Category: English

The moment the new transfer student stole my seat, he didn’t just take a spot on the train; he unraveled my entire life. And the worst part? He regretted it. Eventually. I was born with a heart that beats to a broken rhythm. Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. It’s a fancy way of saying my heart muscle is too thick, too tired, and prone to giving out if I push it too hard. Weekly check-ups at the hospital are just part of my routine. Harper has been there for every single one of them. We grew up side by side, our lives tangled together like headphones left in a pocket. We were on the light rail, heading back from the city after my appointment. It was rush hour, bodies packed tight, the air stale and humid. Harper spotted the last empty seat—right next to where she was standing—and signaled for me to take it. I was about to sit, my legs aching from the long day, when I felt a tentative tug on my sleeve. “Leo… I’m feeling really lightheaded,” a soft voice whispered. It was Silas, the new transfer student. He looked at me with wide, doe-eyed innocence, one hand clutching his chest, the other trembling slightly. “Do you think… maybe I could have the priority seat? My anemia is acting up.” I almost laughed. The performance was flawless. It was so thick with artificial sweetness it could rot your teeth. I didn’t have the energy for games. I started to shut him down, polite but firm. “Sorry, man, I actually need to—” “Leo, just let him have it,” Harper cut in. Her voice wasn’t asking; it was deciding. I froze. “I know your heart acts up if you stand too long,” she said, her tone dismissive, “but I’ve fought for seats for you a thousand times. You can handle standing this once.” I stared at her. The betrayal wasn’t in the action; it was in the logic. Like a well-trained dog, I stepped back and gave up the seat. Silas sat down with a grateful, shy smile that didn’t reach his eyes. It wasn’t until the third time that week Harper bailed on walking to school with me—only for me to find out she’d already left with him—that the reality settled in. When I finally confronted her, she rolled her eyes. “Leo, seriously? It was just a seat on the train. Is it worth holding a grudge?” I bit the inside of my lip until I tasted iron. “You’re right,” I said, my voice quiet. “It was just a seat. So why couldn’t I have it?” The question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Harper blinked, stunned into silence. 1 She had no answer. She wasn’t used to me pushing back. For years, I had been the soft one, the one who needed protection. Using her own logic against her short-circuited her defenses. It took her a solid minute to find her voice, and when she did, it was laced with defensiveness. “What is with this attitude? Silas wasn’t feeling well. You know that.” I didn’t have the energy to argue. I turned and walked up the stairs. “Leo!” she yelled after me, her voice pitching up. “Are you seriously going to freeze me out over something so petty?” I didn’t look back. That was the beginning of the Cold War. I started avoiding her in the hallways, walking to class alone, eating lunch in the library. She didn’t chase me. The tether that had connected us since kindergarten had gone slack. Then came Monday. AP English. The teacher announced group projects. Before the sentence was even finished, Harper was flanked by her two best friends, Maya and Tess. Usually, I was the automatic fourth. I was gathering my books, waiting for the signal. I looked up to see Silas standing at Harper’s desk. He was blushing, looking down at his shoes, the picture of humility. “Hey, Harper… I know I’m new and I don’t really know anyone yet… do you guys have room for one more?” Maya and Tess immediately started cooing. “Oh, absolutely! We can’t leave the new guy hanging.” Harper looked pleased. She didn’t even glance my way. Her voice dropped into that gentle register she used to use for me. “Of course, Silas. You’re with us.” I stood there, my textbook hovering halfway into my bag. It was as if I had turned invisible. They had forgotten that their “Core Four” actually had four people. Once Silas sat down, he seemed to suddenly “notice” me standing there. He covered his mouth, eyes widening in mock horror. “Oh no… did I take Leo’s spot? I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize…” He looked at Harper, frantic. “Maybe Leo should take it. I can work alone. I’m not great at English anyway, I don’t want to drag you guys down…” Before I could speak, Harper shot me a look of pure annoyance. “Leo, your grades are perfect. You can handle a project on your own. Silas actually needs the help.” Suddenly, the whole thing felt incredibly cheap. I shoved my book into my bag, stood up, and walked to the back of the room without a word. The rest of the class had paired up. The only people left were the “burnouts”—the kids who slept in class or were too stoned to care. I pulled up a chair next to them. “We’re a team,” I said. “Let’s get this done.” 2 Since the grouping incident, the atmosphere in the classroom had shifted. It was subtle, but I felt it. My new team was a disaster on paper. One guy slept through lectures, another was addicted to reading fantasy novels on his phone, and the third wanted to help but couldn’t write a coherent sentence to save his life. I took charge. I broke the project down into microscopic tasks. You, look up these three dates. You, format the citations. You, just print the photos. I dragged them, kicking and screaming, toward a passing grade. It was exhausting. More exhausting than doing it alone. I had to monitor my heart rate constantly, breathing through the frustration. Deep breath. Don’t spike. Don’t spiral. Harper’s group, on the other hand, was having a blast. Silas didn’t know anything, but he knew how to ask. During breaks, he’d lean over Harper’s shoulder, pointing at a page, whispering questions in that breathy voice of his. Harper was endlessly patient, explaining the same concept three times over. Her friends giggled and teased them. I ignored the noise. I focused on rewriting my group’s barely legible notes. The tension peaked during P.E. Because of my condition, I sat out during high-intensity days. I usually did homework on the bleachers. Coincidentally, Silas sat out that week too. Anemia again. So, it was just the two of us on the concrete steps, overlooking the track. He scooted closer, invading my personal space. “Leo,” he said, hugging his knees and looking at me sideways. “Are you still mad at me?” I kept reading. “I know Harper cares about you a lot. You guys have history… I’m just jealous, honestly. I don’t have anyone here. She’s been so nice to me, I just wanted to be close to her.” His eyes started to water on command. “Am I causing problems for you guys?” Before I could figure out how to respond to that level of manipulation, the halftime whistle blew for the basketball scrimmage. Harper jogged over, wiping sweat from her forehead, holding two water bottles. The sunlight caught her hair, making her look like a golden retriever in human form—eager, bright, loyal. She stopped in front of us, cracked the seal on one bottle, and handed it to Silas. “Hydrate.” Then she set the unopened bottle on the step next to me. “You okay? You look pale.” Silas took small sips, looking up at her with adoration. “Harper, that three-pointer was incredible! You looked so cool out there.” Harper grinned, basking in the praise. She was about to say something when Silas suddenly swayed. His hand “slipped,” and the open water bottle tipped over. Ice-cold water splashed all over my lap, soaking my jeans instantly. “Oh my god! Leo, I’m so sorry!” Silas shrieked, jumping up. He reached out as if to wipe the water off my pants, panic written all over his face. But then, he stumbled over his own feet and fell backward, straight into Harper’s arms. “Whoa, gotcha!” Harper caught him, her reflex instant. “You okay?” “I… I’m fine,” Silas murmured, leaning his full weight against her. “Just dizzy. Vision went black for a second…” Harper scooped him up, her brow furrowed in concern. She started walking him toward the nurse’s office. A few steps away, she stopped and looked back at me. I was still sitting on the concrete, water dripping from my jeans, shivering slightly from the shock of the cold. I looked at her, waiting for the bare minimum. Are you okay? It didn’t come. Her eyes were heavy with disappointment. “Leo,” she said, her voice cold. “Silas is sick. Couldn’t you have kept an eye on him? I didn’t think you could be this cold-hearted.” She turned and marched Silas away. The whispers from the class washed over me. I sat there, frozen, feeling a familiar, tight pain clenching around my heart. 3 After that day, I stopped trying. I stopped explaining. I stopped fighting. I stopped looking at Harper. I walked home in wet jeans that day. The autumn wind cut through the damp denim, chilling me to the bone, but the cold inside my chest was worse. The next morning, Harper approached my desk. She placed a carton of warm milk in front of me—a peace offering. “Look… Silas didn’t mean it yesterday. His health is just fragile, you know? Like yours. Don’t take it personally.” I looked at her, and for the first time, I felt nothing. Just a vast, gray boredom. In her eyes, I was the one who didn’t need worrying about. Heart condition? I had meds. Misunderstood? I had a mouth; I could defend myself. Our history had convinced her that my resilience was infinite. I picked up the milk, placed it back on her desk, and spoke softly. “Thanks, but I already drank.” I turned my back to her and opened my vocabulary book. Harper stood there for a moment, embarrassed, before snatching the milk and walking away. I heard Silas’s whisper from across the aisle: “Harper, is Leo still mad?” From that day on, I excised myself from their narrative. I left school the second the bell rang. In group projects, I did the work but offered no small talk. Harper started to notice. She cornered me a few times, asking if I was still sulking about “the little things.” I just shook my head. “No. Finals are coming up. I need to focus.” She looked at me like I was a stranger. She was used to me nagging her, used to me getting reactive. My calm unnerved her. But I didn’t have the stamina for drama anymore. My heart couldn’t take it, and neither could my pride. My salvation came in the form of a flyer on the bulletin board. Citywide English Speech Competition. Theme: The Power of Silence. I stared at it. The Power of Silence. The phrase cut through the fog in my brain. Why was I trying to scream to be heard by people who had chosen to be deaf? Real power wasn’t in the argument; it was in the action. It was in succeeding without them. I tore off the tab, went to the office, and signed my name. The moment I handed in the form, my erratic heart seemed to find a steady beat. I threw myself into it. Lunch breaks were spent on the roof, practicing enunciation to the empty football field. Evenings were spent refining my draft, cutting out every unnecessary word. Meanwhile, Silas was thriving. He was the school mascot of kindness—handing out water to the team, helping people with homework (and then asking Harper for help when he got stuck). They were a perfect, sickening pair. One afternoon, I passed them in the hallway. Silas tugged Harper’s sleeve loud enough for me to hear. “Harper, look at Leo. He’s so focused lately. He barely talks to us anymore.” Harper’s gaze lingered on me, complicated and unreadable. I didn’t break stride. The night before the finals, I stayed late in the empty classroom for one last dress rehearsal. The moonlight spilled over the desks. I wore my white dress shirt—I wanted to get used to the feel of the stiff collar. I ran through the speech. Every pause, every inflection was muscle memory now. I felt ready. I felt light. I was packing up when the classroom door creaked open. Silas stood there, holding a steaming cup of coffee, wearing a smile that was all innocence and poison. “Leo! You’re still here? I brought you some coffee. To keep you going.” 4 “Thanks, but I was just leaving.” I folded my speech carefully, placing it in my folder on the desk. My white shirt, the one I’d ironed specifically for tomorrow, was draped over the back of my chair. “Don’t rush off, Leo.” Silas stepped into the room. He placed the coffee on the desk, dangerously close to my folder. “Tomorrow is the big day. You must be nervous. Drink something warm.” I instinctively took a step back, creating distance. I reached out to move my folder and shirt away from him. “I really don’t want it. Thanks.” My rejection seemed to fluster him. He took a step forward, as if to plead his case, but then his foot “caught” on a chair leg. “Ah!” It was theatrical. The cup of scalding coffee launched from his hand in a perfect arc. Dark brown liquid splashed across the folder, soaking the pages instantly, and splattered all over the pristine white shirt. It happened in slow motion. “Oh my god! Leo, I’m so sorry!” Silas dropped to his knees, grabbing tissues, frantically scrubbing at the mess, which only ground the coffee stain deeper into the fabric. “I didn’t mean to! I just…” I stared at weeks of work dissolving into brown pulp. I stared at the shirt I had to wear in twelve hours. My mind went blank. Then, footsteps. Silas heard them too. He looked up at me, tears instantly welling in his eyes. Then, he threw himself backward, landing hard on the floor as if I had shoved him. “Leo, please don’t be mad… I know you worked so hard…” The door flew open. Harper stood there. Her eyes swept the room—the coffee, the mess, Silas on the floor. “Leo!” “What the hell are you doing?” She didn’t look at the ruined speech. She didn’t look at the shirt. She stormed over to Silas. “You can’t win fair and square, so you resort to bullying?” She glared at me, her expression twisting into disgust. “I didn’t know you were this vicious.” Vicious? A sharp pain exploded in my chest, radiating down my left arm. My vision tunneled. I opened my mouth to say I didn’t do it, but no sound came out. My throat closed up. I stumbled, gripping the edge of the desk. My hand shook uncontrollably as I reached for my pocket. Meds… I need my meds… But my legs gave out. I slid down the side of the desk, hitting the floor. The pill bottle tumbled out of my pocket, rolling across the linoleum with a cheerful clatter-clatter, stopping just out of reach. The room began to spin. Darkness crept in from the edges of my vision. The last thing I saw before the lights went out was Harper stepping over my body to help a crying Silas. “Silas, are you okay? Did you get hurt?” Her voice was full of the panic and care I had never received.

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Everyone in our circle knew that Hayes had a “white moonlight”—a first love he couldn’t forget. And I was just the paid girlfriend he kept on the side. I spent a year finally tying him down, but then his white moonlight suddenly returned from abroad. Hayes couldn’t take his eyes off her. I was furious but helpless. To avoid being dumped, I decided to dump Hayes first and find someone hotter. Somehow, Hayes’ best friend heard the news and offered: “One million a year, come with me?” Thinking about the awkwardness of seeing my ex all the time, I refused. “Three million.” “Cough cough, um, let me think about it.” “Five million.” “Deal.” I was happily packing my bags when Hayes, who had been standing at the door for who knows how long, caught me red-handed. He stared at me, sneered, and pulled out his belt: “Zoey, are you looking for a beating?!” 1 On Hayes’ birthday, it was raining harder than the day I had to ask my dad for money in that soap opera. I braved the storm to buy him a birthday cake. When I got home, I found a woman standing at the door. “Excuse me, does Hayes live here?” I looked her up and down. Porcelain skin, silky hair, a face the size of my palm with minimal makeup, and big, bright, innocent eyes. Paired with a light white dress. She radiated purity. Alarm bells rang in my head. She was exactly Hayes’ type. Most importantly, she knew Hayes’ private address. I couldn’t help but think of the “white moonlight” Hayes’ friends talked about—the one he loved but couldn’t have, who went abroad to study. I think her name was Sunny Song or something. Because of the “Sun” in her name, Hayes even got a small sun tattooed near his heart. Talk about whipped. I lowered my eyes, subconsciously puffing out my cheeks. Under her probing gaze, I said flatly: “He’s gone.” “G-gone?!” Her pretty eyes widened in disbelief. “You mean…” “He died.” I lied without blinking. Sorry, sister. This is competition. There’s no way I’m giving up Hayes, this walking ATM, to you. After a brief silence. “Who died?” A deep, pleasant voice cut through the rain from behind me. I froze. Crap. Caught red-handed spreading rumors about my sugar daddy’s death. Will I survive tonight?! 2 Hayes got out of the car, his gaze locked on me. With a faint smile, he said: “Zoey, what good does my death do you?” He was so pissed at me that he didn’t even spare a glance for the woman in the corner. I lowered my head, my voice weak: “No, I didn’t say you…” Hayes snorted: “Three days without a beating and you’re climbing the roof to tear off tiles. Just wait until tonight!” My heart skipped a beat. What to do, what to do. This “beating” definitely wasn’t a normal one. Hayes had been busy with company matters lately, and I finally had a few days of peace. Seeing his “get everything back in one night” attitude, my bones started to ache. Just as I was brainstorming ways to make my sugar daddy happy so he’d go easy on me in bed, a figure suddenly rushed past me. Ignoring the fine rain, the woman threw herself into Hayes’ arms. “Hayes, I missed you so much!” Her thin clothes were soaked, and she shivered from the cold. Truly pitiful. Hayes froze, looking surprised: “Sunny? Why… when did you come back?” Like the assistant holding the umbrella nearby, I watched the drama through the rain curtain. Hmph. The white moonlight he dreamed of day and night was right here. Stunned, huh? Tongue-tied, huh? Sunny pressed against Hayes’ chest and smiled sweetly, then stood on her tiptoes and hooked her arms around his neck as if no one else was there: “What, aren’t you happy I’m back?” Hayes paused, opened his mouth to say something, but realizing the assistant and I were still there, he cleared his throat: “Let’s go inside first.” 3 I slipped into the house before them and dashed back to my room. Since I got a bit wet, I took a hot shower. When I came out, I saw a missed call from Hailey. Hailey was my college roommate, Hayes’ cousin, a genuine heiress. Optimistic, cheerful, easy to get along with. Loved to party, often taking me clubbing and drag racing behind Hayes’ back. Calling me at this hour, she probably wanted to go out. I called her back. The call connected quickly: “Macho Muscle Party, same place, coming?” I sighed: “Can’t go, Hayes is back.” “My brother? Wasn’t he on a business trip? He specifically said no birthday party this year. Tsk tsk, guess he wanted a romantic night with you.” I scoffed: “You wish. He’s chatting happily with Sunny downstairs right now. Nothing to do with me.” Hearing Sunny’s name, Hailey immediately dropped the teasing tone: “Holy crap, the Little White Lotus is back?!” “What was my brother’s reaction?” “Reaction…” I dried my hair while recalling Hayes’ expression. “Ever seen a dog looking at a meat bun? Pretty much like that. Couldn’t take his eyes off her.” Hailey cursed: “What’s the plan? Want me to come over now and help you tear that white lotus apart?” “Please don’t. If you touch her, your brother might silence us both.” Hailey muttered: “After all these years, he still likes her that much?” Then she changed the subject: “It’s okay, Zoey. Scumbags aren’t worth it. I’ll introduce you to someone better!” “Men are a dime a dozen. I can bring you a truckload. Looks, money, whatever you want, take your pick.” Before I could answer, she hung up. I stared at the screen blankly. Would she really find me a man? Thinking about it, it didn’t seem inappropriate. Hayes was deeply in love with Sunny. It wasn’t bad for me to face reality sooner rather than later. Instead of hanging myself on his tree, I might as well explore the forest. 4 Honestly, it wasn’t like I had no feelings for Hayes. I might seem carefree, like I don’t care about anything, but I have a serious thing about first times. Hayes was my first. In my heart, he was somewhat special. I’d imagined a hundred endings with Hayes, all involving him getting bored and throwing a pile of money at me to get lost. Judging by the current situation, it was time for me to get lost. I looked around the room, thought for a moment, and decided to pack the most expensive jewelry first. No sooner said than done. I pinned up my hair, rolled up my sleeves, and walked straight to the safe. While entering the password, there was a knock on the door. When it opened, Hayes’ overly handsome face appeared. He was really good-looking. The best-looking person I’d ever seen. Every time we slept together, I felt like I should be paying him. Since I was leaving anyway, I might as well look a few more times to get my money’s worth. Thinking this, my gaze became bolder, as if trying to bore holes into his face. Seeing my lovestruck expression, Hayes paused, then raised an eyebrow at me. Tsk. Even handsomer. Just as I was enjoying the view, a head popped out from behind Hayes. “Um, you’re Zoey, right?” “I’m Sunny Song. Have you heard of me?” I shifted my gaze to Sunny. Her eyes curved, dimples appearing on her cheeks. She was radiating kindness, but I felt an inexplicable provocation. Such high-level skills?! I froze slightly, only saying: “Hello, Miss Song.” After that, I stopped looking at Sunny. Hayes was my sugar daddy. If I needed to talk, it was with him. I pursed my lips: “Hayes, I…” “Wifey.” Just as I was formulating my final farewell, Hayes called me “Wifey,” shocking me to my core.

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My mom called me from my top-secret unit, telling me to come home. She had arranged a marriage for me. The prospective bride had everything going for her. Besides being gorgeous, she was the CEO of a famous publicly listed company in the area. Because of my special status, I couldn’t fly commercial. My boss even lent me his personal car to help me make a good impression. I arrived downstairs at my fiancée’s company right on time. Just as I was backing into a parking spot, a red Ferrari came speeding towards me. I couldn’t brake in time and hit it. The owner rolled down the window arrogantly, pointing and cursing at me: “Are your eyes up your ass? Do you know how to drive?” I suppressed my anger and retorted: “You stole my spot, and now you’re blaming me?” Facing my question, he was full of disdain. “Your spot?” “Out-of-towner, let me tell you something. In Jinghai, even a penny falling from the sky belongs to the Chengs, got it?” I froze for a few seconds, then pulled out my phone and dialed my fiancée’s number. “I heard people from your company say the Cheng family runs Jinghai. Is that true?” 1 If it weren’t for my mom, I wouldn’t have even bothered making this call. Hitting my boss’s car isn’t something that can be solved just by paying money. If my future wife had a decent attitude about admitting mistakes, I might have considered suppressing this matter. “I’m busy, make it quick.” On the phone, her tone was extremely impatient. “Miss Cheng, I think you’d better come down personally, lest…” Before I could finish, the line went dead. I stood there, stunned. Do all rich people have this temper? Seeing this, the man who stole my parking spot was grinning from ear to ear. “I thought you were someone important, turns out you’re just all talk.” “If I were you, I’d pay up quickly. If CEO Cheng finds out her car was hit, you might not leave Jinghai alive.” Seeing I was only in my early twenties and driving a car with out-of-town plates, he didn’t take me seriously at all. “Sir, are you even being reasonable?” “You forced your way in and stole my spot. I haven’t even confronted you about that, and now you’re trying to scam me?” I pointed to the camera overhead. “There’s surveillance footage. If you keep twisting the truth, I’m calling the cops!” Hearing I wanted to call the police, he became even more arrogant. “Out-of-towner, save your breath. Even if the cops come, you’ll only end up paying more.” He got more agitated as he spoke, and the air reeked of alcohol. I clenched my fist, narrowing my eyes involuntarily. “You don’t want me to call the police because you’ve been drinking, right?” As soon as the words left my mouth, he shoved me hard. “What does my drinking have to do with you? Pay up!” “If you dare try to welch, I’ll make sure you can’t leave Jinghai!” I’ve been in the unit for years, rarely interacting with locals. I had no idea how to deal with this kind of hooligan. Seeing his arrogance, my anger flared up. “You hit my car, and now you’re accusing me? Is your brain working?” As soon as I said this, the onlookers gasped. “Holy crap, this kid has guts. He even dares to curse Assistant Cheng. Does he have a death wish?” “People usually avoid CEO Cheng’s car like the plague, and he dares to hit it. Balls of steel.” “Bad luck for him, messing with Assistant Cheng. That’s CEO Cheng’s right-hand man!” As the whispers grew louder, Assistant Cheng became even more smug. “Out-of-towner, you dare curse me? You must be tired of living!” Facing his threat, I didn’t care at all. I even found it laughable. “Assistant Cheng, right? I advise you to keep your mouth clean.” “If you really piss me off, even your boss won’t be able to handle the consequences.” “Handle your mom!” After cursing me a few times, he still wasn’t satisfied. He rolled up his sleeves and charged at me. “What? You Jinghai people resort to violence when you can’t win an argument?” Assistant Cheng threw several punches at me, but didn’t even touch my clothes. “Out-of-towner, dodge again and see what happens!” “Believe it or not, I’m calling CEO Cheng right now!” Facing Cheng Lexiao’s provocations, I didn’t fight back, only dodging. Not because I was afraid of him, but before leaving the unit, my boss repeatedly warned me. “Your words and actions represent the unit’s image. Once you’re out, absolutely do not conflict with locals.” Besides, I don’t know how to fight. I either don’t strike, or I strike to kill! Seeing I didn’t speak, Cheng Lexiao thought I was scared. He raised his fist and rushed at me again. Just in the nick of time, a roar came from behind. “Stop!” 2 “Cheng Lexiao, you’re my personal assistant. How can you just fight people on the street?” Surrounded by bodyguards, Chloe Cheng walked quickly towards me. “Are you Zach Zhao?” I looked at the woman in front of me. I had to admit, my mom has good taste. A crimson cheongsam wrapped around a perfect figure. If I had to pick a flaw, it would be the icy look she gave me. “Miss Cheng, nice to meet you. Allow me to introduce myself.” “My surname is Zhao, first name Zach, from…” “No need!” Before I could finish, Chloe interrupted impatiently, raising her hand. “We’re not suitable. Go back to where you came from.” I almost thought my ears were malfunctioning. I drove over ten hours from the unit to Jinghai without even a sip of water. Just met, and she tells me to leave without a word? Is she playing me for a fool? Thinking of this, my temper flared. “You should be the wife my mom found for me, Chloe Cheng, right?” “Sending me away before I even finish speaking, isn’t that a bit rude?” Hearing my words, Chloe’s face changed instantly. “Rude?” “Mr. Zhao, why don’t you look at the building behind you? Do you think you deserve me?” She looked me up and down with disdain. “I don’t know what my dad was thinking, trying to marry me off to a loser like you.” As soon as she said this, the crowd erupted again. “What? This kid is CEO Cheng’s fiancé? That’s unbelievable!” “A country bumpkin like him wants to eat swan meat? He should take a look in the mirror.” “CEO Cheng is the goddess of every man in Jinghai. I, Long Aotian, am the first to oppose this marriage.” As the discussions grew louder, I was confused. When did I say I wanted to marry her? Even if I wanted to, I’d need approval from my superiors. “Fine, fine. I’m a loser, you’re the heiress. Happy?” “Since Miss Cheng doesn’t fancy me, can you return the betrothal gift?” “My mom specifically said on the phone, if the marriage doesn’t work out, remember to get the gift back.” Actually, my mom never mentioned this. I just couldn’t stand her. As soon as I finished, Assistant Cheng jumped in. “Out-of-towner, who do you think you’re looking down on?” “CEO Cheng is the youngest billionaire in Jinghai. Does she need your petty cash?” Seeing this, I finally understood the true meaning of “lackey.” “Assistant Cheng, I just want my things back. What does it have to do with her being a billionaire?” Hearing my words, Chloe’s face flushed red. “It’s just eighty thousand bucks. I’ll return it to you.” She took out her phone and transferred the money on the spot. “I’ll give you a hundred thousand. The rest is a tip for your travel expenses.” I curled my lips and smiled at her. “Well, thank you very much, Miss Cheng.” Just as I turned around, Cheng Lexiao suddenly shouted at me. “Out-of-towner, stop right there!” I paused and turned back slowly. “What? Does Assistant Cheng want to invite me for dinner?” Cheng Lexiao gave me a sinister smile and whispered something in Chloe’s ear. The next second, the so-called youngest female billionaire of Jinghai was furious. “Mr. Zhao! You dare hit my car?” 3 Judging by Cheng Lexiao’s expression, I guessed he must have badmouthed me to Chloe. Borrowing a knife to kill, he’s truly a master at this. Based on Chloe’s attitude just now, I knew explaining was useless, so I didn’t bother wasting my breath. “Name your price. I’ll pay.” Chloe seemed surprised that I admitted it directly, looking at me with astonishment. “Pay? Can you afford it?” “My dad gave me this Ferrari for my 18th birthday. Limited edition, only three in the world, the only one in the country.” “A scratch on it is worth your life. How can you pay?” I raised an eyebrow, a faint smile on my lips. “Miss Cheng, just name the price. Whether I can afford it is my problem.” “Ten million!” As soon as I finished, Assistant Cheng spoke up again. “The whole front is caved in. It can’t be fixed domestically; it has to be sent back to the factory in Italy.” The crowd gasped. Even the owner, Chloe, was a bit surprised. “Assistant Cheng, this car was only a bit over ten million when I got it. Fixing a bumper shouldn’t cost that much, right?” Assistant Cheng waved his hand immediately. “No, no, no, CEO Cheng. You’re thinking too simply.” “This car was a birthday gift from your dad. The sentimental value is immense, right?” “Asking him for ten million is already us being charitable.” Hearing Assistant Cheng’s words, Chloe thought it made sense and lowered her head to think. “Okay! Ten million it is!” I didn’t give her time to think and agreed on the spot. Now, everyone’s eyes were on me. Some thought I was bluffing, some thought I was pretending to be weak to eat the tiger, and the rest were gloating. But these opinions didn’t matter to me. What mattered was that my car was hit too. Although not as severe as the Ferrari, the rear had some scratches. If it were a regular domestic car, Cheng Lexiao’s hit would have totaled it. “Since Miss Cheng’s car is settled, should we talk about mine?” I changed the subject, corners of my mouth lifting involuntarily. “Mine is a domestic car, so no need to send it abroad.” As soon as I finished, the crowd burst into laughter. Led by Cheng Lexiao, the lackeys pointed at me with disdain. “Kid, are you brain-damaged? How much can a domestic car be worth? I’ll just buy you a new one.” “Unbelievable. Someone drives a domestic car to propose in this day and age. Embarrassing.” I scanned the crowd and spoke coldly. “Everyone, although my car is domestic, it has a serial number.” “Before it gets dark, call your grandparents and ask them what a Red Flag (Hongqi) represents!” 4 “Red Flag, Green Flag, it’s just a broken domestic car. How much can it be worth?” Cheng Lexiao dismissed my kind warning completely. “Out-of-towner, talking so much, are you trying to welch?” “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you can’t come up with ten million, don’t think about leaving Jinghai alive!” In less than an hour, someone threatened me twice! This was something I never even dreamed of since joining the unit. I stopped talking nonsense and pulled out my phone in front of everyone. “Hello, Boss, it’s Little Zhao.” The voice on the other end chuckled. “Kid, why call me now? Did you meet the wife? Satisfied?” I glanced gloatingly at Cheng Lexiao opposite me and spoke softly. “Boss, the wife thing is a long story. I have an emergency to report.” “The Red Flag you lent me got hit.” “What did you say!?” The boss on the other end was furious, his shock palpable through the screen. “Little Zhao, are you sure you’re not joking? That’s a Red Flag! Who dares hit it?” I continued unhurriedly. “Boss, how would I dare joke about this?” “The guy who hit your car wants me to pay him ten million and says if I don’t pay, I won’t leave alive.” I roughly explained what happened, and the boss smashed his cup in anger. “Who is it?” Before I could speak, Cheng Lexiao snatched the phone. “Hey, you’re the backup this kid called, right?” “I’ll give you twenty minutes to get the money. One minute late, and I break one of his fingers.” The boss probably never expected anyone to talk to him like that in his life. He paused for a few seconds. “You hit my car, and you want Little Zhao to pay?” Cheng Lexiao still didn’t know who he offended, maintaining his delinquent attitude. “Cut the crap, are you paying or not!” I felt the boss’s rage through the screen. “Pay! Ten million seems too little. How about I pay you a hundred million?” “Tell me the location. I’ll send someone with the money right now!” Cheng Lexiao didn’t expect the “old man” to be so fiery and retorted immediately. “Old fart, stop blowing smoke. A hundred million?” “If you dare pay, I dare take it. Jinghai Tower, I want cash!” After hanging up, Cheng Lexiao looked at his boss proudly, as if asking for credit. Seeing this scene, I couldn’t hold back and laughed out loud. “Miss Cheng, you really hired a good assistant.” “Even daring to extort a Red Flag. Looking across the country, I haven’t seen anyone as brave as him.” Hearing my words, Cheng Lexiao snorted indifferently. “Tch, I don’t care about your Red Flag or White Flag. You have less than ten minutes!” Just then, someone in the crowd shouted. “Look!” Everyone turned their heads. Dozens of armored trucks were driving towards us in a majestic convoy.

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The woman I’d been secretly crushing on for a decade suddenly texted me. “Dean, I’m drunk. Can you take me home?” I rushed out of my condo and drove across Bayport, following the pinpoint location she’d sent. But the man who opened the door to the private room wasn’t the one I was supposed to see. It was Brock Harrington. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Dean Sullivan. Captain Perfect,” Brock sneered, leaning against the door frame of the exclusive club lounge. “After all these years, are you still hung up on Anya?” Anya Reid, my high school goddess, was draped over his shoulder, her eyes unfocused and heavy. “Too bad, man. You’re too late,” Brock purred, his voice thick with entitled arrogance. “I’m about to close the deal on your little high school fantasy right now.” I stood there, feeling like a punchline, as laughter and snickers erupted from the dimly lit room behind him. “Oh, that’s right,” Brock said, snapping his fingers dramatically. “Tonight is the official engagement party for the future CEO of Harrington Group, yours truly, and the beautiful former Northwood High Prom Queen. Sullivan, aren’t you going to come in and have a celebratory drink?” I glanced past him to where Anya was practically folding into his expensive suit. I gave a slight, dismissive shake of my head. “No, thanks. I wouldn’t want to show up the groom.” 1 For three long years of high school, I was practically a punching bag. As soon as class ended, Brock would order me to run out and buy him cigarettes. If I didn’t, I’d be paying for it later. He was the son of the Chairman, which in a place like Bayport meant his word was law, and he had a whole entourage of sycophants who lived to see me tormented. I can still taste the bitterness of my senior year, right after spring break, when Brock planted something on me, lied, and got me expelled. It cost me the last semester and, crucially, my SATs. I missed my chance at a normal life, all because of his petty spite. Ten years later, and here he was, still not finished. “Sullivan, are you completely insane? Anya Reid was the school’s golden girl. What makes you think she’d ever look at a loser like you?” This was Toby Jenkins, our former gym-class captain, now, inexplicably, the VP of Development at Harrington Corp. He must have spent the last decade polishing Brock’s shoes. “Besides, the future Mrs. Harrington is marrying into real power. Brock is practically Bayport royalty. What are you, a guy who couldn’t even get a high school diploma? Where does that confidence come from?” I’ve never liked pointless arguments. I turned to walk away, but a circle of my former classmates immediately blocked my path. “Hey, being expelled isn’t a crime, Dean,” one of them chirped. “Don’t rush off. We haven’t seen each other in ten years. Stay and celebrate with us, have a drink.” Toby quickly chimed in, “Yeah, what’s the rush? Don’t you want to catch up with old friends?” I fought to keep my fury contained, my eyes locked on Toby. “No, I don’t. I came because Anya texted me. From now on, don’t include me in your irrelevant gatherings.” “Hold it right there!” Brock, who had been watching the scene unfold from the sofa, suddenly straightened up. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Sullivan?” he demanded. “You think you’re too good to drink with us?” That was all the cue the peanut gallery needed. “Ooh, the expelled high school dropout looks down on us?” “Yeah, your straight-A grades didn’t do you any good, did they? Still couldn’t get a diploma!” My attempt to leave quietly had turned into a public spectacle, all because of one line from Brock. The old adage felt painfully true: birds of a feather. “Yes, fine. I admit you all have better lives than me. Happy?” I tried to turn once more, but a familiar silhouette was suddenly in front of me. “Dean. Long time. Are you… doing okay now?” Seeing my former crush again hit me with a complicated wave of emotions. Back in high school, ninety percent of the guys at Northwood had loved Anya Reid. I was the other ten who just wanted to watch her be happy. “Captain Sullivan, why aren’t you talking? Don’t you remember me?” She reached out a hand to wave it in front of my face. That’s when I saw the heavy, glittering engagement ring on her ring finger. I took a deep breath, forcing a slight smile. “I’m doing great,” I said. “You, on the other hand… why didn’t you send an invite before deciding to get married?” Anya’s gaze immediately clouded over. “My grandmother needs a major surgery. It’s a massive expense, and Brock… he said he’d handle it.” Her voice broke at the end. “I see,” I murmured. The heavy weight in my chest, the one that feared she might have actually chosen him, finally eased. “If you’d just sent me a text before tonight, Anya, maybe I could have helped.” The second the words left my mouth, a loud, sharp sound split the silence. CRACK! Five vivid, red finger marks appeared instantly on Anya’s pale cheek. “You bitch! Who the hell gave you permission to talk to this loser?” Brock’s bellow silenced the room completely. He swaggered over, a cruel smirk twisting his mouth as he held a champagne flute. “I’m in a foul mood now,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. “You know what you need to do to fix it.” He grabbed the fabric of her silk dress, and with a sickening tear, began to rip it away. “Brock, please! Not here, there are too many people!” Anya struggled to pull away from his grip, but the arrogant Young Harrington wasn’t about to be denied. “Still playing the innocent goddess, huh? Take the damn clothes off, right now!” he hissed. “If you don’t service me properly tonight, your grandmother, waiting for surgery in that hospital, might just find her case… dropped.” Anya buried her face in her hands, silent tears streaming out. As she began to sink to her knees, I pushed myself forward. “Stop it!” 2 A collective gasp went around the room. No one, not a single person, expected the high school punching bag, the quiet kid they’d bullied for three years, to publicly challenge the privileged son of the Chairman. “A hero, are we, Sullivan?” Brock clapped his hands mockingly, and the private room door burst open again. A dozen enormous, black-suited security guards instantly flooded the space. “This is a surprise. I didn’t think there was anyone left in Bayport who had the audacity to lecture me.” My hands curled into fists, but my voice was cold and level. “Brock, for the sake of old times, I’m warning you. Don’t push this too far.” Brock threw his head back and roared with laughter. “What? Did I hear that right? Captain Sullivan, are you… threatening me?” Anya, sensing the dangerous shift in the atmosphere, quickly stepped out from behind me. “Mr. Harrington, he absolutely didn’t mean that. Dean’s just… making a bad joke.” She turned to me, blinking frantically, trying to signal me to back down. “Dean, you know better than to talk to Mr. Harrington like that.” I knew she was trying to save me, but I was done taking cues from anyone in this room. “I’m not joking,” I stated, my gaze fixed on Brock. “I am warning him.” BANG! Brock smashed his champagne flute on the floor. “You son of a bitch, I called you ‘Captain’ out of courtesy, and now you think you’re actually important, is that it?” I was about to retort when Anya frantically pulled me aside. “Dean, I know you want to help, but his father is a massive figure here! The founder of the Harrington Group! If you cross him, you won’t even find a job in Bayport, let alone the city!” A mere billionaire can cost me my job? If I hadn’t been stone-cold sober, I’d have thought I was dreaming. Given my position, only a direct order from the highest levels of the Federal government could override my appointment. The Harrington fortune couldn’t even touch the lowest rung of my organization. I gently squeezed Anya’s hand, a silent signal not to worry, and turned back to Brock. “If you’re reacting this way because Ms. Reid spoke to me, then let me make something clear.” I paused, letting the silence expand. “I don’t approve of this engagement.” The room erupted. “Oh my God, has he lost his mind? He’s trying to steal Brock Harrington’s fiancée?” “It’s been ten years, and this guy is still acting like some kind of naïve jock with zero self-preservation.” “The Harringtons get whatever they want in this town! This idiot has no idea who he’s dealing with.” As the insults grew louder, Brock’s expression became smugly superior. “Drunk on cheap whiskey, are we, kid? Trying to be tough?” he challenged. “You’re a high school dropout. What exactly do you think you have to compete with me for anything, least of all a woman?” I ignored him, my attention fixed on Anya, who was still frozen in disbelief. “Tell me, Anya. Do you love him?” She instinctively shook her head, then immediately tried to correct herself. “Dean, I appreciate the thought, but I have to marry him. Otherwise, my grandmother’s surgery…” I gently wiped a tear from her cheek, my eyes unwavering. “Forget all that. You only need to answer one question.” “Are you coming with me?” Her voice cracked as she spoke. “Dean, I want to go with you, but…” I cut her off. “Ms. Reid, the world doesn’t deal in ‘buts.’ You told me once, back in AP History, to stop overthinking and act. Did you forget?” Anya bit her lip hard. Then, in one decisive movement, she ripped the engagement ring from her finger and dropped it onto the carpet. At that moment, a furious roar came from behind me. “You bitch! Are you sure about this?”

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My ground-floor unit came with a spacious patio, and for three years, I’d poured my life into cultivating one thing: the roses. Every May, they were a cascading tapestry of color and scent, and the entire subdivision was drenched in their perfume. The HOA notice came in: “A joint complaint signed by 260 homeowners demands the immediate removal of your rose wall, citing inadequate light.” I laughed. A cold, flat sound. They lived on the seventh and eighth floors. Did they think the roses could climb to the sky? But I followed the instructions anyway. The following summer, the mosquito population in the subdivision exploded. It was biblical. The HOA group chat was a disaster zone: “Why are there so many mosquitoes this year? We can’t even open our windows at night!” The property manager slid into my DMs: “Ms. Willow, is there any way you could possibly plant the roses back? We understand that particular variety may have acted as a repellent…” I smiled and closed the heavy, custom-fitted screen door. 1 The cold light of the phone screen illuminated my utterly calm face. In the homeowner’s group chat, the property manager’s post—the one specifically tagging me—was pinned there like a cold, official decree. “@Willow Hayes, regarding the climbing rose wall in your patio at 101, we have received a joint complaint signed by 260 homeowners demanding its immediate removal.” Official. Courteous. But radiating an unassailable, collective pressure. 260 households. Our entire subdivision held just over three hundred. The number felt like a granite boulder slamming into my chest, provoking not a splash of distress but a sharp, mocking laugh. I had cultivated this rose wall for three years. From bare, muddy soil to the current, vibrant waterfall of blooms, the effort and devotion I’d poured into it felt no less than raising a child. Every May, the thousands of flowers—a living cascade of blush pink and crimson—were a flowing tapestry that drenched half the neighborhood in its perfume. Now, it was a liability. A menace. A bright red profile picture flashed in the chat. It was Brenda, our community social committee leader, a middle-aged woman running on pure, overweening social committee energy. “@Property Manager! Yes! It must be cut down! We homeowners are suffering!” Her comment was the match. The group chat instantly became a powder keg. “This rose wall has three major offenses!” Brenda’s voice felt like it was shrieking through the glass, carrying an undeniable, aggressive authority. “First, it blocks the light for our high-rise units! That huge wall is blotting out the sun!” My neighbor from the seventh floor chimed in immediately: “Exactly! My unit loses sunlight in the late afternoon now!” I almost laughed out loud. My patio faced the north side of the building. The roses barely reached the second-story window ledges. They were blocking the sunlight for the seventh floor? Did they think the sun rose from the asphalt? “Second, it attracts vermin and insects! It’s terrifying! What if rats or snakes get into our units? This is a severe safety hazard!” Brenda continued her performance. “Right! Right! Last week I swear I saw a dark shape dart across the lawn!” “It’s horrifying! Imagine if a child got bitten!” I narrowed my eyes, my finger hovering over the screen. In three years, I hadn’t seen a large moth, let alone a snake, in my garden. The unique fragrance of the roses was a natural insect repellent. “Third, and most important! Allergies! My grandson is only five, and every time we walk past that wall, he starts sneezing and breaks out in hives! If he develops asthma, who will be held responsible?” This line—the appeal to the health of the children—was a perfect, calculated strike against the soft underbelly of every parent and grandparent in the community. “Oh my god, that serious?” “To have a personal hobby that endangers the whole community’s children is just selfish!” “Cut it down! Immediately!” Dozens of profiles flashed, everyone claiming deep suffering, as if my rose wall was the root of all evil. The same neighbors who had stopped by my fence, complimented the blooms, and inhaled the sweet fragrance with blissful expressions, had now transformed into vicious executioners, waving their keyboards to crucify me. This was my community. A mob easily whipped into a frenzy. I took a deep breath, my fingers tapping out a reply, my tone as detached as an outside observer. “Do you have evidence that my roses block the light for the seventh and eighth floors? Please provide simultaneous light contrast photographs. Has a snake or vermin entered anyone’s home? Please provide a picture or video. As for pollen allergies, please submit a specialist’s report confirming the allergen is the rose variety in question.” My reply was a bucket of ice water on boiling oil. After a brief, stunned silence, the eruption was even more violent. Brenda was momentarily speechless, then launched into a full-scale emotional attack. “How dare you speak to us like that, young lady? Are the collective feelings of this many neighbors not enough evidence? You are selfish! You prioritize your little hobby over the collective good of the entire community! Do you have any respect for your neighbors?” “Seriously, young people today are so insolent!” “One person against the whole community—and she thinks she’s right?” “Let her know: if she doesn’t cut it, we’ll do it ourselves!” The vitriol was a flood, rushing in with staggering force. They had abandoned all pretense of logic, venting pure, unadulterated malice. I looked at the ugly words, and my heart chilled, inch by inch. Three years of neighborly good grace, of polite smiles and greetings, had been exposed as a complete joke. My phone vibrated. It was a private message from Eleanor, the retired schoolteacher who lived in the unit next door. “Willow, don’t let them get to you. These people are just bored and being used by Brenda. Don’t take it to heart.” Eleanor was the only person who had offered me warmth in this cold, concrete jungle. I sent back a “Thumbs Up” emoji, a calming signal. Then, without another word, I began taking screenshots. Every single inflammatory comment, every ID, every profile picture. I saved them meticulously into a new folder labeled “Evidence.” The property manager messaged me privately again. His tone was far more cordial than in the group chat, but the implied threat was sharper. “Ms. Hayes, look… everyone is quite worked up. We’re trying to maintain community harmony. If you don’t handle this, they are threatening to take more aggressive action. It could get ugly.” “Aggressive action” meant trespassing, vandalism, a mob mentality. They were using the logic of the bully to threaten me. Fine. Perfectly fine. I stared at the text for a long time, then typed a calm reply. “Understood. I will handle it.” I put my phone down and walked to the window, looking out at the mass of roses silently releasing their fragrance into the night. The evening breeze rustled the leaves, the flower shadows swaying as if in a final farewell. I smiled, a smile devoid of all warmth. They wanted a world without roses? Fine. I would give it to them. 02 The next morning, the sun was bright and clear. I called the landscaping company I had contacted the day before. Thirty minutes later, two men in work gear, carrying a full set of tools, arrived at my door. “Ms. Hayes, you need a trim and shaping? Your roses are stunning, a beautiful variety. A little trim will make them even better,” the lead worker said, his eyes full of admiration. I handed them chilled bottled water, my voice flat, without a hint of emotion. “Not a trim.” I paused, meeting their eyes. “A complete purge. Root and stem.” The smiles froze on their faces. They exchanged baffled glances, clearly not believing me. “Ms. Hayes, are you serious? This is a magnificent wall. How many years have you cultivated this? It would be a huge waste to cut it all down!” “No waste,” I said quietly. “Just do as I ask. Dig up all the roots. Make sure nothing can sprout again.” Seeing my resolute stance, the workers, though clearly mournful, had no choice but to start. The high-pitched whine of the electric saw quickly shattered the morning peace of the subdivision. Just as I expected, before long, Brenda, leading a group of her associates, gathered outside my patio fence like vultures scenting blood. Arms crossed, they stood there, ostensibly “supervising,” but their faces were alight with undisguised smugness. “Well, well. Finally decided to cut it down?” Brenda’s voice was pitched high, loud enough to ensure every passerby heard her. “I knew it! Personal little feelings mean nothing when it comes to the collective good!” “Exactly. It’s so much brighter here now! We’ll have all this space to hang our laundry!” “Forget laundry! I think this spot is wide open for a nice Zumba session tonight! Smooth concrete!” They chattered and cackled, shamelessly planning the use of the public space right outside my fence, acting as if it were already their property. I ignored their clamor. I stood to one side, watching the workers with a blank expression. The thick vines were sawed off one by one. The wall of green that had embraced the fence came crashing down, a heap of broken branches and dying petals. This was the landscape I had nurtured, pruned, and trained with my own hands for three years. Now, it was being systematically dismembered and destroyed right in front of me. My chest felt like it was being methodically sawed open by a dull blade, the pain so profound it had already gone numb. I turned my back, not allowing anyone to see my expression. “Deeper on the roots, please,” I commanded calmly. “Every main root and lateral root must be removed.” Brenda and her posse’s cheerful shouts formed the hideous soundtrack to this execution. Two hours later, the vibrant rose wall was gone, replaced by a patch of ugly, overturned soil. It looked like a site of utter desecration, an open wound. Brenda started clapping, and the group joined in with triumphant cheers, as if they had won a great and noble battle. “See? This is what harmony looks like! Everyone contributes!” Brenda preened, looking at me like a victorious general. I pulled out my phone and, in front of everyone, paid the landscaping crew their fee. The workers shook their heads, mumbling “a tragedy” as they left. I did not close the gate immediately. I leaned against the doorframe and dialed another number. “Hello, is this Apex Windows? I need to book an installation for your highest-grade mosquito screens. Yes, for the entire house, kitchen and bathrooms included. The steel mesh security type. The best you have. How soon can you install them? The sooner the better.” My voice was low, but in the silence that followed the crowd’s chatter, it carried clearly to every ear. Brenda paused, then burst into exaggerated laughter, as if I’d told a hysterical joke. “Oh my goodness, she cut the flowers because they attracted mosquitoes, and now she’s spending money on screens? Does she have cash to burn? What an absolute fool!” The women around her chuckled and scoffed in agreement. I hung up the phone, slowly lifted my gaze, and looked over their heads into the distance. Then, my eyes drifted back, settling finally on Brenda’s gloating face. I offered her a slow, deeply meaningful smile. There was no anger in it, no resentment. Only a hint of chilling pity that they were utterly incapable of understanding. I said nothing, simply turned, and closed the patio door, sealing myself inside, shutting out their smugness and their scorn. That night, under the cover of darkness, I opened a new package. Inside were several bags of black, grainy seeds. I walked out onto the patch of desolate, upturned earth. Facing the cool night breeze, I scattered the unknown seeds evenly over the soil. When I was finished, I brushed the dirt from my hands. The game, I thought, had only just begun.

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The day before my SATs, my favorite pen vanished. Just as I was about to head to CVS to buy a new one, my older brother shoved a pen into my hand. “I knew you’d lose yours, scatterbrain. I got this one just for you.” I smiled and took the pen. Suddenly, my phone buzzed with a message. “I am you from ten years in the future. DO NOT use the pen your brother gave you. It’s a grade-swapping pen.” “It swapped your score with your best friend, Lani.” I thought it was a prank text until I looked up and saw my brother whispering and giggling intimately with Lani. The next second, I gave that pen to the class slacker. 1 Before entering the exam hall, my brother, Leo, ran up to me specifically to nag. “Cici, remember to use that pen. I got it blessed at the temple for you.” “Don’t think just because your grades are good, you don’t need luck.” He checked my admission ticket and ID with meticulous care. How could I have imagined that my own brother, whom I grew up with, would plot against me like this? “Yeah, Cici, don’t be ungrateful. You always rely on your grades, but you need to know that exams like the SATs need a bit of luck. Listen to your brother, use that pen.” The two of them echoed each other like a married couple. Seeing them like this, I couldn’t help but believe the text message a little more. I was about to question them, but then I thought, today is the SATs. Better not cause trouble. I just nodded and entered the exam hall. As the last test paper was handed in, my high school life ended. When I walked out into the sunset, Leo and Lani were waiting for me. “How was it? I felt the questions were super easy,” Lani said, linking arms with Leo intimately, looking a bit smug. “Maybe this year I can surpass Cici and become the city’s top scholar.” I didn’t know where she got her confidence. Lani’s grades weren’t dead last, but she was definitely in the bottom tier. I had tutored her, but it didn’t help much. If she performed normally on this exam, community college would be a stretch. “Really? Did you solve the last geometry problem?” “Did you understand the English listening section?” “Did you get the essay prompt?” Lani’s face froze at my barrage of questions. Finally, she burrowed into Leo’s arms, acting wronged. Leo shouted sternly, “Cici, where are your manners?! Why are you so aggressive!” Watching Leo defend Lani, it seemed like she was his sister. “Nothing,” I pretended to be innocent. “I didn’t finish them, so I wanted to ask the future top scholar. What’s wrong?” Hearing me say I didn’t finish, Lani reacted like I triggered a keyword. She rushed out of Leo’s arms: “You didn’t write any of those?!” Leo also asked hurriedly, “Cici, don’t joke about grades!” Seeing their panic, the pen-swapping thing was definitely real. I said aggrievedly, “It’s all because of that pen you gave me. As soon as I held it, I couldn’t write anything. I didn’t know how to do so many questions!” “Impossible! You’re always first in the grade. Even if you mess up, you wouldn’t fall out of the top ten. How could you not write anything! You must be lying to us!” “Why would I lie to you? One is my closest brother, the other is my best friend. How could I lie to you? I really messed up.” Seeing that I really seemed to have failed, Lani went crazy and scratched at me. “Why did you harm me like this! Making me fail college!” I hid behind Leo in panic. “What are you talking about! I failed myself, what does it have to do with you?” Leo knew the inside story, so he quickly stopped Lani and comforted her, “It’s okay, she’s just too worried about you and talking nonsense. You go back first, I’ll take Lani home.” After sending the two away. 2 I received another text from my future self. “Did you still use the pen your brother gave you? Why hasn’t the future changed!” I quickly typed on the screen: “I didn’t use it. I gave the pen to the class slacker.” Just as we were wondering what was going on, Leo suddenly appeared again. He and Lani changed their attitude completely, smiling at me. “You little brat, scaring us. You’re clearly the top scholar but you lied to us.” A chill ran down my spine. Based on my own estimation, my score was indeed higher than last year’s city top scholar, but I didn’t have full confidence myself. How did they know! Lani was visibly happy again, acting coquettish with Leo. “Don’t forget, you promised me. If I get into MIT, you’ll be my boyfriend.” Leo pinched her nose with a smile. “You, still like a child.” Turning to me, Leo said, “Exams are over. Let’s go on a trip together. I’ll pay. Let’s go have fun!” “I’m not going!” Lani pouted. “If she’s not going, then she’s not going. She’s always a killjoy. I’ll go with Leo!” Leo grabbed me. “Look at you talking nonsense. You are my sister; how could I not take you? Let’s go together. Mom and Dad aren’t home for the holidays. I’m not comfortable leaving you alone.” After all, he was the brother I grew up with. As soon as his tone softened, I wanted to agree. But at this moment, my phone received another text: “Don’t go! They are going to sell you into the deep mountains! Then Lani will replace you and go to college!” I immediately refused decisively. “Not going. I want to get my driver’s license this holiday. I don’t need you to take care of me. I’ll stay at Uncle’s house.” Leo didn’t seem to expect me to refuse. His hand froze in mid-air. “Better go. Don’t cause trouble for others. Learn from Lani, be good!” Lani also chimed in, “Exactly. With your withdrawn personality, you only know how to study. If not for me and Leo, who would hang out with a freak like you? We are doing this for your own good.” “I don’t like socializing because I think dealing with people is a waste of energy. Being friends with you is just because you are incredibly stupid. I can see through your thoughts at once without any effort.” Lani blushed with anger at my words. Leo ignored our bickering and continued to persuade me to go out with him. His schemes were almost hitting me in the face. “Not going! If you’re worried, I’ll tell Mom.” At the mention of Mom, Leo shut up. Because Mom only liked children with good grades. In the family, I was not only the favored second child but also had surprisingly good grades. I skipped several grades and took the SATs with him at 14. In the family, whatever I said went. But even so, Leo didn’t let me go. That night, with red eyes, he even knelt by my bed, just for our parents waiting outside the door to see. He said our parents were always away on business, and his only wish as a brother was to take me to relax after the exams. He even brought up old scores, like carrying me three blocks to find a clinic when I had a fever as a child. Mom and Dad already felt guilty towards their eldest son, so they came out to uphold justice and made me go out with him. I couldn’t refuse, so I went along. 3 As the car drove away from the city, I watched the buildings shrinking in the rearview mirror. My phone vibrated in my pocket. Future me sent a message: “Do not go on the trip with them. They plan to sell you. There are ropes and chloroform in the trunk.” I replied calmly: “Too late.” I could only clutch my phone tightly, nails digging into my palm. Leo looked back at me from the passenger seat, smiling and handing me a bottle of chilled juice. “Car sick? Bro bought your favorite brand.” Lani sat next to me, leaning her head on my shoulder intimately, as if nothing had happened a few days ago. “Cici, look, ahead is the winding mountain road. I heard the sunrise at the peak is especially beautiful.” When she spoke, her hair smelled of men’s cologne. It was the exact one Leo used. Because of the warning from the future text, I was very careful at first. They didn’t make any moves, and no more texts came. Leo took us out to play and eat local snacks every day. Lani kept taking photos, chanting: “Vlog the top scholar’s holiday.” Just like that, more than a month passed. Seeing that the results were about to be released, they still hadn’t acted, as if they really just came out to play. Until this day, Leo said he found a wild hot spring and drove us deeper into the mountains. The mountain road became bumpier, and the phone signal was intermittent. Lani suddenly screamed, pointing out the window: “Look! Are those fireflies?” I looked in the direction she pointed but saw Leo taking a small brown bottle out of the glove box in my peripheral vision. “Tired?” Leo stopped the car in a dense forest, unscrewed the cap, and poured some transparent liquid into a paper cup. “I specially asked the B&B owner for calming tea. Drink it, and soaking in the hot spring will be more comfortable later.” I looked at the pitch-black surroundings, feeling creeped out. At this moment, the phone vibrated crazily: “There’s something in the drink. You must have noticed. Don’t drink it. But you’re just a kid, you can’t escape. Play along and get kidnapped. I left you something to save yourself.” I knocked the paper cup to the ground violently. The brown liquid splashed on Leo’s beige pants. “What are you doing?” His face changed drastically, the tenderness in his eyes instantly turning into hostility. Lani screamed and hid by the car door but accidentally pressed the window button. The damp night wind rolled in with the smell of earth. “Bro,” I forced my voice to tremble, “I… I need to pee.” Leo stared at me for three seconds, then suddenly smiled again. But the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Silly girl, why didn’t you say so earlier? Lani will go with you. I’ll wait in the car.” Lani pulled my hand and walked into the woods. When the car was out of sight, she suddenly pushed me hard to the ground. “Stop pretending!” She squatted in front of me, her exquisitely made-up face full of malice. “Do you really think I don’t know you gave the pen to the slacker? Luckily, your brother got a spare, or I wouldn’t have gotten your score!” I struggled to look up and saw two men in camouflage standing in the shadows behind her, holding a sack. Lani took out her phone and swiped the screen. It showed the chat history between her and Leo— “Is the stuff ready? The buyer said he wants her alive. Deliver to the back valley for money.” “Don’t worry, bro. I have the chloroform ready. Once she’s sold, I can openly go to MIT with her identity.” “My Lani is the smartest. Once this is done, bro will be with you.” “You have such a good brother, and you don’t cherish him. You deserve this fate. Don’t be so smart in your next life. What’s the use of just studying well!” Lani stood up and kicked my knee. “Can’t figure out why your own brother would harm you? Tall poppy syndrome. For so many years, you not only stole Mom and Dad’s love for him but also crushed him in every aspect. He feels bad. This exam is your doom.” As soon as Lani finished speaking, the man in camouflage walked over and put the sack over my head. In the darkness, I heard Lani’s laughter and Leo’s voice from afar: “Be gentle, don’t hurt her…” 4 When I woke up, I was lying on a kang (heated brick bed) in an adobe house, hands and feet tied with rough hemp rope. Outside the window were rolling mountain shadows. My phone had been taken away at some point. The door creaked open, and an old man with a wrinkled face walked in, holding a bowl of dark stuff. “Awake? Drink the medicine quickly. Drink it and you’re my family’s wife.” The old man grinned with missing teeth, his breath stinking to high heaven. I shook my head desperately, tears flowing uncontrollably. Just then, a faint vibration came from under the mat. Taking advantage of the old man turning around, I lifted a corner of the mat with my knee and actually felt my phone! It was my future self! She must have calculated that I would be taken here and hid the phone somewhere in advance! “Don’t be afraid,” a new message popped up. “The old man is hard of hearing. Pretend to drink the medicine and pour it into the crack of the kang. There’s his son’s phone in the third drawer of the headboard. The password is his granddaughter’s birthday—20100815.” I did as she said. While the old man wasn’t looking, I poured the medicine into the crack and pretended to pass out. After he left snoring, I opened the drawer with my teeth and indeed found an old phone. After unlocking it, I tremblingly dialed 911 and whispered the GPS coordinates shown in the future message. For the next two days, I pretended to be submissive, letting the old man bring me food. Lani and Leo never appeared again. Only the old man bragged to everyone about “the city wife his son bought for a big price.” Until the evening of the third day, police sirens suddenly came from outside the window. A group of police officers rushed in and pinned the old man and his son to the ground. When I was rescued, I met my parents who had driven to the foot of the mountain. Mom held me and cried until she fainted. Dad’s eyes were red, repeating “It’s Dad who didn’t protect you well.” Only then did I know that Leo called the police immediately after I went missing. He tearfully said I “ran away from home due to exam pressure” and took my parents to search the city for two days, portraying himself as a perfect brother. “Where’s Bro?” I asked, wiping my tears.

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After my SAT scores came out, my friend and I were on the subway heading to our hotel. When we tried to exit the station, my phone showed “insufficient funds.” Stuck at the turnstile, I called my mom: “Mom, why can’t I pay for anything all of a sudden?” A cold voice replied from the other end: “I cancelled the family plan.” “I thought you’d definitely score a 1550, so I paid for your trip. You only got a 1540. What face do you have to be out playing?” Just then, text notifications started popping up on my phone. [Your hotel reservation has been cancelled.] [Your flight booking has been cancelled.] [Your ticket purchase has been refunded.] 1 I panicked and tried to explain: “Mom, I checked, 1540 is enough for my target college.” “When we checked the scores this morning, you didn’t say I couldn’t go.” “Mom, please unblock it first, I’m stuck inside the subway station.” Outside the turnstile, my friend Chloe waved at me. I pointed at the phone, and she nodded in understanding. Mom scoffed: “Sierra, remember this. My condition for this trip was you scoring 1550.” “You never said that beforehand.” “I estimated around 1550 back then. I said I might not hit 1550, and you said it was fine, go have fun.” Mom suddenly raised her voice: “You didn’t have the ability to get those extra 10 points, so don’t blame me for changing my mind.” “I worked hard to put you through school, and now you want to negotiate with me? Do you know how hard it is to make money?” “Consider this your first life lesson. In society, only those who work hard and produce results deserve to enjoy themselves.” “Otherwise, you get nothing. Understand?” People rushed past in the subway. Standing in the corner, my eyes welled up: “Mom, please. I’ll get a job when I’m back and pay you back.” “Playing the victim won’t work.” Click. She hung up. More notifications popped up. [Your hotel reservation has been cancelled.] [Your flight booking has been cancelled.] [Your ticket purchase has been refunded.] 2 Seeing my pale face, Chloe walked over: “What’s wrong, Sierra?” My hands wouldn’t stop shaking: “Chloe, my mom cancelled the family payment plan.” I remembered my savings card with my red envelope money (lucky money) was taken by my mom before I left. Her excuse was: “I’m paying for the trip. Don’t touch your savings. I’ll keep it safe for you.” “Wait, I can use my savings.” I switched payment methods, but it still declined. I checked my banking app. Balance: $0.00. Furious, I called my mom again. No answer. I texted her. [Mom, at least give me back my savings.] Chloe actually looked relieved and smiled: “Is that all? I have money. We can just pay at the service counter.” Apologetic, I held up my phone: “No, my mom cancelled our hotel and tickets too.” We left the subway and went to the hotel. The receptionist asked politely: “I see your three-day, two-night reservation has been cancelled. Would you like to rebook?” Holding onto a shred of hope, I asked: “Can we rebook at the original price?” The receptionist’s smile froze for a second: “Sorry, prices fluctuate dynamically. I can’t do that.” When Mom booked a month ago, this star-rated hotel was $200 a night. Now it’s peak season, and the price has jumped to $600. Chloe and I exchanged awkward glances. Chloe said: “Let’s find another hotel.” I felt terrible, repeating “I’m sorry” over and over. Chloe covered my mouth: “Stop apologizing.” “But… my money can only cover a cheap motel and food. What about your flight home?” 3 We searched online for ages before finding a cheap but remote motel. After all this hassle, I lost all mood for fun, filled with anger and guilt. Chloe didn’t mind, but if this hadn’t happened, we would have been happily exploring all morning. Mom still didn’t reply or answer calls, so I called my dad. At home, Mom wore the pants, and Dad listened to her. But surely he’d help his daughter this time? Dad answered, his voice cautious: “Hello, Sierra.” “Dad, Mom cancelled all the bookings. Can you send me some money? Or give me my savings back.” Dad sighed: “You almost gave your mom a heart attack. Of course she cancelled it.” From Dad, I learned the reason for Mom’s sudden change. Turns out, Mom’s coworker, Auntie Wang, was her nemesis. Her daughter took the SATs this year too. Mom swore her daughter had good grades and often used scores to taunt Auntie Wang about not knowing how to educate her kid, saying her daughter would have to rely on marriage to climb the social ladder. Auntie Wang, having a short fuse, made a bet with Mom. The whole office knew. Results came out. Auntie Wang’s daughter scored 1550. That 10-point difference made Mom lose face at work. I didn’t know my scores were betting chips for adults. No wonder when we checked scores at midnight, Mom wasn’t thrilled but still told me to take lots of photos. Dad continued: “Sierra, I can’t help you this time, or I’m done for too.” “Borrow some money from your friend and come back to apologize to your mom ASAP.” 4 So that’s why Mom was posting on Facebook these past few days, bragging about sending me on a trip. She was just putting up a front to provoke Auntie Wang. It all made sense now. Chloe was indignant: “That’s too much. What kind of mom is so utilitarian?” “If I scored 1540, my mom would be grinning from ear to ear.” “She’d brag to everyone, even the neighborhood dogs would know how well I did.” Her words made me laugh through my tears. She picked up her phone: “How about this, I’ll ask my parents to buy you a ticket. We’ll be frugal these few days and deal with it when we get back.” I stopped her hand: “No, Chloe. Your parents work hard too.” Chloe’s family wasn’t as well-off as mine. I really didn’t want to burden them. “I’ll ask other relatives.” Just then, my phone buzzed with messages. In the “Happy Family” group chat, Mom posted a screenshot of my score. Auntie (Dad’s sister): [Sierra is amazing, such a high score!] Mom: [@Everyone Sierra’s performance this time is very disappointing.] [She’s traveling with a friend now. I’ve cut off her allowance.] [If I find out anyone gives her money, we’re cutting ties.] [@Auntie Don’t spoil the child.] Mom always had the final say in the extended family. She had a stable job and connections. Relatives often asked her for favors, so no one dared offend her easily. I typed quickly, posting the screenshot of Mom promising the trip. Me: [Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, I did my best. This score is the result of my hard work.] [Mom proposed this trip. Now she cancelled my hotel and flight without warning. I’m stranded.] Fingers still typing, suddenly, a message popped up. You have been removed from the group chat. 5 Tears of grievance fell. I wanted my grandma. She would help me unconditionally. But she didn’t have a smartphone. Chloe threw a pillow on the bed in anger: “What kind of mom is that? Failing to get 1550 gets you the death penalty in your house?” Outside, the clouds parted, and the sun came out. Sitting here wouldn’t solve anything. I wiped my tears and stood up. “Forget it. Let’s go out. Walking around sightseeing is free anyway.” We wandered through historic alleys, looked at old architecture, and walked by the quiet river. Tired, we sat by the riverbank. My stomach growled. Chloe laughed: “Hungry? Come on, lunch is on me.” While I hesitated, a message popped up. Cousin Rain: [So mad!! How could Auntie do this!!] [Sis has money. Sending you $200 first.] [Venmo transfer: $200.] I held my phone, almost jumping up in excitement. [Love you, Cousin! But do you have enough for yourself?] [Relax, your cousin is a corporate slave now. I have this much.] [Thanks Cousin, I’ll pay you back after my summer job.] [Hehe, take it. Just between us.] [Also, don’t listen to Auntie. I only got 1350, didn’t stop me from being a corporate drone alongside master’s grads.] [Our future isn’t defined by a test score. Besides, you’re the best scorer in our family’s history.] I accepted the transfer and hugged Chloe: “I have money! Lunch is on me.”

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She always told me that family, friendship, and love—they will all betray you. Only money never will. So the moment I returned to the Prescott family estate, I made a decision. I would become the master of the Prescott house. 1 I never knew my father. It was just my mother and me, living in a small, forgotten hollow deep in the country. The town was poor. Everyone, from the toddlers to the great-grandmothers, had to work. The phrase they loved to repeat was, “Poor children learn to run the house early.” But my mother was different. She never taught me how to work the land or keep a home. From the time I could understand, she drilled into me that the world was cruel and offered no fairness. When Mrs. Gable taught her daughter to be kind and gentle, my mother demanded I shed any excess goodness. Claw your way up by any means necessary the moment you see an opening. When Mr. Jones taught his son that kinship and family were everything, she taught me that family, friendship, and love would all betray me. Only money never would. She taught me to observe, to be sweet-tongued on the surface, and ruthless underneath. She showed me, through her own actions, that cold, hard cash was the only loyal thing on this earth. When I was fifteen, my biological father showed up. He wore a tailored suit and his hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place. His polished leather shoes, reflecting the sunlight, looked absurdly out of place on our cracked concrete porch. Mrs. Gable teased me, “Well, girl, looks like you’re finally going to have a good life.” I sat on the steps, staring absently at the gleaming hood ornament on his car—a silent signal of a world I didn’t know. I knew better. Good fortune doesn’t just crash down on you for free. That day, I was driven in the expensive sedan straight to a hospital. The driver oversaw a full physical exam and several vials of blood drawn. When we were done, I was dropped back in the hollow. My mother said nothing, just told me to wait. Ten days later, the man returned. His brow was relaxed; he seemed to be in a much better mood than the last time. He wanted me to stay outside, but my mother insisted I remain in the room and listen to their conversation. “The matching results are in. It’s a half-match.” My mother seemed unsurprised, her expression tranquil. But I saw the truth. Her facade of calm was paper-thin. Her hand, clutching mine, was trembling. At fifteen, I didn’t know what a “half-match” meant. That day, the two people with the closest blood tie to me negotiated for three hours in my presence. In the end, I went home with my biological father. My mother walked away with Five Million Dollars. My bone marrow. That’s what she sold for the price of a house. 2 Alistair Prescott didn’t like my mother, and he certainly didn’t like me. On the drive away from the hollow, I listened to him vent to the driver. My mother, it turned out, was a “mistake” from his youth. He said that if he hadn’t thought she was young, pretty, and easily controlled, he never would have slept with her. He never expected her to be so calculating, running off once she realized she was pregnant. From his tirade, I gathered he had a devoted wife, Sylvie. A daughter, Sierra, who had been raised like a princess. And a son, Remy, who had leukemia. If his son didn’t desperately need a bone marrow transplant, he would never have dragged me into the Prescott family’s life. Alistair dozed off mid-sentence. The space in the luxury car was vast, yet I felt cramped and suffocated. After what felt like forever, the car stopped outside a stunning, columned mansion. Smack. I was still climbing out when the slap landed. I hadn’t even had a chance to register the house. The sudden blow, combined with the stiffness from the long drive, sent me sprawling onto the driveway. My cheek was a sheet of stinging heat. “Sierra! What in God’s name are you doing?” Facing her father’s reprimand, the girl—my half-sister—pouted. “Daddy, don’t you love me anymore?” Alistair sighed, already melting. “Don’t be ridiculous, sweetheart. I was just worried you’d hurt your hand.” Sierra instantly brightened. She hooked her arm through his, staring down at me with an air of pure, arrogant disdain. “Hitting her dirties my hands. Dad, she’s ruined my mood on her very first day. Can we at least make her kneel in the solarium and pray for Remy? Please?” Alistair glanced down at me, then affectionately ruffled Sierra’s perfect blonde waves. “You’re impossible, kid. Fine. You win.” As they turned away, Sierra’s shimmery, designer dress caught the light, a spectacular, dazzling thing made of a fabric I’d never seen before. I knelt for five hours that day. It wasn’t until late that night that I met Sylvie, Alistair’s wife. She was immaculately maintained, but her face was etched with a permanent, profound worry. She barely spared me a look before ordering a housekeeper to take me away. I was settled in the staff quarters, sharing a room with Mrs. Lewis, the senior housekeeper. Mrs. Lewis brought me a plate of food. The rice was dry, and on the side were two cold, greasy pieces of pot roast. The first bite was heavy and oily, coating my mouth with fat. I smiled brightly. “Thank you, ma’am. This is very good.” She just looked at me and said nothing. I knew everyone here disliked me, the bastard daughter dragged in from the backwoods. But if I was going to survive here, I had to change their minds. A few days later, I was taken to see my half-brother, Remy. His face was ghostly pale, as if he might crumble at any moment. When he saw me, there was no hostility, only a quiet emptiness. But when he heard I was his donor, his eyelashes flickered. 3 The doctors opted for a bone marrow biopsy and stem cell harvest. The operating room was freezing. Even through the anesthesia, I felt the pain. An insidious, deep ache. That was the first time I cried since I came back to the Prescotts. I missed my mother. I wanted to ask her why it hurt so much. Remy’s recovery went smoothly enough. Alistair’s attitude toward me softened slightly. He even enrolled me in the same elite private school as Sierra. But even though I had saved her brother’s life, she still hated me. The news of my illegitimate status spread through the school instantly. Sierra led the charge to isolate me. My freshman year was a cycle of finding spiders in my desk, razor blades in my water bottle, and the constant threat of a burnt scalp from a hurled curling iron or a stapler puncture. I was hit, cursed, threatened, and shunned. Whether I was drenched in cold water or locked in the storage closet for the night, I always faced them with a smile. I never told on them. I certainly never cried. I started eating all the heaviest, unhealthiest food I could find. I gained weight, my face broke out with teenage acne, and I wore the baggiest, most shapeless clothes. I was utterly, deliberately forgettable. My mother had taught me: When you are dull and without light, fewer people will bother to look your way. After a while, my complete lack of resistance bored Sierra. She stopped constantly monitoring me. I finally got the breathing room I needed to study. I kept my grades consistently low, always positioning myself at the bottom of the class roster to act as a buffer for Sierra’s terrible scores. In the second half of sophomore year, Remy’s rejection symptoms became severe. I went in for another bone marrow harvest. It was more painful than the last time. I clenched my jaw, refusing to let a single sound escape. Crying is a currency, and I had already spent mine long ago. After that procedure, I was moved into a small, independent room. It had the worst light in the entire villa, but for the first time, I had a space that was just mine. Mrs. Lewis secretly made me a dish of liver—good for the blood. She watched me eat, then turned her back to discreetly wipe away tears. Having shared a room with me for over a year, she knew exactly how often I came back with new bruises. Her initial disgust for the “bastard child” had transformed into pity. She once asked me, Don’t you resent them? I offered her a silent, weary smile. After you’ve walked too many helpless miles alone, resentment simply turns into calculation. 4 Senior year arrived. Sierra’s grades were a lost cause, so Alistair had already arranged for her to study abroad. Naturally, I, with my equally poor grades, had no such luxury. I had to remain in Avery Metropolitan, ready for the next bone marrow call. Sierra had already flown to Switzerland when I took my college entrance exams. Over the summer, her social media feed was full of the Swiss Alps, the Greek Islands, and spectacular skydiving videos. Life is an open frontier, her captions declared. A few weeks later, my scores came in. I had completely over-performed, scoring high enough to get into one of the top public universities in Avery Metropolitan. It was the first time Alistair had ever truly seen me as a daughter. Before that, he didn’t even know what schools I’d applied to. He actually called me to the main dining table for dinner. At the table, he said he would grant me one wish. Even Sylvie looked at me with an uncharacteristic flicker of warmth. Seeing their expectant faces, I let the tears fall, one by one. I told them I had only one wish: I hoped Remy would get well soon. My sincerity wasn’t questioned. They both knew I visited Remy twice a week. The stack of handwritten prayers I copied for Remy in the solarium was thicker than anything Sierra, his biological sister, had ever done. Alistair’s eyes misted over. He patted my shoulder. “It will happen, Rowan. I promise.” Sylvie’s expression was complex. After a long moment, she reached over and put a piece of tender sea bass on my plate. I had earned my seat at the table. I spent most of the summer vacation at the hospital, caring for Remy. Remy was a quiet boy, and perhaps because I was his literal lifeline, he didn’t resist my presence. To an outsider, we looked like a genuinely devoted brother and sister. Sylvie was almost always there, too. She had grown used to my presence, occasionally even offering a word of genuine concern. On the day my freshman year began, Alistair sent a driver and Mrs. Lewis to accompany me to campus. Everyone in the household had noticed the shift in my status. Everyone, that is, except Sierra, who was still abroad. 5 College life was better than I could have imagined. I joined the university’s competitive math society and met Rhys Easton, a student two years ahead of me. He was honest and gentle, completely unlike a rat like me who had spent her life crawling in the gutter. He was a sun, and I couldn’t help but orbit him. I liked him. By a stroke of beautiful luck, he liked me, too. On a perfect, sun-drenched afternoon, he held a bouquet of flowers and asked me to be his girlfriend. The friends he’d enlisted cheered and wished us well. Rhys placed a light, tender kiss on the back of my hand. He tilted his head back, his smile open and radiant. Watching the small tear-mole beneath his eye, my heart melted into something soft and unrecognizable. I was, however briefly, living a beautiful life. During my first college break, Sierra didn’t return. She went to Iceland and chased the Northern Lights. Sylvie didn’t say much, but I saw the disappointment in her eyes. I had long realized that Sylvie favored Remy. She was traditionally biased toward her son, and his leukemia had only intensified that focus. She was visibly upset that Sierra hadn’t returned to check on Remy. Sylvie was aging. Stress had started to thread grey through her hair. The constant surgeries and stress over the years had made her anxious and quick-tempered. The day before New Year’s Eve, Remy’s condition suddenly deteriorated, and he was rushed into the ICU. Alistair was out of town and couldn’t make it back. The staff were all busy at the estate preparing for the holiday. It was just Sylvie and me at the hospital. Outside the operating room, Sylvie gripped my hand tightly, staring at the closed doors. In that moment of extreme vulnerability, I, the bastard daughter, was her only comfort. Thankfully, it was a false alarm. Remy was stabilized. The overwhelming relief of not losing him caused Sylvie to forget herself. She threw her arms around me and sobbed uncontrollably. She cried, and I cried with her. I whispered, “Please, take my bone marrow again. I’ll do anything to make Remy better.” She patted my head, a shaky, tearful gesture. “Sweet child, it’s not that simple anymore.” After that scare, Sylvie became terrified of losing Remy. She moved all her personal belongings to the hospital, including the small chapel paraphernalia she used for prayer. She swore off meat to pray for Remy, and I quietly began eating only vegetables with her. She gradually grew more fragile, and her arguments with Alistair grew explosive. Alistair’s company was demanding, and I knew he maintained several mistresses. His sick son and his increasingly hysterical wife were wearing him down. Alistair’s absence during Remy’s rush to the ICU became the final flashpoint, and their marriage crisis exploded. 6 The villa’s foyer was littered with broken glass and porcelain. Sylvie had stormed out, slamming the door. Alistair slumped onto the sofa, resting his head in his hands. The overflowing ashtray spoke volumes about his frustration. I brought him a cup of calming herbal tea, cautiously offering comfort. “Please don’t be angry, Dad. Sylvie is just so worried about Remy.” Alistair lifted his eyes, accepted the mug, and sighed deeply. He looked me over, his gaze assessing, before changing the subject. “How are things at school?” I pressed my lips together and smiled. “Thank you for asking, Dad. The students are friendly, and my professors are wonderful.” He nodded, his eyes drifting to my worn, faded jeans. “I’ll have my assistant wire you some money. You’re an adult now. Buy some nice clothes.” He stood up, ready to leave. I walked him to the car. Before the door closed, he said, “I’m busy. When you have time, go check on your brother for me.” Until the semester started, Alistair only visited the hospital once. Sylvie handed me one of her credit cards, putting me in charge of the household expenses and staff payroll. Neither she nor Alistair returned to the villa frequently. Everything in the house was now my responsibility. My bedroom was moved from the small, badly lit staff room to a large, sunny suite on the second floor. If Sierra were here, she would have slapped me and accused me of stealing her life. The following summer, Sierra returned for one week. I conveniently managed to miss her, taking a trip to the coast with Rhys. Rhys was a man of integrity. He never pressured me to do anything I wasn’t ready for. Our relationship was still confined to hand-holding and embracing. But the shared trip brought our hearts closer. After the vacation, Rhys began an internship at his family’s company. While he hadn’t made a big show of it, he hadn’t hidden his identity, either. He was the only son of Silas Easton, the famously ruthless real estate developer in Avery City. Our time together became shorter. But no matter how busy he was, Rhys still came to see me every single day. When midterms arrived, I applied to participate in a math competition in New York to bolster my application for a post-grad scholarship. It was my first time traveling abroad. Rhys arranged to attend as an administrative assistant, just to be with me. The competition went well. I didn’t win the top prize, but I ranked well. Afterward, Rhys suggested we celebrate. He mentioned that his sister went to college nearby and could recommend a good restaurant. Walking down a New York street, he held my hand. “Funny enough,” he said, turning his black eyes, bright as sunlight, to mine, “my sister shares your last name.” Rhys was beautiful. Even lost in a throng of people, he shone. A moment later, I spotted Sierra. We hadn’t seen each other in over a year. In that year, I had lost fifteen pounds, traded my heavy bangs and black-rimmed glasses for a sleek, long haircut, and my acne had vanished. Sierra didn’t recognize me. That didn’t stop her immediate, knee-jerk hostility. “Sierra, this is Rowan, my girlfriend.” “Ugh, did you get a girlfriend and forget about your sister, Rhys? You haven’t checked on me in ages.” Sierra cut him off, clearly annoyed. Rhys shot her a look of resignation, then turned back to me, but his expression froze. My face was paper-white. Cold sweat coated my palms. My body was shaking uncontrollably. “Rowan? What is it?” Sierra’s impatient gaze finally landed on me. She frowned. Tears sprang to my eyes. I was shaking, staring at her. “Si…erra…” Her eyes widened in disbelief. She lunged, grabbing my arm. “Rowan Prescott! You! How DARE you!” “Stop it! Let her go. Show some respect,” Rhys demanded. Sierra looked infuriated. She grabbed a fistful of my hair. “Respect this tramp? This bastard spawn of my father’s mistake? You don’t know, do you? She’s Alistair Prescott’s filthy illegitimate daughter!”

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The CEO of the company was my husband. Garrett Rhys. But he had never publicly acknowledged me. “It’s a strategic alliance, a dynastic merger,” he’d always say. “We need to maintain the Golden Bachelor image for the sake of the stock and the brand.” It wasn’t until his college sweetheart, Sierra Thorne, returned from abroad, and he abandoned me, burning up with a fever, to personally host her welcome-home dinner, that the blinding truth finally hit me. I was nothing more than a shadow—a stand-in for the idealized ghost of his first love. With my heart finally broken beyond repair, I drafted a divorce agreement. I was ready to step aside. But on the day I presented the papers, Garrett gripped the agreement with a death-lock, refusing to let go. “Harper, what was the last five years, then? What did it all mean?” I met his gaze, my own eyes utterly vacant. “I’m calling it a massive loss. A failed investment.” 1 My marriage to Garrett Rhys had lasted exactly five years. It was a cold, calculated transaction—a strategic alliance between two powerful families, each of us gaining what we needed. He was my older brother’s closest friend, and I had harbored a silent crush on him for years. So when my family proposed the alliance, and he was the intended groom, I said yes without a second thought. I learned later that he had agreed because his first love, Sierra, had just married someone else and moved overseas. Heartbroken and indifferent, he felt it no longer mattered whom he married. I was simply a suitable, well-connected Sterling—perfectly matched in family background and resources. In those first months of marriage, I held onto a naive, foolish fantasy: that companionship would bloom into love, and that I could melt even the coldest stone. Five years later, the truth was undeniable. Some people’s hearts are the Arctic permafrost—no amount of lifelong devotion can warm them. Over those years, we drifted from polite strangers to co-habitating ghosts. He still kept Sierra’s photograph hidden in his private study. We were husband and wife, yet we were less intimate than neighbors. Aside from the mandatory appearances at family and corporate functions, we slept in separate wings of the penthouse. Our lives were parallel lines that never touched. Five years. No shared vacations, no anniversary celebrations, not even a casual weekend trip to the grocery store together. But I remained the dutiful wife, the perfect Mrs. Rhys. He managed the massive corporation; I ran the family’s charitable foundation, ensuring his domestic life was flawlessly handled. Sometimes, I would wonder if he would spare me even a glance if I didn’t have the Sterling name and the successful foundation work to back me up. Even our rare moments of physical intimacy felt like a chore for him—silent and deeply detached. The real devastation came when I stumbled upon an old box of his college keepsakes and found Sierra’s high school picture. Her eyes, her expression, her overall look—there was an undeniable, six-out-of-ten resemblance to me. In that single, agonizing moment, a cold terror washed over me. I was not his wife. I was merely a placeholder. The irony grew even sharper when I discovered he and Sierra had been discreetly back in contact for several months. I took the evidence to him. “Garrett, Sierra’s back in The City. You’ve been meeting her in private. What exactly is going on?” A flash of panic crossed his face, instantly replaced by a sudden, imperious anger. “Harper, are you seriously spying on me? Sierra is a critical contact for a major partnership. We’re talking business.” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. Business? Did “talking business” require meeting her in a private, high-end club until past midnight, avoiding all of his usual security protocols? No wonder he’d been coming home later and later over the last six months, and had practically stopped all physical contact with me. He was keeping himself pure for his rediscovered first love. I had foolishly blamed myself, believing I wasn’t beautiful enough, gentle enough, or attentive enough. Now I understood. He hadn’t been looking at Harper Sterling at all. He was looking at the woman he wished I was. The long-term stress and constant emotional repression took their toll. My body began to break down. My doctor insisted I check into the hospital for a comprehensive, stress-related procedure. When Garrett heard, he only offered a cool, clipped directive: “Tell Finance what you need. They’ll handle the expenses.” No inquiry about my health. No comfort. The only thing he did was instruct his executive assistant to book the best surgeon and private suite. I went to the hospital alone. After the procedure, as the anesthesia wore off, the pain and the weakness made me crave human comfort more than anything. The nurse asked me to call a family member. In this beautiful but emotionally sterile city, my own family was states away. I’d established my life here for him. I dialed his number. “Garrett, my surgery is done. I’m at Saint Jude’s…” Before I could finish, he cut me off. “I’m stuck in an incredibly important international call right now, I can’t break away…” Through the phone, I could faintly hear the strains of a sweet violin, followed by a woman’s light, recognizable laughter. The line went dead quickly. I stared at the call record—less than ten seconds. I tried to stretch my lips into a smile, tasting only the salt of a single, stray tear. Just days earlier, his secretary had innocently mentioned that Garrett had reserved an entire rooftop restaurant to celebrate Sierra’s birthday. Ten seconds for his wife’s medical emergency was an interruption; a whole evening for his ex was a given. But I was his legal wife. Did he truly hold me in such low regard? Less valuable than the person he had already abandoned once? I thought I would weep, that I would break down completely. But strangely, the barren land in my chest remained perfectly calm. There were no ripples left. The deepest grief had passed; only the empty silence remained. Against the doctor’s strict advice, I demanded to be discharged. The doctor tried to stop me, warning that leaving so soon was dangerous. Desperate to escape, I yanked my arm free. A searing pain shot through the fresh stitches—I felt sure they had torn. “I don’t care if I collapse! It won’t be your responsibility! I don’t have a family left anyway.” I spoke of having no family because tonight, I was going to cut all ties with Garrett Rhys. Seeing the blood starting to seep through my hospital gown, the doctor was horrified. He insisted on re-dressing the wound and then, resigned, personally drove me back to the penthouse. I stopped at a 24-hour print shop downtown to print the final divorce agreement. Back home, I sat in the vast, silent living room, waiting for Garrett’s return. 2 He came back at 1:00 AM. He carried the light scent of expensive scotch and the faintest trace of a delicate, feminine perfume. A soft, lingering smile—a look of pure, easy pleasure—still played on his lips. I realized I hadn’t seen that kind of relaxed happiness on his face in the entire five years we’d been married. Reunions with old loves must be wonderful. He looked surprised to see me sitting on the sofa, then, naturally, he gave an order. “You’re still up? Perfect. Go make me some sobering-up tea, will you?” I didn’t move. He frowned slightly. “Harper?” I finally raised my eyes and fixed my gaze on him. “Garrett. I want a divorce.” I slid the printed agreement across the coffee table toward him. He froze instantly, staring at me in disbelief, as if I had spoken an alien language. “What did you just say?” His voice dropped, laced with the accustomed tone of command and corporate intimidation. But I was no longer afraid. “Sierra is back, isn’t she? I’m clearing the path for her.” Garrett’s face went white. The alcohol-induced warmth in his eyes vanished. “You… how do you know about that?” I curled my lips into a cold, mocking smile. “If you wanted to keep it secret, you shouldn’t have used your assistant’s phone to book her a restaurant reservation. And you definitely shouldn’t have let her wear a diamond brooch identical to your custom cufflink set at an industry gala, allowing her picture to be posted all over social media.” Garrett was speechless. He clearly hadn’t anticipated the extent of my knowledge. Five years of marriage had completely depleted every last, small measure of hope I’d held for him. Since my reserves were exhausted, it was time to leave. “Sign it. Once you do, you can openly pursue your perfect ghost without having to pretend I’m anything more than a copy. We both get to be free.” In five years, the times he had genuinely smiled at me were countlessly few, and mostly for show. I had believed he was simply a cold man, born aloof. Now I knew better. His warmth, his passion, his smiles—they were just things he refused to grant me. If I could rewind time, I would never have agreed to that alliance. You shouldn’t meet someone too magnificent when you’re young; otherwise, your entire life becomes a sustained regret. I had already paid five years of my life for a youthful crush and a family obligation. The dream was over. Garrett snatched the divorce agreement, tearing it violently into small, jagged pieces. “Don’t you dare, Harper! Your family pushed for this alliance! You said you wanted to marry me! Now you just decide to walk away? Five years as man and wife, and you can just drop it all like this?” I watched him, my heart a piece of still, cold glass. “Drop it? Then ask yourself this, Garrett: In the last five years, did you ever, even for a single moment, see me as your wife, and not just a shadow?” 3 The air instantly thickened and froze. My question silenced him completely. Watching his struggle for an answer, I mocked myself internally. How many five-year periods does one life hold? My youth, my devotion, my sincere hopes—all wasted. Garrett loosened his silk tie, visibly frustrated at his lack of an answer. He softened his tone. “Don’t say things you don’t mean. Divorce isn’t simple. It affects both corporations. Just calm down, we’ll discuss this another day.” A flicker of genuine panic in his eyes sealed my total disappointment. I knew his real concern. Divorce would shatter the cooperation between the Sterling and Rhys groups, and it would destroy the devoted husband image he’d painstakingly cultivated, tanking the stock price. My heart was dead, but I wasn’t spiteful. “When we married, I brought the Sterling assets and resources. When I leave, I will take nothing. I’ll walk away clean. You keep it all. Use it to marry the woman you actually want.” I was raised in a business family; I understood transactions. Though I married him with a secret, personal hope, I also brought my full power to assist his career. Now, I saw it was only ever a deal—and I was the fool who lost her heart in the process. “Harper, I forbid it! I am not signing these papers!” It was the first time Garrett had ever lost his composure in front of me. Was that a hint of… fear? I looked at him one last time, my expression calm and empty. “Whether you agree or not, this marriage is over. I’ve submitted my resignation to the Foundation board. After the three-month transition period, I will return to finalize the papers. In the meantime, you need to quickly adjust to life without a Mrs. Rhys.” Garrett panicked, perhaps afraid of losing control entirely. He rushed out the words: “You’re the Foundation Director! Without my consent, your resignation is invalid!” I almost laughed. While the Foundation was tied to the corporation, my professional reputation and my family’s backing gave me significant autonomy. “That’s not up to you. If you try to obstruct me, I’ll call a press conference tomorrow and announce the complete breakdown of our marriage.” With that, I tried to stand up. But my body, weak from surgery and long hours of sitting, swayed. My vision swam. I nearly collapsed. Garrett instinctively reached out and caught me. “What is wrong with you? Your face is pale.” I yanked my arm away with all my strength. “Don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Rhys. I’m not going to die.” Hearing the frigid formality of “Mr. Rhys,” his body went rigid. For five years, I had always called him “Garrett,” even though he rarely responded in kind. “Mr. Rhys” was the demarcation line. It meant he was a stranger. Only then did he truly look at my ashen complexion, and the realization hit him. “Today… was the day of your surgery?” 4 Without asking, he pulled up the hem of my thin house robe. He saw the tight bandages around my abdomen and the dark, wet spots of seeping blood. Garrett’s brow furrowed. “Why aren’t you still at the hospital? Why didn’t you tell me? I’m your husband!” I met his glare with a cold, simple question. “Why aren’t I at the hospital? Have you forgotten, Mr. Rhys? I called you. You said you had a ‘very important international meeting.’” “As for husband…” I paused, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. “That’s about to change.” Garrett urgently pleaded, “Harper, let me explain…” “Stop!” I cut him off. “This surgery—it’s the price I paid for years of emotional repression and stress, all because of you and this marriage.” “Now, I’m only excising the disease for myself.” “Garrett, I don’t love you anymore. I’m too exhausted to try. We are finished.” “If I could rewrite history, I wish… I had never met you.” As the words left my lips, I clearly saw a flicker of pure panic in Garrett’s eyes. Ignoring him, I dragged my weak body toward the front door. My hand touched the handle just as the doorbell rang, sharp and intrusive. I opened it instinctively. Standing there was a woman who did bear a noticeable resemblance to me, her smile bright and charming. Upon closer inspection, her features were similar, but hers were softer, more deliberately alluring. She paused when she saw me, then offered a practiced, flawless smile. “You must be Harper. You really are like the rumors say—you do look a little… like me.” Her tone was gentle, yet threaded with a tiny, undeniable note of triumph. I offered no reply. I had been a stand-in for five years. Now, seeing the original, I couldn’t even summon the energy to feel angry. She held out a folder. I didn’t take it. “Garrett forgot some important documents at my place earlier. I tried his phone, but he didn’t answer, so I dropped it by on my way home.” She spoke, her eyes subtly glancing past me into the living room, where Garrett stood, his face a mask of discomfort. I scoffed inwardly. No wonder Garrett hadn’t stayed in his comfort zone all night—he’d conveniently “forgotten” the “files.” I said nothing, merely stepping aside to let her enter. My heart was ash; their drama was no longer my concern. I walked straight toward the elevator. Just as the doors were closing, I heard Garrett rush forward. “Harper—!” The rest of his voice was cut off. It didn’t matter. I called my assistant, Owen Vance, and asked him to arrange a place for me immediately. Owen sounded surprised on the phone, but he asked no questions, simply giving a crisp, efficient “Understood.” Soon after, he pulled up in a discreet SUV. Seeing my extreme weakness, he immediately jumped out to help me. “Harper? You look terrible. What happened?” I shook my head. “Just a small procedure. I’m fine.” He pulled up the edge of my jacket without asking, saw the bandage, and the telltale bloodstains. His face darkened instantly. “This is a small procedure?! You shouldn’t be traveling! We’re going to my apartment first. I’ll call my family doctor.” I wanted to refuse, but I truly had nowhere else to go, and my body was failing. I nodded weakly. Without another word, Owen folded down the back seat, covered it with a soft blanket, and helped me lie down. He drove smoothly, constantly checking on me in the rearview mirror. When we stopped at a red light, he passed me a thermos of warm water. “Harper, drink this.” It was the first time I had ever clearly felt genuine, unfiltered care from another person. So this is what it feels like to be truly cherished. It felt good.

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Top-tier movie star Sebastian Hayes posts on Twitter: “Who stole my dog!” An hour later, my alt account posting pictures of the dog was doxxed. Soon, netizens discovered: “Isn’t that Sebastian’s dog?!” “This kid actually dared to steal the movie star’s dog? Everyone knows that dog is his precious baby!” “He’s done for. Wait for the lawsuit!” But no one knows, the dog followed me willingly. Because it was the token of love I gave to Sebastian. 1 It’s common knowledge that movie star Sebastian Hayes loves dogs. Especially the one he raised himself, named “Moon.” He can go a month without posting a selfie, but he absolutely cannot go without posting a picture of his dog. His fans say if you want to capture Sebastian’s heart, you first need to capture Moon’s heart. But that night at nine, Sebastian suddenly tweeted: “Who stole my dog!” The exclamation mark at the end practically screamed his rage through the screen. Fans and passersby were stunned. [OMG, who dares to steal Moon? They’re dead meat!] [Dog thief! Give Moon back to Sebastian!] [I can imagine Sebastian thinking about Moon being gone and losing sleep all night.] [If I can find Moon, will… Sebastian date me? Hehe.] [I feel like he’d give you his life if you did.] Meanwhile, the “dog thief” everyone was talking about—me—was happily walking the Samoyed outside. This dog was the love token I gave Sebastian, but after we broke up, he forcibly kept the dog. He wouldn’t let me see it and posted pictures all day to tempt me. As one of the dog’s owners, could I tolerate this? So, on the 38th night of him hogging the dog, I found out his schedule, sneaked into his house, and vowed to steal the dog back. Who knew the moment I opened the door, I locked eyes with Moon’s round, bulging eyes. Moon’s pupils dilated instantly. He obediently held the leash in his mouth and spun around excitedly, as if he knew I was there to pick him up. I patted his fluffy head with satisfaction, took the leash, and carefully slipped away. Moon was super excited the whole way, tail wagging non-stop. I smirked triumphantly. Seems Moon still likes me more. Sebastian can have the dog’s body, but he can’t have its heart. Besides, the dog followed me willingly. How can you call that stealing? 2 Watching the dog frolic and act cute on the grass, my heart felt warm. I couldn’t help but snap a nine-grid photo set with my phone. After taking them, I specifically posted these nine photos to my alt Twitter account with the caption: [The cutest baby in the world is with me.] This alt account had zero followers and followed no one. It was purely for my unhinged rants. Usually, no one comments, but today my notifications were blowing up. Ding dong, ding dong, non-stop. Does everyone else think my dog is super cute too? Makes sense, but something felt off. Confused, I clicked open the comments. [Isn’t that Sebastian’s dog?!] [This kid actually dared to steal the movie star’s dog? Everyone knows that dog is his precious baby!] [He’s done for. Wait for the lawsuit!] I kinda understood, but also kinda didn’t. My dog theft was discovered so quickly? It had only been an hour. I found Sebastian’s Twitter, clicked in, and saw his pinned tweet about the stolen dog. I was silent for a moment, then hurriedly deleted all content on that account and deactivated it. Terrified anyone would find out any info. Then I took the dog back to my place, played with him for a bit, and fell asleep. 3 The next day, before I even opened my eyes, there was a bang bang on the door. I rubbed my sleepy eyes and opened the door to see my manager’s angry face. I raised an eyebrow: “Early menopause? Who pissed you off?” Just then, the Samoyed trotted over on his little legs, white fur flying in the air, staring blankly at my manager. My manager pointed a trembling finger at the Samoyed, his voice filled with grief like he was terminally ill: “What is this? I’m asking you, what is this?” I grinned mischievously, rubbing Moon’s head vigorously: “My dog! Cute, right?” I raised my eyebrows, signaling him to give a compliment. Instead, my manager had a breakdown, screaming right there, his sharp voice piercing through the floors: “Ahhh! Cute my ass! Who told you to steal the movie star’s dog? Ah! Now the whole internet knows you’re a dog thief.” I pondered for a second. Who could know? I already deactivated the account. Thinking of this, I lay calmly on the sofa and said leisurely: “Don’t worry, I handled it perfectly.” The next second, my manager pulled out his phone, opened a page, and shoved it in my face. I stared for three seconds. Huh? What! Sebastian, you bastard! On the screen was Sebastian’s new tweet with a video attached. In the video, a man sneakily arrived at the door, skillfully entered the passcode, and entered the room. About 30 seconds later, he led a chubby Samoyed out. The Samoyed in the video was obviously very happy, grinning from ear to ear, tail wagging non-stop, and kept rubbing against the man’s leg. He even specifically tagged me in this tweet with the caption: [Dog thief, give me back my dog @TylerXu] I’m a D-list celebrity. Before this, I participated in a variety show and got maliciously edited, resulting in my social media being full of haters. But since I flopped pretty hard, there weren’t that many haters. Sebastian’s move pushed me straight into the eye of the storm. At this moment, I was as devastated as my manager. But after a moment’s thought, I realized: dog in hand, world in hand. I don’t care what people say about me. Thinking of this, I clicked open the comments directly. [Can I say the dog looks like it went willingly… sorry, should I not say that?] [Can I say the man in the surveillance video looks kinda hot? Which star is he? I’m gonna follow him rn.] [This guy looks like he knows his way around. Is there a story between them?] [I can only say the internet has no memory. This guy bullied male guests on a variety show before, and now he dares to steal the movie star’s dog. His character has always been rotten.] [For real… then I’m unfollowing. Stealing dogs isn’t cool.] 4 Looking at these comments, I couldn’t help but smirk. Seems many people noticed the dog was willing. I am the dog’s owner! Besides, I don’t rely on the internet or variety shows to eat. What use are fans to me? And with so many haters already, what’s a few more? Thinking of this, I replied directly under Sebastian’s comment section: “Who are you? Stop clout chasing.” Less than three seconds later, Sebastian replied: “You better not be home tonight.” I could even feel him gritting his teeth behind the screen. That’s the effect I wanted. So I replied: “Moved already.” Sebastian: “…” Seeing Sebastian speechless, I tossed my phone aside and laughed out loud. My manager looked at me like he wanted to die, finally shaking his head helplessly: “How can you choose to completely rot just because of malicious editing?” I patted his shoulder to comfort him: “My brother inherited the family business. I don’t need to manage anything and still have endless money. Why must I stay in show business?” “I only joined that show for fun. Who knew it would be so boring and I’d get slandered. Talking about it just brings tears.” “Just rot with me in peace. My brother’s money won’t treat you badly.” “And my brother works abroad all the time, so don’t bother him with these small things.” My heartfelt speech made the manager nod repeatedly, finally choosing to rot with me. Rotting is an attitude, and I’ve implemented this attitude perfectly from the start. Just then, there was another knock on the door. Sebastian’s reply suddenly popped into my mind. Could he have found me? Impossible, impossible. I already moved, and only my manager and brother know this new location. I hesitated, walked up to the peephole, and saw nothing outside. Is it a prank? There are many kids in this neighborhood who like to knock on doors randomly. I’m used to it. Thinking of this, I rolled up my sleeves, planning to teach the prankster a lesson. I swiftly opened the door and looked out. The next second, a large hand grabbed my wrist. I couldn’t help but let out a sharp scream. The sound just came out when it was blocked by Sebastian’s other large hand. My pupils dilated in shock. How did Sebastian find me?

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