Category: English

The day I finally cut ties with Asher Vaughn, I changed my number, my email, and my life. For years, he would send a lavish holiday package—Christmas, my birthday—but he never otherwise attempted to contact me. That stopped at a company dinner a few nights ago. His call went straight to my boss’s cell phone. Mr. Davies answered, his face a careful mask of deference and terror, then stared at me, dumbfounded. “Mr. Vaughn says his daughter is sick. He wants you there.” The entire table went silent. 1 My co-workers, with their honed instincts, had already spotted our CEO heading toward our table and lifted their glasses in salute. I was prepared to do the same, ready with a professional toast. I hadn’t prepared for the words that came out of his mouth. Around me, my colleagues exchanged glances. “Sienna, when did you get married?” “And you have a kid? I don’t remember you taking any maternity leave.” Asher Vaughn and I were not, and never had been, the marrying kind. I ignored them, rising from my chair. “Mr. Davies, did he say which hospital?” He waved me back down. “No rush, Sienna. Eat first. I’ll arrange a car; I’m taking you myself in a minute.” He signaled his assistant, Riley, and left the room in a hurry. A co-worker leaned in. “He’s right, eat something. Rushing won’t help now.” “What does your husband do? The boss is treating this like a matter of national security.” “Seriously, why wouldn’t he just text you? Why the whole detour?” I offered a dismissive answer. “I’m single now.” A collective, quiet hmm went around the table. They leaned back and nodded, a knowing glint in their eyes. “Well, that explains it.” “Young people have too much pride. Wait till you’re my age. You’ll realize you can’t block an ex-husband. When you need him, one text, and he’ll still show up for you.” “You had a kid, and I bet he’s loaded. Why’d you break up?” I said nothing. Riley tapped my shoulder. “Car’s here. Mr. Davies is waiting.” 2 I got into the passenger seat and glanced at the backseat in the rearview mirror. “You can just drop me at the subway station.” “Nonsense. A child is sick; I’m coming to check on her. Gotta send my regards.” He chuckled, making an attempt at a joke. “We have hidden powerhouses in this company. Getting married so young, was it an arranged family thing?” Arranged. The word was laughable. The first time I met Asher Vaughn, I had just graduated college. I was twenty-two, had been jobless for two months, and was eating an eight-dollar container of greasy takeout on a freeway overpass late at night. I was staying in a thirty-dollar-a-night hostel, and my entire life fit into a single twenty-four-inch suitcase and a backpack. My parents had called me, asking about my interviews. They told me not to be so picky. Work hard, they said. Maybe offer to clean up the office before the interview—the manager might see I was a serious, humble girl and hire me on the spot. I slowly refuted every suggestion. Finally, they relented, suggesting I just come home and start a business. What business? Where would the money come from? If all else failed, they said, I could open a breakfast diner. We could borrow a bit of money from a friend. Having some work, even if it lost money, was better than lying around. If you lie around too long, you lose your drive. Besides, I was a college graduate now. It was time I sent some money home. I hadn’t been lying around. I had spent the last of my savings hopping between hostels in different boroughs. I worked weekend gigs for a few hundred bucks to cover food for the coming week. On weekdays, I submitted resumes and went on interviews. Every HR person told me I lacked standout experience. The only place that seemed interested, an electronics factory, said, You’re a college grad, you’ll find a good job eventually. You won’t stay here long. When I posted my frustrations online, I got DMs suggesting I try working in clubs. I hung up on my parents. The food in my mouth turned to dust. I thought, I’ll just finish this and jump. The street below was sparsely populated with cars. A sleek, black Range Rover with tinted windows drove by several times. It finally killed its engine and parked right below me. I wiped my face, took a deep breath, and walked over to the car, tapping on the window. “Is your car broken?” “You can’t park here.” “There are cameras up there, and traffic patrols. You’ll get a thousand-dollar ticket for five minutes.” The window rolled down slowly. A hand holding a cigarette emerged. Asher Vaughn looked up at me and suddenly smiled. “Let them ticket me. It doesn’t matter. I just wanted to see how long you were going to stand on this overpass.” I froze. My eyes welled up instantly. The first tear broke free, and the emotion that followed was like a dam breaking. I turned my back, still holding the unfinished box of food, and went back to the railing, trying to keep eating. The car door opened and closed behind me. Leather soles tapped lightly on the pavement, stopping a few feet away. The smoke drifted to me. He didn’t say anything. I sniffled, turned, and held out my hand. “Can I have one?” He raised an eyebrow, the cigarette dangling from his lips. “It’s the middle of the night, and a man is following you. Shouldn’t you be running? You’re asking for a smoke?” “This place has more cameras than your driving test center! Besides, if you were a creep, would I outrun your car?” He coughed, choking on the smoke a little. He pulled out a metallic case and offered a cigarette. I leaned in to borrow his lighter. I didn’t tell him the rest of the thought: I wasn’t planning on living anyway. Whether a predator was following me didn’t matter. With a little luck, I could trade my life for his. The thin cigarette had a subtle scent of sandalwood. He stood three feet away, hands in his pockets. “What happened? Tell me about it.” “Work,” I said. “If I can’t find a job soon, I’m going back home to start that breakfast diner.” He seemed genuinely surprised. “You can’t find work in New York?” I cast him a sideways glance. Our eyes met, and his shock didn’t seem fake. I took a deep drag and gestured wildly. “Do you know how impossible it is out there?” “I applied for a video game writer position, talked for an hour, and they told me they mixed up the forms—they needed a graphic designer.” “I applied for an Operations role. I got there, and they asked if I wanted a Sales job instead. A complete waste of a trip.” “One time, I took the subway for two and a half hours for an interview, and it was a tiny startup. They were hiring for one position, but I had to be the HR, the admin, the accountant, and the boss’s assistant!” “I kept applying. Added one hiring manager on LinkedIn to discuss the role, and he sent me a voice note. The music in the bar was louder than his voice.” “The rest of the listings are for streamers or club hosts.” “I finally found a normal listing. I checked the time. The HR person was still active online at 3:00 a.m.” “I asked the HR person if the company offered vacation time. He said, ‘We haven’t removed vacation time yet.’” “I asked, ‘What’s the core strength of your company?’ He said, ‘The strength is that employees leave after a few days.’” I cursed and laughed at the same time. God, my life is a joke. He narrowed his eyes slightly, politely pursing his lips. I leaned on the railing, looking at him. “You look like you’re in government or something respectable. You wouldn’t understand how hard it is.” “I understand more than you think,” he scoffed lightly. “I once worked on a development project. I wore this jacket, and I was with a reporter. A villager said I was only there for the photo-op, and that the jacket I was wearing cost more than his annual income. Nothing I said helped.” I glanced at the brand logo on his sleeve. I wiped my eyes and looked closer. “Here’s my advice,” I said. “Next time someone says that, first, reassure him. Tell him it’s perfectly normal not to recognize a high-end technical brand. Tell him not to feel insecure.” “Then, clarify. Tell him the jacket is actually much more expensive than he thinks—it’s worth eight years of his income, maybe more.” “And finally, tell him you’re not there for a photo-op. You’re there to make serious money.” He stared at me, then finally burst into laughter. The takeout container was empty, down to the last few grains of rice. I picked them up one by one, looking at the dark water below the overpass. The wind dried my tears. I didn’t feel like jumping anymore. I felt foolish for being so dramatic. How could I let something so small push me to the edge? I took a deep breath and turned to him. “Thank you. I’m going home now. Goodbye.” “Wait.” He stopped me, pulling a business card from his wallet. He got back in his car to grab a sleek fountain pen, then scrawled a few words on the back. “The junior partner at this firm is a college friend of mine. If they have a suitable opening, tell them I referred you for an interview. Tell him to do me a favor.” Aura Tech. The front of the card held a simple name, contact information, and an office address: Asher Vaughn. I wondered if he was just trying to hook up with me. But after spending the night tossing and turning in my rented room, I went to the company. 3 I got the job. Two months passed, and I never saw Asher Vaughn again. I started to relax. The job wasn’t a dream, but it was surprisingly good. The workload was split between me and a woman who was out on maternity leave. What used to be one person’s job was now two, which made life easy for everyone. One evening, after work, I saw the black Range Rover again. Asher was parked on the side of the street. He didn’t get out but asked about my life. I gave him a stammering update. I finally found the courage to ask for his phone number. “I’ve been wanting to thank you. Sending money or an expensive gift is too much for me, and too little for you. My family sends me some specialty goods from home. If you don’t mind, I’d like to send you some.” “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “My number is on the card. Call me if you need anything.” I insisted, got his address, and mailed him a package of goods from my hometown. Asher texted me a simple thanks, saying his mother enjoyed them very much. He traveled constantly between the coasts. When he was free, he would often come by and meet me for coffee. Mutual attraction was inevitable. A year into the relationship, I found out I was pregnant. The baby was completely unplanned. By the time I checked, I was already seven weeks along. I often heard HR complaining about female employees who got hired and immediately took a marriage or maternity leave. When I was hired, I promised I wouldn’t have a child for at least five years. If I didn’t terminate the pregnancy, my career would be on hold for at least a year. Was twenty-four too young to get married? But this was our first child. I already loved it. I wanted to have a real home with Asher. What about my job? I sat in my room for half an hour, holding the sonogram report. I decided to wait for Asher to get back from his trip. We would talk it through: marriage and the baby, or a quick termination. A few days later, his flight landed. The moment he walked in, he dropped his jacket, scooped me up, and held me high. His eyes were wide and beaming. He looked incredibly happy. I understood instantly. “You already know?” “Of course I keep an eye on your medical records.” He knelt, his hands gently holding my hips, his gaze fixed on my flat stomach. “You can’t even tell yet.” The anxiety that had been swirling inside me suddenly found solid ground, leaving me feeling soft and weightless. Asher wanted this baby. I stroked the back of his head, feeling incredibly happy. “Do you want to keep it?” He smiled. “Why wouldn’t I?” The scales tipped immediately. I hardly had to think. Even if my life of freedom and singleness was over, even if my career stalled, it didn’t matter. “When are we getting married?” I asked, blushing. “The wedding can wait, but we need to tell our parents first.” He was six years my senior. I hadn’t even told my parents I was dating an older man. Asher’s smile didn’t falter, but his tone was easy, almost playful. “Our Sienna is so young, and she’s already thinking of settling down?” I bristled, a mix of shame and anger. “What do you mean, I am? If I weren’t pregnant, I wouldn’t be pushing for marriage so soon!” He stood up, ruffling my hair. “That’s right.” Silence stretched for several seconds. I slowly processed his words and looked up. “What does that mean?” He pulled out a cigarette, preparing to light it, then pinched the tip and put it away. He walked to the window and lit a fresh one, taking his time. “Sienna,” he said, his expression calm and gentle. “I can give you everything you want, except for marriage.” “Oh. So…” I was so angry, I almost laughed, but my throat closed up instantly. “So you want me to be your mistress, have a child out of wedlock, and then have other kids call her a bastard with no father, say her mother is a…” He cut me off. “You are not a mistress. The child will be under my name. I will provide a life of absolute luxury. No one will ever dare to speak ill of her.” I stared blankly at his profile, seeing the cold finality in his decision. There was no room for discussion. “I understand,” I finally said. “You never intended to have a real life with me.” “And you should have had the decency to break up with me properly! My parents raised me to be a respectable woman. How dare you insult me like this?” “Break up… Can we even use that word?” I mechanically wiped my face. “We’re done. I’ll move out in a few days. And I’m getting an abortion.” “Sienna!” He violently crushed the cigarette butt on the windowsill. His sandalwood-scented hand cupped my cheek. “Were you happy with me?” I just stared, silent. The moisture of my tears was absorbed by his thumb. His voice was steady. “I am relaxed when you are with me. I don’t need a piece of paper. I will be responsible for you, in every way—as long as I’m standing.” “And what makes you think you can talk like that?” I slapped his hand away and turned my back. Knock, knock, knock. A pause, then another patient, repeated knocking. I dabbed my face with a tissue and opened the door. Four men in suits stood outside, holding numerous shopping bags. Pink baby outfits, tiny socks, and designer diaper bags. I leaned weakly against the wall, staring at the extravagant baby things. I finally understood. I had just gotten the blood test results, but he already had the baby’s gender information. His family background was far more powerful than I had imagined. Asher Vaughn had the power to make that promise. “Think about it one more time.” He walked up to me and paused, raising a hand. I turned my head away just as his fingertips brushed my ear. “Keeping this child will only benefit you.” “Right. Become a wealthy mother, a one-way ticket to prosperity! Asher, are you treating this like a business deal?” The man in front of me let out a soft sigh. His face was still calm, but I could tell his patience was wearing thin. “You haven’t been. If you were, I wouldn’t have kept you around. I wasn’t looking for a transaction. But if you insist on seeing it that way, fine. You name your price. I’ll write a blank check.” That day felt like the world had turned upside down. I agreed to keep the baby. Our relationship returned to a semblance of its former sweetness. The pregnancy was smooth. Every night, as he gently held me, I kept thinking: My first love became my sugar daddy. Maybe my morals weren’t so high after all. … Security guided the car into the underground garage. The hospital was quiet; nurses wheeled elderly patients through the courtyard. I scrolled through my phone impatiently, looking toward the main entrance. I wondered how Asher was managing to raise a child. A little girl shouldn’t have to be in the hospital. Maybe I should have just raised her myself. Mr. Davies retrieved a gift box from the trunk and motioned for me to follow. We were directed to the VIP ward. Two men were standing in the hallway outside the room, chatting easily. “Kids get sick all the time. Why the big fuss? Everyone from the family estate is here.” “You can say that to my older brother’s face.” “Ha. How many heads do I have to lose? One wrong word, and before Asher moves, the grandmother and the wife will slap me silly.” “You forgot my fist. Holly is my niece. I don’t tolerate anyone speaking ill of her.” The man’s soft laugh was oddly reminiscent of Asher. I focused on the viewing window of the hospital room. I could vaguely see a small hand resting on the edge of the bed. As I approached, a bodyguard standing by the door silently blocked my path. The men nearby turned at the sound, frowning slightly. Mr. Davies stepped forward before I could. He held out his hand. “Declan. You’re here too? How is the little one?” Declan. So, this was Asher’s younger brother. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Davies.” Declan Vaughn’s lips were tight. He didn’t return the handshake. “My niece has a fever and doesn’t want to see anyone. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you both to go home.” I was about to speak, but my eyes met those of the child on the bed. Her lethargic eyes suddenly opened, and her lips moved. The soundproofing was too good; I couldn’t hear a word. Declan put his arm out, pushing me back slightly, looking annoyed. “Ma’am, is there anything else? Please don’t disturb her rest.” The door opened from inside. Asher Vaughn’s gaze fell on me, lingered for a few seconds, then shifted to Declan. “I asked her to come.”

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In my past life, my mother was obsessed with competing against me. When my grandmother gave me a vintage diamond bracelet, Mom snatched it away, her eyes red with envy. “You think a useless thing like you deserves to wear something this expensive?” When my boyfriend sent me flowers for Valentine’s Day, she gritted her teeth in anger, yet feigned indifference. “He only sent those because you’re my daughter. If I were a few years younger, do you think he’d even look at you?” Later, she actually crawled into my boyfriend’s bed, stark naked. After the scandal broke, she begged me not to tell my father. Soft-hearted as I was, I agreed. Her repayment? During a family trip to a national park, she shoved me off a cliff. Before I hit the bottom, I saw her face, twisted with a euphoric, sick joy. “You have all this only because you came out of me! Why should you have a better life than mine? I should have never given birth to you!” When I opened my eyes again, it was the summer after high school graduation. Mom, this time, I won’t be the silent victim. I’m going to be the loudspeaker broadcasting your desperate need for attention to the world. Chapter 1 When I was seven, I stared longingly at a matching mother-daughter outfit in a shop window. I tugged at the hem of her skirt, pointing. She looked down at me with pure disgust. “What? You just want to wear that so you can outshine me and get your dad to praise you, right?” When I was fourteen, Dad was away on a business trip. I cooked a table full of dishes for her while she was out shopping, craving just a single smile or a word of praise. Instead, she flipped the table in a rage, screaming, “You wasteful brat! I worked hard to birth you and raise you! I quit my job for you! What is the use of cooking all this? Who are you trying to impress?!” I thought I would eventually wake up. I thought I would stop begging for her warmth. When I was eighteen, I got into college. My grandparents gave me a high-quality jade bangle. She made snide remarks, dripping with jealousy, until I took it off with both hands and offered it to her. Only when it was on her wrist did she finally calm down. Later, in college, I found a boyfriend who truly loved me. When I excitedly shared my happiness with my family, she waited until Dad wasn’t looking, went into my room, put on my clothes, and posed in front of the mirror. She sneered, “If I were a few years younger, there’s no way he’d pick you.” In the end, she climbed into my boyfriend’s bed naked. When he screamed in terror and fled, she cried snot and tears, begging me not to tell Dad. I softened again. The price of my mercy was my heartbeat stopping forever in a nameless valley. Chapter 2 The moment I opened my eyes, I could still feel the phantom pain of rocks shattering the back of my skull, and the shock and resentment filling my chest. When my vision cleared, I found myself squatting in the laundry room, facing a plastic basin piled high with socks that had turned gray from wear. It was the summer I graduated high school. My dad, David, walked by in his undershirt, holding a bowl of fruit he intended to wash. He poked his head in, grinning at me with a look of relief. “Looks like our Harper is growing up. Not a lazy girl anymore.” Before I could speak, my mother, Crystal, sniffed her way over like a bloodhound. She was wearing tight skinny jeans and pink fuzzy slides with rhinestones on the toes. In her hand, she held a tub of Ben & Jerry’s she’d just pulled from the freezer. She looked me up and down and let out a dismissive tsk. “Not lazy? If she wasn’t lazy, would she let the socks pile up until they’re this filthy before washing them?” Dad looked awkward, wanting to say something but stopping himself. As if smelling something foul, Mom covered her nose in exaggerated disgust and took a giant step back, dragging Dad with her. “Harper, how long have you been wearing these? Your feet stink. You didn’t inherit a single good thing from me. Dark skin, skinny as a rail, and now foot odor?” I stood up, grabbed a towel to dry my hands, and gave my parents a wide, bright smile. “Mom, you forgot? You took all the clean socks from my drawer because yours were dirty. You only stuffed them back into my laundry hamper after you wore them.” “I can’t just let them sit there rotting, right?” The silence that followed was terrifying. Mom’s face turned green. The hand covering her nose hovered awkwardly in the air. I didn’t care about them. I walked right past them, went to my room, and locked the door. Half an hour later, Dad texted me on WeChat: Harper, you can’t be so blunt. It was too hurtful. She’s still your mother. She’s been crying on the sofa for thirty minutes. Come out and apologize. I sneered and closed the chat. She is my mother, biologically. But if she actually treated me like a daughter, she wouldn’t have pushed me off a cliff in my last life. As for her crying? It wasn’t because I hurt her heart. It was because the perfect image she meticulously curated for her husband had just been ripped open, exposing the ugly truth underneath. She was just humiliated. Chapter 3 My dad is an only child. My grandparents are both retired teachers who live in the same gated community as us. To celebrate my acceptance into the State University, the elderly couple prepared a huge feast at their home and invited us over. On the way downstairs, Mom wore sunglasses and refused to talk to me, probably still salty about the sock incident. But she hummed a tune, acting like she was in a great mood. When a neighbor asked why she looked so happy, she lowered her sunglasses and put on a fake, coy act. “Oh, my daughter isn’t very ambitious. She only got into the local State U. Her grandparents wouldn’t even book a hotel for her graduation party.” “It really boils down to her own lack of effort. Back when David and I got married, we had the best hotel in the city. The dress, the gold jewelry… nothing compares to that nowadays.” “It’s useless for my in-laws to value her. She’s just dead weight.” Speaking of this, Mom covered her mouth and giggled, trembling like a flower in the wind. I couldn’t be bothered to respond. Her breakdown was scheduled for later. We arrived at the other building. Grandma was already waiting downstairs, beaming. Seeing me, she pulled me into a hug, patted my shoulder, and said, “Our Harper is so capable! State U is a great school!” She guided me upstairs, completely ignoring the woman behind us. Entering the apartment, I realized it wasn’t just my grandparents. The living room was full of people—men and women, young and middle-aged, all well-dressed, surrounding my grandfather. As I walked in, people stood up to greet me, handing me gifts one after another. Under Grandma’s guidance, I thanked them and chatted. I learned these were all Granddad’s former students, invited specifically for my graduation party. When Mom walked in and saw the crowd, she froze. Then, seeing the pile of gifts in my arms, that familiar jealous glint flickered in her eyes. I knew that look too well. When the guests learned who she was, they offered polite, distant greetings. Mom, oblivious to the atmosphere, sat down loudly and started acting overly familiar with the people around her. The topic, of course, was me. Specifically, how “shocking” it was that someone who ranked last in middle school could get into college. How I was wasteful and argumentative at home but acted so obedient in public. I saw the guests’ expressions turning sour. They didn’t know how to respond. Suddenly, Mom dropped a bomb. “Harper, are your grades even real? You didn’t cheat, did you?” Silence. Dead silence. She was absolutely the first person to question her own daughter’s integrity at her graduation party. Grandpa cleared his throat, interrupting her. “It’s late. Everyone, please take a seat.” Mom tried to sit next to me, but Grandma said coldly, “Harper sits between me and her grandfather today. Crystal, you don’t have a problem with that, do you?” She wouldn’t dare. If Grandma told her the sky was green, she’d agree. The atmosphere at the table warmed up. Everyone was smiling except Mom. They encouraged me to broaden my horizons in college. Around 7:30, Dad rushed in, dusty from work. Shortly after he sat down, Grandma brought out an exquisite velvet box from the back room. She opened it in front of everyone. Inside was a translucent, high-quality jade bangle. Tears welled up in the old couple’s eyes. “Harper, going to college is a big step. This is our gift to you. We hope your life is smooth and peaceful.” Grandma took my hand, about to slide the bangle onto my wrist. That’s when the accident happened. Mom rushed over, eyes red with rage, and snatched the bangle from Grandma’s hand. Her voice was shrill. “Mom! She’s just a money-losing burden! Why does she deserve to wear something this expensive?!” The room erupted in gasps. Dad was the first to react. His face darkened. He patted Mom’s shoulder, whispering her name, signaling her to calm down. Mom shook off his hand and screamed, “Did I say anything wrong, David? I carried on the family line for the Zhangs! Even if I only birthed this useless thing, I still have merit!” “Are you just going to let your parents stomp on my dignity like this?!” The guests looked at each other, silent and awkward. In my past life, under such a grand display of madness, I would have buried my head in the sand, apologizing in a whisper, tugging at her shirt. Grandparents, seeing me like that, couldn’t help me even if they wanted to. And back then, I would have handed the gift to her when we got home just to make her stop. But I was back now. Dad frowned and looked at me pleadingly, hoping I would smooth things over. I feigned helplessness and grabbed Grandma’s hand. “Mom,” I said, my voice trembling but clear. “You already melted down all the silver bracelets and necklaces Grandma gave me over the last seventeen years to make new jewelry for yourself. But can you please not take this one? I really like it…” “This is a graduation gift… the meaning is different…” My voice faded at the end, sounding lacking in confidence. A crazy mother, a passive father, and a broken daughter. Everyone here was smart. They could see exactly what was happening. Crash! A loud noise made Mom jump. Her lips quivered. Grandpa had smashed a bowl. The shards flew everywhere. I flinched, but a warm hand squeezed mine. Grandma looked at me reassuringly. “Harper,” Grandpa said, his face like thunder. “Did you say your mother took seventeen years of gifts we gave you and melted them down for herself?” I nodded timidly. “Mom said my skin is too dark… that silver makes me look tacky. So she took them…” Whispers broke out among the guests. Hearing the commotion, Mom shrieked. “Dad! How can you listen to a child’s nonsense? How could I take her things? I’m keeping them safe for her!” “Kids shouldn’t be so flashy!” Grandma sneered at Mom’s stiff smile. “In that case, go home right now and bring back everything we gave Harper.” Mom lost the ability to argue but refused to give up. The guests, realizing this was a family crisis, tactfully found excuses to leave. Once the room cleared, Mom ignored Dad’s warning glares and doubled down. “Mom, Dad, let’s be real. I’ve been married into this family for years. I raised Harper. She’s a child. Isn’t what’s hers mine?” Chapter 4 Hearing this, I sneered internally. Right. Because she gave birth to me. Everything I own must be hers. Any success I have is because of her. I should live in her shadow while she whispers in my ear under the guise of love, magnifying my flaws to highlight her own superiority. But Mom, I should be your daughter, not your competing product. Dad, the invisible man, looked terrible. In our small home, he was the king who could indulge his wife’s tantrums and force me to compromise. But here? He was the son. In this atmosphere, he wished he could disappear. Grandma’s eyes were cold, shining with disappointment. “I don’t care how you acted before. But this is a gift from us to our granddaughter.” “A thief in the family is still a thief.” “If I ever see anything belonging to Harper on you again, you don’t need to step through this door anymore.” Mom’s face turned from green to red. She grabbed her sunglasses, stomped her foot in resentment, let out a “Hmph!”, and stormed off unwillingly. Since my rebirth, I had confronted my mother head-on twice, tearing off her mask in front of Dad and my grandparents. For the rest of the summer, I treated her like air. Dad sighed constantly, hinting that I should apologize. Hilarious. Who complains about peace and quiet? Just like that, I coasted until college started. College life was rich, and so was my mom’s social media. I often heard my roommate laughing at night. “Look at the video I tagged you in. Is this auntie crazy? She posted a photo of her daughter’s back but photoshopped gray hair onto her. Then she posted a heavily filtered selfie of herself with a chin sharp enough to stab someone, asking netizens to guess who is the mom and who is the daughter.” I clicked the tag. The video featured me and my mom. Thankfully, there was no clear shot of my face. I exhaled. Dignity partially saved. My roommate on the bottom bunk had a sharp tongue. She typed furiously. A moment later, I saw her comment: “The one with the gray hair photoshop is the mom. The auntie with the heavy filter is the daughter.” We all laughed until our stomachs hurt. Two months into the semester, I was studying in the library. A note slid in front of me. I followed the long fingers up to a familiar face. Liam. My boyfriend from my past life. I smiled, took the note, and added his contact info under the teasing gazes of my roommates. At that moment, a message from Dad popped up. Harper, you’ve been cold to Mom for so long. She can’t bring herself to apologize, but she misses you terribly. When are you coming home? I thought for a moment and typed: Next month. A month was enough time to do many things. Like fall in love. My mom missed me? The thought sent a chill from my feet to my skull. My roommate nudged me, showing her phone. It was another video from Mom. She had been roasted badly on the last one, so she was pivoting to a “loving mother” persona. Using the same video, the caption read: My little padded jacket, Mom misses you so much. Don’t stay away just because Mom said a few harsh words. A netizen commented: “The auntie who looks like the daughter doesn’t seem to have a good relationship with the daughter who looks like the mom.” Mom replied instantly: “My daughter is coming back to see me next month.” So that’s why she was in a rush. The delicate wife persona wasn’t enough; she needed her prop back to spoil her. But this time, she wouldn’t get what she wanted.

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My best friend and I were daughters of wealthy families in ancient times, but accidentally traveled to modern America, becoming ordinary female college students. My best friend, Clara, was bubbly and unconventional. Free from the constraints of ancient etiquette, she vowed to date 100 men before getting married. But until graduation, when I got engaged to my boyfriend in this world, I never saw her get close to any man. Just when I thought she would be single forever, she collapsed into my arms, drunk, holding a marriage certificate. “Eleanor, three years ago he rejected my confession, but I didn’t give up. Today, I finally got him.” Seeing her happy face, I was genuinely happy for her. After all, Lucas was gentle and considerate to me, and today was our wedding. My best friend’s flash marriage was simply a double happiness. I carefully helped her onto the sofa, but as I got up, I knocked the marriage certificate out of her hand. I picked it up and opened it. The moment I saw the photo, my whole body stiffened violently. This man with a sunny smile was my boyfriend. The Lucas who cried with excitement after putting the wedding ring on my finger. … My mind went blank, and I blinked hard. It must be because Lucas and I just got married, I was too excited and saw him in everyone. He said he would get the certificate with me after finishing the art exhibition, how could he have time to get a certificate with someone else? But Clara’s drunken and sweet voice came clearly into my ears: “When I came to this world, I fell in love with Lucas at first sight, but he liked my best friend, so I could only silently move him.” “Luckily, the process was hard, but the ending is good.” I squeezed the marriage certificate in my hand tightly, its sharp edges pricking my hand, feeling real. Lucas and I had known each other for five years, but they loved each other for three years where I couldn’t see. I turned my head mechanically to look at Clara giggling on the sofa. She was still talking drunkenly. “Lucas got the certificate with me and keeps Eleanor outside. He must love me the most.” Tears flowed out uncontrollably. I closed my eyes: “Aren’t you afraid Eleanor Shen will find out?” Clara shook her head with a smile: “Eleanor and I grew up in ancient times. If she knew, we would bring her to live with us.” “Just… just like a co-wife. We are like sisters, she won’t mind.” She finished speaking and remembered something, getting up to snatch the marriage certificate from my hand. Then she giggled foolishly, stuffing it into her coat pocket like a treasure. On my wedding day, my husband got a certificate with my best friend first. And wanted to use ancient rules to make me a concubine as charity. The huge shock made my hands and feet cold. I wanted to question, but the sound of the door opening rang out. Lucas’s gentle gaze fell on my face. He didn’t see Clara on the sofa, stepping forward to hug me coquettishly: “I finally sent those unreliable childhood friends away. Next is our world for two.” Saying this, he excitedly picked me up horizontally. But when he saw Clara out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly threw me on the floor. Caught off guard, I fell, and the back of my head hit the corner of the table, making me black out from pain. Meeting my face distorted with pain, Lucas panicked and pulled me up. “Sorry Eleanor, I didn’t mean to. I was startled by your best friend.” “She knew tonight was our important moment, why is she sleeping here like a third wheel? I’ll send her away now.” He let go of me, pulling Clara up with a look of disgust. “Clara Song, go back to your house to sleep. Don’t be an eyesore here.” I stood there, watching his seemingly rough but actually careful movement of supporting Clara’s waist, my heart aching. Lucas didn’t notice my abnormality, still complaining: “Eleanor rented an apartment for you nearby, yet you still crash here. How can you be so thick-skinned?” Clara opened her eyes from his pulling. Meeting Lucas’s face, she smiled and was about to speak when he covered her mouth. Lucas looked at me guiltily: “Your best friend has a sharp mouth when drunk. I’ll send her back now, you wait for me at home.” Before I could speak, he supported the mumbling Clara and walked out. Not noticing at all that my head was bleeding from his throw just now. I felt dizzy and nauseous, but still mustered the courage to hail a taxi and follow them. The car stopped downstairs at Clara’s apartment. They were pulling and pushing by the roadside, no one noticed me. “Lucas, you are mine tonight. I want you to accompany me.” Clara hooked her arms around Lucas’s neck coquettishly. Lucas looked at her hesitantly. Just when I thought he would remember tonight was our wedding night and refuse, my phone rang. It was a message from Lucas. [Eleanor, I’ve sent Clara home safely.] [A big client suddenly wants to see the paintings. I won’t go back tonight, you sleep early.] My blood surged. I called Lucas in disbelief. But several calls in a row got no response. I wanted to smash the phone and rush in front of them, shouting: “Why betray me?” But I froze when I saw Lucas cupping Clara’s face, kissing her fiercely and passionately. My stomach churned, and I couldn’t hold it back anymore, vomiting on the other side of the tree. One was the man I entrusted my life to, the other was the best friend I treated as a sister. They actually gave me a heavy blow at the happiest moment of my life. I leaned against the tree trunk in despair. Carried by the wind were the voices of Lucas and Clara. “Lucas, thank you for willing to get the certificate with me. Although we can’t be together openly, just thinking that I am your wife makes me feel so happy.” “I know this is unfair to Eleanor, but I really love you so much.” Clara seemed sober. Her voice choked, making Lucas wipe her tears with heartache. “Silly, we are the legal couple.” “Eleanor is busy with work, sometimes staying at the gallery. We’ll be like before, she won’t find out.” Clara cried even more pitifully, throwing herself into his arms: “You’ve done too much for me. When grandma’s health improves, we’ll get a divorce.” “Return you completely to her.” Their words pierced my ears like steel needles, hurting so much I could barely stand. So they got together while I was working hard to earn tuition and startup funds. My heart ached densely. I couldn’t bear it anymore, stumbling and running home. This was the fifth year Clara and I traveled here. When we first arrived in these strange bodies, Clara and I were both lost. No maids to serve us, poor family background, and had to relearn survival skills. Clara didn’t like studying before, and the original body had a sick grandmother. Facing survival pressure, she cried all day wanting to go back. Fortunately, I was proficient in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting, and knew how to appraise antiques. After figuring out how to make money in this society, I became an appraiser for rich people who loved collecting antiques. Then used the money earned to support me and Clara’s studies and life. After Clara stopped suffering, she hugged my neck and cried: “Eleanor, thank goodness for you. You are simply my reborn parents.” Later, because I identified a fake for a client, causing the seller’s plan to fail, I was retaliated against. It was Lucas who suddenly appeared, crashing his car into the van that kidnapped me. Finally carrying an iron rod to fight with the other party, covered in blood, he saved me. Since coming to this strange world, he was the first man to stand up for me. Looking at his handsome face, my heart almost exploded. Later, after he pursued me passionately for two years, I broke through traditional concepts to be his girlfriend and brought him to Clara. After accumulating startup funds, I paid to open a gallery for Lucas. Every painting I painted could earn a lot of money for the gallery. Consequently, Lucas became a famous upstart in the industry. My heart ached like it was hollowed out, making me tremble all over. I couldn’t understand why I gave them my heart. They often accused each other of monopolizing me, even arguing until their eyes were red, yet they could roll together behind my back? Vision blurred, I squeezed the jade pendant that could only let one person go home. Since they love each other, I’ll fulfill them. I don’t want either of these two hypocritical people anymore. A strong light flashed. Bang! I was hit by a car and sent flying. Chapter 2 When I woke up again, I was in the hospital. “Eleanor, didn’t I tell you to sleep at home? Why did you run out?” Lucas held my hand tightly, his burning body temperature transmitting to my limbs. This was the gentleness I cherished most in this world, but now it was the existence I found most disgusting. I withdrew my hand, looking straight at Clara, who was deliberately keeping a distance by the window but rushed over when I woke up. “I was worried about Clara, so I followed to check.” The atmosphere suddenly became quiet. Guilt flashed in both their eyes at the same time, but neither looked at the other. “Pity, I got hit by a car before I arrived.” I finished calmly. Both breathed a sigh of relief at the same time, their tacit understanding making my heart ache. “You really don’t trust me. Although I don’t like Clara Song, she is your best friend. No matter what, I would send her safely.” Lucas’s tone was doting, raising his hand to rub my hair, but I dodged. His hand froze in mid-air, staring at me in surprise. Seeming confused why I didn’t rely on him like before after getting hurt. Hearing his words, Clara looked dissatisfied: “Who cares about you sending me? If you weren’t busy working and going to the gallery, Eleanor wouldn’t have been hit by a car.” They started arguing because of me again. If I hadn’t caught them kissing inseparably, I would definitely have stepped forward to stop them. Then coaxed them both. Now I watched them act coldly, without any reaction. Noticing my abnormality, they exchanged a secretive glance. Lucas stood up first: “I’ll go get you something to eat first.” He didn’t look at me, only his flustered back revealing some uneasiness. Only Clara and I were left in the ward. After a long silence, she looked at me tentatively. “Eleanor, I didn’t talk nonsense at your place when I was drunk last night, did I?” Compared to Lucas’s cheating, Clara’s betrayal hurt me more. We knew each other since childhood and came here together. She actually deceived me for a man. I knew she always wanted to go back and be the county princess held by everyone. So, when I found the jade pendant that could let one person go back, I planned to give it to her and let her go back. Who knew she prepared such a big gift for me. Only when Clara looked uncomfortable did I withdraw my gaze: “You didn’t say anything.” “I’m tired, you go back first.” I didn’t want to talk to her anymore, but she lingered. “Eleanor, are you thirsty? I’ll pour you a glass of water.” Before I could refuse, she poured a glass of water and handed it to me. I felt irritable. Just as I reached out to push it away, Lucas’s voice suddenly sounded. “Eleanor, I brought your favorite Sweet and Sour Pork.” Clara’s hand shook, and the boiling hot water in the cup poured all over the back of my hand. “Ah!” Sharp pain made me scream. Lucas immediately threw away the food in his hand and ran towards me. He grabbed my hand with heartache, but when he saw Clara pinching her red finger, he said anxiously: “Eleanor, I’ll call the doctor for you.” After the doctor came in, he grabbed Clara by the collar and scolded loudly: “It’s all your fault Eleanor got hurt. Get back now.” As he spoke, he anxiously pulled Clara away. I lowered my head, looking at the transparent blister on the back of my hand, my heart aching as if being pulled. The man who used to have only me in his eyes didn’t care even knowing I was hurt. After treating the wound, I walked out of the ward. Seeing Lucas holding Clara’s hand, applying medicine carefully, my heart completely died. But I wasn’t willing to leave just like this. They deceived my sincerity, so I will take away everything they care about. For the next few days, the two of them took turns accompanying me during the day, but at night they were always called away by phone. “Eleanor, a mysterious client insists on seeing the paintings at night…” “Okay, go ahead.” Before he could finish, I interrupted him considerately. He looked at my calm face, his smile stiff: “El… Eleanor, I really have business.” “Mm, I know. Go quickly, don’t keep her waiting.” The excuse he used to leave was always the same. A trace of panic flashed across Lucas’s face, then he bent down and kissed my forehead. “Eleanor, wait for me obediently, I’ll be back soon this time.” “And the milk, remember to drink it.” Maybe due to guilty conscience, this time he left hurriedly without watching me finish it. After he left, I followed. Only to find he actually booked a couple’s hotel with Clara. As soon as he walked to the room door, he was grabbed by the tie and pulled in by Clara. They were in such a hurry they didn’t even close the door tightly. Heavy breathing drilled into my eardrums. Through the crack in the door, I saw two entangled figures tearing at each other’s clothes impatiently. “Will drugging Eleanor every day to stop her from finding you affect her brain?” “Your gallery needs her, and I need her to support me. I’m really afraid of making her silly by accident.” Clara’s voice revealed worry, but she worried about my inability to make money. Lucas was on the string, sweating anxiously: “No, I control it well. I hold the wedding with her because I need her, won’t harm her.” Their noise got louder, but my heart trembled. I thought they just betrayed me but still had feelings for me. Didn’t expect they just treated me as a money-making blood bag. My heart felt like it was cut by a knife. I bit the flesh in my mouth until I tasted blood before leaving. Today was the night of the full moon, also the day I leave. I froze all cards given to Clara, and donated all assets under my name. And that gallery I founded single-handedly, I didn’t plan to keep. Lucas became famous selling my paintings, so I will destroy it with my own hands. Unexpectedly, as soon as I arrived at the gallery, two fierce-looking men were waiting at the door. “Are you Eleanor Shen?” Before I could answer, that man stepped forward and grabbed my hair. My scalp hurt from being pulled, but I heard the man say viciously: “You borrowed our money but hid without repaying, do you want to die?” After speaking, he slapped my face. My face burned with pain instantly. Hearing their curses, I realized Clara borrowed a huge amount of usury in my name. “Not me, I never took out a loan.” My hands trembled with anger. I raised her for so many years, why did she harm me on purpose? But before I could figure it out, the man grabbed my hair and smashed me against the wall. I couldn’t resist, my forehead banging against the wall. “If you don’t admit it, we’ll kill you!” Pain came mixed with blood, vision turning red. Resentment accumulated. I grabbed an iron rod beside me randomly and greeted the face of the man holding me. Caught off guard, the man covered his face and let go. I dared not relax and continued to hit, but was kicked hard by another man. I was kicked flying in a parabola, fainting directly on the ground. They thought I was dead and fled in panic. When they went far, I struggled to stand up with my last breath. Thinking of Lucas and Clara’s faces, tears mixed with blood streamed down my cheeks. I raised my head and laughed loudly, finally spitting out a mouthful of blood. Gasping, I called a reporter. “New York upstart Lucas Sterling is soliciting prostitutes at the Hua Yue Hotel.” I called the police again: “I report with my real name, Clara Song is engaging in prostitution.” Our wedding was live-streamed. As long as Lucas dared to take out the marriage certificate, he committed marriage fraud. Clara’s reputation would also be ruined. After doing all this, I walked into the gallery and ignited every painting I painted with heart. In the raging fire, I clutched the jade pendant and closed my eyes. Chapter 3 … Lucas lay in bed holding Clara, thinking of my recent abnormality, and spoke deeply. “Clara, let’s divorce after your grandmother has surgery.” Clara looked dissatisfied, but just as she was about to say something, the room door was kicked open violently. “Police, don’t move!” Lucas looked up abruptly, facing the reporter’s camera directly. “Ah!” Startled by the people suddenly appearing, Clara hurriedly pulled the quilt tight to cover herself. Lucas was also pale. They were wearing nothing. Why did the police appear here out of the blue? But the police ignored them, asked them to dress, and started questioning. Reporters pouring in took photos non-stop, clearly recording the embarrassed side of Lucas and Clara. Lucas is the owner of a famous gallery. Every painting from the gallery is worth millions. Compared to the authentic works collected by the rich, except for the age gap, others are completely comparable. Moreover, he just held a wedding with Eleanor Shen a week ago. Being exposed for soliciting prostitutes now will definitely become the most explosive news recently. The reporter’s photos and the police’s strict questioning finally made Lucas react from shock. “Misunderstanding, all misunderstanding.” He hurriedly took out his ID card; “I didn’t solicit prostitutes.” The reporter showed no mercy: “You just got married a week ago, marrying the painter Eleanor Shen. Instead of accompanying your wife at home at this time, you came to a couple’s hotel. If not soliciting prostitutes, what is it?” Clara was furious. The police handcuffed her as a fallen woman. Hearing the reporter’s words, she spoke even more recklessly. “Who told you coming to a couple’s hotel is soliciting prostitutes? Can’t couples come together?” Clara had no talent and was not a famous person. Reporters didn’t know her. Seeing her so arrogant even after being caught, they were even less polite: “You say you are not a fallen woman, but knowing Lucas Sterling is married, are you rushing to be a mistress?” Not giving Clara a chance to argue: The reporter asked Lucas sharply again: “Mr. Sterling cried with excitement for marrying Eleanor Shen at the wedding, and your wife is hospitalized due to an accident. So you are cheating regardless of your wife’s safety?” Lucas panicked from the repeated questioning. Police and reporters, such a big scene, Eleanor Shen will definitely know. At this moment, rather than being afraid of losing face, he was more afraid that Eleanor Shen would leave him knowing he was messing with Clara Song. More importantly, he and Clara Song haven’t divorced yet. If Eleanor really leaves him, he will definitely go crazy. Clara Song didn’t know his thoughts. Being caught from bed by police and reporters was a great humiliation to her. In ancient times, these people in front of her were not qualified to stand before her at all. Anger rushed to her head. She stood up abruptly with handcuffs, anger distorting her features: “What nonsense are you talking about? Even police and reporters have to manage the fun between us husband and wife?” The police stood still, staring at her seriously. The reporter seemed to smell gossip, eyes curious: “But the person who held the wedding a week ago wasn’t you.” Lucas guessed what Clara wanted to say, stepping forward in panic: “Let’s talk at the police station if there’s anything.” The marriage registration time and the wedding were the same day, but the brides were two different women. If exposed, not only will he lose Eleanor Shen, but his career will also suffer a heavy blow. But how could the humiliated Clara think so much. Ignoring Lucas’s wink, she opened her mouth and said: “We are a legal couple. There is a photo of the marriage certificate in the phone.” The police quickly found the marriage certificate in her phone. The reporter looked surprised, picking up the camera to shoot frantically. Misunderstanding resolved, the police didn’t make it difficult for them, unlocked the handcuffs and left. But the reporter published the matter online after leaving. Lucas saw the constantly rising hot search, his brain blank. He took out his phone to call Eleanor Shen. The call connected but heard a strange voice. “The owner of the phone has been buried in the sea of fire…” Lucas looked even uglier hearing this: “Who are you? Stop talking nonsense here. Let my wife answer the phone quickly.” “We are firefighters. The South Frost Gallery caught fire. Surveillance shows the phone owner went in and never came out.” “What did you say?” Lucas muttered to himself, hands and feet cold as if exhausted, unable to even hold the phone, letting it fall to the ground. He didn’t believe Eleanor Shen would go to the gallery from the hospital, but what happened tonight was too strange. He had to go to the gallery. And the gallery was crucial to him, he couldn’t ignore it. But just as he left, Clara grabbed his arm tightly: “Lucas, where are you going?” Lucas panicked in his heart, didn’t control his strength and flung her away. “Something happened to Eleanor, I have to go see.” Clara looked unbelieving: “How is it possible? Didn’t you feed her milk? And the police just came, I’m still a bit scared, you can’t go.” Hearing her say this, Lucas suddenly panicked. He suddenly remembered Eleanor Shen might not have drunk that glass of milk. He remembered the police and reporters present tonight, and connected her recent abnormalities. A terrible thought suddenly rushed to his head. He stared wide-eyed, clamping Clara’s shoulders with both hands. “Did you tell Eleanor about us getting the certificate?” Clara was startled, a flash of guilt quickly passing through her eyes: “No… no. You got the certificate with me to fulfill my grandma’s wish.” “And we will divorce. Didn’t we agree not to let Eleanor know? Of course I wouldn’t say.” Lucas stared at her face, still seeing something wrong from her face. But he had no time to pursue it. Thinking of the firefighter’s words, his throat hurt like it was stuffed with cotton. He threw off Clara. “Better if everything has nothing to do with you.” Clara wanted to stop him, but was pushed away vigorously by him. Previously he thought Clara was pitiful. Every time she said in front of him that she missed her distant relatives and had to take care of her seriously ill grandmother, he couldn’t help but feel distressed. But thinking she might not be as pure and kind as on the surface, he felt a burst of disgust in his heart. Ignoring Clara’s obstruction, he rushed to the gallery. When he arrived, the firefighters had extinguished the fire and walked out. Lucas looked at the gallery burned to ruins, blood coagulating all over his body, eyes full of disbelief. He stopped the firefighter: “Is there really someone inside?” At this moment he really hoped Eleanor Shen drank that glass of milk. But the firefighter’s words made him completely give up hope: “A female body was found inside. Preliminary investigation shows the fire was ignited from inside. The deceased should be suicide.” Lucas sat paralyzed on the ground like his spine was removed. He still didn’t believe it, but didn’t collapse and cry until confirming with the hospital that Eleanor Shen really left. “Eleanor, I was wrong, please don’t scare me.” He sat at the fire scene crying until dawn, then returned to their wedding room lost in soul. Only to see Clara staying at his house. Looking at Clara, his face sank instantly: “What are you doing here?” Clara was startled, looking aggrieved: “Heard something happened to Eleanor, I came to see.” Lucas looked at her hypocritical face, suddenly feeling disgusted: “Aren’t you her good sister? Why knowing something happened to her, you don’t care at all?” “And isn’t your grandmother seriously ill? Why do you rarely visit her? are you hiding something from me?” Clara was asked guiltily by his series of questions: “I hid nothing from you.” Lucas wanted to question more, but saw a letter on the coffee table. He picked it up with trembling hands and opened it, seeing the content, eyes full of doubt. “What does ‘ancient person’ mean?” Clara’s eyes widened, immediately snatching the letter from his hand to read. When seeing Eleanor Shen mention she found that jade pendant to go home and had left this time and space, she instantly lost all reason and disguise. “Ah! Bitch!” Clara tore up the letter in her hand in a breakdown, “Why did she leave me alone to go back.” “Saying we are good sisters, but she found a way home without taking me.” Clara’s sudden madness scared Lucas. Lucas slapped her hard on the face. Clara calmed down after being slapped onto the sofa. Only heard Lucas ask: “What does ‘ancient person’ mean?” Clara’s chest heaved with anger, not wanting to hide anymore, revealing her true colors. She sneered: “Eleanor Shen and I traveled here from ancient times, on that very ordinary full moon night.” From her words, Lucas understood everything. Eleanor Shen had a way home, so she abandoned him. Before leaving, she burned the gallery clean, leaving him nothing. But intuition told him Eleanor Shen must have known something, otherwise she wouldn’t have left so simply. He subconsciously looked at Clara: “Did you tell Eleanor about our marriage?” Clara didn’t hide this time: “Yes, I pretended to be drunk on the day of getting the certificate, let her see the marriage certificate.” “I thought she would question me and then break up with you. Didn’t expect she pretended to know nothing, but planned to sneak away.” Thinking of Eleanor Shen’s betrayal, Clara was full of resentment. Lucas was shocked by her distorted face, scalp tingling. He grabbed her collar and pulled her up: “Eleanor treated you so well, paid for your studies, rented you a house. Why were you so cruel to her?” “And you said your grandmother was seriously ill and wanted to see you get married to leave without regrets. Was this also a lie to me?” Clara smiled sarcastically: “Yes, I have no feelings for that old woman at all. How could I care about her.” “As for Eleanor Shen, I hated her at the time.” “She was better than me in everything before. Coming to this strange world, she is still better than me in everything.” “Yet I, a noble county princess, still have to rely on her support and owe her favors.” Looking at Lucas’s dull face, Clara’s smile widened: “But there is one thing she can’t compare to me.” “I snatched you. You got the certificate with me. According to current terms, she is the unacceptable third party. In ancient times, she would also be an unpresentable concubine.” Lucas looked at her crazy face, heart trembling: “So you designed me just to beat her, and finally made her leave sadly?” “Yes, her life had no stains, so I took out a loan in her name. Pity those people haven’t done anything to her yet, she ran away.” Lucas couldn’t listen anymore, slapped her again. “What a lunatic. Now we are completely done. I don’t love you. She’s gone, I won’t care about you either.” Clara panicked in her eyes: “I am your wife. Why won’t you support me?” Lucas sneered, throwing her a phone: “Go see the hot search yourself. Everyone knows I got the certificate with you on the day of my wedding. You are the shameless mistress, I am the fraud scumbag.”

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Five years ago, the daughter of Vivian Jiang and me died in a car accident. Vivian, with her childhood sweetheart, had already left for the States to give birth, and she didn’t even attend Fiona’s funeral. Years passed, marked by a sinking silence. I encountered her again at the cemetery. I was holding a small cake, wanting to spend a quiet moment with my daughter. Instead, I saw Vivian placing a limited-edition doll in front of the headstone. Beside her, a small girl burrowed into her mother’s arms: “Mommy, do you think my sister will like the gift I picked out?” 1 The autumn cemetery was shrouded in a desolate chill. Vivian bent down, carefully zipping up the little girl’s coat—a gesture of extreme patience and tenderness. It was the motherly love my Fiona had never known. The girl spotted the doll on top of my cake and asked curiously: “Mister, is today my sister’s birthday? Are you here to celebrate too?” I turned my head, pretending not to hear. I used a wipe to clean the photo on the headstone and inserted the candle into the cake. My Fiona, her life frozen at the age of five. The little girl looked at the cake, then up at Vivian, and finally back at me. Silently, she took out her own doll and placed it next to the headstone. I felt a sudden lurch. The girl had deep eyes and was tall for her age, sharing a distinct resemblance to the maternal side of her lineage. Five parts Fiona. If I hadn’t known whose genetic continuation she was, I might have impulsively pulled her into my arms, seeking comfort from the waves of grief that crashed over me countless times since losing my own daughter. The cold wind sliced in from all directions. I tried to light the candle several times. Perhaps my hands were trembling too much, because I kept failing. Vivian naturally reached for the lighter in my hand. For a fleeting instant, our skin touched. Once, her scent, her warmth—I was addicted to them. Now, all I felt was a gut-deep nausea. I snatched the lighter back, my movement violent, shoving her a few steps back. The little girl yelled at me, instinctively protective: “Pushing is wrong! You need to apologize to my mommy!” 2 “Nora, that is enough.” Vivian’s voice was low and heavy, utterly devoid of the recent gentle warmth. The little girl’s eyes filled with a wounded look that was strikingly like her father’s. Proud and stubbornly defiant. It made me instantly recall Liam’s arrogance when Vivian was first pregnant, as he gloated in front of me: “Sloane, if fate hadn’t intervened, Vivian would have met me first. She would never have needed to marry an aimless rich boy like you.” Vivian knelt, touching Nora’s puffy cheek. “You love your older sister the most, don’t you? This is her father. If you speak too loudly, she will be upset.” I clenched my jaw. How dare Vivian? She let Liam’s daughter call my Fiona her sister, even sharing the subtle resonance of the name—Nora/Fiona. I had no intention of lingering. I was back in the country to move Fiona’s grave. I was heading to find the grounds manager to discuss the arrangements. Vivian, holding Nora, followed closely behind me. When she heard my request, her voice was terribly raw. “Sloane, you haven’t visited Fiona in five years. And the moment you return, you want to take her away?” “She is my daughter. I forbid it.” I let my gaze sweep over Vivian with chilling indifference. Her hair was silken black, her makeup flawless… Five years after losing Fiona, Vivian was still living a charmed life. Unlike me, where the first strands of gray were starting to appear at my temples. If Fiona were still here, she would hurt for me, wouldn’t she? But she wasn’t. I tilted my head back slightly, a cold smile curling my lip: “I’m not consulting you. You didn’t even attend Fiona’s funeral. You have no right to discuss this with me.” 3 Vivian looked like she was trying to swallow something difficult. Just as she was about to speak, her phone screen lit up. The little girl, thin and pale-faced, said in a childish lisp: “Daddy’s calling! He must be worried about Mommy and the new baby.” Vivian turned her back to take the call. Nora, ignoring my cold expression, leaned toward me and whispered conspiratorially: “I’m going to be a big sister, just like my big sister! Daddy is really excited about the new baby. I’m going to share all my toys.” My hand, turning the pages of the cemetery paperwork, froze. Vivian and Liam. A truly devoted couple, it seemed. Mutually successful in business, and married life producing a second child in five years. Their daughter looked incredibly well-protected. My expression darkened, but Nora didn’t seem afraid. Not like my Fiona. Before she was three, her mother was too busy conquering new territories to spend time with her. After she turned three, Vivian fell in love with Liam. She resented me, and therefore, she resented my child. She wouldn’t come home for Fiona’s birthday or Children’s Day. The last time, on a rainy night, Fiona insisted on waiting for her mother. She said her mother had promised to bring her a doll from “back East.” In that one heartbreaking lapse, my Fiona slipped into the street and was hit by a car. 4 Vivian finished her call, and I was preparing to sign the contract with the cemetery. She grabbed my wrist, visibly straining to control her emotions. “I told you, you are not taking Fiona.” I remained motionless, my face expressionless: “You can go tell that to my daughter yourself.” Vivian’s grip tightened, the pressure sharp and painful. Once, this woman would have burst into tears if I simply scraped my knee. But Vivian broke her vow. Barely a thousand days into our marriage, she was already sleeping with Liam in the company’s executive office. I had fought, I had screamed, I had made scenes. All I earned was Liam’s calculated encroachment on my life. With Vivian’s passive permission, I was eventually locked out of my own company. 5 The contract was ripped into shreds, and Vivian’s jaw was fiercely set. She instructed her driver, Mrs. Davis, to take Nora to the car. Seeing my face, Mrs. Davis’s expression flickered with panic. “M-Mister Sloane!” Years ago, when Vivian was a struggling socialite, Mrs. Davis worked for my family, the Su’s. She had witnessed me arguing with my step-sister, Cara, on Vivian’s behalf. And she was the one who hid the evidence of Liam’s presence in my car. Truly, the money flowed out of the rich family, but the reliable driver was a constant. Vivian’s eyes were dark, like an unfathomable well. The sheer authority of a powerful executive radiated from her. She turned and threatened the cemetery director: “If my daughter’s rest is disturbed in any way, I will make sure you understand what the true cost of that will be.” The director shot me an apologetic, helpless look and hurried away. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I lifted my hand, intending to strike Vivian. But the blow didn’t land. My hand was fiercely restrained by hers. Vivian’s voice was a low snarl of concentrated bitterness: “Sloane, you want to cut every tie between us, including Fiona.” “You hate me, don’t you?” She pressed forward, pinning me against the pale gray wall, dusting the air with small, gritty particles. I took a deep breath: “Hate you for what? Must I dedicate my life to thinking about a dog that bit my family, just because I couldn’t kill it?” With Vivian’s current wealth and standing, my family, even in its peak, couldn’t match her. I’d done too much eggshell-breaking against concrete. I’d lost too much. She was willing to ruthlessly attack me and my family for Liam. I had learned to accept life’s random cruelty and helplessness. I just wanted to take my Fiona and leave. 6 Each layer of autumn rain brings a new layer of cold. It was clear the paperwork wouldn’t be finished today. I prepared to leave. Vivian glanced at my thin jacket, then instinctively slipped off her expensive overcoat, moving to drape it over my shoulders. “Where are you going? I’ll take you.” I slapped the six-figure Kiton coat onto the wet ground. The top Neapolitan women’s brand, famous for its impeccable tailoring. The luxurious fabric instantly soaked up the damp dirt. I used to be obsessed with buying Vivian clothes, dressing the woman I loved in the way I loved to see her. Vivian gave a low, self-mocking laugh: “When I first met you, you were still the arrogant, spoiled heir of a powerful family.” “I once desperately hoped you would always maintain that high-and-mighty stance.” “But you were the one who destroyed me, weren’t you?” “I…” A barely perceptible tremor of panic laced her otherwise calm voice. Dark clouds pressed in, and the sky turned gloomy. My ride-share arrived. Ignoring Vivian’s arm suspended in the air, I slid into the back seat. But less than two minutes down the road, the driver, a friendly older guy, looked into the rear-view mirror and whistled: “Is that lady trying to film an American action movie? She looks like she’s about to force us off the road.” I looked back. The large black SUV was advancing aggressively, fearlessly. It quickly pulled up right alongside the back seat of my car. Vivian rolled down her window, her lips moving to say something. Nora, strapped into a child safety seat, had a small, frightened expression. I ignored them both. The driver, however, was suddenly righteous: “That’s your wife and daughter, right? You still let her bully you in front of your own family? That’s not right, man. Your deceased relative won’t rest easy!” “Don’t worry. I used to race cars. I’ll make sure we lose this tail.” He gripped the steering wheel, floored the gas pedal, and sped past the SUV. Almost simultaneously, I received two messages. “Give me another chance. Let’s talk properly.” “Sloane, Dr. Elena Reid, the neurology expert, arrives in the city this weekend. There might be hope for your sister.” 7 The first message was undoubtedly from Vivian. Five years ago, I had blocked her number, changed mine, and vanished completely. She was clearly resourceful to get my new contact information so quickly. The second was from Cara’s close friend, Joanna. She was a doctor, trained overseas, specializing in neurology. My sister, Cara, suffered severe brain damage in the car accident, leaving her memory and cognitive function significantly impaired. I had spent the last several years supporting her grueling physical and cognitive therapy abroad. The results had been minimal. Joanna saying there was “hope” was likely just an effort to soothe me. Arriving at the hospital, I tipped the driver a hefty two hundred dollars. He left happily, wishing me well. The lives of ordinary people seemed so much better—simple and predictable, their worries small. Born into the Su family, I tasted life on a silver platter. A pair of small leather shoes for a school dance cost eighteen thousand dollars. But how can flowers bloom for a hundred days? When my mother died, my sister, Cara, took over the family business. It took a merciless, iron-fisted approach to manage the pack of wolves—our extended family—circling her. Yet, she couldn’t resist my pleas when it came to Vivian’s investment. Vivian, the then-heiress, was facing complete bankruptcy, her life having hit rock bottom. I found her in a bar, being forced to drink by her old rivals. The moon in the sky, dragged through the mud. I couldn’t stand seeing my moon fall. I hounded Cara, demanding she pay off Vivian’s colossal debt. When Cara initially refused, I leveraged the emotional debt she owed my mother for taking her in from the orphanage. Finally, she relented: “Sloane, the Su legacy is yours. You call the shots.” The tragedy of my life began when I poured everything into love, without looking back. Vivian accepted my help and swore an oath at my parents’ grave that she would never betray me. But the truth proved that once a person becomes the embodiment of power, they subconsciously rewrite their own origin story, recasting the debt of gratitude that once supported them as a flaw that needed to be overcome. 8 In the VIP room, I helped Cara practice a simple tea ceremony, breaking down the steps one by one. Her intellect had regressed to that of a five- or six-year-old. She had suffered from aphasia for a time, and her emotions were easily agitated. Dr. Chan entered the room and looked at me awkwardly: “Dr. Reid was brought in by Mr. Liam. He said his father has a severe migraine and needed the most authoritative specialist.” This wasn’t the first time Liam had pulled a stunt like this. That year, snow fell heavily, and Fiona developed a high fever. I called Vivian, but Liam answered, saying my wife was at his place, taking a shower. I accused him of seducing a married woman. Liam used his influence to make Vivian turn off her phone, and she didn’t come home that night. I drove slowly through the snow, Fiona sleeping in the back, nearly flung to the floor several times when I slammed the brakes. Yet, she still managed to mumble a warning: “Daddy, the road is slippery, be careful. I’ll be so sad if you get hurt.” Now, Liam, emboldened by his success, was only getting worse. My anger flared, and I stormed over to the adjacent VIP room. 9 Liam’s lips were slightly curled, his expression one of pure arrogance. He looked just as he had before—the proud, untouchable swan. But his frame was overly thin, making his head look disproportionately large. A strange, imbalanced look. I had heard Liam’s name before I saw him. Vivian had mentioned him a few times at home. Back then, the Jiang family’s debt crisis was over, and things had stabilized. Vivian decided to pivot the family business toward technology. She had rarely met such a skilled new talent in computer science—returned from an overseas Ivy League school, perfectly aligned with her vision. A subconscious sense of danger made me jealous. Vivian had gently pinched my nose: “High-level talent isn’t sorted by gender. If you’re worried, I’ll file a report from the office every day.” And she did. The next day, she had a real-time monitor installed in the conference room so I could check her movements whenever I wanted. Until one time, when core technology was leaked, and the company took a hit. Liam suggested the monitor might have been compromised, his tone carrying the conceit of a genius, subtly implying I was interfering too much. Vivian had immediately lost her temper with him, flatly stating that I was the company’s owner and would never betray the firm. I didn’t want to be involved in the dispute. And with Fiona’s birth, all my love poured into my child, making me less inclined to take unnecessary action. Liam quietly seized the opportunity, using the excuse of “expanding territory” to travel everywhere with Vivian. Proximity breeds indiscretion. Especially between two brilliant, similarly aged people who shared a vision for their career, their proximity rapidly ignited a consuming fire. I, the stay-at-home father, became irritable and anxious, constantly demanding updates on Vivian’s whereabouts. She started avoiding home, finding less and less time for our sweet, soft Fiona. I filed for divorce several times. Vivian firmly refused, claiming she couldn’t live without me. I, too, didn’t want our daughter to grow up in a broken home, and she promised to keep her distance from Liam. In the end, I lost everything. Utterly wiped out. 10 I walked up to Dr. Reid. She was speaking English and gesturing to Liam’s father, who appeared perfectly fine. Liam was just doing this to needle me. Five years ago, he’d used the exact same tactic to steal Fiona’s pediatrician and take him abroad. I introduced myself to Dr. Reid. She smiled warmly, thanking me for funding her student’s lab a year prior. Just as she was about to leave with me, Liam caught his father’s eye. Liam Senior immediately blocked the doorway: “She was hired by my son. You have no right to take her.” I didn’t spare him a glance, violently shaking off his hand, which clung to me like a vulture’s claw. Seeing his father pushed aside, Liam looked like he’d found the perfect excuse to act. He raised his hand to slap me. But the years of physical therapy with Cara had made me strong. I countered, pinning both his arms and slamming him against the wall. “Sloane, how dare you touch me? Vivian won’t forgive you for this.” I leaned close to his ear, enunciating every word clearly: “I haven’t come for you yet, but you’re coming to provoke me? Are you not afraid that the truth about the car accident five years ago will come out and you and your father will go to prison?” Liam’s face instantly went white. After Fiona’s funeral, I was a ghost. I planned to drive to the cemetery, but Cara saw my state and insisted on taking the offerings and a toy car for me. On the way, she was broadsided by a large truck. The official report blamed the driver for drunk driving, and he was jailed. The successive blows of loss nearly destroyed me. I quickly divorced Vivian. At the time, she was newly pregnant. She didn’t want the child she conceived with her beloved to be labeled illegitimate, so she readily agreed. I took Cara abroad for treatment, desperate to utilize the critical first six months of post-injury functional recovery. When I later tried to investigate the truck driver’s background, I found a suspicious wire transfer in his bank account, and all other evidence had been professionally sanitized. The cover-up was meticulous. It took me a year to finally trace it back to Liam Senior. He saw that Fiona’s death hadn’t made Vivian leave me. He contacted a distant relative in a rural area, who found a truck-driving cousin. A convoluted scheme. The goal was to remove me so his son could take my place. Vivian might not have known initially, but that didn’t stop her from covering for her lover, burying the truth in the deepest chasm. 11 Moments later, Liam regained his composure: “You don’t have proof. Otherwise, you’d have acted already.” “Poor Cara. She loved you all these years, only to end up utterly lacking in dignity.” “I heard she can’t even control her bladder, and needs to be taught everything from scratch. Tragic.” I remembered him mocking me years ago. “Mr. Sloane, you’re pathetic. You can’t even hold onto your own wife’s heart.” He had sent me a photo of Vivian lying next to him in bed. I raised my arm again, wanting to strike his loathsome face. Again, it didn’t land. Vivian had arrived, grasping my wrist with bloodshot eyes. Nora cried out in her childish voice: “Daddy, did this bad man bully you?” She made a move to kick me, but Vivian sharply stopped her: “Nora, what did I tell you?”

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An hour before the D&C procedure, a post popped up on my phone. [What’s your definition of a ‘living the dream’ life?] One comment was pinned to the top, flooded with likes. [I have the perfect answer for this. I’m the spoiled, beloved fake daughter.] [I not only enjoyed eighteen years of luxury that belonged to that idiot, but the man she married now? He was my sloppy seconds, my devoted lapdog.] [The moment she came home, I developed ‘depression.’ To keep me calm, my parents have yet to legally acknowledge her. To the outside world, she’s still just their adopted girl.] [She worked herself to the bone to climb to a CEO position. But because I said ‘I want that, too,’ her husband—who just happens to be her biggest client—started making her life hell. My parents, of course, just handed the job to me.] [The kicker? The night before their wedding, I told him I was feeling ‘lonely,’ and we celebrated in her new marital bed.] The text was dripping with self-satisfied glee. While other commenters tore into her, she only grew more brazen, posting a photo: several blurred tickets for a trip. [Just because I mentioned I didn’t want her to have a baby, her husband is forcing her to have an abortion.] [The funniest part? She’s sitting in the waiting room alone right now. Her parents, and her husband, are all with me, taking a relaxing trip to Miami.] [I was born under a lucky star. What does she have that could possibly compare?] I stared at the image on my screen. It matched the recent vacation photos Savannah Wilde had posted on social media. The hospital hallway was vast and empty. I was completely alone. The idiot she was talking about. It was me. 1 Faced with a deluge of angry internet comments, Savannah Wilde wasn’t shamed; she was emboldened. [Yell all you want. The angrier you are, the more it proves how much they love me. I am the Stones’ darling. I am the one his heart belongs to.] Below, she attached another photo. A slender hand, a diamond band on the ring finger. I knew that design intimately. It was identical to the ring Owen Miller wore daily. Her next reply jumped up, the tone thick with boastful contempt: [See? I casually mentioned, ‘It’s disgusting to touch me while wearing someone else’s wedding ring,’ so he tossed out their cheap little matching set.] [This one? We went and picked it out together. Engraved couple’s rings.] [In this world, the unloved one is the outsider. I’m the real wife.] My gaze locked onto that ring. A chill began to spread from my core. A three-year-old memory stabbed me. That day, I’d noticed Owen’s wedding band was missing. He’d frantically checked all his pockets, then pulled me into a hug, full of remorse: “Honey, I must have lost it on a business trip. I’m such an idiot.” He’d cooed softly, “Punish me, however you like.” I believed him. I gave him my complete trust. A week later, a strange, new ring appeared on his finger. I pursed my lips and asked, “Where did this one come from?” He’d held up his hand for me to see, his expression a mixture of feigned frustration and ingratiation. “I accidentally put it on when sampling a new design at the office. Now I can’t get it off. If you hate it, Eliza, I’ll take a wrench to it, I swear. Just say the word.” My heart had softened. I held his hand. “Don’t be silly… Just wear it for now. If it’s uncomfortable, we’ll figure out how to take it off. It’s actually quite handsome.” Their couple’s ring. The wedding band he’d discarded, and the nascent life inside me, were nothing more than ugly, laughable roadblocks on the path of their true love. The comment section was boiling, angry replies streaming in. Savannah’s original post remained the top hot comment. Countless kind strangers were desperately trying to sound the alarm. [Spread the word! Let the real daughter see this! Get out now!] [Hugs to the true daughter. Be strong. He’s not worth it!] Tears streamed down my face. Finally, I signed the consent form for the termination. Owen Miller didn’t deserve for me to bear his child. Stepping out of the operating room, the hollow, dull ache in my body forced me to clutch the railing just to move. My phone vibrated. It was Owen. I answered. His voice came through the receiver immediately. “Honey, did you… did you go through with the procedure?” “We have Finn. That’s enough. You absolutely have to get rid of this one, don’t let Finn get upset.” 2 “Honey? Can you hear me?” Owen’s voice was relayed through the earpiece, carrying a trace of deliberately suppressed urgency. After a brief silence, he raised his tone. “Hello?” “I can hear you.” The moment I spoke, a sharp pang shot through my lower abdomen—the specific, heavy ache of being emptied out. I had to bend over, pressing my arm tightly against my stomach. But compared to the physical pain, the place in my heart that was being repeatedly shredded was far more suffocating. “So… is it done?” he asked, his impatience no longer hidden. I gritted my teeth, fiercely suppressing the heat and sting welling up in my eyes, forcing two words out from between my teeth: “It’s done.” On the other end of the line, I could distinctly hear his sigh of relief, even a faint, easy laugh. “Good girl, honey.” His voice returned to its usual softness, laced with the gentle, practiced tone he always used to coax me. “I’ll bring you a gift when I’m back from my business trip.” I managed a tight, cynical smile, but offered no reply. My silence made him mistake my anger for missing him. He went on, “Oh, honey, I know you had it tough. I’ll go the extra mile to make it up to you when I get home. How does that sound?” But his patience lasted less than two seconds. Before I could respond, his tone quickened. “Gotta run, I have to hop on a call. My wife is the most understanding woman in the world. Gotta hang up now.” Beep— The dial tone was abrupt, uncompromising. After that call, Owen Miller vanished completely. Three whole days, zero contact. In the past, I would have immediately concocted excuses for him: He’s too busy, I shouldn’t bother him. Then I would have left a few nervous, sweet messages in his chat every day—Remember to eat, get some rest—and felt moved by his supposed dedication to our little family. Now, I realized how utterly ridiculous that was. Busy? He wasn’t busy. He had merely removed an “inconvenience,” and he was now, undoubtedly, sharing the “good news” with the woman who held the center of his heart. Three days later, I was in the living room, building blocks with our son, Finn. He strode in, suitcase in tow, first giving a quick, affectionate hug to Finn and handing him a toy the boy had been begging for. “Be a good boy, Finn. Go play in your room. Daddy needs to talk to Mommy.” He turned to me, his eyes carrying that familiar, suggestive spark. Before, that hint of intimacy would have made my cheeks flush. Now, all I felt was a wave of nausea. Finn, holding his new toy, obediently went upstairs. Owen immediately wrapped his arms around me from behind, rubbing his chin on the back of my neck, his voice full of flattery. “Still mad at me, honey? I messed up, I know. I was a jerk for not being there when you needed me most. I promise, never again.” I pulled free from his embrace and turned to face him. “Owen Miller, how many times have you promised that this month?” His face stiffened. I didn’t give him a chance to speak. “The eighth. Our anniversary. You promised to spend the night with me, then one call pulled you away. You didn’t show up for two days.” “Mid-month. I wasn’t feeling well. You promised to take me to the doctor, but you ditched me halfway there.” “And then, this procedure…” Tallying them up, I was stunned to realize how transparent his lies and excuses were. He hadn’t been a good liar; I had simply blinded myself. A flash of annoyance crossed his eyes, quickly suppressed, replaced by a helpless smile. “Honey, let’s not drag up old fights. I work for us, for our family, don’t I?” Seeing I wasn’t moved, he pulled a small box from his pocket. He opened it—it was a necklace. “Look, a peace offering. I got it just for you. Let me put it on…” I stepped aside, avoiding his touch. His hand froze mid-air. I looked up, my voice steady. “I just had a miscarriage, I need rest. You should sleep in the guest room tonight.” Leaving him staring in shock, I turned and walked upstairs. The moment I entered the bedroom, my phone buzzed. I opened it. It was a photo Savannah Wilde had posted on the forum. When I saw the contents, a trembling rage overtook me. 3 Savannah’s latest update was a photo of a pet. A dog, wearing a necklace. Below it, her smug explanation: [That idiot is actually throwing a tantrum. I was generous and gave her husband my little Prince’s old collar. Let him use it to calm her down. Ha, I wonder if she’ll cry with gratitude when she sees her ‘gift’?] I stared, transfixed. The necklace on the dog’s neck was the exact one Owen had tried to give me moments ago. Eight years of marriage, and in his eyes, I was worth less than a dog. A huge wave of disappointment gave way to a towering, blinding anger. A rage so complete that, paradoxically, it made me feel cold and calm. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly forced the anger down. “Honey, stop being mad. I genuinely messed up.” Owen pushed the door open, a playful look on his face. He held out a slightly faded pink card, as if performing a magic trick. “Here. A one-time ‘No-Fuss, No-Fight’ card. Please accept it, my queen.” I took it, confused. The card’s edges were slightly yellowed, and the date was ten years ago. I hadn’t even met him then. The small, trailing red heart at the bottom was exactly the way Savannah always signed her notes. The last warmth in my heart died. I heard my own voice, dry and thin. “Get out. I don’t want to look at you right now.” He frowned, a flicker of displeasure crossing his face. “Eliza Harrison, that’s enough. Dragging this out only makes me tired.” He slammed the door shut and left. I stood there, clutching the flimsy card, my fingers ice-cold. My phone rang abruptly. I answered, and my mother’s voice immediately hammered me with blame. “Eliza Harrison! Can you please start acting like an adult? Owen already made a sacrifice to marry you. Why are you making such a scene? He’s so busy with work. Can’t you be more understanding?” “Mom,” I cut her off, my voice so steady it surprised me. “I just had a miscarriage.” The other end was silent for two seconds. Her tone softened slightly. “A miscarriage… it’s not the end of the world. Owen only did it for your own good, for Finn’s sake.” “I called you a dozen times,” I said. “Owen was busy on a business trip. Where were you?” Without waiting for an answer, I hung up. Immediately, texts from several mutual friends started trickling in—all the usual advice: Couples shouldn’t let the sun set on a fight, Owen is so sweet to you, we’re all jealous, he posted an apology for you on social media, go check it out. I opened Owen Miller’s social media. The latest post, ten minutes ago: [Kicked out of the bedroom after a long night of work. Guess the gift will keep me company tonight.] The photo was of that hideous necklace. It already had several likes and comments, teasing him as a “Wife Guy.” He replied uniformly: [I have to spoil my queen. Going to the auction tomorrow. I’ll go to any lengths to get her that rare Buccellati Filigree Cuff. Otherwise, I might be sleeping alone for good…] The comments section was full of good-natured laughter and encouragement. I scrolled up, expressionless. Every single one of his posts seemed carefully designed to cultivate the image of a devoted husband. But how could a man who couldn’t remember his wife’s taste be devoted? I detested ornate, attention-grabbing pieces. That loud, statement cuff? That was Savannah Wilde’s favorite style. I calmly screenshotted his post, putting it side-by-side with Savannah’s photo of the dog collar. Just then, Savannah’s forum post updated again: [Looks like the idiot is really mad. Tsk. I’m having Mom arrange a family dinner. Time to put her in her place. She really doesn’t know how good she has it.] A curious commenter asked: [If you hate her so much, why not just make her leave? With your family’s status, you could easily kick her out. Why drag this on?] Savannah instantly replied: [She will leave eventually, but not yet. She’s still useful. I haven’t dropped my ‘big move’ yet. Why let her off easy? Just thinking about the look on her face when she finds out the truth. Ha! I’m too excited to sleep.] “Big move”? I stared at the words, a sudden coldness creeping up my spine. My phone vibrated again. A text from my mother: “Family dinner tonight. You must be here.” I gazed at the screen for a moment, then calmly replied: “Okay.” I was actually quite curious about Savannah Wilde’s ‘big move.’ 4 After picking up Finn, I drove straight to the Wilde estate. Just outside the door, I saw a small figure huddled in the corner of the steps—Savannah’s son, Leo. He was wearing clothes that were clearly too small and faded, sitting alone and staring into space. Calculating the time… But a mother like Savannah was clearly unfit. Regardless, I shouldn’t involve children in adult drama. I pushed down the slight discomfort in my heart, took Finn’s hand, and walked over, leaning down and softening my voice as much as possible. “Why are you sitting out here? It’s cold. Auntie brought some snacks. Would you like one?” Leo lifted his face. His pale eyes, remarkably similar to Owen’s, held a sadness far beyond his years. He rubbed his hands together and whispered, “Mommy said I’m not allowed inside… Mommy gets mad.” Just as I offered him a pastry, Savannah rushed out like a whirlwind and slapped it from my hand! The pastry rolled onto the mud. “Who said you could take that? Huh? You little brat, are you asking for a beating?!” Her sharp voice cut through the air. Leo immediately covered his head, his body curling into a defensive ball, a gesture that spoke of routine. “Mommy, I’m scared…” Finn clutched my trouser leg, his voice trembling. At the sound of Finn’s voice, Savannah’s expression instantly flipped. She plastered on a gentle smile and scooped Finn up in a hug. “Don’t be scared, Finn. Auntie wasn’t yelling at you. Auntie bought you the newest remote-control car. Let’s go play.” She turned and carried Finn inside. As she passed me, she threw me a look of contemptuous triumph. A fleeting idea zipped through my mind, but before I could grasp it, Owen’s voice sounded behind me. “Honey! I knew you’d wait for me.” His tone was light as always, as if nothing unpleasant had happened between us. He hurried over and held out a velvet box. “Look, the Verdura Filigree Cuff. I won the auction for you! Do you like it?” I forced a small smile. “No need. I never liked that style.” I didn’t look at his frozen face. I gently took Leo’s cold little hand. “Let’s go inside with Auntie.” The moment we stepped into the living room, Savannah called out to Owen, who was following close behind. “Owen! Finn is just too much fun!” “Come help me! I can’t handle him!” Savannah giggled, hiding behind Owen, who had walked over. Finn, holding a water gun, was gleefully spraying them. Owen, smiling indulgently, shielded her. Water splashed his expensive shirt, but he laughed joyfully. The three of them were a picture of a close-knit, intimate family. I sat on the sofa, watching Leo beside me. He was staring down, his fingers anxiously picking at his pants seam. He was secretly glancing at the noisy trio, his eyes filled with undisguised envy and longing. That fleeting thought from earlier suddenly crystallized, sharp and piercing, slamming into my head. Panic seized my breath. I quietly pulled out my phone, switched to the burner account I’d prepared, and opened Savannah’s private message window: [Girl, saw your post. I feel your pain. But I was ‘smarter’ than you. I swapped the kids.] [She can be the real heir all she wants, but in the end, the assets, the husband, they all go to my son, right?] [Just a heads-up: you have to throw the lapdog a bone occasionally. My ‘Owen’ is starting to get restless. And the kid… you have to make sure he knows who to love.] Send. A few meters away, while playing with Finn, Savannah’s phone screen lit up. She looked down. The smug smile on her lips tightened slightly. Soon, my burner account received a reply. Reading the message on my screen, a sudden, sharp pain flared in my chest. Rage nearly overwhelmed me. 5 [OMG! Sister, you are my soulmate!] [She IS raising my son! I got someone to swap ours too!] [She can be the true heir all she wants, but the money, the shares—it’s all going to my son. Her son will have nothing, unloved and penniless!] Seeing her reply, I felt a dizzying surge. Although I had suspected it, the confirmation nearly shattered my composure. Savannah, drenched, leaned against Owen. Her thin top clung to her, revealing her curves. Finn, my son, was tucked to her right, still clutching the water gun. She looked up at me, a victorious smile she couldn’t suppress spread across her lips. “Sister, you’re just too high and mighty,” she said, deliberately elongating her words. “Look how much fun we’re having. Owen is still the best at protecting me, just like he always was.” She stroked Finn’s head. “Finn is so attached to me, too…” “Do you love Auntie, Finn?” she asked my son, watching me with triumph. Finn, excited, chirped happily, “I love Auntie!” I remained expressionless, turning to look at Owen beside them. “The child doesn’t know any better. But you don’t either?” “You are her brother-in-law,” I reminded him, enunciating every word. Owen’s face flashed with embarrassment, and he let out a dry laugh. “Honey, I just wanted to play with Finn. I wasn’t thinking anything of it…” My calm gaze swept over the three of them, finally resting on Savannah’s face, which screamed, What are you going to do about it? I ignored her taunt and beckoned to Finn, who was standing right next to her. “Finn, come to Mommy. You’re soaked, you’ll catch a cold.” I spoke to him gently. He immediately let go of Savannah’s hand and ran toward me. I stroked his hair, smiling as I asked, “Who does little Finn love most?” The next second, his clear, childlike voice rang through the living room. “Mommy! Finn loves Mommy the most!” I let out a soft laugh, my eyes flicking to the darkening face of Savannah. The smile on Savannah’s face instantly froze. Her fingers, still gripping Owen’s arm, tightened. I met her eyes, a hook in my own smile. “A child’s deepest love is always for their mother. Everyone else… is just a momentary distraction.” Savannah’s face contorted, her eyes turning bloodshot. “Eliza!” Owen snarled, his face sinking into a scowl. “Time to eat,” my father’s low voice cut in, having stayed silent until now. Everyone took their seats. Savannah “naturally” sat beside Owen. I sat across from them, with Leo on my left and Finn on my right. Savannah clearly didn’t intend to let the last scene drop. Her eyes gleamed as she sighed softly. “Honestly, Sister, your temper is getting worse. You should worry less about yourself and more about Mom and Dad, they’re not getting any younger.” She glanced at me, then continued. “Owen works so hard outside the home. Can’t you be more considerate? Throwing temper tantrums like a schoolgirl won’t get you anywhere.” My mother immediately frowned and scolded me. “Eliza, Savannah has a point. Owen is busy and stressed. You, as his wife, need to be gentle and understanding. Stop being so spoiled.” My father didn’t speak but shot me a look of disapproval. I quietly put down my chopsticks and began to speak, slowly. “That day, when I had the procedure, there was no one outside the operating room. Were you all really busy? Or…” I deliberately drew out the sound, just as Savannah had done earlier. I smiled, finally looking at Owen. His knuckles, gripping his chopsticks, were white. “And you, Owen? Were you really going to a ‘meeting’?” The air froze instantly. Owen’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He opened his mouth but produced no sound. My parents looked awkward, their voices gone. Savannah shot me a look of pure hatred, but, uncharacteristically, didn’t immediately retort. The only sounds in the dining room were faint breathing and the occasional clink of cutlery. As the meal neared its end, a quiet Savannah spoke again. This time, the smile at her mouth was unrestrained. She looked at my father. “Dad, I remember the merger agreement between the Harrison and Miller families stated that once we had a son, both families would contribute forty percent of their corporate shares as a gift to the child, correct?” Her gentle gaze swept over Finn, who was sitting next to me. “Finn is getting so big now. Isn’t it time to transfer the shares into his name?” My mother immediately nodded. “It should be taken care of immediately.” My father looked thoughtful. He looked at Owen, then at Finn, nestled against me, his eyes weighing the matter. I slowly scooped a spoon of soup, acting as if the matter didn’t concern me. Yet I took in every expression: the flash of excitement in Owen’s eyes, the expectant, hidden smugness on Savannah’s face, and the hesitation of my parents. “Sister, you don’t look happy? You’re Finn’s mother, after all.” Savannah noticed my silence, her smile deepening. I looked up, meeting her gaze, my voice calm and even. “Why the rush?” “The agreement, written in black and white, specifies the ‘lawful, marital son of the Harrison and Miller families.’” “You’re an imposter. Why are you in such a hurry?” I deliberately slowed my pace, clearly articulating the final words. The smile on Savannah’s face completely shattered.

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I drive a “Love Truck.” The cargo hold isn’t filled with goods, but a sturdy bed frame and a plush mattress. I drive along desolate back roads until the couple in the back is finished. One day, after I parked, a woman rushed out of the cargo hold, crying hysterically. She hugged my leg, tears streaming down her face, begging me to help her. She said as long as I agreed, she’d do anything. Chapter 1 I lit a cigarette, turned the ignition, and felt the slight sway and rhythmic vibrations from the cargo box behind me. This is my job, and my life. My name is Shane, and I’ve been in this business for five years. People ask, why would anyone choose the back of a truck over a comfortable hotel? Simple. No ID required. You don’t have to worry about leaving a paper trail in some database. Unlike hotels, there are no security cameras capturing your face in high definition. Most importantly, no cops are going to knock on the door. From the outside, it looks like a standard refrigerated delivery truck. Valid registration, permits, everything is legit. But inside, it’s lined with soft carpet and holds a queen-sized bed. Even the walls are padded with soundproof foam. After picking up clients at a designated spot, I drive loops around unmonitored back roads until their time is up. Five years without a hitch. Until today. Chapter 2 This afternoon, I picked up my clients at a secluded park. A balding, overweight man and a young, stunningly beautiful woman. One glance, and my eyes were glued to her. I swear, she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Under the sunlight, wearing just a tank top and shorts, her skin seemed to glow. Her small face and large, watery eyes nearly hooked my soul right out of my body. It wasn’t until the heavy cargo door slammed shut that I snapped out of it. “Must be nice to be rich,” I muttered, starting the engine, distracted. Throughout the drive, her image kept replaying in my mind. Hearing the faint sounds from the back, I gulped down water, trying to suppress the fire in my gut. My rate is $300 an hour. The man tossed me a stack of cash—$1,000—and booked three hours. Usually, I’d be thrilled with a $100 tip. But this time, those three hours felt like torture. Finally, time was up. I parked and opened the rear door. A wave of perfume hit me, and a soft body slammed directly into my arms. I froze, looking at the woman in my embrace. She was terrified, her hands gripping my shirt tightly, trembling uncontrollably. Before I could ask, she spoke in a shaking voice. “Please, help me.” She pointed a trembling finger at the cargo hold, as if a monster was hiding inside. What the hell happened? I calmed her down and slowly walked inside. The sight on the bed made me jump. The man was dead. His fat face was flushed red, a satisfied smile frozen on his lips. Even crazier, the man was still… active, if you know what I mean. I gasped, frowned, and stepped out. After thinking for a moment, I decided to call 911. But as soon as I pulled out my phone, the woman grabbed my wrist. “Please, don’t call the police.” “They’ll blame me, and his family won’t let me live.” She claimed he took some pills, got too excited, and his heart gave out. I was skeptical. I’ve seen people die from that before. They clutch their chests in pain. They don’t die smiling. And his condition… what kind of pill is that strong? Seeing her pitiful state, I sighed. “I can’t help you.” “He died in my truck. If I don’t report it, I’m in deep trouble.” Tears instantly welled up in her eyes. She knelt on the ground, hugging my thigh. Her voice was choked with sobs, yet undeniably seductive. “He turned off his phone to hide this from his wife.” “And we haven’t passed a single camera since we got on.” “Even if we dump him somewhere, no one will know.” “Besides, what you’re doing isn’t exactly legal.” “If the cops come, you’re going down too.” “If this gets out, your business is dead.” Seeing my silence, she stood up, her curves pressing against me. Her breath tickled my ear. “This stays between us.” “Help me, and you help yourself.” “If you agree, I’m yours. I’ll do whatever you want…” Feeling her body heat, I swallowed hard, gritted my teeth, and nodded. Chapter 3 I put the woman in the passenger seat and started the engine. I know these woods like the back of my hand. I know where people don’t go. Finally, I parked by a stagnant, wild pond in the marshlands. Tie a rock to him, toss him in, and the swamp critters will pick him clean. I put on gloves to drag the body out. The moment I grabbed him, I froze. The man looked huge, easily 250 pounds of fat. But I pulled him off the bed effortlessly. He felt like he weighed maybe 90 pounds. That was insane. He felt like a blow-up doll—massive on the outside, hollow on the inside. Time was tight, so I shoved the doubt down. I tied a heavy rock to the body and kicked it into the pond. With a gurgling sound, the body sank into the murky green water. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and let out a long breath. The woman walked over, staring at the water with a complex expression. “You really know the spots. No regular person would find this place.” “I wouldn’t have thought to use a rock.” I explained with a bit of pride, “Without the rock, the gas makes them float.” “Then we’d be in trouble…” I stopped myself. She took a tissue and wiped the sweat from my face. “You must be tired.” “Don’t worry, it’s over.” “Now… I’m yours.” I looked down at her pale skin, and my brain short-circuited. I picked her up and carried her into the back of the truck. After the storm passed, the woman curled lazily in my arms and told me her story. Her name was Foxy. She was an orphan. No family, no degree, no skills. She got tricked into this life. She thought she found a sugar daddy, but it ended like this. Foxy laughed bitterly. “It seems I can’t hold onto anything in this life.” In that moment, something in my heart twitched. I blurted out: “Quit this life.” “Stay with me. I’ll take care of you.” Foxy wrapped her arms around my neck, giggling. “Can you afford me?” “I have a big appetite.” Her eyes roamed over me, and she licked her lips. I noticed her tongue seemed longer than a normal person’s. No wonder she made me feel so good. The fire in me reignited, and we rolled together again. Chapter 4 I brought Foxy home. As soon as we entered, my dog, Sparky, went berserk. He was a small terrier mix, usually chill, but now he was barking madly, fur standing on end. I tried to calm him, but Sparky wouldn’t stop staring at Foxy. I kicked the cage in frustration. He whimpered and shrank back, but his eyes never left her. I looked at Foxy apologetically. “He’s acting crazy today. Usually, he’s friendly.” Foxy glanced at Sparky and licked her lips. “It’s okay. Cute doggy. I’ll take good care of him.” I left Foxy in the living room and went to shower. When I came out, Sparky was lying quietly in Foxy’s arms. She smiled at me. “See? We’re friends now.” I was about to praise the dog when I noticed something wrong. Sparky’s tail was tucked tight between his legs, his body trembling. He stared at me, looking like he wanted to whine but didn’t dare. What scared him this much? I took Sparky from her to check him. But as soon as I held him, a warm stream hit my leg. The smell of urine filled the air. The damn dog peed on me! I smacked him and threw him in the cage. He curled into a ball, burying his head. Disgusted, I looked at my wet pants and went to shower again. But Foxy followed me in. Clothes dropped. She wrapped around me. My legs felt weak. I pushed her away. “Maybe not today…” But the next second, a heat rushed through me. My energy returned instantly. “You witch.” I cursed under my breath and closed my eyes.

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I discovered my husband was cheating on me when I was sixteen weeks pregnant. We hadn’t been intimate in a long time. Worried he was sexually frustrated, I even asked my OB-GYN during my check-up. She said as long as I was past the first trimester, it was fine. That night, I cuddled up to him, wrapping my arm around his waist. Half-asleep, he let out a low groan, a sticky, satisfied chuckle rumbling in his throat: “Seven rounds and you’re still hungry, you little glutton…” 1 I never thought my husband, Caleb Sterling, would cheat. From college sweethearts to walking down the aisle, our eight years together looked like the American Dream. Caleb was a respected Associate Professor of Philosophy, on the tenure track. I was a thoracic surgeon at a top-tier hospital. We had money, respect, and a perfect marriage. Caleb was the last of his family line, and when I got pregnant early this year, we were the envy of everyone in our social circle. I couldn’t fathom a reason for him to stray. Until I unlocked his phone. Until I scrolled through the texts. Until I found her—Vanessa. I’d heard of Vanessa from Caleb’s college buddies. She was the high school Prom Queen. The girl every guy in their small Rust Belt town dreamed about. Caleb pined after her for three years. At their graduation party, his friends pressured him to confess. Vanessa, who was being chased by the son of a local car dealership owner, shot him down cold. “Caleb, you’re cute, but let’s be real,” she had said, swirling her red solo cup. “I’m going places. You’re… from the trailer park. You can’t even afford to buy me a deceptive knock-off purse, let alone the real thing. Come back when you’re somebody.” Caleb was poor, but he had an ego made of glass. That night, he changed his college applications. Vanessa went South. He went North. That’s how he met me. The first time I saw Caleb, my father—the Dean of his department—brought him home for Thanksgiving. He was wearing faded jeans with frayed hems. He looked hungry, cautious, and desperate to please. He became my father’s star pupil. He started coming around more often. We fell in love. With my father’s connections and his own grit, Caleb got his PhD, got published, and landed a coveted position at the university. On our wedding night, Caleb held me like I was fragile porcelain. “Elena,” he whispered, “I came from nothing. Your dad gave me a career. You gave me a home. I owe the Vance family my life.” “I will always be loyal to you. I will love you and take care of your dad until the end. If I ever break this vow, may I rot in hell.” I kissed him to stop him from saying more. The vow still echoed in my ears. But the man beside me had clearly forgotten it. Moonlight sliced through the blinds, cutting Caleb’s sleeping face in half. I stared at the texts, feeling like an invisible hand was crushing my windpipe. When was their first time? 2 I found the answer in their chat history. Two months ago. Right after I confirmed the pregnancy. It started with a high school reunion back in Ohio. Vanessa added him on Facebook. Caleb accepted. She sent him a video. I clicked play. It was grainy footage from a dive bar. A group of paunchy, balding men were chanting, circling Caleb and Vanessa. “Come on, Prom Queen! Make Caleb’s teenage dreams come true! One shot!” “You don’t know, Vanessa,” one guy slurred. “Caleb used to pray to a shrine of you.” Caleb stood next to her. He was taller, fitter, wearing a bespoke suit and designer glasses. He looked like a king among peasants. “Alright, guys, knock it off,” Caleb laughed, swirling his whiskey. “That was years ago. Don’t embarrass Vanessa. Her husband wouldn’t like it.” Vanessa looked down, her voice trembling. “It’s fine. I’m divorced.” The table went silent. Vanessa gave a brave, tragic smile. “It really is fine. It’s in the past.” She looked up at Caleb, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I actually envy your wife, Caleb. She comes from money, she’s beautiful… but mostly because she gets a good man like you. Unlike me. I chose… poorly.” Under the pressure of the crowd, they did a “couples shot”—arms interlinked. To “close the chapter” on their youth. The video ended with them staring into each other’s eyes. Vanessa texted him later that night: Caleb, thanks for saving me back there. I added you to apologize properly. When I rejected you at graduation… I was forced to. That rich guy threatened to jump you if I said yes. I didn’t want him to break your legs. I said those mean things to protect you. I wanted to take that secret to the grave, but seeing you tonight… I couldn’t hold it in. But at least you’re happy. That’s enough for me. Caleb didn’t reply for hours. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the ghost of his bruised ego. At 3:00 AM, he texted back: If it wasn’t for him, would you have said yes to me? Vanessa replied instantly: In a heartbeat. The screen glowed in the dark. The words seemed to expand, filling the room, then shrink into needles pricking my eyes. After that night, radio silence. Until a stormy night two weeks later. Vanessa texted: Caleb, my car died. I’m stranded on the Interstate. I’m scared. Can you come? I remembered that night. There was a severe weather warning. Caleb had picked me up from the hospital early, but we still got soaked running to the house. I had a fever. Because of the baby, I couldn’t take strong meds. Caleb spent hours sponging my forehead with cool water. Around midnight, I was burning up. Caleb’s phone rang. He hung up and told me his best friend, Mark, was stranded on the highway. “It’s pouring,” I said, shivering. “It’s dangerous out there. You should go help him.” “I can’t,” Caleb said, looking torn. “Mark isn’t as important as my wife. You’re sick. I’m not leaving you.” I smiled weakly. “I’m feeling better, really. Go. Be a hero. Come back safe.” He looked conflicted. But he grabbed his keys and left. That was the night he slept with Vanessa. 3 The next morning, Vanessa texted: Caleb, let’s treat last night as a beautiful mistake. I won’t wreck your home. I don’t expect you to love me. Giving my purity to you was enough. Caleb sent three question marks. Purity? You were married. Vanessa replied after a long pause: People think I married my ex for money. They don’t know he had… issues. He was impotent. I married him for safety, not desire. I lied to you. That blood on the sheets wasn’t my period. It was my first time. Caleb, I’ve loved you since homeroom. Giving myself to you… I have no regrets. Don’t worry. I won’t be a burden. Maybe in the next life, I won’t miss my chance with you. Caleb lost his mind. He video-called her fifteen times. No answer. He sent voice notes, his voice cracking with panic. Vanessa, I’m driving to your motel right now. Don’t do anything stupid! Do you hear me?! I admit, I slept with you to get back at the girl who rejected me. It was an ego trip. But that was a lie I told myself. You’ve always been the one! The rain, the car… it wasn’t just heat of the moment. It was inevitable. Vanessa, let’s start over. Please. I can’t lose you twice! Vanessa didn’t reply. Because she had slit her wrists. The ambulance brought her to the nearest Trauma Center. My hospital. I met Vanessa in the recovery ward. I was doing rounds. She stared at me from the bed. I checked her vitals, professional and cold. As I turned to leave, she spoke. “Dr. Vance. Nice name.” I turned. She stared at my ID badge, a pale smile on her lips. “I heard your husband is a professor. Funny. My boyfriend is a professor too.” Caleb and I were the hospital’s power couple. Everyone knew us. I didn’t think much of it at the time. I just said: “Self-harm isn’t the answer. Take care of yourself.” Vanessa tilted her head. “You’re right. I won’t be that stupid again. I need to stay healthy. I have a lifetime to spend with my boyfriend.” 4 I put the phone back on the nightstand and didn’t sleep a wink. I was going to divorce Caleb. But not yet. My father had been diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer. He didn’t have long. Caleb visited him daily. If we had a messy split now, Dad would die with a broken heart. Caleb was his greatest creation—the rough diamond he polished. I couldn’t destroy my father’s final illusion. So the next morning, I played the part. Caleb went for a jog and brought back bagels. We ate breakfast. He kissed my forehead before leaving. “Elena, Mark is throwing a birthday thing for a buddy tonight. I’ll be late. Don’t wait up. Love you.” I smiled. “Drive safe.” I knew whose birthday it was. Vanessa had sent him a photo of a new Louis Vuitton bag yesterday. Thanks, Hubby. Caleb, for my birthday, I want to pretend. Just for one night. Can we be a normal couple? Hold hands in public? Dinner with your friends? I don’t want to steal you. You belong to Elena. But just for 24 hours… let me be your wife. It worked like a charm on Caleb. He organized the dinner at a high-end French bistro. I knew the owner, a single mom who had survived a nasty divorce. I called her. She gave me the security footage without hesitation.

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Our wedding night was barely over. Rhys held me, still warm from our bodies, and then he said it: “I have a mistress, and it’s her birthday tonight. I need to go be with her.” My mind went numb, my ears ringing with a sharp, high-pitched static. “If you love someone else, why did you marry me?” He got up and began to dress. The hickey I’d left on his neck was still raw. “Ava, I love you the most, but she’s new.” “We’ve been together too long, sweetheart. I needed the edge, the thrill.” My throat tightened, my voice trembling. “So, on our wedding night, you’re leaving me to go celebrate with another woman?” “The act of the wedding night is officially over,” he corrected me. He bent down and gently pinched my cheek. “She’s young, she’s dramatic, and she needs constant attention. You’re Mrs. Lockwood now. You need to be the bigger person.” “And if I can’t be the bigger person?” He looked like he’d been waiting for that question. He smiled faintly. “Then we divorce. But you walk away with nothing but the clothes on your back. Think about that, hmm?” I collapsed onto the messy sheets, the evidence of our recent passion still heavy around me. The silk wedding banner hanging on the wall was a violent, angry red—like a slap across my face. 1 Perhaps the despair on my face was too profound, because Rhys sighed and gently stroked my hair. “Remember the day you tried on your dress? I was in the fitting room right next to yours. That’s when I took her virginity.” “She was so scared to make a sound, she just choked on it—a tiny, pathetic sound like a kitten. That kind of heat, that forbidden rush—you couldn’t give me that. Do you understand?” The blood in my veins seemed to turn to ice, yet the tears wouldn’t stop flowing. That day, I had been overflowing with joy, floating in the most beautiful dress I’d ever seen. I came out, looking everywhere for him, but he was gone. When I called him, his voice was tight. He said he had an urgent deal he couldn’t put off. I thought he was stressed, and I stupidly comforted him, telling him not to work too hard. Rhys caught one of my tears on his thumb, his voice sickeningly soft. “I didn’t want to miss a second of you in that dress, but that little firecracker was too clingy. We didn’t get out of bed for a full day.” I stared blankly at the ceiling, unblinking for so long my eyes dried out. Rhys clicked his tongue, took my hand, and kissed my palm. “I’m sorry, Ava. I know you’re hurt. If we have to divorce, I’ll give you a mansion downtown as compensation.” “But if you stay, if you tolerate this for me, everything I have is yours. My life, my wealth, and yes, even my heart.” Today was supposed to be the single happiest day of my life. I had married the man I’d loved for eight years—a century-defining wedding, a million-dollar ring. It was a fairy tale five minutes ago. Now, I was a crying mess, asking him like an idiot: “Why did you tell me? Why tonight?” Rhys gently wiped my tears, his eyes filled with something close to pity. “My sweet girl, because I feel awful for you. I know I’m rotten, but since we’re married, I owe you the truth.” He paused, then suddenly chuckled. “Of course, there’s another reason. I was so looking forward to this moment. Seeing you broken, just like this. It makes me feel… protective. It makes me want to make it up to you even more.” “So, don’t divorce me, okay? I’ll still love you just like before, hmm?” I slapped him. Hard. Then I grabbed anything I could reach and threw it at him, screaming until my lungs burned. “Get out! Get the hell out!” Rhys tilted his head, wiped the corner of his mouth, and stood up, still smiling a little. He smoothed his collar and walked toward the door. “Ava, just cool down.” “I’m going to go celebrate with the girl now.” The door shut softly. I saw my reflection in the diamond on my hand—a raging lunatic. I curled up in the corner of the bed, tearing at my own hair, banging my head against the wall until the pain blurred and consciousness finally retreated into darkness. The instant my eyes closed, I was eight years younger. In a cramped room, Rhys stood between me and my abusive father, shielding me completely. His back was a bloody mess, and I screamed for them to stop. The police siren finally blared. Rhys was missing a tooth, but he still smiled at me. “Don’t be scared, Ava. No one will ever hurt you again.” We lived under a bridge, scavenged for food, and his thin back was my only bed. Later, he worked construction and sales until he could finally afford a tiny one-bedroom walk-up. He held me tight and whispered, “Ava, we have a home.” Those memories were so beautiful, they kept me sinking into the dream for too long. I woke up to my best friend’s text messages blowing up my phone. “Ava! This has to be fake news! Rhys loves you too much, it’s a total lie!” I numbly clicked the link she sent. One glance was all it took. My entire body went rigid. Rhys and his mistress had been caught having sex in an upscale rooftop restaurant. Hundreds of people saw. It was a global trending topic. My hand shaking, I called him to demand an explanation. His voice was hoarse. “That? Yeah, we got a little carried away. Didn’t want you to see it. The trending topic is a pain to get removed, too. If it bothers you that much, maybe you can help figure out a solution?” Like a zombie, I used the last of my strength to drive to the address he’d sent me. A flicker of memory: early in his career, he was courted by the heiresses of both a real estate magnate and a foreign trade giant. Everyone in the city was betting on which family he would marry into. But Rhys shocked them all. He paid hundreds of media outlets to run one single quote: “I have a girlfriend. I love her, and only death will part us.” From that day on, the world knew Rhys loved me. Which is why his betrayal today felt so much more spectacular to the entire world. I found Rhys’s second home. Outside the door, I ran into his assistant. The man’s gaze was so full of pity, my breath hitched. I pushed the door open. Clothing was strewn everywhere. Rhys was sprawled on the sofa, clutching a woman. He heard me and patted the woman’s back. “Get dressed. My wife is here. Show some respect.” The woman slowly pulled on her dress, pouting for him to zip the back. She turned to me and stuck out her tongue. “Oopsie, so sorry, Sis. I really didn’t think Rhys would actually ditch you to be with me for my birthday. I got so excited, we just went a little crazy.” She blinked, then gasped as if remembering something. “Oh, right, we didn’t use protection. But I’ll take the pill, okay? Don’t be mad.” I clamped a hand over my mouth. My stomach churned, and I bent over, dry-heaving violently. Rhys’s face darkened. He immediately jumped up to support me. “Ava? What’s wrong? Are you sick? I’m taking you to the hospital!” I shoved away his arms, trying to embrace me. Tears and the acidic taste of vomit mixed in a miserable, humiliating rush. Rhys’s face hardened. He snarled at the mistress. “Get out!” She stomped her foot and whined. Rhys frowned, but still leaned in to kiss her softly. “Stop, baby. I’ll have the assistant get your pill. And I’m yours again tonight, okay?” She finally looked satisfied, tossing her lace underwear onto his shoulder before glaring at me and leaving. Rhys carelessly flicked the scrap of fabric onto the sofa. He turned back, his tone shifting to concern, gently rubbing my back. “Ava, feeling better?” “I know this is hard to accept right now. I get it. So, if you want a divorce, I won’t blame you.” I wiped the mess from my mouth and looked up, staring at him with eyes that were swollen and raw. “Rhys, I’m not divorcing you.” I couldn’t explain what I was thinking. Disgust, yes. Fury, absolutely. But mostly, it was refusal. I didn’t want to cut my losses. I was like a gambler who’d lost everything, frantically clutching at the one remaining chip: the belief that he still loved me. I cried, I screamed, I even held a knife to my own neck to threaten him. Rhys finally caved, promising to cut ties with the other woman completely. See? He still cared. If he loved me, maybe we could still go back. But the retribution was swift. One month later, on my own birthday, intimate office photos of him and my best friend, Tatum, went viral. The double betrayal was a dull knife to the throat. I physically retched and coughed up blood. I spent all my energy writing scathing online posts and paying off media to ruin him. But Rhys crushed my entire struggle with one casual move. He produced a fabricated psychological evaluation and announced to the world that I was mentally unstable. At the same time, he sent Tatum to a top overseas university with a huge donation, telling reporters: “Tatum is an exceptional woman, and I look forward to her returning home a master of her field.” I was a public joke, a cautionary tale. When the spotlights went out, Rhys took my hand, his voice laced with patronizing fondness, as if soothing a difficult child. “Ava, you threatened your life last time. I was not happy. Sleeping with your best friend was just a small lesson for you.” He sighed. “I understood, and I tolerated your moods, but I waited an entire month to get something new. You can’t stop a man’s nature.” “I thought you two were close. I’m a little disappointed you made such a scene. Don’t push me like this again. You’ll regret it.” The next day, he found a college student. To show how much he adored her—and to warn me—he sold our original one-bedroom walk-up. That apartment held all our youthful memories. The tiny place where we once shared one cup of instant noodles, dreaming of a perfect future. He promised he would never fail me. I fell to my knees, begging him. I told him he could take everything, just leave that one apartment. I failed. The money went to the student’s expenses. She lasted two months, then he traded her for a restaurant hostess. My mind started to unravel. I shuffled between psychological clinics and alternative medicine practitioners, often leaving acupuncture treatments looking like a human pin cushion. One day, I came home early and found Rhys coupling with yet another woman in our matrimonial bed. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it, but it was the first time I’d seen it with my own eyes. I lost it. I attacked them both, striking him, then hitting the woman until she had to go to the emergency room. To appease his new conquest, Rhys had me committed to a psychiatric hospital. Three days of electric shock therapy. The day I came home, the bedroom door was locked. I could hear his strained breathing from inside. “Ava, wait out there for a second. We’ll be done in a minute.” I waited from afternoon until deep into the night. When Rhys finally emerged, I had already slit my wrists with a kitchen knife. I woke up in a hospital bed. He was by my side, eyes dark with exhaustion. He clutched my hand, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry, Ava. I went too far this time.” “But how can you use your life to make a point? If you truly can’t handle this, you can file for divorce. I promise to give you a generous settlement.” In our eight years, we hadn’t been strangers to hardship. But he had suffered more than I had. I was fed; he starved. He collapsed at construction sites, by the side of the road, right in front of me. That year, terrified that I would starve him to death, I tried to break up with him. I staged a hunger strike. That was the first time he ever cried, begging me not to leave. “Ava, don’t go. If you leave, I really won’t make it.” Now, lying in this bed, I gently touched his face and asked seriously: “Rhys, do you still love me?” He squeezed my hand fiercely and kissed my palm again and again. “My sweet girl, how could I not love you?” During my hospital stay, he was like the Rhys of old—the man who loved me most. We held hands, embraced, and made love, giving ourselves fully to each other. But it was fleeting. He soon had someone new. A fragile, youthful girl in a summer dress, who stood behind him and shyly called me “Sister.” I had a flash of déjà vu when I looked at her. But Rhys wouldn’t let me get a closer look. He completely shielded the girl, and the look in his eyes—for the first time—was protective and wary. “Madi is innocent, a simple soul. I had to chase her down. Any complaint you have, you direct it to me. She doesn’t understand anything. I have to protect her.” In that moment, I knew. If I still held three percent of his heart, Madison owned the other ninety-seven. He protected her completely; the media never got a photo of Madison. He, who had always hated spicy food, accompanied her to eat an entire pot of blazing hot chili oil, clutching his stomach all the way to the emergency room. He told her he couldn’t give her a title, so he transferred ten percent of his company stock to her. On their hundred-day anniversary, he bought out the city’s fireworks show and set them off all night long. I stood by the window, watching the dazzling display, my heart tearing apart. I remembered years ago, when we were huddled under the bridge. We found discarded fireworks in a dumpster. He always gave them to me first. I never lit them right away; I saved them for my birthday or a special occasion. A small spark flared in the darkness, a poor, lonely flower bursting open. Rhys would hold me tight from behind, his voice choked with tears. “I’m sorry, Ava. This is the best I can do for you now.” “I swear, one day, I will show you the grandest, most beautiful fireworks the world has ever seen.” Later, we had money. Our wedding was extravagant. But I never saw a single firework. I thought he’d forgotten. He hadn’t forgotten. He just took the light and gave it to another woman’s night sky. The final blow was the wedding he orchestrated for Madison. Every detail was planned by him. He invited all his closest friends and announced that Madison was his true love, the one he’d waited for all his life. In that moment, seeing Madison in her white dress, the image of her merged with a shadow in my memory. I went insane. I ran into the wedding, holding a knife, and screamed at him. “Rhys! Why don’t you love me anymore?! Isn’t she just the ghost of the girl you shattered?!” His first reaction was to shove Madison behind him. Then, he grabbed my arm and threw me down the grand staircase. I collapsed on the ground, blood immediately soaking through my clothes. I woke up in the hospital again. Rhys was standing nearby, his white shirt stained with dried, dark blood. His face was a mask of pain. The doctor told me I’d lost the baby. I couldn’t remember which one it was anymore. The third? The fourth? I only remembered the beginning: too poor for decent birth control. Then, two ambitious young people sacrificing their bodies for their business. The first child was lost to malnutrition. The second, an accident after exhaustion. The doctor had gently told me then that it would be difficult to conceive again. Rhys had hugged me, his eyes red. “It doesn’t matter, Ava. We’ll be child-free. I only need you.” Now, this accidental child was gone, lost in this brutal way. Rhys collapsed beside my bed, his shoulders shaking. He cried, swearing: “Ava, I’m so sorry. I’ll protect you. I won’t let you suffer another moment.” But my soul had already drifted away with that unformed life. He didn’t leave to be with Madison, but she showed up at the hospital herself. She carried a fruit basket. When she heard I’d lost the baby, her tears streamed down her face. “Sister, I didn’t want to tell you now. I was scared you’d be sad.” “But… I’m pregnant.” The wire that had been stretched to the absolute limit finally snapped. I grabbed the water cup on the bedside table and hurled it at her, screaming with all the air in my lungs: “Get out!” Rhys instantly shielded her. The cup shattered against his back. He spun around and roared at the nurses rushing in. “Give her a tranquilizer!” “You couldn’t keep your own child! Don’t you dare take it out on Madi!” “I told you, take your anger out on me!” The cold drug was pushed into my vein. The world began to spin and blur. But I felt it clearly: the last shred of dignity that had kept me going until now had completely dissolved. I stared at the ceiling blankly, silent tears streaming down my face. Rhys let go of Madison. He looked at me with an expression of deep anguish, reaching out to embrace me like he always had. The moment his hand touched my shoulder, I said: “I agree.” He froze, confused. “I said, I agree to the divorce.”

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I’m Sienna Reid, a D-list actress with crippling social anxiety. The constant pressure of the job is brutal, and my only lifeline is scrolling through videos of ridiculously muscular men. In real life, I’m the human embodiment of a mute button—quiet, apologetic, and meek. Online? I’m an absolute menace, firing off the kind of racy, unhinged comments that would get my agent fired. Every day, I unleash a torrent of thirst under various Gym Gods’ videos: “The top half is getting boring. When are we going to see the lower-body circuit?” “Just short-circuited my charging cable. That gaze is electric.” “It’s not th*rst, it’s an appreciation for nature’s finest bloom. Not looking would be a criminal waste of beauty.” I honestly thought everyone else was just messing around, too—a collective online roleplay. I never thought anyone would take me seriously. Then someone did. He was blocking my hotel room door, casually letting his shirt hang open just enough to show that bulging, sculpted chest. He cornered me, his eyes intense, and started chasing me down the hall. “Don’t run!” he demanded. “Didn’t you want to get a taste?” 1 The minute my scene wrapped for the day, I politely declined my co-star’s invitation for dinner. I ripped off my makeup, practically sprinted back to the hotel, double-locked the door, arranged my sad little takeout salad, and then—finally—opened my tablet for my daily feast of spiritual sustenance. I have to hand it to the algorithm. It really gets me. Today’s recommendations were exactly what I needed. I ate my greens with one hand and cackled with the other, occasionally having to wipe a nonexistent drip of drool from my mouth. I typed out a comment: “Are you new here? The Queen has never seen you before.” I added a giant, smug cartoon cat emoji. Swipe. Next one. Hmm. This one is also excellent. “I wouldn’t dare talk back to you, but I’d let you back me up on this, bro.” The videos got me so hyped up I stopped eating my healthy dinner. Honestly, I’ve never understood the psychology behind why these young guys post such revealing content. I might be a socially awkward hermit, but I want to keep up with the latest trends. So, I watched the videos repeatedly, even downloading a few to analyze the… artistry. Suddenly, an account I’d never seen before popped up. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, sculpted abs, and a perfect butt. The best part? His legs were longer than my whole career. I couldn’t resist clicking on his profile. Scroll, scroll, scroll. Holy hell. A true Gym God! He had one hundred and eighteen videos. That was enough to keep me busy for the entire night. I went through every single one, leaving detailed com—I mean, racy comments. “A stunning meal. kissy-face emoji.” “Your abs look… asymmetrical. DM me. I have notes.” “My friend says guys who only sway side-to-side in their videos are single. The ones who move back-and-forth have partners!” “So pale and soft. What’s your secret for that perfect skin?” When I got to the thirty-eighth video, the guy cracked. He sent me a direct message. Midnight Sculpt: If you like what you see, stop scrolling and start chatting. Don’t wait until I’m taken and you’re listening to Taylor Swift’s sad breakup playlist. He even included a fresh photo of his abs. He was so bold. How could I not love him more? It turned out this Gym God was just as absurd as I was. Since it was a long night and I had nothing else to do, I unleashed my full 18-gigabit-per-second internet speed chat skills. BerrySweetTreats: The little cat bows to the Cat King. Long live the Cat King, King of all the Cats! BerrySweetTreats: You shed a single tear, I’ll burn the city down. BerrySweetTreats: Why do I suddenly have two forks in my hand? Oh, my dinner just arrived. He didn’t back down: Midnight Sculpt: You talk a good game. Your mouth must be busy. Midnight Sculpt: Are you hungry, Queen? Tell me where you want to eat, and I’ll wash up first. I shot back: BerrySweetTreats: You bet I am. Can I come over for dinner tonight? And maybe nuzzle you for dessert? Wait. Did I really just say that? Whatever. It was the internet. Hit send. I was giggling hysterically behind my tablet. The experts were right—looking at muscle men prolongs life. Despite my dirty online talk, I was truly a cripplingly anxious homebody in real life. My greatest joy was staying home, surfing the net, and binge-watching TV. It was a cruel twist of fate that I ended up as a D-list actress. I had to go out and see people for the sake of the paycheck. Thank goodness I wasn’t famous enough to have fans waiting for me at the airport or stalking me on set. I’d die of embarrassment. I treated acting as a regular job—no grand ambition, but no slacking either. Luckily, my acting skills were decent, so I always landed small but respectable parts. The pay wasn’t huge, the time on set was short, and once my scenes were done, I could go home. I don’t have expensive tastes; the money was enough. All I really needed was a good Wi-Fi connection and a decent meal. Though, if a phone ever came out that allowed me to touch and experience the images on the screen, I’d work myself to death to afford it. Heh heh. After a few days, Midnight Sculpt and I were chatting up a storm. Apart from filming, my sole purpose was to harass him. BerrySweetTreats: Ugh, why do people have to work?! Everyone else looks refreshed, and I look like I’m about to have a psychotic break! (This was a death rattle I sent after a particularly intense scene with the leading man.) BerrySweetTreats: Do you like foreigners? Because I just made an absolute spectacle of myself. (I’d accidentally knocked the leading man over while filming. God, let the ground swallow me whole!) If he didn’t respond, I’d send him the abstract monologues. BerrySweetTreats: You haven’t answered my calls. Our child has a 104-degree fever. I carried him for 24 hours on foot to the county hospital, and you’re out here thirsting? What is the meaning of this marriage? BerrySweetTreats: Hey, handsome. Are you playing on social media alone? Aren’t you scared? Add me; I’ll protect you. BerrySweetTreats: I’m 63. I can still elbow my way onto the subway or fight a lady for the last carton of eggs at the grocery store, but when I see you, I get shy and can’t even look up… Since no one knew who I was online, I was completely uninhibited. Being an abstract, chaotic personality on the internet actually made filming less grueling. In between takes, I’d hide in a corner and secretly scroll on my tablet. The second I snapped the screen shut, I’d revert to my usual anxious, poker-faced self. No one knew I was a full-blown adult drama playing out in my mind. But the ancients were right: happiness is often followed by tragedy. After a late-night shoot, I dragged my exhausted body back to the hotel. I was hoping for some handsome-man therapy to help me sleep, but I saw a message from Midnight Sculpt sent five hours ago. Midnight Sculpt: LOL. Losing it at work is totally normal. Emotional stability costs extra. Midnight Sculpt: The captions are stolen, the moves are learned, the roses are pilfered, the courage is borrowed—but my love for you is inborn! Everything was normal until the next message, which made my heart leap out of my chest. Midnight Sculpt: Alright, no more jokes. Serious question: I checked the location settings, and we’re in the same city. I really want to meet the person behind this wild profile. Can we grab a drink? Me: ??? The Gym God wanted to meet me in person? Oh. My. God. Panic Mode. I thought he was just like me—quiet and anxious in real life, so he got wild online to relieve stress. I couldn’t have been more wrong. I used him as electronic comfort food, and now he wanted to make things real? My heart hammered against my ribs. I immediately logged out of the account. Lying in bed, tossing and turning, I decided even a burner account wasn’t safe enough. Sitting up, clutching my pillow, I went ahead and permanently deleted the account. Try finding me now, buddy! The next day, I wore huge sunglasses and kept looking left and right, convinced everyone I saw was Midnight Sculpt. At one point, a guy chased me halfway down the street. I nearly ran my legs off before realizing he’d mistaken me for some popular young starlet. Me: …[ugh]. I was not amused. When I finally reached the set, I breathed a sigh of relief. I took off my sunglasses, and a shadow suddenly fell over me. It was Jake, the supporting male actor, his face full of gossip. “Sienna Reid, why are you being so shady?” “Me? Shady?” A short distance away, the lead actor, Rhys Easton, glanced over. He was a huge star, an A-lister. I quickly smiled and nodded at him. Don’t mess with the big shots. Rhys nodded back, then turned his attention to the set. I slumped into my chair and fobbed off Jake with a vague excuse. I just didn’t want to socialize. I wanted to be a mushroom in the corner. Leave me alone! After several days of nervous anticipation, nothing happened. I started to relax—and then I got antsy. Beauty corrupts, truly! Without my daily dose of hunks, my healthy salad even tasted bland. After a few more excruciating days, I couldn’t stand it. I downloaded the app again. I had no choice; acting was too much pressure for an anxious person like me. Without this outlet, I was afraid I’d actually have a breakdown on set. The mere thought sent shivers down my spine. It was clear: another secret account was my best coping mechanism. I registered a new one, brimming with excitement. Hello, gorgeous people. Missed you terribly, missed you madly~~~ Just as I was about to unleash my pent-up energy, a shadow fell over my tablet screen, top to bottom. I looked up. It was Rhys Easton! I reflexively snapped the screen off and shot to my feet like a terrified schoolgirl. “Mr. Easton, hi.” Rhys looked at me, his gaze deep, almost probing. Under his scrutiny, my face flushed crimson, and I gripped my tablet until my knuckles turned white. He finally pulled his gaze away, simply stating: “Director Koster needs to see you.” Before the words fully registered, he was already six feet away. I scratched my head. It must have been my imagination. Why did I think the A-list actor just sighed? He’s a megastar. What could he possibly have to sigh about? I pushed the thought away and dragged my feet toward Director Koster with the air of a condemned woman. After the director, my agent called. Sweet Mother of Mercy! All I wanted was five minutes to quietly stare at abs. Why was it so hard?! I was finally done long after midnight. It didn’t matter. I was looking at abs tonight. I’d stay up late if I had to! Washing up and settling into bed, I finally clicked on the videos. After scrolling past a few particularly fine specimens, I let out a satisfied sigh. I wiped the imaginary drool from my chin and clicked on Midnight Sculpt’s profile. For some reason, out of all the Gym Gods on the internet, he was the one who most captivated me. His muscles, size, color, shape, even that mole on his side—it all made me dizzy with longing. His latest video was especially egregious: Broad shoulders, narrow waist, and bulging chest muscles glowing white in the dim light. To make things worse, he was wearing a chest chain. My fingers itched. I couldn’t help but leave a comment: BerrySweetTreats: Wait, my phone is a touchscreen. Why can’t I reach out and touch you? Zero stars! BerrySweetTreats: I need help, Counselor. I’m feeling poorly. I need to get a taste! Gimme, gimme! A second later, he sent a DM. Midnight Sculpt: BerrySweetTreats? !!! That was my old account handle! I was doomed! How did he recognize me instantly, even with a new account? I started to tremble, ready to run again, but his next message nailed me to the bed. Midnight Sculpt: If you delete this account, I will leak your identity. Midnight Sculpt: A-List Actress Harasses Innocent Civilian! Midnight Sculpt: SHOCKER: Cool-Headed Star Caught in Racy Online Scandal! I had to admit, he had a real knack for tabloid headlines. The titles were clickbait gold. If it weren’t me, I’d be the first one to click and read. The problem was, it was me! I wanted to cry. I didn’t dare delete the account. I took a deep, shaky breath. BerrySweetTreats: I don’t know what you’re talking about. He sent a smiling emoji. Midnight Sculpt: 🙂 Midnight Sculpt: Sienna Reid. Stop pretending. Aaaahhhh! Save me! This man knew who I was! He even knew my real name! Woe is me! Was my perfectly insulated reputation about to be destroyed? No! Do you know what people with my level of crippling social anxiety value most? Our carefully constructed, fragile dignity! I’ve been scrolling for so long, was I finally going to fail at the last hurdle?

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I woke up the day after my divorce was finalized with no memory of the past ten years. Later, my ex-husband, Asher, found me. He said that if I stopped acting crazy every day, he might consider remarrying me. I froze, biting down on my ice cream spoon. After a long pause, I finally spoke: “Let’s not! I… I… I’m actually perfectly fine just taking the money.” Chapter 1 When I woke up, my best friend, Chloe, was looking at me with a worried expression. She told me not to be sad. She said my body belonged to me, and even though I was divorced, I still had to live well. She said the kids wouldn’t be mistreated living with Asher, and there was no need for me to fight another lawsuit, especially since I wouldn’t win. I stared blankly for a long time before I couldn’t help but ask: “Who is Asher?” Chloe froze, looking completely baffled. After a long moment, she snapped out of it and ran to call the doctor. The doctor said I had amnesia from the car accident. Chloe hurriedly asked me how old I thought I was. I thought about it: “Eighteen! Didn’t I just finish my SATs yesterday?” Chloe burst out laughing, squatting on the floor clutching her stomach, pounding the bed with her fist. “Eve, you are amazing! This amnesia is fantastic! Yes, you are eighteen! Eighteen is great! No Asher, no kids… just the two of us…” I was even more confused. Chapter 2 Chloe took me home. Once it was confirmed that my memory was unlikely to return soon, she gave me a brief rundown of my current situation. I, Evelyn Vance, fell in love during my freshman year of college and met a poor boy named Asher Sterling. I dated Asher for ten years, from eighteen to twenty-eight. I accompanied him through his startup, ate ramen and leftovers with him, bore him children, and took care of his parents. Then, this year, he fought a lawsuit to divorce me. “??? What?” I was shocked. What kind of melodramatic tragedy was this? After a long while, I asked with a trembling voice: “So, you’re saying I served someone like a servant for ten years, and at twenty-eight, I was kicked out?” Chloe nodded: “Yes. You also have two children, a son who is six and a daughter who is four. But because you were a housewife with no earning capacity, and both children chose to live with their father, custody was awarded to Asher.” “…What??? The two children I worked so hard to raise are gone…” Although I hadn’t experienced any of this in my memory, it sounded terrifying. I was almost scared to tears. Then Chloe laughed and patted my shoulder: “Don’t be too sad. At least you still have money.” Tears swirled in my eyes as I tentatively asked: “How much?” Chloe sat up straight: “Eve, listen carefully. You got 20% of Asher’s assets, 10% shares in three listed companies, and two brownstones in Manhattan. The total value is about 270 million dollars.” “…” Silence. Thought. Then I tentatively asked: “Chloe, you’re not lying to me, are you?” “If I’m lying, I’m a dog.” That day, I stared dazedly at the sky outside the window. I had forgotten ten years of memories. I didn’t know how I had lived those ten years. But Chloe said I was rich. And at eighteen, what I loved most was money. So I figured this wasn’t too bad. Chapter 3 Chloe took time off work. For the next few days, she took me around to transfer various assets. I didn’t see the Asher person Chloe talked about. He had delegated all the divorce property division matters to his lawyers. We were busy for nearly a month. Later, Chloe helped me list all the properties under my name for rent. She calculated for me that the monthly rent would be around 170,000 dollars. That day, looking at the countless zeros in my bank account, I looked up at the mirror to see my exquisite twenty-eight-year-old self. I scratched my head. Not bad. Chapter 4 I had nothing to do at home, but Chloe had to work. I spent every day at Chloe’s place playing video games. When Chloe ordered takeout for lunch, she ordered for me too. Chloe got off work very late. When she came back at night, she was half-dead, collapsing onto the sofa lifelessly. I would drop my game controller and massage her shoulders. Perhaps due to muscle memory, I was excellent at massaging. After resting enough, Chloe started lamenting: “Asher is a freaking animal. Right after graduation, you worked for him for free. His mother was in poor health, and after work, you had to massage her back and shoulders.” “…” As she spoke, Chloe pulled me over and flicked my forehead: “Eve, you’re just spineless. When I’m not around, you let them bully you. That group of people just bullied you because you were an unloved child.” I rubbed my head, feeling a bit wronged: “I don’t remember any of what you said! I only remember you.” Chloe stopped talking, then laughed: “That’s right! You don’t remember. It’s better not to remember. Just remember me. I won’t bully you.” I believed Chloe because we grew up together. We both grew up in a foster home. When we were very young, I followed Chloe around. Chloe snatched snacks for me and helped me wash clothes. Later, when we grew up a bit, Chloe tutored me. She was a year older than me. When I was a senior in high school, she was a freshman in college. She called me every day, telling me to work hard. She wanted me to go to the same university as her, but Chloe scored too high. I studied myself to death, but I still couldn’t get into an Ivy League. The day the results came out, I hugged Chloe and cried. Chloe flicked my forehead: “What are you crying for? 1450 on the SATs, such an amazing score, what’s there to cry about?” She patted my head: “It’s already very good.” Later, I went to New York crying. Chapter 5 Chloe regretted it whenever she talked about it. She said she shouldn’t have let me go to New York: “If you hadn’t gone to New York, you wouldn’t have met Asher. If you hadn’t met Asher…” I interrupted: “Then I wouldn’t have these 270 million dollars.” Chloe put her hands on her hips: “Is money more important or your ten years?” I tried to guess the correct answer: “Money?” Chloe looked at me like iron that failed to become steel: “You are important! If you’re not happy, no amount of money is useful. Luckily you have amnesia, otherwise if you couldn’t think straight and did something foolish, what use would that money be?” “Hmm… buy me a nice cemetery plot…” Chloe laughed angrily: “Get lost!” “…” Chloe had always been amazing, and she was still amazing now. She was the general manager of a multinational corporation, with a monthly salary of around 60,000 dollars. But she was busy. Sometimes she had to travel for business and was worried about leaving me alone. So she took me along. Later, she figured since she was taking me everywhere anyway, why spend her own money? She hired me into her company as her assistant. I was familiar with this! I had read dozens of books about domineering CEOs falling in love with their little assistants in the past few months. On the first day, I wore a pencil skirt and went to work full of confidence. I made her coffee, organized her materials, and ran around. I looked very hardworking. Later, she laughed and told me to stop running. She gave me a spreadsheet: “Let Anna guide you. Work on this. Learn slowly, no rush.” “Okay, okay.” And just like that, I officially started working.

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