Category: English

Ten years after yanking the elusive golden boy off his pedestal, I, Cassidy “Cass” Jones, finally stopped pretending for Preston Brandon. I redecorated the apartment in the Vegas-flashy, ‘new money’ style I actually liked. I meticulously calculated and emailed him the household expenses, demanding we split them. I even got into a screaming match with a neighbor, the kind of public brawl that had the cops knocking on the door. When Preston walked in, I was standing in the hallway, hands on my hips, shouting loud enough for the whole floor to hear. “Mrs. Davison, my contractors work nine to five. Perfectly legal. Your kid plays the cello like he’s sawing a tree down at ten o’clock every night. Are you really calling the police on yourself for a noise complaint?” Mrs. Davison’s face went purple with fury. “You—you’re being ridiculous!” I didn’t budge. “I’m being factual!” Preston strode forward, his brow severely furrowed, a quiet disapproval radiating off him. “Cass, that’s enough. They’re neighbors. You need to play nice and apologize.” I finally raised my eyes to look at him. 1 He was wearing a simple white button-down and black slacks, yet he still exuded that innate, aloof refinement—the kind money and art had steeped into him—making him look utterly out of place amidst the chaos. Even Mrs. Davison, moments ago hysterical, flushed and began waving her hands. “Never mind, never mind. It’s a minor thing, apologies for disturbing you, Mr. Brandon.” But I turned my hostility on him, my voice sharp. “I’m entirely in the right. If you can’t handle it, you can always go back and live at the Estate.” Preston stiffened. He always hated my vulgar taste, my penny-pinching habits, and my aggressive, market-raised spirit. To please him, I had spent years suppressing my nature, trying to be the muted, quiet, uncontentious wife he seemed to want. This recent behavior was a complete reversal. Since Mrs. Davison backed down, the impromptu mediation was over. I was already disinterested, turning to walk into the apartment, when he called me back. “What is this temper tantrum really about?” Preston stared at me, searching my face for an answer. “If this is about Sienna staying at the Estate, I can explain. She just got back into the country, and I simply—” “What does that have to do with me?” I cut him off, genuinely confused. “That’s your family property. You can let anyone you want stay there.” His confusion deepened. “But you were the one who helped me buy the Estate back. If it’s not that, then what is it?” I sighed. “I’m not throwing a tantrum. This is just who I am, Preston. You know that.” Before he could speak again, I reached up and straightened his collar. “Never mind all that. Today is the ten-year anniversary of my father’s death. Get cleaned up. We’re going to the cemetery.” We went downstairs, where two town cars were waiting. Preston hesitated for a moment, then, to my surprise, got into the same car as me. I raised an eyebrow; he usually refused to be close to me because he couldn’t stand the faint scent of fish that always clung to my clothes. But I didn’t care about the small details anymore. I told the driver to start and turned my gaze to the city rushing by. If it hadn’t been for the Brandon family’s spectacular bankruptcy a decade ago, Preston and I would have remained galaxies apart. His father had been a shipping magnate. His mother, a socialite. Preston himself had studied under master artists since childhood, holding his first gallery exhibition at fifteen. He was the Brandon golden boy, the celestial being everyone in the City envied. My father was just their sous chef. My family ran a fish stall in the gritty Fulton Market Area to make ends meet. Everyone said Preston was the moon, and I was the dirt beneath their feet. That no amount of polish could ever make me worthy. Then their sky fell. His father’s investments tanked. Debt collectors swarmed the mansion, and his parents took their own lives. I was sixteen. That morning, my father had simply said, “The Brandon family is in trouble. I need to go see about them.” I waited all day. What returned was my father, bleeding and barely conscious, and a frantic, panicked Preston. “Cass, get the Young Master out of here…” My father choked out the words, then died. I looked down at Preston, who was kneeling beside my father’s body. The Brandon golden boy, the one I’d been secretly crushing on for years, looked like a drenched, beautiful stray. My heart hammered in my chest. I knew I shouldn’t, but I grabbed his hand and ran with him into the rainy night. I took him back to my tiny railroad apartment. He took one sniff of the fish smell and threw up. While I cleaned it up, I remember thinking, A prince’s stomach is so delicate. But I was willing to sacrifice everything for him. To support this precious young man, I got up at four a.m. to buy fish at the wholesale market, opened my stall at seven, worked a waitressing gig in the afternoon, and strung beads for jewelry late into the night. The first money I earned was always for him: canvas, oil paint, and the precise blend of Blue Mountain coffee he preferred. Once, he frowned and said, “The color in this paint isn’t pure enough.” I quietly asked the art supply store owner, who explained, “The pure pigments have to be specially ordered. A set is three thousand dollars.” I bit the bullet and took on three overnight beading jobs to save the money. When I presented the box of paint to him, he only said, “Thank you.” His tone was polite, distant, and formal. I was so happy I couldn’t sleep that night. Three years later, my seafood restaurant opened. I drank some wine that night, and the courage hit me. I took his hand and blurted out, “Preston, I’m crazy about you. So, so crazy.” Preston was silent for a long time. Outside, the neon lights of the City never dimmed. Inside, my heart was a wild thing. I watched his handsome profile and told myself that if he said no, I would understand. He was the moon; I was the mud. We were never meant to be. But Preston said, “Okay.” I laughed, and then I cried. I knew he was accepting out of debt—to repay the favor. I knew I was greedy; I had the man, but now I wanted his heart. But a lifetime is a long time. I was sure I would get my way eventually. Until Sienna Reed came back. She was his cherished childhood sweetheart, his former painting apprentice, and the girl he was once destined to marry. “Is all this change because of Sienna? She and I are truly just old acquaintances…” Preston had been holding it in all the way, and the question finally broke through, interrupting my memories. “Yes and no,” I said, shrugging indifferently. “After we finish honoring my father, I’ll tell you exactly what’s going on.” Preston had to settle for that, stuffing his anxiety back down. The car was only two blocks from the Northside Cemetery when his phone rang abruptly. He answered, and the sound of Sienna’s delicate, soft voice spilled from the line. “Preston, a pipe burst at the Estate, and there’s water everywhere! I’m so scared… can you please come over?” I acted as if I hadn’t heard, staring out the window, entirely unconcerned. Preston glanced at me, his frown deepening. “Sienna, I’m not free right now. Just turn off the main water valve. I’ll call the building management…” “I don’t know where the valve is!” Sienna sobbed, cutting him off. “Preston, are you still mad at me? My parents forced me to leave a decade ago, and there hasn’t been a day I haven’t regretted it. I’m sorry, but please don’t abandon me…” The air in the car solidified for a few agonizing seconds. The sound of weeping and gushing water over the phone was sharp in Preston’s ear. He squeezed his phone, took a deep breath, and turned to me. “Something happened at the Estate. Sienna was always pampered; she can’t handle this alone.” “Cass, I…” I had already anticipated his choice. I didn’t have the patience to listen to his elaborate excuses. I signaled the driver to pull over and unlocked Preston’s door. My tone was sincere, a simple nudge. “Just go. Don’t keep her waiting.” 2 Before stepping out of the car, Preston made a solemn promise: “I’ll be back as soon as possible. Wait for me.” I didn’t answer. Once his tall, elegant back had vanished into the stream of passersby, I told the driver to keep going. I didn’t doubt Preston intended to keep his word; I just knew Sienna Reed would ensure he couldn’t. When the Brandon family went bankrupt, all their friends scattered, and Sienna and her parents emigrated. Last month, she finally returned and made a beeline for Preston. I happened to be home. I opened the door to find Sienna standing there in a designer suit, adorned with perfect pearls—her entire look screaming ‘unapproachable wealth.’ I had to wonder who this elegant stranger was. Sienna bypassed me and looked into the apartment, her delicate eyebrows drawing together in a look of profound pity. “Preston’s been living here all these years? He’s been so wronged.” I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes. Two thousand square feet of prime City real estate, with panoramic skyline views, was “wronged”? When Preston emerged from his studio, Sienna immediately rushed forward and embraced him with an easy, intimate familiarity. “Preston, I missed you so much. It’s been too long.” I coughed twice. Sienna finally seemed to notice my presence, turning to flash a polite, practiced smile. “You must be Cass. Thank you for taking care of Preston all this time.” Her tone was the classic, patronizing delivery of a true hostess thanking the maid. I pulled my lips into a thin line. “My pleasure.” Sienna exchanged numbers with me, then took Preston’s arm, ready to leave for dinner. Before stepping out, she gave me an apologetic glance. “Cass, are you sure you don’t want to join? Though we’ll probably be talking about things you wouldn’t understand…” Before I could reply, Preston nodded slightly, his voice flat. “Cass, stay home. I’ll see you later.” I waited up until midnight that night. Then, I received Sienna’s first text. «Cass, Preston is helping me set up the gallery, so he won’t be home for a few days. Just wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t worry.» Three days later, the second one arrived. «Preston gifted me several of his paintings to be the cornerstones of the gallery. I hope you don’t mind.» A week ago, the third. «I just found the sketchpad he kept from childhood. He drew me in it all the time. I heard he’s never painted a single thing for you? Is that true?» I never replied to any of them. The car reached the cemetery. I walked up the hill alone, set out the offerings, lit the incense, and had just finished my third bow when my phone buzzed. It was Sienna again. «Preston soaked his shirt fixing the pipes, so he can’t make it to the memorial. I know today is special, and I’m genuinely sorry, but please stop using gratitude to tie Preston down.» «Even though Preston is honorable, your backgrounds are too far apart, and you don’t understand his artistic vision. Letting him go now will be better for both of you.» The usual polite, veiled sneering was gone, replaced by a raw, brutal honesty. I read every word, then let out a cynical, short laugh. She was right. I truly didn’t understand Preston’s art. Every time I was asked to critique his work, all I could squeeze out was some hollow platitude like, “The colors are so pretty,” or “It looks exactly like the ocean.” Preston would simply nod, uninterested, and never asked for my opinion again. I even tried to suck up to him once, offering a massive sum to buy one of his skyline paintings to hang in my restaurant lobby. Preston had looked up at me, his eyes as cold and distant as if I were a stranger. “Cass,” he’d said, “don’t cheapen my art with money.” I was mortified, unable to speak, and never raised the subject again. Yet, the moment Sienna needed a gallery, Preston personally packed up most of his recent work and sent it over to boost her standing. And the sketchpad. Preston had treasured that thing. When he wanted to retrieve it from the abandoned Brandon Estate, he was so distraught I had to go in his stead. I twisted my ankle jumping out a window, got caught, and took a few solid hits to the head. Blood ran into my eyes, but my first instinct was to feel for the notebook in my jacket. It was safe. I hadn’t known what was inside, only that it was his treasure. It was filled with drawings of Sienna. I supposed I should thank Sienna for showing me where Preston’s heart truly lay. Otherwise, I would have continued to bury my head in the sand, grinding my way through a strained marriage. After all, Preston would never be the one to ask for a divorce. I touched the cold stone of the headstone and recalled the first time he visited this grave. He had knelt, his back ramrod straight, and his voice was earnest and serious. “Sir, I promise to spend my entire life repaying you and Cass for your kindness. I will always be with her.” He had meant it. A life for a life. He kept his promise. But I never wanted his gratitude. I only ever wanted his genuine love. I sighed, then typed my first-ever response to Sienna. «You’re right. Preston is honorable, which is how a girl like me got so lucky in the first place.» «No matter how late, he will be back today to pay his respects to the man who saved him.» I hit send, switched off my phone, and pulled the pre-signed divorce agreement from my bag, using a flat stone to hold it down against the headstone. I turned and walked back down the hill. I didn’t look back once. At nine that night, I was reviewing the restaurant’s monthly accounts when Preston’s call came in. His tone was heavy. “Cass, you didn’t wait for me, and you left a divorce agreement behind. What does this mean?”

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Ethan Sterling, a man always aloof and abstinent, drove to pick me up. Surprisingly, he let his new assistant sit in the passenger seat. I knew then that this marriage couldn’t be saved. 1 That day, Ethan Sterling drove to pick me up. When I opened the passenger door, I was stunned. A young and pretty girl was sitting in the passenger seat, smiling sweetly at me. “Hello, Mrs. Sterling!” The girl greeted me politely. But she had no intention of getting up to give me the seat. I narrowed my eyes slightly and turned my gaze to Ethan. Ethan lowered his eyes to answer the phone, not noticing the turbulent undercurrent here. We had agreed to go to an auction together today. I was looking forward to this date with him and had dressed up carefully, but I didn’t expect someone else to be sitting in his passenger seat. “Hello, Mrs. Sterling, my name is Bella White. I’m Mr. Sterling’s new assistant.” The girl’s lips curled into a warm smile. Two shallow dimples appeared, looking exceptionally sweet. “I heard you are going to a private auction tonight, so I begged Mr. Sterling to take me along to broaden my horizons. Don’t worry, I definitely won’t disturb you.” My heart sank instantly. I knew this aloof and perfect man in front of me too well. He had always kept a distance from others. He wouldn’t let others step into his territory easily. We came together through an arranged marriage. After much consideration, we chose each other. Outsiders joked that I would be living like a widow. But after confirming the relationship. Ethan would hug me with gentle eyes. When passionate, his eyes would also turn slightly red. He said: “You are my wife. Husband and wife are one body. You are naturally different from others.” Today, something seemed to have changed. 2 But I am not a dodder flower who swallows insults silently. I am Summer Xia, who never needs to look at anyone’s face when angry. “Get out!” I drove her away with a cold face, showing no mercy. The girl was stunned for a long time. She didn’t expect that I would embarrass her directly upon our first meeting. Perhaps my tone was too cold and hard. Bella was at a loss for a moment. “So… sorry, Mrs. Sterling.” The girl’s voice carried a hint of crying as she moved to the back seat dejectedly. Ethan just finished his call and looked at us. He realized I was angry. Helplessness and indulgence spread across his face. The man leaned over to fasten my seatbelt. Noticing the seat had been adjusted, I readjusted it extremely impatiently. All this fuss made me furious. “So annoying, why does someone dare to adjust my passenger seat!” The air pressure inside the car dropped, and the girl was too scared to speak again. Ethan frowned slightly. He suggested calmly. “If you’re in a bad mood today, we’ll go home first.” The woman in the rearview mirror was weeping silently. I felt incredibly annoyed. “Bella, right? I’m not in the mood to go now. You take a taxi back yourself. Mr. Sterling and I are going home.” The girl’s face was pale as she looked weakly at Ethan. The man had no intention of bail her out. The girl got out of the car in despair. 3 Ethan wouldn’t embarrass me in front of outsiders. He always knew how to control his emotions. So he suggested: go home. If there’s an issue, solve it at home. This is our tacit understanding for many years. “She’s just a college student who just entered society. Why do you bicker with her over these things?” Ethan pulled me into his arms. “First time.” Ethan was puzzled: “What?” “In so many years, this is the first time you let another woman sit in your passenger seat.” The man didn’t expect that this was what I cared about. The circle knows how excellent Ethan is. Countless women like him. But he kept himself clean. Flowers dazzle the eyes, but none stick to him. Ethan smiled faintly and rubbed my stray hair. “Can’t believe this made you jealous.” The man leaned down to kiss me, his nose brushing my cheek. “She is my subordinate, nothing more. “I won’t have any other relationship with her.” Ethan cupped my face, gazing into my eyes. He made a promise in a deep voice. 4 A woman’s sixth sense is always accurate. Even though I had only met Bella once. Intuition told me that this girl definitely had other ideas about Ethan. I thought the initial display of power was enough. Unexpectedly, the auction necklace that should have been given to me was worn on the girl’s neck the next day. Ethan’s chief assistant, Heidi, sent me a photo and a screenshot of a WeChat Moment. In the photo, the crescent diamond necklace hung on Bella’s fair neck, making her look even more charming and lovely. The girl’s eyes were red and swollen, but there was a smile on her lips. Presumably, she cried a lot last night after going home. And received someone’s gift. In the screenshot, it was Bella’s Moment: [The President said girls should be strong even when wronged! [Wipe away tears, yes sir, my President!] A few cute emojis of clenched fists cheering. And a picture of the necklace in the box. At that moment, my blood almost coagulated. Although hard to admit, I must confess. I was provoked by her almost to the point of losing my composure. This feeling was uncomfortable, like a beloved white handkerchief stained with a smear of mosquito blood. This feeling was strange to me. I even wanted to drive my yellow Ferrari at 110 mph and slap that woman twice regardless of the truth. But looking at my hand, I felt it was too degrading to take a low-quality green tea bitch seriously. I called Dodo at Hermes. There was uncontrollable joy in Dodo’s tone. She promised me over the phone. “Mrs. Sterling, don’t worry. Even if I have to empty Shanghai today, I will get all the goods ready and deliver them all to you!” So that day. Before getting off work. Except for Bella, all assistants and general office girls of the executives at Sterling Group headquarters, totaling forty-six people, received a generous gift from the President’s wife— A Hermes necklace worth twenty thousand dollars. Although the unit price couldn’t compare to the three hundred thousand dollar auction necklace, the victory was in numbers, which could be considered impartial. Heidi handled things smoothly. She required everyone to post on Moments with the text— [The President’s wife says every girl deserves better! [Clench fists, yes ma’am, my President’s wife!] The girls who received the gifts were naturally happy to cooperate. As assistants and general office staff. They were almost the gossip center of the entire company. Now receiving gifts from the President’s wife, who wouldn’t happily post pictures and text? Some smart ones added a sentence to their post: [The President’s wife really knows how to play!] The assistants might not have much influence in the company, but their ability to spread news across departments is terrifying. Within half an hour, the whole company knew that the President’s wife gave everyone Hermes necklaces. As for the reason, the major gossip groups were already buzzing with discussion. Bella’s face was pale, as if greatly insulted. She red-eyed, hid in the bathroom to take off the diamond necklace. Two colleagues who came in to touch up their makeup saw her and snorted meaningfully. Bella was ashamed. She lowered her head and walked out of the bathroom quickly, the ridicule behind her becoming more unscrupulous. Her cheeks burned as she put the necklace into the box. Returning it to Ethan untouched.

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Caleb Reed got a girl pregnant after a night of heavy drinking. I didn’t know until the girl was six months along. He told me to let her keep the baby, and we could go back to the way we were. I shook my head, my voice clinging to a single, desperate question: “Me, or that child? Choose.” He stood in silence for a long time that day, unable to give me an answer. But after I vanished, he regretted everything. 1 After five years of marriage to Caleb, I never imagined it would end like this. Outside the hospital entrance, Caleb was carefully helping a young, beautiful woman descend the steps. I stood a short distance away, and my eyes locked with Caleb’s, which were filled with soft concern for her. He flinched, his gaze darting away from mine, a flicker of fear replacing the tenderness. The heavily pregnant woman beside him looked my way, and her eyes instantly welled up with calculated tears. After safely settling the girl in the car and murmuring a few final instructions, Caleb finally walked over to me. His stride was measured and calm, utterly devoid of the panic I expected from a man just caught. He reached for my hand, which was cold as ice, and held it tightly in his palm. “Why are you here? Are you feeling unwell, Ellie?” He spoke with practiced care, even reaching up to touch my forehead. I pulled away. “Who is she?” Caleb didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled me into his arms, attempting to soothe me. “She’s no one important, sweetheart. Let’s go home, and I’ll explain everything. Okay?” His soft, low voice, which had comforted me for years, finally broke my composure, and the tears came. I stubbornly pulled my head back, needing to see his eyes, needing the truth. If he said he was innocent, I would believe him. Caleb sighed softly, then gently wiped the tears from my cheeks. “The baby is mine.” The tears froze on my face. I forgot how to breathe. I bit down on my lip until I tasted copper, then wrenched myself free of his embrace, taking a shaky step back. It was only then that a flash of genuine anger crossed Caleb’s features. He quickly pulled me back to his side, his eyes full of anguish. “Eleanor Stone, you can blame me, but you won’t destroy yourself over this.” I didn’t understand why he was still trying to show me his love when he’d done something so unforgivable. In our silent standoff, the girl from the car walked back toward us. “Get back in the car!” Caleb’s voice was ice, devoid of all warmth. The girl—Erica—looked up at him timidly but didn’t move. A fragile determination hardened her tear-filled eyes. “Ms. Stone, it’s not what you think. It was an accident. This baby was an accident.” She managed a bitter, practiced smile. “If I could, I wouldn’t want him either.” My vision blurred with fresh tears. I couldn’t clearly see the expression on Caleb’s face, but I knew him well enough to feel the coldness draining away, replaced by something close to pity. “Enough! Stop talking!” Jealousy, betrayal, and white-hot rage converged inside me, and I screamed. Erica gasped, her body swaying as she nearly lost her balance. Before she could fall, Caleb grabbed her, pulling her close and cradling her in his arms. I stared blankly at the scene. A thought, sudden and reckless, flashed through my mind. I surged forward. Before I could reach her swollen abdomen, a powerful force slammed into me, knocking me sideways. I landed hard on the asphalt. I looked at my scraped palm, then up at Caleb, and let out a chilling, hollow laugh. Caleb stared at his outstretched hand, the one that had just shoved me. He was stunned, frozen in disbelief at what he had done. That day, Caleb abandoned the six-month-pregnant girl and took me home. But I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he and I had no future left. 2 Back home, Caleb owed me an explanation. I sat motionless on the bed for hours while he stood on the balcony of my room, chain-smoking through the entire night. I knew he was performing his penance, trying to wear me down, trying to make me pity him. He always knew my weaknesses. As dawn broke, Caleb turned and walked back inside, coming to my side. “You must be hungry. What do you want? I’ll cook.” I stopped him with a hoarse whisper. “Caleb, we need to talk.” His steps faltered. He stood with his back to me for a long time. He knew my nature. This was something I couldn’t overlook. Even if he’d been drunk, even if his encounter with the girl had been a one-night-stand, I couldn’t forgive it. That’s why he had hidden it. But no one—especially not him—could have predicted that the virtual stranger he met that night would turn up pregnant and, due to a special health condition, unable to terminate the pregnancy. That was how we arrived at this moment. Caleb finally left. He couldn’t face the words I was about to speak. I knew he loved me. We wouldn’t have dated for so long otherwise. He wouldn’t have spoiled me into the woman I was—the one who could pout and cry and expect to be indulged. For the next week, Caleb didn’t come home. Yet, he called Maria, the housekeeper, every day, meticulously asking how I was doing. Maria tried to console me. “Ma’am, you and Mr. Reed are the most in-love couple I’ve ever seen. Just talk it out. He’s lost so much weight recently.” Maria had been with us for years and had never seen Caleb and me exchange a single cross word. Even his own mother, Anne, who’d been frosty toward me early on, had come to accept me because of how happy Caleb was. My phone rang. It was Caleb’s friend, Marcus. “Ellie, Caleb is completely wasted. Can you come pick him up?” “Tell him to stay there.” I hung up, but the anger in my chest only intensified. I kept seeing the image of Caleb’s back as he walked away—the defeated, slightly slumped line of his shoulders. I couldn’t bring myself to leave him out there alone. After a long internal fight, I grabbed my keys and headed out the door. 3 The door to the private room was slightly ajar. I stood in the hall, not going in. Caleb was indeed drunk, sprawled across the expensive leather couch, completely devoid of his usual corporate composure. Erica, the pregnant girl, stood before him. Marcus sounded embarrassed. “Erica, Ellie wouldn’t come, and Caleb refuses to leave. I had no choice but to call you.” Erica managed a small, soft smile. She took hold of one of Caleb’s arms, trying to help him up. He roughly pushed her away. A few sharp gasps from the men in the room seemed to shock Caleb out of his stupor. He looked at Erica and managed a painful, distorted smile. “Erica Wells, this is all your fault. Ellie is leaving me…” He repeated the phrase, his voice slurring, then started frantically searching for more liquor. Everyone tried to stop him, but he snatched a bottle and began gulping it down recklessly. Suddenly, Erica snatched the bottle from his hand and violently smashed it on the floor. The room fell instantly silent. Even Caleb, in his drunken rage, stared blankly at her. “Caleb Reed, your shouting is going to scare our baby. Get up. I’m tired, and you’re going to take me home.” Caleb, a man who commanded entire boardrooms and was feared throughout the city, had never been ordered around like this by anyone but me. Everyone held their breath, expecting an explosion. But in the thick, suffocating silence, Caleb said nothing. He slowly rose to his feet, picked up his jacket, and silently followed Erica out the door. I was pressed against the wall, hidden in the shadows, and watched the man and woman walk away. I smiled then, a bitter, heartbreaking curve of my lips. I followed their taxi to a high-rise luxury complex. I watched Caleb get out and escort the girl inside. A light flickered on in the middle of the towering building. I sat in my car and watched all night. Caleb never came out. At seven the next morning, he went back in, carrying a bag of breakfast. I stared at that familiar silhouette, the one that had belonged only to me for years. Then, I quietly drove away. 4 I called Caleb back home but didn’t mention divorce. I looked at the man, who looked gaunt, and quickly looked away. “I didn’t pick you up last night. Where did you stay?” Caleb’s fingers trembled almost imperceptibly. After a moment, he said, “I stayed at the office.” I couldn’t pinpoint the feeling inside me. It wasn’t the searing pain of jealousy, but a much deeper, colder sense of disappointment. When did Caleb start lying to me? The man who promised me a lifetime of uncompromising honesty was gone. I didn’t call him out. It felt pointless now. “How many months is she?” Caleb hesitated, as if reluctant to inflict more pain. “Almost seven.” Then, he dropped to one knee in front of me, burying his head deep into my lap. Tears soaked my designer skirt. “Ellie, I’m so sorry. Don’t leave me.” In all our years together, I had never seen Caleb cry. His grief now was harsh and desperate. Watching him, my own heart ached terribly. But I knew I couldn’t afford to soften. “Arrange a meeting. I want to talk to her.” We met at Erica Wells’s apartment. Caleb waited outside. Erica sat, gently stroking her abdomen, her eyes full of intense, maternal anticipation. “That night, the lights were out, and I was so scared. But when I woke up and saw Mr. Reed beside me, I felt a flicker of hope.” Erica smiled as she spoke. She looked up at me, still appearing sweet and fragile. “Ms. Stone, the CEO’s child is almost here. Won’t you grant us your blessing?” Caleb wasn’t here, and the girl was a completely different person. I wasn’t surprised, though. That night outside the bar, Erica had glanced over her shoulder toward the shadows. I knew she had seen me. She slowly stood up and opened a closed door. Inside was a warm, welcoming nursery. “Mr. Reed personally picked out everything in here, and he decorated the room himself. He isn’t without hope for this child.” I desperately tried to maintain the last shred of my composure in the face of Erica’s smug display of Caleb’s fatherly love. But I was pushed over the edge. It wasn’t just an accident; Caleb wanted this child. He hadn’t been indifferent at all. All the strength drained from my body. I braced myself against the dining table, knocking over a glass of water. The sharp crack as the glass shattered on the tile floor was a sound that echoed the fissures appearing in my heart. Caleb heard the noise and rushed in. What he saw was me staggering, and Erica lying on the floor, clutching her stomach and crying out in pain. I will never forget that moment. Caleb’s first choice was no longer me. Erica flashed me a triumphant, knowing look, certain she had won. As Caleb passed me, he hesitated for only a single, agonizing second. Then, he stepped around me, scooped Erica up, and headed for the hospital. 5 Caleb didn’t look back as he left. I stood there for a long time, slowly accepting the fact that he had abandoned me. I followed them to the hospital. When I arrived, Anne and George Reed, Caleb’s parents, were already there. Everyone knew but me. I was the last to be told. When she saw me, Anne Reed slapped me across the face. “If anything happens to my grandson, you will have hell to pay!” Caleb immediately stepped in front of me, shielding my entire body with his own. Seeing this, his mother grew even angrier. “Caleb! Protect her all you want, but she just tried to hurt your son!” Caleb laughed, a tight, low sound of repressed defiance. “So what? If he’s gone, he’s gone.” If they hadn’t secretly decided to keep the child, Ellie wouldn’t be in pain now. No one knew that when he saw Erica fall, his first reaction was a wave of relief. He was filled with regret about the accidental pregnancy. The doctor emerged from the room, confirming the baby was safe. The Reeds rushed inside, fussing over Erica. She, however, kept looking at Caleb in the doorway, her expression utterly helpless and pitiful. She dared to manipulate me, and I would not let her win. I turned my swollen, red cheek toward Caleb. “I can’t stay here.” He let me lead him away. As we walked out, I glanced back at Erica in the hospital bed and returned her confident smile with one of my own. For now, Caleb still chose me. Even if it was a choice I no longer wanted. In the days that followed, while Caleb believed I was slowly accepting the existence of the child, I was quietly preparing for my departure. I packed my belongings and finalized the divorce papers. I was waiting for one day. Erica’s due date. She wanted me to approve of their little family? I would grant her wish. 6 Lately, I’d been experiencing a strange, persistent discomfort in my lower abdomen. I went to the hospital to get checked out—and ran into them. I rescheduled my appointment and went through the checks. When the results came back, I laughed through my tears. The child Caleb and I had tried to conceive for five years was finally here. And the timing couldn’t have been worse. I stood in the hospital corridor, the positive test results clutched in my hand, staring blankly at the tiny new life inside me. I knew I should terminate the pregnancy, but I couldn’t bear to lose it. The thought was more painful than leaving Caleb. I looked up and instantly saw Caleb and Erica emerging from her final prenatal check-up. In recent weeks, neither of us had mentioned Erica. He interpreted my silence as consent. “Mr. Reed, our baby is perfectly healthy. I’m so happy.” Caleb’s voice was unreadable, but the subtle lift of his eyebrow betrayed his good mood. “Yes, you’re taking very good care of him.” They discussed the baby, neither noticing I had stopped directly in front of them. The moment Caleb saw me, he immediately dropped Erica’s hand, putting a rigid distance between them. The silence stretched. I broke it first. “What a coincidence. I’m in a hurry. I’ll see you both later.” Caleb reached out frantically, grabbing my arm, not letting me leave. “Ellie, let me explain.” I calmly slipped my arm free. I wasn’t angry, just detached. “I’m not angry. I understand this is your responsibility, Caleb.” Erica’s eyes lit up immediately. “Ms. Stone, do you truly agree to let the baby stay?” After the last time we clashed, I had no patience left for her facade. “Ms. Wells, your child is due in a few days. Does my agreement even matter?” Erica instantly burst into fragile tears. “I… I was forced.” It was too late for excuses. Ignoring Caleb’s attempts to follow, I turned and walked back to the doctor’s office. Someone had just helped me make a very difficult decision. 7 Erica went into labor at four in the morning. Caleb was immediately called away. As he was leaving, he whispered in my ear: “Ellie, once this baby is born, we can go back to how things were. I promise.” He knew I was awake. He also knew that the presence of this stranger’s child meant we could never truly go back. I kept my eyes closed, offering no response. But just as he reached the door, I called out to him. I pressed him for the final answer: “Caleb Reed, me or that child? Choose.” When I saw the pained and conflicted look on his face, I shook my head, already knowing the answer, and urged him to go. As I lay back down, Caleb said softly, “Wait for me. I’ll come back, and I’ll fix everything.” I don’t need you to fix it, I thought. I’ll do it myself. After he left, I placed a signed divorce agreement and a USB drive on the bedside table. Without a single word of farewell, I left the house I had once cherished.

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1 On my commute, I saw a forum post titled: “Expecting a boy but overwhelmed with work. How can I get colleagues to help?” The OP shared her excitement about carrying the “family heir” but complained of morning sickness and a heavy workload, asking how to make coworkers more considerate. The comments tore into her entitlement: “Why work if the baby’s so precious?” and “Your husband should step up, not your colleagues.” Ignoring the backlash, she liked a manipulative suggestion: “Pick a quiet, young colleague to be the godmother—she won’t refuse, and you can boss her around.” I reported the post. Then, at work, my desk neighbor happily announced, “I’m pregnant—two months along!” Felicia’s voice was bright and cheerful, pitched just loud enough for the entire open-plan office to hear. A chorus of congratulations immediately filled the air. “Wow, Felicia, you’re going to be a mom!” “Congratulations!” Amid the well-wishes, Felicia grabbed my hand with an almost cloying warmth. “Chloe, you and I are the closest here. You’re so brilliant, I’ve always thought of you as a little sister.” “So, I wanted to ask if you would be my baby’s godmother. Let him soak up some of your good fortune!” I froze. The forum post flashed through my mind, specifically the line about “finding a quiet pushover to be the godmother.” It couldn’t be… that much of a coincidence, could it? I gently pulled my hand back, my smile feeling stiff and unnatural. “Congratulations, Felicia, that’s wonderful news. But… isn’t it a bit early to be asking me to be a godmother?” “I only just graduated. I’m practically still a kid myself.” Linda, a veteran colleague nearing retirement, chimed in with a good-natured laugh. “She’s right, Felicia. Chloe doesn’t even have a boyfriend yet. It wouldn’t be proper for her to be a godmother.” I shot her a grateful look. “Exactly! Linda’s right. My mom has warned me about that, too.” Felicia’s smile faltered for a split second, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. But she quickly plastered it back on. “Oh, listen to me, getting carried away with excitement. I wasn’t thinking.” She said she wasn’t thinking, but she didn’t move. She clearly wasn’t finished. After a few seconds of silence, Felicia placed a hand on her still-flat stomach, her voice turning soft and frail. “Being pregnant is such a blessing, but sigh…” “It’s just this first trimester. The symptoms are hitting me so hard. I’m dizzy, nauseous, and my back aches if I sit for too long.” “And the subway every day… it’s so crowded, and I worry about the radiation from the security scanners. I don’t know if it’s safe for the baby…” Her tone shifted. “Chloe, don’t you drive to work every day?” “I was wondering… could I possibly get a ride with you?” A ride? We live in completely opposite directions. What she wanted wasn’t a ride, it was a free chauffeur. I laughed coldly to myself but put on a troubled, apologetic expression. “Oh, Felicia, what terrible timing.” “My car broke down last Friday. The mechanic said they have to order a part from out of state, and it’ll take at least a month. See? I had to take the subway this morning, too.” I held up my hands in a gesture of helplessness. I was suddenly incredibly grateful that I’d been too busy to get gas last weekend. This morning, the car wouldn’t even start. Felicia’s expression froze, a mixture of disappointment and disbelief. She looked like she wanted to argue but eventually just squeezed out a dry, “Really? What a coincidence.” At lunchtime, I took out my insulated lunch box. Today’s main course was pan-seared salmon. My mom knew it was my favorite and made a point of waking up early every day to pack me a lunch. The moment I twisted the lid open, a figure appeared at my side. Felicia stood over my desk and took a long, deep sniff of my food. “Wow, Chloe, that smells incredible!” Then, she clutched her chest as if in discomfort. “My morning sickness has been so bad, the smell of everything makes me sick. I can’t keep anything down.” “But the second I smelled your lunch… poof! My appetite is back!” Felicia stroked her abdomen and sighed dramatically. “This isn’t me being greedy. It must be my baby craving it!” 2 I… was speechless. She looked at me with wide, expectant eyes. “Chloe, could you bring an extra portion for me tomorrow? You’re already packing a lunch, so one more serving wouldn’t be too much trouble, would it?” Alarm bells went off in my head. Packing lunch for a pregnant woman? If anything she ate made her sick, I’d be the one to blame. No thank you. I forced a smile and quickly deflected. “Felicia, this is just how my mom cooks for me—lots of oil and salt. It might not be suitable for a pregnant woman.” There was no way I was agreeing to this. My mom already worked hard enough making my lunch; why on earth would she cook for Felicia? Felicia’s face fell, her voice instantly turning pitiful. “But I really can’t eat anything else, and the baby needs nutrients…” “Please, Chloe, just help your big sister out. Help the baby. We can discuss payment.” I remained unmoved, continuing my gentle refusal. “How about this, Felicia? I can send you the recipes later. They’re all simple home-cooked meals, so your family can make them for you. It’s always safer to eat food prepared at home.” “Besides, I’ve heard there are a lot of foods pregnant women should avoid. It’s better to have control over what you’re eating.” “My husband doesn’t know how to cook!” Felicia retorted, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “He’s a man! Why would he go into a kitchen and come out reeking of grease?” Her logic was so absurd it was almost funny. So, it was beneath her husband to cook, but my mother was expected to? Before I could say anything else, she reached out, and in a flash, snatched a piece of salmon from my lunch box and popped it into her mouth. I was completely stunned. I never imagined she would just grab food from my container. I was too shocked to even react. She chewed a couple of times, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, it’s fully cooked! This is delicious! My appetite is so off right now, this is exactly the kind of flavorful food I’ve been wanting.” “Chloe, just bring me a portion tomorrow!” Her tone was no longer a request; it was a demand. A knot of frustration tightened in my chest. The contents of that forum post echoed in my mind again. I deliberately furrowed my brow, my expression full of concern. “Felicia, you have to be extra careful when you’re pregnant. You can’t be casual about your diet!” “And my mom’s cooking… she’s not the best. Sometimes things are undercooked, or she adds too much salt. What if you eat it and don’t feel well?” Felicia waved her hand dismissively. “Then just tell your mom to be more careful. Make sure it’s cooked through and not too salty. It’s not a big deal.” She paused. “Are you worried I won’t pay you?” “I’ll give you five dollars a day for ingredients. That should be plenty, right? Vegetables at the supermarket are only a few cents a pound on sale.” When I didn’t respond, she added, “Besides, I’m always looking out for you. Remember that apple I gave you last week?” I almost laughed out loud. That apple was from the company’s complimentary afternoon snack cart. She had just passed one to me. Now it was some grand gesture of generosity? And five dollars? That wouldn’t even cover a corner of this piece of salmon. I took a deep breath and put on a righteous, responsible expression. “Felicia, this isn’t about money. The main thing is that my mom’s cooking isn’t standardized. What if she uses something you can’t eat? I can’t take that responsibility.” “We both need to be cautious. And didn’t you say this morning that your in-laws are placing a lot of importance on this baby?” With that, I turned to our colleague Brenda, who was eating at the next desk. “Brenda, you’ve had kids, you have experience. Isn’t that right? A pregnant woman’s diet needs to be carefully managed, doesn’t it?” Brenda nodded thoughtfully. “Chloe has a point. Felicia, you can’t be too careful with food from outside, especially from someone else’s home kitchen. What if you have an allergy or a bad reaction? That would be serious.” Several other mothers in the office chimed in. “That’s right! You care so much about the baby, you can’t just eat anything!” “Chloe’s young and can eat whatever, but you’re pregnant. Your body is different. You really do need to be particular.” Every word was reasonable, leaving Felicia with no room to argue. She had spent the whole morning bragging about the “precious heir” in her belly. She couldn’t very well turn around and say, “Oh, it’s fine, I can eat whatever.” Still, she wouldn’t give up. “But just once or twice…” “Not even once!” I cut her off immediately. “Felicia, you have to be responsible for your baby! Safety first!” An idea sparked in my mind, and I pulled out my phone. “Oh, I know! Let me recommend a professional meal delivery service for expectant mothers!” “I saw an ad for it. Scientifically balanced, nutritious meals… It’s a bit pricey, over a hundred dollars per meal, but the baby’s health is what’s most important, right?” Over a hundred dollars? Felicia’s lips twitched violently. With everyone watching, she couldn’t deny that her “baby was precious,” but she clearly wasn’t willing to spend that kind of money. She stood there, frozen, and forced a dry laugh. “Well… in that case, never mind. I… I don’t think I have much of an appetite anymore.” 3 That night, I collapsed onto my bed, exhausted. My phone screen lit up. The post I had reported earlier was still active—my report had been rejected. And it had been updated. I opened it. 【I’m so pissed! I tried the advice from you ladies today, but that little witch wouldn’t budge!】 【First, she played dumb to get out of being the godmother. Then at lunch, she deliberately ate amazing food in front of me to taunt me. I asked her nicely to pack an extra meal for me, and she had the nerve to give me attitude in front of everyone and even ganged up on me with the old hags in the office!】 【How can someone be so evil? Is she just jealous that I’m carrying a boy? How can I force her to obey me and show her what happens when you cross me?!】 Reading this, I was now 100% certain who the poster was. Felicia’s behavior was beyond shameless. I snorted with a mix of anger and amusement. The comments below were still mostly negative, but a new “suggestion” had quickly risen to the top. 【Girl, are you dense? Of course she’s going to say no if you ask her in private! You have to master the art of moral blackmail!】 【Find a public setting, in front of all your colleagues, especially your boss, and ask her to be the godmother again… but this time, give her a reason she can’t refuse, or would be too embarrassed to refuse!】 【Think about it. With everyone watching, including management, if she dares to say no, what will people think of her?】 【That she’s cold-hearted and ungrateful! How could she possibly survive in the company after that?】 Someone else added to the thread. 【Exactly! And once she’s the godmother, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to make her spend money.】 【Like when you’re in your postpartum period. Say you want to go to a nice postpartum recovery center, but you’re short on cash? Just ask the godmother to chip in! She agreed in front of everyone, how could she have the nerve to refuse?】 My eyes widened. So that was her game. This wasn’t about finding a godmother; it was about finding a long-term cash cow and ATM. Did she think I was the baby’s father? As expected, the original poster replied enthusiastically. 【This idea is brilliant! Why didn’t I think of that!】 【Perfect timing, too. Our monthly review meeting is in two days. All the staff and managers will be there!】 【Let’s see her try to escape this time!】 Staring at her gleeful words on the screen, a chill ran down my spine. The monthly review meeting was in two days. I turned off my phone and took a deep breath. If that’s how you want to play it, fine. I’ll play along. Two days later, at the monthly review meeting. As soon as Ms. Davis, our director, finished her closing remarks and announced the meeting was over, Felicia suddenly stood up. Under the confused gazes of everyone in the room, she walked to the front. “If I could have everyone’s attention for just one minute, I’d like to take this happy occasion to share some wonderful news!” All eyes turned to her. She placed a hand gently on her stomach, her voice turning sentimental and sorrowful, her eyes welling up. “There’s something that’s been weighing on my heart for a long time… Ever since I got pregnant, I’ve been having the same dream.” “In my dream, my unborn baby keeps telling me that he wants a godmother. And he’s already chosen the person.” Her gaze swept across the room and landed squarely on me. “That person is Chloe!” “We’re the best of friends. She’s kind, talented, and she’s the person I trust most in this world. The dream felt so real, I know it must be fate. It’s a connection my baby chose himself!” By this point, she seemed overwhelmed with emotion, tears shimmering in her eyes. Felicia pulled a small red envelope and a tiny pair of baby socks from her pocket and walked towards me. “Chloe, today, in front of all our managers and colleagues, I solemnly ask you to be my child’s godmother. This is a wish from both me and my baby!” “This envelope and these little socks are a small token from us. Please, you must accept it!” Before I could refuse, she had already shoved the envelope and socks into my hands. A look of triumphant surprise bloomed on Felicia’s face, but then, I smiled. I held the red envelope high in the air, my voice ringing out, full of delight. 4 “This gift from Felicia and the baby is so precious! Since it’s bringing so much good luck, I have a suggestion. Why don’t we donate this red envelope?” “We can buy afternoon tea for the entire department! Let’s all share in the good fortune!” “From now on, this baby will be our whole department’s treasure. What do you all say? We can all dote on him together!” My colleagues, unaware of the backstory, thought it was a fun and heartwarming idea and immediately cheered. “Great idea!” “That’s so generous of you, Chloe!” “Yes, let’s all be godfathers and godmothers!” Amid the cheers, Felicia’s face went rigid and pale. She wanted to stop me, but with everyone watching, she couldn’t find a reason. Encouraged by the crowd, I opened the envelope right then and there. Inside was a single, crumpled one-dollar bill. The buzzing room fell dead silent. The enthusiastic gazes of a moment ago turned strange, all of them now fixed on Felicia. The amount in the envelope was just a gesture, of course… but— One dollar? That was just pathetic. Felicia’s face flushed crimson. She scrambled to explain, her voice strained and awkward. “The-the money isn’t important! It’s a tradition where I’m from. The godmother envelope always has one dollar in it, for good luck—it symbolizes wholehearted devotion! It’s the sentiment that counts!” “Chloe, back home, a baby has to have a godmother chosen before they’re born to ensure they grow up safe and sound. My dream was a sign. You have to be the one!” Having found her footing, her voice grew louder, more insistent. “You wouldn’t disrespect a tradition like that, would you? You wouldn’t disregard the baby’s health and safety?” “Right, everyone? Traditions and a baby’s wish, those are important things!” As she’d hoped, a few colleagues who were swayed by her words began to murmur in agreement. “Well, you should respect traditions…” “Being a godmother is nice. You get a baby without the pain!” “It’s all for the baby’s sake, Chloe. You should just say yes.” I listened to the whispers with a silent, scornful laugh. Outwardly, I put on a look of dawning comprehension mixed with distress. “Oh, I see! Felicia, what a coincidence. We have a tradition where I’m from, too.” My voice was tinged with a naive confusion. “They say an unmarried woman can’t be a godmother, because it will jinx her own romantic prospects and make it hard for her to find a partner.” I turned to a few of the older women in the room. “Linda, Sarah, you’ve heard of that one, right? I think the older generation all says that.”

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It was midnight. My fiancé’s secretary sent me a provocative photo. [We went for 4 hours today.] I didn’t have time to reply. Because the ghost of my childhood nemesis, who died ten years ago, suddenly appeared in my living room. “Is this your fiancé?” “Tsk… why does he look a little like me?” 1 When I opened the door and saw Caleb, I thought I was still drunk and hallucinating. He was still wearing his varsity jacket from our senior year of high school. His mouth was just as sharp as it used to be. “Wow, look at you. Cosplaying a drowned rat?” I looked down at my phone. The date was correct. I hadn’t time-traveled. Thinking my eyes were playing tricks on me, I was about to look up again when several messages popped up. [Miss Summers, congratulations on getting engaged to your consolation prize.] [But compared to you, Spencer seems to like me more.] [Four hours tonight. Twice.] The attached photo was a post-coital selfie of her and Spencer. Before I could look up, Caleb’s noisy voice rang in my ear again. “Whoa! NSFW! Is that allowed?” “Summer, does your phone have a virus?” “Wait, fiancé? You’re getting married?” “Holy crap! He’s cheating on you right before the engagement? You want a man like that?” “Hold on… this fiancé… why does he look a discount version of me?” “Do I smell a ‘replacement’ trope? Summer, don’t tell me you had a crush on me? Heh…” Caleb. The “Silent Groom” of our high school yearbook—because he looked best when he wasn’t talking. He was the main character of everyone’s high school life. Except for that mouth. Roasting him back was practically muscle memory. “Crush on you? Do I look insane?” My voice dropped, and Caleb froze. I froze too. The next second, screams erupted from the surrounding apartments. “Ahhh!!! A ghost!” “Ahhh!!! Someone can see the ghost!!!” 2 Ten minutes later, I finally calmed down. Leaning against the wall, I fished a cigarette out of my bag. “What is happening? Why can I see you?” Caleb was huddled in the corner. He looked even more shocked than I was. “I’d love to know the answer to that, too.” Click. Click. The lighter sparked but couldn’t ignite the rain-soaked cigarette. He paused, floated over, and tried to grab it. But he forgot—he couldn’t touch anything. His hand went straight through the smoke. Stunned for a second, he leaned in and sniffed me to cover his embarrassment. “Drinking? And smoking?” “Summer, when did you pick up these bad habits?” We went to the same middle and high school. Basically childhood friends. Just because he was three months older, he always loved to lecture me. I was never afraid of him then. I wasn’t afraid now. “It’s been a long time. I forgot.” His eyes went wide. “You forgot? How?” “Whatever. Forget it. It doesn’t matter.” Yeah. It didn’t matter. I tossed the cigarette, walked past him, and took off my soaked trench coat, letting it drop to the floor. He floated right behind me, sticking like glue. “Hey, aren’t you scared seeing me? Don’t you have questions…” His voice cut off abruptly. Because he saw that after taking off the coat, I was unzipping the back of my dress. The zipper was already down to my shoulder blades. He phased through the wall and vanished instantly. A second later, a roar came from the closed study. “Holy sh*t! Your fiancé cheats on you, so you decide to flash me?” “I am a pure, innocent ghost! I never even dated! Don’t try to force yourself on me!” “Besides, I’m dead! I can’t help you with that!” 3 Caleb’s voice made me pause. Right. He was dead. Ten years ago, the day after graduation. Car accident. I went to his funeral. Over the last decade, everything related to him had been burned or buried. No one around me even mentioned his name. Honestly, my brain was a mess. It was so chaotic that even though I forced myself to be calm, I couldn’t tell reality from a dream. I didn’t know if what I was doing even mattered. But in this moment, I suddenly sobered up. I looked at the empty living room. Then down at my dripping wet dress. My throat tightened. “I walked home in the rain. If I don’t take a hot shower and take some meds, I’ll be dead by morning.” The room was silent. So silent that seeing Caleb felt like a hallucination. But just as I held my breath, about to open the study door to check, his muffled voice came through. “Shut up. Don’t say the D-word…” 4 I sank into the bathtub, surrounded by hot water. Listening to the splash of water, I finally felt pulled back to reality. Just today, I had received a package of Caleb’s old belongings. Just an hour ago, I was at his grave. But through the wall, his voice was crystal clear. “Summer, what is the deal with that fiancé?” “I saw that text. That wasn’t the first time you got a photo like that, was it?” “And that guy’s face…” The topic I had been avoiding was forced back into the open. Yes. Spencer’s secretary, Tiffany, wasn’t the first to send photos to provoke me. But so what? I didn’t care. “Six years ago, my mom remarried a nouveau riche guy.” “It’s a business merger. A commercial marriage. You know the drill. He just happens to look like you. Don’t flatter yourself.” Caleb wouldn’t understand. He went quiet. The only sound was hurried footsteps moving from the living room to the bathroom door. Remembering his wall-phasing trick, I frowned. “Caleb, you aren’t trying to peek, are you?” No answer. Just a tall shadow cast against the frosted glass door. Do ghosts have shadows? Suspicious, I put on my robe and opened the door. But it wasn’t Caleb. It was Spencer, who should have been in a hotel with his secretary. He was holding a photo he’d dug out of Caleb’s box of belongings, looking at me with dark eyes. “I get sick, you send meds. I have a date, you deliver condoms in the rain. You’ve been simping for me for six years just because of this face?” “Caleb? Right, that’s the name you call out when you’re drunk.” Spencer’s words made my heart skip a beat. I instinctively looked toward Caleb, who was floating out of the study. But Spencer wasn’t done. He raised an eyebrow and laughed. His tone was casual, dangerous. “Where are you hiding him? Bring him out.”

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Before the wheat was even fully golden, I had the first of Grandma Eliza’s Visits. [Olivia, remember this. A devastating blight is coming this autumn. Planting the wheat will be for nothing. You must sell the green crop as feed now, take the money, and lease a fish farm. It’s the only way to save your income!] I managed to convince Mom and Dad to cut the wheat early, selling the green stalks to a local feed mill, and then flood the fields to start a fish farm. But then came the century-level drought. Every single fish fry baked in the sun. We were left with nothing but scorched earth and a mountain of debt. Desperate and at a total loss, Grandma Eliza’s Visit came again: [Go to the old oak tree behind your childhood home. Your grandfather buried gold bars there for an emergency. The money from them will more than cover the debt!] I rushed to tell Dad. He went and dug, just like she said, but instead of gold, he unearthed an entire footlocker full of cocaine bricks. Undercover agents, who’d been staking out the area, immediately arrested him as a dealer. Given the massive quantity, he was facing life without parole, perhaps even the death penalty. Mom couldn’t handle the shock. She collapsed, unconscious. And once more, Grandma Eliza’s guidance came through: [Dr. Stern at Metro General Hospital is the only one who can save her. If you don’t go now, your mother is in grave danger!] Driven by the frantic need to save Mom, I cornered Dr. Stern at the hospital, practically begging him to operate. He finally agreed. What I didn’t know was that my fiancé, Owen, had been in a severe car accident and needed Dr. Stern’s specialized care immediately. Because I pulled the surgeon away, Owen died waiting on the operating table. And Mom, due to the critical delay, didn’t make it either. She died during surgery. Before her light faded, she looked at me with tears streaming down her face and asked why I had destroyed our family. Owen’s parents were convinced I was responsible for their son’s death. They found me and stabbed me eighteen times in a frenzy of grief and vengeance. I was rushed to the ER, and in my fading consciousness, I saw Grandma Eliza again. But this time, she was grinning, a cruel, mocking smile, as she raised a knife and plunged it straight into my heart. In reality, my heart gave out, and I died on the ambulance gurney. Even as I died, I couldn’t understand why my beloved grandmother’s guidance had led to the utter annihilation of my entire family. Then I opened my eyes. I was back. It was the very morning Grandma Eliza first told me to sell the field. 1 [Olivia, remember this. A devastating blight is coming this autumn. Planting the wheat will be for nothing. You must sell the green crop as feed now, take the money, and lease a fish farm. It’s the only way to save your income…] I jolted awake, drenched in a cold sweat. That familiar, chilling voice in my head. It confirmed it. I wasn’t dead. I was back. I was reborn. But I didn’t breathe a word of it to Mom or Dad. I simply flipped over and pulled the covers tighter, trying to drown out the memory. In the previous life, Grandma Eliza had told me the same thing, urging me to tell Dad to cut the wheat and start a fish farm. Grandma had doted on me more than anyone. I had believed her implicitly and immediately told Dad about the impending plague. Since Dad hurt his hand years ago working construction, our few acres of wheat were our only lifeline. They fed us, and they paid for my college tuition. We couldn’t afford risks. I remembered struggling in the previous life, trying to figure out how to sell Dad on such a mystical claim. But he had chosen to trust me, without question. He cut the wheat, flooded the field, and when neighbors teased him, he stood tall, his chest swelling with pride. “My Olivia, she’s a college girl. She knows things I don’t. How could a father not believe in his daughter?” The reality had been a brutal kick in the gut. That autumn, there was no blight. Not a single locust. Instead, a drought the locals called “a once-in-a-century event” descended upon us. Dad frantically hauled water, trying to keep the ponds full, but the relentless heat was too much. The immature fish baked to death. Dad fell ill, our savings were wiped out, and Mom spent every night weeping silently. Yet, she always squeezed out a smile for me, insisting I wasn’t to blame. My self-recrimination was a living thing. And then, the Visions had returned. [Olivia, go to the old oak tree behind the house. Your Grandpa buried gold bars there for emergencies. Now is the time to dig them up!] Excited, I’d told my parents. Dad, ever trusting, grabbed a shovel and went straight out. He did find a heavy box. But when he opened it, there were no gold bars, only brick after brick of white powder. Before Dad could make sense of it, the police, who had been waiting, grabbed him, mistaking him for a drug runner. The charge was so severe, they didn’t even allow visits. The case detective hinted that due to the quantity of controlled substances, Dad was almost certainly facing the death penalty. Mom, shattered by the news, collapsed. The diagnosis: acute heart failure. I’d collapsed, sobbing, at her bedside, and the Visions came again: [Dr. Stern at Metro General Hospital, only he can save your mother. Hurry, or she won’t wake up!] I drove into the city and knelt before the brilliant surgeon, Dr. Stern, finally convincing him to come back and operate on Mom. But I was oblivious. I had pulled him away from the emergency surgery of my fiancé, Owen Mitchell, who had been in a massive pile-up and had shrapnel piercing his heart. Because of my intervention, Owen missed his window of survival and died. Before I could even process the horror of indirectly killing Owen, Dr. Stern came out to tell me Mom’s surgery had failed. I rushed into the room, barely catching her last breath. The woman who had always looked at me with unconditional love now stared, for the first time in my life, with crushing disappointment and confusion. She asked me why I had destroyed our family. In a daze, clutching Mom’s ashes, I left the funeral home, only to be ambushed by Owen’s parents. Convinced I was a murderess, they stabbed me eighteen times. As the paramedics rushed me to the hospital, I saw Grandma Eliza one final time. I wanted to scream, to demand why she had ruined my life, but before I could speak, she raised the knife and plunged it into my chest. My heart burst, and I died on the ambulance floor. Reliving that horror was enough. This time, I would not listen to my grandmother’s misleading Visions. I rationalized it. A localized drought wouldn’t completely ruin the wheat. If I just left things alone, Dad would, at the very least, still get the harvest money in the fall. But I still felt an uneasy dread. The next morning, I took the money I’d saved for a new laptop and bought industrial-grade pesticide. I spent the day dusting our fields, determined to burn out every last potential insect threat. Dad chuckled, saying I was more farmer than he was. I didn’t let up. I monitored the fields every single day. When harvest time arrived, the wheat stood tall, full, and magnificent. The grain broker who came to inspect it gave us the highest quote. “This is top-shelf quality. Absolutely prime. You have to sell this batch to me!” Dad’s sun-darkened face was split with a grin. “This is wonderful! We can finally buy your mother and daughter some proper clothes.” With the harvest scheduled for the next morning, the suffocating knot in my chest finally began to loosen. I was right. Grandma Eliza’s Vision was wrong. All I had to do was ignore it. That evening, Mom cooked a celebratory dinner, and we went to bed early, excited for the harvest. But just before dawn, I heard an agonizing, disbelieving cry. “How? Where did they come from? The locusts!” My internal alarm shrieked. A terrifying premonition shot through me. I didn’t bother with shoes, bolting outside. The sight made my stomach drop. It was a dark, roiling vortex—a plague of insects so thick it looked like a section of the sky had peeled off and dropped onto our land. The beautiful, perfect wheat, ready for harvest just hours ago, was being shredded to stalks. Dad frantically waved his arms, trying to drive them off, but it was useless. He slipped, falling hard, and could only watch, helpless, as the swarm devoured almost the entire field. The man who had always been my rock, who stood so tall in my memory, stayed collapsed on the ground. I rushed to him, barely hearing his broken whisper. “It’s over… it’s all over. The tuition, the medicine, the food… it’s all gone.” Dad’s words were a knife in my heart. Why? I hadn’t listened to Grandma Eliza. The first time, there was no blight. Why did one appear now? Before I could think, Dad had gotten up and walked out. When he returned, his shoulders were slumped, his posture defeated. I knew. He had gone to borrow money from our neighbors. For a man who had taught me to live with integrity and never owe anyone a thing, how utterly humiliating was that? My heart twisted with agony. That night, Grandma Eliza appeared in my dreams again. She seemed to know the new disaster. She sighed, heavy with pity. [Olivia, go to the old oak tree behind the house. Your Grandpa buried gold bars there for emergencies. Gold prices are high now. Sell it. It will save you!] But I knew better. Last time, following this direction led to Dad being framed for drug trafficking. This time, I absolutely would not allow that to happen. The moment I woke up, I called the police. “Officer, I think someone buried something suspicious, maybe evidence, beneath the old oak tree behind our house. It might be illegal.” The police were silent for a long moment, then informed me they would send a unit out to investigate. I knew I was messing up an existing stakeout, but better this than letting Dad go anywhere near that box. That afternoon, a police SUV pulled up. I braced myself, half-expecting a reward or a commendation, but I was wrong. Several officers got out, one of them carrying a heavy, metal footlocker—the very box that had destroyed my life once before. Why would the police bring the evidence here? But when the officer opened the lid, my breath hitched. This time, there wasn’t white powder inside. There were a dozen genuine gold bars. “Officer, why is there so much gold?” Dad asked, confused, stepping forward to get a closer look. As soon as he approached the box, the officers shoved him to the ground and slapped handcuffs on his wrists. The sudden violence sent me reeling. I rushed forward, only to be held back. “Why are you arresting my father!” I screamed. “Because we’ve identified these gold bars. They are part of the cache stolen during a major bank robbery fifteen years ago!” the officer stated, his voice ringing with authority. “We interviewed witnesses and identified the main culprit as your grandfather. Your father’s reaction just now confirms his involvement in fencing and hiding the evidence!” The officer looked at me, his gaze complex. “You may have just put a stain on your family name, Olivia, but you helped the state recover stolen property and bring a criminal to justice. That’s something to be proud of.” “No! That’s impossible! My father is not a criminal! Dad, tell them it’s a mistake…” But when I turned and saw Dad’s face—the shock of betrayal, the genuine guilt, the utter sorrow—I froze. “Is this… is this true?”

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On the day my sister was finally found, my parents and brother were brimming with joy. But then, they heard my thoughts. [Great, Hailey is finally back. It’s just too bad Dad’s biggest project is about to be snatched away by a rival. Should I warn him now?] Mom looked at my sister with tears in her eyes, ready to take off the family heirloom—an emerald bracelet worth millions—and give it to her. [Sigh. Once that bracelet leaves Mom’s wrist, it’s gone forever. In a minute, Hailey is going to pretend to accidentally drop it just to test her status in Mom’s heart. Such a pity, that emerald has perfect clarity.] My brother, overcome with emotion, was about to pick Hailey up and spin her around. I tilted my head, looking at him. [Carter is pathetic too. His girlfriend is currently sitting on his best friend’s lap. I wonder if he’ll still be this happy tonight when she tells him she’s pregnant and makes him a dad!] The very next second, Dad’s cell phone rang. 1 My gaze remained fixed on my sister, acting as if I didn’t see the frozen expressions on my parents’ and brother’s faces. Dad hesitated for two seconds before answering the phone. A moment later, his expression drastically changed. “What? Okay, I understand.” Putting down the phone, the joy on Dad’s face from Hailey Vance’s return instantly turned grim. Even Mom’s voice trembled as she spoke. “Richard, what’s wrong?” Dad glanced at me, his voice dry. “I just got news about the company’s key project for the first half of the year. Our competitor intercepted it. There’s no room for negotiation.” I shook my head, feigning sympathy. [Dad and Carter barely came home for six months working on that deal. Now it’s all down the drain. Carter is going to get mocked by the rival CEO’s son for ages because of this. How embarrassing!] Instantly, two intense gazes locked onto me. I watched Mom’s hand hover over the bracelet she was preparing to remove, acting nonchalant as I sat to the side. Now things were awkward. Mom didn’t know whether to take it off or leave it on. She just froze there. Hailey, however, noticed Mom’s hesitation. She stepped forward eagerly, practically yanking the jade bracelet off Mom’s wrist, ignoring the flash of pain on Mom’s face. “Mom, are you giving this to me?” Hailey held the bracelet by two fingers, hugging Mom and acting coquettish. “When I was little, you said you’d save all the best things for me. You’re the best, Mom!” Hailey didn’t see the tension in Mom’s eyes. She made a show of putting it on. Then, the accident happened. The bracelet that was just in Hailey’s hand suddenly hit the floor. The emerald, cherished by Mom above all else, shattered into pieces. Mom’s face couldn’t help but twitch violently. “Oh no, Mom!” Hailey pouted, feigning horror. “My hand slipped. You won’t blame me, right Mom?” As she said this, a flash of smugness crossed her face. She was certain their love and guilt for her would outweigh a piece of jewelry. But when she looked up, expecting comfort, she found Mom holding back a scolding and my brother, Carter, looking undisguisedly shocked. “Crap!” Carter’s face suddenly went pale. He grabbed his phone and rushed out, presumably to call his girlfriend. “Mom, Dad, are you mad? Hailey really didn’t mean to.” Seeing their expressions weren’t right, Hailey’s big eyes immediately misted over, and she began a pitiful apology. [Here we go again. She’s going to play the victim card. She’ll talk about how miserable her life was after being kidnapped… Poor Mom and Dad are so soft-hearted, they’ll give her a huge compensation check. Little do they know, she spent all her money on male escorts!] Sure enough, the next moment Hailey’s tears began to fall. She cried about how much she missed them, how she was beaten constantly, claiming her body was covered in scars that would never heal. She said she slept in a dog cage, ate moldy food, and was almost sold to a trafficking ring. “Mom, Dad, seeing you again… I finally feel so happy!” 2 I absentmindedly picked at my nails. [Hailey is about to show off her so-called “scars.” But she cut those herself, just to fish for sympathy.] Mom took the bait. She pulled Hailey’s wrist, examining the scabbed wounds, her voice trembling. “Hailey, these wounds… did they do this to you?” Hailey flinched, her eyes shifting, but she nodded and choked out, “Yes… they hit me. They said I was a money-loser, hard to sell…” She hugged Mom tightly again. “It’s okay now that I’m back. Mom, I missed you so much.” I curled my lip. [Her foster parents treated her better than their own bio kids. They gave her a massive allowance every month, yet she throws them under the bus. Disgusting. She blew all that cash chasing after idols.] Mom and Dad exchanged a look, their faces grim. Dad patted Mom’s hand and stood up. “I need to make a call to the office.” I watched Dad’s retreating back, raising my hand to fix my hair to hide the smirk on my lips. Only I knew that Dad wasn’t calling the office. He was sending people to investigate what really happened to Hailey all these years. Dad was a suspicious man; after hearing my inner voice predict so much, how could he blindly trust Hailey like before? After Dad left, Hailey performed even harder, weeping about how she was starved and forced to do manual labor in her new home. Mom, however, wasn’t as emotional as she was in my past life. She just lightly patted Hailey’s back, comforting her with a distracted air. I watched the scene without expression. 3 In my previous life, young Hailey and I went out to play. I only turned away to buy ice cream, and my sister willingly followed a wealthy-looking trafficker. I chased after them but couldn’t catch up. When my parents and brother found out, they blamed everything on me. Even I believed I was a sinner. I endured thirteen years of torture and verbal abuse from them, living a life worse than a dog’s, walking on eggshells every day. When I was twenty, Hailey was found. Her return instantly garnered the family’s total adoration. I thought it would alleviate my guilt. But Hailey pointed at me and said: “I only got lost because Harper sold me to the traffickers. She said I was the extra child and everyone would be happier if I disappeared!” The moment she said that, my family’s faces changed. They believed their beloved, lost princess instantly. They took turns slapping me, forcing me to kneel and kowtow to Hailey for forgiveness. My life became a living hell. Not a single day of peace. Before I was finally tortured to death, Hailey smugly revealed the truth to me. “I really do have good luck! We were poor back then, and I didn’t want to suffer, so I left with the trafficker. I ended up with rich parents.” “Too bad they went bankrupt right when I turned eighteen. Luckily, I saw in the papers that Dad and Mom struck it rich, so I came back. Otherwise, you would have enjoyed all this wealth alone!” I hadn’t realized Hailey was so calculating and vicious. I died filled with resentment, only to open my eyes and find myself reborn on the day of her return. And I discovered I could project my inner thoughts and choose who heard them. I looked at Hailey, snuggled in Mom’s arms, unable to hide the smirk on her lips. I wanted to laugh, too. In this life, I wanted to see how Mom, Dad, and Carter would maintain their doting love for Hailey after seeing her true colors! 4 When Dad pushed the door open after his call, his face was iron-gray. Hailey was still crying like a pear blossom bathed in rain. I lowered my eyes. I knew Dad now knew exactly what happened after Hailey got “lost.” [Sigh. Next, Hailey is going to try to grab the spotlight by framing me for her kidnapping.] Hailey didn’t disappoint. As soon as Dad entered, she sobbed, “Dad, actually… when we were little, Harper pushed me toward the bad guys when I wasn’t looking! She said I was extra, and you’d be happy if I was gone.” Hailey looked up at them, eyes red, voice trembling. “Is that true?” If she had been paying attention, she would have noticed Mom pulling her hand away from Hailey’s back, and Dad frowning deeply. I shrank back, my eyes instantly reddening. Dad’s tone was heavy. “Hailey, your sister would never do such a thing.” Mom chimed in, “That’s right. Harper has always been a well-behaved, obedient child.” Obedient? I thought they didn’t know! Hearing this praise, I felt a wave of irony. Two lifetimes, and this was the first time I’d heard them compliment me. I thought they truly saw me as a jinx, a disaster, a nuisance. I sniffled, looking wronged. “Hailey, how can you frame me like that? Clearly, you disliked how poor we were back then and left with the trafficker on purpose… What does that have to do with me?” After saying it, I covered my mouth in horror, as if I had accidentally spilled a secret. Hailey’s face changed drastically. She blurted out, “How did you know?!” The room went silent. Mom and Dad’s faces turned ugly. Hailey realized she had slipped up. She tried to explain frantically, but only dug herself deeper. Seeing Mom and Dad’s faces turning as black as ink, Hailey gritted her teeth, rolled her eyes back, and fainted straight away.

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“You’re polluting the air just by existing in this house.” That’s what my stepbrother, Declan, told me this morning. Feeling wronged, I went crying to my online boyfriend: “Got yelled at again. Need comfort ASAP.” The very next second, Declan’s phone buzzed on the coffee table. His lock screen lit up. A message from [KingBaby]. “Got yelled at again. Need comfort ASAP.” Me: !!! 1 I stared at the notification, frozen. Coincidence? It had to be. To verify, I sent a crying sticker to my online boyfriend. Buzz. Declan’s phone vibrated again. The screen showed [KingBaby] sending a sobbing cartoon bear. I turned to stone. My stepbrother—the guy who looks at me like I’m a cockroach, the guy who criticizes my breathing—is the same clingy, golden-retriever boyfriend who calls me “Baby” online? “No way.” I refused to believe something this absurd. I reached out to tap his screen, wanting to check the profile picture. Slap. My hand was swatted away before I could touch the glass. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to touch other people’s property?” Declan glared at me with pure disgust. “Then again, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Trash attracts trash.” Ever since my mom and I moved into the Sterling mansion, he hasn’t stopped with the insults. To Declan, this “reunion of first loves” after twenty years was a joke. He saw it as an insult to his late mother. Plus, my mom has terminal cancer. She doesn’t have much time left, yet she agreed to marry his dad. In his eyes, we are just gold diggers here for the inheritance. Mom does have a motive. On her hospital bed, she held my hand tightly. “Riley, promise me. Don’t fight with your brother or your stepfather. When I’m gone, the Sterling family can protect you.” If I refused, she would cough up blood from stress. So I promised. I endure everything. Thinking of this, I lowered my head. “Sorry. Your phone kept buzzing. I thought it might be an emergency, so I was bringing it to you.” Declan looked at me suspiciously, then unlocked his phone. The moment he saw the messages, the storm clouds on his face vanished. A smile—one I’d never seen directed at me—broke through, impossible to suppress. His thumbs flew across the screen. A second later, my phone in my pocket vibrated. [Baby, don’t cry! Your brother sounds like a total piece of trash. When we meet, I’ll punch his teeth in for you!] Me: … 2 Declan typed fast and furious. My pocket wouldn’t stop vibrating. I frantically switched it to silent. Declan sneered, looking up. “Getting blown up this late? Which debt collector is it this time?” Wow. The irony. You’re literally roasting yourself. I felt guilty, so I didn’t answer. He took my silence for defiance. “Did you two borrow more money? Is my dad’s fortune not enough for you leeches?” I forced a smile. “No. Just a classmate.” Before moving here, Mom and I lived paycheck to paycheck. When she got sick, the surgery bills piled up. We borrowed money. I worked part-time and paid the installments on time. The lenders were decent. But after we moved into the Sterling estate, the lenders found out. They showed up at the front gates, screaming and making a scene. It was chaos. Through my tears, I had looked up to the second-floor balcony and seen Declan there, smoking a cigarette, watching the show with a smirk. He had tipped them off. “I’m going to my room,” I said. Afraid I’d blow my cover, I ran upstairs. As soon as I closed my door, another message from Declan popped up. [Baby, why aren’t you replying? Are you still mad?] [Sticker: Sad puppy wagging tail] In reality, he shreds my dignity. Online, he’s a whimpering puppy. My feelings were complicated. I ignored him. Declan immediately transferred $5,000 via the app. Note: [Buy yourself some snacks. Please stop being mad.] Thinking of Declan’s cold, hateful eyes downstairs, I immediately hit ‘Refund’. [I don’t want money. I’m just tired and going to sleep.] Declan: [Okay 🙁 Goodnight, baby. Sad Puppy.jpg] The next morning, I was woken up by a vibration. Declan was being horny at 7 AM. [Baby! Up yet? Guess what I’m doing?] [I’m in the shower ;)] I was still half-asleep and forgot that my boyfriend was actually Satan himself. I replied out of habit: [Show me.] Next second, he obediently sent three photos. Wet abs. Water droplets running down a sharp V-line. A towel hanging dangerously low, leaving very little to the imagination. It was… objectively hot. Declan tempted me: [Want to touch?] I wiped invisible drool. [Duh. I want to eat you up.] [Hehe. Baby, let’s meet up then.] I jolted awake. Shit! Riley, you useless traitor! How could you lust after Declan?! Panicked, I ignored him for the rest of the day. He started spiraling for attention. [Are you mad because I asked to meet?] [If it’s too soon, I can wait. Just don’t ignore me.] [Baby, I just felt dizzy. I almost fainted at the gym.] [Care about me, please? My chest hurts.] … I rolled my eyes. Declan is 6’3″, built like a linebacker, and hits the gym daily. I once saw him take down a creep who was filming up a girl’s skirt with one hand. He is not fragile. Thinking of his fist, I knew I had to end this. I typed: [There’s something I’ve been hiding from you. I have to come clean. I’m a dude.] Declan: [?] [Are you joking, baby?] [No joke. That’s why I never wanted to meet.] The chat went silent. The “typing” bubble disappeared. Finally. He’s scared off. I was just celebrating my victory when Declan sent two messages that made my jaw drop. [As long as it’s you, I don’t care if you’re a guy.] [But… can I be on the bottom?] What the hell?! Declan, you’re way too committed! 3 That evening after class, I got a text from the pottery studio. [Ms. Riley, the custom couple’s mugs you sculpted last week have been fired and mailed to your home.] It was the gift I had made for my online boyfriend—Declan. Disaster. The mugs had our couple nicknames carved into them! I rushed home, heart pounding. But when I found the package in the living room, the contents were shattered. Declan was standing there, holding a shard of ceramic. “How much? I’ll pay you for it.” “No need.” I breathed a sigh of relief, grabbing the box of debris. It wasn’t like I could give it to him now anyway. Declan scoffed. “Dating someone? Does he know you’re a manipulative liar?” “If he likes you, he must be blind and stupid.” I was half-angry, half-amused. I turned back on the stairs. “Aren’t you afraid that every curse you say about my boyfriend will eventually bounce back onto you?” Declan raised an eyebrow. “Please. He’s nothing compared to my ‘KingBaby’.” “Oh. Well, I hope you two live happily ever after. Never break up.” I went to my room. Maybe my words made him paranoid. At dinner, halfway through his steak, Declan suddenly spoke up. “Dad, would you care if your future daughter-in-law was a man?” Cough! Cough! I choked on my water. “What?” Arthur, my stepfather, froze. He looked confused. Declan stayed calm. “Can you accept that your son is gay?” “I’m in love. And the person is a guy.” Holy crap. Declan didn’t just come out of the closet; he kicked the door off its hinges. Arthur was shocked. A massive argument erupted. Neither backed down. The war ended with a sharp slap across Declan’s face. I never expected my little lie to cause World War III. What shocked me more was that Declan texted me about it immediately. [Baby, don’t worry about gender. I came out to my family.] [They agreed.] Agreed?! He just got slapped! Thinking of the red handprint on his face, I felt a pang of guilt. I grabbed an ice pack and went to his room. Declan glared at me. “I don’t need your fake sympathy.” “You misunderstood.” I tossed the ice pack into his trash can. “I came to laugh at you.” Declan turned green with rage. The next day, Arthur looked like a ghost. Dark circles, stumbling walk. He’s a good man. Even with his busy schedule, he visits my mom at the hospital every day. He treats me like his own daughter. I never had a dad, and Arthur filled that void. If he finds out I’m “dating” his son, it might kill him. I made a decision. I texted Declan: [Let’s break up. I met someone else.] Declan instantly sent a 60-second voice memo. Probably pure profanity. I didn’t listen. I blocked him. For the next ten days, Declan was a walking zombie. He rejected all his friends’ party invites. He slept all day, drank half the wine cellar at night. Every day, he’d corner me with a gloomy stare. “Riley. Did you break up with your boyfriend yet?” seeing his misery, I nodded. “Yeah. Dumped him.” Satisfied, he’d slump back onto the sofa, unlit cigarette in his mouth, laughing bitterly. “Love is disgusting. Who needs it?” Then he’d secretly wipe his eyes. I thought the drama would fade. But then the Dean called me into his office. “Chloe told me you know the author ‘Solitude’.” Chloe is my best friend. And a massive blabbermouth. I had only told her I was a superfan of ‘Solitude’ and that we chatted online. Thankfully, I never told her that ‘Solitude’ is my online boyfriend—or that he is Declan Sterling. The Dean smiled. “Solitude has a huge following. We need exposure for admissions. He’s an alumnus. We want him to give a guest lecture.” “But he’s very private. We can’t reach him.” I wanted to refuse. The Dean leaned in. “If you pull this off, the university will write you a recommendation letter for any internship you want.” A recommendation from the Dean? That’s golden. I caved. I unblocked Declan. Sent a simple: [You there?] Given his mood lately, I expected abuse. Instead, Declan sent a sticker of a puppy wagging its tail so hard it was flying. [Baby! Is the grass not greener on the other side?] I grit my teeth. [Actually, I’m messaging you as a student representative from Sterling University. We want to discuss a work opportunity.] Declan didn’t reply. Ten minutes later: [What is it?] I explained the guest lecture request professionally. Declan: [I’ll do it. On one condition.] [We meet.] 4 I agreed to meet him on the day of the lecture. My plan? Hire a guy to pretend to be “Halo”—someone Declan would absolutely hate. Shatter his filter. But God has a twisted sense of humor. On the day, the hired actor called me. “Sorry, Riley. Car accident. Can’t make it.” I panicked. Declan texted: [Baby, I’m at the campus. Meet me?] Stalling, I typed: [Napping. Meet at the fountain square after the lecture!] I sprinted to Chloe’s dorm. No time to find another guy. I dragged Chloe out of bed, explaining the tangled mess while shoving clothes into her hands. She blinked sleepily. “That’s… messy.” “Just be a toxic nightmare. If you scare him off, I’ll buy your lunch for the whole semester.” Chloe saluted. “Say no more. I excel at being a red flag.” When we met Declan, Chloe’s eyes widened. “Riley, you eat good!” Declan is objectively gorgeous. Today, he was dressed up. Glasses, a soft sweater—he looked like a refined, intellectual gentleman, not the arrogant jerk I lived with. Declan was surprised to see me next to her. He frowned, then looked at Chloe with a gentle gaze. “Halo?” “That’s me!” Chloe chirped. Declan beamed. He handed her flowers and a gift bag, bending down to look her in the eyes. “Finally. You lied about being a boy? You’re adorable.” Chloe blushed. Declan had booked a fancy restaurant. Chloe, remembering her mission, grabbed my arm. “Riley is my bestie. If we eat, she comes too. You don’t mind, right?” Declan: “Of course not.” Then he shot me a look that screamed Get lost. I smiled and linked arms with Chloe. Dinner was excruciating. I was the brightest third wheel in history. Declan treated me like air. But with Chloe? He was terrified of upsetting her. Chloe acted her heart out. She demanded expensive wine, talked about wanting a rich husband, said she hates kids, loves clubbing, and wants an open relationship. Declan, the love-sick puppy, agreed to everything. Until she mentioned other men. His face went dark. “Baby,” he said, voice low. “Can’t your leash just hold me?” I almost choked on my pasta. Halfway through, I escaped to the bathroom. When I came out, Declan blocked my path. “Riley.” His eyes were cold. “There’s a limit to being shameless. When are you leaving? Ruining other people’s dates… is that a family tradition?” He looked at me like he wanted to snap my neck. I lowered my eyes. “I’m leaving now.” I went back, grabbed my bag, and whispered to Chloe, “I’m heading out.” Chloe texted me under the table: [Don’t go far. I’ll dump him in 30 mins, then we go get drinks!] [Okay. Be careful.] It was late. Most shops were closing. I sat on a bench around the corner, shivering in the wind. Thirty minutes passed. My phone buzzed. It was our housekeeper. [Ms. Riley, I accidentally broke your custom mugs the other day. Mr. Declan hired a master restorer. They just arrived. Look.] She sent a photo. The mugs were fixed with kintsugi—gold lacquer filling the cracks. It was beautiful. But the photo was high-res. The carved nicknames were clearly visible. Halo & KingBaby. Wait. The housekeeper sent this to me… [I sent the photo to Mr. Declan too, to show him the work is done.] Fuck. My blood ran cold. Just then, my phone vibrated. A text from Declan. [Come back. Chloe is in trouble!] Panic. I didn’t think, I just sprinted back to the restaurant. Chloe saw me burst in, panting. She started making frantic faces at me. Run! I looked at the table. Declan wasn’t there. I realized too late. It was a trap. I turned to flee, but slammed into a wall of solid chest. A voice, trembling with suppressed emotion, came from above my head. “Riley.” Goosebumps exploded all over my skin. I turned my head stiffly. Under the streetlights, Declan’s eyes were red. He wore an expression that was halfway between crying and laughing. A terrifying, broken look. “…So, it was you.”

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I was five when I had the fever. A high, blinding one. The doctors said it was the delayed treatment that left me permanently a beat behind. A little slower, a little weaker, never quite catching up to the world around me. Next to me, my sister, Genevieve, two years younger, was a burst of effervescent sunlight—quick, graceful, and adored. Of course, she was the favorite. Even the boy who was supposed to marry me—my childhood crush and eventual fiancé—grew to dislike my clumsy presence and broke the engagement for her. The only constant, the only harbor, was Callum. “Don’t cry, you little fool,” he’d say, pulling me into the crook of his arm. “If they won’t have you, I will.” I clung to Callum. He was the one person who saw past the C-minus grades and the perpetually lost expression. Then, I saw him comforting Genevieve. “You love Rhys,” he was saying, his voice a low, rough velvet. “I’ll step aside, willingly.” Genevieve was weeping, her head buried in his chest. “Since I can’t be with you the way I want,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “I’ll get engaged to your sister. I’ll become family in a different sense. I just need to be near you, Genevieve.” A shard of ice shot through me. “I’ve always loved you,” he finished, his voice breaking. Ah. It turned out that even Callum, my rock, was never truly mine. 1 I stepped back, my feet frozen to the spot. I had come to find Callum, hoping to ask if he had time to accompany me to a doctor’s appointment. I thought I might be pregnant. The doctor, a girl I vaguely remembered from high school, smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Congratulations,” she said. “You’re definitely pregnant.” Then, her face softened with concern. “But you came alone?” I sat in the sterile hospital corridor, tracing the faint shadow of the ultrasound image on the sheet. I gently touched the paper with my thumb. “Will you be as unwelcome as I am?” I whispered to the shadow. “It’s alright. Mama will love you. Don’t be afraid to come into this world.” Callum was waiting when I got home, his expression tight with anxiety. “Where did you run off to? You didn’t answer your phone. Do you have any idea how worried I was?” Seeing me safe, the tension eased from his shoulders. His voice softened as he took the medical sheet from my hand. “What’s this you’re holding?” I wanted to show him. I opened my mouth. “Callum—” Genevieve’s voice cut through the air. “I’m home!” Callum’s gaze lifted, pulled away by her voice as effortlessly as a tether cut free. He discreetly released my hand. “Your sister’s back. Let’s eat.” The table was set with all of Genevieve’s favorite dishes. I had no appetite. A wave of involuntary nausea seized me, and I clapped a hand over my mouth, suppressing a dry heave. Callum, mid-motion of preparing the meal for Genevieve, paused. He frowned at me, his eyes sharp with subtle rebuke. “Aubrey, don’t be dramatic.” “You need to get over this picky eating of yours.” Genevieve was pregnant. But her husband, Rhys, was on an overseas business trip when a local conflict erupted. He was still missing. Worried about her, my parents had moved her into my house. “Aubrey, all you do is your little drawing and painting anyway. It’s not a real job,” my mother had lectured me. “We’re all so busy. You need to take good care of your sister, watch over her, and make sure nothing happens to her.” “Right now, Genevieve comes first. Everything is about Genevieve.” I had heard versions of this speech my whole life. Unlike healthy, bright Genevieve, I was the slow one, the sickly one, the straight C-minus student who always made my parents sigh and worry. I couldn’t tell when other children were teasing me. Once, my mother had plucked a handful of weeds that had been thrown on my head and flung them onto the pavement, her face tight with fury. “Why are you so stupid? Can’t you fight back?” When I was sick and wanted to climb into my father’s embrace, he would push me away, his expression grim. “Aubrey, I have to take your sister to her conservatory competition. Stop making a scene.” Even Genevieve would ask me, when my hospitalization meant they had to cut short her family vacation: “Sister, why are you always such a pain?” My family poured all their energy and dreams into the healthy, talented, and beautiful Genevieve. In the beginning, when Rhys and I were still engaged, he used to visit me. He’d bring little toys or books. I loved Rhys. But as we got older, he stopped coming. He and Genevieve grew closer, their bond glittering and undeniable. If someone suggested including me in their plans, Rhys would wave a dismissive hand. “Don’t bother calling her. She’s boring.” “How can two sisters be so different, from the same parents? Genevieve is a swan, and she’s just… the forgettable understudy.” The first boy I ever loved fell for my sister. I took the small, carefully wrapped gift I’d prepared for Rhys and hid it, retreating from their orbit. I learned to disappear. Only Callum was different. He would find me when I was hiding and crying. He would sit by the lake and light a birthday candle for me when everyone else forgot. He never missed a year after that. When I was twenty, Rhys publicly and cruelly ended our engagement: “Lian Zhixia is too slow and boring! Who would marry her?” Callum had taken my hand, led me away, and said, “I will.” I looked into the mirror, at my own swollen, red eyes. If only Callum hadn’t been lying. 2. My birthday was just two days after the hospital visit. I saw the tickets tucked into Callum’s jacket pocket: two passes to the VIP viewing deck for the biggest Summer Firework Spectacular in the neighboring city. “Callum, I don’t want to go there for my birthday,” I said quietly. His eyes froze for a split second. He smoothly withdrew the tickets, deliberated, and then said, “Aubrey, these aren’t for you.” “Genevieve said she wanted a change of scenery to clear her head. I can’t let her go alone.” Suddenly, I was eighteen again, back in the darkness of a night when the whole family was celebrating Genevieve’s latest trophy, and no one remembered my birthday. Every bone in my body felt a faint ache. I managed to make my voice sound light. “What about me, then? It’s my birthday that night.” Callum pinched the bridge of his nose. “Genevieve is still very fragile right now. If we throw a big party for you, it might upset her.” He looked at me with an earnest plea. “Aubrey, birthdays can be celebrated later. Just this once. We grew up together; we should look out for each other.” “Besides, you don’t like big crowds anyway. I promise I’ll come home as early as I can. Be mature about this.” On my birthday, I saw the photos on Genevieve’s social media feed. The bright, dazzling fireworks framed her silhouette and Callum’s. She was making a wish for her baby’s health and for news of Rhys. Callum’s profile, steady and knight-like, suddenly brought back a flood of forgotten details from my nineteenth birthday. That year, the neighboring city held its first firework show, and we all went. Rhys and Genevieve vanished into the crowd almost immediately. The chaotic human tide nearly caused a stampede. I couldn’t breathe, my heart hammering in my ears. Just as I stumbled, Callum fought his way through the crush and shielded me. When he saw only me, he looked startled. He craned his neck, looking around desperately. “Where’s Genevieve?” When they finally rejoined us, Genevieve’s face was flushed, her hand tightly laced with Rhys’s. She smiled brightly. “Callum, were you looking for me? I just saw your text that you needed to talk.” Callum’s gaze dropped to their interlocked hands, then back to Genevieve’s radiant smile. Rhys scoffed, a flicker of hostility in his eyes. “What, you planning on declaring your feelings to Genevieve tonight too?” Callum’s arm suddenly wrapped around my shoulder, and he laughed, the sound hollow. “I was actually looking for you two to secretly brainstorm what we should do for Aubrey’s birthday.” Genevieve, in the first flush of love, saw my closeness with Callum through a lens of romance. “Wow, Callum, you’re so good to my sister.” She emphasized the word good. Amidst the explosions of light, Callum handed me a small box he’d been clutching. “Happy birthday, Aubrey.” I held the small box carefully, overwhelmed, my ears burning red. I was so dense. It took me all these years to realize the truth. I finally understood why, when he couldn’t find them in the crowd that night, Callum had frantically called Genevieve’s name. I understood the controlled grief and loss in his eyes when he looked at Genevieve and Rhys. And why the gift he gave me that night was a necklace shaped like a cello. I understood the way his eyes had darted away when I’d said excitedly, “Thank you for remembering my birthday.” Callum didn’t come home before the new day arrived. I blew out the candles on my small cake alone. I used to wish that my parents would care more, that Callum would love me forever, and that Rhys and Genevieve would stop hating me. A faint, muffled sob echoed in the dark apartment. Now, I just wanted to leave them all behind. The candles were out. My twenty-eight years of foolish life were over. 3. Rhys was found and brought home, but he had significant memory loss. I didn’t go to the hospital with them. I knew the truth of what happened at Rhys and Genevieve’s engagement party years ago. Someone had spiked Rhys’s drink, and I had been trapped with him in a secluded room. His heavy breathing was hot on my neck. I was screaming, terrified, when finally someone found us. I stumbled out, clutching my torn dress, reeling from the terror. But when I looked up, everyone was staring at me with a look of vile judgment. My father’s hand swung across my face. The slap made my ears ring, and he was breathing heavily, his chest heaving with rage. “Shameful!” he roared. “How dare you destroy your sister’s engagement party like this?” Rhys, the drug’s effect now fading, and Genevieve looked at me with pure disgust. “Sister, your engagement to Rhys was an outdated arrangement by our parents,” Genevieve said, her voice dripping with scorn. “He doesn’t love you. Why are you grasping for something that isn’t yours?” Rhys added, his voice ice cold, “Did you stoop this low because I broke off the engagement? I always thought you were just dull and boring. I underestimated your sheer malice.” “Get out. I never want to see you again.” No matter how I explained, they refused to believe me. I became a transparent ghost in my own home. Slowly, I stopped speaking altogether. The only person who claimed to believe me was Callum. Though even he said, “Aubrey, of course I believe you.” “But apologize to Genevieve. It’s her important day, and you ruined it.” Later, he proposed, saying that marrying him would silence the gossips. Now, Genevieve was sobbing in his arms, venting her frustration over Rhys’s memory loss. Callum’s hand stroked her shoulder, an endless stream of tenderness in his touch. Genevieve, needing a reaction from Rhys, asked Callum to pretend to be her boyfriend and provoke him. The next thing I heard was that Rhys and Callum had gotten into a fistfight. They stood confronting each other like two lions defending their territory. Rhys, predictably, was being cruel. “I suddenly remembered, isn’t your wife my ex-fiancée? You just go around picking up my sloppy seconds, don’t you?” Callum grabbed Rhys’s collar, squeezing so hard Rhys could only gasp for air. “What are you so proud of?” Callum spat out, his face a mask of fury. “If I hadn’t been watching Aubrey’s every move and sent someone to find her, your little plot to drug him would have worked. You would have been completely out of the picture!” The last wire holding my sanity snapped. The only fragile strand of trust I had clung to—that Callum had married me out of true compassion—was just his self-serving lie: “I watched her, so she couldn’t do anything worse.” “I sacrificed my own happiness, and I’ve been putting up with Aubrey for you for years! That’s enough!” They tossed me between them like unwanted trash. Callum took Genevieve away for a vacation. Three days after they left, a whole design team and a contractor arrived at the house. “Mr. Thorne instructed us to complete the remodel before his return.” I saw his long list of requirements: the room layout, the flowers in the courtyard, the furniture brands. Everything was to be changed to fit Genevieve’s preferences. I packed my own belongings and watched as they took down my illustrations, turned my art studio into a music room, and tore out all the flowers in the garden to replant them. I remembered the day we moved in, when Callum had affectionately ruffled my hair. “I used to live here alone, but now it’s ours. We can design it exactly the way you like.” Back then, no matter what I suggested, Callum would smile warmly and say, “Yes, whatever you like is fine.” He never interfered, never questioned. Now I knew. It wasn’t devotion; it was indifference. For the person he truly loved, he was diligent and devoted, fussing over the temperature of the room. 4. I received a text from Callum just before he and Genevieve were due to return. “Aubrey, I need to talk to you about something when I get back.” But that night, I didn’t even have time to grab a coat before I was dragged to the hospital. Genevieve and Callum had been in a car accident on their way home. They had hit a pedestrian. “You’re the same blood type as the injured person. You’ll stay here,” my mother ordered, her eyes wild. “If the blood bank runs low, they’ll use yours.” The cold night air hit my thin top, clinging to my back. It was a cold that pierced to the bone. I spoke with a terrifying new calmness. “I can’t donate.” Callum’s brow furrowed. “Aubrey, this person absolutely cannot die.” My mother’s fingernails dug into my arm. “What is the meaning of this? Are you trying to hurt your sister?” “How can I hurt her? You were so afraid of her being stressed that you already sent her home, didn’t you?” I looked at their accusing faces. “Why don’t you ever listen to me? Am I really that malicious?” My nose began to sting. “None of you even asked why I can’t donate.” No one answered. As I started to walk away, Callum seized my shoulders and pressed me back down onto the bench. My tears were clinging to my lashes. His grip was like iron; I couldn’t move an inch. The amount of blood they took wasn’t huge, but afterward, I was dizzy and nauseous. Callum started to move toward me to embrace me, but I bent over, dry heaving. I didn’t have the strength to push him away, so I simply stumbled to my feet. I walked slowly, carefully, suppressing the urge to vomit. My pale, almost ghostly reflection stared back at me in the glass door. I turned back to them. “I helped the person you love most. I don’t owe you anything now, do I?” The next day, the media ran the story about the traffic accident. They praised “renowned artist Genevieve Thorne” for taking full responsibility, noting that her family had also “volunteered to donate blood as a token of apology.” The injured party was stable. Callum, acting as spokesman, called for safety and established a corresponding charitable foundation. Public opinion soared. Everyone was calling Genevieve the “goddess of the music world,” praising her and her family’s kind hearts and social responsibility. I stared at the screen, a laugh bubbling up and turning into a ragged sob. They hadn’t needed my blood at all. They only needed me as a footnote—a detail to complete my sister’s beautiful narrative. Aubrey Lian, how pathetic are you? Callum was shocked when he got a call from an old high school acquaintance. He was silent for a moment before placing the name. “Callum, I tried calling Aubrey, but she didn’t pick up. How is she doing? Any severe reaction to the blood donation?” Callum was confused by the sudden concern. He replied politely, “Thank you for asking. She’s perfectly fine.” The voice on the other end let out a long sigh of relief. “That’s reckless. She came in alone for the prenatal check-up a while back.” “Then she came in alone for the termination. And right after that, she goes and donates blood? Luckily, everything turned out okay.” A roaring sound filled Callum’s ears. He hung up abruptly, forcing a careless chuckle. “Who was that scammer?” “They got the whole story wrong. They didn’t even know who was pregnant.” I need to tell Aubrey to block that number. He dialed the phone number that had flashed on his screen almost every day for months. “The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Please try again later.” The line went dead again and again. Callum ignored Genevieve’s questioning stare and bolted out the door.

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The last year of my life, the year the cancer was eating me alive, was the same year my daughter, Clara, married into the Ashworth dynasty. I died believing she was finally safe, set up for a life of storybook happiness. I was wrong. Less than a year later, Preston Ashworth’s so-called “Lost Love”—the one he was supposedly destined for, the woman who returned to turn our world to ash—came back. Serena Hayes. The torment she inflicted, drove Clara into a debilitating depression. Seven months pregnant, and the viper was making her down shots of hard liquor in a VIP room. The rage that exploded in my chest—the sheer, blinding injustice—was enough to finally let go. I took my last, rattling breath. Then, I woke up. I was no longer Clara’s dying mother; I was the formidable Eleanor “Ellie” Sterling, the undisputed matriarch of the family that was systematically destroying her. Preston Ashworth’s mother. I found the location and kicked open the heavy door to the private room. Serena Hayes, a picture of false piety in a flowing silk dress, immediately plastered a smile on her face and rushed over. “Ellie! Mother Ashworth, what a surprise. How you come here?” Chapter 1 The last year of my life, the year the cancer was eating me alive, was the same year my daughter, Clara, married into the Ashworth dynasty. I died believing she was finally safe, set up for a life of storybook happiness. I was wrong. Less than a year later, Preston Ashworth’s so-called “Lost Love”—the one he was supposedly destined for, the woman who returned to turn our world to ash—came back. Serena Hayes. The torment she inflicted, drove Clara into a debilitating depression. Seven months pregnant, and the viper was making her down shots of hard liquor in a VIP room. The rage that exploded in my chest—the sheer, blinding injustice—was enough to finally let go. I took my last, rattling breath. Then, I woke up. I was no longer Clara’s dying mother; I was the formidable Eleanor “Ellie” Sterling, the undisputed matriarch of the family that was systematically destroying her. Preston Ashworth’s mother. I found the location and kicked open the heavy door to the private room. Serena Hayes, a picture of false piety in a flowing silk dress, immediately plastered a smile on her face and rushed over. “Ellie! Mother Ashworth, what a surprise. How you come here?” 1 The room went instantly silent. The handful of people inside, the hangers-on and sycophants, all stared. Serena, her hand instinctively resting on her perfectly tailored bump, kept her saccharine smile fixed. “Did Preston send you to pick me up…?” I didn’t spare her a glance. I walked straight past her, my eyes locked on the leather sectional. My daughter. Seven months pregnant, Clara was pinned against the cushions, struggling as a group of people tried to force a glass down her throat. The stench of spilled whiskey already permeated her thin dress. “Let her go.” The man with the loud floral shirt paused, looking uncertainly at Serena. Serena grabbed my arm, her touch instantly repulsive. “Mother Ashworth, it’s just a game. Clara lost a round, so she’s being punished.” CRACK! The sound—a wet, shocking crack—cut through the tension. I’d used all my resurrected strength on the slap. “Who do you think you’re calling ‘Mother’?” I hissed, my voice dangerously low. “Clara Ashworth is the only legal, recognized daughter-in-law of this family. You are nothing.” Serena’s head was still turned to the side, her expression frozen in disbelief. I didn’t look at her, my gaze hard and unforgiving. “I’ll say it one more time. Get away from her.” Serena’s eyes started to well up, a practiced show of wounded innocence. “Clara was being dramatic. Besides, a tiny sip of wine never hurt a pregnant woman…” “A tiny sip? That was a full glass of single-malt whiskey!” The thought of the burning liquid being forced on my pregnant daughter sent a renewed wave of fury through me. My eyes swept pointedly over Serena’s own noticeably prominent belly. “You’re a pregnant woman, too. Why don’t you offer to drink that for her?” “Absolutely not!” Serena recoiled instantly, a flash of pure fear crossing her face. “Mom, what are you doing here?!” Preston Ashworth’s voice boomed from the doorway. Serena instantly broke free of my grip and rushed to him, her eyes now truly red. “It was nothing, Preston! We were just playing a silly game with Clara, and Mother Ashworth got so angry…” Preston wrapped his arms around her, instantly comforting his mistress. “Mom, it’s just a drink. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.” He didn’t spare Clara a single glance. Not one. Watching him, my heart went cold, inch by devastating inch. This was the man my precious Clara had trusted with her life. This was the son-in-law I had prayed over from my deathbed, hoping he would give her the happiness I could no longer guarantee. I spoke, my voice devoid of warmth. “This is the only warning you will get.” “If Clara and that child suffer any kind of permanent harm, I promise you, I will not hesitate to ruin you both.” 2 I drove Clara straight back to the Ashworth mansion, a cold silence hanging between us, and ordered the household staff to see to her comfort. A young maid, hesitant, guided Clara towards a dimly lit corner on the second floor. Then she pushed open a door I hadn’t noticed—a door that led to a small utility closet. The maid helped Clara inside and started to close the door. A rush of foul air—stale garbage and mildew—hit me. My brow furrowed. “What in God’s name are you doing?” I demanded of the maid. The maid looked back, genuinely confused. “Madam, this is Mrs. Ashworth’s room.” My breath hitched. My pupils instantly constricted. This was my daughter’s home? Her sanctuary? A single, narrow bed was shoved into the corner. It was the dead of winter, and the only covering was a flimsy cotton quilt, the exact one I’d knitted for her senior year of high school. She was the officially recognized Mrs. Ashworth! I fought down the urge to scream. I forced myself to maintain a smooth, even tone. “Go. Now. Clear out the South-facing Master Suite on the third floor.” “But that’s where Miss Hayes keeps her things…” “Clear it out. All of it.” The staff instantly scurried to obey. Within minutes, a flurry of activity began, moving Serena’s expensive-looking clutter out of the most luxurious suite in the house. Serena arrived moments later, surveying the sudden upheaval. “Stop! Who gave you the right to touch my things?!” This time, the staff ignored her, recognizing the sudden shift in the balance of power. Serena stomped her foot, enraged, then spotted me on the second-floor landing. She took a deep breath, smoothing her dress, forcing herself to adopt a contrite, obedient expression. Her hand automatically went to her stomach. “Mother Ashworth, why are you doing this? I’m carrying Preston’s child…” “Don’t you worry about Preston getting angry when he sees you throwing my belongings out?” I looked down at her, my expression utterly flat. “Clara is also pregnant.” “And the child she carries is the legitimate heir of the Ashworth name. Yours is not.” Serena didn’t react as expected. She laughed, a brittle, ugly sound. “Clara? She barely qualifies as a decent babysitter!” “She only latched onto Preston to get money for her mother’s medical bills. Preston only indulged her out of pity.” Her voice dropped, thick with scorn. “Now that her cancer-ridden mother is dead, Clara is a used plaything. She’s overstayed her welcome.” Serena’s words landed like sharp little knives, one after the other, plunging into the part of my heart that was still Clara’s mother. You told me you loved him, Clara. That he loved you. You told me you were happy. Was this what you endured all along? Were you sacrificing yourself even then? I clenched my fists so tight my nails dug into my palms. Serena, misinterpreting my silence as defeat, pressed her advantage, her tone thick with sneering confidence. “Preston runs this house, ultimately. Your son loves me, not her. Clara may be the legal wife, but she’ll be making way for me soon enough. Why cause a rift in the family for a toy Preston has already discarded?” I smiled then, a small, cold curve of my lips. I looked straight into the triumphant gleam in her eyes. “You want to join the Ashworth family?” I asked softly. “Preston’s approval is irrelevant. You have to ask me.” Serena’s face faltered, but before she could retort, the front door swung open. 3 Preston Ashworth walked in to find a mountain of Serena’s luxury goods piled on the Italian marble floor. His brows immediately drew together. “What the hell is going on here?” Serena’s composure instantly broke. She flew into his arms, tears springing to her eyes. “It’s nothing, darling. Just a misunderstanding.” She pulled back, looking martyr-like. “That suite has the best light. It really should go to Clara. I’m just being a little sentimental about the move… I might have been a bit short with the staff, and I upset Mother Ashworth.” Preston tenderly wiped the tears from her cheek, his concern centered solely on her. He finally looked up at me. “Mom, I told you. If you have an issue, you address it with me. Why are you punishing Serena? If you want to change her room, we can discuss it like adults.” “Discuss it like adults?” I raised an eyebrow and pointed towards the dark utility closet. “Was that the result of your ‘adult’ discussion? Making your seven-months-pregnant wife live in a glorified trash room?” Preston’s face flushed. He avoided my gaze. “She could have asked for a different room. Why did she have to steal Serena’s?” “Steal? I put your legal wife into the best suite in the house. What exactly is the problem?” Preston was speechless. After a long, awkward silence, he muttered, “But Serena is further along…” I almost laughed at the sheer absurdity of his entitlement. “Preston, your legally wedded wife is seven months pregnant! Your mistress is carrying a child that is due before your wife’s. You’ve been married less than a year. How does that reflect on the Ashworth name, exactly?” His face went crimson. Serena, seeing his distress, gently stroked his arm, adopting the voice of a gentle angel. “Don’t fight with your mother over me, Preston. I really don’t mind where I stay, as long as you and the baby are happy. We should listen to Mother Ashworth.” She even gave me a beatific, pitying smile. Predictably, Preston only grew more protective. He looked down at Serena, his voice firm. “You listen to me. Pack a bag. You’re moving into the Master Bedroom with me tonight.” Serena looked stunned for a second, then shook her head softly. “No, darling, really. Don’t cause trouble with your mother. I can sleep anywhere, truly. As long as you and the baby are well…” “You’ll do as I say,” Preston insisted, patting her hand, his tone now a low growl. “I still run this house.” He put his arm around her and walked away. He didn’t dare look back at me. Serena leaned into him, utterly victorious. But before they rounded the staircase, she shot me a look over Preston’s shoulder—a fleeting glance of smug triumph and cold mockery. I remained still, watching them leave. When the massive house finally fell silent, I turned and walked up to Clara’s room. She was already settled, the silence in the luxurious room oppressive. I could barely hear her shallow breathing. She wasn’t sleeping peacefully; even in her sleep, her brow was deeply furrowed. I sat on the edge of the bed and gently took her cold hand. “Mom…” she murmured. “I’m here, Clara. I’m here.” She must have heard me because her fingers tightened, clinging to mine with a desperate strength. My mind replayed the scene from the hallway: Preston and Serena, intertwined, openly flaunting their affair. And here, my daughter suffered alone. My grip around her hand tightened. You have only me now, my sweet girl. Then, my gaze fell on her arm. Her sleeve had ridden up in the struggle, revealing an angry, purple bruise across her wrist. My heart plunged into my stomach. I carefully pulled the sleeve higher. A collection of injuries. Old ones, fading yellow. New ones, a sickening, fresh purple-red. I lowered my eyes to her pale, sleeping face and gently smoothed the crease from her brow. Then, I stood and quietly left the room. The muffled sound of Serena’s high-pitched laughter and Preston’s gentle, indulgent replies drifted down the hall from the Master Suite. I stood in the deep shadow of the landing, listening, my face empty of expression. Preston Ashworth. Serena Hayes. Very well. The scars your cruelty inflicted… I will repay every single one. Every moment of pain. With interest. You will pay for this. 4 To compensate Serena for the ‘trauma’ of being moved, Preston decided to throw a lavish dinner party. He also promised her that he would publicly announce her child as the Ashworth family’s sole and rightful heir. The ballroom was packed with the city’s elite. Preston stood in the center of the floor, Serena on his arm, beaming with self-satisfaction. “Congratulations, Preston!” “What a lucky lady, Mrs. Ashworth!” The fawning praises echoed through the room. No one mentioned the true Mrs. Ashworth, Clara, as if she were a ghost, an inconvenient memory. It was then that the grand double doors of the ballroom were thrown open. Silence. I stood in the doorway, my gaze sweeping the room. Preston spotted me and, with Serena on his arm, walked over. “Mom, you came. Perfect. Serena and I were just about to…” “Where is Clara?” I cut him off, my voice steady. Preston hesitated, his eyes darting away. “It’s a celebration, Mom. Don’t bring her up. She made a mistake, and she needs to reflect on it.” “What mistake?” Preston’s brow furrowed. “She is a spiteful woman. She tried to push Serena down the stairs this afternoon. If I hadn’t seen it, the outcome would have been unthinkable.” Serena, ever the consummate performer, instantly welled up, her voice a soft, injured whisper. “Mother Ashworth, Clara was truly terrible this time. We almost… almost lost the baby. Preston was simply upset, so he had to punish her.” I ignored Serena’s pathetic act and fixed my gaze on Preston. “She is not well. Tell me where Clara is, immediately.” Preston sighed, exasperated. “Not well? Can’t you see she’s acting? She’s manipulating you for sympathy. And besides, I am her husband. She misbehaved, and I have every right to discipline her!” My patience snapped. The thought of my daughter locked away somewhere, hurting, was unbearable. “Preston Ashworth! I’m asking you one last time. Where is my daughter?!” “Your daughter?” Serena repeated the phrase softly, a sneer forming at the corners of her mouth. She chuckled. “Ellie, are you feeling alright? You’ve been under a lot of stress. How could Clara be your daughter? Preston, maybe we should call a psychiatrist for your mother.” Preston’s face tightened. “Mom, be rational! You don’t have a daughter. Clara is nothing to you, she’s certainly not a part of this family…” He sighed deeply. “Enough. You’re overtired. Guards!” He waved toward the door. “My mother is exhausted. Escort her back to her room.” Two large security guards stepped forward, ready to intervene. “I’d like to see you try to move me,” I snapped. The guards froze, uncertain. Preston bit back a curse. “What are you waiting for? I am the head of this family. Take the old lady to rest!” I smiled, a cold, predatory smile. “The head of the family? Excellent.” I slowly pulled a thick, official-looking manila envelope from my clutch. When Preston saw the word ADOPTION stamped clearly on the cover, his eyes went wide. His previous confidence evaporated. “Mom, let’s go home and discuss this, just us…” “I gave you a chance, Preston. As of this moment, our relationship is severed. You are no longer the heir to the Ashworth fortune.” Preston stood frozen, his eyes finally showing a flicker of genuine terror. Just then, a maid ran into the ballroom, leaning in to whisper a frantic message into Preston’s ear. The words, though low, carried clearly to me: “Sir, Mrs. Ashworth has been locked in the ice room for three hours…” “We heard her crying earlier, but now the room is silent.” “Should we let her out?”

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