Two years after I died, I suddenly regained consciousness.
My mom had found a new man and was living her best life. My dad got everything he ever wanted and was enjoying his golden years surrounded by grandkids.
My bestie, the only person who truly got me, finally stopped grinding her life away for her career and decided to retire early to Europe.
And the guy I secretly crushed on for ten years was finally walking down the aisle with the love of his life.
Everyone was doing great.
I thought it was great, tooâeven if my grave felt a little lonely sometimes.
The night before the wedding, I floated into Lucas’s bachelor party.
After a few rounds of drinks, I saw my bestie raise her glass to Lucas.
“Lucas, honestly? I’ve always hated your guts.”
“You shamelessly soaked up all of Jenny’s affection and effort while completely ignoring her feelings.”
“But I know if Jenny were standing here today, she’d genuinely wish you happiness. ‘Happy wedding, happily ever after,’ all that jazz.”
“So, I’ll say it for her.”
“Happy wedding. Happily ever after.”
1
Hearing those words, I froze.
Lucas, as always, kept his face devoid of emotion. “Rachel, you’re drunk.”
“Fine, assume I’m drunk. Assume I’m talking nonsense,” Rachel said, downing her drink in one gulp. “Anyway, Jenny’s been gone for two years.”
“I booked a flight for tomorrow morning. I won’t be at your wedding.” Rachel handed Lucas two red envelopes. “Here. One from me, one for Jenny.”
Lucas didn’t take them. “Why are you giving me Jenny’s share?”
“Why do you think? She prepared her gift money ages ago. Made me promise to give it to you.”
“Hey, come on, it’s a happy day. Don’t bring the mood down,” an old friend chimed in, trying to smooth things over.
“We know you and Jenny were tight, but Jenny never said she liked Lucas, right?”
“Besides, she’s been gone a year. What’s the point of bringing this up now?”
“Saying this the night before Lucas’s wedding… what is the bride supposed to think?”
Rachel sneered. “I don’t give a damn what she thinks! I’ve hated her since day one.”
“Relax. Even if I hate you guys, this is the last time you’ll see me.” Rachel shoved the envelopes into Lucas’s pocket and stormed off.
I floated there, panicked. I looked at Lucas, hesitated for a second, then chased after Rachel.
“Rach! Rach, slow down! My little legs can’t keep up!”
Rachel always speed-walked when she was mad. She was tall, all legs. I always had to hustle to keep up.
But every single time, she would eventually stop, huffing, and wait for me.
Then she’d poke my forehead and call me a dummy.
Too bad she couldn’t see me now.
So she never stopped.
2
I never expected her to drive to my cemetery in the middle of the night.
When I first woke up, I was tethered to my grave.
There were no other ghosts around, so I just sat on my headstone like a gargoyle, watching the sun rise and set.
No one talked to me. No one saw me.
I talked to myself a lot. Sometimes I’d pop up in front of mourners and make faces.
They’d chat right through my soul, and I’d call them rude.
Then one day, I realized I could wander further. So I went to check on my old crew.
They were all living good lives.
So I figured, as long as they were happy, it didn’t matter if they visited me or not.
3
Rachel brought a handkerchief. She squatted in front of my grave and meticulously wiped away the dust.
“Sorry. I know you hate being lonely, but I haven’t come to see you in so long.”
Rachel sat down, leaning her back against my headstone. I sat down next to her, shoulder to shoulder.
“You always said you were a coward, but you were way braver than me. Look at me. Even today, I can’t accept that you’re gone.”
“I didn’t bring flowers today. Didn’t bring those candied apples you love. Are you mad at me?”
I hugged my knees and smiled at her. “Since you cleaned my grave, I’ll forgive you.”
“Jenny, I’m leaving.”
“I’m emigrating. Probably won’t come back much.”
“There’s nothing left for me here. Even you left me. No point staying.”
I nodded. “It’s okay. Go if you want. Follow your heart.”
“I know you’d support whatever I do. But I still have to tell you something that might make you mad.”
“Lucas is getting married.”
“To Chloe.”
“I told him you had a crush on him for ten years. You probably hate that.”
“But I just couldn’t get over it.”
“Not throwing my drink in their faces was already me taking the moral high ground.”
“I’ll never forget the look on Chloe’s face when she stood in front of you, calling you a desperate pick-me who throws herself at men for free.”
“Your taste in people was always trash. Whether it was me, your friend, or Lucas, the guy you loved… we were never considerate enough.”
“Most of the time, you were the one accommodating us.”
“Jenny… is there another world after death? Are you happy there?”
I thought for a moment. “I don’t know if there’s another world, but I’m doing okay right now.”
Not super happy, not super sad. Just okay.
“Rach, you don’t need to feel guilty. And you don’t need to take it out on Lucas. He didn’t do anything wrong.”
“He just didn’t like me. That’s all.”
4
I always thought I was lucky.
I was the product of a business marriage. My parents had their own careers and lovers; they rarely looked my way.
But I lived a cushy life. Designer clothes, best schools.
I was introverted. In high school, bullies targeted me constantly.
But the worst time, I met Rachel. She bravely called the cops and even got hurt protecting me.
I had no ambition, just wanted to coast. My parents didn’t care about my future, so I was lost.
But Lucas stood out. The way he spoke on stage captured my heart instantly. To chase him, I studied my butt off and got into the same university.
Rachel called me a chicken. She said I followed Lucas around like a puppy for years, and he didn’t even know I existed.
So I gathered my courage and approached him as a “fellow alum.”
Classmate, acquaintance, friend, good friend. That path took me forever.
I thought about confessing. Even bought a gift.
But Lucas had a traumatic childhood. He had severe issues with intimacy.
So I thought, fine. Don’t force it. Just being friends was enough for me.
Then one day, Lucas went on a business trip for a week.
When he came back, he had a woman with him.
Chloe. The high school prom queen.
Now Lucas’s girlfriend.
That’s when I realized: “trauma” and “walls” are just excuses.
When you meet the right person, the walls come down. The shadows disappear.
I couldn’t do it. But Chloe did.
Love is so unreasonable.
It doesn’t care about first come, first served. When “The One” shows up, everyone else becomes a background character.
Too bad. I had main character energy but a side character destiny.
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My boyfriend stormed out again. The reason? I worked late and didn’t scoop the cat litter the second I walked in.
This time, I didn’t run after him.
Suddenly, a stream of floating textâlike live comments on a Twitch streamâstarted scrolling across my vision.
ăWhat is wrong with the FL (Female Lead)? The ML (Male Lead) is standing right outside. He didn’t even push the elevator button; heâs waiting for her to chase him!ă
ăThe ML totally noticed she has low blood sugar just now. If she just opens the door, heâll definitely come back and cook her something delicious. He won’t hesitate!ă
ăThe ML is just super insecure, thatâs why heâs throwing a tantrum about the litter box! Actually, all he needs is an “I love you” from the FL and heâd walk through fire for her. Who wouldn’t love a man like that?ă
ăFL, hurry up and comfort him! The ML is about to cry!ă
ăYeah, he regretted it the moment he ran out. Heâs probably eaten up with guilt right now, scratching at the walls. Boohoo, this is so angsty!ă
I was hesitating, hand hovering over the doorknob, when my phone buzzed. It was a text from my boyfriend, Liam.
[Liam: Chloe, letâs break up!]
[Liam: Move out before I get back!]
My heart seized, and my eyes instantly stung with tears.
[Chloe: Okay.]
1
I put my phone away, wiped my tears, and dragged my suitcase out of the closet.
The floating comments went wild.
ăOmg, the ML is just being awkward! Heâs dying to come back and hug her, but heâs stubborn and has a toxic mouth. Saying “break up” is just his way of showing insecurity!ă
ăExactly! His parents divorced when he was a kid and both remarried quickly. He has abandonment issues! The FL knows this! Why is she actually packing? Girl, don’t! He loves you so much, how will he live if you leave?ă
ăThat trash mouth of his! You can’t believe what he says when he’s angry. Just open the door, heâll come wagging his tail back to you. Don’t pack, what will he do without you?ă
ăNo one in this world loves you more than he does. You guys survived high school, went through four years of college, and finally graduated. Youâre his whole life! If you leave, what happens to Liam? And what about Jelly?ă
I started folding clothes, forcing myself to ignore the barrage of text floating in the air.
Iâve lost count of how many times this has happened.
Every time he says “break up,” he demands I move out.
And every time we make up, he acts cute, pouts, and tells me he didn’t mean it.
I remember the first time Liam kicked me out. I was terrified.
We were supposed to go on a trip the next day, so I worked overtime to hand off all my projects properly. I wanted to enjoy the vacation stress-free.
But Liam felt I didn’t care about the trip because I got home past 11 PM.
He didn’t listen to my explanation. He didn’t care that I hadn’t eaten dinner.
He shoved a suitcase into my hands and slammed the door in my face.
I stood there for half the night, starving.
It was winter. I didn’t even have my coat. I was shivering violently in the hallway.
Liam never opened the door.
If a neighbor hadn’t found me passed out from hypoglycemia and banged on the door to wake Liam up, who knows what would have happened?
Liam was scared to death that time.
When I woke up, he swore up and down:
“Chloe, I love you so much.”
“If I say hurtful things when I’m mad, please promise not to take them seriously, okay?”
“You know Iâm insecure. As long as you give me enough security, I won’t get mad anymore.”
I believed him.
So, every time we fought after that, and every time he told me to get out, I told myself he was just angry.
I knew he was awkward. I knew he was insecure.
So, I made him the center of my universe.
But now? Iâm tired.
Eight years.
Eight years of bowing my head, of apologizing, of being kicked out every time he had a mood swing.
I am truly.
Exhausted.
2
Packing didn’t take long.
I made myself a bowl of instant ramen.
I felt a tug on my pant leg. I looked down. It was Jelly.
As soon as I crouched down, Jelly jumped into my lap.
Jelly was originally a cat belonging to one of Liam’s junior classmates, a girl named Bella. She got tired of raising it after less than two weeks.
Liam brought the cat home, and it became my responsibility.
Scooping litter, vet visits, vaccines, dewormingâit was all on me.
If I ever slipped up, Liam would look at me coldly.
“If it wasn’t because you liked it, why would I have brought Jelly home?”
“Chloe, when did you become so irresponsible?”
And coincidentally, this breakup was because I hadn’t changed the litter fast enough, and the apartment smelled a bit.
While eating my noodles, I checked my phone. I saw that Bella, the “junior classmate,” had posted on her social media.
[QAQ, my poor homeless senior is so pitiful. I guess I’ll reluctantly take him in. (ŕš>á´<ŕš)]
The photo was half of Liam's face, holding a drink at a bar.
ăThe ML is so pitiful. Look, heâs drunk but his eyes are glued to his phone. Heâs still thinking about the FL!!ă
ăGirl, don't be mad! He only went to the Juniorâs place to make you jealous. He doesn't like her at all, sheâs just a tool to him!ă
ăYeah, look at his phone, heâs staring holes into it. If you send one text right now, heâll instantly turn back into your puppy dog.ă
Before I could finish reading the floating comments, a video came through from an unknown number.
In the video, Liam was leaning back, eyes closed, resting his head on a woman's chest.
The woman asked, "Liam, if you sleep at my place tonight, won't your girl dump you?"
Liam let out a cold sneer. "I'll just freeze her out for two days. She'll be begging to carry me back home in a sedan chair."
The woman laughed, her voice trembling with amusement. "So she's a simp then? The kind you can't get rid of even if you try?"
I held my breath.
Then I heard Liam give a low, "Yeah."
The video ended.
I stared at the ramen in front of me.
I couldn't take another bite.
So.
The heartache I felt for him, the step-by-step retreat I made for his "security"...
In his eyes, and in everyone else's eyes...
It just made me a doormat.
A simp who comes when called and leaves when dismissed.
I looked at the cup of noodles.
Cold, with a layer of congealed grease floating on top.
Disgusting.
3
Eight years of a relationship, boiled down to one small suitcase.
"Meow... meow..."
Jelly seemed to sense something and bit tugged at my jeans.
I hesitated for a second.
Considering Iâve been the one caring for Jelly for the past year, and knowing Liam wouldn't want the hassle, I picked the cat up.
We were leaving together.
It was 2 AM when I checked into a hotel.
Early the next morning, I opened Zillow and started scrolling.
Within an hour, I found a small studio apartment near my company.
It was tiny, but the commute was practically zero.
When we first graduated, we didn't live there.
Liam loved to sleep in.
Every morning was a battle to wake him up. Heâd been written up twice for being late.
I was the one who suggested we move closer to his company.
Back then, I thought love could conquer all.
As long as it was convenient for Liam, a one-hour commute for me was nothing.
Later, when his startup succeeded and he bought a place, it was also near his office.
We lived there for three years.
Now that Iâve moved out, I can finally save those two hours of my life.
I moved into the studio that same day.
"Chloe, aren't you heading out? The subway is going to stop running soon," a coworker reminded me as I worked late.
I looked at the unfinished report and shook my head.
"I moved nearby. I'll head back after I finish this."
"Whoa! Chloe, you finally came to your senses and moved?"
My colleagues had always thought it was insane for me to waste two hours a day commuting.
Inconvenient and a waste of life.
Hearing Iâd moved closer, everyone dragged me out for late-night drinks to celebrate.
I went home and crashed, dead to the world.
The next day, right after work, I got a text from one of Liam's friends.
[Sister-in-law, did you and Liam fight? Heâs at my place acting like a drunken maniac.]
I paused.
[Not a fight. A breakup.]
He immediately sent a voice note back, his tone dripping with condescension.
4
"Chloe, come on, thatâs not cool. You know how he is. In all these years, how many times has he said 'break up'? Has he ever meant it?"
"You used to be so understanding. Why are you being so stubborn this time?"
"Don't say I didn't warn you. If you come over now and say a few nice words, heâll cool off and go home with you."
"If you don't show up, and he decides to make the breakup real, don't come crying to me later."
It was laughable.
Even his friends were convinced I couldn't live without him.
Before I could reply, the call ended.
A second later, a location pin popped up.
I blocked the number.
Liam's friends had always treated me with indifference anyway.
Since Liam and I are done, thereâs no need to keep his friends in my contacts.
ăWhy does the FL look actually angry? The ML had his friend call on purpose to give her an out! Couples don't hold grudges overnight!ă
ăExactly! The ML is just awkward. He loves her to death, otherwise, why would he give up his dream university to go to the same one as her? Sigh, our girl is just triggered. The ML has puked three times already, heâs gonna hurt his stomach.ă
ăAm I the only one who thinks the ML is just toxic? Why is it that when a girl acts up she's crazy, but when a guy acts up heâs just 'insecure'? Itâs speechless behavior.ă
I saw the last comment and couldn't help but smile bitterly.
Exactly.
Liam is toxic.
In the beginning, he was okay. But ever since he "sacrificed" his dream school for me, he became impossible.
Every time we fought, if I didn't apologize immediately, his friends would call.
Theyâd guilt-trip me about how much he gave up for me.
Do you have a conscience? theyâd ask.
But when we were filling out college applications, I told him repeatedly that I didn't mind a long-distance relationship.
I told him that even if we were thousands of miles apart, he was still the most important person to me.
But Liam stubbornly applied to the same school as me.
When I asked him to confirm if it was truly what he wanted, he stayed silent. Then, the day after the deadline, he got blackout drunk.
His friends called me then, too. Calling me selfish. Saying I forced him.
That was the first time I realized his "dream school" wasn't the one we went to.
Back then, I was moved by his "sacrifice." I rushed over and took care of him.
But over the years, whenever he was unhappy, his entourage would remind me of my debt to him.
It felt like because he gave up a college for me, I owed him my entire life.
"Chloe, let's go, time to eat."
5
We worked late again, too late for delivery.
We decided to hit a nearby bistro.
I used to skip these gatherings because I was terrified of missing the last train.
Now, knowing my apartment was a ten-minute walk away, I said yes.
We were a group of five or six. After dinner, we decided to hit a bar.
As soon as we sat down, I noticed the table next to us was loud.
I glanced over instinctively.
It was Liam and his crew.
And, of course, his "junior," Bella, was there too.
"Liam, a bet is a bet! You have to kiss someone here for three minutes! Hurry up, hahahaha!"
Truth or Dare.
My glance happened to lock with Liamâs.
I didn't linger. I looked away immediately.
Liam seemed to pause. A moment later, he replied slowly, "Fine."
Cheers erupted from his table.
"I didn't think Liam would actually play along! So, who are you picking? Hahaha!"
Someone teased, "We're all dudes here, surely he picks Bella? Unless he wants you?"
"Oh, stop it, you guys are annoying!"
Bella covered her face, acting shy.
"Come on, Liam, pay up. Pick someone now or I'm volunteering myself!"
"Hahahaha, Liam's virtue is at stake!"
The noise from the next table got louder.
The floating comments started pleading again.
ăFL, what are you doing? Don't you see the ML staring at you? He doesn't want to kiss anyone else, his brain is full of you right now!ă
ăHe hasn't been home for days, he doesn't even know you moved out! Heâs waiting for you to bow your head. Don't be stubborn now! If he gets pushed into a corner and actually kisses the side-chick, what then?ă
ăHeâs not talking because heâs waiting for your reaction! Just look at him! You don't even have to go over there, just make eye contact and heâll come over like a good boy. He won't look at anyone else!ă
I picked up my drink and took a sip.
As I put the glass down, my hand slipped, and the drink spilled across the table.
"Oh no, Chloe, are you okay?"
A colleague flagged down a waiter to clean it up.
The commotion obviously caught the attention of the next table.
The rowdy group went silent.
Several pairs of eyes turned to me.
Bella stood up aggressively and marched right up to my face.
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The day I got my license suspended for a DUI, I didn’t panic. My best friend did.
In the life before this oneâthat other timeline where I was too naive to see the knife comingâshe had borrowed my car for our annual family memorial trip back home. On a dark, winding road, she hit and killed an octogenarian.
She pushed it all onto me, telling the highway patrol I was the one driving. Even my boyfriend stood by her, a willing accomplice providing the perjured testimony that pinned the murder on me.
I was torn to shredsâliterally. The dead manâs family cornered me, and I died after being stabbed eight times, my soul unable to rest.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back to the day my childhood friend asked to borrow the car.
1
âWillow, I need your car for the weekend trip back home. Can I just grab your keys?â
Sutton Miller, my best friend since kindergarten, saw my frozen silence and must have mistaken it for consent. She reached for my purse, ready to fish out the key fob for the brand-new SUV my dad had just given me last month.
The next second, I snapped back into the present. Seeing her hand reaching for my bag, I instinctively snatched it back and clutched it to my chest.
âWillow, what the hell? Iâm not stealing your stuff. I just need the car keys.â
I looked at her, my eyes narrow with a lifetime of paranoia. âNo. Iâm driving home myself for the memorial this year.â
Sutton clearly wasn’t used to hearing the word ânoâ from me. She frowned, her voice tightening with impatience. âJust take one of the other cars your family owns. You guys have, what, three?â
âThis is my new car. The one Dad just got me last month. Go ask someone else, Sutton. You canât borrow mine.â
My voice was firm, but before the last word left my mouth, a strong hand ripped my bag away, found the key fob, and tossed it to Sutton.
âWillow, why are you being so cheap? Itâs just a loan. Itâs not like she wonât give it back. Canât you just take a bus back home for once?â
I stared coldly at Dean Thompson, the man who was supposed to be my boyfriend, yet who always, always, backed Sutton up.
I had been so blind in the last life, utterly clueless about the affair between these two rats.
Sutton and I were best friends, practically sisters. We grew up a few hours apart in the same rural community before my parents moved to the city. Last time, when she asked to borrow the car for the memorial, I hadn’t hesitated. It was brand new, yes, but I handed her the key without a second thought.
Then came the tragedy. She hit an eighty-year-old man on a dark country road.
There were no cameras in the village, it was late at night, and I hadn’t gotten around to installing a dashcam in the new SUV yet. So she pinned it on me. She somehow got ahold of my driverâs license and planted it at the scene of the accident.
The police tracked me down via the license. I was already shaken, ready to explain that the car had been loaned out, when Dean, my boyfriend, stepped up and told the cops I was the one driving.
The license was mine. The vehicle was registered to me. The person closest to me testified against me. Any attempt to defend myself was useless.
The victimâs family found me and demanded a massive settlement. I refused, protesting my innocence. Seeing my refusal, the furious family swarmed me, pushing me into the highway where I was hit and run over by a semi-truck. There was nothing left.
2
The memory of the asphalt and the crushing weight of the truckâthe feeling of that betrayalâwas enough to burn through my anger and ignite a cold resolve. I stepped forward, shoved Dean aside, and snatched my bag back.
Before he could speak, I snapped, âDean, what the hell is wrong with you? Whose side are you on? Youâre my boyfriend, not hers! Why do you always take her side?â
My gaze flickered between them. âUnless⌠thereâs something going on between you two?â
I didn’t finish the sentence, but the panic in their eyes was immediate. They had me pegged as their cash cow, the easily manipulated source of money and favors. They weren’t ready to drop the mask just yet.
âWillow, how can you even think that? Our twenty years of friendship⌠is all that worth nothing just because I wanted to borrow your car?â
Sutton immediately played the victim, the tears springing up with practiced ease.
I shrugged, uncaring. âSay whatever you want. Iâm not lending you the car.â
âBut you can ask him. He has a car. Why are you only focused on borrowing mine?â I pointed to Dean.
Dean immediately balked. âNo. I need my car to go back to my parentsâ place. My dad has bad knees; we need the car.â
I let out a cold laugh. âLooks like he wonât lend it either. Guess youâll have to take the train, Sutton.â
I grabbed the keys, spun around, and walked away.
After breathing in a few gulps of fresh air, I finally calmed down and drove home, my brow furrowed the whole way. Something still felt wrong.
Suddenly, an idea struck me, and I pulled over to the side of the road, opening my State Department of Motor Vehicles app.
What I saw made my blood run cold. Unbeknownst to me, when Sutton had borrowed my car before I got the new one, she had racked up driving infractions and used my license to take the pointsâeleven points in total.
My current license was essentially a ticking time bomb. One minor violation, and it would be immediately suspended.
I glanced in my side mirror and saw a State Trooper walking toward my carâI’d been stopped for too long on the shoulder. An idea, daring and dangerous, clicked into place.
Last time, Sutton had somehow gotten my license and planted it, which led the police directly to me. This time, I absolutely would not allow that to happen.
She wants my license to frame me? Fine. Iâll hand it over to the police myself. Now. Let her try to frame a woman who is legally not allowed to drive.
I grabbed the household disinfectant spray I kept in the cup holderâthe one with a high alcohol contentâsprayed it around the car, and then, without hesitation, sprayed a quick mist into my mouth.
The Trooper tapped on my window. When I rolled it down, he immediately smelled the sharp, artificial alcohol scent.
His expression hardened. He pulled out a breathalyzer. âMaâam, Iâm going to need you to blow into this.â
I complied, blowing lightly. Seeing the number flash on the screen, the officer immediately stated, âMaâam, you are over the limit. Youâre being charged with a DUI. Please present your driverâs license and registration.â
I nodded obediently, handing over the card. I even asked, with genuine, relieved enthusiasm, âA DUI means a six-month license suspension, correct?â
The officer looked at my overly cheerful expression, confused, assuming I was in shock. âNow youâre scared, huh? How many times do we have to say it? Donât drink and drive. You just donât listen.â
âYour license will be suspended for six months, and youâll be fined one thousand dollars.â
I happily paid the fine, surrendered my license, and called a ride-share service to take me home.
Lying in my own bed, I finally let out the breath Iâd been holding. No one could frame me now. My license was already with the state.
I told my parents that the new SUV had a major issue and was in the shop, so I couldn’t drive back home for the memorial. Since my family had other vehicles, my dad immediately offered to drive us himself.
3
We set off the day before the memorial, long before dawn.
It was about a three-hour drive, so I slept most of the way. I woke up as we pulled up to the old family property.
The house was generally empty, only visited during the holidays and for the annual memorial. The three of us spent the entire afternoon cleaning it up.
The next morning, my parents and I got up early, gathered our offerings, and prepared to head up the hill.
We hadn’t walked far when we noticed a commotion up ahead.
I lowered my head and tried to keep walking with my parents, but then someone in the crowd called out my name.
âWell, look who it is. If it isn’t Xieâs daughter. Donât you say hello anymore?â
I looked up. It was one of the locals from the community.
I only came back a few times a year, and my relationship with these people was purely a nodding acquaintance. I didn’t even know half their names; there was no real need to stop.
But since Iâd been called out, ignoring them would be rude.
I managed a tight smile and was about to move on when someone pulled my arm.
âWillow, look at Sutton, though. She brought us all these wonderful gifts. Sheâs got a car and a nice place in the city, and sheâs got such an outstanding boyfriend. You should be more like her.â
I walked over and saw Sutton and Dean at the center of the crowd, soaking up the attention.
Were they not even trying to hide it anymore? Being addressed as a couple, right out in the open?
Sutton saw me and seemed to realize the locals had jumped the gun. She quickly tried to clarify. âActually, me and Dean are just friends. Please donât misunderstand.â
But the locals didnât listen, instead chiding her for being shy and trying to keep a big secret like a new relationship.
I let out a cold laugh. âDean, when exactly did you become Suttonâs boyfriend? I must have missed that memo.â
Panic flashed in Deanâs eyes. He rushed over and grabbed my sleeve. âWillow, honey, I came all this way specifically to see you. I wouldnât have even found your familyâs place if Sutton hadnât driven me.â
He turned to my parents with a fawning, eager expression. âMr. and Mrs. Reid, Iâm Willowâs boyfriend. I apologize, I haven’t had a chance to buy you proper gifts yet. Itâs a pleasure to finally meet you here.â
The crowd burst into surprised murmurs. So, they had been the ones who misunderstood!
The villager who had been the loudest looked embarrassed and shot a passive-aggressive remark at Sutton. âOh, so heâs not yours after all? You should have said something sooner. You got us all confused.â
Sutton looked mortified. She hadn’t expected the coincidence of me showing up right next to her property and being pulled into the crowd.
I yanked my hand out of Deanâs grasp and pressed the attack on Sutton. âSutton, since when did you buy a place and a car in the city? Why didnât you tell me?â
âYou must have spent a fortune on all these gifts.â
Sutton was silent for a few seconds before defending herself with self-righteous indignation. âWeâre neighbors. Weâve known each other for years. Of course, I should buy them gifts. Willow, you shouldnât forget where you come from.â
The locals, who had just received her gifts, immediately rallied to her defense and started pointing fingers at me.
âSheâs a city girl now, looking down on the rest of us here in the country.â
âI donât know what her parents taught her. Sheâs a disgrace to the community.â
âYour dadâs old man gave him a basket of eggs when he went off to college! Now he makes money and he forgets everyone!â
My family hadn’t done anything, yet in the locals’ mouths, we were the villains.
With so many people openly accusing us, my dad was about to step in and defend me when a group of people suddenly burst into Suttonâs yard.
âIs Willow Reid here?â
The leaderâs voice was loud and commanding. Everyone in the yard instantly turned and fell silent.
4
I quickly stepped forward. âOfficer, Iâm Willow Reid. How can I help you?â
The officer studied me, seeming to confirm my identity. âYou are a person of interest in a fatal hit-and-run case. We need you to come with us.â
My eyes widened in disbelief. âThatâs impossible, Officer. I havenât driven my car in days.â
My dad, too, was instantly alarmed. âAbsolutely not, Officer! My daughter would never do such a thing!â
The officer didn’t argue. He held up a transparent evidence bag containing a blood-smeared driverâs license.
âThis is your driverâs license. It was recovered at the scene. Whether you were driving or not, we require your cooperation in this investigation.â
I looked at the license in the bag, the horrifying realization of their new plan clicking into place.
Before I could speak, Sutton stepped forward, her voice dripping with fake sorrow. âWillow, how could you leave the scene? That was someoneâs life!â
âYou always drove too fast. Iâve told you countless times, Willow, why donât you ever listen?â
She sounded so heartbroken, so convincing, that if I wasn’t the victim of her frame-up, I might have been moved.
âWait a minute, Officer, this isnât right,â my mom suddenly realized. âYou said she was involved in a car accident, but my daughter didnât drive her car home this weekend.â
âWe did not find the vehicle at the scene, only some fragments of a bumper,â the officer confirmed.
At that moment, Dean stepped forward, a smug look of heroic revelation on his face. âI know where the car is!â
We all looked at him. A sickening sense of dread welled up inside me.
Dean, looking utterly confident, said, âCome with me, officers. Iâll show you where she hid the vehicle.â
The group left Suttonâs yard and started walking toward our family property.
Dean led the police into our house. Our seldom-used backyard, which was usually cluttered with old junk, now contained an extra vehicleâmy SUV.
But I had parked that car in my garage at my apartment complex in the city! How did it get here?
âOfficers, this is the vehicle,â Dean declared, pointing. âWillow was the one driving. She hit the victim, fled the scene, and parked the car here.â
âShe told me everything. If you had arrived any later, she was planning on driving it further up the mountain to hide it.â
Deanâs expression was earnest, but as his eyes met mine, a flicker of triumph crossed them.
Everyone, except my parents, who had been with me all day, now looked convinced that I was the killer.
âWillow, you should just turn yourself in,â Sutton urged, stepping forward. âItâs the only way to get a lighter sentence.â
My parents were completely lost, their minds reeling from the shock.
I watched the officers take a step toward me. I had to act, or I would go down for murder again.
âOfficers, that driverâs license is not mine,â I stated loudly. âI have proof!â
Dean and Sutton assumed I was just terrified. Dean pointed to the evidence bag. âLook closer. Your name is right there on it! How can it not be yours?â
The officer, however, ignored them and listened to me. He took the license out of the bag and inspected it closely. Then, in front of everyone, he said:
âThis license is a forgery. Itâs fake.
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Before leaving for my final mission, I asked Julian one last time: “Will you marry me?”
He was silent for a moment. “Okay.”
My heartâand the System in my headâdropped at the same time. “Crap.”
I was supposed to be rejected one hundred times to return to my real world.
Turns out, I panicked for nothing.
On my last mission, a twist of fate made me the sacrificial lamb for his first love.
Julian stayed by her side for three days before he even remembered me.
By the time he asked, the news had already broken: Officer Chloe Hart, killed in the line of duty.
1
“Host, there’s really no rush.”
“It’s your birthday. Nobody wants to be rejected on their birthday.”
My heavy breathing echoed in the quiet hallway.
I had just finished a three-month undercover assignment out of state.
Dragging my exhausted body, I came straight to Julian Thorneâs penthouse.
No other reason.
Iâve been stuck in this world for seven years. I want to go home.
The rules are simple: get rejected by Julian one hundred times, and I can return to reality.
Just now, the System told me I only need one more rejection.
Through the door, I heard Julian on the phone.
The womanâs voice was on speaker, her sobbing soft and pitiful:
“Julian, I know you’ve been with Chloe for three years. I shouldn’t be bothering you, but I just couldn’t help it…”
Julianâs response was a long silence.
The woman on the other end was Lydia Reed, Julianâs first love. The one who got away.
Most of my successful rejections over the years were thanks to her.
Julian changed the subject. “When are you coming back? I’ll throw a welcome party.”
“In what capacity? As my ex?”
“As an old friend.”
Silence on the line. Then, a voice tinged with spite:
“Ex-boyfriend, I’m getting married. The 20th of this month. You’re invited.”
Julian seemed angry. He said her name, low and dangerous: “Lydia!”
She hung up.
The System cheered in my head: [Jackpot! Host, go in now! While he’s mad! Ask him to marry you!]
Normally, I wouldn’t poke the bear when he’s in a mood.
But the dead weight of seven years was suddenly lifted by the hope of going home.
I pushed the door open urgently.
The room was dark.
Julian sat in front of the massive floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights glittering behind him like a sea of stars.
The glow of his phone screen illuminated half his face.
Sharp jawline, cold eyes. A face that could launch a thousand shipsâor sink them.
Seeing me, he locked his phone and leaned back, closing his eyes. His tone was unfriendly.
“Why are you here?”
See? A giant calendar on his desk, yet he didn’t even remember it was my birthday.
My palms were sweating. “I have a mission tomorrow.”
In the real world, I was a police academy graduate.
So in this world, I chose to be a cop. No hesitation.
Julian pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice icy. “So? Do you need something?”
“Yeah. After this mission… will you marry me?”
The System was already throwing a party in my brain: [AHHHH! Mission complete! I’m getting promoted! Yes! Yes! Yes!]
Julianâs dark eyes reflected my shadow.
His slight frown showed his annoyance.
I took a deep breath, lowered my head, and waited for the magic word.
Honestly, after liking him for so long, being rejected still stung a little.
But the System promised me money. A lot of money. Spendable in the real world.
“Okay.”
“What?”
The System’s cheering cut off abruptly.
I looked up in shock, meeting Julianâs calm, almost indifferent gaze.
He slowly turned his phone in his hand. “I said, okay.”
A few seconds later, both the System and I cursed in unison.
“F*ck…”
2
I hid in the bathroom.
The accumulated frustration finally exploded.
“Celebrating early? You must be Employee of the Month!”
The System snapped back: [It’s your fault! Why did you remind him it was your birthday? Men and their cheap guilt!]
My head was pounding. Overtime had drained every ounce of my energy. I slumped against the sink, weak.
The System whispered tentatively: [Maybe ask him to sleep with you now? He might say no to that?]
I sneered. “Why don’t I ask him to go die?”
If only it were that easy.
The game designers blocked every loophole from the start.
“Sex,” “death,” and a whole list of trigger words are banned.
And I can’t repeat a request.
Rejection of marriage was one of the few cards I had left after seven years.
We were at a dead end.
The sound of water running filled the silence.
I sat on the toilet lid, brainstorming my next move.
Suddenly, my phone rang. Unknown number.
I picked up. A gentle female voice spoke.
“Miss Hart, this is Lydia.”
I gripped the edge of the sink.
Silence. Lydia chuckled softly, a hint of smugness in her tone.
“You probably don’t know me well, but that’s okay. I know you very well.”
“I’ve eaten the bento boxes you made for Julian. I’ve worn the white shirts you washed for him. Last time, when he left your birthday dinner to come see me, there was a strand of your hair caught in his tie clip.”
I leaned back, voice cold. “So?”
Lydia laughed. “Are you really stupid, or just pretending? Didn’t you hear? Last year on your birthday, I gave him my virginity. This year, I came back specifically on your birthday, and he forgot it entirely. Do I need to spell out who Julian really loves?”
I stared at my face in the mirror.
Seven years. Fine lines had appeared at the corners of my eyes.
The eyes that used to light up whenever I saw Julian were now filled with numbness.
I took a deep breath. “No need. Because Julian is going to marry me.”
Silence on the other end. Then, Lydiaâs voice turned sharp. “You don’t need to provoke me. You can’t compete with me.”
Julian knocked on the door.
I hid the phone behind my back and yanked the door open. I smiled softly.
“Will you go with me to try on wedding dresses tomorrow?”
Julian paused. Then he hugged me, his tone rare and indulgent.
“Okay. On our wedding day, you will be the most beautiful bride.”
I hung up the phone.
And forced myself to accept Julianâs kiss, suppressing the nausea.
Lydia, I hope you have some fight in you.
Don’t disappoint me.
3
That night, I waited a long time.
Lydia didn’t call Julian.
Hot kisses landed all over my skin.
Julian seemed unusually interested. But at the last moment, I stopped him.
“I have a mission tomorrow. Let’s stop.”
Julian looked unsatisfied.
I pushed him away, turned my back, and wrapped myself tightly in the duvet.
Julian was silent for a long time. Finally, he sighed. “Okay.”
Water started running in the shower.
The System voiced my worry: [Did you go too hard? Did Lydia give up?]
“Unlikely.”
Knowing Lydia, she wouldn’t give up on Julian even if she died.
…
The next day, the weather was gloomy.
Julian didn’t leave early as usual. Instead, he sat at the dining table, eating breakfast with me.
The only sounds were cutlery clinking against plates.
Julian spoke. “After this mission, transfer to a desk job. If you marry me, you don’t need to work so hard.”
The System commanded in my head: [Fried eggs! I want fried eggs!]
I cut my ham, eyes lowered. “Okay.”
Julian continued, like a CEO briefing a secretary: “From now on, I’ll be at the company on Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. I’ll be home the rest of the time. I don’t want you coming to the office.”
System wailed: [No cheese! I want noodles!]
I smiled sweetly. “Okay.”
Julian frowned. I finished my milk, pushed back my chair, and stood up.
“Chloe.”
I turned. “What?”
Julian stared at me. “You were never this obedient before. What’s wrong today?”
Honestly? I didn’t hear a word he said.
“Nothing.”
I smiled. “Maybe because good things are coming.”
Julian tugged at his tie. His thin, straight lips betrayed his annoyance.
See? Heâs a hundred percent reluctant to marry me.
I curled my lips. “Hey, Julian. Can you wish for my safe return?”
Julian snapped out of his thoughts.
A moment later, he said, “Safe return.”
“Thanks.”
I turned and walked out.
System: [Meh, boring. I thought he wouldn’t say it.]
4
I’ve been in this world for seven years. The city’s crime rate is actually quite low.
Major incidents are rare.
I didn’t expect to encounter one on my very last mission.
A high-profile kidnapping.
The kidnapper demanded 30 million dollars and a van to leave the city.
When I arrived at the scene, it was drizzling.
My colleague, Officer Millerâa young girl named Sarahâsat at the bottom of the stairs, eyes red.
“Chloe, the negotiator is already in. The kidnapper wants to switch hostages.”
“Switch hostages?”
“Yeah… the current hostage is pregnant.”
The team went silent.
In this situation, if the kidnapper agrees to a switch, one of us has to go in.
“So… who’s going?”
Sarah bit her lip. “He demanded a woman.”
There were only two female officers on the team: Sarah and me.
Sarahâs husband was a detective who had just been injured in the line of duty and was still in the hospital.
I unholstered my gun and handed it to Sarah. “I got it. I’ll go.”
The System screamed in my head: [Host, this isn’t a game! If you die accidentally, you really can’t go back!]
But I couldn’t let Sarah go.
In seven years, Sarah had been with me far more than Julian ever was.
We were best partners.
Sarah hugged me, sobbing. “Chloe, I’m sorry. I know you’re getting married. I’m sorry, but Mike is still in the hospital…”
“I know.”
I patted her shoulder and walked into the rain.
It was an abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city.
Through the misty rain, I saw the woman in the kidnapper’s arms.
Her pale face couldn’t hide her beauty.
Long black hair plastered to her cheeks, big eyes full of pitiful tears.
She protected her lower abdomen desperately. “Please, save me. I’m pregnant. I’m carrying the heir to the Thorne family…”
My heart skipped a beat.
System confirmed: [It’s Lydia.]
We looked at each other through the rain.
I couldn’t describe the feeling.
The kidnapper, vicious and desperate, pressed a knife into her skin. Blood trickled down.
“Get over here! Or I’ll send her to hell!”
Lydiaâs eyes widened in terror as she looked at me. “Chloe, please. I can’t die. Julian will go crazy. If he knows you didn’t save me, he’ll hate you forever…”
So she knew who I was.
I looked back at Sarah.
Sighed.
And walked toward the kidnapper.
The moment the blade touched my neck, Lydia stumbled and ran toward the police line.
Just me and the kidnapper left.
“I want the car!”
Before I got in, the Captain gave me a signal.
The plan was simple: they track the van, I cooperate to take him down when the opportunity arises.
I was tied up and thrown into the passenger seat.
In the last second, I saw Julian break through the crowd.
He caught the fainting Lydia in his arms.
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For our Lunar New Year trip, my girlfriend, Sarah, booked us on an international tour.
As soon as the plane touched down, she coaxed me onto a shuttle bus.
We drove for two days and two nights. As the scenery became eerily familiar, my body started to tremble uncontrollably.
This was the very hellhole I had escaped from four years ago.
Sensing my panic, Sarah finally dropped the act.
Her face twisted into a mask of cruelty as she told me she was selling me to a black-market factory run entirely by women.
And the “Boss” she spoke of with such reverence? That was the head of the operation. My biological sister.
I had spent twenty years planning my fake death to escape her clutches. I never imagined Sarah would be the one to drag me back.
1
Seeing me shake like a leaf, Sarah smiledâa gentle, terrifying smile.
“Babe, didn’t you say you loved me? I owe a huge gambling debt. Just help me out, okay?”
The thought of falling back into my sister’s hands made my voice quake.
“Please… take me back. If you need money, I can give it to you! I’ll work, I’ll do anything to support you for the rest of my life!”
Sarah’s expression darkened instantly. She spat out her words.
“Do you think I have time to wait? I owe a fortune. If I don’t pay up in three days, they’ll kill me!”
“I’ve supported you, you useless loser, for two years. It’s time you paid me back with interest!”
Hearing her call me “useless” sent a fresh wave of terror through me.
Years ago, one of my sister’s subordinates had called me useless behind my back because I wouldn’t crush an ant.
My sister buried him in the dirt up to his neck, poured honey over his head, and let the ants eat him alive.
If she heard Sarah talk to me like this, what would she do to her?
Fear clawed at my throat as I looked at the woman I had loved for two years.
Tears streamed down my face, unbidden.
“You said we were going to build a home together. You said I was your favorite family…”
Sarahâs warm hand caressed my cheek.
Her words, however, were ice cold.
“Exactly. Family helps family, right? So help me, babe.”
I bit my lip and shook my head violently.
A flicker of pity crossed Sarah’s eyes.
“You know, you look so pathetic when you cry. It tugs at my heartstrings.”
“You’re the most handsome boyfriend I’ve ever had. And the most naive.”
“If I wasn’t so desperate for cash, I’d almost hate to sell you.”
Her gaze hardened suddenly.
“But you’re mine. I can’t stand the thought of other women touching you like that!”
She lunged, pinning me to the floor of the bus. She pulled out a rope and bound my hands behind my back.
Then, she drew a dagger from her pocket and waved it in front of my face.
“Babe, you don’t want to be used by other women, do you? Let me help you with that.”
The blade glinted. A line of fire seared across my cheek.
“No!”
I screamed in despair. My face… my sister was obsessed with my face!
When I was a child, I knocked over boiling water and scalded my cheek.
When the doctor said it might scar, my sister had the maidâs hands chopped off and threw her into a crocodile pit.
She threatened to peel the doctor’s face off if he didn’t fix mine.
She said I looked just like our dead father. My face was sacrosanct.
Sarah had cut me. If my sister found out…
I couldn’t think about it. I ignored the stinging pain.
“Please! Don’t ruin my face!”
Sarah laughed. “I already asked Red. She said men in the factory don’t need looks. As long as the machinery works, they’re good.”
2
Red? Could it be the same Red who joined the factory four years ago?
Before I could process this, Sarah slashed my face again.
Agony stole my voice. Blood ran into my eyes, turning the world red.
“I know Red! Take me to her, please!”
If Red saw me, she would force Sarah to take me back. She knew the consequences.
Sarah paused, digging the knife deeper.
“So you really weren’t loyal to me? You want to hook up with Red now?”
“I’ll destroy this face. Let’s see you seduce anyone then!”
I screamed until darkness took me.
When I woke up, I was dumped at the factory gates.
Sarah was talking to someone. It was Red!
“Red!”
I croaked her name through a ruined throat.
Red looked surprised and turned to me.
“How does he know my name?”
Sarahâs face paled. She stomped on my mouth hard.
“He probably heard me on the phone in the car. Don’t worry, knowing it won’t save him now.”
Red pulled a cigarette from her pack and lit it.
“Is that so? You wouldn’t dare play games. Is this the seventh one?”
Sarah ground her heel into my lips before trotting over to light Red’s cigarette.
“Seventh. Don’t worry, I know the rules.”
“This kid is an orphan, no family. He’s the only one on his household registry. And he was a virgin when I got him!”
Red squatted down, blew smoke in my face, and scrutinized me.
A spark of hope ignited in my chest.
She knows me. If she recognizes me, she’ll make Sarah take me away.
If my sister finds out her subordinate kidnapped me, theyâre all dead.
“Tsk. Why did you mess up his face like that? He’s hideous.”
Red looked disgusted and stood up.
My heart sank. She didn’t recognize me!
Did Sarah disfigure me beyond recognition?
Grief overwhelmed me. I wanted to wail, but my throat felt stuffed with cotton.
“He wouldn’t sit still. I was worried he’d use his looks to charm someone into helping him escape. So I ruined it. Doesn’t matter anyway, right?”
Sarah crouched by my ear and whispered with a dark chuckle:
“See? Give up on seducing Red. She thinks you’re ugly.”
I used every ounce of strength to force words through my teeth.
“You… will… die…”
Red’s eyebrows shot up. She kicked Sarah aside and squatted in front of me, grinning.
“Did this kid just curse us?”
Looking at her sinister smile, I shook my head in terror.
No! I meant you need to send me away! Or you’ll all die!
“Ahhhâ!”
Red pinched my jaw open and jammed the lit cigarette into my mouth.
The pain on my tongue was excruciating. The smell of burning flesh filled the air as I screamed.
“Ugly freak. Dying and still trying to threaten us. Pah!”
Red hawked a thick loogie onto my face.
Sarah picked up a wooden stick from the ground and started stabbing into my mouth.
“How dare you offend Red! Scream all you want!”
Blood filled my mouth, mixing with splinters and choking me.
I felt like I was drowning. Tears poured down my face like a waterfall.
Is this it? Am I going to die here?
“Enough. Teach him a lesson, but don’t kill him or I don’t get paid.”
Red stopped her. Sarah dropped the bloody stick immediately.
3
“Right. Shall we go inside, sign the contract, and get the money?”
Two massive guards hauled me up and dragged me toward the factory.
A black sedan drove toward us. It was my sister’s car!
I struggled frantically, throwing myself toward the wheels.
The car stopped. My sister stepped out from the back seat.
She looked down at me, brow furrowed.
Sister, it’s me! It’s your brother!
I tried to look up at her, begging silently.
Red grabbed me by the hair and slapped me across the face.
“Damn brat! How dare you startle the Boss!”
The slap blinded me for a second. I spat blood.
It landed on my sister’s high heels.
Red turned white. She fell to her knees and started wiping the shoes with her sleeve.
“I’m so sorry, Boss! The new guy is feisty. I’ll clean it right up!”
Sarah knelt too, helping to wipe. My sister squinted at me lying on the ground.
“Oh? Fresh meat?”
“Yes. He’s unruly. To avoid trouble, we messed up his face. He even cursed us earlier!”
Red answered carefully. My sister seemed amused.
“Heh. First time anyone’s had the guts to talk trash here. Is he a college boy?”
“Yes! Graduated this year. Top of his class!” Sarah interjected quickly.
My sister looked thoughtful. She glanced at me and sighed.
“If Dragon were still here, he’d be about graduating age too…”
Hearing her use my childhood nickname, I started thrashing and wailing.
Sis, it’s me! I’m Dragon!
“Hey! Stay down!”
Red kicked me hard, right in the face.
The wounds split open again, blood oozing out.
My mouth and tongue were pulp. I couldn’t speak, only make guttural noises of pain.
“Hm?”
My sister paused, squatting down to look closer.
I was ecstatic. I tried to open my mouth to call her, but a cough racked my body and I sprayed blood.
Right onto her face.
Red and Sarah looked like they were about to have heart attacks.
One pulled out tissues to wipe my sister’s face, the other dragged me away.
Red saw a barrel of dirty water nearby. She hoisted me up.
The next second, she shoved my head into the filth.
Sludge filled my nose and mouth. I choked, my lungs burning.
Just as I thought I was dead, she yanked me up by my hair.
“You have a death wish, kid?! Disrespecting the Boss like that!”
“I’m going to kill you right now as an apology!”
I gasped for air for a few seconds before being plunged back under.
After a few rounds, I was limp, unable to make a sound.
Red threw me on the ground and ran to my sister, bowing repeatedly.
“Boss, since he offended you, he’s useless. How should we dispose of him?”
“Rip out his fingernails first. Then give him the ‘Bubble Tea’ treatment.”
My blood ran cold.
“Bubble Tea.” I had seen them use that torture on men before. It involved boiling water and a funnel.
I never thought it would be my turn.
Fine. Sister, you’ve committed so many sins. Retribution falling on me isn’t unjust.
I calmed down.
My sister wiped the blood from her face and glared at me. Then she froze.
I closed my eyes, waiting for death.
The thought of seeing Mom and Dad again made me smile.
4
“Is he… smiling?”
My sister’s hesitant voice reached my ears.
“What the hell? This little shit still has the nerve to smile!”
Red couldn’t believe it. She grabbed my hair and yanked my head back.
The dirty water had washed away the blood. My sister stared at my face, shocked.
“Why does he have so many scars?”
I saw my reflection in her eyes.
A web of ugly, worm-like scars covered every inch of skin.
It was horrifying. Disgusting.
It was laughable that I thought she’d recognize me.
I barely recognized myself.
“We did it. To keep him from seducing the female staff and running away.”
Red answered quickly. Sarah nodded in agreement.
“Yeah, he’s a pretty boy. If we left his face alone, there’d be trouble eventually!”
My sister nodded slowly.
“Fair point. Pity, though. We could have sent him to the casino to entertain the rich ladies. Would’ve made more money that way.”
A look of regret crossed Sarah’s face.
“Ugh, my bad! Next time I’ll know better. I’ll find another handsome, innocent one!”
Red sighed too.
“Exactly. The ones you brought before were trash. Finally got a looker, and you ruined him…”
“You said he looked like a pretty boy? Let me see a picture!”
Red pestered Sarah for a photo.
Sarah smiled wryly. “You confiscated my phone, remember?”
Then her eyes lit up. She patted her pocket.
“I have his ID and his diploma! You can check those!”
Red got excited and told her to hand them over.
Sarah pulled out my documents. Red leaned in eagerly.
“Damn, nice! Look at that face. Like a puppy, but those pecs? Killer!”
“You have good taste. If his face wasn’t ruined, he could have made a fortune as a gigolo!”
My sister finished washing her face and walked over, drying herself with a towel.
“Flying Fish? Weird name. Like me, belongs in the sky.”
Red immediately started sucking up. “How can this brat compare to you, Boss!”
“You’re a phoenix in the heavens. He’s just a dead fish that can’t fly. What’s the saying…”
“A sparrow cannot understand the ambition of a swan!”
My sister laughed and threw the towel at her.
“Get out of here. A high school dropout reciting poetry?”
Red peeled the towel off her face, grinning.
“Just learning from the best! You’re the only college grad running a park like this!”
“I remember what you told the Young Master. To succeed, you have to study hard…”
Hearing my title, my sister’s face fell.
She took my diploma from Sarah.
Tracing the gold lettering, she sighed.
“If Dragon were still alive, he’d be graduating college this year too…”
She opened the diploma.
Her eyes locked onto the photo. Her face went white.
“Song Ningchen?”
She said my full name with a trembling voice. She looked up at Red and Sarah.
“Yeah. The kid told me he was an orphan when we met. Said he named himself.”
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âTake the shack. Donât say I didnât play fair.â
Grant Elliott slid the divorce settlement across the polished mahogany table toward me.
I looked at the division of assets: the two properties and the luxury sedan registered in his name were all his. The four-hundred-square-foot studio apartment, my only property, was mine.
âFine.â I signed the papers.
Deirdre, my mother-in-law, scoffed from the armchair. Her newly manicured fingers tapped the leather armrest. âA dump like that? No one would even bother tearing it down.â
Three months later.
I received the notice from the City Planning Office.
Compensation: $85.5 million.
1
The relief on Grantâs face when I finally signed was unmistakable.
In five years of marriage, it was the first time Iâd seen such a clear expression from him.
âHannah, letâs keep this amicable.â He stood up, his suit perfectly tailored. âIf you ever get into any trouble, you can call me.â
I didnât reply. I folded my copy of the settlement and tucked it into my bag.
Deirdre was sitting on the sofa, her legs crossed, a smug smile plastered across her face.
âHannah, dear,â she called me, her tone dismissive, like addressing a distant, slightly embarrassing relative. âOur Grant has excellent prospects. He wonât have any trouble finding a good match. You, on the other hand, shouldnât be too choosy. Settle for something manageable.â
âMom, thatâs enough,â Grant frowned.
âDid I say something wrong?â Deirdre stood up, her voice rising. âWhat did she bring into this marriage? A tiny, run-down studio. What did we provide? The apartment, the car. Sheâs lived off us for five yearsâate our food, slept under our roofââ
âEnough,â I cut her off.
She paused, then chuckled. âWhat, you canât handle the truth now?â
I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked to the door.
âGrant,â I turned back. âYou filed for divorce. It was your motherâs ideaâand your agreementâfor me to walk away with nothing but my old place. Donât ever say I didn’t give you a chance.â
Grantâs eyebrows furrowed. âWhat is that supposed to mean?â
I didn’t answer. I just pushed the door open and left.
In the hallway, I heard Deirdreâs voice, sharp and loud: âWhat an act. Give us a chance? How much is that shack of hers even worth? Our Grant makes twelve thousand a month. She barely clears four. Heâll find someone so much better once sheâs gone!â
I pressed the elevator button and didnât look back.
Five years.
For five years, I had been a ghost in that house.
Deirdre hated that my job was âunrespectableââan elementary school teacher in a public school. She hated that my parents were working class. She hated my old studio, calling it an âembarrassment.â
And Grant? He never once contradicted her.
Iâd asked him once, “Your mother speaks about me that way. Why donât you ever stick up for me?”
Heâd shrugged. âSheâs not entirely wrong.â
I had held onto that sentence.
For five years.
The elevator doors opened. I stepped in and hit the button for the parking garage.
Downstairs, Grantâs Lexus ES 350 sat gleaming in the reserved spot. His mother had paid for it, and it was registered in his name.
I walked past it without a second thought.
My old electric commuter bike was tucked away in the darkest corner, covered in dust. Deirdre had said the bike was âtackyâ and forbade me from riding it.
Now, I was free.
I pedaled the bike past the high-tech gate of The Gates at Riverwood.
The gate guard glanced at me but didn’t offer a greeting.
He never had.
He only greeted the residents.
I was not a resident.
I was merely the residentâs ex-wife.
Now, I wasnât even that.
I rode away, not looking back.
Behind me, the lights of the condo building were bright.
Iâd lived there for five years, but it had never felt like home.
2
I returned to The Old Mill District.
The 400-square-foot studio was what my parents had left me.
It was a pre-war building, six flights of creaking stairs, no elevator. The walls were stained, the hall was dim, and the plumbing was temperamental.
But it was mine.
Only here did I feel like I belonged.
I unlocked the door, and a scent of dust and mildew greeted me.
It had been empty for three years. Grant hadnât allowed me to visit after we married.
Heâd said the neighborhood was too rough and the place was unlivable.
I opened the windows, letting the stale air rush out.
Outside, the street was a tight weave of identical old brownstones. This was the oldest neighborhood in Crescent City.
My father grew up here and was later allotted this unit. I was born and raised here, leaving only for college.
Before my dad passed, he held my hand and said, âHannah, donât ever sell this place.â
I promised him I wouldnât.
My mother said the same thing before she left.
I promised her, too.
They never explained why.
But a promise was a promise.
Grant didnât understand.
âWhatâs a dump like that worth?â heâd asked. âSell it, take the cash, and invest in something real.â
I said no.
He called me stubborn.
Deirdre said I was crazy.
But I refused to sell.
Now, post-divorce, this apartment was my sole asset.
I looked around the small, cluttered room and allowed myself a tiny smile.
At least it was mine.
One hundred percent.
I started to clean. Wiping dust, scrubbing the floor, changing lightbulbs.
I worked all day until my back ached.
But my heart felt light. The suffocating anxiety was gone.
That night, I lay on the old bed, listening to the drone of the summer cicadas outside the window.
My phone rang.
It was Grant.
âHannah, where are you?â
âMy apartment.â
âYouâre actually staying there?â
âItâs my apartment. Why wouldnât I?â
Silence on the other end.
âItâs not safe for you to be alone in that kind of neighborhood.â
âYou donât need to worry about me.â
âThatâs not what I meantââ
âWeâre divorced. Letâs not contact each other again.â
I hung up.
And immediately blacklisted his number.
It felt clean.
3
News of the divorce spread quickly through the extended family.
Deirdreâs mouth moved faster than the local news cycle.
The phrase âwalked away with nothingâ was her rallying cry.
âGrantâs prospects were so good, she was lucky to marry him at all. Now she thinks sheâll get a piece of his success? Dream on!â
This was what my Aunt Carol heard from a cousin whoâd heard it from Deirdreâs bridge club.
Aunt Carol was furious and wanted to confront Deirdre.
I told her to let it go.
âLet it go?!â Aunt Carol slammed her hand on the kitchen counter. âShe called you poor, said you werenât good enough, and now sheâs spreading rumors that you were trying to bleed Grant dry? You handed over your entire paycheck to that woman!â
I stayed silent.
It was true. For five years, I had handed over my full $4,000 monthly paycheck to Deirdre.
She called it a âtradition.â
It was their family ârule.â
I had obeyed for five years.
Four thousand dollars a month for sixty months. That was a quarter of a million dollars.
$240,000, all exchanged for the line, âWhat did she bring into this marriage?â
âHannah,â Aunt Carol looked at me, her expression softening. âWhy arenât you angry?â
I smiled faintly. âWhat good would being angry do?â
âBut you canât just let them walk all over you!â
âI havenât lost anything.â
Aunt Carol didnât understand.
She didnât know that my small, broken studio was the biggest chip in the game.
Why hadn’t my parents wanted me to sell?
Because they knew something.
The Old Mill District had been on the Cityâs rezoning and demolition list for decades.
It had just been slow to move.
Before my father died, he told me: âHannah, this area is going to be redeveloped eventually. When it is, you wonât have to worry about money again.â
I remembered.
So, no matter how much Grant and Deirdre scoffed or pressured me, I never sold.
They didnât know the internal city planning details.
They only saw a 400-square-foot studio, which, to them, was worthless.
They didnât know the redevelopment countdown had begun.
I hadn’t told anyone.
Why bother?
Let them look down on it. Let them dismiss it as trash.
When the time came, they would find out.
4
The second week after the divorce, I received a text.
It was from a new numberâGrantâs.
âHannah, my mom was out of line. Please try not to let it get to you.â
I didn’t reply.
The next day, he sent another: âWeâve known each other for seven years, married for five. I donât want things to end on a bad note.â
Still no reply.
On the third day, he called directly.
I answered.
âHannah, are you still upset?â
âNo.â
âThen why wonât you respond to my messages?â
âThereâs nothing to say.â
âWe could still be friendsââ
âGrant,â I cut him off. âYou filed for divorce. Your mother engineered my leaving with nothing, and you agreed. Now youâre calling me to ask to be friends?â
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Mrs. Perez, who runs her life by the clock, was nearly thirty minutes late today.
âSienna, I am so sorry, dinner is not ready, please donât be mad at meâŚâ she stammered, wringing her hands. âBut truly, there was nothing I could do. I waited downstairs for over half an hour, and no one would buzz me in. I called Mr. Grant, but he didnât answer.â
I paused while taking off my Italian leather pumps, a frown pulling at my brow.
âMrs. Perez, I explicitly told Rhys to give you the key fob, didnât I?â
Mrs. Perez looked completely bewildered. âThe key fob? Mr. Grant never gave me a card, dear.â
âNever gave it to you?â
âNo, maâam.â She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, her voice cautious. âFor the last month, Iâve been either sneaking in after another resident, or Iâd call Mr. Grant and heâd unlock the door remotely.â
âToday, he just wouldnât answer the phone. I was desperate downstairsâŚâ
That was strange.
I distinctly remembered checking the digital lockâs access log a few weeks ago and seeing regular swipe entries from that spare key fob.
1
The apartmentâa sprawling, ultra-modern penthouseâwas one I had purchased outright before the wedding. My job requires a brutal travel schedule, so I hired Mrs. Perez to manage dinner and cleaning.
At the time, I handed the spare key fob directly to Rhys, my husband.
âMrs. Perez is coming for her trial run tomorrow,â Iâd instructed him. âGive this to her so she has easy access.â
He took the small, plastic card, his smile warm and attentive. âRelax, honey, Iâve got it. Itâs handled.â
But today, the card was not in Mrs. Perezâs possession.
I logged into the apartmentâs smart-lock app.
The screen confirmed my initial thought: in the past month, the spare key fob had been used to enter the building seventeen times.
Rhys and I both used the fingerprint scanner, which meant those seventeen entries were made by the person holding that card.
Who was it?
As I considered the digital trail, the front door opened.
Rhys was home.
âHoney, Mrs. Perez was late today because she said she couldnât get in,â I said, trying to keep my tone casual. âDidnât I ask you a month ago to give her the key fob?â
Rhys, who was unknotting his tie, froze. His forced chuckle was immediate and grating.
âOh⌠that thing.â
âI was so slammed at work, I must have completely forgotten. I probably just shoved it in a drawer somewhere. Iâll look for it, I promise.â
âItâs fine if you canât find it,â I said, setting down the magazine I wasnât reading. My voice was calm, almost flat. âIâll just call building management tomorrow to report it lost and get a replacement. Itâs too inconvenient for Mrs. Perez.â
âDonât!â
Rhys spun around, the word sharp and loud, his voice several decibels higher than normal.
When he saw my puzzled expression, he immediately softened his posture, walking over to wrap an arm around my shoulders.
âMy point is, why waste the money on a replacement fee? Itâs probably only a few hundred dollars, but still.â
âItâs definitely in the apartment somewhere. Iâll go through everything this weekend, Iâll find it.â
He gently turned me to face the living room. âYouâre working so hard, Sienna. Donât worry your beautiful head about something so small.â
He paused, running a thumb over my cheekbone. âYou look stressed, actually. Youâre getting that anxious look again. You used to have such a soft, healthy glow.â
âReally?â
âTotally. You look so much better when youâre relaxed.â
The slight flattery, combined with the mild distraction, was enough to make me drop the subject of the key fob. But the knot of unease remained, tight and low in my gut.
That night, after heâd gone to shower, I picked up his phone.
The password hadnât changed: my birthday.
His text messages were clean; no suspicious threads. Even his social media was set to the three-day viewing limit.
I checked his Amazon orders, scrolling through a list of toiletries and household supplies. Everything looked normal.
Until I clicked on the âDeleted Itemsâ folder.
Hidden among the recovered orders, I saw a purchase from a week ago: an emerald-cut tennis necklace.
The shipping address was his office, and the recipient was listed as: Eliza Soto.
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My husband hired a new intern for the purchasing department, and the moment she walked in, she started barking orders at me.
“You’ve wasted all the company’s money! Do you even understand ‘Buy Now, Pay Later’?”
She pulled up Amazon on her phone, shoving her order history from last month in my face.
I stood there, stunned.
“Just as I thought, a total dinosaur. You don’t know anything!”
“If I were the purchasing manager, this company would have gone public by now!”
I took a breath, trying to ignore her ridiculous comments.
“Why don’t you shadow Sarah for now and help organize the invoices…”
Before I could finish, Lynn slammed her hand on the desk.
“I didn’t come here to be a secretary! I came here to save this company!”
She rolled her eyes at me.
“A boomer like you who doesn’t even get ‘Buy Now, Pay Later’ is just waiting to be replaced by me!”
I took a deep breath.
Fine. If that’s how you want to play it, your daily wages can be ‘Paid Later’ too.
1.
I immediately called my husband, Tom, the CEO.
Where on earth did he find this chaotic “genius”?
The phone rang and rang. No answer.
Just then, the office door banged open.
Lynn burst in, arms overflowing with snacks, plastic bags crinkling loudly.
“Come on, everyone! Dig in!” she shouted with her mouth full of potato chips, tossing bags of snacks onto my colleagues’ desks. “My treat!”
“Work sucks, might as well have something sweet, right?”
Colleagues swarmed around her, grabbing snacks and praising her.
“Lynn, you really know how to liven up the place!”
“This girl gets it!”
2.
Lynn lifted her chin triumphantly, dusting chip crumbs off her hands.
“This is nothing! I got it all using ‘Buy Now, Pay Later.’ Didn’t cost me a cent today!”
Just as I was about to step out and reprimand her for causing a disturbance during work hours, my phone buzzed.
The screen lit up with a notification from the gourmet grocery store downstairsâ
[You have activated ‘Buy Now, Pay Later’ this morning. Order total $999 pending payment.]
The rustling of plastic bags and laughter of my colleagues continued outside.
Lynn’s boastful voice grated on my nerves.
“Stocking up with this feature is the best deal. The money doesn’t come out until next month anyway!”
I stared at the unauthorized transaction on my screen, my grip tightening on the phone.
I pushed the door open.
The office went silent instantly. Everyone froze.
Lynn was tossing the last bag of chips to Sarah. Seeing me, she rolled her eyes publicly.
“Oh, now you want snacks?” She sneered, her voice sharp. “Dream on. I’m not giving you any.”
She deliberately shook the empty plastic bag at me.
“Some dinosaurs don’t even understand ‘Buy Now, Pay Later.’ Do you really deserve to eat the food I bought?”
I stared at her smug face and held up my phone, screen facing her.
“The $999 pending payment at the grocery store downstairs… did you use my account?”
3.
Lynn snatched the phone from my hand. Seeing the screen, her eyes lit up.
“Hey, it’s activated!” She bobbed her head smugly. “See? You learned how to use advanced features.”
She shoved the phone back into my chest, acting self-righteous. “You should be thanking me for helping you set it up!”
A few colleagues couldn’t help but chuckle.
“It’s so convenient. Money isn’t deducted until next month,” she patted my shoulder patronizingly. “Consider the $999 a tuition fee. Even dinosaurs need to keep up with the times!”
The plastic bag rustled as she tore open a pack of cookies, crunching loudly.
I snapped. I slapped the cookies out of her hand, sending them crashing to the floor. “What the hell did you do?!”
Lynn screamed, grabbing a handful of snacks from the desk and throwing them at my face. “You’re wasting food, you b*tch!”
Chip crumbs stuck to my face as she shrieked, “The store downstairs is for employees only! I’m an intern and didn’t have access, so I used your nameâ”
She waved her phone triumphantly, showing the transaction record on my account.
“The owner knows you. I told him to send the bill to you. ‘Buy Now, Pay Later.’ You’re paying that tuition fee whether you like it or not!”
I grabbed her wrist. “Pay me back right now! I’m cancelling this stupid feature!”
Lynn yanked her arm away, her voice rising. “Ungrateful! I teach you a financial hack and this is how you repay me?”
4.
Her greasy hand grabbed my collar. “You deserve to be left behind by society! The money isn’t due until next month, why are you rushing to pay?”
Seeing a few colleagues snickering, she got bolder. “I’m helping you elevate your spending habits. You should be kneeling to thank me!”
I dragged her toward the door. “We’re going to the store. And don’t bother coming in tomorrow!”
Before I could finish, SMACK!
A crisp slap landed on my face.
I stood there, hand on my burning cheek, stunned.
She shook me off and shouted at the top of her lungs.
“Everyone knows you’re the most useless person in Purchasing! I had to teach you how to use ‘Buy Now, Pay Later’!”
Some colleagues were secretly filming with their phones.
“What are you staring at?” She stepped forward, spit flying onto my face. “CEO Tom hired me personally. Who are you to fire me?”
Lynn lifted her chin arrogantly. “You think you can fire me? Let’s see if Tom listens to you or me!”
She shoved me hard, grabbing the pile of snacks from the desk. ” pearls before swine. I wouldn’t even give this to a dog!”
I was shaking with rage. I pulled out my phone and dialed Tom again.
“Let’s see if I kick you out today!”
The phone rang and rang. No answer.
My colleagues’ eyes were pinned on me.
The busy tone felt like another slap in the face.
I dialed again. Still no answer.
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Chapter 1
I casually liked a wedding photo my old college roommate posted on Instagram.
A second later, she sent a voice message.
“Who are you? Why did you hack this account? I’m calling the police!”
I was confused, so I FaceTimed her.
But the moment the call connected and she saw my face, she screamed and hung up immediately.
When I called back, she sent a text:
Aren’t you dead? You died last year.
Hearing that, I felt like I was losing my mind. I dialed her again.
It took forever for her to pick up.
I had to perform a series of ridiculous facial gymnasticsâpuffing my cheeks, winking, sticking out my tongueâuntil my face cramped before she finally believed me.
“You’re really Hannah? You’re alive?”
She told me she had cried when she heard the news of my death, sending a bunch of emotional messages to my “abandoned” account.
I scrolled back through our chat history. Sure enough, there were messages from over a year ago.
Back then, I was in labor with my daughter, Lily. I didn’t have time to check my phone.
After that, I became a full-time stay-at-home mom, revolving my entire life around my baby. I dropped off the social radar completely.
But saying I was dead? That was insane. Who jokes about that?
I demanded an apology.
She claimed she was innocent, saying she only repeated what she’d heard.
To prove it, she sent me a screenshot of an old social media post.
It was a black-and-white photo of me, photoshopped to look like a memorial portrait, complete with a date of death and a solemn caption announcing my passing.
No wonder no one had visited or invited me anywhere for the past year. They all thought I was six feet under.
My blood boiled. I immediately took the screenshot and tried to mass message my friends, ready to announce my resurrection to the world.
But when I hit send, I froze.
Every single message failed. “You are not friends with this user.”
I had been kicked out of every group chat. Blocked by everyone except this one roommate.
I messaged her back, demanding to know who started this rumor.
After a long pause, she sent a voice note.
“Hannah… I heard it from Sarah. Do you remember her?”
Sarah?
She was in our department at college, though not in our major.
I remembered her because she was close with my husband, Mark. One of his “bros,” a female friend who hung around him constantly.
Once Mark and I started dating seriously, she faded into the background. After graduation, I hadn’t heard a whisper about her.
I pressed for answers.
“Why would she say I died?”
My roommate sent an ellipsis, then replied:
“I don’t know the details. Last year, around this time, Sarah posted that announcement. She said you died from postpartum depression. A lot of our classmates commented, comforting her, saying how loyal she was for holding an online memorial for you.”
My hands started to shake.
“Show me the post.”
“She deleted it ages ago. Said it was too painful to look at. Hannah, did you seriously not know about this?”
Know? How could I know?
My life for the past year had been diapers, feeding, soothing crying fits, and making baby food. I collapsed into bed every night, exhausted.
I didn’t even have time to watch TV, let alone stalk people on social media.
And I wasn’t even friends with Sarah on any platform.
I asked my roommate for Sarah’s contact info and sent a friend request.
Thirty minutes passed. Silence.
I tried again. Rejected.
The fire in my chest was raging now. I called my roommate.
“She won’t add me. Send me her number.”
Her voice trembled. “Hannah, something feels off. Please, calm down.”
“I’ve been dead for a year! How am I supposed to be calm?”
She was silent for a moment, then texted me a number.
I punched the digits into my phone, my finger hovering over the call button.
Then I stopped.
Something wasn’t right.
Why would Sarah lie about my death?
She and Mark were close. Did Mark know about this?
Chapter 2
I stared at the number for a long time, but I didn’t press call.
Instead, I scrolled through my contacts until I found another name: Rachel.
Rachel was the legal counsel at my old company. We had worked together often.
In my panic, she was the only person I could think of who knew the law and might help me.
I took a deep breath and dialed.
“Rachel, hi. It’s Hannah.”
A cheerful voice answered. “Hannah! Long time no see. What’s up?”
I tried to keep my voice steady as I explained the situation.
I asked her what I should do.
Rachel listened, silent for a few seconds, before her tone turned serious.
“First, you need to post a clarification immediately. Let everyone know you’re alive. Set the record straight.”
“Then, you need to find out exactly who is spreading this and why.”
She paused.
“But Hannah, I have to be honest with you. Defamation cases are hard to win, especially if you haven’t suffered significant financial loss. In your case, the most you might get is an apology and maybe a small settlement for emotional distress.”
My heart sank.
“So I just let her tell everyone I’m dead?”
“Of course not. First, preserve the evidence. Screenshots, chat logs, everything. Then confirm who is behind this.”
After hanging up, my palms were sweating.
The anger was still there, but Rachel’s advice had grounded me.
Sarah was my college acquaintance, and Mark’s friend. Maybe there was a misunderstanding. I didn’t want to blow things up if I didn’t have to.
I decided to call Mark first.
He picked up immediately. “What’s wrong, Hannah? Is Lily crying again?”
I told him everything. I expected him to be furious on my behalf.
Instead, he sounded indifferent.
“It’s probably just a prank. If that’s it, I’m hanging up. I’m busy at work.”
I couldn’t believe it.
“It’s not a prank! The screenshot is dated last June, right after I had Lily. The person who posted it is Sarah. Do you remember her?”
Mark paused. “Sarah? There must be a mistake. Or maybe she got hacked. Don’t overthink it. It’s not a big deal.”
“Someone is telling the world I’m dead, and you think it’s ‘not a big deal’?”
He sighed, impatient. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, why bother with stupid rumors? People will realize it’s fake eventually.”
“I’m going to clarify it right now. I’m posting on social media.”
“Don’t,” he said quickly. “Posting about death is bad luck. Let’s talk about it tomorrow. I have to go.”
He hung up before I could say another word.
I was furious. I called him back, screaming, but he maintained his dismissive attitude and then stopped answering my calls altogether.
Fine. If you won’t help, I don’t care about playing nice anymore.
I typed out a furious post, attaching the screenshot, declaring I was very much alive.
I hit ‘Post.’
Almost instantly, a notification popped up on my screen:
[Your account has been logged in on another device. You have been logged out.]
I froze.
My phone had been in my hand the whole time. Who had my login?
Chapter 3
My first thought was that I’d been hacked.
But logging into my account required a verification code. Unless…
I opened my text messages and scrolled back.
Buried in a sea of spam and notifications, I found it. A verification code sent a year ago.
I remembered that time. Mark had borrowed my phone, claiming he needed to help a friend with some online promotion or game.
Was it Mark?
I looked closer at my message history. Something was wrong.
There were gaps in the dates. Messages had been deleted.
I checked my cloud backup and compared the logs. Sure enough, chunks of history were missing.
I called Mark immediately.
He let it ring for a long time before answering, annoyance dripping from his voice.
“What now? I’m working.”
“Did you log into my social media account?”
“What? Are you crazy? Why would I do that?”
“Someone just kicked me off my account. Who else could it be but you?”
His tone shifted, becoming aggressive.
“You’re insane. I’m busting my ass at work, and you’re sitting at home inventing conspiracies. Did staying home with the kid rot your brain?”
“Mark, Iâ”
“Enough! I’m done arguing with you. Post whatever you want, just stop blaming me for everything. Bye.”
Before he hung up, I heard a faint sound in the background.
A woman’s laugh. Soft, mocking.
“Wait, I just heardâ”
The line went dead.
I sat on the couch, clutching my phone, a chill spreading through my bones.
Mark didn’t come home until 1 AM.
He saw me sitting in the dark living room and paused. “Still up?”
I watched him take off his shoes.
“Why so late tonight?”
“Project deadline. Had to push through.”
He took off his jacket and headed for the bathroom.
“Mark,” I said. “Do you really remember Sarah?”
He stopped, his back to me. “Why bring her up again? Haven’t talked to her in years.”
“She’s the one saying I’m dead. Don’t you think that’s weird?”
He frowned, turning around. “I told you, it’s a prank or a hack. Stop obsessing.”
“Then why was I logged out of my account the second I tried to clarify things?”
His voice rose. “I told you, it wasn’t me! God, you’re impossible lately. Paranoid about everything.”
He slammed the bathroom door.
The shower turned on.
Before he came back, I replayed the recording of our call. I wasn’t imagining it. I heard a woman.
Mark was hiding something.
I walked softly to the bathroom door. Through the frosted glass, I saw his silhouette moving.
His phone was on the coffee table, face down.
I knew his passcode. It was our anniversary.
I had never checked his phone before. I believed in trust.
But trust was shattered now.
I took a deep breath and unlocked it.
His texts seemed normal. Work groups, colleagues.
I searched his contacts for “Sarah.” Nothing.
Then I opened his payment apps. Venmo, PayPal, banking.
My breath hitched.
Starting from last year, there were consistent transfers to the same user.
Small amounts. $520. $1314. $888. Numbers that meant “I love you” or “forever” in internet slang.
The most recent one was three days ago. $2000. Note: “Buy something nice to eat.”
Another app showed larger transfers to a user verified as “*arah.” $5,000. $20,000.
The most recent was last month. $20,000. Note: “For renovations.”
The total was over ten thousand dollars.
Mark gave me a strict allowance for household expenses, always complaining that his bonuses were cut.
But he was using our joint savings to fund another woman.
Chapter 4
My hands trembled as I took screenshots and sent them to my own secret email.
Then I noticed something else. An app that looked like a calculator.
It was a vault app. I tried his passcode. Incorrect.
The water stopped running.
I quickly put the phone back and sat next to Lily’s crib, my heart pounding like a drum.
Mark walked out, towel-drying his hair. “You look pale. Sick?”
“Just tired.”
He grunted, picked up his phone, swiped through it casually, and went to the balcony to smoke.
I watched his back, feeling like I was looking at a stranger.
I didn’t sleep that night.
When Mark’s breathing deepened into sleep, I took his phone again.
I tried the calculator vault again. I guessed Sarah’s birthdayâI remembered it from a party in college.
It opened.
Inside was a hidden photo album.
I clicked it, and my world froze.
Hundreds of photos of the two of them. Intimate. Loving.
One photo was dated last year, around the time I gave birth.
Sarah was sitting on a bay window, her belly swollen with pregnancy.
The caption Mark wrote: Waiting for our little treasure to grow up.
While I was weak and bleeding, recovering from birthing his daughter, he was sending money to another woman, planning a future with another child.
I bit my lip until I tasted blood to keep from screaming.
Hannah, don’t panic.
Rachel’s voice echoed in my head. Preserve evidence.
I used my own phone to take high-resolution photos of everything on his screen.
Then I found something even darker.
In his cloud backup, there was a medical report.
I skipped to the conclusion:
[Hepatic lesion, approx 3.5×4.2cm. Highly suspicious for Hepatocellular Carcinoma. Biopsy recommended.]
Liver cancer.
Based on the date, he had known for at least three months.
For three months, he acted normal, came home, ate dinner, and never said a word.
A terrifying realization hit me.
This wasn’t just an affair. He was funneling our money to secure a future for Sarah and their child.
And my “death”? It was to clear the path for them.
I put the phone back gently and lay down beside him.
He slept soundly, one arm draped over my waist.
A gesture that used to make me feel safe now made me want to vomit.
Rachel said defamation was hard to prove. But hiding assets during a marriage? That was a different story.
And with his illness…
A plan began to form in my mind.
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1
I had a happy childhood, loved and spoiled by my parents. My only problem was my dad. He still treated me like a little girl, with no sense of personal boundaries.
I finally couldn’t take it anymore. âDad,â I said one day, âcan you please knock before you come in next time?â
He agreed, but nothing changed.
I told my mom how uncomfortable it made me feel.
She just laughed. âYour father adores you, Lily. Heâs held you in the palm of his hand since you were a baby. He saw you crawling around naked in your crib. What hasnât he seen?â
A lump formed in my throat. âBut Iâm not a baby anymore.â
When my dad found out Iâd complained to Mom, he put on a wounded expression. âMy little girl is all grown up. She doesnât need her old dad anymore. Teenagers are just so sensitive. Iâll just stay away from now on.â
My dad was always so good to me. His words made me feel a pang of guilt. Mom said I was being difficult and letting my imagination run wild.
It wasn’t until I posted a video online, asking for advice on how to deal with my feelings, that our happy home began to fall apart.
âŚ
The candlelight from my fifteenth birthday cake flickered across my face as I closed my eyes to make a wish.
I hadnât even lowered my hands when a wet, hot kiss landed on my cheek.
âMy Lily is another year older!â Dad said, beaming.
I went rigid. The damp sensation sent a shiver of revulsion through me. I grabbed a napkin and scrubbed at my cheek, my face contorted in disgust. âDad! Donât do that! You got spit all over me!â
His smile froze. It was quickly replaced by an exaggerated pout. He clutched his chest, speaking to my mom in a joking tone. âOur daughterâs all grown up, Sarah. Sheâs too good for her dad now! She used to beg for kisses and hugs, and now I canât even get a peck on the cheek? My heart is breaking!â
Mom shot me a disapproving look. âIs that any way to talk to your father? He spoils you rotten! Look, he just bought you the newest phone for your birthday, and this is how you thank him? Such an ungrateful little thing.â
I stared at the expensive phone box on the table, my throat feeling tight. âI just think⌠Iâm older now. There should be boundariesâŚâ
âWhat boundaries? Youâll always be a child in our eyes!â Mom cut me off. She leaned over and planted a loud kiss on my little brotherâs chubby cheek. âSee, sweetie? Isnât your sister being silly? Mommy and Daddy love you both so much, we could just kiss you all day!â
That night, I tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep. It was true, my dad had always doted on me, giving me anything I wanted. Very few kids at my school had a phone that expensive. I remembered other girls in my class complaining about their dads being clueless and not paying attention to details, but none of them seemed to have a reaction as strong as mine.
Maybe I really am just being too sensitive, I thought. The memory of my dadâs hurt expression made me feel guilty.
âLily? Are you asleep?â
The door suddenly swung open, shattering my thoughts.
My dad stood in the doorway, his long shadow stretching across my bed.
I flinched, pulling the blanket up to my chin, my heart hammering in my chest. âDad! You didnât knock again!â
He acted as if he hadnât heard me and walked straight in. âJust checking if your window is closed. The forecast said thereâs a big storm tonight. The wind will be strong.â
He closed the window and turned to leave. At the door, he looked back and smiled. âAlright, alright. I know youâre a big girl now, you have your rules. Iâll knock next time.â
The door clicked shut.
The room was dark again, but my heart refused to calm down. That creeping sense of unease was back, wrapping itself around me.
The next day, after much hesitation, I went to my mom.
âMom, I talked to Dad last night about knocking beforeâŚâ
She didnât even look up from feeding my brother applesauce. âHe told me. Said youâre getting quite the attitude. Now he needs an official announcement to enter your room.â
âItâs not an announcement! Itâs just knocking!â I said, my voice rising with frustration. âIâve told him so many times, but he never knocks. It makes me feel really uncomfortable, like I have no safety.â
Her hand finally paused. She looked up at me, her brow furrowed. âWhat is wrong with you?â
âThat is your father! He changed your diapers, he gave you baths. What part of you hasnât he seen? And now youâre talking to me about âsafetyâ from your own dad?â
2
Her tone turned serious. âYour father loves you. He treats you like youâre made of glass. How could you even think such twisted things about him? That thought itself isnât normal!â
âBut IâŚâ I wanted to argue, to tell her that the way he looked at me had changed.
âNo buts!â she cut me off, her voice sharp and final. âYouâre a teenager. Youâre hormonal, youâre overthinking things! Youâve got too much time on your hands. You should be studying, figuring out how to get your grades up.â
âYouâre in high school now. Things are much harder. Stop obsessing over this nonsense!â
She turned her attention back to my brother, her face instantly softening into a smile. âIs my sweet boy getting impatient? Letâs have some more apple.â
Listening to her coo at my brother, the words died in my throat.
What if sheâs right? What if my thoughts arenât normal?
The lock on the bathroom door had been broken for months. Iâd mentioned it countless times. Mom would always say, âI know, Iâll get to it,â and then nothing would happen.
Taking a shower became the most stressful part of my day. Dad often needed something from the bathroom while I was in there.
âLily, did I leave my razor in there?â
âYour mom needs the laundry basket!â
Sometimes, he wouldnât even wait for a response before the handle started to turn.
Today, I discovered the lock on my bedroom door was broken too. I couldnât lock it from the inside.
I went to my mom again. âMom, my bedroom lock is broken. We need to get it replaced soon.â
She was busy changing my brotherâs diaper and didnât look up. âYou used to lock your door all the time to play on your phone. Now that youâre in high school, you canât be doing that. Itâs a good thing itâs broken. Makes it easier for me to check on you.â
âI wasnât!â I stomped my foot, furious. âI just want some privacy!â
âAlright, alright, nobodyâs spying on you,â she said, her voice laced with impatience. âTeenagers are so difficult. Your mind should be on your studies.â
âIf you get in the top ten on your midterms, Iâll get the lock fixed. Iâm doing this for your own good, to help you stay focused.â
I didnât want to believe my dad had bad intentions, but I couldnât convince myself to ignore how I felt.
I couldnât sleep. I couldnât eat. I couldnât concentrate in class.
I needed an answer. I needed someone to tell me if this was normal. And if I was the one in the wrong, I needed to know how to fix my way of thinking.
That evening, my dad came into my room again, using the excuse of âchecking the air conditioner temperature,â and stayed for a long time. His gaze lingered on my neck and arms. The feelings Iâd been suppressing finally reached their breaking point.
I secretly turned on my phoneâs video recorder.
âDad, why are you always like this? Iâve told you so many times to knock! Why donât you ever listen?â
âAnd when Iâm in the shower, why do you always find an excuse to open the door?â
âIâm fifteen years old! Iâm not a little kid anymore! Youâre scaring me! What do you want?â
My dadâs expression shifted from surprise to sullen anger. âWhat are you talking about? Iâm your father!â
My momâs voice drifted in from the living room. âAlright, keep it down, youâll scare the baby. Honey, just remember to knock, okay?â
I posted the video online.
I described my dadâs chronic lack of boundaries, my momâs dismissiveness, and the immense stress and self-doubt it was causing me.
[Am I just being too sensitive? How do I fix my mindset? Please, someone tell me.]
I was waiting for advice and analysis from strangers when my mom saw the video.
She stormed into my room, her face pale with fury, shoving her phone in my face.
âLily! Look what youâve done! Look what these people are saying!â
3
The screen was a blur of furious comments and shares.
âWhat kind of father is this? Heâs clearly a creep!â
âIs the mom dead? Her daughter is literally begging for help and sheâs just sitting there doing nothing!â
âSheâs probably one of those mothers who only cares about the son. She doesnât give a damn about her daughter.â
My momâs eyes were red with rage. She slapped me, hard, across the face.
I cupped my cheek, staring at her in disbelief. It was the first time she had ever hit me. My mind went blank. âMomâŚâ
âTheyâre strangers! What do they know?â she screamed, not giving me a chance to speak. âYouâre his daughter! Heâs watched you grow up! So what if he looks at you? Is a piece of you going to fall off?â
âAre you trying to ruin your fatherâs reputation? Will that make you happy?â
Iâd never seen her this angry before. I was terrified. âNo, Mom, thatâs not it. I was just confusedâŚâ
Just then, her phone rang. She answered it, exasperated.
âHello, is this Sarah? This is CPS.â
âWeâve seen a video concerning your daughter online, and its contents are very troubling.â
âWeâd like to understand the situation at home to ensure your daughterâs safety and well-being. When would be a good time for us toâŚâ
As soon as she hung up, her face was a mask of pure fury.
âAre you satisfied now? You wanted your father investigated? You wanted me to be called a bad mother? You wanted to tear this family apart? Is that what you wanted?â
âDelete that video! Now!â
âLook at the trouble youâve caused!â
I never imagined it would blow up like this. I was scared to death. I deleted the video, tears streaming down my face. âMom, I didnât mean to cause trouble.â
The video was gone, but her anger still burned.
âYou spend all day watching toxic videos online, itâs rotting your brain!â
âWe raised you, we fed you, we sent you to a good school, and you turn on us like an enemy?â
âYour father is the one who spoils you the most, and this is how you repay him? By slandering him?â
I tried to make her understand. âBut what heâs doing is wrong!â
She looked down at me, her voice dripping with contempt. âDid he hit you? Did he yell at you? Did we ever deny you food or clothes?â
âAll he did was not knock. And for that, you wanted to ruin his life?â
âLily, when did your heart become so poisonous?â
Every word she said felt logical. I couldnât argue. But an unspeakable sadness filled my heart.
To fix the mess Iâd made, my mom took out her phone and filmed a new video.
âI want to apologize to everyone for taking up your time,â she said, her voice full of weary regret. âOur daughter has been spending too much time online. She thought it would be fun to make a âscripted videoâ like the influencers she sees. We never expected it to cause such a misunderstanding. We are so sorry for the trouble.â
The camera turned to my dad. He walked over to me and gently clipped a strawberry barrette into my hair. âSilly girl,â he said, his voice dripping with affection. âYou canât pull stunts like this anymore.â
I nodded and whispered, âI know.â
After the video of our happy, reconciled family was posted, public opinion flipped instantly.
4
âSee? You always have to wait for the full story!â
âKids these days will do anything to get famous, even throw their own dad under the bus.â
âWhat a waste of my sympathy! I was so worried about her, turns out sheâs just an actress!â
The online mockery spilled over into my school life. My classmates looked at me differently.
âThatâs her. The one who made up a story about her dad to go viral.â
âYouâd never guess. Sheâs so quiet in class, but sheâs so calculating.â
Even my homeroom teacher called me in for a talk. âLily,â she said, her voice thick with disappointment, âseeking attention through dishonest means will not help you in the long run. You need to focus your energy on the right things.â
I had no way to defend myself.
Everyone thought I was the problem. But how was I supposed to quiet the unease in my own heart?
Everyone who knew my dad said he was a model husband and father, loving and caring, without a single flaw.
I was trapped in a prison of self-doubt. I couldnât focus. I was in a constant daze.
On my first high school midterms, my grades plummeted.
My mom looked at me, her face a mask of disappointment. âLily, you were never like this before. What happened to you?â
A tremor went through me. Her quiet disappointment was scarier than her yelling. Does this mean she wonât fix my lock? The thought sent a wave of panic through me.
That night, as I was struggling with my homework, there was a knock on my door.
I was surprised. Dad had actually knocked.
He came in, closed the door behind him, and sat on the edge of my bed, ready for a heart-to-heart.
âLily, I saw your report card. Donât put too much pressure on yourself. I know youâre hurting.â
Being alone with him in a closed room made me nervous. I didnât say anything.
He continued, âYour motherâs attention is all on your brother now. Iâve seen it. She hasnât really paid attention to you in a long time, has she? I know you feel neglected.â
My nose began to sting. His words hit the deepest, most secret wounds in my heart.
He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice, and dropped a bombshell. âThereâs something Iâve been thinking about for a long time, and I think you have a right to know. You⌠you are not my biological daughter.â
I snapped my head up, so shocked that I didnât even notice how close he was to me now.
âShe was already pregnant with you when she married me.â
His voice grew even softer. âI was the one who took you both in, who gave you a home.â
âThe only one who truly cares about you is me.â
âYour mother has given up on you because she depends on me. She knows youâre unhappy, but she pretends not to see. Sheâs doing it on purpose.â
âThatâs not true!â I cried, shaking my head.
âYou donât believe me?â He chuckled softly and gestured toward my door. âGo on, check. See if the lock is fixed.â
I stumbled to the door, my fingers trembling as I reached for the knob.
Click.
The door could be locked from the inside.
But Mom had said she wouldnât fix it unless I got in the top ten!
âWhy do you think she fixed it? Why do you think she took your brother out tonight?â
âSheâs doing me a favor.â
He pinned me against the door, his fingers tracing a line down my cheek, his gaze sticky and vile.
âIâve raised you for fifteen years. Itâs time I collected some interest. If youâre a good girl, we can continue to be a happy family.â
âBut if youâre notâŚâ He paused, his lips brushing against my ear. âNo one will believe you anyway. Youâll always be my good little girl. Thereâs no escape.â
The shock of my parentage, my motherâs betrayal, my fatherâs threatsâmy world shattered into a million pieces.
I donât know how much time passed before I heard a commotion from downstairs.
My mom, carrying groceries and pushing a stroller, returned to our apartment complex to find a crowd gathered at the base of our building.
âWhatâs going on?â she asked a neighbor.
âOh, itâs awful! I think someone jumped!â the neighbor said, her face pale.
âOh, Lord. I hope the kids donât see. Lily needs to study,â my mom muttered, trying to navigate the stroller around the crowd.
As she passed a gap in the people, her eyes glanced inward. Her pupils shrank to pinpricks.
The bags in her hand crashed to the ground, groceries scattering across the pavement.
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