Category: English

The night Nathan Reynolds slit his wrists, I swore to myself that I would help him get back on his feet. For two years, I took every dirty, exhausting job I could find. But the very night I finally paid off his debts, I accidentally saw his text history with his best friend. Friend: [Aren’t you afraid she’ll find out the debt was paid off ages ago and cause a scene?] Nathan: [Not afraid. Sarah Miller passed my test. I plan to propose to her. Seeing how much she loves me, I can’t give her much, but I can give her a marriage certificate.] Friend: [Then do you need me to get the card ending in 7785 back? You’re getting married, it wouldn’t be right to keep sending money to sister Bella every month.] I turned to look at my haggard face in the mirror and smiled. Nathan Reynolds, from today on, I’ve decided not to love you anymore. 1 When I saw the chat history between Nathan and his best friend, Liam, it felt like all the blood in my body rushed backward from my feet to my head. Tonight, we had just celebrated paying off all his debts. Nathan opened two bottles of red wine and got drunk. Right now, he was lying in my arms, looking harmless, asking for kisses. A storm of emotions churned in my chest, finally settling into a cold sneer. The card ending in 7785. I knew that number by heart. Every payday, I transferred almost my entire paycheck onto that card, saving up to pay Nathan’s “debt.” I knew Bella, too. She was the beauty of our department back in college. Gorgeous, flamboyant. She and Nathan had an on-and-off entanglement for three years. But after failing her art exam, she chose to study abroad. A while ago, I saw her social media account. Bright and beautiful. In her mirror selfies, she was covered in luxury brands. Back then, I smiled and showed her profile to Nathan. “Bella’s a big influencer now. Do you regret not choosing her? If you had, you wouldn’t have to work so hard to pay off debt.” Nathan looked disdainful. “No regrets. I still prefer someone like you who knows how to live a simple life.” At that time, I didn’t know that half of Bella’s outfit was probably bought with my hard-earned money. No wonder my grandmother used to tell me, “Sarah, your hands are too thin. No fortune.” The year Nathan and I got together, his family’s business failed, and I heard they owed a lot of money. But how much exactly, I still didn’t know. I only knew that Nathan, then a junior in college, was implicated and had to drop out and return to our small town. Since high school graduation, his family had moved to the big city, and their old small villa had long gathered dust. Nathan returned alone, locking himself in the house all day. That day, as usual, I peeked through their window, only to find him lying in the bathroom, crimson blood filling the entire bathtub. I carried him on my back, running through the entire town, and finally saved him. But he cried and asked me why I saved him. I hugged him, and we wailed together. “It’s just money! I’ll help you earn it back!” He sighed, his gaze suddenly softening. “Silly, you only have a high school diploma. What money can you earn?” Despite that, I still accompanied him to the big city to look for opportunities. Because I had no degree and no skills, I could only do manual labor to survive. Delivering food, making milk tea, even fighting with aunties for cleaning jobs. During the most desperate times, I worked as an hourly housekeeper in the morning, then made milk tea, and delivered food at night after getting off work. When payday came the next month, I excitedly showed him my bank balance. A full two thousand dollars. His eyes red, he touched my head, held my bony hands, and choked with guilt, “Our Sarah is amazing.” But I didn’t feel it was hard. For me, as long as I could be with Nathan, no hardship was too much. People often say love is constantly feeling indebted. Back then, seeing the once high-spirited boy from school now huddled in a cramped rental apartment, I wished I could split myself into ten people to lighten his burden. Thinking of every moment from the past two years, I kept my eyes open until dawn. Nathan woke up groggy, rubbed his eyes, and hugged me tight. “Why haven’t you gone to work today?” I fought back the sourness in my eyes and rubbed them. “I quit.” Four thousand a month, shaking milk tea for ten hours a day. My tendonitis had flared up long ago. I had to put smelly patches on my hands almost every day. He froze, then stroked my head dotingly. “Mm, thanks to you, I could pay off the debt in such a short time.” “After we get married, you just stay home and be beautiful. I’ll earn money to support the family.” The words I had longed for for two years finally arrived, but suddenly, I didn’t care anymore. 2 I walked aimlessly on the street. The owner of the pork rice bowl shop I frequented spotted me. “Hey, eating here today?” I forced a smile. “Sure.” She raised an eyebrow. “We have a new dish today. On the house for you to try.” “The usual? Two orders, one with no pork, one with double pork to go?” That was how we always ate. Nathan had a big appetite and was never full. I secretly asked the owner to add my share of meat to his. Actually, he didn’t know that I had a big appetite too. But to save money to help him pay his debt, I often skipped meals, giving myself gastritis. Now, eating a few extra bites hurt. I shook my head. “No, just one today. I’ll break my rule and see if this pork is any good.” In two years, I hadn’t saved a penny and ended up with a body full of injuries. My life was even worse than when I was in the small town. If Mom, Dad, and Grandma saw this from heaven, they would be so heartbroken. After finishing the bowl, I received a phone call. “Sarah, didn’t you ask me about confinement nanny training before?” “The agency has a spot open now. Free training upfront, and after you get hired, they’ll deduct 5% from your monthly salary as tuition. I thought you’d be interested.” My body trembled slightly. I stood up quickly and excitedly said into the phone, “Sis, I’ll go! I’m willing to go!” When I returned to the rental, Nathan had already set up the proposal scene. His good friend Liam was helping too. My sudden return caught them off guard. Nathan hurriedly hid the flowers and balloons behind his back, looking awkward. “Sarah, why are you back so suddenly?” Liam simply started jeering, “Sarah saw everything. Just propose already.” He kicked Nathan, and Nathan knelt before me. “Sarah, um.” He stammered, “I rehearsed this scene countless times in my head, but now that it’s today, I’m really nervous.” “I want to tell you, I want to marry you. Will you marry me?” He took a ring out of his pocket, knelt on one knee, and looked at me with burning eyes. Seeing this, my eyes reddened. Yes, I had fantasized about this scene so many times. But now, I didn’t know how to face it all. Liam clapped and cheered from the side, “Marry him, marry him…” Nathan looked at me tearfully, “With a virtuous wife supporting my ambitions, I wouldn’t trade her for ten thousand ounces of gold.” “Sarah, after we marry, I won’t let you suffer a bit.” After he finished, I wiped my tears, walked past Nathan, and started packing my luggage. The job agent said that to ensure training quality, it was a closed camp. I actually felt happy about that. Closed meant room and board included, no extra expenses. Watching me put things into the suitcase, Nathan was confused. “Sarah, what are you doing?” I took a deep breath, smiled, and brushed his hand away. “Since the debt is paid, my debt of gratitude is paid too. From now on, let’s break up.” Because I was an orphan, I was bullied a lot in school. The worst time, they cornered me in an alley, calling me a jinx, threatening to strip me and film it to sell for money. It was Nathan who accidentally stumbled upon it and saved me, fighting three guys like a madman, ending up with a bloody face, warning them never to touch me again. Thanks to him, no one spat gum in my hair before graduation, and no one put dead animals in my desk drawer. Although I was used to it, his appearance made me temporarily give up the idea of finding my parents. Even if he had long forgotten that random act of kindness, every day I lived, I was grateful to him. Later, gratitude turned into love. That was why I willingly followed him when he had nothing. At this point, I didn’t want to pursue anything further. These two years paid off the debt of the past. Nathan tilted his head. “What do you mean? I don’t understand.” My teeth bit my lip hard, trying desperately not to make a sound. “I mean, break up.” 3 Panic was visibly written all over his face. “Sarah, did I do something wrong?” “You’re joking, right? This kind of joke isn’t funny at all.” Liam chimed in, “Yeah, Sarah, if Nathan did something wrong, tell me. I’ll teach him a lesson for you. No need to break up.” I shook my head, feigning ease, and signaled him to look at his phone. “Last night, I accidentally saw your chat history with Liam.” Nathan’s breath hitched. Liam immediately tried to explain for him, “Sarah, you misunderstood, it’s not…” Nathan struggled for a long time, not knowing how to explain. Finally, he only said, “But I really love you.” I smiled and nodded. “Mm.” Love is paying off the debt long ago and not telling me. Love is using my blood and sweat money to support his white moonlight. He panicked and grabbed my hand, trying to force the ring on my finger. “I know what I did was a bit excessive, but I only resorted to this because I’m sincere about this relationship.” “I just wanted to see how long you could last. I was scared you were just acting on a whim.” “My dad and mom were like that. After our family went into debt, my mom couldn’t take it and ran away. My dad, facing setback after setback, killed himself.” “I was so afraid that after I became dependent on you, you would be like my mom, unable to endure hardship and leave me.” “So for two years, you just watched me brave the wind and rain every day, living like a ghost?” He knew perfectly well how much I suffered to help him pay off the debt. Nathan’s face was pale. “But isn’t everything getting better now? Your efforts have paid off.” “The year before last, I made a million from stocks and investments. I know you sacrificed a lot for me. The days ahead will be sweet.” A lump formed in my throat. I asked him one last question, “What about Bella?” Nathan suddenly stammered. “Something happened to her family too. Bella is a girl alone abroad, cut off financially. If I didn’t help her, she really had no way out.” “You… you know too, she’s a spoiled princess who can’t carry anything heavy. She can’t be like you.” I clenched my fists, nails digging into my flesh. Yes, Bella is a beloved princess who can’t suffer. I’m a wild child with no parents, so I deserve to suffer. But Nathan didn’t know that when my parents were alive, I was the apple of their eye too. Looking at the guilty Nathan in front of me, he seemed so strange, as if I hadn’t truly seen him in two years. I wiped my tears, ignored the pleas behind me, and dragged my luggage out of the rental. From now on, I will live for myself. After entering the training camp, I voluntarily handed over my phone and devoted myself to the training. In just one month, I graduated as an outstanding student and received my certificate. The day I came out, I stood in the sun, feeling emotional about finally welcoming a new life. The supervisor handed me my phone with a serious face. “Your phone kept ringing. No saved names, all different numbers.” “Sarah, tell me honestly, did you secretly take out online loans and not pay them back, and now debt collectors are after you?” Confused, I took the phone, charged it, and turned it on. Countless messages flooded in. Bank balance notifications made up half of them. At first, it was transfers of a few hundred, then a few thousand, then tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands. The final number stopped at one hundred thousand dollars. Unknown numbers also sent many messages. The latest one was: [Have you calmed down enough? Please talk to me.] 4 It was Nathan’s tone. I remembered then that as soon as I left the rental, I deleted and blocked all his contact info. He just thought I was throwing a little tantrum. Although Grandma said I had no fortune, she also said I was like a cockroach that wouldn’t die—falling down and getting back up again. This was one of my few strengths. I was optimistic, optimistic to the point of absurdity. During the month in the training camp, I had already calmly let go. So this time, I didn’t choose to continue blocking him. Instead, I patiently replied to him. [I’ve really decided to let go. I wish you and Bella happiness.] He replied again, [I don’t believe it. You obviously loved me so much.] [Trust me, except for giving Bella living expenses, nothing else happened.] I answered his call. Nathan was anxious. The moment I picked up, he desperately explained. “Trust me, there’s really nothing between her and me.” “I’ve known Bella for so many years. Even if the romance is gone, I can’t just watch her starve and freeze abroad.” “What about me, Nathan? Did you have the heart to watch me starve and freeze?” Hearing this, I understood completely. That youthful friendship made Bella the eternal white moonlight in his heart. In his heart, there was no comparison between Bella and me. “I found a new job. I’ll probably be very busy from now on. I’m not planning to use this SIM card anymore.” “I received the money you sent. I’ll calculate what I earned over the past two years, and transfer the rest back to the card.” Silence on the other end for a long time. It wasn’t until I said I was hanging up. Nathan, who always had a good temper, breathed heavily, faintly angry. “Yes! I made a mistake, but I apologized, and I transferred double the money for the past two years to you. Do you have to be so petty and refuse to forgive me?” “Old sayings go that couples need to tolerate each other to live a good life. If you’re like this, I really have to reconsider marrying you.” “Well then, thank you for letting me go.” I sneered, then hung up, took out the SIM card, and threw it into the sewer by my feet. I followed the address given by the company to the client’s house. But I didn’t expect the world to be so small. The person I was to care for turned out to be Bella. She opened the door with a big belly and a smile. “Are you the new confinement nanny? You’re so young, probably about my age, right? Can I call you by your name from now on?” That smile seemed capable of melting hearts. Even if I didn’t want to admit it, the fact was, Bella was the kind of girl who was instantly likable. Looking at her smooth skin and graceful figure, a hint of jealousy stained my heart. Why? Why could she live so happily? My skin, dark from delivering food, and my scrawny figure formed a stark contrast in front of her. Thinking of this, a wave of hatred spread in my heart. I couldn’t help but mock internally. Such a beautiful girl, yet she willingly became a mistress and got pregnant. Just as I turned to leave. Bella grabbed my arm. “Thank goodness you came. Otherwise, I’m about to give birth, and I wouldn’t know what to do alone at home.” “I’ve set up your room. Come in and see if you like it.” She supported her belly with one hand and took my luggage directly with the other. Looking at her belly, she was probably seven or eight months along. Just as I hesitated, she held up three fingers. “Three thousand. I’ll give you three thousand a month.” Hearing the number, I agreed as if possessed. The salary she offered was double the market rate plus bonuses. I told myself internally. This money was mine anyway. Why not take it? So I deliberately asked her, “Where is your husband? You’re so far along, living alone?” A trace of sadness flashed across Bella’s face. She forced a smile. “My relationship with him is… special.” Hearing this, scanning the luxurious interior of the house, I understood completely. Bella knew she was the other woman and happily maintained an illicit relationship with Nathan, even having his child. But before I could tear into her, I noticed Bella’s legs trembling. She covered her mouth and gasped, then water flowed down her legs. Subsequently, her face turned pale with pain.

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I ended it with a paring knife straight to the heart. It was clean, efficient. Three minutes, and I stopped breathing. Liam Sterling got the news and laughed maniacally. “Good! She’s finally dead! Saved me the trouble.” He ordered my heart removed, demanding they cremate only the empty shell of my chest cavity. He said I didn’t deserve to keep Chloe’s heart. But later, he searched the country for mediums and paranormal investigators, holding desperate seances. “Ava, I’m begging you. Come back and see me. Even just in a dream…” Liam wept like a broken child in front of the dogwood tree he’d chopped down with his own hands. But my body was incomplete, my ashes lost in the system, my soul untethered. Though I was right beside him, he couldn’t see a thing. 1 Word got out that I plunged a fruit knife into my heart and died. Liam Sterling stunned for a few seconds, then burst into wild, theatrical laughter. “Good! Excellent! The bitch is finally dead.” As he laughed, tears streamed down his face. I knew he was crying tears of joy. He was just that relieved. After all, in the six months since we’d married, he had used every method imaginable—both psychological and physical—to torment me. His goal was always to push me toward death without ever crossing the legal line into murder. Like when he bought me a kitten, and the next day I found its taxidermied body hanging outside my bedroom window. Like celebrating my birthday with wine and roses, only to have photos splashed across the morning news of him French-kissing another woman at a club. He didn’t poison me directly. Instead, he mandated a specific diet from our live-in housekeeper, exploiting my weak system with food combinations that caused severe inflammation and kidney strain. He moved me to an isolated, modern glass house in the Hollywood Hills to hide my deterioration from neighbors. Every night, he played high-frequency noise emitters that vibrated the floors, nearly driving me clinically insane. And then he decimated my father’s legacy, watching my brother, Ethan, go from a respected CEO to drowning in debt, eventually framing him for corporate fraud and sending him to prison. In Liam’s eyes, I deserved all of it. Because, according to him, my family had “engineered” the death of his beloved stepsister, Chloe, to steal her vibrant, healthy heart for me. 2 When I died, only Mara was home. She was deaf and mute, a caretaker Liam specifically hired to watch me. Her daily routine was mechanical: cook the damaging meals Liam prescribed and ensure I ate every bite. If I refused the overly salted soups or the high-fructose concoctions meant to spike my inflammation, she would kneel before me and slap her own face frantically until I gave in. I knew Liam was watching it all via the hidden cameras. Whether he was dining out, in a board meeting, or entertaining clients, he would tune in and smile with satisfaction. This wasn’t my first suicide attempt. Trapped in that beautiful, glass prison, my body pushed to its absolute limit, I wanted a release. If I died, everyone would be free. I had slit my wrists before, dyeing a bathtub full of water deep red. But the drain plug was faulty; the water leaked out, and the blood coagulated. I woke up cold, but alive. I tried sleeping pills, swallowing a whole bottle. I found out later they were years expired and ineffective. In a fit of despair, I jumped from the second-story balcony. I landed in the dense landscaping below, only shattering my right shoulder blade. Liam had stood over me then, smiling cruelly. “Ava, stop pretending. Someone like you is too selfish to ever really die.” He said if I truly had the conscience to die for my sins, I wouldn’t have plotted to kill Chloe and lived on borrowed time for so long. I explained a thousand times that Chloe’s death was a tragic accident. He never believed me. What kind of accident is so convenient? Why did a wire transfer of one hundred thousand dollars from my family hit Chloe’s account hours before the crash? Why did she sign the organ donor agreement in the hospital, alone, without a single family member present, moments before she died? He decided my wealthy family had simply bought Chloe’s life. And so, the gears of fate began to turn the day he enacted his meticulous revenge plot—by kneeling before me, pressing his cheek to my chest, and weeping over the sound of Chloe’s heartbeat. He didn’t know that heart was a gift Chloe willingly gave me. A gift wrapped in her deepest love for him. “Ava, when I’m gone, please love Liam for me… He’s going to be so lonely.” He wasn’t the only one who knowingly walked into a trap. I did, too. 3 For the final time, I chose the cleanest, fastest way. When the blade pierced my heart, I couldn’t even speak. Less than three minutes. The blood pumped out, and I was gone. Liam was taken in for questioning. The police were suspicious; the initial forensics didn’t look like a typical suicide. Self-inflicted stab wounds usually show “hesitation marks”—shallow cuts where the body instinctively fights the pain before the final thrust. Mine had none. It was one clean, decisive blow straight to the heart. “Maybe she just really, really wanted to die,” Liam told the detectives with a cold smirk. Yes. A person who truly wants to die will grit their teeth against the pain and push through. Liam had an airtight alibi. Mara had no motive. My suicide note was in my pocket, though most of it was soaked in blood, leaving only the words “Last Will” legible. Liam was released. But before he left the station, he demanded an autopsy. He demanded they remove the heart. He said I didn’t deserve to leave this world carrying Chloe’s heart inside me. At the funeral home, my brother, Ethan, escorted by police, saw my chest, caved in and empty beneath my burial dress. He broke down instantly. “Liam Sterling, you animal!” Ethan lunged, his handcuffed fists managing a glancing blow to Liam’s jaw. “Give my sister her heart back! She can’t go to her rest broken like this…” Ethan was facing multiple felony charges due to Liam’s setup. The police had granted him a brief, supervised visit for the funeral. “That thing never belonged to her,” Liam said icily, staring down at my body lying in the satin-lined coffin. I was surrounded by expensive flowers, their stems filling the void in my chest. At my brother’s insistence, the funeral home had hired a high-end mortician. I looked beautiful, peaceful, thanks to their work. I watched as Liam approached the casket. He leaned down, staring at my cold face. Then, he tucked something inside the lining of my dress. It was a small, handwritten note. Liam was an atheist. He didn’t believe in gods or ghosts. But to keep me down, he was willing to try anything. “Stay away from Chloe,” the note read. “Don’t you dare bother her.” “Liam, you will regret this!” Ethan screamed as the police dragged him away. “You will regret everything you did to Ava!” Regret? In the empty viewing room, Liam stood for a long time, staring at my memorial photo. Why would he regret it? From the moment he first approached me with gentle smiles, he had been planning for this very day. If he regretted anything, it was probably that he didn’t get to kill me himself. Liam had Chloe’s heart cremated separately. He buried the small urn of ash in front of Chloe’s existing grave, claiming he was returning her whole body to her. As for my ashes, he didn’t want them. He told the crematorium staff to just “get rid of them.” But regulations don’t allow for just dumping human remains. The staff placed me in a temporary plastic container and stored me on a shelf in a back room. Since Ethan was in prison, no one came to claim me. That afternoon, a warehouse worker moving inventory bumped a shelving unit. My container fell. The lid popped off. A draft from the loading dock door caught me, and I was scattered into the wind. Liam returned to the empty glass house in the hills. It was dark. Mara had mechanically prepared dinner. He didn’t touch it. After a long silence, Liam finally spoke. “Mara, I’m moving out in a few days. This house… it’s yours. For your retirement.” 4 Mara wore high-powered hearing aids; she wasn’t totally deaf. After Liam spoke, she signed rapidly. I couldn’t read sign language, but her expression clearly said: “I don’t want it.” “It’s the last thing I can do for Chloe,” Liam said, pushing the property deed across the marble island. “I… I really wanted to be with Chloe, to call you Mom again.” The food on the counter went completely cold. Liam looked up, his eyes fixing on the empty space where my soul hovered. I knew he couldn’t see me or feel me. If souls really could communicate with the living… then why hadn’t Chloe ever come to him? Chloe, I’m sorry. This is as far as I could go. I tried my best. Suddenly, Liam stood up. He pushed Mara’s cooking aside and opened the sub-zero freezer. He pulled out a large freezer bag filled with homemade ravioli. I had made those two months ago. Before he fully revealed his claws, we had a brief period of what felt like genuine warmth. I was a good cook. Growing up with a bad heart meant I missed a lot of school and couldn’t play sports. The kitchen became my playground. When we first lived together, Liam was often too busy to eat hot meals. I would bring food to his office and sit quietly by his side while he ate. He loved my ravioli. So I made batches of it, freezing them for him. Honestly, even if he hadn’t wanted me dead, this transplanted heart didn’t have a long warranty left anyway. Chloe once told me that Liam went hungry a lot as a kid. Even now, as a wealthy, powerful titan of industry, his table manners were nonexistent. The water boiled. The ravioli floated to the surface, mirroring my short, turbulent life. He ate ravenously, stuffing himself until he gagged. He vomited into the sink, then slid down to the kitchen floor, clawing at the tiles, howling. “You’re finally dead! You’re finally dead, Ava Hayes!” My transparent form floated above him. I watched him roll onto his back, an arm thrown over his eyes. He cried until the veins in his neck bulged and spasmed. The next second, he scrambled up, bolted out the sliding glass doors and into the yard. He grabbed a shovel and swung it wildly at the young dogwood tree, snapping its trunk in half.

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A rumor spread through our senior class that I was dating the school’s golden boy, Ethan Caldwell. After denying it countless times to no avail, I finally snapped at the classmates spreading the gossip: “Stop talking nonsense! I hate him, okay?” From that day on, Ethan never spoke to me again. Years later, he became the new king of Silicon Valley, a tech mogul with the world at his feet. My family, on the other hand, was drowning in debt, teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. Yet, in our darkest hour, Ethan showed up at my door. He said he could save us. I asked him what his terms were. He refused to answer. He only said one thing: “Marry me.” After the wedding, we lived like strangers under the same roof, sleeping in separate rooms. Our relationship hit rock bottom. I always assumed Ethan didn’t like me. Until that car accident. A split second before impact, he yanked the steering wheel, throwing his body over mine to shield me. Choking on blood, he whispered into my ear, his voice trembling: “Please… Sarah… don’t hate me so much, okay?” 1 Ethan died. He died in the fourth year of our marriage. He died in that sudden, violent car crash. When the truck lost control, Ethan desperately turned the wheel to the left, using the driver’s side—his side—to take the brunt of the impact. That was the only reason I survived. A second before the collision, Ethan covered my eyes. “Sarah, please… “Please don’t hate me so much, okay?” I didn’t even get the chance to answer. My vision was washed in red, and the violent force knocked me unconscious. That memory has replayed in my dreams countless times since. I never imagined that a throwaway line I used to shut up some gossiping high schoolers would reach his ears—and that he would believe it for so many years. I wanted to tell Ethan personally: I don’t hate you. I never hated you. But I’ll never get the chance. He appears in my dreams over and over. And over and over, he dies in them. It’s a torture called regret, and it’s driving me insane. 2 After I was discharged from the hospital, his lawyer came to see me. That’s when I learned Ethan had made a will right after we got married. Billions of dollars in assets. All of it left to me. I laughed at his stupidity. It was just a business marriage. How could he be so reckless? What if I had been a villain plotting to take his money? What then? That idiot. He never left a way out for himself. Ethan’s parents died when he was young. He was raised by a pack of vultures—relatives who treated him like a burden, begrudging him every bite of food. But once he made it big, they swarmed him, playing the “family” card every other day. Now, at his funeral, they were all crying their eyes out. But not a single tear was shed for Ethan. They were crying for the money, putting on a show, hoping to claw a piece of his massive estate for themselves. I sat quietly, staring at the black casket in the center of the hall, numb. I couldn’t cry anymore. Rumors had long circulated in our social circle that Ethan and I had a cold marriage, that we lived separate lives. Seeing my composure now, the guests whispered amongst themselves. They called me heartless. Said I couldn’t even pretend to be sad. Ethan’s photo hung above the casket. In the picture, his eyes were gentle, a soft smile on his lips. Ethan didn’t smile often. It seemed like nothing in this world ever truly made him happy. The last time I saw him smile like that was recently, on our wedding anniversary. I had insisted we drink. After a few rounds, my face was flushed. I leaned into his embrace, tilting my head to brush my lips against his chin. I wasn’t actually drunk. I was acting. I needed the alcohol as an excuse to break down the walls between us, to test him in the most direct way possible. Ethan was tipsy too, his steps unsteady. When I kissed him, he turned red from his ears down to his neck. But on the surface, he pretended to be calm. “Sarah, you’ve had too much. Let me take you to your room…” I took the opportunity to act out, wrapping around him like an octopus. Hot skin against hot skin. We were so close I could feel his breath. No one could resist that kind of tension. That night, a storm raged outside. Inside, we were just as chaotic. Our first time happened four years into our marriage. I never expected a drunk Ethan to be like that. Borderline obsessed. His large hands held me tight, imprisoning me in his arms as if I would vanish the moment he let go. “Sarah… Sarah…” “Don’t leave me…” “Don’t reject me…” He kept saying my name. Hot tears fell onto my shoulder. I bit my lip, unable to speak, responding only with a flurry of kisses. But after that night, we both acted like we had amnesia. Neither of us had the courage to bring it up. The madness was swept under the rug as a drunken accident. Until a few days ago, when I found out I was pregnant. I planned to tell him on my birthday. But Ethan called me first, saying he wanted to take me out to celebrate. “Ethan, I have something important to tell you.” In the car, I couldn’t hold it back anymore. For so long, we had tiptoed around each other, both knowing but pretending not to, neither daring to cross the chasm between us. I thought this baby would be the turning point. “What is it?” Before I could speak, an out-of-control truck screamed out from the intersection. In mere seconds, I lost Ethan. And I lost our child. I live in agony and regret every single moment. They are gone. Why do I deserve to live? 3 I moved out of our marital home and into a small apartment I owned. Partly because Ethan’s vulture relatives kept showing up, demanding money. I was too exhausted to deal with them, so I handed everything over to the lawyers. Partly because the villa was filled with Ethan. His slippers, his towel, the unfinished bottle of wine, his favorite magnolia tree in the garden… The omnipresent grief was suffocating me. The day after I moved out, Wyatt Sterling showed up at my door. I knew my parents had given him the address. Ever since my family’s company survived the crisis and started thriving again, Wyatt had been buzzing around me. He knew how to suck up to my parents. He’d bring rare wines and antique paintings, charming them until they declared that not having him as a son-in-law was their life’s greatest regret. Whenever Ethan and I visited my parents, Wyatt was usually there. Emboldened by my parents, Wyatt would dare to use his own chopsticks to serve me food at the dinner table. And Ethan would sit right next to me. Lips pressed into a tight line, silent. I often regretted not considering Ethan’s feelings back then. Watching another man openly court his wife, with his in-laws cheering it on. How much must that have hurt him? Ethan was busy, constantly flying around the world for work. For the first two years, we were basically separated. Later, I tried to find opportunities to talk to him. To clarify things about Wyatt. But Ethan always dodged me. Whenever I tried to schedule a talk, he suddenly had a business trip. In the end, we never broke the ice. Now, Wyatt stood at my door. He brought pastries from my favorite bakery. Cheap flattery. “Sarah, just look at me, please? “I really love you! I’ve loved you for years!” Listen to him. So sincere. Shortly after I was discharged, my parents urged me to remarry. “It’s a good thing you didn’t have feelings for Ethan. Now that he’s gone, you won’t be stuck in grief. “We can see Wyatt genuinely likes you. Don’t hang yourself on one tree.” Hilarious. Years ago, when the Tanner family was facing bankruptcy, my parents wanted me to marry into money to save them. They even suggested I become a mistress to some old tycoon. When people are desperate, family affection means nothing. I was just a bargaining chip for their comeback. Where was Wyatt then? He was watching from the sidelines, dodging me. He was terrified I’d use our old classmate connection to drag him down with us. The only one who extended a hand was Ethan. I admit, when we first married, I felt nothing for Ethan. We were old classmates, sure, but we hadn’t spoken in years. His proposal felt like a transaction. He saves my family. I become his trophy wife, managing his household and social calendar. Mutual benefit. Naturally, not worth any emotional investment. But time reveals all truths. Ethan never calculated or schemed with me. He gave me access to his company’s most confidential files without a second thought. Total trust. Once you’ve seen the ocean, every other water is just a puddle. How could I ever look at Wyatt’s calculated, conditional “love” and want it? 4 I refused Wyatt. My parents came over to scold me for being stupid, asking why I was wasting my youth on a dead man. In their anger, they started insulting Ethan. Called him bad luck, said even dead he was ruining my life. The emotions I had suppressed for so long finally exploded. I smashed everything in the apartment. Then I grabbed a kitchen knife. I warned them: anyone who dared speak ill of Ethan again, I would take them down with me. Hair messy, screaming. Like a madwoman. In front of Ethan, I had always been gentle and rational. That was the version of me he liked. If he saw me like this… ugly and broken… He would despise me, wouldn’t he? My parents were terrified. They cried and asked: “Is this necessary? “You said you had no feelings for the Caldwell boy. Are you going to disown your own parents to defend him?” They seemed to have forgotten how Ethan damaged his own company’s vitality to save ours. Forgotten that without Ethan shielding me, I would be dead. A few days ago, when Ethan’s relatives caused a scene at his company, they showed the same ugly faces. Screaming that Ethan had no conscience, giving money to an outsider while starving his own blood, smearing his name all over social media. They also forgot how much Ethan had helped them, ignoring their past cruelty, once he became successful. Ethan, do you see this? When the tea goes cold, the people leave. There is no conscience in this world. You really had a hard life.

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The first thing I saw on my phone that morning was a TikTok video. My own face, edited with devil horns and a heavy red filter, was staring back at me. The caption read: My CEO is a monster. “This is why no one gets married or has kids anymore! We’re being ruined by greedy, toxic capitalists like her!” The voice, shrill and weeping, belonged to Skylar Moore, an intern who had started only forty-eight hours ago. “She won’t approve my wedding leave! Am I just a workhorse to them? Not even a person?!” “I actually believed her lies about running an all-female, woman-friendly company. But the capitalist predator who eats her own has finally shown her face!” The video exploded. The comments section filled instantly with thousands of young people fiercely relating to her rage. They joined the digital lynch mob, flooding my DMs with abuse and—I later found out—even sending threats to my office. As the CEO of Her World—a company I’d built from nothing—I went live immediately to confront her. I refused to let my rules be bent by public pressure. “I’m sorry, but I will not approve Skylar Moore’s request for wedding leave,” I stated, looking directly into the lens. My voice was calm and steady. “She’s free to resign and file a grievance with the Department of Labor. She’s free to sue me in civil court. But her leave request will not be approved.” The live stream’s engagement was through the roof. The comments section was a battlefield. A few people, claiming to be pro-bono lawyers, offered to represent Skylar for free. But Skylar, who was also live on her own channel, visibly hesitated. Her calculated panic was perfectly pitched. “I only wanted my time off,” she mumbled, tears welling in her eyes. “I never wanted to quit, and I certainly never wanted to sue Ms. Linda…” That moment of feigned helplessness was her genius stroke. The sympathy for her quadrupled. “Oh my god! Look how traumatized she is!” “She’s still calling that wicked woman ‘Ms. Linda’!” “Sierra Linda is subhuman! You’ve driven your employee insane!” “Lawyers! Sue her! This woman is a bully on a power trip!” “She’s clearly jealous! She’s unmarried and she hates seeing anyone else happy!” Just like that, my image as a “power-tripping, employee-crushing monster” was solidified. Off-camera, my loyal assistant, Jessie, and a few other women couldn’t stand it. “That’s not true!” “Skylar knew the rules!” “Ms. Linda isn’t like that!” Their small, whispered protests were unfortunately picked up by my microphone. The chat exploded again. “Did you hear that? She’s threatening other employees!” “The other women are being forced to cover for her!” “Oh, this company is terrifying! A toxic cult!” “They’ve all been brainwashed! Why else would they defend her?” My private cell phone vibrated a frantic, desperate dance on my mahogany desk. The screen flashed the name: Rich Grant. My lead investor. I ignored it. I looked at the camera, watched the deluge of hatred. They called me “inhumane,” a “crazy boss,” a “sociopath.” In front of millions of viewers, I reached out and manually ended the stream. The screen went black. The confrontation ended with my complete and utter defeat. Skylar Moore had earned the sympathy of the entire internet. And I, Sierra Linda, became the poster child for the “jealous, toxic capitalist who emotionally blackmailed her whole company.” The next morning, I walked into the office. Vanessa Cole, my VP of Operations, rushed in, her face pale. “Sierra, it’s bad,” she said, her voice tight. “All of our products have been pulled from every major platform. The reason: ‘Severe concerns regarding corporate values.’ We’ve received termination notices from every partner we have.” Her World was at a complete operational halt. Before I could reply, my office door was thrown open. Richard Grant stormed in, his eyes bloodshot, looking ready to commit violence. He slammed his phone down on my desk. “Sierra Linda!” he roared, pointing a shaking finger at my face. “You hung up on me yesterday?!” “Are you out of your mind?!” “You’re going to bankrupt us all for a freaking intern?!” He was a fury of male entitlement and financial panic. Before I could get a word in, Vanessa stepped in front of him. “Rich, you need to calm down,” she insisted. “Sierra is the most principled person I know. She must have a reason for this!” Rich laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “Vanessa! Did she get to you too? What did she promise you people? Why are you all covering for her?” Vanessa ignored him. She took out her phone. Right in front of Rich, she logged into her verified professional account and posted a strong, clear message. “I stake my reputation on this: Sierra Linda is the best boss I’ve ever had. She is not the monster the internet is making her out to be.” Jessie, and a few women from the Tech and Marketing teams—the same ones whose whispers were picked up on the stream—all logged in and posted comments with their real names. “The culture here is the best in the industry. Zero bullying!” “Ms. Linda treats every one of us with respect!” “We stand with Sierra!” Within minutes, the post and the comments had climbed to the top of the trending topics. Less than ten minutes later, Skylar dropped a new video. She took screenshots of Vanessa’s post and every single comment. She was hysterically sobbing and shaking in the video. “I’m so scared… they’re… they’re all ganging up on me!” “Ms. Linda has turned the company into her own dictatorship! She’s brainwashed all the women who work there!” “They’re all colluding against me!” “This company is pure evil! They’re working together to drive me to suicide!” The phrase, “colluding against her,” became the next hot search term. A collective online assault against my employees began. Vanessa’s home address was doxed. Photos of her three-year-old were being deep-faked into hideous funeral montages and shared across social media. Jessie’s phone was hit with a barrage of calls, all featuring vile insults and death threats. Every employee who had publicly supported me was targeted. The hate DMs piled up: “Female CEO’s little pet!” “Brainwashed idiot! You deserve this!” “Hope your whole family drops dead!” When Vanessa came to my office next, her eyes were swollen, her spirit completely broken. I watched her delete the post, her hands shaking, tears streaming down her face. “Sierra… I’m so sorry,” she choked out. “My son is three years old… They’re not human beings.” “My husband is filing for divorce…” She handed me her resignation letter. Jessie followed. Then Tech. Then Marketing. Every employee who had shown me loyalty was harassed into a mental breakdown and forced to quit. Skylar Moore became the heroic symbol of resistance against the “workplace cult.” My company, Her World, was permanently branded as a den of “toxic sisterhood” and “pyramid scheme brainwashing.” Our reputation was annihilated. A week later, the office was empty. I sat alone. On my computer screen, the internet was saturated with blissful interviews of Skylar and her “fiancé.” He was shown kissing her head and promising to protect her forever. On my private cell, thousands of malicious messages cursed me to “die alone.” My personal information—Social Security Number, home address, private number—was all over the dark corners of the web. People had taken to throwing red paint on the front door of my apartment. “Wicked Old Hag” and “Die” were scrawled in thick black marker. The cleaning crew had to come three times a day. My mother called. The first words were a torrent of scolding. “Sierra! Have you lost your mind?!” “Look at what the internet is saying! You’re going to lose the company! Just apologize to that girl!” My father yelled from the background: “You’re just psychologically messed up because you’re not married! You’re jealous of that girl’s wedding!” “You and your mother’s reputation is ruined!” I hung up. The silence lasted two seconds. Skylar, high on her public victory, went live again. She began a livestream of her entire wedding preparation: dress fittings, engagement ring selection, new apartment decorating. In every stream, she made sure to mention me. “I honestly have to thank my former boss.” “It was her cruelty that showed me who truly loves me.” “Women shouldn’t tear each other down. I hope she finds peace someday.” The chat filled with comments: “Skylar, you are so kind.” Richard Grant called an emergency board meeting. Afterward, he gave me my final ultimatum. “Sierra, two choices.” “One: You immediately call a press conference, publicly apologize to Skylar Moore, approve her leave, and compensate her for emotional distress.” “Two: All shareholders will collectively dilute your shares and force you out of the CEO chair.” “Choose now.” My reply was steady: “I refuse to apologize.” Rich was silent for a few seconds. Then he bellowed: “You are a freaking psychopath!” He slammed the phone down. The next day, I was completely blacklisted by the entire industry. All my speaking engagements and business profiles were removed. I went from “Annual Female Entrepreneur Role Model” to “Industry Disgrace.” No one dared to even mention my name. Skylar sent the digital wedding invitation to everyone via social media. She didn’t block me. She even intentionally tagged several former colleagues, including Vanessa and Jessie. She wanted to make sure I saw it. That night, my closest friend, Maya, came to try and talk sense into me. She looked at the red-painted apartment door with deep dismay. “Jen,” she used my old college nickname. “You can’t win against the mob.” “It’s not worth destroying ten years of your life for one junior employee! Just concede! Say sorry, and this will all go away!” “Why are you being so stubborn?” I didn’t explain. I just stared out the window, at the shocking red paint on my front door. A strange, cold calm had settled over me. I opened my phone’s Notes app. I silently typed in the date of Skylar Moore’s wedding and the name of the hotel from the invitation. The Board of Directors released a public statement. “Given the severe personal misconduct of Ms. Sierra Linda, which has caused irreparable harm to the company’s brand…” “The Board has voted unanimously to immediately terminate Ms. Linda’s employment as CEO and freeze all her stock options.” I was fired from the company I had personally founded. The moment the news broke, the internet erupted in celebration. Skylar’s wedding was that same evening. She was live-streaming the entire event. The online viewership topped ten million. She was resplendent in an expensive, custom-made gown, her face glowing. This was her victory lap. During the stream, a viewer brought me up. “What happened to that evil boss, Sierra Linda? Is she dead yet?” Skylar put a hand over her mouth, feigning “mercy.” “Oh, let’s not talk about her. Today’s my happy day. I feel sorry for her, actually. She’s lost absolutely everything now.” She looked into the camera, her eyes glinting with barely contained triumph and challenge. “If she really thinks I fabricated documents, or cheated the company in any way…” “She can totally sue me, you know!” She smiled sweetly. “I’ll be waiting for her court documents.” The chat burst into laughter. “LOL, where is she going to get money for a lawyer now?” “Sue her! Let’s see her try to win!” “Skylar, ignore that crazy lady!” My phone rang again. It was my mother. Her voice was a desperate, pleading whisper. “Sierra, please. Your father’s heart is bad, he’s in the hospital. We are too old for this public humiliation. We can’t take this social pressure anymore…” I hung up. Vanessa, my former VP, who had lost her job and her marriage because of the harassment, sent me one last text. “I surrender, sis. I can’t fight them. I’m just an ordinary person.” “You should give up too.” I watched the live feed in silence. Skylar and her fiancé, Mark, were about to exchange rings. The moment had arrived. I closed the live stream app. At the wedding venue, the music swelled to a crescendo. “The groom may now kiss the bride!” The hall was filled with cheers. BANG—! At that exact moment— The double doors of the ballroom were violently thrown open. The massive sound swallowed the music. Every guest, and the camera capturing the ten million viewers, snapped toward the entrance. Skylar’s victorious smile froze on her face. Her eyes met mine. They went immediately pale. She pointed at me and shrieked, an ear-piercing sound: “Security!” “Security! Get that psychopath out of here! She’s trying to crash the wedding!” The hotel security team scrambled forward. I didn’t slow down. I ignored her screams and the shocked faces of the guests. I walked straight onto the stage. The officiant stared at me, dumbfounded, unable to speak. Mark, the groom, stepped in front of Skylar, shouting: “What do you want? Get out!” I took the microphone straight out of the officiant’s hand. I looked at Skylar and smiled. My voice was quiet, but amplified through the massive speakers, it carried through the hall and across the live stream. “Don’t worry.” “Skylar Moore, I’ve brought you a wedding gift.” I turned to the camera and the hundreds of guests. I held up a simple USB drive. “You asked me to sue you? I’m here to deliver the evidence.” I walked to the wedding control booth at the side of the stage. Before the technician could react, I plugged the USB drive into the laptop. A crystal-clear image of a document immediately appeared on the massive screen behind the altar. It was her employment verification form from Her World. The live chat froze. I picked up the officiant’s laser pointer, and the red dot landed precisely on the most critical date: the day before she submitted her request for wedding leave. The entire hall fell silent for three seconds. Then, a sudden, explosive roar of astonishment erupted! “As of this moment,” I said, looking directly at Skylar, “she was still in her probationary period.” “Let me clarify one point.” “The company did not reject a reasonable request for leave.” “I rejected an egregious, unreasonable request made by an employee who had been on the payroll for forty-eight hours, who was not entitled to formal benefits, and who then attempted to use public opinion as a weapon to extort special treatment.” My words were precise and cutting. A few more seconds of silence, then the screens showing the live chat went insane. The comments scrolled so fast they were a blur. “Wait, what?! FORTY-EIGHT HOURS?!” “She tried to pull a wedding leave two days in? Does she have any shame?” “It’s common sense you don’t get benefits during a probationary period! This woman is nuts!” “I actually believed the black-hearted CEO story! She’s just a manipulative giant baby!” “This is straight-up fraud! The tables have turned!” The narrative had shattered. Skylar’s face was rapidly losing all color. She gripped her wedding dress, her body starting to tremble. “I didn’t know! I didn’t read it clearly! I just started, how was I supposed to know anything?!” she stammered, desperately trying to find an excuse. “Sierra Linda! You deliberately did this! You wanted to ruin me!” She started to wail, pivoting back to a moral attack. “Are you sure you didn’t know?” I asked, my voice flat. I pulled out a third item: a sheet of paper. “This is the onboarding training sign-in sheet from October 18th. Down in the bottom right corner is the signature of Ms. Skylar Moore.” I then produced a stack of printed materials. “These were the training materials she received that day. I’ve specifically folded this page.” I held it up to the camera. The section on Leave and Benefits was clearly highlighted in fluorescent yellow. “The rules for the probationary period are here, in black and white.” “She not only received the materials but signed to confirm she had read and understood all the terms.” “And you’re telling me you didn’t know?” Skylar’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly. The tears were still on her cheeks, making her look pitiable and ridiculous. “You…” she began to whisper. “Enough!” A sharp, furious roar cut her off.

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In the third month of the cold war with my boyfriend, I couldn’t hold back anymore. I swallowed my pride and sent a text to test the waters. “Do you still want to make this work?” He replied almost instantly. “Yes.” I put down my awkward ego and asked him: “Can we meet and talk?” He replied, “You don’t have cramps today, do you?” “…” “Your place or mine?” 1 No one knows how I survived those three months of silence with Ethan. It started over something small, so small I can’t even remember what triggered it. But this time, I held onto a ball of rage in my chest, refusing to reply to his messages. The chat history was frozen on his icy, non-apology from weeks ago: “Fine, let’s just say I was wrong.” Honestly, seeing that sentence made me vow out of spite that I would never speak to him again. I knew that even if I tried to reason with him, it would only earn me his classic rebuttal: “I already apologized, what else do you want from me?” He always used that line to control me. We had broken up and gotten back together countless times. In the beginning, it ended with him coaxing me back. Later, it turned into me finding various ways to beg for peace, giving him an off-ramp for his ego. Because he knew that once he said that line, it meant he had “apologized.” If I continued to discuss the actual issue, I was being “dramatic” or “high maintenance.” And after that, what awaited me was inevitably a long-lasting cold war. I obviously couldn’t handle the silence as well as he could. So, I would usually swallow my grievances and accept his “apology.” I psyched myself up and sent a message first: “I’m at the Urgent Care getting an IV drip alone. It’s hard to even go to the bathroom.” To make it seem less stiff, I added a cute, pouting sticker. He didn’t reply for a long time. After waiting for thirty minutes, I couldn’t suppress my anxiety. Every minute, a million thoughts popped into my head. Does he really want to break up? Does he not love me anymore? Does he have another girlfriend? Finally, before these thoughts drowned me, I sent another message. “Why are you ignoring me?” Truthfully, I was getting angry, but I still sent a cute GIF. “Do you want to grab dinner later?” He replied: “?” “No time.” Stiff. Emotionless. I had thought that if his tone softened even a little bit—just a tiny bit—I would drop the argument, smile, and pretend nothing had happened. But no. I tried hard to control my emotions, holding back my sadness and anger, and sent a question mark back. He asked: “You want to fight again?” My tears instantly poured down. But damn it, even while crying, all I could think about was Ethan. If he were by my side right now, if he could see me crying, would he hold me in his arms and comfort me? Would he feel guilty? I realized I was hopeless. Tears dripping onto the screen, I typed: “I just wanted a little care from you. I don’t want to fight, but your silent treatment really hurts me.” “Ethan, once the disappointment piles up enough, I really will leave.” The “typing…” bubble appeared, then disappeared. It flickered on and off for five minutes. I stared at his chat box the whole time. Was he writing me a long, heartfelt paragraph? I felt a secret joy. Honestly, I hadn’t seen more than a few words from him in ages. But no. His reply was short. “Here we go again. I don’t want to talk about your issues.” “Fine, let’s just say it was my fault.” 2 After reading that, my tears stopped instantly. It’s strange how human emotions can shift in a split second. I stared at the phone and turned it off without hesitation. I was certain Ethan would regret what he said today. I told myself that when he eventually came back, crying and begging for forgiveness, I must not be soft-hearted. The more excessive he was now, the more sincere his begging would be later. But as time passed—two whole weeks—there was not a single movement from him. I checked his Instagram. No updates. He was never one to post stories anyway. Aside from texting, I had no way to track him. I intentionally posted a story of me out having fun with friends. Ethan didn’t like it. He didn’t view it. Worried he missed it, I posted a few more. Still no reaction. Did I play it too hard this time? Is he really planning to draw a line and end it? Once the doubt started, the spiraling began. I re-read the chat logs from two weeks ago over and over. Actually, he did apologize. Why is it that every time I want to smooth things over, we fall into a new round of arguing? If I had controlled my emotions back then, would today be different? He was the only one who could tolerate my little tantrums. In front of him, I could be myself without fear. He gave me a grounded kind of love. I didn’t really want to break up. So why did we fight? Was I being too demanding? Come to think of it, the last time we laughed together feels like ancient history. If being together only means suppression and pain, then naturally, one would want to escape the relationship. So I shouldn’t blame Ethan. I should make it so that thinking of me brings him joy. I knew I could do it. Making him happy was actually very simple. Thinking this, I opened the chat box to message him. I typed and deleted, typed and deleted. Summoning my courage, I pressed send. “Do you know I’m really sad?” Unexpectedly, he replied quickly this time. “I know.” “Then why are you indifferent?” “I don’t know what to say.” My fingertips trembled on the screen. What was I expecting? He is Ethan. How could he possibly coax me just because I lowered my head first? 3 I looked up and out the window. My colleague’s boyfriend had arrived to pick her up from work. He tucked her cold hand into his pocket, and the smiles on their faces infected me. If Ethan and I weren’t fighting, we would probably be eating hot pot right now. He would fix my layered winter collar, holding my coat, watching me laugh quietly from the side. I admit it. I lost. I missed Ethan a little. No, I missed him terribly. But did he miss me? Or rather, did he still love me? I was always confident yet insecure. Was a girl like me worth loving? Thinking this, I couldn’t wait any longer and sent the message. “Do you still want to make this work?” He replied quickly. “Yes.” I almost cried. As expected, no matter how bad things got, Ethan never gave up on the relationship. “Then why the silent treatment?” “I don’t know.” I put down my awkward ego and asked him. “Can we meet and talk?” He replied, “You don’t have cramps today, do you?” … “Your place or mine?” The implication of that sentence was obvious, but I played dumb. “Is there a difference?” He said, “There are people at my place.” If I had a backbone, I would have called him, cursed him out, and blocked him. But I couldn’t. I typed out words that bordered on fawning, almost like I was a masochist. I wanted to know just how far Ethan would go. I handed him the knife that hurt me, perversely expecting him to stab me with it. Because the deeper the wound, the firmer my resolve to leave would be. I wasn’t afraid of heart-wrenching pain; I was only afraid of him mixing true love with fake intentions to torture me, making me hesitate. “Okay, my place. What time?” He waited a while before replying. “No rush. I’ll come after I drop her off.” Who is she? I didn’t ask. I checked the message, didn’t wait for him, didn’t eat, didn’t wash up. I turned off my phone, lay in bed, and fell asleep. Turns out, expressing sadness takes energy. And right now, I really didn’t have the heart to think. In my drowsy state, I felt cold lips kissing my face. I opened my eyes. It was Ethan. He skillfully slipped under my covers. Still unsatisfied, he prepared to kiss further down. I quickly dodged, extending my leg and using all my strength to push him away. But the strength difference between men and women is real. He grabbed my leg and pulled me under him. His lips murmured against my ear. “So eager to be eaten?” My face flushed with anger, but I couldn’t stop his hands. In desperation, I said loudly: “I’m on my period.” He froze. His brows furrowed, and he clicked his tongue. “Then why did you call me over?” “Boring.” My heart went cold. Did he really only come to me to satisfy his physical desires? I really was a fool. Seeing me silent, he chuckled. “Look at you, getting all mad. You little brat, who told you not to reply to my messages for two weeks?” “Was my acting like a scumbag convincing just now?” As he spoke, he poked my cheek with his finger. “Giving you a taste of your own medicine. That’s for pissing me off.” Hearing this, all my grievances, sadness, and anger mixed together. After suppressing it for so long, I finally cried out loud. He gently wiped away my tears. “Princess, why don’t you just bite me? Don’t cry. My heart hurts when you cry.” I was amused by his exaggerated expressions and asked: “Who did you go to drop off just now?” He looked arrogant. “Guess.” “I’m not guessing. Just tell me.” “How about this? I’ll tell you, and you let me game all night.” My face darkened. “Tell me or don’t.” He seemed unhappy. “I came all this way to comfort you, not to look at your angry face.” “I knew as soon as we made up, you’d restrict me from gaming with the boys again. Can’t I have some personal space?” I was dizzy with anger and threw a pillow at him. “Then don’t come to comfort me! I knew we wouldn’t get two sentences in before you’d want to play games and disappear.” “You say I piss you off? Ethan, I bet you wish we were in a cold war every day so no one would control you.” He walked to the door and started putting on his shoes. “If I wanted a cold war every day, why wouldn’t I just break up?” I laughed, my voice trembling with agitation. “Fine! You finally said it. You just want to break up.” He opened the door, his face indifferent. “You’re being irrational. Think whatever you want.” Bang! The door closed. The room was silent. Only the sound of my sobbing remained. 4 We fell into a cold war again. The next day, I applied for a business trip to another city. The weather in the South was humid and muggy. As soon as I got off the plane, I felt the moisture in the air. In the past, I would have been impatient to share my mood with Ethan. But not now. For the whole month of the trip, I didn’t want to say a word to him. On sleepless nights, I wondered: when did things change between us? In the beginning, we got together because of vanity. He was handsome. At a party, I lost a game and casually said I liked him. Why him? Because half the school liked him, so no one would believe it even if I said it. Everyone teased that I wasn’t sincere and demanded a serious answer. Unexpectedly, Ethan, who had been nestled in the sofa playing board games all night, suddenly sat up, looked at me seriously, and asked: “What do you like about me?” My face turned red, my head hot. “I like that… I like… that everyone likes you.” He lowered his head and smiled faintly. Maybe he was in a good mood that day, but he took out his phone and asked me: “You want to scan my QR code?” Seeing me stunned and silent, he asked, “Weren’t you going to pursue me?” Later, we somehow ended up together. Honestly, I didn’t take it seriously at first. Someone as good-looking and popular as him, who was rumored to change girlfriends frequently, probably wouldn’t take relationships seriously. My roommate hinted that he wasn’t someone I could handle and advised me not to overthink it. But privately, she stalked his socials, added Ethan on WeChat, and confessed to him. “Ethan, I like you.” My roommate was a beauty. She and Ethan were both regulars on the campus “Confessions” page. Even if they hadn’t interacted, they knew of each other. Someone asked Ethan why he got together with me. He said, “She’s easy on the eyes.” He didn’t say “like,” so everyone was convinced he was just with me for the novelty, a spur-of-the-moment thing. After all, getting together after meeting once? What feelings could there be? Love at first sight is fake. So my roommate felt confident in her confession. But Ethan just showed me his phone, typed a slow “?”, blocked her, and warned me: “Stay away from her in the future.” I nodded. “Oh.” I felt he was different from the rumors. Although he didn’t say he loved me, he was thoughtful and serious with me. Gradually, my emotions became tied to him. In my free time, I was either texting him or waiting for his reply. Sometimes, even while showering, I would check my phone to see if he had replied. But the better he treated me, the more I wanted, and the more insecure I felt. This life of being held hostage by emotions was exhausting. I hated being like this, but I was afraid that if we separated, I would never find anyone who treated me as well as Ethan. But now, amazingly, my mind wasn’t on any of that. It was truly miraculous; even I was surprised. On the day of my return, as soon as I turned off airplane mode, I saw dozens of messages flashing. All from Ethan. The first few messages he sent had been unsent. An hour later, he sent a few more. “It’s been a week… you haven’t even posted a Story.” “Are you on a business trip?” “Usually when you travel, you send me dozens of messages a day.” … I scrolled through the screen. He sent another message, but quickly unsent it. However, I caught it this time. “Thinking about it now, I don’t think I’ve replied to your messages seriously for a long time.” Surprisingly, he had learned self-reflection. In the past, when I sent him long paragraphs, he never felt he was the problem. Seeing this message, it would be a lie to say I wasn’t moved. Undeniably, I get happy because of the other person’s guilt and affection. I couldn’t help but reply with a simple “Mm.” Inside, conflicting emotions swirled, but unlike before, there was no resentment—mostly a sense of vengeful pleasure. Ethan sent me a barrage of messages. I clutched my racing heart, trying to calm down in the taxi, deciding to read them when I got home. As soon as I arrived downstairs, I saw the familiar Range Rover. He was leaning against the car door. Since it was early winter, he wore a navy blue coat over a camel turtleneck. His style was always good. Having not seen him for a month, he seemed to have lost a lot of weight, looking sharper and colder. As I got closer, I saw a cigarette between his fingers, the ember glowing in the twilight. Hearing me approach, he hurriedly stubbed out the cigarette and walked over. The faint smell of tobacco on him made me frown. In the past, we fought a lot about his smoking. Maybe because of my dad, I strongly resisted a partner who smoked. So when Ethan picked up the habit after graduation, I opposed it vehemently. I don’t know where I got such intense desire for control over this matter. We argued countless times. Often, while we were cuddling and watching a movie, the atmosphere sweet, I would catch a whiff of smoke on his clothes and check his pockets. The mood would snap, followed by his complaints about not being trusted, or his anger from embarrassment at being caught. At first, he would agree verbally but smoke secretly. Later, he just laid his cards on the table. “Stop controlling me. As long as I don’t smoke in front of you, isn’t that enough?” I thought about finding a non-smoking partner, but the truth is, the love a boy gives during the honeymoon phase always gives girls the illusion that they can change him. Thinking back, I was such an idiot.

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“Everyone else here seems to manage. Why can’t you?” Ella’s voice echoed in the conference room. A dozen pairs of eyes focused on me. I lowered my gaze to the quarterly report in my hands. Monthly KPI Completion Rate: 32%. Olivia: 115%. Ben: 108%. Even Sarah, the intern who’d only been here three months, was at 95%. Only me. 32%. “If those numbers look like this next month, Jenna, you’ll need to seriously re-evaluate your future here.” I didn’t speak. Three years. Every month, the same ritual. I genuinely thought I was incompetent. It wasn’t until the day I resigned that I finally saw the full KPI Allocation Spreadsheet. 1. The air conditioning in the conference room was set to Arctic, but my back was slick with sweat. Ella tossed my report onto the table. The sound wasn’t loud, but every word she spoke felt like a nail driven into my skull. “Jenna Hayes. Tell me, why are you, once again, at the bottom of the list?” I stood up, palms damp. “The client side this month—” “The client side?” Ella cut me off. “Did Olivia’s clients have no issues? Did Ben’s clients have no issues?” I opened my mouth, but no defense came out. “Just sit down, Jenna,” Ella said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s the same tired excuses every month. I’m exhausted hearing them.” I sank back into my chair. The silence was thick. I could feel the glances of my colleagues: some purely entertained, some tinged with pity, and others—undiluted schadenfreude. “Alright, that’s it. Meeting adjourned.” Ella stood up. “Jenna, stay behind.” The others filed out. Olivia brushed past me and murmured, “Hang in there.” I couldn’t tell if it was genuine support or practiced corporate politeness. The door clicked shut. It was just Ella and me. “Jenna,” Ella said, pulling up a chair across the table. Her tone softened, dropping into a deceptive cadence of concern. “I’m not targeting you, you know that.” I nodded stiffly. “But this performance… it’s indefensible.” “Ella, I personally visited twenty-three prospective clients this month—” “And the result?” I fell silent. “How many contracts did you close?” “Two.” “Two,” Ella repeated, letting the number hang in the air. “Olivia saw fifteen accounts and closed eight. Tell me, where exactly is the breakdown?” I wanted to point out that Olivia’s accounts were mostly renewals and long-standing clients—easy conversions. My accounts? They were all new, cold leads—never-before-converted prospects. The furthest was in the next county, a four-hour round trip. But I didn’t say it. It wouldn’t have mattered. “Jenna, I’m doing this for your own good.” Ella stood up and gave my shoulder a patronizing pat. “Young people need to be put through the wringer. Build character, right?” “Right.” “Next month, try harder.” “I will.” I walked out of the conference room. Laughter drifted from the breakroom. “Another dressing down, huh?” “I know. Last place every month.” “I mean, how does she still have a job?” “Must be the thick skin, honestly.” More laughter. I froze. That was Olivia’s voice. The same Olivia who had just told me to “hang in there.” I didn’t go in. I turned and went back to my cubicle. I logged onto my computer. The screen showed my client visit log for the month. Twenty-three accounts. Twenty-three cold calls. I’d visited one company three times, and they wouldn’t even look at the quote. With another, I’d barely finished my opening line before they said, “We’re not interested.” I drove two hours to a third, only to find the office had moved months ago. I was trying. I just couldn’t understand why everyone else could breeze through their targets while I was killing myself just to fail. My phone vibrated. It was Mom. “Sweetie, did you get your monthly bonus yet?” I gripped the phone, unable to speak. “Jenna?” “Mom, I’m in the middle of something. I’ll call you back later.” I hung up. I stared at the screen, which now displayed next month’s client list. Ella had just emailed it. Twenty-eight accounts. All new prospects. I managed to pull up Olivia’s list. Twelve accounts. Eight were renewals, three were existing client referrals, and only one was a new lead. I placed the two lists side-by-side and stared at them for a long time. Then I closed the window. Forget it. Maybe I really was just incompetent. At the end of the day, Sarah, the admin, called out to me. “Jenna, you have a package.” I took it. It was from my mother. I opened it to find a thick winter jacket. Tucked inside was a note: It’s getting cold. Don’t work too hard; your health is what matters. I stood by the company exit, looking at the coat. Mom didn’t know I was dead last every month. Mom didn’t know I hadn’t had a raise in three years. Mom didn’t know I was the department’s running joke. I shoved the jacket back in the bag and stepped out the door. It was raining. I hadn’t brought an umbrella. I walked the entire way to the subway station, getting soaked. 2. It was the end of the year. Annual bonuses were being paid out. I didn’t hold out much hope. But I still couldn’t stop myself from calculating. Three years into the job, my base salary was $65,000. The company policy stated the bonus was based on annual performance. My average completion rate was 35%. Pro-rata, I should at least get one month’s salary, right? About $5,400. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to send Mom a nice check. That afternoon, a message popped up in the Finance chat. “Annual Bonuses have been distributed. Please check your accounts.” I opened my banking app. Balance: $8,547.32. No change. I refreshed the page. Still no change. I went to the Finance Department. “Jenna Hayes? You didn’t receive an annual bonus this year.” “Why not?” “Failure to meet performance targets.” The finance officer kept her head down, staring at her screen. “Your annual average completion rate was below 40%. Per policy, no bonus.” “But—” “That’s a mandate from Ella. If you have an issue, take it up with her.” I stood frozen at the entrance to the Finance office. Someone cleared their throat behind me. “Excuse me, please.” I stepped aside. Olivia walked past, clutching a stack of papers. “Jenna? What are you doing here?” I shook my head. “Nothing.” Olivia smiled. “The bonus was great this year. Five months’ salary!” Five months. Her base salary was higher than mine. Five months was easily a six-figure payout. I got zero. “Congratulations,” I mumbled. “Thanks.” Olivia was already walking away. “We’re going out to celebrate tonight. Want to come?” “No, I have plans.” I walked back to my desk and sat down. Across from me, Ben was counting money, a grin on his face. “Thirty-eight hundred, not bad at all.” Patrice, the woman next to me, leaned over. “Mine was decent too. Thirty-five hundred.” The chatter turned into a lively debate about how to spend the money: new phones, travel plans, designer bags for spouses. No one asked me. They all knew. At five-thirty, Ella emerged from her office. “Jenna, a moment.” I followed her inside. Ella sat down and gestured for me to take a seat. “Did Finance talk to you about the bonus?” “Yes.” “And what are your thoughts?” I looked at her, not sure what she wanted to hear. “No thoughts.” “Jenna.” Ella sighed, a performance of weary concern. “It’s not that I don’t want to give you one, but your performance is truly awful. This company values results. You understand that, right?” “I understand.” “Look at Olivia. She consistently over-performs. Look at Ben. He’s a rookie, and he’s hitting 100%. What about you?” My head was bowed. “You’ve been here three years, and you’re always at the bottom. Frankly, any other company would have fired you a long time ago.” “…” “I’ve protected you, Jenna, you know that? Every time the CEO asks, I tell him you’re improving, you’re trying. But then you pull a 35% average.” Ella’s voice rose slightly. “Are you taking advantage of me?” I looked up. Her face was etched with disappointment. I couldn’t tell if the disappointment was real or just part of the act. “Ella, I…” “Never mind.” Ella waved me off. “Go home and think about this. If you pull this again next year, I won’t be able to save your job.” “Okay.” I stood up to leave. “Jenna.” I stopped. “I’m doing this for your own good.” “I know.” I left her office and returned to my desk. My computer screen was still on, showing the client list for January. Thirty-five accounts. All new, cold leads. I scrolled down, trying to see Olivia’s list, but my permissions were blocked. I closed the window and started packing my bag. Mom was waiting for my call. She would ask about the bonus. I thought for a moment, then said: “Just over a grand. Nothing huge.” “That’s plenty, sweetheart! You keep it for yourself. Your father and I are fine.” Mom sounded overjoyed. “Mhm.” “Jenna, everything going well at work?” “Perfectly smooth.” “That’s good. That’s very good.” I hung up, sitting on the subway, watching the dark tunnel flash past the window. A thousand dollars. I didn’t even have a hundred. When I got home, my roommate, Skylar, was already cooking. “You’re back. Eat yet?” “No.” “Good. I made extra. Let’s eat.” I dropped my bag and sat at the dining table. Skylar carried two plates out. “What’s wrong? You look awful.” “No bonus.” “What?” Skylar paused. “Why?” “Didn’t meet the target.” “But you’re always the last one to leave!” Skylar frowned. “Didn’t you tell me you visited over twenty clients last month?” “Twenty-three.” “And still nothing?” “Nothing.” I picked at my food. “My colleague got five months’ pay; I got zero.” Skylar put down her fork and looked at me. “Jenna, don’t you think something is off?” “What do you mean?” “You get in earlier and leave later than everyone else. You see more clients than anyone else. Why is your performance the worst?” I stayed silent. “Did it ever occur to you that the problem isn’t you?” “But… my completion rate is low, Skylar. It’s a fact.” “Low completion rate?” Skylar scoffed. “Do you know what kind of clients they’re assigning everyone else?” I looked at her blankly. “You get nothing but cold, new leads. They get renewals and existing accounts. What’s the closing rate on a cold lead? Maybe 20% if you’re lucky. A renewal? Eighty percent plus.” I clutched my fork, speechless. “Jenna, don’t be an idiot,” Skylar said, shaking her head. “Are you being set up?” “No way…” “No way? Then you tell me,” Skylar challenged. “Why do you always get the hardest accounts? Why are you always driving four hours into the next county?” I tried to argue, but the words caught in my throat. Because she was telling the truth. “I’m telling you,” Skylar said. “Go look. Find out how those KPI targets are really distributed.” “How?” “Find a way.” I couldn’t sleep that night. Lying in bed, Skylar’s words hammered in my head. Set up? It felt crazy. I didn’t have a feud with Ella. We weren’t enemies. Why would she deliberately sabotage me? But… Why was I always assigned the most difficult clients? Why was my completion rate always the lowest? Why, in three years, had I never received a single cent of the annual bonus? I grabbed my phone and navigated to the company intranet. Where was the KPI Allocation Spreadsheet? I searched for an hour. Nothing. Insufficient access permissions. I pulled up the client list Ella had sent, the one for January, and went over it carefully. Thirty-five accounts. All new, cold leads. One client was three hours away by train. Another was notoriously difficult; the last salesperson assigned to them quit after six months without a single contract. A third was just snatched by our biggest competitor, and I was expected to steal it back. I then dug through my old emails and found Olivia’s client list from the previous month. She had accidentally ‘Reply All’d’ to the entire team instead of just Ella. Twelve accounts. Eight renewals, three referrals, and one new lead—and that new lead was a subsidiary of the company’s largest existing client. I stared at the two lists. Her twelve, my thirty-five. Her eight renewals, my zero. She drives thirty minutes; I drive three hours. I felt a strange urge to laugh. So that was it. It had been like this all along. 3. I returned to the office after the holidays. My mood was heavy, yet strangely focused. Skylar was right. I had to find out. On the first day back, Ella called a department meeting. “New year, new energy. I expect everyone to over-perform this year.” She looked straight at me. “Jenna, you really need to step it up.” “I will.” “We won’t dwell on last year. Focus on earning that bonus this year.” “I will.” I didn’t say anything more. After the meeting, I found Sarah from the Administration Department. Sarah had been there a year longer than me and was generally friendly. “Sarah, I need to ask you something.” “Sure, what is it?” “Where can I find the company’s KPI Allocation Spreadsheet?” Sarah looked confused. “Why do you need that?” “Just… trying to understand the benchmark, get a clearer target.” “The KPI allocation is only visible to department managers and HR,” Sarah whispered, leaning closer. “You think something is wrong, don’t you?” I didn’t answer. Sarah glanced around and pulled me into an empty corner of the hallway. “Jenna, look, I’m going to tell you something, but you can’t breathe a word of it to anyone.” “What?” “Late last year, I helped HR organize some digital files,” Sarah said, her voice dropping lower. “I saw your department’s KPI breakdown.” My heart hammered in my chest. “Your target… it’s three times higher than everyone else’s.” “What?” “Your monthly KPI is $3 million. Olivia’s is $1 million. Ben’s is $1.2 million.” Sarah looked at me with deep sympathy. “Do you know what that means?” I stood there, my mind blank. Three times. My target was three times everyone else’s. “No wonder you’re always bottom of the list,” Sarah sighed. “A $3 million monthly target is impossible. The top sales exec couldn’t hit that.” “Why?” My voice was trembling. “Why me?” “I don’t know,” Sarah shook her head. “But you need to look into this yourself. Don’t let them make you feel incompetent while you’re making them look good.” I stood in the hallway for a long time. Three years. For three years, I was the last one to leave the office, I drove the most miles, and I worked the hardest. The result? Last place every month. Constant dressing-downs. Treated like a liability. It wasn’t because I was bad at my job. It was because, from the very beginning, the game was rigged. That afternoon, I found an excuse to visit the HR Department. “Barbara, I need to look at our department’s KPI spreadsheet.” Barbara, the HR manager, looked up. “Why would you need to see that?” “I just want to understand the effort required to earn the bonus. A goal-setting exercise.” Barbara hesitated. “That requires your manager’s approval.” “Ella is traveling this week, back on Monday,” I lied. “I just need a quick look. I won’t take photos.” Barbara considered it, then pulled up the file on her computer. “Fine. Take a look. I’m going to grab some water.” She left. I quickly moved to the computer and opened the file.

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I have a toxic trait: I love the chase. There’s nothing like the thrill of pursuing someone out of my league to spice up a mundane life. Recently, I’ve been chasing a stoic, ice-cold man. I spent two months throwing myself at him, and he barely gave me the time of day. I was very satisfied. But, like always, I eventually got bored and found a new target. A few days later, the Ice Doctor messaged me first for the once: “You’ve been busy lately?” I was currently at dinner with my new target. I replied: “Oh, absolutely. Work has been crazy, sweetie. I’m still at the office.” Ice Doctor: “At the office?” Me: “Uh-huh.” Ice Doctor: “Then turn around.” 1 My best friend, Chloe, broke her leg, so I went to visit her at a high-end private hospital. We were gossiping in her room when the attending physician walked in. I turned around and froze. The man was tall, impeccable in a pressed white coat, with an air of clinical detachment that screamed “do not touch.” He was explaining post-op care to Chloe, his voice sounding like deep, cool water. Standing to the side, I admired the sharp bridge of his nose, his thick lashes, and his long, surgical fingers flipping through the chart. After he left, I exploded. “Give me your doctor’s number. Now.” Chloe looked at me like I was crazy. “Why?” I kept a straight face. “My contact list is missing a high-maintenance emotional challenge.” She rolled her eyes so hard I thought they’d stick. “Just admit your ‘chaser’ syndrome is acting up again.” Eventually, she forwarded his contact card. I sent a request immediately. His name was Ethan Caldwell. His social media was open, so I scrolled through. It was drier than the Sahara—medical journals, disease research, health tips. Definitely a work account. Hours later, he finally accepted. Me: Hi Dr. Caldwell, I’m Riley, a friend of your patient Chloe. Ethan: Okay. Me: When will she be discharged? Ethan: Day after tomorrow. Me: Thanks for taking such good care of her. Ethan: It’s my job. I hit a wall. His strictly professional attitude left me no opening to start my usual flirting routine. No problem. I needed to establish a physical presence first. For the next two days, under the guise of being a “supportive friend,” I practically lived at the hospital. Hair done, full makeup, outfit on point. Chloe wanted to kick me out. But it worked. When I saw Ethan again, his gaze lingered on me for a solid two seconds before moving away. Delighted, I went back to texting him irrelevant fluff. Finally, Ethan paused typing for a long time. Ethan: Ms. Riley. Me: Here! Ethan: We have patients with respiratory issues on this floor. I suggest you ease up on the perfume. Me: … 2 The day Chloe was discharged, I was devastated. Chloe nearly beat me with her crutches. “Give it up, Riley. I asked the nurses. Ethan comes from old money. He’s out of your league. You can’t land him.” I got even more excited. “That’s the point! If I actually landed him, it wouldn’t be fun anymore.” Chloe was silent for a few seconds. “I will never understand your brain.” I smiled. Sometimes, I didn’t understand it either. After Chloe went home, I continued to “harass” Ethan. Of course, I was a professional. I only bugged him when he wasn’t busy. I’d feign medical ignorance: Dr. Caldwell, my neck has been killing me lately. When are your office hours? He sent a link: Book online. Or I’d comment on his dry articles: Wow, so insightful! You work so hard! Learning so much! He ignored all of it. I suddenly realized a critical issue. I didn’t even know if he was single. This was serious. I decided to ask in person. On Tuesday afternoon, I booked an appointment with Dr. Caldwell. The copay was astronomical, but for the sake of the game, I swiped my card. Soon, a nurse called my name and led me into his office. This was my first time alone with him. From less than six feet away, I could see the tiny mole on his nose and the distinct curve of his pale lips. He looked up. My heart skipped a beat. He gestured for me to sit and asked about my symptoms. After I stuttered through a vague description, he asked follow-up questions. I had never been this nervous. Ethan’s eyes were dark, and when he looked at me professionally, there was a focused tenderness that contrasted sharply with his icy demeanor. My brain short-circuited. I rambled about nonsense. Ethan listened patiently for a long time before giving his verdict: “Riley, physiologically, your neck seems fine. If the discomfort persists, I can refer you to physical therapy.” I snapped out of it and shook my head vigorously. Walking out of the office, I realized I’d forgotten my main question. I turned to go back, but Ethan had already left his office and was walking down the hall. I checked my phone. It was past 5:00 PM. I had kept him late. I ran after him. “Dr. Caldwell.” He turned around. “I feel a little dizzy.” He frowned slightly. “Just now?” “Yeah.” “Go get an MRI first. Once we have the images…” He didn’t finish his sentence. My vision went black, and I hit the floor. I lied to Ethan. I didn’t have neck pain. I had hypoglycemia, and I hadn’t eaten all day. 3 In my haze, I felt someone pick me up. The embrace was solid, safe, and smelled like antiseptic and expensive cologne. A while later, after a nurse hooked me up to an IV, I struggled to open my heavy eyelids. Someone was standing next to the bed. I looked up to see Ethan, frowning deeply. “If you’re hypoglycemic, you need to eat on a schedule.” He dropped that advice and turned to leave. “Ethan.” It was the first time I used his first name. He paused and looked back. I finally remembered my mission. “Are you single?” A trace of impatience flashed in his eyes. “Riley, if you don’t have a medical emergency…” “Are you?” I asked again. Ethan paused for two seconds. “Yes.” He turned to leave again, but I grabbed his sleeve. He looked back, visibly annoyed now. I pretended not to notice. I looked up at him with my most sincere, heart-melting smile. “Then… is it okay if I like you?” After I said it, I saw it clearly. Ethan’s dark, irritated pupils trembled. 4 I violated the first rule of the chase. Rule #1: Be charming, but keep your heart on ice. Never be direct. Ethan’s life was probably rigid and disciplined. He’d likely never met anyone as shamelessly direct as me. One sentence, and I scared him off. Leaving the hospital, I fell into deep regret. I figured I’d probably get blocked on his phone. After hesitating, I sent a risky text: Am I still on your contact list? It actually went through. I tried to unsend it immediately. Ethan replied with an ellipsis: … Ethan: Yes. Me: … Crap, he saw it. Me: Sorry about today. My brain was foggy from the low sugar. I was talking nonsense. He didn’t reply. I scrolled through TikTok for an hour before a notification popped up. Ethan: Okay. Mission failed before it even started. Revealing my hand too early made the rest of the chase incredibly difficult. Over the next few interactions, Ethan basically ignored me. Luckily, I was a veteran chaser. I knew when to retreat. I drastically reduced my frequency and waited for the right moments. A simple “Get some rest” after his night shift, or a “Busy week?” on Sunday night. Once I retreated to a safe, non-aggressive distance, Ethan occasionally replied with a sentence or two. I didn’t push for long conversations. I quit while I was ahead. I had my own life, after all. When I asked “Off work?” and he replied “Yeah,” I knew he didn’t hate my existence anymore. Suddenly, I just wanted to see him. On a slow weekend, I went to the hospital lobby to wait for him to get off work. I didn’t know if I’d actually run into him. But without a strong agenda, I treated it as a vibe check. Whatever happens, happens. Luck was on my side. I saw him. And I witnessed a scene straight out of a soap opera. Ethan had changed into street clothes, but a young woman was blocking his path. I couldn’t hear them from a distance, but I saw Ethan’s furrowed brows and the impatience in his eyes. The same look he gave me that day. Another relentless pursuer, I guessed. As I got closer, I heard them. “Ms. Sanders, personally, I think it would be best if you found another doctor.” “Ethan, I’m not here for a checkup, I…” “Sister,” I walked over and interrupted. “Dr. Caldwell is off the clock. I think he’s done being bothered for the day.” My sudden appearance stunned her. She was young, probably college-aged. She blushed, mumbled an “Okay,” and hurried away. Ethan frowned at me. I wasn’t planning to pester him. I nodded at him, turned around, and walked out the automatic doors. While I was waiting for my Uber on the curb, a black SUV pulled up in front of me. The window rolled down slowly. I raised an eyebrow and walked over, intrigued. “Dr. Caldwell has something to say?” Ethan’s hands were on the steering wheel, eyes fixed straight ahead. His voice was cool. “Riley.” First time he said my name. My heart jumped. “Yeah?” “I don’t like being bothered after work.” I paused. Was he referring to the girl, or me? I looked down and smiled knowingly. “My goal is different from hers.” Ethan turned to look at me. The streetlights cast shadows across his face. His eyes were dark, filled with suspicion and scrutiny. He let out a soft, dismissive scoff. “How is it different?” “I just came to sit. If I see you, great. If not, whatever. I’m not asking for a response. Whether I like you or not is my business. If I’m bothering you, I won’t come around anymore.” The look he gave me was full of confusion. I guess normal people don’t understand my mindset. I smiled again. “Ethan, being liked by me just proves you’re an exceptional guy.” He didn’t respond. I waved. “Get home safe. Bye.”

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Two days after I ran away, Savannah found me outside the hospital. She gripped my wrist so tightly it felt like a cuff, her eyes blazing red. “You ran away because I slapped you once? Are you trying to kill me with worry, Elias?” “How long are you going to keep this up? I’m begging you, just be reasonable—be more like Grant, okay?” This time, I didn’t explain. I didn’t fight back. I simply followed her home, a model of the perfect, compliant little brother. She hated my tantrums, so I never raised my voice again. She accused me of being selfish, so I gave everything I owned to Grant Everett. Savannah thought I was playing a game, a stubborn power struggle to see how long I could keep the act up. But she had no idea. There was no act. I had simply run out of expectation. The day I left home, I went to the ER. That slap—her slap—had ruptured my eardrum, leaving my left ear deaf. It was also the day I unexpectedly found out I had blood cancer. For the rest of the time I had left, I just wanted peace. But I prayed that in my next life, I wouldn’t have a sister. 1 New Year’s Eve. Savannah spent the night out with Grant. On my dime. Before my grandmother died, she’d left me a debit card with $20,000, telling me it was my “starter fund” for the future. A few days ago, Savannah had called me petty and small-minded. So, I’d turned over all my valuables to Grant. Including that card. My phone kept buzzing with transaction alerts. First, they dropped five thousand on a fireworks show. Then, a ridiculously expensive dinner. Finally, a club downtown. At midnight, the last fifty dollars on the card was swiped. Grant posted a highly visible story on Instagram: [Who wouldn’t be jealous of a sister like this?] The picture was his hand, resting suggestively on a model’s slender waist. Savannah had hired him three high-end escorts. Savannah was wealthy—she owned several successful companies. Wiping out my grandmother’s last gift, then letting Grant post that photo? She was doing it on purpose. She believed I was in a months-long sulk, always testing me to see when I’d finally break. Yet my heart was perfectly still, flat as a calm lake. Not a ripple. My stomach felt hollow. I went to the kitchen and cooked myself a bowl of ramen. After I ate, I swallowed my medication. I was about to toss the empty pill bottle when the front door of the mansion swung open. I jumped, startled. My hand slipped, and the bottle clattered to the floor, rolling under the coffee table. Savannah, clearly drunk, paused when she saw me standing there, frozen and exposed. She sneered. “Still awake? Did spending your ten grand keep you up, Elias? Did you lose any sleep over it?” I didn’t answer. She went on, talking mostly to herself: “Three months of pouting. You have incredible stamina.” “Elias Bellweather, let’s see how long you can keep this charade going.” She stumbled. I instinctively moved to help her, but Grant shoved me away. “Can’t you see your sister’s drunk? Stop creating a scene.” He pushed me aside and helped Savannah into her bedroom. I picked up the designer jacket she’d dropped, hung it up, and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. Just as I was about to bring it to her room, Grant emerged. His eyes were full of venom. “Elias Bellweather, do you ever stop?” “You already ran away—why didn’t you go somewhere Savannah couldn’t find you? Why come back and keep bothering her?” 2 I hadn’t meant to be found. Three months ago, Grant had tearfully told Savannah I was a lost cause—flunking out of school and running with “gutter trash.” He even forged a few compromising photos of me in bed and showed them to her as irrefutable proof. Savannah believed him. No matter how I pleaded, her face was a black storm cloud. She had only one thing to say: “Elias, you’re truly disgusting.” I was beyond defending myself. The outrage made my whole body ache. I lost it, slapping Grant across the face. Savannah immediately returned the favor—for him. Her swing was massive; the blow knocked me to the floor, my ear ringing a loud, sickening buzz. Clutching my face, I stared at her in disbelief. The feeling of betrayal was too much. I bolted out the door. I was going to crash at a cheap motel for a few nights. But the pain in my ear became unbearable, and ached all over. The doctor diagnosed a perforated eardrum in my left ear, then dropped the second bomb: late-stage blood cancer. The doctor frowned. “That ear will never hear again. If someone hit you, you should report it.” He continued, “As for the cancer, I recommend conservative care…” The implication was clear: it was terminal. I walked out of the hospital, still in shock. Everyone rushed past, looking purposeful, most of them with family nearby. I sank down onto the curb, hiding in a corner, and just wept. My phone was dead. I hadn’t charged it since I left. Two days later, Savannah tracked me down. She roared, livid: “Why didn’t you come home? Do you know how long I looked for you?!” “You’re the one who screwed up, and all I did was hit you once. Was that really worth running away over?” She looked haggard, a wreck of anger and exhaustion. She grabbed my wrist, pleading: “Please. Just—just cut me a break, will you?” In that moment, I remembered something my grandmother used to say: “If you die full of hatred, you’ll become a vengeful spirit, and you won’t get a good rebirth.” My grandparents had a lifelong love story. Then, on her deathbed, my grandmother found out my grandfather had two illegitimate children. Yet, she found a way to let go of that resentment. What did I have to hold onto? So I went home with Savannah, and we never spoke about the past again. In those first weeks, the thought of dying would hit me, and I’d cry in secret. A few times, Savannah caught me. She would coldly snap, annoyed: “Crying, crying, crying. I have no idea why you’re constantly tearing up. Can’t you learn to be a man, like Grant?” I tried to mention my diagnosis once. She didn’t take it seriously, instantly dismissing it as a lie. After that, I stopped trying. She complained I was loud, so I never spoke to her first. She called me selfish, so I handed everything over to Grant. When she finally couldn’t find a fault in me, she decided I was just pouting. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was my own peace. Every day ahead was just waiting to die. I was far more excited about the next life. At midnight, I lit fireworks alone in the backyard. I didn’t want to wake Savannah and Grant, so I used the cheap, dollar-store sparklers. The fire sizzled and cracked from end to end. I made a wish: to make it through the new year. I slept in late the next day. When I got up, Savannah was sitting on the sofa. Our eyes met. The sheer rage in hers was barely contained. My heart sank. “What’s wrong?” She opened her palm. Lying there was the pill bottle I’d forgotten to pick up yesterday. I thought she knew. I clenched my fists, a tiny, desperate flicker of hope rising in my chest. Now that she knew about the cancer, would she finally care? Would her attitude soften? The next moment, she spat out the words, cold as ice: “Elias Bellweather, you’re an addict.” 3 I froze, stunned, and for a second, I felt like my right ear had gone deaf too. “An addict? What are you talking about?” Her face was dark. She uncapped the bottle and poured the contents onto the table. White powder. My eyes went wide with shock. My pupils shrunk. “I didn’t believe Grant when he told me, but I see it now. Not only are you messy in your personal life, but you’ve taken up something illegal!” Savannah was incandescent with fury, her voice a shrill, sharp weapon: “No wonder you’ve been acting so strange lately. This is what you’ve been doing!” I was plunged into an ice bath. I scrambled to explain: “This is my cancer medicine! I didn’t put anything in it! I don’t know—” “Still lying!” Savannah cut me off, her eyes like knives. “Just tell me this: Is this your bottle?” “Yes, but—” “There are no ‘buts’!” Her rage was uncontrollable. She crossed the room in three strides, raised her hand, and slapped me hard. Snap. My left ear started ringing again—that familiar, sickening buzz. She was shaking with raw fury. “Elias Bellweather, what is your endgame? Are you trying to destroy me?” “I forgave you for your personal issues, but now you’re breaking the law. Do you want to do a few years in prison just to calm down?” I couldn’t stop the tears this time. They streamed down my face. I clutched my ear, my voice hoarse. “Grant switched my medicine! We can go to the hospital and test me for drugs! I don’t have anything in my system!” “You’re going to be ruined if you go to the hospital!” She jabbed a finger at my forehead, her eyes welling up. “I don’t know why I have a brother like you. Elias, you are such a disappointment!” “From today on, you don’t leave the house. I check everything you eat and drink.” I was utterly defenseless, sweating with panic. I grabbed her arm. “Savannah, I didn’t do anything! I can call the police!” She ripped her arm away and threw my phone to the floor, shattering the screen. Then she picked it up and pocketed it. “Call the police for what? So the whole world knows my brother is a junkie and laughs at me?” She shut off the phone and, without another word, shoved me into the basement. “You’re staying here. You can come out when you’re clean.” The heavy door slammed shut. Bang. Darkness swallowed me whole. I pounded on the door, screaming until my lungs were raw: “Let me out! I’m telling the truth!” Savannah’s voice, muffled through the door, sounded distant. “Don’t lie to me. I know you, Elias. This is for your own good. I am saving you.” 4 I was locked in. The basement was a cold, dim cell, a perfect prison. After an indeterminate amount of time, Grant came down with my meal. The sight of him made me lunge. “Why are you doing this to me? You’ve ruined me once. Wasn’t that enough?” He easily caught my flailing hand, a predatory glint in his eyes. “Who told you to come back, Elias? You left—you should have stayed gone!” “I just want you to know that there’s no place for you here anymore.” My chest heaved. My eyes burned with pure, distilled hatred. I couldn’t speak. He was perfectly composed, radiating calm. “Honestly, that pill bottle was just flour. I told Savannah two sentences and she believed me. Just like last time.” “Admit it, Elias. I’m just more important to your sister than you are.” “I’ve been trying to hold on! Haven’t I been miserable enough for the past three months? What more do you want?” I screamed, my eyes bloodshot. He snatched a handful of my hair, a grotesque smile twisting his lips. “What do I want? I want Savannah to hate you a little more before you die.” “Elias Bellweather, you have blood cancer, right? If you don’t take your meds, it must hurt like hell…” His voice was a soft, cold whisper—the voice of a demon—sending shivers down my spine. “You’re insane, Grant. You are a complete lunatic!” He slowly dropped the smile. Then, without warning, he kicked out, sending me flying into the corner. The pain and the anger. The three months of suppressed emotion finally burst. I scrambled up, not thinking, and launched myself at him. When my palm landed on his face, he didn’t dodge. He took the hits and started screaming. “Savannah! My sister! He’s gone crazy, come here, please!” I barely registered his words. All I knew was that if I didn’t unleash this storm of fury, I would choke and die on the spot. I fought for every second, punching and kicking with every ounce of strength I had left. Harder, harder! Suddenly, the basement door flew open again. Savannah stood in the doorway, her face instantly turning to stone. Grant struggled and yelled: “Savannah! He’s having a fix! He demanded I go buy him more and when I said no, he attacked me!” “I didn’t!” I roared the denial, but I didn’t stop hitting him. He wailed, and in an instant, Savannah grabbed my wrists, her grip iron. “Elias Bellweather, stop the madness!” She pinned my shoulders down, her eyes burning with a mix of fury and worry, a look of utter disappointment. “I’m trying to figure things out for you. Can you please stop causing trouble for me?” My head was a loud, empty whirring. Everything had dissolved into chaos. In my complete breakdown, only one coherent sentence left my lips: “I am not an addict!!” Savannah pressed her lips into a thin line, looking angrier than me. “Of course you’re not going to admit it, Elias. Stop talking nonsense.” “You are going to stay right here. When you’re better, I’ll let you out.” She found a length of heavy rope and quickly, forcefully, tied me to a chair. Then, she pulled Grant with her, walking out of the basement without a glance back. As the door closed, I could still hear her worried voice: “Grant, what about your face? Elias has always been spoiled, please don’t be mad.” “Let’s get you some antiseptic…” I clawed at my palms, my nails digging deep into the flesh. I struggled until the chair toppled over, taking me with it. The ropes were impossibly tight, cutting into my skin, drawing blood. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. I thought that by letting go of everything, Savannah would at least be a little kinder. Yet, Grant’s smooth lies were all it took for her to lock me up. Tears splattered the concrete floor. My blood felt like it was turning to ice, growing numb, then a burning ache. I couldn’t even stand up. I lay on the cold ground, a worthless, useless mess. From that day on, I was a prisoner in the basement. Without my pain medication, the agony in my body intensified daily. Grant brought me food, sometimes, throwing in a taunt or two. I would just curl up on the floor, too weak to even acknowledge him. My mind began to slip. I couldn’t tell reality from dreams. Sometimes my soul felt like it was lifting from my body, looking down at the tormented wreck of myself on the floor. I knew my time was almost up. This day, I dreamed of Mom. It was the first time I’d seen her since she died. She held me like she did when I was a child, gently stroking my head. I found my harbor and cried, telling her Savannah had been cruel to me. Mom’s eyes grew red. “How can that be, Elias? Savannah always loved you the most, since you were a baby.” I kept talking, telling her how Savannah favored Grant, how she hit me. Mom was quiet for a long time. Finally, she stroked my cheek, her voice laced with sorrow: “My boy. You have suffered.” Splash. I didn’t hear what Mom said next. A bucket of cold water was dumped over my head, jolting me awake. I opened my eyes. Mom was gone. Standing over me, bucket in hand, was a grim-faced Savannah. 5 It was all a dream. The warmth evaporated, leaving behind the penetrating cold of the water, chilling me to the bone. I looked up at Savannah, not understanding. What had I done this time? I’d just been sleeping. She read the question in my eyes. Her face was dark as thunder. “You were convulsing a minute ago. Was that your craving acting up?” “It’s been a month, Elias. If you don’t get better soon, I’ll have no choice but to send you to rehab!” “I dreamed of Mom.” Her words made the emptiness in my chest grow. The resentment and despair finally hit. I started to choke, overwhelmed. “Savannah, please, call the police.” “I can’t stand being humiliated like this anymore…” She was silent for a moment, then clenched her fists. “You think I don’t want to call the police?” “If I wasn’t trying to save face for you, I would have sent you in a long time ago.” “Elias Bellweather, saving your life back then was the biggest mistake I ever made.” “Knowing this, you should have just died sooner!” I remembered what Mom told me. When I was barely a year old, I got a high fever in the middle of the night. My parents weren’t home, so Savannah carried me to the hospital. It was a cold winter night. She was only five, too young to call a taxi or ask for help. She walked for two hours with me on her back, saving my life. The doctor said I would have died if she’d been any later. Savannah was my lifesaver. Mom also said Savannah had loved me the most, always. I forced a bitter smile. “Savannah, since you saved my life, let me give it back to you.” Her breathing hitched. She turned away in frustration, muttering to herself as much as to me: “Stop with the dramatics.” The basement door closed again. I shut my eyes. I couldn’t endure it. Not one second more. So what if I became a vengeful spirit? It was better than being this inhuman, living ghost. Slowly, I sat up, fixing my eyes on a forgotten fruit knife tucked in the corner. This blood in me hurts too much. It’s time to drain it clean. 6 Grandma was wrong. Dying with resentment doesn’t turn you into a demon. My soul floated out of my body in the basement. I saw my own corpse, crumpled in a pool of blood. I died ugly. My hair was a mess, my face a pale mask. The wound on my wrist was a gruesome slash, flesh torn open, utterly tragic. I could only look for a second before turning away. My soul passed through the wall and left the basement. Outside, Savannah sat on the sofa, tiredly rubbing her temples. Her voice was hoarse as she asked Grant, who sat across from her: “Was I too harsh just now? I didn’t mean it. I just said those things in the heat of the moment…” Grant gave a light laugh, soothing her. “Not at all, Savannah. You’re doing this for Elias. You found out he was addicted—you can’t just coddle him. You have to be tough, or how will he ever get clean?” Listening to Grant, Savannah’s brow furrowed deep in thought. “I don’t know why Elias turned out like this. He was such a good, quiet boy when he was little.” “I should really talk to him properly someday.” I gave a silent, bitter laugh. Someday, Savannah. I won’t be here to talk to you. And the things I didn’t say before? They don’t matter now. A flicker of malice crossed Grant’s eyes. “Savannah, he won’t listen to you. If he would, he wouldn’t have done this.” “In my opinion, you should just stop dealing with him…” “No, I can’t do that. It’s almost the new year. I have to let him out.” Savannah interrupted him without hesitation. “He has to be clean before the holiday. Don’t take him dinner tonight. Let’s see if that teaches him.” I sighed. Savannah was far too late with that idea. Grant hadn’t been feeding me properly since the start. Sometimes it was once every two days, sometimes once every three. He had already been punishing me on her behalf. Of course, Grant wasn’t going to tell Savannah that. He nodded obediently. “Don’t worry, Savannah. I understand.” “Grant, you’re so mature.” Savannah gave him an affectionate look. “It’s almost the New Year. What gift do you want?” “I want you to take me on a trip!” Grant’s eyes sparkled. Then he added: “Just the two of us!” Savannah nodded. “Okay. After the New Year, Elias should be stable. I’ll transfer some company shares to him then, and we’ll go traveling.” They chatted for a while longer, then went to bed. No one checked the basement that night. Or the next day. The closer it got to the holiday, the busier Savannah became, leaving Grant in charge of me. Grant couldn’t be bothered. With Savannah gone, he was out with his friends, only stumbling home in the dead of night. Finally, on Christmas Eve, Savannah finished her work and came home. She hesitated for a long time before stopping at the basement door. “Elias Bellweather. It’s been days. You’re not going to go crazy again, right?” “It’s Christmas Eve. If you promise you’re okay, I’ll let you out.” The basement was silent. No reply came for a long time. She frowned. “Are you still mad? What I said the other day was just anger talking. I didn’t mean it.” Still silence. Her face hardened. She turned to leave. But she stopped after two steps, thinking of something. She turned back suddenly and awkwardly pushed the heavy basement door open.

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I spent six years by the side of the city’s most dangerous crime lord. But on my birthday, he brought another girl home. He was covered in blood, and the trembling, doe-eyed girl was tucked safely in his arms. From that night on, the man who used to indulge my every whim never looked at me again. Everyone thought I was heartbroken, devastated by unrequited love for Silas Vane. I just smiled and adjusted the watch on my wrist. I am an undercover agent planted inside the largest crime syndicate on the West Coast. I lurked by his side for all these years for one reason: to see him rot in a federal prison. So, how could I possibly… fall in love with him? Chapter 1 It was late, but the villa was ablaze with lights. I sat on the sofa, relighting the candles on the cake for the third time. “Ria, don’t wait anymore,” one of the guys muttered. “The Boss said he isn’t coming.” I flicked my lighter. The flame danced and died. I stared at the wick. “If he doesn’t come back, I’ll keep waiting,” I said softly. “He promised to spend every birthday with me. Breaking a promise? That’s not his style.” The clock on the wall ticked past 3:00 AM. He wasn’t coming. I sat there with a room full of thugs and henchmen. To the outside world, I was the loyal girlfriend waiting for her man. To them, it probably looked like I was marshalling troops for a war. Finally, one second before the clock struck 4:00 AM, the roar of a V12 engine shattered the silence outside. “Ria! Boss is back!” someone shouted from the hallway. I stood up and looked down from the landing. Yes, he was back. I frowned, looking down at the man who was staring up at me with an unreadable expression. “Silas,” I called out cold. “Who is the girl in your arms?” Chapter 2 Silas Vane had a scar running from his brow to his cheekbone. Right now, that old scar was fresh again, oozing crimson. It added a savage edge to his usually sophisticated, handsome face. I pressed a piece of gauze to his wound. He caught my wrist. “Ria, have I spoiled you too much over the years?” His fingers traced the inside of my wrist, a gentle touch masking a lethal threat. I lowered my eyes. “Spoiled? hardly.” He chuckled, his thumb pressing lazily against my pulse point. “Is that so? Calling all these men to my house… strangers might think I’m running a gang.” He was running a gang. He had climbed from the gutter to the throne over a mountain of corpses. Now, he was “washing his hands,” posing as a young entrepreneur. The newspapers called him a visionary. It made me sick. “Who is the girl?” I pulled my hand away, changing the subject. He relaxed his brow but looked away. “None of your business.” He took the gauze from me, leaned in, and kissed the corner of my lips. “You have the energy to worry about my women…” “But no energy to ask how I got hurt?” He bit my neck, a sharp, punishing nip. “I raised you for nothing.” Chapter 3 The wind in Port Haven was brutal these days. Or maybe it was just this abandoned construction site, open to the elements. I could hear the sounds of a beating nearby. Sev handed me a cigarette. I pushed it away. “Silas doesn’t like me smoking.” … “Look into the girl Silas brought home last night,” I told Sev. Sev was ranked seventh in the hierarchy. He’d followed me since I entered the organization. “Ria… sigh,” Sev shook his head. “You’re the smartest woman I know. You should know that love isn’t for people like us.” He stood beside me, looking out at the wasteland. “We all have blood on our hands. The Boss is going legit now. He won’t marry someone like us—someone who knows where the bodies are buried.” “We took the fall for him, sure. He’ll take care of us financially, but a title? A marriage? Never.” Yes, Silas trusted me because I had blood on my hands for him. I had killed my own morality to get here. Sometimes, looking in the mirror, I felt like a ghost. I was a nail driven deep into dark wood. A fuse burning for thirteen years. “Let’s go,” I said, turning away from the screams. “Time to meet the new Princess.” Chapter 4 Unlike the construction site, Silas’s private villa was peaceful. As soon as I walked in, I saw her. A girl with braided hair, reading a book on the sofa. She jumped when she saw me. “You…” She looked away, shy and fearful. “Are you the Boss’s wife?” I sat next to her. “No.” “Oh…” She shrank into the corner. “I thought only someone as beautiful as you could match Mr. Vane.” She had that innocent, deer-in-the-headlights look. Another girl fooled by Silas’s charm. Just as I reached out to pat her head, a voice stopped me. “Ria, Boss said you can’t touch Miss Lily.” A bodyguard blocked me. If he didn’t respect my rank, he would have thrown me out. “Please don’t come here anymore. This is Miss Lily’s house now.” The girl trembled in fear. “Fine. I’m leaving.” Silas had had many women, but he’d never protected one like this. Chapter 5 “Ria, this is all we could find.” In the car, Sev handed me a file. The girl’s name was Lily. Three years younger than Silas. She grew up in the same foster home system as him. Her record was clean. A perfect greenhouse flower. “The Boss treats her… differently,” Sev whispered. She was his ‘White Moonlight’—the one pure thing in his dark world. I bit my nail. Silas had no weaknesses. He had clawed his way up from nothing. He was younger than me in the organization, but infinitely more ruthless. My thoughts were interrupted by Sev. “Boss said… he wants you to cook for him.” I smiled bitterly. “Turn the car around. To the market.”

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My voice, naturally high and soft—what everyone called a “baby voice”—was apparently a crime. The campus queen, Delilah, didn’t just call it “fake” or “putting on an act”; she weaponized it, using it to freeze me out. I ran to Lucas, my best friend since kindergarten, crying until my face was blotchy. He didn’t rush to my side. He simply lifted his chin, glanced past me toward Delilah, and the distance between us stretched out, cold and immediate. “Delilah isn’t wrong, Avery,” he said, his voice flat. “Maybe you should stop asking me out for a while.” I froze, staring at him, the tears instantly drying on my cheeks in disbelief. Later. Backstage at the All-Campus Vocal Showcase, the guy everyone called the “Campus King of Chaos,” Jax, cornered me. By the time I could breathe, my carefully applied stage makeup was smeared with tears from a frantic, punishing kiss. That’s when Lucas hammered the door open. His eyes were pure crimson rage. He launched himself across the room, his fist driving toward the boy holding me: “Get your damn hands off her!” 1 I walked into our large History of American Culture lecture and slid into the empty seat next to Lucas. Before I could even open my notebook, a tall, striking girl holding a stack of books approached. She wore a pristine pleated skirt. She stopped in front of me, glanced at Lucas, then gave me a soft, wounded look. “Excuse me, but this is my seat.” I frowned. “It’s a public lecture, seats are first-come, first-served. There’s an empty spot at the back row.” A light breeze from the vent stirred her hair. She bit her lip, her eyes suddenly welling up. She turned to Lucas. “Lucas…” The classic distressed damsel move. I’d seen it a million times. I ignored her, pulling my books and laptop out of my bag. Not only was Lucas and I practically attached at the hip since kindergarten, but he had always, always backed me up. He had never once crossed me for anyone else. Even if I were a stranger, why should I be forced to move for someone who came late? In college, seating rules were simple: Possession is nine-tenths of the law. But then, a long, lean hand tapped sharply on my desk. I looked over. Lucas was giving me a mildly exasperated, almost apologetic half-smile. “This is the spot I saved for Delilah, Ave. You should probably move.” The shock was physical. I stared at him. In a petty fit of defiance, I upended my backpack, scattering my books and pens across the desktop. “I got here first! I’m staying put right here.” Delilah’s voice immediately cracked with a sob. “Just because you have that voice, Avery, and can turn on the coy act, doesn’t mean you can steal someone’s spot and be a bully, does it?” The all people in the entire lecture room went silent under her accusation. All eyes, including the professor’s, swiveled toward our corner. 2 Delilah was the campus’s reigning beauty queen—the “angelic” type, all white skin and delicate, pointy features. When she looked upset, she truly resembled a distressed fawn. Suddenly, a chorus of male voices from the crowd began to protect her. “Avery, that’s too much. Are you just picking on the easier target?” “This is why I hate that childhood-friend stuff. They use that history to team up and intimidate people.” “Lucas seems fine, he’s usually a gentle guy, but his childhood friend… seriously, that voice is so affected. Does she actually think pretending to be cute makes everyone side with her?” The noise level was too high. Our Professor, Dr. Hill, a man known for his sharp patience, walked down from the podium, his expression cold. “What’s going on here? We’re about to start class.” A student chimed in instantly. “Professor, Avery here tried to steal Delilah’s reserved seat and is being totally unreasonable about it!” I opened my mouth to explain, but Dr. Hill’s steely gaze cut me short. He looked to Lucas. “Is that true?” Lucas was the class representative, always level-headed. The Professor was right to trust his version of events. I turned to Lucas, pleading silently with my eyes for him to set the record straight. He barely glanced at me. Then, he simply nodded. “Avery didn’t want to sit near Jax, Professor. She took Delilah’s spot.” I shot up out of my seat. “That is a lie!” “Enough! Seats aren’t assigned in this class, and there’s no such thing as choosing who you want to sit with. Young lady, if you want a good spot, come early next time. Class is starting immediately. Sit in the back or step outside!” The professor slammed his hand on the podium, sending me a look of profound disappointment. “Avery, you’re usually so engaged in class. I didn’t expect this kind of petty behavior from you.” I genuinely loved this course, American History. I always came early, pre-read the chapters, and fought for every chance to contribute. Being misunderstood by a professor I admired felt like a betrayal twice over. As he walked away, I wanted to charge up there, he can check the surveillance feed in need. But all the words caught in my throat, swallowed whole by the sharp, ringing sound of the tardy bell. I sank back down, defeated. 3 The only empty seat was in the very back row, next to a guy who had his face covered with a denim jacket. Jax, the campus legend. The hardest person to cross on campus. Rumor had it his family had just donated an entire wing to the university library, and the time he’d gotten into a fight with a tutor, the President had practically walked him out of the office personally. I sat down tentatively, trying to be silent, terrified of waking him. My phone, resting on the desk, suddenly vibrated twice. I clamped my hand down on it. Jax lifted his head from under the jacket. His narrow, dark eyes, sharp as a predator’s, were staring coldly at me. A chill ran down my spine. I immediately offered a submissive whisper. “S-sorry.” His gaze remained fixed on my face. Just as I braced myself to be yelled at, Jax simply dropped his head back down, pulling the jacket over his face again. I exhaled sharply. I checked my phone. Several unread texts. Lucas: [Ave, I didn’t mean to side with Delilah back there.] [The thing is, she failed her last pop quiz, and she’s already used up all her participation points. If the Professor gets a bad impression of her now, she’ll definitely fail the class.] [Promise me you won’t go talk to the Professor after class? I’ll buy you the latest Pop Collectible Figure—the limited drop just happened, you’ve been dying for one, right?] [Don’t be mad at me, okay?] [Animated GIF: Calming an upset kitten] What struck me as cruelly ironic was Lucas’s profile picture: a simple stick-figure drawing of two cats—one blue, one pink, one large, one small. I had drawn them when I was ten and first learning to sketch. He had used it as his profile picture for nine years without fail. And now, using that profile picture, he was asking me to forgive him for letting another girl publicly humiliate me. My pencil tip snapped under the pressure of my grip. I took a deep, shaky breath and looked out the window. The sky outside was an angry smear of blood-red sunset, swallowing the last blue light. How could he ask me not to be angry, Lucas? How could anyone not be angry after that kind of public betrayal? 4 “Stop the waterworks. It’s a bad look.” The cold, low voice from beside me startled me. I quickly wiped my face, glaring at Jax. He was propped up now, messy dark hair falling lazily over his forehead, his button-down shirt worn carelessly unbuttoned at the neck. The sunset streamed through the window, tracing the sharp curve of his jaw and neck, hitting the desktop like a piece of sweet, golden amber. Honestly. Ignoring the whole terrifying reputation thing, Jax was impossibly good-looking. I must have been staring, because I quickly forced my expression back into tense neutrality, remembering his capacity for violence. “Tch. Looks like a scared kitten.” Jax scoffed dismissively.

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