Category: English

“Forty thousand dollars. I’m never getting it back.” I stared at the screen of my phone, my cousin’s social media feed searing my eyes. A photo of a new house key, tied with a cheap, festive bow. The caption: Finally have a place of our own. The phone rang. It was him. “Riley, forty grand is nothing to you, but I was that short on the down payment. Can’t you just wait a little longer?” I let out a short, hollow laugh. Two years ago, he was on his knees, crying, calling it life-saving money, promising to repay it in three months. Two years. Not a penny seen. “Jake.” I opened my photo album and pulled up the screenshot. “You say you don’t have the money to repay me, but that new house key on your feed—did that come free with a phone upgrade?” Silence hung on the line. 1 I remembered the whole thing with crystal clarity. March 2023. My cousin, Jake, called me out of the blue, his voice shaking. “Riley, you have to save me.” I was working late, and the panic in his voice made me think it was an emergency. “What’s wrong?” “The business is in trouble. Vendors are demanding payment, and I can’t cover the gap.” His voice hitched. “I’m only short forty thousand. Three months, I swear, I’ll pay you back in three months.” Forty thousand. It was everything I had saved from five years of working. My entire nest egg. “Jake, I…” “Riley, I’m begging you.” A choked sob came over the phone. “You’re my last hope. The banks won’t touch me. I even took Aunt Brenda’s retirement money to fill the holes. I’m totally cornered.” I hesitated for a long time. Growing up, Jake had always been decent to me. When I got bullied in elementary school, he was the one who stood up for me. The year I applied to college, Aunt Brenda brought me her famous chicken casserole. “Will you write an IOU?” I asked. “Yes! Absolutely, I will!” He sounded like I’d thrown him a life raft. “I’m coming over right now. I’ll write it in front of you.” An hour later, Jake was on my doorstep. He actually dropped to his knees. “Riley, this money is my life.” His eyes were red as he handed me the handwritten IOU. “Three months. I will pay it back. If I don’t, you can take me to court.” My mother, Patty, stood by, sighing. “Jake, get up. We’re family. Why are you doing this?” I didn’t say a word. I opened my banking app and transferred the $40,000. As the transfer confirmation dinged, he bowed deeply. “Riley, I’ll remember this kindness for a lifetime.” A lifetime. I found the word sickeningly ironic now. Three months later, I called him. “Jake, about the money…” “Riley, I was just about to call you.” His voice was lighter, easier. “Things are still a little tight. Give me two more months, and I’ll definitely have it.” I said okay. Two months later, I called again. This time, he didn’t pick up. I sent a text. He replied: Super busy lately. I’ll be in touch in a few days. A few days turned into a few weeks, which bled into a few months. I soon realized he’d put me on a restrictive list on social media. Everyone else could see his posts about dinners out, weekend trips, and new clothes. I only saw generic reposts about organic eating or lame dad jokes. I called my Aunt Brenda and asked how Jake was doing. “Jake’s doing great,” she said cheerfully. “The business is slowly turning around.” I asked, “What about the money he borrowed from me…” Aunt Brenda paused for a second, then laughed. “Riley, honey, we’re family. What’s the rush? The minute Jake has it, he’ll pay you back.” The minute he has it. But when was that minute, exactly? In early 2024, I tried a few more times. Jake either didn’t answer or told me, “Just be patient.” I tried to be patient. In mid-2024, my dad, Frank, went in for a routine check-up and they found a serious issue. The doctor said he needed surgery, and the out-of-pocket cost would be about $8,000. I tallied my savings—$5,000. My monthly salary was decent, but after rent and expenses, I could only bank four or five hundred a month. Two years of diligent saving had yielded less than five thousand. I was $3,000 short. I called Jake again. “Jake, Dad needs surgery. Can you pay back just a partial amount? Three thousand would be enough to cover the rest of the bill.” He was silent for a long moment. “Riley, I truly don’t have it.” He sighed, sounding put upon. “You know how bad business has been. Can’t you figure out something else?” I said, “Jake, I loaned you forty thousand dollars.” “I know I owe you!” His voice grew impatient. “But what do you want me to do? You make a good salary—forty grand is just two years of work for you. I needed that money to save my business!” My hand, clutching the phone, was shaking. “Jake, you promised me three months.” “I told you I don’t have it now!” He suddenly raised his voice. “Why are you so petty? It’s not like I’m never going to pay you back!” Petty. The word felt like a physical slap across my face. I hung up, sat on the edge of my bed, and felt my eyes sting. Forty thousand. When I gave it to you, you cried on your knees. Now my dad needs surgery, and you call me petty. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I opened my phone and went to Jake’s social media. He had changed his privacy settings to show only six months of posts, but they were still the same generic wellness garbage. I switched to an old burner account I never used. I wasn’t connected to him on that one, but some of his posts were public. And there it was— October 17, 2024. A photo of a new house key with a festive bow. Caption: Finally have a place of our own. October 25, 2024. A picture of a new car key, a Honda logo glinting. Caption: First new car. Time to celebrate. December 2024. Photos of a minimalist-style living room. Caption: The place is slowly coming together. I stared at the screen, a cold dread washing over me. He said he couldn’t pay me back. So where did the money for a house and a car come from? I saved the screenshots, my heart hammering against my ribs. The next day, I called Jake. “Jake, I saw your social media.” “What social media?” His voice was instantly guarded. “The new house, the new car.” I took a deep breath. “I thought you didn’t have any money.” He hesitated, then laughed awkwardly. “That was my mother-in-law’s money. What does that have to do with you?” “What does it have to do with me?” “Meredith’s mother loves her daughter. She helped us with the down payment and the car. That’s her money. I didn’t use your loan to buy a house.” I was shaking with anger. “Jake, you owe me forty thousand dollars.” “I know I owe you!” He was annoyed now. “But I genuinely don’t have the cash right now. What do you want me to do? Sell the house to pay you back?” I didn’t answer. “Riley, you’re in your twenties, how are you this clueless?” He sighed patronizingly. “I’m trying to make things work. Just be patient. When I’m back on my feet, I’ll pay you back.” Be patient. I had been patient from 2023 to 2025—two long years. My dad was in the hospital, and I was $3,000 short of his surgery bill. And my cousin, living in a new house and driving a new car, told me to be patient. “Jake.” My voice was surprisingly calm. “I’m not waiting any longer.” “What does that mean?” “It means I’m getting my money back.” The line went silent for a few seconds. Then, he chuckled. “Riley, how do you plan to do that? Sue me?” I tightened my grip on the phone. “If you insist on going through legal channels, go ahead,” he said lightly. “The house isn’t in my name anyway. You won’t get a thing.” “Who said the house isn’t in your name?” He froze. I looked at the photo of the new house key on my screen and gave a small, humorless smile. “Jake, your caption says, ‘Finally have a place of our own.’” I enunciated every word. “‘Our own,’ not your mother-in-law’s.” Dead silence. “I’ll have my lawyer check the deeds,” I said. “You’d better pray that house is truly not in your name.” I hung up. 2. The next day, my mom, Patty, called, sounding conflicted. “Riley, your Aunt Brenda stopped by earlier.” My stomach dropped. “What did she say?” “She said Jake is under a lot of pressure, that business is rough, and that you shouldn’t push him so hard.” Mom sighed. “She also said…we’re family, and talking about money just ruins the relationship.” Talking about money ruins the relationship. I let out a cold snort. “Mom, was he worried about ruining the relationship when he begged me for the money?” “I know, but…” Mom hesitated. “Aunt Brenda also brought up how much they helped us when you were getting into college.” I was stunned. “What help?” “She mentioned…Jake used to tutor you in high school, and that Uncle Gary helped your dad get that job years ago.” I took a deep breath. “Mom, you and Dad had to borrow money for my tuition, and it took three years to pay off. Jake tutored me? His math grade was a D, what could he have tutored me in?” My mom fell silent. “And Uncle Gary getting Dad a job—that was fifteen years ago! Dad quit after a month because the pay was barely minimum wage.” My voice shook slightly. “Mom, Aunt Brenda is just using moral blackmail.” “I know, I just…” Mom sighed again. “I worry about you causing a family rift over this.” “Mom, forty thousand dollars.” I gripped the phone. “I want to preserve our family ties, but what do they think I am?” Mom was quiet for a long time before saying, “Do what you think is best,” and hanging up. I sat on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Our family was never the rich one among the relatives. My dad was a blue-collar worker, and Mom worked the checkout counter at a grocery store. Uncle Gary’s family ran a small business and had a lot more disposable income. I remembered going to their house when I was a kid. Jake had a pile of expensive toys, and I could only watch. Aunt Brenda would smile and say, “Riley, just play with them. We’re family.” But the moment I actually reached for one, she would say, “That one is expensive. Be careful not to break it.” We’re family. It was the most convenient phrase. We were family when he needed the loan; we were family when he didn’t want to pay it back. But why did the idea of “family” only apply to my need to concede? I opened my laptop and started gathering the evidence. The bank transfer record: March 15, 2023. Transfer of $40,000. Memo: Loan. The text messages: Jake’s promise to repay “in three months.” The timestamps were undeniable. The IOU: Handwritten, signed, dated, with the amount clearly stated. The social media screenshots: New house keys, new car keys, renovation photos. I exported everything, saved it on a flash drive, and printed two copies. Then, I drove to the law office. The lawyer was a sharp, thirty-something woman named Ms. Shaw. She had a no-nonsense air about her. “Ms. Green, your case is very strong,” Ms. Shaw said after reviewing the materials. “The IOU, the transfer record, the texts—you have everything. The chances of winning in court are excellent.” “I need to know if that house is in his name.” Ms. Shaw nodded. “I can run a property deed search for you.” “And if it is?” “Then we can file a lien against it,” she explained. “After the court judgment, if he refuses to comply, we can petition for a forced sale.” I took a deep breath. “One more question,” I said. “What if he tries to transfer the property before the trial?” Ms. Shaw looked at me knowingly. “Do you suspect he might?” “He claimed his mother-in-law bought it. I worry he might sign it over to his wife beforehand.” “Any malicious transfer of assets during the litigation process can be clawed back by the court,” Ms. Shaw stated. “And the act itself only hurts his credibility.” I nodded. “Ms. Shaw, I want to file the lawsuit.” Ms. Shaw looked at me and smiled reassuringly. “Let’s do it.” Leaving the law office, I sent Jake a text message. “I’m giving you one last chance. Repay the $40,000 within one week. Otherwise, I’ll see you in court.” The message showed as Read. He didn’t reply. Three days later, Aunt Brenda called. “Riley, why are you suing your cousin?” Her voice was tearful. “We’re family. Can’t we just sit down and talk about this?” “Aunt Brenda, I’ve been sitting down and talking about this for two years,” I replied calmly. “Every time, he tells me to ‘be patient.’ Now, a whole year later, I haven’t seen one cent.” “Jake really doesn’t have the…” “Aunt Brenda,” I cut her off. “His down payment for the house was $75,000. His car was $20,000. That’s $95,000. Are you telling me you truly believe he doesn’t have $40,000 for me?” Aunt Brenda paused. “He…that was his mother-in-law’s money.” “Was it?” I retorted coldly. “Do you even know whose name the house is in, Aunt Brenda?” She didn’t answer. “Aunt Brenda, I don’t want to escalate this,” I said. “But my dad needs surgery, and I need the money. You were there when I loaned your son $40,000.” “Riley, listen to me…” “Aunt Brenda.” I interrupted her again. “I’m only going to ask you one thing. If I had borrowed $40,000 from Jake two years ago, refused to pay it back, bought a house and a car, and told him to ‘be patient,’ what would you do?” Dead silence on the other end. “I’ll wait one week,” I said. “If he pays me back in that time, this is over. After that, we go to court.” I hung up.

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The semi-truck was a runaway missile. One second, I was rushing toward the biggest company launch of the quarter; the next, a screech of tires, an eruption of metal, and the world was just fire and twisted steel. It was my best friend, Dustin “Dust” Rhodes, who dragged me from the wreckage. He didn’t make it out unscathed; a shard of shrapnel from the explosion caught him. Lying in the trauma bay, barely conscious, I watched him, bandaged and pale, call my fiancée, Seraphina “Sera” Lowell. Her reply was casual, dismissive: “Alex, darling, Owen’s new game is in beta testing today. I’m running diagnostics for him. Nothing important. Gotta go!” Dust lost it, hanging up and immediately calling his own girlfriend, Jillian “Jill” Maxwell, to beg for help finding a specialist. “Seriously, Dust? Don’t be dramatic. Owen’s project is huge. I’m crunching his data right now!” When I finally clawed my way back from the edge of the abyss, my eyes met Dust’s across the sterile white of the hospital room. My voice was a rasp, but the words were solid: “I want to call off the engagement.” Dust didn’t hesitate. “You cancel, I cancel.” The panic that caused in those two women was exactly what we expected. 1 Dustin was a man of immediate action. After confirming the cold, hard facts—which, frankly, involved little more than a replay of the call logs—he sent Jillian a succinct text: We’re done. I was still immobilized, confined to the bed. The doctors had finished a grueling debridement, but a few pieces of glass were lodged deep, dangerously close to vital organs. They hadn’t pulled me out of the danger zone yet. The monitoring machine beside me provided the rhythmic, unnerving soundtrack to my private war with death. Only Dust was with me. He was patched up, too—bandages on his arm and a gash across his forehead, battle scars he earned saving my life. We were two soldiers on a retreat, one sitting, one prone, quietly licking our wounds. “Tomorrow was the rehearsal dinner,” Dust observed, his voice flat as he glanced at the wall calendar. My throat felt raw and burned from the smoke and fumes. I could only manage a quiet nod. The real engagement party? Clearly not happening. Just then, my phone broke the heavy silence. Dust picked it up from the nightstand. His face immediately darkened. “It’s Sera.” I gestured for him to answer and put it on speaker. “Alex Montgomery!” Sera’s voice was sharp, a high-pitched spike of accusation, not concern. “What on earth is going on with you? The rehearsal dinner is in an hour! Why aren’t you here?” I coughed twice, trying to clear my throat. “I’m in the hospital… I can’t make it. I told you yesterday.” “Oh, that’s rich!” Her tone was filled with the kind of impatience one reserves for a spoiled child. “Just because I went with Owen Keller for a doctor’s visit yesterday, you’re pulling this petty stunt? Do you have any idea how many high-profile guests are confirmed?” “I am genuinely in the hospital,” my voice was thin, but steady. “St. Jude’s Medical Center. Intensive Care Unit.” “Fine. If you’re going to be like that, I’ll drive over and pick you up myself,” she threatened. “You’d better be there, or you’ll regret it.” “I am here.” “Alex!” Her volume ratcheted up again. “If you stand me up, you are facing consequences. The party starts in an hour, and I won’t wait!” Dust couldn’t take it anymore. He snatched the phone. “Are you deaf, Sera? He said hospital! He said ICU!” His voice was a furious roar. “You two self-obsessed witches! Owen had a damn stomach flu and you were glued to his side. Alex almost died in a fire trap and you couldn’t be bothered to make a single follow-up call!” Before he could finish his tirade, the line went dead. She’d hung up. Dust was shaking, his face pale with rage. He paced the small perimeter of the room like a caged lion. Then, his own phone rang. He glanced at the screen, a cold smirk twisting his lips. He answered, putting it on speaker without a word. “Dustin, where are you?” Jill’s voice echoed in the room. “It’s the day I’m meeting my parents! I sent you the location! Are you intentionally missing this?” Dust’s eyes turned to ice. “Meeting your parents? Jill, I told you last night. We are broken up. An ex is supposed to drop off the face of the earth. Vanish. You should be six feet under in my world.” He paused, letting the silence hang heavy. “You want me to meet your parents? I think I should be buying flowers for your funeral instead.” Jill was clearly stung. Her voice trembled. “Du-Dustin! You will regret this! Fine. You want to break up? We’re through!” Dust ended the call without another word and efficiently blocked her number and all social media profiles. Done. He exhaled, patting his own chest. He turned to me. “My side is settled. We’ll deal with yours when you’re stronger. Don’t let those sociopaths give you a heart attack.” I looked at him and managed a weak, grateful smile. 2 My forced absence, predictably, caused Seraphina a tremendous loss of face. She called several times. I ignored the first two. The third time, I just silenced the phone. The texts she sent went unread, treated like a relic of a dead past. The final one flashed on the screen: Alex, this is completely irresponsible! I stared at the words but didn’t reply. The planning and execution of today’s engagement party had been entirely under the command of the Lowell family. My input was never valued. I was just a functional prop in her carefully scripted life. My own parents divorced when I was twelve and both remarried. Though their lives centered elsewhere, they’d never neglected basic care or financial support. When they heard about the crash, they instantly canceled their travel plans and were flying back. And Sera? She hadn’t bothered to ask about my injuries. She’d ignored my clear decision to cancel the engagement. Since she chose not to believe me, why should I debase myself by explaining? The audacity of her next move still blindsided me: she found a stand-in to complete the ceremony. In the afternoon, during my dressing change, two young nurses were gossiping. Their conversation drifted into my sterile bubble. “Did you hear? Sera Lowell got engaged today. Her fiancé is gorgeous! So talented, too.” “Right? She’s so lucky. Look, they took a selfie. They look so perfect together!” I couldn’t help but lift my head to see the photo on the nurse’s phone. In the picture, Sera was standing beside Owen Keller, her head nestled casually on his shoulder. Her smile was blinding, radiant. They did look like a perfect match. A foregone conclusion. My eyes suddenly stung—not from the antiseptic, but from a sharp, acidic ache deep in my chest. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” The nurse changing my bandage asked with immediate concern. “I’ll be gentler.” “It hurts a little,” I replied softly. My eyes were suddenly damp. “But I can handle it.” Dust reached over and squeezed my wrist, a silent pledge of support. I shook my head at him. “It’s fine. This pain is nothing.” In truth, it hurt like hell, but compared to the searing humiliation of Sera’s public betrayal, the physical pain was merely a dull backdrop. When we were alone, Dust tried to comfort me. “They’re both sociopathic trash, Alex. They don’t deserve your grief.” “Oh, guess what,” he suddenly changed the subject. “That crazy Jill just messaged me. She made a pot of fish chowder! Said she made it especially for me!” “I’m allergic to fish, a potentially lethal allergy, which I’ve told her at least twenty times! We’re broken up, is she completely unhinged?” I couldn’t help a small laugh. “She’s not unhinged, Dust. She just never bothered to care about you. If it were Owen, she’d remember every single detail.” Dust was silent for a moment, then nodded. “You’re right. Forget them. Let’s find something else.” He grabbed his tablet and pulled up a streaming platform. “There’s this viral food blogger who makes people try weird specialty desserts. Their reactions are hilarious.” He expertly navigated to the blogger’s live feed. A familiar face appeared on the screen: Jill Maxwell. “Ma’am, please try this bespoke confection. You get to say one thing to the camera when you finish,” the host grinned. Jill took a bite. Her face instantly twisted in disgust, but she forced a sickeningly sweet smile. “I hope the next person gets the cherry blossom flavor, especially you, Owen! I’m rooting for you always!” She blew a heart kiss to the camera. I was about to swipe away, but Dust stopped me. He furiously typed into the comment section: You remember Owen Keller’s favorite Cherry Blossom flavor, but you always forget your boyfriend is deathly allergic to fish! The comment was immediately swallowed by the flood of other messages. I patted Dust’s shoulder. “Our lives are better without them in it.” He agreed, but the streamer’s viewers had already recognized Jill. “Isn’t that the Maxwell heiress? No way, seeing her here!” “That guy she’s rooting for is so lucky!” “My Lady, your loyal servant has been waiting. How may I be of service?” The digital commotion made Jill an instant viral sensation. Soon after, Owen posted a picture on his social media: Cherry blossom dessert received. Happiness is manifesting your dreams. The photo showed a plate of the elegant pink dessert, and sitting across the table, beaming at the camera, was Jill. Dust snorted with contempt. “Look at that pathetic lapdog.” I had to laugh out loud. Dust was right. They were both pathetic, orbiting around Owen, never considering who the real winner was. Maybe no one. 3 Seraphina and Owen’s makeshift engagement ceremony should have marked the end of my relationship. Once I was discharged, I planned to meticulously return everything she had ever given me. She’d bought me several expensive items during our time, but I wasn’t the type to hold onto a single thing. A clean, clinical end was always my preference. Forty-eight hours later, my condition stabilized, and I was moved to a standard room. The attending physician came in for his rounds, looking over my chart and shaking his head. “Mr. Montgomery, you are one lucky man,” he said, looking at the X-rays. “That piece of glass was less than an inch from your heart. Any deeper, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He closed the file, his expression serious. “Going forward, you need extreme emotional control. No excitement, no profound sadness. Focus on rest.” “Thank you, Doctor.” I nodded. The doctor had barely left when my phone rang. It was Sera’s office line. I’d forgotten to block that one. After a moment of hesitation, I answered. “You saw the photos online, I assume?” Sera’s voice came through the receiver, still devoid of any real concern. “If Owen hadn’t stepped up that day, the ceremony would have been a disaster! “You’ve had your little fit. Time to come home. Stop acting like a child!” I gave a dry, humorless laugh. “Sera, I am not coming back.” “What exactly do you want?” Her voice jumped in pitch. “I’ve already explained to my parents that despite your absence, we are honoring the engagement! “If you continue this nonsense, we are really done!” I took a deep breath. “Sera, I am lying in a hospital. This made the news. A little basic care would have told you that.” A cold laugh came from the other end. “You’re just making up a hospital story to retaliate because I accompanied Owen to the doctor, aren’t you?” “Fine. Tell me, what hospital? What floor? Who is your attending physician?” I answered calmly. “St. Jude’s, Surgical Ward, Room 24. Come now. My doctor is still on the floor.” “You wait right there. I’m coming.” She hung up. Sera was the Design Director at the company. There was no way she didn’t know about one of her top designers being hospitalized. She’d simply been too busy playing wife to Owen to read any internal notices, entirely unaware that I was right under her nose. Half an hour later, a commotion started in the hallway. Sera had arrived, and Owen was with her. I leaned back on the pillows, eyes closed, listening to the overly dramatic gasps and cheers outside. “Oh my God, they really are the perfect couple!” “Look at them. Are they here to flaunt their happiness? I’m so jealous!” “Designer Keller is even better looking in person. Director Lowell is so lucky!” I opened my eyes, a sardonic smile playing on my lips. These people probably didn’t realize that the “fiancé” was merely a last-minute substitute. But thinking about it now, I was the redundant one. They had publicly announced their engagement. They were, technically, the legitimate couple now. Sera gave only the briefest acknowledgments to her colleagues’ compliments, while Owen wore a smug, entitled expression. His voice was loud, laced with a practiced charm. “Thanks for taking care of Sera. I ordered coffee for the whole floor. It’ll be up soon.” “Wow, Designer Keller is not only talented but so thoughtful!” Amidst the chorus of flattery, they appeared in my doorway. Owen had his arm possessively around Sera’s waist, his eyes full of a childish triumph. Sera clearly faltered when she saw me actually lying in the bed. Her eyes scanned the room, and when they landed on the private suite, her brow instantly furrowed. “Do you know how tight the company’s medical resource budget is? You’re hogging a single room just to make a statement?” “A statement to you?” I looked up, my eyes filled with cold mockery. “Who are you, Sera, that I would go to this much trouble just to spite you?” “Alex Montgomery!” she raised her voice. “I’m right here. No need to shout,” I said calmly. “We are over. He is now your fiancé. Did you come here specifically to assert your dominance?” “Well then, I wish you both a happy and miserable life together.” Sera’s face went rigid with fury. “How dare you insult us? “Apologize! Now!” I met her stare. “Apologize? Not a chance.” Sera was shaking with rage. Owen quickly pulled her back. “Don’t get upset, Sera. Alex is sick. He’s emotional. Don’t pay him any mind.” “He’s doing this on purpose!” Sera glared at me. “Who is your attending physician? He’s clearly complicit in this elaborate act!” I looked at her coolly. “Sera, have you had enough? You’re not my doctor, so why all the questions?” “I have agreed to break up with you. Why can’t you leave me alone? Dating two men at once—doesn’t that make you sick?” Sera suddenly lifted her hand to strike my face. I was ready. I leaned to the side, dodging the blow, and at the same time pressed the call button on the bedside unit. As she recoiled in shock, I lifted my hand and delivered a sharp, open-handed slap across her face. The crisp crack echoed through the room. Owen stood wide-eyed, then rushed to Sera’s side, tenderly touching her cheek. “How could you do that? Sera came here out of concern for you, and you hit her!” “She threw the first punch,” I said, shaking my hand and staring at them. “I didn’t invite either of you.” Sera’s lip trembled. The red imprint of my fingers was clear on her pale skin. “Sera, are we clear now?” I pointed to the door. “Get out. I don’t want to see you again.”

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I’m high maintenance. Everyone says so. But I landed a boyfriend who is mature, steady, and infinitely tolerant. His friends couldn’t stand it and told me to be nicer to him. So, at dinner, I peeled a shrimp for him. That night, he posted a rage-filled status update visible only to his “boys”: [Which one of you idiots ruined my bratty girlfriend?! I want her bad attitude back!] 1 It wasn’t a holiday or an anniversary, but Adrian Sterling suddenly transferred two million dollars into my account. I texted him a question mark: [?] He replied instantly: [Babe, we just hit the 2,000,000th minute of being in love.] [Don’t you think that’s incredibly meaningful?] I raised an eyebrow. Honestly, I never kept track of time like that. Especially not such… obsessive milestones. I only remember we’ve been dating for about three years. But money is money. I accepted it calmly and Venmo’d him back $200 with a note: [Here’s to the next 2 million minutes~] A moment later, I saw Adrian’s new Instagram story. It was a screenshot of my $200 transfer. Caption: [❤️ My daily allowance. Feeling like a kept man today. Bliss. 🥰] Even though I’d seen similar posts many times, I still struggled to connect the mature, stoic Adrian Sterling I knew in real life with this love-struck teenager online. The contrast was too extreme! In person, Adrian was serious, rigorous, and unsmiling. His attitude toward work was harsh, bordering on tyrannical. I heard his employees called him “The Ice Reaper.” Yet, this “Ice Reaper” posted lovey-dovey content almost daily. How good I was to him. How much I loved him. Even if I just sent a random emoji, he’d screenshot it: [Spoiled by my girlfriend again. (Spinning)] Even I found it a bit much, let alone his bros. One of them once pulled me aside and said tactfully: “Zoe, I know couples have their own dynamic, but do you have to force Adrian to post that stuff every day?” I was confused. “What stuff?” “The PDA.” He showed me his phone. “Adrian’s feed isn’t just for us. It’s for his business partners, investors, and industry elders. Do you know what people are saying about him?” I was shocked by Adrian’s feed on his phone. It was full of pink bubbles and sickeningly sweet captions I had never seen before! His friend said seriously: “Can you stop forcing him?” I opened my mouth to explain but didn’t know where to start. So I called Adrian. Later, his friends learned that Adrian posted those voluntarily. He even hid them from me just so he could post more. I didn’t understand his obsession with social media validation. Just like I didn’t understand what was worth showing off. I sent him $200, and he flaunted it. He sent me $2 million, and he didn’t say a word. I tied his tie on a whim, and he posted it. He served me hand and foot every day, yet never mentioned it. Sometimes I felt he was intentionally putting me on a pedestal. Now that even his business partners knew he had a girlfriend who “adored” him, did I dare not love him? Luckily, I did love him. Adrian was handsome, wealthy, and obedient. He spent money on me, listened to me, and tolerated my bad temper infinitely. I couldn’t find a more perfect boyfriend. Just as he came home from work, I jumped into his arms. He caught me easily with one arm. I whispered loudly in his ear: “Adrian, I want to go to work!” 2 The arm holding me stiffened visibly. But Adrian didn’t say much, just asked curiously: “Why the sudden urge to work?” It wasn’t sudden, I thought. I graduated a year ago. I had worked for a total of three months. Those three months were a nightmare of office politics, micromanagement, and a boss who got too handsy. My first job out of the ivory tower was a disaster. I didn’t dare look for another, so I nestled in Adrian’s villa for over six months. Until two days ago. A college classmate sent me a screenshot of a group chat: [By the way, what is Zoe doing after graduation?] [What else? Being a canary in a gilded cage.] [Must be nice to be pretty. When will a rich guy keep me?] [Aren’t they dating? I remember they started in sophomore year.] [It sounds nice to call it dating. In reality, it’s just… that.] [True. The gap between her and her boyfriend is huge. Will they even marry? Rich guys just play around.] [Honestly, even if they don’t marry, I’m jealous. I can’t find a job, and she’s financially free.] [Jealous of what? Would you let someone control you?] [Haha, I wouldn’t. I can’t handle a guy who’s so much more powerful.] [Her boyfriend probably stopped caring about her long ago.] [So, the suffering Zoe endures, you might not be able to handle. (Smirk)] I didn’t know what suffering they were talking about. Adrian was a few years older, but a five-year gap was normal. And Adrian didn’t “stop caring.” On the contrary, he cared too much. I was the one who couldn’t handle it. He woke up early for work, while I slept in. Yet at night, he was energetic, and I was exhausted… Weird. I ignored the chat log, even when my classmate urged me to clarify. There was nothing to say. My boyfriend was handsome, rich, and capable. Let them be sour. I just simply felt after reading it: Maybe I should find something to do. I wrapped my arms around Adrian’s neck. “Jax offered me a job at his company.” Jax was Adrian’s best friend. And the one who hated me the most. Sometimes he looked at me like I was a succubus destroying a kingdom. He couldn’t understand what spell I cast to change his brother so completely. He tried to break us up. But Adrian defended us strictly. Jax had no choice but to try separating us physically. He offered me a job with a high salary. The only condition was that I stop clinging to Adrian 24/7 so he could have time with his boys. I accepted happily. Adrian buried his face in my neck, whining: “Babe, if you want to work, why not come to my company?” I teased: “Then we’d be together 24 hours a day. What if you get sick of me?” He looked serious. “Impossible!” “What if I get sick of you?” He thought for a moment and sighed. “Fine.” 3 Jax ran a gaming company. He had a hand in all the popular MMOs and made a fortune. He didn’t assign me a department, just said to pick a role. So I chose the Game Design department, which interested me most. The atmosphere was relaxed, unlike my last job. Colleagues were young and dressed casually. My mentor, Cole, was friendly: “Have you played games before? Doesn’t have to be ours.” I admitted shyly: “Just Candy Crush.” He wasn’t surprised, just smiled. “Perfect. I need a blank slate. Try playing our latest MMO for a week and submit a ‘newbie experience report’.” I had never heard such a gentle command. I buried myself in playing. I recorded my feelings on the plot and the difficulties I faced. Adrian felt neglected and protested frequently: [Babe, you haven’t kissed me in ages.] I coaxed him: [Working. Be good.] A week later. I submitted my report and joined the welcome party for new hires. It was at a Karaoke bar. The equipment wasn’t great, and there was howling from the hallway, but I felt unprecedentedly happy. The party ended at 11 PM. Adrian picked me up, sulking at my drunken state. I cupped his face and kissed him loudly. “Aww, don’t be mad, boyfriend.” He turned his head. “You smell like alcohol.” I kissed him again. “Let’s stink together.” Whatever emotions remained were resolved in bed. I was dizzy, only remembering Adrian’s intense thrusts and cold face. Waking up the next day, I was still groggy. Adrian rarely skipped work, but he brought me warm water. “Headache? Will you drink that much next time?” I drank the water slowly and shook my head. Suddenly remembering I hadn’t asked for leave, I grabbed my phone. Before I could text my boss, I saw a new email notification. It said I had been transferred to the CEO’s Office. I looked up at Adrian in shock. “What’s wrong?” Adrian sat on the edge of the bed, pinching my cheek. “I was transferred.” Adrian took the phone and read the notice. Silence filled the room. I wanted to ask: Did you do this? But I felt bad suspecting him. I was busy last week and ignored him. He was unhappy. But surely he wouldn’t… “Probably a personnel shuffle.” Adrian held my cold hand. “Did you like the old department? I’ll tell Jax to move you back?” I tried to read his face. “Wait, I’ll call him.” Adrian said. He called Jax. “Why move Zoe to the CEO’s office?” “We’re short on people, bro!” Jax yelled. “Three assistants are on maternity leave. I haven’t hired replacements yet. I want Zoe to fill in. Are you going to micromanage this too?” Adrian defended me: “But if Zoe likes her old—” I stopped him, signaling him to stop. Jax was still yelling: “Adrian, you freak! Zoe isn’t a child. If you can’t let go, just lock her at home and stop unleashing her on me!” Adrian hung up. I spoke first: “I can go to the CEO’s office.” “Will you be unhappy, babe?” I shook my head. As long as it was normal work and not Adrian meddling, it was fine. He chuckled low, resting his forehead against mine. “Did you misunderstand me just now?” I blushed. “A little.” He pouted. “Babe, you don’t trust me.” “No, no.” I explained quickly, “You complained about me not spending time with you, and last night you were so… fierce. I thought you were unsatisfied with my job…” Adrian laughed darkly. He buried his head in my shoulder, his voice aggrieved: “But I’m really sad. You suspected me so easily. You don’t trust me at all.” I kissed his ear. “Don’t be sad, okay?” He was like a giant cat, lying on top of me. “I need comfort.” Helpless, I gave him the comfort he needed. Until the sky went dark again. I thought hazily, Is he trying to make up for the whole week? 4 Three days later, I officially started at the CEO’s office. Jax was my direct boss. But he didn’t give me work. He just told me to read the company bylaws and recent projects. He threw a pile of files at me and left. His lazy attitude didn’t look like he was short on people. I didn’t count on him. I asked other colleagues. A new male colleague, Sam, saw I was bored and kindly shared some filing work. For convenience, I moved a chair next to him. When I had questions, I whispered to him. He was patient, explaining details and sharing tips. I laughed at his jokes and thanked him earnestly. Who knew this scene would be seen by Adrian, who came to visit. He abandoned Jax and beelined for me. “Why are you sitting here?” I looked up innocently, files on my lap. “Working.” “And this is—” He looked at Sam and extended his hand. “Hello, I’m Zoe’s boyfriend.” Sam shook it, flattered. “Mr. Sterling! Hello, I’ve heard so much about you. I’m Sam.” Jax walked over, arm on Adrian’s shoulder, looking at me. “Didn’t I tell you not to do this?” “Reading files is boring,” I complained. “If you moved me here just to read rules, I’d rather play games downstairs.” Jax was speechless. Adrian tried to soothe me. “Babe, you stay busy. I’ll talk to him.” When they left, the office went quiet. But Sam’s attitude changed. Polite, respectful, ingratiating, but distant. He took back half the files. “Maybe I shouldn’t bother you. I thought about it, this is my job. It’s not right to ask for help.” I didn’t know what to say. True, I wasn’t here to make friends. But I hated this sudden alienation. It reminded me of my last job. I had a work bestie there. Even when the boss harassed me, I stayed because of her. Then suddenly, she ignored me. No reason. She stopped asking me to lunch, stopped sharing snacks, and joked with everyone but me. Cold violence was the last straw. I quit soon after. Six months later, returning to the workforce, it was happening again. Was I just not cut out for work? I stopped trying. I did whatever Jax said, even if he gave me busywork. I had no energy. I went home dejected. Adrian hugged me. “What’s wrong? You look like a wilted flower.” “It’s your fault!” I pinched his cheek. “Now everyone in the office knows I’m your girlfriend and treats me like glass!” “I’m sorry.” Adrian lowered his head apologetically. “I made it hard for you. I shouldn’t have said that.” His look made me unable to blame him. He was my boyfriend. It wasn’t wrong to say it. “Forget it.” I sighed. “I’ll stick it out. If I get tired of working, I’ll come back here and be a bum.” He kissed my cheek. “Or be my wife.” After dinner, Adrian worked in the study. I scrolled Instagram on the sofa. I accepted new friend requests from the office. I liked their posts. My finger paused. I saw a post from Lisa, the only colleague from my old job I kept in touch with. She posted a photo of Maya—my old work bestie—shopping for luxury bags. Caption: [The simple life of a rich lady.] Maya couldn’t afford those bags before. I didn’t know she struck gold. I liked the post. Lisa messaged me: [Did you see? Maya got rich!] I replied: [Yeah, congrats to her.] Lisa: [But it seems to have something to do with you.] [?] [What do you mean?] Lisa: [Shortly after you quit, she quit too. We met by chance today. She said her luxury goods were thanks to your rich boyfriend.] My brain exploded.

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It was my seventh autumn in Vienna when I ran into my ex-wife, Savannah Reilly. She was here accompanying Asher King, her protégé, for the International Piano Competition, and her gaze snagged on the empty sleeve of my right arm. Asher, the young pianist, offered a too-wide smile and a cheerful, “Hello, Professor Cross,” before deliberately bringing up the fire. Savannah watched me, her expression a complicated mix of guilt and pity. “Asher didn’t mean it, Alistair. I thought it was just a fracture, I never imagined…” The wind stole the rest of her words, and I had no interest in hearing them anyway. My mind was focused on my six-year wedding anniversary with Eliza. Yet, as I walked past the State Opera House, Savannah caught up to me. She pressed a ticket into my hand. “Alistair, I know performing at the Golden Hall was your ultimate dream.” “This ticket cost a fortune.” “Even though you can never play again, Asher is going to carry that dream forward for you.” I met her eyes—those eyes full of insufferable pity—and politely pushed the ticket away. “Thank you, but I don’t need it.” Savannah let out a heavy sigh. “You don’t have to hate me so much.” I managed a slight smile. I hadn’t hated her in years. And I certainly didn’t need to tell her that I was the Head Judge for this very piano competition. 1 “If you don’t hate me, why did you run away and hide in another country?” Savannah wasn’t ready to let go, determined to extract an answer from me. The late autumn breeze reddened her eyes. This level of investment from her was something I hadn’t seen in a very long time. Perhaps realizing her lapse in decorum, she softened her tone. “Can we sit down at a coffee shop? You used to make me a perfect Americano every morning…” Savannah rattled on, sinking into nostalgia, but I cut her off. “I don’t recall. My wife only drinks tea.” Her pupils constricted instantly, her shocked stare drilling into me. “You’re married? But you always said you would only ever…” Her voice was shaking when she spoke again. I nodded and raised my hand, pointing toward the large screen in the plaza where a woman was being interviewed on television. Savannah stared for a long time, then suddenly laughed out loud. “Eliza Sinclair, the CEO of the Sinclair Group? Alistair, you’re a terrible liar.” “A marriage like that, between two major powers, it’s not something you and I would ever be involved in.” “Besides, you… stop trying to fool me.” Her gaze dropped from the screen to my empty sleeve, a flicker of genuine distress in her eyes. She tucked the ticket back into my jacket pocket. “I know things have been difficult for you since you left.” “I just want to bring your impossible dream a little closer to reality.” Watching this woman, so completely convinced of her own narrative, I almost wanted to laugh. I was the Royal Opera House’s Chief Pianist, and my wife was the head of a global conglomerate. And Savannah thought I was struggling? “Ms. Reilly, we are both married now. Please show some respect.” I kept my tone even, not wanting to get drawn into a scene, and turned to walk down a different street. “At least let me drive you home, can I?” Savannah pursued me. She reached out, but her fingers closed only on my vacant sleeve. Her eyes instantly welled up. I found the whole thing utterly pointless. I had no interest in wasting another second on her. “My driver is coming to collect me now. It’s not necessary, thank you.” I used my healthy left hand to try and shake Savannah off, but she held on, her grip tight. Sadness churned relentlessly in her eyes. Until a leather strap came down hard across the back of her hand. 2 “Let go of Al!” “Police! This woman is harassing him!” Owen Keller, a film student I’d befriended, put away the stunt prop—a leather flogger he’d been using on set—and shouted. Nearby security personnel and police officers gripped their sidearms, surrounding us with caution. Savannah raised her hands, her face pale. I quickly explained the situation to the police, sparing Savannah the indignity of an arrest. It wasn’t pity; I simply wanted the entanglement to end. Owen, a student in directing at the University of Vienna, and I had bonded over a performance. This imaginative young guy and I clicked instantly. In the car, Owen used every colorful American idiom he knew to curse Savannah and her entire lineage. Once he’d run out of steam, he spoke quietly. “Al, you know that psycho?” I told him calmly, “My ex-wife.” Owen’s eyes widened, and he gripped the steering wheel tighter, as if he were throttling Savannah herself. “A woman that blind, that ungrateful, who doesn’t know what she has? She deserves to regret this for the rest of her life!” Finally, Owen leaned in and asked, “We still have a little drive. Got any good gossip? I promise, absolute secrecy.” I smiled faintly, considered it for a moment, and then nodded. As my eyes drifted toward the rushing crowds outside, the memories began to flow. My freshman year in college, I earned all the applause at the talent show with a performance of “Moonlight Sonata.” But two drunk jerks cornered me outside of campus later that night. “Think you’re so great? My girlfriend left me for you! Now you won’t be stealing anyone else!” “Love playing piano? I’ll make you a cripple. Let’s see you play then!” They raised a brick, aimed right for my hand. That was the moment Savannah charged in, her voice trembling as she screamed, “Let him go! I have a bomb strapped to me!” The thugs laughed, called her crazy, and pushed her against the wall, reaching for her lewdly. It wasn’t until they tore her shirt that they saw the “timer”—a makeshift toy. They fled instantly. I took off my own shirt, wrapped it around Savannah, and took her to the hospital. She told me she loved watching me play. She also told me she was writing a novel about divorce. She’d strapped the toy bomb to herself to truly experience the desperation of a main character cornered by an abusive husband. The toy cost her half a month’s living expenses. It was the first time I realized someone could be so poor—only enough money for instant ramen and day-old bread, sacrificing a month’s savings on a piece of inspiration. Owen scratched his head. “What did you love about her?” I thought about it. Was it her artistic talent, her beautiful, cold profile, or those expressive eyes? Maybe none of that. It was probably that we both had these blazing, reckless ideals. I wanted to play at the Golden Hall; she wanted to be a world-famous female writer. And—her courage. Her willingness to bet everything, even when she was stuck in the mud. From that day on, I used most of my own meager scholarship money to support the struggling writer. Savannah always said I was the only one who truly understood her, and I laughed and said I was the knight sent by fate to protect her. On a rainy afternoon, Savannah held up a paper rose she’d folded and confessed her love. The affection in her eyes then was absolute, undeniable truth. “The Little Prince was lost without his rose. I want to cross the entire universe to hold you close now.” We were a couple—stable for four years, the model of campus romance. Before graduation, she gave me a book of poetry that chronicled our bright, happy youth. My eyes stung with tears, and I truly believed life would be this simple, this beautiful, forever. Owen opened his music app, and a random song, City Moonlight, began to play. “Seeing all the human comings and goings, can’t we have more happy moments…” We sat in silence for a while. At a red light, Owen couldn’t help but ask, “Did things get better for you after graduation?” I shook my head, unsure how to describe the color of that time. 3 After graduation, I didn’t follow my parents’ plan. I chose to stay in the city with Savannah. I taught piano at an art school, and Savannah wrote full-time at home. She had no income, but between my salary and the occasional support from my parents, we managed. Until the family business went under, and my father left a suicide note before taking his own life. My mother, completely broken, was institutionalized. I locked myself in our bedroom, crying for days. Savannah, who was terrible at domestic skills, started trying to cook for me. When I wouldn’t eat, she’d quietly leave the food outside the door, then disappear for the whole day. She would drag her tired, dirty body back to our rented apartment late every night. One day, I followed her. I found Savannah at a construction site, her slender frame swaying as she hoisted multiple bags of concrete mix onto her shoulder. I wept uncontrollably. Savannah wiped the grime from her face and smiled, trying to reassure me. “Dad’s gone, but he’d want you to live well.” “Don’t be afraid. I’ll always be by your side, no matter what.” “I swear I’m going to take care of you.” With Savannah’s constant support, I returned to the school. To help pay off the debts my father left, Savannah slept only three hours a night. I also took a side gig playing in a local bar. When a VIP client in a private room waved ten thousand dollars and demanded I play while naked, I refused instantly. Even though we were only ten thousand dollars away from paying off the last of my father’s debt. The client laughed and opened a bottle of expensive red wine for me. “If you’re so principled, then drink this bottle and play me a drunk piano piece.” I looked at the newly uncorked bottle, didn’t think twice, and downed it before starting to play. When the piece was over, the client applauded enthusiastically, and I was given the ten thousand dollars as promised. But as I stood up to leave, my body went instantly weak, and I collapsed onto the velvet sofa. The man lunged at me, roughly trying to force himself on me. “I love defiling artists. Cooperate and I’ll give you twenty thousand more!” I fought desperately, but he used a drug-soaked cloth to smother me into unconsciousness. Just as I felt the ultimate despair, Savannah burst into the room and smashed a beer bottle over the man’s head. “If you touch my boyfriend, I’ll kill you!” She didn’t stop until the man was completely incapacitated, blood pooling on the floor. As she was being led into the police car, Savannah smiled and called out to me, “Baby, don’t be sad. I finally got to protect you.” “With me here, no one will ever hurt you!” Her face in that moment mirrored the fierce protectiveness from five years ago. Tears blurred my vision. I ran after the police car until I stumbled and fell in the pouring rain. Fortunately, the police investigation cleared everything up. Savannah’s actions were ruled justified self-defense. We held each other tight for a long time. Savannah excitedly told me she had news. “My book is a hit! Companies are fighting over the rights! We don’t have to struggle anymore!” Immersed in the joy of her success, I leaned in and whispered in her ear, “I have something to tell you too.” “Ms. Savannah Reilly, will you marry me?” I knelt on one knee, holding up the ring I had been saving for so long. Later, I poured everything I had into giving Savannah a beautiful, grand wedding. She wore her gown and sobbed through the vows. The handwritten, ten-thousand-word love letter I read at the ceremony made me truly believe we would walk hand-in-hand, forever, in our beautiful, simple life… The car had unknowingly pulled up to my villa in Vienna’s 19th District. Owen, still absorbed in the story, asked, “By all accounts, you two should have been happy. How did you break up? Did she cheat…” 4 “Yes. With my student.” “Oh, Alistair. I’m so sorry.” Owen’s face filled with remorse, instantly regretting his question. I patted his shoulder and offered a calm smile. It had been so long ago; the wound was just a faint scar now. After we married, Savannah’s book became a massive success. After collecting every major national award, she stopped writing and founded a cultural company. I opened my own art school. When I wasn’t teaching, I poured all my energy into daily practice, determined to finally realize my dream of performing at the Golden Hall. Eighteen-year-old Asher King was my most talented student. His parents had died in a fire, and he lived with his grandmother. I felt for the boy. I waived all his fees and often invited him over for dinner. The next time Asher showed up, Savannah finally frowned. “I know you care for your students, Alistair, but bringing him here constantly isn’t appropriate. For one, we don’t know his character, and second, I don’t want our private space disturbed.” I finally managed to placate her and promised I wouldn’t bring Asher home again. Savannah smiled and kissed my forehead. How could a woman so focused on boundaries and vigilance turn around and cheat with Asher? I never would have guessed, not until I walked in on them. The day my mother died of a cerebral hemorrhage, Savannah broke her leg in a fall at the office. With her cast on, she was insistent about attending the funeral, but I managed to stop her. I promised her I would convey her respect and filial piety to my mother. Savannah, in tears, promised that she would visit my mother the moment she recovered. After the funeral, I took my mother’s only photograph with me. At the peak of my grief, I received a text from Savannah. [How is the funeral going? I’ll be there as soon as my leg is better.] [Alistair, I will face everything with you.] [I ordered takeout for myself today. Please take care of yourself back home.] Seeing those warm words on my phone, I burst into tears. Savannah was my only family left in this world. Thank God, I still had her. But when I returned to the school with my mother’s photo, I saw a scene I will never forget. In the half-open practice room, a naked Savannah was straddling Asher, her back glistening in a way that suggested an open, intimate scene that reeked of calculated perversion. They were completely intertwined, oblivious. I was shaking all over. I rushed in, slapped Asher hard, and grabbed Savannah’s hair, pulling them apart. “Savannah Reilly, is this your ‘takeout’?” “I want a divorce!” One was the student I’d staked my professional reputation on; the other was the woman I loved with my life. I stared at them, the tears of despair streaming down my face. Savannah knelt on the floor, slapping herself a dozen times, sobbing that she was only confused for a moment. “Alistair, I swear on my life, it will never happen again!” Asher rushed to the window, his eyes red. He cried out. “I’m so sorry, Professor. I just love the Professor’s wife too much.” “I know that to love someone is to want their happiness. If my death is what it takes to make you two happy, then I’m willing to die.” Savannah, who had just been begging for forgiveness, instantly rushed over and embraced Asher. The tension in her face was exactly the same as when she had protected me years ago. During the struggle, Asher knocked over the candles they had been using. They immediately ignited the practice room curtains, and the fire spread like wildfire. The overhead chandelier chose that moment to crash down, hitting me. “Alistair, don’t be afraid! I’ll get you out!” Savannah fought desperately to push the heavy light fixture off me, but her resolve shattered the moment she heard Asher’s desperate cry. After a brief hesitation—a hesitation that lasted a lifetime—she unflinchingly hoisted Asher onto her back. “Asher has a severe psychological trauma from fire.” “Hold on, I’ll be right back for you!” Savannah’s gaze flickered to mine, and then she was gone. She never came back. In the choking smoke and raging heat, the intense pain of my shattered humerus was nothing compared to the shards of my broken heart. I dragged myself out of the fire, but I permanently lost the use of my right hand. My school, which represented countless hours of my heart and soul, was nothing but ash. Marriage, dream, hope—I had lost everything. Owen, shaking with anger, was about to floor the accelerator and go track Savannah down, but I stopped him. “How can she and that snake still be considered human? I want to kill them right now!” “That kind of trash woman should be thrown in prison! You went through hell together; how could she do that to you!” The usually boisterous guy was red-eyed with rage. I calmly assured him, “It took a trip through hell to truly see her for who she was.” “If she hadn’t let go, I would never have met Eliza.” After the amputation, I signed the divorce papers. Aside from a few apology texts, Savannah never appeared again. At my lowest point, when all hope was gone, I met Eliza Sinclair. That, however, is a different story. Owen patted my shoulder, finally offering a relieved smile. “Alistair, I’m glad you’re happy now.” Owen’s girlfriend texted, rushing him home for her birthday, so we said our goodbyes. Just as I was about to enter the villa, I heard Savannah shouting from behind me: “Alistair, you absolutely cannot break in and steal…”

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Five years. Five years since I walked away—no, since I was wheeled away. My dominant hand had been shattered, my legs useless. I changed my name, quietly resigned my commission, and opened a tiny, anonymous pharmacy near the border. I was just a ghost running a dispensary. The first time I saw him again was five years later, when a young Captain came to pick up a refill. “Colonel Hawthorne never married, Sam,” the Captain told me, lowering his voice. “He’s been waiting for you all this time.” The words were still hanging in the air when Grant Hawthorne walked in. The man was a vision in his dress uniform, instantly drawing every eye in the room. Five years hadn’t stripped the edge from his handsomeness, but the reckless confidence of his youth had been replaced by a hardened, somber authority. He watched me for a long moment, the intensity in his dark eyes suggesting a thousand unspoken words. When he finally spoke, it was only a gentle, measured greeting: “Sam. It’s been a long time.” “Yeah. A long time.” My reply was flat, devoid of any of the turmoil that should accompany a reunion like this. I was careful to let no trace of the past show on my face. I thought of the day five years ago. His adopted sister, Violet, had accused me of prescribing her cheap, defective medication that led to her catching an infection. Grant had exploded. Right there, he’d used the heavy butt of his service rifle to smash the bones in the hand I used for surgery. Then, the ultimate betrayal. He’d posted the intimate photos we’d taken when love felt safe, uploading them to the Joint Base social forum. “My Hot Fiancee,” the caption read, “Proven Good, Available Free.” His own battle buddies had tried to intervene: “Grant, she’s about to be your wife. Why are you destroying her?” Grant, however, was unmoved. “She used bad medicine on Violet, almost caused her a breakdown,” he’d sneered. “And she won’t admit her mistake. She doesn’t deserve to be a surgeon.” “Besides,” he’d added, almost as an afterthought, “I was just scaring her, guys. I wasn’t actually going to let those dirtbags touch her or infect her. Not really.” I stood in the doorway, my face white, and met his eyes. He didn’t look guilty or ashamed. He just walked over, ruffled my hair like I was a wayward child, and said: “You messed up this time, Sam. You deserve the lesson.” “Just fix Violet’s condition, and then go apologize to her in person.” “I’ll still marry you.” I swallowed the scream, the tears, and every shred of my pride. I simply forwarded the link to the first private message I received. The next second, someone messaged back: “I’ll take her.” 1 Grant, watching my screen, clenched his fist so hard the wineglass he held shattered. The officers around him fell silent. One spoke in a low voice: “Colonel, maybe we should call this off? It’s not a good look…” Grant turned his head, looking straight at me. “Sam, what do you say? Are you coming with me to apologize?” I dropped my gaze, turned on my heel, and started walking toward the other end of the corridor. From behind me came his cold, casual voice. “Your ‘wife’ doesn’t have a problem, why are you guys so tense? If the buyer isn’t picky, I suppose I have to follow through.” I kept walking, my feet numb, heading for the exit of the Officers’ Club. The corridor was suddenly filled with whispering and pointing. My hands and feet were icy. Suddenly, a man—drunk, reeking—lunged and grabbed my waist, his breath hot and foul in my ear. “Heard you like the sick ones? Lucky you, I just tested positive for HIV two days ago…” I screamed, thrashing against him. The military spouses and officers nearby simply stepped back, avoiding me with expressions of disgust. The whispers reached me: “That’s her, right? The medical officer who was messing around. So gross.” “Serves her right. She posted that stuff online herself. Now she has the nerve to ask for help.” I was shaking violently. I forced a scream out: “My fiancé is a Colonel! You can’t touch me—” “Got a fiancé but still trolling for sick men online? Your chats are everywhere, lady. What officer would want you now?” He shook his phone in my face, the screen light blinding and painful. “Go on, call your man out. If he actually comes, I’ll let you go.” The moment the words left his mouth, the door to the private room opened. Grant and a few other officers emerged. Seeing him, the tears I’d been holding back burst forth. “Grant! Help me!” He didn’t even look at me. He just smiled at the drunk man. “Relax, buddy. She’s into that. She specifically goes for the sick ones.” Then, he walked past me. The drunk man roared with laughter. “Colonel Hawthorne doesn’t even want you! Who are you trying to fool?” I don’t know how long passed. Suddenly, a gush of warm liquid flooded my legs. The man, terrified, released me and ran off, cursing. I stumbled up and somehow dragged myself to the Emergency Room. I lost the baby. I had planned to tell Grant about the pregnancy on our three-year anniversary. Now, all that was left was a vague, bloody mass on a stainless steel tray. The colleague on duty looked at me, her eyes full of sorrow and hesitation. “Dr. Pierce, Colonel Hawthorne has been putting pressure on the hospital… demanding a severe review. They’ve decided to revoke your military medical certification, and they’re going after you for the training compensation. It’s… almost a million dollars.” I closed my eyes. The taste of rust filled my throat. My colleague’s eyes welled up. “How could Grant become like this? He risked a court-martial to get you transferred here; he almost died rushing into that disaster zone last year just to pull you out.” “He loved you so much. How can he destroy the hand you operate with and ruin your entire career, all for his adopted sister?” Yes, why? I shook my head, unable to speak. When I met Grant, I had no idea he had an adopted sister. He had been wounded while diffusing a bomb near the border—shrapnel just two millimeters from his heart. I stood at the field surgical table for fourteen hours, fighting the Reaper for his life. Three days after he woke, he had his orderly summon me. Beneath the oxygen mask, his voice was rough, but he smiled. “Dr. Pierce, you saved me. My life is yours now.” I dismissed it as the adrenaline rush of a wounded man. But he truly pursued me for a full year, securing the best medical equipment in the whole armed forces for my field hospital. Knowing I often missed meals, he would wait outside the infirmary after every exercise, carrying a thermos. It was hard not to fall for him, yet I was afraid. It wasn’t until three years ago, when a disgruntled, disciplined veteran broke into the infirmary with a knife. Grant threw himself in front of me, taking one slash across his shoulder and another across his arm. I said yes the day he got his stitches removed. For three years, everything was perfect. Until he missed our engagement ceremony. Three days later, he returned with Violet in tow, merely saying he’d “forgotten.” Grant asked me to take care of Violet, and I did my best. Three days ago, Violet came to me, complaining of lower abdominal pain. She begged me not to tell her brother. I thought she was just embarrassed. I ran the tests and gave her anti-inflammatory medication. But when I looked at the lab report, I froze—it was positive. Before I could figure out the best way to tell her, Grant burst in with his orderly, shielding a teary-eyed Violet. With a single command, my right hand was smashed by the rifle butt. Curled on the floor in agony, I managed to ask him why. He looked down at me, his eyes cold. “I thought you were different. I never expected you to be this vicious.” “Just because I missed the engagement, you deliberately gave Violet defective medication and infected her with that disease?” “She’s only twenty-one!” “You don’t deserve this uniform. Destroying your prescribing hand is a lesson you earned.” Violet suddenly burst into fresh tears, pointing at the lab report on my desk. “Sam… you planned it all! You hurt me, and then you forged the lab report!” “Do you hate me that much? I might as well just die!” “Did you already spread this report? What’s the point of me living now?” She lunged toward the wall, but Grant caught her just in time. He looked at me, his gaze icy. “Sam, you’d force my sister to commit suicide just over an engagement?” “Publicly apologize. Admit you maliciously harmed a fellow servicemember and forged a medical record out of personal resentment.” Tears streamed down my face as I shook my head. “Grant, this will destroy everything I am!” “I didn’t do it. I will not confess.” But no matter how I pleaded, how I begged him to have the ointment tested, He simply motioned for the military police to hold my head. In front of the entire medical staff, he forced me to my knees, making me bow my head repeatedly to Violet—a hundred times, it felt like. My blood splattered the floor. The bystanders raised their phones. I finally collapsed, slipping into unconsciousness. When I woke, I found a message from one of his officers, telling me to meet Grant at the base bar to explain myself. Clutching the last desperate sliver of hope, I went. And overheard him arranging to hand me over to someone else. My colleague, seeing the agony on my face, said nothing more. She handed me a box of Post-Exposure Prophylaxis (P.E.P.) pills. “Take these for a month, then come back for a recheck to make sure you didn’t get infected.” I thanked her softly and drifted home in a daze. My phone screen lit up. A message attached to a plane ticket. “Sam, don’t be afraid. I’m coming to get you. No matter the cost, I’ll fix this.” Tears streamed down my face, and I cried myself to sleep.

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Graduating meant unemployment. To make ends meet, I decisively changed my degree on my resume to a high school diploma and threw myself into the housekeeping industry. However, on my first day on the job, I successfully witnessed a [Wealthy Family Feud]. The 9-year-old eldest daughter, in order to frame her 6-year-old brother, actually jumped down the stairs… 1 Of course, her little trick didn’t succeed. Because, besides me seeing it. The surveillance cameras captured it clearly too. This eldest miss was fighting over something with her brother. When she couldn’t win, she threw herself down the stairs. So, her mother, my employer, left her in the hospital without even a glance. And the other nannies in the house, disliking her viciousness, pushed the job of taking care of her onto me. Before I could even move into my dorm, I moved into the hospital first. She cried from dark until dawn, crying until my brain buzzed. I wanted to give up, but my negative bank balance told me otherwise. If I ran away, I wouldn’t find such a good job again. Room and board included, and high salary. At least, at least stay until the debt is paid off. I could only try to infiltrate the circle of nanny aunties and learned some news from them. “Never seen such a bad kid. Her brother entered her room, so she deliberately set her own room on fire and framed her brother for it.” “The cookies her dad brought back from abroad, her brother was ignorant and ate them first, she almost strangled her brother to death.” “Usually, she can’t stand her parents praising her brother. As long as they praise him, she definitely hits her brother.” “Such a girl, if she were back in our hometown, she would have been beaten to death long ago.” I felt very uncomfortable listening to this. Suddenly, a voice popped up behind me: “I am just such a vicious person, so what?” I was so scared that I dropped my phone on the ground. Turning around, I found her standing behind me, gnashing her teeth in hatred. A pair of beautiful eyes cried out of shape. She even wanted to kick me: “You, a servant, dare to arrange my words behind my back.” “Believe it or not, I’ll fire you.” I dodged in time and avoided her kick. But she slipped and fell. Immediately, the crying was earth-shaking. I hurried to help her up, held her in my arms, and coaxed her carefully. I thought she would make a bigger scene. But she strangely calmed down. I looked down in surprise and saw her snuggling in my arms, looking obedient. When she found my gaze and met mine. She immediately lowered her head. Then she reacted and shouted at me fiercely: “What are you looking at.” “Believe it or not, this miss will gouge out your eyes.” At such a young age, why learn so many lines from TV dramas? I carried her back to the ward, laughing and crying, and pressed the call bell to summon the doctor to check on her. Good news, she’s fine. Bad news, she shouted pain and insisted I rub it for her, or she would complain to the family. When Nanny Wang came to deliver food, she saw me rubbing her leg. My hands hurt from rubbing, alternating left and right. While one hand rubbed, the other was shaking. Nanny Wang put down the things and gave me a look. So I made an excuse to wash the dishes and went out to meet Nanny Wang. Nanny Wang opened her mouth and said, curling her lips in extreme disgust: “You hugged her this time, she will make a fuss if you don’t hug her next time.” I found it strange to hear. But I didn’t agree with Nanny Wang’s words, just gently retorted: “Children, aren’t they just wanting kisses, hugs, and being lifted high?” 2 This wasn’t a big deal. But Nanny Wang just looked at me with a half-smile, said nothing, and left. I was completely confused. Could only choose not to take Nanny Wang’s words to heart. Anyway, as long as I maintain a diligent image in front of others, it’s fine. I returned to the ward and fed my eldest miss. She indeed had an unusual squeamishness. Not only did she need me to feed her, but she also picked and chose: “Oh, I don’t eat onions.” “Why are there no chicken legs? They must have been eaten by Lucas.” “I’m going to beat him up when I get back.” I coaxed and persuaded her to eat: “Then you can’t be picky eaters.” “Balanced nutrition makes you strong enough to beat your brother.” Hearing this, she immediately stared at me with round eyes: “Aren’t you going to persuade me to yield to Lucas?” I looked innocent: “Why yield?” She frowned: “Everyone says so, because I’m the older sister.” Saying this, a look of indignation appeared on her face: “Why?” “Yeah, why?” I guided her: “You are a few years older than him, you will be a few years older than him for a lifetime.” “If you put it that way, don’t you have to yield for a lifetime?” Hearing this, she suddenly became interested, looking at me with shining eyes: “Not bad, not bad, this miss appreciates you.” “From now on, you are on my side.” I found it funny listening, indeed a child. I mastered the method to handle her. Just hug her, tell her fairy tales, and agree with her. This eldest miss is actually not that hard to serve. After staying in the hospital for three days, the doctor issued a discharge notice after confirming she didn’t have a concussion. I took her back home. The family had an invisible malice towards her arrival. Her mother frowned upon seeing her, hugged her little son, and turned away. Other nannies whispered when they saw her. Their eyes were filled with undisguised disgust and loathing. Just as she was about to throw the toy in her hand at someone, I immediately held her hand. Squatting down, I persuaded softly: “Don’t you like the little bunny very much?” “Throwing the little bunny at people, the little bunny will hurt.” Hearing this, she quickly hugged the little bunny in her arms and kept stroking it. I sighed secretly, both distressed for her and worried that she would cause trouble and implicate me. Heard that every time she caused trouble, a nanny was fired. I led her back to her room. Because she burned her room before, she now lived in a narrow utility room without even a window. Not a bit of light, and a strange smell. It is no exaggeration to say that my dorm is more than a little better than this. Strangely, she didn’t show any discomfort, but put her bunny toy on the bed. Carefully covered the little bunny with a quilt. I opened the suitcase and organized the room for her. An uncomfortable voice came from above my head: “This is mom’s punishment for me burning the room.” “When she cools down, she will let me move back to my original room.” “It’s not that she doesn’t like me.” I looked up at this little girl. She tried hard to act indifferent and didn’t look at me. But the hand clutching the quilt was very forceful. I pretended not to see her stubbornness and said casually: “Yeah, yeah, it’s good that you know your mistake.” “How dangerous it is to burn the room. If something happened to you, how would your mom face it?” From the corner of my eye, I saw her breathe a long sigh of relief. I think she also needs someone to affirm that her mother loves her, right? 3 The dark and damp room is really not suitable for living. Even if I clean it three times a day and use all the effective insect repellents, there are always some insect bite marks on her body. On her fair skin, the red and swollen marks are shocking, with faint blood under the skin. I persuaded her: “How about you sleep with me tonight?” “Living in the staff dorm with me, you are also being punished.” She was obviously tempted, but she shook her head stubbornly: “No, I have to let mom cool down.” “If I go to your place, mom will probably think I’m disobedient.” Coincidentally, Nanny Liu passed by. She tsked disdainfully: “If you are really that sensible, why do you always anger your mom and beat your brother?” Hearing this, the little girl bit her lower lip, a look of grievance appearing on her face. Just when anger appeared on her face, I scolded Nanny Liu in time: “Nanny Liu, we are all workers. It’s not good to ask about the employer’s family affairs!” “Sir and Madam also don’t like us pointing fingers at family affairs?” Hearing this, Nanny Liu snorted from her nose and walked away twisting her waist. I turned back to look at the little girl, only to see her eyebrows knitted together, large tears in her eyes. “I really want to listen to mom.” “But, I really, really don’t want to…” I hugged her, holding her tightly in my arms, telling her: “You are not wrong.” “My miss is a very obedient and sensible child.” “It’s them who are unfair, always forcing miss to give up her rights.” What she did was indeed a bit extreme. However, a little girl, unwilling to let her brother enter her room, had to resort to burning the room. Had to use the method of strangling her brother to get the right to share food equally with him. The ones who are wrong are clearly the parents~ I am just a housekeeping staff, certainly impossible to blame my employer. I can only try my best to make her live better. Decorate her room. Change to the cutest little bunny night light for her. Put jasmine flowers, let her fall asleep with the fragrance of flowers… Thunder rumbled in the middle of the night, and the temperature dropped suddenly. After being woken up, I saw a dark figure in the room. I screamed in fright. The other party screamed too. I turned on the night light. The little girl was looking at me holding a pillow, wearing a thin nightdress, her face pale from the cold. I quickly got up and pulled her onto the bed, wrapping her tightly in the quilt: “What’s wrong?” “Why didn’t you put on a coat? What if you catch a cold?” I couldn’t help scolding her. She sobbed and told me: “The noise is so loud, I’m so scared.” “I wanted to find mom.” She hiccuped: “She was in Lucas’s room and told me to get out.” At this moment, for the first time, I felt a strong injustice for this girl. Even if she is competitive and sensitive. With such loud thunder, having coaxed one child, what’s wrong with hugging another? I held her tightly, trying to pass the warmth from my body to her. The next day, when waking up. Her body was scorching hot. I hurried to take her to see a doctor. But she ran barefoot to her mother’s room. Red all over, opening her arms, crying and shouting: “Mom, hug.” I couldn’t help but speak up: “Miss has a fever, can you…” I saw her mother’s face change drastically, picking up things on the table and throwing them at her: “Get, get out.” “Are you trying to infect your brother on purpose?” Then she actually sprayed alcohol spray at her fiercely. I was afraid the alcohol spray would get into her eyes. Quickly blocked in front of her, instantly getting wet on the back. The little girl and I were pulled out of the room by Nanny Wang and others. Her brother was in the room, held in Madam’s arms, making faces at us. The room door closed ruthlessly. The little girl cried hoarsely, struggling with hands and feet, still calling for mom. In a moment of inattention, the nanny let go. She fell on the ground. She didn’t act spoiled asking for hugs anymore. Instead, she crawled up, lying on the door, banging non-stop: “Mom.” She cried so miserably that even the nannies’ faces were moved. Whispering: “No matter what, she’s biological. How can she be so cruel?” With a retch. She vomited. Vomited until her whole body convulsed, filth all over the floor. But even lying on the ground, curled up in a ball, she still called for mom. Ignoring the filth, I rushed up and held her in my arms: “Miss, I’ll take you to the hospital.” She had no strength to struggle anymore. Could only let me act. I took her to the hospital. It was a viral infection. If we came a little later, it would have developed into pneumonia. But it wasn’t contagious. I told the employer the news here, but the other side told me coldly. “Then you stay with her in the hospital.” “I’ll increase your salary. Don’t let her come back to harm people.” 4 Her mother really hates her. Is it because of the second-born boy? Or is it because she really fights too much? Not that kind of good daughter? During her treatment in the hospital, she remained silent. Only her gaze was always cast outside the ward. I knew she was waiting for her mother to come. I could only lie to her: “You are sick, it will infect people.” “Your mother is also afraid of getting sick. Do you want your mother to catch the disease?” I spat on myself secretly. Why join the army of gaslighting her? But she just asked me: “What about you? Why aren’t you afraid?” I should tell her, because I took the money, this is my job. Should tell her even more, this money was paid by her mother, meaning my presence equals her mother’s presence. Let her deceive herself, let her continue to live in the illusion that her mother still loves her. However, looking at her eyes that had lost their luster, I told her: “Because I love you.” “So, I feel distressed for you, distressed that you are sick, distressed that you are uncomfortable.” “I want to stay by your side. Even if I can’t share the discomfort with you, I won’t leave you here alone.” She blushed on both cheeks, saying with a proud face: “You, what nonsense are you talking about?” “How could you, you are just a nanny…” Saying this, her expression dimmed: “Mom and Dad don’t like me, let alone you.” I gave her a most enthusiastic reply. Holding her, placing a kiss between her eyebrows. “Who said that? I really, really like you.” “You will always fight for your rights.” “Brave and sober, who wouldn’t like that?” “Unless, it’s someone thinking of taking advantage of you.” I cupped her face, saying firmly to the bewildered her: “Don’t expect love from such people. They don’t deserve it.” I stayed with her in the hospital for a month. This time when discharged, still no one came to pick her up. The difference is, she no longer had the expectation of the last time. Just a faint expression, which made my heart ache. However, upon returning home, I saw construction workers going in and out. The nanny told me: “Miss’s room has been renovated, formaldehyde removed.” “Getting so sick this time, Madam finally cooled down.” I smiled hearing this. Looking at the little girl, her eyes also curved. However, when arriving at the door of her original room. Lucas had already moved in, rolling on the bed. Madam was beside, smiling and saying: “This one has the best ventilation and sunlight.” “Living in a bad room makes it easy to get sick.” I was stunned. The little girl stood blankly at the door. Madam happened to look over. The first glance at her biological daughter. She always frowned first and then spoke impatiently. She said: “This room will be used by your brother in the future.” “This home will be your brother’s in the future. The best things naturally should be left for him.” I froze for a moment, then heard the little girl say gloomily: “Why?” “And, why is he the one inheriting the family business?” The little girl used a lot of force, pinching my hand until it hurt. I exclaimed in pain. Then heard Madam’s exasperated voice: “Of course it will be your brother. Do you still want to fight for it?” Saying this, Madam’s gaze moved to me, suddenly realizing: “So, this is your method to climb up.” I looked blank. Then heard Madam say angrily: “I wondered why you, a university graduate, pretended to be a junior high graduate to be a little nanny here.” “Turns out you want to incite my daughter to grab the family business and destroy our family relationship.”

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During my peak “love-brain” year, my boyfriend gave my $5,000 scholarship bonus to his childhood sweetheart. I didn’t even make a scene. That night, his best friend, unable to stand it anymore, posted on his Instagram Story: [Show me a screenshot of your breakup text, and come collect $5,000 from me.] My boyfriend didn’t care, asking him what new meme he was playing with. He didn’t reply. But I squatted on the roadside, staring at that story for a long, long time. After all, I was exactly $5,000 short for my grandmother’s medical bills. I had insomnia until 3 AM. Finally, I carefully sent a message to his best friend: [Hi, is the offer still valid?] 1 This was the first message I ever sent to Lucas Sterling after adding him. As soon as I sent it, I regretted it a little. Because Lucas Sterling hated love-brained people the most. And I was notoriously love-brained in their circle, having been a simp for Ethan Carter for three years. I even tried to build good relationships with all of Ethan’s bros just to understand his preferences better. Only this Lucas was the coldest to me. Back then, Ethan warned me casually: “He doesn’t like people like you. Don’t throw yourself at him; you can’t afford to offend him.” So after Lucas accepted my friend request, I was too scared to even say hello. But tonight, I sent him the first message. It was already 3 AM. Lucas had a disciplined schedule; he was probably asleep. I hesitated. Should I unsend it before he sees it? Just as my finger touched the screen. Unexpectedly, a reply came. Very concise: [Screenshot.] A tone of undeniable authority, like a CEO giving orders. I felt inexplicably intimidated. After all, among all of Ethan’s friends, only Lucas had taken over his family business at such a young age. I dared not offend him. I subconsciously replied: [Okay, please wait a moment.] Then I quickly opened Ethan’s chat box and sent him a message: [Let’s break up.] After sending it, I stunned myself for two seconds. From pursuing Ethan to becoming his girlfriend. Even when I was wronged or angry, I couldn’t bear to say the word “breakup” to him. I never thought that in the end, I would say this sentence because of a dramatic Instagram Story. Ethan was still up, replying almost instantly: [?] [Wendy, trying a new trick this time?] I didn’t dare make Lucas wait long, so I replied quickly: [No joke, I’m serious.] After that, I took a screenshot. Then I sent it to Lucas. There was no reply for a moment. I couldn’t help but feel nervous. Ethan was still messaging me: [Just because of a scholarship bonus of a few thousand dollars, you’re doing this?] [Did you promise me not to use breaking up to threaten me?] I pursed my lips, planning to defend myself. Lucas finally sent another message: [Delete contact.] At the end, he added: [Screen record the blocking process, collect another $5,000.] So, I ignored Ethan’s messages, quickly deleted and blocked him. Then I sent the screen recording proof to Lucas. The next second, a notification of $10,000 deposit into my bank account rang. From beginning to end, he didn’t say an extra word to me. Just to solve a love-brained person who made him unbearable. 2 The next day. I stopped clinging to Ethan and went back to being a loner. That evening after class, he blocked me at the school gate. Ethan looked down at me irritably: “Wendy, you’ve got guts, daring to delete me?” I explained seriously: “We’ve broken up.” He was impatient: “Just because of a scholarship, do you have to be like this?” I took a deep breath and said word by word: “Ethan, but that could have been the surgery fee for my grandma.” Ethan paused abruptly. Immediately, the little childhood sweetheart beside him held his arm, apologizing to me in panic: “I’m sorry, Wendy. I… I didn’t know it was so important.” “I’m really sorry. I’ll return the money to you. Don’t be mad at Ethan, okay?” Ethan recovered and frowned: “You don’t need to apologize. The scholarship is yours.” After speaking, seeing my silence, he softened his tone rarely: “…This matter is my fault, but she needs the scholarship more than you. She needs to use this to prove her ability to her family.” “Wendy, be sensible. I’ll pay for your grandma’s money?” Being with him for so long, Ethan rarely compromised like this. But every time he said this, I would soften and forgive him. This time, he even promised to help pay for Grandma’s surgery. It seemed that no matter what, I shouldn’t throw a tantrum anymore and should obediently make up with him. I pursed my lips, about to say something. But when I looked up, I saw Lucas standing not far behind Ethan. Through the crowd, he looked at me with extreme coldness. As if daring me to nod and agree, he would rush over and beat me up. Ethan followed my gaze, then surprised: “Lucas, why are you here? Weren’t you going to the company today?” Seeing this, Lucas walked forward and explained lightly: “There’s something at school that needs supervision.” Ethan didn’t mind. A few seconds later, remembering something, he asked casually: “By the way, what did you mean by that story you posted last night? Did anyone really send you a screenshot?” Lucas’s gaze swept over me. I hurriedly lowered my head, not speaking. Then I heard him reply indifferently: “Yeah, there was.” Maybe Lucas’s attitude was too natural. Ethan didn’t think much and turned his gaze back to me. Actually, even if Lucas didn’t come specifically to supervise me, I would have kept my promise. Three years of feelings were long; I always dared not give up. But since I took the money and broke up last night, I wouldn’t go back on my word. So, braving Lucas’s gaze, I said seriously to Ethan: “I’ve gathered the money. Breaking up is not a joke.” “Ethan, let’s stop here.” 3 After that, I didn’t see Ethan again. Naturally, meetings with Lucas became even fewer. Grandma’s surgery was very successful, and she was discharged after recuperating in the hospital for a while. Suddenly, broke up with Ethan, Grandma recovered. Life suddenly became empty. Apart from classes and part-time jobs, there was nothing else. But I said it. I am a love-brain and a simp. Giving up a relationship suddenly, as if missing a spiritual pillar, made me unaccustomed. Just like in high school, always needing to find a crush. Not dating, just pure crushing. This can add motivation to my study and life. So when another one of Ethan’s bros, Xavier, found me, blinking and asking “Can you be with me,” I agreed. He treated me well, bought me flowers and gifts, and hired the best therapist in the state to take care of Grandma. When I was young, my parents left me to go abroad. Every time school let out, other kids had parents to pick them up. But Grandma had bad legs, so I usually walked home slowly by myself. Later, Grandma got sick, and her memory became poor. Finally, she didn’t even remember me. And Xavier would wait at my classroom door every day after school, and would boil soup for me according to recipes when I was sick. In a trance, I felt that I was also being loved. After recovering, to repay him. I decided to make a batch of my best cookies for him. Carrying the bag to the basketball court, I was looking for Xavier. The next second, the bag in my hand was empty. Ethan unscrewed the jar cap skillfully, complaining: “Why cookies again? I’m sick of eating them.” “Now you finally willing to talk to me?” I frowned, reaching out to him: “Give it back.” He was displeased: “Still angry?” Immediately, Xavier grabbed the bag from his hand: “Ethan, forgot to tell you, she is my girlfriend now.” Ethan froze, finally reacting. The raised corner of his mouth flattened, sneering at Xavier: “What, you lack a simp that much?” Xavier was noncommittal, opened the cookie box to look, and smiled at me with curved eyes: “Thanks Wendy. What do you want to eat later? I’ll take you.” Ethan looked at me again: “Copying the same set you used to chase me? Wendy, can you be a bit more creative as a simp?” As soon as the words fell, I felt a burning gaze on me. It was Lucas. He changed clothes and came out after playing, just in time to hear Ethan’s words. At this moment, he was frowning at me. As if asking me with hatred why my love brain acted up again. Although I felt Ethan’s words just now were slander, facing Lucas, I still felt inexplicably guilty. Xavier protected me behind him, looking at Ethan disapprovingly: “What simp or not, Wendy obviously likes me too much to make me cookies.” After speaking, he patted my head: “Wait here obediently, I’ll go change clothes and take you to eat.” Ethan snorted coldly and turned to the changing room. Suddenly, only Lucas and I were left here. I was still afraid of him. Mustered up courage to greet him, then fell into silence again. And he didn’t leave. Just as I was scrolling through my phone randomly to hide my embarrassment, he walked slowly in front of me. “Wendy.” I looked up at the sound. He said to me with a flat tone: “Xavier is the same as Ethan, not a good person.” I froze. Heard a trace of disapproval in his indifferent tone. I couldn’t help recalling the time I spent with Xavier. He was really good to me. Just hiring a therapist for Grandma was enough for me to thank him. It was impossible for me to break up with him directly just because of Lucas’s sentence. Even taking a step back, actions speak louder than words. So I still shook my head and smiled politely at him: “It’s different this time. He treats me really well…” Lucas closed his eyes. On that face that usually had no expression, a trace of rare irritability appeared. Seemed to think I was hopeless, extremely love-brained. At this time, Xavier finished packing and came out. I stood up hurriedly. Before leaving, thinking about it, I still whispered to him: “Our relationship is very stable now, but thank you for your kindness.” Lucas didn’t look at me again, his tone returning to normal: “Believe it or not. “Don’t misunderstand, I just purely can’t stand love brains. I won’t meddle anymore in the future.” 4 After that, Lucas indeed never looked for me again. After the final exams, Xavier planned to take me on a trip to Europe. We visited many cities and countries. He went along with me everywhere, following my opinions. Until the third day in London. I found his new canary in his phone. We had our first quarrel. After the fight, he dumped me on the strange streets of London. I squatted blankly on the street corner, dazing for a long time. Wanted to stand up, but my legs were numb. Accidentally, my calf hit a sharp stone nearby. I sniffled, simply sat on the stone, waiting for the pain to pass while looking down to edit a long text to Xavier. Just halfway through editing, a shadow enveloped me. I looked up. Lucas, whom I hadn’t seen for a long time, stood in front of me. Looking down, staring at my chat page with an unclear expression. Stunned for two seconds, I remembered he had warned me, but I didn’t listen. Embarrassed, I wanted to hide the phone behind my back. He reached out to me, tone unquestionable: “Give me the phone.” I felt inexplicably scared, obediently handing over the phone. His gaze swept over the long text I wrote halfway, then deleted it all. Words to me were concise as always: “$10,000. Break up, block, I take you back home.” Saying this, he helped me edit a new message: [Break up.] A second before pressing send, he asked my opinion symbolically: “Okay?” I nodded dumbly: “Okay.” So he sent the message, deleted and blocked, all in one go. After doing these, the atmosphere fell into a brief silence. He called seemingly to arrange something. After hanging up, he explained to me lightly: “I have a meeting tomorrow, it will end the day after tomorrow.” After speaking, he paused and asked me: “Do you have a place to stay?” I shook my head. After being dumped on the street, I hadn’t got my luggage back, let alone booked a new hotel. He said: “Then stay at my place first, take you back the day after tomorrow.” Then, he noticed the wound on my leg. “Wait here, I’ll go buy medicine.” Ten minutes later, he came back. Lucas squatted in front of me, his palm easily controlling my ankle to prevent me from moving. The other hand held a cotton swab and gently pressed on my wound. Almost finished applying, a voice suddenly came from behind. Xavier returned, surprise in his eyes now: “Lucas, why are you here?” As he spoke, his gaze fell on my leg held by Lucas, smiling and asking: “Why are you holding my girlfriend’s leg?”

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Sienna had told me to dump him about eight hundred times. Each time, I’d hesitate, weeping into my hands. “But he treats me so well.” Sienna would just roll her eyes and tell me to go jump off a bridge. It wasn’t until I found another package of lingerie—meant for Liam, but definitely not from me—that I finally listened to her. Even when he was on his knees begging, I didn’t look back. I was driving over to Sienna’s place to give her the good news when her Instagram post popped up on my feed. A hard launch. The caption read: How could the pavement ever understand the moonlight? She never knew you. I do. The photo was intimate. Liam, eyes red from crying, and Sienna leaning in to kiss his cheek, a consoling angel. Someone commented, accusing her of being the other woman. She replied without a shred of shame: If she could be fooled by a few cheap pieces of lingerie I mailed to her house, how can she claim she really loves him? Besides, she’s so plain. She doesn’t deserve Liam the way I do. I slammed on the brakes and whipped the car around. I was in such a rush to confront her that I didn’t see the oncoming traffic. I died on impact. Then, I opened my eyes. Reborn. Or reset. I was back in the parking lot. I immediately blocked Sienna on everything, got into my car, and prepared to drive away forever. That’s when a woman, her face masked in blood, started pounding on my window. “Mara! Save me! That’s not me!” 1 I froze, hand hovering over the ignition. Outside, the woman was slapping the glass frantically. Her features were a ruin of blood and gore, but I’d known Sienna for thirteen years. I knew the shape of her eyes, the set of her jaw. That was her. But I had just left her upstairs. We had just argued. She was sitting in her living room fuming. How could she be here, battered and bloody? “Mara! Unlock the door!” She yanked at the handle, looking over her shoulder in terror. Like something was hunting her. Thinking of what Sienna—the Sienna upstairs—had done in my past life, a chill crawled up my spine. What if… what if Sienna had been replaced? The Sienna I grew up with wasn’t the type to steal a boyfriend. She wasn’t competitive like that. I looked at the desperate, terrified woman outside my window. I decided to trust my gut. “Quick! Get in!” I blinked hard. And suddenly, I was just sitting in the driver’s seat. Alone. I turned my head. The window was rolled down. The wind was hitting my face, cold and sharp. There was no one banging on the glass. Did I… did I just nod off? “Mara, get back here!” Sienna came storming out of the apartment building entrance. Her face was clean. No blood. Just anger. “What do you mean ‘he treats you well’? You don’t want to break up with him?” She looked exactly as she had in my previous life. Furious, protective. “How many times has he ‘accidentally’ received lingerie from some mystery woman? And this time it was used! The mistress is practically dancing on your grave, and you’re still nostalgic?” The exact same words. In my past life, whenever a package arrived, I’d run to her crying. And she would say, without hesitation: “Dump him.” But I always felt I should let Liam explain. And every time he did, I’d send Sienna a text: It was all a misunderstanding. We’re good now. It used to drive her crazy. But now, looking at her indignation, I remembered the post she made after she took Liam from me. It wasn’t in vain, telling her to break up for so long. Every time I mailed those packages, I was terrified she’d figure out it was me. I tried so hard to confuse her. Finally, she’s not thinking with her heart anymore. I won. I opened the car door and stepped out. I looked down at her from the curb. “Sienna. We’re done.” Her pupils contracted. “You’re ending our friendship over a guy?” “Did I stutter?” “Mara, we’ve known each other for thirteen years. You’ve only known him for three!” Exactly. So why did you stab me in the back? I stared her down. “Yes. We’re done.” “Fine.” She pointed a manicured finger at me. “When he ruins your life, don’t come crying back to me!” She spun around and stomped back upstairs. For a second, I felt a wave of dizziness. She sounded so much like the Sienna I knew. The real one. If I had said those words to the Sienna I thought I knew, she wouldn’t have reacted any differently. I shook my head. The truth of the last life had been revealed. I couldn’t ignore it, no matter how much I wanted to believe in her. Even though the bloody Sienna was just a nightmare, the Sienna upstairs who plotted against me wasn’t any different from a stranger. This friendship was ending in the ugliest way possible. I got back in the car and rolled up the window. As I reached for the gear shift, my eyes locked onto the glass. There, printed clearly against the sunlight. A chaotic mess of bloody handprints. Right where the woman in my dream had been pressing. I looked up toward the apartment complex. Behind the curtains of Sienna’s bedroom window, a pair of eyes seemed to be watching me dead on. 2 I wiped the window clean. People from dreams don’t leave physical evidence. Sienna’s complex was full of unruly kids. I decided it had to be a prank. When I got home, there was another package on my doorstep. I opened it. Purple lace stockings and a matching corset. Reeking of cheap, heavy perfume. In my last life, my first reaction was to scream at Liam. Then I’d go cry to Sienna. But now, I knew exactly who had sent it. The image of the bloody face from my dream flashed in my mind. My hand clenched around the stockings. If the Sienna upstairs isn’t the real Sienna, then the real one must be… I thought about it. I needed to go back to her apartment. To avoid suspicion, I baked a “peace offering” cake. When I showed up at her door with a fruit cake, her first instinct was to slam the door in my face. I jammed my foot in the gap, putting on my best pathetic face. “Sienna, please! That woman sent more underwear to provoke me! I know I was wrong. He’s trash! Absolute trash!” Sienna eyed me with suspicion. I pouted. “Please, Sienna. Without you, who’s going to help me destroy him?” She let out a cold laugh. “Fine. I’ll forgive you this once.” The door opened. I walked in, my eyes scanning everything. I was looking for any sign of a struggle, any trace of a second person. “What’s with you?” She turned around, holding a knife to cut the cake. “You keep looking around. What, you think I’m hiding a man?” She was technically right. But it was strange. Other than her things and mine, there was no trace of a third person. If the bloody Sienna from my dream was here, she would have left a trail. I watched her slice the cake. Maybe… maybe I was wrong? “Did that loser boyfriend of yours finally make you lose your mind?” Sienna forked a piece of cake and shoved it into her mouth. She chewed enthusiastically. “Hey, the frosting isn’t bad this time.” I stared at her mouth. My heart stopped. Sienna was deathly allergic to mangoes. I had deliberately filled the middle layer with mango puree to test her. And this person, who was eating it without a care in the world… Who is she? 3 “What’s wrong?” She looked at me, chewing on a piece of mango pulp. My face went pale. My legs felt heavy, like lead. “Nothing…” “If it’s nothing, then eat!” She smiled and handed me a fork. I hesitated, taking it. Under the sleeve of my sweater, my other hand had already dialed 911 on my phone. My hand trembled as I reached for the cake. Slap! Her expression darkened instantly. She smacked my hand away. “What are you doing?” “Sienna?” I looked at her, shocked by the sudden shift in her demeanor. My heart hammered against my ribs. “Why are you trying to eat the mango?” She stared at me with intense, terrifying focus. My breathing hitched. Did she know? Did she know I was testing her? “You’re allergic to mangoes. Did you forget?” “What?” I pointed at myself. Me? Allergic to mangoes? Since I was a kid, mango had been my favorite fruit. Sienna was the one with the allergy. “Did that guy drive you crazy? You forgot your own fatal allergy?” Sienna glared at me. I looked at her. I put the piece of mango from the fork into my mouth. I stared right back. “Sienna, watch closely. The person allergic to mangoes has never been me. It’s you.” Her face went white. “Mara…” “So, tell me. Who the hell are you?” She looked at me in shock. “Speak!” I stood up to grab her collar. Suddenly, my throat seized up. Tighter than a vise. I fell to my knees, clawing at my neck. I looked down at my arm and saw angry red hives erupting across my skin. “I told you! I told you that you were allergic, why won’t you listen!” Sienna was on her phone, screaming. “Hello? 911? My friend is having a severe allergic reaction! Mangoes! Please hurry!” Mango allergy… Me? That’s impossible. Sienna was the one allergic to mangoes. Always. Thud. I collapsed onto the floor. The last thing I heard was Sienna’s frantic, terrified voice calling my name. 4 When I woke up in the hospital, I still refused to believe I was the one with the allergy. Until the diagnosis report was thrown in my lap. The doctor frowned. “You were admitted to this very ward as a child for acute anaphylaxis. Did I not tell you explicitly that you could never touch a mango again? Not even the juice?” I looked at the words Mango Allergy typed clearly on the paper. I turned a look of disbelief toward Liam. He sighed, sitting by the bed. “Mara, when we first started dating, you told me you were allergic. I’ve been keeping mangoes away from you for three years. Did you really forget?” My mind wasn’t on the cheating anymore. I crushed the medical report in my fist. A terrifying thought took root in my brain. What if… what if I’m the one who’s sick? Not just the allergy. But everything else. That afternoon, I found myself sitting in the psychiatric ward. 5 “I am absolutely certain the lingerie I received wasn’t fake.” I dumped the pile of lace and silk onto the doctor’s desk. The psychiatrist raised an eyebrow. “So, I don’t believe that what’s happening to me is illogical. Take the underwear. Take the bloody handprints on my car. The mango allergy… maybe that was an accident.” I had just been reborn, after all. Maybe I got some wires crossed during the reset. But Sienna’s betrayal in my past life—that wasn’t a mistake. The doctor adjusted her glasses and sighed. “You’re right. These objects are real. But the lingerie…” She turned my phone around and slid it across the desk. “I found a different story on your device.” The Amazon app was open. It was logged into a secondary account. I clicked on the order history. Page after page. It was all lingerie. The most recent purchase? Purple lace stockings and a corset. And a bottle of heavy perfume. I slumped back into the chair. For the past year… all those packages I received… I bought them? I looked over at Sienna. Does that mean… she actually thought Liam was cheating on me? That she was trying to protect me? And Liam. He sat beside me, holding my hand, and sighed. “So you were buying them for me? I thought someone was trying to break us up, pretending to be a mistress. I spent months trying to track down the sender.” The doctor pushed her glasses up her nose again. “As for the bloody handprints, I asked a friend in law enforcement to pull the street surveillance.” She played the video on her tablet. It showed me stumbling down the stairs. My hands were covered in red paint or dye from somewhere. I looked drunk, unable to figure out the door handle. I smeared red handprints all over the window and the handle. I accidentally triggered the window to roll down. Finally, I managed to open the door, got in, and passed out in the driver’s seat. When I woke up in the video, I looked at the open window with total confusion. “So, Ms. Mara. The bloody handprints? You left them.” I stared in disbelief as she placed a diagnosis on the table. Delusional Disorder. She spoke calmly. “Or perhaps a form of dissociative identity disorder. You do things that are out of character, and then you forget them. Based on the timeline, you’ve been suffering from this for a while.” So… In my past life, when I thought Liam was cheating and Sienna was stabbing me in the back… It was all me? I was directing the whole play? Liam gripped my trembling shoulders and pulled me into a hug. “It’s okay. I actually noticed something was off. I’m ready to face this with you.” Sienna grabbed my hand too. “Don’t be scared, bestie. We’ve known each other for thirteen years. We can get through anything. I’ll help you get better.” Tears welled up in my eyes. No one betrayed me. From start to finish, it was just my broken mind. “Doctor? Is it curable?” Liam asked, his voice full of worry. The doctor looked down, writing a prescription. “It can be controlled with medication. At the very least, she won’t see things that aren’t there, and she won’t act out anymore.” Liam squeezed me tighter. “See? There’s a solution. Don’t be afraid.” I nodded vigorously. I looked at Sienna. No, I should say… the Sienna I was hallucinating. Because standing right behind the Sienna holding my hand… was the bloody woman again. “Mara…” She took a step forward, leaving a wet, red footprint on the tile. “I told you… that’s not me.” I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. “What is it?” the doctor asked. “Nothing. Just another hallucination,” I said, pointing behind Sienna. “I see the bloody version of Sienna again.” The doctor smiled gently. “Don’t worry, once you take the meds…” She followed my finger. Her words died in her throat. “AAAAHHH!” She fell out of her chair, scrambling backward. “Run! Run!” Sienna turned around. Her face went pale at the exact same moment Liam’s did. “RUN!” 6 The doctor shoved me aside and bolted out the door. The last thing I remember was the back of my head cracking against a metal filing cabinet. Then, darkness. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. Liam let out a breath and stroked my hair. “Does it hurt? Do you know who I am? You didn’t knock yourself stupid, did you?” “Liam!” I grabbed his wrist. “Where is Sienna?” “You rang?” Sienna walked in the door carrying three takeout containers. “I go out to get us food and you miss me already?” I froze. “How are you guys so calm?” Sienna blinked. “What do you mean? The doctor said it’s just a mild concussion. You just bumped your head.” “No!” I tried to sit up. “You saw it! Both of you! Why are you acting like nothing happened?” Sienna blinked again. “Saw what?” “You!” “I’m right here.” “No… the other one! The bloody one!” I gestured wildly, frustration boiling over. “You definitely saw her! You guys screamed!” Their expressions shifted. A micro-second of a glance passed between them. Sienna stepped forward and hugged me. “Okay, Mara, relax. You fell. You hit your head. You’re hallucinating again.” “It wasn’t a hallucination!” I pushed her away. “You saw it. I know you saw it! You were terrified!” “Okay, okay.” A hand clamped over my mouth. Liam cleared his throat. “Honey, you’re remembering it wrong.” “I am not!” “Really, Mara. We…” Sienna looked at Liam again. “We didn’t see anything.” I nodded slowly. “Fine. You didn’t see it. But someone else definitely did.” I swung my legs out of bed. I marched down the hall and kicked open the door to the psychiatrist’s office. I pointed a finger at the doctor from before. “She saw it!”

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I was about to give birth, my body wracked with contractions, yet my husband stood there, his face a mask of cold indifference, barring my entry to the delivery suite. “You don’t deserve this VIP suite,” Harrison said, his voice flat. I collapsed to the floor, clutching my stomach as pain tore through me. A gaggle of relatives approached, wrapping their snickers in faux whispers. “Harrison, you truly have the patience of a saint. You spent three years coaxing this counterfeit heiress to carry your child, but from now on, you’ll only acknowledge the real one.” Moments later, Veronica, the “real” daughter who had been switched at birth twenty years ago, walked past me. She was wearing the same maternity gown I was. Supported gently by Harrison’s arm, she glided into the VIP suite. Nurses swarmed them, ushering them away. I tried to struggle to my feet, but my own biological parents held me down. My father, Dr. Whitman, the hospital director, spoke with a heavy, final tone. “Veronica’s constitution is weak. She can’t handle stress. The VIP resources must go to her.” My mother, a former head nurse, wiped a tear from her eye. “Sarah, Veronica suffered so much living on that farm. She’s finally home. Don’t fight her for this.” My grandmother, Nana Rose, who had always doted on me, let out a sigh. “You stole twenty years of a luxurious life from her. Giving up a delivery room is the least you can do. Consider it a bargain.” They ignored the plummeting heart rate of my unborn child. They ignored the medical indicators screaming for a C-section. They wheeled me toward a general ward for a natural birth. I gripped the hem of my gown until my knuckles turned white. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. But the corner of my mouth twitched upward. I couldn’t hide the smile. 1 After failing to find any family members willing to sign for me, the nurse handed me a thick stack of surgical consent forms. I signed without hesitation. As the pen lifted from the paper, a mechanical prompt echoed in my mind. “Host life threat detected. Trigger ‘Cost Liquidation’ mode to exit?” Trigger, I recited silently in my heart, my fingertips pale from the pressure. “Please confirm liquidation targets: Husband Harrison King, Father Dr. Whitman, Mother Linda Whitman?” Add one more. I watched Nana Rose through the open door, standing on her tiptoes, haggling with the nurse for the “most economical” natural birth package. My voice was ice. And Veronica. “Liquidation targets locked. Host vital signs currently meet the criteria for ‘Desperate Counterattack.’ Initiate immediate protection mechanism?” Initiate immediately. I had arranged everything long ago. Even the midwives were my own hires; I hadn’t let my parents’ staff near me. The nurse came back, looking uncomfortable. She told me the family’s consensus was to use the cheapest package just to get the baby out. Even the consent form regarding “save the mother or the child” had been left to me to decide. My heart turned to ash. I grabbed the nurse’s hand, pleading. “Give me the best natural birth package available. I have my own money.” This was my twenty-fifth year in this world, and the first year since Veronica had been found and brought home. Before her return, I was the princess, held in the palm of this family’s hand. In my original world, I had a miserable marriage and parents who favored my brother. So when the System first approached me, I refused to leave. I wanted to accompany my parents and Nana Rose into their old age. Now, it seemed, it was all smoke and mirrors. All they cared about was the blood that bound them. Ten minutes passed. The delivery team the nurse summoned saw that my vitals clearly indicated a need for a C-section. They called the family in again. Nana Rose walked in, clutching the consent forms, her face a storm of displeasure. “Your belly looks heavy, but the baby isn’t that big. What do we need all these people for? Stop thinking about a C-section. You think our money grows on trees?” The doctor couldn’t stand it and interjected. “The fetal heart rate is dropping rapidly. We need to operate immediately.” I was sweating profusely from the pain, but Nana Rose dismissed everyone else, claiming she needed to speak with me alone. She walked up to the bed and held up her phone, her voice dropping to a threat. “Everyone is busy with Veronica. You be a good girl. There’s twenty percent of the company shares waiting to be transferred to your name after the birth. If you don’t cooperate, you won’t see a dime.” I looked at my grandmother, usually so gentle, now glaring at me with undisguised disgust. It was as if the love she had shown me for decades never existed. I reached out to press the nurse call button. She slapped my hand away. She picked up the phone and barked an order. “Send two men in. This girl isn’t cooperating. She still wants a C-section. She’s obviously trying to compete with Veronica!” Moments later, two bodyguards carrying stun batons walked into the delivery room. 2 I screamed for help, but Nana Rose clamped her hand over my mouth and nose. “This is our hospital,” she hissed. “You could scream until your throat bleeds, and no one would come.” Harrison pushed the door open then, carrying a gift bag from a high-end jeweler. He frowned when he saw me, drenched in sweat, my lips ghostly pale. “We’re doing this for your own good, Sarah. Natural birth has a faster recovery time. I’ve already spoken to the doctor.” “Spoken to them? You mean you told them to suppress my C-section indicators?” I slowly lifted my head, my gaze sweeping over their evasive faces. “Harrison, last week you told me the company had cash flow issues. You made me mortgage the house I bought two years ago. Was that just to get cash for Veronica?” Harrison’s face flushed red. “What are you talking about? That was strictly company business.” “Is that so? And maxing out my supplementary card to buy a twenty-thousand-dollar bag for a ‘client’—was that real too?” I let out a bitter laugh. Suddenly, a sharp, tearing pain radiated from my abdomen. The fetal heart monitor began to scream an alarm. Harrison looked panicked for a second, then composed himself. “Stop screaming! You’re making it worse by getting agitated. Dr. Lee is coming. She’ll handle it.” “Handle it? You’re forcing me to forego surgery because you want me and the baby dead. That way, you and Veronica can be together legitimately, right?” My body shook with agony. The System prompt chimed in my head. “Immediate protection mechanism active. Automatically contacting the emergency team from the rival Tier-1 Trauma Center. Estimated arrival: ten minutes. Evidence of Dr. Lee’s malpractice detected. Synchronizing with the State Medical Board reporting channel.” Dr. Lee rushed in. Her face paled when she saw the numbers on the monitor. She opened her mouth to speak, but after catching a glimpse of Nana Rose’s dark expression, she steeled herself. “Don’t be nervous. It’s just Braxton Hicks. I’ll give you something to suppress the contractions…” “No need.” Dr. Lee’s hand trembled in confusion, dropping the syringe to the floor. Harrison grabbed my wrist, his brow furrowed tight. “What the hell are you trying to do?” I waved my phone, a weak smile curling my lips. “Nothing much. Just letting you know that I’ve been livestreaming everything in this room.” “I met the criteria for a C-section thirty minutes ago. You disregarded my life and the life of my child. The internet will call the police for me.” Harrison signaled the bodyguards. They swarmed forward, smashing my phone to pieces. The men pinned me down, rendering me immobile. Harrison walked up to me, his eyes bloodshot with rage, and grabbed my chin. “You still think you’re the Princess of the King family? You’re nothing but a switched-at-birth mistake! A mutt!” “Even if you meet the surgical standards, so what? Until Veronica delivers safely, there is no place for you.” I suddenly laughed. “So, in a hospital this big, other mothers’ lives are worthless?” I struggled furiously. Harrison, in a fit of rage, slapped me twice across the face. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. No one raised a hand to wipe it away. Nana Rose stood by, listening to the frantic beep-beep-beep of the alarms, acting as if she heard nothing. Seeing my gaze fixed on her, she sighed lightly. “Veronica is different from you. She can’t handle pain.” I looked down at the amniotic fluid flooding the bed, my eyes reddening. So, I can? The bodyguards didn’t let go. Until, three minutes later, a group of people burst into the delivery room. The police were with them. “We received a report. This hospital is engaging in malpractice. We need to transfer this patient immediately!” 3 The police quickly secured the scene. The chaotic delivery room fell into a stunned silence. When Harrison saw the doctors from the rival hospital checking my vitals, he stepped angrily in front of me. “Sarah! Do you want our family on the front page of every tabloid?!” “Stop this nonsense! Give me your phone and record a clarification video right now!” Just then, my mother, the head nurse, walked in upon hearing the commotion. There were still bloodstains on her white coat. Seeing my body convulsing and my face devoid of color, she asked with concern, “Did the hospital make a mistake in the scheduling? Why are there outside experts here?” My father charged in right after her, furious. He threw my broken phone onto my chest. “The hospital is undergoing its accreditation review! You know that! Are you trying to cause a medical scandal?!” “How cruel can you be? Veronica needs her parents’ warmth right now, yet you force us to come here to deal with you!” My mother saw the blood on my forehead and reached out to wipe it, but Harrison pushed her hand away. “This is all a show she directed herself. She wants sympathy to gain leverage.” Mom muttered a few more words to me, but after receiving an urgent page from the operating room, she dragged Dad away and rushed out. I struggled to sit up, pointing a trembling finger at Harrison. “He blocked my treatment the entire time! Arrest him!” The doctor from the rival hospital saw I was bleeding profusely. He shoved Harrison aside and opened his medical kit to bandage me. With the police watching, Harrison couldn’t get physical. Instead, he pulled out his phone and recorded the rival doctor treating me. He sneered. “Entering an operating room without scrubbing in? You’re a hack. Wait for the lawsuit!” Harrison forwarded the video directly to the hospital board right in front of us, demanding they file a report immediately. Terrified, I called out to the System in my mind. “Host, rest assured. The team filed all necessary paperwork before arrival. The outcome will not be affected.” Relieved, I murmured, “When does the liquidation begin?” The System didn’t reply, but Harrison caught the tail end of my whisper. He pointed at me, enraged. “What liquidation?! Who are you liquidating?!” The doctor finished bandaging me and stared at the latest test results, stunned. “The fetal heart rate dropped three times in the last hour! Preeclampsia is setting in. She’s in critical condition. We need to move her to surgery now!” Harrison didn’t care. He blocked the gurney. “Taking her away won’t help. If I don’t sign, no one dares to operate on her!” The doctor grabbed the diagnostic report and showed it to the police. Finally, with my consent, they pushed me out of the delivery room. I felt fluid leaking continuously from my lower body. I grabbed the doctor’s sleeve. My mother, who had been signing papers nearby, saw the blood soaking my pants. She covered her mouth, her eyes tearing up. “You… it’s this serious? You need a C-section immediately!” Harrison, who had been blocking my exit, recoiled in shock when he saw the blood-soaked bed. Mom held my hand, whispering comfort. “I’ll arrange an operating room for you right now!” My eyes were red as I gripped her wrist. “I have something to tell you.” Just then, the doors to the other operating room opened. Veronica was wheeled out. Harrison immediately grabbed a bouquet of flowers and rushed over, shouting, “You did great, honey!” 4 Dad rushed forward too, carrying two bags of luxury goods. Listening to the family’s joyous celebration, I couldn’t help but speak up. “Can I go in for surgery now?” Harrison walked closer, holding a baby boy, his face twisted in disgust. “Your sister just came out of surgery. The family is gathering around to say a few words. Do you have to be such a killjoy?” The nurse pushed Veronica’s gurney in front of me. She looked at me twice, then handed me a red woven bracelet. “Harrison prayed for this specifically before the birth. I’m passing my good luck to you.” I let out a cold laugh and refused it. Veronica’s eyes instantly reddened. She reached out and tugged at my sleeve. “Is my little sister blaming me? In that situation just now, I really had no choice. The doctor said I needed surgery immediately.” Before I could speak, the relatives Harrison had kept waiting nearby rushed over with gifts. Seeing my dark expression toward Veronica, they voiced their dissatisfaction. “Sarah, you’re both mothers now. Your sister just finished surgery. Isn’t your attitude a bit excessive?” Seeing this, Veronica started to cry. “Don’t blame Sarah. It’s my fault for taking the operating room without asking her. Please don’t be mad at her; it’s bad for the baby.” In the three months since she returned, she had outwardly defended me at every turn. She even insisted on taking the nanny’s room opposite mine, claiming sisters should be close. But behind the scenes, anything I looked at, she would buy at double the price. Then she would fake a smile and say, “Dad told the sales clerk to save the good stuff for me. If you like it, I’ll give it to you.” I snorted and shook off her hand, my tone icy. “Move! I need to give birth!” Unexpectedly, Harrison grabbed my wrist, forcing me to stop. “Apologize to Veronica. Now!” “Harrison!” Veronica’s voice trembled. “Let her go have the baby!” Harrison patted her hand gently to comfort her, but when he turned back to me, his eyes were cold. He enunciated every word. “Sarah, you must apologize to Veronica today. Otherwise, you aren’t going anywhere.” I was shaking from the pain. The contractions in my lower abdomen were coming in rapid waves. But Harrison stood before me like a mountain, with no intention of moving. The surrounding relatives accused me of being immature and willful. I finally snapped. “Harrison King, so you would rather see me and the baby die than forgo this apology, is that it?” Harrison stepped forward, grabbing my hair and forcing my head up. “I don’t want to say it a second time!” The police finally stepped in to control the situation. The monitors beside the bed began to scream their alarms. My consciousness started to blur. I looked at the time. Soon. Five more minutes and I could leave this world completely. Now, all I needed was a push. Fighting through the agony, I ripped the sensors off my body and threw them aside, screaming. “I’m not giving birth! You want me dead? Fine! I’ll die for you right now!” The doctor from the rival hospital saw me giving up and rushed to persuade me. “Don’t be foolish! Your life matters. If the hospital cooperates, we can start surgery in ten minutes.” Harrison exploded in rage. He picked up the monitor and smashed it onto the floor, pointing at me and cursing. “You shrew! What? You want to take revenge on us and extort money?!” The faces of the relatives instantly changed. Mom, having arranged the operating room, stopped in her tracks upon hearing this, looking at me in disbelief. “Sarah, why must you always compete with Veronica? She is different from you.” I laughed out loud, my vision blurring into vague shapes. “Yes, I’m just the fake heiress! I’ll give my life back to you!” Harrison sneered. “Mom, Dad, let’s take Veronica back to the ward first. If she wants to throw a tantrum, let her.” The System’s voice echoed in my mind again. “Host blood loss indicators have reached the agreed value. Detach immediately?” I murmured a response. “Immediately.” The next second, I let out a pained scream and completely passed out. The doctor looked at the heart monitor and panicked. “The patient has lost vital signs!”

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After five years of living apart for work, my husband suddenly bought our son a pair of size 8 toddler shoes. But our son is ten years old. He wears a size 4. I treated it as a joke and posted a picture of the tiny shoes next to my son’s feet on Instagram. The comments section exploded immediately. “He obviously got the address mixed up. That’s for his secret family’s kid.” “Getting the size wrong by a little is excusable, but this? Following for updates!” “Your husband has a new son, honey.” “The internet detectives are never wrong. Waiting for the update where you slap him in the face!” 01 Reading the comments, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I quickly typed a reply: “My husband said the seller shipped the wrong item!” The comments poured in: “Make him post the screenshot!” “Screenshots can be faked. You need to see his order history in person.” The voices of suspicion grew louder. It was just a photo. Simple enough. Besides, it would give me something to talk about with my husband, Mark, since we lived in different cities and ran out of topics often. I sent a text: “Honey, send me a screenshot of the order for those shoes.” Status: Read. A long time passed. No reply. My stomach dropped. Could the internet strangers be right? I immediately shook my head. No. Impossible. Even though we were long-distance, we FaceTimed every day. Our relationship was solid. He would never betray me. But then, things got weird. From the moment I asked for the screenshot, he went MIA. Calls were rejected or rang endlessly. My anxiety spiked. When I got home, my mother-in-law had already picked up our son, Lucas, and dinner was on the table. At the dinner table, I brought up the shoe mix-up as a funny story. “Mom, look at this. Mark bought Lucas these tiny shoes.” Unexpectedly, my mother-in-law looked at the two pairs of shoes. Instead of laughing, her face grew heavy, like she was holding back words. After a silence, she laughed awkwardly. “Oh, you young people and your online shopping. I don’t understand any of it.” She finished her food quickly and started mopping the floor. But while she mopped, she kept glancing at the door. Something was wrong. Usually, when I got home from work, she would leave immediately, saying my father-in-law was waiting for her to cook. So, what was she waiting for today? Just then, a knock came at the door. “Courier pickup for a return?” My mother-in-law dropped the mop, grabbed the box of toddler shoes, and rushed to the door. “Yes, yes. Returning the shoes.” 02 The woman who just claimed she didn’t understand online shopping handled the return code perfectly. Then, she put on her shoes. “Alright, I have to go make dinner for your dad. Tomorrow is Saturday, I’ll pick Lucas up from school Monday afternoon.” I was about to grab her arm and ask what was going on when the security camera on the wall rotated. That meant Mark was watching us right now. “Mom, drive safe.” She left without looking back. I smiled and told Lucas to keep eating. A moment later, my phone rang. I thought it was Mark. Instead, my father-in-law’s booming voice filled the speaker. “Why are you so difficult? What other daughter-in-law has it as easy as you?” “Mark leaves his parents and child behind to work out of state and make money, giving you his paycheck.” “Your mother goes over every day, picks up the kid, cooks, cleans. She’s basically a servant.” “And you? All you do is stir up trouble every day. Is there no end to it?” Before he could finish, I heard a door open on his end, followed by my mother-in-law’s cheerful voice. “Hey, old man! Call your son, tell him the problem is perfectly solved—” My father-in-law cut her off instantly. “What took you so long? I thought you were suffering over there because of those damn shoes… Don’t talk yet, I’m on the phone with Lucas’s mom.” The voice was faint. He probably thought covering the receiver would block the sound, but I heard it clearly. He continued, “I’m telling you, be more understanding of Mark and your mom’s hardships. Don’t embarrass Mark. Save some money! Bye!” I froze. The coordination of this entire family left me stunned and speechless. Everything that happened today seemed to confirm the internet’s dark theories. I made up my mind. Tonight, Mark had to explain this clearly, or this marriage was over. Finally, just before bed, Mark initiated a video call. He looked normal. “Babe, is Dad throwing a tantrum again?” “Don’t take it to heart. He gets like that. Old people talk too much. Don’t lower yourself to his level.” I laughed coldly. “And?” Mark rushed to explain. “Oh, I was in meetings all day. Just finished.” “Parents get old, they act like kids. Don’t listen to whatever Dad said.” I wasn’t stupid. Mark was intentionally deflecting the conflict onto his parents. He was muddying the waters, hoping I wouldn’t bring up the shoes again. I had enough. “Mark, what is the deal with those toddler shoes?” 03 Mark paused, then feigned a sudden realization. “Oh, the shoes! I returned them. I was afraid you wouldn’t be home during the day, so I asked Mom to return them.” I asked for the screenshot; he ignored it and kept dodging. “Send me the screenshot of the order history. Now.” “Fine, hang on.” He hung up. Three minutes later, a screenshot arrived. The time was correct: 10:20 PM tonight. The style was correct. But the size… it wasn’t Lucas’s size 4 (36). It was size 5 (37). Ordering one size up is normal for growing kids. The screenshot looked flawless. Was I being too sensitive about everything today? But… did he really know Lucas’s shoe size? I felt like something was off, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Frustrated, I remembered the thousands of netizens. I posted the screenshot in the comments and pinned it. Within minutes, replies flooded in. “That size is obviously Photoshopped.” “Confirmed. You guys are good!” I asked how they knew. Two comments had thousands of likes. “Kids’ shoes are divided into Toddler/Little Kid and Big Kid sizes. Very few styles are made in the full range of sizes.” It hit me. Right. Toddler sizes usually go up to size 10 or 11. Big Kid sizes start at 1 or 13 and go up to 7. That was why the screenshot looked weird. “That screenshot is from Temu/AliExpress. I found the shop. That shoe doesn’t even exist in size 5.” I opened the app to verify. I found the shop. I scrolled through everything. That shoe wasn’t there in that size. Impossible! I DM’d the user. They quickly sent me a screenshot. The toddler shoe in the photo only went up to size 10 Toddler. “Good thing I screenshot it earlier. It’s gone now. They probably delisted it.” “Your husband has some power, getting a seller to take down a listing.” The evidence was right in front of my face. Who did Mark buy those shoes for? Just then, Lucas walked into the bedroom after finishing his homework. “Mom, this afternoon, Grandma picked me up and asked what size shoes I wear.” I choked back my nausea. “What did you say?” Lucas looked helpless. “I’ve been wearing size 4, but they’re getting tight, so I told her size 5.” He leaned in close, whispering. “While I was doing homework, I heard Grandma call Dad. She told him I wear size 5.” The world spun. I fought the urge to faint. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. 04 Dawn broke with a violent banging on the door. My father-in-law was here. “Pay your mom her salary for the month!” My mother-in-law charged us $1,000 a month to help with pickup, cooking, and cleaning. Because I hadn’t slept, I looked terrible. My father-in-law saw my face and exploded. “You got a problem? Looking for a fight?” “Don’t you dare keep dragging this shoe thing out!” “Mark works hard! Your mom works hard! Hurry up and pay!” Usually, I let it slide. I figured they were old, they wouldn’t change. As long as they were healthy. I never expected them to be this guilty. I blocked the door. “Who’s the guilty one here? Who’s looking for a fight?” “Come back another day. I don’t have cash. Neither Mark nor I have been paid yet.” My father-in-law kicked the security door open, barged in like a thug, and sat on the sofa. “If you don’t pay today, I’m not leaving!” Lucas woke up from the noise and walked out, greeting him politely. “Grandpa, you’re here!” My father-in-law acted like he didn’t see him. His face was full of disgust. He even snorted. “Big and small, no manners!” I didn’t want a fight this early. I dressed Lucas to leave. My father-in-law slapped the coffee table. “If you walk out that door today, don’t come back!” “The Miller family doesn’t keep trash!” He was unreasonable and calling me trash. Heaven wouldn’t tolerate this. I took Lucas out. Before closing the door, I said, “This house was bought after Mark and I married. Even if we divorce, half of it is mine.” Bang. I slammed the door. My father-in-law screamed obscenities from inside. I was taking Lucas to Mark. On the way, Lucas looked heartbroken. “Mom, why do Grandpa and Grandma dislike me?” I was shocked. “How could they dislike you? You’re their biological grandson.” Lucas started crying. “Grandma looks disgusted every time she picks me up.” “She mumbles that I’m a debt collector. She says why didn’t you get hit by a car. She says we are dragging Dad down.” “Grandpa hates me more. He pretends he can’t hear me. Sometimes, he looks at me like I’m scary.” Because of a pair of shoes, I realized that some things had changed a long time ago. What was the truth?

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