Category: English

The ninth time Ethan Hayes rejected me, I was finally ready to give up. That’s when the Comments appeared, scrolling across my vision like a ghostly news ticker only I could see. 【Just one more time. The last one. He says yes on the tenth try.】 【He’s just aloof and bad with words. He’s crazy about her, you can tell.】 【Oh my god, his eyes are practically glued to her.】 I remembered my past life. The tenth time worked. We dated, got married, had a son. He built an empire. And then, one day, he’d said to me: “Ava, do you have any idea what it’s like for people who weren’t born with a silver spoon in their mouth? “I’m just helping her out. Stop being so dramatic.” So, no. Not this time. There would be no tenth time. 1 I wasn’t surprised to see the Comments flicker to life. But I didn’t turn around. I had no interest in confirming whether or not Ethan Hayes’s eyes held any trace of me. 【Why isn’t she turning around? Please! Just look at him!】 【His eyes are getting red. He’s about to cry.】 I remained unmoved. In fact, a wave of relief washed over me. Thank god he hadn’t said yes yet. Thank god it was only the ninth time. What I hadn’t expected, though, was for someone as proud as Ethan to come looking for me. He was standing at the edge of my family’s driveway, a silhouette against the manicured lawn. His lean, cool frame seemed to shimmer under the oppressive summer sun, making it hard to look away. When he saw me, he held out a cardboard box. “These are yours,” he said. “The things you gave me. I thought… you should have them back.” The June air was thick and hot, clinging to my skin even in a thin tank top. I wasn’t in the mood for a conversation. I gave the box a cursory glance and took it. His lips parted, as if he had more to say. The Comments erupted again. 【She totally did that on purpose. The tank top. Smart move.】 Seriously? It was ninety degrees out. Nobody sits around their house in a turtleneck. 【He worked up so much courage just to come here. She should be grateful.】 【So what if there’s a wealth gap now? In a few years, he’s going to be the new star of the Boston tech scene.】 【Her family will be the ones trying to get on his good side then.】 Right. All true. The Comments were absolutely right. Except for one tiny detail they always left out: his startup capital, in that other life, came from me. The investment strategy was a tip from my father. 2 Of course, I wasn’t stupid enough to argue with a ghost-commentary feed. I just looked at Ethan, my expression a blank question. “Was there something else?” He frowned, a sheen of sweat dotting his pale forehead. His gaze darkened with a hint of displeasure. There was no denying Ethan was beautiful. Devastatingly so. It was the only reason I’d chased him so relentlessly in the first place. Nine times. The last one was right after graduation. “It won’t interfere with our studies now,” I’d said, my smile wide with hope. “You can at least give me a chance, right?” He’d just shaken his head, his voice firm. “We’re not a good fit.” The first eight rejections were all variations of “we can’t get distracted from school.” For the ninth, he’d finally changed his excuse. In my past life, I had been ready to give up then, too. But that’s when the Comments had appeared. I listened to them. I turned around. And just as they’d said, I saw his cool eyes brimming with unspoken emotion. They told me his pride was the only thing in the way, that he felt he wasn’t good enough for me. So I followed him to his college town, lived a sparse life just like his to prove I didn’t care about the money. On my tenth attempt, he finally said yes. “I’m planning on going to school in Boston,” Ethan’s voice pulled me from the memory. When I looked up, all I saw was his back as he walked away. 3 【Oh my god, he’s making a move!】 【He wants her to go to Boston with him! That’s totally what that was.】 【She must be so happy. He’s finally giving her an opening.】 【Dropping hints like that instead of just saying it… He’s impossible, but I love it.】 I pressed my lips together and handed the box to the security guard at our gatehouse. “Can you take care of this for me?” I walked away without a second glance. “Tsk, what a shame.” The voice belonged to Leo, my next-door neighbor. He was leaning casually against a pillar of their garden gazebo. He caught my eye and grinned. “Don’t tell me you’re actually heartbroken over that guy.” A strange thought surfaced, a phantom memory from my past life. Leo died young. At thirty. Which meant… he only had nine years left. A pang of sympathy hit me. “You should take care of yourself,” I said earnestly. He just stared at me, completely bewildered. 4 The next time I saw Ethan was at our class graduation party. The air was thick with the bittersweet feeling of goodbyes. My long and very public pursuit of Ethan provided some of the night’s comic relief. “So, Ava,” someone called out from across the table. “You gonna ask our class genius out one more time for the road?” A chorus of laughter followed. “She got shot down again last week, right?” “What number is that now? Nine?” “Come on, Ethan, just give her a break. She’s rich, she’s hot. What’s the problem?” “Yeah, man. You could skip the next decade of grinding if you play your cards right.” The casual cruelty of high school kids. As if that wasn’t enough, the Comments chimed in. 【Shut up, all of you! He was just starting to open up. You’re ruining it.】 【Seriously. Look at his face, he’s furious.】 【He’s working so hard to catch up to her, to feel like he deserves her.】 【God, his love is so humble and intense. I’m obsessed!】 Right. Because having my unrequited crush serve as the entire grade’s running joke for years was something to be proud of. “Seriously, Ava, you should consider me instead,” Matt, the student council VP, said with a joking tone that didn’t quite mask the sincerity in his eyes. “What do you think, Ethan? You cool with me taking a shot?” “Whatever,” Ethan bit out, not even bothering to look at me. The gazes that fell on me shifted from amusement to a mix of pity and scorn. I could hear their whispers. “Guess money can’t buy you everything.” “It’s kind of pathetic, honestly. Chasing him when he’s so obviously not interested.” “I saw her dad on the cover of Forbes last month. Wonder what he’d think if he knew his daughter was acting this desperate at school.” 【That’s so harsh! Why isn’t he defending her?】 one of the Comments wondered. But I knew the answer. Ethan wouldn’t. 5 Sensing the awkwardness, Matt quickly produced a bouquet of roses he’d had stashed away. “Hey, no pressure or anything, Ava,” he said, his cheeks flushing a little. “Just… congratulations on graduating. I just wanted to say something, you know? Before we all scattered.” The mood in the restaurant lifted, turning into a wave of whoops and cheers. 【Ethan’s face is completely white. He had no idea Matt was going to do this.】 【He cares so much more than he lets on.】 【He’s terrified she’s actually going to say yes to him.】 Amidst everyone’s expectant stares, I politely turned Matt down. But when he insisted, I accepted the flowers. “Thank you,” I said, meeting his eyes. In my past life, I wouldn’t have dared. I would have been too worried about Ethan’s feelings. But being liked by someone isn’t something you should have to hide, is it? “So Ethan’s still the one, huh?” Someone just couldn’t let it go. “Are you still going to chase him?” It was time to put an end to it. I smiled, a real smile this time. “No, I’m done,” I said, my voice clear and light. “I’m tired.” The words fell into the sudden silence. Both the restaurant and the Comments went completely still. Across the table, Ethan’s head snapped up. 6 “Why? I thought you were in love with him,” whispered Sarah, the girl sitting next to me. A flicker of something—glee?—danced in her eyes. She was one of the wallflowers of our class. Average grades, barely got into a state school. In my past life, five years into my marriage with Ethan, she became his executive assistant. Back then, her admiration for him was painfully obvious. “I have feelings for you,” she had told him once, “but that has nothing to do with you. Don’t worry, I won’t ever get between you and Ava. I just want to be near you. It’s enough to just look up to you.” Ethan was working from his home office that day, and Sarah had come to deliver a report. I was standing outside the door with a tray of coffee, frozen in place. I listened as she confessed her feelings, and all Ethan did was look up at her, his expression unreadable. Then, in that same cold voice, he started talking about quarterly projections. He never fired her. In fact, he gave her chance after chance, championing her career. When I questioned him about it, his patience wore thin. “I see a part of myself in her,” he’d said, an edge to his voice. “I want to help her. She didn’t have your advantages, Ava. Stop being so dramatic!” By then, the Comments were long gone. They had vanished the day we got married, assuming it was a happily-ever-after. They didn’t know that a wedding ring can sometimes be the beginning of the end. 7 “That’s ridiculous. How can she not like him anymore?” someone at the party scoffed. “Just last week she was asking around about where Ethan was applying to college.” Sarah’s face fell slightly. 【He’s terrified.】 【The glass in his hand is about to shatter.】 【But now he knows she was asking about him… Look, he’s smiling! The corner of his mouth just turned up!】 I instinctively glanced over. For a rare moment, a genuine smile graced his face. It was clean and bright, like a cool evening breeze in summer. But this time, it couldn’t find its way into my heart. 8 After the party, my driver was waiting to pick me up. As I got into the car, Ethan suddenly appeared at the window. “I sent you a list,” he said, his voice low. “The universities your GPA can get you into. You can take a look. They’re all in the same college town, anyway.” My eyes drifted past him, to where Sarah was waiting for him a little ways down the street, her head bowed. Ethan followed my gaze and frowned. “I saw some guys harassing her on the street the other day,” he explained quickly. “We live in the same direction, so she’s been walking home with me lately. Don’t get the wrong idea.” As we both looked at her, Sarah seemed to shrink, burying her face even deeper. She was a world away from the woman she would become ten years later. The woman who would get drunk, throw up all over herself, and end up wearing one of Ethan’s dress shirts in my bedroom. “You can’t help him with anything, Ava,” she’d sneered at me then. “But I can.” The woman who would play the victim in front of him, crying, even falling to her knees. “I’m not like you! I fought for everything I have! Please, don’t ruin me.” And Ethan, his face a mask of fury, would pull her up and shield her behind him, glaring at me as if I were a stranger. “You disappoint me,” he’d said. So. It had started even back then. My focus returned to the present. “I’ve already decided where I’m going,” I said calmly. I rejected his offer, thinking he would understand. Clearly, he didn’t. 9 “I leave for campus tomorrow.” A month later, Ethan called me. The Comments insisted he’d been holding back for weeks. 【He’s been checking his phone every five minutes, waiting for a text from her.】 【The ice prince is finally coming down from his tower. Who doesn’t love that!】 【But why does she look so… bored?】 “Mm-hmm,” I said. My gaze was fixed on the gardenias blooming over the wall of Leo’s yard. They were beautiful this year. He was sitting in his gazebo, lost in a book. “Once I’m settled in, give me a call when you get there,” Ethan continued. “And Ava, you’ll be an adult in college. Your parents work hard for their money. Try not to make a big scene, letting everyone know how rich you are.” I blinked. He was starting to sound like a nagging parent. Was I supposed to pretend to be poor just to soothe his ego? I wasn’t an idiot. “Actually, my parents make their money pretty easily,” I replied. For them, making another billion might be a challenge. But funding my entire college experience without blinking an eye? That was nothing. The line went silent for a long time. “Then don’t bother coming to find me,” he finally snapped, and hung up. I stared at my phone, a little stunned. It was only by glancing at the Comments that I realized he was angry. 10 【Seriously, Ava? You know how proud he is. Why would you say that?】 【But she’s not lying.】 【And asking her to pretend to be poor is pretty hypocritical, isn’t it? Like he’s ashamed of the difference between them.】 Finally, a dissenting voice in the feed. “Seen enough?” Leo’s voice startled me. He thought I’d been staring at him. He let out a short, mocking laugh. I shook my head to clear it. “Have you been to the doctor for a check-up recently?” His face clouded over. “Are you sick in the head?” “I’m just trying to help you,” I said, my tone more meaningful than he could possibly understand. In his previous life, he hadn’t had much family. He’d left his entire estate to me. Still, I had something of a conscience. I just wasn’t sure if he’d written his will yet. 11 I left for college two weeks early, turning the drive into a leisurely road trip. My Instagram feed was a blur of roadside diners and scenic overlooks, racking up likes with every post. Then, one day, a message from Ethan popped up. 【Tomorrow’s the last day for registration. Why are you still in New York City?】 【I’ve already registered.】 His call came a second later. “Where are you? Let me buy you dinner.” I smiled, the NYC breeze whipping through my hair. “I’m in New York,” I said casually. “So that might be a little difficult.” “What?” He was silent for a long moment, the confusion palpable even over the phone. He wasn’t the only one. The Comments were in disbelief. 【Are you kidding me? He worked a crappy summer job for a month to save up enough money to take her to a nice dinner, and she’s pulling this stunt?】 【What, is she supposed to hop on a flight to Boston for a meal?】 【I don’t know, guys… I don’t think she loves him anymore.】 After a brief pause, a new consensus began to form in the feed. 【I agree. The desperate, love-struck girl is gone.】 【Which might be a good thing, honestly. He never says anything. I’d go crazy if I were her.】 【If you love someone, you should shout it from the rooftops. Keeping it bottled up doesn’t help anyone.】 I pulled my attention back from the ghostly text and spoke into the phone. “Ethan, I’m not going to chase you anymore. I meant what I said.” “Ava—” I hung up before he could finish. 12 I never thought he would come all the way to New York for me. Less than a week into the semester, he was standing outside my dorm. White button-down shirt, a bouquet of red roses in his arms. My roommates watched with curious eyes as I walked out to meet him. He held the roses out to me, his expression a mixture of nervousness and sincerity. “I’m sorry about before,” he began, his voice tight. “I’ve had time to think, and… I do like you. The reason I kept saying no was because I didn’t feel like I was good enough for you. I wanted to wait until I’d made something of myself before I accepted your feelings. But I realize now that if I don’t do something, I might lose you for good.” He took a breath. “Ava, will you be my girlfriend? The distance doesn’t matter. I can apply to grad school here. I—” He trailed off, his words faltering as he met my calm, detached gaze. It was clearly getting harder for him to speak. In contrast to my composure, the Comments were in a frenzy. 【He came all this way for her. That has to be enough now, right?】 【So predictable. Girls love playing hard to get.】 【If you keep this up, you’re really going to lose him, you know.】 But was I supposed to say yes? 13 Of course not. I gently pushed the roses back toward him, ignoring the way the color instantly drained from his face. My smile was polite, my tone firm. “I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.” I was only now starting to truly appreciate the freedom my family’s wealth afforded me. If I wanted to travel, I could book a business class ticket on a whim, or a flight if I was in a hurry. I didn’t have to spend hours searching for the cheapest train seat or endure a sixteen-hour bus ride just to protect someone else’s fragile ego. Late-night pizza from a street vendor is delicious, but not if you have to eat it every day. And if I saw a dress in a boutique that cost a thousand dollars, I could just buy it. The freedom was intoxicating. “Why?” Ethan’s voice was strained, laced with disbelief. “We’re not a good fit,” I told him, using his own words. His pupils contracted, his face a mask of pain. But he was proud, and this grand gesture was clearly the extent of what he was capable of. The Comments were quick to defend him. 【What a bitch. She chases him for years, and now that he finally comes around, she shuts him down? Poor Ethan.】 【Just wait until he’s a tech CEO. She’ll be crying then, trying to get back with him.】 【It’s a cliché for a reason: never look down on a guy when he’s young and broke. Especially not this guy.】 But for the first time, there were just as many voices on my side. 【How is she the bitch? He’s the one with the issues.】 【He ignored her and treated her like dirt when she was chasing him. Now that she’s moved on, he suddenly shows up?】 【Classic. Men always want what they can’t have.】 【Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to be with someone that emotionally stunted?】 That last one hit home. I couldn’t agree more. 14 His issues weren’t my responsibility to fix. They weren’t an excuse to hurt me. I couldn’t save him, and I no longer wanted to. In my past life, Ethan’s excuse for promoting Sarah was always that she reminded him of himself. They’d spend entire nights alone in the office together. If she got drunk and called him, he’d drop everything to pick her up. His explanation was always the same. “I don’t have feelings for her. She’s my employee. It’s strictly professional.” It continued until the affair rumors hit the media. He demanded that I be the one to issue a public denial. “It wasn’t easy for Sarah to get where she is. You need to help her,” he’d pleaded. “There’s nothing going on between us. Ava, she’s not like you. She doesn’t have everything handed to her.” I finally broke. “What exactly do I have, Ethan? A husband who spends all his time with another woman for the sake of ‘work’? A bank account full of money I can’t spend on anything I actually want? A driver who has to report my every move back to you? Love? Freedom? Money? Tell me, which of those do I truly have?” He didn’t force me after that. But then Sarah attempted suicide. Right before she did it, she called him. He rushed to her side, saved her, and then arranged for a new, high-powered job for her overseas. “I sent her away,” he told me, his voice cold and accusatory. “Are you happy now?” By then, I was too tired to fight. He never knew that before she left, Sarah sent me one last text. 【You may have won, but he’ll spend the rest of his life feeling like he owes me.】 15 “Hey, why are you crying?” Leo’s voice cut through the memory. A moment later, his warm, dry fingers brushed against my cheek. I looked up, startled, and he quickly pulled his hand back. His gaze shifted to the figure behind me. Ethan was still standing in front of the women’s dorm, a stoic, miserable statue drawing curious glances from passersby. “Did he do this to you?” Leo’s voice turned cold, and he started walking toward Ethan. I grabbed his arm, stopping him. “No.” It was just the weight of the past, the sting of old wounds. These damn Comments had no idea how painful it was to be with someone like Ethan. “Then what…” Leo’s voice was laced with a rare note of panic. I wiped at my tears haphazardly. “Whoa, Professor, you made your girlfriend cry? For shame!” “We’ve got a whole durian in our room if you need something to kneel on, man.” A couple of Leo’s grad students walked by, their teasing loud and cheerful. He immediately looked like he wanted to punch them. But instead of backing off, they just grinned and lined up in front of me. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Professor!” they chorused.

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My dad never did housework, but he treated his car like a temple. Every day after work, he’d wipe it down until it was spotless. Today, Mom asked me to grab a shopping bag she’d left inside. I was in the passenger seat when I saw it—a single, long, curled hair on the floor mat. I picked it up. “Mom,” I asked, holding it out as she reached for the bag. “When did you get your hair curled just like Ms. Hayes?” 1 Her hand froze mid-air. Her eyes fixed on the strand of hair between my fingers, and the smile on her face didn’t just fade, it collapsed. “What is it, Mom?” She didn’t say anything. She just took the hair from me, her fingers rolling it, holding it up to the light. After a long moment, she tossed it into the small trash bin by the door. Her voice trembled just a little. “It’s nothing, sweetie. I haven’t curled my hair. Just some dirt that blew into the car.” She pulled me up the stairs to our apartment, her pace suddenly urgent. Back inside, she didn’t play with me or turn on the TV like she usually did. She just stood by the front door, waiting. The dim light of the entryway stretched her shadow long and thin across the floor. When Dad got home, he was humming, a cheerful, carefree tune. “Honey, I’m home.” He opened his arms for a hug, but Mom took a sharp step back, her eyes locked on the collar of his shirt. His arms hung awkwardly in the air. “What’s wrong?” She didn’t answer. She just leaned in, helping him off with his jacket, and pressed her nose to the fabric for a moment. “Cole,” she said, her voice flat. “You smell like perfume.” He blinked, then laughed, a little too loud. “Oh, that. I was at a dinner with a new client, a woman. Must have gotten too close when we were talking. You know how it is.” He started to pull up his sleeve to show her. Mom didn’t look. Instead, she opened her hand. Lying on her palm was the long, curled strand of hair. “Is that so?” she said, her voice dangerously quiet. “And did this client also happen to leave her hair in your passenger seat?” The blood drained from my father’s face. He stared at the hair, his mouth opening and closing, but no words came out. After a few seconds, he snatched the hair from her hand and threw it on the floor, his voice turning cold. “What are you trying to say? You’re going to interrogate me over a stray hair and a little scent? The kid is right here!” He pulled me behind him, crouching down to squeeze my cheeks. “Lily, sweetie, don’t you worry. Daddy only has room in his heart for you and Mommy.” With that, he walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The sound of rushing water filled the apartment. Mom stood frozen in the same spot. I walked over and tugged on her sleeve. “Mommy? Is what Daddy said true?” She looked down, her face a mask, and kissed my forehead. “Of course it is.” But all I could see were her eyes. The light in them had gone out. 2 The next day at school, as soon as I walked into the classroom, I smelled it. A familiar scent. It was the exact same perfume from Dad’s shirt. My head snapped up. I stared at Ms. Hayes. She was wearing a beautiful dress today, her long, curled hair falling over her shoulders. When she smiled, her eyes crinkled at the corners. She was so pretty. “Ms. Hayes, you smell so good.” She paused, a strange glint in her eye, then she smiled and patted my head. “It’s a new perfume someone special gave me. Do you like it?” I nodded enthusiastically. When I got home, I told my mom all about it. “Mommy, Ms. Hayes’s perfume… it’s the exact same one that was on Daddy’s shirt yesterday!” Mom was slicing an apple. The knife clattered against the cutting board. She looked at me, her lips parted, but she said nothing. After that, I knew Mom was sad. When she read me bedtime stories, her mind was somewhere else. But when she hugged me, she held on tighter than ever before. One night, I woke up to use the bathroom and heard Dad on the balcony, on the phone. He was keeping his voice low, but I could still hear him. “Of course I miss you… stop it, you.” A pause. “Lily’s schoolwork… yeah, I owe you big time for helping her out. I told her, Ms. Hayes is the best teacher she’s ever had.” I tiptoed to the door and peered through the crack. Dad was leaning back in his chair, holding his phone, a gentle smile on his face I’d never seen before. It wasn’t his Daddy-smile. It was different. Just then, a floorboard creaked in Mom’s bedroom. He immediately ended the call, the smile vanishing from his face as if it had never been there. He opened the balcony door and jumped when he saw me standing there. “Lily? What are you doing up?” I looked up at him. “Daddy, was that Ms. Hayes?” His face went stiff. “No, honey. Just a colleague from work. We were talking business.” He carried me back to my room and tucked me into bed. “Go to sleep now. Little girls shouldn’t worry about grown-up things.” But I couldn’t sleep. Daddy was lying. That voice, the way he was talking, I knew it was her. The next evening, Mom was reading to me and her mind drifted off again. I looked at her tired face and decided to tell her my big discovery, hoping it would make her happy. “Ms. Hayes has a new Instagram account. The picture isn’t the same one she uses for the parent group chat.” I leaned in conspiratorially. “That’s who Daddy was talking to last night. I saw it.” Mom’s body went rigid. She took a long drink of water, then asked, trying to sound casual, “Lily, do you… do you remember the username?” I nodded proudly. “Of course! The account Daddy was looking at had a painting for its picture. A sunflower she painted herself!” I continued, reciting it from memory. “The name was her last name, Hayes, then the numbers 1-1-1-1, and at the end, the letters CG.” Mom’s face went completely white. I could hear her breathing, getting faster and faster. After a long time, she whispered his name through clenched teeth. “Cole… Green…”

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After our daughter’s suicide, my husband threw a party with his friends to cheer me up. After a few rounds of drinks, his childhood friend, Misty, suggested we play a game of “Never Have I Ever.” The rules were simple: if you haven’t done the thing someone says, you fold down a finger. The first person to fold down all five fingers loses. Misty went five times in a row. I lost every single round. And in doing so, I finally learned the real reason my daughter was dead. I smiled, saying nothing as I pulled a revolver and a single bullet from my handbag. “Now,” I said. “Let’s play a new game.” 1 It was supposed to be a gathering to help me heal, to comfort me in the suffocating grief of losing my child. That all changed the moment Misty walked in. The door to the private lounge flew open, and she breezed in like a storm. “Sorry I’m late! I’ll down three shots to make up for it!” Without even a glance in my direction, she slid into the booth right next to my husband, Ryan, and draped an arm around his neck. Ryan didn’t push her away. Misty bit the cap off a beer bottle with her teeth, then pressed her lips to his, pouring the entire bottle into his mouth. She tilted her head, her eyes locking with mine over the top of the bottle. “This is how the big boys drink. You don’t mind, do you, Lena?” Our friends exchanged nervous glances. I, his wife, said nothing. I had been a statue since I’d arrived, my hands frozen on the handbag in my lap. My silence seemed to be a relief to the others, who quickly raised their glasses and started challenging Misty to drinking games. A few rounds later, Misty’s cheeks were flushed. She swayed slightly, a sly smile on her face. “You know what? We should play a game.” She held up five fingers. “I’ll say something I’ve done. If you haven’t done it, you fold one finger down. First one with all five fingers down loses and has to take a shot.” Everyone’s interest was piqued. They all held up their hands, a circle of open palms. It was as if they had completely forgotten why we were here in the first place. Misty, as the instigator, went first. She flicked her wrist, showing off a glittering sapphire bracelet. Her voice, sickly sweet, filled the room. “This is a Hawthorne family heirloom. Supposed to be passed down only to the daughter-in-law.” She shot a look at Ryan. “But my Ry-Ry stole it from his mom and gave it to me back in high school! I bet none of you have one of these, right?” The room fell silent. Everyone looked at me, the air thick with embarrassment. I stared at the bracelet, a vague sense of recognition stirring. It took me a long moment to place it. I had once asked Ryan to use a matching photo for our social media profile pictures. He’d refused, and it had turned into a massive fight, one where he’d even threatened to break up. We made up, but we never spoke of it again. The picture he had refused to change, the one he held onto so fiercely, was of a hand wearing that exact sapphire bracelet. I lowered my eyes to the plain gold band on my own ring finger and slowly, deliberately, folded down my thumb. I said nothing. Someone tried to smooth things over. “Come on, Misty, you’re always over at Lena’s place. You two are like sisters. Give us some real secrets!” Misty laughed. “Of course! Lena and I are thick as thieves. I even made her a special turtle soup once! Bet none of you have done that!” A friend immediately jeered. “No way! You, a tomboy, know how to cook?” She lifted her chin smugly. “Tossing a few things in a pot isn’t rocket science. It’s nothing compared to the hard work a man does out in the world.” My mind, rusted and slow, began to turn. After a long moment, my lips parted. “What turtle soup?” I had never had any soup made by Misty. The friends nudged her, teasing. “Aha! You’re cheating just to win!” Misty’s eyes narrowed into a grin. Her voice dropped, but every word was crystal clear. “It was when Lena was three months pregnant with her first. I was just learning to cook, so I made her a special tonic. A wild pheasant and turtle soup.” The moment she spoke, the phantom scent of something thick and cloying filled my nostrils. A sticky, medicinal odor mixed with the metallic tang of blood, piercing the deepest part of my memory. I remembered my first pregnancy. Ryan had brought me a bowl of murky, black liquid, telling me it was good for my health. I’d spooned up a small, hard piece, like a fragment of a shell. Before I could ask what it was, Ryan had snatched it and thrown it in the trash. He held the spoon to my lips. “Misty made this especially for you. Don’t be picky.” I had touched my slightly swelling belly and obediently opened my mouth, finishing the entire bowl. Not a drop was left. That night, a dull ache started in my abdomen. By the time I realized what was happening, blood had soaked through the bedsheets. In the emergency room, the doctor shook his head. He said I’d consumed too many “cooling” foods. The baby was gone. The moment I was off the operating table, my mother-in-law’s hand cracked across my face. She called me a gluttonous, stupid pig who couldn’t even protect her own child. But from the day I found out I was pregnant, I checked the ingredients of every cookie I ate. How could I have been so careless? When I got home from the hospital, I searched the house like a madwoman. I tasted sauces, spices, freezer-burned meat from the back of the fridge, even the water in the toilet tank. I swallowed everything. If I threw it up, I forced it back down. Everyone said I had lost my mind. But I just needed to know. I needed to know what I had eaten that had turned my developing child into a piece of dead flesh. I lifted my eyes and stared at Misty’s triumphant face. And now, I finally understood. It was never about what I ate. It was about who I trusted. 2 Slowly, I raised my hand and folded down a second finger. Misty saw my movement and choked on her drink, then nudged Ryan with her elbow. “Look! Lena’s reacting! You can thank me later!” Ryan just smiled and ruffled her hair, his voice dripping with indulgence. “Go easy on the drinks. You’re always the one with the crazy ideas.” He turned his head slightly, and his voice drifted over, quiet but clear. “If you can actually snap her back to her old self, I’ll owe you one.” My own voice was as flat and cold as a frozen lake. “Continue.” Misty let out a drunken hiccup, her eyes glazed over, her smile widening into a manic grin. “Okay, one time, I swapped out Ryan’s vitamin pills with Viagra!” The booth exploded. “Holy shit, Misty! You’re savage!” “What kind of move is that?!” Ryan froze for a second, then gave a weary smile and tapped her forehead with his finger. “When was this? How do I not remember this?” Misty playfully punched his shoulder, slumping into his arms. “It was at the villa party three years ago! You were complaining to me, remember? You said Lena was pregnant and you were going crazy. I was just trying to help you out!” She winked, her voice rising. “Don’t thank me too much for creating an opportunity for you!” Ryan’s head snapped up. His eyes met mine, and the smile on his face froze. “You’re drunk! Stop talking nonsense!” I lowered my head, my hand instinctively pressing against my lower stomach. The memories flooded back like a hemorrhage, thick and suffocating. Three years ago, in early autumn, I was pregnant with our second child. Overjoyed at this second chance, I agreed when Ryan wanted to throw a party at a rented villa. That day, balloons hanging from the ceiling popped, showering me in a cascade of pink petals. It was a girl. I cried with joy, a joy that was immediately followed by a wave of intense fear. I had learned my lesson. This time, I barely left my bed. I was meticulous about what I ate. I spent my nights online, ordering every adorable baby item I could find, dreaming of my daughter in her tiny dresses. Then Ryan had burst into the room. His eyes were bloodshot, his breathing ragged, his skin burning hot. I fought him, screaming, begging him to stop. “My daughter! There’s a baby inside me!” In the chaos and the tearing pain, I thought I heard a tiny, faint cry, as if my daughter was saying goodbye. I was rushed to the hospital again. D&C, induced labor. The feeling of that small life being scraped from my womb. When I woke up, Ryan was sitting by my bed, peeling an apple. “Thank God it was just a girl,” he said. “Don’t worry. The doctor said there was no permanent damage. You can still have more.” Without a moment’s hesitation, I snatched the fruit knife from his hand and lunged, stabbing him with all my strength. Once, twice… I lost count, my arm moving mechanically until someone finally pulled me off him. My mother-in-law’s slap came immediately after, so hard it perforated my eardrum. “It’s a wife’s duty to relieve her husband!” she shrieked. “You can always have another baby! What if my son’s health was at risk?! It’s better than him going out and finding another woman!” Everyone crowded around, telling me to let it go. I couldn’t. All I could think about were the shipping notifications for all the baby things I had ordered. They were useless now. I was useless. I couldn’t even protect my own child. Did my daughter think I was too weak to be her mother? Is that why she left me? But she was kind. She forgave me. A few weeks later, she came back to me, a third miracle inside my womb. This time, I took no chances. I had myself committed to a psychiatric ward, demanding to be placed in a fully padded, isolated room. It was stark white and terrifyingly quiet. But I wasn’t afraid. I could feel her moving inside me. I knew she was still there, keeping me company. On the day she was born, I was delirious, unable to tell sunrise from sunset. Just before I lost consciousness completely, I heard her loud, healthy cry. I wept. All the pent-up anguish, all the terror, came pouring out. I named her Grace. Not because she was a gift from heaven. But because she was a gift from my kind daughter, to her useless, despairing mother. The greatest grace I would ever know. “Wow! Lena’s smiling! She’s actually smiling!” Misty’s shrill voice yanked me from my memories. I subconsciously touched the corner of my mouth. It was true. It was turned upward. Just the thought of Grace could always soothe my fractured soul. Ryan let out a visible sigh of relief, his body sinking into the sofa cushions. Misty clapped her hands in excitement. “You’re definitely going to lose, Lena! The best is yet to come!” 3 Obediently, I folded down my third finger. Misty started to speak again, but Ryan covered her mouth. “She’s had too much to drink. I’m taking her home.” The others eyed my expression and offered weak, placating smiles. But Misty wouldn’t have it. She pried his hand away and yelled, “Nobody’s leaving! I’m not done yet!” She pointed a finger at me, her voice sharp. “We’re all here for Lena today! Haven’t you noticed she hasn’t moved an inch? I’d like to see who dares to be rude enough to leave!” Ryan turned to me, his brow furrowed, his tone laced with blame. “Haven’t you had enough fun yet? Lena, how long do you expect everyone to coddle you?” I clutched my handbag tighter and lifted my head, truly looking at him for the first time all night. “It’s not enough.” Misty triumphantly pinched Ryan’s behind. “See? Now sit down!” Ryan playfully tapped her nose, but his voice softened. “If she’s in a bad mood, just let her be. You’re too soft-hearted, always getting involved.” Misty pouted. “Women are sensitive creatures, you know.” The others looked around awkwardly, saying nothing. Misty deliberately lowered her voice and dropped her next bomb. “Okay, next one! I’ve worn a horror mask while driving on the freeway!” Ryan’s face changed instantly. He instinctively shifted to shield Misty, his eyes darting toward me warily. “She was just playing around that time! It was an accident that she scared Grace.” “And Grace was fine afterward, wasn’t she? Don’t you dare make a big deal out of it again!” Grace… was fine? The memory clawed its way to the surface. Our family was on a road trip with some of Ryan’s friends. In the back seat, Grace was quietly drawing with her crayons. She never cried, never fussed. It was as if she understood my fragile state and never wanted to cause me trouble. Even when she had a fever and threw up, the first words out of her mouth were “I’m sorry.” My Grace was a shy, gentle soul, kind to her very core. I smiled and asked her what she was drawing. She whispered that it was a secret, shyly turning her face to the window. Suddenly, all the color drained from her face. She let out the most bloodcurdling scream I have ever heard. I whipped my head around. In the passenger seat of the car driving parallel to us, a monstrous, grotesque face was pressed against the window, grinning at us. Ryan jerked the steering wheel. The car spun out of control, crashing into the guardrail. The world turned upside down. My head was bleeding, but I fought through the pain, stretching my hand desperately toward the back seat. My Grace, my tiny daughter, was crushed by the mangled seats, contorted into a small ball, looking so much like the embryo she once was in my womb. Her coloring book had fallen into a pool of her blood. On the page, drawn with clumsy, earnest crayon strokes, was the smiling face of a woman. Next to it, she had scrawled, “Mommy.” She was only three years old. And she already knew how to draw her mommy. I smiled, but tears streamed down my face, a sound like a broken accordion wheezing from my throat. The drawing was eventually soaked through with blood and fell apart. And from that day on, my Grace never spoke again. She would hide in her closet, and the slightest sound would make her tremble violently. The doctor who had saved me from the brink so many times just looked at me with deep sorrow and finally said, “As long as she’s alive, that’s what matters.” I never heard my daughter call me “Mommy” again. It was my punishment. A punishment for my stupidity, for never understanding what I had done so wrong that my own daughter couldn’t bear to be near me. My fingernails dug into my palm, and blood trickled through my fingers. Misty’s laughter was a sharp, grating sound. She was snuggled into Ryan’s arms, poking his chest with her finger. “Come on, Ry-Ry, so I gave you all a little scare. Nobody got hurt in the end, right?” “Besides,” she added, “to make it up to her, I even took Grace to a haunted house to help her get over her fears!” 4 I looked at my hand. Only my little finger was left standing. On the back of that finger, I had a tattoo of a little sun Grace had drawn. People say getting a tattoo on your finger is the most painful. That’s not pain. Pain is watching your daughter leap from the roof of a hospital. That is a pain that guts you. The fear, the despair she must have felt. One day, Grace had disappeared. I had searched the entire city like a madwoman. When I finally dragged myself back to the hospital, defeated, I saw her. She was standing between Ryan and Misty, holding both of their hands. The three of them looked like a perfect family. I noticed how pale Grace’s face was. I rushed over and pulled her into a tight hug, terrified I was about to lose her all over again. Misty bent down and stroked Grace’s hair, smiling. “Lena, Grace is talking to you. See? My treatment plan worked.” I numbly touched my deafened right ear, blaming myself for not hearing. Just then, Grace leaned in close to my left ear. I heard a tiny, fragile whisper. “Mommy, I love you.” I looked up at Ryan, my face flooded with astonished joy. He told me Misty had taken her to an amusement park. He said that after their day out, she had started talking again. In that moment, an overwhelming wave of gratitude washed over me. I treated Misty like a sister, even buying her a multi-million-dollar penthouse downtown as a gift. I thought it was a new beginning for Grace. I started the paperwork to have her discharged from the hospital. The day before she was supposed to come home, Grace disappeared again. I was frantic. Then I got a call from the hospital. They said a young girl had fallen from the roof early that morning. They couldn’t save her. I screamed into the phone, demanding to know why they were calling me. They said the girl’s name was Grace. The girl who fell, the girl who died, was my daughter. My daughter. The doctor said extreme terror had caused a complete psychotic break, triggering hallucinations. I couldn’t hear the rest of what he said. I collapsed to my knees, banging my head on the floor, repenting. I had been too greedy. The doctor had told me, “As long as she’s alive, that’s what matters.” But I had dared to hope she would call me “Mommy” again. And that single word, “Mommy,” was the last thing my daughter ever gave me. She was gone. I sat up straight and silently folded down my last finger. “Yay! Lena loses! Drink up, drink up!” Misty excitedly pushed a glass of hard liquor in front of me. I ignored it. I stood up and placed the handbag I had been gripping so tightly onto the table. I smiled as I pulled out a revolver. “Now, I’d like to play a different game.” The room fell dead silent. I closed one eye, the barrel of the gun held steady, aimed directly at Misty’s now ashen face. Ryan shot to his feet, his voice cracking with terror. “Lena! Are you insane?! Put the gun down!” I waved the gun slightly, my eyes empty of any warmth. “This was meant for me.” “But now I see it’s much better suited for a game.” The barrel shifted slightly, now pointing right between Ryan’s eyes. “Or perhaps…” I whispered, my voice a silken threat. “You’d like to play?” He froze, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. He stopped breathing. My voice was a mere breath. “Choose. Him, or you?”

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After my death, my husband didn’t avenge me. He fell in love with my killer. He spoiled her rotten. They spent their nights lost in passion. Once, when she casually mentioned my name, Sebastian’s voice turned to ice. “Why bring up a dead woman? It’s morbid.” Ally smiled, pleased. She thought Sebastian had truly forgotten me. She didn’t know that the man who came to her bed each night, the man who let her believe she was driving him wild, was a stranger—a madman, a fool paid to play a part. And Sebastian watched from the shadows, filming everything. Then, at her son’s christening, he played the tape for the world to see. 1 “Congratulations, Mrs. Croft. You’re pregnant.” The doctor’s words sent a wave of pure ecstasy through me. Sebastian and I had been married for ten years, and the childless ache in my heart had been my greatest sorrow. Now, the dream was real. I reached for my phone, desperate to share the news with him, but before I could even dial, Ally burst into our home with her men. She shattered my phone on the floor. Her bodyguards dragged me from the bed and forced me to my knees. I instinctively curled my body, trying to shield the tiny life in my womb. Ally saw the movement. Her face twisted in a mask of rage, and she struck me across the face, her voice a venomous hiss. “You’re pregnant?” “How could a washed-up old hag like you deserve Sebastian? How dare you be his wife! How dare you carry his child!” “You should just die! If you were dead, Sebastian would finally see me. He would marry me!” “Everything would be perfect if you just died.” Her eyes were wide with a hysterical madness. I stared at her, thinking she was completely insane. I knew she was obsessed with Sebastian, and I knew she hated me. But I never imagined she would kill me. I fought, but her men were too strong. They dragged me up to the roof terrace. And then, with a light push, she sent me over the edge. There was a sickening thud. I hit the ground. Agony unlike anything I had ever known consumed me. Blood blurred my vision. I managed to turn my head, my eyes falling on the rose garden below. The buds were just beginning to open. Roses were my favorite. Sebastian had planted the entire garden himself, tending to each bush with a devotion that bordered on worship. Before he left on his business trip, he had promised me, “Elara, my love, when I get back, we’ll sit in the garden and drink tea among the roses.” Sebastian… I don’t think I can keep that promise. I tried to keep my eyes open, tried to cling to life, but the fall was too far. The pain was too much. I just wanted to sleep for a little while. Just until the hurting stopped. 2 Perhaps my death was too unjust, because my soul didn’t scatter. It drifted away from our home, through the crowds and the buildings, until I found myself at Sebastian’s side. He was in his office. His assistant stood before him, suit immaculate, but with a faint flush of alcohol on his cheeks. They must have just come from a business dinner. “Mr. Croft,” the assistant said, beaming. “With this new contract, our company’s cash flow is secure. I’d like to see that old bastard, Ally’s father, try to threaten you with pulling his investment now.” The Shen family. Ally’s family. One of the city’s most powerful dynasties, with money, connections, and influence that ran deep. Sebastian’s first venture fund had come from them. He had always been grateful for their trust, even giving Ally’s father a stake in the company when it took off. Only later did he realize the investment was just a tool. Ally’s father had backed him because Ally wanted him. “It’s disgusting,” the assistant continued, his voice laced with contempt. “You’re a married man, but they keep forcing you into these dinners with her. No shame at all. And when you refuse, her father conspires with other firms to cut off our supply chain. If she were such a prize, why hasn’t anyone else married her? She’s a spoiled, arrogant brat. She can’t hold a candle to your wife.” My heart, or what was left of it, clenched. Sebastian’s brow furrowed. He shot his assistant a cold look. The assistant blinked, confused, then asked, “Sir, your wife wasn’t too upset about this business trip, was she…?” Sebastian froze for a second. When he spoke, his voice was stiff. “She has a gentle nature. She doesn’t get angry with me.” The assistant’s smile was knowing. He saw right through the lie. First, my fiery temper was legendary. Second, it was no secret that we bickered constantly. Third, the assistant knew for a fact that I had kicked Sebastian out of the house after a massive fight right before he left. And the fight had been about Ally. 3 Ally had always targeted me. Last month, at my birthday party, she’d “accidentally” stumbled into me, spilling red wine all over my dress in an attempt to humiliate me. I slapped her, hard. It felt good. The next day, Sebastian hired her as the company’s chief designer. The gossip columns had a field day. That night, Sebastian and I had the worst fight of our lives. I screamed at him, accusing him of having feelings for her. I called him heartless, a coward for not defending me. I cursed myself for ever falling in love with him. He stood there and took it, not saying a word. Furious, I threw him out. He didn’t come home after that, though he still came by the house every morning to water the roses. The day before he left for his trip, he told me he’d be gone for two weeks. I turned my back on him. He sighed, then leaned in and kissed me gently. “Elara,” he whispered. “Wait for me to come back.” I had thought he was genuinely softening toward Ally. I thought he had brought her into the company because he was giving in to her. I never knew he was being blackmailed, that our company’s survival was on the line. This whole business trip was a desperate bid to find a stronger partner, to finally break free from her family’s control. I had been so wrong. “You can go now,” Sebastian said to his assistant. The man nodded and left. Sebastian pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over my name in his contacts. He hesitated for a long, long time. Finally, he began to type. Elara, is everything okay at home? He paused, listening to the rain drumming against the window. He sighed and continued. I was wrong the other day. When Ally went after you, I should have defended you, not hired her. I wasn’t thinking about your feelings. I’m sorry. There were reasons, I swear. When I get back, I’ll explain everything. I’ll fire her in front of everyone. I’ll make it up to you. I miss you so much. Only two more weeks. When I get back… can I have a kiss? 4 Reading the words over his shoulder, I felt a thousand phantom knives pierce my chest. A sharp, searing pain. I watched the small, hopeful smile play on his lips as he typed—a smile full of longing, apology, and anticipation. He was already dreaming of the moment he’d be home with me. My heart twisted violently. If I had known that would be our last goodbye, I would never have wasted it on anger. I reached out, wanting to rest my head on his shoulder. He used to hold me all the time, his embrace tight and warm. I used to tease him, this powerful CEO, for being so clingy. He would just grin. “It’s not illegal to be addicted to your wife.” But now, when I reached for him, my arms passed through empty air. I watched him read the message one last time before hitting send. He waited, his eyes fixed on the screen, expecting my reply. But the screen remained blank. He frowned slightly. He started to dial my number, then stopped himself, murmuring, “She’s probably still angry. I just need to finish this work and get home to her.” He called his assistant back in, and they threw themselves back into their work, a relentless, round-the-clock push. As night fell, the assistant went home, but Sebastian kept going, fueling himself with bitter coffee and stale bread. I watched him, a cold wind of grief howling through my soul. He was so full of hope, so eager to come home to me, to sit by the roses and read together. He didn’t know I was already dead. He would never see me again. The thought was a physical blow, hollowing me out until there was nothing left but a gaping, bleeding wound. 5 The next day, still no reply. Sebastian started to panic. He called the house landline. One of the maids answered. “The missus is having her afternoon tea.” “She says she doesn’t want to talk to you.” “She says you need to learn your lesson this time.” I could even hear my own impatient voice in the background. Ally had planned this meticulously. She had bribed the staff and was using an AI voice cloner. My fight with Sebastian had given her the perfect cover. He didn’t dare push me too hard. Even if he had demanded a video call, I’m sure she would have found a way. She fooled him completely. He told the maid to make sure I was eating properly, then hung up and went back to work. I watched him down cup after cup of black coffee. I knew he was desperate to see me. But what could I do? Sebastian, we would never see each other again. And he had no idea. That night, back in his hotel room, I watched him gently trace our picture on his phone’s wallpaper. In the dim light, the harsh lines of his face softened. He was a man who had clawed his way up from nothing. He was ruthless, calculating, and cold. But in recent years, as the company grew, he had sanded down his sharp edges, becoming polished and diplomatic. Sometimes, I worried he had changed too much, that he was no longer the man I had married. I worried, as the tabloids suggested, that his heart had strayed to the vibrant, younger Ally. The fear had taken root when he hired her right after she had publicly humiliated me. It’s why I had lost my mind, why our last conversation was a storm of ugly, hateful words. I drifted closer to him, resting my head on his shoulder, and whispered, “I was wrong about you. I’m so sorry.” Suddenly, Sebastian stopped what he was doing. I thought, for a wild second, that he had heard me. I looked up, a flicker of hope in my soul. This silence was unbearable. But then his phone rang. It was the hospital. “Hello, am I speaking with a relative of Ms. Elara Croft?” 6 “Ms. Croft came in for a check-up last week. We’re calling to confirm that she is one month pregnant.” Sebastian shot to his feet, a look of stunned disbelief on his face. He made the doctor confirm it three times. When the truth finally sank in, his eyes grew bright with unshed tears. “Mr. Croft, would you like to reserve a maternity suite for your wife?” Of course, he would. He booked the most luxurious suite, complete with 24-hour private medical care. He paid the deposit without a second thought. As soon as he hung up, he called my number. “I” answered. He was beaming, his voice overflowing with joy. “Elara, you’re pregnant! You have to be so careful. I’ve arranged for a private chef who specializes in prenatal nutrition. He’ll be at the house tomorrow. Are you feeling sick? Are you having any symptoms? Morning sickness?” The questions tumbled out of him. But the voice on the other end was calm, almost detached. “Yes, I am. I was going to surprise you when you got back. I feel fine. Everything is fine.” The voice was mine, but something was wrong. Sebastian’s smile faltered. He was silent for a moment, then asked, “Elara… do you miss me?” “I” gave a soft laugh. “Of course, I do.” Sebastian laughed too, pretending everything was normal. But the moment he ended the call, his face hardened into a mask of stone. He took a deep breath and dialed his assistant. His voice was like ice. “Book me on the first flight out tomorrow morning. I’m going home. You and the team will handle the rest.” Ally had made a mistake. She didn’t know that Sebastian never, ever called me Elara. Not in private. To him, that name was a nightmare. 7 We grew up together in an orphanage. The director was a kind, matronly woman who always called me by my full name, Elara. It was her special, loving nickname for me. Then, one night, she led me to a rich businessman’s room, smiling that same loving smile. “Her name is Elara,” she’d said. “The prettiest girl in the whole orphanage.” That was the night I learned that her love was a lie, that she was a monster who sold children. Sebastian nearly died getting me out of there. After that, the name Elara became a ghost that haunted my sleep. Sebastian knew this. He would never use it. He was testing the person on the phone. And she had failed. Sebastian was coming home. At the airport, he kept lighting up his phone screen, his eyes full of worry as he stared at my picture. A woman sitting next to him smiled kindly. “You must love her very much.” Sebastian looked up, startled. He glanced down at the silver band on his finger, and a rare, boyish stubbornness entered his expression. “She’s my wife.” His wife, for life. “And we’re going to have a child,” he added, a proud smile spreading across his face. A faint blush crept up his ears. “I’m going home to be with her.” The woman congratulated him warmly. Watching him, my heart ached. He was flying toward a dream that had already been shattered. “How long have you been married, to be so in love?” she asked. Sebastian didn’t have to think. “We’ve known each other for thirty years. Been married for ten.” 8 We met when we were three. We fell in love at sixteen. We married at twenty-three. When we started, we had nothing but each other. From twenty-three to thirty-three, I was by his side as he fought his way from a small town to the heart of the city. I gave him every penny I had saved. We worked multiple jobs, side-by-side, until we were numb with exhaustion. We lost a child during that time. A silent, tiny life that took root in my womb and was torn away two months later. The pain was unbearable. Lying in that hospital bed, I wept until I had no tears left. Sebastian cried harder, blaming himself, hating himself for failing me. “My love, I’m so sorry.” But apologies couldn’t bring our baby back. I told him it was okay. I told him we would have another. I never imagined I would lose another child, this time along with my own life. The thought brought a fresh wave of agony. Where had Ally hidden my body? I must have been a gruesome sight after a fall like that. Would Sebastian even recognize me? Would he find my killer? Would he avenge me? I floated closer, placing my hand over his, trying to feel his warmth. He had been awake all night and was starting to doze off, his eyes half-closed as he stared at my photo. I rested my head on his shoulder and whispered, “Sebastian, I miss you.” So close, yet a world away. Sebastian, please find me. Five hours later, the plane landed. At the same moment, his phone rang. It was the police. “Hello, are you a relative of Ms. Elara Croft? We need you to come to the hospital. Ms. Croft fell from Blackwood Cliff this morning. She was deceased when she was found.”

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The word on the street was that the playboy CEO, Matthew Cooper, had a new taste in women. He’d apparently fallen for a little drama queen. I was dispatched to his mountaintop villa to manage her daily life. The moment Vivian Shaw saw me, her face soured with displeasure. “In the novels, a pretty housekeeper like this is always the boss’s canary—managing his affairs by day and warming his bed by night. Is that what she is?” The professionally trained smile on my lips twitched, almost imperceptibly. Fantastic. My reputation as a top-tier private butler with a seven-figure salary was, for the first time, being maliciously questioned based on the plot of a trashy romance novel. 1 Matthew was clearly caught off guard by her opening gambit. He shot me a quick glance. Then, he wrapped an arm around Vivian’s shoulder, his voice laced with its usual languid drawl and a hint of playful amusement. “Darling, what goes on in that head of yours? Miss Quinn earned her position through top-tier professional skill. With her here, my life is a world of a lot simpler.” He paused, adding with a meaningful look, “My ‘canaries’ are never tasked with such troublesome work. Besides, I wouldn’t dare keep Miss Quinn as one.” Vivian let out a vague “Oh,” though her gaze on me grew even stranger, filled with a certainty that screamed, I see, you’re the deep-cover, scheming female rival. She pouted, a mix of petulance and challenge in her tone. “But that’s how it’s always written in the novels! The beautiful, capable housekeeper is never just a simple housekeeper…” As she spoke, she sized me up with an expression that said, You can’t fool me. My seven-figure salary afforded me a high degree of professionalism and tolerance for this famously fickle CEO. After all, the women on his arm rotated faster than my phone’s operating system updates, with an average shelf life of three months. My professional code was simple: serve the boss, ignore the companion, and prioritize the boss’s actual needs above all else. I resumed my standard smile and gave a slight bow. “Indeed, Miss Shaw. I am simply Mr. Cooper’s household manager. Please do not question my professionalism.” My polite but firm response seemed to irk her, and a flicker of annoyance crossed her face. She lifted her chin and huffed. “Who knows what your ‘professionalism’ is used for. Matthew, look at her! Her attitude is so cold. Doesn’t she welcome me here?” Catching my eye, Matthew discreetly made a ‘one’ sign with his finger behind Vivian’s back. I understood instantly. A hundred-thousand-dollar bonus this month. The flat line of my mouth curved back into a serene, accommodating smile. Matthew playfully tapped her nose and guided her toward the bedroom. “Alright, stop overthinking. Let me show you your room. If there’s anything you don’t like, just let Miss Quinn know.” Vivian opened her mouth, but ultimately decided against continuing her performance. Once they disappeared from view, I turned away silently. The things you do for money. I had hoped this was just a minor hiccup, but Vivian’s “Billionaire Romance Novel Syndrome” went into full effect the very next day. At breakfast, I was placing Matthew’s customary Blue Mountain coffee and the financial paper at his preferred spot. Vivian, draped in a silk robe, glided over and frowned at the glass of perfectly warmed milk set out for her. “Miss Quinn,” she began, drawing out my name in a tone that brooked no argument. “This milk is wrong. I want milk from a cow in Australia, milked at dawn this very morning, bathed in the first rays of the southern hemisphere’s sun. And it must be warmed to precisely 37.5 degrees by the hands of an 82-year-old virgin. Not a degree more, not a degree less.” I was speechless. Matthew, who was reading a report, didn’t even look up. “The cows in Australia are currently asleep, and I highly doubt an 82-year-old virgin has precise temperature control.” “Vivian, this milk is air-freighted from Hokkaido, Japan. It’s excellent quality. Drink it while it’s warm.” Thwarted, Vivian shot me a resentful glare, as if it were my personal failing that I couldn’t procure such a fantastical beverage. Later that afternoon, while I was instructing the gardener on pruning the roses, she insisted on trying it herself. The moment she reached out, a thorn lightly pricked her index finger, drawing a bead of blood smaller than a pinhead. She held up the finger as if she’d been poisoned, and, with tears streaming down her face, burst into the study where Matthew was reviewing his schedule with his assistant. “Matthew! It hurts so much! I feel so dizzy!” 2 She held the finger, the wound now invisible, practically under Matthew’s nose. Matthew put down his documents, examined her finger for a long moment, and then sighed in relief. “It’s fine, the cut is tiny. Have Miss Quinn get you a bandage.” “A bandage?” Vivian’s voice shot up an octave, dripping with disbelief. “Matthew! Don’t you love me anymore?” As Matthew and I exchanged bewildered looks, she pointed a finger at me. “How could you just dismiss me with a bandage? Your woman has been injured, and the culprit is this butler!” “As a domineering CEO, aren’t you supposed to make her immediately draw 800cc of her blood as an apology to prove her loyalty and my importance?!” I took a deep breath, keeping my expression placid while my mind reeled. Eight hundred cubic centimeters? For a paper cut? Do you want me to check into the ICU to entertain you? And I’m the culprit? You’re the one who insisted on touching the roses! Matthew’s brow finally furrowed. He let go of Vivian’s hand, his tone laced with clear disapproval. “Vivian, first, Charlotte is a butler, not a mobile blood bank. Second, your blood types don’t even match.” He pointed at the nearly invisible mark. “And third, if you’d waited any longer, it would have healed on its own. What would you do with her blood? Water the flowers with it?” Vivian’s face flushed red and white in turns. She stomped her foot. “You! You’re not following the script! You’re not acting like a domineering CEO at all!” She then shot me a venomous look. Matthew rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’m just a normal businessman. Quinn, get the first-aid kit. And while you’re at it, please brief Miss Shaw on basic medical facts and the Blood Donation Act.” “Yes, Mr. Cooper.” I fought to keep the corners of my mouth from turning up as I gracefully excused myself. After that, similar dramas played out almost daily. Vivian would throw a tantrum because the slippers I prepared for her weren’t made of crystal. Rational Matthew would say: “Crystal slippers are uncomfortable. These are silk-embroidered. They’re much better.” She would demand that Matthew order a city-wide blackout just to create a romantic atmosphere for stargazing. Rational Matthew would say: “The municipal power grid doesn’t belong to me. That would cause mass panic, economic loss, and is highly illegal.” Naturally, I wasn’t spared either. When I handed her a towel, she would intentionally let it drop to the floor, expecting me to kneel and pick it up. I would simply ignore it and signal to Mrs. Davis, our head maid, who would expressionlessly pick it up and toss it in the laundry hamper. Her most frequent question to me was: “Miss Quinn, why don’t you tell me, ‘Miss Shaw, you’re the first woman Mr. Cooper has ever brought home’?” “Are you jealous of me? Jealous that I have Matthew’s affection while you’re just a pathetic servant who has to work all day and then ‘service’ him at night?” Every time I heard this, I had to resist the urge to retort. Miss, do you have some kind of misunderstanding about Mr. Cooper? This year alone, including you, I’ve already welcomed four ‘first women’ he’s ever brought home. The guest room on the left housed a Miss Lee, the one on the right a Miss Wang, and the master bedroom… well, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve changed the sheets. Mr. Cooper’s reputation as a playboy was well-earned. His interest rarely lasted longer than three months. The value of being his “first” was, frankly, not very high. As for “servicing him at night”? Please. My overtime rates are exorbitant, and strictly for professional matters. On the surface, however, I maintained my standard butler’s smile. “Miss Shaw, Mr. Cooper’s private affairs are not my concern. My duty is to ensure your comfort during your stay.” She was never satisfied with my answers, convinced I was harboring ill intentions, ready to enact the role of the “vicious, scheming rival who torments the innocent heroine.” Initially, Matthew found her antics novel and amusing, even playing along with her “domineering CEO falls for me” fantasy for a couple of days. But his patience quickly wore thin. He was a successful businessman; time was money. He had little tolerance for trouble and baseless tantrums. Many of Vivian’s actions were beginning to cross his “trouble” threshold. He started spending more time in his study or using business dinners as an excuse to come home late. Vivian seemed to sense his growing distance, but she predictably blamed it all on me. 3 She ramped up her efforts to make trouble for me, trying to undermine me in front of Matthew and cement her status as the female lead. “Miss Quinn, the vase in my room is angled incorrectly. It’s affecting my fortune. Reposition it a hundred times until I’m satisfied.” “Miss Quinn, for dinner, I want white truffles from Alba, France. I want them now. If you can’t have them flown in, it just proves your incompetence.” “Miss Quinn, I don’t like the scent of your perfume. You are forbidden from wearing it from now on.” The only thing I ever wore was unscented, sanitizing hand soap. I dodged these absurd demands whenever possible. If a request was too outrageous, I used Matthew as a shield. “Mr. Cooper has stipulated that all such procurements require his personal signed approval.” “Mr. Cooper is in a meeting and cannot be disturbed to confirm this matter.” Her glares grew more venomous, as if I were truly the greatest obstacle on her path to love. I knew the peace wouldn’t last. This drama queen was gearing up for a grand finale. One day, during a torrential downpour, Matthew had a crucial overseas video conference and had given strict orders not to be disturbed. Vivian, inspired by some novel, appeared at his study door dressed in a soaking-wet white dress, shivering dramatically, insisting she had to go in to “bring him warmth.” Naturally, I blocked her way. “Miss Shaw, Mr. Cooper is in an important meeting. His orders were that no one is to disturb him.” “Not even me?” she asked, her eyes welling with tears. “I’m the woman he loves most! Look at me, I’m soaked! He’ll be worried sick! Or are you just stopping me so you can sneak in and ‘perform’ for him yourself?” “Mr. Cooper will certainly check on you the moment his meeting is over. Please return to your room and change into dry clothes to avoid catching a cold.” My voice was calm and unyielding, filtering out her slander. Suddenly, she lunged, trying to force her way past me. I sidestepped, subtly positioning myself in front of the door. She stumbled into empty space and, with theatrical grace, collapsed to the floor. She covered her face and began to sob. “Oh… Miss Quinn, why did you push me? I know you’re jealous, but I was just worried about Matthew…” I was at a complete loss for words. Just then, the study door opened. Matthew, on a short break, had clearly heard the commotion. He looked from the sobbing Vivian on the floor to me, standing impassively beside her, and his brow furrowed. “What’s going on?” Vivian immediately launched into her act, tears flowing on command. “Matthew, it’s not Miss Quinn’s fault! I just lost my balance. She only wanted to stop me from bothering you, so she gave me a little push. It was really gentle, I’m just too fragile. She probably didn’t mean it, she’s just so… ‘concerned’ about you…” Her manipulative performance was truly masterful. Matthew looked at me, his eyes questioning. I bowed slightly. “Mr. Cooper, I only blocked Miss Shaw’s path. There was no physical contact.” “Miss Shaw may have slipped and fallen on her own.” I gestured to the ceiling. “There is a security camera in the hallway. You can review the footage.” At the mention of a camera, Vivian’s face went white. Matthew’s gaze flickered between us. Finally, it settled on Vivian, his tone unreadable. “Vivian, I told you the meeting was important. Go back to your room. Stop making a scene.” He hadn’t immediately believed her, but he hadn’t reprimanded her either. This neutral stance seemed to fuel Vivian’s insecurity and resentment. As she was helped to her feet, she shot me a venomous look that promised this was far from over. Sure enough, a few days later, Matthew left for an overseas business trip to negotiate a major project. Before he left, he gave me a rare, specific instruction. “Keep an eye on her. Don’t let her cause any trouble.” I nodded. “Understood, Mr. Cooper.” However, the day after he left, trouble arrived.

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My husband, Adrian Thorne, was a world-renowned pianist. He despised my hands—hands he claimed were made only for coarse labor. One day, after I’d dared to dust his grand piano, he melted a bowl of searing wax. Without a flicker of emotion, he seized my hands and plunged them deep into the molten liquid. “This,” he whispered in my ear as I screamed, “is your punishment for defiling art.” To avoid his wrath, I never touched his precious piano again. Until his birthday. He came home drunk, took my hands in his, and guided them over the black and white keys, playing the favorite song of his first love. Tears streamed down his face as he murmured, “So… your hands can be this soft, too.” In that moment, I naively believed he had finally let go of the past, that he had finally seen me. But the next morning, I was held down by two burly men, forced to watch as my husband took a hammer and, with the chilling precision of a metronome, shattered the bones in my fingers, one by one. He watched me writhe on the floor, then calmly poured himself a glass of red wine. “How dare these hands,” he mused, his voice cold as ice, “recreate a melody meant only for Celeste? Garbage… must be destroyed.” 1 The fluorescent lights of the hospital ceiling were a blinding glare. I wanted to shield my eyes, but my hands were wrapped into two thick, white bundles, suspended in the air. Every breath sent a fresh spike of agony through them. My orthopedic surgeon held up the X-rays, his expression a mask of professional regret. “Mrs. Thorne, you have comminuted fractures in all ten fingers. The nerve reconstruction in three of them was not optimal.” He sighed. “From now on, you should avoid lifting heavy objects and any fine motor activities.” Adrian hadn’t just shattered my hands. He had taken a hammer to my entire life, piece by piece, and smashed it to dust. I stared at the gauze-wrapped clubs that used to be my hands. I tried to smile, but the corners of my mouth wouldn’t obey. The door creaked open, and my husband, Adrian Thorne, walked in. Impeccably dressed in an expensive bespoke suit, he was an alien of sterile perfection in the drab hospital room. He didn’t look at me. He walked straight to the window and pulled back the curtains. Sunlight flooded in, and I flinched, my eyes squeezing shut. “What did the doctor say?” he asked. His voice was as crisp and cool as the highest notes on his keyboard. I said nothing. He finally turned to me, a slight frown creasing his brow. “Lina, I’m talking to you.” “Just as you wished,” I rasped, my voice a dry, unfamiliar sound from my chapped lips. “I’ll never touch your piano again.” Adrian’s expression remained unchanged. He simply nodded. From the fruit basket he’d brought, he selected an apple and began to peel it with a small, sharp knife. The peel came off in a single, unbroken spiral, a work of art in his grasp. He had the most perfect hands in the world—long, elegant fingers, with well-defined knuckles. These were the hands hailed as “kissed by God,” capable of weaving the most magnificent symphonies. And, with the same flawless precision, of shattering his wife’s bones. He sliced the peeled apple into small, neat pieces and held one to my lips. I turned my head away, avoiding the hand that had brought me such ruin. His hand froze in mid-air. After a few seconds, he retracted it. “Don’t be difficult.” “Lina, you should know by now what you can and cannot touch.” He popped the piece of apple into his own mouth, chewing slowly, deliberately, as if savoring my pain. “That melody does not belong to you.” “Remember this lesson.” 2 After Adrian left, my mother-in-law arrived, carrying a thermos of chicken soup. She slammed it down on the bedside table the moment she entered. The greasy smell hit me like a wave, and I fought back a surge of nausea. “Lina, what did you do this time to make Adrian so angry?” The blame in her eyes was raw and undisguised. “Don’t you know his world tour starts next month? Are you trying to ruin his career by causing trouble now?” I looked at her, a bitter, hollow laugh stuck in my throat. I was causing trouble? “Mother, your son broke my hands.” She scoffed, pulling a chair to the bedside and studying me with an air of aristocratic disdain. “If he hit you, you must have done something to deserve it.” “I told you from the start, a woman from your background was never good enough for our Adrian. What can you do besides housework? And now you’ve even forgotten your place and touched his piano?” “That isn’t just a piano—it’s his life! Better for you to lose a hand than for him to lose his future!” And my life? Was my life not a life? I closed my eyes, unwilling to argue. Trying to reason with a Thorne was a fool’s errand, an argument you were destined to lose before it even began. Seeing my silence, she must have mistaken it for submission. Her tone softened slightly. “Don’t blame Adrian. He’s been through so much.” “Celeste has been gone for years, but he’s never moved on.” Celeste. Adrian’s first love. The only woman he deemed worthy of touching his piano, a fallen piano prodigy. “He was drunk yesterday. He thought you were Celeste. That’s why he lost control. As his wife, you should be more understanding. It’s a small price to pay.” My eyes snapped open, the hatred in them so intense it could have burned her. “So, when he realized I wasn’t Celeste, he decided to destroy my hands?” My glare made her flinch, but her shock quickly morphed into anger. “What is this attitude? You think you’ve grown wings?” “Let me tell you something, Lina. There are countless women who would kill to be Mrs. Thorne. Don’t be so ungrateful!” She stormed out, slamming the door behind her. I stayed in the hospital for two weeks. Adrian never visited again. But every day, a delivery of fresh, expensive fruit and gourmet supplements would arrive, piling up on my nightstand. A silent, condescending charity. 3 On the day of my discharge, the Thorne family driver was there to pick me up. I refused to get in the car and called a taxi instead. The driver looked distressed. “Ma’am, Mr. Thorne instructed me…” “Tell him I need some time alone.” I went back to the house I shared with Adrian. When I pushed the door open, a pair of new women’s slippers sat in the entryway, a size too small for me. In the living room, the black Steinway grand piano gleamed, polished to perfection. A young woman I’d never seen before was carefully dusting the lid with a feather duster. She started when she saw me, looking flustered. “You are?” I didn’t answer. My eyes moved past her to a woman’s trench coat draped over the sofa. It was exactly Celeste’s style. Looking closer, the girl herself bore a striking resemblance to her. Understanding seemed to dawn on her, and a blush crept up her cheeks. “I’m the new piano maintenance specialist Mr. Thorne hired. My name is—” “Get out.” My voice was quiet, but it held a steel that couldn’t be disobeyed. The girl froze. “But Mr. Thorne…” “I said, get out,” I repeated, looking her straight in the eye. My expression must have terrified her. She hastily put down her things and fled. I walked to the piano. This instrument was Adrian’s sacred ground. He once told me my hands were only good for washing vegetables, that to touch his piano was to defile it. In three years of marriage, I had never laid a finger on it. Now, my hands were ruined. I could never play again. I could no longer threaten the sacred memory of the woman in his heart. I reached out with my still-bandaged hand and let it rest gently on the piano lid. It was cold and hard, just like Adrian’s heart. The front door opened behind me. Adrian was home. His eyes fell on my hand on his piano, and his gaze turned to ice. “What did I tell you?” His voice was a low growl, thick with a rage that felt ready to tear me apart. I didn’t turn around. I simply slid my stiff, unbending fingers across the smooth, polished surface. “Adrian, let’s get a divorce.” The silence in the room was absolute. After a long moment, a cold laugh escaped his lips. “Divorce?” He strode toward me, his tall frame looming over me, casting me completely in his shadow. “Lina, you have the audacity to mention divorce to me?” “Your family, your home, everything you have—I gave it to you. Without me, you are nothing.” He was right. To marry him, I had given up my career, abandoned my studies, and cut off nearly every friend he didn’t approve of. I had become an island, existing only in his orbit. “I’ll leave with nothing,” I said, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. I had nothing to begin with. He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look up at him. His eyes were filled with contempt and ridicule, as if he were looking at an ant trying to challenge a giant. “Do you think divorce is a game you can start and stop whenever you please?” “Lina, I make the rules here.” “You want to leave? Fine. First, learn how to be an obedient dog.” I laughed, a cold, sharp sound, and met his gaze without flinching. “That girl from before… she’s the replacement you found for Celeste, isn’t she? What value do I have left? Wouldn’t a divorce be more convenient for you both?” He released me with such force that I stumbled backward. “Lina, you don’t get to walk away so easily. You have a debt to Celeste that you’ll spend the rest of your life repaying!” “Until you learn to be an obedient dog, you will stay right here.” He pulled out his phone and made a call. “Get Mr. Davies on the line. I need a new postnuptial agreement drafted.” “Yes. Regarding loyalty and obedience.” He hung up and walked out without another glance in my direction. 4 Adrian didn’t come home that night. I sat alone in the vast, empty living room until the sun came up. The next day, Mr. Davies arrived. He had been a witness at our wedding, but now his face was a mask of cold professionalism. He handed me a document. “Mrs. Thorne, this is the new agreement Mr. Thorne asked me to prepare.” I took it and skimmed through the pages. The clauses were a masterclass in humiliation. I was forbidden from initiating a divorce, from disobeying any of Adrian’s wishes, from having any unnecessary contact with any man. Even if my own parents wanted to see me, they would first have to submit a written request to Adrian for approval. And the final clause: if I violated any of the terms, all assets in my name—including the house my parents currently lived in—would be unconditionally repossessed. The house had been a “gift” from Adrian before our wedding, but the deed was in my name. He had been shackling me all along, just waiting for me to take a wrong step. “Mrs. Thorne, if you have no objections, please sign here.” Mr. Davies offered me a pen. My hands were still wrapped in bandages. I couldn’t even hold it. The sight was both pathetic and absurd. I looked at the lawyer. “And if I don’t sign?” Mr. Davies adjusted his glasses. “You should be more aware of Mr. Thorne’s methods than I am. He won’t give you the opportunity to say no.” I laughed. Of course. How could I forget? He was Adrian Thorne, the golden child of fortune. He always got what he wanted. Including a person’s soul. Just then, my phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number. With my one slightly mobile finger, I managed to swipe to answer. “Is this Lina?” The voice on the other end was gentle and strangely familiar. “This is Samuel Reed.” 5 Samuel Reed. He was a senior from my university, the only person who had ever truly understood my music. We lost touch after he went abroad for his medical fellowship. “Samuel?” My voice trembled. “It’s me. I’m back in the country. Just got your number.” Samuel paused. “You don’t… sound so good. Are you okay?” I clutched the phone, my eyes darting from Mr. Davies’s smug face to the humiliating contract on the table. Tears welled up, hot and sudden. But I couldn’t cry. Not now. I sniffled, forcing my voice to sound as normal as possible. “I’m fine, Samuel. Just a bit of a cold.” “Where are you? Are you free to meet? I’m at a medical conference right near your neighborhood.” My heart skipped a beat. “I…” Adrian’s warning echoed in my ears. No unnecessary contact with any man. Mr. Davies was watching me like a hawk. I glanced out the window and saw a banner across the street: “International Medical Exchange Center.” A wild, desperate idea took root in my mind. “Samuel, I can’t get out right now. But… could you do me a favor?” “Of course. Anything.” “Call the police for me,” I said, my voice low and urgent. “The address is 22 Blackwood Lane. Someone is being held here against their will.”

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My parents were away on a business trip, leaving me and my little brother, Mark, to fend for ourselves. We decided to kill time with a game of “Something You Don’t Have.” I smiled, laying my palm flat on the table. “Mom baked me a birthday cake from scratch.” Mark just shrugged, casually folding one finger down. “My name is on the deed to the house.” I froze. He pressed his advantage, a smug grin spreading across his face. “And I’m the sole beneficiary on all of their life insurance policies.” My hand hovered in mid-air, fingers stiff. My mind went completely blank, the next sentence I’d been about to say catching in my throat. What I had wanted to say was that I have cancer. And I probably don’t have much time left. 1 “What, you don’t believe me?” Mark scoffed, sauntering over to the safe. He pulled out two official-looking folders and a stack of printed contracts, laying them all out neatly in front of me. “See for yourself, genius.” My hands trembled, but I opened them. The three-bedroom house we were living in, the old cottage out in the country, and more than a dozen insurance policies. Mark Miller’s name was on every single one. And me, Abby Miller, I was nowhere to be found in that thick stack of documents. Not a ghost of a mention. “So? Looks like you lose this round, huh?” Mark crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair like a king on his throne. He was right. I had lost. I didn’t even know the combination to that safe. But he had opened it without a second thought. “Cat got your tongue? You’re not gonna play your next card?” He waved a hand in front of my face, still waiting for me to continue the game. I closed the folders and stacked the contracts one by one, my voice a dry rasp. “Fine. You win.” Before this moment, Mark and I had a lifetime of sibling rivalry under our belts, a war of attrition where he never seemed to gain any ground. Mom always had my back. “Abby’s a girl, Mark,” she’d say. “A gentleman always lets the lady have her way.” So, I always got the first pick of snacks, the first choice of games. I even had the biggest bedroom in the house. Growing up, Mark would constantly whine in my ear, “Mom and Dad are so biased. You’re the only one they really love.” All these years, I’d basked in that favoritism while secretly feeling a pang of guilt for my brother. So even when he’d tell me to drop dead, I’d just brush it off as him blowing off steam. But now, I really was dying. Just last month, I was diagnosed with late-stage cancer. The doctor told me it had already spread. Surgery was off the table; there was no chance of success. All I had left was to live out my remaining time as comfortably as possible, to manage the pain. Because I truly believed my parents “loved me most,” I couldn’t bear to tell them the truth about my illness. I’d planned to use their business trip as an opportunity, to use this silly game as a way to gently break the news to my brother—the one person I thought hated me most. But now… now I didn’t want to say a thing. Mark cleared his throat. “You don’t have to give up so fast. You’ve still got three fingers left.” I just smiled and shook my head. “I’m done. It’s getting late. We should get some sleep.” He noticed the shift in my mood, his tone turning contemptuous. “Hey, don’t tell me you’re actually going to go kill yourself over this.” “If you do, make sure you do it somewhere else. I don’t want it coming back on me.” It was his typical way of talking, something I’d grown used to. But hearing that word—kill—this time, my nose stung, and my eyes began to burn against my will. I paused, saying nothing as I walked straight to my room. Just as I reached the door, I heard his voice again. “There’s one more thing I didn’t tell you. Do you want to—” “No.” I didn’t turn around, forcing a calm smile. “I don’t want to hear it. Just go to bed, Mark.” I quietly shut the door behind me and pulled out the bucket list I’d made a few days ago. Climb a mountain to see the sunrise together. Take one last family photo. A trip to the beach… All these things I wanted to do with my family before I died. Was there even any point now? I fought back the searing sting in my eyes, stubbornly refusing to let a single tear fall. 2 At one in the morning, my body ached so intensely that sleep was impossible. Wiping the cold sweat from my forehead, I decided to look for some painkillers in Mom’s drawer. It was where she always kept her medicine, but now, tucked inside, was a diary I’d never seen before. The cover was yellowed with age, the handwriting unmistakably hers. “My sweet Mark smiled for the first time today. His eyes are like little stars, so full of love.” “Mark has a fever again. His father and I stayed up all night watching over him. Our hearts are breaking…” I flipped through page after page, but my name was nowhere to be found. It wasn’t until the very last few pages that I finally found a mention of me. “Mark is starting to fight for things, but he’s three years younger than his sister. He can’t win. Sometimes I just want to slap that girl.” “What can I do? I told Mark today that Mom and Dad will make it up to him in secret, giving him double of whatever he wants.” “It’s just some toys and snacks, what are they worth? Let her win for now. When she’s happy, she’ll feel guilty towards her brother. Trading a few small favors for our son’s long-term benefit… it’s a brilliant deal.” I placed the diary back in the drawer, my body shivering with a sudden, uncontrollable cold. So that was what she really thought. So their love for me had been nothing more than a calculated scheme. For as long as I could remember, she and Dad had always let me win in all the small, insignificant battles. A few bags of chips, some toys, a slightly bigger bedroom. In exchange, my brother got the property, the insurance policies, and their genuine, heartfelt love. The parents I had adored my entire life… they didn’t love me at all. A wave of icy nausea washed over me. I scrambled to the bathroom, violent spasms seizing my stomach and rising in my throat. Eventually, I collapsed onto the cold tile floor, gasping for breath. I don’t know when Mark came in, but he was clearly startled by the sight of me. “Did you eat something bad?” I wiped the tears from my face, my voice weak. “Stomach cramps.” “Aren’t there painkillers in Mom’s drawer?” I shook my head. “They’re all gone.” “God, you’re such a pain.” He sounded incredibly annoyed, but he still turned and started putting on his jacket by the door. “Wait here. I’ll go buy you some. But it’s a fifty-dollar delivery fee, and I want it upfront.” As the front door clicked shut, I used the wall to pull myself up and happened to see Mark’s phone, left behind on the entryway table. The screen lit up with the ping of a few new notifications. I walked over, my eyes fixing on the latest message. It was from a group chat named “Our Perfect Family.” There were three members. And me, the outsider, had never known it existed. Mom: “Honey, Dad and I just finished up here. We’ll be back in a couple of days. I managed to get you that limited-edition figure you wanted! It was the very last one, I had to pay a fortune for it.” Mom: “P.S. When you get back to campus, make sure you hide it in your dorm room. Don’t you dare tell your sister. She was going on and on about wanting one three months ago.” I let out a bitter laugh and turned off the screen. A strange calm settled over me. It didn’t matter. When you’re about to die, nothing really matters anymore. 3 The day my parents came home, a light rain was falling from a gray sky. As always, the first thing they did was show me the gifts they’d brought. “Abby, honey, that figure you told me you wanted was sold out everywhere. But don’t worry, Mom pulled some strings and got you this mini version.” Pulled some strings? I looked at the crudely made knockoff, and all I could feel was a bitter, biting irony. “What’s wrong? You don’t like it? It took a lot of effort to get, you know.” But what could I do? I couldn’t force a smile. Seeing the look on my face, my dad’s temper flared. “Abby Miller, your mother went to great lengths and spent a lot of money to bring that back for you, and you have the nerve to look so ungrateful? Have we spoiled you rotten?” “Look at your brother! He didn’t get anything, and he’s not acting like a brat!” He didn’t get anything? I’m the ungrateful one? Had they been playing this part for so long they’d started to believe their own lies? In that moment, I decided I wasn’t going to let this go. I asked, my voice cold and sharp, “Mom, are you sure you couldn’t find the limited-edition one?” The words hung in the air. Everyone froze. My mother’s eyes darted to Mark, and she muttered under her breath, “You silly boy, I told you not to tell her.” I laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “You don’t have to look at him, Mom. I already know everything.” “You… what do you know?” Her confidence was gone, her words stumbling over each other. It was Mark who spoke up, his voice steady. “Mom, I told her. She was going to find out about the house and the insurance eventually. Why keep lying?” The air grew thick with a heavy silence. My parents’ faces turned ugly. Under my unwavering gaze, my mother slowly composed herself, her voice regaining its familiar tone of self-righteousness. “Fine. If you know, then there’s nothing left to hide.” “You put your hand on your heart and tell me, Abby. In every single fight between you and Mark, haven’t your father and I always taken your side?” “We gave you all the attention, and we gave Mark the assets. It’s perfectly fair.” I laughed again, the sound hollow. Fair? What a joke. A familiar, twisting pain clawed at my stomach. I clapped a hand over my mouth, doubling over as I ran for the bathroom, dry-heaving violently. My mother, dropping her aggressive posture, followed me to the door, a flicker of concern in her voice. “Wh-what’s wrong? Did you eat something that disagreed with you?” I shook my head, leaning against the wall, unable to stand up straight. Mark frowned. “Throwing up again? Do you need me to get you more painkillers?” My mom looked at me, confused. “What do you mean, again? Has this been happening a lot?” Without thinking, I wiped my mouth and asked with a bitter smile, “Mom, if I were sick… would you be worried about me?” She didn’t answer. Instead, her gaze dropped to my stomach, a complex expression clouding her face. In the next second, she lunged into the bathroom, her hand flying up and connecting with my cheek in a stinging slap. “You have the nerve to say you’re sick? Abby, you’re only twenty-one! You haven’t even graduated from college, and you let some guy knock you up?” What? How could she think that? My mother’s voice dripped with fury. “I ran into your professor the other day. She mentioned you had several boys chasing after you at school. Now I see she was trying to warn me, wasn’t she!” “Running around, throwing yourself at boys at your age! You’re a disgrace!” Hearing the commotion, my dad stormed in from the living room and grabbed me by the collar of my pajamas. “Have you no shame? Is everything I ever taught you just gone to waste?” My legs gave out from under me, and I crumpled to the floor, but he yanked me back up. “I’m not,” I argued weakly. “I’m really sick, I…” My dad wasn’t listening. He dragged me furiously towards the front door and, without a shred of mercy, shoved me outside. “Would your mother lie? Would she be wrong about something like this?” “You want to be shameless? Then get out and think about what you’ve done!” The rain was coming down harder now. I pounded on the door, my fists raw, but it was no use. Eventually, I gave up and just started walking, aimlessly, down the cold, empty street, soaked to the bone. When they threw me out, I was only in my pajamas and slippers. I hadn’t even had time to grab my phone. Cold and hunger began to set in. I had no idea where to go. As dusk settled, I stopped a passerby and borrowed their phone, swallowing my pride to call my mother. “Mom, it’s getting dark. I don’t have my phone or any money. Can you please let me come home?” “No. Your father said you can come back when you’re ready to admit you were wrong.” Tears welled in my eyes. “But what was I wrong about? I told you, I’m not pregnant. I’m just sick.” My dad snatched the phone away, his voice booming through the receiver. “Abby, are you still lying? I see you haven’t learned a thing!” “If you have nowhere to go, then go find the father of that bastard child and make him take responsibility for you!” The line went dead, leaving only the dull hum of the dial tone. I numbly handed the phone back, feeling like a stray dog left out in the storm. The rain seemed to fall even harder. I hugged myself, walking blindly into a dingy little motel. I had a few crumpled bills in my pajama pocket, just enough to afford a single night in a place like this. The room was dark and damp, with just a single, sagging bed and a shared bathroom down the hall. I drew the thin curtains, my stomach growling. I checked my pocket again. A few dollars left. I locked the door and decided to go to the small convenience store across the street to buy a cup of ramen. The narrow, poorly lit hallway was filled with the loud, foul-mouthed shouts of a few drunk men. I pulled the hood of my pajamas over my head, kept my eyes on the floor, and tried to hurry past them. Suddenly, a tall man blocked my path, his eyes raking over me in a way that made my skin crawl. “Hey, sweet thing. How much for the night?” I ignored him, my heart pounding, trying to stay calm as I walked past. My legs felt like jelly. When I got back to the motel, the men were gone. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and fumbled for my key. As I went to unlock the door, a hand clamped over my mouth from behind. He dragged me into a corner of the hallway, his voice urgent and rough. “I’ll give you a hundred bucks. You in or not?” I shook my head frantically, but all that came out were muffled whimpers. The man’s patience snapped. “Don’t play hard to get. I saw you earlier. What good girl checks into a sleazy motel at night wearing pajamas? You’re here for business, right?” I struggled with all my might, but his grip only tightened, squeezing the air from my lungs. Soon, my strength failed me. He dragged me violently into his room. The world became a blur of pain as he slapped me across the face, then grabbed a heavy glass ashtray from the nightstand and brought it down on my head. My head swam, and a hot bloom of pain was the last thing I felt before the world went dark.

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It was the year the golden boy heir and his one true love were at their most idyllic. Even after marrying me, he remained celibate, saving himself for her. On our third wedding anniversary, he brought a child home from an orphanage. Before I could speak, a stream of live comments flickered across my vision. “OMG I’m crying, the male lead actually brought home the son he had with the female lead.” “Yep, now the villainess will raise the kid, and the main couple can fake their deaths and escape to live their perfect life together.” “The villainess will definitely raise the boy as her own, give him the best education, and when he’s old enough to inherit the company, the main couple can return for their happy family reunion. It’s perfect!” Just as the comments predicted, the news of the heir’s “death” broke the very next day. I didn’t cry. I didn’t throw a fit. I simply rested a hand on my seven-week-pregnant belly and quietly returned the child to the orphanage. I have my own child to think about. Why would I raise someone else’s? 1 “Sienna, I’ve adopted this boy from the orphanage. He’ll take my last name, Rothschild. His name is Michael. You can call him Michael.” Peter Rothschild finished speaking and nudged the small, two-year-old boy toward me. “Michael, say hello to your aunt.” The boy, Michael, bowed obediently, his voice soft and high. “Hello, Auntie!” I was about to respond when the world shimmered, and lines of text began scrolling through the air in front of me. 【OMG I’m crying, the male lead actually brought home the son he had with the female lead.】 【Yep, now the villainess will raise the kid, and the main couple can fake their deaths and escape to live their perfect life together.】 【The villainess will definitely raise the boy as her own, give him the best education, and when he’s old enough to inherit the company, the main couple can return for their happy family reunion. It’s perfect!】 And just like that, I understood. I was nothing more than a side character—the villainess—in a trashy romance novel. Peter and his one true love were the main characters. And their son, this little boy Peter claimed to have adopted, was the story’s young hero. The live feed also told me that tomorrow, Peter would fake his death to run off with his beloved, leaving their son in my care. Well, we’d just have to see about that. The next morning, I was jolted awake by my phone ringing. The moment I answered, Peter’s mother, Eleanor, was on the line, her voice choked with hysterical sobs. “Sienna! Peter is dead!” The comments exploded again. 【Here we go! The main couple is finally together!】 【What are we waiting for? Show us the bed scene!】 【Don’t you dare censor it! I’m a premium member, there’s nothing I can’t see.】 So, it was all true. A small, humorless smile touched my lips. I hung up the phone. It didn’t take long for the comments to confirm that Peter and his sweetheart were already tangled in the sheets, wasting no time at all. Fine. Let them have their fun. I knocked on Michael’s door. “Michael, sweetie, wake up and get dressed. Auntie is taking you somewhere wonderful.” 2 To make it look authentic, Peter had actually gone through the official adoption process with the orphanage. It was easy for me to find the right one. The director looked troubled. “This is…” It was obvious Michael had never lived here before. The place was completely foreign to him. I pushed him gently toward the director. “Peter Rothschild is dead. The adoption is void. I’m bringing him back.” The director hesitated. I pressed, my voice intentionally sharp. “Ma’am, is this not the boy from your records? The paperwork is all in order. Or… should I perhaps take this child to the police instead?” That did the trick. The director scooped Michael into her arms. I patted Michael’s head. “You be a good boy and have fun here, okay?” Michael, who knew neither me nor the director, suddenly burst into tears. “Mommy! I want my mommy!” he wailed. The director quickly signaled for a staff member to take him away, then turned back to me. “Is Mr. Rothschild really… gone?” “He is. An accident. I’m on my way to arrange his funeral now. You should come, Director.” Her face went pale. Before leaving, I handed her a thick envelope of cash. It wasn’t for Michael. It was to ensure she stopped asking questions about whether Peter Rothschild was really dead. On the drive back, my phone was ringing off the hook. Everyone was telling me to come and take charge. Peter’s parents, Eleanor and Richard, had both been hospitalized from the shock. The doctors said his father had nearly had a stroke. It was clear they knew nothing about Peter’s plan. To deceive his own parents just to be with the woman he loved… I wasn’t sure if I should applaud his epic romance or pity his parents for raising such a son. At the hospital, I took Eleanor’s hand. “Mom, I don’t know what to say to ease your pain, but I want you to know you still have me. I’ll take care of you and Dad.” “And,” I added, gently placing a hand on my stomach, “I’m pregnant. Seven weeks.” The news was a powerful balm, easing the sharpest edges of their grief. They wanted to check out immediately, but I insisted they stay. “The baby in your belly is the only heir to the Rothschild family,” they said, their voices firm. “We have to protect you, make sure the baby is born safe and sound.” Naturally, they wouldn’t let me handle the funeral arrangements alone. And naturally, I wasn’t going to tell them that the child in my belly wasn’t Peter’s. In our three years of marriage, Peter had been so devoted to his one true love that we slept in separate rooms. He never laid a finger on me. Choosing another man wasn’t about revenge; it was about fairness. He had his woman, so I would have my man. More importantly, I desperately needed an heir. In truth, I had been planning to ask Peter for a divorce right before this whole charade began. Our marriage was a corporate merger of families, devoid of affection. I had endured it for three years to satisfy my parents. Divorcing after three years was for me, for my future. I just never imagined Peter would fake his own death, abandoning not only his parents but also his son to my care. What did he take me for? A free nanny and a living ATM? If that was how he wanted to play, then he couldn’t blame me for using my new status as the grieving Rothschild widow to take everything that was once his. He drew first blood. I was more than ready to finish the war. 3 After the funeral, Richard and Eleanor immediately transferred a significant portion of the company’s shares to me, along with a handsome sum in cash. It wasn’t so much a reward as it was a way to tie me to them. For some wealthy families, a child is the ultimate bargaining chip. “And when the baby is born,” they promised, “boy or girl, there will be another billion waiting for you.” “Next Monday, Sienna, you will officially take over as CEO. Prepare yourself.” I accepted it all with a gracious smile. The live comments went wild. 【Are these two old fools blind?! The male lead never touched her! She’s carrying some bastard’s child! BASTARD!】 【This villainess is pure evil. A viper. I can’t watch her deceive these poor old people anymore.】 【AAGH, I’m so pissed!】 【The one I feel worst for is Michael! That evil bitch just dumped a two-year-old back in an orphanage!】 【I hope her baby miscarries!】 【Can anyone warn the main couple?!】 I paid them no mind. I turned to Richard and Eleanor. “I’m not yet three months along. Let’s keep the pregnancy quiet for now.” They were even more cautious about this baby than I was, terrified of losing the sole heir to the Rothschild dynasty. Of course, that was assuming Richard didn’t have a secret love child tucked away somewhere, something Eleanor would never, ever allow. Once my belly began to show, I disappeared from public life. I didn’t even go to the office, choosing instead to spend my pregnancy at a private, high-security wellness retreat. During that time, the live comments were obsessed with the main couple’s budding romance. While Peter and his true love were living out their sweet, romantic fantasy, I gave birth to a son. Richard and Eleanor were overjoyed and made good on their promise immediately. To secure my hold on the entire Rothschild legacy, I temporarily gave my son their last name. We called him Noah. To this day, Richard and Eleanor believe Noah is their only grandchild. Along with my own parents, the four of them have smothered him with a grandparent’s affection, spoiling him to the point of absurdity. That’s why, once Noah turned three, I began to step back from work to oversee his education personally. A comment drifted by: 【That kid hit the jackpot. Doting grandparents, and a strict mother paving his entire future for him. Meanwhile, Michael has turned into a total brat.】 【I’m just now realizing something serious… I think the villainess is the real main character of this story!】 【Honestly, I’ve been thinking this for a while. Are the main couple idiots? Forgetting their parents is one thing, but abandoning their own child to the villainess?】 【If they don’t come back soon, Michael’s life is completely ruined.】 【That’s on them. If you don’t want to raise a kid, don’t have one.】 【They probably didn’t want the kid, just the process of making him.】 【They’ve been erased from official records, their fortune has been stolen from under their noses, and they’re still off playing house somewhere.】 Reading these comments, I felt a sense of relief. I truly hoped the so-called main characters would stay lost in their bubble of sweet, sweet love forever. 4 The year Noah turned eighteen, he officially took over the Rothschild empire. By that point, he had already earned every academic degree he could possibly acquire. I’ll admit, it wasn’t just my upbringing. Noah is a genius in his own right. It was also due to the quality of the genetic material I selected—the absolute best of the best. The live comments had become less frequent over the years, but the same people who once cursed me as a villainess were now firmly on my side. Whenever I faced a major decision or someone plotted against me, they would give me a heads-up. Over time, they realized I could see them. Now, we’re more like friends. After eighteen years, the readers have grown tired of the whole “protagonist halo” trope. If the main characters only want to focus on romance, if they won’t work hard or raise their own child, then losing everything is the only logical conclusion. A comment popped up: 【The main couple is coming back.】 【What main couple? They’re nobodies.】 【Peter and Sophie are coming back to reap the rewards. It’s disgusting.】 【Forget the rewards. They should go check on their precious son. He’s a full-blown delinquent.】 I only knew about Michael from the comments. He dropped out of middle school to “make it big” down south, but he found real work too tiring. He bounced between dead-end jobs, never making any money, but he picked up every vice: drinking, gambling, and whoring around. He reveled in the shallow pleasures of his own decay. The Michael of today was nothing but a low-life hoodlum. A few comments still condemned me. 【I still think the villainess went too far. Even if she didn’t want to raise Michael, she should have taken him to his grandparents. He turned out this way because of her. She’s fully responsible.】 I didn’t have to say a word. Others immediately jumped to my defense. 【Shouldn’t his parents be the ones responsible for him?】 【If Peter had taken Michael to his parents in the first place, I’d have nothing to say. But he wanted the villainess to raise his heir for him, then waltz back in and reclaim him? He was just using her!】 I ignored the debate and called for Noah. He sat down in front of me. “Mom, what is it?” I hesitated. “Noah, I need to tell you…” That your last name isn’t Rothschild. That your grandparents have no blood relation to you. My own parents knew, of course. For eighteen years, the three of us have carried this secret. I know how much Noah loves his grandparents, and I didn’t know how to tell him the truth. Noah moved from his chair to sit beside me on the sofa. “Mom, what’s wrong?” I couldn’t find the words. Facing him, I knew I couldn’t just state with conviction that I had done nothing wrong. I… Eleanor swept into the room. “Can’t you two talk later? We need to go.” Noah looked at me, concerned. “Mom…” I let out a long breath. “Let’s go.” Tonight was the grand gala celebrating Noah’s official takeover of the Rothschild corporation. I could tell him after the party. But shortly after the evening began, just as Richard and Eleanor finished their announcement, Peter and Sophie appeared.

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While tidying my husband’s suit, I felt a neatly folded paper in his pocket. It was a notice from a private academy—not our daughter’s. Unfolding it, I saw the student’s name: Leo Foster. The parent’s name: Mark Foster. My husband is Mark Foster. I drove straight to the school, entered the office, and introduced myself as Leo’s parent. The teacher said, “Leo’s parents just left. They can’t be far.” I followed her direction and soon saw him: my husband, holding a little boy’s hand with one arm, the other around a strange woman’s waist, laughing softly. I called him, my voice calm. “When will you be home?” He sounded startled. “This trip might take three or four days.” I hung up, lifted my phone, and took a clear, damning photo of the three. “Mark,” I whispered. “I’m keeping this little surprise.” 01 The next day, I attended the school’s parent-teacher mixer in my capacity as a major shareholder. It didn’t take long to spot her, Lisa, working the room in a simple white dress. Her makeup was understated, her demeanor gentle and elegant. I walked straight up to her and stopped at her side. “Ms. Vance, I presume? I’ve heard so much about you. That dress is quite striking.” She turned at the sound of my voice. The instant she saw me, the color drained from her face. I smiled inwardly. This delicate flower wasn’t as innocent as she looked. Her voice was tight as she took an unconscious half-step back. “Hello… it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Just a simple greeting and she was already a bundle of nerves. So much for poise. “My husband is one of the school’s investors,” I said smoothly. “I’m here on his behalf today. I hear you’re on the PTA committee.” Her voice returned to normal, but her eyes darted nervously. “I just do what I can.” “It’s good to find the time to do something meaningful for the children,” she added. “Otherwise, being a stay-at-home mom just means your whole world revolves around your husband and kids.” Perfect. A little jab at my current “unemployed” status while burnishing her own image. I noticed her unconsciously rubbing the ring on her fourth finger. The design was identical to the one in my jewelry box at home. My tone was casual, but my words were a scalpel. “That’s a beautiful ring. It looks expensive. Is it your wedding band?” She instinctively tried to hide her hand, her expression turning to one of sheer panic. She opened her mouth, but only a choked, trembling sound came out. I didn’t expect an answer. “Your son attends school here, I take it? What grade is he in?” She answered cautiously. “The… the second grade. He’ll be eight in August.” Eight in August. I did the math in my head. What a coincidence. Nine years ago, Mark had claimed he needed to “expand the company’s regional markets” and started taking frequent, lengthy business trips. For over six months, he was home for less than two weeks total. Suddenly, it all made sense. Back then, our daughter Sophie had just been born. He was either “at a business dinner” or “on his way to one.” The rare times we spoke on the phone, it was always rushed. “You’re working so hard, honey. I’m swamped over here, can’t get away… Just do your best… hire a good nanny…” I was so afraid of distracting him from work, I shouldered everything myself, no matter how exhausted or overwhelmed I was. I always just told him, “Everything’s fine.” It turned out his “business dinners” and being “swamped” were just code for being by Lisa’s side full-time while she was pregnant. I took a slow sip of my coffee, hiding the arctic chill in my eyes. When I looked up, my polite smile was perfectly in place. “What a coincidence. My daughter is about the same age.” She forced a weak smile and said nothing. As if suddenly remembering something, I pulled a brochure from my purse. “Last week, I found this school newsletter in my husband’s briefcase. That suggestion you wrote in the back? Such lovely handwriting.” I watched the last vestiges of color drain from her cheeks. Her voice was a dry rasp. “That… that wasn’t me.” A denial. Pathetic. Seeing her reaction, I suddenly lost interest. “Oh, I must be mistaken then. It was a pleasure to meet you. I do hope you manage to keep up appearances.” I turned and walked out of the event, pulling out my phone to call my best friend, a founding partner at a top-tier law firm. “Betty, I need a favor.” The sunlight was blinding as I opened my car door. The soft purr of the engine was like a sigh marking the start of a play. My voice was as calm as still water. “Drop the case you were working on for me. I need you to draw up divorce papers.” “Yes, Mark is cheating. And I’m about to give him a gift he’ll never forget.” 02 Betty was ruthlessly efficient. Less than half a day later, an encrypted file landed in my inbox. The attached note was brief: “Take a deep breath after you read this. Call me anytime.” I locked myself in the study to get reacquainted with the man I married. I opened the first video file. It was security footage from a beach resort. Three months ago, on Children’s Day, Mark had told me he was attending a “closed-door executive retreat.” In reality, he was on a beach vacation with Lisa and Leo. They were the picture of a happy family. An abandoned stuffed animal, stepped on in the sand, was the same one he brought home as a gift for our daughter. My face was a mask as I fast-forwarded and clicked on the next file. Bank statements. Massive sums of money moved between several accounts, the cumulative total so large it made my chest ache. The final destination was a private account ending in 8741. The account holder: Lisa Vance. He’d been quietly transferring assets under the guise of “consulting fees.” Did he really think I was so stupid I’d never find out? At the bottom of the file was a scanned copy of an insurance policy. The policyholder was Mark. The insured was the boy, Leo. The beneficiary was Lisa. The policy was taken out five years ago. The premium, paid in a lump sum, matched the exact amount we’d received from mortgaging one of our investment properties. He told me at the time he was investing in a project with “incredible potential.” A chill spread from my fingertips to my heart. In that moment, I finally understood. The sharpest blades are always wielded by those you trust the most. As I stared blankly at the screen, a knock came at the door, followed by Mark’s gentle voice. “Grace? Why is the door locked?” I quickly closed the windows, took a deep breath, and composed my face into an impeccable mask before opening the door. “Just having a private chat with Betty. I locked it out of habit.” He didn’t seem suspicious. “About Children’s Day in a couple of days, I might…” I laughed coldly to myself. “Another business trip, right? Sophie’s school doesn’t have an event this year. I was planning on taking her to my mom’s for a couple of days anyway.” A look of profound relief washed over his face. “Honey, you’re so understanding.” I looked at this face, so familiar yet so alien, and my stomach churned. Understanding? Oh, yes. Understanding enough to let you have your cake and eat it too. But you have no idea just how “understanding” I can be. As I watched my husband walk away, a line from one of Betty’s audio files echoed in my mind. “…I’ve cooked the books. When we leave the country and the debts come due, the creditors will go straight to Grace…” This wasn’t just an affair. This was a calculated plot to plunder and frame me. He was no longer the earnest young man I had built an empire with from scratch. He was a wolf, feeding his other family with my blood, sweat, and tears. A predator lying in wait beside me, patiently biding his time to devour me whole. I picked up my phone and called Betty. “Change of plans. Put the divorce on hold. I want you to compile every piece of criminal evidence you can find on him first. I want him to know what it feels like to fall from the heavens and lose everything.” There was a moment of silence on the other end, followed by the soft rustle of paper. “I was hoping you’d say that. What you have is just the tip of the iceberg. Besides the fraudulent loans, he’s embezzled company funds and there are major irregularities with the corporate foundation he set up. This gives us a lot to work with, but it will take some time… He’s going to be in a world of hurt.” “And don’t worry, we’ll find out who’s been helping him. We’re already working on the company’s accounting issues.” After hanging up, I opened the photo of his “perfect family” again. My finger touched the screen, the cold glass a barrier between our worlds. 03 On Children’s Day, I drove to the private academy once again. As soon as I parked, a message from Mark popped up: [Have you made it to Grandma’s yet?] Of course. He needed to confirm my whereabouts. I emotionlessly sent him a pre-recorded video. In it, Sophie was happily jumping around her grandmother’s yard, smiling sweetly at the camera. [Daddy, we’re here! Finish your work soon so you can come play with us!] His reply was almost instant: [Okay, sweetie. Have fun.] It was followed by a sickeningly fake heart emoji. I turned off my phone, a wave of nausea rolling through me. Once trust is broken, every subsequent gesture, no matter how well-intentioned, feels like a farce. As a shareholder, I had no trouble gaining access to the school’s celebration. It didn’t take long to find them in the crowd. Lisa was clearly dressed to impress today in a new season Chanel suit, a diamond necklace glittering at her throat. The design was nearly identical to one in my safe—a piece Mark had told me was a “one-of-a-kind custom design.” Even the heels she wore were the same brand I favored, just in a different color. She was on stage, giving a speech as a representative of the PTA, her posture elegant, her voice confident and clear. Below, Mark was patiently playing a game with the boy, Leo. He was crouched on the ground, his eyes filled with a focus and gentleness I had never seen him show our daughter, carefully helping the boy keep his balance. A few parents gathered around, offering sycophantic praise. “Mr. Foster really knows how to balance work and family.” “It’s true. Ms. Vance is so capable, and Mr. Foster is such a dedicated family man. Leo is a lucky boy.” “Mr. Foster is a major shareholder, you know. I heard he just made another large donation for the library renovation.” He smiled and nodded, accepting their flattery, the picture of success. Occasionally, he would glance up at Lisa on stage, their eyes meeting in a look of deep, shared affection. A perfect family, a successful career, the admiration of his peers. He was basking in it. My fingernails dug deep into my palms. Do you remember, Mark? The winter our heat went out, and we stayed up all night, wrapped in blankets, rewriting business proposals. The time you were hospitalized with a bleeding ulcer from schmoozing investors, and I ran between home and the hospital, learning how to prepare liquid meals. The time your reckless expansion broke the company’s capital chain, and I used the house my parents gave me as collateral to keep us afloat. When our first big check came in, you held me and said, “Grace, I will never let you down.” And now, you’re using the wealth we built together to pave the way for your other family, to put on a show for your illegitimate son, donating libraries to buy yourself a reputation. Just then, the principal smilingly invited Mark to the stage. On the large screen behind him, a stunning 3D rendering of the new library appeared. He took the microphone and began to eloquently describe the design philosophy and future plans for the library, soaking in the admiration from the audience. And in that precise moment, at the absolute peak of his self-satisfaction, his smile relaxed and genuine. The doors to the auditorium were suddenly thrown open. Several uniformed police officers walked in. The entire room fell silent, every parent and teacher frozen in place. The lead officer held up his badge and a warrant. “Mark Foster, you are under investigation for embezzlement, misappropriation of funds, and the illegal transfer of marital assets. You are now required to accompany us to the station for questioning.”

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My parents’ love story was legendary in New York City. My father had three long scars on his back from saving my mother from her father’s rage. The Blackwood Spire, the city’s tallest skyscraper, was his wedding gift to her. The night I was born, fireworks lit up the sky—another gift for my mother. I was called the proof of their love. But when I turned three, a beautiful woman moved next door. She took my hand and placed it on her round belly. “I hear you’ve been sickly,” she said slyly. “Your father got tired of it. He’s giving you a brother—with me.” She added, “Your mother is useless. She can’t keep her man. You’ll have a new mom soon.” I didn’t understand everything, but I told my mother when she came home. That night, the villa next door was engulfed in fire. The woman screamed. My mother held me from behind and whispered softly in my ear: “Alan, my love… do you like Mommy’s gift?” 1 “Mommy, it’s Daddy! Daddy’s home!” I was pressed against the window, bouncing with excitement as I pointed at the man getting out of the car below. I had counted the days. It had been six months since he’d last come home. But he didn’t walk toward our door. The second he was out of the car, he sprinted straight into the blazing fire next door. Terrified, I called his phone over and over, wanting him to come back, but he never answered. After what felt like an eternity, he finally emerged from the flames, cradling the woman from that afternoon in his arms. I let out a long sigh of relief. But my mother’s face had turned to stone. At four in the morning, my father finally came home. I ran to greet him, expecting him to swing me up high like he always used to. Instead, he shoved me toward his bodyguards, ordering them to hold me. He strode past me, straight to my mother. In one swift movement, he seized her by the throat, lifting her off her feet. His voice was a blade of ice, colder than I had ever heard it. “You set that fire at Natalie’s, didn’t you?! The baby is gone! That was my child, Elena! You’re a mother yourself! How could you be so damn cruel?” “Do you know what the doctors said? If I’d been a minute later, Natalie might have… She was helpless!” My mother’s face was turning purple, but a defiant smile played on her lips. “You know I can’t stand being provoked, Robert. Especially by your little bitch. A pregnant one, at that.” “This was just an appetizer,” she rasped. “If you can’t keep your dog on a leash, I have no problem turning up the heat and cooking her alive.” His eyes were bloodshot with fury. He tightened his grip. “Do you really think I wouldn’t turn you over to the cops?” “You’d need proof for that, darling.” Before setting the fire, my mother had already had every security camera in the neighborhood wiped clean. Enraged and humiliated, my father slammed her onto the glass coffee table. The sound of shattering glass echoed through the room, but what really shattered was my family. He pulled out the thing everyone called a gun and pressed it to her temple. His voice was a low growl. “Elena, this is just how men are. We stray. Compared to guys who have a new girl every week, I’ve been good. And I promised you, the title of Mrs. Blackwood will always be yours.” “Natalie is no threat to you. Why do you have to push her into a corner?” I had seen what guns did on TV. I bit down hard on the hand of the bodyguard holding me, and when he yelped, I scrambled free and threw myself in front of my mother. “You’re wrong, Daddy! I’ll never cheat! I’ll never betray Mommy!” My father’s furious expression faltered when he saw me. He quickly pulled the gun away. My mother snatched me into her arms, and I could feel her whole body shaking violently. She must have been so scared. I hugged her tight, patting her back the way she always did for me. “It’s okay, Mommy. Don’t be scared. Alan’s here.” But her trembling only worsened. She looked up at my father, her eyes filled with a profound disappointment, and held out a set of divorce papers. “Robert Blackwood, let’s get a divorce. I get custody of Alan.” Without a second’s hesitation, he tore the papers to shreds and tossed them into the trash. “I told you when we got married. There’s no divorce for us. Only ’til death do us part.” “This time,” he said, his voice strained, “I admit it was my fault. I shouldn’t have moved Natalie in next door without telling you. I know it provoked you. So, you don’t have to apologize to her. I’ll find a way to make it up to her for you.” With that, he turned his back on us and walked out the door. Watching his resolute figure disappear, I felt a deep, cold certainty that something in our family had just broken forever. 2 I thought that after leaving like that, my father would be gone for a long time again. But the next day, when my mother picked me up from school, he was already sitting in our living room. The woman from yesterday, Natalie, stood beside him, directing movers as they carried our furniture out, piece by piece, replacing it with garish pink items my mother despised. Seeing us, my father stubbed out his cigarette and walked over, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Elena, Natalie needs a place to recover from the… incident. She doesn’t like our furniture, so we’re replacing it. It’s old anyway. Time for a change.” He avoided her eyes. “I know you don’t like her, so I’ve booked a month-long trip for you and Alan. Go abroad, have a vacation.” But this was our home. Why was he kicking us out for a stranger? Natalie spotted us and sauntered over. She pinched my cheek, hard. “Well, well, if it isn’t the sickly little tattletale. I was going to wait until your little brother was born and make you his servant, but you just had to run your mouth to your mommy, didn’t you?” “I don’t like boys with big mouths,” she hissed. “When your daddy and I have our next baby, you won’t get a single penny of the Blackwood fortune.” The cloying scent of her perfume was so strong it made it hard to breathe. My mother saw my distress and pulled me into her arms. “Alan’s having an asthma attack! Get his medicine, now!” But as a bodyguard rushed down with my inhaler, Natalie blocked his path and dumped the entire contents of the medical kit into the trash. “I’m a doctor,” she declared smugly. “Alan doesn’t have asthma. It’s just a minor respiratory issue. He’ll be fine if he just toughs it out. No need for drugs.” My throat felt like it was being squeezed shut. It was getting harder and harder to draw a breath. Natalie looked down at me with an all-knowing smirk. “Alan, do you know why you’re so fragile, always getting sick? It’s because while your mother was pregnant with you, she was sleeping around with all sorts of men. She caught some filthy disease and passed it right on to you in her belly.” “Your mother is a whore,” she sneered. “And that makes you just as dirty. Not like me. I’m clean. I have self-respect.” But my mother only got sick because she was saving my father. It had nothing to do with other men. Had he forgotten? I looked over at him, but he just sat on the sofa, scrolling through his phone, acting as if he hadn’t heard a word. My mother finally snapped. She kicked Natalie aside with a furious shove, dug my inhaler out of the trash, and pressed it to my lips. Sweet, life-giving air flooded my lungs. Natalie’s head had hit the corner of the new coffee table, and blood was already trickling down her temple. My father, who had been ignoring everything just a second ago, was on his feet in a flash, rushing to her side. “Are you insane, Elena?” he roared at my mother. “Can’t you handle hearing a few home truths? If it weren’t for your issues, why would Alan be sick all the time? Why can’t he live like a normal kid?” “Elena, my patience with you is wearing thin. Apologize to Natalie. Now.” My mother just let out a cold, bitter laugh. She turned to me. “Alan, do you think Mommy did something wrong?” I gave her a big thumbs-up. “I’m always on your side, Mommy.” She smiled, but her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. My father’s face twisted in rage. “Look what you’ve taught him! You’re not fit to be a mother. From now on, Natalie will be in charge of raising Alan.” He grabbed me and tried to pull me over to Natalie’s side. But the suffocating cloud of her perfume was like a rope tightening around my neck. I struggled, but my father’s grip only grew stronger, more forceful. The asthma came back, worse than before. My neck felt like it was being devoured by a thousand fire ants. My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the floor. Through the haze of pain, I heard my father’s annoyed voice. “Not this again. Alan, your Aunt Natalie already told you you’re fine. Stop faking it.” But I wasn’t faking it. I really, truly couldn’t breathe. Just before I blacked out, I saw my mother burst through them all, scoop me into her arms, and run for the door. I glanced back at the living room. My father was crouched over Natalie, his face a mask of gentle concern as he checked her injury. In that moment, a fierce, burning hatred for my father ignited within me. He had promised to love me and Mommy forever. But his forever was so short. 3 I was in the hospital for days, and my father never once came to see me. But one afternoon, when Mom was pushing my wheelchair through the halls for some fresh air, I saw him. He was in the room next to mine, tenderly caring for Natalie. I knew my mother saw him too. The corners of her eyes were wet. I reached up to wipe a tear away and buried my face in her lap. “Mommy, let’s divorce Daddy,” I whispered. “We don’t want him anymore.” She froze for a second, then gently squeezed my cheek. “Do you even know what a divorce is?” I shook my head, then nodded. “It means we don’t have to live with Daddy ever again. And then you won’t have to cry because of him anymore.” A sad smile touched her lips, and she pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Alright, Alan. Mommy will give your father one last chance. If he doesn’t change, we’ll get a divorce.” Three days later, I was discharged. It was also my birthday. My mother threw a huge party for me. Just as we were about to cut the cake, Natalie showed up. She wasn’t alone. She’d brought an entire funeral procession with her, all dressed in black. She burst into the room, wailing like a banshee. “Oh, my poor son! My poor baby! Burned alive at only four months in the womb! And the monster who did it gets to throw a birthday party for her own son without facing any punishment! Oh, the injustice of it all!” “My baby, it’s Mommy’s fault! I’m not powerful and ruthless like Mrs. Blackwood. I can’t just bend the law to get my revenge! Oh, my poor, poor child…” Her histrionics drowned out the cheerful party music. The guests, who had just been smiling and giving me presents, now stared at me and my mother with strange, unsettling looks. My mother’s face darkened. She signaled for the bodyguards to throw Natalie out. But Natalie just stroked her own belly and sneered, “Not so fast, Elena. I’m pregnant again. Robert let you off the hook for killing my last baby, but he’s already warned me about you this time. If you so much as lay a finger on me, he’ll destroy you.” “He doesn’t love you anymore, Elena,” she taunted. “Do you really think you can still throw your little tantrums and get away with it? Even if you don’t care about yourself, you should at least think about your precious son.” Her eyes flickered towards me. My mother hesitated, her hand tightening on mine. It was the little squeeze she always gave me for encouragement, so I squeezed back, hard. The storm clouds on my mother’s face suddenly cleared. She smiled, a calm, serene expression settling over her. “In that case,” she said to Natalie, “be my guest.” Seeing my mother back down, Natalie’s smirk widened. She grew bolder, marching through the room like a conquering queen. She swept all my birthday presents off the table and sent them crashing to the floor. Even my huge birthday cake was smashed in two. But just then, the grand chandelier in the center of the hall began to emit a low, ominous groaning sound. My mother’s eyes darted upwards. Natalie, however, was lost in her triumphant destruction, completely oblivious. The next second, the chandelier plummeted from the ceiling, crashing down with perfect, deadly accuracy right on top of her. A splash of crimson stained the pristine floor. My mother covered my eyes with her hand, but I could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Oh, Natalie, I am so sorry. I forgot to tell you. That chandelier is rusted through. We just haven’t had time to get it repaired. It could have fallen at any moment.” In the end, Natalie was carried out on a stretcher. And I got a brand-new strawberry cake and a fresh pile of birthday presents. 4 The news of Natalie’s “accident” was all over the papers the next day. But this time, my father didn’t storm home in a rage. In fact, he started coming home more often. He never mentioned Natalie’s name again. I didn’t understand what had changed, until one night I overheard my mother talking with our head of staff in the study. “Natalie’s baby is gone, and her face is permanently disfigured. Mr. Blackwood has likely decided she’s no longer of any value to him. It seems he’s planning to return to the family, to you and the young master.” My mother stared out the window at the inky black sky. Her voice was flat. “We’ll see.” In the weeks that followed, my father came home earlier and earlier. He brought me mountains of toys and my favorite snacks. My mother’s jewelry boxes overflowed with new pieces, and her closets were bursting with designer clothes. Even my mother seemed to be thawing. I saw her smile more. One day, my father announced he was taking us to visit my grandparents. They lived far away, a long drive from the city. As we were driving over a massive bridge, my father suddenly pulled the car over. I thought he wanted to stop and enjoy the view. The next second, the car doors were yanked open. My mother and I were dragged out onto the pavement. My father’s gentle facade had vanished. His eyes were filled with a cold, murderous intent. “I told you Natalie was no threat to you, Elena,” he snarled. “But you went after her again and again. Because of you, she can never have children. Because of you, her face is ruined, she can’t even bear to be seen in public. Do you have any idea how much that has destroyed her?” “All these weeks, coming home, being nice to you and the boy… it was all an act. Just to get you to lower your guard, to get you in a car with me today without your army of bodyguards.” At his signal, his men seized me and threw me over the railing into the churning river below. As I fell, my mother lunged for me, wrapping me in a desperate embrace. Her tears, hot against my cold skin, fell on my face. I heard my father’s voice drift down from above, chillingly calm. “Don’t blame me for this, Alan. Your mother just wouldn’t listen. She was turning you against me. I just have to teach you both a little lesson.” The moment the icy water swallowed us, I think I finally understood the look in my mother’s eyes when she would sit alone in her room, staring at old photos of them together. I remembered her quiet whisper: “Times change, and people change with them.” My father’s heart was as cold and merciless as the river now consuming us. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. My mother, wrapped in bandages, sat beside me. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. She hugged me so tightly it hurt, whispering apologies over and over. She said it was her fault, that she had let me suffer. But Mommy, you were the one who was suffering the most. And you never once complained. That night, my mother told me to go to sleep early. She said she had some business to take care of. An uneasy feeling settled in my stomach, so I snuck out and followed her. I watched her go to the new villa my father had bought for Natalie. She and her team of bodyguards smashed everything inside to pieces before tying Natalie to a chair. It wasn’t long before my father arrived, looking frantic. The moment he saw my mother, his face became a mask of pure fury. “Elena, are you trying to drive me to my grave?” My mother just laughed, a cold, sharp sound, as she toyed with a small, gleaming dagger. “I’m simply returning the favor. Why is it that when I do it, it’s considered a death threat?” She pressed the tip of the dagger to Natalie’s throat. A thin line of red appeared. My father fell to his knees without a moment’s hesitation. “Elena, I’m begging you. Don’t hurt Natalie. She’s innocent in all this. Let her go, and I’ll do anything you ask.” “You’re doing all this for a divorce, right? Fine! I agree! We’ll get a divorce.” He immediately had someone bring him divorce papers, signed his name, and held them out to her. My mother didn’t even glance at them. She tore them to pieces. “You said it yourself, Robert. No divorce. Only death. And tonight, I’m going to kill you both!”

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