Category: English

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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I’m a human picked up by a fox-kin. The fox-kin, having just finalized the adoption papers, frowned and grabbed me by the collar, intent on giving me a bath. I struggled for my life. Frustrated, he posted a help thread online: “The little human I adopted is extremely resistant to bathing. What should I do?” Another kin replied: “These humans are perverts. If you take off your clothes and get in the tub, they’ll be willing to wash.” The fox-kin pondered for a moment, then chose to strip completely. 1 The kin who adopted me is a melancholy fox. According to him, “I was actually planning to kill myself that day, but then I met you.” “You were covered in blood, holding some suspicious lump in your hand, looking lost and contemplating taking a bite out of it.” “I really couldn’t stand it.” “You were too dirty.” “I thought, before I die, I might as well throw that thing away and wash you clean.” “At least make you less of an eyesore.” So, I was taken home by a fox. Thinking back to that day, it feels absurd. Who would have thought this fox, who looks so dignified and aloof, actually has a penchant for self-harm in private? The clean, sharp cuts on his wrists have healed into jagged scars. Seeing me stare at his wrist, he silently pulled his sleeve down. “Don’t look, it’s ugly.” “Once I clean you up and find a suitable owner, I’ll send you away.” Without hesitation, I nodded. The fox seemed a bit unhappy, staring at me wordlessly. I was brutally honest, pointing at his scars. “You don’t value your own life, so I don’t expect you to value mine.” “If I stay with you, I might end up suffering a lot.” The fox got angry. With a cold face, he chopped vegetables so loudly the house shook for a good while, then brought out a meal that looked, smelled, and tasted perfectly human. I knew better than to provoke him, so I ate quietly. Sitting across from me, the fox was so mad the tips of his ears were trembling. “You ate my food.” I didn’t even look up. “You picked me up. You’re responsible.” I don’t understand why he’s so emotionally unstable. The first day I was picked up by the fox, I curled up on the sofa and slept soundly. But in the middle of the night, the fox, sporting dark circles under his eyes, shook me awake. “Did you drug me? Why can’t I sleep?” Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was my pitiful form curled up on the sofa. I was confused. “What does your insomnia have to do with me?” The fox stared straight at me for a while. Suddenly, he opened his arms and hugged me, burying his face in my neck and inhaling deeply. He even took the opportunity to carry me to the bed in his room. I struggled. “Are you a pervert?!” “You said at dinner I wasn’t allowed in your private space, what are you doing now?!” The fox covered my mouth, silencing me. “I changed my mind.” Then he rested his chin on my shoulder and closed his eyes. A moment later, the soft sound of steady breathing came from behind me. I lay there numbly, letting him hold me, staring at the ceiling. “I give up…” Foxes. Zero trustworthiness. 2 I transmigrated into this beast world a week ago. At the time, I knew nothing, staring blankly up at the cyberpunk-style buildings. I was even clutching a freshly made burrito in my hand. After hesitating for two seconds, I decisively walked to a nearby green belt, planning to finish my breakfast before pondering the serious question of where I was. Because in my hazy memory of crossing the street at a green light, I seemed to have been hit by something. But just as I sat down, my waist tightened. “Don’t eat that. Dirty.” The next second, a cool, calm voice spoke, and a furry head leaned in close to my neck. “A… wild human?” “Mm, smells like a little human.” He sniffed, then casually tossed my burrito into a nearby trash can. Instinctively, I raised my hand and slapped him so hard his head turned. “Are you sick?!” I struggled against the restraint around my waist, looked down, and saw a fluffy white tail. The man with ears popping out of his head narrowed his eyes, touching his face as if savoring the feeling. Then. He tilted his head and offered me the other cheek. I froze, reaching out to touch those twitching ears. Warm, moving, and translucent enough in the light to show the pink of blood flow. I paused, my gaze falling on my blood-stained hands. A flash of memory hit my brain—me getting hit by a car while crossing the street. Then my eyes rolled back, and I fainted. Just as I closed my eyes, I heard the man scream in panic: “Human, don’t die—” Damn it, I must have gone crazy from working too much. I actually saw the shadow of a fox in a person. This is too weird. The fox-kin carried me to the hospital for a checkup. Originally, the fox warned me that once he cleaned the blood off me, he’d find me an owner and send me away. I saw the scars on his wrist and calmly nodded in agreement. But after one night. The fox processed the human adoption papers. 3 And so, I was adopted by the fox-kin, becoming a member of his household. After thinking about it all night, the fox decided not to die for now. He brought me home, acting all cool and indifferent along the way. “Do you have a name? Shall I give you one?” “Do you prefer ‘Good Human’ or ‘Baby Human’?” How is this any different from a human seeing a kitten on the street and cooing “Kitty kitty”? I put on a cold face and slapped away his hand. “Neither. I have my own name.” “My name is Sarah.” The fox-kin didn’t mind my rudeness; instead, he nodded good-naturedly. “I’m Asher. I’m a fox-kin. You’re my little human now, understand?” I stopped walking and emphasized, “I’m not a pet you’re raising. I’m a person.” The fox-kin tilted his head and smiled at me. “You look really cute when you’re serious. I want to kiss you.” Since sleeping while holding the human and smelling her scent last night, he figured it out. If he ignored me, there was a high probability this little human would die, so he had to live. Suddenly, I felt a warm touch on my cheek. Simultaneously, my raised hand came down. The fox-kin covered his face, muttering as he opened the door for me, “That still hurts a bit.” My expression was serious as I reiterated, “I told you, keep your hands off me!” “I really will hit you.” The fox-kin lowered his eyes, looking at me with pity and affection. “But I’m not a human, I’m a kin. Those are different concepts.” “Did I pick up a mentally challenged little human?” “But it doesn’t matter, I can raise her. The little human just needs to be healthy and happy.” Me: “…” 4 The fox who adopted me said that in my original life, I was already dead. I looked at him with disbelief. But then, a flash in my brain showed me clutching a burrito and flying through the air after being hit by a car. I swallowed the words on the tip of my tongue. I seem to really be a little bit dead… He explained: “This is the Beast World. Every human who dies by accident randomly appears here, and kin take the opportunity to pick up these intermittently dropping humans to raise.” “Humans who arrive here need to be registered for unified socialization training later to prevent stress.” “Mm… picking up a human is kind of like seeing a dirty, pitiful kitten on the road and wanting to adopt it.” “But it’s also different because here, kin and humans can be together.” “And humans who come here have a unique soothing ability that can prevent kin from going feral.” “Although it’s my first time raising a human, I’ve done a lot of research online.” I closed my eyes, terrified to imagine being raised by a fox-kin. Asher picked me up like a child and walked toward the bathroom. His tone was gentle and doting: “Alright, time for your bath.” My eyes widened in horror, and I struggled desperately, grabbing the door handle. “I can do it myself! I don’t need you to wash me!” Asher coaxed me patiently, prying my fingers off one by one. “Be good, little human, don’t squirm or you’ll fall.” “You just got here, you don’t know how to use things yet. Let me wash you.” I screamed: “Humans are autonomous! I can wash myself! I really don’t need your help—” I kicked and punched in his arms, struggling so hard I wished I could slither away into the shadows. I was harder to pin down than a pig at New Year’s.

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I’d never given the new intern a second thought. So when he pushed my buttons, I marched right up to my wife, the CEO, and slapped two documents on her desk in front of the entire company. A letter of resignation, and divorce papers. “Tell him,” I said, my voice cutting through the office silence. “You choose.” The next second, the woman who had always been fiercely, irrevocably mine, the woman I thought would move mountains for me, picked up a pen. Without a moment’s hesitation, she signed her name on the divorce papers. “He’s just a kid, he’s insecure,” she said, her voice cold. “I won’t indulge your temper tantrums, Julian. Not now.” The confident smirk on my face froze, then shattered. I thought the new kid was just a clueless rookie trying to get ahead. Reality just slapped me across the face. Turns out, I was the clueless one all along. … The entire office was dead silent. I couldn’t bring myself to look at my colleagues, at the faces I’d known for years. Their stares felt like physical blows, a thousand tiny needles piercing my skin, making my whole body ache with humiliation. I reached for the divorce papers on the desk, trying to appear calm, but my hand trembled uncontrollably. Ten years. Ten years married to Evelyn, and everyone at this company knew how much she loved me. They’d seen the late-night soups she brought to my desk, witnessed the fire in her eyes when she defended me in meetings, saw the way her gaze would soften and light up whenever she looked at me. Now, all those memories twisted into razors, slicing into my heart, leaving me breathless. I forced myself to look up, to meet her eyes, desperately searching for a trace of the woman I knew, trying to salvage a shred of my dignity. “Evelyn, stop it,” I pleaded, my voice barely a whisper. “Everyone’s watching. Don’t make a scene.” Her gaze was like ice. There was no joke here, no game. “I’m not making a scene, Julian,” she said, her voice flat. “We’re done.” “Why?” The word scraped my throat, dry and raw. She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she shifted slightly, her eyes moving past me to the back of the crowd, to where the new intern, Leo, had been standing in silence. The look she gave him was one I’d never seen before. It was a mixture of… indulgence? And… was that sympathy? Her eyes snapped back to me, her expression detached. “Like I said, he’s insecure.” “Julian, you only ever care about your pride, about winning and losing. Have you ever once stopped to consider how anyone else feels?” A kid? That man, a man in his early twenties, was a “kid” in her eyes, someone who needed protection? And I, her husband of ten years, the man who shared her bed and built this company with her, was now just some unreasonable tyrant throwing a tantrum? It was absurd. Utterly, laughably absurd. A toxic cocktail of betrayal and shame surged through me, burning away the last of my composure. I snatched the signed divorce papers from the desk and, in front of everyone, ripped them to shreds. “You’d humiliate me like this, in front of the entire company, for some pretty boy who just walked in the door?!” The paper fragments drifted to the floor like bitter snow. Evelyn watched me, her expression unreadable. When I was finished, she finally spoke, her voice still quiet but carrying the finality of a judge’s sentence. “My lawyer can have another copy sent to the house.” “Julian,” she repeated. “We’re done.” The second time she said it, the words hit like a physical blow. My mouth opened, but nothing came out. She didn’t even wait. She turned her back on me and walked straight toward him. Toward the intern. I watched as the young man, Leo, instinctively straightened his posture as she approached, his eyes holding a mixture of dependence and… was that a flicker of triumph? Evelyn stopped in front of him. She reached up and, with a gesture of practiced intimacy, gently straightened the collar of his shirt. “It’s okay,” she murmured, her voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “Don’t be scared.” In that instant, the last drop of blood drained from my face. The world went silent, replaced by a dull ringing in my ears. I was frozen, my body suddenly feeling hollowed out, devoid of all strength. The woman I was so certain would choose me, had just walked away and chosen another man, as naturally as breathing. All this time, I was the one who was out of my depth. I had lost. Utterly and completely. Evelyn turned to the gawking crowd, her composure absolute. “This company doesn’t care about seniority or personal connections,” she announced, her voice resonating with authority. “Every single employee is treated like family.” Her eyes darted to me, a clear warning in them. “And I will not tolerate anyone using their position to bully a new hire. I don’t care who you are.” Every word was a hammer blow to my pride, shattering my last illusion. Family? So that was her justification. Some noble, high-minded “company principle.” I was now officially cast as the villain, the petty executive “bullying a new hire,” the fool who tried to use a personal relationship to break the sacred “company rules.” The looks from my colleagues shifted. The initial shock and curiosity morphed into something else. Pity for the fallen executive was replaced by admiration for the “righteous CEO,” and a quiet contempt for my pathetic, self-inflicted humiliation. I could hear the whispers, just barely suppressed. “Wow, Julian really blew it this time…” “Seriously, threatening her with divorce? As if a woman like Evelyn would ever fall for that.” “He had it coming. He’s always been so arrogant. Finally met his match…” My face burned as if I’d been slapped, over and over again. I looked at Evelyn. She had expertly used the most professional means to uphold her company’s “integrity,” and in doing so, had used the cruelest means to publicly execute our marriage and my career here. After delivering her grand speech, she finally deigned to look at me again, her eyes filled with warning and impatience. She was used to being in control, used to the fawning respect of her subordinates. And she was used to me, always playing along, always making sure she looked good. It was our unspoken agreement. But as I looked past her, at the intern standing behind her with a smirk of victory on his face, I suddenly felt no desire to play along anymore. I nodded slowly. “Fine. I get it.” Evelyn nodded back, satisfied. “Good. You’ve been a profound disappointment today, Julian,” she said. “But since you understand your mistake, it’s not too late to fix this.” “All you have to do is get on your knees and apologize to Leo. Then we can put this whole thing…” Her words were cut off by a collective gasp from the crowd. I had snatched a water glass from a nearby desk and, with a flick of my wrist, flung its contents in her face. Her perfect makeup dissolved into streaks. Leo shrieked dramatically. “Julian! How could you do that to Evelyn?” I shot him a venomous look. “This is between my wife and me. When did you earn the right to butt in?” The sound of sharp intakes of breath filled the room. Even Evelyn stared at me, her eyes wide with disbelief. After years of compliance, she probably never imagined I would defy her so publicly. I looked straight at her, my voice low and dangerous. “Are you awake now?” Before she could answer, I turned my cold gaze on Leo. “Evelyn?” I repeated his familiar address. “How cozy. But as I recall, the company handbook is quite clear. All employees are to be addressed by their professional titles. No exceptions, not even for the CEO or Vice President.” I let my eyes sweep across the crowd, landing on the head of HR. “For a new intern to make such a mistake, does that mean HR training was inadequate? Or are there… some people… who can’t even remember the most basic company rules?” “If an employee is this incompetent,” I continued, my voice like steel, “according to company policy, shouldn’t they be terminated immediately?” The air in the room turned to ice. Evelyn’s face, smudged with running mascara, was a mask of fury. She looked at me as if I were a stranger, her eyes burning with the sting of challenged authority. The HR manager looked from me to Evelyn’s thunderous expression, his lips trembling, unable to speak. Finally, Evelyn found her voice. “Julian!” she roared. “Have you lost your mind?!” A humorless smile touched my lips. “I’m discussing company policy with you, Ms. Thorne.” I put a deliberate, mocking emphasis on her formal title, my eyes locked on Leo. “Are the rules written in black and white just for show? Or,” I paused, letting my gaze drift over Evelyn’s furious face, “is there a special exception for… special people?” Leo panicked, looking to Evelyn for help, his voice cracking. “Ms. Thorne, I… I didn’t mean to. I was just… I was worried about you…” I cut him off. “My wife. Needs you to worry about her?” “You just gave a speech about impartiality, about not playing favorites,” I said, turning the screw. “So please, enlighten us, Ms. Thorne. This intern, who can’t even remember the most basic company regulations, what should be done with him?” I had thrown the ball directly back into her court. She wanted to champion company rules? She wanted to be the picture of fairness? Fine. Let’s talk rules. Let’s talk fairness. Evelyn’s chest heaved. For a long moment, she just glared at me, before finally exploding. “Enough!” she yelled. “Everyone, get back to work! Julian, my office. Now.” I glanced at Leo, who was fussing over Evelyn, trying to dab at her face with a handkerchief. “No, thank you,” I said calmly. “The office is for business, not personal matters. Since you’ve already made your choice, Ms. Thorne, I respect it.” “I resign.” Evelyn’s brow furrowed. “We’ll talk about this at home tonight.” I didn’t wait for “tonight.” I went straight to HR and told them to process my termination. After the scene I’d just caused, no one dared get caught in the crossfire. They didn’t even bother checking with Evelyn; they just started the paperwork. I pulled out my phone and found an email from last month. It was a job offer from a rival company, Horizon Group, sent after I’d closed a big deal with them. I typed out a reply: I’m in. A moment later, my phone rang. The voice on the other end was ecstatic. “Julian! Excellent! I knew you’d come around. You’re a perfect fit for us.” “This is perfect timing, actually. We have a meeting tomorrow to finalize a partnership with your old company, Stellar Dynamics. I wasn’t entirely happy with their terms, but with you on board, we can consider any concessions a… parting gift to Ms. Thorne. I’ll schedule the signing for tomorrow. You know both sides, you can handle it. We’ll make it a combination farewell and welcome party.” He hung up quickly, as if afraid I’d change my mind. A second later, a message popped up on my screen. It was from Leo. It was a candid photo, slightly blurry, but the image was unmistakable. Evelyn, looking drunk, was pressed against Leo. They were kissing. I was about to close the app when my phone buzzed with an incoming call. Evelyn. I declined it. She called again. I declined it again. The phone stayed silent after that. It was always like this. Evelyn’s patience with me never lasted for more than three tries. And yet, on Leo’s first day, she had patiently explained the same simple task to him over a dozen times. I remembered it clearly. I’d gone to her office to discuss something. Through the glass wall, I saw her leaning over Leo’s desk, her finger tracing something on his monitor. I didn’t think much of it at first. But when I came out of my meeting, she was still there. Her voice was uncharacteristically gentle. “Your username is your employee ID. The default password is the last six digits of your social. Remember to check the caps lock.” Leo looked completely lost. “I’m sorry, Ms. Thorne, I’m… I’m so stupid.” “It’s okay,” she had said, not a hint of impatience in her tone. “Take your time. I’ll explain it again.” She leaned in closer, practically holding his hand as she guided him. A flicker of unease had gone through me then, but I’d quickly dismissed it. He was a new intern; of course he needed extra help. Evelyn was a demanding boss, but she was also supportive. I’d even laughed at myself for being so petty. Now, that memory returned with a new, chilling clarity. A dozen times. For an intern who couldn’t even log into his own computer, she had spent so much time, repeated herself so many times, with a patience that bordered on abnormal. And me? I remembered our first year of marriage. The company had just upgraded its systems, and the new interface was complex. I got stuck on a process and casually asked her for help. She was engrossed in a contract, and without even looking up, she’d snapped, her voice sharp with irritation, “Read the manual, Julian. Don’t bother me with trivial things.” Trivial things. Yes, compared to her ambitions, her grand vision, most of my problems seemed to be “trivial things.” As the company grew, we each took charge of different divisions, and I learned to stop asking her for help with work. Not because I didn’t need it, but because I had subconsciously adapted. I’d gotten used to being self-sufficient, to handling everything on my own. I thought that was our dynamic, the way a power couple was supposed to operate. But it wasn’t that she lacked patience. Her patience, her gentleness, her endless reserves of understanding… they just weren’t for me. Leo’s helplessness and incompetence brought out her nurturing side, her desire to teach and protect. My strength and independence had just become a license for her to ignore me, to demand my unending compromise. My phone lit up again. Not a call, but a text from Evelyn. Julian, can you please stop this? Be mature. I’ve already sent Leo home. I’ll be back late. We need to talk. Look at that. Even now, after everything, in her eyes, I was the one “making a scene.” I was the one who needed to “be mature.” Ten years of marriage. Ten years of what I thought was understanding and partnership. It was all a delusion, a story I’d been telling myself. She had been walking in a different direction for a long time, and I was the fool still standing in the same place. I typed back. There’s nothing to talk about. County courthouse. 9 a.m. tomorrow. Be there.

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I’m eighty years old this year. My husband passed away early, but my pension is substantial, and my health is excellent. Life has never been happier. Until one day, my granddaughter called me to help her catch a cheater. I grabbed my cane and ran out the door. Dammit, I always knew that boy had shifty eyes and wasn’t a good person. 01 When I arrived at the hotel, I saw my granddaughter arguing with the front desk. “I’m Jason’s wife. I already showed you our marriage certificate. Why can’t you tell me the room number?” “This involves customer privacy.” “What privacy? I came with Jason today, we just forgot the key card.” “There is no check-in information under your name.” The receptionist even added: “A wife should be more understanding of her husband. Being suspicious only harms your marriage.” My granddaughter’s face turned red with anger. I slammed my cane onto the front desk and lay down directly on the floor. Wriggling my body left and right like a caterpillar, I slowly crawled on the ground, moving from the front desk all the way to the main entrance, shouting as I moved: “This is a black-hearted hotel.” “They won’t reissue a room card.” “Bullying an eighty-year-old woman.” “Everyone, don’t stay here.” Halfway through shouting, I choked on my own saliva. I coughed while still remembering to wriggle. Several customers who had just entered the hotel were scared away by my antics. The manager rushed over, and the receptionist explained the situation to him. The manager squatted down and said to me: “Grandma, we really can’t tell you the room number. If your granddaughter can’t control her man, you can’t make trouble for our hotel.” What kind of nonsense is that? I don’t want to hear a word of it. Twenty-year-old me might have been helpless, but eighty-year-old me has plenty of tricks. I accelerated my wriggling towards a nearby customer, scaring him into screaming and running away. The manager’s face darkened: “Grandma, if you keep this up, I’m calling the police.” I nimbly changed direction and headed towards another person who had just entered the hotel. I deliberately used my feet to push, arching my back, crawling in an even more bizarre posture. “Call the police then. I’m almost a hundred years old. If the police let me out, I’ll just come back and lie down in your hotel.” “Let’s see if I die first or your hotel closes down first.” While the manager hesitated, I scared away two more customers. The manager, helpless, had to tell me the room number. My granddaughter hurriedly helped me up. After getting up, I felt a wave of dizziness and leaned on my cane to rest for a while. Sure enough, getting old means getting tired after crawling on the ground for a bit. As soon as my granddaughter and I arrived at the room, we heard laughter coming from inside, with a coquettish female voice being particularly prominent. My granddaughter’s eyes instantly turned red. Heart aching for her, I knocked on the door and shouted: “Housekeeping.” Jason grumbled as he came to open the door. My granddaughter slapped him right in the face. “Emily, why are you here?” My granddaughter pounced on him and started hitting him. I observed for a while, seeing she had the upper hand, and walked into the room. I saw a woman in her early twenties wrapped in a quilt, leaning against the headboard, looking at me in terror. “Girl, why are you being a mistress at such a young age? Are you Jason’s colleague?” The girl shook her head hurriedly and explained, “I just met him today. I provide door-to-door massage services.” Hearing this, my contempt for Jason deepened. Another man who can’t control his lower body. At this time, the dispute at the door became more intense. Slap! Seeing the crowd of onlookers growing, Jason slapped my granddaughter in exasperation. My granddaughter didn’t react, frozen in place, big tears falling straight down. Furious, I rushed forward and hit Jason on the head with my cane. Caught off guard, Jason knelt on the ground clutching his head. I hit his limbs and back indiscriminately, and he couldn’t straighten up from the pain. “Rebelling, are you? Cheating and daring to hit your wife.” “Let’s see you hit your wife again.” Someone called the police. Four officers arrived and pulled us apart. The police looked at me sternly, and I was a bit scared. Seeing Jason lying on the ground crying about pain, I was even more afraid of being at a disadvantage. So I also lay on the ground with a constipated look on my face. No matter what the police asked, I just said I hurt all over. Helpless, the police had to take us all back to the station first and call our families to pick us up. My son, Mike, rushed over and asked nervously: “Mom, are you okay?” I put on an expression of excruciating pain, then whispered: “I’m fine. That son of a bitch Jason hired a prostitute. Get them divorced immediately.” Using the excuse of taking me to the hospital for a checkup, Mike took me home to rest first. On the way, Mike promised me repeatedly that he would handle this matter well. Who knew that half a month later, during the Dragon Boat Festival, I was preparing a big table of food, waiting for the family to come home for a reunion. My granddaughter called me from outside. As soon as I opened the door, I saw Jason hugging my granddaughter, standing at the door with a smile. 02 Bang. I thought I was dizzy from cooking and hallucinating, so I subconsciously closed the door. The wind slammed the door against the wall with a heavy thud. A few seconds later, I opened the door again. Outside still stood my granddaughter and her whoring husband, only now their expressions were a bit stiff. I sighed and let them in. Looking at this situation, they had reconciled. I returned to the kitchen, chopping vegetables on the cutting board with a clang clang, getting more annoyed the more I worked. Before I retired, I was a chef. My cooking is delicious, and I enjoy it, so I’m always the head chef during holidays. But thinking that part of the food I worked so hard to make today would end up in Jason’s stomach made me angry. I’m eighty years old; I do what I want. So I quit. I went to the living room. My son and daughter-in-law had arrived, and they were chatting happily with my granddaughter and grandson-in-law, as if the hotel farce that day was just my personal hallucination. “I hurt my arm swinging my cane a while ago. It hurts especially today, can’t cook anymore.” “Jason, you go do it.” Jason stood up, face full of hesitation. My son wanted to speak for him but was silenced by my glare. Seeing no one helping him, Jason hesitated for a while but still went into the kitchen. On the sofa, seeing my displeasure, my granddaughter leaned on me, red-eyed, and said: “Grandma, I’m pregnant. The doctor said if I abort this time, I might not be able to conceive again.” “Grandma, I’m sorry for making you worry.” Looking at my granddaughter on the verge of tears, my anger vanished instantly, leaving only heartache. “So you’re not pursuing the matter with Jason?” “Mom, I talked to Jason’s family. That was a moment of confusion for him. He promised it won’t happen again,” my son explained. “Yes, he even wrote a guarantee letter by hand.” My granddaughter took a piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to me. I didn’t even bother to look. Even emperors’ edicts can be revoked; what credibility does a guarantee letter from a whoremonger have? I held my granddaughter’s hand tightly and said, “Your pregnancy is a good thing. As long as you’re happy, Grandma is happy.” My granddaughter’s eyes reddened again, ready to cry. At this time, Jason shouted from the kitchen that the food was ready. Looking at the plates of black, unrecognizable food on the table, I barely picked at some to eat. Ugh. Disgusting. “Jason, Emily is pregnant now. With your cooking skills, what will you do for meals?” I asked. “Grandma, we’re thinking about that too,” Jason replied. “I hired a cook last week, but her cooking was too heavy-handed; we weren’t used to it.” “Then find another one. Anything is better than takeout.” “Grandma, we were thinking,” Jason stammered, “could you come to our house to help cook? Your cooking is delicious, and you know Emily’s taste.” I was shocked. I’ve seen people leeching off their parents, but never seen leeching off grandparents. My granddaughter hurriedly added, “Grandma, I’m on leave to rest for the baby recently. It’s boring being home alone, and I hope you can come keep me company.” I took a big gulp of water and asked, “How much did you pay the previous cook a month?” “$400 a month, responsible for lunch and dinner.” “Fine. I’ll also be responsible for your breakfast. I’ll give you a discount, $550 a month.” “That price can hire a very good cook on the market,” Jason questioned. “Then spend the money to hire one,” I rolled my eyes. “I’m an old bag of bones. I should be enjoying my retirement, yet I have to help you young people.” “You didn’t originally think of not paying a cent, did you?” “Grandma, no problem, I’ll transfer the money to you,” my granddaughter replied. “You’re pregnant and on leave, where would you get money?” I said to Jason, “You transfer it to me. Pregnancy is 10 months in total, transfer $5,500 to me now.” Jason’s face turned green, but with our whole family staring at him intently, he succumbed to the pressure and transferred the money. Counting the amount received in my bank account, I said, “This money is just for cooking fees. I’ll ask you for grocery money every week.” 03 After staying at my granddaughter’s house for three months, exercising in the park every morning and square dancing at night, I knew the surroundings like the back of my hand and made a group of friends. One day, while preparing lunch as usual, I found that a commonly used seasoning had run out. Recently, my granddaughter became obsessed with Thai flavors, especially loving the refreshing yet slightly sour taste. Jason’s mother was overjoyed to hear this, constantly talking about “sour for boys, spicy for girls,” convinced that my granddaughter was carrying a son. Therefore, she specially sent a bottle of seasoning sauce, saying a friend brought it from Thailand. My granddaughter loved it and put this sauce in almost every dish, so it was consumed very quickly. I visited all the nearby stores in the past two days but couldn’t find the same sauce. Just as I was worrying, my new friend, Mrs. Fang, said her family also ate it often, and it was sold in an import supermarket 6 miles away from our community. After getting the news, I rushed to the supermarket by bus. Just as I was about to pay after buying the sauce, I saw Jason’s mother in front of the next aisle. I was about to greet her when I heard a young female voice talking to her: “Mom, we’re running out of Thai seasoning sauce at home, let’s buy some.” I remembered Jason is an only child; does he have sisters? Seeing them about to walk towards me, I subconsciously hid in a blind spot. At this time, I saw the girl’s face. I was struck by lightning, frozen in place. She was actually the masseuse from the hotel that night! She definitely couldn’t be Jason’s sister! What on earth is going on? Why did she call her “Mom” just now? It wasn’t until they paid and left that I reacted. No matter what, I have to follow them and see. I hurriedly finished paying; luckily, they hadn’t gone far. I ran a few steps first, then followed them from a distance, watching them affectionately holding hands and shopping. My heart beat like a drum as a terrible guess formed in my mind. Until they walked into a nearby community together. The community required access cards, so I couldn’t enter. But I remembered this community; Jason had mentioned his parents lived here. Is the masseuse living with Jason’s parents as their daughter-in-law now? I felt the world spinning. My legs had been walking intensely just now to keep up with them. Now that I finally stopped, I had to lean against a roadside tree to support my body and keep from collapsing. I thought of my granddaughter’s four-month pregnant body, her slightly protruding belly; I thought of a few months ago, my granddaughter telling me with red eyes that Jason promised to be loyal to the family in the future; I thought of a year ago, my granddaughter’s happy smile at the wedding. On the wedding day, thousands of flowers adorned the venue. I held Emily’s arm through the crowd, accompanying her up the stairs, her trailing white wedding dress shining with fine light. I watched her and Jason exchange rings and complete the ceremony. The ceremony concluded, countless ribbons burst forth. Under the ribbons were two happy faces. At that time, I thought they could be happy forever. For the first time, I hated my old age. I should have grabbed Jason’s mother and the masseuse by the collar, beaten them up, and made them give Emily an explanation. But I could barely keep up with them. A passerby handed me a tissue and asked softly, “Grandma, are you okay? Do you need help?” Turns out, unknowingly, my face was full of tears. I thanked the passerby and forced myself to return home. No matter what, I have to pull myself together. I have to let my granddaughter know about this. 04 When I returned home, it was already dark, and Jason had come home from work. Seeing me back, he sat on the sofa and pointedly said: “Grandma, you still need to cook earlier in the future. I’ve been hungry for an hour, and you just got home.” “Irregular meals are bad for Emily too.” Watching his hypocritical face, I almost threw up. I held back the urge to scold him and walked into the kitchen. Jason stopped me and handed me three bottles of Thai seasoning sauce. “I found we were running out at home. Since Emily likes it so much, I asked Mom to get a friend to buy a few more bottles from Thailand.” What Thailand, what friend. He asked his mistress to buy it at the supermarket at the community entrance, right? Disgusting. As soon as Jason left, I threw these sauces into the trash. At the dinner table, my granddaughter suddenly said: “Why does the curry chicken taste a bit different?” I tasted it; there was indeed a difference. Before, it was a sourness that stimulated the top of the head, now the flavor was much milder. “Grandma, did you not put the seasoning sauce today?” Jason asked. I frowned, suddenly feeling strange. Why does Jason care so much about the seasoning sauce? He never enters the kitchen at home usually; why could he discover the sauce ran out in time? These subtle doubts made me feel faintly uneasy. Usually, I would think this is Jason’s concern for my granddaughter. But since I’ve discovered his cheating, this excessive concern is extraordinarily unusual. “A friend gave me a bottle of Thai seasoning sauce today, didn’t use the one you gave. So the taste is a bit different,” I said half-truthfully. “Grandma, mine is the most authentic from Thailand, very expensive. Bought specially for Emily,” Jason said seriously. “The one given by others might have problems. Don’t give it to Emily anymore; she doesn’t like it either.” Bullshit. What problem could seasoning sauce have? It was obviously bought in the same store as yours. I was about to refute but suddenly realized something. “Okay, I’ll use the one you gave next time,” I pretended to agree. Jason nodded with satisfaction. After dinner, I dug through the trash and retrieved those three bottles of sauce. From the appearance, these three bottles were no different from the ones I bought today. Even the color of the juice was similar. I dipped my finger and tasted it. The taste was completely different. One was overly sour, while the other was slightly sour with a fragrance. The difference in the curry chicken taste today was indeed due to the sauce. How can identical appearances have different tastes? Could this really be the “authentic Thai” one Jason mentioned? But I clearly saw Jason’s mother buying the same sauce as me. I only felt my thoughts were chaotic and complicated. It seemed I was wandering in front of the truth, infinitely close, but unable to find the door.

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My flight was overbooked, and the flight attendant asked if I could take the next one. She offered me half the ticket price as compensation, and I happily agreed. But when the next flight arrived, it was overbooked too. I got compensated again, thinking this was a great way to make easy money. That was until the big screens showed mass flight disruptions. News reports flooded in: a chemical plant near the airport had exploded, and the entire airport was gradually being engulfed by spreading toxic gas. I realized then, I had been played by capitalism. 1 Toxic gas spread for dozens of miles around the airport. Public transportation was completely paralyzed; cars couldn’t get through. If we wanted to leave, the only way was by plane. A man from my original flight stormed up to the counter, confronting the flight attendant. “With something like this happening, I demand you put me on a plane right now!” The flight attendant patiently tried to calm him down: “Mr. Lewis, please stay calm. The crew is handling the situation. We will make an announcement as soon as we have specific information.” The man wouldn’t let up. “What kind of attitude is that?! I’m filing a complaint! If I’m not the first one on a plane, I swear I’ll report you!” I felt a growing unease. What if every flight was overbooked? Would I be stuck here forever? I walked up to the flight attendant, gathering my courage. “I was bumped from the 8:30 flight. I’ve already missed two flights. I’m in a bit of a hurry. Can I get on the next one?” The flight attendant kept smiling. “Please rest assured, I will do my best to arrange for you to board.” Her official response didn’t ease my worries. Behind me, other passengers stranded due to overbooking started mocking me. They all believed the airport would have emergency plans and that I was worrying over nothing. A young couple was the loudest. The guy sneered at me: “Has she never flown before? pestering the flight attendant like that. Planes don’t run on the ground; they’ll definitely take off on time.” The girl chimed in: “My baby is so smart! I feel so safe flying with you.” I was outnumbered and had no intention of arguing. But my anxiety wouldn’t go away, so I confirmed with the flight attendant again: “I’m in Business Class, so I’ll definitely get priority boarding, right?” The mocking behind me continued. Someone even questioned if I looked like someone who could afford Business Class. Normally, I wouldn’t spend that much, but this was a reward from my company for a month of overtime. Who knew I’d run into overbooking? “Of course, Ms. Lee. When the plane arrives, we will arrange priority boarding for you.” I sat in the seat closest to the gate, anxiety growing as the time approached. The noisy airport gradually quieted down, like the calm before a storm. A kind grandmother from a tour group came over to comfort me: “Don’t worry, dear. We’ll all get on a plane eventually.” “Flight to Denver is now boarding. Passengers, please line up in an orderly manner…” Finally, boarding began. The complaining man from earlier cut in front of me. As he handed over his ticket, he was stopped. “What did you say? I can’t board?!” 2 The flight attendant, wearing her signature smile, apologetically informed him: “Mr. Lewis, I’m sorry. Due to the sudden public emergency, we have to prioritize evacuating passengers from the original flight. We’ll check for available seats after everyone else has boarded.” Mr. Lewis exploded: “You just said it could take off, now you’re saying I can’t go! Are you playing me? I’m filing a complaint!” Fearing he would disturb other passengers, the flight attendant pulled him aside. I was in the same boat, but calmer than him. I tried to negotiate with the flight attendant: “There are fewer Business Class seats. I can downgrade to Economy, as long as there’s a seat for me.” The flight attendant looked helpless. “I can’t decide that. I need to ask my supervisor.” The young couple from earlier was also stopped. “Sorry, Ms. Taylor and Mr. Wang, your flight is a connecting one. Since the previous flight was canceled, this one can’t take off. You’ll need to rebook.” Mr. Wang freaked out: “What? I have another flight after this!” Ms. Taylor lost her coquettish demeanor. “I told you not to be cheap and buy a connecting flight! Now look! What if we can’t refund or catch the next one?” I squeezed to the front of the line, but the flight attendant gave me the same answer: “No seats, please wait.” Suddenly, I lost the mood to watch the drama. With a few people overbooked on every flight, more and more passengers were stranded. Complaints echoed throughout the terminal. Before I knew it, I looked around. There were at least a few dozen people stuck here. And my overbooking compensation had accumulated from $300 to $900. From morning to night, three full flights had no room for me, and I was getting increasingly irritable. The news said the toxic gas outside the airport hadn’t dissipated, and the situation was unclear. Many people said they wouldn’t wait anymore and demanded refunds. The flight attendant readily agreed. She handed out liability waivers one by one. “After refunding, we will not be responsible for any consequences of your staying at or leaving the airport.” The crowd instantly went silent. Everyone was stunned. Mr. Lewis reacted first. “What do you mean? There’s poison gas outside, and you’re just going to abandon us?” “Sorry, I’m not clear on the follow-up procedures either.” The flight attendant’s robotic smile could no longer soothe the crowd’s accumulated anger. The crowd erupted, quickly splitting into two factions. One side believed the gas must have dissipated after so long and wanted to refund and leave, unwilling to waste more time at the airport. The other side believed the airport was the safest place and wanted to wait for a plane. I was squeezed to the back of the crowd and glimpsed other flight attendants hurriedly leading a man in sunglasses through, bypassing ticket checks and entering the jet bridge directly. Something was wrong! Very wrong! Boarding hadn’t been announced, so how could he get on? I rushed to the front and pointed at him: “Why can he board?” The flight attendant looked troubled. Avoiding the question, she invited me to wait in the Business Class lounge. A businessman next to me, who had been silently working on his laptop, spoke up slowly, his words hitting like thunder. “You aren’t just arranging for the rich and powerful to leave and planning to leave ordinary passengers here to die, are you?” 3 The smile on the flight attendant’s face froze. She was clearly unable to handle this attack. She explained politely: “Of course not. That gentleman is a special passenger who meets the criteria for priority boarding…” The businessman pushed up his glasses and pressed on. “What criteria does he meet? Is there any legal basis for this?” “He…” I quickly stood with the businessman. “Yeah, we were bumped from earlier flights and haven’t left. Why does he get priority? You have to give us an explanation, or let us board now.” The businessman reminded her: “I wasn’t bumped; I rebooked.” Realizing we weren’t easily fooled, the flight attendant could only take us to the Business Class lounge, saying someone would come to handle it later. But after waiting for a long time, no one came. The businessman had already started contacting other airlines. As an ordinary office worker, I was still worried about not being able to get back to work tomorrow to cancel my leave. Suddenly someone outside shouted: “It’s over! It’s all over!” I learned that some of those who refunded tickets and left fainted from the gas within ten meters of the airport exit. Foaming at the mouth, bleeding from orifices. Leaving meant death. The remaining people who had refunded but hadn’t left yet dared not leave easily. They demanded to rebook tickets. But when they opened the booking apps, they found pitifully few flights. A single ticket had skyrocketed to $7,000! The silent waiting hall became noisy again. I stood in front of the glass and saw a large cloud of smoke drifting towards the tarmac. 4 “The gas is drifting over!” Everyone panicked, terrified of being left behind. Ground staff came out to maintain order, telling everyone to calm down. An announcement came over the airport broadcast: “We have received notice that due to the accelerated leakage of toxic gas, please evacuate orderly to the departure hall and wait for boarding arrangements.” Staff in hazmat suits guarded both sides of the boarding gates. Everyone swarmed towards the hall. I followed the crowded flow out, but something felt wrong. A question lingered in my mind, refusing to dissipate. If the situation is so urgent, why not arrange for us to board planes and leave directly? All passengers evacuated outside the security checkpoint. I have good eyesight and noticed many uniformed crew members entering from the other side, which was originally closed. Were they going to sneak away without us? Someone else discovered this too. Shouting from the line: “Why are they going that way? You’re not going to leave us behind, are you?” They rushed into the security checkpoint, trying to break in. “You can’t leave us!” Turns out, I guessed right. When we ran in, we saw a shocking scene. Most of the staff, wearing masks, were boarding planes one after another. The planes were actually taking off without us, without any notice. The sensitive passengers, already physically and mentally exhausted, exploded emotionally. The scene spiraled out of control. They grabbed flight attendants and ground staff, preventing them from leaving. Most boarding gates were already closed. The flight attendants were being pulled and tugged, constantly explaining. But no one wanted to listen. The tarmac was shrouded in toxic fog, the way ahead unclear. I was still hoping for a miracle. I hurriedly dialed emergency numbers, but the lines were always busy. Posting for help online, I realized the lines had long been blown up. Finally, the person next to me got through. “We are trapped at the airport now… What? The gas is spreading too fast, no manpower available? Too many places need rescue? You want me to wait for rescue here?” The person next to me hung up the phone in exasperation. I looked around, estimating there were about a few hundred passengers left. Are we all going to die here? The broadcast suddenly sounded. Everyone went quiet in unison. “Passengers who haven’t refunded their tickets, please do not panic. Wait where you are. We will arrange for your orderly boarding shortly.” Some rejoiced, some worried. That meant those who refunded had to stay. “We are at the airport, you have to escort us safely away!” Those who refunded earlier argued with the flight attendants. Those who didn’t refund had calmed down and become silent. In times like this, everyone only looks out for themselves. Who has the energy to care about others? I watched those making a scene being taken away by security, separated outside the security check. I didn’t know what awaited them. At this moment, Grandma sent me a voice message: “Lisa, are you on the plane now? What time do you land?” Hearing Grandma’s voice, my nose tingled instantly, eyes getting wet. I forced myself to be calm and told her not to worry. I’ll be home soon. The businessman sitting opposite me finished his call and came back. Just as I looked up slightly. Our eyes met, a bit awkward. He silently looked away. Next to him, a little boy pointed at me and asked: “Mommy, why is the sister crying?” His mother immediately covered his mouth, smiling apologetically at me. “Children don’t know better, sorry for the trouble.” I noticed the child’s hand was covered in needle marks. At first, I thought it strange that a seven or eight-year-old was being coddled so much, his mother holding him tight the whole time. Talking to them, I learned they were traveling for medical treatment. The boy, Henry, had a serious genetic disease. This was her last hope. I watched the little boy show me the needle marks on his hand, grinning at me with pale lips. I couldn’t help but feel heartache. I searched my pockets and found a few candies, placing them in his palm, telling him: “Don’t worry, you’ll get better.” Henry unwrapped one and fed it to his mom, then one to me. He turned sideways to offer one to the businessman. The businessman scrolled through his phone without changing expression, not taking it. I marveled at his coldness and quickly sat back. The broadcast played again: “Boarding is now beginning. Passengers, please take your luggage.” But looking out, there was only one plane left. Could all these people fit? I walked to the front and asked the flight attendant: “Are we all getting on that plane outside? It won’t fit everyone. If we don’t get on this one, will there be more planes coming?” The flight attendant shook her head slightly, still smiling. “No, this is the last plane.” What! Before I could ask more, the broadcast announced: “Due to limited seating, some passengers’ tickets will be refunded. Please board with a valid purchase screen.” Mr. Lewis behind me suddenly screamed: “Ah! My ticket was refunded!” People in line immediately checked their phones. Many had been refunded. “How could this be…” Henry’s mom looked at me in disbelief, then fainted directly. She and Henry were both refunded!

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