Category: English

My dad’s secretary accused me of knocking over her expensive perfume. Dad’s face was cold. “Since the kid messed up, let the mother take the punishment.” He shoved my mom into the giant porcelain jar in the corner of the living room. I stood on my tiptoes, trying to reach the rim, but it was too high. From inside, I heard Mom humming softly, just like she used to when she tucked me in. I cried, slapping the cold ceramic. “Mommy! Cici can’t reach you! Cici is sorry!” “Your mom isn’t coming out to play the victim herself, so she taught you to use a sob story?” Dad sneered. “Fine. Let her stay in there a few more days!” Dad and his secretary laughed in the living room, their glasses clinking together. Ding-ding-dang-dang. It sounded like Mom’s wind chimes. The humming inside the jar got quieter and quieter until all that was left was the sound of dripping. Drip. Drip. Three days later, the police smashed the jar open. Everyone recoiled in horror. Dad walked in, his arm around his secretary’s waist. Her belly was round, like she’d swallowed a beach ball. “Where’s your mother? Still playing the victim?” Dad asked. I looked down at the red puddle at the bottom of the shattered jar and whispered: “Daddy, Mommy broke.” 1 When Grandma and Grandpa came knocking, I was on my knees with a rag, trying to wipe up the red water seeping from the bottom of the jar. Grandma covered her nose. “Cici, where are your parents? Why does it smell so bad in here?” I pointed a small finger at the giant porcelain jar. “Mommy is sleeping in there.” Grandpa’s face turned gray. He walked over, but the moment his hand touched the rim, he yanked it back like he’d been burned. “This jar…” Grandpa’s voice trembled. Grandma snatched me up, her nails digging into my arm. “Who put your mother in there?” “Daddy,” I mumbled, staring at my shoes. “He said Cici was bad, so Mommy had to take responsibility.” Grandpa grabbed a crowbar to pry the lid off. The screws popped one by one—snap, snap—sounding just like when Mom used to unwrap candy for me. When the lid finally came off, Grandma screamed and stumbled backward. I stood on my tiptoes to peek inside. Mom was curled up at the bottom, soaked through, like a ragdoll left out in the rain. Her white dress had turned pink. Her fingers were pruned and wrinkled, and her nails were packed with porcelain shards. “Why isn’t Mommy waking up?” I reached out to touch her. Grandma slapped my hand away and pulled me into a crushing hug. Her heart was beating so fast it hurt my ears. “Oh God… oh God…” Grandpa fell to his knees, retching over the side of the jar. When the police officers arrived, they covered Mom with a white sheet. They asked me questions, but I just stared at the red stain left at the bottom of the jar. “When will Mommy dry out?” I asked the nice officer. “Once the water dries, she’ll wake up, right?” The officer’s eyes turned red. Grandma, hands shaking, dialed Dad’s number. “You animal! Get your ass back here! Your wife…” Dad’s laughter crackled through the phone. “Mom, cut the act. Is Sarah trying to guilt-trip me into coming back? Tell her playing dead won’t work.” In the background, I heard the secretary’s whiny voice: “Ken, baby, I want strawberries…” “Your wife is really dead! She’s in that jar!” Grandpa snatched the phone and roared. “Dad, why are you playing along with her nonsense?” Dad’s voice turned icy. “There are air holes at the bottom. A couple of days won’t kill her. Let her reflect. When she learns to raise our kid right, she can come out.” The line went dead. When the coroner tried to take Mom away, I clung to the jar, refusing to let go. “Don’t take her!” I screamed, tears streaming down my face. “Mommy just needs to dry out! Last time my doll got wet, Mommy used the hairdryer…” Grandma pried my fingers loose. Her tears fell on my face, hot and stinging. “Cici, baby… Mommy… Mommy went to the sky to be a star.” I looked out the window. It wasn’t dark yet. No stars. “Then when is she coming home?” No one answered. A police officer picked up a small bottle from the jar. It had a skull and crossbones on the label. “Preliminary assessment suggests a strong alkaline solution caused…” Grandma lunged for the bottle. “It’s that slut! That’s the perfume she sprays every day!” Grandpa held her back, his eyes bloodshot. “Just wait until that animal gets back…” I crouched on the floor, picking up the porcelain shards that had fallen from Mom’s fingernails. One piece, two pieces, three pieces… If I glue them back together, Mommy will come home, right? 2 The night the relatives took Mom away, Dad finally called back. Grandma answered with red, swollen eyes. Before she could speak, Dad’s impatient voice cut through. “Mom, are you done with the drama?” “Your wife is dead!” Grandma’s voice was raspy. “The coroner said she was suffocated and burned alive…” “Enough.” Dad cut her off. “I was just joking around. I let her out ages ago. She’s hiding because she’s jealous of Jenny, isn’t she?” A woman’s giggle floated through the phone, like nails on a chalkboard. “Ken, is Sarah still mad at me?” Dad’s voice instantly turned tender. “Ignore her. Just throwing a tantrum.” I stood on my toes, trying to reach the phone. “Daddy, Mommy melted in the jar. She…” “Shut up!” Dad yelled at me. “Learning to lie at your age? Your mother taught you this!” He hung up. Grandma held me and wept. Her tears hit my neck, hotter than boiling water. The next day, Dad’s secretary, Jenny, showed up. She was wearing Mom’s favorite lavender dress. Her high heels clacked on the floor, sounding like knives scraping bone. “Ken sent me to get some files.” She smiled and touched my head. “Cici, you’ve grown.” I hid behind Grandma. This lady smelled sweet, exactly like the smell that drifted out of the jar at the end. Grandma blocked the bedroom door. “Get out!” Jenny didn’t get mad. Instead, she pulled a fancy candy box from her bag. “Cici, your daddy asked me to give this to you.” Inside were colorful star-shaped candies, just like the ones Mom used to buy. “When is Daddy coming home?” I whispered. “When your mommy admits she was wrong.” She crouched down, her perfume overwhelming me. “Cici, do you want a little brother?” Grandma slapped the candy box out of her hand and shoved Jenny toward the door. “Monster! You pair of monsters!” That night, Dad called again. “Mom, send Cici over to stay for a few days.” His voice was cold. “I need to personally teach her what honesty means.” Grandma hugged me tight. “Over my dead body!” “Don’t force my hand.” Dad paused. “Don’t forget, the deed to the old house is in my name.” After the call, Grandma wouldn’t stop shaking. She stroked my face. “Cici, don’t be scared. Grandma is here.” But I knew Grandma was terrified. When she packed my bag, her hands shook so bad she couldn’t even button my shirt. The next morning, Dad sent people to pick me up. They locked Grandma in her room so she couldn’t follow. In the black sedan, Jenny hugged me a little too tightly. “Cici, you’re going to have a little brother soon. Aren’t you happy?” I fiddled with the hem of my dress. “When is Mommy coming home?” “Your mommy doesn’t want you anymore.” She whispered in my ear. “She ran off with another man. That’s why she made you lie about the jar.” The car pulled up to a big, beautiful house. Dad stood at the door, his gaze colder than the winter wind. “Do you know what you did wrong?” he asked. I shook my head. “Mommy really melted in the jar.” Dad’s face turned scary. He dragged me to the basement, with Jenny giggling behind us. The basement was filled with glass cases containing preserved animals. “Do you know why they’re here?” Dad pointed to a white rabbit specimen. “Because they loved to lie.” Jenny handed him a syringe. “Ken, kids need discipline. One shot and she’ll behave.” I scrambled backward, my back hitting the cold glass case. “Last chance,” Dad said, watching Jenny raise the needle. “Where is your mother?” “In the jar…” My tears hit the floor. “Mommy really melted in the jar…” As the needle pierced my skin, I saw Jenny rubbing her belly, smiling at me. “When your little brother is born, we’ll let your mommy come back, okay?” But Grandma said Mommy wasn’t coming back. 3 The moment the liquid from the syringe entered my vein, my eyelids felt heavy as lead. Dad carried me to the sofa, gently combing my hair with his fingers. He hadn’t touched me like this in a long time. The last time was when I had a fever; Mom held me all night while Dad sat by the bed reading stories. “Cici, be a good girl. Just sleep, and it’ll be okay.” His voice was gentle, like the old Daddy. I fought to keep my eyes open. “Daddy… Mommy really…” His fingers suddenly clamped onto my jaw. “Still lying?” Dad’s smile vanished instantly. “Where is she hiding? Did she teach you to say these lies?” It hurt so much I cried, but I didn’t dare make a sound. Dad hated crying. Jenny walked over with warm milk. “Ken, don’t be mad. Kids need patience.” She held the milk to my lips. The sweet, cloying smell reminded me of the scent drifting from the jar. I clamped my mouth shut. Milk spilled onto my pajamas, hot and sticky against my skin. “Disobedient!” Dad suddenly grabbed my left hand and slammed it onto the coffee table. “Which hand knocked over the perfume? This one?” Click. His lighter flared. The blue flame licked my fingertips. I screamed in agony, but Dad clamped his hand over my mouth. His palm smelled faintly of tobacco. I used to love that smell. “Shhh…” He whispered in my ear. “Cici is brave, right? It’s just a burn. Better than the lies your mother taught you.” Jenny giggled nearby. “Ken, you’re so strict.” My finger bubbled up, like the skin on the porridge Mom used to make when it cooled down. Dad let go and pulled a velvet box from the drawer. “I was going to give this to you for your birthday.” He opened it to reveal a silver bracelet. “But you can have it early.” I curled into the corner of the sofa, terrified to move. “Hand.” Dad commanded. When he snapped the bracelet on, pain shot through me. The inside was lined with tiny steel spikes. With every pulse of my wrist, they dug deeper into my flesh. “I had this custom-made.” He stroked my face. “Every time you lie, it digs deeper.” Drops of blood trickled down the silver chain, blooming like small red flowers on the beige sofa. Jenny frowned suddenly. “Ken, she doesn’t look right…” Dad finally noticed my lips were turning purple. He ripped open my collar. The area around the injection site had turned a terrifying grey-blue. “What did you give her?” Dad roared, grabbing Jenny by the collar. “J-Just a normal sedative…” Jenny’s face went pale. “Maybe… maybe it reacted with the milk…” As Dad scooped me up and ran out the door, I heard Jenny screaming, “Ken! My baby…” The emergency room lights were blinding. The doctor said ten more minutes and my heart would have stopped. Dad held my hand the whole time. His hand was shaking. “Cici, Daddy didn’t mean to.” His eyes were red. “Just admit you lied, and Daddy will take you home right now.” I stared at the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. They looked like Mom’s eyes in the end. “Daddy…” I whispered. “When Mommy was in the jar… did it hurt this much too?” His hand went limp. 4 The hospital smelled like harsh chemicals. Dad sat by the bed peeling an apple. The skin spiraled down in one long strip, like the scarves Mom used to knit for me. “Cici,” he sliced the apple into small chunks. “When your brother is born, Daddy will let your mom take care of him…” I stared at the IV needle in the back of my hand. “Mommy doesn’t want a brother.” “Nonsense!” Dad pinched my chin. “Why are you such a liar now? Did she ruin you that much?” Before he could finish, the door swung open. Two police officers walked in. One was holding a clear evidence bag containing the perfume bottle Grandma found in the jar. “Mr. Sterling, we need to talk.” The officer’s face was grim. “About your wife’s death.” Dad froze, unable to process it. “What?” The officer placed a tablet on the bedside table. On the screen was a paused video. The date stamp was the night Mom was put in the jar. In the video, Jenny was sneaking around the jar, pouring something from the perfume bottle into the air holes. “According to the coroner’s report,” the officer pointed at the screen, “The deceased had traces of strong alkaline corrosion in her trachea, consistent with the contents of this bottle.” The officer pulled out another bag containing shreds of lavender fabric found in Mom’s grip. “Fibers found under the victim’s fingernails match the brand frequently worn by the suspect.” Dad laughed abruptly. A manic sound. “Ridiculous! How much did Sarah pay you? Even the cops are in on her skit?” He snatched the tablet and smashed it on the floor. The screen spiderwebbed. Dad spun around and pointed a shaking finger at me. “Did your mom put you up to this? Using the police to scare me?” His eyes were terrifyingly red, like a cornered beast. The officer stepped between us. “The child needs rest. Please come to the station to assist with the investigation.” “Assist my ass!” Dad loosened his tie. “I’m going to find Sarah right now and show you all who the liar is!” He stormed out, nearly colliding with Jenny, who was running in panicked. “Ken! Why are they looking for me…” She froze when she saw the police. The officer flashed his badge. “Ms. Jenny Miller, please come with us.” Jenny went white. She grabbed Dad’s arm. “Ken! I’m carrying your son!” Dad instinctively comforted her. “Don’t be scared. I’ll find that woman!” The room fell silent. I looked out the window at a passing cloud. Mom said when people die, they become clouds. The officer crouched down and gently held my bandaged hand. “Cici, your mom…” “I know,” I pointed at the cloud. “Mommy is right there.” The officer’s eyes welled up. He patted my head and pulled a phone from his briefcase. “We found this at the bottom of the jar. It was your mom’s.” The screen was cracked, but it still lit up. The wallpaper was a photo of Mom and me. She was hugging me, smiling so gently. The officer opened the call log. The last call was to Dad. Duration: 3 minutes and 27 seconds. It was the night she was put in the jar. I suddenly remembered the humming and the dripping sounds from the jar. That wasn’t Mom singing. That was the sound coming from Dad’s phone after he answered—Jenny’s giggles and their intimate noises, playing through the speaker into the jar. The officer opened the messages. The last text sent to Dad: [The air holes are blocked. Help me.] Sent: 2:17 AM. Unread. No reply. Dad snatched the phone. Staring at the message, his eyes looked like they were going to bleed. His face drained of all color. He nearly collapsed. “No, this is impossible…”

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There’s a photo on my mom’s fireplace mantle that still haunts me. It’s from six years ago, Thanksgiving dinner. We’re all in it. My mom, my dad, both my sisters, their husbands, and me. Everyone’s smiling. You’d think we were a Hallmark card family. But if you zoom in, and really look close, you’ll see it. I’m sitting just slightly off to the side. Like I didn’t belong even back then. Like I was already being slowly pushed out of frame. My name’s Jasper. I’m 32. I run a small but successful IT consulting business. Just me and a few freelancers I’ve worked with for years. Nothing flashy, but I’ve worked hard for every dime. I’ve always been the quiet one in the family. Not shy, but not loud either. The dependable one. The one who never asked for anything, who picked up the check when no one else reached for it. The one who listened to everyone’s problems but kept his own locked away in a mental drawer somewhere between Dad’s passive-aggressive comments and Mom pretending not to notice. 1 I’m the youngest of three. My oldest sister, Meredith, is 38. She’s a storm in heels—loud, intense, commanding a room the moment she enters. She married Brett six years ago, and let’s just say, Brett is a walking red flag wrapped in a golf polo. Job hopper, risk-taker, wannabe entrepreneur with a trail of failed ventures and maxed-out credit cards in his wake. He’s the kind of guy who calls himself a “visionary” because he once tried to start a kombucha subscription box. Spoiler: it never launched. Meredith, of course, stands by him like he’s the second coming of Steve Jobs, except with worse taste in sneakers. Then there’s Leila, the middle child. She’s 35 and a nurse, married to a chill guy named Aaron. They’re… fine. Quiet, like me, but more passive. Leila doesn’t stir the pot unless she has to. But Meredith? She’s the chef, the cook, and the waiter when it comes to stirring drama. And lately, it’s been boiling. Our parents, especially Mom, dote on Meredith. Maybe it’s because she gave them their first grandchild. Maybe it’s because she talks the loudest. Or maybe it’s just easier to agree with her than to push back. Either way, she’s always gotten her way. When she and Brett bought a house they couldn’t afford three years ago, guess who helped out with the down payment? Yep. Yours truly. Not because I was asked directly, but because Mom called and said, “Meredith’s just so stressed, honey. They’re in over their heads. If you could just spot them a little something to get through the closing, it would mean the world to her.” And to me, I sent them $10,000. I didn’t even get a thank-you text. That was the first drop in the bucket. The latest one? A few months ago, Brett apparently took out some sketchy high-interest loan to fund his latest “business idea”—something about crypto vending machines. Don’t ask. It bombed within weeks. Now they’re underwater with a debt collector on their backs and, surprise surprise, Meredith calls Mom crying that they’re going to lose the house unless someone steps in. Mom calls me again. “Jasper, sweetheart, they’re desperate. The kids can’t lose their home.” I felt it in my gut. This wasn’t just a plea. This was an expectation. Like I was some emergency ATM the family could tap whenever someone else made a reckless decision. Like I didn’t have my own life. My own limits. So I said no. I said it calmly. Firmly. Respectfully. But no. And just like that, something shifted. It wasn’t a blowout. No yelling, no screaming. Just cold silence. A group chat that went dormant. Invites I didn’t get. Calls that went unanswered. I’d see photos on Facebook of family dinners I wasn’t told about. Leila reached out once, awkwardly, to say she didn’t want to get in the middle. I understood. But it still stung. Then came Mom’s birthday. Every year, we go out to this mid-range Italian restaurant she loves. Nothing fancy, but tradition. It’s always the same: round table in the back, too much wine, way too many toasts, and a bill that somehow always lands in front of me. This year, I hesitated. I wasn’t going to go. But then I thought, maybe things had cooled down. Maybe I was overthinking. So I showed up, clean-shaven, button-up shirt, a bottle of wine from a local vineyard as a gift. The second I walked in, I knew something was off. Meredith glanced at me like I’d tracked mud into a museum. Brett didn’t even look up from his phone. Leila gave me a half-smile, and Aaron nodded. Mom hugged me, but it felt performative. Like she was acting for an audience. We sat. We ordered. The conversation buzzed around me but never included me. When I did try to chime in, Meredith would immediately redirect it. I became background noise at my own mother’s birthday. Then came dessert. And with it, the moment that would burn into my memory like a scar. We were halfway through some tiramisu when Meredith stood up and tapped her fork against her glass. “I just want to make a quick toast,” she said, clinking the side of her wine glass like a self-appointed queen. Everyone quieted down. “To family,” she began. “To those who lift us up, and to those who kick us while we’re down.” There was an awkward laugh. She smiled, tight-lipped, venom in her eyes. “And to those who forget what loyalty means. To those who turn their backs on blood when it matters most.” She turned, full body, toward me. “You’re no longer part of this family, Jasper. Not in my eyes. Not in Brett’s. And honestly, I doubt in anyone’s.” I didn’t flinch. Not at first. I just stared at her, blinking once. Twice. The table was dead silent. Everyone was looking at me. And then, like it was a scene from a bad sitcom, people clapped. Leila didn’t. Aaron didn’t. But the rest? Mom. Dad. Even the waiter, who I think was just confused, gave a polite little “heh” and walked off. I didn’t say anything. I stood up, nodded, and pulled out my wallet. “Happy birthday, Mom,” I said softly, placing the wine bottle in front of her. Then I handed the server my card. He walked off, and I walked toward the door. My chest was tight, my hands clammy, but I wasn’t going to cry. Not here. I was halfway to the exit when I heard footsteps behind me. “Excuse me, sir?” It was the manager, holding my card. “It was declined.” I froze. Slowly turned around. The whole table was looking at me again. Waiting. The applause was gone. Just silence. I looked at the card. I looked at them. And I smiled. I simply stood up straighter, tucked my wallet back into my pocket, and walked out the front door. No explanation. No argument. Just silence. I didn’t cry in the car. I didn’t scream. I didn’t punch the steering wheel. I just sat there in the driver’s seat of my Camry, staring at the dashboard, the cold digital clock blinking 9:47 PM over and over like it was trying to taunt me. I felt like I’d just stepped out of a play I hadn’t agreed to start in. Like I’d been handed a role—family scapegoat—and everyone else had learned their lines except me. My card hadn’t declined. I checked my bank app five minutes after pulling out of the lot. It was fine. Balance untouched. No notifications. No fraud alerts. I even called the bank just to be sure. The rep on the other end told me my card was active and functioning. No holds. No issues. Which meant only one thing. Someone at that restaurant, likely with the same last name as me, had told the manager to lie. To humiliate me. To make me feel like I didn’t even have the right to pay. Like I was nothing. I didn’t sleep that night. I lay in bed, eyes wide open, the ceiling fan chopping the darkness above me like it was slicing time into meaningless fragments. My brain played the scene over and over again: the toast, the applause, the smirk on Brett’s face. That smug, leech-like smile that said, “I won.” That night, something snapped in me. Not a rage. Not even bitterness. Just clarity. A dull, heavy click in my chest like a safe door swinging shut. I was done being the nice guy. But before I could make any moves, things somehow got worse. The first message came the next morning. From my mom. “I hope you’re not planning on coming to Easter brunch. It’s going to be too tense with everyone. Maybe take some space.” Take some space? I laughed out loud reading it. Space. That’s all I’d ever given them. Space to make mistakes. Space to take advantage of me. Space to pretend I didn’t exist unless my wallet was involved. Then came the second message. From Leila. “Hey. I don’t agree with how that went down. Just wanted you to know. I’m sorry. Aaron is too.” I stared at that one for a while. I appreciated it, in theory. But it was still lukewarm. Still safe. Still two steps away from standing up and doing the right thing. A week passed. Then two. Then I got a call from an unknown number. It was a debt collector. Asking for Brett. My number was apparently listed as his “business associate” on one of the loan applications. I told the guy I hadn’t spoken to Brett in months. He seemed skeptical. Told me my name was on some kind of informal guarantee agreement. I asked him to send a copy. He emailed it an hour later. And that’s when I saw it. A typed-up, unofficial contract with a digital signature from someone named “Jasper H.” stating I would “support any necessary short-term funding needs for BH Holdings LLC.” I’d never signed it. Never even heard of BH Holdings. But the email address? It was mine. Or, it looked like mine. Just slightly off. jasper.h@techsoltions.net. They’d dropped the ‘u’ in solutions. I checked the domain. It wasn’t registered to me. Brett had spoofed my email address. Made up a fake agreement. And used it to secure a $25,000 loan. I should have called the cops right then and there. I should have lawyered up. But I didn’t. Not yet. I needed more. I needed to know how deep this went. So I went quiet. I didn’t respond to my mom’s Easter guilt trips. I didn’t like Leila’s photos of her kids. I didn’t answer Dad’s half-hearted voicemail asking if I’d “cooled off yet.” Instead, I started gathering receipts. I pulled up every transaction I’d made for Meredith and Brett in the last five years. The down payment. The plane tickets. The emergency car repair. The time I covered their rent for two months during COVID. I tallied it all. $36,840. I dug into my emails and found dozens of threads where my mom had subtly pressured me. “You know how hard it is for them right now.” “Brett just needs a little runway.” “Meredith’s having such a rough week, can you help?” Then I went even deeper. I reached out to a friend of mine from college, Derek. He’s a cybersecurity consultant who now does freelance investigations for corporate clients. I asked him a simple favor: “Can you find out who registered techsoltions.net?” It took him three days. The domain had been bought anonymously through a privacy shield, but the account used to buy it was tied to a recovery email: Brett_M1984@somewhere.com. It was him. Brett had created a fake email address pretending to be me, signed a fake contract, and used it to get a loan he had no business getting. All under my name. I had enough. Enough to ruin him. But still, I waited. Because the betrayal that changed everything hadn’t happened yet. That came a month later. I got a call from my bank. My business account was frozen. Not because of fraud, but because there was a formal complaint filed accusing my company of wire fraud and financial misrepresentation. They were forced to lock it pending investigation. I thought it had to be a mistake. But when I checked the filing… it was from BH Holdings. A company run by Brett, and apparently, Meredith. They were accusing me of stealing money from them.

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After Juniper was born, I stopped caring about how close Gavin and Skylar were. I stopped playing the jealous wife, trying to manage his life and control their friendship. I only focused on one thing: locking down the money and the power. That’s why, at Junie’s first birthday party, when my daughter wrapped her arms around his best friend’s neck and called him ‘Daddy,’ the initial shock I felt was quickly replaced by something colder. Gavin’s face froze. He forcefully pulled our daughter away. “Daddy is right here, Junie-bug.” 1 The second Juniper was in Gavin’s arms, she started to cry. Tears fell in fat drops down her cheeks, as if she’d been given the world’s worst punishment. I stepped forward. “Give her to me.” Gavin hesitated, a flicker of wounded pride in his eyes. But he handed her over anyway. Skylar, his notorious childhood best friend, stood nearby and laughed, a loud, provocative sound. “Oh, man, look at that! She’s calling Adam Daddy?” “Anyone who didn’t know better would think they were the actual family unit.” Gavin’s face went dark immediately. I shifted Juniper to my hip, giving her a gentle bounce. I smiled—a brittle, challenging smile. “Didn’t you used to make Gavin call you ‘Daddy,’ Skylar?” “What, does that make you part of our family unit too?” Skylar’s laughter died in her throat. She shot me a look of feigned hurt, then intentionally pressed her body closer to Gavin’s side. “Vivian, what are you talking about? I was just kidding around.” “God, lighten up. You’re a mom now. Why are you still so petty?” Gavin frowned, his tone suddenly serious. “Stop making those jokes, Skylar.” “I’ve told you a hundred times, Vivian, Skylar and I are just friends. We’re like brothers.” He softened his expression instantly, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and kissing my temple. “Still so much fire, even as a mother.” “Come on, don’t be mad. How about I take you to pick out that diamond tennis bracelet you wanted?” I didn’t pull away. But Gavin had forgotten one thing. I hadn’t been angry, or jealous, for a very long time. Leaning into Gavin’s embrace, I threw a final, barbed glance at Skylar. “Fine. Sorry, Skylar. Mommy was just kidding, too.” “Don’t be so sensitive.” Her face, watching us, was contorted with suppressed rage. 2 The next day, Gavin did take me to the jeweler. I made sure to pick out the most expensive diamond bracelet they had. On the drive back, I sat in the passenger seat, admiring the way the stones sparkled in the afternoon sun. Gavin broke the silence abruptly. “Hey, let’s stop inviting Adam over, okay?” I instinctively pushed back. “Why?” He frowned and coughed awkwardly. “Why? There’s no why.” “Just tell him not to come around anymore.” I raised an eyebrow. I knew this was his male ego acting up—the sting of his daughter preferring another man. A year ago, I’d just had a C-section. I was weak and in constant pain. My mother and mother-in-law had been taking turns caring for me and Junie, but that day, my mom had an emergency and my mother-in-law had gone to a funeral out of town. Before she left, she’d repeatedly told Gavin to take good care of me. Gavin promised he would. But that night, the moment he thought I was asleep, he snuck out. I was woken up by the baby’s frantic screaming. I gritted my teeth against the searing pain of my incision just to pick up and soothe the baby. Then I called Gavin. Three calls, back-to-back. No answer. Two minutes later, I saw Skylar’s story pop up on Instagram. A picture of her in a crowded bar, clinking beer bottles on a sticky table. The caption was aggressive: “Come on, you loser!” “Let’s see if Daddy can’t drink you under the table tonight.” Peeking out from under a bottle of cheap beer, I could see the corner of Gavin’s phone. I knew immediately. He wasn’t coming home.

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In my past life, I was the “money-losing” daughter swapped at birth into the poor He family. The love of my life was an abandoned orphan, the son of a martyr. We tasted life’s bitterness and sweetness together, walked through every season side by side. With my help, he rose to become a high-ranking military chief, and I became the envied chief’s wife. After living to a ripe old age, we died. And were reborn together. But I never expected that the first thing he would do after rebirth was to swap me and the He family’s biological daughter back. Only then did I realize that there was a grave in his heart, burying his “white moonlight”—his true love. He stared at me, still an infant in swaddling clothes, with eyes full of hatred: “You stole Luna’s life, causing her a lifetime of displacement, and forced my love into the grave.” “Those days and nights, I wished I could strangle you, but you were, after all, my wife.” “In this life, I pray our paths never cross again…” Fine. At least I don’t have to taste the endless suffering of the He family for a heartless man. In this life, I won’t help him rise to the clouds. I will fulfill my own aerospace dream. 1 In the hospital, reeking of disinfectant. Amidst the cries of babies. I could only watch helplessly as a careless nurse put the wrong ID tag on my ankle. Reborn as a baby, I was powerless to struggle, only able to turn red and whimper. In the noisy environment, my weak voice couldn’t attract anyone’s attention. But after the nurse left, a boy of about seven or eight sneaked in. When I saw who it was, my little feet kicked with joy. I knew him. It was my husband of fifty years, Song Siwei. But why was he here? I watched him search among the babies. Finally, he stopped in front of me. Then, he switched my ankle tag with the baby girl next to me. I couldn’t help but grin happily, letting out a giggle. I remembered nagging him in our past life, saying that if I could do it over, I would only want to be filial to my biological parents, not serve my adoptive ones. So, Song Siwei was reborn like me. He came all this way just to change my life! But before the warmth could reach my heart… I saw his clear eyes suddenly turn crimson. His rough, calloused hands were already squeezing my neck. A strong force surged up, and I instantly felt suffocated. My mind went blank, my soul almost separating from my body. Suddenly, his hand let go. I gasped for air. Terrified, I burst into loud cries. Fear permeated my entire body. Song Siwei… actually wanted to kill me just now? But… why? A childish voice came from the boy’s lips. Carrying a terrifying maturity and hatred. “You stole Luna’s life, causing her a lifetime of displacement, and forced my love into the grave.” “Those days and nights, I wished I could strangle you, but you were, after all, my wife.” “In this life, I pray our paths never cross again…” I froze. Only then did I realize that fifty years of marriage were a grave to him. His heart had long been occupied by the “white moonlight” whose life I had swapped. 2 “What should we name our little princess?” In the delivery room, on the bed furthest inside. It was the diplomat known as the “Iron Rose,” my mother, Zhou Rusu. She was holding me, eyes full of tenderness and love. Her soft voice caught the attention of the man beside her. Major General Jiang Jianwei, the most promising officer in the capital. He pondered for a moment, then recited a line from an ancient poem: “Before Luna drives the chariot of the moon… Luna is the goddess who drives the moon. Our daughter should be surrounded by stars like the moon. Luna… it sounds nice and rolls off the tongue. What do you think?” “Luna… not bad…” Zhou Rusu nodded, very satisfied with the name. But at the next bed, Song Siwei, who was attending to the He family’s baby girl, interrupted. “The name Luna has already been taken by our Vice Commander He. Maybe Major General Jiang should choose another name to avoid confusion in the future.” Song Siwei’s firm attitude made Jiang Jianwei frown slightly: “When did Vice Commander He name the child? I didn’t know.” Zhou Rusu saw the cunning in Song Siwei’s eyes at a glance. But she was kind and didn’t want to argue with a kid. She pulled her husband’s hand: “Just think of another one. Why argue with a child?” Jiang Jianwei took a deep breath and thought again. After a while, he recited: “Peach trees are young and elegant, their leaves are lush and thriving (Zhenzhen). “Let’s call her Jiang Zhenzhen. We shouldn’t put too much pressure on her. Let her grow up happy and carefree in this life!” Zhou Rusu’s eyes warmed. From the name “Zhenzhen,” she felt Jiang Jianwei’s deep love for the child. My heart was also warm. I ignored the fact that Song Siwei’s heart and eyes were full of his “Luna.” After all, I now had people whose hearts and eyes were full of me. My dad! My mom! 3 In my past life. Because of a nurse’s carelessness. I became the despised, “money-losing” daughter of Vice Commander He’s family. Luna became the cherished princess of Major General Jiang’s family. Compared to Luna’s life of luxury, pampering, and love. I grew up suffering in a family that valued boys over girls. She danced ballet on stage and became the star of the art troupe. I was a servant washing clothes and cooking for the He family’s little son. Song Siwei was the posthumous child of a veteran under Vice Commander He. After the veteran died in battle, his wife dumped Song Siwei at the He family’s gate and ran away. Unable to bear the gossip, Vice Commander He adopted Song Siwei. But the He couple, who didn’t even care much for their own daughter… How could they treat Song Siwei well? I was the He family’s nanny. He was the He family’s laborer. We sympathized with each other’s misery. Over time, I made him my everything. But he was already captivated by Luna on stage. That year, the art troupe visited the troops. When Luna was shining on stage… She was beaten up by Chief Zhao’s wife right there on stage. It revealed Luna’s identity as the mistress of a married man. The Jiang family was investigated. Jiang Jianwei was accused of selling his daughter for glory. He, who had the most hope of entering the core leadership before fifty, had his career destroyed. With one order, the entire Jiang family was sent to the harsh Tibetan region. This turning point allowed my adoptive father to seize the opportunity and rise to a high position. Even I, the nanny, and the laborer Song Siwei rose with him. I pleased my brother, obeyed my parents, and did everything to help Song Siwei rise. He lived up to expectations, became a pilot, and won a chance to enter the core circle… But he always missed Tibet. I thought he had grand ambitions, but his heart only held Luna. When I was thirty, the Jiang family members died one after another, and Luna’s whereabouts were unknown. Forced by my adoptive parents, Song Siwei finally married me unwillingly… Later, my adoptive father grew old and suffered from uremia, urgently needing a kidney. When I was morally kidnapped by my adoptive mother on the hospital bed, the fact that I was not the He family’s biological daughter was revealed. My adoptive father was desperate to live, and my adoptive mother tried her best to find their biological daughter, Luna. In the end, they only got news that Luna had died of a dirty disease. Song Siwei once said I stole Luna’s smooth life. I never took that sentence to heart. Little did I know that the man I treated with all my heart… Had wished day and night for me to die! 4 “Little Luna, it’s okay. Just a dozen years of hardship, I’ll walk through it with you!” When Vice Commander He’s wife went out to play mahjong, the stove at home would definitely not be lit. Young Song Siwei had no choice but to take the even younger He Luna with him. They could only seek help from Zhou Rusu in the same compound. My mother, kind and simple, couldn’t bear to see pitiful children. Whenever Song Siwei came to the Jiang family’s door, Zhou Rusu always helped as much as she could. I suddenly remembered my childhood in the past life… Song Siwei and I were often desperate. Hungry, we went door to door seeking shelter. The people in the compound were long tired of seeing us. Only Zhou Rusu was willing to give charity when she saw us. But Song Siwei’s arrogance grew year by year. He refused to accept Zhou Rusu’s “handouts.” He even insulted me, saying I was born from a starving ghost and had no shame. Thinking back now, his “arrogance” was just self-esteem in front of the person he liked. Now that his “white moonlight” was starving and howling every day, he put down all his pride and tried hard to seek the best conditions for He Luna. The contrast between past and present made me feel that those fifty years… were wasted on a dog. “In this life, I pray our paths never cross again…” Song Siwei, how could you go back on your own words? “Wah wah wah…” My crying sounded from the cradle. Hearing the noise, Zhou Rusu immediately put down the rice she was washing. The new mother hadn’t cut the umbilical cord between her and the infant yet. She was afraid I was hungry, thirsty, or wet… She could only hold me with both hands, pouring all her love onto me. As a result, Zhou Rusu had no time to give Song Siwei and He Luna a hot meal. “It’s strange. Our Zhenzhen is usually so good. But as soon as Song Siwei from next door brings little He Luna to beg for food, Zhenzhen cries so hard it breaks my heart! What’s wrong with her?” At night, Zhou Rusu and Jiang Jianwei lay in bed whispering. Jiang Jianwei poked my chubby cheek, smiling. “What else could it be? Your daughter doesn’t want you to work so hard. Song Siwei and He Luna come to beg for food every day. Other families in the compound are tired of them. Only you are patient enough to cook hot meals for them. Our Zhenzhen feels sorry for you.” Zhou Rusu was amused: “You’re funny. Zhenzhen is so small, what does she know? But those two kids from the He family are really pitiful. Maybe you can think of a way to help them.” Jiang Jianwei shook his head: “It’s hard for an honest official to settle family disputes. Let’s stay out of this. My mom is coming to take care of you and the baby tomorrow. She has thick skin. Let her talk to the He family, at least to feed the two kids.” Their kind nature always prevented them from staying out of it. The next day, my grandma yelled in the courtyard that the He family wouldn’t feed their kids. The neighbors, who had turned a blind eye, all popped up. They all said the He couple neglected their children too much. The He couple lost face. They took Song Siwei back and gave him a good beating. “Did I give you allowance money to play games and buy toys?” “If you spend money recklessly again, I’ll throw you away like your mom did!” “Uncle and Auntie are busy working, can’t you save us some worry?” Song Siwei was whipped until he was covered in wounds. For that non-existent allowance. He could only agree: “Uncle, Auntie, I’m sorry. I won’t spend money recklessly again!” A show for the people in the courtyard. Mother He then took out twenty yuan and gave it to Song Siwei in front of everyone. Song Siwei took the money, ignoring the blood in his mouth, and rushed to buy milk powder to feed little Luna. Watching this good show in Zhou Rusu’s arms, I couldn’t help but remember the past life, where I often endured beatings from the He parents to give Song Siwei a bite to eat. Indeed, love and non-love have always been distinct. When he was with me, Song Siwei was weak and unable to take care of himself. When he was with Luna, he could take a beating and bow and scrape, just so Luna could live a happier life. Thinking that the suffering I endured in my past life would happen to Song Siwei one by one, I had no regrets.

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My stepbrother, Julian, hates my guts. But I love to stick to him like glue. He paid me two thousand dollars to not walk home with him. He paid twenty thousand to get me to transfer out of his class. But every time, I’d come crawling back. After graduation, he transferred a huge sum into my account and said coldly: “Here’s five million dollars. Go study abroad. Never appear in my house again.” My eyes turned red, and I lowered my head, whispering, “Okay.” YES! He finally took the bait. 1 I walked in on Julian trying—and failing—to kiss the scholarship student. It was a dim karaoke room. He was slumped in the corner sofa, looking exhausted, his sharp profile obscured by shadows. A girl in a white dress stood next to him, hands on either side of him, leaning in tentatively. When I burst in, she jumped, turning to face me in a panic. Her eyes were wet, like a frightened deer. “Nia, I…” I ignored her and walked straight to Julian. “The driver’s here to pick me up. Dad said to bring you home too.” He picked up his jacket, draped it over his shoulders, and followed me out. It was late. The hallway was quiet. He closed the door but didn’t leave. He leaned against it, looking lazy. “She almost kissed me.” “…” I said nothing. His voice took on an edge of annoyance. “She’s very timid. It took her a lot of courage to do that.” I unlocked my phone, showed him the time and the text from my stepfather, and explained quietly. “Dad really told me to pick you up.” He glanced at it and gave a perfunctory, “Oh.” “I’m eighteen. I graduated high school. He can’t control me anymore. Tattling won’t work.” The psychedelic lights shifted, illuminating his features. His cheeks were flushed. He was drunk. I gripped my sleeve, my voice barely a whisper. “But…” He cut me off impatiently. “Go home by yourself.” “And—” His fingers tapped on his phone screen. “Here’s five million dollars. Go study abroad. Never appear in my house again.” “Let’s never see each other again.” “Nia, I really hate you.” He never wanted to see me again. Instantly, my eyes reddened. I lowered my head, suppressing a sob. “Okay.” Julian turned back into the karaoke room and slammed the door hard. I checked my banking app. The numbers were correct. Finally, I couldn’t hold it back. I squatted down, covered my mouth, and let out a muffled giggle. YES! He finally took the bait. 2 Julian has hated me for a long time. He thinks my mom and I are gold diggers after the Sterling family fortune. He’s not wrong. When I was fourteen, he put two geckos in my bed to scare me out of the house. I cried. To comfort me, my stepdad gave me more allowance. Seeing the money, I was happy again. When we were sixteen, we ended up in the same high school. He didn’t want to be in the same class as me, but he didn’t want his dad to yell at him and then pay me off again. So he skipped the middleman. “Twenty thousand.” “Transfer out of this class.” Freshman year, I left. Sophomore year, I came back. He never specified a time limit. When I walked back into the classroom with my backpack, Julian’s face was black as thunder. The guy in front of him laughed. “Jules, your sister is persistent.” Julian said coldly, “She’s not my sister.” Everyone smirked knowingly. Julian looked at me, frowning. “What will it take for you to disappear from my sight?” My eyes turned red. “Do you hate me that much?” He flashed a number with his fingers. I bit my lip. “Sorry, wrong classroom.” 3 I discovered a business opportunity. Julian was seriously rich. His mom, living abroad, paved his road with gold. When he played golf, I was the cheerleader, fetching water and holding his jacket. He confronted me. I looked up at him, starry-eyed. “I just admire you, big brother. Is that wrong?” He transferred me money. “Go shopping if you’re bored. Stop bothering me.” I happily accepted. I pestered Julian for over a year. Everyone knew he had a stepsister like me. They even joked about visiting him in the orthopedic hospital (a Chinese slang reference to incest/broken legs). Over time, Julian stopped explaining. He just threw money at me to make me go away. But I would never leave my ATM. On Julian’s 18th birthday, he got drunk. When he came home from the hotel, I held a bowl of hangover soup in one hand and supported him with the other. I hoped his drunken vision would add an extra zero to the transfer. He squinted at me, looking down, and suddenly said: “Nia, you really are manipulative and scheming.” His tone was mocking. I paused on the stairs. Insults cost extra. Suddenly, he grabbed my waist, turned off the lights, and pinned me against the railing of the spiral staircase, kissing me. My vision went dark. Only his face, magnified. His breath was like a storm. Shocked, I pushed him away. The bowl smashed—crash—and tumbled down the stairs. Stepdad called from upstairs, “Nia, what happened?” I suppressed the tremor in my voice and cried out my usual grievance: “Brother is drunk and throwing a tantrum! He broke my bowl!” Julian lowered his head, leaning against the railing, silent in the dark. Stepdad sighed. “He’s like that. Gets crazy when he drinks. Ignore him, go rest. I’ll help him.” I fled back to my room. At 3 AM. Julian texted me. [Sorry.] [Didn’t see clearly. Thought you were someone else.] It was his first apology. But it was an insult. Attached was a transfer. I didn’t accept it, and I didn’t reply. 4 I found out later who “someone else” was. One of Julian’s pursuers. A scholarship student who was always in the top ten of the grade, named Leah. She was insecure and timid, only daring to look at him from afar. And Julian noticed her. He said, “She’s like Nia. Always looking pathetic.” “Who is she putting on a show for?” He hated me, but he enjoyed watching Leah act that way. After school, I waited in the car for him. He came out with a girl in a school uniform trailing behind him. The car door opened. He didn’t get in. Holding her backpack, he raised an eyebrow at me and said nonchalantly: “Get out.” I froze for a second. Leah raised her hand cautiously, tugging at his sleeve, her voice soft. “Forget it, Jules.” “I can go home by myself.” Julian didn’t budge, his voice turning cold. “I’m taking her home.” “I transferred you the money. Take a taxi.” Why didn’t he give me enough to buy a car? Whatever. Quit while you’re ahead. I nodded awkwardly, bit my lip, clutched my backpack straps, and obediently got out of the car. Dusk fell, and the crowds dispersed. I stood alone by the roadside, staring at the tips of my shoes, tears falling one by one. Only when the car drove off in the opposite direction did I wipe my tears and check Julian’s message. $2,000? Good thing I didn’t check it in front of him. I wouldn’t have been able to cry. 5 Julian gave me the five million too late. I hadn’t prepared for the IELTS or TOEFL, so I had to cancel most of my travel plans and parties to hole up in my room memorizing vocabulary. Julian was downstairs throwing a party with his rich friends. The music was loud. I took off my headphones and went downstairs. “Can you keep it down?” Julian’s friend patted the empty seat next to him and smiled. “Nia, you’re home? Why not join us?” I pursed my lips in a shy smile. “I’m upstairs memorizing vocab.” “Vocab?” Someone finally turned off the music to listen. “I thought people who actually study that hard only existed online.” “Leah is here too. Come join us.” Julian hadn’t looked up once. Leah sat next to him, smiling gently at me. Then she looked like she wanted to say something but stopped. “Nia, are you planning to repeat a year?” I didn’t know her well. Calling me Nia so intimately… looks like things are getting serious with Julian. She continued, “It’s okay if you didn’t do well.” “Uncle Sterling is so rich, you probably have lots of backdoors.” Sensing the tension, everyone went quiet. I said gently: “Yes, my family is rich. Doesn’t matter how I test.” “Leah, are you worried about your scores?” Her face went pale. Julian finally looked up, patting her hand reassuringly. “Nia, don’t be so mean.” I nodded. “Okay.” “I’m going up to study. Keep it down.” I put my headphones back on and walked up the stairs. I could feel gazes burning into my back.

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The moment the new transfer student stole my seat, he didn’t just take a spot on the train; he unraveled my entire life. And the worst part? He regretted it. Eventually. I was born with a heart that beats to a broken rhythm. Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. It’s a fancy way of saying my heart muscle is too thick, too tired, and prone to giving out if I push it too hard. Weekly check-ups at the hospital are just part of my routine. Harper has been there for every single one of them. We grew up side by side, our lives tangled together like headphones left in a pocket. We were on the light rail, heading back from the city after my appointment. It was rush hour, bodies packed tight, the air stale and humid. Harper spotted the last empty seat—right next to where she was standing—and signaled for me to take it. I was about to sit, my legs aching from the long day, when I felt a tentative tug on my sleeve. “Leo… I’m feeling really lightheaded,” a soft voice whispered. It was Silas, the new transfer student. He looked at me with wide, doe-eyed innocence, one hand clutching his chest, the other trembling slightly. “Do you think… maybe I could have the priority seat? My anemia is acting up.” I almost laughed. The performance was flawless. It was so thick with artificial sweetness it could rot your teeth. I didn’t have the energy for games. I started to shut him down, polite but firm. “Sorry, man, I actually need to—” “Leo, just let him have it,” Harper cut in. Her voice wasn’t asking; it was deciding. I froze. “I know your heart acts up if you stand too long,” she said, her tone dismissive, “but I’ve fought for seats for you a thousand times. You can handle standing this once.” I stared at her. The betrayal wasn’t in the action; it was in the logic. Like a well-trained dog, I stepped back and gave up the seat. Silas sat down with a grateful, shy smile that didn’t reach his eyes. It wasn’t until the third time that week Harper bailed on walking to school with me—only for me to find out she’d already left with him—that the reality settled in. When I finally confronted her, she rolled her eyes. “Leo, seriously? It was just a seat on the train. Is it worth holding a grudge?” I bit the inside of my lip until I tasted iron. “You’re right,” I said, my voice quiet. “It was just a seat. So why couldn’t I have it?” The question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Harper blinked, stunned into silence. 1 She had no answer. She wasn’t used to me pushing back. For years, I had been the soft one, the one who needed protection. Using her own logic against her short-circuited her defenses. It took her a solid minute to find her voice, and when she did, it was laced with defensiveness. “What is with this attitude? Silas wasn’t feeling well. You know that.” I didn’t have the energy to argue. I turned and walked up the stairs. “Leo!” she yelled after me, her voice pitching up. “Are you seriously going to freeze me out over something so petty?” I didn’t look back. That was the beginning of the Cold War. I started avoiding her in the hallways, walking to class alone, eating lunch in the library. She didn’t chase me. The tether that had connected us since kindergarten had gone slack. Then came Monday. AP English. The teacher announced group projects. Before the sentence was even finished, Harper was flanked by her two best friends, Maya and Tess. Usually, I was the automatic fourth. I was gathering my books, waiting for the signal. I looked up to see Silas standing at Harper’s desk. He was blushing, looking down at his shoes, the picture of humility. “Hey, Harper… I know I’m new and I don’t really know anyone yet… do you guys have room for one more?” Maya and Tess immediately started cooing. “Oh, absolutely! We can’t leave the new guy hanging.” Harper looked pleased. She didn’t even glance my way. Her voice dropped into that gentle register she used to use for me. “Of course, Silas. You’re with us.” I stood there, my textbook hovering halfway into my bag. It was as if I had turned invisible. They had forgotten that their “Core Four” actually had four people. Once Silas sat down, he seemed to suddenly “notice” me standing there. He covered his mouth, eyes widening in mock horror. “Oh no… did I take Leo’s spot? I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize…” He looked at Harper, frantic. “Maybe Leo should take it. I can work alone. I’m not great at English anyway, I don’t want to drag you guys down…” Before I could speak, Harper shot me a look of pure annoyance. “Leo, your grades are perfect. You can handle a project on your own. Silas actually needs the help.” Suddenly, the whole thing felt incredibly cheap. I shoved my book into my bag, stood up, and walked to the back of the room without a word. The rest of the class had paired up. The only people left were the “burnouts”—the kids who slept in class or were too stoned to care. I pulled up a chair next to them. “We’re a team,” I said. “Let’s get this done.” 2 Since the grouping incident, the atmosphere in the classroom had shifted. It was subtle, but I felt it. My new team was a disaster on paper. One guy slept through lectures, another was addicted to reading fantasy novels on his phone, and the third wanted to help but couldn’t write a coherent sentence to save his life. I took charge. I broke the project down into microscopic tasks. You, look up these three dates. You, format the citations. You, just print the photos. I dragged them, kicking and screaming, toward a passing grade. It was exhausting. More exhausting than doing it alone. I had to monitor my heart rate constantly, breathing through the frustration. Deep breath. Don’t spike. Don’t spiral. Harper’s group, on the other hand, was having a blast. Silas didn’t know anything, but he knew how to ask. During breaks, he’d lean over Harper’s shoulder, pointing at a page, whispering questions in that breathy voice of his. Harper was endlessly patient, explaining the same concept three times over. Her friends giggled and teased them. I ignored the noise. I focused on rewriting my group’s barely legible notes. The tension peaked during P.E. Because of my condition, I sat out during high-intensity days. I usually did homework on the bleachers. Coincidentally, Silas sat out that week too. Anemia again. So, it was just the two of us on the concrete steps, overlooking the track. He scooted closer, invading my personal space. “Leo,” he said, hugging his knees and looking at me sideways. “Are you still mad at me?” I kept reading. “I know Harper cares about you a lot. You guys have history… I’m just jealous, honestly. I don’t have anyone here. She’s been so nice to me, I just wanted to be close to her.” His eyes started to water on command. “Am I causing problems for you guys?” Before I could figure out how to respond to that level of manipulation, the halftime whistle blew for the basketball scrimmage. Harper jogged over, wiping sweat from her forehead, holding two water bottles. The sunlight caught her hair, making her look like a golden retriever in human form—eager, bright, loyal. She stopped in front of us, cracked the seal on one bottle, and handed it to Silas. “Hydrate.” Then she set the unopened bottle on the step next to me. “You okay? You look pale.” Silas took small sips, looking up at her with adoration. “Harper, that three-pointer was incredible! You looked so cool out there.” Harper grinned, basking in the praise. She was about to say something when Silas suddenly swayed. His hand “slipped,” and the open water bottle tipped over. Ice-cold water splashed all over my lap, soaking my jeans instantly. “Oh my god! Leo, I’m so sorry!” Silas shrieked, jumping up. He reached out as if to wipe the water off my pants, panic written all over his face. But then, he stumbled over his own feet and fell backward, straight into Harper’s arms. “Whoa, gotcha!” Harper caught him, her reflex instant. “You okay?” “I… I’m fine,” Silas murmured, leaning his full weight against her. “Just dizzy. Vision went black for a second…” Harper scooped him up, her brow furrowed in concern. She started walking him toward the nurse’s office. A few steps away, she stopped and looked back at me. I was still sitting on the concrete, water dripping from my jeans, shivering slightly from the shock of the cold. I looked at her, waiting for the bare minimum. Are you okay? It didn’t come. Her eyes were heavy with disappointment. “Leo,” she said, her voice cold. “Silas is sick. Couldn’t you have kept an eye on him? I didn’t think you could be this cold-hearted.” She turned and marched Silas away. The whispers from the class washed over me. I sat there, frozen, feeling a familiar, tight pain clenching around my heart. 3 After that day, I stopped trying. I stopped explaining. I stopped fighting. I stopped looking at Harper. I walked home in wet jeans that day. The autumn wind cut through the damp denim, chilling me to the bone, but the cold inside my chest was worse. The next morning, Harper approached my desk. She placed a carton of warm milk in front of me—a peace offering. “Look… Silas didn’t mean it yesterday. His health is just fragile, you know? Like yours. Don’t take it personally.” I looked at her, and for the first time, I felt nothing. Just a vast, gray boredom. In her eyes, I was the one who didn’t need worrying about. Heart condition? I had meds. Misunderstood? I had a mouth; I could defend myself. Our history had convinced her that my resilience was infinite. I picked up the milk, placed it back on her desk, and spoke softly. “Thanks, but I already drank.” I turned my back to her and opened my vocabulary book. Harper stood there for a moment, embarrassed, before snatching the milk and walking away. I heard Silas’s whisper from across the aisle: “Harper, is Leo still mad?” From that day on, I excised myself from their narrative. I left school the second the bell rang. In group projects, I did the work but offered no small talk. Harper started to notice. She cornered me a few times, asking if I was still sulking about “the little things.” I just shook my head. “No. Finals are coming up. I need to focus.” She looked at me like I was a stranger. She was used to me nagging her, used to me getting reactive. My calm unnerved her. But I didn’t have the stamina for drama anymore. My heart couldn’t take it, and neither could my pride. My salvation came in the form of a flyer on the bulletin board. Citywide English Speech Competition. Theme: The Power of Silence. I stared at it. The Power of Silence. The phrase cut through the fog in my brain. Why was I trying to scream to be heard by people who had chosen to be deaf? Real power wasn’t in the argument; it was in the action. It was in succeeding without them. I tore off the tab, went to the office, and signed my name. The moment I handed in the form, my erratic heart seemed to find a steady beat. I threw myself into it. Lunch breaks were spent on the roof, practicing enunciation to the empty football field. Evenings were spent refining my draft, cutting out every unnecessary word. Meanwhile, Silas was thriving. He was the school mascot of kindness—handing out water to the team, helping people with homework (and then asking Harper for help when he got stuck). They were a perfect, sickening pair. One afternoon, I passed them in the hallway. Silas tugged Harper’s sleeve loud enough for me to hear. “Harper, look at Leo. He’s so focused lately. He barely talks to us anymore.” Harper’s gaze lingered on me, complicated and unreadable. I didn’t break stride. The night before the finals, I stayed late in the empty classroom for one last dress rehearsal. The moonlight spilled over the desks. I wore my white dress shirt—I wanted to get used to the feel of the stiff collar. I ran through the speech. Every pause, every inflection was muscle memory now. I felt ready. I felt light. I was packing up when the classroom door creaked open. Silas stood there, holding a steaming cup of coffee, wearing a smile that was all innocence and poison. “Leo! You’re still here? I brought you some coffee. To keep you going.” 4 “Thanks, but I was just leaving.” I folded my speech carefully, placing it in my folder on the desk. My white shirt, the one I’d ironed specifically for tomorrow, was draped over the back of my chair. “Don’t rush off, Leo.” Silas stepped into the room. He placed the coffee on the desk, dangerously close to my folder. “Tomorrow is the big day. You must be nervous. Drink something warm.” I instinctively took a step back, creating distance. I reached out to move my folder and shirt away from him. “I really don’t want it. Thanks.” My rejection seemed to fluster him. He took a step forward, as if to plead his case, but then his foot “caught” on a chair leg. “Ah!” It was theatrical. The cup of scalding coffee launched from his hand in a perfect arc. Dark brown liquid splashed across the folder, soaking the pages instantly, and splattered all over the pristine white shirt. It happened in slow motion. “Oh my god! Leo, I’m so sorry!” Silas dropped to his knees, grabbing tissues, frantically scrubbing at the mess, which only ground the coffee stain deeper into the fabric. “I didn’t mean to! I just…” I stared at weeks of work dissolving into brown pulp. I stared at the shirt I had to wear in twelve hours. My mind went blank. Then, footsteps. Silas heard them too. He looked up at me, tears instantly welling in his eyes. Then, he threw himself backward, landing hard on the floor as if I had shoved him. “Leo, please don’t be mad… I know you worked so hard…” The door flew open. Harper stood there. Her eyes swept the room—the coffee, the mess, Silas on the floor. “Leo!” “What the hell are you doing?” She didn’t look at the ruined speech. She didn’t look at the shirt. She stormed over to Silas. “You can’t win fair and square, so you resort to bullying?” She glared at me, her expression twisting into disgust. “I didn’t know you were this vicious.” Vicious? A sharp pain exploded in my chest, radiating down my left arm. My vision tunneled. I opened my mouth to say I didn’t do it, but no sound came out. My throat closed up. I stumbled, gripping the edge of the desk. My hand shook uncontrollably as I reached for my pocket. Meds… I need my meds… But my legs gave out. I slid down the side of the desk, hitting the floor. The pill bottle tumbled out of my pocket, rolling across the linoleum with a cheerful clatter-clatter, stopping just out of reach. The room began to spin. Darkness crept in from the edges of my vision. The last thing I saw before the lights went out was Harper stepping over my body to help a crying Silas. “Silas, are you okay? Did you get hurt?” Her voice was full of the panic and care I had never received.

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Everyone in our circle knew that Hayes had a “white moonlight”—a first love he couldn’t forget. And I was just the paid girlfriend he kept on the side. I spent a year finally tying him down, but then his white moonlight suddenly returned from abroad. Hayes couldn’t take his eyes off her. I was furious but helpless. To avoid being dumped, I decided to dump Hayes first and find someone hotter. Somehow, Hayes’ best friend heard the news and offered: “One million a year, come with me?” Thinking about the awkwardness of seeing my ex all the time, I refused. “Three million.” “Cough cough, um, let me think about it.” “Five million.” “Deal.” I was happily packing my bags when Hayes, who had been standing at the door for who knows how long, caught me red-handed. He stared at me, sneered, and pulled out his belt: “Zoey, are you looking for a beating?!” 1 On Hayes’ birthday, it was raining harder than the day I had to ask my dad for money in that soap opera. I braved the storm to buy him a birthday cake. When I got home, I found a woman standing at the door. “Excuse me, does Hayes live here?” I looked her up and down. Porcelain skin, silky hair, a face the size of my palm with minimal makeup, and big, bright, innocent eyes. Paired with a light white dress. She radiated purity. Alarm bells rang in my head. She was exactly Hayes’ type. Most importantly, she knew Hayes’ private address. I couldn’t help but think of the “white moonlight” Hayes’ friends talked about—the one he loved but couldn’t have, who went abroad to study. I think her name was Sunny Song or something. Because of the “Sun” in her name, Hayes even got a small sun tattooed near his heart. Talk about whipped. I lowered my eyes, subconsciously puffing out my cheeks. Under her probing gaze, I said flatly: “He’s gone.” “G-gone?!” Her pretty eyes widened in disbelief. “You mean…” “He died.” I lied without blinking. Sorry, sister. This is competition. There’s no way I’m giving up Hayes, this walking ATM, to you. After a brief silence. “Who died?” A deep, pleasant voice cut through the rain from behind me. I froze. Crap. Caught red-handed spreading rumors about my sugar daddy’s death. Will I survive tonight?! 2 Hayes got out of the car, his gaze locked on me. With a faint smile, he said: “Zoey, what good does my death do you?” He was so pissed at me that he didn’t even spare a glance for the woman in the corner. I lowered my head, my voice weak: “No, I didn’t say you…” Hayes snorted: “Three days without a beating and you’re climbing the roof to tear off tiles. Just wait until tonight!” My heart skipped a beat. What to do, what to do. This “beating” definitely wasn’t a normal one. Hayes had been busy with company matters lately, and I finally had a few days of peace. Seeing his “get everything back in one night” attitude, my bones started to ache. Just as I was brainstorming ways to make my sugar daddy happy so he’d go easy on me in bed, a figure suddenly rushed past me. Ignoring the fine rain, the woman threw herself into Hayes’ arms. “Hayes, I missed you so much!” Her thin clothes were soaked, and she shivered from the cold. Truly pitiful. Hayes froze, looking surprised: “Sunny? Why… when did you come back?” Like the assistant holding the umbrella nearby, I watched the drama through the rain curtain. Hmph. The white moonlight he dreamed of day and night was right here. Stunned, huh? Tongue-tied, huh? Sunny pressed against Hayes’ chest and smiled sweetly, then stood on her tiptoes and hooked her arms around his neck as if no one else was there: “What, aren’t you happy I’m back?” Hayes paused, opened his mouth to say something, but realizing the assistant and I were still there, he cleared his throat: “Let’s go inside first.” 3 I slipped into the house before them and dashed back to my room. Since I got a bit wet, I took a hot shower. When I came out, I saw a missed call from Hailey. Hailey was my college roommate, Hayes’ cousin, a genuine heiress. Optimistic, cheerful, easy to get along with. Loved to party, often taking me clubbing and drag racing behind Hayes’ back. Calling me at this hour, she probably wanted to go out. I called her back. The call connected quickly: “Macho Muscle Party, same place, coming?” I sighed: “Can’t go, Hayes is back.” “My brother? Wasn’t he on a business trip? He specifically said no birthday party this year. Tsk tsk, guess he wanted a romantic night with you.” I scoffed: “You wish. He’s chatting happily with Sunny downstairs right now. Nothing to do with me.” Hearing Sunny’s name, Hailey immediately dropped the teasing tone: “Holy crap, the Little White Lotus is back?!” “What was my brother’s reaction?” “Reaction…” I dried my hair while recalling Hayes’ expression. “Ever seen a dog looking at a meat bun? Pretty much like that. Couldn’t take his eyes off her.” Hailey cursed: “What’s the plan? Want me to come over now and help you tear that white lotus apart?” “Please don’t. If you touch her, your brother might silence us both.” Hailey muttered: “After all these years, he still likes her that much?” Then she changed the subject: “It’s okay, Zoey. Scumbags aren’t worth it. I’ll introduce you to someone better!” “Men are a dime a dozen. I can bring you a truckload. Looks, money, whatever you want, take your pick.” Before I could answer, she hung up. I stared at the screen blankly. Would she really find me a man? Thinking about it, it didn’t seem inappropriate. Hayes was deeply in love with Sunny. It wasn’t bad for me to face reality sooner rather than later. Instead of hanging myself on his tree, I might as well explore the forest. 4 Honestly, it wasn’t like I had no feelings for Hayes. I might seem carefree, like I don’t care about anything, but I have a serious thing about first times. Hayes was my first. In my heart, he was somewhat special. I’d imagined a hundred endings with Hayes, all involving him getting bored and throwing a pile of money at me to get lost. Judging by the current situation, it was time for me to get lost. I looked around the room, thought for a moment, and decided to pack the most expensive jewelry first. No sooner said than done. I pinned up my hair, rolled up my sleeves, and walked straight to the safe. While entering the password, there was a knock on the door. When it opened, Hayes’ overly handsome face appeared. He was really good-looking. The best-looking person I’d ever seen. Every time we slept together, I felt like I should be paying him. Since I was leaving anyway, I might as well look a few more times to get my money’s worth. Thinking this, my gaze became bolder, as if trying to bore holes into his face. Seeing my lovestruck expression, Hayes paused, then raised an eyebrow at me. Tsk. Even handsomer. Just as I was enjoying the view, a head popped out from behind Hayes. “Um, you’re Zoey, right?” “I’m Sunny Song. Have you heard of me?” I shifted my gaze to Sunny. Her eyes curved, dimples appearing on her cheeks. She was radiating kindness, but I felt an inexplicable provocation. Such high-level skills?! I froze slightly, only saying: “Hello, Miss Song.” After that, I stopped looking at Sunny. Hayes was my sugar daddy. If I needed to talk, it was with him. I pursed my lips: “Hayes, I…” “Wifey.” Just as I was formulating my final farewell, Hayes called me “Wifey,” shocking me to my core.

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My mom called me from my top-secret unit, telling me to come home. She had arranged a marriage for me. The prospective bride had everything going for her. Besides being gorgeous, she was the CEO of a famous publicly listed company in the area. Because of my special status, I couldn’t fly commercial. My boss even lent me his personal car to help me make a good impression. I arrived downstairs at my fiancée’s company right on time. Just as I was backing into a parking spot, a red Ferrari came speeding towards me. I couldn’t brake in time and hit it. The owner rolled down the window arrogantly, pointing and cursing at me: “Are your eyes up your ass? Do you know how to drive?” I suppressed my anger and retorted: “You stole my spot, and now you’re blaming me?” Facing my question, he was full of disdain. “Your spot?” “Out-of-towner, let me tell you something. In Jinghai, even a penny falling from the sky belongs to the Chengs, got it?” I froze for a few seconds, then pulled out my phone and dialed my fiancée’s number. “I heard people from your company say the Cheng family runs Jinghai. Is that true?” 1 If it weren’t for my mom, I wouldn’t have even bothered making this call. Hitting my boss’s car isn’t something that can be solved just by paying money. If my future wife had a decent attitude about admitting mistakes, I might have considered suppressing this matter. “I’m busy, make it quick.” On the phone, her tone was extremely impatient. “Miss Cheng, I think you’d better come down personally, lest…” Before I could finish, the line went dead. I stood there, stunned. Do all rich people have this temper? Seeing this, the man who stole my parking spot was grinning from ear to ear. “I thought you were someone important, turns out you’re just all talk.” “If I were you, I’d pay up quickly. If CEO Cheng finds out her car was hit, you might not leave Jinghai alive.” Seeing I was only in my early twenties and driving a car with out-of-town plates, he didn’t take me seriously at all. “Sir, are you even being reasonable?” “You forced your way in and stole my spot. I haven’t even confronted you about that, and now you’re trying to scam me?” I pointed to the camera overhead. “There’s surveillance footage. If you keep twisting the truth, I’m calling the cops!” Hearing I wanted to call the police, he became even more arrogant. “Out-of-towner, save your breath. Even if the cops come, you’ll only end up paying more.” He got more agitated as he spoke, and the air reeked of alcohol. I clenched my fist, narrowing my eyes involuntarily. “You don’t want me to call the police because you’ve been drinking, right?” As soon as the words left my mouth, he shoved me hard. “What does my drinking have to do with you? Pay up!” “If you dare try to welch, I’ll make sure you can’t leave Jinghai!” I’ve been in the unit for years, rarely interacting with locals. I had no idea how to deal with this kind of hooligan. Seeing his arrogance, my anger flared up. “You hit my car, and now you’re accusing me? Is your brain working?” As soon as I said this, the onlookers gasped. “Holy crap, this kid has guts. He even dares to curse Assistant Cheng. Does he have a death wish?” “People usually avoid CEO Cheng’s car like the plague, and he dares to hit it. Balls of steel.” “Bad luck for him, messing with Assistant Cheng. That’s CEO Cheng’s right-hand man!” As the whispers grew louder, Assistant Cheng became even more smug. “Out-of-towner, you dare curse me? You must be tired of living!” Facing his threat, I didn’t care at all. I even found it laughable. “Assistant Cheng, right? I advise you to keep your mouth clean.” “If you really piss me off, even your boss won’t be able to handle the consequences.” “Handle your mom!” After cursing me a few times, he still wasn’t satisfied. He rolled up his sleeves and charged at me. “What? You Jinghai people resort to violence when you can’t win an argument?” Assistant Cheng threw several punches at me, but didn’t even touch my clothes. “Out-of-towner, dodge again and see what happens!” “Believe it or not, I’m calling CEO Cheng right now!” Facing Cheng Lexiao’s provocations, I didn’t fight back, only dodging. Not because I was afraid of him, but before leaving the unit, my boss repeatedly warned me. “Your words and actions represent the unit’s image. Once you’re out, absolutely do not conflict with locals.” Besides, I don’t know how to fight. I either don’t strike, or I strike to kill! Seeing I didn’t speak, Cheng Lexiao thought I was scared. He raised his fist and rushed at me again. Just in the nick of time, a roar came from behind. “Stop!” 2 “Cheng Lexiao, you’re my personal assistant. How can you just fight people on the street?” Surrounded by bodyguards, Chloe Cheng walked quickly towards me. “Are you Zach Zhao?” I looked at the woman in front of me. I had to admit, my mom has good taste. A crimson cheongsam wrapped around a perfect figure. If I had to pick a flaw, it would be the icy look she gave me. “Miss Cheng, nice to meet you. Allow me to introduce myself.” “My surname is Zhao, first name Zach, from…” “No need!” Before I could finish, Chloe interrupted impatiently, raising her hand. “We’re not suitable. Go back to where you came from.” I almost thought my ears were malfunctioning. I drove over ten hours from the unit to Jinghai without even a sip of water. Just met, and she tells me to leave without a word? Is she playing me for a fool? Thinking of this, my temper flared. “You should be the wife my mom found for me, Chloe Cheng, right?” “Sending me away before I even finish speaking, isn’t that a bit rude?” Hearing my words, Chloe’s face changed instantly. “Rude?” “Mr. Zhao, why don’t you look at the building behind you? Do you think you deserve me?” She looked me up and down with disdain. “I don’t know what my dad was thinking, trying to marry me off to a loser like you.” As soon as she said this, the crowd erupted again. “What? This kid is CEO Cheng’s fiancé? That’s unbelievable!” “A country bumpkin like him wants to eat swan meat? He should take a look in the mirror.” “CEO Cheng is the goddess of every man in Jinghai. I, Long Aotian, am the first to oppose this marriage.” As the discussions grew louder, I was confused. When did I say I wanted to marry her? Even if I wanted to, I’d need approval from my superiors. “Fine, fine. I’m a loser, you’re the heiress. Happy?” “Since Miss Cheng doesn’t fancy me, can you return the betrothal gift?” “My mom specifically said on the phone, if the marriage doesn’t work out, remember to get the gift back.” Actually, my mom never mentioned this. I just couldn’t stand her. As soon as I finished, Assistant Cheng jumped in. “Out-of-towner, who do you think you’re looking down on?” “CEO Cheng is the youngest billionaire in Jinghai. Does she need your petty cash?” Seeing this, I finally understood the true meaning of “lackey.” “Assistant Cheng, I just want my things back. What does it have to do with her being a billionaire?” Hearing my words, Chloe’s face flushed red. “It’s just eighty thousand bucks. I’ll return it to you.” She took out her phone and transferred the money on the spot. “I’ll give you a hundred thousand. The rest is a tip for your travel expenses.” I curled my lips and smiled at her. “Well, thank you very much, Miss Cheng.” Just as I turned around, Cheng Lexiao suddenly shouted at me. “Out-of-towner, stop right there!” I paused and turned back slowly. “What? Does Assistant Cheng want to invite me for dinner?” Cheng Lexiao gave me a sinister smile and whispered something in Chloe’s ear. The next second, the so-called youngest female billionaire of Jinghai was furious. “Mr. Zhao! You dare hit my car?” 3 Judging by Cheng Lexiao’s expression, I guessed he must have badmouthed me to Chloe. Borrowing a knife to kill, he’s truly a master at this. Based on Chloe’s attitude just now, I knew explaining was useless, so I didn’t bother wasting my breath. “Name your price. I’ll pay.” Chloe seemed surprised that I admitted it directly, looking at me with astonishment. “Pay? Can you afford it?” “My dad gave me this Ferrari for my 18th birthday. Limited edition, only three in the world, the only one in the country.” “A scratch on it is worth your life. How can you pay?” I raised an eyebrow, a faint smile on my lips. “Miss Cheng, just name the price. Whether I can afford it is my problem.” “Ten million!” As soon as I finished, Assistant Cheng spoke up again. “The whole front is caved in. It can’t be fixed domestically; it has to be sent back to the factory in Italy.” The crowd gasped. Even the owner, Chloe, was a bit surprised. “Assistant Cheng, this car was only a bit over ten million when I got it. Fixing a bumper shouldn’t cost that much, right?” Assistant Cheng waved his hand immediately. “No, no, no, CEO Cheng. You’re thinking too simply.” “This car was a birthday gift from your dad. The sentimental value is immense, right?” “Asking him for ten million is already us being charitable.” Hearing Assistant Cheng’s words, Chloe thought it made sense and lowered her head to think. “Okay! Ten million it is!” I didn’t give her time to think and agreed on the spot. Now, everyone’s eyes were on me. Some thought I was bluffing, some thought I was pretending to be weak to eat the tiger, and the rest were gloating. But these opinions didn’t matter to me. What mattered was that my car was hit too. Although not as severe as the Ferrari, the rear had some scratches. If it were a regular domestic car, Cheng Lexiao’s hit would have totaled it. “Since Miss Cheng’s car is settled, should we talk about mine?” I changed the subject, corners of my mouth lifting involuntarily. “Mine is a domestic car, so no need to send it abroad.” As soon as I finished, the crowd burst into laughter. Led by Cheng Lexiao, the lackeys pointed at me with disdain. “Kid, are you brain-damaged? How much can a domestic car be worth? I’ll just buy you a new one.” “Unbelievable. Someone drives a domestic car to propose in this day and age. Embarrassing.” I scanned the crowd and spoke coldly. “Everyone, although my car is domestic, it has a serial number.” “Before it gets dark, call your grandparents and ask them what a Red Flag (Hongqi) represents!” 4 “Red Flag, Green Flag, it’s just a broken domestic car. How much can it be worth?” Cheng Lexiao dismissed my kind warning completely. “Out-of-towner, talking so much, are you trying to welch?” “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you can’t come up with ten million, don’t think about leaving Jinghai alive!” In less than an hour, someone threatened me twice! This was something I never even dreamed of since joining the unit. I stopped talking nonsense and pulled out my phone in front of everyone. “Hello, Boss, it’s Little Zhao.” The voice on the other end chuckled. “Kid, why call me now? Did you meet the wife? Satisfied?” I glanced gloatingly at Cheng Lexiao opposite me and spoke softly. “Boss, the wife thing is a long story. I have an emergency to report.” “The Red Flag you lent me got hit.” “What did you say!?” The boss on the other end was furious, his shock palpable through the screen. “Little Zhao, are you sure you’re not joking? That’s a Red Flag! Who dares hit it?” I continued unhurriedly. “Boss, how would I dare joke about this?” “The guy who hit your car wants me to pay him ten million and says if I don’t pay, I won’t leave alive.” I roughly explained what happened, and the boss smashed his cup in anger. “Who is it?” Before I could speak, Cheng Lexiao snatched the phone. “Hey, you’re the backup this kid called, right?” “I’ll give you twenty minutes to get the money. One minute late, and I break one of his fingers.” The boss probably never expected anyone to talk to him like that in his life. He paused for a few seconds. “You hit my car, and you want Little Zhao to pay?” Cheng Lexiao still didn’t know who he offended, maintaining his delinquent attitude. “Cut the crap, are you paying or not!” I felt the boss’s rage through the screen. “Pay! Ten million seems too little. How about I pay you a hundred million?” “Tell me the location. I’ll send someone with the money right now!” Cheng Lexiao didn’t expect the “old man” to be so fiery and retorted immediately. “Old fart, stop blowing smoke. A hundred million?” “If you dare pay, I dare take it. Jinghai Tower, I want cash!” After hanging up, Cheng Lexiao looked at his boss proudly, as if asking for credit. Seeing this scene, I couldn’t hold back and laughed out loud. “Miss Cheng, you really hired a good assistant.” “Even daring to extort a Red Flag. Looking across the country, I haven’t seen anyone as brave as him.” Hearing my words, Cheng Lexiao snorted indifferently. “Tch, I don’t care about your Red Flag or White Flag. You have less than ten minutes!” Just then, someone in the crowd shouted. “Look!” Everyone turned their heads. Dozens of armored trucks were driving towards us in a majestic convoy.

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The woman I’d been secretly crushing on for a decade suddenly texted me. “Dean, I’m drunk. Can you take me home?” I rushed out of my condo and drove across Bayport, following the pinpoint location she’d sent. But the man who opened the door to the private room wasn’t the one I was supposed to see. It was Brock Harrington. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Dean Sullivan. Captain Perfect,” Brock sneered, leaning against the door frame of the exclusive club lounge. “After all these years, are you still hung up on Anya?” Anya Reid, my high school goddess, was draped over his shoulder, her eyes unfocused and heavy. “Too bad, man. You’re too late,” Brock purred, his voice thick with entitled arrogance. “I’m about to close the deal on your little high school fantasy right now.” I stood there, feeling like a punchline, as laughter and snickers erupted from the dimly lit room behind him. “Oh, that’s right,” Brock said, snapping his fingers dramatically. “Tonight is the official engagement party for the future CEO of Harrington Group, yours truly, and the beautiful former Northwood High Prom Queen. Sullivan, aren’t you going to come in and have a celebratory drink?” I glanced past him to where Anya was practically folding into his expensive suit. I gave a slight, dismissive shake of my head. “No, thanks. I wouldn’t want to show up the groom.” 1 For three long years of high school, I was practically a punching bag. As soon as class ended, Brock would order me to run out and buy him cigarettes. If I didn’t, I’d be paying for it later. He was the son of the Chairman, which in a place like Bayport meant his word was law, and he had a whole entourage of sycophants who lived to see me tormented. I can still taste the bitterness of my senior year, right after spring break, when Brock planted something on me, lied, and got me expelled. It cost me the last semester and, crucially, my SATs. I missed my chance at a normal life, all because of his petty spite. Ten years later, and here he was, still not finished. “Sullivan, are you completely insane? Anya Reid was the school’s golden girl. What makes you think she’d ever look at a loser like you?” This was Toby Jenkins, our former gym-class captain, now, inexplicably, the VP of Development at Harrington Corp. He must have spent the last decade polishing Brock’s shoes. “Besides, the future Mrs. Harrington is marrying into real power. Brock is practically Bayport royalty. What are you, a guy who couldn’t even get a high school diploma? Where does that confidence come from?” I’ve never liked pointless arguments. I turned to walk away, but a circle of my former classmates immediately blocked my path. “Hey, being expelled isn’t a crime, Dean,” one of them chirped. “Don’t rush off. We haven’t seen each other in ten years. Stay and celebrate with us, have a drink.” Toby quickly chimed in, “Yeah, what’s the rush? Don’t you want to catch up with old friends?” I fought to keep my fury contained, my eyes locked on Toby. “No, I don’t. I came because Anya texted me. From now on, don’t include me in your irrelevant gatherings.” “Hold it right there!” Brock, who had been watching the scene unfold from the sofa, suddenly straightened up. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Sullivan?” he demanded. “You think you’re too good to drink with us?” That was all the cue the peanut gallery needed. “Ooh, the expelled high school dropout looks down on us?” “Yeah, your straight-A grades didn’t do you any good, did they? Still couldn’t get a diploma!” My attempt to leave quietly had turned into a public spectacle, all because of one line from Brock. The old adage felt painfully true: birds of a feather. “Yes, fine. I admit you all have better lives than me. Happy?” I tried to turn once more, but a familiar silhouette was suddenly in front of me. “Dean. Long time. Are you… doing okay now?” Seeing my former crush again hit me with a complicated wave of emotions. Back in high school, ninety percent of the guys at Northwood had loved Anya Reid. I was the other ten who just wanted to watch her be happy. “Captain Sullivan, why aren’t you talking? Don’t you remember me?” She reached out a hand to wave it in front of my face. That’s when I saw the heavy, glittering engagement ring on her ring finger. I took a deep breath, forcing a slight smile. “I’m doing great,” I said. “You, on the other hand… why didn’t you send an invite before deciding to get married?” Anya’s gaze immediately clouded over. “My grandmother needs a major surgery. It’s a massive expense, and Brock… he said he’d handle it.” Her voice broke at the end. “I see,” I murmured. The heavy weight in my chest, the one that feared she might have actually chosen him, finally eased. “If you’d just sent me a text before tonight, Anya, maybe I could have helped.” The second the words left my mouth, a loud, sharp sound split the silence. CRACK! Five vivid, red finger marks appeared instantly on Anya’s pale cheek. “You bitch! Who the hell gave you permission to talk to this loser?” Brock’s bellow silenced the room completely. He swaggered over, a cruel smirk twisting his mouth as he held a champagne flute. “I’m in a foul mood now,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. “You know what you need to do to fix it.” He grabbed the fabric of her silk dress, and with a sickening tear, began to rip it away. “Brock, please! Not here, there are too many people!” Anya struggled to pull away from his grip, but the arrogant Young Harrington wasn’t about to be denied. “Still playing the innocent goddess, huh? Take the damn clothes off, right now!” he hissed. “If you don’t service me properly tonight, your grandmother, waiting for surgery in that hospital, might just find her case… dropped.” Anya buried her face in her hands, silent tears streaming out. As she began to sink to her knees, I pushed myself forward. “Stop it!” 2 A collective gasp went around the room. No one, not a single person, expected the high school punching bag, the quiet kid they’d bullied for three years, to publicly challenge the privileged son of the Chairman. “A hero, are we, Sullivan?” Brock clapped his hands mockingly, and the private room door burst open again. A dozen enormous, black-suited security guards instantly flooded the space. “This is a surprise. I didn’t think there was anyone left in Bayport who had the audacity to lecture me.” My hands curled into fists, but my voice was cold and level. “Brock, for the sake of old times, I’m warning you. Don’t push this too far.” Brock threw his head back and roared with laughter. “What? Did I hear that right? Captain Sullivan, are you… threatening me?” Anya, sensing the dangerous shift in the atmosphere, quickly stepped out from behind me. “Mr. Harrington, he absolutely didn’t mean that. Dean’s just… making a bad joke.” She turned to me, blinking frantically, trying to signal me to back down. “Dean, you know better than to talk to Mr. Harrington like that.” I knew she was trying to save me, but I was done taking cues from anyone in this room. “I’m not joking,” I stated, my gaze fixed on Brock. “I am warning him.” BANG! Brock smashed his champagne flute on the floor. “You son of a bitch, I called you ‘Captain’ out of courtesy, and now you think you’re actually important, is that it?” I was about to retort when Anya frantically pulled me aside. “Dean, I know you want to help, but his father is a massive figure here! The founder of the Harrington Group! If you cross him, you won’t even find a job in Bayport, let alone the city!” A mere billionaire can cost me my job? If I hadn’t been stone-cold sober, I’d have thought I was dreaming. Given my position, only a direct order from the highest levels of the Federal government could override my appointment. The Harrington fortune couldn’t even touch the lowest rung of my organization. I gently squeezed Anya’s hand, a silent signal not to worry, and turned back to Brock. “If you’re reacting this way because Ms. Reid spoke to me, then let me make something clear.” I paused, letting the silence expand. “I don’t approve of this engagement.” The room erupted. “Oh my God, has he lost his mind? He’s trying to steal Brock Harrington’s fiancée?” “It’s been ten years, and this guy is still acting like some kind of naïve jock with zero self-preservation.” “The Harringtons get whatever they want in this town! This idiot has no idea who he’s dealing with.” As the insults grew louder, Brock’s expression became smugly superior. “Drunk on cheap whiskey, are we, kid? Trying to be tough?” he challenged. “You’re a high school dropout. What exactly do you think you have to compete with me for anything, least of all a woman?” I ignored him, my attention fixed on Anya, who was still frozen in disbelief. “Tell me, Anya. Do you love him?” She instinctively shook her head, then immediately tried to correct herself. “Dean, I appreciate the thought, but I have to marry him. Otherwise, my grandmother’s surgery…” I gently wiped a tear from her cheek, my eyes unwavering. “Forget all that. You only need to answer one question.” “Are you coming with me?” Her voice cracked as she spoke. “Dean, I want to go with you, but…” I cut her off. “Ms. Reid, the world doesn’t deal in ‘buts.’ You told me once, back in AP History, to stop overthinking and act. Did you forget?” Anya bit her lip hard. Then, in one decisive movement, she ripped the engagement ring from her finger and dropped it onto the carpet. At that moment, a furious roar came from behind me. “You bitch! Are you sure about this?”

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My ground-floor unit came with a spacious patio, and for three years, I’d poured my life into cultivating one thing: the roses. Every May, they were a cascading tapestry of color and scent, and the entire subdivision was drenched in their perfume. The HOA notice came in: “A joint complaint signed by 260 homeowners demands the immediate removal of your rose wall, citing inadequate light.” I laughed. A cold, flat sound. They lived on the seventh and eighth floors. Did they think the roses could climb to the sky? But I followed the instructions anyway. The following summer, the mosquito population in the subdivision exploded. It was biblical. The HOA group chat was a disaster zone: “Why are there so many mosquitoes this year? We can’t even open our windows at night!” The property manager slid into my DMs: “Ms. Willow, is there any way you could possibly plant the roses back? We understand that particular variety may have acted as a repellent…” I smiled and closed the heavy, custom-fitted screen door. 1 The cold light of the phone screen illuminated my utterly calm face. In the homeowner’s group chat, the property manager’s post—the one specifically tagging me—was pinned there like a cold, official decree. “@Willow Hayes, regarding the climbing rose wall in your patio at 101, we have received a joint complaint signed by 260 homeowners demanding its immediate removal.” Official. Courteous. But radiating an unassailable, collective pressure. 260 households. Our entire subdivision held just over three hundred. The number felt like a granite boulder slamming into my chest, provoking not a splash of distress but a sharp, mocking laugh. I had cultivated this rose wall for three years. From bare, muddy soil to the current, vibrant waterfall of blooms, the effort and devotion I’d poured into it felt no less than raising a child. Every May, the thousands of flowers—a living cascade of blush pink and crimson—were a flowing tapestry that drenched half the neighborhood in its perfume. Now, it was a liability. A menace. A bright red profile picture flashed in the chat. It was Brenda, our community social committee leader, a middle-aged woman running on pure, overweening social committee energy. “@Property Manager! Yes! It must be cut down! We homeowners are suffering!” Her comment was the match. The group chat instantly became a powder keg. “This rose wall has three major offenses!” Brenda’s voice felt like it was shrieking through the glass, carrying an undeniable, aggressive authority. “First, it blocks the light for our high-rise units! That huge wall is blotting out the sun!” My neighbor from the seventh floor chimed in immediately: “Exactly! My unit loses sunlight in the late afternoon now!” I almost laughed out loud. My patio faced the north side of the building. The roses barely reached the second-story window ledges. They were blocking the sunlight for the seventh floor? Did they think the sun rose from the asphalt? “Second, it attracts vermin and insects! It’s terrifying! What if rats or snakes get into our units? This is a severe safety hazard!” Brenda continued her performance. “Right! Right! Last week I swear I saw a dark shape dart across the lawn!” “It’s horrifying! Imagine if a child got bitten!” I narrowed my eyes, my finger hovering over the screen. In three years, I hadn’t seen a large moth, let alone a snake, in my garden. The unique fragrance of the roses was a natural insect repellent. “Third, and most important! Allergies! My grandson is only five, and every time we walk past that wall, he starts sneezing and breaks out in hives! If he develops asthma, who will be held responsible?” This line—the appeal to the health of the children—was a perfect, calculated strike against the soft underbelly of every parent and grandparent in the community. “Oh my god, that serious?” “To have a personal hobby that endangers the whole community’s children is just selfish!” “Cut it down! Immediately!” Dozens of profiles flashed, everyone claiming deep suffering, as if my rose wall was the root of all evil. The same neighbors who had stopped by my fence, complimented the blooms, and inhaled the sweet fragrance with blissful expressions, had now transformed into vicious executioners, waving their keyboards to crucify me. This was my community. A mob easily whipped into a frenzy. I took a deep breath, my fingers tapping out a reply, my tone as detached as an outside observer. “Do you have evidence that my roses block the light for the seventh and eighth floors? Please provide simultaneous light contrast photographs. Has a snake or vermin entered anyone’s home? Please provide a picture or video. As for pollen allergies, please submit a specialist’s report confirming the allergen is the rose variety in question.” My reply was a bucket of ice water on boiling oil. After a brief, stunned silence, the eruption was even more violent. Brenda was momentarily speechless, then launched into a full-scale emotional attack. “How dare you speak to us like that, young lady? Are the collective feelings of this many neighbors not enough evidence? You are selfish! You prioritize your little hobby over the collective good of the entire community! Do you have any respect for your neighbors?” “Seriously, young people today are so insolent!” “One person against the whole community—and she thinks she’s right?” “Let her know: if she doesn’t cut it, we’ll do it ourselves!” The vitriol was a flood, rushing in with staggering force. They had abandoned all pretense of logic, venting pure, unadulterated malice. I looked at the ugly words, and my heart chilled, inch by inch. Three years of neighborly good grace, of polite smiles and greetings, had been exposed as a complete joke. My phone vibrated. It was a private message from Eleanor, the retired schoolteacher who lived in the unit next door. “Willow, don’t let them get to you. These people are just bored and being used by Brenda. Don’t take it to heart.” Eleanor was the only person who had offered me warmth in this cold, concrete jungle. I sent back a “Thumbs Up” emoji, a calming signal. Then, without another word, I began taking screenshots. Every single inflammatory comment, every ID, every profile picture. I saved them meticulously into a new folder labeled “Evidence.” The property manager messaged me privately again. His tone was far more cordial than in the group chat, but the implied threat was sharper. “Ms. Hayes, look… everyone is quite worked up. We’re trying to maintain community harmony. If you don’t handle this, they are threatening to take more aggressive action. It could get ugly.” “Aggressive action” meant trespassing, vandalism, a mob mentality. They were using the logic of the bully to threaten me. Fine. Perfectly fine. I stared at the text for a long time, then typed a calm reply. “Understood. I will handle it.” I put my phone down and walked to the window, looking out at the mass of roses silently releasing their fragrance into the night. The evening breeze rustled the leaves, the flower shadows swaying as if in a final farewell. I smiled, a smile devoid of all warmth. They wanted a world without roses? Fine. I would give it to them. 02 The next morning, the sun was bright and clear. I called the landscaping company I had contacted the day before. Thirty minutes later, two men in work gear, carrying a full set of tools, arrived at my door. “Ms. Hayes, you need a trim and shaping? Your roses are stunning, a beautiful variety. A little trim will make them even better,” the lead worker said, his eyes full of admiration. I handed them chilled bottled water, my voice flat, without a hint of emotion. “Not a trim.” I paused, meeting their eyes. “A complete purge. Root and stem.” The smiles froze on their faces. They exchanged baffled glances, clearly not believing me. “Ms. Hayes, are you serious? This is a magnificent wall. How many years have you cultivated this? It would be a huge waste to cut it all down!” “No waste,” I said quietly. “Just do as I ask. Dig up all the roots. Make sure nothing can sprout again.” Seeing my resolute stance, the workers, though clearly mournful, had no choice but to start. The high-pitched whine of the electric saw quickly shattered the morning peace of the subdivision. Just as I expected, before long, Brenda, leading a group of her associates, gathered outside my patio fence like vultures scenting blood. Arms crossed, they stood there, ostensibly “supervising,” but their faces were alight with undisguised smugness. “Well, well. Finally decided to cut it down?” Brenda’s voice was pitched high, loud enough to ensure every passerby heard her. “I knew it! Personal little feelings mean nothing when it comes to the collective good!” “Exactly. It’s so much brighter here now! We’ll have all this space to hang our laundry!” “Forget laundry! I think this spot is wide open for a nice Zumba session tonight! Smooth concrete!” They chattered and cackled, shamelessly planning the use of the public space right outside my fence, acting as if it were already their property. I ignored their clamor. I stood to one side, watching the workers with a blank expression. The thick vines were sawed off one by one. The wall of green that had embraced the fence came crashing down, a heap of broken branches and dying petals. This was the landscape I had nurtured, pruned, and trained with my own hands for three years. Now, it was being systematically dismembered and destroyed right in front of me. My chest felt like it was being methodically sawed open by a dull blade, the pain so profound it had already gone numb. I turned my back, not allowing anyone to see my expression. “Deeper on the roots, please,” I commanded calmly. “Every main root and lateral root must be removed.” Brenda and her posse’s cheerful shouts formed the hideous soundtrack to this execution. Two hours later, the vibrant rose wall was gone, replaced by a patch of ugly, overturned soil. It looked like a site of utter desecration, an open wound. Brenda started clapping, and the group joined in with triumphant cheers, as if they had won a great and noble battle. “See? This is what harmony looks like! Everyone contributes!” Brenda preened, looking at me like a victorious general. I pulled out my phone and, in front of everyone, paid the landscaping crew their fee. The workers shook their heads, mumbling “a tragedy” as they left. I did not close the gate immediately. I leaned against the doorframe and dialed another number. “Hello, is this Apex Windows? I need to book an installation for your highest-grade mosquito screens. Yes, for the entire house, kitchen and bathrooms included. The steel mesh security type. The best you have. How soon can you install them? The sooner the better.” My voice was low, but in the silence that followed the crowd’s chatter, it carried clearly to every ear. Brenda paused, then burst into exaggerated laughter, as if I’d told a hysterical joke. “Oh my goodness, she cut the flowers because they attracted mosquitoes, and now she’s spending money on screens? Does she have cash to burn? What an absolute fool!” The women around her chuckled and scoffed in agreement. I hung up the phone, slowly lifted my gaze, and looked over their heads into the distance. Then, my eyes drifted back, settling finally on Brenda’s gloating face. I offered her a slow, deeply meaningful smile. There was no anger in it, no resentment. Only a hint of chilling pity that they were utterly incapable of understanding. I said nothing, simply turned, and closed the patio door, sealing myself inside, shutting out their smugness and their scorn. That night, under the cover of darkness, I opened a new package. Inside were several bags of black, grainy seeds. I walked out onto the patch of desolate, upturned earth. Facing the cool night breeze, I scattered the unknown seeds evenly over the soil. When I was finished, I brushed the dirt from my hands. The game, I thought, had only just begun.

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