Category: English

The email confirming my resignation was barely in my inbox when Sabrina hit the ‘send’ button on her message to the all-hands chat. “Nolan is leaving us,” her text read, tagging every single member of the company. “He’s treating the entire firm to dinner tomorrow night. You all pick the spot.” I froze, phone in hand. The entire firm. Veridian Tech had over a hundred employees, and not a single person had given me a heads-up. The group chat instantly exploded. Hundreds of replies instantly scroll-flashed across the screen. “That new Omakase place, five hundred bucks a head. He won’t be our boss anymore, so why not bleed him dry?” “Seafood feast! Lobster and King Crab! Let’s eat back his project bonus—I heard he cleared a fortune last month!” “He’s already out the door. We have to make this final stab count!” Watching the torrent of messages, my expression didn’t change. I slowly typed in the address for the most exclusive, high-end fine dining spot in the city—The Meridian Penthouse—and hit send. Then I picked up my cell and dialed the travel agent. “I need a ticket to the Maldives. Tomorrow morning. As soon as possible.” 1 By the time I hung up, the group chat was already hysterical over the location I’d dropped. “Holy cow! Nolan is actually going to bankrupt himself!” “He’s been so quiet, but finally, he’s treating us right on his way out? It’s about time.” “Exactly! His commission from those last few mega-deals could cover ten dinners like this!” “@Nolan, what time tomorrow? I’m starting my fast right now!” I ignored the continuous stream of messages, flipped the phone facedown on my desk, and started cleaning out my cubicle. Three years. I’d given this company countless days and nights. I’d bought into the future Sabrina painted for me. “Nolan, you’re the only one who can carry this project…” “Nolan, just a little more effort, darling. It’s for our future…” “Nolan, you are my biggest asset and my greatest hero…” But when I submitted my application for promotion, the only thing I got back was a dismissive, “You need more seasoning.” The next day, the position I bled for was air-dropped to Brock, a golden boy whose spreadsheets looked like abstract art. That was when I knew: my three years of tireless dedication were just a gilded carpet, rolled out to pave the way for the man she actually cared about. And now, they still wanted to set me up. They wanted me to pay out of pocket to feed that venomous couple and a hundred parasitic colleagues who were thrilled to see me fall? Fine. If that’s the game, I wanted every single one of them to remember exactly what that meal tasted like. “Hey, Nolan.” The smarmy voice hit me from behind. I didn’t have to turn around to know it was Brock. “I didn’t know you had it in you, man.” He stood there, arms crossed, sizing me up with a fake, condescending grin. “I thought you’d be in Sabrina’s office right now, begging her to withdraw your resignation. Didn’t know you were such a shark.” “The Meridian Penthouse? She took me there once—it’s a mortgage payment on a plate.” I didn’t dignify his words with a response, focusing instead on packing my things, one by one. Being ignored didn’t seem to bother him. He reached out and placed his hand, not heavily but deliberately, on the folder I was organizing. “Hold up, man. Don’t be so hasty. I actually came here about something important.” He kept the phony smile on his face, pushing his laptop toward me with his other hand. The screen showed a disastrously formatted quarterly summary report. “Sabrina needs the department’s consolidated report first thing tomorrow. Just tweak it for me, will you? It’s easy for you.” I glanced at the corporate catastrophe on the screen. “Brock, a reminder: my resignation is final. What you’re asking for is outside the scope of my responsibilities.” The smile on his face dimmed a fraction. “Come on, Nolan. Don’t be like that. I know you’re upset about leaving, but this report impacts the entire department’s review. If it looks sloppy, Sabrina might think you didn’t complete a proper handover, right?” “The handover was confirmed with a signed checklist.” My voice was flat. I pointed out a few glaring, amateur errors in the presentation. “And these are basic mistakes. They have nothing to do with the handover process.” My bluntness finally shattered his facade. “Nolan! What the hell is that supposed to mean?” His voice rose. “I might not be as experienced as you, but Sabrina trusts me now. She gives me the important work, not you…” He grew more agitated. “You don’t like it? Tough. I’m the Project Manager now, and I’m the one who will be by Sabrina’s side later! You’re just a stepping stone for me, man! I don’t need your evaluation of my competence!” Colleagues around us glanced over. I couldn’t be bothered to watch his performance and kept packing. “Time will prove your competence, Brock. It doesn’t require my opinion.” “You—!” He choked on his next word, finger pointed right at my face. “What are you two arguing about?” 2 Sabrina’s irritated voice cut in. Her brow furrowed, but her gaze instantly softened when it hit the agitated Brock. “Baby, what’s wrong? Who’s upsetting you?” “Sabrina…” Brock instantly found his anchor, his face a mask of wounded fury. “I just asked Nolan to look over the report, and he… he insulted me, said I was incompetent, that my work was garbage… He said I stole his spot… I just want to do a good job. I don’t want to disappoint you…” He sounded utterly distraught, as if I had subjected him to some heinous abuse. “Sabrina, am I really useless? Should I not have taken this position? Am I making things difficult for you?” He was, admittedly, a master of gaslighting and revisionist history. Hearing his plea, Sabrina’s frown deepened. She patted Brock’s back reassuringly. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re doing great. This position belongs to you, and no one has the right to second-guess that.” She then turned to me, her face hardening, her eyes full of cold reproof. “Nolan, what is your problem? Can’t you leave quietly? Brock was asking for guidance. Even if you don’t help, you don’t get to insult him! Look at how upset he is! You will apologize to him immediately!” Her voice cut clearly through the quiet office area. Everyone looked over, their attention fixed on me, waiting for my reaction. I looked at the couple before me: one a talented liar, the other a willing, biased listener. For three years, similar scenes had ended with my silent retreat. Not today. “Sabrina, I’m not the one who needs to apologize.” My tone was final, my eyes level with hers. Sabrina seemed taken aback by my defiance. She stared at me for a long moment, then lowered her voice. “Nolan, come into my office.” She closed the door, cutting off the outside view. Leaning against her desk, she tried to soften her tone. “Alright, Nolan. It’s just us. Stop being dramatic.” “The dinner tomorrow—that was just a formality. A way for you to save face. I’d never actually let you pay that much.” “I know you’re hurt that Brock got the position. That’s why you impulsively resigned. Look, I’ll bump your salary by fifteen grand a year. How about that?” “You can stay on as Brock’s deputy. We’ll go back to how things were. I’ll value your loyalty, Nolan, and rely on you.” “With your competence, you can keep the projects stable. That keeps the team steady and the company secure.” She squeezed my wrist, her thumb stroking the back of my hand, adopting a posture of concerned patronage. I looked at her face and felt a wave of nausea. I pulled my hand back sharply, the touch feeling like something unclean. “Sabrina, my resignation was a thoroughly considered decision. I am not playing games.” Her practiced smile faltered. Her tone carried a hint of disbelief. “So, you’re telling me you’d rather drop a hundred thousand dollars on a dinner for the whole firm just to spite me?” She scoffed. “Nolan, who taught you accounting? Why would you want to be such a fool?” My voice was flat. “Sabrina, I’ve run the numbers. Some investments, when they’re guaranteed to fail, you just cut your losses.” “Cut your losses?” A muscle twitched in Sabrina’s cheek. She slowly raised a hand to adjust the collar of her suit jacket. “Fine. Very well.” “Since you’re so wealthy, why don’t you do one last good deed?” She leaned forward, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “The quarterly earnings for your biggest project—The Prescott Account—just give the credit to Brock. You’re leaving anyway, so you won’t get the commission. Why not leave a good impression?” 3 I stopped packing and just looked at her familiar face. The last sliver of hope I had held onto—that she might possess a single ounce of decency—shattered. “I spent eight months locking down The Prescott Account.” “The contract was finalized last week, and the first payment hit the accounts yesterday. By company policy, those quarterly earnings belong to me.” The faint smile on Sabrina’s face vanished. “Policy is policy, but people are people.” “Brock is taking over all your clients. If his first quarter looks terrible, how is he going to command respect? You’re leaving. Leave on a high note. It’ll be better for your reputation in the industry.” “Sabrina.” I cut her off, meeting her eyes. “I personally believe my reputation doesn’t require such a costly sacrifice.” My repeated refusal finally ripped away her mask of benevolence. The anger in her voice was barely contained. “Nolan! Don’t push your luck! I’m trying to give you an out! What are you without Veridian? Who in this industry hires a man who torpedoes his relationship with his old firm?” “What I am, I’ll find out after I leave Veridian. I don’t need your concern, Sabrina.” “As for that dinner…” I allowed a small, cold smile to curl my lips. “The address is sent. You set the time.” Sabrina had clearly never been defied by me like this. Her face flashed from red to white. It took her a moment to grind out the words. “Nolan, you have guts! Fine, we’ll see you tomorrow night! I’m eager to see just how generous you can truly be!” When I walked out of the office building, the evening sun was setting. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw a new message from Sabrina, again tagging the entire company. “Tomorrow at 6 PM sharp, everyone be there. Bring your families and friends—the more the merrier! Anyone who doesn’t show up is disrespecting Nolan, and disrespecting me! @everyone.” Beneath it was another rapid-fire stream of “Got it,” “Thank you, boss,” and excited emojis. I calmly swiped away the notification. No reply needed. I knew that however high they jumped tonight, they would fall that much harder tomorrow. At six the next morning, I walked through airport security with my suitcase. Sitting at the gate, I saw a self-righteous message pop up from Sabrina. “Nolan, you can still come back now. Apologize to Brock, finalize the Prescott handoff, and I’ll pretend yesterday never happened.” The same arrogant, exasperating tone. I hovered my finger over the screen for a moment, then swiped left and deleted the entire thread. Ten hours later, the plane touched down in Malé. The heavy, humid air of the tropics—salt and sun—hit me like a physical wave. I activated the local SIM card I’d purchased in advance. 4 The red unread numbers on the work group icon kept ticking upward. “Charge! I’m on the way! Eating back all his money tonight!” “I’m stuck in traffic! I’m so anxious—I want to be there early to order the most expensive dish!” “Who’s there already? Snap a picture of the wine list! I heard they have a $10,000 bottle of reserve Bordeaux?” “Screenshotting this! We’re eating him broke tonight!” Brock theatrically posted a mirror selfie. “Just tidying up a little. Can’t embarrass Sabrina.” Sabrina replied with a hug emoji. “You look handsome no matter what you wear, baby.” Below them, a string of “Perfect match” and “Power couple” messages followed. I continued to scroll, an amused expression on my face. “I’m here! Holy crap, this place is legit!” “Where’s Nolan? Has anyone seen Nolan?” “He’s not here yet, right? The lead always makes a dramatic entrance!” “Exactly. Maybe he’s at the bank. Eighty or a hundred thousand—he probably needs a whole briefcase of cash.” Sabrina sent a voice note. Tapping it, I heard her mocking tone. “What’s the rush? Nolan said he’s treating. He’ll show up. Go ahead and order. Get whatever you want. Don’t worry about the price tag today.” “You’re the best, Sabrina!” “I won’t hold back! Waiter, ten orders of the top-grade Kobe beef!” “Lobster! The biggest one you have!” “The wine! That $10,000 bottle—open two of them!” The chat was soon flooded with pictures of dishes: colossal King Crab, artfully arranged sashimi platters… Brock seemed to want more attention, posting a photo on his personal feed of himself and Sabrina clinking wine glasses, the glittering city lights spread out behind them. “Another evening of fine dining with my girl Sabrina. Life is good.” I glanced at my watch. It was four o’clock in the Maldives. Seven PM back home. The last message in the group chat was a direct question from Sabrina. “@Nolan, where are you? The entire company is waiting.” A faint smile touched my lips. I still didn’t reply. After all, the show was just beginning. I walked with my luggage toward the pre-booked ocean-view villa. The phone in my pocket vibrated a few times, but I ignored it. I changed into a comfortable pair of swim trunks, ordered two bottles of iced beer, and only pulled out my phone an hour later, settling into a lounger facing the ocean. By this time, the tone in the group chat had shifted. The food pictures had stopped. They were replaced by anxious inquiries. “What time is it? Is Nolan actually coming?” “Still going straight to voicemail. The phone’s off.” “No way he just stood us up, right?” “Don’t say that! How much is all that food and alcohol going to cost?” “I just discreetly asked the waiter… The current tab is already north of a hundred thousand dollars.” The messages started flying, punctuated with exclamation points. “The waiter just came by again asking who’s paying. He looked really uncomfortable…” “Should we… should we just split it? Let’s settle the bill and leave?” “Split it? A hundred thousand! I don’t even make that in six months!” “Sabrina said we could order whatever we wanted. It should be on her, shouldn’t it…?” The chat quickly devolved into a furious internal squabble and mutual accusations. The focus of the attack was shifting toward Sabrina. I took a long drink of the cold beer a server had just delivered. I took a photo of the stunning ocean view in front of me and dropped it into the group chat. Then I pressed the voice note button and spoke slowly. “My dearest former colleagues. I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it to dinner.” “Sabrina said you could pick any restaurant. I did. The address was sent. As for who is paying…” I paused for a deliberate second. “You ordered it, you own it.” “Enjoy your meal, everyone.”

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I was the last man standing from the original crew. I’d shared one slice of pizza with Vivian Hale in the basement of our first office, slept on the folding cot for three years, and drank myself into the ER more times than I could count to land her big deals. But on the day the entire company flew out for the annual Miami retreat, she left me behind. My assignment: stay in the empty Chicago office and reformat the pitch deck for her new intern. I didn’t complain. I honestly thought it was a test—a sign of the ultimate trust she had in her co-founder, the one who kept the lights on. That thought lasted until I found the personnel confirmation list crumpled up in a trash can. My name was there, crossed out with a thick, angry swipe of red marker. Next to it, three words were scrawled in cheap ballpoint pen: Too much of a downer. In that moment, I didn’t rage. I didn’t call her. I just quietly finished pizza, packaged up the five years of meticulously kept, off-the-books ledgers, and then dialed the number of our main competitor. Vivian, can you handle a fifteen-million-dollar welcome gift? 1 I was the last man standing from the original crew. I’d shared one slice of pizza with Vivian Hale in the basement of our first office, slept on the folding cot for three years, and drank myself into the ER more times than I could count to land her big deals. But on the day the entire company flew out for the annual Miami retreat, she left me behind. My assignment: stay in the empty Chicago office and reformat the pitch deck for her new intern. I didn’t complain. I honestly thought it was a test—a sign of the ultimate trust she had in her co-founder, the one who kept the lights on. That thought lasted until I found the personnel confirmation list crumpled up in a trash can. My name was there, crossed out with a thick, angry swipe of red marker. Next to it, three words were scrawled in cheap ballpoint pen: Too much of a downer. In that moment, I didn’t rage. I didn’t call her. I just quietly finished pizza, packaged up the five years of meticulously kept, off-the-books ledgers, and then dialed the number of our main competitor. Vivian, can you handle a fifteen-million-dollar welcome gift? Chicago in January is a bone-deep cold. The central HVAC unit in the high-rise office had long since cut off. I, Asher Reed, sat at my isolated desk, bundled into the same black winter coat I’d worn for three years. He was eating the cheapest pizza, which was already cold. My phone screen flickered to life. The company group chat, “Nova Creative Outreach,” was blowing up. A photo. Sunshine, beach, bikinis. Dead center was Vivian Hale, the CEO, stunning in a flowing bohemian maxi dress and oversized sunglasses. She held a flute of champagne, grinning wider than the Miami sun. Tucked right next to her was Zane, the intern who had only been with us for three months. Zane was shirtless, flashing a peace sign, his teeth unnervingly perfect and white. The caption: “So grateful to Vivian! And the company! The Nova family, nobody gets left behind! Love you all, xoxo!” My finger hovered over the screen. Nobody gets left behind? I lifted my gaze to the pitch-black office. Only the fluorescent light over my desk was on, humming like a forgotten ghost. Three days earlier, Admin had announced that since we hit our quarterly metrics, Vivian was footing the bill for a three-day, New Year’s Eve getaway to Miami. I had been reworking that goddamn pitch deck for Vivian until three in the morning. I was thrilled, thinking that after five years of working like a draft horse, I was finally getting a chance to breathe. On the morning of the departure, the charter bus was waiting downstairs. I walked toward it with my small backpack, only to be intercepted by Zane. Zane smiled, all false innocence, but his voice was loud enough for the whole bus to hear. “Oh, hey, Ash! What are you doing here?” I blinked. “Isn’t this the all-staff retreat?” Zane dramatically clapped a hand over his mouth. “Oops! Did Admin forget to tell you? Vivian said we can’t have the office completely empty. Someone reliable needs to hold down the fort. You’re the veteran, Asher—who else could handle this kind of responsibility?” The window of the bus rolled down. Vivian’s face—sharp, elegant, and chillingly indifferent—appeared. She didn’t even look up from her phone. Her voice was flat. “Asher, the client for the ‘Horizon Account’ is hassling us for the revised data. Go keep an eye on it. You can do Miami later. I’m not cheap; I’ll cut you a bonus for the airfare.” The bus door hissed shut, and exhaust fumes choked me as it pulled away. Now, looking at the celebratory emojis and the stream of comments like “Vivian’s a legend” and “Best boss ever,” my stomach turned. The noodles were completely cold. I pushed the food away and stood up to dump the congealed mess. As I walked past Zane’s pristine desk, my foot clipped a small, overturned trash bin. A crumpled sheet of A4 paper spilled out onto the floor. I hadn’t intended to stop, but my eyes caught the printed header: Nova Creative New Year’s Miami Trip Personnel Confirmation List. Driven by a morbid curiosity, I bent down and picked it up. I smoothed the paper flat. The list was long, from CEO Vivian Hale down to the front desk intern. Even Martha, the weekend cleaning lady, was on it. Right in the middle, a single line was viciously scored through with a red Sharpie. My name: Asher Reed. The mark was so heavy it had torn the paper slightly. Next to that blinding red slash was a sloppy, hurried note, written in ballpoint: Keep him back to work. Don’t bring. Too much of a downer. The handwriting was messy, but I recognized it. It was Zane’s. And below that note, there was a signature—a quick, confident flourish from the approving executive. Vivian Hale. She had placed a small, neat checkmark right next to the note “Too much of a downer.” My hands started to shake. It wasn’t just the cold. The tremor started in my fingertips, crawled up my arms into my chest, and made my teeth rattle. Five years. I had been there since the three-person startup phase. Back then, to save money, we’d split a single takeout container. I ended up in the emergency room with a bleeding ulcer from drinking with a client. Vivian had cried by my bedside, promising, “Asher, when I eat the pizza, I will never leave you with just the crust.” Now, she was eating the pizza. And I, Asher Reed, was not only left without the broth but was dismissed as “a downer.” The phone suddenly rang, the sound jarringly loud in the empty office, like an alarm. The screen displayed two words: Vivian Hale. I took a deep breath, fighting for control, and answered the call. “Hello, Vivian,” I said, my voice hoarse, betraying nothing. I could hear the sound of the ocean, loud music, and laughter on the other end. Vivian sounded slightly tipsy, and her tone carried an undeniable arrogance. “Asher, you’re at the office, right?” “I am.” “Zane just told me there are some data issues with the Horizon Account proposal. The client is flipping out; they said if they don’t see a revised final draft by midnight, they’re walking. I need you to drop everything and send it over, now.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. Ten-thirty at night. “Vivian,” I gripped the crumpled list until my knuckles were white, “Zane was responsible for the Horizon Account. He spent the last week buying swim trunks and sunscreen. He only put the data in yesterday. I warned him there were errors, and he told me to mind my own business.” A second of silence, then Zane’s whiny, wounded voice—clearly right next to her phone—cut in: “Vivian… I didn’t think the client would be this demanding. And Ash didn’t explain the issues clearly. If I knew it was a big deal, I wouldn’t be here celebrating…” Vivian’s tone instantly turned glacial. “Asher, what is that supposed to mean? Are you pushing responsibility? Zane is new. You’re the veteran. Is it so hard to mentor him? Or are you just bitter that a younger guy is succeeding?” “Bitter?” I laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. “Vivian, this is a business, not a playground. He screwed up. Why do I have to clean up his mess? I’m a person, too. It’s a holiday. I want to rest.” “Rest?” Her voice ratcheted up, becoming sharp and cruel. “Asher, get this straight: you’re not on vacation. We’re paying you overtime! Earn your money and do the job! Stop with the self-pity!” “I won’t do it.” It was the first time I had ever been this firm. “Excuse me?” She sounded genuinely shocked. “I said, I won’t do it. Whoever made the mess cleans it up.” The line went silent. After a few tense seconds, Vivian let out a cold chuckle, her voice dripping with threat. “Fine, Asher. You’ve grown a backbone. I’m telling you now: if we lose this account, you can kiss your annual bonus goodbye! And when we do our personnel review after the New Year, you can forget about that VP spot you’ve been chasing!” Click. She hung up. I held the phone, listening to the dial tone, which sounded like the five years of my life being flushed down the drain. Annual bonus. VP spot. Those two carrots had been dangling in front of me for three years. Every time I felt like quitting, she’d wave them. I used to believe her. Now, I looked at the crumpled list, the red checkmark, and the words “a downer.” Suddenly, the whole situation felt absurd. Just then, the group chat buzzed again. Zane had tagged everyone and sent a large cash bonus. Zane: “Hey, team! I messed up and upset Vivian about a work thing. Drinks are on me! Grab this cash and let’s not let a little corporate drama kill the mood! Cheers!” The chat instantly flooded with “Thanks, Zane!” “Best manager ever!” “Love you, Zane!” No one asked about the guy who was still sitting in the freezing Chicago office, alone. No one knew that “the work thing” required me to pull an all-nighter. With a stone-cold expression, I crumpled the list again and tossed it back into the bin. Then, I walked back to my computer. Not to work. I opened a deeply hidden folder. The file name was simple: Backup. It contained five years of core client data, original pitch drafts, and records of some highly questionable financial dealings Vivian had done. And of course, it held Zane’s raw, disaster-prone data for the Horizon Account. My first impulse had been to fix it. If the project imploded, the company would take a big hit. But not anymore. My fingers flew across the keyboard. I pulled up the faulty file Zane had sent to the client. I didn’t correct the mistakes. I simply highlighted a few of the more subtle, catastrophic logical flaws that Zane had tried to hide, making them glaringly obvious in the final review. Unless the client was blind, they would instantly see they were being treated like idiots. I packaged the file and sent it to Vivian’s email. In the subject line, I wrote one sentence: “Vivian, as per your instruction, this is Zane’s ‘final draft.’ I haven’t touched it. Pure, uncut.” I closed my laptop. I stood up, switched off the light, and locked the door. Walking out of the high-rise, the wind felt like a knife on my face. But I realized that in five years, I had never felt this exhilaratingly free. The first day after the New Year’s holiday. The office reeked of expensive cologne and the cloying sweetness of duty-free souvenirs. Everyone wore that look of exhausted but satisfied post-vacation bliss, exchanging gifts: artisanal chocolates, custom-blended coffee, and cheap, colorful trinkets from Miami. “OMG, look how tan you got!” “It’s the healthy look! Vivian was amazing; we had a suite overlooking the ocean!” I walked through the bustling office like an invisible man and sat down at my desk. It was piled high with documents that had accumulated over the break. No gift. Not even a single piece of chocolate. Sarah, the accounting supervisor next to me—for whom I’d covered countless reports and even helped her kid with his geometry homework—was showing off a box of high-end skincare to the front desk girl. “Vivian specifically picked this out for me. Anti-aging magic, she said.” When she saw me sit down, Sarah’s voice dropped. Her eyes darted away, and she turned her back, pretending to organize her space. The awkward silence was worse than a direct insult. Everyone knew I hadn’t gone. Everyone was pretending I wasn’t there. “Well, look who decided to show up early!” Zane’s voice, smug and self-satisfied, came from behind me. He was wearing a brand-new, impeccably tailored designer suit and carrying a few high-end shopping bags. He strutted to the center of the office and clapped his hands. “Everyone, quiet down! We had a blast, all thanks to Vivian. To show our appreciation for all your hard work, Vivian bought a special New Year’s cash bonus for everyone! Every single person gets one!” A cheer erupted. Vivian emerged from her corner office. She was flawlessly made up, her bold red lipstick adding to her powerful aura. Zane followed her like a well-trained puppy, carrying a thick stack of bonus envelopes. Vivian handed them out, one by one. “Sarah, great job last year.” “Mike, keep up the hustle.” “Martha, the floors look great. Here you go.” Even Martha, the cleaning lady, received a fat envelope and smiled, her face wrinkling with joy. Finally, Vivian arrived at my desk. Zane’s hand, holding the remaining envelopes, was completely empty. The boisterous energy of the office suddenly choked, replaced by a suffocating silence. All eyes were locked on me and Vivian. Vivian didn’t appear embarrassed in the least. She adjusted her hair and looked down at me with cool indifference. “Oh, Asher. I’m so sorry. The envelopes were packaged according to the trip roster. Admin must have forgotten to include you. Since you weren’t in Miami, you know.”

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I’m a simple woman with simple tastes: money and hot guys. When the campus heartthrob, Ethan Vance, confessed his love to me, I accidentally saw the livestream chat comments floating in thin air. [Omg, my heart breaks for the male lead! He’s only dating someone he hates to make the female lead jealous!] [Don’t worry, besties! The male lead will only have a platonic relationship with the antagonist.] [Exactly! The antagonist is just a tool. Our boy will stay pure!] Me: “Can we kiss?” Ethan: “I want to start with a spiritual connection. I can give you money.” Me: “Oh, pass. Sounds like a waste of time.” Ethan panicked. That very night, he lost his purity. After getting my fill, I swiped his Black Card. “He only lost money, but I lost love!” 1 Convenience Store. The cashier gave us a weird look. “We have extra small, small, medium, and large. Which one do you need?” I side-eyed Ethan. “You’re not an extra small, are you?” The man’s face flushed crimson. “Give me the extra large!” I smirked and grabbed the box. “Don’t forget to pay.” 2 Ethan Vance was the university’s golden boy, a viral sensation on TikTok just because someone uploaded a candid photo of him drinking coffee. Countless girls were eyeing him like a snack. Talent scouts literally camped outside the campus gates hoping to sign him. And today, this guy not only delivered himself to my doorstep but was also ready to drop serious cash. Delicious! 3 I hummed a tune, glancing at the floating comments only I could see. [Oh no, oh no! The male lead is walking into the tiger’s den!] [What happened to staying pure? All I see is a hungry wolf!] [My poor Sophia is watching from the corner, she’s shattering!] I turned my head to look at a dark corner. The female lead, Sophia Sterling, had red eyes and was twisting a handkerchief. She looked like a tragic heroine. To avoid any complications, I grabbed Ethan’s tie and dragged him toward the hotel. As the door closed, comments flashed rapidly before my eyes. [Sophia, don’t eavesdrop! We don’t want a used man anyway!] [Am I the only one jealous of the antagonist? With the male lead’s face, she’s eating good tonight!] I chuckled and opened the door. Sure enough, Sophia was standing there, looking like she wanted to speak but couldn’t. “Can you help me tear open the wrapper?” I asked. Sophia nodded subconsciously and did it. I smiled gratefully at her. “Don’t listen at the door, okay? It’ll only make me more excited!” The door closed again. Soft sobbing could be heard from the hallway. Ethan looked confused. “What’s that noise?” I measured the length of the plastic wrapper in my hand. “Probably the kettle next door just boiled. By the way, can you really fit into this thing?” Ethan snatched it away. “If I can’t fit, I’m a dog!” My eyes lit up. Ethan didn’t need to prove anything. In my eyes, he was already my puppy! Amidst the screaming comments in the air, I pounced. That night, the heartthrob was corrupted. 4 I tidied my clothes and casually picked up a Black Amex card from the table. There was a note on the card: [Voluntary Gift.] Signed by Ethan. I tucked the card into my pocket with a dramatic sigh. “He only lost money, but I lost love!” I clutched my chest, but the corners of my mouth were harder to suppress than a sneeze. The comments reappeared after a long blackout. [Who cut the feed?!] [I paid for the premium membership! What can’t I see?] [My heart aches for Sophia! She listened at the door all night!] I scratched my head, picked up an unopened pack of XLs, and opened the door. “Sophia, I tested it for you. Ethan can indeed handle the Extra Large. As expected of the man you like—great looks, great performance!” I gave a thumbs up, my teeth brighter than a toothpaste ad. The woman stood there dumbfounded, her eyes swollen like walnuts. I patted her shoulder and walked away with swagger.

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During a critical surgery, my husband’s girlfriend suddenly called. He abandoned the anesthetized patient and left the operating room for a full 40 minutes. I tried to stop him: “The surgery isn’t finished. If you leave now, what if something happens?” My husband, the lead surgeon, sneered coldly: “If something happens, it’s your problem as the anesthesiologist. I’m the lead surgeon, but I haven’t cut yet. If the family wants to sue or attack anyone, it’ll be you and the attending physician. What does it have to do with me?” Afterward, Chloe Sterling, his wealthy mistress, arrogantly told me: “See? All it takes is one word from me, and your husband will drop everything to come to me.” It turned out Chloe called him away just to spite me? I didn’t say a word. I silently contacted others and began compiling a dossier of evidence… 1 I am an anesthesiologist, and today was my shift. The moment I saw the schedule, I frowned and asked the Chief of Anesthesiology, “Why am I paired with Dr. Pierce?” The Chief smiled, avoiding my gaze. “There were some last-minute changes. Dr. Pierce needed to move his surgery up, and you were available.” I pressed him. “Does the hospital not have a policy against spouses operating together?” Although there’s no explicit law forbidding immediate family members from being in the same OR, it’s an unwritten rule in the industry to avoid it. The risk of personal conflict affecting professional judgment is too high. Our hospital had specifically listed this rule in the employee handbook. “Heh, special circumstances require flexibility…” The Chief chuckled, trying to smooth things over. I despised Ethan Pierce. I pretended not to understand the Chief’s hints and kept citing the rules, insisting I wouldn’t work with him. Annoyed by my persistence, the Chief dropped his smile. “Dr. Lin, rules are dead, people are alive. That rule is meaningless.” My brow furrowed. “Spouses have conflicts, sure, but don’t colleagues? Don’t dating couples?” he argued. “If a doctor and a nurse fight, do we ban them from surgery? Think about it. How many doctors and nurses are secretly dating? If we had to police that, the whole hospital would shut down.” “Besides,” he added with a meaningful smirk, “before you and Dr. Pierce got married, didn’t you partner up all the time?” “Not only did you two work well together, but when Dr. Pierce was dating Nurse Sarah Jones, he brought her into every surgery. The work got done, didn’t it? No accidents.” I clenched my fists, a bitter taste in my mouth. Ethan Pierce was my husband, but I wasn’t his only woman. Sarah Jones was a nurse, one of his many conquests. When they were “in love,” Ethan took her everywhere, flaunting their relationship to the entire hospital. The Chief was using Sarah to needle me, likely annoyed by my lack of cooperation. Knowing there was no room for negotiation, I took a deep breath and looked down. “Understood.” Leaving the Chief’s office, I returned to my desk, trying to convince myself: It’s just one surgery. It’ll be fine. Before we were married, Ethan and I were a seamless team. As long as we stuck to our roles, nothing would go wrong. But my eyelid kept twitching. I had a bad feeling. My phone buzzed. A text from Chloe Sterling. [When are you divorcing him?] Short, rude, no greeting. My temples throbbed. Ethan had many women, but Miss Sterling was the most arrogant. Chloe Sterling was Ethan’s new “student.” She had returned from studying abroad with a degree in Landscape Architecture—completely unrelated to medicine. Yet, through some “special program,” she was slotted into a residency under Ethan. In three years, she’d be a doctor. Ordinary people lose their hair studying for a decade just to get a foot in the door. To get a residency under a top surgeon like Ethan, you usually need to be a top-tier med student from an Ivy League school. But Miss Sterling, a graduate of a third-rate foreign college with a non-medical degree, was stepping over everyone. Not only that, she somehow had several SCI papers to her name. A glittering resume built on money and connections. When I learned about her family background, her “excellence” made sense. That’s why I never thought she’d sleep with Ethan. When rumors first swirled, I laughed. “No way. Someone like Miss Sterling would choose a husband who matches her status. Dating Ethan would be a stain on her family name.” Ethan was successful, sure. But he was over 40, married, with a 7-year-old child, and a reputation for sleeping around. Chloe was young, beautiful, and filthy rich. Why lower herself? Did she like that he didn’t shower often? If she wanted his influence to gild her resume, money and power were enough. She didn’t need to sleep with him. Ethan wasn’t exactly a man of high moral standing; pay him enough, and he’d do anything. But the jaw-dropper was that this heiress actually fell for him—and got pregnant! It was absurd. For her, Ethan quickly cut ties with other women, playing the role of the doting partner, and started pressuring me for a divorce. 2 Thinking back on Ethan and Chloe, I suppressed my anger and typed back: [Miss Sterling, I will not divorce Ethan.] When I first discovered Ethan’s infidelity, my instinct was to leave. But the bastard wanted me to leave with nothing—no assets, and he wanted full custody of our daughter. So, I refused. I was going to drag this out until it destroyed him. As soon as I hit send, Chloe called. “Lacey, don’t be ungrateful.” I replied coldly, “You’re the one who needs a reality check, Miss Sterling.” Chloe laughed. “Me? You’ve already been demoted from Team Lead to a regular anesthesiologist. Still don’t get it?” My heart sank. She hit a sore spot. I used to be the lead anesthesiologist for the ICU team. After my conflict with Ethan over Chloe began, I was demoted. I gritted my teeth. “Since you guys stripped my title, I have even less reason to divorce. Let’s see who breaks first.” “Lacey, I think you’re mentally ill,” Chloe sneered. “You’re fighting a losing battle. Your marriage is dead. Why not divorce and live freely instead of watching us be happy? You’re asking for pain.” “Who said our marriage is dead?” I scoffed. “We’re great. Don’t try to drive a wedge between us. During the last board inspection, we were even praised as a ‘model couple.’” The term “model couple” made me want to laugh. Because we actually were praised. Since we weren’t divorced, Ethan had to bring me to high-profile events. Chloe finally got angry. “‘Model couple’? Stop lying to yourself. Ethan loves me. You can’t control him, but I can. One phone call, and he’ll be by my side. I’ll prove it to you…” She was so childish. At her social level, arguing with me over who a middle-aged philanderer truly loves was pathetic. It was about money and power, yet she insisted on packaging it as romance. “Oh, really? Amazing,” I deadpanned. “You don’t believe me?” “No, I don’t.” I hung up. I had a surgery to prep for. I entered Operating Room 6. The nursing team was already prepping. The room was sterile, instruments laid out perfectly. The nurse nodded at me. I went to my station. The patient was already on the table—an 8-year-old girl, just a year older than my own daughter. She had a congenital heart defect. Two previous surgeries had failed. Her parents had sold their house and traveled across the country to our hospital, specifically for Ethan. They believed a famous doctor guaranteed safety. Ethan did have skills; you don’t become Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery without them. I spoke softly to the girl. “Don’t be scared. You’ll fall asleep quickly, and when you wake up, it’ll be all done.” She nodded obediently. “I want to get better soon so Mommy and Daddy stop worrying.” An angel. “You will,” I smiled. I injected the anesthetic. Soon, she was unconscious. “Anesthesia complete.” “Let’s begin.” Ethan walked in, scrubbed and gowned. He picked up the scalpel without looking at me. I focused on the monitors. We were strangers now. Suddenly, a phone on the side table rang. A specific ringtone. I recognized it immediately. It was Chloe’s ringtone, customized by Ethan. It rang twice. Ethan barked at the nurse, “My phone. Bring it here.” The nurse held it to his ear. I don’t know what was said, but Ethan’s face changed dramatically. He put down the scalpel and marched toward the door. “You too, come with me!” he ordered his assistant surgeon. 3 The nurses and I were stunned. The patient was under, the incision site prepped. Why was the surgeon leaving? And he took his assistant. With both doctors gone, no one could operate. We were left waiting. The nurses looked at each other in panic. Remembering Chloe’s threat, a chill ran down my spine. I bit my lip and chased after him. The automatic doors closed behind me. The hallway was empty except for Ethan and his assistant. “Wait!” I called out. Ethan turned, frowning. “What do you want?” “The patient is on the table,” I said. “Why are you leaving?” “Something came up,” he said curtly. “What sort of thing?” Ethan sneered. “Who are you to demand a report from the Chief of Surgery?” I choked back my anger. “When will you be back? You have to give us a time.” He laughed, a dismissive sound. “How should I know?” How should I know? My eyes widened. “If you don’t know when you’re coming back, what about the patient?” Ethan smiled again, a cruel, mocking smile. “That’s your responsibility as the anesthesiologist. Until I return, you keep the patient stable. Understood?” Cold sweat broke out on my back. If a surgeon delays, the anesthesiologist has to keep the patient under. But prolonged anesthesia carries huge risks. If something went wrong, I would be the primary person responsible, not the surgeon who hadn’t cut yet. Was he doing this just to punish me? “Ethan, be clear. Are you doing this to get back at me?” He raised an eyebrow, didn’t answer, and kept walking. I ran in front of him, blocking his path. “Ethan! You cannot play with a patient’s life for personal reasons. Go back!” “I have an urgent matter. Stop acting crazy,” he spat. “If something happens to the patient, you can’t escape responsibility!” Ethan smiled slightly, spreading his hands. “I haven’t even made the incision. If something happens, what does it have to do with me? You’re the anesthesiologist. You’re liable.” I was shaking. In big hospitals, if there’s an anesthesia accident, the family sues the anesthesiologist and the attending physician. Even if the delay caused the complication, the blame shifts. “Do you have no conscience?” I trembled with rage. Ethan’s face darkened. “I said I have business. Get out of my way!” He shoved past me, taking his assistant. Defeated, I walked back to the OR. I tried to rationalize it. Ethan was a scumbag, but he cherished his reputation as a top surgeon. He wouldn’t joke with his career. Maybe it really was an emergency. 4 Looking at the little girl on the table, my heart was heavy. “Dr. Lin, when is the Chief coming back?” a nurse asked. I shook my head. “He didn’t say.” The nurses exchanged worried glances. I kept my eyes glued to the monitors. Everyone was anxious. Minutes ticked by. My phone vibrated. It was Chloe. I declined the call. I wouldn’t take personal calls during a crisis. A moment later, a WeChat message popped up on my screen: [See? All it takes is one word from me, and your husband will drop everything to come to me.] I stared at the message in disbelief. He really left because Chloe called him? He abandoned a surgery just to help her bully me? I took a deep breath and typed: [Is there an emergency?] My phone rang again. Chloe. I answered. “Lacey,” her voice dripped with arrogance. “Do you see the difference between us now?” “What is wrong with you?” I hissed. “He was in surgery! The patient is anesthetized on the table! Why call him away? What if something happens?” “I didn’t know he was in surgery,” she sniffed. “Besides, what do I care if a patient lives or dies?” Liar. When Ethan answered the phone, everyone in the OR heard him say, “I’m in surgery.” I didn’t have time for this. “Send him back. Now.” “He’s the Chief,” she giggled. “I’m just a student. I can’t order him around.” She hung up. My chest tightened. She wouldn’t let him return. A patient was waiting, life hanging in the balance, and they were playing games to hurt me? I looked at the girl. It was my fault. If I had refused to work with him more firmly… No. Stop blaming yourself. Solve the problem. I called the Chief of Anesthesiology and reported it as an incident. “It’s only been 10 minutes,” the old man said. “Wait a bit longer. Dr. Pierce has urgent business.” “Chief,” I snapped, “Chloe Sterling called him away. They are doing this to spite me. They are gambling with a patient’s life!” “Dr. Lin,” he chided. “Don’t spread rumors. Don’t let your emotions dictate your professionalism. Who will want to work with you if you act like this?” I choked. The schedule change. The pairing. It was all a setup. “It’s been 10 minutes,” the Chief repeated. “It’s normal for a surgeon to step out.” “He took his assistant!” I yelled. That was the smoking gun. If a surgeon steps out, the assistant takes over or preps. Ethan took everyone who could cut. “Maybe they’ll be back soon,” the Chief said, dismissive. I hung up, helpless. Ten more minutes passed. The nurses knew what was happening. Some were silent, others furious. But no one dared to speak up against Ethan Pierce.

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At the Christmas party, Bella Snow, a Gen Z intern in my department, suggested we go to an exclusive private restaurant. Under the table, she rubbed her foot against my calf. “Director,” she purred, “if you don’t have a few too many drinks tonight, how am I supposed to get my chance to move up?” To avoid any suggestion of impropriety, I made a point of arriving late. When I walked in, I found they had ordered ten king crabs and two bottles of Louis XIII. The moment she saw me, Bella stood up, a triumphant smirk on her face, and led the other interns towards the door. “Oh, the Director’s here! We kids won’t disturb your meal.” “You can get the check, though,” she added with a wink. “After all, you’re the one making six figures.” They giggled as they scurried out, even snatching a few unopened boxes of expensive cigars on their way. I looked at the bill, my face impassive, and paid with my card. Then, I took out my phone and sent a message to the department’s group chat. “This year’s Christmas team-building event was a great success. Thank you all for your participation.” “As per company policy, the budget for this event was $1,000, which I have paid in advance.” “The remaining $14,000, which exceeded the budget, will be split among the 12 participating colleagues. That’s $1,167 per person.” “Please transfer the amount to me by the end of the workday tomorrow. I will provide an itemized receipt.” 1 The day before Christmas, Bella Snow was livestreaming from her desk, her phone propped up right next to her company monitor. She swayed her hips for the camera, the hem of her short pleated skirt threatening to fly up as she spoke in a syrupy-sweet voice. “Hey everyone! Tonight, I’m going to show you what a super-exclusive private dinner looks like.” “And while I’m at it,” she giggled, “I’m going to conquer our uptight, sleazy old director.” The comments section exploded with encouragement. The department’s administrative assistant walked over with a form, whispering a reminder. “Bella, you need to submit the restaurant choice for approval in advance for team events. And the budget is capped at one hundred dollars per person.” Bella snorted. “This is a private dinner hosted by Director King for us interns. Your little rules don’t apply to him, do they?” The assistant, flushed with embarrassment, retreated with her form. I was in the break room making coffee and saw the entire exchange. The dinner was set for seven, but I deliberately waited until eight to leave. Pushing open the door to the private room, I was hit by a wall of alcohol and seafood fumes. The massive round table was a wasteland of empty glasses and plates, dominated by the shells of a dozen enormous king crabs. Several gift-wrapped boxes of premium bird’s nest soup were stacked in a corner. Seeing me, Bella showed no sign of awkwardness. Instead, she rose to her feet like the hostess of the party. She dangled a set of car keys and shouted to the group of tipsy interns. “Alright, ladies, next stop, karaoke! Director King is here to pay the bill!” A male intern, his eyes glazed over, slapped the table. “Thanks, Director King! You’re the man!” As Bella passed me, she paused and whispered, her voice meant only for me. “Wyatt, consider this meal the down payment for pursuing me.” “Too bad,” she smirked, “I’m not interested in old men.” With that, she and her entourage swept out of the room in a chorus of laughter. A waiter approached with a credit card machine and the bill. “Sir, your total is fifteen thousand dollars. Will that be card or digital payment?” Diners at nearby tables cast curious glances, their whispers reaching my ears. I ignored them, pulled a black card from my wallet, and handed it to him. “Card. And please print an itemized receipt for me.” The waiter’s hand faltered for a second before his professional mask slipped back into place. On the way home, I pulled over and opened a file from the company’s internal server. The employee handbook, Chapter 3, Article 12, “Team Building Expense Reimbursement Policy,” was clear: Departmental team-building events have a per-person budget cap of $100. All expenses must be submitted to the administrative and finance departments for prior approval. I took a screenshot. Late that night, I posted a message in the main department group chat, tagging everyone. “This year’s Christmas team-building event was a great success. My thanks to Bella Snow, Jessica Lee, Mark Chen… and the other 12 colleagues for their enthusiastic participation.” “As per company policy, the budget for this event was $1,000, which I have paid in advance and will be reimbursed by the company.” “The remaining $14,000, which exceeded the budget, is to be split among the 12 participating colleagues. That’s $1,167 per person.” “Please transfer the funds to my Venmo or PayPal by 9 AM tomorrow when you arrive at work.” “I will forward the itemized receipt to each of you shortly.” The chat went dead silent. The interns, who had just been flaunting their lavish dinner on social media, were nowhere to be found. Half an hour later, an intern named Jessica meekly typed a message. “Director, you make a seven-figure salary. Are you really going to nickel-and-dime us interns over this? We only make three thousand a month.” I picked up my phone and typed a reply. “I earned my money through skill and hard work. It didn’t fall from the sky. I have no intention of paying for someone else’s vanity and greed.” “This is a workplace, not your parents’ house.” “If I don’t see the money by 9 AM tomorrow, our legal department will be in touch.” Bella remained silent in the group chat. But two minutes later, a colleague, Liam, sent me a screenshot. It was Bella’s social media post, a picture of her flipping off the camera in a karaoke room. The caption read: “Warning: avoid this sleazy, gross old man. Tried to get me to sleep with him, and when I refused, he’s trying to make me split a $15,000 dinner bill. So disgusting! Ugh!” The post was hidden from my view. I looked at the screenshot, a faint smile playing on my lips. 2 The next day, I walked into the office right on time. A group of interns from the dinner were huddled in a corner. They scattered the moment they saw me, their eyes a mixture of resentment, contempt, and schadenfreude. At nine o’clock sharp, the morning meeting began. Bella clicked in on her high heels at 9:05. She walked straight to the associate director’s chair next to mine, sat down, and started touching up her makeup. I glanced at her but said nothing, launching directly into the day’s agenda. “Bella, where’s the first draft of the marketing proposal I asked for yesterday?” She snapped her compact shut with a click, checked her reflection, and rolled her eyes. “Oh, Director King, I was so disgusted by a certain cheapskate last night that I couldn’t sleep a wink.” “How could I possibly have the energy to think about proposals?” “Besides,” she added with a sneer, “we Gen Z are here to fix the workplace, not to be slaves for capitalists. Stop rushing me.” “Yeah! I’m in a bad mood, no inspiration.” “This is our silent protest against exploitation by unethical management!” another chimed in. I ignored their outburst and turned my attention to another intern, Mark. “Mark, what about the competitor analysis report you were assigned?” Mark leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and pulled out his phone to play a game. “Director, Bella said we’re all on strike today. You can deal with it.” I opened my laptop, my fingers tapping a few keys, and accessed the company’s security system. I clipped and saved the footage from yesterday afternoon: Bella’s livestream, the admin’s attempt to intervene, and this morning’s footage of them all arriving late and playing on their phones. I packaged it all into an email to the Head of HR. The subject line read: [Regarding Serious Breaches of Labor Discipline and Attendance Irregularities by Interns in the Creative Department]. The meeting ended on a sour note. As I was getting water from the break room, I passed the smoking lounge and heard Bella on the phone, her voice loud. “He just wants to sleep with me! I’m telling you, from my very first day, he was staring at me with those creepy, leering eyes!” “That dinner was a trap. He wanted to get me drunk, but luckily, I was smart enough to get out of there.” “Now that he sees I didn’t take the bait, he’s furious. He’s using the dinner bill to pressure me. Isn’t that disgusting? What a pervert!” I leaned against the doorframe, cup in hand, and waited for her to hang up. “Bella,” I said calmly, “slander is a criminal offense. Are you aware of that?” She jumped, startled, but quickly composed herself with a sneer. “Well, well, Director King eavesdropping on private conversations? How tacky.” “I’m warning you,” I said, my voice low, “you have a few hours left before the deadline for the transfer.” “Think carefully. Is it better to lose a thousand dollars, or to lose a whole lot more?” Bella burst into exaggerated laughter. She suddenly whipped out her phone, opened her streaming app, and shoved the camera in my face. “Everyone! Everyone, come and see! This sleazy old man is threatening me now!” “Just because I wouldn’t let him harass me, he’s threatening to sue me for slander! Everyone, come and judge for yourselves!” Thousands of viewers flooded the stream, and the comments scrolled by in a blur of insults directed at me. “Wow, that guy looks decent, but he’s such a creep.” “Go girl! Sue him! Ruin his career!” “Get out of there, sister! People like that will retaliate!” I didn’t flinch or try to grab her phone. I even managed a slight smile for the camera. “Hello, I’m Wyatt King.” “You’d better not end this stream,” I said, my voice even. “This is all evidence for the court.” With that, I turned and walked away, leaving her stunned and speechless. Back at my desk, I sent a text to my personal lawyer. “Get ready. Slander suit, with a civil claim for damages attached.” At five-thirty, the workday ended. The group of interns strutted past my desk, making a point to snort contemptuously. Just then, my phone vibrated. It was a Venmo notification for $1,167. From Liam. He included a message. “Director, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean for this to happen. Bella forced us to go.” “She said anyone who didn’t go wasn’t a team player and would be ostracized…” I stared at the message for a few seconds. Then I hit “Decline Payment.” I replied: “You don’t need to pay this. Don’t do anything. Just watch.” 3 The next day, I was jolted awake by the frantic ringing of my phone. It was the company’s PR Director, her voice laced with panic. “Wyatt! What on earth did you do to that intern? The entire internet is filled with stories about you!” I hung up and opened Twitter. The third trending topic was a single hashtag: #AdAgencyDirectorHarassment. I clicked on it. It led to a long, detailed article, complete with photos, posted by a gossip account with over a million followers. The headline was sensational: [EXCLUSIVE! Renowned Ad Agency Creative Director Wyatt King Accused of Luring Female Intern with Position, Attempting Assault, and Extortion!] The article painted me as a lecherous middle-aged man who preyed on young, beautiful interns, constantly harassing them. The “proof” was a series of carefully cropped chat screenshots. For instance, I had asked Bella: “Is the proposal finished? If you have time tonight, let’s discuss the details.” The screenshot only showed: “Do you have time tonight?” Another example: I had said, “That skirt you’re wearing today is a bit too short and unprofessional for the office. Please be mindful of the dress code.” The screenshot only showed: “That skirt you’re wearing today…” followed by a drooling emoji. The most damning piece of evidence was a so-called “candid photo.” It was from the restaurant. My pen had fallen on the floor, and I had bent down to pick it up. The photo, taken from an incredibly misleading angle, made it look like my head was buried under Bella’s skirt. The caption read: “He was touching me under the table! I was so scared my legs went weak!” The comment section was a cesspool of thousands of comments, all of them personal attacks. “This guy should be chemically castrated!” “He looks so respectable, I can’t believe he’s so disgusting!” “That Bella girl is no angel either, wearing a schoolgirl skirt to work?” The story spread like wildfire through the industry. The CEO of a pre-IPO company I was courting for a major merger sent a direct email. “Mr. King, in light of the current negative press regarding your personal conduct, we have decided to suspend all collaboration to mitigate risk. We wish you the best.” I had spent six months on that project, worth hundreds of millions. It vanished in an instant. And then, a greater blow fell. My wife, her eyes red-rimmed, threw a set of divorce papers in my face. “Wyatt, you’ve completely humiliated me!” “My mother called, asking if you’re keeping a mistress!” “I don’t want to hear your excuses. Let’s just separate for now. I need time to think, to reconsider our entire relationship.” She didn’t give me a chance to speak. She just dragged her suitcase out and slammed the door behind her. Then came the messages from several headhunters I’d worked with for years, simple “sorry” emojis. The word was already out. I was blacklisted from the industry because of a sex scandal. The moment I got to the office, my door was kicked open. Bella and her cronies strode in. She slammed her phone down on my desk. It was open to the article slandering me. “So, Director King, how does it feel? It’s not too late to get on your knees and beg.” She looked down at me, her face a mask of undisguised triumph and greed. “Here’s the deal. You’ll forget about the dinner bill, and you’ll pay each of the twelve of us one hundred thousand dollars for emotional distress.” “Then, you’ll post a public apology on the company website and your personal Twitter, admitting that you harassed me first.” “Do that, and I’ll be the bigger person and ask the gossip site to take down the article. What do you say?” I had only one word for her. “Out.” The smile froze on her face. I ignored her, locked my office door, and closed the blinds, shutting out the frantic knocking from the PR and HR departments. From my drawer, I took out everything I had prepared. The itemized receipt from the restaurant, officially stamped. The video footage of their collective work stoppage from that morning. And a digital voice recorder, containing Bella’s extortion attempt from just moments ago. I took a deep breath and dialed 911. “Hello, this is Wyatt King. I’m calling to report a case of online slander and blackmail.” After hanging up, I sent a text to Liam. “My office. Now.” A few minutes later, Liam slipped in, looking nervous. I didn’t waste time. I pushed a file across the desk to him. It was a detailed bank statement I had acquired from a private investigator. The account holder was Bella Snow. For the past six months, there had been a regular monthly deposit of thirty to fifty thousand dollars from the corporate account of that very same private restaurant. “This is proof that Bella was using her position to steer clients to that restaurant in exchange for a hefty kickback on their alcohol sales.” I looked up, my eyes locking onto his. “It’s called corporate embezzlement. It carries a sentence of three to ten years.” “She used you as a pawn. Are you still going to cover for her?” “Think carefully. Do you want a full-time job with a modest salary, or do you want to go to jail with her as an accomplice?” The color drained from Liam’s face. His lips trembled, unable to form words. With a shaking hand, he pulled out his own phone and played an audio file. “Director… I recorded this at the dinner…” “I just wanted to have it as a memory…” I took the phone and pressed play. Bella’s cloying, syrupy voice filled the room, crystal clear. “Go wild, girls! Order the most expensive things on the menu!” “This old man is all about saving face. There’s no way he won’t pay!” “He wants to sleep with me, does he? Well, tonight we’re going to make him bleed! Teach him that I’m not that easy!” “Why’s he so jumpy? It’s just my foot, it’s not like he’s going to get pregnant. What a prude…” I picked up my own recorder from the desk and smiled.

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At the wedding, Lucas Thorne’s childhood sweetheart showed up with their child. She knelt on the ground and begged me, “I have a terminal illness, and this child is my only hope.” Lucas asked me to make a choice. Fearing I would refuse, the childhood sweetheart threatened to take her own life to keep the child with him. She cried to Lucas: “I don’t have long to live anyway. If I die now, it will prove that we are innocent.” “The child will forget I was his biological mother, as long as you are happy.” The next second. She waved a knife at herself but was stopped by the security guards I had prepared in advance. I smiled and said: “Don’t die. The wedding is off. It’s best for the child to be raised by his biological parents.” In my previous life, I was forced to become the child’s stepmother. And the death of the childhood sweetheart became an insurmountable chasm between Lucas and me. He even imprisoned me as revenge. Causing me to die of depression. So this time, my life will not be dictated by anyone. 1 “Mia Stone, do you take Lucas Thorne to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part?” These wedding vows are so old-fashioned. I curled my lips and counted down silently in my heart: five, four, three… Lucas whispered to remind me, “Mia, it’s your turn.” Two, one. As the last number fell, two figures, one large and one small, appeared at the church entrance. I turned slowly. We meet again. Chloe Brooks dragged her son, Chase, to me and knelt down without a word. Then she started crying: “Miss Stone, please help me! “This is Lucas’s child, Chase.” The crowd was in an uproar. Chloe hurriedly explained: “Miss Stone, don’t misunderstand. I’m not here to ruin your wedding with Lucas. “I have a terminal illness and won’t live long. This child is my only hope. I hope you can keep him and treat him as your own.” She pushed Chase towards me, “Chase, call her Mom!” Chase glared at me hatefully, “No! She’s not my mom, she’s a bad woman! She stole my dad. Bitch, go die!” Chloe waited until Chase finished cursing before scolding him: “Chase, don’t talk nonsense!” She looked at Lucas with tears in her eyes, “Lucas, hurry up and promise Miss Stone that you don’t love me anymore. “As long as your family of three can be happy, I’m willing to die right now! “I don’t have long to live anyway. dying now can prove that we are innocent.” “The child will forget I was his biological mother, as long as you are happy.” Lucas turned to look at me, “Mia, I’ll listen to you.” “…” The child is so big, dying can’t prove innocence, right? Before I could speak, Chloe suddenly pulled out a fruit knife from behind and raised her hand to stab her stomach. “Miss Stone, if I die now, it will definitely not affect your wedding with Lucas!” This scene was too familiar to me. In my last life, it was like this. Chloe died at my wedding with Lucas. By the time I reacted, I was forced to be Chase’s stepmother. Chase cursed me as a bad woman every day. Lucas hated me deeply, blamed Chloe’s death entirely on me, and even imprisoned me, torturing me daily. I died in that small, dark basement. So in this life, I hired bodyguards in advance. At the same time, let everyone see with their own eyes that this drama was created by Lucas and Chloe, and I am not to blame. The bodyguards on the side were ready to go. The next second they rushed up, one kicked the knife out of Chloe’s hand, and the other pinned her to the ground. I took a step back, pretending to be frightened, “Oh my God! If you want to die, die somewhere else. How could your death here not affect the wedding?” “Forget it.” I shook my head and smiled: “Don’t die. The wedding is off. It’s best for the child to be raised by his biological parents.” 2 After my words fell, the first to react were Lucas’s parents, Arthur Thorne and Sarah Thorne. “Mia, don’t say angry words. The wedding is about to end.” “Don’t worry, even if this child is really Lucas’s, our Thorne family won’t acknowledge him. No one can threaten your status.” I looked at Lucas again. His dark eyes were deep, making it impossible to see what he was thinking. I raised my eyebrows slightly, “Lucas, is this your attitude too?” Lucas opened his thin lips slightly, “I…” “Look how pitiful she is.” I looked at Chloe who was still pinned to the ground, “How much courage does a woman need to make a scene at a wedding for you? She loves you so much, are you really unwilling to give her a wedding?” Lucas looked surprised, “Mia, you…” “This child is also quite pitiful, growing up in a single-parent family. Lucas, you should give him a complete family. After all, he is your own flesh and blood.” Lucas’s tense face finally cracked, “Mia…” I walked up to Chase, bent down and looked into his eyes, “Kid, I returned your dad to you. Don’t say I’m a bad woman anymore.” Chase blinked, “You’re willing to return my dad to me?” I sighed and looked at Chloe on the ground with condemnation, “You too, how can you teach a child these messy things? If you want your child to acknowledge his ancestors, you can just tell me directly. I’ll withdraw. Is it necessary to teach the child to swear and call me a bitch?” Chloe struggled to deny, “I didn’t, I didn’t teach him!” “You didn’t teach him?” I frowned slightly, somewhat disgusted, “Then your child learned these words on his own, which is indeed quite uneducated. You better teach him well.” I looked at Lucas again, “See, a child can’t do without a father. He is still young and should be salvageable. You take him back and educate him well, don’t let people scold your child behind his back for having a mother but no father to teach him.” Lucas’s face was as black as the bottom of a pot. Without looking, he could also feel the strange looks from the relatives and guests present. I walked down to my parents and removed myself from this embarrassing drama. “Mom, Dad, let’s go. This is the Thorne family’s business, and it’s not our place to manage it.” “Let’s go.” My dad maintained his dignity on the surface, but his aura vividly conveyed his anger and displeasure to everyone. Arthur and Sarah walked over quickly, looking anxious and pleading. “Old Stone, the wedding is about to end, we are all family…” My dad snorted coldly: “We haven’t got the marriage certificate yet, so we aren’t family. You have a daughter-in-law and a grandson now, and you still want my daughter to live with their family of three?” “Not a family of three!” Sarah was anxious, losing her usual elegance, and hurriedly called Lucas, “Lucas, what are you doing? Hurry over and clarify!” Her tone carried a hint of reminder, “Say it, say you only like Mia, hurry up!” Lucas swept a cold glance at Chloe, took long strides, and walked towards me confidently. He looked at me solemnly and affectionately, “Mia, rest assured, my wife will only be you, and the mistress of the Thorne family will only be you.” Chloe screamed: “Lucas, you can abandon me, but you can’t abandon our son…” Lucas turned his head slightly, his voice low, “Shut up.” He turned back, “Mia, I’m sorry, it’s my fault for not handling my history cleanly. Rest assured, I will give you an explanation.” The chill and hatred in my heart intertwined and surged continuously. So he also knew he couldn’t break up with me directly now. Because he needed the marriage alliance with me to consolidate his position, and the entire Thorne family needed the pull of our Stone family. So in the last life, he chose to marry me, and only after getting everything he wanted did he start torturing me. Disgusting. I sneered, “A man who doesn’t even want the person he loved deeply and his own flesh and blood? Do you think I would want such a man?” 3 After I left with my parents, those who came to the wedding for our family’s sake naturally left too. It is said that after I left, the wedding scene was desolate. Before Arthur and Sarah could speak, relatives from both the Thorne and Stone families began to complain. “The wedding didn’t happen, and the Stone family is thoroughly offended. What do you say we do?” “Those big shots didn’t give our family any face. Once the Stone family left, they all followed!” “Give our family face? Our family is nothing!” “We finally climbed up to such a big backer as the Stone family, and now it’s all ruined…” … These complaints were like sharp knives, stabbing Lucas all over. He fell out with Chloe on the spot, “Who gave you the courage to make a scene at my wedding? Did I tell you I would solve Chase’s problem? Did you take my words as a breeze past your ears?” Chloe sobbed aggrievedly, “How do I know if you were coaxing me? I got sick, and my biggest worry is Chase. I did this for Chase’s good! “I also told Miss Stone that Chase would treat her as his own mother. I gave her a big son for free, what is she unwilling about?” Relatives of the Thorne and Stone families began to talk all at once. “Lucas, hurry up and coax Mia back.” “What kind of taste do you have to have a child with such a woman.” “Mia is right, this child is just uneducated!” “What does a child know? Those words sounded like they were taught by an adult.” “Miss Chloe, you don’t need to deny it, don’t treat us as fools.” … Chloe became the target of public criticism. In fact, she originally thought Lucas would stand by her side. She grabbed Lucas’s arm, tears streaming down her face, miserable and pitiful, “Lucas, I really just want to fight for a good future for our son…” Lucas flung Chloe’s hand away and roared: “Then why did you teach Chase those words? Now that the Stone family people are driven away, who do I marry? Marry you? Not to mention you have a terminal illness and are dying, even if you weren’t sick, what can you help me with?” Chloe also knew she couldn’t help Lucas even a little bit, lowered her head and cried. “Cry, cry, cry, you only know how to cry!” Lucas was impatient to the extreme, “Stupid and disobedient, Chloe, fortunately you won’t live long, otherwise I would be dragged to death by you!” He pointed at Chloe, “Behave yourself. If you dare to act rashly again, I won’t care about the son.” Glaring at Chloe fiercely, Lucas promised the relatives on both sides: “Don’t worry, I will coax Mia back. She loves me very much and won’t reject me so easily.” 4 I heard all this afterward. At that time, I was crying in my parents’ arms. My parents were furious, comforting me while scolding Lucas. “Mia, don’t cry, this isn’t over!” “My daughter has grown up without suffering any grievances. Who do the Thorne family think they are? Daring to make my daughter suffer in front of so many people, I think they don’t want to live!” But my parents didn’t know, I wasn’t crying because of today’s grievance. In my last life, after Lucas and I got married, Lucas acted in front of me at first. Until I completely let down my guard, the Stone family and the Thorne family united for better development… Lucas got everything he wanted, revealed his true colors, and locked me up. Before I died, I didn’t even see my parents for the last time. I dared not think about how sorrowful they would be seeing my corpse in the last life. I hate Lucas, and I hate myself. It was me who let my parents taste the most extreme pain in this world. I wiped away my tears and drilled out of my mom’s arms, “Mom, Dad, I’m not aggrieved, nor sad. I just feel sorry for making you lose face.” My dad paused, “You cried like this just for that?” My mom also breathed a sigh of relief, “What’s a little loss of face for me and your dad? Don’t cry. “But tell mom the truth, do you… still like Lucas?” I shook my head, “No.” My mom and dad looked at each other and nodded with satisfaction, “Good, our daughter isn’t lovestruck.” “This isn’t being lovestruck. A man with such loose morals simply can’t be wanted.” My dad’s tone was full of disdain. Seemed like there was also a pride in his own super morals. I was still crying, but burst out laughing upon hearing this, then stood up, “I’ll go back to my room to change clothes.” Dragging the huge wedding dress back to the room, I took a shower and removed my makeup first. Just after changing clothes and going downstairs, I saw Lucas. He strode over, stopped at the stairs, and looked up at me. “Mia, I came to apologize to you.” I looked down at him, “What are you apologizing for?” Lucas’s affectionate eyes were full of apology, “I made you suffer. Losing such face at our wedding today, I deserve to die. “But Mia, this was also an accident to me. “The child thing was indeed my fault, but that was a long time ago. Chloe and I broke up long ago.” Hope overflowed from the bottom of his eyes as he tentatively said: “Mia, everyone has history. You won’t break up with me because of a relationship I had a few years ago, right?”

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After my parents divorced, my dad quickly married his mistress and had a precious son to carry on the family name. My mom found her second spring and had a new baby, the fruit of her true love. I became the “flaw” in their perfect new lives. Both of them, along with their new partners, kicked me out of the house. Just as I was starving and about to resort to selling myself, the delinquent girl I used to fear grabbed me. She blew a smoke ring in my face, looking at me with disdain: “Are you stupid?” “If they won’t give it to you, can’t you just take it yourself?” “Steal, rob, whatever. Taking your own parents’ money is called justice.” 1 I thought she made a lot of sense, so I put it into action. Taking advantage of the time my dad and stepmom took their baby out, I decisively smashed the window with a rock and climbed in. A security guard saw me and shouted, but then realized it was me: “Hey, aren’t you Mr. Walker’s daughter?” “Why are you climbing through the window instead of using the front door?” I leaned on the windowsill and smiled at the guard: “Forgot my keys, didn’t I?” “I left something inside, need it urgently.” I’ve lived in this house for over a decade; everyone here knows me. Naturally, he didn’t stop me. Once inside, I started searching. I had planned this in advance. I wouldn’t take anything too expensive; if they pursued it, I might have to return it. I’d take food and drinks. The fridge was full of expensive supplements my stepmom used, like bird’s nest and collagen. I grabbed a plastic bag and scooped them all up. Also, I needed things that were valuable but not crucial. I circled the house. Looking around, I set my sights on my cheap brother’s stroller. It cost a couple of thousand dollars. If I sold it as scrap or second-hand for a few hundred, they couldn’t really hold me accountable, could they? Also, my dad had a habit of hiding a private stash of cash. This was something he wouldn’t tell anyone about. I felt around the old hiding spot and actually found several thousand dollars in cash. My hands trembled with excitement as I stuffed it into my bag. Then, I loaded my loot onto the stroller and boldly pushed it out. Roxy and her crew were waiting for me at the community gate. Seeing this, they all gave me a thumbs up. “Not bad, Vance.” “We thought you’d be too scared to take much since it’s your first time.” I sneered and raised an eyebrow: “Having suffered once, they definitely won’t give me a second chance, so I have to take enough in one go.” Roxy was street-smart and had many connections. With a few phone calls, she helped me sell the “stolen goods.” By the time my dad brought the police to my door, I had already sold everything. And I had hidden the money in different places. My dad slapped me as soon as he saw me, his face red and neck thick as he roared: “You learned all these bad habits from your mother.” “Stealing from your own home.” “Officer, this thief with sticky fingers must be taught a lesson.” Seeing his self-righteous look, I just wanted to laugh. It was just some supplements and a stroller, things he was willing to buy for his mistress and precious son. But when I took them, he called the police to arrest me? I immediately knelt down and kowtowed, crying loudly: “Dad, I beg you.” “I’m so hungry, and I have nowhere to go.” “I don’t want to be an escort like Auntie said.” 2 The idea of being an escort was actually “suggested” by my stepmom when she kicked me out. Hearing this, the police quickly came to help me up. I grabbed their uniforms and cried loudly: “Officer, I want to report that my stepmom used to be an escort.” “I have evidence of her taking clients.” My dad couldn’t hold it in anymore and roared impotently: “You damn girl, what nonsense are you talking about?” I took out the phone I had just bought and handed the evidence to the police officer. This was collected by my mom when she caught him cheating. But when she divorced, she took a large sum of money and didn’t report the mistress. I, however, remembered this clearly and secretly uploaded the evidence to the cloud. The police officer looked solemn, as there were transaction records and hotel surveillance footage. “We will investigate this matter.” “But regarding your theft…” I hurriedly interrupted the police officer and asked innocently: “Why is taking things from my own home considered stealing?” Silence followed. I clutched my stomach, looking even more innocent: “I really had no choice; they wouldn’t give me food.” “Officer, can I go to a foster home?” Treat enemies with thunderous rage, but treat others with pitiful innocence. The police officer responsibly asked about the food situation. I decisively revealed the drama of my dad and stepmom: “At first, they left me behind and went out to eat. I couldn’t find a single grain of rice at home.” “Later, they kicked me out to my mom’s place and wouldn’t let me stay at home.” “They changed the lock password, so I couldn’t go back.” As I cried and narrated, the police officer’s expression grew uglier. My dad yelled: “You cheap girl, what are you talking about?” Saying this, he tried to hit me again. Fortunately, the police officer wasn’t useless and immediately stopped him. And gave him a stern warning. This matter was also defined. “She didn’t take anything valuable, just some food and drink.” “But you, you’ve committed the crime of abandonment.” Because of this, the police officer gave my dad a verbal warning. I thought he would have to swallow this anger. Unexpectedly, when I went to school the next day, the whole school was spreading rumors about me associating with delinquents and stealing everything from home. Roxy asked around and found out that my stepmom’s brother went to the same school as me. He was the one spreading the rumors. After all, I had exposed his sister’s escort past. Although she wasn’t prosecuted because she was breastfeeding, she lost all face. Roxy took the money I gave her, rolled up her sleeves angrily, and was about to go teach that guy a lesson. But I stopped her. Instead, during the Monday assembly, I rushed to that guy as fast as I could. I knelt down and banged my head on the ground. “I beg you.” “I will never tell anyone again that your sister was a streetwalker and a mistress.” “I didn’t want to steal either, but your sister wouldn’t give me food.” I hugged his leg and cried helplessly. Crying and making a scene: “Little Uncle, I beg you, have pity on me!” He was furious. He came up and kicked me: “Are you crazy?” I immediately clutched my chest, lay on the ground, and wailed in pain. Roxy and the sisters in the school had been briefed. Seeing this, they immediately shouted: “Holy sh*t, what trash.” “Bullying a girl~” 3 Mistress, streetwalker, bullying the stepdaughter. In a small town, this was undoubtedly a bombshell. I chose to make a scene when the whole school was present to blow it up. When I was taken to the hospital by ambulance, my mom, who had disappeared for a long time, finally appeared. Looking at me in the hospital bed, she was full of excitement: “You girl, impressive!” “Finally vented some anger for your mom.” Maybe it really was satisfying. She finally started showing concern for me, the “failed product.” But after a few sentences, she started giving me advice: “Just keep making a scene. That little bastard is an adult now.” “If he doesn’t want to go to jail, he has to pay to settle it.” “Your sister will need money for school and stuff in the future.” I automatically filtered out her chatter. I said coldly: “My money is mine. Don’t think about spending it on your second daughter.” “Otherwise, don’t blame me for using the same methods I used on my dad on you.” Actually, I don’t hate my mom. Meeting my disgusting and shameless dad was just her bad luck. Later, she divorced and luckily met a good partner, having a fruit of love. To live a good life, she had to discard me, the baggage. If she hadn’t kicked me out then, her marriage would probably have broken down too. She just chose herself. I spoke decisively and directly. Seeing she couldn’t get any advantage, she cursed me under her breath and walked away swaying her hips. I couldn’t help laughing. What was I still expecting? Not long after my mom left, my dad came. Looking at me with disgust: “Alright, stop acting, hurry up and get discharged.” My stepmom followed closely, arms crossed, looking down at me. But her words were gentle and virtuous: “Why didn’t you tell Auntie when your mom kicked you out?” “If I knew you had nowhere to go and no food to eat, Auntie would have called you back home.” The two of them teamed up, putting me on the spot with every word, wanting to take me away. The doctors couldn’t stop them either, as they were now my guardians. When dragging me forcefully from the hospital bed, my stepmom pinched me secretly. Breathing into my ear like an orchid: “Just wait until you’re in my hands, see how I deal with you.” Hearing this, I said “Oh.” I pressed my whole body onto her. I remembered she had a C-section. One punch, straight to her belly. She said she was going to deal with me. I couldn’t just sit and wait for death, could I? She screamed in pain, grabbing my hair. My scalp hurt sharply. I went up and scratched her foxy face. “Stepmom, ouch, it hurts, let go.” I struggled constantly, scratching line after line on her face. Even my dad, who came to break it up, almost got his eye scratched out by me. The whole ward was in chaos. The final result was that I was discharged, but my stepmom was hospitalized. My dad had to serve my stepmom. I logically “returned home” and enjoyed the huge house alone. Until various photos of me started circulating online. Coming out of the bath, changing clothes. Roxy gave me a sharp rap on the head without hesitation: “How many times did I tell you to be careful, careful, and more careful.” “You didn’t even know there were hidden cameras installed at home, taking pictures of you as leverage.” “How can you go back to school like this?” 4 I didn’t think it was a big deal. After all, I almost sold myself. Compared to those photos, the urgent matter was that my stepmom was discharged. Looking at my stepmom’s face full of hatred and ferocity, I shuddered subconsciously. Sure enough, the first thing she did upon returning was to hold me down with my dad and beat me soundly. I protected my head and abdomen, lying on the floor, letting them beat me. Until my stepmom brought out boiling water, about to splash it on me. I heard Roxy shout angrily: “Sisters, get them.” The brothers and sisters ambushed in the room rushed out. They pinned my dad and stepmom to the ground and beat them up. A few people, shouting like an army… They didn’t use weapons. Just fists and fingernails. Only when they were tired of beating and gave me a look, did I leisurely take out my phone and call the police. After the police arrived, my dad and stepmom went to the hospital again. Me and the group of brothers and sisters were sent to the station. Checking, all were of compulsory education age. Looking at the situation. Dad and stepmom engaging in abuse. Boiling water was about to be used. These people were protecting me; in a sense, it was self-defense. So, we all happily walked out of the station. This time, I went even further. I had people move all the furniture out and sell it. After all, my dad and stepmom didn’t give me a single cent. To eat, this was also a last resort. I sold things enthusiastically. The money I got was all deposited into a bank card in my name. Using it sparingly, it should be enough for me to finish high school. Before leaving, I specially collected some swill. Spent a day “working.” Striving to fill every corner of this house with surprises. After finishing, I clapped my hands preparing to leave. But Roxy asked me: “Really planning to stop?” “You can blackmail them for at least another three or four years.” “With me here, guarantee to train them to be submissive.” I was silent for a while, then smiled with relief: “Messing with them vents anger, but I want a broader world.” Entangling with them, at best, is mutual destruction. My life is still long. Why delay for a moment of satisfaction? Before my dad and stepmom were discharged, I moved into the school dormitory. The one responsible for signing the consent was my mom. It didn’t take much effort. Just took a group of sisters to wander around my mom’s new family. She agreed impatiently. After all, she couldn’t let her husband have any opinion of her. After moving into the dorm, I put all my effort into studying. Right after I finished my entrance exams, the sisters who had started losing contact suddenly came to find me. They said: “Do you have money?” “Take it out for use.”

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I was an innocent man on death row. My wife Nina, the city’s top defense attorney, ignored nine pleas for help. The first time, she held a press conference to comfort her bullied junior while I was beaten by inmates. The second time, she withdrew my defense to answer his sobbing call, leaving me on the stand. Every time hope appeared, her junior had an “emergency.” This was my final chance before execution. But on the phone, his voice whispered, “Nina, you can’t be distracted during a birthday wish.” She hung up. The proof of my innocence was undeniable, but without her to present it, the judge signed my death warrant. When the guard gave me the verdict, I thought the red stamp meant life in prison. Instead, he said: “Execution confirmed. Your lawyer said there’s no need to notify her about the body.” So I died. What I don’t understand is why, after my execution, Nina was the one who went insane. 1 Today is Ryan’s birthday. The lights in the execution chamber were a brilliant, piercing white. Nina is probably cutting his cake right now, isn’t she? In the final second before my consciousness faded, I thought I could hear the sound of my own heart stopping. The Julian Croft who had once loved Nina Hayes with every fiber of his being was finally, truly dead. When I opened my eyes again, I was floating in mid-air. Below me was the city’s most luxurious riverside restaurant. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city lights glittered like a fallen constellation. Inside, a single candle flickered with intimate warmth. Nina was wearing the designer suit I had always ironed for her, not a single crease on it. She was gazing tenderly at the man across from her. Ryan had his hands clasped, his eyes closed as he made a wish. It was a picture so perfect, I could have painted it from memory even in the darkest corners of my prison cell. How ironic. My body was growing cold in a crematorium miles away, while my wife was here, helping another man make a birthday wish. Ryan opened his eyes, a boyish, innocent smile curving his lips. “I made my wish, Nina! Now you have to help me make it come true.” Nina poured him a glass of red wine, her voice dripping with affection. “Of course. Anything you want, Ryan. Anything.” Her phone, resting on the table, vibrated. The screen lit up with a text message notification from the prison. I drifted closer, wanting to see if she would even look. Just one glance. Just a flicker of emotion as she read the words: Execution completed. Nina frowned, her long, elegant fingers swiping across the screen. She deleted it. Without even opening it. “What’s wrong, Nina? Who was that?” Ryan asked, leaning over with a look of pure innocence. Nina placed her phone face down on the table, her tone dismissive. “Junk text. Nothing important.” Junk text. So that’s what the final message of my life was to her. Junk. “Was it… was it Julian?” Ryan asked, biting his lower lip as his eyes instantly reddened, looking like a startled fawn. “It’s my birthday… Is he still mad at me for taking you away? Maybe… maybe we should go check on him?” He looked exactly as he had in the courtroom that day, crying as he testified that I had “pushed him down the stairs.” He had wept then, too, saying he didn’t blame me, that my obsessive love for Nina had just made me lose control. And Nina, just like now, had instantly hardened her expression, her heart aching for him as she took his hand in hers. “Why bring up that murderer?” Nina said, cutting a piece of cake with a strawberry on top and holding it to Ryan’s lips. “He killed an innocent janitor and put you in the hospital to have a kidney removed. A man that vicious deserves to rot in a cell.” “This is your special day. Let’s not let someone so foul ruin the mood.” I looked at that piece of cake and felt a wave of nausea. Ghosts don’t have stomachs. But I still wanted to vomit. So, in her heart, I wasn’t just a murderer. I was foul. Nina, did you know? Just ten minutes ago, that foul man you refused to help for the ninth and final time ceased to exist. 2 Nina took Ryan back to our home. The home I had decorated with so much care, only for it to be usurped by him after I was imprisoned. In the entryway, where our wedding portrait used to hang, there was now an abstract painting. One of Ryan’s, I presumed. The slippers by the door were gray and fuzzy. Ryan’s size. Nina slipped them on with practiced ease, hanging Ryan’s coat on the rack. The movements were so natural, so fluid, you would think they were the ones who had been married for years. “Nina… can you… can you stay with me tonight?” Ryan asked, tugging on her sleeve with wide, timid eyes. “That threatening letter Julian sent me… I still get scared when I think about it.” I floated near the ceiling, watching coldly. A threatening letter? In prison, I could barely get my hands on a pen and paper. The only letters I ever wrote were desperate pleas to Nina for help. How had they become threatening letters to him? Nina’s face darkened. She ruffled his hair gently. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here. He can’t hurt you.” “But… what if he gets out? He was sentenced to life with parole, right? He could be out in twenty years if he behaves…” Ryan flinched. Nina scoffed, unwrapping a silk scarf from her neck and tossing it onto the sofa. “Get out? He’s never getting out.” She walked to the liquor cabinet, poured a glass of whiskey, and downed it in one go. “He had a sliver of a chance, but then he had to go after you and get an innocent person killed.” “As the only witness at the scene, I submitted a supplementary statement to the judge. I insisted that I saw him push that janitor with my own eyes before shoving you down the stairs.” “Even though it was dark and I didn’t see everything clearly, I had to say it. For you, and for the person who died. For justice.” Ryan asked cautiously, “What about… what about that air-conditioner repairman? The one who said he saw something different. Is that a problem?” “It’s not a problem. I buried his testimony so deep no one will ever believe him,” Nina said, swirling the ice in her glass. “That was the ninth time he tried to ‘find evidence’ to force my hand. All lies. He’ll never change.” “I needed him to know that my patience has limits. If he wants to live, he needs to behave himself in there and stop dreaming about getting out and causing trouble.” I looked at her, so arrogant, so certain in her absolute control, and I wanted to laugh. Nina, you’re the best criminal defense attorney in the city. You’ve never lost a case. But you lost this one. You lost your husband’s life. And there’s no coming back from that. Ryan seemed to relax, wrapping his arms around Nina from behind and resting his cheek against her back. “You’re so good to me, Nina. If only Julian were half as reasonable as you.” “Him?” Nina sneered. “If he were reasonable, he wouldn’t have killed someone just to force me to stay married to him.” I floated in front of her, swinging a phantom fist at her face. It passed right through. But I still screamed the words. “I DIDN’T PUSH ANYONE! HE PUSHED THE JANITOR HIMSELF TO FRAME ME! HE THREW HIMSELF DOWN THE STAIRS!” No one could hear my roars. Nina just shivered, frowning as she turned up the thermostat. “Why is it suddenly so cold in here?” Ryan tightened his arms around her. “Maybe Julian’s thinking about you.” “He doesn’t have the right,” Nina said, putting down her glass, her eyes full of disgust. “He’s been quiet the last few days, though. No more calls from the prison guards. I guess my last warning finally scared him.” “In a few days, I’ll pay a visit to the prison.” Ryan’s body tensed. “Why would you go see him?” “To have him sign the divorce papers,” Nina’s voice was like ice. “Having a murderer for a husband is a stain on my reputation that I’ve tolerated for far too long.” Divorce papers? No need, Nina. A death certificate is far more effective. It automatically dissolves all legal ties between us. Cleanly. Completely. 3 For the next three days, Nina’s life was perfect. She took Ryan to an art gallery, to a fancy Japanese restaurant, and even went shopping for a men’s watch with him. I followed her like a shadow, a numb specter watching her hand over the future she had once promised me to another man, piece by piece. It wasn’t until the afternoon of the third day, while Nina was in a meeting at her law firm, that her assistant, Alex, knocked frantically on the door. “Nina, there’s… a package was returned from the prison.” Nina didn’t even look up from the documents in her hand. “So? If it was returned, it was returned. Do you really need to interrupt my meeting for something so trivial?” “No, Nina, it’s… the package is for you. And…” Alex hesitated, his forehead beaded with cold sweat. Nina snapped the folder shut, annoyed. “And what? What is Julian up to now? A hunger strike? A letter written in his own blood? More of his clipped fingernails?” A few quiet chuckles rippled through the conference room. The other partners all knew about Nina’s “crazy” husband and the extreme lengths he went to in order to win her back. Alex swallowed hard, his voice trembling. “Nina, you should really come see for yourself. The courier says it requires your signature in person.” Nina stood up, her face a cold mask, and strode out of the room on her sharp heels. “Let’s see what kind of pathetic drama he’s cooked up this time.” I floated behind her, a strange, dark pleasure blooming in my chest. No drama, Nina. Just dust. In the firm’s lobby stood a uniformed courier, holding a square, heavy-looking black box. Any adult would recognize its shape immediately. But Nina didn’t go there. Or rather, her subconscious refused to. “Ms. Nina Hayes?” the courier asked, checking his clipboard. “This is an expedited delivery from the Southside Crematorium. The sender is listed as ‘Julian Croft (by proxy).’ I need your signature, please.” Crematorium. The word dropped into the bustling lobby like a stone, and all sound ceased. Nina’s confident stride came to an abrupt halt. She stared at the black box, her expression shifting from disdain to disbelief, finally settling into a mask of absurd fury. “Crematorium?” “Hah!” She laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. She marched over and grabbed the courier by his collar. “How much did Julian pay you? Huh? To help him with this ridiculous stunt?” “He’s so desperate to see me he’s pulling this kind of sick joke now?” “Mailing his own goddamn urn?” “Why didn’t he just burn himself alive and mail the whole package?!” The courier, terrified, struggled against her grip. “Ma’am, let go! I don’t know what you’re talking about! I don’t know any Julian Croft!” “This is an official shipment from the crematorium!” “Unclaimed remains are sent to the next of kin if they can be contacted!” “Next of kin? I’m not his next of kin!” Nina roared, her eyes blazing. “I was his lawyer! Not his undertaker!” “But you’re listed as his emergency contact in the system…” the courier stammered, on the verge of tears. “Get out!” Nina shoved him hard. The courier stumbled back, losing his grip on the black box. It hit the marble floor with a dull thud. Enraged at the sight of it, Nina lifted her sharp-heeled shoe and kicked it. “Bastard. Just looking at this thing is bad luck.” The lid popped off. Ashes spilled across the floor. Inside, there was also a sealed velvet bag. Next to it, a neatly folded piece of paper slid out. It was a certificate of cremation. Nina stared at the mess on the floor, her chest heaving. She pointed a trembling finger at the box, her voice still laced with venom. “Julian. You’ve really outdone yourself.” “Forging official documents! Again! The forged critical condition notice wasn’t enough, now you’re faking cremation certificates?!” She whirled on her assistant. “Alex, call the police! Right now! I want Julian Croft dragged out of that prison! I’m suing him for public disturbance! I’ll make sure they add years to his sentence!” I floated beside the velvet bag, looking at what was left of me. All I felt was a profound, hollow sorrow. Nina. It’s real. That’s me. Why… why won’t you believe it?

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Five years cut off. Five years of hauling bodies. Finally, I had the down payment for my own place. I was waiting for my final paycheck when I ran straight into my brother, Cole. He was there picking out a plot for his adopted sister’s dead dog. Our eyes locked. In the kind of unspoken truce we’d mastered years ago, we both looked away instantly. It wasn’t until my boss handed me the ten-thousand-dollar cash envelope that Cole let out a low, scornful chuckle. “Well, Skylar,” he sneered, looking me up and down. “Five years gone, and you’re actually doing okay for yourself.” I glanced at the black card clutched in his hand. “It’s fine,” I countered, my voice flat. “Still not as comfortable as Willow Reed’s dog.” A million-dollar burial plot, and he hadn’t even blinked. Meanwhile, the total price for my small condo was just thirty thousand. My brother’s voice tightened, a familiar, awkward attempt at dominance. “I know you were never meant for a rough life. Apologize now, and I’ll let you come home.” I shook my head, carefully tucking the cash deep into my jeans pocket. I’d already contacted the agent. Any minute now, I would have a home that was truly mine. 1 I left the mortuary and headed to meet my real estate agent, Sarah Lane. On the way, I stopped and bought a small celebratory cake. Sarah was genuinely kind. I’d dragged her to see countless properties over the years, only to back out at the last minute for one reason or another. Now that it was finally settled, the cake felt like the right way to share the relief and joy. I hadn’t walked far from the bakery before a hand clamped down on my wrist from behind. I gasped, startled. The cake slipped from my grasp, hitting the sidewalk and shattering into a messy pile of frosting and crumbs. Furious, I spun around—and crashed, eyes wide open, into Cole’s dark, rigid gaze. I froze for a second. His tone was a whip-crack of cold steel. “You don’t have anything you need to explain to me?” Frustration instantly boiled up. I yanked my arm free. “Explain what?” He pursed his lips and scanned me from head to toe. “You are a Jensen. How can you work in a mortuary? You might not find it disgusting, but I’m worried you’ll bring bad luck to Mom and me.” I dropped to a crouch to inspect the ruined cake. “Then stay away from me if you’re so worried about bad luck,” I shot back. “I’m earning an honest living. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He grabbed my wrist again, forcefully pulling me upright. “Skylar, why do you insist on talking to me like this? You’re the one who walked away five years ago. You still can’t get over it?” My patience was gone. I tore my hand away. “You’re the one who can’t get over it!” “Cole Jensen, we cut off all ties. Can you just leave me alone?” His face went completely dark. “Mom is sick. She talks about you constantly. How can you be so heartless? Do you have any conscience?” Now I was the heartless one. Five years ago, Willow had deliberately sicced her dog, Apollo, on my cat, Milo, killing him. I’d only hit the dog once in my grief, and Cole had slapped me. “Apollo is just a dog,” he’d roared then. “He doesn’t know any better. How can you be so cruel?” I’d been hysterical, sobbing, turning to my mother for comfort. Instead, she’d drenched me with a bucket of cold water. “That stray cat you brought back from the country has scratched up all the furniture. It’s dead, so it’s dead. What are you crying for?” Those two sentences were the final, crushing blow. That’s when I’d decided to leave and sever all ties. Cole’s face was still set in a scowl. “It was such a small thing. Does it really merit this reaction?” Small thing? Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them away, refusing to let him see them fall. Milo’s death was just the ignition. The final straw that broke me. From the moment I was brought back to that house—the house I was supposed to have been born in—Willow had been a constant source of torment. And my own mother and brother had never once stood by me. Willow claimed I stole her money. They searched my room, frisked me. Even when they found nothing, they never made her apologize. Because I had lived in the country for twenty years, my hands were often chapped and raw, and my face easily flushed red in the cold. Willow took photos of me and posted them in the class group, leading the ridicule. I was twenty and deeply self-conscious. Hiding my swollen, cracked hands behind my back, I finally lost it and kicked her in the chest. That was the only time I’d ever physically fought back. The result? That night, Mom made me kneel in the snow and write “I’m sorry” one hundred times. My affection for them had been a candle burning brightly when I first returned home. Over three years, it had slowly, painfully guttered out. Milo’s death gave me the resolve I needed to leave. I dropped out of the elite prep school and entered the workforce. As I walked out the door, Cole’s face was thunderous, his voice cold with threat: “Think carefully. You are nothing without this family. One word from me, and you won’t even be able to find a job.” I didn’t say a word. I just took the two worn suitcases I’d brought from the country. After that, the long, brutal search for work began. True to his word, Cole had me blacklisted. No matter what job I landed, I was fired within two months. The reasons were always vague, always different. But it only took a year for me to figure out a loophole. Mortuary transport: Five hundred dollars per body. It was grim, taboo work, but I was good at it. In four years, after all my expenses, I had saved up enough cash. I was satisfied. Cole stood before me, his expression the same furious, controlling mask he wore the day I left. Looking at him, a wave of cold revulsion rose from the pit of my stomach. “The heartless ones are the people you choose to protect. From now on, let’s pretend we’re strangers.” I bent down, finally collected the pieces of the broken cake, and walked away. His cold, cutting voice floated after me. “No matter what, you are not working that job anymore. Willow is a member of the Bellevue Animal Protection League. Look at you, Skylar. A disgrace.” 2 I ignored him, tossed the ruined cake into a nearby trash can, and bought two coffees. The encounter had made me late, but Sarah smiled brightly when I finally arrived. “Skylar, here’s the contract. Take a look.” I handed her a coffee, feeling a flush of guilt. “Sorry I held you up. I meant to get you a cake, but it was… ruined by a dog on the way here.” Her smile didn’t waver. She was a master of professionalism. “Good things take time! Let’s call it fate.” Warmed by her kindness, I picked up the contract. I didn’t truly understand the legalese, but a transaction this huge—this monumental step toward my freedom—felt like it needed time and careful attention. The Jensen house had never felt safe, only like a place of dependency. Owning my own home had become an obsession after the cut-off. Sarah waited patiently until I finished. She handed me a pen. “Sign when you’re ready.” I nodded, reaching for the pen, when her phone suddenly rang. “Company call,” she mouthed, smiling, and tapped ‘answer.’ The next second, she went completely rigid. “Fired? What… what did I do wrong?” A terrible premonition flooded me. My stomach clenched. Sure enough. When Sarah hung up, her eyes were instantly wet, her face blotchy with tears. “Ms. Jensen, you have such a powerful brother, one who can ruin my career with a few words. Why were you wasting my time looking at properties?” My pupils contracted in horror. I quickly tried to explain. “I cut off all ties with them years ago! That was Cole Jensen, and he—” “I think you’re just messing with me!” She leaped to her feet. Furiously, she snatched the contract from my hands. She reached for the coffee, intending to splash it on me, but ultimately just slammed the cup against the wall near my feet. The tea bucket burst open, splattering the floor. I tried one last time to explain. I opened my mouth, but she was already out the door. I stood there for a long time, stunned. Finally, I pulled out my phone and called Cole. He answered instantly. I couldn’t control the rage in my voice. “What the hell do you want! Fine, you want to mess with me, but the agent was innocent!” “Sister…” Willow’s soft voice answered from the receiver. “Brother is busy arranging for Apollo’s ashes. Tell me what you need.” 3 I had nothing to say to Willow. I was about to hang up when she spoke again. “To be honest, Sis, I forgave you a long time ago.” “Brother and Mom really miss you. Why don’t you just come home?” Then, Cole’s voice cut in. “Who is it?” “It’s Sky. I’m telling her to come home.” “Put on speaker.” I swore under my breath and hung up the phone decisively. I decided I had to try one last time. I went to the real estate company. Sarah was gone. I found the owner and explained, in painful detail, my relationship with Cole. I begged him not to fire Sarah, insisting that I was the reason for the trouble. The owner looked troubled. “Your brother offered a very high settlement for her departure. It’s actually a good thing for Sarah. She can still find another job, but now she has a generous payout.” The implication was clear: Sarah was not coming back. I felt like I’d been plunged into ice water. My blood ran cold. Once again, I realized that confronting Cole meant utter, humiliating defeat. After a long moment, I pressed my lips together and asked, “That condo. Can I still buy it?” “That one was purchased by Mr. Jensen. He bought up that unit and several similar ones nearby. They’re all reserved.” The owner pulled out two marketing flyers and handed them to me. “Ms. Jensen, you might want to look at these developments. The prices are comparable, but the location is a little further out…” “I’ll take this one.” I tapped a random spot on one of the flyers. Then, I pulled out the ten thousand dollars I had just been paid and handed it to him. In my line of work, there was a superstition: dealing with so much spiritual cash required real currency to keep things grounded. That’s why I was always paid in bills. Perhaps he hadn’t seen this before. The owner looked at me strangely, pulled out a cash counter, and verified the money. Then, he pushed the contract across the desk. This time, I didn’t read it. I flipped directly to the last page and signed. The owner hesitated. “This one’s down payment is twenty thousand more. Are you sure you looked it over?” “Yes. Give me some time. The deposit is paid; I’m not running away.” The owner sighed. “I don’t understand you and Mr. Jensen. You’re family. Why go to all this trouble?” Middle-aged men always feel the need to offer advice. I didn’t want to hear it. I grabbed my bag, walked out, and called my boss at the mortuary. “I’m coming in today.” He sounded surprised. “I thought you needed a couple of days off?” “I don’t. I won’t be taking any time off for the next two months.” “Alright, come on in as usual.” I hung up and contacted Sarah. She wouldn’t answer my calls, so I sent her a barrage of texts, apologizing profusely. I must have sent a dozen “I’m sorry” messages. Finally, she replied with a single sentence: [Forget it. Let’s pretend we never met.] Any further messages I sent received the dreaded red exclamation point. I stared at the phone for a long time before heading to work that afternoon. The funeral home was quiet. As I walked in, I saw Willow and Mom. They were clutching an urn, sobbing hysterically. It must have been Apollo’s ashes. I calmly shifted my gaze and walked toward the work area. My boss had already told me I only had one body transfer scheduled. I located the deceased’s family and, with a coworker, prepared to lift the body. Just as we were about to lower him into the casket, Cole’s voice exploded behind me. “Skylar Jensen! What are you still doing here?” Before I could react, he grabbed my arm with immense force. My grip slipped. The body fell with a sickening thud. It hit the floor face-first. 4 The deceased’s head cracked open. He must have died recently, as the blood hadn’t clotted. A thick, scarlet pool began to spread slowly. The sight was gruesome and terrifying. The mortuary fell deathly silent. No one had anticipated this chaos. Then, the deceased’s family reacted. “You trash! What did you do?!” The lead man’s eyes went red with fury. He lunged and kicked me in the lower back. I stumbled back several steps, collapsing painfully onto the floor. Before I could get up, two women surrounded me, slapping me from both sides. “You bitch! You cracked my father’s skull! What kind of monster are you?” The blows landed hard. My forehead was slick with cold sweat. I quickly covered my head with my arms. “Stop it!” Cole shouted, pushing the two women aside and shielding me. “She didn’t do it on purpose! You can’t assault her!” The enraged family wasn’t listening. They instantly swarmed Cole. His bodyguards rushed in. The scene erupted into utter chaos. My boss quickly stepped in to apologize and offer compensation. But the family was relentless, and Cole’s attitude was still cold and rigid. The situation was escalating out of control. I gripped my aching lower back and forced myself up. Then, with a painful thump, I dropped to my knees before the body. “It was my fault. Please, stop fighting!” After saying this, I bowed, pressing my forehead to the floor nine times in a loud, painful ritual. Then, I took a Ritual Atonement Marker from the boss—a packet of ceremonial paper—and lit it on the spot. This was a grave spiritual gesture, a public penance meant to spiritually compensate the deceased and his family for the desecration. Seeing the fire and the absolute nature of my submission, the family’s rage subsided slightly. Mom quickly stumbled over, apologizing profusely and offering a generous financial settlement. Her attitude was solicitous, and her offer was tempting. The family finally relented. They screamed a few final insults at me and then, pulling the casket, they left. The second they were gone, Cole grabbed my arm, his voice raw with urgency. “I told you to quit this job! Look at you! Let me see, are you hurt?” I pushed his hand away, my face expressionless. Then, I picked up a nearby ceremonial staff. Before anyone could react, I lunged forward and brought the staff down hard onto Apollo’s urn! CRACK! A loud, sharp sound. The urn shattered. The ashes of that cruel dog scattered across the floor. I didn’t stop. My eyes blazing, I brought the staff down again and again. “Skylar—” Willow shrieked and rushed at me. My eyes narrowed. I swung the staff directly at her! “Willow!” Cole screamed, rushing to cover her. The staff cracked against his back with a sickening force. He gasped, a strangled sound of pain, his face instantly draining of color. Mom stared in shock, then yelled at the two bodyguards. “Are you blind?! Stop Skylar now!” Before I could swing a second time, the bodyguards had me pinned. They ripped the staff from my hands. I glared at Cole, my heart pounding with hatred. “You agreed to the cut-off, but you still provoke me everywhere I go!” “What do you want from me? What will it take for you to finally stop forcing me into the dirt?” Cole’s forehead was covered in cold sweat. Before he could speak, Mom slapped me across the face. “I knew it! You’ve never let go of that silly incident! You have such a fierce temper, Skylar! Such a small heart!” “How could I have given birth to a daughter like you!” Ignoring the stinging on my cheek, I let out a mocking, cold laugh. “I stopped being your daughter a long time ago.” “Shut up! Don’t provoke Mom further!” Cole roared. He then turned to my boss, who was still standing there, stunned. “Skylar is my sister. I forbid her from working here. As of right now, she’s terminated!” “By what right do you make that decision for me?” I wanted to leap at him, to slap him until his face was as bruised as my own. The boss looked from Cole to me, then sighed. “Resolve your family issues outside. Skylar caused a major incident; she would have been fired regardless.” My heart chilled, freezing completely. “Let go!” Knowing the fight was useless here, I ripped free of the bodyguards and ran out. I had to call the police.

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I had a two-year relationship with a younger guy. He was good-looking, sunny, energetic, and likable. When I planned to take things further, we had a conflict. In a fit of anger, the man stopped calling me “sister” and blurted out a phrase instead. “Old turtle.” Later, at his lively birthday party, I happened to be dining at the next table with a new man I met. He rushed over crazily: “Sister, let’s stop the cold war, okay?” I looked at him with a faint smile: “Sorry, we’ve already broken up.” “By the way, don’t call me sister anymore. Call me sister-in-law.” 1 When the words came out, both Ethan Clark and I were stunned. “Old turtle.” I never thought this term would come out of Ethan’s mouth. “I, I didn’t mean that.” Ethan’s face softened a bit, but his words still didn’t yield an inch: “Anya, I’m only in my early twenties. Do you want me to be as lifeless as you at such a young age?” I felt inexplicably tired. Ethan is young and energetic. Still a graduate student, after we moved in together, he had dinner parties every two or three days, often playing until two or three in the morning before coming back. I didn’t have his energy, plus with recent work pressure, I often suffered from insomnia and was a light sleeper. Every time Ethan opened the door and came back drunk at night, the noise would ruin my whole night. For one or two months in a row, my mental state had tightened into a string, and the fatigue caused by poor sleep eroded my body. I tried to persuade him to reduce such unnecessary gatherings. In a fit of anger, Ethan blurted out a sentence. “No wonder they all say you’re an old turtle, an old woman who doesn’t even allow parties.” At that moment, I was stunned. It was as if I had never clearly known the man in front of me. Stalemate for a few minutes. Ethan’s phone rang, and a male voice on the other end urged: “Ethan, haven’t arrived yet? Not trapped at home by Sister Anya, are you?” “No way, Brother Ethan, that old turtle even restricts your personal freedom?” The latter sentence was said by a girl. I had seen this girl, considered the group favorite among Ethan’s brothers. She looked cute and well-behaved, but her character was somewhat disgusting. “Shut up.” Ethan frowned irritably and hung up the phone abruptly. He looked at me, his tone slightly softened: “I won’t come back tonight, won’t disturb your sleep.” With a “bang”, the door was closed. I stared at the direction of the door for a long time before lowering my eyebrows. Just four years older. When good, he sweetly called me sister. When arguing and angry, Ethan’s truest thoughts were exposed. I am four years older than him. Old turtle. 2 Ethan indeed didn’t come back that night. Having taken half a sleeping pill, I slept well for once. Woken up by my biological clock, it was only past six when I got up. There was a sound of the door opening outside the room. Getting up to wash and go out, outside was Ethan who just came back. He carried the breakfast I loved in his hand. Seeing me wake up, Ethan took out a small box from his pocket like offering a treasure, containing the necklace I had kept in my shopping cart for a long time but was reluctant to buy. “About last night, I said the wrong thing. Don’t hold it against me, okay?” Ethan is like this. Relationships with younger guys aren’t easy. In these two years, we argued quite a few times. He wasn’t stingy in spending thought on me, various bouquets, luxury goods I fancied in my shopping cart but was reluctant to buy. In the past, coaxing would pass. But this time, I understood very clearly. This matter couldn’t pass in my heart. The three words “old turtle” ultimately tore apart all the false affection between him and me. Very disgusting. Ethan thought this was just a trivial argument and vainly tried to coax me with the old tricks. But I felt it was extremely boring, tone flat: “I’m not angry anymore, go back to your room and catch up on sleep.” Ethan breathed a sigh of relief. After he entered the room, I put the necklace on the entrance cabinet. This sweet date couldn’t coax away the slap from last night. 3 In the following days, Ethan was busy with his studies, and his schedule became much more regular. Until the weekend, he tentatively asked me: “Sally Xu’s birthday, singing karaoke tonight, won’t play very late.” Sally, the girl who called me “old turtle” on the phone that day. Also a girl, I could see Sally’s meaning. “I haven’t sung for a long time either.” I looked at Ethan and suddenly said a sentence. Ethan was stunned: “Sister wants to go too?” “Can’t I?” I rarely participated in his activities. In the first half-year of passionate love, he pestered me to go a few times. Later found that those noisy occasions were indeed not suitable for my personality. Gradually, our private lives were completely separated. The last time I met his friends was at Ethan’s birthday party a few months ago. “It will be very noisy tonight, I’m afraid you won’t adapt.” Ethan vaguely made an excuse. I just shook my head calmly: “It’s okay, no work tomorrow, I want to relax today too.” Ethan’s face was a bit unnatural, but he agreed. Just before going out, he chose an age-reducing hoodie for me and put it on me. “Looking at it this way, sister is a few years younger again.” I smiled faintly without speaking. His brothers secretly despised my age a lot. Female three years older, hold a gold brick (Chinese saying implying older wife brings luck/wealth). They teased Ethan for having good taste, holding a gold brick just by dating. For a period at the beginning, Ethan drank all the gossipers under the table, cursing: “Say another word about my sister, I’ll drink you to death!” At that time, Ethan probably really didn’t mind the four-year age gap. Now things have changed, what he didn’t care about has become a knot in his heart. 4 When we arrived at the KTV, it was already past eight. Just sat down, Ethan and his brothers mingled noisily. They greeted me politely, but their eyes were not welcoming. And as the birthday girl, Sally’s expression was very exaggerated when she saw me: “Sister Anya, who bought you this hoodie? Twenty-eight years old already, wearing it looks really strange.” “Sally.” Ethan’s voice carried a few warnings: “Our Anya looks very good in this hoodie, little girl doesn’t understand don’t talk nonsense.” Sally snorted dissatisfiedly, squeezed away the person on Ethan’s other side, and held his arm affectionately: “Alright Brother Ethan, rare to come out and play once, don’t always stay by Sister Anya’s side. Come over, I want to challenge you in dice!” Ethan didn’t refuse such intimacy, turned his head to look at me, expression relaxed and handsome: “Sister, I’ll go over for a while.” “Okay.” The venue heated up quickly. Young people of the same age without work pressure drank and played dice wantonly in the KTV. I held a glass of wine indifferently, watching Ethan’s voice getting higher and higher. When winning against opponents, he high-fived Sally beside him naturally, posture intimate. Noisy, chaotic. Everything I hated. After the first half-year of passionate love, I actually calmed down slowly. Ethan has a wild nature, loves to play, and is energetic. A completely different nature from me. I used to think such different natures were complementary, exactly the missing half of each other. But slowly, I discovered. Too much difference in nature leads to problems popping up bit by bit. Different schedules, different hobbies. Normal rest time disturbed, leisure weekends just wanting to lie down, dragged by Ethan to various entertainment venues. I tried hard to adapt, in the end, only felt deep exhaustion from forcing myself to cooperate with him. I calmed down, thought seriously. Before the problem exploded, I always naively thought. Love can conquer all difficulties. “Brother Ethan, why did you push me!” Across a bar counter, Sally’s dissatisfied voice came loudly. Ethan was a bit drunk, but Sally entangled him pretending to be intimate. At the moment their arms touched, Ethan’s rejection voice was exceptionally clear. He said: “Go away, you are not our Anya, our Anya is not that tender.”

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