Category: English

My husband, Alex, got into a car accident and lost his memory. He reverted to his nineteen-year-old self—his wildest, most rebellious phase. When I went to see him, he treated me like a complete stranger, his eyes cold and distant. “Wife? Are you kidding me? There’s no way I got married!” Seeing how resistant he was, I had no choice but to leave. But ever since that first meeting, he’s been popping up in front of me 800 times a day, claiming it’s just a “coincidence.” A month later, he was bragging to his friends about getting my number. They broke down on the spot: “Bro, you spent a whole month just to get your own wife’s number?” 1 Alex was in a car accident. I booked the earliest flight back. When I arrived at the hospital, he had just fallen asleep. The doctor said Alex was fine, just a mild concussion. But the impact caused temporary amnesia. As for how long “temporary” meant—maybe a month, maybe a year, maybe longer. His memory was stuck at nineteen. His wildest, most untamable age. His friends warned me that Alex didn’t remember marrying me and it might take time for him to accept it. I was prepared. Even when he first found out he was going to marry me years ago, his attitude wasn’t exactly warm. Not as resistant as now, but definitely cold. Asking a nineteen-year-old Alex to accept a wife was a tall order. I took a deep breath. “I’ll come back tomorrow. Call me when he wakes up.” “Okay, sister-in-law.” The next day, before I heard from his friends, the hospital called. “Mrs. Sterling, can you contact your husband? We’ve searched the entire hospital and can’t find him. He’s not on the security cameras.” “It looks like he climbed out the window.” My breath hitched. It was hard to imagine the nineteen-year-old Alex doing something so reckless. In the years we’ve been married, he’s always been calm and composed. I’d heard stories about how wild he used to be, but climbing out of a hospital window? After leaving work, I called his friend, Ben. It turned out Alex went straight from the hospital to a club to find them. When I arrived at the private room, Ben and the others were being pressured by Alex to drink. “Alex, I really can’t drink anymore.” “Me too, man. I quit drinking years ago.” “Alex, stop drinking. Sister-in-law is going to kill us.” “Yeah, it’s been a day. She must be worried.” Alex raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “Sister-in-law? You guys trying to skip out on drinks again?” Ben looked like he wanted to cry. “Alex, you really don’t remember you have a wife?” “Stop messing with me. I wouldn’t get married even if I was dead. Giving up my freedom? No way. Besides, guys who let their wives control them are spineless!” Alex still thought Ben was just the prankster friend taking advantage of his amnesia. He definitely didn’t believe he was married. The sound of me pushing open the door was drowned out by the loud music. Ben saw me first. A chill went down his spine. “Alex, stop talking.” I walked into the room and picked up a bottle from the table. Except for Alex, everyone sat up straight. Alex leaned back on the sofa, looking up annoyed. “Do the waitresses here just barge in without knocking?” His voice cut off the moment he saw me. After locking eyes with me, Alex started frantically adjusting his tie and shirt. He buttoned the top two buttons, then reconsidered and unbuttoned them. He pulled his collar down a bit, revealing a hint of his chest. Nineteen-year-old Alex… quite the show-off. Ben and the others couldn’t bear to watch Alex dig his own grave any longer. They were about to warn him, but I silenced them with a look. As I left, I heard everyone in the room let out a collective sigh of relief. “Alex, why is your face so red?” Alex looked incredulous. “Me? Blushing? Impossible!” Luke, who was always a bit dense, immediately opened his front camera. “It is red! Wait, Alex, do you know who she is?” “Cough.” Ben interrupted him sharply. They were more afraid of offending me than Alex. “Someone must have spiked the drinks. Check it out.” Alex picked up his glass, then slammed it down. “Done drinking. Going home.” 2 The “home” Alex referred to wasn’t the house we lived in now. He went back to the old Sterling estate. Since his keys didn’t work, he climbed over the fence. He almost got caught as a burglar. Luckily, the security guards had good eyesight. He was unharmed, but he woke up his elderly parents. “You brat, what are you doing here in the middle of the night? Digging up ancestors’ graves?” “Honey, you forgot. Our son is supposed to be in the hospital. He had an accident and lost his memory. He probably doesn’t remember his own house.” “Oh right. Now that you mention it… You brat, forgetting even Alice? You’ve got some nerve.” Alex’s dad grabbed a feather duster and aimed for his legs. Maybe twenty-nine-year-old Alex wouldn’t dodge. But nineteen-year-old Alex knew exactly how to evade his father’s wrath. He sprinted upstairs to his room and slammed the door. “What Alice? You guys arranging another engagement? When I was nineteen you tried to sell me off to some rich lady, remember? Can’t believe you’re still doing this when I’m twenty-nine.” His dad shouted from the stairwell, “Ungrateful brat! I wish you wouldn’t waste Alice’s time!” Alex sneered from behind the door. “Fine by me.” That night. My best friend, Sarah, came over to keep me company and vent on my behalf. “Why don’t you just confront him? I bet he’s faking it!” “Let’s go to the estate right now, bag him, and beat him up!” I couldn’t say I wasn’t angry. My husband stays out all night, claims he’s definitely single, and acts like marrying me is a fate worse than death. “But seriously, what if he never remembers? Are you two just going to be stuck like this?” “If he really doesn’t remember, then we bag him and lock him in the house.” 3 Work was slow the next day, so I agreed to go with Sarah to check out her new bakery and give some advice. Just as I arrived, my mother-in-law called. “Alice, I have to tell you something.” “This morning, I saw Alex dressed like a peacock. He even put on hair gel and cologne before leaving. I’m afraid he’s—” The door chimed. Alex walked into the bakery. It was opening day, so the shop was crowded, but I spotted him immediately. Mainly because his outfit was screaming for attention. Cargo pants with too many pockets, an oversized black T-shirt, and a silver chain necklace. So trendy it hurt. I spoke into the phone, “It’s okay, Mom. I know.” He might have amnesia, but I still remember everything. I walked past Alex with a tray of samples, deliberately offering them to the customers around him. Just as Alex, who was closest to me, finally reached out for a toothpick, Sarah swiped the last piece. “Mmm, delicious. Crunch crunch. My baking is top tier.” She looked at Alex, feigning surprise. “Oh! I didn’t know you wanted to try too. I took the last one. Tell you what, we have new products you can buy to try at home.” Alex’s mouth twitched. Sarah continued, “Wait, you didn’t just come here to mooch free samples, right?” And just like that, Alex bought a $3,000 membership card and five pineapple buns, leaving with a dark face. Sarah waved his first receipt of the day. “Thanks, bestie. Consider this my grand opening red packet.” 4 Alex sat in the private room at the club, staring at five pineapple buns. “Isn’t this Sarah’s new bakery?” Ben took a bite of a bun before Alex pulled him onto the sofa for interrogation. “How does my outfit look today?” Ben answered honestly, “Very nineteen-year-old you.” Alex frowned. “Am I old now?” Luke looked envious. “No way. You’ve maintained your prime better than any of us. You’re legitimately handsome, bro.” “I’m twenty-nine now. That’s basically thirty. Men aren’t worth much at thirty… Wait, she doesn’t know how old I am, right?” Ben dropped his bun. “She? Alex, are you talking about a woman?” Alex hummed noncommittally. “Yeah. She’s playing hard to get.” “Holy shit. Tell sister-in-law Alex fell in love at first sight with someone else.” “I know, I know. I’m texting her now.” “What does she look like, Alex? Don’t do anything stupid!” “You guys saw her yesterday. I didn’t fall in love at first sight! I’m never getting married! But I’ve never seen anyone look like that. Face the size of my palm… so gentle…” Max, who was typing the text to me, froze. He looked up at Alex in disbelief, then frantically deleted everything. “The one from yesterday? That’s…” False alarm. Ben and Luke exchanged glances. They asked Alex, “Do you know her name?” Alex shook his head. “You guys know?” Ben and Luke made eye contact for a long time before pushing the hapless Luke forward. Luke grinned until his face hurt. “Yeah, her name is Alice Vance. We know the owner of the bakery, Sarah. Alice is her best friend.” Alex let out a soft “Ah.” “So that’s it.” “These buns are pretty good. I’ll bring you guys some more over the next few days.” Alex left, humming a tune. The remaining friends looked at each other. “You think when Alex gets his memory back, he’ll throw us all into the river?” “It’s fine. Sister-in-law told us not to say anything. With her protection, Alex won’t do anything to us.” “True.”

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The air was thick with the acrid smell of sulfur and burnt meat. When the SWAT team kicked down the door, they froze. They stared in horror at the charred remains scattered across the floor. I was sitting on the sofa, calm and collected. Under my feet lay the bodies of Mr. Henderson’s parents. The officers swept the room, checking for secondary devices, before training their rifles on me. “Hands on your head! Do not move!” I slowly raised my hands, my voice steady. “Officer, two of my classmates were in the bathroom when it went off. Can I go check if they’re dead, too?” The veteran detective walked in, took one look at the hellscape, and glared at me. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Don’t think being a minor will save you from this.” I shook my head. I never planned on running. Chapter 1 I was taken to the interrogation room. No matter what they asked, I didn’t say a word. Not until a uniformed officer entered to report. “We’ve confirmed forty bodies at the scene.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Forty. I didn’t miss a single one. Perfect. The detective slammed his hand on the metal table. “Julian! You arrogant little psychopath! How can you smile right now?” “Tell me, why did you detonate that bomb? Do you realize you just destroyed over thirty families?” I nodded. “I know. That’s why I didn’t run. I sat there and waited for you. I did it all. I built the bomb myself.” “Wrap it up. There’s nothing else to say.” The high school principal rushed in, trembling as he pointed a finger at me. “Why? Why would you do this?” “If it weren’t for Mr. Henderson, you wouldn’t even be in school! He pulled you out of that abusive house!” “Your classmates… they knew you were the youngest. They pitied you. They took care of you. And you… you’re worse than an animal!” The old principal, nearing retirement, was choking on his rage. Behind him stood Dr. Sarah Evans, the school psychologist. She was the only person, besides Mr. Henderson, who had ever shown me kindness. I looked at her. “I’m sorry, Dr. Evans. I didn’t mean to drag you into this mess.” She looked conflicted. “Julian… your psychological evaluations were always normal. You’re a healthy, brilliant kid. Is there something we don’t know? Please, tell the truth.” “Maybe… maybe it could help mitigate your sentence.” I grinned. Dr. Evans was so kind, trying to save me even now. I shook my head slowly. “There’s no secret story.” I looked back at the detective. “I just wanted to test the blast radius of my homemade explosive. I wanted to see if it really could wipe out everyone in that house.” “I’ve confessed, officer. Anything else?” “You monster!” Chapter 2 The detective roared, looking like he wanted to strangle me right there. I looked at him provocatively. I knew he couldn’t touch me. “The evidence chain is solid. I even kept the receipts for the chemicals. What’s the hold-up?” “Why haven’t you closed the case?” The heavy steel door swung open. A man with an imposing aura walked in. He sat on the edge of the table, staring right into my soul. I straightened up. “You must be the boss. Is there anything left to discuss? I admitted to everything.” The man kept his face stone cold. “I’m Detective Miller, head of Major Crimes. I’m taking over.” His eyes were sharp, like a hawk scanning for prey in tall grass. I nodded. “Ask away.” “Why did you kill them? Your principal and teachers say Mr. Henderson and your classmates treated you like family. You have no motive. Unless there’s something they aren’t telling us.” I shrugged. “No hidden motive. Like I said, I just wanted to test my bomb.” “They were good to me. That part is true.” “How were they good to you?” Miller pressed. I counted on my fingers. “They brought me breakfast. They tutored me. They fought for me to stay in school. The whole class even crowdfunded my living expenses.” “Mr. Henderson contributed the most.” Chapter 3 “So you killed Mr. Henderson and his elderly parents?” “Yeah. I was afraid he’d be lonely in hell.” The officer taking notes in the corner snapped his pen in half. “Captain, this kid is a textbook sociopath. He’s crazy. There’s no point wasting time. Let’s book him.” Miller glanced at the officer. “Is that how you conduct an investigation? Sloppy?” “If you can’t dig for the truth, turn in your badge.” The room went silent. Miller’s authority was absolute. I sat up a little straighter, facing Miller. Miller called Dr. Evans back in. “You said he passed his evaluations?” Dr. Evans looked at me with fear now. I smiled gently. Who wouldn’t be afraid of a mass murderer? “Yes,” she stammered. “His mental health was stable. He showed no signs of antisocial personality disorder. If he had, per school policy, we would have intervened. I was sure he was fine.” Miller frowned, looking back at me. “So, why, Julian?” “I suggest you come clean. If there are extenuating circumstances, it could save you from the needle.” “The needle?” I laughed. It sounded like a joke. “In this state, mass shooters get the chair or the injection. I killed forty people. You think there’s a loophole for that?” “Detective Miller, I’m not a three-year-old. Don’t lie to me.” Dr. Evans stepped forward, desperate. “Julian, you’re a genius. You know right from wrong. How could you do this? Just tell us why. Is there a chance?” I shook my head. “I don’t need a chance.” “If I wanted hope, I wouldn’t have built the bomb in the first place.” Miller gritted his teeth. “What happened today? What made you light the fuse?” Chapter 4 “You’re human, Julian. I don’t believe you did this without a trigger.” I furrowed my brows, pretending to think deeply. I tapped my fingers on the metal table. “Today was college acceptance day. I got into the State Teachers College. We agreed to celebrate at Mr. Henderson’s house.” “When we arrived, Mr. Henderson’s parents had prepared a feast. Better than Thanksgiving.” “I was the youngest, so they sat me right next to Mr. Henderson.” I spoke calmly, pacing the story like I was describing a family movie night. “Someone suggested we needed champagne. They sent me downstairs to the convenience store to buy it.” I smiled, remembering the scene. “I stood downstairs and pressed the button on the remote. The boom… it was beautiful. The windows blew out. Black smoke poured into the sky.” I got excited, gesturing with my cuffed hands. “The whole apartment complex ran out screaming. I walked back up. The room was black.” “Luckily, the neighbors weren’t home. Just my class.” Dr. Evans frowned. The pity in her eyes was replaced by disgust. “Some were in pieces. Some were just charcoal statues. You couldn’t tell who was who.” “When I walked in, Mr. Henderson was still holding his wine glass. He didn’t even have time to scream.” “My bomb froze him in time forever.” Tears of excitement welled in my eyes as I recounted the masterpiece. The silence in the interrogation room was suffocating. Miller slammed the table. “Enough! Tell me why!” “Julian, stop acting. I know there’s a reason!” He was pushing me. Forcing me to say it. I pouted like a petulant child. “Why does there have to be a reason?” “If there isn’t one, do you want me to make one up?” My casual tone, coming from a mass murderer, was terrifyingly innocent.

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On our seventh anniversary, my boyfriend Eric was late. While waiting, I saw actress Mona Faye’s livestream. After starring with Eric in a hit drama, their on-screen romance had fans obsessed, calling them perfect together. I, his real-life girlfriend, was mocked as “Hollywood’s Most Underwhelming Girlfriend.” Fans were betting on when he’d dump me for Mona. In the stream, a fan asked if they’d really fallen for each other. Mona smiled shyly, holding up her phone. “Ask a certain someone.” I scoffed. Eric always cut contact while filming—my call minutes earlier went to voicemail. But when Mona called, he answered instantly. Her voice sweet, she asked, “Eric, have you fallen for me for real?” I heard his low chuckle through her phone. “I’m working, Mona. Stop messing around.” Seven years—I’d spent my youth helping him rise from nothing. Yet to him, I mattered less than a co-star. Right then, I knew it was over. Days later, Eric came home—no hug, no kiss, no apology for missing our anniversary. He just scowled, angry about my call. “Molly, I’ve told you—when I’m working, I immerse in my role. No outside distractions.” He looked down coldly. “As an actor’s girlfriend, you need to understand. Support my process, don’t add chaos. Get it?” 1 I sighed, sinking wearily onto the sofa. Honestly, I couldn’t remember a single time I had ever caused him any real trouble. Except for once. We hadn’t seen each other in over three months, and I missed him desperately. I checked his schedule beforehand, making sure it was his day off before driving hours to visit the set. I even stood in line for three hours to buy his favorite pastries. But when I arrived, a sudden downpour had forced the crew to reschedule. They were shooting a major rain scene that day. Because of my unexpected arrival, Eric couldn’t get into character for a kiss scene. It took take after take. He was always so charming and patient with everyone else, apologizing profusely to the crew for the delays. But all his frustration, he saved for me. He even threw the pastries I brought onto the ground. “Molly, who told you to come here? Take your damn things and get out!” Tears stung my eyes. “You’re a bastard, Eric! You only ever take it out on me!” I shot back, my voice trembling. “I saw you were busy, so I waited in the green room. How was I in your way?” “I can’t do this anymore! We’re done!” I screamed. The word “done” seemed to stop him in his tracks. He stood frozen for a second, his fists clenched, visibly fighting back his rage. Then he strode over, pushed me into a chair, and kissed me—a rough, punishing kiss that was more bite than passion. “We can fight, Molly,” he growled against my lips. “But don’t you ever threaten to leave me again. Got it?” Back then, I thought his desperate attempt to keep me meant he truly loved me. Looking back now, I think he was just used to having me around. After all, not many women would be foolish enough to put their own career on hold and follow a struggling actor to a new city to chase his dream. I told him I had seen Mona’s livestream. And that wasn’t all. I brought up the press tour for their last project, where he and Mona had a tearful, emotional moment on stage. When the host asked what was wrong, Mona had cried, “Timing in life is just so important. I’m so envious of his girlfriend.” Eric had sighed and reached out to gently stroke her hair. The fans went wild. The shippers cut together dozens of viral clips of the moment. The caption always read: The tears are still on your face, but I no longer have the right to wipe them away. When I mentioned this, Eric pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice strained with forced patience. “Mona is new to this, Molly. She’s young, she has a hard time getting out of character. Is that a crime?” “She’s a colleague. A colleague was crying, so I comforted her. Is that a crime?” “The fans get too invested. I can’t control them. Is that a crime?” “Can you please stop being so suspicious all the time? You make me feel like some kind of monster. The pressure is already immense…” But I just didn’t understand. In the show, the characters got their happy ending. In real life, the show was a massive success, with rave reviews. What on earth were they crying about? I waited for his excuses to run out. Then I took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. “Eric, let’s break up.” 2 My stubbornness finally exhausted his patience. He was in a hurry to catch a flight and didn’t have time to argue. “You need to cool off,” he said, tossing the words over his shoulder as he walked out. That was his solution to every problem between us. Ignore it. The next time we saw each other, we’d kiss and make up, and pretend the fight never happened. For him, if it wasn’t spoken of, it was forgotten. But I remembered. I had a running tally of every single slight. A few days later, I signed a contract to transfer ownership of my business. “Ms. Vance, your shop always seems so busy. Why are you closing?” the new owner asked. I looked around the flower shop, a pang of sadness in my chest. I had poured years of my life into this place. “Because I’m leaving Northwood,” I said. Eric and I were both from Southport. When he decided to move north to pursue his career, I quit my job and followed him. We were dirt poor at first. We lived in a tiny, one-room basement apartment that cost six hundred a month. The window was half-submerged at street level, and strangers would constantly peer in as they walked by. Northwood was a glittering metropolis, and we were like rats living in a sewer. The winters were brutal. I bought a secondhand space heater, and one night, faulty wiring caused it to catch fire. When Eric heard, he borrowed a friend’s car and drove seven hours through the night to get back to me. He was a man who channeled almost all his emotions into his acting. In everyday life, he was reserved, almost detached. But that night, he held me and cried so hard he could barely breathe. “Molly, I’m so sorry,” he sobbed. “It’s my fault. You’re suffering because I can’t provide for you.” “I’ll make it big,” he promised. “I’ll make so much money, and I’ll spend the rest of my life loving you.” Seven years passed. Eric’s career soared, and the chasm between us grew wider with every success. It was inevitable. I have crippling anxiety when it comes to relationships. And Eric, of all things, is an actor. His job requires him to simulate intimacy, to pour his soul into another identity and pretend to fall in love with someone else. Once, he was filming a particularly intense scene with an actress. It was the emotional climax of the film, where the two characters finally confessed their tortured love for each other. They kissed until they were both crying, clinging to each other long after the director yelled “Cut.” They ended up tumbling onto the bed, their bodies pressed together, tearing at each other’s clothes. None of that was in the script. It was a raw, spontaneous overflow of emotion. The director was ecstatic, clapping his hands. “Brilliant! That was brilliant! They really felt it.” And by some cruel twist of fate, it was Eric’s birthday. I had come to the set with a gift. Seeing that… it shattered me. But what could I do? It was his job. If I got angry, if I showed my jealousy, I was just being unreasonable. My insecurity festered, making me anxious, paranoid, and controlling. One night, while Eric was in the shower, I checked his phone. He caught me. The look on his face was pure fury. “Molly, what the hell is wrong with you? Are you bored? Don’t you have a life of your own?” Three questions, each one a dagger. He was the one who had begged me to quit my job and move to Northwood with him. He said he loved how much I needed him, that he would take care of me forever. The day after that fight, I took all my savings and opened the flower shop. I was there every single day, rain or shine. I made myself busy. If I was busy, I wouldn’t have time to wonder who Eric was kissing today, how far the intimacy would go, or what would happen if he couldn’t separate the role from reality and truly fell in love with someone else. 3 It was past rush hour, and the subway car was nearly empty on my way home. Two girls sat next to me, giggling as they stared at a phone. “I’m telling you, they’re for real. Eric and Mona. You can’t fake that kind of body language, that subconscious need to be close.” “Doesn’t he have a girlfriend?” “Come on, think about it. On one hand, you have the girlfriend of seven years. She’s getting old, there’s no mystery left. On the other, you have a gorgeous, vibrant movie star. If you were Eric, who would you choose?” I quietly pulled out my compact mirror and looked at my reflection. I was the campus beauty back in college. I wasn’t that washed up, was I? The truth is, I had forced Eric to go public with our relationship. At first, he said he didn’t want to bring his private life into the spotlight. The result was that no one in the industry even knew he was taken. Women pursued him, friends tried to set him up, and one producer even tried to proposition him. I finally blew up. “Do you really think it’s ‘unnecessary,’ Eric, or are you just ashamed of me? Are you afraid of losing your ‘single guy’ appeal?” He called me unreasonable. But he did it. He posted a simple announcement on his social media: [Happy 7 years to my amazing girlfriend, @MollysBlooms] That night, two hashtags trended simultaneously: #EricLarkinGoesPublic and #EricAndMona. The shippers had worked overnight, creating a viral post titled: You are the madness that exists outside the rules of my world. It was a meticulous compilation of every single flirty interaction between them. In their narrative, Eric and Mona were star-crossed lovers, and I was the villain keeping them apart. They claimed the only reason Eric hadn’t broken up with a mediocre woman like me was out of a sense of duty. Late that night, Mona went online. She liked the post, then quickly unliked it, and then posted that it was an “accidental slip.” A masterclass in plausible deniability. She even tagged me directly: [@MollysBlooms Hope you don’t mind, let’s get lunch sometime! xoxo] She acted like we were old friends. I had never even met her. Eric told me not to overthink it. “Mona’s just a sweet, innocent kid, Molly. She was probably just trying to make you feel less awkward.” I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “She’s innocent. So what am I?” “You?” A small smirk played on his lips. “Come on, Molly. Don’t compare yourself to a girl that young.” His tone was patronizingly sweet. Mona was only two years younger than me. 4 One of the girls next to me took off her headphones, and a familiar voice drifted out. I remembered then—it was the fan meet for Eric’s new show in Bayside. It was being livestreamed. I pulled up the stream on my phone. Mona had recently been at the center of a media firestorm. Rumors were swirling about her—that she had been a bully in school, that she’d slept with a director to get a role, that she’d hooked up with co-stars. At the fan meet, she addressed the rumors for the first time. Within minutes, she was crying too hard to speak. And Eric was right there, protecting her. Every sharp question from the press, every nasty comment in the live chat—Eric shot them all down. “Online harassment is a terrifying thing,” he said, his voice firm and serious. “It can cause irreparable harm…” I laughed. A bitter, hollow sound. And then, the laughter turned into something else. A sharp sting in my nose. I covered my face with my hands, but the tears leaked through my fingers. “Are you okay?” one of the girls next to me asked, offering me a tissue. “Thanks…” Crying on the subway was mortifying. I got off at the next stop, even though it wasn’t mine. It was all his fault. Ever since he’d made our relationship public, his and Mona’s shippers had laid siege to my social media. “Just let him go. Let him be with someone who’s actually right for him.” “The one who isn’t loved is the third wheel. You’re just in the way.” “If you weren’t such a bitch, my ship would have sailed by now!” “Break up with him, or we’ll make you.” It escalated. The more extreme fans doxxed me. They sent me grotesque images in my DMs. A few even started showing up near my apartment, trying to confront me. I used to read stories about people who took their own lives because of online bullying. I felt sorry for them, but a part of me didn’t quite understand. Why not just turn off the internet? Why let the words of strangers destroy you? Now I knew. It was a terrifying, suffocating poison. At the time, Eric was on location for a film. My calls went unanswered, my texts vanished into a void. By the time he came home, I hadn’t slept properly in two weeks. I was a wreck, my nerves so frayed that a doctor had prescribed medication for anxiety. All Eric did was give me a quick hug and murmur, “Don’t worry about it, Molly. They’re just fans who can’t let go of the show.” Then he was off again, rushing to his next engagement. I had always told myself it was just his personality. He wasn’t the most observant or comforting person. It didn’t mean he didn’t love me. But now, watching him on the screen, fiercely defending Mona, speaking about the dangers of online bullying… watching him in the background while the director spoke, constantly handing Mona tissues, whispering in her ear until he made her smile through her tears… I realized what a complete and utter fool I had been. 5 I bought a plane ticket back to Southport. The day before I left, I had one last follow-up appointment with my doctor. His office was on the fifth floor, at the end of a long, sunlit corridor. Today, the corridor was blocked off, a crowd of people gathered around. I edged closer to see what was going on. They were filming a movie. I wasn’t interested. I turned to leave, but through a gap in the crowd, my eyes met Eric’s. And next to him stood Mona. I remembered then. He had mentioned his next role was a doctor. He just hadn’t mentioned it was another project with her. It didn’t matter. I didn’t care anymore. For a split second, our eyes locked. Eric frowned, taking an involuntary step toward me. I turned and walked away without looking back. Mona glanced in my direction, catching sight of a woman with long hair disappearing down the hall. “Who was that? Your girlfriend?” she asked. “Yeah.” “Here to check up on you?” Eric gave a slightly embarrassed smile. “I guess so.” Mona pouted. “Dating someone outside the industry is so much trouble. Following you all the way to a hospital… This is the first time I’ve ever been treated like some kind of homewrecker. What’s her problem?” “It’s not like that,” Eric said, his gaze still fixed on the empty hallway. “She just gets a little jealous sometimes. Insecure. It’s not about you.” During a break, Eric opened his phone. He noticed his last chat with me was from over two weeks ago. [When does filming wrap? Need to talk to you.] He’d read it but never replied. He must have forgotten. It was normal for him not to contact me while he was filming. But it was highly abnormal for me not to contact him. I was the one who usually spammed him with pointless messages—a great steak I ate, a windy day in Northwood, a cute dog I saw. I never cared if he read them or not. This silence meant she was still angry about their last fight. Usually, she got over things quickly. Why was she holding onto this one for so long? Remembering the cold look in her eyes just now, Eric worried she had gotten the wrong idea again. He decided he should probably explain. … I was waiting for my number to be called when my phone started ringing incessantly. Annoyed, I realized I’d forgotten something important. I declined the call, went to my contacts, and blocked the number. Then I opened my messages, found Eric’s name, and deleted the conversation. Much better. 6 Since his calls wouldn’t go through, Eric came to find me in person. Thankfully, it was a private clinic, and it was nearly closing time, so we didn’t become the center of attention. He reached out to ruffle my hair. “Came to see me?” “In your dreams.” “Still trying to fool me?” He sighed, a weary smile on his face. “Come on, Molly, don’t be jealous. The director specifically requested Mona and me for this project. He wanted to capitalize on the buzz from our last show.” He poked my cheek. “You’re such a little jealous thing, following me all the way here. Did you really think I’d cheat on you?” My patience snapped. “I told you, I’m not here for you. I have my own business to attend to.” “What business could you possibly have?” he retorted without thinking. At that exact moment, the electronic screen on the wall lit up with my name. “Patient B17, Molly Vance, please proceed to examination room 05…” I stood up. Eric grabbed my wrist, his face suddenly tight with shock and concern. “You’re sick?” 7 I shook his hand off, my expression blank. “It’s nothing. Just a check-up.” “What do you mean, ‘just a check-up’?” he pressed, his voice rising with alarm. “What’s wrong? Why didn’t you tell me?” He tried to follow me into the room, but I quickly shut the door in his face. Dr. Evans looked up. “Your boyfriend?” I’d been seeing him for a few years. We’d even run into each other on morning jogs by the river. We were friendly, and he knew about Eric. I shook my head. “Ex-boyfriend.” “Oh?” Dr. Evans raised an eyebrow. “Congratulations.” “Thank you.” Ever since Eric had screamed, “What the hell is wrong with you?” at me, I had started to believe something really was. So I went to a doctor. The diagnosis was mild depression and severe anxiety, specifically triggered by my romantic relationships. It mostly stemmed from my mother. My father died in a construction accident when I was two. My mother left me with my aging grandfather in the countryside and went to the city to find work. She would only come back once every few years, promise to stay for two weeks, and then disappear after two or three days. I became so terrified of her leaving that I would sleep on the floor outside her door, just to make sure she was still there in the morning. When she was home, I would cook for her, wash her clothes, and give her all the money I earned from collecting herbs in the mountains. I thought that if I could just prove how useful I was, she would love me more. One year, she came back with a man and a little boy—my new stepfather and stepbrother. My grandfather had passed away by then. It was the middle of a snowy winter, and I was running a fever, but I cooked and cleaned for all of them. The day before New Year’s Eve, my mother promised to take me shopping for new clothes the next day. I cried with happiness. The next morning, I pushed open her door to find the room empty. They had left in the middle of the night. The phone number was disconnected, the address she gave me was fake. They had simply vanished. I survived on the charity of my aunts and uncles. Before Eric, I had one other boyfriend. He cheated on me after less than six months. He said it was my fault, that I was too needy, so he had to find someone else. After that, the anxiety took root in my heart and grew like weeds. I was terrified of not being good enough for people, and terrified that they would betray me. Eric was right. Something was wrong with me. Dr. Evans had told me a long time ago that it wasn’t all my fault. He said my partner’s behavior wasn’t helping. He gave me two options: find a healthy distraction, or remove the source of my anxiety. Step one: I opened the flower shop. Step two: I left Eric. And now, I felt fantastic. My check-up went perfectly. “Your condition has stabilized, Molly,” Dr. Evans said with a smile. “You can stop the medication.” He shook my hand. “All the best. It was a pleasure knowing you.” 8 When I walked out of the exam room, Eric was gone. He had to get back to filming. He’d left a message for me with the young nurse at the front desk. “He said he knows he’s been neglecting you because of work, and that as soon as this movie wraps, he wants to give you a proper birthday celebration,” the nurse relayed, her eyes wide with envy. “Wow, you’re Eric Larkin’s girlfriend? He’s handsome, rich, and famous! You’re so lucky!” I didn’t know what to say. I just forced a smile. So many people told me how lucky I was, how much they envied me. But I never felt it. It was like having a fishbone stuck in my throat. You can’t swallow it, you can’t cough it up, and you can’t just walk around with your mouth open for everyone to see. Only you know how much it hurts. But now, finally, the bone was gone. The next morning, I boarded a plane to Southport. My best friend, Gia, picked me up from the airport. The moment she saw me, she wrapped me in a bone-crushing hug. “Molly, baby! I told you not to follow that jerk to Northwood! He doesn’t deserve you!” I laughed. “You might be the only person on the planet who thinks he’s not good enough for me.” “Of course! You’re too good for him! You’re a total sweetheart—if someone is even remotely nice to you, you’ll give them your whole heart. Eric never knew how to appreciate you, and he’s going to regret it for the rest of his life!” The last dregs of my post-breakup sadness evaporated under the warmth of Gia’s tirade. “Come on, baby girl,” she said, slinging an arm around my shoulder. “Welcome back to my town. Forget that loser. I’m going to show you a good time.”

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Ten o’clock at night. On the dot. A delivery guy in a baseball cap knocked on the door of apartment 502. “Food delivery!” We were all roommates in a three-bedroom apartment. Ethan, the one we called Specs, opened the door. He had his headphones on, deep in some online game, and waved a dismissive hand. “Not mine.” Without another word, the delivery guy pulled out a knife and slashed his throat. Then, still holding the takeout bag, he pushed open the door to the next room. “Excuse me, did you order food?” Mark, the gym instructor who lived in that room, looked up, startled. “No, who are you—?” The delivery guy didn’t give him a chance to finish. The knife plunged straight into his heart. I had just finished my shower. The moment I opened the bathroom door, I saw the carnage. The floor was slick with blood. And the delivery guy was standing there, knife in hand. “It wasn’t them. So, was it you?” My mind went blank with terror. I shook my head, a reflex. “Not me, I don’t know anything…” I never finished the sentence. He hacked me to death in a flurry of strikes. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Five minutes before I was murdered. I burst out of the bathroom, my heart hammering against my ribs, and my eyes locked with the equally terrified gazes of my two roommates. I knew, without a doubt, we had all come back. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. A low, muffled male voice came from the other side. “Food delivery?” … The three of us stared at each other, our faces masks of pure, unadulterated fear and disbelief. Ethan was the first to react, snatching his phone to call the cops. But Mark clamped a hand over his. “With what evidence? What are we going to tell them?” “That we had a premonition someone was about to murder us?” The living room was spotless. No bodies, no blood. Not even a shadow of the delivery guy. Calling the police now would just get us flagged for a prank call. “The key is to figure out who ordered the food,” I said, forcing my voice to stay level. “He’s obviously after the person who placed the order.” Ethan immediately pulled up his delivery app and showed us his phone. “I haven’t ordered anything all week!” Mark took out his phone, displaying his own order history. “I’m on a strict meal plan. I cook everything myself.” I quickly opened my app, too. The most recent order was from three days ago—breakfast. I offered a guess. “Maybe it was a neighbor? Maybe they put in the wrong address?” We lived in an old building, just two apartments per floor. Our neighbors were an elderly couple. Mark shook his head. “Before I died last time, I saw the order sticker on the bag. The address was definitely 502.” The three of us began to eye each other. The atmosphere grew tense. Was one of us lying? “I swear, I didn’t order anything.” To prove my innocence, I handed my phone to them. “You can check. My payment history is all there.” Ethan and Mark swapped phones, checking each other’s records. There were no recent food delivery charges for any of us. “Then who could it be?” Ethan ran his hands through his hair in frustration. Suddenly, I thought of someone. Just as I was about to pull out my phone to make a call, we heard our landlady’s cheerful voice from the hallway. “Leo? Mark? Ethan? Are you boys home?” She always came by on the fifth of the month to collect rent. Today was the fifth, a weekday, which was why she was here so late. The color drained from our faces. We all held our breath. Then, that same muffled voice spoke again. “Excuse me, did you order the food?” Our landlady, Mrs. Gable, paused, turning around. “A delivery? No, that wasn’t me.” The words had barely left her mouth when the delivery guy raised his knife and swung it at the back of her neck. A gut-wrenching scream tore through the hallway as Mrs. Gable crumpled to the floor. We were frozen, shaking uncontrollably. Mrs. Gable had always been kind to us. She knew we were recent grads with little money, so she kept the rent low and often brought us homemade dishes. My fingers trembled as I fumbled for my phone. It took me several tries to dial 911. “Hello… police…” Before I could say more, there was a click. The lock on our door turned. The delivery guy pushed the door open and gave me a grotesque smile. “What do you think you’re doing?” Every hair on my body stood on end. Mrs. Gable, miraculously, struggled to her feet. She latched onto his leg, using her last ounce of strength to yell, “Run…!” The delivery guy, annoyed, stabbed her twice more, shaking her body off his leg. Then, knife in hand, he started walking toward us, one step at a time. Mark tried to rush him, to fight back, but he was cut down with a single, brutal stab. In the next instant, a searing pain exploded in my chest as the cold blade pierced through me. I burst out of the bathroom again. At the exact same moment, Mark burst out of his room. Ethan’s voice was choked with sobs. “It… it happened again?” “This is the second time,” Mark said, his brow furrowed, his expression grim. “We have to find a way out of this,” I gasped, collapsing onto the sofa. “We can’t let him kill us again.” We fell into a heavy silence, each of us replaying the two deaths, searching for a pattern. The delivery guy’s target was clearly the person who ordered the food. We were just collateral damage because we weren’t who he was looking for. But who was he looking for? “And another thing—he’s good,” Mark said suddenly. “I graduated with a degree in sports science, I’m in the gym every day, but I was no match for him. His movements are professional. Like he’s been trained.” Just then, the doorbell rang. That terrifying voice echoed through the door once more. “Food delivery?” I glanced at my watch. Mrs. Gable would be arriving in two minutes. “Quick, call her! Call Mrs. Gable!” Ethan’s fingers flew across his phone screen. “Hey, Mrs. Gable? It’s Ethan. Listen, all three of us have come down with a bad cold. We don’t want to get you sick. Could you maybe come by another day?” At the same time, I dialed the number I hadn’t been able to call last time. It was answered after two rings. “Chloe?” I asked, my voice tight with urgency. “Did you order food for me?” I could hear her smile on the other end. “You found out! It was a surprise to thank you for helping with those reports today. How did you know?” We found her. The three of us exchanged a look of relief. “Chloe, what’s your connection to the delivery guy?” I pressed. “Why is he so desperate to find you?” She paused, her tone shifting to confusion. “The delivery guy? I just placed the order a minute ago; the app hasn’t even assigned a driver yet.” “Leo, is everything okay?” It wasn’t her. Time was running out. I didn’t have a moment to explain. I hung up. “Oh no!” Ethan suddenly cried out. “Mrs. Gable replied!” He played the voice message. Her warm voice filled the room. “All three of you are sick? You must not have eaten, then. I just made a big pot of stew. I’ll bring some up for you boys. I’m already on the fifth floor.” Our faces went deathly pale. We were too late. Ding! The elevator doors opened. Mrs. Gable’s voice followed. “Oh, hello, young man. Are you here with a delivery?” Then came the familiar, muffled male voice. “Excuse me, are you the one who ordered the food?” We scrambled to the peephole. Mrs. Gable was standing right by the elevator, face-to-face with the delivery guy. This was exactly how she had died last time. We had hidden behind the door like cowards, watching as she died trying to save us. This time, I couldn’t let that happen. “Open the door,” I said, my voice firm. Ethan and Mark looked at me, stunned for a second, then nodded in agreement. Mark sprinted to the kitchen and came back with a fruit knife. Ethan grabbed a heavy mop handle. I yanked the door open. “Mrs. Gable, get in here! Quick!” Before she could process what was happening, Ethan had pulled her inside. Mark immediately tried to slam the door shut. But just as it was about to close, the delivery guy wedged his knee in the gap, forcing it open. He stepped inside, his eyes under the brim of his baseball cap scanning the four of us. “Who ordered the food?” This time, I stepped in front of Mark and Ethan. “I did. What do you want?” The delivery guy’s gaze settled on me. He didn’t immediately kill me. I had gambled correctly. He held out the takeout bag. “Valuable item. I need you to confirm it’s undamaged before I can leave.” I hesitated, then took the bag. It was impossibly light, weighing almost nothing. I unzipped it. And froze. Inside, there was nothing but a single, crumpled piece of paper. Before I could even read what was on it, he raised his knife and plunged it into my chest. As my consciousness faded, I heard him snarl, “Liar! It wasn’t you at all!” The third time I burst out of the bathroom, I collapsed onto the sofa, gasping for air. Ethan and Mark stumbled out of their rooms a moment later, their faces even more haggard than before. “After he… after he killed you, he killed us all again.” Ethan’s voice was cracking. “Leo, you were holding the bag. What was in it? Why did you look so shocked?” Mark frowned. “It was empty. Then why did he insist you confirm its contents?” “It wasn’t empty,” I said, trying to steady myself, my mind a chaotic mess. “There was a note.” “A note? What did it say?” they asked in unison. I shook my head. “I didn’t get a chance to read it.” “Wait a minute,” Ethan said suddenly. “The first time, he asked who ordered the food, then killed all three of us. The second time, he didn’t even ask, he just killed us. The third time, even after you said you ordered it, he still killed us all…” “What if… what if he isn’t here to deliver food at all?” “What if he’s just here to kill us?” A chill went down my spine. “But why? None of us even know him.” Mark considered this. “Maybe he’s a hitman. I told you before, he’s had professional training.” I shook my head. “But who would go to all this trouble to kill us? There has to be a motive.” We fell silent again, racking our brains, trying to recall every detail from each loop. Then I remembered the note in the empty bag. Even though I hadn’t read it, an answer was beginning to form in my mind—an answer so bizarre I had to test it myself. I stood up. “This time, we can’t just wait for him to kill us.” “I’m going to confront him. I’m going to find out what he really wants.” Ethan grabbed my arm. “No, Leo, that’s insane! He has a knife!” “We’ll all go,” Mark added. “The three of us together might stand a chance.” “It’s useless,” I said, shaking my head. “He’s too skilled. You saw what happened last time, Mark. We’re no match for him.” I glanced at my watch. The doorbell would ring in one minute. “You two hide in your rooms. Don’t come out,” I instructed. “If something happens to me, you figure out another way.” They started to protest, but the doorbell cut them off. That muffled voice, again. “Food delivery?” I squared my shoulders, opened the door, slipped out, and pulled it shut behind me. The delivery guy stood there, cap pulled low, holding the same takeout bag. “I ordered it,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. “Now what do you really want? The bag is empty, so what’s written on that note?” He seemed taken aback, as if he hadn’t expected me to be so direct. He said something strange. “You can’t be…” Then he lunged, the knife aimed at my chest. I was ready. I sidestepped the attack, grabbed the emergency wrench from the fire hose cabinet in the hall, and swung it hard at his wrist. The knife clattered to the floor. He recoiled in pain. I seized the opportunity, tackling him and pinning him against the wall with the wrench at his throat. “Talk! Why are you trying to kill us?” Just then, I heard footsteps pounding up the stairs. Walter, the new head of building security, appeared, stun baton in hand. A minute earlier, I had called security and asked him to come up. Walter was a retired martial arts instructor. With him here, we were safe. “Leo? What’s going on?” Walter looked alarmed. “I got your call and came right up. You got a burglar?” “Walter, he’s a murderer! Help me, call the police!” Relief washed over me, and my tense muscles began to relax. Walter immediately pulled out his phone, his thumb swiping across the screen. “Okay, okay, take it easy, I’m calling 911 right now…” But the next second, he jabbed the stun baton… right into me. An agonizing jolt shot through my body. My vision went black, and I collapsed. The delivery guy rubbed his wrist and slowly picked up his knife from the floor. “You… you know each other?” I stared at them in disbelief, blood from the back of my head trickling down my cheek. Just as the delivery guy’s knife was about to plunge into my chest, the apartment door flew open. Ethan and Mark charged out. Mark was holding a metal pipe, and he swung it with all his might, connecting with the delivery guy’s back. The man grunted in pain and turned to face him. “Leo, go!” Mark shouted, trying to hold him off. Ethan threw himself at Walter’s legs. “Leo, run! Don’t worry about us!” The delivery guy stabbed Mark in the shoulder, but Mark just gritted his teeth and held on. I watched, helpless, as Walter pinned Ethan against the wall, the stun baton crackling against his body. I watched as the delivery guy stabbed Mark again and again, his blood splattering across the white hallway walls. We were just roommates. We kept to ourselves, busy with our own lives. I never would have imagined that, in a life-or-death moment, they would lay down their lives to save me. The elevator doors chimed open. My escape was right there. But if I ran, the loop would end. They would stay dead. For real. Without a second thought, I scrambled up and threw myself in front of Mark, grappling with the delivery guy. His baseball cap was knocked off, revealing his face. I froze. I knew that face.

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The SATs and the Comic-Con fell on the same day. After finishing the English section, the class queen put on a revealing cosplay outfit, crying and begging to go to the convention to become an “Anime Goddess.” My childhood friend, the class president, not only personally escorted her but also rallied our classmates to go cheer her on. Seeing the whole class respond to his call, I worried everyone would miss the Math exam in the afternoon. I pleaded with them until they finally stayed. The class queen, her Comic-Con dreams shattered, cried her eyes out. My childhood friend cursed me out: “You vicious, clingy girl, I will never like you!” Before the exam scores were released, the class queen dragged me into an alley and hacked me over a dozen times with a machete. My intestines spilled onto the ground. “Since you won’t let me be a star through Comic-Con, I’ll just have to borrow your life.” Before I died, I found out. The class queen’s scores weren’t even good enough for community college. My childhood friend, for her sake, had bound me to a “Score Swap System.” As long as I died, the class queen could take my scores and happily go to Harvard. My parents, seeing my corpse, had a mental breakdown, ran into traffic, and were hit by a car. My classmates even gave false testimony, saying the class queen was with them the day I died. I opened my eyes again. I saw the class queen posing provocatively. I walked up and ripped her short skirt. “Show a little more cheek, and you’ll definitely be the brightest goddess at Comic-Con!” 1 The next second, a slap from my childhood friend, Tyler, landed hard on my face. “Mia, you’re disgusting! Just to stop Bella from going to Comic-Con, you deliberately tore her skirt!” The burning pain made my eyes sting. I really was reborn. It wasn’t a dream. Tyler glared at me furiously. “You’re always jealous of how close Bella and I are, making things difficult for her. And on such an important day, you’re sabotage her!” Classmates chimed in: “Mia, don’t think Tyler will like you for this. He’ll just think you’re a cheap, clingy girl!” “Bella prepared so long for Comic-Con, and you ruined it!” Their malicious attacks made me grind my back teeth. In my past life, I told them the round trip to the convention center was two hours. If they went, they would definitely miss the Math exam in the afternoon. I begged for an hour, my voice hoarse, until I finally persuaded them to stay. But even then, before entering the exam hall, my classmates were cursing me: “You bitch, you made Bella so sad. If she does poorly on the exam, it’s all your fault!” Since you all love Bella, the manipulative exhibitionist, so much. Then go with her to community college! I covered my face and shut my mouth, coldly watching Tyler incite everyone: “The more Mia acts like this, the more we have to help Bella. We can’t let Mia win.” Bella collapsed into Tyler’s arms, looking aggrieved: “Since Mia doesn’t agree, I won’t trouble you and the classmates. I’ll figure something out myself…” Bella reeked of that fragile, innocent “pick-me” energy, completely different from the venomous woman who stabbed me to death in my past life. Resisting the urge to slap her, I lowered my head and sniffled dramatically: “You misunderstood me. I was worried Bella’s skirt was too long and she’d be outshone by others at Comic-Con. That’s why I helped shorten it.” 2 “Tyler, you can hit me or scold me, but you can’t twist my intentions…” Seeing my pitiful tone and the red handprint on my face, the classmates paused, their attitudes softening: “Honestly, the mini-skirt does look better. Maybe Mia really was thinking of Bella.” “Maybe we misunderstood. Mia is the discipline committee member, she loves bossing people around, but thinking back, she’s always looking out for the class.” Tyler looked at me suspiciously: “Mia, are you really that kind?” Tyler and I grew up together. He used to be the person I trusted and relied on most. Whether my parents scolded me or someone bullied me, he would always stand up for me first. But ever since Bella transferred here and became the class queen, wearing short skirts to ask Tyler for homework help every day, the person Tyler wanted to protect was no longer me. I swallowed the bitterness and pretended to be excited: “Of course. Once Bella gets famous at Comic-Con, we’ll be classmates with a rising star. It’s exciting just thinking about it.” Seeing me stop obstructing them, the classmates who were against me just moments ago started to hesitate: “But the Math exam starts at 3 PM. What if we go to Comic-Con and can’t make it back in time?” Tyler patted his chest, guaranteeing: “What are you afraid of? I’ve already asked my dad to arrange a chartered bus. Door-to-door service, absolutely won’t delay anyone’s exam.” “As the class president, would I screw you guys over?” With Tyler’s guarantee, plus Bella’s constant cute begging, the classmates dropped their doubts and excitedly squeezed onto the bus. I hid my secret joy and turned to leave. But Tyler grabbed my backpack: “Mia, you’re not going to snitch to the teacher, are you?” “I have to keep an eye on you. No chances for sabotage. You have to come with us to cheer for Bella.” Seeing this, Bella rushed forward: “If Mia doesn’t want to go, don’t force her. I don’t expect everyone to like me…” Seeing Bella wink at Tyler, I immediately understood her little calculation. Presumably, Bella had already hatched the idea of binding me to the Score Swap System, so she wanted me to prepare well for the afternoon exam and not be distracted. Thinking of how Bella profited from the disaster in my last life, I clenched my fists and voluntarily got on the bus: “Tyler is right. This is the time to show class unity. I must participate.” 3 Seeing me sit down on the bus, Tyler smiled with relief: “Mia, you’re becoming more sensible. Did you finally realize you’re not qualified to compete with Bella?” Tyler didn’t know I had other plans. As soon as we got off the bus, the classmates swarmed Bella into the convention center. Because Bella was dressed extremely revealingly, and surrounded by a crowd, she quickly attracted everyone’s attention. People held up phones and cameras, surrounding Bella. Bella smiled charmingly, striking various suggestive poses for the cameras. I stepped out of the crowd. Whenever I saw someone walking towards us, I grabbed them to promote her: “Our class queen Bella, even though she has the SATs today, her heart is with Comic-Con! She came specifically to give benefits to all you fans!” “Everyone is welcome to come take photos with Bella and promote this new Anime Goddess online!” Hearing that Bella was a student taking the SATs today, onlookers buzzed with discussion: “Not taking the exams seriously, running to Comic-Con to do soft-core porn. What a disgrace to the anime community!” “That skirt is so short you can see her butt cheeks. If I had a daughter like that, I’d strangle her on the spot.” Bella was oblivious, thinking she had really become an Anime Goddess. Little did she know, someone had already set up a phone, pointing it at her face and starting a livestream: “A student taking the SATs runs to Comic-Con to strip? Whose unlucky child is this? Parents, come collect her!” With such a sensational title, tens of thousands poured into the livestream instantly. “This kind of stripper couldn’t pass the SATs anyway. Community college is too good for her!” “Hey, don’t insult community colleges. We don’t accept trash like this.” Seeing more and more people gathering to criticize Bella, some classmates noticed something was wrong: “Why are so many people pointing at Bella and cursing?” I explained to them: “Those people cursing are just jealous of Bella’s beauty. Everyone says Bella is the brightest star at Comic-Con today. Someone even started a livestream for her.” “Now there are over 100,000 people in the stream. Bella is really going to be famous! She’s going to be a huge influencer!” Hearing my words, Bella shook her hips even more vigorously. She kept winking at the camera, deliberately exposing the cleavage swaying under her low-cut top. Meanwhile, Tyler sneakily left the venue. I had a bad feeling and quickly followed him with my phone. Not long after, Tyler slipped back from a corner of the venue. Two classmates grabbed him anxiously: “Tyler, quickly persuade Bella to go back with us, or we’ll miss the Math exam!” At the same time, the homeroom teacher called Tyler’s phone: “Tyler, as the class president, you took the whole class to mess around?” Tyler’s face changed: “Mia, you snitch! Did you tell the teacher?” The classmates didn’t have time to help him gang up on me. They dragged Bella, frantic to leave. “Tyler, at a time like this, does it matter who snitched?” “Look at the time! We have to go back for the exam!” Bella was reluctant, but seeing everyone so anxious, she didn’t dare make a sound. However, when we got back to the bus, the whole class was dumbfounded: “Why is the door locked? Where’s the driver? Where did the driver go?” 4 “Tyler, didn’t your family charter this bus? Do something!” Seeing the classmates crying with anxiety, Tyler looked fierce and suddenly grabbed my hair: “Mia, it’s all your fault! As the discipline committee member, you should have reminded everyone of the time instead of watching us miss the exam!” The anxious classmates angrily surrounded me: “Yeah, you usually love bossing people around. Why were you silent on such an important day?” “You’re just jealous that Bella got famous, so you deliberately made her miss the exam!” Bella cried again, tears falling like rain: “Mia, do you hate me that much? Won’t you be satisfied until you drive me to my death?” I struggled desperately with red eyes, finally escaping Tyler’s grip: “What’s the use of staring at me? The priority now is to find a way back to the exam hall!” Ignoring the barrage of insults, I took the initiative to call the police, blowing the matter up completely. By this time, some students had collapsed on the ground, eyes blank, mumbling that they were finished. The people who had been watching Bella’s livestream followed us out: “Look at them. These students gave up the SATs just to accompany this stripper to Comic-Con!” “Deserved! If I were their parents, I’d disown them immediately!” The more cynical comments there were, the more despairing the classmates became. They vented all their anger on me: “Mia, I hope your whole family dies a horrible death!” I suppressed the anger in my heart and said nothing. Finally, the police arrived with a dozen cars. Facing the curses of over a hundred thousand people on the livestream, the classmates finally rushed back to the exam hall. But what greeted them was the stern rejection of the security guards: “The exam started thirty minutes ago. You are not qualified to enter.” Hearing that exam candidates skipped the test for Comic-Con, the media swarmed in too. But the classmates couldn’t care less about the cameras. Their knees gave out, and they knelt, wailing: “We didn’t mean to be late. Please let me in…” “If I miss the exam, my parents will beat me to death!” The homeroom teacher and the principal also arrived. Seeing Bella still wearing the provocative cosplay outfit, the principal scolded her furiously: “What is the difference between you and a hooker? You’ve completely disgraced the school!” The classmates no longer cared about protecting Bella. They knelt at the principal’s feet one after another, kowtowing and begging: “Principal, please find a way for us to take a make-up exam…” The homeroom teacher was heartbroken, stomping his feet in anger: “On such an important day as the SATs, you ran off to Comic-Con to embarrass yourselves!” “This kind of deliberate refusal to take the exam means you are banned from the SATs for the next three years!” The teacher’s words made everyone twitch with anxiety, and some even fainted from despair. Seeing the accomplices who caused my miserable death in my past life reduced to this state, I felt an indescribable pleasure. None of the onlookers sympathized with them. It wasn’t until parents started arriving and asking what happened that someone angrily stood up: “It was Tyler! He said he chartered a bus and there would be no problem. He harmed us!” “No, I say it’s all Bella’s fault. On the day of the SATs, she insisted on going to Comic-Con!” “No… not me…” Bella shivered. Seeing everyone about to turn on Bella, Tyler charged at me with a ferocious face, grabbing my hair and slapping me again: “It’s all Mia’s fault! She must have sabotaged us, causing everyone to miss the exam!” He bared his teeth, looking murderous: “She’s had bad intentions ever since she tore Bella’s skirt!” Seeing this, Bella joined in kicking me while I was down: “Yes, if Mia had stopped us from the beginning, there wouldn’t have been a problem.” “Mia wanted me to miss the exam, so she encouraged me to go to Comic-Con, and ended up harming everyone!” I felt wronged and screamed my lungs out: “You’re talking nonsense! I missed the Math exam too! I’m a victim too!” Although the classmates were already crying their souls out, they didn’t blindly take sides this time. Instead, they spoke up for me. “Yeah, Mia didn’t take the exam either. She was projected to be the valedictorian. She suffered the most.” “If you hadn’t dragged Mia along, she might have told the teacher earlier, and the teacher could have stopped us in time…” I covered my face, seemingly crying, but actually laughing so hard my shoulders shook. They didn’t know. In my past life, because I was confident enough to get into Harvard or Yale, I rejected offers from top overseas universities before scores came out. This time, I played along and simply gave up on the Math exam so Tyler couldn’t bind me to the Score Swap System. While this group was wailing, I had already replied to an email from a top overseas university, accepting a highly prestigious offer. But Tyler was determined to pin the blame on me. Seeing everyone turn against him, he actually kicked me down and shouted hysterically: “As the discipline committee member, Mia could have reminded us to leave Comic-Con ages ago, but she kept quiet just to deliberately delay time!” “She is the culprit! Everyone should settle accounts with her!” Tyler’s face was dark, looking as vicious as Bella in my past life. His gaze seemed ready to disembowel me right there, making me the unlucky scapegoat. I endured the severe pain in my body and suddenly held up my phone: “I have evidence that proves Tyler harmed everyone!”

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“Sarah, your position has been eliminated.” The HR manager slid a folder across the table toward me. I stared at her, stunned. “Me? But I’m the lead on the Nexus Core system—” “Marcus made the decision,” she cut me off, her tone flat. “He said anyone can take over the project.” My mouth opened, but no words came out. She was already looking down at the next file on her desk. “You get three months’ severance. Sign here.” I looked at the text on the page. Eight years. I had given this company eight years of my life, and this is what it was worth. 1. I didn’t sign. The HR manager looked up, her eyes flashing with impatience. “Sarah, you need to think this through. If you sign now, you get the payout. If you make a scene, it won’t end well for you.” “I want to see Marcus.” “Mr. Elwes is a very busy man.” “Phase Two of Nexus Core is scheduled for delivery next week. I’m the only one who knows the core code—” “The technical details,” she interrupted again, “will be handled. Marcus has a plan.” I took a deep breath. Eight years. When I joined in 2017, this company was just a handful of people in a dingy old office building. The entire tech department was me and four other guys. I built Nexus Core one line of code at a time. From version 1.0 to the current 3.7. Over three million lines of code. It served seventeen of our enterprise clients and brought in over seven million dollars in annual revenue. “I can wait,” I said. Her expression soured. “Sarah, a word of advice. Once Marcus makes a decision, he doesn’t change it. You’re only going to make this harder on yourself.” I didn’t move. She stood up and left the conference room. I sat there alone, staring out the window. The three o’clock sun cast a warm glow on the street below, the same street where I bought my coffee every day. I’d been sitting in this building for eight years. The door opened. It was Marcus Elwes. He was in his early forties, his hair perfectly coiffed, a gold watch peeking out from the cuff of his tailored suit. “Sarah,” he said, sitting down across from me. “I hear you’re refusing to sign.” “Marcus, Phase Two goes live next week. If I leave, who’s going to—” “Don’t worry,” he said with a dismissive smile. “The tech is covered. Kevin and the team can handle it.” Kevin? Kevin Chen was a junior who’d been hired last year. He barely understood the system architecture. “Marcus, the core module’s encryption protocol was something I developed independently. There’s no documentation—” “Sarah.” He cut me off. His voice wasn’t loud, but it was firm, absolute. “I think you have a fundamental misunderstanding of your role here.” I was speechless. “Nexus Core,” he said slowly, deliberately, “is the result of a team effort. It is not your personal project. The company will do just fine without you.” I stared at him, my blood running cold. “At the company gala last year,” I said, my voice quiet, “you told the clients you led the development.” His smile faltered for a fraction of a second. “That was just for marketing purposes.” “And the core technology?” “Sarah,” he said, standing up. “I don’t have time to argue with you about this. HR will handle the rest.” He walked to the door, then paused. “Don’t overestimate your own importance.” The door clicked shut. I sat there alone. The sunlight was still beautiful. But I felt a deep, unshakable chill. 2. At five o’clock, I went back to my desk. My colleagues kept their heads down, their eyes glued to their monitors. No one looked at me. As I was packing my things into a cardboard box, Kevin came over. “Sarah,” he whispered, “are you really leaving?” “My position was eliminated.” A flicker of panic crossed his face. “But… Phase Two…” “Marcus said you guys can handle it.” He opened his mouth, then closed it again. I knew what he wanted to say. Just last week, he’d spent two hours in a meeting with me, trying and failing to understand the key generation mechanism for the encryption module. “Sarah,” he hesitated, “Marcus told me I’m taking over Phase Two starting tomorrow…” “I know.” “I… I don’t really get how that—” “Kevin.” Marcus’s voice cut through the quiet office from behind us. Kevin froze, snapping his mouth shut as if a switch had been flipped. “Sarah’s situation is her own business. Don’t get involved,” Marcus said, walking past without even glancing at me. “We’ll discuss Phase Two at the morning stand-up.” “Yes, Marcus.” He walked away. Kevin looked at me, his mouth half-open. “Sarah, I…” “It’s okay,” I said, placing the last folder in my box. “Just do your best.” He nodded and scurried back to his desk. I walked toward the exit, box in my arms. The door to Marcus’s office was open. He was on the phone, his voice booming with confidence. “Relax, I’m personally overseeing the Nexus project. Sarah Vance? She’s just a coder. Her leaving won’t impact a thing. I’m in control of the core technology.” I stopped for a second. He didn’t see me. “That’s right, Phase Two will be delivered on time next week. You have my personal guarantee.” I didn’t go in. I just held my box and walked to the elevator. As the doors slid shut, I saw the young woman at the front desk give me a small, sad wave. Then the doors closed. Eight years. Over, just like that. I stepped out of the building, and the bright sun made me squint. My phone rang. It was my mom. “Honey, are you done with work? Coming home for dinner tonight?” I opened my mouth, the words catching in my throat. “Mom, I… I have to work late.” “Again? That company works you like a dog.” “Yeah.” “Okay, well, take care of yourself.” I hung up. Standing in front of the building, I suddenly had no idea where to go. 3. I went to the coffee shop across the street. I ordered a black Americano and found a seat in the corner, the box of my professional life at my feet. My phone screen lit up. It was the company-wide chat. Marcus had posted a message: “Team, due to personal reasons, Sarah Vance will be leaving the company. I will be personally leading the charge on Nexus Core Phase Two, so there is nothing to worry about.” A flood of replies appeared instantly. “Got it, Marcus!” “Thanks for stepping in, Marcus!” “With you leading, Marcus, I know we’re in good hands!” I stared at the screen. Personal reasons? I was laid off, and he called it personal reasons? My thumb hovered over the keyboard for a few seconds. In the end, I just locked the screen. I took a sip of coffee. It was bitter, astringent. Eight years. I gave my youth to this company. In 2017, I turned down an offer from Google to come here. Because Marcus promised me a chance to build something new, to lead a core project. And I did. Nexus Core. From scratch. I tackled every technical hurdle, often alone. I designed the encryption protocol. I built the core architecture. Through more than thirty iterations, I was the one pulling all-nighters to oversee every launch. During the massive system upgrade last year, I worked for a month straight without a single day off. And for what? At the gala, Marcus stood on stage, holding court with the clients. “Nexus Core is the culmination of our team’s hard work, which I personally led for three years…” The applause was deafening. I was sitting in a corner, invisible. Later, when a client asked him a technical question he couldn’t answer, I was the one who had to step in and save him. He clapped me on the shoulder and said, “This is our lead engineer, a technical genius I personally mentored.” I just smiled and said nothing. Looking back, I was such a fool. My phone buzzed again. An unknown number. I answered. “May I speak with Sarah Vance?” “This is she.” “Hi, Sarah, this is a recruiter from a tech headhunting firm. Is now a good time to talk?” I paused. “Not really, no.”

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My colleagues started holding all our company potlucks at my place after they discovered I was a good cook. And since Mandy, the new girl in accounting, offered to have everyone chip in for groceries, I didn’t have the heart to say no. On my last day of work, we had one final get-together at my house. Mandy was all smiles. “Clara, you’re seriously an amazing cook,” she said. “As a little thank you, we each sent you seventy-five bucks.” But the next day, she sent me a message. “Clara, running an unpermitted food business is illegal. Not only can they shut down your home, but since the total value of transactions is over fifteen hundred dollars, you’ll have to pay a fine of twenty times that amount.” “But since we’re all colleagues, we won’t report you. We can handle this privately.” “Just give us the twenty times fine as compensation.” That’s when I realized it. Up to that final dinner, the total amount of money they had all chipped in for groceries was exactly one thousand five hundred and one dollars. 1 Mandy had barely started her job in accounting, but she was already showing off her new designer handbag to everyone in the office. My coworkers oohed and aahed, telling her how rich she must be. It was exactly the reaction she wanted. She covered her mouth with her hand, giggling. “Oh, you guys will be able to afford one soon, too,” she said. She set the expensive bag on her desk and then wrapped her arms around mine, her voice turning pleading and sweet. “Clara, I heard you’re resigning. We should have one last get-together, right? I mean, who knows when we’ll ever get to taste your amazing cooking again.” I told her it was no problem and asked everyone to make a list of what they wanted to eat so I could prep. I planned a huge feast: her favorite sweet and sour pork ribs, a whole roasted salmon, slow-braised short ribs, and a few light vegetable dishes—all things they’d raved about before. It was a lot of work, but it was the last time. When she heard me agree, she gave me a huge hug. “You’re the best, Clara! With skills like yours, you could totally be a professional chef!” I smiled, still a little uncomfortable with her being so touchy-feely, and gently eased away. My best friend, Kate, picked me up from work that day and saw the menu I’d jotted down in my phone’s notes. She knew all about my dinner parties for my colleagues and couldn’t help but lecture me. “You’re about to leave, why are you still bothering with them?” she grumbled. “It’s not like you need the grocery money. It’s so much work, and what if something goes wrong? They’ll just blame you.” Kate owned a restaurant, so she’d seen her fair share of people trying to scam free meals. She was worried I’d get taken advantage of. “After you quit, come stay with me for a few days. Just relax. Stop being everyone’s free personal chef.” I figured it was just one last dinner, a nice way to say goodbye to my colleagues. What could possibly go wrong? I promised Kate it would be the absolute last time. The next morning at work, Mandy rushed over to my desk. “Clara, Clara! I told everyone about the party!” she announced. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was enough to catch the attention of a few nearby coworkers, who all chimed in about how excited they were for the weekend. Then, Mandy sent me the menu. It was long. “I already asked everyone what they wanted, so you can just follow this list. No need to stress about it!” My eyes widened when I saw Lobster Thermidor on the list. My smile faltered. “Mandy, some of these dishes are really complicated, and the ingredients are not cheap…” Before I could finish, Mandy’s face fell into a pout. “Clara, are you saying you think we’re just a bunch of freeloaders?” I immediately denied it. She looked at me with puppy-dog eyes. “It’s just… after you leave, we won’t get to eat your food anymore. We wanted to try some new things,” she wheedled. “Don’t worry, we’ll all chip in for the groceries, just like always.” I felt cornered. I finally gave in. “Okay, but this time, you’ll all need to send me the money first. I’ll refund you whatever is left over.” A corner of Mandy’s mouth twitched. She was still smiling, but her tone had an edge to it. “And here I thought we were all good friends. Guess it was just one-sided.” I frowned. Usually, a dinner party cost maybe twenty or thirty dollars per person for groceries. This time, it was going to be in the hundreds. I wasn’t about to front that kind of cash. “Money’s just a bit tight for me right now,” I said simply. “I probably don’t have enough to cover all the ingredients myself.” Her expression changed to one of understanding. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I totally misunderstood. I’ll definitely come over early on the weekend to help you out!” That night, Mandy was active in the work group chat, asking about food allergies and telling everyone to send me the money. Seeing their excited messages, the uneasy feeling in my gut started to fade. On the weekend, Mandy showed up late, saying something had come up. I didn’t think much of it. Everyone had a wonderful time. At the end of the night, when I tried to refund them the leftover money, they all refused. Instead, each of them transferred another seventy-five dollars directly to my bank account. Mandy beamed, telling me it was just a little token of their appreciation. I was genuinely touched. But later that night, after I’d finished cleaning the kitchen and finally sat down to rest, I got a notification. Mandy had added my personal phone number to a new group chat. It was called “The Final Withdrawal.” 2 When I first started the job, I’d foolishly used my personal number for work. Kate had chewed me out for it, so I got a new number just for professional use. Everyone at work had contacted me on that number for years. Why would she suddenly add my old, personal number to a group called “The Final Withdrawal”? I wasn’t expecting any kind of deposit. I figured maybe she’d forgotten I didn’t use this number anymore and added me by mistake. I was about to message her privately when a file popped up in the chat. It was a detailed spreadsheet documenting every single dinner party, the number of attendees, the cost of groceries for each meal, and screenshots of every single transfer they’d ever sent me. I hadn’t realized it, but over the past three years, my colleagues had come to my place for dinner more than forty times. There were holiday celebrations, promotion parties… every time, everyone had a blast and would always say, “Let’s do this again soon!” I felt a wave of nostalgia. Sometimes, workplace friendships could be truly heartwarming. Then, Mandy started sending a flurry of voice messages. “According to federal law, it’s illegal to engage in food service operations without a license.” “If the total value of goods exceeds fifteen hundred dollars, the fine is twenty times that amount. That’s the basis for our compensation claim against Clara.” Her voice was dripping with a smug, cruel satisfaction that made my mind go completely blank. One sixty-second voice note after another kept popping up. “Not only do we get back all the grocery money we ever gave her, but we’ll each walk away with a few thousand dollars extra.” “Think about it. Fifteen hundred bucks in a savings account for three years earns you pocket change. But invested with Clara? We’ve hit the jackpot.” “You all should be thanking me. If it wasn’t for my idea, you wouldn’t be seeing any of this money.” She then coached them on how to pressure me into paying. She sent a barrage of links to food industry regulations. “Familiarize yourselves with these. Don’t mess this up when it counts. We even paid her extra on that last dinner just to push the total over the fifteen-hundred-dollar mark.” I numbly scrolled to the bottom of the spreadsheet. The grand total of all their contributions over three years. $1,501. The number was so precise, so deliberate. It felt like a shard of ice piercing my heart. “Don’t worry, what she did is a clear violation. She’s legally liable. The twenty-times compensation is just the start. If this goes to the Health Department, they could seize her home.” “She’ll pay. She has to.” Soon, others started typing. These were the same colleagues who had always been so warm and friendly to my face. “If it wasn’t for this payout, I would’ve stopped chipping in ages ago. Twenty bucks a person? I can get a decent lunch for fifteen.” “Mandy, you’re a genius. A true accountant, always looking out for our bottom line.” “Not like that snake Clara. Charging us so much for that last dinner? She was trying to rip us off. Well, she’s about to regret it!” I couldn’t believe it. The kind, friendly people I thought I knew were hiding these ugly, twisted faces. The most laughable part? They had been planning this from the very beginning. For three years. They were now gleefully comparing how many dinners each of them had attended, calculating how much compensation they were owed. Watching them celebrate their victory, a chilling cold spread through my limbs. My heart felt like it was bleeding. They were the ones who had suggested the dinners. They were the ones who had offered to split the cost of groceries. I had never cut corners. I always chose fresh, healthy ingredients. A meal like the ones I prepared would have cost a fortune at a restaurant, but I only ever charged them about twenty dollars each, just enough to cover the food. I never even charged for my labor. Then they got bolder, making more and more demanding requests, and I did my best to accommodate them. One colleague, who not only attended every single dinner but also always hitched a ride with me, spoke up. “Mandy, are you sure we can get twenty times the amount? That’s like, thirty thousand dollars.” Mandy’s voice note was quick and confident. “Don’t worry. I’ve done my homework.” She posted screenshots of every single transfer. “All we have to do is stick to the story: she was running a business for profit, and these were payments for her catering services.” “Besides, remember how I told you all to add a note to every transfer?” “She can’t deny it. Even if she takes this to court, we have the upper hand.” It hit me then. Every time they sent me money, they’d always added a little note: “Meal Payment” or “Catering.” I thought it was just to help me keep track of the money. I never imagined it was another piece of their trap. The chat went quiet for a moment. Then, someone asked hesitantly. “Mandy, isn’t this a little… harsh? Maybe we could ask for just a few times the amount. Twenty seems like a lot. We all used to be friends.” Mandy’s reply was swift and vicious. “Whose side are you on? This is for all of us!” “You were all for it when I first brought it up.” “Trying to be the good guy now? A little late for that, don’t you think? Anyone who backs out now will have to deal with me.” No one else objected. The truth of their three-year deception was laid bare before me, bloody and raw. A cruel joke mocking my own stupidity.

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My parents’ divorce split us apart. My sister went with Mom, and I was left with Dad. After the divorce, Dad’s temper grew worse. He spent his days drinking or beating me, ignoring everything else at home. With no money for food or necessities, I had to work under the table at the local market after school just to keep us afloat. One day, after Dad knocked me out and stole my hard-earned cash again, strange text floated across my vision like a livestream chat. [The little sister is still in the dark. She doesn’t know her parents never divorced.] [This is all just a reality show. They want to see the difference between raising a child in poverty versus wealth.] [The little sister is so pitiful, starving and cold, while the big sister lives in a mansion eating like a queen.] Following the chat’s instructions, I found where my sister lived. I saw her in an expensive princess dress, walking out of a villa arm-in-arm with our parents. They got into a Rolls-Royce and drove away. Clutching my aching, empty stomach, bitterness flooded my heart. So, they never divorced. So, I was the only one suffering. And the reason they chose me for the “poverty experiment”? Because I was the obedient one. 1 I stood there, frozen, staring in disbelief. If I had doubted the floating text before, seeing my well-dressed parents and sister together shattered any skepticism. They were still together. We weren’t broke. I was just the only one left in the dark. Was I abandoned because I was the good kid? I clutched my chest, the pain making it hard to breathe. The chat scrolling past my eyes told me this was all a game. Rich people behind screens loved watching this kind of “reality TV,” tipping thousands of dollars a day. So, my parents did this for money? Standing under the bright sun, I felt cold to my bones. My phone buzzed. A text from my sister, Chloe. “Sis, heard you’re working odd jobs to survive? Poor thing.” “But you’ve always been the sensible one. You’ll work hard, right?” Her tone dripped with schadenfreude. Chloe had always been the sweet talker, knowing exactly how to make our parents smile. I was the quiet one, always in the background. In middle school, I ranked first in my grade while Chloe was at the bottom. Instead of praising me, my parents scolded me for showing off in front of her. That was when I knew they favored her. “What are you doing?! Look at the time!” A familiar shout snapped me back to reality. I realized I had walked to my workplace without thinking. It was my daily part-time job. After the “divorce,” Dad became an alcoholic. He was either drunk, asleep, or hitting me. He never gave me a dime. Sometimes, he even stole my wages for booze. Because I was under eighteen, most places wouldn’t hire me. I could only work illegal shifts at the market. “I’m sorry…” I apologized numbly, took the greasy apron, and started working. It wasn’t until midnight that I clutched my day’s pay and carefully navigated the dark alley back home. I turned on the light. The dim bulb illuminated our dilapidated, damp apartment. Peeling paint, cracked windows, faded furniture. Dad, usually drunk at home, was gone. I guessed he was with Mom and Chloe. They were a happy family. I lived in a slum. After eating a cup of instant noodles, I lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. I knew there were cameras hidden in the corners, broadcasting my every move to screens elsewhere for entertainment. Unable to sleep, I took out my phone and scrolled aimlessly. The floating text suddenly displayed a website link. [This is their livestream site. Poor Little Sis doesn’t know anything, working so hard.] I held my breath and carefully typed the URL into my old phone. It was a hidden site with many live channels. In the most popular room, I saw myself. And my parents. And Chloe. They were in a high-end restaurant, feasting on lobster and abalone. I smelled the lingering scent of instant noodles in my room and swallowed hard. At this moment, I felt like the ugly duckling, peeking at the swans’ happiness from the shadows. 2 I got home at 9 PM. Final exam results came out today. I ranked first again. On the way back from the market, I bought a small piece of sponge cake as a reward. It was the cheapest kind, two dollars, no frosting. But it was the best I could afford. Back home, I placed the cake carefully on the table and broke off a small piece. The texture was rough, but the egg flavor was strong. My nose stung. I couldn’t remember the last time I had cake. Suddenly, the chat floated by again. [Little Sis is so sad. Celebrating first place with a two-dollar cake.] [Big Sis is different. Ranked last but feasting with parents.] The comments discussed the feast my family was having. The cake in my mouth turned tasteless. It was too quiet alone. I opened the livestream site again. Sure enough, Mom, Dad, and Chloe were gorging themselves at a fancy Japanese restaurant. I saw Mom smiling, patting Chloe’s head, saying grades didn’t matter as long as she tried. I saw Dad put a large piece of fatty tuna in Chloe’s bowl, saying even with bad grades, he’d send her abroad to study if she wanted. They chatted happily, planning Chloe’s future. Not a word about me. It was as if I didn’t exist. As if Chloe was an only child. I closed the stream, feeling dim. Halfway through the cake, heavy footsteps sounded outside. Dad was back. I wanted to show him my grades. I forced a smile. But before I could hand over the report card, he shoved me. “Got any money? Give me money for booze!” I shrank back. “I… don’t have much.” He had taken almost everything last time. “Working and no money? Liar! Go buy it!” He kicked my shin. Pain shot up my leg. A bruise formed instantly. I didn’t dare speak, grabbed my loose change, and ran out. I bought the alcohol and returned in the dark. “I got it.” Watching him drink, I gathered my courage. “Dad, exam results are out. I got…” Before I could say “first,” he roared impatiently. “What’s the use of a girl studying! You’ll just get married! Hurry up and graduate, get a job, and give me money! That’s what matters!” My eyes widened. I remembered the livestream. They encouraged Chloe to study, to see the world while she was young. Why was it useless for me? I crumpled the report card in my pocket and never took it out. Dad finished the booze and stumbled out, knocking over the table. My half-eaten cake fell to the floor. He stepped on it without a glance. Bang. The door slammed. Footsteps faded. I looked at the crushed cake and cried. 3 Dad didn’t come back for a long time. From the livestream, I learned Chloe wanted them to accompany her before the SATs (college entrance exams). I sat in the damp rental, feeling like my heart was soaked in ice water, shivering. On the day of the exam, I walked to school alone. Luxury cars zoomed past. I saw Chloe’s smiling face in one. After the exam, I saw my parents waiting at the school gate. I smiled instinctively. Just as I stepped forward, they waved enthusiastically in another direction. I followed their gaze and saw a beaming Chloe. I froze. I watched the three of them walk away together, arm in arm, until they disappeared. The chat filled my vision again. [Big Sis is truly the favorite. Three days of full accompaniment, eating gourmet food.] [Little Sis ate steamed buns and pickles for three days. No nutrition.] [Is torturing Little Sis just for the show?] I took out my phone and checked the stream. I saw my parents replying to comments. [It’s to toughen her up. Can’t spoil her young. Plenty of kids have it worse, why can’t she handle it?] [Once the acceptance letters come, we’ll bring her home. We won’t mistreat her then.] Reading their replies, I smiled bitterly. “Won’t mistreat her.” As if I should be grateful. Why? Did they think one sentence could erase six years of suffering? 4 After the exams, I frantically looked for more work. I didn’t know if they’d pay my tuition, but I knew they didn’t love me. Results day. I went to school. Looking at my score on the screen, my teacher was thrilled. “Maya, first place again! I knew you’d get into Capital University.” I rushed home, planning to dig out my savings for tuition. Money I had secretly saved from my jobs. But home was a wreck. My hidden money was gone. Dad was snoring on the sofa, clutching a bottle. I grabbed his collar, screaming, “Dad! Where’s my money?!” He woke up, pushed me away, and cursed. “Yelling at your father? Your money is mine! I raised you, spending your money is my right!” “That was my tuition! I got into Capital University!” He glared, fierce as a demon. “Study what? You’re eighteen! Go work! Don’t ask me for money!” I shook with rage, tears falling. “No. I’m going to college. I’ll earn the tuition myself.” I turned and left. The sun was scorching. I walked to the market, but my old stall was empty. Wondering where to find work, someone blocked my path. It was my sister, Chloe. She wore a brand new designer dress and crystal necklace. I looked down at my faded t-shirt and sweatpants, ashamed. “Sis, heard you did well? Your name’s on the honor roll. Amazing.” She smiled, voice gentle. “Looking for work? It’s too dirty here. I’ll introduce you to a tutoring job. It’s for a friend of Mom’s. Safe.” Seeing the concern on her face, I felt a pang of emotion. In the end, only she was willing to help.

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1 Our doctor called Caspian Hamblett and me a match made in heaven—a cruel twist of fate, really. His fertility rate was practically zero, a severe case of male infertility. Mine was the exact opposite; I was hyper-fertile. We were a biological paradox. And so, in our third year of marriage, the impossible happened: I conceived naturally. I tucked the positive pregnancy test into a small, elegant box, planning to give it to him on his birthday. The perfect surprise. But he beat me to it, exploding across the internet first: #HamblettHeirCaspianAndSupermodelGirlfriendInSteamyHotelRomp #SeraphinaRowesBody #LearningNewTricksAtTheApexHotel I felt like I’d been plunged into a cavern of ice. I called Caspian, my hand trembling. He answered, his voice a low, intimate murmur. “Babe, I’ve got a business dinner tonight. Don’t wait up.” Before I could utter a single word, he hung up, leaving me frozen in silence. I didn’t sleep that night. … The comments online were a torrent of poison. [You can’t really blame him for finding another woman. His wife is barren.] [Exactly. He’s handsome, rich, incredible in bed. He has everything. Genes like that deserve to be passed on.] [Please, Seraphina Rowe is an international supermodel. Can you imagine how perfect their kid would be?] Through the long lens of a paparazzi camera, Caspian made no effort to hide as he pressed the woman against the floor-to-ceiling window. His large hands were strategically placed, cupping her private areas, his movements powerful yet tender. Below, on the street, a crowd of onlookers and photographers grew, their cameras flashing until night fell. [Damn, three hours, four rounds. Caspian Hamblett is a god.] [Seraphina must be in heaven.] For me, those three hours were an eternity of torture. I watched the man who had promised to love me for a lifetime tear off his mask for the world to see, losing himself in another woman. I remembered a year ago, after a full year of trying for a baby with no success, when his parents pressured us into getting checked. The results came back. The doctor told me the problem was Caspian. To protect his pride, his fragile male ego, I begged the doctor to keep it a secret. I told everyone the problem was me. That I was the one who couldn’t conceive. That night, his mother laid out dozens of photos in front of him. “The Hamblett family empire is enormous. We can’t let it die without an heir.” “This one is from Harvard, high IQ. This one is a professor at Juilliard, artistic, from a family of intellectuals…” Right in front of me, Caspian swept the photos into the trash can. “Mom, forget it. I only love Elara.” “I can’t separate my body from my heart.” His mother tried everything to force us apart—tears, tantrums, threats. But he just held my hand tighter and we moved out of the Hamblett mansion. He even threatened to publicly disown his family. “You two can have more kids if you want,” he’d told his parents. “That way you won’t have to worry about the Hamblett legacy.” “Elara and I are going to live a happy, carefree life, just the two of us.” The conviction in his eyes back then was absolute. I truly believed we would love each other for the rest of our lives. But now… Tears blurred my vision. I rested a hand on my stomach, on the precious new life I was carrying, and sent Caspian a text. [Are you sure you don’t want to know what your surprise is?] I stared at my phone, praying for a reply. If he would just apologize, even with a pathetic excuse like he’d lost his head for a moment, I would keep our child. I would give him one more chance. But the only reply I received was a city-wide firework display, lighting up the night sky with a message for everyone to see: [To Seraphina Rowe’s first love, Mr. Hamblett. It began with you, it will be true to you, and it will end with you. I love you~] [Happy Birthday. Here’s to many more with me.] The fireworks spelled out the words, one by one, for a full thirty minutes. Their grand romantic gesture was trending again. They were on a yacht on the Hudson, having a candlelit dinner. [I heard Caspian bought that yacht for her. It’s their private love boat now.] [Wow, so romantic. I can only imagine what happens on that thing~] My heart shattered, piece by piece. Today wasn’t just his twenty-eighth birthday. It was our tenth anniversary. We were eighteen when we got into the same university. One kiss, and we were inseparable. Now, he had clearly forgotten all about the woman waiting at home to celebrate with him. I sat at the dining table for five hours, watching the food grow cold and the cake I’d baked collapse in on itself. Finally, my phone buzzed. It was from Seraphina. [Caspian and I had a wild night. He just fell asleep.] [If you want to know what happened, it’s all online. Need me to send you a highlight reel?] A flood of video files came through, eating up nearly twenty gigabytes of my phone’s memory. [Here’s the whole thing. Enjoy the show, honey.] [Okay, I’m exhausted. Going to cuddle with your husband now. Bye.] The last message was a photo of Caspian asleep. His brow was furrowed with fatigue, but a sweet, satisfied smile played on his lips. A wave of nausea washed over me. I ran to the bathroom and dry-heaved over the toilet. The baby kicked restlessly inside me. I bit my lip until I tasted blood as tears streamed down my face. “I’m sorry, little one,” I whispered. “It’s not that I don’t want you. It’s that I can’t have you.” I wanted so badly to give our child a happy home. But I couldn’t. Not anymore. I couldn’t pretend nothing had happened and continue to share a bed with Caspian. After I was done being sick, I pulled myself up from the floor. I started packing a bag, my mind set on going to the hospital for an abortion. Just then, there was a knock at the door. It was Alfred, his parents’ driver. “Ma’am, Mrs. Hamblett would like to see you.” I went with him. His mother slid a divorce agreement across the table. “I’m sure you’re aware of what happened yesterday.” “Caspian has been carrying on with that woman in public, for the whole city to see. He’s made it perfectly clear he’s ready for a divorce.” “You need to accept the fact that he doesn’t love you anymore. Sign the papers. Don’t hold him back.” After a sleepless night, I had already steeled myself to end our ten-year relationship. To lose his child. To divorce him. I just hadn’t expected the Hamblett family to be in such a hurry to throw me out. I picked up the agreement with a bitter taste in my mouth. The terms were simple: I would leave with nothing. I laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. I pushed the papers back. “I’ll agree to a divorce. But I’m not signing this.” “Caspian’s affair is public knowledge. I want a seventy-thirty split of the assets.” “Seventy for me, thirty for him.” His mother slammed her hand on the table. “How dare you!” “In all the years you’ve been married into this family, you haven’t produced a single heir.” “Marrying Caspian elevated you, a girl from a bankrupt family, to a status and respect you never deserved.” “And now you have the audacity to demand money? You should be compensating us!” The absurdity of it all was suffocating. “Has it ever occurred to you that the reason I can’t have a baby is because your son is the one who’s broken?” SLAP. The force of the blow sent a ringing through my ears. She threw a debit card at my face. “Don’t you dare spew such nonsense.” “Your youth was worth about five hundred dollars.” “Take it, and get out of my house.” Just then, the door opened. Caspian walked in, holding Seraphina’s hand. He flinched when he saw me, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. He tried to pull his hand away, but Seraphina gripped it tighter, linking her arm through his. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Hamblett,” Seraphina cooed. “Caspian and I were up so late last night, we overslept a little.” She pulled a sapphire necklace and an envelope from her purse. “This is for you. It was the grand prize from the modeling competition. A royal blue sapphire. The moment I saw it, I thought of you.” His mother’s eyes lit up. “This is a priceless piece, almost impossible to find at auction now. And you’re just giving it to me?” Seraphina nodded. “Of course. You’re Caspian’s mother. You raised this incredible man. I don’t know how else to thank you.” His mother beamed. “You are too thoughtful, my dear. It seems our Caspian has finally opened his eyes.” “I didn’t have time to prepare a proper gift for you, but please, take this.” She handed Seraphina a black credit card. “It has a five-million-dollar monthly limit. Spend it as you wish. I know you models have to maintain a certain image.” Seraphina hugged her sweetly. “Thank you so much! I’m opening the fashion show tomorrow. You have to come!” A bitter pang shot through my heart. In all my years with Caspian, I had never been treated with such warmth. I grabbed my bag to leave, but Caspian stopped me. “Stay for dinner.” I shook him off. “No, thank you. Let’s get a divorce.” “I’ll meet you at the city clerk’s office tomorrow at nine.” His brow furrowed with impatience. “Yes, I’m with Seraphina now. But she doesn’t mind you being around. You can keep your title as Mrs. Hamblett.” He leaned in, his voice low. “You need to remember, you have no one but me now.” “Throwing a tantrum and demanding a divorce won’t do you any good.” He was right. I had no one else. Ever since my parents died in a car crash that was meant for him, a deliberate act of sabotage, I had clung to him like he was life itself. He was the only one left who would be good to me. And now, this blatant betrayal. If I had known this would happen, I would have stayed away from him ten years ago. Then my parents would still be alive. Seraphina approached me with a bright, false smile, as if just noticing me. “Oh, Elara, you’re here! I actually had a little favor to ask you.” “Listen to Caspian. Stay for dinner.” I took a step back. “No.” Caspian’s face darkened. “Elara, don’t take your anger out on Seraphina.” “She’s sincerely asking for your help, not for your cold shoulder.” He shoved me into a dining chair. Seraphina poured me a glass of red wine. “The jewelry I was planning to wear for the show tomorrow has gone missing.” “This is a special exhibition. The pieces need to have a story. The other models are wearing family heirlooms or purchased antiques. I can’t find a suitable replacement on such short notice.” “So, I was hoping to borrow yours.” Her eyes were fixed on the necklace I was wearing. “With the story behind it, your necklace would be the talk of the show.” Her earnest expression was a mask for raw provocation. My heart seized. I instinctively covered the necklace with my hand. I had taken it from my mother’s body. I remember that day with sickening clarity. A massive truck plowing straight into my parents’ car. Their multi-million dollar Rolls-Royce, crushed like a tin can. Blood pooling on the asphalt. It was the darkest day of my life. I knelt before their mangled bodies, my screams tearing through the air, and salvaged the broken half of the necklace from my mother’s neck. It was the only thing I had left of her. And now, Seraphina wanted to use my tragedy as a prop for her career. “Never. My pain is not a tool for your publicity.” Caspian glanced at her, then at me. “Let it go, Seraphina. That was her mother’s.” Tears welled in Seraphina’s eyes, her hand, holding a wine glass, frozen in mid-air. “I just wanted to borrow it,” she choked out. “It’s not like I wasn’t going to give it back.” “Caspian, you know how important this show is to me. I’m on the verge of breaking into the international market.” As her tears fell, Caspian’s expression softened, his brief sternness melting into concern. “Elara, maybe you could just…” “Impossible,” I cut him off. I stood to leave, but Seraphina grabbed my arm. “Please, Elara. I’m begging you.” “I really don’t have time to find anything else. If you’re angry at me because of Caspian, you can hit me, you can yell at me, whatever you want.” I tried to pull away. “Let go of me.” She stumbled backward and fell to the floor, the red wine staining her dress like a fresh wound. Caspian rushed to her side, his face a mask of fury. “That’s enough, Elara.” “Your parents are dead. They’re gone. What’s the point of clinging to a necklace? You’d be better off visiting their graves.” He reached over and ripped the necklace from my neck. “Seraphina is borrowing it. Stop making a scene.” He scooped her up into his arms. “Mom, this woman has ruined dinner.” “I’m taking Seraphina to change. We’ll see you at the show tomorrow.” He carried her out the door. I stumbled after them, my voice raw. “Caspian, that belonged to my mother! You can’t!” “Give it back to me!” He settled Seraphina into the car, then turned to me, his face flushed with anger. “Maybe I’ve been too good to you, Elara. Is that why you feel like you can treat Seraphina this way?” “All she did was ask to borrow something.” He had forgotten. That crash was orchestrated by one of his family’s enemies. They thought he was in the car that day. My parents had died for him. I remember him kneeling at their memorial, sobbing, swearing an oath. “Mom, Dad, don’t worry. I’ll take care of Elara for the rest of my life. I’ll love her and protect her.” “I’ll never let anyone hurt her. I’ll never let something like this happen to her.” All those promises were now dust. A man’s heart changes so easily. For his new love, he could steal my most precious memory. Disappointment was etched across his face. He slammed his foot on the gas, the car screeching away, leaving me standing alone in the road. I didn’t care. I scrambled to my feet and ran after him. At an intersection, there was a deafening screech of tires and a sickening crunch. The next thing I knew, I was flying through the air, thrown several meters by the impact of a car. Blood poured from my nose and mouth. My clothes were soaked with it, a sticky, warm wetness spreading from beneath me. I tried to move, but my body was a dead weight. Through a hazy fog, I heard the wail of a siren. “Quick, call Mr. Hamblett!” “She’s losing too much blood. The baby’s gone. We have to focus on saving her.” “If we lose her, Mr. Hamblett will tear this hospital apart!” A doctor’s voice, choked with tears, “Director, he’s not answering.” “Then use her phone.” They fished my phone from my pocket. The screen was shattered but somehow still worked. A few seconds after they dialed, he picked up. “It’s the middle of the night, Elara. What do you want now?” The paramedic spoke quickly. “Mr. Hamblett, this is City General Hospital. Your wife—” A cold laugh cut him off. “Is Elara being dramatic again? Did she hire actors to try and guilt me into coming home?” “Seraphina has a huge show tomorrow. She’s nervous and needs me with her.” “I’ll come home after it’s over.” “And don’t worry, I’ll bring your necklace back with me.” “No, sir, you don’t understand,” the paramedic insisted. “Your wife has been in a serious car accident.” “She’s in critical condition.” “And she’s miscarried. You need to get to the hospital.” Caspian’s voice was laced with annoyance. “She can’t get pregnant, so how could she have a miscarriage?” “I told you, I’m busy tonight. Tell her to stop acting like a child.” Click. The line went dead. Caspian’s eyelid twitched all night. It was still twitching the next day. A knot of anxiety tightened in his gut. After the fashion show, he hurriedly dismissed the reporters. As he was heading to his car, a man stopped him. “Mr. Hamblett? Miss Elara asked me to give this to you.” In front of all the flashing cameras, the man handed Caspian a small, ornate wooden box. The media swarmed, their lenses focused tightly on it as he lifted the lid.

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The serial murder case I spearheaded was overturned eight years later. The victims’ enraged families cornered me outside my parents’ house and stabbed me multiple times, demanding my life as payment. My own family, ashamed of the scandal, cut ties with me. I served an eight-year sentence for gross negligence in the performance of my duty. After my release, I sought refuge in the quiet coastal town of Port Willow, making a meager living as a fisherman. Finally, there was a measure of peace. But that hard-won serenity shattered the moment my ex-wife, Seraphina “Sera” Albright, arrived. She was now the celebrated Police Commissioner of Cresthaven, famed for her string of high-profile cases. A relentless storm lashed the coast, and a swarm of reporters pressed against my small wooden cabin, shouting. “Mr. Kincaid, sources say the Commissioner remained unmarried for eight years, waiting for your return!” I stared at her, standing there in her rain-slicked glory, and the urge to laugh was overwhelming and bitter. No one knew that the one who had manufactured the case, built the evidence, and pushed me out to take the fall—all to elevate her lover, Brandon Cole—was this very same “devoted” Commissioner Albright. 1 The cabin door remained locked, and the reporters, seeing this public snub, were audibly sympathizing with Sera. She, however, appeared perfectly composed. The rising volume of the crowd finally drew Frankie, the owner of the fishing boat, out of the cabin. He approached Sera, visibly terrified, bowing slightly. “Commis— Commissioner Albright, we’re all honest, hard-working people here,” he stammered. “This town can’t handle a person of your stature. If you and all these cameras don’t leave, we’ll lose tomorrow’s haul.” He then turned toward the cabin and called out, a plea in his voice: “Rhys Kincaid! The Commissioner came all this way for you. Just step out and talk to her!” “That won’t be necessary. Don’t pressure him,” Sera’s cool voice cut in. At the sound of her voice, my hands froze. The sharp nylon mesh of the net sliced a deep, ragged line across my index finger. Even after all these years, hearing her voice—that practiced, even tone—still stripped away my hard-won tranquility. I knew her better than anyone. The possibility that she was here out of some lingering affection was as absurd as the sun rising in the West. I knew she wouldn’t leave until she got what she came for. Thinking of Frankie, and the small kindnesses he’d shown me, I let out a long, heavy sigh. I put down the net and stepped out of the small shack. The instant I appeared, the reporters swarmed. A barrage of questions. Rapid fire. “What’s it like, going from decorated Detective to dockside fisherman?” “Is your avoidance because you still resent the Commissioner for exposing your negligence?” “We hear your former protégé, Brandon Cole, has proposed to her multiple times. Any comment on that?” The manic energy pushed them forward. Microphones jabbed my face. My eyes sought hers—Sera was standing a few feet away, watching the spectacle with a cold, assessing gaze. I felt a chill lock up my muscles. Question after cutting question hit me, but I couldn’t form a single word. My throat was dry. Nothing. The reporters, frustrated by my silence, grew more aggressive, nearly shoving me over. Then, Sera moved. She pushed through the crush of bodies and stood directly in front of me, shielding me. Her voice was low, yet commanded instant silence. “Everyone,” she said, “this is a private matter between Mr. Kincaid and me. We won’t be answering any questions.” She gestured toward the docks. “They have work to do. Let them get back to it. Clear out.” The crowd dispersed grudgingly. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, ready to bolt back inside. “Rhys Kincaid,” Sera said. I forced myself to meet her eyes, my body rigid. “Is there something else, Commissioner Albright?” She flinched, just a hairline tremor at the formality of the title. She took a moment, then asked, her voice soft, “Have you… been well? All these years?” The question, coming from her, was so wildly, obscenely ridiculous I almost laughed. But the moment wasn’t for humor. She took a step closer, lifting a hand toward me. My body reacted instantly. I stumbled back, not noticing the metal bucket beside my feet. CLANG! I fell hard and gracelessly, flat on my back. The fresh cut on my finger struck a jagged rock, and bright blood welled up and ran down my palm. Sera rushed forward, her face a mask of concern, reaching for me. “Are you hurt? Let me help you up.” I scrambled away from her touch, bracing myself against the rough wood of the cabin to stand. “I’m fine.” Ignoring Frankie’s stunned gaze, I hurried to dismiss her. “Commissioner Albright, if that’s all you came for, I need to get back to work. I’m out on the water before dawn.” Sera’s expression fractured into something that looked convincingly like pain. She reached out again. “Rhys, do we really have to be this cold to each other? You don’t know what I’ve been through these past years—” A new voice cut her off. “Mommy! Dad and I missed you so much!” A boy, maybe nine or ten, barreled straight into Sera’s arms. Brandon Cole approached, steering my parents—Robert and Susan Kincaid—by the elbow. He gently took the hand Sera had extended to me, pulling her closer with a proprietary air. “Sera, why didn’t you call me when you came to see the Master?” he chastised, but his tone was light. “Mom and Dad were frantic when they heard you came out to this remote place alone.” He glanced at me, a condescending smirk playing on his lips. “Don’t mind us, Rhys. The boy missed his mother. And with her being pregnant again, we all have to be extra careful.” My eyes drifted, involuntarily, to her flat stomach. The irony was a punch to the gut. Eight years unmarried, waiting for me? She had two children with Brandon, one already nearly ten. I thought back. Before my arrest, she’d been injured in the line of duty, claiming she needed a year at a specialized recovery clinic. That must be when it happened. They were already intertwined, already a family. And I, the fool, had been oblivious, throwing myself into solving just one more case, chasing one more bonus, to make sure she had the best care possible. Before I could even process the assault of emotion, my parents’ accusations began, a torrent of righteous anger. “Rhys Kincaid, you have the nerve to still be breathing!” My father, Robert, spat the words. “You shamed us beyond repair!” My mother, Susan, cried out, “Your father had a stroke three years ago! If Brandon hadn’t been checking on us, if he hadn’t rushed your father to the hospital—your father would be dead and buried!” I looked at their graying hair and the deep lines of their aged faces, and despite everything, a wave of hollow regret washed over me for the years of care I couldn’t give them. But watching them cling to Sera and Brandon, the sting of betrayal intensified. If they knew the truth—that the people they were thanking, the people they cherished, were the ones who had framed me for a crime that cost innocent lives—what would that do to them? My father looked at me with open disgust. “Sera, that boy is a disgrace. He isn’t worth your worry.” He shook his head. “If I had committed such a horrific wrong, I would have had the decency to disappear forever! You shouldn’t have come for him!” My mother chimed in, pure contempt in her voice. “That’s right. We disowned him eight years ago. Don’t worry about hurting our feelings. What good is a son like that? We only recognize you and Brandon as our family now.” Frankie was watching the exchange, his eyes wide and beginning to look wary. There was nothing left to say. My subtly trembling hands were the only thing that betrayed the cold fury churning inside me. Sera noticed the tremor. With a look of practiced sympathy, she explained, “They’ve had to endure public scorn for years, Rhys. Try not to blame them.” She gently soothed my parents, then turned back to me before leaving. “What happened back then… I still owe you for it,” she murmured. “My number hasn’t changed. Call me if you ever need anything.” I simply nodded, refusing to speak. Seeing my non-committal nod, Sera finally seemed satisfied and departed. Call her? I thought. I wanted to run from them, not beg for the scraps of charity she might condescend to throw my way. After my parents and the entourage were gone, Frankie walked over and clapped my shoulder, his expression unreadable. He didn’t say anything, but I knew. Something had shifted. The next day, I was assigned to the oldest, most dilapidated boat, given the back-breaking tasks. Frankie shuffled his feet, avoiding my eyes. “Rhys, it’s not that I don’t want to look out for you,” he mumbled. “Look, after the spectacle yesterday… and, well, everyone knows you did time.” He looked miserable. “No one wants to share a boat with you. You’ll have to work alone.” I nodded silently, shouldered the heavy fishing net, and walked toward the small boat that looked painfully frail against the churning waves. A wave of crushing sadness washed over me. The fragile illusion of peace—Sera had personally destroyed it.

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