Category: English

After three years together, Xander set a rule: we couldn’t hold hands for more than three minutes a day. He said we had to meet at the summit—that we absolutely couldn’t let ourselves get distracted before the SAT exams. I believed him. I suppressed my desires and stayed up late studying with him. The night the scores came out, there was a class party. I went to find him with my results—scores high enough to get into the same university as him. But at the bar, I caught him pinning Summer, the worst student in our class, against the wall, kissing her with wild, unrestrained passion. Summer gasped and pushed him away: “Xander, your girlfriend will be angry if she finds out…” Xander laughed carelessly: “She’s obedient as a dog. I just need to buy her a gift and say a few sweet words, and she’ll be fine. She can’t leave me.” Outside the door, my hands and feet went ice cold. My heart hurt so much I couldn’t breathe. I thought he had a low sex drive. Turns out he just wasn’t interested in me. I forced back the tears threatening to spill from my eyes and tore up that application form where I’d filled in the same choices as him, piece by piece.

I wiped away my tears, tossed the scraps into the trash, and walked back to our private room without looking back. Five minutes later, Xander and Summer pushed through the door one after the other. Xander’s expression was normal as he walked straight over to sit beside me, handing me a glass of water. “Have some water. Your voice sounded a bit hoarse from singing earlier.” I didn’t take it. My eyes were fixed on the faint red mark at the corner of his mouth. He noticed my gaze and casually wiped the corner of his mouth with his sleeve. “What’s wrong? Is there something on my face?” He raised an eyebrow, his tone carrying a hint of indulgent helplessness. I felt nauseous. Before I could speak, a delicate cry suddenly came from the other end of the room. “Oh no!” Summer had fallen onto the sofa by the karaoke machine, her eyes rimmed with red. “I think I twisted my ankle. It hurts so much…” She clutched her ankle, but her gaze traveled over the crowd to land on Xander. Several guys immediately rushed over with concern. But Summer bit her lower lip and shook her head pitifully: “You don’t need to trouble yourselves. I’ll… I’ll just take a cab home.” Xander set down the water glass, his brow furrowing slightly. He stood up and turned to look at me. “Mia, it’s not safe for Summer to take a cab alone. Let me take her home.” I looked up at this face I’d loved for three years. “She just twisted her ankle, not broken her leg. Can’t the classmate take her?” A flash of impatience crossed his eyes, quickly suppressed. He reached out to ruffle my hair. “Come on, we’re all classmates. It’s just helping each other out.” “Don’t be so sensitive. Tomorrow I’ll go with you to submit your applications, and I’ll grab that Black Forest cake you love from my house, okay?” I turned my head away, avoiding his hand. This was the first time in three years I’d refused his touch. Xander’s hand froze in mid-air. “Xander, if Mia isn’t happy about it, forget it. I can manage on my own…” Summer grabbed the hem of his shirt, her voice choked with tears. Xander’s expression darkened. Without looking at me again, he gripped Summer’s arm and helped her up. “Let’s go. I’ll take you.” He didn’t give me a single extra word of explanation before walking out of the room supporting Summer. The moment the door closed, I heard classmates whispering: “Xander is way too good to Summer. I’m surprised Mia isn’t even mad?” When the party ended, it was already ten at night. I walked the streets alone. Passing by the corner convenience store that Xander and I used to frequent, my feet seemed nailed to the ground. Through the glass, I saw a young couple in school uniforms huddled together working on homework. The boy draped his jacket over the girl’s shoulders, saying something in a low voice. I stood in the wind, my nails digging deep into the soft flesh of my palms. The sharp pain came, and my eyes instantly rimmed red. But I bit my lip hard, refusing to let the tears fall. Back home, I turned on my computer by the light of the streetlamp streaming through the window. The screen lit up. In the center of the desktop was a folder named “MIT Sprint.” It contained scanned copies of every handwritten note Xander had made for me over these three years. My hand gripped the mouse, the cursor hovering over that folder for a full thirty seconds. Then I permanently deleted it. Just then, my phone on the desk suddenly lit up. It was a shopping link from Xander—a white floral dress. Immediately, a second message popped up. “Wear this dress tomorrow when we submit applications. I just bought it, it’ll look really good on you.” I stared at the product photo. This dress looked way too familiar. Last week, Summer had posted on Ins about receiving an early birthday gift—the exact same style. I pulled at the corner of my mouth in an extremely short, cold laugh. “I don’t want this so-called meeting at the summit anymore.”

“Mia, over here!” The next morning, outside the school hallway. Xander waved at me, holding a small cake box. A little flag was stuck in the box with the words: “See you at MIT.” I walked up to him, glanced at the cake, but didn’t take it. “What time did you get home last night after taking Summer back?” I looked into his eyes, my tone calm. Xander’s gaze flickered for a moment, the smile at the corner of his mouth slightly fading. “Around nine. Why?” I pulled out my phone, brought up a screenshot, and held it in front of him. “Then the message you sent her at 11:47 saying ‘home safe, remember to use the body wash I gave you’—were you sleepwalking when you sent that?” Last night after clearing the folder, I casually checked my social media feed. Summer had posted at 23:50 saying “Thanks Xander for taking me home, got the body wash.” Though she deleted it two minutes later, I’d already taken a screenshot. Xander panicked instantly, his fingers tightening on the edge of the cake box, but he quickly recovered. “Stop making everything into a big deal. We were stressed for three years in senior year—can’t I relax a bit?” “Or are you trying to control who I’m friends with too? Mia, when did you become so unreasonable?” Hearing these words, my mind flashed to the week before finals in second semester of junior year. Another guy in class had asked me to study together at the library on the weekend. When Xander found out, he gave me the cold shoulder for two whole days. In the end, I apologized first and deleted that guy’s contact, and only then did he return to normal. He had always held double standards. I’d just been too in love with him before, choosing selective blindness. “Say whatever you want.” I put away my phone and walked past him. He called after me: “Cool off for a bit. Fill in MIT computer science major for your application like we agreed. Don’t gamble with your future out of spite.” I stopped, looking back through the hallway’s glass window. Right in front of me, he answered a phone call. The name flashing on the screen was Summer. When he answered, the corners of his mouth turned up, his voice softened, his steps became light. Exactly like when he used to chase after me. I withdrew my gaze and walked alone into the classroom, sitting down at the computer. I logged into the application system. On the screen, the first choice field blinked with an empty cursor. I remembered when we first got together in freshman year, when Xander leaned on his desk and drew me a future plan. Freshman year, take photos together at the MIT entrance. Junior year, intern together. Senior year, he’d propose. I’d kept that draft paper tucked in my diary for three whole years. The mouse clicked. First choice: MIT Computer Science and Technology. I hit the backspace key. Cleared it and typed again. First choice: Harvard University, Law. The South. Two thousand miles away. This was my original dream when I started high school—the dream I’d personally abandoned to attend the same school as Xander. My finger hovered above the submit button. My hand was shaking. Not because I was hesitating, but because I suddenly realized that from this moment on, the boy who used to lean on his desk and draw me our future—he was truly dead. I clicked submit. Then I pulled out my backpack and extracted that future plan I’d saved for three years. I folded it once, then again. Then stuffed it into the paper bin in the corner of the classroom. As I left the classroom, Summer’s voice came from the end of the hallway. Around a corner, her voice floated over clearly. “Xander, I sneaked a bite of the cake you just bought for Mia… She won’t be mad, will she?” Then came Xander’s suppressed laughter: “You need to eat less sugar or your teeth will hurt again.” I carried my bag and left through the hallway’s other exit.

“Mia, why have you been ignoring Xander these past few days?” The first week after submitting applications, a classmate messaged me. I didn’t reply, just silenced my phone and tossed it on the bed. In the past, whenever we fought, as long as he gave me the cold treatment for three days, I’d be the first to back down. This time, Xander was clearly waiting again. I found an empty shoebox and packed all the things he’d given me into it. Handwritten problem sets, a cheap silver bracelet, sticky notes covered with physics formulas. When I got to the workbook from second semester of junior year, I opened the cover page. “Mia, I’ve organized the thought process for every wrong answer in this book. If you master them all, MIT is guaranteed. —Your Xander.” I ran my fingertip over the words “Your Xander.” Then I closed the book and put it in the shoebox. I picked up the packing tape, preparing to seal it. I didn’t cry, but when sealing the tape, I had to tear it three times before it broke. Because my fingers had completely lost their strength. On the third day, Xander finally sent me a message: “Been at my grandma’s in my hometown these past few days. Bad phone signal. Stop being mad and reply.” Below was a photo from his hometown. I still didn’t reply. That afternoon, I went to a bookstore downtown, planning to buy some travel guides for the South. While picking books on the second floor, my peripheral vision caught the first-floor café area. Xander, who said he was in his hometown, was sitting by the window helping Summer organize travel plans. On the table sat two milk teas, with two straws in Summer’s cup. I stood behind the bookshelf, my fingers crushing the corner of the book in my hand. Summer’s voice floated up clearly. “Xander, will Mia be upset that you came out with me?” “Is she still mad at you? Actually… my scores aren’t high enough for MIT either. You don’t need to worry about me.” Xander laughed lightly: “She’s so stubborn—where else would she go besides to me?” “She definitely filled in MIT. Don’t worry about it. After school starts in September, once she’s on my turf, I can just sweet-talk her a bit and it’ll be fine.” He paused, then added another line. “You’re different. I’m worried about you going to that community college alone. After I get settled, I’ll fly over to see you on weekends.” Summer giggled and tapped his hand. “But what about Mia?” “Her? She’s very sensible. Just buy her some flowers and she’ll be fine. Don’t worry!” I slowly released the crumpled book pages. I remembered the New Year’s Eve party in sophomore year, on the way home when Xander walked me back. I’d asked him: “If we ever fight, will you go comfort other girls?” Seventeen-year-old Xander had stopped and turned to look at me. Seriously and clumsily, he’d said: “Mia, I’ve given you all the patience I have in this lifetime. How could I have any left to give to someone else?” That was the best sweet talk I’d ever heard. Looking back now, it was just empty promises casually made by a teenage boy. I finally stopped feeling the pain. Because the boy who said those words and the person downstairs who said “just sweet-talk her a bit” weren’t the same person at all. I put the book back on the shelf, turned around, and went downstairs. I went home, grabbed that sealed shoebox, and stuffed it into the roadside clothing donation bin. Then I pulled out my phone and blocked his contact one by one. At the same moment, on the bookstore’s first floor. Xander’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it—not a message from Mia. He paid it no mind and continued helping Summer check travel routes. “I’ll give her the cold shoulder for two more days. When the acceptance letters come, I’ll take mine to her apartment building. I guarantee she’ll be moved to tears.” What he didn’t know was that below the group message he’d scrolled past, there was another one. The advisor had sent an @everyone notice in the grade group chat. “Please verify your application information, everyone. The system has been locked and cannot be changed.”

Mid-August, the acceptance letters finally arrived. Xander looked at the MIT acceptance letter in his hand, unable to suppress the smile spreading across his face. He pulled out his phone, took a close-up shot of the acceptance letter, and prepared to send it to Mia. He clicked send. A red exclamation mark popped up on the screen. Below it, a line of small text: “The other party has enabled friend verification. You are not yet their friend.” Xander froze for two seconds, then let out a scoffing laugh. He opened Ins. The message wouldn’t send. He called. It went straight to voicemail. But he didn’t panic. He even found it a bit amusing. This was the first time Mia had escalated the cold war to blocking him across all platforms. She must be really angry this time. But it didn’t matter. No matter how much of a fuss she made, wouldn’t she come back in the end? Xander switched back to the group chat and typed: “Mia blocked me, hahaha, she’s really going all out this time.” The group chat instantly exploded. “Xander, you’re so bold. You ignored her for a whole month and you’re not even worried?” “Mia’s such a good girl. If you just stand at her door with that MIT acceptance letter, won’t she just cry and throw herself into your arms?” He looked at these messages, in high spirits. He admitted that these past few months he’d gotten too close to Summer, and he felt a bit guilty. But that was different. Summer was just novelty. Mia was the one who truly understood him, who’d endured three years with him. He thought to himself that once school started, he’d definitely make it up to her properly. Xander rode his bike to the mall and walked into a flower shop. “Give me a bouquet of your most expensive red roses.” He tapped the counter. Payment: $399, more than double the $188 bouquet he’d bought for Summer. Next, he went to the jewelry counter and picked out a silver necklace with small diamonds. When he was paying, the clerk smiled and asked: “Sir, this necklace comes with free engraving. Would you like anything engraved?” Xander thought for a moment, his mind flashing to the words he’d written on the corner of their desk freshman year. “Engrave ‘Meet at the Summit.’” He thought this arrangement was absolutely perfect. He went home and changed into a dress shirt, checked his hair in the mirror, then pulled out his phone. He sent Summer a message: “Got something to do today. I’ll contact you tonight.” Summer instantly replied with a cute emoji. “Okay. Contact me when you’re done, Xander!” Xander smiled slightly and casually cleared his entire chat history with Summer. Just in case Mia wanted to check his phone when they met later. He rode his bicycle, holding that bouquet of gorgeous red roses with one hand. In the rear storage basket sat the cake box and the necklace box. He rode across the entire city toward Mia’s house. In his mind, he was already imagining Mia’s expression when she opened the door and saw all this. She’d probably keep a stern face at first, pretending to be unhappy. Then when she saw “Meet at the Summit” engraved on the necklace, her eyes would slowly redden. Finally, she’d reach out to take the flowers and quietly complain, “It’s good you know you were wrong.” She was always like this. For three years, he’d understood her too well. She couldn’t escape from the palm of his hand. Two blocks from Mia’s house, his phone started vibrating violently in his pocket. He stopped his bicycle, pulled out his phone and saw it was his high school teacher Mr. Johnson calling. Xander answered the phone, his tone relaxed and cheerful: “Mr. Johnson, I received the acceptance letter. MIT Computer Science. Thank you for three years of guidance…” Mr. Johnson cut him off directly. “Xander, I’m not calling about you. I’m asking you—what’s going on with Mia?” He frowned. “Mia? She should have received her MIT acceptance letter too, right?” A heavy sigh came from the other end of the phone: “With her scores, getting into MIT would have been more than enough. I even told other teachers you two would definitely go together.” “But when I got the final admissions list today…” Mr. Johnson’s voice suddenly rose. “Her application—she ended up choosing Harvard University Law School. That’s over two thousand miles from you.”

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When I pushed open the door to my bedroom, Toby was balanced precariously on a chair, his fingers straining toward the heavy metal lockbox perched on the very top shelf of my wardrobe. He didn’t expect me back so early. The sudden creak of the hinges sent a jolt through him; his grip slipped, and my $45,000 Patek Philippe hit the mattress with a sickening, muffled thud. His eyes darted everywhere but at me, his face flushing a guilty, blotchy red. “Gavin… I was… I just wanted to look at it…” I didn’t move. I just watched him. “My roommate was right,” Toby blurted out, his voice rising in a defensive whine. “You wouldn’t even let me borrow a watch for one night. You’ve always been looking for reasons to lock me out!” I didn’t waste breath on an argument. I walked straight over, grabbed a handful of his hair to steady him, and delivered a sharp, stinging backhand across his face. The sound of the slap cracked through the silence of the room like a gunshot. The commotion brought my parents running. They burst in from the living room, faces tight with alarm. Toby immediately collapsed onto the bed, clutching his cheek and wailing. “Dad! Mom! He hit me! Gavin’s trying to kill me!” My mother’s eyes didn’t go to Toby first. They landed on the Patek Philippe lying on the duvet. Her expression went from shock to a cold, stony gray. She turned on her heel, marched to the mudroom, and returned a second later with a heavy, thick-soled leather clog in her hand. She didn’t hand it to Toby to comfort him. She shoved it into my palm. “Your hand will get sore if you keep using your palm,” she said, her voice trembling with a terrifying, quiet rage. “Use this. And don’t you dare stop until I say so.” “We’ve given you everything, Toby,” she hissed, turning her gaze to my brother. “And you repay us by becoming a common thief in your own home? Gavin, hit him. Hard.” I gripped the shoe, the weight of it familiar and solid, and brought it down across Toby’s back. The dull whack echoed against the walls. 1 The sound of the impact was heavy, followed by Toby’s shrill cry as he scrambled across the floor. “Mom! Dad! Help me! He’s actually going to kill me!” My father stood in the doorway, his face a mask of granite. He reached back, gripped the handle, and shut the bedroom door firmly. He didn’t leave even a crack for the light to escape. “Do it,” Dad said, his voice dropping an octave. “If he’s stealing from his own blood today, he’ll be robbing strangers at knifepoint tomorrow. Better he learns the cost of it here than in a cell.” I swung again. Toby had been the baby of the family, coddled and cushioned from every sharp edge the world had to offer. These hits were the first real consequences he’d ever felt, and he was falling apart, sobbing and crawling toward the corner. I planted a boot firmly in the center of his back, pinning him to the carpet. “What did you do wrong?” I asked, looking down at him. Toby was a mess of tears and snot, shielding his head with his arms. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have touched your stuff! Gavin, please, just stop!” WHACK. I hit him again. “Liar,” I said coldly. “You said your roommate told you I was ‘locking you out.’ Give me the details. Who is he, what exactly did he say, and what were you going to do with my watch?” Toby flinched, refusing to look up. I increased the pressure of my boot on his spine until he let out a strangled yelp. He broke. “I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you! It’s Dexter! Dexter said he was going to a birthday party for some billionaire’s kid this weekend, and he’d look like a loser if he didn’t have the right accessories.” “He knew you had the Patek. He told me to ‘borrow’ it so he could make an impression!” My mother let out a sharp, derisive laugh. “He asked to borrow it, so you decided to steal it?” Toby looked up, his face swollen and tear-streaked, radiating a pathetic sense of martyrdom. “I wanted to ask Gavin… I did! But Dexter said Gavin is too arrogant and selfish, that he’d never say yes…” “He said we’re brothers. That what’s yours is mine. He said taking it for a few days isn’t ‘stealing’—it’s just sharing. He said if I didn’t help him, it was because I looked down on him for being a ‘scholarship kid.’ That I was just another elitist jerk…” I felt a wave of genuine nausea. A forty-five-thousand-dollar piece of horology, and this kid wanted to ‘borrow’ it to play dress-up. And if I said no, I was the villain. It was the kind of toxic, bottom-feeding logic that made my skin crawl, and Toby had swallowed it whole. 2 “So, because he’s poor, he’s entitled to my life’s work?” I asked. Toby sniffled, trying to find his footing. “Gavin, you don’t understand. Dexter’s had it rough. He scrapes by on nothing… he just has a lot of pride. He needs to make connections at that party. It could change his life.” “A watch is nothing to you,” Toby added, his voice regaining a sliver of that borrowed self-righteousness. “But for him, it’s a gateway to a future.” I kicked him square in the shoulder, flipping him onto his back. “Nothing to me?” I leaned down, grabbed his collar, and hauled him up until we were eye-to-eye. “I bought that watch with the first real profit from my startup. I worked twenty-hour days for three years to earn that ‘nothing.’ And you’re going to give away my blood and sweat so some parasite can ‘change his life’? You’re playing Robin Hood with your own brother’s heart?” My father stepped forward, pulling a chair from the desk and sitting down. When he spoke, the room felt smaller. “Toby,” Dad said. “This Dexter… does he make a habit of ‘borrowing’ from you?” Toby shook his head violently. “No! He’s a great guy! He… he gets me coffee when I’m pulling an all-night study session!” Mom walked over to Toby’s closet and yanked the door open. It was half-empty. His North Face parkas, his designer hoodies—all gone. She turned to his desk. The $3,000 MacBook Pro we’d bought him for his birthday two weeks ago was nowhere to be seen. “Where are your coats, Toby? Where is your laptop?” Mom’s voice was like a whip. Toby’s eyes went shifty. He stammered for a moment before whispering, “Dexter had an interview. He needed to look the part… and the laptop… we just share it in the dorm. He couldn’t afford a good one, and I didn’t want to be that guy. I didn’t want to be ‘the rich kid’.” I laughed, but there was no humor in it. I dropped the shoe. “Fine,” I said, dusting off my hands. I turned toward the door. “Gavin, where are you going?” Toby asked, panic lacing his voice. “To help your ‘best friend’ find his destiny.” I drove to Toby’s university dorm with a cold, vibrating clarity. It was 9:00 PM. The hallways of the sophomore wing were buzzing with the usual Friday night energy. I walked straight to Room 304 and didn’t bother knocking. I kicked the door so hard the frame groaned. BOOM. The door flew open. Three guys were inside. Two were sprawled on their bunks, staring at their phones; they nearly jumped out of their skins. The third guy was standing in front of a full-length mirror, admiring his reflection. He was wearing a limited-edition varsity jacket I’d bought Toby for his birthday. He was decked out in name brands from head to toe. On his desk sat Toby’s MacBook. This was Dexter. He froze, his brow furrowing as he processed my intrusion. “Who the hell are you? You ever hear of knocking?” I didn’t say a word. I crossed the room in three strides, grabbed a handful of his carefully styled hair, and slammed him down to the floor. Dexter let out a sharp, pathetic shriek as he hit the linoleum. The two roommates scrambled into the corners of their beds, eyes wide, terrified. I put my weight onto my boot, pinning Dexter’s shoulder to the ground, and gripped his chin, forcing him to look at me. “I’m Toby’s brother.” I stared into his eyes, my voice a low, lethal hum. “A forty-five-thousand-dollar Patek Philippe. You really had the balls to ask for that?” 3 Dexter’s face went ghost-white. He struggled under my boot, but I didn’t budge. “What are you doing? Get off me! Toby said I could have it! You can’t just break in here and assault me!” Dexter screamed. “Borrow it?” I leaned down and delivered a sharp slap to his face. The sound echoed in the cramped room. His lip split instantly, a bead of dark blood blooming on the corner of his mouth. “I paid for that watch. Toby doesn’t have the authority to lend out my property,” I said. Dexter’s eyes welled with tears. He realized he couldn’t overpower me, so he pivoted. He looked toward his roommates, his face contorting into a mask of fragile, victimized innocence. “Caleb, Sam! Call campus security! He’s crazy! Just because he has money doesn’t mean he can hunt us down! He’s bullying us because we’re not like him!” The roommate named Caleb looked conflicted. “Hey, man… maybe just let him up? Dexter said Toby was cool with it. Toby’s always giving him stuff. Can’t we just talk about this?” “Talk?” I looked at Caleb. “He manipulated a nineteen-year-old kid into committing grand larceny. That’s a felony. Are you sure you want to be the character witness for a felon?” Caleb shut his mouth and backed away, his face pale. Dexter was still squirming, clutching the varsity jacket like it was his own skin. “I didn’t steal anything! Toby wanted to help me! You’re just a psycho who’s jealous because Toby actually likes me!” I knelt down, my face inches from his. “Take it off.” Dexter blinked. “What?” “The jacket. I paid for it. Take it off. Now.” Dexter clutched the lapels, sobbing. “You’re a monster! Toby gave this to me! You can’t just strip me in front of everyone!” I didn’t argue. I just grabbed the collar and yanked. The expensive silk lining tore with a jagged, ugly sound, exposing his t-shirt underneath. Dexter screamed and curled into a ball, weeping as if I were the villain in a Dickens novel. “Help! He’s killing me! The rich guy is trying to kill me!” A crowd was already gathering in the hallway, students peeking in, the murmur of voices growing louder. Someone started recording on their phone. Seeing his audience, Dexter’s performance went into overdrive. He crawled toward the doorway, reaching out to the onlookers. “Please! Someone help! I just borrowed a jacket, and his brother broke in to beat me up! Do we even matter to people like him? Are we just trash to be stepped on?” The whispers from the hallway turned sharp. “That’s messed up.” “You can’t treat people like that, no matter how much money you have.” “Call the cops. This is assault.” I stood in the center of the room, cold and detached. I pulled a wet wipe from my pocket and slowly cleaned the blood from my knuckles. It was a classic move. The weaponized victimhood of the “underdog.” 4 He’d wrapped himself in the armor of poverty, using it as a get-out-of-jail-free card, banking on the collective empathy of the crowd. Just then, the dorm supervisor and the faculty advisor, Mr. Henderson, pushed through the throng. Henderson took one look at Dexter—bloody, disheveled, and weeping—and his face turned a bright, indignant red. “What is going on here? Who is responsible for this?” Dexter lunged for Henderson’s legs, sobbing into his slacks. “Save me! Toby’s brother… he just started hitting me! He tore my clothes! He’s trying to humiliate me in front of everyone!” Henderson glared at me. “You’re Toby’s family? How dare you bring this kind of violence onto this campus! Do you have any idea how many laws you’ve just broken?” I tossed the used wet wipe into the trash can. “Mr. Henderson, right? This boy spent the last four hours convincing my brother to steal a forty-five-thousand-dollar luxury watch from my home. As the owner of the property and the victim of an attempted theft, I’m here to recover my stolen goods and address a criminal. You have a problem with that?” Henderson blinked. The crowd went silent. “Forty-five thousand? Theft?” Henderson stammered, looking down at Dexter. Dexter shook his head frantically. “I didn’t! He’s making it up! I just asked Toby if I could wear it for a night! I didn’t know he was going to ‘steal’ it! I’m innocent!” Henderson looked relieved, shifting back into his “peacekeeper” role. “Look, Mr. …?” “Gavin.” “Mr. Gavin. This is clearly a misunderstanding. Dexter is one of our top scholarship students. He’s had a very difficult life, but he’s a hard worker. He wouldn’t do something like this.” “Since nothing was actually stolen, let’s keep this in the family. Bringing this kind of drama to the school is bad for everyone. Apologize to Dexter, cover his medical bills, and we can forget this ever happened.” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “Apologize? Pay him?” I walked over to Dexter’s desk. “Where’s the rest of the stuff Toby ‘gave’ you?” Dexter cowered behind Henderson, silent. I brushed past Henderson and looked at the desk. It wasn’t just the laptop. There were limited-edition collectible figures, high-end headphones, all things I’d bought for Toby over the years. I picked up a rare, $500 glass-sculpted figurine. CRASH. I dropped it. It shattered into a thousand glittering pieces. “What are you doing!” Henderson shouted. I didn’t answer. I picked up a pair of $600 Sennheiser headphones and snapped the headband like a twig. The room was filled with the rhythmic sound of destruction. Dexter watched the wreckage of his “gifts” with a look of pure agony. “You’re insane! Those are mine!” “Yours?” I stopped and looked him in the eye. “You’re a ‘scholarship student’ who qualified for the Pell Grant, yet you have over ten thousand dollars worth of luxury tech and collectibles on your desk. And you’re telling me they’re yours?” The students in the hall started murmuring again, but the tone had changed. They were looking at Dexter’s desk with new eyes. Dexter’s face went through a kaleidoscope of colors—red, white, then a sickly gray. “Toby didn’t want them! He gave them to me! Is it a crime for a poor person to have nice things?” 5 I was done listening to his lies. I walked to his wardrobe and ripped it open. A dozen designer shirts. Three pairs of Balenciaga sneakers. Every single one was a piece I had helped Toby pick out at the boutique. I tore them off the hangers and threw them into the pile of broken glass on the floor, stepping on them for good measure. “Toby ‘gave’ you these too?” I asked. Dexter grit his teeth, tears streaming down his face. “Yes! He has so much, he can’t even wear it all! Why shouldn’t I have a turn?” “Is it a ‘turn,’ Dexter? Or is it a shakedown?” I pulled out my phone and pulled up Toby’s Venmo history. I held it up to Henderson’s face. “Look at this, Mr. Henderson. In the last month alone, Dexter has had Toby pay for over fifteen DoorDash orders—all of them expensive steakhouse or sushi dinners. Dexter’s phone bill? Toby paid it. That brand-new iPhone in his pocket? Toby bought it on a monthly installment plan.” I turned back to Dexter. “You didn’t find a friend in Toby. You found a vein, and you’ve been draining him dry while telling him it’s ‘sharing.’ You aren’t just poor, Dexter. You’re a parasite.” Dexter snapped. He stood up, pointing a finger at me, his voice shaking with rage. “Shut up! Toby wanted to spend that money! What do you know about friendship? You’re just a cold-blooded shark who thinks everything has a price tag!” I took a step toward him. He flinched so hard he hit the wardrobe door. That’s when I saw it. A secondary phone, half-hidden in the top drawer of his nightstand. I reached for it. Dexter turned into a wild animal, lunging for my arm. “Don’t touch that! That’s my private property! You’re a thief!” I swept his leg, and he hit the floor with a heavy thud, kneeling before me. I picked up the phone. It wasn’t locked. I tapped the photo gallery. My stomach did a slow, sickening roll.

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Good news: I’m the true heiress of a billionaire family. Bad news: Someone is impersonating me. At a family dinner, the fake heiress ran up to me, soaking wet and looking pitiful. “Sister, why did you throw red wine on me?” I looked around, hugged the 2-liter bottle of soda next to me, and gave her a clear, innocent stare. “Are you talking about me? But I’ve been drinking Coke this whole time.” 1 I am Maya Sterling, the youngest daughter of the Sterling Group. My eldest sister, Olivia, is an Oscar-winning director who wins awards until her hands are sore, internationally renowned. My older brother, Liam, is the current second-in-command of the Sterling Group, with a limitless future. And me… I am a clueless, useless idiot. Maybe my parents’ genes took a wild detour when they made me. Aside from my looks, I didn’t inherit a single one of their outstanding talents. Not only that, but my reaction times have always been a bit slower than everyone else’s. In my sister’s words, I was like a Golden Retriever that snuck into a pack of wolves, getting bullied but still wagging my tail happily and barking, “Big doggies!” Logically, someone at the very bottom of the food chain like me should have been the first cannon fodder sacrificed in any billionaire family feud. But my mom said: “So what if she’s a little slow? Two heads are better than one, and we have a whole family to protect her.” But my mom was wrong about one thing. Since I couldn’t follow the elite billionaire heir route, she dedicated herself to throwing money at me so I could be a carefree trust-fund kid. But when other rich kids were thrill-seeking and street racing, I barely managed to pass my driver’s test. When they were out partying and binge drinking, I was allergic to alcohol. When they were playing the field and keeping boy toys, the most I dared to do was hold hands. Over time, my mom had to comfort herself. “It’s better to be a little slow. It doesn’t attract unwanted attention. Keeps the gold-diggers away.” But even living like this, I still became a target. 2 Liam brought home a frail girl who looked about seventy percent like me. The moment she saw my mom, she tragically dropped to her knees, crying her eyes out. “Mom, I finally found you!” My dad instantly felt the chicken leg in his bowl lose its flavor. He put down his fork and stared wide-eyed. “What’s going on? You have a kid on the outside?!” My mom was horrified. “I don’t! I swear I didn’t!” The girl crawled on her knees and bowed deeply to my dad. “Dad, I missed you so much!” My mom dropped her panicked expression, put her hands on her hips, and pointed at my dad’s nose. “You still have the nerve to ask me! Is this one of your past mistakes?!” The girl on her knees choked back tears, while my parents were still immersed in their game of passing the buck. Neither of them paid her any attention. “Dad, Mom, she says she is the real Maya Sterling.” In the end, it was Liam who got straight to the point. “What does that mean? How is that possible?” “I’ve seen the DNA test report. It’s real.” “Then what about our youngest?” My mom pointed at me, who was still burying my head in my food. “The youngest is, of course, your biological daughter, my biological sister.” Liam’s words carried no hesitation. He stood coldly to the side, with no intention of helping the so-called “real” sister up. The girl suddenly raised her head and glared at me fiercely. “She’s a fake! If Mom and Dad don’t believe me, you can take her for a DNA test. You have no biological connection to her!” Her certainty made Liam frown. My parents didn’t respond to her accusation, and Liam continued asking. “So I brought her back to ask you, is this some illegitimate daughter you had on the outside?” My parents shook their heads violently. After a long pause, my mom slapped her forehead. “I know!” I rubbed my forehead and spat out the last chicken bone. Thanks to this farce grabbing their attention, I got to eat all the chicken legs today. Except for the half still in my dad’s bowl. My mom’s eyes shone brightly, incredibly excited. “It turns out I had twins back then!” 3 Everyone’s eyes turned to my mom. The girl was the first to object. “How is that possible? There was clearly only me! I am your only daughter!” “Mom, if you take her for a DNA test, you’ll know…” Her words were cut off by my mom. My mom took her hand, pulled her to sit on the sofa, and looked at her with maternal love. “Sweetheart, a piece of flesh fell from my own body, wouldn’t I know how much it weighed?” “I always wondered why my belly was so big back then. It must have been twins.” “Don’t you agree, honey?” My dad showed a look of sudden realization and nodded repeatedly. “I thought it was because you ate too many supplements during the pregnancy. So it was twins.” “You almost had a difficult labor back then. It must have been during the panic that the hospital lost one of the babies.” Surprisingly, everyone accepted this absurd explanation. Even Liam’s expression softened. The girl looked pale, trying to argue further. Her gaze fell on me, as if expecting me to react with violent rejection. But all I could think was: No wonder my reactions are so slow. This girl’s mouth fired off words like it was on 2x speed. All the excellent genes must have gone to her! But I wasn’t jealous. I was always going to be last place anyway. What did it matter if I had one more sibling? I frowned. I had eaten a bit too much and was feeling stuffed, which slowed my thinking even more. “So, between the two of us, who is the older sister?” Under the girl’s expectant gaze, I threw out a completely useless question. “You be the older sister, Maya. Take care of your new younger sister.” My mom smiled brightly, observing the girl’s reaction. She bit her lip, seemingly unwilling, but eventually, slowly nodded. “Mom, my life before this was so hard…” She rolled up her sleeves, perhaps intending to show the scars on her arms. My mom stopped her and thoughtfully draped a blanket over her thin clothes. “Sweetheart, let’s not talk about the past.” “Let’s give you a new name.” “You are the child we lost to the outside world, so we’ll call you… Ava.” Ava swallowed her grievances. “Okay, Mom.” My mom took Ava’s hand and warmly gave her a tour of the house. Overnight, everyone in the Sterling Group, except for Olivia who was away filming, learned of Ava’s existence. And Ava’s challenge to me officially began at that moment. 4 As expected, Ava crushed me in every aspect. She effortlessly blended into the social circles I couldn’t fit into. She played instruments I couldn’t master with ease. Indeed, she looked more like a child of the Sterling family than I did. Piled high with money and the ultimate luxury services, Ava never again showed the timidity of our first meeting. She tried multiple times to steer our parents into taking me for a DNA test. But my mom said: “There’s no need. Our family doesn’t lack the money to raise one more person.” At the autumn gala, Ava fluttered through the crowd like a butterfly. Today, her identity as the “Fourth Miss of the Sterling Family” would be officially introduced to high society by our parents. For this day, she had meticulously prepared a haute couture corset gown, the tailored fabric accentuating her proud curves. Ava followed our parents closely, elegantly and confidently toasting and making small talk with everyone. I sat in a corner, discreetly pulling a 2-liter bottle of Coke from under the heavy tablecloth and filling my wine glass. Elegant. Truly too elegant. I swirled the glass and let out a satisfied burp. The only flaw was that room-temperature Coke wasn’t stimulating enough, and the carbonation dissipated too quickly. I held my wine glass and strolled leisurely out into the courtyard. I had never been good at handling these big scenes since I was a kid, so I was especially grateful for Ava’s existence. While daydreaming, I heard hurried footsteps approaching and instinctively ducked behind some bushes. The heavy, sticky sound of kissing and the rustling of clothes made me blush. Holy crap, who is making out in the garden?! “Tyler… someone might see us…” Ava’s soft moans mixed with a man’s heavy breathing. “Baby, you look so beautiful today.” Tyler was my arranged fiancé. Rather than being surprised that they had hooked up, my main thought made me cover my mouth in a silent scream: Did they not know our family’s exterior was covered in full-color, thermal-imaging infrared security cameras?! Thinking of the security guards staring at each other in front of the HD monitors in the control room… Oh my god, I felt embarrassed for them! 5 It took forever for those two to leave, and my legs were numb from squatting. My engagement to Tyler was a verbal agreement made by our elders. A business marriage, very normal. But the two of us never really clicked. Tyler thought I was boring and plain, and I thought Tyler was a player. The engagement kind of just faded away. But it looked like Ava was very happy to be the rebound. Tyler was the sole heir to the Vance family. Old Mr. Vance’s marriage plan for him was: “Best to have two kids in the first year, three in two years, the more the better.” Looking at Ava’s frail frame, I had deep doubts. Oh well, as long as she’s happy. Before I could even bend down, lift the tablecloth, and refill my drink, a swaying white figure crashed into me. “Ah! Sister, why did you throw red wine on me?” Ava’s eyes were filled with tears, her face pale, as she questioned me, trembling. A large, dark wine-red stain bloomed across her layered skirt. At first glance, it looked like she had just run from a murder scene. Before I had time to react, Tyler was there too. “Maya, how could you bully your sister? Are you jealous that she’s better than you?” “Sister definitely didn’t do it on purpose, Tyler, don’t say that…” The drama at the gala naturally drew everyone’s attention. Soon, everyone noticed the corner where I was standing. Under the curious, drama-hungry gazes of the bystanders, I slowly hugged the 2-liter bottle of soda next to me, my eyes clear and innocent. “Are you talking about me? But I’ve been drinking Coke this whole time.” Everyone showed a look of utter speechlessness. Tyler kept pushing it. “What kind of person drinks Coke at a gala? You just bullied Ava and won’t admit it. Do you know how hard she worked for today…” I didn’t know. I really didn’t know how hard she worked. “I’m allergic to alcohol. I never drink.” “Then you must have snatched Ava’s glass!” Then I would have needed to be holding two glasses. I didn’t really want to keep arguing with this troll. In the end, Ava interrupted the argument. “It was me who didn’t look where I was going and bumped into my sister. It’s my fault. I apologize to you, Sister.” She bowed deeply to me, tears welling in her eyes, while the onlookers whispered among themselves. Honestly, nobody really cared whose wine it was anyway. Ava’s goal was singular: to create the illusion that I was targeting her, thereby establishing her persona as respectful and humble. The rest she left to the rumors and wild guesses. With a teary-eyed Ava in front of me and an aggressive Tyler behind me, I felt a bit distressed. This was broken by an elegant, tall figure. Olivia’s long, slender fingers lifted Ava’s chin, a half-smile on her face. “You’re very talented. Want to be the female lead in my new movie?” 6 Ava accepted, flattered and overwhelmed. A spot in Olivia’s movies was hard to come by, let alone the lead role. After thinking about it for a long time, I decided to hint to Olivia to be careful of Ava. Stuttering in front of Olivia for a while, I only managed to squeeze out one sentence. “She’s not a good person.” Olivia blew a smoke ring at me, watching with a smile as I pinched my nose and coughed. “If you’re worried, come join the crew with me. Big sister will take you to watch a good show.” Ava’s sudden casting caused a heated debate among the crew. “Director Sterling really does favor talented people.” “Look, Ava gets the lead role right away, while Maya can only watch.” “I’ve heard for a long time that Maya is a useless heiress. Maybe the rumors are true, and she’s not really a Sterling.” I sat under a sunshade drinking juice, watching Ava sweating under the blazing sun. I scoffed at the whispers nearby. I had heard these things so much lately that my ears were growing calluses. Ava’s first scene involved wirework over water. Although she had undergone systematic training before shooting, she still looked a bit hesitant. Olivia put her arm around her shoulder and pointed at the award-winning actor, Ethan Cole, not far away. “Ava, your starting point is acting opposite an A-lister. You’re already better than so many people.” “Don’t put pressure on yourself. It doesn’t matter if you mess up. You definitely won’t be worse than Maya.” Since Ava arrived, “little sister” was no longer my exclusive title. Such intimate instructions obviously worked perfectly on Ava. “Sister, I will definitely do a good job!” She nodded confidently. Then came eighteen consecutive NG takes. Olivia strove for perfection and never went easy on anyone. Hoisted high up, dropped heavily down. I thought Ava would call it quits, but she actually pushed through. It wasn’t until evening that I understood the meaning behind Ava’s actions. A comparison photo of us on set was trending online. #AvaNaturalBornActress #AvaDedication #AvaMayaComparison #WhatIsItLikeToHaveAMeanOlderSister In the photos, Ava was respectfully performing difficult stunts mid-air, while I was sitting with my legs crossed in the shade playing Solitaire on my phone. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to work. It was that I really wasn’t helpful. Despite the internet condemning me for making things difficult for Ava, my mom was the first one to get angry at home. “How many times have I told you not to cross your legs! You never listen!” Okay, my bad. 7 After tagging along with Olivia’s crew for a few days, I didn’t want to go anymore. Those days, I was secretly photographed 360 degrees by paparazzi, constantly trending alongside Ava and being gossiped about. It was so annoying. However, Ava was enjoying it. Her popularity was soaring, even driving up the Sterling Group’s stock. My dad generously transferred 5% of his shares to Ava as a wrap gift. The circles were saying that this was the favored true heiress, and questioning what kind of life Maya lived before—no car, no house, no power. No comparison, no damage. True, I thought they had a point. But I had a mouth. I could ask my parents for money. Having money was good enough. Ava clearly wasn’t satisfied. Not only did she have a massive fan base, but she had also gained the family’s approval. My mom put two duck legs in her bowl. I admit, I was sour. Ava smiled gently: “Mom, actors need to maintain their figures. I can’t eat greasy food. Let my sister have it.” “It’s okay, you eat it. Your sister had too much meat before, she needs to eat lighter to rest her stomach.” Ava’s smile twisted slightly, but she quickly adjusted. “Dad, I want to join the family company to learn. Can I?” “Of course. It’s good to be proactive. Liam, arrange it.” My usually silent second brother nodded. “Is Maya coming too?” I shook my head violently. Making me work a 9-to-5 desk job was akin to prison. I wasn’t going. My dad deadpanned a final blow. “Don’t force her. Isn’t lying around at home nice? It’s not like we can’t afford the electricity bill.” See? This is how my uselessness was cultivated. A week after Ava went to the company to “learn,” an anonymous email arrived in the inboxes of the Sterling Group employees. It was the DNA test result between me and my dad. The result showed: “The DNA match between the samples is low. No biological relationship.” 8 What’s that saying? When a wall is about to fall, everyone gives it a push. Another saying: There is no wall in the world that doesn’t leak wind. The first to come knocking was the Vance family. The Vance family and the Sterling family were equal in status, essentially neck and neck. Old Mr. Vance, leaning on his cane, looked benevolent but had sharp eyes. “I’ve heard about Maya’s situation. From my perspective, there’s no need to cancel the engagement.” “I think Ava is quite good. Tyler praises her in front of me all the time.” “Besides, the initial agreement was just a marriage with a Sterling daughter. It didn’t specify who, right?” Even I could hear the underlying meaning of Old Mr. Vance’s words. “This was originally meant to be an alliance of the strong. Who would marry a fake with no blood ties?” “Ava and Tyler already have eyes for each other.” “I’m not backing out. Our two families are still meant to be joined.” Ava looked shy, standing quietly aside, waiting for our parents to decide. Olivia and Liam looked as usual, with no obvious emotional fluctuations. And I, having already lost the right to be present, could only eavesdrop from the stairs. Finally, my dad nodded with apparent difficulty. Then the two families began discussing the specific timing and details of the wedding. I stopped listening and quietly went back to my room. I knew why my parents were so anxious to push this marriage forward. Because along with that DNA test, my “checkered past” from childhood had also been exposed. Someone claiming to be my classmate exposed my “school bullying” and “stolen status.” A little-known D-list actor accused me of involving him in the “casting couch” and “sexual harassment.” And Sterling Group employees revealed how I “squandered company assets” and “mistreated staff.” … This was absolute fear-mongering! Ever since I showed a slow reaction time and couldn’t keep up with school pacing, my mom hired private tutors. I hadn’t been to school since then. As for the casting couch and sexual harassment… Look at that guy’s face! He didn’t even have a quarter of Liam’s good looks. What would I even want from him?! And the ones saying I oppressed employees… I had only been to the company for one day, and aside from sleeping, I just played Solitaire. Did I mistreat the company computers? Did I? But these baseless rumors dealt a heavy blow to the unprepared Sterling Group. Public opinion was overwhelmingly one-sided. People were boycotting Sterling products, and the company was in a panic. The best solution was to abandon me and let the marriage between Ava and Tyler distract the public. The shining true heiress returns, the fake heiress flees in disgrace. Isn’t this what everyone wanted to see?

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A recording went viral overnight. It was a maliciously edited audio clip that painted me as a predatory, cold-blooded CEO who exploited interns for sport. Almost instantly, the very interns who had once sung my praises turned on me. The white walls of my office were defaced with “CAPITALIST BLOODSUCKER” in angry red spray paint. Public opinion spiraled out of control. I became the internet’s favorite villain. What they didn’t know was that I was an outlier in the industry. From the beginning, I had designed the most generous internship program in the city. One-on-one mentorship, paid professional development, and even full housing stipends and Uber credits for late nights. I was preparing to roll this program out company-wide when the storm hit without warning. Facing a room full of furious employees, I walked calmly into the conference hall and opened a file none of them had ever seen. When the truth was finally laid bare, the room fell into a deafening silence. Everyone was paralyzed. 1 Marina, my CFO, slid the Internship Program Budget Proposal across the mahogany desk. “Hedy, are you sure you won’t reconsider?” I didn’t answer. Marina flipped to the final page, her finger tapping the bottom line. “For this batch alone—thirty-seven interns—between the mentor fees, the base salary, the housing stipends, and the premium insurance, we’re looking at nearly 1.2 million dollars. That’s practically our entire net profit from last year.” I finally looked up from my laptop. “Marina, our net profit was 1.8 million. I’ve already trimmed the budget from 1.5 to 1.2. Some of the mentors are executives doing this pro bono. We’re using the vacant corporate apartments for housing. I’ve run the numbers; the actual overhead isn’t that high.” Marina sighed, pushing the papers closer to me. “Hedy, I’m not saying it’s a bad plan. I’m saying our current cash flow can’t sustain this kind of… charity.” Charity. The word stung. It felt like a physical blow. I thought back to my senior year of college. The December wind in Chicago felt like a serrated blade against my skin. I was wearing a thin, cheap blazer from a thrift store and heels that blistered my feet, handing out resumes door-to-door. I remembered one HR manager who shredded my resume right in front of me. “We have Ivy League MBAs lining up for unpaid roles,” he’d said. “You’re from a mid-tier state school. You think you’re worth a paycheck?” When I finally became the person in charge, the first thing I wanted to do was burn that old system to the ground. Marina didn’t say another word. She knew that 1.2 million wasn’t just a line item; it was my obsession. She hesitated. “The board… they won’t be happy.” I tucked the file into my drawer. “I’ll handle the board. The program launches Monday.” 2 Monday morning at 9:00 AM, thirty-seven interns were gathered in the main conference room. “Welcome to the firm,” I told them. “Starting today, you’ll begin a three-month paid residency. Each of you has been assigned a dedicated mentor. Your salary is set at 120% of the industry average. We provide housing stipends, full health coverage, and we reimburse all transport for late shifts.” A murmur rippled through the room. Some of them stared at me, eyes wide. Others traded skeptical glances. I heard a few whispers of disbelief. I waited a beat. “I only have one requirement: learn everything you can. Work hard.” The thirty-seven were split across seven departments. I had hand-picked every mentor myself. At first, the senior staff resisted. Frank, the CTO, complained to Marina behind my back. “It takes me three years to train a decent dev. She wants them ready in three months? Hedy is dreaming.” But soon, Frank stopped complaining. By the second week, his intern had independently completed a complex code module. The quality was so high Frank thought he’d misread the file. At the Friday check-in, Frank couldn’t hide his grin. “The kid is a natural. I’ve coached him for two weeks, and his syntax is cleaner than some of my juniors who’ve been here a year.” The reports kept coming in. An intern in Marketing pitched a campaign that a client signed off on immediately. The Design intern’s poster series won an internal award. The Product team’s intern delivered a user-experience report so thorough it changed our Q4 roadmap. I kept a small leather-bound journal of these wins. Every night before bed, I’d flip through the pages. The program was working better than I had dared to hope. I thought it was time to scale. Then, the floor fell out from under me. 3 I was jolted awake by my phone vibrating against the nightstand. It was barely dawn. Forty-seven missed calls. My Slack and WhatsApp were a graveyard of notifications. I played a voice memo from Jordan, my HR Director. “Hedy, have you seen Twitter? Someone leaked a recording from the executive meeting. It’s been edited to hell. We’re in crisis mode, but this is moving too fast—” I opened the app. The top trending hashtag: #FattenedForSlaughter The third: #HedyRossiLeaked The seventh: #InternshipVampire I clicked the top post. A video with over thirty million views was pinned to the top. It was a still image of me from a security feed, looking stern and unapproachable, with an audio track playing over it. I hit play. “The interns… it doesn’t matter if the initial investment is high. You have to fatten them up first. Once they’re dependent on us, once they’re hooked, we can manipulate them however we want. You have to understand—the more you invest in someone, the harder it is for them to walk away. They belong to us.” The clip cut off abruptly. The comments were a bloodbath. [Is this the ‘Saint Hedy’ everyone was talking about? Lol, the mask slipped fast.] [I knew it. No CEO is that nice for free. Paid training? Housing? It was always a trap to keep them trapped in a toxic cycle.] [I’m a former employee. I knew something was off. She’s just raising livestock for the corporate machine.] [Cancel this bitch. Let’s make her unhireable.] I dropped the phone on the bed and closed my eyes. The recording was real. But it was a surgical hack-job. The first half had been me berating a manager who was using interns as personal assistants. I’d spent ten minutes screaming about treating people with dignity. The second half—the part they kept—was me talking about how to build long-term loyalty through genuine investment and career paths. But with the context stripped away, my words of empowerment became a manifesto for psychological warfare. It was a masterpiece of character assassination. I went to the bathroom to wash my face. While I was brushing my teeth, Jordan called again. “Hedy, we tracked it. The leak came from inside. The audio files are stored on a secure server only the attendees had access to. There were eight people in that room.” I spat out the toothpaste. “I know.” “You know who did it?” “The list of people with that kind of access is tiny. Don’t panic. I’m coming in.” I hung up and caught my reflection in the mirror. My hair was a mess, my eyes were bloodshot, but my expression was iron. I told myself: Hedy, just because you want to do something good doesn’t mean everyone wants to see you succeed. 4 The moment I stepped into the lobby, the atmosphere shifted. The receptionist, a young girl named Chloe—no, her name was Mia—looked at me with brimming eyes. She looked like she wanted to say something, but she just bit her lip and looked away. I nodded to her and headed for the elevator. When the doors opened on my floor, I saw it. Four words sprayed in jagged, dripping red paint across the corridor wall: CAPITALIST BLOODSUCKER. The paint was still wet, weeping down the drywall like blood. I stood there, staring at it for ten seconds. Footsteps echoed behind me. It was Jordan and Howard, our head of Legal. Howard spoke first. “Hedy, I’ve already called the police. This is vandalism and defamation—” “Wait,” I interrupted. “Just take photos for evidence. Don’t make a scene. If we bring the cops in now, the internet will just say we’re trying to silence the victims.” Jordan gritted her teeth. “But Hedy, three interns already resigned this morning. Two seniors followed them.” “Which interns?” “Jamie, Tyler, and Cassie.” I felt a sharp pang in my chest. I knew those three. Jamie had been a star last year, just promoted to full-time. Tyler was a new recruit with so much potential. And Cassie… Cassie was already leading projects. I never expected Cassie to bail. “Hold their resignations,” I said. “Follow the standard thirty-day notice period. Don’t give them a hard time, but don’t waive the protocol. Treat it like any other day.” I went into my office, shut the door, and opened my laptop. The digital world was a bonfire. People were digging up “dirt” that didn’t exist. Claims that I withheld overtime pay. Claims that I was using interns to launder government grants. I looked at the “proof” they posted. It was all fabrications—fake pay stubs that didn’t even have our company seal, wrong fonts, wrong dates. But nobody cared about the truth. In the rush of a digital mob, the truth is the first thing to get trampled. I leaned back and made a decision. I picked up the desk phone. “Jordan, prep the main hall. 10:00 AM. I want a full-staff meeting. Everyone. Including the interns.” “Hedy, there are protestors at the gate. Are you sure?” “Just do it.” I opened my bottom drawer and pulled out a thick, heavy manila envelope. I’d been preparing this for months. I’d planned to reveal it at the Christmas party as a surprise. It looked like the surprise was coming early. 5 At 10:00 AM, the room was packed. The air was thick with tension. Some people were staring at their laps. Others were whispering. A few looked at me with cold, sharp eyes. I stepped onto the small stage. No PowerPoint. No teleprompter. Just me and the manila envelope. “You’ve all seen the news,” I began. “I’m not going to give you a point-by-point rebuttal. If you already believe I’m a monster, no explanation will change your mind. If you trust me, you don’t need one.” Someone in the back scoffed. I ignored it. “I want to show you something else.” I opened the envelope and pulled out a stack of documents. The first page was a list of names, followed by dates and figures. “This is what I call the Growth Ledger. Since the day we launched the program, I’ve had HR track every single intern. Their initial skill assessment, their growth curve, their salary jumps, and their career trajectory after they leave.” I held up the first page. “Jamie. Started last March. Initial skill rating: 42. Three months later: 78. Starting salary: $55k. Current salary: $82k. She resigned this morning.” In the third row, Jamie’s head snapped up. Her face went pale. I kept reading. “Tyler. Started this June. Initial rating: 38. Current: 65. Monthly stipend: $4,000. He resigned this morning.” The boy in the back corner shifted uncomfortably. “Cassie. Started May of last year. Initial rating: 51. Rated 85 at the time of her promotion. Currently a project lead earning $110k. She also resigned this morning.” Cassie was in the front row. She bit her lip, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. I set the list down. “Do you know why I had HR track this? It wasn’t to monitor you. It was for me. I needed to know if this program actually worked. If it changed lives, I’d keep doing it. If it didn’t, I’d fix it. It was that simple.” I flipped to a data sheet and projected it onto the screen. “Over the last year, we’ve hired 67 interns. 52 were offered full-time roles. That’s a 77% retention rate. Only 6 have left the firm since. Their average starting pay was $45k; their average pay after one year is $72k. That’s a 60% increase.” I let the silence hang. “The people screaming at me on Twitter don’t know these numbers. Some of you didn’t even know them. But HR knows. Finance knows. Every one of you who sees your bank balance on the 1st and the 15th knows.” The whispering stopped. The room became unnervingly quiet. “I know what you’re wondering,” I said. “Was the recording real? Do I want to ‘fatten you up’?” No one moved. “The recording is real. But it was gutted. What I said was that we need to invest so much in our people that they choose to stay. Not through coercion, but through mutual value. A partnership.” My voice dropped an octave. “But I’m not here to argue semantics. I’m here to do this.” I pulled the final document from the envelope. The header read: INTERN EQUITY INCENTIVE PLAN. The room erupted. “This was meant for the end of the year,” I said over the noise. “Every intern who completes three months and stays for one year as a full-time employee will be granted equity in this company. Between 0.05% and 0.5%, based on performance.” I looked at their shocked faces and managed a small, tired smile. “Does this look like something a person who wants to ‘slaughter’ you would do?”

On my seventh day tutoring Tyler Sterling, I dreamed of the future. In the dream, two years later, Tyler would pin my wrists down. He would press me against his desk and kiss me senseless. Startled awake, I didn’t know how to tell Tyler about this. Because right now, he was coldly telling his friends about me: “I hate Olivia. If every other woman in the world died, I still wouldn’t like her.” 1 The first time I met Tyler, I knew he was trouble. I stood at the door of the Sterling family’s mansion and knocked: “Hello, I’m the new tutor.” No answer. The door was slightly ajar, so I pushed it open. By the time I realized something was wrong, it was too late. A bucket of water fell from above, soaking me to the bone. Immediately after, I heard the arrogant laughter of several young people: “Look, she fell for it!” “Chloe, that was a great idea.” The girl named Chloe raised her head, proud as a peacock. But she ignored everyone else. She just looked up toward the second floor: “Tyler, was that awesome or what?” A boy stood on the second-floor landing. I have to admit, I’ve never seen such a beautiful boy. Pale, striking. When he looked down, there was a trace of rebellious arrogance in his eyes. His thin lips curled into a cold smirk, and he said, “Boring.” 2 “Are you Tyler Sterling?” I asked. “Yeah.” “Are these your friends?” “Yeah.” I pulled out a tissue and wiped my face: “I’m the live-in tutor your dad just hired for you. My name is Olivia Miller. You can call me Ms. Miller, or just Olivia.” Tyler let out a soft scoff. He clearly didn’t accept my presence. But I wasn’t angry at all, even though my hair was dripping wet. I walked with steady steps up to the second floor. The laughter around me died down. “What’s going on? Why isn’t she crying?” “She must be in shock.” “Holy crap, she’s actually going inside. Didn’t the last few tutors run away crying immediately…” I walked straight up to Tyler: “Thank you and your friends for the welcome gift. I’ve prepared a little surprise for you too.” I unscrewed the cap of my Yeti thermos. And poured the entire thing over Tyler’s head. Every last drop. Tyler was stunned. 3 Not only was Tyler stunned. His rich, snobby friends were also dumbfounded. The mansion fell dead silent. Chloe was the first to shriek: “Are you crazy?! How dare you do that to Tyler? Do you know that someone like you, a broke college student, the Sterling family could crush you like a bug!” “Oh, almost forgot about you.” I picked up my soaking wet canvas tote bag and hurled it hard. It hit the little princess, Chloe, squarely. I knew who she was. The heiress to the Vance Corporation. Her family was as wealthy as the Sterlings, and she grew up with Tyler. Rumor had it they might end up in an arranged marriage. But none of that had anything to do with me. I was here to be a tutor, not a slave. Whoever bullied me, I hit back. Chloe had never suffered such an indignity and started screaming. I simply pulled out my phone and started recording a video. “What are you doing!” “Letting Chairman Sterling see who’s interfering with his son’s tutoring.” Chloe shut her mouth in panic. She knew her family’s business still needed the Sterling Group’s support; she was terrified of the Chairman. “If there’s nothing else, I’m going to unpack my luggage.” I turned back to Tyler. He was now just like me, his hair completely wet, water dripping down. After three seconds of silence, the corners of his mouth suddenly curled up: “What was your name again?” “Olivia Miller.” “I’ll remember you.” “You better not forget.” 4 Tyler was four years younger than me. He was a certified slacker; his SAT score was a solid 800. A score that perfectly matched his vibe. Chairman Sterling wanted to send him abroad, so he sought out top tutors to help him with his English and SAT prep. At first, they hired native speakers. Unfortunately, Tyler was too unruly and chased them all away. Out of desperation, the job finally fell to me. Although I was still a student, I had aced my SATs and was top of my class as an English major. It was summer break, and the dorms were closed. To make the daily tutoring more convenient, I had to move in and live with Tyler. That afternoon. I walked past Tyler’s game room. The door wasn’t fully closed. The conversation was crystal clear. “Ty, this new tutor is pretty interesting.” “She’s also pretty hot, hehe.” “Are you blind?” Chloe was in a terrible mood. “She reeks of poverty, and you call that hot?” “Yeah, yeah, she’s nothing compared to you, Chloe. I bet she won’t last the month before she quits.” Tyler, who hadn’t chimed in, suddenly spoke up: “I bet three days.” 5 I soon learned why Tyler was so confident. He indeed came up with a terrible idea. The next evening. According to the schedule, I went to Tyler’s room for his lesson. He wasn’t at his desk, but the sound of the shower came from the bathroom. I asked, “Are you showering?” “Yeah, almost done.” “Then I’ll come back later.” “Wait a minute,” Tyler was unusually polite. “I forgot to grab a towel. It’s on the bed; could you please hand it to me?” He stuck a hand out through the crack in the door. I noticed his pinky finger looked limp, as if the bone was broken. I didn’t think much of it and turned to grab the towel: “This gray one? Catch—” I didn’t even finish my sentence. Tyler suddenly grabbed my wrist. And yanked me completely inside. The bathroom was filled with steam. Tyler was shirtless, a towel loosely wrapped around his waist. He wasn’t even twenty yet, the prime age for loving all sorts of sports. Therefore, even if he didn’t have a gym habit, He was lean and evenly muscled, with lines that were ridiculously good-looking. I was somewhat dazed by his good looks. Suddenly, there was a knock on the outside door. The housekeeper said, “Young Master, the fruit is washed. I’m bringing it in.” I instantly understood Tyler’s intention: “You deliberately had the housekeeper bring fruit at this time so she would catch me ‘barging into’ your bathroom, right?” Tyler said, “You’re very smart. “The housekeeper will tell your parents, and then they’ll replace me. “Yes. Do you like this second gift?” “Thank you, I love it.” Tyler smiled, thinking his plan had succeeded. But the next second. I reached out and touched his chest: “Then I won’t hold back.” 6 Tyler froze completely. He absolutely hadn’t expected this. The pads of my fingers gently caressed him. From his chest muscles all the way down. Along with the water droplets that hadn’t been dried yet, sliding down to his abs, and then to his V-line. My fingernails occasionally grazed his skin. Tyler would tremble as a conditioned reflex. His youthful body had a unique leanness. But without lacking the power of an adult male. It was a perfectly balanced sexiness. Below the V-line, he was wrapped in the towel. With a little force, the towel would fall off. Tyler was still in a daze, but his body had already given an honest reaction. For example, ears red as blood. And then, under the towel… “Tyler, do you want me to help you change into a new towel?” My voice was very soft. Just like a feather tickling him. At this moment, the housekeeper outside was getting anxious: “Young Master? Are you not in the room? Then I’m coming in…” “Don’t come in!” Tyler blurted out. The housekeeper had just pushed the bedroom door open, but quickly closed it again: “I left the fruit at the door. I’ll go back to work.” The footsteps gradually faded away. Only then did I let go of him and resume my cold demeanor: “Trying to play games with me? Did you really think I was a pushover?” 7 After this battle, Tyler’s anger toward me reached its peak. There were many reasons for his anger. For example, shooting himself in the foot. Or, because I pulled away so quickly, leaving him standing there looking stupid. I even heard him tell his friends: “Before, I didn’t know what kind of girls I hated the most. “Now I know. It’s the Olivia kind. “Saying I’m playing hard to get? Screw that! If every other woman in the world died, I still wouldn’t like her!” Fortunately, he quieted down for a few days and didn’t provoke me again. The unexpected happened on the night of the seventh day. I went to sleep as usual. But I had a very strange dream. In the dream, there was another me, pinned against a desk by Tyler. It was the very desk where I tutored him every day. With one hand, he unbuttoned my shirt. With the other hand… well, it’s hard to describe. “Olivia, I’ve wanted to do this for two years,” he panted, his voice low and needy. “Kiss me, please?” I watched all this in stunned silence. There was a calendar on the desk. The date was: April 2026. Two years later? Could it be… I was dreaming of the future? The scene shifted, and the time became August 2026. The setting moved to a bed. The twenty-year-old Tyler had an even better body than now. The lighting was dim, reflecting a rhythmic rise and fall. Sweat dripped from his forehead: “Olivia, look at me. I’m your good boy. Don’t leave me again, okay?” He was as devout as a believer, begging like that. I couldn’t bear to watch such a steamy scene anymore. I woke up with a start. My heart was pounding wildly in my chest. It was just a dream, it’s fine. I comforted myself and pushed the dream to the back of my mind. 8 The next morning. Tyler usually slept until noon. But today, he was actually sitting on the sofa staring blankly at eight o’clock. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked like he hadn’t slept well. I greeted him calmly: “You’re up early.” He jumped up from the sofa as if he’d seen a monster: “You… you…” “What are you stuttering for? Spit it out.” “I could never like you, and I could never beg you like that.” “Psycho!” I looked him up and down. His tongue was tied, his ears bright red. Unlike his usual arrogant demeanor. A bit weird. I threw a vocabulary book at him: “If you have too much free time, go memorize words.” For the next few days. I kept dreaming of scenes that seemed to be from the future. And they all involved Tyler. The 2026 me had a respectable job, wearing a white button-up and a pencil skirt every day. The Tyler in the dream seemed to really like that outfit. He would always slowly unbutton my shirt. Sometimes with his hands, sometimes with his teeth. And then slowly kiss the exposed skin. Conversely, in reality— Tyler avoided me like the plague. He even faked being sick to get out of classes, asking for consecutive days off. If you lie too much, it becomes true. On the weekend, Tyler got his wish and fell ill. He had a high fever of 102 degrees, was delirious, and couldn’t get out of bed. As luck would have it, the housekeeper was off today, so it was just the two of us in the mansion. Out of concern for his safety, I called Chairman Sterling. Before I could even finish describing his symptoms, the Chairman interrupted me: “Just let him lie there for a few days and he’ll be fine. You don’t need to report to me when he gets sick in the future.” I was slightly stunned: “Aren’t you going to take him to the hospital?” “There’s no need.” I heard someone yell “Nice shot!” in the background. The Chairman was playing golf. I said, “Then how about you come see him after your game?” “I’m very busy.” The Chairman was polite yet distant: “Ms. Miller, just let him fend for himself.” “How can you say that?” “He’s not my only son. As the most disappointing one, I’ve been patient enough with him.” I suddenly didn’t know what to say. “Did you notice his broken left pinky?” the Chairman asked abruptly. “I saw it.” “I broke it.” 9 “…What?” I almost lost my voice. “When Tyler was little, he lied about being sick to trick me into coming home to see him. I’m so busy, where do I have the time to play these little games with him? So, I broke his pinky to teach him a lesson.” The Chairman’s laugh revealed a sense of pride: “After that, he behaved and never told that kind of lie again. “It’s just a broken pinky, it doesn’t affect his life. Look, isn’t he alive and kicking now?” … A chill spread through my entire body. I think I understood. Why Tyler’s personality was so awful. Growing up in such an environment, it would be weird if he weren’t twisted. I stood at the door of his room, looking at the suffering Tyler. It was as if I saw my younger self. I was just like him. No one cared, stumbling along, figuring out how to grow up all alone. I decided to pour a glass of water and tell him to get up and take some medicine. A flush was spread across Tyler’s face today. He looked a little sweet. I couldn’t help but reach out and pinch his cheek. It felt great, soft, like a stress ball. Tyler groaned, but didn’t resist. He probably didn’t have the energy. After he took the medicine, I finally let go, satisfied, and prepared to leave. Tyler suddenly grabbed me: “Olivia.” “What did you call me?” Is his brain fried from the fever? Didn’t he say he would never beg me? Immediately after, Tyler rested his entire head on my shoulder, his breathing scorching hot: “What year is it today? Olivia, you’re in my dream again. “If you’re not talking, do you want to feel me at 102 degrees?” Saying that, he grabbed my hand and placed it on the hottest part of his entire body…

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The call from the precinct was the crack that finally shattered the fragile peace of my remarriage to Adrian. The detective on the line said Adrian was being detained on suspicion of sexual assault and battery. He told me to get down there immediately to cooperate with the investigation. In the mediation room, the sight of Adrian and Sabrina—disheveled, clothes half-torn, and radiating a guilty heat—seared into my retinas. Sabrina was hysterical, sobbing that Adrian had to divorce me right then and there. If he didn’t, she threatened to “confess” everything about her pregnancy, claiming her husband would kill her and the baby if he found out. Adrian’s face went rigid. I watched the gears turn behind his eyes, the agonizing struggle of a man caught between two worlds. Finally, he nodded. The moment his head dipped in agreement, I knew our marriage was over. For good this time. I signed the mediation transcript without a word, ending the farce. With a few strokes of a pen, I drew a final, jagged line through ten years of shared history. I looked at him and remembered how different he’d seemed after we remarried. He’d stopped staying out all night; he stopped calling me “crazy” or “unstable.” We’d started living like a normal couple again—dinners out, movies, planning for a future child while sitting on the porch swing, making wishes for a lifetime of happiness under the Fourth of July fireworks. It was all a lie. The only reason he’d changed was that Sabrina, his little mistress, had married another man out of spite. … The heavy door to the mediation room swung open, and my eyes met Adrian’s. “Claire? What are you doing here?” He faltered when he saw my gaze drop to Sabrina’s protruding stomach. He let out a sharp, jagged breath. “You… you saw. Fine. I won’t lie to you anymore. Sabrina and I are back together. I’m the one who reached out to her.” He stepped in front of her instinctively, shielding her as if he expected me to fly into the kind of hysterics I used to be known for. “Blame me if you want, but leave her out of it. She’s innocent in all of this.” Only when he realized I wasn’t screaming did he relax his guard and step toward me. “Claire, I’m sorry. I know I broke my word. But her husband, Victor, is a goddamn lunatic. If he finds out about us, he’ll kill her. And it’s my fault—she only married him to get back at me.” He lowered his voice, his tone shifting into that manipulative, pleading register I knew so well. “The only way to get her away from him is if she leaves. But she’s pregnant and stubborn as hell. She refuses to leave Victor until she sees our divorce papers. So, Claire, can you just sign? Once she’s safe and the divorce is finalized, we’ll find our way back to each other. Okay?” In the three years since we’d remarried, I thought Adrian had grown a soul. But looking at him now, all I saw was the familiar flicker of irritation and impatience. When I didn’t answer immediately, his temper flared. “What are you waiting for? Claire, be realistic. Your grandmother’s medical bills, her physical therapy—I’m the one paying for all of it—” “Fine. I’ll sign.” The words cut him off mid-sentence. I reached out and took the papers from his hand. He stared at my signature, written in a steady, cold hand. He seemed stunned by how easy it was. His voice softened instantly. “Thank you. You know you and Grandma are still the most important people in my life. Once Sabrina is safe, everything goes back to the way it was. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll take even better care of you both.” I felt nothing. His promises had become white noise, static in the background of a life I no longer recognized. Was it the first time I caught him cheating that the words lost their meaning? Or the night he knelt on the floor, begging me to remarry him, swearing he’d never betray us again? It didn’t matter. I nodded vacantly, paid the fine for his “disorderly conduct,” and turned to leave. I hadn’t made it ten feet before Adrian lunged after me, dragging me back toward the station’s side exit. “Someone leaked the story. The press is crawling all over the front entrance.” He suddenly reached out, his fingers digging into the skin of my neck. He squeezed, hard enough to leave a mark, forcing a bruised discoloration to bloom on my throat. “If Victor’s people see the footage, Sabrina is dead. Claire, I need you to do this for her. Just tell them… tell them it was you in the car with me last night. That you were the one the cops caught. Please?” Before I could even gasp out a refusal, he shoved me through the doors and into the blinding flash of cameras. “Mrs. Sterling! Were you the woman caught in the car on the bridge last night?” “Who’s the other man? How could you do this to your husband?” “Is it true you were recently released from a psychiatric ward? Did you really try to burn your own grandmother alive during a breakdown?” “What did you say?” The rage hit me like a physical blow. “Don’t you dare mention my grandmother!” I lashed out, knocking the microphone from the reporter’s hand. In the ensuing scuffle, a heavy camera lens swung toward me. It connected with my temple with a sickening thud. Hot blood began to crawl down my face. I collapsed to the pavement, shivering and humiliated. “Claire!” Through the ringing in my ears, I heard Adrian’s voice. He started to break through the crowd, rushing toward me. “Adrian… my stomach… it hurts so much…” Sabrina’s voice was a pathetic whimper, but it worked. Adrian’s footsteps stopped instantly. He pivoted, turning his back on me to scoop her into his arms. By the time he looked back, I had already crawled away. I stood up, wiped the blood from my eye, and pulled out my phone. I booked a one-way ticket out of the country. Two days later, I checked myself out of the hospital early. When I walked into the house, Adrian was—for the first time in years—standing in the kitchen heating up milk. He froze when he saw the bandage on my head. A flicker of genuine guilt crossed his face. He walked over, holding the mug out as if to feed me. I stepped back. “I’m allergic to dairy, Adrian.” The mug trembled in his hand. The guilt deepened. He’d forgotten. Of course he had. Years ago, when we were “in love,” I’d eaten an entire cake he’d baked for me just because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. I’d ended up in the ICU with a throat so swollen I could barely breathe. Back then, he’d held me and cried, swearing he’d never forget as long as he lived. But “as long as he lived” was apparently just a decade. “I’m so sorry, Claire. These last few days… I’ve been buried. I know I put you through hell.” He leaned in, pressing a soft, pacifying kiss to my bandaged temple. “Just trust me one more time? Once Sabrina gets her divorce and has the baby, I’ll set them up somewhere else. I’ll come back to you completely. We’ll take care of Grandma together, just like we planned.” The same old script. I’d believed it a thousand times. I’d believed it at the altar. I’d believed it when my grandmother and I emptied our savings to fund his first start-up. I’d believed it when he knelt in the dirt three years ago. Every single time, reality had slapped me across the face. I looked past him into the hallway. I saw the door to the nursery—the room we had meticulously decorated for our son, Teddy. It had been a sanctuary. Now, the door hung open, revealing a wreckage. I pushed him away, a cold, jagged laugh bubbling up in my throat. “Stop it! Stop acting! It’s disgusting!” “You let her stay in Teddy’s room. You knew exactly what that would do to me. We are done, Adrian!” I stumbled toward the nursery, my heart breaking all over again. Teddy’s little toddler bed had been kicked over and shoved into a corner. His favorite toy cars—the ones he’d played with the day he died—were smashed. And the photos. The photos I had tucked away so carefully were shredded, scattered across the floor like confetti. “Oh, Claire, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Sabrina was sitting on the sofa, sipping her milk with a look of pure, predatory triumph. “Adrian was so worried about me. He said this room got the best sunlight, that it was the best place for the baby. I didn’t know it was your son’s room. Adrian never mentioned him.” The rage was a physical thing now, making my hands shake uncontrollably. “Besides,” Sabrina said, her eyes glinting. “If Teddy were here, I’m sure he’d want his new little brother or sister to have the room, right? It’s not like a dead kid can use it.” I didn’t think. I lunged. My hand connected with her face in a crack that echoed through the house. “If it weren’t for you and Adrian, Teddy would still be alive! How dare you? How dare you!” The memory of my son’s final moments flooded my brain, stripping away my sanity. I struck her again and again, ignoring her screams. Then, a shock of ice-cold water hit me. I gasped, my body seizing as Adrian stood over me with an empty ice bucket. I slid to the floor, shivering and broken. Adrian’s hand was shaking, but his voice was hard. “That’s enough, Claire! Teddy’s death was an accident. Sabrina had nothing to do with it!” “I’m grieving too, goddammit! But he’s gone. He’s not coming back. I’ve done everything I can to make it up to you—what else do you want from me?” “An accident? Innocent?” I was screaming now, my voice raw with salt and blood. “You left him! You left a three-year-old alone in the car because you had to go inside and see her! He got out… he wandered into the street… he was hit by a truck because you weren’t there! Tell me again who’s innocent!” The scar I had tried so hard to stitch shut was ripped wide open. Every night, I wondered: If I hadn’t been sick that day… if I hadn’t trusted him with our son… would Teddy still be here? “I’m sorry, Claire. I am.” Adrian reached down to pick me up, his voice softening again. “But we have to let the past go. When Sabrina’s baby is born, he can be your child too. We can be a family again.” I shivered, but before his hands could touch me, Sabrina let out a sharp cry of pain. “Adrian… my stomach. It hurts. My face…” She was sobbing, clutching her belly. “If you hadn’t come in, she would have killed the baby. What if she does something to me when you’re not around? What if she hurts me like she hurt her grandmother?” I saw it then. The shift in Adrian’s eyes. The pity for me vanished, replaced by a cold, sharpened fear. After Teddy died, I’d been a ghost. Grief is a madness no one tells you about. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my son’s body broken on the asphalt. I didn’t sleep. I wandered the house clutching his favorite blanket, searching for him. I thought if I just kept looking, he wouldn’t really be gone. But Adrian saw my grief as a liability. “You already left your grandmother in a coma, Claire. Are you going to kill another person?” He turned his back on me to cradle Sabrina’s face. I stared at his spine. “Are you really sure I was the one who did that to Grandma?” The sleepwalking. The fire in the kitchen. The night the world went up in flames. Grandma had run in to save me. But when we reached the door, it had been locked from the outside. With a heavy chain. She had used her last bit of strength to shove me through a window. She had stayed behind, crushed by falling debris, her right leg lost, her body a map of third-degree burns. When I finally woke up in the hospital, I had told the police exactly who I saw lurking in the shadows that night. Sabrina. “It was her,” I’d sobbed into Adrian’s chest. “I saw her. She locked us in!” But Adrian had pushed me away. “You’re delusional, Claire. Sabrina was with me. Why are you trying to ruin her life?” He’d handed the police a hotel receipt—his alibi for her. And then, he’d used my “mental instability” to sign the papers that committed me to the state asylum. “So what now?” I asked, my voice a dead whisper. “Are you going to send me back to the psych ward to protect her again?” I stood up and ripped my sleeve back, then my collar. I bared my skin to him. It was a landscape of horrors. Cigarette burns, needle marks from forced sedatives, long-faded whip marks from the orderlies. Adrian froze. His mouth hung open. He reached out to touch a jagged scar on my wrist, his fingers trembling. “How… how did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?” His eyes welled with tears. “Claire, I didn’t know. I swear, if I’d known they were hurting you like this, I never would have sent you there.” He moved to help me up. “I’ll take you to the hospital. We’ll get you the best plastic surgeons. I won’t let these scars stay on you.” “Adrian!” Sabrina screamed again. “It hurts! Help me!” Without a second thought, he let go of my arm. He turned and ran to her, leaving me to fall back onto a pile of shattered glass from a broken picture frame. As the blood pooled in my palm, I started to laugh. It was a hollow, jagged sound. Adrian would always choose the lie. Two hours later, my phone buzzed with a text from him. I’m so sorry, Claire. Sabrina’s having complications with the pregnancy, I can’t leave the hospital. I asked the housekeeper to make that herbal tea you like. Stay home and wait for me. I’ll be back as soon as I can… I didn’t reply. I dragged my suitcase to the door and called an Uber. He thought I was the same stupid girl who would wait forever. He didn’t know that I’d already moved Grandma to a private facility under a different name. I was leaving the pain behind. But when I reached the airport, two officers stepped into my path. “Claire Sterling? You’re under arrest. You’re a suspect in a homicide investigation. Come with us.” The handcuffs were cold and heavy. At the station, the truth came out. Sabrina had gotten into a fight with her husband, Victor. She’d stabbed him. And to clear her name, Adrian had taken the murder weapon and hidden it in the trunk of my car. “Claire, I know it’s not fair.” Adrian stood on the other side of the bars, his face haggard. “But if Sabrina goes to prison, what happens to the baby? That’s two lives, Claire.” “And you have a history,” he continued, his voice low and desperate. “The judge will be lenient because of your mental health record. I’ve hired the best lawyers. You won’t be in for long.” “Once the heat dies down, I’ll get you out. I’ll make it up to you for the rest of my life. I swear.” I listened to him, but the words felt like they were in a foreign language. “You want me to take the fall for a murder? For her?” I stared at him, truly seeing him for the first time. The man who had promised to love me forever was gone. In his place was a monster wearing his skin. “Just this once, Claire. The last time.” He was practically begging. “I already lost Teddy. I can’t lose another child. Do this for me.” It was the first time he’d ever humbled himself before me. And he was doing it for her. I stayed silent for a long beat. Then, I smiled. “No.” Adrian’s expression turned to one of pure, venomous disappointment. “How can you be so heartless? You’d watch a mother and her child die?” “I’m sorry. I just can’t do it.” “Fine,” he snapped. “Wait here. I’ll find a way to fix this, but don’t expect things to be ‘fine’ when you get out.” When I get out? I laughed. You’re on your own, Adrian. You will never see me again. After he left, I looked at my hands—hands that had been nearly broken by the guards in the asylum. I asked for my one phone call. “The deal you offered,” I said into the receiver. “I accept.” … The next morning, Adrian hurried back to the station with a team of lawyers. As he stepped out of his car, he saw a black sedan speeding toward the airport. His heart skipped a beat. A sudden, inexplicable dread washed over him. He rubbed his temples, trying to shake the feeling, but as he entered the lobby, the world fell out from under him.

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I time-traveled five years into the future. I’m married to my now highly successful ex-boyfriend. And I’m carrying his child. But he seems to hate me. When I took the initiative to cook, he refused to pick up his fork: “What kind of drug did you put in the food this time?” When I offered myself in bed, he sneered: “Trying to get me aroused so you can shove another woman into my bed again?” When I told him we should just live happily as a family of three… This man instantly turned into a wronged puppy: “Are you still trying to use this child to humiliate me?” Good lord, don’t tell me the kid isn’t his either? 1 Last night, Liam tossed and turned me until the early hours of the morning. The insatiable bastard. He nearly took half my life. “Liam!” I bossed him around out of habit: “Pour me a glass of water.” But for a long time, no one answered. The silk sheets slipped off as I sat up, revealing a slinky slip dress. After tossing so hard last night, there wasn’t a single mark on my body. Wait— I stared at my lower abdomen in shock. What was this slight bulge? Am I… pregnant? The room was incredibly unfamiliar, decorated in a white and gray palette, with luxury evident in every detail. But I clearly remembered. Last night, Liam and I were in his cramped, rented apartment. A rickety wooden bed that squeaked all night along with his rough movements… 2 In a panic, I instinctively dialed Liam’s number. “What is it?” He sounded so cold. I bit my lip, feeling panicked and wronged. “Where are you?” “The office.” “The auto repair shop?” There was a pause. Liam’s voice came through the line, chillingly cold. “Are you planning to make a fuss about my past again?” “What past?” I was utterly baffled. “Don’t you work at the auto repair shop?” “And last night we were clearly in your apartment, how come today…” “Beep…” Before I could finish, I heard the busy tone. Liam had actually hung up on me. That bastard! I cursed him resentfully. Just as I was about to call back, my eyes caught something on the screen. 2030… Is it already five years later? I stared stiffly at my bulging stomach, belatedly realizing that I might have time-traveled five years into the future. And I was pregnant. There was an old photo on the nightstand. A brightly dressed me, and Liam wearing a sleeveless tank top, looking ruggedly handsome. After calming my emotions, I called him back. “Liam, we’re married, right?” “How many years have we been married?” “How did my dad agree to let me marry you?” I desperately wanted to know what had happened in these five years. However, Liam seemed to have misunderstood something. He let out a bitter laugh: “Olivia, are you trying to tell me you regret it again?” “This is the third time this month you’ve brought up divorce.” He paused: “I’ve said it before, I will not agree to a divorce.” 3 “Who wants to divorce you?” I was astonished. With Liam’s face, his physique, his jackhammer-like stamina, and the fact that he seemed quite wealthy now… How crazy would I have to be to want a divorce? It was very quiet on the other end of the line. So quiet that I could even hear his breathing suddenly accelerate. A long time passed. He said faintly: “Suit yourself.” Before I could speak, the phone was hung up again. Seriously, how is this man so temperamental now? Probably spoiled by me. You can’t spoil men. Knowing that I was in my own home, the anxiety weighing on my heart finally settled. I prepared to change my clothes and go downstairs. Opening the closet, I froze instantly. A riot of colors. Each style more vulgar than the last. Tsk. Did future-me really have this kind of taste? I reluctantly picked out a relatively plain dress, put it on, and shuffled downstairs in my slippers. Unexpectedly, I ran into a familiar face downstairs. “Martha?” I was overjoyed. Martha had been a housekeeper for my family for over twenty years. In an unfamiliar future, meeting someone close to me made me feel incredibly grounded. “Perfect timing,” I affectionately linked my arm with hers. “I’m planning to cook a meal for Liam myself.” “With you teaching me, I’m confident.” Martha’s expression was a bit complex. She hesitated, then softly advised, “Miss, are you… planning to torment Mr. Sterling again?” Torment? Thinking about my atrocious cooking skills… That word wasn’t an exaggeration. She wanted to say more, but I cut her off. “I know Liam.” “Even if it tastes awful, he’ll force himself to finish it.” 4 In the kitchen, I beat around the bush and asked about the past five years. Five years ago. I ignored my family’s objections and married Liam. After getting married, to give me a better life, Liam quit his job and started his own business. Although my dad openly looked down on this poor son-in-law, he secretly provided a lot of support during the early stages of his startup. And Liam indeed lived up to expectations. In five years, he went from a poor kid to a rising star in New York. According to Martha. Liam’s current assets and status far exceeded my dad’s. “It’s just…” Martha helped me put the chicken soup on to simmer, hesitating to speak. “Miss, have you and that Carter guy… not broken it off yet?” “Carter?” I stirred the vegetables in the pan and casually asked, “Who’s that?” Martha was clearly stunned. “Your… boyfriend.” I nearly choked on my saliva. We exchanged a look. “I cheated?” Martha nodded, heartbroken. “He’s also a mechanic. You insisted on a divorce no matter what, you wanted to…” Before she could finish her sentence. Footsteps came from outside the door. Martha stopped talking instantly. I turned around and saw the Liam of five years later. Dress pants wrapped around the man’s long legs, his shirt cuffs neatly buttoned to the second button—mature and uninhibited. He had lost some weight. His features looked even sharper. Even though I already knew the man opposite me was my legal husband, I still blushed a little at how handsome he was. “You… you’re back.” “Mm.” So cold. But thinking about it, it made sense. Since I cheated on him with a younger guy, it would be weird if he gave me a good attitude. Taking a deep breath, I put on a smiling face, bracing myself to clean up the mess left by my future self. “You must be tired. Go wait for me outside, dinner will be ready soon.” Liam’s gaze swept over the apron loosely tied over my slightly bulging stomach. His tone was flat. “Not hungry.” Saying that, he turned on the kitchen’s ventilation system. And turned to leave. “Liam!” Holding a spatula, I stepped forward and couldn’t help acting coy. “Dinner will be ready in a minute, and it’s all your favorite dishes.” “Just try a little, okay?” “Not hungry.” Liam turned and walked out the door. Martha, standing next to me, asked cautiously, “Miss, should we… still cook these?” I sighed, “Yes.” 5 Dinner was ready. Four dishes and a soup, all home-cooked meals. Liam, who had claimed he wasn’t hungry, still sat down at the dining table. I thought to myself, I have a chance, and quickly put a shrimp into his bowl. “Miss.” Martha whispered a reminder from the side, “Mr. Sterling is allergic to shrimp.” Crap. I immediately took it back. And replaced it with a piece of braised pork. But Liam refused to pick up his chopsticks. He leaned back slightly, watching me with a calculated look. “Spit it out.” “What kind of drug did you put in the food this time?” I was stunned. “I didn’t…” Liam interrupted me with a mocking tone, “You’ve cooked twice this year. Once you put laxatives in the food, and the other time sleeping pills.” “Just because I wouldn’t agree to a divorce.” “Olivia, what drug is it this time?” I looked at him in astonishment. I couldn’t defend myself. “I really didn’t drug it.” To prove it, I frantically picked up a piece of meat and stuffed it into my mouth. “There’s really no poison…” “Ugh—” Liam’s face darkened, and he actually reached out to dig it out of my mouth. He said gruffly, “I’ll eat it, okay?” “Even if it’s poisoned, I’ll accept it. You don’t have to go this far.” I pushed him away and swallowed the piece of meat whole. “It’s really not poisoned, it’s just… a little gross.” It had a strong, gamey meat smell. Liam looked at me for a good while. Then he sat back down. I don’t know if it was an illusion, but it seemed like he curled his lips slightly. Liam finally picked up his chopsticks. I carefully observed his expression. Sure enough. The moment the food entered his mouth, despite his usual perfect expression management, he couldn’t help but frown. But he had lived through hard times. Even though it tasted awful, he still ate almost everything. Seeing that he was in a good mood, I struck while the iron was hot. “Liam, I’d like to talk with you tonight.” The hand holding the chopsticks stiffened. “I don’t have time.” His expression turned cold again. He put his chopsticks down heavily. “I have to work late tonight. Whatever it is, we can talk about it later.” 6 I sat at the table, resting my chin on my hands, lamenting my bitter fate. A five-year memory gap. How is this any different from losing five years of my life? And I still had to clean up the mess for my future self and grovel to win my husband back. Liam, now a domineering CEO, was also moody, changing his face faster than turning a page in a book. I sighed. Martha hesitated and asked, “Miss, are you… still planning to bring up divorce with him tonight?” I was stunned. “You thought I wanted to talk to him about divorce tonight?” “Is… isn’t that it?” Martha murmured in astonishment, “For the past year, you’ve been dead set on divorcing him. Every time you see him, you either force him to sign the papers or persuade him to let go.” I remembered Liam’s ugly expression just now. So. He suddenly changed his face and insisted he was busy tonight, just because he was afraid to hear me bring up divorce again? What an idiot. 7 Liam worked in the study until late into the night. Just as I was dozing off while waiting, footsteps sounded outside the door. Stepping through the hazy night. He stopped outside the door. My sleepiness vanished instantly. I got out of bed holding my pillow. Opened the door. And met Liam’s fragile, astonished gaze. He froze for a moment and slowly put away the unlit cigarette between his fingers. “Liam.” I called him softly. He gave me a complex look, his face dark as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m very tired.” He paused. “Whatever it is, we’ll talk tomorrow.” Saying that, he was about to leave again. I gritted my teeth and followed him, holding the pillow with one hand and hooking my other arm through his. Liam stiffened. I looked up at him. “I don’t want to sleep alone. I’m scared.” He turned his head away. And rejected me again. “I was working tonight. I’m very tired.” “I won’t move around,” I promised sincerely. “I’ll just sleep next to you and do nothing.” “I won’t bother you.” Liam didn’t speak. But his Adam’s apple bobbed quietly. “Suit yourself.” Holding my pillow, I happily followed him into his room. What a bland room. He’s a CEO, after all, but aside from a bed and a closet, there was nothing else in the room. Hmm. There was also an old photo of me on the nightstand. I was about to take a closer look, but Liam was quick and shoved it under his pillow. “Having nightmares lately.” “Putting a photo by the bed wards off evil spirits.” So stubborn, still so stubborn. Liam lay down with his back to me, acting as if he was ignoring me. I hesitated for a moment. Then I just hugged his waist and pressed against him. But the next second, my hand was thrown off by him. Liam turned around, moonlight falling on his face, his expression sorrowful. “Olivia.” “Are you trying to arouse me again so you can shove another woman into my bed?” He closed his eyes, suppressing his surging emotions. “You’ve pulled these stunts so many times, just to leave me and go find him?” I was completely stunned. My heart ached, and I suddenly felt a little bad for Liam. What exactly had I done to him over the past five years? I didn’t know how to explain, so I carefully took his hand. “Liam, will you trust me? I don’t want a divorce.” “We have a baby now. From now on, the three of us will live a good life together, okay?” But my words seemed to hit Liam’s sore spot completely. He pushed me away, trembling. The sorrow in his eyes was so heavy it was almost overflowing. “Olivia, are you still trying to use this child to humiliate me?” Humiliate? I suddenly remembered Martha’s hesitation, and a bad premonition arose in my heart. Damn it. Could this child… really not be Liam’s?

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The salesman stood there, pen hovering over the paperwork, waiting for my final word. I pointed to the sleek, matte-black silhouette of the luxury sedan in the center of the showroom and said, “This is the one. I’ll take it.” Right then, my phone vibrated. It was my brother, Tyler. When I answered, his voice was a jagged mess of sobs and gasps, as if he were drowning on dry land. He told me his two boys—my nephews—had been kidnapped. The kidnappers were demanding two million dollars in ransom. He said he couldn’t scrape together even a fraction of it and begged me, his big brother, to save the kids. He promised, over and over, that he’d pay me back every cent the moment he had it. As a rising star in the Silicon Valley tech scene, two million was roughly what I cleared in a good month. It was a staggering amount to most, but for me, it was a business expense. But I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t even soften my voice. I told him, “No. I’m not giving you the money.” 01 “The MSRP on this model is two million, including the custom trim…” The salesman froze, his mouth hanging open as he stared at me. On the other end of the line, Tyler’s voice escalated into a raw, frantic scream. “Logan! You’re seriously telling me you’d rather spend two million on a damn car than save Ben and Toby? They’re your own flesh and blood! Are those kids worth less than a piece of metal to you?” Tyler’s voice was so loud it bled through the speaker, echoing in the hushed, expensive silence of the dealership. People at the nearby espresso bar turned, their eyes narrowing as they caught the drift of the conversation. I ignored them. I walked a slow circle around the car, admiring the carbon-fiber accents. “Do you have this in any other colors?” I asked the salesman, my tone conversational. “We… we have the ‘Midnight Amethyst’ as well. It’s stunning. One moment, let me pull up the spec sheet for you.” “Don’t bother,” I said. “I’ll take that one too.” The salesman blinked, convinced he’d misheard. “Mr. Weaver? You mean… you want two? Two identical cars in different colors?” I nodded, my expression bored. “Exactly.” “Right away! I’ll… I’ll get the contracts drafted immediately!” The salesman’s voice was a frantic, joyful chirp, a sickening contrast to the explosion of rage coming from my phone. “Logan, have you lost your mind? Ben and Toby are waiting for that ransom! You’re their uncle—how can you just sit there and let this happen?” “They have a father,” I said, my voice dropping into a cold, flat register. “Why is this my problem?” There was a beat of silence. When Tyler spoke again, the rage had dissolved into a pathetic, watery whimper. “Logan, please. You know I’m broke. I’ve lost everything on those bad investments. I’m drowning in debt. Just lend it to me. I’ll work for you, I’ll be your slave, I’ll do anything once the boys are safe.” I didn’t say anything for a long time, just listened to the sound of my own footsteps on the polished marble floor. “Logan,” he sobbed. “I’m begging you.” “Stop crying,” I snapped, my patience finally hitting a wall. “They aren’t dead yet.” I hung up. But the silence didn’t last. Ten minutes later, the glass doors of the showroom swung open, and my mother, Martha, stormed in. “Logan! You have to save your nephews! They’re just babies!” She lunged for me, grabbing my arm with a grip that was surprisingly strong for a woman her age, her face already a mask of tears. Just then, the salesman returned, beaming as he held out the folders. “Mr. Weaver, here are the contracts for both vehicles. The total comes to four million. If you could just look these over…” “Four million?” Martha gasped. She snatched the papers out of his hand, her eyes darting across the numbers. When she saw the total, she looked like she was about to scream, but she caught herself. She forced her voice into a trembling, maternal plea. “Logan, honey… the boys have been kidnapped. Please, take this money and save them.” I gave her a long, chilly look. “What’s the rush? Let me finish buying the cars first.” She stared at me as if I were a stranger. “They are your nephews! Your brother’s children! How can you be so heartless? You’re standing here picking out paint colors while they’re in some dark room terrified for their lives? They love you, Logan. How can you just watch them die?” By now, a small crowd had gathered. In a high-end dealership like this, people usually minded their own business, but the drama was too juicy to ignore. Once they pieced together what was happening, the whispers started. “He can afford four million for cars but won’t pay two to save kids? That’s sick.” “Most people in this zip code are cold, but this is a new low. It’s two lives.” “I know him—that’s Logan Weaver. He’s that tech guy from the news. Worth a fortune. I guess he traded his soul for his bank account.” I didn’t blink. I didn’t defend myself. I simply pulled out my black card and handed it to the salesman. “Process it,” I said. A young woman in a white sundress stepped out from the crowd, her face flushed with indignation. “Ma’am,” she said to Martha, “is there some kind of family feud? Why is he doing this to you?” Martha played her part perfectly, her shoulders slumped in defeat. “There’s no feud. They’ve always been close. Logan, have you forgotten? When you were a kid and fell into the river, Tyler was the one who screamed for help until his lungs gave out. He saved you.” She wiped her eyes, her voice cracking. “We were poor. When you got into that fancy university, Tyler gave up his own dreams. He went straight to work at the warehouse just to make sure you had tuition money. And now that you’re rich, you won’t even help him save his sons?” I stayed silent. Because everything she said was technically true. Tyler had been there when I fell. He had skipped college while I went. Martha’s voice rose to a crescendo. “Logan, look, just consider it a loan. The second the boys are back, I’ll make Tyler and his wife move abroad. They’ll work two jobs, three jobs—they’ll pay you back every cent. Just give them the chance to save their children!” “Enough!” I barked. The sound echoed like a gunshot. “It’s a ‘no.’ Not a dime.” I turned my back on her to look at the cars again. Martha flew at me. The slap was loud, stinging my cheek and turning my face to the side. “You ungrateful monster!” she shrieked. “I wish I’d never given birth to you!” The girl in the white dress joined in, her voice shaking with rage. “He saved your life! Those are his kids! Are you even human?” “Mind your own business,” I snapped at her. Her face turned a deep, blotchy red. “Logan, please,” Martha sobbed, dropping to her knees on the cold floor. “I’m begging you. I’ll do anything.” I didn’t move. I didn’t reach out to help her up. I just signaled for the security guards. “Get her out of here,” I said coldly. “If there’s a kidnapping, call the cops. Don’t call me. You’re wasting my time; I’m trying to buy a car.” The salesman looked nauseous. “Mr. Weaver… maybe you should take the money and go to the police? We can put the sale on hold…” “No,” I said, my voice like iron. “Run the card.” The transaction went through. As the machine beeped, the crowd’s vitriol reached a fever pitch. “His own mother is on her knees and he doesn’t care. Absolute scum.” “All that money and he’s still just a hollow shell of a man.” “I hope those cars crash the moment he drives them off the lot.” I turned to the room, a thin, polite smile on my face. “Anyone here is welcome to donate their own two million to the cause,” I said. “But as for me? I’m out.” 02 “Fine! We’ll do it! It’s just two million—if we all chip in, we can save those boys!” someone shouted from the back. A murmur of agreement swept through the crowd. “I’m in for twenty thousand!” a man in a tailored suit yelled. “I’ll give ten!” another added. The room was suddenly alive with the spirit of a lynch-mob-turned-charity-auction. I let out a short, dry laugh. “You people are as gullible as you are self-righteous. But let me make one thing clear: If anyone in this room gives a single cent to this woman today, I will make it my personal mission to ensure your business is bankrupt by tomorrow. Try me.” The room went deathly silent. In this city, my reputation preceded me. I had the capital and the connections to make that threat a reality. “Right. Fun’s over,” I said, checking my watch. “I have a ribbon-cutting ceremony for a school I funded. I’d hate to be late.” I walked toward the exit, the crowd parting like the Red Sea, their eyes burning holes in my back. But before I could reach my car, Tyler and his wife, Tiffany, blocked my path. They weren’t alone. They had brought a swarm of reporters with them. The moment they saw me, they threw themselves onto the pavement, sobbing hysterically. “Logan! Please! Save our boys!” Microphones were thrust into my face. Cameras flashed. “Mr. Weaver, we’ve heard you’re worth hundreds of millions. Why won’t you pay a two-million-dollar ransom for your nephews?” “Is it true your brother saved your life as a child? How can you turn your back on him now?” “Is a luxury car really worth more to you than the lives of two innocent children?” The questions pelted me like hail. I didn’t even try to push through. “Are you done?” I asked, looking directly into the nearest lens. “It’s my money. I earned it. I spend it how I want. End of story.” “But Mr. Weaver, you’re a known philanthropist,” a reporter pressed, her voice dripping with fake concern. “You’ve built schools in the Appalachian mountains. Are you really going to let your own family be killed?” I leaned in closer to her mic. “Apparently so. I choose who gets my charity. And right now? I don’t feel charitable toward them.” The reporters, sensing a viral moment, shifted gears. They started live-streaming, narrating my “villainy” to thousands of viewers in real-time. Tyler and Tiffany continued their performance, their foreheads hitting the concrete as they bowed. “Logan, we’ll do anything. We’ll be your servants for life. Just don’t let them kill Toby and Ben!” By now, Tyler’s forehead was actually bleeding. It was a hell of a show. “If you have time to bleed on the sidewalk,” I said, looking down at him, “you have time to go to the bank and take out a mortgage. Or sell your cars. Maybe if you look pathetic enough, someone will give you a high-interest loan.” Tyler froze for a second, his eyes flashing with something that wasn’t grief. Then the mask slipped back into place. “I would sell everything!” he wailed. “But I have nothing! Our parents spent every cent they had putting you through school! Even my wedding money went to your tuition! Mom had to go door-to-door begging neighbors for loans just so I could get married, and we’re still paying them back!” He looked at the cameras, his voice trembling. “Logan, if I’ve offended you, I’m sorry. I’ll change. Just please… don’t let them die.” The crowd around us sighed in sympathy. “He’s a monster. His family sacrificed everything for him and he won’t give back a penny.” “Look at the poor guy. He has nothing because he gave it all to his brother.” On the live-stream, the comments were a tidal wave of hate. Cancel him. Eat the rich. Hope he loses everything. I didn’t get angry. I actually laughed. “You’re right,” I said, grinning at the cameras. “I am exactly what you think I am. I’m the ungrateful son. I’m the cold-hearted brother. I haven’t sent a dime home since the day I graduated. And guess what? I’m still not paying the ransom.” 03 The crowd turned feral. People started spitting toward me, throwing crumpled flyers and trash. I calmly pulled out my phone and pointed it at them. “Keep it up. I’d love to see how many of you can afford the legal fees for an assault charge against me.” “Who cares?” someone yelled. “People like you belong in jail anyway!” A few people surged forward, fists clenched. Tyler and Tiffany jumped up, ostensibly to “protect” me, though they were really just positioning themselves for the cameras. “Don’t hurt him! He’s still my brother!” Tyler cried. Then, leaning into my ear, he whispered, “Logan, just give us the money and this all goes away.” “Not happening,” I whispered back. Martha appeared again, her face wet with “old mother” tears. “Logan, I raised you. I gave you life. Just consider this two million your ‘repayment’ for all those years. Please.” I looked at her, my smile fading. “You’re right. I do owe a debt for my upbringing. But I won’t be paying it today.” “Then when?” she screamed. “When they’re dead?” My phone rang. It was my Chief of Staff. “Logan, it’s a disaster. The video is everywhere. The board is panicking, our stock is dipping, and the PR team is losing control. What do we do?” The people nearby heard the panic in her voice and cheered. “Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it?” “Lose it all! See how you like being broke like your brother!” I paused, looked at the crowd, and then back at the camera. “Tell the team to schedule a press conference for tonight at eight. I’ll address everything then.” I smiled. “The bigger the mess, the better the cleanup.”

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My name is Stella. The day before my eighteenth birthday, I received my acceptance letter to Yale University. On the day the early admission results came out, my home phone and my cell phone blew up with notifications. I sat alone in my dark bedroom for three hours. Then, I unlocked my phone and blocked every single person in a specific contact group. The group name was bluntly titled: Orbiters. Yes, in my eighteen years of life, I had never truly been in a relationship. My time and energy, apart from being buried in textbooks, were entirely dedicated to learning how to string along and manipulate these orbiters. And, of course, studying how to marry rich. I remember my freshman year. I was taking a walk by the lake with my wealthy boyfriend, Noah. He was three years older than me, but a few calculated words from me had him blushing profusely. Frustrated, he pinched my cheek and interrogated me through gritted teeth: “Stella, you’re so good at this. Just how many boyfriends have you had?” “Not a single one. Do you believe me?” I raised my eyes to look at him. Slowly, I traced his palm with my pinky finger, my gaze open and deeply affectionate. “Noah, all these years, I was only waiting for you.” I was telling the truth— Those orbiters were just practice targets. My actual romantic history was a blank slate. Young men always want to be the first conqueror of uncharted territory, and Noah was no exception. As expected, he was deeply moved by my words. He pulled me into his arms, cupped my face, and kissed me deeply, promising to treat me right for the rest of his life. He was the boyfriend I had meticulously schemed to catch, and he was also the so-called “scumbag” who cheated on me and broke my heart a year later. But he would never know that from the very beginning to the bitter end of our relationship, I was the sole puppet master. Even his infidelity was carefully orchestrated by me after I had already moved on to my next target. 1 When I was little, my mom always told me: a woman can be poor, but she must be beautiful. However, she can’t just be an empty shell; she needs brains and ambition, too. My mother was a fiercely ambitious woman. From a young age, she forced me to study relentlessly to get into a top-tier Ivy League school. And getting into an Ivy League wasn’t about securing a white-collar corporate job; it was about climbing the social ladder to find a wealthy man. In her eyes, society was cruel. Class stratification was a relay race. The ancestors and fathers who ran faster had simply secured a better starting line for their descendants. The best university in the country naturally gathered the offspring of the wealthiest, most connected, and highest-status people in the country. Only the lowest tier of gold diggers fantasized about finding true love in a nightclub. I was different. The battlefield she tailored for me was the top university in the nation. On campus, everyone dressed casually. The wealthier they were, the lower their profile. We all ate in the same dining halls and lived in the same dorms. Therefore, as a freshman, my criteria for filtering out the rich kids came down to one thing: Their hobbies. The more cash-burning the hobby, the wealthier the family. All I had to do was infiltrate the circles that hosted these expensive hobbies. It was actually quite easy—just join the right clubs. My first target was Noah, the president of the Photography Club. The first time I saw Noah was during the club’s admission interviews. I deliberately wore an off-the-shoulder top. My freshly washed, long hair draped down to my waist, creating an innocent yet alluring vibe. The interview took place in a classroom, with several upperclassmen acting as judges. When the others asked me questions, I answered fluently with a bright smile. But the moment it was his turn, I feigned nervousness and intentionally stumbled over my words. The “you are different” signal was so obvious that several upperclassmen couldn’t help but tease him: “Hey Noah, are you staring at her too fiercely?” Noah raised his eyebrows, looking a bit innocent, and asked me, “Do I look fierce?” I just tilted my head and blinked at him, remaining silent. That made him uncomfortably shift his gaze first. When the interviews ended, he stood in the center of the room talking to people. I deliberately lingered behind. When the other freshmen had mostly left, I clutched my notebook and went up to ask him questions. My notebook was filled with neat, meticulous notes of every word he had spoken. As I lowered my head and leaned in, my damp, freshly washed hair emitted a wave of crisp grapefruit scent right into his face. I had spent an entire night scrolling through his entire Twitter feed and found an old Reddit AMA he did where he mentioned his favorite fruit was grapefruit. Moreover, in a Q&A about irresistible traits in women, he had admitted his biggest weakness was a subtle, lingering fragrance. I prescribed the exact medicine he needed. Freshmen always have a halo effect. Seniors are naturally curious about the new girls. Even if my tactics were only worth a B-minus, the “freshman buff” bumped it up to an A-plus. As I was leaving, I specifically told him, “Noah, my name is Stella. You have to remember me.” My interest was expressed bluntly and passionately. Any guy with half a brain would know what to do next. Sure enough, when I woke up the next morning, I saw a friend request from Noah on Snapchat. Everything was going smoothly. I almost jumped out of bed screaming. Yet, my response to his friend request was— I left it pending. Ignored. 2 When dealing with men, I believed the most effective strategy was the carrot and the stick. A woman’s initiative can soothe a man’s ego, but satisfaction must be strictly moderated. Once he gets a taste of sweetness, you have to let him starve for a bit. Men are born hunters. Provoking them and then running away is the ultimate seduction. I intentionally ignored his friend request for days. On the third day, I received a mass text from the Photography Club secretary about our first outing. The location was Central Park. I dressed up meticulously again, wearing a trendy preppy outfit—a cropped sweater, a pleated tennis skirt, white knee-high socks showing just a sliver of thigh, and my hair in twin pigtails. Despite the sweet, innocent outfit, I didn’t carry a cute little point-and-shoot camera. Instead, I lugged a massive, incredibly heavy telephoto lens. Contrast creates shock value. Dressed like that amidst a sea of tech-bro guys, I inevitably became the center of attention. The only person giving me the cold shoulder was Noah. I glanced at him several times, but he refused to look at me. I thought he was sulking and decided to add fuel to the fire, flirting and joking with other guys right in front of him. After the photoshoot, we had a group review session. As president, he was supposed to critique the newcomers’ work. When Noah walked over to me, I obediently handed him my camera to check my settings. He didn’t move. He just stared at me with a probing gaze. After a moment, a mocking smirk touched his lips. What? What was happening? Shouldn’t he be jealous?! That look made me panic. I kept my head down, pretending to fiddle with the camera. The camera belonged to the club, and I barely knew how to use it. I accidentally pressed the wrong button, and the screen flashed to the gallery grid. In the gallery, aside from a few landscape shots, every single other picture was of Noah. I froze, my face instantly flushing crimson red. Um, yes. In order to flirt with him later, I had spent the entire morning secretly photographing him. I never expected it to be exposed right here. It was an accident, and I was genuinely, incredibly embarrassed. Noah froze too. The mocking smile on his face stiffened, turned to shock, and then transformed into pure shyness. I had spent the whole morning talking to other guys, seemingly ignoring him, but the photography guys all knew one truth: The camera lens is a person’s most honest eye. The only person I had been focusing on was him. We stared at the camera screen in silence for ten seconds. I took a deep breath before I dared to steal a glance at him. His lips were pressed tightly together, the red flush on his ears only halfway faded. He put on a cold face, expertly switched the screen back to the original menu, and began seriously critiquing my settings. When he finished, my face was still burning, and I looked dumb and dazed. Noah glanced at me and said coldly, “Phone.” I obediently pulled it out. He snatched it with a dark expression, typed in his own number, tossed it back into my arms, gently pushed my forehead, and ordered: “Add me when you get back.” Oh. I foolishly rubbed the spot on my forehead he had touched, knowing in my heart: I had already won half the battle. Regarding why I didn’t accept his friend request immediately, I deliberately called him later to earnestly explain that I had met too many people as a new student and simply missed his request in the flood of notifications. Noah just gave a faint “hmm.” A moment later, he added slowly, “Oh. You know, at the time, I thought you were playing hard to get. I was wondering if this little freshman was actually super manipulative.” Hearing that, I practically bristled like a cornered cat, panicking about how to defend myself. Thankfully, he sighed and continued, “But you’re so clumsy, you even got caught red-handed secretly taking pictures of me…” Only then did I realize he was teasing me. My reaction speed kicked in, and I immediately sounded wronged: “Noah, you actually thought I was manipulative? That’s a really serious accusation against a girl. I need compensation!” He was caught off guard by the pivot. “What kind of compensation?” I tilted my head, my sugary-sweet voice flowing through the phone right into his ear: “Just… compensate me by saying goodnight to me for a whole month, okay?” He chuckled, his voice gentle, and didn’t refuse. Everything that followed fell into place perfectly. Noah texted me every day, and before bed, he would call me for ten minutes to say goodnight. The calls naturally grew longer and longer. He was a junior, a New York native, graduated from a top prep school. His worldly knowledge and perspective were leaps and bounds ahead of mine. But my ability to control him relied on one simple weapon: lust. He treated me well. His family was wealthy, owning a luxury penthouse in Manhattan. On weekends, his parents would send a driver to pick him up. I took note of the car model, quietly researched it, and found it cost over a hundred thousand dollars. That seven-figure real estate asset was warmer than his hugs and more thrilling than his kisses. We really did share some wonderful times together. Unfortunately, reality soon dumped a bucket of ice water on my head. I realized that the finish line I believed in was merely the first step of a ten-thousand-mile marathon. Putting aside the fact that Noah might just be looking for a casual college girlfriend with no long-term plans, my growing experience and social climbing skills taught me a harsh truth: If I wanted to truly elevate my social class, a family like Noah’s—comfortably upper-middle class but nothing spectacular—was only fit to be my stepping stone. Three months into our relationship, the honeymoon phase passed, and I met Carter. Noah called him “Boss.” That day, Noah and I were holding hands on a walk when a strikingly handsome guy approached us. I couldn’t help but take a second look. Noah stopped, looking pleasantly surprised, and greeted him, “Boss!” Carter smiled at us, his gaze lightly sweeping over my face before looking at Noah. “Hey, Noah.” Our eyes met briefly as we passed each other, but I could feel that this “Boss” was far from ordinary. Sure enough, the next second, Noah lifted his chin, staring at Carter’s almost radiant back, and sighed with unprecedented admiration: “Now that is a true golden boy. Compared to his family, we’re all just regular peasants.” 3 Noah’s words were like a dark cloud blotting out all the pink bubbles in my world. I suddenly sobered up: I studied relentlessly, got into an Ivy League, and schemed my way to the top, all just to date a boy from a “regular peasant” family? Is this what I called success? I felt deeply unsatisfied. During that sleepless night, I sat in my dorm, lips pressed tightly together, staring at Carter’s Instagram profile on my laptop. Carter was the president of the Mountaineering Club. He was a senior, majoring in finance. He was refined, with a very cold aura. He was pale, with features handsome enough to be an actor—the textbook definition of a young girl’s dream guy. A man like this, you could guess with your eyes closed, had a mountain of girls chasing him. I later found out that our university’s Mountaineering Club was famous. Anyone who made a name for themselves in that club was a wealthy, powerful young elite. I blamed my own naivety—girls who really knew what they were doing would never look for rich heirs in the Photography Club; they knew to aim high at the Mountaineering Club. But Carter had a girlfriend. Her name was Valerie. She was the goddess of the Management School. Rumor had it she was a true socialite from a family of high-ranking government officials. Anyone could see they were a match made in heaven. Well, life isn’t a cheesy romance novel. I wasn’t the main character, and Valerie wasn’t the evil step-sister. If I were him, I would also choose the girlfriend whose family matched mine perfectly. I logically and dejectedly closed my laptop, telling myself to stop daydreaming. But that night, I dreamt of Carter. I dreamt that I actually became the Cinderella from the fairy tales and successfully married the prince. The next time I saw Carter was on a weekend. Noah dragged me out of bed early in the morning to go hiking in upstate New York. I agreed half-heartedly, barely throwing an outfit together, not even bothering with makeup. Yawning as I reached the campus gates, I saw the group standing next to a massive SUV—and woke up instantly. What?! Carter is here?! So we’re hiking with Carter’s group?! I immediately glared at Noah, whispering frantic complaints: “Why didn’t you tell me other people were coming? I would have dressed up!” “It’s just friends. Besides, you look beautiful without dressing up,” Noah smiled gently down at me, his finger twirling the ends of my hair. We looked intimate. I felt self-conscious and stole a glance at Carter. I saw his gaze resting on Noah’s finger and my hair, a meaningful smile playing on his lips. The next second, he looked away, opened the car door, got into the passenger seat, and said quietly, “Everyone’s here. Let’s go.” Valerie and her friends were in another car. They arrived ten minutes after us. First, I saw a Mercedes G-Wagon, and then I saw the long-legged beauty hop down from the driver’s seat. My chest instantly churned with jealousy. I knew Valerie’s photos were beautiful, but I didn’t expect her to be even more stunning in person. Her aura was impeccable. When she spoke, she was incredibly gentle. Just standing there, she was a goddess. I later learned that in Noah’s dorm, whenever Valerie’s name came up, the guys all looked dreamy-eyed. If someone got a ‘like’ from Valerie on Instagram, they’d screenshot it and brag about it for days. I had to admit, she was absolutely not the arrogant, mean girl from the novels. She was the true leading lady. She smiled generously at me, warmly took my hand, and said, “Stella, right? I’m Valerie.” In front of her, my inferiority complex made me want to sink into the floor. I had bad grades at school and very few friends. My entire freshman year, I had spent most of my time and energy trying to find a rich boyfriend. My goal was to be an accessory. And my only reason for standing here today was because I was Noah’s new girlfriend. Valerie was the center of attention everywhere she went. Everyone revolved around her. They chatted with her, joked with her, and asked her opinions. Even surrounded by admirers, she would subconsciously seek Carter’s gaze between sentences. After making eye contact, she would purse her lips in a smile before turning back to the conversation. On one hand, I tried to join the conversation; on the other, I couldn’t help but secretly record Valerie’s tone and way of speaking on my phone. A person’s background can be seen in their speech. I couldn’t have her background, but I could mimic how she spoke. It felt like if I got closer to her, I could get closer to that kind of life, and closer to… Carter. It was right then that I noticed a gaze— Carter. I stiffened. He was looking at me with a half-smile. Suddenly, he took out his phone and pointed at the ‘Recording’ icon on his screen. He knew I was recording?! My face flushed burning hot in an instant. But he acted as if nothing had happened and looked away. I was distracted for the rest of the day until I got home. Noah didn’t notice anything wrong with me. I hurriedly said goodbye to him, rushed back to my dorm, and buried my head under the covers. My heart was pounding in my ears. Only then did I dare to carefully recall the moment when we were setting up the tents. Carter had seemingly intentionally pulled me away from the group to talk to me: “I noticed you spend more time looking at Valerie than your own boyfriend,” he suddenly leaned into my ear and started the conversation. I realized then that it was just the two of us. I couldn’t help but straighten my spine, my fingertips pressing hard into the tent canvas. I lowered my eyes, refusing to look at him: “So stingy. People aren’t allowed to look at your girlfriend?” “She’s not my girlfriend.” He paused, then lowered his voice, speaking in a breathy whisper: “I don’t even like girls like her. I prefer…” He suddenly stopped. And the tips of my ears turned bright red. I didn’t dare respond to his unfinished sentence. I only knew his gaze was fixed on my right ear, which was red enough to look cooked. He stared until I couldn’t bear it anymore, then unexpectedly reached out, took off my right earring, placed it in his palm, studied it for a moment, stood up, and left me with: “Noah gave this to you, right? I like it. Confiscated.” … My heart was still racing. My ear still longed for the warmth of his fingertips. Under the covers, it felt stiflingly hot. My trembling hand touched my empty right ear. I remembered earlier in the day when Valerie asked me why I was missing an earring. I had looked panicked and clumsily explained that I accidentally lost it. When everyone started joking that the earrings Noah bought were bad quality, I secretly glanced at Carter. I saw a fiery, dark glint in his eyes. I was still naive back then, not understanding human nature. I mistakenly thought everyone’s imagination and understanding of love were identical: demanding loyalty, purity, and eternity, favoring excellence, sunshine, and positivity. But later I learned that the more people have and the more they experience, the less loyalty, purity, and eternity excite them. Even though Carter was only 22, the only things that truly interested him were— Stimulation and taboo. 4 Carter’s actions sent my imagination into overdrive. He gave me an illusion. Things I only dared to dream about suddenly had a tangible possibility in real life. Maybe the domineering CEO falling for me from the novels actually existed? I was seduced. I started wanting more. My ambition and desires expanded little by little. But he never spoke to me again. Every late night, I involuntarily searched for every piece of information about Carter, hoping to find a chance to see him again. He was like a key that could unlock the door to my desires, my future, and my everything. Carter’s class schedule, the libraries he frequented, and the Mountaineering Club’s weekly activity times could actually be dug up from the campus forums. He had too many fangirls. Girls from the economics department, other majors, and even neighboring universities were constantly trying to track him down. It’s just a pity they never practically applied the theories from their economics classes: only asymmetric information yields profit. Information that is fully known to everyone has zero value. Meaning, only the hardest-to-dig information was gold. So I started digging from other angles to find places Carter might frequent but didn’t want people to know about. For instance, I dug into his friends’ Yelp reviews, Twitter, and Reddit accounts. Finally, under a tweet from his roommate last year, I found a reply from Carter. Carter replied: “Haha, nice.” And the location tag was a niche, underground cosplay maid lounge, a half-hour subway ride from campus. As the name implies, it was a place where waitresses wore French maid outfits to satisfy the fantasies and demands of patrons. So, Carter likes this kind of stuff? I searched online and found out this lounge was hiring part-time waitresses. Because it was so far from campus, it was almost impossible to run into anyone I knew. I gritted my teeth, made up an excuse to Noah, and decided to apply. Everything went smoothly. The only thing that wasn’t smooth was that I worked there for a whole month and didn’t see a single hair on Carter’s head. I realized then that relying solely on theory wasn’t enough. The winners in this world all need that 1% of luck. Just when I was about to give up, finally, a familiar face appeared in the lounge. Carter!! I almost couldn’t believe my eyes. He seemed a bit surprised the moment he saw me. He quickly recovered, greeted the owner, and then stopped looking at me. That’s it? I felt a bit disappointed, but I absolutely couldn’t lower myself to go hit on him directly. I kept my head down and worked. Not long after, a pair of brogues approached me. He stared at the top of my head for a long time before his familiar, deep voice finally spoke: “Does Noah know?” My hands didn’t stop wiping the table. I warned myself not to panic. After building up my mental defenses, I finally looked up. I don’t know where I got the courage, but I tilted my head and answered his question with a question: “Do you want him to know?” He asked the question as Noah’s friend, teasing me about working at a maid lounge, but he didn’t expect me to drag him in as a co-conspirator. He gave me that ambiguous, half-smile again, took two steps closer, gently tapped my shoe with his toe, looked down, and asked: “Stella—that’s what Noah calls you, right? Stella, when are you here every week?” He cut straight to the chase. “Tuesdays and Thursdays.” I lifted my head entirely. Once we made eye contact, I didn’t know why, but I felt bewitched again and blurted out: “If I’m here, can I wait for you?” He smiled, the corners of his mouth curling up: “Tsk. Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays you accompany Noah. Tuesdays and Thursdays belong to me. Is that how I should understand it?” My face was burning hot! I didn’t expect him to say that. I thought he was going to mock my promiscuity. I was incredibly embarrassed and was just about to argue back—when I saw Carter pinch my cheek, lean in, and whisper in my ear with an ambiguous, husky voice: “Sharing. I like it.” “…” I froze on the spot. Only then did I realize how twisted Carter was. The face of an angel, the hobbies of a devil. But I tried my best to gather my surprise and panic, desperately pretending to be worldly. I pursed my lips and forced myself to continue: “Then I… I’ll wait for you on Thursday.” He was amused by my reaction, laughed twice, and walked away. My heart was thumping, feeling like every beat was slamming against my chest. I stared at his retreating back in a panic, unable to describe my feelings: happy, surprised, relieved, scared, worried… incredibly complex and messy. I took a deep breath, pushing away the guilt towards Noah, and buried my head in wiping the ashes off the table with a rag. It was as if I was struggling to scrub away the mold slowly spreading across my soul. But the mold on Carter’s soul was definitely worse than mine. I slowly began to understand the look in his eyes when he tore off my earring during that hike—predatory and curious, his mind craving taboo. I finally realized that the thrill of a secret affair was the greatest emotional value I could provide Carter. He had had enough of those pure, excellent, and sunny girls. Having been the golden boy in the spotlight for too long, Carter liked the dark; he liked damp, hidden temptations. He also saw at a glance that I was absolutely not the open, optimistic Valerie with no secrets. I was the kind of girl who secretly recorded people, ambitious, devoid of a bottom line, and full of scheming, my heart overgrown with dark, unseeable moss. And he liked moss. His habits were also very unique: every time he came, he would treat me like I was invisible, sitting alone in a private room drinking tea, not even calling for service. After a while, he would suddenly appear behind me, gently blow on my ear, then suddenly wrap his arm around my waist, affectionately pinch my chin like a lover, and always ask one question: “Hmm? Has Noah ever done this to you?” Or: “Do you like it better when I do this to you, or when he does it?” … His hot breath sprayed against the back of my neck. And these words didn’t actually require my answer. I slowly discovered that as long as I acted shy, coy, conflicted, and guilty, while suppressing my joy and impulse… in short, exhibiting all the reactions that fit the “cheating” scenario, it would get him into character and make him full of excitement. He liked me more and more. The time we spent secretly together grew longer. He would hold me and sigh: “Stella, right now I wish I could be with you every day.” Most of the time, my mind was very clear, but sometimes, I inevitably got caught up in the act. The maids in the lounge all wore clogs, but he liked it when I took off my shoes and socks, walking barefoot on the floor of the private room, and then ordered me to run a lap around the room until my feet were covered in dust. Then, he would make me sit in front of him. He would hold my ankle and admire the soles of my feet with an almost intoxicated expression. He said a woman’s most beautiful part was her feet, and he especially loved the way a woman’s soles looked when they got dirty. Shattered beauty is a tragedy, and Carter loved all tragedies. The most thrilling time was when we were in his private room. He was rubbing the soles of my feet when suddenly voices came from outside— It was Carter’s friends, the same group from the hiking trip! My scalp instantly went numb. I instinctively tried to pull my foot back to hide. But Carter tightened his grip. We were separated from the outside by only a thin sliding door. If those people just stepped closer, opened the door, and everything was exposed, my reputation would be completely ruined. I was more worried than I had ever been. My heart was racing, I was trembling with fear, but I failed to notice Carter had leaned in close, his lips against my ear: “Stella, are you scared?” He spoke very quickly. I finally noticed his eyes—they were glinting with excitement. Only one thought remained in my head: I absolutely cannot ruin his mood. My breathing was unsteady, but I looked at him as firmly as I could and slowly shook my head. In that exact moment, Carter smirked, abruptly slid the door open, and greeted the group outside: “Hey.” I almost jumped out of my seat. The gap wasn’t wide, just enough to show Carter’s face, a sliver of my skirt, and my calf wearing a white thigh-high sock. It looked incredibly suggestive. “Want to come in and sit?” Carter raised his eyebrows, offering an invitation. I stopped breathing. My brain buzzed, thinking he was serious. Thankfully, the guys outside didn’t know Carter’s temper well enough. Being tactful, they just said hi, laughed, and walked away. The door closed again. Only when their footsteps faded did Carter lower his eyes to laugh at me: “You’re shaking like a leaf. Still not scared?” Saying that, he stood up, patted my head like he was petting a small animal, and casually left me with: “By the way, Noah was in that group just now.”

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The screen of my phone flickered to life, casting a cold, blue glow across my darkened dorm room. It was a message from her. “Babe, I’m so down right now. You’re the only one who truly understands me. Can we talk?” I stared at the words, my heart hammering against my ribs—not with the fluttering excitement of a lover, but with the cold, hard rhythm of a survivor. I tapped out a response: “Of course.” No one would have guessed that three months from now, this “sweet” digital romance would be the thing that dragged me into a bottomless abyss. In my past life, the day the prestigious Ivy-Track Fellowship list was posted, our department’s group chat didn’t explode with congratulations. It exploded with screenshots. Tyler—my roommate, the man I shared a cramped twelve-by-twelve space with—had posted everything. Every late-night confession, every vulnerable secret, every “babe” and “sweetheart.” It turned out the person who had been checking in on me, the “girl” who had become my emotional crutch, was just Tyler using a burner account. The mockery from my peers had been a tidal wave. “He acts all high and mighty in class, but look at him—he’s just a desperate loser.” “‘I can’t wait to hold you’? God, that’s pathetic. Doesn’t he have any self-respect?” In that life, I had walked into our room only to find Tyler holding up his phone, a cruel smirk plastered on his face. “Oh, hey, Babe. You’re finally back.” “Why?” my voice had trembled. “Why would you do this?” He had just shrugged, utterly indifferent to the life he was ruining. “It was fun. I wanted everyone to see what the ‘Ice King’ of the Honors College looks like when he’s begging for a little attention.” When he saw the look on my face, he rolled his eyes. “Don’t act so holier-than-thou. You’re the one who said all that cheesy shit. If you’re embarrassed, maybe you shouldn’t have been such a simp.” Then, another screenshot hit the group chat. It was something I’d said in a moment of extreme weakness: I think I’m starting to depend on you too much. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Tyler’s caption underneath it read: He was practically crying when he typed this. I was in the top bunk laughing so hard I nearly choked. From that day on, I was a pariah. The “Lapdog” of Northwood University. The humiliation triggered a spiral of clinical depression. When Tyler found out, he just laughed. “Depressed? Why don’t you just get it over with and jump then?” And eventually, I did. But then I opened my eyes. I was back. Three months before the fellowship announcement. Three months before the end. This time, I had a head start. 1 “Babe, it’s so good to have you.” The light from the screen made my eyes ache. I looked at the chat window, my mind a whirlwind of static and sharpened glass. In my previous life, I had just finished a grueling research project. “She”—claiming to be a student from a rival university—had added me. She was kind, attentive, and occasionally played the victim to get me to care for her. I started staying up until 2:00 AM to talk to her. I became dependent. She always knew exactly what I was thinking. She always appeared right when I was at my lowest. She called it “soul-connection.” I realized now it was just proximity. Tyler was in the bunk above me; he saw every sigh, every tear, every exhausted slump of my shoulders. Every secret I told “her” was a weapon he was carefully sharpening. He was waiting for the fellowship announcement—the moment of my greatest triumph—to slit my throat with them. I sent a few non-committal replies. It didn’t take long for him to show his hand. “Babe, can you do me a huge favor?” “I’m trying to organize this massive pile of research data for my thesis. It’s too much; I’m drowning.” “You’re so brilliant… could you help me out? Just this once?” I stared at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keys. “What kind of data?” He replied instantly with a zip file. “Just these. No rush, take your time.” I didn’t even need to open it to know what it was. It was a tedious, high-level task—literature reviews, data cross-referencing, statistical modeling. In my last life, I didn’t just do this for him; I wrote him a second, polished report just to be “sweet.” Later, when I was at my lowest, he told me that that specific report was what got him into the good graces of Charlotte, a wealthy socialite whose father sat on the university board. They were engaged within the semester. “You know,” he had mocked me then, “your writing was actually decent. She loved it. She bought me dinner and called me a genius. Thanks for the leg up, Babe.” I stared at the screen now, a cold smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “Sure. I’ll help you.” A string of exclamation points followed. “You’re the best, Babe!” I put the phone down, turned on my desk lamp, and opened my laptop. I pulled the sources, I checked the references, and I meticulously organized the data. At 1:30 AM, I saved the file and sent it. He replied immediately. “Thanks! You’re a lifesaver!” “Get some sleep, don’t work too hard.” I sent back a smiling emoji. In my last life, doing this made me feel like I was building a future with someone who loved me. In this life, it just made me feel nauseous. The next morning, Tyler was up early. He showered, put on a crisp new shirt, and strapped on a flashy watch he’d clearly gone into debt for. He carried himself with a new, arrogant swagger. Before he left, he gave me a condescending look. Half an hour later, the dorm room door slammed open. Tyler stormed in, his face flushed with rage. He looked like a rabid dog, his eyes fixed on me with pure venom. 2 I expected him to blow up right then and there, but he just slammed his bag onto his chair and started typing furiously on his phone. My phone buzzed incessantly. I took my time picking it up. “Did you do that on purpose?!” I played the confused lover. “What happened, Babe?” “The data you gave me! It was all wrong! It was a mess! Do you have any idea how much of a fool I looked like today?!” I let a faint smile touch my lips before typing a frantic apology. “I’m so sorry. I must have been so tired… the pressure lately has been getting to me. Are you mad? Please don’t be mad.” “Babe? Why aren’t you answering?” “Maybe we aren’t right for each other… I’m so sorry. Maybe we should just end this.” I set the phone down. It didn’t take three seconds for the notification to pop up. I waited five minutes, letting him sweat. He was desperate now; he couldn’t lose his “ghostwriter” yet. “I’m not mad. I was just stressed. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” “You should rest. I shouldn’t have pressured you.” “This was just really important to me, and I trust you more than anyone. We’re perfect together, right? Let’s not talk about breaking up.” I watched his expression shift from fury to calculated manipulation. “Of course,” I replied. He sent another message: “Since you messed up, don’t you think you owe me a little something to make it up to me?” My eyes narrowed. “What kind of compensation?” He sent a smirking emoji. “I want to see a shirtless photo. You know, show off those gym gains you’re always talking about.” I froze for a second. In the last life, he only ever asked for selfies—never anything like this. I had clearly bruised his ego more than I realized. I opened an AI image generator on my laptop. Within seconds, I had a perfectly rendered, headless shot of a torso that looked vaguely like mine, but better. I sent it over. “Babe, you’re hot!” “I knew you weren’t as innocent as you look.” I sat on my bed, watching him sit at his desk, staring at his phone and smirking. Suddenly, he looked up and met my eyes. There was a glimmer in his gaze—the look of a man who thought he’d just secured the ultimate blackmail. A few days later, a package arrived for me. “Babe, I bought you a suit!” he messaged. It was in a box with a high-end designer logo. “Your department’s 30th Anniversary Gala is coming up, right? You’re the star student, you’re giving a speech. You need to look the part. I’ve seen all the guys talking about this brand. If other guys have it, my boyfriend should too.” In my previous life, I had been so moved I nearly cried. That brand was thousands of dollars. How long had a student like Tyler saved for that? I wore it to the gala, feeling like the luckiest man alive. The mockery started before I even reached the stage. By midnight, the campus forums were ablaze. “Star Student Wears Fake Couture.” The “designer” suit was a cheap knockoff, and I was the laughingstock of the elite university circle. When I got back to the dorm, Tyler had led the charge. “Wearing a fake to a black-tie event? How embarrassing can you get?” The whole floor laughed. They called me a social climber, a fraud. I was so humiliated I couldn’t leave my room for a week. When I confronted “her” via text, “she” turned it on me: “Are you accusing me? I’m just a girl, I don’t know about brands! I just wanted to do something nice for you, and you’re being so ungrateful!” This time, I replied: “Thank you, Babe. I love it.” The night of the gala arrived. I stepped onto the stage under the burning spotlights. The auditorium was packed. Tyler was in the front row, his eyes fixed on me like a hawk. He was waiting for the first whisper of “fake,” waiting for the forums to explode, waiting for my public execution. But as the minutes ticked by, nothing happened. No one pointed. No one laughed. Finally, he couldn’t help himself. He leaned over to the people next to him, his voice just loud enough to carry. “Hey, does Emmett’s suit look a bit… off to you? Like a knockoff?” He stood up slightly. “The cut is weird, right? And the color? No student can afford a ten-thousand-dollar suit. It’s got to be a fake.” Murmurs started to ripple through the crowd. People pulled out their phones. During the intermission, Tyler and a few of his cronies blocked my path. “Emmett, where’d you get the threads? Amazon? Looks like a two-hundred-dollar special.” They roared with laughter. I calmly pulled out my phone and sent a message to “her.” “Babe, everyone is saying the suit you gave me is a fake. My roommates are laughing at me.” He replied instantly: “Don’t listen to them! They’re just jealous! It’s real! Don’t you trust me?!” I looked at him standing right in front of me, staring at his phone, playing his part with Oscar-worthy dedication. Back in the hall, the Q&A session began. A guy in the back raised his hand. “Emmett, there’s a rumor going around that you’re wearing a counterfeit suit tonight. Is your academic integrity as fake as your clothes?” The room went dead silent. Tyler and his friends were wearing shit-eating grins. I stood on the stage, unhurried. I turned around, letting the back of the jacket catch the light, revealing the gold-threaded logo. “Who told you it was a fake?” 3 Tyler stood up, his chin tilted back defiantly. “Oh, come on, Emmett. Just admit it. Why be so stubborn? That suit costs more than a semester’s tuition. How could a scholarship student afford it? You’ve always been a poser, but this is a new low.” In my last life, those words would have made me want to vanish into the floorboards. In this life, they were just pathetic. Tyler thought he knew me. He thought because I lived simply, I was poor. He didn’t know that my family was actually quite well-off—I just preferred to earn my own way. The moment that “designer” package had arrived, I’d called my mother in London. The suit I was currently wearing was the real deal, overnighted and tailored. I stepped closer to the edge of the stage, pointing to the discreet, authentic stitching. “I think anyone who actually knows this brand can see the craftsmanship. It’s limited edition.” A girl in the second row gasped. “He’s right! That’s the seasonal runway piece! I saw it in Vogue!” “Wait, what kind of family does he come from?” I smiled graciously into the camera. “My mother knew how important this night was to me, so she had this sent over. I wanted to represent Northwood with the respect it deserves.” The applause was thunderous. The university deans were nodding in approval. Tyler’s friends looked at each other, their faces turning a shade of sour crimson. Our faculty advisor, Professor Higgins, shot a look of pure disgust at Tyler. “Mr. Vance, accusing a fellow student of fraud without proof is a serious violation. You’ll be writing a formal apology and losing two credit points for conduct!” Tyler’s eyes welled with crocodile tears. “Professor, I didn’t know! I was just repeating what I heard!” Back at the dorm, I messaged “her.” “Babe, the suit you gave me was a fake. My roommates were right.” There was a long pause before the reply came. “Really? I had no idea! I’m just a girl, I don’t understand these things! I just wanted to do something nice for you. You don’t blame me, do you?” I smiled and typed: “Of course not. But I think I should call the police. You were scammed out of a lot of money. We can’t let them get away with this.” He replied instantly: “No! No need! Forget about it!” I pushed harder. “No, we have to. Someone stole your savings. I’ll go to the station tomorrow.” He snapped. “I said forget it! Why are you being so pushy? If you’re mad at me, just say it!” A barrage of angry texts followed, and then—silence. The silent treatment. A few days later, realizing I wasn’t chasing after him, he “crawled” back with an apology, some overpriced coffee, and pastries. He acted as if nothing had happened. “Babe, could you help me with my final credits? There are only a few modules left and I’m falling behind.” I agreed. But halfway through the online testing, I “lost” my connection. “Why did it stop?” he messaged. “Wi-Fi’s down.” “What? The deadline is in ten minutes!” “Guess you’ll have to finish it yourself.” The next day, he was livid, claiming I’d caused him to fail. I replied: “So sorry, Babe. My phone died.” A week later, he asked for help with his thesis paper. I opened an AI bot, fed it the prompt, and told it to write a logically incoherent, data-skewed mess. He didn’t even read it before submitting. The result was predictable. His advisor tore him to shreds. He messaged me, shaking with rage: “I thought you were a straight-A student! How could you mess up something so simple? You did this on purpose!” I typed slowly: “Babe, it hurts my heart that you’d think that of me.” He didn’t reply. But through the gap in the bed curtains, I could see him kicking his desk chair in a silent tantrum. That afternoon, I saw three different people delivering flowers to the dorm for him. He strutted downstairs to collect them, noticing me standing by the entrance. “See this?” he sneered, clutching the bouquets. “This is what it looks like to be loved. Has anyone ever sent you flowers, you lonely loser?” He marched upstairs. I did a little digging. It turned out Tyler wasn’t just catfishing me. He was “dating” three other girls online simultaneously, milking them for gifts and attention. This was getting interesting. The day the fellowship results were finalized was also the day the final grades came out. In my last life, because I’d tutored him and done his work, our grades were neck-and-neck. In this life, I had obliterated him. I was ranked first. He was at the bottom of the list. The Dean announced my fellowship. In my last life, Tyler had stood up immediately to protest, claiming our grades were too similar and causing a delay that nearly cost me everything. And then, he’d leaked the chats. This time, his grades were so low he shouldn’t have had a leg to stand on. But he still stood up. He pointed a trembling finger at me. “Why him?!” he screamed. “How can someone with such a disgusting moral character be given this fellowship!” The Dean frowned. “Mr. Vance, do you have evidence? This is a grave accusation.” Tyler smirked. “Oh, I have plenty.” He hit ‘send’ on a file he’d prepared for the campus-wide group chat. The room erupted.

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