Category: English

The moment I was about to confess to my online crush in person, comments started appearing out of thin air. 【Girl, don’t even bother. The main character is avoiding you like the plague. He’s kicking himself for realizing he was talking to the wrong person this whole time.】 【It’s all her fault for using an avatar so similar to the female lead’s. Otherwise, Alex would have never gotten them mixed up.】 【It’s so cringe thinking that she was the one who comforted the main character after his big game loss. All those sweet, romantic messages were sent to her. Ugh.】 【You think you’re cringing? The main character is totally grossed out, too. And poor Jia, our female lead, only just added him as a friend yesterday. So frustrating.】 【This side character is the absolute worst.】 Stunned, I looked up just in time to see Alex walking off the court after a game. When he saw me, his eyes darted away, trying his best to avoid me. I sidestepped him and shoved the confession letter I was holding into his roommate’s hands. Online crush? Please. He wasn’t my only one. Those good-night audio messages I sent? I sent those to a whole group chat. 1 Seeing those floating comments, my mind went blank. Standing outside the basketball court, I watched the text continue to scroll by as I slowly pieced things together. According to these comments, I was nothing more than a disposable side character in a sweet, campus romance novel. And Alex, my online chat buddy, was the male lead. I glanced down at the love letter in my hand. It all made sense now. No wonder his replies had been so slow and perfunctory lately, his words tinged with an obvious annoyance. He had mistaken me for someone else from the very beginning. He thought I was the female lead, Jia, which is why he’d added me, why he’d chatted with me, why he’d developed feelings through an endless stream of “good mornings” and “good nights.” Now that he knew the truth, he couldn’t stand the sight of me. He saw me as the main obstacle standing between him and Jia. A burst of noise from nearby drew my attention. I looked up to see Alex heading my way. He was in a blue jersey, a white sweatband across his forehead. He casually took a water bottle from a teammate and took a long drink. He was magnetic, the object of countless girls’ secret crushes. He practically shimmered. A few steps later, he saw me. Alex stopped dead in his tracks. Then, he stiffly averted his gaze and started talking to the guy next to him. Seeing his reaction, I sighed. So, the comments were true. 【If I were her, I’d stay far away from him. Why embarrass yourself?】 【Exactly. The main characters are a match made in heaven. She’s just trying to butt in. It’s so pathetic.】 【He literally can’t even look at her.】 Alex really wasn’t looking at me. He was staring down at his phone, probably texting someone. A small smile played on his lips. It had to be Jia, his newly added friend. Just as he was about to walk past me, I gently grabbed his wrist. He looked at me, startled. I smiled. “Are you Alex?” The comments started scrolling furiously, all of them cursing me out. I ignored them, my eyes fixed on Alex. “Excuse me, is Jack Wolf your roommate? Do you know where he is right now?” Alex froze. “Why are you looking for him?” I waved the letter. “I have something I want to give him.” 2 Alex was silent, but his teammate, who had been watching with interest, chimed in. “Jack? You’re looking for Jack? He’s over at the tennis courts.” “Oh, great.” I released Alex’s wrist. “Thanks.” With that, I turned and headed for the tennis courts, letter in hand. I could hear whispers behind me. They weren’t exactly quiet whispers, either; I could hear every word. “Damn, that girl’s got guts. She’s into Jack Wolf?” “Yeah, that guy is so creepy and intense. Who would actually be into him?” “He’s good-looking, though. Not handsome like Alex, but like, pretty. It’s not that weird for someone who’s all about looks to like him.” “Hey, Alex, why are you so quiet?” “Alex, where are you going?! Aren’t you coming to dinner?” The sound of hurried footsteps followed me. A moment later, a figure blocked my path. I blinked. “Alex? Can I help you with something?” Alex frowned, his gaze flickering between me and the letter in my hand. He seemed to realize what he was doing and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “It’s nothing. I just remembered… my roommate has a weird temper. You don’t know him, so showing up out of the blue might piss him off. Maybe I should give the letter to him for you?” The comments lit up. 【What’s this? Is she playing hard to get?】 【You scared me for a second. I thought the main character actually had a thing for this totally average side character. Looks like he’s just a nice guy.】 【Honestly though, when he lost that big game, her comfort was actually really important. He wouldn’t have bounced back so fast without it. If I were him, I might have actually fallen for her.】 The comments made my mind wander. They were talking about a basketball game last fall, one that had been really important to Alex. He had choked during a critical play, and they lost. His teammates tried to console him, but he could feel their thinly veiled disappointment, and he was consumed by shame and self-blame. He had gone off to hide by himself. At the time, he hadn’t responded to any of my texts. Finally, I recorded a deliberately off-key song for him. That got a response. “Please stop singing,” he’d texted back. “You’re going to kill me.” His tone was exasperated, but I could sense the faint hint of a smile. I stayed up all night talking to him, and by morning, he was finally feeling better. 【That was supposed to be the female lead’s scene! She stole it! Alex could never fall for her. He has only ever loved Jia.】 【Exactly! It was love at first sight with Jia. He only added the side character because he thought she was Jia. Otherwise, she wouldn’t even be on his friends list.】 I suppose that was true. I shook my head at Alex. “No thanks. Jack and I are actually pretty good friends.” Alex looked stunned. “How?” I leaned in, lowering my voice conspiratorially. “Actually, we’ve known each other for three years. We’ve only ever talked online, though. We’ve never met in person.” I feigned a blush. “With graduation coming up, I figured I should just go for it and confess. You know, give myself a shot.” 【What does she mean? Did she get the wrong person too?】 【This is great. If she goes for the gloomy villain, she’ll leave our main character alone.】 【But look at the main character’s face. He doesn’t look too happy about this.】 Alex just stood there, frowning, a comically conflicted look on his face. I glanced over his shoulder and my eyes lit up. “Oh, I see him! Alex, talk to you later!” “Are you sure you have the right person?” he blurted out. I paused. “The right person for what?” Alex gritted his teeth. “You said you’ve never met. How can you be sure that’s Jack?” His question made me laugh. “Who else would it be? You?” “Not me,” he denied, almost too quickly. I stared at him for a long moment. He couldn’t meet my gaze. “Right,” I said, nodding. “So, Alex, you don’t need to worry about my business.” With that, I darted around him, heading towards the group of people leaving the tennis courts. Alex instinctively raised a hand to stop me, then let it drop. 3 Jack’s 6’2″ frame made him easy to spot. He was walking at the back of the group, his slightly-too-long hair tied back. His bangs were damp with sweat, and he casually brushed them aside, revealing sharp, handsome features. But his eyes were cold, broadcasting a clear “stay away” message. Besides tennis practice, no one ever seemed to hang out with him. I weaved through the crowd of tall athletes and came to a stop directly in front of him. He almost bumped into me. When he saw my face, he seemed to pause for a fraction of a second. “Can I help you?” I shoved the letter into his hand. “Yeah. I’m here to confess my feelings for you.” Jack looked down at the crumpled pink envelope in his palm, then back up at me. … Everything I had told Alex was true. I really did know Jack pretty well. Or at least, I felt like I did. I have this thing where I’m overly empathetic. I love providing emotional support; I want to be a safe haven for every sad boy and girl in the world. So, Alex wasn’t my only online friend. He just happened to be the one who responded the most, the one who needed the most validation. He’d vent to me after a bad game and beg me to sing him to sleep at night. Jack was the complete opposite. He was so aloof I could send him ten messages and not get a single reply. But I didn’t care. I just really, really liked his face. Meeting his gaze now, I wasn’t flustered at all. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Lana, from the statistics department next door. It’s okay if you don’t accept my confession, but how about we at least get to know each other in person?” Jack didn’t say much. He just slung his tennis racket over his shoulder and walked away. I wasn’t bothered. I cheerfully headed to the cafeteria. On the way, my phone buzzed. It was a message from another one of my online friends, “Jia-licious.” 【Lana, you said your therapist suggested getting a boyfriend might help with your… emotional over-investment. How’s that going?】 I typed back: 【I had a target, but I’ve decided to switch. What about you? Didn’t you say you added your crush? How’s that going?】 Jia-licious seemed troubled: 【It’s okay. But after adding him, I kind of lost interest. Honestly, talking to you is more fun.】 Just then, the floating comments went wild, as if they’d just seen a ghost. 【Can someone please tell me why the side character is also friends with the female lead?】 【So, our main character is just one of many fish in her pond?】 【Jia, what are you doing?! Alex is waiting for your reply! Why are you chatting with this girl?!】 【Lana, turn around! The creepy guy is following you! Are you really going to go through with this?】 【This is a total mess. I can’t even.】 I kept texting Jia while keeping an eye on the comments. It seemed they were good for something, after all. So Jia-licious was Jia, the female lead. And Jack was following me. I whipped my head around. Jack froze, about fifty feet away. He didn’t seem embarrassed at all to be caught. He just walked towards me with a blank expression, passed right by me, and kept going. That level of composure was not normal. I was impressed. Shrugging, I headed into the cafeteria. I was exhausted. After getting back to my dorm and showering, I felt my eyelids getting heavy. I sent out my customary “good night” messages to my various online friends. When I got to Alex’s chat window, I paused. Oh, right. He didn’t need one. As I was about to close the app, I noticed the “Typing…” indicator flashing on and off in his chat. I waited a moment, but nothing came through. I was too tired to care. I shut off my phone and went to sleep. 4 I was serious about finding a boyfriend. The next day, after class, I went straight to the tennis courts to find Jack. I was too early; the courts were mostly empty. After wandering around for a bit, I returned to find an argument in progress. “Coach, the ball machine was already broken when I got here! And it looks like someone did it on purpose!” “Who was the last one to leave last night?” “It was Jack. He came back after dinner and stayed until closing.” “Did you check the security cameras?” “The camera’s broken. It hasn’t been fixed yet.” Just then, Jack arrived. Everyone went quiet and turned to look at him. The coach scowled. “Jack, did you break the machine?” Jack glanced at him. “No.” His dismissive attitude infuriated the coach. “Don’t deny it just because you did something wrong. It’s not a big deal.” The other players started whispering. “It was probably him.” “He won’t admit it. He’s probably scared he’ll have to pay for it.” “What a jerk…” The comments were all pointing fingers at Jack, too. 【There’s a reason he’s not the main character. The guy has no integrity.】 【Look at the way he’s glaring. Kinda scary.】 Jack’s expression darkened. His gaze fell on someone in the crowd, paused for a moment, then he pulled out his phone. He found a video and played it for the coach. The video showed an empty tennis court. In the corner, a figure could be seen kicking the ball machine violently. The shot was brief. The camera then flipped around to a girl’s face. “Hey Jack, aren’t you at the courts yet? I’ve been waiting for ages…” A familiar voice, a familiar face. Everyone turned to look at me, standing at the back of the crowd. Even with my thick skin, I couldn’t handle all the stares. I gave an awkward laugh. “Heh, just messing around, filming random stuff.” But thanks to my random video, Jack was cleared. The coach walked over to me. “Miss, did you see who damaged the equipment?” I pointed to a guy in the crowd. “Him.” The video had jogged my memory. “It was definitely him,” I said with absolute certainty. The guy exploded, vehemently denying it. “It wasn’t me!” “It was you! You were kicking it and swearing, saying Jack must have bribed the coach to get picked for the tournament in Beijing!” The coach’s face darkened. He glared at the accused. “What did you just say?” “I didn’t say that!” “Oh,” I said, pretending to search through my phone. “I actually recorded more than one video that day. Let me just find the other one.” The guy panicked. Under the weight of everyone’s stares, he broke and ran. His reaction was a clear admission of guilt. “Alright, break it up! Back to practice!” the coach barked. “Coach,” I said, stepping forward with a grin. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” He frowned. “What?” I pointed to Jack, who was quietly organizing his rackets on the other side of the court. “You haven’t apologized to him yet. You accused him in front of everyone. Don’t you think you owe him an apology?” Across the court, Jack’s hands stilled. He looked up at me. I was getting an earful from the coach. “Who is this brat? Get out of here! Don’t disrupt our practice!” He was fuming. “All unauthorized personnel, out! Out!” He stormed off. I pursed my lips and wiped my face. Jack, however, had a barely perceptible smile on his face. I saw it. “Are you laughing at me?” His expression immediately went blank again. “No.” I pouted. “I don’t care. I helped you today. You have to buy me a drink.” Jack looked at me, then nodded. “Okay.” 【Wait, am I the only one who thinks they have chemistry?】 【This is so weird. What’s with all the eye contact?】 【Something’s off here. Let’s see how this plays out.】 【My main characters haven’t even had a proper conversation, and you two are already going on a date?】

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My husband suddenly announced, “From now on, we’re splitting everything, 50/50. I’m only responsible for myself.” I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just looked at him calmly and said, “Okay.” The next morning, he got dressed in his tailored suit and frowned. “Where’s breakfast?” A cold smile touched my lips. “We’re 50/50, remember? You’re on your own.” He froze. I smiled. This was just the beginning… 01 The candlelight from our third-anniversary dinner cast a glacial glow on the laptop screen Matt had pushed in front of me. He had meticulously crafted an Excel spreadsheet. The title, in a cold, sans-serif font, read: Proposal for the Optimization of Marital Finances. Optimization. What an insult. “Sophie, we need to talk.” His voice was devoid of warmth, as if he were leading a trivial weekly meeting with his department. He explained that with his seven-figure salary and my status as a full-time homemaker, our financial model was “unhealthy.” For the long-term health of our home, he proposed that starting tomorrow, all living expenses would be split, 50/50. He never once mentioned our seven years together, the three years we’d been married. He didn’t mention how I’d abandoned a promising career as a CPA to become the “unhealthy” stay-at-home wife he now looked down upon. The entire conversation was about money, efficiency, return on investment. Disdain. It pricked my skin like a thousand invisible needles. I looked at him—the man I had loved for seven years, the man I had married—and saw a stranger. A fist clenched around my heart, so tight I could barely breathe. But I didn’t weep or question him. I just gave a slight nod. “Okay.” Just like that, he had quantified our marriage into a cold, sterile financial report. Fine. He shouldn’t be surprised when I decide to settle the accounts using the very methods he so admired. He seemed taken aback by my calm acceptance, but his surprise was quickly overshadowed by a wave of palpable relief. He closed the laptop. “Get some rest,” he said, the words as robotic as a pre-programmed response. We lay in bed with our backs to each other, a chasm wider than the Grand Canyon separating us. The next morning, my internal clock woke me at the usual time. But instead of heading to the kitchen to prepare his three-minute soft-boiled eggs and pour-over coffee, I sat at my vanity, methodically applying my skincare and makeup. Matt emerged from the walk-in closet, wrestling with his tie, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “Where’s my blue striped shirt? Why wasn’t it ironed?” I met his gaze in the mirror. “It’s in the closet. You can find it yourself,” I said, my voice light. “The iron is in the storage room. You can get that yourself, too.” He froze, his hands hovering over his tie. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I swiveled on my stool to face him, a faint smile playing on my lips as I met his questioning stare. “It means exactly what you think it means. 50/50.” He still didn’t seem to grasp it. He strode into the dining room, his irritation boiling over as he stared at the empty table. “Breakfast?” “50/50, remember, Mr. Director?” I stood up and walked toward him, enunciating each word with chilling clarity. “From the moment you made your little announcement last night, I became responsible for my own breakfast. As for yours… you’re on your own.” He stood there, completely rigid, his face a mask of disbelief. “Sophie, are you serious? You’re going to act like this over a little thing?” “This isn’t a little thing, Matt. These are the new rules of our marriage. You made them.” I grabbed my purse, my heels clicking decisively on the hardwood floor as I walked past him. The front door slammed shut behind him with a resounding bang—the sound of his wounded pride. Standing alone in the cavernous living room, I listened to the echo, the smile on my face growing colder. I went into the study and opened the laptop I hadn’t touched in three years. The familiar operating system flickered to life. My fingers flew across the keyboard as I created a new Excel spreadsheet. I named it: Marriage Liquidation. I listed our condo, purchased after we were married, and calculated its current market rental value: $6,000 a month. I owed my half, $3,000. Utilities, gas, internet, HOA fees—all split down the middle. That evening, Matt came home reeking of whiskey. He instinctively reached for the light switch in the study, flicking it several times, but the room remained shrouded in darkness. “What the hell is wrong with the study light?” he grumbled, stumbling back into the living room. I was sitting on the sofa, bathed in the soft glow of a single floor lamp on my side. The light and shadow drew a stark line between us. “Nothing’s wrong with it,” I said, looking up. “I just unscrewed the bulb.” “Are you insane, Sophie?” “Not at all. According to our call log, you called me twice today for a total of one minute and thirty seconds. You never expressed a shared need for the study’s electrical circuit. Therefore, I assumed you had relinquished your right to use it.” He stormed across the room and tried the main switch for the living room chandelier. Nothing. “What the hell are you trying to do?” he roared, pointing an accusatory finger at me. I picked up a freshly printed sheet of A4 paper from the coffee table and slapped it down in front of him. Bold, black letters spelled out the title: Household Resource Usage Agreement. “This is an execution framework based on the 50/50 principle you proposed. It clearly delineates the shared and private zones of our home. The sofa is half yours, half mine. However, the electricity account for the main lights is under my name. So is the internet for the study. For your designated areas and associated utilities, please open your own accounts.” He snatched the agreement, his hands trembling with rage. For the first time, he saw the unfamiliar coldness, the sharp edge of steel, in his once-docile wife’s eyes. Just as he was about to rip the paper to shreds, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the caller ID, and the fury on his face instantly melted into a tenderness I had never seen before. He walked out to the balcony, deliberately lowering his voice, but fragments of his conversation drifted back to me. “Erin… don’t cry… of course I believe you… It’s my fault…” Erin. His college sweetheart. The one that got away. The name was a poisoned blade, plunging straight into the barely scabbed-over wound in my heart. So, this whole “financial optimization” was just a smokescreen. A prelude to clearing the stage for another woman. I watched his silhouette on the balcony, his voice a low, patient murmur as he soothed her. Then I looked back at the cold, sterile agreement he’d tossed on the sofa. I laughed. Excellent, Matt. The liquidation has now officially begun. 02 Saturday morning, I was jolted awake by the deafening roar of the vacuum cleaner. Matt, his face a thundercloud, was cleaning only his half of the living room. Our 1,500-square-foot condo now had a bizarre “demilitarized zone” of filth running down the middle—my side was spotless, his was a landscape of dust bunnies. He stared at the half-clean, half-dirty room, a vein throbbing in his temple, but he couldn’t say a word. The agreement was clear: Household sanitation is the responsibility of the individual. His dirty laundry piled up in the guest room, forming a small mountain. I walked past it every day without a second glance. Finally, unable to stand it anymore, he shoved the entire load into the washing machine. Half an hour later, a strangled cry echoed from the laundry room. I found him holding my cream-colored silk blouse, now grotesquely tie-dyed with splotches of blue from his jeans, shrunken into a wrinkled mess. “Sophie! Why didn’t you take your clothes out?” he bellowed, brandishing the ruined shirt. I leaned against the doorframe, my expression impassive. “Mr. Director, the washing machine is a shared appliance. According to the agreement, the user must ensure it is empty prior to operation. You failed to perform your due diligence, resulting in damage to my personal property.” I returned to my room, pulled up my tablet, and displayed the digital receipt for the blouse. “Here it is. I bought it last month. Three hundred and fifty dollars. Per Article 3 of the Household Property Damage Compensation Clause, the party at fault is responsible for full reimbursement.” I sent him a payment request via text. He stared at his phone, trembling with rage, and spat out a single word: “Schemer.” “Exactly,” I admitted calmly. “The 50/50 rule taught me well. It’s best to keep a clear ledger, lest I take advantage of you.” He didn’t transfer the money immediately, just glared at me as if I were his mortal enemy. That night, he had an important industry gala to attend. He was tearing through the closet, growing more and more agitated. “Where’s my tie? The Hermès one, the midnight blue with the star pattern, where is it?” I was on the sofa, reading a book, and didn’t bother to look up. “I put it away.” “Where did you put it? Get it for me now!” he yelled, storming out of the bedroom. I slowly turned a page. “Matt, according to our prenuptial agreement, all my jewelry, clothing, and accessories are my personal property. I bought that tie. Therefore, it’s mine.” I finally looked up at him. “If you wish to use it, you can ‘rent’ it. Based on current market rates, that will be thirty dollars for the evening, with a five-hundred-dollar security deposit.” “Are you out of your mind, Sophie?” He had completely lost it. “You’re going to charge me for a tie?” “You were the one who charged me for a piece of toast,” I said, closing my book and meeting his furious gaze. “You made the rules, Matt. I’m just enforcing them.” He slammed the door on his way out, speeding off to the mall to buy a new one. Two hours later, he returned in a sharp suit, but the new tie he’d bought was a disastrous mismatch, making him look like a clown who’d just won the lottery. I later heard from a friend’s wife that he’d been subtly mocked all evening for his sudden and catastrophic decline in taste. His phone buzzed. I caught a glimpse of a message from Erin on the screen: “Matt, don’t be mad. Sophie probably just doesn’t get these things. I mean, she’s been at home for so long, it’s normal her sense of style hasn’t kept up with yours. Don’t blame her. In my eyes, you’ll always be the most stylish man in the world.” What a “thoughtful” message. Put me down while lifting him up, reinforcing his belief that I was a petty, unsophisticated woman. Matt’s mood visibly improved, a smug little smile even gracing his lips. At 11 p.m., I emailed him a complete Invoice for Last Week’s Domestic Services, CC’ing his personal phone. The items were as follows: [Culinary Services (Kitchen Coordination & Occupancy Fee during preparation of Sophie’s meals only): Market rate $25/hr x 3 hours = $75.00] [Common Area Janitorial Services (Proxy-cleaning fee for Matt’s neglected areas – living room corridor): Market rate $40/hr x 2 hours = $80.00] [Silk Garment Restoration Service (Emergency treatment and repair attempt for contaminated blouse): Professional rate = $50.00] [Fashion & Luxury Goods Consultation (Verbal consulting regarding ‘midnight blue tie’): Senior Stylist rate $250/hr, billed per incident = $80.00] [Household Financial Modeling & Legal Agreement Drafting (Pro-bono rate for drafting Household Resource Usage Agreement): Paralegal rate $150/hr, discounted rate = $120.00] Subtotal: $405.00 Below, I attached the reimbursement request for the ruined blouse: $350.00. Total Due: $755.00 A minute later, a notification popped up on my phone. He had sent a transfer. Not for $755, but for a round $800. The attached message read: You make me sick. Staring at the venomous words, my heart no longer felt pain. It was just a numb, barren wasteland. I calmly accepted the transfer and typed four words in reply. Thank you for your business. Then, I opened another browser tab. Using the exact sum he had sent me, I renewed my long-neglected online courses for my CPA certification. The words “Payment Successful” flashed on the screen. I stared at them and felt a forgotten sensation surge through me: the thrill of being in control of my own life. What you intended as a humiliation, Matt, has just become the first brick in the foundation of my new self. 03 Tuesday afternoon, the doorbell rang insistently. I peered through the peephole and saw Matt’s mother, my mother-in-law. She never called ahead, preferring surprise attacks she charmingly referred to as “checking in on you kids.” I opened the door. The moment she saw the “demilitarized zone” of our living room, her face soured. She pointed a manicured finger at a smudge on the floor. “Sophie! What kind of wife are you? This place is a pigsty! My Matt works himself to the bone to provide for this family, and he can’t even come home to a clean house? How dare you?” Matt trailed in behind her, silent, projecting an air of innocent detachment. It was his classic move: play the good guy and let someone else be the executioner. For three years, I had swallowed my anger and endured it. But not today. Instead of bowing my head in apology, I retrieved a copy of the Household Resource Usage Agreement from the media console and handed it to her. “Mom, please have a look at this.” She took it, her expression puzzled. “What’s this?” “This is Matt’s new, ‘progressive lifestyle choice.’ It’s called 50/50. This house, one half his, one half mine. All chores, split the same way.” I pointed to the filthy area on the floor, my voice steady but sharp. “The zone you are currently observing falls under Mr. Matt’s purview. According to our agreement, I have no jurisdiction there.” My mother-in-law was speechless. She looked from the paper to her son and back again. “Matt, is this true?” Matt’s face flushed, a mottled patchwork of red and white. He stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence. I didn’t give him the chance. “Mom, you see a dirty floor. What you don’t see is that last week, Matt did his own laundry and threw my silk blouse in with his jeans, ruining a three-hundred-dollar garment. You don’t see that he nearly set the kitchen on fire trying to cook, and ended up ordering takeout. The containers are still festering in the trash can he’s responsible for, and it’s been three days.” “It’s not that I’m not a good wife,” I concluded, my voice ringing with false sincerity. “I’m simply respecting your son’s decision. He is the head of this household, after all. I have to listen to him.” Every word was a slap across Matt’s face. My mother-in-law’s expression shifted from confusion to embarrassment, and finally, to a steely fury directed entirely at her son. Feeling utterly humiliated in front of his mother, Matt grabbed my arm, dragged me into the bedroom, and slammed the door. “Sophie! Did you have to make a scene? Did you have to humiliate me in front of my own mother?” he hissed, his voice low and menacing. I wrenched my arm free. “It wasn’t your mother who humiliated me, Matt. It was you. You’re the one who turned our marriage into a joke, and now you’re angry that I told someone the punchline?” “You’re impossible!” He paced the room like a caged animal, running his hands through his hair in frustration. In his agitation, his phone, which he’d tossed on the bed, lit up with a new message notification. The screen wasn’t locked. The sender was “Erin.” The message read: “Matt, have you gotten the funds for that overseas green energy project? Next month is the final deadline. Once we get that money, we’ll be free.” We’ll be free. Free. The word was a sledgehammer, crashing down and obliterating the last, fragile sliver of hope I had been clinging to. This 50/50 scheme wasn’t just about pushing me out. It was a calculated strategy to legally divert our marital assets before the divorce. He wasn’t optimizing our finances; he was gutting our home to bankroll another woman’s venture, to buy his “freedom” with her. I stood there, feeling the blood freeze in my veins. A chilling cold seeped up from the floor, consuming me. I saw it. I saw everything. But I simply lowered my gaze and said nothing. Matt, still fuming from our argument, was oblivious to my sudden stillness, oblivious to the damning message on his phone. He had no idea that in that single, silent moment, his wife had become a predator. And he had just become the prey.

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I was born unwanted. When I was three, my mother left me and fled the country. When I was five, my brothers poured chili water down my throat. I smiled and told them it was delicious. My third brother, Noah, would deliberately leave me stranded outside the kindergarten. My older brothers, David and Joseph, would corner me with the other children, blocking the way to the bathroom, laughing as I was humiliated. Then one day, the little girl next door got sick. I was sick too. Without a moment’s hesitation, my father swept her into his arms and rushed her to the hospital. He told me to go die somewhere far away. But later, so much later, my father would look at me, tears streaming down his face. “Rosie,” he’d beg, his voice breaking. “Can you please… just call me ‘Dad’ one more time?” I would just clutch the hem of my shirt, my mouth opening and closing like a fish, unable to make a sound. 01 The sky bled from gray to black. Rain fell in thick, heavy drops, pelting my face and stinging my eyes. It soaked through my little hooded coat, seeping into my bones until a shiver wracked my small body. A few adults hurried past, assuming I was lost, urging me to get out of the downpour. I told them I couldn’t. I promised my brother I would wait for him right here. Good children get candy. I waited until the sky turned light again, but my brother never came. Finally, our butler, Mr. Henderson, found me. He seemed to sigh, a sound lost in the morning traffic. “Miss Rosalind, your father has been looking everywhere for you.” “My brother…” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “Master Joseph returned home last night. Please, come with me. Your father will be very displeased otherwise.” I was more afraid of my father’s displeasure than I was of my brothers. I let Mr. Henderson lead me to the car. Before we even stepped inside the house, I could hear their laughter. “That idiot,” Joseph was saying. “I bet she’s still waiting at the mall entrance. How can someone that stupid be our sister?” Noah, the youngest of them, was fiddling with a toy truck. “You know how she is. She believes anything we say. She’s so obedient, she’ll come crawling back to us no matter what we do.” David, the eldest, spoke with a low voice laced with contempt. “Why does she have to be my sister? Chloe from next door is so much cuter. I wish she were my sister.” Then, his voice dropped further, filled with a venom that made my skin crawl. “If it weren’t for her, Mom would have never left.” I stood dripping in the doorway, a gust of wind making me feel colder than ever. When they saw me, their dark eyes flickered away, refusing to meet mine. My father descended the grand staircase, his first words an accusation. “What happened?” I didn’t dare say it was because of my brothers. “I got lost… after we went out yesterday.” His face hardened. “Did I not tell you to stay with your brothers? To not wander off?” I twisted the fabric of my wet coat. “But… I waited in the right place.” Joseph chimed in, his voice dripping with false sincerity. “I told her to wait right there, Dad. But the driver said he didn’t see her when he came back, right?” My father believed him. Of course, he did. His voice boomed with anger. “And you still won’t admit it?” He pulled a thin, hard cane from the umbrella stand. “Hold out your hand.” I remembered the last time I’d been disobedient. He’d locked me in my room for a whole day. He was always so busy. So busy he forgot I was in there. I didn’t get to eat until I’d fainted from hunger. I didn’t want that to happen again. I obediently held out my small hand. CRACK. The sound echoed in the marble foyer as the cane struck my palm. A searing pain shot up my arm, and tears welled in my eyes. “Do not wander off. Will you remember next time?” My hand trembled. “I’ll remember.” “Louder!” He struck me again, harder this time. I flinched, pulling my hand back with a sob. “I’ll… I’ll remember!” My father had a meeting and left before lunch. The housekeeper changed my clothes and left a single slice of dry bread on the dining table for me. Joseph stood over me, making a grotesque face. “Crybaby,” he taunted. “You tried to tattle, but did you really think Dad would believe you?” I scarfed down the bread, my stomach aching. Noah approached with a glass of water. He looked almost kind. I was so thirsty. I took the glass and tilted my head back, gulping it down. 02 “Is it good?” Noah asked. I nodded, forcing a smile. “It’s good.” Anything from my brothers had to be good. Then, the fire erupted in my mouth. It burned my tongue, my throat, my stomach. The pain was so intense I dropped to the floor, writhing. Through my agony, I could hear their laughter. “I told you she’d drink it.” “She said it’s good! Of course, chili water is delicious!” “Let’s see if you dare tattle on us again.” I scrambled for water, but they blocked every sink. Desperate, I ran to the kitchen, climbed onto the counter, and twisted the faucet, drinking straight from the tap. They laughed even harder, saying I looked like a toad lapping up water. I drank and drank, the cold water doing little to quench the fire, until my stomach was a bloated, painful ball. Tears streamed down my face. I took two steps and vomited all over the pristine white carpet. The housekeeper saw the mess and scolded me under her breath. “What is wrong with you? Just like your mother, always causing trouble. If you don’t learn to behave, I’ll have to tell your father.” She lifted me, but my chest felt tight, like I couldn’t breathe. I thought of my mother. I clutched the small jade pendant around my neck, the last thing she ever gave me. Did she leave because I wasn’t a good girl? But I’m trying to be good, Mommy. When are you coming back? After the housekeeper cleaned me up, I hid under my covers. My stomach hurt. My face felt hot. My bed was huge, but no matter how I tossed and turned, I couldn’t get comfortable. Sleep wouldn’t come. Late in the night, I heard my father’s footsteps. I crept out of bed and peeked through the crack in my door. I wanted to tell him my tummy hurt. But his face was terrifying, dark and grim like the wolf in the cartoons. “Why are you still awake? Why can’t you ever learn to behave?” I stared down at my bare feet on the cold floor. Was that it? Was I still not good enough? Was that why Mom wouldn’t come back? I felt my lip tremble, the tears threatening to fall again. But then he sighed and lifted me, placing me back in bed. “No more willfulness. Understood?” “Yes, Dad.” He tucked the blankets around me. I opened my mouth to tell him about the pain, but his phone rang. He took the call and left the room. He was always busy. He never even ate with us. I said nothing more. As I drifted into a feverish sleep, I saw my mother. She had left when I was three. That day, I hadn’t listened to her. I’d told my father that she wanted to ride the carousel with me. It made him angry, very angry. “Eleonora, are you really using your own child to manipulate me? Have you no shame?” They fought. A terrible, screaming fight. But we went to the amusement park anyway. Mom said she was going to buy me ice cream and told me to wait for her. But then a beautiful butterfly fluttered by. I chased it, and when I looked back, my mother was gone. My father arrived with a swarm of men in black suits who shut down the entire park. The first look he gave me was like a monster about to devour its prey. “Where is your mother?” I burst into tears. And just like that, I didn’t have a mother anymore. My three brothers all believed it was my fault. So I tried my best to be good. To listen to my father and my brothers. If I was good enough, maybe Mom would come back. 03 The next morning, the housekeeper pulled me out of bed for school. My stomach hurt, so I went to the bathroom. What came out was a strange color, dark and streaked with red. The housekeeper’s impatient voice came through the door. “Miss Rosalind, if you dawdle any longer, your brothers will leave without you.” I closed the toilet lid, climbed on top, and flushed. At kindergarten, halfway through playtime, a sharp pain gripped my stomach again. I needed to go to the bathroom, now. Joseph and his friends blocked my path. The more I cried, the wider they smiled. The pain became a desperate, urgent pressure. I couldn’t hold it anymore. A foul smell filled the air. A warm, yellow liquid streamed down my legs, pooling around my shoes. The world exploded like a firecracker, shattering into a million pieces. “You’re so disgusting. How are you my sister?” Joseph sneered. “Rosie wet her pants!” the other children chanted. “Shame, shame, five years old and still wets her pants!” Everyone was laughing. I stood frozen in my own filth, sobbing uncontrollably. Finally, a teacher came. She cleaned me up and found me a change of clothes. She said it was okay, that I was still little and accidents happen. Everyone goes to the bathroom, she said. But I knew this was different. I saw the disgust in their eyes. No one would ever want to be my friend again. After school, the driver came to pick up my brothers. I tried to get in the car. David blocked the door with his body. “Don’t you dare. You’re filthy and you stink. A big girl who still poops her pants.” The driver’s eyes, when they met mine, held a flicker of that same disgust. It wasn’t like the teacher’s look. My cheeks burned with shame. I lowered my head and backed away. My brother slammed the door shut. “It’s not far. You can walk.” I was used to being left behind. I walked from daylight into darkness. When I finally reached home and pushed open the door, Chloe from next door was sitting on our sofa, crying. My three brothers were gathered around her, trying to comfort her. For some reason, the moment they saw me, their faces twisted with rage. “Did you steal something from Chloe?” 04 I was so hungry and thirsty I could barely stand. The room spun. “I didn’t steal anything.” David lunged at me and ripped the jade pendant from my neck. “Chloe says this is hers. If you didn’t steal it, what is it?” For the first time, I fought back. I grabbed his hand, trying to pry the jade from his fingers, a hot, unfamiliar anger surging through me. “That’s mine! Mom gave it to me! I didn’t steal it!” David froze for a second. Noah sneered, “Mom hates you. Why would she give you anything? If Chloe says it’s hers, then it’s hers.” Just then, my father returned. His eyes fell on the scene. “What is going on?” I wiped my tears with the back of my hand, my voice pleading. “I didn’t steal it! I really didn’t!” Chloe sobbed, clutching Joseph’s sleeve. “But I have one exactly like it… it was from my daddy.” My father’s expression changed. “You had better tell the truth.” “I didn’t steal it… Mom gave it to me.” Chloe’s grandmother came over from next door. “Our Chloe does have a jade pendant,” she said, her voice heavy with certainty. “It looks exactly like that one.” Everyone’s gaze shifted to me. It was the same look from the kids at kindergarten. Disgust. Contempt. “Liars get their tongues cut out,” David said coldly. “Give it back to her.” I couldn’t understand. Mom gave it to me. How could it be stealing? “No. It’s mine. I’m not giving it to her.” My father’s tall frame loomed over me. Then his hand came down, a sharp, stinging slap across my face. “So now you’ve learned to lie, have you?” I fell to the floor, scraping my arm. Tears poured from my eyes as I choked out the words. “Dad… even if you… kill me… I didn’t… steal it.” His hand, hanging by his side, clenched into a fist. I closed my eyes, ready for the next blow, clutching the jade tightly in my hand. He didn’t care about me. If he did, he would have known Mom had given it to me. But finally, he relented. “She seems to have a strong attachment to the object. I apologize. We will compensate you for its value.” The grandmother demurred. “Oh, it wasn’t expensive. If the child likes it, she can have it.” My father’s voice was ice. “Henderson, fetch the jadeite piece. The one from the auction the other day.” “Yes, sir.” He ended up giving Chloe a piece of jade ten times the size of my small pendant. Chloe stopped crying. My brothers loaded her up with snacks and toys to take home—snacks and toys they never shared with me. My stomach rumbled loudly. They all looked at me. Terrified, I scrambled up the stairs and hid in my room. Later, the housekeeper told me to come down for dinner. I held my aching stomach and refused to come out. I waited a long time. Finally, I heard my father’s voice drift up from downstairs. “Let her be.” In the middle of the night, I woke up. Every part of me ached. It was hard to breathe. I felt like I was dying, like the little hamster in my kindergarten class that had gone all stiff. I pushed open my door. A light was on in the living room. I stood at the top of the stairs and saw my father and Chloe’s grandmother. She was on her knees, crying. “That pendant was the last thing Chloe’s father left her,” she wept. “The shock sent her into a high fever. I’m afraid if we don’t get her to a hospital soon, it will be too late! Please, can you drive us? If anything happens to her, I don’t know what I’ll do.” My teacher said if you don’t feel well, you go to the hospital. I could go to the hospital with Chloe. If I got better, I could see Mom again. She still hadn’t forgiven me, had she? My legs felt weak, and I nearly tumbled down the stairs. “Dad,” my voice was a weak croak. “My tummy hurts… everything hurts… I want to go to the hospital…” I couldn’t describe the feeling properly, and I knew they thought I was lying. The grandmother fell to her knees again, pleading. “Miss Rosalind, please don’t be like this. Any later and Chloe might not make it.” My father looked at me, his eyes filled with pure hatred. “You’re just like your manipulative mother. Disgusting.” He started for the door. I scrambled after him, the pain in my stomach twisting into a sharp knot. My body felt like it was on fire. “Dad…” I grabbed his sleeve. “I can go to the hospital with Chloe…” “Do you think faking sick for attention is amusing? Deliberately starving yourself? You think this will erase what you’ve done?” He shook me off. “If you’re going to die, die somewhere far away.” I fell to the floor, stunned into silence. I forgot how to cry. From the second-floor landing, my three brothers watched the show. “You hurt Chloe,” David said. “This is your punishment.” “How did the George family end up with a sister like you?” Noah added. “A little liar and a thief.” Joseph smiled, a bright, cruel smile. “I’ll tell you what. If you can get Mom to come back, we’ll forgive you. Okay?” I looked up at him, a flicker of childish hope in my eyes. “And you’ll be nice to me, like you are to Chloe? You’ll give me snacks and toys? And you’ll comfort me?” All three of them nodded. “Of course. You’re our sister.” They led me down to the basement and locked me inside. David tossed a phone down to me. “The first number is Mom’s. When you get her to answer, we’ll let you out. This is your punishment for stealing.” I fumbled for the phone and pressed the screen. It lit up. My father had tried calling Mom countless times, but she never picked up. It was probably hopeless. But I dialed anyway. Again and again. The screen lit up and went dark, over and over. And then, someone answered. 05 “I told you I am not coming back. Stop calling me.” The voice was so familiar. Tears instantly flooded my eyes. “Mommy,” I choked out. “Mommy, it’s Rosie, Mommy…” I kept repeating her name, terrified she would hang up. Words tumbled out of me in a rush. “Rosie should have waited for you, Mommy. I shouldn’t have chased the butterfly. I was bad.” The pain in my stomach was getting worse. The air I breathed out felt hot, making my head ache. “Mommy, my tummy hurts. Everything hurts. My brothers miss you too. Mommy, when are you coming back?” I asked, my voice small and hopeful. I heard a soft sob on the other end of the line. “I’m not coming back, sweetheart.” “Your father will take care of you. Please, don’t pretend to be sick to trick me, okay? No one likes a liar.” Her voice was so gentle. She wasn’t hanging up. I sat up straight, frantic. “I’m not lying! The boys don’t like me. Dad called me a thief. Mommy, I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t chase butterflies anymore. I’ll listen to you. Can you take me with you? Please?” Suddenly, her voice turned sharp. “I said, I am not coming back. Tell Jimmy George to stop wasting his time.” I didn’t understand. “But Mommy, I’m so hungry. My brothers won’t let me out. I’m going to be like the little hamster, and they’ll bury me in the ground.” Her voice was shrill now, angry. “I said, I don’t want you! Call your father! And another thing—it’s not because you chased a butterfly! It’s because I don’t want you! I don’t want any of you! Do you understand?!” Mommy doesn’t want me? It wasn’t that I was bad. She just didn’t want me. My hand fell limp to my side. I don’t know when the screen went dark. The little point of light vanished, and I was left in total darkness. It wasn’t because I was bad. Even if I was good… Mommy wouldn’t come back. They were all liars. They lied to me. A raw, guttural scream tore from my throat, echoing in the small, dark space. I cried until I had no strength left, my throat raw and aching. I collapsed onto the cold concrete floor and fell asleep. My mind was a chaotic storm. One moment, I saw my brothers, their faces contorted in cruel laughter as they cornered me. The next, I saw my mother, watching me chase the butterfly before turning and walking away. Then it was my father, his hand raised, his eyes cold with hate. And through it all, my mother’s voice, amplified as if through a loudspeaker, screamed in my ear. “It’s not because you were bad! It’s because we don’t want you! Do you understand?!” I woke up with a choked cry. I was still in the basement. It was so dark I couldn’t see my own hand in front of my face. I was too weak and hungry to even try to stand. I reached out, but my fingers met nothing but empty air. I really was hated by everyone. A hated child. Like the ugly little black hamster at school, bullied by all the others in the cage. It ended up hiding in a corner until its body went stiff, and then the teacher dug a little hole and buried it. Something inside my small chest was beating frantically, like it wanted to leap out of my body. The last sliver of light, the last bit of life, seeped out of my eyes.

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The day they shoved me back into my own body, I became a ghost in my own life. For five years, a “player” had worn my skin, using my life as her game. When her mission was complete, the System, in its infinite and brutal efficiency, recalled me. I ran to them—my mother, my father, my brother—my heart a raw, hopeful thing, ready to be held. Instead, they locked me in the basement. They beat me with belts and fists, starving me, all to coax their “real” daughter, their perfect sister, back from whatever phantom limb she’d become. By the tenth day, I was fading. A husk of a girl, whispering through cracked lips, begging them to save me. My brother, Michael, simply kicked me in the ribs. “When Chloe comes back,” he said, his voice flat and cold, “then you get to live.” In the final moments, as the darkness at the edge of my vision began to close in, my fiancé, Ethan, appeared like an apparition. He descended into my personal hell and reached out his hand. Gratitude washed over me, so pure and desperate it was its own kind of pain. I followed him out of that house, a shadow with no name, and I stayed by his side. I bore him a child. And now, from the sterile chill of the delivery room, I could hear their voices through the door. His, and my parents’. “When the baby is born,” Ethan said, his tone clipped and strategic, “I’ll have someone take care of it. You two can use the chaos to destroy her reputation completely.” “Once the world despises her,” my father’s voice added, a low rumble, “once her despair value hits one hundred percent, Chloe can finally come back to us.” I lay there, silent for a long time. Then, a slow, hollow smile stretched across my face. I closed my eyes and made a deal with the Mainframe. I would help them get exactly what they wanted. — 1 “Ethan, that’s your son. Your own flesh and blood. Are you really sure?” My mother’s voice, laced with a flicker of something that might have been doubt, drifted through the door. For a foolish second, a spark of hope ignited in my chest. “Does she deserve to be the mother of my child?” Ethan’s voice was sharp, cutting. “If she hadn’t stolen Chloe’s body, she wouldn’t have had the chance in the first place.” The strength drained out of me, leaving my mind a silent, white expanse. She had stolen my body. For five years. Their mournful sighs were a discordant symphony of grief. “I wonder how Chloe has been all this time,” my mother murmured. “Is she suffering in someone else’s body, being bullied?” “That bitch, Ava,” my father spat. “It was never hers to keep. She should have just let go.” “Patience,” Ethan counseled. “We’re almost at the end. The plan is nearly complete.” Tears traced silent paths down my temples and into my hair. To earn my way back, I had worked without rest, managing the lives and missions of dozens of hosts for the Benevolence System. I’d depleted my energy to the point of near-dissipation countless times, believing I was facing my final death. The thought of my family was the only thing that pulled me through, the anchor that let me survive each crisis. And then, finally, Chloe—the player—had vacated my body. The moment I saw my family again, the pent-up grief of five years spilled over. But before the first sob could even escape, my brother’s hands were around my throat. His eyes were bloodshot, manic. “Give her back,” he choked out. “Bring Chloe back.” He shook me, my head snapping back and forth. “Who the hell are you? What gives you the right to take her body? You’re nothing, you bitch, why are you trying to replace her?” My parents stood by, their faces hard as stone, endorsing his rage. They dragged me to the basement and the beatings began, a ritualistic punishment designed to exorcise my soul from my own skin. Ethan appeared in the darkest hour of that despair. He reached for me, and to get me out, he let my parents rain blows upon his own back, his body shielding mine. He emerged from that house bruised and bleeding for me. I remember him kneeling before me, the picture of a wounded savior, taking my hand. He’d said, “Ava, from now on, wherever I am is your home.” He’d said, “Ava, don’t worry. We’ll have a son, and he and I will protect you together. No one will ever hurt you again.” It was all just a scene. A beautifully staged lie. “We have a Code Blue! PPH! Get blood packs, now!” A nurse’s shout snapped me back to the present. A searing pain tore through my abdomen. Through the fog, I heard Ethan’s voice, a masterpiece of anguish. “Doctor, please, you have to save my wife and child! Please! I can’t live without them!” The sound of something solid hitting the floor, over and over—his head, I realized. He was putting on the performance of a lifetime. Such devotion. I felt a chill spread through my veins, deep and absolute. “Doctor,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Could you do something for me?” 2 “I’m so sorry. The baby didn’t make it. The good news is, the mother is stable.” When the doctor’s words finally registered, I let the darkness of exhaustion pull me under. In the haze between sleep and waking, I heard their whispers. “Useless. Can’t even manage to deliver a baby.” “Well, it saves us the trouble. Less blood on our hands this way.” “Proceed with the plan.” … When I woke up, the hospital room was empty. On the television mounted to the wall, my fiancé was smiling for the cameras at a press conference. “Today is my fiancée’s birthday,” he said, his expression a perfect blend of charm and sorrow. “Although I can’t be with her, I will be donating one hundred million dollars to charities in the rural mountain regions in her name, to pray for her recovery and well-being.” The old me would have been moved to tears. CRASH. The door slammed against the wall, jolting me fully awake. A large, drunk man stumbled into the room, reeking of cheap whiskey. “Hey, baby,” he slurred, lurching toward my bed. “I’m here. Come give your man a little sugar.” My body, weak and ravaged from childbirth, was useless. The man was a mountain, and the pressure of his presence was suffocating. I couldn’t fight back. “Who are you?” I gasped. “Get away from me!” His response was a fist to my forehead. My head snapped back against the pillow, stars exploding behind my eyes. He lunged again. “Bastard!” A curse, a thud, and the man was on the floor. I flinched, shrinking back against the headboard as my family and Ethan stormed into the room. My mother was on me first. Her hand cracked across my cheek, the sting sharp and immediate. “Have you no shame?” she screamed. “We thought having a child might settle you down, make you decent, but it seems…” “You can’t polish a turd,” my father finished, his voice dripping with disgust. “Mom, Dad, don’t be so quick to blame Ava,” Ethan said, his voice a placating balm. “Let’s hear what this man has to say…” I didn’t speak. A bitter, soundless laugh formed in my throat. A trap set just for me. Why bother struggling? “It was her! The bitch seduced me!” the man on the floor wailed, pointing a trembling finger at me. “You have to believe me! We… we even have a child together!” He was getting into it now, a true actor. “To be with me, Ava killed her own baby… she killed our baby herself!” One sentence, and the verdict was delivered. Even though I’d been expecting it, a cold dread seeped into my bones. I held my composure as the doorway filled with onlookers, their phones held up to record the drama. “That’s the fiancée of Ethan Hayes, right? He’s out there doing charity work in her name, and she’s in here being a total piece of trash.” “The devoted heir and the slutty mistress. What a cliché. Poor Mr. Hayes.” “Hey, did you hear? The rumor is she actually stole her sister’s fiancé to get with him in the first place…” The whispers grew into a chorus of filth. I remained still, my face a mask of calm. “Ethan,” I said, my voice quiet but clear. “Are you really going to see this through?” A flicker of something—doubt? guilt?—crossed his face before he clenched his jaw. His eyes turned red, and he lunged toward me. He slammed his fist into the wall just beside my head. The plaster cracked. “Ava!” he cried, his voice trembling with manufactured pain. “Defend yourself! Just say something, deny it, and I’ll believe you—I swear I will!” The man on the floor scrambled. “No! You have to believe me! I have proof!” He fumbled in his jacket pocket and pulled out a thick stack of papers. “Look! Photos of us together!” he shouted, scattering them across the floor. “And this! She got an amnio, even with the risks! Here’s the paternity test!” The papers were snatched up by the crowd. A wave of gasps and murmurs filled the room. I felt strangely peaceful. “You degenerate!” my father roared, charging at me. His cane came down hard across my back. A coppery taste filled my mouth as I choked back a spray of blood. I raised a hand, and my voice, when it came, was a thunderclap in the charged silence. “Enough!” 3 Every eye in the room swiveled to me. “Whatever you say I did,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion, “I’ll admit to it.” Ethan clutched his chest as if he’d been shot, his voice weak. “Ava… why?” He looked utterly heartbroken, a man betrayed to his very core. I let out a soft sigh. Without touching a single thing in the room, I slid off the bed and walked toward the door. “Stop!” The command was a chorus of voices. The crowd of onlookers, now my self-appointed jury, blocked my path. “Ava,” Ethan pleaded, dropping to one knee. He held up a ring. “Just admit you were wrong. Tell the world you’ll have nothing more to do with this man, and we can go back to how things were. Please.” I glanced at the ring. It was a cheap, tinny band, the kind you’d find in a gumball machine. A real laugh, sharp and bitter, escaped my lips this time. “Get out of my way.” I pushed through the crowd and walked away, the sounds of their curses and disgust trailing behind me like a bridal train. Ethan’s theatrical sobs were the last thing I heard. The video of the “cheating scandal” was already trending online. The entire internet was calling for my head. I went back to the house I had shared with Ethan. When I gathered all my belongings, they barely filled a small carry-on suitcase. Clink. A crystal picture frame, perched on the highest shelf of a closet, fell to the floor. It was a photo we’d taken on our third day together, one I had insisted on. In the picture, my smile was radiant. Beside me, Ethan gazed at me with an expression of pure adoration. He had said then, “Being with you is the greatest honor of my life.” My eyes, now hollow, stared at the photo. Through the glass, I could see faint writing on the back of the print. To my wife, Chloe: In memory of a time that should have been. The handwriting was unmistakably his. The words “my wife” were blurred, as if stained by tears. A wave of nausea rolled through me. I took the photo and every other thing that had ever belonged to me and set them on fire in the backyard fireplace. The flames danced, casting flickering shadows, and as they consumed my past, I felt a strange sense of release. My body had carried me this far, but it had nothing left to give. Before I could even make it out the front door, the world went black. I don’t know how long I was out. The faint, muffled voices of Ethan and my parents slowly pulled me back to consciousness. “Should we add more fuel to the fire? I feel like it’s still missing something,” Ethan said, a note of worry in his tone. My parents chuckled. “Being a slut isn’t enough to make everyone truly hate her,” my mother said. “But a heartless, exploitative capitalist? That, they will despise.” My head throbbed. When I came to, I was tied to a bed. They were taking no chances. I struggled slightly, and the creak of the bed frame alerted them. They came into the room, their faces falling in disappointment when they saw my eyes were open. The mask of sorrow was gone, replaced by unconcealed loathing. “Ava, I thought you just didn’t love me,” Ethan said, his voice dripping with righteous condemnation. “But now I see. You’re not just unloving. You’re evil.” He tossed a phone onto the bed in front of me, thoughtfully untying one of my hands so I could use it. The screen was filled with headlines about me. My “dark history.” Charity Foundation Exposed: Founder Ava Walker Embezzles Millions in Donations. Hayes Corp Insider: Walker Docked Employee Salaries, Fired Staff with Crippling Severance Penalties. The Devil Wears Red: Walker Allegedly Crippled a Designer to Use Blood to Dye a Gown. One accusation after another, each painting a portrait of a monster. “If you want to condemn someone, you can always find a reason,” I murmured. “But fine. You want a villain?” I looked them in the eye. “I’ll give you one.” With my free hand, I grabbed the fruit knife from the nightstand. I smiled as the blade plunged, straight and true, into my own heart.

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In the tenth year of our marriage, I found the pictures on my husband’s phone by accident. Intimate photos of him and the new intern. Tucked into the same chat log were pictures of them at an amusement park with my son, Leo. The three of them, beaming, looking for all the world like a perfect little family. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. Instead, I calmly and carefully marked the private photos as hidden. I knew my husband, Mark, too well. His affair wasn’t a shock; it was an eventuality I had long braced for. All that mattered was protecting the reputation of the law firm we built together. That resolve lasted until the intern, Chloe, beat me in court. She was representing the defendant in a case I was prosecuting. That evening, she posted a victory declaration on her Instagram. “A rookie can beat the queen bee after all! Huge thanks to my amazing mentor for the cheat codes!” A cold shock ran through me. It finally clicked. To pave the way for his new favorite, Mark hadn’t just coached her. He’d given her my entire case file. My evidence chain, my cross-examination strategy, my closing argument. I can accept a broken heart. I can accept a failed marriage. But I will never, ever accept someone using my name, my reputation, and my life’s work as a stepladder. 1 Within ten minutes, Chloe’s post was flooded with congratulatory comments. “Chloe, you’re a rockstar! Taking down Ava Caldwell in your first trial? You’re the future queen of the courtroom!” “Wow, that’s what happens when Mark Harrison takes you under his wing. The resources he gives his people are insane!” A few comments, however, struck a different tone. “It’s not hard to win when Ava’s playbook is handed to you on a silver platter.” “So this is how you debut with a bang. Taking notes.” Faced with the snide remarks, Chloe felt no shame. Instead, she doubled down, posting two more stories. “Haters gonna hate. My mentor believes in me and wants to lift me up. If you’re jealous, that’s a you problem.” Followed by: “I’ll admit I couldn’t have done it all on my own today, but years from now, I’ll be able to. Someone just helped fast-track the process is all ;)” I stared at her posts, a furious heat building in my chest. I’d spent two weeks preparing for that trial. I’d reviewed every link in my evidence chain, every angle of my defense, until I was certain the case was airtight. A slam dunk. But in court, no matter what I presented, Chloe had a perfect counter. Every move I made, she was already there, waiting. In ten years of practicing law, I had never lost so spectacularly. I’d left the courthouse questioning my own competence, wondering if I still had what it takes, to be so thoroughly dismantled by a girl fresh out of law school. Now I knew. It wasn’t that I had lost my edge. It was that the game had been rigged against me. A text message suddenly lit up my screen. It was Mark. He’d sent me a location pin. “Ava, winning and losing is part of the job. Don’t take it too hard. Chloe is one of ours, so a win for her is a win for the firm.” Then, the follow-up text. “It’s her first big win, so some people from the office are taking her out to celebrate. You should come.” I stared at the screen, a bitter, hollow laugh stuck in my throat. Three years of dating, ten years of marriage. He knew me as well as I knew him. He was so certain I would never show my face at a celebration of my own humiliation that he felt perfectly safe sending me the address. Too bad for him. Tonight, I was very much in the mood for a party. 2 I drove to the restaurant and found the private room easily. The sounds of laughter and celebration spilled into the hallway. “Mark, your eye for talent is unreal. You knew Chloe was a star the second she walked in the door.” “Her very first case, and she beats Ava Caldwell. The sky’s the limit for this one!” Chloe’s voice was bright and sweet. “I still can’t believe I actually won. It’s all thanks to Mark! He’s the best teacher.” Someone’s voice lowered slightly. “Hey, Mark… Ava lost today. Are you sure it’s a good idea for us to be throwing a party for Chloe? You think she’ll be pissed?” Mark’s tone dropped, becoming hard and cold. “What does she have to be pissed about? Does the world have to stop turning just because she lost? Is she the only one allowed to win around here?” He let that hang in the air before continuing. “If she lost, it’s because her skills weren’t sharp enough. If she can’t handle that, maybe she should just stay home.” The room fell silent for a beat, then a murmur of agreement rippled through the table. “Mark’s right. We’ve all lost cases. Why is she so special?” “Honestly, Ava’s always been hyper-competitive. Her kid is getting older, maybe it’s time for her to step back, take it easy. Make room for the new blood.” Mark sighed, a theatrical sound of weary resignation. “I’ve told her as much. She just won’t listen.” He added, “It would be for the best if she took this as a sign to gracefully bow out. She could finally be home to take care of Leo.” Then, a small, clear voice piped up. My son’s voice. “I don’t want Mommy to take care of me. Auntie Chloe is way nicer than Mommy!” The room erupted in laughter. My hand clenched around the strap of my purse. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head, so cold it burned. A wave of nausea rolled through my stomach. I had no idea. No idea I was so disliked. It wasn’t just my husband. It was my colleagues. Even my own son thought Chloe was better than me. I smoothed my expression, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door. The sight of me sent a wave of panic through the room. People scrambled to their feet. Someone tried to take my bag, another rushed to stub out a cigarette and crack open a window. “Ava! Hey!” “Good to see you, Ava!” “Ava, let me order a couple of your favorites.” I ignored them all, my eyes landing on Chloe, who was seated in the place of honor right next to Mark. A flicker of defiance crossed her pretty face before she stood up, a picture of awkward innocence. “Ava, please don’t get the wrong idea. It’s just… since I won the case, they had me sit next to Mark.” I arched an eyebrow, my voice dripping with ice. “Oh? So since I lost the case, I suppose my seat is at the end of the table?” Richard, one of the senior partners, quickly grabbed Chloe’s arm and pulled her aside. “Of course not, Ava, don’t be ridiculous! Come on, sit right here, next to your husband!” Chloe shot a wounded look at Mark, but he said nothing. Defeated, she gathered her silverware and moved to the far end of the table. Mark watched me, his expression unreadable. “I didn’t think you’d come. Figured you’d be in a bad mood.” I ignored him, my gaze sweeping across the faces of my colleagues. “Everyone’s here. I assume that means all your work for the day is done?” I fixed my stare on a junior associate. “Li, didn’t you have a client meeting at the detention center today? Is that handled?” I turned to another lawyer. “Liu, you were missing a piece of evidence for your filing. Did you track it down?” The room was dead silent. The festive atmosphere had frozen solid. Richard cleared his throat. “Ahem, you know what, I just remembered I have a call with a client. Mark, I’ve got to run!” That broke the dam. One after another, they fled. “Me too. Rick, wait up!” “Oh god, I need to check in with the judge’s clerk about the hearing tomorrow. I should get back to the office…” In less than two minutes, the only people left were Mark, Chloe, our son, and me. I picked up my chopsticks and took a bite of food. It was delicious. Chloe’s lip trembled as she looked at Mark, her eyes welling with tears. His face was a mask of thunder. “Ava, what the hell is your problem?” I raised my eyebrows. “I don’t have a problem.” “I’m a partner at this firm. I’m just checking in on my team’s progress. Is that not allowed?” Mark let out a derisive snort. “Don’t play dumb with me. At any other firm, the partners would be thrilled that a promising new associate won a major case.” “But you? Because Chloe beat you, you have to come here and blow up her celebration. You have zero grace, you know that? Your reputation is bigger than your character.” He leaned in, his voice low and vicious. “Is it really that impossible for you to lose?” His words were a knife, twisting in my heart. All because Mark had a dream of building the best law firm in the city. After grad school, I’d turned down offers from every top-tier firm to start from scratch with him. When we were struggling, I took on endless pro bono cases just to get our name out there. I drank so much schmoozing potential clients that I gave myself an ulcer. I pulled all-nighters with him, buried in case law and evidence, fighting for a single victory. For ten years, we had bled for this firm, turning a tiny, 150-square-foot office into one of the top four in the state. I remember our wedding day. He stood at the altar and cried like a child. He told all our guests how much I’d sacrificed, and he swore he would never let me down for the rest of his life. Apparently, his definition of a lifetime was only ten years. In my career, in my life, I, Ava Caldwell, have never been a sore loser. He could sleep with Chloe. He could have his affair. But he did not get to build her career on the ashes of mine. My gaze hardened. “My character doesn’t match my reputation? Then who does? You?” A soft sob cut through the tension. Chloe was crying, a perfect, tragic damsel. “Mark, it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have gotten so carried away just because I won one case.” She looked at me, her eyes pleading. “Please, don’t fight because of me!” Mark’s jaw tightened. He opened his mouth to speak, but a small voice interrupted him. “Mommy’s a mean person. No wonder you lost to Auntie Chloe!” My son, Leo, stood up and planted himself in front of Chloe, his arms spread wide. “Don’t you bully Auntie Chloe!” The innocent words of a child, sharper than any knife. Seeing my son protecting her, a profound, bone-deep weariness washed over me. I couldn’t stay here a second longer. I grabbed my bag and walked towards the door. As I pulled it open, I paused and looked back, my voice flat and cold. “Tell your intern to prepare for the appeal. I’ll be filing the papers tomorrow.” 3 As if to punish me for ruining Chloe’s party, Mark and Leo didn’t come home that night. Chloe’s Instagram, however, was active all evening. “Talented people always attract jealousy. But it’s okay if I’m sad, my amazing mentor and a little prince are here to cheer me up!” “I told them I was just a tiny, insignificant star in the vast universe, but they told me I was their one and only moon!” The accompanying photo was a selfie of Chloe making a peace sign, and behind her, silhouetted against a starry sky on a mountaintop, were two figures, one large and one small. I shut my phone off, my face a blank mask. A young girl might think this was a devastating blow. At my age, I’ve learned not to waste energy on people and feelings you can no longer hold onto. The next morning, I ate breakfast at my usual time and drove to the office. But when I swiped my key card, the lock didn’t click open. Access denied. I pulled out my phone and called HR. “What’s going on? My key card isn’t working.” The HR manager hurried down, his eyes darting nervously around. “Ava… It was Mark. He told me to temporarily revoke your access.” He mumbled, “He said you were in a bad mood after the loss and that you should take some time off to rest…” I took a deep, steadying breath. “He’s your boss, so you do what he says. Am I not your boss, too?” “I’m on ‘rest’? Who’s handling my active cases?” “Mark said… he said to transfer them all to Chloe.” The manager’s voice shrank to a whisper, his gaze fixed on the floor. It’s true what they say. When you reach a certain point of fury, you don’t scream. You laugh. To clear a path for Chloe, Mark was willing to grind me into the dirt. My voice was dangerously low. “I don’t care who gave you the order. You will reinstate my access right now.” “Don’t forget that I am still a partner at this firm. Mark can fire you, but so can I.” “Now open this door.” “Ava, what is all this commotion?” I turned. Mark was standing there, frowning at me. And holding his hands were Chloe and Leo, looking like a picture-perfect family on a morning stroll. “You’re a partner, making a scene at the entrance to the firm? Do you have any idea what a bad look this is?” I ignored him, my eyes fixed on my son. “Why aren’t you in school?” Leo’s lips tightened. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. Chloe jumped in with a sweet smile. “Ava, you’re so strict with him. Leo gets straight A’s, what’s the harm in missing one day?” Hearing her defend him, Leo seemed to find his courage. “Auntie Chloe is right. Dad said so, too.” My son has never been a genius. He gets good grades because I am strict and because he works hard. But now, he thinks skipping school is no big deal. I shook my head, a wave of disappointment washing over me. I turned my attention back to Mark. “Don’t you have anything to say to me?” He rubbed his temples, his voice laced with annoyance. “Ava, you have to understand. You lost to Chloe. Clients are starting to question your record. To manage the fallout, isn’t it better for you to take a break?” “Besides,” he continued, “Chloe’s star is rising. Moving your cases to her is what’s best for everyone.” He was always the master orator, capable of dressing up the most shameless propositions in robes of reason. I let out a cold laugh. “Let me get this straight. Today, you want me to hand over my cases. What’s next? You want me to give her my partnership, too?” Mark fell silent for a moment. “If it’s what’s best for the firm, you should support it.” The lobby was now full of employees, all watching the drama unfold. I looked past him, my gaze sweeping over the crowd. “Is that what all of you think?” “Someone wins one case against me through deceitful means, and I should just hand over my entire caseload? And my partnership?” They all looked down, avoiding my eyes. I had thought that even if my marriage and my family were failing, at least I had my career. But now I saw that to these people, the colleagues I worked with day in and day out, I was completely disposable. Chloe stared at me, her expression a mask of wounded pride. “Ava, I demand an apology! I won that case because of my own skill!” I scoffed. “Mark, your intern here says she beat me on her own merits. What do you think?” A flash of guilt crossed his face. He turned away without a word. Richard, the other partner, stepped forward to play peacemaker. “Ava, listen, I think Mark has a point. You haven’t taken a real vacation in years. This could be a good opportunity to recharge.” He added quickly, “As for the partnership, that’s not changing. Everyone in this industry knows that Ava Caldwell is the gold standard of this firm!” But Mark cut him off. “No. I think changing the partnership is essential.” His eyes were cold. “Ava lost to Chloe. If we keep her on as a named partner, it makes clients doubt our expertise. Chloe’s name is buzzing right now. For the future of the firm, I propose we amend the partnership. We remove Ava Caldwell and add Chloe Reed.” A flash of pure ecstasy lit up Chloe’s eyes. “A partner? Me? Really?” She feigned humility. “Ava worked for so many years to become a partner. For me to replace her, at my age… wouldn’t that be wrong?” Every word was a poorly veiled jab, her ambition radiating off her like heat. Leo, who had been quiet, suddenly tugged on Chloe’s hand. “Auntie Chloe, my teacher says the capable rise and the incompetent fall.” He looked at me. “Mom lost to you. That proves she’s not as good as you. If she can be a partner, you can too!” He then turned his earnest little face to me. “Mommy, Daddy can make enough money to take care of you. You should just stay home and look after me and Dad!” Even though my heart was already fractured, his words sent a fresh spiderweb of cracks through it.

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My father was cheating. The woman he was keeping on the side was a full fifteen years younger than my mother—a college girl with an angelic face. Men don’t remember the lean years you starved through with them. Once they make it, all they remember is how to screw you over. When it was finally time to divide the assets, my mother discovered that every cent, every property, had been transferred to his company’s name. My father’s official salary was one dollar a month. My mother screamed that he was less than human, but as she hurled every curse she knew, his face remained a mask of indifference. He wasn’t guilty; he was triumphant. To twist the knife, he turned to me with a gloating smirk. “Sweetheart, Mommy and Daddy are getting a divorce. Are you going to live like a princess with me, or go beg on the streets with her?” Without a second’s hesitation, I threw myself into his arms. “Daddy, I will always be your only daughter!” He roared with laughter, absolutely delighted. But he hadn’t understood. The emphasis wasn’t on “daughter.” It was on “only.” 1 My father’s laughter echoed through the house, a booming sound of pure victory. “That’s my girl! Just like her old man. You’re my pride and joy, Stella.” He must have felt like a king. My mother had sacrificed her own career to build his, choosing to become a stay-at-home wife who dedicated her entire existence to her husband and child. Without her, my father’s stomach would have been corroded by alcohol years ago. She was the one who brewed the hangover remedies, laid out the stomach medicine, and waited in a chair for him until the dead of night. When he was sick in the hospital, she never left his bedside, staying awake for nights on end. He walked out of the hospital recovered; she walked out with her own health in ruins. But he didn’t see any of that. All he could see now was the college girl with the innocent face who wore slutty lingerie underneath to seduce him. My mother had cried, fought, and begged. But his brain had been sucked dry by that tramp’s two sets of lips. He couldn’t hear my mother’s words, and he certainly didn’t care about their decade-plus of marriage. When he grew tired of her questions, he brought the woman home, forcing my mother to watch as he pinned her down on their bed, a final, brutal act to extinguish any last spark of hope. He didn’t love me, either. I was just a pawn in his game, a tool to shatter my mother’s spirit completely. If I chose him, his victory over her would be absolute. At my declaration, the color drained from my mother’s face. She stumbled toward me, grabbing my arm, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Stella, what did you just say? Say it again!” “It’ll be the same no matter how many times I say it.” I pushed her hand away. “I’m staying with Dad.” A tear traced a path down her cheek, and it felt like a knife twisting in my gut. “Stella… you don’t want your mommy anymore?” “What’s the use in wanting you?” I gestured wildly around the spacious villa. “Can you give me a house this big? My middle school finals are coming up. Can you afford my one-on-one tutors? I’m a growing girl—how are you going to feed me? With wilted vegetables from the farmer’s market?” I stared at her, my voice cold and hard. “Mom, you couldn’t keep Dad happy. You can’t drag me down with your sinking ship. Why would I choose a life of misery with you when I can have all of this?” My voice rose, each word a calculated blow. “Dad can give me a better life with the loose change in his pocket. Could you make in ten jobs what he makes in an hour?” She crumpled. Her legs gave out and she sank to the floor, her eyes hollow. “You really don’t want me?” I let a flicker of annoyance cross my face. “Mom, this isn’t about me not wanting you. It’s about you not being able to afford me. You can’t give me the life I want. Instead of wasting time trying to win me back, you should be out looking for a job so you can feed yourself.” I shook her hand off and walked toward my room, ignoring the desperate sound of her calling my name. I didn’t dare look back. I knew if I did, the tears would betray me, and the entire act I’d put on for my father would be for nothing. Just before I closed the door, I saw him wrap his arm around the other woman, beaming like a conquering general. “Get out!” he snarled at my mother. “Don’t just lie there. You’ll stain the new carpet, and you sure as hell can’t afford to replace it.” My mother had a little money saved, so I wasn’t worried about her immediate survival. Besides, I had my own problems to deal with. My father had already started laying down the new rules. “From now on, Aunt Bianca is your new mother. You will treat her with the same respect you showed your own mom, understand?” I looked at Bianca. She had the face of an ice queen, but I knew in private she was a whore for my father. I plastered a sycophantic grin on my face, baring my teeth in what I hoped was a winning smile, and gave the bitch a perfect, ninety-degree bow. “Hello, Mom!” My father was stunned by how quickly I’d adapted. After a beat, he clapped me on the shoulder, beaming. “Good! That’s my girl!” Bianca, however, was unimpressed. She rolled her eyes. “I don’t have a daughter that ugly. What a mess.” She was the new queen of the castle, so my father just waved me away, telling me to go back to my room. The second my door clicked shut, my phone buzzed. A fifty-thousand-dollar transfer. He might not love my mother anymore, but I was still his blood, his only heir in the world for now. He wouldn’t turn on me for Bianca just yet. More importantly, he was drowning in money; he wouldn’t care if I spent a little. To avoid raising suspicion, I went about my days as usual—school, homework, repeat. No one would have guessed I was a middle schooler whose family had just imploded. But the rumors started anyway. Whispers in the hallways that I’d ditched my poor mom for my rich dad. Classmates started pointing and staring. My teachers pulled me aside for “talks.” That evening, after school, I went straight to my mother. When she opened the door to her small rental apartment, I saw the flicker of hope in her eyes, a hope she was desperately trying to suppress. “What are you doing here?” I pushed her inside, shut the door behind me, and collapsed into her arms, sobbing silently. Her own composure shattered. She held me tight, her own tears soaking my shoulder. It was pathetic. I had to sneak around just to see my own mother, afraid to be seen, afraid to even cry out loud. When we were both cried out, I pulled four thick wads of cash from my backpack. “It’s my allowance from Dad. Take it.” She refused instantly. “I don’t want his money!” I forced the cash into her hands. “Why not? You have to take it!” “Stella, please… come back and live with me…” “And how would you support me? Forget it. I’m not coming back.” Fresh tears welled in her eyes. “You’re right. I’m useless. I’m just a burden…” I gripped her hands. “Mom, you are not a burden. Dad has so much money. If I go with you, what happens when he has another kid with her? Am I supposed to just let some stranger’s child inherit everything?” My voice dropped to a fierce whisper. “Everything he has will be mine. Bianca, Shmianca… let’s see if she can even produce a child. That’s the real test.” My mother’s eyes were wide with alarm. “Stella, what are you planning?” “Don’t worry, Mom. I won’t do anything reckless. But you need to get back on your feet. If Dad kicks me out one day, I need to know you’ll be there to catch me.” That was all the motivation she needed. Her spine straightened. “Okay. You just wait. I won’t let you suffer, I swear.” When I got home that night, my father was waiting. The second I stepped through the door, he lunged forward and slapped me across the face, hard. “You little bitch! Did you give my money to your mother?” The force of the blow was staggering. It sent me sprawling to the floor. The coppery taste of blood filled my mouth. I deliberately let a trickle of it run from the corner of my lips. Seeing the blood, my father flinched, but his face was still a mask of pure rage. I looked past him. Bianca was perched on the sofa, legs crossed, wearing a miniskirt that barely covered her ass. She watched me with an expression of pure, mocking contempt. Her look said it all: You think I don’t know exactly what game you’re playing? When I didn’t answer, my father kicked me in the ribs. “Answer me! Did you give my money to that old hag?” I pushed myself to my feet and answered without a shred of hesitation. “Yes.” CRACK! Another slap, even harder this time. I hadn’t even found my balance before I was sent flying again. I let the momentum carry me, and slammed my head into the corner of a nearby cabinet. THUD. The sound was dull and final. The impact sent a shockwave through my skull, and the world swam before my eyes. A searing pain erupted on my forehead. I touched it and my fingers came away sticky with blood. The sight of a head wound seemed to stop him. He stood over me, panting heavily, his chest heaving like an exhausted animal’s—half from rage, half from fear. “Dad,” I sobbed, “if I didn’t give her the money, they were going to kill me at school.” “The kids at school… they all say I’m a motherless child,” I wailed, smearing the blood across my face to make it look worse. I pulled up my sleeves to reveal a crosshatch of older, fading bruises and scratches. “They call me a bad seed for choosing you over her.” “They beat me up every day. Even the teachers look down on me. They say I have bad character, that I’m morally corrupt.” I scrambled to my knees, my bloody face turned up to his. “I couldn’t stand it anymore. I just wanted to see her, give her some money so they would stop laughing at me, stop hurting me.” I started bawling, loud and theatrical. “Dad, I know Mom Bianca doesn’t like me. I know you don’t want me here either. Please, just stop hitting me. I’ll leave right now.” I grabbed my backpack and bolted for the door. I was several steps outside before Bianca’s shrill voice cut through the air. “What are you standing there for, you idiot? Get her back here now!” Her voice was laced with panic. “Do you want the neighbors to see her like that and start gossiping about me?” My father knew she was right. Kicking me out right after taking me in would look terrible. But that split second of hesitation was all it took. Several neighbors out for an evening stroll had already seen me—a teenage girl, face covered in blood, fleeing her own home. By the time my father dragged me back inside, at least a dozen people had witnessed the entire scene. Ten minutes later, there was a sharp knock at the door. My father opened it to find two police officers standing on the porch. “Sir, we received a report of child abuse at this address. We need you to cooperate with our investigation.” Trapped, my father had no choice but to let them in. The first thing they saw was me, standing meekly in the living room with a fresh bandage wrapped around my head. The officer’s gaze shifted to my father. “What happened here? Care to explain?” Bianca watched my father squirm, not with sympathy, but with cold detachment. She offered a lazy, unconvincing excuse. “Who knows how she did it. Probably ran into something. She’s clumsy.” The officer turned to her. “And you are?” Bianca admired her manicure, then gestured at my father with her chin. “I’m his wife.” The officer nodded slowly. “Ah, I see. The stepmother.” The word “stepmother” was a lit match on gasoline. Bianca shot to her feet. “Who are you calling a stepmother? I have nothing to do with this brat. It’s his daughter. If she misbehaves, it’s his right to discipline her. What business is it of yours?” The officer ignored her and focused on my father again. “Is this your child? Where did those injuries come from? We received a call that someone here was beating a child, that her head was bleeding. Is that true?” Before my father could stammer out a lie, I stepped forward. “No, officer. It was my fault. I fell and hit my head. My dad didn’t hit me.” I took the blame for him. “I did badly on a test, and he yelled at me a little. But he didn’t hit me. Really.” With the supposed victim denying the abuse, and after confirming I wasn’t being coerced, the police had little to go on. They asked a few more questions and left. As we saw them to the door, the lead officer turned back and leveled a stern finger at my father. “Assaulting a child is a crime. Even if it wasn’t you this time, you’d better watch yourself.” My father nodded and smiled until they were gone. The moment the door closed, his face twisted back into a snarl. “Because you’re getting bullied at school, I’ll let it slide this time,” he hissed, his finger jabbing at my face. “But if I ever find out you’ve given that woman my money again, I swear to God I will beat you to death.” He didn’t give me any more money, and I didn’t ask. He’d given me fifty thousand. I’d given my mother forty. That left me with ten. As long as I was careful, it would last me until my finals. My mother used the money to rent a second-floor apartment near my school and started an after-school meal service for students. She had spent over a decade catering to my father’s every culinary whim, even getting a chef’s certificate for him. Cooking for kids was second nature. With a little promotion from me at school, her service filled up in days. The school cafeteria food was slop, and my mother’s cooking quickly won over parents, who complained that she didn’t have enough spots. I knew she wasn’t just doing it for the money. She wanted to be close to me, to see me every day. But the peace didn’t last. After two weeks of eating my mother’s delicious meals, the health department showed up for a surprise inspection. Though her licenses were all in order, they nitpicked every little thing, claiming her cooking zones for raw and cooked food weren’t compliant. They ordered her to shut down for “rectification,” citing an anonymous tip from a “concerned citizen.” The image of Bianca’s face, a mask of petty malice, flashed in my mind. I was sure she was the one who had snitched about the money, too. So annoying. I had already humbled myself, called her “Mom.” And still, she wouldn’t leave us alone. That night, as usual, I brought her a glass of warm milk. “Aunt Bianca, your milk.” Ever since my mother was kicked out, this had become my daily chore. If the milk was too hot or too cold, I’d get a lecture from her, which would earn me a beating from my father. The police warning had done nothing to deter him. I stood beside her, watching her sip the milk. She handed me the empty glass. “If you have something to say, spit it out. I don’t have patience for your games.” I kept my expression innocent and harmless. “Aunt Bianca, was it you who reported my mom’s business?” She raised an eyebrow, a taunting smile playing on her lips. “Oh? You figured it out?” “You’ve already driven my mother away. My father worships you now. Why can’t you just leave her alone?” “Why? Why do you kick a chained dog? Why do you burn ants with a magnifying glass? Why do you swat a mosquito?” A look of profound contempt crossed her face. “It’s the same principle. I’m not happy until she’s completely destroyed. And you,” she added, her eyes narrowing, “don’t think for a second that you’re safe just because you chose your father. Not a chance.” Her hand drifted down to rest on her flat stomach. “Your father’s money will all go to my child. You, the bastard of his ex-wife, won’t get a single penny. So if you know what’s good for you, get out of this house and go find your pathetic mother. Otherwise, don’t blame me for being a cruel stepmother. I’m not—” She stopped mid-sentence. Her body swayed, her legs turning to jelly, and she collapsed back onto the sofa. She reached for the armrest, but her limbs wouldn’t obey. She was completely paralyzed. Her eyes, wide and unfocused, darted to me in terror. “You… you drugged me?” I knelt beside her, stroking her cheek, making sure she could see the manic, ecstatic glee on my face. “Mommy,” I whispered, “you’re pregnant? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

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1 A live feed of comments hovered in the air, visible to everyone. When I asked to postpone my mid-year review due to a migraine, the comments exploded. 【Wow, the villainess is such an actress. If the boss lets her go, our team’s ratings will tank.】 【Not like Isla—she works even through terrible cramps. A real pro.】 The VP instantly promoted Isla and canceled the rest of our reviews. I became an outcast. Later, when I filed a reimbursement, the comments stirred again: 【She didn’t buy half that stuff—she bought a designer bag with company money!】 【Isla covers overages with her own cash. She truly cares.】 Finance investigated all my past claims, docked my pay, and gave it to Isla as a “bonus.” Then, during a severe asthma attack at my desk, the comments floated by: 【She’s not sick—she’s pregnant and trying to blame someone!】 The whole office watched, cold and unmoved. No one called for help. Only Isla came over, saying, “Ava, what’s wrong? Let me take you to the break room.” But inside, she set the AC to 60°F, locked the door, and left me in freezing, dry air—trapped, suffocating. When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day of the promotion review. This time, I could see the comments too. … I pressed my temples, my fingertips ice-cold as the familiar, splitting pain exploded behind my eyes. The conference room lights were blindingly bright, the PowerPoint slide frozen on the title: ‘Mid-Year Performance & Promotion Review.’ My eyes flew open. It wasn’t a dream. I had been reborn. The next second, a dense cloud of comments materialized in the air. 【Here we go! Classic villainess move: the conveniently timed headache!】 【LMAO, no headache all morning, but the second it’s her turn to present? So predictable. She’s about to ask for a postponement.】 【Isla looks so pale today but she still showed up. Now THAT’S dedication!】 My gaze shot to Isla, sitting a few seats ahead of me. She had a slight frown on her face, one hand subtly pressed against her lower abdomen, a fine sheen of cold sweat on her brow. She was the very picture of stoic suffering. Sure enough, the comments flooded with sympathy. 【Aww, our poor baby Isla is pushing through the worst cramps!】 【Unlike some people! Faking sick just to get out of a presentation.】 At the head of the table, Vice President Davis was looking at me, his expression souring. “Ava Chen. Are you going to present or not?” In my past life, this was the moment where the pain became so unbearable that I could no longer focus. I had begged him, my voice hoarse. “Mr. Davis, could I possibly present a little later? My head is killing me…” I never expected him to sneer and immediately give the promotion to the “dedicated” Isla. He then announced that because of my “irresponsibility,” our entire team was disqualified from the review process. From that moment on, I was the team’s scapegoat. So it was the comments all along. Now, Mr. Davis was tapping his pen impatiently on the table. “Ava, we’re all waiting.” Every eye in the room was on me, a mixture of scrutiny and annoyance. Right on cue, Isla let out a soft, sharp gasp, as if struck by a wave of pain, and spoke in a gentle voice. “Mr. Davis, perhaps I should go first? Ava doesn’t look well at all…” I took a deep breath, fighting down the nausea and the stabbing pain in my temples, and slowly got to my feet. This time was different. I could see the comments now. I would not let Isla Vance build her career on my bones again. “My apologies for the delay, Mr. Davis, everyone.” My voice was steadier than I expected. “I am feeling unwell, it’s true. But this review is crucial, and I won’t let a personal issue affect the team’s evaluation.” I picked up the presentation clicker, my grip so tight my knuckles turned white, steadying the slight tremor in my hand. “I will begin my presentation now.” “If I’m unclear at any point, I apologize in advance.” I paused, my eyes scanning the floating text, and allowed a faint, humorless smile to touch my lips. “And I’d like to reassure all my colleagues, especially those so… concerned about my health.” “I will not be deserting my post and dragging you all down with me.” The room fell silent. Mr. Davis’s frown lessened slightly, clearly surprised by my response. I saw Isla’s hand, the one on her abdomen, stiffen for a fraction of a second. I centered myself and began, my voice still a bit weak, a cold sweat breaking out on my back. But every word, every data point, landed exactly where it was supposed to. By the time I finished, my shirt was soaked through. Mr. Davis’s brow, once furrowed, was now smooth. He nodded, a look of satisfaction on his face. Though my colleagues still looked confused, a scattered, hesitant applause broke out. I let out a silent sigh of relief. This time, I could change my fate. But the next second, the comments reappeared. 【Wait, she actually finished? She was totally faking it!】 【Unlike our Isla, who spent three sleepless nights preparing, this one probably threw her slides together in thirty minutes.】 The text scrolled on, fueling the fire of hatred in my heart. Mr. Davis frowned, considering for a moment. “Alright, Ava, if you’re not well, you’re excused. Isla, you’re up.” Isla gave a small nod, then swayed on her feet as if she were about to collapse. 【See! THAT’S what not feeling well really looks like!】 【Isla’s parents are business titans. She’s been learning from the best since she was a kid. I can’t wait to see her presentation!】 【If Isla gets this promotion, her powerful family will definitely throw some business our way!】 I stepped out of the conference room just as Isla finished her presentation to thunderous applause. Mr. Davis personally walked her back to her seat. “Despite feeling unwell, Isla delivered a stellar presentation. Her dedication is commendable, and her work is consistently excellent.” Standing outside the door, I couldn’t help but scoff. Her tasks were so simple it was nearly impossible to screw them up. Isla’s voice trembled as she thanked the leadership team, earning even more sympathy from the room. Then, Mr. Davis made the announcement. “There’s no need for anyone else to present. Based on today’s performance and past achievements, the promotion goes to Isla Vance!” A strange mix of bitter resentment and profound relief washed over me. I was the top performer in the department, by a huge margin. But because I was an orphan, because I didn’t have a pair of millionaire parents, did all my hard work count for nothing? Was my life, the one I’d lost, so easily trampled upon? I heard her triumphant voice from inside. “Thank you, Mr. Davis. I will do my best to lead the team and fight for this company’s success.” Isla’s long hair fell across her face, but not before I saw the venomous, triumphant look she shot in my direction. My blood ran cold. She was still coming for me. But this time, Isla, things are different. I turned and walked away, throwing myself into my work with twice the energy. It was my only defense, as Isla had already pushed me out of all core projects, demoting me to an office gofer—making coffee, running errands, and handling the thankless task of department purchasing and reimbursements. This was where she had trapped me in my last life. So now, every time I submitted a claim, I checked it three times over. One afternoon, as my reimbursement form made its way to the finance department, the damnable comments appeared again. 【Red alert! Ava Chen didn’t buy all this stuff! She’s inflating the prices!】 【I saw her use the company card to buy a luxury handbag for herself! The receipt is mixed in with the others!】 【Contrast that with our Isla. The department went slightly over budget on the last team event, and she quietly paid the difference out of her own pocket!】 The finance manager’s face darkened visibly. He stopped his pen mid-stamp and picked up my forms, scrutinizing them. Finally, he pulled out a few of the larger receipts. “Ava Chen,” he said, his voice grave. “These ‘Premium Client Gift Sets’ and ‘Executive Welcome Packages’… the unit price seems a bit high, don’t you think? Explain yourself. Are you using company funds to buy personal items?” Just then, Isla’s soft, gentle voice cut in. “Mr. Peterson, it’s all my fault. Ava probably isn’t familiar with all the reimbursement policies yet… It’s possible a few personal receipts got mixed in by accident. Please forgive her.” She was pretending to help, but she was just fanning the flames. The comments immediately piled on. 【Isla is too kind, still defending her!】 【How could she have so many receipts! Something is definitely fishy!】 My stomach dropped. This was exactly how it happened before. The baseless accusations from the comments, combined with a photo Isla had produced from god-knows-where of me supposedly carrying a new designer bag. I was left defenseless, branded an embezzler. My claim was rejected, my salary was docked, and the money was given to Isla as a “whistleblower reward.” I shot a sharp look at her. “Team Leader Vance, what exactly are you implying? Did you personally see me include personal receipts? Do you have proof? Please, point them out.” Isla was taken aback by my direct confrontation, momentarily speechless. But then she seemed to remember something and produced a photo she had prepared. The manager took it, his expression shifting again. But this time, I smiled. In my past life, I had the photo analyzed after the fact. It was a picture of Isla herself, with my face sloppily photoshopped onto her body. But by then, the punishment had been handed down, and I had no energy left to fight. That one incident led to relentless workplace bullying, a deep depression, and ultimately, my murder at Isla’s hands. I would not let her win this time. I calmly opened a folder I had prepared. “Mr. Peterson, here are the approval forms, contracts, delivery confirmations, and signed collection logs for every single purchase.” I handed him the documents, one by one, and then held up my phone. “Those ‘Premium Gift Sets’ you mentioned? They were custom-made for the core team on our latest project. They were personally approved by Mr. Davis.” I showed him a photo of the gift boxes, emblazoned with the company logo and the project’s commemorative text. My evidence was irrefutable. The manager’s expression softened considerably as he reviewed my meticulous documentation. “As for this photo…” I raised my voice, pulling up the original picture that Isla herself had posted on her social media. “Mr. Peterson, I believe this is what you’re looking for.” His eyes, now sharp as daggers, shot toward Isla. I let out a cold laugh. “Isla, you need to work on your photoshop skills. That nail color, that design… I saw you with that exact manicure just last week.” I paused deliberately, watching as she instinctively tried to hide her hands. “You buy yourself a luxury bag, then use a cheap AI filter to paste my face onto your body to frame me. Did you really think everyone is as obsessed with embezzling company funds as you are?” Isla trembled, her face ashen. The comments exploded. 【Isla was just doing her job as a team leader! She’s a rich girl, why would she steal from the company?!】 【Exactly! Her parents own hundreds of companies, all bigger than this one!】 【If they punish Isla over something this petty, the company will lose more than it gains.】 Mr. Peterson, who had been about to erupt, stared into the empty air for a moment, his anger visibly deflating. “Alright, Isla’s family is wealthy enough that she wouldn’t need to stoop to this. It was just a misunderstanding. We’ll leave it at that.” I looked at Isla, and asked softly, “Isla, are you really from a wealthy family?” My question stunned everyone. A flicker of disbelief crossed Isla’s eyes. “What did you just say? Do I not know my own family?” Her voice was laced with anger. I said nothing more and turned to leave, my hand tightening around a photograph sent to me by the orphanage. A month passed. Isla seemed to be laying low, but bouquets of flowers began appearing on her desk with increasing frequency. My desk was directly opposite hers, and even with a mask on, the pollen was a constant irritant to my respiratory system. The memory of suffocating to death was seared into my brain. I kept my asthma inhaler within arm’s reach at all times, using it at the first sign of trouble. But one day, I had just sat down when my chest tightened. Isla wasn’t there. There were no flowers. A cold sweat soaked my back as the familiar, suffocating tightness seized my lungs. I immediately reached for my inhaler in the drawer. It was gone. I tried to stand, but my vision was tunneling. The damned comments appeared right on schedule. 【Here she goes again, faking sick for sympathy! Last time it was a headache, what is it now? So much drama!】 【She’s not sick, she’s pregnant and wants to trap someone! Whoever takes her to the hospital is gonna get blamed!】 【Stay away from her before she tries to pin it on you!】 I desperately looked at my colleagues, but their eyes were a mixture of suspicion, disgust, and cold indifference. Some even looked entertained. There was no concern, no urgency. Isla’s voice appeared as if from nowhere. “Oh my, Ava, what’s wrong? You look terrible…” She was holding a scruffy, long-haired cat. “Here, why don’t you hold this cute little stray? Maybe it’ll make you feel better.” “Get it away!” I rasped. Clouds of cat hair filled the air, and the lack of oxygen made it almost impossible to speak. I tried to back away, but she moved to block my path. “I was just washing him in the restroom, and you know, someone left a pregnancy test in the trash! I wonder who’s expecting?” she mused loudly. The comments immediately connected the dots. 【It’s Ava’s! She’s trying to find a baby daddy at the office!】 My colleagues’ gazes became even more avoidant. “Oh well, I was probably mistaken,” Isla said sweetly. “Come on, Ava, let me help you to the break room.” She dropped the cat and grabbed my arm, her grip shockingly strong, pulling me toward the break room. The memory of that door, the freezing 60-degree air, the click of the lock—it all came flooding back in a wave of terror. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, I tore myself from her grasp and fell to the floor, gasping for air, unable to move. “Someone… please… get the medicine from my bag,” I choked out. “I’ll give you… ten thousand dollars.” Almost instantly, I heard the scrape of a chair. A glimmer of hope. But then Isla let out a piercing scream. “Don’t listen to her! That’s not asthma medication!” Her voice was laced with a desperate, vicious malice. “It’s a new designer drug! Look at her! She’s not having an asthma attack, she’s an addict going through withdrawal!” “If you give that to her, you’re helping her do drugs! That’s a crime! Do you all want to go to jail?!” My colleagues’ expressions morphed into horror. They scrambled backward, away from me. No… that’s not it… I couldn’t speak, my body convulsing on the floor like a suffocating fish. Was I doomed to repeat my fate? To be murdered by Isla Vance all over again? Suddenly, a powerful, middle-aged man’s voice boomed from the office entrance. “Which one of you is Ava Chen?” Behind him stood an elegantly dressed woman of the same age. Her eyes scanned the room and landed on me, purple-faced and dying on the floor. She cried out, rushing through the stunned crowd to cradle me in her arms.

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1 I was at my cousin’s auto club for a routine service on my car. When they finished up, I told the staff, “Just put it on Ryan’s tab.” The mechanic nodded and was about to process it when a manager I’d never seen before stepped in. “We don’t run tabs here,” she said sharply. “All bills must be settled on-site.” With a flick of her wrist, she slapped the invoice down on the counter in front of me. Executive Tier Precision Diagnostic: $12,000 Acoustic Resonance Signature Enhancement: $15,000 Engine Psychosomatic Harmony Calibration: $15,000 Total: Forty-two thousand dollars. I almost laughed out loud. Since when did my cousin start running a chop shop? The manager, a woman with a severe haircut and an even more severe expression, crossed her arms and looked me up and down with undisguised contempt. “I’ve seen plenty of broke relatives like you, trying to freeload off a family name. If you can’t afford the lifestyle, don’t pretend you can.” Without another word, I pulled out my phone and dialed my cousin. “You have ten minutes to get her out of my sight,” I said, my voice low and even. “Or you can kiss this entire club goodbye.” … “Cole… is there some kind of misunderstanding?” On the other end of the line, my cousin Ryan’s voice was laced with a nervous tremor. “A misunderstanding?” My tone turned to ice. “Do I sound like someone who starts trouble for no reason? This isn’t a discussion, Ryan. It’s a notification. Handle your people. Now.” My sharp tone seemed to jolt him. “Okay, okay, don’t be mad, Cole,” he stammered, trying to placate me. “Just put Jessica on the phone. I’ll ask her what’s going on.” I let out a cold snort and handed the phone to the manager. Her name was Jessica, apparently. She rolled her eyes and snatched the phone from my hand. “I’ve told you a million times to stop hanging around these deadbeat relatives,” she hissed into the receiver. “All they do is use your name to get freebies. This one’s the worst yet—he’s trying to skip out on the bill entirely.” I could hear Ryan trying to explain something, but Jessica cut him off. “Stop it. I know you’re too soft, always worried about family feelings. You can’t bring yourself to do what’s necessary, so I’ll be the bad guy today!” She hung up, tossed the phone back at me, and tilted her chin up defiantly. “You heard him. Ryan can’t be bothered with this. Now, let’s settle up. The total is forty-two thousand, seven hundred and fifty. I’ll be generous and waive the change. Forty-two thousand flat.” “Cash, card, or wire transfer? Let’s not drag this out, or I’ll have security escort you out.” She emphasized the word “escort,” her threat hanging in the air. I was so stunned by her audacity and sheer stupidity that I actually did laugh this time. In all my years, no one had ever dared to be this brazen with me. Just then, the door to the VIP lounge swung open and Ryan rushed in, a practiced, sycophantic smile plastered on his face. “Cole, hey! What’s all this about?” he said, jogging over. “Jess is just… very by-the-book. Don’t take it personally.” Before I could respond, Jessica bristled like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. “Ryan, honey, I’m doing this for you! Do you want every lowlife off the street coming in here, dropping your name, and running this place into the ground?” She clung to his arm, shooting me a triumphant, challenging look over his shoulder. That’s when it all clicked. If I hadn’t figured it out by now, I’d be an idiot. This manager wasn’t just arrogant; she had backing. As if to confirm my suspicions, Ryan forced another smile and tried to play the family card. “Look, Cole, Jess is my girlfriend. We’re getting engaged next month. We’re all going to be family, right? Let’s just… let me pay the bill, and we can all move on.” “Not a chance,” I said, my voice flat. Ryan’s attitude was a cold slap in the face. If I hadn’t taken pity on him back in the day, remembering a kindness his mother had shown my father, he’d still be handing out résumés at job fairs. The design of this club, the business plan, the connections, even the startup capital—I had provided it all from behind the scenes. I’d stayed in the shadows to protect his ego, so he had no idea that I was the real owner. And now, for this short-sighted, venomous woman, he was ready to turn on me. Fine. No more mercy. Forty-two grand was a rounding error for me, less than what I spend on a casual Tuesday. This wasn’t about the money. It was about the betrayal from a wolf I had personally raised. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll pay.” A victorious smirk spread across Jessica’s face. Ryan let out a visible sigh of relief, clearly thinking the ordeal was over. “But…” My voice sharpened, rising in volume. “You’re going to explain this forty-two-thousand-dollar charge to me. Line by line. Item by item.” Jessica immediately produced the invoice again, reading it out in a tone dripping with condescending pride. “First, the Executive Tier Precision Diagnostic. We use a German-imported analysis machine, and the three-hour inspection is conducted by a specialist with an ‘International Artisan Certification.’ The fee is based on international standards, of course.” “Next, your exhaust system had an anomaly affecting its acoustic aesthetics. We performed an upgrade using our proprietary ‘Italian operatic tenor resonance chamber’ technique, giving the exhaust note the powerful, resonant quality of a Pavarotti aria. It’s a work of art.” I thought I’d misheard. The three business partners I’d brought with me were visibly trying not to laugh. Even Ryan had the decency to look down in embarrassment. But Jessica wasn’t done. “Finally, our technicians detected a power imbalance in your turbocharger. This is a highly complex issue requiring a Swiss vacuum-calibrated instrument, with remote guidance from our headquarters’ top experts to perform a psychosomatic recalibration, ensuring a spiritual harmony between the turbo and the engine.” “You know what that’s called?” she sneered. “It’s called unparalleled, top-tier service. Something you clearly know nothing about.” Her last words were a naked insult. One of my partners, a Mr. Davis, had heard enough. He stood up, trying to smooth things over. “Mr. Harrison, it’s getting late. Perhaps we should go? I can cover this.” I raised a hand to stop him. This was far beyond a simple matter of money now. I had brought my partners here to introduce them to Ryan, to throw him some business, and this is how I was treated. Forcing my anger down, I turned to my guests and offered a sincere apology. “Gentlemen, I am truly sorry you had to witness this absurd spectacle. To make it up to you, I’ll be booking out The Pinnacle Club this Saturday for a private dinner.” The moment the words left my mouth, their phones began to chime with booking confirmations from the club. Mr. Davis, who had just offered to pay my bill, now stared at me, his face a mixture of shock and excitement. While they were all successful businessmen, they weren’t in the truly elite circles. The Pinnacle Club was a legendary, invitation-only establishment frequented by billionaires and power brokers. You couldn’t just buy your way in. And I had secured it with a single text message. Any lingering doubt they might have had about me vanished in that instant. Their gazes were now filled with a clear and profound respect. I walked my partners to the main entrance, watching as their cars drove away. The moment their taillights disappeared, the smile dropped from my face, replaced by a glacial coldness. I turned to go back inside, ready to clean house. But Jessica was there, blocking the entrance with two burly security guards. “Stop right there!” she shrieked, pointing a finger at my nose. “You think you can just walk out of here? Not until you pay what you owe!” The guards stepped forward, flanking her menacingly. I stopped, staring at the utterly ridiculous scene. I was being held hostage at the entrance of my own property over a phantom debt. It was the joke of the century. The commotion had drawn the attention of other customers in the lobby, their curious and scornful gazes landing on me. You’d think I was a common thief trying to dine and dash. “Can you believe it? Someone trying to skip out on a bill at Apex?” “Tsk, tsk. Dressed so nicely, too. What a disgrace.” “If you can’t afford it, don’t come to Apex. So embarrassing.” The humiliation of being publicly accused like this sent a surge of fury through me. Beside them, Ryan was pale, sweat beading on his forehead. “Jess… maybe just let it go…” he pleaded, tugging at her sleeve. Jessica’s eyes went wide with fury. “Are you kidding me, Ryan? Have some backbone! The money is right there for the taking. Are you going to let a freeloader like him off the hook, or are you going to squeeze him for every last cent?” Ryan flinched and fell silent, shrinking back like a scolded dog. His spinelessness disgusted me and sealed my disappointment. My face was a cold mask as I pulled out my phone and called my assistant. “Chris, bring seventy-five thousand in cash from the car. Main entrance. Now.” A few minutes later, Chris arrived, carrying a heavy silver briefcase. I nodded for him to open it. With a soft click, the latches sprang open, revealing stacks of crisp hundred-dollar bills, packed neatly inside. A collective gasp went through the lobby. All the whispers stopped. Jessica’s eyes widened, practically bulging out of her head. She clearly never imagined that the “broke relative” she’d been mocking could produce this much cash so effortlessly. “I should have asked for a hundred and fifty grand,” she muttered under her breath, a flash of avarice in her eyes. She swallowed hard, her breathing quickening as she stared at the money. She reached out to close the case. “Finally showing some sense,” she sneered. “Forty-two thousand for the service, and the rest… we’ll call it compensation for the emotional distress and reputational damage you’ve caused our club today.” “Wait.” I placed my hand on the lid, stopping her. Her eyes narrowed. “What? Having second thoughts?” “You can have the money,” I said, my gaze sharp as a razor. “But first, you’re signing a receipt. In black and white.” Ryan jolted as if struck by lightning, finally realizing this was spiraling far beyond his control. He grabbed Jessica’s arm, his voice pleading. “Jess, don’t sign it! We can’t take this money! Just give it back to him!” “Get off me, you useless coward!” Jessica shoved him away with a look of pure disgust. “Why would I give back money that’s already in my hands? He owes us this! I’ll sign whatever he wants. A signed receipt makes it official. No take-backs.” Greed had completely consumed her. She snatched a pen and paper from a nearby staff member and, without a second thought, scrawled her name—Jessica Thorne—across the bottom, even pressing her thumb into a red ink pad for a print. “There!” She shoved the receipt at me and slammed the briefcase shut, clutching it to her chest like a life raft. “See, honey?” she cooed, linking her arm with Ryan’s. “Told you I could handle it. Seventy-five grand! This will be my little secret fund. I’ve been dying to get that limited edition Hermès bag, and now I finally can!” She was lost in a fantasy of unearned luxury, a blissful smile on her face. Just as she was pulling a dazed Ryan towards the exit, the screech of tires echoed from outside. Three black SUVs, each emblazoned with the sleek “Apex” logo, pulled up to the curb. The doors flew open and a team of seven or eight men and women in dark, immaculate suits stepped out. They moved with a calm, deliberate purpose, each wearing the discreet pin of Apex Holdings on their lapel. The man in the lead was middle-aged, with a strong jaw and sharp, piercing eyes that radiated an aura of absolute authority. This was Marcus Thorne, the Director of Internal Audits. His arrival sent a shockwave through the club’s staff. Employees who had been gawking straightened up instantly, a palpable tension filling the air. Marcus ignored everyone, his eyes scanning the room until they locked onto me. He strode through the crowd, walked directly up to me, and bowed his head slightly. “Mr. Harrison. Marcus Thorne, Apex Holdings Internal Audit. My team is here, reporting for duty.”

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The day of my wedding, Finnick crashed it by blowing up the hotel. He dug me out of the rubble with his bare hands. Seeing the amnesia in my eyes, he hid his wild joy and told me, with a tremor in his voice, that he was the love of my life. For five years, Finnick loved me like his own soul. And then, he got bored. He slipped off his wedding ring with practiced ease, his hand gently resting on his young assistant’s pregnant belly. “Give me this child,” he murmured, “and I’ll give you my life.” “But, as always, not a word of this to Gwen.” What he didn’t know was that his “little girl” secretly recorded the whole thing. She sent it to me with a triumphant message: Time for the old hag to step aside. What he knew even less was that my memory had returned. And before him, my one true love was a man named Adrian. Handsome, brilliant, and terrifyingly vengeful. He never let a slight go unpunished. And in that, we were exactly alike. Finnick was finished. … Finnick was exceptionally good at hiding his little bird. Unfortunately for him, the little bird had ambitions as big as her nerve. Her name was Lily, and she showed up on my doorstep, pregnant belly and all, ready for a fight. “Gwen, honey,” she said, her voice sickly sweet, “I’m having twins. The doctor said they’re both boys.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Their daddy feels so bad for me, having to go through this. He massages my feet every single night, stays until I fall asleep before he goes home to his boring wife. He says he just can’t wait to meet his sons!” I met her gaze with a smile, a chill creeping into my eyes. “Did your ‘daddy’ ever tell you what kind of person I am?” If Finnick was so eager to meet his children, who was I to stand in his way? Thirty minutes later, an express courier was dispatched to Finnick’s corporate headquarters. I sipped my afternoon tea and watched the live feed from his office security camera. When the package arrived, his severe, handsome face softened into a tender smile. But the moment he opened it, his expression turned to stone. Inside was a termination of pregnancy report. And a photograph of what was left of his children with Lily. An hour later, he was home. Lily was lying on a portable medical bed we’d set up, and the second she saw him, she burst into wracking sobs. “Finnick, darling! She murdered our babies! The babies you were so excited to meet! Kill her! You have to kill that bitch for me!” A flicker of pain crossed Finnick’s eyes. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron. His voice was low and hard, barely containing a torrent of rage. “Gwen, she’s just a kid who graduated a few months ago. Did you have to be so cruel?” In five years of marriage, it was the first time he had ever raised his voice to me. And it was for another woman. I tossed my phone at him. The screen was filled with intimate videos of him and Lily, interspersed with her messages, insulting me and demanding I step aside. “Your ‘kid’ sent those to me to gloat. As your wife, I found them upsetting. Am I not allowed to retaliate?” Finnick froze. He shot a cold glare at Lily. Then, his expression softened as he turned back to me. He knelt, taking my hands in his. “Gwen, you’ve misunderstood,” he said, his voice gentle again. “I only did this because I couldn’t bear the thought of you going through the pain of childbirth. The plan was always to have her carry them, and then we would raise them together.” He looked me in the eyes. “I swear on my life, you are the only person I have ever truly loved.” I believed him. When we’d first discussed having children, he’d signed himself up for a labor pain simulator. It was the first time I’d ever seen Finnick cry. He’d held me tight, his body shaking. “Gwen, how can it hurt that much? Let’s not have kids, okay? I can’t let you go through that.” And so, because he couldn’t bear to see me suffer… he let another woman carry his twins for me? I glanced over at Lily with a mocking smile. Her eyes were wide with disbelief, red with fury. I laughed softly. “Finnick, you really are the cruelest of all. One sentence, and you stab both of us in the back. So, what now?” I leaned closer. “The last time someone made me this angry, you ruined their family, destroyed their business, and ran them out of the city without a second thought.” His gaze slid over to Lily, cold and detached. But the slight tremor in his hand gave him away. After a long moment, he spoke. “Gwen. I will apologize on her behalf. What will it take for you to forgive me and let me take her away from here?” A wave of pure rage washed over me. All his pretty words, all his cold looks, and in the end, he was still protecting her. Without a word, I swept my arm across a nearby table, sending a collection of expensive porcelain crashing to the floor. Finnick didn’t hesitate. He kicked off his shoes and, without breaking stride, walked across the razor-sharp shards. He lifted Lily into his arms and carried her out, his bare feet leaving a trail of bloody footprints on the white porcelain. The sight of it, the stark red on white, made my breath catch. Finnick, for all his madness, was the ultimate pragmatist. In all the years I’d known him, he’d only ever been hurt for me, only ever lost to me. My eyes grew cold. Finnick didn’t know my memory was back. What he knew even less was that I might have actually been falling for him. There were moments I’d considered just playing the amnesiac forever, spending the rest of my life with him. But now… A rotten man and the woman who stole him. I would make them both pay. After that day, Finnick showered me with gifts, a new one arriving every morning. But he spent every night at Lily’s. Tonight’s excuse was a “last-minute business dinner.” He’d be home in a few hours. The moment he hung up, a message from Lily arrived. LOL. I bet the old hag is regretting her choices now. So what if you killed my babies? He feels even worse for me now. He cooks me gourmet meals every single day. The attached video showed a tall man in an apron, busy in a sleek, modern kitchen. Finnick had never known how to cook. For me, he had taken lessons from master chefs. And now, every dish he was making for Lily was one of my favorites. I stared at the food, so familiar I could almost smell it. A wave of nausea rolled through me. Damn you, Finnick. You’ve ruined all my favorite foods. Lily’s voice message was dripping with malicious glee. He also said he’s going to give me another baby tonight. As for you… You’re finished, old woman. The message ended just as something slammed into the side of my car. I looked up. A dozen bald, heavily tattooed men were surrounding my vehicle, brandishing baseball bats. “You the one who’s been messing with my little sister, Lily?” one of them growled. I raised an eyebrow and calmly dialed Finnick. As usual, he picked up on the first ring. “Finnick,” I said, my voice even. “Lily sent her biker gang brothers after me. They have me surrounded.” His voice on the other end was weary. “Gwen, can you please not do this? She’s just a college grad, she doesn’t know any…” I cut him off with a smile. “I’m not going to fight back. Come or don’t. Your choice.” I hung up. The night air was cool. I watched the traffic light cycle from red to green, counting. It had only changed three times before he appeared. He must have hit traffic and abandoned his car, running the rest of the way. He was panting, his chest heaving, his dress shirt clinging to the muscles beneath. I watched him for a moment, then smiled. I had lied. The men who had tried to corner me were now lying in a heap on the pavement around my car, groaning. Finnick stared at me, his jaw tight with frustration. His gaze fell to a scratch on my leg, and his anger melted into pained concern. He knelt, his touch impossibly gentle as he cleaned the wound and applied a bandage. “You just love torturing me, don’t you?” he muttered, the words a mix of adoration and defeat. It was the only way he ever let his frustration show. For a second, my heart stirred. I felt a rare urge to explain. “It wasn’t me. Lily really did send them.” He didn’t even hesitate. “I asked her, Gwen. She swore on her life it wasn’t her. She’s a simple girl. Not like…” He stopped, but I heard the unspoken words. Not like you. Cruel and calculating. My face hardened. I picked up my phone and dialed my lawyer in front of him. “I need you to draw up divorce papers. I’m on my way to pick them up now.” I shoved him out of the passenger seat and threw the car into reverse. He moved with lightning speed, planting himself directly in front of the car. The wind whipped through his hair. His eyes were wild, defiant. He gritted his teeth, his voice a low growl. “Gwen. You want a divorce? You’ll have to run me over first.” The bright headlights illuminated the madness in his face. I held his gaze and stomped on the accelerator. The screech of tires filled the night. I stopped just inches from his body. He hadn’t flinched. His eyes were blazing, a feverish, desperate fire. This time, it was my turn to grit my teeth. “That lunatic.” I wrenched the wheel, turning the car around, and sped away like a coward fleeing a battle. A few days later, another message from Lily. To my surprise, her tone was pleading. Gwen, I’m so, so sorry. I know I was wrong. I know I made you angry. Please, just give me a chance to make it right. She sent an address, an invitation to a private estate for a walk, so she could apologize in person. I went. A massive rose garden stretched out before me, a sprawling, private manor. Lily stood waiting, dressed in a white sundress against a backdrop of blood-red roses. She looked like the lady of the manor as she unlocked the main gate. My body went rigid as my eyes caught the giant, framed photograph displayed among the flowers. In it, Lily and Finnick were intertwined, kissing passionately in a bed of roses. It was beautiful, intimate. The photo was dated five years ago. Before I lost my memory. Lily’s smug laugh echoed beside me. “Oh, Gwen, honey. I’ve known about you for a long time. I even gave Finnick tips on how to win you over.” It turned out, Lily had known Finnick long before I did. He was her sponsor, a benefactor who had pulled her out of poverty. He’d brought her to the city, and with nowhere else to go, she had lived in his home. The long corridors of the manor were lined with photos, each one a snapshot of her life with him. This entire estate, he had built it for her. My hands felt numb as she walked me through their history, one picture at a time. Her eyes flickered to my wedding ring. “Every single gift Finnick ever gave you? I helped him pick it out,” she said with a triumphant smile. “Even this ring. He only bought it because I told him I liked the design.” I knew she was lying, or at least not telling the whole truth. Finnick had presented me with dozens of designs and let me choose my own. But it didn’t matter. The wave of nausea was back. Expressionless, I pulled the ring from my finger and tossed it into the rose bushes. Seeing this, Lily’s smile widened. “Finnick was so obsessed with you. It made me so jealous,” she sighed dramatically. “But it’s okay. People get bored, right? I just played the part of the good, understanding girl. I told him I didn’t want anything from him, just a little bit of the love you didn’t want, whenever he thought of me.” “And you know what?” she giggled, remembering. “He slept with me. Willingly.” She looked me dead in the eye. “You were the prize. But once he won you, you became an annoyance. He’s tired of you.” “So, do yourself a favor and get lost. Finnick will be mine, sooner or later.” I stared at her for a long moment, then a slow smile spread across my face. “You’re that much of a bitch? Good. That makes this a lot easier.” Lily frowned, confused. I arched an eyebrow. “Now I don’t have to feel guilty.” Before she could process what I meant, I kicked over a rack of vintage wine bottles, shattering them across the floor. Then I pulled out a lighter. The small, flickering flame reflected in her terrified eyes. The next second, the entire manor was engulfed in fire. Finnick arrived quickly. He saw me and Lily, framed by the inferno, and his face was a mask of horror. Lily shrieked, “Finnick, save me! The fire’s getting closer! I just lost our babies for you!” I watched him with detached curiosity, mouthing two words at him through the flames. Her or me? The fire roared, casting his tortured expression in a hellish light. He drenched himself with a nearby hose and ran toward Lily. As he did, I heard his desperate shout. “Gwen! I know you can get out on your own! Lily can’t!” He swept her into his arms. Over his shoulder, Lily shot me a look of pure triumph. I just smiled back at her. And I didn’t move. The flames surged higher. Finnick glanced back and saw me standing perfectly still. He hesitated for half a second, his face a war of indecision. Then, cursing, he set Lily down and charged back into the fire for me, throwing his wet jacket over my head and dragging me out. I felt a pang of disappointment. What a shame. If he’d left me there, I could have had my divorce. As for the other half of that feeling, I refused to examine it. After he got me to safety, he turned to go back for Lily. But in the moments we’d been outside, a massive, ornate trellis had collapsed in the hallway, pinning her by the leg. When Finnick carried her out, she was screaming in agony. I knew he was furious. As he passed me, he deliberately slammed his shoulder into mine. His voice was ice. “Take my wife,” he ordered his men. “Bring her to the hospital.”

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It was the second time the Donovans had sent me away. The first time, I was eleven. This time, I was eighteen. The reason was the same: Sloane. This time, it was because I’d slapped her for trying to snatch the worn-out rag doll I’d had for years. The first time… the reasons were more complicated. On the day I left, my parents—our parents—were busy comforting Sloane, whose sobs echoed through the marble entryway. My brother, Ethan, stood in front of her like a bodyguard, his face a mask of fury directed at me. The only thing I took with me was that doll. A gift from Carter Hayes, my betrothed, from the day I was first found and brought to this house. Seven years later, they summoned me back for the second time. The reason, once again, was Sloane. She had decided she was in love with my fiancé. 1 The moment I stepped into the grand, sun-drenched living room, Sloane dissolved into tears, her face a perfect portrait of tragedy. “I love Carter,” she cried, her voice catching prettily. “I won’t have anyone but him.” My brother, Ethan, fixed me with a look he usually reserved for criminals. “Sloane and Carter have always been close. Why do you have to be the one to ruin it?” My mother and father, the Donovans, took a softer approach, their voices laced with practiced reason. “Sloane has been raised with a certain… delicacy, Chloe. Marrying into a family as influential as the Hayeses is what’s best for her, what she’s prepared for.” My mother reached out, then let her hand fall. “Please, Chloe. Can’t you just let her have this?” My hands felt clammy on the handle of my single suitcase. I looked at the four of them, a united front of familial concern, all of it aimed at protecting someone else. “Excuse me,” I said, my voice quiet in the cavernous room. “Which room is mine?” The four of them blinked, the flow of their drama momentarily dammed. After a few seconds of silence, Ethan cleared his throat, a flicker of awkwardness in his eyes. “The housekeeper just cleared out one of the rooms on the second floor. I’ll… I’ll show you.” I nodded and followed him up the sweeping staircase. The suitcase was heavy, its wheels bumping on each step. Halfway up, he finally seemed to realize he should be carrying it, turning to take it from me with a gruff, reluctant motion. I followed a step behind him, the old habit of politeness ingrained in me. “Thank you.” Ethan’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t reply. The room was an old storage space, hastily converted. The bed frame looked like a cast-off from the basement, and the mattress was still bare, waiting for linens that no one had remembered. For a family like the Donovans, this room was worse than what they gave the staff. Ethan coughed lightly. “The third floor…” “I know,” I cut him off gently. “It’s fine.” The third floor had four bedrooms. Sloane had claimed the two best ones—with the best light and the best views—one for sleeping, and one for her million-dollar grand piano. We stood in the dusty silence for a moment before Ethan finally broke. “Chloe, Grandpa set up this engagement for you. He left you a separate inheritance, a significant one. Sloane… she doesn’t have any of that. Can’t you just…” “What did the Hayes family say?” I asked, cutting through his appeal. “The Hayeses…” He hesitated. “This is a matter between our families. It’s an alliance. As long as we sort it out internally, we can present a united front to them later.” So, this wasn’t Carter’s idea. A small, secret breath of relief escaped me. I was eleven when they found me and brought me to this house. I thought I was coming home to parents and a brother who had spent years searching for me. Instead, I found a family that was already complete, with a daughter named Sloane. They told me that after I, the original Sloane Donovan, was lost at four years old, they’d adopted another girl to fill the void, to soothe their grief. They gave her my name. They had come to see her as their own. So when they found me, they gave me a new name: Chloe. The echo. The return. Sloane, emboldened by their adoration, had thrown a tantrum and smashed up the princess bedroom they had prepared for me. She’d pointed a finger in my face and called me a charity case from the system, unfit to sleep in such a nice room. She’d cried and screamed that she needed an inspiring environment for her piano practice, and so the room became hers. At the dinner table, she mocked me for eating too quietly, a habit I’d learned in the group home. She laughed, loud and unrestrained, at my clumsy attempts to cut a steak. When my parents offered a mild rebuke, she ran to the rooftop terrace and threatened to jump. After that, my father’s only refrain was for me to “get along with Sloane” and “not to upset her.” My mother said nothing, but her eyes, so much like my own, followed me with a cold disappointment. The turmoil that rocked the Donovan household was always, somehow, my fault. The first time I fought back against her, Ethan proposed sending me away to live with a distant relative in Blackwood Creek. … “Chloe.” Ethan’s face was stern again, pulling me from the memory. “You didn’t grow up with Mom and Dad. In terms of education, of culture, of knowing your place… how can you possibly compare to Sloane? A family like the Hayeses… even if you managed to marry into it, you wouldn’t last.” I looked at him calmly, at this man who shared my blood but had done nothing but belittle me since the moment we met. My voice was cool, each word deliberate. “Carter is my fiancé. And I am not giving him to Sloane.” 2 “Chloe! I thought after all these years, you would have grown up, learned some sense. Why must you fight Sloane for Carter?” Ethan’s anger was predictable. His eyes held a familiar glint of contempt. “I know what you’re thinking. You see the Hayes family name, the money. You think marrying Carter means you’ll be set for life, dripping in luxury.” He took a step closer. “But you and Carter have no real connection. Nothing like him and Sloane. They grew up together. Why are you so selfishly clinging to this arrangement and making Sloane miserable?” A dry laugh escaped my lips. “Ethan, you just listed all the reasons the Hayes engagement is so valuable. Why on earth would I give it away?” I stepped toward him, my eyes locked on his. “You’re so worried about Sloane’s pain. What about mine? And another thing—did you ever once stop to ask if I, your actual sister, even like Carter?” He looked genuinely stunned, sputtering, “You don’t deserve…” My gaze turned to ice. He stopped himself, a look of shamefaced anger crossing his face as he registered my mocking, knowing expression. What a joke. We were both daughters of the Donovan family. But when it came to me, the only sentiment was that I didn’t deserve it. I dropped my eyes, the dust motes dancing on the dark wood floor stinging them. I turned away sharply. “Don’t bother with the room. I’m heading back to campus this afternoon. I have an internship to focus on. I won’t be staying here.” “Chloe!” he called out as I walked away. “You bullied Sloane in high school. You were the reason she fell into a depression and had to drop out for a semester. Don’t you feel any guilt for what you owe her?” My feet froze on the top step. A hot, acidic sting filled my eyes. Bullied her? It didn’t matter what I said. They would always believe the daughter they had raised, the one they knew. I walked down the stairs and into the living room. My mother was now fussing over Sloane, feeding her something from a small bowl. She looked up as I approached, her body tensing. “Chloe, you’re not staying for dinner?” I stood there, studying the familiar lines of her face, the curve of her brows that mirrored my own. A treacherous flicker of hope ignited in my chest. “I have to get back to school,” I said. “Internship prep is starting.” My mother hesitated, a wave of relief washing over her features, followed by something else—guilt, maybe. “About Sloane… well, never mind. You… be safe on the road.” The silence stretched for a few seconds. I gave a small, self-mocking smile. “…Okay.” This house. Eight years ago, or today, it made no difference. I wasn’t welcome here. Not even by my own mother. I walked out of the Donovan mansion without a backward glance. … On the city bus, my phone buzzed. A text from Ethan. Chloe, you have to pay back what you owe Sloane. It’s my duty as her brother to see that she gets justice, and my responsibility as your brother to teach you right from wrong. I stared at the message, then powered my phone off. Eight years ago, Sloane and her friends had made my life a living hell at school. They’d thrown my textbooks in the trash, cut my hair in the bathroom, put hand sanitizer in my water bottle. After school, they would corner me, tripping me, calling me names, their laughter echoing as I picked myself up off the pavement. In a strange way, it was almost easier than the group home, with its constant hunger, the casual cruelty of the older kids, and the endless chores. Back then, I didn’t understand what it meant to be the true, lost daughter of the Donovans. All I knew was that my parents and my brother loved the beautiful, delicate Sloane. If I wanted to stay in this beautiful, delicate house, I had to get along with her. I couldn’t go back to the system. I just couldn’t. So I told myself to endure it. Just like before. Just endure it, and it will pass. But Sloane didn’t want to share her home. She switched tactics. She started showing up with mysterious bruises, telling her friends I was hurting her. She paid a shady online clinic for a depression diagnosis and tearfully announced she had to drop out of school because of the trauma. The rag doll from Carter was the final straw. She’d ripped it from my hands, her face twisted with a viciousness I’d never seen before. “Why do you get to keep anything from him? You’re a pathetic little stray who should have stayed in the system! Why did you have to come back and try to steal my family?” For the first time, I hit her. I fought back. For that one doll. It was the only gift I had received since returning to the Donovans. My home, my name, my brother, my parents—they were all hers now. Why did she have to take this one small thing, too? That night, Sloane presented my parents with edited security footage from a camera in the hall. It showed one thing, crystal clear: me, striking her. Her carefully constructed narrative of being bullied, her fabricated depression—it all solidified with that video. I was the villain. They sent me away to Blackwood Creek. And for eight lonely years, that doll, and the memory of a boy I’d met only once, were the only comforts I had. 3 It didn’t take long for Ethan to demonstrate his brotherly “responsibility.” Over the next week, every single internship application I had submitted to companies in Port Sterling in my field was rejected. I finally went to my faculty advisor, a kind man who suddenly couldn’t meet my eye. “Chloe,” he stammered, shuffling papers on his desk. “Did you… have you upset someone important? Someone with your last name, perhaps?” The words hit me like a bucket of ice water on that hot summer day. I couldn’t believe it. To force my hand for Sloane, Ethan was willing to use the Donovan family’s influence to blacklist me. Without a relevant internship, I would fail a core requirement of my degree. I wouldn’t be able to graduate. Ethan had never, not once, shown me an ounce of mercy. I wandered the campus in a daze for what felt like hours until a single name surfaced in my mind. Carter Hayes. The Donovans were powerful in Port Sterling, but they weren’t the only ones. The Hayes family was just as formidable, and Carter, as one of the heirs, was already working at the family corporation. Over the years, our engagement had been a strange, disembodied thing. We weren’t close, but we exchanged polite phone calls on holidays and birthdays. Every time he called, my heart would leap with a nervous excitement, and I’d force myself to respond with a calm, measured grace. He had no idea that a simple rag doll was enough to make a lonely girl think of him for eight years. My palm was sweating as the phone rang. This was the first time I had ever asked anyone for help. And I was asking the one person I had secretly cherished a crush on. After I explained my situation, Carter agreed without a moment’s hesitation. “Don’t worry about it. Just bring your internship forms to HR tomorrow. I’ll let them know you’re coming. We happen to have an opening that’s a perfect fit for your major.” A wave of relief washed over me, so potent it pushed back the tears that had been threatening to fall all day. “Carter, thank you. Thank you so much.” He laughed on the other end of the line, his usually formal tone softening into something warmer, almost intimate. “Chloe, relax. You can intern here for as long as you need. Besides… it’ll give us more time to get to know each other.” 4 After I finished my onboarding paperwork at Hayes Corp, I saw a text from Ethan, sent at some point during the day. Chloe, if you insist on being stubborn, the consequences will only get worse. This is my final warning, as your brother. I stared at the screen for a long, quiet moment, then blocked his number. Though Carter and I worked in the same building, our paths rarely crossed. He didn’t give me any special treatment, which I was grateful for. I was assigned to a senior manager and thrown into the deep end, working on projects, drafting proposals, and pulling the same late nights as everyone else. My manager would even assign me extra off-site tasks. It was exhausting, but also a relief. Carter had given me a chance, and the best way I could repay him was by working harder than anyone else. My direct supervisor was an older woman, Ms. Albright, notoriously difficult to please. She would send my proposals back covered in red ink, call me at midnight demanding revisions to a PowerPoint, and had no problem chewing me out in the middle of the open-plan office. I took it all in stride. One afternoon, however, she was particularly vicious about a minor data error in a report. As she dressed me down in front of the entire department, Carter happened to walk by, pausing for a moment to watch before continuing on his way. Later, terrified the incident would reflect poorly on him for bringing me in, I found him and explained that the mistake was entirely mine and that Ms. Albright was just doing her job. Carter just smiled, a strange, unreadable expression on his face, and said nothing. Eventually, my relentless work ethic started to soften Ms. Albright’s sharp edges. She started making small jokes, offering begrudging compliments. “You know, Chloe, that stubborn streak of yours reminds me of someone I used to know… someone I respected a great deal.” “Honestly, if you weren’t an intern, I’d think they’d signed you to an iron-clad contract from hell. You finish my projects, do the extra work the department head throws at you, and then you still manage to pull an all-nighter before spending the next day with me at the factory two hours out of town. I don’t think ten full-time employees work as hard as you do.” She looked at me shrewdly one day. “Chloe… you didn’t piss someone off, did you?” I just smiled and didn’t answer. This was an opportunity I couldn’t afford to lose. If hard work was the price, I would gladly pay it. … Four months into my internship, Ms. Albright called me into the office at ten o’clock at night. She handed me a file. “Chloe, take this to Mr. Hayes.” I took the folder, confused. “To Carter?” Delivering a document to the heir apparent at this hour was far above my pay grade. Her voice was heavy with meaning. “You’ll understand when you get there.” I followed the address she gave me to a sleek, private club downtown. As I approached the door to the VIP room, I could hear Carter’s voice inside. Just as I raised my hand to knock, Sloane’s high-pitched laughter cut through the door, sharp as glass. “Oh my god, that video of Chloe getting yelled at like a dog was hilarious! I’ve watched it a dozen times.” “Carter, darling, tell me again. Besides sending her to that factory in the middle of nowhere and then making her work all night, what else have you done to punish her?” A violent tremor went through me. My blood ran cold. Carter’s voice, when it came, was not the polite, gentle one I knew. It was lazy, laced with contempt and a casual cruelty. “Patience, baby. The old hag I assigned her to is the biggest ball-buster in the company. It’s only a matter of time before she makes Chloe cry.” He paused. “Besides, this is just to soften her up. When the internship ends, I’ll have HR invalidate her paperwork. She won’t graduate.” Sloane’s voice dropped into a pout. “But the family is planning to announce your engagement on Chloe’s twenty-first birthday.” Carter sounded bored. “So? I’ll let her think everything is fine until the party. Then, in front of everyone who matters in Port Sterling, I’ll accuse her of corporate espionage. I’ll destroy her reputation so completely that I’ll have no choice but to break the engagement. She’ll be a pariah. Is that satisfying enough for you?” Through the crack in the door, I saw Sloane, pretty and petite, curl into Carter’s arms. “Daddy and Mommy and Ethan never liked her anyway,” she purred. “But you know what would be even better? You should pretend to be nice to her. Make her fall completely in love with you. Imagine how much more satisfying it will be to crush her on the day of the engagement.” Her voice turned sharp. “Just… don’t let it get real, Carter.” “Please,” he scoffed. “As if I would ever be interested in some charity case from the system.” … I stumbled back, away from the door, turning and blindly running down the corridor. I crashed right into someone, hard. “Watch where you’re going! Do you have any idea who you just ran into?” a voice beside him snapped. Dazed, I looked up, and my vision swam into focus on a familiar, sharp-featured face.

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