air. “That’s why she always has that faint whiff of… old gym sock.” The girls took two shocked steps back. Briar looked ready to pull off her shoes and swear to a jury she scrubbed her feet daily. “You liar! I shower every day!” Her friends nodded politely, but I noticed the frantic, silent texting taking place beneath their fanning hands. Briar bit her lip, terrified I would unleash another, more damaging truth. On the fifth day of our camping trip, Briar brought me a carton of milk. “Sister, milk helps you sleep. Drink it and have a wonderful rest.” I smiled and nodded, then turned and presented the milk to Harrison. “Briar sent this. She said milk helps you sleep well.” Harrison, unsuspecting, drank the whole thing down. The next morning, Briar woke everyone up at dawn. They all tip-toed out to the SUVs. “This place is isolated, full of wildlife. By the time that backwater little hick wakes up, it’ll be noon.” “She’ll lose her mind when she realizes everyone’s gone!” “I even put a signal jammer on the campsite. She won’t even be able to call the police! She’s going to have a rough time.” I, being the accomplished student of human behavior I am, had quietly followed their lead and crept into the back of the SUV. Hours later, as we drove into the city, they were still chattering about how hysterical and terrified I would be, their laughter loud and high-pitched. The noise woke me up. I couldn’t resist letting out a little giggle of my own. Briar and her friends froze, their necks snapping around. “What was that noise? Rue? How are you here?” “If she’s here… then who did we leave at the campsite?” 4 When Harrison was found, his face was like thunder, his arms covered in scratches from stumbling through the brush. He charged at me, ready to slap me. But I hadn’t driven the car. I hadn’t put the sleeping aid in the milk. I had only copied Briar’s “gift.” A quick set of questions revealed the truth. My parents’ faces were sickly pale. They apologized profusely to Harrison’s parents. But they insisted Briar wasn’t “wicked.” “Rue, dear, Briar is just… lacking in judgment, but she’s not evil. Besides, you and Harrison are getting married soon. This would make a spectacle if we let it get out.” I nodded and looked at Harrison. “Yes, Harrison, Briar was just playing a silly trick. She’s not evil.” Harrison was forced to swallow his rage. He shot me a venomous look that promised future revenge. The engagement date loomed. Harrison and Briar whispered constantly, their eyes burning with a poisonous, shared malice aimed at me. But I hadn’t forgotten the insult of the gift-with-purchase. So, on the day of the engagement, standing before two hundred guests, I gave the engagement ring to Grant Song, Briar’s fiancé, and presented the velvet box to Harrison. I pointed at the empty, crimson box. “This is for you.” Harrison looked at the box and at the genuine diamond sparkling on Grant’s finger, as if he’d been publicly violated. Briar snorted out a laugh. “Sister, the engagement ring goes on your fiancé’s hand. Did you seriously not know that?” I was a student of human behavior. Of course, I knew. I copied Harrison’s worst snobbery, tilting my chin up forty-five degrees, my eyes conveying five parts contempt, three parts arrogance, and two parts icy disdain. “What kind of person deserves what kind of thing. In my eyes, this,” I gestured to the empty box, “is exactly what he’s earned.” With a toss of my hair, I walked off the stage, leaving a sputtering, enraged Harrison behind. My parents desperately tried to smooth things over. Holden insisted I apologize. But Harrison had never apologized to me. I hadn’t learned that move. I ignored them and went to the buffet. As Dad and Holden mingled, a waiter with shifty eyes approached me. He claimed Mom had twisted her ankle and needed me to check on her upstairs. A thick layer of malice seemed to cling to him—I could almost taste the coming disaster. I pretended not to notice. When we reached the room, just as he opened the door, he raised his foot, attempting to kick me inside. Years of mimicry had taught me the swift reading of intent. The moment his foot lifted, I was prepared. I hooked my heel behind his and sent him tumbling into the dark room. The room was pitch black. A figure hidden behind the door immediately slammed something into the waiter’s head. He crumpled. A gruff voice from inside muttered, “Well, hello, pretty thing. Someone paid me to ruin you. You’re about to have your biggest society scandal.” Click. The door locked shut. Hearing the lock, Briar stepped out from an adjacent room. She didn’t see me hiding behind a large potted fern. She smirked at the closed door. “Rue. There’s only room for one daughter in the Ashworth house. I’ve prepared a lovely surprise for you. From now on, they’ll never look at you the same way.” “Competing with me? You don’t deserve to.” I watched her, secretly nodding. Ah, that’s how it works. I felt a sudden rush of understanding, a cognitive leap. My parents told me to learn from Briar. I decided to learn the newest, most complex lesson she had just taught me. I got to work. After a long time, my masterpiece was complete. I waited, excited for the praise I knew I would receive. They would be so proud. A few minutes later, Briar, Mom, and Harrison’s parents, trailed by a nervous crowd, rushed toward the room. “Briar, are you sure the waiter said it was this room? I told her she couldn’t have seafood. How could her allergy be this bad?” Mom said, her voice laced with worry. Briar looked down, a triumphant smile tugging at her lips. “Mom, we need to hurry! If Sister has a life-threatening reaction, it will be too late!” She flung the door open! “Sister, I’m coming in to help you, okay?” The next second, every eye in the corridor went wide. Gasps and screams echoed off the marble walls. Briar’s eyes went saucer-wide. She stumbled back. “How… how did this happen?”

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Port Sterling’s infamous playboy Jimmy Cabot had one rule: girlfriends were monthly, not lifetime. No strings attached. Women lined up across the city hoping to be his next fling. A good mood might earn you a villa; a bad one still came with a million-dollar goodbye. Everyone pitied me, calling me history’s most pathetic society wife. They assumed I’d endure it forever. Then Jimmy brought home Coco Miller—a plain university student who broke his one-month cycle. He gave me two choices: an open marriage with Coco as my equal, or a divorce taking half his wealth. His friends smirked, betting I’d stay for the money. Without hesitation, I chose divorce. In my past life, I chose tolerance. Coco then banned Jimmy from touching me or sharing his fortune. Old and alone, I watched her surrounded by family. When Jimmy died, his will omitted me entirely—everything went to her. I died a lonely queen in an empty castle. Reborn, I finally understood: take the money and leave. This time, we mean nothing to each other. 1 I took the divorce papers and read them carefully before reaching for a pen. Jimmy’s voice, a rare intrusion, cut through the silence. It was tight, laced with a tension he himself didn’t seem to notice. “Nina, think this through. Once you sign, there’s no going back.” My hand didn’t waver. The pen carved a clean, decisive arc across the paper. Signed. “I’ll pack my things and leave tonight.” How could I possibly have regrets? In my last life, I’d foolishly believed that bringing Coco home was just another one of his cruel games to get a reaction out of me. I thought, after all the years we’d been tangled together, he must have felt something for me. Pathetic. He and Coco had two children in three years and lived out a storybook romance. Meanwhile, I became a forgotten piece of furniture in my own home, an awkward fixture for half a lifetime, the butt of every joke whispered behind cupped hands. It wasn’t until we were old that I overheard him talking to Coco in his hospital room. He told her that the whole sordid affair—the half-dressed man in our bed—he’d orchestrated it all. “I was just tired of her,” he’d said, his voice raspy with age. “I didn’t want to make things too ugly, so I staged the whole thing.” There wasn’t a shred of guilt in his cloudy eyes. “That way, whatever I did afterward seemed justified.” So that was it. No wonder my desperate explanations were always met with his cold, unyielding disbelief. He knew the truth from the very beginning. He didn’t love me, yet he used a crime I never committed to chain me to him for fifty years. He could have made a clean break, but instead, he chose death by a thousand cuts. Looking up at his face now—younger, but still etched with that same casual cruelty—I felt nothing of the love that had once consumed me. Only a churning, bitter hatred remained. He stared at the signed agreement, his eyes wide with disbelief. Outside the door, the rustling sounds of eavesdroppers abruptly stopped. A second later, my “esteemed” in-laws burst in, their faces beaming. My mother-in-law grabbed Coco’s hand, her eyes appraising. “Oh, it’s so wonderful to have some youth in this house! So much vitality!” My father-in-law, a man who usually treated me with icy disdain, was now smiling warmly. He shot a pointed look in my direction. “Finally getting rid of the dead weight who’s been warming a seat for years. All this time, and not a single heir to show for it.” Coco lowered her head, a picture of shy modesty. “Oh, Uncle, don’t say that. I’m not that much younger than Nina…” She paused, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “Actually, I’m a month pregnant. We didn’t want to say anything until we were sure.” I raised an eyebrow. Of course. The same backhanded compliments, the same nauseating performance. Only this time, I didn’t care. For years, in my quest to be the perfect Mrs. Cabot, I’d worked like a dog at Cabot Industries by day, only to come home and cater to these two demanding relics by night. I was just over thirty, but gray hairs were already starting to streak my temples. I really had aged. I turned and walked to our bedroom to pack the few miserable belongings I could call my own. My mind was already racing, planning my first post-divorce vacation spot. I didn’t notice Jimmy had followed me in. “It’s late. You don’t have to move out immediately. You can go tomorrow.” “The villa on the west side is empty, isn’t it? You can stay there for now. I’ll come visit when I have time.” “Nina, I know you love me. Stop this tantrum.” He seemed to recall something, a fond, patronizing smile playing on his lips. “But the title… I can’t give you that anymore. I won’t let my child be born with the stigma of being illegitimate.” I didn’t answer. I just picked up my suitcase, walked past him, and headed straight for the door. “I have nothing to say to you. I’m thrilled to be divorced.” “If you have any shred of decency left, you’ll wire me the money you owe me as soon as possible.” The night wind, carrying flurries of snow, hit my face. It was cold, biting, but it couldn’t extinguish the fire that was finally roaring to life inside me. 2 Jimmy was, as always, brutally efficient. When I woke up the next morning, three billion dollars had been deposited into my bank account. The first thing I did was book a full-day package at Port Sterling’s most exclusive private spa. New haircut, full body massage, the works. The haggard woman with graying temples in the mirror vanished. In her place was a bombshell with audacious crimson hair and eyes that glinted with a sharp, newfound fire. I had just slipped into a new dress when my best friend, Kara, called. She started screaming before I could even say hello. “Nina! What the hell is going on with you and Jimmy? Has the whole world gone insane?!” I held the phone away from my ear, a lazy smile on my face. “What’s wrong?” “What’s wrong? You haven’t seen the news?” Kara’s voice was thick with disbelief. “It’s everywhere! Photos of Jimmy at the gala with that little tramp!” “He told the reporters, right to their faces, that she was his one and only wife! He said they’re planning the wedding now!” “And your holier-than-thou in-laws were right there, gushing about how she ‘deserves’ it all!” Her voice softened, laced with concern. “Nina… are you okay?” The public acknowledgment I had craved, the validation I had begged for my entire life—Jimmy had given it all to someone else. “I’m fine,” I said, admiring my new look in the reflection of a champagne flute. “We’re divorced.” “Divorced?” Kara couldn’t believe it. She had watched me love Jimmy for over a decade. She had watched me bend and break and debase myself for this marriage, wagging my tail for any scrap of affection he might throw my way. I didn’t explain further, just chuckled softly. “Are you free tonight? Drinks are on me.” At Port Sterling’s most decadent nightclub, our table was covered in bottles of Ace of Spades. A group of handsome young models surrounded me, diligently keeping my glass full. Kara’s eyes were wide. “Holy shit. Now I believe you. You’re really over him. This isn’t the old Nina.” The old Nina, desperate to prove she wasn’t a gold digger, would agonize over the price of everything. She was terrified Jimmy would think she was frivolous, a spendthrift who didn’t care about their home. Now, sitting in this opulent booth, I saw a stranger in the mirrored wall. The fiery red hair, the perfectly tailored couture dress—she was both unfamiliar and intimately known. Kara raised her glass and clinked it against mine. “This is more like it. You look like the girl from A-University’s finance program, the star they hadn’t seen in a century.” She took a long swallow of champagne, her voice full of righteous anger on my behalf. “Every venture capital firm in the country was fighting to hire you. If you’d started your own company, you would have crushed Cabot Industries by now!” “You slaved away for his family for a decade, and this is all you get in the divorce.” “Nina, you deserved so much better.” More than a decade. In my last life, under my leadership, Cabot Industries had become the top corporation in the country. Yet in my final years, I couldn’t even afford a box of painkillers. I was eventually kicked out onto the street by Coco’s “devoted” children, left to freeze to death next to a pile of garbage on a cold winter night. The empire I had built with my own blood and sweat became the inheritance for Coco and her offspring. At the thought, I downed the rest of my champagne. The liquid burned my throat, but it only stoked the flames within me. Fine. Let them all watch. Let’s see how well they do without Nina Sterling. 3 The next day, news that I had registered a new company spread like wildfire through the city’s elite circles. Some sensed an opportunity and came knocking with investment proposals overnight. But most, wary of offending the Cabots, chose to watch from the sidelines, their amusement barely concealed. Someone, probably at Jimmy’s direction, had the tabloids running stories mocking my overconfidence, painting me as a bitter ex-wife playing at business. I scrolled past the headlines on my phone, my expression blank. I didn’t, however, expect a call from Jimmy himself. “Nina, stop this nonsense.” “Running a company isn’t a game. That money won’t last you long. Your position at Cabot Industries is still open. Come back.” “No thank you, Mr. Cabot,” I said coolly. There was a pause on the other end. He sounded annoyed, but he reined it in. “Nina, can’t you be a little more understanding? I just… I found my soulmate.” “Besides, why start some pathetic little company when you have a place at Cabot? That Southbridge acquisition you were handling…” I hung up. Of course. He only remembered my value when he needed his most capable tool back. The Southbridge project was a beast I had spent six months wrestling with, a deal I’d secured at the cost of a bleeding ulcer. Without me, Cabot Industries was completely lost. At Cabot, my official title was President, but my monthly salary was a paltry three thousand dollars. My “esteemed” father-in-law had once told me, “We’re all family, don’t be so concerned with money.” I used to believe it was a test of my character. Now I saw the truth. I was nothing more than a cheap, ruthlessly effective workhorse they had found. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. My mind was made up. The deals I had secured for Cabot Industries in my past life—this time, even if my new company couldn’t swallow them whole, I would personally deliver them into the hands of Cabot’s greatest rival. 4 After I hung up on him, Jimmy threw his phone against the wall. He had grown accustomed to my obedience over the years, to having me at his beck and call. To be dismissed so cleanly was a blow to his ego he couldn’t stomach. Just then, his executive assistant entered, looking flustered, carrying a stack of documents Jimmy couldn’t begin to comprehend. He needed signatures. The recent stress, combined with years of being disconnected from the company’s daily operations, had left him completely overwhelmed. Coco followed the assistant in, her eyes full of theatrical concern as she took Jimmy’s hand. “Jimmy, darling, don’t work yourself to death. I’m your wife now. Let me join the company and help you.” He hesitated. “You’re still young, you don’t know the business. Maybe you should spend some time in different departments first.” Coco’s eyes instantly filled with tears. “Nina got to be President. Why can’t I?” Jimmy’s first instinct was to say that Nina was a top graduate from A-University’s finance program. But the moment he looked into Coco’s big, pleading eyes, all logic fled his mind. He softened, nodding his assent. Her tears vanished as quickly as they’d appeared. She threw her arms around him. “I just worry about you so much,” she cooed. “You’ve gotten so thin lately.” Within two weeks of its launch, my company was already thriving. During that time, Coco sent more than a few troublemakers my way. They were petty, amateurish attempts at sabotage, all of which I dismantled with ease. The network I had built in Port Sterling over the years was far beyond what a naive girl like her could ever challenge. A few of my most loyal senior employees from Cabot, whom I had personally mentored, had been eager to jump ship since they heard I was striking out on my own. Coco’s arrival had made their lives a living hell, constantly undermining them. I told them to be patient. All I asked was that they create a few small, critical problems on their way out as a… parting gift. Coco thought the departure of a few employees was no big deal. She was probably celebrating the purge of the “ex-wife’s loyalists.” What she didn’t understand was that some people aren’t just employees; they’re the main arteries of a company. Project after project began to fail. Cabot Industries’ stock price plummeted. My company, on the other hand, was now a powerhouse. My new team was a well-oiled machine, landing several multi-million-dollar contracts in quick succession. Standing before the floor-to-ceiling windows of my conference room, I watched my jubilant team below and announced, “Tonight, the Seafront Club! My treat! We celebrate until we drop!” “To the boss!” Amid a chorus of cheers, I led my people out the front door. A familiar black Rolls-Royce Phantom was parked silently at the curb. The door opened, and Jimmy stepped out, a smug look on his face as he beckoned to me. I didn’t even glance his way, leading my team straight past him. His assistant moved to block my path. Jimmy caught up, his face a mask of irritation and anger. “Nina, what is the meaning of this? Didn’t you see me? You’ve gotten bold.” I was losing my patience. “Can I help you, Mr. Cabot?” I asked, my voice dripping with detached formality. My tone caught him off guard, but he pressed on, his voice a command. “Shut down this little company of yours and come back to Cabot.” His audacity was so staggering I almost laughed. He mistook my smile for hesitation, and his voice softened. “Nina, I’m exhausted. Can you please stop this game and come back? Please?” He paused, as if making a monumental concession. “If Coco is really bothering you that much, I can have her move out for a while.” Looking at this self-absorbed man, I seriously questioned my judgment from my past life. “I’m not playing a game,” I cut him off coldly. “Mr. Cabot, we are divorced. I would appreciate it if you would stop interfering in my life.” His patience snapped. “I’m already compromising!” he yelled. “What more do you want? The company needs you right now! Is this really the time to be playing hard to get?!” I suddenly realized there was no getting through to him. In his world, everyone and everything was supposed to revolve around him. “If you need help, Mr. Cabot, you should ask your loving wife, Coco. I’m just an outsider. It’s not my job to clean up your messes.” A look of dawning comprehension crossed his face. “Is that it? You’re still hung up on the title?” “Nina, once Coco has the baby, I’ll… consider it.” “But you have to promise to keep it a secret. I don’t want to hurt Coco’s feelings.” I stared at him, articulating each word with precision. “I’ll say this one more time. Get. Lost. And don’t ever let me see you again.” “I don’t want to remarry you. Not in this lifetime.” Jimmy’s face contorted with rage. “Nina, don’t push your luck!” he snarled. “This is Port Sterling! I could crush a pathetic little startup like yours without breaking a sweat!” Just then, a clear, drawling male voice cut in. “Oh? Is that so, Mr. Cabot? Such big words.” “Not only are you publicly harassing my fiancée, but you’re also threatening to destroy her company?” Jimmy spun around, his jaw dropping when he saw who it was. Liam Vance. Heir to the other great family of Port Sterling, and Jimmy’s lifelong rival. Liam strolled over, his movements lazy and confident, and casually wrapped an arm around my waist. He rested his head on my shoulder with practiced intimacy. “Darling,” he purred, “I was waiting for you in the garage forever. Didn’t realize you were out here getting barked at.” Jimmy was trembling with rage. He pointed a shaking finger at me. “Nina! Explain yourself! Why would you betray me?!” Then, as if a brilliant thought struck him, his expression shifted to one of smug certainty. “I see! This is all an act, isn’t it? You’re just using Liam to make me jealous!” Liam rolled his eyes dramatically and started pulling me away. “Don’t waste your breath on idiots. It lowers your IQ.” “Stop!” Jimmy shouted, trying to follow. But the combination of his fury and weeks of sleepless nights caught up to him. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through his stomach. “Ah—” he cried out, doubling over and clutching his abdomen, beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead. “Nina… my stomach… it hurts…” I didn’t stop. I didn’t even slow down. I didn’t look back once. Behind me, I could hear his muffled groans of pain and the frantic cries of his assistant.

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My evil stepmother is a national sweetheart. She plays the innocent flower on the outside, but she used public opinion to drive me to my death. My soul floated in the air— I saw Dad weeping bitterly, while my stepmother took my shares. I saw some netizens celebrating that the “homewrecker” was finally dead! I was utterly despairing, but… when I opened my eyes again, it was the day Dad brought his celebrity stepmother home. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. This time, I’m going to live my life to the fullest! In my past life, just because I called her “sister,” she gave me a stern warning. This time, when she stood in front of me and asked me to call her “Mom,” I immediately burst into tears. Dad immediately came over and picked me up. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” I asked timidly, “Dad, Auntie insists I call her Mom, but she’s not my mom. Can I not call her Mom…?” Mom’s death has always been a pain that Dad couldn’t forget. When I mentioned it, Dad remembered her again. His face fell as he scolded, “Bella, we just got married. If the child doesn’t want to call you Mom, she doesn’t have to. Why do you have to force her?” My stepmother’s face stiffened for a moment, but she quickly adjusted her expression. She gently hugged me. “I’m sorry, honey. I was too impatient. I just wanted to be accepted by Sweetheart so badly.” Her words sounded wronged, and Dad’s expression softened. Unexpectedly, slap! I slapped my stepmother’s hypocritical face. Both of them were stunned. Dad immediately scolded me, “Ice! What are you doing?” “Dad…” I cried, feeling wronged by his scolding. “Auntie pinched my waist, it hurts…” Chapter 1 My stepmother’s face flashed with panic as she hurriedly explained, “No, I didn’t, honey…” Dad lifted my shirt to look, and sure enough, there was a bright red mark. His face changed instantly. My stepmother couldn’t explain herself and broke out in a cold sweat. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. Auntie was too rough just now.” I sneered internally. Did she secretly pinch me any less in my past life? Dad suppressed his anger, his eyes filled with complex emotions as he carried me away. That night, my stepmother slipped into my room and stuffed a card into my hand. “Sweetheart, your dad and I are going on our honeymoon. Auntie heard you’ve wanted to go traveling for a long time, haven’t you? Auntie is giving you this card. When we leave, you can secretly go wherever you want.” Trying to get rid of me already? Because of my weak health, Dad never allowed me to travel alone, nor did he allow me to have money for travel. In my past life, I listened to her and secretly went traveling alone, only to end up nearly dying of a high fever on the road. This time, I still took her card and obediently said, “Thank you, Auntie.” The next day, I brought it up at the dinner table. “Dad, I want to go traveling by myself.” Both of their faces changed. “What travel? Try mentioning it again!” Dad’s face turned red with anger. I retorted, “I want to go! Auntie gave me the money, why should you control me!” Dad immediately lost his temper at Bella. “Bella, are you out of your mind?! Didn’t I tell you about her health condition? Are you trying to kill her?!” “Honey, I was just afraid Sweetheart would be bored home alone.” She cried as she spoke, looking aggrieved and weak. Dad always fell for this. His anger subsided. “Dad, just let me go. You and Auntie are going on your honeymoon, and I’ll be really bored home alone,” I acted coquettishly, pulling Dad’s hand. “Besides, I’ve prepared all my medicine, nothing will happen.” At the mention of my fragile health, Dad got angry again. “Nobody’s going!” he said to Bella. “What honeymoon?! Cancel it all!” My stepmother’s face was as black as coal. Even though she was a national sweetheart, marrying my dad was still considered climbing the social ladder. This marriage was too high-profile. When the news spread that Dad didn’t even take her on a honeymoon, everyone speculated whether Dad really loved her. She was eager to show that her relationship with us was good, so she insisted on taking intimate photos with me. At first, I cooperated with her, but later she got the idea of live streaming, thinking it would better reflect the mother-daughter interaction and establish her image. That night of the live stream, she hugged me intimately, calling me Sweetheart, and wanted to rub cheeks with me. I “accidentally” bumped my head against her face, knocking her nose crooked. I was so scared I quickly covered her crooked fake nose— “I’m sorry, Mom! I’ll put your nose back for you!” Chapter 2 I held back my laughter and reached out to adjust her nose. She was so scared that she immediately turned off the live stream. After all, the national sweetheart debuted as the “bare-faced goddess,” known for never getting plastic surgery and rarely wearing makeup. How could that be? In my past life, she spent millions of my dad’s money every month just to maintain her face. Now she’ll have her hands full. Bella hated me to the core, but she was busy with PR for the next half month. It wasn’t until my dad helped her calm the public opinion that her reputation didn’t completely collapse. Knowing this made me feel uncomfortable again, because my dad was willing to help her calm the public opinion, but in my past life, I was killed by public opinion! Maybe, even my dad didn’t believe me about that incident. As expected, two years later, Bella suggested to my dad that I should be sent into the entertainment industry. “Honey, Sweetheart isn’t cut out for studying anyway, and she’s always wanted to be a big star. Why don’t we arrange some resources for her and send her to act?” In my past life, I really did want to be a big star, so I adored my stepmother and begged her to take me into the entertainment industry. At that time, I was about to take the college entrance exam, but disregarding my dad’s objections, I threatened suicide to go film a movie. Unexpectedly, the famous director my stepmother introduced me to often sexually harassed me in private. Finally, I couldn’t bear it anymore and beat him up. Who knew he would intentionally film it and post it online? He and my stepmother played good cop, bad cop online, implying that I framed him. I was crushed by public opinion, like a rat crossing the street, everyone shouting to beat me. My dad was disheartened with me at the time. Although he withdrew the public opinion, he couldn’t control the rumors in school. Under the pressure of public opinion, I lived a life worse than death every day, with no mood to review for exams. Eventually, unsurprisingly, I failed to get into university and was completely abandoned by my dad. The last straw that pushed me to jump into the river was the news of my stepmother’s pregnancy. She hugged my dad and smiled sweetly. “Sweetheart, you’re going to have a younger brother.” At that time, I felt like I had been struck by lightning, as if I were outside of this family. This was the last straw that broke the camel’s back. I never thought my dad would have other children. He clearly promised me that he would only love me as his daughter… That night, I jumped from the Zhangjiang Bridge and died in the icy cold river water. Chapter 3 Now, in this life, my stepmother proposes again to pull me into the entertainment industry. “Bella, why are you talking to the child about this now? She’s taking the college entrance exam next year. Do you want to distract her?” My dad was unhappy as soon as he heard it. “I’m just planning for Ice. Besides, Ice has always begged me to take her into the entertainment industry. With our family’s strength, can’t we make her famous?” Seeing that my dad was about to get angry, I immediately cut in, “Yes! I just want to be a big star! Auntie told me that being a big star allows you to know many people and make a lot of money. Given our family’s situation, why take the college entrance exam!” “What good people are there in the entertainment industry for you to know!” My dad’s words slapped my stepmother hard in the face. Seeing her face turn bad, he realized he had also scolded her. “Bella, do you really mean well for her?” My dad finally sensed something this time and became suspicious of my stepmother. “Honey! How can you think of me like that! I’m just doing it for her own good, to help her fulfill her dream! Boohoo…” This time, my stepmother’s pitiful crying did not arouse my dad’s sympathy. I innocently pulled my dad’s sleeve from the side and persuaded, “Dad, don’t quarrel with Auntie. I’ll study hard from now on.” My dad was distressed and angry. “You speak for her. I think she has many schemes!” A rift of suspicion arose between my dad and stepmother, and I was happy to see it succeed, watching my stepmother pretend to be pitiful while studying hard. Because I had fallen behind too much, later I even took the initiative to suggest to my dad to hire a tutor to come to the house specifically at night. My stepmother was afraid I would get into a good university. Because my dad said that as long as I got into a prestigious university, he would hand over the company to me in the future. Her stomach hasn’t moved yet, how can she be willing!? So she often ordered people to bring in food during tutoring sessions. It was all ice cream, milk tea, potato chips, cakes, and other things kids like to eat to distract me. I ate them all, but I was never distracted by these little things. Later one day, my dad found out I didn’t go to class and pulled me out of bed. “Sweetheart! Why are you sleeping in again?! Don’t you have school today?” I clutched my stomach, sweating profusely. “Dad, my head is dizzy, my stomach hurts so much.” My dad immediately became worried. “What’s wrong? Dad will call the doctor to see you right away!” The doctor examined me and said I had eaten something bad, causing gastroenteritis and a slight fever. My body has been weak since childhood, and my dad forbade me to eat indiscriminately. When asked, the auntie said my stepmother gave me so much junk food, and he was furious! “You ate three ice creams yesterday?” he questioned me. I nodded timidly. He was about to go settle accounts with my stepmother, but I stopped him. “Forget it, Dad. Stepmother isn’t my biological mother, it’s normal for her not to understand these things about me.” My dad’s face immediately darkened. He thought of my mother again. My mother died due to difficult childbirth, leaving me behind as soon as she gave birth. My dad wanted to give me a complete family, and he married my stepmother after hearing that she was a breath of fresh air in the entertainment industry. He thought—the national sweetheart is certified by the people nationwide, how bad could she be? But now he finally felt regretful. I asked him, “Dad, if you and Auntie have children in the future, will you not want me anymore?” “Dad doesn’t plan to have any more children. Don’t worry, Dad will only have you as his child in this life.” I instantly became suspicious—then what was the deal with the child in my stepmother’s belly in my past life? Chapter 4 There were six months left until the college entrance exam. To prevent my stepmother from affecting me, my dad asked me to move back to the old mansion, and his relationship with my stepmother became increasingly strained. I thought, with their relationship like this, it was impossible for my stepmother to still get pregnant, right? As a result, the news of my stepmother’s pregnancy came one month before the college entrance exam. My dad only said it was an accidental pregnancy, but since she was pregnant, and my stepmother tried her best to keep the child and wouldn’t allow an abortion, my dad had to give up. When I returned home after the college entrance exam, I saw my stepmother sitting on the sofa, glancing at me with pride. “Sweetheart, you’re back?” I nodded. She touched her small belly and showed off to me with a smile like in the past life, “Sweetheart, you’re going to have a younger brother.” In my past life, I hated this sentence the most. It was this sentence that drove me to desperation! I smiled and pressed a fruit knife against her belly, pressing her down and whispering, “Okay, as long as you dare to give birth, I will definitely treat my younger brother well.” She screamed, dodging backward as if seeing a ghost. “What are you doing! Are you going to kill me!?” “Auntie, don’t shout so loudly. I just wanted to peel an apple for you.” I shrugged helplessly. Since then, my stepmother was terrified that I would do something to her child, wishing I would get out. I immediately suggested, “Auntie, does the thing about sending me to film before the college entrance exam still count?” My stepmother’s eyes lit up. She looked at my dad’s face before nodding. “You’re not allowed to go,” my dad objected directly. “Dad, the college entrance exam is over. Don’t worry, I’ll handle everything.” After all, none of the people who killed me in my past life can escape! My dad initially refused to relent until the college entrance exam results came out. The phone screen displayed—623 points! I was so excited that my hands were trembling. “Dad, I got in! I finally got in!” My dad had never imagined I could score so well! As the calm and self-composed president of Yu Corporation, he was so excited that his eyes turned red, and holding me, he called my biological mother’s name— “Tang Yuan, do you see this? Our Sweetheart is promising!” My heart was filled with sorrow. It took two lifetimes to get this ending. “Dad, let me do what I want to do. I won’t let you down again.” After persuading my dad for half a month, he finally relented. Before I left, he urged me repeatedly to be careful of anyone in the entertainment industry. Stepping onto the filming island again, director Jiang Tao walked towards me amiably, “Miss Yu, nice to meet you!” He asked me to hand over my phone, but the phone accidentally slipped into the ditch. I looked embarrassed, “What should I do, Director Jiang? If you want the phone, come pick it up yourself.” Everyone on the set went silent. Jiang Tao always set up a generous and kind persona. Even after losing face, he pretended to laugh and asked someone to fish up the phone, but a trace of darkness flashed in his eyes. Sure enough, later he bullied me overtly and covertly. He wouldn’t let a scene pass even after dozens of takes, and later he couldn’t even help but curse at me. People on the set had rarely seen him like this, only saying that I wasn’t professional enough and made Director Jiang angry. I turned a deaf ear to his reprimands and swallowed my anger. Until one night, he finally came to my room to “explain the play” to me. In my past life, when he wanted to sexually harass me, I bit off a piece of meat from his ear, while he picked inconspicuous places to hit when he attacked. I was beaten half to death by him, but the next day when I lifted my clothes to check, the marks were gone. Instead, he actually took a picture of his ear injury and posted a Weibo— “Your kid did this, you have to give me work injury money@Actor Bella(cry-laugh)” Bella is my stepmother’s name, and she replied to the producer— “@Jiang Tao, sorry sorry, Ice is still young, used to messing around at home (sticking out tongue).” After this incident fermented, for a time my name was on the trending search #Who is Ice?##Yu President’s only daughter plays big shot##National sweetheart marries into wealthy family and gets bullied# Netizens were certain that the incident of me hitting people was just the tip of the iceberg, and they didn’t know how I bullied Bella at home. The internet’s abuse of me, who had just come of age, began from this time, and even my birth date and eight characters were dug out. Will I let him get his wish in this life? Jiang Tao’s face was covered with grease. Seeing that I didn’t refuse, he took off my clothes as soon as he entered my room, his eyes revealing obscenity. “Come, let Uncle Jiang properly explain the play to you.” “You’re always not good. Today Uncle will teach you a good lesson!” I showed a frightened and panicked expression to the invisible camera connected to the live broadcast room. “Director Jiang, why are you taking off my clothes to explain the play?”

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Ethan and I went viral because of one photo. In the picture, we’re standing in our blue and white varsity jackets, throwing up peace signs. Attached is the class ranking sheet: Ethan is #1. I’m #2. The top comment read: [There is zero romantic chemistry in their eyes. Just the sheer determination to academic-weapon the other person into oblivion.] I’ve been crushed by Ethan for ten years. I thought I was destined to be the eternal Salutatorian. Until I woke up… I realized I was the villainess in a high school romance novel. And Ethan? He’s the protagonist. Realizing this didn’t make me sad. It made me realize my time had come. I’m going to be Valedictorian! 1 I’ve been trailing behind Ethan for a decade. Every test, I’m one spot behind him. I am the “Forever Second Place” on the honor roll. During a nap in Homeroom, I gained sentience. I discovered I was the “Mean Girl” antagonist in a YA novel. In the story, to ruin the romance between the Hero and the Heroine, I act like a total brat until I get expelled. The Hero and the Transfer Student Heroine overcome me—the “obstacle”—and get together. But then, their grades slip, their parents freak out, and they break up. The Hero, to save the Heroine from her abusive father, deliberately misses the SATs, repeats a year with her, and they eventually go to a state college together for a Happily Ever After. The Hero of this story is Ethan, the guy who always beats me. After waking up, I sat up and glared at Ethan, who was chatting two rows ahead. Society is crumbling. How is this guy the Main Character? But it doesn’t matter. In the book, the Heroine transfers to our AP English class this week. Her arrival is the start of my bright future. As long as I refuse to play the villain, I won’t get distracted. I will crush Ethan and take the crown! I was buzzing with excitement all day. The thought of finally flipping the script was intoxicating. Walking home with Ethan that evening, I couldn’t hide my grin. Ethan looked confused, but his walking pace was practically Olympic speed. Our moms are besties, and we live right across the street from each other. Before we went inside, he looked at me like I was an idiot, then quickly shut his door. After dinner, my best friend texted me: “Girl, you’re trending!” She sent a TikTok link. It was a video I posted a few days ago after midterms. Just two pics: The selfie of me and Ethan, and the GPA ranking. No caption, but the internet got me. “No romance. Just the pure desire to academically destroy each other.” “Bro is even clutching a pen in the photo.” “When is she going to take him out to claim the throne?” I liked the comment about taking him out. Soon. 02 The Heroine transferred to our class the next day. When she introduced herself as “Maya,” I knew it was real. Just like in the book, the teacher assigned Maya the seat next to Ethan. I sat diagonally behind Ethan, with a perfect view of their backs. First day, Maya didn’t have her textbook yet. Ethan slid his book to the middle of the table so they could share. Mr. Henderson started explaining a complex calculus problem. They both leaned in, heads together, to look at the equation. They looked up at the same time, realizing their faces were inches apart. Realizing the proximity, they both jerked back and sat up straight. I couldn’t see their faces, but I clearly saw Maya’s ears turn bright red. Ethan awkwardly made a fist over his mouth and coughed. A weird feeling bubbled in my chest. I took a deep breath. Stop looking. This is what I want, right? Riley, stop looking at the boy. Focus on the GPA. I forced my attention back to the whiteboard. First period ended, and a group of guys surrounded Maya’s desk. I glanced over. Two of them were varsity jocks, known players who changed girlfriends like they changed socks. Maya, being cute and new, was fresh meat. She looked terrified. As Class President, I was about to step in, but Ethan—returning from the bathroom—got there first. He blocked Maya from their view. “Don’t you guys have anything better to do? The Dean is walking down the hall.” Hearing the Dean was coming, the guys scattered. Maya smiled shyly at Ethan to say thanks. I pulled back the foot I had stepped forward. A moment later, the Dean actually appeared at the door. He didn’t come in, just waved me over to the office to sort some files. Standing in the office, sorting scantron sheets, my brain was stuck on replay. The boy in the varsity jacket, backlit by the sun, shielding the nervous girl. And the girl looking at him with starry eyes. That’s probably what love looks like. Main characters are destined to attract each other. It’s physics. I shook my head, trying to shake the unwanted emotions out of my brain. That night, walking home, I was unusually quiet. Usually, I yap the whole way. Ethan, usually the listener, spoke first. “What’s up with you today? Something on your mind?” I looked up into his confused, concerned eyes. How do I say, I’m thinking about you? We grew up together. This was the first time I couldn’t speak freely. “What do you think of… Maya?” Ethan looked puzzled for a second. “Why do you ask?” “I’m Class President. Gotta know the new students to help them adjust.” I lied. Ethan nodded, buying it. “Her? She’s nice. Very quiet.” It was a neutral comment, but my heart sank. Sophomore year, our parents suspected us of dating. We sat in the living room for hours explaining we weren’t. Ethan had said, “I could never like Riley. If I liked someone, it would be a quiet girl.” I had punched him in the arm right there in front of our dads. That was when I crushed my own little high school crush on him. My feelings are complicated. We’re just childhood friends. But why does this hurt so much? I didn’t speak the rest of the way. At his door, he hesitated, then just said, “See you tomorrow.” 03 Maya successfully integrated into the class. She was beautiful, kind, and everyone loved her. Even I had to admit, she was a good person. It made sense why Ethan, usually a snob, would like her. Without me interfering as the villain, their romance was on the fast track. Maya wasn’t great at Math. The teacher asked Ethan to tutor her. For a while, Ethan stayed late after school to help her. The walk home went from “us” to just “me.” I tried to ignore the hollow feeling. I studied until midnight. Woke up at 5:30 AM. Starbucks, school, study. If I kept busy, I wouldn’t feel the loss. A week later, Ethan surprisingly turned down Maya’s request for tutoring and ran up to me. “Let’s go. Got my allowance. I’m treating you to hot pot.” I stared at him blankly. “Don’t you have to tutor her?” I regretted the words immediately. It sounded like jealousy. But Ethan didn’t mind. He grinned. “Not every day. I taught her the basics. Now I can walk home with you again.” Seeing his eyes crinkle in a smile, I froze. “Okay… sure. I have cleanup duty. Wait for me.” Ethan did half my work for me, and we left together. We were happily discussing whether to order extra beef or shrimp paste. Just outside the school gates, we took a shortcut through a small park. Usually, it’s empty. But today, I heard crying. We exchanged a look and walked faster. Behind the public restrooms, a group of sketchballs had cornered a girl in our school uniform. It was Maya. Ethan didn’t hesitate. He rushed in. He grabbed a guy with dyed yellow hair by the wrist. “Ow! You crazy? Let go!” The other guys surrounded us. “Oh, another pretty girl? Why don’t you both hang out with us?” One guy looked me up and down, whistling. Ethan grabbed him by the collar. The others lunged. I kicked the nearest one in the shin. Our parents put us in self-defense classes when we were kids. We aren’t Bruce Lee, but we can handle a few street punks. We dropped them, but one guy pulled a pocket knife and slashed my arm. Ethan saw red. He was about to pound the guy into the pavement, but I stopped him. That night, Maya and Ethan accompanied me to the ER. Maya kept thanking us. But the way she looked at Ethan… it was admiration. It was hero worship. We never got hot pot. The doctor said it wasn’t deep, but I had to eat bland food. We got home at 8 PM. My mom yelled at me for getting hurt. 04 After that, Maya was even more attentive to Ethan. When he played basketball, she was on the sidelines with Gatorade. I don’t know if he took it, but everyone could see Maya liked him. Ethan didn’t seem to react. I buried myself in books. School, home, study. But sometimes, my brain drifted to Ethan. His face—always gentle with me, only frowning when worried—started haunting my dreams. I didn’t want to admit it. But now, I knew. I actually liked Ethan. But he’s the Main Character. And she’s the Heroine. I’m just the villain. And villains who fall for the hero never get a happy ending.

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The last gift my wife of fifty years gave me was her suicide note. It was our golden anniversary. I had cooked a table full of all her favorite dishes, but when I pushed open the study door, Camille was lying in a pool of blood, her wrist deeply slashed. An open will rested beside her. My hands trembling, I picked it up. The last line of text, written with terrible force, seemed to cut right through the paper: The biggest regret of my life was testifying falsely for Jesse at our wedding and sending Ronan into prison, ruining his entire existence. For fifty years, I have been tormented by regret. Now that my beloved is gone, I do not wish to live alone. After I die, please bury me with Jesse. As for Ronan… I only pray we never meet again in the next life. A violent buzzing filled my ears. It was Jesse who had attacked me with a knife at our wedding, nearly costing me the ability to have children. Yet my wife called him her beloved, and died for him? At the funeral, my children had urged me: “Dad, just honor Mom’s last wish. We’ll buy you a better plot.” “Yes, you made Mom and Uncle Jesse miserable for a lifetime. Are you going to keep them apart even in death?” Miserable? What about me? A knot of pure, desperate shock choked my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I was, quite literally, killed by the sheer force of the betrayal. When I opened my eyes again, the officiant’s booming voice rang out: “Bride, Camille Wallace, do you take Ronan Burke to be your husband?” A sudden, tearing pain shot through my lower abdomen, and I looked down— Jesse was there, his eyes red, plunging the knife deep into my gut. “Ronan!” As the blinding agony exploded, Camille rushed forward in a panic. I watched her, a knot of confusion and hurt tightening inside me. Even if she had later turned away, the terror in her eyes right now wasn’t faked. I crumpled in pain, waiting for her to rush to me, to hold me, as she had in the previous life. But she ran straight past me, sweeping Jesse into her arms. “Jesse! Are you okay? You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” “Camille, I didn’t mean to, I’m so scared…” Jesse cried, his voice trembling. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here. No one will ever hurt you again.” Camille patted his back gently. My vision blurred from the searing pain in my abdomen, but the wound in my heart felt deeper than any knife cut. “Ronan! Camille, what are you doing? Call an ambulance!” Mrs. Wallace frantically tried to press down on my wound, afraid to touch the hilt of the knife. Mr. Wallace’s face was ashen: “Camille! What in God’s name is going on here?” It all happened too fast. Jesse had his back to the guests, so only Camille, standing beside me, had seen the truth. The arm she had wrapped around Jesse tightened. “Ronan took the knife and stabbed himself, then shoved it into Jesse’s hand.” I stared at her, utterly disbelieving. Our eyes met. A flicker of guilt crossed hers, but was instantly replaced by a hardened, cold resolve. Camille had been reborn, too. And she had chosen, without hesitation, to protect Jesse. “No, it was Jesse who stabbed me…” I gasped out the weak rebuttal, fighting the pain. “Enough, Ronan!” Camille cut me off sharply. “Are you really going to slander Jesse, even now? Jesse is so gentle, he wouldn’t even step on a bug; how could he possibly attack you with a knife?” She took a deep breath, scanning the assembled friends and family. “The wedding is off. I absolutely will not marry a malicious hypocrite like this.” At her words, a look of wild, triumphant euphoria erupted in Jesse’s eyes. Mrs. Wallace, cradling my blood-soaked body, was sobbing, nearly fainting: “Camille, Ronan is losing so much blood! Get him to a hospital first! Talk about all this later!” Mr. Wallace was shaking with pure rage. “Stop it! Ronan’s parents died saving your life! Our family owes him a debt beyond measure! If you dare call off this wedding, I’ll disown you!” Camille scoffed, gripping Jesse’s hand tighter. “Yes, his parents saved me. Does that give him the right to use that debt to hurt Jesse so recklessly? Am I supposed to sacrifice my whole life, just because of that, and be prevented from marrying the man I love?” The man she loved? It turned out that fifty years of marriage meant nothing compared to the idealized first love she secretly carried in her heart. The woman before me was no longer the girl who had once knelt at my parents’ grave, vowing to care for me for the rest of my life. She was a chilling stranger. Camille’s voice was utterly final. “Mom, Dad, even if you throw me out of the family today, even if I lose everything, I will never regret this. I am canceling this wedding.” Before she led Jesse away, she gave me a cold, steel warning: “Ronan, this lifetime, I will never let a scumbag like you hurt Jesse again.” “If you try any more of your despicable schemes to frame him, I will personally see you sent to prison! You’ll have plenty of time to reflect in there!” “Camille.” I used every ounce of strength to call out her name. She didn’t turn back. My vision began to cloud, and darkness rushed in like a tide. Camille. Since you’ve made your choice in this life, I swear, I won’t repeat the mistakes of the last one. When I woke again, the tearing pain in my abdomen reminded me this was no dream. “Ronan, you’re awake? Does it hurt? The doctor said the blade just missed, so it’s not life-threatening, but your kidney was damaged, and it’s possible you may…” Mrs. Wallace choked back a sob. “You may never be a father.” Mr. Wallace sighed with guilt. “Ronan, you know we see you as our own. We believe you. Camille has just been completely infatuated by that young man, causing all this madness.” “You focus on healing. We’ll re-do the wedding in three days. This time, no one will dare disrupt it!” A welcome warmth spread through my chest. After my parents died saving Camille, the Wallaces took me in and raised me as their son. In the previous life, when Camille grew cold after the wedding, they constantly argued with her on my behalf. Their kindness was real and profound. I pressed my lips together. “The wedding… let’s skip it. Her heart is no longer with me. You can’t force a vine to grow where it won’t.” Mrs. Wallace squeezed my hand, tears streaming down her face. “Ronan, you two grew up together, everything was fine before… How did it come to this?” I offered a bitter smile. I knew Camille’s fierce single-mindedness better than anyone. In the previous life, she could take her own life out of overwhelming regret for Jesse. Now, convinced she owed him, she would stand against the world for him. Seeing my firm attitude, Mr. and Mrs. Wallace could only sigh, urging me to rest before leaving. The room fell silent again. I dialed a familiar number. “I want to go to Charleston. As soon as possible.” “Big brother Ronan? You and Camille… okay. There’s a train in three days. I’ll meet you at the station.” … I hung up, remembering that my father’s pocket watch was still in the honeymoon suite. It was the last memento my parents left me. Gritting my teeth against the cramping pain in my abdomen, I leaned on the wall, inching step by painful step toward the room I had so lovingly prepared. Just as I reached the door, I heard Jesse’s panicked voice: “Camille, I’m scared… Ronan lost so much blood. What if he dies?” “If he dies, will I be a murderer? I don’t want to go to jail, Camille, I’m terrified…” Camille cut him off, her voice laced with protective affection. “Don’t be afraid. Ronan is a pest, he always survives.” “Besides, I’m here. Only I saw what happened yesterday. If I say he stabbed himself, then he stabbed himself.” “Jesse, I swear, this lifetime, I will never let anyone hurt you again.” “Camille, you’re so good to me…” The moonlight cast their intertwined shadows on the door, intimate and piercing. How utterly ludicrous. In the past life, I had stomach issues, and Camille, trying to please me, frequently went to the hospital, where she met Jesse, then a medical intern. I took pity on him later, funding his post-grad studies. Last time, after he stabbed me, Camille had hated him. “You’re too kind-hearted, but some people are just ungrateful wolves who bite the hand that feeds them!” Now, she was the one protecting that “wolf.” And I had been gutted, literally, for it. The surgical wound gave a sharp pull, the pain shooting straight to my heart. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. Camille instantly shielded Jesse behind her, looking at me with undisguised disgust. “What do you want? Haven’t you hurt Jesse enough?” My heart chilled. I was about to speak, but Jesse preempted me, collapsing to his knees in a flood of manufactured tears: “Big brother Ronan, I’m sorry, it’s all my fault. I apologize. Please, don’t press charges, don’t send me to jail, okay? I’m begging you!” Camille quickly yanked him up. “Jesse, get up! With me here, let’s see who dares send you to jail!” Jesse clung to her, his eyes rimmed with red. “Big brother Ronan, Camille and I truly love each other. You have so many people who love you… can’t you just let her go? Please?” As he spoke, he moved to grab me excitedly, but deliberately knocked the pocket watch off the table. Clatter! The glass face of the watch shattered. The photograph inside fell into a puddle of spilled tea. My parents’ smiling faces were quickly soaked and dissolved by the dark liquid. Smack! I couldn’t hold back anymore. I raised my hand and slapped his feigned innocent face with all my strength. “I have everything? So I deserve to be stabbed by you, to lose the ability to have children, to be slandered?” “I deserve to have the last memory my parents left me utterly destroyed by you, too?” Camille gently cupped Jesse’s swollen cheek, snapping at me: “It’s just a broken watch! So what if it’s broken? How much is it even worth? Ronan, do you really have to be so aggressive?” A broken watch… This watch was my father’s most cherished item. When Camille and I were young, she once said it was beautiful, and my father immediately gave it to her. After my parents died, I wept day and night. It was Camille who had placed our family photo inside and returned it to me. “See, Ronan, your aunt and uncle are always with you. And I will always be with you, too.” She had long forgotten that vow. Only I had remained, like a pitiful fool clinging to the memory. My voice was thick with emotion: “That was my father’s last belonging. The picture inside—you put it there yourself… You really don’t remember?” Camille paused for a fraction of a second, then stubbornly asserted: “Even if it’s a memento, you can’t be so cruel…” “I’m cruel?” I laughed, shaking with fury, and pointed at Jesse. “Camille, Jesse stabbed me and nearly cost me the chance to have children! You’re protecting him and calling me cruel?” “How is he going to pay for that? He deserves to spend the rest of his life atoning in prison!” Jesse was trembling with anxiety and reached out to grab me. “Big brother Ronan… I know I should die for this, but please don’t send me away… I truly know I was wrong…” I pulled my hand back. He stumbled, falling heavily, his right hand landing hard on the shards of glass. Jesse cried out in pain, clutching his bloody right hand. “Ah! Glass in my hand… it hurts so bad…” “Jesse? Are you okay? I’m taking you to the emergency room right now!” Camille anxiously helped him up, her gaze fixed on me, colder than ice. “Ronan, you had better pray Jesse’s hand is fine. If anything happens to his hand, if he can’t work—I will personally put you in prison! And you’ll stay there until you die!” With that, she didn’t look at me again, supporting him as they left. Tears slid into the corner of my mouth. Salty and bitter. Camille. Last life, you brought the man who hurt me to justice, saying the law was absolute. Now, you’re threatening to send the innocent me to prison for his sake? I silently packed my bag. I only took the old photos of my parents and my train ticket to Charleston. The tuxedo Mrs. Wallace had made for me, I folded neatly, preparing to return it to her. The woman on the phone’s voice was calm and steady: “Big brother Ronan, you just focus on getting away safely. I’ll be waiting for you at the station.” “Good. Thank you, Wren.” A flicker of warmth touched my heart. “Stop thanking me. Just get here safely.” Just as I hung up, the door was violently kicked open. Camille stared at the tuxedo on the bed, her fury twisting into a cold smile. “Ronan! Jesse’s hand nerves were damaged; he’ll never hold a scalpel again! And you still have the nerve to think about a wedding?” “Out of respect for your parents saving me back then, I’ll give you one last chance. Come to the hospital with me, apologize to Jesse! Otherwise…” She paused, her eyes turning utterly glacial. “Don’t blame me for abandoning all pretense of history and desecrating your parents’ headstones!” All the blood in my body instantly froze. She had sworn on their graves to care for me for life. Now, she was using their final resting place to threaten me? “Camille, you’re insane…” Camille gripped my wrist and roughly dragged me toward the door. “I’m insane because you forced me! Now come apologize to Jesse!” … In the hospital room, Jesse leaned against the headboard, his face pale. “Camille, it’s fine… Big brother Ronan didn’t mean it. He’s just upset that I can never be a surgeon now…” Camille embraced him tenderly, then turned to me, her voice sharp: “Kneel down and apologize, until Jesse forgives you! Do it now, or I swear I’ll follow through with my threat!” I stood frozen. Seeing the look in Camille’s eyes, I knew she was serious. If I didn’t comply, she truly would vandalize my parents’ graves. And… I was running out of time to catch my train. My knees slammed heavily onto the floor. My forehead struck the tile. “I’m sorry.” Thud. Thud. Thud. One knock after another, the dull sounds echoing in the silent room. Blood quickly bloomed on the floor. After I don’t know how many times, Jesse finally spoke, his voice muffled: “Big brother Ronan, you’re bleeding. Stop, stop. I forgive you… Please get up.” Camille gently kissed his cheek. “You’re too soft, you know.” She looked at me then, her eyes full of weariness and annoyance. “Now get out. Are you expecting me to bandage you up?” I pushed my numb body up, staggering out of the room. … As the train sped south, Camille and Jesse’s wedding reception was in full swing back in Northport. Mrs. Wallace rushed into the banquet hall, clutching a letter, her voice shaking: “Camille! Ronan left! The letter says he wants to see the cherry blossoms in Charleston. Who does he even know in Charleston?” “Impossible! Ronan would never leave me! He’s probably just throwing a tantrum; he’ll be back in a couple of days.” Camille impatiently glanced at the letter, scoffing. “Charleston? What kind of excuse is that… He must be going to find that…” Mid-sentence, the smile on her face froze. Charleston… That person—Ronan wasn’t supposed to meet her again for another ten years. Unless— Ronan had also been reborn?

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Married for five years, I finally got pregnant. When my husband, Ethan Sterling, heard the news, he spent a fortune booking the entire VIP wing of the hospital to ensure my safe delivery. I thought I had married the perfect man. That was until I woke up in the middle of the night and heard Ethan whispering into his phone in the hallway: “Chloe, don’t be angry. I’ll come to keep you company tomorrow. She’s due soon. The baby’s cord blood will definitely save our son.” “I know you’re terrified of pain, that’s why I’d never let you suffer through childbirth again. Besides, she wanted a child so badly. Let’s just consider this me giving her a chance.” 1 Standing at the bathroom door, my blood ran cold. The baby in my belly seemed to sense my distress and kicked me hard. I couldn’t help but let out a gasp. A flushing sound came from the bathroom, and Ethan walked out. His face paled when he saw me, a flicker of panic in his eyes. “Honey, what’s wrong? Why are you standing there?” “I… my stomach felt uncomfortable. I just got up to use the restroom, and the baby kicked me.” I really wasn’t feeling well. My blood was boiling, and the realization of Ethan’s scheme cut through my heart like a knife. “I’ll take you to the hospital!” I didn’t refuse. Ethan carried me out and sped to the hospital. Fortunately, the baby was fine. However, because my emotions were volatile, the doctor insisted I stay for observation. After tossing and turning all night, I finally fell into a heavy sleep. The next morning, I woke to find Ethan sitting by my bed, his eyes bloodshot. “Ava, how do you feel? Are you hungry? I’ll go buy you breakfast.” I nodded. Ethan turned and left. The nurse who came to check my temperature looked envious. “Mr. Sterling is so considerate to you.” Considerate? Sure. How could he not be considerate to the incubator carrying the cure for his real son? I forced a smile and touched my stomach. Seven months. If I gave birth now, the baby would survive. This pregnancy hadn’t come easily. My fallopian tubes were blocked. I had endured hundreds of IVF injections to conceive this child. But Ethan said the cord blood was to save that woman’s baby. Was I just a tool? A biological vessel? I struggled to sit up and checked Ethan’s location on my phone. He played the role of the devoted husband perfectly, never hiding his phone or privacy from me. We even had location sharing enabled for safety. He probably forgot about it. He said he was buying breakfast, but the dot on the map showed he was in a different ward on the floor below. I walked straight down, dragging my heavy body, until I reached the stairwell corner. There, I saw two entangled figures. Chloe, Ethan’s first love. Ethan was holding her chin, his voice husky. “Babe, this is a hospital.” “It’s a Sterling family hospital. You own it. What are you afraid of?” “But what about Ava? Our son’s condition is worsening. We can’t let anything happen to her pregnancy. If it weren’t for preserving my figure, I wouldn’t let her carry your child!” “It’s brilliant that you came up with this plan.” Chloe’s hand traced circles on his chest before she grabbed his tie and pulled him into a blind spot away from the cameras. Hearing the sounds of intimacy, I clamped my hand over my mouth and turned back to my room. The baby moved again. My stomach hardened, and I started to sob quietly. The child I had prayed for wasn’t even mine? Ava, you are pathetic. He played you like a fiddle. Why? Why should I bear the consequences of their karma? My quiet sobbing turned into loud wailing, scaring the rounding doctor half to death. Ethan rushed back. Seeing me like this, he roared at the staff, “How are you taking care of her?! If anything happens to my wife, I’ll sue you all!” He knelt by the bed and hugged me. “Ava? Ava, look at me. What’s wrong? Tell me, I’ll fix it.” I looked at him through tear-filled eyes. My gaze landed on his tie. I grabbed it and flipped it over—there was a smear of lipstick on the back. It was Chloe’s provocation. My stomach churned violently, and I leaned over and vomited all over him. 2 Physiological disgust made me retch until there was nothing left but bile. Tears mixed with vomit; I looked wretched. Ethan was frantic, calling doctors over to check on me. When I finally caught my breath, I pushed him away. “Get away from me. You smell disgusting.” His face went white. The doctor explained, “Pregnant women are extremely sensitive to smells. It might be your cologne or body odor triggering it.” Ethan seemed to realize something. He immediately stripped off his jacket and threw it in the trash. “Ava, I’m sorry. I didn’t change my clothes from yesterday. I must smell stale. It’s my fault.” I shook my head weaky. “I want to sleep.” “Okay, I’ll stay with you.” He sat beside me. I pretended to sleep. Before long, Ethan grew restless. “Ava? Ava, are you asleep?” I didn’t make a sound. He tiptoed to the door and whispered to someone outside, “Why are you here again? What if she sees you?” “Junior wants to see you!” “Daddy!” Even though I was prepared, hearing that child call him “Daddy” made me tremble uncontrollably. Ethan sensed something and shut the door tight, cutting off the sound. Tears streamed down my face as I cried silently under the covers. I took a deep breath, wiped my face, and calmed myself. I turned and saw Ethan’s phone on the nightstand. I picked it up. He didn’t use a privacy screen with me. I unlocked it easily. The chat history was clean. Chloe wasn’t even in his contacts. Ethan was cautious. But with a three-year-old kid involved, there had to be traces. I remembered a trick I saw online about hidden interface systems. Following the tutorial, I found the second profile. I entered the password again—my birthday. The irony. The background was a family photo of the three of them. The hidden profile was filled with memories of him and Chloe. After reading everything, I silently put the phone back. Pain climbed from my heart to my limbs. Suddenly, the door opened. Chloe walked in. She smirked when she saw me awake. “Ava, you heard everything, didn’t you?” I looked at her coldly. “How old is the child?” “Junior is three.” Ethan and I had been married for five years. The child was three. That meant when I miscarried my first baby, hers was being born. Chloe seemed to read my mind. She looked at me triumphantly. “That night you called Ethan? I was in labor. He booked the entire building. The medical team was on standby for me.” “Junior was born that day. You called, his phone was off. Later he told you he was in a meeting, right?” “He was actually holding my hand in the delivery room. He spent the entire month of my postpartum recovery with me.” “When you were hospitalized for the miscarriage, I was on the floor above you.” “Speaking of which, aside from the marriage certificate, he really is a devoted husband.” I remembered. The first year of marriage, I got pregnant. Ethan was “busy,” always in meetings or locked in his study. But that night, he said he had a business dinner. I got up to use the bathroom, missed a step, and fell down the stairs. The pain was blinding. I called Ethan. His phone was off. I had to call the ambulance myself. I lost the baby alone. 3 Ethan didn’t come home until dawn, red-eyed and unshaven. He held my hand and swore he’d never leave me. I smelled milk formula on him then, but I was too naive. I thought I was useless for losing the baby. Ethan Sterling, what a master of time management. “Ava.” Chloe walked over and patted my hand condescendingly. “Give birth to this one, and I’ll tell Ethan to treat you a little better.” She turned and left. I clutched my stomach, feeling suffocated. After the first miscarriage, Ethan cooked all my recovery meals personally. I felt so guilty back then. Now I realized, those meals were probably practice for Chloe’s postpartum care. Three years of dating, five years of marriage. Eight years of my life, living a lie, just to be a blood bag for her son. What a joke. I threw off the covers and walked out. I saw Ethan talking to Chloe at the end of the hall. I walked straight up to them. Ethan rushed over. “Honey, why are you out of bed? You’ll catch a cold!” I shoved him aside, walked up to Chloe, and—right in front of Ethan—slapped her across the face. Twice. Ethan gasped. “Ava!” “Chloe, why are you still haunting my husband!” I turned to Ethan. “Can you not forget her? If that’s the case, I’ll grant you your wish and leave!” Ethan panicked. “No! It’s not like that!” “Chloe, tell my wife yourself what happened!” Chloe looked indignant. “My son is hospitalized. I asked Mr. Sterling for a loan, but he refused. He said it’s my problem, not his!” “Mrs. Sterling, sorry to disturb you!” She gave me a hateful look and stormed off. Ethan took my hand and pressed it to his cheek. “Honey, are you relieved? Hit me if you’re still mad.” I didn’t hesitate. I used all my strength and slapped him. Silence filled the corridor. Ethan didn’t get angry. He rubbed my hand tenderly. “Did that hurt your hand? Let me rub it.” I sneered internally. He really could bend and break. “Ethan, I want crystal pork elbow and soy duck. Go buy it.” He agreed immediately and ran off. A nurse behind me sighed, “Mr. Sterling treats you so well.” “That’s not love,” I said coldly. “That’s guilt.” I went back to the room, took out the saffron I had prepared, brewed a strong tea with dozens of strands, and drank it all. Ethan, you owe me. Today, you pay. I went down to the pediatric ward. Chloe glared at me when I entered. “What do you want?” “I came to see my husband’s bastard son.” The pale boy in the bed was pitiful, sure. But wasn’t I pitiful too? Chloe was furious. She shoved me toward the door. “Ava, I’m warning you, stay away from my son!” She dragged me to the end of the hallway. “If you’re scared, why provoke me!” I laughed. “I know Ethan won’t give you a title. You’re forever in the dark. Chloe, you’re pathetic. You’re a mistress, and your son is illegitimate. He’ll be laughed at his whole life.” I patted my stomach. “The one I give birth to is legal. No one can take that away.” She realized that as the legal wife, I held the cards. “You’re dreaming! Once that baby is born, Ethan will kick you out! I am the real Mrs. Sterling!” I mouthed the words at her: Mistress. Bastard. Chloe snapped. She shoved me hard. “I am not a mistress!” I smiled at her as I let my body fall backward. I tumbled down the stairs, watching the horror dawn on her face. Pain hit me as expected. I felt the warm blood beneath me and smiled. Ethan, this is the karma for your betrayal. 4 The surgical lights overhead flickered. I woke up some time later to see Ethan’s anxious face. His voice was hoarse, his collar crumpled. He looked nothing like the decisive CEO. “Honey, you’re awake!” “Our baby…” I touched my flat stomach, my face a mask of grief. “He’s in the incubator. The doctor says he’s fragile, but don’t worry, specialists are watching him.” Seven months premature. He would live, but after that much saffron tea, the child would likely have issues. Ethan, are you happy now? “Can I see him?” Ethan held me down. “Don’t rush. Recover first.” “Call the police. Chloe pushed me! She killed our baby!” I wept. Ethan looked pained. He had someone bring Chloe in. Her face was swollen with slap marks, her hair messy, blood at the corner of her mouth. Ethan had already punished her. “Mrs. Sterling, I’m sorry.” Ethan kicked her in the shin. Chloe fell to her knees with a thud. “Honey, let’s not involve the police. We can handle her ourselves.” Ethan clenched his fists, glaring at Chloe. I said calmly, “Something this big happened. Where is Ms. Liang’s husband? Why isn’t he here?” “She did this to me. Her family should be apologizing. Or is her son a bastard who can’t be seen in public?” “Ava!” Ethan shouted suddenly. I looked at him. “What? Did I say something wrong? She caused my premature labor. Her family shouldn’t apologize? A mistress is a mistress.” Chloe turned pale. Ethan couldn’t take it anymore. “Enough, Ava. She acted alone.” “Fine. Then I want to press charges. No settlement.” Ethan agreed quickly. “Okay, we’ll call the police.” “Ethan!” Chloe cried, begging him with her eyes. Ethan remained expressionless as the police took her away. I let out a breath. However, Chloe was out in three days. My private investigator sent photos of Ethan’s assistant picking her up from the station. I sneered. Ethan, you’re soft-hearted after all. She’s your son’s mother. What am I? I pretended not to know. I stayed in the hospital for a week, then moved to a high-end postpartum center. Ethan spared no expense. I accepted it all. I needed to recover. I contacted my best friend, Mia, to draft divorce papers. She was shocked. “Ava, are you crazy?” “Everyone knows Ethan treats you like a queen!” “I had a premature birth because his mistress pushed me. And the baby in my belly… wasn’t even mine.” Before the “accident,” I had secretly done an amniocentesis. The DNA didn’t match mine. They used my womb for their embryo. Mia was furious. “What kind of animals are they? Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” Ethan arrived shortly after I hung up. He held flowers and a gift box. “What’s this?” “A custom necklace. You’ve worked hard, honey.” Inside lay a sapphire necklace. Expensive. “You mentioned it last time. I remembered.” I smiled. “Thanks, I love it.” If I recalled correctly, this was a set. Necklace, ring, bracelet. Ethan, who is wearing the other two pieces?

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Five years into our secret relationship, I couldn’t help but test Christian Thorne. “My mom keeps pushing me to go on blind dates. I told her I have a boyfriend, but she…” He leaned back against the headboard, a lazy smile playing on his lips. “Stella, I like you best when you’re obedient.” “I told you, if you want to leave, our relationship can end at any time.” After saying that, he thoughtfully buttoned my sleeve and wiped away my tears. He knew that as soon as he brought up those words—relationship end—I would compromise, retreat, and shut up, just like I had in the past. I didn’t tell him that this time was different. I made a bet with someone. I bet on whether he would be willing to marry me. And the price of losing the bet was leaving him forever. 1 On the third day of my business trip to Paris, my mom called me from across the ocean. I didn’t remind her about the international roaming charges. She rambled on for a while before changing the subject. “Mom doesn’t mean anything by it, but you always say how great this boyfriend of yours is. You’re turning thirty in two years. If he really likes you that much, why hasn’t he shown any intention of marrying you…” I always thought Paris was a romantic place. It was suitable for drinking, flirting, and talking about love. The only thing it wasn’t suitable for was parting ways. Christian walked out of the bathroom, his forehead slightly damp. His bathrobe was loosely draped over his body, revealing a few red marks on his chest—remnants of our recent intimacy. He sat down beside me, the sofa sinking slightly under his weight. Seeing me staring blankly ahead, he brushed the back of his fingers against my cheek. “What did your mom say? Any trouble you can’t handle?” I turned to look at him. Christian’s mother was a famous beauty in Hong Kong with a quarter Portuguese blood. I had seen his father in newspapers; he was also a rare talent. So Christian had a naturally handsome face, with exquisite Western bone structure paired with perfect Eastern features, making it hard to look away. I grabbed his fingers, placed them in my palm, and tried to sound casual. “Mom wants me to go on blind dates as soon as possible. She says she knows a very nice guy.” “She doesn’t believe I have a boyfriend. She always says I’m fooling her. I told her it’s because I’m too busy with work and haven’t had time to bring you back to meet her.” I wanted to find more excuses for him, but after thinking about it, I just said, “After the New Year, come back to the States with me. We…” “Stella,” Christian interrupted me with a smile, getting straight to the point. “No need to test me. When have you ever seen me fall for that?” He crossed his long legs, looking at me in the dim light, his tone indifferent. “I told you, if you want to leave, our relationship can end at any time.” I stared at him for a long time, surprisingly calm inside. The first time I heard this sentence, I was unwilling to accept it and would cause a huge scene. I didn’t spoil him; I argued with him. “Our relationship? What relationship? Christian, have you forgotten? I accepted your pursuit fair and square. I am your girlfriend.” “Don’t use that tone of charity when you speak to me!” At first, he admitted his mistakes quickly and would coax me with apologies. I was so angry back then, but in the end, I would only tearfully tell him not to say such things in the future. But now, hearing this sentence, I felt no fear, no anger. Christian suddenly leaned in and pitifully wiped away my tears. “Look at you. You clearly can’t bear to leave, yet you always want to test me. Crying like this… it hurts me to see it.” I touched the tears that had fallen without my noticing. It turned out I was only left with sadness now. “But you once said we would get married.” My tears gathered in his palm, eliciting sigh after sigh from him. I couldn’t tell if these tears were a weapon to use against him or if they were genuinely flowing due to the situation. He was very direct, and also very hurtful. “Aren’t we good like this now? We don’t have to compromise freedom or boundaries for love. Haven’t you been happy these past years?” “Since you’re happy, why fuss over so much? The position beside me has never been reserved for anyone else.” His words carried enough weight. He couldn’t think of any reason for me to make a scene again. So, after I slowly calmed down, he returned to his lazy demeanor. “Hungry yet? You haven’t had much appetite for French food these past few days. Chinese food in Paris is excellent—hot pot, Sichuan, Yunnan cuisine. What do you want?” “Don’t want any of it? I’ll make you some noodles. Sit tight.” He stood up with a cigar in his mouth and ruffled my hair. I don’t know when Christian mastered the technique of dealing with me. It was just like this—breezy, lightly ignoring everything, ignoring all my pain and sorrow. Because he knew that as long as he said those four words—relationship can end—I would panic, I would be reluctant to leave, and in the end, I would swallow all my grievances. This wasn’t the first time I had tested Christian like this. But the result of every attempt was similar, yet not entirely the same. 2 The evening wind began to feel damp. It was going to rain in Paris again tonight. My relationship with Christian was exactly like the weather at this moment—damp, cold, and never seeing the light of day. In the beginning, I wanted him to go public, even at the cost of my career. I thought Christian didn’t want to go public because of workplace taboos, so I didn’t hesitate. “I can resign. I’ll leave Kaisheng Group. That way, we won’t have a superior-subordinate relationship. Can we be open and honest then?” I was too naive and crazy back then. I didn’t care about anything; I just wanted to be by his side legitimately. I had studied for over twenty years, fought through countless obstacles, and bled to get into Kaisheng. My academic background was excellent, my abilities outstanding. Given time, I would surely achieve something great. Anyone whose brain wasn’t broken would grit their teeth and refuse to leave Kaisheng. So when I said those words, even Christian, who was used to big scenes, couldn’t help but be surprised. He comforted me and calmly advised, “Stella, your career is important. You can’t be rash.” Back then, I was much younger. With him, I was always a bit cautious, afraid of losing him. One sentence from him, and I backed down. “I didn’t think it through. Your career is more important than mine.” Christian was the heir to the Thorne family. He came to Kaisheng for experience. Hearing my words, he was stunned at first, then smiled and shook his head. “Not my career. Yours.” He tried to reason with me, striving to save an ignorant girl about to lose her way. “I just think it’s not easy for a girl to build a career. You shouldn’t compromise your future at any time, not even for your lover.” “I hope that one day when you make a name for yourself at Kaisheng, it’s because of your successful career, not because of gossip with your boss.” I rarely thought about how much of what he said back then was true and how much was false. In the many years that followed, whenever I secured project after project and achieved dazzling results, I was incredibly grateful that Christian had stopped the impulsive me back then. Later, my tests became secretive, like those “suitors” who appeared abruptly. I tried to see a hint of jealousy and possessiveness on Christian’s face. But his wealthy background and outstanding talent gave him the right to be overly picky and critical. No matter how excellent my suitors were, he would only dismiss them lightly as fools. He wouldn’t stoop to compete with fools, nor did he think I would be stupid enough to give up champagne and caviar for bread and water. From the beginning to the end of this relationship, he always stood on a high pedestal, fearless. 3 I stood on the balcony, looking down as the servants locked up and left. Actually, putting feelings aside, whether as a boyfriend or a lover, Christian wasn’t stingy. I merely mentioned that I was traveling a lot for business and staying in hotels was troublesome. He casually bought this apartment in the 16th arrondissement and gave it to me, saying it was a place for me to stay during business trips. Of course, I could hesitate and refuse to let go, wandering between his good and bad points. Letting reason slowly swallow my feelings, asking no questions about the future with him. But I knew better than anyone that this was an impossible thing. My phone rang and stopped, stopped and rang again. I picked up on the third ring. The person on the other end was silent for a while before speaking: “I told you, he won’t marry you.” “Some walls won’t make you turn back just by hitting them once. You have to hit them a few more times to give up completely.” The voice on the phone continued, but I still didn’t speak. I turned around and looked through the glass door. Christian was standing at the table looking at me. He had just put down the phone after taking a call from someone unknown. Seeing me looking over, he tapped the table with his finger, signaling me to come back. I gazed at him deeply for a long time, until my eyes soured. Then I whispered into the phone, “I accept the bet. I won’t go back on my word. Once the procedures are done, I’ll come find you.” Was this bet expensive? Did it have to be fulfilled? It didn’t seem entirely so. It was just… time to leave. 4 Christian stood inside the room and never crossed that threshold. He just watched that figure. He knew he didn’t need to walk out; she would come back on her own. Just now, his mother had rarely called from Switzerland, chatting a bit and asking about his girl. “Are you going to have a wedding? When will you let me meet her? You’re always so unreliable.” He smiled noncommittally. “What wedding? When did I ever say I was getting married?” The beauty complained a bit on the other end: “Don’t blame Mommy for not warning you. Playing with a girl’s feelings will bring karma.” “When I lost to a competitor before, you warned me the same way,” Christian said, garnishing the noodles with great patience. “But what happened later? My career is still booming, reaching new heights.” “How can that be the same? I always tell your father, you… everything goes too smoothly for you. Even when you meet a girl who likes you so much, you should suffer a bit.” Christian raised an eyebrow, not taking it to heart. “Who’s going to make me suffer? Her? She wouldn’t bear to.” After answering casually and hanging up, he looked outside. He happened to meet her gaze as she turned back. Through such a dark night, he could see the emotions welling up in her eyes. How could she bear to leave him? 5 For the next few days, neither Christian nor I mentioned the interlude from that night. Working people don’t even have the freedom to be heartbroken. Even while crying, you have to prepare materials for clients. After the business trip, I rushed back to the company without stopping. Walking all the way to the office, I gave instructions as I went. “Kelly, help me check Mr. Wen’s schedule. If he’s available, book a meeting with him for 3 PM tomorrow. Just say I want to sync up on the progress of the European project.” “Also, ask Alex to come to my office in ten minutes.” Deciding to leave was one thing, but I liked to finish what I started. Kaisheng was the first milestone in my career. The longer I stayed, the more things I had to hand over. A few days later, there was a new smart factory project in the company, and the person in charge was undecided. When the news spread like wildfire, Mr. Wen called me to the conference room. Besides me, there was another person in the room. I nodded at her. Marlene was a proud person, especially towards me. She didn’t even look at me and spoke directly. “Whether it’s the technical proposal or past cooperation experience, my team is undoubtedly the most suitable. It’s clearly a project I’ve been following up on. Why should unrelated personnel be involved?” Mr. Wen looked at me. “Stella, what are your thoughts?” If it were in the past, I would have fought for it, but this time I didn’t speak immediately. After a while, I stood up. Marlene pressed the document onto the table and mocked, “You really have to fight me for everything. We did a massive amount of research in the early stages of this project. You can’t win against me.” I looked at her, momentarily lost in thought. Actually, in the beginning, we weren’t so incompatible. We were new employees hired in the same batch, the first generation of workplace colleagues. We had mutual appreciation. It was just that later, I won several key projects in a row and got promoted faster than her. When she looked at me, appreciation was replaced by vigilance and rivalry. She had to compare herself to me in everything and go against me everywhere. Just as I was about to speak, someone pushed the door open and entered the conference room. Marlene’s eyes lit up, and she pushed the materials in front of him. “Mr. Thorne, for this smart factory upgrade project, our team has done detailed calculations. I am confident that my team and I can successfully secure this cooperation.” Using work as an excuse, I hadn’t been to Christian’s place for several days. He scanned the people present in a business-like manner, looked down, opened Marlene’s proposal, read a few pages, and made a decision. “Send it to my office.” “Thank you, Mr. Thorne!” Christian didn’t give me a second look. Actually, even if he looked at me a few more times, no one would care. Who would guess that the noble Mr. Thorne by day would be entangled with an ordinary employee like me by night? Marlene gave me a triumphant look and followed Christian out. Mr. Wen patted my shoulder, and I signaled that I was OK. Christian had always been like this. In work, he treated everyone equally. He never showed me any favoritism because of our secret relationship. He only considered the company’s core interests. If I didn’t do well, he would scold me just the same. At first, I was very resentful. Later I learned that he just equally looked down on everyone. Later, during the day at work, I would accept his scolding without talking back. But at night, seeing me depressed, he would patiently analyze the pros and cons for me. Even now, I couldn’t see any extra cherishing in his eyes. But I had to admit, Christian back then wasn’t stingy with me. Over the years, being crushed and rebuilt in his hands, I improved faster than anyone else. Before getting off work, I sat in the office for a long time until the last light went out. Only then did I click the submit button on the computer. Watching the screen display “Resignation Application Submitted,” I closed the laptop. Just then, my phone rang. A message from Christian came in. “There’s a banquet tomorrow night. I had someone send a dress over.”

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The day of the accident, my husband’s assistant, Tiff Monroe, used a fabricated excuse about crippling period pain to divert all the specialized medical teams. I watched, numb with panic, as a shard of glass dug deeper into my abdomen. With the last of my breath, I screamed at Pierce Hollingsworth. “Pierce! Get a surgeon in here now, or my family will absolutely destroy you!” For five years, I had kept Pierce from meeting my family, always claiming they were doing complicated business abroad. He had no idea that I was the only seemingly ‘normal’ one in the entire Caldwell clan. My mother is a calculated killer. My father is pure antisocial personality. And my younger brother is a brilliant, terrifying sadist. But Pierce just clamped his hand around my face, his fingers digging into my jaw. “Stop with the crazy talk!” “You have no family, Sutton! All of it was a lie! I took you in, an orphan, and married you! Now you’re trying to pull a stunt just to compete with Tiff? Do you have any idea how many millions we’d lose if she had any kind of setback?” With that, he signaled his guards to fall back. “Since your supposed ‘family’ is so powerful, it looks like you don’t need me after all!” “Let’s go!” I watched him walk away and sank into utter despair. I used the final reserves of my strength to send a text to our group chat: Caldwell: Family First. Pierce didn’t know it, but with that single message, he had just forfeited his last hope of survival. 1 In our five years together, he never believed a single word I told him about my family. My stuttered warnings, the veiled hints that my loved ones were dangerous—to him, they were all just the neurotic theatrics of a woman trying to cling to him. The alarm on the cardiac monitor began to shriek, faster and faster. Mac, Pierce’s most trusted bodyguard, stood motionless at the door. He’d known me for five years, but he just silently watched the blood pool and spread beneath me. I knew, given the severity of my injuries, I wouldn’t last long enough for my mother and the rest of the family to arrive. “Mac…” I spoke with difficulty, my voice thin. “Please, just call any doctor. Any one at all.” He shook his head, his voice a dry rasp. “Mr. Hollingsworth’s orders, Mrs. Hollingsworth. The medical team is solely focused on Ms. Monroe’s treatment.” “He said your injuries weren’t life-threatening.” Not life-threatening. I looked down at the large shard of glass lodged in my abdomen, feeling my life force drain away with the warm rush of fluid. Of course. His mind was already consumed by someone else. How could he possibly care about my fading pulse? The phone was still clutched in my hand, the screen glowing with the chat log of Caldwell: Family First. My brother’s last message read: “Sis, we just boarded the private jet. Two hours out.” The accompanying picture was of my mother, Vivian, in a sleek airport boutique, browsing kitchenware. The caption was chilling: “Grabbing a little something for Sutty. She keeps complaining her paring knife is dull.” My fingers trembled as I typed. “Hurry. I’m dying.” The moment the message went through, Mac’s phone rang. He answered it while still trying to pacify me. “Mrs. Hollingsworth, just listen to Mr. Hollingsworth. Apologize to Ms. Monroe.” “Mr. Hollingsworth only has eyes for Ms. Monroe now. You need to accept the new reality.” I gave a weak shake of my head, signaling for him to take the call. I don’t know what Mac heard. The elderly man’s single remaining eye—his left one, the right had been a gift to my father years ago—widened. His pupil shrunk to a pinprick, and he snapped his head up to stare at me. “Mrs. Hollingsworth… your maiden name… it’s Caldwell?!” 2 The name Caldwell yanked me back into the vortex of old memories. When school ended, all the other kids rushed home. I was the only one who desperately wanted to stay. When my mother picked me up, she would flash that gentle, practiced smile. The first thing she did when we got home was make me put on a mask. There were always different strangers sitting at our dinner table. The only thing they had in common was that they had stopped breathing. “Sutty, darling, Mommy has to slice up this gentleman now. Why don’t you go study in your room? The smell of iron will get a bit strong.” She always had a reason. This man, she’d explain, had abused his wife for years, driving the poor woman and her child to jump into the sea at dawn. So, she had to punish him on the wife’s behalf. I never saw my father, Arthur, commit the act, but in his bespoke, sterile workshop, I saw every variety of human organ imaginable. For over a decade, the decorative door handle to his lab hadn’t changed: it was Mac’s left eye, perfectly preserved. My younger brother, Spencer, was the most unnerving of all. If ever a weaker person was bullied, the perpetrator would, within a day, somehow end up committing an inexplicable suicide. “Sister, I don’t want you to live in a world with these kinds of pathetic human trash.” In time, I developed an aura, a certain cold energy that naturally pushed people away. No one wanted to be my friend. Except Pierce. When the entire class ostracized me, he was the first to step up and help me carry my books, laughing. “It’s not an aura, Sutton. It’s just unique personal charisma.” When a detailed anatomical diagram accidentally slipped out of my backpack, he calmly picked it up. “Your little brother’s comic book art is really professional.” I thought he was the only person who could see me, Sutton, through the shadows of the Caldwells. He once asked, full of genuine curiosity, “What does your family do abroad?” I clutched the hem of my shirt, giving him a half-truth. “International imports and exports.” He never once questioned it. “That must be exhausting.” “From now on, you have me. You won’t have to carry that burden alone.” That day, with the sunset painting the sky, he knelt and proposed, solemnly promising to protect me for the rest of my life. I believed him. That’s why I defied my family’s direct orders and ran off with him to this new city. Mother said, “Sutty, you should never trust a man.” Father said, “You don’t have to inherit the business, but don’t dishonor the Caldwell name.” Spencer said, “Sister, if he ever disobeys you, I’ll make him compliant.” I dismissed all their warnings as old-world nonsense. I thought Pierce was different. But the moment Tiff Monroe appeared, he changed, so easily, so completely. He wouldn’t even investigate this car crash, simply because Tiff was the prime suspect! I nodded at Mac’s horrified expression. “If you don’t want to end up blind, you will go get a doctor now!” Finally, just before my consciousness completely slipped away, a doctor was rushed in, dragging me back from the edge of the grave. 3 I lay in the trauma bay, the heart monitor finally showing a steady, hopeful wave pattern. A doctor had just started an IV drip of blood plasma when the door was brutally kicked open. Tiff, wearing a flimsy hospital gown and a crooked bandage on her hand, stormed in. Her voice was quiet, but the doctors immediately stopped working. “Everyone out.” “Ms. Monroe, the patient just regained a pulse. We must start the transfusion immediately…” “I said, out.” She tilted her head. Two large bodyguards instantly ushered the medical staff out. Tiff walked to my bedside, stared at my face, and then offered a sudden, unnerving smile. “Sutton Caldwell. Do you know how long I’ve waited for this day?” I weakly managed one word. “Go.” “Go?” She raised her hand and slapped me across the face. The fresh sutures in my abdomen screamed in protest, and a trickle of blood ran down my chin. “Did you honestly think Pierce would believe your insane ghost stories?” She laughed, leaning back. “He thinks you’re delusional!” “The accident was your doing.” I stared at her. It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. She leaned close to my ear, her voice a soft, vicious whisper. “That’s right.” “I had the brake lines cut. The timing was perfect. I was hoping you’d be dead on impact. Didn’t expect you to be quite so resilient.” My fingers twitched. I wanted to grab her hair, but my body refused to obey. “He finds out… he’ll kill you.” “Who? Pierce?” She brushed my hand away dismissively. “He’s still too busy arranging my birthday gift. Besides, dead women can’t talk.” Mac, standing by, cleared his throat, his voice halting. “Ms. Monroe, you can’t kill the Mrs.!” Tiff gave a careless laugh. “And who are you to give orders here?” I waved a hand, signaling Mac to back off. Suddenly, a wave of blinding pain tore through me. “Ah!” “Does that hurt?” Tiff’s polished fingernail pressed directly onto the wound on my side. “It’ll stop hurting soon.” Mac tried to lunge forward but was pinned instantly by the guards. Tiff leisurely untied my gown, her eyes lingering over me like she was examining a piece of meat at the butcher’s shop. “I actually had myself secretly tested.” “Three months ago, during your annual physical, Pierce sent me all your data.” “Your kidney and mine? They’re a perfect match.” My pupils constricted. So that was it. This accident, this entire spectacle, had all been meticulously orchestrated for this very moment. “You’re insane…” My breath was so faint it was barely a thread. “Illegal organ harvesting. You think you’ll get away with this?” “Illegal?” “Pierce will have all the paperwork ready. We’ll just say you died from severe trauma in the crash and voluntarily donated your organs.” “As for your family…” She leaned back in. “They won’t even find a body to mourn.” The bodyguards pushed me onto a gurney and into a makeshift operating room. Tiff snapped on a pair of surgical gloves, watching me with cold indifference next to the doctor. She wasn’t a nurse, but she was right. Pierce would clean up all the loose ends for her. I felt the ice-cold surgical steel slice across my skin and heard her humming a tune, as if she were enjoying a lavish dinner. Mac’s mouth was taped shut; only strangled, muffled cries came out. My wrists were tied to the table, the restraints chafing my skin, but nothing could compare to the ripping agony in my core. My cell phone vibrated violently on a nearby counter. Messages from Caldwell: Family First flooded in. “Sister, we’re entering the city limits.” “Sutty, don’t be scared. Mommy’s debating whether to drain one liter of blood from his body or two.” But they were too late. I felt something being violently torn from my body, and the world began to spin uncontrollably. The surgeon placed the bloody organ into a chilling cold-storage container. Tiff patted my cheek. “Thanks for the gift.” As she turned to leave, the operating room door was kicked open again. Pierce stood in the doorway, his face the color of ash. 4 Pierce stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes sweeping down to my bloody, gaping side. “Sutton! Who did this!” “Who dared!” I sagged with relief, managing to point a shaky finger at Tiff. “Pierce, honey.” Tiff instantly burst into tears, her voice weak and on the verge of collapsing. “Oh, thank God you’re here. I was so scared…” “Sutton is still trying to manipulate you.” She stumbled toward him, her practiced fragility making her collapse perfectly into his chest. “She crashed the car deliberately to try and kill me, and just now on the table, she threatened to tear me to pieces.” “I only came to check on her injuries, and she went absolutely insane, ripping at my bandages. Look at my hand.” She held up her wrapped hand. Small, perfectly art-directed drops of blood seeped through the snow-white gauze. It was nothing but a slight abrasion from when I had struggled. But Pierce’s expression instantly hardened. He withdrew the pitying look he’d given me. He wrapped his arms around Tiff, his eyes overflowing with genuine concern. “Don’t worry, I’m here.” He looked up at me, his gaze reverting to the pure disgust of someone looking at trash. “Sutton, you absolute monster!” I forced out the last sliver of strength I had, my voice hoarse. “Pierce, she admitted it! She had the brake lines cut! She wanted my kidney…” “Enough!” Pierce cut me off, pressing his hand dangerously close to the edge of my fresh incision. “Sutton, how long are you going to keep lying?” “Tiff is suffering from crippling kidney pain—and you just happened to be a match? Is that a coincidence?” “You investigated her, didn’t you? You knew she needed a donor.” “So you deliberately rigged your medical reports, hoping to use this as leverage over me. Isn’t that right?” I was stunned into silence. The sheer narcissistic delusion left me speechless. Behind Pierce, Tiff flashed me a triumphant, hateful smirk. “Pierce.” She spoke softly, her finger gently tugging at his cuff. “The doctor said one kidney might not be enough. My rejection rate is… severe.” “If I had two, the success rate would be much, much higher.” The air thickened, turning solid. Pierce didn’t even look at me. He just stared at the surgeon. “Will she die?” I fought against the searing post-op pain, screaming instinctively. “Pierce Hollingsworth, are you even human?!” “Without two kidneys, how could I possibly survive? Where is your mind?!” Tiff pressed her body against his. “Pierce, darling, she won’t die.” “The mortality rate is only one percent. Giving me the kidney secures you that multi-billion dollar contract.” Pierce stood silent for a long moment. Then, he spoke. “Do it.” “Sutton, if the surgery is a success, I’ll take you to Iceland to see the Aurora Borealis, just like you always wanted. Would that be enough?” My heart died entirely. I watched the surgical blade approaching, closing my eyes. And I shouted one name. “MOM!” The very next second, the operating room door was violently kicked off its hinges. The door frame splintered and flew off like a flimsy sheet of paper. Three people stood in the frame. My mother, Vivian, in a perfectly tailored black suit, carrying a sleek presentation box of professional knives she’d bought at the airport duty-free. Her smile was soft and elegant. My father, Arthur, in a crisp, old-school Mandarin-collar jacket, casually playing with a small scalpel. A bodyguard lay in a bloody mess at his feet. My brother, Dr. Spencer Caldwell, wore a pristine white lab coat and thin gold-rimmed glasses. He looked handsome and harmless, like a mild-mannered resident. He adjusted his glasses, his eyes, however, sweeping over me on the table with cold menace. Finally, he looked at Pierce, his voice as gentle as a dinner invitation. “Brother-in-law. Excuse the intrusion.” “Tell me, what method of death would you prefer?”

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The gorgeous, broke guy I loved to torment is suddenly the long-lost heir I’m supposed to marry. Worried he’d want revenge, I looked up self-defense tutorials online. Instead, I stumbled upon a desperate post: [The person I’ve had a crush on for five years is about to become my fiancée. How do I call off the engagement without hurting her?] The comments were a sea of question marks. But a few people tried to help. [When you go to visit her family, bring a carton of milk and a giant variety pack of chips. I guarantee the wedding will be off.] The next day, my fiancé came to visit. His face was a mask of reluctance and resistance. But in his hands were a carton of milk and a jumbo snack pack. 1 Last night, my mom dropped two bombshells on me. First, my fiancé, Joe, was the wrong baby switched at birth; he wasn’t a true heir. Our engagement was off. Hearing that, I was so thrilled I practically reached for a string of firecrackers to celebrate. Joe and I had been mortal enemies since we were kids. The only way I’d ever be desperate to marry him is if killing your husband suddenly became legal. My mom just stared at me, speechless, before dropping the second piece of news. “The real heir happens to go to your university. His name is Ethan.” My smile vanished. I quietly put the imaginary firecrackers away. There was a simple reason for this. I have a peculiar little habit of enjoying the sight of beautiful men crying. And Ethan, with his delicate features and slightly long hair, had this fragile, distant air about him that was completely my type. What’s more, Ethan was a high school classmate of mine and Joe’s. Back then, I was too busy waging war with Joe to pay him much attention. It wasn’t until college that I realized such a prime specimen existed right under my nose. So, naturally, I used my money to mess with him—a lot. I’d slapped his face with a wad of cash, wrapped a designer tie around his neck and pulled, and even dragged him out of a lecture hall with over a hundred students. I’d done every rotten thing you could think of. But no matter what I did, he remained impassive, his eyes holding nothing but cold indifference when he looked at me. Thinking back on it now… Could he be one of those secretly dark types, patiently waiting for the perfect moment to unleash his revenge? The more I thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. A shiver ran down my spine. Back in my room, I frantically searched for self-defense strategies. As I scrolled, a local help-wanted post caught my eye. [The person I’ve had a crush on for five years is about to become my fiancée. How do I call off the engagement without hurting her?] Everyone knows the best glow-up for a guy is a dose of insecurity, but this level of self-doubt was something else. I had to see what kind of person this was. I clicked on the post. Plenty of others shared my confusion. [Dude, your crush is becoming your fiancée and you want to call it off?] [The internet isn’t here for your weird flex, buddy. Stop showing off.] [I’m a peer counselor. If you have a reason you absolutely must end it, you can talk to me.] The original poster replied earnestly: [A crush is a one-person thing. Marriage is for two people who love each other. She doesn’t like me, she might even hate me. Calling it off is the best choice.] The comments section exploded. [THEN! MAKE! HER! LIKE! YOU!] [Your crush is finally walking toward you, and you turn and run? I’ve never seen logic like that before.] [I’m with the person above. Use this chance to get to know each other. It’s totally possible she’ll fall for you.] The poster replied: [Really?] A half-minute later: [This reply has been deleted.] He posted again: [I’m partially deaf. I got into a fight the summer after graduation and perforated my eardrum. My right ear still can’t hear anything. I’ll never be good enough for her. It’s better to just forget it.] A hush fell over the comments. After a long moment, a kind soul spoke up. [Look, the fact that he’s asking means his mind is made up. Stop messing with him. I’ll give some real advice. When you visit her family, bring a carton of milk and a giant snack pack. I guarantee that marriage will be dead on arrival.] The poster replied with a simple “Thanks” and never posted again. He probably actually went out to buy the milk. 2 Curiosity got the better of me, and I clicked on his profile. His avatar was a black-and-white selfie, but his face was almost entirely out of frame, showing only the outline of his ear. In the background, a few students were posing for a photo. Their school uniforms looked familiar, but they were too blurry to make out any faces. I scrolled down. His earliest post was from five years ago. [The recycling center near my house pays thirty cents a pound for paper and seventy cents for bottles. Does anyone know a place with better rates? I’m a high school freshman, I can make deliveries after school.] Some people replied with helpful suggestions. Others, of course, were snarky. [Your family is poor enough to be collecting trash, but you have money for a phone? Weird.] [Aren’t you afraid your classmates will laugh at you for collecting scrap at your age?] The poster replied with quiet dignity: [The phone was a broken one someone threw out. I fixed it myself, so it was cheap. My grandpa isn’t well, and having a phone makes it easier for him to contact me.] [There’s nothing to laugh about. I’m proud that I can help my grandpa get the most out of his hard work.] His reply reminded me of a classmate from high school. I think he came from a poor family, but he was incredibly smart. He’d beaten Joe on the entrance exams to become number one in our year. Joe, with his drop of cleverness, had walked around with his nose in the air since kindergarten, acting like he was the only genius on the planet. Every time exam results came out, he’d poke me in the head and laugh. “Idiot. How could you get that wrong?” This was the first time he’d ever been knocked down to second place. I was thrilled. Finally, I could poke him in the head. “Idiot. Looks like someone beat you after all.” Joe’s face darkened. He shoved past me without a word and stormed off. A few days later, he found me, a conspiratorial glint in his eye. “I found out the number one guy’s secret. Want to know what it is?” I put on my headphones and ignored him. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, yanked my headphones off, and leaned in close. “His family collects trash for a living.” I just found it bizarre. “So? What’s wrong with collecting scrap? It’s an honest living.” Joe rolled his eyes. “Forget it. It’s pointless explaining it to a moron like you.” He smirked. “Just wait and see.” At first, I didn’t know what he was planning. Then, over the next few days, a rumor started circulating through our class. The student who helped serve food in the cafeteria came from a family of trash collectors. People said he never showered before his shift, that the food he served was crawling with cockroaches and bugs. We were freshmen, an age where the smallest bit of gossip could cause a massive stir. It started with Joe refusing to line up at that student’s station. Soon, it spread to our entire class, then the entire year, and eventually, the whole school. The rumors got worse and worse. My deskmate told me that if things kept on like this, the school would probably stop letting him help in the cafeteria. He would lose his free lunch and the stipend he earned. This whole thing didn’t really have anything to do with me. But something about what Joe was doing just rubbed me the wrong way. And if he was going to be uncomfortable, I was going to make him uncomfortable too. 3 That day at lunch, I walked up to the only station in the cafeteria with no line. “Hey. How many meals do you have left?” The boy wore a hat and a mask, but his exposed eyes were filled with confusion. I couldn’t be bothered to explain. I just handed him my meal card. “I’ll take everything you’ve got.” As I spoke, the cafeteria fell strangely silent. I pulled out the megaphone I’d brought with me. “This station is on me today. Anyone who wants to eat can come get a plate for free.” He didn’t ask any more questions. He took my card and quietly started serving the food. Vegetables, roasted duck with gravy, salted duck eggs with runny yolks. It all looked and smelled delicious. Where were the cockroaches and bugs? Even so, nobody came. I sighed in exasperation and grabbed a plate for myself. I started shoveling big spoonfuls into my mouth. I was halfway through when Joe walked up to me, a deep frown on his face. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. Then, his eyes shifted to the boy who was still silently serving food. He sneered. “Don’t tell me that coward asked you to come save him.” I looked at Joe, and every single thing about him annoyed me. I picked up my plate, now empty except for some leftover sauce, and shoved it right into his clean school uniform. “The only one with no guts here,” I said coldly, “is the one who gets jealous and plays these dirty little games.” I paid for everyone’s lunch at that station for a month. The line came back. After that, the memory gets hazy. I don’t even remember who that student was. 4 I kept scrolling through his profile. Besides the posts about recycling, there were a lot of secret diary entries about his crush. [She might be the bravest, most genuine person in the world.] [Turns out she sits right behind me. I never noticed before.] [My blood sugar was low, and she brought me afternoon tea. She said she was on a diet and couldn’t eat it. But I’m not an idiot. I know she was just trying to protect my pride. Thank you… really, thank you.] [That jerk made her angry again.] [I heard they have an engagement. It’s ridiculous. Who still has arranged marriages in this day and age?] [I know we’re from different worlds, and her kindness isn’t just for me. So, I don’t dare hope she’ll ever know how I feel. Just quietly holding onto this feeling is enough.] [But that idiot really doesn’t deserve her.] [Our teacher put us in a study group today. I’m so lucky. I can’t believe I get to be in the same group as her. But I can’t go easy on her just because I like her. I have to push her to study hard, so she can get good grades and have a bright future.] [The text was hard to memorize today, and she was so frustrated she started to cry. But I still didn’t give in. This chapter is really important; it’s always on the exams. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.] Reading that last one, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud on my bed. What a blockhead. Being that strict with the girl you like? No wonder he’s been crushing for years with no results. But… I think I was in a study group like that in high school, too. The first person I was paired with was this grim-faced guy. He made me read and do practice problems every single day. From the moment I woke up, it was all about studying. My time in that study group was the darkest period of my entire high school career. All I remember is crying over memorizing texts and wanting to weep while doing endless problem sets. I’ve even forgotten who that grim-faced guy was. I have to admit, though, my grades during that period were the best they’d ever been. After the groups were shuffled, I was never paired with him again, and my scores slowly started to slide. Luckily, I had a good foundation. Even with the slide, I still got into a top-tier university. 5 I didn’t have time to finish reading the rest of his posts. I fell asleep clutching my phone. Early the next morning, our housekeeper woke me up. She said the real heir from the Xie family had just arrived. Wait, that wasn’t right. The real heir from the Collins family was here. I got dressed and went downstairs, yawning. The first thing I saw was Ethan, sitting on the sofa. He was wearing that same white button-down shirt. The fabric was soft, but a little faded. He was thin, but with broad shoulders and a tall frame, he looked like a model in anything he wore. I found myself staring for a few seconds. Not because of him, exactly. But because of… the carton of milk and the jumbo snack pack sitting next to him. Last night’s post flashed through my mind. The coincidences piled up, forming a theory so wild I almost dismissed it myself. Just then, as if on cue, Ethan looked up. Our eyes met. His expression was as cold as ever. That deadpan, reluctant look. As much as I secretly loved it, it completely shattered my theory. Okay. I was overthinking it. There was no way he was the guy from the post last night. My mom heard me and turned around, beaming. She waved me over. “Sweetheart, you’re here! Look, isn’t Ethan so thoughtful? He even knew you liked this kind of drink and brought it especially for you.” At her words, both Ethan and I froze. My toes curled inside my slippers, and I was so mortified I wanted to turn and bolt. Mom was right. I’d loved sugary drinks and junk food since I was a kid. But to maintain my cool, sophisticated persona, I always acted like I was above such childish snacks in public. Besides my family, very few people knew. My mom, completely oblivious to the fact that she had just demolished her daughter’s carefully crafted image, happily went upstairs, claiming she wanted to give Ethan and me some time alone. In the vast living room, the atmosphere instantly became awkward. We just stared at each other. He finally broke the silence by opening the box, taking out a bottle of milk, and handing it to me. “You like this stuff?” My face fell. I snatched the bottle and took a huge, vengeful gulp. My heart was a wasteland of despair. “Yeah,” I mumbled. “Don’t tell anyone… Please.” I don’t know if it was my imagination, but the icy mask on Ethan’s face seemed to melt a little. It looked like he was trying hard not to smile. “Is it good?” he asked. It was chocolate. It was actually fine. But I was stubborn. “It’s mediocre.” Ethan looked at me, a thoughtful expression on his face, and nodded. He didn’t stay long, failing to fulfill my mom’s hopes of us bonding. After just a few minutes, he was ready to leave. As I saw him to the door, he said softly, “See you at school tomorrow. I… have something I want to talk to you about.” School? Talk? Was he going to use my secret to blackmail me into calling off the wedding? Or was he planning to broadcast my embarrassing tastes to the whole world? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. I shot him a death glare and slammed the door shut. 6 My mood soured, I retreated to my room with a bag of chips and my phone. As luck would have it, the poster from yesterday had an update. [I went to visit today with the milk and the snack pack. My fiancée’s mother wasn’t put off at all. In fact, she seemed really happy.] The other users were baffled. [How is that possible?] [My guess is either the guy is a total smokeshow, or he pulled up in a Benz carrying the milk. We all know what mothers-in-law are really after.] When the poster saw that comment, he got angry for the first time. [I’m not handsome, and her family doesn’t need money. Please don’t project your cynical views onto a woman you’ve never met.] [It was just a coincidence. She happens to really like milk.] Thankfully, most users had their heads on straight. A flood of new replies quickly buried the nasty one. [Wow, that’s perfect then!] [Dude, this is fate helping you out!] Just as everyone was getting ready for a happily-ever-after, the poster spoke again. [But she really hates me. Because I was the one who gave it to her, she didn’t look happy when she drank it. She even said it tasted mediocre.] [I’ve decided I’m going to tell her I want to call off the engagement tomorrow, in person. That should make her happy, right?] The internet fell silent. I fell silent, too. On a strange impulse, I replied to his post: [What flavor did you bring her today?] He replied almost instantly: [Chocolate.] …This wasn’t right. This was way too much of a coincidence. Once is a coincidence. Twice, three times? My heart tightened. I opened his profile picture again, saved it, and sent it to a friend who was a genius at photo restoration. [You busy? Can you restore this photo to the highest possible quality?] [It’s a tough one. Might take three days.] [I’ll pay you eight thousand.] [Babe, give me thirty minutes. It’ll be ready~] She was fast. Exactly on time, she sent the restored photo back. Not only was the background crystal clear, but the colors had been brought back to life. I slowly zoomed in on the image.

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1 For the New Year’s holiday, the company announced a seven-day trip to the Bahamas. When Miranda, our director, announced it, everyone was thrilled. Everyone except me. And just as I expected, her tone shifted. “We’ll need someone to hold down the fort. Ryan, that’ll be you.” She added, with a dismissive wave of her hand, “After all, you’re not managing any key projects. You’ve got the time.” I had to laugh. I held the grand-sounding title of General Coordinator, but it came with zero actual authority. Yet, I was the beast of burden, the one who did the grunt work for every single project, running myself ragged day in and day out. I was the one who put in the most hours, the one who solved the most problems. But when it came time for glory and bonuses, I was always invisible. I had swallowed this bitterness for seven years. Today, I was done. I pushed my chair back and stood up, my voice steady. “No problem, Miranda. I can stay.” “But this will be the last time.” “I quit.” The conference room fell into a stunned, awkward silence. Then, the whispers started, slithering through the air like snakes. “Seriously? What’s the big deal? Is he really quitting over a vacation?” Jessica, from across the table, was the first to speak, her voice sharp and nasal. “He’s always so quiet and sullen. I never realized he was so petty.” Mark, sitting next to her, let out a snort of derision and leaned back, kicking one leg over the other. “I think Ryan feels like his seven years of ‘hard labor’ haven’t been recognized. He’s still sore about never getting that ‘Employee of the Year’ award and this is his little protest.” He looked around the room. “Does he even know his own worth?” From the back row, Walter, our lead tech, slowly pushed his glasses up his nose. “Ah, the fire of youth,” he said in a greasy, know-it-all tone. “Just a tantrum to scare the boss. I’ve seen this show a hundred times. He’ll come crawling back.” “You think it’s easy to find a job out there? If he really walks, he won’t even have tears left to cry.” “Exactly,” chimed in Kevin, who sat in the corner. He was the one who most frequently asked me to “help out” with his PowerPoints, and his voice was now the loudest, his words the most venomous. “Miranda, don’t you dare go soft on him. We’ve all seen what he’s really done these past seven years. What is it? Printing, copying, fetching packages, ordering coffee? Has he ever actually touched a real project? If it weren’t for this company throwing him a bone, could he even survive in Port Sterling? And now he has the nerve to act all high and mighty? If you ask me, he’s just trying to blackmail you because he knows we’re swamped with projects right now!” Every word was a poisoned dart. I looked at Kevin. Just last week, he was scrambling to present a proposal to a major client. It was a chaotic mess of jumbled logic and incomplete data. I was the one who stayed up until 3 AM, untangling his mess, restructuring the entire thing, verifying the data, and creating clean, compelling visualizations. He’d taken that polished presentation, wowed the client, and returned to the office beaming. He bought the entire project team celebratory drinks. Everyone but me. Miranda raised a hand, silencing the rising tide of accusations. Her brow was furrowed, and the look she gave me was cold, devoid of warmth, filled only with annoyance and a deep, familiar contempt. It was the same contempt I’d seen seven years ago, when I first stepped into this office. Back then, she held my resume, her manicured nail tapping on the line that listed my degree from a state college. “Ryan, is it? Your university isn’t exactly top-tier… but the major is relevant.” “Tell you what,” she’d continued, “the project workload here is intense, and we require a high degree of independent skill. Given your background, let’s start you off with the basics. You won’t be assigned to a specific project. Instead, you can assist the other team members with support tasks. Get a feel for the environment. Consider it a learning experience.” At first, I really was just the office gofer. Running errands, delivering documents, organizing mountains of old files, even descaling the office coffee machine. But I refused to accept that as my fate. When others left for the day, I stayed, digging through the company server, studying every successful project file I could find. I memorized workflows, analytical methods, even the specific phrasing in final reports. Whenever I saw an opening, I’d swallow my pride and approach a busy colleague. “Hey Mark, how did you export this data set?” “Jessica, what’s the standard procedure for handling this kind of client feedback?” The response was usually a dismissive wave, their eyes never leaving their screen. “You don’t need to worry about that.” “It’s complicated. You wouldn’t get it.” “I’m busy. Don’t bother me.” Still, like an ant gnawing on a bone, I slowly, painstakingly pieced it all together. Once, Jessica was rushing to finish a market analysis summary and accidentally swapped the data for two key competitors. I found the error while organizing files and, after hesitating, pointed it out to her. Her face soured. She snatched the document from my hand. “I know! Stop being a busybody!” she snapped. Later, the corrected report was approved. At the weekly meeting, Miranda praised her publicly. Jessica smiled like a blooming rose and never mentioned my name. 2 After that, things began to change, the lines blurring in a way that worked for everyone but me. “Helping out” was no longer a favor; it became my job. When Mark was on a deadline for a proposal, full of grand ideas but empty of substance, he’d dump a chaotic pile of half-formed thoughts and research links on my desk. “Ryan, you’re decent with words. Flesh this out for me, get a first draft going.” I’d spend my nights immersing myself in background materials, weaving his digital scraps into a coherent proposal, filling in the missing market analysis and outlining concrete steps for implementation. After I handed it over, he’d make a few cosmetic tweaks and submit it as his “masterpiece,” earning praise from the client for his blend of creativity and practicality. When Walter hit a technical snag, he wouldn’t even ask. He’d just walk over, drop his laptop on my desk, and say, “Kid, this code’s busted. Take a look for me, will you? I’ve got a meeting.” I wasn’t a programmer, but I’d taught myself enough to get by, relying on patience and endless online searches. I’d spend hours debugging his mess. When I finally fixed it, he’d just pat me on the shoulder. “Not bad, kid. Guess you’re good for something after all.” And Kevin’s presentations were a constant disaster zone I was expected to salvage. “Ryan, this PowerPoint is hideous. You’ve got a good eye, make it pretty.” “Ryan, the boss says this report is confusing. Make it idiot-proof. I need it by tomorrow.” “Ryan, this data is a mess. I need charts. Make them look good, make them convincing.” His requests were always urgent, difficult, and vague. And somehow, I always delivered. Thanks to the polished, crystal-clear reports I created for him, he cultivated a reputation with management as a “strategic thinker with outstanding communication skills.” The cruelest irony was that when these projects succeeded, when the bonuses were handed out and the celebration dinners were planned, I was always on the outside looking in. They’d congratulate each other, laughing about where to go for drinks. Occasionally, someone might glance my way and offer a perfunctory, “Ryan worked hard, too.” And that was it. My name never appeared on a bonus list. My hard work was worth nothing more than a cheap, throwaway compliment. Miranda wasn’t blind. A few times, leaving late, she’d see the light still on at my desk, saw the scattered documents from three different projects I was juggling. She’d just offer a bland platitude. “It’s good for young people to work hard.” As for promotions or raises, those were distant dreams that had nothing to do with me. The best they did was give me that empty “General Coordinator” title as a pacifier. A fancy name for the office mule. “Ryan!” Miranda’s sharp, impatient voice yanked me from my thoughts. “If you have a problem, you can raise it through the proper channels. There’s no need to resort to threats of resignation. You should ask yourself, honestly, has this company ever been unfair to you in these seven years? We didn’t look down on your degree. We gave you a platform, a chance to learn. And now you’re throwing a tantrum over a vacation? Isn’t that incredibly immature? And irresponsible?” “Miranda’s right!” Jessica, ever the sycophant, chimed in immediately. “Ryan, the company invested seven years in you! Don’t you have any gratitude? Staying behind is also part of the job. Or should the whole company just shut down so everyone can go on vacation? You’re being incredibly selfish!” Kevin added with a sneer, “I think he just can’t handle the pressure and is looking for an excuse to run away. If you actually gave him a real project to lead, he’d screw it up for sure. Don’t fall for his bluff, Miranda. He knows he’s been coasting for seven years and can’t keep it up anymore, so he’s going scorched earth.” Mark joined the chorus. “Come on, Ryan, don’t be like that. We’re a team. We help each other out. That’s how it works. Take some advice, man. Don’t be impulsive. Apologize to Miranda, do your part, and focus on your work from now on.” They went on, one after another. The projects that had been built on my sweat and sleepless nights were now credited to the “platform the company provided.” My countless nights of overtime were twisted into evidence of me “coasting.” My patience and sacrifice had become the foundation for their condescending “advice.” Looking at their familiar, deceitful faces, at Miranda’s impatient scowl, the fire that had been smoldering in my chest for seven years finally burned out, leaving only cold ash. I stood up again, my spine ramrod straight. “Miranda, everyone, thank you for your kind words and guidance.” My voice was calm, almost conversational. “In these seven years, let’s see… I’ve printed countless documents, fetched endless packages, ordered gallons of coffee, salvaged dozens of proposals, debugged lines of code I didn’t write, polished hundreds of terrible PowerPoints, and turned mountains of incoherent data into reports that a child could understand…” “But you’re right. None of that really counts. It was all just my duty. I was just ‘coasting.’” “And I’m certainly not worthy of a trip to the Bahamas.” “So, I don’t need any more ‘learning experiences.’ I don’t need any more ‘training.’” “My resignation isn’t a threat. It’s a notice.” “I will stay for the one-month transition period, as required. As for what I’ll be transitioning…” I paused, my gaze sweeping across their faces. “I’m sorry, but I’ll only be handing over the duties officially listed in my job description.” “As for all those files on your computers… the ones I created but that happen to have your names on them… the data, the proposals, the code, the PowerPoints…” “Good luck. I truly hope they continue to serve you well without me.” “And finally,” I looked directly at Miranda, a faint, humorless smile on my lips, “thank you for the seven years of ‘blessings’ you’ve given me.” “Unfortunately, I’m not blessed enough to receive them.” 3 With that, I pulled open the conference room door and walked out. That afternoon, I submitted my resignation letter to HR and sent a company-wide email. “Effective immediately, I will only be performing duties as outlined in my job description. Please refrain from contacting me regarding other matters. Thank you.” Less than a minute after the email went out, the office began to buzz like a disturbed hornet’s nest. From my desk, I could hear Jessica’s strained whisper, “Wow. He really thinks he’s hot stuff now.” Mark let out a loud scoff, the sound of his typing suddenly more aggressive. “Let him have his little drama. See how long it lasts.” “His grand title of ‘General Coordinator’ really just means he’s in charge of getting us coffee and printing our documents,” he added. “The second he walks out that door, he’s nothing.” Kevin leaned over to a colleague, his voice just loud enough to carry. “All ego, no talent. Just wait. He’ll be begging Miranda for his job back in a couple of days.” I put on my headphones, cranked up the music, and blocked them out. Then, I opened a folder on my computer named “Support Files.” Inside, meticulously organized, was every single thing I had created for every person and every project over the last seven years. I selected the entire folder, hit Shift+Delete, and confirmed. Then I emptied the recycling bin. The whole process took less than ten seconds, but it felt like a seven-year weight had been lifted from my chest. At five o’clock, the end-of-day bell chimed. Under the surprised gazes of my colleagues, I shut down my computer, grabbed my bag, and became the first person to walk out of the office. It was the first time in seven years I hadn’t worked late. Stepping outside, the evening air was cool, carrying a strange, sweet scent of freedom. Around 9 PM, my phone rang. It was Jessica. The moment I answered, she launched in. “Ryan, what’s the status of the proposal for the new project? Miranda wants to see it first thing tomorrow. The client is pushing hard, so send it to me now!” Her tone was completely matter-of-fact, laced with an impatient urgency, as if my email from that afternoon had never existed. “Jessica,” I replied calmly, “that proposal is your responsibility. I don’t have the authority or the knowledge to work on it. I’m just a gofer, remember? This has nothing to do with me.” She was clearly thrown off. After a two-second pause, her voice shot up an octave. “Ryan, what the hell is that supposed to mean?! You’ve always handled this stuff before! Are you playing dumb with me now? Just send the file and stop wasting my time!” “Helping you before was a favor. Sticking to my duties now is my job.” My voice was flat. “I’m busy. I have a show to watch. Goodbye.” “Ryan, don’t you dare hang up on me! You—” Her furious shouts were cut off by the dial tone. I put my phone down and switched it to silent. The next day, things got interesting. First, Kevin came by, holding a messy Excel spreadsheet. He dropped it on the corner of my desk out of habit. “Ryan, I need data charts for this. The meeting is this afternoon. You know the drill, make them look sharp.” I didn’t even glance at the spreadsheet. I simply pushed it back toward him. “Kevin, data analysis is a part of your report. It’s your responsibility, not mine. I can’t do it.” His face tightened, and for a second, I thought he was going to explode. But with others watching, he forced a grotesque smile. “Come on, man, help me out. We go way back. I’m just totally swamped.” “Sorry,” I said, looking back at my own work. “So am I.” He stood there for a moment, fuming, before snatching the spreadsheet back. As he turned away, I heard him mutter, “Asshole.” Next up was Walter. He lumbered over with his laptop, pointing at an error message. “Kid, this script is crashing again. Take a look for me? It’s similar to that last problem.” I shook my head. “Sorry, Walter, I can’t solve technical issues. I’m not tech support.” He pushed his glasses up, his tone carrying its usual weight of command. “Just a quick look. It won’t take you five minutes. I have to get to a meeting.” “I really can’t help you,” I insisted, meeting his gaze evenly. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Without another word, he turned and walked away, grumbling, “What’s wrong with kids these days? No sense of teamwork at all.” 4 The morning’s relative peace was shattered just before lunch. A major client, one of Mark’s, suddenly demanded to see a preliminary draft of a proposal that wasn’t due until the following week. They wanted it by the end of the day. He was clearly unprepared. I watched him frantically rifle through files at his desk, his face growing paler by the second. Finally, he stormed over to my desk and slammed his fist down on the surface. The impact made my pen holder jump. “Ryan! What the hell is your problem?!” he roared, loud enough for the entire office to hear. “All the notes and background materials for that proposal are with you! Get it done now! Do you have any idea what will happen if we lose this client? Can you handle that responsibility?!” Every eye in the office turned to us, a mix of morbid curiosity and undisguised glee. I slowly lifted my head. “Mark,” I said, my voice quiet but clear. “That proposal is your project. You’ve been the lead from planning to client communication. I don’t have any of the relevant files.” “As for responsibility…” I paused for effect. “The person in charge of the project bears the consequences. Isn’t that how it works?” “That’s bullshit!” he snarled, his finger jabbing toward my face. “Every other time, I came up with the idea and you fleshed it out! And now you’re playing games with me? I’m telling you, if that proposal doesn’t get done today, you’re going down with me!” “I was helping,” I corrected him. “That was never my job. And now, please stop distracting me from mine.” I turned back to my computer screen, dismissing him completely. Mark stood there, breathing heavily, his eyes boring into the back of my head. After a long moment, he spun around and stormed out, heading straight for the director’s office. Less than ten minutes later, my desk phone rang. It was Miranda’s assistant, her voice like ice. “Ryan, Miranda wants to see you in her office. Now.” So, it had come to this. I smoothed my shirt collar and, under the scrutiny of dozens of pairs of eyes, walked toward the corner office at the end of the hall. When I entered, Miranda was sitting behind her massive desk, her face a mask of thunder. Mark stood beside her, arms crossed, a smug, “you’re-so-screwed” look on his face. “Ryan! What is the meaning of this?!” Miranda slammed her palm on the desk, her voice sharp with fury. “Why aren’t you assisting Mark? Don’t you know how urgent the client’s request is? This account is worth millions! If we lose it because of your refusal to cooperate, can you bear that responsibility?!” The questions came like machine-gun fire, each one aimed to paint me as the source of all this chaos. I waited quietly until she was finished. Then, I smiled. It was a small smile, but in the tense silence of the room, it was impossible to miss. “Miranda,” I began, my tone deceptively calm. “Yesterday, in that meeting, you said yourself that I don’t manage any key projects and that I usually have plenty of free time.” “How is it that today, the responsibility for a multi-million-dollar account has suddenly landed on the shoulders of the ‘idlest person’ in the company?” “That’s a heavy burden, Miranda. I’m afraid I’m not qualified to carry it.” Miranda’s expression froze, as if she’d been slapped. Her mouth opened, then closed. For a split second, she was at a complete loss for words. I had used her own logic, her own dismissive words, and turned them into an unbreakable shield. Mark, standing beside her, grew frantic. “See, Miranda? Look at his attitude! He’s just sabotaging us!” “He’s the General Coordinator of the department!” I chuckled. “My job as General Coordinator has always been to make coffee, order takeout, and print documents for you. Weren’t those your own words?” Miranda’s face flushed from pale to crimson, a sure sign that embarrassment was giving way to pure rage. She had probably never been contradicted like this, especially not by someone she considered a disposable nobody. After a moment of stunned silence, her fury erupted. “Ryan!” she shrieked. “How dare you! This company has employed you for seven years, and this is how you speak to your superiors?! If you don’t want to work, then get out!” “Get out of my company right now! And you can forget about your final paycheck and any bonuses!” “Don’t think for a second that we can’t survive without you!” I nodded, even managing a small, placid smile at her incandescent rage. “Thank you, Miranda.”

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