Category: English

1 The day my father signed over 30% of the company to the golden boy he raised instead of me, the woman I’d loved for ten years dumped me. “Omid,” Kiki said, sitting across from me in the cafe booth. “This is it for us.” A tremor ran through my fingertips. “Why?” “I’ve been waiting for five years,” she said, her eyes welling up. “You told me that once you got your stake in the family business, we could finally buy a place in the city, get married. And now? Where’s the equity, Omid?” I started to explain, but she cut me off. “In your parents’ eyes, you, their real son, are worth less than the one they adopted. I’m thirty, Omid. I don’t have time to be part of your family’s psychodrama anymore.” She grabbed her coat and walked away without a backward glance. My phone screen lit up. It was a picture from my mother, a photo of Leo at the equity signing ceremony. The voice message that followed was bubbling with joy. “Leo is officially a shareholder! We can finally relax.” The look of smug satisfaction on Leo’s face in the photo made me laugh until tears streamed down my face. I left the “Shaw Family” group chat and blocked every last one of them. Since you chose him, so be it. Your precious reputation, your web of obligations… they mean nothing to me now. I just wonder if you’ll remember the son you threw away when your darling boy, the one you poured everything into, burns your entire world to the ground. Three days later, an unfamiliar number buzzed relentlessly. “Omid, how could you just block your parents? That’s so childish!” It was my Aunt Carol, my mother’s younger sister. “Is there something you need?” My voice was flat. “Your mother is sick with worry! Her heart is acting up! She couldn’t reach you, so she had to call me.” The accusations rained down on me like hail. “You need to unblock them right now and call your mother.” “We have nothing to say to each other,” I bit out. “You…” Aunt Carol was speechless for a moment, then her tone turned sour. “Is this really just because they gave the shares to Leo? He grew up in the company, he knows the business…” “Knows the business?” I let out a cold laugh. “Aunt Carol, is giving the adopted son a million dollars’ worth of company stock what you call ‘knowing the business’? While I, the biological son, get nothing?” Silence on the other end. “Last month, I found a condo in Queens I wanted to buy. A million bucks. The down payment was three hundred thousand. I was a hundred and fifty grand short.” “I begged them to lend me the money for the down payment. I promised to pay it all back, with interest. Do you know what they said?” My aunt said nothing. I scoffed. “My father told me a man needs to stand on his own two feet, that it wasn’t their obligation. My mother told me New York was too expensive and asked why I didn’t just move back home.” The line was dead quiet. “And then,” my voice trembled with a rage I couldn’t contain, “they turned around and handed a million-dollar stake in the company to Leo. He’s twenty-five, an art major making eight grand a month who does nothing but shop and party. My mother said he needed a foothold in the company.” “Well…” “Aunt Carol, I’m not jealous of Leo. I just want to know one thing: am I their son or not? I’m out here killing myself trying to build a life, and they tell me to do it on my own. But the spoiled brat who only knows how to spend their money? They couldn’t wait to hand him the keys to the kingdom.” “Omid, your parents were just thinking about the company’s future…” “The company?” I cut her off. “They didn’t even find me until I was twenty-two. Haven’t they done enough to ‘compensate’ him in the last eight years? Leo’s designer clothes, his tuition to study abroad—the family paid for all of it. And now that he wants to play businessman, they’re willing to give him a core stake in the company, all for the sake of their reputation as ‘generous, loyal’ people?” Aunt Carol sighed. “Your parents are from a different generation. They feel a responsibility to the son they raised.” “And what about their responsibility to their actual son?” I shot back. “I’m thirty years old. A five-year relationship just ended because of this. Aunt Carol, you tell me. What am I supposed to do?” “Kiki… broke up with you?” she asked, surprised. “The day after my mother sent me that picture.” My laugh was bitter. “She said she couldn’t marry a man who meant nothing to his own parents.” My aunt was completely silent. “They want to be saints. Fine. I’ll let them,” I said. “But from this day forward, they can consider me dead. If they get sick, if they need anything, they can go to their precious investment. The one they bought for a million dollars.” “Omid, don’t say things you don’t mean…” I hung up. The world was finally quiet. I opened my laptop and started searching for cheap apartments on the outskirts of the city. The Bronx, Jersey City… I didn’t care how far or how rundown it was, as long as I could stay in this city. That three-hundred-thousand-dollar down payment? I’d earn it myself. Without anyone’s help. A week later, I was working late when an unknown number called. “Hello?” “Omid. It’s me.” It was my father. His voice sounded exhausted. I said nothing. “You’re not even going to answer my calls now?” “What do you want?” “Your mother’s in the hospital. High blood pressure.” My heart sank, but a layer of ice quickly formed over it. “Is it serious?” “She needs to be kept for observation.” He paused. “Take a few days off and come home.” “I’m busy. I can’t get away.” “Work is more important than your mother?” he demanded, his voice rising. “Yes,” I answered calmly. “Since I can’t rely on my mother, work is all I have left to rely on.” I could hear his heavy, ragged breathing on the other end. “Omid, do you think you’re so tough now? You’d throw away your own parents over a little stock?” “Dad, it wasn’t ‘a little stock.’ It was a million dollars,” I corrected him. “It was our chance at a life in this city, a chance you personally destroyed.” “It’s our company! We can give it to whoever we want!” he roared. “You’re right,” I agreed. “And my time and energy belong to me. Right now, I need to give them to my job.” “You…” He was choking on his anger. “Mom’s in the hospital, but you’re there, aren’t you? And you have your beloved Leo. He just came into a million dollars. Shouldn’t he be the one to step up and play the devoted son?” “You ungrateful bastard!” “Dad, let’s do the math,” I cut him off. “I make twelve grand a month. If I take time off, I lose my salary plus my attendance bonus. That’s about two thousand dollars down the drain. The round-trip train ticket is another thousand. And the cost of my time is even higher. This trip would cost me at least ten grand.” He was silent, his breathing growing heavier. “You still have 70% of the company, don’t you? Can’t you afford her medical bills?” He gasped. “How did you know there was 70% left?” That question shattered the last shred of warmth I had for him. “So it’s true. You did keep 70%,” I said, my laugh ice-cold. “Last week, Aunt Carol told me you practically bankrupted yourselves giving Leo his shares, that you had to bribe the board. I almost believed her.” They weren’t stupid. They’d kept a safety net for themselves. A safety net that never included me. “One hundred percent of the company,” I said, spelling it out. “You gave 30% to your adopted son and kept 70% for yourselves. But you wouldn’t even lend your biological son a hundred and fifty grand.” I paused. “Dad, what are your hearts made of?” A long, heavy silence. “Omid…” he started, trying to explain. “Don’t,” I interrupted. “You have the money for Mom’s treatment. You have the time to take care of her. And so does Leo. It doesn’t matter whether I come back or not.” “You’re really not coming?” He sounded incredulous. “No,” I said. “Take care.” I hung up and blocked his number. The fluorescent lights of the office made my face look ghostly pale. I slumped over my desk, my shoulders shaking uncontrollably. So it was true. In their eyes, I was worthless. They would rather give their fortune to a stranger than spare a dime for me. Fine. This way, the break was cleaner. I had nothing to feel guilty about. A month later, a party was held at a lavish hotel back home to celebrate Leo’s appointment as Vice President. Photos and videos flooded the family group chat. Even though I’d left, a “well-meaning” cousin sent them to me privately. “Omid, look how amazing your brother is doing! Your parents must be so proud!” “How could you not come back for something this important?” I deleted everything without a flicker of emotion. The next day, my grandmother called. “Omid, honey. Are you still angry?” “Grandma,” I said, my voice softening. “You didn’t come to Leo’s party yesterday. Your parents lost a lot of face,” she sighed. “All the relatives were asking about you. They had to tell everyone you were busy with a big project.” “I am busy.” “I heard about you and Kiki…” “Yeah.” “Such a shame,” she sighed again. “Your parents really messed this one up. Ignoring their own son just to put on a show for everyone else.” The phrase “messed this one up” made my eyes burn. It was the first time since this whole nightmare began that a family member had taken my side. “I’m okay, Grandma.” “Oh, you…” she said. “Your father is obsessed with his image. He’s always felt like he owed Leo something. Giving him the shares was his way of paying a debt and showing off at the same time.” “So he traded my happiness for his pride?” “He wasn’t thinking clearly,” she said. “I bet your mother and Leo’s biological mother put him up to it.” “The result is the same.” “They got drunk last night, bragging about how the whole family respects them now.” Her tone was dismissive. “I told them off. I said, ‘Your own house is falling apart, and you’re busy fixing someone else’s roof!’” I listened quietly. “Don’t hold a grudge, honey. You can always make more money, but when family is gone, they’re gone for good.” “I’m not holding a grudge,” I said. “I just see things clearly now.” “What do you see?” “That you can’t rely on anyone but yourself,” I said. “I’ll buy my own house. I’ll build my own life. They have their golden boy to take care of them in their old age. That’s great.” “Oh, you stubborn child…” “Don’t worry, Grandma. I’m doing fine,” I said. “When I buy my place, you’ll be the first guest.” “Okay, honey. Okay,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. After we hung up, I stared out the window. The New York skyline was a glittering tapestry of dreams, but I knew that from now on, I would be walking this path alone. I opened my laptop and sent a proposal to my boss with a note attached: “If any overseas projects in the Middle East or Africa open up, please consider me first. I’m not afraid of hard work. I want the highest possible hazard pay.” He replied instantly: “Omid, are you crazy?” I typed back: “Not crazy. Just need to make money.” To scrape together the down payment, I put myself through hell. I moved out of my $2,500-a-month apartment in Queens and into a tiny, rundown studio in the Bronx that was a twenty-minute bike ride from the nearest subway station. The rent dropped to $1,500. My commute went from ninety minutes to three hours each way. I was up at 5:30 AM and home after 10:00 PM. I cut out every non-essential expense. Coffee, dinners with friends, movies, new clothes—all gone. Breakfast was two stale bagels. Lunch was the cheapest special in the cafeteria. Dinner was whatever discounted instant meal I could find at the grocery store. I took on a manic amount of freelance work. On weekends and late nights, I wrote proposals and reports for small companies, making a few thousand dollars per project. It was exhausting, but the money was fast. In three months, I lost twenty pounds. My eyes were sunken, my skin sallow. A coworker joked that I looked like I’d been abducted by aliens. Only I knew the truth: I was trading my life force for cash. The number in my bank account grew slowly but steadily. $80,000, $85,000, $92,000… Every thousand dollars was a step closer to my goal. During this time, my parents tried to reach me through relatives. My aunt: “Your mother cries every day, thinking about you.” My reply: “A shame she can’t call me, then.” My uncle: “Your dad’s blood pressure is through the roof. Are you trying to kill them?” My reply: “They have 70% of a company and a million-dollar son. They’ll be fine.” Even Leo called, his voice dripping with false sincerity and a hint of gloating. “Hey, bro. Heard you were having a tough time. Need any help? Now that I’m VP, I’ve got cash to spare.” “No, thanks.” “Don’t blame Mom and Dad. They just love me a little more, you know? How about I send you five hundred a month for living expenses?” He said it like he was offering a handout to a beggar. I laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “Leo, how does that million-dollar stake feel in your hands? Enjoying the VP title? Does it feel good having everyone kiss your ass?” He was stunned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Stay out of my life,” I said. “And make sure you use that stock to take care of Mom and Dad in their old age. After all, you’re their successful investment.” I hung up and blocked his number. At the end-of-year company gala, I was named Salesman of the Year for my outstanding performance. The prize was a $50,000 bonus. My boss handed me the award and asked me to say a few words. Standing in front of hundreds of colleagues, my mind was a blank. “Thank you to the company, thank you to my managers…” I recited the clichés, my mind racing. Fifty grand, plus my savings and freelance income… that’s almost two hundred and fifty thousand. Only fifty thousand to go. Then, my eyes fell on someone in the audience. Kiki. She’d been invited as a former employee. She was dressed in a sharp power suit, laughing with the man next to her. Our eyes met for a split second. A flash of surprise and something more complicated flickered across her face. I gave her a curt nod and looked away. My heart, a placid lake. After the gala, I skipped the after-party and went home alone. My phone rang. It was Kiki. “Omid. Congratulations.” “Thanks.” “You’ve… lost a lot of weight.” “I’m fine.” “I heard about what happened with your family,” she said. “And I heard how hard you’ve been working.” “Yeah.” After a moment of silence, she said, “Could we… maybe start over?” I stopped on the sidewalk and looked at my reflection in a store window. Thin, exhausted, but my eyes were like steel. “Kiki,” I said calmly. “We can’t go back.” “Why not? Everything you were doing was for us, for our home. You’re almost there with the down payment…” “It was,” I cut her off. “But now, I’m doing this for me.” She was silent. “I wish you the best,” I said, and hung up. That night, I dreamed of college. Kiki and I were walking across the campus green. She asked me where I wanted to settle down. New York, I’d said. I want to give you a home here. I woke up to a cold, damp pillow. I opened my banking app and stared at the balance: $240,000. Almost there. I was almost there. I worked through the holidays, earning triple pay. On New Year’s Eve, I sat alone in the empty office, eating instant noodles while reviewing project data. Outside, fireworks exploded over the city, celebrating other people’s reunions. My phone buzzed. It was a video from my grandmother. In the video, she was at the head of the dinner table, surrounded by my parents, Leo’s biological mother Brenda, and Leo and his new wife. “Omid, Happy New Year! Make sure you’re eating well in New York!” Grandma shouted. My parents’ expressions were stiff. My mother’s eyes were red; my father’s face was a stony mask. Leo raised his glass toward the camera, his face flushed with wine. “Happy New Year, bro! Hope you get rich and find a new girl soon!” In the background, I could hear Brenda’s shrill voice. “Why would you say that? You’ll just make him feel worse! Our Leo is just so much more fortunate!” The video cut off. I finished my noodle soup and shut off my phone, my face impassive. Three days later, my aunt called. “You’re really not coming home? Your mom barely touched her food on New Year’s. She just cried the whole time.” “Oh.” “And your dad got drunk and called you an ungrateful wolf.” “He can say what he wants.” “You should see Leo now! He’s the king of the castle!” my aunt said, her voice giddy. “Your parents are talking about throwing another party to celebrate his success!” “Congratulations.” “Brenda has been dropping hints that they should just give the other 70% to Leo too, let him run the whole show.” My heart seized. “Did they agree?” “Your mom is hesitant, but your dad hasn’t said no. Brenda is in their ear every day, saying Leo is so much more capable than you, that he was groomed for this…” My aunt paused. “If you don’t come back soon, that 70% is really gone for good.” My knuckles turned white from gripping the phone. “I understand.” I hung up and immediately booked a train ticket. Not to fight for the shares. But to sever the ties for good. I arrived home at three in the afternoon to a living room full of people. My parents, Brenda, Leo and his wife, and a few gossipy neighbors were all there, deep in a lively discussion about the company’s future. “Don’t you worry, the company will be in great hands with Leo!” Brenda was saying, beaming at Leo’s in-laws. “And besides, Omid is their only son. Everything they have will be Leo’s one day anyway!” Leo’s mother-in-law smiled graciously. “You’re too kind!” My father sat in his armchair like a king, smoking a cigarette with a proud look on his face. My mother sat beside him, forcing a smile, her eyes darting nervously. I pushed the door open and walked in. The laughter died instantly. Everyone froze, staring at me as if I were a ghost. “Omid? What are you…” my mother stammered, jumping to her feet. My father’s face darkened. I ignored them, walking to the center of the room and scanning the crowd. “I hear you’re planning to give the remaining 70% of the company to Leo,” I said, getting straight to the point. Dead silence. Brenda’s face contorted. “Omid, don’t say things like that. It’s hurtful. We were just talking…” “Talking?” I looked at my father. “Dad, have you made a decision? Is he getting it or not?” My father, furious and embarrassed, crushed his cigarette in the ashtray. “This is Shaw family business. It’s none of your concern!” “Isn’t it?” I sneered. “When you gave him the first 30%, you said the rest was your retirement fund. Now you’re going to give that away too?” “I…” He was at a loss for words. “Big brother,” Brenda said, trying to smooth things over. “Omid is just worried about you. But Leo is managing the company so well! We’ll take care of you in your old age, don’t you worry!” She shot Leo a look. Leo took the cue and stood up. “Don’t worry, big brother. I’ll take care of Dad and Mom!” “You’ll take care of them?” I laughed. “With the money my parents gave you?” Leo’s face turned bright red. “Omid! Watch your mouth!” my father yelled, slamming his hand on the table. “Am I wrong?” I met his gaze without flinching. “What does an art major know about running a business? The only reason the company is still afloat is because of loyal clients and longtime employees. The second he runs it into the ground—and he will—you’ll be lucky if he doesn’t come begging you for more money. Take care of you? Dad, have you lost your mind?” “You insolent brat!” My father raised his hand to strike me. I didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. “Go ahead,” I stared at him. “You hit me, and whatever is left between us is officially over.” His hand froze in mid-air, then fell limply to his side. My mother started sobbing. “Please, don’t upset your father. His health isn’t good…” “I’m upsetting him?” I turned to her. “Mom, I’m asking you one last time. What are you going to do with the other 70%?” She just stammered and cried. “I’ll tell you what they’re going to do!” Brenda shrieked. “The shares should go to Leo! He’s earned them, running this company for the family! What have you done? You couldn’t even keep your own girlfriend!” “Shut up,” I snarled. The venom in my voice made her flinch. I took a deep breath, reached into my bag, and pulled out two things, slapping them down on the coffee table. The first was a bank statement, showing a balance of $240,000. The second was a document titled “Declaration of Familial Severance.” “First,” I said, “this is the money I earned through my own blood and sweat. It’s enough for a down payment on a small place. I did it without you, and I will never ask you for anything again.” “Second,” I held up the document for everyone to see. “Let’s get this straight, here and now, in front of everyone. You can give that 70% to whoever you want. I don’t want a single penny. But you sign this document, and from this day on, we are strangers. Your health, your life, your death—they have nothing to do with me. When I get married, when I have children, you will not be notified.” The room was utterly silent. My father stared at the document, his face ashen. My mother collapsed into a heap, sobbing. “Dad. Mom,” my voice was terrifyingly cold. “You wanted your reputation. You wanted to be ‘loyal.’ You wanted an adopted son who could run your company. I’m giving you what you want.” “All I want is my own life.” I placed a pen on top of the agreement. “Sign it.”

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I am the Phoenix, the first and the last of my kind, woven from starlight and primordial fire. A thousand years of my life force, a millennium of my own heart’s blood, had gone into the single, perfect egg nestled in my sanctuary. Then, during a routine suppression of the Maelstrom Abyss, the intrusive text began to flash across my vision. [No cap, she’s the MC. The Phoenix God is away, so she’s stealing the house.] [Girl boss is shoving the egg straight into her ancient pocket-dimension.] [It’s the Primordial Void Space—no way the Phoenix God can track that.] [So what if the MC force-contracts it before it hatches? She’s the Chosen One, the literal main character.] [The little Phoenix tried to break the contract after hatching, but thankfully the MC isn’t a saint. She just processed it into a puppet.] [LOL. And the Phoenix God thinks it’s her daughter’s choice and bows down to the MC.] [I live for this kind of Dark Empress MC. So good.] 1 My golden eyes narrowed into slits. The True Fire circulating my body flared, threatening to spiral into an uncontrollable conflagration. What arcane sorcery was this? What strange, insidious curse of the demonic races could conjure such mind-scrambling words out of thin air? For a thousand years, I had protected the human cultivators, sacrificing my own life-force countless times to reinforce their grand Abyssal Seal. If even a shred of gratitude remained in their hearts, they would never dare touch my child while I was fighting their endless war against the darkness. But the seed of doubt had been planted. I closed my eyes, focusing my millennia-old consciousness, attempting to locate the faint, familiar thrum of my daughter’s soul-bond. The connection, which had always been as clear as a blazing sunbeam, was gone. Severed. Cleanly. A cold, gut-wrenching dread seized my heart. The suppressed demonic energy in the chasm below immediately surged, exploiting my momentary lapse. “Phoenix Goddess!” the nearby human cultivators cried out, scrambling backward. “Are you alright? The Maelstrom is breaching the seal!” I ruthlessly crushed the rising panic, my True Fire blazing from my fingertips, forcing the swirling darkness back into the depths of the chasm. That egg, forged from my very essence, was due to hatch in three days. The moment before I left, Master Gideon, the head of the Aetherium Citadel, had knelt with dozens of his most revered disciples outside my lair, pleading that if the demonic energy leaked, the entire Ascended Realm would be devoured. I left my unborn child to save their world. And now, someone had raided my nest. More blinding text flashed across the void. [Girl boss is back at the Citadel.] [Here we go, the scene where the MC shuts down the false saintess sister.] [She risked her life to get that Phoenix egg. Why should she give it back?] [Seriously. Willow hasn’t done squat. She just opens her mouth and tells the MC to return it.] [Ugh, I get so mad just thinking about this part of the plot!] [The false saintess is useless, plus she warns everyone that if the Phoenix God finds out, it’ll bring ruin to the Citadel.] [But our Girl Boss knows how to stay undetected. That’s why she risked it.] [And this Willow snitch even tries to turn the Phoenix God against the MC out of sheer jealousy!] [If the MC hadn’t preemptively turned the little Phoenix into a puppet, it would’ve run back to its mother.] [Cultivation is all about being ruthless and taking what you can!] [Strongest rules, duh.] My fists clenched, my golden claws retracting and extending in a paroxysm of need. I needed to be with my daughter. Now. But if I abandoned the Maelstrom Abyss, the demonic power would break containment immediately. The choice was unthinkable. I had to be strategic. I plucked a single, brilliant golden feather from my tail and infused it with a fraction of my soul, shaping it into an avatar. “Go to the Aetherium Citadel. Retrieve my daughter.” The Avatar nodded its feathered head, beat its wings, and soared toward the Citadel, a streak of desperate gold against the darkening sky. The intrusive text went wild. [Wait, why is the Phoenix God sending an avatar to the Citadel?] [She must’ve realized the egg is gone.] [Heehee. She’s too late. The MC has already secured the contract.] The Avatar was blindingly fast, reaching the sky above the Citadel in less than half a pillar’s worth of incense. The humans’ self-proclaimed First Grand Sect was certainly impressive. Ancient runes flowed around the gates, rumored to withstand the full assault of the Ascended Realm’s most powerful Elder. The Avatar’s spiritual power was limited. Breaking the barrier would take time, so I directed it to use its Divine Sense to scout. On the Spire of Lumina, the peak with the strongest concentration of spiritual energy, a cluster of young cultivators were gathered. My gaze snapped to the small, shrinking figure nestled in the arms of a female cultivator in white. I only needed a glance, and my eyes instantly burned with incandescent rage. Golden-crimson fuzz was matted and sparse, clinging to its tiny body. Its wings were not yet fully formed. It was my daughter. Phoebe. She should have remained safely dormant for three more days. Instead, she was so weak she could barely open her eyes. At that moment, the “Main Character,” Sera, lashed out, a vicious slap cracking across the white-robed cultivator’s face. The intrusive text exploded with the word “SATISFYING” on repeat. Sera’s voice was as cold and sharp as obsidian. “Willow, I have been patient. Too patient. “This Phoenix is my property. I secured it. “What I choose to do with my familiar is none of your business. “Out of respect for our shared lineage, give the Phoenix back to me, and I will let this go.” Willow covered her cheek, her eyes red, but she clutched the tiny Phoenix tighter. “Senior Sister, the legend says the Phoenix God has only ever conceived this one egg. You can’t just steal their child.” Sera gave a dismissive, arrogant laugh. “Steal? I obtained this during my own perilous journey. It has nothing to do with theft.” Perilous journey? I had laid layer upon layer of divine wards around my nest. Even a high-stage Ascended Elder would struggle to get through. Her “chance encounter” was clearly a calculated, monstrous act of violation! 2 Willow held Phoebe close, her voice choked with tears. “Senior Sister, the little Phoenix says she doesn’t want you. Just let her go.” Sera didn’t need to respond; the intrusive text did it for her. [The False Saintess has some nerve! She couldn’t get the egg herself, so now she dares to criticize the MC!] [I can’t stand Willow’s fake piety. Give the Phoenix back to the Girl Boss!] [The MC faced death for that egg. Willow just stands here moralizing. Disgusting!] The male cultivator standing behind Sera stepped forward, frowning at Willow. This was Master Gideon. “Willow, stop this melodrama. Give the Phoenix back to Sera. “The creature has been contracted. To attempt to break a blood-oath is an offense, and it must be punished.” Willow’s tears fell faster, making her look truly heartbroken. “But Master, didn’t you see? “Senior Sister just used the Soul-Rending Brand! That’s a forbidden art that can destroy the consciousness of even a mid-stage cultivator. “The little Phoenix just hatched. She’s just a baby. How can she possibly endure that?” Sera crossed her arms, watching Willow with a cold, mocking smirk. “And what of it? It’s my contracted familiar. I can punish it however I see fit. “Even if I chose to incinerate it, it wouldn’t be up to you to object.” The Soul-Rending Brand! My true body at the Maelstrom Abyss shuddered violently. My golden True Fire erupted without warning, causing the demonic energy below to shriek in agony. This thunder not only lacerates the flesh, it tears the soul. One wrong application, and the victim is reduced to nothingness, their spirit scattered to the winds. My daughter was a hatchling. Her soul was inherently unstable. How could she possibly survive the destructive force of the Soul-Rending Brand? But the intrusive text was cheering. [That’s right! Disobedient creatures need the Soul-Rending Brand!] [This Phoenix is so stupid. The Girl Boss is the Chosen One. She’s going to Ascend! Following her is the greatest fortune, and yet it resists!] [Seriously. Familiars need to act like familiars. Disobey the master, suffer the punishment!] Willow furrowed her brow, trying to argue again. “Senior Sister, you are forcibly separating a mother and child. This is against the Cosmic Order. If the Phoenix God discovers—” Sera cut her off, her tone dripping with mockery. “And what if she does? “The Phoenix God was careless. She left a nearly-hatched egg undefended to wander off and play hero. “She only has herself to blame for losing it. “Besides, the little Phoenix will receive the best possible care with me. “What future does it have following its mother? To spend eternity guarding the Maelstrom Abyss?” The intrusive text immediately supported her. [MC is right! The Phoenix God is irresponsible. Losing the egg is on her!] [Girl Boss is a formation genius. Later on, everyone will depend on her to suppress the demons. Who even cares about the Phoenix God?] [The little Phoenix has a future only with the MC.] I took a deep, shuddering breath, my heart ripped in two. If I abandoned the Maelstrom Abyss now, the demonic energy would be completely unleashed, bringing ruin to all life. But my daughter was being subjected to inhuman torture! Sera took a step closer, her eyes turning cold. “Willow, my patience is exhausted. If you don’t return the Phoenix to me, you will face consequences.” Willow frantically looked at Master Gideon, pleading. “Master, please talk sense into Senior Sister! “For thousands of years, the Phoenix God has helped suppress the darkness. “If she finds out her child was stolen, it won’t just be the Citadel that faces danger. “The entire Ascended Realm could be destroyed!” Master Gideon’s face finally shifted, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. “Willow does have a point…” 3 Sera looked at them with pure scorn. “Little Sister, you truly are a master manipulator. A few crocodile tears, and you have men siding with you. “What? Run out of logical arguments, so you resort to fear-mongering?” Willow’s face flushed crimson, a mix of anger and distress. “I’m not! I’m telling the truth!” Sera sneered. “The truth? “The Maelstrom is held by the human Grand Formation, not the Phoenix God. Her role is marginal. “Besides, I am the formation genius. They will be begging me to suppress the darkness later.” The intrusive text reinforced her words. [Exactly! The False Saintess is so manipulative, only begging for sympathy!] [Who needs the Phoenix God to suppress the Maelstrom? The human formation is enough!] [Our Girl Boss is so powerful. She’ll surpass the Phoenix God eventually!] A few different comments flickered through the chaotic text. [Hold on, didn’t the Phoenix God still play a role?] [The MC’s grand formation uses the Phoenix God’s life-blood essence.] [Yeah, she uses the little Phoenix to make the mother obey, drawing her blood every time she needs to set up a seal.] [The Phoenix God is so pitiful. She thinks she’s protecting her daughter, not realizing her daughter’s soul has been extinguished by then…] [Shut up, you bleeding-heart saint! Get out of here!] [The title is literally Dark Empress MC. Why are you looking for morality?] [Our Girl Boss’s skill at manipulating people is genius!] [This is the true law of survival in the Ascended Realm!] Willow tried to speak again, but Sera ignored her completely. Sera looked down at my daughter and commanded with cold authority: “Come here.” Phoebe, weak as she was, managed a tiny, defiant voice. “No!” Sera’s expression darkened. “It seems you wish to experience the Soul-Rending Brand again.” I saw my daughter tightly shut her eyes. “Kill me if you dare. My mother will avenge me!” The intrusive text exploded. [This Phoenix is ungrateful and arrogant!] [Such insolence! The Girl Boss is offering her a path to Ascend, and she’s hoping her mother will kill her master!] [Wait until the Girl Boss uses the Brand to teach her a lesson. She needs to know who the master is!] A vicious spark ignited in Sera’s eyes. “You choose disrespect!” As she spoke, black-violet lightning began to condense on her fingertip. Just as the lightning was about to strike, my Avatar succeeded in breaking the Citadel’s outer defense. A heaven-shattering cry of a Phoenix suddenly echoed across the mountains. A curtain of blazing crimson-gold True Fire enveloped Willow and the little Phoenix, deflecting the Soul-Rending Brand. Phoebe heard the cry, her eyes snapping open. She screamed with a mixture of terror and overwhelming relief: “Mama!” 4 My heart bled as I gently took my daughter from Willow’s protective arms. Phoebe’s tiny body was covered in marks of abuse. Half of her golden-red fuzz had been brutally pulled out, revealing seeping, raw skin beneath. Her back and wings were covered in charred scabs—the unforgiving scars of the Soul-Rending Brand. What pained me most was the instability of her soul. Forcefully hatched, it was fragmented and liable to collapse at any moment. I could barely breathe from the agony. In a thousand years, I had never felt such rage. Not even against the most ferocious demonic horde did I feel this pure, visceral urge to grind someone to dust. The intrusive text was flashing hysterically before my eyes. [How did the Phoenix God get here? She was supposed to be at the Maelstrom!] [According to the plot, she shouldn’t appear now! Did the story break?] [The Phoenix God is so selfish! What if she abandoned the Grand Formation and the darkness breaks loose?] [We’re screwed. The MC is in danger. The Phoenix God’s power is equivalent to a Peak Ascended Elder!] Master Gideon subconsciously recoiled when he saw me. Sera, however, was still desperately trying to project calm, feigning ignorance. “Who are you? How dare you trespass on the Aetherium Citadel and try to steal my familiar?” I poured a small measure of spiritual energy into my daughter. When I looked up again, my eyes were molten with killing intent. “You steal my child, and then pretend not to know me? “Sera, you have a staggering nerve.” Master Gideon’s face turned even paler. “Are you… the Phoenix Goddess?” Sera’s eyes, however, were narrowed and viciously focused on me. “Impossible! With the demonic energy rising, the Phoenix God would be busy at the Maelstrom Abyss. How could she be here? “You must be a fake! Willow sent you to frighten me!” She spun on Willow, her voice full of false indignation. “Willow, to try a cheap trick like impersonating a deity just to seize my familiar? I am utterly disappointed in you!” The intrusive text immediately supported her. [MC is so smart. She saw right through the False Saintess’s dirty trick!] [This Willow is so annoying. She found an imposter to take the Phoenix!] [Don’t be scared, Girl Boss. Expose their true colors and show them your power!] I let the True Fire around me leap higher. The temperature of the air instantly became suffocating. “My patience is limited. Sever the contract now, and I will spare your life. “Continue this delusion, and I will drown the Aetherium Citadel in blood.” Sera stood her ground, her neck stiff with defiance. “This is my contracted familiar. No one has the right to take it! Even if you are the true Phoenix God, you cannot be so unreasonable!” I scoffed, intending to use the raw power of my True Fire to subdue her. Unexpectedly, a dark, heavy light shone from her body. The intrusive text roared with laughter. [Didn’t see that coming! The Girl Boss touched the Primordial Titan’s Tomb and ground its bones into defensive armor!] [With the Titan Shell, the Phoenix God can’t hurt her!] [The Phoenix God is going to lose. The MC is the Chosen One. She cannot lose!] When I read the content of the intrusive text, my anger reached a boiling point. The Primordial Titan was a celestial beast born alongside me, our bond deeper than blood. It sacrificed its life and body to seal another great demonic chasm. Its remains were revered by the human cultivators as a sacred relic. Sera, far from showing reverence, had desecrated the Titan’s divine body, using its bones for a frivolous defense—an act worse than any demon’s. Sera saw that her shield held and a smug, victorious smile spread across her face. “You brought this upon yourself!” she declared, condensing a sword-like spiritual energy and lunging at me. My Avatar, being only a feather, was struggling. It began to fade, becoming translucent. “Mama!” Phoebe sensed the danger and cried out anxiously. Sera’s smile widened, her triumph complete. As my Avatar dissolved completely, the intrusive text erupted in a celebration. [Girl Boss wins!] [HAHAHA. The Phoenix God is nothing special after all!] [Next up is the puppet refinement. Can’t wait to see the MC’s skills!] My daughter saw the Avatar vanish and screamed, thrashing in a desperate attempt to lunge at Sera. “I’ll kill you! I’ll avenge my mother!” Sera grabbed her wing, her red robes snapping in the hot wind. “You? You think you can stand against me?” I watched it all unfold from the Maelstrom Abyss. The last sliver of my mercy for Sera vanished. I had intended to spare her life. But now, she didn’t deserve it. Ignoring the panicked shouts of the cultivators behind me, I beat my massive wings and soared toward the Aetherium Citadel. Did they say the strongest rules? Then I would show them what true strength looked like.

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I woke up inside a novel as the male lead’s high-maintenance, “evil” stepsister. According to the plot, I’m supposed to torment him, humiliate him, and eventually get shipped off to a desolate island to rot. Hard pass. Faced with the brooding, cold-eyed teenager in front of me, I told the butler to give him the room furthest away from mine. My strategy: minimal contact, zero bullying. Fast forward a few years. That boy grew up to be a ruthless, cutthroat CEO. One night, he walked out in the middle of a high-profile gala. Reporters chased him down. “Mr. Sterling,” they asked, “where are you going in such a hurry?” He didn’t break his stride. “It’s raining. My sister is wearing twenty-thousand-dollar soles. They can’t touch water. I have to carry her home.” “But hasn’t your sister just gotten engaged?” a reporter pressed. He scoffed, cold as ice. “Not everyone is qualified to be my sister’s slave.” 01 When my dad brought Caleb Sterling home, I had just finished my morning latte. The seventeen-year-old boy stood there in jeans that had been washed almost white and a faded Hanes t-shirt, clutching a backpack strap. He looked awkward as hell. “Hi, Sis.” Looking at this handsome, aloof kid, I realized the plot had officially begun. I’ve been in this book for two years. The main character is Caleb. I’m Mia, his bratty older sister, currently a senior in college. In the original story, I’m supposed to go full “Mean Girls” on him—insult him, prank him, make his life a living hell. Then, once he takes over the family empire, he settles the score. I end up exiled to some rock in the middle of the ocean with no Wi-Fi. “Mia, Caleb is your long-lost brother. You need to get along,” my dad said, checking his Rolex. “I have to fly to London for business. I’ll be gone a month. Caleb is your responsibility.” I looked the kid over. Sharp features, cold expression, way too skinny. But his eyes were deep—like he was already plotting five steps ahead. Worthy of a protagonist. Even at this age, he knew how to hide his cards. I nodded at him. “Welcome.” 02 When I sent someone to take him to breakfast, I pulled our butler, Arthur, aside. “Put him in the room furthest from mine. The one in the West Wing.” I’m not the type to suck up to people, even the main character. If I can’t mess with him, I’ll just stay out of his blast radius. Arthur, who had been with the family since my mom married in, looked worried. “Miss Mia, the young master’s background is… murky. The boss looked for him for years with no luck, and suddenly he just appears? You should be careful. Don’t be too trusting.” Arthur was loyal to a fault. In the original book, he helped me torment Caleb and got purged right alongside me. “I know, Arthur. Just do what Dad said. I know what I’m doing.” Arthur nodded, but as he led Caleb upstairs, I heard him spinning the narrative. “This is the only room in the house with a dedicated gaming setup,” Arthur lied smoothly. “Miss Mia specifically requested you have it.” Caleb’s eyes flickered with something unreadable before he nodded obediently. “Please thank my sister for me.” Watching them disappear around the corner, I put down my magazine and rubbed my temples. Can I really dodge this plot armor? 03 Just like in the book, Caleb was quiet. Invisible, almost. I was busy launching my jewelry design startup with my friends, spending my days at the studio and nights at my downtown apartment. We barely saw each other. Two weeks later, I was driving back to the office after lunch when I saw a familiar figure. It was Caleb. Same faded t-shirt, same jeans. He was standing on a street corner under the brutal midday sun, handing out flyers. He looked like a strong breeze would knock him over. I called Arthur. Turns out, my dad is trash. He’s busy with work and his new mistress. He brought Caleb home and immediately forgot about him. Arthur had been away visiting family, and the other staff, seeing the boss didn’t care, treated Caleb like air. If this kept up, Caleb’s “villain origin story” would proceed as scheduled, and I’d still end up on that island. I told my driver to turn around. I pulled up to the curb and told Caleb to get in. He was pale, sweating buckets, sitting on the edge of the leather seat like he was afraid of dirtying it. His back was ramrod straight. “Why are you working a gig like this? You need cash?” He bit his lip and shook his head. “Just bored.” Bored? You’re trying to set a record for heatstroke? I sighed internally. Avoiding the protagonist wasn’t going to work. I had to intervene. “Driver,” I said. “To the mall.” 04 I fed him lunch, then dragged him into a high-end boutique. The staff swarmed me instantly. “Miss Sterling! You look gorgeous today!” “We have new arrivals sent over from Paris!” I pointed a manicured finger at Caleb, who was being ignored in the corner. “That’s my brother. Get him fitted.” The vibe shifted instantly. “Brother?” Their brains short-circuited for a second, but money is money. They rushed over to him. Caleb looked at me, overwhelmed. I lifted my chin. “Go on. Pick whatever you like.” While he was in the fitting room, I lounged in the VIP suite, sipping sparkling water and picking out a few pieces for myself. Thirty minutes later, Caleb came out holding a single shopping bag. “Just one?” I asked. He nodded, gripping the handle. “I just need a change of clothes.” He lowered his voice, mumbling, “It’s too expensive.” I looked at the sales associate behind him. “Wrap up everything that fit him.” The associate beamed. “Right away, Miss Sterling!” Caleb looked at me, totally confused. I raised an eyebrow. “A Sterling doesn’t walk around without decent clothes.” Caleb looked down. “Thank you, Sis.” I stared at him. Right now, he was just a kid. A really polite, easy-to-bully kid. “Don’t mention it.”

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At 3:00 AM, my homeroom teacher was raging in the group chat because I scored 685 on the Gaokao (college entrance exam) but refused to apply to Tsinghua or Peking University. @Vivian: You stubborn student! You’re self-centered, ignoring my advice, and determined not to apply to the top schools. You’ve wasted the efforts of all your teachers! You don’t trust our experience and just blindly follow your own ideas. Wasting such a high score is the biggest failure of education! Everyone was waiting for my defense. Instead, I quietly left the group chat. By the next evening, screenshots of his rant had gone viral. He was labeled the “Meltdown Teacher” online. Terrified for his reputation, he begged me to clear his name. I just laughed. Too late! 1 I scored 685. First in the school. The moment Mr. Chen, my homeroom teacher, found out, he summoned me back to school to discuss my college applications. He pushed me relentlessly to apply for obscure majors at Tsinghua or Peking University. “You’re the only one this year with a shot at the Ivies of China! Grab this opportunity. Who cares about the major? Just get in first!” he said, eyes gleaming. “When the school puts up the Honor Roll, your name will be at the top to inspire the juniors!” He looked so sure I’d listen. I silently closed the browser and told him I’d fill out the application at home. Panic flashed in his eyes. He practically tried to wrestle the mouse from me to input his choice as my first preference. “What is there to think about? With this score, it has to be Tsinghua or Peking!” I guarded my login credentials like they were nuclear codes and fled the classroom. Back home, he called me nine times. “Vivian, you can’t waste 685 points! You have your pick of the best schools. Listen to your teachers; we’ve seen it all. We won’t lead you astray.” I had thought about this for days. I firmly chose Beijing Jiaotong University for Communication Engineering as my first choice. On the last day of applications, my phone blew up. “Vivian! How could you put BJTU first? Are you crazy? Do you have any respect for your score? For the teachers who worked so hard for you?” “Change it to Tsinghua or Peking immediately before the system closes!” 2 I found out later my mom had let it slip to a neighbor. Mr. Chen had been snooping around my neighborhood and heard the news. That’s why he was losing his mind. I told him over the phone, “My first choice is final. I’ve thought it through.” That sentence lit the fuse. He screamed, his voice cracking, “We worked so hard to create this environment for you, and you drop the ball now? How can you decide something this important based on your own whims? You’re being selfish! You’ll regret this! Change it!” I didn’t say a word. I hung up. Then I blocked his number. I heard from a senior that Mr. Chen had been teaching for fifteen years. I was the first student he’d ever had with a score like mine. He pathologically believed my success was entirely due to “the teachers’ guidance.” He tried to gaslight me into fulfilling his dream, even if it meant sacrificing my next four years. I knew from a young age that for a kid from a small town like me, the Gaokao was my only way out. I ground through every difficult problem until I mastered it. If I applied to the top two schools with my score, I’d end up in a major like Paleontology or Ancient Manuscript Restoration—dead ends for me. Communication Engineering was my dream. This was my life. I called the shots. Three minutes before the deadline, my choice remained unchanged. Mr. Chen completely lost it. 3 When he confirmed I hadn’t applied to the top schools, his rage kept him up until 3 AM. He spammed the class WeChat group: @Vivian: You stubborn student! You’re self-centered, ignoring my advice, and determined not to apply to the top schools. You’ve wasted the efforts of all your teachers! Many of us stayed up late working for you. Getting 685 should be a celebration, but you’ve turned our hard work into zero. You don’t trust our experience and just blindly follow your own ideas. Wasting such a high score is the biggest failure of education! I warn the class: never forget what the school gave you. Be grateful, or your path will narrow! I am so disappointed, especially in Vivian. Tomorrow, I will dissolve this group out of sheer disappointment! Reflect on your actions! His profile picture was still lit up. He was waiting for my apology. I stared at the screen, wide awake. “Self-centered”? “Reflect on your actions”? The only one who needed to reflect was the unreasonable, dictatorial teacher. I am an independent person, not a trophy for his resume. I realized quickly: he lost his bonus. At the 100-day pep rally, the principal announced a 200,000 RMB bonus for any homeroom teacher who got a student into Tsinghua or Peking. No wonder he was furious. Classmates started spamming emojis, waiting for the drama. I clicked settings. “Leave Group Chat.” The next morning, my best friend, Sophie, told me the group had imploded. 4 Sophie showed me the screenshots. [Did Mr. Chen get hacked?] [Is he trying to ruin the Valedictorian’s life for a bonus?] [Wait, does he get paid if someone gets into the top schools?] [He’s definitely venting because he lost his bonus!] The group was quickly muted by the admin. “Everyone knows what he’s up to,” Sophie sighed. I thought that was the end of it. But that evening, Sophie looked grim. “Vivian, bad news. Someone posted the screenshots online. Thousands of people are dragging Mr. Chen. The school’s reputation is tanking.” Then, Mr. Chen did something even crazier. My phone started ringing off the hook. Calls from a “Repeat School” (a cram school for retaking the Gaokao). Every thirty minutes. A new number. I finally picked up to tell them to stop. “Hello, Vivian? We are the Sunrise Repeat School. If you enroll with us to retake the exam, we’ll give you a 500,000 RMB signing bonus!” “How did you get my number?” I asked coldly. “Your homeroom teacher told us about your situation. Tuition is free. 500k cash. Just think about it. Talk to your parents.” I hung up immediately. Mr. Chen again! 5 Instead of reflecting on the backlash, he was doubling down. First the harassment, now selling my info to cram schools? He just wanted me to retake the test so he could try for his bonus again next year. I wasn’t falling for it. 500k was a lot of money. But giving up a sure thing for a gamble? Risky. And my first choice was solid. I didn’t tell my mom about the offer. I didn’t want her to worry. But at dinner, she looked troubled. She burned the sweet and sour ribs. “Did the cram school call you too?” I asked. Mom hesitated, then nodded. “Vivian, I was thinking…” I couldn’t blame her. 500k would change our lives. 6 This was the third year since Dad died. He was a weather recorder in the mountains. A mudslide took out the station during a storm. They found him three days later. Mom cried until she got sick. Most of our savings went to hospital bills. In 10th grade, I wanted to drop out and work. Mom stormed into my room. “Even if I have to sell everything, you are finishing high school! You’re 15! Who would hire you? Sharpening the axe doesn’t delay the woodcutting. Finish school!” I promised her I would. From that moment, I studied like my life depended on it. I went from average to top 10. And finally, first. The cram school’s offer was tempting. But the choice was: My dream now, or a gamble for money later. 7 Honestly, I didn’t want to do senior year again. It was hell. Endless tests, pressure, anxiety. I was an NPC in a game called “Gaokao.” I wouldn’t bet a year of my life on a “maybe.” Plus, high school wasn’t all sunshine. The boy behind me used to snap my bra strap. He’d laugh, “You’re flat anyway, who cares?” I told Mr. Chen. He shrugged. “Ignore them. Focus on studying. Don’t be distracted by small things.” I later found out those boys were his relatives’ kids. That’s when I stopped expecting anything from him. The summer uniforms were thin and white. When girls complained they were see-through, the principal yelled, “Wear light-colored underwear! Stop trying to be special!” Thinking back made me shiver. I was done. That night, I accepted the WeChat request from the cram school teacher. [I will not be attending. Please do not contact me again.] I thought it was over. But Sophie texted me. She got an offer too. 300k bonus, guaranteed score increase. “Vivian, wanna do it together?” she asked, excitement in her voice.

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The engagement party was well underway, but Rhys was nowhere in sight. I called him countless times. Nothing. Not a single text back. Not until I saw the post on Sloane’s Instagram story. “Someone has been flying back-to-back for work, but because I wanted to, he dropped everything to come swimming with me.” The picture was a selfie of her and Rhys in an indoor pool. In the background, tossed carelessly aside, was the familiar crimson fabric of my vintage family heirloom gown. Facing a ballroom full of guests, I announced I was calling the whole thing off. Six years. Six years I had loved him. I was simply—tired. 1 The guests had long dispersed when Rhys finally called. A spike of irritation shot through me, yet I answered anyway, a perverse reflex. Rhys’s voice was laced with an impatient indifference. “Gemma, come to The Meridian Club and pick up Sloane and me.” I looked down, my voice dangerously calm. “I’m nearby.” The club was less than two blocks from the hotel. “How could you possibly be nearby?” Then, a beat of realization, and a casual, dismissive “Ah.” “Oh, right, I forgot about today. Look, we’ll do the engagement next time. Just come pick us up first.” I didn’t respond. He continued, his tone hardening with authority. “It’s just an engagement, Gemma. Don’t start throwing a tantrum. Just come get me.” It’s just an engagement. That was it, wasn’t it? To him, my sincerity, my commitment, my grandfather’s final gift—that gown—none of it meant anything. Before the party, he swore he had to fly out for a last-minute deal, promising to be back the day before. He did come back, only to run straight to Sloane. I hung up, my chest aching with a dull, heavy pressure. A moment later, Rhys updated his own feed: “My little one loves to stay active.” The photo was a full-body shot of Sloane in a flattering swimsuit, proudly showing off her figure by the pool. A strange, acrid taste of nausea rose in my throat. I let out a sharp, empty laugh. In that moment, I finally saw how completely superfluous I was in this six-year relationship. The obsession, the fierce loyalty I’d maintained for so long, vanished into thin air. 2 Rhys finally stumbled in around two in the morning. His luggage—a couple of overstuffed weekend bags—was dumped unceremoniously in the living room. I glanced at his messy collar, catching a faint, dark smudge of lipstick and the unmistakable look of a hasty cleanup. He scowled, his tone instantly aggressive. “Gemma. What the hell is this? What’s with all the drama?” I stopped packing my own small box of essentials. My voice was ice. “We’re done. You need to move out.” “Seriously? Over this?” He scoffed. “I just forgot the date. You know how slammed I’ve been with work.” I let out a cold laugh. “Slammed enough to forget your own engagement, but not too busy to go swimming with someone else?” I paused, the air suddenly thin. “Where is the dress?” A flicker of guilt—fast, but visible—crossed his face. He pressed his lips together. “That old thing? I don’t know where I tossed it. I’ll pay you for it.” He pulled out his phone, ready to transfer money. “Twenty thousand? That should cover it.” The anger I’d suppressed all night finally erupted, scalding and pure. “No! You know exactly how much that gown meant to me!” My voice cracked. “It was my grandfather’s final gift. It’s not something you can just slap a price tag on!” He rolled his eyes, a sound of supreme impatience. “So what? Fine, I’ll add another ten thousand. Does that finally shut you up?” Ding-dong. My phone vibrated: three thousand dollars deposited. He looked utterly unbothered. “Look, I’m exhausted. Let’s just cool off tonight, okay?” He strode into the guest room and slammed the door shut. I stared at the closed door, and the last, microscopic flicker of warmth I held for him—the hope that he was still the man I fell for—was extinguished. I picked up my phone and dialed a number. “Hey, Lou. I need a reliable moving company… first thing in the morning.” 3 Perhaps it was the prick of a guilty conscience, but he was up ridiculously early, making breakfast. He held up a bacon and cheese croissant. “Your favorite. See?” This was his usual pathetic routine: a cheap, flimsy gesture of placation meant to paper over a massive betrayal. Before, I would have melted. Today, I was granite. “I’m not hungry,” I said, coolly. “I’m heading to work.” I was halfway to the garage when he rushed after me, breathless. “Let’s ride together?” I stopped, one eyebrow arched in genuine surprise. “Weren’t you worried about discretion?” He was a shareholder; I was a project manager at Crestwood Global. For years, he’d strictly forbidden me from publicizing our relationship, maintaining a glacial distance in the office, acting like we were barely acquainted. He flushed, realizing his contradiction. “The garage is usually empty this early. No one will see.” I didn’t argue. I pulled open the passenger door. The seat was covered in a ridiculous mound of plush toys, and tucked into the seat back was a little customized plaque that read: “Sloanie’s Spot!” Rhys stammered, scrambling to throw the toys into the back seat. “Sloane, you know. She just hitches a ride sometimes. She’s being ridiculous.” A sour, metallic taste flooded my mouth. I used to have to meticulously check his car for stray hairs or crumbs before I rode with him. Once, I’d accidentally left my ID on the floor, and he’d lost his mind, throwing it at me and warning he’d toss it in the garbage if I ever left a trace again. Now, he tolerated a whole zoo of a grown woman’s tacky toys. Watching him struggle to clear the mess, I felt only annoyance. “Don’t bother. I’ll take my own car.” I turned, but he grabbed my arm. “Let me drive. We haven’t spent time together.” I glanced at the panic in his eyes, but I was running late. I didn’t have the energy to fight him. I got in. 4 The entire drive, he kept up a stream of meaningless small talk, which I met with monosyllabic replies. As we merged onto the freeway ramp, his phone rang. Sloane’s voice immediately chirped through the car’s Bluetooth speakers. “Rhys… I feel so terrible…” My stomach clenched. I knew that tone. Rhys’s voice instantly went tight with frantic concern. “Sloane? What is it? Where does it hurt? Wait, don’t move, I’m coming right now!” He whipped his head toward me, his voice sharp and commanding. “Get out. Now! I have to turn around.” We were in heavy traffic, practically stopped on the overpass. Get out? I looked at him, genuinely aghast. “Are you out of your mind? We’re on the…” The flash of cold steel in his eyes made me immediately bite back the rest of my sentence. This wasn’t the first time. Every time we had a moment together, a single phone call from Sloane and he would abandon me without a thought. Arguing was useless. He seemed to realize how harsh he sounded and offered a flimsy excuse. “It’s only a short walk to the office from here. I don’t know how sick Sloane is, and she doesn’t have family nearby. I’m all she’s got, Gemma. Just try to understand!” I said nothing. I just got out. His car swerved immediately, leaving a trace of exhaust fumes, accelerating away without a second’s hesitation. The cold November air seeped into my coat, and I shivered. I pulled out my phone to call a ride-share, but as I stepped toward the shoulder, a car cutting through traffic clipped me. I stumbled, scraping my elbow and knee hard on the asphalt. 5 I was sitting on a hard plastic chair in the hospital waiting area, waiting for my name to be called for an X-ray. Rhys called. “What is your problem? Still pouting and skipping work?” His voice was furious. “It’s your project presentation today, and they said you’re a no-show. How old are you? Stop letting personal drama bleed into professional life! If this happens again, you might as well resign!” I opened my mouth to explain—to tell him I’d been hit by a car, that I was in the hospital. But he didn’t give me a second to speak. He slammed the phone down. I sat there, dumbfounded, the phone still hot in my hand. I felt like I’d been doused in a bucket of ice water. I looked up just as Rhys, his face etched with worry, carefully helped Sloane walk past me. He was murmuring reassurances to her, a constant stream of tender concern. It was the type of gentle care I had spent six years craving, but never once received. I closed my eyes and drew a long, shaky breath. Enough. That was it. I was exhausted, truly, finally exhausted. 6 I felt like my body was coming apart at the seams when I left the hospital. I called the moving crew and had the last of Rhys’s belongings delivered directly to Sloane’s apartment. I sat in my now-empty living room, just letting myself be blank. The front door suddenly burst open. Rhys stood there, eyes blazing with fury. “Gemma! What the hell is this stunt you’re pulling?” “You ditch work, and then you send all my things to Sloane’s place? Are you completely insane?!” I lifted my gaze, noticing the bandages wrapped around my elbow and knee. “You… you’re hurt?” “Yes. Small accident on the way to work this morning.” He flinched, unwilling to probe further. But he remained defiant. “It’s not my fault you got into a wreck! That doesn’t give you the right to throw my things out!” My voice was flat. “Rhys, we’re breaking up.” He frowned. “Don’t say things you don’t mean!” I sighed. “I’m serious. It’s over. I’m setting you and Sloane free.” His face twisted with the irritation of a manipulator caught red-handed. “You are so jealous! I can’t stand your insecurity!” He spat the next words out. “If you leave, don’t come crawling back and begging me to take you back!” For three years, we’d fought countless times over Sloane. It was always him who threatened to leave, and me who would swallow my pride, apologize, and beg him to stay. Not this time. I would not be humble anymore. “Go. I won’t regret this. We’re finished.” My gaze was steady, unwavering. His face turned a sickly, dark color. He glared at me one last time, then slammed the door on his way out. I looked at the closed door and reminded myself to call a locksmith tomorrow. 7 The moment I walked into Crestwood Global, the CEO’s assistant summoned me. “Gemma, your position… there’s going to be a slight shift.” The leader explained that my project manager role was being revoked. The major account I was finalizing would be handed over to Sloane. He patted my shoulder, feigning regret. “Your work ethic is stellar, and the company values you. It’s just… have you perhaps offended someone recently?” Who else but Rhys? He’d always subtly discouraged my success, worried I would overshadow Sloane. He’d previously suggested I quit, saying our corporate overlap “looked bad.” Now, he’d just yanked the rug out from under me. I kept my expression neutral, forcing a slight smile. “No problem. I understand.” Inside, my stomach churned, a humiliated fury burning in my chest. When I got back to my area, Sloane was directing a few colleagues to empty the office. She turned, her smile sickeningly smug. “Gemma, sweetheart. So sorry. This space is mine now.” She pointed to a messy pile of cardboard boxes in the corner. “I packed up your things for you. You can take them now.” I looked at the haphazardly dumped personal items and clenched my fists. I gave her a freezing look, walked to the corner, and picked up the boxes. They were light. Inside were a few textbooks, and a small, gaudy ‘Cornerstone’ statuette Rhys had given me years ago, engraved with a meaningless corporate motto. As I carried the boxes out, I passed Sloane. She chirped, dripping with false concern, “Bye, Gemma. Don’t trip on your way out.” I stopped. I turned back, a cold smile curving my lips. “Sloane. You better pray you never fall into my lap.” The major client, The Prescott Group, had partnered with Crestwood because of my expertise. If I was out, that project was going to tank. 8 I was already planning to quit. A headhunter had been pursuing me for months with an offer far superior to my current one, but because of Rhys, I kept putting them off. Looking back, I felt like an utter fool, sacrificing career opportunities for a man who didn’t love me. As I walked down the hallway, my foot snagged on something. I pitched forward. My boxes flew, scattering my belongings. The cheap ‘Cornerstone’ award shattered on the marble floor. The unhealed wounds on my knee immediately burst open with a sharp, blinding pain. “Oh my god, Gemma, are you okay?” Sloane’s voice was laced with unconcealed triumph. “Why are you so clumsy? Next time, you really should watch where you’re going.” I knew, with absolute certainty, she had tripped me. A few colleagues gathered, whispering, but no one offered a hand to help me up. I laughed, a humorless, empty sound. I looked straight at Sloane’s faux-innocent face. “Don’t celebrate too soon, Sloane. The smell of low-grade ambition is really repulsive on you.” Her expression immediately darkened. “What did you say?” Rhys appeared from around the corner, saw my bloodied state, and immediately launched into a rage, not concern. “Gemma! Why aren’t you at your desk? What is this spectacle? You’re always causing drama!” I pushed myself up, my knee throbbing. Rhys saw the blood and instinctively reached for me. I slapped his hand away. “Don’t bother with the fake compassion! Get lost, you despicable pair!” Rhys’s face went white with shock, but he couldn’t find a single word to say. I staggered away, letting the blood drip down my leg. I walked straight to HR and handed in my resignation. Outside the building, I pulled out my phone and called the headhunter. “Hello, is this Mr. Prescott’s office? It’s Gemma. About that position we discussed? I’m ready to talk now.” The manager’s voice on the other end was a surge of surprised delight.

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I loved cake. Every day, Dad would bring a small slice home for me after work. Mom, on the other hand, bought a brand-new stand mixer, baking pans, a whole arsenal of tools, and patiently taught herself how to bake for me. I used to think I was the luckiest girl in the world. Then came the day my parents got divorced, and the woman who came to pick up my father was the owner of the bakery. My mother’s head snapped toward me, her eyes bloodshot. “This is your fault! If you hadn’t been so obsessed with that damned cake, your father never would have met her!” She held out her hands, the backs of them a roadmap of pale, puckered scars from the oven racks. Her voice was a hysterical shriek. “I burned these hands for you, trying to make you happy! But it was never good enough, was it? You both just had to have what was out there!” The metal edge of a baking sheet slammed into my back. I bit my lip to keep from crying out, the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth. That night, Mom brought another little girl home. Ignoring the throbbing pain in my back, I knelt on the floor and begged for my mother’s forgiveness. “Mommy, I’m sorry. Please don’t send me away! I’ll never eat cake again, I promise!” She slapped me, once, twice, three times across the face. Still not satisfied, she dragged me to the kitchen and shoved me into our large, walk-in oven. “Don’t you call me that. I’m not your mother!” “You love cake so much? Then you can stay in here and think about what you’ve done! You and your worthless, cheating father both deserve to die!” The heavy door slammed shut. A moment later, the little girl skipped into the kitchen. She peered through the glass, a triumphant little smirk on her face, and her small finger confidently pressed the ‘On’ button. “From now on,” she chirped, “your mommy is my mommy.” The oven hummed to life, a low, predatory sound. The air began to shimmer with heat. And I smiled. Maybe this was for the best. Maybe now, Mom could finally be happy. 1 Inside the oven, heat pressed in from all sides. The metal walls glowed with it, searing like a fire. I pounded on the thick glass door, my palms turning a painful, angry red. “Mommy! Lily knows she was wrong!” “Help me! I’m so hot! I want to get out!” Sobbing, I stumbled and my arm brushed against the interior wall. A white-hot lance of pain made me snatch it back. Molly pressed her face close to the glass, her expression smug. “You were always bragging at school about your perfect mommy. Well, look now. Your mommy doesn’t want you anymore.” “She’s only going to buy dresses for me from now on. She’s only going to love me.” “No, Mommy is mine…” I cried until my throat was raw and my voice was just a rasp. Sweat and tears hit the hot floor of the oven, vanishing instantly with a sharp hiss. Molly watched me, a delighted smile spreading across her face, before she turned and ran out of the kitchen. I could hear her voice from the living room. “Mommy, Lily is saying bad things about you in the oven! She said if you don’t let her out right now, she’s going to find the bakery lady and make her her new mommy!” No, Lily didn’t say that. Mommy, please don’t believe her! But a second later, I heard my mother’s voice, sharp with rage. “She can stay in there as long as she wants! God, she’s so spoiled!” “Come on, Molly. Mommy will take you to buy a new dress.” Slam. The front door closed, leaving only the low hum of the oven. It was so hot. Everything was hot. So hot that my hands and feet felt like they were on fire. The little gold heart charm on the bracelet Mom and Dad gave me for my first birthday was starting to burn my wrist. Mom said if I wore it, I would always be safe and sound. It was too hot. I wanted to take it off, but my fingers froze. I couldn’t. It was my fault Mom and Dad were apart. If I took off their gift, Mom would be even sadder. I curled into a ball, my head spinning. “Mommy, why aren’t you coming to save me…?” “Mommy, do you really not want Lily anymore? I miss you so much…” I clenched my body tight, the world fading into a dark, roaring haze. Mommy, Lily will be a good girl from now on. … When I opened my eyes again, I was floating, weightless, in the living room. From the kitchen, the big oven was silent. The glass door was smudged with dirty little handprints. I drifted closer and peered inside. There was a small, dark shape curled up on the rack. Was that me? Just then, Molly’s excited voice came from my bedroom. “Mommy, is this pretty room going to be mine now?” “And all the little dresses in the closet, can I wear them?” My mother glanced instinctively toward the kitchen, her brow furrowing for a split second. But just as quickly, the moment passed. She turned back to Molly, her face arranged into the same gentle smile she used to give me. “Of course, sweetheart. Everything in this house is yours now. Anything you want, you just tell Mommy.” Molly’s face lit up with the pure, unadulterated triumph of a victor. It was quickly replaced by a mask of concern. “But what about Lily? Won’t she be mad?” The smile on my mother’s face froze, then curdled into disgust. She snorted. “What right does she have to be mad? Staying in there this long… she’s just learned how to throw a tantrum.” “Are you hungry, Molly? Mommy bought you something good to eat.” Mom led Molly to the dining table, laughing and talking as they sat down. All the while, no one went to the kitchen. No one opened the oven door to take a look. The table was covered with steaming containers of pasta and garlic bread. But my gaze was pulled, irresistibly, to a small strawberry cupcake sitting at the corner of the table. A strawberry cupcake! My favorite. Mom used to always buy them for me. A tiny, fragile flicker of hope ignited inside me. Did… did Mom buy that for me? Maybe she wasn’t angry anymore. Just then, Molly, after taking a large bite of pasta, noticed the cupcake too. 2 She immediately started whining, tugging on my mother’s arm. “Mommy, Molly wants that strawberry cupcake, too!” My mother’s hand froze mid-air. Her voice was stiff, laced with some kind of internal struggle. “That cupcake is…” Her words trailed off, as if a hand were squeezing her throat. She closed her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. When she opened them again, she forced a tired smile. “Okay. Mommy will open it for you.” Molly let out a cheer of victory. And I, standing in the empty space between worlds, felt a sharp, acidic pain where my heart used to be. This agony was a thousand times worse than being burned alive in the oven. Mommy, you said it was because I was greedy, because I loved cake so much that you lost Dad… Then why? Why would you buy a cupcake for her? Molly ate the cupcake, her face a picture of contentment. She saw Mom staring off in the direction of the kitchen, lost in thought, and put on a show of being a good, thoughtful child. “Mommy, should we go ask Lily to come out and eat? She’s probably hungry, too.” The words were like a needle, popping the fragile bubble of my mother’s composure. Her gaze snapped back, her voice suddenly shrill. “Forget about her! She’ll come out when she’s hungry! Does she think she’s a queen who needs a special invitation?” The more she spoke, the more agitated she became, her voice rising as she turned to scream at the kitchen door. “You ungrateful brat! Are you playing dead in there? You’re just as good at playing games as your worthless father!” “Why don’t you just stay in there forever! Don’t expect me to come begging for you to come out! Why don’t you and your father just go die!” But Mommy, I’m already dead. My mother’s emotions completely shattered. After her screaming fit, her body was still trembling violently. She lost her balance, swayed backward, and fell to the floor in a dead faint. I rushed forward in a panic, trying to catch her, but my hands passed right through her body. I could only watch, helpless, as she lay there, unconscious. Lily really is a bad girl. When I was alive, I made Mommy miserable. Now that I’m dead, I still make her sad. The sudden turn of events startled Molly, too. She stared for a moment, then scrambled to grab the phone and dial 911. The paramedics arrived quickly and carried my unconscious mother away on a stretcher. The house fell silent. My gaze landed on the dining table again. Half of the strawberry cupcake was left, sitting alone on its paper plate. The bright, sweet red of the strawberry frosting looked like a single, perfect drop of blood that had hardened on the plate. I felt a phantom urge to gag. I will never eat cake again. I’m sorry, Mommy. … When my grandma heard that Mom had collapsed, she rushed over to take care of her. After Mom came home from the hospital, she would walk past the kitchen door countless times, but she never once pushed it open. She wouldn’t let anyone else go near it, either. Seeing my mother in this state, Grandma tried to gently persuade her. “Sarah, honey, let the child out.” “What happened between you and Mark… you can’t put all the blame on a little girl.” Grandma softly rubbed my mother’s back. “She’s still so young. Don’t let her get sick in there.” Mom stood frozen, her body as rigid as a statue. She stared at the kitchen door, her lips pressed into a thin, white line. I knew she was still angry with me. But Mommy, Lily is already dead. A dead little girl can’t open the oven door and say she’s sorry. Seeing my mother was unmoved, Grandma let out a deep sigh. She reached out, her hand closing over the kitchen doorknob, and spoke softly to the room inside. “Lily? Grandma’s sweet girl, come on out now. Don’t be afraid, Grandma’s here.” The only reply was a dead, suffocating silence. Grandma frowned and slowly turned the knob. The door opened a crack. An indescribable smell instantly snaked out from the opening. It was the smell of me, after being cooked at a high temperature for hours, then left to rot in a sealed space. The color drained from Grandma’s face. 3 My mother, her face still flushed with anger at Grandma for daring to open the door, rushed over. “Mom, don’t bother with her! I want to see how long she can—” Her voice cut off abruptly. She had smelled it, too. Her eyes locked onto the large oven against the wall. A thick, viscous, yellowish fluid was seeping from the crack at the bottom of the oven door. The fluids from my decaying body. I thought Mom would be scared, or shocked, or that she would finally understand. But she didn’t. After a moment of stunned silence, her face was consumed by a tidal wave of rage. She pointed a trembling finger at the puddle on the floor. “Lily! Ann! Peterson! I told you to stay in there and think about what you did, and you… you went to the bathroom in there just to disgust me?!” “How can you be so vile, so shameless?!” No, that’s not it, Mommy. I hovered around her in a desperate, frantic circle, trying in vain to explain. Mommy, I didn’t want to make you sick. I’m just dead. I wanted to tell her the truth, but my mother couldn’t hear me. I looked at her twisted, furious face, and a wave of grief and despair so vast it felt like a physical ocean washed over me. Even my death was just another disgusting thing in my mother’s eyes. Mom turned and stormed away. Grandma glanced at the oven, then sighed with resignation. “Lily, you were really too stubborn this time. How could you make your mother this angry?” “Be a good girl. Come out and apologize to your mom, and this will all be over.” Seeing no movement from the small figure inside the oven, Grandma sighed again and closed the kitchen door. I remained where I was, an infinite sadness soaking into my soul. Lily has said sorry so many, many times. But a dead little girl can say sorry forever, and Mommy will never hear it. I drifted out of the kitchen and followed my mother as she stormed into her bedroom. She unlocked a small chest on her dresser. Mom once told me that’s where she kept her most treasured possessions. She threw open the lid. Inside were all the gifts I had ever given her for Mother’s Day and her birthdays. A card made from flower petals I had carefully glued into the words “I LOVE MOMMY.” A crayon drawing of our family, the three of us with lopsided, beaming smiles. A friendship bracelet I had spent hours braiding for her from colorful embroidery floss… I never knew she had kept them all so carefully. But now… Like a madwoman, she tore the cards and drawings into tiny pieces. Colorful scraps of paper rained down onto the carpet. I cried, sinking to the floor, trying to gather the pieces and fit them back together. Mommy, don’t tear it. Lily worked so hard on that… When I’m dead, I can’t make you any more presents. But my mother, her face a cold mask, picked up a pair of scissors and, without a moment’s hesitation, snipped the braided bracelet in two. The colorful threads sprang apart, like the connection between my mother and me, severed completely. I collapsed onto the floor, listening to her hysterical screams. “She’s just like her heartless father! Neither of them deserved anything from me!” “I lock her up for one night, and this is the tantrum she throws? This is how she defies me? And I was supposed to take her to the park? Let her rot in there!” I rested my translucent head against my mother’s hand, pretending she was stroking my hair. But Mommy, I am dead now. If you knew, you would be so happy, wouldn’t you? My mother stared at the wreckage on the floor, and her gaze suddenly fell on my class photo in the corner. In the picture, I was wearing a princess dress, standing in the middle of all the other children. My face was radiant with the kind of pure happiness that only comes from being completely loved. Suddenly, her phone buzzed. In the parent group chat, my teacher had posted a notification: “A reminder that Lily Peterson’s birthday is next week. Parents are welcome to bring in a cake to share with the class.” The message had barely been sent before the chat lit up. “Last time, Lily shared her strawberry cupcake with little Jack when he fell. She’s such a thoughtful child.” “Yes, let’s do strawberry cake again for her birthday! The kids all love it.” The words “strawberry cake” were like daggers to my mother. She let out a cold, harsh laugh, her fingers flying across the keypad. “To all the parents, this is Sarah Peterson, Lily’s mother. It breaks my heart to inform you that her father and I have divorced. This is all Lily’s fault. For a piece of strawberry cake, she pushed her own father into the arms of another woman.” I spun in frantic circles. Lily didn’t! That’s not what happened! But my mother couldn’t hear me. She kept typing. “A child who would trade her father for a bite of dessert… I simply don’t know how to raise a child like that anymore.” The group chat exploded. The same parents who had been praising me moments before changed their tune instantly. “She gave up her dad for cake? That’s horrifying!” “If she’s that selfish at this age, imagine what she’ll be like when she grows up.” Reading the accusations against me, I felt a thousand tiny needles piercing my soul, a dense, sharp pain that went straight to my core. That’s not what happened. Lily didn’t trade her dad for cake. Mom put down her phone and turned to gently hug Molly, who was standing beside her. “Don’t be scared, sweetie. From now on, Mommy will only love you.” I watched Molly sink into my mother’s embrace, and my own heart shattered into a million pieces. Mommy, do you really not want Lily anymore? Molly stiffened for a second, a flicker of panic on her face, before it was replaced by a sweet smile. Just moments before, when my mother had stormed out of the kitchen, Molly had looked terrified. She must have been afraid Mom would discover my body. But seeing that she hadn’t, she nestled into my mother’s arms and rubbed her head contentedly against her shoulder. “And Molly will always love Mommy.” I hugged myself, trying to imagine it was me my mother was holding. Mommy will always love Lily. And Lily will always love Mommy. Suddenly, the doorbell rang, sharp and urgent. 4 When Mom opened the door, two police officers were standing there, along with my father, who I hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. Dad’s face was a thundercloud. The moment he saw my mother, he lunged forward. “Sarah, what the hell are you saying in the parent group chat?” “And the preschool called. They said Lily hasn’t been to school in days. Where is she? What have you done with her?” Seeing my father, all the old wounds and fresh betrayals erupted. “Mark, you have the nerve to call the police on me?” “Are you two in this together now? Did you team up just to humiliate me?!” The lead officer cut my mother off, his expression grim. “Ma’am, we need to ask you some questions regarding your daughter’s disappearance. When was the last time you saw her?” She stormed past them into the house, screaming toward the kitchen. “Lily, have you had enough of this game? Get out here right now!” “You brought your father and the police here to make a fool of me! Are you happy now?!” Mommy, Lily isn’t hiding. The police officers exchanged a look and began to search the house. They checked every corner, every closet, but there was no sign of me. Finally, only the kitchen was left. My mother stood with her arms crossed, her voice dripping with disgust. “I told you, she’s hiding in there! Fine! She can stay in there for the rest of her life for all I care!” A female officer was about to enter the kitchen when Molly suddenly stepped forward and timidly tugged on her sleeve. “Maybe Lily went to a friend’s house to play. Mommy has been very sad these last few days. Could you please not upset her anymore?” As she spoke, she subtly shifted her body, as if to block the path to the kitchen. “Please step aside, little girl.” The officer ignored her, gently moving Molly to the side and walking straight into the kitchen. A moment later, a muffled, horrified gasp echoed from the room. “Captain! In the oven…”

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At the school gate, I tossed a cold bun into the trash can and turned to leave. Suddenly, strange words floated before my eyes: [OMG! The Heroine is actually eating a bun out of the garbage!] I whipped my head around just in time to see a skinny, sallow-faced girl fishing my discarded bun out of the bin. She looked at me, terrified. “I… I’m sorry. I thought you didn’t want it.” I strode over to her, snatched the cold bun from her hand, and threw it back into the trash. 1 [No way! Is this NPC really that evil? He won’t even let her eat garbage?] [I feel a profound sense of powerlessness, unable to slap him through the screen.] The girl lowered her head, consumed by shame. “I’m sorry.” I flashed a bright smile. “You can’t eat stuff from the trash. Come with me, senior’s treat. Noodles on me!” She looked like a freshman. The girl froze, her instinct was to refuse. “No, no need!” “My family owns a noodle shop. It’s free. Let’s go!” I forcibly dragged the girl onto my electric scooter and headed straight for my family’s shop. [I take back what I said earlier. NPC Senior is actually a good guy.] [But wait, this plot isn’t right!] [Maybe it’s an adaptation? But it’s good, hopefully the Heroine escapes her misery sooner.] [What if the Heroine falls for this NPC Senior?] [Definitely not. The Male Lead is her canon match. Though NPC Senior might get promoted to Second Male Lead.] On the way, I asked for her name and grade. She was indeed a freshman, named Tara. After getting off the scooter, Tara dawdled, too scared to follow me inside. I had to grab her wrist and pull her in. “Mom, I’m back!” The shop was empty right now. My mom and dad were sitting there on their phones. They looked up, startled. I knew why they were surprised. I had only ever brought guys over to leech food. This was the first time I brought a girl. But they recovered quickly, both beaming with smiles. My mom said, “Hey there, pretty girl! Sit, sit. What kind of noodles do you want? Auntie will make them for you.” “We have toppings like ribs, chicken, beef, and spicy intestine,” my mom added. Tara sat down nervously, whispering, “Thank you, Uncle, Auntie. I don’t like meat. Just plain noodles is fine.” [Baby, isn’t beef noodles your favorite?] [She just doesn’t want the owner to spend too much.] [The Heroine is so good, her life is just too bitter.] I made the executive decision: “Mom, triple portion beef noodles!” My mom smiled and replied, “You got it! Jay, come help me in the back.” “Okay.” 2 I followed my mom into the kitchen while my dad stayed out front talking to Tara. My mom turned on the stove, her face darkening as she whispered, “What’s your relationship with her?” I quickly explained, “Nothing! She’s a freshman. I didn’t even know her half an hour ago.” My mom huffed, “If you don’t know her, why bring her to the shop? Is she starving or something?” I sighed. “Mom, she was eating a cold bun I threw in the trash.” My mom’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t speak for a long time. After a while, she raised her hand and smacked me. “Wasting food? You looking for a beating?” I clutched my head, acting pitiful. “You packed too much! I couldn’t finish it, and I was scared you’d yell at me if I brought it back!” My mom gritted her teeth. “From now on, take only what you can eat! No waste!” I grinned apologetically. “You got it!” My mom, afraid Tara wouldn’t be full, cooked a huge portion of noodles. There was plenty of beef topping left over, so she dumped it all on. I stared at the massive basin of noodles, dumbfounded. “Mom, isn’t that a bit much?” “You think everyone has a stomach the size of a thumb like you? Girls her age have huge appetites!” 3 When I placed the basin on the table, Tara looked overwhelmed. “Senior, it’s too much, I…” “Whatever you can’t finish, just leave!” Tara corrected herself. “I can finish it.” “Eat if you can, but don’t force yourself. Don’t make yourself sick.” “Mmh.” Tara’s eyes suddenly reddened. She lowered her head, staring at the table. “Thank you.” My mom smiled. “No need to thank us. Eat up before it gets soggy.” [NPC Senior’s family are all kind people. Looks like the Heroine won’t starve anymore.] [Not necessarily. Helping once doesn’t mean helping forever.] [It’s still better than her bio mom, who got a new family and completely ignores whether the Heroine lives or dies.] Tara ate the noodles in small bites, but large teardrops fell into the bowl. Seeing this, my parents and I felt a sour ache in our hearts. We all looked away. My mom dragged me back to the kitchen. “What exactly is the situation with this girl’s family?” The floating text hadn’t revealed enough yet, and having just met her, I shouldn’t know too much. I said uncertainly, “Her mom remarried and ignores her. Her dad is probably dead.” My mom was furious. “What kind of people are they? Forget it, can’t control other people’s families! From now on, you bring her breakfast. Lunch and dinner, you get food from the cafeteria for her. Bring her to the shop for supper. Consider it sponsoring a needy student!” I nodded vigorously. “Okay!” 4 My mom was right. Tara’s appetite was indeed impressive. She actually finished the entire basin of noodles. My mom loves it when people finish her food. She beamed, “Pretty girl, were Auntie’s noodles good?” Tara nodded seriously. “Auntie’s noodles were very delicious!” My mom’s smile grew even wider. “Then come every day to support Auntie’s business! Auntie won’t charge you!” Tara looked troubled, seemingly embarrassed. My mom proactively offered, “How about this? You come help out in the shop every night, and Auntie will make you noodles. How does that sound?” “Thank you, Auntie.” After Tara finished eating, my parents closed up shop. Tara fought to do the cleaning. She was quick and efficient, helping us tidy up in no time. Afterward, my dad offered to walk her home. Tara refused at first, but she couldn’t out-stubborn my dad, so she eventually agreed. However, an hour later, my dad brought her back home, along with a large woven bag. My mom and I looked at each other. We didn’t understand, but we welcomed Tara to sit. My dad drank some water, fuming with righteous indignation. “That woman isn’t human! To force the kid to drop out and work, she kicked her out of the house. Ignored her completely. This child has been living next to a public toilet for two or three months, surviving on picking through trash!” My mom and I were stunned. My mom recovered, grabbing Tara’s hand, tears in her eyes. “Tara, if you don’t mind, stay with Uncle and Auntie. We have a spare bedroom.” My dad comforted her too. “Don’t feel burdened. When you’re successful later, you’ll have plenty of chances to pay us back.” Tara lowered her head, choking back a sob. “Thank you, Auntie, Uncle.” “For what? Small thing.” My mom glanced at me sideways. “No bullying your sister, hear me?” I was speechless. Why would I bully this poor little thing?

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During spring break, my husband, our son, and I went shopping. My son, Tyler, fixated on a game console. When I said no, he started screaming at me right there in the mall. “Monkey! Why won’t you buy it for me? I want it! If you don’t buy it, I’ll hit you!” He lunged at me, punching and kicking. This wasn’t the first time. My husband, Dave, looked at me with pure disgust. “Let’s go. Stop embarrassing us.” I looked at my son coldly. “From now on, I’m not your mom. If you want something, ask your new mom.” I turned and walked away, leaving Tyler screaming in the middle of the mall. I quit. 1 Walking home alone, I realized I wasn’t even sad anymore. Countless hurts had left me numb. For years, I gave up a career I loved to raise a son and a daughter. But all they did was resent me. My son, Tyler, is only in elementary school, but he’s obsessed with video games and junk food. When I say no, he acts like I’m a monster. He has zero respect for me, hits me when he’s mad, and calls me “Monkey” in public. My daughter, Chloe, is just as bad. Since starting middle school, she’s become rebellious, obsessed with dating some blue-haired delinquent. I tried to guide her, but she sees me as the enemy of her true love. This is all thanks to their father—a misogynist who loves playing the “cool dad.” He constantly brags about his achievements while belittling mine in front of the kids. “Daddy works so hard to make money. Mommy has it easy; she doesn’t do anything.” “Housework and kids are women’s work. I’m a man; I do big things.” “I make four grand a month! Do you know how hard that is? I don’t have time for your nagging.” Every time I discipline the kids, he swoops in like a hero, badmouths me with them, and buys them junk food to make them happy. I’m the villain. He’s the saint. No wonder the kids hate me. Was I wrong? Maybe. Wrong for choosing this husband. Wrong for birthing two ungrateful tumors. I opened the door to see Chloe already home, dressed like a wannabe gangster, sitting at the table. She rolled her eyes. “Hey, I’m broke. Give me some cash.” I ignored her and walked to my room. She followed, leaning against the doorframe, shaking her leg. “Hey, I’m talking to you. Give me money. I need to go out!” I was so disappointed in this girl who only cared about hanging out with her blue-haired boyfriend. I hung up my new clothes. “No money. Ask your wonderful father.” Chloe snapped, slapping my clothes away. “What do you mean no money? You have money to buy clothes but not for me?” She reached for my phone, cursing. “Stupid bitch, why is it so hard to get money from you?” I pushed her away, disgusted. “Get out. Go ask your little boyfriend to support you!” “Fine! I knew you were trying to break us up! Tyler was right, you are just a brainless monkey!” Slap. I hit her across the face. “Watch your mouth. Since this is my last day as your mother, let me teach you how to speak like a human!” Slap. I hit her other cheek. I used to be too soft to discipline her. Now, I was completing her education. Just then, the lock clicked. Dave and Tyler were home. Hearing Chloe’s screams, they rushed over. Tyler charged at me, fists flying. “Stupid Monkey! Let go of my sister!” I backhanded him across the face. His cheek swelled instantly. “Listen here, you little brat. Call me ‘Monkey’ again, and I’ll slap you until your mouth rots!” Tyler wasn’t used to this. He screamed like a banshee and tried to hit me again. I grabbed his arm and kicked his butt and thighs. I used to hold back. Now that he wasn’t my son anymore, I hit him as much as I wanted! Dave finally stepped in, shielding the kids. “Jane! Enough! It’s just a nickname, is it necessary?” I laughed. “Dave, it’s about respect! They turned out like this because of you! If you think it’s no big deal, how about I call you ‘Pig’ from now on?” Dave was furious. How could anyone talk to a “big man” like him that way? “Jane, are you done making a scene? Fighting with kids, what kind of mother are you! Earlier at the mall, Tyler just wanted a game console. You should have just bought it. Making a scene in public… I’m embarrassed for Tyler having a mom like you!” “Yeah, so embarrassing! You don’t deserve to be my mom if you don’t buy me stuff!” Tyler chimed in. It was always like this. They ganged up on me until I caved. They spent my savings, but Tyler thought it was Dave’s money. He hated me and loved Dave more. But I wasn’t their mom anymore. I wasn’t compromising. “Tyler, ask your dad. Isn’t he the best? He’ll buy it for you. I told you at the mall, I’m not your mom anymore. Go ask him!” “And Chloe, you want money? Ask your dad. He’ll give it to you. Hurry up, grab the cash and go find Blue Hair.” The kids looked at Dave with expectant eyes. “Dad, you’re different from that old hag, right?” Dave looked awkward. He hated spending money on the kids, but he didn’t want to ruin his “cool dad” image. “Tyler, don’t worry. I’ll buy it for you. But Daddy is a little tight this month. How about… when I get paid next month?” Dave was the king of empty promises. Only an idiot like Tyler would believe him. “See? Stupid woman! Dad will buy it for me. You’re nothing compared to Dad!” Chloe held out her hand. “Dad, I don’t need much. Just five hundred.” Dave acted pained, pulling out two crumpled twenties. “Chloe, Daddy won’t stop you like your mom. But I only have forty on me. Take this for now.” Chloe looked grateful. “Thanks, Dad! You’re the best. Unlike her, hoarding money. Dad, I’m leaving, Blue Hair is waiting!” She ran out. Dave coaxed Tyler back to his room, then stormed back to confront me. “Jane, I work my ass off to support this family! You sit at home enjoying life and can’t even manage two kids? What good are you?” I scoffed. “You support us? You haven’t brought a dime home in years. We’ve been living off my savings! Where do you get the nerve to lecture me?” Dave puffed up his chest. “Being a supportive wife is your duty! Raising kids is your job! Paying for things is what you’re supposed to do!” I truly didn’t understand how his brain was wired. “Duty my ass. Go look in a mirror. I’m saying this for the last time: I quit being a mom. I’m done with those two. I’m not spending another cent. You handle it!” I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. “If you don’t handle it, who will?!” Dave roared. “Their wonderful father, obviously.” 2 Outside, I dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. After a short ring, it connected. “Jane? Finally calling me? You heartless woman, did you forget your best friend?” Hearing Sarah’s voice, I finally felt safe. I started crying. “Hey, hey, why are you crying? I’m not blaming you! Did that dog Dave upset you? I told you he was trash!” I sobbed, “Sarah, I regret everything…” “Okay, okay, stop crying. Come to the dance studio. Same place!” When I arrived, Sarah was waiting. She saw my haggard face and said nothing, just led me to her office. “Jane, you used to be so radiant. That guy… he destroyed you. It hurts just looking at you!” I smiled bitterly and told her everything. Sarah was furious. “How did you put up with that for so long?! Ungrateful wolves! I would have torn them apart! Jane, what do you want to do now?” “I want to start over. I want to make them regret everything.” “That’s my Jane! But the industry changes fast. Even though you were in the National Troupe, you haven’t danced in years. You need to catch up on trends. Can you start as a regular instructor?” I agreed instantly. I was just grateful for the chance. I knew I could be the best. Sarah was happy. “Let’s go shopping! New makeup for your new life! You need to look gorgeous as a dance teacher!” By the time we finished shopping, it was evening. With Sarah, I felt like my old sparkling self again. I stayed at Sarah’s that night. My phone rang non-stop. All Dave. When I finally answered, he started screaming. “Jane, where the hell are you? No dinner, house is a mess! I come home from work to a cold kitchen! Get back here and cook!” I fired back, “Are your hands broken? Or are you paralyzed? Waiting for me to serve you? Cook yourself or starve! Don’t bother me!” “Jane, did you take the wrong meds? Fine, you don’t care about me, what about the kids?!” “Yeah, I took the wrong meds years ago when I decided to serve you like a maid. Are they hungry? Not my problem! I’m not hungry!” I hung up before he could respond. Sarah gave me a thumbs up. “That’s the spirit! No more taking crap!” Until bedtime, Sarah updated me on the dance world and sent me videos to study. She promised to start recruiting students for me tomorrow. For the next few days, I practiced from dawn to dusk. The familiar feeling returned. Sarah said I could start teaching next week. I was thrilled. I told Sarah I was going back that night. “Jane, you’re not going back to be a maid, are you?!” she asked, shocked. I laughed. “No way! I just want to see how those dogs are living.” I went back right before dinner. The house smelled awful. Leftover takeout everywhere, overflowing trash cans, sour stench. Dirty laundry piled high, socks on the sofa. Hearing the door, Tyler and Chloe came out, thinking it was Dave. “Dad, what’s for dinner?” Seeing me, their faces fell. “Stupid woman, you finally came back! Look at this mess! Clean it up and cook! I’m starving!” “Wait until Dad gets home, he’s gonna kill you!” Just like Dave. Disgusting. I pushed Tyler aside, sat at the table, and opened a large container of spicy crayfish I bought for myself. “If you’re starving, cook. If you can’t cook, you aren’t hungry enough.” Chloe sat next to me, reaching for a crayfish. I slapped her hand. “Hey! What are you doing?” “Eating! What does it look like?!” “Stealing my shrimp! Buy your own! Can’t afford it? Then watch! Don’t touch with your dirty paws!” Tyler tried to sweet-talk me. “Mommy, give me a bite? You know I love shrimp.” “Hey, I’m not your mom. Don’t call me that. You don’t deserve these shrimp. You can suck on the shells.” Tyler saw flattery wasn’t working and tried to hit me. “Stupid Monkey! Give it to me or I’ll beat you!” I backhanded him to the floor. “I told you. Call me Monkey, get slapped. Why use your mouth to bark like a dog?” Tyler screamed. “Ahh! You hit me! I’ll kick you to death! Die! Die!” Chloe yelled too. “Crazy bitch! You starve us and eat alone?!” She tried to flip the bowl. I held it down. Then I grabbed the other takeout containers on the table—their old leftovers—and dumped them on her head. “No manners! You want to eat? Eat this!” “And you, Tyler. Have a feast!” I threw the leftover soup and rice on his face. They shrieked like kettles boiling over. I took a video and sent it to Sarah: [This is what happens when you mess with me.] Sarah replied: [Queen!] I ignored their crying, ate my crayfish, and watched a show on my phone. By the time I finished, Dave still wasn’t home. I went to pack some clothes. While packing my skincare, I noticed something wrong. My expensive face masks were missing. I thought Chloe took them, but then I found a press-on nail in the drawer. I never wear those. Dave found a new mom for the kids. Good. Evidence of infidelity would be useful for the divorce. I packed quietly. Just as I was leaving, the door opened. Dave was back, holding a bowl of cheap spicy soup. Feeding the kids slop while he probably ate a feast with his mistress. Seeing me, he assumed I was back to beg forgiveness. He put on his arrogant face. “Couldn’t make it out there, huh? A woman with no skills can only starve. How would you live without me?” Ridiculous. I laughed. “Is your brain broken or did you gargle with sewage? Why does your mouth smell like sh*t? Rely on you? And eat spicy soup? No thanks.” Dave sneered. “Keep talking tough. If I’m wrong, why are you back? Whatever, I’ll save you some face. Since you’re back, clean this place up. Look at this mess.” He looked me up and down. “Yellow-faced woman wearing a dress? Go change. How can you clean in a dress?” He threw his jacket on the sofa and marched toward the bedroom like a king. “Okay. Let me show you how I clean in a dress.” I grabbed the bowl of spicy crayfish soup and dumped it over his head. “Here’s a tip. Crayfish soup. Oops, look at you, eating so fast you got it everywhere. Let me help you wipe it.” I grabbed a filthy rag from the table and smeared it over his face. Dave shoved me away, roaring. “Jane! Are you crazy?! You dumped soup on me?! You want to die?!” Tyler and Chloe ran out, looking like two sad piles of garbage. Tyler hugged Dave and cried. “Dad! That crazy woman bullied us! She threw leftovers on me! Kill her, Dad!” Chloe joined in. “Yeah, Dad, beat her! Blue Hair says disobedient women need a beating. Don’t lose face!” Brainwashed beyond repair. Dave was riled up. “Okay! Daddy will teach this bitch a lesson for you!” He raised his hand to hit me. Just as he thought! Before he could strike, I messed up my hair and clothes, ran out the door, and collapsed on the ground, screaming. “Help! Domestic violence! Dave is beating his wife! Help!” Neighbors opened their doors. A kind old lady ran to me. “Jane, what happened? Don’t cry, tell me.” “Dave… he beat me! I just came home a little late and he beat me!” “I don’t want to live anymore!” I had a reputation as a saint in the neighborhood. Everyone believed me and started yelling at Dave. Dave tried to defend himself. “No! She’s lying! I didn’t hit her! Look, she threw soup on us!” “If I didn’t throw it, I wouldn’t have escaped! He would have killed me! I took care of them for years and this is what I get!” The neighbors were furious. They looked ready to mob him. Dave panicked. He threw my bag out. “Jane, get out!” Slam. The neighbors comforted me. Once I “calmed down,” they went home. Dave’s reputation was ruined. I picked up my bag and went back to Sarah’s, satisfied. 3 When I got to Sarah’s, she had good news. The studio posted about my classes online, and lots of people remembered me. Many signed up. Sarah was excited. “Jane, you’ve still got it! You brought in so many students. Big bonus coming your way! Honestly, since you stopped playing maid, you look amazing. With a little makeup, you look just like you did back in the day.” I looked in the mirror and smiled. I used to be the troupe beauty. I told Sarah about Dave’s affair and asked her to investigate. I needed proof for the divorce and property division. She was on it. Two days later, Sarah got the PI report. The mistress was a new hire on Dave’s team, named Vivi. Photos of them dining, kissing, entering hotels. Ironclad evidence. Living it up with his mistress while his kids ate garbage. They deserved each other. Sarah asked, “Jane, what’s the plan?” I smirked. “Total destruction.” That night, we prepared. Sarah printed flyers. I made posters. Tomorrow was Monday—perfect day for drama. The next morning, Sarah hired five people to hand out flyers at Dave’s office. The flyers had dates, times, and pictures. The colleagues were shocked and thrilled. Nothing beats office gossip. Within an hour, everyone knew. We waited at a cafe until 5 PM. Quitting time. My turn. I wore a tight dress, heels, and sunglasses. Two bodyguards followed me. At the office entrance, the bodyguards unfurled a banner filled with intimate photos of Dave and Vivi. Large text: “CONGRATULATIONS DAVE ON YOUR NEW CONCUBINE!” I held a megaphone, looping a recording of their timeline. Colleagues leaving work stopped to watch and record. Soon, Dave and Vivi walked out, arms linked. Their smiles froze when they saw the banner. I took off my sunglasses. “Dave, long time no see. Congrats on the new lady.” Dave lunged at me, but saw the phones recording. He hissed, “Jane! What are you doing? Stop embarrassing us! Let’s go home!” I laughed. “Embarrassing? I don’t think so. I’m not the one who should be embarrassed. Let’s talk right here.” Sarah walked up. “Yeah, Dave. Dare to do it, dare to own it?” Dave’s face was black. “It’s not what you think. Let’s go home and talk.” “Not what I think? Then what is it? Say it here. Nothing to hide, right? I’m sure your colleagues want to know the truth.” Dave shouted, “Jane, Vivi and I are just colleagues! Nothing else! These are fake!” I pretended to believe him. “Really? Then let me check your phone.” “That’s my privacy! You can’t!” “I’m your legal wife! But fine, don’t show me. These proofs are enough.” I took the divorce papers from Sarah and slapped them onto Dave’s face. “Sign it. Cheating means you get less.” Sarah and I walked away, leaving Dave in his humiliation. 4 The next morning, I brought movers to the house. I bought most of the furniture and appliances with my savings. I wasn’t leaving them for the trash family. When I entered, Tyler, Chloe, and Dave were at the table, waiting for Vivi to make breakfast. Tyler glared. “Stupid woman, why are you here? We don’t need you. We have a new mom. She’s a million times better. She bought me my game console.” Chloe added, “Yeah, we don’t want a cheap mom. New mom supports me and Blue Hair. That’s what youth is about! Unlike you, old antique.” Laughable. They thought Vivi’s indulgence was love. She was just raising them to be useless. Not my problem anymore. “Think what you want. Good luck with Vivi. I don’t want you two idiots anyway.” I directed the movers. “TV, bookshelf, computer… I bought them all. Take them.” Dave slammed the table. “Who dares?! This is my house!” I shrugged. “Your house, sure. But I bought the stuff. I have receipts. Even the cops can’t stop me. Guys, ignore him. Move it out. I’ll pay extra.” “Jane, don’t go too far!” “I am going too far. What are you gonna do about it?” I walked into Chloe’s room. “Take the piano too.” Chloe blocked it. “My piano! You can’t take it!” “I paid for it. You begged to learn, then called me a control freak for making you practice. I’m doing you a favor. You’re too busy riding scooters with Blue Hair to play anyway. Don’t waste my money.” I pulled Chloe away. “Move it!” Chloe glared. “I hate you!” “Feeling is mutual.” I walked out under their hateful gazes. “Bye bye, trash.” A few days later, the court ruling came. I got 70% of the assets. Dave got 30%. The same day, Dave got fired for “misconduct affecting company image.” Meanwhile, my career was booming. My rate kept going up, but students kept coming. Parents wanted me to mentor their kids for dance school. I became the star teacher. Hearing Dave lost his job, I called him to gloat. I love kicking a man when he’s down. Even with little money left, Dave insisted on a lavish wedding with Vivi to save face. He sent me an invite to show off. I went. Dressed in black, looking fabulous. I gave him a thick red envelope. Dave smirked. “Regret it now? You were shortsighted.” I spoke loudly. “Oh, I regret it so much! Getting most of the money… This wedding cost a lot, right? Shame you can’t live the poor life anymore!” Dave huffed. “Don’t be smug, Jane. I’ll earn it back in no time. You’ll just eat through your savings.” “How? With your non-existent job? Oh, I forgot, you have no job and two kids to feed. Unlike me, making sixteen grand a month.” “Don’t bully the poor youth! You’ll regret it!” “Sure, sure. ‘Don’t bully the poor middle-aged man.’ I’ll wait for your miracle.” I left before eating. Pity I couldn’t see their faces when they opened the envelope full of spirit money (hell money).

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Donovan was in the center of the ballroom, locked in a slow, intimate dance with his secretary, Sierra Vaughn, when my asthma attack started. Even as I began to gasp, drooling, struggling to breathe, the man I was supposed to marry kept his arms around her, their heads close, sharing a private joke. On the ride home, I found a diamond ring box tucked into the glove compartment. Before I could say a word, Donovan frowned, snatched it up, and said, his voice cold as ice: “It’s not for you.” I simply nodded. Then, I pointed toward the bridal boutique coming up on the next block. “Pull over, please.” The bespoke gown I’d ordered felt like a relic from a different lifetime. It was time to cancel the fitting. 1 I’d barely made it through the door of the boutique before Donovan followed me, slamming a woman’s coat into my face. “Amelia,” he clipped, “for God’s sake, get rid of this awful habit of leaving your trash everywhere.” Donovan had a phobia of clutter. He never allowed a single one of my personal items to remain in his luxury sedan. I glanced at the coat on the floor. “It’s not mine.” At that, his expression softened. He picked up the discarded garment without a hint of disgust and carefully folded it. I knew the coat belonged to Sierra. Every other time Sierra “accidentally” left an item behind, it led to a spectacular, screaming fight between Donovan and me. This time, however, I had nothing to say. No fight left in me. I turned back to the attendant and quietly gave her my phone number. The young woman smiled brightly. “You’ve come at the perfect time! Your custom gown and his tuxedo are both finished. You can try them on now.” Before I could refuse the fitting, the man who had just snapped at me walked into the men’s changing room with a sigh of irritation. Ten minutes later, I stood before Donovan in the white gown. He pulled his mouth into a sneer. “Tacky.” I didn’t argue. Instead, I asked the attendant to take a photo of me. Donovan’s expression was impatient. He was about to put an arm around me for a forced couple’s photo when his phone rang. It was Sierra’s personalized ringtone. The girl on the other end was sobbing, complaining that her favorite jacket was missing. She declared that whoever was kind enough to return it would be rewarded with her undying, eternal devotion. Donovan hung up, didn’t bother to change out of his suit, and strode out of the store. Listening to the sound of his car speeding away, I picked up the shears used for alterations and, without a single moment of hesitation, shredded my wedding dress. It was half past one in the morning. I was cleaning out my personal items when a message popped up. It was from Donovan: [Out drinking] In eight years together, the man had rarely bothered to check in. I glanced at the cleaning gloves on my hands and didn’t reply. After taking out the trash, I had a hot shower and slept a deep, dreamless sleep. Donovan came home the next day just as I was heading out to the trash chute. His eyes narrowed in confusion. “Is your phone broken?” I shook my head. His brow immediately furrowed in that familiar sign of annoyance. I knew why he was asking. In the past, whenever he stayed out late, I would barrage him with texts and calls. But last night, his phone had been eerily silent. As I reached the door, he called out, “Amelia, where are the photos from the living room wall?” I looked down at the garbage bag in my hands. I was about to tell him the truth when his phone buzzed. He bumped my shoulder, walked past me, and pressed the voice-recording button as he headed further inside. “Hold tight, kiddo. I’ll bring it over the minute it’s ready.” Hearing the water running in the bathroom, I continued downstairs to dump the trash. Climbing back up, I felt the familiar dizzying chill of low blood sugar. Sweating and shaky, I stumbled back into the kitchen, grabbed the half-eaten plate of fried eggs and toast from the counter, and took a bite. That’s when I heard Donovan’s voice, thick with resentment: “Amelia, are you a starved stray?” I watched him pick up the plate with my half-bitten toast and drop the entire thing into the kitchen trash. I stared at him, my vision blurring. “I made your food for eight years. When my blood sugar crashes, do I not even deserve to eat a piece of the breakfast you made?” Donovan’s eyes were hard and cold. “Stealing is stealing, regardless of your emergency. Have some manners.” He put on his suit jacket and slammed the door shut behind him. Facing this fresh wave of silent treatment, I automatically grabbed my phone and opened his messaging app. He’d changed his background photo. It was a selfie of Sierra with a goofy cat-ear filter. I tapped the ‘like’ button—a final act of irony—and then unpinned his conversation from the top of my list. 2 Around lunchtime at the office, I was heading into the elevator to meet with my realtor when I ran right into Donovan and Sierra. Sierra’s long hair was a mess, and Donovan was gently pulling it into a ponytail for her. Seeing me, Sierra immediately put her hands on her hips, pouted, and complained: “Amie, you’re just in time. Look at Donovan. He keeps tugging my hair like a little boy. He’s so annoying.” Before I could speak, Donovan affectionately pinched the tip of her nose. “Little one, your nose will grow long if you tell fibs.” After teasing her until she blushed, he finally, reluctantly, looked at me. “Amelia, what a coincidence. Join us for lunch.” We had worked in the same corporate high-rise for five years. Donovan had never once asked me to lunch during a workday. Meanwhile, Sierra posted daily photos of every meal he shared with her on social media. The memory made me smile sadly. “You two go on. I have an appointment.” My refusal caught him off guard. His face darkened just as the elevator jerked violently, plunging us into darkness. I turned on my phone’s flashlight. Donovan was immediately wrapping his arms around Sierra, whispering reassurances. A moment later, the elevator lights flickered back on, and we reached the lobby. Donovan offered to drop me off wherever I was going. Before I could reply, Sierra suddenly collapsed. Donovan shoved me aside without a second thought, hoisted Sierra onto his back, and rushed toward the nearest hospital. I silently picked up my cracked-screen phone, hailed a ride, and went to look at apartments. That evening, Donovan personally delivered a box of pastries to my desk. I had seen Sierra’s new social media post half an hour earlier: [Loving him is like feeding a flower. My baby bought me too many treats, I can’t possibly finish them all!] The photo showed an entire table laden with expensive French desserts. I thanked him but didn’t open the box. A flicker of confusion crossed Donovan’s eyes. “Amelia, why are you being so formal with me?” I didn’t answer directly. “If there’s nothing else, I need to go print some documents.” When I returned from the printer, holding my resignation letter, Donovan was gone. He’d left a sticky note telling me to come to his office upstairs when I was finished. I tore the note off, crumpled it up with the box of pastries, and tossed them both into the recycling bin. I walked into my boss’s office and handed in my notice. He tried to talk me out of it for a long time, but seeing my resolve, he finally accepted it. I just had to finish out the week. At ten that night, Donovan called me while I was having dinner with some colleagues. A male co-worker accidentally picked up the phone. When I finally took the call, Donovan’s voice was terrifyingly cold. “Amelia, where are you this late?” “Out,” I replied. “Send me your location. I’m coming to get you now.” He hung up without waiting for my response. I sent the location and stayed until the restaurant closed. Donovan never showed. I opened Sierra’s social media feed and, sure enough, found a post about her being sick and getting an IV drip at the hospital. I took a cab home, showered, and went to bed. At half-past three in the morning, a travel-worn Donovan violently shook me awake. He said, his voice flat and demanding: “Amelia, I’m starving. Make me a bowl of homemade chicken noodle soup.” He hated chicken noodle soup. He never ate it. I knew who was asking for it: Sierra. I tried to pull my arm away, but my fingers brushed against the scar on his hand. Years ago, the school auditorium had caught fire. Without Donovan, I would have been one of the casualties. A bowl of soup for a life saved—I was still coming out ahead. Seeing me quietly put on a robe to head to the kitchen, Donovan grabbed my arm again. For once, his voice held a trace of uncertainty. “Maybe wait until morning, it doesn’t matter right now…” I cut him off, asking softly, “Besides the soup, is there anything else she wants to eat?” After a moment of silence, Donovan slowly released my arm. “No,” he said. “That’s all.” 3 Before sunrise, Donovan stood at the door with a thermal food carrier in his hand. “Amelia,” he said, “I have to go abroad next week. I’ll make time this Saturday to meet your parents for dinner so we can discuss the wedding details…” I cut him off before he could finish. “There’s no need.” Donovan visibly froze. “What are you talking about?” I smiled, making up a smooth lie. “They’re traveling out of state. They won’t be back for a while.” He stared at me, as if he had more to say, but his phone rang—a priority call, I assumed, as he quickly turned and shut the door behind him. Friday, my last day at work. As soon as I walked out of the building, Donovan grabbed me and pulled me into his car. In the exclusive restaurant, Donovan cut my steak for me while asking, “What wine do you want to drink?” I distractedly scrolled on my phone. “You choose.” My inattention made his handsome face tighten. “Who are you texting?” “No one.” Despite my answer, he snatched the phone out of my hand. After scrolling for a minute, his eyes, dark and unreadable, landed on the screen. “When did you change your wallpaper?” For all the years we had been together, my wallpaper had always been a photo of us. Now, it was a picture of my parents’ ridiculously fluffy poodle. Too weary to answer, I simply stood up to go to the restroom. When I returned, Donovan was gone. Suddenly, the restaurant lights dimmed. A server wheeled a cart piled with flowers and a cake slowly toward me. The cart stopped at the table next to mine. At that moment, my phone lit up. It was an automated text: Happy Birthday, Amie. I walked out of the restaurant, passing a familiar, sickeningly sweet female voice: “Whoa! Donovan, you’re so strong! Push me higher, higher!” It was Sierra, shrieking with delight on a swing set outside, begging Donovan to push her higher. Her eagerness was her undoing; she lost her balance and tumbled right into his arms. They stared at each other, eyes locked, smiling, holding each other for a long moment before they noticed me. A flash of unmistakable disappointment crossed Donovan’s face. He looked at me blankly. “Oh, Amie!” Sierra chirped. “This swing is so fun! You should try it…” Halfway through the sentence, she blushed crimson and intentionally dropped her arms from around Donovan’s neck. “Don’t get the wrong idea, Amie. Donovan only hugged me to save me from falling…” Donovan gently ruffled her dark hair, his gaze utterly tender. “Silly girl. You don’t owe her an explanation. All that matters is that you’re not hurt.” After soothing Sierra, he withdrew all the tenderness and looked at me, detached. “All finished eating?” I didn’t answer him. I started walking toward the Ferris wheel nearby. I’d heard a silly rumor that if you made a wish on a Ferris wheel on your birthday, it would come true. Seeing my back, a flash of mockery crossed Sierra’s eyes. She quickly grabbed Donovan and dragged him along. “Ooh, a Ferris wheel! Donovan, I want to ride it, too…” The attendant announced only two seats were left. Donovan didn’t spare me a glance. He took Sierra’s hand and they rushed into the cabin. Twenty minutes later, the ride over, Donovan searched the entire plaza but couldn’t find me anywhere. Eight o’clock that evening. I walked out of the bedroom, carrying a suitcase. I placed a slip of paper with the single word [BREAKUP] written on it under the house keys. And I walked out, not looking back. 4 At eleven o’clock that night, my phone rang. It was Donovan. I was in the living room talking to my parents and didn’t see it. An hour later, he called again. I dimmed the screen, powered off the phone, and went to bed. I slept until noon the next day. When I rebooted my phone, I was surprised to see a dozen missed calls. Feeling a strange pull, I opened my messages. Donovan, who was usually so emotionally closed off, had uncharacteristically sent a string of texts: [What is the key and that note supposed to mean?] [So I missed your birthday? Not answering, not returning texts—are you playing games? Is this fun for you?] [Amelia, I’m giving you one hour to get your ass back here, or don’t bother coming back at all.] The last message was sent three hours ago. A deep sigh of relief left my lungs. I slowly moved my fingers, highlighted his name, and selected Delete & Block. A knock came at my door. After I called out, my mother brought in a mug of warm milk. “Amie, your stomach is delicate. Drink this while it’s hot.” I had shown up on their doorstep last night with a suitcase, and they hadn’t asked a single question, just showered me with their usual care. I hugged my mother’s arm, my nose stinging. “Mom, I found an apartment I like. It’s small, but it’s enough to keep me safe and sound.” My mother smiled. “Then buy it. How much do you need? Your father and I will cover it.” Even though I shook my head, insisting I had the funds, my mother immediately wired me twenty thousand dollars. She said a woman with her own home and savings has real backbone. I immediately called the landlord and scheduled the signing for Monday. That night, my father cooked a feast and bought a buttercream cake to celebrate my belated birthday. Facing the lit candles, I clasped my hands together, making a simple, earnest wish. I wished for my parents’ continued health and happiness. However, moments after I blew out the candles, my phone buzzed with unexpected news. Dozens of messages, all from different people, yet expressing the same thing: [OMG, Amie, congrats on the long-haul win! I’m flying back for the wedding and bringing a giant gift!] [Amelia, wishing you and Donovan a lifetime of happiness!] … As I stared at the flurry of congratulations, a notification popped up: Donovan Reed requests to be your friend. [Amelia, I announced our engagement on social media. You’ve achieved what you wanted. You’ve had your little tantrum.] The word “tantrum” made me laugh, a sharp, bitter sound. Who, exactly, was throwing a tantrum now? I recalled that my mother had once asked me to introduce her to Donovan online, but he had always ignored the request. Now, I was grateful for his disregard. If this farce reached her, she’d be up all night worrying. Calmly, I replied to all the well-wishers, informing them I had broken up with Donovan. Then, I posted a new public update on my long-neglected social media feed: [Single and ready to mingle. Rumors are false. I have no boyfriend.] Donovan called less than two minutes after the post went up. I ignored it. He called relentlessly. I finally pulled up his contact and hit Block Number. The world went quiet. I lay on the soft, comfortable bedding, put on my headphones, and closed my eyes to listen to music. Monday arrived. After eating my mother’s loving brunch, I was on time at the property management center. Just as the landlord and I were about to sign the contract, the older man’s phone rang unexpectedly. A few seconds into the call, the landlord looked at me with confusion and hesitantly handed me his phone. “Ms. Stone, this person is asking for you.” I knew Donovan was well-connected, but I never imagined the usually detached, rational man would extend his reach this far just to force me to take his call. I found a quiet corner and spoke, irritation finally breaking through my calm. “Donovan, don’t you ever stop?” My cold, impatient tone startled him into silence. After a pause, he asked in a low voice: “Amelia, why are you telling people you’re single?” “Because it’s true.” Donovan scoffed. “Leaving a key and a ridiculous note makes you single? Amelia, I’m begging you. You’re almost thirty. Can you act like an adult? We’re engaged. We’ll be married soon, just like you always wanted. If you keep acting like this, how are people supposed to show up for our wedding?” I pressed my fingers to my forehead to suppress a laugh. “There won’t be a wedding.” “What does that even mean?” Donovan let out a cold snort. “You’re not seriously going through with the breakup, are you?” I looked down and replied with absolute finality: “Yes. We are breaking up.” He fell silent. I could hear the background noise on his end—I knew he was at the airport, about to board a flight. 5 I glanced at the landlord nearby, who was anxiously watching, afraid the deal might fall through. I was about to hang up when Donovan’s tone suddenly softened. “Amelia, I know you’re furious because I forgot your birthday. I admit it was my fault. When I get back from taking Sierra abroad for her treatment, I promise I’ll make it up to you.” I listened to him finish, then replied blandly: “You’ve misunderstood. I’m not angry, and I don’t need compensation. You just need to know this: you and I are already over.” I hung up, returned the phone to the landlord, and told him to block the number if it called again. After signing the purchase agreement and completing the paperwork, I soon received the deed to my new home. I took a photo for posterity, then immediately left to meet a friend. I had a pleasant evening and arrived home around ten. I volunteered to take the dog out for his last walk of the night. As I pushed open the glass door to the lobby, a tall, familiar figure blocked my path. It was a travel-worn Donovan. “Amelia…” I tightened the dog’s leash and took a small step back, my face rigid. “Don’t come any closer.” Pained by my coldness, Donovan ignored my request and frowned, closing the distance. He started to speak, but our little dog went into full attack mode, snarling and snapping at him. Donovan didn’t seem to notice. He kept pressing forward, backing me into a corner. Standing against the lobby light, he stared at me, his gaze cold and unwavering. He said, “We need to talk this through. I don’t want any misunderstandings between us.” I frowned. “There’s nothing to talk about.” He put his fist on the wall, trapping me completely. “Amelia, have you forgotten we’re getting married? You think you can dismiss eight years with a flimsy breakup note? What do you take me for?” His furious, grinding tone left me utterly speechless. I tried twice to push him away, but he didn’t budge. The dog’s frantic barking was now loud enough to turn on the lights on several floors of the stairwell. Unwilling to alarm my parents, I finally conceded. Half an hour later. At a nearby twenty-four-hour coffee shop, Donovan ordered two black Americanos. He slid one, unsweetened and extra ice, toward me. “See, Amelia? I remember what you like.” I blinked, suppressing a bitter smile. Everyone who knew me, from my parents to my friends, knew I couldn’t stand bitterness. We only kept black coffee in the house because he liked it. The extra ice was simply my way of watering it down to make it palatable. In less than two days, the man had become surprisingly talkative. Before I could reply, he continued to ramble. “I apologize again for your birthday. I was swamped with work and mixed up the dates. I thought it was next month. But I already bought you the perfect gift.” He pulled a small, velvet box from his suit pocket. Seeing I made no move to open it, he pursed his lips and opened the box himself, revealing a pair of dazzling, expensive crystal drop earrings.

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The night of my birthday, I spent six hours baking a cake, waiting at home for Dean Lawson. He didn’t spare it a glance. “I’m buried in the lab tonight,” he said, already halfway out the door. “You should just eat it yourself.” I didn’t argue. I just ate the entire cake, slice by silent slice. In my midnight scroll, Dean’s post was glaringly conspicuous: a photo with his research assistant, Phoebe Carter, in the lab. She was holding a test tube; he was leaning over, recording data. The reflection in the polished window made it look like they were practically standing on top of each other. The caption stung: He says having me on the research path keeps him from feeling lonely. I didn’t give in to the familiar ache of insecurity and send a frantic, demanding text. Instead, I left a single word: “Teamwork.” My phone vibrated just as I was swallowing the last bite of frosting. “Don’t make a big deal out of this, Sky,” Dean’s voice was heavy with exhaustion. “Next time, for your birthday—” “Don’t bother.” I watched the rain streak the windowpane. “Research is important, Dean. I get it.” But there wouldn’t be a next time for us. 1 The rain was still falling when Dean pushed the door open. Usually, I’d be waiting in the entryway with a dry towel. This time, I stayed curled on the sofa, flipping through a design magazine. “Why didn’t you meet me?” Water dripped from his hair, staining the polished wood floor with dark circles. I turned a page. “I was busy.” He shrugged off his soaked jacket, his voice tired. “Can you warm up some milk for me?” Any other day, I would have been on my feet immediately. Now, I simply lifted my own mug. “I can’t be bothered. Get it yourself.” He suddenly grabbed my wrist. “Is this about your birthday?” I pulled my arm away, the ceramic cup base clicking lightly against the coffee table. “The project is at a critical stage,” he rubbed his temple. “Skylar, I honestly don’t have the energy to coddle you right now.” “Research is important, I get it,” I cut him off, echoing his earlier words. The rain hammered against the glass, just like the torrential night a year ago. I was in the sterile hospital corridor, listening to him comfort Phoebe on the phone: “Whatever happens, I’m here for you, don’t be scared.” Meanwhile, I had signed my own consent form for an emergency appendectomy. Dean’s eyes swept over my face, searching for a flicker of the old neediness, before he sighed, exhausted. “Sky, why are you doing this to me? Do you have to be this way?” I met his gaze calmly. “You’re overthinking it.” Silence thickened the air. He abruptly pulled a small, velvet box from his briefcase and tossed it onto the coffee table. “Here. Happy Birthday.” Inside lay a necklace, the pendant slightly askew, as if it had been jammed in there as an afterthought. It was a laughable contrast to the exquisitely wrapped Van Cleef & Arpels necklace Phoebe had flaunted on her birthday post last month. “Thanks.” I closed the box, my voice as neutral as if I were commenting on the weather. Dean stood up sharply. “That’s it?” He opened his hands. “Where’s my present?” “Oh, I forgot.” I pulled out my phone. “I’ll Venmo you. You can buy something for yourself.” His expression was a mix of shock and utter bewilderment. It was our thing. Every year, without fail, we exchanged gifts. For five years, I had insisted on it, even when he forgot mine. Last year, when his travel schedule made him miss my birthday, I flew across the country just to surprise him with a gift at midnight. After sending the money, I stood up, went to the closet, and changed my clothes. I slipped on a pair of high heels, ready to walk out the door. Dean called out, irritated. “It’s late, and it’s pouring. Where are you going?” “Dean,” I paused, pulling on my coat. “Do you know what the funniest part of all this is?” He looked utterly lost. “You always complained that I controlled you too much,” I opened the front door. “Now that I’ve stopped controlling you, you’re angrier than ever. And now you’re trying to control me.” With that, I closed the door behind me, ignoring his frustrated yell. The night air was a shock to my lungs, carrying a forgotten scent of freedom. Ever since I got together with Dean, I’d pushed away every late dinner and night out, based on his casual comment that he “preferred I was home early.” My colleagues and friends eventually stopped calling me, assuming I was the dutiful, boring wife whose husband kept a tight leash. Now, I was finally reclaiming those lost nights. The bar was loud, vibrant. My best friend, Maya, slapped my shoulder, laughing. “I thought you were going to be a perfect Stepford wife forever!” I threw back the rest of my cocktail. “Consider me back on the roster, Maya. Every time.” The years with Dean had narrowed my world until he was the only point in it: canceled gatherings, abandoned hobbies, alienated friends. Looking back, it all felt like a tragic joke. My phone screen glowed, the notification that Dean had rejected my Venmo transfer a harsh white light in the dark bar. It was two in the morning when I got back to the apartment. Dean was sitting in the dark, the end of his cigarette glowing in the shadows. I paused, momentarily disoriented, thinking I’d walked into the wrong house. “You finally decided to come home?” He crushed the cigarette and stood up. The smell of stale alcohol made him grimace. “You’ve been drinking? Stop playing this indifferent game. If you’re jealous, just say so.” I leaned against the entryway wall and chuckled softly. I was instantly reminded of the time three years ago when he’d come home late from a work dinner, and I had waited up until sunrise, only to be met with: “God, can’t you just leave me alone?” My head was spinning. I swayed slightly and braced myself on a dining chair. Dean’s nostrils flared, and a flicker of disgust crossed his eyes. “I hate the smell of alcohol. You know that.” He flicked on the overhead light. “And Phoebe and I are nothing. Are you really going to resort to self-destruction to get my attention?” I propped my head up with my hand and smiled languidly. “I was happy… so I had a few drinks.” He stared into my glazed eyes, his knuckles white. “Are you honestly going out drinking to spite me? I don’t have the time for this, Skylar. You’re a married woman. You have a husband. Can you please act your age and your station?” I nodded dismissively. He suddenly raised his voice. “Skylar, pay attention! My patience is limited! Don’t think I’m going to chase you forever!” My temple started throbbing, a deep, miserable headache settling in from the alcohol. I waved a hand. “Think whatever you want. I’m tired.” Dean suddenly knocked the glass on the table over, and the sharp sound of shattering glass exploded in the silence. “It’s always this! Every time we have a conflict, you put on this uncaring act! Do you even care about my feelings at all?” I bent down to avoid the glass shards, wincing as my lower back hit the corner of the table. He reached out to pull me up, but I sidestepped his touch. The instant I locked the bedroom door, I could hear his quick, agitated pacing in the living room. That night, I curled up on the edge of the bed, listening to the occasional, heavy sigh from the living room. I slept without dreaming. When the morning light finally cut through the blinds, I opened the door. Dean was slumped on the sofa, a dark shadow under his eyes, his face etched with exhaustion. He watched me silently as I walked past him, grabbed my car keys, and walked out. Just as I closed the door, I heard the sound of a mug being thrown against the wall. I stood outside the company building, clutching the printout of my resignation letter. The glass facade reflected the glare of the morning sun, almost blinding me. It was the same intense, burning sensation I felt three years ago when I gave up my secure job back home and dove headfirst into this new city just to be with Dean. My director slid the contract renewal across the table. “You’re our best Creative Director. Are you absolutely sure you won’t reconsider?” I looked at the impressive salary, my fingers brushing against the faint outline of a yellowed acceptance letter hidden in my purse—the offer from Pratt Institute in New York that I had locked away in a drawer years ago. Three days ago, I received my acceptance letter from a prestigious art program in London. The blue screen glow reflected on my face. I remembered Dean, twirling his pen, his face bored, saying, “Developing locally is more stable.” It hit me then: some dreams weren’t crushed by the passage of time. They were quietly buried by love. As I cleaned out my desk, Maya leaned in. “I heard you’re going to the UK? What about Dean? Are you two going to do long-distance?” I turned the framed photo of us face down on the desk, the embraced figures dissolving into shadow. “No long-distance. Because soon, he won’t be my husband anymore.” I returned to the apartment late that night. The motion-sensor light in the entryway flickered on. Dean was standing in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting his tie. The silver-gray suit made his features look especially handsome and sharp. A beautifully wrapped gift box rested by his feet, tied with a precise black ribbon—identical packaging to the one he had given Phoebe on her birthday last year. “I have a client dinner tonight,” he said, not turning around. His fingers were flying across his phone screen, and a soft, gentle curve played on his lips—a look I realized I’d never once seen directed at me. When a sweet, playful laugh came through the phone’s speaker, he unconsciously bit his lower lip, his eyes crinkling in a way that made him look like a stranger. He was smiling right up until the moment he noticed me staring at him. Then, the expression vanished. He was generous with Phoebe, attentive and gentle, but he couldn’t spare a single, real smile for me. His face darkened when I finally looked away. He didn’t say anything, just dropped his gaze in pure, unadulterated annoyance. As he efficiently changed his shoes, I thought about our first date, how nervous he was, clutching a bouquet of roses so tightly he crumpled the wrapping paper. Now he was composed, mature, and his newfound tenderness belonged to someone else. I knew the drill: he was starting the cold war. In our marriage, it always happened when Phoebe was involved. Before, I would always back down, trying to win him over. I would bring him food through rain and sun, even if he didn’t respond to my texts. Now, I simply watched him turn and leave. The security door’s soft clunk made a framed picture hanging near the entryway fall and shatter. I knelt to pick up the pieces, and found myself laughing. I opened my laptop to search for rental information in New York and brought up my saved list of must-try restaurants. Moonlight poured through the window, illuminating the plan I’d been working on. Those shelved dreams and futures were finally ready to begin growing again. Later, scrolling on the chaise lounge, I saw Phoebe’s Instagram post: It’s true what they say. When you’re with someone who’s truly your equal, you just shine. The accompanying photo was a mirror selfie of her in her Master’s gown, leaning into Dean. She was holding a bouquet of roses. The top comment, from Dean’s friend Blake, read: Congrats, little sister! Looks like old Dean finally got himself a worthy partner! haha! Scrolling down, Dean’s entire circle—colleagues and friends—had left comments, a stream of rose and heart emojis. Dean’s inner circle had always been cool toward me, subtly implying that a Bachelor’s degree graduate like me wasn’t a match for an academic star like him. They thought I lacked Phoebe’s higher education, her youth, and her ambition. In their eyes, I was just the tedious first wife, a stepping stone on his path to real happiness. I pulled a self-deprecating smile as I read Dean’s reply to the thread. He had written: Future guidance, little sister. Please. The layers of subtle affection in those words felt like a pinprick to my heart. Then Blake’s reply popped up: Maybe send that privately? Don’t want a certain someone seeing it and getting all dramatic. You know how sensitive she is. I remembered the times I had cautiously asked Dean to maintain distance from Phoebe. She had chased him once; now he was her mentor and colleague. His friends had instantly jumped to his defense, calling me possessive and paranoid. Dean would simply frown and tell me I was too sensitive, that I lacked trust. This time, I felt no urge for a hysterical fight. I simply closed the app and put on an old movie. As the familiar plot unfolded, I drifted into sleep. I was woken up violently in the middle of the night. Dean was standing over the bed, his face contorted in anger. A mixture of his cologne and alcohol fumes hit me. “Skylar, I was out entertaining clients all night. You didn’t send a single text? You didn’t check in? Look at other wives—they’re picking their husbands up, asking how their day was. And you? You always look like this—half-dead and completely disinterested!” I stared at him, bewildered. Why was he so agitated? I remembered when I used to ask him why he was late. He’d ice me out, saying, “We’re married, but I’m not a criminal you can check up on. Stop being so suffocating.” Now that I wasn’t asking, he was furious at my lack of concern. I suppressed the urge to push back, my voice measured. “I figured you were out with friends. I didn’t want to bother you with calls. And since you and Phoebe are close, I figured there was nothing to worry about.” Dean’s eyes flickered, clearly surprised by the calm way I brought up Phoebe. After a moment, his tone softened. “I was at Phoebe’s graduation party tonight. That post was just encouragement. Nothing else. Don’t let your mind wander.” I started to speak, but he rushed to elaborate: “What? You think I shouldn’t have gone? I’ve known Phoebe for four or five years. Even if she chased me back then, we’re just pure colleagues and friends now. I can’t exactly skip a friend’s party.” I nodded slowly. “I understand. I’m not angry. It’s late. You should get some rest.” Dean stared at me, his gaze searching, desperate to find a hint of displeasure or a hidden agenda in my expression. Finally, he reached out, trying to cup my shoulder. I subtly shifted, avoiding his touch. “I’ve been having some trouble sleeping lately. Could you sleep in the guest room tonight?” Dean’s eyelashes fluttered violently. He hadn’t expected me to dodge him. In the past, if he so much as raised his hand, I would instinctively lean into his embrace. His face turned as dark as a storm cloud. He spun around and slammed the master bedroom door, the frame rattling with the force. Once his footsteps completely vanished, I sank quickly into sleep. When you stop obsessing over someone else’s emotions, even sleep becomes light and easy.

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