Category: English

In my last life, I was the reason Derek’s first love died. She took a knife meant for me. He hated me for it. So he locked me away, and for years, my days and nights were a living hell of his making. Until my twenty-second birthday. My body and spirit were broken, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I chose to end it. I slit my wrists. The last thing I saw was Derek’s eyes, red and blazing with something I couldn’t name. “In your next life,” he warned, his voice a ragged whisper, “don’t love me. And don’t you dare get between me and Luna again.” As he wished. When I woke again, I was back in my senior year classroom. From the athletic field outside, I could hear the roar of the crowd at a basketball game. Derek pushed open the classroom door and tossed his school jacket into my arms. “Hold this for me. Luna’s coming to watch the game later.” For the first time in my life, I didn’t greet him with a heart full of joy. Derek didn’t know it yet. This time, I would stay far, far away from him. 1 The light jacket landed on my desk. Instinctively, I flexed my wrists. There was no deep, aching pain. In my last life, Derek had bound these same wrists to the headboard with one of his silk ties for seven straight days, all because I refused to apologize on the anniversary of Luna’s death. What was I supposed to apologize for? Luna was my sister. The family’s biological daughter. From the moment they found her and brought her home, she had captured everyone’s heart. I admit, I was jealous of her. For a long time, I resented her. I hated how her arrival had stolen my parents, stolen my Derek. But she was so small and frail. When she first came to us, her face was always pale. She would only whisper my name softly, “Sophie, little sister.” And just like that, my heart softened. Maybe having a sister wouldn’t be so bad after all. My parents told me she had a weak constitution. That I needed to give in to her in everything. So, when she wanted my room, I gave it to her. When she wanted my dolls, I gave them to her. When she liked a beautiful dress I had my eye on, I let her have it. But when I started middle school, I realized she liked Derek, too. This time, I refused to yield. He was my Derek. We had grown up together. I couldn’t give him up. But I never imagined that the one and only time I ever competed with Luna would cost a human life. And four years of my own life, spent in unending darkness. … Luna stepping in front of that knife was so sudden. She collapsed in a pool of her own blood. Her last words were, “Sophie… I’m giving Derek back to you… Please don’t hate me, okay?” Just then, Derek arrived, rushing to the scene, only to witness that final, damning moment. Luna had taken the blade for me. She was bleeding profusely. With her blood clotting disorder, she didn’t even make it until the ambulance arrived. She died right there. And her ambiguous last words became the fuel for Derek’s undying hatred for me. That day, my Derek asked me, his face terrifyingly calm, “Sophie, why wasn’t it you who died?” Only later did I learn the truth. That afternoon, Luna had planned to confess her feelings to Derek. But by a cruel twist of fate, she ran into a gang fight. In the chaos, she pushed me out of the way. 2 It was strange. Everything was so strange. After everyone found out Luna had died for me, I became the villain in everyone’s story. The home I had known for over a decade was shattered. My father’s hair seemed to turn gray overnight. “You shouldn’t be alive,” he told me. My mother beat me, screaming through her tears, “You’re a jinx! You killed my Luna! Give me back my daughter!” They pulled me out of school. I was locked in the family’s old, dusty attic day after day. But… why didn’t they blame the attacker? Why did they blame me? Wasn’t I a victim, too? Was it wrong to be the one who survived? I didn’t know. All I knew was that, just as they said, I owed Luna a debt I could never repay. I owed her my life. … I spent a long time in that sunless attic. Until my eighteenth birthday. Derek somehow convinced my parents to finally let me out. Seeing sunlight for the first time in years, my legs buckled. I could barely stand. Derek said nothing. He simply knelt down and carried me on his back. Step by step, he walked to Harborview University. It was the university I dreamed of attending. It was Luna’s dream, too. The wisteria was in full bloom, and Derek’s voice was a soft whisper against my ear. “Did you know, Sophie? This was Luna’s dream, too. But she’ll never get to see it now.” I didn’t answer. I just cried silently on his back. That day was my eighteenth birthday. It was also the last time Derek ever showed me any kindness. After that, my school enrollment was officially terminated. I was locked away in the main house’s attic. My parents moved abroad, washing their hands of me completely. With them gone, Derek had no restraints. At first, I would beg. “Please, Derek, let me go.” But the attic was so dark, so suffocating. Not a single ray of light ever pierced the gloom. Trapped inside, I lost all track of time, of the seasons. Slowly, my mind began to fray. On another anniversary of Luna’s death, Derek demanded that I kneel. We had a violent argument. “I won’t kneel!” I screamed. “I hate her! I hate you all! I never asked her to save me. Why don’t you just kill me, Derek? Just get it over with!” I must have been truly mad then. Derek kicked me hard in the knee. He hated it when I disobeyed. As punishment for my defiance, he dislocated my wrist. He bound me to the headboard in a humiliating position. His voice was cruel. “Don’t blame me, Sophie. This is what you owe Luna. You have no right to feel wronged. At least you’re still alive.” Oh. So my being alive was the mistake. In that case, I didn’t want to be alive anymore. On the night of my twenty-second birthday, I couldn’t hold on any longer. I slit my wrists. As the blood soaked the sheets, I thought, I would finally grant their wish: to give my life back to Luna. 3 Derek’s handsome brow furrowed. He waved a hand in front of my face. “Sophie?” I snapped back to the present. The boy in front of me had clear, bright eyes, with none of the dark hatred I remembered from my past life. But I scrambled to my feet, putting as much distance between us as I could. “I… I have something to do. I can’t make it to the basketball game. You guys go ahead.” I was afraid of him. Truly terrified. Just being near him made me tremble. He looked momentarily stunned, as if he couldn’t process me rejecting him for the first time. After all, wasn’t I always the one chasing after him? He thought for a moment before speaking. “Sophie, are you mad at me? Because I brought Luna a gift the other day and not you?” Mad? A bitter smile touched my lips. I didn’t have the right to be. In my last life, Derek had never said he liked me, but he’d never said he liked Luna, either. Yet he was always by her side. And I was the blind fool who couldn’t see it. The fool who still harbored delusions. Who dared to compete with Luna. No wonder my end was so miserable. The bell for the next period rang, saving me. If I remembered correctly, it was gym class. Our class and the one next door had a basketball game. Luna was in the next class over. I could already see her standing by their classroom door. Derek didn’t press the issue. He gave me one last look before turning and jogging toward Luna, who was waiting for him. Watching their retreating backs, side by side, I let out a long breath of relief. But I hadn’t even had a chance to properly enjoy the sunlight of my new life when, just before school let out, a call from my mother summoned me to the hospital. Luna was having an episode. She needed a blood transfusion. Just like in my last life. Whenever she needed it, I was her on-demand blood bag. At first, when my parents told me Luna had a rare disease that required frequent transfusions, and that my blood type was a perfect match, I was actually happy. I had plenty of blood. I could save my sister. I knew long ago that my parents loved her more. She was their biological daughter, after all. I couldn’t fault them for that. I just thought that if I was good to her, extra good, my parents would be happy. And if they were happy, maybe they would love me again, too. But Luna was too greedy. She was always crying, always needing my blood. The transfusions became more and more frequent, until I could barely handle it. It was always worse when Derek was around. Just like now. I rushed to the hospital in a taxi. Just before they pushed me into the treatment room, Derek quickly shoved a gift box into my hands. 4 A long, suffocating silence filled the room. Luna was in the bed next to mine. She saw the gift box. A faint smile touched her pale lips. “Derek really does care about you, Sophie. You didn’t come to the game this afternoon, and he just stopped playing halfway through. Said he had something to do and just left. I found out later he went to buy you a gift. He was afraid you were upset.” I raised an eyebrow. So that was the reason for today’s “episode.” I remembered it from my last life, too. Anytime Derek showed me the slightest bit of kindness, Luna would inevitably fall ill and end up in the hospital. I glanced at the gift box. A very expensive, limited-edition designer watch. A Harborview exclusive. No wonder Derek thought I was angry. I had wanted this watch for a long time and had even asked him to get it for me. But then Luna had wanted it too. And seeing how frail she was, he had given it to her instead. I shook my head, laughing at my own foolishness. Every sign was there, telling me Derek already had someone he favored. How could I have been so blind? The blood draw left me dizzy. Seeing how pale I was, Luna’s face filled with guilt. “I’m so sorry, Sophie. It’s all my fault for being so useless. Always needing your blood. If it weren’t for me, you would have…” Before she could finish, right in front of her, I tossed the gift box into the trash can. A smirk played on my lips. “It’s just the two of us here. You can drop the act.” Luna froze, clearly not expecting me to be so blunt. I was too tired to play along anymore. I pulled the needle from my arm, stood up, and walked over to her bed, looking down at her. “You weren’t sick this afternoon,” I said, my voice low and steady. “You just saw Derek give me something, and you didn’t like it. So you decided to cause trouble for me. It’s a trick that never fails, isn’t it?” 5 That blunt conversation changed nothing. After Luna was discharged, she went right back to her act, frequently visiting my classroom to see Derek and me. But something was different. I no longer walked with them. The cafeteria, the sports field, the walk home from school… anywhere outside the classroom, I avoided them like the plague. Derek was the first to notice. After a week of me completely ignoring him, he finally snapped. He cornered me at my desk. “Alright, what did I do now, Your Highness?” he asked, a teasing tone in his voice. “Give me a hint.” The boy before me was handsome and carefree. His playful, affectionate tone held no trace of the hatred and disgust I remembered. For a moment, it took me back to a time long ago. Derek used to be so good to me. Whenever his family’s friends brought him snacks or toys from abroad, he always let me pick first. Yes. The boy who always put me first. The boy who’d take a beating from his father to cover for me. The boy who’d cross half of Harborview in the dead of winter with a black eye just because I craved a certain cake. Why, then? Why did a single sentence from Luna turn him into the monster who tormented me for four years? I couldn’t understand it. My eyes welled up with tears. Seeing me cry, Derek panicked. “Hey, why are you crying? Seriously, who bullied you? Tell me. I’ll beat them to a pulp.” You, I wanted to say. You, Derek. You’re the one who hurt me more than anyone. But before I could speak, someone called him away. A student from the next class was at the door. Luna wasn’t feeling well. The boy who had been right in front of me a second ago was gone in a gust of wind, rushing out the door without a moment’s hesitation. The flicker of warmth that had sparked in my heart was instantly extinguished. … It wasn’t until Derek was long gone that the sounds of the classroom returned. With college entrance exams approaching, everyone was discussing which schools they wanted to apply to. A jolt of fear shot through me. If I remembered correctly, in my last life, it was this week, while we were discussing our college choices, that Luna planned her confession to Derek. They were going to apply to Harborview University together. But… The flash of a blade seared through my mind. I clutched my head as a splitting headache took hold. I remembered Derek’s warning before I died. “In your next life, don’t love me. And don’t you dare get between me and Luna again.” Fine. As you wish. Derek, I will leave. I will go far, far away. I had already planned on leaving Harborview anyway.

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1 Eighteen years into our child-free marriage, I discovered my husband wasn’t child-free at all. He had more than one illegitimate son. The woman was patient. She knew that while I had no children, his bastards still had a claim to his inheritance. Even as a mistress, her sons could one day carve up the empire we had spent half our lives building. I thought about it. Over and over. A divorce would grant me the majority of our assets, but what was left would still be enough for them to live in luxury for the rest of their lives. It was far too generous. If that was the case, then we might as well lose it all together. I started with nothing; I could survive with nothing again. But them? After they’ve lost everything, could they still afford to raise those precious, golden sons of theirs? … By the time I discovered Ron’s affair, his eldest son was already running and jumping, and his youngest had just passed his three-month milestone. The only reason I’d been kept in the dark for so long was because Ron’s entire family had conspired to help him cover it up, creating a seamless web of lies. The truth finally slipped out because Ron attended the party for his youngest son’s celebration. Someone anonymously sent me a photo from the event—a picture of their happy little family. I stared at my phone, my mind a complete blank for a few seconds. A surge of fury rose in my chest, but it was quickly suppressed by cold, hard logic. After years in the business world, I had unlearned the habit of acting on impulse. I wouldn’t confront Ron until I had the full story. I hired someone to do some digging. It took only three days for every secret Ron had buried to be laid bare before me. Five years ago, he had started keeping a recent college graduate. Four years ago, she gave birth to their first son. Now, their second child was three months old. No wonder his mother had stopped nagging me about children years ago. I’d naively thought she had finally accepted our choice to be child-free. Turns out, she was already a grandmother. Even with the undeniable proof of his betrayal, I forced myself to remain calm. His infidelity was a fact, and arguing wouldn’t change a thing. The only thing to consider now was how to walk away from this without being the one who lost everything. In the world of adults, self-interest must always come first. I spent the entire afternoon sitting alone in a tea house, replaying our eighteen years together. It was Ron who had first proposed being child-free. I never imagined he would be the one to go back on his word. In the early days, we started our architectural firm from nothing. We had no connections, no support. Every step was a struggle. Now that we were finally on solid ground, the first thing he does is have children with someone else? The irony was staggering. That afternoon, I consulted with several lawyers specializing in divorce. The consensus was grim: we had no prenuptial agreement. Even though he was the at-fault party, forcing him to walk away with nothing was nearly impossible. That path was a dead end. I needed another plan. As I was thinking, Ron called. He asked why I wasn’t home yet. I glanced at my watch; it was past nine. For all these years, despite having another family, he had maintained a perfect facade. Barring the occasional business dinner, he was almost always home before 9:30 PM. That consistency was a key reason I had never suspected a thing. I’d forgotten that a man who truly wants to cheat doesn’t need large blocks of unaccounted-for time. It was ten by the time I got home. Ron was on the living room sofa, flipping through an art book. He looked up at the sound of the door. Even in his forties, he was still in impeccable shape, not with the softness of middle age, but with a quiet, refined presence forged by time. But I saw it clearly—an almost unconscious movement as he closed the book and tucked it into the crevice of the sofa cushions. It was a detail I would have missed before. Now, it was glaring. Suspicion, once planted, finds evidence everywhere. He walked over, his expression normal, and took my coat. His voice was gentle. “Working late? Trouble with a project?” For a moment, I was lost. How could a person betray a marriage so profoundly and show not a single trace of guilt on his face? To hide it so perfectly for five or six years… The man I shared a bed with had a depth of cunning that sent a chill down my spine. Perhaps my silence was too long. A flicker of concern crossed his face. “Not feeling well?” I looked away, forcing my voice to sound casual. “No, just a little tired.” After more than two decades together, Ron knew me too well. The slightest change in my demeanor never escaped him. Of course, the same was true for me. I understood then. The leaked photo from the party wasn’t an accident, nor was it his oversight. He was simply done trying so hard to hide it. The firm was stable. I had stood by him through all the hard years. Now, someone else was waiting to reap the rewards. On what grounds? I managed a few more perfunctory replies, making sure not to give anything away. Ron didn’t seem to notice that I knew everything. His behavior was normal, though he checked his phone far more often than usual. The quiet comfort of a middle-aged marriage is supposed to be a blessing. But some people are never satisfied. Waves of frustration washed over me. I wanted to scream, to slap him across the face, to tear away the facade and demand to know why he had broken his promise. For a fleeting moment, I even considered paying him back in the same coin. When the emotion finally subsided, I was horrified by that momentary version of myself. The guilty should pay, but punishing someone else should not come at the cost of your own integrity. Ron was already filthy; I refused to become like him. I knew this calm wouldn’t last, but shifting our assets would take time. A man whose heart has strayed is like cloth dipped in dye; it can never return to its original color and will only stain everything around it. The twenty years of love, the hardships we shared—the moment I learned of the third person, it all became a sunk cost. The price of this marriage was too high, and I was far from being as detached as I appeared. The gut-wrenching pain of it all was forcing me into a state of brutal clarity. Ron was rotten, the marriage was rotten, but the firm wasn’t. Our lives were deeply intertwined; pulling one thread could unravel everything. This was far more complicated than a simple divorce could solve. About two weeks after I learned of his affair, Ron finally sensed something was wrong. He lingered outside my home studio for a long time one evening before finally speaking. “Is… something on your mind lately?” No matter how hard I tried to be calm, I could no longer bear to share a bed with him. I had used a minor disagreement as an excuse to banish him to the guest room for the past two weeks. My replies to his texts were clipped and brief. He was always perceptive and had likely guessed the reason. But since I hadn’t confronted him, hadn’t started a fight, and hadn’t gone after the other woman, he swallowed the probing questions on the tip of his tongue. I rubbed my throbbing temples and decided to seize the initiative. “I was looking over the firm’s accounts recently and noticed a few large payments for materials that don’t add up.” I knew exactly where that money had gone, and as the one who approved it, Ron knew even better. The woman he was keeping had given him one child, then a second. Naturally, her material needs had to be thoroughly met. And Ron, successful and in his forties, had the capital to satisfy her. He visibly stiffened. I saw his hand, hanging by his side, slowly clench into a fist. But it was only for a moment. He quickly regained his composure. “I authorized those withdrawals.” I lifted my eyes and looked directly at him. He avoided my gaze, his explanation tinged with guilt. “Alex and I have been working on a few private projects these last couple of years. I didn’t mention it because I didn’t want you to worry.” Alex was his old college classmate; of course, he would cover for him. I didn’t ask what the projects were, and he didn’t elaborate. He just closed the door and left. He had probably guessed that I knew about his other family, yet he showed no panic. It was as if he was certain I had no choice but to endure it silently. And even if I didn’t, what could I do? Divorcing him now would be a relief for him. He would walk away with wealth and children, while I, nearing forty, would be left with nothing but my solitude. But even so, there was no point in being shackled to a rotten man like him. I found it increasingly difficult to tolerate Ron’s presence in my life as my husband, but the transfer of assets wasn’t complete. We could only continue this tense, lukewarm stalemate. Perhaps he was waiting for me to come to my senses, or perhaps he was waiting for me to be the one to ask for a divorce. Either way, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. On the twentieth day after I discovered his betrayal, I met the woman he was keeping. She must have gotten wind of something from Ron because she had the audacity to provoke me. She staged a “chance encounter” at my favorite bookstore, even choosing the window-side booth I always sat in. The file I had on her was filled with photos; I recognized her instantly. She was young, around twenty-seven, dressed in an expensive but understated cashmere sweater, a designer handbag resting beside her. She had been well-protected, it seemed; there was a naive sweetness in her features, a look of almost clear-eyed foolishness in her eyes. It suddenly made me think of myself at twenty-seven. Ron and I had been married for two years, crammed into a tiny, old apartment, living on meager salaries, my coats washed until they were faded. It was during those years that we scraped together the seed money for our firm. Sometimes, late at night, overcome with emotion, he would grip my hand and swear he would never fail me. Those vows, I suppose, held some sincerity at the time. A pity sincerity is the first thing to wear away. I pretended not to know her, picked out a book as usual, and sat at a table diagonally across from her, never once letting my gaze drift in her direction. I quickly revised my initial judgment of her. She picked up a book, moved to the seat directly opposite me, and smiled with a look of pure provocation. “Mrs. Croft,” she said. Clearly, she knew who I was. So, not some naive girl who had been deceived, but a willing parasite. Was she here now, as the other woman, to openly challenge me? Tsk. Did she have any idea that half of everything she ate, wore, and used belonged to me? I closed my book, my gaze calmly sweeping over her body, which hadn’t fully recovered from childbirth. “And you are?” In the end, she didn’t dare reveal her awkward identity. She fumbled for an excuse, claiming she had seen me at an architectural forum once. The lie was laughably clumsy. I didn’t respond, just watched her with a faint, unreadable smile. I wanted her to know that I saw right through her pathetic little games. A vine that spends its life clinging to others loses the strength to stand on its own against the storm. Under my silent scrutiny, she didn’t even last thirty seconds. She scrambled to her feet and fled, her retreating figure a picture of panic and disarray. I felt a sense of sorrow—for her, and for the world that created her. So young, perfectly capable, she could have been anything, but she chose to be someone’s breeding tool. Whether Ron knew about this stunt or not, the fact that the woman he was keeping had paraded herself in front of me was his failure. I decided to officially put the divorce on my agenda. Before I could act, my best friend spammed me with messages on WhatsApp. She was sending me screenshots of the other woman’s social media, a daily chronicle of her flaunting her life. This was nothing new, but today’s screenshots were different. She added a note: [She’s throwing shade at you.] Everyone needs a few reliable friends. I had asked my best friend to follow her account long ago, so I was aware of her every move. I opened the last screenshot. It was her latest post: a photo of a child running across a lawn, with a caption. The gist of it was: So what if some people are successful now? After working hard their whole lives, won’t it all just end up belonging to my children anyway? Oh, I’d almost forgotten. She had children, and I didn’t. And her children with my husband, though illegitimate, still had inheritance rights. This world is truly absurd sometimes. I glanced again at the half-drafted divorce settlement on my desk. Even if I fought for every penny, I could at most walk away with seventy percent of our assets. The remaining thirty percent, plus the firm’s substantial annual profits, would be enough to keep their family of four in luxury for generations. Thank you for the reminder. It was a sudden, jarring wake-up call. This wasn’t good enough. It was far too generous. I wasn’t about to let anyone set foot on the path I had bled for, not without my permission.

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My dad built a wooden swing in the sunroom, just to see me smile. But I was afraid of heights, too scared to really use it. When my little brother, Leo, was born, he became the prince of the family. One day, he was swinging too high and went flying off. I lunged to catch him, and we both crashed to the ground. I gritted my teeth against the pain, trying to pull Leo up. But when Dad came running, all he saw was my brother on the floor. His face was a mask of fury. He grabbed a metal drying rack and lashed at my legs. “You vicious little brat! Did you want to cripple your brother?” He scooped Leo into his arms but locked me, my leg now broken, in the scorching sunroom. “Stay in here and think about that black heart of yours!” They rushed Leo to the hospital, and no one looked back at me as I collapsed from dehydration under the brutal sun. As my throat burned with thirst, I could only wonder: when they came back, would they still love me? 1. The sun was a searing hammer, beating down on the glass of the sunroom. The heat found its way into every crack, every pore. I’d always been frail. The doctor said I needed more sun to build up my calcium. So Dad built this sunroom for me. But now, this room, once a symbol of my father’s love, had become my torture chamber. My skin reddened, then stung, a pins-and-needles fire spreading across my body. Soon, transparent blisters began to bubble up, a dense, horrifying constellation that made my scalp crawl. The agony of my shattered leg was buried under the burning, only to scream back to life with a fresh wave of blinding pain every time I tried to move. My throat felt like it was packed with hot coals. I licked my cracked lips and tasted blood. My vision started to blur. The familiar tightness of an allergic reaction, of anaphylaxis, was closing around my neck. The temperature in the sunroom kept climbing, the UV rays a million invisible knives slicing into my exposed skin. I curled up in the small shadow cast by the swing, but even that sliver of mercy betrayed me as the sun arced across the sky. In my final moments, I was still thinking of my dad. He would come back. He would hold me, just like when I was little, and call me his “sweet girl.” He would tell me a story to help me fall asleep. He would definitely come back. Clinging to that last, desperate hope for a father’s love, I took my final breath. I felt my body grow light. So light that it began to float, rising through the glass roof until I was hovering in the air. I looked down. On the floor of the sunroom lay a twisted, broken thing. That was me. My once-pale skin was covered in hideous blisters and red patches. Some had burst, leaking a yellow fluid. The broken leg was bent at a grotesque angle, swollen like proofing dough. My face was a frozen mask of pain, my mouth wide open as if in a silent, unending scream. So ugly. No wonder Dad didn’t love me anymore. I just watched, suspended in the air. There was no pain, no sadness. Just a strange, hollow peace. So this is what death is like. The sun sank below the horizon, the sky shifting from orange to a deep, bruised purple. The world fell silent. And I just hung there, watching as my body slowly stiffened in the cooling air. … At eight o’clock, the familiar sound of a car engine pulled into the driveway. They were back. Dad opened his door, and Mom got out, carrying Leo. He was bouncing with energy, clutching a Captain Comet action figure, looking completely fine. “Thank goodness Leo was quick on his feet today,” Mom said, her voice a mixture of relief and lingering fear. “Who knows how badly he could have been hurt if his sister had managed to push him off.” Dad was carrying a chilled watermelon in one arm and a large bag of snacks in the other—all of Leo’s favorites. The three of them looked like the perfect, happy family. I watched them walk right past the sunroom. For a moment, Dad paused. He glanced at the closed glass door, the curtains drawn just as they had left them. Silence radiated from within. “Stubborn little thing, isn’t she? Not making a peep.” Dad snorted, then yelled at the door, “Lily! Are you playing dead in there?” At that exact moment, my corpse, already stiff with rigor mortis, suddenly spasmed. A muscle contraction caused my limbs to straighten out, and my body slammed heavily against the floor. THUMP! A dull, solid sound. Dad’s face instantly turned a shade of deep crimson. He thought I was stomping in defiance, talking back without words. “Hey! You still have the nerve to give me attitude? You’re getting bold, aren’t you!” “Have I been too soft on you? Is that it?” He pointed a shaking finger at the door. “Fine! You can stay in there! Let’s see who gives in first! I’m going to beat this rotten attitude out of you if it’s the last thing I do!” With that, he grabbed Mom and Leo and stormed into the house without a backward glance. A little while later, the smell of dinner began to drift through the air. I floated into the dining room. Four dishes and a soup were laid out on the table. In the center was a platter of my favorite pot roast, glistening with gravy, its rich aroma filling the room. My mother picked up the largest piece and placed it in Leo’s bowl. “Eat up, sweetie. You must have been so scared today.” Leo let out a happy cry and dug in. Mom picked up another piece. Her hand paused mid-air, her gaze drifting toward the sunroom. “Don’t you worry about that little viper,” Dad said, his voice loud, almost shouting. “A couple of missed meals and she’ll learn her lesson. No gratitude at all, after we’ve raised her all these years!” He shoveled a mouthful of rice, chewing loudly. “She’s just jealous of the attention we give Leo! Did you see how she went after him today? She was trying to kill him! If we don’t teach her a hard lesson now, she’ll be completely out of control!” My mother’s hand faltered, and she slowly lowered the piece of meat back into her own bowl. She didn’t say a word. I knew what her silence meant. She agreed with him. In her heart, I was just as monstrous as he said. But I wasn’t. That wasn’t what happened. No one else mentioned my name for the rest of the meal. I could only watch as the entire platter of my favorite food disappeared into my brother’s stomach. After dinner, Mom cleared the table with her usual efficiency. She walked to the sunroom door and hesitated for a long time, her hand hovering over the glass. A flicker of softness. “Lily? Stop being stubborn. Come out and apologize to your brother, then say you’re sorry to your dad. We can put this behind us. Just don’t do it again.” “Your father is only doing this for your own good. What you did today was just too much.” “If Leo hadn’t been so clever, he could have been seriously hurt.” “Lily? Are you listening to me?” Of course, there was no response. My body was lying cold and still on the floor. Dad sauntered over, a toothpick dangling from his lips. Seeing my continued silence, he yanked Mom away from the door. “Look at her! Is she even listening to you? I’m telling you, you’ve spoiled her rotten. She’s never known a day of hardship in her life, and now she’s a stubborn brat who thinks she can defy us!” “She tried to hurt her brother today! What’s she going to do tomorrow? If we don’t get her under control now, she’s going to end up in jail!” He pointed at the door and delivered his final verdict. “She’s sleeping in there tonight! Let her reflect! She can come out when she’s ready to admit she was wrong. Not a second sooner!” “But there’s not even a bed in there! You want her to sleep on the floor?” “What’s wrong with the floor? Kids sleep on the floor all the time! Is one night going to kill her?” Mom opened her mouth, as if to argue, but then closed it. She nodded, accepting his logic. “Well, Lily, you think long and hard about what you’ve done,” she said finally, her voice laced with disappointment. Then she turned and walked away with Dad. The hallway light clicked off, plunging my little glass prison, and the world around it, into total darkness. They had abandoned me again. … The next morning, the sun rose again. I floated in the air, watching my mother busy herself in the kitchen. Sausages sizzled in a pan, the smell of coffee filling the house. She wiped her hands on her apron and carefully set the table. “Breakfast is ready!” she called out. “Just a minute! I’m almost done with my castle!” Leo’s little voice chirped from his room. Mom smiled, a flicker of exasperation in her eyes. As she turned, she noticed my empty seat at the table. Unlike the other three, piled high with food, mine was bare. She paused. A complex, unreadable expression crossed her face. I watched her brow furrow in conflict. Then, with a look of resolve, she started walking toward the sunroom. My non-existent heart fluttered. My ghostly hands clenched. Her footsteps echoed in the hall. One step, two steps, closer and closer. Was she finally going to find me? Would she be sad that I was dead? My gaze was fixed on her hand as it reached for the curtain. DING-DONG! The doorbell rang. “Honey, can you get that?” Dad yelled from the other room, where he was helping Leo with his LEGOs. Mom’s hand stopped. She hesitated for a moment, then turned and walked toward the front door. My spirit sank. So close. She was so close to seeing me. Why now? I drifted after her as she opened the door. A delivery driver stood on the porch. He handed her a package, then wrinkled his nose and sniffed the air inside. “Whoa, ma’am. What’s that smell? Cooking something… funky?” He practically shoved the package at her, got his signature, and bolted, as if being chased. Mom closed the door and sniffed the air. There was a strange smell, sickly sweet with an undercurrent of rot that turned the stomach. She frowned and began to search for the source. The trash was empty. The fridge was fine. She followed the scent, and it led her right back to the sunroom door. The smell was strongest here. She placed her hand on the curtain again, about to pull it back. My heart, or the memory of it, leaped into my throat. Mom, pull it back. I’m right here. Your Lily is waiting for you. “Found it!” Dad’s booming voice suddenly echoed from the kitchen. His shout broke her concentration. She completely forgot about the overpowering stench coming from the sunroom. Dad emerged, holding a plastic bag that was dripping a dark liquid. “I knew I smelled something! It’s the fish I was trying to cure a few days ago. The heat must have spoiled it!” He pinched his nose and held the bag out for her to see. The putrid, fishy odor completely masked the smell of my decay. Mom recoiled, covering her nose. “Get that out of here! It stinks!” Dad took the “culprit” and tossed it into the large trash bin outside. But Mom still stood there, frowning, staring at the sunroom as if trying to remember something. Just as a final glimmer of hope sparked within me, Leo, finished with his LEGOs, came running out and threw his arms around her legs. “Mommy, I’m hungry.” His voice shattered her train of thought for good. “Well, let’s get you fed. Your breakfast is ready.” “Okay!” And just like that, I was forgotten. At the breakfast table, Leo chattered about his day at kindergarten, his mouth full of eggs and toast. My parents listened, laughing and smiling. After breakfast, the happy family moved to the living room. The air conditioning blasted cold air as they ate slices of chilled watermelon. Cartoons played on the TV, and Leo giggled. Dad handed him the biggest slice of watermelon, his face full of adoration. He leaned back on the sofa and sighed contentedly. “Leo is such a good kid. So easy to love.” His tone shifted, becoming laced with disgust. “Not like that little ghost, always sulking around. The sight of her ruins my day.” The mention of my name finally jogged Mom’s memory. She glanced uneasily toward the sunroom. “Keeping her in there… is that really okay? It’s been almost a whole day.” “What’s there to be afraid of?” Dad slammed his watermelon rind into the trash bin with a loud bang. “She’s not going to starve to death.” He sat up straighter, his voice full of self-righteousness. “Besides, didn’t the doctor say she was frail? That she needed more sun? Well, if she’s not going to repent, she can stay in there and get some sun! It’s not like it will kill her!” Dad always had a twisted way of justifying everything. And Mom was convinced. She nodded, agreeing that it made sense. “Lily is too spoiled. She needs to be taught a lesson, or she’ll be impossible to manage later.” And so, with a few careless words, they sealed my fate. … A little while later, the doorbell rang again. This time, it was my aunt. Aunt Carol, my dad’s sister, was the only person in this family who had ever truly, unconditionally loved me. “Mark! Sarah!” she called out, her voice preceding her as she walked in, her arms laden with bags of produce from her garden. She set everything down and immediately looked around. “Where’s my Lily-bug?” It was always the first thing she asked. My parents’ faces grew awkward. Mom spoke first, forcing a smile. “Oh, Lily… she’s at a friend’s house for a sleepover. She left yesterday. Said she’d be back in a couple of days.” “A sleepover?” Aunt Carol’s brow furrowed. “Which friend? I didn’t hear her mention anything. She knows to call me when she stays over somewhere.” She pulled out her phone. “I’ll just give her a call. I brought her those smoked sausages she loves.” Dad shot forward and put a hand on her arm. “Oh, let her be. She’s having fun with her friends. Don’t be a spoilsport and call her.” His voice was rushed, his eyes darting away from hers. “Besides, her phone’s probably dead. It won’t go through.” Aunt Carol paused, looking at them with suspicion. Just then, she sniffed the air, and her expression changed. “Mark, what is that smell?” It was an odor beyond description. It was the smell of a forgotten trash can, fermenting for a week in the summer heat. It was the smell of a fish market at closing time, of rotten shrimp and old blood. It was the smell of a body, beginning to decay under the relentless sun. Aunt Carol’s face grew paler and paler. She followed the smell, step by step, toward the sunroom. My parents’ faces went white. “Carol, where are you going?” Dad lunged forward, blocking her path with his arms outstretched. “There’s nothing to see over there. It’s just a mess.” Mom hurried over and grabbed her arm. “He’s right, we’re just storing some junk in there. It’s smelly, don’t go over there.” They weren’t trying to hide a crime. They were just trying to hide their shame. They were afraid that if I saw my aunt, I would tattle, I would complain, I would make them lose face. They never imagined I could be dead. “Junk?” Aunt Carol shook off my mother’s hand, her eyes fixed on the closed glass door. “What kind of junk could smell like that?” Dad was still trying to lie. “It’s… it’s fertilizer! We bought some a few days ago, and I think… I think it went bad! That’s all it is!” “Fertilizer?” Aunt Carol let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Mark, do you take me for a child? What kind of fertilizer smells like that? Are you growing corpses in here?” Her words were like hammers, striking my parents’ hearts. Aunt Carol knew her brother and sister-in-law too well. Their every glance, every nervous gesture, told her something was terribly wrong. “Move,” she commanded, her voice dangerously quiet. Dad tried to block her again, but she shoved him aside with surprising force. He stumbled, nearly falling. Aunt Carol rushed to the sunroom door, gagging at the wall of stench that hit her. Without a moment’s hesitation, she reached out and, with a violent rip, tore open the heavy, light-blocking curtain. The fabric was flung to the side. The noon sun poured in, unfiltered and blinding. A wave of terrifying heat, thick with an almost solid odor, billowed out from behind the glass. It was hot. Scalding. Like opening a giant steamer. And then, they saw what was inside. Aunt Carol’s hand froze in mid-air. Every drop of blood drained from her face.

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Three years after our breakup, my ex-boyfriend, the lawyer Elias Thorne, returned with his young protégé. At the alumni gathering, someone remembered the old days and asked him with a smile: “Elias, when you left back then, you said if Chloe wasn’t married in three years, you’d chase her back. Are you here to fulfill that promise today?” I was just about to explain, but Elias tightened his grip on his protégé Mia’s hand and announced to everyone that they were engaged. When the invitation landed in my hand, Mia smiled until her eyes curved into crescents: “Chloe, don’t overthink it. Senior came back firstly to marry me, and secondly to take on the divorce case of the richest man’s only son. Once this case is over, he will become the group’s chief legal counsel. I know you waited for him for three years… pity, he’s mine now.” My expression was a bit strange. Elias thought I hadn’t given up yet and sighed: “Back then, to prevent Mia from being fired, I drugged you and stole your case. That was wrong of me. When I become the chief counsel, maybe I can let you be my assistant.” “Stop waiting for me. Find someone to marry. Even if their conditions aren’t as good as mine, it’s fine.” Everyone present looked at me, expecting me to break down. But I was only surprised: “You guys just got engaged?” I’m about to get divorced. And the case he wants to fight is the divorce lawsuit filed by me and my husband. 1 Mia took my reaction as disbelief. She crossed her arms, her tone mocking: “What, you think I’m lying to you?” “When he said three years ago he’d come back for you, he was just casually coaxing you because he was afraid you’d pester him. He gave up his domestic career to accompany me abroad, how could he not marry me?” Elias stood aside without speaking. What’s there not to believe? I still remember clearly how he forced me to drink the mute medicine three years ago and watched me vomit blood. I lost my job, got scolded by clients, chased him to the airport crying and begging him, only to have him kick my phone away, disgusted by my misery. He loves Mia, there’s never been a need to doubt that. I waved the invitation and smiled: “Don’t get excited, I just thought you guys had registered your marriage earlier. Then, happy wedding in advance.” I spoke sincerely, and the old classmates were stunned. Everyone knew that after Elias left, I was depressed for half a year, drunk all day long. No one expected me to say “Happy Wedding” so calmly. Everyone reacted and started to flatter Elias: “Lawyer Thorne is amazing, even taking on the case of the richest man’s son!” “Mia is beautiful and capable, truly a match made in heaven!” Mia couldn’t hide her pride, while Elias just calmly sipped his tea. He was used to hearing these words. Only I didn’t join in. Mia deliberately called me out: “Chloe, back then you laughed at me for failing the bar exam. Now Senior and I are elite lawyers returning from overseas. What about you? Where are you working?” I answered plainly: “I opened my own—” Before I could finish, I was interrupted by Elias’s phone ringing. Mia glanced at the screen and raised her voice: “It’s the richest man’s son calling!” Someone jeered: “Lawyer Thorne, let us hear how you discuss cases, yeah?” Elias smiled and pressed the speakerphone. A deep male voice came from the other end: “Lawyer Thorne, you are very good at lawsuits?” Elias was confident: “Of course. I guarantee the woman won’t get a penny and will leave with nothing.” “No!” The person on the other end was anxious, “I don’t want her to leave with nothing, my demand is not to divorce!” 2 The surroundings went silent for a moment. Elias nodded: “Rest assured, leave it to me.” He didn’t notice, but I quietly clenched my fist. I didn’t expect Adrian would not want a divorce. But rather than believing he loves me, I feel he’s just afraid of losing face. The call ended, and the classmates who knew the law started congratulating him: “Lawyer Thorne, this case is simple! It’s too easy not to divorce domestically. You’re basically picking up money for free, and you’ve climbed up to the richest man!” I couldn’t listen anymore, stood up and said I had to go first. Mia called me back and threw a business card at my feet: “If you’re not doing well, come find your old classmates, don’t hold on. Look at what you’re wearing… at least buy a decent dress.” Elias glanced at her but didn’t speak. Just like before, he never intervened when she made things difficult for me. But I’m no longer the love-struck fool who defended him. I stepped on the business card and pulled the corner of my mouth: “Mia, in these three years abroad, did you only grow hair but not brains? You probably can’t afford what I’m wearing.” Too lazy to argue further, I turned and left. 3 Walking out of the KTV, the cold wind blew, and I lit a cigarette. I was with Elias for seven years. Before breaking up, I always felt he had a clean scent of trees, like the smell of reciting books together in our youth. But seeing him again today, that scent was long gone, leaving only Mia’s cloying perfume. He really isn’t special to me anymore. After finishing the cigarette, I took out my phone. Adrian’s group of brothers sent a bunch of messages again, persuading me not to divorce. Before, they were the ones persuading us to break up; now, they are the ones persuading us to reconcile. I didn’t even look, deleted them all. Elias was right, I’m rational like a machine. So whether it’s him or Adrian, as long as they betrayed me, I don’t want them. Suddenly, the cigarette in my hand was snatched away. Elias looked at me in disbelief: “Chloe, you actually smoke?” He stomped out the cigarette with a look of disgust, wrapped it up, and threw it away. “Leaving me, you became like this? Mia was excessive just now, I apologize for her—” While he went to throw away the trash, I turned and got into a Bentley by the roadside. In the rearview mirror, he stood frozen on the spot. 4 The next day, I was researching divorce cases in the library. Someone suddenly stood opposite me. I thought there wasn’t enough space, so I moved my books closer to my side. But the person didn’t move. I looked up and saw Elias looking at me with a complicated expression: “You’re tracking me?” He hadn’t changed a bit, still clean and upright. Only now he was holding Mia’s hand, sharing a couple’s scarf, his eyebrows a bit gentler. This spot used to be our “secret base,” we came every day when we were dating. I frowned: “Coincidence.” He picked up the “Marriage Law” book on my table: “Chloe, that rented Bentley yesterday cost a lot of money, right? No need to keep up appearances like this.” “Thanks for helping me find the book, but it’s not possible between us.” I took the book back: “I need it myself; I also took on a divorce case.” Elias raised an eyebrow, looking like he saw through me: “You used to only look at criminal cases, saying civil cases were a waste of time. If not for me, would you borrow these?” He still firmly believed I loved him. But after what happened, how can he still be so confident? Three years ago, for Mia’s future, he drugged my drink and took my case. I knelt on the ground vomiting blood, but he only said indifferently: “Mia needs this opportunity more.” “We are too alike, it’s boring being together. Although she is careless, I like her talking to me.” The light in his eyes when he mentioned Mia stabbed my heart like a knife. I know, he doesn’t love me anymore. Coming back to my senses, I chuckled lightly: “Didn’t Lawyer Thorne also say he wouldn’t take civil cases? You made an exception for Mia three years ago. Now I’m taking a divorce case, what’s strange?” Mia suddenly shook off his hand and swept all the books on my table to the floor! With a “bang,” everyone in the library looked over. She sneered and raised her voice: “Who are you kidding? Senior just took a divorce case, and you’re taking one too? Just say you want to curry favor, stop pretending!” She looked me up and down, suddenly remembered something, and showed a playful smile: “Right, Chloe… you and the wife of the richest man’s son have the same name.”

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Five years after we broke up, Christian Vance’s sister went on a reality show and exposed me. “My brother dated this girl a while back. A total gold digger.” “After they broke up, she sent him over a hundred texts begging to get back together.” “But, you know, I deleted all of them before he could see.” The internet detectives immediately pinned the “gold digger” label on me—a washed-up, has-been actress. To snag the headline, a paparazzi dug me out from a pile of “dead bodies” on a film set. I wiped a smudge of fake ash off my face and smiled at the camera. “I don’t really know him. If I did, would I be here playing a corpse for fifty bucks?” The interview clip went viral. Christian flew back from overseas. That night, I saw him standing at the door of my rundown apartment. “You don’t know me? So, who was I sleeping with all those years? A ghost?” 1 After Lyla Vance’s explosive clip aired, it simmered overnight before hitting the number one trending spot on X. In the video, she smiled nonchalantly at the camera, playing the role of the righteous executioner of gold diggers. “Anyone with eyes could see she was just after our family’s money. My brother actually thought she was innocent.” “You know, that type of manipulative girl who plays the victim is the scariest. None of our friends in the circle liked her back then.” “But my brother was like he’d been hexed. He almost cut ties with the family for her.” “My mom wanted to force them apart, but I told her it wasn’t worth ruining her relationship with her son over a gold digger.” “In the end, I had to infiltrate the situation and use some… methods to make that woman show her true colors.” “I honestly saved my brother’s life. For families like ours, marriage needs to be between equals for everyone to be happy.” Lyla entered the entertainment industry under the banner of a wealthy heiress. On the surface, she was the daughter of Vance Estates. The public naturally assumed the “brother” she mentioned was the heir to the Vance empire. But in reality, Vance Estates was just a small asset within the massive portfolio of the Christian family. But I digress. Dead bodies aren’t supposed to check their phones. The guy lying next to me, another extra playing a corpse, filled me in on what Lyla said. I don’t know how they connected the dots, but thousands of clues later, the public’s gaze landed squarely on me. “Is it really not you?” As soon as the director yelled “Cut,” the paparazzi guy and I scrambled up from the dirt. You have to hand it to him; to get a scoop, he actually infiltrated the set to play a dead body alongside me. I dusted off my gray robes and grinned. “It really isn’t. If I had connections to a high-roller like that, would I need to be here playing dead?” He spat out a blade of grass. “Stop acting. I’ve been tracking you since your debut. I could never get a shot of your ex-boyfriend back then, but now with this leak, the timeline fits perfectly.” I ignored him, bending over to fish a crumpled business card out of the jeans I wore under my costume. I shoved it into his hand with a flattering smile. “Boss, remember me if you have work. Dead bodies, zombies, background wall—I can do it all. My professional skills are top-tier.” This paparazzi, Eddy, had bought stock in me since my debut. In my peak years, he bought a condo in Burbank just by selling dirt on me. Now that I was washed up, he was the only one who hadn’t given up, always hoping for my grand comeback. He snatched the card, cursing. “I swear, Summer, if you were a stock, I’d have lost my underwear holding onto you these past few years.” “Look at you. You used to be the ‘It Girl.’ How did you end up like this?” I waved my hand dismissively. “Heroes don’t brag about past glory. Eddy, if you can toss a few gigs my way in the future, I’ll be eternally grateful.” I watched his retreating back and craned my neck to yell, “Eddy! I’ll act in anything! Just get me a role!” The autumn wind was biting. I pulled my robe tighter. If he hadn’t brought it up, I might have truly forgotten. Glory. Yeah, I used to have plenty of that. 2 I was scouted at eighteen, and by nineteen, I was a household name. The tabloids scrutinized my every move, but they were generally kind. Vanity Fair once ran a headline calling me the brightest star in the galaxy. I lived up to the hype, rocketing to the A-list in record time. Lyla always claimed I relied on her brother, that I was after the Vance money. Others might speculate, but Christian knew the truth best. I met him when I was nineteen. I had limitless potential and an ego to match. He didn’t know how to pursue a girl; he only knew how to throw money. “Be with me, and I’ll fund your movies.” I threw the cash back in his face, chin high. “I need you to fund me? Directors are lining up to hand me scripts.” He laughed, not angry in the least, and stopped his bodyguards from stepping in. After that, he changed tactics. He dropped the arrogance. He squeezed onto economy buses to accompany me to remote shooting locations. He huddled in cheap motels with me, cooked for me, made me soup. I took it all for granted, patting his shoulder with a sense of honor. “I’m a superstar. Do you know how many people dream of cooking for me?” “When I win the Oscar and I’m famous worldwide, you’ll have bragging rights. You really struck gold picking me out of the crowd.” Christian would run his fingers through my hair, agreeing to all my nonsensical rambling unconditionally. “That’s why I say I have good taste. I knew from the start you’d make it big.” Back then, I saw Christian as no different from other trust fund kids, except he was exceptionally handsome. He truly loved me then. The patience cultivated from a life of privilege was poured entirely onto me. I became famous too early. I was young, aggressive, and proud. I didn’t know how to bow my head. No one restrained me. No one taught me the rules. I offended a lot of people along the way. At such a young age, I did whatever I wanted in that circle. Not because I was untouchable, but because Christian was always there to clean up my mess. If he dared to hand me the sword, I dared to swing it. An actress marrying a tycoon—it’s a tale as old as time. At that time, I thought I was somebody. Marrying Christian wouldn’t necessarily boost his status, but he certainly wouldn’t be losing out. So, I naively thought the only hurdle between us was whether I said yes. 3 Later, I learned what a true class divide looked like. Christian’s mother didn’t like me. His friends looked down on me. With my pride, I should have broken up with him. But I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t bear to leave him, couldn’t bear not to love him. I lowered my head. I compromised. I refused to retreat. That was when Lyla entered the picture. She was Christian’s adopted sister. Her biological father was the Vance family driver who died saving Christian when she was five. The family took her in. Maybe it was gratitude, maybe it was the bond of growing up together, but Lyla held significant sway in their circle. When she first met me, she showed immense enthusiasm. “Bro, this is the sister-in-law you found for me? She’s gorgeous.” She linked arms with me, pointing at their circle of friends, barking orders. “Listen up, everyone be nice to my sister-in-law. With me here, no one bullies her.” In my most confusing moments, I treated her as an ally. I asked her about his mother’s opinion, asked her how to please her. Lyla comforted me, “Oh, don’t worry. Auntie Lane has a sharp tongue but a soft heart. You and my brother just need to hold the line. One day, if you guys just elope or give her a grandkid, she’ll be too happy to care.” “Worst case, just wait it out. When my brother gets older, she’ll naturally compromise.” I wasn’t stupid enough to use a child to force a marriage. But Lyla’s words gave me a bit of confidence back then. I thought Christian’s mother was like any mother—eventually, she wouldn’t be able to say no to her son. So when Lyla told me Christian’s mother wanted to meet me, I believed her. I did my makeup perfectly, wore my most modest dress, and went with a heart full of nerves. That was the first time I met Christian’s mother face-to-face. I had intruded, uninvited and rude, into a high-society event that was clearly not meant for me. In that moment, I saw profound disgust in her eyes. I looked at Lyla, hoping she would say something. She smiled, speaking ambiguously, “Auntie, don’t blame her. She just wanted to please you so badly, she lost her sense of propriety.” My pupils shrank. I felt like I had been plunged into an ice cellar. The incident caused a huge scene. Christian flew back to the States overnight. When he saw me, his eyes were heavy with fatigue. “Summer, I told you I was making plans. I was figuring it out. Why were you in such a rush? Do you know what kind of event that was? How many VIPs were there? Barging in like that… how do you expect my mom to see you?” I knew he was fighting his family, working hard for us. During many sleepless nights, we held each other tight, and I heard him whisper to just hold on a little longer. So I knew I was wrong. My eyes turned red. “I’m sorry, I was too anxious. It was Lyla… she told me to go…” The long standoff with his family had drained his patience. “Why blame her? Even if she meant well and wanted to bridge the gap, you’re an adult. Can’t you read the room?” He didn’t believe me. He thought I was desperate for quick success, desperate to climb the social ladder. 4 From then on, we began an endless cycle of arguments and cold wars. Lyla would still pretend to consider my feelings in front of others, acting close to me. But behind my back, she was just like the rest of them—contemptuous and dismissive. I planned to separate from Christian because the emotional mess was stalling my career. On the eve of my decision, Lyla sent me a video. In the clip, Christian sat on a sofa in a living room, surrounded by familiar faces. His mother’s tone was severe. “How long is this going to drag on with that girl?” Christian didn’t look up, his tone lazy. “Just playing around. Why are you in such a rush?” Along with the video came a text from Lyla. [“Sister-in-law, don’t misunderstand. My brother is just like that, tough talk. He said he was ‘just playing’ with all his exes too, but he never skimped on the money or resources. Dating him for a few days sets them up for life.”] I didn’t take the video to question Christian. I just broke up with him directly. But Christian thought I was throwing a tantrum and patiently tried to placate me. To disgust him, I said the cruelest things I could think of. “No, I found a better backer. What you can give me, others can give me too!” “You think your family is royalty? Let me tell you, I don’t care!” The argument exploded instantly, turning into a messy entanglement. Many times, I think back. If only Christian had let go then. If only I hadn’t had that lingering attachment. Maybe I wouldn’t have walked into the trap Lyla set. I wouldn’t have been branded a mistress who climbed into a director’s bed at the height of my fame, with scandalous photos flying everywhere. I wouldn’t have paid breach-of-contract fees until I was penniless, ending up playing dead bodies just to eat. But there are no “ifs.” Love tripped up the first half of my life, trapping me in a prison.

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The day I got out of prison, I saw my ex-wife with her childhood sweetheart and a little boy at a flower shop—a perfect family picture. The next day, the boy went missing. I made it quick, then dismembered him, froze the pieces, and mailed them to her with a note: “Returning what’s yours.” She stormed into my place that night, pressing a cleaver to my neck. “He was innocent—take your revenge on me!” I only smiled. “Innocent? You and your lover threw my daughter Rosie into an industrial mixer alive. You had my parents killed for seeking justice and framed me for her murder—landing me seven years in hell.” Her face went white with terror. I stepped closer, blood at my throat. “Scared? The game has only just begun. And none of you are getting away.” 1 Clang. The cleaver slipped from Veronica’s numb fingers and crashed to the floor. She stumbled backward, collapsing into a heap on the ground. A flicker of something—maybe regret—crossed her face for a fraction of a second. I watched her, my heart a barren wasteland. There was no victory, only a hollow emptiness. It wasn’t enough. This was nowhere near enough. Just then, the door flew open with a violent crash. David stormed in, his face a mask of pure fury. He lunged, and his fist connected with my jaw with a sickening crack. “Ethan, you son of a bitch!” he roared. “Your daughter crawled into a mixer and got ground to pieces because she was stupid! She had it coming!” “She went in there looking for you! What right do you have to hurt my Leo?” “I’ll kill you! I’ll make you pay for what you did to my son!” Hatred poured from David’s eyes. In the next moment, he bent down, snatched the cleaver from the floor, and swung it straight at my head. The blade stopped an inch from my eyebrow. Veronica was clinging to David’s waist, her eyes wide with alarm as she stared at me. “David, don’t! He wouldn’t dare… He wouldn’t kill Leo! He’s bluffing! We’ll call the police right now!” “If you hadn’t lied to Rosie, telling her I was hiding inside that machine, she never would have crawled in there,” I spat, swallowing the metallic taste of blood rising in my throat. I stared him down. “If you hadn’t flipped the switch, she wouldn’t have been torn apart!” “David,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Your son screamed so pitifully before he died.” “He kept crying ‘Daddy, save me! Daddy, help me!’” I pretended to clean out my ear, as if annoyed by the memory. “He was making so much noise, so I cut out his tongue. It was much quieter after that.” Their faces twisted in horror. I started to laugh, a deep, shuddering sound that shook my entire body. But then, without warning, a single tear escaped and traced a cold path down my cheek, disappearing into the collar of my shirt. “Let me go! Veronica, let go of me!” “I’m going to kill him! I’m going to chop him into pieces!” My words had pushed David over the edge. He thrashed wildly in Veronica’s arms. Her eyes, too, now blazed with a murderous light. But I just chuckled, pushing the blade away from my face before settling into an armchair. I even poured them both a cup of hot tea. “By the way,” I said conversationally. “You still haven’t found his head, have you?” “Where do you think I might have put it?” I picked up the remote and turned on the projector. An image flickered to life on the wall: Leo, his face streaked with tears, his small body trembling as he sobbed in terror. David lunged at the wall, his hands shaking as he tried to touch the boy’s face on the screen. In the projection, the child’s cries grew weaker… fainter… until they faded into absolute silence. David trembled violently, unable to speak. Veronica froze, looking as if she’d been struck by lightning. It was only in that moment that the reality finally crashed down on them. Their son was never coming back. I watched them, my expression cold as ice. Does it hurt? Every second of this agony… I lived through it once. Seven years ago. Without a single detail spared. My Rosie… they shredded her, just like this. And I, like them, had knelt in the depths of despair, with no one to hear my screams. 2 I looked at the couple, once so untouchable, and my mind drifted back to Rosie’s last birthday. Ever since she was born, Veronica had never once celebrated with her. Rosie was always on her tiptoes with anticipation, just hoping her mom would be there to blow out the candles with her for once. But David always found a way. A single phone call, one text message, and Veronica would be gone. Until Rosie turned five. She’d heard her mom was finally going to take her to the amusement park. She put on her favorite princess dress and twirled in front of the mirror, a radiant smile on her face. As she left, she turned and waved to me. “Daddy, I’ll save you the biggest piece of strawberry cake when I get home!” She never came home. She was dragged into a cold, merciless machine, reduced to a mess of blood and mangled flesh. That pink princess dress was soaked through, a horrifying, piercing red. Three days after she died, Veronica herself put me on the witness stand. She pointed her finger at me and named me as her daughter’s killer. “Ethan, I’m warning you, don’t be a fool. Rosie is gone. Leo and David are innocent.” Veronica’s voice, sharp and laced with a threat, pulled me back to the present. “You have until 8 PM to bring Leo back. If you don’t, I have no problem sending you back to prison for another decade.” Another decade? I looked down and chuckled grimly. Terminal stomach cancer. I didn’t even have three months left. Biting back the searing pain that twisted in my gut, I clenched my jaw. “You’re still quite the powerful lawyer, aren’t you, Veronica? Did you really think I’d fall for the same trick twice?” She paused, her voice tinged with that familiar, weary annoyance. “Ethan, we’re divorced! Stop using these games to get my attention!” “Eight o’clock. If I don’t see Leo, you will regret this.” With that, she bent down, helped the trembling David to his feet, and they left. The moment they were gone, I couldn’t hold on any longer. My body folded, and I collapsed onto the cold floor. A cold sweat soaked through my clothes, leaving me shivering and chilled to the bone. I must have passed out. When I woke up, the room was shrouded in darkness. Trembling, I pushed myself up, fumbled in the back of a cabinet for my painkillers, and swallowed two pills dry. Night had consumed the apartment. I flicked a lighter. Click. A tiny flame leaped into existence. Click. Darkness swallowed it again. In that fleeting glow, I thought I could almost hear the soft whoosh of Rosie blowing out birthday candles. I went into the bedroom. Her smiling face, forever captured in a photograph, hung in the center of the wall. I lit a stick of incense with the lighter. “Don’t be scared, Rosie. Daddy just has one last thing to do. Then I’ll come be with you.” Just then, my phone buzzed with a new text message: “Everything’s in place.” My fingers gently traced the smile on Rosie’s face in the picture, and a faint smile touched my own lips. The cancer was getting worse. The attacks of pain were coming more frequently. My time was running out. 3 At eight o’clock sharp, I turned on the feed from the security cameras I’d installed at Veronica’s house. “Vera, it’s eight. Why isn’t Leo back yet?” David’s voice was thick with panic, his eyes red-rimmed. “He’s never been away from me this long…” Veronica patted his hand, about to speak, when the doorbell rang. A massive cardboard box stood on their doorstep. David shoved Veronica aside and tore at the box like a man possessed. The moment the flaps flew open, he froze. Inside was a giant teddy bear. Except its head had been replaced with Leo’s. His severed head had been crudely stitched onto the bear’s furry neck. Fresh blood seeped from the seam, staining the soft fur and soaking into the cardboard, creating a dark, spreading stain that crept towards their feet. “Aaaargh—!” David clamped a hand over his mouth, a strangled, agonized cry escaping him. At that exact moment, his phone lit up with a new message. 【Did you get my gift? Hope you like it.】 【Don’t worry. You’re next.】 The instant he read it, David threw the phone against the wall as if it were electrified. His body shook uncontrollably before his eyes rolled back and he collapsed, unconscious. Veronica, enraged, kicked furiously at the empty air. “Ethan, you psycho!” she screamed. “If you dare touch David, I swear I will kill you!” Watching the two of them break down on the monitor, a low, dark laugh rumbled in my chest. For the next few days, Veronica was a wreck. She spent her days arranging Leo’s funeral and her nights watching over a catatonic David. On the fourth afternoon, while she was out meeting with a psychiatrist, I used a burner phone to lure David out. 【I know where the rest of Leo’s body is.】 【Come alone. Call the cops, and you’ll never find him.】 The moment he saw me, his eyes went bloodshot with rage and he lunged. The next thing he knew, a steel pipe slammed into the back of his neck. … The damp, metallic scent of the basement filled the air. David was tied to a chair, deep purple bruises already forming around his wrists. He jerked awake with a violent shudder as the first steel nail pierced his shoulder blade. “I told you,” I said, my voice echoing in the gloom. “You’re next.” I stood in the shadows, lighting a cigarette. Through the hazy smoke, I calmly observed the way his face twisted in agony as he struggled against his bonds. David gasped for breath, then looked up and managed a twisted smile. “Ethan, Veronica will never let you get away with this! You’re going to hell!” I stepped forward into the light, where he could see me clearly. “Did you really think,” I began softly, “that I didn’t know who was behind my parents’ ‘car accident’?” David’s pupils contracted. He had been so careful. Besides, I was already locked up back then. There was no way I could have known. “So what if it was me?!” he suddenly roared after a moment of stunned silence, the veins in his neck bulging. “Those two old fools, your parents… they wouldn’t stop trying to clear your name. I just… helped them on their way.” He writhed manically, ignoring the blood bubbling from the wound in his shoulder. “If you miss them so much, why don’t you hurry up and join them for a little family reunion!” “You don’t need to worry about me. Right now, you should be worried about yourself.” “When it comes to you and your son, I believe in equal treatment.” With that, I pressed a green button on the control panel next to me. A low, grinding rumble started up, growing louder as it drew closer. 4 David’s head snapped around. Not far away, an industrial mixer was spinning at high speed. Anyone caught in it would be turned into a slurry of bone and flesh in seconds. Just like my Rosie. “No… please, no…” he whimpered, broken sounds escaping his throat as his body began to convulse uncontrollably. “What’s wrong?” I taunted, ignoring his trembling. “Scared now?” “Ethan! It wasn’t me who pushed Rosie in!!” he screamed. “It was Veronica! She said Rosie was being too noisy! She did it because Leo said he wanted to see what it looked like when someone got ground up in there… I can testify! I’ll help you put her away!” The chair rolled forward another foot. The foul wind whipped up by the mixer was already ruffling David’s hair. He was sobbing hysterically now. “Please… I’ll give you all my money! You can have Veronica back! Just let me go!” I sat where I was, watching him with a blank expression, and began a silent countdown in my head. Ten… nine… eight… seven… six… BOOM! The steel door to the basement was kicked open. Veronica stood silhouetted in the doorway, her chest heaving. “Ethan, if you want revenge, take it out on me! Let David go!” Her eyes were bloodshot, her face a mask of exhaustion and barely contained fury. “I already told you my terms,” I said, casually waving the remote control in my hand. “Agree, and I’ll let him go immediately.” Three days earlier, she had received a text from me: 【You want David to live? Tell the media the truth about what happened seven years ago.】 Telling the truth meant her reputation, her career, everything she had built over the years, would be utterly destroyed. “So, what’s it going to be?” I rested my chin on my hand, watching the beads of cold sweat trickle down her forehead. “Vera, save me! I don’t want to die…” David shrieked. “He’s insane! Ethan is really going to kill me!!” The roar of the mixer grew louder, punctuated by David’s terrified screams. “I’ve already called the police, Ethan!” Veronica’s face was ashen, but her fingers were trembling. “It’s not too late to stop. The court already ruled you were mentally unstable when you killed Rosie! That’s the official verdict!” She was still trying to fight it. “David,” I said, turning to him, my voice clear and steady. “You see? She’s not going to save you.” The chair lurched forward another few inches. The tips of David’s shoes were now touching the edge of the rotating drum. Pure, unadulterated terror finally shattered his sanity. “VERONICA!!” he shrieked. “YOU BITCH! IT WAS YOU! YOU THREW YOUR OWN DAUGHTER INTO THAT MIXER—” Love, reputation… none of it mattered in the face of death. Hearing his words, Veronica’s face contorted into a mask of pure hatred. She whipped her head around to glare at me. “This is all your fault, you animal! You’re the one who should die!” She lunged, grabbing me with surprising strength and trying to drag me towards the roaring machine. I was slammed hard against the cold edge of the control panel, a jolt of agony shooting up my spine. But I smiled. I lifted a hand and pointed to a small, blinking red light in the corner of the room. “Veronica,” I said, my voice calm. “I told you I wouldn’t fall for the same trick twice.” “Smile for the camera. We’re live.”

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I was born broken. A bad seed. By the time I was six, I knew how to kill. My sister, Claire, was my opposite. She was the golden girl, the angel everyone adored. Including me. Mother locked me in a hidden room behind the wine cellar for ten years. Only Claire ever came to visit. But ten years later, Claire was carried back into the house, broken, bloody, and ruined beyond recognition. For the first time in a decade, Mother unlocked my chains. Her voice was trembling with a hatred that finally matched my own. “I want you to… kill everyone who did this to your sister.” 1 In the esteemed locking-away of the wealthy elite, twins were seen as a liability—a split inheritance, a redundancy. Mother built a hidden room the year we were born. She rotated us, letting Claire and me take turns being the “perfect daughter” in public. That arrangement shattered when I turned six. That year, I looked at the white rabbit we’d raised for two years and felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to explore. I used a pair of silver embroidery scissors to open it up. I walked into the drawing room, hands red, smiling, and offered the dissected creature to Mother. Mother fainted. When she woke up, she took a riding crop to me until I was covered in welts. I didn’t cry. I didn’t feel pain. I just stared at her with dead eyes. “Monster,” she screamed. “You are a monster!” She threw me into the dark room to “reflect” for a month. I spent those days bored, toying with the blood-stained scissors. Only Claire came to see me. She brought pastries and toys. I ignored them. I grabbed her hand, my eyes wide and excited. “Claire, catch me another bunny?” Claire’s face went pale, but she swallowed her fear. “Blaire… why did you open the bunny’s tummy?” “Because I felt something thumping inside,” I said innocently. “I wanted to see what was making the noise.” “Oh…” Claire forced a smile, though it trembled. “Maybe you’re just a natural surgeon, Blaire. But next time, let’s look at books to learn about anatomy. I’ll bring you books.” I froze. I looked at my sister like she was a rare artifact. She was the first person who didn’t call me a monster. She tried to understand the why. I wanted to tell her I didn’t care about medicine, but her smile was so fragile I didn’t want to break it. Mother eventually let me out. The first thing I did was stab a fork through the hand of our nanny. Claire was soft; she didn’t hold grudges. I did. While I was locked up, the nanny had been whispering that Claire was “cursed” and feeding her weird herbal concoctions to “purge the evil.” No one knew there were two of us except Mother and the staff. They thought Claire was the one who killed the rabbit. When the nanny leaned over to force-feed Claire that bitter sludge, I drove the fork into her palm. It was fun. A satisfying crunch. I poured the sludge over her screaming face. “Consider it a bonus.” 2 That was the last straw. Mother was terrified. She had her bodyguards bind me and dump me in the city’s derelict industrial zone—the Boneyard. “I don’t have a monster for a daughter! The rumors were right, twins are a curse. From now on, I only have Claire!” Three days later, I walked back into the estate. I was covered in filth and dried blood, gripping those same silver scissors. To Mother, I must have looked like a demon crawling out of hell. I grinned, revealing teeth that looked too white against the dirt. “Mother, I’m hungry.” After that, Mother tried to kill me multiple times. But every attempt failed. And strangely, every time she tried to hurt me, Claire would get violently ill. High fevers, seizures. When I was on the brink of death, Claire’s breathing would shallow. Mother couldn’t risk losing her perfect daughter. She compromised. She chained me in the hidden room. I found out later that Claire had been inducing those illnesses—taking ice baths in winter, eating foods she was allergic to—just to make Mother think our lives were linked. She risked dying to save me. I stayed in that room for ten years. Mother never visited. Only Claire. She brought me novels so I wouldn’t be bored. She bought me a high-tech nightlight with her allowance so I wouldn’t be scared of the dark. She taught me how to read, how to sing. Even when I had episodes and bit her, she never got angry. Aside from a boy I met in the Boneyard, Claire was the only human being I tolerated. But this time, I waited a month, and Claire didn’t come. The heavy steel door creaked open. Mother, looking ten years older, stepped in. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face haggard. “Your sister… something has happened.” 3 Claire was in a coma. Her head had been shaved. Her face was a roadmap of deep, jagged scars. Her fingers had been crushed. “Who?” I asked. My voice was rusty from disuse. That’s when I learned what my gentle sister had endured. Three powerful men. The untouchables of the city. They had played with her like a toy. I laughed, a cold, dry sound. “Mother, you know what happens if you let me off this chain, right?” Mother shredded the silk handkerchief in her hands. Her eyes burned with a venomous light. “I want the men who hurt my Claire… to die.” And so, I became Claire. For a month, no one was allowed in Claire’s room except the doctors and Mother. I spent that month starving myself to match her wasted frame, studying her mannerisms. We were identical, and Claire had taught me everything she knew in that secret room. I softened my gaze. I hid the predator behind a mask of doe-eyed innocence. Even Mother flinched when she looked at me; the resemblance was terrifying. But it wasn’t enough. Claire had been branded. “Your father knows,” Mother whispered, stirring a bowl of soup laced with arsenic for her husband. “But he needed the political connections. He turned a blind eye.” Father had climbed from a low-level bureaucrat to a top government official on Claire’s back. Julian Vance, the Senator’s son, had a “savior complex.” He loved gentle, broken things. He had met Claire at a charity gala and became obsessed. He wanted her as a trophy wife, but Claire refused. Enraged by the rejection, and jealous of her friendship with the academic prodigy Oliver Thorne, Julian broke into her room. Because Julian was powerful, Father let it happen. He treated it like a business transaction. I picked up a scalpel. I needed to replicate the scar Julian had left on her thigh. A jagged ‘V’. I carved it into my own flesh without blinking. I put the bloody scalpel in a velvet box. One day, I would use it on Julian Vance. 4 There was more. Sterling Cross, heir to a shipping empire, had burned a lotus flower brand onto her lower back. Claire was brilliant. A pianist, a painter, a scholar. She was better than any man in their circle. Sterling hated that. He liked to destroy beautiful things. He wanted to break her spirit. I heated the iron. I pressed it into my skin until the smell of burning meat filled the room. When the wounds healed enough to pass as old scars, I moved back into Claire’s bedroom. Her personal assistant, Maya, looked at me with a flicker of surprise. “Don’t recognize me after a few months?” I asked, mimicking Claire’s soft, melodic voice. Maya looked down, shifting her feet. “You just seem… even more beautiful than before, Miss Claire.” “Miss, Oliver Thorne heard you were recovering. He invited you to the Skyline Lounge.” Oliver Thorne. The youngest professor at the university. Claire’s “soulmate.” The public knew Claire was entangled with Sterling and Julian. They called her a social climber, a whore who played powerful men against each other. Only Oliver defended her. He admired her mind. He was the “good guy.” But I didn’t miss the way Maya blushed when she said his name.

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At 2:00 AM, our Student Rep, Brad, tagged me in the class GroupMe. [Student ID ending in 0089 must report for the 800-meter fitness assessment. Absence will result in an automatic failure.] I woke up instantly. Yesterday, the lottery had picked my roommate, Tiffany. How did the number suddenly change to mine overnight? I told Brad I had just been discharged from the hospital and couldn’t run half a mile. He accused me of slacking off. “The lottery picked you. If you don’t show up, enjoy the disciplinary mark on your permanent record.” So, on the day of the test, I showed up. I ran ten seconds, foamed at the mouth, and collapsed with a deafening thud right in front of the State Senator who was visiting campus. The next day, Brad, the Dean, and the entire administration were in a total panic. 1 At 2:00 AM, the vibration of my phone jolted me awake. It was a notification from the class GroupMe. Brad, our Student Rep, had tagged me. I rubbed my eyes, reading the message twice in disbelief. [Student ID ending in 0089, report to the track at 2 PM sharp for the mandatory physical assessment. Attendance is non-negotiable.] I stared at the screen. 0089. That was me. But I vividly remembered the lottery results from yesterday. The ID selected was 0088. That belonged to Tiffany, my roommate and the class Social Chair. How did the number shift by one digit overnight? I scrolled up to check yesterday’s logs. Conveniently, all messages regarding the lottery had been deleted by an admin. Only the new notification remained. Run an 800-meter dash? Absolutely not. Two days ago, I had an emergency appendectomy. The doctor explicitly told me: No strenuous exercise. Asking me to run 800 meters wasn’t a test; it was a beautifully orchestrated attempt at manslaughter. I didn’t want Brad to go to jail for murder, so I messaged him privately. [Brad, I literally just got out of surgery for my appendix. I can’t run. Please redraw the name.] Seconds later, Brad posted a new announcement in the main chat, using a pinned message so everyone would see. [The list has already been submitted to the Dean’s office. No substitutions. No exceptions.] Then, he replied to my DM: [The lottery picked you. Stop making excuses. If you aren’t there, I’m reporting you for truancy.] My grip on the phone tightened. I turned to the other bed in my dorm. Tiffany was awake, scrolling on her phone. “Tiffany,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “Yesterday, you were the one picked for the run. Did Brad make a mistake?” 2 Tiffany didn’t even look up from applying her lip gloss. “There’s no mistake. It was always you. Just run fast and don’t embarrass our class, okay?” I looked at my other two roommates. They avoided my eyes. “Yeah, Sarah, it was you yesterday. Just suck it up.” “If you skip, you’ll get a disciplinary strike. You know how hard those are to expunge. Just jog it.” I almost laughed out loud. Asking a girl with fresh stitches in her abdomen to run half a mile? This wasn’t a mistake. This was a setup. Brad and Tiffany were dating. He was obviously swapping the numbers to save his girlfriend from sweating, expecting me to just eat the loss. Well, I wasn’t going to play nice. 3 Early the next morning, I went straight to our Academic Advisor, Ms. Perkins. I explained that I was post-op and couldn’t run. Ms. Perkins didn’t even look at my paperwork. She just sighed, annoyed. “Sarah, Brad already briefed me. The lottery is fair and random. You refusing to participate shows a lack of school spirit.” “If our class fails the participation metric because of you, it affects the whole department’s funding. Do not be selfish.” “And don’t try to fake sick. Do you know how many students claim they have ‘appendicitis’ before the fitness test? It’s a cliché.” I slammed my hospital discharge papers and the bill onto her desk. “Is a bill for $15,000 a cliché, Ms. Perkins?” She glanced at it and waved her hand dismissively. “I’ve seen Photoshop before. The school takes this test seriously. Unless you have a note from the Surgeon General himself, you are running.” My blood pressure skyrocketed. Normally, getting a medical exemption requires a bureaucratic nightmare of paperwork that takes weeks. I had gone to the ER off-campus. She was walling me off. Since the official route was blocked, I went to the battlefield: the GroupMe chat. [ @Brad : There is no record of the drawing in the chat. Did you perform this ‘lottery’ in your dreams?] Two minutes later, Brad posted a photo. It was a wrinkled piece of paper with “0089” scribbled on it in sharpie. It proved nothing. He could have written it five seconds ago. [Random selection. Fair and square. If anyone has a problem, DM me.] Tiffany immediately chimed in: [This is a chance to show our class pride! Everyone needs to cooperate with the Student Reps.] “Cooperate?” I laughed. At the start of the semester, Brad and Tiffany skipped a mandatory lecture to go on a date, forgetting to submit our class’s group project. The professor failed the whole class on that assignment. Brad had given a tearful apology then, promising to “do better.” I guess “better” meant forging documents. I opened the Google Sheet where the class roster was stored. It was shared with everyone. I checked the “Version History.” I took a screenshot of the edit made at 2:03 AM and posted it to the group. [Brad, yesterday the selected ID was 0088—Tiffany. Why did the spreadsheet get edited at 2 AM to change it to 0089?] [Does Excel have a mind of its own now?] Brad didn’t panic. He replied instantly: [Tiffany has been working tirelessly organizing the Fall Formal. As Student Rep, I used my discretion to rotate the duty to the next person on the list to prevent burnout.] Working tirelessly? Yesterday, Tiffany posted twenty Instagram stories of herself kayaking at the lake. I screenshotted her Instagram and dropped it in the chat. [Kayaking all day looks exhausting. Glad she has the energy to type in the chat, though.] The group went silent. Tiffany, humiliated, finally snapped in the chat: [The list is finalized! It cannot be changed! If you don’t show up, it’s on you!] 4 At 1:00 PM, Ms. Perkins called me into her office again. She adjusted her glasses, looking at me with pure disdain. “You students are so fragile. ‘Snowflakes,’ as they say. This test is critical. If you had an issue, you should have said something before the list was submitted to the Dean.” “I tried,” I said. “Brad changed it overnight.” She rolled her eyes. “You need to learn to support your leaders. Go get ready.” She grabbed her purse and trotted out. Everyone knows the 800-meter run is the worst. Nobody wants to do it. If I managed to get out of it now, someone else would have to be picked last minute. Brad had set me up so that if I quit, the class would hate me. I walked back to my dorm. I turned off the lights and climbed into bed. Who cares about the 800 meters? Let the class score a zero. If I fail, I’m the only one in trouble. If the class fails, the Advisor loses her bonus. Let them burn.

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I hit the grand prize. $8.88 million. But the State Lottery Commission refused to pay out. “It’s a fake,” the clerk said, her voice flat. “The machine won’t scan it.” My mind went blank. “That’s impossible. I just bought it yesterday. I watched it print out of the machine with my own eyes. How could it be fake?” The clerk shot me a look of pure annoyance. “Are you still trying to pull this act? You know damn well it’s a fake. Trying to scam the Lottery Commission… you must be desperate for cash.” A cold dread washed over me, my heart beginning to hammer against my ribs. “If you won’t cash it, then give it back to me.” She scoffed. “Give it back? So you can go try to scam someone else? Dream on. We’re confiscating this counterfeit ticket. Make any more trouble, and I’m calling the cops.” As she spoke, she motioned for a security guard to come and throw me out. My heart felt like it was about to explode, but a slow smile spread across my face. She didn’t know I have severe persecutory delusion disorder. A scenario I had already run through in my head three hundred times. 1 The security guard’s hand had barely brushed my shoulder before I let my body go limp, collapsing to the floor. The cold of the linoleum was a welcome shock, a perfect balm for my overheating brain. My name is Leo, and caution is practically coded into my DNA. Before leaving the house, I check the gas stove three times. When crossing the street, even on a green light, I look both ways four times, scanning for out-of-control trucks. The moment I confirmed the winning numbers last night, I locked myself in the bathroom and created a new file on my laptop: “Risk Assessment and Contingency Plan for an $8.88 Million Lottery Win.” Scenario 1: Relatives trying to “borrow” money and never paying it back. Scenario 2: Getting into a car crash on the way to claim the prize. Scenario 3: The Lottery Commission refusing to honor the ticket. Scenario 4: Being kidnapped and held for ransom. … Scenario 18: The ticket being confiscated on the spot. And right now, we were deep into Scenario 18. “Agh! He’s hitting me! Security is assaulting a customer!” I wailed from the floor, my voice a pitch-perfect symphony of pain and fear. The lobby was already dotted with people buying tickets or cashing in small wins. At the sound of the commotion, heads snapped in our direction, drawn by the irresistible pull of drama. The uniformed security guard, a big guy, stood frozen with his hand still hovering in mid-air, a look of complete bewilderment on his face. He’d barely touched me. I’d just folded. “What the hell? I didn’t even touch you!” he blurted out, panicked. The clerk behind the counter stood up, pointing a finger at me. “Don’t listen to him! This man brought in a fake ticket to try and scam us. Now that he’s been caught, he’s causing a scene! Scammers these days have no shame!” I clutched my chest, taking huge, gasping breaths. “I’m not a scammer… The ticket… I bought it yesterday… at the shop on Oak Street… I have the receipt… the transaction record…” I panted, fumbling for my phone with a hand that trembled like I had Parkinson’s. “If you won’t cash it, fine… just give me my ticket back… It’s mine…” Murmurs rippled through the crowd. “Even if it’s a fake, you can’t just shove a guy to the ground, can you?” “Yeah, just give him the ticket back. What’s this about confiscating it?” “The kid looks pretty harmless, doesn’t seem like a con artist.” “Is the Lottery Commission this shady now?” The clerk’s face soured. She hadn’t expected this. She probably thought I’d be some hothead who would scream at her, or a coward who would run at the first sign of security. She had severely underestimated the strategic mind of a paranoid man. To prevent being easily dismissed, I had deliberately worn a faded old t-shirt with a frayed collar and a pair of scuffed-up sneakers, crafting the perfect image of a downtrodden, honest man. “You… Stop playing dead!” the clerk stammered, a note of panic in her voice. “A fake ticket is a fake ticket! We have the right to confiscate it according to regulations!” “Which regulation?” I asked, my breathing suddenly even. My voice was quiet, but it cut through the noise. The clerk froze. “Which law states that a merchant can unilaterally declare a customer’s property fraudulent and confiscate it? Do you have forensic authentication credentials? Are you a law enforcement agency?” The words tumbled out, a script I had rehearsed all night. A few older men in the crowd, who clearly knew a thing or two, immediately chimed in. “He’s right. Even counterfeit money has to be turned over to a bank. Who are you to take his lottery ticket?” The tide had turned. The clerk bit her lip, glaring at me with venom in her eyes. She knew the security guard wasn’t getting rid of me now. “Fine. You want to stay?” She snatched the receiver of her desk phone. “I’m calling my manager. Let’s see how tough you are when he gets here. You won’t know what hit you.” 2 The manager was fast. In less than five minutes, a middle-aged man in a sharp suit, his hair slicked back, emerged from an inner office. His name was Davies. I’d looked up this lottery branch last night. While he wasn’t the legal owner, he’d been the manager here for five years, with a reputation for having connections on both sides of the law. “What’s going on out here? What’s all this shouting? This is a place of business!” Davies first snapped at the clerk, then turned to me with a placating smile, extending a hand to help me up. “Sir, the floor is cold. Why don’t you get up and we can talk this through? We’re a legitimate establishment; we would never mistreat a customer.” A master. A true silver-tongued devil. He started with courtesy, diffusing the crowd’s anger and positioning himself as the reasonable authority figure. I let him help me up, patting the dust off my pants. “You’re the manager?” “I am,” Davies said with a nod, his smile never wavering. “I understand you came to cash a ticket, but my colleague believes it might be a counterfeit?” “It’s not a counterfeit. It’s real,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. “The grand prize. $8.88 million.” When I said “$8.88 million,” I saw a muscle in Davies’s jaw twitch. It was almost imperceptible. “Well, real or not isn’t something we can decide with words alone,” Davies sighed, adopting a professional, by-the-book tone. “Where’s the ticket? Let me have a look.” The clerk handed the ticket to him. Davies took it, held it up to the light, and ran his thumb over the paper. “Sir,” he began, placing the ticket on the counter and tapping it lightly with his finger. “There is, indeed, a problem with this ticket.” “What problem?” “The paper stock is wrong,” Davies said, his face a mask of sympathy. “This thermal paper… it’s not the same batch we use at the commission. And this security watermark, while it looks authentic at a glance, a professional can spot the flaws immediately. What’s more…” He paused, raising his voice just enough to capture the room. “What’s more, the serial number on this ticket does not exist in our system. Which means this ticket was never officially issued.” A gasp went through the crowd. “Not in the system? You mean it’s from an illegal lottery?” “Wow, the kid looked so honest. Turns out he’s a forger after all.” “He almost had me fooled. People like that are the worst!” The same people who had been on my side moments ago turned on me in an instant. That’s the nature of a mob. They follow whoever sounds the most authoritative, whoever speaks the loudest. Davies was clearly pleased with the effect. His eyes held a look of contempt, as if to say, You want to play games with me, kid? You’re out of your league. “Since it’s a counterfeit, we’ll have to handle it according to protocol,” Davies announced, casually tucking the $8.88 million ticket into his pocket. “Wait.” I spoke up. “You say it’s not in the system?” I pulled out my phone and played a video. “This is a recording I took when I bought the ticket yesterday. From the moment I paid to the machine printing it, to me taking it in my hand. It’s one continuous, unedited shot. The video even captures the time on the machine and the official number of this branch.” I held the phone screen up for Davies to see. The video clearly showed that very ticket spitting out of their machine. Davies’s smile froze on his face. He never expected I would have recorded it. What kind of normal person records themselves buying a lottery ticket? But he was a seasoned pro. The shock lasted only a second before he regained his composure. “Videos can be edited. It could be clever camera work,” Davies sneered. “With today’s AI deepfake technology, a fake video is nothing. Besides, how can you prove the ticket in that video is the same one you brought in today?” Shameless. Utterly, completely shameless. This is exactly why my paranoia exists. The wicked don’t need logic to do evil; they only need power, or in this case, a thick skin. “So what are you going to do?” I asked. “Nothing,” Davies shrugged. “To prevent you from attempting this scam elsewhere, we are required to destroy this counterfeit ticket.” “You wouldn’t dare!” I roared, lunging forward. The security guard immediately stepped in my way, shoving me back. “What are you doing? Trying to rob the place?” the clerk shrieked. The scene descended into chaos. 3 “I’m calling the police! I want to report this!” I yelled, stumbling backward as the guard pushed me. “No need. I already have,” Davies said, quicker on the draw. He held up his own phone. “This kind of fraudulent activity must be handled by the authorities!” The thief crying wolf. He wanted to strike first, using the authority of the police to definitively frame the situation. Once the police classified this as a dispute or attempted fraud and took me away, that $8.88 million would be gone forever. The people in the crowd were now looking at me like I was an idiot. From their perspective, the manager who willingly called the police must be in the right, while I, the one shouting and resisting, was clearly the one with something to hide. The wait for the police was agonizingly silent. I leaned against a corner wall, forcing myself to drink water from a bottle. My hands were still shaking, but I made myself count the tiles on the floor, anything to steady my breathing. Ten minutes later, two police officers walked in. “Who called 911?” “I did, Officer!” Davies transformed into a model citizen, rushing to greet them. “Officer, we have a man here attempting to commit fraud with a counterfeit lottery ticket. The amount is substantial, $8.88 million! When we discovered his scheme, he started causing a disturbance.” The lead officer was in his forties, with a square jaw and a calm demeanor. He looked at Davies, then at me, huddled in the corner. “Is that you?” the officer asked me. I stood up straight and presented the materials I had prepared. “Officer, I came here to claim my prize. This is my ID, this is the video of me purchasing the ticket, this is the digital receipt, and this is the audio recording of my conversation with the clerk…” Like a presenter at a conference, I laid out my evidence one by one. The officer took my phone and watched the video, his brow furrowing. The footage was crystal clear; it was undeniably this branch’s machine. “Sir, how do you explain this video?” the officer asked, showing the phone to Davies. Davies waved it away without a second glance. “Officer, that video is edited! You know what technology can do these days. And even if he did buy a ticket here, that doesn’t prove the one he brought in today is the real one. He could have bought a real one, then had an expert forger make a copy to cash in, keeping the original to claim the prize twice!” The logic was a perfect, insidious loop. As long as he insisted the ticket was “swapped” or a “high-quality forgery,” I was trapped. The physical ticket itself was the only proof. The officer seemed conflicted. This kind of dispute, especially one requiring technical verification, was difficult to resolve on the spot. “Alright, for now, give me the ticket. We’ll take it back to the station for forensic analysis,” the officer declared. “Of course, no problem. We are happy to cooperate with the police,” Davies said, reaching into his pocket to retrieve the ticket. But as he pulled it out, his wrist seemed to jerk. Sssshhh-rip! The ticket, worth $8.88 million, was torn in half in his hand. The entire room fell silent. Even the officers were stunned. “Oh, my goodness!” Davies exclaimed dramatically, letting the two pieces flutter to the floor. “So sorry, my hand slipped. This paper is so flimsy! See, Officer? These fakes have terrible quality. They just fall apart.” As he spoke, he made a show of trying to pick it up, his foot “accidentally” grinding one of the halves into the grimy floor. It was over. Utterly over. Even if the pieces could be reassembled, a ticket that damaged was completely void. “What do you think you’re doing!” the officer finally reacted, shoving Davies aside, but the damage was done. The ticket was now just a pile of worthless paper. Davies looked at the officer with an expression of pure innocence. “Officer, I truly didn’t mean to. Besides, it’s just a fake ticket. Tearing it up is probably for the best, keeps it from fooling anyone else.” A few whispers of pity and satisfaction rippled through the crowd. I just stood there, frozen. Anger? No. What I felt in that moment… was relief. It was as if the final boot I had been waiting for had finally dropped. They had actually done it. Exactly as I had predicted in my mental simulation, Scenario 18, Sub-protocol C: “Violent Destruction of Evidence.” A strange, exhilarating thrill coursed through my veins.

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The moment I found out I was the long-lost heir to the Marshall fortune, I spent the night cutting my already short hair even shorter. I was already five-foot-ten, so I slipped an extra inch of lifts into my shoes. When the old family butler who came to pick me up addressed me as “young master,” I simply gave a silent nod. I was terrified of getting caught in some predictable, dramatic clash between the real and fake heiress. But I never imagined the fake one wouldn’t let me off the hook anyway. At my own welcome-home party, she got me completely drunk. When I woke up, I was in her bed. Sophie Marshall was draped in my older brother’s suit jacket, her sobs wracking her body. “I don’t know… Alex… he said he’d had too much to drink… I didn’t know he would force himself on me…” A fist slammed into my face. It was my brother, Johnny. “You animal! That’s your sister! How could you do something like that to your own sister?” I turned my head, my cheek throbbing, and saw the profound disappointment etched on my parents’ faces. My mother was cradling Sophie, her heart breaking, pointing a trembling finger at me as if she wanted to scream but couldn’t find the words. My father’s face was a dark storm cloud as he apologized to the murmuring crowd. “My sincerest apologies to everyone. It seems I’ve failed in raising my son. I’m deeply embarrassed you had to witness this.” “Wait a minute!” Failed in raising your son? For crying out loud, I’m a woman! 1. “I didn’t do anything!” I shouted, cutting through the awkward attempts of the guests to smooth things over. My head was still spinning, but even a fool could see what was happening. Sophie was trying to frame me. After I was taken as a child, I ended up in a remote, impoverished rural town, adopted by a childless couple. Life was hard out there, and you had to be tougher to survive. For my own protection, my adoptive parents raised me as a boy. My height shot up to nearly six feet, and with my perennial short hair, I looked the part. When I returned to the Marshall family, my biological parents never even bothered to ask. They just assumed I was their long-lost son. I’d meant to correct them, but then I caught the wary look in Sophie’s eyes and understood. If they knew I was a girl, she would only see me as a bigger threat. But that was no damn reason to accuse me of rape! I gingerly touched my swelling cheek where Johnny had punched me. “Me?” I asked, my voice incredulous. “You’re saying I raped Sophie?” At my words, Sophie’s tears, which had momentarily subsided, burst forth in a fresh torrent. “Alex… I don’t blame you… This was all my fault to begin with.” She staggered, trying to climb out of the bed. “Dad, Mom, it seems Alex will never accept me.” “I know I’ve been a usurper all these years, living the life that should have been his. I’ve been your daughter for two decades… please, just let me bow to you one last time.” “After this, I’ll go back to the mountains. You won’t have to worry about whether I live or die anymore.” That was too much for our mother, Eleanor. She broke down completely, clutching Sophie as they wept together. Johnny pointed a shaking finger at me, his voice raw with fury. “Alex Marshall! You’re a monster! Sophie is a sweet, delicate girl. No matter how much you resented her, you had no right to destroy her like this!” “How is she supposed to face the world now?” I pressed my fingers to my temples, a splitting headache blooming behind my eyes. “That’s impossible!” I insisted. I might look like a guy, but I was one hundred percent female. What was I supposed to have raped her with? I had no idea what Sophie’s endgame was, but her intentions were clearly malicious. I mustered all my strength. “You can’t just decide what happened!” I yelled. “I’m a woman!” My voice, naturally a lower alto and not a high soprano, was now a rough rasp from sleep and stress. But everyone in that room had already made up their minds. Not a single person believed me. My own father, Arthur Marshall, stood to the side, his face a grim mask. Seeing his reaction, the guests began offering their “understanding” condolences. “Don’t worry, Arthur. Everyone in the city knows what a stand-up man you are.” “The young master just returned, after all. He didn’t grow up under your guidance. You’ll just need to spend more time with him.” “Thank goodness Johnny has always been so sensible and decent. He’s never given you a moment’s worry. I’m sure he’ll be more than capable of leading the company in the future.” I cursed my father silently. I thought pretending to be a boy would spare me this kind of drama, but it had played right into their hands. My eyes scanned the crowd, freezing when they landed on Johnny. Logically, he should have been consumed with rage and pity for Sophie, whose reputation was now in tatters. But for a split second, I saw a flash of triumph on his face. My gaze darted to Sophie, and I caught a glint of cunning in her tear-filled eyes. My mind went blank. The people around me were muttering about how I was dodging responsibility, how I was psychologically disturbed. Johnny lunged at me again, his fist raised. “You gutless coward! You ruin Sophie’s life and now you’re trying to lie your way out of it?” I was still weak, the drugs not fully out of my system, and I barely managed to stumble out of the way. My head felt like it was going to explode. “I’m a woman! How could I have possibly raped her?” Before the words were even out of my mouth, another punch connected with my jaw. “Have you no conscience? No shame?” Johnny roared. “You’d say anything to escape the consequences!” “Are you even a man?” Damn it, I thought. That’s the whole point. I’m not. 2. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. What would I even gain by publicly raping Sophie? A forced marriage into the Marshall family? Besides, I hadn’t done a damn thing! Did they really think I wouldn’t know what was, or wasn’t, between my own legs? “I told you, I was drugged,” I said, my voice shaking with anger. “I’m a victim here, too. If you don’t believe me, check the security cameras.” My father’s face immediately hardened. Johnny sneered. “You have the nerve to bring that up? The security system has worked perfectly for years, but tonight, every camera malfunctioned. You expect us to believe you had nothing to do with that?” “Let me tell you something,” he continued, his voice dropping to a low threat. “Don’t think you can pull some disgusting stunt like this to trap my sister. It won’t happen.” I was trembling with fury. Seeing my state, Sophie only cried harder. “Father, Mother, I know Alex doesn’t like me. It’s all my fault he had to suffer for all those years.” “He’s getting his revenge now, and I don’t blame him…” She choked on a sob, her performance worthy of an Oscar. The onlookers’ faces were filled with contempt for me. Sophie added the finishing touch. “Alex, I’m not asking for your forgiveness. I’ve already given you the most precious thing a girl has. I just beg you… please, leave me alone from now on.” With a dramatic flourish, she threw back the covers. There, on the pristine white sheets, was a stark crimson stain. Coupled with her look of shame and violation, the message was unmistakable: I had taken her virginity. A wave of condemnation washed over me from the crowd. “What an absolute animal. It’s not like Miss Marshall asked him to spend twenty years in some backwater town.” “He’s a grown man, for God’s sake. How can he have such a fragile ego, taking it all out on a young woman?” “I actually thought he was quite handsome, a good match for Miss Marshall since he’s a true Marshall. But who knew he was capable of something so vile.” My chest heaved with rage, and the lingering weakness from the drugs made my face turn deathly pale. I’m a woman, for crying out loud! Did Sophie prick her own finger or something? And why frame me like this? Just to ruin my reputation? That seemed incredibly stupid. My father, Arthur, pointed a trembling finger at me. “You wretched creature! How could I have fathered such a monster! Shut your mouth, I’ll deal with you later!” He clearly wanted to contain the scandal, to get everyone out and pin all the blame on me. My window to explain was closing fast. I took a deep breath, ready to scream the truth one more time, but Johnny kicked me square in the chest. The world spun, and before I could even curse him, everything went black. When I came to, Johnny had already packed my few belongings. “Get out,” he snarled. “Take your things and get out of this house. Don’t ever show your face here again.” Something felt wrong. “Where are Mom and Dad?” A cruel smile twisted Johnny’s lips. “You still have the nerve to mention them? Sophie’s in the hospital, traumatized. They’re with her.” “Get out before they come back. Stop poisoning this family with your presence.” I stared at Johnny, my mind racing. Even if they were all disappointed in me, wouldn’t my father, concerned with public perception, want to keep me under lock and key to prevent more trouble? Simply kicking me out without a word didn’t make sense. I hesitated. Seeing me stall, Johnny physically shoved me and my luggage into a car. My head was spinning with questions, but as I lay on the bed in my graduate school dorm later that night, I pushed them all away. Who cares? I never wanted to be a part of the Marshall family anyway. Their opinions meant nothing to me. The only reason I’d come back was to get them to pay for my master’s degree. My adoptive parents were getting older, and having the Marshalls foot the bill was a convenient solution. I buried my face in my pillow, inhaling deeply. Studying was what mattered. To hell with the Marshalls. With that, I threw myself into my research group’s work ahead of schedule. Just before the semester officially began, I received a rare call from Arthur Marshall. It was the first time anyone from the family had contacted me since Sophie’s setup. “You little bastard! Get your ass back home, now!” I was baffled. Was he having some kind of episode? Before I could ask why he was screaming at me, the line went dead. Damn it. He hung up. 3. Swallowing my rage, I stormed back to the Marshall mansion. What was with this family? One day I’m being framed, the next I’m being screamed at over the phone. If they didn’t want to pay for my tuition, they could just say so! I slammed open the grand front door. The moment Johnny saw me, he lunged, his fist flying toward my face again. This time, I was ready. I sidestepped his clumsy punch and planted a solid kick on his rear. A deep sense of satisfaction washed over me. The last time, I was drugged and caught off guard. Did he really think he could pull that again? I’d grown up doing hard farm labor, and I put every ounce of my strength into that kick. Johnny went down with a groan. Ignoring the shocked and furious expressions of the rest of the family, I strode to the sofa and plopped down. “What do you want now?” My sharp tone seemed to snap Arthur out of his stupor. While motioning for someone to help Johnny up, he turned to me, his face grim. “You have the audacity to ask? You monster!” “Sophie’s pregnant!” I spat out a mouthful of tea, drenching the newly upright Johnny. “What the hell? Are you kidding me?” How could I have gotten her pregnant? I didn’t have the necessary equipment! Sophie, clutching a pregnancy test report, threw herself into our mother’s arms. “W-what am I going to do?” she wailed. “Everyone in the city thinks I belong to Alex now, but if he won’t acknowledge the baby, it will be illegitimate.” “Dad, Mom, please don’t force him,” she sobbed. “It’s okay. We can just… get rid of it. I’m not afraid of hurting my body.” She cried as if her heart was breaking, which in turn brought fresh tears to our mother’s eyes. Johnny’s eyes were bloodshot with rage. “How dare you deny it? Who else could it be? What about Sophie’s reputation? What will people say about her now?” “You want her to have an abortion? What kind of man are you?” For the last time, I’m not a man! My face was a thundercloud. “A simple DNA test will prove whether or not it’s my child.” I grabbed Sophie’s arm, intending to drag her out the door. She resisted, weeping dramatically, but her words were honey-sweet. “Dad, Mom, it’s fine. A prenatal test is okay. It might be risky for the baby, but if Alex insists… I’ll have to apologize to my child first.” “Once the results are out and my name is cleared,” she declared, “I’ll just end my life. At least in death, my innocence will be restored.” I was floored by her masterful performance, staring at her in disbelief. Even an idiot could see what was happening now. She was knocked up and needed a scapegoat to play the fool, the cuckolded father. My intense gaze seemed to unnerve her. “Alex,” she whispered, “I won’t force you. You’re free. Don’t worry, I won’t pin this child on you.” “I just… I want you to acknowledge its existence. I don’t want it to be an unwanted child with no father.” I let out a cold, humorless laugh. I was drugged unconscious that night; I had no idea what really happened. If I hadn’t been a woman, I might have actually believed I’d been overcome by lust and assaulted her. But since I was missing a key piece of anatomy, I couldn’t very well take the credit. Johnny slammed his fist on the table. “Dad, Mom, Sophie, we’re keeping this baby! The Marshall family is powerful enough. We can certainly afford to raise one more child.” “Are we really going to let Sophie go through that kind of pain? And what’s the point of forcing this animal to acknowledge it?” He then turned to Sophie, his voice softening. “Don’t worry, I’ll be the baby’s godfather. I’ll help you raise it. Even if you never marry, your big brother can support you and the child for the rest of your lives.” I looked from one family member to the next, then spoke in a low, deliberate voice. “Why are you so worked up about this?” “It’s not your baby, is it?” 4. The moment the words left my mouth, the room fell silent. Johnny froze for a fraction of a second before his rage returned full force. But I saw it. That flicker of panic. A smirk played on my lips. So, Johnny was involved in this charade. Arthur started roaring about family discipline, and my mother pointed at me, calling me heartless. I couldn’t be bothered to respond. They wouldn’t believe me anyway. “No matter who the father is, it has nothing to do with me,” I stated flatly. “If you think I’m going to raise your bastard child for you, you can dream on.” With that, I turned and walked out. Back at university, I buried myself in the lab, often not returning to my dorm until the middle of the night. The next morning, I woke up to my phone exploding with notifications. When I saw what was trending on social media, the world went dark, and I nearly fainted. The top headlines were variations of the same theme: [MARSHALL SIBLING INCEST: A LIVE DRAMA], [THE TRUE HEIR RAPES THE IMPOSTER HEIRESS, SHOCKING PREGNANCY IN HIGH-SOCIETY SCANDAL!], [POWER PLAY OR PERVERSION? CUNNING HEIR’S FAMILY FEUD]. Attached was a video of Sophie standing on the edge of a river, preparing to jump. “It’s not Alex’s fault,” she cried to the cameras. “The Marshall family has been so good to me. The only way to repay them is with my life.” “Alex,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion, “I never blamed you. My only wish is that after I’m gone, you’ll give our unborn child a name.” Just as she was about to leap, Johnny rushed in from out of nowhere, pulling her back into his arms. He then faced the media, his voice ringing with righteous fury. “Alex Marshall is a wolf in sheep’s clothing! He has been disowned! The Marshall family no longer has a person named Alex Marshall!” I scrolled through the comments, my hands shaking with rage. The story had gone viral, and the internet was a cesspool of vitriol directed at me. “OMG, are all rich families this messed up? A brother raping his sister? My mind is blown.” “Honestly, it’s not the girl’s fault she was switched at birth. Taking it all out on her, what a coward!” “That’s how bullies are. They only pick on the weak. I feel so bad for Miss Marshall.” “Scumbags like him should be drawn and quartered! He doesn’t deserve to live!” A firestorm of anger churned in my chest, and my eyes burned red. I refreshed the page. The Marshall family had already called a press conference. On the screen, my father stood grim-faced while Johnny held a sobbing Sophie. I was trembling, not with fear, but with incandescent rage. I hailed a cab and sped towards the press conference. I arrived just in time to hear my father’s cold, measured words. “Alex did not grow up in this family. For him to commit such a monstrous act is a profound failure on our part as parents. We will accept all criticism.” “As for the child my daughter is carrying, if she wishes to keep it, the Marshall family will raise it as our own, with the same rights of inheritance.” A reporter shouted a question. “Mr. Marshall, what punishment will your son face for this unforgivable act?” Another followed up. “Will the Marshall family protect him because of his bloodline? If so, where is the justice? What about the law?” Johnny stepped forward, a cold sneer on his lips. “Alex refuses to take responsibility. He lacks even the most basic human decency. The Marshall family will not shelter such a monster.” “He made this disgusting mess, and he will face the consequences alone. We are officially disowning him, and he will be expelled from this family!” The room erupted in applause. The villain was getting his just deserts. I looked at Johnny’s self-righteous act and arched an eyebrow in disgust. Suddenly, a brilliant idea sparked in my mind. I pushed my way through the throng of reporters until I reached the stage. The crowd buzzed with excitement and disgust as they realized who I was. “Isn’t that Alex Marshall? How shameless can he be, showing his face here?” “A monster in a handsome disguise. He looks so polished, but he’s a beast!” I ignored their insults. When Johnny saw me, he pointed a finger at me, roaring, “What are you doing here? Don’t you dare try to hurt Sophie again!” The audience praised him for being such a protective brother. I rolled my eyes, then snatched a microphone from the podium, stunning him into silence. My voice was calm and steady. “Sophie and I… we’re in love.”

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