Category: English

Six years ago, I was the head of Research and Development—a Chief Research Scientist—until I was busted for falsifying drug trial data, a scandal that killed countless patients. The entire internet crucified me, calling me the Butcher of the Lab. Before I was even sentenced, a group of victims’ families found me and carved their rage onto my skin—eighteen cuts, right on the street. When I got out, I vanished. I changed my name and hid, becoming a fishmonger at a downtown market, the stench of brine and blood clinging to me like cheap perfume. I was scrubbing down a fillet board when my billionaire ex-husband showed up. Harrison Shaw. He looked at me, his perfect face a mask of shock. “Sloane? What happened to you? Why didn’t you come find me after you were released?” I didn’t get a chance to answer. His assistant, sleek and terrified, leaned in from behind him. “Mr. Shaw, Ms. Wells is still waiting for the fish you promised to personally select for her broth. It won’t be fresh if we’re late.” I yanked off my surgical mask, exposing the jagged, half-scarred face I wore now, and let out a cold laugh. “That cut of salmon is twenty dollars. Pay up or get lost. You’re messing with my business.” He threw me to the wolves—Tatum Wells’ wolves—and let me take the fall, all so she could climb the corporate ladder. Now that Tatum was the replacement fiancée, he had the nerve to stand here? 1 I slammed my gutting knife down on the cutting board, splattering fish blood onto Harrison’s Italian leather shoes. He recoiled half a step, a flicker of pure disgust crossing his features. “Sloane, what are you doing to yourself? You know these hands weren’t meant for cleaning fish.” My body swayed, and my hands started to tremble uncontrollably. My fingers were chapped and swollen, the nail beds permanently stained with black dirt and fish guts. Six years ago, these hands handled million-dollar lab equipment. Now, they only gutted fish. “Mr. Shaw, don’t sully your pristine gaze. Are you buying this fish or not?” I reached into the tank, expertly snatched a thrashing trout, and brought the blunt back of the knife down hard on its head. Thunk. The fish went still. Harrison hadn’t spoken, but the old man behind him in line lost his patience. “Are you selling fish or holding a board meeting? I’m going to the stall down the row if you don’t hurry up!” “Selling, of course.” I pulled my gaze away, done with looking at Harrison, and prepared to weigh the trout for the customer. A large, controlling hand pressed down on my arm. Harrison placed a stack of cash on my counter. “Don’t sell anything else today.” “I’ll take the rest of your stock. Pack up and go home to rest.” I didn’t touch the money. I picked up my scaling tool and went back to work. “That’s very generous of you, Mr. Shaw.” “But I run a small business. We don’t do exclusive buyouts. Now, if you’re not buying, please move. You’re blocking the line.” Just then, a saccharine voice chimed in. “Harrison, why are you still here? Miles and I have been waiting for you to come home to make the soup.” My hand, scaling a bass, paused. Tatum Wells stepped forward, linking her arm affectionately through Harrison’s, and then feigned shock when she saw me. “Oh, is that… Sloane? Sis, what are you doing here selling fish?” “Did you just get out and have nowhere to go? You should have told me! I’ll ask Harrison to find you a place to stay, or maybe a job!” She was immediately followed by a man who looked utterly ashamed to be there. It was Miles Harrington, my own brother. Six years ago, when I was sentenced, he not only cut ties and disowned me from the Harrington family, but he also triumphantly brought Tatum—my father’s illegitimate daughter from an outside affair—home to take my place. Our parents had made Miles and me swear on their deathbeds that we would never let Tatum Wells set foot in the Harrington home. They had warned us that Tatum’s mother had nearly destroyed our family years ago, and her daughter was no better. My own brother had forgotten our parents’ dying wish completely. Miles now spoke softly to Tatum. “Sweetheart, why talk to someone like this? Let’s go home. Harrison and I are making you a big dinner tonight.” He then glared at me. “Sloane is a disgrace who hasn’t learned her lesson. Six years in prison and she’s still covered in bad luck!” His loud voice drew the attention of everyone around. An older woman who frequently bought fish from me suddenly pointed a trembling finger. “Wait! I remember now! The news six years ago! The Butcher of the Lab! The one who killed all those people—that’s Sloane Harrington!” “Oh my God! I’ve been buying fish from a murderer!” Harrison immediately stepped forward to try and calm the enraged crowd. “Sloane, you can’t work here. Your hands belong in a lab, not a fish market.” “Tell me what you need. I can help you.” But the shouts and insults were growing louder. Rotten vegetables and eggs began to fly. Harrison spoke about helping me, but his body immediately shielded Tatum. He was terrified that the expensive designer dress she was wearing would be stained. I stood there, covered in the stench of fish and now the slimy mess of raw egg. Tatum peered out from Harrison’s protective embrace. “Sloane, you should apologize to everyone.” “Even though those patients died because of your fake data, if you just show genuine remorse, people will forgive you.” That single phrase, genuine remorse, sent the crowd over the edge. Someone shoved my entire fish stand over. The water tank burst. Over a dozen live fish flopped desperately in the dirty puddle on the ground, struggling for a final breath. Just like I did six years ago. I quietly gathered the remaining supplies and walked home. The next day, the market manager dismantled my stall. “We received complaints about unsanitary conditions and illegal operation. Your lease is terminated.” I looked at the empty space and gave a hollow laugh. They truly were determined to eliminate anything that reminded Tatum of me. They stopped at nothing. When I arrived back at my dilapidated basement apartment, all my luggage had been tossed out onto the street. The landlord had even refunded me three months’ rent—triple the deposit—just to ensure I left immediately. I sat on my pile of belongings, staring into space, when a pair of perfectly shined leather shoes stopped in front of me. “Sloane, Tatum’s research project has hit a crucial bottleneck. She’s only missing the final piece of data.” “You’re a genius in this field. If you agree to help her, I’ll give you enough money to disappear. You can start a new life somewhere no one knows your name.” Hearing those words made me sick. “Harrison, are you insane? You framed me for data fraud and put me in prison for years. Now you have the audacity to ask me to clean up the mess for that illegitimate daughter who killed those people?” Harrison’s face darkened. “Sloane, watch your tone. You’ve already paid for the mistakes of six years ago. Don’t try to throw dirt on Tatum.” “Tatum is highly gifted. She took over your disaster of a project and has practically ruined her health trying to perfect this drug. She’s the one who asked me to come to you, despite everything. Don’t be ungrateful!” I laughed again, a sound devoid of humor. “And what if I refuse?” Harrison spoke with his usual arrogance. “Then you’ll have to deal with the consequences yourself.” Harrison left, and I initially dismissed his threat. I found a new underground apartment and started looking for another job. Then, the caretaker of my parents’ memorial park called me. “Ms. Harrington, the Shaw family has acquired the land where your parents are buried. They plan to flatten the area and build a new sewage treatment facility.” “The Shaw representative said if you don’t accept their terms, they will scatter your parents’ ashes on the street.” My hand holding the phone trembled violently. Was this the man I had loved? He was using my dead parents as leverage, all for the sake of Tatum Wells? I looked at my half-ruined face in the mirror. For six years, for the sake of a misguided love and my family’s reputation, I had silently accepted the blame. I thought my sacrifice would protect Miles and the Harrington family, and that Harrison would remain untouched. What was the result? My brother elevated the illegitimate daughter to a princess, and Harrison cherished the murderer. Only I rotted in hell for six years. Harrison’s call came in. I answered on the first ring. “Have you thought it through? Sloane, stop being difficult. The past is over.” “If you just focus on helping Tatum, you still have a chance to restore your reputation. I’ll help you, alright?” I answered calmly. “I’ll do it.” “But first, I need the title to my parents’ burial plot transferred solely into my name, with a signed contract guaranteeing it will never be moved.” Harrison agreed.

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Part I: The Chokehold The first thing I felt was the cold. Not the kind of cold that comes from a drafty window, but the visceral, bone-deep freeze of fingers wrapped tight around my windpipe. My vision was swimming in black spots. My lungs were burning, screaming for oxygen that wasn’t coming. Above me, a face twisted in pure, unadulterated hatred hovered like a specter. “Say one more word about my father, Vivian,” the voice hissed. It was a low, jagged sound, like gravel grinding against glass. “One more word, and I will snap your neck like a twig.” I wheezed, clawing instinctively at the hands crushing my throat. My fingernails scraped against skin, but he didn’t flinch. I looked into his eyes. They were dark, endless pits of rage. But it was the rest of his face that jolted my memory awake. The left side was perfect—high cheekbone, sharp jawline, the kind of face that belonged on a Calvin Klein billboard. But the right side… the right side was a roadmap of tragedy. Burn scars, jagged and pink, twisted the skin from his temple down to his jaw. Liam Thorne. The name hit me harder than the lack of air. I wasn’t me anymore. I wasn’t the college student who fell asleep studying for finals. I was Vivian Vanderbuilt. The heiress. The queen bee of Crestwood Academy. And, most importantly, the “cannon fodder” villainess of the trashy young adult novel The Rest of Forever. And the boy strangling me? He was the villain. The future psychopath who would eventually burn half the city down. And I—Vivian—was the reason he turned into a monster. I was currently dying in the prologue. “I…” I choked out, my voice barely a squeak. “I’m… sorry.” The grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened. Confusion flickered in his dark eyes. The Vivian he knew would have spat in his face. She would have threatened to have her daddy buy the trailer park he lived in and bulldoze it. She wouldn’t have apologized. “What did you say?” he growled. “I said…” I gasped, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes, “I’m sorry, Liam. I won’t… say it again.” He stared at me for a long, agonizing second. Then, as if my neck had suddenly turned into a red-hot coal, he released me. I collapsed onto the dirty tile floor of the boys’ locker room, heaving in air. It tasted like sweat and bleach. I coughed, clutching my bruised throat, and looked up at him. He was wearing a faded, oversized hoodie that had clearly seen better decades, and sneakers that were held together by duct tape and prayer. His fists were clenched at his sides, trembling. “Get out,” he said. “Before I change my mind.” I didn’t need to be told twice. I scrambled to my feet, my legs feeling like jelly, and bolted. I ran past the rows of gray lockers, burst through the double doors, and didn’t stop until I was in the pristine, marble-floored hallway of the main building. I caught my reflection in a trophy case. The girl staring back was stunning. Platinum blonde hair, blue eyes, skin that looked like it had been airbrushed. I was wearing a designer skirt that probably cost more than Liam’s entire life savings. “Great,” I whispered to my reflection. “I’m the rich bitch who dies in Chapter Ten.” Part II: The Redemption Arc According to the plot of The Rest of Forever, Vivian Vanderbuilt was obsessed with the male lead, Chase Sterling—the captain of the football team, the golden boy, the sun around which Crestwood Academy orbited. To get Chase’s attention, Vivian bullied anyone who got close to him, especially the scholarship student, Grace Miller. And Liam? Liam was just Vivian’s punching bag. She used him to vent her frustrations. She mocked his scars, humiliated him publicly, and eventually pushed him too far. In the original book, Liam kills Vivian on the night of the Senior Prom, framing it as a suicide, which kicks off his career as a high-functioning sociopath. I had about six months until Prom. Tick tock. The next day, the cafeteria was a war zone of social hierarchy. I walked in, my tray trembling slightly in my hands. Usually, Vivian sat at the “Table of Gods” in the center, flanked by her minions. I looked over. Chase was there, laughing loudly, his arm draped over a chair. Grace Miller was walking past, and I saw Chase wink at her. The main plot was moving along nicely. I ignored them. I scanned the perimeter. The outcasts. The stoners. The kids who ate quickly so they could leave. There, in the far back corner, sitting alone near the trash cans, was Liam. He had his hood up. He was picking at a sandwich that looked like two pieces of stale bread and nothing else. I took a deep breath. Don’t die. Just be nice. I walked past my usual table. My “friends”—Jessica and Chloe—waved at me. “Viv! Over here!” Jessica squealed. “Not today,” I murmured, clutching my tray. The cafeteria went silent as I approached the back corner. It was like the parting of the Red Sea, if the sea was made of teenagers wearing Abercrombie and judgment. I slammed my tray down opposite Liam. He flinched. His hand instinctively went to his pocket—I knew he carried a box cutter there. He looked up, his eyes narrowing. “What game is this, Vanderbuilt? You want to pour milk on me again? Or maybe you brought your friends to film it this time?” His voice was tired. That was what broke my heart. He wasn’t even angry yet; he was just exhausted by the cruelty of his existence. “No game,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. I opened my expensive bento box. Inside was sushi, fresh fruit, and a Godiva truffle. “I just… I don’t like the noise in the center.” Liam stared at me. He stared at the sushi. Then he looked back at me. “You’re out of your mind,” he muttered, and went back to staring at his empty bread. I pushed my tray toward him. “I’m allergic to crab.” “Liar,” he said. “I saw you eating crab cakes yesterday.” Crap. Vivian had no allergies. “I developed it overnight,” I lied smoothly. “Medical mystery. Look, just eat it. Or throw it away. I don’t care.” I pulled out my AP History textbook and pretended to read. For five minutes, he didn’t move. Then, I heard the subtle sound of chopsticks. I risked a glance. He was eating. Fast. Like someone who didn’t know when his next meal was coming. We sat in silence. The rest of the cafeteria was whispering, cell phones out, recording the downfall of the Queen Bee. But I didn’t care. I looked at the faint purple bruises on his wrist, peeking out from his sleeve. His father. The drunk who beat him every time he lost money at the track. I have to save him, I thought. Not just to save myself. But because nobody deserves this. Part III: The Umbrella It rained in Crestwood for three weeks straight in November. The kind of relentless, freezing rain that soaked through your soul. I was waiting for my driver, standing under the massive portico of the school entrance. My Mercedes pulled up. As I walked toward it, I saw a figure walking toward the bus stop. No umbrella. Just that soaking wet hoodie. Liam was limping slightly. “Stop the car,” I told the driver. “Miss Vivian?” “I said stop!” I grabbed the oversized golf umbrella from the backseat and jumped out. My Gucci loafers splashed into a puddle. “Liam!” I shouted over the roar of the rain. He didn’t stop. He kept walking, head down against the wind. I ran after him. I wasn’t built for running. I was out of breath by the time I caught up, shielding him with the umbrella. The sudden silence of the rain hitting the canopy made us both jump. He stopped and turned. Water was dripping from his nose, his scars standing out starkly against his pale skin. “What do you want?” he yelled. “Are you trying to see how pathetic I look? Is this funny to you?” “Get in the car, Liam,” I shouted back. “Go to hell.” “You’re limping! Just get in the damn car! I’ll drop you off!” “I’d rather walk on broken glass than get in a car with you.”

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My grandma refuses to listen to reason. On the day of my little brother’s SATs—the biggest exam of his life—the whole family was anxious. We begged her to watch the clock and remind him to grab his Admission Ticket. Instead, while he was brushing his teeth, she took the ticket, crumpled it up like trash, and flushed it down the toilet. Whoosh. Gone. My brother turned his backpack inside out but couldn’t find it. He missed the exam. His future was ruined before it even started. Then, it was my turn. I was up for a massive promotion at my company, a Director position. I warned her a thousand times not to talk to strangers about family business. What did she do? She went around telling everyone I was “vomiting in the middle of the night.” The company heard the rumors, assumed I was secretly pregnant and unmarried, and immediately scratched my name off the candidate list. My dad finally snapped. He decided to send Grandma back to her old house in the countryside. Before leaving, Grandma said she wanted to make a “peace offering” dinner—her famous meatloaf. The kitchen smelled amazing. She brought the steaming dish to the table, smiling like a saint. We were mid-chew when the neighbor started screaming from the window: “Where did my rat poison go?! That stuff is lethal!” Grandma slapped her thigh and yelled, “Oh snap! I thought that was seasoning!” Before she even finished the sentence, our stomachs cramped into knots. We collapsed, foaming at the mouth. We all died. Grandma didn’t shed a tear. She immediately moved her illegitimate son and her old lover into our house and lived happily ever after on our life insurance. But when I opened my eyes again, I was standing at the front door on the exact day Grandma was coming to stay. 1 “Son! Open up! It’s Mom!” The door banged loudly, shaking the frame. Inside, me, Dad, Mom, and my brother Josh all jumped. Josh’s face went pale. He grabbed Dad’s arm, his voice trembling. “Dad! Don’t let her in!” Mom reacted instantly. She ran to the kitchen, grabbed a cleaver, and stormed back. “David! If you let that woman in, I’m divorcing you right now!” Dad, usually a total mama’s boy, looked grim. “Don’t worry, Karen! I’m sending her away!” I realized it instantly—my whole family had reincarnated. In our past life, Grandma demanded to come stay to “help” with Josh’s exams. But the shrewd old woman suddenly acted like a senile fool. In the middle of a heatwave, she switched Josh’s AC to ‘Heat’ while he slept. He woke up with severe heatstroke and almost ended up in the ER. When Mom screamed at her, Grandma played innocent: “I thought he might get cold! I tried to turn it off, but I guess I hit the wrong button!” Dad couldn’t bring himself to kick her out. Then came the ticket flushing incident. Her excuse? “I wanted to sew it onto his jacket so he wouldn’t lose it, but my hand slipped!” Josh missed college. He became a shell of himself. Then she ruined my career with the pregnancy rumors. She even sabotaged Mom. Mom finally got a shot at hosting a prime-time TV slot. She set three alarms. Grandma deleted them all while Mom was showering. Mom missed the broadcast and was blacklisted by the station. Dad finally tried to kick her out, and she fed us poisoned meatloaf. We died in agony. She lived in luxury with her secret family. 2 Seeing Dad about to charge out, I blocked him. “Dad, if you kick her out now, she’ll throw a tantrum on the lawn. We’ll never have peace,” I said quickly. “The neighbors don’t know she’s a monster. They just see a poor old widow. If we leave her out there, she’ll ruin our reputation. Josh needs to focus on his exams; he can’t handle a scandal right now.” Mom’s hand was shaking on the cleaver. “That old witch is evil! I want to chop her up right now to protect you guys! But… going to jail isn’t worth it.” I clenched my fist. “Since we know her playbook, let her in. We’ll counter every move and expose her true colors to everyone.” The family agreed. We opened the door. Grandma, who was mid-fake-sob to the neighbors, froze. I plastered on a smile and grabbed her bags. “Grandma! Sorry, we were cleaning up for you! Mom made your favorite Pot Roast!” Mom forced a smile, tied her apron, and brought out the oily, glistening beef. The neighbors oohed and aahed. “David’s mom is so lucky! Karen is such a good cook!” Grandma’s face dropped. She spat, “She knows I hate fatty meat! She’s doing this on purpose!” Dad stepped up, his voice booming for the whole hallway to hear. “Mom! Stop lying! Whenever there’s a buffet in the village, you pile your plate with meat! You act like a beggar just to make us look bad!” The neighbors started whispering. “Yeah, like that rich lady in building 4 who digs through trash for attention. David and Karen are good people. Stop looking for trouble, old lady.” Defeated by public opinion, the neighbors dispersed. 3 Grandma walked in, fuming because her first scheme failed. The second she saw Josh, she put on a fake smile, reaching out to touch his head. “Since the big exam is coming up, I’ll sleep in Josh’s room! I’ll make sure he doesn’t kick the blankets off and cook him snacks!” I knew exactly what she was planning. I hugged her arm tightly. “Grandma! I missed you so much! Sleep with me instead!” She couldn’t refuse without breaking character. Before bed, she asked me how to use the AC remote. I knew the drill. I deliberately taught her the buttons backward—telling her the ‘Heat’ button was ‘Cool’ and vice versa. In the middle of the night, I cracked my eyes open. Grandma crept out of bed and sneaked into Josh’s room. I heard her muttering: “Josh, don’t blame Grandma. Your horoscope clashes with Zack’s. If you get into college, Zack loses his spot. Blame your mom for birthing you at the wrong time.” Zack was the illegitimate son she had at 40 with the village Handyman, Hank. Hank claimed he found Zack in a dumpster to cover it up. But Zack looked exactly like Hank. The whole village knew, but nobody suspected Grandma because she was “too old.” If we hadn’t died and seen them living together as a happy family in the afterlife, I never would have guessed that Zack—who was the same age as Josh—was actually my Dad’s half-brother. 4 I was lost in thought when Grandma turned around. She saw me standing there in the dark and screamed like a banshee. “AHHH! GHOST!” I didn’t say a word. I turned on a flashlight, pointed it under my chin, and slowly drifted around the living room. Mom and Dad rushed out. I winked. Dad immediately put on a worried face. “Mom, I forgot to tell you. Chloe has severe sleepwalking issues. Don’t wander around at night. She’s harmless with a flashlight, but sometimes she grabs a knife…” Grandma rubbed her twisted ankle, groaning. “She never had this before! You’re trying to scare me away!” She didn’t buy it. The next night, I saw her get up again, muttering, “Is the remote broken? I set it to ‘Heat’ but Josh is fine. I need a new plan.” She grabbed her cane and headed for Josh’s door. I threw off my covers, marched into the kitchen, grabbed a heavy cleaver, and started hacking at a cutting board. Thwack. Thwack. Grandma side-eyed me but kept going toward Josh’s room. The second her hand touched the knob, I charged at her, raising the cleaver. “Chloe! You little psycho! You trying to kill me?!” she shrieked. I stared blankly through her, pulled the knife back, and swung it wildly near her head. Grandma rolled on the floor, screaming for Dad. Dad came out, looking annoyed. “Mom! I told you not to wander! You can’t wake a sleepwalker! Do you want to die?” “I just need to pee!” she lied. “Sleepwalkers don’t care,” Dad said coldly. “Risk it if you want.” Seeing me still holding the knife, Grandma scrambled back to our room on all fours. For the next week, I “sleepwalked” every night, chopping meat in the kitchen. Grandma was too terrified to leave the bedroom. 5 But she was relentless. A few days later, I was waiting for Josh at the school gate. He didn’t come out. I ran to his classroom and found him passed out on his desk. I splashed cold water on his face to wake him up. “Josh! Did you pull an all-nighter?” I asked. He looked dazed. “No, Sis. I slept at 10:30. But the second I got to school, my eyelids felt like lead.” My heart sank. “Did you eat anything Grandma gave you?” “Just breakfast Mom made,” he said. “And a bottle of milk. But the seal was broken.” I asked Mom and Dad. Neither of them had opened it. I immediately bought micro-cameras and hid them in the kitchen. The next morning, the footage showed Grandma grinding sleeping pills into the milk. Mom watched the video, shaking with rage. “That monster! She brought sedatives from the village just to drug her own grandson for that bastard Zack!” We couldn’t kick her out yet. She was too slippery. Instead, we switched the milk. We gave the drugged bottle to Grandma. She slept all day, snoring like a chainsaw. When she woke up, she groggily asked Josh, “Were you tired at school today?” Josh yawned theatrically. “So tired! I almost fell asleep during the mock exam!” Grandma grinned, her wrinkles bunching up. She thought she’d won. We held back our laughter and kept playing along.

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In my past life, when my wife and her high school sweetheart—her “white moonlight”—were both rushed into the ER after a car accident, I saved my wife first. She survived without a scratch. Her lover, however, lost his legs because his treatment was delayed. He killed himself shortly after. My wife hated me to the bone. She screamed that I murdered him. To get revenge, she tampered with my car. When I drove our son to school, the brakes failed. We both died. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the ER. My wife was lying on a stretcher, struggling, screaming at me to save her lover first. I knew then: she was reborn too. Fine. Since she wants it so badly, I’ll grant her wish. But later, when she knelt before me begging for forgiveness… well, that’s another story. 1 “David! Don’t save me! Save Julian first! You have to save Julian!” My wife, Claire, stared at me with intense, desperate eyes. In that moment, I knew. She came back too. She was reborn to the night she snuck out to meet her lover and crashed the car. In my last life, when Claire and Julian were wheeled in simultaneously, I was devastated. If not for the accident, I wouldn’t have known my wife had been cheating on me for years. But even then, seeing her in pain, my duty as a doctor kicked in. I was the only attending trauma surgeon on shift at that ungodly hour. I chose to operate on Claire. Julian had to wait for another surgeon to arrive. He missed the golden window for reattachment. It seems in this life, she wants to rewrite the script. I remembered the venom in her eyes in our past life. I remembered how she took her anger out on our son, Leo, making him tremble in fear. I remembered the scream Leo let out when our car crashed, the pain that seared my soul. My chest felt heavy, like a beast was clawing to get out. Since she wants to save her lover so badly… I’ll grant her wish. I just hope she doesn’t regret it. I nodded at her. Her face lit up with hope. “Thank God! He’s saved! He’s saved!” 2 I saved Julian. His legs, lost in the previous timeline, were preserved. But my wife? Not so lucky. Because she missed the critical window, she lost an arm. When I walked into the recovery room, my in-laws’ faces were dark as thunderclouds. “David! Did a donkey kick you in the head? Claire is your wife! You left her to rot and saved some stranger?” My mother-in-law screamed, pointing a finger in my face. My father-in-law joined in, cursing me for being incompetent. I stared at them blankly. It was laughable. My family was well-off. I graduated from a top med school and was a rising star in the hospital. Claire’s family? Her dad was a gambler drowning in debt. Claire didn’t work. My mom raised our kid. For years, I subsidized her family so she could live like a princess. Yet her parents never respected me. They always made snide comments, implying that without me, Claire would have married Julian, the rich boy. Yeah, right. Did she not want to marry him? Or did Julian just think she wasn’t good enough? I didn’t try to placate them like I used to. I said coldly, “Claire demanded I save Julian first. Not my fault. Also, she was in the car with him at 2 AM. You figure it out.” My in-laws froze, awkward silence filling the room. Claire lay on the bed. Instead of grieving her lost arm, she was smiling. “Mom, Dad, I’m fine. I lost an arm, but I saved Julian’s life.” I sneered internally. True love, huh? She always complained I didn’t give her enough. But for him, she gave an arm. Before, this would have broken my heart. Now? I felt nothing. From the moment she killed me and Leo, she was dead to me. “Mom, Dad, David… since you’re all here, I have an announcement.” She looked at me, serious. “David, after Julian and I are discharged, let’s get a divorce.” 3 My in-laws were stunned. But I knew exactly what she was thinking. She wanted to chase her happiness properly this time. In her past life, she constantly whined that if she had been there for Julian, he wouldn’t have committed suicide. She thought she was his savior. His light. I looked at her, amused. In this life, she’s disabled. Will the rich playboy Julian still see her as his light? I chuckled and agreed immediately. “Sure.” I want to see if her fairytale comes true. My quick agreement caught her off guard. She looked annoyed. “David, you’re agreeing so fast because I lost an arm, right? You think I’m damaged goods? Julian isn’t cold-blooded like you. I knew divorcing you was the right choice!” I nodded. “I hope so.” I turned to leave. She shouted at my back, “Just wait and see! Julian stayed single all these years for me. Once I’m divorced, he’ll definitely marry me!” Her parents heard this and started laughing excitedly, asking if she was serious about marrying into money. A few days later, once Claire could move, she practically lived in Julian’s ward. I heard Julian was “deeply moved” and swore to treat her well forever. Claire cried tears of joy and even came to brag to me. My colleagues whispered about her shamelessness, but she didn’t care. 4 My parents urged me to reconsider for Leo’s sake. But I was firm. A woman who could kill her own child for a man? She doesn’t deserve to be a mother. On the day we went to the courthouse, Julian’s driver brought them. Claire leaned into Julian’s embrace, smiling like a newlywed. Julian carried her purse, acting the perfect gentleman. “David, see? I’m better off without you.” Her eyes were triumphant. She wanted to hurt me. I just smiled politely. My indifference enraged her. “David, if Julian hadn’t been blocked by his family back then, I wouldn’t have married you out of spite. Do you really think a toad like you deserves swan meat like me?” I frowned at her ugly expression. She was hideous now. Why did I ever love her? I felt pathetic for my past self. “Fine. Since you got what you wanted, congratulations.” I walked away, ignoring her. She probably thought I fled in shame. 5 Articles about Claire started popping up online. “High School Sweethearts Reunited by Tragedy.” “Woman Sacrifices Arm to Save First Love.” Netizens called it “God-tier Romance.” My intern, Lily, was furious. She almost threw her phone. “God-tier romance my ass! Not a word about her cheating on her husband!” She looked at me, embarrassed. “Sorry, Dr. Evans. I just got mad. I didn’t mean to bring it up.” I looked at Lily’s flushed face and shook my head. “It’s okay.” I knew Claire planted those articles. According to her, Julian’s parents were the only reason they didn’t marry before. She was using public opinion to pressure his family. She branded herself as his “Savior.” She figured the wealthy parents would be moved by her sacrifice. She figured Julian loved her enough to fight for her. I laughed at her naivety. She didn’t understand men like Julian. If he truly loved her, he wouldn’t have given up so easily back then. He didn’t marry her when she was whole and beautiful. Now she’s a divorcee with a kid and one arm. She wouldn’t even make the cut as a mistress, let alone a wife. And rich families? They don’t accept “damaged goods.” She lived two lives and still didn’t get it. Sure enough, a few days later, all the articles vanished. Scrubbed from the internet. 6 After the divorce, Claire kept sending me photos. Holding hands with Julian. Julian carrying her. She was trying to make me jealous. But after a month, the messages stopped. I guessed her “happiness” had expired.

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“$25,000?” I stared at Declan’s phone screen. The text was from the bank: “Your loan ending in 8888 is due for a monthly payment of $25,000. Please remit immediately.” He was in the shower. His phone was sitting on the coffee table. I read it again. Twenty-five thousand dollars a month? What loan? We had been married for eight years. I had no idea he had any debt of that magnitude. My finger instinctively slid across the glass, locating his bank app. I tapped it open. Loan Balance: $4.5 million. A silent, deafening explosion went off in my head. The sound of the shower stopping jolted me. I placed the phone down and settled back onto the sofa, my hands resting calmly on my lap. Declan walked out, towel-drying his hair. “What are you looking at?” “Nothing.” I offered a slight smile. “Just wondering about that bank text,” I continued, keeping my voice level. “It said the payment due was twenty-five thousand dollars?” His color immediately drained. “Five million dollars?” I looked him straight in the eye. “In the eight years we’ve been married, I’ve managed to save up two hundred thousand dollars, and you’ve managed to run up five million dollars in debt.” 1 Declan didn’t speak. He stood there, the towel still draped over his shoulder, a statue carved out of sudden dread. “Care to explain?” My voice was flat. “I… I have a loan,” he stammered, wetting his lips. “But it’s not what you think.” “What do I think?” “It was a company investment project,” he finally sat down. “Last year, there was a major opportunity, and I put some money into it, and it just…” “It crashed?” “Yes, it was a massive loss.” He watched me, his eyes pleading. “So, I took out a bridging loan. I thought I could turn it around.” “Five million dollars?” “It’s not that much,” he hedged, avoiding my gaze. “Maybe a million and a half. Two at the most.” I laughed—a sharp, mirthless sound. I pulled my own phone from my purse, opening the screenshot I’d just taken of the bank message. “Loan Balance: $4,500,000.” I pushed the screen towards him. “Did you just say a million and a half?” Declan’s face went utterly white. “When did you take this loan out?” I asked. “And why, in eight years of marriage, did you never mention it?” “Last year…” His voice was a whisper. “Last March.” “Two years ago?” I stood up. “You’ve been hiding this for two years?” “Harper, please, let me explain…” “You’ve been paying $25,000 a month,” I interrupted, the facts rolling off my tongue like cold steel. “That’s twenty-four months. You’ve already paid back six hundred thousand dollars.” He lowered his head. “Where did that six hundred thousand come from?” “The firm…” “Don’t say the firm.” I walked closer. “Your salary is eighty thousand a year, maybe sixty-five thousand after tax. You contribute forty-eight thousand a year to our joint account. What exactly was left over to cover six hundred thousand in payments?” Declan was silent. “Do you have an emergency fund? Other money you haven’t told me about?” He looked up, his eyes darting away from mine. “Tell me.” “I… I have some.” “How much?” “Not much. Just…” He gritted his teeth. “About two hundred thousand, maybe a bit more.” I nodded slowly. Two hundred thousand dollars. A personal stash. A secret savings account he’d never seen fit to mention. “Is that two hundred thousand enough to cover the balance?” I asked. “No,” his voice was even smaller. “It’s nowhere near enough.” “How much is left?” “Over four million…” I took a deep breath. $4.5 million remaining balance plus the $600,000 he’d already paid back… wait. “You said you’ve paid back six hundred thousand?” “Yes.” “Then why is the remaining balance four point five million?” Declan froze. “Five million dollars minus six hundred thousand dollars is four point four million.” I stared at him. “So your original loan was five million dollars, wasn’t it?” He nodded, defeated. “You’ve been paying $25,000 a month for twenty-four months.” I sat back down. “How did you cover those payments?” “I…” “Don’t mention your two hundred thousand. Two hundred thousand divided by twenty-five thousand is only eight months of payments.” I leaned in. “Where did the other sixteen months of payments come from?” Sweat beaded on Declan’s forehead. “Is there more money, Declan? Money you haven’t told me about?” He didn’t answer. “Declan, I’m asking you one last time,” I stood up again. “What is the real story behind this five million dollars?” “It was an investment gone bad…” “Stop lying.” “It was! It really was a bad investment!” He rose, his voice escalating. “I went in with a few partners, and we got scammed! The money’s all gone!” “Scammed?” “Yes! They promised a guaranteed return, but it was a total fraud!” I looked at him. His eyes were still shifting, unable to hold my gaze. “If you were scammed, why didn’t you file a police report?” “I did, but…” “You did?” I pulled out my phone. “Then there should be a case number. What is it?” Declan was speechless. I smiled, the expression cold on my face. “You can’t even keep your stories straight, can you?” “Harper…” “Don’t call me that.” I turned toward the bedroom. “I’m exhausted today, and I won’t fight. Tomorrow, I’m going to the bank. You’d better use the night to come up with the truth.” “Harper!” I closed the bedroom door. Leaning my back against the polished wood, I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Five million dollars. The magnitude of the betrayal was only now sinking in. 2 I called out of work first thing the next morning. Declan was still asleep. I didn’t wake him. Taking my driver’s license and our marriage certificate, I drove to Summit Bank. “Hello, I need to check all loans under my husband’s name,” I said, sliding the documents to the teller. “Are you looking for a joint loan, or…” “All of them.” “Certainly, please wait a moment.” After several minutes of typing, the teller printed out a document. “Your husband has one active business line of credit. It was initiated on March 15, 2023, for $5 million. The term is five years. $600,000 has been paid back, leaving a principal balance of $4.4 million. The monthly payment is $25,000.” I took the paper. March 15, 2023. Exactly two years ago. “What was the stated purpose of this loan?” “It’s a business line of credit, so it was intended for corporate operations,” the teller checked his monitor. “At the time of application, he provided his company’s business license and financial statements.” “May I see the loan contract?” “Yes, please give me a moment to retrieve the file.” A few minutes later, the teller returned with a thick folder. I opened it. First page: Loan Amount: $5,000,000. Loan Purpose: Corporate Working Capital. Collateral: Real Estate Mortgage + Personal Guarantee. I kept turning the pages. Collateral Property: Unit 1003, Building A, The Riverwalk Residences. That was our home. Our primary residence. He used our house as collateral? “This property…” I pointed to the address. “It’s a joint marital asset. How could he mortgage it without my presence?” The teller looked surprised. “You didn’t sign the documents?” “No.” “When the mortgage was processed, he provided an authorized Power of Attorney form, signed by you.” My head began to swim. An authorized Power of Attorney? When had I ever given him that authority? “Can I see a copy of that POA?” “That will require a request to the archives. It might take a few days.” “Please, can you process that request for me?” “I will.” I walked out of the bank, clutching the loan contract. Standing by my car, I called my lawyer friend, Margot. “Margot, my husband secretly took out a $5 million loan using our house as collateral. What do I do?” “What?! Five million?” Margot’s voice was high with shock. “Were you aware of the loan?” “Completely oblivious.” “Then how did he put up the house?” “The bank said he provided a notarized Power of Attorney with my signature.” “A POA?” Margot paused. “Did you sign it?” “No.” “Then that POA is potentially fraudulent,” Margot said firmly. “You need to get the original document from the bank immediately. I’ll review it. If it’s proven to be a forgery, we can argue the loan is invalid, or at the very least, you have no joint liability.” “Okay.” I walked straight back into the bank lobby. “Hi again. I requested that Power of Attorney document. Can you expedite it? I need it now.” The teller looked at me hesitantly. “I don’t know if…” “Please,” I insisted, leaning in. “If that document is fake, my entire life savings and my home are at risk. I need to see it.” The teller hesitated, then nodded. “Wait here. I’ll talk to the manager.” Thirty minutes later, I was handed a photocopy of the POA. I stared at the signature. Harper Brooks. It was my name. But it wasn’t my handwriting. My signature is precise and controlled. The one on the POA was light, almost airy, clearly a rushed imitation. I snapped a picture and sent it to Margot. “Is that your signature?” “No.” “We’ve got him,” Margot confirmed. “Keep that copy. We’ll file for a handwriting analysis. If it’s a forgery, you walk away clean from the debt.” A wave of relief washed over me, quickly followed by a harder realization. Declan forged my signature to secure a $5 million loan. What, exactly, did he spend it on?

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My mother has always been incredibly careless. The thing is, she only ever seemed to lose my things. Not just a critical client file or my passport right before boarding a flight. Every time she left me scrambling and humiliated, she would weep and insist her intentions were pure—she was just trying to help. Yet, she had perfectly preserved every single baby tooth my younger brother, Leo, lost when he was six. This time, my company needed me to fly out of state for three days over the major holiday weekend. My mom volunteered to watch my cat. When I got back, the cat was, predictably, gone. She started her routine—crying, hysterics. Leo accused me of being dramatic. I stood there, hands in my pockets, and a sudden, sharp laugh escaped me. “It wasn’t even my cat,” I said. 1 The emergency project came up during the holiday rush. I had three days of required travel. Finding a pet sitter for my cat, a tabby named Rory, was nearly impossible, especially since he had just undergone a neuter surgery and needed careful attention. I was frantic when my mother stepped in, offering to cover the three days. I was deeply skeptical, but I meticulously went over the care instructions, provided all the necessary supplies, and even set up a pet camera. “You know how important Rory is to me, right?” I asked her one last time. I’d gone through a really dark period with depression years ago. It wasn’t until I adopted Rory that my life started to heal. To ensure both my mom and Leo were motivated, I specifically wired ten thousand dollars to each of them before I left, purely for taking good care of Rory while I was gone. The day after I landed in the neighboring state, the feed from the pet camera suddenly pointed straight at the wall. My messages went unread; neither Mom nor Leo answered their phones. Anxiety clawed at me. I sped up my work, finished my presentation half a day early, and dragged my suitcase straight to my mom’s house. I shouted Rory’s name, but there was only silence. The place didn’t look or smell like a home with a cat. My supplies and the camera were gone. “Where is my cat?” I stormed into the living room and yanked Leo away from his video game console. He looked up, dazed. “What cat?” It took him a moment, and then he grinned. “Oh! Did we have a cat here?” I instinctively raised my hand to strike him. He flinched and yelled for Mom. She finally emerged from her room. “The cat was too wild,” she said dismissively. “It ran off.” “Rory is a house cat. He’s terrified of the outdoors. There’s no way he just ‘ran off.’ I set up the cage, his bed, and even installed a mesh barrier on the windows. How did he run off? How many more of my things do you have to lose!” Rory was like family to me—my most treasured possession. I had stressed his importance again and again, yet they were both so nonchalant. “So he ran off!” My mom’s voice rose. She kicked my suitcase, sending it skidding across the floor. “He’s just an animal. Why are you yelling at your own mother?” Leo stepped in front of her, shielding her. He pointed a finger at me. “Mom raised us single-handedly, worked her fingers to the bone, and now you’re yelling at her over a cat?” he shouted. “She did you a favor, and now she’s the villain?” A furious pressure built in my chest. I’d worked three exhausting days, dragging my suitcase straight from the airport without even a change of clothes, and this was my welcome. I took a shaky breath, cutting off my mom’s theatrical sob. “Just tell me,” I ground out. “When did he go missing?” My mom, touched by the public display of maternal devotion from her son, leaned into Leo’s shoulder, weeping softly. She mumbled, “I don’t remember.” I almost collapsed. Ignoring Leo’s insults, I rushed out, searching every bush and every corner of the neighborhood, from daylight until the streetlights came on, my back aching. I even tried a ridiculous folk remedy I’d read about. I begged the building manager for access to the security footage. Nothing. The only thing I found was Rory’s carrier and feeding bowls, crammed into a dumpster behind the apartment complex. That night, alone in my small rental, I watched the recorded footage from the pet camera, tears blurring my vision. Suddenly, the screen switched to a black, shaky image. Then, a sickening sound—a thud of a foot connecting with flesh—followed by a terrible, high-pitched cat scream. Leo’s lazy voice cut through the dark. “My sister treats this thing like gold.” Thump. Another kick. “Is this why she’s supposed to spend all her money on me?” I shot up from the couch. 2 To my surprise, Leo admitted it right away. He pulled up his sleeve, revealing a few faint scratch marks. “The little beast attacked me! So what if I kicked it a few times? Don’t be so ungrateful, treating an animal like some kind of trophy.” He made Mom show the back of her hand, which had a faint, thin scratch. I knew my cat. Rory was a domestic pet, not feral, and he’d just had surgery. He would only scratch if he was terrified or in pain, or if someone was deliberately provoking him. I was certain now: Rory hadn’t run away. I badgered my mother, my voice tight, demanding to know where they had dumped him. “Enough! It’s ‘cat, cat, cat’ all day long! You’re almost thirty and still not married, just obsessed with that animal. I’ve wanted to get rid of him for a long time!” “My marital status has nothing to do with this!” I retorted, shaking with rage. “Why would you get rid of my cat? Rory was the only thing my father left me seven years ago. I let you get away with losing my files, my passport, my paperwork—but how could you do this to Rory?” My mother’s chest heaved. “You are unbelievably selfish! If you don’t get married, how is your brother supposed to find a wife with a crazy spinster sister dragging down the family name? Are you trying to ruin us?” My not getting married would only ruin her chance to pocket a hefty wedding check. She launched into a tirade about how wonderful my most recent date had been. She claimed I was wasting my life and money on a mere ‘beast.’ “And you act so high and mighty with your fancy graduate degree! It was clearly a waste of money!” I let out a hysterical laugh. “If he was so great, why didn’t you marry him? Does being a widow at home somehow improve our feng shui?” The loss of Rory had completely consumed me. I was losing control of my tongue. I turned my fury toward Leo. “Ruined his life? He’s an unskilled dropout who can’t hold a job! I had to beg my company director to give him a dead-end maintenance job as a favor, and he’s still living rent-free in the condo I bought! I think my life is the one being ruined by the two of you!” It was a rare explosion of emotion. Everything—the ‘lost’ passport, the expense reports thrown into the washing machine—all the years of her casual, malicious sabotage flooded over me. Leo shifted, trying to play mediator, but I swept everything off the nearest table with a violent crash. My mom started to wind up for her performance, but I stopped her by smashing the ceramic ashtray against the tile floor. The white tile cracked, a deep divot marking my absolute fury. “Now. You will tell me exactly where you dumped him. Immediately. Or I swear, this isn’t over. If Rory isn’t found, you two are out of my house!” My eyes were burning as I delivered the ultimatum. “I mean it.” Finally, faced with my uncompromising fury, Mom and Leo confessed the truth. They hadn’t lost him. They had sold him to an illegal meat market. My head spun. I sank onto the sofa, the world tilting. 3 A gust of icy wind bit through my jacket. The winter snow felt warm compared to the freezing cold in my heart. When I was searching for Rory, seeing the falling snow, I kept thinking: My little Rory is so sensitive to the cold. He has no survival skills and just had surgery. How could he possibly live out there? My self-loathing had peaked. I hadn’t dared to stop searching in the freezing temperatures, afraid that if I left, I would miss him. But I never, ever imagined my mother and brother were capable of this. Tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision. Leo led us, a family procession of absolute horror, to the meat market, tucked into the darkest corner of the local farmer’s plaza, operating brazenly in the open. I still clung to a sliver of hope until I saw it: a small, yellow vest lying in the mud near a pile of crates—the New Year outfit I had dressed Rory in before I left. “Hey! What are you doing back? Once it’s sold, there are no refunds. It’s already been processed.” The butcher’s words were a knife twisting in my heart. My mom, ever the victim, complained to the butcher. “It’s my daughter. She’s upset about this.” She made me sound like an overdramatic child. The butcher gave me a strange look. “You didn’t get her permission? I asked if you were sure, and you said you had the final say. You even took an extra fifty bucks, said the meat was good.” I balled my hands into fists, my nails digging into my palms. I pointed a trembling finger at my mother and Leo. “You two are out of my house. Starting today.” These people, who could be so casually cruel, so indifferent to life—I should have cut them off long ago. I shouldn’t have clung to the faint hope of family connection, shouldn’t have given them the chance to hurt my Rory. A crushing, suffocating grief overwhelmed me. I swallowed the lump in my throat and turned to leave. But my mother grabbed my arm, her voice piercing. “You’re going to kick your mother and brother out for a cat?” The explosive statement caught the attention of everyone in the market. They gathered around curiously. My mom didn’t care. She sat down on the filthy ground and launched into her familiar, agonizing wail, slapping the pavement with her hand. This was the tactic she had used for years to force my father and me into submission. It worked when she insisted on a late-night drive for a craving, which led to my father’s fatal car accident, and it worked when she shredded my university application file, nearly costing me my education. She would cry, she would cause a scene, and the world would forgive her. Everyone would say, “Calm down, she didn’t mean it. No one wanted this to happen.” But my father and I were always the ones who paid the price. “Sweetheart,” a woman in the crowd said kindly. “I know young people love their pets, but a pet can’t be more important than your mother.” Leo stepped forward and helped my mom up. “Sis, just blame me. Don’t kick Mom out. She’s getting older. If you need to take it out on someone, kick me out.” I stood perfectly still, watching their disgusting performance, unmoved. Then, my mother suddenly shoved Leo away and bolted. She ran up the nearest exterior staircase toward the second-floor roof. She scrambled over the low wall, her feet dangling over the edge. “If you hate me that much,” she shrieked for the crowd’s benefit, “I’ll jump right now and pay for your cat!” 4 Half her body was hanging over the edge. But I knew she wouldn’t jump. After my father died in the car crash she caused, she’d threatened to join him out of fear of my grandparents’ wrath. She was still here, wasn’t she? “You always say it was an accident, an honest mistake, just ‘carelessness,’” I yelled up at her, my voice raw. “Would you be this ‘careless’ if it was Leo’s cat? Or if it was the CEO’s cat? You did this on purpose! You wanted to twist the knife, to hurt me! Who gives their daughter’s most cherished companion to a meat market? Who does that?” My sentence was cut short by her shrill scream. “You finally said it! You think I favor your brother! You’re using this cat as an excuse to destroy me!” My mother clutched the railing, sobbing to the crowd. “My daughter has a Master’s degree from a top university. My son only has a vocational certificate. Who am I really favoring? I’m the most unjustly accused person alive!” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. She was going to use my success against me? Every family resource had been channeled to Leo. Tens of thousands of dollars spent on tutors and school changes for him to barely squeak out a certificate. Meanwhile, I funded my entire education with scholarships and loans. I had to beg my teachers to vouch for me to keep her from marrying me off to an older man at seventeen. And now she was using my hard-won success as proof that she wasn’t prioritizing Leo? The surrounding onlookers bought it hook, line, and sinker. They gave me judgmental looks. “Young lady, you can’t just abandon your family once you’ve made it big.” “She made my son a janitor in her company!” my mother cried. “That’s because he wouldn’t learn basic office software! I did his work for him for the first month until his supervisor finally moved him to a job where he couldn’t cause trouble!” Leo walked out of the crowd, his face contorted in an expression of anguish. He slowly knelt on the ground in front of me. “Please, Sis, stop! I know I’m useless and a failure, but please don’t upset Mom. I don’t have Dad anymore, and I can’t lose her, too.” Several people started recording on their phones, their eyes blazing with righteous anger. “Look at this entitled person! For a cat, she makes her brother kneel and forces her mother to threaten suicide!” “Is a human life worth less than a cat’s now? Society is falling apart!” Trapped by the torrent of moral condemnation, I had no choice but to concede. I told my mother to come down, promising I wouldn’t press the issue for now. She instantly embraced Leo, and the two of them wept together, a touching scene of mother-son love for the cameras. As the crowd dispersed, I started to leave. Leo walked up to me, his expression suddenly shifting back to a smirk. “You know,” he said, his eyes glittering with malicious glee, “how loud your little cat screamed when I choked it and hung it up?” He mimicked the sickening sound, then looked at Mom, and they exchanged a smug glance. “How does the owner feel about that?” he taunted. The provocative, cruel smile danced on his face. I stopped, a sudden change sweeping over me. The gloom lifted. I smiled, too. I looked directly into his startled eyes. “Who told you,” I asked, my voice dangerously calm, “that was my cat?”

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A month after starting to date my childhood sweetheart, I stumbled across a post on Reddit. [My crush’s parents are obsessed with his childhood friend. Any tips on how to drive a wedge between them?] In the pinned comment, the OP justified herself: [We like each other, we just haven’t made it official yet.] [He even changed his college application to follow me to the same school, settling for a random major.] [He told me he only tried dating the childhood friend to see if it would work, but they have zero chemistry.] What sent a chill down my spine was the photo attached to the post. Two pairs of feet, close together. The hand-painted dragons on their sneakers were making a heart shape. I stared at the photo, and finally, it clicked. The “Crush” the OP was talking about was my boyfriend, Lucas. 1 The comments under the post were piling up. [Parents like that are the worst. They only care about their own social circle, not their kid’s happiness.] [I never date guys with female ‘besties.’ Who knows what kind of history they have?] [So jealous. My crush always sides with his childhood friend.] … The OP replied to each one, sounding smug. [His parents can want whatever they want. In the end, parents always cave to their kids. As long as he loves me, that’s all that matters.] [Calling her a ‘childhood friend’ is being generous. Frankly, she’s just the third wheel interfering in our relationship.] Someone questioned her: [If your crush is ‘trying it out’ with the childhood friend, doesn’t that mean they’re dating? Technically, you’re the side piece!] The OP replied with an eye-roll emoji. [No ring, no foul. Whoever gets the marriage certificate wins. Besides, he likes me more!] Finally, she posted a screenshot of a chat. StarChaser (Him): I didn’t want to go. It’s a dinner with the parents, I’m just there as a prop. DewCollector (Her): But my stomach hurts, and I’m sitting alone on a bench at the mall. StarChaser: Send location! Don’t worry, I’m coming right now. [See? One word from me, and he drops everything.] I stared at the familiar nickname, stunned. I never knew that to others, our relationship was just him “trying it out.” I zoned out for a long time until my phone vibrated. “Nina, something came up, I can’t make the dinner. Make up an excuse and cover for me with the parents.” I was silent for a few seconds. “What kind of excuse do you suggest?” Lucas hummed impatiently. “Just say the graduation gift I ordered for you had an issue, and I’m at the shop sorting it out.” When I didn’t respond, Lucas clicked his tongue. “Is lying that hard for you? I really have an emergency. Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.” He hung up. Surprisingly, I felt calm. I had crushed on him for years. After graduation, I spent two weeks planning my confession. When he said yes, I excitedly told my best friend. But she frowned, disapproving. “You even had to confess first? I don’t see him treating you special at all. If you didn’t tell me, I wouldn’t even know you guys were dating. Not even a social media post.” She opened Lucas’s Instagram. “Gaming, basketball, hanging with the boys… wait?” She pointed at a photo. “See this girl? That’s the transfer student, Bella. They were close in school. She’s in his photos, but you aren’t!” Thinking back, I laughed. “DewCollector” could only be Bella (White Dew). But Lucas… we grew up together. If you didn’t like me, you could have just said so. Why play me like this? 2 I wiped my tears aggressively, trying to compose myself. But pushing open the door to the private room, facing the expectant gazes of the adults, my nose still stung. I lowered my head to hide it and sat quietly next to my mom. Lucas’s mom, Auntie Lin, looked confused, glancing at the door. “Where’s Lucas? Didn’t he say he was coming with you?” My mom was also puzzled. “Yeah, Nina, where’s Lucas? Weren’t you together?” I spoke slowly. “He said he had an emergency and couldn’t come. Auntie, maybe you should call him. My phone is dying.” Auntie Lin didn’t think twice and dialed immediately. Call after call, no answer. Finally, it went straight to voicemail. I refreshed the Reddit post under the table. The latest update: [His mom keeps calling. Bet it’s the childhood friend’s doing! I turned his phone off.] I felt a wave of dizziness. Auntie Lin has anxiety. She needs to confirm her husband and son are safe multiple times a day. Because of this, Lucas never dared to turn off his phone. Even in school, teachers allowed him to keep his phone on because of his mom’s condition. Once, I borrowed his phone to play a game and drained the battery. Even though I charged it immediately, he yelled at me. Now, I watched Auntie Lin’s hands trembling as she dialed again and again. The cold robotic voice repeated: “The subscriber you have dialed is powered off…” I smiled bitterly. Lucas really treats people differently based on who they are. 3 Unable to get through, Auntie Lin started to panic. “No one answered before, now it’s off! Did something happen to Lucas?” Just then, our dads walked in with drinks. Seeing Auntie Lin’s distress, Uncle Yu froze. “What’s wrong?” Auntie Lin found her anchor, grabbing his hand, speaking rapidly. “Lucas isn’t answering, and now his phone is off! Was he in an accident? Is he hurt? We have to find him!” Everyone knew her condition. My dad quickly comforted her. “If it was an accident, someone else would answer. Probably just ran out of battery. Or maybe it got stolen! It’s fine, we were going to get him a new one for college anyway.” Dad’s theory calmed her down slightly. But half an hour later, still no Lucas. She couldn’t take it anymore. “You guys eat. I’m going home to check.” My mom lost her appetite too. “Let’s pack the food. You guys go get the car, we’ll go back together.” 4 We split up. I went to pay the bill, debating whether to tell the truth. But Auntie Lin’s mental state was fragile. In middle school, teachers assigned study partners. Auntie Lin went to the school. “Lucas and Nina are best friends. Why pair him with someone else?” Despite the teacher explaining it was about complementary subjects, Auntie Lin insisted. She told my mom, “I don’t trust anyone else. His own grandmother spilled boiling water on his foot. I can’t gamble on strangers.” Thinking of this, I didn’t dare speak. If she knew Lucas ditched us and turned off his phone for Bella… what would she do? Hesitating, we got into the car. Property management called back: Lucas wasn’t home. Security footage showed him leaving two hours ago. Uncle Yu hung up with the traffic police. “They said there were six minor accidents this afternoon, but no one named Lucas Yu.” I fingered the phone in my pocket, pulling it out, then pushing it back. Suddenly, Uncle Yu, who was driving, yelled “Fuck!” The car swerved violently. Auntie Lin and I were thrown to the right, crushing my mom. Then, a sickening crash. When my hearing returned, I opened my eyes to an inverted street and crowd. A stranger was shouting through the window. “Honey, don’t be scared! We’re getting you out!” 5 Scenes I’d seen countless times on TikTok were playing out in front of me. People rushing from all directions, shouting, trying to flip the car. But manpower vs. machine wasn’t enough. Someone took charge: “Smash the windows! Get the people out! That’s an EV over there, might catch fire!” My ringing ears cleared. I woke up fully and struggled with my seatbelt. Our moms were unconscious. I pushed Auntie Lin toward the rescuers first. I turned to my mom, but her seatbelt had locked tight. The more I panicked, the stucker it got. The stranger outside shouted instructions. “Slow down! Loosen the shoulder strap, then the waist. Loop it over her head and behind her back.” I forced myself to calm down and followed her steps. Freed my mom. We were pulled out one by one. They dragged us to the sidewalk. A scream came from the distance. A man stumbled out of the electric vehicle we hit. Smoke billowed from his car. “Run! The cars are too close, they’re gonna blow!” Minutes later, the fire jumped to Uncle Yu’s car. BOOM! Two explosions, heat waves hitting our faces. The stranger handed me water. “Don’t be scared. Everyone’s out. Ambulance is coming.” 6 At the hospital, our moms and I had minor injuries. We calmed down quickly. Only Uncle Yu, who took the brunt of the impact, was still in surgery. Auntie Lin was crying and calling. “Where is Lucas? Why isn’t his phone on?” I let go of my mom’s hand and took out my phone. Opened Reddit. The OP was still updating. [I confessed. He patted my head.] [I transferred here senior year and fell for him instantly. Before graduation, I felt the vibes.] [When filling out college apps, I asked if he wanted to go to Shanghai with me.] [He didn’t say yes explicitly, but I know he likes me!] I replied: [Tell Lucas to turn his phone on and call home immediately. His parents were in a car accident. His dad is in surgery.] The thread exploded. [Is this… the childhood friend?] [Real? Just confessed and now his parents are in a crash?] [Sister, let it go. A man who wavers isn’t worth it!] Bella posted a photo. Lucas, holding an orange, smiling at the camera. [Why play these mind games? If our parents didn’t force us, he wouldn’t even look at you.] [Cursing his parents? Are you trying to make him hate you?] Desperate, I took a photo and uploaded it. [It’s true. We are at City Hospital No. 1. Tell Lucas to come NOW!] I hit send. An error message popped up. [Message failed to send.] Bella blocked me.

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My neighbor stole the vegetables I grew on my balcony for 93 days straight. She became a top-tier influencer with millions of followers just by stealing my produce. Until she swiped the last bag and ate it live on stream with a smile. Moments later, she started seeing dancing elves, and the clip went viral. She brought the building manager and reporters to my door, tearfully accusing me of poisoning her. I simply handed over three things: my PhD diploma, project documents, and an empty flowerpot with a warning label. “I research hallucinogenic mushrooms for treating depression. She didn’t eat poison; she ate my research grant.” 1 I opened my phone. Chloe’s livestream viewer count was jumping like crazy. 2.98 million, 2.99 million… boom, 3 million. She picked up the “White Feather Matsutake,” showing it off to the camera. “Look, besties! These are wild matsutake mushrooms my neighbor grew. You can’t find this quality in stores.” The chat exploded with comments like “So jealous,” “I want some,” and “Chloe is so lucky.” She stuffed the whole mushroom into her mouth, closing her eyes dramatically. “Oh my god, the flavor is insane. It melts in your mouth, silky like cream.” Three million fans were spamming gifts on the other side of the screen. I stared at my phone, silently counting down. Three minutes. Chloe suddenly stopped chewing. Her eyes started to wander. She blinked, seemingly trying to focus on something. Two minutes. She started giggling, a sharp, piercing sound. One minute. “Whoa! Do you see them?” She suddenly stood up, pointing at thin air and shouting. “So many colorful butterflies in little suits! They’re dancing the salsa!” The livestream chat went wild. “?????” “Is the streamer high?” “What’s happening?” Chloe was fully immersed in her hallucination, waving her arms and chasing the invisible “butterflies.” She fell to the floor, still giggling. “Don’t run, little butterflies! I want to dance with you!” I turned off the stream and walked to the balcony. The flowerpot labeled “Neuroactive Research Sample – Do Not Touch” was empty. I smiled. Ninety-three days. She finally stole the one thing she shouldn’t have. Five minutes later, #InfluencerLivestreamPoisoning hit #1 on Trending. I refreshed Twitter, watching the situation escalate. Chloe’s studio reacted fast, issuing a statement immediately: “Chloe was maliciously poisoned by her neighbor. She has been rushed to the ER for a stomach pump and is in critical condition.” They attached a photo of her lying in a hospital bed, pale, hooked up to an IV, looking pitiful. I almost laughed out loud. Critical condition? Hallucinogenic mushrooms aren’t fatal; at most, she’d see a Technicolor world for a few hours. Then I got doxxed. Name, address, workplace—all posted online by her fans. My phone started vibrating like crazy. “Murderer!” “Psycho who poisoned an influencer!” “Go to hell!” Vicious texts poured in one after another. I looked at the insults calmly. A crowd started gathering downstairs. I peeked through the curtains. At least fifty people were holding banners, shouting “Justice for Chloe” and “Punish the killer.” Someone spray-painted a big red “DIE” on my door. The building manager brought security up to knock. “Ms. Su, come out and explain yourself.” I didn’t open the door. Chloe’s studio released a second statement, even more vicious this time. “The neighbor, jealous of Chloe’s success, deliberately poisoned the food for revenge. This person is twisted and possibly sociopathic. Please be careful.” They included my ID photo, edited to look black and white like a memorial portrait. Netizens went berserk. “Scum like this should be sliced into pieces!” “We have the address, let’s get her!” “Straight to the crematorium!” The cursing outside grew louder. Someone started banging on the door. Soon, reporters arrived too. “Ms. Su, do you have any response to the poisoning allegations?” “Do you admit to poisoning Chloe?” “What was your motive?” I looked through the peephole at the crowd outside and thought: It’s time to teach you all a lesson. 2 Hours later, the building manager, Mark, blocked my door with a group of reporters and fans. He even called a locksmith. “Ms. Su! Come out!” Mark’s voice came through the door. “Give Ms. Chloe an explanation!” I pressed my ear to the door, listening to the noise outside. Through the peephole, I saw Chloe hiding at the back of the crowd, her face still pale and sickly. I walked to the intercom and pressed the talk button. “Chloe.” The hallway went silent instantly. “Stealing research samples—do you know the consequences?” Mark reacted first, his voice pitching up an octave. “Stop slandering her! Open the door!” Then came Chloe’s crying, rain on a pear blossom. “I just saw her veggies growing so well… I thought it was a waste, I just wanted to borrow a little to taste… Who knew she would poison them…” Borrow? I almost laughed. Ninety-three days, every morning at 6:10 AM sharp—that’s borrowing? “Borrowing requires the owner’s permission. And besides, those weren’t vegetables.” The crowd outside erupted in murmurs. “What does that mean?” “If not vegetables, then what?” “Is she trying to make excuses?” Chloe cried louder. “They were clearly mushrooms growing in pots! They looked like matsutake. I thought she couldn’t finish them alone…” “Matsutake?” I finally couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Are you sure those were matsutake?” The reporters caught the key point. Someone shouted, “Then what were they?” Silence fell outside. Everyone was waiting for my answer. I went back to my room and took three things from my drawer. My PhD diploma, the project documents, and that empty flowerpot with the warning label. I returned to the door and opened it. A dozen microphones were shoved in my face. Chloe stood at the back of the crowd. I held up my diploma. “MIT, PhD in Biological Engineering.” Then the project file. “National Science Foundation grant, research on hallucinogenic mushrooms for depression treatment.” Finally, the empty pot. The label was clearly visible: “Neuroactive Research Sample – Do Not Touch.” “What? Hallucinogenic mushrooms?” “This is a research project?” “So Chloe ate a lab sample?” I looked at Chloe, hiding behind the crowd. “She didn’t eat poison. She ate my research funding.” The scene exploded. Reporters swarmed Chloe, mics and cameras pointing at her. “Ms. Chloe, did you know these were research samples?” “Why did you steal someone else’s experimental materials?” “How much did you steal over these ninety-three days?” Chloe’s face went from green to white, her lips trembling, unable to speak. Mark was dumbfounded too. The onlookers looked at each other. The fans who were just defending their idol didn’t know what to say. “No… it’s not like that…” Chloe finally spoke. “I didn’t know they were lab samples. I thought… I thought they were just normal mushrooms…” “Normal mushrooms?” I sneered. “Normal mushrooms with warning labels?” She opened her mouth but nothing came out. “Ms. Chloe, how do you explain this?” “Do you know the legal consequences of stealing research samples?” “Your studio just issued a statement demanding accountability for poisoning. How do you respond now?” Chloe panicked completely, tears streaming down her face. “I… I really didn’t know… I just thought they looked edible…” Her die-hard fans still bought her story. “Who grows poisonous mushrooms at home? Don’t let this woman fool you!” Mark jumped in to help. “Exactly! You are endangering community safety!” I was speechless at these fans. I slammed the door shut. 3 That night, the property management cut my water and power. Mark announced in the HOA group chat that “temporary measures” were taken against my unit to “ensure the safety of other residents.” I looked at my phone screen in the dark. The group chat was full of agreement. “Well done!” “Good job cutting it!” “Get that scum out of our complex!” Chloe’s team moved fast. A second wave of PR hit. They edited a blurry video of my balcony, implying I was “long-term cultivating unidentified toxic plants.” The caption was even better: “For Chloe’s safety, we must let everyone know the truth.” Public opinion exploded again. The whole internet was condemning me. My name and “Poisoning Doctor” were trending. The comments were terrifyingly vicious. “This trash deserves to be tortured!” “So what if she’s a PhD? Educated criminals are scarier!” “Suggest immediate execution!” They even found my affiliated institutions and called to report me one by one. “How can MIT have such a professor?” “Fire her! Give society an explanation!” Mark sent a voice message in the group: “Don’t worry, everyone. Management will not tolerate such dangerous individuals.” Neighbors replied: “Manager Mark did the right thing!” “People like this shouldn’t live here!” “My daughter walks past her door every day. Thinking about it scares me!” My finger hovered over my phone screen. Before the battery died, I made one call. “Professor Chen, Sample Group B-7 stolen. Experimental data may be compromised.” “What did you say?” “I’ll contact the relevant departments immediately.” Thirty minutes later, sirens approached. Not one car, but a whole convoy. It wasn’t local patrol; it was the major crimes unit. The leader looked stern. They dispersed the reporters and fans lingering near my home and went straight for Mark. Mark tried to complain, pointing at my unit. “Officers, you’re just in time! That poisoner lives there!” “Who authorized you to cut power to a military-cooperation project zone?” Mark’s knees buckled, his voice cracking. “What military project?” “A joint research base between MIT and the National Defense University. You dare cut the power?” Mark’s face went instantly white. Chloe, hiding at the back, looked even worse than Mark. The police knocked on my door, polite. “Dr. Su, we’re here to understand the situation and restore security systems.” I opened the door and handed them a photocopy with a red stamp. The title was bold: Confidentiality Agreement for “Neural Regeneration Inducer” Special Research. Chloe saw the title and looked distraught. Mark collapsed on the ground. “Military project?” A reporter whispered. “Neural regeneration? What level of research is this?” “National Defense University… this is military?” Chloe tried to back away but was blocked by police. “Ms. Chloe, please cooperate with the investigation.” “I… I don’t know anything…” Her voice shook violently. “Ninety-three days of stealing military project samples, and you say you don’t know?” 4 My living room became a temporary interrogation room. I handed over all the evidence I had prepared for three months—93 days of surveillance footage. Close-ups of every flowerpot on the balcony. Not a single one missing. Each pot had bilingual warning labels: “TOXIC,” “NEUROACTIVE SUBSTANCE,” “EXPERIMENTAL SAMPLE.” When Chloe was summoned, she was still playing the victim, tears on her face. “Officer, I’m innocent. I didn’t know anything.” She pointed at me. “She framed me!” The police expressionlessly turned on the projector. In the video, Chloe, wearing a mask and hat, tip-toed to my balcony. She looked around, made sure no one was there, then carefully peeled off the warning label on the pot. After peeling it, she put the pot in her bag. The whole process took thirteen minutes. Chloe’s crying stopped abruptly. Her lips trembled, unable to speak. “Ms. Chloe, you call this a mistake?” the officer asked sternly. She slumped in the chair, unable to pretend anymore. Mark was questioned separately. Before he could complain, the officer cut him off. “For sabotaging security facilities of a critical research site, come with us.” Mark went limp. “No… I didn’t know it was a military project!” “Didn’t know?” The officer sneered. “Then why did you dare to cut the power randomly?” Mark was taken away. I looked at Chloe’s pale face, feeling nothing. At noon, the National Academy of Sciences official account released a statement. The title was a slap in the face: Solemn Statement Regarding the Theft of “Neural Regeneration Inducer” Project Samples. It stated clearly that Dr. Su is a core member responsible for cultivating and extracting neuroactive substances. The project involves national secrets; any theft or misuse will face legal consequences. Professor Chen accepted an interview with CCTV, tone heavy. “What was stolen weren’t mushrooms, but the hope of countless depression patients. These samples are worth tens of millions and represent a major breakthrough in our country’s neurology field.” The trending topics exploded: #InfluencerStealsStateSecrets hit #1. The netizens who cursed me went crazy, frantically deleting comments. “OMG, I cursed out a national scientist?” “Crap, I said she should die. Will the FBI knock on my door?” “Chloe is done for, right? Stealing state secrets!” Chloe’s millions of followers dropped to less than a million overnight. Her studio issued a statement trying to distance themselves, but netizens weren’t buying it. “Scared now? Where were you before?” “Stealing state secrets is justified now?” “Go to jail!” My phone blew up again. This time, not insults, but interview requests. “Dr. Su, please accept our exclusive interview!” “This is the Daily News, we want details.” “CCTV wants to clear your name!” I muted my phone and sat on the balcony looking down. Chloe’s team was running around like headless chickens downstairs. Her agent cried to the cameras: “Chloe really didn’t know it was a state secret! She’s just a normal girl!” Netizens commented ruthlessly: “Normal girl stealing state secrets?” “Ignorance is not a defense!” “Go to jail already!”

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It was my seventeenth birthday, and I was staring at the flickering candles on my cake, about to make a wish. Rhys Ellington, out of nowhere, spoke. “Can you just give the scholarship money to Anya? You’ve already taken everything you can from my family by living here—do you really have to be greedy for that tiny bit of cash, too?” Rhys had always been selectively mute. Since childhood, this was the first time he had ever spoken to me—and he was doing it for the transfer student. I didn’t dare say a word. I simply conceded. After all, I was just the poor, live-in ward who had secretly accepted ten million dollars from his father. As soon as high school graduation was over, I was leaving for college abroad. As for the prize money and the boy. I decided not to be greedy anymore. 1 Rhys Ellington was an anomaly. The Ellington family had thrown every imaginable resource and a torrent of money at his condition, but nothing could make him speak. Until one day, when the Ellingtons were at a local children’s home for a charity event, they happened upon me. I was fighting tooth and nail with a group of much taller kids over a single cream-filled sandwich. Rhys saw the spectacle, pointed a hand at me, and uttered two halting words: “Help… her.” Those two simple syllables brought the Ellingtons an overwhelming, joyous relief. They finalized the paperwork immediately. Just like that, I became Rhys’s designated “companion.” Back then, he was thin and small, and still didn’t talk. A group of older, meaner kids at school decided his silence was an act and picked a day to beat the truth out of him. I was living on borrowed time and borrowed money. I had to prove my worth. So, I didn’t flinch. Faced with thugs who were much larger than me, I felt like I was staring at a field of gold, or maybe a walking merit badge. I snatched a shovel from a school board member who was tending his prized rose bushes and chased them off. I was reported and had to stand outside the Principal’s office, but I’d still smile goofily and perform a quick headstand outside Rhys’s window. He was mortified. He would tighten his jaw and refuse to look at me. After class, he’d slide me a note—he hadn’t spoken a word to me since that day at the home. I know you’re obsessed with me. But you can’t possibly think these cheap little stunts will win me over, can you? It’s pathetic. Stop trying to make yourself into some kind of princess. Ah? He was the Young Master. I was the help. If he went down, I was going down with him. Love? Affection? I wouldn’t dare dream of it. But the Young Master didn’t care. He was convinced I was hopelessly in love with him. Which is why, when a nightmare woke him up in the dead of night, he had zero hesitation about calling and waking me up, too. I peeled myself out of bed, still half-asleep, and dragged myself to the bathroom to splash some water on my face before going to his room. The room was pitch black. I found my way to the bedside, gently covered his eyes with one hand, and reached for the lamp with the other. A few seconds later, I dropped my hand. Rhys’s dark eyes were fixed on me. His face was still pale from the bad dream, but his fingers were already tapping away furiously on his phone screen. His complaint: I just had a nightmare and couldn’t sleep. I asked you to come read to me, and it took you that long to get here. That was your ‘no-makeup’ makeup look, wasn’t it? Don’t splash water on your face next time and pretend to wash it. It’s pathetic. Just come straight here next time. I’ve never said you were ugly. There he goes again. I gave a half-hearted “Uh-huh, sure,” pulled a book from his shelf, and began reading. Halfway through the page, a gust of wind flipped the leaves. I looked up. The window was open. I got up, closed the window, and cautioned him, “Don’t leave the window open so wide at night. You’ll catch a chill and get a headache.” Turning back, I tucked the edge of the blanket back around him. He absolutely could not get sick. If he did, I wouldn’t be able to sneak into his private tutoring session tomorrow. That exclusive tutor charged a fortune—two thousand dollars an hour. As I moved, Rhys gave me that strange, unreadable look again. “What is it?” I asked. When we apply for college, I’ll permit you to apply to the same university as me. He suddenly brought up the college application process, which was only a month away. I was a little slow to process. Rhys got anxious, practically shoving the phone screen in my face: What? You don’t want to? Why would you not want to? Getting into The University with me is an honor. Don’t play hard-to-get with me! Besides, I doubt you can even get into The University! I took a deep breath and shook my head slightly. “No. Of course not.” “I was just… too excited.” Rhys looked satisfied with my answer. He let out a small, self-important huff and closed his eyes. 2 I slipped quietly out of the room, closing the door behind me, and bumped into Henderson, the butler, who had been waiting for me. “Please.” Henderson offered me a cup of tea. I took it, recognizing the expensive blend the Ellingtons reserved for important guests. Mr. Ellington was sitting opposite, rubbing his temples. The timepiece on his wrist was worth enough to buy a condo in the city’s most exclusive district. Henderson thoughtfully smoothed a newspaper across the coffee table for him. The headline was stark: ELLINGTON HEIR RISKS LIFE TO SAVE MYSTERY WOMAN A while ago, a disgruntled former employee had stormed the school and, unfortunately, taken me hostage. Rhys had stepped in, offering himself in my place. I knew Mr. Ellington, just back from an overseas business trip, had completely misunderstood. He thought Rhys was in love with me. It wasn’t true. Just today, Rhys had been planning to move me to the remedial class, the one full of rich screw-ups, purely to make room for the transfer student in the Honors section. Rhys was in love with Anya Flynn. Not me, Amelie Brooks. But just as I was about to explain, a check was pushed across the table toward me. “Aside from this small amount of cash, I will cover all expenses for your university education abroad once you graduate.” “The price is simple: complete and permanent severance from Rhys. Can you honor that?” “I do not wish to see scenes like the one from which you just emerged from my son’s room ever again.” Mr. Ellington’s gaze was heavy, silently applying pressure. “Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir.” I let the tears of supposed humiliation fall, clutched the check, and walked back to my room, my shoulders shaking dramatically.

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On a couple’s variety show, I just drew the same number as my boyfriend, only to have it snatched away by a “Little White Flower” (an innocent-acting girl). “Movie King, looks like we’re partners now~” I was about to snatch the ticket back when I saw the bullet screen (live comments) floating by: [Here it comes! Our girl is bravely chasing love and taking down the aloof Movie King. So cute~] [Why is Cynthia Song so blind? Why doesn’t she move aside and let our girl stand next to Movie King Huo?] [I really don’t want to see Cynthia Song, that green tea bitch, standing between the main couple. Can she just die already? I want to see our girl and the Movie King fall in love!] Liam Huo shoved the ticket back into my hand: “Do you not understand first come, first served?” The bullet screen exploded: [Male lead, you tsundere jerk! If you don’t team up with our girl now, you’ll be kneeling on a washboard later!] [I hate it when a green tea girlfriend stands between the main couple! Can Cynthia Song just die?] [Don’t worry everyone, soon the male lead will regret it and beg for our girl’s forgiveness!] I turned to the Little White Flower: “Security, kick her off the show.” 1 The Little White Flower was stunned. The bullet screen exploded too: [Cynthia Song is such a green tea bitch! Using her privilege just to fight our girl for the Movie King! Shameless!] [This kind of girlfriend is so annoying, doing whatever she wants just because she’s the girlfriend. Movie King Huo is suffering with her!] “I signed a contract for this show, you have no right to kick me out!” Ivy Lu stiffened her neck, and the bullet screen laughed: [This unyielding spirit is so cute. Go Ivy, take down the evil supporting actress!] So I’m the evil supporting actress. I sneered: “My right is that the director listens to me.” Seeing the director actually coming over to kick her out, Ivy Lu’s face turned pale. She actually looked at Liam Huo: “Liam…” Liam Huo paused. He didn’t seem to understand why this new Little White Flower was so clingy. So he turned his head and ignored her. [Male lead, you’ll regret this!! Later you’ll know how good our girl is!] [Our girl is so brave. If it were me, I wouldn’t even dare ask for a WeChat from my idol, but she went straight for it.] [That’s why she’s the goddess of pure love. Otherwise, how could the Movie King be moved? That green tea Cynthia Song doesn’t deserve him!] “Ms. Song…” During the break, the director approached me with an apologetic smile: “Ivy Lu offended you just now, I’ve already scolded her. “But she was squeezed in by that person, you see…” I frowned: “That person?” The director nodded. I pinched the bridge of my nose: “Watch her. If she acts up again, I don’t care if that person agrees or not, kick her out immediately!” “Understood! Understood!” The director bowed and scraped as he left. “Wait!” I called him back: “Did the air-shipped package arrive?” “It arrived! I’ll take you there now!” 2 Liam Huo and I are in a secret relationship. This couple’s variety show was intended to be a warm-up for our official announcement. Today also happened to be his birthday. Liam Huo cares a lot about his image. Three months ago, I collaborated with a brand that once dressed the Napoleon family to custom-make a European vintage-style shirt for him. But as soon as I arrived, the bullet screen blocked my view: [Ahhh, our girl dressing like this is going to kill the male lead! What man can resist this!] [Our girl is a little seductress, kiss kiss~] [Liam Huo is so lucky boohoo…] Ivy Lu was wearing an oversized shirt, sleeves so long her hands didn’t show, drooping down. But the collar was cut low, revealing half her chest. Seeing me walk over with Liam Huo, Ivy Lu looked past me directly at him and stuck out her tongue: “Oops, I seem to have opened the wrong package…” [Hahaha, our girl’s little scheme. Taking down the male lead with just a finger~] [So capable, our girl. I wish I was as brave as her. Go Ivy, defeat that green tea girlfriend Cynthia Song!] [Only the closest person can open packages. The male lead will be begging our girl to open his packages later~] [Um… wasn’t this shirt custom-made by the second female lead? I remember she stayed up late designing the pattern herself…] [So what if she ordered it? A mistress is still a mistress no matter how much she does!] The director looked at me, face pale. I didn’t speak. I stepped forward and SLAP! struck her across the face. [Holy crap, that green tea Cynthia Song dared to hit our girl!] The bullet screen exploded. Ivy Lu fell directly to the ground. [Stop it ahhh! Cynthia Song, you green tea bitch, you’ll regret this! When the male lead chases his wife back, it’ll be your death date!] Chase his wife? Heh. That depends on who he is! I sneered, raising my hand high to strike again. But a hand caught mine firmly. I turned, looking at Liam Huo, frowning: “You feel sorry for her?” He held my hand in his palm, gently rubbing the hand swollen from hitting too hard, and blew on it: “Don’t hurt yourself.” He looked down coldly: “I’ll handle this kind of woman for you.” He gave the director a look, put his arm around my waist, and took me away without looking back. The bullet screen exploded again: [I’m so mad! Even though I know the male lead will chase his wife later, seeing the early angst is so frustrating!] [Crying, Liam Huo doesn’t deserve our girl’s passionate love!!] [Don’t be angry everyone, the male lead will spoil the female lead later. Cynthia Song, the mistress, will be offline soon!] [For the future sugar, I can endure now…] I paused. I’m not someone who judges those around me based on a few words from others. But I really hate Ivy Lu. And I really hate these bullet screens. So I turned around: “Kick Ivy Lu off the show!” The bullet screen went crazy as expected: [Ahhh I can’t take it anymore! Can Cynthia Song just die now! I want to see the main couple’s sweet romance!!] [I hate the mistress the most. It’s you delaying the main couple, yet you dare to act up!] [Just waiting to see when Cynthia Song dies.] I sneered. They don’t know that I was born rebellious. They want to see me separated from Liam Huo, want to see me fall from grace. I’m determined not to let them have their way! 3 Liam Huo also posted on Weibo. It was a photo of the shirt Cynthia Song wore today, with the collar cut: [Girlfriend’s gift was cut, annoying…] Netizens were immediately confused: [Girlfriend? Wait! When did Cynthia Song and the Movie King get together!] [Great, great! No wonder the Movie King suddenly took a couple’s variety show, he’s bringing family!!] [So the paparazzi leak about Ivy Lu cutting Cynthia Song’s shirt wasn’t fake? Holy crap! Although she has more traffic than Cynthia Song, interfering in someone else’s relationship is disgusting!] I happily scrolled through the netizens’ comments. But the bullet screen in front of me was jumping with anxiety. They angrily scolded the netizens for being blind, unable to distinguish that I was the mistress. I sneered— People who only dare to hide behind screens and ship random couples always think they have the right to dictate everything. With Liam Huo leading the way, public opinion on Ivy Lu took a sharp turn for the worse. Every day, her inbox was filled with messages “greeting” her family. Netizens always have unstoppable malice towards mistresses. Ivy Lu hasn’t appeared in public for a long time. One day, the director hesitantly found me. I saw the issue at a glance: “Is it about Ivy Lu?” He nodded hurriedly: “That gentleman heard about you kicking her off the show. He came personally, saying he wants to add another hundred million investment, hoping things won’t blow up too big.” I frowned: “Why is he so annoying?” The director smiled apologetically: “He said future collaborations with you, Ms. Song, can have a 30% discount.” I was moved. After a moment of thought, I nodded: “Fine, Ivy Lu can stay. I can help with the PR.” The director’s eyes lit up. “However.” I changed the subject: “She is not allowed to participate in any variety show interactions.” “Understood! Understood!” 4 The new venue was ready. On the day of filming, I put on beautiful makeup and rushed to the set. But upon arrival, I found all the camera positions originally for me were removed. Replaced by Ivy Lu as Liam Huo’s partner. I frowned and questioned the director: “Who allowed you to switch partners last minute? Didn’t I say Ivy Lu isn’t allowed to participate in recording!” “It was me.” A familiar voice came from behind. I turned. Ivy Lu was holding Liam Huo’s arm, a triumphant smile on her lips. “Liam Huo…” I frowned. “Cynthia, I’ve decided. In this variety show, Ivy and I will be the couple team. “You… go back.” I thought I misheard. From spotting him when he was still studying at the drama academy, sponsoring him until he became the Movie King, he never dared to give me orders like this. “Why?” I was genuinely curious and incredulous. He frowned, looking at me with almost disgust: “You brought this on yourself.” A video was thrown in front of me. I finally understood what Liam Huo had experienced.

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