Category: English

My daughter’s words before bed sent a chill down my spine. “At naptime, the teacher pats us, one by one. After she pats you to death, she puts you on your little bed.” I patiently tried to explain. “Honey, that’s just how she helps you fall asleep. Once you’re sleeping, she lays you down on your bed.” She nodded, though I wasn’t sure she understood. The next morning, a message appeared in the preschool parents’ group chat. It was from Lily Miller’s mother. She said that after her daughter fell asleep last night, she never woke up again. She was dead. I told myself it was just a tragic accident. But then, one by one, the children in my daughter’s class began to die in their sleep. And everyone finally realized this wasn’t an accident. It was a long-awaited, meticulously planned revenge. 1 My daughter, Joy, was curled up beside me, begging for one more story. I’d just finished Little Red Riding Hood, and I added my usual warning about strangers being wolves in disguise. “Okay, Mommy,” she chirped sweetly. I gently patted her back, urging her to sleep. “Mommy, my teacher pats us, too,” she said, her eyes suddenly snapping open. The abruptness of it startled me. Still, I kept my voice soft. “Does she pat you just like Mommy does?” Joy sat up and shook her head. “No. Before our afternoon nap, she holds each of us and pats us. After she pats you to death, she puts you on your little bed.” She described it with such vivid innocence. I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. My neighbor, a preschool teacher, used to tell me funny stories about the things kids say. I never thought I’d hear one from my own daughter. “Sweetheart,” I explained gently, “she’s just helping you fall asleep. When you’re sleeping, she puts you down for your nap. She’s not ‘patting you to death.’” She seemed to accept that, finally lying down to sleep. I stretched, ready to turn in myself. Before bed, I did my usual scroll through social media. I saw a new post from Joy’s homeroom teacher. It was just a single character: Today was the first day of school for the little ones. It must have been chaos. The number probably meant she’d survived day one. I was exhausted after a day with just one child; I couldn’t imagine handling twenty of them with only two other teachers. Feeling a pang of sympathy, I liked her post, scrolled a little more, and then turned off my phone, letting sleep take over. 2 The alarm blared the next morning. I scrambled to get Joy dressed and ready for school. Just as we were about to leave, I saw a notification from the parent group chat. Assuming it was a morning announcement from the teacher, I opened it. But it was a message from a parent listed as “Lily Miller’s Mom.” [My daughter came home yesterday saying she was sleepy. She didn’t even eat dinner, just went straight to bed. This morning, I couldn’t wake her up. I checked on her and… she wasn’t breathing. She’s gone.] My mind immediately flashed back to what Joy had said last night. Could she have been telling the truth? The group chat exploded. Parents flooded the chat with condolences, asking what had happened. Lily’s mom quickly sent a voice message. [My daughter has always been perfectly healthy. She was fine when I dropped her off yesterday. But when she came home, all she did was complain about being tired. Her father and I just thought she was worn out from her first day. We didn’t think anything of it.] [I never imagined she would just… pass away in her sleep. We just want to know what she ate at school. What happened? We need an explanation from the teachers!] Her voice was choked with sobs. As a mother, my heart broke for her. I sent a simple hug emoji. She replied with a quiet “thank you.” Finally, the homeroom teacher responded. [Mrs. Miller, what Lily ate and drank yesterday was the same as all the other children. She did not fall or injure herself in any way. If you require the school’s security footage, we are prepared to provide it.] The reply felt so cold, so devoid of empathy. A child in her class dies after her first day of school, and the teacher offers not a single word of comfort—just a clinical, defensive offer of surveillance footage, as if her only concern was deflecting blame. I was about to type something in support of Lily’s mom, but I saw the teacher had already removed her from the group. An official announcement immediately followed: [Group chat is for school-related discussions only. Please be mindful of this policy.] [Understood.] [Understood.] … The replies cascaded down the screen. I knew it was useless to say anything now, so I quietly added my own [Understood.] to the chain. We were running late. Pushing the tragedy of Lily Miller from my mind, I hurried Joy to the preschool. Her teacher was there to greet us. Joy clutched her hand, her lip trembling as she gave me a reluctant goodbye. I waved, promising I’d be the first one there to pick her up, offered the teacher a polite smile, and turned to leave. 3 Back home, I couldn’t settle. I kept checking the group chat, my stomach in knots. But it was silent. No one mentioned Lily again. It was just an accident, I told myself, over and over. A horrible, tragic accident. 4 I arrived at the preschool well before dismissal time, my anxiety getting the better of me. As I approached the school gates, I heard it: the sounds of a raw, heart-wrenching wail. The voice was familiar. It sounded like Lily’s mom from the voice message. I parked my scooter and moved closer. A group of people held a large banner that read: OUR DAUGHTER DIED AFTER ONE DAY AT THIS SCHOOL. WE DEMAND JUSTICE! It was Lily’s family. A crowd of onlookers was filming with their phones while school security guards tried to clear a path. “It’s dismissal time,” one of the guards pleaded. “You’re blocking the entrance for other parents. Please move to the side.” Other parents, anxious to retrieve their children, started to complain. “Come on, the teacher already said in the group chat that the school wasn’t responsible. Don’t hold the rest of us up.” Lily’s mom whipped her head around to face the parent who had spoken. I recognized her from her profile picture—it was Lisa Davis’s mom, the first one to reply “Understood” in the chat. “Easy for you to say,” Lily’s mom snarled, her eyes burning with hatred. “You have no compassion. Let’s see you say that when it’s your daughter who’s dead.” The venom in her gaze made my blood run cold. Joy’s words echoed in my head again. No, no, it can’t be. I pushed the thought away. Lily’s death was an accident. “How dare you say something so vile?” Lisa’s mom shrieked, her face turning crimson. “Just because your daughter had bad luck, you’re going to curse mine?” If another parent hadn’t held her back, I think she would have slapped her. I couldn’t stand to hear her talk like that. What mother could bear to hear her child spoken of so cruelly? Lily’s mom certainly couldn’t. She threw down her sign and lunged at Lisa’s mom. The other woman flinched, screaming for security. The scene descended into chaos. I didn’t want to be late picking up Joy, so I slipped past the commotion and into the school. I collected my daughter from her teacher, and we headed back out. The two mothers were still screaming at each other. Joy heard Lily’s name and whispered, “Mommy, was Lily the one the teacher patted to death?” My heart stopped. “Why do you say that, honey?” “Because she was the first one the teacher patted yesterday,” she answered, her face a mask of pure innocence. A horrifying impulse took over. I asked a second question. “Who was the second one?” Joy thought for a moment. “It was Lisa,” she said. Lisa. My eyes darted back to Lisa’s mom, still caught in the screaming match. I debated whether I should say something, try to warn her. But this wasn’t the time or place. “You have a good memory, sweetie,” I said, bending down to her level. “But let’s keep that our little secret, okay?” She nodded, and I put her on the back of my scooter, my mind racing as we drove home. 5 That night, after Joy was asleep, I found Lisa’s mom in the group chat and sent her a friend request. She accepted almost immediately. I relayed what my daughter had told me and asked if Lisa had seemed unusual when she got home. Her response was a voice message. I pressed play, and the first thing I heard was a string of curses directed at my own mother. She then proceeded to curse my entire family line, accusing me of teaming up with Lily’s mom to jinx her daughter. So much for trying to help. No good deed goes unpunished. Furious, I closed the chat and went to browse my social media feed. Coincidentally, Joy’s teacher had posted again tonight. Just a single character: Day two survived? A seed of doubt began to sprout. What if the numbers meant something else? But I had no proof, nothing to go on. I ignored the post and tried to put it out of my mind. But the next morning, another parent spoke up in the group chat. This time it was a father, Jake Thompson’s dad. [This is getting weird. My son came home yesterday just like Lily, saying he was exhausted. He fell asleep and never woke up. His mother and I found him this morning… he was already stiff.] [I’m starting to think there’s something seriously wrong with this school!] Panic erupted in the chat. [No way. This can’t be more than a coincidence, right?] [Don’t scaremonger. How could someone just kill children like that?] [But it’s too much of a coincidence.] It wasn’t Lisa. Did that mean Joy’s story was unrelated to these deaths? I hesitantly asked my daughter again, “Sweetie, are you sure Lisa was the second child the teacher put to sleep?” Joy looked at me with wide, confused eyes, trying to remember. I didn’t want to pressure her. I prayed it was all just a coincidence. Because if Joy’s story was true, she could be in danger too. But her next words filled me with absolute terror. “Miss Chen patted Lily first. But Miss Li patted Jake first. Then Miss Chen patted Lisa…” Two teachers. Patting children at the same time. The sequence was correct. First Lily, then Jake. Which meant the third would be… Lisa. But why? Why would the teachers do this? And what was I going to do about my daughter? 6 My hands trembled as I opened my chat with Lisa’s mom again. I stared at our conversation, my heart pounding. I couldn’t just stand by and let a little girl die. I typed out a message, connecting everything: what Joy had told me, the sequence of deaths, the teacher’s cryptic posts. I urged her to watch Lisa closely tonight. Based on what happened to Lily and Jake, Lisa would probably be exhausted. [Clara, I don’t know what I ever did to you, but why are you so obsessed with cursing my daughter?] Her voice message was practically a scream. She also sent a photo of her daughter sitting at the dinner table, drinking a glass of milk, looking perfectly fine. [Lily and Jake’s deaths were accidents! And the teacher’s posts are just numbers! You have a sick imagination. If you send me one more of these crazy messages, I swear I’ll forward our entire conversation to the teachers and let you explain your insane theories to them.] Lisa was fine? So Lily and Jake’s deaths really were accidents? Maybe I was just being paranoid. The last thing I wanted was to be singled out by the teachers and have Joy ostracized because of my overactive imagination. [No, no, please don’t!] I quickly sent a voice message back, pleading. [You’re right, it’s a misunderstanding. Just pretend I never said anything. There’s no need to involve the teachers.] It took her a long time to reply. [You know, Clara, I think you’re just way too sensitive. Guilty conscience got you on edge?] [Don’t you dare accuse me of anything!] I shot back. [I was just trying to be helpful because I didn’t want anything to happen to your daughter. Is it too much to ask for you to not bite my head off for it?] [Well, nothing’s wrong, so what are you so worked up about?] she replied dismissively. I quickly exited our chat and put my phone away. Joy tugged on my sleeve. “Mommy, why are you sweating so much?” I snapped back to reality, forcing a gentle smile as I stroked her cheek. “It’s nothing, sweetie. Mommy’s fine. Can I ask you something? Which number were you, when the teacher put you to sleep?” She tilted her head, looking adorable. “I was after Lisa! Miss Li held me and helped me sleep. She said I was a good girl!” That’s right. Every day, Joy would come home and tell me how wonderful all three teachers were, and how much they liked her. They didn’t seem like monsters who would harm innocent children. Besides, they had only known these kids for a few weeks. What reason could they possibly have to hate them enough to kill them? A wave of relief washed over me. 7 The next morning, as I walked Joy to the preschool, I heard another commotion near the entrance. I tightened my grip on her hand. As we got closer, I saw it was Lily’s mother and Jake’s father. They were demanding answers from the school. “Our children died at home after spending just one day here. I remember something like this happened at this very school over twenty years ago! This place must be haunted! We demand to speak to the director!” I couldn’t help but stop and watch. The director never appeared. Instead, she sent security guards to escort the two grieving parents inside. The entrance slowly returned to normal. I didn’t want to linger. I quickly handed Joy over to her teacher and went home. 8 Back home, I scrolled through the parent group chat to see what I’d missed. They’d been talking a lot. One parent brought up the incident from two decades ago. [Charlotte’s Dad]: You know, what if this place is actually haunted? [Charlotte’s Dad]: Yeah. I went to this preschool when I was a kid. A girl in one of the classes came home from school looking pale, went to sleep, and just never woke up. This was over 20 years ago. [Charlotte’s Dad]: At first, her family didn’t think much of it. The girl had a congenital heart condition, so they assumed that was the cause. [Charlotte’s Dad]: But then the next day, another girl from her class died the same way. And the day after, a third. That’s when the parents knew something was wrong and called the police. [Lisa’s Mom]: What happened then? [Charlotte’s Dad]: The story goes that the girls were all very pretty, and there was this rich little princess in their class who was jealous. During naptime, she would bully them, jumping up and down on them until their internal organs were crushed. That’s how they died. [Charlotte’s Dad]: But the girl’s family was wealthy. They bribed the director, and since there were no security cameras back then, she got away with it. They just transferred her to another school like nothing ever happened. A wave of shock and disgust filled the chat. Then, one mother asked: [What was that girl’s name? It wasn’t one of our teachers, was it?] [Charlotte’s Dad]: I think her last name started with a W. Her first name was Clara. [Lisa’s Mom]: That name sounds familiar… I feel like I’ve seen it somewhere…

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For twenty-five years, I’d been working to win over Bryan Croft. And he’d finally proposed. But on our wedding day, the one that got away came to crash it. “Bryan, you won! I’m divorcing him. Please… don’t get married.” I begged Bryan not to go, but he left me at the altar anyway. A cold, mechanical voice echoed in my mind. [MISSION FAILED. MALE LEAD WILL BE ERASED.] The next second, Bryan dropped dead in her arms. 1 Before the wedding, I had asked Bryan, half-joking, “If Lena showed up on our wedding day and asked you to leave with her, would you go?” He’d run his fingers through my hair, a faint, unreadable smile on his lips. “Don’t worry, Viv. She won’t come.” It sounded less like he was reassuring me and more like he was trying to convince himself. I couldn’t let it go. “But what if she did?” A flicker of hope, so fast I almost missed it, crossed his face before he smoothed it over with that gentle tone he always used to placate me. “You silly girl. Stop letting your imagination run wild.” He knew that all it took was a little softness from him, and I would surrender. But not this time. I didn’t fall silent as he expected. “Bryan, please. I’m begging you. No matter what happens at the ceremony, can we just… finish it? Can we please just get married?” His brow furrowed in annoyance. “Vivian, have you had enough? Lena is married! She is not going to crash our wedding, do you understand?” 2 I didn’t want to be this desperate, but I wanted to live. I was on a mission, you see. My first and only assignment: win over Bryan Croft and marry him. The task itself wasn’t that difficult. It never required him to love me, only that he marry me before he turned thirty. To make sure I succeeded, I was sent here when he was just five years old. Back then, Bryan wasn’t the titan of industry he would become. He was just the son of a housekeeper, living in the basement of the magnificent estate owned by Lena’s family. The System set me up with a similar identity—the daughter of another maid. And so, I grew up with him. We navigated the awkward, beautiful maze of our youth together. We’d meet at 5 a.m. to study, pushing each other, cheering each other on. We wore the same fifteen-dollar sneakers and shared dollar hot dogs from street carts. We were poor, but we were never ashamed. We were each other’s backbone. At twenty, we both got into one of the country’s most prestigious universities with top scores. The day the acceptance letters came, we stood on the athletic field as the sun melted into the horizon. The warm, golden light bathed everything around us as Bryan, his face flushed, took my hand. “Viv,” he’d whispered, “I’m so glad you exist in this world.” 3 Back then, I was glad, too. Glad that the boy I had to win over was this fearless, determined soul. But then Lena returned from her studies abroad, and everything changed. Her father donated a new wing to the university, and just like that, she was one of our classmates. She was a supernova—dazzling, wild, and free. She was the goddess in every guy’s dream. But among her legion of admirers, one was conspicuously absent: Bryan Croft, the student body president. So, from her very first day, Lena made it her mission to conquer him. If Bryan was a block of ice, Lena was a wildfire, hell-bent on melting him down. He despised her at first, seeing her as nothing more than a spoiled heiress who had never known a day of real hardship. He told her, more than once, that I was the one he cared for, that we shared a bond that could never be broken. But a princess like Lena doesn’t care about such things. Like a stubborn bull, she slowly, relentlessly plowed her way into the fields of his heart. 4 Day after day, Lena whispered poison in his ear, insisting that what we had was just friendship. “You and Vivian are just used to each other,” she’d say. “It’s the comfort of routine, not passion.” “It’s a childhood bond, Bryan. True love is about desire, about wanting.” “Holding her hand is probably like your left hand holding your right.” I tried to fight it, but our years of quiet understanding had become a placid lake, too calm to create new waves. The more we tried to prove her wrong, the more it felt like we were proving her right. Still, neither of us wanted to admit it, to break the fragile surface. Finally, Lena lost her patience. At the university’s anniversary gala, she grabbed a boy who had just confessed his feelings for her and kissed him, right there in front of everyone. That night, the volcano inside Bryan finally erupted. I saw him pin Lena against a wall in the shadows, savagely crushing his lips against hers. Lena had finally gotten what she wanted. And Bryan and I… we went back to being friends. 5 Later, Lena brought Bryan home to meet her family. It was the first time I ever saw her father, a famously composed man, lose his temper. It was also the first time I saw the shadow of shame in Bryan’s eyes. Her father’s opposition didn’t tear them apart; it only fanned the flames of their romance. He cut off Lena’s credit cards, but their love burned hotter. Within a month, all the money Bryan had saved from years of part-time jobs was gone. He even borrowed from me several times and, for the first time since high school, asked his mother for nearly three thousand dollars. This was the boy who, alongside me, had been living off scholarships since we were teenagers. Bryan’s mom called me, her voice trembling with worry, asking if he was in some kind of trouble. I had to lie, telling her he was launching a startup and needed capital. But I knew the truth. All that drama, all that money… was for a Chanel bag Lena had set her heart on. Their breakup, when it came, was ugly. Lena couldn’t understand why Bryan was so angry that she’d bought a pair of twelve-hundred-dollar heels. After all, she used to wear heels that cost nearly three thousand. Bryan clenched his jaw and said nothing. But I knew. He wasn’t breaking up with her because he’d stopped loving her. He was breaking up with her because he felt he didn’t deserve her. 6 Five years passed. The Sterling family’s empire began to show cracks, their great ship listing in treacherous waters. Meanwhile, Bryan’s startup, Horizon Tech, was becoming a rising star. Whispers started that the Sterlings were looking for a strategic marriage to save their company. Bryan, full of renewed hope, went to them, only to be slapped down by reality once more. Even a sinking ship like the Sterlings’ was still out of his league. In the end, Lena married Sterling’s youngest son. Bryan fell apart. He spent his nights lost in a drunken haze, a ghost haunting the city’s bars. I spent my days cleaning up the messes at his company and my nights dragging him home. Every time I saw him, his face flushed with alcohol, I was reminded of the boy on the athletic field, bathed in the sunset’s glow. A bitter ache filled my heart. Back then, he really was glad to have me, wasn’t he? 7 There were only two months left until Bryan’s thirtieth birthday. I’d given up all hope of completing my mission. News had just broken that Lena and the Sterling heir were on the rocks and a divorce was imminent. I’d already said my goodbyes to my mother, my bags packed for a trip around the world. And then, Bryan got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. After all those years of waiting, to finally have my wish granted… to say I wasn’t happy would be a lie. But I couldn’t tell if I was happy because I would finally get to live, or because I would finally be with him. In the days leading up to the wedding, I asked him again and again if he was sure, if he truly wanted to marry me. Each time, his answer was a firm “yes.” Only when I brought up Lena did he falter. He couldn’t even bring himself to lie. But by then, I realized I didn’t care as much as I thought. As long as the wedding happened, my mission would be complete. 8 Throughout the entire ceremony, my heart was in my throat, terrified that something would go wrong. Bryan was just as distracted, though his eyes held a flicker of anticipation, as if he were waiting for a different show to start. And then, just as we were about to exchange rings, Lena appeared. It was like watching a butcher’s cleaver, raised high for an eternity, finally fall. And strangely, a sense of relief washed over me. “Bryan, you won!” she cried, her voice echoing through the silent hall. “I’m divorcing him. Please… don’t get married.” For the sake of my own life, I made one last, desperate attempt. I clutched the sleeve of his tuxedo. “Bryan, please, don’t go. Don’t you remember what you promised me?” I was so close. So close to survival. His face was a mask of apology, but he gently pried my fingers from his sleeve and walked toward his past, toward Lena. “I’m sorry, Viv.” “The truth is… this wedding was a gamble. Lena told me a divorced woman like her didn’t deserve me. So I thought… maybe if I was divorced too, she wouldn’t feel so insecure.” “And you… you’re my best friend. I figured you were the only one who would help me with something like this.” I stared coldly at the man I had spent twenty-five years of my life beside, and I found I had nothing left to say. System, I thought, my voice flat, I’m abandoning the mission. [Are you sure?] I’m sure. [MISSION FAILED. MALE LEAD WILL BE ERASED!] What? The System’s voice screeched in my mind, but before I could process it, Bryan’s eyes went vacant, and he collapsed into Lena’s arms. 9 Lena had no idea she was holding a dead man. She wrapped her arms around him, preening like a victorious peacock. “Oh, Bryan,” she cooed, her voice triumphant. “I knew it. I knew if I came back, you’d be waiting for me.” She tilted her head to kiss him, but her dark eyes locked onto mine over his shoulder, filled with contempt and provocation. I knew she was savoring this moment. In her world, Bryan was her devoted dog, and I was his. For years, she had carried an air of effortless superiority around me. But you’re kissing a corpse now, Lena. 10 At that moment, the single table of guests—Bryan’s hand-picked friends—erupted into whistles and applause. Someone even set off a party popper. Bryan must have anticipated Lena crashing the wedding. To protect her reputation as a married woman, he had only invited his closest circle, the ones who knew every sordid detail of their affair. As for me, I was so afraid something would go wrong, so terrified my mother might see me die on my wedding day, that I hadn’t invited her. The only guest on my side was my lawyer. He was currently recording the whole “epic reunion” on his phone. My original plan was that if the mission failed and I died, he would immediately leak the story to every major news outlet. I’d even written the headlines for them. Jilted Bride Literally Dies of a Broken Heart as Groom Flees with Married Mistress. I never imagined… that Bryan would be the one to die. 11 Lena held her kiss for a long moment before she finally realized the cold, gray stillness of Bryan’s face. A primal panic seized her, and she shoved him away. With a sickening thud, Bryan’s body fell rigidly to the marble floor, the back of his head cracking against the hard surface. Blood began to pool around him, a spreading halo of crimson. The System’s voice, cool and detached, returned. [Well, now he’s definitely dead.] Just then, I saw it—a shimmering, translucent form slowly rising from his body. It was Bryan’s soul. He stared in disbelief at the corpse on the floor… and then at Lena, who was now bent over, retching in horror. 12 Chaos erupted. Someone called an ambulance. Someone else started clumsy CPR. I, still in my wedding dress, walked calmly to Bryan’s body and knelt beside it, a silent sentinel. His ghost drifted near me. Seeing my dry eyes, his face contorted with anger. “Vivian, I’m dying, and you can’t even shed a single tear?” he sneered. “So much for twenty-five years of friendship. It’s all so cheap… When I wake up, we’re done.” I acted as if I couldn’t see or hear him, my expression a blank mask. Meanwhile, after her bout of vomiting, Lena composed herself. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks in perfect, glistening trails. A picture of heartbreak. Seeing her cry, Bryan’s ghostly expression softened. “Lena must be devastated,” he murmured. “How will she ever go on without me?” 13 A sharp ring cut through the air. Lena fumbled for her phone, her hand trembling as she answered. A man’s commanding voice was faintly audible. “I thought you wanted a divorce. I’m at the courthouse now…” A flash of panic crossed Lena’s pale face. She took a few steps away from the scene. Bryan’s ghost froze, instinctively reaching for her hand, only for his to pass right through. Lena lowered her voice, the tears vanishing. “Sterling, I’m sorry! I don’t want a divorce anymore… I only said that to make you angry, to make you jealous.” Hearing this, Bryan stared at the woman he had worshipped, his ghostly face a canvas of utter disbelief. How could those words come from her mouth? It couldn’t be. She must have her reasons. He desperately tried to grab her as she walked away, his form passing through hers again and again. “Lena, please, don’t go! Look back at me… I’m dying…” When he couldn’t stop her, he tried to follow, but an invisible barrier blocked his path. Bryan’s soul was tethered to me. All he could do was watch, helpless, as Lena fled the hotel. 14 The garden hotel Bryan had chosen was remote, and the ambulance took a full twenty minutes to arrive. As his body was loaded onto the gurney, his so-called friends all suddenly had “urgent business” to attend to and made their excuses. “Hey, sis-in-law,” one of them said, the man Bryan considered his best friend. “Call me if you need anything at the hospital. We’re family, after all.” I didn’t respond. He awkwardly shut the ambulance door. On the way to the hospital, Bryan’s ghost was silent. Perhaps even he was shocked by the faithlessness of the friends who had once hung on his every word. I closed my eyes and summoned the System. System, why was Bryan the one who was erased? [The name of this system is: Blame Others More, Reflect on Yourself Less.] [You worked diligently for twenty-five years and failed to win him over. Clearly, the problem was with him. So, he got erased.] I gritted my teeth. You couldn’t have told me that sooner? The System scoffed. [You never asked.] Your name really suits you. 15 At the hospital, after a flurry of activity, the doctors pronounced Bryan dead. His soul was still frantically trying to re-enter his body, crying and screaming, a whirlwind of denial, before he finally, slowly, accepted the truth. I took his body to the funeral home. I sent out notices to a few close family and friends, informing them of the funeral the next day. Once everything was arranged, I called my mom. “Mom, I’m going to visit Bryan’s mother today. Do you want to come with me?” Her voice was laced with confusion. “But it’s only the 10th. Don’t you usually visit her on the 15th of every month?” Hearing this, Bryan’s ghost flinched. “Viv… I didn’t know you visited my mom every month.” I paused. “Mom, I have to tell you something. Please, prepare yourself… Bryan is dead.” 16 My mother and Bryan’s were best friends back when they worked as maids for the Sterlings. Bryan’s mom had always doted on me, and my mom had treated Bryan like her own son. When we were little, classmates used to mock us for not having fathers. I remember smiling and telling him, “It’s okay, Bryan. We may not have dads, but we have two moms.” As we grew closer, our mothers were overjoyed. In their minds, the four of us were already a family. On the way to the nursing home, my mom couldn’t stop wiping her tears. Bryan’s soul sat in the back seat, his eyes red, lost in thought.

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After seven years together, my boyfriend handed me an invitation to his wedding. The bride wasn’t me. He said it was just a green card marriage for his one true love and told me to be understanding. So I smiled, wished him well, and made one phone call to his biggest rival. He was about to understand that the woman he betrayed was the same woman who could destroy him. 1 It was three in the morning when my boyfriend, Liam, started passing out wedding invitations in the VIP section of the club. When he slid one across the polished table to me, a sharp-eyed friend of ours immediately started laughing. “The bride gets an invitation too? You two are something else, keeping the joke going right to the end.” But the laughter died the second they opened the card and saw the photo inside. The smiles froze on their faces. Because everyone in that room knew, with a sudden, sickening clarity, that the woman getting married to my boyfriend wasn’t me. It was Claire. His Claire. The one that got away and then came back. I, however, wasn’t surprised at all. I smiled, pulled a crisp twenty-dollar bill from my purse, and tucked it into his hand. “I don’t think I can make the wedding, but this is for you. A little something for the happy couple.” I bit down on the word “happy,” letting it hang in the air. Then, under the stunned gazes of our friends, I turned and walked away. Liam scrambled after me, his explanation a weightless whisper in the hallway. “Ava, don’t overthink this. It’s just a piece of paper.” “It’s for Claire’s green card,” he continued, as if that explained everything. “It’s the fastest way for her to get her status sorted out. As soon as it’s approved, I’ll divorce her and we can get married. I promise.” He added, as a final, pathetic flourish, “And hey, to show you there are no hard feelings, Claire picked out a car for you herself!” When I just gave him a flat, emotionless nod, he seemed satisfied and headed back to his party. He didn’t know. He had no idea that I was done believing in his so-called promises. If his heart wasn’t with me, then I was done pouring mine out for him. I pulled out my phone, my fingers steady, and dialed the CEO of our industry’s leading competitor. My voice was firm. “I’m accepting your offer,” I said. “I’m ready to come aboard, and I’ll be bringing all of my proprietary research with me.” The first thing I saw when I walked into the office the next morning was the car from Claire. A pink beach cruiser bicycle was leaning against my desk, a ridiculous satin bow tied to its handlebars. A few colleagues were gathered around it, whispering. Their conversation stopped when they saw me, their faces a mixture of pity and poorly concealed amusement. “So that’s the gift from Claire? How… thoughtful.” “Shh, she’s here.” Expressionless, I walked over, pushed the bicycle into a corner, and didn’t give it a second glance. My phone rang. Liam. I answered to the immediate buzz of his irritation. “Why’d it take you so long to pick up? Are you still upset about the green card thing? God, Ava, can’t you be a little less small-minded and see the big picture for once?” “It’s a formality, a piece of paperwork so Claire can build a life here. Don’t we have enough trust between us for you to understand that?” I said nothing. He paused, then softened his tone, the way he always did when he was manipulating me. “Look, I know this is hard. But you know Claire is like a sister to me. I can’t just stand by and watch her struggle, can I?” “You’ve always been the one who gets me, Ava. You’ll understand this time, too. Right?” He was worried about her struggling, but not about my heart breaking? And besides, what kind of company needed its CEO to stage a sham marriage to retain a “talent” who barely had a high school diploma? It was just another excuse born from his blatant favoritism for Claire. I was too tired to argue. I just grunted an “Mm-hmm.” “One more thing,” he said, his voice all business now. “That project Claire’s been having trouble with? I need you to fix it. I want a solution on my desk by the end of the day. It’s your responsibility, so don’t disappoint me.” A cold, bitter laugh rose in my throat. So that was the real reason for this call. I was supposed to clean up Claire’s mess. Again. It was his pattern. He protected her at every turn, burying her mistakes. When she got drunk and started a fight with a client, he paid for the damages out of his own pocket to make sure she didn’t face any consequences. This particular project was my baby. I had spent a month flying back and forth, catering to the client’s every bizarre demand to land that contract. The moment the ink was dry, he’d said, “We’re all one team here,” and handed the lead position to Claire. Now she’d assaulted the client, and the punishment fell on me for “failing to protect her.” And he wanted me to go back and salvage it? The audacity was breathtaking. Everything was for Claire. Even the one time he finally, miraculously agreed to marry me was a lie, a means to get a green card for Claire. We had been together for seven years. Seven years of me asking, and him refusing. First, it was “we just graduated, we need to focus on our careers.” I understood. Then, we started the company together. It grew fast. “Let’s wait until after the IPO,” he’d said. I understood. Later, the company was a top-five player in the industry, the IPO was a roaring success, and our friends from college had kids in elementary school. I thought, this has to be it. When I brought it up, he accused me of being conventional, of not understanding him. “Aren’t we fine the way we are? Why do you need a piece of paper to tie me down?” An hour after that conversation, he sent me to the airport to pick up Claire, who had just moved to New York. In the two months since she arrived, he had held our relationship hostage, threatened me with its demise, exactly 76 times. And with each of those 76 threats, he made it painfully clear to everyone who his heart truly belonged to. The way my team looked at me shifted from respect to a kind of morbid curiosity. His parents’ warmth toward me chilled into indifference. My friends started dropping hints, gently nudging me to wake up. They were right. I needed to wake up. I was clinging to seven years of history, but he was only clinging to Claire. Hearing no argument from me on the phone, Liam assumed I’d caved, that the matter was settled. “Don’t worry,” he cooed, “as soon as Claire’s papers are finalized, I’ll take you straight to City Hall. We’ll have our wedding. Okay?” “By the way, you saw the bike Claire got you, right? Isn’t it great? She’s so thoughtful. You should try to be more accommodating to her, you know? Don’t let people think you’re petty.” A humorless smile touched my lips. He couldn’t go three sentences without mentioning his precious Claire. While I was pulling all-nighters for the company, he and Claire were having candlelit dinners at Michelin-star restaurants, with her posting on Instagram about his “romantic soul.” While I was taking care of his sick father, he and Claire were skiing in Aspen, captioning their photos with “the brave get to enjoy the world first.” He was enjoying it, alright, while I was the one carrying all the weight. And still, in his eyes, I could never measure up to her. Before I could reply, I heard her voice in the background, a sweet, cloying sound. “Liam, honey, come on! The clerk’s office closes for lunch soon!” “Gotta go,” Liam said hurriedly. “Don’t forget to handle that project.” Then he hung up. My hand tightened around my phone. He didn’t even have another second to spare for me. Two minutes later, an @everyone notification popped up in the company’s general Slack channel. I clicked on it. A message, in bold red font, filled my screen: 【HUGE NEWS!】A massive congratulations to our very own Claire Miller and CEO Liam Carter on tying the knot today! A match made in heaven! We wish the happy couple a lifetime of love and joy! Beneath it was a photo. Claire, dressed in a crisp white pantsuit, had Liam wrapped in her arms, her head tilted down to kiss him. He was leaning back, eyes closed, a blissful smile playing on his lips, holding up two bright red marriage certificates for the camera. The backdrop was unmistakably the vow stage at the City Clerk’s office. The channel exploded. Claire’s sycophants were the first to react: “Congrats, Claire! Congrats, Mr. Carter! This is the best news our company has ever had!” Claire herself quickly followed up with a voice memo, her tone thick with smug triumph. “Aw, you guys, thank you! Liam and I wanted to keep it low-key, but he insisted we share our joy with our corporate family. Dinner on us soon!” The head of HR chimed in instantly. “So generous, Claire! This finally puts all those nasty rumors about Mr. Carter’s relationship status to bed. I guess some people will have to learn their place now.” He punctuated the message with a winking-face emoji. I had no intention of engaging, but they weren’t about to let me off the hook. One of Claire’s assistants tagged me directly. “@Ava Chen, you agree, right? As a company veteran, shouldn’t you be the first to congratulate our CEO and his beautiful bride?” The moment that message appeared, I could feel the eyes of everyone in the open-plan office drift toward me, feigning nonchalance as they stared at their phones. Before I could even react, Claire replied to the thread. “Guys, don’t do that. Let’s not make this awkward for Ava. She’s probably not having a great day. We shouldn’t force her.” It was a masterful move, pretending to defend me while twisting the knife, confirming for everyone that I was the woman who had been dumped. And Liam? He posted a single, sterile sentence: “Thank you, everyone. Please return to your work. All project approvals will be handled by our new Chief Operating Officer, Claire Carter, for the time being.” His silence on the matter of me was the loudest confirmation of all. It was the most brutal kind of dismissal. I was just a tool. A useful, disposable tool. I calmly navigated away from the Slack channel, opened my HR portal, and digitally signed my own severance papers. 2 That evening, I took a cab to Liam’s parents’ house. My car, of course, had been driven off by Liam. The suburban house in front of me was one I knew well. I’d drained my savings to buy it outright years ago, dreaming it would be our marital home. Liam had complained it was too far from the office, so he moved his parents in from out of state and had me buy another condo downtown. The joke was on me. He still lived in this house with them. The downtown condo sat empty—he never let me move in—while I rented a small studio apartment near the office. For the convenience of working late, he’d said. Now that I was leaving him, I felt I owed his parents a face-to-face explanation. With that thought, I took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. His mother opened the door. The smile on her face vanished when she saw me. “Ava. Isn’t it a busy time at the company? What brings you all the way out here?” Before I could answer, she turned and walked back inside, muttering just loud enough for me to hear, “You know, Claire is such a thoughtful girl. She just got here, and she brought us such expensive gifts. And you? You’ve been with Liam all these years and you show up empty-handed.” I froze. Just last week, I’d had a friend bring back a top-of-the-line set of golf clubs from Scotland for his father, and a custom-made silk scarf for his mother. How had those become Claire’s gifts? I stepped into the living room and saw his dad on the sofa, lovingly polishing one of the very golf clubs I’d given him. “Mrs. Carter,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “Those clubs, and the scarf… I had a friend bring them for you. Didn’t Liam tell you?” His father shot me a cold glare. “That’s enough. No more excuses. Claire already told us they were a special welcome gift from her.” “Ava,” he said, his voice dripping with disappointment. “How could you try to steal credit from a younger girl like that? Just to make yourself look good?” His mother, who had been about to get me a glass of water, set the pitcher down and walked back over, shaking her head at me. I looked at them, incredulous. In my own house, I was the unwelcome guest. Just then, the front door opened, and the sound of Liam and Claire’s laughter filled the entryway. “Mom, Dad, we’re home!” Liam had his arm around Claire’s waist. They walked in, beaming. When Claire saw me, her smile faltered for a second before her eyes welled up with tears. She shrank back, hiding behind Liam like a frightened child. The moment Liam’s parents saw her reaction, their faces hardened. His father slammed the golf club down on the coffee table with a loud crack. “Liam, have you been letting her bully Claire? I’m telling you, I watched that girl grow up. She’s like a daughter to me. Don’t you dare push her around!” He pointed the club at me. “You said you bought this? Fine, take it back. We don’t want it. And while you’re at it, get out of my house.” His mother quickly added, “Exactly! Claire is all alone in this big city. For her to think of buying us such lovely gifts… it shows her character. And you? You try to take the credit with a single sentence. How can we ever trust you to marry our son?” This was all the encouragement Claire needed. Her performance began. With tears streaming down her face, she choked out, “It’s all my fault. I never should have bought those things. Ava, please don’t be angry with them. It’s all my fault.” “I must be in your way, taking up a space that belongs to you. Maybe it’s best if I just leave New York tomorrow.” Liam instinctively pulled her into a protective embrace. “Claire, you don’t have to apologize to her. She’s just being petty and jealous. She can’t stand to see anyone else be happy.” My hands were shaking with rage. I stared at him. “Liam. Tell me the truth. Who bought those gifts?” He turned to me, his face a cold mask. “Ava, have you made enough of a scene? Claire bought them. End of story.” “I’m warning you,” he continued, his voice low and menacing, “my parents aren’t in good health. If you upset them, you’ll have me to answer to.” He shot me a desperate, frantic look, a silent plea for me to just drop it. In that moment, I finally understood. I was, and always had been, the outsider. His father grunted, getting to his feet and issuing the final verdict. “We’re having a family discussion. You should leave now.” So that was it. I was the only one here who wasn’t family. A flicker of triumph flashed in Claire’s eyes. She feigned reluctance. “Oh, we shouldn’t… Ava is a guest, after all…” Liam’s father waved a dismissive hand. “Ava, I’m going to be blunt. I don’t think you’re good enough for my son.” “Look at Claire—a degree from a prestigious overseas university. And you? What skills do you have? If Liam wasn’t the CEO, you wouldn’t even have a job at that company.” “You’re out of your league with our family. Do yourself a favor, keep a little dignity, and leave my house immediately.” A high school dropout with a degree he bought for her online. The irony was suffocating. Without me, that company would have failed three times over. I laughed, a raw, bitter sound. “Your house? I bought this house. You’ve been living here, rent-free, for years, and now you have the nerve to tell me I’m not good enough for your son?” That struck a nerve. His father snatched a teacup from the table and hurled it to the floor. It shattered, sending sharp fragments flying. One piece sliced my arm, and I felt a warm trickle of blood. “The deed is in my son’s name!” he roared, his face purple with rage. “First the gifts, now the house! Is there anything you won’t claim is yours?” “Get out! Get out now or I’m calling the police!” I looked at the twisted faces of this family and knew there was no point in arguing further. I locked eyes with Liam, one last, long look. Then I turned and walked out. He frowned, a flicker of something—guilt? annoyance?—crossing his face. But he said nothing. He let me go. 3 Outside the house, the night air was cold against my face. I walked aimlessly down the quiet suburban street, realizing I had nowhere to go. Liam had the keys to the new condo, and I wasn’t about to go back and ask for them. After quitting my job, I’d already terminated the lease on my studio. It looked like I’d be sleeping in my car tonight. I walked to the spot where I always parked, but it was empty. My Range Rover was gone. Frowning, I pulled out my phone and dialed Liam. It rang for a long time before he finally picked up, his voice slurring slightly with irritation. “Ava, what do you want now? I thought you left.” I swallowed my anger. “Where is my car?” I asked, my voice cold. There was a pause. Then, in a tone of utter entitlement, he said, “Oh, the Range Rover? I gave it to Claire.” I fought the urge to throw my phone into the street. “On what authority did you give her my car?” “What do you mean, your car?” Liam’s voice rose, indignant. “Ava, can you stop being so possessive for one second? Claire is new to the city. She can’t be taking Ubers everywhere, can she? She needs it to meet with clients, to generate revenue for the company!” He wasn’t done. “Besides, didn’t she get you a new one?” “So what if she drives your fancy car for a while?!” A broken-down bicycle, in his mind, was a fair trade for my Range Rover. He continued, his words a cascade of casual cruelty. “Oh, and by the way, that downtown condo was just sitting empty, so I let Claire move in. It’s much more convenient than a hotel.” I finally snapped. “You wouldn’t dare! I bought that condo!” A sneer came through the phone. “You bought it? Ava, have you forgotten whose name is on the deed?” “I can let whoever I want live there. What are you going to do about it?” “I’ll tell you what,” he said, his voice turning hard. “My dad is furious right now. He was so angry he smashed that old tea set you kept in the cabinet. If you want to salvage this relationship, you’ll come back tomorrow with an identical one and apologize.” “Otherwise, we really are done.” He thought I’d come crawling back, just like all the other times. Not this time. My blood ran cold. “Liam,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Confirm something for me. The tea set. Was it in a black lacquered box?” “Yeah, that’s the one. Your precious little treasure. Now you’re worried? Maybe you should have thought about that before you started a fight.” “Liam… that was my father’s. It was his heirloom. You knew that, didn’t you?” For a brief second, his voice faltered. “I… I forgot. It’s just a tea set. Your dad’s been gone for years, Ava. It’s not important anymore.” “Stop trying to change the subject. Be here by noon tomorrow with an apology. Do you hear me?” I rubbed my temples, feeling something inside me shatter into a million irreparable pieces. “You want an identical one? That’s impossible.” “And you know what? Thank your idiot father for me. He finally made me see your whole family for what you truly are.” He exploded. “What did you just say? How dare you! After all the years I’ve given you, the sacrifices I’ve made, you have the audacity to talk to me like that?” “That’s it, we are done! And don’t bother coming to work tomorrow. You’re fired!” “Who do you think you are? Do you honestly believe anyone else would want you after me?” “You won’t get a single brick from those properties, or a single bolt from that car! You’ll leave with nothing!” He slammed the phone down. I stood on the silent street, taking a moment to let the calm wash over the rage. Seven years of my life. Two properties. All of my savings. I had given him everything, and he was leaving me with nothing. He had even let them destroy my father’s memory. But the game wasn’t over. I had prepared for this.

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After I started high school, my mom gave me a ten-thousand-dollar monthly allowance. My desk mate, consumed by envy, tricked me into swapping our souls. She ran towards the luxury town car, ecstatic. “A rich mommy! You’re all mine now!” I quietly slung her worn-out backpack over my shoulder, got on the back of her mom’s electric scooter, and let out a silent sigh of relief. Thank God. I’m finally free of my mother. 1. Just before the last bell, Marie Jensen handed me a smoothie. “It’s my first time buying you something. I saved up for two weeks to get the most expensive one. I hope you like it.” I hesitated for a moment before taking it politely, sipping it a couple of times. It was strawberry, my favorite. “Thanks, it’s really good.” The words had barely left my lips when a flash of white light blinded me. When I opened my eyes, I was staring at myself. We had swapped bodies. “Marie, you—” “Shh,” she hissed, her eyes gleaming with triumph from inside my body. “You’re Marie now. From today on, I’m Anna Sterling. And the rich mommy? She’s all mine.” 2. Staring at the ecstatic new me, it all clicked. A few weeks ago, she’d borrowed money for a smoothie and had accidentally seen the seven-figure balance in my bank account. She’d stared, counting the zeroes over and over. “Anna, how do you have so much money?” “My mom gives me ten thousand a month. It just adds up.” “Your mom… she’s so rich. What does she do?” “She owns a few companies.” “Wow, that’s incredible! You’re so lucky!” Marie had complained between sips. “My mom’s a stay-at-home mom, and she’s so cheap. She only gives me five dollars a day for lunch. That’s why I had to borrow from you.” I listened quietly, my eyes fixed on the smoothie in her hand. The truth was, I envied her. Because after I turned ten, I never had another smoothie. And I never tasted happiness again. 3. After that day, Marie constantly told me how sick she was of her mother, how much she wished she could be my mom’s daughter. I thought it was just a passing fantasy. I never imagined she would actually use a soul-swapping trick to steal her. “Just accept it, Anna. We can never switch back.” While I was still in shock, Marie—in my body—downed the rest of the doctored smoothie and sprinted towards the black town car that picked me up every day. Watching her giddy figure disappear, I slowly shouldered her old backpack, found her mom’s electric scooter in the crowd, and felt a wave of relief wash over me. Thank God. I’m finally free of my mother. 4. “Marie, honey, you look happy today. Did something good happen?” Marie’s mom handed me a helmet. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, just an old black jacket and worn-out sandals. She looked thin and tired, but her eyes, as she looked at me, were incredibly gentle. “Yeah. A problem I couldn’t solve just… figured itself out.” I fumbled with the helmet, getting the strap tangled. Seeing me struggle, her mom immediately parked the scooter and carefully adjusted it for me. She didn’t scold me, just affectionately tapped my nose. “You’re acting like a little kid. Hop on.” I got on the scooter, a strange warmth spreading from where her fingers had touched my nose. Ever since I was ten, I had lived on my own. My mother was always busy, flying all over the world. She never picked me up from school, never allowed me to waste time with something as frivolous as affection. We hadn’t touched in years. Our interactions were like those between a CEO and a subordinate: she gave orders, and I executed them. If I performed well, she transferred money. If I didn’t, there were punishments. The memory of those punishments sent an involuntary shiver down my spine, a fear so deep it felt etched into my bones. It’s okay, I told myself. You’re Marie now, not Anna. You’re not going to die. 5. Marie’s apartment was even smaller than I’d imagined. The living room was cluttered, with children’s books and toys piled on the sofa. Right, Marie had mentioned she had a little sister, not even three years old. “Marie, are you still mad at me?” Her mom placed a shoebox on the coffee table. “Those shoes you wanted? I scraped the money together and bought them for you. See? Are these the ones?” I opened the box. Inside was a pair of knock-off Loro Piana loafers. I knew they were fake because just last week, my mother had bought me the real ones, with strict instructions to wear them to school on the fifteenth of every month. I hated them, but I had numbly followed her command. Marie had noticed them that day, looked up the price, and had been in a foul mood for the rest of the day. “Marie? Did I buy the wrong ones?” Her mom’s gentle, hesitant question pulled me back. I looked into her hopeful eyes, and a warmth bloomed in my chest. “No, it’s just… a classmate has the same pair. Could I maybe pick a different style?” “Of course, sweetie. Here’s my phone. Add what you want to the cart. I’m just going to run next door and pick up your sister.” She handed me her phone and left. So, she had to leave her younger daughter with a neighbor just so she could pick up her older one. A girl Marie’s age could easily take the bus. She didn’t have to do this every day. Was it to save the two-dollar bus fare? I looked at her phone. It was an old model, three years out of date, with two cracks across the screen. The lock screen and wallpaper were both photos of Marie and her little sister. It was clear her mom was frugal with herself but lavished love on her children. How nice, I thought. A mom this good is finally mine. 6. Because I chose a cheaper pair of shoes and patiently read stories to my new little sister, Marie’s mom made a huge platter of sweet and sour pork to reward me. That night, for the first time, I ate what I wanted. I took as much as I wanted, not following the rigid, timed, and portioned meal plans my mother enforced. The perfectly balanced nutritional and body-sculpting meals of my adolescence were cold and clinical. Shrimp flown in from Argentina held none of a mother’s warmth; it couldn’t compare to the love cooked into the food in my bowl. “Marie, what’s wrong? Don’t you feel well?” “No, it’s just… Mom, your cooking is so delicious, I don’t want to finish it.” “Silly girl. If you like it, eat up. I’ll make more for you tomorrow.” She scraped the remaining pieces from the platter into my bowl, leaving none for herself. My eyes stung. The broken pieces of myself, shattered for so long, slowly began to mend. So this is what it felt like to be loved by a mother… Like a spring breeze, a winter sun. But just as I thought I could slowly pull myself out of hell in this warm and loving home, Marie’s mom got into a terrible fight with her husband. Over me. 7. Two in the morning. The sound of a key turning in the lock echoed from the living room. Marie’s mom slipped out of bed. I was a light sleeper and woke up just in time to hear a man’s angry voice from outside our door. “She’s a teenage girl! Isn’t five dollars enough for lunch? Why does she need more?” “Marie likes meat, and a single hot dish is almost five dollars now. Sometimes she needs to buy school supplies, too. It’s really not enough.” “If she’s so expensive, maybe she should just drop out and go sell herself!” Silence. My heart hammered against my ribs. Sell herself? He couldn’t mean… I couldn’t believe a father could say something so vile. “Joe, three years ago, you asked me to quit my job to have a second child. You promised five hundred a month for the household. Two years ago, you cut it to three-fifty. This year, you’re only giving me two hundred. Just give me the three-fifty, and I’ll cover the increase in her lunch money.” CRASH. The sound of something shattering. Her husband had lost it. “All you three do is ask for money! You couldn’t even give me a son! Why should I spend three-fifty a month on you? For that much, I could keep a girl on the side!” Another suffocating silence. I thought that after being humiliated like that, she would surely demand a divorce. But she said nothing. She just came back into the room, her shoulders slumped in defeat. I quickly shut my eyes. She didn’t notice I was awake as she tucked me in, then sat beside the bed, crying silently in the dark. In that moment, I finally understood why Marie had so desperately wanted a rich mother. 8. In the morning, Marie’s mom apologized, telling me the neighbor couldn’t watch my sister, so I’d have to take the bus. “I transferred twenty-two dollars to your account. Two for the bus, twenty for lunch.” “I thought it was fifteen…” Last night, her husband had refused to give more. “You’re a growing girl. You can’t skimp on food. An extra five dollars a day is nothing. I’ll cover it.” She gently stroked my face. “Marie, don’t deny yourself at school. Buy whatever you want to eat.” The calluses on her fingertips felt rough against my skin, a little itchy, a little painful. I couldn’t help but hug her. “Thank you, Mom.” She stiffened for a second, then gently patted my back. “You’re acting so different lately,” she murmured. I snapped back to reality. I hadn’t expected her to notice something was off so quickly. I practically fled the apartment, pulling out my phone once I was safely outside. A flood of messages from Marie popped up. 9. [The etiquette tutors just praised me. Said I’ve improved a lot.] [I got three ‘excellents’ in my public speaking class. You probably couldn’t even get one, right?] [My therapist is so cute, lol. She actually told me to ‘get more sunshine.’ My life is so perfect, even if it rained every day, I wouldn’t get wet.] [Guess what? The butler just told Mom I completed all my Tuesday objectives. She was so pleased, she bought me a couture dress on the spot.] A couture dress? What was so exciting about that? My closet was full of them. Those expensive, elaborate clothes were less comfortable than my school uniform. Wearing them meant I wasn’t Anna anymore; I was “Ms. Sterling’s daughter,” an accessory at some stuffy event where my expressions and emotions weren’t my own. “Marie, your mom couldn’t drive you again today?” A girl from the next class, Hailey, called out to me. Her sympathetic voice pulled me from my dark thoughts. I managed a smile. “Yeah, she has to look after my sister.” Hailey tilted her head and linked her arm through mine. “How come you’re not mad? I thought you hated your sister.” Hated her sister? Marie’s little sister was a soft, cuddly ball of fluff. When she looked at me with her big eyes and called me “sissy” in her tiny voice, my heart melted. Why would Marie hate her? Was it about money again? 10. On the bus, I scrolled through more of Marie’s messages. [Mom is coming back next week. I’m going to tell her I want to transfer to a private school and then study abroad.] [We were desk mates for three years, so I guess we have a connection. As long as you keep all my high school secrets, I can give you a nice payoff before I leave.] At midnight, she’d sent a photo of the glittering city skyline from her new bedroom window: [Jealous? Marie, this is the penthouse you’ll never reach, the life you’ll never have.] The last two messages were from five minutes ago: [The Princess has transferred you $100.] [Marie, I just saw you waiting for the bus. Did your mom ditch you for your sister again? How pathetic. Take a taxi. I’ll wait for you in class.] I accepted the money and turned off the screen. It seemed Marie was adapting to the role of “Anna Sterling” perfectly. She could stomach the bland nutritional meals, endure the stressful private tutoring sessions, and live in that empty, lifeless house. She was the perfect daughter my mother had always wanted—a robot who followed orders with precision. My mother must have been so pleased with her performance yesterday. Wait… A cold realization washed over me. I gripped my phone, my palm sweating with fear. Marie had made three fatal mistakes. 11. I made it to school just as the bell rang. As I put my bag down, Marie, who was scrolling through videos, glanced up. “You took the money. Why didn’t you get a taxi?” I frowned, snatched her—my—phone, and quickly closed the app. “Stop watching that. You’ll get in trouble.” “What trouble? It’s just a video.” She glared at me. “Give it back.” “All your social media is monitored. The house is full of cameras. She knows everything you do.” I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “You’ve made three fatal mistakes. With her personality, we’re both screwed.” “Mistakes? My performance last night was flawless. Even the butler didn’t suspect a thing. Who are you trying to scare?” “I’m not trying to scare you! Will you just listen to me—” “No! Marie, give me back my phone right now, or I’ll make you buy me a new one.” I was speechless. Suddenly, an arm reached over. Ryan Hunter, the class heartthrob Marie used to have a huge crush on, snatched the phone from my hand and presented it to her with a charming smile. “Anna, here’s your phone.” “Oh.” Marie took it without much enthusiasm and tossed it in her desk. Ryan lingered, blushing slightly. “Anna, everyone says you’re amazing at Go. Want to play a game after lunch?” “No, I’m busy.” She rejected him flatly, opening her English book without even glancing at her former crush. Ryan retreated awkwardly. I didn’t understand her reaction either. Just a few days ago, she was engineering “accidental” run-ins with him. Noticing my stare, Marie lifted her chin smugly. “I’m going to be the CEO of Aura Corp one day. Ryan Hunter is beneath me. To me, he’s just like you now—an insignificant grain of sand that will leave no trace on my life.” 12. I realized Marie truly saw herself as “Anna” now, and she was reveling in everything I had once despised. This was exactly what I wanted. As long as she could keep my mother fooled, we could both live the lives we desired. I tried multiple times that day to warn her that Seraphina Sterling was not the benevolent mother portrayed in the news, but a cold, ruthless monster. Marie was convinced I was just jealous and trying to drive a wedge between them. Finally, I gave up. I spent the entire afternoon writing down the one hundred and twenty-one house rules in a notebook and gave it to her. She barely glanced at it before tearing the pages to shreds. “I don’t believe you. This is just your pathetic attempt to get your life back.” “And even if it’s true, I don’t need your warnings. I’m confident I can win Mom’s approval.” “Maybe she’ll notice I’m a little different, but she’ll just think I’ve realized my mistakes and changed for the better. From now on, I’m going to be the perfect, obedient daughter.” “I’ve read your text history. I don’t get why you’d want a mother who’s just… around. I’m grateful that my mother is out there conquering the world. If she were like some stay-at-home mom, chained to her house and kids, I’d be living like a beggar, unable to even afford bus fare.” She wasn’t lying. Once, during a downpour, her mom forgot to transfer her bus fare, and she had to borrow two dollars from me. Just then, a message popped up on my phone: [Sweetie, I’m cleaning the neighbor’s house. Can you take the bus home? I made your favorite pork dumplings today. If you’re hungry when you get back, you can boil some.] Even though her mom had forgotten the bus fare again, a warmth spread through my chest. She had made dumplings just for me. 13. After school, Marie saw me heading for the bus stop and blocked my path. “Did your mom ditch you for your sister again? How pathetic. Here’s another hundred. Take a taxi.” She transferred the money without waiting for a reply and strode off toward the town car. I accepted the money, but I had no intention of taking a taxi. Marie’s family was struggling. Her mom was cleaning houses to make ends meet. I would save the money and give it to her. It was rush hour, and the bus was packed. People got on and off, but it remained crowded. I didn’t notice the man in the baseball cap who stood next to me for several stops. Until the driver slammed on the brakes. The passengers lurched forward, and the man fell against me, his hand landing on my chest. It didn’t feel like an accident. “Oh, it’s you, little lady. Sorry, lost my balance.” He seemed to know Marie and greeted me casually. I pressed my lips together and turned my back to him. I thought that would be the end of it, but then his hand snaked around my waist. “Hey, let your uncle here just steady himself, okay?” The hair on my arms stood on end. I grabbed his hand, my grip like steel. The taekwondo I had been practicing since I was a child finally came in handy. And I finally understood why Marie never wanted to take the bus. She must have been harassed by this creep before. That’s why she needed her mom to drive her every day. The moment her mom couldn’t, she was in danger again. But why hadn’t she told anyone? Why hadn’t she gone to the police? Three hours later, I had my answer. 14. It was nine o’clock by the time Marie’s mom picked me up from the police station. “Marie, go home and get cleaned up. I’ll go get your sister.” “Okay.” Her eyes were red and swollen, and a wave of guilt washed over me. I hadn’t been hurt—in fact, I’d knocked out two of the pervert’s teeth—but she kept blaming herself for not being there to pick me up. She had done her best, rushing to the station in her dirty apron, trying to stay calm and handle things rationally. But when the police said this was the man’s third offense, her composure had shattered. The gentle, soft-spoken woman had transformed into a raging lioness. She had grabbed the man by the hair, dragged him to the floor, and was about to smash a chair over his head before the officers intervened. During the ordeal, she had called her husband. His only response was: “You’re a disgrace. Get your asses home now.” I wasn’t surprised by his reaction anymore. What I didn’t expect was that the moment I walked through the door, he would charge at me and slap me across the face. “You little tramp! Always trying to seduce men! I told you to go back to the countryside and get married! Twenty thousand dollars, down the drain!” “You knocked out two of his teeth! I’m not paying a dime! You can sell yourself to pay for it! I can’t believe I’m stuck with three unlucky bitches like you!” He screamed at me, then, not satisfied, he unbuckled his belt. He didn’t care what had happened to his daughter. He only cared that she had embarrassed him. “Joe, are you crazy? It’s not her fault! That pervert was the one who assaulted our daughter!” At the critical moment, Marie’s mom threw herself in front of me. Joe just swung the belt, catching her across the face. “Useless hen! It’s all your fault for letting her go to high school! What’s the point of educating a girl? She just ends up acting like a whore!” My little sister started wailing. Marie’s mom stood there, trembling, all the fight she’d shown at the station gone. “Joe, that’s enough!” she finally managed to choke out. Her weak protest only fueled his rage. “What, Linda, you want a divorce? You willing to leave your precious little chicks? Don’t forget, you don’t have a penny to your name. The court will never give you the kids.” He raised the belt again, and she instinctively flinched, burying her head, silently enduring the abuse in front of her children rather than uttering the word “divorce.” 15. My taekwondo came in handy for the second time that day. I kicked Joe until he passed out. As I was about to deliver a more permanent blow, Marie’s mom wrapped her arms around me, holding me tight. “Marie, no! You’ll go to jail! Stop, please!” My little sister clung to my pant leg, sobbing, “Sissy, hug.” I didn’t want them to keep crying. I took a deep breath and stopped. Once the house was quiet and my sister was calm, her mom started to move toward Joe. I grabbed her arm. “Mom, can you please divorce him?” “Marie, you just focus on your studies. Don’t worry about grown-up problems.” She wiped her tears and wouldn’t meet my eyes. In that moment, I felt a profound disappointment. But then, I understood the real problem.

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My fiancé and I were a 90% genetic match. The problem was, Ramond Marsden was a rebel without a cause. At our engagement party, in front of everyone we knew, he toasted me with a smirk. “I’d marry any woman I actually desired before I’d ever chain myself to an animal who loses control and does nothing but grovel at my feet.” Later, as I was writhing on the floor, my mind shattering from another Psionic Overload, a call came through from the Central Registry. “Miss Vance? A new candidate, Mr. Ewing, has just been registered with a 100% Genetic Compatibility Index. Are you interested in transferring your match?” 1 In this enlightened age of freedom, Ramond Marsden was a genetic Luddite. He’d rather mainline Stabilizers than spend a single second near me when his own Overloads hit. A simple touch of his hand—that’s all it would take to soothe the storm in our minds. But he refused. Of course, Ramond was a Marsden. His family could afford to burn money on Stabilizers. I couldn’t. A single vial of the lowest D-Class Stabilizer cost 2,500 credits. Even with the state subsidy, it was 1,000. My salary was 10,000 a month. By the time I was twenty-three, my Overloads had escalated from once a month to three or four times. The cost was crushing me. I had no choice but to enter the Genetic Matching Program. For ordinary people like me, it was the only path. A D-Class Overload felt like someone was taking a hacksaw to the inside of your skull. The pain was unbearable. A high-compatibility partner was a godsend, a one-in-a-million lottery ticket. So when the system matched me with someone not only wealthy and handsome but also a high-index match, I thought I’d won the jackpot. It felt like a dream. It turned out to be a nightmare. Ramond despised me on sight. He made his position crystal clear at our first meeting in a sterile, overpriced cafe. His hands, gloved in soft leather, rested on the table. “If my family wasn’t so damn paranoid about my condition,” he’d said, his voice tight with irritation, “I would never have consented to this barbaric process.” His family, however, was adamant. They moved me into his penthouse apartment. To my surprise, Ramond agreed to that part. Given his initial hostility, I made myself as small as possible, a ghost in his opulent life. He was the one who crossed the line first. One night, he came home and collapsed, his body convulsing from a sudden Overload. Without a partner’s touch to regulate him, his condition had degraded. He’d jumped from a C-Class to a B-Class. 2 I came home from work to find him on the floor. The moment I knelt beside him, he lunged, pulling me down with him. “Help me,” he rasped, his voice raw with a desperation I’d never heard before. He buried his face against my neck, his skin burning against mine. The brief contact was electric, a jolt of pure, primal relief. It lasted only until his assistant arrived with a B-Class Stabilizer. I expected the proud, arrogant Ramond to be mortified by his lapse in control. Instead, he started seeking me out more. He slowly let his guard down, engaging me in conversation. He’d bring me small gifts—gourmet meals, books, things that wouldn’t make me feel indebted—and I started to see a different side of him. He developed a habit of sitting at the kitchen island while I cooked, talking about anything and everything. “Did you know,” he said one evening, his voice tinged with a strange nostalgia, “that in the Old World, people didn’t follow genetic imperatives? They just… fell in love. Emotion was enough. Genes didn’t chain them together.” Before the age of eighteen, Psionic Overloads are dormant. In that window of blissful ignorance, it’s easy to fall for anyone. A bitter smile twisted his lips. “My parents were like that. A love match. They defied everyone to be together. Then, when I was sixteen, my father found a mistress. A woman with a 74% GCI. When my mother found out, she couldn’t live with it. She ended her life.” That’s when I understood. Wealthy scions like Ramond, when matched with commoners, often kept them as something on the side. A living, breathing Stabilizer. Their real lives, their marriages, were reserved for alliances with families of equal standing. Some even had multiple matched partners. He looked so lost in that moment. I stood there, holding a tray, unsure of what to say. “No wonder you hate being near me.” His eyes met mine, and for a second, he seemed to see me, truly see me. Then the moment broke, and he flashed a brilliant smile. “Let’s not talk about that depressing stuff. What’s for dinner? It smells incredible.” From that day on, we became dinner companions. We talked for hours. To honor his beliefs, to prove our connection was more than just genetic, I never once asked him for comfort. Every time an Overload hit, I quietly excused myself and used a Stabilizer. After six months, my own condition worsened. My Overloads escalated to C-Class. Four D-Class vials couldn’t touch the pain of a C-Class event. A single C-Class Stabilizer cost twenty-five thousand credits. Even with the subsidy, it was my entire monthly salary. In my most naive, love-struck year, I took on every freelance job I could find to make ends meet. I never asked him for help. I wanted to protect his principles. 3 Perhaps he saw my sacrifice. He proposed. That night, I cried until I couldn’t breathe. He slid a diamond onto my finger. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you happy?” “This happiness,” I sobbed, “it feels like I fought a war for it.” We didn’t even embrace, but in that moment, I felt our souls were touching. That perfect happiness lasted less than twenty-four hours. The next evening, he threw a massive party to celebrate. I slipped away to the restroom, and when I came back, he was gone. A knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach as I saw the predatory glances other women were giving him. I searched the entire crowded penthouse before finally finding him in the back garden, talking with his friend, Marcus Thorne. I was about to call out his name when I heard him laugh. “I told her my mother was dead. She actually bought it.” Marcus lit a cigarette, the tip glowing in the twilight. “What happens when she finds out it’s all a lie and bolts?” “Let her,” Ramond scoffed. “I never liked her anyway. She’s the one who can’t leave me now. She hasn’t had a proper soothing in months. Her savings are gone, she can’t afford C-Class Stabilizers, and she’s probably drowning in debt. After investing so much, you think she’d just walk away?” He laughed again, a cruel, cutting sound. “I never would have broken my own rule if she hadn’t come home that night. The thought of having touched her makes my skin crawl. But since she’s so pathetically devoted, I’ll keep her around. It’s not like I can’t afford it.” Marcus chuckled. “Women from the lower sectors are all the same. So desperate. They think a high GCI means we’ll fall madly in love with them.” “My mother’s plan was brilliant, though,” Ramond said, the grin returning to his voice. “I tell her my mom died, and she actually feels sorry for me.” Marcus snorted with laughter and added his own twisted advice. “While she’s broke, convince her to quit her job. Then buy her a car or a condo in her name. Just make the down payment. You dole out the monthly installments. If you cut her off, she defaults. She’ll be so terrified of losing everything, she’ll do whatever you say.” The world tilted, the manicured hedges of the garden blurring into a nauseating green smear. It was all a trap. A meticulously crafted cage. He had used himself as bait, luring me in with kindness, feeding me a philosophy he never truly believed in, all to domesticate me. To turn me into another one of his possessions. The weight of it all—the debt, the pain, the crushing betrayal—crashed down on me. My Psionic Overload didn’t just escalate. It exploded. A B-Class Overload seized my body, turning my muscles to stone. The thud of my fall caught their attention. Ramond strolled over, a vision of casual cruelty. When he saw me on the ground, he doubled over with laughter. “Oops. I guess you heard that.” The pain was a living thing, a creature of pure agony devouring me from the inside out. I curled into a ball, unable to scream. My hand, acting on pure instinct, reached for him. He crouched down, propping his chin on his hand, a smile playing on his lips. “Helen, the way you beg… you look just like a stray dog.” Through the haze of pain, I noticed his hands. They were still sheathed in those damned gloves. I had never even seen the color of his skin. When the hatred peaked, a wild thought surfaced: endure it. Survive this, and maybe you can break free from the genetic curse altogether. How ironic. The thought was a weapon he himself had given me. As the pain reached its crescendo, something inside me broke. And then, there was peace. I remembered a terrible toothache from my childhood. How did I solve it? That’s right. Terrified of the pain, I’d ripped the loose tooth out myself. And in a fit of rage, I’d pulled out the one next to it, too, even though it wasn’t ready. Ramond was my rotten tooth. But this wasn’t like losing a baby tooth. If I gave him up, the chances of finding another high-index match were slim to none. A drop from 90% wasn’t a guarantee of 89%. It could be 50%, 30%, or nothing at all. 4 After an eternity, a raw, guttural scream tore from my throat. The party guests gathered around, a circle of curious, morbid faces. Someone started taking pictures. Ramond wrapped an arm around a stunning woman in a red dress. He raised his voice for all to hear. “I’d marry any woman I actually desired before I’d ever chain myself to an animal who loses control and does nothing but grovel at my feet.” For a moment, the world went silent. The clicks of the cameras, Ramond’s mocking laughter, it all faded into a dull roar. The starlight that once seemed to hold so much promise for me dimmed to ash. Marcus nudged my hand with the toe of his expensive shoe. “Hey. They say when the love dies, the genetic pull weakens. How’s that working out for you?” A sudden downpour began, the fat drops splattering against the stone patio. The rumble of thunder drowned out my choked sobs. The spectators scattered, seeking shelter. I slammed my head against the ground, again and again, trying to knock the pain out. My wrist-comm, detecting my critical state, automatically answered an incoming call. “Miss Vance? A new candidate, Mr. Ewing, has just been registered with a 100% Genetic Compatibility Index. Are you interested in transferring your match?” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. A holographic display flickered to life above my wrist-comm: CRITICAL ALERT: USER INCAPACITATED. AI ASSISTANT ‘HELEN’ WILL EXECUTE OPTIMAL DECISION. I heard my own voice, perfectly synthesized, speak from the device. “Yes. Transfer.” The AI swiftly signed the digital transfer request and dialed the new match. “Hello, is this Mr. Ewing? I am Helen Vance’s integrated AI assistant. She is experiencing a critical Psionic Overload and is incapacitated. As per the Genetic Matching Mandate, you are obligated to provide soothing assistance to your matched partner.” Unlike Ramond, this man’s voice was calm, a deep and steady baritone that seemed to absorb the chaos around me. “Miss Vance,” he said, and the words were a lifeline in the storm. “I’m on my way.” 5 Wave after wave of agony crashed over me. A strange thought surfaced, a desperate urge to expel the tormenting energy from my mind. It was a fantasy I’d had a thousand times during my Overloads, and it had never worked. But this time was different. I was floating. I looked down and saw my own body, lying still and pale on the wet stone, looking for all the world like a corpse. Above me, the sky was a bruised purple, and the rain passed right through my ethereal form. The garden lights, once blinding, were now soft and muted. Each raindrop in their glow was a thread of liquid silver. In the distance, under the eaves of the patio, the party guests whispered amongst themselves. Marcus ground out his cigarette under his heel. “You think she’s dead?” “If she is, she is,” Ramond said, his voice devoid of any emotion. “Plenty of people die from Overloads. We have no legal bond. I’m not responsible for her. She should have carried her Stabilizers.” “You have a soothing obligation,” Marcus reminded him. Ramond’s smile was a flash of white in the gloom. “An obligation, yes. But her condition was severe. And I’m a shy man, Marcus. I don’t care for public displays of affection. I hesitated for a moment, and well… she died. Who’s to say otherwise?” In that instant, a venomous thought took root in my mind. I wish he could feel this. The thought was the command. In the blink of an eye, I was standing beside him. I raised my hand and slapped the back of his head. “Agh!” He cried out, clutching his skull and stumbling to his knees. Marcus stared. “Stabilizer!” he yelled at the assistant. The assistant fumbled with a B-Class vial, rushing it to Ramond’s lips. But Ramond didn’t drink. He just pitched forward, unconscious. The assistant’s face went white. “Did he… did he just escalate?” Marcus shot him a furious glare. “Impossible! It takes fifty years for a natural escalation from B-Class to A-Class!” I looked down at my hands. They shimmered with a faint, iridescent light, like mother-of-pearl. “It actually worked.” Before I could process what was happening, the wail of sirens cut through the night. An ambulance had arrived. Marcus charged into the rain, grabbing the paramedic who was heading for me. “Forget her! We have an A-Class Overload here! He’s Ramond Marsden, the heir to the Marsden fortune. Save him first!” A-Class was the threshold. Any Overload of that magnitude required hospitalization. The paramedic looked torn, glancing back at my still form. Then I saw him. A man holding a black umbrella, standing silently beside my body. He seemed to sense my gaze and looked up, directly at me. A slow, gentle smile curved his lips. “Helen,” he said, his voice carrying over the storm. “Come here.” 6 The tension that had held me together snapped. The world dissolved into blackness. When I woke, I was in an unfamiliar room. A king-sized bed with a charcoal gray duvet was pushed against a floor-to-ceiling window. Outside, a thunderstorm raged. As my senses returned, I realized I was lying on top of someone. I tried to push myself up, my hand landing on a firm, muscular arm. He shifted, his own arm wrapping around my waist to help me sit up. He pressed his cheek to my forehead, testing my temperature. “You’re awake. Are you hungry?” My head was still swimming. His calm efficiency only made me feel more disoriented. When I didn’t respond, he casually picked up a long, furry appendage and tucked it into my hands. “If you’re still tired, go back to sleep.” I squeezed the tip. It was warm. “What is this?” I mumbled. “Aren’t we in a hospital?” Why was there someone in my hospital bed? “This is my apartment. I’m your matched partner, Kaelen Ewing. The ambulance I called for you got… commandeered. I had no choice but to bring you here and soothe you myself.” As he spoke, his dark, intense eyes never left my face. It took me a moment to piece together the events before I blacked out. “Thank you,” I said, my voice hoarse. He smiled, and his handsome features became utterly devastating. “Of course. I’ll be needing your help as well, Miss Vance. I’m a recently retired Psion from the military. I sustained some injuries in the Fringe. My current Overload level is dual S-Class. I require frequent soothing from a partner.” “Dual S-Class? It’s a miracle you’re alive.” I was in awe, but also deeply curious. “Can you read minds?” “No,” he said slowly. “But I do have a very fluffy tail.” My gaze dropped to the object in my hands. It was as thick as my wrist. It was his tail. I couldn’t resist giving it another squeeze. The fur was incredibly soft, the sensation deeply comforting. I found myself stroking it, my curiosity piqued. “Are you a cat?” “Mmm… feline family, panthera genus.” His voice had dropped an octave, a low rumble in his chest. I looked up and saw him watching me, his eyes filled with an undisguised hunger. I realized then what he was doing. He was patiently, skillfully, reeling me in. Luring me into touching him, providing the physical contact that would soothe his own storm. Dual S-Class. I couldn’t even begin to imagine that kind of pain. My hand stilled. I felt his tail twitch against my palm, actively seeking my touch. “Does… does being with me help you?” He blinked, his honesty disarming. “Not enough.” Oddly enough, holding his tail was having the opposite effect on me. My anxiety was melting away, replaced by a strange, buoyant excitement. “We could… get to know each other for a while,” I suggested. “Then you can decide if you still want to marry me.” “We’re a perfect match. Why would we need to wait?” His gaze was direct, unwavering. “We can get married right now.” “Huh?” I was stunned. “Really?” Perhaps it was the 100% GCI. Being near him felt like coming home to a place I’d never been. The pain, the betrayal… it all felt like a distant, half-forgotten dream. 7 The memory of Ramond’s calculated cruelty sent a chill through me, and my mood plummeted. “But… I don’t really know you.” What if Kaelen had someone else? A woman he truly loved? What if I was just destined to be the mistress again, the high-end Stabilizer kept on the side, to be used and then put away? Kaelen’s arms tightened around me, a comforting, solid presence. “Anything you want to know, I’ll tell you.” His embrace was a fortress. I felt myself sinking into it, another carefully constructed trap of kindness. The 100% GCI was a siren’s song, intoxicating and dangerous. The scars from Ramond’s betrayal screamed at me to run, but my very genes craved the safety of his arms. My tormented thoughts were interrupted by a sharp chime. My wrist-comm projected a faint holographic screen. An unknown number. Marcus Thorne’s voice, smooth and condescending, filled the quiet room. “Where are you? I’m sending a car. Ramond wants to see you.” Still treating me like a fool. A bitter laugh almost escaped me, but the memory of how I’d fallen for their lies choked it back. “What’s the matter? Worried your trained dog slipped its leash?” Marcus sighed, a theatrical sound of weary patience. “Come on, Helen, don’t talk about yourself like that. I admit, we were out of line. But you know Ramond. He’s proud. I was just going along with him. It’s not what I really think. Can’t we just talk about this face to face?” I could practically smell the hypocrisy oozing through the speaker. A hot flush of anger rose in my chest. Just as I was about to unleash a tirade, the tail in my hand twitched. I instinctively gripped it tighter, kneading the soft fur between my fingers. The anger subsided, replaced by a cold, clear calm. If Marcus was wasting his time on me, it could only mean one thing: Ramond was not doing well. “You’re asking a lot, Marcus,” I said, mimicking his insincere tone. “As you know, I had a rather severe Overload. And I was left out in the rain.” “This isn’t the time to dredge up the past, Helen,” he snapped, his patience clearly wearing thin. His reaction didn’t surprise me, but I continued anyway. “If you were just kidding around, why did you leave me lying on the ground in a thunderstorm? Weren’t you afraid I might die?” “Of course not,” he said, the lie smooth as silk. “We would never have let that happen. We called an ambulance right away. And you know you can’t move someone during an Overload. It could have made things worse for you.”

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The game of Truth or Dare ended with me kissing the guy I’ve been secretly in love with for a year. And somehow, it gave me the ability to read his mind. After I did it, he retreated to a corner of the couch, his expression as cool and unreadable as ever. He didn’t say a word. But a voice, his voice, echoed clearly in my head. Her lips are so soft. I need to figure out a way to make her kiss me again. 1 It was a stupid party dare. The kind of thing you do in college when the music is too loud and the air is thick with cheap beer and bad decisions. I lost a round of cards, and the penalty was a dare. I squeezed my eyes shut and pulled a card from the deck fanned out on the coffee table. The moment I drew it, the crowded living room erupted. My best friend, Mia, who was squeezed next to me on the couch, let out a shriek of laughter so loud it vibrated through my skull. My hand holding the card started to tremble. If she was laughing that hard, I must have drawn something mortifying. “Oh my god, Chloe! Open your eyes, you have to see this!” Mia slapped my shoulder, urging me on. Bracing myself, I opened my eyes. The words on the card made my trembling worse. 【Kiss the person next to you. Passionately.】 There were only two people next to me. On one side was Mia. On the other was Noah Evans. He wasn’t even supposed to be sitting there. Earlier, he’d claimed the cigarette smoke from across the room was getting to him and asked to swap seats with some guy. He’d ended up right next to me. The catcalls and whoops from our friends intensified. Mia put her hands on her hips, her grin wicked. “Just so we’re clear, you are not kissing me,” she declared. “Girl-on-girl is a no-go for this dare!” With that, every eye in the room landed on Noah. The noise level spiked again. My whole body went rigid. I turned to look at him, my palms slick with sweat. He sat there calmly, the dim party lights casting his face in shadow, making him impossible to read. We’d been in the same friend group for a year, but I don’t think we’d ever exchanged more than a dozen words. Kissing him felt less plausible than flying to the moon. “Chloe, this is your shot! Don’t blow it!” Mia hissed in my ear. I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But how could I? As if finally sensing the weight of two dozen stares, Noah slowly looked up. His gaze drifted from me to the card in my hand. His expression remained a perfect blank. My nerve broke. “Maybe we should just skip it…” I mumbled. “I’m fine with it.” My voice died in my throat. Noah cut me off, his eyes lifting to meet mine. His face was still passive, but his voice was steady. “I don’t have a problem with it.” 2 The room exploded. Mia’s laughter reached a pitch I can only describe as demonic. Propelled by the roar of the crowd, I leaned toward Noah, my heart hammering against my ribs with every inch I closed the distance. The second my lips brushed against his, I saw his throat move as he swallowed hard. His lips were warm. And incredibly soft. I remembered seeing an anonymous post on the campus confession page once, debating who had the most kissable lips. Noah’s name had come up more than once. The verdict was that they looked like they’d be perfect to kiss. They were. The rumors were true. Maybe it was just the adrenaline, but for a split second, I thought I felt the corner of his mouth twitch into the faintest hint of a smile. Is he… smiling? My heart went into overdrive. The dizzying rush of it all was so intoxicating that it wasn’t until Mia practically fell off the couch laughing that I snapped back to reality. I couldn’t bring myself to deliver the “passionate” part of the dare. A simple, soft press was all I could manage before I pulled back so fast I bumped into Mia. “That’s it?!” she screeched, snatching the card from my hand. “Where’s the passion?” “That’s enough, that’s enough,” I mumbled, my face burning. I couldn’t look at anyone. Mia sighed with the dramatic frustration of someone whose favorite TV show just got canceled. 3 After a few minutes, when my pulse had returned to something resembling normal, I realized the spot beside me was empty. Noah had moved. He was now sitting at the far end of the sectional, alone. I watched him, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. Why did he move so far away? He looks… annoyed. What’s he thinking? He regrets it! I ruined his night! He hates me! My mind spiraled. I was debating whether I should go over and apologize when a familiar voice echoed in my ear. She kissed me. What? That was Noah’s voice. I scanned the room, but he was still in the corner, perfectly still. He hadn’t moved his lips. Did I imagine that? I stared at him, my brow furrowed in confusion. A second later, the voice came again, clearer this time. Her lips are so soft. Noah blinked, a slow, deliberate motion. I need to figure out a way to make her kiss me again. What. The. Hell? 4 I sat frozen, trying to process what had just happened, until Mia, fresh from another round of the game, nudged me. “What’s up? Cat got your tongue, or are you just blissed out?” “Did you…” I started, choosing my words carefully. “Did you hear Noah say anything just now?” “Noah?” Mia frowned, glancing over to the corner. “He hasn’t said a word since… you know.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Chloe, are you drunk?” She patted my head like I was a child. “Just chill here for a bit, okay honey?” And with that, she was dragged back into the game, leaving me to drown in my own confusion. Was I really just hearing things? It felt so real. My thoughts were interrupted by a new wave of cheering. “Alright, make way, make way! Evans is getting in on the action!” I watched as one of the guys scooted over, creating a space on the couch. Right next to me. Noah got up from his corner seat and, with that same infuriatingly calm expression, sat down in the empty spot. My heart skipped. His last thought, the one I’d supposedly imagined, came rushing back. I need to figure out a way to make her kiss me again. 5 Once the game started again, Noah was on an incredible losing streak. He had to chug his drink three times in a row. Even his friend, Ryan, looked baffled. “Dude, when did you get so bad at this game?” Noah just shrugged, his expression cool. “Bad luck, I guess. Deal me in.” Predictably, he lost the next round too. This time, though, he didn’t reach for his drink. He eyed the deck of dare cards on the table. Ryan caught his drift and, with a theatrical flourish, swept the cards into a messy pile. “Let’s see what fate has in store for my man Noah! C’mon, something good, like a lap dance for a stranger!” Noah’s face was a mask of indifference. He stared down at the cards, as if weighing a decision of immense gravity. Then, I heard it again. That voice. His voice. I have to pick the one with the crease. My eyes shot to the pile of cards on the table. A crease? Which one had a crease? He was taking his time. Ryan nudged him. “C’mon, man, pick one.” Noah’s gaze swept over the cards one last time before locking onto a single one near the edge. A flicker of something—relief?—crossed his features before being instantly erased. He reached out and tapped it with his finger. “This one,” he said, his tone casual. Ryan snatched it up, his eyes widening as he read it. A huge, knowing grin spread across his face. “Oh, man. Oh, you guys are not gonna believe this.” He held the card to his chest, milking the suspense. Mia, never one for patience, was about to lose it. “What is it? Spit it out!” “This card… this card is just…” Mia balled her fists. “Ryan, I swear to god, I will punch you!” After a few playful jabs from her, he finally gave in. His eyes darted between me and Noah, that stupid grin still plastered on his face as he revealed the grand prize. He flipped the card over. I leaned in to see. And then I froze. It was my card. The exact same one. The words 【Kiss the person next to you. Passionately.】 stared back at me. As I looked closer, I saw it—a tiny, almost imperceptible crease in the bottom right corner. My heart rate skyrocketed. Ryan nudged Noah, his voice dripping with insinuation. “What a coincidence, huh, man?” “Yeah,” Noah said, his expression completely flat as he glanced at the card and gave a small nod. “A real coincidence.” He said it, and then his eyes lifted and met mine. My breath caught. His eyes were dark, intense. He held my gaze for a few seconds in the dim light before asking, his voice quiet and even. “Is that okay with you?” 6 My brain went completely blank. Okay with… what? Was this really happening? Mia muffled a squeal, her eyes bouncing between the two of us. After a moment, she exploded with laughter and, leaning over, pushed my head forward in a nod. “Yes! Yes, it’s okay! We are all law-abiding citizens who respect the rules of the game!” Noah shot her a quick glance before his eyes returned to me, waiting. As if sensing my hesitation, he added quietly, “I was fine with it before.” The implication hung in the air. I played along for you. It’s only fair that you do the same for me. “I… I mean…” Before I could finish, a hand shoved my shoulder, and I stumbled forward, right into Noah. I gasped, but a pair of strong hands caught me, steadying me. The next thing I knew, my lips met his. Warm. Soft. I looked up and found him already looking down at me. His eyelashes were so long. From this angle, I could see them flutter as he blinked slowly. And then, the corners of his eyes crinkled. He was smiling. 7 This was going to kill me. Kissing my crush twice in one night had my heart doing gymnastics. I was suddenly wide awake, my body temperature rising like a furnace. If I stayed there one second longer, I was going to spontaneously combust. I scrambled off him and mumbled something about the bathroom, practically fleeing the room. The shock of cold water on my hands did little to cool the fire on my face. The feeling of his lips lingered, a phantom warmth I couldn’t wash away. His lips. His smile. And his thoughts. Stop it, Chloe. Just stop. I think I stayed in that bathroom for a century. When I finally returned to the living room, I overheard Ryan talking to Noah. “I don’t know, man,” Ryan said, squinting at him suspiciously. “I feel like you’ve been smiling this whole time.” Noah looked up. “Have I?” “Yeah,” Ryan insisted, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Ever since you ‘lost’ that last round.” He grinned, waiting for a denial. “Hm,” Noah said, not even looking up. “Guess I have been.” Ryan just stared, his mouth hanging open. The heat rushed back to my cheeks. I took a few deep breaths and found an empty corner to sit in, hoping to become invisible. The party was winding down, and people were scattered around, chatting quietly. That’s when I heard it again. How do I get closer to her? She’s sitting so far away. My eyes darted toward Noah. He was sitting on the couch, lost in thought. After a moment, his gaze landed on Ryan, who was still trying to process their earlier conversation. Noah tapped him. “Why aren’t you smoking?” Ryan blinked. “Huh? Why would I be smoking?” Noah paused for a beat. “You look cool when you smoke.” “I do, don’t I?” Ryan preened, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. But just as he lit it, Noah let out a single, sharp cough. It was just loud enough for everyone to hear. Then he stood up and started walking away. Ryan stared, the cigarette frozen between his fingers. “What the hell, man?” Noah’s voice was flat. “Can’t stand the smell of smoke. Got to get away from you.” Ryan was left looking utterly baffled. My whole body tensed. I watched, paralyzed, as Noah calmly walked across the room and sat down in the armchair directly across from me. 8 That night, I couldn’t sleep. I crawled into Mia’s bed. “Hey,” I whispered. “Can being drunk make you hallucinate?” “Like, hearing things?” Mia was more wasted than I was. She grunted from beneath her comforter. “Yeah, Chloe. What’d you hear?” I clutched my phone and leaned closer. “I heard… Noah’s voice.” “Huh?” Mia cracked open one bloodshot eye. “I heard him thinking… that he needed to find a way to kiss me.” The eye that had struggled to open slammed shut. She rolled over, her back to me, and was instantly asleep. “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t believe me.” A muffled voice came from the blankets. “No… just… go to sleep. We’ll deal with it in the morning.” “Deal with what?” “Your daydreaming.” I kicked her under the covers. 9 To prove I wasn’t crazy, Mia’s plan the next morning was to drag me past Noah’s usual haunts. But we’d barely left my dorm when we heard Ryan’s booming voice. “Seriously, dude? Do we have to eat at this dining hall? It’s a million miles from our dorm.” Ryan was rubbing his eyes, looking like death warmed over. “It’s fine,” Noah’s calm voice replied. His gaze flickered toward our dorm building. “The food is better here.” Is it, though? I thought. Mia and I froze. We turned and saw the two of them heading toward the dining hall. “Well, speak of the devil,” Mia grinned, pulling me along. “Hey! Ryan! Morning!” Ryan and Mia were two of a kind. He waved back with equal energy. “Yo! Fancy seeing you here.” As Mia dragged me over, she whispered, “Okay, at breakfast, try to see if you can hear him again.” Before I could ask how we were all supposed to eat together, Mia was already asking. “Hey, since we’re all here, want to grab a table together?” Ryan was about to agree when he remembered his company. “Ah, probably not. Noah’s not really a fan of eating with… you know, other people.” “Next time,” Ryan said, patting Mia’s arm. “We’ll do it next time.” Just then, I saw Noah’s eyes flick almost imperceptibly in my direction. “I don’t mind,” he said. Ryan stared at him. Noah continued, his tone perfectly even. “I enjoy eating breakfast with people.” Ryan’s jaw dropped. 10 Ryan looked like a zombie all the way into the dining hall. He grabbed Noah’s shoulder, his voice a numb whisper. “When did you start enjoying eating with people?” Especially girls? was the unspoken question. Noah’s expression was serene. “Just now.” 11 Inside, Ryan and Mia immediately split off toward their favorite food stations. I stood behind Noah, silently deciding to just get whatever he was getting. But he wasn’t moving either, apparently still deciding. I worked up the courage to speak. “What are you getting?” He looked over his shoulder. “Haven’t decided.” Okay. After a moment of awkward silence, I gave up and headed for the pancake line. The second I moved, so did he. He followed right behind me, stopping at the same station. He ordered the exact same thing I did. And he sat down at the same table. He never said a word, but his thoughts were a constant stream flooding my mind. I want to eat the same thing she is. She looks so sweet when she’s focused. I need to figure out an excuse to eat with her again. I kept my head down, focusing on my pancakes, feeling my ears grow hotter by the second. After they left, Mia leaned in close. “So? Did you hear anything?” “…Yeah.” “For real?!” Her eyes were wide. “You can hear his thoughts? What was he thinking?” I paused, the heat rising in my face again. “He said I look sweet.” Mia stared at me. “And that he needs to find an excuse to eat with me again.” Mia looked at me like I’d just announced I was moving to Mars. “Chloe, are you listening to yourself?” 12 Mia insisted it was absurd. She was convinced my crush had metastasized into full-blown delusion and suggested a trip to the campus health center. Did Noah, with his perpetually cool and distant expression, seem like the kind of guy who would think things like that? Honestly, she had a point. If I hadn’t heard it myself, I wouldn’t have believed it either. But why was he trying so hard to get closer to me? My phone buzzed, shaking me from my thoughts. It was Mia, texting to say the results from the piano competition last month were in. I got first place. Not a huge surprise, but nice to hear. As I was about to put my phone away, it buzzed again. A friend request. With a profile picture I recognized instantly from the campus confession page. The name read: Noah Evans – Computer Science.

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The night of our graduation dinner, I took the drunk campus belle to the campus bad boy’s room. But my childhood friend mistook me for her. One night of chaos. Everyone said I did it on purpose to break them up. For years after we were married, I tried everything to win his heart, but it remained cold. Until one day, I overheard him on the phone. “As long as Beth is happy, I’m willing to waste my whole life keeping Thea tied down.” “Who would want to marry a bookworm like her, anyway?” “She wants a baby? Fine. I’ll give her one.” The harsh blare of a car horn cut him off. He spun around instinctively and saw me standing at the corner. His face paled, and he lunged toward me, trying to push me out of the way. The next second, we were both sent flying. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the graduation dinner. This time, I decided to let them have each other. 1 Only my childhood friend, Liam, knew that I had a crush on the campus bad boy, Jaxon. The night of our university graduation dinner, Beth asked me to help her to a room to rest. I didn’t know it was Jaxon’s room. And Beth was a master actress. The moment we were out of sight, she was instantly sober, a mocking glint in her eyes as she looked at me. In my past life, I was too naive to see it. I was, as everyone called me, the scheming, venomous bookworm. It wasn’t until I heard Liam’s phone call right before I died that I finally understood. He was willing to sacrifice his entire life for Beth. And I had been foolish enough to believe him when he’d proposed, when he’d told me he loved me. Before I died, Liam and I lay together in a pool of blood. When the speeding car hit, he had thrown himself in front of me, taking the brunt of the impact with his back. But it was useless. The force of the collision sent me flying. As my consciousness faded, I could just make out Liam, covered in blood, stubbornly crawling toward me despite the agony that wracked his body. The wounds on his fingers were deep enough to show bone, and his voice was a broken tremor. “Thea, don’t scare me.” “Wake up, let me explain!” “I was wrong, Thea. I was so wrong.” His heartbroken cries made me want to vomit. A torrent of blood gushed from my lips. In the final moments of my life, I found one last ounce of strength. I moved my fingers, just enough to pull away from the hand he was desperately trying to link with mine. Too late for apologies now. 2 “Thea, what’s too late?” “You haven’t had that much to drink. Come on, have another.” A voice pulled me from my memories. I realized I was back in my senior year of university. Jaxon was hosting a graduation party for our class at his family’s empty villa. For everyone else, it was the start of a new chapter. For me, in my last life, it had been the entrance to hell. The sweet, cloying voice belonged to Beth. Liam always told me I should be more like her, that even her anger sounded like a lover’s pout, irresistible to any man. I couldn’t hold my liquor, but when the campus belle offered a toast, refusing would have been a social death sentence. Unfortunately, I’d been reborn just a moment too late. I’d already downed a glass, and the world was starting to spin. So, no matter how much Beth coaxed, I refused to drink another drop. I just adjusted my glasses and pretended to be drunker than I was. I had a job to do later; I couldn’t afford to be completely wasted. Seeing my refusal, a sly look entered Beth’s eyes. She raised her own glass to the table. “If the star student won’t drink, I’ll drink the rest for her.” I lowered my head, a cold smile touching my lips. She was drinking from her own glass but claiming it was for my sake. In my past life, I’d never had an ounce of her cunning. Her words were sweeter than any song. I poured myself a glass of water and sipped it, quietly watching her performance. By now, Liam had already gotten Jaxon drunk and taken him upstairs. Liam himself had had too much and was resting in the room next to Jaxon’s. Beth’s dramatic display of drinking could only mean she had something else in mind. Soon, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were hazy. She leaned against me, her voice just loud enough for everyone to hear. “Thea, I drank so much for you, I’m feeling dizzy. Can you help me upstairs to rest? My life is in your hands now. You have to keep me safe, okay?” In my past life, Beth had already gotten me completely drunk. I’d only caught the last part about going upstairs to rest before she half-dragged my stumbling form up the stairs. But this time, I saw the cleverness in her words and actions. She was making it sound like it was my fault she was drunk, that it was my duty to see her safely to a room. With that one statement, she planted a seed in everyone’s mind: whatever happened to her tonight would be my fault. Her drunken, helpless state, needing me for support, only solidified her image as the innocent victim. But no one could see that, from their angle, Beth, who was taller than me, wasn’t just leaning on my shoulders. She was digging her fingers into them, her grip surprisingly strong as she steered me toward the stairs. The pain made me wince. Fine. I could play drunk too. I pretended to take off my glasses, and in that motion, I shook off her grip. Then, I went completely limp, collapsing into her arms. A head shorter than her, with a flushed, baby face, I wrapped my arms around her and whined, my voice soft and slurring, “Beth, I’m so dizzy! I can’t walk.” No one had expected this. In their eyes, Beth and I were rivals. Liam liked her, and during a game of truth or dare earlier, I had admitted that I liked him. “Oh no! The star student is really drunk,” someone exclaimed. Hidden in Beth’s embrace, I stayed silent, playing my part. Out of sight, a small smile touched my lips. My little act had startled Beth; I saw her eyes clear for a second. But she needed me to be her scapegoat tonight, so she gritted her teeth and didn’t push me away. Besides, to make her act convincing, she really had drunk a lot. She was at least eighty percent gone. I looked up at her, my hair a mess, and blinked. “Beth, let’s sleep together tonight.” 3 I had no idea what Beth was thinking, but I was serious. The only way to prevent the disaster of my past life was for her to stay with me tonight. Besides, I had lived ten years longer than this version of Beth. To me, she was just a misguided girl. Maybe something had happened to her in university that made her so desperate to land a rich boyfriend. But she wanted to maintain her good-girl image, so she’d devised this whole scheme. She wanted everyone to believe that I, jealous of Liam’s affection for her, had deliberately put her in the bad boy’s room. Her plan had been a spectacular success in my last life. The day after the party, my name became synonymous with “vicious.” Everyone blamed me, cursed me. Eventually, I started to believe it myself. I thought it was my fault, that I’d had too much to drink and taken her to the wrong room. I was the reason she’d disappeared for ten years. I was the reason Liam had lost the love of his life. So I tried to atone. I couldn’t find Beth, so I poured all my repentance onto Liam. I learned to love him, tried to warm his cold heart, begged him to stop hating me. The Liams had taken me in as a child; I owed them everything. But in the end, I was the one who had been played. Liam had been willing to throw away his entire life, to trap me in a marriage, just to keep me from interfering with Beth’s happiness. The day of the car crash, I had been on my way to tell him I’d found her. I had just learned from Jaxon where Beth had been for the past ten years. I wanted him to see her for who she really was, to stop feeling guilty for getting drunk that night and failing to protect her. But before I could say a word, we were both killed. I was so grateful for this second chance. At the dinner table, I’d been thinking about what I could do to repay this gift. I’d considered getting revenge on Beth, giving her a taste of the public shame she’d put me through. But looking at her now, so young and vibrant, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. So when she’d asked me to help her to a room, I’d asked, in front of everyone, if she wanted to sleep with me. If she chose me, if she chose not to repeat her mistake, then I would let the past go. After all, this was a different timeline. I couldn’t punish this Beth for what a different version of her had done. But if she insisted on being foolish, I would respect her choice. Everyone has to take responsibility for their own actions. So, when she had me pinned between two doors, I asked her again. “It’s your decision. You can sleep here, or you can come to another room with me.” The alcohol was hitting her hard now. Her eyes were glazed over, but she shook her head, trying to stay clear. “Let me think… Oh, I can’t remember.” She tapped her head a few times. I decided to be direct. “Who do you choose? On the left is…” I was about to tell her Jaxon was on the left, Liam was on the right, and I was right beside her. But she cut me off. “I forgot who I drugged…” Her words hit me like a thunderclap. In that instant, my image of her shattered. She was like a beautiful flower, rotten from the roots up. She would stoop to such a low, despicable tactic to get what she wanted. I started to wonder if I’d been drugged too. I took a step back, putting some distance between us. I asked her again, but the answer was the same. “Either one is fine,” she said. “Doesn’t matter which.” I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I had to let go of my savior complex and respect her choices. I watched, my face a cold mask, as she stumbled into Liam’s room. Then I turned and opened the door to the room next door. Beth might not remember who she’d drugged, but I had the memories of my past life. The moment she said it, I knew. Tonight, I would be the one to save the poor, unsuspecting bad boy. 4 The moment I opened the door, a blast of cold air hit me. The room was a mess, water everywhere. I followed the sound of dripping and found him. The notoriously cool and arrogant Jaxon was a pathetic heap on the floor, his back against the sofa, pouring ice water over his head. His t-shirt was tossed aside, leaving him in just a pair of grey sweatpants. His head was bowed, his black hair plastered to his face, obscuring his eyes. Droplets of water traced the sharp line of his jaw, soaking a dark patch on his pants. It was a strangely mesmerizing sight. His long, slender fingers were clenched so tightly around a plastic water bottle that it crackled. When the last drop fell, he tilted his head back and, incredibly, stuck his tongue inside the bottle, licking at the remaining moisture before his full lips closed around the opening again. The Jaxon I remembered had bright red hair and an ear full of studs, a walking embodiment of rebellion. Looking at him now, his defiant face was still strikingly handsome. But his flushed skin and labored breathing told a different story. His reactions were slow. It took him a moment to realize someone had entered the room. Without looking up, he snarled, “Who let you in? Get out!” But when he turned and saw it was me, the words “don’t touch me” died on his lips. He stumbled to his feet, trying to retreat toward the mini-fridge, but his legs gave out and he collapsed back onto the floor. I grabbed a bottle of ice water, twisted it open, and handed it to him. “Jaxon, where’s your phone? I’ll call a doctor.” He chugged the water, half of it spilling down his chin and neck. Then he started fumbling at his pockets, trying to find his phone. I could see a bulge that looked like a phone, but after a minute of fruitless searching, he looked up at me, his expression bewildered, his lips moving but no sound coming out. He was taking too long. I pushed his hands away and reached into his pocket myself. The instant my fingers brushed against it, I regretted it. With my years of experience as a urologist in my past life, I knew that what I was feeling was definitely not a phone. Before I could scream, Jaxon’s ragged breathing was hot against my ear. I flinched, turning my head, and found myself looking into his flushed, feverish eyes. “I’ll… I’ll go get someone.” I scrambled to my feet, but he grabbed my arm, his hand pressing mine against the fabric of his pants. Another ragged gasp escaped his lips. The sensation seemed to jolt him back to some semblance of consciousness. “Thea,” he rasped. I stared at him, stunned. I was shocked. The name he’d been muttering this whole time… was mine. Even in this state, he recognized me. But in my past life, why had Liam mistaken me for someone else? Or was it that, in his eyes, I was just someone to be used and discarded? The thought filled me with a cold fury. I stepped forward, bent down, and tilted his chin up, forcing him to look at me. “Say it again. Who am I?” The moment my hand touched his skin, I felt the searing heat. When I tried to pull away, he caught my hand, pressing it to his cheek and rubbing against it like a cat. His gaze drifted from my lips to my eyes, finally meeting mine. “Thea,” he breathed. “Help me.”

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I received Liam Cole’s divorce papers when I was twenty-eight. When I was eighteen, he’d proposed to me with a ring made from a chocolate wrapper. Ten years. That’s all it took. The day we were supposed to sign the papers, he got into a car accident. His memory reset to eighteen. Back to the year he loved me most. 1 I was at LAX, waiting to board a flight to Paris, when the email with Liam Cole’s divorce petition arrived. As I opened the file, a single thought surfaced, clean and sharp as glass: So, we’re finally here. At that point, Liam and I had already been separated for two full years. But his lawyer had been insistent. I had to return to New York to handle this in person. I canceled my flight. The Parisian dream dissolved and was replaced by a cross-country flight back to the life I’d left behind. On the plane, I twisted the wedding band on my finger. Ten years ago, he’d cried like a little boy when he asked me to marry him. He would love me forever, he’d said. And I, in all my eighteen-year-old innocence, had actually believed him. But people change, don’t they? I knew it was over two years ago. The last time he looked at me, I saw it in his eyes. The love was gone. There was no point in dwelling on it. I closed my eyes and let the darkness swallow my thoughts. It wasn’t until I was standing on the curb at JFK, the familiar New York air thick with exhaust and urgency, that I understood what it meant to feel like a stranger in your own home. Two years isn’t a lifetime, but it’s long enough for everything to feel foreign. “Nora! Over here!” A familiar voice sliced through the chaos. It was Sasha. My best friend since we were teenagers. She was the first person I’d told when I agreed to the divorce. She looked incredible—a sharp beige suit, a slash of red lipstick, and huge, audacious gold hoops that framed her face. A portrait of effortless command. “Nora, baby, give me a kiss!” She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a fierce hug and planting a loud, smacking kiss on my cheek. I couldn’t help but laugh, a little breathlessly. As I turned to tease her, she cupped my face in her hands, gently but firmly turning my head away from the terminal. “Don’t look, baby. Visual pollution.” A small smile touched my lips, and I shook my head gently. How could I not see him? Liam Cole was everywhere. His face stared down from a dozen different ad campaigns, his eyes following me from billboards and digital screens. Yes. My husband. The superstar. 2 “Hmph. You just wait, Nora. I’m going to be your divorce lawyer. That dog Liam Cole has been hiding this marriage for years while messing around with that—that Vance woman. Just based on the paparazzi photos alone, I can take him to the cleaners.” Sasha was a partner at one of the top law firms in the city now. Watching her seethe on my behalf, I had the sudden, bittersweet thought that she had been Liam’s friend first. Even if I was losing him, at least I still had her. “My dear, powerful attorney,” I said softly. “Let’s not trouble you with this little thing.” I just wanted it to be over. Quick and clean. “You’re not planning on asking for nothing, are you?” My silence was her answer. “You… I’ve never met anyone so foolish. It’s just like when you were eighteen, giving up Paris for…” Eighteen. Such a distant past. A past I never wanted to remember. “Sasha, I don’t want to get dragged into a fight with him.” “The last ten years with him have already taken everything I have.” Sasha didn’t say another word. She just drove me to her apartment. “Get some rest. I have to go back to the office to handle a few things.” And then I was alone again in the sprawling, silent apartment. It was just like all those years in our house on the North Shore, where it was always, always just me. I turned on the TV, and it was immediately there: a segment on an entertainment news channel. “Big news from Hollywood! Is superstar actress Olivia Vance finally tying the knot? Rumors have swirled for years about her romance with Liam Cole, and now, with these new photos of the couple vacationing in Hawaii—allegedly scouting wedding venues—it looks like wedding bells are imminent. When questioned by reporters, Vance remained coy, but her radiant smile said it all. She’s currently preparing for the Cannes Film Festival, so we’ll have to wait for her return for official confirmation!” Listening to it, I felt… nothing. A complete, hollow calm. Two years ago, just seeing her name—Olivia Vance—on the screen would have made me want to scream, to hurl something at the television. I was impressed with my own self-control now. A text from an unknown number buzzed on my phone. 【Civil Affairs Bureau. 9 AM tomorrow.】 Efficient. So this was why he was in such a hurry to divorce me. To marry her. Perhaps I should thank her. The next day, at nine in the morning, I was standing outside the Bureau as promised. I waited for nearly two hours. No one came. Steeling myself, I was just about to dial the number when my phone rang. It was Sasha. “Nora, you need to get to Mount Sinai Hospital, now. Liam’s been in a car accident.” 3 “We’re… married?” After two years apart, the first thing Liam Cole said to me was that. Everyone in the hospital room turned to look at me. Some with suspicion, others with concern. He glanced at the ring on my hand and then scratched his head, a look of pure, boyish confusion on his face. What is going on? I shot a questioning look at Sasha. She pulled me into the hallway. “His memory has reverted to when he was eighteen.” “He suffered a severe blow to the head,” she explained. “The doctors say he has memory loss. He only remembers things from before he was eighteen.” “Eighteen?” I whispered the word. Why? Why that year? Because that was the year I gave up my spot at the Paris Opera Ballet School. Because that was the year I broke with my parents for Liam. Because that was the year that marked the beginning of my ten-year descent into hell. I didn’t want to remember it. I stormed back into the room. “I’ve already divorced you!” “I would never divorce her! My dream is to marry her!” Our voices collided in the sterile air. I froze. Liam froze. Only his agent, standing in the corner, had a smug, ‘I told you so’ look on his face that made me want to slap him. “You’re lying to me, aren’t you?” Liam’s voice was thin, incredulous. “There’s no amnesia. This is some kind of prank, right?” “This isn’t funny. I have to get to practice.” He tried to get out of bed, but his agent quickly stopped him. “No one is lying to you, Liam.” “You want proof? Here!” I pulled our marriage certificate from my bag and threw it onto the bed in front of him. I enunciated every word, my voice trembling with rage. “I don’t care if you have amnesia or not. Today was the day we were supposed to get divorced. And no matter what, I am divorcing you!” Liam looked at the certificate I’d thrown down. At first, a small, disbelieving smile played on his lips. But as my words sank in, his face went completely white. “Nora… you… I…” “Yeah, that’s right, Liam,” his agent chimed in eagerly. “Weren’t you just in Hawaii with Ms. Vance a few days ago, looking at wedding venues?” “Shut up!” Liam roared. A sudden, inexplicable fire surged through me. I rushed forward and grabbed his arm. “Let’s go. We’re going to the Bureau to get divorced, right now!” He resisted, but I pulled him forcefully, ignoring how his face was growing paler by the second. “My head… it hurts so much!” He suddenly clutched his head, his face contorted in agony, and then he collapsed. After the doctors finished their examination, they gathered us together and gave us a harsh lecture. “The patient has severe depression and has just been in a major accident. And you’re agitating him like this? Are you trying to trigger a complete mental breakdown?” Depression? Since when did Liam have depression? “Don’t mention the divorce to him again. At least not while his memory is like this.” “This is likely temporary amnesia. When his condition stabilizes, his memories should return. Until then, whatever you all are planning, please be patient and wait for the patient to recover.” The doctor’s final gaze landed on me. “Especially you, Mrs. Cole. The patient needs you right now.” The implication was clear. But that meant I had to stay by his side. I didn’t want to. I looked at Liam, lying unconscious in the bed, and a profound sadness washed over me. Why did you have to go back to being eighteen? Eighteen… that was when you loved me most.

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The day I was supposed to choose the suit for my wedding, a stranger rushed into the VIP lounge and stabbed me. “Stealing my woman,” he snarled, “and you think you deserve a suit that costs more than a car?” He ripped my shirt, the fine fabric tearing with a sound that seemed impossibly loud. A grotesque smile twisted his face as he brandished a bottle, splashing its contents at me. The acrid smell of chemicals hit me before the liquid did. Acid. The cold steel was already buried in my gut. Pain, white-hot and absolute, forced me to my knees. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back. “Ava is my wife, you understand? So what the hell are you? You’re nothing. Just a dirty little secret she keeps on the side.” Blood, warm and slick, dripped through my fingers. And in that moment, I understood. Ava. My fiancée of seven years. The woman I was about to marry was keeping another man. And I wasn’t the husband; I was the affair. “What are you looking at?” he spat, his face flush with manic pride. “Even if I kill you right here, with my wife’s power, no one will touch me. No one.” Staring at his arrogant face, I used my blood-slicked hand to pull out my phone. I found my sister’s number. “Sloane,” I said, my voice terrifyingly calm. “Come get me. The tailor’s shop in SoHo.” A pause. Then, “And let the Monroe family know—the engagement is off.” 1 I ended the call. The suit, a bespoke masterpiece worth a fortune, was now a ruin of blackened, smoldering holes. My exposed skin screamed in protest as the high-concentration acid seared it, a foul yellow ooze mixing with the red of my blood. I glared at the man, the rage in my eyes hot enough to incinerate him. But the boutique staff and the few other clients, drawn by the commotion, only laughed. “Hah, can you believe it? He messed with Ava Monroe’s husband. He’s so screwed.” The man, Caleb, jabbed a finger at my face. “You piece of shit! Still trying to act tough? You think calling someone is going to make me back off? What a joke. The ‘Sterlings’? Never heard of them. I’m calling the cops to have you arrested for stealing this suit, you pathetic homewrecker!” I pressed my hand to the weeping wound in my side, hot blood pulsing between my fingers. The world was beginning to blur at the edges from the blood loss. I glanced at the thugs standing behind Caleb, regretting my decision to come out today without my security detail. My eyes scanned the crowd, a silent plea for help. They just stared back, whispering amongst themselves, their faces a mixture of morbid curiosity and scorn. No one moved to help. No one dared. Gritting my teeth against a wave of pain, I locked my gaze on Caleb, my eyes red-rimmed and murderous. “I don’t care who you are, but you need to understand something. My name is Sterling. Leo Sterling, of the New York Sterlings. Now, get the hell out of my sight before I change my mind about letting you live.” My stare only seemed to enrage him further. He kicked me, hard, right in the stomach. “The hell do I care about some ‘Sterlings’? You think I’m scared of you?” The impact tore the gash in my abdomen wider. A fresh surge of blood and fluid soaked through my ruined clothes. But in that moment, I barely registered the pain. His words echoed in my ears. Ava Monroe’s husband. Then who was I? A bitter laugh escaped my lips. It was all horribly clear. Ava… she was cheating on me. The woman chosen by our families, my high-school sweetheart, the love I’d built my life around for seven years… had a secret husband. Knowing this wasn’t the time to fall apart, I forced the rage down. “Caleb, is it?” I said, my voice a low growl. “You’re going to get me to a hospital, right now. And then you’re going to tell Ava to get her ass over there.” He looked at me with genuine surprise. I shot him a look of pure venom. “Because if anything happens to me today, the first person my family will destroy is you,” I whispered. “And Ava… she’ll be buried right alongside me.” For a second, there was silence. Then Caleb burst out laughing. He grabbed my hair again, slamming my head against the floor. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, ordering my wife around! Even if I kill you, the Monroes have plenty of money. I can afford to pay for a life like yours.” My head rang, my vision swimming in a red haze. He ground his heel into the stab wound, and a tide of pure agony and despair washed over me. Just then, the screech of tires cut through the air. A familiar Maybach sedan pulled up to the curb. The breath I didn’t know I was holding finally left my body. I looked at Caleb and managed a cold, bloody smile. “I told you,” I rasped. “My name is Sterling. Sloane is here. Are you ready to die?” “Leo!” My sister, Sloane, took in the scene, and a storm of fury erupted in her eyes. She rushed to my side, shrugging off her designer coat and wrapping it around my shredded, half-naked body. She pulled me into an embrace, her fierce protectiveness a tangible thing. “Are you okay, Leo? Don’t worry, I’m here now.” A hard knot of emotion clogged my throat, and tears I hadn’t realized were there finally fell. She gently wiped the blood and grime from my face before turning her wrath on Caleb. “You’re the one who did this to my brother?” Her voice was dangerously low. “You have a death wish.” Caleb looked at her as if she were a joke, laughing so hard he doubled over. When he finally caught his breath, he shot Sloane a dismissive glare. “Big words. Let’s see if you’re still talking so tough in a few minutes. Boys! Show her that I, Caleb, am not someone you mess with.” His thugs charged forward. Sloane’s security detail moved instantly, forming a protective barrier around us while efficiently taking down the first wave of attackers. But more men poured out from behind Caleb, and our guards were quickly outnumbered. “Sloane,” I asked, my voice weak with worry, “is this everyone you brought?” Her face was grim. She squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry. Dad’s on his way with the main team. Let’s see who has the nerve to touch Sloane Sterling’s brother.” Caleb was growing anxious as he watched his men get systematically dismantled. He shot us a venomous look and pulled out his phone. “You just wait! I’m calling my wife to come and destroy you!” He put the call on speaker, and as soon as it connected, he started wailing. “Honey! This woman, some psycho named Sloane Sterling, is attacking me! She says I hurt her brother and she’s going to kill me! You have to come, now!” The voice on the other end, Ava’s voice, was suddenly sharp with alarm. “Sloane? Which Sloane?… Where the hell are you?! Don’t you move a muscle!” Even after seven years, I would know that voice anywhere. And I could hear the tremor of pure panic in every syllable. Good, I thought. Let her come. Caleb hung up, a triumphant, piercing laugh echoing in the room. “Hah! My wife is on her way to end you! She said she doesn’t know any Sloane! She’ll just pay for the damages after you’re dead!” He pointed at his remaining men. “Listen up! A million dollars to whoever takes these two out first!” Greed lit up their eyes. One of them snatched a fruit knife from a nearby refreshment tray and lunged at us. “Leo, close your eyes!” Sloane spun around, shielding me with her body. I felt a warm, strong hand cover my face. A choked gasp from Sloane. The coppery scent of fresh blood filled the air. A terrible premonition seized me. I clawed at her hand, my voice cracking. “Sloane! What happened? Are you okay?” When I pulled her hand away, my vision cleared to the sight of a deep, grotesque gash on her forearm, blood dripping onto the pristine floor. Then came a brutal kick, and she collapsed on top of me with a thud. She coughed, a spray of red misting the air. “Sloane!” I screamed, my heart shattering. I was untouched, but my sister’s white dress was rapidly turning crimson. Hate, pure and undiluted, consumed me. My face, streaked with blood and tears, twisted into a mask of rage. I scrambled for the heavy, cast-iron tailor’s shears on a nearby worktable and launched myself at Caleb’s smug face. Shhhnk. The blades sank deep into his abdomen. “Aaaargh!” he shrieked. I held onto the handles, twisting them savagely in his flesh. “You piece of trash! You dare to touch me!” He gripped the shears, kicked me away, and roared in fury. I landed hard on the floor, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. Caleb, now completely unhinged, screamed at his men, “Kill him! Kill him now!” They swarmed me. The next thing I saw was a wooden chair swinging down toward my head. “Don’t you touch my brother!” a hoarse voice cried out. Through my horrified, widening eyes, I saw Sloane stumble to her feet and throw herself in front of me. The chair crashed down on her head with a sickening crack. “SLOANE!” Her body went limp, falling heavily against mine. She twitched once, twice, and then was still. I went insane, scrambling to lift her, but two of the thugs pinned me to the floor, grinding my face into the cold marble. Pinned and helpless, I thrashed and screamed, my cries choked with blood and tears. Caleb just smiled. He brought the pointed heel of his designer shoe down on my fingers, grinding it slowly. “Is this too much for you?” Pain exploded through my hand. I curled into a ball, my body trembling, cold sweat drenching my skin. My vision began to fade, the world dissolving into the sound of Caleb’s maniacal laughter. “Don’t you worry,” he cooed. “I have one more special gift for both of you.” A final blow landed, and the world went black. When I came to, we were in a glass-walled walk-in freezer. The skin touching the metal floor burned with a piercing cold. I was shivering violently. Sloane’s face was already tinged with blue, a delicate frost forming on her eyelashes. I rubbed my hands together, trying to generate some warmth, and pressed them to her cheek. My tears fell, hot against her icy skin. “Sloane, stay with me. Don’t fall asleep. Dad’s coming, he’s almost here. Please, just hold on…” I felt her breathing grow shallow, and my heart sank into a black pit of despair. I looked out at Caleb, my eyes so red they felt like they were bleeding. “Caleb! If my sister dies, I will kill you with my bare hands!” He just chuckled, pulling his cashmere coat tighter as he stepped into the freezer. “You talk way too much.” He shoved a rag into my mouth, then kicked me hard in the chest. “Feeling a little hot-headed? Let’s cool you off.” With that, he kicked over a large bucket of water. The icy liquid spread quickly beneath me, and in the sub-zero temperature of the freezer, it began to turn to ice, freezing my tattered clothes and bleeding skin to the floor. The cold was a physical thing, a deep, gnawing pain that shot straight to my bones. “So? How do you like my gift?” Caleb sneered, admiring his handiwork before turning and leaving us to freeze. I looked at Sloane’s still form, a wave of crushing regret washing over me. I hated myself for being too weak to just get up and kill him. And then, a vibration. My phone, somehow still in my pocket, was ringing. My pupils contracted. The caller ID read: Ava. Ignoring the searing pain of tearing my own skin, I dragged my body across the icy floor until I could reach the phone and answer it. “Leo! Where are you?” Ava’s voice was frantic. “I can explain about Caleb later! Just let him go! Or else…” She hesitated. “Or else I’ll hate you for the rest of my life.” The blood-tinged ice steamed faintly beneath me. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. My face contorted with a mixture of insane hatred and utter despair. Hate me? From the day we made our relationship official, Sloane had been secretly helping me build Ava up so that my father would finally accept her. In just three years, Sloane’s guidance had turned Monroe Industries into a market leader. And this was how she repaid us? By taking my money to support her secret husband, and then letting him do this to us? That monster. It was Caleb trying to kill us. The rag in my mouth turned my furious screams into muffled sobs. Just then, Caleb returned. Hearing Ava’s voice on the phone, he froze, then snatched it from my hand. “Hello? Honey? Why are you calling him?” Ava, hearing only silence from my end, sounded panicked. “Where’s Leo?” “So his name really is Leo,” Caleb said dismissively. “I’m just teaching this little homewrecker a lesson. Showing him that you don’t mess with the Monroe family.” There was a dead silence from the other end. Then, Ava’s furious scream tore through the speaker, so loud it was distorted. “CALEB! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO LEO? HE’S LEO STERLING!” A pause, filled with her ragged breathing. “YOU’RE TRYING TO GET ME KILLED!” Clatter. Caleb’s body went rigid. The phone slipped from his grasp and hit the floor. His eyes were wide with a dawning, horrified disbelief. After a few seconds of stunned silence, his head snapped around to look at me. His expression was one of pure terror. He ripped the gag from my mouth. “Are you… are you really Leo Sterling?” he stammered, his voice an octave higher than before. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. I gave him a weak, cold smile. “Starting to believe me? Now go get my sister to a…” SMACK. His open palm connected with my cheek. “You shut your mouth! I’m Ava’s husband! What are you?!” His terror was morphing back into a desperate, defensive rage. “So what if you’re Leo Sterling? That doesn’t change the fact that you’re the other man!” He fumbled for his own phone, unlocked it, and shoved the screen in my face. It was a photo of a marriage certificate. Ava Monroe and Caleb Vance. And when my eyes focused on the date, a loud ringing started in my ears. I started to laugh. A wild, unhinged sound. I finally understood why, starting five years ago, Ava was always so “busy with work.” She had married Caleb then. And I, like a fool, had felt sorry for her, begging Sloane to send some of her best people to help ease her workload. All those nights she claimed to be pulling all-nighters at the office, she was with him. Of our seven-year relationship, Caleb had been a part of five. It turned out I really was the homewrecker he’d called me. I laughed until tears streamed down my face, my body convulsing so hard I coughed up a mouthful of dark, clotted blood. “My wife loves me too much to ever yell at me like that! It was you, wasn’t it? You seduced her!” Caleb grabbed me by the throat, his face a mask of frantic denial. “Talk! Say something!” I sank my teeth into his wrist. The coppery taste of his blood filled my mouth, so sickening I wanted to vomit. I spat a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the floor and looked at him with pure contempt. He didn’t even flinch, his eyes wild with a crazed idea. “You should just die! If you’re dead, then Ava will be all mine again!” He scrambled out of the freezer. When he returned, he was carrying a large canister. He tipped it over, and a cold, pungent liquid splashed all over me. The acrid smell hit me instantly. Gasoline. He was going to burn me alive. Primal survival instincts kicked in. I started dragging Sloane’s unconscious body toward the door, but it was too late. He flicked a lighter and tossed it onto my soaked clothes. The world erupted in flames. The smell of burning flesh filled the small space. I rolled on the ground, screaming in agony, but the fire clung to me, feeding on the gasoline. The pain was beyond anything I had ever imagined. Perhaps my screams were loud enough to pierce through her unconsciousness, because Sloane’s eyes slowly fluttered open. “Leo!” Her eyes widened in horror. A surge of desperate, adrenaline-fueled strength allowed her to break the thin ropes binding her wrists. She stumbled towards me, her movements clumsy. Through the searing pain, I shook my head, my voice a shredded wreck. “No! Don’t save me! Sloane, you’ll die too! Stay back!” But she ignored me, slapping at the flames on my body with her bare hands. “Leo, I’m not going to let anything happen to you!” she choked out, trying to comfort me even then. The moment her hands touched the fire, her skin blackened and peeled back, revealing raw, pink flesh underneath. Her face contorted in pain, a sight that shattered what was left of my heart. Tears welled in my eyes, only to be instantly evaporated by the heat. Sloane didn’t stop, forcing a pained smile onto her face. “Don’t cry, Leo. It doesn’t hurt.” I had never seen my sister, always so poised and powerful, look so broken. And it was all my fault. If it wasn’t for me, she would never be in this position. Regret was a poison, eating me alive. I pounded my fists against my chest, glaring at Caleb with all the hatred in my soul. It was all my fault! I had ruined everything because I was blind enough to fall for a monster like Ava! “Caleb!” I roared through the flames. “When my father gets here, you are a dead man!” He just laughed, his face a terrifying rictus of glee. He began splashing the rest of the gasoline all around the glass-walled freezer, then played with the lighter in his hand. “Still talking tough? I’m about to send you two on a little trip to hell together!” Just as the flames were about to consume us completely, two roars echoed through the building, arriving at the exact same time. “STOP!” It was Ava, her face as white as a sheet. And another, deeper voice, laced with absolute authority and earth-shattering fury. “Who dares to touch my children?” My father, Arthur Sterling, flanked by a small army of his elite security team, strode into the room. The moment his eyes fell on Sloane and me, his expression transformed into something apocalyptic. Ava’s legs gave out, and she collapsed to her knees. Caleb just stood there, frozen, his face a perfect picture of idiocy.

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My whole class was thrown forward in time, to the year 3035. Humans, once the apex predators, were now a critically endangered species. Leo, the class slacker, was living it up. “Dude, this is awesome! They feed us, house us, even give us baths. Steak, lobster, little cakes—what’s not to love?” Mark, our class president, agreed. “AC, waterbeds, a pool… Seventy-eight degrees is the GOAT.” And Ariana, the class beauty, preened. “Eee, why are they always looking at me? Do they just, like, love me that much?” But I was the only one whose skin was crawling, whose mouth was as dry as dust. Oh, my dear, naive classmates. You’ve forgotten something. As an endangered species, it’s not just about being cherished, adored, and pampered. It’s also about being bred. Endlessly. 1 I was the last one they caught. Our Animal Science class was on a field trip to a national wilderness preserve to observe a wild panda. The transport vehicle overturned, and when we woke up, we were in the apocalypse. My leg was injured. I got separated from the others while looking for food. After a restless sleep, as I was dragging myself eastward up a mountain, he appeared again—the burly Insectoid in sterile gloves who’d been silently tracking me. I thrashed, trying to scramble away, my hands fumbling for a loose rock to throw. But the Insectoid, with his strangely delicate features, just stared at me with his huge, multifaceted compound eyes. A low, rhythmic chittering sound vibrated from his throat, as if trying to soothe me. He didn’t seem hostile. I was already at my limit. The wound on my leg had reopened, bleeding again. The Insectoid behind me chirped softly, a gentle summons. This time, I stopped my clumsy retreat and turned back. He had placed a piece of fruit on the ground. I swallowed hard. As my gaze dropped to the fruit, a sharp prick stung my ankle. A thin, insect-like needle delivered a paralyzing agent that spread through my body like ice. I was sedated. When I opened my eyes again, I was inside a completely alien architectural complex. Two other Insectoid guards opened a gate, revealing silvery structures that shimmered in the sun like liquid mercury. Holographic screens and rotating icons pulsed with information I couldn’t comprehend. Through the transparent walls on either side of me, I could see other humans huddled in corners, their faces distorted and strange. They were a mix of ethnicities, but they all shared unsettling traits: wide-set eyes, mismatched pupils, and thin, patchy hair. The moment I was lifted from the transparent containment unit, a wave of excitement swept through the facility. Every Insectoid swarmed toward me. They chittered and clicked, a sound of urgent, agitated delight. The thousands of tiny lenses in their compound eyes were fixed on me. One of them, who seemed to be a leader, extended a long, jointed appendage. The sedative still held me frozen; I could only watch as its hand descended and gently stroked my hair. A series of soft clicks, like laughter, echoed from the leader. The pupils in its countless tiny eyes dilated. If I were to judge by human emotions, it was pure joy. It seemed these Insectoids adored humans, especially our smooth skin and soft hair. 2 They took me to a private room that resembled a medical bay. An Insectoid medic tended to the wound on my leg. Their methods were nothing like human medicine; they were brutal. The dead flesh was simply carved away, with no anesthetic or medication. I was expected to just… heal. When the paralytic wore off, the pain was so intense I nearly passed out. Just then, an Insectoid caretaker brought me a bowl of milk. It was fresh, still warm and carrying a gamey scent. Gritting my teeth, I drank it all. The caretaker seemed pleased. It studied me for a long moment, then, when it thought no one was looking, its gloved hand reached out and patted my head. I fought down a wave of nausea and stayed perfectly still. My only strategy was to eat whatever they gave me and observe everything. My quiet compliance quickly earned me a reward. One day, after I’d finished my meal, my caretaker carefully lifted me. It used an iris scanner to activate a light-based transport strip, and we glided down a brightly lit corridor made of some unknown material. We stopped in front of a large room. The doors hissed open to reveal a bizarre collection of human furniture—chairs, tables, and benches, all looking like priceless antiques. And deeper inside, there were a dozen nutrient pods. Each pod held someone. In the nearest one, his eyes closed in sleep, was Leo, the class slacker. They were here. A jolt of panic shot through me. An Insectoid doctor in the room chittered something. Seeing my reaction, it gestured for my caretaker to put me down. I limped forward, peering into each pod. In the very center, a figure stirred and woke. It was our class beauty, Ariana. I raised my hand to tap on the glass. Suddenly, a mechanical arm shot out from the pod, and a line of text materialized in the air—some kind of description. “Ariana,” I rasped, my voice trembling. My caretaker let out a sharp, joyful cry. It was the first time I had spoken in days. It chittered to the doctor on duty, and a moment later, the pod doors began to open. Ariana was the first one lifted out by the mechanical arm, followed by the others. They woke up, rubbing their eyes and staring at me. I couldn’t hold it back any longer. Tears welled up in my eyes. But my classmates just laughed, their relief palpable. 3 They had been captured two weeks before me. They knew more than I did. This was Earth, but not the Earth we knew. It had been conquered by an alien Insectoid species. Humans were nearly extinct, now classified as a federally protected endangered species. And we were the new darlings of Earth’s masters. The entire captive population numbered less than a hundred. We were being preserved with the effort and resources of a nation-state. Seeing my confusion, Leo grinned. “Think about how they used to treat pandas. That’s us now.” Below only one species, but above all else. Claire, our top student, tried to comfort me. “Don’t be scared, Barb. We’re safe now. They won’t hurt us. We were so worried about you.” In the time they’d been here, they’d already learned to decipher some of the Insectoids’ intentions. Their intelligence, which they demonstrated through these deductions, had earned them unprecedented attention. It was a positive feedback loop: constant care and escalating pampering had given them all the illusion of being princes and princesses. Claire said, “Based on their excitement and the symbols they’ve inscribed for us, I think the total human population is even lower than the panda population was. We made a bet. Leo says three thousand, Mark says one thousand, and Ariana thinks it’s eight hundred. Barb, what’s your bet?” How many? I didn’t know. I glanced over my shoulder. In the observation room behind us, the same Insectoid who’d brought me in was cleaning, a pair of sterile gloves on his hands. He kept stealing glances at me. In that moment, I saw something complex in his compound eyes. Was it… concern? Was he worried that we, the endangered, might come to harm? How ironic. Humans, the ancient and precious living fossils, had thrived on this planet for five million years with our incredible adaptability. We wiped out nearly 85% of Earth’s wild mammals and consumed half its plant life, becoming masters of the planet. And a thousand years later, we were the ones on the verge of extinction. Wait. Endangered species. My mind flashed back to the distorted faces of the humans I’d seen when I first arrived. I remembered a famous case from Australia, a tragic story of an isolated family whose inbreeding led to severe health problems in their children—facial deformities, poor eyesight, the inability to speak. Could it be that the other humans in this facility were… A terrifying thought took root in my mind. Beside me, my classmates were still chattering excitedly. “Man, this is the life! No 9-to-5 grind, they feed us, house us, even give us baths. Steak, lobster, little cakes…” Leo sighed contentedly. “AC, waterbeds, a pool,” Mark added. “Seventy-eight degrees is the best.” “Eee, they can’t stop looking at me,” Ariana whispered, fluffing her hair. “Do they just, like, adore me?” And I was the only one whose skin was crawling, whose mouth was as dry as dust. My dear classmates. You’ve forgotten. As an endangered species, it’s not just about being cherished and adored. You also have to be bred. Endlessly. 4 There were eight of us now, including me. All from the same vehicle, all friends. Four guys: Mark, Leo, Jax the athlete, and Simon, the quiet one with glasses. And four girls: myself, Ariana, Claire, and my introverted roommate, Jenna. A perfect set. Four males, four females. We all wore collars. The girls’ were silver, the boys’ were gold—a simple way to differentiate sexes. The symbols on them seemed to be serial numbers. If I wasn’t mistaken, mine was 88. The Insectoids kept calling me “Baba,” which sounded just like it. It also sounded eerily like my nickname, Barb. When I shared my terrible theory, Simon, the youngest, had the biggest reaction. His face turned beet red, his mouth hanging slightly open. Ariana shot him an annoyed look. “What are you staring at?” She gracefully tucked a curl behind her ear. “They wouldn’t do that, would they?” Mark and Claire fell silent. “They probably wouldn’t… at least, not right away,” Mark said, though he didn’t sound convinced. “We have to find a way to escape,” Claire whispered. We looked around. The room was under 360-degree surveillance. Our every move was exposed to the watchful eyes of our Insectoid caretakers. Their compound eyes stared, unblinking. This time, even Leo shivered. “No way… I’m still a virgin.” My roommate Jenna was on the verge of tears. “Barb, what are we going to do?” A typical insect has thousands of lenses in its compound eyes. Each one acts as a tiny, individual eye, capturing every minute movement and feeding it to the brain. To them, our every action, every flicker of an eyelid, every tightening of a muscle, was an eternity of slow motion. The moment Jenna started to cry, her designated caretaker began to move. “Stop crying!” I hissed. “Smile. Right now.” Jenna’s mouth trembled, twisting into a pained grimace. “What? Why?” “They can’t understand our words, but they can read our expressions. If you keep crying, they might think we’re hurting you. Think about how we separate fighting lab rats in the vivarium.” Everyone went quiet. Just then, I noticed the number of Insectoids outside the observation room had grown. They’d gathered silently, a crowd of them. From my time in the wilderness and the med bay, I’d learned that Insectoids distinguished rank by the necklaces they wore. Commoners wore stone or wooden beads. Professionals, like doctors, wore necklaces of terrestrial gems, like crystal. But the managers, the ones with authority, wore gold chains forged from metals brought to Earth by a supernova. The bigger the beads, the higher the rank. And right now, outside the glass, stood an Insectoid leader with a thick, heavy gold chain. The pair of antennae on its head twitched gently. Insect antennae are their most vital sensory organs, evolved from what were once legs on their heads. Some detect the taste of food, some sense sound, others smell. Right now, the leader’s antennae were quivering, pointed in our direction. That’s when I noticed it. Even in this situation, Ariana had put on perfume. Her hair was perfectly styled. She caught me staring and shrugged. “A girl’s got to look her best, no matter what. It was the last of my perfume, anyway.” The last of it was more than enough. The next second, the Insectoid leader pointed a clawed finger at Ariana. An Insectoid caretaker entered, gently scooped Ariana up, and carried her out. The leader nodded, satisfied, then its gaze swept over the rest of us. 5 “Are they choosing people?” Simon asked, his voice hollow. “Are they going to… pair us up now?” Mark and the other guys tensed, glancing instinctively at Simon. He flinched, his face turning a shade of red so deep it looked painful. Jax, ever the loyal friend, spoke up. “Doesn’t matter who they pick. We won’t… we won’t do anything.” Simon glanced at me. “Me… me neither.” But after taking Ariana, they didn’t take anyone else. The rest of the day passed in unnerving silence. A knot of anxiety tightened in our stomachs. As the only one who had survived outside for over a week, I had become their unwilling expert. But the truth was, I didn’t know anything. In that week, I hadn’t seen a single other living human. The ruins of our world—old houses, decaying parks—were almost completely covered by bizarre Insectoid structures. The ground was littered with the massive, discarded egg sacs and molted skins of their hatchlings, emitting a sour, unsettling stench. The wilderness was no place for humans anymore. The only survivors were in captivity. And in this facility, there were others besides us. As the thought occurred to me, I saw the same realization dawn on Mark and the others. We all rushed toward the transparent walls, but they crackled with electricity. A single touch sent a numbing jolt through our bodies. Our frantic movements attracted the attention of the caretakers. Mark was the first to be lifted away, and the others followed, one by one. Just before they took me, I yelled, “Cry! If you’re alone, just cry! Stop when you see one of us! If we do it enough, they’ll understand! It’s our only way to see each other!” 6 My advice worked. While the Insectoids’ rigid exoskeletons didn’t allow for many expressions, they had emotions. They were naturally drawn to the sight of a smiling human, especially a docile, obedient one. It was the same satisfaction we once got from our own pets, that feeling of affection and simple, devoted submission. On the third day of my solitary confinement, after my seventh crying jag and refusing all food and water, I was finally allowed to see my own kind again. But it wasn’t in person. It was through a holographic display that materialized all around me. I could even navigate the images myself. What I saw was worse than I imagined. Four of my classmates were already naked. Mark was curled up, eating. Simon was asleep. Leo was gulping down fruit juice and belching loudly. The Insectoids had figured out the optimal temperature for human comfort, a temperature where clothes were unnecessary. So they had simply taken them away. They loved the softness of human skin, the suppleness of our bodies, the same way humans once loved fluffy kittens and puppies. They were making us into what they loved. They had no moral compass to tell them otherwise. Jax had it the worst. The hair on his chest had been plucked out, one by one, leaving his skin raw and red. According to their health standards, a healthy human shouldn’t have hair there. After all, none of the others did. I watched the four of them for two days. Then, two days later, Mark’s feed vanished. Only three male classmates remained. Three more days passed. Jax’s feed disappeared. Now there were only two. A cold dread began to creep into my heart. A wild, absurd thought surfaced. If the Insectoids were capable of “liking” someone… was it possible they would consider our feelings when it came to breeding? Was that why the girls were only shown the feeds of the four boys? Did they think we were choosing a mate based on who we watched the longest? …But the only reason I watched Simon and Leo more was because they at least tried to cover themselves! 7 The thought spiraled, twisting into panic. Just then, he arrived. It was the Insectoid who had first brought me to the facility. He was filling in for my caretaker, cleaning the room. I looked at him, my eyes wide and pleading. His own multifaceted eyes didn’t move, but his antennae twitched. As the human he’d personally captured, he’d always kept a close watch on me. I knew it. I turned back to the screen and let my expression crumple, as if I were about to cry. He glanced around, then continued his sanitizing routine. But one of his appendages brushed, as if by accident, against my injured ankle. The wound had already scabbed over. It was still red, but it didn’t hurt much anymore. I understood instantly. The reason I was kept in a private room, the reason I hadn’t been put on display, was because I was injured. If I stayed injured, it would certainly affect my suitability for pairing. That night, under the thin paper-like sheet on my bed, I used my fingernails to claw open the wound. I clenched my teeth against the searing pain and ripped away the entire scab. Blood pooled on the floor, but I didn’t make a sound. The next morning, the Insectoid doctor returned. It stared at my leg for a long time, only producing bandages after I started to sob. As it worked, an assistant came in. They chittered back and forth, and the assistant pulled up a holographic chart. It was filled with wedge-shaped compatibility graphs. At the very top, I saw her designation: Number Two. Ariana. And trailing behind her code was a list of golden male codes. Not a single one of them belonged to our classmates. Could it be? I got my answer a month later. During that time, because my wound kept “reopening,” I remained in the medical bay. As soon as they tried to remove my clothes or raise the temperature, I would feign weakness, my body going limp. The constant infections and a missed period finally made me genuinely sick. I ran a fever. Now, even when the naked images of Leo and Simon flickered across the screen, I didn’t even glance at them. My Insectoid doctors conferred, chittering worriedly about my poor condition. That afternoon, hoping to lift my spirits, they changed the holographic content. And that’s when I saw her. Unprepared, I saw a completely transformed Ariana. 8 The once glamorous Ariana was unrecognizable. Her beautiful, wavy hair had been chopped off, and a faint red mark scarred her forehead from where she’d tried to strangle herself with it. She was in a magnificent, sprawling room with soft, padded walls. She wore no clothes. Her skin was a pale, milky white, and her body was incredibly round. She must have gained at least thirty pounds. An endless supply of liquid nutrients was available to her, along with glittering, jewel-encrusted toys. Her environment looked luxurious, with several Insectoid attendants fussing over her constantly. If she so much as glanced at a food item, it was brought to her instantly. If she frowned, it was taken away. It would have been a perfect picture, if not for the enormous, taut swell of her belly. In less than two months, her stomach had grown to a terrifying size. If she was carrying multiples, there had to be at least eight in there. Had these creatures lost their minds? She sat mechanically, hugging a paper pillow, muttering to herself. Whenever a bell chimed, her head would snap up, and a vacant smile would spread across her face as she looked toward the door. It was pure conditioning, like a dog responding to a bell. So what if you were treated like a national treasure? In the end, you were still just a pet. A rare, collectively owned pet. And Ariana, favored by the Insectoid leader, was simply the most prized—and the first to be broken. I scrambled to my feet, my wounded ankle dripping blood onto the floor. The room spun. I steadied myself, reaching a hand out. The image flickered and changed. And then I saw Claire and Jenna, who I hadn’t seen in ages. Their enclosure was different, seemingly more open. It had a crystal-walled antechamber that periodically opened to the outside, allowing sunlight to stream in. It was like a VIP habitat at a zoo. On the grassy patch outside, a bathtub shaped like a giant clamshell had been installed. Every ray of light was designed to reflect off the bathers’ skin, showcasing its smoothness and beauty. Claire was holding on better than the others, but only just. She sat inside, refusing to go out. On the plush cushions before her, she had painstakingly written the same word over and over in spilled milk: Escape. Escape. Escape. Jenna, however, was in the outdoor tub, awkwardly washing herself as the Insectoids watched. Every splash, every movement, was met with a chorus of excited clicks and chirps from the spectators. Occasionally, a bold young Insectoid would slap the holographic screen, only to be chided by its parent for being rude and frightening the precious human. Beyond the transparent crystal wall, rows of Insectoids stood, tier upon tier, their compound eyes wide, their mouths agape, watching the humans inside. This was so different from the dull, listless captives they were used to. This was the adorable, lively human they had always dreamed of. Jenna, who had always been shy and insecure about her looks, was now the most beloved human in the Insectoid world.

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