Category: English

On the subway, a woman’s shriek accused me of being a pervert. Her shattered phone lay at my feet. Every passenger turned on me, their voices a torrent of curses. They said my white cane was a prop, my navigation glasses a hidden camera. I calmly removed one earbud. “You’re saying I was filming you?” “That’s right!” Her voice trembled, but her conviction was absolute. I smiled. “How can a blind man film anyone?” 1 The evening rush hour turns the subway into a crowded cage. I stood in the corner of the car, leaning on my white cane. My fingertips traced the textured grip on the handle—one of the few ways I could feel the world. I can’t see. Darkness has been my companion since birth. But I’m not as clumsy as you might imagine. A pair of custom navigation glasses rests on my nose. They use sonic pulses to map my surroundings, painting a wireframe of the world in my mind and calling out the distance to obstacles. Combined with the echolocation I’ve practiced since childhood and the self-defense my instructor taught me, I can navigate familiar spaces as well as any sighted person. Right now, I was just trying to get home. Soft music played through my headphones, a futile attempt to block out the chaos. I’d just won two back-to-back cases for a client and I was exhausted. All I wanted was a hot cup of tea in my quiet apartment. “Watch where you’re going!” A sharp, entitled voice cut through the noise from somewhere in front of me. I frowned, pulling out one earbud. My hearing is extremely sensitive; I can pick up almost any sound within thirty feet. The rustle of a woman’s skirt, a man’s suppressed cough, and… the soft click of a phone’s camera focusing. Wait. That sound was close. Almost directly in front of me. I tilted my head instinctively. My glasses immediately alerted me: “Adult female, zero-point-five meters ahead. Holding rectangular object, pointed in your direction.” A rectangular object? Almost certainly a phone. What was she doing, pointing her phone at me? A flicker of confusion passed through me, but I dismissed it. It was a crowded train; people took photos and videos all the time. I put my earbud back in, ready to tune it all out. But then, the phone clattered to the floor. It was followed by a piercing shriek that sliced through the car. “Ah! What are you doing?! Are you filming me?!” I froze. The voice belonged to the same woman who had been complaining about the crowd. Was she talking to me? “No,” I said automatically, my voice even. “I didn’t touch you, and I wasn’t filming you.” “Don’t you dare lie!” her voice shot up, thick with a mix of anger and violation. “I felt you pointing your phone right at me! If I hadn’t been quick enough to smack it out of your hand, you would have invaded my privacy, you creep!” The car fell silent. The hum of conversation, the shuffle of feet, the automated station announcements—it all stopped, frozen by her accusation. Dozens of eyes turned to me. I couldn’t see them, but I could feel their stares—a cocktail of disgust, suspicion, and morbid curiosity, like a thousand tiny needles piercing my skin. “It wasn’t me,” I repeated, my voice still steady, though a knot of anxiety was tightening in my stomach. “I wasn’t holding a phone. Your phone fell, but it had nothing to do with me.” “Nothing to do with you?” She let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Then why were you staring in my direction? And what are those things on your face? They look like some kind of spy camera!” Her words were a spark in a tinderbox. The crowd ignited. “Yeah, those glasses look weird. Probably one of those spy cams!” “These creeps are getting better at hiding. He looks normal, but he’s a total pervert.” “It’s so hard for girls to be safe out there. She must be terrified.” “Someone grab him before he runs!” The accusations washed over me like a tidal wave, drowning out my defense. I tightened my grip on my cane, my knuckles turning white. I knew this was trouble. 2 “Don’t listen to his lies!” the woman shouted, emboldened by the crowd’s support. “I saw it clearly. He was staring right at me with those weird glasses, holding his phone. He was definitely filming me!” She bent down, picked up her phone, and held it up for everyone to see. “Look! My screen is shattered! This is the proof! He was filming me, and when I caught him, I knocked it out of his hand!” Passengers crowded around to look. A spiderweb of cracks covered the screen. “The evidence is right there!” “Looks like he really did it. Why else would she be so upset?” “Someone needs to teach this guy a lesson!” A few hot-headed men started cracking their knuckles, their eyes fixed on me. I could feel their aggression, could hear their footsteps closing in. “Don’t move,” I said, my voice low. My body tensed, ready to defend myself. The martial arts my instructor taught me were for self-preservation, not for starting fights. But it looked like I didn’t have a choice. “What? You gonna fight back?” a burly man snarled. “You film a girl and now you’re getting aggressive? You’re going to pay for this.” He reached out to grab my arm. I tracked the sound of his hand cutting through the air, instinctively stepping back while my own hand shot out, locking onto his wrist with precise pressure. “Agh!” he cried out, his face twisting in pain. “Let go of me! You’re hurting me!” I’m not particularly strong, but I had targeted a pressure point, inflicting maximum pain with minimal force. “I’ll say it one more time. I was not filming anyone,” I said, releasing him, my voice cold as ice. “Stay away from me.” The man clutched his wrist, his eyes burning with hatred. “This creep isn’t just a pervert, he’s violent! Everyone, help me take him down!” His words enraged the crowd, and they surged forward. “He’s attacking people now? Unbelievable!” “Let’s get him! Hold him down!” “Don’t let him hurt that poor girl!” I was backed into a corner, the cold wall of the train at my back. I listened to the approaching footsteps and the chorus of angry shouts, a chill spreading through me. I couldn’t see their faces, but I could imagine their snarling expressions. They would rather believe the word of a complete stranger than listen to a single word of my defense. All because she looked fragile and innocent, while I wore “suspicious” glasses and knew how to defend myself. “Everyone, calm down!” I shouted, my voice rising above the din. “Nothing has been proven yet! Don’t resort to violence! My glasses aren’t a recording device, they’re for navigation! I’m—” “Don’t listen to his nonsense!” the woman cut me off instantly. “Navigation glasses? Yeah, right! Technology is so advanced these days, anyone could disguise a spy cam as glasses! Do you really think we’d fall for that?” She stepped right in front of me, looking down at where she presumed my eyes were. “I’ll tell you what. Either you admit you filmed me and pay for my emotional distress and a new phone, or I’m calling the cops and letting them deal with you!” “The police?” A thought sparked in my mind. That was a good idea. The police would have to be rational. They would investigate properly. “Fine. Call them,” I said calmly. “I trust they’ll clear my name.” The woman was taken aback by my quick agreement. She hesitated for a second, then sneered. “Fine by me! Let’s see how you talk your way out of this with them!” She immediately took out her phone and dialed, her voice urgent and panicked. “Officer, please hurry! There’s a pervert on the subway filming me, and he just assaulted someone! You have to come arrest him!” After hanging up, she shot me a triumphant look. “You just wait. The cops are on their way. Let’s see how you deny it then!” The crowd quieted down, waiting for the authorities to arrive. But their glares were still full of contempt and disgust, as if my guilt was already a foregone conclusion. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes. Darkness was my normal. But in that moment, I realized something far more terrifying than darkness was the cold, suffocating prejudice of the human heart. My glasses continued to feed me information: “Male, one meter to your left, agitated. Female, zero-point-eight meters to your right, recording with phone. Female, zero-point-six meters ahead, expression of anger…” The words were like thorns, pricking at me. I could hear their whispers, their curses. “What a scumbag.” “I hope he goes to jail.” “People like him deserve to be torn apart.” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. The pain was an anchor, keeping me grounded. I told myself not to react, not to let their anger infect me. The truth would come out. But for now, all I could do was wait. Wait for the police, and wait for a chance to prove my innocence. Somehow, I knew that chance wouldn’t come easily. 3 The train glided to a stop. The moment the doors hissed open, two transit security officers boarded the car. “Who called this in? What’s going on?” one of them asked, his voice loud and authoritative. “I did!” the woman immediately rushed toward them, her face crumpling into a mask of distress. Her eyes were red-rimmed, as if she’d suffered a great injustice. “Officers, it was him! He was filming me on the train, and when I caught him, he attacked someone! Please, you have to arrest him!” She pointed at me, her voice catching in a sob. She was the perfect picture of a damsel in distress. The two officers’ gazes snapped to me, sharp with suspicion. “Sir, you need to come with us,” one of them said, his tone severe. “I didn’t film anyone, and I didn’t attack anyone,” I explained calmly. “She’s lying. That man tried to grab me first, and I was only defending myself.” “Defending yourself?” the woman shot back. “You’re the one who’s lying! You were furious that I caught you, so you lashed out! Everyone here can be a witness!” She turned to the other passengers. “Isn’t that right, everyone?!” “Yes! We all saw it!” “He was the one filming her, and then he got violent!” “Officers, just take him away! He’s a danger to everyone here!” The passengers chimed in, their voices firm, as if they had personally witnessed the entire fabricated event. The officers exchanged a look. It was clear whose side they were on. “Sir, regardless of what happened, you need to come with us to the station office to cooperate with the investigation,” the other officer said, reaching for my arm. “Don’t touch me,” I said, sidestepping his grasp. My voice was cold. “I’ll walk on my own. But I’m telling you again, I’ve been framed.” “Whoa, listen to this guy!” the man whose wrist I’d grabbed earlier sneered. “Officers, look at his attitude! He’s obviously guilty!” “Yeah, you need to be tough with guys like this!” “Don’t let him get away!” As the passengers egged them on, the officers’ expressions hardened. “Sir, I’m asking you to cooperate. Don’t make us use force,” one of them warned. I could feel their hostility, could sense the smug satisfaction from the surrounding crowd. I took a deep breath, pushing down the anger simmering inside me. Resisting now would do no good. It would only reinforce their image of me as an “arrogant, violent pervert.” “Fine. I’ll go with you,” I said. I picked up my white cane and, guided by the memory of my glasses’ last input, began walking toward the door. The cane tapped rhythmically against the floor. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound seemed unnaturally loud in the suddenly quiet car. “What’s that he’s holding?” “Is that… a white cane?” “A cane? Is he blind?” “No way. How could a blind guy move like that? Or film someone?” The sight of my cane sparked a new wave of murmurs, this time laced with confusion. The woman’s face paled for a fraction of a second, but she quickly recovered, letting out a cold laugh. “Blind? Please! He’s faking it! These perverts will do anything to get out of trouble!” Her explanation was immediately accepted by most of the passengers. “Yeah, he must be faking!” “How could a blind person take a secret video? He’s putting on an act!” “That’s disgusting. Pretending to be blind to get away with it.” I ignored them. Pretending to be blind? They had no idea. My world was nothing but black. These glasses, this cane—they were essential parts of my life. And now, they had become the “evidence” of my deception.

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When my grandfather died, he left behind two things: a multi-billion dollar inheritance, and three simple matchsticks. “You and your sister may each choose one,” the lawyer said, his voice echoing in the sterile office. “Mindy, as the eldest, you choose first.” Without a moment’s hesitation, I chose the billions. My adopted sister, Nicole, was left with the three matches. I never imagined those matches held the power of prophecy. That by striking one and making a wish, it would come true. Nicole, simmering with resentment over our parents’ perceived favoritism, used her first wish to curse them. Just as she wished, it happened. My father had a sudden, fatal heart attack. My mother, racing to the hospital, was killed instantly when a semi-truck ran a red light. I grabbed a kitchen knife and went straight for her. “I told you, didn’t I? I told you that when you turned eighteen, I’d give you half of Grandpa’s inheritance!” I screamed, my voice raw with grief. “Mom and Dad took you in! They gave you everything I had! How could you do this?!” Nicole’s face was a mask of pure greed. “If they were going to adopt me, they should have gotten rid of you! I should have been the one to get everything! I don’t want your charity. With all of you dead, the money is all mine!” With a cold smirk, she struck the second match. “I wish for my sister to be sold off to a remote village, forced to be a breeding machine until she dies in childbirth!” Panic seized me. I liquidated every asset I had and hired a thousand bodyguards, turning my home into a fortress. But one night, every single guard fell into an inexplicable, simultaneous stupor. I was taken, just as she’d wished. I was dragged to a remote village, where I was tortured and broken, my life reduced to a cycle of forced pregnancy and birth, treated worse than an animal. I don’t know how much time passed before I took my last breath in a storm of agony and humiliation. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of the inheritance. … A murmur went through the room as my grandfather’s lawyer, following the will’s instructions, shakily placed three matchsticks on the table next to the thick portfolio of assets. “Has the old man lost his mind? Are those supposed to be a family heirloom?” “Maybe it’s his way of insulting the adopted one? That’s just cruel.” The lawyer cleared his throat, his voice thin and frail, just like Grandpa’s had been. “The multi-billion dollar inheritance and these three matches. You and your sister may each choose one. Mindy, you are the eldest. You choose first.” A jolt went through me. I was back. I was really back. My eyes darted to my parents, standing beside me. They were whole, they were alive, and they were smiling at me, giving me a nod of encouragement. My vision blurred with tears. Last time, I chose the billions. And Nicole used those three matches to destroy my family and send me to a living hell. The phantom pains of my death still lingered. This time, I would not make the same mistake. “I’ll take the matches,” I said, my voice clear and firm. The room fell silent. “Is Mindy insane? They’re just matchsticks, not solid gold.” “We’re talking about billions of dollars! And she’s just going to hand it over to an adopted kid? If she wants to play the saint, she picked a hell of a time to do it!” “This is painful to watch! If she doesn’t want it, I’ll take it!” My parents rushed to my side, tugging at my sleeve. “Mindy, honey, did you misspeak?” my mother whispered urgently. “Dad’s start-up just went public, and your mother’s health isn’t the best. We could really use the capital right now…” “Sweetheart, I know you have a good heart, and you’re always thinking of your sister. But you could have taken the inheritance and given her half later! You didn’t have to do this…” They pleaded with me, but my resolve was iron. “I want the three matches,” I repeated. “Nicole lost her parents when she was young. Her life has been harder than mine. The inheritance… I don’t want a single penny. It all goes to her.” Nicole looked like she was about to jump for joy. As she eagerly signed the inheritance documents, she shot me a saccharine, fake thank you. “Thank you, sister, for being so generous. Don’t worry, when you’re begging on the streets, I’ll be sure to buy you a bread roll!” My parents were so furious with me they were speechless. When Grandpa was bedridden, I had taken care of him tirelessly for three years. Nicole, who complained about the “old people smell,” only ever spoke to him when she wanted a cash gift for the holidays. That’s why, in both lifetimes, Grandpa gave me the first choice. I ignored the whispers and jeers from the others. They didn’t know the secret these matches held. They were priceless. That night, I heard my parents tossing and turning in their bedroom. “What on earth was that child thinking?” “We raised her for over twenty years, and she turns out to be a complete fool!” “The creditors are coming tomorrow. If we can’t pay them back, we’re going to lose the house!” My grandfather had been a firm believer in self-reliance, a rule he’d instilled in all his children. My father’s new company wasn’t profitable yet, and he’d taken on high-interest loans to keep it afloat. He had been counting on my inheritance to see them through. Nicole, meanwhile, was already out on the town, flaunting her newfound wealth. Getting a dime out of her to help our parents would be impossible. Hearing their worried whispers, my own heart ached. I slipped out of bed, went to my room, and silently struck the first match. “I wish,” I whispered into the tiny flame, “for my parents to become fabulously wealthy overnight.” Satisfied, I crawled back into bed and fell into a peaceful sleep. The next morning, I was jolted awake by my mother’s bloodcurdling scream. “It’s over! Everything is over!” “The office building caught fire! Everything’s been burned to the ground!” “The fire spread to the neighboring shops! We’re liable for tens of millions in damages!” My father was slumped on the floor, his head in his hands, his body wracked with tremors. I stood frozen, clutching the blackened stump of the matchstick, a deathly chill spreading through me. How could this happen? My mother, frantic and overwhelmed, saw me standing there in a daze, and all her pent-up frustration exploded. “This is all your fault! It’s because you chose those stupid matches!” she shrieked, her voice cracking. “Matchsticks… fire… oh god, it was a sign… it was all fated!” “If you had just chosen the billions, none of this would have happened!” She broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. My father just held her, his eyes closed in exhaustion, saying nothing. My head spun. How? I wished for them to be rich. Why did they go bankrupt instead? Could it be… because I was reborn? Had my interference changed the rules? Did the wishes now work in reverse? The thought sent me scrambling back to my room for the second match. But before I could even strike it, the front door was kicked open with a deafening crash. “Well, well. Look at you all, relaxing at home while we’ve been sweating our asses off trying to collect,” a brutish man sneered, flanked by a group of thugs. “This is your final warning. If you don’t have the money by tomorrow, we’re chopping off your hands.” He leered at me. “And I hear you’ve got a pretty daughter. Maybe she can help the boys… unwind.” They proceeded to smash everything in sight with their clubs, leaving our home in ruins. On top of the loans, we now owed millions in damages. Desperate, my parents had no choice but to call Nicole. She ignored the first nine calls. On the tenth, she finally picked up. “Honey, your mom and I are in trouble,” my father began, his voice strained. “Grandpa left you billions… we don’t need much, just thirty million. Please, can you help us?” “If we can’t pay, the loan sharks are going to… they’re going to take our hands…” I had seen Nicole’s social media posts. She’d just bought a new emerald necklace that cost fifty million. But in response to our parents’ desperate plea, she sighed dramatically. “Mom, Dad, it’s not that I don’t want to help. But this was Grandpa’s inheritance for me. I can’t just spend it recklessly. If you want to blame someone, blame my sister for only choosing three matchsticks.” Before they could say another word, she hung up. A moment later, a new post appeared on her feed. It was a picture of her cuddling a small puppy. On the puppy’s head sat a tiny crown made of solid gold. The caption read: “Money should only be spent on those who are worthy.” My parents trembled with a rage that left them speechless. To scrape together the money for the next day, I sold everything I owned: my collection of rare cards, my autographed memorabilia. I even sold my smartphone for a cheap, second-hand flip phone. My mother sold her wedding jewelry, and my father sold his car. We managed to gather a few million. A sliver of relief softened my father’s brow. “This should be enough to hold off the loan sharks for tomorrow.” My mother, now calmer, turned to me, her expression grave. “Mindy, I’m so sorry. I lost control this morning and I took it out on you. I know none of this is your fault. Please, forgive me.” A lump formed in my throat. I almost started crying. “Maybe I really did make the wrong choice…” My father gently patted my shoulder. “It’s over and done with. Money is just money. But seeing Nicole’s true colors for what they are? In a way, that’s priceless. To think we took her in because we felt sorry for her, and we ended up raising a viper.” Dinner was just plain bread, but huddled together, we found a warmth that had been missing. My father started talking about the future, a spark returning to his eyes. “As long as I have my health and my hands, I can rebuild. I know I can.” That night, I steeled myself and lit the second match. “I wish,” I whispered, my voice trembling, “for my parents to be crippled and live a life of poverty.” If the first wish was reversed, then I had to wish for the opposite of what I wanted. Please, let this work. Let them live long, prosperous lives. I clutched the spent matchstick, too terrified to sleep. I was petrified that I would wake up to another disaster, just like the morning before. I didn’t need them to be rich. I just needed them to be healthy and happy. Around five in the morning, an overwhelming wave of exhaustion hit me. My head lolled to the side, and for a moment, the world went black. When I woke up, the house was eerily silent. My heart pounded against my ribs. I crept to my parents’ bedroom and peeked inside. They were sleeping peacefully. A sigh of relief escaped my lips. But as I turned to go back to my room, two piercing, agonized screams erupted from behind the door.

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I foolishly pined after Alex for three years. He hated using condoms. After we were done, he’d always stand there, shirtless, his back covered in scratch marks, smoking a cigarette with his back to me. He’d say it like he was doing me a favor: “What are you afraid of? If you get pregnant, we’ll just get married.” A month later, staring at the two lines on the pregnancy test, I chose not to tell him. Instead, I broke up with him, abruptly and completely. Later, he saw me at the abortion clinic. I was holding my belly, chatting with a pregnant woman next to me: “Don’t look at how much I cried when we broke up. If I really had to carry his child, I wouldn’t dare.” “I know the difference between crying into a pillow and crying holding a baby.” “Dating is fine, but for marriage? I have other options.” 1 The day I found out I was pregnant, I went to the club Alex frequented. Just as I was about to push the door open, I heard them discussing which brand of condoms felt the best. Someone joked, “Ask Alex. He has a girlfriend, he must have the most experience.” A moment later, I heard Alex speak carelessly: “Condoms? Never used them.” The person next to him paused. “Never? Aren’t you afraid Summer will get pregnant?” Alex lit a cigarette, his voice wrapped in smoke: “It’s fine. She remembers to take the pill after every time.” The room exploded. “Damn, you really trained her well.” Alex chuckled lazily. “She’s obedient. I know every mole on her body.” Someone couldn’t help but ask, “Alex, what if Summer really gets pregnant?” Alex paused, then spoke slowly: “If she gets pregnant, we’ll get married.” “Summer is sensible, and we get along. Marrying her wouldn’t be hard to accept.” Someone teased him, “If I recall correctly, you used to change girlfriends every week. Are you really ready to settle down?” Alex smirked indifferently. “Isn’t she not pregnant yet?” “I don’t want to think that far ahead.” “If I get bored, I’ll just find a decent reason to break up. She’s obedient.” “Besides, she’s a people pleaser. Every time we break up, she never blames me. She always reflects on herself first, then hugs me and apologizes.” “Last time I wanted to try it in the car on a whim. She refused, so I just scared her a little, said we’d break up if she didn’t agree, and she gave in.” People around him clicked their tongues. “Damn, so easy to fool.” Alex lowered his eyes, his voice softening. “She is too easy to fool, that’s why I don’t want anyone else to trick her.” “Good thing she met me. If she met a bad guy, that crybaby would lose her voice crying.” “Might as well keep her around. I can look after her, give me peace of mind.” Someone laughed. “So Alex is running a charity now.” “But you really have to watch her closely. With a face like Summer’s, who wouldn’t want to play?” “Innocent face, killer body. That ass is like a peach, ripe for the picking.” “If she were my girlfriend, I’d die happy.” Alex glanced at him coldly. “You? Don’t even think about it.” After a moment, as if remembering something, his gaze softened a bit: “But she really is innocent. No matter how many times we do it, she cries like it’s her first time.” “Honestly, if I really had to leave her, I’d be reluctant.” The people in the room teased him about becoming a lover boy. Just then, someone threw out a question: “Seriously Alex, if Summer gets pregnant, are you really settling down for her?” “Speaking of which, didn’t you get together with her just to spite your white moonlight, Bella?” “Bella seems to have broken up recently, and she’s working at your company. Isn’t your chance here?” This time, Alex stared at the floor in a daze. The cigarette tip glowed red. He didn’t speak for a long time. 2 I looked at the two lines on the pregnancy test. Actually, I wasn’t here to tell him I was pregnant. I was here because his friend called me, saying he was drunk and asking me to pick him up. Seeing Alex distracted by the mention of Bella actually made me sigh in relief. In fact, since the moment I realized I might be pregnant, I had been thinking about how to break up with him. Alex got together with me back then indeed because of Bella. There is a type of person in this world. Never suffered, never faced setbacks, speaking with a naive beauty of someone who’s never known hunger. Bella was that kind of person. She was my roommate. Every morning, she would look in the mirror, clench her fist, and sweetly cheer herself on: “Good morning, Bella! You are the warmest little sun, do your best today too!” When Alex pursued Bella, the whole school knew about the spectacle. Roses, luxury goods, thrown at her like money meant nothing. If she casually mentioned liking a bag, that bag would be at our dorm door the next day, costing three years of my part-time wages. Alex was eye-catching, standing out in the crowd. The moment he appeared, he was the focus of the school. Every time he showed up under the academic building, people secretly took photos of him. He didn’t care, just leaning against the doorframe, playing on his phone, waiting for Bella. Six-foot-two, wearing a windbreaker like a runway model. Even the wind seemed to favor him. No exaggeration, even his hair was perfect to the extreme. The first time I saw him, he was confessing to Bella with hands in his pockets. A face that looked mixed-race, high nose bridge, sharp jawline, a smile with a hint of lazy roguishness. Most importantly, he was rich. At the freshman gala, the principal personally accompanied his father to the VIP seats. His natural nobility wasn’t built on luxury goods. Sometimes I felt. Alex and Bella were the protagonists of this world. They had an innate sense of superiority. All good things would fall into their laps. And me. I was just a broken school beauty with a dead mom, a gambling dad, a sick grandma, working three jobs a day just to survive. An insignificant supporting character in their lives. Bella asked me why I worked three jobs. I explained patiently: “Because I have no money.” She almost rolled her eyes to the sky: “If you have no money, ask your dad. Why pretend to be so stressed every day, is it necessary?” I didn’t know how to make her understand my situation, only said softly: “My dad is my biggest stress.” Maybe because she never tasted the bitterness of life, she just didn’t like Alex. Instead, she fell for a poor, chauvinistic jock who was full of sweet words. He always gave cheap things. Every time Valentine’s Day approached, the jock would break up with her. But after Valentine’s Day, he would humble himself to reconcile with Bella. Bella didn’t notice anything wrong. But I was sensitive to money. I knew that man just didn’t want to waste money on a gift. Sometimes, I reminded her to stay away from him. She questioned me aggrievedly: “Summer, you’re so weird. Why do you always think so badly of people? Is it because… you’re jealous that no one holds you in their palm and loves you?” I stopped talking. Once on my way to the library, I saw Alex arguing with Bella in his luxury car. Alex threw the flowers meant for Bella on the ground, raising an eyebrow: “You’re dating? Why didn’t you tell me? “Is it fun playing me like this? “Where am I worse than him, huh?” Bella lifted her chin: “Alex, someone like you only knows how to throw money at me. You don’t understand love at all.” I thought Alex would show sadness. But I was wrong. Alex chuckled low. That laugh carried self-mockery and indifference: “I don’t need to understand. “I have money, naturally people will line up to love me.” He curled his finger at me standing nearby: “Hey, I’ll give you money, you come love me.” I froze. A long time later, I heard my own voice. “Okay.” I thought I was solving a problem for Bella. But Bella’s face sank instantly: “Summer, are you that cheap? “You pick up even things I don’t want?” I didn’t defend myself. I only knew my grandma was still in the hospital waiting for fees, and my father was pressing for gambling debts. I needed money. A lot of money. Enough money to pull me out of the mud. 3 After getting together, Alex was indeed good to me. When my father lost money and came to school to force me for money, Alex somehow made him never come again. Grandma’s medical bills were settled in one go, and she was transferred to a VIP ward in the city hospital. The nurse sent photos of her smiling in the sun every day. He could solve everything for me effortlessly. He made me quit all my part-time jobs. He showered me with gifts every day, surprising me in various ways. From designer bags to custom jewelry. I casually mentioned wanting to take a finance class, and the next day he hired a private tutor to come to school. Following him, I learned to read financial reports, make investments, and gradually mastered many skills to make money. Besides that, we hugged, kissed, and even got a room like normal couples. My first time, he was shirtless, his pale shoulder lines taut and smooth. When he leaned down to kiss me, the silver chain around his neck rested against his beautiful collarbone, swaying gently with his movements. My heart raced, almost hypoxic. He laughed softly: “Dummy. “Next time we kiss, remember to breathe.” Alex’s desire was truly strong, and I had to cater to his whims. He didn’t like using condoms, so I took the pill. He sought excitement, so I accompanied him to unlock various locations to keep it fresh. But he was indeed a jerk. After being with me, the women around him didn’t decrease. He never refused anyone. His social media showed intimate photos with various influencers. At banquets, women held his arm ambiguously, and he never pushed them away. Some women even called me directly, their tone provocative. I cried about this once. He didn’t care at all: “I’m dating you, not becoming a monk. “If you can’t handle it, fine, I won’t force you. “Then break up. I’ll find someone who can handle it.” Later, I became sensible and said nothing. In fact, I wasn’t as obedient as he said. I’m a woman, I also need appropriate release. Alex was handsome and rich, the best choice available. He was indeed charming. I have to say, he really pulled me up when my life was at its lowest. I was grateful to him. And I genuinely liked him. But he was that kind of person. Born at the top of the pyramid. He didn’t understand love, and would never know how to love you. But occasionally he would coax you like a lover. When he was inside, if you cried pain, he would cup your face, kissing you over and over, saying he loved you. He was a spoiled mad dog, but as long as you petted him the right way, he would care about you a little bit. Such a person was fine for dating. But I never thought about spending the rest of my life with him. I was twenty-seven, I couldn’t play anymore. I also wanted to find a suitable opportunity. To break up with him. 4 After returning from the club. Alex drank with friends and came home very late. The next day, Alex called me, voice lazy with sleep: “Summer, bring a file to the company for me, I need it for a meeting.” At the company, I accidentally saw Bella. Bella wore a washed-out business suit, holding a stack of files, hair combed meticulously, but couldn’t hide the awkwardness in her eyes. A few days ago, my university friend told me. Bella’s dad’s factory went under. The boyfriend she was discussing marriage with ran off with the last bit of money. Now she was a bottom-level clerk in Alex’s company, not even qualified to see him. Seeing me, Bella froze. She covered her mouth in surprise: “You’re Summer? How did you change so much, you were clearly…” Before she finished. Alex’s lazy voice came from behind. “Summer, where’s my file?” He walked over, hugging me naturally from behind, rubbing his chin against the back of my head. The movement was intimate, as if done thousands of times. Bella looked at the successful Alex, feeling a sense of loss. Her lips pressed into a line, fingertips pinching the edge of the file, knuckles white. But Alex was never intimate with me at the company. I knew he was doing it for Bella to see. The second time I saw Bella was on my fifth anniversary with Alex. Alex booked the most high-end five-star restaurant. At the table, he suddenly said to me: “I invited Bella, you don’t mind, right?” Seeing me stunned. He laughed: “What are you nervous about? Just wanted her to help us take some couple photos.” When Bella arrived. Alex leaned close to me familiarly, took my phone from my arms and handed it to her. “Make us look good.” He spoke with a smile, gaze on me, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Bella’s hand holding the phone trembled. This reaction seemed to please Alex. He put his arm around my waist, deliberately pulling me closer, whispering in my ear: “Baby, smile. Five year anniversary.” His breath brushed my ear, as if he would kiss me the next second. But I could feel Alex was absent-minded talking to me, peripheral vision always on Bella. “Enough…” Bella suddenly put down the phone, voice choking, tears falling like broken pearls. “Alex, I know I was immature back then, I rejected you. But why do you have to humiliate me like this? “Deliberately treating her so well in front of me, deliberately making me take photos of you… Do you think it’s fun to see me sad, see me regret? “We knew each other anyway, I never did anything sorry to you… why must you bully me?” She trembled with crying, looking at Alex full of grievance. Alex’s body stiffened. I felt his grip on my shoulder hurt. Bella threw my phone on the ground, wiped her tears and ran away. Alex cursed low: “F*ck.” He pushed me away, grabbed his jacket and chased after her. I squatted down, picking up my phone. The screen was shattered. On our five-year anniversary, Alex left me there alone.

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I was blocked by my boss’s girlfriend. She screamed over the phone: “You’re a female subordinate, have some boundaries! Seducing your own boss after hours?” But the multi-million dollar contract in my hand was expiring tomorrow morning. When I tried to call back, my number had been blocked. The boss was MIA. No one at the company was responding. The next morning, my boss personally showed up at my front door, clutching the corporate seal. I yawned, leaning against the doorframe. “Boss, you’re a grown man. Have some boundaries.” “Showing up at a female subordinate’s house first thing in the morning? That’s not appropriate, is it?” 1 When I was briefing my boss on the final clauses of the contract, the office door cracked open. My boss’s girlfriend, Tiffany, poked her head in. When she saw me, her expression stiffened. Her eyes were red, her voice trembling as she asked carefully: “Gavin… am I interrupting your work?” My hand, resting on the contract, paused. My boss, Gavin Sterling, froze in awkward silence. He reacted a second later, moving to pull her in. But Tiffany took a step back, looking aggrieved as tears began to fall. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be suspicious… it’s just… I heard people say that bosses and their capable assistants often develop feelings over time. I got scared…” I didn’t speak. I simply closed the laptop in front of me. Gavin’s face flushed red, then pale. His tone was flustered. “Tiff, stop overthinking. We’re just discussing a contract. Don’t let your imagination run wild.” “Discussing a contract…” Tiffany sobbed harder. “I know Elena is capable. Unlike me, I can’t help you with anything. I just cause trouble.” “But… but to discuss work, do you really need to keep the door closed?” The boss frowned, looking from the tearful Tiffany to me. Finally, his gaze settled on me. It was a look of obvious difficulty, pleading for me to smooth things over. “Elena, look at this… how about you step out for a moment? Let me explain things to her.” I stood up and gathered the files on the desk. “Fine,” I said. “But Mr. Wolf is waiting for the final version. If it’s not locked in by 9:00 AM tomorrow, the penalty is 15% of the total project value.” I paused, then added: “Mr. Sterling, my salary does not include overtime pay for handling your relationship drama.” With that, I opened the door and walked out. Behind me, Gavin’s face was frozen, accompanied by the sound of Tiffany’s escalating cries. 2 The office was eerily quiet. Tiffany had joined the company two years ago as a receptionist. Last year, she became Gavin’s girlfriend. Since then, she had acted like the Lady of the Manor. She was hostile toward any female creature that got too close to Gavin. Yet, she had her clique of supporters. Right now, she was leaning against the front desk, “sharing” something with a few colleagues. Her voice was sickly sweet, punctuated by giggles behind her hand. Her eyes, however, were like hooks, casting glances in my direction. “Sigh, Elena works so hard, my heart aches for her. Girls should really cherish themselves more. Otherwise, if Gavin finds out, he’ll blame me for not taking good care of her.” “My Gavin is just too soft-hearted. He always feels indebted to hardworking employees. I’ve told him so many times not to be too nice to subordinates; it causes misunderstandings.” The gazes around me turned sticky, filled with speculation and malicious excitement. I ignored them, pouring all my energy into the contract revisions. An hour later, I finished cross-checking every clause word by word. Clicked send. Recipient: Gavin Sterling. The moment the email went out, a pair of expensive high heels stopped by my desk. Tiffany leaned down, holding Gavin’s phone. “Elena, thanks for your hard work.” She smiled innocently, waving the phone. “Gavin left his phone with me. He was afraid I’d overthink things.” “Originally, he was worried about some… butterflies and bees trying to seduce my husband…” “Oh, Elena, don’t misunderstand! I’m not talking about you! You were definitely just sending a work email.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was clear enough for the entire open-plan office to hear. Stifled laughter erupted from the nearby desks. Someone whispered snidely: “Tsk tsk, the official girlfriend came to mark her territory. Some people really have no boundaries.” “Right? Making Director at twenty-eight? Just on ability? Who are you kidding? We all know what kind of ‘ability’ stands out.” I smiled, leaning back in my chair. “Miss Tiffany, you used the word ‘husband’.” I looked her in the eye. “Did you two get a marriage license?” 3 Tiffany’s face turned crimson. She stammered, unable to speak for a long time. Finally, she glared at me viciously, turned on her heels, and clattered away. The colleagues around us immediately lowered their heads, pretending to work. I ignored them, my eyes returning to the computer screen. Time ticked by. The sky outside turned completely dark. The office emptied out until I was the only one left. The door to Gavin’s office remained shut tight. The corporate seal I needed never appeared. At 8:00 PM, I called Gavin. “Hello?” I suppressed my anxiety. “Miss Tiffany, please put Mr. Sterling on the phone. There is an urgent contract that needs his attention.” A light laugh came from the other end. “Oh, Director Vance. Looking for a man to talk work this late? My Gavin is already asleep.” I gripped my phone tighter, my voice dropping three degrees. “This contract involves tens of millions in business. The deadline is 9:00 AM tomorrow. The company cannot afford the breach of contract penalty.” “Oh, what to do then? But work is never-ending, and health is most important. I couldn’t possibly wake him up now. Director Vance, you’re so capable, surely you can solve this yourself, right?” She hung up immediately. I redialed instantly. The receiver played a cold automated message. The user you are calling is busy. I dialed again. Same message. I had been blocked. 4 I switched to our internal messaging app to text Gavin. [Mr. Sterling, the contract with Mr. Wolf expires at 9 AM tomorrow. The company cannot bear the penalty. Please call back immediately to authorize the seal.] A red exclamation mark popped up. [The user has enabled friend verification. You are not yet friends with this user.] Excellent. I picked up the landline and called the other executives. The Vice President’s phone rang twice before being hung up. Immediately after, a text arrived: [Elena, it’s not that I don’t want to help, but… you know the situation with Gavin and Tiffany. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to call right now, would it?] The CFO actually answered, though his voice was evasive. “Elena, don’t panic, don’t panic. Uh… Mr. Sterling is… well, Tiffany is in a rage right now. No matter how big the contract is, it’s not bigger than the boss’s family matters, right? Just wait, we’ll talk tomorrow.” “Mr. Lee,” I interrupted him. “After 9 AM tomorrow, we will be discussing how to pay over a million dollars in penalties.” The line went silent, followed by a dry laugh. “I… I’ll think of something.” Then, silence. Cornered, I opened the company-wide Slack channel. I drafted a message and tagged @channel. [URGENT NOTICE TO ALL STAFF:] [The multi-million dollar contract with Wolf Enterprises requires a corporate seal before 9 AM tomorrow. Failure to do so will result in a massive penalty. Mr. Sterling is currently unreachable. Any colleague with access or contact, please assist. The company’s survival is at stake.] The chat was dead silent. A few seconds later, Gavin’s avatar popped up. But the tone was unmistakably Tiffany’s. [@Elena Vance, sister, I know you mean well for the company, but Gavin is really not feeling well today and needs rest. Sending messages like this so late will just worry everyone.] [Besides… I’ve never heard Gavin mention this huge contract. Sister, please don’t be scammed by outsiders. If the contract is fake, Gavin will be so heartbroken for you. If the company suffers a loss, how could you afford to take responsibility alone?] Every word was a dagger. Before I could reply, a gray notification appeared on the screen. [You have been removed from the channel by the administrator.]

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When our son turned one, a top lab found the “genius gene” in his DNA. I poured money into his development, and my parents were thrilled, pledging to groom him as their heir. At dinner, I suggested the “Little Buffett” finance camp. Mark cut me off, slamming three full glasses down. “The first,” he slurred, “is to five years of working like a dog, never spending on myself. The second is to my genius son, whose tuition costs me tens of thousands a year!” He downed all three. “And the third is to me, the world’s biggest fool—with a wife who only throws money away!” I was shocked. “Our son has a gift! Should we just waste it?” My mother-in-law hugged our son. “Calm down. Evelyn meant well. Genius needs special investment.” Mark’s voice broke. “Mom, I won’t have a penny left for your retirement! If I’m laid off, we’ll be on the street!” I pulled out my phone. “I’ve already paid the $10,000 deposit.” He swept dishes off the table. “Fine! Let your rich family pay! We’ll link accounts under the ‘Fair Parenting’ system—every cent on our son, split 50-50!” Rage took over. “Fine! Split it! I’m not afraid!” But when the system activated, he was left speechless. 1 The “Fair Parenting” system, endorsed by the government, was famously impartial. Once you were linked, there was no backing out. “Fine, Evelyn,” Mark sneered, his breath reeking of liquor and rage. “You think you’re so smart. I’m sick of your family’s money-burning approach to education. Let’s do it! Right now! Whoever backs out is a coward!” He opened the app, a blue shield icon on his screen. His mother lunged for the phone. “Are you crazy? This is humiliating! Who splits the cost of raising their own child?” “I’ll get a job tomorrow, I won’t be a burden! But you can’t link this system!” Mark held the phone high above her head with one hand and slammed a thick stack of bank statements onto the table with the other. “Mom, open your eyes! In the last month alone—tuition, enrichment classes, some ridiculous ‘child development coach’—it’s been tens of thousands of dollars! My credit card is maxed out! I can’t take it anymore!” He was shouting so hard that tears welled in his eyes. His mother glanced at the statements, and the color drained from her face. She turned and snatched my phone. “Evelyn, dear, please! Mark is drunk. Don’t listen to him. This will ruin your relationship!” “What will your parents think of us? We’ll be more frugal, I promise! I won’t even eat meat! Please, I’m begging you!” A cold laugh escaped my lips. “Thank you for your concern, Mom. But it was your son who just accused me of being useless and demanded we split everything.” My eyes darted to our son, playing on the floor. “Leo!” I shrieked. “What’s wrong?” My mother-in-law froze, whipping her head around to look at her grandson. In that split second, I snatched my phone back from her loosened grip. My thumb slammed down on the “Confirm” button. Mark, seeing my decisiveness, mirrored my actions with a furious tap. “Evelyn!” my mother-in-law shrieked, and then her hand flew out, slapping me across the face. The sting was sharp, shocking. “You can’t do this! Cancel it! Quickly!” she pleaded, her tone shifting from anger to panic. “Evelyn, I was just so worried. Please, let’s cancel it… Did I hurt you?” I touched my reddening cheek, my gaze fixed on her and her son. “You love me so much, Mom. It’s overwhelming.” Mark just scoffed. “It’s too late, Mom. We can’t cancel it.” “The system is legally binding. As long as Evelyn and I are alive, every penny spent on Leo will be split fifty-fifty.” His mother’s face turned ashen. She swayed on her feet, a look of pure, unadulterated panic in her eyes. Ding. Two notifications chimed simultaneously from our phones. [Fair Parenting System Notice: Mr. Mark Davis and Ms. Evelyn Reed, you have successfully linked your accounts. This system is now in effect and is legally enforceable. All parenting-related expenses will be calculated with absolute fairness. This agreement is not affected by marital status. The first settlement will be processed in 24 hours. Please ensure sufficient funds are in your account.] Mark threw his head back and laughed. “Just you wait, Evelyn! When that first bill comes, we’ll see who’s laughing then!” 2 That night, I stared at my phone, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. Mark did work hard, and I had always been the one to manage his salary. I knew exactly what came in and what went out. In the last year alone, the imported, specially formulated milk for Leo cost four to five hundred dollars a month. The “Global Young Scientists” program was sixty-eight hundred a year for two classes a week. And then there were the ridiculously expensive potential assessments, the child development coach… My parents had helped out a lot. The ten-thousand-dollar deposit for the finance camp had come from my mother. But the bulk of the day-to-day expenses… they had come from Mark’s account. The first payment notification was due at 10 p.m. Was I really about to owe him a huge sum of money? I had just gone on a two-hundred-dollar grocery run yesterday, and I had used his card. “Scared now?” Mark drawled from the sofa, a smirk on his face. “Too late. You’re going to be crying when you see that bill.” At precisely 10 p.m., my phone buzzed. I took a deep breath and opened the notification. [Fair Parenting System Notice: First settlement complete. Regarding the submitted expense “August 5th grocery purchase of infant food, total $220.00”: This expense has been excluded from the cost-sharing calculation. This is for your information.] I blinked, my eyes widening in disbelief. At the same time, Mark shot up from the sofa, waving his phone in the air. “What the hell is this? The system must be bugged! Evelyn, what did you do? You’re the one who owes me money!” “Did my hundred and ten dollars just disappear into thin air? This isn’t fifty-fifty at all!” “Don’t you dare accuse me of anything, Mark!” I shot back. “How could I possibly cheat the system?” [System verification complete. The items from yesterday’s purchase were not consumed by the target child, Leo Davis.] “Bullshit!” Mark’s face was contorted with rage. “Not consumed by Leo? Then what, did the dog eat it?” [System accessing smart home surveillance and item recognition data… Displaying now.] The living room television flickered to life. His mother rushed to turn it off, but the power button was disabled. On the screen, we watched as she hid the expensive, imported formula I had just bought. She then took an empty can of the same brand and filled it with a cheap, generic powder. The scene shifted to that afternoon. She was feeding Leo a bottle made with the cheap, switched formula. A hot rush of anger surged through me. “Mom! What is the meaning of this? Why did you switch his formula? Why are you feeding Leo cheap garbage?” Her eyes darted around the room. “Evelyn, Mark, don’t misunderstand!” she stammered. “It’s not bad formula. It’s a special recipe from my hometown, even more nutritious than that imported stuff! I was just afraid you young people wouldn’t believe me, so I swapped it. I was only trying to help!” “Help?” I demanded, my suspicion growing. “If you were trying to help, why did you hide the formula I bought?” “I…” She was at a loss for words. Mark cut in, his brow furrowed. “What are you yelling at her for? She was just trying to do what’s best for Leo! All that imported stuff is probably just a scam anyway! Would Mom ever do anything to harm her own grandson?” I almost laughed. “Fine. Forget the formula. What about his food? Did you cook the cod and organic vegetables I bought? Did Leo eat any of it?” 3 “Of course I did!” his mother cried, her voice filled with indignation. “I make him a different nutritious meal every single day! It’s just that today…” She clutched her chest, her voice catching. “Mark, I went to the doctor a few days ago. He said I’m anemic, that I need to eat better. I know you have a lot on your plate, so I didn’t want to tell you. But I was so dizzy today, I just… I ate Leo’s meal myself. I’m so sorry…” She sobbed, her performance utterly convincing. Mark immediately rushed to her side. “Mom! Why didn’t you tell me? Your health is the most important thing!” I looked at my mother-in-law, whose complexion was healthier than mine, and felt a surge of disgust. “It’s a good thing we linked this system,” I said, my voice cold. “Every penny spent on Leo needs to be accounted for.” “Evelyn, have you no conscience?” Mark snarled, glaring at me. “Mom is clearly not well, and you’re still being sarcastic! It’s our fault for neglecting her!” His mother’s sobs grew louder. “Mark, it’s fine. It’s all my fault. This system… it’s just trying to tear our family apart! Maybe we should just cancel it?” “Cancel it?” I stood up straight. “Mom, once you start something, you have to see it through.” “Mom,” Mark asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice, “be honest with me. Has this happened before? With the formula, or any of Leo’s other things?” “No! Absolutely not!” she interrupted, her voice shrill. “Mark, how can you not trust me? It was just this once!” He seemed to accept her answer. “It was just an accident. All the other money we’ve spent on Leo over the years was legitimate! I’ve done the math. When this is all said and done, you’re going to owe me at least a million dollars!” A humorless smile touched my lips. “We’ll see about that, Mark. We’ll see who owes who in the end.” … The next morning, another notification arrived. [System initiating retroactive review of “Genius Child All-Inclusive Insurance,” premium $3,000.] [Verification has revealed an abnormal beneficiary designation. Ruling: Evelyn Reed’s account to be credited $1,500. Mark Davis’s account to be debited $1,500.] “What the hell?” Mark’s roar nearly shook the house. “Evelyn! Look at this! This stupid system has lost its mind! We split that premium fifty-fifty last year!” I stared at the credit notification on my phone, completely bewildered. “System, what’s going on? This was already settled.” [System notice: Anomaly detected in the designated beneficiary of the policy.] “What kind of anomaly? The policy is for my son!” Mark paced the room like a caged animal. His mother emerged from the kitchen with breakfast, a look of concern on her face. “What’s all the shouting about? An insurance policy? Maybe the company made a mistake? Calm down, let’s talk this through.” “A mistake?” Mark was incredulous. “Mom, even if they made a mistake, they should be refunding the fifteen hundred to me! Why is Evelyn getting credited while I’m getting debited? This is robbery!” “Stop freaking out and let’s see what the system says!” I snapped. [System notice: Verifying policy information and modification logs… Verification complete.] [The insured individual has been modified. The currently linked identification and biometric data belong to ‘Oscar Davis.’]

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1 In the conference room, the Director of Operations, a new hire who’d been parachuted in three months ago, pointed a laser at the PowerPoint slide and addressed the entire room. “The art department is a parasite on this company,” he declared, his voice dripping with disdain. “A single character model takes you two weeks. An outsourced team can deliver it in three days.” I lifted my head and met his gaze. “And you’re sure the quality from an outsourced team would pass muster with our investors?” “Quality?” He let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Does our lead artist, Mr. Hayes, believe he’s crafting priceless masterpieces that no one else can touch?” A few sycophantic chuckles echoed around the table. Our boss, Mr. Roberts, slammed his hand on the table. “The art department’s budget is cut by half this month.” I snapped my laptop shut, stood up, and walked out. At the door, I paused and glanced back at him. What he didn’t know was that I held the source files to every single one of this company’s blockbuster games. Leaning against the window in the hallway, I opened my phone. A message from the Apex Interactive HR rep, sent three days ago, was still sitting there, unread. “Liam, have you given our offer any more thought? We’re ready for you whenever you are.” I didn’t reply. I just pocketed the phone. The elevator dinged open and Lila stepped out. She froze for a second when she saw me. I’d mentored her personally, brought her up from a fresh-faced graduate three years ago who could barely handle Photoshop. I didn’t blame her for staying silent in the meeting just now—you have to protect your own job. But I’d seen her cozying up to Steven’s clique for weeks. “Liam…” she started. “What is it?” She bit her lip, her eyes darting away. “About the meeting just now, I…” “Don’t worry about it,” I cut her off. “Everyone picks a side.” I turned and walked back to my office. She remained rooted to the spot, her eyes welling up with tears. At nine that night, the art department’s group chat exploded. Steven had posted a new notice: Effective immediately, all overtime meal stipends and cab fare reimbursements for the art department are canceled. Dave, one of the older modelers, typed a single question mark. “Steven, we often have to work until eleven or midnight. This is…” Steven’s reply was instantaneous. “This company doesn’t pay for dead weight. If you feel mistreated, you’re free to resign.” The chat went dead silent. I stared at my phone screen, then opened my notes app. I took a screenshot, logged the date, and saved it. That made seven. The next morning, Lila knocked on my office door. “Liam, Steven wants me to take over the character design for Shadowblade.” I looked up at her. Shadowblade was the company’s new thirty-million-dollar project. I’d spent a solid month, burning the midnight oil, to perfect the main character design. “He said the original art is too dark, that the investors won’t like it,” she mumbled, avoiding my eyes. “He wants me to design a new version with a… lighter, more accessible style.” “Fine,” I said. “Go ahead.” She was clearly taken aback by how easily I agreed, staring at me for a full two seconds. “So… the source files?” “They’re on the company server. Find them yourself.” I looked back down at my monitor. She lingered for another moment before turning and leaving. What she didn’t know was that the files on the server were all flattened exports. The real source files—with every layer, every group, every smart object intact—were on my portable hard drive. Without them, you couldn’t even adjust the color palette, let alone make any meaningful changes. At noon, I headed downstairs to grab lunch from the convenience store. Just as I reached the main entrance, I saw Steven and Mark from marketing sharing a smoke. “That Liam Hayes has such a stick up his ass,” Mark was saying, flicking ash onto the pavement. “Thinks he’s untouchable just because he’s been here forever.” Steven took a long drag from his cigarette. “Don’t worry. I’ll wear him down. I’ll have him crawling out of here on his own within three months.” Mark laughed. “About time someone put those dinosaurs in their place.” I stood just inside the glass doors, unseen, unheard. I turned around and headed back upstairs. The elevator was empty. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Lila. “Liam, I can’t open the files. It says layers are missing…” I typed back two words. “That’s normal.” Her reply came in a flash. “What do I do? Steven wants to see a first draft by tomorrow!” I didn’t answer. I just shoved my phone back in my pocket. The elevator doors slid open. I walked back to my office and closed the door behind me. I opened my desk drawer and pulled out a black portable hard drive. A small label on it read: Shadowblade – Full Asset Backup. Next to it were two other drives, labeled Starfall and Abyss Hunt. Those three games had earned the company over two hundred million dollars. I had designed every core character, every key environment, every UI element. And I had a backup of every single source file. I locked the drives back in the drawer and leaned back in my chair. The sky outside was turning a bruised shade of gray. At seven p.m., the department chat blew up again. It was a message from Lila. “Hey everyone, from now on, all art assets will be reviewed by our director, Steven. Please don’t send anything to Liam anymore.” Immediately after, Steven tagged everyone in the group. “@all Starting tomorrow, all art files must be uploaded to the new shared folder. Liam Hayes’s administrative access has been revoked.” Dave chimed in. “What about all the previous assets?” Steven replied. “Liam will cooperate with the handover. Right, @Liam Hayes?” I looked at the message on my phone and typed a single word. “Fine.” After sending it, I left the group chat. My phone buzzed again. A private message from Lila. “Liam, I’m so sorry…” I didn’t reply. I just deleted her contact. It wasn’t out of anger. It was just… necessary. Once she’d chosen Steven’s side, she was on the other team. And you don’t owe the other team an explanation. The next day, when I arrived at the office, I found my keycard wouldn’t work. The lock on my office door had been changed. A sheet of A4 paper was taped to the door: Art Department Reorganization. Liam Hayes will temporarily work from the main conference room. I picked up my coffee mug and walked to the conference room. I pushed the door open. Inside, the room was being used for storage, piled high with old boxes and discarded equipment. In the corner was a folding table and a single plastic chair. I placed my mug on the table and sat down. My phone rang. An unfamiliar number. “Hello, is this Liam Hayes? I’m a reporter from GameForge Magazine. I’d like to interview you about your design philosophy for Shadowblade…” “Sorry,” I said flatly. “I’m no longer in charge of that project.” I hung up. They called back immediately. “What? Then who is? We were planning a cover story for our next issue…” “You’ll have to ask the company’s Director of Operations, Steven Moore.” I hung up again and blocked the number. Ten minutes later, Steven stormed into the conference room, his face red with fury. “Liam! What the hell was that? Why did you turn down an interview with a reporter?” I looked up at him. “Didn’t you say I wasn’t in charge anymore?” “That’s an internal restructuring! To the public, you’re still the Art Director!” “Oh.” I went back to looking at my phone. Steven was practically vibrating with rage. “Don’t push your luck! The company has thirty million invested in this project. You sink it, and I’ll make sure you pay!” I put down my phone and looked at him. “Steven, you said this was an internal restructuring?” “Yes!” “So, what are my new responsibilities?” He hesitated. “You… you are to provide art support to Lila and assist her in her work.” “Understood.” I looked back down at my phone. Steven stood there, fuming, before finally slamming the door on his way out. From the hallway, I could hear his muffled voice. “Just you wait. We’ll see how long that attitude lasts.” I leaned back in the plastic chair and closed my eyes. My phone vibrated again. It was the HR rep from Apex. “Liam, we were hoping to fly you out to Austin next week to chat. We’ll arrange for your flights and hotel.” I stared at the message, thought for a moment, and replied. “Okay.” After sending the message, I opened my notes app. I had a running list of over a dozen of Steven’s “brilliant moves”: • Public humiliation in a company-wide meeting. • Cancellation of department benefits. • Changing my office lock without notice. • Revoking my administrative access. • Assigning Lila to take over my core project. Every single entry had a screenshot, a date, and a list of witnesses. I locked the note and put my phone away. Outside, it had started to rain. Fat drops splattered against the glass, a steady, rhythmic tapping. Like a countdown clock. At three in the afternoon, Mr. Roberts called me into his office. He sat back in his plush leather chair, drumming his fingers on the mahogany desk. “Liam, the company is in a phase of cost-cutting and efficiency improvement. I need you to understand that.” I stayed silent, waiting. “Steven is an MBA graduate with extensive management experience. I need you to cooperate more with his work.” “Mm-hmm.” “The Shadowblade project is critical. The investors are coming to see a demo next week. You need to hand over all the source files to Lila.” I met his gaze. “The source files aren’t on the company server.” He paused. “Then where are they?” “On my personal hard drive. As per company policy, employees are entitled to keep personal backups of their work.” Roberts’s face hardened. “Liam, what are you trying to say?” “Nothing. Just stating the facts.” “Are you threatening me?” I stood up. “Mr. Roberts, I’m just presenting the facts.” As I walked out of his office, I heard the sound of a ceramic mug shattering against the wall. In the hallway, Mark was leaning against a pillar, a smug, knowing smirk on his face. “Really, Liam? Was it worth it?” I ignored him and walked back to my makeshift office in the conference room. The moment I sat down, my phone lit up with notifications. Someone had sent me screenshots from a smaller art department group chat—one I’d been kicked out of long ago. Steven had written: “Liam is just trying to sabotage the project out of spite. People like him are a cancer to this company.” Lila had replied: “It’s true. He has no regard for the bigger picture.” Dave had simply added a thumbs-up emoji. Then came another message from Steven. “I’ve already recommended to Mr. Roberts that we terminate his employment immediately.” The person sending me the screenshots was Chris, the youngest intern in the art department. He sent me a private message: “Liam, this is messed up. They’re going too far.” I replied: “It’s fine. Just keep watching.” At eight p.m., I packed up my things to leave. As I was walking out of the building, I saw Steven and a few other department heads having dinner at the restaurant across the street. Through the large glass window, I could see him raising a glass, his face flushed with victory. “That prick Liam Hayes… I guarantee you, I’ll have him out on his ass within three months!” The others raised their glasses in a toast. “To Steven!” “He had it coming!” I watched them for a moment from the darkness, then turned and walked away. On the subway ride home, I opened my notes app and added two more entries. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was an Austin area code. “Mr. Hayes? This is Apex Interactive HR. Would next Wednesday work for your visit to Austin?” “Yes, that’s fine.” “Wonderful! Our studio head is very excited to meet you. He said your character design for Shadowblade is one of the most stunning concepts he’s ever seen.” A small smile touched my lips. “Thank you.” I hung up and leaned my head against the cool glass of the window. The city’s neon lights blurred past, a river of vibrant color. Just like this city, I thought. All glitz and glamour on the surface, but underneath, it’s nothing but calculations. The next morning, I was stopped by security in the lobby. “Mr. Hayes, your keycard has been deactivated.” “Why?” “I don’t have that information, sir. You’ll have to ask HR.” I went to the HR office. A notice was taped to the door. Due to an office restructuring, all art department keycard access has been reset. For questions, please contact Director Steven Moore. I took a picture of the notice and left. I found a seat at the coffee shop downstairs and sent a message to Chris. “Keep an eye out for me. Let me know if anything happens.” “You got it, Liam!” Ten minutes later, a new message came through. “Liam, Steven is holding a meeting in the conference room. He’s talking about reorganizing all art assets and putting Lila in charge of the library.” I set down my coffee cup. “What else?” “He’s saying you’re violating professional ethics by hiding the source files and that he has already filed a formal complaint with Roberts to have you penalized.” I stared at the screen and typed. “Keep me posted.” A little while later, another message. “Lila just told everyone she can redraw the character from scratch. She said she doesn’t need your source files.” I chuckled. Redraw it? I had gone through thirty-seven different versions of the main character for Shadowblade. I had over a hundred pages of rough sketches alone. Did she think this was a coloring book? At noon, I received an email from HR. “In light of your refusal to cooperate with company directives, the company has decided to deduct this month’s performance bonus and issue a formal warning.” The email was CC’d to every department head. My phone immediately started buzzing with messages. Some were sympathetic. Others were just a string of popcorn emojis from people enjoying the drama. I ignored them all and set my work chats to mute. I opened my personal email. Another message from Apex Interactive. “Liam, our studio head also said we can offer you a private studio and allow you to build your own hand-picked team.” I stared at the message for a long time. Finally, I typed back: “Great. See you next Wednesday.” That afternoon, Chris sent me another screenshot. It was from the art department chat. Lila had posted a new character design. The style was childish, the proportions were off, and the color scheme was garish. It looked like something a kindergartener would draw. The chat was silent. Five minutes later, Steven finally broke the silence. “Excellent! This is exactly the kind of fresh, accessible style we need! So much better than that gloomy stuff Liam was doing!” Mark immediately chimed in: “Totally. This will appeal much more to a younger demographic.” A cascade of likes and thumbs-ups followed. Only Chris messaged me privately: “Liam, are these people blind?” I replied: “They’re not blind. They’re pretending.” I was still sitting in the coffee shop at nine that night.

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We’d been married for nearly two years, and everyone told me I’d hit the jackpot. My husband was attentive, and my mother-in-law was enthusiastic. That was, until I got pregnant. My morning sickness was debilitating, and my husband would hold me tight, looking heartbroken. “It hurts me to see you like this,” he’d whisper. “Maybe we should just terminate it?” 1 The nausea came in waves, violent and overwhelming. I had just managed to swallow a few bites of toast before giving it all back to the toilet bowl. I collapsed onto the cold bathroom tiles, my vision spotting black. My ears rang, and my throat felt like I’d swallowed broken glass. Brian crouched beside me, a warm washcloth in hand. He wiped my face and neck with that familiar furrowed brow—the look of a loving, concerned husband. “Sarah,” his voice was low, almost hypnotic. “Seeing you suffer like this… it breaks my heart.” I didn’t have the strength to speak. I just wanted the room to stop spinning. He leaned in closer, his warm breath tickling my ear. He sounded like he was sharing a sweet secret. “Maybe… maybe we should go to the clinic down the street and just end it? You can recover, get your health back, and we can try again later. Hmm?” Time seemed to freeze. I snapped my head around, locking eyes with him. I saw concern on the surface, but underneath, there was something else. Something floaty and insincere that I had never noticed before. It made my stomach churn harder than the morning sickness ever did. It was a chill that went straight to my bones. Without thinking, summoning every ounce of strength I had left, I raised my hand and slapped him. Smack! The sound was crisp against the tiled walls. His head snapped to the side. He froze, hand cupping his cheek, and when he looked back at me, the mask of concern had cracked. In its place was a goofy, gaslighting grin. “Tsk,” he clicked his tongue, reaching out to hug me again. “For real? I was just joking. Look at you—I bet your nausea is gone now that you’re angry, right?” I shuddered, pushing his hands away. I used the wall to pull myself up. Anger burned away the nausea. It burned my eyes. A joke? He was joking about the life of our child? He was still smiling. The smile looked like grease floating on water—slippery and gross. “Okay, okay, don’t be mad. I was wrong, alright? I just saw you were in pain and wanted to distract you.” He spoke so lightly, as if he hadn’t just suggested killing our baby. That night, I slept with my back to him. I didn’t say another word. He tried to cuddle me, but I shrugged him off in silence. In the dark, I kept my eyes wide open, my hand resting on my flat stomach. For the first time, I felt the heavy, terrifying weight of needing to protect this life with everything I had. Brian’s breathing evened out quickly. He slept soundly. He had a clear conscience. 2 The next morning, the sickness returned with a vengeance. Brian had already left for work. On the dining table sat a glass of warm milk and the croissants I usually liked. The milk glowed softly in the clear glass. I had zero appetite, but thinking of the baby, I forced myself to sit down. I picked up the glass. The warmth seeped into my fingertips. Just as I raised it to my lips, the memory of last night—his “joke,” his smiling face—crashed into my mind without warning. I froze. Driven by some instinct I couldn’t name, I put the glass down. I turned around, went into the study, and opened my laptop. We had installed a small security camera in the corner of the kitchen cabinets a few months ago to catch a leak we suspected was coming from the upstairs neighbor. We fixed the leak, but we never took the camera down. I found the app, clicked it open, and pulled up the footage from this morning. I dragged the timeline bar. On the screen, Brian was wearing his pajamas, standing at the island with his back to the camera. First, he heated the milk and poured it into my glass, just like normal. Then, he paused. He looked left, then right. The movement was sharp, guilty. Confirming he was alone, he quickly opened the top drawer of the fridge—the one we used for condiments. He pulled out a small, amber glass bottle. No label. He unscrewed the cap and shook some white powder into the milk. It happened fast—just a shake or two. He capped the bottle, shoved it back into the drawer, and picked up a spoon. He stirred the milk slowly, methodically. He stirred it for a long time. His profile, bathed in the morning light, was completely expressionless. My blood stopped flowing. My limbs turned to ice. Only my heart remained alive, hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I stared at the screen as he put down the spoon, carried the milk to the table, and even adjusted the plate of croissants to make it look nice. The recording ended. 3 I sat in the chair, motionless, for a long time. Then, I bolted to the dining room, grabbed the milk, ran to the bathroom, and poured it all down the toilet. The creamy white liquid swirled and vanished. I watched the water settle. In the mirror, my face was as white as a ghost. Why? My phone rang. It was my mother-in-law, Joyce. I stared at the name dancing on the screen. I took a deep breath, swiped answer, and hit Record. “Sarah, honey! Are you up? Feeling any better?” Her voice came through the speaker, overly enthusiastic as always. “Still throwing up, Mom,” I said, making my voice sound weak and airy. “Oh, you poor thing. Is Brian taking care of you?” “He warmed some milk for me. He just left.” “Milk is good. Nutritious.” She paused, then lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, almost bragging. “You drink that milk. It guarantees you’ll have a fat baby boy later on.” I gripped the phone, my nails digging into my palm. “The milk is magical?” “Of course!” She couldn’t hide the smugness in her tone. “Just listen to Mom. I wouldn’t steer you wrong.” My heart plummeted. “Mom, you know people don’t care about gender anymore. But… the Miller family line… you don’t want it to end with Brian, right?” She sighed, a sound so fake it made me want to gag. “I’m just thinking of you two. If the first one is a girl, the pressure for the second one is huge. Brian doesn’t say it, but I know he wants a son.” I didn’t reply. I just listened to her breathing on the other end. “So, I made a decision for you,” she whispered, her voice hissing like a snake. “I talked to Brian, and I consulted a specialist. I got a guaranteed formula. It ensures you’ll carry a boy next time.” I leaned against the cold tile wall to keep from sliding to the floor. My ears rang. Her smug voice mixed with the image of Brian’s expressionless face as he poisoned my drink. So that was it. The “family line.” The “formula.” They were conspiring to murder my unborn child with poison because they thought it was a girl. “Sarah? Are you listening?” Joyce raised her voice when I didn’t respond. I opened my mouth. My throat was tight, but my voice came out strangely calm, submissive. “I’m listening, Mom. I… I understand.” “Good! That’s a good girl!” She laughed, satisfied. “Relax, heal up. Mom is waiting to hold that grandson!” The call ended. I lowered the phone and splashed cold water on my face. I looked at my eyes in the mirror. The panic and pain were freezing over, hardening into something dark and sharp. I gently touched my flat stomach. “Baby,” I whispered to the reflection. “I’m sorry. I almost didn’t protect you.” The corners of my mouth lifted in a tiny, icy smile. “Since they don’t want you,” I whispered, “Mommy is going to make them pay for everything.” 4 The first thing I did was put on rubber kitchen gloves. The milk was flushed, but the glass was still in the sink. I didn’t wash it. instead, I found a brand-new Ziploc bag and carefully placed the glass inside, sealing it tight. There might still be residue on the walls of the cup. Then, I went to the kitchen and opened the fridge drawer. The small brown bottle was hidden behind a jar of pickles. I pushed aside the clutter and grabbed it. It felt cold and smooth. I bagged it in a separate Ziploc. My hands were steady, but my heart was drumming in my ears. I had the evidence. Now, I needed to leave. This house had become a viper’s nest. I couldn’t risk my child for another second. But I couldn’t just storm out. That would spook them. I called my best friend, Megan. She picked up on the first ring. “Meg, it’s me.” My voice was shockingly calm. “Short version: Brian and his mom are trying to induce a miscarriage because they think I’m having a girl. He spiked my milk.” Silence for two seconds. Then a sharp intake of breath and the sound of a chair scraping back. “Where are you? Are you safe? Did you drink it?” Her questions fired like bullets. “I’m home. Safe for now. Didn’t drink it. I saw it on the nanny cam. I bagged the cup and the bottle. Meg, I need to move out immediately, but I can’t let them know I know. I need a legitimate excuse.” Megan’s brain worked fast. “Pregnancy complications. Tell them the sickness is too severe and you need 24/7 care. Tell them you’re going to your mom’s or coming here. Joyce is guilty; she’ll be happy you’re out from under their noses so they can hide the evidence. She won’t object; she’ll probably encourage it.” “Okay.” I closed my eyes. “I’ll pack. I’ll tell them my mom insisted on taking me in for a few days. Find me a rental. Somewhere they don’t know.” “On it. Also, Sarah, check your phone for tracking apps. Use a burner or communicate via encrypted apps if you can. Try to get a sample of that powder without touching it, but prioritize your safety.” “Understood.” I hung up and packed a small suitcase. Essentials only. Documents, electronics. I checked my phone; it seemed clean. Then I called my mother. “Mom,” I said. Hearing her voice made my nose sting, but I bit my lip. “I’m really sick. I want to come home for a few days. Can you pick me up? Like, right now.” My mom sensed something was wrong immediately, but she didn’t ask. “I’m on my way.”

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The night I stayed at my best friend’s house, someone entered my room. I struggled desperately, but the other person pinned my hands above my head. “Haven’t seen you for a month, did you miss me?” The low, clean voice was exceptionally seductive. Before I could speak, he domineeringly sealed my lips. “Nora, I’m back.” Just then, my best friend Chloe’s voice came from outside the door. The man on top of me froze instantly, lowering his voice. “Who are you?!” I answered, trembling, “I’m Nora.” “Damn it.” The man cursed and quickly got off me. 1 In the darkness, he took out his phone and sent a message. The footsteps outside stopped abruptly. Soon, Chloe turned back and went out the door, the sound of the door closing echoing from outside. I breathed a sigh of relief. Confirming Chloe had left, I turned on the bedside lamp. The room was instantly illuminated. Ethan’s sharp, handsome face appeared clearly before me. He was Chloe’s boyfriend. Chloe told me he was on a business trip out of town and wouldn’t be back anytime soon. But for some reason, he suddenly returned tonight. My clothes were disheveled, my face flushed, and I pulled the quilt defensively, shrinking to the foot of the bed. Seeing the panic on my face, a trace of annoyance crossed Ethan’s brow. “Sorry, you were sleeping in Chloe’s room, wearing her pajamas. I mistook you… for her.” “…” I was still in shock, unable to speak for a long time. After calming down, I whispered, “Yeah, I know. Just a misunderstanding.” Ethan and Chloe had been dating for almost a year. He was somewhat aloof and didn’t talk much. During the few times we ate together, our exchanges didn’t exceed three sentences. If I hadn’t been staying at Chloe’s place temporarily today, this mix-up wouldn’t have happened. “Thanks.” Hearing my words, Ethan’s brow finally relaxed. Thinking of something, he turned and opened the bedroom door. “I’ll go down first. I told her the security guard stopped me at the gate. It would be trouble if she didn’t see me.” 2 Fifteen minutes later, Chloe came up. But she was alone. “Nora, were you sleeping in the room just now?” “Yeah. Was a bit tired, so rested early. Did you call me just now?” “No. But Ethan suddenly came to find me, so I went down.” Hearing Ethan’s name, I couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable. “Then why didn’t he come up?” “I told him you were staying here for a few days. Since it’s late, he was afraid you’d be uncomfortable with a man coming up, so he left.” Seeing Chloe acting normal, I felt much calmer. At night, after Chloe fell asleep, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Ambiguous scenes with Ethan kept flashing in my mind. The burning breath on my neck and chest. The hot palm wandering on my waist. The firm and strong body pressed against me. It seemed the harder I tried to suppress them, the more those images spread like a virus… Invading all my nerves. Chloe said although Ethan treated her well, he was somewhat cold in that aspect. But just now, he was clearly overly enthusiastic… Like a hungry wolf, wanting to devour me alive. 3 The next evening, Chloe called Ethan over, and we ate at a nearby restaurant together. After ordering, Chloe went out to the restroom. Only Ethan and I were left in the private room. Ethan and I didn’t communicate much to begin with; he was quiet, and I was somewhat introverted. After what happened last night, the atmosphere was even more awkward when we were alone. After a moment of silence, I reached for the water pitcher to pour water, trying to find something to do. But Ethan, sitting opposite, reached over at the same time. The moment his cool fingertips touched mine… I jerked my hand back as if electrocuted. Noticing my reaction, Ethan also froze, his ears turning slightly red. But a moment later, he took the initiative to pick up the pitcher and poured me a glass of water. “About last night, do you still mind?” Ethan handed over the glass. Looking at his slender fingers with distinct knuckles, my face instantly turned red. “No… don’t mind anymore. Just a mix-up, we both know.” I lowered my eyes to take the glass, making myself look calm enough. But my mind associated everything with those long hands of his. The hot palm sliding down my waist. Every inch moved brought a burning numbness. I hadn’t dated much. Except for a first love in high school that lasted only three months and stopped at hugging and kissing. I had no intimate contact with men at all. What Ethan did to me was a first. “Don’t worry, I’ll pretend nothing happened. After all, you didn’t mean to. I won’t tell Chloe either, affecting your relationship.” Chloe was my best friend. I never thought about having anything to do with my best friend’s boyfriend. Ethan didn’t cause me any substantial harm either. Just letting it pass. That was the best for everyone. “Thank you.” Soon, Chloe came back. Our conversation stopped abruptly. Near the end of the meal, Chloe received a call saying there was an urgent matter at the company and she had to go back for overtime. She asked Ethan to drive me home. Ethan agreed. 4 The past few days, because Ethan was on a business trip, Chloe asked me to keep her company. Now that Ethan was back, he would naturally go to Chloe’s often. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to continue staying there and disturb them. The apartment I rented was in an old complex; cars couldn’t drive in, and there were no streetlights on the side. Afraid it would be dangerous for me alone, Ethan politely walked me downstairs to the apartment building. When we reached the entrance, the familiar security guard uncle walked over. “Oh, boyfriend sending you back today. Hmm, handsome. Little girl has good taste!” Hearing the security guard’s words, I instantly blushed. I waved my hand hurriedly, “Uncle, you’re mistaken, he’s not my boyfriend. Don’t talk nonsense!” “Still shy. What’s there to hide, such a handsome boyfriend, can’t show people?” The security guard didn’t believe me and teased. I looked awkwardly at the silent Ethan beside me, wishing I could find a hole to crawl into. “This is my best friend’s boyfriend. Just dropping me off on the way.” Seeing my nervous and helpless look, the security guard realized he was mistaken. Apologized and walked away. “Um… thank you for sending me back. I’ll go up first, you go back early too.” “Mm.” After getting home, I slumped onto the sofa, feeling deflated for a moment. The security guard really overestimated me. How could an ordinary, inconspicuous existence like me have a boyfriend as handsome as Ethan? He was six foot two, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. A model-like face even more exquisite than celebrities. Probably due to my personality since childhood, I actually had a natural fear of that kind of striking, aggressive beauty. But Chloe was different. She was a standard bright and flamboyant beauty. Whether in appearance or temperament, she matched Ethan well.

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Five years after I staged my own death, a system notification jolted me back to the life I’d left behind. My daughter, the one I had to leave in that other world, was dying. How is that possible? When I gave birth and faked my death to return home, I made my last wish crystal clear: take care of our daughter. After all, the final request of the woman you loved, your ghost of a memory, is supposed to be sacred. Clive Hawthorne swore he would protect our Cici. But the system’s explanation painted a grim picture. After I “died,” a lookalike named Jessica had wormed her way into his life. Publicly, she showered Cici with affection. Privately, she poisoned their relationship, whispering insidious suggestions in Clive’s ear. She hinted that if Cici’s birth hadn’t caused the amniotic fluid embolism, I would never have died. Cici never looked much like me to begin with. Fueled by Jessica’s venom, Clive’s affection for our daughter soured into indifference, then outright neglect. And now, Cici was on the brink of death. Accused by Jessica of breaking something of mine, she’d been forced to kneel in the freezing snow, her breathing faint and shallow. A bitter, cold laugh escaped my lips. “I knew Clive was unreliable, but I never imagined the idiot was this unreliable.” “System,” I commanded, my voice tight with fury, “send me back. Now.” A replacement, after all, is just a pale imitation. What’s a lookalike compared to the real thing, returned from the grave? … When I materialized, the scene was even worse than I’d imagined. My daughter was a small, fragile heap in the snow, her tiny body nearly swallowed by the drifts. Her face was flushed a dangerous red, and frozen tear tracks glistened like shards of ice on her cheeks. She was still murmuring, delirious. “Daddy… I didn’t… Cici didn’t break Mommy’s things. I didn’t do it.” The sight shattered me. I’ve lived my life without regrets, but my one great failing was my daughter. I thought I had secured her future, left her in the safest hands possible. I never dreamed she would be tormented like this. Eight years ago, a car crash had left me in a coma. My parents, their hair turning white overnight, were devastated. That’s when the system found me. [Successfully win the heart of Clive Hawthorne and bear his child, and you will be granted one wish.] Three years later, my mission was complete. I refused the system’s offer to stay in that world. My wish was to go home, to be with my parents. They were both gravely ill, and I needed to be there for them in their final years. Because I’d completed the mission so well, the system made me a promise: after my parents passed, I would have one chance to return. I had just buried them when the system’s alert came through, telling me my daughter was about to die. “Cici, baby, it’s okay,” I whispered, wiping the tears from my own eyes. I scooped her frigid body into my arms. “Mommy’s back. No one will ever hurt you again.” This wasn’t the time for grief. The priority was getting her to a hospital. Even after five years, the security code for the main gate worked. My fingers still remembered. But I’d barely taken two steps when a shrill voice cut through the air. “You little bitch! Did I say you could get up? You run now and I’ll tell your father. He’ll never want to see you again!” Jessica climbed out of her car, her tirade screeching to a halt the moment she saw my face. Her eyes widened, a flicker of confusion and fear in them. “Who… who are you? Why do you look so much like her?” I glanced up. She truly did look like me, about eighty percent. But her upper lip was too thin, giving her a perpetually cruel, sharp look. “Get out of my way,” I snarled. “You hurt my daughter. I’ll deal with you later.” I tried to move past her, but she grabbed my arm, her grip like a vise. Her eyes scanned my face, burning with a jealous fire. Everything she had, she owed to that resemblance. Before I could answer, her eyes widened again, but this time, the jealousy morphed into triumphant arrogance. “Of course. I should have known. You’re just some cheap knock-off who’s been under the knife! Trying to replace me? Too bad. Clive hates fakes.” I knew she was talking about my nose, the one that had been broken years ago when I took a punch for Clive. It had left a tiny, almost imperceptible imperfection. He used to love kissing that exact spot when we were in bed. Jessica’s confidence returned in a rush. She flicked a perfectly manicured nail, her chin held high. “A fake like you can try to win over this little brat, but it won’t do you any good.” Her eyes narrowed with a flash of pure malice. “Besides, once I have my own baby, this little brat won’t be necessary anymore.” A rage colder and harder than the winter air seized me. Cici’s body was growing hotter in my arms, a sure sign of a raging fever. I suppressed the urge to throttle Jessica right there. Instead, I snatched the car keys from her hand, unlocked the door, and gently placed Cici inside. “Are you insane? You can’t just steal my keys!” This time, I didn’t hold back. I snapped, my hand cracking across her face in a sharp slap. “You…!” “What do you think Clive will do,” I said, my voice dangerously low, “when he finds out you almost killed his daughter?” Jessica froze, like a hen with its neck suddenly wrung. A flicker of genuine fear crossed her face. She tormented Cici in secret and kept Clive at a distance from his daughter, but if the girl actually died, she knew Clive would never forgive her. She still hadn’t fully figured him out, hadn’t completely secured her place. Ignoring her pale, shifting expression, I jumped into the driver’s seat and sped toward the best hospital in the city. “How could you let this happen? As her parents… Malnutrition, delayed bone development, second-degree frostbite…” With every word the doctor spoke, my heart sank deeper, the weight of my guilt growing heavier. “I know,” I whispered, my voice thick. “It’s my fault. I’m a terrible mother.” The doctor sighed, his expression softening slightly. “Look, raising a child is a two-person job. You need to get her father down here. Your daughter has been through hell. She needs both of you.” After he left, I borrowed a phone from the front desk and dialed Clive’s number, my face a mask of cold fury. “Clive Hawthorne, is this how you take care of our daughter?” “Right now, I want you to get your ass down to the hospital and pay the bills.” The familiar sound of my voice made him pause. I heard the sharp intake of breath, the disbelief. “Clara?” I nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see me. “Yes. It’s me. I’m back.” My voice hardened. “Clive, if I hadn’t come back, you would have let our daughter die. What happened to the promise you made me when I was on my deathbed?” Silence. He remembered. I could feel it across the line. He started to explain, his voice shaky. “Clara, listen, I can…” He stopped, then let out a hollow, self-deprecating laugh. “Scammers are getting more sophisticated every day. You almost had me.” He sighed, a weary, condescending tone creeping into his voice. “I’ll let this go, just because your voice sounds like hers. But if you ever try this again, I’ll make sure you can never speak again.” I was speechless. What an idiot. Because of the system’s rules, I could never tell him the whole truth. But I had tried to prepare him, telling him over and over again not to despair if I died suddenly, that miracles could happen, that we might see each other again. I’d repeated it so often, hoping it would sink in. Clearly, it hadn’t. I didn’t have time to argue or prove myself. Cici needed me. I cut him off. “If you ever want to see Clara Vance again, get to City General Hospital.” Then I hung up. I knew he would come. Whether he believed me or not, the mention of my full name would be enough to make him show up. I rushed back to the room. As I pushed the door open, I saw Jessica yanking Cici by the hair, trying to drag her out of the hospital bed. “Stop it! What are you doing? Can’t you see she’s on an IV drip?” Jessica shot me a contemptuous look. “I’m taking her home, obviously. I can’t have people seeing her in a hospital. They’ll think I’m not taking good care of her. She’s not going to die, anyway.” Blood was backing up in Cici’s IV line. Her face was chalk-white, but she didn’t fight back. She was completely limp, resigned. My heart twisted in agony. I was terrified to fight back physically, scared of hurting Cici more in the struggle. The rage built inside me, hot and suffocating. Seeing my hesitation, Jessica sneered. “Don’t tell me you actually care about this little wretch. She’s just a brat putting on a show. She doesn’t deserve a private room this expensive. A little hot water at home and she’ll be fine.” She continued, her voice dripping with venomous pride. “She once told me she was allergic to shellfish. Please. Just a picky eater. I cured her of that nonsense by sneaking powdered shrimp into her soup. The little bitch even tried to tattle to Clive. But who was he going to believe? That woman wasn’t allergic to shellfish, so Cici had no proof. All she did was make herself look like a liar.” The stories kept coming, a cascade of casual cruelty. When Cici refused to call her ‘Mommy,’ Jessica would secretly jab her fingertips with a needle. When Cici wouldn’t tell her Clive’s personal preferences, she would find excuses to keep him away, then tell Cici it was her fault, that Daddy didn’t want to see her because she was being disobedient. “I was flawless,” Jessica boasted, her confidence soaring. “Even if Clive came back right now and this little brat tried to complain, he’d just think she was lying again. See? Look at her now. She knows better than to cross me.” She was so caught up in her monologue, so proud of how she’d broken my daughter, that she didn’t see me move. I waited for the perfect moment, then lunged, grabbing her outstretched hand and bending her fingers back with a vicious twist. “Aaargh!” As Jessica shrieked in pain, I swept Cici into my arms, sinking to the floor and cradling her close. “Cici, are you okay? Does anything hurt?” I asked frantically, my voice trembling. For a moment, she remained limp and unresponsive. Then, slowly, she lifted her head. Her vacant eyes focused on my face, and a tiny spark of light returned to them. “Mom… Mommy…” “Yes, baby, it’s Mommy,” I choked out, my heart aching with a mix of relief and sorrow. “I’m back. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.” I hugged her tightly. Her little head rested against my chest, and she didn’t say another word. But soon, I felt a spreading dampness on my shirt. She was crying. Silently weeping out all the fear and pain. The realization was a knife in my gut. “It’s okay, Cici. You can cry. Let it all out. Mommy’s here to protect you now.” Our moment was shattered by Jessica’s shrill voice. “You bitch! You think a new face makes you her mother? How dare you touch me! I’m going to be Mrs. Hawthorne, the mistress of Hawthorne Corp! You’ll pay for this! I’ll destroy you!” She blocked the doorway and pulled out her phone, dialing furiously. A jolt of fear went through me. I’d acted on impulse. The world thought Clara Vance was dead. To everyone else, Jessica was the one poised to take my place. She would have people, thugs on her payroll. But I didn’t regret it. I couldn’t stand by and watch my daughter suffer for one more second. I did a quick calculation. Clive should be here soon. I pushed the hospital bed into the far corner of the room, away from the door, and spoke to Cici in a soft, soothing voice. “Cici, no matter what happens next, I want you to close your eyes and rest, okay? Don’t look. When Mommy comes to get you, we’re going home.” Cici stared at me, her eyes wide. Then, fresh tears streamed down her face. “Mommy, don’t go. Don’t go.” Her plea squeezed my heart until it felt like a crumpled piece of paper. “I won’t leave, baby. Mommy’s going to stay with you forever.” Just as I managed to calm her down, the men Jessica had called arrived. “There she is,” Jessica hissed, her face contorted with hate. “Now you’ll learn what happens when you cross me.” My stomach clenched. I grabbed the metal IV stand next to the bed, gripping it like a weapon. “You see her?” Jessica spat at the men. “She loves that little brat so much, right? So why don’t you help her get pregnant? Let her have babies until she dies from it!” Five burly men filled the doorway, making the spacious room feel cramped and suffocating. My eyes locked onto the leader, and a spark of hope ignited within me. I knew him. He used to work for me. “Leo, it’s me, Clara Vance,” I said, my voice steady. “Don’t ask how I’m back. Just know that if you touch me, you know what the consequences will be.” He hesitated. I saw the doubt in his eyes. “Leo, are you serious?” Jessica scoffed. “You’re not falling for that plastic face, are you? Use that thick skull of yours for a second. Clara Vance is dead. Dead people don’t come back. Think about your mother in the hospital. You do this for me, and I’ll give you more than enough money to take care of her.” Leo’s hand tightened around the stun baton he was holding. I knew it was useless to say anything more. I was just thankful for one thing. Back when the Hawthorne family was a major target, Clive was constantly at risk of being kidnapped. To protect him, I’d learned self-defense. It should be enough to hold them off until he arrived. I overestimated myself. Leo had been my bodyguard for a reason. In less than five minutes, my arms were pinned behind my back and I was forced to my knees. Jessica crouched in front of me, grabbing my chin. She slapped me hard across the face. “Still so tough, you bitch? Still so proud?” she sneered. “You paid for a new face and thought you could be Clara Vance? I’m going to destroy that face today. I’ll make sure you never have a chance to replace me again!” She took the stun baton from Leo, switched it on, and aimed it at my cheek. I tried to stall, mentally counting the seconds until Clive should arrive. But it was no use. Jessica advanced, the electric hum of the baton growing louder. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the searing pain. I can’t scream, I told myself. I can’t let Cici hear me scream. The baton came down. “No!” My eyes flew open. A tiny body had thrown itself in front of me, and now it was crumpling to the floor.

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The Sterling family was going bankrupt, and Declan Sterling was reduced to working as a host at a luxury club. I immediately drove straight to Cloud 9, threw down my black card, and announced with glee: “One dance, ten grand.” “Shirtless, fifty grand.” “In a place like this, you know what kind of dance I mean, right?” That jerk. He always stole my business deals. Now I was going to humiliate him until he begged for mercy. Declan looked at me, his hand slowly reaching for the top button of his shirt. Two minutes later, he stopped and handed me a tissue. Me: “?” Declan: “Wipe your nose. You’re bleeding.” 1 What the…? I swiped a finger under my nose and saw a smear of bright red. Me: … I must have eaten too much spicy food today. This was humiliating. Declan probably thought I was bleeding because I saw him strip. I snatched the tissue from his hand, plugged my nose, and crossed my legs like I owned the place. “Keep going. The song isn’t over. Don’t stop.” I lifted my chin, trying to look unimpressed. Declan glanced at me with zero emotion, then stepped back into the open space. The strobe lights swept across his bare chest, highlighting muscles that were lean and dangerously defined. This whole situation was absurd. Declan Sterling, the ruthless heir who used to crush me in boardrooms, was now dancing shirtless for my amusement. I expected him to look ashamed. Instead, his eyes were focused, his expression solemn. He was dancing a seductive routine with the seriousness of a military drill. I gritted my teeth. Damn it. We’re both men. Why does he have an eight-pack? I felt like I was paying to make myself feel insecure. When the song ended, Declan stopped. “Seen enough?” “Huh?” I dragged my eyes away from his abs. “Oh, I was just—” “If it’s not enough, I can do another song. You can pay again.” Declan stood there with his perfect face, negotiating a lap dance like it was a merger acquisition. Me: … Is this the famous Sterling work ethic? He’s the most professional male stripper I’ve ever seen. Seeing my silence, Declan continued. “You can try watching one more. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to pay. From your perspective, it’s a zero-risk investment.” … I was silent for thirty seconds, then slapped my card on the table. “Fine. One more. If I’m happy, I’ll buy a bottle of your most expensive champagne. For your commission.” 2 Walking out of Cloud 9, I felt like I was floating. Declan had just given a masterclass on how to use sex appeal to extract $60,000 from a man’s wallet. I, who had never set foot in a host club, was now their Supreme VIP. The manager added me on WeChat, bowing like a bobblehead. My opinion of Declan had shifted. I used to think his success was just nepotism. But today, he made me spend a fortune and became the club’s top earner on his first night. I have to respect the hustle. I couldn’t learn six dance routines on my first day as a stripper. His skills were unmatched. My phone buzzed. It was the group chat: [Declan’s Victims Support Group]. Rich Girl Ruby: [@Alex, update! Did you go? Did you book Declan? Spill the tea!] Sean: [I still think it’s fake news. Declan is too proud. Even if he’s broke, he wouldn’t become a host.] I typed. Alex: [It’s true.] Ruby: [!!! Omg hahahaha karma is real! That’s what he gets for stealing my clients!] Sean: [Wait, he’s actually for sale?] Ruby: [@Alex tell us everything! Did you humiliate him? Was it fun?] I thought back to the nosebleed. It was exciting, sure. I still had tissues up my nose. Alex: […How do I put this? It was great. His abs are nice.] The chat exploded with question marks. Ruby: [Define ‘nice’. Be specific.] Ugh. Describing it would get me banned. Alex: [Can’t describe it. Go see for yourself.] Ruby: [Fine! I’m going tomorrow!] Sean: [Good luck, soldier.] I locked my phone and started my car. Declan should thank me. I just referred him a high-value client. 3 Without the Sterling family undercutting me, business was booming. Mr. Lee, a client I’d been chasing for months, finally reached out. I booked a dinner with him immediately to seal the deal. At 8 PM, I pulled into the restaurant parking lot. My phone started vibrating like it was possessed. Ruby: [What the hell! Why is Declan so arrogant even as a stripper?!] Sean: [Did he roast you?] Ruby: [No! I didn’t even see him! The manager said Declan is the ‘Top Host’ now. He has the right to refuse clients. He said he wasn’t in the mood!] Ruby: [I’ve spent millions at that club! I’m a VVVVIP! I said I’d pay double, and the manager just said ‘Declan says no’.] Ruby: [Is this legal?! I cancelled a date for this! I’m getting wrinkles from the stress!] Sean: […That sounds insane, but also very Declan.] While Ruby ranted, a message popped up from the manager of Cloud 9. Manager Chen: [Mr. Alex, hello! Will you be visiting tonight? We had Declan learn some new moves. Very spicy. Guaranteed satisfaction~] Me: … This was not the experience Ruby described. Mr. Lee was waiting, so I replied quickly. Alex: [Not tonight. Business dinner. Next time.] Manager Chen: [Will you be drinking at this dinner?] …Why does he care? Weird. But I was polite. Alex: [Yes.] I put the phone away. 4 The dinner went perfectly. Mr. Lee signed the contract. I celebrated with a few too many glasses of wine. After seeing Mr. Lee off, I opened my phone to call a designated driver. Suddenly, a blue electric scooter drifted around the corner, braked hard, and stopped right in front of me. A long leg extended to the ground. “Hello. Do you need a driver?” That voice… The rider lifted his blue helmet visor. Underneath was a face so handsome it made me angry. Silence. “You… are a designated driver?” The income gap between a host and a driver is massive. Declan’s expression was stable. “It’s my night off. This is my side gig.” “…But an hour ago, Manager Chen said you learned new dances for me.” “Oh. I applied for leave thirty minutes ago.” Me: … Declan Sterling driving a scooter for Uber Eats money. It felt like a fever dream. He took off his helmet, shaking his hair out like he was in a shampoo commercial. “It’s hard to get a driver for a car like yours. One scratch costs more than their annual salary.” “But I’m a good driver. I used to own cars like this. I won’t be afraid to drive it. Alex, you should consider me.” He made a compelling point. I’d been rejected by five drivers before because of my car. I handed him the keys. “You’re hired.”

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