Category: English

Three years after breaking up with my childhood sweetheart, my mother cooked his favorite meal: hairy crab. “Lily is coming over today. Don’t cause a scene with her.” Lily was the poor student my mother adored. Caleb was the boy I had loved for ten years. Seeing me sit silently in my wheelchair, my mother raised her voice, trying to mask her guilt: “Lily changed your college application back then for your own good. But becoming a war correspondent was your own choice. You can’t blame others.” I just smiled and said calmly: “Mm.” “I can’t reverse the past, but I am moving forward, after all.” 1 Seeing that I didn’t throw a tantrum or scream like I used to, my mother still wasn’t reassured. She continued to hammer her point: “Lily and Caleb have a great marriage. Don’t you dare become the third wheel. I can’t afford to lose that face.” My mother had always been like this. Always standing on the outsider’s side. Treating her own daughter like an enemy to be guarded against. Caleb met me first. We were neighbors, childhood sweethearts. We grew up holding hands. He kissed me under the jacaranda tree and confessed his love. We always liked each other. He said he would definitely marry me. But my mother, who was also my homeroom teacher, brought the impoverished student Lily home. From that day on, she permeated every corner of my world with Caleb. My mother took half the credit for this. Whether I went to the library or shopping with Caleb, she insisted I bring Lily along. She was even the witness at their wedding. I opened a bag of cucumber-flavored chips, my gaze indifferent. “Mom, if you’re so worried, why force me to come back here to recover?” “You ungrateful girl, your wings have hardened, dare to talk to me like that?” She habitually raised her hand, wanting to poke my forehead. I turned my head to dodge. Someone was punching in the code at the door. My mother switched to a smiling face and went to welcome them. 2 Lily and Caleb walked in, fingers interlaced. “Ms. Yan, I can smell the food! Sorry we’re late, couldn’t help you out.” “Good children, come in quickly. I made Caleb’s favorite hairy crab, and your favorite scrambled eggs with onions.” Entering the living room, they seemed to finally notice my existence. Lily, just like the first time she came to my house, subconsciously shrank back. As if I were some monster that eats people. My mother glared at me, signaling me not to put on a cold face and to greet the guests. I didn’t move. Caleb instinctively looked at my foot wrapped in thick gauze, his tone concerned. “Zoe, is your injury better?” I nodded politely. At the table, my mother seated them in the best positions to reach the dishes, then ordered me: “Go to the fridge and get the mango juice. It’s Lily’s favorite.” Lily glanced at me and spoke awkwardly: “Ms. Yan, no need.” “Are you worried about her leg? Ignore it. She deserved it, running off to such a chaotic place abroad.” “No, it’s just that I can’t drink cold things today, and I can’t eat crab either.” Lily touched her lower abdomen, looking shyly at Caleb, announcing she was pregnant, just three months along. Caleb lowered his eyes, his expression unreadable. My mother was more excited than if she were pregnant herself, rattling off a list of precautions, wishing she could have Lily move back here to rest. “I still kept your room. Caleb won’t be home for lunch, you can come over to eat and nap.” My home was a small three-bedroom apartment. The day after Lily moved in, my mother used the excuse that Lily had suffered too much as a child to give her my sunny room. During her four years of college, Lily studied in the city and came back often. So, I didn’t move back into the room that originally belonged to me. I still lived in the small room without windows. Seeing I didn’t react, Lily asked cautiously: “Zoe, are you staying for good this time? Ms. Yan says she doesn’t miss you, but she often looks at your photos on social media!” “I so envy you photographing the scars of war in ancient Syrian cities, and chasing armed evacuations in the Libyan desert.” “Unlike me, I can only be a useless person pampered by Caleb. It feels like high school again, with Ms. Yan and Caleb giving me special treatment!” 3 In the past, I was easily provoked by Lily’s “green tea” bitch words. Because the way my mother treated Lily showed me she had a gentle, maternal side. Unlike the extreme strictness she showed me. I am allergic to onions. But my mother loves them. To test my obedience, for an entire summer vacation, the dining table only had white rice and various dishes stir-fried with onions. Even the chicken soup had to have a few onion petals thrown in. Born into a single-parent family, I never met my biological father. My mother never let me mention him. To what extent? The kind where a mention would earn me an immediate slap in the face. When I was wronged, only Caleb comforted me. For a long time, I had a deep attachment to him. The year I was punished by the onion family, I was ten. Caleb’s parents did business out of town, so he asked his grandma to make me egg fried rice. Since then, I became his little glutton. His pockets were filled with milk, strawberry cakes, and spicy strips, feeding me until I was full. We agreed to go to Beijing University together, marry upon graduation, and let Grandma hold a great-grandson early. Until my mother brought Lily home. Her family was very poor. She tested into the city from a remote mountain area with great effort. My mother admired her perseverance, stopped my guzheng lessons, and paid her tuition and tutoring fees. I hated Lily, always using her pitiful look to win my mother’s sympathy. I never initiated conversation with her. Caleb patted my head, promising to always stand by my side. Until that day after school, he saw Lily squatting on the playground eating pickles with cold rice. At that moment, his expression was complex, shocked, and unbearable. But at my house, my mother cooked Lily’s favorite pasta dishes in various ways. There was no way she wasn’t full. Caleb chose his words carefully, as if for my own good: “Zoe, don’t you think you’re being too petty?” “Your mother is good to everyone, except you. Shouldn’t you reflect on that?” I had been gaslighted by my mother for so long that I really started to think it was my problem. At the same time, Caleb used my mother’s name to stand me up and tutor Lily. He could also give up celebrating my birthday because Lily said she had never been to an amusement park. I was kept in the dark about all these maneuvers. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have maintained a long-distance relationship with Caleb for four years. Until the year of graduation, I came home early with my luggage and saw Lily and Caleb in my room, disheveled and hugging each other. I cried all night, as if my faith had collapsed. Over the four years, Caleb flew to see me many times, vowing to marry me right after graduation. How could feelings change overnight? I screamed and shouted, wanting to kick Lily out. My mother slapped me hard, saying she bought the house, and I had no right to decide who stayed or left. In a fit of anger, I broke up with him and applied to be a war correspondent abroad. My mother not only didn’t blame Lily but planned to adopt her as a goddaughter. It was only dropped because Lily’s parents didn’t agree. 4 I ate a few mouthfuls tastelessly and went back to my room. Behind me came my mother’s scolding about my failure to meet expectations, and Lily’s subtle adding fuel to the fire. Caleb came in with a plate of strawberries. I ignored him. “Zoe, are you still blaming Lily? You didn’t say a word to her today. You’re going to overthink things again.” If it were before, I would have screamed: Shouldn’t I blame her? She changed my college application without permission, stole my boyfriend, and my mother wouldn’t even let me call the police, or even get angry at her. When I was hit by stray bullets in Syria and almost died. I figured it out. To people who don’t care about you, whatever you say is just air. I remained silent. Caleb thought I was taking my anger out on him and kept explaining: “I always knew Auntie Yan hated Beijing. You wanted to apply to Beijing University to escape her.” “Lily didn’t want you mother and daughter to fall out, so she memorized your password and changed it for you.” Yes! Her “good intentions” changed my Economics major at Beijing University to a niche Journalism major at a university 2000 kilometers away. Caleb was still rambling: “Zoe, even if I had gotten into Beijing University with you, I would have advised you to change your application.” I was really annoyed listening to him, so I casually said: “Did you deliberately test poorly to stay and accompany Lily?” His voice stopped abruptly, like a wild duck choked by someone. He didn’t know how I knew. Because he never saw clearly that the seemingly strong and innocent Lily was not the little white rabbit he knew at all. After finishing university, when Lily no longer needed my mother’s financial support, she sent many messages to provoke me. Like in high school, how Caleb deceived everyone to take her to the amusement park, the movies, and the ocean park I longed for behind my back. During university, Caleb, who got his driver’s license, used weekends to take her on trips around the area. If I called to check on him, he would use the hotel curtains to lie.

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Six years later, I saw Serena Hartley again at the alumni mixer. She was standing just outside the restaurant entrance, shivering slightly in a crisp, light designer dress, stamping her feet to keep warm. “Liam, I’m so happy you actually came.” She rushed toward me, her voice the soft, melodic murmur I remembered. “You still remember the maple-pecan cinnamon rolls from the Old Town Bakery, right? I got up at the crack of dawn and waited in line forever for them.” She held out a steaming paper bag. “Hurry, try one. Tell me they still taste the same.” I pushed the bag back, my expression flat. “I haven’t liked those in years.” Serena’s smile froze mid-frame. She reached out and took my arm. “Don’t be angry anymore, okay?” Her voice dropped to a plea. “Let the past stay in the past. Please?” She paused, her eyes searching mine. “I told you, no matter what, you will always be the most important person in the world to me.” Watching her gently wipe away a manufactured tear, the platinum band on her ring finger catching the light, I shook my head. “No, it’s not going to pass.” The story went sour, crashed, and burned six years ago. There was no point in talking about what-ifs anymore. 1 “When you left for San Francisco without a word, I worried about you for so long.” I raised my eyes to Serena. She was wearing a meticulously tailored tweed suit—Chanel-adjacent—and speaking with that same gentle, almost liquid softness. Everyone always said Serena was the ideal wife, the perfect partner. I used to believe it, too. She was thoughtful, attentive, always sensing what people needed. She was the Campus Queen, the ultimate sweetheart, the Golden Girl everyone put on a pedestal. When she became the Student Body President, her popularity skyrocketed. I genuinely felt that if I hadn’t snagged her early, a perfect girlfriend like her would have been completely out of my league. That’s why, when she’d stammered out her wish to keep our relationship a secret, I’d agreed without a second thought. “Liam, if our dating goes public, I’m afraid of too much attention. It’s for us,” she’d insisted. Back then, I just thought she was being considerate of our privacy. “Liam, sit here. You get cold easily; that spot by the vent is too drafty.” As I walked with Serena toward our designated table, she thoughtfully handed me a warm, damp cloth to clean my hands. I glanced at the seating chart. Myself, Serena, and Harrison Pierce were all seated together. Good. That made tonight’s plan much more convenient. I hadn’t come to this reunion to catch up; I’d come to finally settle a score. “Well, well. Look who the cat dragged in. The home-wrecking male gigolo.” That familiar, abrasive voice. I turned and there he was: Harrison Pierce. He draped an arm possessively around Serena, staking his claim. “Six years later, and you’re still shameless enough to chase her all the way here?” Serena patted his arm, her voice gentle. “Harrison, please don’t. Liam has probably had a difficult few years on his own.” The rest of the alumni at the table started buzzing, their eyes darting between us. I didn’t acknowledge Harrison. I just smiled faintly and took my seat. Harrison’s face darkened, but he just tugged Serena down into the seat directly opposite me. The small talk started up immediately. “It’s great to finally have a full reunion this year.” “I heard not only is Liam Hawthorne here, but even the old class secretary who moved overseas is joining us.” “Hey, Serena and Harrison, you’ve been married for years now. Why haven’t you had a baby yet?” “Such a gorgeous couple. It’d be a shame not to have a few more little ones.” At that, the polished smile on Serena’s face flickered, showing a split-second of unnatural stiffness. Harrison quickly jumped in. “That’s on me. I’m afraid if Serena has a baby, she’ll split her love for me.” He squeezed her hand. “We’ve faced so many challenges and still made it through.” He then turned to me, lighting a cigarette with a deliberate air of nonchalance. “Isn’t that right, Liam?” He blew out a plume of smoke. “After all this time, you’re not still fantasizing about my wife, are you?” 2 Harrison had raised his voice. The entire room heard him. All eyes in the room were now focused on me. Serena’s eyes, bright with a strange anticipation, seemed to be waiting for my answer, too. My phone chimed. I used the notification as an excuse to avoid answering, pretending to check a call. My wife was texting: Almost there. Knowing she was about to join our table, I quickly snapped a photo of the room and sent it to her. Serena caught the movement. “Liam, you went completely off the grid these past few years. What were you doing?” She leaned forward, concern etched on her perfect face. “Did you run into some trouble?” “You don’t have to pretend everything is fine. You can tell us. We’re classmates; we’ll help if we can.” Harrison chimed in, feigning camaraderie. “Yeah, Liam, no need to put on an act for your old college buddies.” He gestured dismissively at my suit. “This whole ‘bespoke’ thing, these unheard-of labels you’re wearing…” He chuckled. “I get it. After all these years, a guy cares about his image and his status.” Watching Harrison go on and on, I cut him off, my voice even. “After all those years with Serena, you two really have become exactly alike.” “So incredibly fake.” Harrison shot up from his chair, ready to charge across the table. Serena quickly grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back. The other alumni started playing peacemaker. “Liam, you dropped out so early. Without a degree, it must be tough to find work, right?” “Look, you can’t blame everyone else for what happened back then. You did kind of cross a line…” The chatter went on, a cascade of thinly veiled accusations and casual cruelty. Not one person seemed to care about how I felt. I let out a short, hollow laugh, which made everyone pause. When the room fell silent, I spoke, my voice calm. “That thing? Are you referring to the time I was slandered as the ‘home-wrecking male gigolo’?” Serena spoke softly. “Liam, you’ve changed so much. You never used to want anyone to bring that up.” She looked at me, still the picture of gentle solicitude, her expression full of concern. Unfortunately, it was that exact brand of soft, gentle cruelty—her velvet-gloved strike—that had destroyed me over and over. 3 Serena and I grew up as neighbors. Unlike the flawless Campus Queen everyone saw in college, her home life was sordid and fractured. Her father was constantly cheating, and their home was a battlefield of fights and abuse. After he tried to sexually assault her during a drunken rage, she convinced her mother to divorce him and they moved near my family to escape his harassment. My mother constantly praised Serena—a good, sensible girl who took care of her family. My mother gave her free tutoring and always made her a hot meal when no one was home. Slowly, over time, we fell for each other, and after graduation, we became official. Serena always said that the moment she first saw me, she knew I was the man she could trust her life to. She’d claimed that, aside from her mother, I was the most important person to her in the world. She became the perfect girlfriend, attentive and doting, terrified of me suffering even the smallest slight. My mother used to say I must have been a saint in a past life to deserve Serena. So when she cried and begged me to go to the same university as her, I didn’t hesitate to change my enrollment. I gave up my spot in the pre-law program I loved to follow her to a less competitive school. I was young then, and I believed that true love was invincible. If she hadn’t been blinded by Harrison Pierce’s relentless pursuit, I truly thought we would be together forever. In the beginning, Serena was annoyed by Harrison more than interested. “Harrison is like a mosquito, I can’t get rid of him,” she’d complain. “My personality is too soft. If I try to be harsh, he thinks I’m playing hard to get.” She started avoiding him, but that only seemed to encourage Harrison. He kept up a steady stream of expensive gifts, and soon, everyone on campus was shipping them as a couple. Slowly, I noticed her attempts to avoid him turn into quiet companionship. The luxury jewelry she’d once refused was now draped around her neck. I confronted her about it a few times. Each time, her eyes would well up, and she’d cry, “You know boys are so sensitive about their pride, Liam. If I reject him too harshly, I’ll devastate him. He likes me so much; I can’t be that cruel.” But the real turning point was when she voted for Harrison for the Student Body Vice Presidency, a position I had desperately wanted. I was furious and demanded an explanation. Her beautiful, crescent-moon eyebrows furrowed slightly, but her voice remained soft and musical. “Harrison is so impulsive. If I didn’t vote for him, he’d throw a massive fit and cause a scene. You know he’s like a pampered toddler; it takes so much effort to calm him down.” As she spoke, the corners of her mouth curled up in a tiny, gentle smile, an expression filled with subtle, unfamiliar warmth. I had seen the way she used to love me. I knew her heart had shifted. Yet, I still tried to cling to any proof that she was still mine. I started manufacturing problems and petty drama, just so she would have to use her energy to fix them—just so I could see her still fighting for me. The final hammer blow came when my tablet synced with her electronic journal. The cold, unforgiving digital text documented her anxiety and frustration: 【Job hunting failed again. Is it true that people from ordinary backgrounds can never get ahead?】 【Harrison pulled strings with his family. I’m interning at Pierce Group without even an interview.】 【I shouldn’t betray Liam, but… what can he really give me?】 【Liam started trouble again today. I must have spoiled him too much before.】 【The scarf Harrison gave me was over four figures. He really does love me.】 【I’m so sorry, Liam…】 The journal entry stopped on the day of the student election. I’d always believed you should cherish what you have when you find it, but the result told me that people change. My girlfriend was gone. 4 I broke up with Serena. She cried and pleaded for me to stay, but I walked away. I finally accepted the fact that Serena had only loved me briefly. However, Serena became the one who wouldn’t let go. Beyond the daily flood of texts and calls, she began showing up everywhere I went. I asked her what she wanted, and her eyes would fill with tears. “Liam, you can let go of three years of history so easily, but I can’t.” Her body would tremble, and the tears would slide down her cheeks, a single drop landing on my heart, making it waver. I told her to give me three days to think. That very night, Harrison posted their official announcement on social media. I laughed coldly and blocked her everywhere. The anger and humiliation festered, and I fell ill the next day. As I drifted in a feverish sleep, I heard someone screaming my name outside. It was Serena. Unable to contact me and hearing I’d taken a leave of absence, she’d bought me medicine and rushed it over. “Liam, you never take care of yourself, you get sick easily, and you hate taking pills,” she called up. “I’m going to wait here until you come down.” The neighbors started peering out curiously. I stumbled out the door to grab the medication. That evening, Harrison posted about me online: 【Look how shameless the campus gigolo is now @LiamHawthorne】 The post included a badly-timed photo of me accepting the medicine from Serena, making it look like I was trying to pull her into a hug. He included dozens of screencaps of my sweet, loving texts to Serena from years ago, carefully omitting all the time stamps. He even uploaded several heavily AI-edited, suggestive photos of me, implying I was some kind of male prostitute. The comments were immediately filled with “insider” details: 【He rents a place off-campus just to bring girls home.】 【Don’t let the innocent face fool you. He’s been the cheapest date on campus for years.】 People didn’t care about the truth; they just gorged on the gossip. The post went viral instantly. Walking around campus, I was met with whispers and looks of disgust. “God, the nerve of that sleaze… a third wheel and a gigolo.” I tried to act tough, but every night I had to take an aggressive dose of sleeping pills just to fall asleep. I was the victim of the failed relationship, yet a simple rumor had successfully branded me as the detested other man. I started to fear leaving the apartment, hiding in my rental, hoping the rumors would eventually die down. One day, in the cafeteria, one of Harrison’s cronies emptied a box of condoms into my tray of food. I couldn’t take it anymore. I unblocked Serena and sent a single text: 【Please, help me.】 5 Serena replied quickly: 【Liam, Harrison is just a little childish, he’s not a bad person.】 【Don’t worry, I promise I’ll clear all this up for you.】 Soon after, the post vanished, and Harrison stopped harassing me. I tentatively started leaving the house. The other students had new gossip, and I faded back into anonymity. The period of cyberbullying felt like a terrible, surreal interlude. Just when I thought it was all over, a video was uploaded to the campus forum. It was Serena. She was gently draped around Harrison, her voice soft and pure. “My heart has only ever been yours, Harrison.” “Liam and I had a brief acquaintance, but I had no idea about any of the feelings he had for me.” Her statement sealed my fate, confirming to everyone that I was the shameless, unwanted third party in their perfect relationship. The wave of cyberbullying crashed down again, stronger than before. My hands trembling, I tried to contact Serena, only to find I was blocked again. Then, one afternoon, Harrison’s entourage surrounded me in a dark alley, yelling at me to drop my pants. “What are you pretending for? They already posted pictures. Let us see if you’re as big as they say.” “Don’t be a jerk, man. Gender doesn’t matter. Let me get my rocks off; maybe I’ll feel bad for you then.” The group roared with laughter, pinning me to the ground. Several of them roughly started pulling down my jeans. I grabbed a jagged piece of rock from the ground and plunged it into the nearest guy. In the ensuing panic and yells of pain, I scrambled up and ran for my life. Because of the incident, my mother was called to the school. Watching my middle-aged mother bow and scrape, apologizing repeatedly to the teachers and the parents of Harrison’s friends, broke me. What had I done wrong? In the end, I was forced to drop out. I sank into a deep, debilitating depression, hiding at home. The early-morning wake-ups were harder than the sleepless nights; I would sit alone, waiting for the first hint of daylight before I dared to close my eyes. My mother never blamed me; she only told me to rest. Engulfed in the failure of my own love story, I failed to see how hard she was struggling to support me. One day, a phone call woke me from a deep sleep: “Liam Hawthorne? Your mother was in a car accident. You need to come down.” 6 To smooth things over with Harrison’s friends and their parents, my mother had used up all her savings to pay a massive settlement. To take care of me, listless and depressed at home, she had picked up two extra part-time jobs. Our schedules were completely out of sync, and I rarely saw her when I was lucid. When I saw her body in the morgue, I realized how utterly selfish I had been. In those six short months, she had aged terribly, her hair streaked with white. I took her now-icy hand and felt the thick, hardened calluses. My mother had always been meticulous about her hands, calling them a person’s second face. When had she stopped caring about herself for my sake? I listened, dazed and heartbroken, as the police explained the case. I only vaguely remembered something about a Porsche whose brakes failed, hitting my mother as she crossed the street. While going through her meager possessions, I saw the small, silk prayer charm I’d bought for her when I was eighteen, now stained dark red with blood. My emotions finally broke. I sobbed and raged, demanding to see the person responsible. But the driver was just a frail, middle-aged man who worked at a car wash. He claimed he’d taken a client’s car out for a late-night drive and the accident was a terrible coincidence. He was prepared to take the blame. But when I saw the accident vehicle, I knew it was no accident. It was the Porsche Harrison always drove around school, the one he constantly showed off. I’d seen Serena in the passenger seat hundreds of times. I knew the license plate number by heart. I immediately filed suit, insisting this was not an accident. Harrison was brought in for questioning, but he was released again almost immediately. The person who provided his airtight alibi was Serena. “Why, Serena? Did you forget everything my mother did for you when you were a child?” I yelled, grabbing her arm. Serena only stood there, gently weeping, then softly put her arms around me. “Liam, you can’t accuse Harrison of something so terrible based only on suspicion.” She pulled back slightly, looking into my eyes. “I promise I will stay with you, right by your side, until you get through this. Okay?” After hearing those words, I suddenly felt a profound calm. Why bother with a broken umbrella when you’re already drenched? In that moment of total despair, I stopped complaining. I left for San Francisco, cutting all ties. At the table, the class president, oblivious, excitedly announced the formal start of the reunion, snapping me out of my memory. My wife texted: I’m at the door. Harrison then stepped onto the small stage, snatched the microphone from the president, and yelled: “Liam Hawthorne! Six years later, are you still trying to be the home-wrecker?”

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Everyone in the Elite East Coast Circle knew the routine. Whenever the heiress, Veronica Sinclair, and the scion, Harrison King, broke up, they’d launch their toxic, co-dependent game of emotional torture: the Surrogate Game. A fresh breakup meant finding an exact lookalike of the other, a grotesque ritual of mutual torment that they played with sickening relish. My tragedy? My childhood friend, Finn O’Connell, was chosen by Veronica. When they finally brought him back, he was barely alive. He was a vegetable. Permanently and horrifically crippled. His single mother’s hair turned white overnight. That same night, they drank a fatal draught together, never waking to see the next day’s sun. And just like that, I lost the only two people I had left in the world. Standing before their shared grave marker, I wiped my tears dry. “You played the Surrogate Game, using other people’s lives as your twisted foreplay.” “This time,” I whispered to the cold stone, “I’m the one taking a seat at the table.” Later, the Gold Coast Set would be turned upside down. No one could have predicted that Harrison King would personally push Veronica Sinclair into hell, all for the sake of a surrogate. 1 “OMG, I’m absolutely obsessed with Harry King and Ronnie Sinclair. They break up and immediately find a lookalike for each other, it’s basically their secret way of saying, ‘I still love you!’” “This isn’t a breakup, it’s peak, high-level relationship kink. The rest of us can’t even afford a therapist; they’re playing the Surrogate Game on ultra-hard mode.” “Seriously, their love is so real, even the fake versions have to be exact copies of the other.” “…” I scrolled through the cheerful online comments. And I fell into a deep, cold silence. No one ever asks what happens to the surrogates. I looked down at the bank card in my hand. It held a quarter-million dollars, no PIN needed. It was the money Finn’s mother gave me just before she drank the poison. I knew it was the price Finn had paid with his body and his future. The whispered rumors said Harry King had personally brutalized him. Of course, those kinds of messages were scrubbed from the internet almost as soon as they appeared. With a final lift of my chin at my reflection, I headed to Fairhaven. 2 “Veronica Sinclair, you already ruined my face, why can’t you just let me go? “Please, leave me alone. I swear I’ll never go near Harrison King again, I’m begging you…” The woman standing before me, wearing a cheap surgical mask, shrieked her desperate plea. Her eyes were wide with terror, the edge of hysteria cracking her voice. Around the edges of the mask, I could clearly see the crisscross of pale, angry scars covering her skin. I gently touched my own face. “Do I really look that much like her?” The difference in my voice made the woman freeze. “You… you’re not her?” I nodded. “I’m not her. But I intend to be. Help me.” She took the two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. In return, she told me everything she knew about Harrison King. Three days later, thanks to her introduction, I was working as a cocktail server at The Zenith, a top-tier nightclub that catered to the Gold Coast elite. 3 The lead hostess looked at my face, a deeply knowing, cynical smile playing on her lips. “Honey, the money’s easy. The price is steeper.” She wasn’t wrong. The price the scarred woman had paid to Veronica was permanent. With that warning, she pointed me toward the “Onyx Suite.” It held the club’s most esteemed, powerful guest. When I pushed the door open, seven or eight pairs of eyes swept over me. They were appraising, expectant, and frankly, bored. The atmosphere immediately grew subtle, charged. The man on the main sofa was lounging back, toying with an amber crystal tumbler, seemingly absorbed by the city lights outside the window. The entire energy of the room centered on him, a heavy, silent pressure. Harrison King. I saw him. “New girl? Interesting choice. Harry, man, look at this. Little Miss Sinclair’s been out of the country for like, a minute, and someone already volunteered to be the next contender?” “Holy crap, she’s a dead ringer. Even more than that actress from the film academy last month. Especially those eyes. That jawline. The whole deal.” “Wait, is this one of Mr. Sinclair’s illegitimate kids? It’s not totally out of the question, haha…” The discussion was too loud, too close. Harrison King finally, slowly, turned his face toward me. My breath hitched, a pause I couldn’t control. His eyes were intensely dark, profoundly deep. When he saw me, a flicker of surprise crossed them. But the surprise was instantly replaced by unconcealed annoyance. He was about to speak when the man beside him cut him off. The slender-faced guy seemed drunk, leaning toward Harrison with a careless grin. “Harry, this one is insane, man. Looks completely untouched, totally natural. Since you and Veronica are ‘on a break,’ and she hasn’t found a replacement to piss you off yet, why not let your little brother have a turn with this one?” The moment the words left his mouth, the entire suite fell silent. Everyone stared at him as if he were an idiot. And then, just as expected, Harrison King moved without warning. He grabbed the nearest bottle of expensive scotch—a bottle that had cost someone’s salary—and, without aiming, swung his arm. Thud. A sickening sound. The slender-faced guy let out a tortured, desperate howl. Blood gushed from his temple. He pitched forward, crashing onto the floor in agonizing sobs. Harrison King slowly straightened up. He tossed the shattered neck of the bottle aside. Then, he walked straight toward me. He stopped directly in front of me, finally raising his gaze to mine. He watched me for a long time, his eyes filled with a terrifying nostalgia. His hand rose to cup my cheek, feeling the slight tremor in my fear-stricken body. After what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice hard and icy. “So much alike. Truly too much like her, exactly like Ronnie when she was younger.” “Your boss sending you here to me is both your luck and your misfortune.” “Because you will never marry. I won’t allow any other man to touch you.” He lifted my chin slightly. “And this place is certainly no place for you.” 4 Harrison King stashed me away in a secluded estate in the Fairhaven suburbs. There was only a quiet, gray-haired housekeeper, Mrs. Denton, who oversaw my meals and rarely spoke beyond necessary instruction. Harrison dropped me here without explanation, without a timeline. I didn’t care. I spent my days absorbing every detail of Veronica and Harrison’s relationship story, studying every video of Ronnie, mimicking her every gesture, every look. The arch of her smile. The fleeting glance in her eyes. The subtle tilt of her neck when she was listening. I painstakingly pieced together the past of the Gold Coast princess. Any fool could see that Harrison King despised the current Veronica—the one who fought him, the one who challenged him. So, I would give him the pliable girl from his memory. I never aspired to his love. My task was simple: To perfectly play the part of the Veronica who had loved him unconditionally, the one who obeyed his every whim. The teenage Veronica. The Golden Standard. Waiting was torture, but I had infinite patience. The image of Finn’s mangled body. The sight of his mother and him after they drank the poison. They surfaced every time I closed my eyes. That was more than enough to quell any restlessness I felt. Until that stormy dusk, when the rain was just beginning to fall. The front door was kicked open. Harrison King strode in. His hair was messy. The stench of alcohol was thick on his clothes. Raw fury was rolling off him. He spotted me instantly, sitting by the living room window, pretending to read a book. The moment our eyes met, he roared, his eyes bloodshot. “Veronica Sinclair, what the hell do you want now? Are you finding a surrogate overseas just to spite me? “Three years ago, when we had our first major fight, I was the one who deliberately found a surrogate to hurt you. I was wrong, fine. “But ever since then, you changed. You bring it up every other week to provoke me, then you go find a surrogate. Do you think I can’t match you? That Harrison King can’t find a lookalike? Are we destined to keep doing this forever? When does it end? Do you even love me anymore? Do you want to marry me? “Three years, and you’re still clinging to that one time I messed up? You’re so petty, so spiteful, it’s disgusting! “Listen to me, Ronnie, my patience is finite. The day I walk away from you, you will regret this so completely…” His chest was heaving. He was venting an explosion of emotion. I even saw a strange, desperate catharsis on his face. I guessed he and the real Veronica hadn’t had an honest conversation in a long time. My eyes were already brimming with tears. My expression was a mix of alarm and wounded innocence. I inhaled gently, and with the soft, timid, almost-pleading tone I had practiced countless times, I whispered. “H…” Harrison King’s every movement, every syllable, cut off instantly. The raging fury on his face froze. His eyes became vacant, lost. He was seeing the ghost of the former Veronica. H. It was the intimate nickname only she had ever used for him. And now, I was the second. At that moment, a single tear rolled down from my eyes—the eyes that so closely mirrored Veronica’s—and trailed down my pale cheek. A fleeting look of clarity, of self-disgust, flashed in Harrison’s eyes. Slam. A sharp, ringing slap hit my face. Hard. The force sent me staggering, collapsing back onto the plush sofa. “Who told you to call me that?” He let out a low growl. “Do you think acting like her, copying her voice, copying her nickname, makes you her? What the hell are you? A cheap imitation? You think you’re worthy of copying her?” It stung. It really, really hurt. My cheek was already swelling. But my heart was ice-still. Good. The bigger his reaction, the more effective the imitation. I kept my voice choked with sobs, channeling the desperate, pleading tone of a young girl trying to appease the man she adored. “H, please, don’t be like this. I’m scared. “I was wrong. Please don’t be angry, okay? I promise I’ll change. I won’t do it again. Just don’t shut me out, don’t be so cruel to me.” I even stretched out a hand to tentatively touch his tightly clenched fist. The moment of contact. Harrison King went utterly still. He looked at the tears staining my face. He looked at my careful, fragile, pitiable expression. His rage receded like a crashing tide. In that instant, a strange illusion of time travel surged through him. He was seeing the girl from years ago. The one who tugged on his sleeve and charmed him. The clean, innocent girl. The Veronica who hadn’t been hardened and weaponized by family politics. His Ronnie. He had fantasized countless times about her returning to the way she was. Now, it seemed to have happened. Emotions, complex and overwhelming, flooded him. In a quick, wrenching movement, he grabbed my arm and pulled me into his embrace. “Ronnie, yes, this is who you are, this is who you should be! Why did you change? Don’t change! “I told you that one time was my mistake, it was three years ago, why do you have to keep holding it over me?” He held me in a crushing embrace, his voice shaking, pouring out a torrent of desperate words. I felt the immense depth of his love for Veronica. No. His desperate, agonizing love for the former Veronica. Finally, Harrison’s body stiffened, and he gently pushed me away. My eyes remained tear-filled, fixed on him with a look that was helpless and pleading. He reached out, softly brushing the tears from my cheeks. “Listen. From today on, you stay here. You can’t go anywhere. You will be my Veronica.” I saw the crazed possessiveness in his eyes and obediently nodded. “And you’re only allowed to be her for me.” With that, he turned and strode out of the villa, leaving in a hurry. Watching his retreating back. I lowered my head and let a small, subtle curve touch my lips. 5 I didn’t sleep well that night. I dreamed of the year I was seven, the year my parents’ car plunged down the mountain ravine. I was pulled from the wreckage. I stood in a daze, staring at the two stretchers covered with white sheets. Relatives swarmed in. They fought, red-faced, over the insurance payout and compensation money. In my confusion, a stream of powerful uncles and aunts took turns looking after me. For two years, I ate every meal under their judgmental gaze. In the dead of winter, when I was nine, I accidentally broke my cousin’s toy. My aunt pointed her finger at me and screamed that I was “a curse, a jinx who killed her parents.” Finally, I was thrown out of the house, along with a few threadbare clothes. The snow was heavy. I curled up on a street corner, certain I was going to freeze to death. Mrs. O’Connell, Finn’s mother, found me while shoveling snow early that morning. She didn’t ask a single question. She took off her old coat and wrapped it around my nearly frozen body, leading me back to her tiny, third-floor walk-up. It was there I first met Finn O’Connell. He brought me hot water, clumsily rubbing my frostbitten, purple hands. He brought me a bowl of simple tomato soup with toasted cheese croutons, the most delicious thing I have ever eaten to this day. The dream shifted. Mrs. O’Connell kept me, carving out a slice of warmth from her meager salary. Meat and vegetables always ended up in Finn’s and my bowls. She always smiled and said, “The kids are growing, eat up.” At school. When I was bullied, mocked as an orphan, a piece of trash no one wanted. Finn was always there, standing in front of me, arguing on my behalf, never backing down even when his nose was bloodied. I had my sweet moments in life, too. “Char, I’m heading to the city to work first. Take care of Mom at home. I’ll come back for you just before the fall semester starts.” It was the summer after high school graduation. Finn was vibrant, full of hope for the future. I nodded. “Be careful in Fairhaven. You look too much like that awful Harrison King. I heard rich people like them play this surrogate game.” His ears turned pink. “You’re no better. You look exactly like Veronica Sinclair.” The atmosphere went quiet. Suddenly, he turned to me, his eyes shining. “Those rich jerks find surrogates to play their twisted games. Maybe us poor kids… can make do with each other?” He spoke playfully. But his eyes were serious. Brightly fixed on me. The evening breeze was hot, carrying the scent of cut grass. My heart skipped a beat. My cheeks burned. I looked away, mumbling. “Who said I’d ‘make do’ with you?” He didn’t say anything more. He just secretly extended his pinky finger and hooked it around mine. It was light, sweaty, but incredibly firm. Neither of us looked at the other. We just stood there, fingers linked, watching the sun set. Later, Finn called me. He said some woman had forcibly taken him, that he’d find a way to escape. Finn returned, just as he promised. But all the life had been drained from him. I watched Mrs. O’Connell’s spirit break. She never spoke a word of blame. She just handed me the bank card that had been sent back with Finn. That night, she said she was hungry. I went out to buy food. When I returned, I found both her and Finn foaming at the mouth, their bodies twisted, an empty bottle of lethal liquid on the floor. “Ah…” I woke up, screaming. My face was wet with tears. I bit down, brutally scrubbing the moisture away. Because now, I didn’t have the right to cry. Outside, the sky was a pale, pre-dawn gray. Day was coming. 6 Three days later, Harrison King returned. He brought me with him to a gathering of his peers. They saw me, and no one was surprised. The conversation revolved around mergers, polo matches, and overseas yachts. I didn’t understand any of it. All my attention was focused on Harrison King, my eyes fixed on him with a look of deep, practiced concern. He was drinking heavily, downing one glass of hard liquor after another. He accepted every toast. Anyone could see the deep irritation weighing on him. He’d likely just had another vicious fight with Veronica. “Come on, Harry, one more toast. We appreciate your guidance on the merger.” A portly man with a slicked-back hairline bowed slightly. Harrison nodded, poured the whiskey, and raised the glass without hesitation. But the next second, my hand pressed down on his glass. I looked the man straight in the eye, my gaze firm, allowing for no argument. “He’s had enough.” The suite went instantly silent. Everyone stared at me in disbelief, as if I were insane. Who the hell do you think you are? they seemed to ask. A surrogate? Daring to stop Harrison King from drinking? Everyone waited for him to explode. But he didn’t move. Harrison King looked dazed, lost in thought again. Since my arrival, this was the second time. Yes. His Veronica was exactly like this. The girl whose world revolved around him. The girl who valued him above all else. The one who couldn’t stand to watch him destroy himself. She would get angry, she’d worry. She would yell at him, her eyes red, and then she’d end up crying herself. She would never be like the previous surrogates, who just smiled and egged him on. “Whatever he drinks, I’ll take it.” Before I finished speaking, I grabbed his glass and downed the drink in one gulp. The raw liquor burned all the way down, making my stomach clench. Everyone was stunned, slightly confused. Because Harrison King didn’t show the expected fury. He was just staring at me. I didn’t stop. The second glass. The third. The fourth. I went around the table, taking the drinks for the men who hadn’t yet toasted him. When I picked up the fifth glass. I could barely stand. My face was pale. Cold sweat was beading on my forehead. Harrison King slapped the glass away. He gave a low roar. “Are you trying to kill yourself?” I looked up at him, forcing a weak smile. “H, my stomach hurts…” With that, I collapsed into his arms. Before I completely lost consciousness, I heard Harrison King’s voice, raw and panicked. “Get her to the E.R. now!” 7 After my discharge from the hospital, Harrison King’s visits to the estate increased. He never truly touched me in those early days. He would just hold me in his arms. Sometimes in silence. Other times, he would talk endlessly about the past. Finally, I delivered the line I’d prepared: “H, I have amnesia.” Harrison King suddenly came to his senses, pushing me away. He hissed at me. “Who are you? What is your purpose in getting close to me?” Tears welled up in my eyes. “I’m poor. I’m an orphan. I just want a good life.” Harrison King fell silent. He pulled me back into his embrace. “You succeeded.” I spoke softly. “From now on, my world is only you.” His body shook. He held me tighter. After that time, he started calling me “Char.” He would take me to the hole-in-the-wall diner in the old part of town. The old proprietor didn’t recognize me, greeting us with warmth. “Ronnie, Harry, you two haven’t been here in ages.” Harrison King paused slightly but didn’t contradict him. He took me to many places. I knew they were places he and Veronica had shared memories. I must admit, experiencing them deepened my understanding of their past. I became even more adept at manipulating Harrison King. He and Veronica had daily phone calls. But every conversation, starting calmly, ended in a screaming match. After he hung up, Harrison King always looked utterly drained. One night, he didn’t leave. That night, our relationship became intimate and physical. Afterward, he started hanging up on Veronica’s calls with blatant annoyance, seemingly having lost the will to even argue with her. When Veronica’s calls became fewer and farther between, I knew she was coming home soon. 8 The Onyx Suite. The second time I stepped into this room, I did so as Harrison King’s declared woman. Because of the drinking incident and the subsequent change in Harrison’s attitude, his friends treated me with noticeable respect. I stayed quiet throughout, only stepping in to stop Harrison when I felt he was drinking too much. He smiled faintly and, without needing to be told twice, stopped drinking. This surprised everyone and earned me a quiet, deeper level of regard. They weren’t fools; they saw the change, the clear difference in Harrison King’s feelings for me. Suddenly, a loud crash. The suite door was violently thrown open. A woman walked in. Her presence was immense, a towering wave of authority that outmatched everyone in the room except Harrison King himself. It was Veronica Sinclair. In that instant, our eyes locked. We were both slightly stunned. We looked so much alike. The difference: her features were sharp, hard-edged, while mine were soft, yielding. The contrast was stark. The whole room was frozen. Just then, the man behind Veronica—her surrogate—spoke carelessly. “Ronnie, my hands are incredible. When you finish your evening, I’ll give you the best massage you’ve ever had.” Veronica’s red lips curved into a smile. She walked straight to the sofa opposite Harrison, crossed her legs, and stared directly at him. “That sounds lovely,” she said. My gaze fell upon the man behind her. His brows were strikingly similar to Harrison King’s. And devastatingly, similar to Finn’s. A sudden, icy terror gripped me. I felt like I was seeing the scene Finn had faced. The cold pierced me to the bone. Just then, a warm hand closed around mine. It was Harrison King’s hand. Don’t be afraid, his touch seemed to say. I’m here. I knew he thought I was terrified of Veronica. Afraid of the oppressive power of the true owner of the face I wore. He clearly had no idea what I was truly afraid of. That intimate moment was seen, without error, by Veronica Sinclair. The lazy smile instantly froze on her face. She watched Harrison’s tightly clasped hand on mine. She watched the raw, protective posture he took. I felt a gaze, poisonous and scalding, fix on me, wanting to rip me to shreds. Harrison King didn’t notice her change. He stood up and walked toward the surrogate. I couldn’t focus on Veronica. My eyes were fixed on Harrison’s every movement. One foot. I watched the most savage kick I’d ever seen. It went straight for the man’s groin. “Aargh…” An agonizing, inhuman scream echoed through the suite. The surrogate curled up on the floor, his hands clamped over the bloody mess between his legs, rolling in pure, unadulterated torment. Everyone watched the scene with cold indifference, their expressions bored, as if it were a common occurrence. Veronica Sinclair was the same, her entire focus still fixed on me. I sat there, my body rigid as stone. Did Finn face this exact scene? I began to tremble, my vision tunneling to black. The man’s pitiful screams merged with the imagined cries of Finn. It felt like my nerves were being torn apart. Tears poured from my eyes, uncontrolled and real. Harrison King ignored the man writhing on the ground, kicking him repeatedly in the head until he finally fell unconscious. “Somebody get him out of here. Same rule: give him a quarter-million.” Then, he turned to walk back to me. But Veronica moved. “Same rule, Harry. My turn.” A steak knife appeared in her hand. She walked straight toward me. The people around us still didn’t change their expressions. Clearly, her next action was predictable. The looks they gave me held a hint of pity, perhaps because I had blocked the drinks for Harry. But pity wouldn’t change the outcome. I wasn’t looking at Veronica. I was staring, tear-drenched, at Harrison King, my mind consumed by the brutal image of Finn suffering this exact humiliation. That’s how a vibrant, hopeful boy was destroyed. Veronica closed the distance, the knife aimed, without hesitation, directly at my face. I still didn’t move, entirely submerged in my own world of pain and memory. Just as the tip of the blade was about to touch my skin…

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My husband started tracking expenses on his phone. One day, I curiously opened his annual spending report from a popular finance app. The first few pages were lighthearted and fun, and I was smiling as I scrolled. Until I saw two lines of text: [Your most frequently used note is: “Extra cilantro, extra green onions.”] [Your longest note is: “Boss, please make sure this bouquet is perfect. Confirm the address. Do not mess this up.”] I don’t eat cilantro. I don’t eat green onions. And I have never received a bouquet from him. Not once. I scrolled down further. [February 14th, Valentine’s Day. Total spending: $540. Largest single transaction: $299 at the Hyatt Regency, King Suite.] I remembered Valentine’s Day clearly. I was out of town on a business trip. Before bed, we had a quick FaceTime. We even lamented that it was our first Valentine’s Day apart. He was lying in our bed at home when we spoke. I opened his order history. I couldn’t find any of these transactions. I checked his messages, calls, contacts. Nothing suspicious. He walked by just as the screen returned to the spending report page. He laughed. “Find anything interesting? Did you confirm your husband is indeed the perfect man?” I nodded and played along. “Truly perfect.” I turned away and used his phone to send a message to his “Bros” group chat: “Guess who I’m with tonight?” Chapter 1 I sent the message right in front of Mark. He gave me a teasing look but didn’t say much. Replies came in fast: “Who else would you be with? You whipped simp!” “Bro, showing off again? You’re blinding us single dogs. Can we still hang out later?” “I swear, man! Only you let your wife control you like this.” “Kick him out of the chat. I can’t take it anymore. Add him back when I get married so he can send a red packet.” Mark smiled, a look of indulgent resignation on his face. “Happy now? They’re going to roast me again. They already call me a ‘wife slave’ every day.” He didn’t notice my hands were shaking. The realization that “Mark cheated” hit me like a physical blow. I was completely unprepared. We never had secrets. We shared passwords for everything. I never thought this day would come. I always believed that when feelings fade, there’s a process. It shouldn’t be a sudden, bludgeoning strike like this. The fact that he handed me his phone so confidently meant he was extremely confident in his cover-up. If I kept digging now, I’d expose myself. So I handed the phone back, pretending to be relaxed. “Congratulations, you passed the organization’s test. You’re clear for now.” He looked a little smug. “Yes, ma’am! I’ll keep up the good work. Mission: Happy Family Life is a go!” His expression was too natural. His performance was flawless. If I hadn’t seen that annual report with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have suspected him at all. Chapter 2 The next day, Mark left the house at his usual time. Six months ago, he lost a promotion opportunity because of a minor fender bender that made him late for a crucial meeting. Since then, he started leaving thirty minutes early to account for any unexpected traffic. It seemed like a logical, responsible change. But now, I sensed something off. Mark loved to sleep in. Would he really sacrifice thirty minutes of sleep every single day just because of one incident? Other people might. But Mark, with his ego, probably wouldn’t. He had quickly regained that lost promotion opportunity anyway. Within six months, he climbed even higher than he had originally planned. I called out to him just as he reached the garage. I smiled. “I forgot to get gas yesterday. Can you drop me off at my office today?” His expression went blank for a split second, but he recovered quickly. “Sure.” Before getting in, I held out my hand. “Give me your phone to order coffee. Mine is buried in my bag. We can pick it up on the way.” This time, he hesitated visibly. I blinked. “What’s wrong? You don’t want coffee today? Then I’ll just order for myself.” He finally spoke. “No, I actually just ordered. There was a BOGO deal, so I got two. Check if there’s anything else you want.” His “Pick Up” order showed two Americanos already ready. I quickly scrolled through his order history. He had deleted even this order from the history log. When a man wants to cheat, his attention to detail is terrifying. I never do anything without a reason. This order proved that either in the car or near his office, these two people were going to meet. Otherwise, the thirty-minute time gap and the extra coffee didn’t make sense. Halfway there, I asked him to stop so I could buy a bagel. I spent the whole ride scrolling through Twitter on his phone. Mark was visibly anxious. And I was waiting for the phone call that was destined to come. Chapter 3 Sure enough, three minutes before 8:30 AM, Mark’s phone rang. I felt his body give a slight tremor. The moment he picked up, he spoke quickly: “Hey Joe, what’s up this early? I’m driving your sister-in-law to work.” I looked at him with a half-smile. Then I heard the voice on the other end: “Oh, nothing, Mr. Miller. Sorry to disturb you and your wife. I’ll ask you about it when you get to the office.” I spoke up directly. “No bother. If it’s important, just say it. Don’t let me hold up your work.” The person on the other end clearly hadn’t prepared an excuse. He stammered for a while before saying, “It’s better if we look at the data together, Mr. Miller. It’s hard to explain over the phone.” After hanging up, Mark complained, “These young kids are so reckless. Knowing it’s hard to explain over the phone, they still call so early. It’s exhausting working with people like this.” As we approached the next intersection, I reminded him, “Turn left. Go to your office first. You’re going to be late. I’ll take an Uber from there.” Mark seemed reluctant. “I rarely get to drive you. It’s not that far. Let me drop you off. It’s hard to get an Uber during rush hour.” “It’s fine. If being late affects your promotion again, I don’t want to be the stumbling block on your road to success.” Seeing my expression wasn’t great, he didn’t push it. He turned the wheel and headed toward his office. When we arrived at the parking garage, I was getting ready to get out when a lipstick rolled out from under the seat. I bent down to pick it up but couldn’t reach it. Just then, the passenger door was suddenly pulled open. A crisp voice rang out: “Mr. Miller! You definitely didn’t have time to get me coffee today, right? I brought my own! You didn’t tell me you weren’t picking me up, I waited forever!” Chapter 4 As soon as she finished speaking, she saw me squatting on the ground picking up the lipstick. She froze. Mark, sitting in the driver’s seat, also froze. I straightened up, put the lipstick in my bag, and held up an earring I had found under the seat. I said to Mark, “Someone lost an earring in your car. Remember to give it back.” It was a moon-shaped stud. Nothing special. But coincidently, the girl who opened the door was wearing a similar one—a star. Clearly from the same set. I smiled at the girl, signaling her to move so I could get out. She stepped back two paces. Mark had already walked over from the driver’s side. The girl looked at Mark cautiously. But Mark didn’t even glance at her. He walked straight toward me. She started to say, “Mr.—” Mark cut her off without looking back. “Go to the office. We’ll talk later.” The girl walked away, looking back every few steps. Even at the elevator, she craned her neck to watch us. Mark tried to take my hand. I dodged him. He sighed. “Are you misunderstanding something?” I laughed. “BOGO deal for two coffees?” “Not picking her up and not calling to tell her?” “Not meeting up, but she runs anxiously to the parking garage to wait for you?” “Mark, I trust you, but do you think I’m an idiot?” Mark didn’t speak. He just stubbornly tried to hold my hand again. Just like every time we argued before. As if holding hands brought us closer, letting us draw strength from each other to solve conflicts calmly. This was the way we had dealt with things for eight years. We relied on it to solve countless conflicts and calm countless angers. But we both knew, this time was different.

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Chapter 1 “Mom, this month’s salary is in. Check it.” I said while taking off my shoes. My cousin, Jessica Zhao, was also there. Seeing me, a flash of unnaturalness crossed her face. Then she put on a sweet smile: “Emma is back. Working so late today, you must be tired.” I ignored her, my gaze landing on the passbook on the coffee table. “Mom, is that my salary account passbook?” I walked over. Susan Lee tried to hide it in a panic, but it was too late. I picked up the passbook and opened it. The balance on the last page showed: $3.28. I blinked, thinking I saw it wrong. Looking back, the most recent transaction was three days ago: Transfer out $42,000.00. Looking further back, last month: Transfer out $8,600.00. My fingers started to tremble. “Mom, where is my money?” I asked, my voice surprisingly calm. Susan stood up, squeezing out a smile: “Emma, listen to mom.” “I asked where my money is!” I suddenly raised my voice. “Forty-two thousand! And last month’s eight thousand six hundred! Why is there only three dollars left in my salary account!” David Lin also stood up: “Emma, don’t rush, we were just about to tell you about this.” “Tell me what? That you transferred fifty thousand dollars of mine without my permission?” I slammed the passbook on the coffee table. “That’s my money! That’s the down payment I saved up by working overtime for ten years!” Jessica whispered: “Emma, Uncle and Aunt did it for my own good.” “For you?” I turned to her. “Jessica Zhao, using my money to make you look good?” Susan grabbed my hand: “Emma, Jessica is getting married next month. Her fiancé’s family demanded a dowry of $68,800, saying anything less would be losing face. We scraped together twenty thousand from home, plus the eighteen thousand Jessica handed over these years, still thirty thousand short…” “So you touched my money?” I shook off her hand. “Mom, that’s my money! That’s the money Lucas and I prepared to buy a house and get married!” “The house can be bought later!” Susan also raised her voice. “Jessica’s wedding is a once-in-a-lifetime event! She has no parents. If we don’t help her more, how can she hold her head up in her in-laws’ house!” This sentence again. I’ve heard it for twenty years. When I was seven, Jessica’s parents died in a car accident, and she moved into my house. Since then, my room was given to her, my new clothes were worn by her first, and my birthday cake had to be shared with her. Now, even my hard-earned money from ten years is given to her. “What about me?” My voice was trembling. “My wedding is on June 18th next month. How much dowry did you prepare for me?” The living room suddenly went quiet. David lowered his head, Susan’s eyes dodged. Jessica whispered: “Emma, Uncle and Aunt actually prepared for you.” “Prepared what?” I stared at her. “Say it, what did they prepare for me!” Susan took out a plastic bag from the drawer of the coffee table, containing two pairs of slippers, two sets of pajamas, and towels and toothbrushes. “These are all good brands.” She said. I looked at that plastic bag, then at the transfer receipts on the coffee table, and suddenly laughed. Laughed until tears came out. “So, Jessica’s dowry is $68,800, and my dowry is two pairs of slippers?” “Emma, don’t compare like this.” David tried to comfort me. “How should I compare?” I roared. “Compare who is stupider? Compare who handed over their salary for ten years like a day, only to have it all taken by parents to subsidize someone else’s daughter?” Jessica’s tears fell as she spoke: “Emma, don’t blame Uncle and Aunt. It’s all my fault. Or I won’t get married.” “Jessica, don’t talk nonsense!” Susan immediately hugged her. “The marriage is set, invitations are sent out, how can you not get married!” She turned to me, tone strict: “Emma Lin, look at what you’ve pushed Jessica into! We raised you so big, is it just to make you so selfish!” “I’m selfish?” I pointed at myself. “My monthly salary is $1,200, I give $1,000 to the family, keeping $200 for myself. I haven’t bought new clothes for three years, haven’t traveled for five years, working overtime until late every night! Every penny I saved was taken by you to save face! Now you say I’m selfish?” David sighed heavily: “Emma, Jessica’s situation is special, her parents left early.” “Her parents left early, so I deserve to die?” I completely broke down. “I am also your daughter! Doesn’t my wedding need face? Lucas’s family is also an ordinary family. What will they think of me when they see I only have two pairs of slippers as dowry! What will they think of our family!” Jessica sobbed and said: “Emma, Lucas loves you so much, he won’t mind.” “He doesn’t mind, but I mind!” I grabbed the transfer receipts on the coffee table. “This is evidence! I’m calling the police! Suing you for theft!” “You dare!” Susan rushed over to grab them. I stepped back to dodge, quickly taking photos of the receipts with my phone. “Now, I give you two choices.” I held up my phone. “First, return my fifty thousand dollars, not a penny less. You figure out the shortfall for Jessica’s dowry yourselves.” “Second, I call the police immediately, then post this matter in the family group chat, to your workplace, to Jessica’s in-laws. I want everyone to know you stole your own daughter’s money to give your niece as a dowry.” Susan’s face turned pale: “Emma Lin! You are trying to drive us to death!” “You forced me first!” My tears poured out. “Ten years! How many ten years do I have in my life! I scrimped and saved, I worked hard, I didn’t even dare to take leave when sick! What about you? Have you ever thought about my feelings!” Jessica cried even harder: “The money has already been transferred to my account. Part of it bought gold jewelry, part was withdrawn and spent.” “Then go return it! Go sell it!” I stared at her. “Jessica Zhao, if you don’t return this money to me today, I will go to your company, to your fiancé’s workplace, and tell everyone you are a thief!” “Enough!” David roared. He panted heavily, eyes bloodshot: “Emma Lin, we raised you for twenty-eight years, just to get you forcing us like this today?” “You forced me first.” I wiped my tears. “Choose, want her, or want me.” Susan cried: “How can you make us choose! Jessica is also our daughter!” “She is not!” I screamed hoarsely. “Her surname is Zhao! My surname is Lin! She is just your sister’s daughter! I am the one you carried for ten months!” David slumped back on the sofa, covering his face with his hands. Long silence. The ticking of the clock was particularly ear-piercing in the deadly silent living room. Finally, David looked up, daring not look into my eyes: “Jessica’s wedding cannot have mistakes. Her in-laws have status, invitations have been sent out.” I nodded, heart completely dead. “Okay, I understand.” I turned back to my room and started packing. Susan chased in: “Emma Lin! What are you doing!” “Moving out.” I threw clothes into the suitcase. “From now on, I cut off relations with you.” “You’re crazy! You are our daughter!” “You made your choice just now.” I zipped up the suitcase. “From now on, I am not your daughter. That fifty thousand, consider it buying out twenty-eight years of upbringing.” David stood at the door, voice hoarse: “Emma, don’t be impulsive, we can discuss the money matter again.” “Nothing to discuss.” I dragged the suitcase out. “My wedding is on June 18th, you don’t need to come.” Walking to the door, I looked back at them one last time. Susan was crying, David was sighing, Jessica shrank in the sofa, peeking at me from the corner of her eye. “Wish you family of three, happiness and perfection.” I closed the door, shutting twenty-eight years of affection behind me. Going down in the elevator, I took out my phone and called Lucas. The phone rang only once before connecting. “Emma?” “Lucas,” my voice trembled, “I moved out, come pick me up.” “Send me the location, arriving immediately.” Three minutes later, Lucas’s car stopped in front of me. He got out and took my suitcase, asking nothing, just hugging me tightly. “Go to our place.” He said. When the car drove out, I looked at the apartment complex one last time. Goodbye, the Emma Lin who always had to yield to others. From today on, I live only for myself. Chapter 2 Lucas’s apartment was small, one bedroom and one living room, but very clean. He helped me put away the suitcase and poured a glass of warm water: “Speak slowly, what happened?” I told the story from beginning to end. When I talked about the two pairs of slippers, I cried again. Lucas hugged me, suppressed anger in his voice: “How could they do this! That’s your hard-earned money from ten years!” “I want to call the police.” I said. “That’s fifty thousand, enough for a case.” “I support you.” Lucas took out his phone. “Call now.” I pressed his hand: “Wait, let me think.” “Think about what?” Lucas was anxious. “Emma, this is theft! It’s illegal!” I knew. But my mind was full of my mother’s red eyes from crying, my father’s hunched back. And Jessica’s look when she first came to my house at seven, thin and small, holding a worn-out teddy bear. “Give me one day.” I said. “Tomorrow, if they don’t return the money, I’ll call the police.” That night, I barely slept. The phone kept ringing. Susan called twenty-three times, David called fifteen times. I hung up all of them. At 3 AM, Susan sent a long WeChat message: [Emma, Mom knows we wronged you. But Jessica is really too pitiful. She has no parents. If the dowry is small, her in-laws will look down on her for life. You are our biological daughter, understand Mom and Dad. Mom will definitely return that fifty thousand to you in the future. Come back first, we’ll discuss properly.] I looked at this message and laughed. Laughing and laughing, tears flowed into my mouth, salty and bitter. I replied: [Return the money within today, otherwise police.] Then turned off the phone. At 8 AM the next morning, the doorbell rang. Lucas went to open the door. David and Susan stood outside. Susan’s eyes were swollen like walnuts, David’s hair turned half white overnight. Susan cried as soon as she opened her mouth, “Mom was wrong, Mom was really wrong.” “Where’s the money?” I asked. David took an envelope from his bag: “Here is three thousand, our last savings. The rest, we will pay back slowly.” “Fifty thousand, becomes three thousand?” I looked at them. “Dad, Mom, do you think I’m stupid?” “Jessica’s side has already spent the money.” Susan cried. “Bought gold, paid the wedding banquet deposit, really can’t take it out.” “Then go return it! Go ask for it!” My voice was shaking. “That’s my money! Why do you spend my money!” David suddenly knelt down. This fifty-eight-year-old man knelt in front of me. “Emma, Dad begs you, Jessica’s wedding really can’t be canceled. Her in-laws have already notified all relatives. If canceled now, how can she face people in the future.” “What about me?” I asked. “My wedding is less than a month away. You prepared two pairs of slippers for me. How do I face people?” Susan also knelt down: “Emma, Mom kowtows to you. Forgive us this time. We will definitely compensate you in the future.” I looked at my parents kneeling on the ground, heart feeling like cut by a knife. These are my parents. For someone else’s daughter, kneeling down to beg their own daughter. “Get up.” I said. They didn’t move. “Get up!” I roared. “You are forcing me like this! Telling me that if I don’t agree, it’s unfilial!” Lucas helped them up: “Uncle and Aunt, get up first. This doesn’t solve the problem.” David stood up, old tears flowing: “Emma, Dad knows we wronged you, but things are already like this. Just consider helping Jessica, helping us.” “Help?” I nodded. “Okay, I’ll help.” Their eyes lit up. “I’ll help you call the police.” I took out my phone. “Let the police handle it, see how to calculate this fifty thousand.” “No!” Susan rushed over to grab the phone. Lucas stopped her: “Auntie, Emma has already given you a chance.” Susan slumped on the ground, wailing loudly: “How did I raise such a cruel daughter like you! We raised you so big, just to be forced to death by you today!” “Cruel?” I squatted down looking at her. “Mom, when I was seven, Jessica grabbed my new dress, you said I was the older sister and should yield to her. When I was twelve, she broke my birthday gift, you said she didn’t do it on purpose. When I was eighteen, she peeked at my diary and broadcasted it everywhere, you said she was just curious.” “Now, she stole my fifty thousand, you say she is pitiful.” “Who is the cruel one?” Susan froze, unable to cry. David murmured: “Jessica has no parents, she is really pitiful.” “She is pitiful, so I deserve it?” I stood up. “Since you think she is more pitiful, then take good care of her. I don’t need you anymore.” I walked to the door and opened it: “Please leave, don’t come to find me again.” Susan wanted to say something more, but David pulled her back. When they walked to the door, David looked back at me. In that look was guilt, pain, but more of a resignation. They chose Jessica. Since the year she moved into my house at seven, they have always chosen her. The door closed. I leaned against the door, slowly sliding to sit on the floor. Lucas hugged me: “Emma, cry if you want to.” I couldn’t cry. My heart was already dead. Chapter 3 June 18th, my wedding. No parents attended, but I had Lucas, friends, colleagues. Lucas’s parents increased the betrothal gift from $8,800 to $18,800. His mother said: “Emma, from now on we are your mom and dad.” Wearing a rented wedding dress, standing on the stage, my eyes still couldn’t help searching. Knowing it was impossible, still hoping they would appear. They didn’t come. Halfway through the wedding, I received a text from Susan: [Emma, sorry, Mom can’t go today. Jessica’s wedding has some problems, we have to help her handle it. Wish you happiness.] I deleted the text, looked up, and smiled at Lucas. “I do.” After the wedding, I scrolled onto Jessica’s WeChat Moments. A grid of nine photos, all from her wedding scene. The last one was a family photo. My parents wearing new clothes, standing next to Jessica and her husband, smiling happily. Caption: [Thank Uncle and Aunt for giving me a second life. You are my biological parents.] Dozens of comments below, all praises. [Best Aunt and Uncle in China!] [Boundless love!] [Jessica is so blessed!] No one remembered that today was also my wedding. No one asked where my parents were. Lucas took away my phone: “Don’t look. We live our own life from now on.” I nodded, but the missing piece in my heart could never be filled. After marriage, Lucas and I moved into a rented apartment. Both our savings were taken by my parents. Not enough for down payment, could only continue renting. Lucas said: “It’s okay, we’ll save for another two years.” I started working desperately. Working during the day, taking private jobs at night, part-time jobs on weekends. Lucas persuaded me: “Emma, don’t push so hard. Health is important.” “I want to earn back that fifty thousand.” I said. “Earn it back cent by cent.” Three months later, I lost ten pounds but saved three thousand dollars. I deposited the money into a new card, writing on it: Own House. National Day, Lucas said: “Go home and see your parents, after all, it’s a holiday.” I shook my head: “That’s not my home.” “They are your parents after all.” “When they chose Jessica, they were no longer my parents.” Although saying so, in the dead of night, I still missed them. Missed the braised pork Mom made, missed the way Dad fixed bicycles. But thinking of that fifty thousand, my heart hardened. October 3rd, Susan suddenly called. Using a new number, I hadn’t blocked it. “Emma,” her voice was weak, “your dad is hospitalized, heart attack.” My heart tightened, but tone cold: “Oh.” “Doctor said bypass surgery costs ten thousand, we have no money.” “Where is Jessica?” I asked. “Didn’t she just receive a dowry of $68,800?” Silence on the other end. “Emma, Jessica’s money is in a fixed deposit, can’t be withdrawn.” “Then borrow money.” I said. “Don’t you love helping others the most? Now that you need help, go find those people you helped.” “Emma!” Susan cried. “He is your dad! Are you really going to leave him to die!” “My dad?” I repeated this word. “When my dad gave fifty thousand to someone else, did he think about me, his daughter?” “We were wrong… really wrong…” Susan cried heartbreakingly. “Your dad is now in ICU. Doctor says if no surgery…” “What does it have to do with me?” I hung up. Hand shaking, but I didn’t cry. Lucas looked at me: “Want to go see?” “No.” I said. “If I go, they will say again, biological daughter is better after all. Then continue to treat Jessica well.” I know them too well. Sure enough, the next day, Jessica posted on Moments: [Uncle sick in hospital, heartache. Transferred one thousand to Aunt, wish Uncle speedy recovery.] Image is transfer record. Below is another wave of praise: [Jessica so filial] [Aunt and Uncle didn’t love you in vain] I laughed. Ten thousand surgery fee, she transferred one thousand, and specifically posted on Moments. Really knows how to behave. Three days later, Susan called again. This time Lucas answered. After hanging up, Lucas said: “Your dad had the surgery, money borrowed from loan sharks.” “Oh.” “Your mom said Jessica agreed to pay back two hundred a month, but can only pay this much for now.” “Mm.” “Emma, you really don’t plan to care?” “Don’t care.” I said. “This is their choice, they bear the consequences themselves.”

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The diagnosis had a name—Cerebral Small Vessel Disease—but to me, it was just the timer on my life. The selective cognitive impairment had done its damage during my teaching assignment, wiping out everything about the person I’d loved the most. Then one day, the past barreled into the present. Beckett Thorne—the ex-boyfriend I’d cruelly walked out on—roared up to the muddy, makeshift schoolhouse in a gleaming, mud-splattered Range Rover. He looked at my chapped, wind-burned face, my rough hands, and let out a laugh that was pure, triumphant venom. “Living out here in the middle of nowhere, smelling of kerosene and dirt. Is this what they call karma, Willow? Payback for chasing money and dumping the guy who couldn’t afford a decent meal?” His eyes narrowed, burning with five years of stored-up malice. “Judging by the look of you, you’re regretting that decision right about now. Come on, beg me to take you back.” I just stared at him, bewildered, my hand still gripping a stack of smeared student papers. “I’m sorry, who are you?” “Faking it? Go on, Willow. Keep the performance going. Five years, and your talent for acting has only gotten sharper.” He kicked a nearby cinder block, sending it skittering into a pile of coal dust. His jaw was so tight I could hear his teeth grind. 1 A spark of understanding lit up my confusion. “Oh! I know…” I rubbed my hands together awkwardly, a little light dawning in my eyes. “Dressed like that, you must be a kind benefactor, here for a donation!” I fumbled away, heading back into the shed we called an office, to grab the ceremonial “Thank You” scroll—made from cheap, faded red construction paper. I carefully shuffled back out, holding the rolled paper like it was solid gold. “Sir,” I said, offering it to him. “This is a certificate of appreciation. Thank you so much for the supplies for the kids.” He stared at the wobbly, handwritten calligraphy on the red paper. “Willow, five years ago, your handwriting didn’t look like chicken scratch. You used to cry in my library because you couldn’t get the lines straight.” The words meant nothing to me. I just shifted the scroll forward again. “Sir? My arm is getting tired.” He let out a harsh, cutting laugh, snatched the paper, and ripped it down the middle with a vicious tear. “You’re playing games, Willow. You had plenty of spine when you told me you were leaving me for the money. Remember that?” Before I could try to explain my confusion, the passenger door of the Range Rover opened. A pair of stiletto heels—gleaming crimson leather—stepped down, crushing the fragments of the ‘Thank You’ scroll. Sienna emerged, pinching her perfect nose with one manicured hand as she surveyed the mud and dilapidation. “This is the place you were talking about, Beckett? Honestly, it smells like a farmyard.” Beckett pulled her against him, resting his hand possessively on her hip, his gaze challenging me. “Look closely, Willow. This is my fiancée, Sienna. Younger. Prettier. Take a good look at yourself. What exactly do you have left to compare to this?” I watched the beautiful woman they called Sienna, then glanced back at Beckett. It made no sense. It had nothing to do with me. I turned away, found a stiff straw broom, and started sweeping up the paper fragments, too busy to deal with this bizarre pair. The paper had soaked into the mud. I had to scrape at it with my fingernail. I whispered a small, familiar mantra to myself: The red paper is lucky. Pieces bring peace. “I can dry it out,” I mumbled. “We can still use the scraps to make art projects for the windows.” Beckett’s breath hitched, loud and ragged. He stormed over and deliberately planted his expensive leather boot right on the paper I was reaching for. “Willow! Do you find this amusing? I am talking to you! Stop playing deaf!” I looked up at his gleaming boots, then back at the ruined paper. What a waste. Sienna saw the storm building in him and fanned her nose exaggeratedly. “It’s a mess, Beckett. I can’t even find a clean spot to stand.” She pointed to a small, worn cloth backpack lying in the road. “Look at this trash. Is this what passes for cleanliness around here?” He barely glanced at it before kicking it violently. “Get this junk out of the road! Is this the quality of your school?” The little bag flew through the air, scattering pencils and tattered notebooks across the mud. “My bookbag!” Little Lily, one of my third graders, burst into tears as she ran up and saw the mess. Right then, Finn charged. He might have the mind of a child, but he’s fiercely protective. “Bad man! Don’t hurt Lily!” Sienna, already wobbly in her stilettos, was knocked off balance by Finn’s desperate shove and pitched headlong into the muck. “My suit!” Sienna shrieked, scrambling to her feet, her face speckled with mud. Beckett completely lost it. He grabbed Finn by the collar, his knuckles cracking as he clenched his fist. “How dare you! A simpleton like you touches my fiancée?” Finn didn’t understand the words, but he understood the malice. His face contorted, and the small hand-axe he used for kindling shot up above his head. If Finn hurt anyone, he’d be locked up for life. I didn’t think. I threw myself forward, wrapping my arms around Finn’s uplifted, axe-gripping arm. “Finn! Stop! Put it down! Listen to me!” The fury in Finn’s eyes slowly dissolved into a wounded whimper. I sagged with relief, then spun back toward Beckett, bowing over and over. “Please, sir, don’t be angry! He’s developmentally disabled—he doesn’t understand! Please, don’t hold it against him, punish me instead!” Beckett’s fury burned hotter seeing me so desperate. “Fine, Willow. You really are something.” He spat the words out. “You’ll throw away your dignity—risk your neck—for a fool, but you wouldn’t do it for me? You were so proud a minute ago, so dismissive.” He laughed, a cold, dangerous sound. Then he turned to his assistant. “Get the convoy on the horn. Lock down the supply truck. Not one pound of grain, not one piece of coal, gets unloaded!” “Since this dump is so ‘noble,’ they can figure out how to survive the winter on moral high ground!” To save the winter supplies, I cleared out the small, single-room barracks I called home. Beckett sat on my rickety cot, layering several old newspapers beneath him in disgust. Sienna fussed with her makeup, complaining constantly. “This place is awful, Beckett. Not even hot water. Let’s just go, I can’t stay another minute.” Beckett ignored Sienna, his eyes locked on me. “You wanted to atone? Go cook.” He pointed to the corner kitchen setup. “It better be edible. Or the supplies stay locked up.” I nodded, turning toward the makeshift kitchen crammed into the corner. All I had was a bag of sprouting potatoes and a half-jar of dried beans. I struggled to get the woodstove going; the smoke burned my eyes and throat, but I kept going. I couldn’t risk a delay. Thirty minutes later, I brought two plates in. Just roasted potatoes. I hadn’t controlled the heat well, and the skins were charred black, like lumps of coal. I placed the plates on the three-legged table, my hands trembling. “Sir, this is all I have… please, just try to eat something.” Sienna gasped, clutching her mouth dramatically. “Oh my God. Is that even human food?” “Willow, are you doing this on purpose? Trying to gross us out with this pig slop?” With a dramatic flourish, she slapped the table, shattering the plates. The charred potatoes tumbled to the muddy floor, picking up dirt and stray straw. “Sir, it’s not pig slop! It’s still good, you can’t waste food!” I crouched down to retrieve a potato. “You think it’s not wasted? If you think it’s so good, you eat it,” Sienna challenged. “Pick it up and eat it right now, and I’ll believe you!” I opened my mouth, lifting the dirty potato toward my lips. A hand shot out, striking my wrist hard, knocking the potato away. It hit the wall and broke apart. Beckett stood over me, his chest heaving. “Are you that pathetic, Willow? Are you really that desperate for those few supplies? You’d eat dirt for money, wouldn’t you?” His shouting made my ears ring. I didn’t understand. He told me to eat it. Why was he angry now that I tried? Moneyed people were impossible to figure out. He took a deep, ragged breath, regaining control. Then he pointed to his boot. “Clean my shoes.” He extended his foot. “If they aren’t spotless, I’m pulling the funds right now.” A tiny smear of potato mud was on his expensive black leather boot. I knelt down, trying to wipe the boot. My hands began to shake uncontrollably. The tremors grew worse. He noticed, but his expression was still cruel. “Willow, when you walked away from me, did you ever imagine this moment? This is your penance.” I pressed my quivering wrists together, trying to stop the tremors. Don’t shake, don’t shake. Please, just hold still. Clean the shoes. The children need the heat. Beckett’s foot suddenly pulled back. “Enough!” He bent down, gripping my chin, forcing me to look up. “Do you remember these boots, Willow?” His voice was thick with repressed emotion. “You told me you’d marry me the day I could afford a pair like this. I knelt in front of you then, swearing I’d make it. Are you thinking about that now, kneeling here?” I desperately tried to focus my eyes, to connect this handsome, angry man with any kind stranger I might have known. The harder I looked, the more foreign his face became. I was terrified of him getting angry and leaving without the supplies. I whispered, “Big Boss… If they’re not clean enough, I’ll start over.” “Big Boss?” His laugh was a choked gasp of disbelief. “We were together for five years. You slept in my bed for five years. And now I’m ‘Big Boss’?” He believed I was using this feigned ignorance to inflict a final, deep wound. He’d have preferred hatred or rage. He grabbed my collar, pulling tight until I choked. “I’m sorry, sir… I truly don’t know you… I just need the coal… please, give us the coal…” I shoved at his chest, desperate to escape. The door slammed open. Finn rushed in. He saw Beckett holding me, saw my pain. “Let go of Ms. Willow!” Finn’s strength was terrifying. His fist connected with Beckett’s face, hard. Beckett stumbled back, a line of blood instantly appearing at his mouth. But Beckett was trained. He recovered instantly, striking Finn with a brutal counter-punch to the stomach. Finn doubled over, collapsing. The bodyguards rushed in, pinning Finn to the ground. Beckett wiped the blood from his lip, his eyes lethal. “You hit me? Perfect. Tie the idiot up! Call the local sheriff! Assault with a deadly weapon—that’s a few years he can spend in a cell!” I didn’t hesitate. I slammed my head against the concrete floor. Hard. “Sir! Please! Don’t arrest him! He’s not responsible! It’s my fault, I should have watched him!” “Please, just let him go! Punish me however you want!” A searing pain shot through my skull. A warm, viscous liquid—blood—traced a line down my forehead, blurring my vision. I didn’t dare wipe it away; I just kept knocking my head. Beckett froze, watching the blood stream down my pale face. His rage didn’t diminish; it became a white-hot fury fueled by my self-sacrifice. “Willow, you are incredible… I knelt in the pouring rain, begging you not to leave, trampling my dignity just for one glance back. And you walked away easily! Now, for this imbecile, you’ll split your head open?” … “You win, Willow… You want to save him?” Beckett’s eyes were raw. “Fine. I’ll give you a chance.” The rain intensified. Beckett stood at the doorway, pointing to the flatbed truck outside, loaded high with coal. Rain hit the black tarp, creating a misty haze. “That’s about three tons of coal.” He looked me straight in the eye. “You. Alone. Move every bag of it into that warehouse.” “If it’s not done before sunrise, the idiot goes to jail, and the supplies are gone.” Finn, gagged and tied, was crying and shaking his head, his tears washing clean tracks in the dirt on his face. I climbed onto the truck, hoisted a heavy sack of coal to my shoulder, and began to move. One bag. Two bags. Three bags… Every step was a fight against gravity and my own failing body. My breath came in short, painful gasps, but I couldn’t stop. If I stop, I won’t get up again. If I stop, Finn goes to jail. If I stop, the children freeze. Beckett stood under the eaves, chain-smoking, his eyes glued to my figure in the downpour. A cigarette burned down to his fingers before he even noticed. Sienna, standing next to him, was starting to look genuinely frightened. “Beckett… maybe that’s enough.” She whispered. “She looks like she’s going to collapse. She could really die out here.” “Shut up. This is an act! She’s trying to manipulate me! She wants me to soften! I won’t!” … I told myself: Just a little further. You can do this, Willow. Almost halfway. Almost… The back of my mind felt like it was being drilled. My limbs grew heavy, numb. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, trying to use the pain to stay present. I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn’t obey. My consciousness receded into a dizzying blackness. I crashed, the coal sack landing on top of me, into the mud. The last thing I heard was Finn’s agonizing, muffled scream. … “Willow! Get up! Stop playing dead!” Beckett threw his cigarette and sprinted toward me, cursing under his breath. He saw my ashen face and blue lips and his hands started to tremble. “Willow! Willow!” He scooped me up. As he lifted me, several small, white, unlabeled pill bottles tumbled out of my soaking-wet shirt pocket. They hit the stone path with a sharp, chilling clink.

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After the reunion, I became the copycat my mother hated most. Penny Lowell, the “Golden Girl,” had her Ivy League degree; I had my master’s from Metro U, earned in a blaze of three-month, hyper-focused study. Penny returned from overseas to launch a startup; I founded a disruptive, industry-leading e-commerce fashion brand within a year. Penny made the news for her charity work; I donated ten million dollars, securing the front-page headline. They couldn’t stand me, but they couldn’t stop me. Until I followed the fake sister’s lead and announced my own engagement a day after hers. My birth mother, Vivian Holloway, who hadn’t spoken to me in three years, immediately called. She ordered me to delete my engagement photos. “It’s one thing to constantly steal Penny’s spotlight, but now you’re trying to steal her fiancé, too? What exactly is your game, Scottie?” In the background, Penny’s choked, tearful voice carried through the phone. “Mom, don’t say that. I asked Spencer, and he swore he doesn’t even know a Scarlett Rhodes. That picture… she must have deliberately Photoshopped it just to spite me.” Spencer. My husband, the man I’d grown up with for eighteen years in the orphanage, had become hers? But when Penny texted me her own engagement photo, I felt a familiar dread. The groom was the spitting image of my fiancé. 1 I compared the two faces three times. They were virtually identical. When I remained silent for too long, Vivian’s voice returned, laced with contempt. “Scarlett Rhodes, caught red-handed, are we? Nothing to say now, is there?” “I’m outside your door. Open up and talk this out.” My mother looked at me like I was a cockroach until her eyes landed on the expensive basket of supplements I was carrying. Only then did she step aside, grudgingly allowing me entrance. “At least you came to apologize. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.” She lowered her voice, a predatory edge to it. “I’m telling you now, give it up. I know you love competing with Penny, but the Ashworth family is old money, a major institution. They are not in your league, you desperate social climber!” The Rhodes and the Ashworths were indeed old family friends, with a childhood engagement planned long ago. But the moment I was formally recognized, the Ashworths sent word that they only acknowledged Penelope Lowell as their future daughter-in-law. When they heard I was an influencer, they treated me with open contempt and refused to meet me. “Well, you’ll be disappointed then.” I raised my right hand, flashing the five-carat diamond on my ring finger. “I’m climbing a much higher ladder than the Ashworths. The pompous, stuffy types? I honestly couldn’t be bothered.” “And I’m not here to apologize. I’m here to drop off an invitation.” I gave a dismissive shrug. “My husband, Ashton Sinclair, is very particular about etiquette. He insisted I come, to avoid any regrets. It’s clear now there’s nothing worth regretting.” As I turned to leave, Penny lunged forward, grabbing my arm. She held her hand next to mine. The two diamond rings were terrifyingly, perfectly identical. “You even copied the ring! You spent a fortune just to spite me, didn’t you?” she wailed. “And the invitation—you purposely made it the same! How long are you going to obsess over and harass me?” She collapsed into my mother’s embrace, sobbing hysterically. “Is it just because I’m your daughter that I don’t deserve to be happy?” Seeing Penny’s agony, my mother finally lost control. The sound of the slap was sharp and deafening. SMACK. Five stinging, fiery fingerprints bloomed across my cheek. “If I had known you were such a shameless lunatic, I never would have claimed you!” I pressed my hand to my burning face, suffocating in the silence, fighting the desperate urge to cry. I’d started as a streamer, a niche internet personality. Because I looked exactly like a younger version of the famous actress, Vivian Holloway, people online kept jokingly pushing for a DNA test. It was supposed to be a gag, but a curious fan dug deeper. It turned out I really was Vivian’s biological daughter, switched at the hospital at birth. Riding the massive wave of the public reunion, Vivian successfully re-launched her acting career. Penny, pretending to be my sweet, supportive sister, also ate up the red carpet attention, started her own account, and siphoned off my followers and brand deals. I didn’t mind at the time. I thought I had found real family. But everything changed the moment I followed Penny’s own encouragement and got accepted to the Metropolitan University Master’s program. I was immediately rebranded online as the calculating copycat who could only mimic others. Whatever I achieved, there was an instant influx of trolls claiming I was merely playing a bad cover song to Penny’s original hit. I sank into a long period of quiet stagnation, retreating from the public eye. Now, Vivian pointed a trembling, accusatory finger at me. “If you want to still call me Mom, you will delete that post, apologize to Penny, and I will pretend none of this happened.” I stubbornly lifted my chin. “I’m your daughter, too.” My voice was barely a whisper. “Did you ever, even for a moment, consider believing me?” The raw desperation in my voice seemed to momentarily crack my mother’s resolve; her eyes softened. Penny’s sobs grew louder, immediately pulling Vivian back. “Don’t pretend! How can two unrelated people look that much alike?” She had a point. If I hadn’t grown up with Ashton, I might have started to doubt myself, too—wondering if the Ashworths were playing some elaborate prank on me with Penny. Ashton was always a stickler for tradition. He had been nagging me to meet my future in-laws. Now was the time. “Believe me or not.” I finally met Vivian’s eyes, holding her gaze for the first time since I walked in. “Ashton Sinclair will visit in three days. Personally.” “When he does, will you grant me an apology?”

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Chapter 1 When I was fifteen, I “lent” my good luck to my foster sister, Madison. Six months later, her wealthy biological parents found her at the group home and took her back. They adopted me, too. When I was eighteen, I stopped her from dating the school’s star quarterback, Liam, ensuring she got into an Ivy League university. Later, Liam died in a car crash. Madison blamed me for everything. She shredded my SAT admission ticket, making me miss the test. She convinced our foster parents to kick me out and blacklisted me from every job in town. When I was homeless and begging on the streets, Madison still wasn’t satisfied. She locked me in an oil drum and left me to suffocate. I woke up gasping for air, back on the day her romance with Liam began. This time, I won’t stop her. And I’m taking my luck back. “I’m so hungry.” I leaned weakly against a dumpster. People walked by on the busy street, wrinkling their noses and steering clear of me. “Starving, aren’t you?” Madison stood behind me, her voice cold. “What game are you playing this time?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Since Liam died, Madison had engineered my expulsion from the family. She made sure no restaurant would serve me and no one would hire me. She toyed with me slowly. When I was on the brink of starvation, she’d propose a game. She livestreamed me scrubbing public toilets for two steamed buns. She put a collar on my neck and walked me down the street like a dog, rewarding me with a bowl of plain rice if I let people mock me. Madison sneered and signaled the bodyguards behind her. “Take him.” They grabbed my arms roughly and dragged me toward a van. Passersby pointed and whispered, but no one dared to intervene. Who would mess with the unpredictable heiress of the Vance family? The last person who tried to help me was still in the hospital with broken limbs. So I stopped hoping. I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt for me. I stared blankly at Madison, standing in the sunlight. She was no longer the girl whose eyes used to light up when she saw me. Back at the group home, when the director starved us, Madison would sneak into the kitchen to steal buns for me. I remembered crouching in a corner, devouring the food with tears in my eyes. “Are you a starving ghost reincarnated? Slow down,” she’d say, patting my head gently. I wasn’t crying because of hunger. I was crying because she had been caught and beaten with a stick. She had protected the buns with her body, presenting them to me while covered in bruises. That was the first time anyone had been kind to me. So I lent her my “Koi Luck”—my innate good fortune. After that, she never got caught stealing again. Everything went smoothly for her, and eventually, her biological parents found her and took us both into their mansion. A cramp in my stomach pulled me back to reality. I was thrown into the van. Consciousness faded in the bumpy ride. When I woke up, I was in a dark, cramped, cold space. “Let me out! Let me out!” I had severe claustrophobia. Madison knew that! Panic surged like a tidal wave. I pounded on the walls. A small speaker crackled to life. Madison’s icy voice filled the space. “Ethan, this is what you deserve. If it weren’t for you, Liam wouldn’t be dead.” I couldn’t hear the rest. The suffocation grew stronger, and my consciousness began to scatter. I was the one who tried to save Liam. You were the one who killed him, Madison! Why am I the one suffering? Darkness swallowed me. My last thought was of endless cold and despair. Chapter 2 “Hey, weirdo! Are you deaf?” An arrogant male voice rang in my ear. My brain buzzed. The fear of the oil drum hadn’t faded, but the scene before me suddenly sharpened. Madison stood there, her face younger, still carrying baby fat but already showing her trademark haughtiness. Thinking it was a hallucination before death, the accumulated resentment exploded. I swung my arm and slapped her hard across the face. Smack! The crisp sound silenced the surroundings. She clutched her cheek, staring at me in shock. The boy who had spoken—Liam—gasped and shoved me to the ground. “Are you crazy? I’m talking to you, and you hit Madison? You wanna die?” Liam helped Madison up, checking her red cheek nervously. “Maddy, are you okay? I told you this foster brother of yours is psycho. You didn’t believe me, and now look!” He glared at me, raising his foot to kick. I rolled away agilely. “You dare dodge?” Seconds later, Liam’s cries of pain filled the air. I pounced on him like a feral animal, grabbing his hair and slamming his head against the ground, raining punches on him. It’s you! You and Madison ruined my life! It’s all your fault! By the time Madison reacted, I had beaten the star quarterback into the dirt. His lip was bleeding. She rushed over, pushed me away, and helped Liam up, her hands trembling. I frowned, finally feeling the stinging pain in my knuckles. I looked at my hands, then at the scene—Madison and Liam in their school uniforms, the familiar campus path… I realized I had been reborn. Back to the time when their secret romance was just beginning. Watching them glare at me, I slowly stood up. A cold smile played on my lips. My fingernails dug into my palms, drawing blood, but I felt no pain. Chapter 3 Liam was a genuine trust-fund baby. I was just the adopted charity case of the Vance family. And I had just beaten him up in public. The school didn’t dare cover it up. Parents were called. “Mr. and Mrs. Vance, look what he did to me!” Liam pointed at me, a bandage on his face. “People like him shouldn’t be allowed in this school!” Liam’s father, Mr. Summerfield, saw his precious son’s bruised face and looked ready to kill. Madison stepped forward, bowing slightly to the Summerfields. Her tone was apologetic but protective. “Uncle, Auntie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t watch my brother closely enough. It’s my fault Liam got hurt.” She turned to me, her eyes complex. “Ethan, apologize to Liam. Now.” I stood my ground, meeting her gaze. I refused. In my past life, the first time I caught them making out in the woods behind the school, I merely reminded them to be careful. Liam felt humiliated and beat me until my mouth bled. Madison just watched coldly. The school gave Liam a slap on the wrist. I complained to Madison at home. She frowned and said, “Ethan, stop provoking Liam. He’s a Summerfield. We can’t afford to offend him. Can’t you just behave?” Later, when I caught them again, I heard Liam panting, asking her, “Your cheap brother is so annoying. Doesn’t he bother you?” Madison’s voice was impatient. “Ignore him. He’s just a stray dog my parents picked up.” After I lent my luck to Madison, my own luck plummeted. Liam’s bullying got worse. I’d come home bruised and dirty. Madison would look at me with disgust. “I told you not to mess with him. You deserve it.” Back in the principal’s office, I looked at the aggressive Madison and spoke, my voice full of grievance. “I saw a guy pinning Madison against the wall. I thought she was being assaulted, so I rushed to help. Who knew they were…” I paused deliberately, watching the adults’ faces change. Liam went pale. “Ethan, shut up!” I continued loudly. “I didn’t know they were kissing! I thought I was saving my sister! But Liam got mad and started pushing me, calling me names. If you don’t believe me, check the security cameras! See who started it!” Liam’s face turned ashen. He looked at his father in terror. Mr. Summerfield was known for being strict. He hated his son messing around during critical school years. “We’ll talk at home!” Mr. Summerfield roared, dragging Liam out. Mrs. Summerfield followed awkwardly, shooting a complicated look at us. The tables had turned. Now it was Madison’s turn to face her parents. Mr. Vance’s face was grim. “Madison, what is this? Didn’t you promise no dating until graduation? And is what Ethan said true?” Madison bit her lip, tears welling up. “Dad, Mom, it’s not like that. Ethan misunderstood. Liam and I are just…” Mrs. Vance sighed. “Let’s talk at home.” Chapter 4 At home, Madison and I were made to stand in the living room. I was punished for fighting; she was punished for lying and dating. She had sworn to prioritize her studies and help with the family business. Mr. Vance was furious. “If you don’t rank in the top three in this month’s exams, I’m cutting off your allowance and sending you to an all-girls boarding school in Switzerland!” It was an ultimatum. Mrs. Vance tried to mediate but signaled Madison to agree. Madison turned pale but nodded. “I promise, Dad. Top three.” Standing in the shadows, I smirked. Top three? Good luck with that, Madison. Your luck was borrowed from me. Life at the Vance manor wasn’t as easy as outsiders thought. Mr. Vance had high standards. He expected academic excellence and business acumen. Madison, having grown up in a group home, lacked the educational foundation of her peers. Without my “Koi Luck,” she wouldn’t have breezed through school or won those competitions. In my past life, when she cried over difficult homework, I would pat her back and say, “Don’t worry, sis. As long as I’m here, you’ll be fine.” Physical contact + the intent to give = transferring luck. I never told her this secret. I didn’t want to hurt her pride. She happily attributed her success to her own talent and effort. Now, I’m cutting off the supply. Let’s see how you get into the top three.

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I drove home on New Year’s Day, the air thick with the inevitable. My mother, Eleanor, her voice paper-thin from the late-stage cancer, had summoned the whole family. The agenda: a public, final division of the estate. “The doctor gives me a month, tops,” she said, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I’m settling the estate now to save everyone the trouble later.” “The house, the stocks, everything has been liquidated. I’ve wired the funds to your individual accounts. Check your balances.” My sister-in-law, Brooke, and my younger brother, Trevor, were instantly rewarded with a flurry of dings—deposit notifications flooding their phones. A substantial check even went to Mom’s long-time nurse. But my phone, sitting cold and dark in my hand, was a tomb of silence. Mom didn’t argue. She took the money she’d set aside for her own burial plot and, in front of everyone, initiated a second transfer to me. Moments later, the bank’s customer service called, confirming the successful transaction. Yet, my account remained chillingly, impossibly empty. The relatives’ faces twisted instantly. They pointed, shouting that I was a greedy viper, trying to steal my dying mother’s last cent and staging an elaborate act. I was physically thrown out of the house. Wandering the street, numb and lost, I was struck by a piece of falling debris and killed instantly. My final, suffocating thought was the mystery: The transfers were confirmed. Why did only my money vanish? I opened my eyes. I was back. The rewind button had been pressed, dropping me into the minute before my mother finalized the transfers. 1 My phone screen was blank, utterly devoid of the notification I was waiting for. I pinched my thigh, hard. The jolt of pain was a searing, unmistakable confirmation. I was here. Just as in the first life, Mom, frail and barely propped up against the pillows, her skeletal fingers trembling, pressed the final button on her tablet. That transfer was the sum of her life’s work, and in the last timeline, it had been the countdown to my death. Ding. Brooke’s phone shrieked. She let out a laugh so sharp it sounded like fingernails scraping a chalkboard. “Oh my God, Mom! A million dollars! You are a goddamn saint!” She held her screen high, making sure everyone saw it. But her eyes were fixed on me, the corner of her mouth curling into a sneer of pure mockery. Ding. Next was Trevor, my younger brother. He was practically kissing his phone screen, his mouth watering with anticipation. “I’m back in the game! I can finally double up the principal! I’m rich!” he babbled, consumed by his usual gambling fantasies. The entire crowd of relatives shifted their focus to me. The air solidified. I stared at the phone on my lap. As expected, no vibration, no sound, the screen dark and utterly still. A dead silence. I’d already confirmed the account details were correct. Mom would never intentionally exclude me. It wasn’t a mistake on her end. Mom struggled to lift her eyelids, her voice weak as a falling leaf. “Sierra, did you get yours?” I took a deep breath and deliberately turned my screen toward the room. “Zero balance.” The two words were heavy, dropping into the silence like stones. The relatives erupted in a low, poisonous murmur. “How is that possible? Everyone else got it.” “She’s obviously pulling a stunt. Trying to get Mom to give her an extra cut later.” “Told you she was never as meek as she looked. She’s got too much nerve.” The low whispers pricked my skin like a thousand needles. Mom frowned and opened her banking app for everyone to see. She handed her tablet to my older brother, Marcus, to display the receipt. The successful transfer notification was clear, undeniable. The room buzzed. Brooke crossed her arms, her tone dripping with passive-aggression. “Sierra, come on. That’s pathetic, even for you. The money’s gone through. Are you going to keep this act up until Mom hands you the money for her casket, too?” Trevor, his eyes glittering with contempt, immediately backed her up. “Sis, just ask for more if you need it. There’s no need for this elaborate show—it’s embarrassing. Mom is sick, and you’re putting on this act? Have you lost your conscience?” I clenched my fists so tight my nails dug into my palms. Again. In the last life, they had drowned me in their collective scorn, one lie after another. Mom cut them off, dissolving into a hacking cough. “Cough, cough… Stop fighting… There might be a delay. Don’t accuse Sierra.” “Sierra, call the bank and confirm.” Trevor scoffed loudly. “Mom, you always favor her! Why are you still defending her? You wouldn’t give me a dime when I was getting squeezed by loan sharks, but she’s clearly pulling a fast one, and you’re making excuses!” I shot to my feet, pointing a trembling finger at Trevor. “You’re unbelievable! Is there a limit to how low you’ll sink? Your debt was your own fault! Mom was trying to teach you a lesson—not ‘playing favorites’!” Trevor lunged at me, but our cousin, David, grabbed him just in time. I knew from my past experience that a phone call to customer service would lead nowhere. I grabbed my purse, my gaze sweeping the room, ice cold. “No need to call. I’m going to a branch right now. I’ll check the account at the teller.” “I’m going to prove I’m not lying.” We descended upon The State Trust like a vigilante mob, half-crusade, half-public-shaming. I slapped my debit card onto the glass counter. “I need a balance check, a full transaction history, and I need you to confirm there are no third-party deduction agreements.” The teller, a young woman, was clearly rattled by the crowd. She quickly began typing. The clicking of the keyboard echoed loudly in the silent lobby. A minute later, she looked up, her expression strange. “Ma’am, I’ve checked three times.” “The account status is totally normal—no freezes or flags. No third-party deductions.” “The one-million dollar wire transfer is showing as successful.” I leaned in. “What about the balance?” The teller swallowed hard. “The balance… is zero.” The entire lobby went dead quiet. Brooke was the first to break the silence, a cold, mocking laugh ringing out. “Oh, Sierra. I never knew. When did you get your hack-of-the-year certification? You can trick the bank’s system? The money went in, but the balance is zero? Where the hell did it go? Did you eat it? With this kind of genius, maybe the whole family should start depending on you to make a fortune!” The relatives’ eyes narrowed. I was no longer a greedy sister; I was a high-IQ criminal, an avaricious freak. Marcus pulled Brooke back, frowning at me. “Don’t be an idiot, Brooke. Sierra wouldn’t do that.” He pulled out his phone. “Sierra, I’ll send you a hundred dollars right now. Let’s see if you can even get that.” Ding. Marcus’s phone showed a successful deduction. The teller refreshed the page. “Funds received.” I pointed to the screen. “The balance.” The teller gulped. “The balance… is still zero.” Now even Marcus looked stunned. “Are you kidding me? What the hell is going on?” The branch manager, a harried man in a suit, rushed over to check personally. The sender’s account (Marcus) was fine. The receiver’s account (Sierra) was fine. The manager patted his chest, guaranteeing on his career that the system was incapable of “losing money.” Brooke and Marcus’s faces flushed with alarm. Brooke suddenly shrieked. “Give me back my money, Sierra! Give us back that hundred dollars! That was my son’s allowance! No, give us back two hundred, with interest!” I refused to believe it. I pulled a thick stack of cash—ten thousand dollars—off the supply money for my seafood restaurant, The Catch. I normally used this for cash transactions with older vendors. “Deposit cash, please.” The sharp whir of the counting machine sliced through the quiet tension of the lobby. The screen confirmed the deposit. I stared at the teller. “The balance.” Her hands were shaking. She performed the transaction and her face instantly turned ghost-white. “Ms. Ellison…” “The balance… remains zero.” She stammered, “The system… I think the system is haunted…” That ten thousand dollars had been dropped into a bottomless well. It vanished without a ripple. Trevor suddenly leaped forward, shouting and pointing at me. “I know what this is! You bribed the teller! You’ve got an offshore account! You’re so greedy, Sierra! You’d pull this high-tech garbage just to get more of Mom’s estate!” Brooke joined in, her voice booming. “Everyone look! She’s colluding with the bank to steal money! The greedy viper! Stealing her own mother’s life savings!” Other customers gathered, whispering and pointing fingers. I was shaking with rage, tears blurring my vision. “Fine! I don’t want the estate! Keep the money! I don’t want a single penny!” Brooke put her hands on her hips, spitting mad. “You don’t want it? You don’t get to say that! Spit out the money you swallowed! That was Mom’s money, which makes it our money!” Just then, my phone rang. It was the home nurse. Her voice was strained and tearful: “Sierra! Get back here! Your mother’s crashing!” We rushed back to the hospital. Mom was already in the ICU, unconscious. The doctor pulled off his mask, his face grim. “Her condition is critical. We need emergency surgery immediately.” “The surgery and post-op care will require an immediate deposit of at least thirty thousand dollars.” The air went silent. Thirty thousand dollars. It wasn’t a fortune for a family that had just liquidated millions. All eyes landed on Marcus and Trevor, the two who had received their wire transfers. Mom had always handled her own medical expenses. Now that the estate was divided, this was the children’s responsibility. Brooke stepped forward, clutching her chest for dramatic effect. “Oh, it’s not that we won’t help, but you know how expensive raising a child is, right?” “My son, Aiden, is starting kindergarten next fall. We just put down a non-refundable deposit on a starter home in the school district. If we touch that cash, we lose the house, and Aiden’s whole future is ruined!” Marcus lowered his head, not saying a word, clearly acquiescing to his wife. I turned to look at Trevor. He stiffened under my gaze. “Don’t look at me, Sis.” “Kelly and I are getting married soon. The wedding, the venue, the rehearsal dinner—it’s all paid for with that money. And Kelly’s father is sick. I have to buy him that experimental foreign drug to show my respect. Otherwise, how can I marry into the family?” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that nearly brought me to tears. I pointed at Marcus. “Marcus, look at your conscience! Mom drank herself sick doing favors just to get you that City Hall job! She worked three jobs in the freezing cold to get you your down payment and your wedding budget! Her hands were raw, like red meat!” Then I turned to Trevor. “Trevor, you’re a monster! You were always sick as a child, and Mom gave you everything. One time, we all had the flu, and she went to her knees begging for money from neighbors just to buy you medicine! She slipped and sliced her leg open carrying you through the rain to the hospital, and that scar is still there! You’re going to spend her life savings on your fiancée’s father’s imported meds?” Trevor was silent for a moment. Then he lifted his chin, his voice suddenly self-righteous. “The past is the past! Get over it! You look ahead! And besides, Mom will only last another month, tops! What’s the difference?” Pause. “Might as well get it over with.” SMACK! I surged forward and slapped Trevor across the face with all my strength. “You absolute animal! How dare you say that!” Trevor clamped his hand over his cheek, his eyes bloodshot. “You hit me?” “You’re single, you have no financial stress. If you want to pay for the surgery, you pay for it! Don’t play the good child on my dime!” Brooke jumped in, her tone scathing. “Exactly, Sierra! You were so tough at the bank! You said you didn’t want the estate, so now fork over the cash! You don’t have a husband or kids, what are you saving it for? To take it to the grave?” I squeezed my fists, my nails drawing blood from my palms. “Fine.” “Since neither of you will pay.” “I’ll pay.” But I had no money. I slumped down in a corner of the hospital hallway, a stray dog, utterly defeated. I thought about the last few years, the hard work I’d put into my own business. I’d opened my little restaurant, working dawn to dusk, and never asked for a penny from the family. But the economy was bad, and I was barely surviving. That ten thousand dollars I’d deposited—the last of my working capital—had vanished along with Mom’s inheritance. I was officially broke. Utterly confused, I called the police. They listened to my bizarre story and agreed to open an investigation, but told me it would take time. Time? Mom didn’t have time. The doctor returned, holding the consent forms. “Ms. Ellison, the OR is ready. But the anesthetist won’t proceed until we have the deposit.” I stared at the long line of zeros on the form, feeling suffocated. I couldn’t just sit here. Saving her was paramount. I gritted my teeth and gripped the doctor’s sleeve. “Please, doctor, start the surgery! I beg you!” “I guarantee the full thirty thousand will be paid within three days! You have my word!” The doctor looked at my pleading, tear-filled eyes, and sighed. “Alright. I can tell you’re serious. Special circumstances. But I can only give you three days.” I went home and immediately gathered the employees of my restaurant. “I’m so sorry, but I have to close the restaurant.” “Your final paychecks will be wired in three days. I promise I won’t stiff you.” My staff was sad but understanding. I then called the greasy developer, a guy named Mr. Kress, who had been circling my lease for months. “Mr. Kress, I’ll transfer the restaurant to you.” “But I have one condition: I’ll drop the price by twenty percent if you pay me in cash, right now.” Mr. Kress was ecstatic. “Well, Sierra, why didn’t you say so sooner? No problem. I’ll have my accounting team wire the money immediately.” A sudden memory of my account, the financial black hole, hit me. “No! Absolutely not! No wire transfer!” “It has to be cash! I need the cash!” Mr. Kress looked at me like I was insane. “Sierra, are you feeling alright? Who uses hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash? Besides, I’d have to reserve that much at the bank. It can’t be done today.” I was insistent. “It has to be cash! I’ll take a bigger cut on the price!” Reluctantly, Mr. Kress agreed. “Fine, fine, you’re crazy, but I’m in.” He called his accountant. “Hey, Louie, go pull the cash…” Mr. Kress’s face changed. He looked at me with a panicked expression. “Sierra, I’m sorry. It’s too late. The accountant said they wanted to show good faith and wired the money already.” My brain went numb. The blood drained from my body. My hands trembling, I opened my banking app. The refresh icon spun like my life ticking down. The refresh completed. Balance: 0. I refreshed again. Still 0. My heart sank into a pit of despair. The phone slipped from my grasp, hitting the floor. This was Mom’s deposit! It was the last chance I had, the final straw I’d paid for with my entire life’s work! Just then, my phone rang on the floor. It was an unknown number. I picked up numbly.

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I was the Vaughn family’s best-kept secret, their illegitimate daughter tucked away in the sprawling estate in Greenwich. Everyone in the inner circle knew Mrs. Evelyn Vaughn, the woman with the saintly reputation, had kept me out of the goodness of her heart—a quiet act of charity and perhaps a means to earn extra grace for her cherished, chronically ill youngest daughter, Willa. What they didn’t know was the cost of that charity. From the time I was six until I turned twenty-six, I had donated blood to Willa hundreds of times. A year before that, she’d needed a healthy organ, and half of my left kidney was now inside her. When Willa turned twenty-seven, her heart began to fail. Pierce Vaughn, the eldest son and the family’s CEO, was the first to act, securing me back inside the Vaughn estate before I could take another breath. I stood in the library as Mrs. Vaughn, her fingers constantly moving over her Malas—the worn, fragrant prayer beads—spoke to me. Her voice was gentle, a warm, soft benediction that felt entirely like a lie. “My dear girl, it is I who have wronged you. When you are gone, you must come back and take my life. Seek no one else.” But on the day of the planned surgery, the old housekeeper, a woman who had worked for the Vaughns for decades before she’d been dismissed and confined after a nervous breakdown, appeared, raving through the hospital halls. She screamed, “Mrs. Vaughn! They switched the babies that year! Someone swapped your child!” That day, the proud, pious Evelyn Vaughn was forced to execute her own heart, to claim her own life. 1 After I was admitted to the hospital and locked down, the person who visited me most often was Pierce Vaughn, the brother who had personally dragged me back from the airport. He never seemed to have a purpose for being there. He would just sit in my room for hours, watching me knit a scarf. Finally, I couldn’t bear the presence of my personal human freezer anymore. I dropped the yarn and looked at him, a headache starting behind my eyes. “You’ve got more than enough security guards to make sure I don’t run, Pierce. You don’t need to personally babysit me.” The words seemed to hit him. He shifted his gaze, looking away with a sudden, palpable shame. It took a long moment before he looked back, his voice thick and almost helpless. “Is there… anything you want?” He paused, a tiny, ragged breath slipping out. “Or, a wish? Before… before everything.” A wish? My fingers tightened on the knitting needles. The day I was brought back and locked up, I had been scheduled to board a flight north—to Montana—to finally see the snow. In my twenty-seven years, because of Willa’s perpetually fragile health, I had never once been allowed to leave the City. At the beginning of the year, the doctors had said Willa’s health was improving. The Vaughns had, finally, loosened their leash. But Willa, high on her newfound freedom, had gone skydiving and scuba diving with her boyfriend. Her broken body had immediately gone into shock and she’d been rushed to the hospital. Now the doctors needed a new heart. So, the snow I’d imagined a thousand times over became a fantasy I would never touch. And now, the chief architect of my predicament was asking me for my dying wish. As if speaking it would magically make him capable of granting it. I let out a soft, mocking laugh. Seeing the desperate, unyielding look on Pierce’s face, I gave a flippant answer. “Honeysuckle Jam, then.” Pierce blinked, confused, then said quietly, “Honeysuckle Jam. Mom loves that, too.” “You two are the only ones who like sweets, though. Willa won’t touch it. Says it’s too cloying.” I curled my lips and didn’t reply. I, the bastard daughter, wouldn’t dare compare myself to the Vaughn family’s saintly matriarch. Pierce had nothing more to say. He sat a bit longer, then rose to leave. He stopped at the door, his silhouette framed in the light, and glanced back at me. “Sloan. Believe it or not, after all these years, we genuinely see you as family.” I snorted. Family. The word was a horror movie soundtrack. I hoped I would never be reborn, just to avoid running into a family like this again. 2 For as long as I could remember, I knew the shame of my existence in the Vaughn house. I always hunched my shoulders, trying to minimize my presence, to become a shadow in the elegant corners. But that didn’t stop me from envying Willa. She was sick from birth, practically living in the hospital. When she was in crisis, Mrs. Vaughn would sit by her bedside all night, chanting and turning her prayer beads. Mr. Vaughn would drop everything to fly home and just see her. Pierce and Reid would scramble to find the newest toys and gadgets just to coax a single smile. Her room was a riot of fresh flowers and plush animals. Her supply of love was infinite. And I, minutes after having my blood drawn, would hide in the room next door, listening to the silver chime of her laughter. The blood loss left me weak and nauseous. But I wasn’t allowed the privilege of expressing my suffering as she did. When she was happy, she laughed loudly. When she was upset, she pouted and cried. When she was in pain, she wept. Every tear she shed earned her double the affection. My tears, my pain, were an inconvenience. My happiness was always ill-timed. To the Vaughn family, her life was precious. Mine, it seemed, was only meant to exist for the sake of hers. It was Reid Vaughn, the second son, who reminded me of this constantly. He hated me the most in the entire family. Moving my room to the suffocating attic was his idea. From grade school to college, he tirelessly educated anyone who would listen about my status as the illegitimate daughter. Thanks to him, I had very few peaceful moments growing up. His favorite line, delivered with a cool, cruel smile, was always: “Your usefulness to Willa is the single greatest purpose and value you will ever have, Sloan. You should be grateful.” Later, perhaps because Willa’s condition stabilized, he unexpectedly softened toward me. One day, I was carrying a stack of heavy old books down from the attic and nearly tripped on the staircase. He was right below and, without thinking, reached out and steadied me. He even asked if I was okay. When I said I was fine, he hesitated, then asked if I wanted to move my things out of the attic. That night, I was too terrified to sleep, wondering what kind of terrible prank he was setting up for me. Thankfully, Willa had another health scare and was admitted to the hospital. Reid reverted to his old self, finally stopping those strange, unsettling looks. Yet, when I was dragged back to the City and sent to the hospital for my final rounds of testing, he stayed by my side the entire time. His head was bowed, he never looked at me, but his hand was shaking violently. Even now, while I was confined here waiting for the operation, he hadn’t once come in to warn me to be docile and cooperative. I shook my head, clearing him from my mind. Instead, I focused on the black cashmere scarf in my hands. I held it up, admiring the progress. Just a little more. I should be able to finish it on the day of the surgery. I only hoped that the person who received this gift would have the opportunity to make it through the winter I wouldn’t see. 3 Later that evening, Pierce had his assistant deliver a jar of Honeysuckle Jam. A big, beautiful glass canister. I had just managed to twist off the lid when my door was flung open violently. The next second, the jar was knocked out of my hand and shattered on the floor. Reid’s voice, thick with rage, exploded in the room. “What did you say to Willa?” “She won’t agree to the surgery now! She was fine when she left her room, but after she saw you, she had a meltdown! Did you say something to upset her?!” I stared at the thick, golden jam spreading across the clean white tile floor for a long, quiet moment. Then, I lifted my head, meeting his frantic, bloodshot eyes. My voice was eerily calm, even to my own ears. “Yes.” “I told her I didn’t want to die. Is there a problem with that?” It was the unvarnished truth of my heart, but to a Vaughn, it was treason. Reid froze completely. I smiled, my eyes locked on his, and spoke with deliberate, measured cruelty. “I told her I was only twenty-seven, that I was too young, and that I didn’t want to die.” “Are you satisfied now, Reid?” All the color drained from his face. He stared at me, speechless. After a moment, he wrenched his gaze away and stumbled backward, practically sprinting out of the room without even closing the door behind him. The silence returned, leaving only the cloying, almost bitter scent of the ruined honeysuckle. I had lied to him. Willa had indeed been wheeled into my room that day, with Pierce in attendance, his eyes giving me constant, silent warnings. Willa believed I was in the hospital for an emergency appendectomy. Her face was pale, but she spoke to Pierce with a playful, almost childlike complaint. “Big Brother, you didn’t even tell me Sloan was here for surgery! Good thing I’m smart and saw you sneaking up the private elevator.” Pierce gently stroked her hair, his voice soft. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. My fault. I apologize.” Willa then turned to me, smiling. “Sloan, an appendix is nothing. Don’t be scared.” Her smile faded then. She lowered her eyes. “It’s not like me. I have to have a heart transplant in a few days. They’ll take my heart out… that must be awful, right?” I stood there, lifting my hand to my chest, touching the spot where my strong, healthy heart was currently beating with furious energy. Yes. Having your heart taken out must be awful. I’m terrified, too. She had left that day smiling brightly. I had no idea why she was suddenly refusing the surgery now, making Reid run in here like a rabid dog. He was the most fiercely protective of Willa in the entire family. He would literally fight anyone who dared to make her cry. I had to admit it—Willa had won the birth lottery. If there was a next life, I prayed I wouldn’t draw a script this rotten again. I sighed and slowly walked to the mess on the floor. I crouched down, dipped a finger into the sticky jam, and put it in my mouth. Sweet. So incredibly sweet. I licked my lips, looking at the pool of amber preserve. My voice was a soft whisper of regret. “Too bad I won’t get to taste this again.” 4 Willa came to my room again the night before the surgery. A nurse’s aide pushed her wheelchair. Her lips were dark, and she had an oxygen tube clipped to her nose. It took her a while to catch her breath before she spoke. “Sloan, tomorrow is the surgery. I’m scared.” I didn’t reply, my knitting needles clicking steadily, working on the last few rows of the scarf. Time was running out. She didn’t seem to need an answer. Her eyes were fixed on me as she spoke in a soft voice. “Sloan, do you… do you hate me?” “We’re both Vaughn children, and we were often sick at the same time. But Mom, Dad, and my brothers were always with me.” “And you… here…” The steel needle in my hand paused, and I suddenly missed a loop. She bowed her head, and I couldn’t see her expression, only hear the rattling sound of her breathing. “No.” I corrected the missed stitch. “There’s nothing to hate you for.” You just got used to it. I was first taken to the hospital for blood draws when I was five. At that age, my concept of ‘home’ hadn’t been completely crushed yet. I naively believed that if I helped my sister, I would finally be accepted into the family. So, when I was discharged, the first thing I did was cautiously reach out and take Mrs. Vaughn’s cold hand. I whispered, “Mom.” I don’t remember her exact expression that day. I only remember her telling me to go back and learn some manners. That was when I understood. Willa and I existed in entirely different universes. Later, as the blood draws became more frequent, they didn’t hurt as much. And later still, when they took my kidney, they granted me a small measure of privilege. I was moved out of the attic into a slightly nicer room, and I was given special, gourmet recovery meals for a few days. Not a single person, from beginning to end, told me the surgical details, or asked if I was willing. I got used to being taken from. I got used to preparing, with every critical prognosis for Willa, for the possibility that another part of my body might be claimed. I was only deeply, completely sorry that I wouldn’t get to see the snow in Montana. 5 Twelve hours before the operation, my scarf was finally finished. The black cashmere yarn, which I had chosen specifically, should complement his complexion beautifully. I smiled faintly, folding the scarf neatly and placing it on the bedside table. My gaze fell on the jar of Honeysuckle Jam next to it. It wasn’t the fancy glass canister Pierce had sent, but a simple, store-bought jar. It looked like a high-quality product. I didn’t know who had put it there. I only knew it appeared on my nightstand the moment I woke up. That morning, Mrs. Vaughn came to see me. She sat on the edge of my bed, her fingers twisting the prayer beads, and took my hand. She looked utterly exhausted. Every time Willa was hospitalized, Mrs. Vaughn would keep an all-night vigil at her beloved daughter’s bedside, staying awake for days. This time was no exception. She stared at me blankly for a long time. Finally, her eyes landed on the jam. “You like Honeysuckle Jam, too?” I nodded. Her eyes instantly flooded with tears. Large, heavy drops rolled down her cheeks without warning. “It’s so strange. Pierce told me you liked it, but I didn’t believe him.” “Willa is actually allergic to honeysuckle…” The last sentence was a mere whisper. Her tears flowed faster, and her grip on my hand tightened unconsciously, her nails almost digging into my skin. After a long pause, she regained her composure, looking at me. “Sloan, I have failed you. I won’t deny the sins I’ve committed.” “But I am a mother. I would rather die myself than fail to save my child.” I gently pulled my hand from hers and offered a faint, tired smile. “I know. Willa is truly blessed to have you as a mother.” I meant it. Willa was blessed. She had a mother willing to give everything for her. She had a family who cherished her like a rare jewel. Evelyn was silent for a moment. “When you were brought to the Vaughn house all those years ago, I hated you.” “I thought, Why is my child fighting for her life while you are healthy and smiling without a care?” “But Sloan, the more you gave to Willa, the harder it became for me to face you.” “What did you ever do wrong?” “I have no choice, Sloan. I owe you a debt that I can never repay.” “If you wish to come back and claim my life, I will not complain.” I looked at the tears at the corners of her eyes, feeling a sense of unreality. For years, Mrs. Vaughn had spent her days copying scriptures in the Vaughn chapel, seemingly detached from the world. But when distant relatives and house staff bullied me, it was she who stepped forward time and again to chase them off. Once, I was terribly sick with a high, raging fever. Through the haze, a cool hand rested on my forehead. I forced open my heavy eyelids and saw Mrs. Vaughn sitting on the edge of my small, narrow attic bed. Later, she gathered me into her arms and carried me downstairs. It was the first time she had ever held me, and it would be the only time in my life. I felt a pang of profound sadness. I had never met my mother. So, until my dying breath, I would never know if her embrace would have been as gentle as this one. 6 Just as the gurney was waiting at the door of my room, and the nurse was doing the final checklist before the operating room, Reid burst in. His eyes were terrifyingly red. He stammered, telling me disorganized memories from my childhood. Finally, he couldn’t speak anymore, his voice ragged as he repeated, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I didn’t respond, just watched him with quiet detachment. He stumbled back a step, covering his face with his hands, his shoulders beginning to heave. I didn’t know why he was having a nervous breakdown now, choosing to come bother me instead of being by his beloved sister’s side. But as I was about to die, I finally felt the freedom to speak the words I had always wanted to say. “Reid Vaughn!” He looked up at me. I smiled faintly. “Out of everyone in the Vaughn family, I hate you the most.” His face turned sickeningly white. I thought for a moment, then added, with a malicious satisfaction, “I will absolutely, unequivocally never forgive you.” Even as I was wheeled into the operating theater, I was savoring the memory of Reid’s ashen, frozen face. It was strangely satisfying. He looked like he had genuinely lost a beloved sister. And then, my world went dark.

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