Category: English

After my parents passed away, I finally found the true heir to the Sterling family empire scavenging for trash on a street corner. I snatched the moldy bun from his hands. “Idiot, you can’t eat that. It’s dirty.” Later, the idiot buried his face in my chest muscles. I grabbed a handful of his hair and gritted my teeth. “Stupid dog, you can’t eat that either.” 1 I found Liam in a small, run-down town in the South. He was dressed in rags, curled up in a corner, wolfing down a dirty, foul-smelling bun he held with both hands. I approached slowly and crouched beside him. Liam looked up warily, hiding the rotten food behind his back. He bared his teeth at me, fierce and feral. I put on a friendly smile, staring at his sharp, white canines. “Why are you acting like a stray dog?” Liam stared at my perfect smile, stunned for a moment. I took the opportunity to snatch the sour bun from his hand and tossed it aside. “Idiot, you can’t eat that stuff. It’s dirty.” Liam froze. He looked at his empty hand, then at me, and finally at the bun lying in the dirt. Just as he was about to snarl, I pulled out a soft, white, fresh bun and stuffed it into his mouth. I had been watching Liam all morning. He had rummaged through six dumpsters and fought two stray dogs just for a bite to eat. I had sent someone to buy a whole bag of fresh buns. I came prepared. Liam instantly settled down, holding the bun with both hands and gnawing on it intently. I took the chance to lead him away. From the trash heap to the hotel, it was a twenty-minute drive. Liam ate seven buns. Every time he finished one, he would stare at me with those puppy-dog eyes, looking like he was about to let out a “Woof.” I wasn’t trying to humiliate him. But Liam really looked like a stray dog. Feeling mischievous, I pulled out another bun and waved it in front of his eyes. “Want it?” Liam stared at the food in my hand and swallowed hard, his eyes lighting up. If he had a tail, it would be wagging right now. I smiled, a bit wickedly. “Call me ‘Brother.’ If you call me Brother, I’ll give it to you.” Liam looked at me, then at the bun. His Adam’s apple bobbed. His eyes were practically glowing green with hunger. His mouth moved a couple of times, but he was too anxious to make a sound. I guided him patiently. “Be a good boy. Say ‘Brother’.” Liam got desperate. A loud sound erupted from his throat: “Woof!” ? What the f*ck! Is he actually a dog? Before I could recover from the shock, Liam lunged, snatched the bun from my hand, and shoved the whole thing into his mouth. Then he quickly scrambled to the other side of the car, putting as much distance between us as possible. He chewed with difficulty, eyes fixed on me in warning. Looking at this six-foot-three man trying to curl himself into a ball of distress, I felt speechless. And a little heartbroken. What kind of life had this guy been living? Feeling a rare pang of pity, seeing him choke on the food, I reached out to pat his back. “No one is taking it from you. Eat slowly.” Liam instantly turned vicious. He stared at my hand, a threatening growl vibrating in his throat. As if he would bite my fingers off if I reached any closer. Great. Eight buns, wasted. Being this food-aggressive isn’t good. I withdrew my hand, tapping my fingers on my knee, and lowered my eyes with a chuckle. A bit wild. Once I get him cleaned up, I’ll need to train him properly. 2 Cleaning him up was another challenge. The smell on Liam wasn’t exactly pleasant. And he refused to bathe. Once we got to the hotel, he huddled in the corner of the sofa, staring at me warily, keeping a safe distance. I talked until my mouth was dry, but I couldn’t coax him into the bathroom. I couldn’t catch him, and I certainly couldn’t beat him in a fight. After a two-hour battle of wits, I saw the complimentary candy on the nightstand. I grabbed one, unwrapped it, and quickly stuffed it into Liam’s mouth. The puppy didn’t have time to bare his teeth before he froze. He stayed stunned for a full thirty seconds. He lowered his head, spit the candy into his palm, tentatively licked it, his eyes lit up, and then popped it back into his mouth. I don’t have OCD, but even I couldn’t stand his lack of hygiene. I closed my eyes, chanting silently: He’s silly, he doesn’t know better, teach him slowly, don’t despise him. Once I convinced myself, I opened my eyes and used the candy as bait to lure Liam into the bathroom. I discovered that while Liam was cognitively impaired, he had some basic self-care skills. He could brush his teeth and wash his face. Afterward, he even arranged the toiletries neatly and folded the towel into a square. Someone must have taught him that. So, showering shouldn’t be a problem. I stripped him naked and threw him into the bathtub. I wanted to ruffle his hair, but it was too dirty, so I pulled my hand back. I’ll save that for when he’s clean. I peeled another candy and fed it to him, coaxing, “Good boy, wash yourself. If you smell good, Brother will give you more candy.” Less than ten minutes later, the bathroom door opened. A dripping wet, stark naked Liam walked out. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, long legs, tight glutes. His proportions were shockingly perfect. My eye twitched. I took a deep breath, mentally reciting “lust is emptiness” three times before walking over to inspect the results. He was cleaner, but definitely not scrubbed properly. He hadn’t even used shampoo. I overestimated him. He probably only knew the basics like washing his face. I herded him back into the bathroom, pressed him into the tub, and resigned myself to washing him. Liam watched curiously as I scrubbed him, surprisingly obedient. The more I washed, the more jealous I got. How does a guy living on the streets maintain this much muscle definition? I ran my hand over his stomach. He had two more abs than I did. No wonder he eats so much. All my time in the gym feels like a waste. As I was scrubbing, that part of Liam that shouldn’t be standing up suddenly and shakily raised its head. I stared at the beast in shock. “You…” How do you get hard just taking a shower? Liam blinked his innocent puppy eyes at me and swallowed. Forget it. Can’t argue with a fool. I gave the thing a light slap and greeted it. “Alright, I know you’re happy to see your brother. Stand down.” I looked up at Liam teasingly. “You tell it to kneel and behave.” Liam grunted when I slapped it, his eyes lighting up. He stared at my hand. After a moment, he suddenly grabbed my hand and pressed it against his lower abdomen, his voice hoarse. “Hit it.” “More.” “Hit.” My whole body went numb. What the hell? Did hitting it make him feel good? Liam whined impatiently, his breath hot. “Hurts. Hot.” “Hit it.” It was over. My hand was no longer pure. Expressionless, I pulled my hand away and turned on the cold water, drenching Liam. “Cool the f*ck down!” Liam wilted under the cold spray. “Woof…” 3 That night, Liam refused to sleep in the bed. He curled up on the floor beside it. He slept soundly, but I couldn’t sleep. I stood on the balcony smoking. Before I found Liam, I didn’t expect him to be like this. Liam wasn’t born this way. He went missing at age five. Our parents looked for him their entire lives. Even after they adopted me, they never gave up searching for Liam. After Mom died of grief and Dad followed soon after, I spent four years looking for him alone. Mom said Liam was smart from a young age. He spoke early, loved picture books, and learned everything instantly. The current Liam only knew how to bark and bite. He acted like a wild animal. I didn’t know what Liam had been through, but earlier, I had touched every scar on his body. Old wounds, new scars. He must have suffered a lot. I exhaled a cloud of smoke, my chest feeling tight. Growing up alone, confused and impaired like that… how hard must it have been? I turned my head and suddenly met a pair of bright, wide eyes. “Holy sh*t!” My scalp tingled, and the hair on my arms stood up. Liam had woken up at some point and was standing silently behind me. I clutched my chest, pointing at him while cursing, “Are you a ghost?! You walk without making a sound!” Liam didn’t listen to a word I said. He stared at the cigarette between my fingers, his gaze incredibly clear. Then, with lightning speed, he leaned in and snatched the burning cigarette from my hand with his mouth. I stood there dumbfounded. When I reacted, I frantically tried to pry his mouth open. “That’s a damn cigarette! You can’t eat that! Spit it out!” Liam frowned from the heat but refused to let go. I forced his jaw open, threw the cigarette away, and stuck my fingers into his mouth. “Where did it burn? Does it hurt?” Liam opened his mouth obediently, wrapped his tongue around my finger, and licked. He tasted it, then licked again. Probably deciding it tasted good, he grabbed my hand and took a big lick of my palm. Saliva covered my hand. I shivered, the sensation tickling from my palm down to my bones. I pulled out my wet hand and slapped the back of Liam’s head. “Are you a dog? Licking everything! Isn’t it dirty?!” Still angry, I slapped him again lightly. “If you eat random things again, I’ll beat you.” Liam tilted his head. “Woof!” “…” Great. After all that, he only understood the word “dog.” 4 The next morning, full and bored, Liam started scratching at the door. First pounding, then kicking. Like a damn husky. Unable to tolerate it, I dragged him back and put on a TV show for him on the tablet. Liam settled down. Leaning against the bed, holding the tablet, he watched without blinking. I sat in the chair, catching up on the backlog of work online. Exhausted, I fell asleep waiting for an email. I slept restlessly, vaguely feeling an itch and pain on my chest. I opened my eyes groggily and looked into the mirror opposite me. The handsome man in the executive chair had his bathrobe open, and a large, fuzzy head was buried in his chest. The handsome man was me; the large head belonged to Liam, who was kneeling between my legs. Before I could recover from the shock of this erotic scene, a sudden pain in my chest made me gasp. I grabbed Liam’s hair and pulled him back. “Sucking is one thing, but you’re biting?!” I looked down. It was swollen! How long had he been eating?! Liam’s lips were glossy. He looked at me and said, “Candy.” He stared at my chest aggrievedly, reaching out to flick it gently. “Not candy.” I froze. I realized what he meant. He wasn’t saying “Not candy”; he meant “Not sweet.” Because before yesterday, he hadn’t eaten sweets, so he didn’t know the taste called “sweet.” I told him the gummy bears were “candy,” so “candy” meant sweet. “Not candy” meant “not sweet.” I looked at the poor little thing on my chest that Liam had tortured. Pink, soft. It did look a lot like the strawberry gummy I gave him yesterday. Now that it was swollen and shiny from his gnawing, it looked even more like one. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. “That’s not damn candy! How could that be sweet?!”

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Over the course of our three-year marriage, my wife hypnotized me three times. The first time, her childhood sweetheart was running against me for a seat on the board of directors. My wife personally orchestrated the “accident” that crushed my hands, turning me into a cripple. The second time, her sweetheart needed liquidity for a failing venture. She liquidated my luxury cars and our villa, taking out massive loans in my name, drowning me in debt. The third time, he was critically injured in a car crash. She ruthlessly authorized the harvesting of our son’s corneas and liver while he was still barely alive, transplanting them into him. Every single time, I fought back. I screamed for a divorce. I tried to cut her out of my life. But every time, she would hold me, weeping, claiming she would go insane without me. And then, to keep me by her side as if nothing had happened, she forcibly hypnotized me, erasing my memories of her betrayal. It wasn’t until the day of my son’s funeral that I accidentally stumbled upon the whole truth. “Ms. Davis, this is the fourth session. Another induction could cause irreversible damage to Mr. Sterling’s frontal lobe. He could end up cognitively impaired, permanently. Are you sure you want to proceed?” “He has to forget what happened today! If he remembers, he’ll leave me. I can’t let him pose a threat to Caleb!” The doctor sighed heavily. “Why must you trample on a man’s heart like this?” “I have no choice. He happens to possess exactly what Caleb needs. For Caleb’s happiness, I’m willing to be the villain.” Hearing this conversation through the thin door, I felt the blood in my veins turn to ice. My fists clenched at my sides, but I kept my eyes squeezed shut, feigning unconsciousness. I had only wanted to find my missing wife during our son’s funeral. Instead, I stumbled into a five-star hotel suite where she was throwing a lavish birthday party for Caleb Vance, her childhood sweetheart. Before I could confront them, I was knocked out cold. I woke up here, listening to the doctor and my wife. The doctor’s voice rose in agitation. “But, Ms. Davis… back then, his hand injury was treatable. You paid the hospital to intentionally botch the surgery. He lives in chronic, excruciating pain every day.” “You lied to him, told him he was a gambling addict who lost everything. You told him there was no money for a ten-dollar painkiller shot, yet you drained his accounts to throw this meaningless party for Caleb Vance! Do you hate him that much?” Claire Davis shook her head calmly. “How could I hate him?” “It’s all for Caleb. His biggest dream is to lead the company. I’m just the woman quietly supporting him from the shadows.” “As for Ethan… blame his brilliance. He shone too bright; he blocked Caleb’s path. I need him broken and dependent to feel at ease.” The doctor opened his mouth to argue, but Claire cut him off coldly. “Enough. Watch your mouth. If you leak a single word to Ethan, I will ruin you.” “Now, wipe his memory. Make him believe he caused a scene today. He needs to feel guilty so he’ll stay by my side and never leave.” I felt Claire’s hand gently caress my cheek. Once, that touch brought me warmth. Now, I felt nothing but disgust. Years ago, when the Davis family business went bankrupt, I was the one who secretly injected a billion dollars to help her rise from the ashes. When Caleb Vance was disowned by his family for being the black sheep, I was the one who took him into my company, mentoring him all the way to the executive level. Back then, Caleb knelt before me, swearing he would repay my kindness with his life. Back then, Claire confessed her love to me, saying she had always adored me. I never imagined that Claire would steal my fortune for him, gaslighting me into believing I was a degenerate gambler who lost it all. She even committed to the bit, moving me into a cramped, moldy apartment in the slums, living a life of performative poverty. And when Caleb crashed his car, she gutted our son to save him. While my son died screaming in pain, Claire was busy feeding Caleb soup and wiping his brow. I had fought her. I had demanded to leave. But every time, she used hypnosis to reset me. I had forgotten three times. I nearly lost myself a fourth. When the session ended and I “woke up,” I saw Claire looking at me with red-rimmed eyes. She hugged me, sobbing theatrically. “Ethan, thank God! You’re finally awake.” “You were so grief-stricken over Leo’s death that you started a brawl at the hospital. When I saw your head bleeding, I thought I’d lost my mind. If you left me too, I really wouldn’t survive!” The concern in her eyes looked so genuine. It made me sick. Claire didn’t notice the coldness in my gaze. She pulled a plastic container out of a cheap grocery bag, presenting it like a treasure. “Ethan, you must be starving. Look what I brought you. I’m working cleaning shifts at the hotel now, and I managed to sneak out some leftovers. It’s top-tier wagyu steak.” Since the “bankruptcy,” Claire always cried about how every cent she earned went to my “gambling debts.” I loved her so much that I starved myself, living on scraps so she wouldn’t worry. But today, at the hotel, I saw Caleb’s party. Abalone, lobster, caviar—flowing like water. This steak wasn’t leftovers; it was trash. I had seen Caleb stomp on this very container, spit in it, and order the waiter to mix in raw bloody water. He called it “dog food.” I felt bile rise in my throat. I pushed her hand away. Claire didn’t get angry. Instead, she grabbed my hand, her eyes widening in shock. “Your hand… it moved?” “Oh my god, Ethan! You’re finally healing!” “You always said you wanted a divorce because you were a ‘useless cripple’ who didn’t want to burden me. Now you can’t say that anymore!” She excitedly grabbed a hot water bottle to warm my hand, massaging it tenderly. She acted like a devoted wife overjoyed by her husband’s recovery. But I knew better. I forced a smile and pulled away. “Don’t you have another shift? Go. Don’t be late.” She paused, surprised by my dismissal, but after checking my face for suspicion, she kissed my cheek. “Wait for me at home!” Shortly after she left, I walked out too. Before I was knocked out, I had been holding my son’s urn. It was gone. I had to find it. But I barely made it down the block before the world spun. I woke up screaming. Someone had smashed a steel pipe directly onto my wrist. The pain was blinding, white-hot agony radiating through my entire body. In the dim light, I couldn’t see the attacker’s face, only heard him speaking in a thick accent into a phone. “Ms. Davis, the hand is taken care of. Guaranteed he won’t lift it again.” “We were discreet. He didn’t see us.” Claire’s cold voice drifted from the speaker. “You promised that last time, yet he recovered in three years. Are you sure it’s permanent this time? I want zero chance of recovery.” The thug confirmed it. Claire laughed, a chilling sound. “Good. Double payment is on the way.” “I drugged his water. Just leave him there, barely breathing. I’ll come ‘find’ him after I handle things with Caleb. I’ll cry a bit, play the victim, and he’ll never suspect me.” My heart shattered. I was already broken, yet she needed to destroy me completely for Caleb. But she miscalculated. I had only taken a sip of that water. The thug hung up and raised the pipe for a finishing blow. I grabbed a loose chain from the floor and swung it with everything I had left, choking him out. Adrenaline masking the pain, I stumbled out of the room. I realized I was in the basement of the Davis Corporation building. I dragged myself toward the exit, but froze when I saw two figures in the garden. Claire was leaning against Caleb, her head buried in his chest. “Caleb, your arms are so warm. I wish I could stay like this forever.” “I’m in such agony. I want to divorce Ethan every day, but I’m terrified that if I let him go, I’ll lose control over him. He could threaten you.” “Since he saved your life once, I just swallow my pride and take care of that invalid.” Caleb didn’t push her away. He held her waist. “You’ve suffered, Claire. I know what you’ve done for me.” “But I have ambitions. I need to secure this deal with the massive conglomerate coming to town. Rumor has it the CEO hates Ethan Sterling. Do you think… if I handed Ethan over to him to torture, it might seal the deal? I just don’t know if you could bear it…” Claire didn’t hesitate. “Of course I can. Just tell me when. If you hadn’t given me that billion dollars when my family went under, I wouldn’t be here today.” She paused. “Just… leave him alive, barely.” “Soft spot?” “No. His blood type and marrow match yours. If you ever have an accident, he’s your spare parts bank.” I laughed silently, a cold, bitter sound. So, Claire thought the billion dollars came from Caleb. No wonder she worshipped him. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t touched in five years. “Dad. I’m done being rebellious. I was wrong.” “I’ll agree to your terms. I’m divorcing Claire. Send the chopper.” I hung up and turned to leave. But as I exited the building, I ran straight into Caleb. He crossed his arms, looking at me with pure sneering contempt. “Enjoying eavesdropping? Look at you. The once-great Ethan Sterling, now a beggar reeking of blood. Did you not enjoy the ‘special meal’ I prepared for you?” My clothes were bloodstained, my body broken. My wrist throbbed with a pulse of its own. I didn’t want to waste breath on this parasite. I moved to pass him. Caleb pulled a small box from his pocket and shook it. “Looking for this?” The urn. It was so small in his hand. “Hard to believe a six-year-old boy fits in such a tiny box,” Caleb mused. “Just days ago, he was calling me ‘Uncle.’ Too bad Claire had to gut him like a fish.” “She said his only value was being my organ farm. And now that he’s dead, you’re next. Hereditary duty, I suppose.” He laughed, tears forming in his eyes. Rage, pure and primal, exploded in my chest. I lunged at him. “Give him back! That’s my son!” But I was weak. He sidestepped me effortlessly. “I can’t just give it to you. Claire wanted to throw it in the trash; I saved it. You should be thanking me.” Suddenly, bodyguards materialized, kicking the back of my knees. I collapsed. They dragged me into the company lobby. Former colleagues and employees stopped to stare. “Is that Ethan Sterling? He looks half-dead.” “I heard he gambled away his fortune and killed his own kid. He’s been dragging Ms. Davis down for years.” “Probably here to beg Mr. Vance for money. Pathetic.” The scorn was palpable. Caleb smirked. “You want the ashes? Crawl through my legs. You have five seconds.” “Five. Four. Three…” I gritted my teeth, preparing to humiliate myself for Leo. But Caleb laughed, opened the lid, and dumped the ashes into a potted plant next to him. The white dust drifted down, landing on the dark soil. Caleb ground his expensive leather shoe into the dirt, mixing my son’s remains with mud. “Oops.” I snapped. I roared, surging upward with strength I didn’t know I had, and punched him squarely in the jaw. “He died for you! You soulless monster!” Caleb barely stumbled. He touched his face and laughed. “Was that a tickle? You really are a cripple.” “No wonder your wife says you can’t satisfy her. Yesterday, she was screaming my name so loud the neighbors probably complained.” He leaned in, his voice a venomous whisper. “You know, when you were kidnapped and tortured years ago? We watched the livestream. She wanted to help at first, but I pulled her onto the couch… and eventually, your screams just made her more excited.” I shook with fury. The trauma of those days flooded back. Caleb grabbed my injured hand and punched himself in the face with it. “See? That’s a punch!” “Caleb!” Claire screamed, rushing over. She shoved me back, shielding him. Then she slapped me across the face. “Ethan Sterling! Stay away from him! If you hurt a hair on his head, I will destroy you!” I laughed, wiping blood from my lip. “Destroy me? Haven’t you already done that?” Panic flickered in her eyes. “You’re delusional!” Caleb held her back, playing the saint. “Claire, don’t. He saved my life once. Let this punch be the repayment. We are bigger than this.” He led her away. They looked like a power couple. I didn’t chase them. I went home to pack.

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It was 11:59 PM. I forced myself to push past the anger of being woken by my phone and shoved open the gilded door of the private room. “Excuse me, everyone, I apologize for the interruption, but I’m here to pick up my husband.” The next second, the room’s raucous New Year’s countdown came to a screeching halt. Dozens of eyes belonging to a room full of society’s elite were suddenly pinned on me. And the man sitting in the center seat, impeccably tailored, his expression cool and remote, was slowly tracing the rim of a cocktail glass. “…Audrey Rose?” Someone finally broke the heavy silence. “This is the Crestwood University Alumni New Year’s Eve gathering. This isn’t a refuge for Midtown State rejects.” A wave of laughter erupted. “Isn’t this the one from the ‘Primacy of Audrey’ scandal? The time Crestwood’s star student risked his academic career by rewriting the core thesis of his Political Science paper to be about her?” “I heard you had to desperately trick your way into your stepbrother’s bed and then force a wedding. Why else would he marry a scatterbrain like you? Now his wife is a Cambridge PhD. That’s what you call a perfect match. Why would you even dare show your face here?” The table full of gazes felt like tiny needles stabbing into my skin. They would never know. Rhys had once been the last-ranked student in his class. His desperate, brilliant climb to the top was all for me. But the past was the past, and it no longer mattered. I met all their stares, displaying none of the shame or panic they anticipated. I pulled my lips into a small, calm smile. “I’m not here to join your elite little countdown, ladies and gentlemen. I’m here to take my husband home.” Rhys finally looked up, his eyes deep and unsettling. “Audrey. We’ve been divorced for three years.” I gently curved my lips, putting on my standard, customer-service smile. “I know.” “And that’s why, Mr. Rhys, I wasn’t talking about you.” 1 “The nerve. Still trying to claim a piece of Rhys even after the divorce.” A few repressed snickers echoed in the room. Jax lit a cigarette and watched me with a bored, detached expression. “First time I’ve seen someone so eager to play the mistress.” Jax had been my and Rhys’s best friend in high school. And once, he had been the second-kindest person in the world to me. But when Rhys and I fell apart, Jax didn’t hesitate to side with him. Because the woman he loved was the very reason for the end of my marriage—the other woman. And he had spent years helping Rhys keep their relationship a secret from me. Only I had been the fool, kept completely in the dark from start to finish. “Jax, enough.” Rhys’s lips tightened as he gave a cold warning. Jax, annoyed, stubbed out his cigarette. “What’s the big deal? A couple of words won’t hurt. A dimwit like Audrey Rose can’t possibly compare to someone as brilliant as Sloane. You only kept her around because you felt sorry for her, and she just held you back for years.” Rhys met my gaze, his voice low and firm. “Audrey Rose isn’t dumb.” Audrey Rose isn’t dumb. Coming from the mouth of a genius like Rhys, the statement always felt faintly ridiculous. But the sixteen-year-old Audrey Rose had believed it. The year I finished middle school, my mother married Rhys’s father, forming a new family. Rhys and I were the same age and ended up at the same average high school. We were even in the same class. He was dead last in the rankings; I was comfortably average. Rhys hated me, so he never spoke to me. I often saw Rhys getting into fights and facing disciplinary action. Then my mother would have to go to the school, quietly enduring the scoldings and abuse. One night, I went out for water and saw my mother sitting on the sofa, weeping late at night. “Audrey, what can I do to make Rhys accept me?” I didn’t know. I only knew that after that night, The cold truce Rhys and I had was replaced by open warfare. I put mustard in his drink, poured dirty water into his backpack, and slipped laxatives into his lunch. Rhys finally snarled a threat: “What else you got? Listen, Audrey Rose, if you don’t manage to ruin my life, I’m going to ruin your mother’s.” We maintained that vicious standoff for over six months. I thought I would hate Rhys forever. But in the end, he became the only person left in the world who loved me. 2 My conflict with Rhys ended after an incident of domestic violence. Rhys’s father beat my mother so badly that she ended up in the emergency room. As she was being loaded into the ambulance, his father was still spitting venom. “I chased you for a year or two, and you’re useless! All beauty, zero substance.” My mother was nearly forty, and for the first half of her life, my own father had spoiled her rotten. She naturally hadn’t learned to do much for herself. Hearing that comment, the cold mask Rhys wore instantly shattered. He stared at me in shock, murmuring to himself. “My dad didn’t tell me your mom seduced him…” Rhys hated my mother. He’d always believed she actively broke up his parents’ marriage, which led to his mother leaving. It didn’t matter anymore, because after that day, I didn’t have a mother, either. I took her favorite White Gardenias to the hospital to visit her, only to learn she had run off. She hadn’t taken anything. And she hadn’t taken me. Audrey Rose was homeless. I didn’t know where to go. Wandering the streets late that night, Rhys was the one who found me. His eyes were red, and he looked furious. Afraid he was going to hit me, I curled into a ball. Amidst my terror, his warm embrace wrapped around me. For the first time, I heard him speak with such tenderness. “Audrey Rose, come home with me.” “From now on, I’ll be your whole world.” I took the hand he offered and held on tight. And so, from that day when I was sixteen, Audrey Rose’s world had consisted of only Rhys. 3 After my mother’s passing away, Rhys’s father’s temper became increasingly volatile. Rhys, worried I might get hurt, moved us out. Our lives continued, but they were different now. I was no longer mischievous or a troublemaker, and Rhys’s eyes held a gentle softness. Rhys started spending more and more time reading and studying. I couldn’t help but ask him about it. “You never liked reading or going to class before.” He looked at me with great seriousness, then finally pinched my cheek gently and said with a warm sigh, “Audrey Rose, I want you to have a better life.” I saw the flush on his ears and nodded firmly. Audrey Rose, you absolutely cannot hold Rhys back. So I studied even harder, but while Rhys flipped his rankings from last place to first, I remained stuck in the middle. Rhys tutored me until midnight every night. I just stared at the Calculus problems, shaking my head. He’d say, “Audrey Rose, you really are a bit dense.” “But I love that about you. You’re adorable when you’re confused.” Sleepiness washed over me, and the pen slipped from my hand. I mumbled, “Rhys, can you slow down a little? I’m going to be left behind.” Rhys promised me. I would never have to chase him. He would always wait for me. He broke that promise. Later, he came to despise that confused, clumsy side of me. It only irritated him. 4 “Not dumb? You practically tutored her full-time, and she still only managed to get into a second-rate state college.” Jax played with his lighter, picking up the thread of the conversation. I glanced around the room, not seeing my actual husband, Leo Maxwell. Leo had indeed attended Crestwood, the same as Rhys, but they were in different programs. It was unlikely they would be at the same alumni party. I figured Leo must have sent me the wrong address. I couldn’t be bothered to dwell on the past any longer. “My apologies for the intrusion.” I dropped the words and walked out. I texted Leo, but he didn’t reply. His phone went straight to voicemail. I decided to head home. Just as I reached the car door, a hand clamped down on my wrist. “Please, Audrey. Can you forgive me?” Rhys looked down, an expression I couldn’t decipher in his eyes. Audrey. That casual, familiar use of my name. It used to make me blush, a perfect way for a conservative guy like Rhys to flirt. But later, that very familiarity was what ruined me. “Rhys, are you addicted to performing?” I shook off his hand, my face blank. “I don’t need your forgiveness.” The tension was broken by a soft, contemptuous sneer. “Audrey Rose, I never expected to see you here.” Sloane approached in high heels, as arrogant and self-satisfied as always. In the past, I would have been intimidated by her presence. I would have felt admiration, even a reflexive self-loathing. But now, after that shameful history had tormented me countless times, all that remained was a profound calm. “Audrey Rose, why don’t you come home with Rhys and me? Your mother misses you so much.” I didn’t think I’d be able to say it so calmly, three years later. “I don’t have a mother.” My former love, my mother. They all chose her, Sloane. And I had long ago decided I didn’t want any of them. Sloane grabbed my wrist, subtly exposing the gold bracelet on her own. It was Rhys’s mother’s family heirloom. I had worn that bracelet for ten years. Rhys and my relationship had only lasted ten. 5 Jax was right; I was always dense. Even though Rhys worked himself to the bone tutoring me, I could only manage to scrape into Midtown State. Rhys, however, crushed the college entrance exams, was named the state’s top scorer, and went to Crestwood University. We were both in the city, not too far apart. Though we couldn’t be together all the time, our relationship was intensely close and affectionate. It was the simplest happiness, and a memory I would cherish for the rest of my life. Rhys was handsome and brilliant; many people chased him. But he always gave me complete security. I often went to his campus to visit him during college. He was too famous; the smallest rumor would draw attention. Gradually, people on the forums started saying I wasn’t good enough for him. That I was worthless aside from my face, a fool with no ability or background who didn’t deserve a prodigy. Rhys had already made our relationship public. He was furious when he heard these things. He said they didn’t know how wonderful I was. So, on a major final exam that semester, He took the foundational principle of Dialectical Materialism and replaced it everywhere with The Primacy of Audrey. He nearly failed the course and was publicly reprimanded by the department for having “love on the brain.” The incident rocked the entire campus. Rhys was afraid that anyone might not know I was his girlfriend, yet when we got married, he insisted: “Audrey Rose, let’s keep this a secret for now.” “Just wait a few years. I’ll make a name for myself, and then I’ll marry you in the grand style you deserve.” I agreed. In the fourth year of our marriage, Rhys’s career had soared. I never got the wedding I dreamed of. I got his betrayal. 6 On our fourth wedding anniversary, Rhys flew into a terrible rage. Because I had apparently lost the bracelet he gave me. Furious, he slammed the door and stormed out. It was the first time in his life he had ever spoken to me with such venom. It was pouring rain that day. I searched everywhere we’d ever been. I suddenly remembered the little house where Rhys and I had lived in high school. Rhys had bought that house later on. Because the walls inside were covered with thousands of photos of us from those three years. The moment I pushed open the door. I saw Rhys with another woman pressed underneath him. A moment of intense, breathless frenzy. My head spun, and I instantly lost my voice. I knew who she was: Sloane. Rhys had mentioned her, but rarely. He initially told me her father had forced her onto his team and he figured she’d be nothing but trouble. But later, he’d said Sloane was incredibly capable, brilliant, and sharp. It was around that time that Rhys started thinking I was dumb. Our common ground shrank. Rhys would often say: “Can you please stop asking? I tell you things, and you still don’t get it.” “Audrey Rose, you’re so slow.” Yet, I was genuinely happy he had found a compatible colleague. But now, Sloane was wearing that bracelet, her eyes filled with cold provocation. I had been tormented by guilt, searching like a dog for something I thought I’d lost. It turns out I hadn’t lost it. Rhys had personally handed it over to someone else. She slowly stood up, leaning against Rhys. “Why so surprised?” “We’ve done it in your bedroom, in the bathroom, in front of the window in your penthouse—everywhere in the city you thought was yours. Today, we just wanted to try the spot where you two first did it.” A ringing in my ears deafened me, and all the strength drained from my body. Operating on pure instinct, I grabbed the photo frame from the table and hurled it. Rhys shielded her with his body, his eyes bloodshot. “Audrey Rose, are you insane!” The man who had promised to be my whole world. He shoved me hard to the floor. My hand was covered in glass shards. The photo— It was the first picture Rhys and I ever took. He was beaming, his arm around me, showing me off. But now, it was shattered. And the look in his eyes was pure revulsion. Before I could even process that, another bombshell exploded near my ear. “Audrey Rose, can you stop the drama? You’re suffocating! No wonder your own mother walked out on you!” It turned out my mother had remarried. She had married Sloane’s father and had genuinely doted on Sloane for ten years. My decade of fantasy had become a nightmare. Later, Rhys demanded a divorce. I didn’t want to give them what they wanted, but I couldn’t fight them. Everyone I loved had defected to the other side. My partner, my friend. And, my mother. 7 Rhys locked me up in the city apartment. For nearly a week, he unleashed all his rage on me. “I won’t sign. You want to marry her? In your dreams.” At the time, the marriage certificate felt like my only leverage. I was stubborn, desperate, and felt like a madwoman. A week later, a blurred video was leaked. The audio, however, was painfully clear. “My darling, I love you most. Just try to love Audrey a little more than you do now.” This was from years ago, when he was always traveling. He’d said he needed a way to feel close to me when I wasn’t there. Rhys was terrifyingly conservative. So when he initially suggested making the video, I was both shy and surprised. Rhys and Sloane were masters of spin. That one sentence on the video completely turned public opinion against me. And the final nails in my coffin were driven by my own mother and my closest friend. My mother said I was a manipulative child who had trapped Rhys, forcing her to leave. Jax claimed Rhys had only ever seen me as a little sister, that I was the one who climbed into his bed, forcing him to take responsibility and marry me. The final, fatal blow came from Rhys himself. I lay numbly on the bed, watching my family and friend’s accusations, when Sloane came to see me. She told me she had confessed her love to Rhys in college. Rhys had rejected her. His reason? He didn’t feel worthy of her yet. If she was willing, she could wait a few years for him. Wait until he had the success to stand beside her, until he could approach her openly. That night, I finally gave in. I agreed to the divorce. As I signed the papers, I thought back. Sixteen-year-old Rhys, full of ambition, promising me a better life. But twenty-six-year-old Rhys’s future never included Audrey Rose. Wiping away my tears, I forced myself to ask him. “What was I to you? A consolation prize?” “Or just a temporary fix until you found the person you truly loved?” Rhys said, “I did love you, Audrey Rose. That was real.” I held back my tears. The love was real, but the change of heart was just as real. 8 During the mandatory cooling-off period, I barely left the house. The scandal with Rhys and me had become too public. Leaving the apartment meant I was mocked and insulted, or worse, subjected to various forms of harassment. The day we were officially divorced, I discovered I was pregnant. Rhys and I had tried to conceive for two years with no luck, but on the day we divorced— I went back to the old high school house. I hadn’t taken any assets from the divorce, only the title to that one small property. I threw out the bed they had used, and I lived curled up on the sofa every day. Listening to music, playing the guitar, reading. When I thought of Rhys, I would burn a photo. In the beginning, I burned hundreds a day. I forced myself to wait at least an hour between sessions. Later, the frequency of burning photos became less and less. I never paid much mind to the baby growing inside me. I suppose the child knew I didn’t want her. She was very gentle, very quiet. For six months, I had an easy pregnancy. But in the sixth month, I terminated the pregnancy. Because in the sixth month after the divorce, Rhys and Sloane got married. It was an enormous wedding. Even grander than the unfulfilled fantasy of the one Rhys had promised me. That day, I ran out of photos to burn. How could twenty-six-year-old Audrey Rose possibly be dumber than sixteen-year-old Audrey Rose? What sixteen-year-old Audrey Rose had held onto so tightly, Twenty-six-year-old Audrey Rose could finally let go of. Rhys would no longer be a part of Audrey Rose’s world. 9 “Audrey, you’ve changed so much, I barely recognize you. You weren’t this cold before.” Rhys frowned at me. I smirked. “Oh, really? And you used to say you only loved me.” Sloane shot me a fierce glare. “Audrey Rose, don’t be shameless. Are you trying to flirt with my husband right in front of me?” “I have zero interest in your husband.” I glanced at Rhys, my heart devoid of any reaction. I pushed past them. “Get out of my way. I’m going home.” The moment I opened the car door. A man’s coarse yell echoed through the parking garage. “Sis! Don’t you dare leave! Your husband is about to tear this whole place apart looking for you!” Finn, Rhys’s younger brother, gasped as he ran up to me, his face pale. “Holy hell, thank goodness you weren’t lost, Sis. My brother was about to kill me.” I was a bit slow to process. I looked up to see Rhys’s face frozen solid. He opened his mouth and squeezed out a few words: “You got married? When? To who?”

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It was Christmas Eve, and I was pushing my cart, selling roasted fish & chips outside an upscale preschool in Astoria. A luxury car, a Rolls-Royce Ghost, glided past my stall. When I recognized the custom license plate—the one he’d always been so annoyingly proud of—I instinctively pulled the brim of my wool cap lower. But the small boy in the back seat rolled down his window. He pointed a chubby finger at my stall and yelled, “Daddy, I want those chips!” Marcus Sterling pulled the car over. I knew the moment he took a step toward me, pulling his son along, that I couldn’t hide. The streetlamp cut through the snow flurries, catching my face. He froze. “Sera. Seraphina, is that really you?” His voice was a strained whisper, quickly hardening. “I thought you died in prison.” Chelsea Hayes, draped in a mink coat that had likely cost my father’s entire year’s salary before everything, rushed to his side. Her face turned icy. “Marcus, she’s a felon, a convicted killer! Her mind is twisted. What if she hurts our baby?” Marcus snatched his son up and took a panicked step back, his disgust a palpable wave. He bundled the child into the car and sped away, leaving only exhaust fumes and fresh snow. I remained rooted in the flurries, my voice mechanically calling out to passersby. Once, I would have thrown myself in front of a moving train for Marcus Sterling. Now, I felt nothing. The five years in confinement had scraped away every last speck of love, leaving behind only polished, brittle glass. Chapter 1 It was Christmas Eve, and I was pushing my cart, selling roasted fish & chips outside an upscale preschool in Astoria. A luxury car, a Rolls-Royce Ghost, glided past my stall. When I recognized the custom license plate—the one he’d always been so annoyingly proud of—I instinctively pulled the brim of my wool cap lower. But the small boy in the back seat rolled down his window. He pointed a chubby finger at my stall and yelled, “Daddy, I want those chips!” Marcus Sterling pulled the car over. I knew the moment he took a step toward me, pulling his son along, that I couldn’t hide. The streetlamp cut through the snow flurries, catching my face. He froze. “Sera. Seraphina, is that really you?” His voice was a strained whisper, quickly hardening. “I thought you died in prison.” Chelsea Hayes, draped in a mink coat that had likely cost my father’s entire year’s salary before everything, rushed to his side. Her face turned icy. “Marcus, she’s a felon, a convicted killer! Her mind is twisted. What if she hurts our baby?” Marcus snatched his son up and took a panicked step back, his disgust a palpable wave. He bundled the child into the car and sped away, leaving only exhaust fumes and fresh snow. I remained rooted in the flurries, my voice mechanically calling out to passersby. Once, I would have thrown myself in front of a moving train for Marcus Sterling. Now, I felt nothing. The five years in confinement had scraped away every last speck of love, leaving behind only polished, brittle glass. 1 The ground was slick with smashed fish fillets where a child had trampled them. Each piece was a five-dollar loss. A shame. I crouched down, scraping the pulpy mess into the slop pail, my movements slow and deliberate. “Oh my God, did you see that? That was the ex-fiancée of Marcus Sterling, the CEO!” “I heard she killed a man, right? News said she got five years!” “A killer? She’s a killer, and she’s selling food outside a school? That’s insane! She must be mentally unstable.” “Keep your kids close, close. Who knows what kind of vendetta a person like that might be nursing…” The parents collecting their children hadn’t dispersed yet. They eyed me, whispering behind gloved hands. I calmly tended to fry my chips, acting as if the subject of their morbid fascination was someone else entirely. Five years ago, I was Seraphina Jones: the shining talent at the Astoria Conservatory, the Golden Girl, and the fiancée of Marcus Sterling, heir to Sterling Global. Marcus, back then, would charter a jet to bring me to the Swiss Alps just because I’d casually mentioned I wanted to see fresh powder. I genuinely believed we were untouchable, until Chelsea Hayes arrived. Chelsea was the impoverished student I’d mentored and financially supported for four years. After graduation, I used my influence to get her a junior position at Sterling Global. I never imagined she would repay me by sliding into my bed—or rather, Marcus’s bed—and then, while I was locked away, marrying him and bearing his child. Once the crowds finally thinned, I packed my cart and pushed it toward my sub-level studio. I struggled to lock the cart near the stairwell entrance. As I turned, I saw the man standing at my door. The motion-sensor light in the hall had been broken for months, but I recognized the silhouette instantly: Leo Maxwell. He was the younger brother of a woman I’d met inside—a tough woman who became a reluctant protector. He was also my only neighbor. He was holding a small plastic bag containing a few tubes of medicated ointment. By the faint sliver of light escaping my cracked door, he saw my hands. The fresh, raw blister where I’d fumbled by the hot oil, the panic of pulling my cap down—it stood out starkly against the landscape of old, thick scars that already covered my skin. Leo’s brow instantly furrowed, and the old, jagged scar running above his left eyebrow twitched, giving his face a look of rugged severity. To me, it was the only source of warmth I had in this frozen world. “What happened to your hand?” His voice was deep, raw, like sand and gravel. I automatically tucked my hand into my sleeve, forcing a strained smile. “It’s nothing. Just a small burn. What are you doing here?” Leo said nothing. He simply stepped forward, took my wrist, and pulled me inside. “Let’s go.” My basement unit was an icebox—no heat, just damp concrete. Leo, with a strange sort of domesticity, flipped on the switch of my tiny space heater. The rusty coils began to glow a muted orange, casting a meager halo of warmth. He made me sit on the unit’s only folding chair, then knelt on the cold floor in front of me. He twisted open a tube of ointment and carefully began to dab it onto the burn with a cotton swab. The medication was cool, mentholated, and it finally stifled the throbbing, raw heat. I looked down at him. He was a man of few words; we’d exchanged maybe ten sentences since I moved in. But I knew, with absolute certainty, that without his silent help—an extra blanket, a shared meal, a word with a sketchy landlord—I might not have survived that first month out of the system. “I saw him today. And her,” I admitted, the sentence hanging unfinished in the cold air. Leo’s body went rigid. He didn’t look up, but his voice was tight. “You haven’t let it go, have you, Sera?” 2 I stared at the mold and moisture staining the wall, my mind drifting back to that torrential rain five years ago. I’d received Chelsea’s frantic call. “Sera, please, I need help! I hit someone… on Seaview Drive…” I drove out immediately. When I arrived, the scene made my blood run cold. My luxury sedan—the one I’d lent Chelsea—had a crumpled hood. The bumper was slick with blood. A few yards away, an elderly man lay in the mud, lifeless. Chelsea hadn’t been hit; she was the one who had struck and killed him. She was huddled in Marcus’s arms, wrapped in his bespoke suit jacket. The air inside my car, which she’d abandoned, was thick with the cloying scent of cheap perfume and stale champagne. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened just before the accident. “Sera.” Marcus saw me. There was no apology, no shame. He strode toward me, and his first words cut deeper than any knife. “You’ll take the fall.” I recoiled. “What are you talking about? Marcus, have you lost your mind?” He gripped my wrist so hard I thought he’d snap a bone. He leaned in, screaming over the drumming rain. “Chelsea is pregnant! I can’t have my child born while its mother is in a federal institution!” I stood there, drenched and utterly stunned. My former mentee was carrying my fiancé’s child. “I won’t…” I backed away, tears mixing with the rain on my face. Marcus’s expression turned utterly vicious, a coldness I’d never seen. “Did you forget? That car is registered to you.” He lowered his voice, making the threat feel more intimate, more terrifying. “Also, your father’s company is running on fumes right now. It’s only Sterling Global’s bridge loan keeping them out of bankruptcy. And your mother’s bypass surgery? Scheduled for next week.” He pressed closer. “Do you want to wake up tomorrow morning to the news that Jones Industries has collapsed, your father jumped from the roof, and your mother’s heart medication has been pulled?” I was paralyzed. A sudden chill shot from my feet straight to the crown of my head. “Marcus! You’re not human!” I shrieked. My tears tasted bitter, salty. “I’ll get you the best lawyers, Sera.” He gently brushed the water from my cheek, a terrifying act of tenderness. “When you get out, I’ll marry you. Just take the charge for Chelsea. I have people on the inside; I promise you, I can get you out in two years, max. The Jones family funds will be transferred by sunrise.” Chelsea, hiding behind him, started to sob dramatically. “Sera, please… I can’t go to jail. I have my grad school applications, my life is just starting…” She gave me a sickening, saccharine look. “You’re different. You’re the Jones heiress. You’ll be fine, even if you do a little time.” Police sirens wailed in the distance, closer now. “You know what to do,” Marcus commanded, his voice softening to an urgent plea. Between the survival of my family’s legacy and my own freedom, he had already made the choice for me. I walked toward the squad car. Due to the severity of the death, and the way the story was handled by the media—painting me as a drunk, reckless heiress—my sentence was extended to five years. Inside, the environment was brutal. One of the hardened inmates, the self-appointed queen, despised me. Toilet duty, sleeping on soaked mattresses, cigarette burns—it was routine. The worst was the late-night beatings. The agony was so intense that I curled into a ball, feeling a hot, wet rush between my legs. When I was finally hauled to the infirmary, I found out I had been pregnant. The doctor, a callous woman, simply cleaned up the bloody tissue and told me flatly: “You lost the baby. It’ll be tough for you to conceive again.” I lay staring at the ceiling, numb, until the guard told me I had a visitor. Marcus. It was the only time he ever came. 3 I grabbed the phone like a lifeline, screaming and pounding on the glass partition. “Marcus! Our baby is gone! They kill our baby!” “It was Chelsea! She must have bought people inside to hurt me! Marcus, you have to help me!” He looked at me with a deep, crushing aversion. “Sera, what are you doing to yourself? Why have you become this person?” He shook his head, his face etched with disapproval. “Compulsive lying. Hysteria. Chelsea is the kindest soul I know. She wouldn’t harm an insect. Why would she hire someone to hurt you?” “Are you so desperate for sympathy that you’d fabricate a pregnancy? Why don’t you just say you have cancer next?” “I’m not lying! You can check the medical records…” I choked out, desperately. “Enough.” He cut me off, cold and final. He stood up and adjusted his expensive cufflink. “Just serve your time. You’ll be out soon. I’ll make it up to you with a spectacular wedding.” He walked away. He never looked back. That was the moment I died inside. Back in the cell block, the queen-inmate, seeing my shattered expression, cackled savagely. “Still calling out for your Prince Charming? We must have been too soft on you.” “I heard these hands were meant for the piano. Such beautiful hands. A real tragedy.” Then came a sickening snap. My right index and middle fingers were stomped on, deliberately. Without proper treatment, the bones fused crookedly. The joints twisted and knotted, resembling the brittle branches of a dead tree. Now, I couldn’t even hold a pair of chopsticks without a tremor of pain when the weather changed, let alone touch a piano key. “Done.” Leo’s voice pulled me back to the cold present. My hand was carefully bandaged. The stark white gauze glowed faintly in the dim orange light of the space heater. I realized Leo was watching me intently, an emotion I couldn’t quite place churning in his dark eyes. “You’re shaking,” he stated. I looked down at my disfigured, knotty fingers. He was right. I was shaking because Marcus had broken his promise. The promised “short stay” had turned into the full five years. And my parents… they didn’t want me back. The few chances I had for a call home were always met with a busy signal. The one time the call connected, it was Chelsea. “Sera, stop calling. Mom and Dad get chest pains whenever your name comes up. Their bodies can’t take the stress.” Mom and Dad? My mind went blank. My mother quickly snatched the receiver. “You have the gall to call this house? You disgraced the Jones name!” “Drunk driving, manslaughter… how did we raise an animal like you?” “Mom, no, I did this for—” “Shut up! Don’t call me that!” My father’s voice, thick with disgust, cut in. “We don’t have a daughter named Seraphina. Never call us again. You can rot in there for all we care.” Then, Chelsea’s sweet, cloying voice: “It’s okay, Mom, Dad, have some tea, calm down. I’m sure Sera will reform herself eventually.” “Oh, Chelsea is such a good girl,” my mother sighed, her voice instantly softening. “If only Sera was half as sweet as you. From now on, you are our daughter. That failure, she can stay in jail.” The line went dead. I held the receiver, listening to the hollow dial tone, a ghost abandoned by the entire world. She hadn’t just stolen my fiancé and my freedom. She’d stolen my parents, my home, my entire identity. After that, I never called again. I couldn’t bear to hear the tenderness they reserved for her, or the venom they saved for me. 4 The day I was released, I stole away to my parents’ suburban home. I just wanted to see them, even from a distance. But the imposing wrought-iron gates were padlocked, and a foreclosure notice was plastered on the front door. A neighbor told me the cold facts: “The Jones family? They lost everything. Didn’t you know? Mr. Jones had a massive stroke and died on the floor of his study. His wife, she just withered away a few days later. Broken heart, I guess.” I stood in the bleak winter wind, staring at the house where I had grown up, now a sterile mausoleum. I had no family left. Every promise Marcus Sterling ever made me was a lie. “Leo,” I lifted my head, my voice dry. “How can people be so black-hearted? How do they live with themselves? How do they… sleep at night?” Leo didn’t answer. He stood, his broad back blocking the draft from the hallway. He pulled a thick bundle of hand warmers from his jacket pocket and shoved them into my lap, followed by a bag of warm, fragrant pastries. “Eat something.” He didn’t wait for a reply, turning to leave. As he reached the threshold, he paused, his back still to me, his voice low and guttural. “Sera. Don’t look back. Those kinds of vermin aren’t worth dirtying your hands over.” He paused again, turning his head slightly, and the scar on his brow was prominent in the gloom. “From now on, you have me.” The door shut. When I woke again, the morning light was a weak, pale gray filtering through the tiny basement vent. I got up to open the door, preparing for the day’s grind. I pulled the door open just a crack, and a rush of cold air, mingled with the familiar scent of an expensive, smoky cologne, hit me. My body locked up. Standing in the narrow, shadowed hallway, a figure totally out of place, was Marcus Sterling. He wore a cashmere coat, the picture of refined wealth. But his eyes were bloodshot, as if he hadn’t slept, and the floor by his feet was littered with cigarette butts. Seeing me, he stubbed out the cigarette and fixed his eyes on mine. “Sera.” His voice was hoarse, tinged with an almost imperceptible tremor. I tried to slam the door shut. A large, determined hand shot out, jamming the frame. Ignoring the pain of the metal grating against his knuckles, Marcus forced his way inside. The cramped basement unit instantly became suffocating. I stumbled back, grabbing the small fruit knife from the table, my hand shaking as I pointed it at him. “Stay back! Marcus, what do you want now? I have nothing left! What more can you possibly take?!” Marcus’s pupils dilated, and a flicker of genuine pain crossed his face. He took a hesitant step closer, his voice strained. “The accident… five years ago… I had my reasons, Sera.”

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I am the true heiress, and Caleb Vance is the true heir. During the ten years we were lost and adrift, we relied on each other for survival. We made a pact: whoever was found first would come back for the other. But when his wealthy family finally found him, he gently pushed me away. “The adopted son is here too. The car is full. I’ll come back for you next time.” I knew he wouldn’t come back. Later, he lost the battle for inheritance against the adopted son. Disheartened, he returned to find me. “Raising fish and planting trees is a life worth living,” he said. “I’m willing to spend the rest of my life like this with you.” I shook my head and waved the DNA test results in my hand. “This time, it’s my turn to go home.” “And my family doesn’t have a fake heiress.” 1 When the mayor ran up to tell me Caleb was back, I was sweating, sleeves rolled up, picking passion fruit. I froze for a second, then wiped the sweat from my forehead and smiled. “Well, make sure you treat Mr. Vance well. We’ve been struggling to find a buyer for these passion fruits.” Caleb had been gone for three years. In those three years, he never came back to see me, nor did he come to pick me up as promised. I went from heartbreak to silent disappointment, and finally to this calm smile. I guess that’s growth. Growth means focusing on reality. Caleb is a wealthy heir now. Buying my passion fruit should be easy for him, right? “Luna, aren’t you going? Maybe Caleb is here to take you away,” the mayor said, happy for me. I shook my head, squeezing a fragrant passion fruit in my hand. “No, I’m racing against time for the harvest. If I don’t pick them now, they’ll be overripe.” The mayor was surprised, but then seemed to understand. He sighed and ran down the hill. I continued to work hard with the other villagers, racing against the clock. Just as I was dizzy from the heat, I looked up and saw a thin figure standing in front of me. I paused and greeted him, “Mr. Vance, you’ve lost weight.” 2 Caleb had lost weight. I remember when he left three years ago, he was a tall, energetic boy with a handsome face that looked out of place in the countryside. Everywhere he went, he attracted attention. Now, he was thin, silent, and lifeless. The only thing that hadn’t changed was that devastatingly handsome face. Reuniting now, the first thing I looked at was still his face. He didn’t speak, just stared at me intently. His eyes were red, his lips trembling, as if he had suffered a great injustice and desperately needed a hug. I inexplicably took a step forward, then stopped. I didn’t want to hug him. In the past ten years, I had hugged him many times. He was a proud person, stubborn since childhood, never wanting to lose. Once, he fought a homeless man for half a hamburger, getting beaten bloody, just to snatch it back for me to eat. Afterwards, he cried silently in pain, and I held him all night. He clashed with villagers for his foster mother, wielding a sickle and roaring like a madman. Exhausted, he collapsed into my arms, and I held him all night. He missed his home, staring blankly at the sky in the middle of the night, and I held him all night. This ambitious boy had never left my embrace. But three years ago, he left without hesitation. 3 That day was the day Caleb and I officially led the villagers to plant passion fruit. I was on the mountain fantasizing about a bountiful harvest and making a fortune. Caleb suddenly went down the mountain and met the family he had been dreaming of. By the time I ran down excitedly, he had already finished reuniting with his family and was packing his meager belongings. I hugged him tightly, weeping with joy. “Caleb, that’s great! You’ve finally found your family!” His body stiffened, and he was silent for a moment. I was surprised and wiped my tears to look at him. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you happy?” He was happy, but beneath the joy in his eyes, there was a hidden emotion. “Happy,” he replied with one word, looking at the mountains outside the village. “Aren’t you busy? The villagers don’t know much about planting; you need to guide them constantly.” “Even if I’m busy, I have to come see you! Your family found you!” I didn’t catch the implication in Caleb’s words and continued talking to myself. “This is great! We’ll have money, and we can help the village develop. Perfect!” Caleb fell silent again. I finally realized something was wrong. Caleb was happy to see his family. But he wasn’t happy to see me. I pursed my lips and playfully punched him twice. “Cat got your tongue? You’re not thinking of abandoning me, are you?” I asked this jokingly. But Caleb’s tone was serious. He hesitated, his eyes flickering. “My parents adopted a son, and he came too, so…” He paused, looking away. “So, the car is full. I’ll come back for you next time.” 4 My head felt like it exploded. The car is full? I had seen that car from afar. It was huge and long, more spacious than Old Man Wang’s truck. How could it be full? I’m not stupid; I understood Caleb’s meaning immediately. But ten years of feelings are hard to let go. I really couldn’t believe it, nor did I want to. So before the tears welled up, I kept joking, “If the car is full, I can sit in the trunk, or even on the roof, haha.” My forced laughter sounded like the sharp cry of a dying duck. Caleb sighed heavily, turning his back to me. “Luna, wealthy families in reality are more exaggerated than in novels. They care more about matching social status. “I was engaged since childhood. It’s an arranged marriage; I don’t have a say.” With every word he said, my tear ducts broke down a little more. When he turned to look at me, my face was covered in tears. But he remained calm, his tone full of ambition. “I am the heir to a wealthy family, and there is a favored adopted son at home. If I take you back, you will definitely be a burden to me. “I can’t afford any mistakes. I don’t want my biological parents to think I’m an emotional loser. So, you must stay!” I was crying my heart out, unable to refute a single word. Caleb’s eyes flickered, but he still hugged me, his voice softening. “Be good, wait for me to come back for you.”

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After my family declared bankruptcy, I was sent off to marry into the Thorne family to clear our debts. On the very first day of our marriage, my new husband threw a black card onto the table and told me that the only thing he could give me was money. Not only that, he seemed to despise me. He would rather do all the housework himself than let me touch a single thing in the house. After three years of this cold treatment, I wanted a divorce. I walked to his study, divorce papers in hand. But just as I reached the door, I heard the distinct sound of sobbing coming from inside. “Three years! I’ve been waiting on her hand and foot for three years! I transfer a million dollars to her account every month, I cook dinner for her every single night, and she still doesn’t care about me!” Then, his best friend’s angry voice cut through the air. “I told you not to be so dramatic back then! You’re a total house-husband, why the hell did you brand yourself as a playboy?” 1 My family went bust. As a result, I was engaged to Sterling Thorne. The Thorne family is old money—deep ties in both politics and business. Their foundation is rock solid. Logically speaking, a family like that shouldn’t have looked twice at a bankrupt heiress like me. But, as fate would have it, their second son, Sterling Thorne, was a disaster. He was the city’s most notorious playboy. The number of girlfriends he’d had was uncountable. Because of this, any decent socialite with a bit of family wealth who had the luxury of choice wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole. Sterling’s parents were desperate. When they heard about my family’s financial collapse, they immediately sent a proposal. They told my parents that as long as I married Sterling, they would wipe out our debt. Although we were broke, my background was clean. I graduated from an Ivy League school, I was reasonably attractive, and I had a reputation for being gentle and well-mannered. I was exactly the kind of docile daughter-in-law they wanted. My parents looked at me with guilt. Despite the tempting offer, they knew exactly what kind of man Sterling was. I, however, just nodded. “No problem. I can get married anytime.” My reasoning was simple: rather than struggling and potentially ending up with a broke jerk later, I’d rather marry a rich jerk now. 2 I had heard plenty of rumors about Sterling Thorne, but the day we signed the marriage license was the first time I actually met him. He didn’t look like the playboy I had imagined. He was wearing a soft, light blue cotton shirt. The top button was undone, offering a glimpse of his collarbone. He wore gold-rimmed glasses that gave him a scholarly, almost refined air. He looked elegant. Sophisticated. It was hard to believe this man was the wildest player in the city. You really can’t judge a book by its cover. Sterling didn’t seem to like me much. During the signing at City Hall, he kept a poker face and didn’t say a word to me. But when he took the marriage certificate, he paused. The hand holding the document trembled slightly. Maybe even he couldn’t believe that a free spirit like him had actually gotten married. We didn’t have a wedding ceremony. After getting the license, I moved directly into Sterling’s villa in the Hamptons. That same day, he handed me a bank card. “I’ll wire a million dollars into this account every month. You can spend it however you like. “I have nothing else to offer you. The only thing I can give you is money.” I accepted it calmly. We were a business merger, after all. There were no real feelings involved. He was upfront about it, and he was generous with his money. I had nothing to complain about. I nodded and started dragging my luggage toward the guest bedroom. I’d heard Sterling often brought women home. I figured I should be a considerate roommate. 3 Sterling’s expression stiffened for a second. He called out to me. “Harper, where are you going?” I looked at him, confused. “I heard that… your villa gets a little lively at night. So, I prepared the guest room for myself.” Sterling looked like he didn’t understand. “Are you worried about noise? I had the butler install soundproofing in the master suite. You don’t need to sleep in the guest room.” I decided to be more direct. “No, I mean… I heard you often bring female friends back to the villa. I don’t want to disturb you.” Sterling’s face suddenly turned bright red. “No… that’s just…” But seeing my knowing look, he awkwardly nodded. “Right. Yes. I do… sometimes bring female friends home. You know, a guy with my reputation, I have to keep up appearances. “I’ll sleep in the guest room. You take the master bedroom. Don’t worry, I won’t let them bother you.” I raised an eyebrow. Them? Sterling really played the field. While I was still processing this, Sterling grabbed my suitcase, carried it into the master bedroom, and started unpacking for me. He hung my dresses in the closet. He organized my skincare products on the vanity. He even folded my socks into perfect little squares. Watching his practiced movements, I couldn’t help but marvel. Is the competition among playboys this fierce nowadays? They have to be domestic gods too? 4 It wasn’t until Sterling had organized all my belongings that he seemed to realize what he was doing. He froze. We looked at each other, silence stretching between us. “I didn’t expect… you to be so thoughtful,” I said. Sterling’s eyes darted around the room. “No… don’t misunderstand. I just…” “I get it,” I said, nodding understandingly. “You have a lot of relationship experience, so it’s a habit. I won’t read into it.” Sterling paused, then nodded firmly. “Right… exactly. That’s it. I’ve had a lot of ex-girlfriends. I got used to serving them. Don’t mind me.” I waved my hand. “No, I don’t mind. Everyone has a past.” Sterling suddenly checked his watch, as if remembering something urgent. “I have a meeting at four. Can I come back at five to make you dinner? What do you want to eat?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “You’re coming back… to cook for me?” Sterling froze again, but he recovered quickly. “Sorry, I was just using my watch to text a friend. I promised her I’d cook this afternoon. You don’t mind, do you?” I gave the sensible answer. “Not at all. I understand.” However, as he walked away, I stared at the Patek Philippe on his wrist with confusion. Since when can a mechanical watch send text messages?

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I was trapped by a System, forced into a mission: save the tragic hero, Keir Vance. For him, I bore two children. For him, I drowned in a five-year fog of postpartum depression. And for five years, Keir took care of me. To the outside world, we were a story of enviable devotion. The System’s voice was a constant whisper in my ear. “See? Isn’t this happiness? A husband, children… such a perfect family. Why would you ever want to go back?” On the television in my hospital room, a news report flashed across the screen: Keir Vance, spending a fortune on his new girlfriend. That supposed girlfriend was my son’s tutor. The photo showed the three of them in a tight embrace, a perfect, happy family. For the first time in years, a genuine smile touched my lips. “He seems to have found his true love,” I said softly. “Can I go home now?” The System shrieked, its voice hysterical in my mind. “I’ve had a hundred hosts, and you are the most ungrateful one I have ever seen!” “So what if his affection for Sophia has spiked to fifty-one percent? He hasn’t divorced you, has he? He hasn’t thrown you out! That means he still loves you! Are you really going to give up after everything you’ve been through?” I managed a weak, tired smile. Five years. Five years swallowed by the suffocating darkness of depression. Countless pills. Round after round of electroshock therapy. A fine web of scars crisscrossing my wrists. My only reason for living, the single thread I clung to, was the thought of returning to my own world, to my parents. I stared at the track marks from countless needles covering my arms. My voice came out as a raw rasp. “But you promised. You said I could leave when the mission was complete.” Just as the words left my lips, a small, sweet voice came from behind me. “Mommy, are you leaving?” I froze, turning my head slowly. My daughter, Mia, stood in the doorway of my room. Her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears, but she forced a brave little smile. “If you leave… does that mean you won’t have to cry secretly every night anymore?” I crossed the room and pulled her into a fierce hug, the dam of my own tears finally breaking. She burrowed into my chest, her voice muffled. “If that’s the case, then you should go, Mommy. Mia will be a good girl. I’ll listen to Daddy and Aiden.” This was the daughter I had pushed away, a casualty of my depression. And yet, she was so perceptive, so kind. Her words were like a knife twisting in my heart. I wanted to go home, but how could I leave her? Suddenly, the door was kicked open. Sophia stormed in, her face a mask of fury. She marched up to me and slapped a newspaper across my face. “Mrs. Vance, I took pity on you. I helped you take care of Aiden because of your depression. Is this how you repay me?” The corner of the paper sliced my cheek, a sharp, stinging pain. I picked up the newspaper. The headline made my blood run cold. [VANCE MATRIARCH’S DEPRESSION OPENS DOOR FOR HOMEWRECKER TUTOR] The accompanying photo was the one of them on the Ferris wheel, locked in their family embrace. Sophia’s face was flushed with rage, but she stood tall, defiant. “As Aiden’s tutor, I have given him nothing but the best care and guidance. And you, instead of being grateful, you turn on me like this.” “It was your own flaunting that…” Before I could finish, my son, Aiden, burst into the room, his face contorted in anger. “I was the one who asked Miss Sophia what it felt like to have a mom! That’s why she hugged me!” he screamed at me. “You’re a psycho! Why don’t you just die? How did I end up with a mom like you?!” The color drained from my face. It felt as if all the strength had been ripped from my body. Mia stepped in front of me, her small face red with indignation. “Mommy’s not a psycho! She loves us so much! Miss Sophia is the bad one! She’s always pinching me when no one’s looking!” Aiden glared at his sister, his eyes vicious. “You’re lying! That crazy woman has already corrupted you!” Without another word, he lunged forward and shoved Mia hard. My heart seized as I watched her stumble backward. I threw myself forward to catch her. At that exact moment, Keir pushed the door open, his brow furrowing at the chaos in the room. His gaze landed on Sophia, and his voice dropped, turning cold. “Didn’t I tell you that you weren’t allowed to come here?” Sophia flinched but recovered instantly, plastering a gentle smile on her face. “A child’s education must be nurtured from a young age. I came to take Mia home. She’s old enough to begin professional instruction, not spend her days in a hospital watching over… a depressive.” Her words hung in the air, pointed and cruel. Keir’s eyes shifted to Mia. Mia clung to me, shaking her head, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t want to leave Mommy! Miss Sophia pinches me and hits me, and she tries to make me call her ‘Mama’!” Any hesitation on Keir’s face vanished, replaced by a cold, hard mask. “So instead of focusing on your treatment, you’re spending your energy slandering Sophia? You’ve even taught Mia to be a liar. It seems it’s past time she was away from your influence.” His words struck me like a physical blow. I clutched Mia tighter. “I didn’t…” “You’ve disappointed me, Clara. Deeply.” He turned to the nurse, his face a picture of strained patience. “Give Mrs. Vance a sedative. She needs to rest.” The needle pierced my skin, and a wave of weakness washed over me. Powerless, I watched as they took my daughter away. A moment later, the System’s voice buzzed in my head, practically seething. “This is all Sophia’s doing! She orchestrated the newspaper leak to frame you! She’s the one who brainwashed your son and abused your daughter! Now even Keir is on her side!” “Clara, stay and fight her! Fight for your husband, for your children!” I closed my eyes, my voice a dry whisper. “You leaked the story to the papers, didn’t you?” The System went silent. After a long pause, its voice returned, softer now, laced with an irresistible, soothing quality. “It doesn’t matter who did it. Just stay, Clara.” “Time is frozen in your original world. You can go back whenever you want. There’s no rush.” “You are Keir’s true love.” As it spoke, images of my parents flickered in my mind. But five years is a long time. So long that if I didn’t actively try to remember, their faces would begin to blur. A spike of panic shot through me. I spoke to the System, my voice firm. “I want to go home!” Before the System could protest, the phone a nurse had left for me began to ring. It was a video call. On the screen, my daughter’s face was beet red. She was crying, her voice choked with sobs. “Mommy, I’m so hot. I feel sick.” My heart twisted. I looked past her, at the electric heater on the wall behind her, its dial cranked up to a hundred and fifty degrees. My pupils contracted in horror. “Mommy, I can’t breathe. Daddy and Aiden went out. Miss Sophia told me to be a good girl and do my homework.” I fought down my rising panic, soothing her as best I could. The second I hung up, I ran. I didn’t even stop for shoes. I flew out of the hospital like a madwoman. The taxi hadn’t even come to a full stop when I leaped out and started pounding on the front door of our house. The door opened quickly. Sophia stood there in a pristine white dress, a look of perfect, polite confusion on her face. “Mrs. Vance? This late, you…” I shoved her aside and sprinted for my daughter’s bedroom. The door was locked. From inside, I could hear faint, shallow breaths and weak cries. “Mrs. Vance, the child is doing her homework. Barging in like this will only disrupt her concentration.” Seeing her put on this sickening act, raw fury burned through me. I raised my hand and slapped her, hard, across the face. Then I turned to the maids, who had come running at the sound. “The key!” I screamed. They just stared at each other, then looked helplessly toward Sophia. Just then, footsteps sounded on the stairs. Keir was home. He looked surprised to see me, but his gaze fell on Sophia’s red, swollen cheek, and his face instantly darkened. “Clara, what the hell are you doing?!” Sophia swayed, leaning against him, her body trembling as she put on a brave front. “Keir, I know Mrs. Vance is unwell. For five years, I have tried to be patient. I have helped raise your children.” “But it’s clear she will never be grateful. Perhaps it’s time for me to leave.” Keir looked at me, at my wild eyes and disheveled state, and rubbed the bridge of his nose in weary frustration. “Clara, I am begging you, please stop this.” “I have taken care of you for so long. I have done more than enough. Can’t you just be normal for once?” “After all these years… I can’t take it anymore.” I’m the one acting crazy? Tears streamed down my face, but my laugh was desolate. I was the one who pulled him out of the darkness. The day his company went public, he swore he would love me forever. I really thought I had found true love in this world. I had even considered choosing him over my own parents. And now, he couldn’t take it anymore. In the next second, Aiden shot out like a cannonball, slamming into me and sending me tumbling down the stairs. “How dare you hit Miss Sophia! I’ll hit you back for her!” My head cracked against the wall at the bottom of the staircase. Blood blurred my vision. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the agony ripping through my heart. I staggered to my feet, staring at Aiden in disbelief. The hatred and disgust in his eyes were a mirror, reflecting my shattered heart back at me. I had almost died giving birth to him. His birth was the trigger for my depression. But in my moments of clarity, I would hold him all night, my heart melting with a love so fierce it hurt. I gave him all the love I had. And for Sophia, he had just tried to kill me. And Keir… Keir just stood there. He didn’t move. My voice was a raw croak. “Mia is in there! It’s a hundred and fifty degrees! I’m begging you, just let her out!” Seeing the cold indifference on Keir’s face, I crawled to him, grabbing at the leg of his pants. “Please. My baby is in there.”

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Near finals week, my boyfriend received a love letter that read: [Mr. Thorne, I’ve had a crush on you for a long time. Will you be my boyfriend?] Soon after, amidst the cheers of her classmates, the girl confessed loudly. She asked: “Mr. Thorne, will you be my boyfriend?” Just then, I saw the bullet comments. [Here it comes! The female lead finally confesses to the male lead. The classic teacher-student romance plot is officially starting!] [The female lead is confessing, so why is the vicious female side character just standing at the door? Does she think she’s not enough of an eyesore?] 1 I stood frozen at the classroom door. The person being confessed to in the center of the classroom right now was indeed the male lead mentioned in the comments, my boyfriend whom I was discussing marriage with—Ethan Thorne. The comments in front of my eyes continued: [So sweet I’m crying. The male and female leads have the cutest age gap. Old woman, get lost!] [Don’t worry, don’t worry. The Dean will get rid of her with a text message. After all, this is the scene where the leads confirm their feelings. How could the old woman be allowed to be a stumbling block here?] [Male lead, say yes quickly! Then you can unlock the classroom play tonight! Gotta say, these young couples know how to have fun!] [I remember that part. The male lead bows down before the female lead. She takes off his glasses and steps on his shoulder, and he pants like a dog. The female side character should reflect on herself. Can her old face still excite the male lead?!] ? Thinking of Ethan’s unsatisfied, craving look this morning, I couldn’t help but be suspicious. Are these comments real? But the next second. My phone vibrated violently. The Dean sent a message. [Sarah, come to my office.] As soon as I entered the Dean’s office, he locked the door and asked with concern: “Sarah, I heard a student wrote a love letter to Ethan? This could be big or small, you guys have to handle it well.” I knew what he meant. More than a decade ago, the Dean had a favorite student who became a teacher. Because she was young and got along well with the students, a boy in her class soon developed feelings for her and confessed loudly. As a teacher, she sternly refused. But unexpectedly, after being rejected, the boy acted extremely radically. He left a suicide note that was practically a confession of love, then turned around and jumped off the school building’s roof. In the end, although he didn’t die, his lower body was completely paralyzed. A promising student destined for the Ivy League was ruined. The parents came to the school and made a huge scene, pointing at the female teacher’s nose and calling her a seductive bitch and a slut. They even went to her boyfriend’s house to mourn. The teacher was first dumped, then fired, and finally suffered from severe mental illness. Therefore, facing us young teachers, the Dean would bring this up from time to time to warn us. “Don’t be fooled by some students being introverted. The more introverted the student, the more likely they are to do crazy things.” I thought of the girl who confessed to Ethan. The female lead mentioned in the comments. She was the girl with the lowest presence in the class, Lily Evans. “Also, Ethan has been sponsoring Lily Evans for a year. Did you know about this?” 2 The comments were now updating me on the progress of the leads’ relationship in real-time. [Look at the female lead’s little face, all flushed. Reminds me of my puppy love days. Oh youth!] [The male lead called the female lead out! They’re gonna go out and smooch!] [Makes sense. Rather than kissing the old woman homeroom teacher a hundred times, it’s better to kiss the female lead’s soft, pink lips once.] [The male lead only has responsibility towards the female side character. Passion and love are long gone. True love is…???] The comments froze. My heart sank. Ethan and I were middle school classmates, childhood sweethearts. In middle school, his parents were busy with business, so they sent Ethan to live with his grandmother in our town. We were desk mates then. At first, we just secretly liked each other, but no one broke that layer of window paper. It wasn’t until the year of the SATs, when Ethan’s parents retired and settled in the capital, wanting to take Ethan back for his senior year and the exams. Ethan finally confessed to me, grabbing my hand and asking me to trust him, saying he would definitely go to the same university as me, and that I had long been in his future plans. Those hands were sweaty, but his eyes were full of stars that made my heart flutter. It was the sweetness and shared goals of these years that made me unable to believe the love-crazed man in the comments was Ethan. I suddenly thought of the day Ethan received the love letter a week ago. That day was the grade-wide cleaning day. The homeroom teacher of the class next door went into labor days early. The whole floor was in chaos. Ethan and several other male teachers went to help take her to the hospital. When getting off work, I picked up Ethan’s textbooks and backpack for him. Just as I picked them up, a thin pink letter paper fluttered to the ground. The handwriting was like the person. Delicate and quiet. It read: [Mr. Thorne, I’ve had a crush on you for a long time. Will you be my boyfriend?] Signed: Lily Evans. That night I showed the confession letter to Ethan. His face looked terrible. “Did Lily really write this?” “Could it be a punishment for losing a game of Truth or Dare?” “I’ll go to school tomorrow and have a good talk with her!” The more he spoke, the more Ethan seemed ready to fight. I was the one who stopped him, telling him to ask the experienced Dean for advice first. I also persuaded him. As a woman, being both Lily’s homeroom teacher and his fiancée, if we really needed to talk to Lily, I might be more suitable than him. But with heavy teaching tasks and many homeroom duties, this dragged on until today. Lily’s confession. Ethan’s attitude. And the Dean’s sentence just now, the fact that Ethan had sponsored Lily for a year. I pinched my brow, feeling a headache coming on. The comments that had frozen just now started scrolling again. More densely than before. [What nonsense is the male lead talking about?! What do you mean ‘demonstrate how you concluded you like the teacher’?!] [This is smut, bro. Just do it already. How can you use your 98.6°F mouth to say words that cause premature ejaculation?!] [I’m out. I’ll come back tonight when the female lead gets framed by the male side character for the paid content.] [Hohoho, I’ll come back tonight too.] 3 I decided to call Lily’s parents. Unexpectedly, as soon as I spoke, I was caught off guard by their attitude. “Don’t look for me if there’s trouble. Isn’t there a sucker willing to sponsor her? Go find whoever’s sponsoring her! We didn’t ask her to study. Unless she gets knocked up or dies! Otherwise, don’t bother us!” In the background, besides the grumpy middle-aged male voice, there were a woman’s screams and a baby’s loud crying. “Damn woman, can you feed the kid! Make Jack stop crying! My head is about to explode!” I couldn’t believe it: “Lily’s parent…” But the next second, the phone hung up with a snap. The busy tone beeped in the receiver. The substitute teacher for the class next door asked: “Was that Lily’s family?” Seeing me nod, she sighed. “That child is pitiful.” “Her parents worked out of town before and left her with the elderly at home. Last year her parents got pregnant and had a second child. Seeing it was a boy, they immediately didn’t want their daughter to continue studying to save money for the family.” “I heard that they even beat her up at the school gate before.” I quickly asked when this happened. The substitute teacher said it was last year, right when she started tenth grade. Seeing my face turn pale, she comforted me, saying there were so many students in the class, even a homeroom teacher couldn’t cover everything and notice everyone. “Especially since this is your first time being a homeroom teacher.” She comforted me like this. But my heart was still heavy. The second period was my class. Lily sat in her seat with her bangs drooping. I carefully observed this girl for the first time. Thin, frail, face pale, sitting there silently with very little presence, as if any random shadow could crush her. Could such a girl confess to a teacher in front of all her classmates? After class, I called the Chinese class representative. I had seen her holding hands with Lily going to the restroom a few times before, thinking they were good friends. “But Ms. Sarah, Lily and I haven’t been friends for a long time.” The girl twisted her fingers, looking uneasy. “She always lies, saying how good her parents are to her, saying her parents made big money in the city and would buy a house when they return, giving her the best room as a bedroom. But actually, her parents ignore her.” “Last New Year’s Eve party ended too late. My parents happened to be on a business trip and I was afraid to stay alone, so I asked if I could go back to her house with her. As a result, her parents wouldn’t even open the door for her. We waited for fully half an hour before her grandma opened a crack for us to sneak in. Only then did I know her family wasn’t like what she said at all.” “Teacher, I don’t want to be friends with a liar. Is that wrong?” the class representative asked me. Is it wrong? My subconscious answer was no. But as a teacher, I couldn’t jump to conclusions so easily. “Is there any student bullying her in class?” The little girl shook her head, avoiding my eyes, and said: “I don’t know.” I smiled at her, signaling her to leave first, then called the next student in. Asked the same question. “Are you friends with Lily? Is anyone bullying her in class?” A class is like a small society. No matter how much of an ivory tower it is, students will be divided into ranks. Those with good grades, rich families, and good looks will naturally be sorted into the most popular tier. I asked more than ten girls in a row. The answers I got were that they weren’t friends with Lily, weren’t familiar, and didn’t know if anyone in class bullied her. Although Lily was reticent, she was careful and serious. Teachers usually asked her to help collect homework, so her interaction with classmates couldn’t be too little. But the answers I got now made me suspicious. Ding. The phone vibrated. Ethan sent a message saying he took the afternoon off. I didn’t reply to him. The next period was self-study. I decided to sneak into the class to take a look first. 4 Just approaching the class, I suddenly heard a gasp. Looking in through the small round window at the back of the classroom, I saw Lily bending over to pick up a homework notebook, while the class monitor, Brad Miller, stood in front of her with a bad smirk, stepping on the notebook with his limited edition sneakers, preventing the girl from pulling it out no matter how hard she tried. Brad was not only the class monitor but also handsome, had excellent grades, and his family was very wealthy. Several teachers told me they saw a driver picking him up in a luxury car after school. The boys sitting below had lights in their eyes. The girls all kept their heads down, as if reading seriously. “Yes, bend over just like that. The view from this angle is the most beautiful.” “Didn’t expect the lying girl to brag so much, but her chest is flat as a runway.” After speaking, Brad ordered Lily not to move and took out his phone to record. I watched dumbfounded, simply unable to believe it. The thin girl bent over in humiliation. Even from this distance, I could see her tears falling drop by drop. Other classmates in the class acted as if sacrificing Lily would keep them safe, all lowering their eyes and staying silent. Not friends?! No one bullying her?! This was clearly isolating Lily for fear of getting burned! In an instant, my anger shot to the top of my head, feeling like every hair was about to explode. I lifted my foot and walked towards the classroom. Sharp-eared students obviously discovered my arrival. There was a flurry of panic in the classroom. By the time I walked in, Brad had already picked up the notebook on the ground and handed it to Lily seriously. “Student Lily, this is my homework.” At this moment, he put on that good student mask again. Sunny, gentle, polite. I pretended not to see what just happened and looked at Brad. “Brad Miller, come to my office.” In my peripheral vision, Lily’s expression was pale and terribly ugly.

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After covering for the girl my two childhood best friends liked for the umpteenth time, they stopped me with smiles as I was leaving school. “Cover for her just one more time today? We’re going on a date tonight. Please?” I looked up and whispered: “Not today. I have a date too.” One friend’s smile instantly vanished, replaced by a cold smirk. “If you don’t want to do her chores, at least come up with a better excuse. Who could you possibly have a date with?” Seeing my silence, the other friend’s smile disappeared completely. He slammed his hand against the wall, pinning me there. “You’re really going on a date? “With who?!” 1 After class, I was taking out my umbrella to head home when Lucas grabbed my arm. “Don’t go yet. Do the cleaning duty first.” I looked back. Chloe’s name was written on the blackboard under “Cleaning Duty.” “It’s not my turn today—” “Chloe has cramps,” Lucas smirked, his handsome fox-like eyes curving up. He naturally patted my shoulder. “So, I’m counting on you. I’m gonna take Chloe home first.” Saying that, he slung his backpack over one shoulder and moved to give Chloe a piggyback ride. A hint of amusement flashed in Chloe’s eyes as she playfully hit him. “I don’t need you to carry me. I said it’s nothing serious. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.” Lucas half-knelt in front of her, looking up. “How is it nothing? Girls need to rest when they have cramps. Harper is a girl too, she’ll understand. “Right, Harper?” I pressed my lips together. “…Fine.” As soon as I put down my backpack, the umbrella tucked on the side was pulled out by a long, pale hand. Ethan took off his rimless glasses and frowned at Lucas. “Are you planning to let Chloe walk in the rain? She can’t catch a cold.” He glanced at me. “I’m taking the umbrella. The rain looks like it’ll stop soon. You can leave when it stops.” With that, one carried Chloe while the other held the umbrella over her, and they walked out together. Chloe turned back, a slightly apologetic look on her exquisite face. “Harper, we’ll be going then.” … Their figures quickly disappeared into the rain. I withdrew my gaze and started cleaning. This was the third time this month I had covered for Chloe, and she was only scheduled three times a month. The time before last, she had a piano lesson. before I could even agree, Lucas agreed for me. “Piano lessons are important. You have your level test coming up. Harper doesn’t have anything to do anyway.” Last time, a new movie Chloe liked was released. Both Lucas and Ethan wanted to watch it with her, so the cleaning duty was left to me. I silently swept the entire classroom, mopped it once, and started erasing the blackboard. The blackboard was too high. I couldn’t reach the top words even after jumping a few times. Just as I was about to get a chair, a hand reached out from behind me. A hand with defined knuckles, clean and beautiful. It took the eraser from me and wiped away the words in a few strokes. Startled, I turned around abruptly and found Julian, the academic representative, standing behind me. He was so close I could smell the scent of sea salt and lemon on him—light, dry, and completely out of place with the humidity. Before I could speak, he said: “It doesn’t seem to be your turn today?” The girls at school always argued about who was the hottest: Ethan, Lucas, or Julian. But maybe because I was with Ethan and Lucas every day, seeing Julian up close felt more impactful. His light brown eyes were clear and clean, his eyelashes long and light like butterfly wings. “Chloe isn’t feeling well, so I’m helping her. “Why haven’t you left yet?” Julian didn’t show much expression, just helped me erase the entire board. “Went to the office to drop off papers. Came back and saw you—” he seemed to chuckle, “jumping.” I blushed. “Thanks.” “No problem.” Julian put the eraser on the podium. “Done? Shall we go?” I waved my hand. “You go ahead. I don’t have an umbrella. I’ll wait for the rain to stop.” He pulled out a black umbrella. “Let’s go together. I have one.” … “You often cover for Chloe? I’ve seen it before.” “Yeah, she… has things to do.” “She has a lot of things to do,” Julian tilted the umbrella towards me. “You seem pretty close with Ethan and Lucas?” “Yeah, we’re all friends. Including Chloe.” “If you’re friends, why do you do all the work alone?” I was speechless, kicking a small stone. “You’re busy too, right? I heard you have cram school at night. Why don’t you refuse her?” I paused. “If I refuse, they’ll be unhappy. We’re friends.” “What happens if they’re unhappy?” “We won’t be friends anymore?” I blurted out. “I only have these three friends.” “Then be friends with me.” We stopped at the entrance of my apartment building simultaneously. The jacaranda blossoms in the complex were beaten down by the rain, petals blowing in the wind. Julian held the black umbrella and smiled at me. “Are we friends now?” No one could say no to that face. I nodded. “Of course. Thanks for walking me home today.” “Just a verbal thanks?” I froze, looking up at Julian. The right side of his uniform, away from me, was completely soaked, while I was barely wet. But he didn’t seem to feel it at all, his smile gentle. “Then accompany me to the library the day after tomorrow. You wouldn’t refuse a friend, right?” 3 After showering that night, I saw Chloe’s message tagging me in the group chat. “Harper, are you home? Sorry for troubling you again. It’s all because those two insisted on sending me home. I said it was nothing, but they made it so tense.” I dried my hair. “I’m home.” “You didn’t have an umbrella. How did you get back?” Lucas suddenly asked. “Someone walked me home.” “Who was it?” Chloe sent a voice message with a laugh. “Is our Harper dating?” Ethan rarely sent messages in the group, usually only replying after Chloe spoke. “Impossible. Who would date Harper?” Lucas chimed in: “Exactly. She’s a nerd. Who would be interested in her?” Chloe laughed louder. “Why do you say that about Harper? She’s great, pretty and smart.” “Pretty?” Lucas scoffed. “Far worse than you. If she’s pretty, what are you?” Ethan: “Chloe, you’re just too kind. If you don’t tell the truth, she won’t see herself clearly. What if she gets tricked?” Messages popped up one after another. My mood, which had improved because of Julian, hit rock bottom again. I put down my phone and lay down gloomily. This wasn’t the first time. I knew that in our so-called clique, they actually looked down on me. I could understand. Ethan, Lucas, and Chloe were the dazzling types. Good-looking, wealthy families, excellent themselves. Only I was the most inconspicuous one. If we hadn’t grown up together, I might never have crossed paths with people like them in my life. Ethan and Lucas both liked Chloe. When the four of us were together, I was always transparent. It had been this way since childhood. I seemed to have gotten used to not refusing them. I rolled over, remembering what Julian said before leaving. “Treating you like this… do they really consider you a friend?” 4 On the day of Chloe’s cleaning duty, Lucas shoved the broom into my hands again. “We’re taking Chloe to the movies tonight. Cover for her.” Ethan had already picked up Chloe’s bag. Chloe waved at me with a smile. “Thanks, Harper!” I paused, then handed the broom back to Lucas. “Sorry, but I have a date today too.” The smiles on their three faces froze simultaneously. “A date?” Chloe curled her lip, putting on a generous act. “Haha, Harper, you just don’t want to cover for me, right? True, I’ve troubled you a lot this month.” Lucas frowned, his thick eyebrows knitting together. “A date? With who? Harper, if you’re making an excuse, find a better one. Who else do you know besides us?” Ethan turned his inorganic-looking eyes behind the rimless glasses towards me. “Harper, stop messing around. Chloe really wants to see this movie. Just cover for her once, it’s not like you haven’t done it before.” “It’s true,” I lowered my head. “We agreed to go to the library. I’m not messing around.” Chloe raised an eyebrow. “Can’t you do the cleaning first? It won’t take long.” “No,” I glanced at my watch. “It’s almost time. I’m leaving first.” Chloe’s smile faded. She tugged lightly at Lucas. “Can you and Ethan persuade Harper? Is she angry because I trouble her too much? “Or is she… really dating? Is it the person who walked her home last time?” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ethan and Lucas’s expressions darken. Ethan blocked my path. “Who walked you home last time? Who are you meeting?” Before I could speak, Lucas pinned me against the wall. “In such a hurry to leave? Harper, speak clearly. Are you really dating?” He lowered his brow, eyes dark. “Who is it?!” “Me.” Julian walked in, pulling me away from Lucas. He was about the same height as Lucas, looking at him levelly with a smile. “Harper is going out with me today. “Let’s go.” Saying that, he helped me with my bag. As we left, his gaze swept over Ethan without a ripple.

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1 I was born with a weak heart. The doctors said I wouldn’t live to see eighteen. When I was ten, my parents brought home a blind girl they said was my twin sister. Our family doted on me, lavishing me with affection, but they were always cold to my sister. Everyone whispered that Hope existed for one reason: to give me her heart. So I poured all my love into this girl who looked just like me, trying to soothe the guilt that clawed at my soul. Then came my eighteenth birthday. I lay on the operating table, ready. But it wasn’t my heart they took. It was my corneas. And then I died. And my sister, Hope, received the gift of sight. … The moment the heart monitor let out its long, final scream, I thought my life had ended right there. A torrent of memories flooded my mind, finally settling on the instant I first opened the door and saw Hope. The day she arrived, I was curled up on the huge cashmere sofa in the living room, sipping my expensive imported medication. The door swung open, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and a world I’d never known. She stood in the doorway, a slip of a girl, dark and thin like a wild weed. Her clothes were worn, her small hands clutching a tattered canvas bag. Her eyes were a cloudy gray. Just like mine, and yet, completely different. “This is your sister, Hope,” Mom said. Her voice was flat. She didn’t reach out to touch her. Hope said nothing, her head bowed. It didn’t take me long to realize that Mom didn’t seem to like this new sister. Looking at this child, a mirror image of myself, a strange ache settled deep in my chest. From that day on, I gave her everything I had. New dresses, imported chocolates, my favorite porcelain doll. She was given the small, north-facing room, while I kept the large, sunny one. At dinner, the family would circle me, laughing and piling my plate with the best cuts of meat. When it came to Hope, Mom would just say, “She can get it herself.” Her tone was clipped, dismissive. I knew they cherished me. All because of my heart. The fact that I wouldn’t live past eighteen was my deepest secret. When I was ten, my parents brought Hope home, my blind twin sister. They said she was a gift from God. Everyone told me, in hushed tones, that Hope’s very existence was meant to keep me alive. I believed them. So I tried desperately to be good to her. I wanted to make up for it, to give her everything I had to give. Jane, our housekeeper, used to mutter behind her hand, “Miss Ava is the treasure, Miss Hope is the weed.” I heard her. It only made me give Hope more. One afternoon, I took her by the hand and led her on a tour of the house. “The curtains,” I murmured, guiding her fingers. “Velvet.” “A vase. Glass. It’s cool to the touch.” I helped her find the piano keys. A single, jarring note sprang out. She flinched, then, her curiosity piqued, she reached out again. Later, we sat on the plush rug in my room, bathed in the warm afternoon sun. I don’t know why, but I took her hand and gently pressed it against the left side of my chest. “Hope, feel this,” I said with a smile. “That’s a heartbeat.” Her small, cool hand rested there, perfectly still. After a moment, she took my hand and placed it over her own chest. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. A steady, powerful rhythm. Nothing like the fragile fluttering in my own chest. I froze. We shared the same blood, the same face. Our hearts even seemed to beat in the same rhythm. But mine was dying. And hers, so strong and full of life, was trapped in a world of darkness. I squeezed her hand, a sharp, sudden pain twisting in my gut. Those words that had echoed in my mind for years—Hope’s existence is meant to keep you alive—suddenly felt like a shard of glass, digging into me. In that moment, my resolve wavered. Was all my kindness, all my “goodness,” an act of salvation, or was it a slow, deliberate act of… murder? 2 The memories blurred into a swirling darkness, and through the chaos, I thought I heard voices. “It’s done,” a man’s calm voice said, laced with post-surgical fatigue. “A complete success,” another replied. The doctors. So… the surgery worked! I was alive! Hope’s heart was beating in my chest. The realization almost brought me to tears. But a split second later, a tidal wave of guilt crashed over me. Hope… it was Hope, the quiet girl who always followed me, the girl with the healthy heart, who had given it to me. What about her? Was she okay? I fought with every ounce of my consciousness to open my eyes, to get one last look at her on the operating table next to mine. But my eyelids felt like they were sealed shut, heavy and immovable. There was only darkness, and the voices, growing clearer. “Finally, we can breathe again.” That was Mom’s voice, from just outside the operating room door. “Yes,” Dad replied after a pause. “Eight years. It wasn’t for nothing.” A faint tremor went through me. Eight years… were they waiting for me to be saved? They must have been in agony all this time. Now, they could finally relax. I struggled to rise, focusing my will against the oppressive darkness. Light flooded in. I instinctively turned my head to the other operating table. Hope was lying there peacefully, her eyes wrapped in gauze, but her chest rose and fell with the gentle rhythm of her breathing. She… she was alive! Thank God, we both made it. A wave of bewildered relief washed over me. The doctors must have found another donor heart at the last minute. Heaven had smiled on us after all. “Hope…” I whispered, stumbling out of bed and moving towards her, needing to tell her I was sorry. I reached out, but my fingertips passed straight through the back of her hand, which was resting on the edge of the bed. No warmth. No substance. I looked down at my own hands, which had become faint and translucent, and finally understood. Turning back, I saw the operating table I had just left. A white sheet had been pulled over it, outlining the still form of a human body. I drifted closer and gently lifted the corner of the sheet. The “me” underneath had her eyes covered with clean white gauze, as if she were merely asleep. So… I didn’t make it through the surgery after all. I looked at my transparent hands, then at the bandages over Hope’s eyes. No, it couldn’t be. Mom and Dad loved me so much, they would never… But that phrase, “Eight years, it wasn’t for nothing,” now echoed in my mind with a chilling new meaning. The doors to the operating room swung open and a team of nurses came in, expertly maneuvering Hope’s gurney out into the hallway. I followed them, a silent, invisible shadow. My parents were waiting right outside. They rushed forward. Mom gently brushed the hair from Hope’s forehead. Dad leaned in, his voice low as he asked the doctor, “Will she… will she be able to see soon?” “The surgery was a complete success. Once she recovers, her vision will be perfectly restored.” Their faces broke into smiles of pure, unadulterated relief, the likes of which I had never seen in all my years. It was as if losing one daughter was a cause for celebration. My parents walked alongside the gurney, disappearing down the long, bright hospital corridor. Not once did either of them look back. I stood alone in the empty hallway, watching their silhouettes fade into the light. A pang of sadness hit me, but I was happy for them, too. Hope could finally see. It wouldn’t do to have my body around on such a joyous day. It would only bring bad luck. They could finally start a new life. No more worrying about their sickly daughter, no more anxiously counting down the days. A moment later, an orderly came in and turned the gurney holding my body in the other direction. “So young. Such a shame.” “I heard she donated her corneas to her sister.” The wheels of the gurney hummed softly as they rolled down the cold, sterile hallway, heading for the morgue. I see now. I wasn’t the one who received a heart. I was the one who gave my eyes. My death, in exchange for Hope’s light. 3 When I floated into the hospital room, Mom was gently dabbing Hope’s lips with a moistened cotton swab. Dad stood by the bed, his gaze locked on the gauze over Hope’s eyes. He had a look of intense focus I thought I recognized, but now realized I had never truly received. He was rarely home when I was growing up, and when he was, he usually kept to his study. He gave me anything I asked for; whatever I wanted would appear at my bedside the next day. I used to think he was just a serious man, that men didn’t know how to express their love. Because whenever he looked at me, there was always a subtle, impenetrable distance in his eyes. Now, watching him look at Hope, that distance was gone. A few days later, the bandages came off. Hope blinked, her new eyes adjusting to the light, and whispered, “Dad.” Just that one word, and my father’s eyes welled up with tears. He pulled her into a fierce hug, his shoulders trembling slightly. I had called him ‘Dad’ countless times. All I ever got in return was a restrained, polite smile. It wasn’t that he was incapable of emotion; he just wasn’t capable of feeling it for me. Back home, there was no memorial, not even a photograph. The family portrait above the fireplace was gone. The clay mugs I’d made for them, the slippers I’d bought—vanished. Every trace of my existence had been scrubbed away with a chilling, heartbreaking efficiency. Maybe it was for the best. This way, they wouldn’t have to look at my things and feel sad. People have to move on. “Welcome home.” Dad took Hope’s hand, his voice softer and warmer than I had ever heard it. He led her through every room, as if she were the true mistress of the house, finally returning. They stopped at the door to my old bedroom. It was completely empty. The walls were a stark, clinical white, freshly painted. “We’ll make this your art studio,” Mom said, her voice bright with anticipation. “You mentioned you wanted to learn how to paint.” Hope nodded softly. I remembered when Hope had first expressed an interest in painting. Mom had shut her down instantly, claiming there were “no spare rooms.” It wasn’t a lie, I realized. They were just waiting. Waiting for me to be gone. Waiting for Hope to see. But why would a blind girl be so obsessed with painting? The question surfaced, and I quickly pushed it down. She could see now. It was only natural she’d want to learn. As Mom gently stroked Hope’s hair, a hazy, fragmented memory flickered in my mind. It felt like a lifetime ago. Mom, stroking my hair just like that, humming a lullaby. But the name she was murmuring wasn’t Ava. What was it? A softer sound… something like… Grace? I shook my head, my spirit wavering. It had to be a hallucination. My name had always been Ava. Dad said they chose it hoping I would forget my illness and grow up healthy. Dad brought over a large art book and sat down beside Hope. “Look,” he said, his finger tracing over a page. “These are Monet’s Water Lilies. See how beautiful the colors are?” His eyes were full of a gentle adoration. I suddenly remembered the art book he’d given me for my last birthday. It was still sitting on the highest shelf of my bookcase, the wrapping untouched. “You have a weak constitution, Ava,” he’d said at the time. “You shouldn’t strain your eyes with things like this.” Looking back, he was right. A broken body like mine shouldn’t have dared to dream of such things. Hope looked up at him and asked quietly, “Would… would my sister have liked these paintings?” The air in the room instantly froze. The smiles on my parents’ faces hardened. “Don’t talk about her.” Mom’s voice was a whisper, but it landed like a hammer blow on my heart. “Your sister…” Dad began, then trailed off. He simply patted Hope’s head. “The most important thing right now is for your eyes to heal properly.” My heart ached, but I quickly pushed the feeling away. They were just worried that talking about me would upset Hope. Her recovery was fragile; she didn’t need any emotional distress. I watched the three of them sitting together in the sunlight, a perfect picture of family harmony. This was good. Hope could see, and my parents were finally free from the burden of caring for me. My sacrifice had been worth it. I just didn’t understand why my chest still hurt. My heart wasn’t even beating anymore. 4 I lingered in the house I had known for eighteen years, a ghost watching my former family build a new life without me. A noise from the living room drew my attention. I floated over to see Dad taping an eye chart to the wall. “Alright, Hope, let’s see how far down you can read,” he said, his voice brimming with hopeful encouragement. Mom stood nearby, her hands clasped together in nervous anticipation. Hope stepped forward and, without hesitation, read off the smallest line of symbols. “Oh, thank God!” Mom cried, pulling her into a tight embrace, her voice thick with emotion. “You can see clearly, you can see…” Dad’s face relaxed into a wide, relieved smile as he gently patted Hope’s back. I hovered in place, stunned. I remembered last year after my school physical, I’d proudly shown Dad my vision test results—perfect 20/20 vision. He’d barely glanced at it. “Protect your eyes,” he’d said dismissively. “Stop staring at your phone so much.” At the time, I thought he just wasn’t the type to give praise. But now, looking at him with Hope, I saw a completely different man. After dinner, Mom brought out a brand-new photo album. “Let’s sort through the old photos, Hope,” she said, her voice light and cheerful, full of the promise of a fresh start. “We need to make room for all the new memories we’re going to make.” I drifted closer to look. In the thick family album, every single photograph that had included me had been removed. The empty, plastic-covered slots were like gaping wounds, a silent mockery of my eighteen years of life. Nearby, Dad was clearing out the bookshelf. He stacked all my textbooks, my novels, even my award-winning essays into a pile, ready to be sold as scrap paper. He didn’t hesitate for a second. My academic awards were still tacked to the study wall. He reached up, ripped them down in one swift motion, crumpled them into a ball, and tossed them into a cardboard box at his feet. He moved with the casual efficiency of someone cleaning out old junk. Among them was my first-ever drawing from kindergarten. A crayon portrait of the three of us. I remember Dad had praised it, even had it framed. Now, it was just another piece of trash. Every single piece of evidence that I had ever existed was being systematically and ruthlessly erased. Except for one thing. A locked drawer in the study desk, a drawer that had remained shut for as long as I could remember, was left untouched. I stood right beside my father, watching him. He felt nothing. As he reached for the top shelf, a dusty, unfamiliar photo album I’d never seen before slipped and fell to the floor. It flipped open to a page with pictures of two babies in identical christening gowns. Underneath each photo, a name was written in elegant cursive. One read: “Grace, 100 Days.” The other: “Lily, 100 Days.” I stared at the names, frozen. Grace? Lily? The unfamiliar names sent a strange, sharp pang through me. Dad walked over, picked up the album without a second glance, and tossed it into the box of discards. “Just some useless old photos,” he said, more to himself than to anyone else. Later, Mom went to the kitchen to prepare Hope’s bedtime milk. She opened the highest cabinet and took down the familiar white bottle—the “imported heart medication” I had taken for eight years straight. “Does she still need to take this?” Dad asked, walking into the kitchen. “The doctor said to continue for a while longer to be safe.” Mom expertly crushed two pills into a fine powder and stirred them into the warm milk. “It’s good for her eyes’ recovery.” I was paralyzed. Good for her eyes? As Mom carried the glass of milk out of the kitchen, a curled corner of the label on the pill bottle snagged and peeled away, fluttering to the floor. I instinctively floated closer, my non-existent heart freezing as I read the original name hidden beneath the fake one. Corneal Preservation Solution. And in smaller print: For maintaining corneal viability and preventing tissue necrosis. The weight of the truth was so immense it felt like it could crush my very soul. For eight years, the pills I’d taken every single day weren’t to keep me alive. They were to keep my eyes perfectly preserved for someone else.

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