Category: English

Three years after we broke up, Roger sued me. He wanted every dollar he’d ever spent on me during our relationship returned. He wasn’t broke; his new wife was just bored, and I was her new plaything. He knew my body was failing me. He knew I hadn’t slept without medication since my parents died in a car crash, that a thick fog of depression had settled over my life. He knew I’d tried to end it all once, waking up in a hospital bed with doctors whispering that I might not make it. And he did it anyway. In the courtroom, I looked at his face, so familiar yet so alien. I had known him for seven years, loved him for five. When he left to study abroad in America, I never once thought of giving up, even when things were at their worst. L.A. was a world away, but I flew back and forth a dozen times to be with him. The court ordered me to pay him back $10,723. That last three dollars was from a day on the streets of L.A. I’d seen a stall selling candied apples, but at three dollars a piece, I couldn’t bring myself to buy one. He had just laughed and bought it for me anyway. Now, even that sweet memory had been sharpened into a blade pointed at my heart. He didn’t know. That ten thousand dollars was every cent I had to my name. It was also the money I’d set aside for my next round of chemotherapy. 1 After the verdict was read, I ran right into Roger in the hallway. I hadn’t seen him in years, and he’d changed. The struggling student who used to hustle between part-time jobs and a cramped, cheap apartment was now a titan in the green tech industry. He stood there in a perfectly tailored suit, his gaze landing on me with a cool, detached frostiness. I froze, my first instinct to pretend I hadn’t seen him and walk away. But then he spoke, his voice slow and deliberate. “Are you regretting it… now?” I blinked, confused. “What?” A bitter, mocking smile twisted his lips. “Dumping me for money back then. You must be kicking yourself, right?” The late autumn wind was sharp, cutting through my thin clothes. I clenched my fists, but a deep, unshakable chill had already taken root in my bones. I took a deep breath and forced a flawless smile. “Mr. Vance, the money has been repaid. We’re broken up. Aren’t you worried your wife might get the wrong idea if she heard you talking like this?” As if on cue, I turned and saw Felicity standing there, her face a mask of fury. The anger vanished in an instant, replaced by a radiant smile that didn’t quite reach the venom in her eyes. She clicked across the floor in her stilettos and wrapped her arm possessively around Roger’s. “Honey, what should I even do with this ten thousand dollars? A new dress? Shoes? Or that designer bag I saw last week?” She shot a pointed look at me, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “It doesn’t seem to be enough for any of those, does it? You really should have been more generous with your ex-girlfriend. This little bit of cash wouldn’t even cover a new hairpin for me.” I had loved Roger for five years. During that time, while he was studying in L.A., I flew across the country every month to see him. The ten thousand dollars he sued me for was mostly the money he had earned working grueling side jobs to help pay for my plane tickets. But now, he and Felicity had presented the bank transfers to their lawyer, who had torn my life apart in court, demanding repayment as if it were their birthright. The hairpin on Felicity’s head was the latest release from Chanel, costing fifteen thousand dollars. The money she’d just squeezed from me truly wasn’t enough. Roger brushed a stray hair from her face with a tender, doting gesture. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. Think of it as pocket money. If it’s not enough, I’ll add to it.” Felicity’s face lit up, and she planted a kiss on his cheek. “You’re the best, honey!” Then, she turned to me, her smile a weapon. “Eve, I am so sorry. We obviously don’t need the money, but Roger and I made a little bet. He did this just to make me happy, you know?” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Ever since we got married, Roger worries about me working too hard, so he won’t let me get a job. All I do all day is skincare, beauty treatments, and travel. A girl has to find some way to amuse herself, right?” She reached out and took my hand, her eyes glittering with triumph. “Thank you for making my day. And for proving just how much my husband adores me.” A sharp pain shot through my chest, like a thousand tiny needles piercing my heart. For the rich, this was just a game. I was nothing more than a pawn, a tool used to demonstrate the depths of Roger’s devotion to his wife. 2 I fought to keep my hands from shaking and plastered on another perfect smile. “A debt is a debt. It’s only right that I paid it.” Felicity’s smile widened. “I hope you always feel that way.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “My husband is a simple man. He was deceived by someone vain and materialistic. I just wanted to help him get his own back. I hope you don’t mind.” Suddenly, her grip on my hand tightened, her nails digging viciously into my wrist. I cried out in shock and pain, stumbling backward. My feet tangled, and I tumbled down the marble steps. My knee cracked against a sharp edge, and a hot, searing pain was followed by the sight of blood blooming through my pants. I gritted my teeth against the wave of agony, my body trembling as I looked up at the two figures looming over me. Felicity covered her mouth with a perfectly manicured hand, her eyes wide with fake surprise. “Eve, what happened? It was only ten thousand dollars. Surely that’s not enough to make you lose your balance? You look badly hurt. Should we give you a ride home?” Her triumphant smile returned. “Roger just bought me a new sports car. I’m sure ten thousand dollars would cover the gas to get you home.” Her car was an anniversary gift from Roger, its body encrusted with shimmering pink diamonds—a perfect reflection of her ostentatious taste. She loved parading it around the city, causing a stir with the press and drawing envious stares from everyone who saw it. My gaze shifted to Roger. His eyes were cold and deep, unreadable pools of shadow. He looked down at me from the top of the stairs, a silent, icy judgment in his stare. I felt like a stray dog, beaten and discarded. I pushed myself up from the cold floor, the pain in my knee a dull, throbbing echo. I managed another smile. “No, thank you. I’ll get home on my own.” Felicity burst into a tinkling laugh. “Well, we’ll be on our way then!” She turned to Roger. “Honey, I know what we can buy with the money.” Her voice was bright and cheerful. “Our little Louis’s dog bowl is broken. I want to get him one of those new smart feeders.” Roger’s eyes remained fixed on me, a storm of unreadable emotions swirling within them. After a long moment, he finally spoke, his voice a low murmur. “Whatever.” Felicity looped her arm through his, and they walked away, giddy with their victory. I watched as their dazzling sports car sped away, a blur of pink and chrome. It wasn’t until the car disappeared and a taxi pulled up to the curb that I remembered. I didn’t even have the money for cab fare anymore. Roger would never know. The money he was now using for a dog bowl was the money I needed to stay alive. 3 I dragged my battered body home. My place was a tin-roofed shack built on top of a tenement building in the poorest part of the city. Whenever the wind blew or the rain fell, the metal would groan and shriek, keeping me awake all night. In the summer, it was a sweatbox. There was no air conditioning, and I couldn’t afford the electricity for a fan anyway. I’d suffered from heatstroke more than once. I thought Roger would never find me here. I never imagined our reunion would be in a courtroom. My eyes fell on the wall, covered with articles I’d clipped from magazines and newspapers. I began to tear them down, one by one. Each one had a picture of Roger. Roger, the rising star of the green tech world, giving his first major interview. Roger, at the awards ceremony, named one of New York’s Ten Most Outstanding Young Entrepreneurs. And… Roger, down on one knee, proposing to Felicity, their storybook wedding splashed across every media outlet, a spectacle for the whole world to see. I took a shaky breath, ripping the pages into pieces, shoving them into a cardboard box hidden under my bed. My gaze landed on a faded photograph at the bottom of the box. A wave of grief washed over me. In the picture, Roger’s arm was wrapped around me, his smile shy, genuine, and utterly incandescent. I thought of the cold, distant man in the courthouse hallway, and it felt like I was looking at a ghost from another lifetime. He was the CEO of a publicly traded company now, a powerful figure in the city, a celebrated philanthropist, and the perfect husband who doted on Felicity, placing her on a pedestal for all to admire. The only thing he wasn’t anymore… was my boyfriend. I gave a final, bitter smile and sealed the box, burying the photos and the memories along with it. Then, I stood in front of the mirror, applying my makeup like armor and pulling on a tight-fitting dress. “Boss,” I said into the phone. “From now on, I want to work the night shift.” The night shift at the bar meant dealing with sleazy, grabby men, but it also meant more money, and faster. I had no choice. To live, I had to earn the money for my treatment. But I never, ever expected to see Roger there. He was surrounded by a crowd of people, the center of attention. My fingers tightened into fists, and the exposed skin of my arms and shoulders began to prickle with heat. Of course, he saw me too. A flicker of shock and disbelief crossed his face, quickly replaced by a sneer of pure contempt. “So, this is where you work now.” My palms were slick with sweat, but I forced myself to remain calm. “Your drink, sir.” He looked at me with open disgust, as if I were a rat struggling in a sewer. “Makes sense, I suppose. Any man who walks in here could set you up for life if you play your cards right. It really suits you.” I took another deep breath. “Your drink, sir.” He raised an eyebrow. “How long have you been here? Don’t you know how to serve a customer?” He pulled a checkbook from his jacket, scribbled a number, and tossed it onto the floor in front of me. “Take good care of my friends tonight, and this is yours.” The check landed at my feet. I knelt slowly to pick it up, my injured knee screaming in protest. When I saw the number written on it, my breath caught in my throat. My heart seized, a pain so sharp it felt like a physical blow. $10,723. The exact amount the court had ordered me to pay him. He was using it to humiliate me. I stood there, meeting his cold gaze. After a long, silent moment, my own voice came out, thin but steady. “This is a payment for a service, Mr. Vance. I… won’t have to give this back, will I?” 4 My doctor told me I couldn’t drink. Not a single drop. But I had no choice. I needed the money. For the past few years, I’d swallowed my pride and done whatever it took to survive. What were a few drinks compared to that? The men with Roger tonight were his friends. They all knew our story. They knew that three years ago, when Roger was on the verge of bankruptcy, his funding pulled, so close to the edge he almost jumped from a bridge, I had walked out on him. They knew he’d searched for me like a madman, getting into a car accident in the process, and that even as he lay in a hospital bed begging me not to go, I never looked back. They hated me. They wanted to defend his honor, and they weren’t going to show me any mercy. They poured drink after drink down my throat until the world dissolved into a meaningless blur. I collapsed onto the table, a boneless heap. When I reached for another bottle, Roger’s anger finally flared. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron. “Is there really no line you won’t cross for money?” I lifted my head, my vision swimming. Like a beggar, I held out my hand to him. “Roger… the money… you promised…” My voice was a slurred mess. “You said… if I drank… if I took care of your friends… you’d give me the money… and you wouldn’t take it back…” His expression shifted, becoming something more complex, more conflicted. His thumb brushed over my wrist, over the jagged, raised scars that marred my skin. After my parents died, the depression had consumed me. I had tried to cut it out of myself more than once. Each time, it was Roger who had pulled me back from the brink. He would hold me, his voice raw with desperation. “Eve, you still have me. Please, just for me, you have to live. Promise me you’ll live.” But now, he snatched his hand away as if he’d touched something filthy. His mocking smile returned, colder and sharper than before. “I made a promise, yes. But… look at my friends. Have you taken care of them?” They stood in a circle around me, their eyes filled with a mixture of cold amusement and pity, watching the clown perform. The guests were still sober, and I was already a wreck. I had failed at my job. I forced back the spasms in my stomach and gave him a woozy, foolish grin. “Then I’ll start over. Until you’re satisfied.” As I reached for another bottle, something in Roger finally snapped. He kicked out, his foot connecting with the leg of the table. The whole thing went flying. The sound of shattering glass echoed through the room as bottles crashed to the floor. I fell with them, my hand landing directly on a shard of broken glass. The pain was immediate and searing, blood welling up from the gash. The door burst open, and my best friend, Chloe, rushed in. She dropped to her knees beside me, pulling me into a hug. “Eve! Are you okay?” She looked up, her eyes blazing with fury, and screamed at him. “Roger, are you even human? After everything she did for you, you force her to drink like this?” Her voice cracked, thick with tears. “She has stomach cancer! Don’t you get it? This could kill her!”

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When Amy came storming into my life, I was in the middle of rocking my baby to sleep. She was pregnant, her belly round and full, and she was demanding that I divorce my husband, Jason. Truth be told, I already knew about Jason’s affair. I just hadn’t made a scene. I let her in, gently placed my sleeping baby in her bassinet, and poured Amy a glass of water. Then, I called Jason. “You need to come home. We’re talking about a divorce.” Jason’s voice was laced with irritation. “Jenna, how many times do I have to tell you? I’m not getting a divorce.” “Your other child is standing in our living room. Should I throw her out?” 1. Jason got home fast. He’d been out getting me crab rangoon from my favorite place, a forty-minute round trip he made in twenty. He walked in empty-handed, his eyes darting between Amy and me. We were both on the sofa. I was calm; she was a sobbing mess. I promise you, I hadn’t laid a hand on her. Jason rushed in, breathless, and scowled at Amy. “What are you doing here? I thought you were getting rid of it.” She flinched, wiping at her tear-streaked face. “I’m six months along. It’s too late.” “I told you to take care of it weeks ago. Why didn’t you listen to me?” Jason collapsed onto the sofa next to her, a wave of defeated resignation washing over him. “So, what now?” he asked, his voice flat. Amy’s voice rose in a wail. “You’re the father! If you don’t know what to do, what am I supposed to do? My dad already kicked me out for getting pregnant out of wedlock. You have to make an honest woman of me! How is our child supposed to go to school without a father?” Silence fell between them. Amy’s sobs softened into whimpers. I thoughtfully passed her a box of tissues. Looking at Jason, slumped and pathetic, a bitter sting filled my eyes, but then, a strange, hollow laugh escaped my lips. The man I had once loved so deeply had become selfish, irresponsible, a stranger. I took a deep, steadying breath, forcing my voice to remain even. “Jason, let’s get a divorce.” I looked at Amy. She was hunched over slightly, but her face was still full of youthful collagen, her skin smooth and perfect, without a single line around her eyes. We’d talked before Jason arrived. She was only twenty-two, in the prime of her life. She hadn’t had much education. Her family was traditional, favoring sons over daughters. Her older sister supported their parents and younger brother, and Amy had become the family’s cash cow. She worked as a hostess at a bar, pushing expensive liquor. Getting groped by customers was just part of the job. She told me about one night, a customer had her pinned, his greasy face buried in her chest, one hand kneading her backside while he tried to force a kiss on her. She struggled, but he only tightened his grip, his voice a slimy threat. “You don’t play along, I don’t buy the drinks.” Her income was based on commission. The sale was huge—enough to pay for her little brother’s private school tuition for a year. At his words, she went still, helpless tears streaming down her face. That’s when Jason appeared. He grabbed the man’s hand, landed a solid punch, and bought all the liquor himself. He told Amy she should find a respectable job, but by then, she had already set her sights on him. Telling the story, Amy couldn’t stop the tears, her eyes overflowing with a love that was almost painful to watch. “My knight in shining armor,” she whispered. “I always knew he would come for me.” She pursued him relentlessly, wearing him down until she finally ended up in his bed, and then, with his child in her belly. She said her baby deserved a complete family. So she was here, begging me to give Jason to her. Pathetic, and yet, detestable. 2. Jason and I stared at each other for a long time. My eyes burned with unshed tears, and I could see the glint of moisture in his, too. A lifetime of history. You don’t just throw that away. After a moment, Jason turned to Amy. “This is my fault. I’ll pay for the child’s support, but I can’t get a divorce.” “Why not?” Amy shrieked, her eyes wide. “What’s stopping you? Is she younger than me? Prettier than me?” Each question was a blunt knife, carving into my heart. “They’re both your children! Doesn’t my baby deserve a father? Are you going to let him end up like me, with no future, bled dry by his family? Your other baby is from IVF! Is she even as healthy as mine? Weren’t you the one in bed telling me you wanted a real child of your own? Are you taking it all back now?” CRACK. Jason’s hand moved so fast I barely saw it. A livid red handprint bloomed on Amy’s cheek. He was shaking with rage, his chest heaving. “What the hell are you talking about!” Amy cradled her face, her sobs growing louder. A thousand tiny needles of pain pricked at my skin, converging on my heart. He had even told her about the IVF. This baby had been so hard-won. I was thirty-five, a high-risk pregnancy. It took two rounds of IVF to finally be successful. The physical pain, the mental anguish… and now this. I had wanted my baby to come into a world filled with love and anticipation, not to have her father casually dismiss her as an “IVF baby” to his mistress. A sharp, piercing pain lanced through my chest. Jason started to move toward me, but Amy clung to him, weeping. He couldn’t push a pregnant woman away, so he was trapped beside her. I forced myself to take several deep breaths until my heart rate began to steady. “You need to move out,” I said, my voice trembling. “I’ll have a lawyer draft the divorce papers. I’ll see you at the courthouse.” I glanced at Amy’s swollen belly, a lump forming in my throat. “We’ll split the assets as the law dictates. And since you don’t want this child,” I gestured to my own, still-flat stomach, “she will stay with me. You can just send the child support checks.” “Now get out,” I said, my voice cracking. “I don’t want either of you in my home.” I made a shooing gesture and turned my head away, unable to look at them any longer. Jason gave me one last worried glance before Amy practically shoved him out the door. “Thank you so much,” Amy said as she left, a simpering, yet genuinely grateful smile on her face. “You’re a really good person.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. The moment the door clicked shut, the tears I had been holding back finally fell. 3. I hated Amy. She had destroyed my life. I hated Jason. He had shattered it with his own hands. I was still recovering from childbirth, and this was the chaos he brought to my door. The neighbors would talk. I would become a joke, and one day, so would my child. I truly hated him. He had forced me into this humiliating divorce, turning my marriage into a colossal failure. 4. The maternity nurse I’d hired was supposed to arrive today, but it’s been three days. I called the agency, urging them to find someone. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Ross,” the agent replied. “Experienced maternity nurses are in high demand right now. We don’t have anyone who meets your requirements.” “I’ll pay more,” I sobbed, my face buried in my hands. 5. An extra two thousand dollars did the trick. A new nurse arrived quickly. Her name was Mrs. Rosa. Mrs. Rosa moved in, and she was a godsend. She soothed my frayed nerves, prepared the baby’s bottles, and rocked her to sleep through the night. I knew how hard she was working, but I was in no state to help. Jason came by once. He said I was in no condition to be alone, that he wanted to take care of me. I threw him out. He called, but I didn’t answer. He texted, and I blocked his number. The day the divorce papers were ready, I unblocked him. He brought his lawyer. We signed everything quickly, with almost no disagreement over the assets. We were both reasonable people; what was fair was fair. He had some basic decency left, even if the years had allowed some rotten part of him to fester and grow. Looking at him, I noticed that in just one week, streaks of gray had appeared in his hair. There were dark circles under his eyes, and a rough stubble covered his jaw. I used to hate the scratchy feeling of his beard against my cheek, so he had always been meticulous about shaving, about his appearance. He was a man who took pride in being clean and put-together. “The dividends from my company shares… I’ll set a portion aside for Joy when she turns eighteen. You won’t have to worry about her future,” he said, his eyes fixed on the floor. “Jenna, I’m so sorry.” “There’s nothing to be sorry for. This is just how people are.” I blinked back tears, my voice thick. “Greedy. So damn greedy. When you have no money, you want money. When you have no love, you want love. When life is calm, you crave excitement, and when it’s exciting, you long for peace.” Jason’s voice broke. “I’m sorry. I destroyed our family. If you and Joy ever need anything, you can always call me.” I tilted my head back, wiping a tear from my cheek. “No, we won’t. I’ll raise her myself. And I’ll tell her that her father is dead.” Jason left. His back, once so straight and strong, was now stooped, carrying the weight of a man worn down by life. In one week, a family had been shattered. But at least I still had my baby. She was a girl. I named her Joy. Joy, because I wanted her to be happy. Joy, because it sounded like “January,” the start of a new year, a new beginning. I wanted her to know that no matter what setbacks she faced, she could always start over. And Joy, because it held the echo of a full moon, a symbol of completeness and reunion. I wanted her life to be whole, without the regrets that haunted mine. Everything I never had, everything I yearned for, my baby would have it all. 6. Jason didn’t bother me again, but his parents heard what happened. They flew across the country to see me. My mother-in-law, Carol, was a kind woman. When I opened the door, she just stood there, and before a word was spoken, tears were streaming down her face. She took my hands in hers, her voice choked with emotion. “You’re so thin, Jenna. How did you get so thin?” I held her cool hands and shook my head. “I don’t know.” In one week, I had lost fifteen pounds. Mrs. Rosa was a wonderful cook, and I was eating, but the weight just melted away. All those years of trying to diet, and this is what it took. “It’s all Jason’s fault. Our family has failed you. If you need anything, anything at all, you just have to ask,” she said. “I’m not strong enough to help with the baby myself now.” Her voice broke as she mentioned my own mother. “If your mom were still here, she never would have let you suffer like this. When she passed, I promised her I would take care of you, and now look what’s happened. When I see her on the other side, she’s going to blame me for not looking after you properly. I’ve failed her, and I’ve failed you.” As Carol cried, my father-in-law, usually so stoic, wiped at his own eyes. I hugged her, forcing back my own tears. “Mom, please don’t say that. It’s not your fault. My mom would never blame you. You’ve taken care of me for so many years. It’s more than enough. It really is.” Carol and my mom had been best friends, which is why they bought houses next to each other. My mom had made a bad choice in a husband, divorcing young and raising me alone. Carol was always there for her. When my mom died of cancer while I was in high school, she entrusted me to Carol. She kept the news from me so I could focus on my college entrance exams. I’ll forever regret not being there to see her one last time. Carol held me tight, letting my tears soak her shoulder. “Jenna,” she whispered, “from now on, I am your mother. You are my daughter. You treat me like your own mom.” And she meant it. In college, my allowance from her was always a hundred dollars more than Jason’s. She’d buy me beautiful clothes and get him the cheaper stuff. Whenever I came home for break, the table was always filled with my favorite foods. I hated onions, so she never put them in any dish, or if she did, she’d have Jason pick them out for me. I often thought to myself that my mom had terrible taste in men, but impeccable taste in friends. Carol wanted to stay and help with the baby, saying it was too much for me alone. I refused. They were getting older, and the flight had exhausted them. The gesture was enough. She was overjoyed when she saw Joy, saying the baby looked just like me as a child—big eyes, a high nose. A little beauty who would steal hearts one day. She stayed for a few days and helped with the baby, which gave Mrs. Rosa a bit of a break. But the baby was fussy at night, and the dark circles under Carol’s eyes were impossible to hide. After just a couple of days, she and my father-in-law had to leave. Before she left, she hesitated, a troubled look on her face. I saw it. “Mom, just say it.” She spoke with difficulty. “What Jason did was wrong. But the baby… the baby is innocent. He needs a birth certificate, a legal identity. After you get the divorce decree, I want to make sure the baby is registered.” I understood. She supported Jason marrying Amy. I smiled. “Mom, it’s fine. It’s not a big deal. I won’t say anything.” Her eyes filled with tears again. She squeezed my hand. “Such a good girl, such a good girl.” As she was leaving, she pressed a bank card into my hand. “A gift for Joy. The PIN is her birthday.” I had no choice but to accept it. I watched them step into the elevator. As the doors slid shut, I tilted my head back, a sob catching in my throat. No matter how kind Carol was, no matter how close she was to my mom, no matter how much she cared for me, she wasn’t my mother. If my own mom were here, she would never have let me be wronged like this. She would have stood firmly on my side. She would never have said that an innocent child was involved. But my mother was gone. And I missed her so much. 7. The day Jason and I agreed to meet at the courthouse arrived quickly. I found our marriage certificate, still pristine in the folder where I’d kept it safe. He picked me up, parking downstairs. As I got into the passenger seat, I noticed a collection of little trinkets dangling from the rearview mirror. Seeing me stare at them, a flash of embarrassment crossed Jason’s face. “Amy put them there. She’s pregnant. She throws a fit if I take them down.” I gave a small, humorless laugh. “My mistake. I should have sat in the back.” I had opened the passenger door out of habit, without thinking. We drove in silence. When he asked a question, I gave a vague, noncommittal answer. At a red light, pedestrians streamed across the crosswalk. Jason suddenly spoke. “Remember in school? We were always catching this red light, counting down the seconds before we had to sprint across.” “Only old people reminisce about the past,” I said, my words sharp, offering him no comfort. He didn’t get angry. He even chuckled in agreement. “You’re right. We are getting old.” I snorted softly and turned to stare out the window, ignoring him. A month, maybe more, had passed. I had accepted the fact that he cheated. But that didn’t mean I had no feelings left for him. It also didn’t mean I was going to let those feelings get in the way of what had to be done. 8. There was a line at the divorce office. When it was our turn, the clerk asked, “Are you sure you want to divorce? Have all assets been divided?” My voice was firm. “Yes, we’re sure.” Jason glanced at me, then mumbled, “Yeah.” The moment the official stamp came down, a cold, hollow space opened up in my chest, and a bitter wind howled through it. How long had we been married? I did the math. Fourteen years. I was only twenty-one when I graduated from college, and he was twenty-three. We hadn’t even bought a house yet, but we couldn’t wait to get married. The day we got the certificate, he excitedly bought a beautiful folder to keep it in. We went out for hot pot, and he took dozens of photos of me, which I immediately posted online. That night, he held me close, his voice full of contentment. “Jenna, I finally married you. I can’t believe it. It feels like a dream.” I teased him for being so dramatic, but my own heart was pounding in my chest. After graduation, I chose to stay in the big city. We worked here, rented an apartment together. Two years later, our careers had stabilized. Carol gave us the down payment for a small, two-bedroom apartment in the city center, and Jason and I made the monthly mortgage payments. It was our own place. Even though it was a secondhand apartment, I poured all my love into it. I picked out the curtains, and he fixed the light fixtures. I grew flowers, and he kept a little turtle and some fish. We both worked hard to make that little place a home. Jason even threw me a grand, beautiful wedding to make up for eloping. I knew he was doing everything he could to give me the best. A high school friend complained playfully, “I asked you if he was the guy you liked back then, and you lied and said he was just like a brother to you. Now look at you, all married.” Jason used to visit me at my high school all the time during his college breaks, so many of my classmates knew him. I had a crush on him even then, but I believed my studies were more important. I told everyone he was my “brother,” and he never minded. He knew how I felt. And he knew, just as I did, that we would end up together. And in that old apartment, we conceived our first child.

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It was deep into the night when Mom picked me up to drive us back home. After we pulled out of the rest stop, I noticed the black sedan parked behind us started its engine at the exact same moment Mom did. It followed us the entire way. Same direction. It stopped when we stopped. It signaled when we signaled. It kept a consistent distance of about fifty yards. I was one hundred percent certain: we were being followed by a stranger. My mind raced, calculating how to shake them or how to call for help. But I would soon find out that the reality was far more terrifying than anything I could have imagined. 1 After we exited the interstate, Mom started to feel it too. She glanced nervously at the rearview mirror. “That black Volkswagen… it’s still behind us.” I had told her back on the highway that I felt like we were being tailed. Even though traffic was light, there were other cars around, so the tailing wasn’t immediately obvious. It was Mom’s first time driving on the interstate at night, so her nerves were already fried. When I first mentioned it, she brushed it off, saying I was paranoid, too afraid to take her eyes off the road to check. But she had floored it to 90 mph and changed lanes three times. Now that we were off the highway and on the lonely county roads, the traffic had vanished. Yet, the black car remained. There were two routes home. Mom had deliberately chosen the one that took five minutes longer. A stranger wouldn’t take the long way. But the black car did. The narrow county road was poorly lit. Just our white SUV and that black sedan, one after the other. Its high beams were blinding, stark and intrusive in the darkness. Mom finally started to panic. I had just finished my driver’s ed course before heading off to college. I didn’t have my license yet, and I hadn’t driven solo, but I knew the rules. This was a narrow two-lane road. Dotted yellow lines separated the directions. Passing was legal. Night driving is exhausting, especially after a high-speed highway run. I tried to soothe Mom’s rigid posture. “Mom, don’t panic! Maybe they live in our town too and just happened to take this route. Let’s slow down. Force him to pass us.” Mom nodded frantically, “Right, right.” She hit the brakes. The speed dropped instantly to 25 mph. The sudden deceleration was jarring. Compared to the highway speeds, it felt like we were crawling. Mom was too tense; she had braked too hard. The distance between us and the black VW shrank rapidly. It looked like an imminent rear-end collision. I silently swore that once I got my license, I’d never let Mom drive again. I stared at the side mirror, heart in my throat. But the black car had reflexes like a cat. It slowed down just as abruptly, maintaining that fifty-yard gap. It showed zero intention of passing. Mom frowned. She steadied herself and slowed down even more. 20 mph. Then 15 mph… The black car was like a phantom shadow. It slowed down in perfect sync. The distance was locked in. Now, both Mom and I were terrified. This car was definitely targeting us. 2 We fell into a heavy silence. The radio signal turned to static as soon as we hit the backwoods. Mom turned it off, leaving only the low hum of the engine and the sound of our tires on asphalt. The GPS showed we were still thirty miles from home. Mom’s brow was furrowed tight. She didn’t say a word, but the speedometer told me she was accelerating again. 30, 40, 50… 60 mph. On this winding county road, that was dangerous. I frantically scrolled through the map on my phone, looking for any populated areas, gas stations, or police stations along the route. If I found one, we would drive straight there. Nothing. The closest station was in the opposite direction, forty miles away. I quickly texted Dad, explaining the situation. I shared my live location and told him to drive our truck to meet us halfway. With Dad coming, surely the black car wouldn’t be so bold. Dad replied instantly. He hadn’t slept, worried sick because he had to work late and couldn’t pick me up himself. I told Mom that Dad was on his way. The tension in her face relaxed slightly. I exhaled, feeling a bit safer. Meeting Dad meant cutting the danger zone in half. I reached out to pat Mom’s shoulder and realized her muscles were rock hard from stress. Looking back, I realized we were targeted at the last rest stop. We had stopped for gas and a quick bite. While Mom was in the restroom, I sat eating a burger. That’s when I felt eyes on me. It was a stranger. Dark complexion, maybe early twenties, tall. He was wearing a baseball cap pulled down low, despite it being night. The overhead lights cast a shadow over his face, hiding his eyes. It made me uncomfortable. I fidgeted, checking my clothes to see if I was revealing anything. By the time I saw Mom coming out and looked up to glare back at him, he was gone. Back in the car, I remembered thinking about those online threads warning women drivers. Mom’s car was white with cute decals—a clear “female driver” signal. Mom started the car. At that exact second, the headlights of a black Volkswagen parked two rows back flicked on. I had a bad feeling then. A gut instinct that the car was waiting for us. I glanced at the windshield but couldn’t see the driver’s face. He was wearing a black baseball cap. The same one. The car wasn’t cold, but goosebumps erupted all over my arms. As Mom pulled out, that car followed. And it hadn’t stopped since. I looked at the dashboard. Mom was pushing 70 mph now. “Too fast,” I thought. “Way too fast for this road.” My heart pounded in rhythm with the engine. Trees blurred past on both sides. A deer jumping out now would mean a fatal rollover. My palms were sweating. But I didn’t tell her to slow down. The fear of the stalker outweighed the fear of the crash. We just wanted to get to Dad. But then, the black car behind us did something new. It started flashing its high beams frantically. 3 At first, it was just a couple of flashes. When Mom didn’t react, the black car went berserk, strobing its lights continuously. The reflection in the rearview mirror blinded Mom. She raised a hand to shield her eyes, and the car swerved slightly. But she didn’t slow down. The flashing got faster. And he was speeding up. He was closing the gap. He was right on our bumper. I could almost see the tense jawline of the man in the cap. Too close! Mom was forced to swerve into the left lane—the oncoming traffic lane—to try and let him pass. We were driving on the wrong side of the road. It was insane. Mom was sweating bullets. She tried to merge back into the right lane, but the black car wouldn’t let her. He matched her speed, blocking her return, flashing his lights like a maniac. He was forcing us to stay in the wrong lane. “Maya, call 911!” Mom’s voice trembled. “This guy is crazy! He’s trying to kill us!” If a car came over the hill now, we would hit head-on. There was no shoulder, just trees. Why? Why did he want us dead? I was hyperventilating. I forced myself to grab my phone. Suddenly, I heard a horn blast from far ahead. But I couldn’t see any headlights. Blind spot. There was a blind spot ahead, probably a dip in the road or a sharp curve. The honk was a warning from a vehicle we couldn’t see yet. I looked to my right. The black car was neck-and-neck with us. The man in the cap had his window down. He was waving his arm frantically at us. What was he doing? Then, the black car slammed on its brakes, dropping back instantly. “Mom! Car ahead! Merge right! NOW!” I screamed. A split second later, high beams cut through the darkness. A massive pickup truck crested the hill. I covered my eyes and screamed. The car jerked violently. I felt like I was in a boat capsizing in a storm. I imagined the sound of crunching metal, the silence that follows death. But the impact never came. I opened my eyes. The white light was gone. Mom was gasping for air, eyes wide with terror. We were back in the right lane. When I screamed, Mom had realized the danger of the blind hill too. The truck driver, an experienced local, had honked a warning. That honk saved our lives. I burst into tears. “It’s okay, Maya. It’s okay. I’ve got you,” Mom stammered, reaching over to touch my head. Her hand was ice cold, but her shirt was soaked through with sweat. I looked in the mirror. The black car was back. It had sped up again and was right on our tail. No flashing lights this time. But his window was still down. His arm was hanging out, waving at us. He kept sticking his head out, trying to signal something. What did he want?! We were twenty miles from home. I dialed 911 with trembling fingers. We had a dashcam. Once we were safe, I was going to make sure this psycho went to jail. The call connected. “911, what is your emergency?” I opened my mouth to speak. Suddenly, a cold hand reached out from the back seat. A rough palm clamped over my mouth. A blade, ice-cold and sharp, pressed against my jugular. A voice, wet and raspy like it came from the bottom of a grave, whispered in my ear. “Shhh. Don’t move.” 4 Mom heard the noise and glanced back. She screamed. I screamed—a muffled, terrified sound against the hand. Mom jerked the wheel. The tires screeched as we fishtailed across the road. When the car finally straightened out, the air smelled of metallic rust. Blood. My shirt was wet and warm. “Maya!” Mom shrieked. The knife had slipped during the swerve. A long, shallow cut ran from my neck down to my collarbone. It wasn’t deep enough to hit the artery, but it was bleeding freely. “Tsk, tsk. I told you not to move,” the voice behind me said. It sounded almost annoyed. “Look at that pretty neck. Almost snapped it.” He turned his attention to my mother, who was on the verge of a breakdown. “Don’t slow down! Keep driving!” “You were driving like a demon a minute ago. Keep it up! Damn, that swerve hurt like hell.” There was a third person in our car. I bit my lip to stop from crying out. Through the rearview mirror, I saw him. A man in his forties. messy, curly hair. His forehead was bleeding, blood dripping down a face bisected by a horrific scar. His eyes bulged, red and manic. He snatched my phone away. The dispatcher’s voice was tinny and small. “Hello? Ma’am? Is anyone there?” The Scarred Man hung up and tossed the phone. He reached forward, grabbed Mom’s phone from the dash mount—the one running the GPS—and threw both devices out the cracked window. “Who are you?” I thought, paralyzed. “When did you get in?” Mom was weeping as she drove. “Who are you? Please, we need a hospital. My daughter is hurt. Take the money, take the car, just let us go!” The Scarred Man bared his teeth in a gruesome grin. He tapped my cheek with the flat of the bloody knife. “Shut up! Turn right up ahead. Lose the black car behind us!” “Or I’ll gut your daughter right here.”

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1 My novels made millions. But my wife, who was also my editor, funneled every last cent of my royalties to a new male author she was grooming. “You gave all the money to him? What about my sister? She’s been kidnapped! What if they kill her?” Faced with my frantic questions, she just shrugged. “Can’t you just call the police? Besides, I sent you ten dollars, didn’t I? And don’t you forget, this book is under contract in my name.” I stared at the finished manuscript on my screen, the perfect ending I had crafted. Then, my fingers found the keyboard, and I began to rewrite everyone’s fate. The movie deal with a famous director would soon be nothing but a source of massive penalties for breach of contract. … “Liam, what the hell is wrong with you?” Wendy hissed. “The press will be here any minute. You need to get yourself together and thank Cary for providing the inspiration for your novel.” I frowned. “The inspiration was all mine. That rookie author doesn’t even deserve to be at a showcase like this. Why on earth would I thank him?” Crack. A sharp slap echoed in the quiet room, my cheek stinging. “How do you think you got so popular?” she sneered. “I’ve seen Cary’s talent firsthand. If he hadn’t stepped aside for you, you wouldn’t be standing here right now.” Cary, who had been standing nearby, put on a hurt expression, though his eyes gleamed with triumph. “Liam, I know my work isn’t on your level, but Wendy was the one who gave me the money. If you really think I don’t deserve it, I can give it all back.” I didn’t say a word. Wendy, however, was filled with righteous indignation. “Liam, Cary put his own writing on hold to help promote your book! You’re off gallivanting around the world, having fun, while he does the hard work. And this is how you treat him?” I looked at Wendy’s impatient, scowling face and felt like I was seeing a stranger. My editor. My wife. She had never once noticed the days I went without food or sleep, lost in the world I was creating. She never saw the risks I took, visiting dangerous, remote locations just to capture the perfect, vivid scenery for my readers. She never saw the chronic pain, the lingering injuries I brought back from those trips. She thought writing a beloved, best-selling novel was easy. She thought slapping together a promotional campaign was the real work. Ping. A text message lit up my phone. It was a photo of my sister, Mia, tied up, her face pale with terror. Below it, a single line of text. I thought it might be some AI-generated prank, but then a video came through. “Liam, help me! I’m so scared…” Mia was blindfolded, but I could see the dark, wet stain of tears on the fabric. Her voice was choked with a primal fear that ripped through me. I called her number a dozen times. No answer. Panic seized me. I checked my bank account. A few thousand dollars. I turned to Wendy, my last hope. “My sister’s been kidnapped. They want a hundred thousand dollars. Please, can you transfer me some of the money?” She rolled her eyes. “Then call the police. I’m just an editor, where would I get that kind of money?” “What about my royalties? You took all of them! There should be millions in that account. How can you not have it?” Before Wendy could answer, Cary cut in smoothly. “Wendy, it looks like Liam is really in trouble. Even if he’s not telling the truth about his sister, why not just give him the money? Let him have his fun. It’s not a big deal.” Wendy didn’t hesitate. She took out her phone and sent the transfer. I felt the vibration in my pocket. A wave of emotions—relief, gratitude, and a bitter, coiling resentment—washed over me. In her eyes, my sister’s life was worth less than a casual word from Cary. And the money I was begging for was money I had earned with my own blood and sweat. I quickly opened my banking app to send the ransom. I entered the account number, the amount, and my password. Insufficient funds. Confused, I checked my transaction history. Wendy hadn’t sent me a hundred thousand dollars. She had sent me ten. My hand started to tremble, but I fought to keep my voice steady. I swallowed my pride. “Wendy,” I said, my voice low. “I think you made a mistake. I only got ten dollars.” “Who knows if you’re not just making this up to get money out of me?” she said, her voice dripping with annoyance. “Be grateful you got anything. Don’t go blowing it on booze and women behind my back.” She turned to leave, linking her arm with Cary’s. I was out of options. Every second that passed put Mia in more danger. “Wait!” I called out. “What do I have to do? Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. Just give me the money.” She looked at me with disgust. “Have you no shame? In public?” She hated this groveling version of me, terrified someone might recognize me as her husband. She started to walk away again. But Cary’s eyes lit up with a cruel interest. “Liam, I can help you,” he said. “On one condition.” Thinking of Mia, her life hanging by a thread, I nodded without hesitation. A slow, malicious smile spread across Cary’s face. “Go up to the cameras, tell the reporters you’re a dog, and bark three times. Do that, and I’ll send you the money.” My jaw clenched. My fists were so tight my knuckles were white. The rage was a white-hot fire in my chest, but I couldn’t let it out. I couldn’t risk it. “Fine,” I bit out. “But you send me half first.” “Deal.” A moment later, fifty thousand dollars landed in my account. I walked over to the reporters, who were still broadcasting live. One of them saw me and raised his microphone. I cut him off. “I am a dog.” I looked straight into the camera lens and barked. “Woof. Woof. Woof.” Every sound was a shard of glass in my throat. A wave of humiliation washed over me. Whispers rippled through the crowd. Even the reporter looked stunned into silence. I ignored the stares, the hushed comments from the other authors, and walked back to Cary. He was grinning, a mocking light in his eyes, as he sent the remaining fifty thousand. 2 I transferred the full amount to the kidnapper’s account. Two seconds later, I heard a notification chime. From Cary’s phone. “Surprise!” he chirped, his voice sickeningly sweet. “Did you like my little present, Liam?” The world tilted on its axis. “Cary?” The name was a choked whisper. “Come on, Liam, don’t be mad,” he said, feigning innocence. “It was just a little joke.” “A joke?” My voice was dangerously low. “You think that was funny?” “Liam, stop making a scene.” Wendy had appeared at his side, her arm protectively around him. “It was just a prank. Get over it.” I gasped for air, black spots dancing in my vision. The room started to spin. The last thing I felt was the ground rushing up to meet me as I collapsed. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. I slowly sat up and saw a familiar figure slumped in the chair beside me. “Mia?” She lifted her head. When she saw I was awake, her eyes filled with tears. “Liam! You’re finally awake! You’ve been out for a whole day.” The tears streamed down her face, and she couldn’t stop them. My heart ached. I pulled her into a hug. “I’m so sorry, Mia. I’m so sorry I put you through this.” “Don’t be silly. As long as you’re okay… I tried calling Wendy, but… she told me to tell you to stop putting on a show for her…” Mia’s voice trembled, afraid her words would hurt me. I stroked her hair, a cold resolve settling in my chest. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.” After our parents died, Mia and I only had each other. But for Wendy, I had neglected my sister. I had poured my entire soul into my work, into building a life for us. I was so afraid she’d feel insecure that I had signed away the rights to decades of my work, putting everything in her name. And now, she was using it as a weapon against me. I checked myself out of the hospital and went home. I opened my laptop. The final chapter of my novel was scheduled to post automatically. I opened the file and began to change it. I worked late into the night, methodically dismantling the plot, twisting the characters into unrecognizable versions of themselves, and shredding the story’s internal logic. When it was a complete and utter mess, I hit “submit.” The novel had been a massive success, with a constantly growing online readership. It had attracted the attention of several directors. The one I finally signed with was one of the biggest names in the country. He had only one condition: no major plot holes or character assassinations in the final act. The penalty for breach of contract was double the signing fee. An impossible sum, unless, of course, the breach was intentional. I had just finished packing a suitcase when I heard noises from the living room. “Liam’s still in the hospital. Aren’t you going to go see him?” It was Cary’s voice. “Why?” Wendy’s voice was dismissive. “It’s probably just another one of his little tricks to make me feel guilty.” My wife. She thought my collapse was a performance. A moment later, the sounds from the living room turned soft, intimate, unmistakable. Fighting back a wave of nausea, I opened the bedroom door. They were locked in a passionate kiss, their hands roaming over each other’s bodies. The sound of the door opening made them jump apart. When Wendy saw it was me, she shoved Cary away. There was no fear in her eyes, no shame at being caught. Only anger. “Why didn’t you say you were back? Are you trying to scare me?” “Is this how you react to getting caught cheating?” I asked, my voice flat. “We were just discussing work!” she shot back, her face a mask of indignation. “You’re the one with a dirty mind, so everything you see is dirty.” I was too tired to argue. “I’ll see you at the courthouse tomorrow. We’re getting a divorce.” “A divorce? Is this another pathetic attempt to get my attention? Just write your novels like a good boy. If you think I’ll take you back when you come crawling to me later, you’re dreaming.” “If you won’t agree, we’ll do it through the courts.” I didn’t wait for her reply. I grabbed my suitcase and walked out of that toxic, suffocating apartment. I ended up at a 24-hour convenience store. All I had was the ten dollars Wendy had sent me, enough for a meal that wouldn’t fill me up. Mia was a college student; she didn’t have much money either. I didn’t even know where my next meal was coming from. I thought of all the hours, the days, the years I had spent hunched over a keyboard, pouring my life into my work, all to make her happy. I thought of the chronic pain I lived with from sitting for so long. And in the end, I had nothing to show for it. It was all a bitter joke.

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I gave up my job in the city to move back home and take care of my grandparents. I took over the family’s small storefront, planning to open a nail salon. But the owner of the barbecue joint next door wanted the space for himself, planning to turn it into a cheap card room for his buddies. And he was determined to make my life hell until I gave in. The owner, Vince, was a notorious local bully. He didn’t just block my entrance with his truck; he sent his goons to harass me. In the end, I gritted my teeth and leased the shop to the city—as a new community fire station. And that’s when the self-proclaimed king of the block began his personal nightmare. Because no matter how tough he acted, even Vince wouldn’t dare mess with the fire department. 1. “Hey, Stella. I like this spot. I’ll give you two hundred a month for it. My brother-in-law’s gonna run a card room here.” I had just finished the last of the renovations on my nail salon when the owner of the neighboring business swaggered over, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Flanking him were two burly, bald-headed goons who looked like they broke legs for a living. “Mr. Vince, this is a prime location. A place like this rents for at least fifteen hundred a month,” I said, covering my nose and taking a step back from the acrid smoke. “Besides, I’m opening my own business here. It’s not for rent.” My gut screamed that this man was trouble. The shop was my grandparents’ life savings. Renting it out for two hundred dollars a month was the same as giving it away for free. Vince shot me a cold look and let out a derisive snort. “Stella, don’t be a bitch. When I’m talking to you nicely, you should just say yes.” “I’m not renting it out!” Normally, you want to stay on good terms with your business neighbors, but this guy was a tyrant. I was already doing my best to keep my temper in check. “You really think you’re something special, don’t you?” Vince leaned in, his clothes reeking of grease and smoke. The malice in his eyes was palpable. “You should ask around. Everyone on this block knows who Vince is. Two hundred a month is me doing you a favor. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll pack your shit and get lost.” As he spoke, he kicked over the small trash can I’d placed by the door. “Otherwise,” he sneered, “I can’t say what kind of ‘trouble’ your little shop might run into.” With a final, arrogant laugh, he and his thugs lumbered back to their BBQ joint. I stared at the sign next door, “Vince’s Grill,” and felt a wave of nausea. My first thought was that I’d just have to be more careful. This isn’t the wild west; he couldn’t just come in and smash the place up, could he? But I had no idea just how low Vince was willing to stoop. 2. To prepare for my grand opening, I’d ordered a batch of flyers and promotional signs. The day I brought them to the salon, I noticed the BBQ joint had made a… modification. They had rerouted their main kitchen vent. Now, all the greasy smoke from their kitchen was billowing directly toward my front door. It wasn’t even noon, but their industrial fan was already roaring, spewing the smell of cheap charcoal and burnt meat into the air. My entire storefront was shrouded in a hazy, disgusting smog. My entrance was right under the vent. My clients were young women who cared about looking and feeling good. Who would want to walk through a cloud of grease just to get their nails done? I was about to go over and confront them when three or four cheap plastic tables and chairs were hauled out of Vince’s Grill and set up directly in front of my salon. Seven or eight tattooed goons sat down, cracking open beers and starting a loud, profanity-laced card game. They were so loud, and their language was so vile, it was impossible to ignore. They were completely blocking my entrance. How was I supposed to run a business? I was a woman alone; a direct confrontation was a bad idea. So I called property management. But as soon as I mentioned Vince’s Grill, their tone changed. “Ms. Stella, this sounds like a small dispute between neighbors. All we can really do is try to mediate,” the manager said dismissively. “Besides, you’re a nail salon. You don’t really need the outdoor space, so why not just let them use it?” It was obvious whose side they were on. Before I could argue, he hung up, clearly wanting nothing to do with it. The men drinking outside saw the look of helpless anger on my face and burst into laughter. “You heard the man, bitch! Get lost while you still can, or we’ll show you what real trouble looks like!” “If you’ve got the guts, then smash up my shop! Otherwise, you’re never getting this space!” I yelled back, my voice shaking with rage, before storming inside. Looking at my beautifully decorated salon, the thought of giving up was unbearable. But with a neighbor from hell like Vince, my business was doomed before it even started. Just as I was trying to figure out a new plan, Vince escalated his tactics. The next morning, when I arrived to set up my product displays, I found the entire area in front of my store buried in garbage. Blackened takeout containers, grease-soaked napkins, and rotting food scraps were everywhere. Worse, my roll-up security door was smeared with vomit and what smelled sickeningly like urine. The rest of the street was spotless. It was only my storefront that was a disgusting mess. Even the city sanitation workers were too scared of Vince to do their jobs properly. People on their way to work saw the scene, pinched their noses, and shook their heads. “What bad luck, opening up next to Vince,” I heard one of them mutter. “Everyone knows that guy’s untouchable. Tsk, tsk, that poor girl’s business is finished.” I clenched my fists, refusing to be his victim. I called property management again and demanded they check the security footage. The manager flatly told me I didn’t have the authority to view the tapes and that if I didn’t clean up the mess myself, I’d be fined for violating sanitation codes. Furious, I called the police. But when they arrived, they just sighed and said it was a civil matter and all they could do was mediate. With no other choice, I went to a hardware store, bought my own cleaning supplies, and started to work. That’s when Vince appeared, casually cracking sunflower seeds. His eyes shone with unconcealed triumph. “Well, Stella. How do you like my welcome gift?” He sauntered over and spat a mouthful of shells onto my shirt. “A woman like you should be at home raising kids, not playing business owner. Don’t think I don’t know your type. You probably got run through by every guy in the big city, now you’re back here pretending to be innocent, trying to snag a man. You’re not bad looking, though. You sleep with me a few times, maybe I’ll even cut you a break.” His lecherous gaze made my skin crawl. I reacted without thinking. My hand flew up and I slapped him, hard, across the face. His head snapped to the side. He slowly rolled his tongue over the inside of his cheek. “You bitch. You dare hit me? Fine. I’ll teach you what happens when you cross me.” He turned and walked away. I stood there, my heart hammering against my ribs, a cold dread washing over me. I knew this wasn’t over. I spent the rest of the day setting up the shop, but a sense of unease clung to me. That afternoon, my phone rang. It was the hospital. My grandmother had fallen while she was out shopping. She had a broken leg. I rushed over to find her pale and exhausted, her leg in a heavy cast. She saw me and forced a smile, telling me not to worry. “Grandma, how did this happen?” My grandmother was old, but she was still sharp and steady on her feet. It didn’t make sense for her to suddenly fall and break a bone. “I was at the farmer’s market,” she explained, her voice weak. “A scooter was coming through, so I stepped aside to let it pass. But as it went by, someone stuck their foot out and kicked me.” That single, vicious kick had sent her tumbling into a metal railing, shattering her leg. Her words hit me like a physical blow. I didn’t need to guess. I knew. It was Vince. He said he’d make me pay, and he’d gone after my grandmother. In that moment, a chilling cold seeped into my heart. I immediately called the police and reported an assault. But with only my grandmother’s testimony and no security cameras at the market, there was no way to prove anything. The investigation stalled. I was left to wait, helpless. Between caring for my grandmother at the hospital and making sure my grandfather was fed at home, the salon’s grand opening was postponed indefinitely. I was at my wits’ end when I got a friend request on my phone. The person claimed to be a community liaison for the neighborhood. I accepted. A moment later, my phone buzzed with a flood of images. My salon, its front splattered with bright red paint. In front of it, a three-wheeled cart packed with live rabbits, their waste creating a stench so foul it was a public health hazard. A message followed: Ms. Stella, you should probably come and take a look. We have a city inspection team coming through soon, and we need to meet beautification standards. Your storefront is… a bit of an eyesore. The liaison was being polite. It was more than an eyesore; it was a horror show. While I had been distracted with my grandmother, Vince had gotten even more brazen. He was trying to break me. But even if I called the police, these were all petty crimes. The punishment would be a slap on the wrist, another round of useless “mediation.” During that time, my grandfather told me people were lurking around our house. Our front door’s keyhole was plugged with glue. The worst was when someone set a pile of trash on fire right outside our door. Thick, black smoke filled the house, and my grandfather was so terrified he almost jumped out a window to escape. A bitter resentment burned inside me. Why should I be punished for trying to run an honest business? But when I took my evidence to property management and the neighborhood council, I was met with apathetic shrugs and bureaucratic runaround. They all told me to just “be the bigger person” and “let it go.” But how much further could I retreat? I’d spent ten thousand on renovations and another fifteen on inventory. My entire savings were tied up in this shop, and all I could do was watch as Vince systematically destroyed it. I was exhausted, physically and emotionally. I had to put on a brave face for my grandparents, but inside, I was crumbling. I went to the salon to arrange for a new security door. As I worked, neighbors walked by, pointing and whispering. “That’s her. The one who picked a fight with Vince on her first day.” “Serves her right. These young people have no idea how the world works. If she’d just given in, none of this would have happened.” Their words were like needles in my heart. I was the victim, so why was I the one being judged? Meanwhile, Vince was untouchable. “Hey, sweetheart,” he called out from his doorway. “Like the presents I got you? I’ll give you one more day to think it over. If you don’t rent this place to me, those two old relics you live with are gonna have a real bad time.” He kicked a piece of trash toward my door. A gust of greasy smoke from his kitchen blew into my face, making my eyes water. That night, after I’d made dinner for my grandparents, I went to the hospital. My grandmother was due to be released in a few days. As I sat with her, she took my hand. “Stella,” she said, her voice soft. “Are you in some kind of trouble?” Her hand was so warm, and her simple question made my nose sting with unshed tears. I shook my head quickly. “No, of course not. The shop is just a lot of work. I have to stay on top of things.” She stroked my cheek, her eyes full of love and worry. “You have to take care of yourself. If the shop is too much, just let it go. Nothing is more important than you. Your parents are gone. If something happened to you… your grandfather and I couldn’t bear it.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a bank card. “This is from your grandfather and me. It’s twenty thousand dollars. If you’re having trouble with the business, use it. In business, you win some, you lose some. Don’t ever torture yourself over it.” That was it. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. Tears streamed down my face, dripping onto her hand. “Grandma, I’m so useless,” I sobbed. “You gave me this shop, and I can’t even protect it!” The weeks of torment had shattered my confidence. My grandparents were in their eighties, and I was still causing them to worry. It was all Vince’s fault, but I was the one bearing all the blame. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a mass text from the community liaison. The City Fire Department is looking to establish a community satellite fire station in our neighborhood. Seeking to lease or purchase a street-level commercial space, 500-1000 sq. ft. My eyes lit up. My shop was in the perfect location. It was 860 square feet. It was exactly what they were looking for. “Grandma,” I said, wiping my tears. “If I can’t run my business in peace, then I won’t run it at all. Vince thinks he’s so tough, that he has all the connections? Fine. I’ll get him a new neighbor. A really, really powerful one.” I looked at the phone number in the text message, a fierce, desperate resolve hardening in my eyes. Without a moment’s hesitation, I dialed. 3. Following the directions I was given over the phone, I went to the main fire station with my property deed and the salon’s floor plans. I was met by Captain Miller. “Hello, Captain. I’m Stella, I just called you,” I said, handing him the documents. “This is the location and layout of my shop. It perfectly meets the requirements for your satellite station. Not only does it have a wide storefront, but it also faces the main community road, which would be extremely convenient for daily operations and training drills.” Captain Miller seemed surprised to get such a quick and enthusiastic response. He took the papers and studied them. The location and layout were, indeed, ideal. “Ms. Stella, what’s the rent for this property? Our department budget is a bit tight.” I shook my head. “Don’t worry about the rent, Captain. You’re setting up this station to serve the community. It wouldn’t be right for me to charge you full price. The market rate is fifteen hundred a month. For you, it’s five hundred. And I’m willing to sign a five-year contract with no price increases.” Captain Miller raised an eyebrow. The location was excellent. Why was I offering it to them for a fraction of its value? I could see the question in his eyes. I gave him a bitter smile. “If you come with me, you’ll understand.” I took him to the shop. I hadn’t had a chance to replace the security door yet, and the garish red paint was like a raw wound. The area in front was still cluttered with abandoned vehicles and piles of trash, a stark contrast to the rest of the clean street. I explained everything that had happened with Vince. “That’s the situation,” I finished. “I’m just an ordinary person. I can’t win against a bully like him. But I refuse to give in. Rather than live under his threats, I’d feel much safer leasing the shop to you.” Captain Miller’s gaze swept over the scene, his brow furrowing as he looked at Vince’s Grill next door. He couldn’t believe someone could be so brazen. “Ms. Stella, I appreciate your sincerity,” he said, his voice firm. “And thank you for this generous offer. You’ve solved a major problem for us. Let’s sign the contract. We can take possession tomorrow and be moved in within a week. As for these… uncivilized business tactics, I assure you, we will not allow them to continue.” A wave of relief washed over me. I shook his hand, our deal sealed. Unfortunately, Vince saw the whole exchange. He sauntered over, a grin splitting his face, showing off a row of yellow teeth. “Well, well, sweetheart. I told you, if you don’t rent this place to me, you’re not renting it to anyone. Doesn’t matter if you find another guy. I’ll run him out of business just the same.” I ignored him and told Captain Miller I’d be back tomorrow to move my things out. As the captain was about to leave, Vince darted forward to block his path, jutting his chin out arrogantly. “Hey, pal. I’d advise you not to rent this place if you know what’s good for you. You should ask around about Vince. Anyone who tries to take what’s mine ends up regretting it. Big time.” He jabbed a finger into Captain Miller’s shoulder. “So get lost.” Captain Miller calmly brushed off the spot Vince had touched. “And what if I say no?” he asked, a faint smile on his lips. “Then don’t blame me for what happens next!” Vince spat on the ground. “Don’t think I’m stupid. I know that little bitch probably slept with you to get you to take over her mess. If you open up here, you better watch your back. Wouldn’t want your family to have any… accidents.” Hearing his threat, any lingering doubt I had about my grandmother’s “fall” vanished. But I still had no proof. Captain Miller’s smile didn’t waver, but a cold glint entered his eyes. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?” He turned and walked away with me, leaving Vince standing there, cursing under his breath. He probably had no idea that today was the last good day he’d have for a very, very long time. From here on out, every day would be his own personal nightmare.

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Julian has been my “house husband” since childhood, raised by my family. Every day he cooks, cleans, and takes care of everything, yet he never lets me touch him. I always thought he wanted a proper title or commitment. Until one day, I saw him blush just because his hand brushed against another girl’s. Suddenly, comments floated across my vision like a live stream chat: [The male lead is so innocent! Blushing just from a touch.] [Hurry up and leave the female side character! Go have a sweet and spicy romance with our heroine!] [Thanks to the side character for raising him so well, but does she really think she can marry him?] Calmly, I sent him divorce papers and vanished without a trace. Years later, I returned to the country for a conference. As soon as I stepped out of the car, I was kidnapped and dragged back. The kidnapper kissed me frantically while sobbing: “Wife, please don’t leave me.” 1 I got off work very late today. When I arrived home, I was surprised to smell the aroma of a hot meal. “Wife, you’re back.” Julian poked his head out of the kitchen, wearing an apron and holding a spatula. “Wash your hands and eat.” The warm lights created a cozy atmosphere that softened my heart. My voice softened too. “I told you I was working late. You didn’t have to wait.” I’ve raised Julian for over ten years. Year after year, day after day, he’s played the perfect husband. Cleaning, organizing, cooking, doing laundry—he has no life of his own. His only hobby seems to be revolving around me. I once reminded him, “You don’t have to revolve around me every day. Go do something you like.” He always gave a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and said, “What I like is taking care of you, Chloe.” Usually, I’d just smile. Then transfer an extra ten thousand dollars to his account as allowance. 2 After dinner. Julian was washing the dishes. His white tank top was soaked with sweat from his work. Without the apron, the fabric clung to his body, revealing the defined contours of his chest. My eyes darkened. I’m twenty-four. He’s five years older than me, twenty-nine this year. Does he really have no desire at all? “Leave it for tomorrow.” I walked over barefoot and gently grabbed Julian’s wrist. He noticeably stiffened. His voice became unnatural. “Wife, stop…” “You call me wife, so why not?” I pressed closer to him, my hand slowly sliding under the hem of his tank top. Julian’s body was burning hot. The scent of expensive cologne mixed with sweat and cooking oil gave me a secret thrill. “Julian,” my hand reached dangerous territory as I whispered, “are you truly innocent, or just pretending?” “No—” Accompanied by the loud crash of a ceramic bowl shattering on the floor. Julian pushed me away. He leaned against the sink, head down, gasping for air. I slammed into the marble countertop. The cold, hard edge sent a sharp pain through my lower back, sobering me up instantly. “Wife, I…” Realizing what he had done, Julian rushed to help me. His hands were shaking violently. I slapped his hand away. “Forget it.” I took a deep breath and walked away. 3 The next day, I went to the office early. My assistant brought me coffee and asked, “Ms. Jiang, what happened to your hand? Do you need first aid?” There was a tiny cut from the shattered ceramic last night. It didn’t hurt, but on my pale skin, it looked glaring and annoying. Just like my marriage to Julian. Feeling a sudden wave of irritation, I left my office and went to the staff area. I stopped in front of someone’s computer for a long time. “Ms. Jiang, do you think… my proposal is good?” I looked down and saw a young face. His badge said “Intern.” Shawn. Quite bold. I narrowed my eyes and asked, “Why do you think you can pull this off?” He began to explain his case. Since I’m slightly nearsighted, I leaned down to look at the screen, listening carefully. Suddenly, my assistant poked me and whispered, “Ms. Jiang, a man is here. He says he’s your husband.” I looked up in surprise. Shawn looked too. We realized Julian was standing not far away. Who knows how long he’d been watching us? The staff were all staring at him. “Why are you here?” I walked over, instinctively grabbing his sleeve to lead him away. But Julian didn’t move. His gaze was still fixed on the intern. I frowned and called softly, “Julian.” He turned his head. A pair of misty peach-blossom eyes looked straight at me, rims red. Losing patience, I asked again, “What are you doing here?” Julian forced an ugly smile and said, “You didn’t eat breakfast this morning. I made a fresh one and brought it over. You have stomach issues; you can’t skip meals.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it wasn’t quiet either. Enough for the employees around us to hear. Whispers started: “Isn’t Ms. Jiang single? Someone sent her flowers last time…” Julian’s face looked even worse. I didn’t say anything, just signaled him to follow me to my office. 4 “Leave the food. I’ll have my assistant drive you back.” As soon as we entered, I dropped the act. Julian stood before me. “Let me stay a while. You used to say you wanted me as your assistant because you were afraid I’d be bored at home.” “You don’t meet the educational or language requirements for an assistant,” I replied habitually. Unaware that he had quietly clenched his fists. Clenched, then quietly released. Like countless cowardly compromises before. “I’ll go then,” Julian said. “Remember to come home for dinner, wife.” I nodded. Watching him leave, my restless heart calmed down a bit. I hadn’t expected him to come personally just because I skipped breakfast in a fit of pique. It made me feel I was being overly cold to him. For over a decade, the fact that he was raised by my family to be my husband was an open secret in our circle, but never discussed publicly. At the company, everyone thought I was single. Business partners had even expressed interest in me. Even for a “house husband,” he was a bit too spineless. So, his refusal to let me touch him was normal, I suppose. I grabbed my car keys and ran downstairs. It had only been a few minutes; Julian shouldn’t have gone far. I finally ran to the company entrance, panting, looking around for that handsome figure. To my surprise. Next to the bus stop, there was a splash of white beside Julian. A girl in a white dress was gently touching his face, looking sad as she said: “After so many years, you’re still exactly as I remembered.” “Don’t suffer for others’ sake. It breaks my heart to see.” I saw it clearly. Julian, who always resisted my touch, now had a blush rising on his cheeks. At the same time, rows of comments appeared in the air: [The male and female leads finally meet! Exciting!!!] [The male lead is so pitiful. Without the heroine, he’s just a wronged puppy every day. Boohoo.] [And he’s so innocent! Keeping himself pure for the heroine all these years. Blushing just from a touch.] [Hurry, dump the side character! We want to see the pitiful puppy get spoiled by the heroine!]

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1 The day my brother Ethan ran away from home, I went out into the pouring rain to find him. I never did. Instead, I was hit by a fallen power line. I lost both my arms. Just like that, my dream of becoming a doctor was replaced by the reality of being a permanent patient. I tried to kill myself many times, but my family always pulled me back from the edge. My brother would kneel before me, his voice choked with guilt. “This is my fault, Ava.” “I’m begging you. Please don’t die. Please?” My mother quit her job to watch over me day and night. “You’re my whole life!” she’d cry. “If you die, what am I supposed to do?” To cover my medical bills, my father worked himself to the bone, taking overtime, even accepting a long-term transfer overseas. I thought, slowly, things would get better. But just as I’d finally learned to use my feet as my hands, to live again, I overheard them talking. “If I had known… it might have been better to just let her die back then.” That evening, I went up to the roof alone. The wind was strong. I sniffled, but I didn’t cry. “Ava! Don’t move!” My mother came running, yanking me back from the ledge with all her might. She pulled so hard we both tumbled to the ground. Before I could even get up, her hand flew, and a sharp, stinging slap landed on my cheek. “Are you insane? Are you trying to kill me?” My ear rang, my face burned. The next second, she was holding me, crushing me against her in a desperate hug. “If you dare jump, I’m going with you!” Her hot tears soaked the collar of my shirt. Ethan was there too, gasping for breath. He must have run up the stairs so fast he nearly fell. Seeing that I was okay, his knees gave out, and he almost collapsed. My voice was muffled against my mother’s shoulder. “I wasn’t going to die. I swear.” “I just came up for some air.” My mother’s body tensed, but her arms only tightened around me. After a long moment, Ethan turned away, his shoulders slumped. “Let’s go home.” Downstairs, I went through my usual routine, rinsing my feet under the faucet before sitting at the dinner table. The food had been reheated so many times it looked wilted. I lowered my head, clamping the spoon between my toes, and brought the food to my mouth, one slow bite at a time. My mother sat across from me, her eyes red and swollen. Ethan poked at his rice with his chopsticks, not eating a single grain. “Ava,” he said quietly. “My girlfriend is coming over tomorrow to discuss the engagement.” I paused for a second, then nodded. “Okay. That’s great. I’m meeting a friend tomorrow, so I won’t be home for dinner.” Ethan lowered his head and shoveled a large mouthful of rice into his mouth. We both knew the truth. Since the accident, the only place I ever went was the hospital. I’d lost touch with everyone I used to know. I didn’t have any friends. That night, my mother was in the bathroom, drawing my bath like she always did. I stood in the doorway, watching her back as she bent over to test the water temperature. “Mom.” “Can I grow my hair out?” She straightened up slowly and turned to look at me. “Why the sudden urge for long hair?” I looked at my reflection in the mirror. “Long hair… it can hide things.” “It’ll be harder for people to see that I don’t have any hands.” The towel in my mother’s hand dropped into the bathtub. It was a long moment before she bent to pick it up, rinsing it over and over under the running faucet. The sound of the rushing water covered her choked sobs. Her back was still to me when she spoke, her voice thick and nasal. “Of course you can. My sweet girl will be the most beautiful of all with long hair.” The next morning, the doorbell woke me. It wasn’t even eight o’clock. My mother hurried to the door. “Coming!” A bright, cheerful voice floated in. “Hi, Auntie! Sorry to be so early. My schedule changed, so I thought I’d come over and help out.” “My parents will be here a little later.” I sat up, pushing my bedroom door open with my foot. In the living room, a girl stood next to my brother. She had long, flowing hair and was holding a collection of elegant gift bags. She was smiling and talking to my mom, but when she heard me, she turned. Her eyes immediately fell on my shoulders. 2 I turned to go back into my room. But the girl, Claudia, walked towards me with a smile. “You must be Ava.” “Ethan talks about you all the time. It’s so nice to finally meet you.” She pulled a pale gray scarf from one of the bags and gently draped it around my neck. “I saw this on a business trip. It’s cashmere, so soft.” “You have such fair skin; this color will look beautiful on you.” The scarf carried a faint, sweet perfume. I stood frozen, my toes curling unconsciously. “Thank you.” My brother and mother stood nearby, their expressions tense. I looked down, wanting to back away. “I’m sorry, I have plans today, so I won’t be staying for lunch.” Claudia’s hand rested lightly on my shoulder. “I’ve come by a few times, but I always seem to miss you. Today, you’re not getting away. We have to talk.” She smiled brightly. “Right, Ethan?” My brother looked at me. “Ava, maybe you could reschedule?” I gave a small, quiet nod. By the time I’d washed up and was sitting on the sofa, Claudia was already in the kitchen, wearing my mother’s apron and helping her cook. She moved with an easy confidence, chatting with my mom about something that made her laugh. Claudia placed a platter of fruit on the coffee table and sat down next to me. “You have such beautiful eyes, Ava. You should smile more.” I stretched the corners of my mouth, unsure of what to say. Claudia’s parents arrived soon after. They were well-dressed and polite, and the gifts they brought soon filled a corner of the coffee table. When lunch was served, I stood up. “I think I’ll just eat in my room. You all…” Claudia stopped me, pulling a chair closer to her own. “Sit here, next to me.” My mother opened her mouth to say something; my brother hesitated. In the end, I sat down. At first, the conversation was light, about the weather and preliminary wedding plans. Claudia put food on my plate, her actions so natural it was as if we’d known each other for years. Then, I expertly picked up my soup spoon with my toes. The smiles vanished from her parents’ faces. They put down their chopsticks and exchanged a look. The only sound at the table was Claudia, still talking, oblivious. After the meal, her father took a sip of tea. “Ethan is a good boy. We don’t have any special demands for the wedding; we just want you two to be happy.” He paused, his gaze slowly sweeping in my direction. “But we do have one condition. After you’re married, your new little family has to be your priority.” “Your sister has her parents to look after her. You can’t keep putting her first in everything.” My brother’s back went ramrod straight. “Sir, Ava is my sister. I will never, ever abandon her.” Her father held up a hand, cutting him off. “But you’re starting your own family. You can’t take care of her forever.” “I can!” “You can’t! Not if you want to marry my daughter.” The air in the room grew tight, suffocating. “He can.” All eyes turned to me. I stared at my empty sleeves and repeated myself. “My brother can do it.” Claudia shot to her feet. “Dad! What are you saying?” “I will never agree to that! From now on, Ava is my sister, too.” Her father’s voice rose sharply. “And what about you? What about your life? Will you always come second to her?” He grabbed her by the wrist. “We’re going home. Now.” Claudia was half-dragged, half-pushed towards the door. She looked back at me, tears streaming down her face. My brother pulled out a pack of cigarettes and went out onto the balcony. I heard the click of his lighter, once, twice, three times, before a flame finally caught. I watched him through the glass door. His back was hunched against the wind. Puffs of smoke billowed from his lips, only to be snatched away. In that moment, looking at my own dangling sleeves, a wave of nausea churned in my stomach. Suddenly, I hated myself. More than anything. 3 I was woken in the middle of the night by noises from the living room. I padded out barefoot. My brother was bent over, hurriedly putting on his shoes. “Ethan, where are you going?” He froze. “Claudia snuck out. She just called me from Memorial Park.” “I have to go get her.” I paused, then nodded. “It’s cold. Wear something warm.” He stood up and looked at me. “Go back to bed.” I managed a small smile. “I’ll wait up. To let you and Claudia in when you get back.” He smiled, too, and reached out to ruffle my hair. “Okay.” The door clicked shut behind him. One by one, the streetlights outside went out. The sky began to lighten. Ethan didn’t come back. When my mother woke up, she was startled to find me curled up on the sofa. “Ava? Why are you sleeping out here?” “Ethan went to get Claudia. He’s not back yet.” My mother dialed his number. It rang for a long time before he answered. As she listened, the color drained from her face. “Which hospital? We’re on our way!” She turned to me, her lips trembling. “Claudia… she was hit by a car.” The light outside the emergency room was a sterile, blinding white. When we arrived, we saw Ethan slumped against a wall. His clothes were dirty, and there was a dark bruise on his forehead. Claudia’s father, so composed yesterday, was now red-eyed, gripping the front of Ethan’s shirt. “This is your fault!” he roared. “All of it, you bastard!” “If it wasn’t for you, my daughter would never have run out in the middle of the night! She never would have been in this accident!” My mother stumbled forward, bowing again and again. “I’m so sorry. We’re truly so sorry.” Her voice trembled, tears already streaming down her face. “It’s our fault. We didn’t raise him right.” The man shoved Ethan away and pointed a finger at my mother. “Get out!” “Take your son, and that… cripple, and get out! And don’t you ever show your faces again!” “If anything happens to my Claudia, I swear I’ll make you pay!” We stood there for a long, silent time. Finally, the doors to the operating room swung open. A doctor came out, pulling off his mask. “The patient is stable for now, but she’ll need to be monitored.” Claudia’s parents rushed to his side. Ethan took a half-step forward, then stopped. My mother put a hand on his arm. “Let’s go. Let’s go home for now.” The car ride back was completely silent. Ethan gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. I sat in the back, staring at the back of his head. For a split second, I saw him quickly raise a hand and wipe at his eye. When we got home, I went straight to my room. I don’t know how much time passed before I heard a muffled sob from the living room. “Mom, it was me. It’s all my fault. I’m the one who hurt Claudia.” “If something really happens to her…” “Why didn’t I just agree yesterday? Why didn’t I just say yes?” His sobs grew louder, more ragged. And then, I heard his voice, ragged and hoarse:

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It had been five years since Rovan Ross and I had torn our lives apart. And now, we were standing in the same room, guests at a mutual friend’s wedding. Our gazes locked for a fraction of a second, a spark of recognition in the crowded hall, before we both flinched away. A silent, mutual agreement to pretend we were strangers. Later, after the reception, Kate, the bride and my dear friend, leaned against me, flushed with champagne and joy. She gestured subtly toward Rovan. “You know,” she slurred softly, her voice a conspiratorial whisper, “after you left, every single woman he dated looked a little like you. We all knew they were just stand-ins.” She paused, her eyes finding his new girlfriend, Sophie, a petite girl hanging off his arm. “But her… she’s different. She’s been with him the longest, and she doesn’t look like you at all.” Kate’s gaze softened with pity. “Ellie, I think this one’s for real. He’s serious about her.” I knew what she was really asking: Do you regret it? I just forced a tight, awkward smile. Whether Rovan’s heart was truly involved this time was none of my business. I was back in town to get married myself. … As the party spilled out of the grand ballroom, a chorus of voices rose, demanding an after-party, a final round of drinks to cap off the night. I was about to make my excuses when someone playfully shoved Rovan right into my path. “Come on, Rovan,” one of his friends boomed, draping an arm over his shoulder. “Eleanor came all this way. You two go way back. You have to show her a good time tonight, right?” He gave Rovan a pointed look, his eyebrows doing a little dance. Rovan didn’t say a word, but he reached out and smoothly took my suitcase from my hand. It felt… natural. Too natural. I glanced at my watch. The person I was waiting for wasn’t due for a while yet. With a sigh, I nodded and got in the car. I took the passenger seat. Rovan and Sophie slid into the back. The car had barely pulled away from the curb when a sugary-sweet voice drifted from behind me. “Rovan, honey, you still haven’t introduced me.” I could feel her eyes on me in the rearview mirror, a look that was anything but sweet. It was a cocktail of raw dislike and challenge. “I almost made a fool of myself back there, I had no idea you two knew each other.” Rovan’s gaze flickered to me for a moment. Before he could speak, I turned slightly. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Eleanor Reed. Rovan and I were classmates.” “Oh, Eleanor?” Sophie let out a little tinkling laugh, covering her mouth with a perfectly manicured hand. “Don’t be so modest. Everyone in our circle knows you’re Rovan’s ex-girlfriend.” She gave his arm a squeeze. “But don’t you worry, I’m not the jealous type. I don’t get worked up over ancient history.” As if to prove her point, she leaned in and pressed a loud, possessive kiss to his cheek. The rest of the drive was filled with her incessant chatter. And Rovan, the man I remembered as cool and quiet, patiently answered every single one of her prattling questions. “Are we really going to drink more? I’m such a lightweight. If I get drunk, will you carry me home, sweetie?” “I won’t let you get drunk. I’ll take you home.” “Today’s ceremony almost made me cry! It’s so beautiful to marry for love. For our wedding, I want an ocean of roses and a sky full of rainbow balloons.” “Whatever you want, Sophie. It’s your day.” I lowered my window all the way, letting the cool night air whip through the car, trying to scour away the cloying atmosphere of their intimacy. When we finally reached the bar, I barely had my door open before Rovan was already out, lifting Sophie from the car with practiced ease. He caught my eye, and for a split second, his hands froze. Sophie, nestled in his arms, giggled coquettishly. “I’m just not used to these heels. Rovan’s always so worried I’ll twist an ankle, he insists on carrying me.” I managed a polite, tight-lipped smile. “He takes good care of you.” Inside the private room, a friend immediately thrust a drink into my hand. “You’re late! Three shots as a penalty.” I’d just taken the first glass when Rovan downed the other two in quick succession. “Sophie can’t hold her liquor,” he announced to the room. “I’m drinking hers.” A few people cheered, but I noticed most of the eyes in the room were now fixed on me. I calmly finished my own shot. As I reached for another glass, Sophie stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “Hey, everyone, don’t bully my big sister Eleanor,” she said with a saccharine smile. “She’s all alone tonight. If she gets too drunk, who’s going to take her home? Are you offering up your couches?” I gave her a flat look and reached around her, plucking a fresh glass from the tray. “I don’t have a sister, but thanks for the concern. And for the record, I’m not alone.” Her smile faltered, her expression curdling into something sour. The boisterous room went quiet. Every gaze that had been on me now shifted to Rovan. Through the dim, moody lighting of the bar, I could see his knuckles turn white as he gripped his empty glass. It looked like he was a breath away from shattering it. After a tense silence, he raised an eyebrow. “So, where’s this boyfriend of yours tonight?” “He’ll be here at midnight.” The atmosphere in the room was thick with unspoken history. One of our friends, sensing the tension, quickly grabbed a deck of cards. “Alright, enough of that! We’re here to have fun, no one leaves sober! Who’s in for a game?” Sophie tugged on Rovan’s sleeve, her lower lip pushed out in a pout. “But I’m a terrible drinker! You’re all just picking on me.” Rovan’s expression softened as he stroked her hair. “Don’t worry. I’ll drink for you.” “But I don’t want you to drink so much,” she cooed, her eyes darting towards me with a flash of cunning. “Ellie, you took that shot like a pro. You must be a great drinker.” She turned her full attention to me. “Why don’t you drink for me instead? Please?” Someone nearby frowned. “Rovan, are you gonna let her run her mouth like that? It’s getting a little out of hand.” “She’s the one who runs my life,” Rovan said, his voice flat. He picked up another shot glass and held it out to me. “Your tolerance was always high. How about we split it for her? Half and half?” I stood frozen, a sudden tremor running through my fingers. When Rovan and I first got together, he wasn’t the powerful CEO he was now. We were just two kids crammed into a tiny apartment, praying for the rain to let up so the ceiling wouldn’t leak. We spent two years like that, pouring every cent we had into our startup. At business dinners, clients would always try to corner me. “You look like you can handle your liquor, Ms. Reed. Why don’t you start us off with this one?” Every single time, before my fingers could even touch the glass, Rovan would intercept it. “Ellie, we’re a team, right? Let’s split it.” But he never let me have a drop. He’d secretly swap my drink for water, and by the end of the night, he’d be the one stumbling, drunk out of his mind, once even ending up in the hospital with a bleeding ulcer. I remember his voice, thick with pain but fierce with determination. “Ellie, I swear, I’ll never let you get drunk again. I’ll make us a fortune, and you’ll never have to touch another drop of this poison.” I stared at the man in front of me now, a complete stranger. I took a step back. “Rovan, Sophie is your girlfriend, not mine.” My voice was cold. “After all these years, have you still not learned how to protect the woman you’re with?” The room plunged into an awkward silence. Sophie’s eyes welled up instantly, her face a mask of wounded innocence. “Ellie, I know you must still be angry that Rovan dumped you, but you don’t have to take it out on us.” A collective gasp went through the room. Kate shot Sophie a death glare. “Hey, let’s not use words like ‘dumped.’ You know that saying, right? Everyone had their reasons back then.” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “There weren’t any grand reasons. We were just kids who were close for a while. Why drag up the past? Ms. Sophie, if you’re so insecure about it, maybe you and Rovan should go home and sort it out in private.” Sophie probably didn’t know this about me, but I always hit back. If you leave me alone, I’ll pretend you don’t exist. But if you try to make my life miserable, I will make sure you regret it. Even if it’s just a war of words. She bit her lip, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. But when she glanced at Rovan and saw only a cold, silent mask, she defiantly wiped it away. “Fine. I won’t drink. Let’s play Truth or Dare. I’ll be the judge.” No one wanted to argue. The drama was exhausting. Sophie grabbed an empty beer bottle from the table. “Whoever this points to has to answer a truth!” She spun it. It wobbled for a few rotations before the neck came to a perfect, dead stop, pointing directly at me. A flicker of triumph, of pure calculation, lit up her eyes. “Ellie, did you really come back just for the wedding? Or was there… something else you came back for?” I could feel Rovan’s stare burning into me. I picked up my glass and took a slow, deliberate sip. “I came back to get married.” Every head in the room swiveled between me and Rovan. Sophie wrapped her arm around his, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Oh, dear. Ellie’s getting married? Does that mean she can’t be our bridesmaid after all?” “It’s fine,” Rovan mumbled, his voice strained. His eyes never left my face. I set my glass down and replied to a text on my phone before looking back up at her, my voice calm and even. “Even if I weren’t getting married, I’d have no interest in being your bridesmaid.” Sophie’s face fell, stung by another rejection. She pouted and spun the bottle again, this time with more force. “Since we’re playing for keeps, whoever it lands on this time has to drink this whole pitcher!” She pointed to a large glass pitcher of beer on the table. As she did, the bottle slowed, wobbled, and stopped perfectly between Rovan and me. “What now?” someone asked. “Split it?” another friend suggested with a smirk. Kate leaned in close to me. “You know,” she whispered, “I really think there’s still something between you two. You came back for him, didn’t you?” I hadn’t slept properly since I’d landed, and a dull ache was starting to throb behind my eyes. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “No, Kate. I really am just here to get married.” She made a skeptical sound, clearly not believing a word. I was done explaining. I reached for the pitcher, ready to just get it over with, when Sophie’s hand shot out and blocked mine. “Ellie, it’s not that I’m trying to pick on you,” she said, her voice laced with venom, “but I just really don’t like the idea of my boyfriend sharing a drink with another woman. Let’s just spin again.” She enunciated the word “boyfriend” with sharp, deliberate precision, a clear warning. “What’s the big deal? It’s not like they’re drinking from the same glass,” Kate snapped, her patience finally wearing thin. “Sophie, if you’re so worried about your precious boyfriend, maybe you should just chain him up at home.” Sophie’s face crumpled into a mask of pure innocence as she looked up at Rovan. “I was just trying to make sure everyone had a good time.” Rovan’s brow furrowed, but he still gave in. “Whatever you want.” The bottle spun again. This time, it made a beeline for me, stopping without a single wobble. A bet is a bet. Without a word, I picked up the pitcher and drank the entire thing down. The game continued. And I don’t know if Sophie had some kind of magic touch, but every single round, the bottle landed on me. The lack of sleep and the sheer amount of alcohol were starting to make my head spin. The room was getting fuzzy. As I reached for yet another drink, a hand closed around my wrist. The touch was ice-cold, snapping me back to reality. It was Rovan. “That’s enough for tonight,” he said, his voice low and firm. Sophie shot me a hateful look. “But we’re not finished with this round yet!” she whined. Her eyes gleamed. “Okay, how about this? No drinking this time. Eleanor just has to answer one more truth.” I pulled my hand from Rovan’s grasp and checked the time. Ten minutes to midnight. “Fine.” A wicked, triumphant smile spread across Sophie’s face. She pulled out her phone, tapped the screen, and shoved it in front of my face. “Alright, Eleanor. My question is this: in your famous little sex scandal… exactly how many leading men were there?”

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I am the entertainment industry’s most famous simp, and a successful one at that—I married the Movie King. But then, one day, I awakened. I discovered I’m the vicious ex-husband of the male lead (the top) in a BL novel. I’m the cannon fodder villain who took advantage of the male lead (the bottom) going abroad to use schemes and force myself on the top, eventually dying a miserable death. And right now, I’m participating in a live-streamed couple’s travel reality show. Someone jokingly asked: “Sue, standing by this seaside, what do you want to do most right now?” I looked at the camera and answered: “Divorce.” Instantly, the internet exploded. 1 The room fell silent, and the live stream comments scrolled frantically. Because not long ago, I was still the number one simp for Movie King Julian Thorne, my husband. And now, I was actively proposing a divorce. [Is Sue crazy?] [What’s going on so early in the morning? Why the sudden divorce talk?] [Here for the clout again. Lol, Sue can’t live without drama.] [He was simping so hard a few days ago, and now he wants a divorce? Do you believe it? I don’t.] [Probably acting up again. Where does a small celebrity get the courage to act up everywhere?] [Oh well, haters are fans too~] 2 The comments flew by too fast for me to read any. “Oh, I get it, you mean ‘divest’, right? Yes, we have to split up for street interviews later, it really takes a lot of energy!” A guest tried to save the situation. I smiled and shook my head: “No, I said…” Suddenly, a force grabbed the back of my head and turned it. The next second, my lips felt warm. And the surrounding guests cheered: “Whoa~” The director team took the opportunity to cut the live stream. I pushed the person away with one hand and slapped him with the other. A crisp, loud slap echoed. After a gasp of surprise, only Julian and I were left in the huge living room. 3 Julian frowned slightly, his tone cold: “What’s wrong with you?” I pushed the limp black hair on my forehead back, unbuttoned the top button that was choking me, and the anger in my chest surged to my throat. Because just now, I accidentally bumped my head. And a memory suddenly appeared in my brain. It turns out I live in a BL novel, and I’m a vicious male side character! Feeling irritable from the flood of memories, I snapped: “What? Not pretending anymore?” I sat down with my legs crossed: “No way, did you really think I was the cool, pure type? Hilarious, I got tired of pretending ages ago.” After speaking, I stared at Julian, wanting to see his shocked expression. Unexpectedly, this guy had no expression, just hummed: “Okay, then don’t pretend. Put your legs down, crossing them is bad for your knees.” My happily swinging leg stopped and dropped. It felt like punching cotton—unsatisfying. Instead, I seemed unreasonable, choking myself half to death. Julian lowered his eyes and buttoned my shirt back up. His warm breath hit my face, and in the end, I didn’t push him away. “Alright, let’s go record the show.” Julian took my hand and walked out. Julian is just like that, making it impossible to lose your temper. 4 Julian and I met at my eighteenth birthday party. Back then, I was a rich second-generation idler relying on my family’s money, while Julian already had a name in the entertainment industry. Debuted at seventeen, Movie King at twenty, Grand Slam winner at twenty-five. Smooth sailing all the way, becoming a hot A-list actor in just seven years. His impeccable face and acting skills made famous directors sigh: “A born actor.” But Julian was aloof, rarely taking on anything other than acting, with very few scandals. So I schemed, checking online what he liked to eat, what clothes he liked, what type of person he liked. Finally got: Cool, innocent, cute. I looked at my non-mainstream outfit and red hair. I learned from my pain and changed on the spot. Two months later, I got used to wearing white shirts, smiling slightly, and dyed my red hair back to black. I hovered in front of Julian for half a year before successfully hooking up, then secretly seduced him for another year before finally getting together. Married for more than two years, I was still addicted to his face. Although he was a bit cold, I always thought that since he agreed to be with me, he must have feelings for me. Now you tell me he was forced to be with me and would abandon me for his white moonlight. Then those past incidents of my warm face meeting his cold butt suddenly made sense.

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The aloof campus heartthrob sent me another photo of his abs. I couldn’t help myself: Hello, do you know you’ve sent this to the wrong person again? He replied instantly: It’s been a week. Aren’t you going to ask who it was meant for? Afraid of embarrassing him, I hurriedly typed: It’s fine. I’ll just pretend I didn’t see anything. But inside, I was terrified. Terrified he’d discover my secret crush, my daily screen-licking, my stalking. So I put on a brave face, deliberately parading around with my childhood friend. Until the day Julian found my secret basement. With the cage. And the wall full of whips and shackles. Julian’s face darkened: “You want to lock me up? You even bought a cage?” Scared out of my wits, I stammered, pathetic and dark: “I-I’m sorry, don’t worry, I won’t—” Julian’s eyes suddenly reddened, and he crawled straight into the cage. “I knew it! I’m younger than him, hotter than him, body better than his. You definitely like me more!” “Imprison me! Imprison me right now!” “Sob… finally! I’m finally getting a title! No more being the secret side piece!” Huh? When did he become my side piece? Why didn’t I know about this? 1 I received another abs photo from Julian. Compared to the previous six, this angle was killer. It was even a Live Photo. Shot from above, shirtless. Under the taut, thin muscles, veins snaked from his waist down to his abdomen. In the last frame of the Live Photo, he suddenly flexed, everything disappearing into the loose gray sweatpants. Gone. What a pity. I gulped audibly. Terrified he’d realize his mistake and unsend it, I quickly saved it to my favorites. Compared to my shock seven days ago, I was now a seasoned pro. Open photo. Zoom in. Finally, fixate on the spot just below Julian’s navel. There was a small red mole. So sexy. Looked so kissable. I couldn’t help but click my tongue. How could a man exist who stomped so precisely on all my preferences? Pale skin, high nose, thin lips. Clothed, his face was cold and ascetic, unapproachable. Clothes off, he was a soul-stealing fox demon. Sadly, this fox demon didn’t belong to me. Not only did he not belong to me, Julian didn’t even know me. We weren’t in the same major; our classes were far apart. It was love at first sight, entirely one-sided. But I’m a creep. I only dared to stalk him like a little mouse, picking up scraps of information. Julian was great, except he was a bit scatterbrained. Once he even lost a thousand dollars in cash. Lucky I was stalking him, or someone else would have gotten it. Just as I’d been stalking him for a month, summer break started. Finally, school started again. I spent fifty bucks to buy Julian’s new class schedule and copied it for myself. I got the contact from the campus forum; the guy was reliable. Julian was famously hard to run into. I only managed to stalk him thanks to this guy. Even his WeChat contact I only got because he was in a good mood during an elective class and added the whole group. After all, I’m a pervert who has a crush on Julian. No one wants to be obsessed over by a pervert. I stared at the chat box. Julian’s status kept showing “Typing…” Disappearing, reappearing, disappearing again. Makes sense. Sending abs photos to a stranger for seven days straight. Anyone would be embarrassed. So I took the initiative. Hello, do you know you’ve sent this to the wrong person again? Polite enough, right? Normal enough? The “Typing…” status disappeared. After a long while. Julian replied with a single: ? Brief, distant, cold. Guessed it. Afraid of embarrassing him, I hurriedly typed: It’s fine. I’ll just pretend I didn’t see anything. This time, Julian replied fast. Julian: It’s been a week. Aren’t you going to ask who it was meant for? Ask? How rude would that be? I was considerate: Julian, that’s your private business. It’s okay. Julian stopped replying completely. Awkwardness resolved. I rolled around on my bed. How can there be such an understanding, good person like me in this world~ Thinking this, I rolled off the bed. Went down to the basement, opened the notebook on the desk. Started writing. September 14, 2025. Julian sent abs photos to another woman again. Why is he so sltty? Can’t he control himself?* Since he can’t, I should just lock him up. But if I lock him up, Julian will definitely be angry. How can I keep him locked up without making him angry~ So annoying. 2 After writing, I flipped back through the diary. Suddenly realized I hadn’t stalked Julian since school started. I’d been so busy helping my childhood friend, Liam, with his racing club that I neglected such important business. I quickly logged into my alt account, ready to buy Julian’s schedule for tomorrow from that guy. As soon as I logged in. My phone started pinging like crazy. I opened the chat. The earliest message was from 11 days ago. Z: You there? School started. Z: Julian’s schedule, you want it? Z: Julian’s schedule is hot property. If you don’t want it, I’m selling to someone else. Z: 4 days, why no reply? Don’t need it anymore? Z: Saw Julian working out today. Body is insane. Z: Sneaked a pic. Want to see? 5 bucks. Z: Forget it, free. Want to see? Z: No reply, busy lately? Z: Or you think 10 bucks is too expensive? Z: How about 1 buck? Z: Why still no reply? It’s been days. Can’t even spare a dollar? [Sad Cat jpg] Latest message, 11:21 PM. 4 minutes ago. Z: You don’t like Julian anymore, do you? It hasn’t been that long! You heartless player! [Crying Cat jpg] I replied quickly: No, I’ve been busy lately. Can I still buy Julian’s schedule for tomorrow? Instant reply: Z: Finally willing to reply! Z: Not selling! I don’t do business with players! You don’t like Julian at all! Me: I do! Guaranteed like! Z: Then say it, what do you like about him! I froze. This guy could get Julian’s schedule and sneak pics of him working out; he must be close to Julian. I couldn’t tell him I was after Julian’s face and body. That I not only wanted to sleep with him but also imprison him. He’d definitely realize I’m a pervert and tell Julian, maybe even call the cops. I took a deep breath, typing fast: I like that he’s tall, handsome, and rich. Yeah, that sounds appropriate. No girl dislikes rich and handsome guys. But the guy didn’t seem satisfied with my answer. No reply for ages. I probed: Hello? Still there? Selling? Z: 100. Me: ??? Wasn’t it 1 buck? Z: 100, take it or leave it. [Cold Cat jpg] Fine, 100 it is. I gritted my teeth: Deal. 3 That 100 bucks was well spent. The next afternoon, I secretly followed Julian to the library. I loved crowded places like this; hard to be detected. Julian chose a window seat. I held my book high to cover my face, peeking at him. Julian looked different today. Sunlight hit his face perfectly. Usually his wrist was bare, but today he wore a Patek Philippe, fully exposed. The library was quiet, just the sound of pages turning. Sitting there, I started dozing off. In my haze, I seemed to hear a voice through gritted teeth. “Student Jiang.” Someone tapped my desk lightly. I opened my eyes. Julian was squatting by my legs. That devastatingly handsome face appeared suddenly before my eyes. I leaned back in panic, stuttering: “W-what’s up?” Julian pointed at the book in my hand. “That’s the last copy in the library. Can I borrow it for a look?” I stared at Julian’s lips, not hearing a word. Only knew he was so close. His lips looked so soft, so kissable. Smelled so good too, like money. Julian rested his chin on his hands on the desk, looking up at me, expression cool: “Can I?” So seductive. I gulped uselessly: “O-of course.” Julian took the book and stood up. I stared at his profile. Got the book, he should be leaving now. I suddenly felt a sense of loss. Next second, scrape. Julian pulled out a chair, skipping one seat from me, and sat down. My heart started pounding instantly. Seeing me still staring. Julian turned, voice cool: “Student Jiang, do you have something to say to me?” “No!” I turned away immediately, covering my face with my hand. This was the first time I was this close to him. His scent drifted over faintly. Making my mouth dry, cheeks burning. “Student Jiang.” Third time he called me today! Sounds so good! If I locked him to a bed, he’d surely sound even better. I took a deep breath, afraid he’d see my perverted thoughts, smiling: “What is it?” Julian looked at me, still that cool, aloof look I liked best. But he leaned forward, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Do you really have nothing you want to say to me?” 4 I froze. Say what? About the abs photos? I explained hurriedly: “Julian, I really pretended I didn’t see those photos, don’t worry.” Julian seemed unhappy: “I’m not talking about that.” I was confused. If not that, then what? Julian looked at me for a few seconds. Suddenly stood up. “Come out for a second. I have something to say.” My heart jumped. Out? Why go out? Can’t say it here? Not the photos… did he discover I was stalking him? My brain was a mess, but my body honestly followed Julian out of the reading room. The hallway was empty. I looked at Julian, heart in my throat. “Chloe Jiang.” “Here!” Julian’s throat moved. “I don’t like people playing games behind my back.” My heart sank rapidly. Done for. Julian definitely found out. He’s warning me. After all, no one wants to be liked by a stalker. Seeing no reaction, “Chloe, do you understand what I mean?” My heart felt like a crushed soda can in a recycling plant. I pinched my fingers. “I understand, Julian.” Julian’s eyes lit up instantly. I wanted to die even more. He really hates me. Julian cleared his throat, expression unnatural: “Since that’s the case, we—” “Julian, don’t worry!” I took a deep breath and interrupted him, swearing to the heavens. “From now on I will absolutely not disturb you again, and absolutely won’t have any improper thoughts about you!” Julian’s hand reaching into his pocket froze, pupils shrinking: “What did you say?!”

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