Category: English

1 I was about to sign a crucial contract when my phone buzzed with an unknown number. “Do not sign that contract. Your girlfriend bribed the client to hide massive legal traps in the clauses.” “If you sign it, you will go to prison and be saddled with millions in debt. Your best friend will take your promotion and marry your girlfriend.” “By the time you get out of prison, their kid will be in kindergarten, and they will mock you for being a broke ex-con.” A cold chill ran down my spine. “Who is this?” The line went dead. Was this a malicious prank by a rival firm, or… were the two people closest to me really plotting my downfall? My mind swirling with doubt, I arrived at the client’s office, deciding to carefully review the contract before doing anything else. The moment I opened the first page, my girlfriend, Sarah, impatiently urged me on. “Didn’t we verify everything a few days ago? Stop stalling and just sign it!” I twirled the Montblanc pen in my hand, speaking slowly. “Sarah, reviewing the clauses carefully before signing is basic common sense in our industry, isn’t it?” “When you sign your own contracts, you usually spend at least an hour double-checking every single line.” Realizing she had slipped up, Sarah softened her tone. “This is different! We’ve worked with Mr. Davis so many times. By scrutinizing it like this, you’re blatantly showing you don’t trust him.” Mr. Davis’s face darkened on cue. “If Mr. Sterling doesn’t trust my company, I can always find another partner.” I clearly caught Sarah shooting Mr. Davis a subtle, knowing look. My heart turned to ice. On the drive over, I had tried to convince myself the phone call was just a sick joke. But Sarah’s desperate behavior confirmed every word. The call was real. This contract was definitely a death trap. I glanced at Liam, sitting to my right, and pushed the folder toward him with a smile. “Bro, I felt bad about not giving you that lead last time.” “Why don’t you take this account? Consider it my apology.” “The commission on this one is twenty grand more than the last. I’m a pretty good friend, right?” I locked eyes with Liam. He had pestered me endlessly, complaining about his low salary and lack of clients, begging me to throw some accounts his way. Sometimes I agreed, sometimes I refused. Whenever I said yes, he would smile so wide his face looked like it might split in half. But right now, there was no smile. Only sheer panic. Snapping back to reality, Liam shoved the contract back at me as if it were a live grenade. “No need, man. I couldn’t possibly steal your client.” My gaze drifted down to his wrist. When Sarah came back from her business trip last month, I noticed a new luxury smartwatch in her bag. I thought it was an early birthday gift for me. Not wanting to ruin her surprise, I quietly put it back. That exact smartwatch was currently strapped to Liam’s wrist. The pen slipped from my fingers, hitting the mahogany table with a sharp clack. As I bent down to pick it up, I smoothed my expression into a mask of calm. “Why so polite all of a sudden? Weren’t you just begging me for two accounts last…” Sarah’s irritated voice cut me off. “Arthur, just sign the damn contract! What are you dawdling for?” “Stop pretending to be the generous guy. When you fought tooth and nail for the Director promotion, why didn’t you offer to step aside for him?” “Fought tooth and nail?” I stared dead at Sarah. “I was the top performer in sales for five consecutive years. Earning a promotion is considered fighting tooth and nail?” Sarah interrupted me again, her patience clearly wearing thin. “Enough with the nonsense. You love money more than anything, so just sign it.” I uncapped the pen and hovered the tip over the signature line. Sarah and Liam stared at my hand, completely holding their breath. I didn’t sign. Using my left hand, I flipped to the next page. “I’ll sign it when I’m done reading.” Sarah shot up from her chair. “Are you doing this on purpose, Arthur? What are you trying to pull?” I looked up at her. “I’m trying to read the contract.” “The real question is, why are you trying so hard to stop me from reading it? What are you hiding?” Liam subtly shook his head at Sarah. She forced herself to calm down. “I’m not stopping you from reading it. I just want to lock this deal in! I’m worried you’re going to offend Mr. Davis. What if he backs out?” Mr. Davis immediately played his part, pretending to pack his briefcase. “Forget it. That rep from Apex is still trying to get a meeting with me.” I stopped him. “Give me exactly one minute. I’ll skim through every page.” Mr. Davis looked at Sarah, then nodded reluctantly. “One minute. That’s it.” I rapidly flipped through the document, pausing for only a few seconds on each page. It wasn’t enough time to actually read the fine print, but it was enough to capture the evidence. They were so frantic they didn’t even notice I was wearing glasses today—something I, with perfect 20/20 vision, never did. As I hit the last page, Sarah eagerly pressed, “Can you sign it now?” I capped my pen, slid it into my briefcase, and pushed the contract back to Mr. Davis. “Mr. Davis, I won’t be signing this today. You are free to take your business elsewhere.” Mr. Davis froze, completely forgetting to maintain his act. Sarah and Liam stared at me in utter disbelief. I stood up and walked out. Sarah chased after me, refusing to give up. “Arthur, what is the meaning of this?” “We negotiated everything! Why are you backing out?” “Is this how you show responsibility to the company?” “Go back in there, apologize to Mr. Davis, and sign the damn contract!” I ignored her completely and headed straight back to the corporate headquarters. As luck would have it, Chairman Vance was visiting from the main branch. “How did it go, Arthur? Did we lock in the Davis account?” Sarah chimed in before I could answer. “No, Chairman Vance. I don’t know what’s wrong with Arthur today, but he flat-out refused to sign.” “By now, Mr. Davis has probably already signed with our competitors.” Chairman Vance’s expression instantly darkened. “What is going on here, Arthur? Do you have any idea how crucial this deal is for the firm? Why did you refuse to sign?” “The bulk of our quarterly profits relies on this single account!” “Explain yourself right now!” I kept my voice calm. “Chairman Vance, I can’t explain it right now.” It wasn’t the right time. Without concrete proof, even if I exposed the traps in the contract, Sarah and the others would deny everything and shift the blame entirely. Hearing my answer, Chairman Vance’s face turned thunderous. “What kind of attitude is that, Arthur?” “You can’t explain it? Ridiculous. If you can’t explain your actions, pack your desk and get out!” “Sarah, start reviewing the candidates. We are promoting a new Director!” I nodded, turned around, and walked back to my cubicle to pack my things. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Liam’s reaction. He didn’t look thrilled about my firing; he actually looked panicked. Sarah quickly plastered on a desperate smile, practically begging the Chairman. “Chairman Vance, please don’t be angry. Arthur has been with us for five years. You know how capable he is.” “Could you please give him one more chance to redeem himself?” “Handle it yourself!” Chairman Vance stormed off, fuming. I raised an eyebrow. Things were not playing out the way I had assumed. Logically, if the Chairman fired me, Sarah—as the branch manager—could easily promote Liam to the Director position. But my termination didn’t make them happy. They actively begged the Chairman to keep me on. Did they really need me to end up bankrupt and in prison to be satisfied? I had a creeping suspicion there was a deeper, more sinister plot at play. That evening, the office emptied out. Sarah and Liam left together. Neither of them asked me to join them. It hit me then that this had been the norm for a long time. When the clock struck five, they always left together in perfect sync. I used to pack my things in a rush just to catch up with them in the lobby. When I stayed late working overtime, they never checked on me. They never waited for me. Without realizing it, I had long become the third wheel in my own life. Soon, I was the only one left on the floor. I walked over to Sarah’s desk and noticed she had enabled fingerprint security on her computer. She was actively guarding against me. I had taken advanced cybersecurity electives in college; bypassing a basic login screen would have been child’s play. But Sarah had seemingly forgotten that when she was a new hire, she was constantly late. She made me create a silicone mold of her fingerprint so I could clock in for her. Even when the company upgraded to facial recognition, that silicone mold stayed hidden in my wallet. I pulled it out and gently pressed it against the scanner. The screen blinked to life. Her desktop messaging app was still running. I clicked straight into her chat history with Liam. Liam: [What do we do? He didn’t sign it. We can’t pin the blame on him now.] [When the auditors check the books, they’re going to trace it back to me!] [I don’t want to go to jail! My life will be over!] Sarah: [Don’t panic. I’m having someone forge the financial reports as we speak.] [When the board reviews the quarterly profits, we’ll pin that missing money entirely on him. We’ll claim it’s the financial loss caused by him blowing the Davis deal.] [When the dust settles, the debt will be entirely his, and the firm won’t be able to touch you.] Liam: [Thank you. You’re amazing.] Sarah: [Why are you thanking your own wife?] Wife? My hand trembled violently around the mouse. Even though I had mentally prepared myself, seeing the ugly truth laid bare in black and white still felt like a physical blow to the chest. I could barely breathe. I scrolled further up their chat history. They had been carrying on this disgusting affair behind my back for over two years. When I was bedridden with a severe flu, Liam braved the blistering summer heat to come to my apartment and cook soup for me. But that exact same night, he and Sarah went to an expensive romantic restaurant for a date, and he took her back to his place afterward. The next morning, she rode to work with him in his car, claiming they had just bumped into each other on the road. The dates, the timestamps, the location pins in their chat logs—they took every warm, genuine memory I cherished and branded it as a sickening performance. While I was drowning in what I thought was true friendship and deep love, they were laughing in bed, calling me an absolute idiot. I opened Sarah’s local files and found the problematic contract they were referring to. It was a deal Liam had rushed into signing a few months ago, desperate to outshine me when the Director position opened up. But the contract was a complete disaster. It was riddled with impossible clauses the company could never fulfill. The client sued for a million dollars in damages. Sarah had quietly embezzled company funds to pay them off. The only reason they wanted me to make a catastrophic error was so they could use the chaos to pin that missing million-dollar hole squarely on my shoulders. I shut down the computer and left the building. I had all the evidence I needed. The next day, I went to work acting like absolutely nothing had happened. Sarah was buried in her spreadsheets, her brow furrowing and relaxing as she worked. Finally, on the last day of the month, she submitted the Q2 financial reports to the board of directors. The moment she hit send, she marched over to my cubicle, her voice trembling with manufactured rage. “Arthur, do you have any idea how much money the firm bled this quarter? Three million dollars!” “And it’s entirely your fault for blowing the Davis contract!” “The board of directors is on their way down here right now. You better figure out how you’re going to explain this to them!” Every eye in the office snapped toward me. Some looked shocked, others whispered amongst themselves, and in the corner, two people were clearly holding back snickers. I didn’t say a word. I simply picked up my mug and took a slow sip of water. Heavy, urgent footsteps echoed behind me. Chairman Vance’s icy voice cut through the tension. “Everyone. Conference room. Now.” Inside the glass-walled room, the board members sat with grim, furious expressions. “A three-million-dollar deficit. Manager Sarah, you owe this board an explanation.” Sarah nodded frantically, pointing an accusing, heartbroken finger at me. “It’s him! Arthur caused all of this!” “To secure the Davis contract, we preemptively purchased all the raw materials. But Arthur purposely blew the deal.” “Those materials have a short shelf life. They expired and had to be written off in just two weeks! That’s what caused this massive, catastrophic loss!” The board members stared at the forged financial reports in front of them and nodded in grim agreement. Chairman Vance lifted his gaze to meet mine. “Arthur, according to these financials, this three-million-dollar loss is a direct result of your negligence regarding the Davis account. As per company policy, you are personally liable for these damages.” “Considering your past performance, if you can secure three million dollars within the next three months, I will consider dropping the criminal charges.” “If you fail, our legal team will see you in court.” “Once the judge hands down a sentence, it will be entirely out of my hands.” I met the Chairman’s gaze with absolute calm. “Chairman Vance, I refuse to pay a single cent.” “Because I haven’t done anything wrong.” The entire board erupted in fury, slamming their hands on the mahogany table. “You did nothing wrong? Then where did this massive deficit come from?” “Chairman Vance, send him to prison! Look at his arrogant attitude! He burns millions of our capital and acts like this?” Liam reached out and tugged at my sleeve, playing the role of the concerned best friend perfectly. “Bro, why are you being so stubborn? Just admit you messed up.” “Nobody is perfect. Just take this as an expensive lesson and move on.” “I know three million is a massive number, but you can always ask Apex for help! You purposely sabotaged the Davis deal so Apex could snatch it. They owe you a massive favor…” Hearing Liam’s words, the board’s fury boiled over into absolute rage. “What?! You tanked the Davis deal for Apex? Arthur, this firm pays your salary!” “Prison! Chairman Vance, he needs to be locked up immediately!” Liam quickly covered his mouth, feigning absolute panic. “Oh God, did I say too much? I didn’t mean to…” “Bro, please, just confess before they actually send you to jail!” His face was a mask of sheer terror, but the corners of his mouth were twitching, desperately fighting back a triumphant smirk. I looked at him with cold amusement. “Are you done performing? Is it my turn to speak now?” Liam froze for a second, then forced tears into his eyes. “What are you talking about, Arthur? I’m genuinely terrified for you…” I raised an eyebrow. “Then you can relax. I’m not going to prison.” Sarah scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. “Still this arrogant? You nearly bankrupted the firm! Even a lifetime in prison won’t cover what you owe us!” I stood up and faced the furious board members. “Gentlemen, I fully admit that I intentionally refused to sign the Davis contract.” “However, I did it to protect this firm.” The board members slammed the table again. “Protect the firm? You threw away a multi-million dollar account and call that protecting us?” Sarah’s face darkened menacingly. “Arthur, do you hear the garbage coming out of your mouth? A ten-million-dollar contract, and you just decide not to sign it? How does that protect us? Were you trying to protect us from making a profit?” I turned slowly, locking eyes with Sarah. “Manager Sarah, I’d actually like to ask you a question. Why were you badgering me so relentlessly to sign the contract that day?” Sarah frowned. “What do you mean? I wanted to lock in a massive deal for the company!” I laughed. “No, you were terrified I was going to actually read the fine print and find the trap.” Sarah froze. “Wh-what nonsense are you spouting?” I turned back to the board. “The reason I refused the Davis contract is because it was a legal landmine.” “And that landmine was carefully planted by Sarah herself.” A flash of genuine panic crossed Sarah’s eyes before she pointed at me, screeching in defensive rage. “Arthur, you are like a rabid dog biting anyone in sight! What landmine? You lost the deal, so now you’re trying to claim the contract was rigged?” “Fine! If the contract was rigged, where is your proof? Show us the trap! Where is it?” “Oh, wait, let me guess. Because you didn’t sign it, you didn’t bring the original copy back with you, so you have absolutely zero evidence to back up your pathetic lies?” I didn’t say a word. I just stood there, staring at her. The corners of her mouth twitched up into a victorious smirk, and she tilted her head at me mockingly. Meeting her arrogant gaze, I smiled softly. “Evidence? Of course I have evidence.” “In fact… I have a mountain of it.” I pulled a sleek USB drive from my pocket and twirled it between my fingers.

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I stayed by Evan’s side for five long years. Finally, I got the proposal I had been waiting for. But the very next day, he died in a horrific car crash. The people responsible were the Crofts, a family of untouchable elites. Their lawyer tossed a stack of glossy reports onto the table. “Evan was driving drunk. He also had a documented history of severe clinical depression. But thankfully, our young master walked away without a scratch. Because of that, the family has decided not to press charges against the deceased. Here is a check for a hundred grand. We consider the matter settled.” Nothing made sense. Evan was deathly allergic to alcohol. And I was the one who pulled him out of the darkest trenches of his depression. I knew his mind better than anyone. Seeing my silence, the lawyer’s polite tone turned sharp. “Take the money. It makes things easier for everyone. This was just a tragic accident, right?” I wiped a stray tear from the corner of my eye. My fingers closed over the crisp check. “Right. An accident.” One year later, I became the private nurse for that very same Croft heir. 1 Ever since his organ transplant, Sebastian Croft had to come in for regular checkups. Today, he left the clinic in a rush. He forgot his anti-rejection medication. After my shift ended, I took the prescription bottle and drove straight to his sprawling estate. The butler opened the heavy oak doors. “Mr. Croft isn’t home yet. You can leave the medication with me.” Before I could hand it over, a sharp, furious voice rang out from behind me. “You again!” I turned around. Stella stepped out of a sleek black luxury car, her face twisted in a vicious sneer as she marched up to me. “You actually think carving your face to look like mine is going to make Sebastian look twice at you?” “Stop dreaming!” I lowered my eyes, playing the picture of innocent grievance. “I am strictly Mr. Croft’s private nurse. I don’t have any ulterior motives. You’re misunderstanding the situation, Miss Stella.” She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Am I? Well, perfect timing. My new movie is short a stunt double. You can take the job.” I knew exactly what game she was playing. For the past two years, Stella had used Sebastian’s backing to skyrocket to A-list fame. The tabloids constantly linked them together. But they never made it official. The Croft family despised her. To them, she was just a cheap actress, completely unworthy of their blue-blood lineage. Now, a girl with a face strikingly similar to hers had appeared. Seeing how close I was getting to Sebastian made her skin crawl with insecurity. She wanted to drag me through the mud. If I agreed to be her stunt double, my status would plummet even lower than a basic extra. “I appreciate the offer, Miss Stella. But I am Mr. Croft’s medical provider. He needs me on call.” She lunged forward, her manicured fingers digging brutally into my jaw. Her eyes were venomous. “Do you have any idea who you’re talking to? All I have to do is say the word, and Sebastian will hand you over on a silver platter. I could have you tied up and tossed onto a table for a bunch of studio executives. You think you’d walk away clean?” “Really?” I whispered back. “If you’re so powerful, why are you standing out here in the driveway? Why don’t you just let yourself in?” The truth was simple. The Crofts had explicitly banned Stella from entering the mansion. That single sentence hit an absolute nerve. She froze. A second later, her hand flew through the air, slapping me hard across the cheek. “You bitch!” Sebastian appeared behind her like a ghost. His voice was a low, terrifying growl. “Back away from her.” Stella recoiled in sheer panic. She instantly switched modes, throwing herself at Sebastian’s chest with a flawless display of crocodile tears. “I canceled all my meetings just to come wait for you! But she stood here insulting me, telling me I’m just a cheap actress who doesn’t deserve you.” “Sebastian, I willingly threw myself into the filthy entertainment industry just to build a name for myself. I wanted to be famous enough to stand by your side. I didn’t know your parents would hate me for it. I was willing to be your secret, to stay in the shadows while everyone called me a whore. But how dare a complete stranger disrespect me like that!” I shook my head frantically, my eyes wide with terror. “I didn’t… I swear I didn’t.” Sebastian raised a hand. He cut my sentence off entirely. “Don’t come back here. This isn’t a place you belong.” Tears welled in my eyes as I offered a weak, obedient nod. But the moment I turned my back and walked away, a cold smile crept onto my lips. Because right as he said those harsh words, I saw the deep, agonizing reluctance burning in his eyes. That was all I needed. 2 A man like Sebastian was intensely territorial. Whether he truly loved Stella or not, he refused to let anyone disrespect her. She was his property. Questioning her meant questioning him. After that incident, I went back to my quiet routine at the clinic. Soon enough, it was time for his next checkup. But he never showed up. “What’s wrong? Disappointed Sebastian didn’t come running?” Stella strolled into the VIP waiting room, hiding behind oversized sunglasses and a designer mask. She swayed her hips and casually waved a hand. Two massive bodyguards in black suits stormed into the room. They grabbed my arms, pinning me in place. “I’ve been a little busy lately. Almost forgot about you.” Before I could even scream, a brutal strike hit the back of my neck. The world instantly faded to black. When I finally regained consciousness, my wrists were bound tight. I was shoved into a suffocatingly dark, cramped box. Muffled voices drifted from the outside. “Ever since Miss Stella hooked the Croft heir, you’ve completely forgotten about my little establishment.” “Don’t be silly, Mr. Donovan. You know I value our relationship. I brought you a very special gift today. I guarantee you’ll be satisfied.” Light violently flooded my vision. As my eyes adjusted to the glaring bulbs, I saw Stella’s triumphant smirk, standing next to a repulsive, middle-aged executive. “She really does look just like you.” Donovan licked his lips. “But…” Stella leaned in, her voice dripping with seductive poison. “Don’t tell me you aren’t satisfied?” He erupted into a disgusting laugh. “Oh, this is a massive upgrade!” Ignoring Stella’s suddenly furious, flushed face, he reached a thick hand out toward me. Stella looked at my trembling, terrified expression and smiled coldly. She turned on her heel and headed for the heavy steel door. “Enjoy yourself, Mr. Donovan. I’ll wait outside. Everything is completely off the books.” The second the door clicked shut, the sheer terror vanished from my face. Stella had absolutely no idea what kind of hell I had crawled out of. She thought I was some weak, spineless little nurse she could crush like a bug. When I was nineteen, I was abducted by a trafficking ring and dragged into a remote, forgotten rust-belt town. The locals chained me up in a filthy basement, intending to sell me off as a birthing tool. They looked at my pale skin and quiet demeanor and thought I was an easy target. When the first man walked out of that basement, his face was unrecognizable, pouring blood from where his ear used to be. When the second man dragged himself out, he was clutching his ruined groin, leaving a thick trail of crimson behind him. They were terrified of me. They locked me in pitch darkness. To escape the iron cuffs, I intentionally snapped my own wrist, ignoring the blinding agony as I squeezed my mangled hand through the metal ring. I ran through the dense woods for twenty miles without stopping. That was when I met Evan. He saved me. I was never a helpless victim. I was a feral, dangerous animal cornered in the dark. It was Evan’s gentle patience that slowly tamed me. He pulled me out of the madness and taught me how to be human again. I packed away my violent edges and stayed by his side, peaceful and content. But everything bright and beautiful in my life had been slaughtered by the Crofts. 3 I hadn’t planned on Sebastian hosting a corporate banquet in the very same building. I was fully prepared to handle Donovan myself. But suddenly, the heavy door was kicked off its hinges. By the time Sebastian stepped into the room, Donovan was already passed out on the floor, groaning in a pool of his own blood. My scrubs were splattered in crimson. My fist was tightly wrapped around a silver steak knife. As Sebastian marched toward me, I instantly buried my lethal composure. My eyes glazed over with hollow shock, and I stood frozen in place like a traumatized victim. He didn’t say a single word. He shrugged off his tailored overcoat and draped it over my shivering shoulders. The moment the warm fabric touched me, I snapped out of my daze and began to sob hysterically. “I didn’t mean to! It was Miss Stella. She tied me up…” He pulled me firmly into his chest, his voice a low, soothing hum. “I’ve got you. I’m taking you out of here.” As we walked out into the corridor, Stella lunged forward, desperately clawing at Sebastian’s sleeve. “Sebastian, you have to listen to me!” “Let go.” His voice was colder than liquid nitrogen. “It was Donovan! He kept making aggressive moves on me, and I…” “So you served her up on a silver platter to take your place?” Sebastian’s eyes were lethal. “She is a medical worker trying to live a quiet life. What the hell did she ever do to you? How did she cross you?” Stella froze. She had clearly never seen this terrifying, merciless side of him. But I had. After Evan died, I was forced to look at those fabricated police reports. Drunk driving. Clinical depression. Suicide. The lies made me so violently angry that I went to the private hospital to demand the truth from Sebastian himself. I had slipped past the guards and stood outside his recovery room. I saw him lying against the pillows. His voice was dead and devoid of any human empathy. “Get a hundred grand ready. Test her waters. See what she knows.” The lawyer beside him nodded. “And if she takes the money, sir? What’s our next move?” Sebastian’s tone was made of ice. “Weeds grow back if you don’t burn the roots. Do I need to explain everything to you?” A few hours later, I accepted the money. And I vanished completely. Exactly as I predicted, the very next day, my old apartment mysteriously caught fire and burned to the foundation. Every single medical file on Evan at the hospital was wiped clean. Even the small cemetery plot I had purchased for him was inexplicably vandalized and torched. It was as if Evan never existed. Sebastian’s methods were ruthless and absolute. Right now, Stella’s desperate, weeping act wasn’t moving him an inch. “I will say this one last time. Let go.” She clung tighter, her voice tearing at the seams. “Sebastian, I was wrong! I swear to God I’ll never do anything like this again. Please, don’t look at me like that!” A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the hallway. Tucked against Sebastian’s chest, I let out a perfectly timed, delicate whimper. I furrowed my brows and let my body go entirely limp, pretending to pass out from the trauma. “Stella. Don’t ever let me see your face again.” She was finished. To this day, she probably still couldn’t understand how a random nurse managed to steal Sebastian’s heart in just a few short encounters. I looked just like her, didn’t I? Why was the outcome so drastically different? What she didn’t know was that Sebastian only elevated her because she shared a passing resemblance to his true obsession. Back then, I took the hundred grand the Crofts paid me and split it. I spent sixty thousand on a brutally efficient private investigator. Within two months, he cracked the Croft family vault open. Hidden in the archives was a story from years ago. It came with a photograph of a young girl who looked exactly like Stella. She wore a simple white sundress. She looked pure and untainted. Her name was Evelyn. She was Sebastian’s first love. Unfortunately, she was poor. The Croft family absolutely refused the match. Back then, Sebastian was young and powerless. He could do nothing but watch Evelyn die in a tragic, unexpected car accident. An accident orchestrated by his own mother. Until he met Stella. She had the same face. Even though her personality was loud and abrasive, keeping her around was enough to soothe the agonizing grief in his chest. But I used the remaining forty thousand dollars on reconstructive surgery. When another face resembling Evelyn’s appeared—but this one possessing the exact same gentle, quiet temperament as the dead girl… Stella was destined for the garbage bin. 4 I was brought back to Sebastian’s private estate. Every inch of the mansion screamed obscene, suffocating wealth. Two maids were assigned exclusively to me. They drew my bath and brought me fresh silk clothes. “This bathroom looks like something out of a royal palace,” I whispered, playing the awestruck commoner. “It must be incredibly expensive.” One of the maids offered a polite smile. “Yes, miss. Mr. Croft enjoys a good soak. The master bath renovations alone cost half a million dollars.” Half a million. Evan’s entire life was bought for a fraction of that. The heavy door clicked open, and Sebastian walked in. I kept my eyes glued to the floor, nervously twisting the hem of my shirt, playing the part of a terrified deer caught in headlights. “Don’t be afraid. You are perfectly safe here.” I didn’t hold back anymore. When I finally looked up at him, two lines of tears spilled silently down my cheeks. I opened my hand, revealing the plastic prescription bottle I had clutched the entire time. I reached it out toward him. “Mr. Croft… these are your pills.” “I was just trying to deliver them to you. But the last time I was here, you told me I didn’t belong. I just want to put these down and leave before I upset you again…” Sebastian reached out and gently tilted my chin up. His dark eyes were swirling with an intense, agonizing yearning. “Evelyn.” “It was my fault. From now on, you’re staying here. Understand?” I offered a frantic, confused nod. Deep down, my heart was racing with cold excitement. What was wrong with playing the stand-in? As long as I had the face and the personality, slipping a knife into his heart would be effortless. When you pour every ounce of your soul into loving someone, only to realize they never cared about you at all—and that they actually want you to suffer a fate worse than death—the despair is absolute. It was a far more delicious punishment than just putting a bullet in his head. That night, Sebastian put me in the bedroom directly adjacent to his. I stood by the massive windows, staring out into the dark estate. The memories I had kept buried began to violently resurface. Evan used to be a wealthy kid too. But his father’s mining company collapsed in a catastrophic accident. His father died, the funds evaporated, and the family was plunged into total ruin. His mother couldn’t handle the poverty and fled the country. She left Evan alone to raise his little brother, Richard. Back then, I used to dig through the bruised produce bins at the local market just to survive. Splurging on instant ramen felt like a luxury. But Evan was always so unfailingly gentle. When he smiled, the warmth in his eyes was enough to cure the bleak, miserable reality we lived in. Then, I started finding his hidden pills. Whenever he used the bathroom, a faint, metallic tang of blood always lingered in the air. I was working as an orderly at the clinic when I stumbled across his chart by accident. That was when I found out he was deeply, dangerously sick. Richard was just a kid back then, and he was the first to completely break under the pressure. That was the only time I ever screamed at Evan. “I was an orphan! I don’t have parents! I don’t know what it feels like to lose a family empire, but I am here with you! Richard needs you! If you carve yourself up and die, what happens to me? What happens to your brother?” “When they chained me up in that basement, my chances of surviving were zero. But I used my own two feet to drag myself out of hell, and I found you! You saved me, and I am going to save you! Evan, we can survive this! We will survive this!” He started cooperating with the therapy. He started fighting to live. I poured every ounce of my energy and time into pulling him out of the dark and into the sun. Happiness was finally within our grasp. And then? The Croft family realized that Evan’s body was a flawless genetic match for Sebastian. He had the same incredibly rare blood type. He had the perfect, healthy organs. So they used their bottomless bank accounts to script a tragedy. They orchestrated the car crash. They assumed that a kid with a dead father, a runaway mother, and a helpless younger brother was just a bug on the windshield. Even if he died under suspicious circumstances, who was going to make a wave? They thought he was nobody. But he was my entire world.

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Three years of marriage, and Marcus cheated on me ninety-nine times. I endured it all in silence, keeping my head down and swallowing the humiliation. Until his mistress’s dog got pregnant. Marcus brought the pampered beast back to our house, demanding that I, despite my life-threatening allergies, act as its full-time nanny. And because I once accidentally locked the woman and her dog outside in the yard, Marcus grabbed a handful of loose dog hair from the floor and rammed it deep into my throat. As I choked on the dry fur, my eyes bloodshot and straining for air, his mistress made a pathetic, half-hearted attempt to play peacekeeper, telling him not to go too far. Marcus merely shrugged, his eyes cold and empty. “Why worry? She is just a barren hag. Who else would want her besides me?” Later, the boy from next door, who had loved me in secret for years, seized the chance to pull me out of that hell. And Marcus went completely mad with regret. He ended up dragging his shattered body from beneath the wheels of a semi-truck, clinging to his last agonizing breath just to beg me to look at him one more time. But I was already gone. 1 Just as I lifted my foot to walk out the front door, Marcus’s sharp, impatient voice cut through the foyer. “Take your trash with you when you leave. It is an eyesore.” Standing beside him, his mother let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Marcus, why even waste your breath on a useless waste of space like her? Three years in this house and she couldn’t even give us a child.” She sneered, looking down her nose at me. “She is not even worth as much as Maggie’s dog. We should have never let her through our doors in the first place.” Maggie, standing slightly behind them, quickly masked her smug satisfaction with a look of mock concern. “Mrs. Sinclair, please do not say such things. It is not polite.” I did not have the energy to argue with these people anymore. Turning away to leave, I felt a sudden blur of white fur bolt toward me. Before I could react, the dog sank its sharp teeth deep into my forearm. A blinding spike of pain shot from my arm straight to my chest. I froze, staring down at the animal. Its muzzle was smeared with my blood, its dark eyes locked onto mine with a vicious, unnerving intensity. Marcus’s brow furrowed slightly. “Eric, you…” Before he could finish his sentence, Maggie let out a dramatic gasp. “Marcus, look! What is wrong with Buster?” The white dog, which had just savagely bitten me, instantly whimpered, shrinking into the corner of the room like a terrified, abused creature. Maggie squeezed out a few tears, her shoulders trembling. Marcus immediately pulled her into his arms, murmuring sweet reassurances before dialing a private veterinarian. Ten minutes later, the vet gave his diagnosis. “The dog is perfectly fine. He is just a little startled.” Marcus’s deep voice hardened, thick with suppressed anger as he glared at me. “Look how badly you terrified Buster. Apologize to him right now.” I knew exactly what happened to people who defied Marcus. A few years ago, Maggie and I had both entered a national design competition. Fearing I would overshadow her, Marcus ordered me to withdraw and let her take the prize. When I refused, he had his security team beat me until I was hospitalized with broken bones. I still remembered him standing over my hospital bed, spitting his words. “A low-class nobody like you thinks she can compete with Maggie? Go back home and scrub the toilets where you belong.” Pulling myself back to the present, I slowly bowed my head and looked at the white dog. “I am sorry,” I whispered. Seeing my quick submission, a flicker of surprise crossed Marcus’s eyes. His mother sniffed, crossing her arms. “About time you learned your place. Do not think that just because you wear the title of Mrs. Sinclair, you can do whatever you want. You are not worth a single strand of Maggie’s hair.” She pointed toward the back of the house. “Since you are leaving, use the servant’s entrance. A disgraced woman like you does not deserve to walk out the front door.” “No, please,” Maggie said, rushing forward to grab my hand. Her voice was dripping with false sweet sympathy. “Do not kick Eric out because of me. I will feel so guilty if you do this.” “Maggie,” Marcus murmured, his expression softening into a tenderness I had never once received. “You are far too kind for your own good. People will walk all over you if you keep letting them.” I yanked my hand out of her grasp to turn away, but Maggie immediately collapsed to the floor with a soft cry. Looking down at her tear-streaked face, I almost wanted to laugh. This pathetic, childish performance was her favorite trick, and she never seemed to tire of it. What was worse was that Marcus fell for it every single time. “Maggie!” Marcus panicked, kneeling down to scoop her up. He cradled her swollen ankle, his touch incredibly gentle. His mother pointed a shaking, manicured finger at me. “Eric! You malicious snake!” Maggie whimpered against his chest. “Do not be angry with her. I am sure she did not mean to push me.” “Enough!” Marcus snapped, his eyes flashing with a dark, dangerous storm. “Eric, apologize to Maggie right now.” My phone vibrated in my palm. It was a text from my cab driver, letting me know he had just pulled up outside the gates. I tightened my grip on the device, taking two steps toward the exit before Marcus grabbed my shoulder and violently dragged me back inside. 2 “You are not leaving this house until you apologize.” With a harsh shove, Marcus threw me down the stairs into the pitch-black basement. It was a concrete tomb, the temperature hovering near freezing. Leaning against the heavy wooden door, I could hear Marcus talking to his assistant in the hallway above. “Sir, even if Mrs. Sinclair was in the wrong, this seems a bit extreme,” the assistant murmured, his voice laced with concern. “It is freezing down there, and the air is terrible. What if she gets sick?” “Silence,” Marcus replied, his voice flat and unyielding. “This is her punishment. She must learn her place.” He paused, adding a cruel scoff. “And do not worry about her faking an illness to get attention. Weeds like Eric do not die that easily.” His words drifted through the cracks of the door like a freezing draft, settling deep in my bones until my chest felt entirely numb. I lost track of how many hours passed before the heavy lock finally clicked open. When I dragged myself up the wooden stairs, shivering and pale, the first thing I saw was Marcus kneeling on the floor, carefully wrapping a piece of white fabric around Maggie’s dog as a makeshift diaper. The fabric looked terribly familiar. I stepped closer, my heart stopping as I recognized the delicate lace and hand-sewn pearls. It was the wedding dress my mother had stayed up nights to make for me right before she passed away. “Marcus!” My voice cracked, raw and trembling. Meeting my furious gaze, Marcus remained entirely unfazed. “It is just a piece of cloth from a dead woman. Why make a scene? Using it for Maggie’s dog is an honor. You should be kneeling and thanking us.” Seeing the ghostly pallor of my face, his tone softened just a fraction. “Fine. If you are going to cry about it, I will buy you a new designer dress later.” “Oh, dear,” Maggie coughed softly, leaning against the doorframe. Marcus’s attention instantly snapped back to her. “Maggie, what is wrong? Are you feeling unwell?” “It is nothing,” she murmured, her eyes drifting to his chest. “Just a little cold. By the way, Marcus, what is that silver medallion around your neck? It looks so cheap and ugly.” “It is cheap,” Marcus said without a second thought. He unclasped the silver medallion and tossed it carelessly into the trash can, treating it like a piece of filthy waste. I stared at the trash can. I had spent three weeks kneeling on cold stone floors, climbing nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine steps to a mountaintop cathedral just to get that protective medallion blessed for him when he was fighting for his life in the ICU three years ago. If I had known then what lay ahead, I would have never spilled my blood on those steps. “Marcus,” Maggie purred, tugging at his sleeve. “I am hungry. Would you make something for me?” “You little glutton,” he chuckled, pinching her cheek. “I really cannot say no to you.” The moment Marcus walked into the kitchen, Maggie’s sweet smile vanished. She grabbed my arm with surprising strength and dragged me toward her massive walk-in closet. Inside, hundreds of expensive, handcrafted designer bags were lined up on illuminated shelves. “Are you jealous?” Maggie whispered, her voice dripping with venom. “Marcus made every single one of these for me with his own hands.” To please her, the busy, powerful head of the Sinclair empire had taken professional leatherworking classes just so she could have three hundred and sixty-five unique bags to carry throughout the year. What a beautiful, touching love story. “Do you want to know why Marcus refused to send his medical team to save your mother on her deathbed?” Maggie leaned in close, her eyes glittering with malice. “It was because I scraped my foot that day. Marcus was so worried about me that he ordered every single doctor in his employ to stay and run tests on me.” She pulled out her phone and swiped to a photo. “Look for yourself.” On the screen, Marcus was cradling Maggie’s foot in his lap with an expression of pure, desperate devotion, treating her like a priceless treasure while my mother drew her last breaths in an empty hospital room. A white-hot rage flared in my chest. Just as my hand twitched to strike her, I heard Marcus’s heavy footsteps approaching from behind. Before I could even blink, Maggie threw herself onto the hardwood floor. She raised her own hands, violently slapping herself across the face several times until her cheeks flushed red. “Eric, I am so sorry!” she wailed, clutching my knees. “I beg of you, please do not have Buster put down! Please do not send me to those awful men!” 3 “Eric!” Marcus’s voice roared through the room, his eyes dark with an unspeakable fury. He marched forward and slammed a thick stack of papers directly into my face. The sharp edges of the sheets sliced across my cheek, but I barely felt it. “You wanted to leave? You have got it. Sign the papers and get out.” I fell back onto the floor, my fingers trembling as I picked up the scattered pages of the divorce agreement. Without another look at me, Marcus lifted Maggie into his arms and carried her toward the master bedroom. Suddenly, a sharp, twisting pain bloomed in my lower abdomen. I looked down, freezing in horror as I realized my trousers were rapidly staining with deep, crimson blood. My missed period. The fatigue. The nausea. A terrifying realization hit me. “Marcus! Please, wait! Take me to the hospital!” The only response was the loud, uncaring slam of the bedroom door. Through the thin walls, the muffled sounds of their laughter and soft, intimate whispers began to drift out. “Marcus, please… I think I am pregnant. I am bleeding… I am going to lose the baby.” Maggie’s amused chuckle cut through my desperate cries. “I really must hand it to your wife, Marcus. She can tell the most outrageous lies with a straight face.” In the hallway, two maids whispered and giggled. “The discarded wife is getting desperate. Look at her trying to play the pity card to win him back.” “Too bad the master only has eyes for Miss Maggie. Some people just do not know when to give up.” Fighting the waves of dizziness, I reached into my pocket and dialed emergency services. But before the call could connect, one of the maids snatched the phone from my hand. The head maid smirked, slipping off her shoe and holding her bare foot inches from my face. “You want your phone back? Crawl over and beg me for it.” Clutching my stomach, I curled into a ball on the cold floor, retreating into myself as the pain intensified. How pathetic. I was the legal Mrs. Sinclair, yet even the household staff could torment me without fear of consequence. Before the darkness finally claimed my consciousness, Marcus’s voice floated from the bedroom. “Is that so? Then when is she finally going to die? I wish she would hurry up and make room for you.” The maid gave my limp shoulder a sharp kick. “Did you hear that? The master wants to know when you are finally going to kick the bucket.” When I finally opened my eyes, the sterile smell of disinfectant told me I was in a hospital room. Marcus was standing at the foot of the bed, his face pale and tight with anger. “Eric, when did you get pregnant? Why did you not tell me?” I let out a weak, lifeless laugh. “Did I not? I screamed it at your door.” Marcus froze, a rare flicker of genuine panic and regret crossing his features. Seeing his hesitation, Maggie quickly stepped forward, her voice soft and calculated. “Is she really pregnant, Marcus? I find that hard to believe. Didn’t the family doctor say you had a incredibly low sperm count?” The regret in Marcus’s eyes instantly vanished, replaced by a cold, burning disgust. “I should have known,” he sneered, looking at me as if I were a piece of filth. “Who knows whose bastard you were trying to pin on me anyway? It is a good thing it is gone. It saves me the disgust of looking at it.” “Marcus!” Before we could argue further, his phone rang. His mother’s sharp, screeching voice echoed clearly in the quiet room. “Marcus! Are you still hovering over that worthless girl? Have you forgotten what she did to your sister? Have you forgotten how she drove Lily to her death?” “Get back here this instant!” At the mention of his late sister, Marcus’s gaze turned murderous. Suddenly, the door to my hospital room was burst open. A crowd of reporters surged inside, their cameras flashing blindly in my face. One reporter shoved a microphone toward Marcus. “Mr. Sinclair, can you tell us why your wife was rushed to the hospital with severe bleeding?” Marcus straightened his suit jacket, his expression entirely detached. “How should I know? She has never been one to keep to herself.” His words were like throwing gasoline onto a fire. By the next morning, my name was trending at the very top of every social media platform. The headlines were ruthless. Eric Sinclair’s Secret Wild Life Exposed. The Dark Side of a High-Society Wife. Anonymous sources claimed I was a regular at exclusive underground clubs, while others fabricated stories about me being an escort from the notorious Velvet Lounge who could be bought for a price. The lies clung to me like leeches, draining the last of my strength. On the day I was discharged, a mob of paparazzi blocked the hospital exit, swarming me the moment I stepped outside. “Mrs. Sinclair, did your husband find out about your secret encounters? Is that why you lost the baby?” “Is it true you used to work as Call Girl Number Eight? What is your nightly rate these days? Would a hundred dollars cover it?” “We are willing to pay for an exclusive interview, Eric. Where are you working now? Maybe we can bring some business your way.” The mocking laughter and flashing bulbs made the world spin. I bit my lip until it bled, pushing through the crowd and running blindly down the street. When I finally managed to lose them in a quiet alley, my phone buzzed with a notification. 4 It was a public statement from Marcus, officially severing all ties with me. The attached image showed him holding Maggie’s hand, the caption reading: You are my forever. It does not matter that we started late. How tragic. During our three years together, he had hidden me away like a dirty secret. But with Maggie, he wanted the entire world to know. A text message from Maggie popped up on my screen right after. How does it feel to be dragged through the dirt by everyone? Don’t get comfortable, Eric. The real show is just beginning. You think you can fight me? You don’t stand a chance. As the days passed, the vicious rumors about my personal life only grew wilder and more detailed. I knew Marcus was behind the media push, using his massive influence to ensure I was completely ruined. Later that week, Marcus texted me to meet him at a quiet cafe. When he saw how hollow and exhausted I looked, a flash of conflict crossed his face, though it was quickly masked by his usual cold arrogance. “Eric, do not hate me for this. You brought this on yourself. You owe this to my sister. If it was not for your jealousy, Lily would still be alive today.” “Yes,” I replied quietly, sitting back in my chair. “It was all my fault.” I was tired of fighting. If they wanted a villain to blame for Lily’s tragic suicide, then I would be their villain. It did not matter anymore. Marcus frowned, clearly bothered by my listless, easy surrender. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say a word, a violent tremor shook the building. The light fixtures swung wildly overhead. The floor buckled beneath our feet, and the sound of shattering glass filled the air. An earthquake. In an instant, Marcus lunged across the table, pulling me into his arms as the ceiling began to collapse. He shielded me with his body, carrying me toward the exit as debris rained down around us. For a brief, fleeting moment, his familiar scent wrapped around me, and I felt a strange sense of safety. But then, a sharp whine echoed from the back of the building. “Buster!” Maggie’s voice screamed from outside. Marcus froze. He looked toward the exit, then back at the collapsing hallway where the dog was trapped. Without a single word, he let go of me. He turned around and ran back into the dust, leaving me behind without a backward glance. Three years of marriage, and my life was worth less than his mistress’s dog. I couldn’t help but let out a quiet, bitter laugh as the dust settled around me. Through the crumbling walls, I could hear their voices outside. “Marcus! Thank God you and Buster are safe! I do not know what I would have done if anything happened to you.” “I am right here, Maggie. We are both fine.” After comforting her, Marcus finally seemed to remember that I was still inside the collapsing structure. He tried to run back toward the doors, but several bystanders and staff members held him back. “Sir, it is too dangerous! You cannot go back in there!” “The whole place is coming down! That woman is probably already dead anyway. Going back is just suicide!” Before the speaker could finish, a sharp slap echoed through the crowd. “Shut up!” Marcus roared, his face pale with a terrifying rage. “Who gave you permission to speak about my wife like that?” But I was no longer in the building. I had already crawled through a side window and made my way to a cab, heading straight for the airport. As I waited for my flight to board, I pulled out my phone. One by one, I deleted his number, his photos, and every single trace of Marcus Sinclair from my life. Goodbye, Marcus. Actually, let’s make that never see you again.

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The system noticed my gaze lingering on the locked option of “A Mother’s Love” and seemed to grow irritated. It flared up in a sudden rage. “Host, your target is your mother!” “Make your mother angry: +1 point.” “Make your mother detest you: +10 points.” “If your mother’s resentment level reaches 500 points, you will unlock every item in this store.” The system tapped an invisible chalkboard aggressively. “If the combined resentment from Richard, Phoebe, and your mother reaches 2,000 points, there will be a massive bonus reward.” “This system absolutely despises spineless cowards!” 1. My mother told me that if I helped Phoebe just this once, I would have the Bennett family wrapped around my finger. She said everyone in the family would owe me. “It’s just a few years in prison,” she had said, brushing it off. “Once you are out, everyone’s lives will be so much easier.” Phoebe clung to my mother’s arm, projecting the picture-perfect image of a sweet, innocent daughter. I stood to the side, feeling like a ghost in my own home. Richard Bennett stood silent for a long moment before finally muttering, “Once you are out, I will write you a check. Put down whatever number you want, as long as it is within my power.” Phoebe sobbed, burying her face in Helen’s chest. “I’m so scared, Mom. I don’t want to go to jail. It was an accident, I swear. What am I going to do?” My mother looked as if she had been injected with a sudden surge of adrenaline. She turned back to me, pleading with desperate intensity. “Rowan, sweetie, please, just do this for me. Just this once.” “Phoebe is a fragile young girl. How could she survive a place like that? It would ruin her entire life.” “Think of her as your older sister. Show some compassion. Besides, you’ve always been tough. Your father used to beat you all the time when you were little anyway.” The woman standing before me felt like a complete stranger. She shielded Phoebe with a fierce maternal instinct, as if Phoebe were her actual flesh and blood. “Are you going to do it or not?” Helen’s voice sharpened, her hand hovering in the air. “I’m counting to three. Answer me!” Feeling utterly defeated, I surrendered to my fate and agreed. Inside, I was completely numb. In my past life, I had agreed just as easily. Back then, I was naive. I cared for my mother, and I was genuinely happy she had finally remarried a decent man. When she asked this of me, I foolishly believed I was doing something meaningful for her. Perhaps that was because, before her second marriage, I had spent years playing the role of her husband. I was her daughter, but I was also her proxy spouse. She had projected all her resentment toward her ex-husband onto me, yet whenever my young self proved helpless to save her, her disappointment ran deep. That was why, from a very young age, I was desperate to do anything to make her life easier. So when she begged me to take the fall for Phoebe in my previous life, I didn’t hesitate. I thought it would secure her place in the Bennett household, and in turn, make my own life better. But after I went to prison, my mother never visited me once. While other inmates had visitors every month, I had none. During the monthly phone calls, everyone else had family waiting on the other end. My calls went unanswered. I was left entirely alone, forgotten by the world. Unable to endure the suffocating isolation, I ended my life on New Year’s Day. Perhaps the universe pitied my miserable end. I woke up reborn. In front of my eyes floated a glowing blue screen: The Doormat Reformation Project. A cheerful, synthesized voice chimed in my head, “Welcome, dear host, to the Doormat Reformation System. Here, you can redeem anything you want from the system store using Resentment Points.” I browsed the shop interface. There were options to redeem a billion-dollar fortune, or superstar status. But the option to redeem A Mother’s Love was grayed out, completely locked. The system noticed my gaze lingering on that grayed-out option and flared up in anger. “Host, your target is your mother!” “Make your mother angry: +1 point.” “Make your mother detest you: +10 points.” “If your mother’s resentment level reaches 500 points, you will unlock every item in this store.” The system tapped an invisible chalkboard aggressively. “If the combined resentment from Richard, Phoebe, and your mother reaches 2,000 points, there will be a massive bonus reward.” “This system absolutely despises spineless cowards!” 2. “Rowan! What on earth did you tell the police? I’ll tear your lying mouth apart!” As soon as we stepped out of the precinct, Richard finally dropped his mask of calm indifference. He was no longer content to let my mother and me fight it out while he stayed comfortably in the shadows. My stepfather swung his hand toward my face. I instinctively ducked, dodging the blow. Off-balance, Richard stumbled forward, nearly face-planting on the concrete. I watched his resentment level instantly spike by 30 points. The system flooded my vision with notifications of beginner gift boxes, too fast for me to read. Furious, Richard turned to Helen, who immediately grabbed his arm and began scolding me. “Rowan, how could you? You promised me you’d take the fall for Phoebe! How could you tell the officers that Phoebe was the one driving? How could you accuse us of forcing you into it?” “I am so incredibly disappointed in you! How could you go back on your word?” “You’ve ruined your sister’s life!” My mother was practically trembling with rage, but oddly enough, her resentment counter didn’t budge. I didn’t get any bonus points from her. In my past life, Phoebe had been jailed for hit-and-run, but because the victim’s family accepted a hefty financial settlement and signed a liability release, her sentence was light. This time, however, things went differently. The victim’s family flatly refused any money, pointing at Phoebe and screaming, “We want justice, not your blood money!” Without the settlement release, Phoebe faced a much longer sentence. Richard absolutely loathed me for it. My mother wept, accusing me of destroying her marriage and ruining the rest of her life with my selfishness. I offered a faint, dry smile. “So, if I don’t go to prison, everyone else’s lives fall apart?” “Then let them fall apart.” Furious, Richard kicked me out of the house. My mother sneered as I packed my things. “Do you honestly think you can survive out there without Richard’s money? You’ve lived a pampered life for too long. You have no idea how brutal the real world is.” Later, sitting in my new apartment, I stared blankly at the beginner rewards interface. Honestly, I had a pretty good idea of how brutal the world could be. [Total Family Resentment: 50 / 2,000] [Target Mother Resentment: 0 / 500] The system clarified that a score of zero didn’t mean she didn’t dislike me; it was simply because my mother’s baseline resentment had been reset to zero for the trial run. “If your mother actually loved you, her resentment score would be in the negatives,” the system chirped. I looked down and opened the beginner packages. Since these points hadn’t come from my primary target, my mother, the reward pool was limited. I chose a rental apartment voucher and a daily allowance of $150, which was non-cumulative and reset at midnight. The other two boxes yielded a physical stamina boost and a mystery box. Not knowing what physical stamina would do, I redeemed it anyway. As for the mystery box, I somehow pulled an Exoneration Voucher. The system shrieked in my head, “No! Absolutely not! I am banning this item! You cannot use this voucher!” The voucher was essentially a reality-warping tool that could alter societal norms. I frowned. “Why would I ever use something like that?” I dragged it to the recycle bin, converting it into extra physical stamina points. Such a voucher would rewrite the collective consciousness of society. If I used it, it would mean every hit-and-run driver in the world would suddenly be deemed innocent. I wasn’t that desperate. 3. “Where did Rowan get the money for that apartment?” Richard demanded over the phone, his voice sharp with suspicion. The voice on the other end explained, “She’s renting it, Mr. Bennett. We confirmed the lease agreement.” “Where does she get the money to rent a luxury apartment like that?!” Richard slammed his hand on the desk. His daughter was suffering in a holding cell, while Rowan was living comfortably in a high-rise. He had kicked her out hoping she would end up on the streets, begging for scraps, not enjoying a luxury lifestyle. “Well, Ms. Rowan is a young, beautiful woman. She might have found some alternative means of support.” That insinuation seemed to soothe Richard’s ego slightly, taking some of the sting out of his anger. My mother, Helen, stood nearby, barely daring to breathe. The moment Richard hung up, he turned on her. “Did you give her the money for that place?” “No! I swear I didn’t! I haven’t given her a single cent!” Richard eyed her suspiciously. “I don’t believe you. She’s your daughter. How could you not help her behind my back?” Helen forced a submissive smile. “A child who doesn’t listen isn’t a daughter to me.” I hadn’t expected my mother to track me down. Richard was threatening to divorce her, furious that she had given him false hope only to fail him. He claimed he would have preferred not knowing about the possibility of a scapegoat at all. My mother begged me to change my statement and take Phoebe’s place. She wept, “This is the only family I have left, Rowan. Do you really want to destroy your mother’s last chance at happiness?” A fresh wave of disappointment washed over me. I felt a sudden urge to play with her mind. “Actually, I might know a way to get Phoebe off the hook.” Helen’s eyes lit up with hope. But the words felt heavy in my mouth, and I quickly lost interest in the game. “Never mind. It’s probably not a good idea anyway.” My mother’s hopeful expression instantly shattered into raw fury. [System Alert: Primary target’s resentment +1 point.] [Congratulations! First progress made on the main quest.] [Main Quest Reward Progress: 1/50. Total Progress: 1/500.] I looked at her, bringing up an old wound. “That car was supposed to be my graduation gift. Why did you give it to Phoebe instead?” “Oh, don’t be so petty,” Helen muttered, her eyes narrowing with familiar disdain. “You’re my biological daughter. Phoebe isn’t. It’s only natural that I treat her a little better to keep the peace. You have no idea how hard it is to be a stepmother!” I let out a soft, hollow laugh. My chest felt numb. “Well, I suppose it was karma. I was the one who was supposed to get into an accident. Phoebe just took my place. Since that car is so protective of its owner, you should have her return it to me.” “Is that why you framed her, Rowan?” “Framed her?” I scoffed. “You tried to coerce me into taking the fall for a crime I didn’t commit. That is framing.” “It was your car in the first place!” Helen snapped. “And Phoebe took it. Because you gave it to her,” I countered. My mother continued to pelt me with cold insults. Years ago, this tactic would have torn me apart. Now, it just felt pathetic. Strangely, her resentment counter didn’t rise any further during our argument. I felt a pang of frustration, wondering if I was failing the system’s objective. Just then, Richard called her. “I managed to get Phoebe out on bail.” Using his connections and money, Richard had secured Phoebe’s temporary release. The first thing Phoebe did was call Helen. The moment my mother answered the phone, my system interface flashed. Her resentment toward me instantly jumped by 5 points. [Congratulations! Primary target’s resentment progress: 6/500.] 4. When Phoebe met Helen, she broke down in tears, her voice filled with accusation. “Mom, you promised Rowan would help me! How could you just watch her back out and let her ruin my life?” “I’ll handle it, sweetie. Don’t worry. Rowan is my daughter, and I know exactly how to deal with her.” Phoebe wept gracefully, which broke Richard’s heart. Helen comforted her with endless warmth. Watching them together, they looked like a perfect, loving family. I stood to the side, once again feeling like an unwanted intruder. But to confirm whether my mother’s resentment toward me could only be triggered by Phoebe, I forced myself to stay. Phoebe looked up, her face a portrait of fragile innocence. “You’re so good to me, Mom. You’re the best stepmother in the world. Even my real mother couldn’t have been better.” I smiled mockingly and took a seat. The system whispered in my ear, “If you complete the main quest, you can unlock and redeem the ‘Mother’s Love’ reward.” “No,” I replied instantly in my mind. I had absolutely no desire to receive any affection from a reformed version of this woman. I would rather have nothing. The system sighed with pity. “What I mean is, I can transfer you to another world. You can start over as a baby and have a truly perfect mother.” A spark of genuine motivation finally ignited within me. Helen walked over to me, her brow furrowed. “Rowan, help Phoebe. Do it for me. Have some pity on your mother. It wasn’t easy raising you, and I finally have a stable home. You wouldn’t want to destroy that, would you?” I looked her dead in the eye. “I don’t pity you.” “I pity myself.” 5. Being out on bail didn’t mean Phoebe was safe. She was barred from leaving the city and had to report to the police station regularly. Within days, she grew visibly gaunt. Their defense attorney pulled Richard aside and explained that the key to the case lay with the victim’s family. If they could reach a private settlement and secure a signed release, Phoebe’s sentence would be minimal. When Richard went to negotiate, he finally discovered why the victim’s family was so unyielding. In her arrogance, before realizing I wouldn’t take the fall, Phoebe had visited the family privately and mocked them, trying to provoke them so they would demand a harsher sentence to ensure I stayed in prison longer. Her scheme had backfired spectacularly. Now, the grieving family was so enraged they refused any financial compensation, demanding the maximum penalty for the driver. Richard placed immense pressure on Helen. “Your stepfather is going to divorce me, Rowan,” Helen cried, tossing a set of papers onto the table in front of me. “Please, just help me this once. For my happiness. Once you’re out, we’ll still be a family!” “Will you die if you’re not married?” I asked coldly. “Can you not survive without Richard Bennett? You’re asking your own daughter to go to prison for his spoiled kid, and you don’t see any problem with that?” Helen looked defensive. “What’s wrong with that? We’re mother and daughter. There shouldn’t be any grudges between us. You’re just being petty and holding a grudge.” “Phoebe isn’t my own flesh and blood. If I don’t treat her well, the whole world will call me a wicked stepmother.” “Let’s legally sever our relationship,” I said quietly. “I wish you, Richard, and Phoebe a wonderful life together.” Helen rolled her eyes. “I’m your mother. Stop talking nonsense. I went through hell to give birth to you. You can’t just sever ties whenever you feel like it. It doesn’t work that way.” I pulled a document from my drawer and placed it on the table. It stated that I would resolve Phoebe’s legal crisis on one condition: Helen had to sign an agreement to legally sever all familial ties with me, waiving all future support obligations and becoming total strangers. “Rowan, you really want to cut me out of your life?” Helen’s face went pale. Her quiet, obedient daughter had suddenly turned completely cold. “Did someone put you up to this? Don’t listen to those gossipers, sweetie. I love you.” “You’re my daughter. I worked so hard to raise you. What will I do without you in the future?” I pulled the agreement back. “So, you actually care about having me as a daughter?” I smiled. “Good. Because I have no intention of saving Phoebe anyway.” Panicking, Helen snatched the paper and scribbled her signature. To her, it was probably just a worthless piece of paper she could tear up whenever she pleased. Her signature stared back at me from the bottom of the page. My heart turned to ice. “Are you really going to take the fall for Phoebe now?” she asked, her eyes full of desperate expectation. “I will negotiate with the victim’s family,” I said flatly. “I will do my best to get her sentence reduced.” Helen froze, realizing she had been played. “You ungrateful brat!” she screamed. “How dare you lie to your own mother!” “Negotiate? What good is that? She’ll still have to go to prison!” “Are you even human?” I looked at her with pure, unadulterated disgust. My expression caught her off guard. In all my years of suffering her abuse, I had never looked at her with such visceral revulsion. For the first time, Helen looked genuinely terrified.

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Before my tour, I suddenly lost my voice. Fans gathered outside the agency’s building, screaming for refunds. That very night, the company decided to shelve me. When I became the target of public outrage, only my boyfriend stood by me. He paid my exorbitant contract termination fees and took me to see top specialists all over the country. But just as I was deeply moved and about to accept his proposal, I accidentally overheard a conversation between him and my mother. “This batch is potent. Don’t use too much.” 1 “Give it to her every three days. This batch is incredibly potent, and I’m worried her throat won’t be able to handle it if we push too fast.” “She needs to be able to speak, but she can never sing again.” In the dimly lit kitchen, Johnathan handed my mother a small plastic container. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would have never believed it. I pressed my hand firmly over my mouth, terrified of making even the slightest sound. Johnathan lit a cigarette, taking a long, slow drag. “Sienna is proud. Just ruining her voice isn’t enough to keep her under control. We need to find an opportunity to break her legs, keep her in a wheelchair for the rest of her life. They say a tortured artist produces the best work, don’t they?” He blew out a stream of grey smoke, then slipped a breath mint into his mouth. Ever since my throat had failed, Johnathan had sworn to quit smoking for my sake. It was all a lie. He was just hiding it. My mother frowned, looking slightly uneasy. “Break her legs? But Sienna is still writing songs, isn’t she? Can’t you just take her compositions and give them to Gemma? Is it really necessary to go this far? If Sienna finds out I did that to her, she’ll kill me. I can’t do this.” They stood in a tense deadlock until Johnathan pulled a black debit card from his pocket. “There’s a hundred thousand dollars on this card.” My mother’s face split into a wide, greedy grin as she eagerly snatched the card. The woman who gave birth to me, and the man I loved more than life itself. They were the two people who had played the roles of my devoted guardians since my tragedy. Now, they were plotting to cripple me. Three years ago, I was at the peak of my career, a rising pop star with a glittering future. But right before my first major stadium tour, my throat suddenly gave out. The pain of speaking was unbearable. When I asked my agency to postpone the tour, they refused flatly. “Postpone? Are you out of your mind?” my manager had screamed. “The building is surrounded by furious fans demanding refunds. The internet is flooded with rumors about you. We aren’t taking the fall for your failure.” That very night, they terminated my contract and slapped me with a massive lawsuit for breach of contract. My social media accounts were frozen, stripping me of any way to defend myself. While the world turned its back on me, Johnathan held me close, whispering that everything would be fine. He paid my exorbitant contract fees, hired top specialists, and stayed by my side. When every doctor shook their head and told us my voice was gone forever, Johnathan didn’t give up. He brewed herbal remedies for me every day. Because he was busy with his family’s business, he brought my mother to our apartment to take care of me. I used to think God had given me a sweet consolation prize after taking my dream away. What a joke. It was all a meticulous trap. Gemma was my college roommate and my colleague at the agency. I knew Johnathan and Gemma were close, and I knew my mother had always adored her. But I never imagined they would conspire to destroy me just to pave her way. My mother’s bright smile cut through me like a blade, a cold ache spreading deep into my bones. “I already put sleeping pills in her tea,” my mother whispered. “We’ll do it tonight.” I stared down at my empty glass, a single tear slipping silently down my cheek. When I opened my eyes, I was lying in a sterile hospital bed. My mother held my hand, tears streaming down her face. “Sienna, sweetie, I’m so sorry. I saw you sleeping on the sofa downstairs and tried to carry you up to bed. I just didn’t have the strength. I lost my grip.” I watched her theatrical performance in silence. But I couldn’t stop my own tears from falling, hot and heavy onto her palm. Johnathan looked at me with deep, performative pity. Suddenly, he turned and slammed his fist into the concrete wall behind him, startling us both. “Sienna, don’t be scared. I’m here,” he said, kneeling by my bed and looking up at me with eyes full of tenderness. “If you can’t walk, I’ll carry you. I’ll be your crutch for the rest of your life.” The sweet words sounded like a sick joke. I turned my head away, burying my face in the pillow, letting the tears soak the fabric. My mother had never shown me any affection growing up. I had to work multiple part-time jobs just to afford my college tuition. But on the first day of university, she suddenly became a doting mother. She visited me weekly, eventually renting an apartment right next to the campus. Everyone envied me, but I knew the truth. Every time she visited our dorm, her eyes were glued to Gemma. When I complained to Johnathan back then, he merely shrugged. “You’re being too sensitive. Why get jealous over something so trivial? It’s not like your mom can actually become her mom.” I stopped bringing it up, but the resentment lingered. After graduation, I was signed by a major label, while Gemma was rejected repeatedly. But a month later, she mysteriously signed with the exact same company. Rumors swirled that she was backed by the heir of the Blackwood Group, Johnathan. Johnathan had laughed it off. “She got in on her own merit, Sienna.” The memory dissolved as the low murmur of voices broke my reverie. I had been awake for a while, keeping my eyes closed, absorbing every word of their hushed conversation. “Why don’t you just marry Gemma?” my mother asked. Johnathan’s response was immediate and firm. “I promised Gemma I’d make her the biggest star in the industry. In this business, a dating scandal is career suicide, especially for someone at her level. Besides, Gemma’s songwriting is mediocre at best. To maintain her reputation as a singer-songwriter, she needs a constant supply of hit tracks. No one is better suited for that than Sienna.” Painful memories in my dreams, a brutal reality in my waking hours. Johnathan had been laying the groundwork for Gemma since our college days. I was never his partner; I was just the stepping stone he meant to crush for her benefit. The realization choked me, and my breathing hitched. Johnathan immediately pulled me into a tight embrace. “I’m here, Sienna. I’ve got you.” Over his shoulder, I caught sight of my mother’s face. She had tears on her cheeks, but her lips were curved into a triumphant smile. She was busy typing on her phone, and the screen caught my eye, displaying the contact name: My Baby. The profile picture was unmistakable. It was Gemma. I knew Johnathan hadn’t cared for Gemma initially. Their relationship had evolved over time, his affection shifting toward her as she played the victim. But I couldn’t comprehend why my own mother would throw her daughter away for a stranger. A dark suspicion began to take root. Using my memory, I searched for Gemma’s private social media account. Her latest post was from two days ago. It showed three silhouettes leaning against each other at a lavish dinner. I recognized Johnathan and my mother instantly. The caption read: A night to celebrate. Two days ago was the night my mother pushed me down the stairs. My heart hammered against my ribs, my fingers trembling as I scrolled through her feed. Almost every post featured Johnathan and my mother. The domestic bliss practically radiated from the screen. The best sweet and sour ribs in the world, made by Mom! I casually mentioned that I never got childhood gifts, and the next day a room was filled with presents. Mom and my boy are making up for lost time! Wanted to see the grasslands, so my boy booked the tickets and hotel instantly, and Mom packed my bags. I must be the luckiest girl in the world. They had traveled to so many places together. The bitter irony was that I had been to those exact cities too. Every few days, Johnathan would take me to see some distant specialist. I had been so touched by his care, never realizing that my medical appointments were just a cover-up for his holidays with Gemma. Seeing my mother’s affection for Gemma made me think of my own childhood. I had never had a birthday party, let alone a bowl of traditional longevity noodles made by her hands. I scrolled further down, my chest tight. She says I look exactly like her daughter who went missing years ago. She wants to be my mom. This was posted three days after university started. I stared at the screen, stunned. I had never known my mother had a missing daughter. But simply because of a passing resemblance, she had given all her love to a stranger. What did that make me? An unwanted child, receiving only the scraps of affection she had left over. Sienna, there is no one left in this world who loves you. On my fifth day in the hospital, Gemma visited, carrying a massive bouquet of lilies. My mother immediately handed Gemma a freshly peeled apple. “Give it to Sienna instead,” Gemma offered with a sweet, plastic smile. I remained silent. Gemma sat on the edge of my bed, arranging the flowers in a glass vase on my bedside table. Within seconds, my throat began to tighten, the pollen triggering my severe allergies. I gasped for air, panic surging through me as I instinctively lashed out, knocking the vase to the floor. The glass shattered with a loud crash, startled cries echoing through the room. Gemma immediately shrank back, her eyes welling with theatrical tears. “I’m so sorry, Sienna. I completely forgot you were allergic to pollen. It’s my fault.” She hadn’t forgotten. She had brought them on purpose. Even with the flowers on the floor, the microscopic particles hung heavy in the air. “Get them out,” I rasped, my throat burning. Gemma whimpered, dropping to her knees to pick up the broken shards. But before her hand could touch the glass, my mother snatched her wrist. “Sienna, Gemma is a star now. Her hands are delicate. How could you let her do manual labor?” Johnathan chimed in, “She just forgot, Sienna. Is it really necessary to throw a tantrum?” He turned to Gemma, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur. “Don’t touch that, Gemma. I’ll clean it up.” They coddled her as if she were made of glass, not even bothering to hide their devotion in front of me. Sensing the shift in energy, Gemma pulled out her phone and played her upcoming single. Johnathan frowned slightly, but didn’t stop her. The moment the opening chords filled the room, my heart stopped. It was my song. The melody I had written late at night, before my voice was destroyed. “Our Gemma sings so beautifully,” my mother cooed, her eyes shining with pride. “You were born to be a star. No one else could do this song justice.” “This melody,” I croaked, keeping my eyes fixed on Gemma. “It sounds incredibly familiar.” Gemma’s eyes flickered with a brief wave of panic. Johnathan immediately stepped in to shield her. “Thousands of songs are produced every year, Sienna. A few overlapping notes are completely normal.” Before I could speak, my mother pinched my arm hard under the blanket. “Sienna, just because you can’t sing anymore doesn’t mean you should take your jealousy out on others. You and Gemma were roommates. You should be happy for her. Besides, you two should help each other. Why don’t you write a few melodies for Gemma’s next album?” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a low, coaxing murmur. “And will my name be on the credits?” I asked, looking at the three of them. “Absolutely not,” my mother replied without hesitation. “Your reputation is ruined right now. Putting your name on her work would only drag her down.” I almost laughed aloud. They wanted my talent, but they wanted me dead to the world. A heavy silence settled over the room as they waited for my submission. I decided to give them exactly what they wanted. “Johnathan, buy me a house in the countryside,” I said quietly. “I want to go there alone. You know I need absolute silence to compose. I’ll write the songs there. It will be ready in time for Gemma’s next release.” Their tense expressions immediately dissolved into smiles, especially Johnathan’s. “Really, Sienna? You’ll do that?” I nodded. Of course I would. Otherwise, who knew what other horrors they would devise to bend me to their will? Johnathan happily embraced me. That very night, he purchased a secluded property, Oakridge Villa, and tried to hire two nannies to watch over me. I refused the staff. I had my own helper in mind. I pulled out my burner phone and sent a single text: Come to Oakridge Villa tomorrow.

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1 I was the most obedient dog at Justin’s heels. Even though I was his official girlfriend, I was the one who quietly washed his clothes with a cold face after he got back from some wild party with God knows who. Everyone in our circle thought I was desperately, hopelessly in love with him. Only I knew the truth. I only tolerated him because of the Favorability System in my head. For every single point Justin’s favorability toward me increased, a hundred thousand dollars would be wired to my account. But no matter how hard I tried over the past three years, his favorability toward me remained stuck at exactly one. Eventually, I got tired of the game. I told him we were done. That was when the long-silent system voice finally chimed in. Justin’s favorability has increased by twenty-five points. I stood there, completely speechless. When he wouldn’t leave me alone and kept badgering me, I snapped and slapped him across the face. The mechanical voice chimed again. Justin’s favorability has increased by fifty points. I was utterly bewildered. On our third anniversary, it happened to line up with our high school reunion. Justin had texted me, saying he wanted to give me a surprise. But when I arrived at the private lounge as planned, I found him wrapped around Scarlett, the pretty girl from the class next door. They were kissing like they wanted to swallow each other whole. His friends were crowding around them, cheering and whistling. “Damn, Justin, you’re bold,” one of them laughed, raising his glass. “Aren’t you worried Wendy is going to walk in and lose her mind?” Justin pushed Scarlett away, a dismissive smirk playing on his lips. “Anger? Does she even know how?” “True. Everyone knows Wendy is the most obedient girl in the world. Even if you brought another girl home, she’d probably just smile and make her coffee.” Another guy joined in, “Man, but didn’t you spend three whole years chasing her back in high school?” Justin leaned back into the leather sofa, crossing his legs and lighting a cigarette. “I only chased her because she was pretty. Thought she’d look good on my arm.” He blew a slow cloud of smoke, his smile turning cruel. “Who knew she’d turn out to be so boring? She’s as obedient as a dog.” I pushed the door open, and the room went dead silent. Justin’s friends exchanged quick glances, some of them mockingly tugging at their own collars, pretending to hold a leash. They pointed at me with grins. The message was clear: Justin’s favorite pet had arrived. I ignored them, walking straight over and sitting down next to him. “Where is the surprise you mentioned?” A flash of confusion crossed Justin’s face before he checked his phone. “Oh, that? I lost a bet earlier and just sent the text on a whim.” Scarlett leaned closer to Justin, her smile dripping with malice. “Yeah, we bet Justin whether you’d actually show up. Looks like we won.” The room erupted into another round of snickers. Justin used me as a punchline so often that his friends had long since lost any shred of respect for me. I looked at the mockery in Justin’s eyes, then at the expectant faces of the onlookers waiting for me to play my part. For the first time, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. It just wasn’t worth it anymore. I took a quiet breath and asked the question I had kept locked away for three years. “Justin, do you actually love me? Even just a little?” “Oh, hear that?” “Come on, Justin, the girl is practically begging. Say something nice.” Justin stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, letting out a sharp laugh. “Wendy, we’re adults. Asking about love? Isn’t that a bit childish?” The jeering from his friends grew louder, some of them throwing out crude remarks. Justin threw his arm carelessly over Scarlett’s shoulder. “Actually, since you’re here, there’s something I need to tell you. Scarlett is staying in town for a while. You don’t use your place very often anyway, so pack up your things and let her move in.” I nodded slowly. “Actually, I have something to tell you too.” I looked him dead in the eye. “Justin, let’s break up.” 2 Everyone in Justin’s circle, including Justin himself, believed I was too codependent to ever leave him. Even after I said the words, his smirk didn’t fade. “Wendy, look at you, learning how to play hard to get.” I didn’t give him another glance. I stood up and walked toward the exit. This time, I was truly done. To be honest, my three years of silent endurance had been entirely for the sake of the system. In the beginning, my grandmother, who had raised me, fell gravely ill and needed an expensive operation. I was desperate for money. Right around that time, Justin had video-called me to confess his feelings yet again. The wind in his microphone had been deafening. He was wearing skydiving goggles, the blue sky rushing past behind him. “Wendy, I really love you! If you don’t agree to be my girlfriend today, I’m not pulling the cord!” It wasn’t his first time asking. 3 The first time I met Justin was on the first day of our senior year of high school. He had transferred in as a repeating student. Word around school was that he was supposed to go abroad with his childhood sweetheart, but they had a massive falling out right before the flight. In a fit of temper, the young heir decided to stay behind and take the national college entrance exams instead. Because his wealthy family had recently funded a brand-new science building for the school, our homeroom teacher called me into the office on day one. Since I was the academic representative, she asked me to help him catch up. And so, I became Justin’s desk mate. His arrival in the classroom caused quite a stir. He was handsome, incredibly wealthy, and had those expressive eyes that made him look like he was flirting even when he was just looking at a chalkboard. After a brief introduction, he sauntered over to my desk, shoved his designer backpack into the cubby, pulled out a stack of pristine textbooks, and gave me a lazy grin. “Hey, new desk mate. Play nice, okay?” Honestly, during the high-pressure environment of senior year, the last thing I wanted was to baby a rich kid who was just trying out the public school experience. Fortunately, aside from a casual greeting in the mornings, he left me alone. But just when I thought we would peacefully coexist until graduation, he suddenly confessed. “Wendy, I like you. Be my girl.” Amid the sudden cheers of our classmates, I just mumbled an okay and kept solving my math problems. After that, Justin started bringing me breakfast every morning, leaving expensive gifts and bouquets of flowers on my desk. I gave the food to whoever was hungry, tossed the gifts in the trash, and handed the flowers to our teacher. Eventually, he cornered me in the hallway before morning study. “Wendy, do you seriously think I’m not good enough for you?” I kept my eyes on my English vocabulary book. Justin, who had likely never been ignored by a girl in his life, let out a frustrated laugh. “Fine. Then tell me, what kind of guy does it take to please the great Wendy?” His voice was loud enough to draw stares from the passing students. Not wanting a scene, I casually pointed to the academic honor board on the wall behind him. It displayed the photos of the top ten students from the last exams. I pointed at the boy in the number one spot. “Him. I like guys like him.” 4 “Joey? That freak?” Justin sneered, glancing at the photo. “Didn’t realize you had such bizarre taste, Wendy.” From that day until graduation, Justin stopped bothering me. Instead, he actually started burying his head in his books. Later, we ended up at the same university, though he was admitted into the major with the lowest entry requirements. On move-in day, Justin drove his luxury Maybach right onto the campus plaza, pulling off a dramatic drift before stopping right in front of me. “Wendy, I got into the same school as you. Now will you finally agree to be my girlfriend?” He tapped the hood of his car. “You know what my family is worth. Being with me means you’ll never have to worry about a thing.” A crowd had gathered, some students clapping and chanting for me to say yes. I took a deep breath, looking him straight in the eye. “Justin, I simply do not like you. It has nothing to do with your grades or your family’s money.” Chasing shortcuts and wanting things that don’t belong to you only leads to a harder fall. I knew that better than anyone. Embarrassed by the public rejection, Justin slammed his car door and sped off, leaving a cloud of dust. I assumed he would give up. But a month later, he showed up again. This time, someone had clearly given him better advice. He stopped demanding that I be his girlfriend. Instead, when my student union group was prepping for an event, he brought his friends to help carry heavy boxes. When I volunteered on weekends, he quietly paid to upgrade our school transport to comfortable buses and funded our supplies. When I worked late tutoring, his car would be waiting down the street to make sure I got home safely. Over time, even my roommates began to nudge me. “He’s rich, handsome, and actually attentive. If it were me, I’d marry him on the spot!” Then, my grandmother fell ill. The hospital bills were astronomical, and the money I could make from part-time jobs was a drop in the bucket. I stayed up all night pacing, finally deciding to call Justin. But his phone kept ringing out. For a month, I worked myself to the bone, trying to raise funds. And then, out of nowhere, the system appeared in my mind. Justin’s video call came right after. He was in Queenstown, New Zealand, skydiving, yelling his confession through the wind. With the system urging me to lock in a target, and looking at his wind-swept but familiar face, I finally said yes. Justin laughed, pulling his parachute cord. Behind him, the white canopy bloomed, printed with bold letters: I love you, Wendy. 5 The early days of our relationship were actually sweet. We traveled together during breaks, and when we were on campus, we ate at the cheap food stalls down the street. When Justin learned about my grandmother’s condition, he hired the best specialists to treat her and visited her regularly. She adored him. Once she was discharged, she wanted to return to her quiet hometown to recover, but she worried about leaving me alone in the city. Justin had held my hand in front of her, promising he would protect me and cherish me forever. Even though the system showed his favorability was at a meager one, I did receive the initial hundred thousand dollars. That money saved my grandmother’s life. For that, I would always be grateful to him. But whatever gratitude I had was slowly burned away by his behavior. Within a month of my grandmother leaving, Justin started entertaining other women. A boy of his status was never short of company, and there were always plenty of girls willing to throw themselves at him. Every time I resolved to leave, Justin would suddenly soften, showing just enough warmth to make me hesitate. He knew exactly how to pull my strings, making me wonder if he might actually learn to love me again. Just a little. At least another point would mean another hundred thousand dollars. Having known the terror of being broke, I wasn’t going to turn down money. But during those quiet nights, listening to the muffled sounds of his late-night calls in the next room, I couldn’t help but ask myself if I had only stayed for the cash. 6 Now, none of that mattered anymore. Ignoring the sneers of his friends, I turned toward the exit of the lounge. Suddenly, a violent crash echoed behind me, followed by Scarlett’s sharp shriek. “Joey! What the hell are you doing?!” Hearing that familiar name, I spun around in surprise. A young man with a sharp buzz cut had Justin pinned hard against the glass coffee table. He was wearing a dark windbreaker, his sleeves pushed up, radiating a raw, dangerous energy. He hadn’t changed at all. Still as reckless as ever. Back in school, Joey had been a legend. He was fierce, constantly skipping classes to fight, yet his grades were always impossibly perfect. The teachers couldn’t touch him, and the students kept their distance. Even someone as arrogant as Justin had never dared to cross him. This reunion was supposed to be Justin’s crowd. Joey’s presence was entirely unexpected. Joey lazily twirled a small pocket knife, letting the blade catch the light right in front of Justin’s eyes. “Just didn’t like the look of your face today. Thought I’d break it.” Scarlett had already scrambled into the corner, trembling. Justin’s friends hovered at a distance, none of them daring to step in. They were terrified of him. Justin’s cheek was pressed hard against the table, his face twisted in rage. “Joey, you think we’re still in school? Look around. This is my turf.” “Don’t care.” Joey slammed the knife into the wood right next to Justin’s ear, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and delivered a brutal kick straight to his ribs.

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My boyfriend wanted to break up. To keep me from clinging to him, his best friend told me he was dead. “Brooke, I’m so sorry for your loss.” I nodded slowly. “I’ve already booked the abortion.” He completely lost it. Jason was so eaten alive by guilt that he couldn’t sleep, violently slapping his own face in the middle of the night. The day he accompanied me to the clinic for the procedure, my boyfriend caught us red-handed and beat him to a pulp. “I was too afraid of hurting her to even touch her, and you dared to land her in the hospital?!” Jason: “?” That night, Jason spammed my phone like a lunatic. Can you get pregnant without being touched? Answer me, you psycho! 1 After Nathan stormed out of the house, I got a text from his best friend, Jason. Nathan got into a brutal car crash last night. They spent hours trying to resuscitate him, but he didn’t make it. He’s gone. When I read the text, I was actually standing right behind the “deceased.” Nathan was sitting at a dark corner booth in the bar, staring silently at a glass of whiskey he hadn’t even touched. Jason was barely holding back a massive, gloating grin. He offered some horribly fake comfort. “You spoiled her too much, man. That’s why she thinks she can walk all over you.” Nobody threw a party faster than Jason when Nathan and I fought. For as long as we’d been dating, Jason had been dripping poison into Nathan’s ear about me. He looked intimidating, his sharp, dark features always carrying a trace of a scowl. He was always so gruff. Even when he was just standing there doing nothing, I was convinced he was plotting my demise in his head. During the peak of his hatred for me, he actually spent a ridiculous amount of money on a spiritual medium to see if Nathan had been put under some kind of love hex. I hated having strangers in my space, so we never hired a maid. Nathan did all the cooking and cleaning. Once, Jason dropped by and caught Nathan wearing a pink teddy-bear apron, hand-scrubbing my lace underwear in the sink. He looked like he was about to have a stroke. Jason was convinced Nathan was being blackmailed. “Did you seriously get a girlfriend just to hand-wash her underwear?!” he’d raged. “Does Brooke have a single redeeming quality besides her pretty face? You’re pathetic!” Jason was so disgusted he didn’t speak to Nathan for two months after that. Last night, Nathan accidentally ruined my favorite pair of lace panties in the wash. We had a massive blowout, and he packed a bag and stormed out. When Jason found out, he probably wanted to set off fireworks in celebration. I tracked Nathan’s phone to the bar, only to find him complaining to his buddy about how high-maintenance I was. Nathan rubbed his temples, his usually warm eyes clouded with exhaustion. He stared into his amber glass for a long moment before rasping, “Honestly, I think I’ve had enough of this relationship.” 2 Hearing this, Jason looked like he was about to weep tears of pure joy. He looked like a protective best friend whose wealthy, naive buddy had finally escaped the clutches of a gold digger. He casually swiped Nathan’s phone off the table while Nathan wasn’t looking, blocking and deleting my number from every app. He was terrified I’d crawl back and try to beg for Nathan’s forgiveness. To seal the deal, he sent me that frantic text about the fatal car crash, adding a sickeningly fake sign-off. Brooke, I’m so sorry for your loss. What’s done is done. We all have to keep moving forward. I stared at the screen for a moment, then casually typed out a reply. Okay, got it. I’ve already booked the abortion. Sitting in a booth barely fifteen feet away, I watched Jason freeze. The smug grin on his face instantly petrified, and the color drained from his skin. A choked, high-pitched squeal of sheer terror erupted from his throat. Breaking out in a cold sweat, he scrambled to his feet. Nathan asked what was wrong, but Jason just shook his head like a madman, too terrified to speak. He practically fled the bar with his tail between his legs. His messages started spamming my screen like a glitching computer. Are you pregnant?! Does Nathan know?! Can you cancel the appointment? Don’t do it, don’t do it, please! Which clinic? I’m coming right now. Dammit, Brooke, answer me! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?! I flipped my phone to silent, ignoring every call and text. I left the bar, drove home, ordered a pizza, and booted up some video games. I went on an eight-game losing streak and ended up screaming and crying at my monitor in pure frustration. Meanwhile, Jason was losing his mind. He ran to three different local clinics before giving up and driving straight to my apartment. Seeing my lights on, he rushed up the stairs and began pounding on my door like a SWAT team. When I pulled the door open, tears from my gaming rage were still wet on my cheeks. Jason’s panic instantly dissolved into sheer guilt the second he saw my tear-stained face. He swallowed hard, his voice incredibly soft, as if he were afraid a loud noise might startle me. “Does… does Nathan know about the baby?” I lowered my eyes, looking utterly devastated. “He knew.” Jason’s breath hitched, and a fresh sheet of sweat broke out across his forehead. This massive, muscular guy stood awkwardly in my living room, gingerly guiding me to the couch as if I were made of delicate porcelain. “Maybe… maybe you should think it over,” he stammered. “An abortion is really hard on a woman’s body. I’m just… looking out for you.” He had absolutely no idea how to comfort someone. To keep his tone gentle, he pinched his vocal cords, making his deep voice sound hilariously high-pitched. He sounded like the Big Bad Wolf pretending to be Grandma. His heart was in his throat. He was torn. If he confessed, he’d have to admit he’d lied about Nathan’s death, which was incredibly embarrassing. But compared to his best friend’s unborn flesh and blood, he knew which took priority. Just as he steeled himself to confess the truth, I cut him off. “There is no heartbeat anymore. It stopped right around the time you told me Nathan died.” Jason turned green, his heart dropping into his stomach. My eyes welled up, and tears began to stream down my face. “I was actually on my way to my prenatal checkup. When I read your text, my mind went totally blank. I tripped and tumbled down the stairs. At the clinic, the doctor told me there was no heartbeat. I have to get the procedure.” Every word of Jason’s confession died in his throat. I slumped onto the couch, looking fragile enough to be blown away by a stiff breeze. I gently placed a hand over my stomach and murmured, “Maybe the baby was just in a hurry to go be with his dad.” Suddenly, Jason’s phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a text from Nathan. I haven’t cooked or done her laundry in twenty-four hours. She’s probably realized how terrifying life without me is by now. I think I’m ready to go home and forgive her. 4 Jason nearly had a cardiac arrest. He furiously tapped a reply, terrified Nathan would show up at any second. If you forgive Brooke this easily, aren’t you just spoiling her more? Nathan replied a moment later. Weird. I can’t find her on my contacts list anymore. Jason lied through his teeth. She must have blocked and deleted you. The app does that now with the new update. If one person deletes you, you both disappear. Clearly, she hasn’t learned her lesson. Nathan: Really? Jason: Yeah, absolutely. The next second, my phone started vibrating. Nathan was calling me directly. The moment I saw his name on the screen, Jason snatched the phone out of my hand and rejected the call. “Spam call,” he squeaked. He looked like he had aged five years in a single minute. The cocky, smug swagger was completely gone, replaced by pure, agonizing guilt. He didn’t know my passcode, so he couldn’t block Nathan’s number on my phone. He had to play goalie. Afraid I’d catch onto his panic, he tried to get me out of the room. Stiffening up, he squeezed out, “Go… go take a shower.” “Excuse me?” I asked, looking at him sideways. I pulled my robe a little tighter around myself, giving him a deeply suspicious look. “What exactly are you trying to pull?” Jason gasped, his face flushing crimson as he stumbled over his words. “You think I want to do something to you?! You’re my best friend’s girl!” He aggressively rubbed his hair, unable to meet my eyes. “I just… I think it’s late, and you should wash up and go to sleep. You’re Nathan’s girl, and I’m just here to look after you. Don’t make it weird.” I bit my lip, suppressing a smirk. “And what are you going to do while I’m in the shower? Peek through the keyhole?” Jason looked like he was about to combust. “I would never!” He snatched the pink teddy-bear apron from the hook, shoved his head through it, and snapped, “I’m making you dinner!” With my phone clutched tightly in his fist, he marched furiously into the kitchen. He pretended to prep ingredients while staring unblinkingly at my screen. Every time Nathan’s name popped up, he swiped decline. He knew this wasn’t a long-term solution, but he had no other choice. I watched his broad back through the kitchen doorway and let out a soft snort. What an absolute idiot. 5 By the time I walked out of the bathroom, Jason had laid out a full four-course meal and a pot of soup. I gave him a slow, suggestive look. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not paying you back with my body.” Jason’s blood pressure visibly spiked. “I don’t want your thanks! You’re my buddy’s girl! Stop saying these ridiculous things to me!” I murmured a quiet “okay” and dug into my food. Jason sat across from me, holding his chopsticks but not eating. After a long, agonized silence, he muttered, “I’m going to stay over tonight. To look after you.” I blinked, nodding slowly. “Oh. So you’re not into sweet talk. You prefer the whole dominant, forced-vibe thing.” Jason’s jaw dropped. He closed his eyes in pure, unadulterated despair. At that moment, I could tell he wanted nothing more than for the earth to swallow him whole. Too angry to eat, Jason went into the guest bedroom and dragged out a sleeping bag to make a bed on my floor. He kept my phone glued to his pocket. Caring for me was a total lie; his only goal was to block Nathan’s incoming calls. When I walked into the bedroom, Jason was lying flat on his back on the floor like a corpse. I climbed into bed and sighed loudly. “The sheets are freezing. Nathan always warmed up the bed for me.” Jason squeezed his eyes shut, pretending to be fast asleep. I let out a long, theatrical sigh. “I guess it’s because of the miscarriage. My hands and feet are like ice, and everything aches. The baby is gone… and Nathan is gone, too.” Jason couldn’t take the guilt trip anymore. Groaning, he hauled himself off the floor, climbed onto the bed, and lay down beside me like a stiff wooden log. “Are you warm enough now?” he mumbled. His ears were beet red, and his skin was radiating heat like a radiator. The guy was practically cooking from embarrassment. I nodded happily. “Very warm.” An awkward silence settled over the room, the air thick with tension. Jason, squirming under the weight of the intimacy, tried to break the ice. “When… when is your procedure scheduled?” “Tomorrow,” I whispered. “The doctor said it might be really hard for me to get pregnant again. I’ll probably end up old and lonely, with no one to care for me.” My voice trembled, punctuated by a soft, sniffling sob. Jason’s chest tightened. He knew this was entirely his fault. The guilt was eating him alive; he wanted nothing more than to slap himself a thousand times. Without thinking, he blurted out, “I’ll take care of you. I won’t let you grow old alone.” He looked dead serious. I slid closer to him, whispering, “Does that mean you’re proposing?” Jason’s entire face turned a violent shade of crimson. “How could you even say that?! You’re my best friend’s girl!” He glared at me, exasperated. I let out a soft “ah.” “So you want to spend the rest of your life by my side, honoring me, protecting me, and cherishing me, through sickness and health, till death do us part?” Jason nodded proudly, completely oblivious. “Exactly! That’s what I meant!” I stopped talking, pulled the duvet over my head, and closed my eyes. By the time he realized he had basically just recited wedding vows to his best friend’s girlfriend, I was already pretending to be fast asleep. He sat up on the edge of the mattress, buried his face in his hands, and whispered in absolute despair, “You’re my best friend’s girl…”

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The moment I found out about Todd, I couldn’t stomach the betrayal. I demanded a divorce on the spot. Lyne locked herself in the study and cried for half the day. When she finally emerged, her eyes were red, wearing an expression of pure, unearned victimhood. “Todd doesn’t believe in marriage,” she pleaded, her voice trembling. “He won’t affect our life together. Why can’t we just keep things as they are?” The sheer audacity of it left me speechless. I swept the documents off the desk, sending them scattering across the floor. She bit her lip, her eyes welling with tears, yet her voice carried a stubborn edge. “We’re adults, Roy. It’s just a physical thing, a casual distraction. What’s the big deal? Can you stop making a scene?” With that, she slammed the door and walked out. That very night, I somehow connected with myself from ten years in the future. On the video screen, he looked hollowed out. Dark circles bruised the skin under his deeply sunken eyes. “Roy,” he said, his voice raspy. “I already walked the path of divorcing her the second she strayed. I tried it so you wouldn’t have to.” He paused, staring at me with a heavy, haunted gaze. “Take it from me. Pride goes before a fall. Love isn’t everything. Don’t worry about loving someone; learn how to use them.” “You can divorce her, but absolutely not right now.” 1 The man on the screen shared my exact face, but he was so withered and worn that I barely recognized him. Staring at him, my throat tightened. I had always been stubborn and unyielding. The day I confronted Lyne, my mind held only one conviction: you get married to live a better life, and you get divorced for the exact same reason. There was nothing to hesitate about. When things go wrong, you cut your losses. I was never a man to drag his feet. But the face on the screen carved a different reality into every deep wrinkle: I did not end up okay. I took a deep breath, forcing down the panic, and asked the one question that mattered most to me right now. “What about Toby? Did he make it into the Pratt Institute?” An expression of quiet agony crossed his face. He shook his head slowly. “He stopped painting.” I froze. Toby was only seven years old, but his talent was already undeniable. His art tutor had told us flat-out that the boy was a rare prodigy. Every day after school, the first thing Toby did was rush to his easel. We had to drag him away just to get him to eat dinner. My son’s dream was to become a painter. He used to tell me he would hold an exhibition at the Louvre one day just for me. There was no reason for him to stop. Looking at my stunned expression, my future self didn’t offer any empty comfort. He simply asked, “How much are you paying for his private tutoring right now?” “A hundred dollars an hour.” He let out a hollow laugh. “Think about it. That’s ten thousand a year just for the basics. High-end portfolio prep, prep-school consulting, that’s a whole different league of expenses. And my salary as a lab researcher, even ten years from now, is barely forty-five thousand a year after taxes.” I didn’t need him to do the math. I knew the numbers. But another wave of confusion hit me, and I blurted out, “What about Lyne? Toby is her son too. Did she really just abandon him?” 2 He shook his head, a bitter smile deepening the lines around his mouth. “When we divorced, Todd was terrified we’d stay in touch. He forced Lyne to pay off all her child support in one lump sum to cut ties completely.” “Later, whenever Lyne tried to visit Toby, Todd would tag along, standing down on the street shouting insults at our window. I didn’t want Toby to hear that garbage, so I stopped letting her come.” He paused, his voice cracking slightly. “Eventually, they had a daughter of their own. By the fourth year after the divorce, Toby stopped seeing his mother entirely.” I remained silent, feeling as though a lead weight had settled on my chest. “I was the one who insisted on the divorce back then,” he continued. “Lyne didn’t want to make it easy, so she dragged her feet on the assets. I was so desperate to escape that I settled for nothing but this house. I tried my best to keep Toby in art school, fighting tooth and nail until he turned fourteen.” “And then?” My throat felt incredibly dry. “Then I had to sell the house. The market had tanked, and I took a massive loss.” My heart squeezed. “The money from the sale… was it for Toby’s tuition?” His eyes grew red. “Dad was diagnosed with lung cancer.” I went entirely numb. Right now, my father was in perfect health, spending every morning practicing tai chi in the park. “It happened three years ago,” my future self said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “He knew how hard it was for me to raise Toby alone while keeping up with work. He hid his symptoms because he didn’t want to be a burden. By the time we found out, it had already metastasized.” My throat felt completely blocked. It took everything I had to squeeze out a few words. “And Dad… how is he now?” “He passed away over a year ago.” My breath hitched. “The night Toby found out his grandfather was sick,” he whispered, “he packed his brushes back into his wooden case. He told me he didn’t want to paint anymore, that we needed to save the money for Grandpa’s treatment. No matter how much I begged, he just shook his head. He never touched a brush again.” So, in the eight years following my hasty divorce, my son’s dream was shattered, and my father passed away. My heart felt as if it were being crushed by a cold, heavy hand. 3 Before I could speak, the screen flickered violently, and the signal cut out. A few seconds later, an unknown number popped up on my screen, auto-playing a video. The moment the screen lit up, Todd’s face filled the frame without warning. He was leaning back against Lyne’s shoulder, his shirt collar slightly open, his sharp jawline set in a smug, effortless grin. Lyne stood close to him, her shoulder resting against his chest. Her face carried a look of pure, relaxed ease that I hadn’t seen on her in years. “Your husband really fits the stereotype of a boring academic,” Todd said, his voice dripping with condescension. “Stiff, dull, completely rigid. Is he seriously trying to divorce you over this?” Lyne let out a soft, lazy hum in agreement. Todd chuckled softly. “What are we going to do then? I have zero intention of ever getting married, and I’m strictly child-free. I can’t stand the handcuffs of a traditional family. I’m only here for the romance, babe. I don’t do domestic bliss.” He lightly traced the back of Lyne’s hand with his fingers. “Looks like some poor guy is about to lose his wife and kid all because of me.” Before he could finish, Lyne leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him deeply. The video paused on that exact frame. I stared at the screen, a wave of intense nausea hitting me so hard I nearly threw up on the spot. After the screen went black, I sat in the dark room for a very long time. Once I gathered my thoughts, the first thing I did was call a contact to dig into Todd’s background. The information came back quickly. He was three years older than me, working as a pharmaceutical sales manager for one of Lyne’s company’s main vendors. He had been in the industry for a decade, consistently ranking as the top salesman. He was notorious for being ruthless and highly competitive. His favorite phrase to throw around was: “I’ve got money and capability. Why the hell would I drag myself down with a marriage?” Around his office, they called him the “lone wolf with claws.” Many of the younger employees looked up to him, praising him for living a life free from conventional chains. I knew with absolute certainty that he had sent me that video on purpose. Even if he had no intention of marrying Lyne, he still wanted the satisfaction of completely breaking the husband he looked down upon. 4 The next time I connected with my future self, I bypassed the pleasantries and went straight to the point. “You said they had a daughter? I thought Todd was strictly child-free and against marriage.” My future self let out a mocking laugh. “The year Lyne and I divorced, Todd was thirty-three. That anti-marriage philosophy of his lasted exactly two more years.” “Once he hit thirty-five, the age anxiety kicked in. He realized he’d had his fun, but suddenly he craved the warmth of a family. He turned around, dragged Lyne to the courthouse, and they had a daughter the very next year.” My mouth opened, but no words came out. Suddenly, the sound of light footsteps came from his end of the screen. A tall, thin teenager leaned into the frame. He had clean, short hair, and his eyes still carried a trace of Toby’s childhood innocence, though his quiet demeanor seemed far too mature for a seventeen-year-old. “Dad,” the boy said softly, “I warmed up some milk for you.” “Just leave it on the desk, buddy,” the future me replied, his voice softening instantly. Then he added, “By the way, why didn’t you tell me about the school’s summer camp?” Toby looked down, his eyes quiet and polite. “I don’t really want to go, Dad. I’d rather stay home and keep you company.” With that, he slipped out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Staring at the empty doorway, a sudden rush of grief hit me, and tears finally spilled over. The future me tapped his screen, sending over a few screenshots. “See for yourself.” In the photos, Lyne and Todd were holding hands with a little girl, standing under the green ribbons of the Northern Lights in Norway. The little girl, wrapped in a thick down jacket, sat on Lyne’s shoulders, laughing with her mouth wide open. The caption read: Successful whale-watching trip with our baby girl. The Arctic Circle is even more romantic than we dreamed. The next few photos showed a helicopter ride over a massive glacier, glasses of champagne on a luxury yacht, and Todd wearing sunglasses, flashing a peace sign at the camera. “Lyne eventually started her own business, rode the industry wave, and made a fortune,” my future self said, his words cutting deep but carrying the brutal truth. “And look at you. You couldn’t even save your own father, and your son can’t even go to a simple summer camp because he’s trying to save you money.” He stared at me, his eyes burning. “You took all the pain. Why should they get all the joy?” He wasn’t exaggerating. My mother-in-law had passed away from cancer years ago, surviving for about three years after her diagnosis. During that time, Lyne’s career was taking off, which meant I was the one doing ninety percent of the caretaking. I burned the candle at both ends, running lab experiments by day and sleeping on a cot in the hospital ward by night. The night my mother-in-law passed away, I was five months pregnant with our son, managing the funeral arrangements entirely on my own. By the time Lyne finally rushed back, she had missed her mother’s final moments entirely. “Roy, please believe me,” his voice dropped, heavy with a decade of unspeakable regret. “Love doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about loving someone; learn how to use them.” “It took me ten years of blood and tears to understand this.” With tears in my eyes, I nodded slowly. He looked at me, a flicker of relief passing through his tired eyes, satisfied that I had finally taken his words to heart. Then, his image began to blur, the edges bleeding outward like ink on wet paper, fading until the screen went completely black. The account vanished along with him, as if it had never existed. But I knew that from this moment on, everything had changed. I would get a divorce. But absolutely not right now.

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1 That evening was the eighteenth time Mark refused to meet me at my dorm. Frustrated, I nudged his chest; he tapped my forehead. “My time’s valuable, Iris. Could’ve read two journal articles waiting for you.” He checked his watch. “Six minutes, twenty-six seconds late. Date ends six minutes early.” Later, Jenny grumbled, “Next time I’m telling him off—he can’t treat you like this.” I forced a smile. “That’s just Mark. Hates waiting.” Before our next date, I cut my finger bandaging it took longer. His text popped up: One minute late. Date canceled. My time’s too valuable. Gripping the bleeding cut, a sharp ache bloomed in my chest. Then Jenny sent a video: Mark stood outside Fiona’s dorm. “Sorry!” Fiona panted. He smiled, fanning her with his notebook. “No rush,” he murmured softly. “Only waited twenty minutes—caught up on reading.” A tear hit my screen, blurring his face. I wiped it, downloaded the major transfer form, submitted it, then applied for the university’s confidential wilderness expedition. At the top of my chat with Jenny, the status flickered. Typing… then disappearing, then typing… again. Finally, her message popped up. I didn’t want to tell you this, but once when I was working my shift at the bistro downtown, I saw Mark sitting alone at a table. He waited for almost two hours. The food went completely cold. Fiona finally showed up, completely rushed, but he wasn’t angry at all. He just smiled. I remembered our second anniversary clearly. The restaurant had been backed up, and our main course took too long, pushing past the strict time slot he had allotted for our dinner. Without a word, Mark had stood up and walked out, leaving me sitting alone at the table with the bill. Jenny’s next text arrived: And another time at the amusement park, I happened to be standing right behind them in line for the famous Ferris wheel. The line took almost two hours. He spent the entire time fanning her and feeding her snacks. Mark loathed lines more than anything. I had begged him a dozen times to go on that very Ferris wheel with me, but he had dismissed me coldly every single time. I used to think it was just his rigid personality. But it wasn’t. He just didn’t want to bend for me. Seeing no reply, Jenny sent another message: Iris? Are you okay? My fingers trembled as I typed back: I’m fine. Thanks for telling me. I set the phone down, finalized my transfer application, and emailed it directly to our department advisor. Mark and Fiona were the golden students of our department, mentored closely by our dean. By their junior year, both had secured fast-track PhD offers. They were the acknowledged prodigies of the lab. Meanwhile, I had spent an entire grueling year retaking my college entrance exams just to get into the same university to stand by his side. My screen lit up with a message from Mark, accompanied by a screenshot of two movie tickets. Fiona’s having a rough day and wants to catch a movie. If you want to join, I’ll buy a third ticket. If he truly wanted me there, why hadn’t he just bought three to begin with? In our three-person group chat, Fiona sent a pleading emoji: Iris, please come with us? I really need a distraction. I typed back: I’m a bit tired. I’ll pass. Within seconds, Mark privately messaged me: Iris, stop being petty. I stared at the harsh letters on the screen. This isn’t on me, Mark wrote. Fiona has been practically living in the lab for two weeks. She’s exhausted. Is it really that hard for you to just be there for her and watch a movie? I squeezed my phone until my knuckles turned stark white. When my hand was bleeding, he hadn’t offered a single word of concern. But the moment Fiona mentioned a bad mood, he rearranged his entire day. Mark lived in his lab. To get him to agree to this movie date, I had begged him for a month. I had even created a color-coded schedule, planned down to the minute, promising I wouldn’t waste a single second of his precious time. Only Fiona’s exhaustion mattered. My boundaries were always labeled as moody tantrums. A bitter, burning ache rose in my throat. I typed out a slow, quiet reply: Don’t worry. It won’t happen again. He didn’t reply. I pushed the hurt down and buried myself in study guides for the transfer exam. Late in the evening, when my eyes were burning from fatigue, a message popped up in our group chat. Mark: Come down to the dining hall. I got you a gift. Despite everything, my heart betrayed me, skipping a beat. I practically ran down the stairs, arriving at the dining hall breathless. Mark stood there, shoving a massive, plush teddy bear into my arms before reaching out to pinch my cheek. “Do you like it?” Clutching the giant toy, my chest fluttered. Then Fiona slung an arm over my shoulder, playfully nudging my hip. “Mark and I entered that couple’s carrying contest on the campus plaza. We had to hold on for thirty minutes to win that thing! I am absolutely exhausted.” The smile froze on my face. A couple’s carrying contest? Where he had to hold her in his arms? Mark scoffed, though his eyes were warm. “You have no right to complain. I was the one carrying your entire weight.” “Hey, keeping my balance and holding on tight takes a lot of core strength too!” Fiona shot back, giggling. They fell into an easy, teasing banter, completely ignoring me as a cold shiver ran down my spine. Mark had always detested public displays of affection with me. Once, I had playfully hugged him from behind on campus, only for him to pull my hands away with a cold, disapproving scold. I tossed the plush bear onto the nearest table and turned on my heel. Mark stepped quickly to block my path, his brow furrowing. “What’s wrong with you? Don’t you like the bear?” Fiona stood frozen, looking worried. “Iris, did I say something wrong?” I shook my head and looked Mark dead in the eye. “Meet me outside my dorm building tomorrow morning. I have something to say to you.” Deep down, a pathetic, desperate spark of hope still flickered. If he just showed up, if he could change even a little, maybe I could forgive him. Mark sighed heavily. “If you have something to say, say it now. Waiting around is a massive waste of time.” Yet Jenny had told me he once waited outside Fiona’s lecture hall for three hours just to walk her home. Before I could speak, Mark’s phone buzzed. It was a call from their lab director. He patted my head, his sigh heavy with irritation. “Just be reasonable for once, okay?” He unlocked his bicycle. Fiona smoothly hopped onto the back rack, naturally wrapping her arms around his waist. “We have to run, Iris,” Fiona called out with a wave. “Get back safe!” In our two years of dating, Mark had never let me ride on his bike. He always told me it was too dangerous. Back in my room, the department advisor called. “Iris, you’re in your sophomore year. Are you absolutely certain about switching your major to Earth Sciences?” “Yes,” I whispered. “I’m sure.” During our first college entrance exams, my score had been fifty points lower than Mark’s. Against the wishes of my parents and teachers, I chose to retake the entire senior year. My classmates laughed at me, calling me a fool who was throwing her life away for a boy. The second year, I finally made it. I got into his university, his major. But all it brought me was incomprehensible coursework and a string of failed lab experiments. Mark would pinch the bridge of his nose, staring at my struggling data sheets with deep disappointment. “If only you had half of Fiona’s brains,” he would mutter. Silent tears fell onto my desk. I hung up the phone, logged into the university portal, and finalized the transfer. It was time to chase my own path. The next morning, a photo popped up in our group chat. It was a selfie of Fiona and Mark lying head-to-head on a narrow dorm bed. Fiona had added a tired emoji: We pulled an all-nighter in the lab and collapsed. Slept like logs! My gaze lingered on the jacket draped over Mark’s shoulders. It was the coat Fiona had worn the night before. A minute later, as if realizing how it looked, Fiona sent another text: Don’t worry, Iris! We’re basically siblings. We could share a bed for a year and nothing would ever happen! I remembered our only weekend trip together. Mark had insisted on booking a room with separate twin beds. When I teased him for being old-fashioned, his face had hardened as he lectured me about personal boundaries and principles. Sometimes, grief makes even breathing feel heavy. I didn’t reply. I simply tapped the button to leave the group chat. Within seconds, private notifications flooded my screen. Mark: Why did you leave the group? Fiona: Iris, what’s wrong? I picked up my phone and typed a brief response to both: Nothing. Exams are coming up and I need to focus. Fiona replied instantly: Oh, thank goodness! I was terrified you’d misinterpret the photo. Fiona had known how much I loved Mark since high school. When we entered college, she had promised to help me keep an eye on him, ensuring no other girls got too close. Yet she was the one who crossed every single line. Once my transfer was officially approved, I practically lived in the library. For days, I used exams as a shield to avoid them. When the finals finally ended, I was walking to the dining hall when Mark intercepted me. He blocked my path, staring down at me with cold fury. “Iris, what on earth are you doing?” I blinked, startled. “What?” “You know how hard Fiona worked for the President’s Scholarship. Why did you report her?” I gripped the textbooks against my chest, their sharp edges digging painfully into my palms. My throat tightened. “Did you actually see me report her?” “On the day of the scholarship posting, someone saw you walk into the advisor’s office. Right after you left, an anonymous reporting letter was submitted.” Mark’s expression grew colder. “The report contained details so specific that only someone close to her would know. Who else could it be?” His unwavering certainty sliced straight through my chest. Footsteps approached from behind. Fiona slipped between us, keeping her eyes carefully averted from mine. “Mark, stop. Whether Iris did it or not, I don’t want to pursue this anymore.” I don’t want to pursue this. How beautifully ambiguous. She wasn’t defending my innocence; she was playing the saint who graciously forgave my supposed betrayal. She turned to me, her voice dripping with sweet concern. “Iris, don’t take it to heart. Mark is just worried about me.” The air between us turned ice-cold. I blinked away the tears, my gaze turning dead silent. “Let’s break up, Mark.” Mark looked at me as if I had lost my mind. “Over a few words? Seriously?” “Yes. Over this.” Fiona gasped, looking shocked. “Iris, don’t do this in the heat of the moment!” I looked directly at her. “And as for you, we are no longer friends.” Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked away. We didn’t exchange a single word for the next few days. One afternoon, our class representative pulled me aside to hand over my official transfer slip. “Did you and Mark break up?” she whispered. I didn’t say a word, just gave a small nod. She winced. “People have been talking. Everyone’s seen him and Fiona lately. They eat lunch together every day and walk around the campus track every evening.” Walking around the track with Mark had always been a luxury I was denied. He always said walking was a waste of time, time better spent reading articles. “What transfer?” Mark’s voice cut in from behind us. I looked at him, my expression blank. “Nothing.” He reached out to take my hand, but I stepped back, letting his fingers grasp empty air. His brow furrowed. “You haven’t been to the lab in days. Are you abandoning your research, and your boyfriend?” I looked away. “We broke up, Mark.” Mark’s throat bobbed. He took a heavy step forward, forcing me to take half a step back. “Are you listening to those stupid campus rumors? Fiona is your best friend, and I am your boyfriend. You shouldn’t let cheap gossip get to you.” Gossip? Everyone in the department could see what was happening. If either of them had even an ounce of respect for boundaries, the rumors wouldn’t exist in the first place. A mocking smile touched my lips. Mark reached out and gave my hair a gentle, patronizing tug. “You’re always overthinking things.” His phone buzzed in his pocket. It was their professor. He answered, spoke briefly, and hung up. Looking back at me, he said, “You and Fiona haven’t hung out in a while. Once the lab project wraps up next Sunday, let’s all grab dinner.” With that, he turned and hurried off. There would be no next Sunday. My field research project had been approved, and my departure was set for three days from now. The next day, I went to the lab to pack up my personal belongings. As I reached the door, I saw Mark walking out, his arm casually draped over Fiona’s shoulder. Fiona called out to me, “Iris! Why haven’t you been coming to the lab lately?” My transfer had already been finalized in the system. I stared at his hand resting on her arm, then forced a flat smile. “I’ve been tired lately. I’m taking a break.” Mark gave a brief nod. “Good. Take some time to rest.” I returned to my room and began packing my bags. Just as I finished packing my suitcase, a message from Fiona flashed on my screen. Oh my god, Iris! You are literally the best friend ever! Mark told me you agreed to let me take first author on your research paper. Thank you so much! Next week’s dinner is on me! Below the text was a screenshot of the accepted journal paper. First Author: Fiona. Second Author: Iris. I had spent an entire year bleeding for this project. I had worked through migraines, ended up in the emergency room with acute gastritis from stress, and spent endless sleepless nights gathering that data. Fiona’s only contribution had been proofreading a few references. And Mark knew that better than anyone. I sat frozen in front of my desk, my mind completely blank. The next morning, I picked up my bags. Jenny hugged me tight, her eyes rimmed with red. “Stay safe out there.” I hugged her back, tears stinging my eyes. As I walked out toward the campus gates, a familiar laugh floated over from the path behind me. “Thanks to you, the paper got submitted smoothly,” Fiona’s voice giggled. “And these flowers are absolutely gorgeous. You have great taste.” “So, how are you going to thank me?” Mark’s voice replied, playful. Mark rode past me on his bicycle, Fiona sitting on the back, holding a massive, vibrant bouquet of flowers. Mark had severe allergic rhinitis. He had never bought me flowers, and had strictly forbidden me from bringing them anywhere near him. I didn’t look at them. I kept my eyes straight ahead, raised my hand, and hailed a taxi to the airport. Sitting in the airport terminal, my phone vibrated with a text from Mark. I need your help with an analysis in the lab. Get over here now. The boarding announcement echoed through the speakers. I stood up and smoothed my jacket. A second message popped up immediately: Where are you? Don’t make me wait. I typed out a final reply: You don’t have to wait for me ever again. Don’t look for me. I hit send, then blocked his number and every single one of his social media accounts. As the boarding call sounded again, I turned my back on the city and walked toward the gate.

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01 Everyone said I was crazy. Only Simon Carlo told me I was normal. He would sleep in the closet with me, wrap his arms around me and pull me out of the cold depths of the refrigerator when my mind fractured, and offer his own forearm for me to claw at when the urge to hurt myself became too loud to fight. Simon was my anchor in a pitch-black sea. Without him, I would have drowned long ago. But in the end, I ruined it all. He caught me in the most wretched, unforgivable lie. In our home, in our bed, he found me tangled up with another man. My anchor cut itself loose, drifting away into the dark, leaving no room for explanations. His friends threw parties, toasted to his freedom, celebrating that he had finally shaken off a psychopath and reclaimed his life. Years passed, and Simon became the powerful, wealthy CEO of Carlo Enterprises. When our paths crossed again, I was nothing but a ghost in the crowd. Holding his beautiful, radiant fiancée close, he cast a cold, indifferent glance over me, his lips curling into a cruel smirk. “Still breathing, I see. It seems he’s been taking good care of you.” My head throbbed, a violent buzzing ringing in my ears. I pulled my sleeves down to hide the jagged scars on my wrists, forcing my lips to stretch into a polite, empty smile. “Yes, I’m doing very well.” Simon’s eyes darkened at my words, but his voice remained dripping with mockery. “Fiona, I spent five years trying to cure you, and you got completely better after five years with him?” “Tell me, were you just faking it the whole time we were together?” My heart seemed to stop. I opened my mouth, but the words withered in my throat. The beautiful girl beside him looked at me with curiosity. “Simon, who is she?” “An ex.” “The one with the… mental issues?” “Yes,” Simon replied, his voice entirely flat. I remembered how I used to cling to him, whispering in a panic: “Am I too much? Am I annoying? Am I different from everyone else?” “Do you hate me? Do you think I’m a burden, a crazy person?” And Simon would wrap his arms around me so tightly I could barely breathe. “You’re not sick, Fiona. Why would I ever hate you?” “Just cling to me. Let me protect you for the rest of our lives, okay?” In those moments, I wanted him to hold me even tighter, to squeeze the very air from my lungs so I could die in his arms at the absolute peak of my happiness. But now, he could tell a stranger with complete indifference that I was just a crazy girl who faked her illness. Suddenly, their voices shattered into jagged fragments in my ears, sounding like static from a broken radio. It was too loud, too sharp. My hand twitched, wanting to cover my ears, but I forced my arms to stay frozen at my sides. The last thread of my fading sanity whispered that I needed my medication. Right now. I turned to run, but Simon stepped into my path, blocking me. His gaze was mocking, assessing. “What’s the rush? Don’t you want to catch up?” “Where’s Gavin Prescott? Call him. The four of us should have dinner together.” I shook my head violently, my eyes burning with a desperate pain. “No, Simon. I don’t want dinner. Just let me go.” My resistance only seemed to anger him. His expression turned dark and irritable. “Would you look at Gavin with those pathetic, pleading eyes?” “Save your cheap tricks, Fiona. My fiancée is standing right here.” The dark, suffocating tide of a panic attack was crashing over me. I couldn’t fight it off much longer. With hot tears stinging my eyes, I pleaded in a broken whisper, “I’m sorry, Simon. Please. I’m begging you, just let me go.” Simon froze, his grip on my arm slowly loosening. Like a prisoner granted a sudden reprieve, I bolted. Behind me, I heard his fiancée’s confused voice. “She’s so bizarre. It was just an invitation to dinner. Why did she react like that?” Simon pulled her close, his voice cold and detached. “She was never normal to begin with.” I blocked out their voices, running blindly until I rounded a quiet corner where they couldn’t see me. With trembling hands, I frantically dug the bottle of sedatives out of my bag. My fingers shook so violently that the cap popped off, and the pills spilled across the dirty pavement. I dropped to my knees, desperately grabbing two of them and swallowing them dry. Then, like a malfunctioning machine, I began picking up the remaining pills one by one, dropping them back into the bottle. By the fifteenth pill, the storm in my head began to quiet down. By the twenty-fourth pill, a pair of polished black leather shoes stepped into my line of sight. The heavy sole came down, grinding the remaining pills into a fine white powder against the concrete. I looked up, and my heart sank into a deeper, colder dark. Gavin Prescott stood over me, a cruel, mocking smirk playing on his lips. “Long time no see, little Fiona.” I wondered if two pills weren’t enough. Why was my body still shaking so violently? Maybe I should swallow the whole bottle. That would make me calm. Before I could lose myself in the spiral, Gavin grabbed me by the collar and slammed me hard against the brick wall. “When did they let you out? Why didn’t you call me?” The sharp impact against my back jolted me into a cold clarity. I glared at him, my eyes spitting venom. “Call you? So you could lock me up in that hellhole again?” Gavin let out a soft, amused chuckle, leaning in close until his breath brushed my cheek. “Relax. As long as you don’t try to stab me again, I’m willing to give you a chance to make it up to me.” He grabbed my hand, forcing my trembling fingers against the left side of his chest. “Feel that? The scar from where you stabbed me is still there. I chose not to have it surgically removed, just so I would always remember the pain you caused me.” The touch of the raised, jagged scar tissue beneath his shirt sent a shudder through my entire being. The final thread of my sanity was about to snap. I wanted to stab him again. I wanted my fingers to turn into claws so I could tear his heart out, kill him, and then end my own miserable life. After all, I had recently realized there was absolutely nothing left for me in this world. In the midst of my mental collapse, I suddenly met a dark, piercing gaze. Simon was standing a few feet away, his hands shoved in his pockets, watching us with pure disgust. “So that’s why you were in such a hurry to leave. You couldn’t wait to get back to your lover.” My heart stopped. I regretted not swallowing the entire bottle of pills. Gavin smirked, pulling me tightly against his side as he looked at Simon. “Now that you know, do you mind giving us some privacy?” Simon let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “You two really can’t control yourselves, can you? Don’t worry, I won’t interrupt your pathetic display.” With a look of utter revulsion, he turned and walked toward the restrooms. Gavin shrugged, turning back to me with a lazy smile. “Come on, Fiona. Let’s go back to my place and finish what we started five years ago…” I raised my knee and drove it violently between his legs. Gavin doubled over in pain, releasing his grip. I stumbled backward, my voice shaking with raw hatred. “If you ever touch me again, Gavin, I will kill you and myself. I don’t care if I live or die, but I know how much you value your pathetic life.” Without waiting for him to recover, I bolted into the ladies’ restroom. Gavin didn’t follow me inside. But I was too terrified to leave. I locked myself in a stall, waiting in the suffocating silence. In the quiet, Simon’s disgusted eyes flashed in my mind, looking exactly as they had five years ago. My thoughts began to splinter again. I clawed at the grout lines of the tiled wall, my fingers scraping against the rough surface. Two of my fingernails cracked and bled, but the physical pain felt distant, almost non-existent. Suddenly, a gentle knock sounded on the stall door. “Fiona? Are you in there?” It was Audrey Hall, the nurse who had cared for me during my years at the psychiatric facility. When I was discharged a few months ago, Audrey, knowing how difficult hereditary bipolar disorder was to manage and that I had no family left, had kindly taken me in. She said she felt a genuine connection with me during my lucid moments. Her voice acted like a soothing balm, pulling me back to reality. I unlocked the door and stepped out. Audrey let out a long sigh of relief, clutching her chest. “Why didn’t you answer your phone? I was worried sick.” I looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry, Audrey. I didn’t hear it.” Seeing my state, her anger melted into worry. She took my hands, immediately noticing the blood on my fingers. “Oh, sweetie… what happened?” I tried to force a casual smile. “I just ran into someone from my past.” “Was it… your ex?” Audrey asked hesitantly. I nodded, keeping the empty smile on my face. “Yes. He’s getting married. He looks very happy, and I’m glad for him.” Audrey gently wrapped a tissue around my bleeding fingers to stop the flow. “You don’t look glad, Fiona.” “Keeping everything bottled up like this isn’t going to help your recovery.” I shook my head, my resolve hardening. “No. If I let my mess spill into his life again, I really will lose my mind.” Audrey sighed, knowing it was useless to argue. She guided me out of the restroom. As we walked, she murmured, “Maybe you shouldn’t go to work tomorrow. I don’t feel good about this…” I squeezed her hand, trying to reassure her. “I’ll be fine. As long as I take my medication and avoid the people from my past, I won’t have another episode. Besides, I need to start earning my own keep. I can’t let you support me forever.” Audrey still looked anxious. “If you feel overwhelmed, just press speed dial one on your phone. I have your GPS tracker, and I’ll come get you immediately.” I nodded and promised I would. But my mind drifted back to Simon. He had once said those exact words to me. Back then, pressing one on my speed dial would connect me straight to him. But during my darkest nights in the hospital, when I could no longer bear the agony and dialed that number over and over, all I got was a cold, automated voice telling me the line had been disconnected. Simon was never coming to save me again. The next day, I forced myself to go to work. Because of my medical history, the only place that would hire me was a small, busy diner with lax management. Washing dishes and carrying trays was exhausting, but it was simple, mindless work that kept my hands busy. But I never expected to see Simon there. He looked incredibly out of place, dressed in a tailored suit, sitting on a cheap wooden chair at a sticky table. I watched him from afar, a wave of nostalgia washing over me. Years ago, when we were both broke, Simon would wear simple black t-shirts and cargo pants, fitting in perfectly at places like this. He would always wipe down the table and chairs before letting me sit, and use hot water to carefully clean my utensils. I used to hate eating, so he would patiently feed me bite by bite, coaxing me to swallow just a little more. I knew that back then, Simon was fighting with everything he had to keep me alive. But the Simon sitting here today probably wished I had died long ago. As if sensing my gaze, he suddenly turned his head and looked straight at me. His eyes were cold, indifferent, as if looking at a stranger who was about to take his order. “Service,” he called out. I squeezed my palms, forcing myself to remain calm as I walked over to his table. “What can I get for you, sir?” His associates hadn’t arrived yet, so he quietly ordered from the menu on his phone. I let out a quiet breath and turned to leave, but his mocking voice stopped me in my tracks. “I thought the Prescotts were drowning in cash. Why is Gavin letting his woman work as a waitress in a dump like this?” I kept my eyes on the floor. “His money has nothing to do with me.” Simon let out a harsh laugh. “Ah, I see. Five years later, and you’re still just his dirty little secret?” He suddenly stood up, towering over me and crowding me against the counter. His eyes were dark and predatory. “Are you tired of being his sidepiece for five years? Why don’t you come to me instead? I’ll pay you two thousand a month.” “After all, I still miss how desperately you used to cling to me.” Back then, my illness made me pathologically dependent on him. I would offer him my life, telling him I had nothing else to give, and that he could do whatever he wanted with me as long as he didn’t leave. Hearing those words back then would make Simon weep, pulling me into his arms and begging me never to say such things again. He didn’t want my life; he just wanted me to live, to stay with him forever. Now, those sacred, twisted vows had been forged into a weapon, which he was using to rip me apart. I tried to stay calm, to act like a normal person in front of him. But the clinking of glasses, the loud chatter of the customers, and the sizzling of the kitchen grill began to swell into a deafening roar in my head. My sanity slipped, and before I knew it, the loud slap of my hand against his cheek echoed through the diner. “You are a bastard, Simon,” I whispered. Simon touched his reddened cheek, a dark, twisted smile spreading across his face. “You have no right to judge me, Fiona.” “From beginning to end, you are the one who owes me.” That night, Simon was determined to make me pay. He kept calling me back to his table for trivial things, demanding items we didn’t have. When I finally brought out his order, he claimed he had never ordered it, deliberately sticking his foot out as I turned to leave. I tripped, crashing to the floor along with the hot plates and food. The manager rushed over, offering endless apologies, but Simon only offered a cold, mocking smile. “Honestly, manager, is your staff mentally stable? As a clinical therapist, I can tell her emotional state is highly volatile.” The manager shot me a suspicious, frustrated look. “That’s enough. Go home, Fiona. Don’t bother coming back tomorrow.” The only job I had managed to find was gone, ruined by Simon. I slowly got to my feet. Shards of broken ceramic had sliced into my knees, and my hands were blistered and red from the hot soup. But I felt no physical pain. I simply bowed to the manager in silence and walked out into the cold night. I wandered the dark streets aimlessly, a crushing wave of guilt and self-loathing swallowing me whole. I began to doubt my own reality. Was I really so broken that I had gotten the order wrong? Was my mind so unstable that I couldn’t even carry a simple tray? I was completely useless, a burden to everyone, especially to Audrey. Maybe it was time to just slip away. My existence was nothing but a source of pain and resentment. If I disappeared, everyone would finally be free. The toxic thoughts roared in my head, drowning out the sound of a blaring horn. A speeding car was rushing toward me, and in that fleeting second, the only thing I felt was a profound sense of relief. But before the impact could happen, a powerful arm yanked me backward, slamming my body into a familiar, solid chest. The cool, woody scent of his cologne hadn’t changed at all. But before I could even process the warmth, he shoved me away. Simon’s dark eyes were filled with disgust. “If you want to die, Fiona, don’t do it in front of me.” Back then, I had always wanted to die in front of him, so that his face would be the last thing I ever saw. Even during my darkest days in the psychiatric facility, that lingering thought was the only thing that kept me from going through with it. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I lowered my head and whispered, “I’m sorry.” I turned to walk away, but Simon grabbed my arm again, his tone mocking. “Did you have a fight with Gavin?” “Do you want me to call him? Maybe I can help you patch things up.” “After all, I was a highly effective prop in your little games five years ago.” He kept talking, dragging up the ghosts of our past, completely unaware that those memories were monsters waiting to tear my fragile sanity to shreds. “Stop it, Simon! Please, stop! Just let me go!” Tears streamed down my face as I began to beg him. A flash of raw pain crossed Simon’s eyes, his expression turning desperate and angry. “Do you really hate being near me that much?” Without another word, he scooped me up in his arms and threw me into the passenger seat of his car. I pressed myself against the window, my voice trembling. “Simon, where are you taking me?” His eyes were cold as he stared at the road ahead. “To the place you belong.” The car sped through the night, leaving the city lights behind as we drove toward the wealthy estates on the east side. My heart was beating so fast I felt sick. I looked at him helplessly. “Simon, please… I don’t want to ruin your marriage. I don’t want to be a mistress.” He let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “You think too highly of yourself, Fiona. Did you honestly think I wanted to keep you?” “No one can come between Madeline and me. Especially not someone as wretched as you.” So, he had completely moved on. That was good. Being loved by a broken person was exhausting; it was a ticking time bomb that would eventually destroy both of us. Simon had survived. But what about me? Why did I have to reappear in his life just to bring him more pain? I should have died long ago, dissolving into the rain that cools the hot summer nights. That was what I was meant to do. Having made up my mind, I turned to ask him to let me out so I could find a quiet place to end it. But the car had already come to a stop. Simon dragged me out of the passenger seat, pulling me toward the front door of a luxurious modern villa. He pressed the doorbell. After a long moment, the door swung open. Gavin Prescott stood there in a silk bathrobe, looking relaxed and arrogant. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of us. “Well, look what the wind blew in.” My pupils dilated in terror, and I instinctively tried to hide behind Simon. Simon let out a hollow laugh, though his arm tightened around me as he glared at Gavin. “You’re pretty pathetic, Gavin. The woman you keep can’t seem to stop throwing herself into other men’s arms.” Gavin smirked, entirely unbothered. “Well, maybe I’ve been spoiling her too much.” He reached out, grabbing my wrist and pulling me toward the doorway. “Come on, sweetheart. Stop making a scene outside. Come back home.” The touch of his hand made me violently ill. The memory of his deception and assault from five years ago flashed before my eyes, vivid and terrifying. I turned to Simon, my eyes pleading as I shook my head. “No, Simon… please. Don’t make me go with him.” Simon placed his hand on my back and gave me a firm push, sending me straight into Gavin’s arms. “Keep acting, Fiona. Did you really think I’d fall for your little show again?” “You and your lover make me sick.” As I was pushed away from his familiar warmth, the last of my safety shattered. My fractured mind began to shut down, blocking out the world. My eyes wandered around the entry hall, taking in the scene: The console table, the wallet, the keys, the designer cologne, and a pair of heavy, sharp gardening shears sitting on a tray of soil… Beside me, Gavin wrapped his arms around me, his mocking laughter echoing in my ears. “Hahaha…” “Simon Carlo… you really are the most pathetic fool I have ever met…” Simon’s brow furrowed. “What the hell are you talking about?” Before Gavin could answer, the wet, sickening sound of metal tearing through flesh cut through the air. Blood sprayed across the pristine entryway, a few warm drops splashing onto Simon’s cheek. He froze, his eyes widening in horror. Gavin stumbled backward, his hands desperately clutching his neck as blood gushed through his fingers. He stared at me in absolute shock. I pulled the heavy shears free and turned to look at Simon, a sweet, peaceful smile on my lips. “Simon…” “From now on, no one in this world will ever disgust you again.” Before he could move, I raised my hands and firmly covered his eyes. A second later, another hot spray of blood splashed across his face, heavier and warmer than the first. But my hands remained clamped tightly over his eyes, refusing to let go, stubbornly fulfilling his final command: “If you want to die, Fiona, don’t do it in front of me.”

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