Category: English

I drove five hours with our daughter to surprise him. But the moment he saw us, there was no joy in his eyes. Only shock. He was cheating on me. I asked him later: “In that moment, were you worried about me after that long drive, or were you terrified your new girlfriend would see me and our daughter?” 1. Ross was having an affair. The second he saw our daughter Angela and me standing there, his expression wasn’t one of happy surprise, but of pure, unadulterated shock. In that instant, I knew. His colleagues shuffled past, their faces tight with embarrassment. They wanted to say hello but were terrified of giving something away, so they just offered strained smiles and hurried off. Ross finally snapped out of his trance. He stepped forward, took Angela from my arms, and wrapped an arm around my shoulder, forcing a tone of delight. “Stella! What are you guys doing here?” I didn’t answer, just let him guide me numbly toward his car. Angela was ecstatic to see her dad. She clung to his neck, pressing her cheek against his, chattering away about all the latest news from her preschool. Watching their two faces, practically mirror images of each other, I felt a sharp, twisting pain in my chest. To keep Angela from noticing anything was wrong, I had to turn away and pretend to be absorbed in the scenery outside the window. Father and daughter chatted happily the whole way. I remained silent. When Ross asked where I wanted to go for dinner, I didn’t reply. 2. I managed to hold it together until we got to Ross’s apartment. I set Angela up in front of the TV, then followed Ross into the bedroom. “Give me your phone.” “What’s wrong?” He smiled and reached out to hug me, but I pushed him away. I held his gaze until he finally gave in and handed it over. The password hadn’t changed. It was still our wedding anniversary. How ironic. I unlocked it, opened his messages, and let my intuition guide me. My eyes landed on a contact named “Amber.” She was a colleague of his. Their last exchange was from forty minutes ago. Amber: “I’m working late tonight. When you come pick me up, can you grab some takeout? I’m craving those dumplings from that place on South Street~” Ross’s reply: “You and your cravings~” I scrolled up. They texted every single day. On all those days he’d told me he was too busy to even eat, he had been sharing every little detail of his life with Amber. And they were colleagues. They worked in the same building. 3. Ross and I had been together for almost a decade—three and a half years dating, six years married. We had a beautiful, bright five-year-old daughter. Two years ago, he’d taken a promotion that required him to relocate. He promised that as soon as he was settled, he’d move Angela and me over to join him. I waited patiently, never complaining, no matter how exhausting it was to raise our child alone. But the chat logs told a different story. The night Angela and I were both sick with a fever, he’d claimed he was swamped with work. In reality, he was celebrating Amber’s birthday. The time I got into a car accident and broke my leg, and he said he couldn’t get away from the office for Angela’s parent-teacher conference, he was actually on a weekend trip with Amber. And on Valentine’s Day, he sent me a simple “Love you” text. To Amber, he sent a screenshot of a reservation for a romantic getaway, captioned, “Forever and always.” Forever and always with her? Then what was I? Before seeing those messages, I had never once suspected Ross would cheat. I believed his ambition was for our family, that his loyalty to our marriage was absolute. But the old saying was true. No woman ever makes it out of her husband’s phone alive. Every message between him and Amber was a knife, twisting deeper into my heart. The pain was a tidal wave, so powerful it threatened to drown me. I felt the air leave my lungs, my vision tunneling as the world went dark at the edges. Ross steadied me as I swayed, his voice thick with guilt. “Stella, I’m so sorry. But I swear, nothing physical ever happened between us.” “And by ‘physical,’ you mean… sex?” “We didn’t.” “So, in your mind, you’ve done nothing wrong?” 4. His answer didn’t matter anymore. I handed his phone back, walked out of the bedroom, and said to our daughter, “Angela, sweetie, we have to go home now.” Angela looked up, confused. “Mommy, why are we leaving so soon? You said we were staying with Daddy all weekend.” “Mommy has something urgent to take care of back home. We’ll come visit Daddy another time.” As I carried her out the door, she was still bewildered, but she could see the look on my face and knew not to ask any more questions. Ross ran after us, grabbing my arm. “You just got here. At least stay for the weekend.” “No.” He and Amber had plans to go camping this weekend. I wouldn’t want to get in their way. “Come home on Monday,” I said, my voice flat. “We have things to take care of.” I didn’t say the word “divorce” in front of Angela, but Ross understood. He tightened his grip. “You just drove five hours to get here. You can’t drive another five hours back. It’s too much for you.” Did he really care about that? In that first, shocking moment when he saw us, was he worried about my long drive, or was he terrified Amber would see us? As we stood there in a silent standoff, I heard the click of the apartment door opening. It was Amber. She had used her fingerprint to unlock the door. “Ross, I…” She trailed off when she saw me. 5. For a few seconds, my mind went completely blank. Then I remembered what Ross had just said. Nothing physical ever happened. A regular colleague has her fingerprint programmed into your door lock? As I shot Ross a look of pure scorn, an even bigger blow landed. Angela recognized her. “Hi, Amber!” our daughter chirped. Amber’s face flushed with awkwardness, but her eyes held a spark of defiance. She had told Ross she was working late, yet here she was. It was obvious she had come here for me. “You didn’t answer your phone,” she said to Ross, her voice trembling slightly. “I was worried something might have happened, so…” Ross didn’t offer an explanation. “You should go,” he said curtly. Amber hesitated, then said something truly astounding. “Well, since I’m already here, can’t I join you all for dinner? I’m sure your wife and Angela wouldn’t mind, right?” Ross’s face darkened, his eyes flashing with anger. I had no energy to watch their little performance. I pried his hand off my arm and walked out. 6. In the elevator, Angela wrapped her arms around my neck and asked quietly, “Mommy, do you not like Amber?” I swallowed the grief and pain rising in my throat and asked in the most normal voice I could manage, “Why, sweetie? Do you know her well?” Angela nodded. “One time Daddy was busy with work, so he asked Amber to watch me. She made me a sandwich.” “When was this?” “During my last school break.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” Angela thought for a moment. “I’m sorry, Mommy. I forgot…” But I knew it wasn’t that she forgot. Ross must have told her not to mention Amber to me. Before today, I had never thought to ask Angela if there were any other women around her father. I never imagined he would cheat, and I didn’t want to poison my daughter’s mind. Something I could have discovered with a single question, and instead, I’d been wearing this crown of thorns for who knows how long. I felt like a joke. 7. As I started the car, I noticed my hands were shaking. My vision was blurred with tears. Angela must have been missing her dad already. From her car seat in the back, she whispered, “Mommy, do we really have to go now? I miss Daddy…” I couldn’t speak. There was a lump in my throat so large it felt like it was choking me. I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, a sob would be the only thing to come out. Just then, Ross appeared in front of the car, standing there, blocking my path. He mouthed the words, “Get out.” Angela’s little voice piped up again. “Mommy, Daddy’s here! Can we stay?” He knew she didn’t understand. He was using her, deliberately. If I insisted on leaving now, in Angela’s eyes, I would be the one throwing a tantrum. He was the one who had an affair, yet he was painting me as the villain. I lowered my head and shakily typed two words into my phone and sent them to him: “Move.” 8. He didn’t move. We were locked in a stalemate for several minutes until I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that Angela was silently wiping tears from her eyes. She missed her dad. She didn’t want to go. My heart broke all over again. Angela hadn’t spent much time with Ross since she was a baby. The only reason she adored him so much, beyond their blood tie, was because I constantly told her how wonderful her father was. But was he really so wonderful? While his wife was on crutches with a broken leg, he was off on vacation with another woman. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I collapsed onto the steering wheel, my body shaking with uncontrollable sobs. Seeing me break down, Ross immediately came over and opened the driver’s side door. “You’re in no condition to drive. Come back inside with me.” I refused. I would rather die than set foot in that apartment again. Amber’s presence was probably all over it. The two of them cuddling on the sofa, laughing together in the kitchen, kissing in the bedroom… Vile images flooded my mind, weaving a net so tight around me I could barely breathe. 9. In the end, we compromised. I didn’t go home, and he didn’t force me back to his place. We got a family suite at a hotel. I would sleep with Angela, and he would take the other bed. After Angela fell asleep, Ross tried to talk to me, but I shut him down. I didn’t want to hear any more of his lies. I just wanted the night to be over so I could go home. I was in an unfamiliar city. If something happened, I had no one to call for help. But I never expected that when I woke up the next morning, both his parents and my parents would be there. They had listened to his one-sided story and had come to a conclusion. They believed he had simply shown poor judgment and hadn’t really cheated. They urged me to think of Angela and not to file for divorce. I wasn’t surprised that his parents took his side. What truly broke my heart was that my own parents did too. 10. They didn’t understand what I was going through. Instead, they accused me of being dramatic. My mother pulled me aside, her voice low but dripping with disapproval. “Ross told us everything. Yes, he crossed a line, but it’s not worth throwing away your marriage over. He’s already promised us he’ll never see that woman again.” “It’s not about whether he sees her again! His heart isn’t with me anymore.” Seeing I wouldn’t back down, my mother glared at me. “It’s a wife’s job to hold onto her husband’s heart. If you can’t, then you have to learn to look the other way.” I couldn’t believe those words were coming from my own mother, from another woman. She knew Angela was my weak spot, and she twisted the knife without hesitation. “If you divorce him, do you really think you can win custody? You know what they say, once a stepmother moves in, the father’s attention follows. Can you really trust him to put Angela first?” “And even if you did get custody, how would you work and raise a child by yourself? You’d need our help, wouldn’t you? Your father and I are getting old. Don’t put us through that.” Her words backed me into a corner. Ross and his parents also made it clear, both subtly and overtly, that they would never give up custody of Angela. Was I supposed to stay trapped in this dead marriage forever? I refused to accept that. 11. Before I got married, I had a promising career of my own. Ross and I graduated from the same university. We were equals in education and ability. If I hadn’t sacrificed for our family, for our child, I would be just as successful as him, a force to be reckoned with in my field. And now, the very sacrifices I made for our family were being used as leverage against me. Because I had no income, I had no chance of winning custody. And Ross, after everything, thought a simple “I won’t do it again” could erase it all. My parents thought I was overreacting. My daughter knew nothing. I was the only one left to suffer, losing twenty pounds in two weeks from the sheer stress and grief. 12. Just when everyone assumed I had given in, my best friend, Maya, helped me quietly find a lawyer and a private investigator. For six long months, we gathered evidence. Ross had only managed to keep his distance from Amber for the first month. After that, convinced that my financial dependence left me powerless, he grew bold, meeting her in secret under the guise of work commitments. At first, he thought I didn’t know. Later, he assumed I was too scared to speak up. After all, both sets of parents were on his side, and I was just a housewife with no income. How could I possibly challenge him? In those dark days, I was so grateful for Maya. When she found out Ross was cheating, she didn’t tell me to turn a blind eye like everyone else. She didn’t push me to file for divorce immediately. Instead, she helped me strategize, step by step, to figure out the best course of action for me and my future. A rotten marriage needs to be cut away. Even if the sunk costs are immense, you have to let go. My life wasn’t over. I couldn’t spend the rest of it in misery, watching myself wither away. 13. When my lawyer informed me that we had enough evidence to confront Ross, I asked my daughter, “Angela, if Mommy and Daddy were to separate, who would you want to live with?” Angela looked at me quietly for a long moment, then answered with perfect clarity, “With you, Mommy.” “Why is that?” “Because Grandma and Grandpa, and Nana and Papa, they all love Daddy a lot. But you’re all alone. If I stay with you, you won’t be lonely.” I had never expected that answer. The impact of her words was more than I could bear. Tears streamed down my face, completely beyond my control. Angela reached up with her little hand to wipe them away, trying to wrap her small arms around me in a hug. “Mommy, if you’re sad, you have to tell me, okay? I can read you a story.” “I saw you crying the other night when I got up to go to the bathroom.” “Daddy never comes to see us. He’s a mean person!” I thought she was oblivious to it all, but she had seen my pain. She was just too young to know how to comfort me. 14. In the dead of night, long after Angela had fallen asleep, I picked up my phone and called Ross. It rang and rang. Just as I was about to hang up, someone answered. It was Amber’s voice. “Stella? The company had a dinner tonight. We’re still out.” “Put Ross on.” “He’s had a bit too much to drink.” “Unless he’s dead, put him on the phone.” She stammered for a moment before Ross took the phone. “Stella, don’t misunderstand. It was a work dinner, a lot of people were here.” “You don’t need to explain anything to me. I’ve emailed you the divorce papers. As soon as you’ve looked them over, I expect you back here to sign them.” Ross was silent for a moment, then his voice erupted in fury. “Stella, what is this? Another one of your games? You really think I’m afraid to get a divorce? Let’s see how you survive without me. And I’m keeping Angela. You will never see her again!”

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On my way to a tutoring session, I ran into my brother’s fiancée. She was on the arm of a strange man, her smile as bright as a blooming flower. A wicked little thrill went through me as I snapped a picture and immediately sent it to my brother, Liam. “Congrats. Looks like she’s upgrading.” Five minutes later, a few terse words appeared on my screen. “That’s her brother.” “Dumbass.” 1 Staring at the word ‘dumbass’ on the screen, a familiar ache bloomed in my chest. I should have known better. Liam never spared my feelings, especially not when I made a fool of myself like this. Ever since a high fever I had as a kid, my processing speed has been… slow. The doctors said my intelligence was unaffected, but it was like my brain was running on a delay. A sentence someone else understood in a second, I’d have to turn over and over in my mind. In class, by the time an answer finally surfaced from the depths of my thoughts, the teacher had already moved on. After that, Liam barely spoke to me. He found me “clumsy,” “a step behind,” and his attitude was contagious. Soon, my parents started to manage me less and less. They never took me to family gatherings or social events, as if I were a secret to be kept locked away. I stared at the word on my phone, my eyes slowly turning red. Just then, a gentle hand tapped my shoulder. I whipped around to see Keith standing behind me, holding a freshly bought ice cream cone. His smile was as warm as the afternoon sun. “Luna? What are you doing standing here all by yourself? You look a million miles away.” He pressed the cone into my hand, his voice soft enough to melt the hurt inside me. “Did something happen?” Keith and I grew up together. He was a great student with a kind heart, always surrounded by friends. But with me, he had a special kind of patience. No matter how long it took me to find my words, he would always wait. I think I’ve been in love with him for a very long time. It just took me until last year to finally realize it. That tight, heavy feeling in my chest whenever I saw him talking to someone else? That was love. My fingers crumpled the cone’s paper wrapper as I quietly told him what had happened. As the story tumbled out, so did my tears. “Keith… does my brother really look down on me that much?” Keith reached out and gently wiped a tear from my cheek. “Don’t overthink it,” he soothed. “Liam’s bark is worse than his bite. He doesn’t mean to be cruel.” He paused, then offered a small smile. “Come on, let’s take a walk by the river. The fresh air will do you good.” I nodded, following him. The ice cream was starting to melt, dripping cool against the back of my hand. As we walked, Keith filled the silence with lighthearted stories from his college classes, telling me how he almost flubbed a question from a professor and how the corner store near campus had a new, amazing kind of loaded fries. He was trying so hard to be funny, and he kept slowing his pace to make sure I could keep up. Listening to him, the knot of misery in my stomach began to loosen. I snuck a glance at him. The sun caught the sharp line of his jaw, and when he smiled, his eyes curved into crescents. He was beautiful. I thought to myself that if I could just keep walking with him like this forever, everything might be okay. But then, a familiar, sugary voice called out from behind us. “Keith!” We both turned. Emma was hurrying toward us, her ponytail bouncing with every step. Emma was the girl my parents had taken in a year after my fever. She was smart, charming, and quickly won over my parents and Liam. Even Keith spent a lot of time with her. The fragile bubble of peace around me popped. My mood sank again. Emma wedged herself between us, her arrival announced by a cloud of gardenia perfume that instantly overpowered Keith’s clean, subtle scent of soap. I instinctively shuffled to the side, my fingers twisting the hem of my shirt. Keith’s smile for her was just as gentle. “Emma. I saw Luna was having a rough day, so I asked you to come. You two are the same age, you grew up together. I thought maybe you could cheer her up.” I stared at the ground, digging my nails into the denim of my jeans. A bitter taste filled my mouth. Emma and I were never close. As the sponsored student my parents eventually fostered, her intelligence and beauty made her the “perfect child” they always talked about. They praised her for being sharp and sensible, which only made me, the slow one, seem even more like a burden. When there were snacks, they’d ask what Emma wanted. When they bought new clothes, they’d take Emma to the mall to pick out whatever she liked, never once asking me my favorite color. Even Liam was more patient with her, sometimes spending hours helping her with homework while I sat in the same room, invisible. I knew it was petty to feel this way, but seeing the affection they showered on her compared to the neglect I received felt like a physical weight on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Emma turned to me, her smile cloyingly sweet. “Luna, what’s wrong? You looked like you were about to cry. Did something bad happen?” I met her wide, innocent eyes, but the words wouldn’t come. I couldn’t tell her I was upset because my own brother had called me a ‘dumbass.’ That would only make her see me as even more pathetic. I stammered for a moment before finally mumbling, “It’s… it’s nothing. I just had a fight with my brother.” Emma waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, that’s just Liam,” she said casually. “You know how he is. Don’t take it to heart. He acts tough, but deep down, he really cares about you.” Hearing the familiar way she spoke about him made my stomach clench. I was his real sister, yet he’d never shown me an ounce of kindness. Emma, on the other hand, received his patience so effortlessly. I pressed my lips together and said nothing more. An awkward silence fell over us. Keith, ever the peacemaker, jumped in. “Hey Emma, have you eaten yet? It’s getting late. Why don’t we grab a bite? I know a great BBQ joint just around the corner.” Emma’s eyes lit up. “Yes! I’ve been craving BBQ forever!” I hesitated. I needed to get home and start my homework. As a senior, the workload was already crushing, and it took me twice as long as anyone else to finish. If I stayed out, I’d be up all night. But then I thought about how busy Keith was with college. We barely saw each other anymore. I couldn’t bear to pass up this rare chance to be with him. I swallowed the words I was about to say and quietly followed them to the restaurant. The BBQ joint was a small, bustling place on the side of the street. We found a booth by the window, and Keith took the menu, naturally asking Emma and me what we wanted. The food came quickly, filling the air with the rich, smoky scent of grilling meat. Keith picked up the tongs and started cooking a few slices of pork belly for me, my favorite. Across the table, Emma was a whirlwind of motion, chattering about her life at school—the award her club had just won, a funny story about a classmate. She was a big deal at school, always the center of attention, and her face glowed with pride as she spoke. I just sat there, listening silently, unable to find a single opening to join the conversation. In a burst of excitement, Emma threw her hands up to emphasize a point. Her arm knocked against the water glass beside her. With a sharp crack, the glass toppled, hitting the edge of the hot grill. The metal plate lost its balance and tipped, sending a cascade of sizzling meat and scalding grease straight toward me. A searing pain shot up my arm, sharp and dizzying, like a thousand tiny needles. A scream tore from my throat, and tears instantly flooded my eyes. The hot grease sizzled on my skin, a vicious heat that felt like it was boring straight through to the bone. Keith jumped, the tongs clattering from his hand. He shot up from his seat and raced to the counter, returning a moment later with a cup of ice water. He gently took my wrist, his voice laced with panic as he poured the cold water over the burn. “Luna, are you okay? Does it hurt a lot?” Emma, who had initially flinched back in shock, suddenly let out a small laugh. The sound was sharp, dripping with undisguised mockery. “Wow, Luna,” she said, a smirk playing on her lips. “For someone who’s usually so slow, you dodged that pretty fast. Who knows? Maybe a few more shocks like that will finally fix the ‘side effects’ from your childhood fever.” Side effects. The words struck me like a physical blow. My head snapped up, my eyes wide with disbelief. The burn, the shock—it all fueled a furious red haze. The fact that my fever had left me with a slower processing speed was a secret I never, ever talked about. I barely told anyone. How could she possibly know? Sensing my stare, Emma stuck out her tongue in a parody of innocence. “Oops. Did I say too much?” I clenched my good hand into a fist, my nails digging into my palm. I fought to keep my voice from shaking. “How… how did you know about my fever?” Her eyes flickered toward Keith for a fraction of a second before settling back on me. “Oh, you know,” she said with a lazy drawl. “Last month, when I went with Keith and your brother to that new resort your family opened? They brought it up.” She paused, adding a hollow apology. “Sorry, Luna. I just assumed it wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t realize you were so sensitive about it. I won’t mention it again.” My vision swam with angry tears. So that was it. My deepest, most painful secret had been served up as casual conversation fodder between my brother and the boy I loved. Keith saw the look on my face and became flustered. He patted my shoulder, trying to placate me. “Luna, don’t be upset. Liam and I were just talking, it didn’t mean anything. Emma probably didn’t think it was a big deal either. She wasn’t trying to make fun of you. Don’t take it personally.” “Just talking?” I shot back, my voice trembling with rage. “Keith, that’s my life! It’s the one thing I never wanted anyone to know! How could you just… just tell someone like that?” A wave of humiliation and fury washed over me, and the past came rushing back in a vivid, painful flood. I wasn’t always like this. I used to be bright, a good student. My parents used to be proud to show me off. That fever changed everything. I had assumed that no matter how much Liam disliked me, he would never use that against me. After all, what happened that day… it was his fault. The memory of the fever was a nightmare I kept buried deep inside, but now it clawed its way to the surface. It was a Saturday. Liam was going to the river with his friends and didn’t want me tagging along. He pulled a few crumpled bills from his pocket and pressed them into my hand. “Luna, go to the corner store and get me a soda. An ice-cold one. When you get back, I’ll let you play with us.” I was only eight. The promise of being included was all I needed. I clutched the money and ran. But when I returned with the cold bottle, the riverbank was empty. Liam was gone. I searched along the water’s edge until two strange men blocked my path. They said they knew where my brother was. I took a few steps with them before a cold dread washed over me. I turned to run, but they grabbed me. I fought with all my might, twisting and kicking until I lost my footing and tumbled into the river. The July water looked calm, but its chill was shocking, cutting straight to my bones. I swallowed mouthfuls of murky water, flailing desperately until my hands closed around a drifting branch. I managed to pull myself to the bank, shivering and gasping. The men, spooked by my fall, had already vanished. Soaked and freezing, I stumbled home. It was dark by the time I walked through the door. My parents were frantic. As they rushed toward me, demanding to know where I’d been, Liam hid behind them and muttered, “I don’t know. She said she wanted to go play by herself. I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen.” I opened my mouth to tell them the truth, but Liam shot me a look so full of venom and warning that the words died in my throat. That night, the fever hit. I burned for two weeks straight. The doctors told my parents to prepare for the worst. I survived, but a part of me didn’t. When the fever finally broke, I was slow. I was different. I was broken. For all these years, I never blamed Liam. He was just a kid, I told myself. He was scared. But now I knew the truth. He didn’t just feel no guilt; he had turned my deepest wound into a punchline for his friends. And Keith… Keith was the person I trusted most in the world. I thought he, of all people, would understand how much that secret hurt me, how much I needed it kept safe. But he had treated it just as carelessly as my brother. I looked at Keith’s desperate face, then at Emma’s smug one. The weight of it all, the years of hurt and betrayal, crashed down on me, and I couldn’t breathe. I yanked my arm from his grasp, scrambled to my feet, and ran. “Luna!” Keith called after me, but I didn’t look back. I just needed to get away from the suffocating air, from the people who broke my heart without a second thought. I leaned against a lamppost on the street corner, the city lights blurring through my tears. My heart felt raw and hollow. I couldn’t go home—not to Liam’s cold glare and my parents’ blatant favoritism. I just wanted to be alone. I wandered aimlessly through the streets. I don’t know how long I walked, but eventually, I came across a small stall where a boy was sketching portraits. He was bent over his easel, his focus absolute. When he saw me approaching, he waved me over with a friendly smile. I was in no mood. I didn’t even look up. “No, thanks,” I mumbled. “I’m not feeling it.” But he was persistent. “That’s the best time to look at something nice,” he said, his voice bright and cheerful. “Here, look what I just finished. Cute, right?” He turned his easel around. On it was a charming drawing of a little bunny clutching a carrot. The lines were soft, the colors warm. It was unexpectedly soothing. The sound of his voice stirred something in my memory. My head snapped up. When I saw his face, my eyes went wide. “It’s you?” I breathed.

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1 Three years after my death, my husband Mitte came to the old estate seeking me for the first time—for his mentor’s daughter. “Get Elara to the hospital. Anna needs her uterus,” he commanded coldly. The butler replied truthfully, “Sir, the lady passed away three years ago. As you instructed us not to bother you with her matters, we arranged her burial ourselves.” Mitte sneered. “Still playing games? She even bribed the Thornes’ butler. I’ll find her myself.” He stormed in with Anna Vance, ransacking the house—but found no trace of me. They left in anger. On the road, Anna whined, “Last time it was just a kidney—why the drama? How can I give you a child without a womb?” “Relax,” Mitte said. “She can’t hide forever.” No sooner had he spoken than their car veered and crashed into a monastery wall. When they woke, they were in the Netherworld. And I was nearby, processing the newly departed. … Perhaps the crash had addled their minds, but neither of them realized they were dead. When Mitte saw me sitting there, perfectly fine, a wave of relief washed over him, quickly followed by a surge of fury. He pointed a finger at me, his voice sharp with accusation. “Elara! Did you bribe the butler and go into hiding? How can you be so petty? It’s just a uterus. It’s not going to kill you.” I ignored him, busy guiding the new arrival in front of me to sign their final confirmation. Infuriated, he strode over and swept the desk clean with one violent motion. “I’m talking to you! Holding a grudge for three years… you’ve really got some nerve.” My work now thoroughly interrupted, I looked up at him calmly, my voice low and steady. “Wasn’t one kidney enough?” It happened on our wedding day. Anna, a guest of honor, never showed up. Mitte, frantic after a dozen unanswered calls, abruptly announced the wedding was postponed and left me standing at the altar without a backward glance. I waited in my heavy wedding gown until darkness fell, only to hear he was at the hospital. Anna was gravely ill and needed a kidney transplant. She produced a tissue-typing report claiming I was the only match. I refused, vehemently. In the end, Mitte had his men drag me to a hospital bed. He held up a marriage certificate, telling me that as my husband, he had already signed the donation consent form on my behalf. “One kidney won’t affect your life,” he had said. “No matter what, you are my wife. I’ll take good care of you from now on.” After the surgery, too weak to even sit up, I accidentally knocked over the soup Anna had supposedly made herself. For that, Mitte had me locked away in the old family estate to “reflect,” before I was even strong enough to get out of bed. If Anna hadn’t needed a womb, I doubt Mitte would have ever remembered I existed. “How could it be enough?” he scoffed now, then paused. “You are still my wife. Besides, Anna and I have already discussed it. If you feel uncomfortable, she’ll leave the country as soon as the baby is born and never come back.” “I won’t see them, either,” he added. “I’ll stay home with you, and we’ll raise our children together.” “Our children?” The idea was so ludicrous I had to laugh. “With my womb inside Anna, where exactly am I supposed to grow these children?” Mitte shot me a disdainful look. “Do you think Anna is as selfish as you? She said she’ll have two. One for us.” I looked over at Anna with a wry smile. She clung to Mitte’s arm, her expression soft and fragile. “Did I make Elara angry? Maybe… maybe we should just forget it.” “Ignore her,” Mitte snapped. “She forced you to leave the country once before and you never said a word of complaint. They say childbirth is like walking through the gates of hell. She gets to be a mother without any of the pain. She should be grateful, not angry.” “I made a sacred vow to your father on his deathbed that I would take care of you for life. Since you’ve decided not to marry and only want a child to keep you company, it’s my duty to make that happen.” Tears of gratitude welled in Anna’s eyes. The two of them were lost in their own world, their gazes locked in a tender, intimate embrace. But I had a job to do. I had no choice but to interrupt. “These are the gates of hell. You two are new arrivals. Please register here.” 2 The tenderness vanished from Mitte’s face, replaced by a simmering rage. “That’s enough, Elara. Anna’s health is fragile. Who are you trying to curse with that kind of morbid talk?” He glanced around, a smirk playing on his lips. “You hired quite a few people, didn’t you? It’s a convincing setup. Now, come with me. The operating room is prepped and ready. Don’t waste the doctors’ time.” He reached for my hand. In that flash of contact, I saw the last few hours of his life. After failing to find me, he had forced the butler to tell him where I was hiding. The old man sighed, his voice weary. “Ma’am is truly gone, sir. I handled her funeral myself, three years ago. If you don’t believe me, you can see for yourself at the monastery outside the city. Her ashes are kept there. She had no family, and without your permission, she couldn’t be interred in the Thorne family crypt. It was the only arrangement I could make.” “Enough of your lies! You tell Elara my mind is made up. If she doesn’t show herself, I’ll deal with an old fool like you, too.” He shoved the butler to the floor and sped towards the city outskirts. At the monastery, they immediately spotted the urn bearing my name. Ignoring the protests of a young monk, Mitte pried it open without hesitation. “It’s just ash from a fire pit,” Anna goaded from his side, fanning the flames of his anger. “To think she’d even deceive the church. Elara is determined to defy us to the very end, isn’t she?” Rage consumed him. Mitte tossed the contents of the urn into a nearby pond. He called his assistant, ordering him to hire every private investigator in the city to find me. “I don’t care if I have to dig up the entire country,” he seethed. “She will give you that womb.” He didn’t notice the triumphant smirk on Anna’s face behind him. Neither of them realized that just a few minutes later, their journey would end in the Netherworld. Seeing his disbelief, I grabbed a passing soul. “How did you die?” “Drowned while swimming in the river.” “Gas leak. Asphyxiated.” “I was too focused on my game… held my pee until my bladder burst. They couldn’t save me,” a young man behind them added with a grimace. “Hahaha!” Amidst the collective sighs of the dead, a jarring laugh rang out. “These actors are quite dedicated,” Anna giggled, nestled in Mitte’s arms. “They even have their lines down.” He looked at me with a cold smile. “And you? How did you die?” How I died. If he had lived just a little longer, he would have found out. Back then, I was thrown into the old estate while my wounds were still bleeding. The only people there were the old butler and the guards stationed to prevent my escape. The room was damp and cold. My surgical wound became infected. When the butler called Mitte, he’d snapped, “As long as Elara’s still breathing, don’t bother me. Let her learn some humility. It’s not like being a pampered wife is some great hardship.” I couldn’t get out, and no doctor could get in. The butler, helpless, could only buy some over-the-counter medicine and tend to my wounds himself. Day after agonizing day, my body wasted away. My organs began to fail. When I finally died, the butler called Mitte one last time. He was in the middle of throwing a lavish birthday party for Anna. “She’s always scheming for attention. Just hearing her name annoys me,” he’d muttered, blocking the estate’s number without a second thought. From that day on, he never heard another word about me. Mitte’s hands clenched into fists. He didn’t want to believe it, but a suffocating tightness gripped his chest. “Mitte, it’s not just me who’s dead. The two of you are dead as well. A car crash.” His pupils contracted. He snapped his head up, his eyes locking with mine. 3 “Mitte, darling, you don’t actually believe her nonsense, do you?” Before Mitte could answer, the Adjudicator floated over, holding a stack of files. Anna shrieked and buried her face in Mitte’s chest. “A ghost!” “What’s with all the screaming? Honestly, some of you newcomers take forever to accept reality,” the Adjudicator grumbled, handing the files to me. “Elara, you’ve accumulated enough merit. You have two choices: a promotion in rank, or reincarnation into a wealthy and powerful family. Of course, you could also give your chance to a newly deceased relative, allowing them to return to life. But it’s your merit to use. You might not get a chance this good again.” Shaken from his shock, Mitte asked the Adjudicator hesitantly, “Are we… really dead?” “Indeed. Though Elara has been here for three years. You two are fresh arrivals. Do you know each other?” “Yes,” Mitte said quickly. “I am her husband.” The Adjudicator eyed the clinging couple with suspicion, and Mitte hastily let go of Anna. “What you said just now… about a relative returning to life. Is that true?” “I don’t lie to the dead. Elara’s ancestors were people of great virtue, and she herself was a victim of malice. The Lord of this realm has granted her this opportunity to earn her way back to the living.” “Elara,” Mitte said, his voice dripping with affection. “What?” I took a wary step back. “You want to go back?” “How could you think so little of me? When have I ever put myself before you?” he explained, a wounded look on his face. “Please, could you give the chance to Anna? Let her go back. Consider it my way of repaying the debt I owe her father.” I refused without a moment’s hesitation. The story of his debt to his mentor was one he had drilled into my ears countless times. He was the illegitimate son of the Thorne family. After his mother was forced to her death, the killer came for him next. It was Anna’s father who saved him. Anna’s father was a widely respected professor. His reputation shielded Mitte from the wrath of the Thorne family’s matriarch, allowing him to grow up and eventually secure his inheritance. So, in his mind, his favoritism was justified. When he gave Anna extravagant gifts that crossed the line, my anger was just jealousy. When he abandoned me on the side of the road in a downpour to take Anna’s dog home, my accusations were just pettiness. When he said Anna’s health was poor, it became my duty to give up a kidney, and then my womb. His so-called debt of gratitude was paid entirely with pieces of me. And now, even in death, he wouldn’t let me be. “You’re as stubborn and ungrateful as ever,” Mitte said, his voice laced with disappointment. “If it weren’t for Anna’s father, I wouldn’t have survived. And without me, where would your precious status as Mrs. Thorne have come from?” Seeing that I was unmoved, he turned to the Adjudicator. “In life, she was a member of the Thorne family. Doesn’t that mean her merit and her opportunity belong to our family as well?” The Adjudicator mulled it over. “That’s not an entirely incorrect way of looking at it.” “Then, as the head of the Thorne family and Elara’s husband, I demand that this chance to return to life be given to Anna Vance.” I watched in shock as he lunged for the Ledger of Merits in my hands. In the struggle, the ledger fell, its pages scattering across the floor. As the Adjudicator helped pick them up, he glanced at a page. “Wait a minute. According to this, Elara was unmarried in her mortal life. She received no formal betrothal, nor was her name ever entered into your family’s official records. What kind of husband are you?” While he spoke, the Adjudicator pulled up Mitte’s mortal file. “The only wife you ever officially registered was named Anna Vance.” Mitte’s hands froze. He shot a furtive, guilty glance in my direction. “It was your fault,” he stammered, trying to explain. “You insisted on posting photos of my proposal on social media. Anna felt insecure. I had to do something to appease her.” 4 It was true. I had been a fool. The day Mitte proposed, I was ecstatic. I thought, He wasn’t lying. He really does love me, and Anna is just like a sister to him. I even chastised myself for my own paranoia. But half an hour later, Anna stormed into our engagement party and smashed a glass against my forehead without a word. On the way to the hospital, Mitte explained that she was just young and impulsive. As her future sister-in-law, I needed to be more tolerant. The doctor warned that I might have a concussion and needed to be monitored through the night. But Mitte left in a hurry in the middle of the night, not even bothering to arrange for a nurse. He returned the next afternoon with a beaming Anna by his side. Seeing the blood seeping through the bandages on my head, she offered only a feather-light “sorry.” And now I knew. Even that hollow apology was bought with a marriage certificate bearing my fiancé’s name and hers. “What about the marriage certificate from the day you forced me to donate my kidney?” I asked. “I… I had no choice. Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Though I should have been numb to it by now, a bitter, pained laugh escaped me. In all our years together, all I ever warranted was a “desperate measure.” “Elara, even though I legally married Anna, you were still Mrs. Thorne in name. Everyone knew you as my wife. That’s a fact that can’t be changed. Once we send Anna back, you and I can be together, reunited as husband and wife, even here in the Netherworld.” I shook my head, the taste of ashes in my mouth. “Mitte, I am not your wife, and I don’t love you anymore. My seven years with you on earth… let’s just call it a trial I had to endure. From this moment on, we are strangers.” “Mitte, darling,” Anna whispered, tugging on his sleeve. “Does this mean Elara still hasn’t forgiven me? It’s okay. As long as I have you with me, I don’t care about life or death.” “Look at Anna, and then look at yourself,” Mitte spat at me. “You used to say you loved me. Did you love me, or my status? You know the answer. And what about me? Was the love I gave you worth nothing?” “Whether you see it as compensation or atonement, I don’t care. This chance must go to Anna.” Mitte lunged forward, snatching the Ledger of Merits and thrusting it at Anna. “Go. Quickly.” Anna scurried over to the Redemption Counter. “I want to return to the world of the living.” The attendant checked the amount of merit, then placed the Scale of Sins against her wrist. The moment it made contact, the Scale let out a piercing shriek. “Irredeemable sin. Condemned to the Abyss.” Thinking it was a mistake, the attendant tried again. The result was the same. His expression turned grim. He confiscated the Ledger and ordered the other attendants to restrain Anna. “A severe mismatch. Report this to the higher authorities immediately.” By then, the Adjudicator and I had arrived. “Why are you chaining her?” Mitte demanded, grabbing at the shackles on Anna. “I’m the one who took the ledger. If there’s a problem, deal with me.” “Anna is kind and gentle,” he insisted, glaring at me. “This must be Elara’s doing. You’re selfish and cruel, and now you’re framing Anna. I’m so disappointed in you. We don’t want your charity if you don’t agree, but—” He seemed to have a sudden realization and turned to the Adjudicator with renewed confidence. “While I was alive, I donated a great deal of money to a charity in Anna’s name. She used it all for good deeds. Even if she doesn’t deserve special treatment, it’s impossible for her to have committed any sins.” “The Scale of Sins does not make mistakes,” the Adjudicator stated flatly. “In that case, bring me the Life Record of this Anna Vance.” An attendant soon returned with a thick, heavy book. The Adjudicator’s face grew darker with every page he turned. “So, you’re the one who caused Elara’s death. And not just hers. You killed her child, too.” This time, it wasn’t just Mitte who was stunned. I was, too. “Lies! He’s slandering me! He’s in league with Elara!” Anna shrieked, struggling to reach Mitte. The guards held her fast. “Mitte, darling, you have to believe me!” “When did I have a child?” I asked the Adjudicator, my mind reeling. He laid the Life Record open before me. There, in stark, clear script, it read: “Sin Ninety-Eight: The murder of Elara’s unborn child.” “See? Even she doesn’t know!” Anna pleaded desperately. “I’m being framed! The records can’t be trusted!” Mitte, finally regaining his senses, turned his disbelief on me. “Elara, you were with another man?” “This is too complicated to explain,” the Adjudicator sighed. “Just watch.” With a wave of his hand, a scene materialized in the air.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384707”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My crush of so many years was forced to marry me. Each time we made love, he’d fall silent and retreat to his study, refusing to come back to the bedroom. I didn’t want us to become one of those bitter, estranged couples, trapped in a loveless marriage. So tonight, after he left the bed, I picked up the divorce papers and went to find him. But as I reached for the doorknob, text began to materialize in the air before my eyes. 【LMAO, the ML still thinks he’s just a substitute who got lucky. He’s terrified our girl is going to dump him any second. The poor guy’s a nervous wreck! Hahaha…】 【Don’t you dare divorce him, sweetie! He’s hopelessly in love! He literally can’t live without you!】 【Who would’ve thought this six-foot-three giant is hiding in his study crying his eyes out just because he didn’t get any aftercare? LMAO!】 【If she opens that door right now, she’ll find him clutching a plushie that smells like her, trying to wipe away his tears.】 That last comment made me pause. Skeptical, but intrigued, I twisted the knob and pushed the door open. 1 The study was plunged into darkness. I didn’t hesitate; I flicked on the light. The sight of Ethan made me freeze. The tip of his nose was red, his eyes were glistening, and a single tear clung to his thick lashes. Was this the same composed, rational Ethan I knew? All this time, I thought he was holing up in his study because he was disgusted by being intimate with me. He clearly hadn’t expected me to barge in. Panic flashed across his face before he quickly masked it with his usual stoicism. “Why are you still up?” His tone was sharp, laced with an impatience that suggested my presence was an unwelcome intrusion. If it weren’t for the tear track still glistening on his cheek, I might have actually believed he was angry. 【Don’t get it wrong, sweetie! He’s just worried that staying up late is bad for you.】 【Oh no, here he goes again, overthinking himself into a hole. He probably thinks his performance was so bad it didn’t even tire her out enough to sleep. (¬‿¬)】 The comments started flooding in, getting racier by the second. The explicit words made my face burn. I ignored his question and asked one of my own. “What are you holding?” From the moment I’d walked in, he’d kept his hands behind his back, hiding something. I needed to see if the comments were telling the truth. “It’s… it’s nothing.” His eyelashes fluttered. He couldn’t look me in the eye. I have a bit of a weakness for stuffed animals; my bed is practically overflowing with them. If he’d taken one, I honestly wouldn’t have noticed. He didn’t move, so I took a step forward to see for myself. To my shock, he flinched back, scrambling away from me as if I were a thief. There was no way I could see what he was hiding now. I held out my hand, my gaze locking with his. My voice was calm but firm. “Show me.” Finally, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He ducked his head, refusing to meet my eyes, and hesitantly placed the object in my hand. It was one of my plushies. The comments were right. 2 My eyes went wide. For a moment, I was too stunned to speak. Before I could even process it, a new wave of comments caught my attention. 【This man-child is always crying. Sweetie just has to raise her voice a tiny bit and the waterworks start. So useless!】 【Hey, don’t be so hard on him. How tough can a guy who needs aftercare really be? Hahaha…】 I instinctively glanced back at Ethan. His head was bowed so low his chin was practically touching his chest. In the suffocating silence of the room, a tiny, choked sob was painfully audible. He was trying so hard to stifle his anguish, but his shoulders still trembled uncontrollably. Wait, I was just talking to him normally. I hadn’t even gotten mad about him taking my plushie. But his reaction, the way he was trying to cry without making a sound, made it seem like I’d just broken his heart. The comments said he thought I was yelling at him. Suddenly, I felt like the villain. Flustered, I softened my voice. “Please don’t cry. I wasn’t yelling at you.” At my words, his body went rigid. He spun around and fled into the adjoining bathroom, his voice a choked whisper as he went. “I’m not crying! You’re seeing things!” I stared at the closed door, the information from the comments swirling in my mind. So, Ethan had it all wrong. My ex-boyfriend was the substitute. Ethan was the one I’d wanted all along. 3 Back in college, I had a very brief, very ill-advised relationship. It was only because the guy looked a little like Ethan. It was a stupid, impulsive decision, and I realized quickly that using someone as a stand-in was a horrible thing to do. I broke it off. He moved abroad shortly after, and I pushed the whole ugly affair out of my mind. If it weren’t for the comments, I would have completely forgotten that ex-boyfriend even existed. Click. The bathroom door finally opened. Ethan had been in there for almost ten minutes. Now, aside from slightly reddened eyes and dampness in his bangs, he looked composed again. “Did you need something?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral. His question snapped me back to the reason I’d come to the study in the first place. 【Hahaha, if she says yes, he’s going to start crying all over again.】 【If he cried that hard just from her raising her voice, he’s going to have a full-blown meltdown when he finds out she’s about to ask for a divorce.】 A jolt of guilt went through me. I discreetly tucked the divorce papers behind my back. I had assumed Ethan was miserable because our families had railroaded him into this marriage. But the comments painted a different picture: ever since our wedding, he’d been living in a constant state of fear, terrified that I would abandon him. He wasn’t eating, wasn’t sleeping. It wasn’t unhappiness making him look so worn down; it was a nervous breakdown. And I’d misunderstood it all as resentment towards me. The guilt intensified. “I can’t sleep when you’re not there,” I said softly. A flicker of pure joy lit up his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards into a smile. But just as quickly, some dark thought extinguished the light, and his expression fell. I cut through his spiraling thoughts, emphasizing each word. “Ethan. I can only sleep when you’re beside me.” 4 Perhaps it was the release of a good cry, or perhaps my words finally gave him a sense of security. Whatever the reason, Ethan slept more soundly that night than I’d ever seen him. He was so deeply asleep that he didn’t even stir when I gently traced the lines of his face, lost in thought. The comments said this was the first peaceful night’s sleep he’d had since we got married. Looking at his sleeping form, my heart felt heavy with a mix of emotions. I’d been in love with Ethan since my freshman year of high school. He was a campus legend—handsome, brilliant, a model student who was always kind to stray animals. Plenty of girls had crushes on him. I wasn’t a shy person by nature; in fact, I thrived on the debate team, always ready for an argument. But around him, I became a different person—cautious, tongue-tied, my courage always failing me. I even chose a university up north just to be near him. But even on the same campus, I never dared to make a move, terrified that one wrong word would mean losing the chance to even speak to him at all. Then, a few months ago, a twist of fate. Our mothers met, hit it off instantly, and decided they were destined to be family. They couldn’t be sisters, but they could be in-laws. And so, they set us up. I was shocked that someone like Ethan was still single, being pressured by his family to go on blind dates. When we met for dinner, he didn’t even seem to remember my name. He kept his head down the whole time, barely saying a word. But I knew this might be my only chance. Summoning all my courage, I carried the conversation, desperately searching for topics. Finally, I feigned a casual tone and said, “You know, we seem pretty compatible in a lot of ways. Maybe we should… give it a try?” The moment the words left my mouth, his brow furrowed, his expression turning grave. He looked utterly opposed to the idea. My heart sank. I braced myself for rejection. But then, Ethan looked up, and in a soft voice, he said, “Okay.” After the wedding, though, he was a different person. He was withdrawn and sullen during the day, and at night, he would disappear into his study after we were intimate. It screamed dissatisfaction. You can’t blame me for misinterpreting it. I had to fix this. We needed to have a real conversation, and soon. 5 When I woke up the next morning, Ethan had already made breakfast, finished his own plate, and was at the door putting on his shoes to leave for work. His schedule started earlier than mine. Normally, I would just walk out of the bedroom and sit down at the table, and we would eat in silence. But today, I broke the routine. I walked straight to the entryway. Ethan’s hand froze on the doorknob. He looked up, flustered and confused. “Is the breakfast not to your liking? I can run down and buy something else.” I quickly reached out and took his arm. “No, that’s not it.” 【Is she going to ask for a divorce now?? Please no!】 【Sweetie, you’re making a huge mistake! A guy who’s a king in the boardroom and a chef in the kitchen is a rare find!】 I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling a little shy. “It’s just… usually, before a husband leaves for work, he gives his wife a goodbye kiss.” Hearing this, Ethan became even more flustered than I was. His gaze darted away as he stammered, “Oh. Oh, right. Okay. S-so, I’m just gonna…?” “Mhm.” The word was barely out of my mouth before I felt a slight whoosh of air, followed by a feather-light touch on my forehead. It was over in a second. “I’m heading to work,” he said, his words rushed as he turned back to the door. “Wait.” I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. My earlier shyness had vanished, replaced by a playful urge to tease him. I looked him straight in the eye, watching his reaction. “Not so fast. The wife hasn’t given the husband his goodbye kiss yet.” And with that, I stood on my toes and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. Ethan’s entire face, neck, and even the tips of his ears flushed a deep crimson. As he finally stumbled out the door, he was so flustered he was practically tripping over his own feet. 【Starting the day with sugar! I’m gonna get a cavity!】 【Our girl knows exactly what she’s doing! YES!】 【LMAO, he’s leaning against the door outside, catching his breath! That’s kinda hot!】 6 Love really does turn you into an idiot. I spent the entire day in a daze, and at least three different colleagues asked me what I was smiling about. I kept seeing the word “aftercare” pop up in the comments. That was the reason he was hiding in his study, crying. I couldn’t let that happen again. A quick search online confirmed it. People who need aftercare often struggle with insecurity. The intimacy can trigger anxiety, making them fear they didn’t perform well enough and leaving them desperate for reassurance. I blushed as I summarized my findings into one simple strategy: praise him. We were intimate almost every night, except when I had my period. So I spent the rest of the day in a state of nervous anticipation, mentally rehearsing a script of compliments. 【And… we’re blacked out again!】 【Why does it always go dark at the good parts?! (sobbing)】 The comments were a chorus of complaints. Thank god they couldn’t see me right now, or I’d die of embarrassment. When we were finished, Ethan buried his face in the crook of my neck, lingering there for a long moment. Tentatively, I ran my fingers through his hair, then gently rubbed his earlobe. “You were… really good tonight.” It was my first time comforting someone like this, and I had no idea what I was doing. My voice was uncertain. But I felt his body tense, his breath catching in his chest. A strange sense of satisfaction washed over me. “I love it when you hold me,” I murmured. “It makes me feel so safe. Can you hold me tighter?” He didn’t answer, but his arms tightened around me. “I want to see you now, okay?” He slowly lifted his head. His eyes were shining, bright and adoring, like a puppy seeing its owner after a long time away. Practice makes perfect. My shyness completely evaporated. I leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth, and whispered with a smile, “I love you so much.” His eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly buried his head against me again, too embarrassed to look at me. After a long moment, a muffled voice vibrated against my ear. “Me too.” 7 【What’s going on? Why was it blacked out all night? We didn’t even get the study scene!】 【I know why! It’s because he didn’t go to the study to cry! Our girl must have… (smirks)】 【No wonder he’s acting so weird today. He keeps sneaking glances at her and smiling to himself.】 【A well-cared-for man is a different breed. He’s practically a delicate flower.】 A delicate flower? Looking at him now, it kind of fit. His cheeks were flushed, and he was bustling around the house in a pink apron. It was the weekend, and for the past two days, I had transformed into a praise-spewing machine. “Everything you cook is amazing! A five-star restaurant should be trying to hire you!” “You mop the floor better than a robot! The robots are going to be out of a job at this rate!” “The clothes you wash by hand smell even better than when they come out of the machine…” I was starting to run out of material, but Ethan was just getting more and more energized. He polished a single water glass eight times, then casually placed it in my line of sight, waiting. Just waiting for my praise. I was finally starting to understand why all the teachers and parents adored him. On Monday morning, when I got up, Ethan was already dressed and ready for work, looking at me with an expectant expression. I pretended not to notice. I said my goodbyes and waited for him to leave. Over the weekend, I’d noticed something about Ethan: he was incredibly good at taking care of others, but terrible at expressing his own needs. He bottled everything up. He wanted praise, but he’d wait for me to offer it. If I didn’t, he’d just quietly walk away and be sad by himself. Sure enough, when the goodbye kiss he was hoping for didn’t come, his whole posture slumped. But he still wouldn’t ask for it. “What’s wrong? Did you forget something?” I asked, my voice gentle, trying to coax it out of him. He just shook his head, forcing a weak smile. “Goodbye.” I sighed softly. I had no doubt that the second that door closed, tears would start streaming down his face. The image of him trying to wipe his eyes on the way to work made my heart melt. I grabbed his arm just as he was stepping out the door. Just as I’d suspected. He wasn’t even gone yet, and his eyes were already glistening with unshed tears. I looked directly into his watery eyes and asked, “Do you want a kiss? If you don’t say anything, I’ll assume you don’t.” As I made a show of letting go, he quickly grabbed my hand back, his head bobbing in a series of frantic nods. “Yes!” 8 With my deliberate encouragement, Ethan slowly started asking for things he wanted. Our relationship grew closer and closer. Until one afternoon, I was walking across campus with a thick stack of files when I stumbled, sending papers scattering across the pavement. A hand reached down to help me gather them, then took the rest of the stack from my arms. I was about to thank the person when I looked up and saw a familiar face. My whole body went stiff. Standing in front of me was my ex-boyfriend, Trent, who had been abroad for years. “Long time no see,” he said with a smirk. “I heard you got married.” He paused, his eyes raking over me. “I also heard… the guy looks a lot like me.” He had changed. The Trent in front of me was wearing a perfectly tailored black suit, every trace of his student days gone. But that innate swagger, that hint of a troublemaker, was still there. He had a fresh buzz cut that was just starting to grow out, and he still wore the same silver stud in his left ear. The suit on that face just looked… wrong. So out of place, I thought, rolling my eyes internally. I’d met Trent at a debate tournament; we were good at arguing, even with each other. Our breakup had been messy. Yes, I had dumped him for no apparent reason after less than two weeks, but he had his faults too. He’d conveniently forgotten to mention that he’d skipped a grade and was a full two years younger than me. I nearly had an aneurysm when I found out. Aside from a five-out-of-ten resemblance in their brow and eyes, he and Ethan were polar opposites. Ethan was the model student every teacher loved; Trent was the headache they all dreaded. What was I even thinking back then? 【Whoa! Nobody told me the second male lead was this hot!】 【Our ML is a feast for the eyes, but the SML isn’t half bad either.】 【Team SML! Pick Trent! Pick Trent!】 The comments flipped their allegiance so fast it gave me whiplash. This morning they were begging me to kiss Ethan more, and now they’d completely jumped ship. I snatched my files back, glaring at Trent. “Who have you been listening to?” He chuckled, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking down at me with an I-knew-it expression. “I told you back then, I never go back on my word, especially not for a woman as fickle and self-centered as you—” “Yeah, yeah, I get it, Your Majesty. Stop.” I cut him off, not in the mood for his drama. I plastered on a fake smile, gave him a massive eye-roll, and turned to leave. For some reason, despite my attitude, he didn’t get angry. He fell into step beside me, continuing his monologue. “But I never imagined you’d be so obsessed with me that you’d marry my look-alike. Look, I’m a reasonable guy, more patient than you are. A substitute is just a substitute. Now that I’m back, you can— Hey, why’d you stop walking?” I’d been trying to let his words go in one ear and out the other, but he was getting more and more ridiculous. I was about to tell him not to flatter himself when a single comment froze me in place. 【The ML is here.】 9 I didn’t have time to argue with Trent. This was the absolute worst time for Ethan to see him. After getting my doctorate, I’d stayed on as a faculty member. I had already called Ethan and asked him to pick me up so we could go shopping for groceries. I knew the university was hosting an alumni symposium today, and Trent must have been an invited speaker. The campus is huge. I never thought my luck would be this bad. “You remember where the faculty offices in Building C are, right? Fourth floor,” I asked, trying to sound casual. Trent opened his mouth to say something, but I was out of patience. I shoved the entire stack of files into his arms. “If you don’t remember, ask someone. Take these there for me. I have to go. Goodbye forever.” I fired off the words and immediately started speed-walking towards the main gate. But as I rounded the first corner, I came face-to-face with Ethan. My heart hammered against my ribs. Panicked, I grabbed his hand and started pulling him towards the exit. 【This is so intense.】 【Aw, that’s it? I was hoping for a showdown.】 The comments clearly didn’t care about my survival. I hadn’t found the right time to tell Ethan about my past, and if Trent found out he was the substitute, he would throw a fit of epic proportions. I didn’t have the energy for that. Thank god I’d moved fast. They had missed each other by seconds.

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My best friend and I were trapped by a System, forced to seduce the cruel male leads of a novel. My target, Kevin Bright, was disgusted by my affection, calling me a “twisted freak” and an “unwanted stray.” Her target, Marcus Blackwood, used her as his emotional punching bag, refusing to even answer her final, desperate phone call. We hit our breaking point. A game of rock-paper-scissors and two faked deaths later, we were finally free, back in our own reality. But now, they’ve chased us here. They’re playing the part of heartbroken lovers, desperate for a second chance. And they think regret is a price high enough to buy back our hearts? … My best friend and I were shackled to the same System, forced to play a game of seduction inside a novel. Her target: Marcus Blackwood, the impenetrable stoic. Her mission: to conquer his body. My target: Kevin Bright, my cold, distant guardian. My mission: to shatter his heart. But Marcus was an ascetic who spent his days in quiet contemplation, utterly immune to the temptations of the flesh. And Kevin, still obsessed with an old flame, hadn’t seen me as anything more than a child in the three years we’d lived together. We were being crushed. I was done. “I’m exhausted,” I messaged her. “I’m tapping out. You?” “If you’re out, I’m out.” It was a deal. We immediately pulled out our phones, calculated our savings, and planned our escape. “But…” I hesitated. “Which one of us… dies first?” “First to die gets to go home. The other one has to clean up the mess—arrange the funeral, tie up loose ends.” Our eyes met across the screen. Stella’s message popped up first. “I’ve had it worse. I’ll go first.” “No way,” I typed back. “Rock-paper-scissors. I can’t stand another second in this godforsaken place.” “Fine. You’re on.” She chose scissors. I chose paper. She won. I stomped my foot in frustration. “Fine! You die, I’ll plan the funeral.” Stella went silent for the next two days. I was morbidly curious about what method she’d chosen to end it all. That evening, just as I was about to call her, my phone rang. It was her. “Alice…” Her voice was thick, the words slurred, nearly swallowed by a howling wind. “Are you drunk?” My heart clenched. “Just a little,” she said, letting out a small hiccup. “Liquid courage… I’m about to do something big.” I shot up from the sofa. “What happened to next Friday? That was the plan!” We had agreed she would go in seven days. I’d handle the aftermath, then follow. “I can’t wait anymore.” The wind tore at her words. “I think today is a good day. I want to die today.” Her voice cracked with a pain so raw it vibrated through the phone. “Alice, I just wanted to see Marcus one last time… I gave him three years of my life. I know him so well I can tell what he wants in bed from a single glance… and I get nothing? I can’t accept it…” “He’s having dinner with her… with Seraphina… He won’t even answer my calls…” “Three years… A dog would have learned to wag its tail for me by now…” “But he still doesn’t want me…” “That bastard, Marcus… he won’t even give me one damn phone call… Since today is Seraphina’s birthday, I’ll just make it my death day. A day he will never, ever forget.” She rambled on, a torrent of broken thoughts, but her intention was terrifyingly clear. She was leaving tonight, and she had wanted one last conversation, one last chance to hear Marcus’s voice. He had denied her even that. “No,” I said, my voice shaking as I scrambled for my keys and sprinted out the door. “You can’t. I’m not ready for you to go. You can’t do this.” “Stella, where are you? Wait for me, please! Let me be with you!” “Alice…” She wasn’t listening, lost in her own world of pain. “Jumping is… messy. You’ll have to find the best mortician to make me look beautiful again.” “And don’t bury me. I’m afraid of the dark. Have me cremated, and scatter my ashes in the Veridian River. Make sure Marcus can never find me.” Every word was a needle in my heart. I felt her agony as if it were my own; I had watched her suffer for three long years. A chill washed over me, but I forced my voice to stay calm. “Whatever you want, Stella. I’ll do it all. But you have to tell me where you are. I want to be with you.” “No… I don’t want you to see… It would scare you…” The line went quiet, filled only by the screaming wind. I ran through the streets like a madwoman, shouting her name until my legs gave out and I collapsed onto the cold pavement. A final, soft message came through the speaker. “Alice, I’ll be waiting for you at home.” CRACK. 2 At the foot of the Apex Tower, I saw her fall. Like a broken butterfly, she plummeted from the eighteenth floor. A spray of crimson stained the pristine concrete. Stella died right in front of me. I knelt beside her, my hand trembling as I reached out to touch her face, my body wracked with sobs. “You love being beautiful more than anything… how could you choose to go like this…?” I knew, logically, that she wasn’t truly dead. We would see each other again in our real world. But watching this, feeling the finality of it, shattered me. I had overestimated my own strength and underestimated how much of my soul was tied to hers. For three years, we had been each other’s only lifeline, the only reason we survived the endless nights of cruelty. At the crematorium, I was the one who pushed her body into the furnace. I watched the flames consume the face that had once been so full of life and laughter. When the attendant handed me the small, heavy box, the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. “Stella… how could you be so small now…?” Following her wishes, I went to the river and poured her ashes into the churning water. The current seized them instantly, washing away every last trace of her. Just like that, she was gone. “Wait for me,” I whispered to the water. “I’m coming soon.” Stella’s phone, which I’d kept in my bag, buzzed. I pulled it out. A message from Marcus. [The Grand Elysian Hotel. Eight o’clock tonight. Be there.] A cold, bitter laugh escaped my lips. He was always like this. Her feelings never mattered. She was a tool for his release, to be summoned and dismissed at his whim. When he didn’t need her, he vanished. When he did, she was expected to drop everything. And for what? Because she loved him? Did that give him the right to trample on her heart? I didn’t reply. I just turned off the phone. He had missed his chance to say goodbye. Now he could live with that regret forever. I sat by the river until dawn, then finally went home. The morning sun felt cold on my skin. I was tired, bone-deep tired. The System demanded I maintain my character’s persona: the hopelessly devoted girl. So, no matter how ugly our fights were, I always woke up at six a.m. to make breakfast for Kevin. The System always offered the same placating line: It’s bitter now, but it will be sweet in the end. Once you succeed, a man like Kevin will worship you. But in three years, all I had tasted was bitterness. Stella’s affairs were settled. It was my turn to leave. I picked up a knife from the kitchen block, holding the cool blade to my wrist. I hesitated. I made a few false starts, then put it back down with a sigh. Kevin despised me. If I died in his house, he would probably be disgusted. He always said I wasn’t worthy of the Bright name. That his brother and his wife never should have adopted me, raising a “perverse beast” who would fall for her own guardian. He said I deserved to be abandoned, that I was nothing but an unwanted stray. But it wasn’t my fault I was abandoned. If I’d had a choice, I would never have wanted to be a Bright. No one ever gave me a choice about anything. Not even being bound by the System. I collapsed onto my bed and, against all odds, fell asleep. In the hazy twilight of my dreams, the System’s cold, mechanical voice echoed. “Alice Hayes. You have accumulated enough points. The exit portal is now open. Please be prepared to depart by tomorrow night.” Good, I thought. I’m going home. I woke with a start and spent the rest of the night purging the villa of every single thing that belonged to me. 3 I dragged everything out into the torrential rain, dumping it all by the curb for the trash collectors. The downpour washed away everything, including the last vestiges of my obsession with Kevin Bright. From now on, not a single trace of me would remain in this house. Once I was finished, I called a cab to the Veridian River. I took out Stella’s phone and powered it on. A flood of missed calls and messages poured in, all from Marcus. [Stella, you’re late.] [Answer your phone. What game are you playing now?] [Get to the hotel. Don’t make me repeat myself.] Each message was colder than the last. No concern, only commands. I stared at them blankly, then found the audio file of Stella’s final, desperate phone call with me. I sent it to Marcus. After the “message sent” notification appeared, I threw the phone as hard as I could into the dark water. I wondered what his face would look like when he heard it. Would he feel a pang of sadness? A sliver of regret for the way he had hurt her? It didn’t matter. Stella would never see it, and I wouldn’t be around long enough to find out. This was just a game, after all. Who cares what an NPC thinks after you’ve cleared the level? The wind off the river was biting. I pulled my coat tighter and took out my own phone, posting one last message to the world. “The world is beautiful, but I won’t be back for a second life. I don’t regret being a Bright, but in death, let me be free. Do not place me in the family crypt. Grant me this one freedom. —Alice Hayes, farewell.” After posting, I dialed Kevin’s number. In my final moments, I wanted to say goodbye to the person who had been the center of my world for so long. But just like Stella, no matter how many times I called, the line just rang and rang. A bitter laugh escaped me. I pushed down the last flicker of hope. I switched to video mode and aimed the camera at myself. On the screen, my hair was a tangled mess in the wind, my face pale but resolute. “Kevin, it’s been fifteen years since the Brights adopted me at six. You told me you would always protect me, that you would be my hero…” “When I was in middle school and those boys cornered me after class, you fought them off. You said no one was allowed to bully your family.” “You took me to the amusement park, on the Ferris wheel… you sang to me at the very top… Every moment of joy, every flutter in my heart during my youth… it all came from you…” My voice started to break. “Kevin, you were the one who came to me first. You gave me every reason to dream, only to turn on me, to change completely the moment you realized I loved you.” “You were disgusted by me. You avoided me. You thought my love was repulsive and you stood by while others mocked me for it…” “You always said my love was twisted and sick, but… I just loved you. That’s all it was.” I took a deep breath, steeling myself. “Kevin, I couldn’t choose my family or where I came from. But I can choose to leave.” “From now on, there will be no Alice Hayes in this world… You’re free…” I pressed send, sending the 2-minute, 17-second video to Kevin. A wave of relief washed over me. I dropped my phone onto the sand. Facing the icy waves, I walked step by step into the deep. The water rose past my chest, then to my neck, until finally, it swallowed me whole. In the utter silence that followed, the abandoned phone on the beach lit up one last time. The caller ID read: Kevin. 4 Kevin watched the video again and again, his thumb compulsively hitting redial. “The number you have dialed is currently unavailable…” The cold, automated voice was a hammer blow with every syllable. He gripped the phone, his knuckles white. “Alice Hayes! Still playing these ridiculous suicide games! How absurd!” He called his assistant, forcing the words through gritted teeth. “Get a team to the coast. Find Alice Hayes and bring her back to me. Now.” The ferocity in his voice was a desperate attempt to crush the panic blooming in his chest. He tried to stand, but his legs felt weak, unsteady. “Sir, where are we going?” his driver asked, helping him into the car, his own face etched with worry. “Home.” She had finished her little drama. She would have to come home now. She was too tenacious, too full of life to do something so permanent. He just had to wait at home, and she would come back. She had to be bluffing. She had to be. At the villa, Seraphina Vance was watching TV in the living room. She looked up in surprise as he stormed in. “Kevin, you’re home early.” She moved to take his coat, but he grabbed her wrist, his grip like iron. His voice was a raw rasp. “Where is Alice?” Seraphina cried out in pain, tears welling in her eyes. “Kevin, you’re hurting me.” He snapped back to reality and let her go. “Sorry…” He didn’t have the patience for this. He turned and rushed upstairs. Alice’s room was pristine, sterile, and empty. All the gifts he’d ever bought her, all her belongings—gone. “Housekeeper! Where are all of Miss Hayes’s things?” The housekeeper flinched at his tone. She had never seen him so enraged. “Miss Hayes said she no longer liked them, sir. She had them all cleared out.” “When?” “She’s been clearing things out for a few days. The last of it was taken this morning.” The words stole the strength from his limbs. Kevin slumped against the wall. Every excuse, every bit of denial he had clung to, crumbled to dust. A terrifying dread grew inside him, a black hole threatening to swallow him whole. He frantically called his assistant again. “Have you found her?” “Not yet, sir…” The sound of the howling wind came through the phone, a phantom chill that seeped into his bones. Why does my chest ache like this? The video wasn’t real, right? She just went out with her friend, right? Her friend! Of course! She and Stella Gordon were inseparable. She had to be with Stella. Kevin shot upright, his fingers fumbling as he found Marcus Blackwood’s number. “Marcus, where is Stella? Is she with Alice?” Marcus’s hand trembled around his own phone. At the question, a shimmer of moisture glossed his eyes. Where was Stella? He didn’t know. He was sitting in a reception room at the city police department. On the table in front of him was Stella Gordon’s death certificate. She had died on Seraphina’s birthday, on the very night he had deliberately ignored her endless stream of calls. When he first received the audio recording, he’d dismissed it as another one of her desperate ploys for attention. But when she never answered his return calls, a cold panic had set in, driving him here to file a missing person’s report. Only to be told the person he was looking for was already gone. Officially. Permanently. He couldn’t name the emotion that gripped him. He just knew that the recording of her last words had become a scythe, each word carving a fresh wound into his heart. “She’s… gone,” Marcus said, the two words costing him all his strength. He sat frozen, unaware that tears were streaming down his face. The news struck Kevin like a bolt of lightning. The word gone echoed in his mind like a nightmare. How could this be?

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For three years, I had sponsored Caleb, a student from a disadvantaged background. Today, he had finally graduated from college. He stood at my doorstep, his arms laden with bags of gifts from his hometown, his sun-weathered face beaming with simple gratitude. “Jenna, I wouldn’t be where I am today without you. Please, you have to accept these small tokens of my appreciation.” I smiled warmly and invited him in, a genuine happiness blooming in my chest. But as I turned to get him a glass of water, a cold, insidious voice echoed in my mind. This apartment is in a prime location. If I kill her, it’ll all be mine. My hand trembled, and the glass I was holding slipped, shattering on the floor. 1 I took a deep breath, swept up the broken glass, and poured a fresh glass of water. Composing myself, I walked back into the living room with a practiced smile. “Here you go, Caleb. Have some water.” “Thank you, Jenna.” He took the glass, his eyes still radiating that same rustic innocence. Her parents’ old place is worth a fortune, too. I remember her mentioning it was in a historic district downtown, a prime school zone. Tomorrow, I’ll go ‘visit’ them, under the guise of thanking them for their support. Once her entire family has died in ‘accidents,’ I’ll be the master of this house. Then I’ll use her identity to take out loans and figure out a way to drain her company’s funds. Perfect. This young man with the guileless smile was sipping his water, his eyes filled with what looked like a hopeful gaze toward the future. My back was instantly drenched in a cold sweat. I clenched my fists so hard my knuckles turned white, just barely managing to stifle a scream. It wasn’t a hallucination. This boy, whom I had sponsored for three years, whom I had treated like a younger brother, was methodically listing off a venomous, step-by-step plan to murder my entire family. A viper I’d welcomed into my home, now poised to strike and steal everything. Run! Call the police! That was the first thought that screamed through my mind. But I couldn’t. There were no security cameras inside my apartment, and there had been no physical altercation between us. If I acted rashly and the police came, what would I say? That I could hear his thoughts? They’d think I was having a psychotic break. Worse, it would tip him off. This wolf in sheep’s clothing, this monster masquerading as a simple boy, would only retreat deeper into the shadows, devising more subtle, more insidious ways to destroy me and my family. I had to stay calm. I forced a smile, gesturing toward the gifts he’d brought. “Caleb, this is so thoughtful of you. Have you eaten dinner? Why don’t you stay? I’ll cook something special.” Caleb immediately set down his glass, his eyes lighting up, his smile somehow becoming even more “sincere.” “Oh, I couldn’t possibly impose! That would be too much trouble for you, Jenna.” Eat? Of course, I’ll eat. This is the perfect chance to add the special ingredient I brought. It’s a powder ground from poison mushrooms foraged from the mountains back home. Colorless, odorless. Ingesting it causes total organ failure within three hours. Not even a miracle could save her. The police will rule it accidental food poisoning. My heart plummeted into an icy abyss. He’d even brought the murder weapon with him. I glanced at the overstuffed canvas bag. Those seemingly innocent hometown specialties were my death warrant. “No trouble at all,” I said, my voice strained but hopefully steady as I stood up. “What would you like? Let me see what I have in the fridge.” I needed an excuse. An excuse to get out of his line of sight and call for help. “Jenna, I’d love anything you make,” Caleb said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Oh! The dried bamboo shoots I brought would be amazing in a soup. How about we make a pork rib and bamboo shoot soup tonight?” He was showing his hand. My heart hammered against my ribs, but my face remained a mask of pleasantness. “That sounds delicious! Great idea. But…” I feigned a look of distress, wrinkling my brow. “What terrible timing. I had a bad reaction to some seafood a couple of days ago. The doctor told me to stick to a bland diet for a while, so I can’t have rich soups right now.” A flicker of almost imperceptible disappointment crossed Caleb’s face. Too bad. The soup would have been so easy. But it doesn’t matter. She has to drink water eventually. Pretending not to notice, I walked toward the kitchen. “Don’t worry, I’ll still make it for you. I’ll be happy just watching you enjoy it. I’ll start the rice.” The kitchen had a semi-open layout; he could see my every move. I couldn’t make a call or send a text. Any unusual action would trigger his suspicion. With my back to him, my mind raced. I needed backup. Someone who would understand my situation immediately, someone formidable, someone who didn’t play by the rules. The police were out. My friends were mostly office workers like me… Then, a name exploded in my mind—my cousin, Marcus. Marcus was… well, he knew how to handle things. He’d run with a rough crowd in his youth but had gone straight and now owned a successful security firm. He employed a crew of guys who specialized in solving “difficult” problems. He might seem like a carefree joker, but we grew up together, and he was more protective of me than an actual brother. Only he could handle this unconventional demon with unconventional methods. I poked my head out of the kitchen, smiling. “Caleb, I just remembered. I promised my cousin I’d help him find a reliable intern. Since you just graduated and are looking for a job, what if I called him over? You two could chat in person.” “A job?” Caleb’s eyes lit up, a flash of raw greed passing through them. Perfect! After I kill her, I can use the ‘internship’ as a legitimate reason to get inside her company and prepare for the next phase of my plan! His thoughts confirmed it. This was the perfect bait. “Yeah,” I said, pulling out my phone and pretending to scroll through my contacts casually. “My cousin owns his own company. He’s a great guy, really generous, and he’s looking for a sharp assistant. I think you’d be a perfect fit! If you’re interested, I’ll call him over to join us for dinner.” “Interested? Of course, I’m interested!” Caleb shot to his feet, practically vibrating with excitement. “Thank you, Jenna! You’re truly my guardian angel!” I smiled, dialed my cousin Marcus’s number in front of him, and hit the speakerphone button. The phone rang twice before he picked up, his lazy drawl filling the air. “Yo, Jenna. What’s up? Did some deadbeat boyfriend break your heart again? Need your big bro to come knock some heads together?” A massive weight lifted from my shoulders. I cleared my throat and adopted a light, almost boastful tone. “Get lost! I’m calling to offer you some top-tier talent! Remember that student I sponsor, Caleb? I told you about him. Well, he graduated and came to visit me today. I thought, since you’re looking for people, maybe he could come work for you.” Caleb leaned in close to the phone, his voice a mix of nerves and politeness. “Hello, Mr. Marcus!” Marcus was silent for a beat, then burst out laughing. “Alright, alright. If you’re recommending him, Jenna, then I gotta give him a shot. Tell you what, I’m in the neighborhood. I’ll be there in half an hour. I’ll bring a good bottle of whiskey, we can eat and talk.” “Great, but hurry up,” I said, adding emphasis. “Oh, and bro? On your way over, could you do me a favor and deal with the mad dog from old Mr. Henderson’s place downstairs?” Marcus’s voice paused. “Mad dog? I thought Mr. Henderson had a little poodle.” My heart seized, but my voice remained calm. “Ugh, don’t even ask. I don’t know what’s gotten into it lately, but that poodle’s gone rabid. It tries to lunge and bite at everyone. It even tried to break into my place yesterday! I’m here alone, and it’s terrifying. You’ve got those big dogs, right? Could you bring a heavy-duty steel cage? We need to lock it up before it hurts someone.” I spoke slowly and clearly. “Mad dog.” “Tried to break into my place.” “A heavy-duty steel cage.” It was our code. When we were kids, our families lived across the hall from each other. A neighbor had a vicious dog that nearly mauled me once. It was Marcus who saved me, cornering it with a baseball bat. Ever since, “mad dog” had been our code for an extremely dangerous person. The line was silent for a few seconds. I could picture the playful smirk vanishing from his face, replaced by a cold, hard focus. “Right. I get it,” his voice was steady and clipped. “I’ll bring the cage. Lock your door. Wait for me.” After he hung up, I let out a long, shuddering breath. Caleb was completely oblivious, still basking in the glow of his supposed job offer. This cousin sounds like some rich idiot. Perfect. After I inherit everything from Jenna, I’ll absorb his company too. A murderous rage churned within me. Absorb my cousin’s company? Caleb, you will never get the chance. Tonight, this home is the steel cage I’ve prepared just for you. Half an hour felt like a century. I pretended to be busy in the kitchen, washing and chopping vegetables, but my peripheral vision was locked on Caleb in the living room. He sat on the sofa, appearing restless and antsy, his hands constantly rubbing against his pants like a nervous young man before a job interview. But his mind was a different story. What is this woman doing, puttering around in the kitchen for so long? The rice isn’t even on yet. What if her idiot cousin shows up and complicates things? No, I can’t wait any longer. I have to stick to the original plan. First, get her to drink the drugged water. My stomach dropped. I saw him pick up his water glass and walk toward me. “Jenna, you’ve been working so hard. Take a break. Let me help.” His face was a mask of profound concern. But I saw it. As he got closer, his fingertip quickly brushed the rim of the glass. A fine, colorless powder dissolved silently into the water. “No, no, I’m almost done!” I said, waving my hands, my heart about to explode out of my throat. “Jenna, just have a sip of water. You’re sweating.” He was insistent, pushing the glass toward my lips, his eyes holding a glint of unyielding obsession. I stared at the glass. Dissolved inside was a poison that would destroy my organs from the inside out. What could I do? Knock it away? That would mean showing my hand, and physically, I was no match for him. In a flash of inspiration, I swayed violently, pretending to lose my balance. The kitchen knife in my hand “slipped,” clattering to the floor with a loud clang, the tip pointing directly at his feet. “Ah!” Caleb yelped, instinctively jumping back to avoid the blade. The sudden movement caused the water in the glass to slosh out, spilling most of its contents onto the floor. “I’m so sorry, so sorry!” I apologized frantically, crouching down to pick up the knife. “I’ve been working so much overtime lately, I think my blood sugar is low. I just got dizzy.” Caleb’s face was a thundercloud of fury, but it quickly smoothed back into his usual harmless expression, though a new layer of impatience hardened his eyes. Useless woman! Can’t even hold a glass of water steady! It seems the gentle approach isn’t going to work. This woman is more alert than I thought. He bent down, reaching out to help me up, but I could hear the vicious snarl of his thoughts. I’ll have to tie her up first! When her cousin gets here, I’ll find a way to lure him onto the balcony and push him from behind! A twenty-story fall, he won’t survive. Then I’ll come back and finish her off. I’ll say they were arguing, that he killed her in a fit of rage and then jumped to his death. My body went rigid. “Jenna, are you okay?” he asked, his hand on my arm, while his other hand crept toward the canvas bag with the “gifts.” From the side of the bag, I could see the unmistakable end of a coarse, thick rope. Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Just as Caleb’s fingers were about to touch the rope, the doorbell rang. Sharp, loud, like a thunderclap of salvation. Caleb’s movement froze, his face a mixture of surprise and frustration. Who is it? Her cousin said half an hour! It’s only been twenty minutes! Pure joy surged through me. I scrambled away from Caleb’s grasp, practically crawling toward the front door. “Must be the delivery I ordered! I got some fruit!” I babbled, fumbling with the doorknob. Caleb was right behind me, his eyes fixed on me like a wolf’s, one hand already reaching for his pants pocket. I could see the hard outline of what looked like a folding knife. He was ready to kill me. My hand on the doorknob was shaking uncontrollably. Please, let it be Marcus. Please. I threw the door open. Standing on the other side was, indeed, my cousin Marcus. And he wasn’t alone. Behind him stood four burly men in black t-shirts, all built like brick walls, with sharp, watchful eyes. They were professionals. And Marcus, at the lead, had shed his usual jokester persona. His expression was as cold and hard as ice. In his hand, glinting under the hallway light, was a large, heavy-duty, steel pet cage. The scene was surreal. The color drained from Caleb’s face. The hand gripping the knife in his pocket froze solid.

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The year my boyfriend was at his poorest, I broke up with him. Years later, he returned, powerful and successful, and used every means at his disposal to marry me. Everyone said I was the one that got away, that I was his most beloved wife. Then he started bringing different women home every night, shattering my heart and turning me into the laughingstock of our social circle. But I never cried, never threw a fit. I lived quietly in the study, never disturbing his affairs. It drove him mad. He would kiss me fiercely, his voice a low growl against my lips. “Don’t you feel anything? Aren’t you jealous?” He didn’t know I was sick. And with every day of his twisted revenge, I was silently counting down the days I had left to live. 1 In the third year of my marriage to Vicent Blackwood, he took a beautiful young college girl as his mistress. Her name was Betty. She had an innocent, lovely face—exactly Vicent’s type. He kept her for over half a year. Other than me, she was the woman who had stayed by his side the longest. My friends warned me to be careful. They said it looked like Vicent was genuinely falling for her. I met Betty for the first time on my birthday. My nose had been bleeding since morning. I went to the hospital for a check-up, and the doctor told me I would be lucky to see next spring. I nodded softly. “It’s okay,” I whispered. I wasn’t afraid of dying, just of the pain. I’d heard there was an expensive medication that could make the end more comfortable. The money in my bank account wasn’t enough, so I went to Vicent’s company to find him. It just so happened that Betty was there too. She’d just graduated and was working as his personal assistant. Vicent was in a meeting. I sat outside to wait. Betty kept staring at me, whispering to her colleagues. “That’s the boss’s wife? She looks so… washed out. Thin as a rail, like she’s half-dead.” “They all say I look like her, but where? I’m so much prettier.” My reflection shimmered on the polished glass wall. A pale face with no makeup, swallowed by a puffy winter coat. I didn’t look good. And I was, in fact, half-dead. A colleague tugged on Betty’s arm. “That’s because she’s not wearing any makeup,” she hissed. “If she got dolled up, ten of you couldn’t hold a candle to her. And don’t think you can provoke her just because the boss spoils you. You have no idea how much he loves her. If you make her unhappy, he’ll destroy you.” 2 Hearing that Vicent supposedly loved me, Betty just pouted and rolled her eyes. She brought me a cup of tea, her voice sweet and feathery. “Ava, sweetie, I can’t believe he’s making you wait this long. It’s so strange. Whenever I used to visit, no matter how busy he was, he would always drop everything to see me. He said I was the most important thing.” She smiled, her eyes curving into crescents. “I guess I just assumed he was that considerate with everyone…” She looked so much like me when I was younger. I thought about it. Vicent really was different with Betty. He’d had countless lovers, using them as tools in his bitter game against me, bringing a new one home each night to test my reaction. But he never kept them for long. A day or two, maybe a couple of weeks, and he would grow bored. Only Betty was different. He set her up in a beautiful apartment, took her to dinner, went shopping with her, saw movies with her. They were like any other ordinary, loving couple. He gave her money, but he also gave her something that looked like love. I looked at Betty and offered a gentle smile. “If you’re so important,” I asked softly, “why does he let you be the dirty little secret?” “You should convince him to divorce me and make you an honest woman.” Betty’s face fell. Humiliation twisted into anger. “The one he doesn’t love is the homewrecker!” she spat, her voice low. “You’re the one who’s redundant!” “You just got lucky because you met him a few years before I did. But look at you now. You’re old and ugly. What do you have left to fight me with?” Her colleague, probably fearing my reaction, rushed over and grabbed her arm, trying to pull her away. But it didn’t matter. I was fine. I had made a promise to myself a long time ago. I would not get angry over Vicent. I would not feel sorrow over Vicent. And I certainly would not fight another woman over him. He wasn’t worth it. 3 Yanked by her colleague, Betty lost her balance. She stumbled and fell, the teacup shattering in her hand. A shard of porcelain sliced deep into her palm, and blood pooled on the floor. Through the glass wall of the conference room, Vicent saw her. In front of everyone, he slammed his files on the table, threw the door open, and rushed to her side, scooping her into his arms. “Who the hell did this?” he roared, his voice like ice. The well-meaning colleague shrank back, her face pale with terror. A cold smile touched my lips. “I did,” I said. “And she deserved it.” Betty stared at me through her tears. “Yes, I deserved it!” she cried out. “I deserved it for falling for a man I shouldn’t have! For being called a mistress, a homewrecker!” “But, Vicent,” she sobbed, “as long as you love me, I’ll stay by your side forever. No one can ever tear us apart!” She was so lovely, even as she wept. Her absurd words sounded brave and defiant coming from her lips. Vicent actually chuckled. He gently wiped her tears away. “There, there,” he cooed. “You’ve cried your makeup all over.” He really was different with her. I lowered my eyes, too tired to watch. “I want five hundred thousand for my birthday this year,” I said to Vicent. It was laughable. We were husband and wife, but we didn’t even have each other’s phone numbers. The only time I ever sought him out was to ask for money. Before we married, we made a deal: he wanted me, and I wanted his money. Vicent had always hated me for being a gold digger. But in the past, no matter how much I asked for, he would give it to me, and then some. This time was different. He looked at me, his smile chillingly slow. “You want money? Fine.” “But first, Ava,” he said, drawing out each word, “swallow that precious pride of yours and tell Betty you’re sorry.” He was trying to buy my dignity, to buy an apology for Betty. For the first time, he was using money to humiliate me for another woman. My fists slowly clenched. A soft laugh escaped my lips. I fought back a sudden, sharp wave of pain and turned to leave. I didn’t want the money anymore. A thought crossed my mind. I wonder, Vicent. What look would be on your face if you knew this money could have bought me a little more time? If you knew how much I suffered before I died?

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The world was a smear of sound and pain. The screech of tires on asphalt, the sickening grind of metal against bone, and then a darkness that smelled of gasoline and hot rubber. I was being lifted, the world tilting crazily. A voice cut through the fog. “This one’s critical. Prep him for surgery now. Get ahold of his family to sign consent.” A wave of something—adrenaline, maybe just pure terror—cleared my head for a second. I tried to lift a hand that felt like it belonged to someone else. “My wife… Claire… she’s busy. I can sign.” Before the words fully left my mouth, another voice sliced through the chaos. A voice I knew better than my own. “Help him first!” My wife, Claire, wasn’t in court. She wasn’t arguing a case. She was here, in the ER, clinging to the arm of the man who had just run me down. Her voice was sharp with a panic I hadn’t heard in years. She pushed past me, a blur of motion, and confronted the doctor. “He just had heart surgery. His condition is far more delicate!” She didn’t even glance at my gurney. At the blood that was turning my shirt from blue to a dark, sticky crimson. “I’m the patient’s wife,” she declared, her voice ringing with the authority she used in a courtroom. “I can vouch for the other driver. I’m a lawyer. I understand the liability, and I accept it.” “But ma’am, your husband’s injuries appear more severe…” the doctor stammered, clearly thrown. Claire’s gaze was fixed on the other man. “He’ll be fine. He’s tougher than he looks. Just take care of the driver. If anything happens, it’s on me.” Claire! The name screamed in my head. Who is your husband? And as if to answer, while I was still bleeding in a hallway, my life hanging by a thread, she helped the man who hit me file a lawsuit against me. 1 The impact hadn’t just thrown me; it had dragged me. I remembered the scrape of my back against the pavement, a sound that felt like it was happening inside my own skull. They had me prepped for the OR, a green-lit room of salvation at the end of the hall. But it was snatched away. My wife, Claire, steered the man who hit me—the man she was supposed to be suing—into that room instead. Because she was a top-tier lawyer, because she was willing to sign a waiver absolving the hospital of any malpractice, I was left behind. She finally looked at me then, at the blood soaking through the sheets. Her brow furrowed, but not in concern. It was annoyance. She turned away and began comforting the driver, her voice a low, soothing murmur I hadn’t heard directed at me since our honeymoon. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered to him. “I’ll handle this whole accident. You won’t have to worry about a thing. You won’t bear any responsibility. Just focus on getting better.” Accident? Was that what you called it when a man inexplicably swerved across two lanes to hit you? When he dragged you for twenty feet without braking? You’re my wife, Claire. How could you abandon me to defend the man who did this? The pain sharpened my focus, clearing the fog. I stared at her, my mind a storm of disbelief and heartbreak. She didn’t notice. Her entire world was focused on the man she’d just saved. Only when they wheeled him into the operating room did she turn away. I thought, naively, that she would come to me, offer some twisted explanation. Instead, she walked right past my gurney without a second glance and approached the police officer who was taking notes. After a brief, hushed conversation, the officer asked about her relationship to the incident. She didn’t hesitate. “I’m the driver’s defense attorney. I’m also the wife of the man he hit.” The cop’s eyebrows shot up. He glanced from her to me, then back again. “Ma’am, with all due respect, this seems pretty clear-cut,” he said, tapping his notepad. “The driver ran a red light and failed to yield to a pedestrian. It’s all on the dashcam. Even for a lawyer like you, that’s an open-and-shut case.” Claire was unfazed. “The driver experienced a sudden cardiac event while operating the vehicle. His doctors can confirm this. He had no malicious intent. According to state law, this should be treated as a medical incident, not a traffic violation.” She cited statutes and precedents with a chilling calm. After a quick call to the hospital, the officer begrudgingly conceded her point. And just like that, I was no longer a victim. I was an inconvenience. I lay there in the hallway, a piece of hospital furniture, watching the staff hurry past. Claire, her legal duties done, bought a bouquet of flowers from the gift shop and stood vigil outside the operating room. Not my operating room. His. I reached out, my fingers brushing the fabric of her coat. “Claire,” I rasped. “It hurts so much.” She flinched away as if I’d burned her. “Stop acting.” She pulled a tissue from her purse and meticulously wiped the spot my bloody fingers had touched. Her face was a mask of cold fury. “I didn’t ask you to get hit by a car, Leo. Don’t be so dramatic.” The world went light. A strange floating sensation took over. The sheet beneath me turned from damp to saturated. A young intern rushed over, glanced at my pupils, and then pressed gently on my abdomen. He screamed. “Doctor! Get Dr. Matthews in here, now! This patient has a lacerated liver! He’s bleeding out!” Claire was right there. She must have heard. But she didn’t turn. Her eyes were glued to the OR doors, which were just swinging open. As a team of medics descended on me, Claire rushed toward the man being wheeled out. “Doctor, is he okay?” she asked, her voice trembling. “His heart condition is so complex. Will there be any permanent damage?” The surgeon shook his head. “He’s fine. It was just a transient ischemic attack brought on by shock. We ran a full workup. He’s perfectly healthy.” Just then, they pushed my gurney past them. The surgeon’s head snapped around, his eyes widening at the river of red I was lying in, a foul, metallic smell now rising from the sheets. He grabbed his pager. “Code Blue! Code Blue, Trauma One!” The hospital’s PA system exploded to life with a repeating, urgent chime. “Rapid Response Team to the ER. Rapid Response Team to the ER.” I was rushed toward surgery, but the nurse was frantic. “We need a signature on the consent forms! Where did his wife go?” “The lawyer for the other driver?” a young resident asked. “Yes! She was just here!” “She’s gone,” the resident said, sounding disgusted. “She arranged a transfer for her client to a private cardiac center upstate. I saw her getting into the ambulance with him. I called out to her, but she just looked at me and the doors closed.” “What do we do?” the nurse cried. “His spleen just ruptured. We can’t wait!” “There’s no choice. We operate now and deal with the paperwork later.” I was plunged back into the green-lit room. The world faded, but then, halfway through the procedure, it came rushing back. My body has a bizarrely high tolerance for anesthesia. I was awake, paralyzed, a spectator to my own dissection. I saw the sweat beading on my surgeon’s forehead, the grim, focused faces of the nurses. The nurse reading my vitals choked back a sob. “BP is dropping. He’s not responding.” “We’re out of O-negative! Call the other blood banks, now!” “I can’t reach his wife. The calls go straight to voicemail.” “What the hell is wrong with this woman?” another voice muttered. “She won’t answer our calls, but she just sent a text to the patient’s phone. Looks like… a notice of intent to sue?” Sue? Sue me for what? Through the haze, I heard the surgeon say, his voice dripping with disbelief, “Her husband is dying on my table, and she’s helping the guy who hit him sue him for… intentional damage to property and negligence.” Me? She was suing me. On behalf of the man who tried to kill me. Who was this guy? As the alarms on the machines began to scream in a single, deafening chorus, the world finally, mercifully, went black. 2 I thought that was it. The end. But I woke up. The first thing I saw was the acoustic tile of a hospital ceiling. I had never been so happy to see something so boring. A doctor came in, checked my chart. “You’re a very lucky man,” he said. “We’ll need to keep you in observation for a while. Let us know if you feel any discomfort.” I nodded weakly. As he left, the door opened again. It was Claire. She wasn’t alone. She was holding hands with him. The driver. “Still alive?” Claire said, her voice devoid of any warmth. “I have to admit, seeing the amount of blood you lost, I didn’t think you’d make it. Since you did, I guess we can proceed with the lawsuit.” She dropped a thick legal folder onto my lap. The papers slid onto the thin hospital blanket. And there, on the top page, was his name: Asher Vance. Asher. The Asher. The ghost from her college photo albums, the name she’d let slip once after too much wine. Her “one that got away.” “After reviewing traffic camera footage and the dashcam from Mr. Vance’s car,” Claire said, her voice formal, rehearsed, “we’ve concluded that you intentionally stepped in front of his vehicle. Mr. Vance is therefore suing you for damages and personal injury.” Intentionally? I stared at her, the woman I had loved for eight years. The world swam, a fog of tears blurring her sharp, cold face. I had almost died on a cold steel table, and she felt nothing. Worse than nothing. She felt… opportunistic. “If the surgery has muddled your memory, allow me to refresh it,” she continued. “The crosswalk signal was green. All other pedestrians were moving. You alone stopped in the middle of the street and stood there until the light changed and Asher’s car was already proceeding through the intersection. Your behavior suggests intent.” A laugh, raw and broken, escaped my lips. It sounded like tearing fabric. She didn’t know why I stopped? She really didn’t know? That car—a midnight blue Audi A5—was the birthday present I’d bought for her. The custom license plate holder with the twin hearts, the one I’d picked out myself, was still on the back. My birthday gift to my wife. Driven by another man. Was I not allowed to take a second look? “You’re right,” I said, my voice hoarse. “It was intentional.” Claire’s professional mask faltered. A flicker of surprise crossed her face. “I just wanted a better look,” I whispered. “I wanted to see which man was driving my wife around in the car I bought her. Which man was so important that she’d miss my birthday dinner to be with him.” Asher stepped forward, a pained, fragile expression on his face. “Leo, man, it wasn’t like that. My health… it’s not good. I needed her to drive me to a specialist. I paid her for her time, I swear. It was purely a professional relationship. Don’t read too much into it.” Claire looked at him with an expression of profound tenderness that twisted the knife in my gut. “You don’t have to explain anything to him, Asher,” she said softly, then turned back to me, her face hardening again. “As long as you admit it was intentional, that’s all we need. Get well soon. You’ll be served with a court summons once you’re discharged. All damages and associated costs from this accident will be your sole responsibility.” She tossed the summons onto the bed and turned to leave. Just then, the door swung open and three men in sharp suits walked in. I recognized them vaguely as colleagues from her firm, the kind she never brought home. Their eyes landed on Asher immediately. “Hey, we heard what happened and came as soon as we could,” one of them said, clapping Asher on the shoulder. “We went to that other hospital, but they said you were transferred back here to deal with some paperwork. Are you feeling okay?” “Don’t you worry about a thing, man,” another one chimed in, his gaze flicking toward me with contempt. “We’ve handled a dozen of these insurance scammers. We’ll make this guy pay until he’s bankrupt.” “So, what’s the deal?” the first one asked. “Is the scumbag cooperating, or are we going to have to play hardball?” Asher shot me a look of pure triumph. “It’s fine,” he said, his voice laced with false magnanimity. “As long as he’s willing to apologize, I don’t think we need to be too harsh.” The lawyers’ eyes all swiveled to me. It clicked for them. I was the scumbag. I was the scammer. One of them noticed my chart hanging at the foot of the bed. He read the words ‘ruptured spleen, lacerated liver’ and pointed a finger at me. “Well, look at that. Serves you right. Talk about karma. Tried to cash in on a payday and almost cashed out for good. Pathetic.” “The universe has a way of dealing with trash like you,” another added. They stood there, tearing me apart with their words, while Claire stood by Asher’s side, whispering in his ear, completely oblivious. A nurse bustled in then, holding a clipboard. Her eyes found Claire. “There you are! We’ve been paging you for days! Your husband is in critical condition and you’re only showing up now? Go to the admissions desk and pay the bill. It’s long overdue.” The lawyers froze, their mouths half-open. They stared from me to Claire, the cogs turning in their heads. “He’s your husband?” one of them whispered. Claire just gave a curt “Mm-hmm,” and, taking Asher by the arm, led him out of the room. Her colleagues exchanged awkward glances, muttered apologies, and then followed her out, taking the gift basket they’d brought for Asher with them. Claire never paid the bill. I paid for my own near-death experience. As I swiped my credit card, the chip reader beeping forlornly, an alert pinged on my phone. A charge notification from my emergency-use-only credit card. The one I’d given her for the down payment on our first home—the money my parents had left me. The Grand Sterling Hotel. Presidential Suite. ‘Couples’ Romance Package.’ Ten thousand dollars. I tried to call her, but it went straight to a “this number has been disconnected” message. She’d blocked me. A nurse helped me shuffle back to my room. On the way, I dialed 911. “Hello,” I said, my voice shaking with a cold, clear rage. “I’d like to report credit card fraud. And… an illegal transaction of services taking place at the Grand Sterling Hotel.” For eight years of marriage, Claire had insisted we keep our finances separate. A pre-nup. Her idea. Everything was split 50/50, down to the groceries. I even had to pay for my own health insurance. And now, while I was fighting for my life, while I was draining my savings to pay for the damage her lover had done, she was using my inheritance—my dead parents’ money—to pay for a romantic getaway with him. She hadn’t even asked if I was going to live or die. The thought was so monstrous it made me sick. Just then, my surgeon, Dr. Matthews, approached me in the hallway. “Leo, you have a sister, why didn’t you tell us? You’ve been going through this all alone. I took the liberty of looking up your emergency contacts.” A sister? I was an only child. When I pushed open my door, I saw her. A woman in a tailored suit with sharp, gold-rimmed glasses, perched on the edge of my bed. She turned, and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes spread across her face. “Your sister heard you were in trouble,” Dr. Matthews said cheerfully. “Flew in all the way from London to see you.” He exchanged a few words with this “sister” of mine, promising to have dinner soon, then left us alone. She surveyed the room, a multi-patient ward with thin curtains for privacy. “A ruptured liver, and this is where you’re recovering? All alone?” Her voice was quiet, but it vibrated with a tightly controlled anger. “This is the woman you moved mountains for, Leo.” She looked at me, her composure finally cracking. “And you couldn’t call me? You couldn’t let me know you were here, alone, fighting for your life?” “You’re busy,” I mumbled, looking at the floor. “In London…” After my parents died, Hannah Jiang, the daughter of my father’s business partner and my childhood friend, had become my de facto family. She was only a month older than me, but she had always been my protector. She had been vehemently against my marriage to Claire. When I’d ignored her warnings and eloped, she’d accepted a position at her firm’s London office and left. We’d exchanged holiday calls, but that was it. I was too ashamed to tell her how right she’d been. “Busy?” Her voice rose, shaking with emotion. “When have I ever been too busy for you? When have I not dropped everything when you needed me?” She grabbed my hand, her eyes glistening. “Do you have any idea what would have happened to me if you had died? Your father trusted me to look out for you. He put you in my care. How could I face him if I let you die alone in a place like this?” That broke me. The dam I’d built inside myself crumbled. I collapsed into her arms and sobbed, all the pain and fear and betrayal pouring out of me. If my dad were still alive, Claire would never have dared. She would never have cheated on me while I lay dying, never have sued me for the privilege. The door flew open with a bang. It was Claire. She saw me in Hannah’s arms and her face contorted with rage. “No wonder you called the cops on me!” she shrieked, her voice echoing down the hall. “You just got out of surgery and you’re already cheating! You have a wife, and you’re in here holding another woman!” Hannah released me. On pure instinct, I spun around and slapped Claire across the face. “You know damn well why I called the cops!” I yelled. “You used my inheritance to book a presidential suite for you and your boyfriend! You deserved to get caught!” Claire laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. “Oh, I see. You got caught, and now you’re lashing out.” Hannah stepped forward and, with a move so swift I barely saw it, kicked Claire’s legs out from under her. “He was almost killed because of you,” Hannah snarled, standing over her. “And you have the audacity to come in here and play the victim?” Claire scrambled backward on the floor until she recognized Hannah’s face. The fight instantly drained out of her. “Hannah,” she stammered. “You don’t understand. He set us up. He reported Asher for prostitution. He transferred five thousand dollars to Asher from my account to make it look transactional. Asher is still being held at the station because of him! We can’t explain it!” The five thousand dollars. That was my doing. A little trick I’d picked up from eight years of living with a lawyer. I knew Asher had been unemployed since returning to the States. I knew he had no assets to his name. I knew exactly how it would look to the police. Hannah just smiled. A cold, terrifying smile. “Five thousand dollars doesn’t get you held overnight, Claire. You’re a lawyer. You know the procedure better than anyone.” Her voice dropped. “It’s the pattern, isn’t it? The police must have found multiple transactions. Payments made after… services were rendered. Repeatedly.”

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The third year of my mission to win over Caleb Sterling, the city’s most untouchable heir, and I lost my memory. My mind reset to three years ago, stuck in the middle of the silent treatment with my ex-boyfriend. So, with Caleb watching my every move, I dialed my ex’s number. “Baby, don’t be mad anymore,” I cooed into the phone. “I’ll wear that new dress for you, okay?” The next second, the ever-arrogant Caleb Sterling crushed his glass in his bare hand. “Chloe,” he snarled through gritted teeth, “I dare you to say that again.” “What the hell am I to you, then? A ghost?” 1 “Chloe, how long are you going to keep this up?” “I already told you, there’s nothing between us.” “We grew up together. We haven’t seen each other in years. What’s the big deal about a little kiss?” I woke up in a hospital bed to the sight of a stranger in a tailored suit raking a hand through his perfectly styled hair. He was handsome, but his frustration was a storm cloud in the sterile room. When I didn’t respond, he pulled a watch from his wrist—a heavy, platinum thing glittering with diamonds—and tossed it onto the bedside table. “Take this. And I’ll throw in a condo downtown. Is that enough for you?” My head throbbed. I picked up the watch, the weight of it cool and solid in my palm, and struggled to focus on the ridiculously ornate face. He let out a short, humorless laugh, sinking into the chair beside my bed. He reached out and stroked my hair like I was a stray cat he’d decided to humor. “That’s more like it,” he murmured. “Running out into traffic, getting yourself hurt… was it really worth all this drama?” He tilted his head. “Pack your things. I’ll take you home.” I’ll admit, with his sharp jawline and intense, dark eyes, he was movie-star handsome in a reckless, arrogant way. Unfortunately for him, he was also an asshole, which was a total deal-breaker. I pulled away from his touch and held the watch out to him. “It’s five-thirty,” I said, my voice raspy. “My boyfriend gets off work soon. Thanks, but I don’t need a ride.” I thought I’d made myself clear, but the man’s face instantly darkened. He narrowed his eyes, a dangerous glint in their depths. “Chloe. What the hell did you just say?” His voice was low, menacing. “Which boyfriend gets off work soon?” Which boyfriend? I’d been with Leo for three years. There was no one else. Before I could form a response, the man shoved a phone into my hand, his grip tight. “Call him,” he seethed. “Call him right now. I want to see exactly who’s coming to pick you up.” Tears of frustration pricked my eyes. A car accident and a concussion were bad enough without having to deal with a certified lunatic. He sprawled on the sofa opposite me, legs spread, watching my every move. Under his burning gaze, I found Leo’s name in my contacts and took a deep breath, moving him out of my blocked list. Thinking back, Leo and I rarely fought. He could be a little old-fashioned, that was all. The last time we’d been on the outs was because he thought the dress I’d bought was a little too short, and he’d lectured me about it for days. It was silly, but it was our brand of silly. The phone rang twice in the quiet room before he picked up. His voice, warm and familiar, was laced with hesitation. “Chloe? Is that you?” “Yeah,” I breathed out. It was all I could manage. On the other end, it was like a dam had broken. “They said you were in an accident. Are you okay? Is it serious?” he asked in a rush. “Which hospital are you at? I’m on my way.” With every frantic question he asked, the man across from me grew visibly angrier, his jaw clenching. I quickly gave Leo the address, my voice softening as I added, “Baby, I’ll wear that new dress for you tomorrow, okay? The one you like.” The words were barely out of my mouth when a violent crash echoed through the room. I whipped my head around. The stranger had crushed the water glass he was holding in his bare hand. Blood mingled with shards of glass, dripping onto the pristine floor at his feet. He didn’t seem to feel it. His teeth were gritted, his voice a guttural growl. “Chloe, I dare you to say that again.” “What the hell am I to you, then? A ghost?” A nurse, drawn by the noise, burst in and froze, her eyes wide with shock. “Mr. Sterling, please! The patient needs to rest.” His hand was a mess. It took the nurse a while to get him settled on the sofa and bandage the wound. In the middle of it, his phone rang. He took a deep breath, his eyelids twitching with suppressed rage. His tone was clipped. “I told you, I’m busy.” A lazy, carefree voice drifted from the speakerphone. “Isabelle is waiting for you, man. What could possibly be more important?” Caleb Sterling’s eyes were locked on me, cold and unblinking. “I’m dealing with a cheater,” he said slowly, enunciating every word. “You tell me. Is that important?” 2 The nurse’s ears practically perked up like an antenna; she wanted to listen but was too scared to be obvious. I felt pinned by his stare and let my gaze wander up to the ceiling. You know, for a hospital, this ceiling was really top-notch. A solid ten out of ten. “Don’t get the wound wet,” the nurse instructed, finishing the bandage. “Come back in three days to have it changed.” The man—Caleb—waved a dismissive hand, clearly not listening. Before the nurse could even shut the door behind her, a figure rushed into the room. He was still shrugging on his coat, the belt of his black trench coat hanging askew at his waist. Leo. Leo was five years older than me, with a quiet, steady presence that had always been my anchor. When we lived together, I’d wake up every morning to find toothpaste already squeezed onto my toothbrush and a hand towel folded neatly by the sink, right where I’d reach for it. I had never seen him look so disheveled, so undone. I looked up at him, my heart aching, and wrapped my arms around his waist, burying my face in his coat. “Take me home, Leo. They said I can go.” He froze for a second. I saw his throat work as he swallowed, and his cool hand hovered over my head, not quite touching me. “Chloe, I…” Before he could finish, a slow, deliberate clap echoed from across the room. Caleb was leaning forward, his face half-shrouded in shadow, his eyes burning with contempt. “How touching. Truly a scene for the ages.” He sneered. “After three years of following me around like a goddamn puppy, this is the guy you call your boyfriend?” The words were so bizarre, so completely nonsensical, that I didn’t even know how to react. But before I could stand up, Leo disentangled himself from my arms and strode across the room. He swung, and his fist connected with Caleb’s jaw with a sickening crack. “Caleb Sterling,” Leo snarled, his voice dangerously low. “Keep your goddamn mouth shut.” I was stunned. So was Caleb. Leo, my gentle, bookish Leo who never even raised his voice, had just thrown a punch. I scrambled off the bed and threw my arms around Leo’s waist, pulling him back before Caleb could retaliate. I dragged him out of the room, ignoring the furious roar that erupted behind us. Caleb kicked the heavy metal door, the sound booming down the hallway. “Chloe! You’re choosing him?” “Goddammit, Chloe, you get your ass back here!” His voice faded as we reached the elevator. In the passenger seat of Leo’s car, I gently took his hand, turning it over in my own. “Does it hurt? Why were you so impulsive? What if you’d broken it?” In the dim light of the car, Leo didn’t answer. He just looked at me for a long moment before leaning in and crushing his lips to mine. It wasn’t like his usual kisses. This was urgent, almost frantic. And underneath it all, there was a profound, aching vulnerability. It was less like a welcome and more like a claim. I was breathless when he finally pulled back, my face flushed. He looked just as wrecked as I felt. He gently cradled the back of my neck, shifting me into a more comfortable position against the seat. “Get some sleep,” he murmured, his voice thick. “We’re almost home.” I was exhausted. The chaos of the hospital, the fight, the raw emotion of seeing Leo again… it had all taken its toll. I didn’t even have the energy to question his uncharacteristic behavior. I leaned my head back and let the motion of the car lull me into a daze. My thoughts felt like scrambled eggs. Just as we were pulling into our neighborhood, a strange sound echoed in my mind—a cascade of chimes, like a slot machine paying out. 【Host! Host! You’re finally awake!】 【Progress on the Caleb Sterling objective is at 60%!】 【Victory is within your grasp!】

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The week before my thirtieth birthday, my fiancée, Chloe, transferred five million dollars from my primary investment account. I told myself she was planning some kind of extravagant surprise. For a full day, I let myself live in that warm, hopeful delusion. Then, on the morning of my actual birthday, she sent me a text. A measly happy birthday GIF and a $5.20 Venmo payment with the note: “Love you 5ever! <3” I stared at the notification, a cold knot forming in my gut. I didn't say a word. I just declined the payment. That evening, I was on the guest list for a major networking gala hosted at a private estate in the Hamptons. When the Uber pulled up to the address, my blood ran cold. It was my own estate, Hawthorne Manor. My late mother’s house. But it was wrong. Horribly wrong. The elegant, understated entrance was now a gaudy monstrosity of gold-leaf and spotlights, an ostentatious display that had the other guests murmuring in envious whispers. This kind of spectacle must have cost a fortune. I assumed, foolishly, that this was Chloe’s grand gesture, the reason for the five million dollars. Swallowing my unease, I pushed through the gilded doors. The first thing I saw was Carter Shaw, Chloe’s childhood friend, holding court in the center of the grand hall. He was wearing what looked suspiciously like my custom Tom Ford tuxedo, the one that cost fifty grand. 1 “An estate like this has to be worth north of twenty million,” a guest near me gushed. “The owner must be some kind of royalty. The extravagance is unreal!” “Isn’t that Carter Shaw?” another replied. “His family’s in finance, but I didn’t know they had this kind of money. No wonder he’s always saying cash is no object.” I stood frozen at the entrance, a bitter taste in my mouth. I looked at Carter, preening on the makeshift stage, and then at the unrecognizable rooms around me. This place was my inheritance, a sanctuary my mother had designed herself with a quiet, coastal elegance. Now, it was a grotesque caricature of new money. So this was it. This was the five-million-dollar surprise. She hadn’t just spent my money; she had desecrated my home. The hand-carved Hawthorne sign my mother had commissioned for the front gate was gone. The ancient maples she’d planted were uprooted, replaced by garish, imported palm trees. Carter spotted me. A smirk played on his lips as he sauntered over, champagne flute in hand. “Ethan,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension. “What are you doing here? I don’t remember putting you on the list.” He gestured vaguely around the room. “Chloe and I are hosting a rather exclusive event tonight. You wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself by overstaying your welcome.” The casual way he said ‘Chloe and I’ sent a spike of ice through my veins. “My house,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “You don’t get to make the guest list.” Carter blinked, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “What are you talking about? This estate was a gift. From Chloe. What right do you have to call it yours?” I was fighting a war on two fronts: one against the roaring inferno in my chest, the other to keep my voice steady. “This house is mine. Are you having trouble understanding English? You and Chloe vandalized my property, and I will see you both in prison for it.” He threw his head back and laughed, a loud, obnoxious sound. He looked me up and down with pure disdain. “Ethan, are you still dreaming? What a big shot. You really think you’re something, don’t you?” he sneered. “Chloe Lane is the heiress to Lane Industries. She’s out of your league. If you had any real power, you wouldn’t still be some glorified office drone, grinding away for a paycheck.” He gave a subtle nod, and two hulking security guards materialized at his side, boxing me in. Before I could react, they slammed me to the marble floor. A knee pressed into my back, pinning me. Carter’s polished Italian loafer came down on my cheek, grinding my face into the cold stone. “Since you’re still so sleepy, allow me to wake you up,” he hissed, his face a mask of triumphant rage. “This house is mine. Something a broke loser like you could never afford in a million lifetimes.” A sharp, burning pain flared across my face. “It’s my house!” I yelled, my voice muffled against the floor. “The sign at the gate… my mother had it carved… It said ‘Hawthorne’!” Carter chuckled. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me back towards the entrance, forcing my head up. He pointed at the new, hideous plaque bolted over the gate. “Open your damn eyes,” he spat. “It says ‘Shaw Manor.’” The beautiful, hand-carved letters my mother had so loved were gone. I trembled with a rage so profound it left me breathless. I pulled out my phone, my hands shaking, and called Chloe. 2 It rang. And rang. Finally, she picked up. “Ethan, I’m in the middle of something important,” Chloe’s voice was sharp, impatient. “Unless you’re dying, don’t call me.” She hung up. The dial tone blared in my ear. I could feel the blood drain from my face, then rush back in a hot, shameful tide. Carter heard the click. He burst into another round of laughter. “Go on! Call again! Oh, that’s right, she doesn’t want to hear from you unless you’re dead. Tough break.” He leaned in closer, his breath smelling of expensive champagne. “She’s out getting me a birthday present. You should just give up.” I stared at him, the pieces clicking together with sickening clarity. “Your birthday? You’re celebrating your birthday in my house?” I struggled against the guard’s grip. “I can prove it. The deed to this house is in my name.” Carter’s response was a sharp slap across my face. The sound echoed in the foyer. “Don’t you dare try to pull that crap with me,” he hissed, his eyes glinting. “Chloe is a Lane. She wouldn’t give me someone else’s property, especially not some pathetic loser’s. Now take a good look in the mirror and realize what a charity case you are.” Just as I was about to retort, the roar of a sports car engine cut through the night. A moment later, Chloe swept in, poured into a tight red dress that clung to every curve. She moved with a practiced sway, walking straight past me and into Carter’s arms. “Happy birthday, Carter,” she cooed, her voice honey-sweet. “I poured my heart and soul into this place for you. Do you like your gift?” I watched, paralyzed, as the woman I was supposed to marry, the woman I had loved for years, wrapped her arms around another man. It felt like watching a movie of someone else’s life. This was the same woman who had gently massaged my stomach when my stress-induced ulcers flared up, the one who insisted on brewing bitter herbal remedies because she said they were good for me. This was my Chloe. But the woman here tonight wouldn’t even grant me a single glance. Carter saw me staring. He shot me a triumphant, cruel smirk before turning back to Chloe, his expression melting into one of a pouting child. “Chloe, darling,” he whined, pointing a finger at me. “This lunatic showed up out of nowhere. He keeps saying this house is his. I’m scared.” He clutched her arm theatrically. “Is he going to try and take my birthday present away? I don’t want that. I love the house you gave me.” Finally, Chloe’s gaze fell on me. It was flat, cold, and utterly devoid of recognition. “Let’s see who would dare try to take something from you,” she said, her voice like ice. She crouched down, her expensive perfume filling the air around me. She looked at my face, bloody and pressed to the floor, as if I were a piece of trash someone had tracked in. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice laced with disgust. “This estate is mine. It was a gift for Carter. Now get the hell out of here before I have you thrown out.” The sheer audacity of her lie stole my breath. “You’re lying,” I choked out, gesturing wildly toward the entrance. “This is Hawthorne Manor!” My words seemed to jog a memory in one of the nearby guests. “You know, I think he might be right,” the man murmured to his wife. “I remember this place being the old Hayes estate. What’s going on here?” Carter heard him. “Don’t listen to him!” he shouted, his voice ringing with panic. “Chloe doesn’t know him! He’s just some grifter trying to crash a high-society party for contacts and free champagne!” 3 A few of Carter’s friends quickly chimed in. “Exactly! Look at him. Does he look like he owns a place like this? He’s dressed like he sleeps on the street.” “Get out of here, you bum!” another one yelled. “Don’t dirty up Mr. Shaw’s beautiful home. We could sell you for parts and you still wouldn’t cover the cost of one of these rugs.” That was it. I would get the deed. I would shove the proof of ownership in their smug, ignorant faces. I struggled to my feet and made a break for the study. I didn’t make it two steps. Carter lunged, grabbing me by the hair and slamming my head against the heavy oak door. A starburst of pain exploded behind my eyes. “You piece of trash,” he snarled, his face inches from mine. “Did I say you could enter my house? Are you deaf? I told you to get out!” I felt something warm and wet trickle down my temple. My vision swam. Through the haze, I could see Carter’s triumphant sneer. “Carter,” I ground out between clenched teeth. “You’re going to regret this.” My defiance only seemed to fuel his rage. He kicked my legs out from under me and I crumpled to the floor. Then the fists started flying, hammering into my ribs, my stomach, my face. “Regret this? You think you’re in a position to threaten me?” he grunted with each blow. “Let me teach you the rules. When you’re on my property, you’re nothing but a dog. It’s time you learned how to crawl.” An excruciating pain radiated through my limbs until I didn't have the strength to even lift an arm to defend myself. I was a puppet, and he was pulling the strings. When he finally ran out of steam, he stood over me, breathing heavily. A cold smile spread across his face. “You know, Ethan, my new estate could use a guard dog. I’m feeling generous. I’ll let you have the job.” He snapped his fingers. One of the security guards produced a thick leather dog collar and fastened it around my neck. The metal buckle was cold against my skin. Carter circled me, a thoughtful frown on his face. “Wait,” he said, his eyes lighting up with a fresh wave of cruelty. “Dogs don’t wear clothes. Get them off him.” “You’re a monster, Carter!” I screamed, a raw, desperate sound. A moment later, I felt cold air on my skin as my clothes were torn away. The crowd that had gathered was watching me like a sideshow attraction. Phones were out, cameras flashing. Humiliation washed over me, a chilling tide. I was forced onto all fours like an animal, the shame a physical weight. I stared at Carter, my hatred a burning coal in my chest. I wanted to tear him apart. “Carter Shaw,” I rasped, my voice thick with blood and fury. “I will burn you to ashes for this.” He just laughed. He placed a foot on my back, pressing me down. “A dog’s bark is worse than its bite,” he announced to the crowd. “I want everyone to see what happens when a stray wanders onto my property. I want you all to see him beg.” The sound of our confrontation drew more people out from the main party. They saw me, bloody and bruised, a collar around my neck, and some of them had the decency to look shocked. “What’s happening here?” a woman whispered. “That’s a person. How can they treat him like that?” “You don’t get it,” someone next to her replied smugly. “He brought it on himself. Trying to claim a house that isn’t his. He’s getting what he deserves.” Carter, soaking in the attention, puffed out his chest. I saw my chance. With every last ounce of strength I had, I launched myself up and sank my teeth into his hand. I bit down with the force of years of suppressed frustration and a moment of pure, primal rage. I felt a sickening crunch of bone and cartilage. I tore away, spitting his severed pinky finger into the dirt of a nearby potted plant. The color drained from Carter's face. He clutched his maimed hand, a strangled scream escaping his lips as he stared at me with eyes full of murder. Just then, Chloe returned, her face a mask of concern. The sight of Carter’s mangled hand made her gasp. She looked around frantically. “Someone call an ambulance! Now!” 4 Carter, cradling his bleeding hand, pointed a trembling finger at me. “Chloe… it was him! I was just talking to him, and he… he attacked me! He just jumped up and bit me!” Chloe’s gaze snapped to me, her eyes filled with a loathing so intense it felt like a physical blow. “You bastard,” she spat. “You’re even more vicious than I thought. I underestimated you.” Her voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “If they can’t reattach Carter’s finger, I will have you chopped into pieces and fed to the dogs.” I looked up at the woman I was supposed to marry, this beautiful stranger who was defending another man while condemning me. The pain in my heart was a physical agony, a deep, shuddering tremor that threatened to stop my breathing altogether. Tears blurred my vision. “Chloe,” I choked out, the words tearing at my raw throat. “I’m your fiancé.” This was the girl who had held my hand and promised me forever. But somewhere along the way, the promise had been corrupted by money and power, turning us into strangers. I struggled to my feet, my body screaming in protest. “This estate is mine,” I said, my voice shaking. “A week ago, you transferred five million dollars from my account.” For the first time, a flicker of something—fear? guilt?—crossed her face. She looked away. “What are you talking about? This is my estate. I gave it to Carter. I never took your money.” Her denial was a fresh stab in the wound. I forced myself to speak, dredging up the past she was so desperate to bury. “Have you forgotten, Chloe? Have you forgotten that it was my money that saved your family’s company from bankruptcy? It was my investment that made you CEO of Lane Industries.” “Oh, shut up!” she snapped, cutting me off. “Are you ever going to let that go? It was a business deal, Ethan. A small one. I’d forgotten all about it.” I fell silent. She was right. The sweet, ambitious girl who had wanted to build a life with me was gone. In her place stood this cold, ruthless creature. I took a deep breath, steadied myself, and walked past her, into the study. I went directly to the antique safe hidden behind a bookshelf and pulled out the file containing the property deed. I walked back out and held it up. “Then why don’t you take a look at this,” I said, my voice flat. “See who the real owner of this estate is.” Chloe let out a short, mocking laugh. She snatched the folder from my hand and opened it, a triumphant smirk on her face. “Ethan, you really are pathetic. You just don’t know when to quit.” She turned the document around for me to see. “Why don’t you take a look and see who the owner is.” I looked. And my world tilted on its axis. There, on the line marked ‘Owner,’ was her name: Chloe Lane. How? When did she do this? When did she forge the documents and steal my mother’s house from me? The people around us craned their necks to see. A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd, their expressions shifting from morbid curiosity to outright contempt for me. “Well, that settles it,” one man said, shaking his head. “I almost felt sorry for him, but it turns out he’s just crazy. Does he just go around picking out nice houses and claiming they belong to him?” “No!” I yelled, my voice cracking. “That’s not true! This is my house!” Chloe and Carter exchanged a look of pure, malicious glee. “You’re delusional, Ethan,” Chloe said sweetly. “You claim this house is yours. Do you have any proof?” “If you can’t prove it,” Carter added, his voice a low growl, “the only way you’re leaving this house tonight is in a body bag.” The circle of guards tightened around me, their knuckles cracking in the tense silence. They were ready. I closed my eyes, a wave of despair washing over me. This was it. I was trapped. Just as their hands were about to fall on me, a deep, authoritative voice boomed from the doorway. “Stand down! Since when did Ethan’s property become yours to claim?”

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