Category: English

When my parents divorced, Mom fought for my older sister, and Dad fought for my younger brother. I was the middle child, the one nobody wanted. Everyone bet against me, but irony has a funny way of working out. After the SATs, my sister ended up at a community college, my brother dropped out, and I? I was the state’s top scholar. Suddenly, it was my turn to be fought over. I shook off their hands, pulling two documents from my bag. “Kids who’ve been abandoned once have trust issues,” I said coolly. “So, here’s the deal—” “Whoever signs this will, leaving everything to me, gets to be the parent of the top scholar.” 1 My dad is a cop, and my mom is a surgeon. To everyone else, they have glamorous careers. But to me, they were just permanently “busy.” Especially after the divorce. Every time I asked Mom for allowance, she’d rush off, saying, “I’m saving lives, ask your dad.” When I called Dad, he’d sound exhausted, “I’m arresting bad guys, ask your mom.” They kept passing the buck, assuming the other had already paid up. In reality, I was often starving. When I was really broke, breakfast was two steamed buns—three yuan. That was my food for the day. When stomach cramps hit, I’d lay my head on the desk and tell myself to endure it. Classmates went to the cafeteria for lunch; I said I wasn’t hungry, but the truth was I had no money. There were lucky days, of course. Sometimes they’d both remember me and transfer money simultaneously. But that “luck” was random. Most of the time, I was hungry. Once, after three days without a proper meal, seeing black spots from hunger, I called them. Both rejected my calls with the “busy” excuse. That moment clarified everything. In this world, money is more reliable than love. Love disappears, gets ignored, gets forgotten. Money doesn’t. From that day on, I wanted money. Lots of it. Enough to buy the best food in the world. So I’d never have to go hungry again. 2 One day before the SAT registration fee deadline. I still couldn’t reach my parents for money. Because they were “busy.” Yet, my sister and brother just updated their social media. Sister’s post: A photo of her in a new dress, smiling brightly. Mom stood beside her, hand gently on her shoulder. They looked so alike, gentle and elegant. Caption: [Thanks Mom for the pre-exam gift, love you~] Brother’s post: On the basketball court, shooting hoops, Dad coaching him. Both wearing brand-new matching sports gear. Caption: [Dad said gotta blow off steam before the big test, can’t have too much pressure.] I stared at the photos for a long time. So they weren’t busy. They were just busy for me, the extra daughter. A familiar bitterness spread in my chest. I should have known. I was the surplus, wasn’t I? Just like the day of the divorce. In court, the judge asked about custody. Mom didn’t hesitate: “I want Grace.” She looked at my sister with adoration. “She’s sensible and obedient, just like me. She’ll go far.” Dad chimed in quickly: “I’m definitely taking Lucas.” He patted my brother’s shoulder, eyes shining with expectation. “He’s got athletic talent, he’ll follow in my footsteps and be a cop.” The judge flipped through the files, frowning. “What about the other child?” My parents froze. “Oh, right, Zoe.” Then came the hot potato game. “I already took one, can’t afford two.” “She’s a Lin, she should stay with the Lin family!” Mom argued. “Zoe’s a girl, you’re her mom, she should be with you!” “My work is too demanding, the hospital needs me, I don’t have time for two kids…” I sat in the corner, watching them fight to not take me. Finally, I broke the stalemate. “I can live alone, as long as I have living expenses.” And so began my life of solitude and hunger. Looking at the class group chat, classmates posting screenshots of their paid fees. Only I hadn’t paid. The class rep reminded me again. No fee, no SATs. I bit my lip, stomach cramping again. One bun today. My balance couldn’t even afford two. But hunger didn’t matter now. The registration fee wasn’t just about food; it was my only way out. If I couldn’t take the test, my life was over. I had to get that money. Since they ignored my calls and texts, I’d go to them. Mom’s place was closest to school. I decided to start with her. 3 Standing before that familiar yet strange door. I took a deep breath. Finger trembling, I pressed the doorbell. The door opened quickly. It was my sister, Grace. Seeing me, her face instantly filled with impatience. She turned and yelled toward the kitchen: “Mom, Zoe’s here.” Her tone dripped with disdain. She blocked the doorway, no intention of letting me in. Sounds of cooking came from the kitchen; Mom was busy. “Oh, let her in then.” Only then did Grace reluctantly move aside, leaving a crack for me to squeeze through. I walked into the living room. Grace was back on the sofa, taking up the whole thing. I sat awkwardly on a small stool in the corner. Like an unwelcome beggar. Soon, Mom came out with a bowl of soup. Milky white broth, smelling divine. My starving stomach growled immediately. “Gracie, this is bird’s nest soup with lotus seeds.” “I stewed it for three hours. Just this small bowl, very nourishing.” “You’ve been studying hard, drink it while it’s hot.” Grace took the bowl, sniffing the aroma. “Mom, you just finished a ten-hour surgery and still made soup for me? You’re too tired, you drink it.” “Silly child, Mom won’t drink. You’re Mom’s precious baby, anything for you is worth it.” They pushed the bowl back and forth. Finally, sharing it. One sip for you, one sip for me. A heartwarming scene. And me? The invisible person. Sitting three steps away, watching this mother-daughter bonding. I checked my phone. Deadline approaching. “Mom, the SAT registration fee is due soon. Can you send me the money?” As soon as I spoke, Mom’s face changed. Gentleness vanished, replaced by impatience and disgust. “Look at you, every time you come it’s for money. Like a debt collector.” “Besides money, do you know how to say anything else?” Grace chimed in: “Yeah, Zoe, can you not be so materialistic?” “Mom works so hard, and you just have your hand out.” My fingers curled into a fist, nails digging into my palm. “But I’m just asking for the registration fee, not allowance.” “It’s mandatory.” “And it’s your obligation to support me.” “Obligation?” Mom sneered. “I raised you till now, what value have you created for me?” “Just spending money, useless.” “Registration fee is over a hundred, isn’t that money? You think my money grows on trees?” Hearing this, my heart felt squeezed. I stood up slowly, eyes on the exquisite white porcelain bowl. Half a bowl of bird’s nest soup left, gleaming temptingly under the light. I saw the price tag at the pharmacy days ago. Premium bird’s nest, dozens of dollars per gram. This bowl was worth hundreds. And I was asking for a registration fee of just over a hundred. She’d spend hundreds on soup for Grace. But grudged a hundred for my future. “Money grows on trees”? What a joke. All my grievances exploded in that moment. I grabbed the soup bowl. “Zoe, what are you doing?” I didn’t answer. I smashed the bowl on the floor. The crash echoed in the living room. Soup splattered everywhere. “Are you crazy?” Mom stared, wide-eyed in disbelief. Slap! A loud slap landed on my left cheek. Burning pain spread instantly. But I didn’t retreat. I looked her in the eye. “Give me the registration fee.” “You wretched girl!” Mom trembled with rage. “You dare act wild here over a registration fee?” I repeated: “I want the registration fee.” Infuriated by my attitude, she grabbed her phone with shaking hands. Beep. The transfer notification sounded. She threw the phone onto the sofa. “Take the money and get out. Don’t disturb Grace’s studying.” I checked the amount. Fifty-something. Exactly half the fee. “Why only half?” Mom sneered. “I’m divorced, not widowed. The court ruling said your dad and I split your costs 50/50.” “Go ask your dad for the rest.” She pointed at the door. Get out. The broken porcelain glittered coldly on the floor. Just like my heart. Cold. Grace sat on the sofa, watching coldly. A smirk played on her lips. Fine. At least I got half. Though only fifty-something, it was better than nothing. For the other half, I had to find Dad. 4 Leaving Mom’s, my cheek still throbbed. But I couldn’t care less. Half the fee was still missing. Dad lived across the city. Two hours by bus. His door was ajar. I pushed it open gently. Quiet living room. Only the flickering light of the TV. Dad was curled on the sofa watching a kung fu movie. Wearing loungewear, messy hair, looking exhausted. Strangely, the TV was muted. He didn’t look up until I stood in front of him, blocking the screen. “Oh, Zoe, you’re here.” “Why is it muted?” I asked. Dad pointed to Lucas’s room: “Lucas is doing homework. Can’t disturb him.” I nodded, sitting on the other end of the sofa. Jackie Chan was fighting on screen, silent punches and kicks looking comical. Dad glanced at me, gaze fixing on my left cheek. “What happened to your face?” “Who hit you?” Dad’s face shifted from fatigue to anger. “Went to ask Mom for the registration fee, and she…” Before I finished, Dad stood up, dialing his phone. “Hello, Zhang Yulan, are you crazy?” As soon as it connected, Dad roared: “You hit Zoe? She’s just a kid, how could you?” Mom’s shrill voice came from the other end. Couldn’t hear the words, but she was yelling too. “What do you mean I didn’t fulfill my duty as a father?” Dad got louder. “What kind of mother are you? Won’t even pay the kid’s registration fee?” “You have the nerve to lecture me? Look how you spoiled Grace!” “At least our Lucas is sensible, unlike your…” The argument escalated. Tension filled the living room. Lucas ran out of his room: “Dad, what are you arguing about? So loud.” “Nothing, go back to your homework.” Dad covered the mic, voice instantly gentle. But Lucas heard. “Dad, is that woman yelling at you again?” Hostility filled his voice. “That woman” was said with heavy emphasis. Grace’s screech came through the phone: “Lin Youbao (Lucas), what ‘that woman’? That’s your mother! Where are your manners?” Lucas grabbed the phone, putting it on speaker. “Lin Enci (Grace), who do you think you are? A super-senior retaking 12th grade has no right to lecture me!” “Besides, Dad divorced her, she’s not my mom anymore!” Grace’s voice pitched up. “You little brat! Grades so bad you have to rely on sports to get into college, and you dare bark at me?” Lucas wasn’t backing down. “So what if I’m an athlete? Unlike some people still in high school at 20!” “I skipped a grade, getting into college at seventeen.” They argued red-faced, wishing to stomp the other into the ground. And I, the extra daughter, sat there like an outsider, watching a war started because of me. What a ridiculous family. Divorced parents, each spoiling their favorite, treating the other’s child like an enemy. Sister and brother despising each other, raised in comparison, now enemies. This war wasn’t for me. They argued to prove their parenting was superior. To prove their chosen child was better. Finally, like a pact, both sister and brother declared they would crush the exam. “I’ll score higher than you, make Mom proud!” “Lol, I have extra points for sports, I’ll beat you by ten points easy. Glory for Dad!” Both eyes burning with competitiveness. Hanging up, Lucas turned to Dad for validation. “Dad, going back to study.” “I’ll definitely beat that repeater Grace, make you proud!” Dad beamed with satisfaction. “Good son, Dad believes in you!” “You have talent and drive, you’ll get into a great college.” Encouraged, Lucas strutted back to his room. The living room fell silent. Dad finally remembered I was there. He turned to me, expression flattening instantly. No gentleness like for Lucas, no anger like for Grace. Just plain, perfunctory. “Right, you came for the registration fee.” I watched him tap his phone. “Sent the other half.” I checked. Exact amount. Not a penny more. “Getting late. Be safe on the way back.” With that, he sat back down. Resumed his silent movie. “Okay, I’m leaving.” I whispered, turning to the door. No sound behind me. No “stay,” no “careful,” not even a “bye.” I closed the door gently, standing in the dim hallway. The sensor light flickered on, blinding white. I touched my throbbing cheek. Doesn’t matter. I have the money.

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Staring at the official declaration of my mother’s death, my first thought was that the hospital had called the wrong number. I had settled all the bills before leaving. Every single one. Today was supposed to be the day for the cremation, the burial. Why would I still owe them money? The voice on the other end of the line sighed, a thin, impatient sound. “Family member needs to come pay the balance. How else are we supposed to cover the treatment? $18,736.” “Are you sure this is for Evelyn Flynn?” They confirmed it with aggressive certainty. “Yes, ma’am. Hurry up.” I froze. Ma’am? My jaw set, I immediately drove back to the hospital. When the clerk handed me the bill, I glanced at the date. It was for new medication and treatment, all opened today. Three days ago, my mother had died in this hospital after a failed resuscitation effort. Who were these imported drugs and procedures being administered to now? 1 A cold sense of alarm washed over me. Using “insurance reimbursement” as a pretense, I had the clerk print every single chart, every test result, every single line item. I checked the records. My mother, in for half a month with what was initially diagnosed as pre-infarction symptoms, had racked up an unimaginable $450,000 in charges. They had performed ten-plus cardiac catheterizations. The list showed over thirty cardiac stents installed. Thirty? And five separate CT scans in a single twenty-four-hour period. My face went rigid. I walked straight to my mother’s primary attending physician, Dr. Wallace. “Doctor, my mother died here three days ago. How can you justify a new bill, dated today?” Dr. Wallace blinked, but quickly composed himself. “It does happen. Occasionally, we find a balance that was under-charged upon discharge. We simply ask the family to remit.” “This hospital has never had a problem with overcharging, rest assured.” I pointed to the dates on the new bill. “These are clearly newly prescribed medications. My mother is gone. Who were they given to?” He pointed at the framed commendations on his wall, a flicker of genuine anger—or perhaps just panic—crossing his features. “I understand your grief, but you are insulting me! I’ve been practicing for thirty years, and I’ve never been accused of something so foul.” “Please leave!” I tried to argue, but he grabbed my arm and shoved me out of the consultation room. “If you have questions, take them to the Director’s office! I’ll cooperate with any investigation. This is preposterous!” I fought to keep my voice even, trying to appeal to his professional responsibility. “But there is clearly a problem with the patient’s record. Shouldn’t you, as the doctor in charge, be accountable?” Before I could finish, a few nurses began pushing me further away. “There’s no problem here! Don’t try to start a scene! Our security is not to be messed with!” one warned. “Are you trying to hurt other patients? Just because your own mother passed away, you want to stop other people from getting treatment?” At this, the other patients waiting in the hall grew agitated and started to shove me themselves. My composure was shattered. “You won’t give me an explanation? Fine. I’m calling the police.” The second the words left my mouth, a familiar, smooth voice cut through the noise behind me. “Calling the police? Asher Flynn, what is all this noise about? This is a hospital.” I turned. Jude Becker, my brother’s keeper, a doctor at this very hospital, was pushing his way through the crowd, frowning. I took a deep, centering breath and thrust the new bill at him. “Jude, your hospital’s billing is ridiculous. I want an explanation.” But instead of taking the bill, he raised his voice, loud enough for the waiting crowd to hear. “That’s impossible.” “Asher, your mother was known to be… tight with money when she was alive. I see the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree. You’re just like her.” My brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?” He adjusted the lapels of his pristine white coat, adopting the air of professional authority. “I mean that money should be earned honestly. Asher, I’m telling you this as a friend: your family is already wealthy. It doesn’t look good to try and stiff the medical bills.” What? I was dumbstruck. My rage boiled, threatening to blow the top off my skull. “Jude Becker, you are a professional. You need to take responsibility for your words. The bill is right here, plain as day. Are you accusing me of trying to game the system?” 2 The phrase “game the system” brought every head in the waiting area snapping toward me. I fixed Jude with a cold glare. We had known each other for over twenty years. My mother had practically considered him a godson. It was on his insistent recommendation that we chose this hospital for her stay. Yet, three days ago, when she died, Jude hadn’t even shown his face. And now, he was saying this. It was a profound, sickening moment of disillusionment. Jude gave me a look of deep, patronizing concern, expertly diverting the attention and pinning the blame on me. “Asher, I know you’ve always been impulsive. When your mother was alive, she indulged you endlessly. But she’s gone now. You have to grow up. You can’t keep acting out!” “I understand your grief, but you can’t take your loss and pain out on a professional medical staff! Your mother’s physician is one of our most highly respected, a man with thirty years of spotless reputation.” The moment he finished, the eyes of the crowd shifted, confirming I was the villain. “Unbelievable. His own friend, a doctor, is saying this? The patient’s family must be a nightmare.” “The poor woman is gone. Go home and grieve! You’re clogging up the line. We fought for these appointments. Just because his mom died, he wants to deny us our right to treatment?” “This is why doctor-patient relations are so strained. It’s because of people like him!” I’d never realized how deeply Jude’s calculations ran. He had expertly manipulated the narrative, painting me as an unhinged aggressor. I slapped the stack of printed medical records into his chest. “You say I’m acting out? Fine.” “Then do me a favor. As a medical professional and my dearest friend, read these charts, in front of everyone, and explain them.” The slight rigidity in Jude’s expression was all I needed to confirm my suspicion. A real doctor, and a true friend, hearing of alleged fraud, would immediately seize the records to investigate. Why was his first reaction deflection? His demeanor softened, suddenly all concern, and he tried to steer me toward his private office, clearly attempting to manage the situation away from prying eyes. But I planted my feet and pushed him away. “Whatever you have to say, we should say it now. I want to know what condition my mother had that required five CT scans in one day. Why was she given eight bags of antibiotics in a single afternoon? And IV fluids totaling over two hundred pounds?” “My mother was in the hospital for half a month with pre-infarction symptoms, and I paid over $450,000!” “And the most outrageous part? She’s been dead for three days, and your hospital is still generating new fees!” “If this hospital can’t provide an immediate explanation, I’m escalating this to the state health authority.” With that, I pulled out my phone and dialed the Bureau of Health and Safety. Around me, the hostile patients gasped, their voices hushed. “Two hundred pounds in one day? That’s more than a person weighs. They would have pumped her full of water. That’s insane.” “Wait, the woman is dead. How can there be a new bill?” “My God. This isn’t just over-billing. It sounds like they might have killed her.” 3 The moment the call connected, Jude’s face went white. He lunged, trying to snatch the phone from my hand. I held him in a tight glare. “Jude, you’re not the attending physician. Why are you reacting like this?” “Or is this connected to you?” I distinctly saw the vein in Jude’s forehead twitch. His eyes darted away. I tried to wrestle my phone back, but in the struggle, he slammed it onto the tile floor. “That’s enough!” he yelled. The screen splintered into a thousand shards. I raised an eyebrow, facing him. “Are you getting nervous?” His eyes were wide, furious. “I am not nervous! I’m sick of your disgusting, underhanded tactics!” He then pulled out his own phone and shoved a screenshot of a text thread directly into my face. “Asher Flynn, I tried to warn you. Since you’re so determined to destroy yourself, I have no choice. As a doctor, I must maintain my professional integrity.” Looking at the alleged chat log, my heart hammered against my ribs. The text thread on his screen read: Me: Hey Jude, I spent so much money, and Mom still died. What a waste. Any way to get some of it back? Jude: What are you thinking? Jude: The hospital won’t refund without a major incident. Your family is rich; why do you care so much? Besides, the doctors did everything they could. Me: Hmph. That old bastard, Dr. Wallace, deliberately prescribed the most expensive drugs. Whatever. Get me the refund, and I’ll buy you a bottle of expensive whiskey. My temples throbbed violently. My fingers started to tremble. “I never said that! Who is that? Just because it has my profile picture doesn’t mean it’s me!” I tried to explain, but this time, no one was listening. Someone in the crowd shoved me hard. “I almost believed you! You set this whole thing up just to blackmail the hospital for money!” “You have no shame! Your mother’s death was a tragedy, but what does that have to do with the doctor? You’re so disrespectful.” “Honestly, maybe her dying was just karma for having a son like this!” I was outnumbered. I couldn’t fight fifty voices at once. But through the angry throng, I watched Jude smirk, give me a small, silent wave, and mouth the word, “Bye.” Then, he casually shredded the medical print-outs and tossed the confetti into the air before walking back into his office, hands in his pockets. A wave of vertigo washed over me. Heart racing, hands shaking, cold sweat prickling my skin. The floor beneath me suddenly felt like cotton. Pushed and jostled, I was forced out of the clinic wing. I stumbled, unable to regain my footing, and finally collapsed onto my knees a few feet from the main entrance. I hadn’t slept more than a few hours a night while caring for my mother for the last two weeks; my body was already at its breaking point. People walked by continuously. I instinctively reached out a hand, trying to find someone to help, but through the swirling fog of my fading consciousness, I heard a shout nearby. “Don’t help him! He’s trying to scam the hospital!” “Be careful! He’s a grifter! You’ll lose everything if you touch him!” My vision swam, the light scattering into fragments. I couldn’t fight the pull of the ground. As my eyes slid shut, the last thing I saw was the relentless stream of people walking right past me.

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On the day the heir to a New York business empire broke off our engagement, everything changed. His brother, a decorated Special Forces Major, proposed to me on the spot with a dowry worth billions. His mother, a retired Hollywood legend, handed me the key to the family trust. His father, a corporate titan, appointed me CEO of the entire conglomerate right then and there. I stood there, jaw on the floor, watching it all unfold. Little did I know, they had all been reincarnated. 1 Liam’s childhood sweetheart posted a picture of an engagement ring on Instagram. The comments section immediately blew up: [Oh look, she’s showing off again.] [Yeah, yeah, we get it. The Prince of New York bought it for you.] [You know he has a fiancée, right? Why are you always stirring the pot?] [Just because they aren’t married yet doesn’t mean you aren’t the side piece. Homewrecker!] The girl, Renna, was getting roasted so hard she trended on Twitter. She deleted the photo and was later snapped by paparazzi crying on a film set. While everyone was laughing at her expense, Liam, the “Prince of New York,” finally responded. He said he was going to end the farce personally. The next day, Liam started a livestream. The topic: Breaking off our engagement. He stood in front of me, suit perfectly tailored, face cold as ice. “Sarah, I don’t love you. Stop clinging to me.” “And about the engagement gifts the Vanderbilts sent to your family… I expect them all back.” “The house, the cars, the 5% stock in Vanderbilt Corp, and the $10 million in cash.” The ring light hit my pale face. Inside, I was screaming. But I held back the tears, clinging to my last shred of dignity. I knew exactly why Liam was livestreaming this. He was doing it for Renna. Humiliating me in public was the only way to cheer her up. The only way to shed her “homewrecker” label. Honestly, I didn’t care about Liam dumping me. What I cared about was that my family, the Sterlings, had gone bankrupt years ago. The assets the Vanderbilts had given us? Long gone. I couldn’t pay him back. Liam seemed to sense my desperation. He sneered. “Sarah, if you don’t have the money, there’s another way to pay me back.” “Apologize to Renna. Beg for her forgiveness.” “Then, hold a press conference and tell the world that you were the one who came between us!” I stiffened, pride burning in my chest. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I was the victim here. But under the glare of the lights and the weight of debt, I had no choice. The chat was flooded with Liam and Renna’s shippers, drowning out anyone defending me. [Pay up! You’ve been leeching off them for twenty years. Trying to keep Renna’s money?] [Broke Sterling girl, look in the mirror. You don’t deserve the Prince.] [Apologize to Renna! You made her cry!] I took a deep breath. With my back against the wall, I opened my mouth to agree to the press conference. But then, a deep voice cut through the room from the doorway. “Wait.” 2 Everyone turned to look. A man in full dress uniform stood there. His broad shoulders blocked the view of the hallway. His presence was overwhelming, an aura of pure power. His sharp gaze swept the room, landing on me. In an instant, his eyes softened. I froze. I knew him. It was Liam’s older brother, Lucas. What was he doing here? Liam frowned when he saw him. “Brother? Aren’t you deployed overseas? Why are you back?” Lucas ignored him completely. He walked straight up to me. Then, he bowed deeply. I gasped and took a step back. “Miss Sterling, I apologize,” he said, his voice steady. “The marriage alliance between our families was made to honor your father, who gave his life to save mine. After he passed, instead of helping your family, the Vanderbilts cannibalized your business. Now, Liam wants to break the engagement. He has clearly forgotten the promise we made.” He dropped to one knee and took off his cap. The room went silent. The livestream chat exploded. [Holy sh*t! Is that Lucas Vanderbilt? Major Vanderbilt?!] [ The war hero? Why is he kneeling to Sarah? What is happening?] [Okay but look at that posture. That build. Daddy??] “The agreement never specified which Vanderbilt son would marry you,” Lucas continued. “Liam claimed he fell in love with you at first sight years ago, so as his older brother, I stepped aside. But now that his heart has wandered, I hope you will give me a chance.” Lucas spoke with absolute conviction. Gasps filled the room. Liam’s face went through a rainbow of colors. “Lucas, are you insane?” Liam snapped. “You’re a war hero, the youngest Major in history. Sarah is from a ruined family. She doesn’t deserve you!” Lucas didn’t even look at him. His voice was ice. “Liam, watch your mouth. I am the one who doesn’t deserve Miss Sterling.” [Omg, what a man. Protecting her like that!] [Marry him, Sarah! Marry him right now!] [Liam is trash. Team Lucas all the way! I want to see their babies!] I was still in shock. I didn’t know how to respond. Getting dumped by the younger brother and immediately accepting a proposal from the older one? It felt… messy. But the alternative was apologizing to that snake Renna… I looked at Lucas, skeptical. “Are you serious? Is this a joke?” Lucas looked at me with burning intensity. “I never joke. In this life, you are my sky and my earth. I will cherish you, protect you, and love you forever.” He continued, “I know this is sudden. Asking you to trust me with your life after two sentences is presumptuous. Please, allow me to show you my sincerity before you decide.” His sincerity? How? As I frowned, he clapped his hands. A young soldier sprinted in from behind Lucas and saluted. He cleared his throat and shouted: “Six hundred and sixty-six pounds of gold for Miss Sarah Sterling! Wishing you smooth sailing and eternal fortune!” Two soldiers marched in carrying heavy chests. When they opened the lids, the golden glare almost drowned out Liam’s ring lights. Gasps of awe echoed around the room. Even Liam looked stunned. Before I could recover, the soldier shouted again: “Ten luxury supercars for Miss Sterling! Wishing you perfection in all things!” “Fifty-five prime real estate properties for Miss Sterling! Wishing you abundance and prosperity!” “Nine hundred billion in cash assets for Miss Sterling! Wishing you longevity and health!” Boxes of pearls, gems, jade, and diamonds followed. My tiny 800-square-foot apartment was suddenly overflowing with treasure. I gulped, speechless. Liam clenched his fists, glaring at his brother. “Lucas, even if you want to marry her, is this necessary? That’s basically your entire net worth. You’re going to bankrupt yourself for a woman? You know you can’t get gifts back if you break up, right?” Lucas finally looked at Liam, his expression full of contempt. “I’m willing. It’s none of your business.” “Sarah deserves the best.” “My only worry is that it’s not enough.” His voice was soft, but the weight of his words crushed the room. The chat went nuclear. [SCREAMING. Lucas is so smooth!] [Rich, handsome, ripped, AND sweet? Where do I sign up?] [Comparing them… Liam is so broke and gross. Cheating on her and asking for money back? Ew.] Renna was a C-list actress Liam had bought a career for. She had fans, sure. But mostly paid bots. The livestream was now full of regular people, and once they started talking, Renna’s bots were drowned out. Seeing the tide turn, Liam lashed out at Lucas. “Brother, if you want to marry Sarah, shouldn’t you ask Mom and Dad first?” “Deciding a marriage on your own? How are you going to explain this to them?” Lucas frowned slightly. Just then, a commotion came from outside. The soldier next to Lucas announced, “Your mother, father, and Miss Renna have arrived.” 3 As soon as the words were out, Mr. and Mrs. Vanderbilt walked in, Renna trailing behind them. My tiny apartment was so packed there was barely room to stand. I stood in the corner, sighing internally. I figured all this gold and cash would be hauled away in about five minutes. With Renna here, nothing good ever happened for me. She was manipulative. One fake tear from her and Liam would lose his mind. One little pout and the Vanderbilts would throw money at her. The Vanderbilts knew how important this marriage was to me. But letting Liam be with Renna showed they thought the Sterlings were beneath them now. Renna walked up to Liam, tugging at his sleeve. “Liam, Mom and Dad agreed to our wedding.” Liam’s face relaxed, and he thanked his parents profusely. Then, he immediately ratted out Lucas. “Mom, Dad, Lucas went AWOL from the border. That’s a violation of protocol.” “And now he’s offering all this to Sarah to marry her. He has no respect for you. He’s making us a laughingstock on livestream.” Mrs. Vanderbilt, a former silver screen icon, glanced at the camera. She frowned. Then, she walked right past Liam. Straight to me. I panicked. She stopped in front of me and took my hands. Her eyes were red, brimming with tears. “Did we scare you, honey?” I shook my head, stunned. Her voice softened. “Sarah, the Vanderbilt family has wronged you. Liam doesn’t deserve you.” I realized she was giving me an out. I couldn’t just accept it. We needed to end this with dignity. But before I could speak, she pulled a golden key from her clutch and pressed it into my palm. She patted my hand. “This is the key to the family vault. Lucas is the eldest, but his duty keeps him away. So, the entire Vanderbilt estate… I leave it to you to manage.” [WHAT?! That’s the key to the kingdom!] [She just gave Sarah the financial power of the whole family?] [Does this mean she approves of Lucas and Sarah?] Liam and Renna went pale. Renna looked like she’d been slapped. Liam frowned, anxious. “Mom, what are you doing? Are you seriously letting Lucas marry Sarah?” “And that key… you said it was for Renna. Why give it to her? Renna has been like a daughter to you for twenty years. She’s way more reliable than Sarah.” Mrs. Vanderbilt shot a cold look at Liam. “A foster daughter who seduces a man with a fiancée? I clearly failed in raising her. Of all the men in the world, she had to target her own brother.” “Even if there’s no blood relation, you two are shameless. But the Vanderbilt family still has dignity.” “I won’t let people say I raised a child bride. I won’t let them say we are ungrateful traitors!” “The key belongs to a woman of integrity. Renna is not fit to be the mistress of this house.” Renna swayed on her feet. If Liam hadn’t caught her, she would have hit the floor. “Mom! How can you say that? She’s your favorite!” Mrs. Vanderbilt scoffed. “If I knew she was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, stirring up trouble between brothers, driving a wedge between your father and me, and leading this family to ruin… I would have raised a dog instead.” I blinked. I didn’t understand the last part. Leading the family to ruin? Liam frowned. “Mom, you’re talking nonsense. Renna would never do that.” Just then, Mr. Vanderbilt walked up to me. He handed me a contract. “Chairman Vanderbilt, this is…” I looked at him, confused. He smiled kindly. “I know what you’ve been doing behind the scenes for Liam all these years. Most of the project proposals and business plans under the Group’s umbrella were written by you, weren’t they? You negotiated those deals. Why didn’t you say anything? You let Liam take the credit for being a ‘genius CEO’ for years.” “This is an appointment letter. The Board has appointed you CEO of Vanderbilt Corp. If we had talent like you officially on the payroll, maybe we wouldn’t be heading toward a storm in a few years. I made a mistake, mistaking trash for treasure. I hope you can forgive our arrogance.” He took a step back. And bowed ninety degrees. 4 I was floored. Liam’s eyes were popping out of his head. But Lucas and Mrs. Vanderbilt looked at the scene like it was the most natural thing in the world. I couldn’t let a man of his stature bow to me. I tried to help him up. He refused to rise. “I know we are imposing today, but as Liam’s father, I feel deeply apologetic. Please, forgive us.” What could I say? Of course I forgave them. He continued, “Since you’ve forgiven Liam’s indiscretion, the alliance between our families still stands. About Lucas’s proposal…” Mr. Vanderbilt looked at me with puppy-dog eyes. Lucas and Mrs. Vanderbilt looked equally hopeful. Only Liam and Renna looked like they wanted to murder me with their minds. I looked at the room full of wealth. I weighed the key and the contract in my hands. Honestly, the sincerity was overwhelming. And… this money could save lives. The kids in the mountain schools were waiting for my answer. I bit my lip and looked at Lucas. “I accept your proposal.” A look of pure relief washed over Lucas’s face. Mrs. Vanderbilt and the Chairman cheered involuntarily. “Since Sarah is willing, let’s have the wedding soon. Three days. Three days from now is a lucky date,” Mrs. Vanderbilt said. I looked at Lucas. “Is three days too soon?” He shook his head. “No. Not soon enough.” Me: “…” Liam couldn’t take it anymore. “Mom! You know Renna and I are getting married in three days!” Mrs. Vanderbilt glared at him. “You get married, they get married. It doesn’t affect each other!” Liam opened his mouth to argue. Renna tugged his shirt frantically, silencing him. That’s when Liam saw the livestream comments. The internet was roasting him and Renna alive while showering Lucas and me with blessings. Furious, he smashed the camera equipment and fled the apartment with Renna.

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I was a sugar baby for a billionaire heir in the city, but I didn’t dare tell my family. When he drove me back to my village for the New Year, my brother caught us. Thinking fast, I lied and said he was just my Uber driver. My brother sneered. “You’re amazing. You called a six-million-dollar Rolls-Royce as an Uber?” “Is he your boyfriend?” “Tell him to get out here, let me have a word!” I went silent. Then I whispered three words. “He’s my sugar daddy.” 1 I’ve been with Julian Zhou for three years. I knew exactly what our relationship was: transactional. I was in it for his money and power. He was in it for my body. We had a tacit understanding never to cross the line. Until the last time we were intimate before the New Year. The man hovering above me suddenly spoke, his voice husky: “I’ll drive you back to your hometown tomorrow?” The chaos inside me hit pause. I blinked my unfocused eyes, thoughts slowly returning. My gaze landed on his sharp, steady brows, trying to gauge my patron’s intentions. Hmm. He didn’t seem to be joking. I couldn’t figure out why he would make such a strange request. But I knew the first rule of being a sugar baby was obedience. “Mmh, sorry for the trouble, Mr. Zhou.” I replied with my usual politeness. Even though we were currently in a state of zero-distance intimacy. But a man’s heart is a mystery. I don’t know which word offended the usually silent eldest young master of the Zhou family, but the hand gripping my waist suddenly tightened. “Hiss—” I couldn’t help but cry out in pain, wanting him to be gentle. Instead, he leaned down, lips brushing my earlobe, and said through gritted teeth: “No trouble. No trouble at all.” “Miss. Zhu.” 2 Julian seemed angry. He kept a cold face the whole way driving me the next day. Afraid of saying the wrong thing, I stayed silent. I just turned my head, staring at his reflection in the car window. His profile was superior. Sweater sleeves rolled up halfway, revealing firm, tan forearms and a silver Montblanc watch on his wrist. That was the gift I bought him in our first month together when he transferred me $15,000. I got excited and splurged. To Julian, it was basically a dollar store item. Yet it was the watch he wore most often. I wasn’t very sensible back then and inevitably got some ideas. I beat around the bush asking why he liked that watch so much. I hoped his answer would be related to me. But the next second, I heard him softly puncture my little fantasy. “Why ask that? Think I wear it so much because you gave it to me? Chloe Zhu, do you—” Julian didn’t finish. But based on the indifference in his eyes, I automatically filled in the rest. He probably wanted to say: “Chloe Zhu, did you forget your place?” My face flushed red in an instant, a layer of sweat breaking out on my back. “Sorry, Mr. Zhou. I overstepped.” I apologized awkwardly and humbly. The man didn’t answer. He quietly looked at the documents his assistant brought over, not even sparing me a glance. That was my first, and last, transgression. 3 “Don’t you know how to say something nice to coax me?” The man’s sudden, aggrieved complaint snapped me back to reality. I turned to look at him blankly. Didn’t understand why I needed to coax him. But my mouth was faster than my brain. Compliments poured out by the basketful. “Mr. Zhou, it’s so weird! Even with parental controls on, I’m still addicted to you!” “You look especially handsome from this angle! Wait, let me take a picture of you!” These were high-EQ lines for praising men I learned specifically online. Julian liked them. He stopped being mad at me every time I used them. I skillfully pulled out my phone to take his picture. But a message from Song Xu popped up on the screen. [Ji Rou is back. How long do you plan to occupy her spot?] My heart felt like it was being pulled by a thin thread, bringing a vague pain. Ji Rou was Julian’s arranged fiancée since childhood. They were supposed to get married three years ago, but Ji Rou refused and ran off abroad. Song Xu said Julian wanted to go after her but couldn’t let go of his pride, eventually keeping me, a look-alike, as a mistress. Yes, I was also a substitute. Julian noticed my daze. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing, family messaged asking when I’ll arrive.” I made up an excuse, raised my hand to snap a casual photo of him, and exclaimed emotionlessly: “Wow! So handsome even in a candid shot! Can I use this as my lock screen?” Julian coughed lightly and replied indifferently with two words. “Suit yourself.” Might as well commit to the act. After changing my wallpaper, I stared at the increasingly desolate scenery outside the window and zoned out. Forgetting to remind him to stop at the village entrance. 4 So Julian’s car parked steadily right at my doorstep. My brother, dressed in a navy blue padded jacket, was squatting at the door working. “Thank you, Mr. Zhou. Drive safe on the way back.” With that, I turned around pretending to be calm, greeted my dark-faced brother Zhu Zhefeng, and blocked his view. “Yo, peeling chestnuts at home, big bro?” Zhefeng stood up, gaze landing on the black car turning around, and asked unkindly: “Who’s that?” I pursed my lips, thinking fast: “Couldn’t get a train ticket, called an Uber.” Zhefeng sneered, mercilessly poking holes in my lie. “Chloe Zhu, you’re really something. Uber sent a six-million-dollar Rolls-Royce?” “Is he your boyfriend?” “Tell him to get out here, let me have a word!” I choked, not knowing how to answer. Being a sugar baby isn’t exactly something to brag about. Plus, Julian’s status was too superior; I didn’t dare tell my family about his existence. I only said I was in sales at a company with good benefits. But the car Julian drove today was just too flashy. I couldn’t find an excuse. I could only hope Julian would finish turning around quickly and floor it out of my brother’s sight. But he seemed to be working against me. Taking forever just to turn around. The road wasn’t even that hard to drive on… Seeing my brother strutting forward like he owned the place, determined to say hi, I panicked and grabbed his clothes. Whispered three words. “He’s my sugar daddy.” My brother froze. Thinking I was joking. “Hey buddy! Can’t say stuff like that! Or I’ll beat you like a lion hunting an antelope!” I blinked, smiled lightly under his scrutinizing gaze: “Still couldn’t fool you! He’s my boss, kinda into me, currently pursuing me.” Sugar daddy and boss… Uh. About the same to me, right? This answer was obviously much more credible. My brother visibly relaxed. Just as he was about to say something, a man’s unhurried, clear voice came from behind. “Chloe Zhu.” My body shook. Why hasn’t Julian left yet? Did he hear what I said? I turned timidly to look at him. The tall, upright man stood a few steps away. A black slim-fit turtleneck outlined his muscular physique. His deep brown eyes stared at me intently: “I’m out of gas.” My brain didn’t process it for a second, letting out a dumb “Ah.” My brother instantly realized something, spreading his arms to shield me like a mother hen: “Don’t play dumb with me, we’re both men! You just want to stay here, charm us, and force my sister to be with you, right? Let me tell you, no way! My sister, a top-tier beauty, has seen plenty of scheming suitors like you! The line stretches from our village to France! You know where France is?” “Bro, stop talking…” I stuffed a handful of peanuts into his mouth, looking at Julian awkwardly and nervously, terrified he’d blurt out our real relationship. Luckily. Julian just narrowed his eyes slightly, then stared at me with a half-smile: “I know. I even took Miss Zhu there.” I pursed my lips. Memories flooded back. That trip to France, I barely left the hotel. Every corner of the presidential suite bore traces of Julian and me. He was a tireless maniac. Seeing my ears turn red, Julian knew what I was remembering. He wickedly continued: “Miss Zhu, did you find that trip to France—” he paused deliberately, “enjoyable?” Even though I was incredibly shy, I nodded frantically, wanting to turn the page on this and send this big shot away. “Enjoyable, very enjoyable! Mr. Zhou, your car is out of gas, right? I’ll drive my convertible and take you to a hotel in town!” Now it was my brother’s turn to be confused. “Our family is so poor, where’s the convertible?” I calmly raised my hand, pointing to the tricycle in the yard: “Isn’t that it?” Julian laughed in anger. This young master born with a silver spoon probably never expected such a trial at nearly thirty years old. Even my brother couldn’t watch anymore. “It’s minus five or six degrees. Taking that tricycle six kilometers to town? Tsk, sis, do you have a grudge against him?” “What else can we do? Besides the electric scooter, we only have this three-wheeled convertible.” My brother looked at Julian, hesitated for a few seconds, then said: “Since you look somewhat decent, I’ll reluctantly let you stay for a night. Get lost first thing in the morning! Hear me?” Seeing the plan worked, I quickly winked at Julian. He glanced at me, a smile rippling in his eyes, and nodded obediently. “Understood, brother.” “Who the hell is your brother! Uh… can I borrow your car to take two photos later?”

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“If you just gave him the cold shoulder for once—let him feel a little fear of loss—you’d see if he ever dared to pull this kind of thing again.” So, this time, I didn’t back down. A week later, he initiated the ceasefire. A bouquet of flowers, dinner out, and a murmured apology. I thought this was proof of his change. Instead, I accidentally saw the text message from her. She said: Go apologize to Sierra. Just mind me. 1 Jax was on the phone when I stepped out of the bathroom. “Yeah, don’t worry, I know,” he said. The call ended. The smile hadn’t quite faded from his face yet, and his mood was clearly brighter, lighter than when he first arrived at my apartment. The motion of toweling my hair froze. My stomach dropped. It’s impossible not to notice when you’ve known someone too well. Suspicion only needs a single sentence to bloom. It was a perfectly innocuous sentence. But his tone was too docile. It was like watching a vicious little street dog suddenly have its fur smoothed down by a loving hand. It wasn’t him. I couldn’t help but ask, “Who was that?” “What?” “Who were you talking to?” The lightness in Jax’s expression immediately curdled. “No one.” He tried to pivot. “You must be starving! Go blow-dry your hair, and I’ll get started on dinner.” With that, he turned and walked into the kitchen. His phone sat on the coffee table. A monumental temptation. I gave in. I picked it up. The first thing I checked was the call log. The most recent name: Dahlia. I froze. Dahlia? Why would it be Dahlia? “What are you doing?” Jax’s voice sliced through the silence. I looked up. Our eyes met, and his face was stormy, his gaze arctic. He advanced toward me, step by step. “What are you trying to find out?” “Sierra, I’m asking you, what is it you want to check?” He held out his own phone, brandishing it like a weapon. “Checking who I was talking to? Fine. It was Dahlia. And? Sierra, do I need to report every single conversation I have? Do I need to catalog every call I make, every text I send, and get your explicit permission?” He straightened up, throwing the phone onto the sofa. His voice was cold. “Go ahead. Check! I dare you!” Jax was furious. There was a thin, sharp edge of disappointment laced through the anger. His violent reaction stunned me into silence. My thoughts were a muddy mess until the silence stretched between us, and the tension slowly solidified. Why did I check his phone? Because of his rare, misplaced gentleness. Because of that unnatural softness. It wasn’t Jax’s nature. He was always a total jerk, swaggering like he owned the place, even when he spoke to me. He wouldn’t use soft words. He wouldn’t speak kindly. My friends never understood it. “How do you put up with him?” I used to just smile. “Because I understand him.” I knew the exact inflection that meant he realized he was wrong. I recognized the subtle shift in his eyes that signaled he was ready to surrender. I didn’t need him to actually say the words; I just knew. So, when he adopted that soft, docile tone for someone else—how could I not feel that cold prickle of doubt? Meeting Jax’s frigid glare, I picked up his phone again. I ignored his sharp, dismissive scoff and tapped on their recent conversation. The most recent exchange was from early that morning. You still haven’t made up with Sierra? Nope. What is your problem? I told you to apologize ages ago. Stay out of it. Jax, go apologize. Now. You don’t get it! Dahlia, she’s not like you. Of course she’s not like me. That’s why you love her and not me, right? Jax hadn’t replied to that last text. After three minutes of silence, Dahlia had sent two more. Go apologize to Sierra. Jax, mind me! 2 My friends always told me, “You’re too good to Jax. You can’t be like that with men. They’ll take advantage and stop cherishing you.” I didn’t take them seriously at first. I always believed that when two people are together, you shouldn’t keep score of who gives more or who gives less. As long as the relationship was stable, as long as the conflict was resolved, who cared who backed down first? Until a month ago. I went to a spa with my co-workers that day. I’d texted Jax before I left. He hadn’t replied. A half-hour later, he burst into our private room. His face was pure frost. He gestured at the three masseuses. “Everyone out! Now!” Then he turned to me. “You’re not leaving?” It was mortifying, embarrassing. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. My co-workers were confused. “Is that your fiancé? He’s just going to disrespect you like that?” Yes, I was confused, too. “I never disrespect you in front of your friends. Why would you humiliate me like this?” He sneered. “You think you deserve respect? Getting a male masseur, Sierra? You’re getting pretty adventurous, aren’t you!” “I already explained to you. They were out of female masseuses.” “And it just so happened that they ran out right before your appointment?” “Yes, it just so happened they ran out right before my appointment!” “And you expect me to believe that?” A friend later tried to mollify me. “He just cares about you. Men, you know—it’s the possessiveness!” But I knew that wasn’t it. Over the last six months, Jax’s gaze had become increasingly critical. A simple phrase, a harmless action—any of it could set him off. He started flying into rages more and more frequently. And I was the one who had to repeatedly swallow my pride and make amends. I was exhausted. I was done. So this time, after our latest fight, I moved out of the new place and went back to my own apartment. What had this latest fight been about? A stakeout. The wife of Jax’s oldest friend had called me. She was worried—her husband was spending every night at a specific bar, and she asked me to go with her to confront him. Her distress was real, and I was genuinely worried for her, so I went. Her husband was there. My fiancé was there, too. The man who had just told me a half-hour ago that he was stuck at work, burning the midnight oil on a project, was sitting in a booth, accepting a shot of liquor from a woman. I didn’t yell. I didn’t even get to yell. He blew up first. He launched into a tirade. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Sierra, can’t you go a single day without some kind of drama? It’s bad enough you wreck your own life, but now you’re bringing other people into it? Do you know how much you look like a complete psycho when you get these insane ideas in your head?” Under the dim bar lights, I just stared at him for a long time. I didn’t say a word. I turned and walked away. Even in that moment, I was still careful—trying not to make a scene in public, trying not to humiliate him in front of his friends. But I was through with his baseless rages. I’d been out of our new apartment for a week. We’d been in a cold war for a week. He hadn’t sent a single text or made a single call. Until today. He just showed up. He was holding a bouquet of flowers, and he said, “Stop being mad. It was my fault.” He’d bought a cart full of my favorite groceries and said he was cooking tonight. Jax is a good cook. But outside of holidays and friends’ parties, he never cooks. Watching his back as he stood at my counter, deveining shrimp, the frantic anxiety of the past week finally began to subside. It was always this simple. If he just backed down once, everything else could be forgiven. We’d been together for almost ten years. What argument was really bigger than that? But now, I had to confront the truth: you’re not here because you wanted to be. You’re here because someone else told you to be. Mind me? When has Jax ever listened to anyone? 3 “Remember that accident downtown last winter? The red truck that was blocking the entire pedestrian crossing? You physically pushed it with your car. The alarm blared, the crowd watched, and I was screaming. I was begging, ‘Jax, can you just listen to me for once?’ What did you say to me?” “What are you getting at?” “You said, ‘Not a chance.’” Jax’s face was grim. He had always been this way—volatile, explosive, igniting at the slightest spark. That day, I was furious. I tried to stop him at every turn. “Don’t do this. I’ll call for a tow truck. Let someone else move it.” He wouldn’t listen. He just pushed forward, inch by inch. “Jax, stop it!” He floored the accelerator. More onlookers were gathering. People were calling the police. I grabbed his arm, my eyes welling up. “Will you just listen to me for once? Please?” His expression was blank. “No way.” That is the kind of man he is. And yet Dahlia sent a single text: “Jax, mind me.” And he dropped everything and came to apologize. 4 I couldn’t help but ask, “If Dahlia hadn’t told you to be obedient, would you have even shown up here tonight?” Jax inhaled sharply, clenching his fists. “Sierra, stop looking for a problem where there isn’t one!” “So, Dahlia tells you to mind her, and you do, is that it?” “Sierra, enough!” “Is that it?!” “Yes! So what?!” Jax swept a water glass off the table with a crash. He glared at me, his eyes burning as if he wanted to tear me apart. “Do you have to assume the worst? You think I’m sleeping with Dahlia? You think I’d cheat on you, and then she’d order me to come apologize to you? If you can’t think straight, then keep your mouth shut! You’re getting paranoid, Sierra. I don’t think you even want this marriage anymore!” “Then don’t marry me!” “What did you say?” I slowly stood up, my hands trembling from the rush of emotion. “I said, let’s not get married. Let’s break up.” Jax lunged forward, forcing me to stumble backward. He ground the words out. “Say that again.” “I said—” “Shut up!” Jax was breathing hard, and he kicked the low footstool across the room. I flinched, biting down hard to suppress the scream that was desperate to break free. “Sierra,” Jax hissed, “don’t you dare regret this.” He stormed out, the front door slamming so hard the walls vibrated. The apartment was a disaster. I sank onto the floor and finally let out the tight, choked sobs I’d been holding in. 5 I was the one who pursued Jax. In high school, he was the coolest guy in the whole grade. When I confessed to him, he snatched the ID tag off my uniform. “Sierra? Sorry, but I don’t date slackers.” That single sentence from him. For an entire year, I worked myself to the bone and managed to get into a school that had been completely out of my league. I tracked him down again. “Can you date me now?” He looked at me with a half-smile, casually spinning a pen between his fingers. “Date you? Fine. Let’s date.” Dating Jax was exhausting. His terrible temper could resurrect the dead. Initially, I thought he didn’t like me that much—that I was just the girl who’d chased him, and he happened to be bored enough to say yes. I let that slip during a fight once. Jax’s eyes went red. “There were hundreds of kids in that grade. Why the hell do you think I even knew you were a slacker? Are you an idiot, Sierra? You think I’d date every random person who asked me out?” Jax buried his affection deep. You had to chip away at it, slowly, to find it. I used to enjoy that process, the thrill of the discovery. But slowly, it wore me down. I was spent. I decided, That’s enough. It was three days after I broke up with Jax. My friend Bella called and invited me out for her birthday dinner. “Is Jax going? If he’s there, I’m not coming. We broke up.” “What? Are you guys fighting again?” “No fighting. This time it’s for real.” “Fine, fine! He’s busy tonight, so don’t be dramatic. You have to come, or I’ll be mad.” Bella had been completely certain Jax wouldn’t be there. But when I arrived, not only was Jax in the private room, but Dahlia was, too. Dahlia was sitting in the corner of the booth. Jax was leaning over, handing her a yogurt smoothie. Dahlia looked up and gave him a soft, gentle smile. Jax saw me, but he only glanced over before turning his attention back. I wanted to leave immediately, but Bella grabbed my arm. “Don’t start anything. I’m the birthday girl. Can’t you at least respect me?” The room was full of our lifelong friends. I didn’t want to be the one to ruin the atmosphere, so I stayed. I sat near the door and became the karaoke star of the night. I accepted every drink my friends offered. I saw their hesitant glances, but I didn’t say anything extra. Toward the end of the night, things got inexplicably rowdy, and someone started calling for a couples’ toast—the classic, ridiculous intertwined-arms drink. The two other couples in the room did it, laughing. That left Jax and me. People were pushing him, others were pulling me, saying we had to do it. Bella tried to mediate. “Come on, Sierra, meet him halfway. The path is clear for you guys to make up. Just pick up your glass first, and he’ll come right over.” I paused. I suddenly understood. My friends clearly thought our breakup was just another dramatic fit. They always said, “We’re so over you two. You fight like you’re going to kill each other, and the next day, you’re back to being inseparable.” Like the boy who cried wolf, the more I cried breakup, the less anyone believed me. I looked across the room at Jax. He was staring down, his face expressionless. Someone grabbed his arm to pull him up, and he sharply pulled away. He gave a soft tsk, full of irritation. He turned his head—the side facing Dahlia. I watched Dahlia tilt her chin up. I could read her lips. She mouthed: “Go.” Two seconds of absolute stillness, and then Jax picked up the glass on the table and stood up sharply. He walked toward me, staring at me with a look of pure, unadulterated dread. It was as if this were the final drink before his execution. I laughed. Suddenly, I felt completely drained. Empty. I walked past Jax’s outstretched hand, raised my glass, and threw my head back, draining the liquor in one go. “You guys have fun. I’m out.” Jax’s face instantly hardened. He glared at me, a truly savage look. I turned and pushed the door open. The moment the door shut behind me, I heard the shattering sound of a glass breaking against the floor. 6 Knowing Jax, he wouldn’t be going home anytime soon. I decided to go to the new apartment. The one he’d bought for us, for the wedding. Nine years, from eighteen to twenty-seven. We were finally going to get married. And then we stalled at the finish line. I’d left in a hurry, so I didn’t take much. Clothes, some of my sketches—all still there. It took me an hour to pack two huge suitcases. I called a ride-share and started toward the door. Just as I got to the frame, the front door swung inward. The first thing I heard was Dahlia’s voice. “Slow down. I told you not to drink so fast. You need to pace yourself.” Then I saw Jax. His arm was draped heavily over Dahlia’s shoulder, and she had an arm tightly looped around his waist. They were practically molded together. If this was an accident, they were certainly making it look like an affair. “Sierra!” When she saw me, Dahlia’s steps stopped dead. Her eyes instinctively darted away. “I—Jax drank too much. I was just helping him get home. Now that I’ve delivered him safely to you, I can go.” “No, no, please stay. You clearly have this under control. I need to leave.” “But—” “What are you holding?” Jax suddenly broke in. “My suitcases. My things. I’m taking some of it now, and I’ll come get the rest later.” “Sierra, don’t do this. Jax knows he messed up!” Dahlia tried to step forward, but Jax grabbed her wrist. “Let her go.” Dahlia tugged on his hand, her face a mask of panic. “Jax, stop fighting! Apologize to Sierra!” “I said, let her go!” “Jax!” I watched their struggle with a detached calm. It was all utterly meaningless now. I reached the door and stopped. “You said I wasn’t like Dahlia. Jax, I’m genuinely curious. What exactly was the difference?”

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Less than a month after moving into the Reid estate following our engagement, my fiancé, Spencer Reid, had already shredded three of my silk nightgowns. He was devoted to his career, waiting until nearly thirty to finally commit to me, and once the seal was broken, the flood was torrential. After losing consciousness for what felt like the tenth time, I was once again kissed awake deep in the middle of the night. I pleaded with him to stop, my voice hoarse and laced with a sob. His fingertips traced the curve of my earlobe, his voice a low, gravelly sound: “Say it, Ellie. Call me yours, and I’ll let you go.” I buried my face into the pillow and whispered the word: “Yours.” A month later, I was pregnant. I was planning how to surprise him when my phone buzzed with a trending headline: R.E. CEO and Star Designer Caught in Late-Night Embrace. In the photo, he and his ex-girlfriend were locked in an intimate hug. I sat in the empty great room until dawn. Then, I requested to dissolve the engagement with the Reids. 1 “The disgrace! Spencer Reid caught in a tryst with his ex-girlfriend while neglecting his fiancée—what good is the Reid family name now!” Grandmother Reid slowly read the headline aloud. As her voice dropped, the heavy riding crop in her hand slammed down hard across Spencer’s back. Her voice thundered with rage. “Incompetent fool!” Spencer knelt perfectly straight, his expression unmoving. “I will clean up the mess.” “PR is pulling every single headline.” After he spoke, Grandmother Reid’s face turned an even deeper shade of iron-gray. “I’m not talking about the headlines!” She raised her voice. “Eleanor is pregnant! How could you have the heart to leave her alone at home?” Only then did Spencer notice me, slumped in a distant corner, his eyes flashing with a complicated mix of emotions. I was too drained to even lift my eyelids, staring mechanically at my phone screen. My fingers were stiff as I scrolled, every word of the gossip feeling like a slow, excruciating cut. I clung to a veneer of composure, maintaining a fragile peace, until a new notification popped up. Golden Couple: He Conquers the Boardroom, She Guards His Heart. My heart spasmed. I clicked the link, unable to stop myself. The photo of the two of them, a stolen shot from a passerby in the restaurant, filled the screen. Genny Bell, in a white cocktail dress, was adjusting the slightly crooked tie of a disheveled Spencer. The look they exchanged—a silent, thousand-word conversation—was painfully clear. The comment section was a frenzy of celebration: OMG, Spencer still loves Genny! Soulmates 4EVA! Right? They’re the only perfect match. The fiancée is the real side chick, isn’t she? Suddenly, I felt ridiculous. That photo was six years old. Six years ago, all I wanted was to marry Spencer. I had believed that time would nurture love, but six years later, Spencer still only loved his ex-girlfriend, Genny Bell. A suffocating pain seized my chest, and I fled to the bedroom, barely breathing. I had just finished showering when Spencer pushed the door open. I silently stood by the mirror, blow-drying my hair, refusing to speak. Finally, a large hand reached out and gently took the dryer from me. Spencer skillfully worked the heat through my damp strands, a familiar gesture. After a long silence, he spoke, his voice wooden. “Are you still upset?” I didn’t answer. He continued, regardless. “I’ve had the PR team scrub the headlines. I guarantee there won’t be any more gossip.” “The position of Mrs. Spencer Reid will always be yours.” I snatched the dryer back from his hand and looked him directly in the eye. “What about Genny Bell? What are you going to do about her? Do you intend to keep this messy dynamic with her even after we’re married?” Spencer’s expression soured with impatience. “Don’t be so dramatic, alright?” The word ‘dramatic’ struck me as faintly absurd. To ask him to cleanly break ties with his former lover—that was ‘dramatic’ to him? I stayed silent. He pushed on. “The situation is handled. This is the best possible outcome for a PR nightmare. Why are you dragging your feet and making it worse?” “Besides, Genny is innocent in all this. Why do you have to be so relentless?” My eyes welled up, and my chest felt like it was being squeezed by an iron vise. I couldn’t articulate a single word. After what seemed like an eternity, I managed a fragile half-smile. I didn’t argue. “Yes… you are always right.” I didn’t sleep a wink. As soon as the sky grew light, I drove straight back to the Jensen family home. The moment I saw my mother, I couldn’t hold back anymore. I rushed into her arms, choking back sobs. “Mom, I want to call off the engagement.” My mother sighed softly and held me close. “Whatever you decide, your mother stands with you, Ellie.” The tense wires in my brain finally slackened. My family’s support eased the ache in my heart, just a little. I immediately drafted a notice of termination for the engagement and sent it to the Reids. When I got back, I ran into Spencer, who had come looking for me. He ceremoniously handed a gift-wrapped box to my parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Jensen, I’m here to take Eleanor home.” Thinking I might as well go back and pack my things, I spoke before my mother could. “Fine. Let’s go.” I remained silent for the entire car ride, desperate to just get to the Reid estate quickly. Halfway there, however, Spencer suddenly announced, “A business partner is back from overseas. I thought I’d take you to meet him.” I paused. Six years engaged, and he had never introduced me to his social circle. He’d never even mentioned my existence in front of them. When we reached the destination, I saw a group of people gathered in a private booth, and seated center stage was Genny Bell. I turned to him and demanded, “You didn’t say she would be here.” A flicker of awkwardness crossed his face. “Genny and the rest of them are old friends. It just worked out that way.” I scoffed silently. I was the outsider. The accessory. But since I’d already decided to end the engagement, I no longer cared to argue. I simply stated, “There’s too much cigar smoke in that room. I’m pregnant, so I shouldn’t stay long. I’ll wait for you downstairs.” I walked out of the booth before Spencer could respond. Near the elevator, I heard a conversation from around the corner: “I heard the CEO rented out the whole floor. He and his friend must be really tight.” “What friend? Reid booked the whole place because his ex-girlfriend won the Golden Spire design award today! This is her victory party. The ‘friend’ is just a side note.” Spencer really was something else. He made up an elaborate excuse just to trick me into coming. Inviting his fiancée to his ex-girlfriend’s celebration party—he truly was a special kind of monster. And those so-called ‘friends’ were nothing but dogs lining up to kiss Genny Bell’s ring. I let out a self-deprecating laugh and turned to call a ride-share. As I reached the elevator bank, Genny Bell approached, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered on her face. She looked me up and down, a challenging gleam in her eye. “I just casually mentioned that I’d love to see you, and I can’t believe Spencer actually dragged you here.” “I told him not to make a huge fuss, but he insisted. You don’t mind, do you, Miss Jensen?” I glanced at her, my voice flat. “Is that right? Well, I’m not the type to cling to someone else’s fiancé like a cheap coat check ticket.” “I happen to have self-respect. I don’t do shameless things.” Genny Bell’s face fell instantly. She looked down at my slightly rounded abdomen and sneered. “Stop playing the saint! Tell me, if you lost this baby, would Spencer finally have a reason to divorce you?” No sooner had the cruel words left her mouth than she lunged forward, feigning a trip, and shoved me. I instantly grabbed her sleeve, and we both tumbled down the last few steps of the marble staircase. A violent, sickening clench seized my lower abdomen, a pain so sharp it stole my breath. Genny Bell immediately began to wail, sounding terribly wronged. “I was trying to help you down the stairs, why did you push me!” Before she finished, Spencer came barreling out. The excruciating pain in my belly was already soaking me in cold sweat, leaving me speechless. Spencer rushed past me, eyes wide with panic, and anxiously helped Genny up. Genny’s tone became even more pained. “Spencer, I just saw Eleanor was struggling with her pregnancy, so I tried to help her, but she just shoved me down the stairs!” Spencer immediately spun on me, his voice sharp with fury. “Genny is kind and honest! She isn’t someone for you to bully!” “When did you become so malicious? If anything happened to Genny, I swear I will never forgive you!” Watching him so fiercely protective of her, my heart plummeted into a pit of despair. I used the wall to slowly pull myself up, a gasping sound escaping my lips from the intense pain. I managed to speak in broken fragments. “Yes! I’m malicious, and she’s the innocent one! Then don’t marry me! Go marry her, you pathetic coward!” With that, I savagely tore the engagement ring off my finger and flung it onto the floor between them. The ring struck the marble with a single, sharp chime, and Spencer froze. He made a motion to come to me, but the woman in his arms let out a soft, whimpering cry. “Ah! My forehead hurts so bad, did I hit it?” In an instant, I vanished from his sight. He gently scooped Genny up and rushed her out to the car. I stood there, clutching my lower abdomen. A sudden gush of warmth spread between my legs. Within moments, the fabric of my dress was stained crimson. As my consciousness faded, the last thing I saw was Spencer Reid’s back, disappearing with Genny Bell in his arms. When I woke up again, I was staring at the stark white ceiling of a hospital room. My mother was sitting by my bedside. Seeing me, her eyes filled with unbearable pain. She choked out the words: “The baby… we lost the baby.” My breath hitched. After a long silence, I ran a trembling hand over my now flat abdomen. I whispered to myself, “Maybe it’s better this way. One less person to be unwanted by its own father.” Just then, I overheard the low murmur of nurses outside the door. “I saw how Spencer Reid looked at that designer, Genny Bell. They’re definitely still a thing.” “I know, right? I heard they had this incredible, dramatic romance before he got engaged. He’s been carrying a torch all these years. I mean, that’s real love, isn’t it?” I listened to their chatter, numb. My heart had long since been shredded into a thousand pieces. I stayed in the hospital for twenty days, and Spencer Reid never showed his face once. Back at the estate, I went to the safe and pulled out an old notebook. Every line documented my foolish love for Spencer, along with countless stolen pictures I’d taken of him. I had always cherished these things, guarding them with a possessive devotion. I flipped to the very last page, where I’d written a personal vow to myself: [To love someone means giving your whole heart, but if they wound you a hundred times, you must never look back!] Tears streamed down my face. Over the six years of our engagement, Spencer had given me too many heartbreaks. The first was the night of our engagement party, when he ditched me to be with Genny. The second was my birthday, which he spent on a ‘business trip’ with Genny. … The ninety-ninth was choosing Genny over me, which cost me our child, and he never even looked my way! I wiped the tears from my eyes, and beneath the vow to ‘never look back,’ I scrawled a determined, shaky ‘YES.’ Then, I tossed the notebook into the trash can. I pleaded with my mother: “Mom, I want to leave the country and start over.” She didn’t ask why. She simply began making the arrangements. The next morning, I returned to the Reid estate to pack and immediately bumped into Spencer. Our eyes met. Spencer’s voice was instantly cold. “You finally decided to show your face? Go apologize to Genny immediately!” I jerked my hand out of his grasp. “I did nothing wrong. Why should I apologize?” “Ellie, you…” Before he could finish, his phone rang. The name ‘Genny’ flashed on the screen. Spencer forgot all about me, answered the call, and strode away. I stood at the doorway, watching his figure disappear. I only felt a profound pity for the woman I used to be. … Spencer didn’t return until the evening. He had sent me several messages throughout the day, demanding I apologize to Genny. I hadn’t replied to a single one. He pushed the door open, his face stormy, ready to confront me. He froze. In the living room sat three people: Grandmother Reid and my parents. His expression shifted instantly, his whole body rigid. My mother was the first to speak, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. “Spencer, we have discussed it and agreed to terminate your engagement to Eleanor.” “You and Eleanor no longer have any relationship.” Spencer swayed violently, as if hit by a physical force. He managed a strained, terrifyingly artificial smile. “Mrs. Jensen, are you joking? Terminate the engagement? Just because Eleanor is having a little tantrum?” He instinctively looked at me, his eyes filled with his usual arrogance and a barely concealed hint of panic. “Ellie, stop playing games. I know I shouldn’t have taken Genny to the clinic first, but I explained—she could have been scarred. You were pregnant; you only fell…” “Only fell?” My father lunged to his feet, slamming his teacup onto the floor near Spencer’s feet. The hot tea splashed Spencer’s trousers, and the sound of porcelain shattering in the dead silence was deafening. “You selfish bastard!” My normally composed father was shaking with rage, pointing a finger directly at Spencer. “Eleanor was pushed down the stairs, she hemorrhaged, she nearly died, and where were you? You were coddling the woman who caused it over a mere scratch!”

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Right before the SATs, my new homeroom teacher suddenly decided to implement “pressure cooking” education. I scored a 1550 on the mock exam, but my math score dropped by a measly 5 points. She still publicly roasted me in front of the whole class: “Today you drop 5 points, tomorrow you’ll score a 300. Keep slacking on math, and you won’t even get into community college!” Every class, she targeted me with impossible questions. If I couldn’t answer, I had to stand in the “shame corner” for the entire day. When I got bullied, she said, “It takes two to tango,” and told me to reflect on my own issues. When I called in sick with a fever, she bombarded the class group chat: “Being poor is one thing, but lying about being sick to skip class? Pathetic.” “If you can’t handle this little bit of pressure, just drop out. You’re better suited for flipping burgers!” Eventually, the psychological torture broke me. I bombed the SATs and didn’t get into any colleges. Meanwhile, the guy who was always second to me—Kyle—ended up as the state Valedictorian and snagged a massive scholarship. The day I went back to school to pick up my transcripts, I saw my teacher hugging Kyle, beaming. “That poor loser thought he could beat my son? The Valedictorian title belongs to you, honey.” I stormed in to confront them. In the struggle, they pushed me down the stairs. I broke my neck and died. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back to the day the new teacher transferred in. 1 After failing to get into college, I felt like a walking corpse. My mind was consumed with thoughts of ending it all. My therapist diagnosed me with severe depression. I didn’t get it. I had grinded for twelve years, only to lose everything in the final battle. All my past glory instantly became worthless. Like my soul had been sucked out, I walked back to school to get my files. As I approached that office I both hated and feared, I heard a laugh. It sounded familiar. Suspicion pricked at me, and I moved closer without thinking. The voices became clearer. “That poor loser thought he could beat my son? The Valedictorian title belongs to you, honey.” “Haha, Mom, you’re amazing. You crushed him just by talking. I heard he’s clinically depressed now and wants to kill himself!” “Hmph, let him die. Anyone who can’t handle a little pressure deserves to be played.” Those words froze me to the bone. In an instant, everything clicked. Kyle, the guy I always beat, was Mrs. Lee’s son. The news always celebrates the Valedictorian. Who remembers the Salutatorian? So, there was no “pressure cooking” education. Mrs. Lee was targeting me on purpose! She wanted to break my spirit so her son could take the top spot! Rage instantly fried my brain. I kicked the door open and stormed in to confront them. Mrs. Lee immediately shielded Kyle behind her, denying everything. “Jason, stop talking nonsense! When did I target you? Failing the SATs is your own fault!” Kyle peeked out from behind her, hurling insults. “Ten years of sharpening a sword, only to find out it’s a needle when it’s time to fight. Hahaha, Jason, you’re a waste of space. Just admit it!” I roared in frustration, pulling out my phone to expose them. Mrs. Lee rushed over to grab it. In the struggle, they shoved me. I tumbled down the stairs, the back of my head slamming against the concrete steps. Lights out. Terrified, the two of them fled the scene. Later, Mrs. Lee destroyed the security footage and spread rumors online, claiming I “committed suicide at school due to depression.” I became a trending topic, a cautionary tale for the whole internet. My parents, forced to bury their child, cried until they had no tears left. Their hair turned white overnight, aging decades in a single day. I wasn’t ready to go. My soul wandered in limbo for who knows how long— When I opened my eyes again, I saw Mrs. Lee clicking into the classroom in her high heels, carrying a messy stack of mock exam papers. I stared at her in disbelief. She tossed the papers onto the podium, leaned forward on her hands, scanned the room, and locked eyes with me. “No pressure, no diamonds. We’re handing back the mock exams now. “Some students whose grades have tanked… go squat in the back corner yourself!” This familiar scene. It stopped my breathing for a second. Wait, I can breathe? I’m alive again! 2 The class knew a new homeroom teacher was coming. Rumor had it Mrs. Lee was a fan of “tough love.” Her students were always stressed out of their minds. Right now, everyone was stiff as a board, holding their breath, terrified of being made an example of. The mock exam was our lifeline. Those who weren’t confident were already sweating bullets. As scores were read out, Mrs. Lee ignored students who dropped dozens of points, just like in my past life. But when she got to my score, her brow furrowed instantly. “Jason! As the number one student in the class and the grade, why did your math score drop so much?!” “Today you drop 5 points, tomorrow you score a 300. With this kind of imbalance, you won’t even get into community college!” The rage from my past life was still burning. I almost stood up to expose her entire scheme right there. But I snapped out of it quickly. No evidence. Accusing her rashly would only make me look like a disrespectful student, giving her more ammo to target me. In my last life, her private messages robbed me of my future and my life. Just pointing out the truth wasn’t enough. How could I be satisfied with just that?! “Jason, go squat in the back!” Mrs. Lee pointed at me from the podium, her voice sharp. I sat in my seat, not moving an inch. “Why?” Mrs. Lee frowned deeper, clearly not expecting me to talk back. “Jason, are you deaf? Didn’t you hear me? Anyone whose grades dropped needs to go squat in the corner!” I tried my best to stay calm, forcing a fake smile. “Mrs. Lee, do I need to replay what you just said? You said ‘grades dropped significantly.’ I don’t think I fall into that category.” “As the top student, the pride of the class, dropping 5 points is worse than someone else dropping 50!” Mrs. Lee suddenly shouted, pointing to the back again. “I’ll say it one more time. Go squat in the back!” 3 I glanced at Kyle in the next row out of the corner of my eye. He was smirking, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards, clearly enjoying the show. In my past life, I was terrified of being scolded by a teacher. I went to the back without complaint, squatting against the wall. The “gaze” of my classmates felt like knives stabbing my heart. Mrs. Lee kept twisting the knife, saying I was arrogant because I was number one, that I didn’t even take the questions seriously. She claimed my imbalance was intentional, a ploy for attention. She insinuated I was manipulative and impure, saying if I continued like this, I’d become the scum of the class and a cancer to society. I was belittled into nothingness. Just because I scored 5 points less in math, she painted me as an unforgivable sinner. Some classmates, jealous of my success, looked at me with pure schadenfreude as the teacher tore me apart. I squatted there for a whole period. Even when the bell rang, Mrs. Lee wouldn’t let me stand up. She opened the back door, letting students from other classes gawk at me like a zoo animal. I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. I was filled with grievance. Later, my legs were so numb I couldn’t stand. I had to be helped to the nurse’s office, missing math class. From that day on, I lived like that until the SATs. Every day felt like a year. I hated school. The sight of the building terrified me; the bell made me want to vomit. “I’m talking to you! Do you hear me?!” Seeing no reaction, Mrs. Lee slammed her hand on the desk. The class jumped, looking between her and me. I couldn’t get angry. Couldn’t be scared. Otherwise, I’d fall into her trap. I kept calm, looked up at her, and held her gaze. “Sorry, I don’t think losing 5 points is a ‘significant drop,’ and I don’t believe being number one means I can’t lose a single point.” “I’m human. I have good days and bad days. Also, test scores depend on the difficulty of the questions.” “So, I’m not going.” In my classmates’ eyes, I was always the nerd who kept his head down and took whatever was dished out. Seeing me fight back now, their eyes widened in shock. A small group looked excited, eager to see what this “tough love” teacher would do. Mrs. Lee was furious, slamming the desk and yelling about rebellion. 4 “Jason! Do you think just because you have good grades, the teachers and students should pamper you?!” “Let me tell you, this arrogance will only ruin the class atmosphere!” “Class! Look closely! The SATs are coming up. Don’t let his behavior influence you, or you won’t get into college!” Mrs. Lee was trying to turn the whole class against me. I wasn’t going to let her win. I immediately fired back. “Mrs. Lee, let’s take a step back. What did Kyle, the second-place student, score?” Everyone looked at Kyle. Kyle twitched. “What does this have to do with me?” “Joke’s on you. Aren’t you in this class? Is Mrs. Lee’s new rule custom-made for me? The first place is arrogant, but the runner-up isn’t?” Kyle’s face darkened. Mrs. Lee immediately retorted. “Kyle’s total score increased by 10 points compared to last time. What is there to compare?” “What about the ranking?” I pressed, confident. Mrs. Lee paused. Kyle nervously gripped the edge of his desk. Because the SATs were approaching, the school didn’t rank the recent mock exams to avoid stressing the students. But I was too hard on myself. I always kept a mental scoreboard. Once the final math scores were out, I calculated everyone’s ranking. We were the honors class. 68 students. We almost always took the top 100 spots in the school. Being first in the class basically meant being first in the school. Ironically… this perfectionism was the main reason for my depression in my last life. But now, I was going to use this. I was going to use Mrs. Lee as a weapon to stab her precious son right in the heart! I couldn’t handle it in my last life. Now let’s see if Kyle, the eternal runner-up, can handle it!

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When I dumped Chase, he asked me why. “Because you never say ‘no’ to the girls chasing you.” He looked at me in disbelief. “That’s it?” I nodded. “That’s it.” 1 Chase was born with God-tier genetics. Back in kindergarten, whenever we played house, he was the groom. And there were always a dozen girls fighting to be his bride. In high school, even the baggy gym uniforms and the mandatory short haircuts couldn’t hide it. If anything, the lack of styling just proved his face was flawless. There are about 180 school days in a year. For 180 days, his locker was stuffed with love notes. The other 185 days were quiet only because school was out. If he so much as whispered “I’m thirsty” on the football field, a dozen bottles of Gatorade and water would magically appear in front of him. Even after he had a girlfriend—me—he wasn’t technically single anymore, but the girls kept throwing themselves at him. And Chase? He never rejected them. Free breakfast, homemade cookies, gifts—he took it all. If a girl asked for his Snap or number, he gave it. At first, I thought he was just being a gentleman. You know, trying not to embarrass them publicly. Until I realized he was interacting with them on Instagram, replying to their stories. He’d do all the “little favors” they whined about—carrying their bags, opening water bottles, even tying their shoes. It felt like I was in a polyamorous relationship without my consent. Like I was sharing a boyfriend. I thought maybe he just didn’t get it. I told him those were things you only do for your girlfriend. And what did Chase say? “It’s just a kind gesture.” “I was just helping out, it’s not a big deal.” Then he gaslit me: “June, don’t be so cold. Why do you have to be so toxic like everyone else?” Was I the toxic one? I didn’t know the answer then. Maybe I wasn’t wrong, and Chase wasn’t wrong. Maybe we just weren’t reading the same book. So, the day after graduation, I asked to break up. 2 Chase froze. A flicker of disbelief crossed his eyes. “You’re dumping me over that?” “Yes,” I answered firmly. Chase stared at me for three solid seconds before letting out a cocky laugh. “Babe, if you’re jealous, just say you’re jealous. Don’t joke about breaking up.” I understood why he didn’t believe me. Everyone thought I must have saved a country in my past life to grow up next door to Chase Sterling. And that I’d won the Powerball when we finally got together. I remember the day it happened. We were clearing out a mountain of love letters from his locker. He looked at me with genuine curiosity and asked: “So many people are chasing me. What about you?” “June, do you want to confess your feelings to me, too?” Chase was confident. He didn’t ask if I liked him. He asked if I wanted the honor of confessing. A lot of girls liked him. I was one of them. But back then, I hadn’t planned on confessing. Yet, when he asked, I looked at his face and, like I was possessed, I nodded. Chase smiled, his eyes crinkling in that way that made stars explode in my stomach. Dazzling. Blinding. “Cool. I guess I’ll marry you someday. My mom likes you anyway.” I looked like a good girl, soft-spoken and well-behaved. Adults loved me. Chase’s mom, Mrs. Sterling, practically considered me a daughter. Everyone said I was the luckiest girl alive. So, nobody believed I was serious about the breakup. They thought I was throwing a tantrum, playing hard to get. Chase’s best friend leaned in, grinning. “Yo, Chase, since the wifey is acting up, why don’t you send me the contact for that hottie you added yesterday?” Hearing that, Chase was even more convinced I was just jealous. He pulled out his phone and AirDropped the contact to his buddy, showing me the screen as he did it. “Happy now?” I didn’t answer his question. instead, I asked, “What’s her name?” “Ivy,” Chase said without thinking. “Ivy Summers.” I smiled. “And that is exactly why we’re breaking up.” The air went still. After a long pause, Chase scoffed, a sneer curling his lip. “Fine. Break up.” “June, don’t you come crawling back crying.” 3 News of our breakup hit the group chats like a bomb. Girls were practically lining up to shoot their shot, hoping to be the rebound. My phone blew up too. Some asking for tea, some warning me not to be a crazy ex, some even asking if I was selling any of Chase’s stuff. It was so ridiculous I didn’t reply to a single DM. I didn’t expect someone to actually show up at my gated community. I didn’t see Chase, but I ran right into her. She was gorgeous. Pale skin, stunning face, legs that went on for days. She was wearing a tiny crop top and skirt combo that screamed “I’m the main character.” “Hey,” she called out. “I’m Ivy. Can I get your WeChat or number?” Ivy was an art student. I’d only heard her name, never seen her in person. “Sorry, I don’t add strangers.” Ivy clicked her tongue impatiently. “Then take me inside to find Chase.” I ignored her completely. I walked through the security gate without looking back, leaving her shouting behind me. That afternoon, our homeroom teacher messaged us to come to school to finalize our college lists. Chase sat right in front of me. As soon as the teacher stepped out, his desk was swarmed. “Chase, which city are you going to?” “Chase, what school did you pick?” “Chase, I’ll go wherever you go. Be my boyfriend?” Three or four girls were practically sitting on his lap. He spun his pen, looking bored. “NYU. Stern School of Business.” Suddenly, a hand reached over and snatched the form off my desk. “Oh wow, June. Copying Chase’s application? How desperate.” Ivy was there. She smirked. ” saying you want to break up, but your actions scream ‘clinger.’ You really are a piece of work.” I snatched my paper back. “This has been my dream school since freshman year. It fits my scores perfectly.” “Why shouldn’t I apply?” Chase and I matching colleges wasn’t about romance. Our fathers were in the same industry. The path our parents paved for us was identical. Real life isn’t a Netflix drama. We don’t have to flee to opposite ends of the country just because we broke up. I’m a city girl. I like the East Coast pace. I wasn’t going to change my future for a boy. Ivy didn’t buy it. “Excuses. There are tons of good schools. You just can’t let go. You want to stay close so you can win him back.” I looked at Chase. He was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, watching Ivy berate me with a lazy expression. It gave me a flashback to two years ago. We had just started dating. A girl who was obsessed with him stormed into our classroom and grabbed me by the collar. “June, did you sleep with him?!” she screamed. “Did you trap him into dating you?!” The malice was suffocating. I was shaking with rage. Chase was sitting in the back row, head resting on his arms, watching the scene like it was a show. Back then, I didn’t see the red flag. I thought, She’s crazy, he shouldn’t get involved with a psycho. My friend Harper was the one who jumped in and pulled the girl off me. When it was all over, Chase finally walked up, patted my head, and said, “Don’t be mad. She’s just jealous of you.” “Let’s just be happy. Don’t give her a chance.” I finally realized the truth. Chase might have loved me, but he loved the drama more. He loved watching girls fight over him. He enjoyed it then, and he was enjoying it now. I snapped back to reality and ignored Ivy. instead, I looked at Chase. “We broke up. Please change your application.” If boundaries needed to be drawn, I wasn’t going to be the one derailing my life. 4 Ivy reacted first, eyes lighting up. “Chase! You can switch to USC! We can be in LA together…” Chase acted like he didn’t hear her. He grabbed my arm as I turned to leave. “June, nobody waits forever.” “You’re just emotional right now. You’re going to regret this.” His arrogance was astounding. He was convinced I wouldn’t actually leave. Or that if I did, I’d realize nobody compared to him and come running back. Ivy bit her lip, jealous of the attention. “I think in a relationship, you have to accept a person’s flaws,” she interjected, pivoting to lecture me. “June, you like Chase for his face, so you have to accept the attention that comes with it.” “Instead of being insecure and jealous, maybe work on yourself?” The crowd around us started nodding. “Yeah, that’s the price of dating a 10.” “She’s so insecure. Acting like he cheated or something.” “Ivy’s right. If you can’t handle the heat, get out of the kitchen.” The loudest voices were strangers—Ivy’s friends, no doubt. She played the reasonable peacekeeper; they played the attack dogs. I shook Chase’s hand off. I pulled out my phone and dropped a video into the class group chat. The footage was shaky. It was in a dimly lit club booth. Chase stood up, pulling a girl in a waitress uniform into his arms. “She’s my girl. I’ll drink for her.” He downed three shots, then walked out with his arm around her. The camera zoomed in on the girl in his arms. Ivy. Looking like a damsel in distress. Chase frowned, looking annoyed. “She was being harassed. I said that to save her. What’s the problem?” “I was doing a good deed. Helping a classmate. Is that a crime now?” Ivy jumped in immediately. “If Chase hadn’t been there, who knows what would have happened to me that night…” “That was the first time we hung out privately. I wanted to repay him for saving me, so I asked for his number.” “June, you using this video to shame us? Your mind is so twisted!” This happened right before finals. Ivy was an art student, already accepted, so she was working at a club. After Chase played hero, he came home with alcohol poisoning and severe stomach pain. His parents were out of town. I took him to the ER. I sat with him all night while he got an IV. I brought him porridge for a week. And what did I get? Chase’s gaslighting and Ivy’s accusations. I could have screamed. I could have listed everything I did for him. But suddenly, I just felt… bored. We weren’t on the same path anymore. There was no point in arguing. “Chase.” I looked at him and smiled, feeling a weight lift off my chest. “We broke up.” “Who you hang out with, what you do, whether it’s right or wrong… it has nothing to do with me anymore.”

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“Your insurance card. Let me use it for the paperwork.” Derek was lying in the hospital bed, his face a sickly yellow. I looked at him. “The total treatment is going to be around $120,000,” he said. “My coverage won’t touch that.” “What about your savings?” He was silent. I smiled. A slow, cold thing. Married for five years, living AA for five years. He made $6,000 a month; I made $4,500. Mortgage split fifty-fifty. Living expenses split fifty-fifty. I thought it was called fairness. Until today, when I learned the truth— He had saved $220,000. I had saved $8,000. 1 Three days ago, Derek was diagnosed with lung cancer. Mid-stage. The doctor said we needed surgery immediately, followed by aggressive chemotherapy. “What are the likely costs?” I asked. “Surgery and chemo, conservatively, between $100,000 and $120,000.” My mind went instantly blank. A loud, high-pitched ringing. Derek squeezed my hand. “It’s okay, Ava. We’ll face this together.” I nodded. When we got home, I started to crunch the numbers. My savings: $8,300. Credit card limit: $3,000. Total: a little over $11,000. A drop in the bucket. I called my mother, Eleanor. “Mom, Derek’s sick. We might need to borrow some money.” She didn’t hesitate. “Your father and I have $12,000 in the emergency fund. I’ll transfer it tomorrow.” My throat tightened. That evening, Derek’s mother, Lydia, called. “Ava,” his mother’s voice was anxious, “How are you going to treat Derek’s illness?” “Surgery first, then chemo.” “Do you have enough for the expenses?” “I’m working on it.” Lydia paused for a moment. “Your father-in-law and I have $25,000 set aside. It’s all yours.” A wave of warmth washed over me. “Thank you, Lydia.” After hanging up, I added it all up. My parents’ $12,000, his parents’ $25,000, my $11,000. $48,000. Still short by at least $50,000. I looked at Derek. “How much do you have saved?” He hesitated. “I… I’ll have to check my accounts.” “Roughly?” “Maybe… thirty, forty thousand?” Forty thousand, plus the $48,000 we had. That was $88,000. Still short by a third. I sighed. “I’ll go to the bank tomorrow and see about a personal loan.” Derek didn’t say a word. The next day, I took time off work and rushed between three different banks. The most I could get for a personal loan was $30,000, and the interest rate was brutal. I bit down on my lip and signed the documents. Back at the hospital, Derek was on the phone. “…I know, but now’s not the time… Just leave it there. Don’t touch it…” He quickly ended the call when he saw me walk in. “Who was that?” “A colleague,” he said. “Asking about the diagnosis.” I didn’t think much of it. That evening, I told him about the loan. “$30,000. Thirty-six months to pay it back. It’s going to be $1,000 a month.” Derek frowned. “The interest is that high?” “We don’t have a choice. This is life or death.” He nodded. “Thank you, Ava. I know this is hard.” I took his hand. “We’re husband and wife.” He looked at me, his eyes reddening. In that moment, I felt that our five years of AA, of splitting every bill, had been worth it. At least in a crisis, we were in this fight together. But I didn’t know the real ledger—the one I hadn’t seen yet. 2 The surgery was scheduled for three days later. We needed a $30,000 deposit before they would start the procedure. I transferred the entire $30,000 from the new loan. Once the payment went through, I felt a slight easing of the pressure. Around noon, I went home to grab a change of clothes. Derek’s phone was sitting on the nightstand. The screen lit up. A text notification from an account simply labeled “M.” The message read: “$220,000. Confirmed receipt.” I froze. $220,000? What was $220,000? I picked up the phone, my thumb hovering over the screen. It was locked. I tried his birthday. Wrong. I tried our wedding anniversary. Wrong. I tried his mother’s birthday. It opened. I tapped the message thread with “M.” The more I read, the more my hands shook. “Derek, your brokerage account is killing it. Almost double in five years.” “Not bad. Started with $120k. Now it’s $220k.” “Does Ava know?” “No. We’re AA, separate accounts, separate lives. I keep my earnings to myself.” “Smart man. That’s real economic independence.” “Haha. The key is I know how to invest. With her salary, she can’t save much anyway.” I scrolled up. Older messages. “Every month I get my $6,000 paycheck. I send $700 to my mom, put $3,000 into my investment account, and keep $2,300 for myself. It’s perfect.” “What about the mortgage?” “AA, right? She pays half, I pay half. $1,200 each.” “And living expenses?” “Also AA. $600 each.” “So how much does your wife save a month?” “She makes $4,500. $1,200 for the mortgage, $600 for living, $400 for her parents. She spends maybe $800 to $1,000 on herself. She probably saves $1,300 to $1,500.” “So you save $3,700 a month, and she saves $1,500?” “Roughly. But she doesn’t invest, so her money just sits in the bank, earning nothing.” “You’re a piece of work, man.” I put the phone down. My hands were trembling. Five years. He saved $3,700 a month. I saved $1,500 a month. He saved $220,000. I saved $8,000. All because he was a “savvy investor.” And where did my money actually go? I pulled out my own phone and opened my banking app, checking the spending log. Mortgage: $1,200. Check. Living expenses: I realized I paid far more than my $600 share. Groceries, utilities, cleaning supplies, paper towels—I bought all of it. The holiday gifts for his parents, the nice shirts and shoes I bought him. The “joint account” $600 only covered basic produce. Everything else was my personal expense. At least $800 more a month out of my pocket. Plus the $400 for my parents, the travel expenses, and gifts for family gatherings. If I was lucky, I was saving $600 to $800 a month. Five years. I saved $8,000. He saved $220,000. That was his definition of “fairness.” That was AA. I sat on the edge of the bed and laughed out loud. I laughed until the tears started to fall.

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I received a call from a scammer and transferred $10 million to them without hesitation. When the police called to tell me I’d been scammed, I didn’t panic. But my “rich girl” roommate sure did. In my past life, on the first day of the semester, my roommate stole my Black Card and took the whole class to a high-end charity auction, engaging in a bidding war just to show off. She drained over a hundred million dollars from the card, freezing my family’s company assets and pushing us to the brink of bankruptcy. When I confronted her and demanded repayment, she threw herself into my boyfriend’s arms, sobbing. “Maya, you can’t just accuse me because your family is broke!” My boyfriend slapped me across the face and yelled, “Maya, you spent the money yourself! How dare you try to make Chloe take the fall? Have some shame!” When I went to the bank to get the transaction records as evidence, my roommate ran me over with her car. My boyfriend and the entire class testified that I was mentally unstable and had jumped in front of the car myself. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my roommate offered to take the whole class to the auction. Chapter 1 “Hey everyone! Are you free tomorrow? I’m taking the whole class to the charity auction downtown. My treat. Put it all on my card!” Hearing Chloe’s voice, I shivered. I realized instantly that I had been reborn. Suddenly, Chloe linked her arm through mine. “Maya, I heard you have a VIP pass for that auction. Can I borrow it? That way we can all sit in a private box.” Chapter 2 Hearing those words, the phantom pain of being crushed to death flooded back. In my last life, Chloe used the excuse of borrowing my VIP pass to steal the Black Card my dad gave me. I didn’t realize until my dad called, furious, asking why I had drained over a hundred million dollars in one night, cutting off the company’s cash flow. When I confronted Chloe, she cried in my boyfriend’s arms. “Maya, you can’t just frame me because your family is going bankrupt!” My boyfriend, Tyler, slapped me hard. “Maya, have some shame! You spent that money yourself, and now you want Chloe to take the fall?” I went to the bank to get the statements. Chloe ran me over with her car, reversing over my body to make sure I was dead. My parents tried to get justice, but Tyler and the whole class testified for Chloe, claiming I was desperate for money and committed suicide by jumping in front of her car. Thinking of this, rage burned through me. I gripped my handbag tightly and said coldly, “I lost my pass. I can’t lend it to you.” Tyler snatched my bag from my hands, unzipped it, and dumped everything onto the floor. He picked up the gold VIP card lying on the ground and handed it to Chloe. “Here, Chloe. Use this.” Chloe hugged Tyler’s arm, her voice sugary sweet. “Tyler, you’re the best! Thank you so much.” Tyler beamed at her, then looked at me with disgust. “Maya, when did you become such a liar? You clearly had the card. Why didn’t you want to lend it?” I slapped Tyler across the face, then snatched the card back from Chloe. “Tyler, who gave you the right to touch my stuff?” Tyler’s eyes widened in shock. “Maya, are you crazy? Did you just hit me?” I slapped him again. “Yeah, I hit you. So what?” Chapter 3 Chloe immediately stepped in front of Tyler, looking like a martyr. “Maya, it’s all my fault. Blame me if you want, but don’t take it out on Tyler.” I looked at her coldly and slapped her too. “Don’t worry, I won’t leave you out. You two deserve each other. Stop acting like victims in front of me. It’s disgusting.” Tyler’s face turned red with anger. He shoved me hard, knocking me to the ground. My back hit a desk, and I gasped in pain. “Maya, you’ve crossed the line! How dare you hit Chloe!” I rubbed my back and glared at him. “Are you deaf? She asked for it. I was just obliging her.” The other classmates started chiming in. “Maya, that’s too much. You can’t just hit people for no reason.” Chloe was crying hysterically now. “I’m sorry, everyone. Don’t blame Maya. Tyler and I are innocent, he just treats me like a little sister…” Tyler hugged Chloe tightly, comforting her. “Chloe, you’re too kind. You’re being bullied, and you still blame yourself.” I watched them, my fingers trembling with rage. Tyler glared at me. “Maya, drop the spoiled princess act. This is college, not your house. No one is going to pamper you. Give the card to Chloe right now and apologize, or we’re done. I can’t have a girlfriend who acts like a barbarian.” Chapter 4 I laughed out loud. “Fine. We’re done. Go be happy with your precious ‘little sister.’” Chloe looked at me with big, teary eyes. “Maya, don’t be impulsive! You and Tyler have been together for three years. You can’t just break up like this. I’d feel so guilty.” Hearing this made me even angrier at myself for being blind enough to love scum like Tyler for three years. Suddenly, Chloe grabbed my arm. “Maya, how about this? Lend me the VIP card. All the points from our purchases will go to your account. That way you can upgrade your membership status.” Tyler looked at Chloe with admiration. “Chloe, you are literally an angel. She bullies you, and you still look out for her.” Then he turned to me, impatient. “Maya, Chloe is being incredibly generous. Don’t be ungrateful.” I sneered. “No thanks. I can’t afford your ‘kindness.’” A flash of malice crossed Chloe’s eyes, but she hid it quickly. “Maya, I really want to use this chance to bond with the class. If you lend me the card, I’ll buy you two items from the auction. Anything you want. Consider it a rental fee.” The classmates gasped. “Maya, take the deal! Auction items start at like ten grand. Chloe is giving you two for free! You’re making a killing!” “Plus you get the points! It’s a win-win. Why are you refusing?” Tyler mocked me. “Maya, you’re just greedy, aren’t you? Only Chloe is nice enough to tolerate you. Take the offer before she changes her mind.” Chapter 5 I rolled my eyes. “Do you guys not understand English? I said no. I don’t want to lend my card.” Chloe’s expression darkened. The next second, she wiped her tears and turned to the class, looking devastated. “I’m so sorry, everyone. I wanted to take you all to the auction to bond, but Maya is unhappy about it. I guess we can’t go. I shouldn’t have promised anything.” She burst into tears and collapsed into Tyler’s arms. Tyler looked at me with pure hatred. He slapped me across the face, then kicked me in the stomach. I curled up on the floor, gasping for air. “Maya, you did this on purpose! You just can’t stand seeing Chloe do well! You think you’re so special because your family has money, walking around in designer clothes. Now that you know Chloe is rich enough to treat the whole class, you’re jealous!” A classmate grabbed a water bottle and threw it at my head. “Maya, have some shame! We finally had a chance to see the high life, and you ruined it!” “Just because you carry last season’s Chanel bag, you think you’re better than us?” Chapter 6 “You’re so ‘rich,’ but you only ever bought us Starbucks. Do you think we’re beggars?” She splashed her leftover soda on my face. Others followed suit, dumping their drinks on me. In an instant, I was soaked and humiliated. I struggled to my feet, grabbed a chair, and smashed it on the floor. Everyone jumped back, cursing at me. “Maya, are you crazy?” I ignored the pain and pulled out my phone, dialing 911. “Yes, I’d like to report an assault. A group attack. The address is…” Hearing me call the police, Tyler rushed over and smashed my phone on the ground. “Maya, are you sick? You actually called the cops?” I glared at him. “You dared to hit me. Why wouldn’t I call the cops?” Tyler raised his hand to hit me again. I looked him dead in the eye. “Touch me one more time. Every hit is just more evidence.” The police arrived in ten minutes. The professor ran in behind them. The police saw it as a minor dispute since I wasn’t seriously injured and suggested a settlement. The professor glared at me, warning me not to make a scene. I demanded $1,000 from each person involved for emotional distress. The police agreed. The class started cursing me out. The officer looked at them coldly. “Settle privately, or go to court and get a criminal record. Your choice.” They all shut up and reluctantly transferred the money. $1,000 was half a month’s living expenses for most of them. It hurt them. After the police left, I picked up my stuff. My bank cards were still there. I sighed in relief, went back to the dorm to change, and called the professor to move off-campus. As I was packing to go home, I noticed my bag had been rifled through again. But nothing seemed to be missing.

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