Category: English

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

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

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

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

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

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

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My daughter wanted a face tattoo—right in the middle of her forehead. I, being a sane mother, stopped her. She listened then, but after she turned eighteen, everything changed. She became a miserable corporate drone, while her old high school friends were becoming TikTok famous and driving Maseratis. She resented me. She was convinced I was the obstacle blocking her path to wealth. The hate festered until today, when she cornered me on the balcony with a knife, intent on stabbing me. I held up one hand to stop her, and with the other, I opened a PowerPoint presentation I’d been compiling since she was a toddler. “Hold on,” I said. “Let’s look at the receipts.” Chapter 1 My daughter, Chloe, is a moron. I’ve known this since she was little. Her favorite hobby is blaming me for her own incompetence. If she got a 50 on a math test, it was my fault for not arranging her breakfast bacon and eggs into a ‘100’. If her crush rejected her love letter, it was my fault for not buying her Sephora makeup. She has the exact same personality as her deadbeat father. Knowing this kid was a lost cause, I dragged her through college, paid her way, and we made a pact: once she graduated, we were done. No contact, dead to each other. I didn’t expect her to show up three years later. She was holding a phone, livestreaming, standing on my balcony surrounded by shattered glass. Her eyes were bloodshot, muttering into the camera: “Mom, if you had just let me be a streamer back then, I’d be driving a Maserati right now.” “Mom, you ruined my life. Do you know that? I’ve spent my whole life trying to heal from my unhappy childhood. I am repressed, I am lost, and I am suffocating.” The livestream chat was flying by, filled with agreement. [Toxic families are the worst. Parents with no vision really ruin everything.] [Talk about extinguishing a fire before it even starts. RIP your potential.] [Ignorant parents really do delay their kids’ lives.] I sighed. As Chloe took a step closer with the knife, I didn’t panic. I just reached out a hand to stop her. “Hold on.” “Why don’t we take a look at the ‘Growth Diary’ I’ve kept for you since you were small?” Chloe froze. She hadn’t expected this reaction. She glanced at the chat. Seeing that her viewers were curious about what I had documented, she decided to humor me. I opened the file. It was so massive it nearly crashed my laptop. It contained every event, big and small, regarding Chloe. I connected the laptop to a projector and threw the PowerPoint onto the living room wall for her viewers to see. “Mom, you destroyed me! Do you feel zero guilt?” Chloe sat on the sofa with me, burying her face in her hands, sobbing and rambling for the camera. She was really acting her heart out. I ignored it and clicked the first slide. Title: Chloe’s Growth Diary. Subtitle: Evidence for when she inevitably denies reality. The chat exploded. [This feels oppressive. Is she gonna invoice her for every cent spent since childhood?] [No wonder the streamer hates her mom.] [Support the streamer! A woman without maternal love doesn’t deserve to be a mother.] I scrolled to the second slide: The Table of Contents. There were over a hundred subheadings. I asked, “Tell me, what exactly are you dissatisfied with regarding your upbringing? Speak up. I’ll answer every point.” Chloe was shocked by my PPT. It took her a while to stammer out an accusation: “When I was little… we went to Grandma’s house. I broke something, and you slapped me in front of all the relatives.” “Do you know how much trauma a slap causes a person?” Chapter 2 The chat immediately started empathizing. [I get it. Once I broke a bowl and my dad nearly broke my arm.] [Don’t cry over spilled milk. I wish parents understood this.] I thought Chloe sounded like a braying donkey with her crying. I dug a finger in my ear, then moved the mouse to navigate to that specific page. The slide was dense with text recording the event. Date: February 9, 1997. Lunar New Year, Day 3. Visiting Grandma. Entry: The child insisted on jumping up and down on the wooden cover of the outhouse cesspit. She fell into the shit. She ruined her new clothes, but seeing as she had already swallowed a few mouthfuls of sewage and was crying hysterically, I held back my temper. The chat filled with “Hahahaha.” I glanced at my daughter’s face. Veins popped on Chloe’s forehead. She slammed her fist on the sofa. “Don’t change the subject! Why did you slap me in front of everyone later?” [Almost got distracted by the mom. She’s posting her daughter’s embarrassing moments just to whitewash herself, right?] [Is it just me, or is this terrifying? Socially executing your daughter with childhood stories.] [Honestly, my heart aches for the streamer. Parents never empathize. No wonder Asian households produce so much depression.] I sighed helplessly and scrolled to the next slide. The text read clearly: We told Chloe to light incense for her late Grandfather. She held the incense and asked why Grandpa had turned into a jar. She asked if Grandpa learned the art of ‘Bone Shrinking Kung Fu’. We laughed through tears at her innocent words and didn’t think much of it. Later, while we were eating, we heard a loud crash. Chloe had smashed my father’s urn. A gust of wind blew through the open door, and my father drifted away in the breeze. He was literally scattered to the winds. She said she ‘wanted to see how Grandpa fit inside.’ My mother passed out cold on the spot. I walked over and slapped her twice. Damn kid. The chat moved beyond “Hahahaha.” [Sis… the fact that you’re still alive is proof of a mother’s love.] [Just a slap? I would have been beaten to death.] Seeing the tide turning against her, Chloe started wailing. “Were you not at fault too? You guys just brushed me off! You didn’t explain it clearly! I was so little, I didn’t know what death meant!” The chat, fickle as grass in the wind, swayed back to her. [True, the adults share responsibility. Kids are just curious.] “Fine! Breaking the urn was my fault! But what about the next year? I was helping Uncle chop firewood, and you beat me again! Just because I was the older sister and didn’t let my cousin play with the axe?” The chat empathized again. [As an older sister, I was always told to yield to my brother. But I was a kid too!] [Why can’t parents ever protect their own children?] I looked at the chat, speechless, then turned to my daughter. “Are you sure you want me to say it?” Chapter 3 Chloe froze for a second, then grit her teeth. “Mom, what else can you twist? If you just apologize to me, I’m willing to forgive you. As long as you stop blocking my streaming career.” [Asian parents will spend their whole lives avoiding an apology.] [I’m crying. I’ve spent my life begging for a ‘sorry’.] I smiled. “Since you put it that way, let me help you recall why I beat you that time.” Date: January 30, 1998. Lunar New Year, Day 3. Entry: I didn’t want to bring Chloe to her grandmother’s, but Grandma missed her. This time, we didn’t let her near the altar. My brother was chopping wood with a large axe. Chloe wanted to try. My brother pushed her away, saying it was dangerous, and told her to go play. Chloe insisted on helping. My brother refused, saying the logs were too big, but promised she could help with kindling tomorrow. Chloe nodded innocently. I let my guard down and went to the kitchen. Suddenly, I heard my mother scream. I ran out to the yard. My mother had fainted (again). My nephew was wrestling Chloe for the axe. And on the chopping block lay my father’s wooden memorial tablet, split perfectly in two. Chloe got a severe beating that day. [Fortune Teller: You have two tribulations after death. Grandpa: Huh?] [Who chops up their grandpa’s spirit tablet for firewood?!] My daughter was losing her mind. She cried, snot and tears flowing freely. Just as I was about to ask if I was being too harsh, she looked up, eyes bloodshot. “These were mistakes I made when I was little! But why did you murder my dog, Buster? Just because Dad gave him to me?!” The chat boiled over instantly. This time, they attacked me. [She’s venomous. Anyone who abuses pets deserves to be struck by lightning.] [I can’t stand this. The mother is psychologically twisted. The daughter’s mistakes were childhood ignorance, but the mother is an adult killing animals? That’s terrifying.] [I had a pet rabbit once. My mom cooked it and forced me to eat it.] Chloe seemed certain I had no evidence for this. She grabbed my hand, stopping the mouse, and screamed, “Answer me! Don’t use your fake evidence to distract everyone! Just answer one sentence: Did you kill Buster? Yes or no!” I looked at my daughter’s sad face, seeing the calculation in her eyes. I nodded and admitted it. “Yes, it was me.” [Holy sh*t, she admitted it. So gross. Some people are just sick. No wonder the daughter wants to kill her.] [An unhappy childhood really takes a lifetime to heal. The daughter is so gentle, only asking for an apology.] Seeing the support rolling in and convinced I had no proof, Chloe’s voice grew firmer. “Mom, you will always be my mom. As long as you admit you wronged me all these years, and call Dad to apologize to him too, I’m willing to let everything go and live with you again.” [The streamer is too kind. A villain like this mom deserves to die, just like the dog she killed.] [So Asian parents only care about grades, not their child’s mental health? They don’t care about anything except achievement.] [She probably killed the dog because it distracted the daughter from studying. Right in front of her face, too.] Chloe’s eyes were swollen red, snot dripping as she yelled, “Mom, is apologizing to me that hard?” I looked at my suffering daughter, my heart as still as water. [God, look at that cold expression. Is that really a mother looking at her daughter?] [The mom doesn’t know how lucky she is to have such a good daughter.] I spoke calmly. “Are you so sure I don’t have evidence from back then?” Chloe went rigid. Her voice trembled. “Your so-called evidence is just you typing on a keyboard! You can type whatever you want!” [True. Text evidence isn’t convincing. Especially regarding animal abuse, text won’t convince me.] [This person isn’t fit to be a mother. She’s an animal.] I smiled faintly, remembering all the losses I suffered with her deadbeat father because I didn’t keep receipts. “Of course I have more than text…” I shook off Chloe’s hand and scrolled to Slide 157. A photo of my daughter and the so-called “puppy.” The word “puppy” obscured the key information. The “puppy” was actually a massive, aggressive breed, sitting as tall as ten-year-old Chloe. When Buster’s photo appeared, the chat jumped. [That… is a puppy? Feels like it could bite my head off.] [Don’t be scared guys, that dog eats people and leaves.] I stared dead at Chloe. “Do you want me to repeat why Buster was euthanized?” She dodged my gaze. But thinking of something, she stared back. “Mom, even if Buster chewed up your purse, you didn’t have to kill him!” The chat was led astray again. [Big or small, abuse is wrong!] [This woman is scary. A few words and a pic almost swayed me, but the point is she killed a pet!] I looked at my unrepentant daughter and dropped the Hammer. I scrolled to the next slide. Chapter 4 Chloe is shrewd. She assumed that since the incident happened in a small county town years ago, even if it made the news, the records would be gone. She was wrong. If I’m building a chain of evidence, I ensure integrity. Text isn’t enough, so I kept the images. I zoomed in on the photo in the PPT. It was a scan of an old newspaper. I moved the mouse slowly to ensure everyone in the livestream could read the text. The bold black headline read: UNLEASHED AGGRESSIVE DOG MAULS INFANT GIRL’S FACE. Below it was a photo of Buster, muzzle covered in blood, staring ferociously at the camera. And a photo of a baby girl, pixelated, but clearly missing a large chunk of flesh from her cheek. I sighed. Even looking at it now, I felt guilt towards that little girl. I had always opposed my ex-husband getting that dog for Chloe. I planned to send it to a friend’s farm to be kept in a kennel. But my ex-husband, while I was at work, secretly told Chloe to take Buster out to “prove he wouldn’t hurt anyone.” And so, the tragedy happened. The next slide showed Buster being euthanized, along with the vet records. [My god. Just euthanasia? If I were that baby’s parent, I would have stewed that dog.] [I actually found the article. The auntie isn’t lying. She paid for the girl’s reconstructive surgery and compensation. The dad who bought the dog went into hiding. Auntie has morals.] [Raising a demon child is exhausting. No wonder she cut contact.] Chloe froze. She hadn’t expected me to keep such complete evidence. She panicked for a moment, stuttering, “You… I… You…” Seeing she had nothing to say, the chat turned on her, calling her a plague, a psycho, trying to pin her sins on her “native family.” Chloe panicked, but after a moment, her eyes lit up. She found an angle. “Mom, that incident was my fault. But why did you read a boy’s love letter to me in front of the whole class?” “Your own daughter is precious, but other people’s sons can be bullied by you?” The comment section exploded again. The netizens couldn’t sit still. [This mom is insane. That counts as abuse, right?] [Taking back what I said about her morals. Publicly humiliating a child is low no matter the reason.] [Die, b*tch. You deserve your daughter trying to kill you.] Chloe avoided my gaze. I looked at her calmly. “Are you sure you want me to say it?”

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I’m shallow. I like pretty things. Specifically, pretty boys. After asking out the class heartthrob, Asher Vance, for the 99th time, he still coldly rejected me. I overheard his friends laughing about it later. “Uh oh, Asher hesitated this time.” “I heard she wants to go to the same college as you.” “Are we going to be drinking at your wedding after graduation?” Asher threw a basketball at them in disgust. “Don’t associate me with that kind of shallow girl. It makes me sick.” On the first day of college, I bumped into Asher at the campus gate, holding a box of freshly baked cupcakes. His eyes lit up when he saw me, then he awkwardly looked away. “Don’t bake for me next time. I don’t like sweet things.” I looked past him at the campus crush standing not far away. Sigh. How do I explain to Asher that the person who loves sweet things is actually my boyfriend? Chapter 1 I’m an average girl. Average hair, average face, average everything. But that doesn’t stop me from appreciating beauty. As my mom always says: “Men are all the same anyway, so you might as well pick a handsome one. At least you won’t wake up in the middle of the night crying because there’s a beast lying next to you.” I took that to heart. Since I was little, I only chased the best-looking boys. If I couldn’t get the cutest boy in first period, I’d go for the one in second period. If that failed, third period. You get the idea. In high school, most guys hit that awkward puberty phase where their looks took a nose dive. Only Asher Vance stood out. He was breathtakingly handsome. So, naturally, I locked onto him. Asher was smart, handsome, and played the violin. When he stood on stage, eyes lowered, long fingers flying over the strings, he looked like a painting. After his performance, applause filled the auditorium. But the sound of my own heart beating was louder than anything else. The first time I confessed my feelings to Asher, he asked coldly: “Hazel, what do you like about me?” I tilted my head, thought about it seriously, and answered: “You’re the best-looking guy in school.” He sneered. “Everyone who chases me says that.” “Too bad. I hate girls like you the most.” Damn. Even when he was mocking me, he was beautiful. I was so mesmerized by his face that I didn’t really process what his little mouth was saying. I don’t know which part annoyed him. From that day on, he hated me. He hated the warm milk I slipped into his desk every morning. He hated seeing me hand him water on the basketball court. He hated our “accidental” encounters even more. But for that face, I endured it all. I was Asher’s shadow for three years. I confessed so many times I lost count. And unsurprisingly, I was rejected every time. My best friends were frustrated. “Hazel, this isn’t how you chase a guy. The internet calls this ‘simp behavior’.” Is it? So be it. I scratched my head calmly. They don’t understand. I simp because the view is worth it. Chapter 2 It was Asher’s birthday. I stood outside the private room of the karaoke bar, holding a carefully wrapped gift. The conversation inside drifted out clearly. “Ash, be honest, do you have feelings for Hazel?” I stopped, eavesdropping through the crack in the door. “Uh oh, he’s silent.” “I knew you hesitated when you rejected her last time.” Someone started evaluating me. “Hazel’s face is mid, but she’s got a great body. Plus, she’s a total simp, easy to control.” “Ash likes the ‘butterface’ type. Lights off, it’s all the same, right? It’s all about the feel. Hahaha.” “I heard she applied to the same college as you.” “Are we going straight to your wedding after graduation?” The laughter grew louder. Thud. A basketball slammed into someone. A grunt of pain, then silence. The noisy room went dead quiet. Asher stood up. On that beautiful face, his expression was twisted with anger. “Great body? Easy to control?” “If you like her so much, date her yourself.” “Don’t associate me with that kind of shallow girl. It makes me sick.” I looked down at the canvas bag in my hands. It had started raining on my way here. I didn’t have an umbrella, so I was soaked. But the bag was dry, protected in my embrace. Inside was the sheet music for Chopin’s Tristesse (The Farewell Waltz). It was the birthday gift I had spent forever choosing for Asher. I wanted to tell him that even after graduation, we would meet again at our dream college. If he was willing, we would start a new chapter. There would be no farewell. “My bad…” “Hazel isn’t good enough for you, Ash. I shouldn’t have said anything.” The guys inside were apologizing. Asher’s friends always had trash mouths. But his answer still echoed in my mind, refusing to fade. Suddenly, it all felt pointless. That face I could stare at forever… how could it say such hurtful things? I gently placed the music book on the floor, turned around, and left without looking back. Chapter 3 The next day, I called in sick for the morning. As soon as I pulled out my books in the afternoon, Asher walked over. He knocked on my desk. “Hazel, homework.” His tone carried a hint of dissatisfaction. “Finals are right around the corner. Where were you yesterday? I didn’t see you.” “I came to school yesterday. I turned in my homework on time too.” I didn’t understand where his interrogation was coming from. “Yeah, you were at school, but yesterday was my birthday. You didn’t come to my…” I couldn’t help but interrupt him. “You hate me so much. Shouldn’t you be happier that I wasn’t at your party?” My voice sounded like a broken gong from being sick. Asher choked on his words. He froze, his anger dissipating. “Your voice… were you sick yesterday?” The next second, Asher tossed a box of medicine onto my desk. “Don’t run around after school. Getting sick now will affect your finals.” He paused. “Don’t misunderstand. As class president, it’s my duty to monitor everyone’s study condition.” “You said you wanted to get into Stanford.” Stanford had always been Asher’s dream. Even though Berkeley was a better fit for me, I had always planned to apply to Stanford, to be someone standing in his bright future. But I didn’t think that way anymore. I decided to apply to Berkeley. But I didn’t plan on telling Asher I changed my mind. I just gave a perfunctory answer: “Thanks, Mr. President. I’ll work hard.” Asher smirked with satisfaction. He instinctively raised his hand, as if he wanted to pat my head. Or maybe I was imagining it. The hand hovered awkwardly in mid-air, then dropped back to his side. Before leaving, he dropped a confusing sentence: “If you have any math questions, you can ask me anytime.” “Helping you get into Stanford is also my duty as class president.” He emphasized the last few words, as if worried I would get the wrong idea. Or maybe he was saying it to himself. Chapter 4 After finals, everyone got busy. Graduation, applications, results… Summer moved forward methodically, accompanied by the endless drone of cicadas. Near the start of the semester, my best friend dragged me to a high school reunion. Seeing me, she screamed: “Omg! You got a perm! It’s so pretty!” “When you get to Stanford, you’re going to dazzle Asher, that poser.” I felt a little guilty. “Actually, I didn’t apply to Stanford. I got into Berkeley.” “And I have a boyfriend. We’re just waiting for school to start to meet up.” Her eyes widened in shock. “You chased Asher for three years, dropped him just like that, and got a boyfriend this fast?!” “How did you meet?” Under her interrogation, I confessed: “His name is Julian. I saw him in the comments section of the Berkeley confessions page.” Thinking of Julian’s handsome face, I blushed slightly. “I didn’t want to move on so fast, but he’s just too good-looking!” “And Julian was so easy to chase. We added each other, chatted for a few days, and he said yes when I confessed.” My friend squeezed closer, demanding to see Julian’s photo. “Holy crap. I approve of this marriage. He is genuinely hot!” Just then. A familiar, clear male voice sounded from behind. Asher stood behind me, a rare, warm smile on his lips. “Hazel, I heard you got in too?” “Congratulations.”

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My husband, David, had been overseas for six months on a research fellowship, leaving me to manage life and our daughter, Lily, on my own. The daily school run was my responsibility. Jenna, the mother of Lily’s best friend, asked if we could carpool. She said we could look out for each other, and I agreed. She was a warm, friendly woman, always ready with a bag of snacks for the girls when she climbed into the car. But there was one thing about her that grated on my nerves. She had a habit of prying, subtly digging for details about my job, my income, and even whether or not my husband and I were getting a divorce. I had to draw a line. I told her to respect my privacy, or she’d have to find another ride. She backed off for a couple of days, but then I stumbled upon a gossip thread on a local community forum. [DEEP DIVE] The Porsche-driving soccer mom in my neighborhood, living all alone. Rich, dumb, and waiting for a new man. Got all the inside info, DM for details, highest bidder wins. A few days later, a black sedan started tailing my car. And Jenna, sitting in my passenger seat, was secretly tapping out a message on her phone. 1 The post was trending. The replies were a cesspool of vulgar comments. The original poster’s username was “GoWithTheFlow,” and their IP address was local. The post laid out the “subject’s” details with unnerving accuracy: Drives a white Porsche Cayenne. Husband’s abroad, probably abandoned her. Lives in The Grandview Estates. Drops her kid off at Bright Horizons Academy every morning at 8 AM. It even described the little teddy bear charm hanging from my daughter’s backpack. But the detail that sent a chill down my spine was the photo. It was taken from the passenger’s seat. A candid shot of my profile and my phone resting on the center console. The screen was lit up, showing my chat window with David. Though it was slightly blurred, I recognized the trench coat I was wearing. I had worn it last Wednesday. And last Wednesday, the only person who had been in my passenger seat was Jenna. My fingers went cold as I held the phone, not from fear, but from a white-hot rage. I had been nothing but kind to her. Her house wasn’t far from mine, and with her husband working as a long-haul trucker, I knew it wasn’t easy for her to raise her daughter alone. When she’d complained about her electric scooter being too cold in the winter and asked for a ride, she’d offered to pay for gas. I refused the money, thinking it was no trouble to help a friend. I had treated her like a friend. She had treated me like a product for sale. The last line of the post was chillingly clear: Interested parties, DM for her detailed schedule and opportunities for an introduction. Success guaranteed. Price negotiable. Someone had replied: For real? Aren’t rich women like her hard to get? “GoWithTheFlow” had answered: Don’t worry, her husband’s gone. She’s lonely. With the right moves, she’s an easy catch. This one’s a whale. One score and you’ll be set for three years. I took a deep breath, screenshot everything, and turned off my phone. The next morning, I pulled up to the curb outside my building as usual. Jenna appeared, holding her daughter Daisy’s hand, a bright, sunny smile on her face. “Morning, Megan!” She opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, a practiced move by now. She handed me an insulated bag. “I made some brown sugar muffins this morning. They’re still warm. For Lily’s breakfast.” If I hadn’t seen that post, I would have thought she was a thoughtful, caring mother. But now, looking at the crinkles around her smiling eyes, all I felt was disgust. “Thanks, but Lily already ate,” I said coolly, not taking the bag. Jenna paused for a fraction of a second, then smoothly retracted her hand and buckled her seatbelt. “Hey, Megan, shouldn’t you get your car serviced? I think that little light on the dashboard is on.” She pointed, leaning forward, but her eyes darted toward my phone. I picked up the phone and placed it face down in the armrest compartment. “It’s not on. You’re seeing things.” Jenna gave a weak laugh and pulled out her own phone, her thumbs immediately starting to fly. As we merged onto the main road, I watched her in the rearview mirror. Her fingers moved at lightning speed across the screen, her expression focused, a strange, knowing smirk occasionally touching her lips. At the same time, I noticed it. A black Hyundai sedan in the mirror, keeping a steady distance behind us. I changed lanes. It changed lanes. I sped up. It sped up. The light ahead turned red, and I eased onto the brake. Jenna suddenly looked up, her voice laced with an odd urgency. “You’re such a steady driver, Megan. But this intersection is a real accident hotspot. You should be careful.” The words were barely out of her mouth when a deafening crash jolted the car. The impact was violent. My seatbelt dug hard into my chest, and from the back seat, Lily screamed in terror. We’d been rear-ended. 2 My first instinct was to twist around and soothe my daughter. Once I was sure she wasn’t hurt, I unbuckled my seatbelt and got out. The car behind us was the black Hyundai. Its front end was crumpled, pressed tightly against my rear bumper. The driver’s door opened, and a man in a black leather jacket stepped out. He looked to be in his early thirties, his hair slicked back with too much gel, a tacky gold chain around his neck. His eyes darted around nervously. He didn’t look at the damage first. He looked at me. There was something in his gaze that made my skin crawl. It was invasive, predatory. “Whoa, hey, beautiful! My bad, my bad! Totally spaced out for a second!” he exclaimed, his voice overly loud. He moved closer, and a wave of cheap cologne and stale cigarette smoke washed over me. I took a step back and pulled out my phone to take pictures. “You want to go through insurance, or handle this privately?” I asked. Before the man could answer, Jenna burst out of the passenger side. “Oh my God, look at this mess!” She ran up to the man, pretending to inspect the damage before turning to me with a frantic look. “Megan, this is going to cost a fortune to fix! I don’t think this gentleman did it on purpose, and he seems really sorry. Maybe we can just talk it out?” I watched her performance with cold eyes. Not once had she asked if the child in the car was okay. The man in the leather jacket immediately jumped in. “Yeah, beautiful, look, I’m in a huge hurry. This is your fault… no, wait, my fault. It’s all my fault, I admit it.” He pulled out his phone and held a QR code up to me. “I don’t have any cash on me, and I… uh… I don’t have insurance. How about this? We can connect on social media. You send me the bill for the repairs, and I’ll transfer the money right over. Promise. I’m in construction, this is nothing to me.” No insurance? A businessman in construction with no car insurance? The lie was almost laughable. “I’m not adding you. We’ll go through the police.” I turned to dial 911. Jenna grabbed my hand. “Megan, don’t be so difficult! The man said he’ll pay. Calling the cops is such a hassle. We’ll have to get damage assessments, and we’re already late getting the kids to school.” As she spoke, she shot me a desperate look, as if to say, He’s cute, just play along. “He seems like a nice guy, and he’s not bad looking,” she hissed under her breath. “Just make a new friend. You never know when you’ll need one.” Her voice was sharp, grating. I shook her hand off. “If you’re such good friends, why don’t you pay for him?” Jenna’s face fell, her expression turning ugly. “What is wrong with you? I’m trying to help you out here!” Seeing his opening, the man swaggered a step closer, his tone becoming sleazy. “Hey, gorgeous, don’t be like that. Adding me online won’t hurt. I’ve always heard that women who drive Cayennes have class. Now I see it’s true.” As he spoke, he reached out to put a hand on my shoulder. I twisted away, pointing a sharp finger at the traffic camera on the corner. “Back off. This entire intersection is under surveillance. You touch me, and this stops being about a fender-bender.” His hand froze in mid-air. A flicker of malice crossed his face before he plastered on the same smarmy grin. “Alright, alright, no touching. So what’s the plan?” “I’m calling the police.” I dialed the number right in front of them. Jenna stomped her foot in frustration, muttering just loud enough for me to hear, “Stubborn bitch. No wonder you don’t have a man.” The police arrived quickly and determined the other driver was 100% at fault. Since he was uninsured, it would be a complicated process to get the money for repairs, requiring official assessments and legal claims. By the time we were done, an hour had passed. After dropping the kids at school, Jenna didn’t leave as she usually did. Instead, she lingered in the car. “Megan, that guy, Rick? I was looking at his social media. It’s all pictures of luxury cars and fancy watches. I think he might actually be a big shot.” She was scrolling through her phone. She had already added him. I ignored her and started the car. She kept rambling. “He told me he really admires independent women like you. He even said he wants to take you out to dinner to apologize. Come on, Megan. David’s been gone for so long. Don’t you ever just want… someone to talk to?” I slammed on the brakes, screeching to a halt at the side of the road. Jenna lurched forward, startled. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?” “Get out,” I said. “What?” “Don’t get in my car again. We’re not on the same route anymore.” Jenna’s eyes widened in disbelief. She clearly hadn’t expected me to be so blunt. “Megan, what the hell is your problem? I’m trying to hook you up, and this is the thanks I get? You kick me out? You think you’re better than everyone just because you drive a stupid Porsche?” I turned and stared directly into her eyes. “You know I drive a Porsche, Jenna. Not a garbage truck.” Her face turned a mottled shade of purple. “Fine, Megan. You think you’re so tough. We’ll see.” She slammed the door and stormed off.

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I grew up in the slums, surviving by digging through trash. On my eighteenth birthday, a barrage of comments appeared before my eyes. 【Damn, CEO Shen’s real daughter is still eating garbage. This experiment is brutal!】 【Seriously. To test his “nature vs. nurture” theory, Shen swapped his twin daughters. The real heiress grew up in the slums, while the adopted one lived as a princess in a mansion.】 【Now the adopted daughter, Aurora Lin, is worth billions, while the real one, Stella Lin, is still dumpster diving. The results are pretty clear!】 I wiped the grime from my hands. My gaze drifted to the massive LED screen on the luxury mall across the street. The face of “Aurora Lin” smiled down. A face identical to my own, advertising a high-end brand. 1 Her face was a portrait of laughter—exquisite, flawless, like a meticulously polished diamond. And I was a stone, covered in dust. 【The necklace she’s wearing today is the ‘Heart of the Deep Sea,’ auctioned for ninety million. CEO Shen bought it specially for her eighteenth birthday.】 【And what did Stella Lin get for her eighteenth birthday? Oh, a slap from her foster mother and being called a waste of money.】 【So tragic. The comparison is just brutal.】 The words on the screen were like needles, pricking my mind. I looked down at the half-eaten, moldy piece of bread in the trash can. My dinner for the night. A shrill voice cut through the air from behind me. “Stella Lin! Where the hell have you been? I told you to get soy sauce! Lazing around digging through trash for food again, are you?!” It was my foster mother, Martha. She charged at me, grabbing a fistful of my hair and slamming my head against the dumpster. “Just like your good-for-nothing dead mother! A worthless piece of trash! All you know is how to eat!” “Wasting our food all day long! Why don’t you just die!” The metal edge of the bin scraped against my temple. It hurt. The taste of blood filled my mouth. 【Here we go, the daily abuse.】 【This foster mother is something else. Where did CEO Shen even find such a horrible person?】 【For the sake of the experiment’s authenticity, of course. He needed the most hostile environment possible.】 I didn’t fight back. After eighteen years, I was used to it. When Martha was done yelling, she spat on me and sauntered off. “No dinner for you tonight! Get lost!” I steadied myself against the wall and slowly pulled myself up. A black Bentley pulled up silently in front of me. The window rolled down, revealing a perfectly made-up face. It was Aurora Lin’s chief assistant, a woman named Chloe. I’d seen her in countless business magazines, always with an air of superiority. Now, she pinched her nose, her eyes scanning me with disgust. “You’re Stella Lin?” I didn’t answer, just stared at her. 【Holy shit! The main event is here to deliver the final blow?】 【Nope, she’s here to deliver the humiliation. I remember this part, it’s about to get intense!】 Chloe took out an exquisitely packaged food container from the car and tossed it on the ground. Food spilled everywhere, mixing with the mud. “Miss Aurora was worried about you, afraid you’d be hungry.” She spoke in a gentle, cooing tone, as if soothing a pet. “She said these are leftovers from her banquet, specially packed for you.” “She also said you should be used to the taste. After all, everything from a garbage dump tastes the same, right?” She covered her mouth and giggled. “Oh, right. Miss Aurora is live-streaming right now. She wants you to say hello to her fans.” She turned her phone screen towards me. On the screen, Aurora sat in a pristine, lavish room, smiling sweetly at the camera. The comments in the live chat scrolled by at a frantic pace. 【Hahaha, Aurora is so kind, still thinking about her sister in the trash heap.】 【Oh my god, she’s so filthy. Get away from her!】 【Make her eat it! Make her get on the ground and eat! I want to watch!】 Aurora’s voice, laced with an innocent cruelty, came from the phone. “Stella, hurry up and eat. Don’t waste my kind gesture.” “Everyone’s watching. You don’t want to disappoint Dad, do you? He’s very interested in the results of this ‘environmental observation’.” Environmental observation. So that’s what it was. In their eyes, my life was just an observation. I looked at the food on the ground, then up at the face that was identical to mine. Slowly, so slowly, I crouched down. I picked up a piece of steak, caked in mud. Under the watchful eyes of Chloe and hundreds of thousands of people in the live stream. I brought it to my lips. Then, just as they were all watching in anticipation, I smiled. And I hurled that piece of steak right at the Bentley’s window. Grease instantly smeared across the expensive glass. Chloe’s smile froze on her face. 2 “Are you insane?!” Chloe’s shriek pierced the dim evening of the slum. She pointed a trembling finger at me, shaking with rage. “Do you have any idea how much this car costs? Can you afford to pay for it? You filthy, low-life piece of trash!” I ignored her tirade. I just stood up and walked towards her, one step at a time. I was filthy, reeking of the sour, rotting stench of the garbage dump. Chloe instinctively backed away until her back hit the cold metal of the car. “What do you want? I’m warning you, don’t do anything stupid!” 【YES! She’s finally fighting back!】 【Get her! That assistant is such a bully, I can’t stand her!】 【No, Stella, don’t! She’s Aurora’s lackey! If you touch her, Mr. Shen will not let you off easy!】 The comments were right to be worried. For the past eighteen years, I’d been beaten, humiliated, treated like a dog. I remember when I was seven, I had a fever so high I was on the verge of death. But Martha took the money for my medicine and used it to play mahjong. I lay on the cold floor, listening to the fireworks outside. The comments told me it was Aurora’s birthday. Her father, Julian Shen, had rented out all of Disneyland for her, with a fireworks display that lasted all night. I remember when I was twelve, I fainted at school from chronic malnutrition. My foster father, Mark, dragged me home, calling me a burden and telling me to go collect more bottles to sell. The comments told me that at the same time, Aurora was skiing in the Alps with a world champion as her private instructor. I remember when I was fifteen, I washed a classmate’s socks for a month in exchange for an old coat to get through the winter. When Martha saw it, she snatched it away to give to her own son and broke one of my ribs in the process. The comments told me that on the same day, Aurora’s closet was featured in a fashion magazine under the headline, “The Ever-Changing Wardrobe of the City’s Top Socialite.” Every single time, I had endured it silently. Because I knew that fighting back would only result in crueler treatment. But today was different. The moment I learned that everything I had suffered was just for an “experiment” to serve as someone else’s foil, to prove that I was inherently “inferior,” something inside me shattered completely. I walked up to Chloe and stopped. We were so close I could see the panic her expensive foundation couldn’t hide. I reached out my hand. She squeezed her eyes shut in fear. I didn’t hit her. I simply plucked the expensive fountain pen from her jacket pocket. A Montblanc, limited edition. I’d seen one before. Julian Shen had one on the cover of a business magazine. “What… what are you doing with my pen?” Chloe’s voice was trembling. I didn’t say anything. I just took the pen, turned, and walked to the front of the car. On the mirror-like hood, I carved, with force, three lines, one after the other. “MURDERER.” “PAY YOUR DEBTS.” “HEAVEN’S WRATH.” The sound of metal scraping against paint was sharp and piercing. Chloe’s face went from pale to ashen. “You… you…” She stammered, unable to form a complete sentence. On the other end of the live stream, Aurora had clearly seen what was happening. For the first time, her sweet voice was laced with genuine anger. “Stella Lin! Stop it! You’re ruining the birthday present Dad gave me!” Dad. The word sounded so natural coming from her lips, and so utterly ironic. I stopped carving and turned to the phone’s camera. For the first time in eighteen years, I was looking clearly, directly, into her world. “Tell Julian Shen.” My throat was dry, each word like sandpaper. “The experiment is over.” “Now, it’s my turn.” With that, I tossed the pen, now bent out of shape in my grip, back at Chloe. She shrieked as if she’d been burned and dropped it to the ground. 3 I turned and walked away, not once looking back at the defaced Bentley and the furious Chloe. 【Awesome! That was so satisfying! But I’m so scared for her!】 【Julian Shen is definitely going to lose it. That’s his precious adopted daughter!】 【Run, Stella! Find a place to hide!】 I didn’t run. This world was so big, yet there was no place for me. I went back to that place I was supposed to call “home.” The moment I walked in, Martha’s hand came flying at my face. “You little bitch! Where the hell have you been? Think you’ve grown wings, do you?” For the first time in eighteen years, I ducked. Martha froze, shocked that I would dare to dodge. “You dare defy me!” Her fury escalated. She lunged at me, claws out. Her son, Ben, a fifteen-year-old who was taller and heavier than me, charged in to grab me from behind. “Mom! Get her! We’ll beat this jinx to death today!” In the past, they would have pinned me to the ground, kicking and punching until they were tired. But today, I was done enduring. The second before Ben’s hands touched me, I sidestepped and kicked him hard in the knee. “Aaargh!” Ben howled in pain and collapsed, clutching his leg. Martha was stunned. “You… you dare hit my son!” I looked at her coldly. “He deserved it.” “You ungrateful brat! We raised you all these years for nothing!” Martha was trembling with rage. She grabbed a broom from the corner and swung it at my head. I didn’t dodge. I just reached out and caught the other end of the broomstick, holding it firm. We were at a stalemate. “Raised me for nothing?” I let out a laugh. It must have sounded ugly. “The orphan subsidy you get from the government every month… you haven’t spent a single penny of it on me, have you?” “I’ve been digging through trash to feed myself since I was six, and I have to give most of it to you, or I get beaten.” “The rent for this house? I pay for it. The food you eat? I buy it with money from selling plastic bottles.” “So who, exactly, is raising whom?” I had never said these words before. I thought that if I was obedient enough, I could earn a moment of peace. I was wrong. Mercy to wolves is cruelty to oneself. Martha’s face flushed red, then went pale. “You… you’re lying! We’ve been so good to you, and you slander us!” 【Hahaha, she’s panicking! Look at her!】 【Stella finally said it! I’ve been waiting for this!】 【Those two leeches deserve it!】 “We can go down to the community office and find out if I’m lying.” I yanked the broom from her grasp and threw it on the floor. “From today on, you won’t get another cent of my money.” “I’m terminating the lease on this place tomorrow. You can figure things out for yourselves.” With that, I turned and went into my tiny room, less than fifty square feet, and locked the door. I could hear Martha and Ben cursing and pounding on the door. “Stella Lin, you little animal! Get out here!” “You dare terminate the lease? I’ll break your legs!” I ignored them. I pulled out a rusty metal box from under my bed. Inside was every penny I had managed to save over the years. A total of three thousand, two hundred and six dollars and fifty cents. This was all I had to fight back with. 【That’s so little… what can she do with that?】 【Don’t lose hope! Stella’s knowledge is priceless! She knows more about recycling than anyone!】 【That’s right! She knows which circuit boards are the most valuable, which plastics sell for the highest price!】 The comments were encouraging me. I opened the tattered copy of the Recycling and Utilization of Renewable Resources Handbook, a treasure I’d found at a second-hand bookstore. I needed money. A lot of it. I needed a company. A company that would allow me to stand before Julian Shen. I didn’t want to be acknowledged by my family. I wanted to crush everything he was proud of under my feet. Just then, my beat-up phone rang. It was an unknown number. I hesitated for a moment, then answered. On the other end was the cold, emotionless voice of a man. “Stella Lin?” “I’m Julian Shen’s lawyer.” “Regarding the damage you caused to Miss Aurora Lin’s vehicle today, and the slander against Mr. Shen’s reputation, I am officially filing a lawsuit against you on behalf of my client.” “The compensation amount is three million dollars.” “Additionally, Mr. Shen asked me to relay a message.” The lawyer paused, his condescending tone practically dripping from the phone. “He said, since the game has started, you should play by the rules.” “He is very much looking forward to seeing what new tricks a rat like you, wallowing in the mud, can come up with.” The line went dead. Three million dollars. The number was like a mountain, crushing the air from my lungs. I looked at the crumpled three thousand dollars in my hand and laughed. Despair? No. Excitement. He had finally entered the game himself.

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