Category: English

After the international operation I commanded went sideways—a complete wipeout—the commander’s wife was the one who personally saw me delivered to the court-martial. Stripped of my rank and uniform, I quietly finalized my discharge papers and petitioned for a post in a remote border town. That’s how I became a no-name mortician. I saw Sienna Knight again ten years later, in a documentary interview. The host shoved a microphone in my face: “Mr. Owen, Commander Knight hasn’t remarried in a decade. Everyone’s waiting for that storybook ending—the reconciliation!” As he spoke, Sienna herself walked in. She wore her dress blues, impeccably tailored, commanding the room the moment she crossed the threshold. Ten years hadn’t faded Sienna’s fierce composure. If anything, the youthful sharpness was replaced by a more formidable, measured authority. She watched me for a long time, and I could feel the silent weight of unsaid words passing between us. Finally, she offered a gentle greeting: “Owen. It’s been a long time.” “Yeah. A long time.” I gave a flat reply, my face betraying none of the internal tremors that a reunion like this should have caused. I remembered how the investigation lasted six months, concluding I had sold out my entire elite unit for five million dollars. My name was mud. My parents immediately disowned me. The families of my fallen teammates stood in court, their hatred a palpable, living thing, wishing I would just drop dead. But no one knew the truth: that the person who orchestrated the whole thing—the betrayal, the framing, the sacrificing of everything I knew—was the same “devoted” Commander Sienna Knight. All to cover for her lover-boy, Vaughn, who was the actual leak, then sealed the whole mess by eliminating the teammate who knew the truth, making me the scapegoat. 1 The mortuary’s frosted glass doors were tightly shut. Outside, the reporters were a frenzy of noise, and I could hear them clamoring on Sienna’s behalf. Sienna, however, looked completely unfazed. Hearing the rising volume, George, the old director, nervously stumbled out of the back. He gave Sienna a clumsy, half-salute. “Commander Knight… With all due respect, ma’am, this is a house of the departed. We can’t handle this kind of commotion.” “If you need Owen, I can get him, but could you maybe ask these journalists to wait outside?” He yelled toward the embalming room. “Owen, forget the cleanup. Someone’s here for you.” “No, George. Don’t force him.” Even after all this time, hearing her voice was enough to shatter my fragile sense of peace. I knew I couldn’t hide. She wouldn’t leave until she got what she came for. I let out a long, silent sigh and walked out. The reporters surged forward, the questions a brutal, rapid-fire assault. “How does it feel to fall from a decorated Special Forces Captain to a mortician?” “Commander Knight has remained unmarried, supposedly waiting for your reconciliation—do you still hold a grudge for her testifying against you?” “We heard your former trainee, Vaughn, has openly pined for Commander Knight for eight years. What is your take on that?” My gaze skipped past them, locking briefly with Sienna, who stood watching the scene with cool detachment. My body felt instantly rigid. The questions were like shards of glass, but my mouth was too dry to form a single defense. When they didn’t get the answer they wanted, the reporters grew more aggressive, nearly shoving me to the cold concrete floor. That’s when Sienna pushed through the crowd and stepped in front of me. “Gentlemen,” she said, her voice low but carrying the non-negotiable weight of her rank. “This is between Owen and me. It is also a funeral home. Respect the departed and their work. Disperse.” The journalists grumbled and backed off. In the wind-whipped snow, only a few of us remained. I felt the tension drain from my shoulders and was about to retreat to the quiet sanctuary of the embalming room. “Owen…” Sienna began. I forced the stiffness out of my shoulders, meeting her eyes. “Is there something else, Commander Knight?” Hearing my formal address, she flinched slightly. Slowly, she asked, “After all these years… are you… doing well?” The question, coming from her, was an absurdity so profound it was almost comical. She closed the gap between us, reaching out, presumably to brush snow from my shoulder. I recoiled. The instinctive physical flinch threw me off balance, and I didn’t see the small wicker basket of candles and incense by my feet. CRASH— The basket tumbled to the ground, scattering wax and sticks of incense. I landed hard, palms scraping the cold cement. A splash of melted wax left a stinging red patch on my skin. She rushed forward, her expression filled with concern. “Are you okay? Here, let me—” I scrambled back, planting my hands on the cold concrete to steady myself, not wanting to be anywhere near her touch. My fingertips were dusted with ash. “I’m fine…” I quickly managed, ignoring the look of shock on George’s face. “Commander Knight, if there’s nothing else, I have a cleanup to get back to.” Sienna’s eyes were wounded. She reached out again. “Owen, do we really have to be like this? You don’t know what I’ve been through these years…” Her words were cut short by a high, childish voice. “Mommy! Daddy and I missed you so much!” An eight-year-old boy rushed forward and threw himself into Sienna’s arms. Vaughn walked up, escorting my parents, Patricia and Robert. He squeezed Sienna’s hand and spoke with a mock-chiding tone. “Sienna, why didn’t you tell me you were coming to see Master? Mom and Dad were so worried when they heard you came to this… dreary place alone.” Then he smiled at me, a sharp, condescending glint in his eyes that spoke of his complete, sickening victory. He glanced pointedly at my work uniform. “Hope you don’t mind, Master. The kid misses his mom. And the little one she’s carrying… well, he’s probably been missing his dad, too.” My eyes involuntarily dropped to Sienna’s flat stomach. The reporters’ gossip about Sienna waiting for me, Vaughn’s open pining, and now this—the facts were a brutal, overwhelming mockery. I recalled how Vaughn had been injured on duty and sent to a recovery retreat for a year before my court-martial. Conveniently, Sienna had been stationed abroad that same year. They must have started their sick little game back then, leaving me clueless, a blind man walking toward the gallows. Before I could speak, my mother, Patricia, launched into a furious tirade. “Owen, you have the audacity to be alive! You’ve ruined the Knight name. You’ve soiled the family’s honor!” “Three years ago, your father had a major heart attack. If Vaughn hadn’t been visiting and called the paramedics, he’d be in the ground right now! How dare you stand here, a disgrace, looking him in the eye!” I looked at their graying hair and tired faces. Years of failing to be the son they needed twisted a painful knot in my chest. But seeing them defend Vaughn and Sienna like this was a cold, sharp stab. If they knew that the people they were praising—Vaughn and Sienna—were the ones who had destroyed an entire elite unit and then framed their son, what would they feel? My father’s gaze was ice-cold, filled with disgust. “Sienna, a traitorous disgrace like him isn’t worth your worry. He soiled the family’s honor. If it had been me, I would have put a bullet in my own head years ago!” My mother chimed in, stepping deliberately further away from me, her voice filled only with disappointment and contempt. “We consider Vaughn our son. You’re still our daughter-in-law, Sienna. We don’t have a son anymore.” George watched my parents’ bitter attack, then glanced at my calloused hands. He sighed, the gesture heavy with complex emotions, and silently knelt to help me pick up the scattered candles. I had nothing left to say. The slight trembling in my hands was not fear, but the deep-seated chill of total despair. Sienna watched my reaction, then offered a low, forced explanation. “They’ve been through a lot, Owen. They’ve been ostracized for years. Don’t blame them.” She soothed my parents with soft words. As they turned to leave, she turned back to me. “What happened back then, I owe you. My number hasn’t changed. Call me if you need anything.” I gave a mechanical nod, saying nothing. The last thing I wanted was to contact her. I just wanted them all to disappear. After they left, George put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t take it to heart, son. You’ve got to keep living.” He didn’t ask any questions, but I knew something fundamental had broken. Sure enough, the next morning, George called me into his office. “Owen, it’s not that I want to run you off,” he said, rubbing his hands together, his eyes red-rimmed and full of genuine distress. “After yesterday’s circus, too many families have called. They say they don’t want the traitor’s hands touching their loved ones. They say the departed won’t find rest.” I looked down at the complaint forms—Refusal of Owen Knight’s Services—the words were ice in my gut. My only sanctuary, the quiet, solitary work I’d used to hide from the world, was gone. “I understand, George.” The calmness in my own voice surprised me. “I’ll pack up and leave today. I won’t cause you any more trouble.” George tried to protest, but I shook my head. I couldn’t let my reputation destroy the business he had spent his life building. As I packed, a profound emptiness settled over me. This room had been my only refuge since leaving the brig, and now it was lost. Three days later, I was still searching for work. In this small, border town, everyone knew who the “traitor” was. No one would hire me. That’s when Sienna called. “Owen, I’ve secured you a position as a Tactical Instructor at the Special Operations Academy. My transport will be there for you in three days.” “Commander Knight!” I cut her off, my voice sharp. “I can’t afford your ‘kindness.’ Just leave me alone.” “Leave you alone?” Sienna’s voice was flat but carried an unyielding authority. “I’m trying to help you, Owen. I was trying to save you from yourself.” “I remember the pride of the Special Forces Captain you were. If not for…” She paused, clearly avoiding the full truth, then continued, “I know you hate me, but you can’t just throw your life away. If you don’t want to be an instructor, you can be a Tactical Consultant for Vaughn. He just got promoted to Captain of his own unit. You were his mentor; it’s the perfect fit.” I clenched my jaw, fighting the nausea her suggestion brought on. “I appreciate the offer, but I just want a quiet life.” She didn’t argue. She simply informed me. “I know you’re still bitter about the past. But now is not the time for you to be so stubborn. You will understand my decision later.” I almost laughed, a dry, bitter sound. “Your decision? Is that to keep me close, so I can continue to be a pawn in your cover-up? To continue to be Vaughn’s stepping stone?” “Owen!” Her voice cracked like a whip, the full military authority back in her tone. “I warn you—watch your words.” “You will take this consultancy. You have no choice.” “Unless… you want your parents to be run out of the Military Retirement Community. You know how quickly those things can be arranged.” My body went cold. She always knew my weakness.

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My whole family transmigrated into a book. My mom was a scammer, my dad was a thief. My sister had a body count (literally), and my brother sold the hard stuff. I was the only one who started as a fictional character—specifically, the tragic heroine of a angst-filled romance novel. The male lead stormed into my house, ready to force me into a “relationship.” As soon as he stepped through the door, my entire family was there, sharpening kitchen knives with murderous glints in their eyes. “So, you’re the punk making our girl cry?” 1 My life sucks. My dad is a gambling addict. But he thinks he’s a god at poker. The reason he loses nine times out of ten? Because my mom and I are “bad luck.” So every time he loses his shirt, he comes home and uses us as punching bags. But a year ago, he suddenly changed. He quit gambling. Quit smoking. Quit drinking. Every time he came home, he brought stacks of cash for my mom. He even bought me a Cartier bracelet and a Hermès bag. Said they were vintage, but guaranteed authentic. My mom thought he’d been possessed. She was so happy, like a freed slave. She hugged the bracelet and bag, hyperventilating with joy. Then she passed out from excitement. When she woke up… She changed too. Her eyes, usually clear and foolish, suddenly held a depth I couldn’t read. The first thing she said to me was: “Little girl, give me a hundred bucks. Auntie will help you get a Lululemon haul for zero dollars. Trust me, I’m a pro.” Before I could process that, my usually whiny, green-tea sister spoke up in a voice like a foghorn: “I want one. If you dare scam me, I’ll kill you. Don’t test me, I have a record.” She was playing with a kitchen knife. A chill ran down my spine. Suddenly, my brother slid up next to me, flashing a small packet hidden in his sleeve. He whispered: “Pure stuff. Top-tier high. You want some?” I was stunned. Petrified. “Bro, weren’t you trying to sell me off for a dowry to get a wife? Since when did you start dealing?” He rubbed his nose. “Sorry, occupational hazard. I meant to ask… do you want some catnip?” … My house was chaos. I decided to just roll with it. 2 That night, we had a family confession circle. Dad said: “I was a thief. Fell into an open manhole after a job one night and woke up here.” Sister said: “I was a murderer. The prison food was too good, I ate too fast and choked to death. Poof, here I am.” Brother said: “I was a drug dealer. Got shot during a deal gone wrong because the buyer tried to rip me off.” Mom said: “I was the last great MLM queen of Indonesia—” Dad, Brother, Sister, and I yelled in unison: “Tell the truth!” Mom twiddled her thumbs honestly: “Fine. I was a scammer. Got punched in the face while begging with a fake baby at a KFC. Woke up here.” Wow. A family of villains. I teared up. My original life config was: Gambling Dad, Sick Mom, Green Tea Sister, Jerk Brother. Now updated to Version 2.0: The Suicide Squad. My life sucks even more. I trembled. “I don’t have much money. I have three hundred bucks from shaking milk tea. Take it all, just please spare my life.” The four of them froze. Sister spoke first: “What are you talking about? We’re here to save you. You’re the heroine of a tragedy novel. Your future is miserable. Dumped, beaten, framed, forced, miscarried, imprisoned, wrist-slashed, jumping into the ocean. Why should everyone else enjoy life while you suffer?” She propped her leg on the coffee table. “I’ve got experience chopping people. I’ll just hack that guy, Christian, and solve the problem once and for all!” Dad looked serious. “Not ideal. I say I tunnel into his mansion and steal everything he owns. Make him poor. Robbing the rich to feed the poor is my specialty.” Mom nodded in agreement. “You steal the assets, I’ll drain his bank accounts. I have a thousand scam scripts; one of them will work on him.” Brother was succinct. “Too much hassle. I’ll just shoot him up with something strong. Let him OD.” I was moved, but shook my head frantically. “I don’t want you guys committing crimes for me. I promise I’ll stay far away from him.” Sister patted my head. “Don’t worry, sis. With us here, no one can bully you.” Dad pulled a handful of luxury watches from his pocket. “Dad’s treating. Hot pot tonight.” Brother pulled a stray calico cat out of nowhere with the catnip. “Here, a gift. For you to play with.” Mom leaned in close with a sincere smile. “Lend me that three hundred. Seriously, I’ll get you that Lululemon. I have a feeling that brand is gonna blow up.” “…” 3 Dad gave me a lot of pocket money. I saved it all. Just in case the family needed bail money someday. I kept shaking milk tea. Before, I worked to support the family. Now, I worked hoping they’d retire from crime early. To avoid the “Male Lead” they talked about, I barely spoke to any men. But I still fell into a trap. At a team-building event, I was forced to drink a shot of something strong. Blacked out. Woke up in a hotel suite. Clothes scattered. Hickeys everywhere. A man with an overpowering aura looked down at me with cold eyes. “I’ve seen plenty of women like you, scheming to climb into my bed. Not bad, though. Name your price.” In the past, I might have accepted my bad luck and asked for enough money to stop my dad from gambling or cure my mom. But now? This guy was just annoying. I put on my clothes calmly and said: “Let’s just say fate brought us together for a nap. Don’t worry about it, I don’t need money. Just don’t bother me again, or my family will be upset.” The man clearly didn’t expect that. Before I could leave, he grabbed my wrist. He frowned. “That’s not a normal reaction. What if I said you’re pretty enough to be my mistress?” He seemed to expect me to be thrilled. Instead, I checked the time. “It’s late. My mom’s calling me for dinner!” I wasn’t lying. I checked my phone outside. Over a hundred missed calls. Mom, Dad, Brother, Sister. Everyone was blowing up my phone. WeChat was exploding. Dad: [Who stays out all night at 23? Ask around!] Mom: [Baby, if he’s a good guy, use protection. If it’s Christian, go for the eyes then kick the balls.] Brother: [Send location. I’m coming to get you.] Sister: [SIS!!! WHERE ARE YOU!!! DID CHRISTIAN EAT YOU??? I told you I should have chopped him up!!! AHHH—] I went home guilty. I said I got drunk and crashed with a female coworker. The family sighed in relief. But while I was showering, my sister came in to brush her teeth. She saw the marks. She exploded. Screaming as she ran out. “Code Red! Code Red! That bastard Christian got to her! AHHH—” Twenty minutes later. The whole family sat around my bed, looking disappointed. I lowered my head, ready for a scolding. Dad raised his hand. I flinched reflexively. But his hand landed gently on my head, ruffling my hair. “We didn’t protect you well enough. Dad should have picked you up.” Mom sighed. “Are you hurt anywhere?” Brother said seriously: “Your coworkers probably set you up. I’ll investigate.” Sister grabbed a cleaver and headed for the door. “I’m killing him.” Brother dragged her back. I tried to tell myself it was just bad luck. But my eyes welled up. So this is what having a family feels like. I sniffled. “I won’t be careless again. I’m staying home.” Sister stood like a philosopher. “You can hide for a day, but not forever. Christian’s type? He’ll dig you out of the ground. We need a plan. We fight back!” The family agreed. They made a group chat immediately. Group Name: “Operation Castrate Christian.” The next second. The doorbell rang. My house was surrounded by men in black. 4 The leader claimed to be Christian’s butler. “Ms. Wen, Mr. Pei suffers from chronic insomnia, but he slept soundly with you. He would like to hire you as his exclusive sleep companion.” Behind the door, my family was rolling their eyes so hard they almost fell out. I asked: “What if I refuse?” The butler smiled silently and glanced at the goons behind him. Meaning: come willingly or be dragged. Sister gritted her teeth. “Let me chop him.” I gave everyone a reassuring look. We have a plan. Let’s do this. In the car. I kept updating the group chat. [This Rolls Royce is nice. Brother would love it.] [The estate is huge. Dad could plant so many flowers here.] [The snacks are delicious. Mom would love them.] [These dresses are expensive and pretty. I stuffed a few in my bag for Sister.] No reply. Twenty minutes later, I checked again. Still nothing. I told myself they were busy. But I felt uneasy. Stylists swarmed me. By the time they were done, it was late. I sat on the edge of the bed, hugging my knees, waiting. I hid my phone behind the tissue box. If Christian tried anything, I’d record it. 1 AM. Christian woke me up. He was in a bathrobe, freshly showered, smelling of expensive cologne and arrogance. I gripped the sheets. He leaned into my ear, chuckling darkly. “Thought you were playing hard to get? Yet here you are.” His voice was deep, vibrating in my chest. I scooched away. “Mr. Pei, let’s be clear. I’m here to help you sleep, not sleep with you.” He sneered and grabbed my chin. “Who do you think you are? Serving me is your honor.” He bit my lip hard. A warning. I tasted blood and struggled. But he pinned my hands. I remembered Mom’s advice. Just as I was aiming for his crotch… CLANG. A silver tray smashed into the back of Christian’s head. His eyes went wide, and he collapsed like a sack of potatoes. I kicked him aside. There was my mom, wearing a maid’s uniform, casually dusting off the tray. “Mom!” I whisper-shouted. “Why are you here?” Mom smirked. “Saw they were hiring. Came to protect you.” I was shocked. “Don’t they have high standards?” Mom blew on her nails. “Nah. Just fluent in eight languages, housekeeping, etiquette, and martial arts.” I gaped. “You know all that?” Mom said: “I know how to lie a little.” She pulled out another tray loaded with desserts and a pot of Earl Grey tea. “Baby, what do you want for breakfast? Order the expensive stuff. Mom will make the chef cook it.”

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Chapter 1 I deliberately swapped my smartphone for a busted old Nokia brick that couldn’t connect to the internet, let alone Apple Pay. I wasn’t panicking. But Tiffany, our high school Prom Queen, was losing her mind. In my past life, right after finals, Tiffany used my phone to drain my accounts of millions. She treated the whole class to a graduation trip, leading them on a psychotic shopping spree the second we hit the tourist traps. She maxed out my cards and left me ten million dollars in debt. When I confronted her, threatening to get lawyers involved, she flipped the script. She put on her best victim face and cried to the whole class. “Savannah, just because you got scammed, you can’t frame me! You’re trying to pin this massive debt on me? You want to ruin my life forever?” She sobbed fake tears, and the class turned on me instantly. “You’re just stupid for not watching your wallet. Trying to frame Tiffany? You’re shameless.” “Tiffany is an angel. You’re trash.” While we were arguing on the edge of a scenic cliff, they shoved me. I fell. I died. And the whole class testified it was an accident. That I slipped. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back to the day Tiffany offered to pay for the graduation trip. I felt the Nokia in my pocket and smiled. “Graduation trip? Let’s go.” “Yes! School’s out! Let’s all go to Dubai to celebrate!” Hearing Tiffany’s familiar, high-pitched voice, I realized I had been reborn. The phantom pain of my bones shattering at the bottom of that cliff still lingered, making me tremble. I looked around at the familiar faces. Nobody responded to Tiffany at first. I knew what they were worried about. They were broke high schoolers. They couldn’t afford a trip to Dubai. But then Tiffany dropped the bomb that made the room explode. “It’s on me. I’m covering round-trip flights and all expenses for everyone.” Boom. Suddenly, she was a goddess. The room erupted in applause. The ass-kissing began immediately. “Omg, Tiffany, you’re the GOAT!” “Tiffany is literally Santa Claus. Thank you so much!” Everyone was screaming. Tiffany’s vanity was being fed like a hungry beast; she was beaming. I stood there, stone-faced. In my last life, it happened exactly like this. Just before boarding the plane, Tiffany borrowed my phone, claiming hers was dead and she needed to call her parents. I didn’t think twice. But once we landed and the spending started, my phone went crazy. Transaction notifications blew up my screen. I couldn’t stop it. I watched my inheritance burn until I was in debt. Later, a tech guy told me my phone had been infected with a keylogger virus. Only Tiffany had touched my phone. When I confronted her, she gaslit the hell out of me. “Savannah, I invited you out of pity! Now you’re framing me?” The class sided with her. They smashed my phone to destroy the evidence. They pushed me off a cliff. They lied to the police. Because it was a foreign country with no cameras on that cliff, the case went cold. They even told my parents I committed suicide because I was broke. My family is the richest in the state. Ten million was nothing to me. But my parents didn’t know that—they believed the lie and died of broken hearts. I clenched my fists. I looked at these demons in human skin and smiled. “Sounds great. Thanks for the charity, Tiffany.” Tiffany linked her arm with mine, acting like we were besties. “No problem! We’re classmates. You have to come, Savannah.” She needed her cash cow. “Don’t worry,” I said, my smile not reaching my eyes. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I had to go. I had to watch her burn. That night, the group chat was buzzing. Tiffany was reminding everyone to bring their passports. “Don’t be late, guys!” “We won’t! We’re packing right now!” I stayed silent, lurking like a ghost, monitoring their every move. The next morning at the airport, I showed up last, just barely making the cutoff. My laziness pissed everyone off. “Why did Tiffany even invite her? She’s such a buzzkill.” “Tiffany is just too nice. She doesn’t want anyone left out.” “Some people have zero self-awareness.” One guy yelled at me, “Hey! Can you hustle? Making everyone wait… you think you’re the main character? You don’t have the money to act this entitled.” I was about to clap back when Tiffany rushed over to save her piggy bank. “Guys, chill! Savannah is just shy. You’re making her uncomfortable.” “She should stay home if she’s shy! You spoil her too much, Tiff.” “Someone needs to apologize.” Chapter 2 Tiffany looked at me with fake concern. “Savannah, maybe just apologize to the group? So we can move on?” I scoffed. “Why? I’m not apologizing. I’m going home.” I turned to leave. Panic flashed in Tiffany’s eyes. She grabbed me. “No, no! It’s fine! I’ll apologize for you!” She turned to the group, acting the martyr. “Sorry guys! I apologize on Savannah’s behalf. Please, do it for me?” “Ugh, Tiffany, you’re a saint.” “Fine, but only because you asked.” Tiffany wiped her imaginary sweat. “Okay, let’s go! Boarding time, ladies and gentlemen!” She herded us toward the gate. Just as we were about to board—the moment of truth. Tiffany looked distressed. “Savannah, my phone just died. Can I borrow yours? I need to call my parents and tell them I’m leaving.” Here we go. The classic move. I dug into my pocket and pulled out the Nokia brick. “Sorry, Tiff. I forgot to charge my smartphone last night. I’m using my grandma’s emergency burner. It’s got like 2% battery and no signal in here.” Tiffany’s face dropped. It was glorious. She gritted her teeth. “Oh… okay.” She didn’t talk to me for the entire flight. I put on my eye mask and slept like a baby. When we landed in Dubai, Tiffany was back to her fake cheerful self. “Savannah! I booked the rooms. To save money, we’re pairing up. You’re with me!” “Also, I made an itinerary. We leave early tomorrow, so I’ll make sure you’re up.” She wanted to keep me close. She was planning to steal the phone while I slept. I glared at her. “Fine.” The peanut gallery chimed in again. “What is her problem? Freeloading off Tiffany and still giving attitude.” “Trashy behavior.” “If I were Tiffany, I’d leave her in the desert.” Their insults were loud and clear. I snapped. “Are you done running your mouths? Do I need to sew your lips shut?” “Oh, you wanna go?” “Trash!” They wanted to fight, but Tiffany jumped in again. “Stop! Everyone stop! We’re here to have fun!” I could see them whispering, plotting to “teach me a lesson” later. But I’m paranoid now. I don’t go anywhere alone. They couldn’t touch me. So they switched to the silent treatment. Isolating me. Perfect. I treated them like air. Chapter 3 The next morning, Tiffany rallied the troops. “Breakfast first, then we hit the mall! Buy whatever you want, it’s on me!” “Yasss! Queen Tiffany!” The worship was real. Their smiles were disgusting. “Savannah, sit with me.” Tiffany was sticking to me like glue. “Okay.” After eating, Tiffany led us to the most expensive shopping district. She hired a local guide to take us to the luxury flagship stores. The moment we walked in, the greed on everyone’s faces was palpable. They didn’t care about the architecture or the culture. They just wanted free Gucci. Tiffany waved her hand like a billionaire. “Shop away! Grab whatever catches your eye.” She glanced at me, her eyes saying, It’s your money anyway. I smirked back. Let the games begin. Tiffany shadowed me through the store. She was piling jewelry on herself, looking at me. “Savannah, you’re not getting anything?” I shook my head. “Too flashy. Not my style. I’m gonna look over there.” “Wait!” She panicked. “Stay here! Help me pick something out!” A second later, she tried again. “Savannah, seriously, can I borrow your phone? I need to tell my parents we landed safely. Strict household, you know?” I looked around. The class was piling up boxes of luxury goods. I smiled and pulled out the Nokia. “Here.” Tiffany stared at the plastic brick like it was a bomb. “What the f*ck? You’re still using this piece of junk? How do you even FaceTime?” I shrugged. “I’m broke. This is durable. Deal with it. Or borrow someone else’s.” “Borrow my ass!” She snapped. She was losing her cool. Her scream attracted the whole class. “Who uses a burner phone in 2025?” “Omg, she’s so broke it’s embarrassing.” “If it wasn’t for Tiffany, she’d never leave her trailer park.” They thought roasting me would make Tiffany happy. But Tiffany was holding her head, looking like she was about to have a stroke. “Shut up!” Tiffany screamed. “Shut the hell up! If you keep talking, return your stuff and get out!” The class went silent. They’d never seen the “angel” rage before. Just then, the store manager approached, smiling that polite, customer-service smile. “Miss, your group has reached the purchase limit for holding items. Would you like to settle the bill before continuing?” Chapter 4 Tiffany froze. She tried to play it cool, channeling her inner Karen. “What’s the rush? You think I can’t afford it? We’re still shopping. Are you trying to kick us out? Do you know who I am?” The manager, terrified of losing a whale, bowed. “I apologize profusely! Please, to make up for my rudeness, everything today is 20% off. Please, continue.” Tiffany let out a breath she was holding. She shot a smug look at the group. “That’s better.” The manager ushered them back into the VIP lounge. Tiffany was sweating. I could see the gears turning in her head. She was screwed. I watched her pretend to browse. She started putting things back on the shelves surreptitiously. She whispered to the group. “Hey guys… I think this stuff is fake.” The classmates paused. “What? No way. This is a flagship store.” Tiffany nodded seriously. “Trust me. It’s knockoffs. Put it back. I’ll take you to the real high-end district later.” The classmates were gullible. They started putting things down. The manager noticed. “Is something wrong?” Tiffany stayed silent, face red. But her “friends”—the loudmouths—betrayed her instantly. “The lady said your stuff is fake!” “How dare you sell us dupes!” The manager was furious. “I swear on my life, if there is a single fake item here, I will eat it!” He slapped the authenticity certificates on the table. The classmates believed the paper. “Tiffany! It’s real! Can we get the stuff back?” Tiffany was shaking. She couldn’t speak. I stepped forward. “No, you can’t. Because she has no money.” Silence. Then chaos. “Tiffany, tell her she’s lying!” “You’re rich, right? You promised!” Tiffany looked like she wanted to vomit. A few of the guys got aggressive. “Yo, are you pranking us? You dragged us to Dubai for this?” “Did you act rich just to clout chase?” Tiffany stayed silent. “Damn, she’s broke. Let’s bounce. This is embarrassing.” The guys started to leave. Tiffany’s minions—the pick-me girls—panicked. They blocked the exit. “Wait! Let Tiffany explain!” “Maybe her bank froze her account because she’s spending too much! It happens to rich people!” I almost laughed out loud. They were digging her grave for me. Tiffany’s eyes went wide with pure hatred toward her “friends.” But she had to play along. “Yes! That’s it! My card got flagged for suspicious activity!” She squeezed out a few tears. The class softened immediately. “Oh, see? Just a misunderstanding.” “Poor Tiffany.” I watched them comfort her, suppressing a laugh.

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It was Christmas Eve, and I had just finished hand-rolling three hundred pieces of porcini mushroom and ricotta agnolotti. Garrett, my husband, took every single tray and gave them to Lila. Lila was my closest friend—and Garrett’s sister-in-law. 1 We had moved together, trading the genteel charm of Savannah, Georgia, for the high-tech bustle of Seattle, Washington. I married the older brother, Garrett Reed. She married the younger, Owen Reed. Those agnolotti were my favorite, a labor of love Garrett had spent months learning to make when he was courting me, traveling to different Italian chefs across the South to master the delicate dough. He’d called it our exclusive flavor. At seven that evening, the snow was falling outside in heavy, silent drifts. I had just pinched the final piece of pasta closed when Owen called. His voice was strained with a mix of confusion and irritation. “Harper, where is she? Didn’t Lila say she was having dinner at your place tonight? Mom and the whole family are waiting for us back at the estate.” My stomach dropped. I looked back at the empty, meticulously clean kitchen. “Garrett didn’t bring her back? They left here around three this afternoon.” The line went silent for a long moment, then Owen’s voice came back, sharp with suppressed fury. “Garrett took Lila? Where did he take her?” My hands went instantly cold, the dusting of flour on my fingertips feeling like ice crystals. Garrett returned hours later, bringing a blast of the cold night air and a distinct scent of women’s perfume. Lila’s favorite, that cloyingly sweet, hard-to-find artisan scent. “Where are the agnolotti?” I asked him. He shrugged off his expensive, custom-tailored coat, revealing a pristine cashmere sweater. He answered with unnerving ease. “I gave them to Lila. She and Owen are having issues, and she’s barely eating. I wanted her to have a taste of home to cheer her up.” He walked toward me, attempting his usual comforting embrace, but I stepped sideways, dodging him. “Garrett, I spent the entire afternoon making those.” My voice was trembling. “Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you tell me?” The gentle expression on his face dissolved, replaced by a flash of impatience. “It’s really not a big deal, Harper. Why are you still so small-minded about things?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Lila is the family’s cherished darling. She’s your friend, she’s my sister-in-law. Can’t you just cut her some slack? She moved here from a smaller town, she doesn’t have a support system—if we don’t look out for her, who will?” My eyes instantly stung with tears. And what about me? I moved here from a small town, too. I’m directionally challenged and chronically anxious. In this city, without him, I can barely find my way home. But in his mind, Lila’s sensitivity was a delicate trait; mine was just being small-minded. “She has Owen, she has your parents, she has you—the protective older brother. Who do I have?” I stared him down. “Garrett, I only have you.” My words seemed to sting him. He frustratedly pulled at his tie, took a thick wad of bills from his wallet, and tossed it onto the kitchen counter. “It was just a meal. I’ll replace it!” “I’ll take you to the most exclusive restaurant in Seattle. Order whatever you want! Stop being so petty over something this trivial. It makes you look like a child.” The cash scattered across the granite, a silent, mocking testament to my wasted hours and high expectations. A wave of nausea hit me, violent and sudden. I rushed to the bathroom, throwing up until I was dry heaving. Garrett followed, but offered no comfort. He just stood in the doorway, watching me with a cold stare. “Harper, have you made your point? You’re going to ruin Lila’s marriage with your pointless jealousy.” “If you keep this up, we have nothing left to talk about.” The door slammed shut behind him, the force of it rattling the wall. I slid down the cold tile, resting against the porcelain. Every bit of strength had been drained from me. Just then, Lila posted on Instagram. A single photo, centered in a nine-square grid. The background was the buttery leather of Garrett’s flashy Porsche 911 Carrera. She was in the passenger seat, smiling a picture of contentment, clutching a sleek insulated food container—the one holding my agnolotti. The caption: Thank you, big brother. You always know exactly what I need. Beneath it, Garrett’s mother, our mother-in-law, was the first to comment: As long as Lila is happy! If Owen gives you any trouble, you tell me. Your Big Brother and I will handle him! The rest of the Reed relatives chimed in: “Our Lila is so resilient. Not like some people who can’t think about anyone but themselves.” “Right? A man’s fortune is made by the wife he chooses. Garrett is truly blessed.” I stared at the blindingly cruel comments, my chest tightening as if an invisible fist were squeezing the air from my lungs. It was clear. In their eyes, I was the one who didn’t belong here. 2 The next morning, Garrett acted as if nothing had happened, bringing breakfast home. “Harp, I was out of line yesterday. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.” He softened his voice and wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Look, I got you that artisan French pastry you love. It’s still warm.” I didn’t turn around. My voice was as cold as the snow outside. “Garrett, I think we need some time apart.” His arms instantly went rigid. “Harper, what are you talking about? Over a box of pasta?” “Can you please act like an adult? Lila and I truly have a sibling bond. She and Owen are struggling, and it’s my responsibility as the older brother to look out for her.” “I’m just concerned about her. I haven’t done anything to betray you. Do you really need to escalate this to separating?” I finally turned to face him, asking deliberately, “Have you ever considered that your ‘concern’ has crossed into a demolition zone for our boundaries?” “Have you considered how Owen feels? How I feel?” “Does your life, our life, and our marriage, always come second to Lila?” My questions left him speechless, his face cycling from pale white to an angry red. Finally, he exhaled, looking utterly defeated. He sighed wearily. “Fine. I promise. I will keep my distance. No more private meet-ups outside of family functions. Just work and group texts. Are you satisfied now?” He believed this was just another routine fight, a truce he could buy with a simple apology and a promise. But he didn’t realize that some things, once broken, can never be fully restored. For a while, Garrett kept his word. His interactions with Lila were limited to polite nods at family dinners, and his texts to her were only sparse messages in the family group chat. He started coming home on time. He bought me thoughtful little gifts. He patiently helped me, the lifelong directionally-challenged wife, explore the corners of this unfamiliar city. The atmosphere in our home softened, returning to its comfortable, sweet rhythm. I even started to wonder if I had been too sensitive. Until I found the old iPad, almost forgotten, shoved into a drawer in his study. It was logged into a second, separate social media account I’d never seen, with only his close family members and in-laws as followers. Its feed was an entire world I hadn’t known existed—a private world belonging to him and Lila. He’d taken her to her child’s PTA meeting. The photo showed the three of them—Garrett, Lila, and the kid—smiling brightly, looking like a perfect little family. The caption: Our little champ. He had spent the night by her hospital bed when she was sick, taking a photo of her sleeping profile. The caption: Your big brother is here. Don’t worry. He had even taken her to see her favorite musician on our wedding anniversary, simply because she’d fought with Owen and couldn’t get a ticket. His post showed the stage lights, captioned: Your wish is my command. Every single post was filled with “heartfelt” comments and praise from the Reed family relatives. “Our Garrett is so responsible. So much better than that brat Owen.” “Lila truly has good fortune, having such a great older brother.” “This is what real family looks like. So much love.” I felt like a ridiculous intruder, a thief in the night, spying on my husband’s and my best friend’s blissful life—a life from which I was clearly, painstakingly excluded. With trembling fingers, I scrolled back to the Christmas Eve chat log. Lila messaged him: Big brother, is Harper going to be mad? These agnolotti looked like she made them just for you. Maybe I should send them back. Garrett’s reply: Don’t worry about it. She’s not that small-minded. Enjoy them. I’ll sort it out if she complains. Lila: Brother, you’re so good to me. If only I had married you… Garrett: Stop that foolish talk. But remember this: no matter what happens, your brother is always your rock. My blood felt like it froze solid in that moment. All our arguments, all our periods of cold silence, were just me being a “small-minded” nuisance in his eyes. And all his concessions, all his promises to me, were just empty gestures meant to placate me so he could more comfortably remain Lila’s “rock.” My entire life felt like one huge, embarrassing joke.

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The year I was eight, I was held captive and tormented for three days to save young Garrett Sinclair. The trauma left me with severe prosopagnosia—face blindness. He had tied the blue silk cord I gave him around his wrist, his eyes red-rimmed as he promised: “Sloane, I’ll wear this forever. That way, no matter where I go, you’ll always be able to find me.” For over a decade, that flash of blue had been the only steady light in my dark, visually confusing world. Until the night before our wedding, when I overheard him talking to his friends. “Garrett, you really pulled out all the stops to get close to Willow. I mean, what about Sloane Kingsley? If she ever figures out the person she’s been sleeping with isn’t you, but her adopted brother… she’ll lose it, man.” Garrett swirled the glass in his hand, his voice a casual, effortless dismissal. “She only recognizes the blue cord. She’ll never notice.” “To be the blissfully ignorant Mrs. Sinclair for life? That’s her good fortune.” 1 I froze. Every muscle went cold. Willow Blackwood was my most trusted friend. Devon, my adopted brother, was the only family member who had painstakingly raised me, treating me like the most precious thing in the world. Garrett was the single star in my pitch-black universe. Yet, I had been living inside their perfect lie all along, unable to even recognize the face of the man in my own bed. His friend spoke again, a note of sympathy in his voice. “It’s a shame you and Willow are soulmates, but you’re stuck by this debt of gratitude. Gotta keep the affair underground.” “Thank God Devon Kingsley is covering for you. It’s the only way you can be with Willow while she gets through her pregnancy.” Willow… was pregnant? The pain already constricting my heart was brutally sliced open again. Someone else chimed in, curious. “So, G, you’re really going through with marrying Sloane?” Garrett frowned. “It’s just a name, a gesture to settle a debt. The heir to the Sinclair fortune will only ever be Willow’s child. Don’t get the wrong idea.” “As for Sloane, I’ll make damn sure she never gets pregnant with my child.” I was trembling, the ultrasound photo crumpled in my white-knuckled hand, my mind a blank void. Two months ago, Garrett had promised to be there for my birthday, but he was late. I was blowing out the candles alone when he finally wrapped his arms around me from behind. He presented me with a massive bouquet of ‘Shattered Ice Blue’ roses, his voice low and husky as he apologized for the delay, claiming he’d been collecting the rare flowers. That night, he’d been drunk, and we were intimate until morning. My nerves and frantic inexperience had made me overlook a crucial detail: Garrett was severely allergic to pollen. Now, the truth was blinding. He never could have sent those flowers. After that ‘accident,’ I hadn’t been able to keep food down. I’d gone to the doctor today, only to learn I was pregnant. My heart was bursting with shy happiness, and I’d rushed here, desperate to tell him the surprise. Instead, I had stumbled onto this visceral, gut-wrenching truth. So, this child… I didn’t dare finish the thought, a shiver running through me. What kind of monsters had I been living with, day in and day out? I stuffed the prenatal scan back into my purse, unable to listen anymore, and turned to walk away.

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1 I was born bad. A rot in the blood. Kidnapped as a toddler, I ended up slaughtering the entire backwoods cult that raised me. By the time my biological parents found me, I had reinvented myself as a quiet, nondescript lab technician at a chemical plant. After the reunion, my twin sister, Mia, would visit me often. She brought me homemade lunches and bought me soft, pastel dresses. Her eyes were always smiling. “Maya, you’re too thin. You need to eat.” “Maya, you suffered so much when you were taken. From now on, I’m going to spoil you.” Later, Mia fell in love. She blushed when she told me, “Maya, I’m getting married. It’s Julian Sterling. You know, the billionaire family? I know you hate crowds, so I’ll have Mom livestream the wedding for you.” “Maya, once I’m a trophy wife, I’ll have a huge allowance. I’ll send you money every month. You won’t have to work at that smelly plant anymore.” But I never got the livestream link. Instead, I got her body. Broken. Twisted. In that instant, the dormant gene—the urge to kill that I had suppressed for years—woke up. … I found Mia’s body in the woods outside “The Haven,” an exclusive reform school for the elite. Her limbs were shattered, her neck bruised, and she died pregnant. My blood boiled. I hugged her cold body tight. A phone slipped out of her dress pocket, lighting up with a text: 【Have you learned your lesson at The Haven yet? Behave, and stop bullying Lydia. I’ll give you the grandest wedding. I’ll make you the happiest bride on earth.】 Sender: 【Hubby Julian】 My eyes stung. My hands trembled as I replied: 【Hubby, I was wrong. I’m ready to come home.】 I had Mia cremated immediately. The funeral was small. Just our parents. Mom wept, kneeling before the casket, shaking. “Mia, I’m so sorry! I should have insisted you stay away from the Sterlings. They’re billionaires; why would they look at normal people like us… I didn’t protect you…” Dad stood in the corner, chain-smoking, face dark. Suddenly, he slapped himself hard. “I should have known! Why would he pay off our debts? He was buying my daughter’s life!” I watched this grieving middle-aged couple with a blank face. I had no feelings for them. My limited capacity for love had died with Mia. Suddenly, the door was kicked open. “Maya! Is this your idea of an apology?! I send you to learn manners, and you run back here to play dead?!” I quickly stepped into the shadows. Dad saw Julian Sterling and lunged. “You animal! Give me back my daughter!” Julian kicked him away, furious. “Don’t give me that drama. Do you think I’m an idiot?” Dad clutched his stomach, eyes murderous. “My daughter is dead! This is her funeral! You and that woman killed her!” “Wow. Maya is getting bold, hiring actors now? Look at this!” Julian held up his phone. On the screen was a photo of “Mia” (me, earlier), holding a cat, looking peaceful. Behind Julian, a girl peeked out. Lydia Sterling. She feigned innocence. “Mr. Lin, don’t blame Julian. He’s just stressed. Sister Mia has been bullying me since she moved in. Julian only sent her to The Haven to learn etiquette. The Sterling family requires a disciplined wife.” I hid in the corner, teeth grinding. So, these are the two who killed my sister. Neither of them is leaving this world in one piece. My mother, usually weak, rushed forward to slap Lydia but was caught by Julian. He threw her to the ground. Her head hit the wall with a sickening thud. “Tell Maya this is her last chance. Come back to the estate and apologize to Lydia. Otherwise, the wedding is off! If she loves me, she needs to learn to kneel.” 2 Julian and Lydia left, leaving my parents wailing in the funeral home. “Mia, it’s our fault… we were too poor to protect you.” “I’m calling the police!” Dad yelled. I pressed down on Dad’s hand. My expression was grave. “Dad, the police aren’t God. Let me handle this. I’m a professional.” I was kidnapped at one. I never knew family. I grew up in abuse. By five, the village men were touching me. My foster parents took money for it. My name back then was “Jane Doe”—unwanted. When I was eight, during a village festival, I drugged the water supply. While they slept, I burned the village to the ground. I walked out alone and into the foster system. For years, I was a freak. Bloodthirsty, cold, violent. I hid it well. Mia was the only light that ever touched my dark soul. And they tortured her to death. Two days later, wearing Mia’s dress, I knocked on the Sterling mansion’s door. “Hubby, I’m back. I’m here to apologize to Lydia.” Julian’s eyes flashed with surprise. He took my hand, looking at me with those lying,桃花 eyes. “Mia, I truly love you. But Lydia is my only sister. Even if she’s adopted, she’s the princess of this house.” I looked up, smiling. “Hubby, I was wrong. I’ll listen to you. I’ll take care of Lydia just like you do.” Mia and I shared a rare beauty. I hid in the dark; she bloomed in the sun. That’s why Julian chose her. That night, Julian knocked on my door. “Mia, since you’ve learned your lesson, let’s start over.” I stood in the doorway, eyes soft. “Okay.” “AHHH—” A scream from the stairs. Lydia tumbled down, landing in a heap. “Sister! Even if you hate me, you could just say so! Why did you pour oil on the stairs?!” “Lydia!” Julian rushed down, scooping her up. “We need to go to the hospital!” Lydia sobbed into his chest. “Julian, don’t blame her. She just loves you too much. She can’t stand you being nice to anyone else.” Julian turned to me, face grim. “Looks like you didn’t learn enough at The Haven. Pack your bags. You’re going back until you’re fixed!” I teared up. “Hubby, I didn’t do it! She fell!” “Enough! I’m taking you there myself!” Watching them leave, I smiled. Finally. I get to meet the people who broke my sister. Every cell in my body was vibrating. 3 The Maybach wound up the mountain road. Lydia sat shotgun, fake-crying. “Julian, maybe don’t send her back. What if they hurt her?” Julian patted her shoulder. “You’re too kind, Lydia. The Haven is a legitimate institution. Lots of elite families use it. Besides, it’s not her first time.” I sat in the back, watching Lydia’s reflection in the window. She was smirking. Two hours later, Julian dragged me out of the car. “Stay here. I’ll pick you up in a month. That vicious temper of yours needs grinding down.” Bang. The heavy iron gates slammed shut. I turned around. Three large men stood there, grinning. “I like this one. I’ll teach her the rules myself.” “She’s feisty. She needs all of us.” I smiled. “Good. I was hoping you’d say that.” They dragged me to a solitary confinement room. Inside was an electric chair and a stained mattress. The three men entered and locked the door. “Hey beautiful, time for your first lesson. We’ll teach you how to serve your man.” I cracked my neck. “Okay.” I’d been repressing this for years. They lunged. I pulled the heavy wrench strapped to my thigh. Clang. Clang. Clang. I smashed it into their skulls with lightning speed. It wasn’t enough. My hand trembled with excitement. The room filled with the music of their screams. They couldn’t handle me. I possess what doctors call “hysterical strength,” but I just call it being a born predator. Everything they did to Mia, I did to them. First, they wanted to assault her? Fine. I confiscated their tools. One swing of the wrench, and their lineage ended. I strapped one of them to the electric chair. “Who killed Mia? Speak, and I might make it quick.” I got my answers. I knocked them out and headed for Room 888. That was the VIP room where Mia died. I banged on the door. “Who is it?! You’re ruining the mood!” The door opened. Inside, a girl lay on the bed, eyes vacant, body covered in bruises. She was mumbling, “Hubby, I’m sorry, I’ll be good…” 4 “Mind if I join the party?” I smiled and locked the door behind me. The two men inside exchanged fearful looks. “Who are you? Mia is already…” “I am Mia. Come on, play with me! You guys look excited.” I raised the aluminum bat I’d found in the hall and swung for their necks. They fought back, but they were weak, spoiled sadists. I was a monster. Minutes later, they were on the floor, gasping. “Scream! I thought you liked it rough!” I laughed maniacally, shattering their kneecaps. The girl on the bed stirred. I threw her clothes at her. “Can you move? Get dressed. I have work to do.” Her eyes cleared slightly. She looked at me, realizing I wasn’t a victim. I went to the maintenance closet and found a chainsaw. I needed raw materials. The sound of the saw drowned out their pleading. The noise fully woke the girl. She dressed and looked at me with red eyes. “Sister… do you have a phone? My brother will come. He can… clean this up.” I lit a cigarette I stole from one of the men. We waited in the metallic scent of blood. She was a debutante who fell for a bad boy. Her family didn’t know she was here. Her brother arrived while I was finishing my “carving.” “Chloe! I’m sorry I’m late!” I looked up, face splattered with red, holding two perfectly severed femurs. “I avenged your sister too,” I said calmly. “Can you handle the cleanup? I have another stop to make.” The brother, Sebastian, looked at me—at the bones in my hand—with a complex expression. Shock, yes. But also respect. I borrowed his car and drove straight back to the Sterling estate. Mia’s face ID still worked on the gate. I walked into the living room. It sounded… active. “Julian… I’ve loved you for so long,” Lydia’s voice moaned. “I drugged the porridge. Just take me.” “Lydia… I can’t… you’re my sister…” Julian gasped, though his hands were already roaming her body. I cleared my throat. “Wow. Taboo. Spicy. Room for one more?” I gripped the wrench in my pocket.

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I was his longest commitment. The gossip whispered that my methods were masterful, that he was actually going to marry me. “Marriage? Is that even possible?” The lighter in his hand flipped open, the sharp click echoing in the dark. “She and the rest of them—they’re all gold-diggers.” That was the day after I threw myself in front of a car to save his life. I opened the hospital room door. Under his cold, watchful gaze, I climbed onto the railing and dropped twenty-eight stories. It was the end of a life spent enslaved to the system that governed my love-struck brain. 1 Valentine’s Day. On the subway, during the evening rush. The phone screen of the stranger next to me was paused on a financial news report. His name appeared. Rhys Kincaid. Sometimes he felt impossibly distant. Other times, impossibly close. Close enough that I still walked into the grocery store and instinctively picked out only the foods he liked. “Be home in ten.” He didn’t reply. The penthouse residence. The moment the door opened, I smelled a perfume that wasn’t mine. “Don’t you need to leave and be with your girlfriend?” She was already sitting up on the sectional, pulling her dress straight. Her legs were straight and pale. The kind of sharp, young beauty that belonged to a girl barely twenty. “Girlfriend?” He was hidden in the half-shadow of the living room, his tone noncommittal. “Do I have one?” Everyone in our circle knew I’d been with him for ten years. “Oh, you’re bad!” The little dog found me first. It wagged its tail and pushed the door fully open. All eyes turned to me. She ran over and threw her arms around mine. “Gen, you’re home!” Skylar was my younger cousin, currently staying with me while she started college in the city. “Look what Rhys gave me!” She shook the high-end designer bag on her wrist. In all our years, I had never once asked him for a gift. The things he had sent me, I had never touched. I thought that by refusing his money, I could distinguish myself from all the other women in his orbit. Eventually, he stopped sending them. Yet now, he gifted a fortune without a second thought. Of course. To him, what was the difference between ten thousand and a million? Just as, to him, what was the difference between me and the rest of them? “Skylar, go back to your room.” She listened to me. She glanced at Rhys Kincaid first, then slowly shuffled away. “You’re back?” He asked, though he clearly saw me. I walked in and set the bags of groceries on the kitchen island. “The kid was just playing around.” He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. He still carried her scent. Sickly sweet. A smell entirely unlike mine. I turned my face away from his kiss. He let go. “If I really wanted her, I wouldn’t need to sneak around behind your back.” He only offered an explanation once. If I didn’t take the out, the fault would be mine. I took a deep breath. “I only ask one thing of you. Don’t touch her.” His expression was indifferent. He lifted a hand and brushed the hair from my temple. “Were you having fun with your boss, Marcus?” “Why are you dragging him into this?” “He has you working late every night. Who knows what you’re doing in that office?” I pulled my arm free of his touch. “Rhys Kincaid, be reasonable.” Skylar rushed out of the room. “Gen, please don’t fight with Rhys because of me.” He smirked, leaning against the marble counter. “See? The kid is more sensible than you are.” I pursed my lips, grabbing my purse to leave. He caught the strap and yanked it back. “Enough. Are you really making a scene? Do you think you’re that important?” “Rhys Kincaid, anyone but my cousin. She just graduated high school!” He laughed, his eyes lifting lazily. “You were about her age when you climbed on board.” “And she’s much prettier than you.” “Why is it okay for you, but not for her?” Skylar started to cry. She came over and anxiously took my hand. “Gen.” I didn’t want her to hear any more cruel words. I had promised her mother I would look after her. “Come on. We’re staying somewhere else tonight.” She didn’t move. She hung her head, standing right next to Rhys Kincaid. “Skylar?” “Gen.” She hid behind him. “You go ahead. Rhys will take care of me.” I froze in place. She had only been here for two weeks. She’d barely seen him more than a handful of times. “When your mother used to favor your brother and hit you, who stepped in and took the beating for you?” She avoided my gaze, looking utterly pathetic. “When you didn’t have money for high school, who worked her ass off to pay your tuition?” “You’ve known him for less than a month, and now you want me to leave?” “Skylar, after everything I’ve done for you, do you have any conscience at all?” She frowned slightly. Tears welled up, making her look like a damsel in distress. “I didn’t ask you to be good to me. Don’t use moral blackmail.” “Besides, wasn’t all that money yours anyway, thanks to Rhys?” “His money?” I lifted my chin. “Ask him if I have ever taken a single cent from him.” “No. Because you’re pure.” He mocked me with a laugh. He carelessly picked up the groceries from the island and threw the bag at me. “Then take your damn groceries and go. What are you sticking around for?” I didn’t move. I looked straight into his eyes. “Rhys Kincaid, do you think I can never leave you?” He raised an eyebrow lightly. “Could you?” A jolt of painful, physiological shock went through me. I collapsed onto the floor, trembling. Next to me, his voice was laced with derision. “Starting to act now?” [Host’s clarity value rising, punishment initiated.] The system’s voice echoed in my mind. I tried to get up, shaking, but my strength failed me, and I was overcome with cold. Why did I ever love this man? [He is rich, powerful, and handsome. He is the best choice in the world.] [Given your background, meeting him is winning the lottery.] He treats women like toys. [So what? He loves you.] Dizzily, I looked up. Beneath his prominent brow ridge, his eyes were utterly cold and impassive. He still thought I was faking it. I asked the system how I could complete the task. [There is no ‘complete the task.’] [This is a perfect life.] [He is just mistreating you now. Soon he will realize he loves you.] [You will be the happiest woman alive.] [You shouldn’t be upset.] The next second, my vision went black. Before I passed out, I saw a flicker of panic and concern in his eyes. Ah. That was the moment he was supposed to “realize he loved me.” How ridiculous. After ten years, I had the thought for the first time: I wanted to die. Not for him. But to take the system controlling my body down with me. I was too tired. When I opened my eyes, I was in bed. He was slumped on a sofa nearby, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. The moment I moved, he was alert. “Awake?” “Rhys Kincaid.” I looked at him. The mental pain from the electric shock made the tears stream down my face the moment I spoke. He froze. I rarely showed any weakness. He walked over and pulled me into a hug. “It meant nothing with her.” “She’s not even my type.” His thumb brushed away my tears. “I was just angry.” “Why were you willing to ask your boss for help, but not me?” “Gen Lane, am I really that unreliable to you?” So that was what mattered to him. Skylar’s previous art audition had required an exclusive private lesson with a professor, and my boss, Marcus, had arranged it. I could have easily asked Rhys. It would have been nothing to him. But I didn’t want to. I was desperate to keep this relationship uncomplicated. “I can’t pay you back.” I pulled his hand away. “I can repay Marcus. I can’t repay you.” He countered, “When have I not helped you?” I asked back, “How long can you help me?” How long would he even stay with me? We both knew the truth. The power in this relationship was never mine. He was silent for a long moment. “So this is why you faked fainting?” I couldn’t help but smile. A sense of reckless abandon took hold. “Yes, I was faking it. I want to marry you. Is that too much to ask?” Rhys Kincaid’s eyes were dark and steady. He had clearly already made his final judgment of me. “I’ve given you everything I can.” “Gen, don’t be greedy.” The door was slightly ajar. I knew Skylar was still listening. For the next month, Rhys Kincaid didn’t come near me. Skylar moved out. She claimed she was moving into the dorms for orientation. But I knew Rhys had bought her a condo in a high-rise near campus. On my birthday, he called. “What do you want for your birthday?” I was packing. Clearing out every item that belonged to me from the penthouse. In the end, it was only two suitcases. “I don’t want anything.” My eyes were empty, but my voice was gentle. “Could you stay with me?” Silence on the other end. I heard the sounds of foot traffic. He was on a business trip overseas—the place he’d promised to take me. “Can’t make it back. Be good, I’ll call you when I’m done.” I hung up. I moved out of the apartment. That night, Skylar flew overseas, alone, to find him. He was furious. Angry at her reckless impulsiveness. She was like a willful child. But she told him she missed him too much to wait. He kept her. In his hotel. The next day, he cleared his schedule to take her skiing. She was clumsy but reckless. Rhys taught her a few basics, and she immediately wanted to tackle the advanced slope. The accident happened as expected. He was nearly hit trying to shield her. She instinctively reached out to pull him back. She just nicked her calf. She was taken to the hospital. Sawyer, his friend, told me all of this as I stood in the corridor of the international hospital. “Guess what she said when she woke up?” I didn’t respond. He continued. “She was sobbing hysterically.” “And she told Rhys, ‘How could you? I was so afraid it was you who got hurt!’” The glass reflected the images of Sawyer and me. “That was the first time I ever saw genuine emotion in his eyes.” “What man can resist that? Gen, you can’t play her game.” The hospital room door opened. Sawyer offered a quick greeting and left. It was just Rhys and me. “You promised me,” I said, not looking at him, “that you wouldn’t fall for her.” Rhys spoke softly. “Do you know the difference between you and her?” “She never talks to me like this.” “She just loves me.” “Gen, why can’t you be like her?” He probably expected me to throw a fit, based on my past temperament. But I didn’t. I just smiled. “So, are you breaking up with me?” “How much money do you want?” he asked. I looked up at him. There was not a ripple of emotion in his eyes. He looked like he was simply processing a routine change in personnel. “I want a lot of money.” I gave him the answer he expected. “Give me your entire fortune.” Predictably, he frowned slightly. Finally, an expression. Then, he smiled, his eyes cold. “Do you deserve it?” “She would die for me. Could you?” Before returning to the States, Sawyer threw a party and invited me. It was a private club, the massive floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. Neon lights intersected beneath the inky blue night. Rhys arrived late. As soon as he did, people stood to greet him. Skylar was right behind him. Her small scratch had healed in three days. The guests’ judging eyes subtly landed on me. But Rhys didn’t spare me a single glance. The sound of mahjong tiles clicked again. Skylar, with her long, dark hair, was trying to play but failing. Rhys chuckled, patiently guiding her moves. As he leaned in, his hand rested on the back of her mahogany chair. Her hair occasionally brushed the back of his hand. “New arm candy?” I was standing on the terrace getting air. I overheard a few women chatting near the window. “After all these years, he was bound to get bored.” “I thought she was clever enough to lock him down. Thought they were going to get married.” “He spoiled her so much back then. Now he’s moved on—it’s always the same, just another toy.” I pulled my jacket tighter and turned. I saw Skylar. She was toying with Rhys Kincaid’s lighter. She smiled, radiating innocence. “Gen, are you jealous that I stole him?” I headed back to the table to grab my purse and leave. Sawyer stopped me. “Don’t go. The fun’s just started.” He said it to me, but his eyes were testing Rhys. Rhys lifted his eyes dismissively, looking at Sawyer’s hand wrapped around my wrist. He smiled loosely. “She doesn’t have a place here.” “Of course she does.” Sawyer stood up and pulled out a seat for me. “Let’s play for high stakes.” His hand was still on my wrist. “If I win, I get Genevieve for the night, how about that?” Rhys’s fingers paused. I looked into his eyes—those famously charming eyes. They were entirely, naturally cynical. He didn’t refuse. I sat down. Rhys didn’t join the game; Skylar sat in his spot. But this time, he didn’t teach her anything. He just watched, silent. The result, of course, was that I won. But Skylar wore the satisfied expression of a victor. Sawyer grabbed his sports car keys and led me away. Before the car crossed the bridge, another luxury sedan cut us off. Rhys Kincaid sat alone in the driver’s seat. His eyes were empty, and he waited with unnatural patience. He was waiting for me to step out of another man’s car. But I didn’t. “In such a hurry?” He got out of his car and tossed my purse at Sawyer. “You forgot her bag.” I watched him calmly. “Thank you. Is there anything else?” His gaze shifted to me. Clearly, there wasn’t. I tried to roll up the window. He slammed his hand on the door, yanked it open, and roughly pulled me out. “Rhys!” A car sped past, drowning out the rest of Sawyer’s protest. Rhys shot him a look, and Sawyer fell silent. “Run off with the next guy before the check even cleared? Is that what I taught you?” The words hadn’t even fully left his mouth. A scream rang out behind us. [Event triggered.] The system voice sounded. I saw the distant figure raising a gun. My body moved without my consent. I shielded Rhys Kincaid. [Congratulations, Host. The Abuse Fiction storyline is complete.] As the bullet tore into my body, I felt nothing.

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I’ve always been a human lucky charm, a walking four-leaf clover. I once bought a soda bottle and won a new car. My company, Apex Solutions, depended on the bid numbers I calculated to secure a 100% win rate, pulling us back from the brink of bankruptcy to become the third-largest firm in the city. The trouble started when a lottery ticket I’d absentmindedly bought on a business trip won three thousand dollars. The new Head of Finance demanded I turn over the entire amount. I explained that I had purchased the ticket with my own money. She flew into a rage. “The employment contract stipulates that all financial gains created by an employee during working hours belong to the company!” “If you won three million dollars on your own time, that’s your business. But winning three dollars during your official business trip? That’s company property!” Too tired to argue, I called my fiancé, Owen Grant, the company CEO. But Owen actually sided with her. “Sasha has a point,” he said, his voice flat. “If the company hadn’t paid for your business trip, you wouldn’t have had the opportunity to win in the first place!” Sasha Bell, the new finance head, looked even more smug. “I’m docking the three thousand dollar prize from your paycheck,” she announced with chilling finality. “And I’m adding a thirty-thousand-dollar fine for attempted embezzlement of company funds! Let this be a lesson to you.” I clenched the ticket in my hand. I didn’t argue again. A week later, Apex Solutions was gearing up for the biggest annual bid—the Dyson Group contract. Every set of eyes in the office landed on me. I offered a small, cool smile. “My apologies,” I said, my voice cutting through the anticipation. “I’ve quit. I am no longer obligated to fill out the bid submission.” 1 “Did you hear what Owen said?” Sasha asked, her arms crossed tight over her chest. “He specifically put me in charge of rooting out corporate corruption. You still think you can pocket company money? Dream on!” I ignored her, turning to leave. But Sasha lunged forward, snatching my handbag off my arm. Jealousy flashed in her eyes. “Where do you think you’re going? There’s no way you can afford a bag this expensive! I bet this was another perk from a ‘win’ on a business trip. Everything gets confiscated!” I fought down the surge of anger. “This bag was a gift,” I stated clearly. “It has nothing to do with any prize money.” Sasha rolled her eyes. “A gift? Or the payout for sleeping with some old man on the road?” She clicked her tongue dismissively. “Tsk, you really put in the effort, didn’t you? I always wondered why you were flying all over the country. Turns out you just had business everywhere—selling yourself for a commission!” A buzz of low chatter erupted among the surrounding colleagues. “No wonder Anya always came back claiming to have ‘won’ something,” one whispered. “Now it makes sense. It wasn’t a prize; it was a payout for services rendered!” Sasha’s eyes narrowed with a cunning glint. “What is it, Anya? Was it a sleeping-with-a-sugar-daddy bonus? Or was it acquired during business hours on a company trip?” Sensing my fury, a colleague stepped in to mediate. “Anya, just admit it was a prize. It’s only a bag. It’s not worth ruining your reputation over.” “Yeah, come on! Just let it be confiscated. Watch yourself next time.” Rage boiled up inside me. I raised my hand and pointed a cold finger at the person who spoke. “Your shoes? Bought during the business trip to Phoenix in December.” I moved my gaze to another. “You bought a whole gaming console on your trip last month.” “And you,” I looked straight at a guy named Ken, who had been the loudest agitator. “You were bragging about it. Your wife got pregnant after visiting you on a trip. Congratulations! She ‘won’ a baby on company time!” “So, according to your logic, shouldn’t all these things be surrendered to the company as well?” The crowd fell silent, their faces flushed. I walked up to Sasha. “If they didn’t have to turn over their purchases, or their good fortune, what right do you have to demand mine?” Sasha, completely losing face, slammed my bag onto the floor. The strap immediately snapped. “Oops, Anya! Why didn’t you catch it?” I was past the point of tolerance. I reached for my phone, ready to call the police. But someone snatched it away and smashed it to the ground. “Enough! How long are you going to keep this up?!” Owen emerged from his office, his face dark, to stop the escalating scene. “Anya, I’m warning you, don’t push it. You’re threatening to call the police on a colleague now?!” “Right now, you will apologize to Sasha Bell!” Sasha, instantly shedding her bravado, put on a weepy face. “Anya, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to break it. I’ll pay for it, I promise.” Owen put a protective arm around Sasha, soothing her with quiet words. When he turned to me, his eyes held only disgust. “It’s just a handbag! Stop making such a huge deal out of nothing!” I took a deep breath, forcing the emotion back down. “It was an anniversary gift from my fiancé.” Owen finally registered the ruined designer bag on the floor and paused, a flicker of surprise in his expression. I managed a tight, bitter smile. “You’re right,” I said. “It’s just a bag. Who cares? Anyway, I’ve decided to break off the engagement.” 2 I picked up the mangled bag, tossed it into the nearest office trash can, and walked away. That evening, Owen called me countless times. I answered once and gave him the short, definitive version: We were over. He begged, he reasoned, all to no avail. Finally, he hung up with a chilling threat, telling me I’d regret this. The next morning, I arrived at my desk right on time. An algorithm-pushed video popped up on my phone. Sasha was giggling into the camera. “Hey, fam! Your corporate newbie here took down a corrupt, slick old-timer today who tried to pocket company funds!” “This jaded old hag thought she could hide three grand in public money just because I’m new in finance. I shut her down hard and gave her a much-needed education.” “Haha, she even tried to call the CEO to complain. Too bad the CEO has my back. She was so mad! He even called me later and praised me for doing the right thing, saying I’m getting a bonus!” The comments section exploded. “Get her, girl! These corporate lifers need to be kept in check! The company is lucky to have you!” “Three grand? If this blogger didn’t expose her, who knows how much she’s stolen before. Instant justice! My chest feels clear and my day is made.” Sasha’s completely twisted version of events garnered widespread cheers. Scrolling down, I saw familiar IDs among the likes—some of the same colleagues who had asked me to ‘bless’ their contracts just yesterday. I looked at the stack of contracts piled on my desk. I swept them aside with a single movement. Perfect. In the past, my colleagues never hesitated to ask me for help. I always said yes. They seemed to have forgotten that this was a favor between colleagues, not an official part of my job description. I smirked internally. They call me a slick old-timer? Fine. I will adhere to the labor contract so strictly that I will not work a single extra minute. The travel expenses? They can fight over those themselves. I composed myself. The minute the clock hit 5:00 PM, I packed up to leave. I hadn’t made it to the door before a chorus of voices called out. “Anya! Did you finish reviewing my contract? Why didn’t you bring it to me?” “Yeah, mine too! I need that right now!” Sasha rushed over, her voice rising to a shout. “All these people are working late, waiting for you to review their documents, and you’re trying to sneak out?!” “If you don’t want to work, just go ahead and resign!” Resigning was out of the question. I was the one who pulled this company back from collapse. The board rewarded me with 5% of the company’s Restricted Stock Units (RSUs), vesting over three years. I needed to last just two more weeks to claim them. There was no way I was quitting. And as long as I followed the rules, they couldn’t fire me without cause. The stock was valued at almost five million dollars. I’d collect that money and then walk. I turned back, pointed to the clock on the wall, and raised an eyebrow. “Sneaking out? No, I’m leaving precisely when my workday ends, just as you so sternly suggested I do.” Sasha’s face turned an ugly shade of green. “You won’t get away with that attitude! I’ll tell Owen!” I had nothing to fear. Everything I did was strictly by the book. “Go right ahead.” 3 I ignored Sasha’s shouting and walked out. The next morning, I arrived at my cubicle. My next-door colleague stared at me as if I were a ghost. “The meeting in Atlanta? The contract signing? Why aren’t you with the team?” I spoke calmly. “Why would I be? It’s not my account.” The colleague offered a weak smile. They’d grown too used to having their free, human lucky charm on speed-dial. It was time for them to try winning a contract based on their own actual merit. A moment later, Sasha slammed a file folder onto my desk. “Anya, are you insane?! Why didn’t you go to Atlanta?” “Do you have any idea how much damage you’ve caused the company?!” Seeing her reaction, I understood. They hadn’t closed the deal on their own. I replied without rushing. “Their flight was at 8 AM. My shift starts at 9 AM. I couldn’t make it.” Sasha gnashed her teeth in fury. “You couldn’t leave early?! That project in Atlanta has been a long-term partnership. You just ruined a high-value client relationship! This is gross dereliction of duty!” I looked at her with feigned surprise. “It wasn’t my working hours. Why would I go?” “I suggest you check the labor contract again. ‘Accompanying colleagues to contract negotiations’ is not listed under my job responsibilities.” “Besides,” I added, leaning in slightly, “closing deals depends on skill. I’m just someone who only manages to collect a few travel perks and win minor prizes. I’d only be in the way.” Sasha’s chest heaved. At that moment, someone rushed in and whispered in her ear. Sasha’s expression became complicated. She glared at me and issued a cold warning. “Reyes Dynamics is here to sign a contract, and they specifically asked for you!” “I’m telling you, this is your only chance to redeem yourself! You better be cooperative!” I nodded. “Relax. Everything will be done according to company policy.” If the company scheduled a task for me during working hours, I was certainly not going to decline. I entered the conference room. Everyone turned toward me, ready for my presentation. I placed the file on the table and spoke without preamble. “Everyone, please go home. The contract we previously negotiated is null and void.”

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Every tabloid in New York knew that Roman Sterling would rather sleep with a random club girl than touch his own wife. The daily question: When will Mrs. Sterling finally give away her precious V-card? Facing the paparazzi’s flashing lights, Roman looked at me with fearless arrogance. “Worst case scenario, we each play our own game. If you don’t like it, you can find someone too.” With that, he shoved his hands in his pockets and casually walked away. That same night, photos of him in bed with his latest fling trended on Twitter. Everyone thought I would spend the night crying alone until dawn. Instead, I contacted a paparazzo and booked a trending spot for myself. Then I tore my lace nightgown, messed up the sheets, and took a “candid” photo of myself in bed. I sent an anonymous text to Roman: [Bro, your wife smells amazing. Let me know when you get divorced.] 1 Watching the trending topic I bought shoot straight to #1, I happily got ready for bed. Within half an hour, heavy, hurried footsteps thundered down the hall. “Chloe! Is this how you get back at me? Who the hell is that guy?!” A photo was slammed into my face. One half was my suggestive bed selfie; the other was a passionate shot of Roman pressing his latest fling, Bella, against a window. This was exactly the headline I had the paparazzo publish. [The Sterlings reach a new agreement: Playing their own games within the marriage, no interference.] I sat on the edge of the bed, casually wrapping my robe tighter. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted?” “You never should have humiliated me by messing around with my father’s illegitimate daughter!” Roman’s breath hitched. He didn’t respond to my accusation, instead gritting his teeth. “Who is he?” “You don’t need to know. That’s what makes it fair.” I used to swear I would dig three feet into the ground to find out everything about his lovers. I was young then; I couldn’t tolerate a speck of dust in my eye. But later I realized… Before I could even lift a finger, he’d already moved on to a new one. So I stopped asking. It was pathetic. Roman let out a sudden, sinister laugh. “You’ve got some nerve!” His gaze landed on a red mark on my collarbone. He pinned me to the bed. I struggled desperately, screaming. A sharp knife pierced the skin of my collarbone, blood covering the “hickey.” “Are you crazy! Let me go!” Roman pressed down on me, eyes bloodshot, veins popping on his forehead. “First time, and last time!” “I’ll take down the trending topic. Before I lose control, you better go back to normal!” The “normal” he spoke of was me remaining impassive while photos of him in bed with lovers flew everywhere. Me happily accepting the used condoms and stained panties they mailed to me. Roman stared into my eyes darkly for a long time. Seeing my face wet with physiological tears, he finally let go and took some gauze from the drawer. I pushed him away violently. “Don’t touch me!” Roman stood up from the bed, his face completely dark. “You put on this show just to piss me off? What are you pretending for now?” “You’re shameless just to get my attention. What else are you capable of?” The knife in his hand accidentally grazed my arm. Blood soaked the silk sheets. I was sweating from the pain. But my heart hurt a thousand, ten thousand times more. Roman didn’t even blink, his gaze almost heartless. “My mother was right. A woman like you who climbed up from the bottom can never do anything classy!” “Why hire someone to put on a show for me? If you have the guts, really divorce me! Your sister is ten thousand times better than you!” Dropping those words, he stormed out without looking back. A moment later, a divorce agreement signed by him was sent to my phone. Even the asset division was 70-30 in my favor. He firmly believed I couldn’t leave him. But I signed it. Then I called a number to confirm my departure time. Roman, what makes you so sure this man doesn’t exist? 2 After hanging up, the tears pooling in my eyes finally fell. When Roman insisted on marrying me, the whole world opposed it. His parents looked down on my ordinary background. The Chamber of Commerce almost expelled him. But he weathered all the public pressure to give me the wedding of the century. They said I was the happiest woman in New York. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one who wanted this god-like man. On our wedding night, he took a call and never came back. I sat with my eyes open until dawn. He came back drunk in the early morning, calmly patting my head. “You know what’s cutest about you? You’re sensible enough not to cause trouble. The Sterling family needs a wife like you.” In that instant, the anger blocking my heart was extinguished by a bucket of cold water. I learned to be good. No fighting, no noise. Just a decoration. But now, he was playing with the person I hated most in this life: Bella. Back then, my dad brought Bella home and forced my mom to accept her as a “daughter.” My mother, proud all her life, held me silently. She gave my father two choices. Either send Bella away, or she would take me and leave the family. My father said nothing, standing on the balcony in the cold wind all night. When he returned to the bedroom, he found my mother had jumped from the window. It rained heavily that night, washing away the blood on my mother’s body. Roman rushed over and held me, letting me punch him over and over, constantly saying, “It’s okay, it’s okay…” But he chose Bella as his new favorite. What dignity did I have left as Mrs. Sterling? Roman didn’t come back that night. The trending topic I arranged was buried deep by him. It couldn’t be found anywhere online. But he openly took Bella to galas, letting her replace me as “Mrs. Sterling.” He high-profile invited everyone in New York to celebrate Bella’s birthday tomorrow. But he knew in his heart that her birthday was also the anniversary of my mother’s death. He just wanted me to face reality: someone like me could never fight him. Roman sent a private doctor to bandage the wound on my collarbone that exposed the bone. “Mr. Sterling still cares about you. He remembered your constitution is unique and wounds don’t heal easily.” I smiled self-deprecatingly and said nothing. The next second, I received an anonymous video. It showed Bella losing control of her emotions: “That night I went to persuade Auntie to accept me as a daughter, but she hit me and said I wasn’t worthy.” “In the dispute, I pushed her down by accident. It was purely self-defense! Dad, Roman, what should I do now…” Bella slapped her own face frantically, claiming she was sorry to me. My ears rang, the world spinning. My father slapped her hard, clutching his heart in anger. “How did I give birth to a daughter like you! That was my wife!” Bella, with a red handprint on her face, looked stubbornly at Roman’s back. “You’ll help me. You have me in your heart, right?” Silence for a century. My heart was in my throat. In the video, Roman’s expression was unreadable, but his voice was firm and calm. “Go hide for a while. I’ll handle the police.” 3 Every word Roman said was clear and piercing. The whole world was hiding the truth about my mother’s death from me, including Roman, whom I trusted unconditionally. That year, I ran to the police station in the rain. Roman got into a car accident chasing me. He crawled out of the car with difficulty, grabbing my ankle with a bloody hand. “Chloe, go back now. Leave this to me.” I naively thought he would get justice for me and my mother because I never believed she would abandon me. But unexpectedly, my father and husband both betrayed me. The next day, I appeared at Bella’s birthday gala, disheveled and unkempt. She was intimately holding Roman’s arm, enthusiastically showing off the heirloom jade ring he gave her. As if she really was Mrs. Sterling. When I entered, everyone’s eyes fell on me—contemptuous, mocking. Only Roman looked relaxed, thinking I was there to beg for reconciliation like before, opening his arms slightly towards me. But he was destined to be disappointed. “Roman Sterling, Bella killed my mother, right? You were an accomplice, right?!” His breath hitched, but the guilt in his eyes vanished instantly. “Today is Bella’s birthday, don’t make a scene!” Even my father rushed up from the audience and slapped me hard. Seeing the warning looks in their eyes, I finally accepted reality. The content of that video was true. At this moment, Bella threw herself over, crying like a pear blossom in rain. “Sister, I know Auntie hated me enough to kill me when she was alive, but Sister, we only have each other now. Please don’t hurt me anymore…” “I won’t pursue you for abusing me. I’ll be obedient.” As she spoke, she inadvertently revealed scars on her arm, looking pitiable. Seeing this, Roman frowned deeply in distress, his eyes full of disappointment looking at me. “Chloe, she’s your sister! How could you be so cruel!” The crowd gasped and whispered. “Chloe’s mother tried to murder Miss Bella and ended up killing herself? Serves her right.” “I didn’t expect Chloe to be so shameless. Playing the victim to fight for favor. Old virgins just love to cause trouble.” “They mother and daughter are used to bullying others. Trash from the gutter can’t change its smell.” … Endless abuse and accusations washed over me. The scene of my mother falling in despair flashed rapidly in my mind. I couldn’t bear it anymore. By the time I reacted, my hands were already around Bella’s neck. “I want you to pay with your life!” She struggled in my grip. The next moment, a huge force pushed me away violently. Roman raised a trembling hand and slapped my face without holding back. “Chloe, what are you trying to do!” “I order you to clarify to everyone right now that you framed Bella and bullied them mother and daughter, otherwise…” His voice suddenly dropped low, gentle but cruel enough. “Otherwise, I’ll level your mother’s cemetery. Isn’t today her death anniversary?” 4 I looked up in shock. Meeting his almost heartless gaze, seeing the threat in his eyes. His brow was still gentle, but it couldn’t overlap with the face of the deeply affectionate man from the past. I stared at him stubbornly, eyes bloodshot. “No!” Unexpectedly, as soon as the words fell, the man took a remote control from his pocket. “There are bombs buried under the cemetery. Chloe, be good. Don’t force me.” He called me by my nickname, but it sounded more like the whisper of a devil. So he was prepared. To protect Bella, he held my lifeline in his hand at all times. That cemetery was the only thought keeping me alive in this world. I couldn’t watch my mother’s soul be scattered. I swallowed the blood in my throat, pushed him away, shuffled over, and knelt in front of Bella. “Bella, my mother and I wronged you.” “I! Am! Sorry!” I looked up at Bella’s triumphant face, then at Roman. “Is this apology enough?” Roman’s chest visibly heaved for a moment, then he cleared his throat. “As long as you know you’re wrong. You can go. Mourn your mother for me.” Dropping this polite remark, he put his arm around Bella’s waist and turned to continue the celebration. Amidst the laughter, guests whispered. “No wonder Mr. Sterling won’t touch her. Her heart is so dirty. No wonder those bed photos of her came out a few days ago.” “She and her mother bullied others. I didn’t expect she stole her sister’s engagement with tricks. She’s the mistress!” “Married for five years and still a virgin. Who would want her? People might think she has a disease.” … I knelt on the ground in a sorry state, listening numbly. I disdained to keep the so-called “forever and ever.” Just as I was about to leave, a piercing ding sounded in my ear. Not far away, Bella waved the remote control at me from an angle no one else could see. Watching the countdown tick closer, the hair on my back stood up! I struggled to get up and stumbled out of the banquet hall. Roman followed my back deeply. Just as he was about to call me, Bella pulled him. “Come toast with me.” The man twitched the corner of his mouth, his attention returning to Bella. At the cemetery. I dug frantically at the gravestone with my hands, fingers bloody and curled. The next moment, a loud bang exploded in my ears. Debris flew, and my mother’s tombstone shattered into pieces. The urn buried deep underground also exploded. Watching the ashes flying in the sky, my heart died completely. Then, a sudden heat wave hit, and my vision plunged into darkness… Roman didn’t stay for Bella’s birthday cake after all. Instead, he brought a bouquet of flowers to the cemetery. But the moment he stepped in, his pupils dilated instantly!

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On the day I was fired, the HR manager blocked my path and pointed at the laptop on my desk. “That’s company property. Leave it.” I laughed in her face and slammed a receipt onto the desk from my drawer. “Read it and weep. $5,000. My name on the bill.” With that, in front of the entire office, I packed it up and walked out. Thirty minutes later, the police showed up at my apartment. The company had reported me for embezzlement. I showed the cops my proof. The way the officer looked at the HR manager was like he was looking at an idiot. By the next morning, the entire tech park knew. My ex-employer, in an attempt to steal a laptop, had crowned themselves “The pettiest company of the year.” 1 After the police left, the office was dead silent. That silence was louder than any scream. It pierced the eardrums. Everyone’s eyes were fixed like spotlights on HR Manager Karen’s face, which shifted from red to green, then finally to a ghostly white. She stood frozen, like a cheap wax figure about to melt. I held my cardboard box—containing three years of my youth and a $5,000 MacBook Pro—and walked step by step through the solidified air. I didn’t look back. I didn’t say goodbye. The last shred of dignity between me and this company had shattered the moment they called the cops. The elevator doors slowly closed, cutting off the complex gazes behind me. In the mirrored wall of the elevator, a woman with black-framed glasses and a blank expression stared back. That was me. Lena Hart. Back in my rental apartment, I threw the box into a corner and didn’t give it another glance. The tension in my body snapped, and a wave of exhaustion drowned me. I collapsed onto the sofa, unwilling to move or think. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from my best friend, asking if I was okay. I replied, “Fired. Don’t worry,” and turned on Airplane Mode. I needed silence. I needed to process this absurdity. I was woken up the next day by my phone vibrating against the table. Turning off Airplane Mode, hundreds of messages flooded in. Cautious condolences from former colleagues. Gossip links from friends at other companies. Our company’s name, paired with the headline “Called Cops to Steal Laptop,” had exploded across the tech park’s newsletters and anonymous forums like Blind. The comment sections were a carnival of schadenfreude. “LMAO, CEO Wang’s stinginess finally went viral.” “RIP to the HR manager. Her KPI is definitely in the negatives now. Failed to save the boss money and gifted him a PR disaster instead.” “Don’t feel bad for her. That HR is trash. She’s the grim reaper of layoffs. They call her ‘Killer Karen’.” “Am I the only one curious about the specs of a $5k laptop? That girl is a legend!” I looked at the screen, but I didn’t feel the thrill of revenge I expected. I felt empty, even a little sad. A company reduced to gaining fame this way… how pathetic. And I was the protagonist of this farce. I clicked a link to a Medium article about the tech park. The article was vivid, describing yesterday afternoon’s events in detail. Although my name was hidden, phrases like “Hardcore vs. HR,” “Slapping the Receipt,” and “Police Certified” made me a legend in the park. The light from the phone screen illuminated my expressionless face. I guessed CEO Wang’s office must be lively right now. Sure enough, in the afternoon, a former colleague who was still there secretly messaged me. “Lena, Wang lost it. He smashed a mug in his office.” “Karen got chewed out so bad her eyes are swollen from crying.” “Wang said in the meeting that this incident is too damaging and we absolutely cannot let it go.” I stared at the text and tapped the screen. “What does he want to do?” “I don’t know, but he told Karen to find out who leaked this. He also said he’s going to teach you a ‘lesson’ so this kind of behavior doesn’t spread.” A lesson? Bad behavior? Reading those words, a chill shot from my feet to my skull. They made the mistake. They embarrassed themselves. And in the end, I was the one in the wrong? I didn’t reply. Putting down the phone, I opened LinkedIn and started updating my resume. Life goes on. I needed a job. I sent applications to several companies I’d been eyeing for a while. With my resume and project experience, getting an interview shouldn’t have been hard. However, the whole afternoon passed. Silence. No response. Just the cold “Application Submitted” status. An ominous feeling crept into my heart. That night, I checked a job app and saw that a company I applied to just that morning had changed my status to “Not Suitable.” That was too fast. Abnormally fast. Normally, HR screening takes at least a day or two. It felt like my name had been set as a keyword to be automatically rejected. I turned off my phone. The room was pitch black. The city lights outside cast mottled shadows on the ceiling through the blinds, like an invisible net. CEO Wang’s words, “teach you a lesson,” echoed in my ears. Anger, like a vine growing in the dark, wrapped tightly around my heart. I understood. The real war was just beginning. 2 For the next few days, I lived in a bizarre loop. Apply, rejected. Apply, rejected. Even the headhunters who used to blow up my phone seemed to have evaporated. No updates, no DMs. My carefully polished resume was like trash thrown into the internet void, unable to secure even a single interview. The entire industry seemed to have slammed the door in my face. It felt like drowning in deep water, struggling but unable to reach the surface. Suffocation came from all sides. I knew Wang’s “lesson” had arrived. He was using the network he’d built over decades to weave a massive net, aiming to blacklist me completely. I wasn’t going to accept this. I picked a small startup with a business model I liked and applied again. Surprisingly, I got an interview call the next day. I walked into that office building with the reverence of a pilgrim. The interview went smoothly. From the department head to the partners, everyone showed great interest in my skills and past projects. During the final round, the partner closed my file and looked at me with regret. “Ms. Hart, we really value your abilities.” “But… we might not be able to extend an offer.” My heart sank. “Can you tell me why?” My voice was calm, ripple-free. The partner hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Regarding your previous employer… during the background check, we heard some unfavorable things.” “They said you have… sticky fingers. Issues with professional ethics. That you were fired for embezzlement of company property.” Boom. Something in my brain snapped. Blood rushed to my head. So that was the crime they pinned on me. How vicious. How precise. For a professional, this was a death sentence. “I suggest,” the partner said, looking at me with sympathy, “you handle these rumors. Otherwise, it will be very difficult for you in this industry.” I stood up and bowed deeply. “Thank you for telling me this.” Walking out of the building, the noon sun stung my eyes. Standing on the busy street, I felt like a wandering ghost. Anger, humiliation, helplessness… emotions churned inside me, threatening to tear me apart. CEO Wang. Karen. You didn’t just want to cut off my retreat. You wanted to destroy me. I took out my phone, knuckles white from gripping it so hard. I called a friend who worked as a headhunter. “Do me a favor. Find out exactly what CEO Wang from InnovateTech is saying about me.” My friend got back to me quickly. It was worse than I imagined. In Wang’s mouth, I was a malicious, petty thief who was caught red-handed and fired. The $5,000 laptop became company property I schemed to steal. The police incident was twisted into me throwing a tantrum and seeking revenge out of shame. He even embellished, claiming I formed cliques and had a terrible attitude at work. “Lena, this guy is a piece of work,” my friend said indignantly. “He’s trying to bury you.” I hung up, chest heaving. Peaceful resolution? Non-existent. When pushed to the edge of a cliff with no way back, I only had two choices: jump, or push them off. I went home and closed the curtains. darkness swallowed the room. I sat in the dark for a long time until my eyes adjusted. Then, I opened that $5,000 MacBook Pro. The desktop wallpaper was a minimalist design I made myself. I opened a heavily encrypted folder. Inside was every trace of my three years at that company. Every overtime record, clocked to the minute. Recordings of every meeting where Wang promised big bonuses or gaslit the staff. Every email asking me to do personal chores outside my job description. Every unpaid expense report. Every detail of withheld bonuses. I am a hoarder of digital receipts. I save everything. I never believe verbal promises. Only black and white. I thought I’d never need these. They were just a security blanket for my anxiety. Now, they were my only weapon. I organized the files, categorizing and naming them one by one. Each file was a puzzle piece. When put together, they would reveal the ugly, greedy, mean face behind Wang’s mask of “We are a family.” By the time I finished, it was dark. I stared at the dense folders on the screen, my eyes cold and determined. Wang, you think you can use your power to define who I am. I will use the evidence you left behind to show the world what you are. You started this war. But I will decide how it ends. 3 These alone weren’t enough. These proofs would only show that Wang was a bad boss, giving me an edge in a labor dispute. But they couldn’t destroy the empire he was so proud of. They couldn’t wash away the mud he threw at me. I needed a sharper sword. One that could pierce his armor and strike his vitals. I thought of someone. Jason. The company’s former tech lead, a straight-shooting engineer. He was fired a month before me. The reason? “Insubordination.” The real reason was laughably absurd. Wang’s wife got a new iPhone and couldn’t transfer her data. Wang naturally ordered Jason to go to his house and help. Jason was in the middle of solving a critical bug and replied, “I’m not your personal butler. This is work hours.” The next day, Karen called Jason into her office, and he was packing his bags by noon. He was one of the few people in the company who dared to stand up to Wang. I knew he wouldn’t be happy about it. I found Jason’s contact and sent a message. “Free? Let’s talk.” Jason replied instantly. “Free. Send address.” We met at a noisy BBQ joint. The sizzling meat and loud chatter provided perfect cover. Jason looked the same—plaid shirt, messy hair, but bright eyes. He walked over with two beers and set them on the table. “Heard about what happened. It’s all over the tech park.” He opened a bottle and handed it to me. “Badass.” I clinked my bottle against his and took a big gulp of cold beer. “Same to you,” I said. Jason smiled, a bit self-deprecatingly. “I was just being reckless. You, you have guts and brains.” “What’s the situation now?” he asked. I told him everything—the rejected applications, the blacklisting. When I finished, Jason slammed his skewer onto the table. “That old bastard! He’s not human!” His anger was real and direct. I knew I found the right person. “I don’t want to let this go,” I said, looking him in the eye. “He wants me dead. I want to show him who falls first.” Jason’s eyes lit up. It was the excitement of finding a worthy ally, the thrill of finally releasing pent-up rage. “Count me in!” he said without hesitation. “I’ve wanted to screw him over for ages!” “What do you need me to do?” “I need a breach point,” I said. “Something that will hurt him to the bone. Labor disputes are just mosquito bites to him.” Jason fell silent. He spun his beer bottle, thinking. The smell of smoke and grilled meat filled the air. After a while, he looked up, voice lowered. “I might… have something.” My heart skipped a beat. “What is it?” “Do you know which company makes the core software we use for our business?” I shook my head. I was in marketing; I didn’t know much about the tech stack. “It’s the flagship product of ‘Starlight Tech.’ An enterprise license costs $130,000 market price.” “Our company,” Jason smirked coldly, “uses a pirated version.” I froze. I knew Wang was cheap with employee benefits and salaries. I never thought he’d be bold enough to pirate the core tools the company relied on to survive. “How do you know?” I asked. “Because I was the one who installed and maintained it,” Jason said sarcastically. “When Wang told me to find a cracked version, I warned him. Commercial use carries high risk. If caught, the fines are astronomical.” “Guess what he said?” “He said, ‘Risk is a cost. We’re a small company, we need to control costs. If nobody talks, who will know?’” “If nobody talks, who will know?” I repeated the phrase, finding it incredibly ironic. “When he fired me, I kept an ace up my sleeve.” Jason leaned in. “I backed up everything on my computer related to the server using the pirated software—backend logs, IP addresses, version info. Everything.” “It’s a complete chain of evidence.” “If we hand this to Starlight Tech’s legal department…” Jason didn’t finish. But I understood. My breathing quickened. This wasn’t a sword. It was a battle axe. An axe capable of splitting the fortress of InnovateTech wide open. “Okay,” my voice trembled with excitement. “We start there.” The two of us clinked beer bottles in the noisy restaurant. The crisp sound of glass was the horn signaling our charge. The Avengers were assembled. 4 Jason and I moved fast and quietly. Like underground operatives, we communicated only via encrypted apps. Jason sent me the evidence backup via encrypted email. It was a massive zip file. Server logs, startup records of the cracked software, internal IPs using it, detailed version info. The evidence was more detailed than I could have imagined. Jason was a tech god. His backups even included timestamps that couldn’t be tampered with, ready for court. Looking at these files, I could picture Wang’s smug face. He thought he saved $130,000. He didn’t know the employee he kicked to the curb had planted a time bomb. My job was to light the fuse. I didn’t go to the police or a government agency. The process was too slow, and it might alert the enemy. I wanted InnovateTech to be judged by its “victim.” I spent a whole day writing an anonymous whistleblower letter in a tone so calm it bordered on cruel. I added no personal emotion. I simply stated objectively and in detail how InnovateTech had been using pirated “Starlight” software for commercial profit on a large scale for years. I attached Jason’s technical evidence chain. Finally, I wrote: “Your intellectual property is being ruthlessly trampled and stolen. The thief is using your hard work to make a fortune. As a loyal user of Starlight software, I cannot tolerate this.” After writing it, I read it through. Every word was ice-cold. Then, using a new, untraceable email address, I sent the letter and attachments to Starlight Tech’s public legal email. To be safe, I burned everything onto a CD and mailed it anonymously to Starlight’s CEO from a remote mailbox. After that, I deleted all records and local files. As if nothing happened. Then, the wait. Every day was torture. I refreshed Starlight’s website and industry news constantly. Jason was even more nervous, messaging me every hour. I told him to be patient. Sharks always come when they smell blood. Two weeks later, on a calm Wednesday afternoon. Jason sent me a photo. It showed several people in black suits standing at InnovateTech’s reception desk. They radiated power. The leader wore a pin on his lapel. The Starlight Tech logo. Jason’s caption: “They’re here.” My heart jumped into my throat. He sent another photo. It was Wang, bowing and scraping with a fake smile, ushering them into the conference room. Jason started a text commentary. “They showed a court order and a lawyer’s letter.” “They’re checking the servers now.” “Wang’s face is green.” “Tech team is being questioned. I bet they can’t delete the logs I left.” “Hahaha, Wang is making calls. He looks like his dad died.” I watched the messages, palms sweating. Nervous, but sickeningly excited. An hour later. Jason sent the final message. “Caught red-handed. The lawyer announced on the spot they’re suing InnovateTech. Damages… $3 million.” Three million dollars. I exhaled a long breath. For a company with tight cash flow like InnovateTech, this was a death blow. Wang, you saved $130,000. Now you pay $3 million. I wonder what your calculating brain thinks of that math. That night, Starlight Tech released an official statement. It was harsh, naming InnovateTech for infringement and vowing to pursue legal responsibility to the end. It caused a huge stir. This spread much further than my laptop incident. This involved an industry giant. Before, InnovateTech was a joke in the park. Now, it was a cautionary tale for the whole industry. I could almost hear the sound of Wang’s carefully maintained “dignity” shattering. Crisp and pleasant. This was just the appetizer. The main course was yet to come.

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