Category: English

Years after graduation, Caleb Howard was a name everyone knew. At our high school reunion, someone decided to play matchmaker, nudging him towards me. “Caleb, my man! Remember the little shadow who used to follow you around everywhere?” he slurred, reeking of whiskey. “You’re single, she’s single… why not give it another shot?” Caleb slowly raised his left hand, a humorless smile on his lips. “I’m married.” The table erupted in shocked whispers. Only I stayed silent, my head bowed. I couldn’t understand why he was still wearing that ring. We’d been divorced for three years. 1 The reunion was in full swing when the class president burst through the door, his voice booming with excitement. “Everybody, look who’s here!” I followed their collective gaze, and my breath caught in my throat. It was Caleb. Three years had carved a new maturity into his features. As he greeted old classmates, the corners of his eyes crinkled into a subtle, charming arc. He carried himself with the quiet confidence of a man who knew his own worth. I’d heard he was recently named the city’s “Outstanding Young Entrepreneur of the Year,” already a multimillionaire before thirty. While the others swarmed him with handshakes and back-pats, I ducked my head and pretended to be absorbed in my phone. From the corner of my eye, I saw him take the empty seat diagonally across from me. His gaze swept over me without a flicker of recognition, not lingering for even a second. But I noticed something he didn’t. Against the dark fabric of his trench coat, I saw a dusting of crystalline flakes clinging to the shoulders. It was snowing outside. My phone buzzed again. The woman next to me, a former classmate whose voice had always been two decibels too loud, leaned in with a smirk. “Carol, is that your boyfriend? Someone’s keeping you on a tight leash.” My eyes instinctively shot toward Caleb. He was deep in conversation, his expression calm, as if he hadn’t heard a thing. I forced a smile and shook my head. “No, it’s just my mom. She’s reminding me about the blind date she set up for next week.” We were all in our late twenties. Some were married with kids, but most, like me, were fielding the relentless pressure from our parents. A few women at the table groaned in solidarity. “I swear, my mom’s in such a rush, you’d think she was breeding prize livestock,” one of them griped. “As long as it’s the right gender and looks healthy, nothing else matters.” “You’ve gotta be careful, Carol,” another warned. “All the good ones get snapped up before they even hit the open market.” Just then, a burly guy, flushed with alcohol, slammed his hand on the table and staggered to his feet. “Caleb, my man!” he bellowed. “Remember the little shadow who used to follow you around everywhere?” Caleb said nothing. The guy, assuming Caleb’s memory needed jogging, pressed on. “You know! The one who spammed you with, like, a dozen love letters and confessed to you in front of the whole damn school at the graduation party—Carol Vance!” It took me a moment to recognize him under the extra weight. It was Big Mike, our old football captain. His favorite pastime back then was stirring up drama, and apparently, some things never change. “You’re single, she’s single… why not give it another shot?” In an instant, every curious, gossiping eye in the room swiveled between Caleb and me. A decade hadn’t been long enough for them to forget. They were all waiting, hungry for the next chapter of the story that had been the backdrop to their own teenage years, no matter how it ended. Caleb finally turned to look at me, his expression unreadable. Our eyes met. He slowly raised his left hand, a humorless smile playing on his lips. “I’m married.” The words dropped like a bomb. “What? Caleb, when did you get married? You didn’t even invite us to the wedding!” “Seriously, man, you kept that under wraps! We haven’t even seen a picture of the lucky lady on your feed!” Only I stayed silent, my head bowed, staring into my lap. I couldn’t understand it. Why was Caleb Howard still wearing that wedding ring? Except… we’d been divorced for three years. 2 Looking back, our divorce felt inevitable. There was no proposal, no wedding ceremony, not even a single wedding photo. The year we graduated from college, his mother was diagnosed with cancer. I had just visited her in the hospital, my arms aching from a heavy basket of fruit. As I was leaving, Caleb grabbed my hand in the sterile hallway. “Carol,” he said, his voice flat. “Let’s get married.” The words, completely out of the blue, were like a winning lottery ticket dropping into my lap. I was stunned. Terrified he might change his mind, I blurted out “yes” before he could take it back. We got our marriage license on a perfectly ordinary weekend. City Hall was quiet. The clerk motioned for us to get closer for the photo. “Okay, groom, a little closer to the bride. And groom, lose the poker face. Try to smile like she is. Good.” That small, red-backed photo on our marriage certificate became our first picture together. After a brief, sterile ceremony, I’d skipped the role of girlfriend and gone straight to being Caleb’s wife. He was in the grueling start-up phase of his company back then. To avoid a long-distance relationship, I turned down a good teaching position at a private school out of state. On his advice, I started studying for the state teaching certification exams instead. He must have known he was asking a lot of me. When we went to buy rings, he promised we’d have a real wedding once things settled down. Wanting to be the supportive, understanding wife, I picked out a simple, unadorned band that didn’t cost much. It was never about the money; it was about his heart. After we were married, we rented a tiny 400-square-foot apartment. It was small, but our life was sweet. We were like any other young couple, holding hands at the grocery store on weekends, losing ourselves in each other’s arms late at night. A year later, his mother passed away. He held me and cried for the first time. “Carol,” he whispered, his voice cracking, “I don’t have a family anymore.” His parents had divorced when he was young, and his mother, fiercely ambitious for him, had always been controlling. People saw Caleb as cold and distant, but I knew that deep down, he was just a man desperate to be loved. I held him tighter, murmuring again and again, “You have me. I’m your family now.” To cope with his grief, Caleb threw himself into his work, spending every waking hour at the office. The long hours and irregular meals took their toll, and soon he was hospitalized with a stomach ulcer. From that day on, I started bringing him home-cooked meals at his office. And that was the first time I met Vivian Chen. 3 By then, Caleb’s company was gaining traction. He’d recruited several talented alumni from our university, and Vivian, a brilliant programmer who had been a few years ahead of him, was his star hire. She had a decorated history of winning software design competitions and a wealth of project experience. Caleb was immensely grateful that she’d left a lucrative job at a tech giant to join his fledgling team. I stood outside his glass-walled office with the insulated lunchbox, listening in silence as they volleyed terms and concepts I couldn’t begin to grasp. The energy between them was electric. Finally, their intense discussion ended. They’d reached a breakthrough. “That’s it,” Caleb said, his eyes shining with an admiration I’d never seen him direct at me. “We’ll go with your plan.” A hollow feeling opened in my chest. As I stood there, frozen, Vivian noticed me and gestured with her chin. “Caleb, your girlfriend’s here.” He glanced over, his expression shifting. “She’s my wife,” he corrected. “Oh, right. My mistake,” she said with an easy laugh. “You just don’t meet many guys who get married so young.” I stepped inside, feeling clumsy and out of place as I set down the lunchbox. I was an intruder in their world. As I turned to leave, I heard Vivian ask, “Your wife doesn’t seem like she’s in tech. What does she do?” “She’s a teacher.” Caleb’s tone was clipped, as if he was reluctant to discuss his personal life at work. But Vivian was persistent. “I have friends who teach at the university. Maybe they know each other. Is she a high school teacher? Or college?” “She’s still studying for her certification.” “Oh, that explains it,” Vivian said, her voice bright and cheerful. “No wonder she has time to bring you lunch. Don’t worry, those exams are a breeze these days…” But what was a “breeze” for someone like Vivian was a hurricane for me. I failed. My old college advisor, hearing I was still unemployed, called with a job opportunity. But it was out of state, and Caleb was firmly against it. He picked up one of my discarded test-prep books, flipping through the pages. He chuckled, trying to be encouraging. “Carol, this stuff isn’t that hard. Just focus a little more next time, and you’ll nail it.” I bit my lip, the words catching in my throat. He seemed to have forgotten that I wasn’t born with a mind like his. Math problems that others understood after one try took me ten. My only real talent was my persistence—especially when it came to him. He was the genius, the valedictorian who aced every exam. I was the art student who scraped by at the bottom of the class. I had only gotten into the state college next to his prestigious university by spending countless agonizing hours in the art studio, practicing until my fingers were raw and blistered. When he said “it isn’t that hard,” whose standard was he using? It was painfully obvious. 4 The dreams started. Night after night, I saw him standing beside someone else. Not me, but Vivian—someone who was his intellectual equal, who understood him in a way I never could. In my dreams, I was always running, but I could never catch up to him. I’d call his name, but he would never turn around… He must have noticed my spiraling mood. One night, after we made love, he pulled me close, his arms wrapping around me. “Honey,” he whispered, “work has slowed down a bit. How about we finally plan that wedding?” He traced a line down my spine. “I can take a couple of weeks off. We can go on a proper honeymoon, get away from everything. How does that sound?” Just like that, with a few soft words, he reeled me back in. But planning a wedding was far more complicated than I’d ever imagined. Even with a wedding planner, I obsessed over every detail: the venue, the menu, the flowers. This was my one and only wedding, and it had to be perfect. Just designing the wedding favor boxes had me pulling all-nighters, pouring more of myself into it than I ever did for my final thesis. That evening, I excitedly showed Caleb the final designs. He was on his laptop, but he glanced up for a fraction of a second. “Yeah, looks good. They’re fine.” I hesitated, chewing on my lip. “I can’t decide between these two. This one holds more, but this one is more elegant… what do you think?” He was typing a message to someone, a faint smile on his face, but he remembered to answer me. “Either one is fine.” Suddenly, I had nothing left to say. Sensing my silence, he closed his laptop and pulled me onto his lap. “Honey, what were you saying?” I forced a smile. “It’s nothing. Go on, finish your work. It’s not important.” A week before the wedding, I dropped off his lunch as usual. I had just gotten home when the wedding planner called. There was a last-minute change to a crucial part of the ceremony, and I had to choose between two options immediately. I couldn’t decide, and Caleb wasn’t answering his phone. Panicked, I rushed back to his office. But as I reached the entrance, I froze. I saw Caleb, his face a mask of indifference, scraping the meal I’d made for him into the trash. Vivian was leaning against the wall nearby, arms crossed. “You really don’t know how good you have it, do you?” she teased. “Your wife treats you like a king, and you’re still not satisfied?” Her words were playful, but his reply was dead serious. “Do you think I wanted to waste it? We got so caught up in the project review that it was ice-cold by the time I got to it.” “Alright, alright, I get it,” she said, laughing. “My treat today. What are you in the mood for?” Caleb set the now-empty lunchbox aside, his movements clean and practiced, as if he’d done this a thousand times before. He sighed, a strange look on his face. “Sometimes… she’s just too good to me. It’s so much that it… it feels like pressure.” In that moment, the sour, rotten stench of discarded food seemed to rise from the bin. A wave of nausea hit me, and I fled. 5 Caleb called me again and again. Before, I would have answered on the first ring, no matter where I was or what I was doing. This time, I turned my phone off. When he finally rushed home, he found me sitting on the living room floor, my eyes swollen and red, surrounded by a mountain of shredded paper. They were the love letters I’d written him in high school. Eighteen of them. Each one filled with every ounce of love I had. He recognized the scraps immediately and lunged forward to stop me. “Carol, what are you doing?!” he demanded. “And what the hell was that call from the wedding planner? Why did you cancel everything?” I fought him off, my strength fueled by a cold rage. I snatched up one of the few intact letters and, looking him straight in the eye, ripped it in two. A perfect metaphor for us—a relationship that looked whole but was already torn to shreds. “Maybe, in your eyes, I’m no different than a stray cat,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet. “You pet me when you’re in the mood, and when you’re not, you just push me away. You never bothered to put any real thought into me. What I think doesn’t matter. What I feel doesn’t matter.” My voice rose with every word. “Caleb, do you see marrying me as some kind of noble charity on your part?” His hand clamped around my wrist, his grip like iron. “Is this about Vivian? Someone saw you at the office this afternoon…” I just shook my head. It wasn’t about Vivian. If it wasn’t her, it would have been someone else. A Sarah, a Jessica… He didn’t believe me. He tried to explain, his voice strained with forced patience. “I told you, we’re just colleagues. We have never been alone together outside of work. You can check my phone, my messages, anything you want.” I kept shaking my head, and his patience finally snapped. “Carol, why can’t you just trust me? Are you really going to throw everything away over something so small?” Suddenly, a strange calm washed over me. “You see? Even now, you think I’m just being hysterical.” “Sometimes,” I continued, my voice hollow, “I think we were never right for each other. It was always just me, forcing it.” “I’ll never understand your algorithms and your technical jargon, and you have zero interest in the comics and movies I love. You hate it when I touch your things, and you never share anything about your work with me. If I talk for more than a minute to one of your male friends, you give me the silent treatment all night.” “My heart is made of flesh and blood, Caleb. It can be hurt. It can break.” “And even with all that, I tried my best to be good to you, because you said I was the only family you had left in the world.” My nose stung, and tears began to stream down my face. “But I’ve walked ninety-nine steps toward you, and you won’t even take that final one. In fact, you’re backing away.” “Caleb,” I choked out, the words tearing through me. “I’m so tired.” All these years, I had chased after him with everything I had. He was the one who reached out his hand. He was the one who said he wanted to spend his life with me. And I believed him. I gave him my whole heart, without reservation. But my devotion was like throwing stones into the ocean—no echo, no ripple, just a deep, despairing silence. I had become lost, insecure. Jealous and ugly. I didn’t even recognize myself anymore. I didn’t see the point of a marriage like this. As he stared at me, his eyes wide with a dawning horror, I slowly slid the simple band from my finger. It took all the strength I had left to force out the final words. “Caleb, let’s get a divorce.” His eyes reddened, and his voice trembled when he spoke. “Are you sure?” He was such a proud man. He would never beg, never ask me to stay. I knew that. I watched as the warmth in his eyes froze over, replaced by a glacial cold. “Fine,” he bit out. “You said it. Carol, if you want a divorce, you’d better not live to regret it.” 6 The reunion party was winding down when a blizzard swept in, trapping us at the mountain lodge. My plan to drive home was shot. I’d have to stay the night with everyone else and wait for the snow to let up in the morning. Later, soaking in the hot springs, the women chatted lazily. “I had the biggest crush on Big Mike in high school,” one sighed. “Now… well, time is a cruel, cruel thing.” “I know, right? And the class clown is a dad now, so responsible. Caleb’s the only one who hasn’t really changed, married or not.” “Speaking of Caleb,” another chimed in, “he wasn’t even on the original guest list. The class president told me he canceled a huge project launch meeting just to be here tonight.” “That’s so weird. Caleb was always such a loner back then. I can’t think of anyone he was close enough with to go to all that trouble for…” On impulse, my fingers found his number in my contacts. In the three years since our divorce, Caleb had texted me exactly three times. The first was a month after we separated. You left some clothes in my closet. Want to pick them up this weekend? The second was on Christmas the following year. I brought some gifts for your parents. I’m downstairs. The third message, sent sometime last year, contained only two words. Carol Vance. He must have regretted sending it instantly, because nothing followed. I never replied to any of them. The moment the clerk stamped our divorce papers, I had resolved to sever every last emotional tie to him. If it hadn’t been for this reunion, we probably would have gone the rest of our lives without ever seeing each other again. After the hot springs, I said my goodnights in the main lobby. The others were heading off for more drinks and games, but I was ready for bed. As I walked down the long, quiet hallway, I saw him. Caleb was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, as if waiting for someone. I kept my eyes fixed straight ahead, pretending not to see him as I walked past. “Carol.” I ignored him, fumbling with my key card. But just as I inserted it into the lock, a hand clamped down on the door handle, holding it shut. “Carol,” he said, his voice finally losing its composure, his tone sharp and demanding. “Tell me something. What’s this about a blind date?”

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The day I was diagnosed with cancer, my boyfriend asked for a breakup. Again. I smiled and told him to wait a little longer. He flew into a rage, smashing everything in the room. “Why couldn’t it have been you?” he screamed. Three months ago, his first love died in a car crash. He blamed me, said my jealousy stopped him from driving her home. I lowered my eyes, my voice a soft echo of itself. “Just wait a little longer.” Just wait. Soon enough, it will be. 1 Leo was drunk again, that deep, sloppy kind of drunk that saturated the air with the stale stench of whiskey and smoke. I wrestled him into bed, cleaned up the mess, and only then, in the suffocating quiet, did I let myself look at the diagnosis report again. His slurred whispers drifted from the bedroom, his ex-girlfriend’s name a ghost on his lips. A laugh, brittle and humorless, escaped me. I could recite every word on that paper, but the brutal truth of it still felt like a language I couldn’t comprehend. The living room light flickered on, jolting me from my trance. I crumpled the report into a tight ball and shoved it deep into my pocket. It didn’t matter. Leo wasn’t even looking at me. He scrubbed at his temples and walked straight to the mantelpiece. To her picture. He lit a candle, his movements reverent, his head bowed in worship. After Cassie died, Leo had insisted on displaying her portrait—a large, smiling photo from their college days—in the middle of our living room. “I want you to look at her every day,” he’d said, his voice cold. “And repent.” Repent for what? The night of the accident, at a college reunion, Cassie had gotten wasted. She’d thrown her arms around my boyfriend, sobbing about how she’d never gotten over him. She ignored me, the actual girlfriend, with a blatant, drunken disregard that made everyone else uncomfortable. I finally snapped. I pulled her off Leo and shoved her away. When he insisted on taking her home, I’d sneered, “Look around, Leo. There’s a dozen people here. Why does it have to be you?” The standoff ended when one of Cassie’s admirers offered her a ride. It was supposed to de-escalate things. Instead, they crashed. Neither of them survived. And Leo laid all the blame, all the guilt, all the crushing weight of it, right at my feet. It was absurd. Did he wish he’d been in that car, too? 2 After his silent vigil, Leo turned to me, his shadow falling over me as he stood there, looking down his nose. “Your turn,” he commanded. I let out a soft, tired laugh. “How long are you going to keep playing this game?” His brow furrowed, a storm gathering in his eyes. He kicked the small table in front of me, sending it crashing against the wall. “You don’t want to? Then let’s break up. But you wouldn’t dare, would you? Not when I’m your precious cash cow.” That was his favorite threat. His new addiction. We’d been together for four years. Our online persona as the perfect influencer couple had netted us over six hundred thousand followers. They all said we were meant to be. They said the way Leo looked at me was proof of true love. He used to say it, too. “The way I look at Elena will never change, not even when we’re old. Actually, at eighty, my eyes will probably be so bad I won’t be able to see my little old lady clearly anymore.” But people change. Especially as the years pass, as the initial fire cools into embers. It’s then that other thoughts, other possibilities, start to creep in. I never realized how much he still thought about his ex until that reunion. The ghost of a first love, the one that got away—it’s a powerful thing. His ghost had never forgotten him, and suddenly, he remembered all the reasons he’d loved her. And me? I was just the familiar face, the one who’d grown older alongside him. Less exciting. Maybe, after I’m gone, he’ll talk about me with this much tortured passion to his next girlfriend. At first, I played along with his bizarre mourning ritual out of pity. He was being eaten alive by guilt and regret, and I thought if he could displace that onto me, maybe he could breathe again. I just never expected him to get so lost in the role. 3 “Just wait a little longer,” I said with a smile, getting up to head for the shower. He took my dismissal as a final insult. The rage was instantaneous. He started breaking things. Not random objects, but our things. The furniture we’d picked out together, the little trinkets we’d bought on trips, each one a vessel for a shared memory, a private joke. He raged, a storm of flailing limbs and guttural roars, his voice tearing through the chaos, “Why couldn’t it have been you?” Looking at the wreckage, a strange, unnerving calm settled over me. My smile felt genuine. “Just you wait.” Really. Just a little longer. Liver cancer. They gave me three to six months. Leo didn’t understand the meaning behind my words. He lunged, grabbing my shoulders, shaking me so hard my teeth rattled. “If you don’t want to break up, then you’ll pay your respects to her. Do it!” In the end, I did. Because his screaming was giving me a headache. And when a child throws a tantrum, you learn it’s easier to just give in. 4 That night, sleep was a stranger. I gave up trying and sat up, watching Leo’s back. He always slept facing away from me now, a chasm of cold sheets between us. I had to prop myself up on an elbow, leaning precariously over the gap just to see his face. He slept fitfully, his brow furrowed into a tight knot. The boyish face I loved was etched with a premature weariness. His lashes, long enough to be a sin, cast spidery shadows on his cheeks. His perfect nose was a sharp line in the dim light, and a fine, dark stubble was already shadowing his jaw. I drank in the sight of him, my mind drifting back to the day we met. He was eighteen, a freshman overflowing with boundless energy, sweat glistening on his skin as he dominated the university basketball court, a chorus of adoring girls screaming his name. I was twenty-three, back on campus for an alumni event, and I’d wandered over to the courts, drawn by the noise and the sea of fresh faces. When he sank the winning three-pointer, I screamed with the rest of them, a jolt of pure, youthful excitement shooting through me. He spotted me in the crowd, his eyes locking with mine, a proud, cocky grin spreading across his face. I gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. He tucked the basketball under his arm and jogged right over. “Hey,” he said, slightly breathless. “Are you one of the professors?” Under the bright afternoon sun, his skin was almost translucent, his amber eyes clear as a stream. He was so close I could smell the clean, boyish scent of his sweat and the grass. “Professors don’t get called ‘hey,’” I teased, tilting my head back to meet his gaze. I held it, watching a faint blush creep up his neck and tint the tips of his ears, before I let him go. Back then, our intentions were perfectly clear. I wanted to flirt with him. He was interested in me. Neither of us expected it to detonate into real love, a chaotic, beautiful four-year journey. Because I was the older one, I naturally indulged his moods, his immaturity. In return, he gave me the fierce, untainted romance that only a young man can offer. But lately, his tantrums had gone too far. And he’d forgotten to give anything back. 5 I didn’t sleep at all. When I finally drifted off, it was already dark again when I woke. Moonlight streamed through a gap in the curtains, painting a ghostly stripe across the floor. Habit took over. I grabbed my phone, checking the backend of our social media accounts. The team had posted the scheduled content, and the affiliate sales numbers were stable. I’d started this influencer agency with Leo. I put up the money, and I ran the business. All he had to do was show up, look handsome, and follow the script. I often thought he was born in the right era. A man who could genuinely make a living off his face. A very, very good living. But early success, easy money—it’s rarely a good thing. It had warped me, and now I saw it had warped him, too. I called his name a few times. Silence. I got up to go to the bathroom and flinched as Cassie’s smiling face caught me by surprise again. I grabbed a few tissues and draped them over the photo before continuing on. A harsh voice cut through the silence from behind me. “What are you doing?” I froze, then turned. I hadn’t even noticed Leo on the balcony, a cigarette glowing in the dark. The cherry-red tip flared as he inhaled, smoke momentarily obscuring his face. He was clearly furious about my disrespect to Cassie’s portrait. “Thought she might be cold,” I mumbled, stepping into the bathroom. He stormed to the doorway, his eyes bloodshot. “She’s dead. Why do you still have to humiliate her?” A real laugh escaped me this time. “Humiliate her? Oh, sweetheart. If I wanted to really humiliate her, I would have stood up at her funeral and told everyone she was pregnant with your child.” I’d spent the whole night thinking. It was time to lay the cards on the table. In my condition, there was no point in playing dumb anymore. I’d found out two days ago. Leo had been blackout drunk, spilling his guts, and had no memory of it the next morning. No memory of me slapping him twice, stripping him naked, and leaving him on the balcony to freeze for half the night. That’s when it all clicked. The depth of his guilt, the desperate need to make me the villain so he could keep living. My original plan had been to methodically untangle our business finances, minimize my losses, and then break up with him. But a cancer diagnosis tends to change one’s plans. Time for a new game. I might be a sugar mama, but I wasn’t a pushover.

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My childhood sweetheart, the prodigal son, had returned—all for a good girl. To prove his sincerity, he bought a box of condoms for when we were together. As I tore open the wrapper, I feigned indifference. “Who is she?” Andy Wheaton leaned against the headboard, a smirk playing on his lips. “Your stepsister. Never thought I’d be the one to fall for her.” “The little innocent… she doesn’t even know how to smoke. I gave her a shotgun, and she coughed for ages.” “Innocent as hell.” 1 My hand trembled violently, the condom falling from my fingers onto the bed. For a moment, my mind went blessedly, terrifyingly blank. For years, Andy had been surrounded by a revolving door of beautiful women, but not one had ever made him want to settle down. Not even me, who had chased him for five years, only ever earning the title of “friend with benefits.” But I never imagined he would end up with my stepsister. And I certainly never imagined he would change his ways for her. Perhaps the helplessness was written all over my face. Andy let out a short, mocking laugh. “Didn’t see that coming, did you?” “Never thought I’d be the one to fall for her, either.” He took a drag from his cigarette, as if savoring a memory. “That clueless girl… doesn’t even know how to smoke.” “I gave her a shotgun, and she coughed for ages.” “So damn pure.” He shook his head, a genuine smile on his face. I swallowed the acid rising in my throat. “Why her?” I managed to ask. Andy stubbed out his cigarette, his voice unusually serious. “Zoe is a good girl. I don’t want to let her down.” My heart stuttered. It felt as if all the strength had been siphoned from my body. “Forget it. You can just take the pill tonight,” Andy said, pushing me down onto the bed and expertly unclasping my bra. “Zoe’s too innocent. I’ve been holding back for days, afraid to even touch her.” It was the same practiced foreplay, the same familiar moves, but my body was cold, devoid of any desire. I pushed him away and stood up in silence. I put on my clothes, my shoes. Then, steeling myself against the pain, I feigned a casual air. “Andy, we’re done.” He paused for a beat, then scoffed, unconcerned. “Stella, you think you can just walk away from me?” I didn’t answer, just grabbed my purse and started packing my makeup. “Fine. Get the hell out,” he snapped, his voice turning cold, laced with the annoyance of a man whose fun had been interrupted. My nails dug into my palms, but I walked out of that room. Andy could fall for anyone. But it couldn’t be Zoe Lynn. Zoe and I were polar opposites. I loved to party, to chase thrills. I was just like Andy—wild and untamable by nature. Zoe, on the other hand, had always been the quiet, obedient good girl who followed all the rules. That’s why I’d gone to rescue her when some lowlifes lured her to a bar. That day, they forced drinks down my throat until I was blind drunk, but I managed to get her out of there. But she, panicking about a homework assignment her teacher had just announced, abandoned me, drunk and disoriented, at a bus stop. The thugs who’d been chasing us dragged me back to a hotel room. Even after all these years, I can’t bring myself to relive that night. I’d always scoffed at the idea of virginity, but there’s a world of difference between choosing to and being forced. Afterward, my body broken and weak from the night-long assault, I found Zoe and slapped her across the face. She burst into tears, her voice a hysterical accusation. “All you ever care about is yourself! If I didn’t turn in that assignment, my teacher would have punished me!” From that moment on, I despised her. And Andy knew all of this. 2 I couldn’t accept that he was with her. My only option was to tune out, to avoid any news of him. But on his birthday, he sent me an invitation as if nothing had changed. Maybe I just needed to see it with my own eyes. Maybe I just couldn’t let go. I went. But when I pushed open the door to the private room, my heart skipped a beat. On the sofa, Andy had Zoe pinned against the back, kissing her with a fierce, brutal passion. I could see the veins on the back of his hand standing out from the force of his grip. The room was full of their friends, cheering and hollering. I was the only one whose face was drained of color. For all the years we’d been together, Andy had always been in control, coolly watching me lose myself in pleasure. This was the first time I had ever seen him lose himself, swept away by his own desire. When the kiss finally ended, Zoe’s face was flushed, her body limp as she leaned against his chest. Andy’s throat bobbed. “How are you so damn innocent?” he chuckled, his voice thick with affection. And then he saw me. The smile on his face faltered, just for a second. I said nothing, my face probably a ghostly white. Someone pulled me into a drinking game. The next round, Zoe lost. The penalty was a pole dance. Zoe had always been conservative. At the suggestion, her face went pale, and she looked to Andy for help. The crowd buzzed with excitement. “Come on, Andy, you’re not gonna let your girl do that, are you?” He wasn’t. He tilted his chin at me, his posture lazy and arrogant. “Zoe’s too shy for that kind of thing.” “You do it for her.” Zoe was too shy. And what was I? A stone settled in my chest, heavy and suffocating. I forced the bitterness down and sneered, “If you can’t handle the stakes, why play the game?” Zoe’s face paled further. She bit her lip and then, her voice trembling, she said, “Stella… are you still holding a grudge because I got you raped?” She emphasized the word raped, making it impossible to miss. A wave of murmurs went through the room as all eyes turned to me, filled with a strange, prurient curiosity. I froze, shocked that she would rip open that wound in front of everyone. She wasn’t done. “How long are you going to hate me for that? I didn’t have a choice! You can’t make it all about you!” “Besides,” she added, her voice rising in self-pity, as if I were the one attacking her. “You sleep around anyway. What’s one more or one less?” The agony of that night washed over me again, a phantom pain that made my whole body tremble. I snapped. Before anyone could react, I grabbed my glass and threw the drink in her face. “Ah!” Zoe shrieked, dissolving into tears as she threw herself into Andy’s arms. I laughed, a cold, sharp sound. “Zoe, you’re as selfish as you’ve always been. I was trying to save you—” “That’s enough.” Andy cut me off, his voice unreadable. He took off his jacket and draped it over Zoe’s shoulders. Then he looked at me, his smile still roguish and charming, but the impatience in his eyes was a blade. “Stella, that was years ago.” “Are you really still hung up on that?” My heart didn’t just sink. It shattered. 3 When it first happened, I wasn’t like the girls in the movies who felt they’d lost their purity and tried to end their lives. But the whispers, the judgmental stares from everyone around me… they left me feeling lost and utterly alone. The worst moment was when a group of thugs from school cornered me at the gate and asked me if being raped felt good. Everyone else just stood by and watched. Everyone except Andy. He flew at them like a man possessed, fighting them all at once. He was beaten until he could barely see straight, but he never stopped shielding me. He broke his hand that day. A few of the thugs ended up in the emergency room. And for me, a desperate, foolish love began to bloom, filling every corner of my teenage heart. Later, during our senior year, the most critical time for our studies, he transferred schools just to be with me, to help me through that dark period. Once, lost in a fog of self-doubt, I whispered to him, “Was it really my fault? Am I… dirty now?” He had just laughed, a wild, reckless sound. “Dirty? Hell no. The moment that bastard gets out of prison, I’ll kill him myself.” And just like that, I became a moth, flying straight into the flame that was Andy Wheaton. Even when his philandering left me burned and broken, I refused to let go. But now, he was asking me if I was still hung up on it. In that moment, looking into the careless cold of his eyes, I suddenly felt tired. So incredibly tired. I don’t remember how I got out of that room. It must have been a pathetic sight. I had chased Andy for so long. I had even stayed in this city, alone, just for him. It was time to let go. I quit my job and, on a whim, bought a ticket home. After packing up my life, I went to Andy’s villa one last time. I had a lot of things there, things that now needed to disappear, along with all the love and lust. But when I opened the door, I froze. The living room was a scene of debauchery. Clothes and used condoms were strewn everywhere. One, two, three… each one a testament to the intensity of their passion. From the bedroom, I could hear the soft, sultry moans of a woman, punctuated by a man’s guttural groans of pleasure. I blinked, my eyes dry, and took a long moment to suppress the wave of pain churning in my stomach. Maybe it was because the woman with Andy was Zoe, the person I hated most in the world. That’s why this, something I should have been used to, felt like a knife twisting in my gut. A few moments later, the bedroom door opened. Zoe gasped, clutching at her naked body. “What are you doing here?!” I forced myself not to look at the raw, love-bitten marks covering her skin. Just then, my phone buzzed. Before I could even look at it, Zoe snatched it from my hand. “Are you taking pictures of me?!” she demanded, her voice rising. Her reaction was so absurd I let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Do I need to?” But she reacted as if I’d struck a nerve, slapping me hard across the face. “You just want to ruin my reputation! You want to make me as dirty as you are!” My head snapped to the side, my cheek burning. I couldn’t understand it. If it weren’t for me, she would have become the “dirty woman” she was so terrified of being. How could she treat me like this? 4 I snatched my phone back and raised my hand to strike her. I was never one to take a hit without giving one back. But in the next second, a hand clamped down on my wrist. Andy’s voice, cold and sharp, cut through the air. “Stella, what the hell are you doing?” Zoe threw herself into his arms, sobbing. “Andy, she took pictures of me. I’m so scared. Can you make her delete them?” Andy’s brow furrowed. “Delete them,” he commanded. The sting on my cheek intensified, becoming unbearable. He actually believed I would do something like that. I clenched my jaw, fighting back tears. “Let go.” “Stella, Zoe isn’t like you,” he said, his voice taking on a menacing edge. “She’s not that kind of girl. Are you trying to ruin her with these disgusting tricks? Delete them now, or don’t force me to get rough.” Every word was a calculated blow, striking right at my deepest pain. Something inside me finally broke. I threw the phone at his face, my eyes red and wild. “Andy, open your eyes and look!” I screamed. “If I had ever wanted revenge on her, I would have taken it years ago!” He flinched, his expression changing as he saw the raw desperation on my face. He picked up the phone and checked it. There was nothing. Zoe felt no guilt. She just pressed herself against him, whimpering. “Andy, I didn’t mean to accuse her. I just… I don’t want to be dirty like her. If anyone knew I’d had sex before marriage, I think I would just die. I’m so, so scared.” Andy stroked her hair, seemingly helpless against her tears. A sarcastic smile touched my lips. I took my phone and turned to leave. Behind me, I heard Andy’s soothing voice. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re not like her.” “You’re not dirty.” I froze. And just like that, the last embers of hope died. All the years I’d spent chasing him, all the memories, shattered into dust. As I sat on the train home, I looked out the window, a strange sense of calm settling over me. Leaving this city meant leaving Andy behind for good. I wasn’t completely without a place to go. Back in my hometown, my mother, long dead, had left me a house. I closed my eyes, hoping for a moment of peace. But a second later, someone tapped my shoulder. A man in a white button-down and gold-rimmed glasses stood in the aisle. He had a gentle face and a shy smile. “Hello, is this seat taken?” I nodded curtly and closed my eyes again. A moment later, he spoke again. “This might be a bit forward, but I took a picture of you just now. Would it be alright if I kept it?” His name was Ethan, and he was a photographer who traveled the world capturing landscapes. The photo he showed me was of my profile, leaning against the window, bathed in sunlight. My expression was… peaceful. I was surprised. I had just made the decision to leave Andy, and my first feeling was relief? “The composition is perfect,” he said, looking a bit shy after his explanation. “If I crop you out, it will ruin the whole structure. But if you’re not comfortable with it, I’ll delete it right away.” I smiled. “It’s fine. You can use it.” Maybe it was because we were sitting next to each other, or maybe I was just bored, but we ended up talking for the rest of the journey. I learned that we lived in the same neighborhood. Even more surprisingly, we had gone to the same kindergarten. “Well, I guess that makes us old classmates,” Ethan smiled. “I have a younger brother who’s always lived in the neighborhood with my dad. I don’t know if you know him. His name is Andy Wheaton.” I froze. The world was impossibly, cruelly small. Andy had an older brother. Smarter, more responsible. When their parents divorced, his mother had only taken Ethan. It had always been a sore spot for Andy. But this incredible coincidence sparked nothing in me. I just smiled faintly. “I know him. We’re not close.” Just then, my phone rang. It was Andy.

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My estranged daughter suddenly appeared on a popular daytime talk show. “Before I was fifteen, I was the happiest kid in the world,” she told the host, her voice trembling. “But then, my mother just… changed.” “When I was so depressed I wanted to kill myself, my own mother told me to go ahead and die.” “From that year on, she barely spoke to me. She didn’t even come to my wedding, or see her own grandchild.” “I don’t know why she did it,” she sobbed, looking directly into the camera. “But no matter what, I want to say, ‘Mom, I will always love you.’” Later, the show’s producers contacted me, hoping to orchestrate a televised reconciliation. I refused without a second thought. Watching her fraudulent performance, I scoffed. “That piece of trash,” I muttered to the empty room. “She doesn’t deserve a mother.” … I had just gotten home when my old friend called. “Sarah, your Jessie is on TV. It’s The Ashton Pierce Show. You need to see this.” I turned on the television. I hadn’t seen my daughter, Jessica, in years. She was only twenty-eight, but she looked haggard, more like forty. What came out of her mouth next, however, was a fresh reminder of her bottomless capacity for deceit. “I was fifteen, I was a teenager,” she wept to the host. “Isn’t it normal to be a little rebellious?” “I just suddenly didn’t want to go to school anymore. There was no other reason. I wasn’t getting into any real trouble.” “My mom is a teacher. She’s supposed to be the best at educating people, but with me… she had no patience at all.” “I talked back to her a few times, and I joked that I didn’t want to live anymore. But she just looked at me, cold as ice, and told me to go die.” I remembered that day. It was our first truly terrible fight. After I said those words, she had thrown on a jacket and run out. We lived on the fourth floor. She climbed out the hallway window and jumped. There was a pile of junk the neighbors had put out for collection down below. She landed on it. There was blood everywhere, but she didn’t die. Her father had run down in a panic, calling an ambulance to rush her to the hospital. Now, she recounted it with a tearful, wounded voice. “My own mother… while I was lying in a pool of my own blood, dying… she just walked past me without a word. She went to work like it was any other day.” “I was in the hospital for over a month. My mother never visited me. Not once.” The live comments on the screen exploded. [How can anyone be that cold-blooded? That’s her own daughter.] [Suddenly my mom seems like an angel, even when she grounds me for a month.] [And she’s a teacher? Someone doxx this woman and get her fired!] I trembled as I read the venomous comments. How did she have the audacity to say these things? The host offered some comforting words. Jessica wiped her tears and continued. “When I finally came home, my mom just stopped talking to me completely. And because of her, my dad became distant, too.” “Before I was fifteen, we went on a family vacation every year. After that, we didn’t even go to the mall together on a weekend.” She claimed she spent her entire high school life suffering under my silent, cold abuse. “After graduation,” she went on, “I wanted a laptop for college. The only thing she said to me was that I didn’t deserve one.” “Later, she told me I was an adult and she didn’t have to support me anymore. She threw me out of the house.” “It’s been over a decade. My graduation, my wedding, the birth of my child… she wasn’t there for any of it. My dad gave me a check for a thousand dollars for my wedding, and that was it.” She turned to the camera again, her eyes pleading. “Mom, I really do love you. It’s been so long. Can’t we let go of whatever grudge this is?” “Thanksgiving is just around the corner. Can’t we please be a family again?” She sobbed so hard she could barely breathe. The live feed went wild with a fresh wave of vitriol. The producers quickly disabled the comments. It would be a lie to say the hateful words didn’t hurt. But if I had to do it all over again, I would make the same choice. The pain of a toxic family has always been a hot-button issue. After the live broadcast, clips of her interview went viral. As expected, I, the heartless mother, was subjected to a brutal online mobbing. Netizens figured out which university I taught at, even though I was already retired. The school’s official website, forums, and alumni pages were flooded with condemnations and insults. [This university is cursed to have a teacher like her.] [You need to vet for character, not just academic credentials. Otherwise, you’re just producing garbage.] [To give birth but not to raise is to be less than human!] [She has a good public reputation, but she tortures her own child at home. She’s a monster.] A few former colleagues and students tried to defend me, but their voices were drowned out in the deluge of hate. The university called me in. In the president’s office, he looked pained. “Sarah, given the public outcry, we’re temporarily removing your profile from the distinguished faculty page. I hope you understand.” “But rest assured,” he added quickly, “we’ve worked together for decades. We know the kind of person you are. The truth will come out eventually, and we will restore your honors.” I told him I understood. But when I saw my name vanish from the school’s website, a career of over thirty years of hard work erased in an instant, I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. When I got back to my apartment building, the scene outside my door made me freeze. The door was covered in red spray paint. Words like MONSTER and TRASH were scrawled across it, with vile curses covering the entire wall. The floor was splattered with some foul-smelling, unknown liquid. I didn’t dare go inside. I hid in the nearby stairwell, my hands shaking as I called my husband, Rob. He rushed home immediately. Our next-door neighbor heard the commotion and peeked out. Seeing us, she let out a sigh of relief. “Sarah, those people were awful. If I hadn’t threatened to call the police, they were going to wait for you.” “I recorded them,” she said, handing me her phone. “If you want to report it, this is evidence.” I looked at the video. The man leading the pack was horribly familiar. It was that troublemaker from years ago. My daughter’s husband, Kyle. “I don’t know what happened between you and your daughter,” our neighbor said kindly, “but you two are good people. I know you’re not like that.” After thanking her, I copied the video to my computer. My husband, Rob, a typically mild-mannered man, was seething. “Sarah, we have to call the police.” Two days of online harassment had sent my blood pressure soaring. My head was spinning, but I knew it wasn’t time yet. “Let’s just wait,” I said. Rob hesitated. “Sarah… my office saw the interview. And some people showed up there, too.” “The director… he suggested I take some time off. A leave of absence.” “What?!” I cried out. “But you’re retiring in two months! A leave of absence now will affect your pension, your record!” “This is a nightmare,” Rob sighed, his voice full of despair. “We never should have had her.” He was never good with words, but he held me close. “It’s okay. The pension will be a little less, but we have enough to live on.” He knew it wasn’t the money I cared about. It was his reputation, built over decades of dedicated work, now tarnished. The events of the past few days stoked the embers of resentment I held for my daughter into a raging fire. “Honey,” Rob said quietly. “Do you think… maybe Jessie is in some kind of trouble?” “Does she not have our address? Does she not have our phone number? No, Rob! She’s using public opinion to force our hand!” “Have you already forgotten the lesson we learned the last time we were soft-hearted?” At the mention of that, he fell silent. For the next few days, I felt the stares and heard the whispers whenever I went out for groceries. I decided to stop leaving the apartment altogether. The vandalism incident had prompted the building management to tighten security, so at least we had a couple of days of peace. Buzzzzzzz. A loud humming sound from outside the window caught my attention. A drone was hovering right outside our living room. Hanging from it was a banner. The words made the blood rush to my head. Printed in blood-red letters on a white cloth, it read: DAUGHTER ABANDONER DESERVES TO DIE! The world tilted. I felt a wave of dizziness, and then everything went black. When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital room. Rob was by my side, his face etched with worry. He let out a huge breath when he saw I was awake. “The person flying the drone has been arrested, honey. I called the police. Don’t you worry.” At the police station, the drone operator admitted he was just paid to do it. He’d seen the story online and thought I was a terrible mother. Seeing me collapse and the ambulance arrive had scared him half to death. “I just thought I was helping fight an injustice!” he’d told the police. “It was that guy, Kyle. He said we were using righteousness to defeat evil.” “I thought it was just a banner! I never meant to hurt anyone!” He’d even handed over the cash Kyle had paid him. The police relayed the story to us and asked how we wanted to proceed. I knew who the real source of the problem was. I didn’t want to press charges against the drone operator. After a fine and a formal statement, they let him go. Seeing my pale face, Rob squeezed my hand. “Sarah, maybe we should move.” “That rotten kid… what in God’s name is he trying to do?” I shook my head. “With the internet, where could we possibly move that they wouldn’t find us?” My collapse was due to high blood pressure, so the doctors wanted to keep me for a week of observation. I had a sinking feeling. If they could get to me at home, the hospital wouldn’t be a sanctuary. “Rob,” I said, “go home and get that folder from my desk. I have a feeling I’m going to need it soon.” He nodded without question and left. I had barely closed my eyes to rest when a commotion erupted outside my room. A moment later, a familiar voice cut through the noise. “Mom! Are you okay, Mom?” I opened my eyes to see Jessica kneeling by my bedside, clutching my hand. Behind her stood the camera crew from the TV show. I tried to pull my hand away, but she gripped it tighter. “Mom, please,” she wept. “Stop being stubborn with me, okay?” A surge of anger shot through me. “Are you blind? You’re pressing on my IV!” She looked down and saw the tube backing up with blood. She let go with a sheepish smile. “I was just so worried about you. I got carried away. Can’t you just talk to me nicely for once?” There were other patients in the room, and a small crowd had gathered at the door. I didn’t want to engage with her. I just turned my head away. The reporter stepped forward. “Mrs. Miller? Hi, I’m from The Ashton Pierce Show. We were contacted by your daughter, Jessica. It seems there’s been a terrible misunderstanding between you two.” “It’s clear she loves you very much. Perhaps now is a good time to clear the air? With Thanksgiving coming up, it would be wonderful for your family to reunite.” I closed my eyes. “There is no misunderstanding. Please leave. I don’t have a daughter.” “Mom!” Jessica cried out, desperate. I saw the man lurking by the door—Kyle—and all the recent events flashed through my mind. I looked Jessica straight in the eye. “I said, you are not my daughter. You two pieces of trash are not worthy!” A collective gasp went through the room. The other patients began to whisper. “Wow, what kind of hate is that? To say something so awful on camera.” “The internet was right. She doesn’t deserve to be a mother. Calling her own daughter trash.” “Yeah, if her daughter is trash, what does that make her? The whole dumpster, hahaha.” The crowd snickered. The words hit me like a physical blow, and my face went pale. The reporter’s expression soured. She clearly hadn’t expected me to be so blunt. “Mrs. Miller, I should remind you, this is a live broadcast. Everything you’re saying is going out to thousands of viewers. Please choose your words carefully.” Jessica remained kneeling, momentarily speechless. The man at the door, Kyle, cleared his throat. That was her cue. Jessica snapped back into character. “Mom, what did I do wrong? You used to love me so much, didn’t you?” She pulled a small, worn doll from her bag. “Mom, look. You made this for me when I was a little girl. I’ve kept it safe all these years.” I stared at the little stuffed monkey. For a moment, I was transported back. I had made that for her twelfth birthday. Then, I snapped. I snatched it from her hand and hurled it out the open window. “Get out! I will never acknowledge you as my daughter!” Jessica shrieked and lunged for the window, pretending she was going to jump out to retrieve the doll. The reporter grabbed her. “Mrs. Miller, are you really this heartless?” the reporter yelled, holding Jessica back. “She cares about you so much!” “Let her go,” I said, my voice flat. “She’s faking it.” The reporter hesitated. Jessica, realizing her bluff was called, sank to her knees in front of me again and started slapping her own face. “Yes, that’s right! In your eyes, I’m always faking it!” she cried. “When I jumped from our building at fifteen, fractured my skull, and bled all over the pavement, was I faking it then, too?” “When you threw me out of the house and I had to live without a mother or father, was that also an act?” With just a few sentences, she had perfectly cemented my image as the cruel, unfeeling monster. I could only imagine what the live comments looked like now. A woman from the next bed rushed over and held her arms. “Honey, stop! There’s no grudge between a mother and daughter that can’t be fixed. This has gone too far.” A nurse, drawn by the noise, came to tell us to be quiet, then stopped dead in her tracks at the scene. “Excuse me, coming through.” Rob had returned. He looked startled by the crowd. Seeing I was okay, he relaxed, but then he saw our daughter kneeling on the floor. His soft heart took over, and he moved to help her up. “Don’t you touch her!” I commanded. I glared at Jessica. “I’m asking you one last time. Are you leaving, or not?”

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1 Everyone knew I was Damien Vargo’s weakness. His one sacred, untouchable thing. Years ago, when I was kidnapped, Damien walked into the lion’s den and laid down his arms, risking a bullet to the head. He liquidated his entire fortune, a king’s ransom, just to get me back. To shield me from the brutality of his world, he danced on a razor’s edge between the law and the underworld. And when I became pregnant, he treated me like fragile glass, a queen confined to her throne. He waited on me hand and foot, barely letting my feet touch the floor. Whispers of a pampered little canary he kept on the side swirled through the city, but I never believed them. I couldn’t. But his canary wouldn’t stay in her cage. She brought the scandal to my doorstep, and to beg for my forgiveness, Damien took a cleaver to his own hand and chopped off his little finger. The very next day, the canary was back, shoving a new piece of paper in my face. Her pregnancy test, with Damien’s name on it. “Damien is just desperate for a child with me,” she cooed. “He simply can’t get enough.” My body, already frail, couldn’t take the shock. The words, the proof, the betrayal—it all hit me with the force of a physical blow, and I miscarried. … “Damien is just so desperate to have my baby,” Crystal purred, her voice dripping with venomous sweetness. The fresh love bites on her neck were a violent purple against her skin, a stark contrast to the clinical black and white of the ultrasound photo in her hand. “We went at it all night. The results just came in. Guess what they say?” Seeing her, seeing the marks of my husband’s passion on her throat, felt like Damien himself had driven a knife clean through my back. This was her second visit. The first was yesterday. She’d sauntered in, all swagger and cheap perfume, and tossed a video of her and Damien, tangled in silk sheets, onto my coffee table. It was followed by a black Centurion card. She sank into my favorite chaise lounge, adjusting her oversized sunglasses just enough to peer at me through the gap, her gaze sweeping over me with undisguised contempt. “No wonder Damien’s tired of you. God, you’re so washed-up. There’s ten million dollars on this card. Take it and disappear.” She paused, letting the insult hang in the air before delivering the final blow. “Normally, I wouldn’t bother. He’s clearly over you. But Damien wants to give me a wedding, a real one. And for that to happen, you two have to get divorced.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. A wedding? We have to get divorced? “Does Damien know you’re here?” I asked, my voice deceptively calm. She tossed her bleached-blonde hair, her confidence absolute. She pulled out her phone and dialed. “Damien, baby,” she chirped. “Could you come over? There’s a woman here who needs… dealing with.” And just like an obedient dog, he came. A few minutes later, Damien strode in. The moment he saw me, his face went rigid, the color draining from it. Crystal, oblivious, preened like a peacock, high on the power of summoning the most feared man in Port Sterling. She snatched a cup of hot tea from the table and, with a triumphant smirk, flung its contents at me, soaking me from head to toe. I just smiled, a cold, dangerous smile. “Who gave you the courage to provoke me?” In the next second, Damien was a blur of motion. Crystal turned to him, her face lit with expectation, thinking he was coming to her defense. Instead, his hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of her hair. He slammed her to the floor, his boot connecting with her ribs in a series of sickening thuds. Crystal crumpled, gasping, her face a mask of shocked disbelief. One of Damien’s men dragged her away, whimpering. Before yesterday, I’d heard the rumors. The whole city was whispering that Damien Vargo had a gorgeous new canary, one he took everywhere. A girl so delicate she fainted at the sight of blood, so he kept her shielded from the ugliness of his work. They said he spoiled her rotten, let her get away with murder. I never believed it. I remembered the kidnapping, the terror, and Damien throwing down his guns for me. I remembered the time I went missing on the outskirts of the city, and he’d torn through the wilderness for seven days and seven nights, returning with his leg mangled by some wild animal, just to hold me and whisper, “Lena, don’t be scared. I’m here.” All those years of dancing on the knife’s edge, all the pain and scars he endured—he did it all so I would never have to be afraid. Those memories were etched into my soul. So when Crystal showed up that first time, I showed him the video. My voice was a choked whisper. “Are the rumors true?” He looked utterly lost, scrambling for words. “I’m sorry. I’ll get rid of her. I’ll have her taken care of right now, I swear. Just forgive me… Lena… please…” The world spun. The shock and grief sent me straight to the hospital. My health was already precarious, and the pregnancy made it worse. The doctor had warned me that any severe emotional distress could lead to a miscarriage. Damien’s iron grip on the city meant no one dared to breathe a word that might upset me. And now, he himself had put me here. Lying in that hospital bed, waiting for the doctors, I thought one thing over and over: This Damien is filthy. I don’t want him anymore. But when I was wheeled out of the treatment room, he was there. Kneeling on the cold linoleum floor. In one swift, brutal motion, he raised a butcher’s knife. Right there, in front of me, he brought it down, severing the little finger from his right hand. A blood offering. A penance. “Lena, it was my fault,” he choked out, his face pale with pain and regret. “I betrayed you. Forgive me, please? Just this once. I’m begging you, Lena.” Ten years. We had loved each other for ten years. How could my heart not ache for him? I gave him another chance. And now, today, I stared at the fresh bruises on Crystal’s neck and the pregnancy report she’d slapped across my face. When Damien left yesterday, he’d said he was going to “deal with” Crystal. Apparently, “dealing with her” meant falling right back into her bed. Reality was a slap in the face, shattering every last ounce of my compassion, every shred of my love. The heartbreak was a physical agony, a shard of glass twisting in my gut. The pain in my heart mirrored a sharp, cramping pain in my belly. I was going to die from this, I was sure of it. Then, a sudden, horrifying warmth spread between my legs, a torrent of crimson. I knew. I’d lost the baby. I had my doctor, Leah, cover it up. I’d found her on the streets years ago; her loyalty was to me, and me alone. Then, I booked a one-way ticket for a cruise liner heading to the southern isles. I pressed a hand to my empty womb, a hollow ache echoing through me. Ten years, Damien and I had waited ten years for this child. I had pictured our life together, the three of us, a thousand times. I had swallowed my pride and forgiven you. All I asked was that you didn’t do it again. Was that too much? On the drive back from the clinic, I got a text from Damien. : Threw a party for you tonight. To celebrate. I’ll come pick you up soon. The route took me past the main hall of our estate. The windows blazed with light, and as I drew closer, I could hear a familiar, sickly-sweet voice drifting out. “I’m so jealous of Lena,” Crystal was saying. “Damien throws her a party just for being pregnant. When will it be my turn for a party like this?” I peered through a crack in the door. I saw Damien’s expression darken. He grabbed Crystal’s chin, his voice a low growl. “As long as you never, ever let Lena find out about us, I’ll give you anything you want. Anything but my name.” Crystal pouted. “I want that pigeon’s blood ruby necklace Lena wears. Can I have it? Please?” “As long as you’re not stupid enough to show your face to her again,” Damien replied without hesitation, “anything she has, you’ll have too.” So, the fury he’d shown me was just an act. A performance for my benefit. I thought he would have learned his lesson. I thought he would cherish the chance I gave him. But he never thought he was wrong. He only thought he hadn’t been careful enough to hide it. My phone buzzed. A call from an unknown number. It was Crystal. She wanted to make sure I had a front-row seat to their little play. “Alright, I have to go get Lena now,” Damien’s voice said through the phone. I heard a rustle, then Crystal’s voice, husky and close. She had clearly pulled him into an anteroom. “Stay with me a little longer. Please? Once Lena gets here, you’ll have to be with her all night.” “No. I have to go. She just got pregnant, and she’s fragile. It’s too easy for her to miscarry.” “You only care about her baby,” Crystal whined. “Did you forget? I’m carrying your child, too. Don’t I deserve some of your affection?” “Of course I care about you,” Damien soothed. “You’re my little treasure, aren’t you?” I stepped into the doorway of the main hall, making my presence known. “What are we celebrating?” “The boss was worried you might be feeling down during the pregnancy,” one of the men said. “So he prepared a celebration for you.” How laughable. They were all in on it, all helping him lie to my face. My eyes drifted to the partition separating the main hall from the anteroom. I couldn’t see them, but their shadows danced on the polished floor, intertwined in a way that left nothing to the imagination. Damien must have heard my voice. His shadow pulled back. “That’s enough,” he hissed. “If Lena finds out, it’s over. I can’t afford that.” “I know, I know,” Crystal murmured. “But it’s been so long… If Lena knew we’ve been together for three years, she’d be furious, wouldn’t she?” “If you keep being a bad girl, I’ll have to punish you.” Then, through the phone, Damien’s voice dissolved into muffled sounds. My nails dug into my palms, the pain a dull echo of the agony in my chest. This, Damien, is how you trample on me. Again and again. A full thirty minutes passed before he emerged, pretending he’d been caught up with business. His face was still flushed with the afterglow of his tryst with Crystal. The gentle smile he offered me was so vile it made me want to retch. He placed a hand on my stomach, his touch a brand of fire. His palm, still warm from another woman’s body, moved in a gentle caress. “Is our little one behaving? Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this baby, Lena?” He had wept with joy when I first told him I was pregnant. But it never stopped him from touching me with filthy hands, from playing the part of the devoted husband. The love and happiness I thought were my life were nothing but a web of secrets and lies. Once you peeled back the glittering surface, the truth was just despair. After the “celebration,” Damien made an excuse about urgent business and left early. I knew where he was going. Back to the anteroom, back to the woman he had hidden there. Bang! Bang! Two gunshots echoed from the hillside. I looked up, my senses numb, and saw them—men from a rival territory, walking straight towards me. I watched, frozen, as one of them raised a pistol, the barrel aimed squarely at my face. Just as I braced for the end, a familiar shape slammed into me, shielding me. It was Damien. More shots rang out, several bullets tearing into his back as he tackled me. He wrapped his arms around me and threw us down a steep embankment, his body a shield over mine the entire way down. He’d taken a bullet to the left side of his chest, and his body was a mess of bloody scrapes from the rocks and gravel. But all he did was hold me tight and whisper, “Don’t be scared.” The intruders were quickly subdued. They were just scouts who had stumbled upon me by chance. Years ago, Damien had killed the wife of a rival boss—she’d been pregnant. Ever since, the man had been hunting for revenge. In the hospital, I stared at Damien’s unconscious form, my mind a blank. You would literally die for me. So why? Why would you do this to me? His injuries were severe, but on the third day, he insisted on getting out of bed. He said he had a business negotiation with a rival crew leader. Hearing those words, the flicker of pity I’d felt turned to ash in my mouth. He saw me staring and a flicker of guilt crossed his face. “It’s… it’s really important. I have to go.” “Fine,” I said, my voice flat. For days, I’d been seeing wedding decorations being smuggled into the compound. Last night, Crystal had sent me a digital wedding invitation. I knew exactly where Damien was going. Maybe Crystal was right. Maybe he just didn’t love me anymore. And when I looked at his face now, all I could see was him tangled up with her, and a wave of nausea washed over me. Soon after, I was on the deck of the cruise ship, pulling away from the shores of Port Sterling. Ping. A text from Damien. At the meeting now, Lena. Attached was a picture of him sitting at a table in a warehouse, looking serious. A pathetic attempt to prove his lie. I knew it was fake because I was watching the real event. Live. On a video call from Crystal. The wedding was being held in a secret, underground chamber, hidden away from my eyes. Damien was in a black tuxedo, the groom. The blood from the bullet wound in his chest had already soaked through the pristine white shirt and was staining the dark fabric of his jacket. But even that couldn’t stop him from marrying her. On the screen, Damien stood at the altar. After the officiant spoke, Damien took Crystal’s hand, kissed it, and looked into her eyes with a tenderness that used to be reserved for me. “I do,” he said. And in that moment, I laughed at my own pathetic foolishness. This morning, when he’d told me about his “negotiation,” a tiny, stupid part of me had held onto a sliver of hope. Maybe it’s real. Maybe it’s something life-or-death. But with Damien, the more you trust him, the bigger the fool he makes you. He sent another text after stepping down from the altar: Deal went smoothly. What do you want for dinner tonight? I replied: Are you really in a negotiation? On the live feed, I saw his face drain of all color. My phone immediately began to ring, over and over. He didn’t wait for an answer. A new text came in, frantic: Yes. I am. I’ll explain when I get back. I promise. I ended the video call with Crystal. I was already on a ship, sailing toward the open sea, leaving the shores of our country, and him, far behind.

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My mother was in the kitchen preparing lunch when the heart attack struck. She collapsed on the spot. My sister, the one she’d spoiled rotten her entire life, called me, her voice trembling. “Charlotte, Mom’s dying! You need to wire some money, now! I need to charter a private medevac. The doctors say it’s her only chance!” As one of the country’s top investment bankers, a few hundred thousand dollars is little more than a flickering number on a screen to me. But I simply glanced toward the kitchen door, then ended the call. “She’s not going to die.” Then, I dialed the number for a high-end luxury boutique and ordered their latest limited-edition handbag. Price tag: five hundred thousand dollars. 1 “Ms. Thornton, congratulations! You’ve been upgraded to our SVIP status. We’ll arrange for immediate home delivery!” The boutique manager’s voice was electric with excitement. At almost the exact same moment, my sister, Chloe, called back, screaming this time. “Charlotte! Are you insane?! You just dropped half a million on a purse without blinking, but Mom’s life isn’t worth anything to you? Is a stupid piece of leather more important than our own mother?!” Her voice was raw, the desperation palpable even through the phone. Our housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, who was helping with lunch, stared at me with wide, horrified eyes. I ignored them both and continued my conversation with the manager. “That particular bag… I believe it also comes in a sapphire blue, doesn’t it? I’ll take that one as well. It’s always nice to have a matching set.” Just like that, I spent another half a million dollars. “Charlotte!” Chloe’s shriek nearly shattered my eardrum. “Are you even her daughter?! Did you not hear a single word I said?” Realizing that screaming was getting her nowhere, her tone abruptly shifted to a tearful plea. “Mom collapsed in the kitchen. It was a massive heart attack. The doctors here say their equipment isn’t good enough; she needs to be transferred to a specialist hospital in the city immediately. We need a medevac… Charlotte, I’ll pay you back, I swear. Just front the money, please! She’s our mother!” She was sobbing hysterically, repeating her promises, but I simply walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and watched the traffic flowing in the streets below. After a full three minutes of her crying, my patience finally wore thin. “What are you making such a fuss about?” I cut in, my voice cold. “She’s still breathing, isn’t she? Call me back when she’s actually dead. I have important things to do.” I ended the call. Mrs. Gable had heard everything. The vegetables in her hands tumbled to the floor. She grabbed my arm, her own hand trembling. “Miss Charlotte, your mother… is she…? You have to do something! Saving her is what’s important!” I yanked my arm away in disgust and calmly sat back down on the sofa, pulling out my phone and scrolling through social media. The bright, flashing colors on the screen were soothing. It wasn’t until Mrs. Gable looked like she was about to burst into tears herself that I finally spoke, my voice a lazy drawl. “What’s the rush? Let me finish this video first.” Mrs. Gable stared at me as if she were seeing a monster for the first time. She shot to her feet, clutching her chest in anguish. “Charlotte, that’s your mother! Her life is on the line, and you’re not only not worried, you’re sitting here watching videos on your phone? Is your heart made of stone?!” In all her years working for our family, Mrs. Gable had always been timid and deferential. This was the first time she had ever dared to raise her voice to me. “That money is nothing to you! Send it to your sister, now!” I acted as if I hadn’t heard a word, my thumb continuing its steady scroll. I even liked a funny cat video. Mrs. Gable was shaking with rage. I finally deigned to look at her, my voice like ice. “Everyone has their own fate. If they need money, they’ll find a way to get it.” “You!” She was so angry her face went white. She pointed a trembling finger at me, but the words wouldn’t come. Finally, she let out a long, shuddering sigh, her eyes welling with tears. “They say business people are heartless. I never believed it. But you… you’ve truly opened my eyes today.” With that, she fumbled for her own old, beat-up phone, a look of grim determination on her face. “I have a few thousand dollars saved for my retirement. I’ll send it to your sister. Every little bit helps!” I lunged forward, snatched the phone from her hand, and smashed it on the marble floor. The screen shattered into a spiderweb of cracks. “Charlotte, you’re mad!” To her accusation, I simply replied, my voice light and airy, “You are my housekeeper. I pay your salary. You are not to give my money to anyone without my permission.” Mrs. Gable froze, utterly stunned. She looked at my cold, implacable face and saw a complete stranger. Just then, a video call from Chloe came through. I was about to reject it, but Mrs. Gable lunged, grabbing the phone and answering frantically. “Chloe, how is your mother? Is she… is she okay?!” Chloe turned the camera to our mother, who was lying on the living room floor. Her face was a terrifying shade of bluish-purple, her lips white, her chest barely moving. A young paramedic was performing CPR, his face beaded with sweat. Through the phone came Chloe’s heart-wrenching sobs. “The doctor said we only have a few minutes! If we don’t get her on that medevac, she’s not going to make it! Charlotte, it’s just the two of us! How can you be so cruel? How can you just watch her die?!” Her wailing had attracted the neighbors, who were now gathered at her open door, pointing and whispering in our direction. Even the paramedic looked up at the camera and yelled, “Ma’am! The patient is in critical condition! What are you waiting for? Is money more important than her life?!” I leaned into the phone and shouted back, “Since when is it your place to judge my decisions?” Then, I pulled out my own phone, opened my banking app, and in full view of everyone, transferred one million dollars to the luxury boutique. 2 Seeing that she couldn’t persuade me, Mrs. Gable clutched her heart, her face ashen. “Charlotte… you… you’re being completely unreasonable!” On the other end of the line, Chloe let out a desperate, animalistic howl. “Charlotte, you’re killing her! You’re killing our mother!” Her voice, raw with anguish, filled the living room. “She was always so good to you! She always put you first! What could you possibly be so unhappy about that you’d rather spend a million dollars on two purses than a few hundred thousand to save her life?!” I nonchalantly cleaned out my ear. “Are you done? It’s my money. I’ll spend it however I want. Rose Thornton is almost seventy years old. Don’t you think she should know the state of her own health? At her age, if she doesn’t take care of herself, and then comes crying to her daughter for money when she collapses… well, I earned my money to enjoy life, not to pay for her medical bills. Adults have to take responsibility for their own choices. Stop bothering me with this nonsense.” Through the phone’s camera, I could see Chloe’s bloodshot eyes boring into me. “Even if… even if you don’t care about her as a mother, what about me? I’m your sister! If Mom dies, our family is gone!” “Oh?” I let out a sudden laugh. “She’s your mother too. You’re the precious daughter she doted on your whole life. Why don’t you figure out a way to save her instead of just screaming at me? I have money, yes. But it’s my money. What does it have to do with you? You figure it out. Don’t make me late for my handbag verification this afternoon.” I ended the call. The room fell silent. The neighbors who had gathered at Chloe’s door, having overheard everything, were now staring at our house with a mixture of shock and disgust. “How can she be so cold-blooded? That’s her own mother!” “A few hundred thousand is nothing to a CEO like her! She just dropped a million on purses, but she won’t pay to save her mother’s life? She’s not human!” “I can’t believe a monster like that lives in our neighborhood!” My actions had ignited a firestorm of righteous indignation. And yet, I sat there calmly, brewing myself a cup of tea as if nothing had happened. Mrs. Gable, trembling, approached me again. “Miss Charlotte, please, stop this foolishness. Send Chloe the money… save your mother!” I made a sound of annoyance. “Shut up. One more word, and you’re out of this house.” She collapsed onto the floor, muttering, “It’s over. It’s all over.” That afternoon, I took my new handbag for a spin, enjoyed a leisurely shopping trip, and returned to my office in high spirits. As I walked into the lobby, a figure rushed forward and threw herself at my feet. It was Chloe. She was sobbing, banging her head on the floor. “Charlotte, I’m begging you! I’ll pay you back! I’ll sell a kidney if I have to, just please, save Mom! She’s the one who raised you! She’s the only mother you have! If she dies, you won’t even have a home to go to for the holidays! If you save her, I’ll be your slave for the rest of my life!” The employees and clients in the lobby stared, stunned, as a crowd began to form. The young woman at the reception desk, her heart going out to Chloe, tried to help her up. “Ma’am, please, get up. You’re hurt, you shouldn’t be kneeling on the floor.” It was then that everyone noticed Chloe’s forehead was red and raw from her prostrations, her face streaked with tears and dirt. She was a pathetic sight. “That CEO is a real piece of work!” “To just stand by and watch her own mother die… she doesn’t deserve to be a daughter!” I ignored the whispers and Chloe’s wails, glancing at the Patek Philippe on my wrist. “I have a charity gala to attend this evening. If you’re done crying, you can leave.” Chloe froze, her eyes filling with a venomous hatred. “Your mother is dying, and you refuse to spend a penny to save her, but you have money to throw away at charity?! Charlotte, how can you be so cruel?!” Her accusation was almost funny. “If you were that desperate, you could have sold your house and your car.” Chloe was silent for a moment, then she slammed her head against the polished marble floor again, letting out a heart-wrenching scream. “I wanted to! But when I got married to Ethan, Mom gave us all her savings! You didn’t contribute a single cent! The house we live in, the car we drive, it was all from her! We don’t have any liquid assets! Three years ago, when Ethan and I got married, you looked down on him because he wasn’t wealthy enough for you. You didn’t come to our wedding, you didn’t give me a dowry, not even a wedding gift! To save me from embarrassment, Mom gave us everything she had! Ever since you became successful, you’ve looked down on all of us! You won’t even come home for Mom’s birthday! The last time you visited, you gave her a twenty-dollar bill as a gift! Charlotte, if you have a problem with me, I can change, okay? But you can’t just let Mom die!” As she sobbed at my feet, I didn’t interrupt her. Because every word she said was true. I hadn’t given her a penny for her wedding. And I knew perfectly well that for years, none of them, including my mother, had any real money to their names. But in the next second, I waved to the security guards. “Get her out of here. I don’t want her dirtying the company’s carpets.” My actions sent a shockwave through the crowd. Someone shouted, “That woman is a cold-hearted monster! It’s just a few hundred thousand! We can all pitch in, we’ll raise it in no time!” A chorus of agreement rose up, and people started pulling out their phones. I surveyed the crowd, my voice cutting through their charitable fervor like a shard of ice. “Anyone who gives them a single cent today is making an enemy of Charlotte Thornton. And you will never see a dime from any of my future projects.” As the city’s largest real estate investor, no one dared to doubt the weight of my words. The would-be saviors reluctantly put their phones away. Chloe let out a piercing shriek and lunged at me. “How can a daughter as evil as you exist in this world?! You don’t deserve to be human!” Suddenly, her phone rang. On the other end, the paramedic’s voice was tired and heavy with regret. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We did everything we could… Your mother’s vital signs ceased five minutes ago.” Chloe froze, a guttural, animalistic cry tearing from her throat. Then, she fainted dead away. Several employees rushed to catch her. Everyone was now staring at me with a mixture of fear and revulsion. “Well, Ms. Thornton, I hope you’re satisfied,” an older, respected employee said, pointing a finger at my nose. “You’ve personally murdered your own mother.” Under the weight of all their judgmental stares, a relaxed smile spread across my face. “I am very satisfied.” After all, now that she was dead, I wouldn’t have to listen to any more of that tiresome crying. I left the unconscious Chloe on the floor and had my driver take me to the charity gala. There, in front of all the media, I publicly pledged three million dollars. Afterward, I had my assistant post a picture of the donation certificate on my social media. It immediately went viral. Someone had filmed the scene in my office lobby and posted it online. The video quickly trended, and my identity was revealed. I was crucified online, branded the most cold-blooded, unfilial daughter in history. Animals, they said, at least have the decency to care for their parents. I was worse than an animal. The public began to boycott all of my company’s real estate developments. Some even started trying to dox me. My assistant anxiously asked what we should do. I just smiled and told her to schedule a press conference for the next day. No need to rush. A good show needs a grand finale. 3 As expected, Chloe showed up at the press conference. She didn’t come alone. She brought my brother-in-law of three years, and a whole flock of wailing, grieving relatives. They were all dressed in black, clutching a framed portrait of my mother. The moment she saw me, Chloe’s eyes, red-rimmed and venomous, locked onto mine. “Charlotte! Because you wouldn’t pay a few hundred thousand dollars, Mom is dead! She died with her eyes open! Is this the ending you wanted?!” I casually twirled a pen in my fingers, not even bothering to look at her for more than a second. “She had a sudden heart attack. That was a result of her own health. What does it have to do with me?” My coldness was like gasoline on a fire. Chloe was shaking with rage, pointing at me, speechless. The reporters in the audience could no longer contain themselves. One after another, they hurled sharp, accusatory questions at me. “Ms. Thornton, our investigation shows that your mother, Rose Thornton, worked tirelessly to raise you and your sister. During the early stages of your career, she sold her family home to support you. But after you became successful, you completely abandoned her. Why?” “You’ve had a strained relationship with your sister, Chloe, since childhood. Your mother constantly tried to mediate. She would start preparing your favorite dishes a month in advance just to get you to come home for the holidays. How could you be so cruel to the woman who gave you life?” “Was it just because she favored your sister a little more?” I glanced at the reporter who had asked the last question. “Every family has its problems. Do I need to report my family dynamics to all of you?” “But your family has consistently sacrificed for you!” a female reporter shot back. She then played a recording of a statement from our housekeeper, Mrs. Gable. “Mrs. Thornton always loved Charlotte the most. She would always say how hard it must be for her, building a business all by herself. Whenever she made something delicious, she would insist on taking a portion to Charlotte’s office. Even if Charlotte didn’t eat it, she would still take it. When Chloe got married, Mrs. Thornton spent all her savings. She was afraid of embarrassing Charlotte, the successful CEO. She always said, when the older sister is successful, the younger sister can’t fall too far behind, otherwise people will laugh at the older sister…” After hearing this, the crowd’s disdain for me intensified. “What a thankless wretch! Her mother was so good to her, and she just let her die!” Chloe chose that moment to let her tears fall, her voice thick with grief. “Mom did all of that willingly. I don’t blame my sister. I just don’t understand why she would do this to her.” The relatives behind her started to wail. “Charlotte, if you don’t give your mother a proper explanation today, we’ll die right here!” “You killed your own mother, and now you want to keep the entire inheritance for yourself! We demand that you give us the share your mother was entitled to!” I met their greedy, hateful gazes and smiled. “I’m sorry, but nothing in this family has anything to do with my mother.” My words were like a splash of cold water on a grease fire. The room erupted. “She’s evil! She’s even trying to steal her own mother’s inheritance! She’s an animal!” “Thornton Industries is worth billions! She wouldn’t pay a few hundred thousand to save her, and now she wants to take what little her mother had left? She’s trying to drive her sister’s family to ruin too!” The enraged relatives and some of the more emotional members of the press started to surge toward the stage, ready to tear me apart. Just then, the doors to the conference room were pushed open, and a group of uniformed police officers marched in. “Nobody move!” the officer in charge commanded.

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Three years after I saved the beastman side character, the female lead returned. When I reached the fighting pits, he was kneeling before her, a gold medal clenched in his teeth. He allowed her to drag sharp nails across his scars without resistance. Ava Summers lifted his chin with her boot. “I heard you married. Do you love your wife?” A faint smirk touched Azriel’s lips. “No.” “Then why marry her?” “To repay a debt. She saved my life.” Ava laughed, and the system notified me: Mission Failed. Who would believe that just last night, in half-beast form, he’d coiled his serpent tail around my arm, eyes shining as he asked, “You’ll stay with me forever, won’t you?” Now I had my answer: There is no forever. With the mission failed, my illness was incurable. I had only twenty-eight days left. 1 Ava leaned languidly against the railing, her red lips parting in a petulant pout. “Azriel, go get me that second gold medal. I want it.” Azriel’s dark eyes met hers, and he nodded. “Okay.” His opponent in the next round was a hawk beastman—a natural predator to a serpent. Azriel was at a clear disadvantage. The hawk’s talons were like hooks, striking with brutal precision at Azriel’s waist and abdomen. With each tear of flesh, his body convulsed, his serpent tail coiling in agony before lashing out. But he never slowed his advance, even using the force of the blows to lunge forward, his eyes fixed on the golden prize. Every swipe of the hawk’s claws tore away another piece of him. I watched as the body I had spent three years painstakingly mending with hard-earned system points was torn apart by his own reckless devotion. Finally, he seized the medal. He staggered to Ava’s feet, lifted his head, and forced a smile. “The medal. For you.” Ava took it, weighing it in her hand. Then, with a sudden, cruel twist of her lips, she lifted her foot and stomped down hard on the serpent tail that lay limp on the ground. The color drained from Azriel’s face. A cold sweat beaded on his forehead as a choked gasp of pain escaped his lips. Ava pressed down harder, and a pool of crimson began to spread from beneath his tail. Just then, the gate of a nearby cage holding a wild beast swung open—someone had unlocked it. Chaos erupted. Instinct took over. Azriel’s tail shot out, wrapping around Ava and pulling her into his embrace, his back shielding her from any potential danger. A shard of glass, sent flying by a charging beast, whizzed past my arm. I barely dodged it. I had been about to step toward him, but my feet felt nailed to the floor. The system was right. A beastman’s instincts are infinitely sharper than a human’s. And I had been standing here for two hours, watching him bleed, watching him offer up his prize, watching him throw his life on the line for someone else. Not once, in all that time, had he glanced in my direction. A splitting headache crashed over me without warning, my vision swimming with black spots. I couldn’t hold on any longer. With the last of my strength, I called out to the system, “Get me… out of here.” 2 I curled up in bed, a gnawing pain deep in my bones, as if ants were devouring me from the inside out. My illness was severe. Three years ago, desperate for a cure, I had accepted the system’s mission. When I first found Azriel, the flesh from his serpent tail to his waist was gone, his scales scattered on the ground around him, the white of his bones peeking through. He was coiled in the rain, a pathetic, broken thing. He looked even worse off than I was. I squatted in front of him, holding an umbrella over his head. “Beg me, and I’ll save you.” He heard my voice and struggled to lift his heavy eyelids. His dark, sunken eyes met mine for a fleeting moment before he pressed his bloodless lips together and stubbornly turned his head away. I chuckled and said to the system in my mind, “He’s the one.” Throughout his treatment, he watched me with those cold, wary eyes. Once, while I was changing his bandages, he sank his teeth into the back of my hand. I looked at the bleeding wound and sighed. “If you cooperate, you’ll heal much faster.” At my words, his slit pupils froze. He stared at the beads of blood welling up on my skin, then at my face, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. After that day, he slowly let his guard down. He went from cold indifference to occasional, clipped responses, and eventually, he became more and more dependent on me. I seemed to be born under a bad sign. Bumps, bruises, and illnesses were a constant part of my life. But after he healed, for three whole years, I didn’t get a single scratch, didn’t fall ill even once. He would tilt the umbrella to shield me from the rain. He would spend months preparing the perfect gift for me. He once threw his body in front of a car to protect me, creating a safe space for me in the wreckage as he bled out. The system had warned me: “Host, remember that this is just a mission. Do not develop real feelings for the target.” But I wasn’t a seasoned professional. I lacked the ability to detach. So when he looked at me with those shining eyes, clumsily offering me a ring he had fashioned from one of his own shed scales, and stammered out a proposal… I nodded and said, “Yes.” The pain in my body intensified, my thoughts becoming a blur. Out of habit, I found myself dialing his number. I wanted him to bring me some painkillers. But the phone that was always answered on the first ring just kept ringing. I thought of the way he held me every night, his eyes fixed on me even in the darkness. I thought of the cool, smooth feel of his scales as he playfully rubbed against my hand… So this was all just… repaying a debt. The pain finally consumed me, and I blacked out. 3 I was jolted awake by the thick, metallic smell of blood. As I came to, I felt a strange sense of detachment, as if something essential was being drained from me. The system had told me my illness wouldn’t just eat away at my body; it would slowly warp my personality, eroding my ability to feel. So when I saw Azriel, barely able to stand, his body a canvas of fresh wounds, my first emotion was annoyance at being disturbed. He didn’t seem to notice. He stumbled over to me, grabbing the hem of my shirt. “Wife… I’m hurt,” he rasped. I nodded. “I can see that. I’m not blind.” He froze, clearly not expecting that response. His dark eyes, clouded with pain and blood loss, stared at me blankly. After a few seconds of silence, he tried again. “Wife, it hurts… can you tell me a story? Like you used to…” I looked at the bloody handprint on my clothes with disgust. I pulled my shirt from his grasp. “I’m not the one who did this to you. Why should I be the one to tell you a story?” My words hung in the air. His breath hitched. The last trace of color drained from his face. He stared at me for a long time, his voice a raw, wounded whisper when he finally spoke. “…What’s wrong with you?” I was about to snap back with a blunt, “Nothing’s wrong, I just don’t like you,” but another wave of pain hit me, stealing my voice. My sudden distress seemed to terrify him. He panicked, hovering over me, wanting to hold me but afraid of hurting me. “Wife, what is it? Where does it hurt?” he stammered. In a world with primitive medicine, painkillers were the only reliable remedy. In that moment, I didn’t care that he was covered in blood. I grabbed his arm. “Get… get me painkillers…” I added a lie to cover my tracks. “It’s my… period…” “Okay! Okay! I’ll go right now! Right now!” he promised, fumbling to pull on a jacket before stumbling out the door. 4 I waited for what felt like an eternity. I even drifted in and out of consciousness once. He never came back. During a brief lull in the pain, I managed to dress and decided to go to the clinic myself. I never expected to find Azriel and Ava there. He was strapped to a medical bed, his wrists bound by heavy iron chains, his serpent tail hanging limply off the side. He was hooked up to a series of tubes and machines I didn’t recognize. Ava stood beside him, holding a syringe, a sweet smile on her face. “First injection, Azriel.” The moment she pushed the plunger, his body arched violently. Veins bulged on his forehead and neck, and his black tail thrashed uncontrollably. Ava watched the data on the monitors with a fascinated gaze, diligently taking notes. She picked up a second syringe. “One more to go. You still with me?” Azriel was still trembling, gasping for breath, his face as white as a sheet. But he forced out the words, “Yes… I’m… fine…” Standing outside the door, I remembered what the system had told me. In his original story, he was the devoted side character who willingly let the female lead dissect him in the name of “medical progress.” And Ava, standing on the sacrifice of his body, would become a rising star in the medical world. My first instinct was to turn and leave. The illness had already stripped away most of my empathy. But seeing him in such agony, some small, lingering part of me pushed open the door. “Stop! What are you doing?” They both looked up, surprised. Ava blinked at me. “Running an experiment.” Her tone was so innocent, so matter-of-fact, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. I took a deep breath. “But he’s in pain!” Ava let out a small, derisive laugh. “Not my problem. He volunteered.” She paused, glancing down at Azriel. “Besides, even if he were to die here, it would be an honor to sacrifice himself for the advancement of science. Right, Azriel?” The moment he heard my voice, Azriel’s pupils constricted.

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My sister introduced me to the boy she was hopelessly in love with. She pointed at me, her voice swelling with pride. “See? I told you my sister was drop-dead gorgeous and a total genius. I wasn’t lying, was I?” The boy stared at me, a flicker of pure astonishment in his eyes. I smiled. My sweet, naive little sister hadn’t noticed. The boy she loved had just fallen for me at first sight. 1 I hate Summer. It’s a hatred without reason, without origin. It just is. She’s my half-sister. My parents divorced when I was just over a year old. My father then quickly married the other woman and had Summer. For as long as I can remember, I have been the extra person in my own home. A biased father, a wicked stepmother, and a sister who stuck to me like something foul you couldn’t scrape off your shoe. Anything good in this world, anything Summer wanted, became hers. The piano, the dresses, the dolls, the trips to Disneyland… When I was little, I didn’t understand. I didn’t know I was the child my own mother had abandoned in this house. All I could do was watch, confused and hurt, wondering why the world treated Summer and me so differently. I remember one time, I was very young, just started kindergarten. The teacher had taught us not to touch sharp knives or open flames. That afternoon, desperate for attention, I climbed onto a stool in the kitchen to reach for a fruit knife on the counter. Of course, I knew it was dangerous. I was just starved for a single scrap of concern. Elaine—my stepmother—was standing five feet away. She watched me with cold eyes as I played with the sharp blade, and she said nothing. I deliberately pointed the tip at myself. Just then, Summer, still a toddler, came stumbling into the kitchen. She saw the knife and burst into tears, stammering, “Vivi… Vivi, knife… scary…” She tried to reach me, as if to protect me, to snatch the knife from my hands. Only then did Elaine move. She walked over, scooped Summer into her arms, and cooed, “Shh, sweetie, that’s dangerous. Let’s stay away.” Then she looked down at me, her gaze flat and empty. The smile on her lips was pure malice. “Vivian,” she said, her voice like honeyed poison, “be careful when you play with knives next time, okay?” I stared at her for a long time before finally putting the knife down. She didn’t know it, but the game was over. As I grew older, I became quiet, cold, and distant. I stopped craving fairness or affection. But my sister, Summer, still effortlessly commanded the family’s entire attention. She was innocent and kind, bright and lovely, a true believer in all the goodness the world had to offer. And most of all, she adored me, her older sister. She was always clinging to me. When she was little, my father brought her back a custom-made talking doll from Paris. She must have wondered why she had one and I didn’t, because she offered it to me, a hopeful look in her eyes. “Vivi, do you want it? You can have it.” I had just learned the truth about my family then—that my father had cheated with her mother, that if not for them, I might have had a happy, whole family of my own. I looked at her with disgust. “Who would want something your filthy hands have touched?” Tears welled in Summer’s eyes as she tried to explain. “My hands aren’t dirty, Vivi.” I sneered. “Your mother is a disgusting homewrecker, and you’re her child. It’s in your blood. You were born dirty.” Summer wailed, a storm of tears that brought my father running. That winter, he made me kneel on the sharp cobblestones in the garden, dressed only in my thin pajamas. He whipped my back with a thin cane, asking if I knew what I’d done wrong. I was only eight, but my back was ramrod straight. No matter how much it hurt, I wouldn’t cry. I bit my lip until it bled, staring at the man before me with cold, hard hatred. “Wrong about what?” I sneered. “Was I wrong that Elaine isn’t a homewrecker? Or that the bastard child you two created isn’t a bastard?” He beat me until my skin broke. The punishment only stopped when Summer, unable to sleep, came looking for him to tell her a story. She walked into the garden, clutching her teddy bear, and saw me being whipped. She screamed. The shock sent her into a fever that lasted all night. They all gathered around her bed, their faces etched with worry. In the dead of night, as I lay twisting in pain from the welts on my back, she snuck into my room. Her eyes were still glassy with fever as she whispered, “Vivi, does it hurt?” I just laughed at her, a cold, empty sound. In elementary school, she loved to brag to all her friends that Vivian Reed was her sister. When some of them, skeptical, came to ask me, I would look them dead in the eye and say, “I don’t know her.” And so, throughout her childhood, she was known as “the pathological liar.” She was bullied and isolated. To “protect” her, my father and Elaine made me repeat two years of school so I could be in the same grade as her. Summer stood timidly behind Elaine as she explained it to me. Elaine was a master of public performance; all the neighbors praised her for being such a wonderful stepmother. Only I knew the thousand little cruelties I suffered at her hands. She smiled gently in front of my father. “Vivian, your sister is scared to go to school alone. Would you mind being held back a couple of years to wait for her? Your grades are so good anyway, what’s two years?” I smiled back under the glittering crystal chandelier. By then, I had learned to appear weak, to hide my true feelings, to play the part of the obedient daughter and the loving sister. I was a guest in their house, and I knew this was an order, not a request. Everything in this family revolved around Summer. So I obediently wasted two years of my life to become the only student in the entire school who had ever been held back. 2 Growing up with Summer, I thought about revenge constantly. Why? Why did you get to be happy, to be cared for, to be loved by everyone? Why? Why were you, the daughter of the other woman, allowed to be so naive, so untouched by the darkness of the world? Why? I wanted to see the pure snow stained with mud. I wanted to see her hurt, to see her in pain. I wanted her to stop calling me “Vivi” with that cloying sweetness, as if she were some kind of angel sent to save me. But before I had a plan, I waited. I watched. And then Adrian Pierce entered our world. Adrian—the biggest player in the entire school. He was Summer’s classmate, her deskmate, her best friend, and the boy she secretly, desperately loved. After we started high school, I tested into the advanced honors program, placing first in the entrance exams. Summer was in the general track, so we were finally separated. But every day at lunch, she would fill my ears with his name. “Vivi, I sit next to Adrian, and all the girls already hate me.” “He gets so many love letters every day, and I’m right there. It’s so annoying.” “But they all bring him homemade cakes and cookies, so I get to eat them all, hehe.” Or she’d blush and say, “Oh my god, Vivi, it was so embarrassing today. I got my period in gym class, and Adrian gave me his jacket to tie around my waist.” Or, “Today was the worst. I copied your homework and got all the answers on the wrong lines. Then Adrian copied my homework. The teacher asked if we shared a brain—all the answers were right, just not for the right questions. I could have died.” “Vivi, Adrian said I’m so dumb. He can’t believe I have a sister like you, who’s practically a school legend.” “He asked me if you were one of those nerdy types with bottle-cap glasses and a bowl cut who just studies all day. I was so mad!” “Vivi, Vivi, can we bring Adrian to eat with us after school today? He’s never eaten in the cafeteria. He wants to see the amazing sister I’m always talking about. You don’t mind, right?” I didn’t answer. I was used to Summer using me to show off. “Vivian Reed is my sister”—it was the only interesting thing about her, the one shiny fact she could use to dazzle people. She basked in the gasps of surprise, the envy, the attention. It was as if by being my sister, my accomplishments somehow became hers. But I never refused any of her requests. It was a “good” habit Elaine and my father had drilled into me since childhood. Never say no to your sister. So that day, thanks to Summer, I met Adrian for the first time. I was late to the cafeteria, delayed by a discussion with my math teacher about an olympiad problem. As I reached the second floor, I saw them from a distance—Summer and a boy who looked thoroughly bored. That was Adrian. He was undeniably handsome, lounging in a blue cafeteria chair with the lazy, restless energy of a panther. Summer was chattering away beside him, gesturing wildly. As I watched, his boredom melted into a kind of teasing, half-amused smile. I walked toward them, my expression carefully neutral. When I was about five steps away, I let a small smile touch my lips and called out softly, “Summer—” Adrian, who had been slouching, looked up at the sound of my voice. His casual glance sharpened, and for a split second, he froze. I saw the look—the flicker of shock, of pure, unadulterated captivation. I’d seen that look on boys’ faces before. I knew I was beautiful. Delicate features, a cool demeanor, an aloof air. I was standing against the light, and I knew the sun pouring through the windows behind me was framing me in a way that made me look ethereal, stunning. My gaze swept past him to Summer. “Sorry,” I said with a small, apologetic smile. “I got held up with a math problem.” My “innocent” little sister was completely oblivious to the currents swirling around us. She beamed at me, then nudged Adrian with her elbow. “See, Adrian? I told you. My sister is ridiculously beautiful.” She added, as an afterthought, “And a genius.” Adrian had already masked his surprise, tucking it away behind a smooth facade. Unlike other boys who would look away and then steal glances, he held my gaze directly. It was the look of a predator who had just spotted its prey, a look that said, You’re mine. He smiled, and under my own knowing gaze, he straightened up in his chair, subtly putting a bit of distance between himself and the oblivious girl beside him. “Yeah,” he said to Summer, his eyes still locked on me. “You weren’t lying.” The words were for her, but the message was for me. It was so blatant. Summer looked from me to Adrian, and the motion of her spoon slowed. A confused frown creased her forehead. I just smiled and began to eat my food. Adrian returned to his own meal, casually remarking, “This cafeteria food is actually pretty good.” Summer visibly relaxed, her bright smile returning. “A rich boy like you can actually stand our food?” she teased. “You should come eat with me more often, then.” 3 And so he did. Our daily lunch for two became a lunch for three. The honors classes often ran late, so Adrian would wait with Summer outside my classroom every day. At first, Summer was thrilled. She would walk between us, chattering nonstop. Adrian would chime in occasionally, while I mostly listened in silence. That changed one day when Summer’s shoelace came undone. She bent down to tie it. By the time she caught up, Adrian had smoothly, naturally, moved to walk beside me. The space between us was just enough for two, with no room for a third. She hesitated for a moment, then fell into step on my other side. After that, she never walked between us again. About a week later, on our way to school, she stammered, “Vivi… could you… could you maybe eat by yourself at lunch today?” I raised an eyebrow. She looked down, kicking at a loose stone on the sidewalk, too embarrassed to explain why. But I knew instantly. It was almost funny. “Sure,” I said. Her head shot up, her eyes wide with surprise. “And… and if Adrian asks…” “I’ll tell him I’m busy studying.” She threw her arms around me, nuzzling my shoulder like a happy kitten. “Vivi, you’re the best!” She didn’t see the cold, mocking smile on my face. It was time for Summer’s first lesson. I didn’t go to the cafeteria. But as I sat in the classroom eating a sandwich and reading a history text, Adrian showed up. He and Summer had gotten takeout. He sat across from me and placed a beautifully packaged bento box on my desk. “Summer said you were studying,” he said thoughtfully. “But you still have to eat. This is all I could grab today, but tomorrow I’ll have my family’s cook make you something.” My gaze shifted from the bento box to his face, then to Summer, standing behind him, her face pale with a dawning, horrified realization. I looked at her, my expression impassive, studying every flicker of disappointment and pain she tried to hide. A silent, bitter laugh rose in my chest. Oh, Summer. My sweet, stupid sister. Did you really think he was eating cafeteria food every day for you? Look. The moment I’m not there, you lose your chance to even be alone with him. Are you still so happy now? Of course, I let none of this show. I simply opened the bento box and politely thanked Adrian. After that, his pursuit became public and relentless. Fresh red roses on my desk every morning. Desserts from exclusive bakeries that required hours of waiting in line. Exquisite jewelry, first-edition books I’d been saving up for… he presented them to me without a second thought. He went to the school radio station and sang for me, his voice a low, gentle melody over the guitar. “How much further until I can reach your heart? How much longer until I can be close to you?” He would look at me with raw frustration. “Vivian, what do I have to do to make you like me?” Summer, swallowing her own despair, would force a smile and warn me, “Vivi, Adrian’s a total player. He goes through girlfriends like sneakers. Please don’t fall for him.” I’d watch her with an amused smile. I wanted to ask her: in that moment, was she more afraid of me getting my heart broken by a player, or of him actually being serious about me, meaning she would lose him for good? But I didn’t ask. To be honest, I was a little curious myself. Just how deep did this “love at first sight” run? He was handsome and came from a wealthy family. He was the undisputed king of the school, the alpha wolf. His romantic history was legendary. Purely out of that curiosity, I began to test him. It was a game many men play with the women who adore them. You could call it an obedience test. They push the boundaries, little by little, to see how much she will tolerate, to find her breaking point. With me, Adrian seemed to have no breaking point. This golden boy, so used to being worshipped, became a puppet in my hands. He spent two months building me an intricate black pearl model ship from thousands of tiny pieces. When he handed it to me, I let my hand “slip,” and it shattered on the floor. He didn’t even flinch. He just looked at the scattered fragments and said quietly, “It’s okay. If you like it, I’ll build it again.” He asked me what kind of guy I liked. I tossed out a random answer. “Someone who can cook?” For the next few weeks, he learned from his family’s chef, preparing my favorite dishes. He would watch me with hopeful eyes as I took a single, indifferent bite, and then I would smile and say, “This is terrible.” I agreed to go hiking with him one weekend and then stood him up. A torrential downpour started that day. Worried that I might have shown up and not been able to find him, he waited for me at the trailhead for two hours in the pouring rain. All this time, Summer trailed after him like a shadow, watching the boy she cherished be played and humiliated by me. It was as if his pain was her own, magnified. I found it all very, very interesting. The day she finally burst in to defend him, she was filled with a righteous fury, like the pure, good-hearted heroine of a novel. “Vivian, you’ve gone too far!” she yelled at me. “How can you treat him like that? Do you have any idea he waited two hours in the rain for you? He has a fever of 104 now!” I looked up from my book, a lazy smile playing on my lips. “And? What does that have to do with me?” She stared at me in disbelief. “He likes you, Vivian! Why are you playing with his feelings?” I raised an eyebrow, my voice light. “What does him liking me have to do with me? Summer, you need to understand something. He likes me. Not the other way around. He’s the one who fell, who made the first move. Any pain he suffers is his own to deal with. He can always just… stop liking me.” My smile sharpened. “He had the guts to fall for me, but not the skill to make me fall for him. That’s his failure, not my crime.” Summer stared at me, and for the first time, I saw real anger on her face. “Vivi,” she said, her voice trembling, “I love Adrian. I’m begging you. Stay away from him.” And you know me. I never refuse her requests. So I smiled, casually turning a page in my book. “Alright.” 4 Summer was the first one to break her own rule. Not long after, she came to me, nervously holding an invitation. “Vivi… Adrian’s birthday is next Saturday. Will you come with me?” My gaze lifted from the invitation to her face. I looked at her, a slow, knowing smile spreading across my lips. “Weren’t you the one who told me to stay away from him?” She bit her lip, a mess of hesitation and guilt. She looked down, avoiding my eyes. “But… Adrian would be really happy if you came.” I studied her blankly. You see, that was my dear sister. All her life, she’s loved using me to curry favor. When we were kids, it was: “My sister is first in her class, she can help you with your homework.” Now, it was: “Adrian would be really happy if you came.” She was always trading on my name to make others like her. I looked at the invitation and laughed. For the first time, I refused her. “You know I don’t go to things like that.” A flicker of disappointment crossed her face, but I didn’t miss the wave of relief that followed it. Her feelings were so easy to read. She wanted me to go to make Adrian happy, but she also wanted me to stay away so she might, one day, have a chance with him. I watched her, a thought idly crossing my mind. Taking a break from my studies to amuse myself with this little drama was proving to be more entertaining than I’d expected. On the day of Adrian’s party, Summer looked beautiful. She’d had her hair professionally styled in soft curls and was wearing a frothy designer dress Elaine had brought back from France. She carried an expensive, carefully chosen gift. Before she left, Elaine fussed over her skirt, murmuring, “Adrian is the only son of the Pierce family. Summer, if you can get close to him, I’ll be so proud.” I sat reading by the large living room window. As Summer climbed excitedly into the car, I glanced out, my eyes cold. I arrived when the party was already winding down. A magnificent cake lay in ruins. Champagne bottles littered the floor. Most of the guests were passed out on sofas and carpets. Summer was sitting in a corner, watching Adrian, who was at a grand piano. I followed her gaze. Adrian sat there, his head bowed, looking completely lost in thought despite it being his own birthday. His long fingers rested on the keys, pressing them aimlessly, producing a string of disconnected notes. I stood in the doorway and smiled. “Summer,” I called out. “I’m here to take you home.” The moment the words left my mouth, Adrian’s head snapped up. His impassive expression transformed. A slow, subtle smile spread across his handsome, cold face. He looked right at me. “Vivian,” he said. “You came after all.” My expression didn’t change. My gaze flickered over Summer’s pale, shocked face. You see, the world is just that unfair. She had spent a week preparing for this night. I showed up in a plain white t-shirt and jeans, empty-handed, and did nothing. And still, he was mine for the taking. I did it on purpose. I wanted to strike when she was at her happiest. All her life, she got whatever she wanted, while I could only watch. But now, the one thing she wanted most in the world was something I could have with a snap of my fingers. I gave Adrian a slight nod. “Sorry, I’m just here to pick up Summer. I didn’t bring a gift.” I smiled at him, and as Summer watched with wide, nervous eyes, I walked over to the piano. I pressed a few random keys. “Let me play you a little bit of Für Elise,” I said casually. “Consider it your birthday present.” I hadn’t touched a piano in years. The feel of the smooth keys under my fingers always brought a wave of nausea. So I only played a short, careless fragment. But Adrian smiled, a real, genuine smile. “Vivian,” he said, “that’s the best gift I’ve ever received.” I said nothing, just smiled back. As I led a shell-shocked Summer out of the room, I glanced back. Adrian was standing where I had been, his head bowed, gently tracing the keys my fingers had just touched, as if trying to feel the warmth I’d left behind. A new curiosity sparked within me. Just how far would the infamous player Adrian Pierce go for me? How deep could his devotion run? I glanced at my dear sister. She was still looking at Adrian, the raw hurt on her face impossible to hide. She was in pain, I thought idly. But she needed to be in more pain. Much more.

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1 Sailing in international waters to clear my head, I spotted my stepsister Luna trapped at a poker table. Opposite her stood the boys she’d grown up with, flanking a delicate girl, all wearing cold smirks. “What’s wrong, Miss Byrd? Can’t afford the bet?” Leo mocked. “You weren’t shy about demanding three million from Ava for a scarf.” “Fold if you want,” Caleb added calmly, “but hand over your 15% stake in the Byrd corporation to Ava by tomorrow.” Luna’s knuckles turned white, eyes red-rimmed. A man nearby laughed, loosening his tie. “Broke, little sister? Strip one item, I’ll give you five hundred in chips.” Whistles broke out. “Take it all off, and all my chips are yours!” From the upper deck’s shadows, I twisted the signet ring on my pinky. It’d been years since I showed my face here. They’d forgotten—though my sister bears her father’s name, she’s still a Frost. And those who touch a Frost girl pay with their lives. … My assistant beside me held his breath. “I’ll have the cruise director come and apologize to you at once, ma’am,” he whispered. I gazed down at the table, my voice arctic. “Not yet. Let’s see what kind of game they’re playing.” To make a move on my family, right under my nose? No one on this ship was getting off alive. Leo smirked at Luna, who was now encircled by leering men. “What’s the matter, Luna? Scared to undress? I’ve got some… private photos of you right here. How about we sell a set? Add a little to your pot?” Before he finished speaking, he’d tossed a USB drive to the staff. The next second, the massive screen above the table lit up. A high-definition photo of my sister, her clothes half-removed in a suggestive pose, flashed across the screen. “The great Miss Byrd always acts so pure,” someone jeered. “But look at the body on her under those clothes!” “I’m getting ideas and she’s not even naked yet. If she was, I think I’d die right on top of her!” Before the foul commentary could die down, Caleb tossed another USB drive onto the table with a cold smile. “I’ve got more. If you won’t trade your clothes for chips, I’ll help you out. I’ll add another bet for you!” The crowd roared its approval, the atmosphere heating up. “Our young masters are so generous! What a feast for the eyes!” Luna was trembling, tears streaming down her face. “We grew up together… How could you do this to me?” “Crying now, are we?” Leo sneered. “Where was this pathetic act when you were forcing Ava to pay up for that scarf?” “We’re trying to help you raise money, you ungrateful bitch!” Caleb added. “The scarf… she ruined it on purpose!” Luna retorted, her voice cracking. “My sister bought that for me…” At the mention of this, the girl named Ava, nestled between the two men, suddenly dropped to her knees, her face a mask of tears. “Luna, I know I was wrong! I’ve already bet myself in this game! Please, have mercy, don’t raise the bet again! Just let me go!” Leo slammed his hands on the table. “Luna, are you going to use your money to bully Ava to death before you’re satisfied?” Caleb yanked Ava up from the floor and pulled her into his arms. “You dare bully her right in front of us? Then don’t blame us for being ruthless!” Ava whispered, just loud enough for everyone to hear, “Don’t blame my sister. It’s my fault for making her unhappy.” She turned to Luna, a glint of steel in her eyes. “My sister is out of money. I heard she’s working eight jobs a day just to eat. As long as she folds this hand, I’ll let this go.” I almost laughed out loud. Looking at the chips on the table, I could see my sister had already bet her entire net worth, including the private shares our grandfather had given her. If she folded now, she’d be left with nothing but crippling debt. My gaze locked on Ava. She was wearing the custom gown I’d had made for Luna. The Patek Philippe on her wrist was a gift from me to my sister. Even the emerald necklace my mother had left for Luna was hanging around her neck. And my own sister was in faded, worn-out clothes, a patch visible on the cuff of her pants. When had my sister—Seraphina Frost’s sister—been brought so low? Luna bit her lip so hard it nearly bled, tears carving paths down her pale cheeks. She looked like she was about to collapse. It seemed what Ava said was true. “Investigate,” I commanded in a sharp, low voice. My assistant immediately understood and slipped away. I’d been expanding the family business overseas for years, with little time to come home. But I called Luna every month. How had I not noticed a single thing was wrong? Luna suddenly looked up, her voice shattered. “Why? We were friends our whole lives. And you’re using photos you secretly took of me as betting chips?” Leo toyed with his chips, sneering. “If you don’t like it, then fold. Give it all to Ava as your apology.” Caleb didn’t even bother to look up. “Cut the crap. Either trade for the chips, or go over there and sell yourself. Strip. Now.” A chorus of vile shouts erupted. “Do it, princess!” “Sleep with me for one night, and I’ll cover your bet!” Luna was trapped, shaking uncontrollably. Just as everyone thought she was about to break, she snapped her head up, a desperate, defiant light in her eyes. “I’m all in.” The hall fell silent. 2 I froze for a second, my fingertips unconsciously tapping against the railing. I knew my sister’s assets down to the last cent. Everything she owned was already on that table. A pang of raw pain shot through me as I looked at her thin, fragile frame. Her hands trembled as she pulled out her phone, frantically switching between more than a dozen loan apps. After a full hour, she barely managed to scrape together a hundred thousand dollars. “That’s it?” Caleb scoffed, slamming his glass down. “Ava spends more than that on a spa day.” Ava covered her mouth with a delicate hand, a sweet smile playing on her lips. “Just give up, sister. I’ll be merciful and let you go.” Leo shoved a mountain of chips into the center of the table. “I’ll see your bet, and I’ll raise you double!” The color drained from Luna’s face. “Seeing as you’re so desperate for cash, let me help you out again…” Caleb pressed a button on a remote, and the giant screen flared to life once more. This time, it was a deepfake video. My sister’s face had been flawlessly edited onto another woman’s body. The movements were lewd, the sounds obscene. It was horrifyingly convincing. “That voice… it’s driving me wild. I’m hard already.” “What do you expect from an heiress? She knows how to perform in bed!” “I’ll pay two million for the full collection!” Luna shot to her feet. She was trembling from head to toe, staring in utter disbelief at the two boys she once called her friends. But their eyes were only for Ava, as they gently draped a coat over her shoulders. “Turn it off! Turn it off now!” Luna shrieked. But her voice was swallowed by the frenzied bidding. A waiter bowed, holding out a tablet. “Miss Byrd, would you like to sell the distribution rights to the video?” “Otherwise,” he added coolly, “you can either raise the bet or fold.” Luna’s face was ashen. She covered her face with her hands and began to sob. “I… I really have nothing left…” The men around her stared with greedy eyes, like a pack of wolves circling their dying prey, waiting for the moment she surrendered to tear her apart. My knuckles were white. I was about to stand up. But then I saw Luna, her hands shaking, pull a dull, gray stone from the pocket of her worn-out coat. She placed it carefully on the waiter’s tray. “Trade this… for chips.” A wave of laughter exploded through the room. Ava was bent over, howling with mirth. “Oh my god! Has my sister gone completely insane? Did she just pick up a rock off the ground and try to trade it for chips?” The waiter respectfully carried the stone away. Less than three minutes later, he returned, pushing a cart neatly stacked with five million dollars in chips. “Your chips, Miss Byrd.” The hall went dead silent. Ava’s smile vanished. “That piece of junk is worth five million?!” Leo shot to his feet. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Caleb kicked over a chair. “Get the appraiser out here! Now!” 3 I narrowed my eyes, my fingertips drumming lightly on the armrest. That wasn’t just any stone. That was the private seal of the Frost family. A single impression from that seal could mobilize ten million dollars in assets. Luna would never have used it unless she was pushed to the absolute edge. And these idiots… they only valued it at five million? The cruise ship’s owner was now kneeling before me, trembling so hard that beads of sweat dripped onto the carpet. He didn’t dare wipe them away. Down below, chaos had erupted. “It has been authenticated,” the manager’s voice shook. “This is the private seal of the Frost family from the capital. Its value is ten million dollars. We have exchanged it for five million in chips.” “The Frost family?” someone gasped. “Are these kids insane? Who dares to cross the Frosts?” At the mention of our family name, Ava’s eyes suddenly turned red. “Grandfather Frost has been gravely ill for a long time. My father gave me everything he had to help…” She turned to my sister. “Luna, I even sold my kidney! I really have no more money. We’re sisters, why must we tear each other apart like this? We’re just making a spectacle of ourselves for others.” The wine glass in my hand shattered. Sisters? My assistant leaned in and whispered, “Ava is the illegitimate daughter Mr. Byrd officially recognized six months ago. He even had a DNA test done. He dotes on her.” Fine. Wonderful. Marcus Byrd, you’ve really outdone yourself. I’m gone for a few years, and you dare pull a stunt like this behind my back? You must think I’ve gone soft. I’ll deal with him when I get back. Right now, my sister is the priority. Leo’s face was flush with anger. “Luna, since you insist on being so heartless, don’t blame us for what comes next.” “We’ll match it! Five million!” Leo slammed his hands on the table, only to be told he didn’t have enough chips. He and Caleb exchanged a look, then, through gritted teeth, they put up their own family’s corporate shares. “Double it!” They shoved the chips in front of Ava. “Let’s see you match that!” Ava smiled triumphantly, silently mouthing to my sister: You’re finished. Luna was shaking, the last bit of color draining from her face, leaving only raw despair. Double the bet was ten million. That move had cut off every possible escape route. If she folded, she would not only lose everything on the table, but she wouldn’t even be able to leave this ship in one piece. But she had nothing left to bet. A man shamelessly reached for my sister. “Come on, beautiful. Just sell the photos and the video. You’ll have your chips then, won’t you?” “You’re disgusting!” Luna slapped his hand away. “Bitch!” the man snarled. “You’ll be begging me later!” Caleb toyed with his chips, a cruel smile on his face. “Want to keep going? Then double the bet again.” Ava finally dropped her innocent act, her eyes glittering with venom. “Sell your body, sister. It’s… still worth something, I suppose.” A dozen men closed in, their eyes slick and predatory like snakes. They rubbed their hands together, chanting, “Strip! Strip! Strip! Strip!” “I’ll sign the organ donation contract.” Luna’s voice was a whisper, but it landed like a thunderclap. The entire hall was stunned. “Is she crazy?” “This girl’s got guts! She’s willing to bet her own life!” “Is her body even worth twenty million?” Ava shrieked with laughter. “Sister, what are you thinking? Even if you sold every single part of you, you wouldn’t be worth twenty million!” Before her words faded, a waiter appeared, pushing a cart with twenty million dollars in chips. An uproar swept through the hall. Everyone was shouting in protest. “This is rigged!” “I’m in my prime, and they only valued me at five hundred thousand! How is she worth twenty million?” “If we don’t get an explanation, we’re sinking this damn ship!”

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Dubbed the “Queen of Cutesy,” I’m blessed with a bombshell figure but cursed with a syrup-sweet voice that sparks hate with every word. After a year as the internet’s punching bag, I finally broke on a live show when accused of being shameless. Grabbing the A-list actor beside me, I sobbed, “I told you I wasn’t faking it!” The sharp-tongued actor froze, his neck flushing crimson as he awkwardly patted my head. The web fell silent, then erupted: 【Wait, she’s for real?】 【Why is he blushing?!】 【LMAO, the cynic’s spine melted from her voice!】 01 I’ve had this voice since I was a kid. I also hit puberty way too early. Because of it, my father acted like he wanted to strangle me in my sleep, and my mother said I was born to be nothing but trouble for men. Later, a talent scout spotted me, drawn in by my looks, and I was signed to an entertainment agency. When I debuted, my agent, Liz, was practically vibrating with confidence. “With this body? This face? We just need to strike a pose and we’ll be trending in seconds!” she’d declared, slapping her chest for emphasis. She cackled, convinced I was destined to be a superstar. But everyone, including her, had fatally underestimated the destructive power of my voice. A full year later, my reputation was in the gutter. It got to the point where I couldn’t even open my mouth without people rolling their eyes. 【Skylar Song is the fakest of the fake! If she’d just own the femme fatale look, I’d at least give her a second glance. Why is she so obsessed with this sweet-girl persona?】 【NGL, I thought it was cute at first, but it gets really annoying when it’s non-stop.】 【Can she just shut up? If she wants to seduce men so bad, she can go work at a club. Stop polluting the internet!】 The comments were relentless, one nastier than the next. But I was a coward. All I could do was bite down on my blanket at night, forcing the tears back down. Liz tried to console me. “Hey, bad press is still press! Listen to me, kid. That contrast you’ve got? The body and the voice? If you just lean into it, you’re gonna be rich. You hear me? Rich!” A sob escaped me. “You mean the kind of rich where I get revenge-rich?” Liz was a fiery New Yorker with a notoriously short fuse. After a year of managing me, she claimed she’d developed enough patience to get a kindergarten teaching license. My voice, as she put it, made women scream and men… well, it did things to men. The problem was, the contrast was so stark that nobody believed it was real. The damn internet trolls even had the audacity to say she had bad taste, forcing a perfectly good femme fatale into a cutesy mold. Who was going to stand up for her?! Liz seethed. “I pulled every string I had, called in every favor to get you a spot on this huge reality show. This time, I swear, I’m taking back what’s mine!” She was convinced that once people saw me up close, I’d win them all over, men and women alike. She let out a low, scheming chuckle, lost in her own fantasy world. 02 But before the show even started, I was trending for all the wrong reasons. #A-List Actor Liam Vance Slams Skylar Song’s Voice As Disgusting# #SkylarSongTheFaker# The topic was pinned to a video of Liam streaming his video game, a clip that had been reposted over a million times in half an hour. In the video, his teammate was dragging the whole team down. After feeding the enemy team several kills, the guy apologized in a strained, nasally voice. Liam just laughed, a cold, sharp sound, before tearing into him. “Whoa, what’d you do, swallow a handful of syrup? That’s some serious baby-voice you’re forcing.” “If you don’t know how to talk, then shut up. Don’t sit there whining. Your mouth is like a busted faucet, just spraying nonsense everywhere.” Liam Vance was a brilliant actor, the youngest to ever win the prestigious Phoenix Award, but his reputation was… complicated. His tongue was sharper than a razor blade, a master of backhanded compliments and outright insults that made his fans both love and hate him. Normally, this would have nothing to do with me. But then Tricia Stone, a popular starlet, dropped a comment under the video. 【His voice is so sweet! Just like Skylar from our cast.】 Her vague, innocent-sounding words twisted and turned as they spread, and suddenly, the internet’s full firepower was aimed directly at my social media accounts. 【I knew that fake-sweet voice sounded familiar. It’s the industry’s queen of cutesy, Skylar Song!】 【Who else could it be? She’s the only one that obnoxious. And she had the nerve to do it in front of Liam? Everyone knows he’s the most savage critic in the business.】 【Idk, it doesn’t really sound like her. Skylar’s voice is a little over the top, but it’s not that grating. Stop jumping on the bandwagon!】 【^^ Skylar’s PR team working overtime? If it’s not her, who is it? Tricia? No way. Tricia is famously as sweet as she sounds. You can’t even compare the two!】 The internet was a cesspool of hate. Trolls dug up every clip of me speaking, reposting them like exhibits in a criminal trial. I was just sitting at home, and suddenly I was public enemy number one. Liz was about to have an aneurysm. “That goddamn Tricia is the real faker! Don’t think I can’t tell just because she has an innocent little face!” she raged. “I bet that was her in the game, and she threw you under the bus because she was scared of getting caught!” Even though I’d been bullied for my voice my whole life, this was the first time I’d ever been dragged so publicly, trending for all the wrong reasons. I felt like I was dying. I just lay on my bed, a human-shaped lump of misery. Then, my phone buzzed. “Sky, get online! Your big bro is gonna carry you to victory, and we’re gonna metaphorically slap Liam Vance across the face!” 03 Ethan is one of the biggest names in the voice-acting world. We met back in college when we were both doing part-time voice-over work. He was furious on my behalf. “Damn it, Sky, your voice is amazing. Is Liam deaf or just an ass? What gives him the right to talk like that!” Tears of gratitude streamed down my face. I swore in that moment that I would be his loyal sidekick for life. Before I could even process it, Ethan had dragged me into a game and matched us with Liam. My fingers fumbled over the controls. I was, to put it mildly, terrible at the game. A flurry of frantic, useless movements resulted in a spectacular kill-death ratio of zero to five. Liam’s voice, tight with frustration, crackled through my headset. “Just uninstall the game. Go play Candy Crush or something. You’re so bad you’re single-handedly carrying the other team.” The live-stream chat exploded with laughter. 【Did Liam step in something nasty before he logged on tonight? His teammate luck is trash.】 【I bet it’s another girl. Is she about to start apologizing in a baby-voice too? LOL】 Ethan was losing his mind on the phone. “Say something back! What did I bring you here for? If you don’t fight back, you let them trash you for nothing tonight!” His words lit a fire under me. I fumbled to turn on my mic. But I’d only ever been on the receiving end of insults. After a few stutters, all I could manage was a weak, “So what?” Ethan almost coughed up a lung. “Okay, listen! Repeat after me, word for word!” I nodded like a bobblehead, stumbling through the lines he fed me. “Did I eat your rice? Why are you so obsessed with me?” “If you can’t stand me, feel free to die before I do!” “Was I talking to you? No? Then shut your mouth!” I was just getting into the rhythm of it when Ethan suddenly went silent. I froze. What was next? After a moment of stunned silence, it was Liam’s voice that came through, stammering. “I’m… sorry.” On the screen, the tips of his ears looked a little red. “Another round? Want to duo?” Aaaaaah! My toes curled in on themselves from secondhand embarrassment. My hand twitched, and I slammed the ‘exit game’ button. 04 I may have fled the scene, but I left a firestorm in my wake. 【OMG, so sweet! Who could resist a voice like that?!】 【Wait, she just insulted him and ran? Who taught her that move? Didn’t she see our boy Liam was totally stunned?!】 【I’m dying, what a complete 180! He was not acting like this thirty minutes ago. But to be fair, that girl’s voice is ridiculously cute.】 Even crazier, Liam posted an apology on his official account for his behavior. 【I was too harsh tonight. Don’t take it to heart…】 He had no idea it was me, so I dropped a casual reply. 【It’s fine, it’s fine. It’s only on the level of being randomly blamed for something I didn’t do.】 I’d already gotten my revenge, so what did it matter? Maybe because I was still a nobody, I had no idea what kind of influence an A-list actor really had. My one careless reply nearly got my entire family tree cursed by his fans. My notifications and DMs exploded. 【You? Skylar Song, you have the nerve to piggyback on his fame?】 【Do you have any idea how much everyone hates your voice? The audacity to say that wasn’t you.】 【It’s pretty easy to tell the difference between a naturally sweet voice and a fake one, okay?】 The hateful comments kept pouring in. But among them, I noticed a brand-new account, a level-zero user, fighting back on my behalf. 【Her voice is sweet! What’s it to you?】 【So what if it was her? I like it!】 【You call her a faker? What does that make you? A-grade loser?】 【Damn it, if my main account wasn’t banned, I’d roast you so hard your ancestors would feel it!】 This anonymous hero was attacking every negative comment with a vicious, take-no-prisoners style that was… strangely familiar. It almost sounded like… Liam? I shook the thought out of my head. My heart swelled with gratitude. Like a thief in the night, I snuck through the comment section, leaving a few ‘likes’ on his replies. A true bro, I thought. A friend in need. 05 The drama simmered online all night, cementing my reputation not only as the industry’s Queen of Cutesy, but also as a shameless clout-chaser. So, the next day at the studio, Tricia Stone looked at me with an extra dose of arrogance. She sashayed past me, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. “Skylar, you didn’t sleep well last night, did you?” I was confused. “I slept great.” Her expression soured instantly. She shot me a venomous glare and stormed off. For the rest of the morning, Tricia seemed determined to trip me up at every turn. Maybe because I was used to being my parents’ punching bag my whole life, I was completely unfazed. But my indifference only made her more furious. I stood “innocently” outside her dressing room, listening to the chaos erupting within. It was Tricia and her agent, Wes. “I told you to make your voice sweeter, cuter! Were you even listening to me? Look at the mess you made last night!” Wes yelled. Tricia sounded like she was at her breaking point. “How the hell was I supposed to know I’d get matched with that monster Liam in a random game! And besides, I fixed it, didn’t I? The internet totally believes it was Skylar Song. There’s no way they’ll figure out it was me!” “It only worked because Skylar’s reputation is already trash! Otherwise, who would believe that god-awful screeching was her?” Wes was practically tearing his hair out. “I told you to learn from Skylar! Look at her! Her voice is so sweet, so natural. Why can she do it and you can’t?! Half of your fame is built on this sweet-girl persona! Do you even understand what that means?!” He groaned, a truly pathetic sound of masculine despair. “Aaargh! Why can’t there be a person with Tricia Stone’s face and Skylar Song’s voice! Do you know how stressful it is for me, living in constant fear that you’ll be exposed?!” Tricia’s face turned black. The sweet act was gone. “Screw you, Wes! So what if I can’t beat Skylar? You’re such a clueless idiot!” BAM! The dressing room door flew open, and I was face-to-face with a fuming Tricia. A wicked impulse took over me. I let out a long, melodic whistle. I watched as her face flushed a deep crimson, her finger trembling as she pointed at me. “You… you…! How much did you hear?” I kept my voice soft and gentle, speaking slowly and deliberately. “You. Are. Faking. It.” 06 It was like I’d flicked the switch on a boiling kettle. Tricia started hopping on the spot, almost screaming. “So what? So what? So what! Did I eat your rice?! Just you wait! Next month, I’ll show you! I’ll make the whole world see who the true Greek Goddess of the Baby Voice is!” I raised my hand meekly. “Actually, the internet is calling mine a ‘hiccup-voice’ now.” Tricia froze. “Where did you train? Ugh, no, I mean, how the hell did you change it up again?!” I deadpanned, making it up on the spot. “The Siren’s Song Academy. Mastered about forty percent of the technique. It’s all in the soft palate.” She glared, spitting out a final threat. “You just wait! I’m signing up!” … Hahahahahaha! Oh my god, I was holding in my laughter so hard I could barely breathe. I was wondering just how she planned to “show me,” when the answer arrived. The official cast list for the reality show Liz got me was announced. And Tricia was on it. It was, without a doubt, a legendary lineup. Male guests: The award-winning actor Liam Vance, renowned voice actor Ethan Cole, and pop king Julian Croft. Female guests: It-girl Tricia Stone, veteran actress Carla Vance. And then there was me, Skylar Song, the industry’s resident faker. I stuck out like a sore thumb. The internet, of course, noticed immediately. 【Is this a joke? How did Skylar Song sneak in here?】 【Slept her way in, probably.】 【How does she still have the nerve to show up? Liam already called her out for faking her voice. Does she have no shame?】 【Don’t worry, our boy Liam will handle it. He probably won’t be able to stand it the second she opens her mouth.】 They were right about one thing. But what the internet didn’t know yet was that Liam, indeed, couldn’t stand it. Just not in the way they thought. 07 On the way to meet the show’s production team, I ran into Ethan. “I thought you hated this kind of stuff,” I asked, curious. Ethan was a giant in the voice-acting world, but after three years in the industry, he rarely did interviews. Most people didn’t even know that behind the god-tier voice was a total goofball. He slung an arm around my shoulder. “Couldn’t let you face Liam alone, could I? How about it, impressed? Don’t worship me, kid. I’m just a legend.” He gave me a smarmy wink and, in his best “brooding CEO” voice, asked what I thought. Before I could answer, a scornful chuckle echoed from behind us. “Greasy.” Liam strode past us, moving so quickly he seemed to purposely bump Ethan’s shoulder. I shrank back, exchanging a look with Ethan. “Did I do something to him again? I didn’t even say anything.” “Nah, he’s probably just salty.” Ethan and I huddled together, whispering. From behind us, Liam’s assistant was shouting. “Liam, my man, would you look back for one second! You forgot your assistant!” He sprinted toward us, the ten pounds of extra weight on his belly jiggling violently. He was panting like an old steam engine. “Hah… huff… wheeze! Damn it, who knows what crawled up his butt today. Seriously, who is the one working this stupid job anyway!” 08 The show was being broadcast live, so Liz had given me a strict lecture about my behavior. “Listen to me, kid. Be sweet. Call everyone ‘bro’ and ‘sis,’ you got it? You’re not gonna let me down, right?!” I nodded with a grim certainty. “…Of course not, Liz. You can count on me to make things worse.” Pain. First, I had the entire internet convinced my voice was a crime against humanity. Then, I had Tricia threatening to expose me in front of millions. And caught in the middle was Liam, the A-list actor who had publicly called “me” a faker. This was a terrible start. I was so doomed I didn’t even have the energy to protest. Everyone expected me to fail, and I had no intention of proving them wrong. Everyone thought I was a joke, and honestly, I was. And to top it all off… The game hadn’t even begun, and I was already about to die. My eyes widened in horror as I pointed at myself. “Why me?!” A smiling crew member clipped a microphone and a tiny camera to my collar. She patted my head, surprised to find that I felt like a soft, fluffy piece of cake. A wave of maternal affection washed over her. “There, there, sweetie. You were the first one awake, so the director wants you to go wake up Liam.” The truth was, the director had smelled the sweet scent of viral drama from our recent trending topic. The viewers who had tuned in early were treated to this juicy scenario right off the bat. The live chat exploded. 【Grab your popcorn, people, this is gonna be good! Don’t go back to sleep!】 【LMAO, the producers are evil! Everyone knows Liam has a temper when he wakes up. Poor Skylar is about to get yelled at until she cries.】 【Hey, she has a name. Stop calling her that. Honestly, I think her voice is perfectly sweet.】 【You guys, seeing her up close… Skylar is even prettier. And that figure, I’m so jealous I could cry. If it weren’t for all the bad press, I think I’d be a fan!】 Even I, who tried to avoid social media, had seen the viral clips of Liam’s legendary morning crankiness. Oh god. Just kill me now.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384722”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel