Category: English

The school’s Golden Boy dropped a hundred-dollar bill, and I immediately stepped on it. Then, I casually sat down, pretending to tie my shoe. He noticed something was off and sat down right next to me, staring. We sat there from broad daylight until the sun went down. Neither of us folded. By the next day, the rumor mill was spinning: We were dating. Before I could even deny it, the Prom Queen and the School Bad Boy lost their minds. They cornered me separately. Chloe, the Prom Queen: “Let’s cut the crap. I like Asher. How much to make you break up with him? Is a hundred grand enough?” Jax, the Bad Boy: “What’s so good about that broke genius anyway? Date me instead. I’ll sign over my family’s beach house to you.” Chapter 1 “Wake up, Riley! Stop drooling!” I was still in my dream, locked in a battle of wills over that Benjamin, when someone shook me awake. In the dream, Asher had finally left, and I was reaching for the cash. Then—reality hit. Just my luck. I shifted positions, trying to faceplant back into the desk to resume the dream. “I’m dead tired. Didn’t sleep a wink last night. Let me nap until the teacher gets here.” A different voice cut through the fog. “You’re still sleeping? Your romance with Asher is trending on every group chat. Aren’t you afraid the principal is gonna drag you in?” I shot up like a zombie. “What?” “I’m in a romance with who?” A group of classmates had formed a circle around my desk, looking at me with hungry, gossip-filled eyes. I grabbed one girl’s arm and shook her. “Speak! What are you talking about?” She pulled her arm away, looking disgusted. “Stop acting. Just spill the tea. When did you and Asher start hooking up?” I raised three fingers. “I swear to god, I didn’t hook up with anyone.” “Then when did you start dating?” “We aren’t!” Heaven knows I’m innocent. Yesterday, I was walking into the library and saw a crisp $100 bill on the floor. My eyes lit up. My dopamine spiked. But the library entrance was crowded. I couldn’t just bend over like a goblin. So, I smoothly stepped on it, then sat down on a nearby bench to scout the perimeter. I am a genius. But just as I was mentally spending the money, this tall, gorgeous guy stopped walking. He patted his pockets, then looked at the floor. Specifically, at my sneaker. He looked at me with this complex expression. I guilty-shuffled my foot, trying to cover the bill completely. That was my mistake. He saw the twitch. Instead of calling me out, he just sat down next to me. That gorgeous guy was Asher Vance. The school heartthrob. The valedictorian. At first, nobody realized it was a siege. We just looked like two people sitting. Until we sat there for ten hours. Ten. Hours. I was starving. Is he a robot? Does he run on solar power? Chapter 2 “Bwahahaha!” “Oh my god, that is totally something you would do!” My classmates were practically on the floor laughing after I explained. “Stop laughing at me!” I whined, putting on my best puppy-dog face. One of them rolled her eyes. “Girl, stop being dramatic. So, who got the hundred bucks?” I straightened up. “I know you’re curious, but focus! Help me out here. What do I do? Asher has like, a fan club. If they think we’re dating, I’m gonna get roasted alive.” “I’m too pretty to be bullied! What if they put gum in my hair?” “Relax,” someone said. “With that mouth of yours, you could talk your way out of a murder charge. Who’d dare bully you?” True. But before I could clear my name, the hierarchy intervened. Chloe Sterling, the Queen Bee, found me first. “You’re Riley?” Her tone was icy. She’s rich, beautiful, and usually followed by a swarm of simps. She was tapping on her phone, not even looking at me. Oh god, I thought. Is she calling a hitman? I nodded, trying to look harmless. “Yeah, that’s me.” She kept scrolling. “Heard you and Asher are a thing. Let’s be real. I like Asher. Whether he likes me back is his problem, but you? You can’t date him.” “No, wait, I—” “Zip it. Did I say you could speak?” Wow. Rude. Who made you the boss of me? Just because you’re the “School Beauty” doesn’t mean you can interrupt people. Chapter 3 Before I could voice my internal protest, Chloe spoke again. “Class is starting soon. My time is money. How much to break up with him? Fifty grand?” Me: ??? “W-what? How much?” Chloe frowned, annoyed. “Is a hundred grand enough? I hate it when people haggle.” “Take the money. Break up today.” Ding. My phone buzzed. A transfer notification. One. Hundred. Thousand. Dollars. My brain short-circuited. I stood there for a solid three seconds. Luckily, my survival instincts kicked in before she got mad. “So… just to clarify… if I don’t date Asher, this money is mine? No take-backs?” “Duh,” Chloe pocketed her phone. “Can you do it or not?” I nodded so hard I almost gave myself whiplash. “Yes! Absolutely! Consider it done! He is dead to me!” I was ready to offer her my kidney as a thank-you gift. “Sis, do you want anything else? I can bark? I can do a backflip? Just name it!” Chloe looked at me like I was a cockroach. “I seriously don’t know what Asher sees in you.” Sis, you are my new religion. “I promise, he will never like me. Ever.” “Hey, want me to do a TikTok dance for you? Free of charge. Just to show my appreciation.” I started doing a very awkward version of the Renegade. She cringed. “Please stop. That was painful to watch.” I stopped. “Or I can rap? I know all the words to—” “Just stop,” she covered her ears. “You’re weird.” She turned and walked away. Honestly? She’s an icon. Beautiful. Rich. Decisive. I yelled after her, “Bye bestie! Call me if you need someone to carry your books!” A random student walked by and sneered, “Simp.” I puffed out my chest. “Yeah? And? I’m simping for a millionaire. Jealous?” Chapter 4 I didn’t sleep at all that night. I just stared at my bank account app, counting the zeros. Am I rich? Is this real life? Thank you, Asher. Thank you, Benjamin Franklin. The next day. I walked into school with massive dark circles under my eyes. Before I could reach my classroom, Jax—the notorious bad boy—blocked the doorway. He pinned me against the lockers, his voice low and angry. “Riley.” I jumped out of my skin. “Jesus! You scared me! Jax, do you have a death wish?” Jax was in my homeroom—Class 8, the “hopeless case” class. Asher and Chloe were in Class 1, the honors class. Jax and I rarely spoke. I sat in the front; he slept in the back. But I’m a social butterfly, so we were cool. Usually. Jax looked serious. Hurt, even. He refused to move. “You’re dating Asher? Why?” Oh lord, not this again. Does Jax like Chloe? Is that why he’s mad? Thinking of Chloe and my new fortune, I grinned. “Because of money.” Jax: ??? “Asher? That broke genius? He has money?” “He can’t have more money than me!” Uh oh. “Well, his money isn’t really my business, but—” Jax cut me off, raising his voice. “Who says it’s not your business? If you date me, I’ll give you the villa my dad owns near the beach. Title deed and everything.” The hallway went silent. Then it exploded. “Whoa!” “Jax likes Riley?” “The Bad Boy vs. The Golden Boy! Who is Riley gonna pick?” I was stunned. Jax likes me? Since when? He stared at me, ignoring the crowd. “Riley, say something. Yes or no?” Just then, Asher came sprinting down the hall. He looked furious. He was winding up a punch, aiming right for us. Like he had a blood feud to settle. Jax reacted instantly, stepping in front of me to block the hit. “Asher! What the hell are you doing?!” Chapter 5 The punch missed us completely. Instead, it connected squarely with the jaw of a guy with glasses standing next to me. Pow. Four-Eyes stumbled back, looking dazed. “Why did you hit me?!” Asher didn’t stop. He grabbed the guy by the collar. “Who gave you the right to spread rumors? Which eye saw Riley pregnant with my baby?” “Which eye saw me forcing her to get an abortion?” “I don’t even know her! We aren’t dating! How could we have a kid?” “I’m a guy, I can take the heat, but she’s a girl! You’re ruining her reputation!” Four-Eyes stammered, “I—I saw you guys at the hospital last week!” My brain finally caught up. Asher wasn’t here to beat me up. But wait. “What?!” “I’m pregnant? An abortion?!” “Who said I was getting an abortion?!” I went feral. This rumor was lethal! What if Chloe heard this and misunderstood? My money! A classmate showed me her phone. There it was in the grade-wide group chat. Four-Eyes had posted: Riley is preggo with Asher’s kid. He forced her to terminate. That’s why they were sitting outside the library all night, fighting about it. Attached was a photo of us looking grim during the $100 standoff. It looked… surprisingly convincing. Hell no. I spent last night counting money, not managing a PR crisis! “Get him!” I screamed. Asher and I formed an immediate alliance. We both started swinging at Four-Eyes. Jax, realizing what was happening, joined in. It turned into a 3-on-1 beatdown. Okay, “beatdown” is strong. I was mostly flailing my arms. Then Chloe showed up. She heard the context from the crowd. “Gross!” she yelled. She dropped her bag and joined the fight. 4-on-1. Poor Four-Eyes didn’t stand a chance. Chapter 6 “Unbelievable!” “Absolutely unbelievable!” “The Valedictorian! The Salutatorian! Leading a gang assault?” “Are you two trying to ruin your futures?” The Class 1 homeroom teacher was slamming his hand on the desk. Asher (Rank 1) and Chloe (Rank 2) stood with their heads down. Jax and I… well, we were the “bad influences.” My homeroom teacher sighed. “Jax, you skip class every day, your grades are tanking, and now you’re fighting? And Riley… I’m disappointed. You know your situation. Do you have a death wish?” I stuffed a tissue up my nose to stop the bleeding. Jax protested. “Teacher, you’re biased! Riley skips class too, why aren’t you yelling at her?” “Shut up or I’ll call your father!” “Four-Eyes started a rumor that destroyed a girl’s reputation! He deserved it!” Jax argued. “And we barely touched him. Riley’s the one bleeding!” “That’s for the doctor to decide!” Soon, the parents arrived. Asher’s dad (looked scary), Chloe’s mom (looked elegant), Jax’s dad (looked rich), and… my grandma. Plus Four-Eyes’ parents, who were wailing. “My poor baby! Look at his face! We’re suing!” The teachers tried to mediate. “We will investigate and punish accordingly. You four, get out. Stand in the hall.” We were exiled. “Chloe… uh, Ms. Sterling, sorry for dragging you into this,” I whispered. But Chloe looked weirdly excited. “So… wait. You guys weren’t dating? You sat there for ten hours over… a hundred bucks?” Asher corrected her: “It wasn’t just a hundred bucks. It was a matter of principle.” Chloe burst out laughing. “That is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard!” Jax joined in. “You guys are idiots!” They were losing it. Asher and I exchanged a look of pure embarrassment. “So,” Chloe wiped a tear. “Who got the money?” Chapter 7 Asher and I looked at our shoes. It’s a tragedy, really. It wasn’t a hundred-dollar bill. It was an anti-fraud flyer folded to look like a hundred-dollar bill. And Asher hadn’t lost any money; he just thought he did. The whole thing was for nothing. “Anti-fraud flyer!” Jax howled. “I can’t breathe!” I, however, wanted to cry. The bill was fake. Which meant… I looked at Chloe. “Chloe… I need to return the money. I shouldn’t have taken it. I was going to tell you yesterday, but I’ve never seen that many zeros in my life and I panicked. I’ll transfer it back right now.” I didn’t have my phone on me (confiscated), but I was sincere. Chloe waved her hand dismissively. “Keep it.” “It’s not your fault I jumped the gun.” “I don’t do refunds. It’s embarrassing. How would I show my face in school if I took money back?” My jaw hit the floor. “It’s… a hundred thousand dollars. And you… don’t want it?” Chloe shrugged. “It’s good karma. Consider it a donation.” I tackled her in a hug. “Chloe! You are my sister! My queen! My goddess!” “If you ever need a kidney, take mine! If you need someone to hide a body, I’ll bring the shovel!” Asher looked disgusted. Chloe paused. “Actually, I do need a favor.” I snapped to attention. “Name it.” “Never mind. Tell you later.” Jax poked my arm. “Riley, if you’re this happy over a hundred grand, just date me. I’ll give you the villa for real.” “No!” I refused. The money was a transaction. The villa was a relationship. I have standards. Also, I’m rich now. I don’t need a man. Jax pouted. “Why not? Am I ugly?” I scratched my head. How do I explain that I don’t have the energy to deal with rich boy drama? “Let’s focus on not getting expelled,” Asher interrupted. Chapter 8 Four-Eyes was fine. Just bruises. Since he started the malicious rumor, and since Jax and Chloe’s parents have “forget about it” money, the settlement was quick. However, we were all supposed to split the damages. My grandma looked terrified. She stood there, trembling, her old coat worn thin. She didn’t have money for settlements. I rushed over to her. “Grandma, don’t worry. We don’t have to pay. He slandered me. The school knows we’re the victims.” Grandma looked hopeful. “Really?” “Really.” I lied. I used Chloe’s money to pay my share secretly. With the rest of the cash, I paid off all our debts. I put a chunk into a savings account for Grandma. I bought her a premium pension plan that would pay her monthly. After setting everything up, I sat on my bed, gasping for air. My nose started bleeding again. It took half a roll of toilet paper to stop it. Man, being eighteen is exhausting. I’m more fragile than a glass vase. But that night, I slept better than I had in years.

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When I woke up in this body, the story was already wrapping up. The heroine, after enduring a gauntlet of hardships, had become an A-list movie star and was living her happily-ever-after with the CEO male lead. Meanwhile, the vicious villainess—who tried to ruin the heroine but failed miserably—had reaped what she sowed. She lost her reputation, her purity, and wound up pregnant. That villainess? Yeah, that’s me now. 1 By the time I realized I was pregnant, I was already four months along. I stood under the flickering yellow light of a cramped bathroom, my fingers trembling as they traced the slight curve of my belly. The woman in the mirror looked like a ghost—dark circles carved under her eyes, lips cracked and pale. It had been three days since I transmigrated here. In my old life, I was an orphan. I never knew what family felt like. Now? I was Kaia Yates, the resident “Mean Girl” of a romance novel, and I was apparently expecting. According to the memories flooding my brain, the original Kaia had tried to frame her stepsister—the heroine, Faye Yates—one too many times. Her final scheme backfired spectacularly. She ended up in a trap of her own making, slept with a stranger, got exposed by the paparazzi, and was completely canceled. Ding. My phone buzzed. A bank notification. Available Balance: $1,527.68. That was every cent Kaia had left. Since the scandal broke, her father—the Chairman of Yates Corp—had publicly disowned her, shifting all his fatherly affection to his stepdaughter, Faye. I dragged my heavy feet to the window and pulled back the curtains. Outside, the New York skyline glittered. Skyscrapers, neon lights, endless traffic. It was supposed to be the city of dreams, but right now, it felt like a cage. The cost of living here was astronomical. This body was weak and needed rest; I couldn’t exactly grind a 9-to-5 right now. “I can’t stay here,” I decided right then and there. Three days later, I packed a single duffel bag and boarded a train heading south. The concrete jungle faded, replaced by rolling green fields. I picked a place called Greenwood Valley. Cheap rent, fresh air, and most importantly—zero connection to the plot of the novel. “Miss, we’re here. Greenwood Valley,” the driver announced. I hopped out, inhaling air that smelled like wet grass and soil. It was picturesque. Mountains in the distance, farmhouses scattered around, the sound of dogs barking. I found the rental I’d looked up online. The landlord was an old man named Mr. Lee. Weather-beaten face, kind eyes. “This is it. Five hundred a month. First and last upfront.” Mr. Lee pushed open the creaky wooden gate. “It’s old, but the bones are good.” The yard was bigger than I expected. A massive magnolia tree stood in the center, shading a couple of broken wicker chairs. The house was a simple bungalow. Peeling paint, but sturdy. The best part? A neglected vegetable patch on the side. Weeds were throwing a party, but the soil looked rich. “I’ll take it,” I said, counting out a grand and handing it to him. Before leaving, Mr. Lee pointed west. “The Higgins family lives over there. Good folks. If you need anything, holler at them.” It took me all day to clean the place. By sunset, I was squatting in the garden pulling weeds when a warm voice floated over the fence. “Hey there! You the new tenant?” I looked up. A woman in her fifties, hair pulled back in a practical bun, was holding a covered basket. “Yes, hi. I’m Kaia.” I stood up, dusting dirt off my hands. “I’m Mrs. Higgins from next door,” she beamed, walking through the open gate. “Saw you moving in alone. Figured you hadn’t eaten, so I brought some supper.” I froze. I wasn’t used to kindness. She pulled back the cloth. A container of pot roast, some glazed carrots, and fresh homemade biscuits. “This… thank you so much.” My nose stung. I blinked back tears. Since arriving in this world, this was the first time anyone had been nice to me. Mrs. Higgins waved it off. “Neighbors help neighbors. You here by yourself?” My hand instinctively went to my bump. “Yeah… just me.” Her gaze dropped to my stomach. A flicker of understanding passed through her eyes, but there was no judgment. Just warmth. “Well, you’re eating for two now. Gotta keep your strength up. You need anything, you ask.” The dam broke. The stress of the last few days crashed down, and I started crying right there in the garden. Mrs. Higgins didn’t miss a beat. She set the basket down and patted my back like I was her own kid. “It’s okay, honey. It’s gonna be okay.” 2 Life slowed down. The air in Greenwood Valley was healing. My cheeks started to get some color back. In the mornings, I sat under the magnolia tree with an embroidery hoop. The original Kaia had beautiful hands—slender, pale, artistic. I traced my own knuckles. Funny how fate works. We shared a name and a face, but our lives were opposites. In my old world, I grew up in the system. At ten, I was sent to a vocational school for arts. I specialized in embroidery. I used to prick my fingers until they bled just to master a stitch. I eventually made good money, but I developed chronic wrist pain. “I need to take care of these hands this time,” I whispered, threading a needle. On the fabric, a landscape called Spring Mountain began to form. Green hills, peach blossoms, a golden oriole. It was a blend of traditional technique and modern aesthetics. “Kaia, stitching again?” Mrs. Higgins walked in with a basket of fresh eggs. Since finding out I was single and pregnant, she’d practically adopted me. “Yeah, thinking of selling some online.” Mrs. Higgins leaned in. “That bird looks like it’s gonna fly right off the cloth! You could sell this for a fortune in the city.” I shook my head. “Online competition is stiff. I’m just starting out. Maybe fifty bucks a pop.” I rubbed my neck. Seven months pregnant, and my back was killing me. “Alright, break time,” Mrs. Higgins scolded gently. “You’re popping soon. I made chicken soup. Drink up.” Time flew. The due date arrived. The county hospital was basic but clean. The contractions hit like a freight train. I gripped the sheets, soaked in cold sweat. In a haze, I thought I saw the original Kaia standing by the bed. She was wearing a ballgown, looking hollow and sad. I’ll live a good life for you, I thought. She seemed to smile, relieved, before fading into the harsh hospital lights. “Waaah!” A loud cry shattered the night. The nurse placed a red, squirming bundle on my chest. “It’s a healthy boy. Seven pounds, six ounces.” I touched his wrinkled little face. He stopped crying and gripped my finger. “I’ll call you Leo,” I whispered. “My little lion.” Mrs. Higgins came the next day with oatmeal. “He’s gorgeous,” she cooed. “Looks just like you. Gonna be a heartbreaker.” I looked at Leo. Maybe he looked like his dad, whoever that was. I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. The past was dead. Raising a baby was expensive. Diapers, formula, clothes… my savings were evaporating. I went back to embroidery, but a few orders weren’t enough. One night, scrolling TikTok, I saw an embroidery streamer. Just her hands, thousands of viewers. I can do that. I set up a tripod. The first stream was nerve-wracking. Viewers were scarce. But I kept at it. 【Your hands are so pretty!】 【How did you do that stitch?】 【Do you take commissions?】 Slowly, I built a following. I stitched while Leo napped and streamed for two hours a night. It was exhausting, but seeing Leo’s sleeping face made it worth it. 3 Leo was five months old now. He was turning into a little dumpling. Pale skin, big dark eyes, always curious. One evening, I set up the stream as usual. Leo was on his playmat, wrestling with a colorful bead maze. He was focused, brows furrowed, trying to push a bead from one side to the other. “Mommy’s working now, Leo. Play nice,” I said, kissing his soft hair. He grinned, showing off two bottom teeth, then went back to his battle with the beads. I started the stream. About ten minutes in, I realized the camera angle was off. I reached to adjust it, but I accidentally nudged the tripod. Suddenly, Leo—in his little blue onesie—appeared in the corner of the frame. Just his back view. The chat exploded. 【OMG WHO IS THAT TINY HUMAN?】 【So smol!】 【Does the streamer have a baby?】 【Look at his little hair tuft! Ahhh!】 I panicked. “Oh, sorry! That’s my son, Leo. Didn’t mean to show him.” That just made them crazier. 【Let us see his face!】 【How old is he?】 【What is he doing? He looks so serious!】 Views spiked. Leo, sensing eyes on him, turned his head. “Sorry guys, no face reveals. Privacy,” I said gently. “But… you can watch him play from the back.” I adjusted the camera so his chubby back took up the corner. He was trying to shove a circle block into a square hole. When it didn’t fit, he let out a dramatic baby sigh. The chat lost its mind. 【He sighed! He literally sighed!】 【Mood, kid. Mood.】 【This is the serotonin I needed today.】 My viewer count went from 1,000 to 30,000 in twenty minutes. Gifts were flying across the screen. By the time I signed off, I had gained 20,000 new followers. I picked Leo up and peppered his face with kisses. “My lucky charm! How are you so popular?” He giggled, grabbing my hair. That night, I realized this was my ticket. I started incorporating “Mom & Baby” themes into my art. Stitching chubby hands, baby animals, cute silhouettes. A brand reached out for a collab. $2,000 upfront. That was six months of living expenses in Greenwood Valley. I signed the contract and danced around the yard with Leo. “We’re gonna be okay, Leo! We’re gonna be okay!” 4 I carefully curated my content. Short clips of Leo (always from the back or with a sticker over his face). Leo in a bear suit watching ants. Leo “drawing” with crayons. Leo waddling like a penguin. The fans dubbed him “The Back-View Assassin” because he killed them with cuteness. My embroidery business boomed. My savings account hit six figures for the first time. I started being picky. No mass production. Only high-end art. I stitched a fan called 100 Children at Play. It took 48 different stitch techniques. A viewer named SilkRiverMaster started commenting. 【That’s the ‘Golden Thread’ technique. It’s been lost for decades.】 【Where did you learn this?】 【You have at least 20 years of experience.】 I smiled at the camera. In my past life, I was a prodigy. One evening, I was walking Leo in the stroller. We passed a house that was usually empty. The gate was open. I saw an elderly woman lying face down in the yard, a spilled water bucket next to her. “Leo, wait here.” I locked the stroller brake and ran in. She was barely breathing. I called 911 and did basic first aid until the ambulance came. When the sirens wailed, her eyes fluttered open. “Nosy… girl…” she wheezed. I stayed at the hospital until she was stable. I left Leo with Mrs. Higgins and brought soup to the hospital the next day. The woman, Ruby Lane, sat in bed, looking fierce despite the IVs. “You again. Think I’m gonna pay you?” I set down the soup. “If I left you there, I wouldn’t sleep at night. Eat.” She stared at the soup, hands trembling. She took a sip. “It’s… good,” she rasped. “Thanks.”

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Christmas Eve fell on a weekend this year. Except for the senior class, the entire campus had emptied out for the holidays. That day, I watched the Dean’s profile picture in the school group chat turn pitch black. I watched my classmates die in front of me, one by one. I felt like I was dead, yet somehow, I was the only one still breathing. There was no peace on this Silent Night. Our prep school had become a living hell. 1 Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way. “Who’s damn alarm is that? Turn it off, seriously!” Brock rolled over in his bunk, sat up, and shouted at us, his voice thick with sleep and aggression. “I didn’t set one, man. Kyle, is it yours?” Chase didn’t even look away from his gaming monitor, tapping furiously at his keyboard. “Not mine, Chase.” Kyle flashed a sycophantic grin before turning a glare on me. “Why do you have an alarm set in the middle of the day? You woke up Brock. Turn it off, idiot.” “It’s almost three in the afternoon…” I whispered. “So what? If Brock wants to sleep, he sleeps. You got a problem with that?” Kyle kicked his chair back and stood up, puffing his chest out. I held up my phone with trembling hands. “No… no problem. It’s not… it’s not an alarm. It’s a notification from the Grade Group Chat. As soon as I opened it, the music started playing.” “You’re the only loser who actually pins the school chat. It’s the weekend, what could they possibly want?” Brock scoffed, pulling the duvet over his head. The noise broke Chase’s concentration. A massive GAME OVER flashed on his screen. He slammed his headset onto the desk. “Alright, alright. We’re all roommates here, let’s not kill each other. Liam, read the message. What’s so important?” I knew the drill. If I didn’t read it with the right tone, Chase would take his frustration over the lost match out on me. My arm, still throbbing under the scab of a fresh cigarette burn, shook as I lifted the phone. The account that posted the announcement had a Santa Claus avatar and the name Saint Nick. The subject line was five bold, blood-red words: CHRISTMAS EVE RULES OF CONDUCT Christmas trees are green, not red. If you see a red Christmas tree on campus, lower your head immediately. Do not look at the top of the tree. Candy found on the ground is not real candy. No matter how delicious it looks, do not eat it. Dining Hall Hours: All students must eat dinner between 6:00 PM and 7:00 PM. You must be back in your dorms by 9:00 PM. The only meat served is Roast Chicken. If the lunch lady serves you anything else, no matter how good it smells, ask for an exchange immediately. The only dessert is Pudding. Pudding does not speak. If your pudding speaks to you, eat it quickly. The Campus Store has Apples. These are not for sale. If you want to gain His favor, giving Him an Apple is never a mistake. If a Stocking appears by your bed, do not be afraid. A Long Stocking is a gift from Santa; keep it on you, but keep it hidden. If it is a Short Sock (Ankle Sock), find the Housemother immediately. He may already be watching you. The Housemother hates Christmas. If you see her wearing a Santa hat, she is not the real Housemother. Do not trust her. Lights out after midnight. If you need light, use a candle, though it carries its own risks. If you see Santa Claus on campus, stop, make eye contact, and smile while saying, “Merry Christmas!” When a Christmas Carol plays, freeze and close your eyes until the song ends. You may make a wish. Perhaps Santa is listening. Reindeer are Santa’s eyes. Remember, there are no live reindeer on campus. If a reindeer nuzzles your hand, run. No matter what happens, remember: There is no real Santa Claus. 2 I finished reading. The dorm room fell dead silent. “Who the hell posted this prank? Hacking the school chat? That’s psycho behavior.” Brock cursed, grabbing his phone, clearly awake now. “Probably some senior cracking under the pressure,” Chase said, unbothered. “But…” I stammered, “Only admins can post announcements. Dean Miller is the only admin.” A chill crawled up four spines simultaneously. Kyle suddenly pointed at his screen. “Guys, look! There are two admins now!” “It wasn’t Dean Miller who posted it!” “I clicked on the profile. It’s blank. No bio. Just… a background image that says: Welcome to Santa’s World in red letters.” Chase leaned in, intrigued. Then he scoffed. “It’s just a hacker script. Some edgy kid trying to scare people with bloody fonts.” Another notification pinged. Santa Claus has been removed from the group chat. “See? Dean Miller handled it. Just a prank. Childish.” Chase smirked, reaching for his headset again. Brock, now fully awake, looked at Chase. “Jump on a lobby with me?” “Wait… no, wait! Look!” Kyle screamed. “That Santa account… he’s back!” “The Dean…” I gasped. “Dean Miller’s profile picture just turned black.” A new message popped up. From Santa. “The admin didn’t seem to like Santa very much. That’s okay. I sent him to hell early.” An image loaded. It was Dean Miller. He was kneeling in a pool of dark liquid. A silver carving knife was buried in his chest. Written on the floor beside him, in blood, were the words: Merry Christmas. “To all the students in the chat: You don’t want to end up like this, do you?” “I am very reasonable. Just follow the rules.” “Welcome to Santa’s World.” “Let the festivities begin!” 3 “AHHHH!” Kyle threw his phone across the room. “Is… is that picture real?” “He killed the Dean! He actually killed him!” “Calm down! Everyone shut up!” Chase’s face was pale, but he tried to maintain his cool leader persona. “I’m calling the Dean’s office.” He dialed. His fingers were shaking. Beep… Beep… Beep… “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed does not exist…” “Does not exist…” I stood up so fast my chair screeched against the floor. “It’s real. He’s dead.” A single tear rolled down my cheek. I leaned against the wardrobe, my legs giving out. “Stop crying, you wuss! Use that useless brain of yours to think!” Brock’s voice was hoarse, masking his terror with anger. “Call 911! Call the cops!” Kyle yelled, scrambling for his phone. “No signal,” Chase said, staring at his bars. “I checked the hallway. The guys next door saw the message too.” “Someone from the track team tried to make a run for the main gate. He said it’s locked. It’s pitch black outside the perimeter.” “Another kid tried to climb the wall. He threw a rock over to check the drop… he never heard it hit the ground.” Chase looked at us, his eyes dark. “The school is an island now. Nobody gets out.” He took a deep breath. “Follow the rules. Pray you get lucky.” I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I broke down sobbing. They thought I was crying out of fear. After all, I was the dorm’s punching bag. The coward. None of them knew. I wasn’t crying because I was scared. I was crying because I was excited. 4 I came from a dead-end town in the middle of nowhere. Parents dead. Passed around by neighbors until my Uncle took me in. When I got the scholarship to the city prep school, the whole village came to see me off. “Liam, you’re a smart kid. A good kid,” the old mayor told me. “Make something of yourself.” I hugged him and promised I’d pay everyone back one day. My Aunt and Uncle couldn’t have kids. They treated me like their own. Even when business was bad, they made sure I had the best textbooks, the best uniform. “We can’t let you look less than those city kids,” my Aunt would say, smoothing my collar. I studied until my eyes bled. I got into the most prestigious private high school in the state. I chose to live on campus to save them money. I applied for every grant, every meal voucher. The day I left, my Aunt packed two huge bags for me. “Don’t save money on food, okay? Take care of yourself.” She choked up. Uncle wrapped his arm around her. “Liam’s a tank. He’s going to the Ivy League. He’s our pride and joy.” I held back my tears. I swore I’d get a high-paying job. I swore I’d buy them a big house. I walked through those iron gates full of hope. I didn’t know I was walking into a slaughterhouse. 5 It started with Brock. Brock was a varsity athlete, a legacy admission. His dad donated a new wing to the library. He skipped class, partied, and treated the school like his playground. “Hey, Scholarship. I got practice. Do my history paper.” “I know you’re broke. Here, catch.” He’d throw a crumpled ten-dollar bill at my face. “Idiot tax. Don’t thank me. Just make the handwriting look like mine.” I thought of my Uncle bowing to customers. I thought of my Aunt’s rough hands. “…Okay.” I swallowed my pride. Then, Brock demanded I help him cheat on finals. “There are cameras! If we get caught, I lose my scholarship!” I pleaded. “Relax. Dean Miller is on my dad’s payroll. He won’t do a thing.” Brock smirked. I realized then that the system was rigged. The Dean and the bullies were on the same team. “Just do it. Or do you want your Aunt to find out you got expelled for ‘stealing’?” I had no choice. I thought that was the bottom. I didn’t know that once you open the door to evil, it floods in until you drown.

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Three years into the substitute marriage—the one I took for her—my husband was arrested for murder. With nowhere else to go, I found myself back at that house. The fake daughter, Stella Reed, was there, wrapped tight in Mother’s embrace, whispering for attention. The atmosphere was thick with awkward silence. Nobody quite knew what to do with me, the thorny piece of returned property. It was my brother, Marcus, who finally broke the tension. He simply pointed toward a small room. Seeing my lack of protest, he narrowed his eyes, a flicker of genuine surprise there. “Marriage certainly calmed your fire, Liz.” “I thought you’d tear the place apart, like you used to.” I managed a slight tug at the corner of my mouth, a polite, practiced smile. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to fight. It was just that the will to fight them had died. I had surrendered. 1 No one, I suppose, expected the runaway daughter to be returned, used and discarded. The lively air in the main hall instantly chilled. Mother, Veronica, instinctively tightened her arm around Stella, her eyes on me defensive and cold. Marcus rubbed the bridge of his nose, impatience etched on his face. “You’ve been gone for three years. That guest room was converted into Stella’s music studio ages ago.” He gestured vaguely. “If you insist on staying, there’s that small room available.” He was pointing to the utility space, the cramped spot they used for the retrievers when I first arrived. It was the first power play Marcus had made, seven years ago, the day I was found to be the true Reed heir. I touched the scar beneath my sleeve—an old, jagged souvenir. It hadn’t hurt for years, yet my body still trembled. After learning the truth—that I was the stolen Reed daughter—I’d spent hours online searching for the family. Wealthy, harmonious, and everything my troubled childhood had lacked. My real brother, the society columns promised, was elegant and fiercely protective. He was not the lowlife I’d known who peeked in while I showered and openly discussed marrying me off to an old, lame widower for a dowry. But on the first day, the only welcome was three enormous, pedigree Dobermans that lunged, their jaws wide, tearing at my clothes and flesh. Just as I thought I might die, Marcus, the brother I’d only seen on television, appeared. His voice was utterly devoid of warmth. “In this house, I will only have one sister. Stella.” When I remained silent, he sighed, his impatience returning. “If you don’t want to stay there…” “I’ll take it. Any room.” I rushed the words out, terrified he’d retract the offer and leave me on the curb. The still-healing wounds from the past few days ached faintly as I spoke. Before he could say anything more, I limped toward the small, dark room. His voice followed me. “Look, it’s temporary. We need time to clear out the spare guest suite. Don’t be melodramatic.” I paused, turning back, forcing out a small, placating smile. “No sacrifice needed.” My voice was a mere whisper of gratitude, a truth. But Marcus’s face instantly darkened. “Liz Sutton, are you questioning my arrangement?” “Or are you still bitter about the marriage three years ago? Stella was still in school. We couldn’t very well force her to drop out, could we?” At the mention of the past, my eyes glazed over. Stella had caused a scene at a high-end club, offending someone with serious influence. To settle the issue, the Reeds had proposed a marriage alliance. They just failed to specify which daughter. On my wedding night, I was drugged and delivered to Rhys Albright’s bed. The next morning, the headlines screamed: ‘Adopted Reed Daughter Steals Sister’s Fiancé! The Ungrateful Imposter!’ Dragging my battered body, I’d confronted Marcus, asking why he forced me to take her place, why he had ruined my name. He had no guilt in his eyes. “You lived the life of a Reed for years. It was time to give back.” “Besides, the Albrights are old money and powerful. You married up.” I turned to Mother for help. She mumbled a few platitudes and told me to be a good wife. I thought that even if they didn’t love me, they held some form of affection for me. But how could four years of blood ties compete with eighteen years of shared life with Stella? No sacrifice needed. That was my truth. The utility room, despite its size, was the best, safest space I’d been in for years. The Albright family, forced to take me, the imposter, vented all their fury on me. Rhys, spoiled and entitled, took particular pleasure in my misery. In the beginning, he’d just lock me in the basement, cutting off water and food. Later, the vicious games started on the bed. I remember screaming that I was pregnant, begging him to stop. He only laughed, his hands tightening around my throat. Just hours before his arrest, Rhys had me bound to the bed. When the police finally stormed in, they found me covered in bruises, welts, and lash marks. I retrieved the first-aid box and began treating my wounds with practiced ease. The door burst open. Stella walked in, holding a glass of milk. “How do you have the nerve to come back?” she spat. “Did you hear I’m marrying Owen Kincaid and decide to crash the wedding?” The unexpected mention of Owen’s name sent a fresh, sharp ache through my otherwise numb heart. Owen Kincaid. The boy who was my only sunlight in the old shantytown. We’d sworn we’d attend Crestwood’s best university together. When the Reeds first found me, he was the only person I could confide in. He would defend me, righteously condemning the Reeds’ blindness, even once risking their wrath to warn Stella off. But as he grew closer to Stella, Owen changed. He stopped taking my side. He urged me to ‘be the bigger person,’ to stop ‘competing’ with Stella, the poor adopted girl. He said the Reeds would eventually reward their blood daughter, and that Stella, as an orphan, was at a disadvantage. The irony was crushing: I was the one they publicly labeled the ungrateful foster child, and it was Stella they protected. Even the one person who stood by me had defected. I didn’t understand Owen’s shift, and I was too weary to probe it. The fear of losing my only anchor made me hysterical, leading to screaming arguments. Each fight brought a colder, more distant response from him. When the abuse and torment began, Owen ignored my desperate calls for help. My silence seemed to irritate Stella. She walked toward me and threw the glass of milk. The warm liquid coated my hair and dripped down my face. “I’m warning you, Liz Sutton. I chased you out of the Reed home three years ago.” “I can do it again, now.” Compared to the dark, sustained torment in the Albright house, Stella’s petty act felt insignificant, a mere splash. No humiliation registered. I looked up at her, my eyes flat. “I’m not here to take anything from you.” Before I could finish, Stella didn’t miss a beat, dramatically collapsing to the floor. “Sister!” she cried, tears instantly welling up. “I only came to bring you warm milk because you looked starved!” The rest of the family—who had been in the living room—rushed in. Owen immediately knelt, gently lifting Stella from the floor. Marcus frowned at the white mess on the carpet. “Liz Sutton, I just complimented you on your improved disposition. Are you dropping the act already?” Accusations like this were a staple of my four years in the Reed house. Stella once shattered Mother’s favorite vase. She’d confessed to me, yet she cried and swore I was the culprit. Whenever I argued my innocence, the only reply was the sting of a cane across my palms. Knowing the outcome, I always stubbornly fought back. This time, I was empty. I dropped to my knees, right there on the ruined carpet, facing Stella. “I’m sorry. It was my fault.” Before Stella could speak again, I raised a hand and slapped my own face. Hard. I didn’t stop until my mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood. Stella finally seemed to ‘recover’ from her shock. “Sister, why are you hurting yourself?” she wailed. “Are you trying to make them believe I attacked you? Are you trying to force me out of the house?” She stood up, sobbing loudly. “Fine! I’ll leave the Reeds. I won’t stand in your way anymore!” Marcus instantly chased after her. Owen, however, remained. He pulled a crisp, folded handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to me. “Wipe yourself.” “Since you’re back, stop trying to make Stella leave. She’s marrying me in a few days. She won’t be here much longer anyway.” That faint, familiar cedar scent he always wore was now completely drowned out by the sickly-sweet smell of peach—Stella’s signature perfume. The sudden mix made me nauseous. I reached out to take the handkerchief. Instead, Owen bent down, bypassing my hand, and gently wiped the blood from my lip. I flinched, instinctively curling my body inward, protecting my head. My hair, already sticky with milk, smeared with dirt from the floor, made me look even more pathetic. Owen stared at me, his eyes complicated. “Liz, do you really hate me that much?” “Look, you can’t force feelings. If you need anything, just ask.” I forced out the most genuine, placating smile I could manage. “Could you… give me some money?” Disappointment washed over Owen’s face, harsh and immediate. “After all this time, that’s all you want?” The old me had wanted so much: pure motherly love, a doting brother, and a singular, selfless love from him. The current me only wanted enough money to escape. Owen took out his phone, his voice cold. “Unblock me. I’ll transfer the funds.” I hesitated, embarrassment rising. “Could you just give me cash?” His expression immediately turned to ice. “Are you truly that determined to cut me out of your life?” He didn’t hand the money to me. He pulled a handful of thick, crisp bills from his wallet and threw them in my face. By the time I had gathered the cash from the floor, Owen was gone. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to add him back. It was that three years in the Albright house had severed every possible connection I had to the outside world. If Rhys’s crime hadn’t been so public, so massive, I wouldn’t have even had a chance to flee. After a quick wash, I took the money, intending to buy painkillers. I didn’t expect Rhys Albright, who should have been in a jail cell, to be waiting in the Reed living room.

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1 On my wedding day, I stood at the altar, my arm linked with Julian’s. He was the “tragic second lead” I was tasked to save after I woke up inside this novel three years ago. In those three years, I was his shadow. I sat through every therapy session with him; I stood on the balcony at 3:00 AM, watching him chain-smoke as he stared into the void. I helped him climb from rock bottom back to the top of the corporate ladder. Everyone said I was the miracle worker—the woman who finally cured his obsession with the “it-girl,” Maya. When my mission was complete, Julian begged me to stay. I chose him over going back to my old life. Just as the vows were about to begin, a man in a black trench coat stormed into the chapel. He tore off his sunglasses, revealing a face identical to Julian’s, but weathered by a decade of misery. “Stop wasting your breath trying to save me,” he rasped. His eyes bypassed me entirely, landing on Maya in the front row with a look of starving devotion. “I’ve lived the next ten years without her,” he choked out. “And I’d rather rot in hell than spend another day in a world where she isn’t mine.” The resemblance was chilling. It wasn’t just the features; it was the tiny mole under the eye, the shape of the jaw. But this man looked hollowed out. Was he Julian from ten years in the future? I had spent three years stitching Julian back together. Now, the healthy, happy version of him was standing at the altar with me, and this ghost was telling him it was all for nothing. My strength evaporated. My hand slipped from Julian’s arm. Beside me, the “young” Julian snapped. He lunged forward, grabbing the stranger by the collar. “I don’t care what kind of freak show you’re running,” Julian hissed. “Get out. If you ruin this wedding—” The older man grabbed Julian’s wrists, dragging him toward the guest pews where Maya sat. He forced Julian to look at her. “Look at her! You idiot, look at her! This is the woman you love. This is the only one you ever wanted to marry!” His voice was a jagged mess of desperation and prayer. Maya stood up, her gaze flickering between the two identical men before settling on my fiancé. “Julian…” she whispered. “Do you… do you still feel that way?” The young Julian froze as if paralyzed. His expression shifted, his eyes darkening with an intensity I hadn’t seen in years. He stared at Maya as if the rest of the room had vanished. The man between them let out a ragged sigh of relief. He could feel it—the spark in his younger self’s soul. The obsession hadn’t died; it had just been dormant. “Please,” the older man whispered to the younger one. “Don’t make me lose her again.” The young Julian stood still for a long time. Finally, he turned back toward me on the altar. “Summer… can we put the wedding on hold? Just for now?” I looked into his eyes. That one sentence flipped a switch inside me. I knew then: the wedding wasn’t on “hold.” It was over. Some people don’t want to be saved. Some people don’t deserve the effort. 2 I didn’t argue. I just watched him with a cold, detached clarity. Julian didn’t wait for my answer. He turned to the crowd of Manhattan’s elite and announced that the ceremony was postponed. The guests cleared out, whispering. I didn’t move. My eyes were fixed on the “Future Julian.” The “Young Julian” was busy ushering people out, but his eyes kept drifting back to Maya. The love in his gaze was suffocating—a tidal wave ready to drown her. I hadn’t seen him look at anyone like that since the day I first met him, back when he was ready to jump off a bridge for her. I looked down at my white dress and laughed silently. Three years of my life, gone like smoke. Julian eventually walked back to me. He looked exhausted. “Summer, I’ll have my driver take you home.” He paused. “Once I figure this out, I’ll come talk to you. I promise, I’ll make this right.” “I can get myself home,” I said, glancing at the bizarre trio: Young Julian, Maya, and the Ghost of Julian Future. This was their twisted drama now. I was officially an extra. I gathered my train and walked out. I didn’t look back until I was in a cab blocks away. As expected, Julian didn’t chase after me. 3 Three years ago, I was just a broke college grad with no prospects. The “System” appeared and offered me a deal: Enter this world, save Julian, and earn $100 million. Once the mission was done, I could go home or stay. Either way, the money was mine to keep. I succeeded. Julian stopped being suicidal. He became the perfect partner. I felt a sense of pride—I had “fixed” him. I fell for the illusion of a happy ending. I chose to stay. But I never accounted for a time-traveling obsessive ruining the party. Fine. I still had the $100 million. It was time to go live my life. 4 A few days later, Maya showed up at my penthouse. She was the classic “It Girl”—effortlessly beautiful, the kind of woman men destroy themselves for. “Sorry to drop by unannounced,” she said with a soft, practiced smile. I let her in and made tea. She waited for me to break, to scream, to ask questions. I stayed silent. “I know everything,” she finally said. “Julian… the older one, let’s call him Ian… he told me everything.” She leaned forward. “He said in ten years, I’m miserable. Married to my current husband, Liam, with an eight-year-old kid, stuck playing the trophy wife. He told me our world is a story, a script. He asked me if I was actually happy.” She shook her head. “I’m not. I don’t want that life.” She looked at me firmly. “So, I’m divorcing Liam. I’m not going to be a puppet anymore.” I nodded. Good for her. Then she smirked. “Ian also told me you’re a ‘traveler.’ That you were sent here to save Julian.” She scanned me, her eyes brimming with pity. “Honestly, Summer, were you really going to spend your whole life on a man who never truly loved you? Is he really worth it?” I smiled. “You’re absolutely right.” Maya checked her watch. “Julian is on his way up. Why don’t we see where his heart really lies?” Before I could ask what she meant, she picked up her tea and poured the lukewarm liquid all over her silk blouse.

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On the day my fiancé got engaged to the “real” daughter, I thought about driving my car straight into the ceremony. I wanted to end it all, take them with me in a blaze of glory. But just as that manic thought consumed me, my phone rang. It was the hospital. “Miss Quinn, you’re pregnant…” I killed the engine and sat there, frozen. Thirty minutes later, as joyous music drifted from the engagement hall, I started the car, made a U-turn, and headed for the airport. From that moment on, the “fake” daughter of the Quinn family disappeared from New York, just as everyone wanted. I moved to a small southern town a thousand miles away. I barely survived a disaster, gave birth to my daughter—my own flesh and blood—and cut all ties with my past. Until four years later, when they started showing up, one by one. 1 The first time I saw Silas again after four years was at the kindergarten gate. I had just picked up my daughter, Lily, when another mom nudged me. “Hey, Lily’s mom, look across the street. That guy looks like that famous singer… what’s his name again?” I followed her gaze and saw him. “Silas!” The mom slapped her forehead. “Right, Silas! The singer-songwriter who’s been sweeping all the awards lately! “You know, honestly, he kind of looks like you. Both of you have those good genes…” I looked away. “Never heard of him.” She looked surprised. “You don’t listen to music? That’s Silas! And really, looking closely, you two could be siblings…” I smiled, shook my head, and held Lily’s hand tighter as we walked away. “Sarah.” His voice came from behind me. I ignored it and kept walking. “Sarah Quinn!” Lily looked up. “Mommy, is that man calling you? Why did he call you Sarah Quinn?” I smiled down at her. “He mistook me for someone else, sweetie.” But as I reached for my car door in the parking lot, someone grabbed my arm. I turned around. It was Silas, out of breath. “Sarah… you’re actually alive?!” His words were as sharp and stinging as ever. But maybe because he had been running, the rims of his eyes were slightly red. 2 I dropped Lily off at a neighbor’s house. When I came back downstairs, Silas was standing there with his hands in his pockets. “Why do you live in a dump like this? Where’s your apartment? I want to see it.” I shook my head. “No need.” Four years ago, he told me his only sister was Sophie. He told me that being called “brother” by someone like me made him sick. When my adoptive brother, Ethan Quinn, kicked me out, and my fiancé, Lucas, abandoned me, I had nowhere to go. I thought of Silas, my biological brother. I stood outside his agency all night in a snowstorm, freezing to the bone. But all I got was him saying his biggest wish was that I had never been born. “If you weren’t born, Sophie wouldn’t have been switched at birth. She wouldn’t have suffered so much. “Sister? Don’t make me laugh. The Quinns threw you out, so now you’re playing the blood-relation card? “I’ll never acknowledge someone like you as my sister.” That was when I realized: no matter how good I was to him, he would always hate me because of Sophie. Now, he looked at me with that same scrutinizing gaze. “Is that kid Lucas’s? Did you run away just to have his baby?” I was silent for a moment. “She’s my child. Mine alone.” He scoffed. “Sarah, she looks exactly like him. Do you think I’m blind? “Did you think having a secret baby would win him back? You’re delusional… “It’s pathetic. Truly stupid…” “I said, she is my child,” I interrupted. “I never planned on going back to New York. I never planned on using her to fight Sophie for Lucas. You can relax. You don’t need to be so aggressive. “Like you said years ago, other than blood, we’re strangers. I’m not interested in your life, so please stay out of mine.” He froze. “If there’s nothing else, you should leave.” I turned to go. “Wait.” He grabbed my arm again. He opened his mouth, then closed it. “You… you…” I frowned. “What?” “Why did you leave back then?” I looked at him calmly. “You were a spoiled princess who couldn’t do anything. Just because people said a few mean things, you played the runaway victim? “If I hadn’t seen you today, how long were you planning to live in this poverty? And these past four years…” He paused. “How… how did you survive?” 3 I looked at his red-rimmed eyes. He was probably angry. Surprised I was alive. Because my existence was a threat to Sophie’s happiness. How did I survive? Someone traded their life for mine. But I didn’t need to tell him that. The old Sarah Quinn was a delicate flower, helpless without support. The new Sarah Song doesn’t cry or beg anyone for anything. Seeing my silence, he got agitated. “Why are you so slow now? Did that big earthquake down here a few years ago shake your brain loose? “Running to a godforsaken place like this… you deserved to get caught in an earthquake.” Just then, a neighbor walked by. “Hey, Sarah! Haven’t started dinner yet?” I smiled. “Just about to.” Silas stared. “You should go,” I said. But he wouldn’t let go. “Why did you change your name? Sarah Song? Did you get married? Who’s Song?” “It’s none of your business,” I said, prying his fingers off my arm, one by one. “My name, my life… Silas, it has nothing to do with you.” 4 Silas was a celebrity. He couldn’t be seen making a scene in public. I went upstairs, picked up Lily, and watched from the window as he stood downstairs, looking lost. He never cared about me before. His confusion now was probably just because he wasn’t used to my coldness. Four years ago, when I found out about his musical dreams, I used every connection I had in New York to get him a stage. I got him into the best agency. He was my brother. He had suffered growing up poor. I wanted him to succeed. But he twisted my kindness, claiming I was just trying to isolate Sophie and make her feel bad. “Mommy, is that man your family?” I paused, then smiled and stroked Lily’s hair. “No, honey. Why would you think that?” “Just guessing. You look alike.” Family. Ethan Quinn’s face flashed in my mind. I always thought Ethan would be my brother forever, blood or no blood. But four years ago, he held Sophie—who had “fallen” down the stairs—and looked at me with pure rage. “Sarah, you are a disappointment. “From today on, you are not a Quinn. You are not my sister. “My only sister is Sophie.” I cried, I begged, I swore I didn’t push her. But he kicked me away and carried Sophie out without looking back. I shook my head. “That man is not Mommy’s family.” She looked disappointed. “I thought maybe I had other family besides Uncle Sam.” I tapped her nose. “Mommy has you, and we have Uncle Sam in our hearts. That’s enough.” “But Uncle Sam is gone…” She pouted. “I miss him.” I understood. But disappointment is better than the pain of being loved and then discarded. I’ve been through it. I won’t let my daughter go through it. I just didn’t expect to see Ethan the very next day.

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The first time, my father-in-law, Walter, was sixty and needed a heart transplant. He was matched with my son’s heart. The entire family descended on me, pleading, cajoling me to have another child so Leo’s heart could be “spared.” I refused. And Leo, my son, was taken—snatched from the street right before his college entrance exam. I raced to the hospital like a lunatic, but I was too late. Leo’s heart was already gone. Walter, my father-in-law, got five more years because of it. I called the police, but my mother-in-law, Beatrice, swore my son had been a willing, dutiful boy who voluntarily donated his heart to his grandfather. My husband, Owen, spat at me, “How could I have married such a cold-hearted woman! A father’s debt is greater than the sky! You wanted me to watch my own father die!” Grief tore through me until, finally, my own heart gave out that summer. I died of cardiac arrest. I opened my eyes again and found myself back at the eve of Leo’s college entrance exam. The first thing I did was call my parents, the Petersons, to personally drive and stand guard over him during the test. But even this time, Walter got a new heart. 1 The second I knew Leo was safely at the testing center, my phone buzzed. It was Owen, his voice frantic with excitement. “Get to the hospital! Quick! Dad’s surgery was a success!” My heart lurched—a painful, sickening spasm. I rushed to the hospital and paused just outside the partially closed door of the private recovery suite, hearing Beatrice’s voice, sharp and triumphant. “A young boy’s heart is the best, you know. Just look at him—already bouncing back.” “Trading one child’s life for my old man’s, it was worth it!” Tessa, my sister-in-law, chimed in, her voice annoyingly saccharine. “Absolutely! The doctor said with a new heart, he’d get five more years, but honestly, I think he’ll live another twenty, easy.” Beatrice chuckled, a deep, satisfied sound that grated on my nerves. How? Leo was safe. He was taking his test. Where had Walter’s new heart come from this time? Grant, my brother-in-law, quickly jumped in, eager for praise. “It was hard, today being the SATs and all. I nearly didn’t catch the kid.” He paused, a strange note in his voice. “The kid… he seemed a little heavier than I remember Leo being.” My eyes darted to the room next door, the same room from the previous life, where a lifeless form lay covered with a white sheet. But whose child was under that sheet now? I slammed the door open, the sound echoing through the sterile hallway. “Whose heart did you take this time?” I roared. They all looked at me as if I were a madwoman, not a shred of guilt on their faces. Beatrice glared, her voice low and menacing. “What is all the noise for? Your father-in-law just had surgery! He cannot be stressed!” Owen stumbled toward me, his eyes red-rimmed. “Honey, don’t be so upset… At least Dad is better now. You should be happy.” I threw off his hand, a storm of pure, incandescent rage rising in my chest. “Happy? You traded a teenager’s life for an old man’s! Did you even ask the parents of that child?” I lunged forward, grabbing Grant by the collar of his scrubs. “Tell me who you kidnapped!” Grant’s face went white. “It was… it was…” “Enough!” Beatrice barked, stepping in. “Look at the disgrace of a wife you married, Owen! Filial piety comes first! She’s saying your father’s life isn’t worth one of these useless children!” Owen, stung by his mother’s words, turned his anger on me. “If you want to have a meltdown, go home! So what if it was Leo’s heart? He’s my son. I had him. I am his father’s son! What’s wrong with taking his heart for my father? If it wasn’t for my father, Leo wouldn’t exist!” I froze. A sudden, cold realization washed over me. They still believed the heart belonged to Leo. Tessa, always the ‘helpful’ one, offered a smarmy look of sympathy. “Olivia, Owen is right. A child can be replaced. Dad is the only one we have.” She leaned in, a malicious glint in her eye. “Besides, your Leo wasn’t a good student. He wasn’t going to amount to much anyway.” I lunged, grabbing a handful of her hair, making her yelp. “You’re a mother! How can you be so cruel?” I shook her head hard. “If you’re so devoted to family, why didn’t you offer your son’s heart? Huh? That child was barely a teen! He was about to take his college entrance exam! How could you do it?” Tessa roughly shoved me away, smoothing down her designer top, completely unfazed. “My Zach’s scores are in the top one hundred nationally. He’s going to an Ivy League school and will bring honor to the family. Your son is a nobody, barely scraping C’s.” “So, yes. Your son’s heart was far cheaper than mine.” I stared at her, my eyes wide with disbelief. In their eyes, a life—a vibrant, breathing, teenage boy—was a commodity to be valued based on a GPA. Was there any shred of humanity left in this family? Beatrice looked at me with open disgust. “Leo is lazy, and he has no manners. You, his mother, failed to raise him right. Now you have the nerve to attack your sister-in-law!” “A useless mother gives birth to a useless son. He deserved to have his heart taken for my husband!” Their words were like blades, tearing at my chest. The pain was so intense I could barely stand. This was how they saw me. This was how they saw my son. My chest constricted, my breath catching in shallow, painful gasps. Owen rushed over to steady me. “Just calm down, Olivia. Stop making a scene.” “Dad needs to rest after his surgery. If you keep causing a scene, how am I supposed to live in this family?” He lowered his voice. “I promise, I’ll find a way to make it up to you… what happened to Leo.” I looked up at him, tears blurring my vision, and asked the same devastating question I’d asked in my previous life. “Leo was your flesh and blood. Did you truly have the heart to let him die?” 2 Owen’s eyes were bloodshot, and a flicker of agony crossed his face. “Honey, of course, I didn’t want him to die. He’s our son.” “But this is my father,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “I couldn’t let him die. I had no choice but to sacrifice our boy. Don’t blame me, Olivia. Filial duty is the highest virtue. I had to do it.” I laughed, a dry, bitter sound that held no humor. Despair had finally and completely set in. “No choice? You could have taken your own heart! What kind of sacrifice is that?” I screamed, the question ragged and desperate. Beatrice stepped up and slapped me across the face. “How dare you tell my son to die! A vicious woman like you—your son’s death is your own fault! Karma! He deserved it!” I trembled with a fury that consumed me. I looked at each of them. Not one showed a hint of remorse. They looked triumphant. I couldn’t understand, in this life or the last, how they could be so cold-blooded about a stolen life. My mind zeroed in on the unknown child, the innocent victim. I wheeled around and moved toward the closed door of the room next to Walter’s, desperate to see the boy and contact his parents. Before my hand could touch the doorknob, Owen grabbed me and yanked me backward. I crashed hard against the wall, a bruise blooming instantly on my arm. “Don’t stop me! I have to see that boy!” Owen clutched me, pulling me into his chest. “Honey, Leo is dead… Don’t disturb him. Just let him rest.” “It was just a child. We’re young, we can have another baby.” A searing, needle-sharp pain pierced my heart. A child of sixteen. The years of love, care, and sacrifice poured into him. Gone. And he could dismiss it with such a casual, callous phrase. I reached for my phone, ready to call the police. “You kidnapped a minor and forcibly took his heart! You are criminals! I will make sure you face the punishment you deserve!” Before I could dial, Owen ripped the phone from my hand and smashed it on the floor. “Are you finished, Olivia? Is this really necessary? It was a grandson donating a heart to his grandfather—a family matter. Do we really need to involve the police?” Grant looked terrified. He was the one who had physically brought the boy in. “Sister-in-law, we’re family. If you do this, how can we face each other at Thanksgiving, or Christmas? Besides, a woman should stay home and listen to her husband. Calling the police is a man’s job.” I sneered. Family. I gave their son a hundred dollars every Christmas, and in sixteen years, Leo had never received a single dollar from them. In their eyes, I was always an outsider, and my son was just a piece of property to be sacrificed at will. “Who wants to be your family? I’m calling the police!” 3 A flicker of fear crossed their faces, but it was fleeting. Beatrice was the first to regain her composure, pointing a furious finger at me. “Leo voluntarily donated his heart to his grandfather! The police can’t do anything!” She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a single, crumpled piece of paper—a handwritten consent form—and shoved it in my face. “Look! Leo wrote this himself! It’s signed!” I stared at Owen in disbelief. Leo’s earliest writing was taught by him. The signature was definitely Owen’s attempt to forge the boy’s childhood script. In my first life, I believed Owen had been as blindsided as I was, only learning after the fact. I never imagined he had conspired with them from the very beginning, hiding the entire monstrous plan from me. Leo trusted his father above all else. How could he? I took a deep breath, fighting the choking bitterness, and snatched the paper. I tore it into a dozen tiny pieces. Beatrice gasped and clutched her chest, her trembling finger pointing at me. “You… you wicked, treasonous woman! How did our family ever marry you!” Owen frantically supported his mother. “Mom, don’t worry. I’ll just write out another consent form later.” I gave a dry, cold laugh. “You haven’t spent ten minutes with your son in the last ten years, have you, Owen?” “Didn’t you notice his handwriting changed after he hit high school? That forgery is five years old.” Owen stared at me, his face shocked, his voice shaking. “W-what are you talking about?” Seizing the moment of confusion, I broke free and darted to the door of the other room. It was empty. They followed me immediately, Owen grabbing me from behind. “Olivia, stop! Let the boy go! Let him rest!” I wrenched myself free and screamed at them. “Where is the body? Where is the child?” It was then I noticed Tessa, who had been conspicuously absent for the last few minutes. I walked up to her and shoved her hard on the shoulder. “Tell me! Did you take him? Where is he?” Tessa rubbed her shoulder against the wall, tears welling up in her eyes. “I… I thought Leo deserved to finally rest. I just sent him to the crematory.” My mind went instantly blank, a ringing silence in my ears. Owen suddenly rushed to shield Tessa, his face etched with pure annoyance and impatience. “Stop it, Olivia! Why are you always so aggressive! Tessa is delicate! If you hurt her, we’d have to pay who knows how much in medical bills!” The word ‘pay’ lit up Grant’s eyes. He immediately exposed Tessa’s shoulder for all to see. “See, Sister-in-law! You’ve broken my wife’s shoulder!” “Ten thousand dollars! Pay us ten thousand, and we won’t press charges!” My eyes widened in shock. “Ten thousand? Are you serious? You can’t be! It wouldn’t cost ten thousand even if it were really broken!” Beatrice stepped forward, shielding her younger son as always. “You will pay the ten thousand today! Otherwise, I’ll tell my son to divorce you!” For decades, they had invented excuses to demand money from me. In my first life, I tolerated it all for the sake of peace. But I realized, too late, that no amount of kindness would save my son. My face was contorted with fury. I ground out the words between clenched teeth. “Absolutely not!” “You killed a child! I should be suing you! How dare you ask for money! Mark my words, there is karma! You will pay!” Suddenly, Walter, who had been resting with his eyes closed, began to cough violently, clutching his new heart. His hand trembled as he pointed a finger at me. “Get that bitch out of here now!” 4 Beatrice immediately started wailing, beating her thigh dramatically. “Oh, the misery! This unfilial daughter-in-law is trying to kill my old man!” Owen grabbed me and shoved me away. I stumbled, knocking over a glass vase on a nearby table. Shards of glass sliced into my palm, and blood gushed out. No one looked at the cut. They all clustered around Walter’s bed, anxiously watching his breathing. Beatrice, seeing Walter struggling, grabbed my collar and slapped me hard, four or five times in quick succession. “You wicked, rebellious tramp! If you’ve made my husband sick, I’ll tell my son to divorce you!” My cheek was swelling, but my eyes were colder than ice. Owen feigned concern, pulling his mother back a little. “Mom, stop. I won’t divorce Olivia.” I smiled inwardly. Right. He made five thousand a month. I made twenty thousand, and I owned the penthouse condo free and clear. He’d never leave. Grant gave Walter a few sips of water until his breathing calmed. Walter looked at me, his eyes full of malice. “The Reed family has treated you well, and you want to watch me die just for the sake of one child, do you? My son marrying you was a curse!” I smirked. He had been pretending to sleep the whole time. In the previous life, I was subservient until my son’s death ripped the veil from my eyes. This time, I would not only keep Leo alive but make them pay for every sin. I crossed my arms, my eyes icy. “What if the dead child… wasn’t Leo?” Grant shrieked. “What nonsense are you talking about? I was the one who brought the boy in! How could it not be Leo!” Beatrice suddenly looked panicked, a sheen of cold sweat on her forehead. She pulled Grant aside and whispered urgently, “If it’s not Leo, and his parents find out, we’ll all go to prison!” I heard every word. Grant’s mind raced, and he looked around frantically. “Quick! Gag the bitch! The kid is already cremated! As long as she doesn’t talk, no one will ever know!” Owen, without hesitation, helped Grant tie my hands and feet and shoved a dirty rag into my mouth. I stared at the three of them, a chill creeping up my spine. Beatrice stepped up, a triumphant smirk on her face. She raised her hand and delivered a powerful slap to my left cheek. My left ear rang violently, and a warm fluid trickled out. “Bitch! I knew you looked down on us the day you married in!” she hissed. “So what if your parents are teachers? What makes you so superior? With a daughter like you, your parents must be just as rotten!” My face turned purple. My parents! They had been honored as “Outstanding Educators” for a decade! I couldn’t allow this vile woman to slander them. Rage gave me strength. I lunged forward, slamming my head into Beatrice’s stomach and knocking her to the floor. Beatrice held her stomach and theatrically wailed. “Help! Daughter-in-law is attacking her mother-in-law! Is there no justice in this world?” Seeing their mother on the floor, Owen and Grant descended on me, kicking me repeatedly. I screamed, muffled by the rag. The incision from my tumor surgery last month burst open. The beating lasted half an hour until they were exhausted, collapsing into chairs, panting. I was on the brink of passing out, the last ember of warmth in my heart extinguished. Grant looked at my bruised, bleeding body and, still breathing heavily, said, “She’s still fighting. Maybe… we should just take her to the crematory too.” “She dies, no one knows about the heart, and all her money and that fancy house from her parents? All yours.” I looked at Owen. He looked back, his eyes hesitant, calculating. My heart hammered against my ribs, an ice pick of fear stabbing through me. Every cell in my body was screaming. Just as Owen opened his mouth, ready to agree—Ready to kill me for the house—a knock came at the door. They hid me quickly in a utility closet and hesitantly opened the door. Outside stood two men from the local funeral home. They were holding an urn and a file. “We have the remains and the official cremation report for you.” Grant took the report, flipped it open, and read the name. His face drained of color. He couldn’t speak.

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I’m the heiress of a capitalist empire, and for three years, I’ve been in an arranged marriage with an icy, aloof commander who has never touched me. During a camping trip in the countryside, I went to his tent to spend the night. He frowned, refusing to take my luggage. “Tonight… isn’t appropriate.” I froze, and suddenly, subtitles appeared before my eyes: [LMAO, the Male Lead’s ‘white moonlight’ is back, and the Second Female Lead is still clowning herself? Does she really think her money can buy his love?] [Does she even know? The cold ML is actually addicted to intimacy, but he’d rather take cold showers for three years than touch her. He saved himself for the FL all this time. He loves her SO much~] [The FL came back just as the arranged marriage contract expires. After abstaining for so long, their reunion s*x is going to be insane! As for the heiress, she’s just a plot device to spice things up.] I gripped my luggage handle and smiled. “Okay. I’ll find somewhere else to sleep tonight.” 1. [Wait, what? The Second Female Lead isn’t clinging to him?] [Playing hard to get, obviously. She’s relentless. Heh, let’s see if the ML even cares!] [Lol, she’s a capitalist heiress. With her background, who would dare take her in?] Sensing the awkward atmosphere, a few of Liam’s comrades tried to smooth things over: “Don’t mind him, sis. Liam’s just a bit of a germaphobe. He never shakes hands, and even eats from a separate tray.” “Yeah, plenty of high-ranking officers tried to set him up with their daughters, and some girls even chased him to the camp. Liam never budged. When he suddenly announced his marriage, we all thought hell had frozen over!” “Some other girls came along on the trip. Why don’t you bunk with them tonight, sis?” I looked at Liam. I said nothing. Liam wasn’t wearing casual clothes. His white shirt was buttoned all the way to the top, meticulous and severe. His dark eyes were deep, cold, and abstinent. His brows furrowed with an impersonal chill. He glanced at Bella standing beside him, his voice flat. “Whatever you want.” My heart ached, and I clenched the hem of my dress. They were right. Liam did have a cleanliness fixation. He never shared personal items and never initiated physical contact. Not even with me, his wife of three years. But there were exceptions. “Oh? Liam has a germ phobia? I didn’t know…” Bella covered her mouth, her voice surprised. She was pale, slender, and graceful, like a delicate bamboo stalk. Dressed simply, she spoke softly and elegantly. She had just returned from studying abroad and was already appointed as a translator for foreign affairs. Her family was scholarly and well-connected. Childhood sweethearts with Liam, a perfect match. She must be the ‘white moonlight’ female lead mentioned in the subtitles. Bella blinked her watery, spirited eyes, looking apologetically at Liam. “Then was it bad that I borrowed so much of your gear just now?” Liam frowned slightly. But he said nothing. It was an era where arranged marriages were being abolished, and free love was the talk of the town. The camping site was near my mother’s hometown. Many locals knew about my arranged marriage with Liam. Seeing this, the villagers’ gazes turned mocking. A wife whose marriage contract was up, publicly refused entry to her husband’s tent. The implication was obvious. To ease the tension, someone suggested with a laugh: “Since we’re splitting up, we’re short on tents. Let’s draw lots for tents tonight. Whoever you draw, you bunk with. How about it?” “Warning you all, I snore like thunder. No take-backs if you get me!” “Count me in! Who else?” The men chimed in enthusiastically. They hadn’t intended for the women to participate. Besides two married couples, Bella and I were the only single women present. I had been publicly kicked out by Liam. And I didn’t want to share a tent with Bella. Biting my lip, I raised my hand. “I’m in.” 2. Silence fell instantly. Liam snapped his head toward me, his gaze cold as ice. His jaw tightened, his voice dark. “Elise, stop it.” He was angry I embarrassed him. Even if he didn’t like the woman. Even if he just kicked her out. A man couldn’t tolerate his wife publicly cucking him. I pressed my lips together and looked away. A comrade tried to intervene. “Sis, you’re a woman, this isn’t really appropriate…” I forced a polite smile. My voice was soft but firm. “Since I’m the reason we’re short on tents, I can’t just take one for myself.” “We’re all comrades here. In tough conditions, there shouldn’t be special treatment. Managing for one night won’t hurt.” I am the heiress of the Jiang family. Even if I was rejected by my husband of three years. I wouldn’t abandon my pride. My words silenced the crowd. They praised my spirit, saying women hold up half the sky. Bella’s eyes darted to Liam, then she blushed and raised her hand too. “Since Elise put it that way, as a translator, I can’t ask for special treatment either.” Amidst the agreement, Liam stared at me, his voice low. “I’m in too.” The subtitles exploded: [Here it comes! This is the scene! The ML and FL draw the same tent, and the ML’s addiction takes over! The smut is going to be amazing~] [The Second Female Lead is a married woman, yet she joins in just to make the ML jealous? Hilarious. Does he even care? He only agreed because our FL joined!] [She’s going to lose it when she doesn’t draw the ML~ She’ll throw a tantrum and demand the FL switch with her, but the ML will shut her down. So sweet~] [She tries to pull the FL’s hair and gets shoved to the ground by the ML. So satisfying!] [It’s 2024, who thinks an arranged marriage makes you the ‘real wife’? Our FL is his true love, his white moonlight for years!] [Later, the Second Female Lead refuses to divorce and threatens them with the ML’s career, making the FL cry. Luckily, the ML destroys her family. She even tries to kidnap the FL and gets tortured to death by the kidnappers. Deserved!] I felt cold all over. I didn’t want to believe it. But my heart pounded. I didn’t know if the subtitles were true. But if I didn’t do those things… If I didn’t stand in their way and obediently divorced Liam… Would those terrible things still happen? 3. The results of the draw came out quickly. “Those with matching numbers share a tent. No take-backs!” Everyone revealed their numbers. Sure enough, Liam and Bella drew the same number. Many present knew their history. Though they didn’t jeer aloud, they watched with anticipation. Bella blushed, looking at Liam shyly. “This… isn’t very appropriate… Maybe I should switch with Elise?” Liam frowned. His dark eyes looked at me with a warning. The subtitles scrolled: [The FL is so elegant and kind. She offered to switch so the ML wouldn’t be in a tough spot. Unlike someone who’s about to throw a fit~] [Lol, just say Elise’s name! But the ML is more anxious than her. Seeing the FL want to switch, he tensed up immediately, afraid she’d be eaten by another man. Omg, shipping them so hard!] [Seriously, the Second Female Lead is pathetic. He rejected her at the start, and she still forced her way into the draw. Embarrassing!] Meeting Liam’s intense gaze. My heart soured. My knuckles turned white gripping the lot. I didn’t want to embarrass myself further, so I smiled deliberately. “No need. Let’s stick to the draw.” The person who drew the same number as me was Mark, my childhood friend from the village. Our parents had jokingly arranged a marriage for us when we were kids. We drifted apart after I got married. I sat next to him, our shoulders touching. Swallowing the bitterness, I avoided looking at Liam. I placed my hand on Mark’s arm and smiled at him, pretending to be calm. “I’m counting on you tonight.” Mark stiffened. He wanted to pull away, but seeing my red-rimmed eyes, he didn’t move. The crowd went silent. The subtitles were shocked: [What’s happening? Why isn’t she throwing a tantrum? How will the ML defend the FL and start their romance?] [Does she think hooking up with her ex will make the ML jealous? Lol, look at him, does he care? It just makes her look like a cheater. Her morals are trash!] [Talking about morals is rich coming from people shipping an affair.] [How is it the same? The ML and FL are true love! The Second Female Lead is just a squatter in the nest! A relic of feudal arranged marriages. After the divorce tonight, she’s irrelevant!] [Disgusting. Flirting with her ex-fiance in public. No man can tolerate that humiliation. Just wait for the ML’s revenge!] Liam’s long fingers clenched into a fist, knuckles white. His voice was deep and magnetic. Calm, but with a hint of threat. “My wife is drunk. I won’t trouble Mr. Chen.” “I apologize on her behalf. Mr. Chen, please exchange your lot with mine.” 4. I looked up in shock. I met Liam’s dark gaze. A storm seemed to brew in his deep eyes. The pressure was suffocating. I had never seen Liam like this. He seemed furious. Even his usual cold facade was crumbling. Thinking of what the subtitles just said… I was terrified of what would happen if he grabbed me. Instinctively, I leaned closer to Mark. Pressing my lips together, I tried to keep my voice steady. “No need. I haven’t been drinking.” Liam’s gaze grew darker. He took a deep breath, his voice becoming softer. Like a snake coaxing its prey. “Elise, come here. Be good.” Sensing the tension, others tried to mediate. “Sis, Liam knows he was wrong. Don’t be mad. Husband and wife shouldn’t sleep apart.” “We were just joking around. Don’t let it ruin the mood.” “Commander Liam hasn’t seen Bella in ages. Even if they’re old classmates, the past is in the past. Don’t overthink it, sis.” Bella smiled sadly. “Yes, Elise. No matter who is in Liam’s heart, you are his wife now. Clinging to Mr. Chen like this…” I froze. Humiliation washed over me. The subtitles were going crazy: [Die, b*tch! So ungrateful, cucking the ML in public!] [Why did the ML switch? Just go to the tent with the FL! I’m a VIP member, get to the smut already!] [The ML is probably afraid the FL can’t handle it. He has an addiction and hasn’t touched a woman in years. It’s going to be rough! Maybe he wants to vent his frustrations on the Second Female Lead first so he doesn’t hurt the FL~] [True. The FL is back, and he’s divorcing the Second Female Lead soon. Might as well use her one last time. Besides, didn’t she always want him? Now she’s playing innocent with her ex? Disgusting!] [Exactly. She’s been throwing herself at him for years. Now she’s acting pure? Can’t she see the ML hasn’t showered and is about to explode?] I looked up. I saw Bella sitting next to Liam, asking him concerned questions. Liam’s pale skin was flushed. Veins popped on the hand clutching the lot. His Adam’s apple bobbed, as if suppressing something. Meeting his burning gaze, I lowered my head like I’d been burned. Holding back tears. In three years of marriage, Liam had been a dutiful husband. Polite, caring. But no matter how hard I tried, he never touched me. I never knew about his addiction. But today, because Bella returned, he came to this gathering regardless of the consequences. Because he was afraid of hurting his precious white moonlight… He wanted to use me to vent… My heart felt torn apart, bleeding. I couldn’t imagine the consequences of being caught by him. Fear and sadness made me want to run.

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My best friend showed up at my family’s mansion, heavily pregnant, demanding to take over my mother’s place. She claimed she was carrying my father’s son. Her story? Five months ago, on my dad’s birthday, they got drunk and ended up in bed together. She pointed a manicured finger at my mom, screaming, “You old hag! You couldn’t give him a son, so do yourself a favor and get out!” Then she turned to me with a triumphant smirk. “And you, you little leech, get lost too. From now on, everything in this house belongs to your baby brother!” Finally, she looked at my dad, batting her eyelashes. “Charlie, baby, stop hiding it. This is a Sterling heir in my belly.” My whole family just stared at each other. Because we knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the baby in her belly could not possibly be my dad’s. My friend thought we were just making excuses. She threatened to sue my dad for child support and defamation. But when I threw my dad’s ID card in her face, her world crumbled. 1 For their 30th anniversary, my dad took my mom to the dealership to buy a car. Just as he was about to swipe his card for the latest G-Wagon, fully paid, my best friend, Jessica, burst in. She snatched the card from my dad’s hand, shouting, “Charlie! You can’t buy this old woman a car! That money is for our son!” Jessica gestured dramatically towards her protruding belly. My parents and I stared at her, stunned. My dad was the first to react. He frowned, “Jessica, what the hell are you talking about? What does your baby have to do with me?” Hearing my dad deny it, Jessica’s eyes instantly turned red. She pouted, voice trembling, “Charlie, how can you deny it? This baby is yours! Five months ago, on your birthday, you got drunk and… and you took me!” “When I found out I was pregnant, the doctor said it was a boy. I came here to give the Sterling family an heir!” My parents and I were completely baffled. Five months ago, for my dad’s birthday, I did invite Jessica. A lot of my parents’ friends came over. It was a lively party. My dad, being the birthday boy, had a few too many cocktails and passed out early. My mom helped him to the bedroom. Sure, my mom got called away for an emergency at the hospital halfway through the night, and all the guests left, leaving just me and Jessica. But she slept in my room. Before going to bed, I even checked on my dad. He was snoring like a chainsaw, dead to the world. There was no one else in the room. I couldn’t fathom how my best friend could make up such a ridiculous lie. It took me a few seconds to find my voice. “Jess, are you confused? There’s no way that baby is my dad’s.” Jessica shot me a side-eye and pouted. “Confused? That night your dad held me all night calling me ‘baby,’ saying I was younger and prettier than your mom. He even said he wanted to marry me!” “Chloe, denying it won’t change the facts. This is your dad’s seed. It’s your biological brother. From now on, your bestie is going to be your stepmom!” Jessica rambled on, spinning a tale about getting up for water in the middle of the night, stumbling into the wrong room, and my dad refusing to let her leave. Her voice was loud. Everyone in the dealership stopped to watch the drama unfold. “Look at her belly! She’s definitely pregnant.” “Rich old men always go for the young ones. Classic.” “Best friend to stepmom? That’s some reality TV drama right there.” 2 My parents’ faces turned red from the gossip. But my dad kept his cool. “Jessica, because you’re Chloe’s friend, I’m trying to be patient. Please stop spouting nonsense. That child has nothing to do with me.” My mom chimed in, voice steady but cold. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I can tell you right now, there is zero chance that baby belongs to Charlie.” Jessica wouldn’t let up. She pointed straight at my mom’s nose. “Shut up, you old hag! Who are you to talk about my baby? You’re just a dried-up hen who couldn’t give him a son. Know your place and step aside!” Then, she whipped out her phone triumphantly. “I have photos, videos, and recordings from that night! I’m going to play them right now so everyone can judge for themselves!” The video was indeed filmed in my parents’ bedroom. The footage was grainy, but you could see my dad hugging Jessica, refusing to let go, mumbling something incoherent. The photos were selfies of them lying in bed together. There was even one of Jessica kissing my dad on the cheek while he slept. And the recording… it was explicit. Jessica moaning, and my dad’s deep voice calling out “Wifey” over and over. The crowd exploded. “Oh my god! She has receipts! It must be true!” “He looks like a decent guy, but he’s a creep behind closed doors!” “Disgusting. Preying on his daughter’s friend? Animal.” Jessica beamed, victorious. She waddled toward my mom, pushing her belly forward. “Well? Evidence is right here. What do you have to say now? I’m telling you, I’m the new mistress of this house!” I couldn’t stand seeing my mom bullied. I stepped in front of her. “Jessica, I don’t know where you faked this trash, but my dad would never do this!” Jessica glared at me. “Chloe Sterling, don’t you dare yell at me! I’m your future mother. I’m carrying your brother. If anything happens to him, you’ll pay!” I laughed out of pure anger. She used to make snide comments about how my mom, a mere housewife, wasn’t good enough for a successful man like my dad. She used to drool over him when he picked me up from school. I never thought much of it. Now I see she was plotting this all along. My dad is handsome and rich, after all. “Bullsh*t brother,” I snapped. “My dad will never be the father of your child. If you have any shame left, leave now!” Jessica didn’t expect me to be so tough. She paused, then threw a tantrum. “Chloe, for the sake of our friendship, I was going to let you stay in the Sterling house. But since you want to insult me, you can get out too! Everything belongs to your brother now!” She finished yelling at me and turned to my dad, putting on a pitiful act. “Charlie, look how they’re bullying me! What if the stress hurts our son?” My dad frowned, avoiding her gaze, sticking to his denial. “I was black-out drunk. I couldn’t have done anything. These videos prove nothing! I said, the kid isn’t mine! Go find the real father!” Even though the “evidence” looked damning, my family knew the truth. We were absolutely certain that baby wasn’t my dad’s. 3 Seeing our united front, the onlookers started whispering theories. “Deepfakes? AI is scary good these days. Face swapping is easy.” “Maybe she hired a lookalike? The family seems genuinely confused.” “First time I’ve seen a whole family deny it so hard. Maybe she’s just a gold digger scamming them?” “Tsk tsk. So young and already trying to be a homewrecker.” Jessica’s face burned hearing the whispers. But she didn’t back down. “This is the Sterling bloodline!” She lunged at my dad, grabbing his arm. “Charlie, you can’t let people talk about us like this! This is your only son!” My dad shook her off. “Let go! I said nothing happened! The kid isn’t mine!” My mom took a deep breath, staring Jessica down. “Jessica, you know whose baby that is. But it is absolutely not Charlie’s.” Jessica shivered under my mom’s gaze but kept shouting, “I know exactly whose it is! It’s Charlie’s!” No matter what we said, Jessica insisted the baby was my dad’s and demanded we leave the house. My dad’s face darkened. “Jessica, if you keep slandering me, I won’t care about Chloe’s friendship anymore!” My mom was trembling with rage. I held her back. I stared at Jessica coldly. “Jessica, defamation is a crime. Do you really want to go to jail?” She flinched at the word “jail,” but then seemed to remember something. She puffed out her chest. “I’m not slandering anyone! I’m stating facts!” I sneered. “Proof?” Jessica smiled like she was waiting for that. “Proof? Oh, I have proof!” She dug into her Hermes bag (which I bought for her) and pulled out a document, slamming it onto the table in front of us. It was a DNA test report from an amniocentesis. It clearly stated that the fetus shared a biological relationship with “Charlie Sterling.” My parents and I exchanged looks, stunned. Jessica saw our shock and smirked. “See? Black and white. This is Charlie’s seed!” The crowd gasped again. “A DNA test? That’s definitive. Guess the old guy really did it.” “I thought she was scamming them. Turns out it’s real…” “Can’t deny science.” Jessica felt the tide turn in her favor. She stroked her belly, looking at my mom provocatively. “Karen, the evidence is irrefutable. Hurry up and divorce Charlie. Stop occupying the nest if you can’t lay eggs!” Then she sneered at me. “Chloe, looks like you lose! The inheritance is all for my son!” Finally, she looked at my dad with lovey-dovey eyes. “Charlie, stop hiding it. This is your legacy. Divorce this old woman so I can marry you properly!” She thought she had won. She thought she was moments away from a life of luxury. Instead, my family answered in unison. “We do not accept this report!” 4 Jessica’s smile froze. “You don’t accept it? On what grounds? It’s right there!” My dad spoke slowly, his voice calm but powerful. “On the grounds that the report is fake.” My mom nodded. “Don’t bring forged documents here to embarrass yourself.” I stayed silent, my expression icy. I stood with my parents. Jessica exploded. Her eyes filled with venom. “Fake? You just say it’s fake and it’s fake?” “Open your eyes! This is from City General Hospital!” It was indeed on hospital letterhead. But we would never accept it. Seeing that we wouldn’t budge, Jessica switched tactics. She started wailing to my dad. “Charlie, that was my first time! If you hadn’t forced me, I wouldn’t have given myself to you! I gave you my most precious gift, and now you won’t take responsibility?” Then to my mom: “Karen, as a woman, you should sympathize! I’m so young and pregnant. My baby needs a father!” Then to me: “Chloe, ask yourself, how good have I been to you? I did everything you asked! Do you have no conscience?” She cried like a tragic heroine. The crowd started to pity her, casting judgmental looks at us. “That man is despicable. Forcing a girl and then denying the baby!” “The mother and daughter are so cold-blooded. Poor girl.” “They won’t even believe a hospital report. Rich people think they can bully anyone.” … They painted us as villains. Jessica cried harder, feeding off the sympathy. But no matter how hard she performed, my dad’s face remained dark. There wasn’t a flicker of recognition for the “son.” My dad’s voice shook with suppressed anger. “Jessica, how many times do I have to say it? That baby is not mine!” My mom added, “Stop dumping your trash on my husband. It’s not his!” I dropped the hammer. “I’m telling you, even if God himself came down, that baby would not be my father’s!” Jessica saw crying wasn’t working. She went nuclear. She wiped her tears and snarled: “Charlie, are you really going to be this heartless? Fine! If you won’t do the right thing, I’ll go to the police and charge you with rape! Let’s see if the law can force you!” “Your family’s good life ends today!” She smirked, thinking she had us cornered. I laughed coldly. I reached into my bag, pulled out my dad’s ID card, and threw it in her face. “Guess who the police are going to arrest first?” The next second, Jessica stared at the ID card, struck dumb. She was completely bewildered.

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Just as I was about to clock out for the day, a text message lit up my phone. A deposit of over three million dollars. Memo: Salary. My first thought was that it had to be a scam. I scrambled to open my banking app. But there it was, plain as day. Three million dollars sitting in my account. The sender? My own company. I was completely stunned. I couldn’t earn that much money in a lifetime of work. My first instinct wasn’t to keep it, but to run straight to accounting. Call me a coward, but I’d seen the news stories. Keeping quiet in a situation like this is illegal. It’s called unjust enrichment. If it went to court, paying it back would be the least of my worries. I could end up with a criminal record. I’m a man with a clean record, and I planned on keeping it that way. . 1 “Did the company just send me a wire transfer?” I asked the woman in accounting, my voice tight with urgency. Her expression was even more nervous than mine. “Yes,” she said. “And you’d best not ask me about it. I just do what the boss tells me to.” “Do you have any idea how much money you sent me?!” I exclaimed. “Are you deaf?” she snapped. “I told you, if you have a problem, take it up with the boss!” Our company was small. The accountant, Heather, also handled HR and admin. She was also the boss’s sister-in-law. She used that connection to boss everyone around, but today, her attitude was just bizarre. I was here to return a massive sum of money, and she was acting like I owed her. Our raised voices had attracted the attention of the few other people in the office. Just then, the boss poked his head out of his office. He glanced in our direction. “Cole,” he said. “My office. Now.” He shut the door. Heather shot me a triumphant glare. I had no idea what was going on, but I squared my shoulders and walked to the boss’s office. When I stepped inside, I saw the boss’s wife was there too, sitting beside him. She was dripping with jewelry, an Hermès bag perched on the desk in front of her as she casually clipped her nails. My boss, Ross, gave me a toothy smile and asked with feigned concern, “So, you have a problem with your commission?” I was completely lost. “Was that transfer my commission? The amount is wrong…” Before I could finish, Ross cut me off. “Oh, come on. Three thousand is nothing to sneeze at. In this economy, you can’t be picky.” Suddenly, it all clicked into place. A few months ago, our second team took on a new project, but the project manager had just been forced out by Ross. Ross came to me, asking me to step in and manage it. He promised me a three-percent cut of the final project value as a bonus. It was a million-dollar project. Three percent was thirty thousand dollars. Even though my own team was swamped, I’d agreed. Thirty grand was several months’ salary. I worked myself to the bone for two months, pulling strings, calling in favors, dealing with vendors, drawing up quotes. I lost ten pounds. But after the project wrapped, the promised bonus never appeared. So that was it. The client had paid today, and Ross was only planning to give me three thousand dollars. No wonder Heather was so jumpy when she saw me. If she hadn’t made that massive typo on the transfer, I would have been the world’s biggest sucker. Just to be sure, I asked cautiously, “So, the thirty-thousand-dollar commission we agreed on is now three thousand. Is that right, Ross?” The smile vanished from his face. He stared at me blankly. “You’re not satisfied with three thousand? And when did I ever promise you thirty?” “You said it yourself,” I insisted. “A three-percent cut. On a million-dollar project, isn’t that thirty thousand?” Ross actually laughed. I couldn’t figure out what was so funny. He turned to his wife. “What did I tell you? Give them an inch, they take a mile. Some employees are just ungrateful. I knew he’d make a fuss.” His wife nodded sagely. Ross turned back to me, his expression sour. “I said three percent, yes. But do you think projects run on thin air? Don’t they have costs? You’ve managed projects before. You should have that much common sense.” His words left me speechless. That wasn’t his tone when he was begging me to take over the project. He’d invited me into his office for tea, told me the company was in a tough spot and that this client was too important to lose. He’d promised me, hand on heart, that if I saved the day, I’d get not only the three-percent commission but also a promotion and a raise at the end of the year. So, according to his logic now, he’d always meant three percent of the net profit. He was just playing word games. And even if it was three percent of the net, the commission shouldn’t have been only three thousand dollars. My patience was wearing thin. “Ross, if I’d known I was going to kill myself for two months for just three grand, who in their right mind would have taken this project?” “Am I not paying you a salary on top of that?” he shot back. “Show me another company that even offers a commission for project work. I’ve been more than generous!” His words hit me like a bucket of cold water. The company was short-staffed. I had stepped up to save a major project. Even if there was no glory, there was certainly hard labor. I thought he would at least acknowledge that. I was wrong. In his eyes, giving me three thousand was an act of charity. Sensing the rising tension, his wife stepped in to play peacemaker. “Cole, you’re partly to blame here too. Why were you arguing with Heather out there? It’s bad for morale. Something that could have been discussed calmly is now impossible.” I was dumbfounded. I wasn’t arguing with Heather. I was trying to return the three million dollars she’d mistakenly sent me. The irony was laughable. Ross was playing me for a fool, and I was worried about giving him his money back. In that moment, I felt like a complete idiot. Seeing my silence, the wife continued, “And don’t blame your boss. You think he doesn’t want to give you more? Blame the client. They’re the ones who screwed us!” I looked at her, confused. The project had been exhausting, but the client, a liquor company, had been surprisingly decent. They were straightforward, no corporate nonsense, and always polite. “What did the client do?” I asked. “They cut our payment!” she declared. “You didn’t know? They only paid out half a million on a million-dollar project. That’s why Ross could only give you three thousand.” I glanced at Ross. He quickly chimed in, “That’s right! After all the costs, there’s barely anything left. And you know we’re a small company. We still owe money to suppliers, the account is nearly empty. I had to scrape this three thousand together for you because you worked hard.” Listening to them plead poverty was almost comical. Ross owed a lot of people money, sure, but the two of them never skimped on themselves. One look at his wife’s designer outfit told you that. I just couldn’t understand it. Why were they so tight-fisted when they clearly had money? When it was time to make money, they expected you to give your all. When it was time to share it, they’d rather let it rot in their hands than give you a dime. The old me might have believed their sincere performance. But with three million of their dollars sitting in my bank account, how could I? I didn’t bother calling their bluff. I just asked coldly, “Are you sure the client only paid half a million?” “Why won’t you believe me?” Ross said, his patience gone. “Would I lie to you? You want me to get Heather in here to confirm?” I took a deep breath. “Fine. Then just give me fifteen thousand. I won’t ask for more.” Ross’s eyes bulged. “Are you deaf? I just told you, there are costs to deduct!” “Alright,” I said with a sigh. “Then let’s calculate the costs. I managed the project. I know the numbers.” I regretted it now, not getting our original agreement in writing. He was going back on his word, and I had no real proof. But who could have predicted he’d be this shameless? I’d made up my mind. I would take the loss, but I was going to get as much as I could. This was also me, giving Ross one last chance. If he decided to be a decent human being, I’d return the three million. If he kept playing games and crying poor, then I’d have to start thinking about where that money should really go. Ross was taken aback. He probably thought his little song and dance with his wife would be enough to make me back down. He never expected me to dig in my heels over the commission. He stared at me in disbelief and sneered, “You want to audit me?” “It’s not an audit,” I said. “It’s about settling the account properly. I can’t just take three thousand dollars without understanding why.” I pulled out my phone, brought up the project quote, and started listing the expenses on a piece of paper right in front of him. He knew better than I did that a PR project like this had huge margins. The bulk of the cost was in media distribution, paying some content farms to post articles, hiring a few cheap influencers to make some videos, and slipping the client’s marketing head a kickback. It was all smoke and mirrors. The quote was ridiculously high, but the actual cost of the project was only about two hundred thousand dollars. Even if the client had only paid half a million, the profit was still three hundred thousand. And by his own logic, three percent of that profit should have been nine thousand dollars, not three! As I scribbled down the numbers, Ross’s face grew redder and redder. “You’re just an employee!” he finally exploded. “How dare you come in here and try to audit my books?” I tossed the pen on the desk. “What’s there to be scared of? Business is business. Look, even after costs, you’re left with over three hundred thousand.” Ross glanced at my figures and waved a dismissive hand. “Those are just the obvious costs! What about overhead? Does the office internet pay for itself? Do the lights and computers run on magic? What about the rent? Those are all costs!” I was floored. I couldn’t believe he had the gall to say that. But I was done arguing. I drew a line through my numbers and subtracted another twenty thousand. “There aren’t that many people in this company. You can’t pin the entire office’s utility bills on my project. Twenty thousand is more than generous. That still leaves two hundred and ninety thousand.” He was furious. “Are you an idiot?” he screamed. “What about the client kickback?!” Fine. I subtracted another ninety thousand. “Happy now? That’s still two hundred thousand left!” At this point, my commission had dwindled to just six thousand dollars. But I was determined. I was going to get every last cent of it. But I had clearly overestimated Ross’s moral character. He was cornered. He glared at the paper, his face twisting in anger. Suddenly, he pointed a trembling finger at me. “Fine! You want to play with numbers? Let me tell you something. Without this company, you’re nothing! You want to calculate costs? You’re the biggest cost of all!” I almost laughed. I was so angry, a laugh actually escaped. I had worked my ass off for this company, poured my soul into this project, not to mention the countless hours of unpaid overtime. And now, I was the biggest cost? “What cost am I, Ross?” I asked, my voice ice cold. “My salary is my salary, the commission is the commission. Don’t tell me you’re counting my salary as a project cost.” “Heather!” Ross roared. “Get in here! And bring Cole’s file! All of it!” A moment later, Heather walked in carrying a thick folder. I stood there, completely baffled. I worked diligently. What violations? What file? Heather shot me a cold smile and spread the documents across the desk, one by one. Ross was practically vibrating with rage. He jabbed a finger at the papers, spittle flying from his mouth. “I was trying to be nice! You got some nerve, arguing with me? Look at this! Since the day you started, how many times have you been late, left early, or been absent without leave? How do we calculate that!” I looked down at the printouts of my attendance records and my blood ran cold. So this was his “evidence.” I’d only ever seen this kind of thing in the news. Companies digging up years of attendance records to find a reason to fire someone. Even being one minute late or leaving thirty seconds early was counted. I never thought it would happen to me. I saw records dating back to 2022. Heather had them all printed out. Which meant Ross had been preparing this for a long time, just waiting for a moment to use it against me. He had gone back three full years, to the very beginning of my employment. I felt a chill run down my spine. No wonder people always said the smaller the company, the shadier it is. No wonder the project manager Ross forced out had warned me to watch my back. They had learned from bitter experience. Seeing me frozen in place, Ross sneered, “See for yourself. You should be grateful we’ve kept you around this long!” Heather added with a smirk, “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue? You were pretty cocky when you were demanding an audit from me earlier. Don’t worry, I’ve got a record of everything.” I was shaking with rage. When I was hired, Ross himself told me that small companies were flexible and that clocking in was just a formality. Now, those same instances were being used as evidence against me. And many of those “late” arrivals were because I had been working at the office until three or four in the morning! How was I supposed to show up on time after that? I glared at Heather. “Are you serious?! You know damn well why I was late!” She stared past me, a smug look on her face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You never reported anything to me.” “I was working overtime on the project!” I yelled. “Ross knew! How could I possibly get up on time after working that late?” “Did we force you to work overtime?” she retorted, her voice dripping with condescension. “No. That sounds like a personal efficiency problem.” She threw her hands up. “Why should we have to pay for your problems?” She glanced at Ross and his wife, who both nodded in approval. Looking at her smug, punchable face, I felt a murderous rage boil up inside me. I had voluntarily worked overtime to get the project done, and now they were using it as leverage against me. And to think, I was actually going to return their three million dollars. Just then, the boss’s wife coughed. “That’s enough, Heather. No need to rub it in. Why don’t you step out and let me have a word with Cole.” Heather shot me a look of contempt. “I just can’t stand his arrogance. My brother-in-law is a successful business owner, and even he doesn’t nitpick over every penny like this.” She gathered the attendance records from the desk and reluctantly left the office. Once she was gone, the wife put on a sincere expression. She sighed and said, “Cole, I don’t usually get involved in company business, but you’ve really gone too far this time.” “How have I gone too far?” I asked, confused. “Relationships are a two-way street,” she said sagely. “How your boss treats you, and how you treat him in return… it’s all very clear, isn’t it?” Ross, hearing his wife’s words, put on a magnanimous air. “Cole, I might have been a bit heated earlier. But think about it. Without the company as a platform, where would you get the chance to manage a project like this? I gave you an opportunity. And what do you do? Instead of being grateful, you turn on me.” I stared at them, dumbfounded. How could they say things like that? This was a simple business transaction: I do the work, you pay me. But in their world, my job was some kind of moral test. It was an opportunity they had graciously bestowed upon me, and I was expected to be eternally grateful. But one thing his wife said stuck with me. Relationships are a two-way street. They were clever. But I wasn’t a fool anymore. “Are you sure about that?” I asked coldly. “That it’s a two-way street?” “Of course,” she said. “As long as you buckle down and do your job from now on, we can pretend none of this ever happened.” “And the commission is off the table?” I pressed. “What do you think?” Ross snapped. “Of course, you’re free to leave the company. In that case, I’ll just consider that three thousand dollars as a handout to an ungrateful dog.” I nodded. “Alright. I’ll think about it.” The wife smiled. “We know this is a lot to take in… Why don’t you take some time? We have to go meet a client, but we’ll be right back.” With that, she grabbed Ross and they hurried out of the office. As I watched them leave, a stampede of a thousand wild animals thundered through my mind. This was absolutely insane. These two bloodsucking capitalists reneged on a promised commission, threatened me with termination, and were now trying to gaslight me? Fine. Let’s play. Even if I lose my job, I’m out a few months’ salary. But you two? You won’t see a single cent of that three million dollars by the end of today. I took a moment to calm myself. The coast was clear. I pulled out my phone and called my wife. “Honey,” I said, “I need you to go to the bank right now. Withdraw the maximum amount you can from my account. In cash.” She was terrified. “Did you do something illegal?” “Don’t ask questions. Just get the money. I’ll explain everything tonight.” After hanging up, I dialed another number, a supplier. “Hey, Sam? It’s Cole. I need you to find out how much money our company owes in outstanding debts. The boss is settling all accounts today.” Sam was ecstatic. “What?! Did hell freeze over? Since when does that deadbeat Ross pay his bills?” “No time to explain. Just find out who else he owes money to, and fast!” “Well, I know of at least five or six other suppliers off the top of my head,” he said. “We’re talking two, maybe three million in total.” “Perfect,” I said, my heart pounding. “Tell every single one of them to get down to the office right now. If they’re late, I can’t guarantee they’ll get paid.” Sam was skeptical. “Brother, are you messing with me? We’ve tried to collect from that bastard a dozen times. He always dodges us.” “He’ll see you today,” I assured him. “If security tries to stop you at the door, just force your way up.” After hanging up, worried he still might not believe me, I sent him a screenshot of the three-million-dollar deposit. A series of three triumphant emojis popped up in response, and then silence. Just as I finished my calls, the boss walked back in, looking pleased as punch.

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