Category: English

On the eve of Mother’s Day, my best friend, Chloe, suddenly sent me a group-buying link for flowers. “Mia, Mia, group-buying flowers is such a good deal! Please, please split it with me!” Her tone was playful and cute, as always. But I had already refused her three times. Yet she asked for the fourth time. The anger in my heart was hard to suppress, and my tone of refusal wasn’t very pleasant. “My mother passed away less than a week ago. Do you think I need this?” “But… you can buy them for yourself.” This time, she sent a voice message. Her voice was soft and sticky, the ending tone even carrying a hint of aggrieved dissatisfaction. At that moment, I felt exhausted, physically and mentally. Suddenly, I felt that this friendship should end right here. 1 My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time, unsure of what to send back. Or maybe, I should say nothing and just block her directly. But twenty years of friendship made it impossible for me to be so ruthless. I could only close the message dialog and open my work app to deal with business matters. But she wouldn’t let it go. She racked her brains, trying to come up with reasons to convince me. “Look, you’re already in a bad mood because of your mom’s passing, and flowers can make people happy. You really can buy a bouquet for yourself.” “If you’re happier, your mom down there can rest easy.” Half an hour later. She probably thought she had finally come up with a perfect solution. She excitedly messaged me: “I have an idea! You can buy them for my mom!” “We’re so close, my mom is your mom. You can express your love to my mom, and my mom can give it back to you. This way, you won’t always live in the pain of losing your mother.” “Am I super smart or what?” Actually, if you take these sentences out individually, every one of them sounds nice and can be interpreted with good intentions. I could understand it as her wanting me to move on from the pain of bereavement sooner, hoping to alleviate my grief, hoping beautiful things could let me face the rest of my life more happily and easily. If I ignored her selfish goal of just saving money. Just like every time in the past, interpreting her words and deeds with kindness. This matter could actually pass. After all, we have known each other for too long, our relationship as close as family. I knew her strengths and weaknesses like the back of my hand. I knew she was overly selfish, habitually self-centered, often living in her own world, requiring excessive accommodation from others. For example, chatting was usually her home court, endlessly revolving around her work, her family, her complaints about everything. Looking through the chat history, it was always “I, I, I,” with the word “you” appearing very rarely. Occasionally when I mentioned something about myself, she often wouldn’t even reply, switching back to her own affairs without transition. Going out to eat, shop, or hang out, we went wherever she wanted. It was hard for me to win against her stubbornness. By nature, I don’t like arguing; most of the time, I’m very easygoing. Only once, she wanted to eat hotpot. But because I had been clearing out ingredients from my fridge and ate hotpot for a week straight, I was at the point where hearing the word “hotpot” made me want to vomit. So I rejected her suggestion. “Pick somewhere else. Anything but hotpot.” She pestered me for a very long time, seeing that I really wouldn’t budge. She reluctantly agreed. But after walking around the food street, she finally pulled me to stop in front of the hotpot restaurant, begging me pitifully. “But I still don’t want to eat anything else. Besides, I just bought a coupon on my phone.” “At worst, I won’t make you treat me this time. Let’s go Dutch, okay?” “Please, please, I really, really want to eat hotpot. Listen to me this time, and I’ll listen to you next time, okay? Okay?” She pulled at my sleeve, acting coquettish. Of course, by “next time,” she would have long forgotten such a promise. In the past, I could always tolerate her. If she didn’t pick up on the topics I brought up, I rarely talked about myself again. Even if I encountered something annoying at work, I would just silently digest it myself. After all, no one wants to be someone else’s emotional trash can. What she wanted to eat, where she wanted to play, I could yield. 2 Because I thought these were small matters. Although she had such an unbearable flaw, her strengths were equally charming. She was enthusiastic, cheerful, brave, and upright. She was always so courageous in speaking up for what she wanted. Unlike me, who would mentally prepare over and over, only to forcibly suppress my needs in the end. I hated my own stifled cowardice but couldn’t change it. I drink a lot of water. At every gathering, while others barely touched their tea, I was always the first to finish mine. I looked at everyone else’s relatively full cups, hesitating again and again, feeling like they didn’t need refills, and I was too embarrassed to pour only for myself. I could only endure the thirst and wait. Wait until the next person who needed water picked up the teapot and poured a round, filling mine. Even though I knew very well that I just needed to pick up the teapot and naturally ask, “Do you guys want water?” It would solve my dilemma. But socially anxious me just couldn’t open my mouth. So I always envied Chloe, who seemed to have “social butterfly syndrome.” She lived so brilliantly and boldly, making life flavorful. So even if she was sometimes overly self-centered, I felt it didn’t matter; I could tolerate it. Until this time, I truly felt she stepped on my bottom line. I didn’t reply to her for a long time. At two in the afternoon, she probably couldn’t hold it in anymore and sent another voice message. “How about this? You don’t even have to take the flowers. Just transfer the split cost to me, and I’ll deal with the flowers for you. Is that okay?” Knowing her as well as I do, I was very clear that such wording meant she was already unhappy. If it were in the past, involving trivial matters not touching on principles, I would have started coaxing her long ago. But now, not only did I not want to, but I was also infuriated by her selfish and overbearing tone. I couldn’t help scrolling up the chat history and clicking on the link she sent. I wanted to see how much money a group buy could save to be worth her poking at the pain of my mother’s death again and again. Single purchase: $16.80. Group purchase: $14.80. It was only two dollars. So our friendship wasn’t even worth two dollars. I felt incredibly ironic. “If you can’t afford it, don’t give gifts. Is two dollars worth you harassing me again and again to make me group buy with you?” “How many times did I refuse? Can you completely fail to understand my feelings, stabbing my sore spot over and over with words like ‘Mother’s Day’ and ‘flowers’? Besides, aren’t there other people on the app to group buy with you? As far as I know, strangers can also group buy successfully. Why do you have to latch onto me?” “Why are you so fierce? I just asked you for a small favor. Of course I can find someone else to group buy with me. I was thinking we are best friends, aren’t we? I wanted you to experience the holiday atmosphere with me and be a little happier. Was I wrong?” She suddenly sent a close-up selfie. Her expression was scrunched up, looking very sad. But the corners of her eyes were dry, without a single tear. Looking at it made me even more repulsed and nauseated. “Look at how sad I am now. Why do you have to say that about me? Aren’t we best friends?” “I know you’re sad about your mom dying, but I didn’t cause any of this. I’m sad too. When your mom’s funeral was being arranged, I was with you the whole time, running around, helping you contact people. Did you forget all that?” As she brought up old matters, I couldn’t help thinking of those days. 3 I had no appetite, so she brought me all kinds of delicious food. I was too busy to touch the ground, and she took leave to accompany me, helping me contact the funeral home, buying wreaths and paper houses, etc. I was so heartbroken I was in a trance, almost losing the cash guests gave as gifts. It was she who discovered it in time and reminded me to keep it safe. My heart couldn’t help but soften. I also began to suspect if I was making a mountain out of a molehill. Maybe she just had low EQ and didn’t know how to handle things, without meaning to hurt me. I was physically and mentally exhausted, really too lazy to analyze. So I decided not to think too much and hastily explained to her. “Sorry, maybe I’ve been suffering too much lately. My mood is really bad, and it’s easy to lose my temper. Thank you for staying with me during that time, but I really don’t want to help you group buy these flowers.” “Okay then.” She was disappointed, but finally stopped pestering me about this. I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking the matter could pass. But unexpectedly, in the evening, her boyfriend suddenly added me on WeChat and scolded me in the verification message. “Bitch, do you have a death wish? Daring to bully my woman.” I thought he was crazy and rejected his request. But the more I thought about it, the more unbalanced I felt. So I messaged Chloe, asking her what this was about. I thought maybe it was a misunderstanding that could be cleared up with an explanation. Unexpectedly, she replied lightly: “Who told you not to help me group buy? I just complained a few words to my boyfriend. I didn’t expect him to go to you either. Don’t take it to heart. I already found someone willing to group buy with me.” Even through WeChat, I could feel she was in a good mood. I didn’t know if it was because she successfully group-bought her favorite flowers or because she felt her boyfriend standing up for her was cool. Anyway, that inexplicable pride made me very uncomfortable. I tried hard to endure my displeasure and asked her: “What did you say to your boyfriend? Why did he come to scold me for no reason? Send me the chat history.” Actually, my intention was to see if she had failed to express herself clearly, and her boyfriend was eager to stand up for her, causing this farce. Because my favorability towards her was dropping uncontrollably bit by bit. So I desperately looked for reasons and evidence for her, proving everything was just my misunderstanding of her, trying to stop the decline of our friendship. But unexpectedly, she understood it completely in the opposite direction. She seemed quite vigilant: “Why do you want to see our chat history? That’s crossing a line, isn’t it? I was just in a bad mood and cried a bit. He happened to call, heard it, and kept asking me, so I just said a few words casually. There’s no chat history.” Actually, there wasn’t. Actually, she took my sentence “If you can’t afford it, don’t give gifts. Is two dollars worth you harassing me again and again to make me group buy with you?” out of context, took a screenshot, and sent it to her boyfriend to complain. She also exaggerated and said many bad things about me, provoking that boy to run and scold me immediately. But at that time, I didn’t know. I just felt that since she had said this much, if I kept asking, it would indeed seem strange. So I let it go again. But less than ten minutes later. I found she posted a screenshot of our chat on her Moments. The caption was: “Really speechless. How can there be someone with so little sense of boundaries, actually asking to see the chat history between me and my boyfriend? Does she have some special fetish? Or does she like my boyfriend? I’m so annoyed. Can anyone help me analyze this?” 4 I don’t know for what purpose, but in the chat screenshot she posted, she even mosaiced a sentence. So, my questioning sentence became: “What did you say to your boyfriend? Send me the chat history.” I don’t know who replied what on her Moments. I only saw her public reply below: “She doesn’t have a boyfriend, but I don’t know if she really likes my bf. After all, I really don’t want to speculate about my friend with such malice.” And another sentence: “Naturally. A little fairy must be kind.” I was so disgusted I almost threw up last night’s dinner. Just as I was about to comment a few words, I found the status was gone. I opened the chat box with her, about to question her, but suddenly felt it was pointless. Maybe just blocking her would be fine. Was there any need to continue communicating? But after all, we were friends for many years, perhaps with too much tacit understanding; she actually sent me a message. First, she sent a puffy angry emoji, very fitting for her tone of acting coquettish before speaking. “Let’s get this straight, I was just asking. If you’re unwilling, just refuse me. You’re not allowed to be fierce to me.” “I’ll ask you one last, last time. Those Mother’s Day flowers, do you really not want them? Thinking about it, I still feel it’s such a pity. How can anyone not love such beautiful flowers?” Anger burned in my chest. I suddenly felt like a spring pressed to its lowest point, unable to go any lower. Instead, there was a trend to bounce back. So I calmly and leisurely replied to her: “I’ve picked out an even more beautiful bouquet, very suitable for you. Do you want me to buy it and send it to you?” She replied with a voice message instantly, her tone revealing a cheering joy: “Of course, that would be great! I accept with pleasure. I’m not like you, always a buzzkill. Me? I’m a little fairy, the best at providing emotional value.” “Then I’ll be waiting. On Mother’s Day, you send me flowers, and I’ll accompany you for a walk and chat.” “Okay.” We ended the chat very happily. But when Mother’s Day actually arrived, and the courier delivered my gift to her, she was so angry she jumped three feet high. “Mia Li, what is the meaning of this? What did you send?” “On Mother’s Day, you sent my mom a funeral wreath? Just you wait!” She uttered harsh words through gritted teeth on the phone. She was probably truly furious; her voice was trembling. I knew why she was so angry, because what I sent wasn’t just a funeral wreath.

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My husband took me and his childhood sweetheart on a live-streamed exploration of an abandoned mental asylum. Halfway through, I felt a shadow following us. Just as I was about to warn them, the writhing shadow dragged me into the darkness. No matter how I screamed and struggled, it was useless. My husband made no move to save me. Watching the viewer count skyrocket, he smiled happily at his childhood sweetheart, Sophie. “Great! After this stream, my media company will be saved!” 1 Netizens were discussing fervently in the live chat. “Eighty years ago, the staff at this asylum suddenly went mad and disappeared with the patients. Could this shadow be their residual spirits?” “Bold to stream in such a creepy place. I think this woman is doomed.” “What a miserable scream. I want to see how she is now.” I could confirm that the thing in front of me was definitely not a “residual spirit” as the netizens claimed. It was a deformed beggar. The beggar, whose bones were twisted, could only crawl on the ground. Covered in filth and lice from years of not bathing. I had unintentionally intruded on his territory during the stream, and he suddenly attacked, tearing at my clothes in a frenzy. Meanwhile, my husband, Julian, stood by and watched, leaving me to face him alone. At that moment, I felt that death would be a relief. I don’t know how long passed before I felt the person leave me. Through the haze, I heard Sophie’s voice, “Don’t worry, I’ve driven away the spirit. You’re safe now.” I opened my eyes slightly to see Julian pointing the camera right at me. My clothes were torn to shreds, and he was exposing me, naked and vulnerable, to the public. Ignoring my head shaking in protest, he pushed further, zooming in for close-ups. The bite marks on my collarbone, the bruises on my waist, the purple marks on my thighs—all were laid bare for everyone to see… At this moment, viewers flooded the stream, and the view count hit its peak. People commented on my broken body, discussing whether I would survive the day. My heart felt like it was being gnawed by thousands of ants. I never expected that agreeing to be a guest on Julian’s stream would lead to this disaster. A metallic taste rose in my throat. I couldn’t hold it back and spat out a mouthful of blood, losing consciousness amidst a deafening ringing in my ears. “Look, she’s dying.” “She asked for it. Serves her right!” Netizens chatted excitedly, but they didn’t see my final outcome. Julian turned off the stream just in time. 2 Dying, I was sent to the hospital by Julian, blood gushing from my wounds. I had lost too much blood and developed sepsis from infection. The doctors performed an emergency total blood transfusion and used the highest grade of antibiotics to snatch me back from the jaws of death. It took a week for me to wake up, my body aching as if I had been dismembered. I looked at Julian with resentment, wanting to speak, but my voice choked, and tears instantly rolled down my cheeks. Julian hugged me lovingly, whispering in my ear: “Honey, thank you for your sacrifice.” “Our horror stream is viral now. So many advertisers are begging me for spots!” “I’m going to make Rolling Stone Media the top media company in North City. I’m going to make so much money and become the richest man here.” “I want to prove to your parents that marrying me was the right choice.” For years, Julian had held a grudge. He wasn’t the son-in-law my parents wanted. Compared to my other potential suitors, he was poor and lacked connections. My parents tried their best to stop us from marrying, but I chose him and broke ties with my family for it. Rolling Stone Media was my wedding gift to Julian, hoping he would grow the company. Initially, it did well, but as competition grew and netizen tastes became pickier, operations became difficult. Recently, several top influencers left, and the company was struggling to pay salaries. Julian had been depressed lately, sighing as soon as he got home. Seeing him sleepless night after night, my heart ached. So when he suggested a new path—horror live streaming—and invited me as a guest, I agreed without hesitation. I hoped to share his burden, not expecting to push myself into a dead end. “Did you call the police later? Was the person who hurt me punished?” I suddenly pushed Julian away. His expression was awkward, his eyes dodging. The answer was obvious. “Why did I help you sincerely, only for you to harm me like this!” “If you won’t call the police, I will.” I reached for the phone on the table, but Julian panicked and tried to stop me. In the struggle, the phone fell to the floor, screen lighting up with a news notification. “Super popular fairy Sophie’s next step: exploring the sunken ship in the East Suburbs. Netizens are eagerly awaiting.” I picked up the phone, unlocked it, and saw news of Sophie’s stream floating on the homepages of major portals. Julian had tasted success and continued to fake supernatural events, keeping popularity high. During my seven-day coma, Sophie continued horror streaming as he requested. Each time following the pattern: evil spirit harms someone, she arrives in time to drive it away and save them. Due to the public’s curiosity, her followers grew exponentially, and she became a top influencer. Now I finally understood why Julian wouldn’t call the police. He sacrificed me to build Sophie’s “fairy” persona. If I called the police and revealed that a human, not a spirit, harmed me, Sophie’s persona would collapse. 3 “You owe me so much just to make Sophie famous. Do you have a conscience?” I gritted my teeth. Julian frowned and explained, “That day was an accident, but the effect was surprisingly good.” “You know the company’s top streamers left. I urgently need to promote new talent.” “With my childhood bond with Sophie, she’ll stay and make money for me obediently after getting famous.” “I did this for the company, and for our future!” No matter how Julian spun it, I knew his relationship with Sophie was more than just childhood friends. I hated Sophie and didn’t want her entangled with Julian forever. She was Julian’s neighbor back home. She failed her college entrance exams this year and was idling at home. My mother-in-law bragged in their hometown that her son was a big boss and could definitely arrange a good job for her. After Sophie came to North City, Julian moved her into our home. Though reluctant, I endured it for Julian’s sake. But one night, Julian was missing from my side. Feeling uneasy, I went to the guest room and heard rustling sounds. Opening the door, I saw them lying in the same bed. Sophie had a sweet smile, eyes closed, while Julian patted her, telling a story. “Shameless!” I couldn’t control my temper and scolded them. Sophie hid under the covers, scared. Julian panicked, “Honey, don’t overthink it. Sophie and I have shared a bed since we were kids. She’s afraid of the dark, I always comforted her to sleep like this.” “Is childhood the same as adulthood? You’re adults, don’t you understand boundaries?” I retorted. Sophie cried pitifully with her head down, and Julian’s face was iron-blue, silent. Sophie left the next day, but I accidentally found her luggage in Julian’s office cubicle. Before I could get angry, Julian preempted, “Sophie just started working and can’t afford rent. You disliked her living at home, so let her stay here temporarily.” “It’s our hometown custom to help fellow villagers.” “Don’t look down on her now. When she succeeds, we might need her help.” Julian had now turned Sophie into the company’s cash cow; they would be inseparable. I wasn’t naive enough to believe Julian’s nonsense. Everyone saw the ambiguity between them. Even if it destroyed the company, I would get justice for myself. I wouldn’t let others benefit from my suffering. 4 Just as I was about to dial the police, the ward door was pushed open. Sophie walked in smiling, asking with concern, “Sister Sarah, how is your recovery?” “Netizens are worried about you. Let everyone take a good look.” Today Sophie was making a recap episode, visiting those she “saved” to see if they recovered. With that, she reached out and started tugging at my clothes, increasing force to unbutton my shirt. The nightmare of that day and the humiliation of being exposed naked to the public flooded my mind. My body began to tremble uncontrollably. “Get out!” I shouted with a sob, throwing a pillow at Sophie. Seeing the situation deteriorating, Julian quickly separated us. Afraid I would reveal the truth in my agitation, he pushed Sophie to leave quickly. Sophie looked wronged, and netizens flooded the chat defending her. “Truly a story of the farmer and the snake. This person is so ungrateful.” “The fairy shouldn’t have saved her. Let her rot.” “Maybe she was scared stupid and is now mentally unstable.” Julian persuaded Sophie out. I saw my phone, broken in two, near the trash can. Julian must have stepped on it while I was arguing with Sophie. Soon, Julian returned to tell me he had processed my discharge. He would take me home to rest and buy me cakes from my favorite bakery on the way. Everything he did was to distract me, calm me down, and make me forget about calling the police. I was still weak. Fighting him head-on would yield no benefits. I silently followed him home, waiting for an opportunity. But as soon as we entered, choking smoke made my eyes water. Black smoke filled the room. My mother-in-law had come from the hometown at some point and was burning my clothes in a brazier. “Mom, what are you doing?” Julian thought he had just appeased me, only for his mom to start trouble. His tone was impatient. My mother-in-law stood up, hands on hips, glaring at me. “Don’t think I don’t go online. I saw it on Grape Video. You’re a jinx.” “You went to that creepy asylum for no reason and got attacked. Now you look crazy. Stay away from my son, don’t bring him bad luck.” She pulled Julian to her side. “From today on, you must sleep separately. Just to be safe, you sleep in the guest room with me. I’ll supervise you.” My face fell completely. Julian explained helplessly, “Mom, can you stop adding to the chaos?” “The content you saw was artistically processed. Sarah is fine, nothing happened. Stop worrying blindly.” She didn’t believe it, relentless: “You’ve always been loyal and righteous since childhood. You stick by her even when she’s like that. Don’t lie to me. I’ll be the bad guy.” Julian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Just as he was about to speak, his phone rang. Sophie’s crying voice came through. “Julian, after leaving the hospital, I went to visit the actor from the East Suburbs tomb exploration. But he suddenly confessed to me. When I refused, he grabbed my hand and won’t let me go. What should I do?!” “Outrageous! I’m coming right away,” Julian said anxiously. He hung up and turned to me: “Don’t mind Mom. I’ll buy you better, more expensive clothes later.” Then to his mom: “Mom, stop it. What you said is baseless. I’ll explain when I get back.” My mother-in-law smiled, “Sophie’s matter is important. Go help her!” Julian left me there and went alone.

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While I was asleep, Oren’s junior colleague, Lila, cut off my long hair and posted humiliating photos of me in our group chat to sell them. I was shaking with rage, but Oren just said, “Lila’s just being childish. Don’t stoop to her level.” So I gave her a taste of her own medicine. I shaved Lila’s head, hung a sign on her that read “Academic Trophy,” and posted it for sale in the same group chat. Oren roared at me, “Victoria, are you even human?!” Later, Lila sent me a photo of Oren accompanying her to a prenatal checkup, complete with a taunting voice message. “Once Oren’s research is published, we’re getting married. You’d better come to the wedding, Vicky!” She didn’t know that the research lab Oren was so proud of was funded entirely by my family, the Byrnes. And now, I was done with Oren. The brilliant man she saw, the one with the dazzling future, was about to lose everything. 1 I woke to a series of sharp, stinging sensations. The first thing my eyes focused on was Lila. She was holding my phone in one hand and a pair of medical scissors in the other—the kind with blunt tips, used for cutting gauze. A sly, triumphant smile played on her lips. “Oh, Vicky, you’re awake! I gave you a new haircut. You’re welcome.” My hand flew to my hair, and my blood instantly ran cold. My fingers didn’t find the smooth, waist-length waterfall I was used to, but a jagged, butchered mess. The left side was prickly against my scalp, the right a chaotic jumble of varying lengths. The back of my head felt terrifyingly bare. I scrambled into the adjoining bathroom. The fluorescent light hummed to life, illuminating a bizarre, laughable monster in the mirror. Was that me? My left temple was crudely sheared to the earlobe, the stubble uneven, revealing patches of sickly green-white scalp. In the center of the back of my head, a palm-sized chunk was gone, like a patch of turf violently ripped from the earth. The long hair on my right side was hacked into a hideous, step-like pattern, the longest strand barely brushing my shoulder. The hair I had spent seven years growing was utterly ruined. I remembered Oren whispering in my ear how much he loved the feel of my long hair brushing against his cheek, like the softest feather. For that, I had turned down every stylist who suggested a shorter cut, treasuring it like a jewel. Now, it was a joke. My fingers trembled as I tried to smooth the mess, only to have more fine strands of hair fall through my fingers. My eyes reddened instantly, not from sadness, but from a profound, soul-crushing humiliation. Lila followed me into the bathroom, the phone’s camera still pointed at me, recording my every devastated expression. “Auctioning off a ‘brand new look’ for Oren’s girl! Starting bid $10, comes with a free academic waste recycling service.” She typed as she spoke, her voice laced with faux innocence. “Oh dear, does a princess like you even know what PCR is? Or cell culture? The lab isn’t a place for you to be playing with your hair, you know.” My phone began to vibrate uncontrollably. It was the “Kingston Inner Circle,” a small, private group chat with only thirty-two members, all of whom were friends who had been with Oren and me from our undergraduate days to our PhDs. I opened it. Messages were flooding the screen. Mark, Oren’s lab mate: [??? Lila, you’re playing with fire.] My best friend, Sophie: [Lila, are you fcking insane?! @Oren Get your girl in line!]* Someone else posted a laughing emoji: [Not gonna lie, it’s kind of a punk look.] In three minutes, there were over ninety-nine new messages. Each one was a tiny knife, twisting in my already wounded heart. Just then, the door to the inner lab was yanked open. Oren stormed out, noise-canceling headphones around his neck. He had just finished an online meeting. He froze for a second when he saw the scene in the bathroom. Me, with my ridiculous, ruined hair, glaring at him with red-rimmed eyes. Lila, holding my phone, smiling innocently. He frowned and took off his headphones. “What’s going on?” “Oren!” Lila scurried to his side like a startled fawn, her tone so guileless it sounded like she was seeking praise. “Vicky’s hair was so long, I was worried it would get contaminated in the lab. I just wanted to help her trim it a bit.” She waved the phone. “Everyone in the group chat thinks it’s creative!” On the screen, messages of shock and amusement were still scrolling rapidly. I stared at Oren’s face, waiting for the explosion, waiting for him to defend my honor. He glanced at the group chat, and the corner of his mouth twitched uncontrollably. It was the face of a man trying desperately not to laugh. Then he turned to me, his eyes holding no sympathy, only a tired sort of blame. “Victoria, Lila just had her research data accepted by a Cell Press journal. She’s just excited and playing a joke on you.” He paused, his gaze resting for a fraction of a second on my mangled hair before flicking away. “It’s just hair. It’ll grow back.” Such a casual dismissal. Seven years of care, reduced to “it’ll grow back.” My gaze involuntarily dropped to the collar of his lab coat. Tucked underneath was a hand-knitted, grey-blue scarf. The stitches were clumsy, uneven, and a few were even dropped at the end. It was endearingly amateurish. I recognized it. Three days ago, Lila had posted a picture of it on her social media. The caption read: [A thank-you gift for my mentor. Knitted until 3 AM, my hands are about to fall off! ~] The accompanying photo was an intimate shot of Oren, head bowed, as she wrapped the scarf around his neck to test the length. My mouth opened, but the words, “Do you remember I grew my hair for seven years for you?” wouldn’t come out. “Hey everyone, come and judge for yourselves!” Lila deliberately raised her voice, calling out to two graduate students who were peeking out from down the hall. “Don’t you think Vicky’s new hairstyle is so refreshing? She won’t have to worry about maintaining it anymore!” The two of them sucked in a breath, their eyes a mixture of pity and morbid curiosity. Oren’s patience finally snapped. He glanced at his watch. “Victoria, I have a thesis defense rehearsal tomorrow at 8 AM. Dean Albright is personally attending.” “Just go home, please? This… Lila’s just being childish. Don’t stoop to her level.” I took one last look in the mirror. The woman in the silk dress stared back, her hair a disaster, her eyes so red they looked like they might bleed. I grabbed my bag and stormed out of the bathroom. As I passed Oren, I caught the faint scent of gardenias. It was Lila’s perfume. 2 I stopped at a vending machine, leaning against it, feeling like I might collapse. Oren caught up, grabbing the corner of my sleeve. “Victoria.” He sighed. “Lila’s from a poor family, her parents always favored her brothers. She fought tooth and nail just to get into Kingston. It hasn’t been easy for her. I’m just… looking out for her a bit, the same way you used to look out for me.” “Looking out for her?” I yanked my arm away and spun to face him. “Looking out for her means adding her to our private group chat? The one with only thirty-two people? The one my own cousin isn’t even in!” I pulled up the chat history and shoved the phone in his face. Lila posted in it almost daily, like a conqueror planting flags. [Oren teaching me how to run a gel electrophoresis, step-by-step. He’s so gentle~ [Image]] The picture was a close-up of Oren’s focused profile. [Late night in the lab! Just me and my mentor burning the midnight oil again! [Image]] The picture showed two coffee cups side-by-side amidst a scatter of research papers. [Oren says I have a real talent for research~ [Blushing Emoji]] Every post was a new provocation. And the friends who had witnessed our love story were now either silent spectators or active cheerleaders for her. “Everyone in the group is so nice!” a cheerful voice called out from the stairwell. Lila sauntered down, smiling like a victor. “One of the senior members even offered to help me find an internship. Oh, Vicky, a princess like you who was born with a silver spoon wouldn’t understand the bond we scholarship kids have, sticking together to survive.” My mind flashed back five years. Oren was crammed into a dingy, eight-hundred-dollar-a-month apartment, his eyes red from sleepless nights spent writing a grant proposal. I ached for him but didn’t want to wound his pride. So, I had my father’s foundation secretly approve his project under the guise of a “high-scoring blind review.” It was the first major funding of his career. The night he got the news, he held me so tight, his voice thick with emotion. “Vicky, you are my only anchor.” The ding of an elevator door pulled me from my reverie. Oren’s advisor, Dean Albright, stepped out with several other professors. The Dean’s eyes immediately landed on my disastrous hair. He froze, his brow furrowing slightly. Lila instantly shed her provocative persona and put on a mask of obedient diligence. “Good evening, Professor Albright! We were just discussing our experimental design!” I saw Oren’s body tense up. He instinctively shifted, trying to shield me from his mentor’s view, before offering a polite smile. “Professor, all the data for tomorrow’s rehearsal is ready.” He never introduced me. Not a single word. It was as if I was an embarrassing problem that shouldn’t be there. Dean Albright gave Oren a long, meaningful look, nodded, and walked away with his colleagues. The moment he was gone, Oren’s voice dropped to a near-plea. “Victoria, please, just go home. I’ll come find you after my rehearsal tomorrow, okay?” I didn’t answer. I turned and walked towards the building’s entrance. Just as I pushed open the glass door, my phone vibrated again. It was the same group chat. Lila had posted again. It was a carefully staged photo: the longest lock of my severed hair, placed inside a clean petri dish, like a trophy specimen. The caption read: [Oren says my haircutting skills are pretty good. Maybe I should switch careers and become a stylist! [Winking Emoji]] My finger scrolled through the list of group members. All those familiar faces, all people who had witnessed the seven years of love between me and Oren. They had watched Lila invade my life, watched me be humiliated, and had either stayed silent or joined in the fun. Except for Sophie, not a single person had said a word in my defense. I closed the app and opened a chat with my father’s personal assistant. My fingers were cold, but my movements were steady. [Uncle Lee, I need a complete financial breakdown of all three phases of Oren’s lab project. Immediately.] 3 At two in the morning, I returned to my high-rise apartment. The sudden ring of my phone was jarring. It was my family’s butler. His voice was hesitant. “Miss Byrne, Mr. Vance arrived about an hour ago… with a Miss Miller. He said it was an academic emergency, that he urgently needed to use the Leica DMi8 microscope in your study. I… I couldn’t stop them.” My heart sank. That microscope, worth over a million dollars, was a gift I’d bought for him at an auction in Germany to celebrate his acceptance into the PhD program. When he received it, he’d hugged the massive case, his eyes red, and choked out, “Vicky, I swear, I’ll use this to produce Nobel-level work.” It was his treasure, and our shared dream. I grabbed my car keys and raced back to the university. Through the glass window of the high-value instrument room on the second floor, I saw a scene that chilled me to the bone. Lila was hunched over the microscope, but she wasn’t looking at cell slides. She was examining a small diamond ring on her finger. Oren stood behind her, leaning in slightly, one hand on the back of her chair, the other adjusting the focus. They were impossibly close. “See the facets inside?” I heard his smiling voice through the glass. “The cutting process for a diamond of this quality is very complex. But don’t worry, Lila. You’ll have things like this of your own one day.” I shoved the door open. It slammed against the wall. Lila jumped, fumbling the ring. Oren looked up, startled. I walked straight to the microscope, switched it off, and stared at him. “I bought this for you in Germany to celebrate your PhD admission. You said you would use it to produce Nobel-level work.” “Vicky, don’t be so stingy!” Lila immediately clung to Oren’s arm, pouting. “Aren’t the centrifuge and the sequencer also paid for by the Byrne Foundation? Oren said sharing lab equipment is a virtue.” A flash of embarrassment crossed Oren’s face before he adopted a scolding tone. “Victoria, Lila has never seen such a high-end microscope before. She was just curious. What are you doing here so late? Don’t you have that important finance summit to attend tomorrow?” He was blaming me. Blaming me for interrupting him and Lila as they admired her ring with the gift I had given him. I said nothing. I just carefully packed the microscope back into its protective case. As I left, I saw Lila furiously typing on her phone. Five minutes later, as I drove off campus, my phone buzzed again. The same group chat. Lila: [Wow! Got to see a legendary million-dollar microscope today. My mind is blown! A huge thank you to Vicky for being so generous and sharing! [Image]] There were two pictures. One was a dazzling shot of the diamond’s interior, taken through the microscope’s eyepiece. The other was of me, my back to the camera, carrying the enormous case as I walked away from the lab, a solitary, forlorn figure. I pulled over, staring at the photo for a long time. Then, I called Sophie. “Sophie, did you see the picture?” “I saw it! I’m going to kill them! That cheating bastard and that little snake! Vicky, are you…” I cut her off. “I need you to find me four reliable people. Good with their hands, better at keeping their mouths shut. I need them tomorrow afternoon.” There was a beat of silence, then Sophie’s voice came back, low and thrilled. “Consider it done.” 4 The next day at 5 PM, in the underground parking garage of the science building. Lila was humming as she walked towards Oren’s white Audi. She was wearing a new dress and her makeup was perfect. When she was about ten feet from the car, two men in sunglasses stepped out and blocked her path. “Who are you?! What do you want?” she yelped, startled. “My mentor is Oren Vance! He’s coming down any second!” She reached for her phone, but one of the men snatched it away with swift precision. I stepped out from behind a concrete pillar. My hair had been expertly styled by the city’s top hairdresser into a chic, sharp bob. Every strand seemed to gleam with a cold light. “Lila,” I said, watching the panic bloom on her face. “Yesterday, you put my hair up for auction. Today, I’m giving you a sign to wear.” Before she could process my words, one of my men produced a pair of electric clippers. “BZZZZZZ—” The roar of the clippers echoed in the cavernous garage. Lila’s scream followed immediately. She thrashed wildly, but the two men held her fast. “Victoria! You’re insane! You wouldn’t dare!” I ignored her curses and nodded to the man with the clippers. Locks of her hair fell to the cold concrete floor. Three minutes later, the girl with the beautiful curls was gone, replaced by a pale, shivering woman with a freshly shaved head. The other man produced a pre-made cardboard sign and hung it around her neck. In bold red letters, it read: ACADEMIC TROPHY, $5 OBO, FREE SHIPPING. I took her phone, unlocked it with her fingerprint, and took a crystal-clear photo of her pathetic, tear-streaked face. Then, I opened her social media and posted the picture to her feed and to the “Kingston Inner Circle.” The caption: [Priced to sell. Comes with a bonus ‘Humble Beginnings’ sob story.] “Ding!” The elevator doors opened, and Oren walked out, carrying his laptop bag. He froze when he saw Lila, bald, with the sign around her neck, trembling in the corner. His face turned ashen, then a deep, furious red. “Victoria! What are you doing?! This is assault!” he roared, his eyes blazing with a rage and disappointment I had never seen before. “Just a little joke,” I said, even managing a small smile. “Didn’t Miss Miller say that academics are supposed to be the most open-minded people?” I took a step closer to him. “Besides, compared to you letting her waltz into our lives, humiliate me, and trample all over our past, what I’ve done is nothing, is it?” Lila finally snapped out of her shock. She touched her bald head and let out a bloodcurdling shriek. Oren immediately shrugged off his jacket, rushed over, and wrapped it around her, pulling her into his arms. When he looked back at me, his eyes were full of a murderous hatred. In the dead silence, Lila suddenly clung to him as if he were her last hope, her voice a hysterical, tear-choked cry. “Oren, I’m pregnant with your baby! You have to protect me!” The fury on Oren’s face vanished, replaced by an incredibly complex expression. It was a mixture of shock, panic, and… was that a flicker of relief? I took half a step back, my nails digging into my palms. Just then, his phone rang. It was one of the lab’s suppliers, demanding payment on a critical project. He glanced at the caller ID, his brow tightening, and rejected the call. Then, he scooped the still-sobbing Lila into his arms and strode towards the elevator. He didn’t look at me again. But just before the doors closed, I clearly saw him bend down and press a gentle, reassuring kiss to her forehead.

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I was reborn the rainy night my father brought his pregnant mistress home to humiliate my mother. Just as he announced, “She carries the Gray heir. She must have a title,” a tremor shook my mother’s womb. Panicked, I clung to the umbilical cord, screaming in my mind: Don’t tell him you’re pregnant too! He’s taking her side—this isn’t about the baby! Mom, feeling the stir, initially raised her hand to tear up the check he offered. I wailed inwardly. Last life, you stayed and fought that mistress, and Justin framed you. You died in prison! This time, take the money. Let’s live well! A realization flashed through her. You’re right. Why waste tears on a man who can’t stay faithful? The next moment, she snatched the check—and tore it to pieces. But now, she met Justin’s gaze squarely. “Fine, we’ll divorce. But you’re at fault. We split everything by the book.” She patted her belly, calming my kicks. “Don’t worry, little one. Thirty million is an insult. Mommy will make him pay—dearly.” … Justin stared at my mother’s face and sneered. “I earned every penny of this money. You think you can just walk away with half after a divorce? Dream on!” But if it hadn’t been for my mom’s savings that funded his startup, Justin Gray would be nothing today. My mom didn’t back down. “You cheated. I’m legally and morally entitled to half.” Before she could finish, the mistress, Lily, walked in. “I see what you’re doing. You’re just making a scene because you don’t want to divorce Justin.” “Face it, sister. You’re just a washed-up hag who can’t even lay an egg. Justin’s fortune belongs to me and my child.” Justin shot my mom a look of pure scorn. “She’s right. You should be on your knees thanking me for thirty million.” I could feel my mom’s explosive temper about to detonate. I quickly tugged on the umbilical cord and yelled in her mind: Stay calm, Mom! The baby in Lily’s belly isn’t even Justin’s! She’s just trying to bait you into hitting her so she can fall and frame you! If you slap her now, you’ll walk right into her trap! Realization dawned on my mother’s face. She immediately backed away a good ten feet, treating Lily like the plague. Lily froze, a flash of hatred in her eyes. “Sister, why are you standing so far away?” As she started to walk over, my mom turned and strode away. “If you won’t agree to split the assets, we’ll see each other in court. I’m not signing anything until I get what I’m owed.” Lily’s plan to stage a miscarriage was foiled. She swayed, looking faint. Justin, thinking she was worried about her status, rushed to her side. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure the divorce goes through.” But a court battle takes time. My mother sold some of her jewelry and found a quiet place to stay. She gently stroked her swelling belly, her expression full of wonder. “Are you really my baby?” One hundred percent, Mom! To prove it, I added, Mom, you like to pee standing up in the shower. Her face flushed a deep crimson. “Okay, stop. I believe you.” Her phone chimed. It was a reminder from the OB-GYN for her scheduled abortion. She swiped it away without a second thought, then asked me, puzzled, “Then how were you reborn? I would never have gone through with it!” You didn’t, Mom, I continued. In your last life, you couldn’t bear to lose me, so you refused the divorce. But that just gave Justin the perfect opportunity to frame you! The Gray Group is about to face a massive crisis. Justin will accuse you of stealing corporate secrets and running off with the money. He’ll send you to prison, and… and the baby won’t make it due to malnutrition. My mother’s eyes turned red, and she gritted her teeth. “Then I need to divorce him, fast. I can’t be Mrs. Gray a second longer.” “Don’t worry, baby. Mom’s done being blinded by love. I’m going to be smart, get us the best deal possible, and we’ll spend the rest of our lives having fun!” Just then, her phone rang. It was my grandmother. “I assume you know about Lily’s pregnancy. Come back to the family estate. It’s time to settle this.” In my past life, my grandmother had always maintained a benevolent facade and was kind to my mom. Her later favoritism toward Lily became a thorn in my mother’s side, driving her to fight for an explanation. I felt my mom’s body tremble. I immediately cranked up the volume in her head: Go! You have to go! Grandma cares more about the family line than money. This is our golden opportunity to threaten her and walk away rich! And more importantly, once Lily has that baby, Grandma will show her true colors! Heh heh heh! I let out a wicked little laugh. My mom paused, her eyes lighting up. “Oh? You seem to know quite a lot, baby.” You bet I do! This time, we’re all about the money! I held on tight to my umbilical cord as my mom hailed a cab and sped to the Gray estate. The moment we walked in, we were greeted by the sound of Lily’s soft sobs. “Justin and I are truly in love. That’s how this baby came to be.” “But his wife won’t let him go. This child will be born without a name, a bastard. Imagine how people will mock him!” I felt my mom’s sadness through the cord as Grandma shot her a reproachful look. True to her fiery nature, my mom was about to retort, but I stopped her. Let her spin her lies to Grandma, Mom! Don’t be fooled. Grandma may be protecting her now, but she only cares about her son and her grandson. In the last life, when you were pregnant with me in prison, Grandma even paid for people to protect you. But after I was lost to malnutrition, she immediately had you bullied to death. That old hag is a traditional nouveau-riche snob, rotten to the core! My mom looked closer and saw it. Grandma’s gaze was fixed on Lily’s stomach, but when her eyes met Lily’s, it was like she was looking at a breeding tool, devoid of any warmth. My mom got it. She strode forward, her purpose clear. “Justin told me everything. I agree to the divorce.” Grandma was stunned. The entire speech she had prepared was stuck in her throat. Lily’s eyes welled with tears. “You’re just putting on a show. You still refuse to sign the papers.” “Good thing Justin comforted me yesterday. He set off fireworks by the river and proposed to me.” “You should just step aside, sister. A marriage without a man’s heart is just an empty title.” As she spoke, Lily casually flashed a diamond ring the size of a pigeon’s egg. Justin arrived just in time to sweep Lily into his arms, shooting my mom a disgusted look. “I’d rather buy Lily a thousand more rings and transfer all my money to her and our child than give you another cent!” But when Justin was so broke he was living on instant noodles, my mom had married him for a ring made from a soda can tab. As expected, my mom’s blood started to boil. I quickly cooled her down. Don’t worry, Mom! That baby in her belly isn’t even his! When that kid is born, you can sit back and watch him wear the green hat! The old hag put on her fake-benevolent face. “Stella, thirty million is enough for you to live on. A smart woman knows when to quit. Don’t be so greedy you end up with nothing.” I kept encouraging my mom. Just you wait, Mom. When the old hag finds out the truth about that baby, it’s going to be one hell of a show. My little pep talk cleared my mom’s head completely. She smiled. She looked at the old hag. “My demand is simple, Mother. We follow the legal process for asset division.” “And if you try to claim Justin isn’t at fault, well, videos of his grand proposal are all over the internet. And last I checked, Justin and I are still married.” With that, my mom held up her phone, playing a video. That scumbag was only offering my mom thirty million, but he had spent twenty million on fireworks alone for the proposal. The whole thing was broadcast on the giant screen in the city’s central plaza, which cost millions per minute. On my urging, my mom had recorded the whole thing as evidence for the divorce. It was already coming in handy. My mom wiped a fake tear from her eye. “Oh, dear. I seem to recall that bigamy is illegal in this country. I believe it’s called infidelity during marriage? Grounds for being left with nothing, I think.” “But out of respect for our years together, I’m only asking for half. That’s reasonable, isn’t it?” Justin and Lily’s faces turned livid. My mom and I shared a wicked, telepathic grin. You think that’s bad? We were just getting started. My mom kept a safe distance from Lily and pointed at the ring on her finger. “Actually, according to marital law, I paid for half of that ring, too. If I end up destitute, I might just have to come and… take it off your finger.” Lily turned pale, swaying as she bit her lip. “Justin, this woman is insane.”

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I am intersex. Due to physical needs, I found a friend-with-benefits on an app. I never expected to hit the jackpot on my first try. The man had eight-pack abs, a slim waist, and long legs. He wore a black fox mask, incredibly alluring. In bed, he called me “baby,” “wifey,” and whispered dirty talk all night long. Later, I slacked off during a meeting to secretly message him. The other phone on the conference table suddenly rang with a familiar notification sound. …That was my boss’s phone. 1 “Want another round?” I shook my head, enduring the soreness in my waist and abdomen, and pushed him away. “No more.” “I have work tomorrow.” My voice was hoarse from shouting all night. I coughed a few times. A hand with distinct knuckles passed me a glass of water, bringing it to my lips. I drank a few sips from his hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw several scratch marks on Liam’s well-defined abs. My ears started to burn again. Liam was truly an excellent bed partner. Just a bit wicked in bed. The kind who coaxed but wouldn’t stop. Last night, I couldn’t take it anymore, so I reached out and scratched him. …Quite hard, too. I lifted the quilt and saw deep and shallow hickeys all around my navel piercing. I pouted. He wasn’t much better off. I got my navel piercing recently. Liam laughed, “Only bad kids get this kind of piercing.” I retorted stubbornly, “I’m not a bad kid.” “I like bad kids too.” “Very beautiful,” his voice husky. “I like it very much. I like every inch of you.” Such a flirt. Sweet words by the basketful. Turning my head, I saw Liam already dressed. The marks all over his body were covered by clothes, giving him a refined yet scoundrel look. He bent down and rubbed my earlobe, “See you next time, little bunny.” I opened my mouth. A kiss fell. “See you next time.” The door closed. I took off the bunny mask I wore all night and placed it by the bedside. 2 My body has been different from others since birth. I am intersex. But I never felt inferior about my body. So I always socialized and dated normally. But my ex-boyfriend, after learning my secret, Looked at me with disgust. “A monster neither male nor female. Jaime, you are disgusting.” Since then, I started to fear relationships. But due to strong physical needs, a friend recommended I download this dating app. I didn’t have much hope. Because the people on it were not very normal. Daily private messages were either asking to see that or legs. Just as I was about to uninstall it. I saw a user’s profile picture, a very beautiful hand, distinct knuckles, resting casually. Compelled by some force, I swiped right, indicating interest. Soon, a match was successful. We chatted for a few days, surprisingly hitting it off. When we first met, I was very nervous. Because of my body different from ordinary people. I was afraid of seeing disgust and rejection in the other person’s eyes. I stammered, “My… down there is a bit different from others, do you… want to see?” He replied softly, “May I?” I was shy under his serious gaze, my whole body hot. Thought this date would probably be ruined too. But he suddenly pulled me onto his lap. Voice husky. “Very beautiful.” “I like it very much.” We were very compatible. So next, we tacitly continued to maintain contact. 3 Leaving work today, colleagues talked about a new boss. “Heard he’s super handsome!” “Meeting soon, we can see the boss’s face then.” I wasn’t interested. Because I was tormented too hard by Liam last night. So today I was still a bit groggy, just wanted to sleep. “Hope he’s normal.” In the conference room, I saw the new boss. Very tall, great figure, face undoubtedly handsome. Chest muscles were also big. Filling out the fitted shirt with a sexy curve. Tsk, Liam’s chest muscles were also big. Felt good too. Hard as iron when tense, fun to squeeze when relaxed. Just as my thoughts wandered off. The boss’s cold voice sounded. “My name is Ethan Sterling. Please take care of me in the future.” Colleague screamed in my ear, “Even the name sounds so good!” I frowned. Sterling? Liam’s last name is also Sterling. Too much of a coincidence. But this thought only flashed through my mind. I was really too sleepy. After the meeting, I immediately rushed to my secret spot, preparing to smoke a cigarette to wake up. Just lit it, haven’t taken a few puffs. Sound of leather shoes on tiles came from behind. Turning my head, Ethan looked at me expressionlessly. “Put it out.” “Didn’t you hear in the meeting that smoking is not allowed in the company?” Me: “……” “Sorry, Mr. Sterling, won’t happen next time.” Too sleepy, really didn’t hear. Does he have a dog nose?! I scurried back to my desk. Colleague: “Finished so fast, didn’t slack off a bit more?” I rolled my eyes, “Caught by the boss, said no smoking.” “Controlling so much, like an old fogey.” Colleague looked left and right, lowered voice, “Say less, this could get you beheaded!” “Guess why he became a boss so young? Must be a great nepo baby, probably family letting him play boss.” “Just let him be.” Me: “……” Capitalism, you really won. 4 Thanks to Ethan, my mood was terrible all day. Near the end of work, squatting in the toilet, couldn’t help opening the app to complain to Liam. [New boss came today, so strict.] Liam replied half a minute later, [What happened?] [Nothing, just lots of things not allowed, annoying.] [Don’t be annoyed, baby.] Next second, Liam transferred 5200. My hand went soft, almost dropped the phone in the toilet. Who taught him this habit of transferring money at the drop of a hat? Taught well. But forget it. We are just in a pure FWB relationship. I returned the money, joking, [No need to comfort me, just be gentler next time.] [My waist hurts all day today!] Liam replied, [But you clearly don’t like me gentle.] [Last time I was a bit forceful, you were more excited…] Damn! What is he saying! My face instantly exploded red. Noise of door opening came from the stall, I glanced out, typing fast, [Still at work!] [Sorry, baby.] This one was a voice message. Liam definitely did it on purpose. I didn’t dare play it loud, put it to my ear to listen. Liam’s tone carried a smile, making one tingle. [Want to see you soon.] I bit my lip, starting to tease him too. [Sure hubby, what color navel piercing do you want to see next time?]

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It was during Truth or Dare at the alumni reunion, and the former campus queen was wasted. Someone asked her the most despicable thing she’d ever done. She pointed across the booth at me, giggling hysterically. “I used his phone to delete his poor little girlfriend’s desperate plea for help while he was in the shower—and then I texted back: Drop dead!” “You guys wouldn’t believe it, that pauper waited outside in the rain all night. It was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen…” Laughter erupted through the private room. Except for the man seated at the head of the table. The crystal wine glass in his hand shattered with a sickening crunch. Blood mixed with red wine streamed down his fingers. He stared at me, his eyes bloodshot, like he was seconds from murder. I calmly slid a napkin toward him. “Mr. Rhys, you should wipe up. It’s soiled.” Some things, once stained, can never be washed clean. 1 The Carlyle Club, Manhattan’s most exclusive private membership space, was entirely booked for the evening. The word was, a newly minted venture capital titan, worth nine figures, had returned from overseas and wanted to flaunt his success to his old college crowd. When the manager handed me the gold-embossed wine list, his eyes held a fleeting, unreadable pity. “Scout,” Mr. Davies said, his voice low. “It’s the V888 suite tonight… If you don’t want to go, I can assign someone else.” I adjusted my ill-fitting server uniform, offering him a faint smile. “It’s fine, Mr. Davies. That’s our highest-spending suite. The corkage fees alone will net me a decent bonus. I need the cash, you know.” He sighed, patted my shoulder, and walked away. I pushed open the door to the V888 suite, the heat wave hitting me instantly, thick with the scent of expensive perfume, Cuban cigars, and something else—the dizzying, nauseating smell of burning money. In the center of the plush leather sofa sat the man I hadn’t seen in seven years. He had changed completely. Gone was the memory of the fiercely proud, intensely stubborn boy in a faded hoodie and threadbare jeans. In his place sat a polished, cold-eyed business mogul, exuding the effortless authority of a true power player. He was leaning back, listening to someone next to him, a detached, almost bored smirk playing on his lips. And nestled against him was the woman who had stolen him from me all those years ago: Genevieve “Gen” Sinclair. Gen was draped in a custom white Chanel dress, her neck flashing with a diamond necklace that caught the ambient light like a beacon. She swirled the contents of her wine glass, radiating the smug arrogance of a proud swan. “Oh, Holden’s back in the States mainly for me, of course. He’s shifting his company headquarters because… well, we’re finally getting engaged.” A chorus of sycophantic praise immediately erupted. “The campus beauty and the brain—a match made in heaven!” “Holden, you’re on the cover of Forbes now. Gen, you lucked out!” “It’s the ultimate turnaround story. Unlike some people who traded up for cash and bailed—bet they’re regretting that decision now, huh?” The intentional barb hung in the air, and for a silent second, every eye in the room pivoted to me, where I stood in the corner, expertly uncorking a bottle. I felt nothing. Like a numb marionette, I sliced the foil with a corkscrew, twisted the worm, and slowly pulled the stopper. “Bordeaux, Left Bank. Optimal pour after twenty minutes of decanting.” I poured the breathing wine into the massive crystal goblet in front of Holden Rhys, my movements flawless, professional. Holden finally raised his head. His stare was a devastating cocktail: contempt, disgust, raw hatred, and a subtle flicker of something deeper—an arrogant indifference. He didn’t reach for the glass, allowing me to hold it suspended in the air. My wrist, fatigued from balancing the heavy serving tray, gave a tiny, involuntary tremor. “Scout Davis?” He finally spoke, his voice a low, gravelly baritone. “I heard you dropped out of NYU before graduation. What happened? Did your trust-fund boyfriend get bored and toss you out? Now you’re scraping by, serving drinks in places like this?” The room fell silent, the audience waiting for the spectacle. Gen theatrically covered her mouth, feigning shock as she looked at me. “Oh my God, it is Scout! How… how are you dressed like that?” “Honey, if you’re really hard up, just tell me. Even though you threw Holden over for money, we’re still old classmates. I’d be happy to arrange something for you—maybe a janitorial position at my father’s firm.” She deliberately lingered on the phrase: threw Holden over for money. The whispers of judgment started, a fine, biting spray. “Serves her right. Holden was so devoted back then.” “That’s karma. Look at the CEO he is now—billions. And her? Waiting tables.” “The tides turn, you know? Thirty years down the road…” I listened to the stinging comments with a blank expression, as if they were discussing a stranger. Seven years. I had built a fortress around my heart. I’d worked in the darkest corners of this city—washing dishes in scorching kitchens, moving inventory in freezing cold storage, being splashed with drinks by drunk patrons, and being screamed at by landlords calling me a beggar. Dignity. That broken thing had been pulverized into dust on that rainy night, seven years ago. “Mr. Rhys, your wine,” I repeated, my voice steady. Holden fixed his gaze on my eyes, clearly searching for a hint of remorse, shame, or even tears. He was disappointed. My eyes contained nothing but endless fatigue and a chilling, vacant numbness. My indifference seemed to infuriate him. He suddenly raised his hand and slammed it down, violently knocking the wine glass out of my grasp. “This vintage is too common,” Holden said, pulling a crisp linen napkin from his pocket to wipe his hand. His eyes were arctic. “Get me something else. A bottle with some real age. Something like that night, seven years ago.” He was humiliating me. Seven years ago, he was still a penniless college student who’d saved up for three months to buy a single bottle of cheap, corner-store red wine for my birthday. We drank it straight from the bottle on the cold grass of the campus quad, our faces flushed, promising to stay together forever. Now, he was using that same memory to remind me of the price of betrayal. Gen giggled, playing along. “Oh, Holden, don’t be so hard on her. That wine costs a fortune—she couldn’t pay for the broken glass if she sold everything she owns. Just apologize to Mr. Rhys, Scout, wipe up the mess, and we’ll let it go.” I knelt, retrieved a cloth, and began to carefully blot the scarlet stain from the expensive Persian rug. A tiny shard of crystal glass embedded itself in my fingertip, a sharp, familiar stab of pain. I didn’t flinch. I merely calculated in my head: That’s my commission gone. Plus the cost of the glass. Tonight’s work—maybe half a month’s wages—is now a loss. This was my life now. No romance, no poetry, only the brutal arithmetic of bills I couldn’t pay and debts I couldn’t outrun. As for love? That was a luxury only the rich could afford. “My apologies, Mr. Rhys.” I finished cleaning the last trace of wine, stood up, and maintained my humble, subservient posture. “I will inform the manager to send up the finest bottle we have.” Holden looked at the small bead of blood welling up on my finger. His pupil constricted momentarily, but the mask of icy indifference returned instantly. “Get out.” 2. I didn’t get out. Because Mr. Davies told me the client in V888 had specifically requested my service for the duration of the night. If I left, I’d lose the mandatory two-thousand-dollar tip and potentially have my base pay docked. I desperately needed the money. My mother’s dialysis next month hadn’t been covered yet, and the landlord was already texting about next quarter’s rent. So, I went to the restroom to quickly bandage the cut, and then I returned to that suffocating, velvet-lined suite. When I pushed the door open again, the atmosphere had shifted. Three rounds of drinks in, the impeccably tailored elite had started to drop their pretenses, revealing the ugly core of humanity beneath. They were playing Truth or Dare. It was a trite, yet endlessly effective game—especially fueled by alcohol—the perfect tool to rip the veneer off human decency. The marble table was littered with empty bottles: Louis XIII, Rémy Martin, Ace of Spades… The combined cost of those bottles was enough for me to buy a closet-sized studio apartment in the outer boroughs. Gen was clearly drunk. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was practically draped over Holden, her eyes hazy, almost feverish with triumph. She was the star of the night, the biggest winner. The prospect of marrying Holden and becoming the envied Mrs. Rhys had made her reckless, almost giddy with hubris. “Alright, alright! Next round!” The class president, an awkward man named Sam, slurred his words. “Who gets it this time?” The empty magnum bottle spun quickly across the slick marble table, making a grating, unpleasant sound. Everyone held their breath, their eyes glued to the bottle’s neck. Slowly, it stopped. The bottle pointed directly at Gen. “Ooh—! Jackpot for the campus queen!” “Truth or Dare?” Gen let out a throaty laugh, waving a dismissive hand. “Truth! This princess has nothing to hide!” Sam rubbed his hands together with a malicious grin, his eyes bouncing between me and Gen. He was clearly looking to stir up trouble. “Fine, let’s go with a juicy one. Gen, what is the most despicable, most heartless thing you’ve ever done in your entire life?” The question dropped into the room like a stone. They were all adults; who didn’t have a few dirty secrets? But this was a game, and the point was the shock value. Holden, who had been resting his eyes, merely lifted an eyelid at the question, offering no objection. In his mind, Gen was merely spoiled and occasionally petty, but certainly not capable of true malice. Gen let out a small burp, her gaze suddenly slicing through the crowd to land on me, where I was standing in the corner pouring water for a guest. A vile, triumphant smile curled her lips. The alcohol had dulled her judgment and amplified the jealousy and spite buried deep in her heart. “The most despicable thing, you ask…” Gen stumbled to her feet, her finger aimed directly at me. “It was seven years ago, the night of that huge thunderstorm. I went to Holden’s shabby little rental…” At the mention of “seven years ago,” my hand convulsed, and the hot water in the carafe nearly sloshed over the rim. Holden’s body, too, stiffened almost imperceptibly. Gen burst into hysterical laughter, as if recounting the most hilarious anecdote. “Holden was in the shower. His cheap phone was on the table. And guess what? This pauper, Scout, texts him.” “And guess what she said? Hahahaha… She wrote: ‘Holden, please save my dad. I beg you. I only need fifty thousand. I’ll be your servant forever.’ ” “Tsk, tsk, tsk. So pathetic, so utterly desperate.” “I thought, Holden is so brilliant, he can’t be saddled with this kind of trash! He belongs with me, in the big leagues, not dragged down into the mud by some bottom-feeder!” “So…” She paused for dramatic effect, her eyes gleaming with a manic spark. “I did Holden a favor.” “I deleted her frantic text, and then I texted back from his phone. Just two words: ‘Drop dead.’” “Hahahahaha! You should have seen it! The pauper actually waited outside in the rain all night! I watched her from the window, soaked like a drowned rat, watching her sink to her knees in despair. It was the best laugh I’ve ever had!” “Seriously, didn’t I do a great thing? If I hadn’t done that, how could Holden have shed that anchor? How could he have become the man he is today? Holden, you should be thanking me…” Gen’s voice was cut off by the sharp sound of shattering glass. Holden had crushed his wine glass with his bare hand. The fragments were deeply embedded in his palm. Blood mixed with red wine, dripping onto the pristine white tablecloth, a horrifying tableau. But he seemed completely oblivious to the pain. He was staring intensely at Gen, his normally cold eyes now streaked with crimson veins. “What did you say?” Gen, still basking in her own cruelty, hadn’t registered the danger. “I said I helped you get rid of that poor—” “Shut up!” Holden violently overturned the mahogany coffee table in front of him. The deafening crash made Gen scream, the shock sobering her instantly. She looked up in terror at the man towering over her, who looked like an enraged lion. “Ho—Holden, what is it? I was just kidding…” “Kidding?” Holden stumbled to his feet, closing the distance between them. “Are you saying… that seven years ago, she didn’t run off with Dean Kincaid, the rich guy? She didn’t text me saying she was leaving because I was poor?” “Are you saying… she was in a hospital? She was begging me for help?” His voice grew louder, culminating in a raw, animalistic roar. Gen was so terrified by his presence that she sank back onto the sofa. Holden didn’t even spare her another glance. He spun around, his attention locked on me in the corner. “Scout…” He choked out my name, a sound like a sob tearing from his throat. “Is she telling the truth?” “That night… were you waiting for me?” The entire room was paralyzed, everyone too terrified to even breathe. I set the water carafe down. I looked at the truth that had taken seven years to surface, and my heart felt frighteningly empty. Too late. It was truly, devastatingly too late. I pulled a tissue from my uniform pocket, walked over, and held it out to him. “Mr. Rhys, wipe your hand. It’s bleeding everywhere. It’s dirty.” Holden ignored the tissue. He lunged and grabbed my wrist. “Answer me, Scout! Tell me this isn’t real!” I looked into his bloodshot eyes and smiled, gently. “And what if it is? Holden Rhys.”

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After remarrying Eason Dassin, I became the perfect wife. The kind who never checked his phone, who never asked where he’d been. At our college reunion, when someone asked him about his biggest regret, Eason’s eyes flickered instinctively to Sophie Lane. A drunk classmate, inhibitions gone, slurred loudly, “Are you kidding? We all know Eason’s biggest regret is that he never got to marry the campus queen!” “He even divorced his first wife for her,” another chimed in, “but some people are like glue. They just won’t let go and practically begged him to take them back.” The atmosphere turned instantly awkward. Eason, expecting me to fly into a rage like I used to, started to formulate an explanation. But I just smiled and smoothed things over for him. “It’s alright,” I said. “Everyone has regrets.” I have one, too. My biggest regret is that the first time we divorced, I was so blinded by rage that I walked away with nothing. In the new divorce agreement I had drafted, I would not be the one leaving with empty hands. 1 “Hillary, what’s your biggest regret?” As we waited for our ride-share, Eason leaned against the car and asked the question out of nowhere. I was scrolling through my phone, and I didn’t even look up. “I forgot.” “You forgot?” He clearly didn’t believe me. I didn’t respond, and the silence between us thickened. After a long moment, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I just feel like… since we got back together, you’ve been different. Strange.” “You’re being too sensitive.” Hearing his own words thrown back at him left Eason speechless. A flicker of anger ignited in his eyes. “Before we remarried, I promised you, over and over, that I would never let Sophie interfere in our lives again. I promised to keep my distance.” “Even tonight, at the reunion, we came and left separately. What more do you want from me?” His patience had always been thin; this was a long speech for him. “How many times do I have to tell you? If it wasn’t for Sophie’s father, I never would have made it out of that little coastal town.” I locked my phone and looked at him, my voice calm against his rising tide of frustration. “You don’t have to explain. I know.” I had heard the same speech a thousand times. It was why I tolerated him pulling strings to get Sophie a position at his hospital right after graduation, keeping her close by his side. It was why I put up with her constant presence in our lives, why there was always a third chair at our table, even on our wedding anniversary. It was why I accepted that they shared every mundane detail of their days, while my own messages to him were met with curt, one-word replies. But the day I came home early from a business trip and found them tangled together, naked in our bed… that was the day I stopped tolerating anything. I filed for divorce, willing to walk away with nothing just to be free of him. I never expected that, shortly after, my mother would be diagnosed with a malignant tumor that required immediate surgery. A complex, risky surgery that only one person could perform. Eason Dassin. So, I went to him. I begged him. More chilling than my own emotional relapse was his response. “Hillary, you know how busy I’ve been since my promotion to department head.” “However,” he added, a smug little smile playing on his lips, “if the patient were my mother-in-law, I would certainly make the time to operate myself.” He leaned in. “So… have you learned your lesson?” I stared at him, and under his triumphant gaze, I nodded. We got remarried. But a shattered mirror can’t be made whole again. We shared a bed, but we were strangers. Just like tonight. “Eason! I knew you hadn’t left! I told you he’d never leave Sophie all alone!” Sophie’s college roommate waved from across the parking lot, half-supporting a stumbling Sophie as they approached. “She’s too beautiful to go home by herself. I was worried. You always used to be the one to drive her, right?” She shot me a pointed, mocking glance. “You, on the other hand… you’re not exactly turning heads, are you, Hillary? You’ll be fine getting home on your own.” Eason looked at the drunk, clinging Sophie, then at me. He was torn. It turned out that no matter how many times I saw it, his hesitation still burned like a brand on my heart. But unlike before, I didn’t scream or cry. I just held up my phone, my face a blank mask. “My car is here. I’m leaving.” As my driver pulled up, Eason helped Sophie into the back of his car. He rolled down the window and looked up at me. “Go home and wait for me,” he said. “I’m performing your mother’s final surgery tomorrow. We need to go over the details tonight.” Unsurprisingly, Eason never came home. But this time, I didn’t wait up for him like a fool. If a breakup is a kind of withdrawal, then I had been forced through the agony of it twice. The first time, I had a complete breakdown. I deleted his number, threw out everything that reminded me of him. But after years together, his ghost was everywhere. The love letters he’d written were still tucked inside the books he gave me, every word a promise. The scarf he spent a month knitting, his fingers raw and pricked from the needles, his goofy smile as he urged me to try it on. He knew I loved stargazing, so he spent two months’ worth of his part-time salary on a telescope, and proposed to me under a once-in-a-century meteor shower. “Hillary,” he had said, “I have no parents, no one. I want to be yours. I want you to possess me, to control me.” But later, he had said, “I see Sophie as the only family I have in this world. Hillary, why do you have to be so possessive?” Family? What kind of family sleeps together naked in the same bed? I’d heard the rumors about them back in school. They said Eason was a genius, a top scholar, and that the university had only accepted Sophie as a favor to him. They came from the same small fishing town, childhood friends. The connection was too close for comfort. “Her father adopted me,” he had explained. “I would have died without him. It’s a debt I have to repay. But Hillary, trust me. In my heart, she will only ever be a sister to me.” I believed him. And it cost me five years of my life. To be honest, the first time I saw him after the divorce, my heart still hammered against my ribs. His phone’s lock screen was still a photo of us together. It was as if nothing had changed. This remarriage was my second, self-prescribed round of withdrawal. I couldn’t forgive him, couldn’t pretend it never happened. But I also couldn’t just walk away, couldn’t make a clean break. Not yet. So, I decided to use a dull knife. Slow, painful, but thorough. And after six months, I was finally numb. Once my mother’s final surgery was over, I could divorce him again, this time without any baggage. I had the papers drawn up already. A seventy-thirty split of our assets, in my favor. He was the one who broke our vows. It was only fair that he pay the price. But the next day, Eason vanished. The surgeon who was forced to take his place was sweating bullets. “We can’t reach Dr. Dassin! You’re his wife, you don’t know where he is?” His voice was grim. “I have less than a ten percent chance of success with this procedure. You… you need to prepare yourself.” Eason’s phone went straight to voicemail. I called over a hundred times, my fingers moving mechanically, dialing the same number again and again until I was numb. And then, finally, someone picked up. “Eason, where the hell are—” “Oh, is this Hillary? Eason had to take me back to my hometown last minute. He’s in the shower right now.” My world went silent. My brain was pure static. The phone slipped from my hand, the screen shattering on the marble floor. In that split second, through the crackling speaker, I thought I heard Eason’s voice. “Who was that? Was it Hillary?” “No, darling,” Sophie cooed. “Just a spam call.” For the next three hours, I knelt outside the operating room, praying, begging for my mother’s life. When the light above the door finally went out, a doctor came out holding a single sheet of paper. The death certificate. I handled the funeral by myself. For seven days, I moved through a fog. On the eighth day, Eason finally came back. “I’m sorry, I—” Before he could finish, I swung my hand and slapped him across the face, hard. “You bastard, Eason!” I screamed, my voice raw. “You killed my mother!” The force of the blow snapped his head to the side. But to my surprise, he didn’t get angry. He just patiently explained, “Your mother’s prognosis wasn’t good. Even if the surgery had been a success, she would have suffered through endless rounds of chemotherapy.” “Sophie’s father was suddenly on his deathbed. If I hadn’t gone with her, she might not have seen him one last time.” I was shaking with so much rage I could barely form a sentence. I never imagined the cruelty could go deeper. “You grew up without a father,” he said calmly. “It’s normal that you wouldn’t understand that kind of bond.” I stared at him in disbelief, unable to connect the man in front of me with the loving person I once knew. He knew. He knew my father had died in his mistress’s bed when I was eight years old. It was the deepest wound of my life. He had held me then, promising to protect me forever. In that moment, something inside me snapped. I grabbed anything I could reach and hurled it at him, screaming for him to die. He just watched me, his eyes cold and distant. When I was done, he said, “You know, Hillary, I prefer you like this.” “Stop pretending,” he added, turning to leave. “It’s pointless.” After he was gone, I collapsed onto the floor amidst the wreckage and sobbed until I had nothing left. I started to hate him. I hated him for taking the very knife I had given him and plunging it into my heart without a second thought. Then my phone buzzed. It was a text from Sophie. [Hey, Hillary. Heard about your mom. So sorry for your loss~] [It’s all Eason’s fault, really. I told him my dad just had a little cold, but he insisted on dropping everything to come home with me.] [But then again… you’re the one who just had to have him back, right? If there’s anyone to blame, it’s yourself.] The messages sent me over the edge. I grabbed my phone and stormed into the hospital. I reported Eason and Sophie for their unprofessional conduct. I reported Eason for gross negligence, for abandoning a patient for personal reasons, resulting in my mother’s death. But the hospital administration didn’t launch an investigation. They just “invited” me into an office. They told me it was a “private matter” and they couldn’t get involved. Their words were a veiled threat: Eason was a star surgeon, an asset they had paid a fortune to recruit. I should just drop it. Eason arrived while I was arguing with the hospital director. “How is this not his fault? My mother would still be alive if it weren’t for him!” Eason said only one thing. “I apologize. My wife has been under a great deal of stress lately. Her mental state is… unstable.” The looks of sympathy in the room instantly curdled into something else. They took a subconscious step back, creating a physical distance between us. Soon, it was just Eason and me in the small office. “Hillary. Apologize.” I had cried so much my eyes were swollen nearly shut, but I could feel the weight of his condescending stare. “You shouldn’t have made a scene here. What if this gets out? It could ruin Sophie’s reputation.” “So, I want you to apologize to her.” I was done talking. I turned and reached for the door. I would go to the media, to the press. I would expose their dirty secret. Then I heard him sigh softly behind me. “Lili,” he said, using my old nickname. “You’re not leaving me any choice.” As the youngest department head in the hospital’s history, a celebrated prodigy in the medical field, it had taken him seven years to climb to his position. It only took him seven days to have me committed to a psychiatric hospital. I lost count of the times I insisted I wasn’t sick, only to be met with higher doses of tranquilizers and tighter restraints. So I stopped fighting. I became calm. I waited for my chance. And finally, I got it. I escaped. I had no money, and I was still wearing the hospital’s drab patient gown. People on the street avoided me like the plague. I finally found a kind girl in a nearby mall and begged to borrow her phone. But as I held it, I hesitated. Who could I call? The police? In my current state, they would most likely contact my sole legal guardian: Eason. That would only lead to being locked up again.

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1 On my way to the airport, a Porsche tried to cut me off. I didn’t let him. In response, he gunned it, swerved in front of me, and started brake-checking me. I was in a hurry and had no time for road rage, so I decided to let it go. I never imagined my patience would only make him bolder. He brake-checked me five times in less than a hundred yards. That was it. I called the police. But as I was reading his license plate to the dispatcher, a surge of adrenaline hit me, and I stomped on the gas. Because as I looked closer at the plate, I realized this Porsche was the exact birthday present my wife had asked me for last week. … CRUNCH! My Volkswagen Phaeton slammed squarely into the Porsche’s rear end. A man in sunglasses with a cigarette dangling from his lips jumped out of the Porsche. He stormed over to my car and kicked my driver-side door. “You broke-ass punk! Did you see the logo? It’s a P-O-R-S-C-H-E!” “You dare hit a Porsche in that piece of junk VW? You got a death wish or something?” Seeing a man climb out of the driver’s seat sent a cold dread through me. Things were exactly as bad as I had feared. I rolled down my window and studied him, searching his every word and gesture for clues. “Three million!” he yelled, jabbing three fingers at me through the window. “Not a penny less, or I’ll make you wish you were never born!” I fought the urge to get out and slap him silly. Instead, I decided to wait and see. I needed to know what his relationship with my wife was. A collision between two luxury cars in a busy downtown street quickly drew a crowd of onlookers. “This is gonna be good. That Porsche is worth millions. The guy in the VW is screwed.” “That’s what you get for being impulsive. Should’ve just let it go. Now he’s going to lose everything.” Fueled by the crowd’s comments, the man in sunglasses grew even more arrogant. He kicked my door again, his eyes filled with menace. “Driving a crappy VW, you should know to get out of the way of a Porsche! Who the hell do you think you are?” “Scared now, are you? Hiding in your car like a coward? Too late!” “This is the new car my wife bought me! Three million dollars! Pay up now, or I’ll have you thrown in jail!” His wife? So there it was. That damned woman. Let’s see how you get out of this one. After a moment’s thought, I slowly pushed my door open and stared at his arrogant, boyish face. “If anyone’s paying, it’s you,” I said coolly. “I was driving straight. You were changing lanes illegally and brake-checking me. You’re 100% at fault.” “And as for jail,” I added, “those two kicks to my door count as willful destruction of property. That alone is enough to get you locked up.” “I don’t give a damn about the law, so don’t you dare quote it to me! All I know is I’m in a Porsche, and you’re supposed to get out of my way!” he sneered. “Jail? The jail that can hold Kyle Chen hasn’t been built yet!” Seeing his clueless arrogance, I couldn’t help but let out a cold laugh. Some of the onlookers, seeing his expensive car and hearing his domineering talk, assumed he was some rich young master and tried to curry favor. “That VW driver has some nerve. He hits someone’s car and demands they pay him? Then threatens to send the guy to jail for kicking his door? He must think the kid’s an easy target.” “Don’t be scared, son. Take my number. I can be a witness for you if you need it!” “Yeah, bro, I’ve studied some law. Property damage is only a crime if it’s over five thousand dollars. That kick probably just chipped some paint. No way a paint chip on that old VW is worth five grand.” Kyle, already full of himself, puffed up even more at their encouragement. He slammed his hand on the hood of my car. “Today, you’re not just paying for my car, you’re getting on your knees and apologizing. Otherwise, you’re not walking away from this!” I scoffed and pointed to the approaching traffic police. “Why don’t you ask them who should be paying? As for getting on your knees, you’d better start looking for a good spot for yourself.” “I’ll f—” Enraged, Kyle lunged at me. I sent him sprawling with a single kick. He scrambled up, ready to come at me again, but the police officers intervened. “Stop it, or you’re both coming down to the station!” “Officer! This broke-ass loser hit my car and then assaulted me! Arrest him!” Kyle whined, clutching his side. The officer ignored his wild accusations and asked for our dashcam footage. I pulled up the video on my phone and showed it to him. After watching it, the officer shot Kyle a cold look. “It’s clearly your fault. How do you have the audacity to demand compensation?” “You’d better resolve the damages with the other driver immediately,” the officer warned. “Otherwise, we’ll have to take you in for reckless driving.” “Are you cops blind? Can’t you see I’m driving a Porsche? And my wife is a very important person. You can’t afford to offend us—” “I don’t care what car you drive or whose husband you are. We enforce the law impartially. I’m warning you, if you refuse to comply, you’re coming with us.” Kyle grumbled but, seeing the officer’s stern expression, finally backed down and made a phone call. I glanced at the number. Of course. He was calling my wife, Isabella Reed. I couldn’t hear their conversation, but from the simpering smile on his face and his intimate tone, I knew they were doing more than just solving a problem; they were flirting. After the call, Kyle’s arrogance returned. He pointed at his car and sneered, “So what if I have to pay? Big deal!” “My Porsche is insured for three million. That’s more than enough to cover your piece-of-junk VW. I won’t short you a single penny, you broke-ass punk!” I laughed to myself. His insurance wouldn’t even cover my limited-edition Phaeton, let alone the fact that insurance companies don’t pay out for claims caused by the driver’s own malicious acts. Today, I was going to expose both of them for the frauds they were. Soon, the insurance adjuster arrived. He clearly knew his cars. One look at my Phaeton and his face went pale. But when he saw the accident report in Kyle’s hand, he breathed a sigh of relief. “Sir,” he said calmly, “this accident was caused by your intentional and malicious driving. It is not covered by our policy. Please negotiate a settlement directly with the other party. Thank you.” He turned and walked away, ignoring Kyle’s sputtering protests. “Well?” I said, my voice flat. “Are you going to pay up, or are you going to jail?” The tide in the crowd had turned. Hearing the truth, many of them started to rebuke him. “You think driving a Porsche makes you king of the road? You can just endanger people because they didn’t get out of your way?” “And then you expect your insurance to pay for your own stupidity? What a joke.” His attempt to flex had backfired spectacularly. The mockery from the crowd sent him into a rage. He stormed to his car, pulled out a baseball bat, and started smashing my Phaeton to pieces, screaming curses as he swung. “You want me to pay? Fine! I’ll smash your car to bits right in front of you, and then I’ll just buy you a new one!” He was completely unhinged. This was perfect. I simply stood to the side and watched the show. After venting his fury, he threw a stack of cash onto the hood of my car—what was left of it. “Here’s fifty grand, you scumbag. More than enough to buy this wreck. The rest is a charity donation. Take it and get the hell out of my sight!” I laughed. “Fifty grand wouldn’t even cover one of my headlights. You’d better start figuring out how to get some real money, or you’re going to rot in a cell.” He sneered. “Are you crazy? You see I have money and now you’re trying to extort me? Everyone knows this piece-of-shit VW is worth thirty grand, tops. I’m giving you fifty and you’re still running your mouth? That’s extortion, and that’s a crime. Don’t think I don’t know the law.” Some of the onlookers chimed in. “Hey buddy, just take the money. Fifty grand for a thirty-grand car is a good deal. Don’t get greedy.” Just then, the appraiser from the VW dealership arrived. “Who said this car is only worth thirty thousand?” he announced. “This is a ten-million-dollar, top-of-the-line luxury vehicle. A single headlight costs over half a million.” Hearing this, Kyle’s face turned white, but he tried to maintain his arrogant facade. The crowd gasped. “Whoa, so this guy is the real millionaire. So low-key!” “The truly wealthy don’t need to show off. Not like some kid who thinks a Porsche makes him a king.” “Yeah, he probably rented that car anyway. Now he’s smashed a ten-million-dollar vehicle. He’s finished.” The appraiser finished his assessment and reported to me. “Mr. Blackwood, the damage is catastrophic. The repair costs would be close to the price of a new vehicle. It’s not worth fixing.” I nodded and turned to Kyle. “Pay up. Ten million. Every last cent.” His bravado faltered, but he still tried to bluff. “Just because you say it’s worth ten million? You hired some actor to back you up so you can scam me? This is fraud! I’ll sue you!” To crush his last bit of hope, I pulled out the vehicle purchase receipt and shoved it in his face. “Does this look like fraud to you?” He glanced at the receipt, his expression flickering for a second before his arrogance returned. He pulled a black credit card from his pocket and waved it in my face. “So what if it’s ten million? I’ve got thirty million on this card. I’ll pay you.” Someone in the crowd gasped. “Wow, that’s a Centurion Black Card! You need to be a billionaire to even qualify for one of those. This kid really is loaded.” The praise went to his head. He flaunted the card, beaming. He had no idea it was a supplementary card I had given to my wife. All I had to do was make one call, and it would be a useless piece of plastic. After calling the bank, I looked at him coldly. “Don’t wave that thing around like you own the world. I bet you can’t even get ten thousand out of that card.” He flew into a rage. “Give me your account number! I’ll transfer the money right now! And when I do, I’m going to break your face!” I gave him the account details. He tried to make the transfer. Again and again, the transaction was declined. Card disabled. The crowd started jeering. “Another fake rich kid. A black card that can’t even handle ten grand.” “Why pretend? If you can’t afford it, just say so.” Sweat beaded on his forehead. He ducked behind his car to make another call. A moment later, my phone rang. It was Isabella. “Damian, what happened to my card? Why is it blocked? Call the bank and reactivate it. And have them raise the limit to a hundred million. I need it urgently.” “Why do you suddenly need so much money?” I asked, my voice flat. “I have my reasons. Don’t ask so many questions, just do it!” I clenched my jaw and hung up. I had been far too lenient with her. For ten years, I had been away on… business of a sensitive nature, leaving her to manage Apex Corporation. I never imagined she would be keeping a boy toy on the side with my money. She thought that just because I let her guard the gate, the entire kingdom now belonged to her. She sent a flurry of texts, which I ignored. A few minutes later, Kyle strutted back over, holding up his phone to show a transfer confirmation for ten million dollars. “I told you, my wife is a billionaire! A measly ten million is nothing to her!” He shoved the phone in my face. “There. The money’s been sent. Now you can piss off!” I let out a cold laugh. “You’ve only paid for one car. What about the other one?” The entire crowd fell silent. Kyle looked like he was about to explode. “Are you insane, or just addicted to scamming people? When did I hit two of your cars?” I pointed to the Porsche. “This car is mine too. It’s worth three million. Pay up.” Everyone was stunned. “Has this guy lost his mind?” “He must have hit his head in the crash. He doesn’t even know which car is his.” “You psycho!” Kyle screamed. “Are you ever going to stop?” Ignoring his tantrum, I pulled out the Porsche’s registration and threw it at him. “See for yourself. Is this car mine or not?” He snatched it, saw my photo, and froze in disbelief, which quickly morphed into pure rage. “This is impossible! My wife bought this for me for my birthday! This is your car? You must have faked this to extort me!” “Do I look like someone you can mess with? My wife is Isabella Reed, the head of Apex Corporation! She’s on her way here right now. Just you wait and see what she does to you!” At the mention of Apex Corporation, the crowd’s demeanor shifted again. “His wife is Isabella Reed? The ‘Iron Lady’ of Apex? No one in Sterling City dares to cross her.” “Hey man, you should just take the win and go. You might have some money, but Apex Corporation is on another level. You don’t want that kind of trouble.” Seeing my silence, Kyle thought he had intimidated me. “Scared now, are you?” he taunted. “Too late! When my wife gets here, she’ll crush your company. We’ll see how arrogant you are then!” I just smiled. “We’ll see.” Just then, a convoy of black cars pulled up. A regal, elegantly dressed woman stepped out of a Range Rover, flanked by several bodyguards. Kyle’s face lit up. “My wife is here! You’re dead!”

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My female colleague, Chloe, suddenly stared at my exposed calves and asked, “Maya, are you wearing brown pantyhose today?” I instantly understood. She was taking a dig at my dark complexion. I nodded indifferently. “Yeah, I am.” She let out an exaggerated gasp, loud enough for the whole office to hear. “Really? Wow! I bet someone else that those were your actual legs.” I ignored her and buried my head back into fixing my boss’s PowerPoint. By afternoon, half the office had found excuses to walk past my desk. They just wanted to see if I was actually wearing stockings or not. 01 Brenda was the first. She pretended to log office supplies but kept her eyes glued to my legs. “Maya, is this the first time you’ve worn such a short skirt to the office?” Short? It was knee-length. I flashed a quick, fake smile and didn’t reply. She enthusiastically added, “That color really makes you look… darker. Listen to me, next time pick a different shade.” Brenda was part of Chloe’s mean girl squad. They were inseparable, going to the bathroom together like high schoolers, despite being in their mid-thirties. They had definitely roasted my skin tone over lunch, but they still felt the need to say it to my face in front of everyone, terrified I might not realize I wasn’t pale like them. I stood up abruptly and stopped her. “Brenda, are you sick—” Chloe, who had been watching from her desk like a hawk, didn’t wait for Brenda to react. She jumped up, her voice screeching across the room. “Maya! Why are you cursing at people? Brenda was kind enough to give you fashion advice, and this is how you repay her?” Brenda’s face flushed red, and she pointed a finger at me. “Exactly! You’re too sensitive. I wasn’t mocking you; I just wanted you to look more professional.” Seeing everyone looking our way, Chloe doubled down. “Maya, you’re so ungrateful. Did you forget how patient Brenda was teaching you when you first started? Without her, would you even have passed your probation?” Neither of them let me finish my sentence. They just wanted to catch me slipping up. I sighed, pointing helplessly at the leave request form sitting on the printer. “Brenda, I was going to say, last time you were out sick, you didn’t file the paperwork. I’m worried that when attendance comes out later, HR will dock your pay.” The two of them looked at each other, instantly silenced. The anger they had queued up had nowhere to go. Brenda’s face dropped. she grabbed the form and scurried off. I added a helpful reminder, “Brenda, make sure you get it signed next time you’re sick.” 02 Chloe finally quieted down, though she kept tapping furiously on her phone. Whenever the boss went on a business trip, she would disappear—picking up packages, vanishing for two-hour “breaks.” Her work ethic was nonexistent. I was envious, but I didn’t dare slack off. I had to be here. Until I gained enough XP and gathered the necessary intel, I couldn’t go home. I rubbed my sore eyes and continued checking the project budget data. Todd, a male colleague, pushed the door open. He pretended to tie his shoe, stealing a quick glance at my legs. I didn’t know men could be this gossipy. Suddenly, a message popped up in the unofficial office group chat. It was a photo of the boss standing next to a very tanned model. If I remembered correctly, it was taken at a car show last year. They still didn’t know I was lurking in the group using the janitor’s WeChat account. Chloe was chatting up a storm: “No wonder the boss values Maya so much. Turns out he has a thing for dark skin.” Brenda: “Rich people have such peculiar tastes. Maya never wore a skirt this short before.” Chloe: “If she doesn’t show it off, how would the boss know?” Todd seemed to have a conscience: “Maya isn’t that dark. Besides, she works really hard.” Chloe immediately fired back: “Todd, are you trying to fight the boss for a woman?” Todd didn’t dare reply. Chloe kept ranting. “Sophie was stupid, but at least she was pretty. I don’t know what’s wrong with the boss’s eyes, firing her and keeping this one.” ” considering how Maya messed up that huge project during her internship, she shouldn’t have been hired full-time.” “Sophie” was the boss’s former secretary, Sophie Miller. I took over her position when she left. If Chloe hadn’t mentioned the full-time offer, I would have forgotten. I had parachuted into the company at the beginning of the year. I didn’t know much about the internal politics. The boss asked Brenda to help me get up to speed. Brenda used her lifetime of experience to sabotage me. She assigned me a mountain of busy work but taught me nothing. Whenever I asked questions, she’d say, “Maya, in the corporate world, you have to figure things out yourself. I can’t spoon-feed you.” Back then, I thought her seniority meant wisdom. Before I started, my mom told me, “Work is a form of spiritual practice.” To their faces, they were warm, often giving me snacks. When my three-month probation was up, I invited Chloe and Brenda to my family’s place to pick berries. “My mom grows them herself, no pesticides. They’re super sweet.” But their usual enthusiasm vanished. They made excuses and refused. And because I never ordered takeout and always heated leftovers in the break room, strange rumors began to circulate. They said my family were farmers trying to hawk fruit to coworkers. They said I was a charity case the boss was sponsoring, which was why I got hired despite “screwing up.” I silently wrote in my workplace observation journal: The company suffers from “Toxic Solidarity.” Employees use boundary-crossing remarks or rumors to break the ice, quickly forming an evil cohesion. This kind of solidarity solidifies prejudice and lowers the moral standard of the group. 03 Near the end of the day, I finished checking the quotation sheet. I looked up and saw the boss. He was back early. Chloe was pretending to maintain client relations on the phone. As soon as the boss entered, his gaze landed on me. He swept over my legs, looked up at the air conditioning vent, and snapped, “Maya, there’s a blanket in my office. Why didn’t you get it?” I gave a dismissive “Oh” and didn’t move. The boss grabbed the blanket himself and threw it onto my desk, causing a stir among the colleagues. Chloe grabbed her phone and bolted to the break room. The small group chat started flashing again. It was just Chloe and Brenda. “I told you there was something going on between them!” “Back when Sophie was wearing skirts in winter and got arthritis, he never asked a single question.” “The boss is really desperate. How can he stomach someone that dark?” “Shameless. She knows he’s married and still acts like the mistress.” “I don’t care. I’m telling the boss’s wife. I have her Instagram.” I calmly took a screenshot, grabbed my laptop, and walked into the boss’s office, closing the blinds behind me. Half an hour later, the office door was kicked open. “Liam! What are you doing in there with your secretary?!” The doors swung wide. I was lying on the boss’s leather sofa, playing on my phone. Chloe and Brenda stood at the doorway, gloating as they watched the boss’s fierce wife storm in. Even the janitor and the security guard came to watch the drama. The boss, Liam, who had been sitting at his desk seriously reviewing the PPT, jumped at the sound of the kick. His face turned black as a skillet. I was afraid he’d blow my cover in his agitation, so I quickly winked at him. I exchanged a glance with Chloe and Brenda too. Before Liam could speak, Chloe rushed forward, grabbing the wife’s arm. “Mrs. Sterling! See? I didn’t lie to you!” The beautiful woman paused, looking confused. She asked Chloe angrily, “You said she is the secretary seducing my husband?” Chloe, assuming the wife thought I was too dark and unworthy, felt emboldened. “Yes, that’s her. Don’t be fooled by her quiet act. Even though Liam is my boss, as a woman, I can’t stand this kind of thing. Even if he fires me next month, I’m standing by you.” I sat up on the sofa. “What are you talking about, Manager Chloe? I don’t get it. Wasn’t it Brenda who told me that Secretary Sophie used to nap in here too?” I remembered Brenda whispering that to me when I started. Brenda started sweating bullets, desperately explaining, “No such thing! Don’t listen to her nonsense.” Chloe’s face turned sour. They were grasshoppers on the same rope; they used the same script for rumors. The scene was chaos. Liam, unable to contain his rage, glared at Chloe. “Chloe, what is wrong with you? Are you drunk on the job? Go to finance tomorrow morning and pay for the door. That was custom-made, and it wasn’t cheap. Everyone else, get back to work. Maya, you stay.” I lowered my head. “Yes, sir.” Liam wrapped his arm around his agitated wife’s waist, coaxing her as they walked out. “Honey, don’t overthink it. I fired that weird secretary ages ago. Did I forget to tell you? My bad, my bad…” Seeing that no one was praising her “righteousness” and that she now owed the company for a door, Chloe was fuming. As soon as Liam left, she ran up to me, screaming. “Maya! If you two are innocent, why close the blinds during work hours? And he knows you broke the rules, causing the company a 3.6 million dollar loss, yet he makes you full-time? There’s definitely something shady going on!” I wanted to prove my innocence, but not like this. Closing the blinds was none of her business. I retorted, “Chloe, the boss and his wife seem pretty in love. Why did you say they were getting a divorce? You told me to seize the opportunity so I could take you to live in a mansion and drive a Bentley once I got rich!” Her voice cracked with panic. “Stop spreading rumors! When did I ever say that? Do I even know you like that?” I perked up. “Exactly. We aren’t close, so why are you obsessed with me? Today my skin is too dark, tomorrow my hair is frizzy, the next day I look bloated. Also, does it matter if I wear pantyhose? Are you underworked or do you have a fetish? If you like them that much, I’ll bring you a pair tomorrow.” “You…” Chloe was speechless. She had trapped herself. I admit, she never told me the boss was divorcing. But she told everyone else, so I wasn’t technically framing her. Brenda, afraid of getting burned, had already physically distanced herself from Chloe. But fearing Chloe would call her out for being disloyal, she reluctantly played peacemaker. “Forget it, forget it, Maya. It must be a misunderstanding. We’re all colleagues; no need to be so harsh. I trust your character, and the boss’s. Chloe is just hot-tempered and hates seeing women get bullied. She was joking. If you’re going to throw a tantrum about it, we won’t joke with you anymore.” I marveled internally. A true corporate veteran. Textbook gaslighting. I wanted to take out my notebook and write this down. With a few light sentences, she shifted the concept, turning a malicious setup into a “misunderstanding” and “joke.” She turned my legitimate defense into being petty and bad-tempered. I patted her shoulder heavily. “Okay, Brenda. I forgive you two. You can go now. I need to keep working.” I couldn’t kick them out immediately, but seeing Chloe’s eagerness to throw dirt on the boss today… I guessed the opportunity for layoffs was coming soon. 04 I ground myself a cup of civet coffee, wandered around the boss’s office, and found a photo from last year’s team building. Secretary Sophie was indeed young and pretty, but she had eyes. She wouldn’t fall for a mediocre-looking married man like the boss. After musing for a while, Liam returned after dropping off his wife. He saw me and immediately complained. “Maya, did you steal my coffee beans?” I glared at him. “Mom bought these beans. Why would I steal yours?” Liam looked aggrieved. “You’re investigating the mole, I get it. But can you not draw the fire onto me? To calm your sister-in-law down, I had to renew her kickboxing membership for three years. She even asked when we’re firing those two drama queens…” Hearing this, I pouted. “Fire them tomorrow. Stop the investigation. We don’t need the big client. Just hand over the domestic market Dad fought for to the competitors. When we can’t make payroll, the first things we sell are your Bentley and your villa.” Liam, who cherished his car and house above all else, quickly backtracked. “You know I didn’t mean that. We’re expanding to overseas clients next month; I’m just worried about complications.” I sipped my coffee. “Bro, don’t worry. Almost there.”

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My boyfriend, Liam, got amnesia. He forgot he was gay. He forgot me. Chasing him was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I didn’t plan on doing it again. Coincidentally, his mother also hoped he could return to his “original” life. I compromised and went back to being a stranger in his life. But when I pretended not to know him as I walked by, he suddenly pulled me into his arms. “Sorry if I offended you… it was muscle memory saying I should hug you.” 1 Before going to sleep, I remembered another one of Liam’s flaws and noted it down: [ Severe procrastination, always waits until midnight to shower. ] Scrolling down the screen, I had already listed more than twenty items after racking my brains these past few days. I thought, when I hit fifty, I could completely let go of Liam. Liam was my boyfriend, a straight guy I had chased for a long time. He got amnesia. He forgot he was gay, and he forgot me. And there was almost no possibility of recovering his memory. This blow to me was no different from painstakingly setting up dominoes, only for them to suddenly collapse halfway through, wasting all previous efforts. We were both people with distinct personalities, and it took a long time to smooth things out between us. Compromising with each other, yielding to each other, changing ourselves to fit the other person. Just as life was getting more and more harmonious, the progress bar suddenly reset to zero. When his accident happened, I was on a business trip. Rushing back, I saw him smiling and joking with a beautiful nurse. I already knew the diagnosis on the way, but I still wondered if he was pranking me. Seeing that familiar yet strange smile, I realized it was real. He noticed me by the door, looked me up and down with an inquisitive gaze, and finally gave me a friendly nod. That distant attitude made my world spin, and I couldn’t breathe. Liam’s mother supported me and led me aside. Two years ago, she was very dissatisfied with me turning her son gay, but finally compromised out of helplessness. This accident, she said to me, might be a good thing. Sure enough, she held my hand and pleaded: “Alex, can you let him go and let him live a normal person’s life?” Erasing chat records, deleting photo albums, informing mutual friends. Exiting someone’s world turned out to be so simple. 2 Liam left quite a few things in our small home. I packed them all up and sent them back to the Zhou family. I confirmed with his mother that Liam wasn’t there before going, but unexpectedly ran into him returning just as I was leaving. As the elevator doors opened, he twirled his car keys, his eyes meeting mine, and let out an “Ah”. “It’s you.” He stepped aside. “Did you come to see me? I’m fine now. Thanks for coming.” I quickly controlled my expression and stepped out of the elevator. “No, I heard from your mom.” Liam hesitated to speak, looking a bit embarrassed. “Um… sorry, I lost a few years of memory, so I don’t really remember who you are… To visit me at home, was our relationship pretty good? Were we colleagues?” Although I was mentally prepared, hearing him say this still caused a dull pain in my heart, and endless bitterness welled up. Forcing down the surging emotions, I tried to keep my voice steady: “Yeah. We were in the same project group. I’m Alex. When you return to work, I can help you catch up.” Liam’s expression relaxed, revealing a grateful smile. “Thanks. Want to come up and sit for a while?” I could tell it was just politeness. Not long after we got together, Liam took me home. I wandered downstairs, hugging a pillar, afraid to go up. He hoisted me onto his shoulder and carried me into the elevator, trapping me in the corner so I had nowhere to run. At that time, he smiled and comforted me: “Don’t worry, my mom doesn’t hit people. If she really does, I’ll carry you and run.” I looked at Liam, who was wearing a distant smile now, and lowered my eyes. “No need. See you at the company.” Back in the car, I opened the memo app, fingers trembling as I noted another one: [ Taste regressed, the cologne he chose smells awful. ] Almost 30 items now. The progress I anticipated was already halfway done. But no matter how many flaws I came up with, none could erase even a bit of his weight in my heart. I leaned back against the seat and sighed, when suddenly there was a knock on the car window. It was Liam. I rolled down the window, and he leaned down to look at me. “Maybe I’m being nosy, but are you really okay? You looked a bit pale just now.” I rubbed my face: “It’s nothing, maybe just a bit tired.” “Should I call a designated driver for you? I got into an accident because I was distracted while driving, better to be cautious.” No one knew what he went out to do that day. A few days before the accident, I vaguely felt he was hiding something from me, but I was never one to get to the bottom of things. Now that the person involved had forgotten everything cleanly, I would never know. “Thank you.” After being thanked by him so many times these past two days, I finally returned one. “But don’t worry, I value my life very much, I’ll be careful driving.” 3 I didn’t tell him that actually, we weren’t just colleagues, we were also college roommates for a year. In my senior year, I took a year off due to illness. When I returned, I was assigned to Liam’s dorm. I originally thought that in the last year, most people would be studying or preparing for exams, so there wouldn’t be much interaction. But Liam swaggered into my life just like that. Considering my poor health during recovery, he fetched food for me, ran to the counselor for materials, accompanied me to follow-up checks, and even guarded outside while I showered, worried I might suddenly faint. He said: “We’re bros, I should do it.” If it were before, I would never provoke a straight guy. But after hovering between life and death—what’s there to restrain? I’m going to date the person I like, dammit. If he’s straight, then I’ll bend him. I want to live in the moment. I chased him for more than half a year, but didn’t succeed even by graduation. On the day of leaving school, I put the offer from the same company as him and the flight ticket back to my hometown in front of him, asking him to choose one for me. He glanced at it and said: “Stop chasing so dryly.” Hearing this, my heart died completely. I pulled my suitcase and was about to leave. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me back. I fell onto his lap, and before I could react, he held the back of my neck and kissed me hard. “Can’t you just kiss me directly?” 4 Liam’s return to work happened half a month later. The leader arranged a colleague for him to guide him back into the workflow. Amidst a circle of greetings and inquiries, he cast a puzzled look at me. I sat outside the crowd, head down, drinking water. He took the casual lie I told that day seriously. Unsurprisingly, he blocked me in the pantry. “Alex, why isn’t it you?” “I’ve been a bit busy lately.” I shoveled creamer into my coffee cup, masking my guilt. “So the team leader arranged someone else. He’s very capable, you’ll be fine with him.” “But… I asked others, and they said our relationship isn’t good at all, we barely talked.” … I thought for a moment and said sincerely: “They’re right. It’s just that I’m a person whose love overflows easily. Even when the cleaning lady sprained her ankle, I went to visit her.” Liam shut his mouth. His gaze moved down to my coffee cup, half filled with white powder. “You can’t drink that, non-dairy creamer is bad for your health.” These words, this tone, made me dazed for a moment, thinking he hadn’t lost his memory. Liam didn’t let me eat junk food, he was very strict. Every time I craved junk food, I could only order takeout behind his back. I’m really not good at disguising, always getting caught. On the days I got caught, he would torment me until dawn, claiming to help me metabolize it quickly. I smiled, brewed it in front of him, and gulped down a big mouthful. “I just like this cheap taste.” His Adam’s apple bobbed, clearly forcing words back down. “If there’s nothing else, hurry back to work.” I wasn’t sure if I stayed alone with him any longer, I might say something I shouldn’t. As I walked past him, an arm suddenly blocked my stomach, gently pulling me in. I blinked slowly. That second seemed to be infinitely prolonged. Body heat separated by two layers of clothes, a firm chest, warm breath on the back of my neck. I froze on the spot, and Liam immediately pulled back. He looked down at his hand in bewilderment, his devastatingly handsome face now flushed red. “Sorry, sorry.” He stammered, apologizing in panic, “I don’t know what happened, suddenly just…” Truly strange. The brain doesn’t remember, but the body has its own memory? Liam and I were an underground office couple. Others only knew we didn’t communicate much and had an average relationship. But they didn’t know about our fingers intertwining in crowded elevators, bold hugs in the empty pantry, kisses masked by the sound of machines in the copy room. Perhaps having done these things too many times, the body already had inertia.

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