Category: English

It was a suffocating, hundred-and-twenty-degree heatwave, and my roommate, Jenna Lynn, hadn’t managed to snag a bus ticket home. She’d practically begged to crash at my place to escape the brutal heat. In my last life, I’d felt sorry for Jenna Lynn, thinking of her as a cash-strapped student with nowhere to go, and I’d let her in. I opened the door, and that was my fatal mistake. She wasn’t alone. She’d brought her entire family with her, baggage and all. They ate my food, wore my clothes, used my everything, and then, as their final, sickening act of greed, they dragged me deep into the backcountry to be a forced bride for her older, unmarried brother. Refusing to be subjected to such a humiliation, I slammed my head against the wall of a pigpen and ended my own life. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back to the day my roommate came knocking. 1 My hand was hovering over the doorknob. One slight turn and the door would swing open. But my body was trembling, a shock of pure terror seizing me, and I snatched my right hand back. Just inches. I was just one small, careless step away from letting Jenna Lynn and her monstrous family back into my life! Knock. Knock. Knock. A soft, pleading voice drifted through the thick wood of the door. “Lila, open up, it’s me, Jenna Lynn.” Last time, I’d seen a poor, pitiful college student—a scholarship kid, no less. After her watery-eyed confession about being stranded, I’d agreed to let her stay for two months, until the fall semester started. I never imagined that decision would cost me my entire future. The moment I’d opened that door, I was surrounded. Jenna Lynn, her parents, her towering brother—a whole family unit pushing their way into my home, staking a hostile claim. Before I could even process what was happening, she swiped my phone, cutting me off. I couldn’t call the police. I couldn’t escape their control. I was trapped under the same roof with them. It all ended with her avaricious family taking me into the mountains and leaving me for dead. I pulled up the live feed for the security camera mounted outside the door. Black. Nothing but an inky void. They must have planned this. They’d already covered the lens with tape. The knocking escalated from a gentle tap-tap-tap to an impatient, heavy drumming. “Lila, are you home? I know this is the address! The address is right, isn’t it?” “Hello? Don’t be scared, it’s just me, your roommate Jenna Lynn. Please, open up, I’m so hot—” I crouched low inside, making no sound. My phone screen flared with an incoming text from her. Jenna Lynn: Lila, I couldn’t get a ticket home, and I literally have nowhere to go. Could I please just crash at your place for a few days? Followed by a small, wounded-looking emoji. I sneered. I didn’t bother to reply. In my previous life, that feigned helplessness, coupled with her quiet, seemingly diligent nature at school, had been enough to melt my heart. She was my roommate. I didn’t want any drama for the next few years of college, and I certainly didn’t want to offend her. But Jenna Lynn wasn’t a girl in need; she was a viper waiting to strike. I ignored her text, pretending my house was empty. Jenna Lynn’s relentless messages quickly piled up in the chat thread. Jenna Lynn: Lila, it’s so hot outside, nearly 120 degrees. Can you at least let me in for a drink of water? I really think I’m going to get heatstroke… Jenna Lynn: Please, please, pretty please~ She attached a cute, cuddly capybara sticker. 2 Jenna Lynn was the poorest of the four of us in the dorm. She was usually silent and seemed meek and earnest. The rest of us felt sympathy for her, constantly sharing snacks, basic necessities, and free meals. We even helped her apply for financial aid and the department scholarship. Jenna Lynn never once offered anything in return. At the time, I didn’t care. It was a simple act of kindness, not a transaction. But now, in hindsight, that tiny detail was a glaring sign of her character. Even if her family was poor, she never brought back so much as a local delicacy or a small souvenir. She simply wanted to mooch off all three of us. And I’d never given Jenna Lynn my home address. I guessed she must have found it through one of my online order receipts or a class registry form. My home is a bit secluded—a sturdy, standalone building. The second floor is my living space, and the ground floor is a small convenience store I run. Because I was a young woman living alone in a remote area, I’d made sure the place was secure. The front door had a specialized smart lock, and the windows were fortified with shatterproof glass. Anticipating the record-breaking heat, I’d ordered three extra air conditioning units and stockpiled a mountain of supplies for the store. But it all ended up being a gift for them. After they forced their way in, Jenna Lynn’s family took a liking to my little shop. And her brother, Jared, was a man desperate for a wife. Ultimately, they settled on me. They wanted me as their daughter-in-law. “She’s a little too skinny, and her hips are small—not good for bearing children. But it’s fine, your mother doesn’t mind!” Jenna Lynn’s mother, Mrs. Bell, had said, looking me up and down. “She barely has any chest. The streamers I watch online all have huge chests and big butts… Tsk. Her face is decent, though. She’ll have to do,” Jared had scoffed, evaluating my body like a piece of livestock. I refused, of course, but they had my phone. They outnumbered me. I couldn’t fight them, couldn’t run. And Jenna Lynn, the timid girl from school, stood right in front of me and suggested: “Weddings are just a waste of money. Why don’t we just let our brother and ‘sister-in-law’ have their wedding night right here? Once the deed is done… she won’t have any choice, right?” A sharp pain shot through my palm. My fingernails were digging deep into my skin as the memory flashed back. We were roommates for two years. I’d gone out of my way to help her, worried she felt disadvantaged. How could my kindness be repaid with such malice? She wasn’t satisfied with the help I gave; she wanted to bleed me dry. 3 Since I wasn’t responding to her texts or answering the door, Jenna Lynn started a phone blitz. The calls kept coming, quickly turning into a cascade of “99+ Missed Calls.” The constant ringing was cutting off my data connection. Irritated, I finally hung up the calls and sent her a single text message. Me: Don’t bother. I’m not home. Seeing a reply, Jenna Lynn finally stopped calling. Jenna Lynn: It’s summer break. How could you not be home? Are you traveling? I’ll wait for you right outside the door (=^^=) I replied, my voice dry in my head: I’m really not home. Go back. Get a hotel if you have to. Outside the door, Jenna Lynn impatiently ran her fingers through her hair, then yelled into the corner of the building. “Stop hiding, come out! My roommate isn’t home!” A rustling sound, and then her family members began to speak. Her Dad, Mr. Bell: “Is this girl stupid? Not staying home in this crazy heat? Where could she have gone?” Mrs. Bell: “She’s probably lying to us. She thinks we’re poor, and she doesn’t want us to come in.” “Pah!” A thick glob of spit hit my door. Her brother, Jared, was big and dark, and his eyes were lasciviously fixed on my front door. “Hey, sis, is your roommate pretty? Does she have a boyfriend?” Jenna Lynn thought for a moment. “No, she doesn’t. But Lila is a city girl. She’s snobby and looks down on us country folk. She probably won’t even look at you.” “But, she’s probably telling the truth about not being home… Lila has no reason to lie to me. She doesn’t know I brought you guys. In the dorm, she always pretended to be nice and took care of me—she’s a total fake. If she were home, she’d be rushing to let me in.” Mrs. Bell kicked my door. “Our son is so handsome! She wouldn’t even give him a chance? It’s a huge blessing for her that he’d even consider her!” Jenna Lynn pursed her lips. “City girls are all like that, arrogant and think too highly of themselves.” Mrs. Bell’s eyes darted around. “Once we get in, I’ll teach her a lesson…” Mr. Bell lit a hand-rolled cigarette, his face a mask of impatience. “Forget the lesson for now. If she’s not home, what are we supposed to do? Die of heatstroke outside?” Jenna Lynn replied, “I’ll beg her again. She loves to act like a good person. Even if she’s out, she’ll definitely rush back to let me in!” Mr. Bell: “She’ll agree with all of us standing here?” Jenna Lynn shrugged. “It’s fine. When she gets back, you guys just hide in the corner. When she opens the door, we all rush in. What’s one girl going to do against four of us?” “Besides, there are four of us and only one of her. Once the door is open… we call the shots.” Mrs. Bell gave a knowing, wicked laugh. “See? It’s useful to have a daughter. The crazy old woman next door told me to throw you in the lake when I had you. Glad I kept you! My clever girl, going to college and finding your brother a wife!” Jenna Lynn’s brother, Jared, pounded his chest. “Don’t worry, when your roommate Lila is mine, I won’t mistreat her.” “And I’ll let you manage this city shop.” Hearing them discuss their twisted fantasy future made me want to vomit. The sheer audacity! That’s exactly what happened last time. I opened the door, they charged in, and I couldn’t stop them. I tried to kick them out, but Jenna Lynn immediately snatched my phone. I couldn’t call anyone. Mrs. Bell declared me her future daughter-in-law. She hated the sight of me. She forced me to do chores and wait on her, my self-appointed “mother-in-law.” If I messed up, she’d whip me with a thin stick. I’d never cooked in my life. The kitchen burned my hands until they were covered in blisters. Mr. Bell, my self-appointed “father-in-law,” made me wash his filthy, sixty-something-year-old feet. “A daughter-in-law is the best! No need to go to a foot spa anymore, heh heh…” Jenna Lynn was the most wicked of them all. She plotted to get me drunk. They locked Jared and me in the master bedroom, planning to consummate the marriage immediately, before I had a chance to escape. No matter how loudly I screamed for help inside the bedroom, the three of them outside remained indifferent. Jenna Lynn’s usually meek face was a mask of sinister triumph. “How does it feel to look down on us country people? Be a good girl now, won’t you?” “You should be grateful to marry my brother. He’s strong, and so many girls are lining up for him. You got lucky.” I cried and screamed, pleading for her to show a shred of conscience. “Jenna Lynn, I was so good to you at school! I helped you get scholarships, brought you food and supplies, introduced you to my friends, and tutored you! I never did anything to hurt you! Why are you doing this?!” Jenna Lynn sneered with disdain. “You think you were helping me? You were just using me as a tool to show off your own kindness! Don’t you think I know? You’re just a fake good person. Deep down, all of you look down on me! You all deserve to die!” “You know what? I hate your smug, high-and-mighty face the most! You think being rich makes you better? It’s just good luck you were born into money! Every time you brought me food, it made me sick! Who do you think you are, treating me like a beggar who can’t feed herself, you bitch!” “I’ll deal with you first, and then the other two roommates won’t be spared either. Heh heh…” I was dumbstruck. The reason for her cruelty was beyond ludicrous. It was the classic “give a man a bowl of rice and you feed him for a day; give him a bag of rice and you create an enemy.” I brought Jenna Lynn food because I saw her, a skinny young girl, eating steamed buns and pickles every single day. I felt pity for what I assumed was a difficult life as a girl from a patriarchal, rural family. I used my allowance to buy her good food, just trying to help, with no expectation of anything in return. … The sound of my phone ringing brought me back to the present. Jenna Lynn was still trying to persuade me, texts coming in relentlessly. Jenna Lynn: Lila, you know my family is poor, and I can’t afford a hotel. Please, you’re the kindest one. Just let me stay for a few days, I’ll go home as soon as I get a ticket, okay? Jenna Lynn: It is so hot out here. If you don’t save me, I’m literally going to die of heatstroke. It’s almost 120 degrees! 4 I thought for a moment, then replied: I’m really not home. I went on a trip to the next state. Even if I rushed back to pick you up, I wouldn’t make it in time. Outside the door, Jenna Lynn was cursing under her breath. “Is she crazy? Spending money on a trip? That’s our family’s money she’s wasting!” Mrs. Bell slapped her thigh. “What a waste! Throwing our money away! She can’t be trusted with money once she’s ours. She’ll bankrupt us!” Though she was clearly furious, Jenna Lynn kept up her pathetic act on the phone. Jenna Lynn: Lila, please. I’ve already spent all my ticket money on a hotel the last few days, and I can’t afford the bus ticket now… I had no choice but to come to you. I replied, deadpan: I can lend you the ticket money. You can take the express bus now. Jenna Lynn was gritting her teeth. “I’m not that kind of person. My mom taught me not to take things from other people. I can’t take your money.” “How about… you just tell me the password to your front door? Just let me in to cool down for a few minutes. Please, be a good person.” I didn’t budge: My ground floor is a store. It’s full of inventory. I can’t risk things going missing. No matter how Jenna Lynn pleaded, my answers were firm: It’s inconvenient. I’m sorry. Outside, Jenna Lynn was so angry she started kicking the door. “That idiot! Risk things going missing? What does she mean? Is she implying I’m a thief?! Who the hell does she think she is!” Mrs. Bell patted her back to calm her down. “Don’t be mad! Just figure out a way to trick her into coming back. I’ll teach that little brat a lesson once we’re inside, how dare she treat her sister-in-law like this!” Jenna Lynn hissed, “Once she’s in my family, let’s see how arrogant she still is! Mom, you have to help me teach her how to behave.” “Of course, honey, I’ll help. But it’s too hot. We need to figure out how to open this door first.” “How? She’s not replying to my texts now.” Mr. Bell offered a devious suggestion: “Why don’t you try the password? Maybe you can guess it?” 5 Behind the door, a jolt of alarm went through me. Sweat instantly beaded on my palms. What if Jenna Lynn actually guessed it? Once that outer door was breached, I’d be completely exposed. The password was simple: my birthday, month, and year. I’d celebrated my birthday in the dorm with my roommates, and Jenna Lynn had been there. I heard Mrs. Bell’s voice: “I heard city girls are all about that ‘special occasion’ nonsense. Try her birthday first.” Beep. Beep. Beep— Someone was entering a code at the lock. I dashed into the kitchen, grabbed a heavy butcher knife, and quietly hid behind the door. It was too late. Whoever came in first, I would strike them down. My hands were slick with sweat, almost too slick to grip the knife. The horrific memories of my last life crashed into my mind. Jenna Lynn’s brother, Jared, was big and strong, ate like a horse, and had incredible stamina. Her parents, though in their sixties, were old-school farm workers and deceptively strong. Last time, I fought back. I couldn’t even overpower Mrs. Bell. If I struck the first person, what would I do about the three others? My panic intensified. The hand gripping the knife shook uncontrollably. Outside, Jenna Lynn finished typing. Beep. Beep. Beep— Access Denied. I collapsed onto the floor, wiping a streak of cold sweat from my forehead. Did Jenna Lynn not remember my birthday? Outside, Jenna Lynn was furiously scratching her head. “That’s wrong! What was the date again? I don’t quite remember.” Mrs. Bell grabbed her ear. “You forgot that? You’re in college, and you can’t remember anything!” Jenna Lynn pouted. “So what if Lila celebrated her birthday in the dorm? It was just her showing off. Who cares about her birthday? I threw away her cake. I hate that kind of showing off!” “She bought that expensive cake just to spite me! Doesn’t she know I can’t afford it, she’s such a jerk!” Jenna Lynn rolled her eyes and kept trying random numbers. “Wrong… Still wrong… What the hell is it?” “She went on a trip and didn’t even send me the password. She has no manners. I’m her roommate. Doesn’t she worry about offending me when school starts? Hmph!” 6 Jenna Lynn suddenly remembered something. She pulled out her phone and made a call. “I’ll ask the other two. They must remember Lila’s birthday.” My heart plummeted. I frantically texted my two other roommates. I told them, Do not tell her anything about me. After a few tense seconds, they hadn’t replied. I heard Jenna Lynn’s call connect outside. “Hello? Alice, do you remember Lila’s birthday?” “Oh, hi. I want to surprise her and get her a gift, but I’m terrible with dates, and I don’t want to mess it up… Do you remember?” “Oh, okay… October 19th? Got it.” Jenna Lynn hung up, a sly smile on her face. “Type it in. 1019.” 7 Beep. Beep. Beep— Access Denied. Jenna Lynn’s eyes widened in disbelief. “How is that possible?! Did Alice lie to me?!” I let out a quiet sigh of relief. My roommate had given the Gregorian calendar birthday. My door code was set to my Lunar calendar birthday. Jenna Lynn immediately called our other roommate, Hannah. But Hannah gave the exact same date as Alice. Jenna Lynn racked her brain, trying different number combinations. “Maybe the password isn’t her birthday?” “No way… I specifically remember Lila saying in the dorm that she has a terrible memory, so she uses her birthday for almost all her passwords.” “What’s wrong with this? How could her front door code not be it?” Before hanging up, Jenna Lynn asked a final question. “Is Lila really traveling to the next state? Do you know when she’s coming back? How long is her trip?” Hannah sounded confused: “Traveling? No, we invited her, and she said no, she wanted to stay home and enjoy the AC. She’s home.” “WHAT?!” Jenna Lynn shrieked. “Are you sure she’s home?” After hanging up, Jenna Lynn was furious. She started kicking and pounding my door. She was screaming as she kicked. “Dad, Mom, Jared! That bitch lied to me! She’s been home the whole time, hiding, but she told me she was traveling!” “Lila! If you’re going to lie, have the guts to open the door! Why are you hiding? If you want to say no, just say it! What’s with the lies?!” Mrs. Bell was outraged. “The little weasel! We’re out here practically frying, and she’s inside enjoying the air conditioning! That’s evil!” Mr. Bell coughed and delivered a hard kick to my door. “If you want to marry into the Bell family, you need to learn manners! This is unacceptable!” Jared frowned deeply. “This new ‘wife’ is too much trouble. Did college make her wild? She needs to drop out and move back to the village. She’ll quiet down in a few days.” “I told you girls shouldn’t be educated.” Hearing their arrogance, my teeth ground in anger. Last time, I had pretended to be compliant, putting on the act of a good, obedient girl. And what did that get me? They dragged me into the depths of the mountains, planning to never let me out. The memory of the torture I suffered in that village made me bite down until my gums bled. To prevent me from escaping, Jenna Lynn had broken my legs, forcing me to crawl. I’d knelt and begged her to let me go. She just threw me into the pigpen and locked me in with the animals. Forced to eat with the pigs. “Hahahaha… Look at you, hahaha…” A cold hatred boiled up. A plan for revenge, ice-cold and precise, began to form in my mind. If I remembered correctly, the power to this entire district was scheduled to be cut off tonight at midnight due to the extreme heat overloading the grid. Power wouldn’t be restored for seven days. My little store was a reinforced, standalone metal building. The windows were custom-made, practically impossible to smash. The moment the power shut down, the specialized electronic lock would fail, locking the door permanently. This place would become a high-temperature prison—a thousand times worse than the 120-degree heat outside! If I could trick them into coming in, and then lock the doors and windows from the outside… This area was remote, and the building was soundproof. Trapped inside, their screams would reach no one. Seven days. They would be cooked alive, steamed in their own greed. Could I really do it?

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The paperwork was signed, the divorce finalized. As I drove my eight-year-old son back to my hometown, I noticed he was acting… strange. He wasn’t yelling at me anymore. He was quiet. He didn’t even touch the chocolate lava cake he usually tore into. I put it down to car sickness. I was too worn out to care much. But then, a string of bizarre mental subtitles flashed across my vision. LOL, she still hasn’t figured out that isn’t her actual kid? Seriously, why would her biological son ditch a billion-dollar inheritance to go back to her small-town life? Wait, is that THE McCarthy family prince? The one whose dad is rumored to own half the City? His father is going to lose his mind when he wakes up! I blinked, watching the text dissipate. Then, slowly, I turned my head to look at the unnaturally docile child beside me. No way. If I’d grabbed the wrong boy, then how did he end up wearing the custom-designed platinum necklace I’d given my son? 1 It was before dawn on the morning I was handed the divorce settlement. Maybe five o’clock. The sky was a deep, bruised blue, and the city skyline was still swallowed by a curtain of heavy morning mist. My bags were packed. But before I walked out of the Whitman mansion for good, I had a compulsion to stop by Wesley’s room—my son, Wesley Whitman. It was still too early for the full staff. The mansion was silent. I slipped inside. Wesy was sound asleep, the air conditioner whispering. The curtains fluttered softly. I moved closer, my heart giving an erratic little jump. I’d almost died giving birth to Wesy, but before he was three months old, my ex-mother-in-law, Penelope Whitman, had whisked him away. She said it was so I could “rest and recover,” but I knew the truth. She was disgusted by my ordinary background and terrified I’d taint the Whitman golden heir. My ex-husband, Graham Whitman, had simply stood by, cold and silent, saying nothing. Our entire marriage had been a transaction, based on a debt: my father had saved the old Mr. Whitman’s life, and a long-forgotten engagement contract was the final payment. That’s how I ended up as Mrs. Whitman, a glorified housekeeper in this gilded cage. For years, I managed the home, tended to Penelope, and Graham was… gentle enough. But beneath that gentle surface was a core of chilling indifference. I’d convinced myself that this was simply my life. Until he brought her home. Scarlett. She was the unattainable angel of his youth, the one he’d always carried a torch for. The woman he cherished, truly and openly, like an irreplaceable treasure. Watching him truly love someone finally killed the last of my foolish hope. I asked for the divorce, and he agreed with unnerving calmness. The truth was, Wesy and I barely knew each other. Our emotional bond had been severed years ago, and our few interactions were always strained, ending in miserable arguments. He definitely wouldn’t want to leave this lifestyle with me. Even knowing that, I couldn’t leave without trying. I gently shook the small figure awake. “Wesy? Wesy?” I whispered, keeping my voice low. The small person bolted upright, his eyes snapping open. When he saw me, his expression, still blurred with sleep, was nothing but confusion. The room was dark. I could only make out the innocent curve of his jaw by the sliver of light from the streetlamp outside. I braced myself for the usual shriek, prepared to clamp a hand over his mouth. But he didn’t make a sound. A tiny, illicit spark of hope lit up in my chest. I leaned down and coaxed him. “Wesy, my hometown isn’t as grand as the City, but we’ll be free. We can go crabbing in the summer and maybe even ski in the winter. They have amazing food—fresh oysters, seaside barbecues, coconut chicken… Will you come to Cape Harbor with Mom, just for a while?” It was selfish, I knew. Graham’s angel was pregnant, ready to take my place. If Wesy stayed, even as the legitimate eldest son, his life would be a subtle, cold hell. A mother’s heart always worries. Yet, I remembered that afternoon, years ago. I’d driven his forgotten tablet to his exclusive private school. The driver had dropped me off, but when I handed it over, Wesy just snatched it, turned his back, and snarled, “Just go home!” I didn’t understand. I asked, “Should Mom pick you up after school?” Students and parents were milling around, glancing our way. Wesy’s face went scarlet. He bit out the words: “I don’t want you here! Grandma said you’re just a cheap, small-town civilian who needs to stay in her garden. Why are you here? To embarrass me? Is that it?” The shock and cold betrayal had left me reeling. He shoved me away, and I stumbled back, watching him run into the school without a backward glance. The memory was a sharp, cold jab. I looked at the boy on the bed, ready to give up. “If you don’t want to, forget I said anything…” I stood up, ready to walk away. But then, a small hand gripped the sleeve of my cardigan. I turned back, surprised. I met a pair of big, dark, moist eyes. The small boy looked at me, slow and deliberate. Then, he nodded. In that instant, I felt a rush of staggering joy. Of course. What child truly doesn’t want their mother? 2 Before we left, I’d prepared a contingency plan. My family, while not the Whitmans, was well-established back home in Cape Harbor. They were comfortable. Money wasn’t an issue. I could hire the best private tutors, better than any elite school. If he didn’t want the elite life, there was a perfectly viable family business waiting. Besides, his identity as Wesley Whitman, the eldest son, was set in stone. My ex-mother-in-law, Penelope, would throw a fit. I expected a battle. But the escape was unbelievably easy. Wesley and I walked out the front door, one after the other, and no one stopped us. I found it strange, but I just chalked it up to sheer, dumb luck. The City was a long way from Cape Harbor, and the cross-country train was the only sane option. It wasn’t until we were seated, the doors sliding shut, that I finally let out the breath I’d been holding. It was early spring, and the station platform had been cold. A friendly woman next to me on the train, seeing the boy, leaned over. “Taking your son home?” I nodded, taking the cup of hot water she offered. I didn’t drink it, just held it in my palms for warmth. Next to me, the boy had been staring out the window, mesmerized. But the cold station wind must have gotten to him; he now sat huddled, shivering slightly. I smiled, a genuine, soft smile, and reached for his icy little hand. “Cold, aren’t you?” At my gentle tone, the small boy lowered his eyelids. He seemed about to snatch his hand away, but his ear tips were flushing a slight pink. He hesitated. I didn’t notice his strange reaction. I just focused on warming his hand. But soon, his hand was warmer than mine. I tried to pull back, but he reversed the grip, holding mine firmly. He kept his lips pressed together, not saying a word. …He was actually quite endearing. My heart softened completely. I let him hold my hand. 3 The train journey would take over ten hours. I was worried he’d freak out and cry to go back, so I’d brought his favorite food: the fancy, decadent chocolate lava cake. Oddly, he refused to touch it. He just ate the instant noodles and bread with me. Perhaps he wasn’t used to this kind of “hardship.” He choked on the dry bread, coughing violently. “Cough, cough, cough—” I quickly patted his back. “Slow down, slow down.” It wasn’t that I didn’t want to buy him better food, but these things were easy to carry and filling. Finally swallowing, the small boy looked up, his eyes red from coughing. He grumbled, ready to complain: “What is this lousy—” I braced myself for the usual entitled outburst. But he stopped mid-sentence. He lowered his head, then fiercely took another bite of the plain bread. The friendly woman next to us chuckled. “What a good boy, so quiet and well-behaved.” Me: “…” Not exactly. The old him would have been throwing a tantrum. Maybe… maybe it was car sickness. After we ate, I thought for a moment and took him to the sleeper car. I pulled a thick blanket from my carry-on. “Take a nap.” “Okay,” he mumbled sullenly. But as he lay down, his eyes were fixed on me—a look of cautious anticipation, mixed with a hint of anxiety. I tucked the blanket around him and sat on the edge of the berth. “I’m not going anywhere. Sleep easy.” Only then did he seem to relax, slowly closing his eyes. …The next ten hours were spent in the quiet rhythm of the train. To my complete astonishment, Wesley was incredibly placid, almost silent. When I asked him to eat the bread, he’d wrinkle his nose but force himself to chew it down. At night, he had to cling to the edge of my cardigan and wait for me to finish telling him a story before he’d finally drift off. After a few hours, a new thought dawned on me. It must have been Penelope. My ex-mother-in-law had poisoned his mind, teaching him to hate me. That’s why he was always so hostile before. The second that thought crossed my mind, The Feed flashed across my eyes again. OMG, she still hasn’t figured out that isn’t her kid? Mother of the year: Face-blind. Kid of the year: Totally game. Exactly. Why would her real son pass on the Whitman billions and move to a trailer park with her? Holy crap! She’s got the McCarthy Group’s little prince. That kid’s dad is Marcus McCarthy, The Titan. He’s going to be unhinged! What? I blinked, convinced the long ride had finally driven me insane. I looked again. The words were still there. Reading the content, my pupils dilated with shock. The wrong boy? How was that even possible? Just then, the small boy walked out of the sleeper cabin, wearing a pair of green athletic pants and the platinum necklace. The pendant swayed gently as he moved. Hearing his footsteps, I slowly turned, my gaze starting at his face and landing hard on the necklace. His face… I hadn’t seen it much. I could conceivably mix up two small boys. But— If I had the wrong boy, then how was he wearing the custom-made necklace I’d given my son? 4 I took a deep, steadying breath, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. “What is your name?” The small boy looked up, his dark eyes meeting mine, a flash of pure alarm in his gaze. He pressed his lips together, silent. I asked again. He remained mute. Oh, so we’re playing the silent game, are we? I looked at the necklace, my mind made up. I reached out. “What are you doing!” He finally spoke, his voice clear, but with the high-pitched fury of a startled kitten. I pinched the pendant and flipped it over. Engraved on the back was Wesy. I had designed it myself. I hired the best jeweler. It was one-of-a-kind. I sagged against the wall, utterly relieved. The Feed was clearly glitching. My heart wasn’t that big. I couldn’t have mistaken my own son. I tucked the chain back under his collar and patted his head. “Nothing. Just checking.” He looked at me with suspicion, his tiny brow furrowed. I didn’t explain, just leaned back, closing my eyes, ready for a nap. The moment my eyes shut, The Feed returned. LMAO she actually bought that! So dense. Doesn’t she realize her bratty kid would trade a ‘crappy necklace’ for a game console? The sister above nailed it. I just came from the Whitman gossip threads. Wesley Whitman traded that necklace for the McCarthy little prince’s limited edition gaming console and is currently destroying the mansion playing it. I’m dead. One brat got a new dad, and one prince got a new mom. The City is going ballistic. Marcus McCarthy found his son missing. They say he smashed his office and locked down every exit route. Yikes. This woman has no idea what kind of hot potato she’s snatched. My heart dropped. A sickening lurch. My hands started to shake, uncontrollably. I snapped my eyes open, staring with sudden, intense focus at the child next to me. He flinched, shrinking back, clearly startled by my expression. My voice was a shaky whisper. “Did… did you trade this necklace with Wesley for a game console?” His eyes widened slightly, then darted away. Silence. But that reaction was confirmation enough. My vision went gray. I almost passed out. Finished. I had tangled with a force of nature that would crush me without a second thought.

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Just because I secretly posted a wedding photo on social media and forgot to block my fiancé Julian’s “white moonlight” (first love), he auctioned off his wedding night on his timeline the next day. After the wedding, I found Julian in a private room at the restaurant, haggling with his friends with my phone in hand. “One million for the night, not a penny less.” “Bro, even if Sienna is still a virgin, that price is too steep!” “Steep? That’s my brand-new wife! It’s worth extra! You gotta pay extra!” The group roared with laughter. “But seriously, Julian, if you don’t show up on your wedding night, aren’t you afraid Sienna will get mad?” “She asked for it, showing off in front of Monica. I’m already upset I couldn’t marry the woman I love. Besides, I found… this…” My phone slipped from my hand and hit the floor, tears streaming down my face. 1 “Bro, your post auctioning the wedding night experience must have hundreds of likes by now.” Julian smirked, nodding smugly. “Just about.” “Aren’t you afraid Sienna will find out and give you hell?” “Heh, I’ll just say it was a joke. What can she do?” His friends clasped their hands together, flattering him: “You really got it like that, Julian. How else would Sienna chase you? But how did she piss you off enough to auction a wedding night pass?” Julian raised an eyebrow at the praise. “Who told her to flex on Monica? Not marrying Monica is the biggest regret of my life. If I don’t teach her a lesson now, who knows how arrogant she’ll be in front of Monica later.” Julian scrolled through his phone, then smirked. “Found it!” He held up his phone. “Don’t say it’s not worth it. This is a private boudoir photo of Sienna. Look at that chest, look at that ass! Is that body not worth it?” Wolf whistles and cheers erupted from his friends. I wanted to rush in and shut him up, but my body wouldn’t stop shaking. My throat felt like it was blocked by something sharp and painful. My engagement to Julian was arranged when we were kids. Three years ago, the Jiang family faced a cash flow crisis, and Julian suddenly appeared in my world. It was love at first sight, and I pursued him relentlessly. Soon, he became my boyfriend. With him, fish never had bones, shrimp was always peeled, doors were opened for me, and my favorite dishes appeared without me asking… His attentiveness made me the envy of everyone. Seeing my happiness, my parents helped the Jiang family more and more, opening up the semiconductor market and securing huge contracts for them. Our wedding was put on the schedule. Until a month before the wedding, a woman named Monica suddenly appeared, claiming she was Julian’s true love. What did Julian do then? He squatted carefully in front of me, eyes full of anxiety and grievance. “Sienna, don’t listen to Monica’s nonsense. I only love you. Just don’t let her know our moves, it’s too much trouble.” I thought it was all Monica’s one-sided wishful thinking, but now… I posted a wedding photo and forgot to block Monica. That night, she posted a drunk, tearful video. In the video, her eyes were red, tears rolling down her cheeks, a single drop hanging from her nose, looking pitiful. Early that morning, Julian was carried home by his friends, drunk out of his mind. I asked anxiously what happened. A friend glanced at me and dropped a line: “Didn’t get to marry the woman he loves, I guess.” I didn’t understand then. Thinking back, the signs were there. Monica was the woman in Julian’s heart. I was just the necessary choice to help the Jiang family rise again. I walked out of the restaurant in a daze. The festive red everywhere stung my eyes. My parents’ parting words echoed in my ears. I’m sorry. I didn’t make myself happy. I chose a man who doesn’t love me. Because he doesn’t love me, he doesn’t care about my dignity or feelings. He made me a laughingstock and turned my most anticipated wedding night into a huge joke. I walked back to our house alone. Looking at the wedding room I meticulously decorated and the nightgown I carefully chose, I covered my face, tears flowing through my fingers… Until the phone rang. “Sienna, where are you?” I wiped my tears. “I’m at…” Bang! The bedroom door was kicked open. “Bro, sister-in-law is alone in the wedding room!” 2 Seeing a dozen men pouring in, my hand shook, and the phone fell. I quickly crossed my arms over my chest protectively. “Sister-in-law, don’t be shy…” A man swaggered forward, reeking of alcohol that made me nauseous. Seeing the silk nightgown on the bed, he hooked it with a finger, smirking lewdly. “Julian said, it’s his wedding night, let the boys have some fun…” “I’m telling you! Get out now… there are… cameras in the house!” I forced myself to sound calm. But the leader got even more excited. He sat next to me, looking me up and down. “Acting high and mighty? Your husband is out with another woman on his wedding night.” “Exactly… took photos with half a tit out, now pretending to be pure?” “Pure? Would a pure woman let her husband auction the wedding night? I bet she’s a slut at heart…” “It’s not like that!” Tears fell like broken beads. My best friend took those private photos; I only sent them to Julian. The man lost interest in teasing. Just as he was about to make a move, laughter came from the door. “Oh my, how could I miss Julian’s big day?” It was Monica. She walked in, saw me surrounded, and raised an eyebrow. I immediately spotted a hickey on her collarbone. Meeting her eyes, the triumphant look made me think the worst… “Sorry, Sienna, I’m late. My puppy at home is too clingy.” She brushed her hair back, revealing… Julian’s wedding ring on her finger? Monica produced two glasses of wine from somewhere, handing one to me. “I missed your ceremony today, let this drink be my apology.” The men laughed. “Julian’s losing it, letting Monica come here to stake her claim?” “What do you know? The Jiang family is going public soon. What use is the Shi family then? Kicked to the curb!” I shrank back. Julian holding that drink kept flashing in my mind. God knows if Monica spiked this. “Take it away! I won’t drink it!” I raised my voice, drawing more laughter. “Sienna, are you disrespecting me?” Monica grabbed my wrist, pulling me towards her. She whispered in my ear. “Sorry, Julian’s wedding night happened early. As for yours… afraid I drugged you? Sienna, the drug was already in the cross-cupped wine you drank with Julian.” Boom… My mind exploded. The scene at the wedding replayed. “Sienna, let’s drink the cross-cupped wine.” Julian’s affectionate eyes had mesmerized me. I suppressed my blush and drank it all. So he drugged me then? “Sienna?” A familiar voice. Julian walked in with a gentle smile. Today he surprisingly buttoned his shirt all the way up, but faint hickeys revealed what he just did. I bit my lip, digging my nails into my palm until it hurt. Julian sat next to me, pulling my hand down. “What are you doing? These are all my friends. Don’t you trust us?” Suddenly, my vision blurred. Waves of heat rose from my lower abdomen, spreading through my body. “Whoa… Julian, the drug kicked in?” 3 “Julian, is this okay?” a man asked cautiously. Julian smirked. “Of course! The Shi family is in trouble lately; they won’t recover anytime soon. Be bold, I’ll back you up…” I used my last bit of reason to grab Julian’s arm, tears falling uncontrollably. “Julian, tell me, why?” Why treat me like this? I gave you my whole heart, why? Julian’s eyes were bloodshot. He grabbed my chin. “Sienna, has your family done few despicable things? This is just the start; you’ll suffer more later!” He flung his hand, and I collapsed onto the bed, weak. Julian didn’t look back, walking out with his arm around Monica. Monica looked back at me, eyes full of triumph. “Help… help…” I tried to hug myself, but my arms were limp. Soon, my body was exposed to the air. I wanted to run, but someone grabbed my ankle and pulled… I was dragged to the edge of the bed, hands reaching for me. I bit my tongue hard until the taste of iron filled my mouth, gaining a bit of strength. My mom used to put scissors under my pillow to ward off evil. Only that could save me. The drug made me pant heavily, waves of pleasure causing hallucinations. I bit down again, blood trickling from my mouth. The leader grabbed my chin and slapped me hard. “Bitch, playing chaste?” My hand finally touched the cold steel under the pillow. “Stay back!” I pulled out the scissors, waving them wildly. “Oh, got tools? What, Sienna, you like S&M? We can play along.” The men weren’t scared; some even laughed. I used all my strength to shrink into the corner, hugging myself. I raised the scissors and stabbed my own stomach. The noise stopped instantly. Before they could react, I stabbed again. Pain clashed with the drug, sobering me up. “Want me dead? I’ll grant your wish!” Blood soaked the red sheets. My strength faded until I passed out from blood loss. 4 The smell of disinfectant made me frown. Opening my eyes, seeing familiar figures, my nose stung and I cried. “Sienna, let’s move to another city,” my mom said, eyes swollen, looking at me cautiously. My dad stood by with a stern face, but the glistening tears betrayed him. He gritted his teeth. “That bastard! How dare he!” Memories of last night flooded back, nausea rising in my throat. But seeing my parents’ worried faces, I pretended nothing happened. “Sure! I wanted to experience a new place anyway. When do we leave?” “Sienna…” The door opened. When Julian walked in, veins popped on my dad’s forehead. He slapped Julian hard, cursing through gritted teeth, “Animal! We were blind to give our daughter to you!” Julian pressed his tongue against his cheek, face darkening. “I’m an animal? Was your family not animals when you ruined the Jiang family then pretended to help us rise to get free shares?” “You… you… who told you the Shi family had anything to do with your troubles?” Julian sneered, glancing around. “Stop pretending! By the way, Monica is pregnant. It’s a boy. He’ll inherit everything!” “Bastard! Bastard! You did that to Sienna, and now you say you have a child?” My mom trembled, biting her lip. On the bed, a slight movement pulled my wound, causing sharp pain. Julian’s words replayed in my head, and I suddenly understood… “Julian, you planned all this, didn’t you?” Julian glanced at me. “Smart, Sienna.” Monica is illegitimate. With our engagement first, her pregnancy would be improper. But if I became something lower than her, she could give birth openly, taking revenge on me and elevating her status. I looked at the man I loved for three years and felt nothing but ridicule. My dad recovered a bit, suddenly grabbing a flower pot and swinging at Julian. Julian frowned, caught my dad’s arm, and squeezed slightly. Dad cried out in pain. “Julian!” I tried to get up but tore my wound, grimacing in pain. “Sienna! Do you agree?” Julian looked impatient, squeezing harder. Dad just had surgery a few months ago. “Okay! Okay! I agree!” Julian let go satisfied, dusting off his clothes. “That’s more like it. The Shi family probably has no liquid cash left, right? No worries, put it on my tab, hahaha…” My parents hugged me, the three of us crying together. I don’t know what strings Dad pulled, but everything was settled by the third day. Half a month later, when Julian finally remembered me after being with Monica, he opened the door to find an empty bed. “Doctor! Doctor! Where’s the patient?” “They were discharged long ago!”

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Ten minutes before the International Swimming Championship finals, my childhood sweetheart destroyed the entire team’s gear. She slashed every swimsuit, snapped every pair of goggles. Why? Because her “male bestie” had just tested positive for doping and was disqualified. If we lost this race, it would be a national disgrace. In my past life, to save her from the committee’s wrath, I called in every favor my wealthy family had to air-freight new gear at the last second. I even forced myself to swim in her bestie’s spot for the singles race just to buy time. We won. She accepted the awards as the “resilient captain.” Her bestie, Skyler, eventually moved to the provincial team, got caught doping again, and was banned for life. Distraught, he ran into traffic and was crushed by a truck. She blamed me. Two months later, right before the World Cup, she injected a lethal dose of stimulants directly into my veins. “If you hadn’t forced Skyler to drink that stuff back then, he wouldn’t have been banned. He wouldn’t have died!” she screamed, her mask of calm shattering. “You stole his trophies and caused his death. You’re the one who deserves to die!” My heart exploded in my chest. When I opened my eyes, I was back in the locker room. Ten minutes before the finals. This time, I’m not saving anyone. I want to see how they survive without me as their life raft. 1 I woke up to the sound of shouting. Opening my eyes, I saw our team’s hothead, Mike, poking Skyler hard in the chest. “Skyler, you’re the one who got disqualified! But now Serena destroyed everyone’s gear because of you! None of us can race!” “The prize money is gone! Our careers are toast! How are you going to pay for this?!” Skyler was backed against a locker, neck stiff, denying everything. “It wasn’t me! I didn’t dope! It’s a testing error!” Mike was furious. “You failed the appeal and two re-tests! You still dare call it an error?” He raised a fist, ready to swing, but Serena rushed in and blocked him. Skyler, who had been acting tough a second ago, immediately turned red-eyed and weepy the moment he saw her. The teammates were seething. “Serena, if you guys want to quit, just leave! We want to win for our country!” “This is the International Championship! How are we supposed to swim naked?” Serena shielded Skyler like a mother hen. She lowered her voice to comfort him, then turned to the team with a self-righteous glare. “We are a team. Skyler was framed. You should be helping him appeal, not worrying about your own races.” Her twisted logic stunned everyone. But since she was the team captain, they all turned to look at me—the vice-captain. “Lucas, we’re on in ten minutes. What do we do? We never should have let Skyler join. Since he got here, everything’s gone to hell!” Serena cut him off sharply. “The bad luck is because you didn’t train hard enough, don’t blame Skyler.” “Besides, the coach approved his entry. If you have a problem, take it up with the coach.” The teammate muttered a curse, shooting a resentful look at me. “It’s all because of Lucas. Bringing these two disasters into the team.” Great. Once again, I’m guilty by association. My family, the Sterlings, are wealthy. The Vanderbilt family—Serena’s family—approached my parents when we were kids, saying Serena wanted to swim too. We were engaged since childhood. My parents were happy to help. So, my family paid double to let my professional coaching team train her. We dragged her all the way to the National Team and made her captain. We were practically inseparable. Both families called each other “in-laws,” waiting for us to retire and marry. Then, Skyler appeared in her circle. For this guy, Serena ordered my coaches to waste their time training him, barely scraping him past the qualifiers to get him on the team. She talked about him constantly. If I showed even a hint of displeasure, she’d snap: “Skyler and I are just friends. Stop being so dirty-minded. If you’re going to be jealous, at least be logical.” In my past life, I believed her. When she destroyed the gear, I tried to save both her reputation and Skyler’s career. My reward was a needle in my arm and a stopped heart. This time? I’m done. The childhood bond is over. I looked down and sent a text message, instructing my family to contact a swimming equipment supplier. Then, I spoke calmly. “You’re right. After this competition, I will formally request a re-evaluation from the coaches. Anyone who doesn’t meet the standards gets kicked out.” Serena looked at me in shock. Skyler panicked. They knew. Without my protection, Skyler wouldn’t last five minutes in a real assessment. Someone slammed the table. “Forget the assessment! The race is starting! No suits, no goggles, we don’t even have caps! We’re going to lose by default.” “The live broadcast is on. The whole world is going to see us forfeit.” “It’s not just embarrassing; it’s a national humiliation. We’ll be nailed to the pillar of shame forever.” Serena’s pupils contracted. She bit her lip nervously. Skyler tugged her sleeve. “Serena, what do I do? My whole family is watching. If they find out I was disqualified, they’ll kill me.” Serena turned back to comfort him. “Don’t worry. I’m here. I’ll handle it.” She stepped forward, putting on her captain’s face. “There’s a rule. If the whole team signs a joint petition, a disqualified athlete can be reinstated.” “I can fix the gear situation, but you all have to sign the petition to get Skyler back in.” Skyler’s eyes filled with tears of gratitude. A teammate asked, skeptically, “Easy to say. The gear is shredded. We’re in a foreign country. How do you fix that in ten minutes?” Serena lifted her chin, pointing confidently at me. “Lucas’s uncle owns a sports equipment company in this city. He can have professional gear delivered immediately!” 2 I sneered internally. Just like the last life. She volunteered my resources to clean up her mess. What she didn’t know was that my uncle had pivoted his business to tech last year. He didn’t have swimming gear anymore. Last time, when I explained this, she screamed at me: “Lucas, I know you hate Skyler, but is this really the time for games?” “The race is starting! Can’t you be the bigger man? Don’t put your jealousy above national honor!” And Skyler had chimed in, “Yeah Lucas, beat me up later if you want, but help the team first.” Back then, I was too panicked to see they were gaslighting me. But I’m not stupid anymore. “My uncle’s company pivoted last year. They don’t do sports gear anymore.” The locker room erupted in despair. “It’s over. We’re dead.” Serena frowned, shouting at me, “Lucas! This is the International Championship, stop joking!” Skyler added, “Lucas, bro, even if you hate me, think about the others.” The team looked at me, eyes filled with blame. Seeing them try to shift the pot to me again, I pulled out my phone, opened a news article about my uncle’s business pivot, and showed it to them. “I am thinking about the team. That’s why I’m calm. But I’m not the one who tested positive for drugs, and I’m not the one who shredded the suits. Why are you blaming me?” “I trained day and night since I was a kid to bring glory to my country. Who knew I’d run into sabotage from within?” Serena looked away, guilty. Knock, knock. Staff shouted from outside: “Ten minutes!” On the TV monitor, the crowd was roaring. Banners with our names were waving in the stands. Usually, this would pump us up. Now, teammates were cursing. “We have to go out there naked at this rate.” “Just my luck to be on a team with you lunatics.” “One dopes, the other destroys our gear for a man. If you want to date, go do it outside! Why ruin our careers?!” A fight broke out. Serena shielded Skyler, screaming, “Stop! Even if we miss this, there are other ways to go pro!” “Lucas! Your family is rich. Make your dad start a private swim club and sign everyone!” I blinked. “We’re talking about the race. What does a private club have to do with anything?” Serena held up five fingers. “If you all sign the petition for Skyler and tell the committee the gear was an ‘accident’… I’ll guarantee you a salary of $500,000 a year.” The number stunned everyone. “$500k? Lucas, is that true? Your dad would do that?” I frowned. She was trying to drag the Sterling family down with her. A national team failing internationally, then immediately getting signed by my family for huge money? It would look like a massive conspiracy. “Serena, who are you to make decisions for the Sterling family?” Serena smirked. “We’re engaged. You’re the only son. Your family’s money is basically mine, isn’t it?” 3 So that was her plan. Eating the inheritance before I’m even dead. I laughed, glancing at a shocked Skyler. “Oh? You’re announcing our engagement publicly now? Didn’t you say you wanted to keep it secret so your dear Skyler wouldn’t be sad?” Serena’s face darkened. “Skyler and I are just friends. Your mind is dirty.” Before Skyler could speak, a teammate snapped. “Who cares! Lucas, just tell us, can you guarantee the contracts?” “If you can’t, Serena and Skyler are paying for this with their lives!” Serena shouted, “I guarantee it!” The team looked at me. I threw up my hands. “I didn’t say it. I can’t guarantee anything.” “You…” Serena started. Suddenly, the Coach burst in. “Why aren’t you warming up?! Five minutes! Why aren’t you changed?!” A teammate pointed at the pile of shredded fabric in the corner and quickly explained. The Coach’s face turned purple. “Are you insane?! This is national honor! This is everyone’s career!” “My career is ruined because of you two psychos!” Skyler cried, “Coach, I didn’t dope! It’s a mistake!” Serena stood tall. “Skyler was framed. I did this to force you to take it seriously!” The Coach ignored her, frantically making calls. But with minutes left, in a foreign country, it was impossible. He pulled his hair out, screaming, “It’s over! My career is over!” The despair in the room was palpable. “My parents are watching. If I walk out without a suit, they’ll disown me.” “This is a major violation. The committee might ban us for four years.” “Four years…” Silence. An athlete’s prime is short. Four years is a death sentence. A girl started sobbing. A male teammate clenched his fist. “If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me!” He punched Serena in the face. Chaos erupted. Serena screamed, “My dad can sign you too!” Everyone stopped. She pulled out her phone, muttering, “The Sterlings have money, the Vanderbilts have money too! I’ll make my dad start a team. $500k each, just don’t blame me!” “Dad! Start a swim team! Sign my teammates! Five hundred thousand salary each!” On speaker, her dad’s voice roared: “You useless idiot! Did you offend the Sterlings? They just cancelled every contract with our company! I can’t even pay our debts, where the hell am I getting money for you to waste?!” 4 The call ended. Serena gasped. She pointed a trembling finger at me. “Lucas! You did this!” I shrugged calmly. “I just told my dad that you only wanted to marry me to eat my inheritance. That you were a gold digger.” “Maybe… my dad felt your motives were impure and cut ties.” Serena’s face flushed red. “Who said I’m a gold digger… You did this on purpose! You want to see our careers destroyed!” I pointed at the security camera on the wall. “Don’t twist the facts. The camera saw who shredded the suits. You and Skyler are the ones destroying careers.” Teammates, faces pale as death, turned on them. “That’s right! You ruined our lives! I’m calling the committee right now.” “No!” Skyler snatched the phone away. “No one calls until my results are overturned!” Suddenly, the TV screen announced the start of the Men’s 400m Freestyle. That was Skyler’s event. His name wasn’t even on the screen. Skyler let out a strangled scream. “It’s over… it’s completely over…” Serena held him up. “There’s still the relay! There’s still a chance!” Gritting her teeth, she faced the team. “Gear or not, we go out there. Even if we lose.” “I promise, if you help Skyler get reinstated and keep your mouths shut, I will give you each $500,000 after the competition.” Someone sneered. “Your dad just said you’re broke. Where’s the money coming from?” “I have my ways.” I raised my voice. “Then write a promissory note. Everyone signs.” “Yeah! Write it down! Or we don’t believe you!” Cornered, Serena nodded. By the time the 400m freestyle ended, Skyler was sobbing at the TV. But everyone else held a handwritten IOU from Serena. “Okay? Now go appeal before the relay starts!” She dragged Skyler toward the door. The others hesitated. “What are you waiting for?” Serena turned back to see me blocking the door. “Lucas, what now?” I smiled and signaled my teammates to step aside. The door opened. Several delivery men walked in carrying two large crates. Inside were brand new, professional-grade swimming kits. The team cheered, rushing to find their sizes. “Where did these come from?” I bent down to grab my kit. “I asked my uncle to pull some strings with other suppliers. Late, but just in time.” Serena’s face lit up with relief. She pulled Skyler over. “Lucas, I knew you wouldn’t abandon us. Since you helped, our families’ partnership should be restored, right?” But the boxes were empty. Everyone had a suit. Except Serena and Skyler. “Where are ours?” I laughed. “So sorry. My uncle could only find this many.” “Coincidentally… we’re exactly two short.”

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“You’re done here.” Reid Harrington, the new Director, was leaning back in his executive chair, not even bothering to lift his gaze from the floor-to-ceiling windows. I stood in the doorway of his corner office, a freshly printed project report still clutched in my hand. “What does that mean?” “The company is restructuring, Owen.” He finally looked up, a flick of bored disdain in his eyes. “Your position has been eliminated.” Three years. I’d poured three years of my life into this company. Three core systems. Four hundred and seventy thousand lines of code. Every single character was mine. “That attitude, Miller, it’s going to follow you wherever you go,” he added, a patronizing after-thought. I didn’t say a word. I turned and walked back to my cube, staring at the screen. The four hundred and seventy thousand lines of code lay dormant in the server. My index finger rested on the Delete key. 1 I didn’t press it. Not because I was afraid. Because it wasn’t time yet. Reid’s voice echoed in my head: “That attitude, Miller, it’s going to follow you wherever you go.” What attitude? I worked past ten every night, was on call every weekend, and hadn’t taken a single sick day in thirty-six months. What kind of attitude was that? “Owen, HR wants to see you.” Tim, a younger developer, peeked his head around the partition. His eyes darted away, unable to meet mine. The news had travelled fast. I stood up and glanced at the few items on my desk. A framed photo of my wife, Sierra. Her smile was sweet, and her baby bump was just starting to show. Five months along. The mortgage is twelve hundred a month. I took a deep, shuddering breath and walked toward the Human Resources office. “Come in, Owen. Have a seat.” Diana Cruz, the HR Manager, was in her mid-forties and had been at the company for eight years. She’d seen every firing, every layoff. She slid a document across the table. The cover read: “Severance Agreement.” “Take a look.” I opened the document. Severance Pay: $56,000. I paused. “Shouldn’t this be N+1? I’ve worked for three years. That should be three months’ salary.” “The company has determined your tenure is two years,” Diana said, adjusting her glasses. “Your first year was classified as a probationary period.” “Probationary? I signed a full-time employment contract.” “It’s written in the fine print as a one-year ‘trial period.’” I remembered the conversation clearly. Wally Stone, the CEO, had clapped me on the shoulder: “Owen, the contract is just a formality. You work hard, and I’ll take care of you.” “So we can only count two years,” Diana said, offering me a pen. “Sign it. Let’s keep this professional and clean.” I stared at the number. $56,000. Three years. How much profit had I generated for them? That custom inventory platform alone saved the company two million in labor costs in the first month. The customer data platform boosted our sales conversion rate by 35%. The financial settlement system shrunk the payment cycle from 45 days to just seven. Conservatively, twenty million dollars in value over three years. They were offering me $56,000. “What about the annual bonus?” Diana’s pen hesitated. “The annual bonus?” “It’s almost the end of the year. My bonus for this year.” “Owen, you’re a terminated employee. The bonus…” “The contract states the bonus is based on performance. You know what my performance was this year.” The smile on Diana’s face stiffened. “That depends on the company’s overall profitability…” “I got eighty thousand last year,” I cut her off. “This year I took on more projects, and the profits were higher.” “The circumstances this year are different.” “How are they different?” Diana didn’t answer. I got it. Since Reid Harrington arrived, he’d attached his name to all my projects. To Wally Stone, he was the hero who “led the team to a major revenue breakthrough.” And I was the “employee with the attitude problem.” “We will issue a proportionate bonus,” Diana said. “Likely… around twenty thousand.” Eighty thousand slashed to twenty thousand. “Diana.” I placed the pen down. “I need more time to think.” “Owen…” “I know the company wants me to sign today,” I stood up. “But I have a right to consider this.” Diana’s face darkened. “The company’s clear instruction is that this must be finalized before the end of the day…” “The workday still has four hours left.” I walked out of the HR office. Behind me, Diana’s voice chased me down the hall: “Owen, you need to think this through! Making a scene won’t help anyone!” I didn’t turn back. Back at my desk, I opened my computer and looked at the code. Three years. I could remember when and why I wrote every single line. In the winter of 2021, my first month on the job, I worked twenty straight days to push out the first version of the inventory system. Wally Stone patted my shoulder and said, “Owen, do good work, and the company will reward you.” In 2022, during the Christmas holidays, everyone else went home. I guarded the server room alone, fixing a system glitch. Sierra brought me Christmas dinner in a container. Wally sent me a $50 gift card and said, “Tough break.” The entire year of 2023, I didn’t take a single full weekend off. Every module of the customer data platform was built during an all-nighter. I lost fifteen pounds that year. Sierra almost left me. Now they were telling me: “You’re done here.” My phone buzzed. A message from Sierra: “Hey hubby, I made your favorite pot roast tonight. Come home early.” I stared at the screen and suddenly laughed. Come home early? Today might be my last time in this office. “Owen.” Reid Harrington had appeared behind me. “Have you signed?” I didn’t turn around. “Still considering.” “What’s there to consider?” His tone was laced with impatience. “The terms the company offered you are more than generous.” “Generous how?” “You worked for three years. The company invested in you for three years. We’re offering fifty-six thousand and a bonus. What more do you want?” I finally spun my chair around and looked at him. Reid was 35, three years older than me, and had parachuted in as the Tech Director three months ago. He was supposedly a fraternity brother of Wally Stone’s brother-in-law—some convoluted connection that bypassed any merit. He didn’t understand the tech. His favorite thing to do was call a meeting. At least three “Technical Review Meetings” a week, where we’d report our work, and he’d nod sagely and say, “Hmm, I think we can optimize that solution.” Optimize what? He couldn’t read a single line of my code. “Reid,” I said. “Do you know what the code I wrote is worth?” He paused, then smirked. “Your code? That’s company property, Miller. It has nothing to do with you.” I smiled back. “You’re right about that.” I turned back to the screen. Reid stood there, apparently waiting for me to say something else. I kept silent. Ten seconds later, he walked away. The office was quiet, punctuated only by the click of keys. I opened the company’s code repository and stared at the folders. Inventory System. Customer Platform. Financial Settlement. And the in-development Supply Chain system, already 70% complete. All mine. Every line of code, my heart and soul. But Reid was right. It was “company property.” I closed the page, picked up my phone, and texted Sierra: “Going to be late tonight. Something came up.” She replied instantly: “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” I typed a few words, then deleted them. “Nothing. Just a bit busy.” I put the phone down, leaned back in my chair, and closed my eyes. Three years. What did I actually get out of it? 2 At two o’clock, Diana was back. “Owen, have you decided?” She held the severance agreement, her expression more severe than it had been this morning. “Diana, I have a question for you.” “Go ahead.” “When I started, Wally promised me a 0.5% equity stake in the company. Does that still stand?” Diana’s face flickered. “Equity?” “Yes. A verbal promise at the time.” “Verbal promise…” She gave a dry, nervous laugh. “Owen, you know that a verbal agreement has no legal standing.” “And what about the agreement on paper?” I countered. “I signed a full-time contract, not a probationary one.” “Well…” “Diana, I can file a labor claim.” The air went silent for three seconds. Diana’s composure finally broke. “Owen, what exactly are you implying?” “I’m implying that the company’s offer is unfair, and I need to renegotiate.” “The company has been more than generous!” “Fifty-six thousand, a year of service slashed, and my eighty-thousand-dollar bonus cut to twenty thousand.” I ticked them off on my fingers. “Is that generous?” “You!” “Diana.” I cut her off. “I know you’re just an employee, not the decision-maker. Please relay my demands to Reid and Wally Stone.” “What are your demands?” “First, N+1 severance pay—three months’ salary, $84,000. Second, the annual bonus paid at last year’s standard, $80,000. Third, I’ll drop the equity claim.” Diana’s jaw dropped. “Are you out of your mind?” “Am I out of my mind?” I laughed. “Diana, do you know what I did here for three years?” I opened my laptop and pulled up the project documentation. “The Inventory Management System, launched January 2022, saved two million in labor. The Customer Data Platform, launched March 2023, boosted conversion by 35%, generating fifteen million in direct revenue. The Financial Settlement System, launched August 2023, shortened the payment cycle by 38 days, improving cash flow by thirty million.” I turned and looked at her. “In three years, I’ve generated at least twenty million dollars in value for this company. Do you think my request is unreasonable?” Diana’s face was flushed red. She was speechless. “I’ll wait for their response.” She turned and left. I knew this negotiation wouldn’t be simple. But I needed the time. My phone buzzed. It was an unfamiliar number. “Hello?” “Mr. Miller, this is from the executive search firm. We spoke last month. Do you have a moment to talk?” I paused, then remembered. A headhunter had contacted me a month ago, mentioning a CTO role. I’d brushed it off then, happy at my current job. “I do.” “Our client is moving very quickly on the role we discussed. They wanted to know if you’ve given it any further thought.” “What was the compensation again?” “Forty-two hundred a month, three to six months’ annual bonus, plus stock options.” I was silent for a few seconds. Forty-two hundred. A 50% raise on my current salary. “Mr. Miller?” “I’ll consider it. I’ll call you back this evening.” “Wonderful. I’ll look forward to your call.” I hung up, leaned back, and stared at the ceiling. Maybe this was my out. But before that, I had one more thing to do. At three o’clock, a message popped up in the corner of my screen. It was the company’s tech team chat. Reid Harrington: “@All. Technical Review Meeting tomorrow at 2 PM. We’ll be discussing the Supply Chain system progress. Owen’s section will now be handled by Kevin. Kevin, please prepare to present.” I stared at the message and smiled. Kevin. The new guy, only six months on the job, who mostly shadowed me. He was going to take over my project? He barely understood the database architecture. Below the message, a few people replied with “Got it” emojis. No one tagged me. No one asked what happened. In the office, my colleagues were hunched over their screens. No one looked my way. I understood. The news had been disseminated. I was the “terminated” guy, the one with the “attitude problem,” the one who was “making a scene.” No one wanted to be associated with me. “Owen.” Tim approached my desk, his voice a low whisper. “What is it?” He glanced left and right to ensure no one was listening, then spoke. “I need to tell you something. Please don’t tell anyone I said this.” “Go on.” “Reid… he’s been targeting you for the last three months.” “What do you mean?” “When he first came in, he told Wally Stone you were ‘insubordinate’ and ‘resistant to management.’ Then, in every meeting, he would ask you deliberately difficult questions, and then tell Wally you had ‘technical shortcomings.’” I was stunned. “And,” Tim continued, “he revised your project reports. He deleted your name and replaced it with his own.” “When did this happen?” “Last month. Wally asked him to present the year-end performance, and Reid took your documents and claimed he was the ‘architect’ of the success.” I took a deep breath. Three months. He had been planning this since the day he arrived. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Tim’s eyes shifted. “I… I only found out today. Reid’s assistant told me. She can’t stand him either.” I said nothing. “Owen, just be careful,” Tim whispered. “Reid’s not a nice guy.” I nodded. “I know.” Tim left. I sat at my desk, my mind a storm of thoughts. Three months ago, when Reid parachuted in, I was the one who went up to him and offered my help with any technical issues. He had smiled and said, “Owen, I look forward to working with you.” What was that smile hiding? The code repository page was still open on my screen. I looked at the folders and suddenly remembered something. When I signed the contract, there was a very ambiguous clause regarding code ownership. The gist was: Code developed by the employee during employment is the property of the company. However, if the code involves the employee’s personal intellectual property, a separate agreement is required. What qualified as “personal intellectual property”? The core algorithms I used in those systems? Many of those were concepts I had researched and developed before I even joined the company. I just integrated them into the corporate projects. Strictly speaking, those algorithms weren’t “developed during employment.” I opened the contract and re-read the clause carefully. Sure enough, the wording was vague. If it came down to a legal fight, the company might not win.

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1 In the middle of a crucial video call, my long-silent high school group chat erupted. Someone tagged me repeatedly: “Aria, Lily is getting married today—aren’t you coming?” Messages poured in: Lily Evans, our class beauty, was getting married, and seemingly all our old classmates were there. “Sorry, work is too busy. I can’t make it,” I replied, sparking instant backlash. “Busy? You never post. Your life must be a mess.” “Too embarrassed? Just admit it.” Lily herself wrote: “Remember our bet? I said I’d marry a man far more successful than yours.” “I don’t remember,” I replied truthfully, which only fueled the attacks. “Lily’s husband is a CEO! He arranged over a hundred luxury cars for the wedding!” “Is your husband so bad you’re pretending to forget?” “Can’t even afford a gift? Need a GoFundMe?” Amid the insults, Lily tagged me again, pretending kindness: “I wish you could come, Aria. I’d even ask my husband to get you a cleaning job here.” She then posted a wedding photo with her new husband. I froze. The man in the photo was my own husband, Ethan Harvey. “Fine,” I typed. “I’ll be there to witness your happy moment.” The moment I sent the message, a text from Ethan came through. “Hey, babe. I’m heading back to my hometown today to see my parents. I made you dinner and left it in the fridge, you just have to heat it up.” “I love you forever, honey.” Ethan had married into my family three years ago, and he’d always taken meticulous care of me. Even when he traveled, he made sure everything I needed was prepared. I used to be touched by these thoughtful little details. Now, they just seemed pathetic. I cut the video conference short. Following the wedding location Lily had posted in the group chat, I drove to her hometown. From a distance, I could see a massive red banner strung across the front of her family’s house. “A WARM WELCOME TO MR. ETHAN HARVEY, CEO OF APEX CORPORATION!” Beneath the banner, Lily stood in a stunning, custom-made white gown, anxiously awaiting her groom. She was surrounded by a crowd of our old high school classmates. “Lily, you kept him a secret for so long! We had no idea your fiancé was the CEO of Apex!” “Seriously, Ethan Harvey is a legendary entrepreneur! You’re amazing for landing such a high-value man!” “Lily, you’re about to be a billionaire’s wife! Don’t forget about us when you’re living the high life!” Even our old high school homeroom teacher was there, fawning over her. “Lily, the first time I saw you, I knew you were destined for greatness. That’s why I never criticized you for your poor grades. I knew you were born for wealth; you didn’t need to rely on academics!” Basking in the flattery, Lily’s smile widened, her eyes filled with smug satisfaction. For years, Ethan had been little more than a kept husband. To give him some experience and a title, I had put him in charge of Apex Corporation, the smallest of my subsidiary companies. I never imagined it would become the source of Lily Evans’s bragging rights. The moment they saw me arrive, the fawning classmates’ faces soured. One of Lily’s little minions noticed the car I was driving and strutted over, sneering. “Aria Sterling, you’re so desperate. Did you really rent a Bentley just to save face at Lily’s wedding?” The others chimed in with their own contemptuous remarks. “No wonder she had the guts to show up. She’s just here to front. Renting that for a day must’ve cost you three months’ salary, right?” “Some people will do anything to look important. No matter how rich you pretend to be, you’ll never be richer than Lily’s husband!” “Seriously, is it that hard to admit someone is more successful than you? Was your pride really worth the cost of a rental?” I remained unfazed by their insults. “This is my car.” As soon as the words left my mouth, Lily strode up to me and slapped me hard across the face. “Your car? This is my husband’s car, you bitch!” she shrieked. “I always suspected he was keeping some slut on the side. I should have known it was you!” “You shameless homewrecker! How dare you drive my husband’s car to my wedding to provoke me, his actual wife?” Her accusation made everyone’s eyes go wide. “Lily, this car belongs to your husband? Are you serious?” Lily’s expression was pure arrogance. “Of course, it is.” She pulled out her phone and showed them a series of photos of her and Ethan. There were intimate selfies of them inside the car, and cozy pictures of them sitting on the hood. The interior details and the license plate were crystal clear in the photos. It was identical to the car I was standing next to. A wave of murmurs went through the crowd. “It really is her husband’s car! That means Aria Sterling is the other woman!” Lily’s face was contorted with rage. “No wonder you never post anything online. You’ve been busy being a professional mistress.” The others turned on me, their eyes filled with disgust. “I can’t believe it. Aria always acted so high and mighty, but she’s just a common slut.” “And to think I had a crush on her in high school, the cold, brainy type. I even wrote her a love letter. It makes me sick just thinking about it now.” “It’s always the ones who act so pure and distant. Behind closed doors, they’re probably desperate for it. They see a rich man and just spread their legs.” “And she had the nerve to drive her sugar daddy’s car to his own wife’s wedding! She’s obviously just jealous that Lily is marrying well and came here to ruin everything!” Even our old teacher looked at me with scorn. “Aria Sterling, if you’re ever out in public, do not tell anyone you were my student. I never taught anyone with such depraved morals.” The accusations and condemnations drew a crowd of onlookers, all pointing and whispering. Some even started recording me with their phones, a few spitting in my direction. I took off my jacket—a piece worth over ten thousand dollars—and tossed it into a nearby trash can. Then I faced Lily directly. “I suggest you ask Ethan Harvey very carefully who the mistress is and who the wife is.” Her response was another sharp slap. “Do I need to ask? Can’t you see this is my wedding day with Ethan?” she screamed, then turned her fury on my car. “I hate homewreckers more than anything in this world. All of you deserve to die!” She pulled a key from her purse and viciously carved a single word into the side of my car. WHORE. I glanced at the ugly scar on the paint. “You’re going to realize very soon just how ironic that word is,” I said, my voice ice-cold. My calmness only enraged her further. “You bitch! You steal my man and then you have the nerve to mock me? The thought of a slut like you driving my husband’s car makes me want to vomit!” She snatched a brick from the side of the road and began smashing it against my car. The windows, the headlights, the hood—she attacked every part of it with savage intensity. “Lily’s the future Mrs. CEO of Apex Corporation! We can’t let her be bullied by a low-life mistress like Aria!” someone in the crowd shouted. That was all the encouragement they needed. They all grabbed whatever they could find—rocks, branches, anything—and joined in, smashing my car with frenzied glee. After breaking the windows, they even climbed inside, slashing the leather seats and destroying the interior. In moments, my pristine luxury car was a mangled wreck. I watched the mob, my eyes cold as steel. “I hope you’re all this enthusiastic when it’s time to pay for the damages.” No one paid me any mind. It was as if I wasn’t even there. Just then, Lily’s minion pried open the trunk. “Hey, look! She’s got a bunch of fancy stuff in here!” Lily walked over and pulled out a framed painting, her lip curled in a sneer. “A woman who sells her body for money is trying to be a sophisticated art collector? How pathetic.” I issued a sharp warning. “Be careful. Those things are worth a lot more than the car. Especially that painting.” The items in my trunk were collectibles I had recently acquired at an auction and hadn’t had a chance to move to storage. My warning only fueled Lily’s fire. “For a piece of art to be owned by a slut like you is a desecration,” she spat. “Trash like you only deserves trash!” With that, she ripped the canvas to shreds right in front of me. She threw the tattered remains on the ground and stomped on them with her heels. Our old teacher peered at the destroyed painting. “Wait… I think that was a genuine Monet. I heard pieces like that start at fifty million dollars at auction!” Lily was unfazed. “So what if it’s fifty million? It’s all my husband’s money anyway! And his money is my money. What’s wrong with me destroying my own property?” I was speechless. Not only was Ethan a penniless man who had married into my family, but his incompetence at Apex had actually caused the company’s value to drop by nearly half. If he wasn’t my husband, I would have fired him ages ago. Yet, to Lily and these old classmates, he was a revered and powerful CEO. With Lily leading the charge, the others eagerly joined in, destroying every last item in my trunk. There’s no point reasoning with a pack of wolves. Since they were lost in their destructive frenzy, I stopped trying to warn them. I quietly pulled out my phone to call the police. Before I could even dial, Lily lunged at me, snatched the phone from my hand, and smashed it on the ground. “Calling the cops? A homewrecker who preys on other women’s husbands has no right!” she sneered. Then her eyes locked onto my neck. “That locket… it looks expensive. I bet my husband bought that for you, too!” In one swift, violent motion, she ripped the necklace from my neck. It happened so fast I didn’t have time to react. My demeanor instantly changed. “Give that back to me,” I demanded, my voice low and dangerous. Seeing my sudden panic, Lily’s smirk widened. “So nervous? This must be worth a pretty penny, huh?” “It’s not valuable,” I said, my voice tight with urgency, “but it’s important to me. Give it back. Now.” I lunged for it. That locket was a protective charm my mother had given her life to get for me. I had been a sickly child, and at four years old, I fell into a coma. The doctors told my parents to prepare for the worst. My mother, unable to accept it, went on a pilgrimage to a great cathedral to pray for me. To show her sincerity, in the scorching forty-degree summer heat, she crawled on her hands and knees from the bottom of the holy mountain to the shrine at its peak. She crawled until her knees were raw and bloody, until her head was bruised and she was nearly unconscious, all to obtain this blessed locket for me. Perhaps heaven was moved by her sacrifice. Miraculously, I woke from my coma. But my mother fell ill from the ordeal and never recovered. Before she died, she placed the locket in my hand and made me promise to always keep it safe. I have treasured it my entire life, never taking it off. It was the last piece of my mother I had left. It was my breaking point. And I would not let anyone destroy it. “The more you want it, the more I want to destroy it!” Lily taunted. Before I could reach her, she threw the locket to the ground with all her might. With a sickening crack, the delicate piece shattered into a dozen fragments, scattering across the pavement. “No!” Seeing the one thing my mother had died for destroyed so carelessly, I felt a pain so sharp it stole the air from my lungs. “You are an animal!” I lost control. I lunged forward and slapped Lily across the face with all my strength. “You fucking bitch, you dare hit me?” she shrieked, clutching her cheek. “Get her! Teach this slut a lesson! Whoever does the best job gets a million dollars!” That was all the incentive the mob needed. They descended on me, kicking and punching. “How dare you hit Lily? She’s the future Mrs. CEO of Apex Corporation! Who the hell do you think you are?” “It was just a stupid necklace! You probably earned it on your back anyway. Just sleep with a few more men, and you can buy another one. What’s the big deal?” “Shameless mistress! First you steal another woman’s husband, and now you attack his wife? You really think you can get away with it?” Even our old teacher snuck in a couple of kicks while I was down. I was beaten to the ground, shaking with rage. “You will all regret this!” I spat through gritted teeth. My threat was met with howls of laughter. “This isn’t high school anymore, Aria! You think being the top student makes you special?” “You’re nothing but trash society left behind! A prostitute threatening us? That’s hilarious!” “A mistress needs to know her place! When you get hit, you stay down!” “You shameless whore! Stealing a classmate’s husband… have you no decency? If I were you, I’d have killed myself by now!” They pinned me to the ground, taunting and humiliating me as the crowd of onlookers continued to spit and jeer. Lily, surrounded by her adoring followers, stepped forward and ground her heel into my face. “Regret? I’ve never regretted a single thing in my life. I can’t wait to see how a pathetic slut like you is going to make me regret anything!” Just as the words left her mouth, a fleet of over a hundred luxury cars screeched to a halt in front of the crowd. The doors opened, and Ethan Harvey, followed by a team of men in sharp suits, stepped out.

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Sylas lost his memory. He looked at me warily and asked who I was. With the pure, malicious intent of destroying his cultivation path, I smiled sweetly and replied, “I’m your wife.” He didn’t believe me, but I knew him like the back of my hand. He liked dark colors, drank strong tea, and practiced his swordplay every morning at 7 AM sharp. After a thousand years as sworn enemies, I knew every mole on his back. He had no choice but to believe me and quickly accepted the role. But… who wrote this “doting husband” script? Why is it that the moment I break character and show a little anger, he flips his robes and kneels?! And uses his tongue to please me in every way… Sylas, where is your backbone?! 1 Sylas and I were sworn enemies. Mortal enemies. How exactly we became enemies is lost to the ages. Cultivating immortality takes a long time, and my memory isn’t what it used to be. I just remember we never got along. Couldn’t stand the sight of each other. I was pure Yin, he was pure Yang. People used to ship us. But we fought so fiercely that eventually, no one dared to utter such death-wish nonsense. Our dojos were both in the East, and our disciples occasionally clashed. A thousand years of friction built up into a big one, so as the grandmasters, we stepped out to fight it out. Under the eager gazes of disciples from both sides, he and I stood in mid-air, sizing each other up for weaknesses. To be fair, Sylas was extremely good-looking. Sword-like eyebrows slanted towards his temples, eyes pure black like a cold pool reflecting stars under thick lashes—deep and chilling. A high nose bridge, thin lips that hinted at unquestionable killing intent when pursed. If he would just smile, he’d be a dashing gentleman like the bright moon and fresh breeze. Unfortunately, his aura was too heavy, radiating an inhumane coldness. In his black Daoist robes, he had the imposing presence of a towering mountain. His stare made my heart race. I didn’t know if I’d win or lose this round. He was a Lightning Heavenly Spiritual Root, cultivating the Ruthless Dao. I was a Chaos Five Spiritual Root, cultivating the Carefree Dao. He had one sword to conquer heaven and earth; I mastered every unorthodox trick in the book. After a long standoff, Sylas swung his sword. I tapped my toes, drifting back like a flowing cloud. Using the “Ripple Steps” taught by the Ripple Fairy, his majestic sword energy didn’t even touch the hem of my clothes. “Move one.” I held up a finger, a formation disk already silently dropped from my sleeve. Instantly, fog rose, hiding killing intent. Sylas sneered. “Xu Fang’s Confusion Formation? Unorthodox tr—” Before he could finish, three blood-red sword energies shot out from the formation—Xu Fang’s improved Three Talents Deadly Formation. He blocked hastily, but his sleeve was still sliced open. Twang! I took out the Hook Moon Pipa, ten fingers flying. Demonic music rose, weeping and complaining. Si Miyuan’s Soul-Breaking Tune echoed in the formation, specifically targeting the clear Dao heart of a sword cultivator. Sylas faltered slightly, fine sweat beading on his forehead. “Move two.” I held up another finger, throwing out seventy-two talismans while his mind was shaken. Boom boom boom! Gongsun Che’s Explosive Sound Talismans covered the sky, blasting the clouds away. Sylas’s face finally changed. His sword danced like a rainbow, yet a talisman still grazed his cheek, leaving a scorch mark. “Well?” I stood with my hands behind my back, a pill pouch from the Pill Sect at my waist, a hidden crossbow from the Weapon Sect in my sleeve, and Void-Breaking Talismans from the Talisman Sect on my boots. “Does Sword Saint Sylas still think these are just unorthodox tricks?” He wiped the blood from his face and suddenly smiled. “Interesting.” His sword stance changed abruptly, manifesting thousands of sword shadows. My heart tightened. I quickly formed a hand seal, barely executing the Puppet Sect’s Golden Cicada Shell Shedding. The substitute puppet I left behind was shredded by sword energy. “Move three is mine.” Sylas’s voice suddenly rang in my ear. I leaned back sharply, a gleam of sword light grazing my nose. I was about to counterattack, but realized the ties of my pill pouch and hidden crossbow had been cut by sword energy at some point. “You…” “Jack of all trades, master of none.” With a light flick of his sword tip, my last talisman shattered in mid-air. “But indeed…” When his long sword pointed at me, the corners of his mouth lifted slightly. “Disgusting enough.” “You lose,” he said flatly. I tilted my head and smiled. “Sword Saint Sylas might want to look at his feet.” He looked down. Seven Bone-Penetrating Nails hovered in the air, pinning the hem of his robe. Each nail was connected to a nearly invisible Heavenly Silkworm Thread—the Tang Sect’s most insidious Seven Star Soul Lock. “A draw?” I blinked. “Or mutual destruction?” Sylas stared at me for a long time, then suddenly sheathed his sword. As he turned, I distinctly saw his mouth twitch. “Fu Yunqian, your methods are truly…” “Disgusting?” I supplied. “…Interesting.” Watching his figure receding on his sword, I realized my back was soaked in cold sweat. Collecting the scattered debris, my fingers trembled slightly. If his sword had advanced half an inch more, or if I hadn’t set the hidden weapons in time… A breeze blew, scattering the talisman paper and remnant formations. Looking at the sword light disappearing into the sea of clouds, I suddenly laughed out loud. His sword couldn’t touch me, my tricks couldn’t trap him. But the post-war losses were severe. Calculating the cost, I was overcome with grief. Formation disks broken, pipa smashed, talismans depleted, robes sliced with holes big and small. Since becoming an ancestor, when had I been this pathetic? Not even a thousand years of rest later, those brats in my sect caused trouble again. Big trouble. Negotiations turned into shouting matches, and then the two of us were up again. I was truly annoyed. Every fight destroyed a batch of magical treasures; repairs couldn’t keep up with the damage. After a few rounds, looking at the pile of broken treasures in the warehouse, my heart bled. Both at the Immortal Venerable realm, our fights shook the earth and wasted resources. I didn’t know about him, but I was going broke. Building the Clear Music Palace wasn’t easy. Starting as a rogue cultivator, my ascension was arduous. Without good techniques, one is an ant in the Upper Realm, disdained by all. I stole techniques everywhere, learning from hundreds of schools, barely gaining a foothold. After untold hardships, I finally occupied a dojo and passed down my teachings. Was it easy for me? No. The Heavens are cruel to me! Alas! “Master, stop chanting…” “Sigh… Zizhen, we need a permanent solution. If this nemesis doesn’t die, my heart won’t rest.” Xu Zizhen fanned me while leaning in to offer advice. After muttering for a long time, we looked at each other and simultaneously revealed a dirty smile. 2 Immortal Venerables have thousands of incarnations. Kill him, and there will be another Sylas. But the Ruthless Dao has a fatal flaw: one cannot be moved by emotion. Make him fall in love, destroy his Dao foundation, and thousands of incarnations will meet their end together. I wasn’t the first to try this. The Eastern Sword Saint was frosty as the moon, aloof, restrained, and abstinent. Who wouldn’t want a night with such a handsome man? Not to mention his Immortal Essence was pure Yang—tens of thousands of years of virgin vitality. Every female cultivator drooled, but all returned in defeat. The Ruthless Dao forbids lust and love. It was like winking at a blind man. Some tried force, but the Resoluteness Sword Technique was no joke. Drug him? Stabbed. Ambush him? Stabbed. His Dao heart was so firm that not a drop of Yang essence had leaked in all these years. Soft or hard, he wouldn’t bite. Tricky… Luckily, I recently acquired a new technique. My main body stayed in the Clear Music Pool, while I created a True Immortal clone to infiltrate the Bright Soul Sect and learn a secret art. This art allows viewing others’ memories without discomfort. Even deleting or sealing a segment. If I sealed Sylas’s memories of cultivation… No matter how stone-hearted he is, surely he was easier to handle as a child? Under my instructions, Zizhen caused chaos. Sylas came out with his sword again. He met my eyes once and chased relentlessly. Fighting and retreating, I lured him into an illusion array under the cover of clouds. Mist formed into my likeness, attacking from all sides. I manifested as many clones as I knew secret techniques. Though illusions, hacking through them all exhausted him. I waited patiently for a hundred years. His sword was still sharp, but his spirit was exhausted. Clear notes hooked the soul. I teleported behind him, concealing my presence, fingers lightly touching his temples. A flying sword attacked rapidly, blocked by my defensive treasure. He turned, grabbing my wrist tightly, his gaze sharp, a sword at my neck again. “It’s okay… have a good sleep, it’s okay…” Lips parting slightly, I blew bewildering smoke into his face. He faltered for a moment, and I seized the chance, my divine will piercing his mind. He shook his head, struggling, then fell straight into my arms. “Despicable, falling right onto my chest.” I slapped him twice casually. While he slept, I sealed all his memories of cultivation. 3 Sylas woke up staring at me warily, brows furrowed, radiating coldness. I wondered if the amnesia worked when he asked, “Who are you?” Really amnesiac. As expected of me. I smiled sweetly. “I’m your wife. You hit your head just now, does it still hurt?” My hand reached out but was blocked. “Nonsense. I never had a wife.” I clutched my chest, acting heartbroken. “We’ve been married for two years, always loving. How can you say such things, husband?” He looked around. I had used illusions to build a civilian house here. Modeled after his hobbies, the yard had my favorite flowers and a place for him to practice swordsmanship. A large rock on one side was covered in slash marks. He stroked the sword marks, believing three-tenths of it. Then I coaxed him to sit and eat. He liked strong liquor but wasn’t greedy; I poured him half a cup. His taste was light, mostly bamboo shoots and fish. Poor me, having not cooked for tens of thousands of years, the taste wasn’t great. He took a few bites. “You usually cook?” I bit my lip, shy and annoyed. “If you weren’t injured, who would cook for you?” Sylas’s brows relaxed. He tested me constantly; I was watertight. After thousands of years as enemies, I knew him inside out, down to the moles on his back. “I believe you. Actually, seeing you for the first time, my heart raced and palms sweated. I must have had deep love for you.” That… I looked away guiltily. That was probably deep killing intent… In the days that followed, he did the cooking, negotiating with the fake people I created to buy groceries. Seeing him unsuspicious, I smirked. My illusion arrays were getting more realistic. “Yunqian, how about steamed bass today?” I shuddered, forcing a perfect smile. “Sure, whatever husband makes is delicious.” Once he entered the kitchen, I almost puked. Since believing we were married, he cared for me in every way. Calling me “Yunqian” and “Wife” made my scalp tingle. The sacrifice was great, but thinking of his shattered Dao heart and him at my mercy, I endured. At night, I tugged his sleeve, swaying and acting coquettish. He repeated, “Memories haven’t returned, cannot be improper,” and took a candle to the study. I lay lazily on the bed, yawning. I knew it. Sylas was rigorously, even pedantically, proper. No way he’d really sleep in the same bed. I just found his awkwardness amusing and wanted to tease him. Seeing the usually cold Eastern Sword Saint flustered and shy was truly interesting. 4 As time passed, I checked his Dao heart every night. Stable as a tortoise shell. I tried harder—holding hands, acting cute, almost burrowing into his arms. That damn Dao heart remained firm. Maybe… he didn’t like my type? I looked in the mirror. Peach blossom eyes, ripples of charm in a smile. Unbeatable allure. Clothes were a bit conservative, but I was reluctant to sacrifice that much. Why not send someone else? Isn’t it said a wife is worse than a concubine? So one day, a pure, fragile woman tripped and fell towards him. He retreated quickly. The beauty hit the ground hard. Hiding in the dark, my heart ached. That puppet was made of top-tier materials. That night, I remolded her face—flamboyant, bright, in red robes. Failed again. I tried repeatedly. He ignored them and walked away. Are puppets just puppets, lacking soul? I hooked her chin. She gave me a weeping, complaining look that melted my heart. My puppets were absolutely fine. Is he the problem? Does he like men? That’s easy. I summoned Xu Zizhen, forcing him to change clothes until one look satisfied me. Ethereal white robes, tight waist, handsome and jade-like. I stroked my chin, scanning him. Xu Zizhen hugged his arms, shivering. “Master… what are you doing? I’m your own disciple…” “My dear disciple, settling my lifelong enemy depends on you.” So Xu Zizhen entered the city as a distant cousin and stayed with us. Sylas didn’t reject him but wasn’t warm either. A day passed with no progress. I called Xu Zizhen to discuss tactics. While the two strategists whispered, Sylas suddenly pushed the door open. “Food’s ready. Yunqian must be hungry.” I exchanged a guilty look with Zizhen, then gauged Sylas’s expression. He probably didn’t hear much. During the meal, Xu Zizhen winked at me, signaling: “Sylas cooks pretty well.” I glared at him: “Focus on business!” Sylas was oblivious to our eye signals. But that night, he didn’t go to the study. “Your cousin is here. If I sleep in the study, he’ll think we’re discordant.” He walked towards the bed. My fake smile almost cracked. This… this… “What’s wrong, Yunqian? You look pale.” He leaned over, gently stroking my cheek, thumb rubbing the corner of my lips repeatedly. Hidden darkness in his eyes, staring at me dead on. My hackles rose. “Nothing… just used to being alone these days…” “Is that so…” His eyes still probed, even aggressive. Is he suspicious?! How much did he hear? His thumb pressed heavily on my lips, grinding. A test… I endured the discomfort of violation. “Husband, you’re hurting me.” I dodged lightly, but he grabbed my jaw and turned me back. His lowered lashes trembled, but his fingers were worse, probing inside. “These days… I’ve wronged you, wife.” He leaned in slowly, eyes fixed on me, and kissed. Numbness shot up my spine. Being kissed by a nemesis—the impact was intense. I gripped the sheets, controlling my expression, resisting the urge to push him away. At first just rubbing, then he started nibbling, biting my lips lightly. Filled with aggression, like a beast confirming its prey’s scent. Seemingly thirsty, he sucked like drawing water, changing angles, kissing harder. I struggled, only to be lifted and placed on his lap, him burying his head to kiss. Breathing heavily, the assault intensified, tongue tip trying to enter. I clamped shut. He pinched the back of my neck, coaxing: “Yunqian, open up, let me in.” Heartbeat in chaos. Meeting his eyes burning with dark fire, I felt danger. “Didn’t Yunqian say we were a loving couple? Why reject intimacy?” … Just a kiss! I’m not afraid of his pure Yang body. I kissed back with the resolve of death. Oof… teeth clashed. “Silly Yunqian…” He chuckled, holding my neck and kissing, breath scorching, demanding endlessly. My lips were swollen, clothes rumpled. Checking his Dao heart again… still stable… SYLAS!!!

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I’m the top dog trainer in the business, hired by a CEO’s wife to “train” her son. “We’re away on business, so my son will let you in.” When the door opened, I was dumbfounded. Whose “child” is 6’3″ with an eight-pack? Suddenly, a bullet screen floated above my head: [This nanny is so pitiful. Killed by the male lead two days into the job.] [If the male lead doesn’t turn dark, how can the female lead’s ‘Little Miss Sunshine’ power shine?] After training him for a month, I took the money and left. The young master swore he’d never forgive me. But when we met again, he pressed against me aggressively: “Sister, aren’t you going to feed me? Your puppy is starving.” 1 Ethan Ye, the son of a top CEO in the capital, wasn’t eating, sleeping, or talking. He had self-destructive tendencies, and no expert could fix him. Hearing I had a way with dogs, Mrs. Ye decided to try anything. Her assistant found me, offering five million dollars for the job. I needed money urgently, so I agreed without hesitation. “We’ve hired many experts before, but the child is too naughty and drives them away in a few days.” “It’s okay, ma’am. I can try.” “We’re away on business recently. The child will let you in. Sorry for the trouble, Miss Du.” I went to the villa area as agreed. I knocked for half an hour before anyone answered. The door opened, and I was dumbfounded. Whose “child” is 6’3″ with an eight-pack? Before I could appreciate the view, a bullet screen appeared above my head: [This nanny is so pitiful. Killed by the male lead two days into the job.] [If the male lead doesn’t turn dark, how can the female lead’s ‘Little Miss Sunshine’ power shine?] Nanny? Are they talking about me? Is this a novel world, and I’m going to be killed by Ethan Ye in two days? I wasn’t having it. Who do they think I am? Running wasn’t an option. The aggressive dogs I’ve trained could line up from here to France. Besides, Mrs. Ye offered too much money. Enough for me to take a gamble. 2 [Bet five cents this woman won’t survive tonight.] [Bet she goes offline directly. Fast forward to Little Miss Sunshine’s entrance, thanks!] Ignoring the comments, I sat opposite Ethan. He was curled up on the sofa gaming, dark circles under his eyes, looking like he hadn’t slept for days. “Hello, your mother asked me to take care of you. Let me know what you like to eat.” He didn’t look up: “Scram. Don’t annoy me. Another person in the house means I have to wear clothes.” Ugh, difficult indeed. “It’s okay,” I smiled professionally, “Actually, you don’t have to wear anything…” Ethan’s hand shook, and his game character died instantly. “Which agency are you from? My mom hired someone this unprofessional?” He was speechless. “I’m not a nanny.” “Then what do you do, master?” “Dog trainer.” … The air froze for three seconds. “Fuck,” he jumped up, face red with anger, “Taking me for a dog?” “No,” I looked at him seriously for a moment, “You’re not as well-behaved as a dog.” At least dogs at home don’t curse. He stormed off, slamming his bedroom door, skipping dinner. The bullet screen exploded: [Damn, the young master’s ears are red! This woman has something.] [Shippers shut up! This woman is annoying. Male lead, make her scram!] I watched them argue for a while, then reheated dinner. This mansion was too empty and quiet; hearing a few barks was better than nothing. I carried the tray upstairs, straight to his room. The lock had been removed, leaving a black hole. A gentle push opened it. Ethan was boxing inside, bare-handed. His knuckles were bloody from the nylon sandbag. Seeing me enter, he was impatient. “Get out.” I ignored him, putting the food on the table: “Refuel? Afraid you’ll be beaten to death by air.” He finally stopped, mocking me: “Entering without knocking? Aren’t you afraid I’m doing something shameful?” “Your door is broken. Does knocking make a difference?” Anyone can roast. Whoever gets triggered loses. Perhaps poking a sore spot, Ethan froze, then bang, locked himself in the bathroom. “Scram, and take your food.” 3 Not eating? Easy fix. I hid all the snacks in the house, cooked at fixed times, and removed the bowl if he didn’t eat on time. [She dares starve our young master? Little Miss Sunshine feeds him mouth-to-mouth.] [Evil woman has a death wish? Waiting for the young master to turn dark and stab her.] [Actually, I don’t want him to turn dark… but the supporting female character definitely deserves to die.] After a few days, forget the comments, even I was scared. Scared of starving Ethan to death. Lunchtime again. I cooked and knocked on the door. “Let’s talk, okay?” “Not eating.” His voice was weak. “I can fix locks. If you eat properly, I’ll fix your door lock.” Silence inside, then a sneer: “You fix it today, my mom removes it tomorrow. Is this game fun?” “I have my ways, as long as you eat.” I went downstairs to wait. Mealtime was almost over, and he hadn’t come down. Twenty minutes later, I was about to give up. The door opened suddenly. Ethan, in loose pajamas, came down, sat opposite me reluctantly, and started shoveling rice. ! I was stunned. Not a dream, right? He looked so obedient eating, like my old Alaskan Malamute. Professional habit kicking in, I reached out and rubbed his head: “Good boy.” Ethan froze, ears turning blood-red upon realizing what happened. “Are you sick?!” He threw the bowl and sulked on the sofa. I regretted it instantly. Doomed. He probably won’t eat my cooking again. After a while, just as I was about to clear the table, he suddenly sat back down and started eating. Head buried low, occasionally leaning towards my hand. Bullet screen spam: [No way, is he asking for head pats?] [Side character, did you quit drugs? How can you resist petting him?] [Young Master: Angry, but want pets.jpg] Wait, pet what? I was confused. Ethan’s behavior was profound, so I didn’t dare move. Predictably, he got angry again, dropped a “Tastes awful,” and left. 4 Ethan ate on time for days. Mrs. Ye was delighted and agreed to my request to fix the lock. After the locksmith installed it, I gave the key to Ethan. “See? I keep my word!” He sized me up: “Why help me?” “For the five million.” … Click! Locked from the inside. Hard to please. Ethan wasn’t starving anymore, so I tackled his insomnia. Back at the kennel, a Beagle barked all night. We took turns running it up the mountain to chase rats. It slept like a log afterward. But Ethan isn’t a small animal. I can’t tie him up and drag him out. Amidst the bullet screen chatter, the doorbell rang. A girl in a floral dress, sweetly sickening, stood there. “Hello Auntie, I’m Chloe Cheng, Ethan’s childhood sweetheart!” [Ahhh, Little Miss Sunshine is here! Our young master is saved.] [Side character die quick, don’t block the camera!] Chloe made herself at home: “If Brother Ethan isn’t eating, Auntie can cook for me!” She skipped upstairs but shrieked seeing the new lock. “How could you change his lock,” Chloe gasped, “People like him can’t have closed doors. Are you professional?” “If something happens inside, you can’t pay for it in several lifetimes.” The comments defended Chloe: [Ahhh, Sister Bao protecting her husband. The young master is unstable; this nanny is crazy.] [Did the story change? In the intro, the heroine walks in on the young master bathing because the door was broken.] [Thanks upstairs. Side character ruined the famous scene. I’m furious.] Seriously? Prolonged privacy invasion easily destroys a sense of security. Before I could speak, Chloe teared up: “Brother Ethan is so pitiful. Luckily I’m here.” She pulled out her phone: “I’ll tell Auntie Ye to find a new nanny. Pack your things and resign.” “Not me…” I wanted to explain. If she kicks me out now, I lose the final payment. “You have no right to make her leave.” Ethan suddenly opened the door, hair dripping wet. “And she’s not Auntie. She’s Sister.”

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“Mortgage Payment Due: $4,000. Payee Account: Sarah Jennings.” I stared at the text message that had just flashed across my husband’s phone screen. Sarah Jennings. His ex-wife’s name. “Four thousand?” I held the phone up, forcing him to look at the screen. “Who are you paying this to?” David Miller’s face went immediately pale. “Lily, wait, I can explain…” “Explain what?” I cut him off. “We’ve been married for five years. You told me your salary was $7,000 a month, and you gave me $2,000 for household expenses.” I laughed, a sharp, cold sound. “So, where did the other $5,000 go? No, wait. It’s $4,000 for her. What is your actual salary, David?” He said nothing. I looked at him, my heart already freezing in my chest. Five years into our marriage, I discovered my husband was paying his ex-wife’s mortgage. 1 I looked at that text message for a full three minutes. Mortgage Payment Due: $4,000. Payee Account: Sarah Jennings. Principal Remaining: $432,000. Term Remaining: 15 years. Sarah Jennings. David Miller’s ex-wife. The woman he divorced six years ago. “Lily, please listen to me…” David reached out, trying to retrieve his phone. I took a step back. “Tell me what?” “There’s a reason for this… this whole arrangement.” “What reason?” He fell silent again. I looked at the man standing in front of me. Five years married. A three-year-old son. I genuinely believed we had built a life, a home. “David Miller.” I used his full name. “Tell me, what is your salary?” “Seven… seven thousand.” “Liar.” I opened his banking app. He had a recurring automatic transfer set up on his checking account. The 15th of every month: a transfer of $4,000, recipient: Sarah Jennings. Setup date: March 2019. March 2019. We got married in February 2019. Meaning, starting the second month of our marriage, he had been paying his ex-wife’s mortgage. “Five years.” My voice was unnervingly calm. “Five years.” David kept his head down. “How much?” He wouldn’t answer. I did the math myself. $4,000 multiplied by 12 is $48,000. $48,000 multiplied by 5 is $240,000. Two hundred forty thousand dollars. “Two hundred forty thousand dollars,” I articulated the number. “You’ve paid $240,000 toward her mortgage.” David finally looked up. “Lily, I owe her.” I was stunned. “What did you say?” “When we divorced, I was the one in the wrong,” he mumbled. “We bought the house together, but it was only in her name. I walked away with nothing, but I promised to help her with the mortgage.” “You promised to help her?” “Yes.” “Then why did you marry me?” He was silent. “David, why did you marry me?” My voice rose. “If you owed her, if you were going to pay her mortgage, why did you marry me? Why did you let me pinch every penny to make ends meet?” “Lily…” “Two thousand dollars a month!” I cut him off. “You gave me a $2,000 allowance, forcing me to budget down to the last dime! I had to buy the cheapest groceries and wait for sales to buy our son new clothes!” I laughed again, this time with pure bitterness. “I thought you just had a low salary. I thought we were struggling together. I never once complained.” “I know…” “You know what?” I looked straight at him. “Do you know how I’ve lived for the last five years? When my mother was hospitalized, I asked you for five thousand dollars, and you said we were broke. I had to borrow it myself.” “I really was tied up with finances at the time.” “Tied up?” I laughed out loud. “You were sending your ex-wife four thousand dollars every month, and you told me you were tied up?” David stopped talking. The living room was completely silent. I stood there, looking at the man I had lived with for half a decade. His face was utterly foreign to me. “What is your real salary?” I asked again. He pressed his lips together. “Tell me!” “…Twelve thousand.” Twelve thousand dollars. Not seven thousand. Twelve thousand. He earned $12,000 a month, gave his ex-wife $4,000, and gave me $2,000. Where did the remaining $6,000 go? I opened his other banking account. Another card. Balance: $23,916. Last year’s transaction history: Video game in-app purchases, liquor store tabs, golf club fees, networking dinners… I turned the phone off. “David Miller.” “Yeah.” “I need to be alone right now.” I turned and walked into the bedroom. Just as the door closed, I heard him say from the hallway: “Lily, we need to talk this through…” I didn’t answer. Lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Five years of marriage. Every penny I had saved. He had taken, to pay the mortgage for another woman. The tears finally came. But I didn’t make a sound. I was only thinking one thing: What do I do now? 2 The next day, David took the day off work. He woke up early and made breakfast. “Lily, please eat something.” He stood at the bedroom door, holding a bowl of oatmeal. “Let’s talk.” I didn’t move. “Lily…” “David.” I sat up. “Why did you and Sarah divorce?” He paused. “…Irreconcilable differences.” “Be specific.” He put the bowl down and sat on the edge of the bed. “We had just bought the house, and the pressure was high. She got pregnant, and I wasn’t supportive enough. Later… after the baby was born, I was so busy with work that I was constantly away. She was raising the child alone and felt neglected.” “So you cheated?” “No!” He denied it fiercely. “I didn’t cheat. We just… we fought a lot. She was the one who filed for divorce.” “She filed?” “Yes.” He lowered his head. “When we divorced, she didn’t ask for anything but the house. I felt I had failed her, so I promised to keep paying the loan.” “Did your parents know about this arrangement?” He nodded. I smiled. “So, the whole family knew, and you only kept it a secret from me?” “Lily, I was afraid you would overthink things…” “Overthink?” I looked at him. “David, do you really think I’m overthinking this?” He didn’t speak. I got up to wash my face. I saw him follow me in the mirror, standing in the bathroom doorway. “Lily, I know I was wrong about this. But my feelings for you are real. I married you because I love you.” “You love me?” I turned around. “You love me, so you lied to me for five years?” “I didn’t lie. I just… didn’t disclose it.” “Didn’t disclose it?” I laughed. “You told me your salary was $7,000, when it was $12,000. You said we had no money, but you were sending your ex-wife $4,000 every month. That’s not lying?” “I…” “David, one more question.” “Go ahead.” “How old is the child you had with Sarah?” His face shifted. “…Eight years old.” “Eight years old.” I nodded. “You divorced six years ago. The child was two then. Now he’s eight.” “Yeah.” “How many times have you seen your son in those eight years?” He was silent for a long time. “…Not many.” “How many is ‘not many’?” “…Two or three times a year.” “Two or three times a year.” I repeated. “David, you pay your ex-wife’s mortgage because of ‘debt.’ How much do you owe your son? How many times have you even seen him?” He still didn’t speak. “Or is it that…” I looked at him pointedly. “This isn’t about debt at all. It’s about something else?” “What else?” “You know perfectly well.” I turned and walked out of the bathroom. He pursued me. “Lily, you’re imagining things. Sarah and I haven’t been in touch.” “Haven’t been in touch?” I stopped. “Then what’s the encrypted photo album on your phone for?” His face went white. “You… you looked?” “I didn’t look,” I said. “But I’m about to.” He stood there, frozen. I held out my hand. “Let me see.” “Lily…” “David, if you don’t let me see it, I will assume you are still involved with her.” He hesitated for a few seconds. Then he took out his phone and opened the password-protected folder. There were over a hundred photos inside. All of a little boy. From the age of two or three up to seven or eight. “Is this… your son?” “Yes,” his voice was very low. “She… she sends them to me periodically.” I scrolled through them. Underneath some photos were screenshots of text exchanges. “David, Little Sam is walking now.” “David, Sam started kindergarten.” “David, Sam is asking when you’ll come to see him.” The most recent one was two months ago: “David, Sam has a fever, I can’t handle this alone.” Below it was David’s reply: “I’m traveling this week. I’ll come see him when I get back.” I put the phone down. “David Miller.” “Yes.” “You told me you two weren’t in touch.” He kept his head down. “You call this ‘not in touch’?” “It’s just… it’s just about the boy.” “Just about the boy?” I smiled. “David, do you remember when our son had a fever last week? I called you, and you said you were in a meeting and hung up.” His expression darkened. “You send tender messages to your ex-wife’s child, but what about ours?” “I didn’t…” “You did.” I cut him off. “David, you absolutely did. You favor them.” I grabbed my purse. “Where are you going?” “To work.” “Lily…” “David, I need to cool off. We will talk about this again tonight.” I walked out the door. When I reached the corner of our street, I called my best friend, Jess. “Jess, do you know anyone who can help me run a title search on a property?” “What’s going on?” “I need to find out whose name is actually on that house of David’s ex-wife.” The line was silent for a few seconds. “Lily, are you… did you find something out?” “Yeah.” “Damn it,” Jess swore. “I’ll look into it. Give me a minute.” I hung up the phone and stood on the sidewalk. The spring air felt cool. I was contemplating one thing: If that house really was in the ex-wife’s name alone. Then the $240,000 over five years… I had been paying her mortgage for her? 3 That afternoon, Jess sent me a text. “Found it. The house is in The Heights, 2,000 square feet, registered owner: Sarah Jennings.” Sarah Jennings. The ex-wife’s name. “What about the mortgage details?” “Monthly payment is $4,200. Six years paid. Loan applicant is Sarah Jennings, but there’s a co-signer on the payments.” “Who?” “David Miller.” I stared at the screen. Co-signer. This meant he wasn’t just “helping”; he was legally designated as a joint payor. “Anything else?” “Yeah. The house was bought in 2017, down payment was $150,000. Guess where the down payment came from?” “Where?” “A wire transfer of $75,000, sender: David Miller. The memo says ‘Down Payment Contribution.’” I froze. “Seventy-five thousand?” “Yup. March 2017. David wired $75,000 to Sarah Jennings, labeled ‘Down Payment.’” 2017. They hadn’t divorced yet. I hadn’t even met David yet. “Lily, are you okay?” “I’m fine.” “Maybe… you should come over?” “No. I need to be alone for a bit.” I hung up and sat down on a bench outside my office building. My mind was a mess. $75,000 down payment from him. $4,200 monthly payments from him. Six years paid off. Meaning, David and his ex-wife bought the house while they were married, he put up the down payment, and he was the one making the mortgage payments. But the house was registered only in her name. And when they divorced, the ex-wife “didn’t ask for anything but the house.” Ha. Didn’t ask for anything. Except the house he paid for, and which he was still paying off. I laughed out loud. A passerby glanced at me. I didn’t know what I was laughing at. Maybe I was laughing at my own stupidity. Five years married, and I thought I had a decent, honest husband. Low salary, but hard-working and reliable. $2,000 a month for expenses—not much, but enough to get by. I never imagined… He was financially supporting another woman. No, not another woman. His ex-wife. What did this even qualify as? Emotional infidelity? Financial infidelity? Or had he simply never truly left his first marriage? My phone rang. It was David. “Lily, where are you? Mom wants to come over for dinner tonight, can you…” “David,” I cut him off. “Yeah?” “Your mother knows you’re paying Sarah’s mortgage, doesn’t she?” He was silent for a few seconds. “…She knows.” “And what did she say?” “She… she feels that since I owe Sarah, I have to repay that debt.” “Owe her?” I laughed bitterly. “David, you put up the $75,000 down payment on that house. Did you know that?” He didn’t speak. “You knew, didn’t you?” “…Yes.” “And you still call it ‘owing her’? You put the down payment, you pay the mortgage, the house is in her name, she got the house in the divorce, and you keep paying the mortgage—that’s you owing her?” “Lily, you don’t understand…” “Don’t understand what?” “I… I was the one who first suggested divorce.” I was stunned. “You filed for divorce? You told me she filed!” He paused for a very long time. “…I lied to you.” “What did you lie about?” “I was the one who filed. Because… because I had met you.” My head spun. “David Miller, say that again?” “I met you first, and then… then I filed for divorce.” “Are you saying… you cheated?” “It wasn’t cheating! We were just… just talking, we hadn’t done anything physical!” “David.” “Yeah?” “You told me you divorced Sarah because of ‘irreconcilable differences.’ You told me she filed for divorce. You told me you didn’t cheat.” I paused. “What else have you lied to me about?” “Lily, I never meant to deceive you…” “Never meant to deceive me?” I scoffed. “David, you lied to me about your salary. How can you have the nerve to say you ‘never meant to deceive me’?” “I was afraid you’d overthink things…” “Overthink?” I stood up. “David, you paid your ex-wife a total of $240,000. You gave me a $2,000 allowance a month. You made me budget every penny, and when my mother was hospitalized, you said we were broke—what do you think I’m overthinking?” He kept his head down, speechless. “Your mother doesn’t need to come over tonight,” I said. “I don’t want to see anyone.” I hung up the phone. Sitting on the bench, watching the traffic pass. Only one thought occupied my mind: David Miller, who the hell did I marry?

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Chapter 1: The Turnpike to Nowhere The Honda Civic smelled like a locker room that had been marinating in Red Bull and cheap cologne for three days. We were somewhere on the New Jersey Turnpike, a stretch of asphalt that seemed to exist in a perpetual state of grey twilight. To our left, the industrial smokestacks of Elizabeth churned out white plumes that merged with the overcast sky. To our right, an endless blur of marshland and power lines. “You can’t be a virgin forever, Owen. It’s un-American. It’s practically treason against the Founding Fathers.” Mike was shouting from the driver’s seat, trying to be heard over the bass-heavy dubstep remix rattling the car’s blown-out speakers. He was drumming his hands on the steering wheel, fueled by a mixture of caffeine and the manic energy of a twenty-year-old on Spring Break. I was wedged in the backseat, my knees pressed against the cooler. I was the “Third Wheel” of this expedition. Mike and Jason were roommates, gym rats, and the kind of guys who used the word “legendary” to describe a ham sandwich. I was the quiet one. The English major. The guy who brought a paperback copy of The Great Gatsby to a party school because I preferred reading about other people’s tragic parties rather than attending my own. “I’m not a virgin,” I lied, my voice flat, staring out the window at a billboard for a personal injury lawyer. “I just don’t think we need to pay for it. It feels… transactional.” “Everything is transactional, bro!” Jason twisted around in the passenger seat, grinning like a shark. He was wearing neon wayfarers, even though the sun had set an hour ago. “College is a transaction. You pay tuition, you get a degree. Dating is a transaction. You buy dinner, you get affection. This? This is just cutting out the middleman. It’s efficient.” “It’s a massage,” Mike corrected him, checking his hair in the rearview mirror. “A Happy Ending massage. It’s cultural. It’s relaxation. We’ve been studying for midterms for two weeks. We deserve to be pampered.” I didn’t want to be pampered. I wanted to be back in my dorm room, listening to The National, staring at my phone, and agonizing over whether or not to text Sarah. Sarah. Even thinking her name made my chest ache. We grew up together in Oak Creek, West Virginia, a town so small you could hold your breath and drive through the whole thing. She was studying nursing at UVA now; I was at Rutgers. We were trapped in that purgatory between “childhood best friends” and “something more.” We texted every day—memes, song lyrics, complaints about the cafeteria food. But I had never made a move. I was terrified that if I tried to cross that line, the ice would break, and I’d drown. “We’re going to The Red Velvet,” Mike announced, swerving across three lanes of traffic to hit the exit ramp for Atlantic City. “I did the research. Deep web forums, Reddit threads. It’s legit. No cops. Clean. And the talent? Top tier.” “Top tier,” Jason echoed, fist-bumping the air. My stomach churned. It wasn’t just nerves; it was a profound sense of wrongness. I felt like a character in a tragedy who sees the cliff coming but can’t take his foot off the gas. We hit the Atlantic City limits as night fully descended. The casinos rose up from the boardwalk like glittering, electric monoliths—The Borgata, Caesar’s, The Hard Rock. They promised glamour. They promised luck. But Mike didn’t drive toward the lights. He turned the wheel sharply, guiding us away from the ocean, away from the tourists, and into the shadow of the city. We drove past pawn shops with barred windows, liquor stores with flickering neon signs, and rows of houses that looked like they were holding their breath. “Here we go, boys,” Mike whispered, killing the engine. We were parked in a cracked concrete lot behind a strip mall. The only light came from a buzzing, fuchsia sign above a blacked-out door: THE RED VELVET SPA. The silhouette of a woman on the sign looked less like a pin-up girl and more like a crime scene chalk outline. “I’ll stay in the car,” I said, gripping the door handle. “I’ll read. You guys go.” “No way,” Jason opened my door and dragged me out by the sleeve of my jacket. “One for all, all for one. You’re not ruining the vibe, Owen. You’re getting a massage, you’re getting released, and you’re going to thank us.” I stood on the pavement. The air smelled of salt, exhaust, and rotting garbage. I looked at the black door. It felt like a mouth waiting to swallow me. Chapter 2: The Antechamber of Purgatory The lobby of The Red Velvet was an assault on the senses. The walls were covered in flocked wallpaper that might have been elegant in 1980 but was now peeling at the corners, revealing the grey drywall underneath. The air was thick, humid, and smelled of cheap jasmine incense masking the underlying odor of bleach and stale cigarettes. A single ceiling fan wobbled overhead, clicking rhythmically: tick-tick-tick. Behind a high laminate counter sat the Gatekeeper. She was a woman of indeterminate age, though the deep lines etched around her mouth suggested she had lived three lifetimes already. Her hair was bleached a brutal, chemical blonde, pulled back into a tight bun. She wore a silk blouse that was too bright for the dim room. She was smoking a slim cigarette, tapping the ash into a ceramic cat figurine. She didn’t look up when we entered. She just exhaled a cloud of smoke and said, “IDs.” Mike and Jason stumbled forward, eager, handing over their driver’s licenses. I hung back, terrified she would see through me—not my age, but my soul. I felt like a child wearing his father’s coat. She glanced at the cards, her eyes scanning the dates with the precision of a barcode reader. She threw them back on the counter. “Hundred bucks for the room,” she rasped. Her voice sounded like tires crunching on gravel. “Cash only. Tip is between you and the girl. No rough stuff. No cameras. No phones. You break anything, you buy the whole building.” “Yes, ma’am,” Mike said, his bravado deflating slightly under her gaze. “Sit.” We sat on a vinyl sofa that was patched with duct tape. It let out a long, wheezing sigh as we settled onto it. I looked around the room. On the coffee table, there was a stack of magazines—Car and Driver, Cosmopolitan, and a few in a language I didn’t recognize. A plastic fern gathered dust in the corner. It was depressingly mundane. It didn’t look like a den of sin; it looked like a dentist’s waiting room in hell. “This is it,” Jason whispered, nudging me. “The point of no return.” I closed my eyes. I tried to summon an image of Sarah—her laugh, the way she crinkled her nose when she drank iced coffee. I tried to use her memory as a shield against the grime of this place. But the jasmine smell was too strong. It was seeping into my clothes, into my pores. The door to the back hallway opened with a squeak. The “Mamasan” clapped her hands twice. Sharp. Loud. “Girls! Line up!” I expected glamour. I expected the airbrushed fantasy Mike had promised. What walked out was a tragedy. Five women filed into the lobby. They ranged in age from barely legal to mid-thirties. They were wearing silk robes, short kimonos, or lingerie sets that looked itchy and cheap. Their makeup was heavy, designed to be seen under red light bulbs, not the harsh fluorescent strip of the lobby. They didn’t smile. They didn’t seduce. They stood in a line, shifting their weight from foot to foot, looking at the floor, at their nails, at the ceiling—anywhere but at us. They looked bored. They looked tired. “Pick,” the Mamasan ordered. Mike stood up, regaining his confidence. He pointed to a tall woman with dark hair and a bored expression. “Her.” The woman nodded and walked toward the hallway without a word. Jason stood up. He pointed to a blonde girl who couldn’t have been older than nineteen. She had a butterfly tattoo on her collarbone. “I’ll take the butterfly.” She followed him. That left me. And the last girl in the line. She was smaller than the others. She was standing at the far end, near the plastic fern. She was wearing a grey oversized hoodie over her outfit, the hood pulled up, casting her face in shadow. She was wearing Converse sneakers—dirty, white high-tops with writing on the rubber toes. She looked out of place. She looked like she was waiting for a school bus, not a customer. “You take Number 25,” the Mamasan barked at me, lighting another cigarette. Number 25 didn’t look up. She just turned on her heel and walked toward the hallway. “Go on, tiger,” the Mamasan sneered at me. My legs felt like lead. I stood up, clutching my wallet. I walked into the hallway. The walls were painted a suffocating shade of maroon. The carpet was sticky. I followed the grey hoodie into the dark. Chapter 3: The Red Room Room 25 was the size of a prison cell. It contained a massage table covered in a scratchy pink towel, a small sink in the corner, and a single metal folding chair. A red lightbulb hung from the ceiling, casting the room in a sickly, feverish glow. There were no windows. The air was colder here, frigid, as if the building itself was dead. Number 25 walked to the sink. She turned on the tap. The pipes groaned. “You want a shower first, honey?” she asked. I stopped dead in the doorway. My hand was still on the doorknob. My heart missed a beat. Then another. The voice. It wasn’t the voice of a seductress. It wasn’t the harsh rasp of the Mamasan. It was soft. And it had a twang. A specific, rolling lilt that belonged to the Blue Ridge Mountains. A sound I hadn’t heard since I left West Virginia two years ago. “Uh… sure,” I managed to squeak. I stepped inside and closed the door. The latch clicked, sealing us in. I went into the tiny bathroom cubicle attached to the room. I didn’t shower. I just turned the water on and stared at myself in the dirty mirror. My face was pale, green under the bad lighting. I looked terrified. Just get through this, I told my reflection. Pay her. Sit there for an hour. Don’t touch her. Make up a story for Mike and Jason. Just survive. I turned off the water. I took a deep breath. I opened the bathroom door. She was sitting on the edge of the massage table now. She had taken off her sneakers. She was scrolling through her phone, the blue light illuminating her chin. She had pushed her hood down. I stepped forward. The floorboard creaked. She looked up. Under the harsh red light, the heavy makeup couldn’t hide the structure of her face. The slight bump in her nose from a softball injury in eighth grade. The way her left eye was slightly smaller than her right. The faint scar on her chin. I felt the world tilt on its axis. The room spun. “Misty?” I whispered. She didn’t react at first. She squinted, trying to focus on my face in the shadows. She looked annoyed, waiting for a customer to stop being weird. Then, I stepped into the light. Her phone slipped from her hand. It hit the floor with a loud thud. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her eyes went wide, vast, filled with a panic so raw it was physically painful to witness. The blood drained from her face, leaving the rouge standing out on her cheeks like bruises. “Owen?” she gasped. It was barely a sound. It was an exhalation of horror. She scrambled off the table, backing away until her back hit the cold wall. She pulled her hoodie tight, crossing her arms over her chest, trying to make herself disappear. “Oh my god,” she hyperventilated. “Oh my god. No. No, no, no.” “It is you,” I said, my brain misfiring, unable to process the data. “Misty. From Oak Creek.”

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