Category: English

After rocking the world of the Julian Thorne—heir to the Thorne empire—for one wild, unforgettable night, the System gave me a notification: Time to skedaddle. His “destined” Female Lead was coming online. I fled the hospital that very night, but I didn’t leave empty-handed. I stole something of his. Four years later. My daughter got into a fight at kindergarten. The teacher called both parents. I rushed over, only to find a terrifyingly familiar man crouching in front of my child, begging for an answer. “Tell me, little one… what is your mommy’s name?” 1 “Hailey!” The man froze. “What? Not Harper?” The little girl wrinkled her nose. “Mister, you might be handsome, but you can’t just go around changing my mommy’s name.” “Impossible… absolutely impossible…” The man, usually so composed and commanding, shook his head in disbelief. He dropped to one knee, reaching out as if to hug this miniature version of himself. But when the girl stepped back in fear, his hand dropped to his side, defeated. “Little one, how old are you?” She pouted. “Mommy said I can’t talk to strangers.” “Strangers…” The man sucked in a sharp breath, the blood draining from his handsome face. The teacher standing nearby was totally lost. Here’s the tea: during playtime this afternoon, the best-behaved girl in class got into a brawl with the class bully. The bully, despite his size, got absolutely wrecked by my little girl. The bully’s dad? The CEO of Thorne Corp. Rumor had it Julian Thorne spoiled his wife and son rotten. The Thorne family treated that boy like a golden egg. Meanwhile, my daughter comes from a single-parent home. Just me and her against the world. We were supposed to be toast. Sure enough, Julian Thorne stormed in with an entourage. But when he realized the other parent was late, just as he was about to explode, he caught a glimpse of the little girl standing in time-out. His face changed instantly. He ignored his own son—who was stomping his feet and crying “Dad! Daddy! Dad!”—and started grilling my daughter. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was the one who got called in for her. 2 I was hiding outside the door, my heart hammering against my ribs like a drum solo. I couldn’t go in, couldn’t run away. [System! We have a Code Red! Where are you? You said we wouldn’t cross paths again!] My palms were sweating against the door handle. I watched through the crack. My daughter was still in there. I had to go in. Even though the System had tweaked my appearance a bit, if Julian recognized me, the game was over. He’d find out about Lily. Would he try to take her from me? While I was hesitating, a cheerful voice piped up behind me. “Lily’s mom? Why are you standing out here?” “Don’t worry, we’re just here to resolve a little conflict.” A teacher I recognized reached past me and threw the door open. 3 I stumbled into the office under the gaze of everyone in the room. My daughter stood ramrod straight, her little face tense with stubbornness. But the second she saw me, the tears fell. She threw herself into my arms. “Mommy!” Her tears soaked my shirt. My heart shattered. I held her tight. She was such a tough cookie. She’d held it together all this time, refusing to cry in front of them. But seeing me broke the dam. I patted her back gently, whispering comforts while fishing a couple of gummy bears out of my pocket. A sharp, predatory gaze had locked onto me the moment I entered. Now, it felt like a physical weight on my shoulder. Suffocating. I didn’t look at the man. I turned to the teacher. “He started it!” the bully yelled. “We were playing House. I wanted to be the Daddy, but she said she didn’t need one! She said her house is fine with just a Mommy!” “How can she not need a Daddy? She didn’t pop out of a rock!” My voice went cold. “And? What else?” I didn’t believe my daughter would throw hands over just that. She’s heard “no dad” taunts before. If she hit people every time she heard that, she’d be a UFC champion by now. The bully went quiet, glancing at his father. Julian stood there, eyes icy. “What else did you say?” he asked his son. “I said… everyone has a dad. My mommy said only bad kids get thrown away by their dads.” The room went silent. Kids can be so cruel in their innocence. I took a deep breath, fighting the urge to punt a child across the room. I turned my daughter around and checked her for injuries. Then I walked up to the bully. “Did you scratch her neck?” The kid was spoiled, but faced with an angry adult, he panicked. He tugged his dad’s pant leg. No reaction. Tears welled up. I ignored his father completely. “Apologize to Lily. Now.” The bully glared at me. “No!” He shoved me and tried to run. I grabbed him by the collar, lifting him like a chicken. “Your dad won’t teach you?” I glanced at the gloomy man beside me. “Fine. I will.” The teacher looked ready to intervene, but Julian stopped her with a look. Teacher: ??? “Let me go! Do you know who my mom is?!” The brat kicked his legs. “I don’t care who your mom is. Apologize, or we stay here all night.” Suddenly, a flash of pink rushed into my vision. The weight in my hand vanished. Slap! A stinging pain exploded across my cheek. A petite, well-dressed woman snatched the boy, hugged him, and screamed at the teacher. “You were just going to watch this crazy woman assault my son? I’m suing this school!” She glared at me, then tugged Julian’s sleeve. “Hubby, call the police!” My face burned. I felt a trickle of blood—her diamond nail art had cut me. Lily saw the blood and started wailing, hugging my leg. “Mommy, I’m sorry! I apologize! I’m sorry!” My heart twisted. I looked at the family of three opposite me. I’d never met her, but I knew exactly who she was. Gemma. The Female Lead. 4 In the car. Silence. I took Lily to McDonald’s. She just sat there, picking at the placemat. Her silence hurt more than the scratch on my face. The principal had stepped in to de-escalate things. Gemma left threatening to sue everyone. Julian just stared at Lily. I shielded her from his gaze. For four years, I raised her alone, surviving on the System’s mission rewards. I never figured out how to explain the “missing father” part. Today, it blew up in my face. I thought about the bully—Jett. Strong, loud, fearless. A kid raised in a honey pot. And he was the same age as Lily… So, I left, and the Female Lead stepped right in. She conquered the heart I spent three years trying to warm up. Did he fall for her at first sight, too? “Mommy…” A soft voice broke my trance. A strawberry shake was pushed toward me. “Mommy, you drink it.” Lily’s eyes were red, her face stubborn but cute. “I thought you wanted this?” I asked. I usually limited her sugar, so this was a rare treat. “I want Mommy to be happy.” She muttered, “I was wrong today.” “What did you do wrong?” “I didn’t beat Jett fast enough.” She clenched a tiny fist. “Next time, I won’t lose!” I laughed through my tears and ruffled her hair. “Mommy was wrong too. I shouldn’t have asked for an apology. I should have just spanked him!” The image of Jett flying through the air made Lily giggle. We shared a Happy Meal and planned our next playground strategy. We didn’t notice the luxury car parked across the street. Or that it followed us all the way home.

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I was the slow one. The one who never quite caught up. The day my sister came to pick me up from school, she was dragged into an alley, brutalized, and murdered. I was the only witness. Mom and Dad gripped my neck, their eyes red and blazing. “Tell us! You saw him, didn’t you? Say it out loud!” I opened my mouth, but the sound was trapped behind my teeth. In a fit of rage, they threw me out of the house. Unable to care for myself, I ended up on the streets—begging, scavenging for garbage, sleeping under the city bridges. Until the day a man in a black suit found me. He said he was my sister’s fiancé. Dean. He crouched down, looking straight into my eyes, his voice barely a whisper: “I can take you to a place where we can replay the moment you saw that day.” “But the cost is your life.” My grimy hand clenched the stained fabric of my sleeve. I nodded hard. “I’ll do it.” What was there to fear about death? I was afraid of forgetting… forgetting whose face my sister saw last. 1 The light of the high-powered broadcast lamps was blinding, aimed directly at my face as I lay on the Memory Retrieval Stand. The auditorium below was packed. Cameras, like dull black eyes, stared at me. They said this entire process was being live-streamed to the world. Dean, the man who called himself my sister’s love, stood beside me, his expression unreadable. “It’s not too late to back out.” I shook my head. Just then, a commotion erupted at the entrance. I looked up and saw Mom and Dad rushing in. The moment Mom saw me, tears streamed down her face, but the words that followed were like shards of glass: “You heartless thing! Your sister was so good to you, buying you candy, picking you up from school… and she died such a horrific death…” “You clearly saw the killer, so why didn’t you speak up?!” Dad’s eyes were bloodshot, his voice hoarse: “We raised you for this long. Even if you were slow, we never once resented you!” “But you? Is this how you repay your sister?” A wave of hushed chatter swept through the audience. The cameras swiveled toward my parents. Mom was crying so hard she could barely stand: “You were always jealous of your sister, weren’t you?” “Jealous because she was smart, because she was beautiful, because everyone loved her…” “But did you know, she never once looked down on you, her slow little sister!” “She didn’t even have to pick you up that day! She did it because she worried about you, worried the other kids would pick on you…” Mom’s voice rose to a shriek: “She died because of you! Do you even realize that?!” I stared blankly at their hysterical faces, and my eyes slowly filled with tears. So… they really did hate me that much. In everyone’s eyes, I was the reason Soph died. Dean’s hand pressed lightly on my shoulder. He murmured, “Your sister… she wouldn’t blame you.” I turned my head and looked at him, asking softly, “If I go through with the Memory Retrieval, the person who hurt my sister will be caught, won’t they?” Dean was silent for a moment, then nodded: “Yes. Live, globally broadcast evidence. Everyone will see the truth of that day.” “Then let’s start.” Dean looked at me again. “But it’s going to hurt a lot.” He gestured to the center of the stand, where a long, thick silver probe stood upright. “See that needle? It’s going to pierce your skull and enter your cerebral cortex to read your memory.” “The deeper the memory, the deeper it goes.” “You need to pull the very deepest layers—the scene of the crime. So… it will go very, very deep.” I froze for two seconds, then my gaze drifted back to my parents, still crying and cursing below the stage. Then I smiled faintly. “I’m not afraid of pain.” Dean’s brow furrowed. “If catching the killer is the only way to help my sister,” “And if it means Mom and Dad can forgive me… I don’t care how much it hurts.” Dean was silent for a long time. Finally, he looked at the doctor in the white coat and nodded: “Proceed.” The doctor stepped forward, his eyes sweeping over me before turning to Dean: “Mr. Dean, once the Memory Retrieval process begins, it cannot be stopped.” “The neural extraction is irreversible. Upon completion, the patient will suffer catastrophic brain damage resulting in brain death.” He paused. “Should we inform the patient’s family of the risks beforehand?” I spoke immediately: “No! Don’t!” My voice was quiet, yet firm and absolute. Everyone looked at me. I met Dean’s gaze, my eyes unwavering: “Please don’t tell them yet… okay?” Below the stage, Mom was still weeping; Dad’s face was dark with anger, staring up at the platform. Dean’s Adam’s apple bobbed once. “…All right.” Two nurses approached, helping me lie down on the cold metal stand. My body was secured with restraints—at the wrists, ankles, and across the chest and abdomen. Finally, a metal halo was clamped around my forehead. A nurse approached with a syringe, injecting a cold liquid into my vein. The world began to blur. Above me, the long silver probe slowly descended, its needle-tip perfectly aligned with the center of my forehead. The next moment, Mom’s horrified voice suddenly cut through the air: “Stop, hold on!” 2 My eyes snapped open, a flicker of hope igniting in my chest. Mom, was she worried about me? The very next second, her cold voice returned: “Doctor, please make absolutely certain that you retrieve the events of that day.” “If it means getting the truth, you don’t need to worry about her body.” Dad chimed in: “That’s right, money is no object. We’ll pay extra if you guarantee you can catch the killer who murdered Soph!” A sharp, stabbing pain twisted in my heart, and tears spilled out, uncontrollable. After hearing their words, Dean’s gaze darkened, a flash of pity crossing his eyes. The retrieval continued. The silver probe pierced my forehead and entered my skull. The drilling pain was excruciating; my entire body convulsed. I bit down hard on my teeth. I could feel warm blood trickling out, seeping into my ears, matting my hair. The first memory appeared on the main screen. The image shook violently, like a scene viewed through tears. A gray sky, black funeral streamers, and Soph’s portrait displayed in the center of the wake. I was kneeling on the floor. The room was full of people, everyone dressed in black. Mom was draped over Soph’s casket, her sobs tearing through the air. Dad stood beside her, his eyes swollen, his body shaking uncontrollably. Suddenly, Mom spun around and rushed towards me, clutching my shoulders until her fingers dug deep into my flesh: “Lucy, tell me! What happened that day?” “You saw it, didn’t you? Tell Mommy, who killed your sister…” Her fingernails nearly punctured my skin. Her voice was sharp and grating: “Say it! Just tell us!” I looked up, tears streaming down my face. “I’m sorry… I really can’t remember…” Mom’s voice spiked: “How can you not remember?! Your sister died right in front of you!” She suddenly grabbed my hair and slammed my head down onto the floor. “Thud!” My forehead hit the tile hard. “Bow to your sister! Apologize to her!” Another blow. “We’ve been so good to you, how can you do this to your sister?!” “Thud!” A spot of bright red blood stained the tile. “How could you forget? How could you forget!” In the image, my forehead was a bloody mess, my eyes wide, the pupils reflecting my sister’s funeral photo. Blood flowed down my temples, mixing with tears, dripping onto the floor. I didn’t struggle. I just let Mom force my head down, bowing it to the ground, over and over. Everyone in the room watched. No one stepped in to stop her. I knelt at my sister’s wake for an entire day and night. The day after Soph’s burial, Mom tossed a large, bundled sack at my feet. “Lucy,” she pointed toward the door, “Get out!” “When you remember what happened that day, then you can come back.” “If you never remember, never come home.” “I don’t have a daughter like you.” I froze, staring numbly at the sack, then looking up at Mom. “Mom…” “Don’t call me Mom!” she screamed, “I don’t have a daughter like you!” Dad walked over, silently grabbed my arm, and dragged me toward the exit. I finally registered what was happening and cried out, latching onto Mom’s leg: “Mom, I’m sorry… I’ll try to remember…” “Please don’t send me away… Mom…” “I’m scared…” Dad pried my fingers off her leg, one by one. He was so strong; my fingers ached with the force. The front door opened. I was shoved outside. The sack landed at my feet. “Slam—” The heavy door shut in my face. I knelt on the ground, pounding hard on the wood: “Mom… Dad…” “I’m sorry… I’m really sorry…” There was no response from inside. After a very long time, exhausted from crying, I picked up the sack. Dragging my bleeding forehead, I stumbled down the stairs, one step at a time. As I walked out of the apartment building, I looked back at the fourth-floor window. The curtains were tightly drawn. The screen went dark. The auditorium was utterly silent. Suddenly, Dad’s furious voice exploded: “What is this?! This is not what we came here to see!!” Mom shrieked as well: “We need the truth about Soph’s murder!! What happened in that alley?!” “Continue! Keep going deeper!” A murmur of discussion arose in the audience. Dean looked at the screen, then at me, lying pale and still on the stand, his lips moving wordlessly. The doctor sighed, his voice echoing over the microphone: “First layer of memory extraction complete. As the memory deepens, the pain the patient experiences will continually escalate.” “The nervous system is undergoing extreme stress, which may lead to extraction interruption or…” His sentence was cut short by Dad: “Continue. Any price is acceptable as long as the killer is caught.” Mom covered her face, weeping: “We just want the truth!” 3 The doctor looked at Dean. Dean stood silent for a long time, his knuckles white where he gripped the railing. “…Continue.” The doctor operated the control panel. The silver probe, once again, began to drill slowly toward the deeper layers. “Agh—!!!” I couldn’t stop the scream that ripped from my throat. My mind felt like a red-hot iron rod was being plunged in and twisted. My whole body began to convulse violently. Sweat instantly soaked my thin clothes; veins bulged on my forehead. The screen lit up again. This time, the image showed me cornered by a group of boys. “Look, it’s Lucy the slowpoke!” “Hey, little dummy, playing in the dirt again?” As they spoke, they picked up small pebbles and trash from the ground and tossed them at me. I looked up, staring at them blankly. “Look at her, she can’t even cry! Definitely a dummy!” “Let’s bury her in the sand pit?” “Yeah!” Amidst the jeering, a dirty hand suddenly grabbed my arm and yanked hard. I lost my balance and tumbled into the deep sandbox. “Bury her!” “Yeah! Bury the dummy!” Several pairs of hands held me down amidst the excited shouts. Heavy sand began to pour onto my head and body. It was heavy, pressing the air out of my lungs. The sand rose past my waist, moving up toward my chest. I was going to be buried alive. I couldn’t move, and I couldn’t scream. Just as the sand was about to cover my shoulders— “What are you doing?! Get away from my sister!!” A clear voice rang out. It was Soph! Soph, with her high ponytail, stood by the edge of the pit, hands on her hips. The sunlight hit her just right; she seemed to glow. “You’re bullying my sister?” Soph’s voice was fierce. “Want me to tell the principal?” The boys hesitated for a moment and let go of me. “Sophia, your sister is a dummy anyway…” “Say that again?” Soph took a step forward, her eyes wide and round. “My sister is not a dummy! She just… she just processes things a little slower!” “She’s kinder than all of you put together!” Intimidated by her presence, the boys mumbled excuses and ran away. Soph rushed over, clawed the sand away, and pulled me up. Her eyes were full of worry: “Luce, are you okay? Are you hurt?” I shook my head, but tears started to fall anyway. “Don’t cry, don’t cry.” Soph pulled me into a hug, gently patting my back. “It’s okay, Luce, Soph is here.” “If anyone bullies you again, you tell me right away.” “I’ll protect you, okay?” In the memory, I buried my head in Soph’s shoulder, sobbing softly. Soph smelled like clean soap. Her hands were so warm. Below the stage. Mom was slumped in her chair, weeping. “Soph… my Soph was always so good…” “She was kind to everyone… especially her slow little sister…” Dad’s eyes were also red, his voice choked with emotion: “Soph was responsible from a young age, always looking out for her sister…” Dean stared at the screen, his eyes fixed, filled with a deep, aching remembrance of his fiancée. The next second, Mom suddenly turned, glaring at me on the platform, her voice cracking: “Lucy! Look! Look how good your sister was to you!” “How could you… how could you forget how she died?!” Dad pointed at me, his face ravaged with grief and anger: “Lucy, what happened that day? Your sister loved you so much, why won’t you just say it?!” “Did you really see something… that you’re refusing to tell us?” I lay on the Retrieval Stand, listening to their demands. Tears slid down my temples. I want to say it, too. Mom and Dad. I want to know what happened that day. I want to know who killed Soph. But I… I really can’t remember. Deep inside my brain, a sharp, sudden pain erupted. The silver probe began to release electrical currents. “Mmph…” I arched violently, and a mouthful of blood sprayed from my throat. 4 “Blood pressure plummeting! Massive neural shock!” The doctor’s alarmed cries were drowned out by my parents’ increasingly frantic screams: “Don’t worry about that! The picture! We need the scene from the alley! Continue! Go on!” Dean suddenly lunged forward, slamming his fist onto the edge of the control console: “I want the truth just as much as you, but can’t you see she’s dying?!” “I don’t care!” Mom’s eyes were scarlet. “She owes this to Soph! Her life’s only purpose now is this moment!” The red haze in my vision intensified, but the pain made my hearing unnaturally sharp. Amidst the chaos, the probe in my brain twisted violently again. “Agh—!” A new wave of agonizing pain exploded. The screen flickered violently, then lit up with a blinding white flash. This time, the scene was from the days after my parents threw me out. I was cornered in an abandoned construction site by a few trashy young men. There were broken bricks on the ground, and the air was thick with dust. “Hey, little dummy, heard your folks ditched you?” The leader, a skinny guy with yellow hair, poked my shoulder with a stick. “Guess if we rough you up, nobody cares, huh?” I pressed myself against the damp wall, shaking, but clutching a sharp piece of broken brick in my hand. “Got a nasty glare, don’t you?” Another one stepped up and slapped me across the face. The sting was immediate and searing. But clearer than the pain were the fragments of my parents’ whispered words echoing in my mind— “She needs to suffer a little, then she’ll be afraid, then she’ll try harder to remember…” “Soph can’t have died in vain… this is to force her…” The memory clips flashed back. Mom secretly slipping cash to the thugs in the alley; Dad whispering into the phone, “Give her a good scare, make her taste a little hardship.” So, the people who had stolen my food, slammed me to the ground, and even tried to tear my clothes off… They had all been arranged by Mom and Dad. My heart shattered completely at that moment. “Agh—!” I suddenly let out a scream, clutching the jagged brick, and lunged wildly at the men. They seemed stunned by my unexpected resistance. They wrestled me to the ground and started smashing rocks onto my head. The screen image shook violently, mixed with crude curses and the sounds of impacts. Not until I was covered in blood, lying motionless on the ground, did the thugs curse and walk away. My vision slowly blurred. A pair of polished leather shoes stopped right in front of my sight line. It was Dean. He looked down at me, his eyes complex and hard to read. “Lucy, do you want revenge for your sister?” I opened my mouth, but only bloody foam came out. “I know a way to pull the images you saw that day… out of your mind.” He paused. “But the process is incredibly painful. And, you will…” Before Dean could finish, the screen image switched again. Finally, it was the scene in the alley that day. I had my backpack on. Soph was standing across the street, waving and smiling at me. She was wearing a new dress today; she looked beautiful. My eyes lit up, and I started to run across. Just as I stepped onto the crosswalk and reached my sister’s side— A tall figure, wearing a black mask and a baseball cap, lunged out of the side alley like a phantom. He clapped a hand over Soph’s mouth and brutally dragged her into the dark, narrow side street. Soph’s startled cry was muffled. Her eyes were wide with terror as she desperately kicked her legs. I was stunned, instinctively rushing forward, trying to grab her hand. The attacker didn’t even look back. He just swung his leg and delivered a vicious kick to my stomach. “Thwack!” I flew backward, my head slamming hard against the sidewalk. A blinding pain and vertigo instantly overwhelmed me, and warm liquid began to spread from the back of my skull. My vision began to swim and blur. No sound could escape my throat. But I fought to keep my eyes wide open, staring into the depths of the alley. In the dim light, Soph was pinned to the ground. She struggled wildly, her fingers grasping uselessly at the air. The attacker seemed enraged by her resistance. He suddenly raised his hand— In that fraction of a second, Soph lunged upward and grabbed— “Rrrrip—” The black mask was ripped clean off his face! The faint light from the alley streetlamp illuminated the face that was suddenly exposed.

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The new kid, a brooding transfer student, became my deskmate. Everyone said he was antisocial, violent, and rebellious—convinced he’d bully me mercilessly. I didn’t think so. When I snuck snacks in class, he never snitched. He always smelled faintly of BBQ, making my mouth water. Later, during a school blackout… He turned to me, his handsome face flushing slightly. “Serena, I l…” Suddenly, a loud GURGLE interrupted him. I hugged my bucket of instant hot pot and asked, “What’s wrong? Want some?” The Villain: “…” The bullet comments went wild: [LMAO! The gloomy villain finally falls in love, and it’s with a total glutton!] Chapter 1 It was the start of senior year. When the homeroom teacher led a boy in a school uniform into the classroom, I was hunched over, burying my head in my desk to secretly gnaw on a bagel. Post-summer break syndrome hit hard. I couldn’t sleep last night and couldn’t wake up this morning. But I couldn’t learn on an empty stomach, so I had to sneak-eat. Just as I was chewing with my cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk, the teacher spoke up. “This is our new transfer student, Silas Vance.” I looked up. A boy stood on the podium, expressionless. His features were striking, marred only by a faint scar near his eyebrow, which somehow added a rebellious edge to his look. Whispers rippled through the class. “That’s the ‘Tyrant of North High,’ right? Why did he transfer here? Didn’t I hear he got arrested for fighting? He looks so scary.” “Who knows? Apparently, his grades are really good… but let’s stay away from him. Hey, do you smell something?” “Yeah, kinda weird. Like… smoke?” The teacher scanned the room, gaze landing on the empty seat next to me. “Serena, that seat is free, right?” Instantly, half the class turned to look at me—some with pity, some eager for drama, some gloating. After all, they knew that seat used to belong to Liam, who now refused to sit there. Hearing this, the thin boy standing at the front glanced in my direction. His eyes were very dark, his jawline sharp and cold. Just as everyone expected me to say it was Liam’s seat, I chirped, “Yup! It’s empty.” It wasn’t Liam’s private property. Anyone could sit there. The moment I spoke, Liam, sitting in the back row, frowned deeply. Chapter 2 Silas’s eyes flickered slightly as he walked toward me. His lean figure stopped beside my desk. He put down his bag. I smiled at him. “Hi there, new deskmate.” Silas: “…” He didn’t look at me, just gave a curt nod. His reaction was cold, but I didn’t care. Up close, the boy’s bone structure was perfect. High nose bridge, reddish lips. In the morning light, I could even see the fine peach fuzz on his face. Handsome. Totally my type of intense, dark handsome! Hehe. With a hottie next to me, I’d happily come to school at 8 AM! Chapter 3 Once Silas was settled, class began. I finished my bagel, but my stomach still felt empty. But remembering past traumas, I didn’t dare eat more. I tried to focus on the lecture. By the third period, my stomach was growling, and my vision started spotting. My hypoglycemia was pretty bad; going too long without food made it flare up. A bagel wasn’t enough for this high-intensity studying. So, my sinful little hand crept into my desk. I glanced at my new neighbor. He was staring straight ahead, indifferent. My heart drummed. I remembered when Liam was my deskmate. He was a germaphobe and wouldn’t let me eat in class. Even though we grew up together. Even though he knew about my hypoglycemia. Seeing me eat, he would stand up in disgust. It was during class, drawing everyone’s attention. The teacher asked, confused, “Liam, what are you doing?” I was frozen mid-motion, candy halfway to my mouth, exposed to everyone. Liam looked at me coldly. “Serena, can you stop eating?” One sentence nailed me to the pillar of shame. Laughter erupted. The teacher scolded, “Serena, no eating in class!” My face burned. I wanted to explain about my low blood sugar, but the discomfort choked the words. I just lowered my head, put the candy in my mouth, chewed, and swallowed. The candy was sweet, but tears almost fell. The memory attacked me. I wanted to stop, but the dizziness rising made me carefully tear open a candy wrapper and pop it into my mouth. Silas seemed to notice, but he didn’t react. Relief washed over me. Great! But before I could fully relax, glowing subtitles appeared in front of my eyes. [Baby girl, stop eating! Liam is watching!] [Why is the FL letting Silas sit next to her! A villain can’t be good news!] [But the villain looks like he skipped breakfast too… just powering through. I’d be face-down on the desk by now.] My eyes widened at the scrolling text. I realized belatedly… I was the female lead in a book. Liam was the male lead, and Silas was the gloomy villain. I pursed my lips and glanced at the back row. Sure enough, Liam was staring at me darkly. Meeting my gaze, he looked away quickly, but I caught the coldness and disdain in his eyes. Him… how could someone like him be my male lead? I’m not stupid. Thinking about the subtitles saying Silas hadn’t eaten breakfast, I hesitated, then grabbed a small handful of candies and stuffed them into his desk drawer. He didn’t reject them. I felt safer. Hehe, accept my snacks, and you can’t snitch! I turned back around, missing the way the boy’s hand on the desk tightened into a fist. Chapter 4 Lunch break. I went to the cafeteria. My friend Chloe came with me, whispering advice. “Serena, maybe ask Liam to switch seats with Silas? You don’t know, Silas is brutal. Heard he got into fights all the time at North High…” As she spoke, the subtitles rolled again. [Exactly! Making the ML jealous is enough. Don’t push it too far.] [I want to see the angst and romance between the leads!] [Who actually likes a ML who disrespects girls? With his past behavior, he deserves life without a wife!] But that last comment was quickly buried. I lowered my eyes, confused. “How do you know he didn’t have a reason to fight?” Chloe paused, mumbling, “Who knows?” I patted her shoulder. “Maybe it’s all rumors. Besides, I like a deskmate who doesn’t snitch.” Looking up, I locked eyes with a familiar pair. Silas. The thin boy stood near the cafeteria entrance, backlit, expression obscured. Was it my imagination, or were his cheeks puffing like he was eating something? Caught off guard, he froze, then quickly looked away, face tense. I wanted to look closer, but my wrist was grabbed. A cold voice rang in my ear. “Serena, why did you let someone else sit in my seat?” I turned to meet Liam’s unhappy gaze and shook off his hand. “The teacher arranged it.” Seeing my distant attitude, Liam’s eyes darkened. He sneered, “Fine. Suit yourself.” He turned and walked away. Baffling. He was the one who hated sitting with me. What was his problem now?

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After the divorce, I moved out of the high-security military housing where I was obligated to fulfill my “duties” twice a month. With my settlement money and the billion dollars my dad gave me, I flew straight to Iceland to see the Northern Lights. I also updated my Instagram status: [Divorced. Single. Accepting applications from high-quality men.] The comments section exploded instantly. Elites from every circle, even other military officers, lined up to be my first boyfriend. [Scarlett, look at me! I’m first in line!] [Miss Sterling, give me a chance!] When his friends saw the divorce decree in the photo, they couldn’t hold back. They called my ex-husband, General Wolf, immediately. “You divorced Scarlett Sterling? Are you crazy? I’m next in line!” “She’s that gorgeous and you let her go? Are you blind?” “You know my… ‘credentials.’ Wolf, you’re not human!” Wolf wasn’t surprised. He had heard about my charm from the very first day we met. 1 I was the wildest rose in New York’s elite circle. I had countless admirers, partied until dawn, and lived for spicy wings and tequila. He, on the other hand, grew up in a military family. He clawed his way up to become the youngest Major General in history. Discipline was in his marrow. His schedule was precise as a Swiss watch. His diet was strictly calculated for nutrition. He never crossed a line. Because of his career and his self-imposed celibacy, our marital intimacy was scheduled strictly for the 1st and 15th of every month. I didn’t believe it. After the wedding, I used every trick in the book to make him lose control. I caused trouble. One day I threw a rave at the base entrance. The next day I took an armored vehicle for a joyride. The day after, I “borrowed” his sidearm to scare some trust fund babies who looked at me wrong. I seduced him. I wore the most revealing silk lingerie, wandering around his shooting range. I bit his earlobe while he was in high-level strategy briefings. But no matter how much chaos I caused, his chiseled face remained an unshakeable mask of seriousness. So, on the day of his major field exercise, I blew up eighteen luxury sports cars. Naturally, I was invited to the police station. He halted the exercise, leaving thousands of troops waiting, to come pick me up. His brow furrowed slightly. “It’s handled. Come home.” My eyes, usually full of fire, held a hint of testing. “Wolf, no matter what I do, you always have this face. Can’t you just smile once?” Wolf looked down at me. “You think this is funny?” “So I caused you trouble again. Are you angry? Punish me then?” I deliberately grabbed his hand, guiding it towards my waist, my eyes full of temptation. Wolf’s expression remained steady. “This is a minor issue, not worth punishment. Even if you burned the sky down, I could fix it.” A suffocating frustration built in my chest. “You won’t even ask why I blew up those cars?” “Those rich jerks were drag racing. They saw I was pretty and harassed me. They even touched my face. aren’t you jealous?” Wolf’s gaze lingered on my hand for a split second. His voice was flat. “Next time that happens, call the police directly.” I bit my lip, almost crying from frustration at his stone-cold demeanor. “Wolf, you unromantic old man! Boring! Rigid! To the extreme!” Wolf answered seriously. “My profession requires it. I have to be this way.” I wanted to scream! In the back of the military Humvee on the way home, I straddled his lap right in front of the driver, causing havoc. He was aroused. But just as we were about to take it further, his phone rang. I don’t know what was said on the other end, but his eternal calm shattered instantly. He said, “Scarlett, emergency mission. You go home first.” And he got out of the car. Suspicious, I told the driver to follow him. The car stopped in front of a quiet jazz bar called “Nightfall.” A girl in a simple cotton dress was being harassed by some drunks, her face pale with fear. The next second, I saw something that made my jaw drop. Wolf, the man who always put discipline and reason first, charged forward without hesitation. He started brawling with the drunks. The ferocity in his eyes was a terrifying edge I had never seen before. The girl cried and threw herself at him, pounding her fists on his chest. “Wolf! You didn’t want me anymore! Why do you care now?” Wolf didn’t dodge. He let her vent, then wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight against him. I saw her fists land on his shoulder, right on an old injury. He winced, but his arms didn’t loosen even a fraction. He looked down at the girl in his arms. It was a look I had never seen. Pain, guilt, and a complex emotion so thick it could be cut with a knife. I don’t know how long I stood in the cold night wind before I texted the best PI in the city, attaching the photo I just snapped. “Find out who she is to Wolf.” By the time I returned to our soulless house on the base, the PI’s file had arrived. Lily Brooks. A girl Wolf saved during a border mission, three years his junior. She was the one who pursued him, melting the iceberg through sheer persistence. With her, Wolf was finally a living, breathing human. He would drive hundreds of miles during a drill just to buy her favorite cake. For her birthday, he organized a thousand military drones to put on a light show. But when their love was at its peak, the Sterling family—a military dynasty—refused to let Wolf be with a girl of unknown background. They threatened her safety to force him into a political marriage. He compromised. That’s why, on the day of our arranged meeting, he waited patiently for six hours in the tea house. That’s why he said, “My fiancée doesn’t need to be poised. She just needs to be herself.” Turns out, the moment that made my heart flutter was all because he was forced. I felt cold all over, as if I’d been thrown into an ice cellar. I could accept his cold nature. I could slowly warm him with my passion. But I, Scarlett Sterling, the wildest rose in New York, why should I be a stepping stone for him to protect his true love? The next day, I put on my most stunning makeup. Then I drove straight to the Sterling family estate. My father saw me alone, and his face darkened. “Where’s Wolf? Did you act out again and embarrass him?” I forced a cold smile. “Tell the Wolf family to expedite the paperwork. I want a divorce!” 2 The living room went dead silent. “What did you say? A man like Wolf… what could you possibly be dissatisfied with?” “If I don’t teach you a lesson, you’ll never know your place!” “Drag this ungrateful girl to the ancestral hall! Whip her until she says she won’t divorce!” In the hall, the heavy cane landed on my back and legs with a whistling sound. Burning pain. “Say it! Are you still divorcing?” “Divorce.” My voice trembled with pain, but it was clear. I don’t know how many hits I took. My father was purple with rage. “Give me a reason! Wolf is a Major General at his age. How is he not good enough for you?” I looked up sharply. “Because he loves someone else! Is that enough? I am not a recycling bin for unwanted feelings!” I thought I would see shock or confusion. Instead, after a brief silence, I saw guilt. “You… knew?” In that moment, my heart froze completely. They knew all along that Wolf had a “white moonlight”—a true love. That’s why they married me off, the daughter they stopped caring about years ago! A timid voice came from the stairs. “Mom, Dad, don’t force Scarlett…” “Actually… I’ve always admired Major General Wolf. I support them separating.” My sister, Sophia, looked at me, her eyes hiding a secret ambition. “…Maybe Scarlett just doesn’t have what it takes to keep his heart. If it were me… maybe it would be different.” Finally, my father waved his hand wearily. “Since you insist, we won’t stop you. We’ll go to the Wolf family to discuss the divorce.” I lay in the hospital for days, treating my wounds, drifting in and out of consciousness. On the day I was discharged, I got a call from Wolf. “There’s a gala at the base tonight. You need to attend.” “You must come. I have something to say to you.” I was silent for a few seconds, then laughed coldly. “Fine.” I wanted to see what kind of noble excuses he could come up with. The gala was in the base auditorium. I wore a sapphire blue backless gown. It hugged every curve, completely out of place in the solemn atmosphere, yet blindingly beautiful. I drew every eye the moment I walked in, even the stoic officers. Wolf appeared beside me, a slight frown on his face. “You usually hate these restrictive events, and you hate heels. What’s wrong today?” “I told you, with me, you can be yourself. Even if you wore pajamas and slippers, no one would dare say a word.” That sentence transported me back to the tea house, to the man kneeling to change my shoes… A moment that once made my heart race now felt like pure mockery. I shrugged off the expensive suit jacket he tried to drape over me, letting it fall to the floor. “With a body like mine, why should I hide it in pajamas?” “See the way they’re looking? Major General, your wife is popular.” Wolf just bent down, picked up the jacket, and held it. “You sent your father to discuss the divorce?” “Is this because I left halfway through the car ride for a mission? Is this your way of expressing dissatisfaction?” I laughed out loud. “Dissatisfaction?” “Wolf, do you think the world revolves around you? Can’t I just genuinely want a divorce?” Wolf looked at me calmly. Those deep eyes were sharp as a hawk’s. He spoke flatly, with absolute certainty. “You won’t.” “You like me. You won’t divorce.” So he knew all along. All these years, I was the one chasing, testing boundaries! I was the one spinning uselessly in the territory he defined! He was always the calm commander, watching me crash around. Just as I was about to retort, I noticed Wolf’s gaze lock onto a corner of the room. I followed his line of sight— My heart sank again! It was Lily. She was talking quietly to a gentle-looking officer, a faint smile on her face. The next second, Wolf slammed his glass down. Without a word, he dragged me out to the open-air training grounds behind the hall, pressed me against the pull-up bars, and— Without any foreplay, he pushed inside me! My eyes widened in disbelief. “You bastard! Let go! Someone could come!” Wolf seemed possessed by some emotion, gripping my waist, his movements rare and rough, voice hoarse: “Don’t move. Making up for last time.” It hurt. Tears welled in my eyes. Just then, a searchlight swept across the field. A figure stood not far away— It was Lily! She stared at us, face pale as a ghost, tears streaming down. Then, as if she couldn’t take it, she turned and ran. Wolf didn’t stop moving. He just stared at the direction she ran, his eyes full of conflict, rage, and a pain I couldn’t understand. I understood everything. I shoved him away with all my strength and slapped him across the face! As I fixed my dress and walked out of the training ground, Lily blocked my path. “You’re Wolf’s wife? Let me introduce myself. I’m his first love, Lily Brooks.” I was filled with humiliation and rage. I just wanted her gone. Lily forced a miserable smile. “For our first meeting, I want to give you a gift.” 3 As soon as she finished speaking, Lily grabbed a dummy grenade from the training equipment and smashed it into my head! Thud! Pain exploded through my body, and I blacked out. When I opened my eyes, I was in a hospital bed on the base. Two figures stood at the door. “Wolf, I didn’t mean to. I was drunk. Seeing you guys like that… I was so sad, my mind went blank, and…” “Sad? Aren’t you seeing someone they introduced to you?” “That was all for you to see.” Lily sobbed. “I just wanted you to care… You have Miss Sterling. She’s so dazzling, from such a good family… I was afraid you’d forgotten our past…” Wolf was silent for a moment. Then, I heard him sigh, low and almost inaudible. “No matter how dazzling she is… she’s not you.” Right. I was the decoration of his political marriage. Lily was the dream he couldn’t let go of. He pushed open the door, his tone an unquestionable order: “Lily was drunk yesterday. She mistook you for a harasser and accidentally hurt you.” “This ends here.” I sneered. “Ends here? What if I say no? I’ll get an injury assessment. I’ll press charges. Major General, you have power, but the Sterling family isn’t a pushover. Worst case, I blow this up and let public opinion decide!” Wolf frowned. “What do you want?” I pulled out my phone and made a call. Soon, a delivery guy walked in with a case of high-proof Baijiu. I pointed at the alcohol and looked at Lily. “Drink it all.” Lily’s face went white. “I… I can’t drink…” I raised an eyebrow. “Can’t drink? Then why were you drunk and crazy yesterday? Or does your ‘mistaken identity’ problem only happen with certain people?” Lily looked sick. She shakily picked up a bottle. Just as she was about to open it, a long hand pressed down on the bottle. Wolf looked at me expressionlessly. “I’ll drink for her.” “Wolf! No! You have an important mission tomorrow! And your stomach ulcers…” Lily screamed. Wolf just glanced at her. “Be good. Stand aside.” Watching him drink for another woman without hesitation, in that moment, my heart died completely. The next morning, I woke up and grabbed my phone out of habit. A headline jumped out at me: [New Artist Lily Brooks’ Solo Exhibition Opens Today! Deep Emotion, Tribute to Heroes, Highly Acclaimed!] Below were photos of the exhibition and close-ups of “Lily’s” paintings. I sat up abruptly, tearing the wound on my leg. Those paintings… were mine! They were my private works stored in the studio at the base! Themes of frontier landscapes and abstract emotions! I tried to get out of bed in a rage, but Wolf, who had entered unnoticed, held me down. He looked at my furious face, his voice calm but heavy with pressure. “Don’t cause trouble for Lily.” I looked at him in disbelief. “You allowed this?” Wolf didn’t deny it. “Lily prepared for this exhibition for a long time, but her works were lost in a move. The date and guests were set. She admires your style and borrowed them.” “Borrowed?” Blood rushed to my head. “So you let her steal my art? Wolf, that’s my soul on those canvases!” “Watch your language.” Wolf frowned slightly. “It’s just a few paintings. What compensation do you want? I can…” I shook with anger. “Watch my language? I have worse words! I’m going there right now to expose her! Let everyone see what this ‘tribute to heroes’ artist really is!” In the struggle, I lost my balance and fell down the stairs. 4 Wolf rushed down instantly, scooping me up. His voice held a tension he didn’t even notice. “Where did you hit?” A nurse ran over. “General, should we call a specialist?” Wolf checked me. “No, get the base doctor.” While the doctor set my bone, the pain made me gasp. Wolf silently offered his wrist to my mouth. “Bite if it hurts.” Filled with rage and grievance, I bit down hard! Until I tasted iron. Wolf didn’t even frown. He just watched me. The doctor finished and left some ointment. Wolf looked at the bloody teeth marks on his wrist, eyes complex. “Regret it?” I shook my head. “No. Just thinking, they say I’m a rose with thorns. Guess they’re right.” He took a bank card from his uniform pocket. “About the paintings, I know you’re mad. take this as compensation.” I looked at the card, feeling only irony. “You know? The one thing she shouldn’t have touched was my art…” Just then, his orderly rushed in, looking nervous. “Report, General! Online… there’s some bad press. People are saying Miss Brooks’ paintings… are highly similar to Miss Sterling’s previous works! It’s trending. Her reputation is taking a hit!” Wolf took the tablet, scanned it, and his face darkened. He looked up at me sharply. “You did this?” I met his gaze, not backing down. I smiled coldly. “Did you read the analysis? She’s stupid. Tried to copy a tiger and drew a dog.” “My style, color usage, brushstrokes… anyone in the industry knows it’s me.” The orderly whispered, admiringly, “Actually… Miss Sterling’s art has a very unique tension. Hard to imitate…” Wolf glared at him. The orderly shut up and turned to the door. Wolf handed me his phone. “Use your account. Post a statement. Say it’s a misunderstanding, that Lily painted them herself.” I looked at him, incredulous. “Why should I?” The orderly rushed back in. “General, Miss Brooks saw the comments. She’s hysterical and fainted at the exhibition!” Wolf’s face changed. “I’m going to see Lily. Post the statement.” He turned and left without hesitation. My phone rang. It was my father. “The divorce is finalized. The Wolf family was very efficient.” “You’ll regret missing out on Wolf…” I listened expressionlessly, hung up, and blocked every “family member.” I packed a small bag. Then I lit my lighter and dropped it on the dark green carpet. Divorced. This “marriage home” didn’t need to exist. I left the military compound without looking back, hailed a cab, and went straight to the airport. Meanwhile, Wolf was rushing to the exhibition. He got a call from a crying Lily. “Wolf, Scarlett… she posted comparison photos! Everyone is cursing me! What do I do?” Wolf’s voice was steady. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll look. Whatever she posted, I’ll handle it.” He hung up and opened Instagram. He saw my latest post. It wasn’t the clarification he demanded. It was a side-by-side comparison of my originals and Lily’s “works,” with the caption: [@LilyBrooks Tribute to heroes? Learn to respect copyright first!] Wolf expected I wouldn’t comply, but he didn’t expect me to be this ruthless. He rubbed his temples, preparing to order PR to bury the story. A second call came in. His comrade-in-arms. “Wolf! How could you let a stunner like Scarlett go? If you don’t want her, I’m going for it!” Wolf gripped the phone. “What do you mean?” “You don’t know?” His friend was shocked. “Check her feed!” Wolf switched to his feed. The first post was mine. A photo of the open divorce decree. Another of me at the airport terminal, looking free. Caption: [Divorced. Single. Accepting applications from high-quality men.] Elites, comrades, even commanders were lining up in the comments: “Sign me up!” “Scarlett, look here!” “First in line!” “DM sent, please check!”

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A decade after leaving home, I saw my sister at our alma mater. She was a rising psychology star, giving a lecture. I was in the crowd, a bubble tea courier. She told the hall, “My work is for my brother Alan. I’ll cure his depression, no matter how long it takes.” Our parents beamed with pride in the front row—until they spotted me. My father found me outside, his voice strained. “You chose this? Hiding from us? Struggling?” They stood speechless until I mumbled, “Excuse me, my daughter’s waiting.” They erupted. “What woman would marry you like this?” my mother spat. “Marrying on a whim, having a child you can’t raise properly! Another failure!” “We’re renowned professors! You were top of your class! And you throw it all away?!” I just stared, bewildered. They were the ones who’d accused me of poisoning my brother, who’d ruined my life. Now I had my own family, my own peace. What more did they want? 1 Before I could answer, the Dean of Students rushed over, grabbing my arm to help my parents restrain me. “Professor Vance, I got him! Is this the delivery guy who tried to steal from you?” he panted, turning to glare at me. “I’ve always said we shouldn’t let people like this on campus! These lowlifes will do anything for a buck!” He jabbed a finger at my face, completely oblivious to the fact that I was once his prized student, the one he boasted was a shoo-in for the Ivy League. My father’s face went crimson, as if he’d been slapped in public. He looked even more flustered than I felt. “No, he’s not a thief! He’s…” He stammered, the words failing him, until he finally forced out three through clenched teeth. “I know him.” The dean’s hand fell away, his eyes darting between me and my parents, confusion clouding his features. I kept my head down and pushed my scooter forward, trying to get away. My mother scurried after me, her voice dripping with frustrated disappointment. “Ethan, you can be angry with us, but that’s no reason to debase yourself! Come home with us! We’ll find you a respectable job, so you don’t have to endure this shame!” I bent down, stuck the key in the ignition, and turned it. “There’s no need,” I said, my voice flat. “I’m doing just fine.” My mother stomped her foot, infuriated by my “willingness to wallow in mediocrity.” She grabbed my handlebars, her face darkening as she prepared to unleash a torrent of abuse, but she was cut off by my sister, Ruby, who had just finished her lecture. “Mom, what are you doing? We need to go. We promised to celebrate Alan’s birthday! You know how he gets… that little crybaby will start weeping buckets if we’re late…” Ruby’s voice, full of doting affection, trailed off as she got closer and finally saw who she was talking to. The master of emotional control, the psychology expert, suddenly had red-rimmed eyes. She looked down, as if explaining herself to the pavement. “Alan’s condition… it hasn’t improved. He needs us all there to sing ‘Happy Birthday,’ or he’ll cry for days. He’s not like you, he can’t…” But I only cared about one thing. “Are you done?” My mother and my father, who had just walked over, both flinched. This wasn’t the son they remembered. There was a time I couldn’t stop talking to them, desperate for their attention. I would shove my math competition trophies and perfect report cards in their faces, even as they tore them up, scolding me, “Don’t you dare upset your brother!” Now, I just pointed to the faded, washed-out apron I was wearing. “The bubble tea shop gets busy around this time.” Ignoring their complicated stares, I continued, “I have a lot of orders, and I need to clean up the shop to avoid any complaints. Please, move.” They started to argue, to try and persuade me to quit, but Ruby placed a hand on their shoulders, forcing a stiff smile onto her face. “Dad, Mom, let’s not push it. We did just show up unannounced.” After all these years, my sister had developed a surprising trace of empathy. She held out a business card. “If you need anything, call me.” I glanced at the card, at the gold-embossed lettering, the title of ‘Internationally Certified Specialist,’ and the prestigious downtown office address. I almost laughed. “I won’t.” “I just sell bubble tea,” I said, meeting her eyes. “Besides, if Alan found out we were in contact, his depression might take a nosedive.” That one sentence was enough. It stopped their arguments cold. I pushed my mother’s hand away and swung my leg over the scooter. I heard a few frantic footsteps behind me, but they stopped as a phone began to ring, replaced by anxious cries. “Alan, please, stop crying!” “You’re breaking our hearts!” “Ruby brought you a special gift all the way from Europe…” I rode off, the wind whipping against me, chilling me to the bone. On the way, I picked up some groceries. When I got back to the shop, my daughter, Rosie, launched herself into my arms. “Daddy, I missed you so much!” “It’s cold out! Let Rosie warm up your hands!” She took my hands in her tiny ones, rubbing them together and breathing little puffs of warm air onto my skin. She had the same earnest, goofy look as her mother. It made me smile. “Yay, Daddy’s smiling! You looked so serious when you came in, I was scared…” I froze, about to reassure her, when my wife, Mia, who had closed her own work early to help mind the shop, pulled me toward her and started examining me from head to toe. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?” I asked. Her eyes were wide with worry. “A student who came in earlier said you ran into some trouble at the university today?” she whispered. “She said it was with that famous law professor, Dr. Evelyn Vance! The one who wouldn’t let you leave…” Mia frowned. “But that doesn’t make sense! I’ve seen her interviews. She’s so devoted to her younger son, the one with depression. She seems like such a good person. How could you possibly have gotten on her bad side?” 2 I gently pulled away from Mia’s embrace and walked over to the counter, grabbing a cloth and wiping away at a non-existent water stain with furious energy. “It’s nothing,” I muttered. “It’s all in the past.” She watched me for a few seconds. “We’re a family, Ethan.” “Yeah, I know.” I turned my back, printing out an order and starting to mix a drink. Mia went back to helping customers and manning the register. Several times, she braved the biting wind to make deliveries for me. Our daughter sat quietly at a small table, her homework spread out before her. Whenever I looked tired, she would climb onto a little stool, reaching up on her tiptoes. “You worked hard, Daddy! Let Rosie give you a shoulder massage!” Later that night, when the last customer had left, I finally gave in to Mia’s worried gaze and sighed. “Alright. Seeing as they’re not going to give up, I guess I can’t hide it from you forever.” “Dr. Evelyn Vance… is my mother.” She was the woman who gave birth to me. And she was the woman who had sworn I was a monster, who told the world I had maliciously tried to poison my own brother. Mia shook her head frantically, her eyes wide with disbelief. I gave a bitter laugh. What did it matter if she didn’t believe it? The case was closed. I just laid out the facts, my voice devoid of emotion. In that house, I was a disappointment from the day I was born. My parents and my sister were the geniuses. Ruby took her college entrance exams at nine and had her PhD from an Ivy League school by fifteen, poised for a brilliant career abroad. At five, I was still playing in the mud. My parents rushed me to get my IQ tested, only to have the results confirm their fears: I was utterly, painfully average. From then on, I was handed over to the nanny. “When are Mommy and Daddy coming to see me?” I’d ask, day after day. “Be a good boy, Ethan. They’re very busy,” she would say. That answer was the soundtrack to my childhood, marking the passage of seasons. “But… but it’s my birthday! Why aren’t they here yet?” A small boy in a paper crown, guarding a cake he’d been dreaming of, waiting for the people who were supposed to cherish him most. “Waaaah! Mommy and Daddy don’t want me anymore!” In the end, I saw them on TV. On my birthday, they were with Ruby at an international competition. As I watched the camera zoom in on the gleaming trophy in her hands and the radiant smiles on my parents’ faces, a thought took root in my mind. If I had a trophy, would they spend time with me, too? From that day forward, I locked my beloved race cars away. When my friends called for me to come out and play, I gritted my teeth and refused. At six, I started devouring dictionaries and memorizing entire collections of classic poetry. But I wasn’t a prodigy. Often, my head would spin, unable to absorb a single new word. I’d cry in frustration, hitting my own head with my small fists. It hurt. But the ache in my heart from my parents’ absence was so much worse. When I started school, I bought every textbook and study guide I could find, teaching myself the entire curriculum a semester ahead of time. Other students did three practice exams; I did ten, fifteen. The light in my study never went out before three in the morning. The day I finally clawed my way to the top of my class, I called my parents, my voice trembling with excitement. For the first time in years, they agreed to celebrate my birthday with me. “Ethan, we’ll celebrate in Paris this year,” my father had said. “There’s an academic symposium there. You and Ruby can both attend. It will be good for you to start networking.” For the first time, I stood beside them in a tailored suit, a matching part of the family. My parents proudly introduced me to their colleagues. It felt like a dream. After that, I worked even harder, desperate to maintain this new image in their eyes. So when they asked me to look after my younger brother, Alan, I agreed without hesitation. “Your brother isn’t like you,” they’d explained. “He’s just an ordinary little boy. He’s very sensitive, so you need to be extra patient with him…” But I was once an ordinary little boy, too. Why… why couldn’t you… I swallowed the bitterness and told myself it was for the best. Alan could live the happy, carefree childhood I never had. “Don’t worry,” I promised them. “You can count on me.” That promise was the first step on my path to hell. Because of my “generosity,” whenever Alan wanted me to play with him, I had to drop my homework and entertain him until ten at night. My parents saw nothing wrong with it. “Ethan, you’re a genius, just like your sister. Schoolwork should be a breeze for you.” They never saw the effort. They never saw me studying until the dead of night, only to be woken at dawn by the sound of Alan jumping rope outside my door. “He’s just a child! Kids are supposed to be playful,” they’d say, defending him. “He can’t be sullen like you, always showing off your grades.” It felt like a stone was lodged in my chest. Then they told me I had to move into the small guest room. They were knocking down the wall of my bedroom to give Alan a bigger play area. Mia couldn’t listen anymore, her voice cracking with anger. “So when you were ordinary, they didn’t want you. Then you worked yourself to the bone to become exceptional, and suddenly they preferred the ordinary one? What kind of sick game were they playing?!” she cried. “And after you were so good to your brother, he couldn’t say a single word for you?” 3 I just shook my head. With my parents backing him, Alan only got worse. He would sneak into my room and tear my notebooks to shreds, then run to our parents crying, “Ethan doesn’t want me to study, he’s trying to sabotage me!” I’d make him fresh juice to try and appease him, and he’d throw rocks and grass in it, then scream, “Stop trying to poison me!” Exhausted, I’d stay up all night rewriting my notes. One time, the power went out. Alan pointed to the severed cable and claimed I’d cut it in a fit of rage. At first, my parents would just give me disapproving looks. “It’s not just about grades, Ethan. A person’s character is what truly matters.” But as it happened more and more, they became convinced I was a bully. After all, how could a sweet little boy like Alan lie? My sister, a fiery teenager back then, was especially harsh. “You’re just jealous!” she would snarl. “You can’t stand that we love Alan more!” “Well, we’re going to give him everything! You could drop dead, and no one would ever love you!” I tried to defend myself, but my words were always drowned out by Alan’s wails. My parents would yell at me for scaring him. My usually aloof sister would glare at me before turning to make silly faces to cheer Alan up. And I would be left standing there, invisible. My standing in the family plummeted. They’d be chatting happily, but the moment I walked into a room, the conversation would die, as if an outsider had intruded. Then came Ruby’s birthday. Alan wanted to sing for her, and I, mustering all my courage, offered to accompany him on my violin. He agreed enthusiastically, even offering to walk with me to get it. For a moment, I thought we had reconciled. But as we walked down the long hallway, he suddenly sprinted ahead and vanished. I called out his name in panic, only to be met with the stinging slap of my father’s hand across my face. “Still putting on an act!” he roared. “You were born rotten! Tell me, where did you hide Alan this time?!” I clutched my bleeding lip, tears streaming down my face, sobbing that I didn’t do it. A sharp pain exploded in my knee as my mother kicked me to the ground. Ruby rushed forward, ready to land another blow. “You won’t talk until you’re half-dead, will you? You need to be taught a serious lesson tonight!” My mother grabbed a fistful of my hair. “Still not talking? Fine! Solitary confinement it is! You can starve in there until you’re ready to confess, you little monster!” She threw me into my room. I didn’t see the wall coming. My body went limp and slid to the floor. Stars burst behind my eyes. I felt a warm trickle of blood run down my forehead, but a deep, penetrating cold started in my fingertips and spread through my whole body. It felt like I was freezing, merging with the cold night. As my consciousness faded, I heard Alan’s frantic cries from outside. “Mommy, Daddy, why does Ethan hate me so much?!” “He’s always taunting me with his grades! Just now, he called me useless and said he was going to drown me in the pool! I was so scared I just ran and ran…” My parents’ voices were thick with pity and rage. “Oh, our poor Alan! Don’t you worry, we won’t let that little bastard get away with this! We’ll make him get on his knees and beg for your forgiveness!” Ruby shouted that they should kick me a few more times to make sure I learned my lesson. I struggled to crawl to the door. I had to explain. But the pain was too intense, I couldn’t form words. All I could do was scratch at the locked door until my fingernails split and bled. On the other side of that door, I heard my parents’ sickeningly sweet coos. “Come on, my little prince. Mommy and Daddy will take you out for a feast!” Then, deliberately louder, “From now on, this is what happens to bullies! They get punished! And our sweet, adorable boy gets rewarded!” Tears streamed relentlessly down my face. I heard the front door slam shut. The pain in my body and soul was tearing me apart. The darkness and silence swallowed me whole. It felt like being buried alive. My hands, slick with blood, finally went still as I lost consciousness. In a hazy dream, I heard a scream. “Ethan, hang on!” “An ambulance! Someone call an ambulance!” At the hospital, even the doctor was sympathetic. “This boy has been running on fumes for a long time, severe exhaustion… and now he has a serious concussion, not to mention fractures in his knee and thigh…” My parents, however, were barely listening. Their attention was captured by Alan’s piercing shriek. “Don’t kill me, Ethan! I’ll be good, I’ll hide! I won’t try to take Mommy and Daddy from you ever again!” Ruby burst into the room and threw a medical report at my face. The words “Severe Depression” were stamped across the top. It was all my fault, she said. “You did this, you monster! Are you happy now?” she screamed. “You and your stupid grades, you pushed him to this… You’re nothing but an animal to us!” I looked at my parents’ faces, twisted with hatred. I turned my head away, closed my tear-filled eyes, and wondered why. Why had everyone I loved abandoned me? 4 After that, they treated me like a dangerous criminal. They took Alan and moved to another state, leaving me behind. They said they were being generous, leaving me enough money to get by. “This is enough to get you through college,” the note read. “We hope you use your education to correct your vicious nature.” “Consider it blood money. A payment for you to finally leave Alan alone.” I had just been discharged from the hospital that day. I stood in the empty house, leaning on my crutches, the gauze on my head still spotted with blood, a dull ache throbbing in my skull as I read their words. I threw myself into my studies, using them as an anesthetic for the pain. I became the star student at a top high school. No one knew I spent my subway commutes memorizing formulas. I grew taller, my features sharpened, and I became the handsome academic prodigy of the school. No one knew I woke up at dawn every day to run and exercise, to maintain a body that felt healthy and strong. People started pairing me with the most popular girl in school, another academic powerhouse. We had already made a pact: we would get into the Ivy League together. And we did. For the first time, it felt like my life was turning around. I couldn’t resist. I took a photo with my girlfriend and posted it online. To my shock, my parents, who hadn’t spoken to me in years, left a comment. “You got into a top university. You’ve done well.” “To be accepted by a school like that, you must have matured over the years.” They were the same as ever, obsessed with achievement. They finally felt it was safe to come back for a visit. I should have been cold. I should have ignored them. But instead, a foolish hope bloomed in my chest. I spent the whole day cooking, preparing a feast. The first thing I did when they arrived was hand Alan a glass of warm milk. And that was my final mistake. When my brother started to tremble and cry, claiming he saw me secretly slip rat poison into the glass, I knew it was over. My own parents dragged me to the police station. “We were ready to forgive you,” my mother hissed, “but you don’t deserve it.” “This time, you will pay for what you’ve done!” I finally broke. I screamed, I roared, I demanded to know why Alan was so cruel, how he could destroy my life without a shred of guilt. But he just trembled in Ruby’s arms like a delicate flower caught in a storm. “Brother, I want to ask you the same thing,” he whispered, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Why do you keep trying to kill me?” Before I could say another word, my father’s fist sent me crashing to the floor. “You bastard! Still trying to intimidate him!” My mother grabbed my leg and dragged me into the station like a dead dog. “Save it for the police, you criminal!” she shrieked. “From this day on, you are no longer our son! You’re lower than dirt!” And so it began. My mother, the pharmacology professor, produced a lab report confirming the presence of poison. My father, the law professor, drew up a list of my crimes. Together, they were determined to send me to prison. In the end, there wasn’t enough evidence. I was only detained for a few days. But the damage was done. I was expelled from my university, my reputation was in tatters, and my girlfriend left me. Friends and relatives turned their backs on me. I was kicked out of the house with nothing. With no degree, I drifted from one dead-end job to another, worse off than I had ever been. And they? They moved abroad, living their lives as if I had never existed. Back in the bubble tea shop, Mia was weeping, her heart breaking for me. “They’re monsters! How could they not even ask a few questions when your entire future was on the line?” “They’re your parents, Ethan! Your own parents!” As her heartbroken cry echoed in the small shop, I looked up and saw them. My parents. Standing right there at the counter.

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My father liked silence. He said noise was a sign of the lower classes, so he installed a decibel meter in our house. Speaking above 40 decibels was a one-dollar fine. Laughing over 60 decibels cost five. Crying was a capital offense: ten dollars a second. When I was four, I broke my arm. I didn’t make a sound. I bit through two of my own teeth and saved my father a few hundred dollars in “noise fees.” My father praised me for being sensible. He called me a “cost-effective” child. I treasured that compliment, carefully maintaining the dead silence of our home. Until that stormy night, when a burglar broke in. The man had a knife. He crept toward my sleeping mother. I was hiding in the closet, watching through a crack in the door. I saw everything. I wanted to scream, to shout, to wake my father. But then I glanced at the decibel meter on the wall, and my hand went to my empty pocket. I didn’t have enough allowance. A single scream would cost hundreds. I couldn’t afford it. … The walls of our house were white. The numbers on the decibel meter were red—the brightest thing in the house. I sat at the dining table, staring at the number: 28. Safe. My father sat at the head of the table, holding a newspaper. The sound of him turning a page was whisper-soft. My mother was in the kitchen, the sound of her knife on the cutting board as delicate as embroidery. I didn’t dare breathe too deeply. Taking too loud a breath also came with a fee. My father had explained it once. The air outside was free, but the air inside our house was contained by the walls he had paid for. Using a resource required payment. A bowl of plain noodles sat in front of me. No meat. Meat cost extra, and my account was in the red. Last week, I had accidentally broken a glass. The glass was fifty cents, the cleanup fee was a dollar, the “startle fee” was two dollars, and the fine for the decibel meter spiking to 80 was twenty dollars. My allowance was now deep in the negative. This week, it was only plain noodles for me. “Arthur, the child is still growing,” my mother said, carrying a dish out from the kitchen. Her voice was a low murmur. The meter twitched: 35. Still in the safe zone. My father lowered his newspaper and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Grace, rules are rules.” “She broke a glass and made a noise. She has to face the consequences. It’s called accountability.” My mother bit her lip, not daring to say more. She placed a dish of stir-fried pork in the center of the table. The aroma drifted over, and I swallowed hard. My stomach betrayed me with a loud gurgle. Grrrrmble— It was a little too loud. I looked up at the wall in terror. 41. I was done for. My father’s chopsticks froze mid-air. He pulled out his phone and opened the black accounting app. “Stomach noise. 1 decibel over the limit.” “One-dollar fine.” “It’s on your tab. You now owe me twenty-four dollars and fifty cents.” I lowered my head, tears welling in my eyes. Don’t cry. Crying costs money. Ten dollars a second. I couldn’t afford to cry. I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood, forcing the tears back. “Eat,” my father said, picking up a piece of pork and putting it in his mouth. “Remember, there’s no such thing as a free lunch. And there’s no such thing as free noise.” The doorbell suddenly rang, a series of sharp, urgent presses. The decibel meter instantly shot to 70. My father’s brow furrowed, his face darkening. “Who could be so ill-mannered?” My mother rushed to open the door. The moment it opened, my aunt Lynn burst in. She was carrying a large cake box and a giant LEGO set. “Anna! Happy birthday!” My aunt’s voice was loud and full of life. The decibel meter danced wildly. 75, 80, 85… My father’s face was as black as soot. “That’s enough! Five-dollar entry fee, thirty-dollar noise fee.” “Card or cash?” My aunt stood there, stunned. She looked from the decibel meter on the wall to me, huddled in my chair. “Arthur, are you insane?” “It’s Anna’s fifth birthday! And you’re charging me a noise fee?” My father stood up, blocking her path. “This is my house. In my territory, you follow my rules. And this cake and toy… did you get my approval?” “There is no spare room in this house for such garbage.” My aunt’s hands were trembling with rage. She slammed the cake down on the table. BANG! The meter redlined. “I’m leaving it right here! Anna, come on, Auntie will cut you a slice!” She took my hand. Her hand was so warm. But I didn’t dare move. I looked at my father. “Anna, it’s your choice,” he said. “Eat the cake, and this week’s debt doubles. Don’t eat it, and I’ll deduct one dollar from your debt.” I pulled my hand back. If my debt doubled, I would owe almost fifty dollars. I wouldn’t even get noodles next week. I’d be drinking plain water. “I… I don’t want any,” I whispered. My voice was barely audible. My aunt stared at me in disbelief. “Anna? What are you afraid of?” “Auntie is here. He won’t dare do anything to you!” I shook my head. She didn’t understand. After she left, my father would add everything to my tab. With interest. I couldn’t afford it. “Did you hear her?” My father sat back down, a cold smirk on his lips. “The child is more sensible than you are. She understands cost-effectiveness.” My aunt took a deep breath and knelt, looking me in the eye. “Anna, tell me the truth.” “Do you want to eat the cake?” “Forget the money. Forget your father. Just tell me, do you want it?” I looked at the cake. It had a beautiful little rabbit on it. The frosting had to be so sweet. I wanted it. I dreamed of things like this. But… I glanced at the number on the wall. “No,” I lied. My aunt’s eyes turned red. She shot to her feet, pointing a finger at my father’s nose. “Arthur, this is abuse! What do you think your child is?” My father slowly wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I am teaching her how to survive. Your kind of spoiling is what will ruin her.” “Now, please leave. You have exceeded the noise limit for far too long. I will send you the bill.” My aunt was shaking with fury. She looked like she was about to smash something, but then she saw the terror in my eyes, and she restrained herself. “Fine, Arthur. Just fine. You’ll get what’s coming to you.” Aunt Lynn left. The moment the door closed, the house returned to its dead silence. 28 decibels. My father nodded in satisfaction. The noodles were cold and congealed. They were disgusting, but I shoveled them into my mouth, not daring to make a sound. I had earned this meal by refusing the cake. It was the cheapest resource for survival in this house. That night, I lay in my small bed, clutching a coin in my hand. My aunt had secretly slipped it into my pocket before she left. “Anna,” she had whispered, “take this. If there’s ever an emergency, use it to buy yourself a chance.” I didn’t know what “buying a chance” meant. But I knew this one-dollar coin was the only money I truly owned. It was my last defense in a world where everything had a price. I woke up in the middle of the night, burning with fever. My throat felt like I had swallowed hot coals, and my head was heavy as lead. I groggily touched my forehead. It was scalding. I was sick. My first thought wasn’t pain, but fear. Being sick meant spending money. Doctor’s fees, medicine, tests. My father said that illness was a failure of self-management. It was negligence. All costs were to be borne by the patient. I curled up under the covers, shivering. I wanted water. But the kitchen was past my father’s bedroom. Walking would make noise. Opening the door would make noise. Pouring water would make noise. If I woke him, there would be a massive fine. I endured it. My throat was parched. I opened my mouth, trying to breathe in some cool air, but even the air felt hot. “Mommy…” I mouthed the word silently, tears running into my ears. I didn’t dare make a sound. If no one found out, I wasn’t really sick. If I didn’t take medicine, it wouldn’t cost anything. With these thoughts, I drifted back into a feverish sleep. Nightmares came one after another. I dreamed the decibel meter was a monster, its mouth wide open to devour me. I dreamed that bills fell like snowflakes, burying me alive. When I woke again, it was morning. My father was shaking me. “What time is it? Get up.” His voice was stern. I tried to sit up, but I had no strength. The world went black, and I fell back onto the pillow with a soft thud. The bedframe creaked. I glanced at the meter. I was still under the limit. My father frowned and touched my forehead. He quickly pulled his hand back. “You’re burning up.” He looked at his watch. “103.1.” “We need to go to the hospital.” He took out his phone and opened the calculator. “Round trip taxi fare, sixty dollars.” “Registration fee, fifty dollars.” “Blood test, eighty dollars.” “Medicine, probably two hundred.” “Lost wages, I’ll have to take a half-day off, that’s five hundred.” “Total, eight hundred and ninety dollars.” He shoved the phone screen in my face. “Your account is in the negative. How do you propose to handle this?” I was delirious with fever, the numbers a blurry mess. “Daddy… I feel sick…” I said weakly. “Feeling sick is not an excuse to default on your debt,” he said coldly. “Sign this IOU. Interest will be triple the bank rate. You can pay me back, with interest, when you grow up.” He took a paper from his briefcase. It was covered in fine print, clearly prepared in advance. “Sign.” He pushed the pen into my hand. My hand was shaking so badly I couldn’t hold it. It fell to the floor with a clatter. He picked it up and forced it back into my hand. My mother rushed in. She had heard the commotion. When she saw my flushed face, she screamed. “Anna!” The decibel meter flashed red. My father glared at her. “What are you shouting for? Fifty-dollar fine.” She ignored him and threw her arms around me. Her tears were cool on my hot skin. “Arthur, have you lost your mind?” “The child is burning up, and you’re making her sign an IOU? Take her to the hospital!” It was the first time I had ever heard my mother speak so loudly. My father sneered. “Are you paying for it?” “I manage your salary. Every penny of your money is budgeted.” “This is an unbudgeted expense. Someone has to cover it.” “Either she signs, or you do.” “Sign it, and I’ll start the car.” My mother held me, her body trembling. She looked at me, limp and feverish in her arms, then at my father’s cold face. “I’ll sign.” In the car, I leaned against my mother. The air conditioning was blasting. My father didn’t speak. He was listening to a financial news station. When a stock went up, the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. When one went down, his brow furrowed. His daughter, delirious in the back seat, was not his concern. As long as I didn’t die, I was a recoverable asset. At the hospital, when the nurse gave me the injection, I didn’t cry. “You’re a brave little girl,” she said. “Not even a peep.” She didn’t know I didn’t dare make a peep. If I cried, it would cost another ten dollars. That was several days’ worth of my mother’s grocery money. I watched the fluid in the IV tube. Drip. Drip. That was money. Flowing into my veins. I felt myself becoming more and more expensive. And less and less worthy of being alive. I was a liability. My father was right. If I hadn’t gotten sick, that eight hundred and ninety dollars could have bought so many shares, earned so much interest. It was all my fault. We got home late that night. My fever had gone down a little, but I was still dizzy. My father posted the bill on the fridge, in the most prominent spot. “Grace, remember to pay this back. I’ll deduct it from next month’s household budget.” I lay on the sofa, staring at the decibel meter. 25. The house was as quiet as a tomb, the only sound the tap-tap-tapping of my father’s keyboard. He was updating his ledger. Every expense was meticulously recorded, including the five-dollar parking fee from today. That, too, went on my tab. I felt my pocket. The coin was still there. Aunt Lynn’s coin. It wasn’t on my father’s ledger. It was my only secret. My only hope. I wondered, if one day I could save up many, many coins, could I buy my freedom from my father? Could I buy the right to cry out loud, to laugh out loud? But for now, I only had one dollar. Not even enough to buy a single scream. The rain was coming down hard, thunder rattling the windows. The numbers on the decibel meter kept jumping. 40, 50, 60… But this was natural noise. My father couldn’t fine God. He could only put in his earplugs and shut his bedroom door. My mother was already asleep. She was exhausted from taking care of me and being berated by my father. I couldn’t sleep. My arm still ached where the IV had been. I wanted water, but I didn’t dare move. The thunder outside drowned out everything—including the sound of a window being pried open. Click. It was a tiny sound. You would have missed it if you weren’t listening. But I heard it. In this house, I was more sensitive to sound than a cat. I opened my eyes. A dark figure was climbing in through the window. A man in a black raincoat, holding a knife. The blade gleamed a ghastly white in the flashes of lightning. My heart seized. A burglar! There was a burglar in the house! I wanted to scream. The word “Help!” was on the tip of my tongue. But then I saw the decibel meter. The living room was dark, but the red number glowed with perfect clarity: 35. If I screamed, it would definitely go over 100. That was a capital offense. A huge fine… My mind raced, calculating. A single scream was ten dollars, minimum. Continued screaming would be charged by the second. If I woke my father, there would be an additional fee for emotional distress. My account was negative. My mother’s budget for next month was already gone. We couldn’t afford it. The burglar crept toward the bedroom. My parents’ room. Was he going to kill them? Or just steal things? If my father’s hidden cash was stolen, he would go insane. He would take his fury out on me and my mother. No. I couldn’t let him go in there. I had to do something. But I couldn’t make a sound. Noise cost money. I was sweating, my body trembling with panic. My hand found the coin in my pocket. The cool, hard metal. My entire fortune. One dollar. What could it buy? Not a piece of candy. Not a sheet of paper. But. It could make a small sound. A sound that wouldn’t go over the limit. The burglar’s hand was on the bedroom doorknob. His knife was raised. There was no time. I took a deep breath, and with a flick of my wrist, I sent the coin rolling across the floor. Ting— The coin spun across the wood, hitting the leg of a table with a clear, crisp sound. It wasn’t loud enough to be jarring over the thunder. The decibel meter jumped to 38. No violation. No fine. The burglar froze. He whipped his head around, his eyes locking on the closet in the corner of the living room. I was hiding in that closet. Through the crack in the door, our eyes met. His eyes were vicious. He abandoned the bedroom and turned toward me. One step. Two steps. His leather shoes made dull thuds on the floor. I clamped my hand over my mouth, my nails digging into my skin. Don’t scream. Whatever you do, don’t scream. He reached the closet. He yanked the door open. I was exposed, a small body curled into a tight ball. The burglar sneered. He hadn’t expected to find a child awake. He raised the knife and lunged. I closed my eyes. I didn’t move. Dodging would mean bumping into the closet walls. That would make noise. That would be a fine. Shhhk. The knife slid into my stomach. A cold shock, then a searing, fiery pain. A hundred times worse than my broken arm. I wanted to scream. A primal urge to release the agony. But I opened my eyes and saw the decibel meter: 32. Good. I hadn’t made a sound. I had held it in. Blood poured out, staining my pajamas, pooling on the floor. The burglar paused. He had probably never seen a child take a knife to the gut without a sound. He must have thought I was mute, or paralyzed with fear. He pulled the knife out. Another wave of excruciating pain. My body convulsed. My teeth bit through my lip, and the taste of blood filled my mouth. But still, I made no sound. The burglar grunted. He wiped the blood from his knife on my pajamas, then turned to ransack the cabinet behind me. That was where my father hid his emergency cash. I watched as he pulled out a small iron box. It was my father’s prized possession, filled with cash and gold bars. The burglar dumped the contents into his bag, zipped it up, and left. He climbed back out the window and vanished into the rainy night. The house was quiet again. Only the sound of the thunder, and the sound of my blood dripping onto the floor.

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Ten days stranded on a deserted island after a company retreat gone wrong. Finally, a ship appeared on the horizon. Everyone was ecstatic, screaming and waving. But my husband, Mark, the CEO, stopped us. He handed the only flare gun to the intern, Chloe, with a look of pure adoration. “Let Chloe be the hero who saves the team,” he said. Chloe fumbled with the gun, whining about how heavy it was, wasting precious time. Seeing the ship about to turn away, I snatched the flare gun from her hands and pulled the trigger. We were saved. Back in the city, Mark promoted me to General Manager, skipping several levels. But at my first performance review, he handed me over to our biggest rival company as a “gift”—a plaything. I cried, begging him for an explanation. His eyes were full of hate. “If you hadn’t stolen Chloe’s moment, she wouldn’t be depressed right now!” “Since you love the spotlight so much, I’ll make sure you get plenty of attention!” I was used, abused, and eventually sold into trafficking rings across the globe. I died alone, humiliated, in a foreign land. When I opened my eyes, I was back on the island. Back to the moment Chloe held the flare gun. This time, I smiled as I watched her fire the only flare we had—straight into a tree. Chapter 1 When Mark insisted on shoving the flare gun into Chloe’s hands, everyone looked annoyed. Everyone except Chloe, who looked like she’d just been crowned Prom Queen. “Markie, thank you for letting me be the hero,” she cooed. She lifted the gun with trembling, delicate hands, aiming it at the sky, then lowered it again with a whimper. “Markie, I don’t know how to pull the trigger. Teach me?” The ship we had waited ten days for was getting smaller. Panic set in among the team. “Can she do it or not? If not, let me!” “Stop wasting time! We’re all going to die here!” Instead of hurrying, Chloe turned her big, tear-filled doe eyes to Mark. “Markie, they’re being mean to me…” “Am I too stupid? I’m sorry, I can’t be the hero…” Mark’s face darkened instantly. He glared at the employees like a wolf protecting its cub. “Say one more word and you’re fired the second we get back!” Everyone shut up. Silence fell over the beach. Mark was the boss. In this economy, losing a job was a death sentence. Most of us were fresh grads with student loans or parents with mortgages. We couldn’t afford to cross him. Mark gently wrapped his arms around Chloe, patiently explaining the mechanics of a flare gun like he was teaching a toddler. Chloe praised him with every breath, looking at him with worship in her eyes. Mark ate it up, rambling on about his “military knowledge” from video games. Only when the ship was a speck on the horizon did Mark stop talking. Chloe posed again, lifting the gun. In my last life, I couldn’t stand it. I grabbed the gun and saved us. I saved everyone’s life, and Mark hated me for stealing Chloe’s thunder. He destroyed me for it. This time, I stood at the back of the crowd, arms crossed, watching the show. Just as the ship was about to vanish, Chloe finally squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the trigger. Bang. The red flare shot out—and slammed directly into the trunk of a palm tree ten feet away. Chapter 2 Our only chance of rescue fizzled out in the branches. With death staring us in the face, nobody cared about their jobs anymore. “Chloe, are you brain-dead? There’s one tree in that direction! A blind person could have missed it!” “You want to play the clumsy cute girl, fine, but don’t gamble with our lives!” Chloe’s eyes welled up. She looked at Mark helplessly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” “It’s my hand… ever since I pulled my brother out from under that car three years ago, I damaged the tendons…” “It spasms uncontrollably. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to feel guilty, but I can’t hide it anymore…” Mark was moved to tears. He hugged her tight. “Chloe, it’s not your fault. It’s mine…” “Don’t worry, I will get you out of here!” An impatient girl from accounting rolled her eyes. “The flare is gone. How exactly are we getting out?” Mark smirked, pulling a GPS locator out of his pocket like it was the Holy Grail. “Relax. Before the trip, I set up a failsafe with security. If we don’t check in for two weeks, they send a chopper.” A collective sigh of relief washed over the group. People started counting their remaining protein bars, calculating how to survive four more days. But then, Chloe’s face went pale. “I… I took the SIM card out and threw it away…” Dead silence. Even Mark looked shocked. Chloe stammered, “I just wanted the retreat to be more exciting! More authentic! I didn’t think we’d actually get stuck!” “Markie, punish me. It’s all my fault.” She looked like she was about to fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness. Mark softened immediately. He pulled her up. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I know you love adventure. You just wanted everyone to experience real survival. Your heart was in the right place.” Chloe smiled through her tears, the guilt vanishing instantly. “Then… will you come explore that cave with me? I’m not done having fun!” Mark nodded, completely enchanted. They walked hand-in-hand toward the dark cave entrance. I couldn’t help myself. I called out, “Careful! That cave is full of snakes.” Mark froze. He was terrified of snakes. Even a picture on a screen made him sweat. But Chloe didn’t notice. She tugged on his arm. “It’s just a few little snakes. Markie will protect me, right?” Mark puffed out his chest, glancing at me with disdain. “Chloe is braver than you’ll ever be. You think everyone is a coward like you? Always scared of everything.” With that, they disappeared into the cave. I nearly passed out from anger. We’d been married three years. I helped Mark build his company from nothing. Every decision he made, I analyzed the risks. At first, he respected me. He called me his partner. But as the company grew, he started seeing my caution as weakness. He gave decision-making power to Chloe, the new intern. Chloe was reckless. She made messes, and I cleaned them up. Mark took the credit, Chloe took the praise, and I took the blame. My fault for being a doormat in my last life. I touched the single vial of antivenom in my backpack. They were definitely going to get bit. And there was only enough serum for one. Let’s see if the “brave” couple is still so fearless when death comes knocking. Chapter 3 While they played explorer, I led the team in weaving nets to catch fish. Our food was almost gone. After two hours, we caught a pot full of small fish. We boiled them whole, guts and all, to maximize the calories. It tasted awful, but everyone ate like it was a Michelin meal. Suddenly, Mark burst out of the cave carrying Chloe. “Help! Snake bite!” We rushed over. Both had two bloody puncture wounds on their fingers, oozing dark blood. Mark was sweating buckets, screaming at me. “Sarah! Do something!” Now he remembers me. I put on a panicked face. “That looks like a highly venomous viper! We need to amputate the fingers immediately. It might save your lives.” Chloe wailed. “No! No! If I lose a finger, how will I wear my wedding ring?” She buried her face in Mark’s chest. Mark stomped his foot, turning his rage on me. “You knew we were coming to an island! Why didn’t you bring medicine?” “I’m not asking you to—” He choked on his words. Because Chloe wanted “adventure,” Mark picked this remote island. I tried to stop him, but he threatened divorce. Before we left, I packed first-aid kits for everyone. But Mark said I was overreacting. “Why carry this junk? It’s heavy.” Chloe chimed in, “Is Sarah trying to curse us to get hurt?” So Mark ordered everyone to dump the kits to make room for Chloe’s skincare products. Only I kept mine. Mark and Chloe’s arms were turning black. They collapsed on the sand, breathing hard. Just as they were about to pass out, I slowly pulled the antivenom from my bag. “Oh, right. I forgot I had this.” “But… there’s only one dose.” “You two decide who lives.” Death by poison was too easy for them. In this life, I wanted them alive to suffer. Mark cursed me for not bringing more, but Chloe was faster. She snatched the vial. “Markie, you’re a man. You’re strong.” “Let me have it. Or I’ll die.” Mark wasn’t backing down. “If you hadn’t insisted on exploring that cave, we wouldn’t be in this mess! Don’t drag me down with you!” He tried to grab the needle. Chloe played her trump card. “Markie… you said you’d love me forever. You said you’d do anything for me.” Mark scoffed, about to argue, when Chloe clutched her stomach. “Baby… Mommy is sorry. I couldn’t find you a good daddy.” Mark froze. “Chloe… you’re pregnant? From that one time?” Chloe smiled sadly. “What does it matter? We’re both going to die anyway…” Mark didn’t hesitate. He plunged the needle into Chloe’s arm. But he stopped before it was empty, saving a third for himself. Having temporarily cheated death, Mark looked at me coldl.y “Don’t worry. When the baby is born, you can be the godmother.” “Childbirth is hard. Chloe is doing it for you. You should be grateful to her!” In the past, I would have screamed. Now, I didn’t bother. Chloe whined that she needed nutrients. She grabbed the pot of fish soup and chugged it. A second later, she gagged and vomited everything onto the sand. “Gross! It smells so fishy!” She kicked the pot over, spilling the rest into the ocean. Chapter 4 That was the food we spent hours catching. The team looked ready to murder her. But Mark stood in front of her, shielding her. Emboldened, Chloe pointed at me. “You! Go catch me some sea cucumber!” The team finally snapped. “Are you blind? Look at Sarah’s injuries!” “Sea cucumber? Why don’t you eat sand!” Night fell. The cold wind stung my wounds. On the first night, while building a shelter, Chloe “accidentally” tripped me. I fell down a rocky slope. I was covered in cuts and bruises. When I tried to use my first-aid kit, Mark took it away. “Why were you standing in her way? If Chloe gets a scar on her face, I’ll never forgive you!” He used all the antiseptic and bandages on a tiny scratch on Chloe’s cheek. Ten days later, my wounds were infected. Mark looked at my leg, almost softening, but then glanced at Chloe’s stomach. “Chloe is pregnant. She needs good food.” “You’re just hurt. Is your pain more important than my child?” I laughed coldly and refused. Mark grabbed my collar and dragged me toward the water. The salt water burned my open wounds. I screamed. The more I screamed, the more excited Mark seemed. I realized with horror—the snake venom. It made him aggressive. He grabbed my hair and dunked my head underwater. Suddenly, a sharp pain in my lower abdomen. Warmth spread between my legs. I reached down— In the moonlight, I saw blood. A shapeless mass floated in the water. My miscarriage. Mark stared at the blood, stunned. Then, insanely, he scooped up the tissue and ran to Chloe. “Chloe! Look! Nutrients! Eat this for the baby!” I vomited bile. Just then, someone shouted. “A boat! There’s a boat!” We waved torches. Without Chloe sabotage, the fishing boat docked. Mark picked up Chloe and rushed the gangway. The captain blocked them. “Only one of you can board.”

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1 It was adoption day at the orphanage. I shoved Leo, the boy I’d grown up with, into the fountain and stepped forward to present myself to the couple instead. Just like that, I became the daughter of a wealthy family, and Leo Holt remained an orphan. Eight years later, I was thrown out of the Hawthorne household for my wild and unruly behavior. Leo, on the other hand, had clawed his way up to become the formidable CEO of Holt Industries. We met again at his adoptive father’s funeral. Only this time, my role was that of a posthumous bride, a symbolic wife for the deceased. Leo’s eyes locked onto me, his gaze lingering for a long, heavy moment. Then, he did something I never expected. He knelt beside me, grabbed the back of my neck, and forced my head to the ground. His voice, as cold and distant as it was all those years ago, cut through the silence. “Stella… have you ever regretted it?” What regrets could a dying woman have? All I wanted was a gravestone to call my own. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Pay me enough, and I’ll tell you whatever you want to hear.” … In my dreams, I’d imagined our reunion a thousand times. But never, not once, did I picture this. The moment I stepped into the memorial hall, I saw him standing in the distance, his eyes fixed on me. Eight years. Leo had grown tall and lean, a man who carried himself with a quiet, solid confidence that clung to him like an expensive suit. Our gazes met across the crowded room for a fleeting second before I broke away, my own eyes darting elsewhere. I, who had always prided myself on my thick skin, could feel a hot blush creeping up my neck. Leo acted as if he didn’t even know me, turning his attention to the funeral director to discuss the arrangements. “Is that the woman they hired for old Mr. Holt? She’s so young.” “These days, there’s nothing a woman won’t do for money. Fifty grand to play bride to a corpse? Of course, she’d jump at the chance.” “She doesn’t even think it’s bad luck? She looks even younger than Mr. Holt himself.” Standing before the casket, I picked at my fingernails, their whispers buzzing around me like flies. Bad luck? My days among the living were already a nightmare. I didn’t have the energy to worry about the afterlife. Two weeks ago, my doctor told me I didn’t have much time left and urged me to check into a hospital. I glanced at my bank account balance and refused. A proper burial plot costs fifty thousand dollars. I’d been a stray for too long; I refused to be a wandering ghost after death. I had no choice. I had to take the odd job Mrs. Gable had found for me: becoming the symbolic bride for an old man who had never married. The number of guests who came to pay their respects told me Leo had done well for himself. After I stole his chance at adoption, I’d kept tabs on him. He’d aged out of the system on his eighteenth birthday and was thrown into the world to fend for himself. He fought hard. He had to, or he never would have met the man whose funeral this was. The late Mr. Holt, a multimillionaire, had remained a bachelor his entire life, heartbroken after the love of his life married another. He had no children of his own. Eventually, I stopped seeking news of Leo. All I knew was that Mr. Holt had adopted him as his son and heir, leaving him his entire fortune. The funeral director’s voice pulled me from my thoughts, instructing me to kneel by the coffin for the ceremony. I was just about to bow my head when Leo’s sharp voice cut in. “I’m not satisfied with this woman.” “My father loved one person his entire life. This woman is not worthy of him.” I knew he might try to sabotage this. But to wait until all the guests were assembled, until the ceremony was seconds from beginning… he was doing this purely to humiliate me. But I was out of time. I clutched at the hem of his tailored suit jacket. “You aren’t your father. How do you know he wouldn’t have liked someone like me? I’m already here. You have to pay me for today!” His eyes shot down to my hand on his clothes, and he flinched back as if burned, shoving me away. He seized my chin, his fingers digging into my skin. His lips trembled with rage. “You’re just as disgusting as you’ve always been. Is money really that important to you?” His voice was a low growl. “In all these eight years, was there ever a single moment you regretted leaving me?” The past might not matter to him, but the money mattered to me. Right now. “Pay me enough, and I’ll tell you whatever you want to hear.” A crack appeared in his stoic facade. Suddenly, he dropped to his knees in front of me, grabbed the back of my head, and slammed it toward the polished floor. He used all his strength. The heat that had been confined to my face now felt like it was engulfing my entire body. As my forehead hit the ground with a sickening thud, my vision swam with black spots, a high-pitched ringing screaming in my ears. The fever was back. I struggled instinctively, but he held me fast, pulling me up only to force my head down again, completing the three traditional bows. When it was over, he tossed me aside like a ragdoll. The illness washed over me in a dizzying wave, leaving me too weak to stand. The letter I had tucked inside my jacket slipped out and fell to the floor. He couldn’t see that. Not yet. But it was too late. Leo picked up the envelope. I didn’t have much of an education, so I’d simply copied the melodramatic TV shows I’d watched, scrawling “LAST WORDS” across the front in big, clumsy letters. “Stella, are you trying to tell me you have some terminal illness? Some noble reason for leaving me?” he sneered, his voice dripping with scorn. “What kind of fatal disease waits eight years before you finally get around to writing a will?” He tossed the letter, and it fluttered down, landing on my face. My eyes fixed on the words I had written, and a hysterical laugh bubbled in my chest. It was as pathetic as my entire life. Fighting through the pain, I forced myself to speak. “Yeah, that was the idea. Thought I could guilt you into feeling sorry for me. A bigger payout is always nice.” I took a shaky breath. “For old times’ sake, add another ten thousand.” Ten thousand. That should be enough to hire a professional mourning team. Someone to kneel at my vigil and cry for me. Someone to hold my portrait so I wouldn’t feel so alone in the end. Leo’s eyes widened, shocked by my brazenness. A vein throbbed in his temple. “Stella! Do you really think I could still be hung up on you after what you did?” I felt a sudden warmth on the back of my hand. A drop of blood from my nose, then another. The world tilted, and as I fell, the last thing I saw was the panic flooding Leo’s face. He hadn’t forgotten me after all. Of course he hadn’t. He never even changed his name. The first time I met him, I was eight. He was eight, too. That night, I heard him crying softly in a bathroom stall at the orphanage. As the self-proclaimed leader of the orphan kids, I felt it was my duty to comfort him. That was when I learned his parents had died in a car crash on the way to celebrate his birthday. He was the only survivor. I wiped his tears away. “They’ve turned into stars,” I told him. “They’re watching you, so don’t be scared.” “Did your mommy and daddy turn into stars too?” he asked, his small hand gripping mine, his face still streaked with tears. But my mother was a sex worker who didn’t even know who my father was. When I was five, she couldn’t afford me anymore. She pressed a lollipop into my hand and left me on the steps of the orphanage. No one loved me. I wanted so badly for one of the stars in the sky to love me, but I knew it was an empty wish. That’s why I named myself Stella. Leo didn’t fully understand, but he squeezed my hand tighter. “Then I’ll be Leo,” he whispered. “That way, you won’t be a lonely star anymore.” From that day on, he was my shadow. We were older, and the chances of anyone wanting to adopt us were slim to none. When we were fifteen, a family finally came looking for a boy. They were taken with Leo’s handsome features. But in front of the prospective parents, he took my hand. “If you adopt me, please take Stella with me. We promised we’d never be separated.” The result was predictable. Neither of us went. He spent a whole week apologizing and trying to cheer me up. When we were seventeen, the Hawthornes came to the orphanage. We stood in the courtyard, lined up like merchandise on a shelf. I swallowed nervously, my palms slick with cold sweat. Leo secretly squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “We made a promise. Whichever one of us gets picked, we won’t forget the other.” Mr. Hawthorne pointed at Leo. Just as he was about to speak, I shoved him with all my might. He stumbled backward, falling into the decorative stone fountain. His head hit the edge, and blood started to trickle from a cut on his forehead. The Hawthornes had one non-negotiable condition: the child had to be perfectly healthy, without a single scratch. In that instant, I became their only choice. As I was driven away in their sleek black car, I saw Leo staring after me, his eyes filled with a pain and confusion that stabbed at my heart. I wanted to look back, to give him one last glance, but I couldn’t. “Stella, I know you’re awake. Stop playing dead.” I slowly opened my eyes. I was in the back of his car. “Just low blood sugar,” I mumbled. “After all these jobs, you’d think I’d learn to expect that some clients don’t serve food.” His grip on my wrist tightened, his eyes blazing with a fury that seemed ready to spill over. “So this is just routine for you, isn’t it! You were a Hawthorne, for God’s sake. Have you no shame, no decency left?” I met his fiery gaze with a cool, steady one of my own. “If you pay me,” I said calmly, “I’ll even spend the night with you. I don’t care.” A bitter, humorless laugh escaped him. He yanked me closer by the chin, his hand shaking with rage. “Is that right? You’ll do anything for money?” His face was inches from mine. I closed my eyes, bracing myself. I expected a kiss. Instead, he shoved me away violently. “A woman like you… God knows how many men that mouth has been on. You make me sick.” He turned and got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. I watched his retreating back, a profound sadness settling in my chest. That mouth had only ever kissed him. It was the last New Year’s Eve we spent together. Leo and I bought a small bundle of sparklers, pooling together the twenty dollars we’d managed to scrounge up. He knew how much I loved the cheesy scenes from romance movies. In the snow-covered yard, he arranged the lit sparklers in a circle around us. We sat on the frozen ground, watching our breath fog in the air as we looked up at the stars. “I turn eighteen next year,” he said softly. “Let’s leave this place together. Let’s never be apart. Okay?” He was never good with words, not like the leading men in the dramas I watched. But his simple promise brought tears to my eyes. I leaned in and pressed my lips to his. My nose started bleeding again. I fumbled frantically for the bottle of pills in my pocket, shaking a few into my palm and swallowing them dry. I rushed to the restroom, splashing cold water on my face, trying to wash away the crimson stains. “Need a tissue? Here.” I turned. A woman in a long black dress was holding one out to me. “Thanks.” She smiled, but before she could say anything, Leo’s voice called from outside. “Chloe, are you ready? I brought you something to eat.” She linked her arm through his. “Just helping a lady with a nosebleed,” she said sweetly. My eyes fell to their entwined arms, and my fingers tightened around the flimsy tissue in my hand. Leo followed her gaze to me, and his brow furrowed in annoyance. “What is wrong with you? That’s the second time in a few hours. The procession is starting soon. You’d better not cause any trouble.” Chloe studied me for a moment. “She’s the one they hired for your father? Why is she so young?” “For money,” Leo said, his voice flat. “She’d do anything.” Hearing that, the kindness in Chloe’s eyes vanished, replaced by a cool disdain. “As long as your money comes through, there won’t be any trouble from me,” I said, smoothing down my dress before walking out. The rest of the ceremony was a blur. I stood beside Leo as he held the memorial tablet, bowing three times in unison. I somehow managed to hold myself together until it was over. Just as I was about to slip away, he grabbed my wrist. “Stay for the farewell dinner.” I almost laughed. Did he really think I was that desperate for a free meal? But when I looked up and saw the raw red in his eyes, I heard myself agreeing. Just a little longer. Let me be greedy and stay with him just a little longer. At the dinner, I sat in a corner, watching Leo as he was swarmed by guests and colleagues. It was for the best. He didn’t need me anymore. I tried to leave quietly, but my limbs felt heavy, my legs weak. A strange, unnatural heat flushed my face. This wasn’t my illness. I’d been drugged. A man’s arms wrapped around me from behind, his greasy voice slithering into my ear like a snake. “I hear you’re for hire. Spend the night with me. I’ll pay you well.” Thankfully, I was used to this. I grabbed a nearby wine glass and smashed it over his head, then stumbled into the hallway, running. My vision was blurring, the walls seeming to melt around me. I shoved open the first door I could find and locked myself inside. Through the haze, I saw a figure appear in the doorway. A bitter smile touched my lips. So he found me after all. The figure swept me into a fierce embrace, holding me so tightly I felt like my bones would fuse with his. “Get off… you can’t…” “You’ll do it for anyone, so why not for me!” Leo’s mouth crashed down on mine. His kiss wasn’t the tender caress of our youth. It was the savage bite of a wild animal, intent on tearing me apart and devouring me whole. Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t because of his kiss. It was the blood, thick and hot, surging up my windpipe. I shoved Leo away with all my strength, my hand striking his cheek with a sharp crack. I scrambled out of the room, hailed a cab, and gasped the name of the hospital. Blood was now pouring from my mouth and nose. I collapsed the moment I stumbled through the hospital entrance. Dr. Evans saw me and immediately scooped me into his arms, rushing me toward the emergency room. The bright white lights overhead seared my eyes. I’m dying, aren’t I? My life flashed before my eyes. The day before the Hawthornes came to the orphanage, I overheard the director on the phone with them. “There are only two older children with the right blood type.” “I understand your sister needs a long-term blood supply. I’d recommend the boy, Leo. He’s healthier.” Perhaps that was the moment I made my decision. I would go in his place. The director was already tired of us, two older kids no one wanted. He was determined to make this adoption happen. My only option was to push Leo into the fountain, to make myself the sole candidate. The look of betrayal in Leo’s eyes had cut me deeper than any knife. It’s okay, I had told myself. In the movies, the heroine always leaves with a misunderstanding, but when she returns, she and the hero clear things up and live happily ever after. Leo was smart; he would make something of himself. He’d become a CEO, just like in the stories, and then he would understand, and we would finally have our happy ending. And he did become a CEO. But I forgot one crucial detail. I wasn’t the heroine. From the day I stepped into the Hawthorne house, my life was a living hell. Clara, the true Hawthorne daughter, was critically ill. And I, her secret donor, slowly transitioned from a living blood bank to a spare parts depot. A kidney. Half my liver. To the world, I was the pampered, adopted daughter. In private, I was a permanent resident of the hospital’s surgical wing. Until there was nothing left of me to take. Then, the Hawthornes manufactured a reason and threw me out. They weren’t worried I’d expose them. They knew I wouldn’t live long enough. But I wouldn’t go down that easily. I would show them that even a trampled ant could bite back. The blockage in my throat grew worse until I coughed up a great gush of blood. “Dr. Evans,” I choked out, “I’m out of time… My funeral… someone will handle it… I’ve already paid…”

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Leila Elkin, FNB’s new director, had ousted news queen Diana Croft, causing a city-wide scandal. Now she stood in my consignment shop, here to sell jewelry. “My darling had these custom-made,” she said, waving a hand. “He spoils me with so many gifts.” A diamond choker with a ruby the size of my thumb—worth at least ten million—lay beside other treasures. I smiled professionally. “Your husband must love you deeply.” But as I checked the certificates, the signature made me freeze. Leila sipped her tea, eyes glinting. “Oh, I’m not his wife. We’re just… first loves.” She leaned in, smiling. “He said he missed fifteen years of my life, so he bought fifteen gifts to make up for it. Romantic, isn’t it?” It was. But that same elegant signature had graced my report cards for years. It was my father’s, a man I’d believed for thirty years was too unromantic to ever give my mother a single surprise. 1 Noticing my stunned silence, Leila’s eyes narrowed with a hint of amusement. “Goes to show, you really do have to raise a girl with money. Otherwise, even when you’re surrounded by luxury all day, seeing the real thing still leaves you speechless.” I ignored the barb in her voice and composed myself, offering a cool smile. “Ms. Elkin, I can offer eight million for the ruby. You’ve just taken over as director at FNB; why the sudden need to sell your collection?” “Oh, I’m selling these to buy my love a birthday present,” she explained, a dreamy look in her eyes. “He gave me this massive rock the other day. Do you have any watches in a similar price range?” A desperate, sliver of hope flickered within me. Maybe it’s just a coincidence. The same name, the same handwriting… it could happen. “Could I perhaps see a photo of him?” I asked, my voice steady. “It would help me recommend a suitable style.” The moment she showed me the screen, that hope died. There was my father, his arm wrapped tightly around Leila, a genuine, unbridled joy in his eyes that I had never seen before. At home, his face was a constant mask of stern solemnity. Here, he was alive. “Ms. Lin, you’ve been staring at my man for quite a while,” Leila said, snatching the phone back. Her tone was sharp with displeasure, and the massive diamond on her finger flashed, searing my eyes. My parents had been married for thirty years. Our family of three was crammed into a tiny one-bedroom apartment in the Barrens, the grimiest part of Cresthaven. The living room doubled as my bedroom, a space so small that the three of us couldn’t walk around at the same time without bumping into each other. And yet this was the man who could afford to shower Leila Elkin with custom haute couture jewelry. Meanwhile, the only thing on my mother’s hand was a thin, misshapen silver band. “I was just struck by his devotion,” I said, my voice carefully neutral. “To have stayed so faithful to you for all these years.” Leila let out a scornful laugh. “Oh, I know he got married after I left. I don’t care. Love and obligation are two very different things.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Besides, back when I was leaving the country, I teased him. I said he had no masculine charm, just the smell of money. Do you know what the silly fool did?” I didn’t need to guess. Because of Leila’s casual joke, he had pretended to be poor for thirty years, never once using his wealth to ease our family’s burden. And because of one sweet murmur from her, he had instantly shed that disguise, ready to give her the world. Her sprawling penthouse apartment, her powerful job at the network—it was all from him. After settling on a watch for her, I stumbled home in a daze. I pushed open the door to our cramped apartment. My mother, her back slightly stooped, was navigating the tiny space, bumping into furniture. Her arms and waist were dappled with the faded purple of old bruises. We were poor. My father’s “salary” of two thousand a month was never enough. So, my mother worked as a cleaner for the wealthy. She was a beautiful woman, and she often came home in tears, having spent her day fending off the wandering hands of the men she worked for. She would cry, and then she would go back the next day. My father never defended her. He would just say, “Life isn’t a fairy tale, is it?” So she learned to keep her head down, to make herself small, to become the hunched figure she was today. Leila Elkin, on the other hand, always stood ramrod straight. Because my father was the ground beneath her feet. In my line of work, I dealt with the city’s elite. I had connections. It didn’t take much digging to uncover the truth. My father wasn’t just rich. He was powerful. He was the secret owner of FNB. I remembered when I was five and fell deathly ill. I watched my mother swallow every last shred of her dignity, getting on her knees to beg her employers for an advance on her wages. The money wasn’t enough. The surgery wasn’t entirely successful. To this day, my heart still seizes in my chest if I walk too fast. Seeing me, my mother’s tired face broke into a smile. “Sophie, I found a new client! She’s paying so well. We’ll be able to afford a new place for you soon!” She had no idea. My father had already bought someone else a new place—a penthouse in the heart of downtown. I looked at her, a lump forming in my throat. “Mom,” I said, my voice thick. “I have something very important to tell you.” 2 My mother sat on the sofa—my bed—wearing a faded, mended shirt. It was the only gift my father had ever given her. “Sophie, what is it? Should I call your father?” she asked, her brow furrowed with concern. “He just lost his job, you know. He’s probably out pounding the pavement at the recruitment agencies.” He’d used that excuse to stay away from home for the past three days. Meanwhile, Leila had just posted an update to her social media. He said I needed to network, so he bought me a golf course. My mother’s hands were swollen and chapped from years of hard labor. The hands my father was holding in the photo were slender, pale, and perfectly manicured. “Mom,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Dad is having an affair.” I couldn’t meet her eyes. I just stared at the floor. “Sophie, how can you say that about your father?” she protested, her voice rising. “He’s just been away for a few days! He’s doing it for us, for our family!” I said nothing. I just unlocked my phone and showed her the photos I’d taken today: the purchase authorizations for all those custom pieces. The signature, the name, the ID number. It was all him. Then, I showed her more. “Mom, Dad has been lying to us for thirty years. He’s rich. He doesn’t need to work. He has more money than we could ever imagine.” I watched as her shoulders began to tremble. Tears spilled from her eyes, silent and steady, soaking the front of her worn shirt. Every month, my father gave her just enough to cover the barest of expenses. My school tuition was paid for with her humiliation, one degrading job at a time. She wasn’t just a cleaner for the rich; she’d swept streets and scrubbed public toilets. She never took a day off. She gave everything for our family. But my father never gave her a single surprise. He even forgot their anniversary every year. “In our situation, what’s there to celebrate?” he’d always say. And my mother, though her eyes held a flicker of hope, eventually learned to say nothing. But he remembered every one of Leila’s preferences. Every gift he gave her was steeped in meaning. “Mom,” I said, my voice cold and hard. I had to be cruel to be kind. “Leila was his first love. The only reason he pretended to be poor was because of a joke she made years ago.” I watched her face crumble as the screen glowed with undeniable proof. “On your birthday, the fifteenth of this month, not only did he not get you a gift, he didn’t even come home.” I took a shaky breath. “That was the day he was at a high-end auction, spending a fortune on a diamond for Leila.” My voice was getting tighter, strangled. “Can’t I just… pretend I don’t know?” she whispered, her voice choked with tears, interrupting me. A surge of hot anger rushed through me. Even now, she wanted to protect him! But then I heard her next words. “He’s so rich… you’re his daughter. He’ll look out for you. It’s okay if he wants to divorce me, Sophie, as long as he takes care of you.” I hadn’t planned on crying. But hearing that, I broke down completely. The crushing weight of life had tamed my mother into a creature of infinite patience and forgiveness. Meanwhile, Leila, coddled and adored by my father, got everything she ever wanted. Why? I wiped the tears from my mother’s face. “No. If we divorce him, I’ll make sure he leaves with nothing.” 3 My mother was still hesitant. “He’s so powerful, Sophie. Can we really win against him?” Poverty had made me a target for bullies when I was a child. My father never stood up for me, which taught me to fight my own battles and never back down. He owed us. And I would make him pay back every single debt. “Trust me, Mom,” I said, my voice firm. “I’ve got this.” I tracked down the contact information for Diana Croft, the star anchor Leila had pushed out, and sent her a text. I have a story that can get you your job back. Her reply was instant. I’m listening. But purchase receipts weren’t enough to nail him for adultery. All of Leila’s social media photos were carefully framed to hide his face. So, I used the expensive watch as an excuse and arranged to deliver it to her at FNB studios myself. When I arrived at her office, Leila was thrilled with the timepiece, immediately snapping photos of it. Then she took out her phone and sent a voice message. “This is your birthday gift from me, darling. Will you come pick me up after work today?” The reply came back as a voice note, too. Leila played it without a hint of shame. “Leila, my love, just having you by my side is the greatest gift. You don’t need to buy me things like this.” At that exact moment, my mother sent me a screenshot of her own text conversation. Will you be home for your birthday? she had asked my father. His reply: The best gift you could give me is to stop complaining and stop being so needy all the time. Seeing me staring at my phone, Leila leaned back in her chair, a smirk on her face. “Envious of my love story, little girl? It’s a shame, really. But what can you do? Blame your parents for not giving you a better start in life.” The irony was so thick I could choke on it. My father hadn’t given me a good start. But he’d certainly given her one. Walking through the FNB building earlier, I’d overheard employees whispering about her incompetence. The ratings had plummeted to less than half of what they were under Diana Croft. “I’m launching a new segment,” Leila announced, examining the watch. “Interviews with poor people like you. Should be fascinating, don’t you think?” She picked up an alcohol wipe and began meticulously cleaning the watch I had just handed her, even though I’d worn gloves. Her eyes were filled with disdain, as if my very presence was contaminating her space. Once she signed the confirmation receipt, I left. I sat in a coffee shop across the street from the FNB tower for hours, waiting. Finally, the workday ended. Leila emerged, clicking down the steps in her sharp stilettos. A sleek sports car pulled up to the curb. My father got out. They fell into each other’s arms, their lips meeting in a long, deep kiss. Leila leaned against his chest, laughing softly. My face was a mask of ice as I raised my phone and captured photo after damning photo. I showed them to my mother as soon as I got home. I needed to steel her resolve, to make sure she wouldn’t beg him to come back. In the past, she would try to be affectionate with him, to cuddle up to him, but he would always subtly push her away, a flicker of disgust in his eyes. Now, looking at the pictures, she just smiled faintly. “I’ve already started looking at new apartments. Once the divorce is settled and we get the money, I can buy one outright.” But before I could package the evidence and send it to Diana, I got a call. It was about my mother. There had been an incident.

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At our high school reunion, my old deskmate suddenly walked up to me and asked, “Do you remember how you bullied me in middle school?” The chatter stopped instantly. Everyone looked at me. Even the livestream camera of our classmate, a famous influencer with millions of followers, turned to focus on my face. The whole world was waiting for me to prove my innocence. I smirked and pulled out a notebook, thick enough to be a weapon. Five hundred pages of receipts. “Tell me when and where I bullied you. Let’s check the ledger.” Who keeps a diary like this? A normal person? No. But I, unfortunately, have suffered from persecution paranoia since I was ten. I always felt like someone was out to get me, so I came prepared. 1 In elementary school, I was falsely accused of stealing a hair clip. They called me a thief with nothing but their words and demanded I prove I didn’t do it. The clique relied on their numbers, drowning me in accusations. I had no friends, no one to back me up. I could only clench my teeth and let the tears fall. In the end, the matter was dropped. No one bothered me about it again, but no one cleared my name either. But it left a scar on my heart. Just like that, I developed persecution paranoia. I always believed there were “unruly subjects trying to harm the Emperor”—me. So, starting at age ten, I began keeping a diary. There was no “Today was sunny” or “I felt sad.” It was a record of every grudge, every slight, every conflict. You could call it my “Book of Grudges.” The purpose was simple: if I was ever falsely accused again, I could lay out a clear timeline and leave them speechless. Later, I did plenty of those “mental gymnastics” exercises popular online. One question was: [If someone at a reunion suddenly asks if you remember bullying them, how should you respond?] I skipped that question at the time. With my Book of Grudges, I didn’t need to worry. But that absurd hypothetical became my reality. It had been ten years since middle school. Suddenly, someone in the group chat called for a reunion. As a freelancer, I didn’t have many friends around, so I agreed without thinking. We had just started eating when a girl with short hair arrived late. She was painfully thin. Even with makeup, she radiated a bleak bitterness. The smile on her face was faint and fake, like a mask. Her eyes darted around with a calculating coldness. Having studied some physiognomy, I didn’t want to engage with her. It wasn’t until she introduced herself that I realized she was my old deskmate, Jenny. We were deskmates in name only; we didn’t sit together for long. Seats were rotated monthly based on grades. I didn’t expect that while I ignored her, she would come for me. 2 Among the attendees was a mega-influencer, Chloe. From the moment she walked in, she had been livestreaming. Chloe was a talker. Back in the day, she was the school gossip who couldn’t keep a secret. She sat diagonally across from me, eating and talking non-stop. Just then, Jenny ran up to me, raising a glass of wine. She stepped right into the livestream frame. She didn’t come with good intentions. A hint of sarcasm played on her face, her tone passive-aggressive. “Vivian, do you remember bullying me in middle school?” Jenny looked like the protagonist of a revenge drama who had suffered immensely. Years later, the ugly duckling returns as a swan for a grand entrance. She provokes the perpetrator, savoring their shock. Then pretends to be magnanimous, forgiving, and above it all. It was such a sensitive topic. As soon as Jenny spoke, everyone stopped talking. The noisy private room fell dead silent. Every classmate stared at me, each with their own thoughts. Chloe panned the camera, showing the whole scene. Then she gave my face a clear close-up. Thousands of people flooded the livestream instantly. They were all smirking, waiting for me to defend myself. [Bullies deserve to die! That woman looks mean.] [I grew up being bullied. I know exactly how helpless it feels.] [Does anyone else feel like this is a setup?] [No way, who would joke about this at a reunion? Victim blamers, get out.] [If she didn’t do anything, it’s still hard to prove a negative.] [Are you empathizing with the bully? You must be one too!] Although my face showed confusion, it wasn’t panic or guilt. I was wondering if Jenny was pulling a prank, so I asked: “Are you sure? You say I bullied you. When?” Jenny sneered contemptuously, looked at the ceiling, and sniffled loudly. She looked like she was holding back tears. “You locked me in the bathroom and poured water on me.” “You locked me in the teacher’s office all night.” “You snapped all the pens in my pencil case so I couldn’t take the exam.” “Forget it, why am I telling you this? It’s been so many years. I’ve let it go.” “Vivian, I don’t plan to hate you anymore. Drink this glass, and let’s reconcile.” She tilted the glass toward me. I stared at the swirling red wine. If I clinked glasses with her, wouldn’t that be admitting my guilt as a bully? 3 I extended a finger and pushed her wine glass away. Then I stood up, looking Jenny in the eye. “I never accept false accusations.” “I thought you were joking.” “Now I see you’re serious.” “Jenny, I really can’t compete with people who are naturally talented at being ridiculous.” Jenny came prepared. Her earlier setup was a retreat to advance, forcing me into a corner. How could she be here to reconcile, as she claimed? “Vivian, it seems the internet is right. Villains never know they’ve done evil.” “How can you be so self-righteous! For ten years, I’ve had nightmares every day, dreaming of your ugly face.” “Do you know the psychological trauma you caused me?!” Her eyes grew redder until a tear fell. Trembling fingers, shaking body, twitching facial muscles. Anyone else seeing her state would have felt a pang of guilt. But not me. I straightened my back and answered her with absolute certainty. “Jenny, I did nothing wrong to you. If you want to be an actor, don’t practice on me.” “You’re an adult. You should know there are consequences for spreading rumors.” “You open your mouth with no evidence, just tears falling pat-pat-pat. If that worked, lawyers should just merge with professional mourners.” Jenny raised her volume, delivering a K-drama-worthy performance. “Don’t threaten me! I was threatened by you back then, and now you want to do it again! Do you think I’m still that pushover?!” “You know it’s hard to get evidence for these things, but you bullying me is a fact!” I wiped Jenny’s spit off my face. She suddenly stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Vivian, I gave you an out, you should have taken it. Don’t make this hard on yourself. Can you really explain this away?” “Why can’t I?” I pulled a five-hundred-page diary from my bag. And slammed it onto her face. Since she insisted on embarrassing me, I wouldn’t hesitate to ruin her socially. “Look closely. Everything that happened in the last ten years is recorded here. A dull pencil is better than a sharp memory.” “You said I locked you in the bathroom and poured water on you. Please watch the VCR.” I had already asked someone to project the contents of my notebook onto the wall of the room. “March 11th. Jenny didn’t finish her math homework. Afraid of being scolded by the teacher, she dared not return to the dorm and locked herself in the bathroom.” “She tried to get herself wet to catch a cold so she wouldn’t have to do homework.” “But she accidentally locked herself in the stall.” “Everyone asked her how it happened, but Jenny wouldn’t say.” “Only I knew, because I was in the next stall, constipated.” “My homeroom teacher can testify for me. I was the one who helped her out when my legs went numb.” “May 27th.” “The eve of the placement exam. Jenny went to the teacher’s office to steal the answer key. Unexpectedly, the grade director had been kicked out by his wife that day and slept in the office all night.” “Jenny had no chance to return and called me for help. She asked me to distract the director because I was the class representative. I still have the call logs saved on my hard drive.” I read sentence by sentence. Logical, clear. Every word was a public execution of Jenny. Jenny interrupted me impatiently: “Enough! You even have call logs from ten years ago? You are too sinister!” The word “sinister” seemed so pale and weak right now. Even she seemed to panic, clenching her teeth, unsure how to end this. The livestream chat was buzzing. [Holy moly, who keeps a diary like this?!] [And she listed a clear timeline. The Chronicle of Events. I didn’t even study history this seriously.] [This sister prepared a Book of Exoneration for herself in advance!] [Thought it was ‘The Glory’, turns out it’s ‘The Twilight Zone’.] Even at this point. Jenny still didn’t want to give up. 4 “Maybe I don’t remember those things clearly because it’s been so long.” “But you abusing the stray dog is true!” Jenny started crying to the livestream camera. “That puppy was named Lucky. I fed him every day after school. But suddenly, one day, Lucky never ran to me happily barking again.” “It was this vicious woman! I saw her drug Lucky, beat him, force water down his throat, and finally, Lucky died that winter.” “Since then, there has been a small grave at the school.” “Stop denying it! The school surveillance cameras captured it all!” Jenny wiped her tears, a glint of success in her eyes. This move was clever. Even harder to disprove than bullying, since there was no witness. The vet clinic that treated Lucky had closed down, so I couldn’t get a diagnosis record. I thought my self-defense earlier would calm the livestream audience. Unexpectedly, a wave of bots flooded the chat. All accusing me: [She’s so twisted, who keeps a grudge book like that!] [Is she a serial killer? And she abuses dogs?] [What did the puppy do wrong! Hang in there, short-haired girl! These psychos are usually deep schemers.] I admit I’m dark. Normal people don’t keep ledgers of grudges. But calling me a psycho dog abuser? That won’t stand. Jenny seemed to relax silently, thinking she could proceed with her plan. I pulled out another weapon. No witnesses? Did she think I didn’t have physical evidence? “I knew text could have flaws and sometimes isn’t convincing enough.” “I have terabytes of video.” “Lucky was a dog you couldn’t tame. Every time I fed him medicine, he was fierce.” “To catch him and take him to the vet, I almost fought him. In the end, I had to drug him.” I skillfully connected my phone and clicked screen mirroring. The restaurant’s Wi-Fi was fast. Soon, images from ten years ago appeared. In the video, I faced the camera: “It is 6 PM on the 20th. I am preparing to kidnap the school’s limping dog, Lucky, to take him to the vet.” As soon as I approached, Lucky bared his teeth at me. I had no choice but to return to the camera. “The wound on Lucky’s leg is deep enough to see bone. He needs stitches. But the dog won’t cooperate. Clearly, there is no basic trust between human and dog.” “Now I need to put a pill in a sausage.” Lucky ate the sausage and soon stopped moving. The footage shook as I carried Lucky, preparing to leave for the vet. I ran into a short-haired girl coming down the stairs. She pointed at me and screamed: “I saw you drug Lucky! If you’re hungry, buy food! Why eat dog meat?!” In the video, I froze for a second looking in the direction of the voice. Then I cursed at her. I was a rebellious teen once; I couldn’t take that kind of slander. “If your brain is full of water, shake it out. The sun is so bright, and it still hasn’t dried you out.” She was clearly stunned by my scolding, freezing in place. I rolled my eyes and walked straight ahead. Walking to the school gate, I explained to the camera: “That psycho just now was Jenny, my deskmate.” “Always crying and whining, accusing people of bullying her at the drop of a hat.” “Doesn’t study seriously, eyes red, snot running down, pretending to be a strong little flower.” “I feel like this girl will definitely try to harm me in the future, frame me for dog abuse.” “When that happens, I’ll release the evidence.” And I was right. Ten years later, Jenny really accused me of abusing the dog. When those words appeared in the video, the whole room was shocked. Chloe covered her mouth in disbelief, screaming: “Fifty thousand viewers!” Another classmate jumped up from his seat excitedly. “Trending! Front page headlines! It blew up! It blew up!”

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