Category: English

A murder in the city. A city-wide APB. But Lila Monroe, a precinct intern, secretly replaced the bulletin with a love letter to my husband, Detective Mark Vance. The internet erupted. Criticism and outrage flooded in. “A love confession on an APB?” “So unprofessional!” “Misuse of public resources! Neglect of duty!” “He’s married—is he having an affair with the intern?” “Disgusting!” “I hope his wife, the Chief Forensic Pathologist, takes a scalpel to them both!” My husband was suspended. I watched silently. Because in my last life, I caught Lila’s scheme early. I stopped her, reported it, and she was fired. Drunk and devastated, she fell into a river and drowned. My husband blamed me for her death. Later, during a case, I was taken hostage. Mark didn’t try to save me—he provoked the kidnapper, cornering him. I bled out on a dirty floor, a knife in my chest. Watching from above, I saw no grief on Mark’s face—only savage satisfaction. “Evelyn,” he spat at my body, “if not for your pettiness, Lila would be alive!” “It was just a love letter! Was her life worth taking for that?” “You owed Lila a life. Today, you paid.” Mark packed my ashes into fireworks and set them off over Lila’s grave. I could not rest. Then I opened my eyes—and was reborn. 1 I was back. One year earlier. Sitting in the task force briefing room. The entire department’s most urgent priority was solving the “927 Homicide.” A beautiful university student, out for a nightly jog, had been dragged into a park, assaulted, and brutally murdered. The case sent shockwaves through the city. Public outcry was deafening, and our superiors demanded a swift resolution. As the Captain of the Homicide Division, my husband, Mark Vance, was under immense pressure. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice raw from consecutive sleepless nights. There were no surveillance cameras on the section of road where the attack happened, making the investigation incredibly difficult. But after extensive canvassing, the team finally found a blurry image of the suspect, captured on the dashcam of a car that had passed the park at the time of the incident. The resolution was terrible, a mosaic of pixels that completely obscured his face, but it was our only lead. Mark was in the middle of dictating the details for the APB. “Suspect is a male, estimated age between 35 and 45.” “Gait analysis shows a slight inward turn of the left foot. Stride is average, pace is brisk.” “Wearing a black hooded sweatshirt, dark blue cargo pants…” “A fifty-thousand-dollar reward is offered for any information leading to the arrest of the suspect…” Mark spoke slowly and meticulously. When he finished, he looked at Lila, who was taking notes. “Lila, you get all that? This APB is critical to the case. There can be no mistakes. Every single word has to be one hundred percent accurate.” Lila had just graduated and was still an intern. “Got it, Captain! Your voice is so steady… so magnetic. I wasn’t just listening with my ears; I was listening with my heart.” Her eyes shone with undisguised adoration. “Hehe, just the sound of your voice could give a girl chills… the good kind.” She was openly flirting with him, right in front of me, his wife. It was clear she saw me as nothing more than thin air. “That’s enough nonsense. Get to the comms room and issue it, now!” Mark feigned a reprimand, but there was no heat in his words. Only indulgence. It was precisely this indulgence that had allowed the little troublemaker to become more and more reckless, daring to pull a stunt of this magnitude. “On it!” Lila chirped sweetly. “Captain, I promise to complete the mission you’ve given me!” She grabbed her notepad and skipped off to the communications room. As she passed me, she shot me a smug little arch of her eyebrow. That triumphant look was identical to the one in my memories from my past life. In my previous life, shortly after she left, I’d remembered we needed to add information about the suspect’s shoes to the APB. I’d chased her down to the comms room and found her in the middle of altering the bulletin. She had deleted the entire suspect description. And replaced it with a fawning tribute to my husband. I had been furious. I stopped her immediately, saving the department from humiliation and preventing Mark from becoming a public laughingstock. Professionally and personally, my conscience was clear. I was defending the dignity of the law and protecting my family. How was it my fault that Lila, consumed by shame, got drunk and died? But what did it get me? Only in my last life, as the killer’s knife pierced my chest, did I finally see Mark’s true face. My husband was a man incapable of reason, devoid of gratitude. He was a monster in a policeman’s uniform. I had saved him, and in doing so, destroyed myself. The memories of my past life were like a corpse preserved in formaldehyde, every detail painfully sharp. Reborn, I wouldn’t be so foolish again. So this time, I did nothing. I let Lila work her mischief. I glanced at Mark’s profile. A cold smile played on my lips. Mark, your world is about to come crashing down. After Lila left, the case meeting continued. Mark picked up the autopsy report I had submitted. “Dr. Reed, based on the victim’s wounds, can you determine the type of weapon used?” Though we were married, in public, we always addressed each other by our professional titles. We kept things separate. Except when it came to that little siren, Lila. Then, all of Mark’s principles vanished. I had worked overtime to complete that report; I could recite it from memory. “The wound edges are serrated. I suspect the weapon was something like a butcher’s knife or a boning knife.” Mark nodded. “That suggests the killer likely works as a butcher, a chef, or in a similar trade. That’s the demographic we need to focus our search on.” Mark dispatched officers to canvass businesses near the crime scene. A moment later, Lila breezed back in. A thick cloud of perfume preceded her. Female officers rarely wore perfume. Especially us in forensics. To avoid compromising an autopsy, we wore no cosmetics at all while on duty. Lila, with her heavy makeup, overpowering scent, and uniform blouse paired with black stockings and high heels, was an anomaly. But as Mark’s gaze fell on her, his tired eyes suddenly lit up. Pathetic. Let a man think with his dick, and his brain turns to mush. “Lila, is the APB out?” A grin spread across Lila’s face. “It’s up, Captain! Want to check your phone and see how it looks?” Mark waved a hand dismissively. “No need. I trust you to get it done.” Lila’s smile widened. She turned and brought in a large bag filled with bubble tea and pastries. “Everyone’s working so hard. I ordered some treats for you all.” The team swarmed around her, praising her for being so thoughtful. Lila came from a wealthy family and was always generous, buying loyalty with small gifts and favors. That, combined with Mark’s blatant favoritism, had made her the precinct’s pet. “Captain, I brought you this ginseng from home. You need to take care of yourself. It breaks my heart to see you so worn out.” She handed him a box of expensive supplements. Her words were a cocktail of flattery and thinly veiled insults aimed at me. “Not like some people, who can’t even look after their own husband. So incompetent.” She was always doing this, trying to drive a wedge between us. In my past life, I would have argued back. But now, I acted as if I hadn’t heard a thing, my head bowed over the case file. In my last life, this case was never solved. It went cold. The victim’s parents lived in a state of perpetual grief, and the case became a stain on the city police department’s record. Since fate had given me a second chance. I wouldn’t just change my own tragic destiny; I would find a way to solve this case. To get justice for the victim and bring peace to her family. A mean-spirited person like her only feels a sense of accomplishment when her provocations get a reaction. My impassive silence clearly disappointed Lila. Her eyes darted around, and a new, malicious idea took root. Swaying her hips, Lila brought a cup of bubble tea over to my desk. “Dr. Reed, I got this for you. I made sure to tell them no ice. I know how you older women are always afraid of the cold, not like us young girls who don’t have to worry about such things.” It was another direct provocation. Even Mark looked uncomfortable. He started to speak, but couldn’t bring himself to scold her. He just pursed his lips and pretended to be deaf. I remained unmoved. “No, thank you. I don’t like sweet drinks.” Lila’s hand froze in mid-air. Her eyes reddened as if she’d suffered a terrible injustice. “Dr. Reed, did I do something wrong? Is that why you won’t take it?” Mark immediately forgot Lila’s provocation and turned on me. “Evelyn, Lila was being nice. Why do you have to be so rude?” “We’re colleagues in the same unit. You need to show some solidarity.” Emboldened by his support, Lila pushed her luck. She deliberately tried to force the cup into my hand. “Come on, Dr. Reed. Don’t be like that.” Her back was to the others. Only I could see the scheming look on her face. “Oops!” She “accidentally” tilted her hand, spilling the hot tea all over the back of her own. Like a seasoned actress, tears instantly welled in her eyes. “It’s burning!” Mark rushed over, grabbing her hand and blowing on it tenderly. “It’s all red!” “Does it hurt?” “Should we go to the hospital?” Tears streamed down Lila’s face. “Captain, I… I’m fine… sob…” This only made Mark more distressed. He spun on me, his voice a roar. “Evelyn, you’ve gone too far!” “This is workplace harassment, you know that?” “Apologize to her! Right now!” “Don’t think you get special privileges just because you’re my wife!” The rest of the team gathered around, siding with Lila. “Dr. Reed, even if you don’t like Lila, you can’t bully her like this.” “She’s just a kid.” I ignored them and looked straight at Mark. “Captain Vance, you remember I’m your wife? You remember you’re a married man?” “For a moment there, I thought you’d developed amnesia.” “Or are you also a child who doesn’t understand professional boundaries?” “And as for special privileges, I wouldn’t dare claim any. The only person here who gets to wear stockings and heels to work is Lila.” A flush crept up Mark’s neck. “Evelyn, don’t change the subject! We’re talking about you harassing a colleague!” “I didn’t harass her. I never touched that cup. If you don’t believe me, have the forensics unit dust it for my prints.” “I’m a medical examiner. Trying to frame me is a losing game.” Lila’s face paled slightly. She had clearly forgotten she was in a police station, a place where evidence was everything. Framing someone wasn’t so easy here. So she just cried harder. “Captain, it was… I was clumsy… I spilled it myself…” “It’s just… Dr. Reed glared at me. She’s so intimidating. It scared me.” “She works with dead bodies all day. Who wouldn’t be creeped out?” “I’ve heard old folks say that women who are always around corpses carry a dark energy. It brings bad luck. Curses their husbands and children. They either can’t have kids, or they die in childbirth, and their husbands are destined for disaster…” When framing me failed, Lila resorted to curses. It was a vile thing to say. It wasn’t just an insult to me; it was an insult to the sacred profession of forensic pathology. What is a forensic pathologist? We are the ones who stand beside a cold steel table and scrape a killer’s skin cells from under a victim’s fingernails. We are the ones who find trace amounts of poison in decaying flesh to reconstruct how a victim was murdered. We are the ones who painstakingly compare wound patterns to sketch the murder weapon, leaving a killer with nowhere to hide their methods. We don’t deal in “dark energy.” We give the dead their final chance to speak. We face cold bodies. But we protect the burning heat of justice. The falsely accused are exonerated by our reports. The victims who cannot rest in peace find justice when our expertise forces a killer to confess. These hands of mine have touched dismembered bodies and examined bloated corpses. But they are clean. And they will not be defiled. In the eyes of a forensic pathologist, the dead are never what’s truly frightening. It’s the living. Corpses never lie. Only living people spew poison. Hell is empty, and all the devils are here. She could covet my husband. That man was rotten to the core anyway. I no longer wanted him. But she would not slander the profession I had dedicated my life to. CRACK! I raised my hand and slapped Lila hard across the face. “Lila Monroe, you watch your damn mouth.” A red handprint bloomed on Lila’s delicate cheek. I could see the flicker of triumph in her eyes. She’d been hit, but the homewrecker had achieved her goal of provoking me. Of course, she didn’t show her delight. She clutched her face, the tears falling even faster. “Captain!” “Does Dr. Reed really hate me this much?” “What did I ever do wrong?!” How could a woman like her, who knowingly pursued a married man, have the audacity to play the victim? Mark, like a protective mother hen, rushed forward and pulled Lila into his arms. Then he shoved me violently away. “Evelyn, are you insane? Why are you being so barbaric?!” “I’m barbaric?” I stared at him, a cold, humorless laugh bubbling up. “You’re a police officer. Don’t you understand the importance of forensic science?” “The filth she just spewed, was that human? And you just let her?” “Mark, you’re headed for disaster!” “But it won’t be because of me. It will be because of this little troublemaker.” Mark’s face was beet red. He knew perfectly well that what Lila had said was superstitious nonsense. But he couldn’t bear to see her punished by me. So he gritted his teeth and stood his ground. “Evelyn, don’t make a mountain out of a molehill!” “Lila is just a naive girl. She speaks her mind, that’s all. What trouble could she possibly cause?” He was still trying to defend her when an officer, staring at his phone, froze. He rubbed his eyes as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, then looked again. Finally certain it wasn’t a hallucination, his voice trembled. “Captain! You need to see the official site! Now!” “The APB… there’s a problem with the APB!” Mark was startled. “What kind of problem? A typo?” He took the officer’s phone. One look, and the color drained from his face. I pulled out my own phone and opened the webpage. The page that should have contained the suspect’s information now displayed a few lines of sickeningly sweet text. “Captain, I know you have a wife, but I can’t stop myself from loving you.” “Every time I watch you catch a killer, I think you’re so handsome!” “I’m willing to wait for you, even if I have to be your shadow for the rest of my life. I have no regrets.” “Love, your kitten, Lila Monroe.” It was identical to the letter from my previous life. Not even a single punctuation mark was different. I looked at my petrified husband. Let’s see you get out of this one, Mark. The rest of the team had now seen the altered APB online. The normally bustling precinct fell silent. You could have heard a pin drop. It was as quiet as the vacuum of space. Homicide detectives are a hardened bunch. They can face murder and arson without batting an eye. But now, every face in the room was grim. Many had broken out in a cold sweat. This was a catastrophe. Though it had only been online for half an hour, it had already gone viral. It wasn’t just the hundreds of thousands of hits and tens of thousands of shares and comments on the official site. It had been reposted across every social media platform. #APBloveletter was trending. The comments were a tidal wave of condemnation, sarcasm, and outrage. “My God! I’ve seen it all now! A police APB turned into a love letter? Are they treating this murder case like a joke?” “So irresponsible! Someone needs to file a complaint for this gross negligence!” “The victim isn’t even cold in her grave, the killer is still out there, and you’re pulling this disgusting stunt? What do you think her family feels right now? You’re just rubbing salt in their wounds!” “The killer must be laughing his ass off.” “Is this a police department or the set of a cheesy drama?” “I suggest a thorough investigation into this Lila Monroe. Bet she got the job through connections!” “This is a gross misuse of public resources! Dereliction of duty!” Of course, a few outliers tried to defend her. “I think it’s kind of romantic.” “Yeah, a girl has the right to pursue love.” This, naturally, was met with even fiercer backlash. “Romantic? The detective is married! This is an affair with a homewrecker!” “This is messed up!” “I heard his wife is the Chief Forensic Pathologist. I support her taking a scalpel to these two degenerates!” “Pursuing love is one thing. Pursuing an adulterous affair is unforgivable!” Mark finally snapped out of his stupor, roaring like a cornered lion. “What the hell is this?” “Who changed the APB?!” “Lila, did someone mess with you? Who was at the comms computer? Did someone threaten you?” He stared at her, wide-eyed. Everyone knew what had happened. But Mark was still trying to shift the blame, to protect Lila. But Lila was a spoiled, reckless brat. Seeing Mark’s frantic state, she wasn’t scared at all. In fact, a radiant smile bloomed on her face, and she giggled. “I did it myself, Captain.” “Surprise! Bet you didn’t see that coming, did you?” She took a step forward, her eyes gleaming with a manic obsession. “I love you, Captain!” “So what if you’re married? I have the right to love you! And I want the whole world to know how I feel!” “Don’t listen to those boring people online! Homewrecker? In love, the one who isn’t loved is the third wheel!” “You’re not happy with Evelyn. Only I can save your lonely soul!” She turned, her eyes flashing with defiance as she declared war on me. “Dr. Reed, I hope you know when to quit. You need to face reality.” “You might be able to keep his body, but you’ll never have his heart!” “Mark’s heart is filled with me, Lila Monroe. There’s no room for you anymore.” “You’re the unloved one in this marriage. You’re the real third wheel. If you have any sense, you’ll leave with your dignity intact.” “You can’t beg for love. Don’t use a marriage certificate to hold Captain Vance’s happiness hostage.” “Set love free!” She spoke with righteous conviction, as if she were the heroine of this story. I’d met my fair share of mistresses, but Lila was the first one I’d ever seen who was so shameless, so fearless, who wore her homewrecker status like a badge of honor. She was a complete failure of moral education. But then again. If her worldview wasn’t already twisted into a pretzel, she never would have been stupid enough to swap a wanted poster for a love letter. Lila was still ranting. I remained calm. But Mark had heard enough. He understood perfectly the catastrophic consequences this would have for him. “Lila, shut up!” “You’re insane!” Mark’s hands were trembling with rage. “This is an APB! It’s for catching a murderer! You turned it into a love letter! What will the public think of this department?” “How am I supposed to explain this to my superiors?” “You’ve ruined me!” Seeing Mark genuinely furious, Lila finally realized she’d gone too far. A flicker of panic crossed her face, but there was no remorse. Instead, she immediately put on a show and started to cry. “Captain, I just love you so much, I wasn’t thinking straight… Please forgive me this one time, okay?” “I promise I’ll be good next time, okay?” Her tears were like a fire extinguisher, instantly dousing the flames of Mark’s anger. He was still furious, of course, but he couldn’t bring himself to scold her further. He let out a long sigh. “Lila, what am I going to do with you…?” “Go back to the comms room, delete the letter, and post the real APB. Then issue a press release.” “Just say… just say the website was hacked. That it wasn’t our fault.” Seeing that Mark was no longer raging, Lila’s face broke into the sly, triumphant smile of a fox that had just stolen a piece of rotten meat. I had remained silent throughout Lila’s tirade. I hadn’t argued with her. Not because I couldn’t win, but because her words were so utterly debased. Arguing with trash like her would only lower myself to her level. What was the point of arguing with a shameless creature who had no regard for the law and zero moral compass? It would be like barking back at a rabid dog on the street. But when I heard Mark’s crisis management plan, a cold smile touched my lips, and I finally spoke. Because his plan was even stupider. It would do even more damage to the department’s reputation. “Mark, do you really think that excuse will work? Do you think the public will believe it?” “And what if they do? What’s worse than them not believing it?” “If the police department’s own website can be hacked, if we can’t even secure our own digital territory, how are we supposed to protect the public? That would be an even greater embarrassment!” “Have you lost your mind?” “Instead of taking that ginseng, maybe you should try eating some pig brains!” “The only thing you can do now is issue a public apology! And then you fire this troublemaker, Lila Monroe!” “Someone with such a blatant disregard for discipline has no place in this department!” “The only way to restore the department’s honor is to focus on catching the killer, and fast!” My words were sharp and merciless. Mark was speechless, his face flushing red, then pale. He was furious. “No matter what, we are not firing Lila!” “She just made a mistake! A warning will be sufficient!” “I’m the Captain, and what I say goes!” This man was a lost cause. Even now, he was still protecting and covering for this reckless girl. Just then, the door swung open, and the Chief of Police walked in, his face a thundercloud. “This is an absolute disgrace!” “Lila Monroe, pack your things and get out! Now!” “We have no room for a liability like you in this department!” Lila panicked and grabbed Mark’s arm. “Captain, save me!” “I don’t want to leave you! I can’t!” A muscle twitched in Mark’s jaw. Though nervous, he spoke up for her. “Chief, this was her first offense, and she’s still so young. Can’t you give her another chance?” “You can’t fire her!” The Chief slammed his hand on the table. “Mark, have you lost your mind?” “Do you have any idea how bad this looks?” Mark dug in his heels. He pulled out his badge and slapped it on the table. “Chief, the public is just looking for entertainment. This is a big deal now, but in a few days, there will be a new scandal, and they’ll forget all about it. Who’s going to care?” “We’re police officers. As long as we catch the killer, we haven’t failed in our duty.” “If you insist on firing Lila, then I’ll resign too. I’m partly responsible for this, after all.” “Lila and I will take responsibility together. That’s only fair.” “But the department is already short-staffed. If I leave, this case will be even harder to solve, and the killer will be harder to catch. That would be truly irresponsible to the victim’s family.” “And the public will be even angrier then.” He was using the case to threaten the Chief. Lila’s eyes lit up. She grabbed Mark’s hand. “Oh, Captain, you’re so good to me!” “I knew I wasn’t wrong to love you!” “If you resign, so what? My family owns a company. You can be a manager at my parents’ firm. It’s a much better job than being captain of this stupid precinct!” Mark was one of the best detectives in the city. The Chief was in a bind. The rest of the team immediately chimed in. They had all benefited from Lila’s generosity in the past, so of course, they sided with her. “He’s right, Chief. Lila is usually a hard worker. She just messed up this one time. She’s young, give her another chance. Don’t be so harsh.” “We’re in the middle of a major case. We can’t afford to lose anyone, especially not Captain Vance’s leadership.” The Chief frowned and looked at me. “Dr. Reed, what are your thoughts?” He knew my relationship with Mark, which is why he asked for my opinion.

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The villain of this story is a chatterbox, while I am mute. To maintain his “cool and mysterious” persona, he only opens his mouth around me. As he got more comfortable, his filter completely disappeared. “Got confessed to again today. That girl praised me so much I almost ascended to heaven.” “Why aren’t you saying anything? Jealous?” “I didn’t care about you before, but the way you ignore me is kinda hot. I’m obsessed.” “I love you, you love me, we’re a happy family~” “Alright, since we’re mutually in love, let’s get married after graduation.” My eyes widened, and I rasped out painfully, “I don’t…” The villain clamped a hand over my mouth. “Shh, stop your gibberish. Give me a kiss.” 1 Chase and I stared at each other. It took him a good while to remove his hand from my mouth. “Wait… you can talk?” I nodded, then shook my head. “Yes… but it hurts.” Due to an injury when I was little, I could only manage two or three words at a time. And every word came with a searing pain in my throat. Over time, I just stopped talking and became known as the “mute girl.” After sitting next to Chase for so long, this was the first time I’d spoken. I was truly pushed to my limit. 2 I’ve always known I live in a novel. Alcoholic dad, weak mom, rebellious brother, and broken me. But I’m not the heroine. Just a background character. I thought I’d have zero interaction with the main cast. Until senior year, when I was placed in their class. And ended up desk-mates with the villain, Chase Sterling. Chase was a rich playboy. Cold, violent, prone to fighting at the drop of a hat. At first, I was terrified, afraid I’d annoy him and get punched into orbit. Maybe because I couldn’t speak, and Chase happened to have a soft spot for the disabled. We got along surprisingly well. No matter how much of a villain Chase was, he was still just an eighteen-year-old boy. Arrogant, loves to show off, addicted to shooting air hoops. And, extremely chatty. To maintain his aloof image, he only talked to me. Since I was mute, I couldn’t spill his secrets even if I wanted to. So, I was forced to know the color of Chase’s underwear every day. And the details of his mom fighting his dad’s mistresses. And the affair between the security guard and the cafeteria lady. … I knew way too much. I desperately wanted to rebel and tell Chase I was mute, not deaf. But I didn’t dare. Over time, Chase let himself go completely. He stopped fighting, stopped sleeping in class. Opened his eyes and just started yapping. Even when I pretended to sleep, he’d lean into my ear and whisper nonstop. I couldn’t take it anymore. I pinched his lips together with two fingers. With my other hand, I pressed a finger to my own lips in a “shh” gesture. Chase’s face turned beet red instantly. Terrified, I quickly let go. Unexpectedly, Chase didn’t hit me. He just stayed red-faced for half the class, stealing glances at me all afternoon. Occasionally letting out a creepy giggle. From then on, Chase changed. From a chatterbox to a chatterbox who seemed to like me. 3 Chase was emo. Since I rejected him, he hadn’t spoken to me for three days. I stole a glance at him. Chase was frowning at a book, showing me only his side profile. I had to admit, Chase was even better looking than the male lead, Liam. High nose, thin lips, sharp jawline. But shouldn’t he be fighting Liam for the heroine? Why would he like a mute like me? Sensing my gaze, Chase scoffed. “Fell in love with me?” Scared, I shook my head vigorously and looked away. Actually, I was afraid of losing Chase as a friend. Because I couldn’t speak, I had no friends. No one wanted to communicate with a mute. Except Chase. He could talk my ear off with gossip all day and never get bored. I didn’t want to lose this friend. The more I thought about it, the sadder I got, and tears started to fall. “Sigh.” A faint sigh came from beside me. A box of mints slid in front of me. Chase pulled his hand back, leaning lazily against the window. “Good for the throat.” I sniffled and popped one in my mouth. Peppermint flavor. [Are we still friends?] I wrote on a piece of paper. Chase didn’t answer directly. “I’m taking you to the hospital this weekend.” I looked at him instinctively. He added, “No isn’t an option.” 4 My throat couldn’t be cured. I could actually speak before I was five. Then Mom had my brother, and Dad started hating me. One night, drunk, he choked me. When I woke up, Mom cried and said my vocal cords were damaged permanently. Since then, I haven’t spoken a complete sentence. So when the doctor looked troubled, I didn’t feel much. But Chase kept asking, “She can say two or three words, maybe there’s hope?” “She can vocalize? What does she say?” the doctor asked. Chase replied darkly, “‘I don’t.’” The doctor and Chase talked for a long time. I didn’t know the details; Chase sent me to wait in the hallway. He didn’t come out for a full hour. Suddenly, someone called my name from the end of the hall. I looked up; it was the male lead, Liam. Liam was our class president and also my neighbor. But for the past eighteen years, we weren’t close. Actually, we had zero interaction. I was wondering why Liam would call me. He walked up to me and crouched down to meet my eyes. “Why are you at the hospital? Are you hurt?” I shook my head and pointed at my throat. “Checking your throat?” he asked. I nodded. Liam glanced at the closed office door. “Who brought you?” Even though we weren’t close, he was my neighbor for eighteen years. He knew my parents wouldn’t bring me to a doctor. I opened my mouth. “…Chase.” Just then, the door opened. Chase stood there holding a bag of medicine, backlit. His face darkened instantly when he saw Liam. Liam spoke first. “Her throat can’t be cured.” He meant me, of course. I lowered my head, fiddling with my fingers silently. “None of your business,” Chase snapped impatiently. “Did you take her to a doctor? Did a doctor diagnose her?” “Stop being so self-righteous.” Chase dragged me away. I looked back; Liam was still standing there. “What are you looking at?” Chase’s sarcastic voice sounded. He didn’t wait for my answer. “We’ve been desk-mates for so long, and you barely say two words to me. But the moment Liam asks, you talk.” “But at least you said my name.” “Or else…” Or else what? I asked with my eyes. He huffed. “Or else I’d be jealous.” The boy’s eyes were shining like stars, making my heart race. I wrote on a sticky note: [What did the doctor say?] “Can be cured.” My eyes widened in disbelief. I rasped, “…Can?” Chase nodded affirmatively. He grinned at me recklessly. “But… the process is a bit complicated.”

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I am the villain’s canary. But there’s a catch: I’m incredibly lazy. When the villain went bankrupt, the System told me to humiliate him, dump him, and reignite his fighting spirit so he could make a comeback. I said no. Too much effort to yell. Roman Sterling gripped my chin, his voice fierce: “Everyone else left. Why didn’t you? Are you staying to watch me suffer?” I yawned slowly. “Too lazy to run.” His eyes reddened, and he muttered self-deprecatingly: “I’m a failure now, a broke nobody. I can’t give you the luxurious life you’re used to…” I patted his head. “Okay, okay. Doesn’t it tire you out to talk so much? Come here, let’s take a nap.” So. To keep me from starving, Roman pulled himself together. He worked three jobs a day, running himself ragged. In the original story, this was the time he was supposed to be dating the heroine to deepen their bond. Instead, Roman was at home, kneeling on one knee, meticulously tying the bow on my dress. The System screamed: “What is wrong with you people? You’re breaking the script!” 1 I’m Linnea, the “canary” of the powerful Roman Sterling. And I am lazy. People say Roman is great at keeping secrets because, despite being with him for so long, there isn’t a single photo of me online. Well… Actually, I just stay home all day. Too lazy to go out. Becoming his canary was an accident. After college, I sent a resume to his company. Desired Position: “Do little, earn much.” Bio: “Good taste.” Roman clutched that resume, thought about it, guessed, and still didn’t understand. Driven by curiosity, he interviewed me personally. I explained: “It means ‘good taste, lazy nature.’” He frowned, confused. “Why didn’t you write the whole thing?” I took a sip of water. Speaking at 0.75x speed, I said three words: “Too lazy to.” Roman: “……” Even though the interview was a disaster, I got the job. Roman needed a professional canary to dodge a business marriage. I weighed it in my mind— High pay, low effort. Work from home. I have low energy and poor circulation. Walk two steps, want to squat. Stand up too fast, black out. But my sleep quality is top-tier. Roman really appreciated that. He’s sensitive and gloomy. Childhood trauma, bullied in school, stabbed in the back by business partners… He’s suspicious and tense. Insomniac. Every night, he uses me as a human body pillow. Smells my shampoo. Pinches my waist. Then he relaxes and sleeps like a baby. Besides sleeping, I do nothing. Every day I open my eyes to gifts and money transfers. Truly… The dream job. 2 But now, things are bad. Roman was set up. He’s bankrupt. He’s been MIA for days, dealing with the mess. Dissolving the company, selling assets, paying severance. As for me. He didn’t even see me in person. Just a text. “I can’t afford a breakup fee.” “The gifts are yours. Keep them.” “Leave.” I was devastated. I slept for 15 hours straight. When I woke up, a System was in my head. It said: This is a novel. Roman is the gloomy villain. I am a plot device canary. “Just now, right now!” The System yelled passionately. “Pretend to be a gold digger! Slap him! Call him a loser! Dump him to ignite his fighting spirit!” “Only then can he rise again, meet his childhood crush—the heroine—and start a 200-chapter love triangle saga…” I covered my ears. “No.” Slapping and yelling? Sounds exhausting. The System threatened: “As a tool, your mission is to push the plot. If you fail, you get electrocuted.” I used all my strength to roll over. “Zap me then.” “…” It gave up. Please. I’m lazy, not stupid. If I actually crushed Roman’s dignity… With his personality? Once he bounced back… He’d turn me into mincemeat. 3 Three days later, I finally went to find Roman. The fallen prince went from a penthouse in the CBD to a dark, cramped basement apartment. He had stubble, slumped on the floor, surrounded by smoke and booze. Seeing me, he laughed bitterly. “Didn’t you leave? Why come back?” “What, did I miss a valuable watch or something?” I shook my head and handed him a bank card. “While you were gone, I contacted a luxury reseller.” “This money can help with your debts.” Roman was a generous sugar daddy. Back in his glory days, he made me a VIC at every luxury brand. New collections were sent directly to me. So, my clothes, bags, watches, jewelry… filled a whole room. His voice trembled, disbelief in his eyes: “Those things… you never even unboxed them. You sold them all?!” Um… Actually, I was just too lazy to unbox them. And because they were mint condition, they sold for way more. But if he wants to think I sacrificed for him, sure. Too lazy to argue. Speaking of which, my stomach growled. To cover the awkwardness, I whispered: “I eat very little. I won’t be a burden. Don’t kick me out…” A boss/sugar daddy like him is hard to find. He sniffled. “Okay.” We went downstairs to a hole-in-the-wall spot for a $5 bento box. He pushed the box to me and ate a plain bun with pickles. “See? I’m a loser now. If you stay, this cheap food is your future.” I shrugged. “What’s wrong with it?” I pointed at the food: “Look. Carbs, protein, fiber. Balanced diet. And for five bucks, there’s even ribs? The owner is a saint!” I split my chopsticks and gave him most of the ribs. I lay down all day, low calorie burn. I really don’t eat much. His eyes got redder. “Are you really okay with this?” “Before, you ate…” Yeah, before, Michelin chefs cooked for me. Lobster, wagyu, truffle… everything. So what? I was too lazy to chew. I blended it all into a smoothie and drank it. But not anymore. The blender got repossessed by the bank. I sucked on a sweet and sour rib. Hmm, tastier than a smoothie. Meeting my clear gaze, Roman sighed. And started rambling: “Forget it. You were spoiled. You don’t know real hardship. You’ll learn.” “Your youth is precious. Don’t waste it on me. If you regret it, leave anytime. I won’t touch the money in the card. The bankruptcy is on me…” He sounded like a nagging dad. Old Roman: Cold, gloomy, silent. New Roman: Worrywart. I patted his head to interrupt the spell. “Okay, stop. Aren’t you tired of talking?” “Your eyes are red. Insomnia again? Come here, let’s nap.” I opened my suitcase. Before the bank sealed the house, they let me take a few personal items. I took my pillow and duvet. No matter how hard life gets, a good nap gives you strength. The bed was soft. Warm. Roman didn’t hug me for once. He turned his back, shoulders shaking, crying silently. Just as I was drifting off… He kissed the top of my head. “Linnea, I promise I’ll give you the good life back.” 4 After that day, Roman got his mojo back. He worked three jobs. Sales by day, writing business plans for college kids by evening, food delivery by night. He said if he didn’t hustle, I’d starve. Sigh, I was trying to figure out how to make money lying down. Thinking about it made me sleepy. … Whatever, nap first. Before crawling into bed, I had an idea. Set up a tripod. Livestream myself sleeping. I yawned. Minutes later, deep sleep. Passersby thought it was a bit. If they donated, I’d wake up and say thanks. Someone sent a “Heart”. Nothing happened. I was dead to the world. They sent “Sunglasses”. Still nothing. Their rebellious spirit kicked in. They started spamming gifts to see when I’d wake up. Rainbows, paper planes, hot air balloons… The higher the gift value, the more the algorithm pushed the stream. More people flooded in to watch me sleep. The chat scrolled fast. “WTF, this streamer is a diva. How much to wake her up?” “Why are we watching someone sleep? Boring.” “But she sleeps so peacefully. Jealous.” “Those sheets look comfy. Link?” “Link for the pajamas?” [+1] … When I woke up. I had made $100 in gifts. And a pajama brand sent a DM asking for a collab. Surprise! With this money, Roman doesn’t have to deliver food. Just as I was about to call him… A voice in my head. The System was back. Last time, it called Roman a loser and me a “Loser Pro Max”. After realizing I didn’t care, it left in a huff. But this time. It sounded happy. “Wow, you’re a genius!” “I underestimated you. You’re playing 4D chess!” I was confused. “???” I didn’t do anything. The System excitedly said: “Exactly! Because you did nothing, the plot went off the rails in a weird way!” “Roman has his fight back. AND while delivering food tonight to a luxury apartment, he met the White Moonlight heroine early!” …Huh? So it happened anyway? Does that mean… I’m getting fired?

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Ethan was dying. The only person who could save him, the only perfect match for a liver transplant, was his mother, Sienna Reed. I had begged her for twenty days. Finally, she agreed to return and donate. I sat outside the operating room all day, but she never showed. That same day, Sienna’s childhood friend, Garrett Shaw, posted photos on his social media of their South American Adventure. “Day 20 of our adventure. Dr. Reed sacrificed her fellowship to help my son realize his dream of traveling the world. ” That’s how I discovered that on the very first day I’d pleaded with Sienna to save our son, she was already gone—off traveling with Garrett and his kid. That night, Sienna called me. “Liam, Noah got a perfect score on his finals. His wish was for his mom and dad to travel the world with him.” “You know he doesn’t have a mother…” “I couldn’t let him down. We’ll be back in three days.” “I’ll donate my liver to Ethan shortly after.” Three days later, when Sienna finally arrived at the hospital, all she saw was Ethan’s death certificate. 1 I stood in the hospital morgue, looking down at Ethan’s still, small face. The pain was a physical weight, pressing the air from my lungs. My son had always been such an easy, sweet kid; I barely had to worry about him. Yet, when it mattered most, I couldn’t even guarantee his life. His acute liver failure had blindsided us. The only person who was a match was my wife, Sienna Reed. The day after the compatibility results came back, she left. She’d been accepted into an elite fellowship program overseas. On her first day away, I started begging her to come back and save him. She said the fellowship was a once-in-a-lifetime career opportunity, and she couldn’t sacrifice it. I pleaded for eighteen more days. She refused, cold and distant. On the nineteenth day, the doctor warned me Ethan’s condition was deteriorating rapidly. He needed the transplant immediately. I called her again. She said leaving mid-program would ruin her entire professional career. She told me to transfer Ethan to a better hospital and keep looking for other donors. But the specialty children’s hospital was full; they rejected us. We had no choice but to return to the city hospital. Ethan was pale, his skin translucent from the sickness. His eyes, wide and hopeful, fixed on me. “Daddy, why hasn’t Mommy come to see me?” “Did I do something naughty? Did I make her mad?” I couldn’t find the words. All I could think was that maybe I hadn’t made the severity of the situation clear enough to Sienna. Maybe she genuinely thought we had time. I called her one last time, pulling his primary physician onto the call. Together, we begged her to return. With the witness of a colleague, Sienna finally conceded. She agreed to take two days of leave and fly back for the surgery. But the day of the transplant, I waited outside the operating room from sun-up to sundown. I didn’t get Sienna. I got the crushing news that we were too late. I pulled out my phone, intending to ask her why. That’s when I saw the photo Garrett had sent me. Sienna, radiant, holding his son, Noah, nestled close to Garrett. My hand trembled as I opened Garrett’s public feed. The words were a knife in the heart. “Day 20 of our adventure. Dr. Reed sacrificed her fellowship to help my son realize his dream of traveling the world. ” If Garrett hadn’t posted that, I never would have known the wife my dying son and I had been waiting for was off making another man’s child’s fantasies come true. I grasped Ethan’s small, already cold hand. The world went black with the crushing pressure in my chest. The phone vibrated. It was Sienna. “Liam, Noah got a perfect score on his finals. His wish was for his mom and dad to travel the world with him.” “You know he doesn’t have a mother…” “I couldn’t let him down. We’ll be back in three days.” “I’ll donate my liver to Ethan shortly after.” My mind was a desolate wasteland. Twenty-four hours ago, that promise would have made me leap for joy. Now, I felt nothing but a deep, hollow nausea. My son’s life was less important to her than the fleeting wish of an outsider. Sienna must have sensed my silence. “Liam? Why aren’t you saying anything?” she asked, a thread of panic in her voice. I pulled myself together. “Sienna,” I asked, the words hollow. “Do you know how sick our son is?” She froze. She finally seemed to realize Ethan’s condition was beyond delays. “Liam, relax. I’m booking a flight right now.” Then, Noah’s innocent voice came across the line. “Mommy, the last stop is romantic Paris! Will you come with me?” Sienna hesitated. A second, two. Then she spoke to me. “Liam, my contact at the specialty hospital said Ethan isn’t a total emergency. Three more days won’t hurt. You can be the bigger person and wait for me to get back.” I should have known. Ever since Garrett got divorced and moved back, Sienna’s entire attention had been fixed on him and Noah. She canceled Ethan’s birthday party because Noah had a cold. She always had an excuse: Noah doesn’t have a mother. We need to be the bigger people, Liam. She gave Ethan’s favorite birthday present to Noah. Be big-hearted, Liam. She skipped our family holidays to take Noah to the amusement park. We need to be generous, Liam. She knew we would forgive her. She knew we would always be here, waiting. That’s why she felt entitled to ignore us, to hurt us, with impunity. But this time, I couldn’t be generous. Because my son didn’t have a future. And because my marriage to Sienna was finally, irrevocably over. I hung up and gently smoothed the hair from Ethan’s forehead. Before the scheduled surgery, he had looked at me, full of hope. “Daddy, when I wake up, will Mommy be here?” I had given him a firm answer. “Yes, buddy. You’ll wake up, and everything will be fine.” I let him down. His mother didn’t return, not even for a final look. Perhaps it was a psychic sense, but Sienna started flooding my phone with frantic messages asking about Ethan. I just watched the screen, not replying, not blocking her. The next morning, I arrived at the hospital early to handle Ethan’s final arrangements. I didn’t expect to see Sienna, but there she was. Garrett was rushing into the emergency entrance, clutching Noah. Sienna was running beside him, shouting at a nurse, “A quick line! He needs attention now!” People scrambled out of their way. I didn’t react fast enough, and she slammed right into me. She skidded to a stop. “Liam, Noah suddenly passed out. I need to get him checked out right now.” I simply nodded, taking two steps back to clear the path. Sienna stared at me, bewildered. She couldn’t understand my sudden, silent compliance. Usually, when she prioritized Noah, I would protest or complain. Now, I was just quietly stepping aside. “Liam, don’t be angry. I’m going to donate my liver to Ethan right after this.” She let go of Garrett and reached for my arm. Garrett caught up to her, his hand wrapping around hers. “Sienna, please don’t go.” He looked at me, his eyes full of feigned pain. “Liam, I know you resent Noah for taking Sienna’s attention, but he’s just a kid. Please, cut him some slack.” In the face of Garrett’s tearful plea, Sienna didn’t hesitate. She chose Garrett and walked away without a backward glance. A young nurse nearby patted Garrett’s arm. “Don’t worry, ‘Mr. Shaw.’ Dr. Reed is known for being totally obsessed with her guy. If you ask her, she’ll do anything.” “Not like some of those shameless side pieces who don’t know their place.” The onlookers, like sharks smelling blood, started to whisper. “Wait, he’s the side piece? An adult man being the mistress? And he’s not even discreet about it in front of the actual husband? The nerve.” “Yeah, earlier, when his son was admitted, he introduced himself as Dr. Reed’s husband and tried to get us to call in a retired specialist for the boy.” “What a joke. Serves the little bastard right if he died.” When Sienna and I first married, she insisted on keeping work and home life separate. She never brought me or Ethan to hospital events. She didn’t want colleagues to know about us. When Garrett returned, that changed. She said he was lonely and unfamiliar with the area. She brought him to every hospital function, proudly introducing him to everyone. When colleagues called him “Mr. Shaw,” she would just smile and let them assume. The entire hospital staff was convinced Garrett and Noah were her actual family. Ethan and I were the dirty little secret, the shameless gold-digger and his illegitimate son. Sienna reappeared and blocked my path in the hallway. She leaned in, about to kiss me. I stepped sideways, avoiding contact. “Sienna, this is your workplace.” Her hand froze mid-air. She pouted, a familiar, manipulative gesture. “Liam, stop being mad, okay? I’ll go donate my liver to Ethan right now.” I looked down, masking my emptiness. “It’s not necessary.” Because Ethan was gone. And a mother who broke her final promise didn’t deserve to see him. If Ethan knew his mother, the one he prayed for, had been globetrotting with another family, how broken would he be? Sienna sensed my genuine grief. She pulled out two small boxes from her designer bag. “These are gifts for you and Ethan.” The one for Ethan contained a limited-edition action figure. I stared at it, losing myself for a moment. Last year, on Ethan’s birthday, Sienna was away. Ethan had picked out that exact action figure on a video call. When she finally returned, Noah was already clutching it. Ethan cried for it, and Sienna had coldly chastised him for being selfish and fighting with his little brother over a toy. Now she’d bought the one he’d always wanted. But it was too late. Ethan was gone. Seeing my lack of response, Sienna grew agitated. She grabbed my hand, about to speak, when Garrett rushed back. “Sienna, the doctor says Noah has leukemia. He needs a kidney transplant now.” Sienna’s eyes immediately filled with a frantic panic. “Don’t worry,” she said, her voice shaking as she turned to Garrett. “I’ll get tested right away. I won’t let anything happen to him.” She dropped my hand and started to follow Garrett. “Sienna,” I called out, my voice flat. “Aren’t you going to see Ethan?” She stopped. “I…” Garrett quickly interjected, “Liam, please don’t try to make this a competition. Noah needs Sienna to save his life right now.” Sienna sighed, relief washing over her face. “Liam, don’t be upset. I’m a doctor. Saving lives is my duty.” “Wait for me. I’ll be back in a bit.” With that, she let Garrett pull her away. I watched them go. “Don’t bother, Sienna,” I whispered. Later, I overheard nurses gossiping. Sienna was a kidney match. She had already signed the donation papers and would need a week of recovery before the surgery. Though I already knew the outcome, the news was a sharp, painful stab. I had been running around all day. I found an empty office to rest. As I walked in, I saw Sienna and Garrett locked in a passionate embrace, kissing fiercely. Seeing me, Sienna immediately broke away. “Liam, Noah is sick. I was just comforting Garrett.” I couldn’t stop the bitter sarcasm. “Comforting? Does comfort require you to make out?” Sienna scrambled for an explanation, but Garrett pulled her closer, tears welling up in his eyes. “Liam, don’t blame Sienna. I was the one who kissed her first.” I offered a ruthless smirk. “You must be starving. You’ll eat anything.” I turned and walked out. Sienna followed me. “Liam, let me explain. I only think of Garrett as a brother.” From behind us, Garrett’s voice was shaky. “Sienna, the doctor says Noah’s situation is critical. We need to start the transplant immediately.” Sienna wrestled with the decision for a moment before turning back to me. “I need to donate my kidney to Noah first.” She left, again, without looking back. It was a cruel irony. When her own son needed a liver, she stayed away. When her childhood friend’s son needed a kidney, she committed immediately. Love and indifference were never so clear. If only I had seen it sooner, if only I hadn’t pinned all my hope on her, Ethan might still be alive. In that moment, I gave up completely. I drove home and started packing. All my and Ethan’s belongings. Since I was choosing to end it, I would cut all ties completely. I packed everything, printed the divorce papers, and watched as the first, faint light of dawn broke over the horizon. A new day. I stepped into that morning sun and walked out of the house I had shared with Sienna for ten years. As I hailed a cab, I turned on my phone. Sienna’s frantic messages poured in. “I’m donating my kidney to Noah tomorrow at 9 AM. Come early to take care of me.” “Noah can’t drink or eat after the surgery. Bring some cotton swabs to wet his mouth.” “Don’t worry. Once I recover, I’ll donate my liver to Ethan.” “When Ethan is better, let’s travel the world together. We can see the Northern Lights in Switzerland, ski the Alps, and see all the beautiful sights…” I turned off the notifications, a self-mocking laugh escaping me. Sienna, there is no “us” anymore. At 8 AM, I was taking Ethan’s remains to the funeral home. I turned a corner and ran right into Sienna. “Liam? What is this?” I looked at her, my expression blank. “Sienna, Ethan passed away. His cremation is at noon. Would you like to join me for his final journey?” Sienna stumbled back two steps. “No. That’s impossible. It can’t be.” Garrett steadied her. “Liam, why do you keep lying about Ethan? He’s fine.” Garrett’s deliberate provocation was the last straw. I slapped him, hard, across the face. Garrett licked the blood from his lip and smirked, his eyes challenging me. “Caught in your lie, Liam? Are you so broken you resort to violence?” “Enough!” Sienna screamed, and the chaotic environment fell silent. She took a step toward me, her eyes vicious. “Liam Caldwell, you’re trying to deceive me just because I wouldn’t donate my liver on your timeline? You’re going to this extreme?” She lunged forward and slammed her hand down, flipping the gurney carrying Ethan’s body. With a horrifying CLANG, Ethan’s small, fragile body dropped onto the cold floor between us.

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When the elevator jolted, a sickening lurch, and the first person my boyfriend shielded was his assistant. Meanwhile, I, his actual girlfriend, was left to crumple in the corner, my arm fractured and forgotten. And in that single, clarifying moment, I knew. Whatever love I had for him was gone. On my phone screen, a cloyingly sweet post from Lila’s Instagram feed glowed back at me: “Life is only whole when you’re in it.” I felt nothing. I calmly liked the post and left a comment: “His left jawline is sharper. Try that angle next time.” Then, I opened the documentary about the Northern Lights I’d been meaning to watch for ages and finished it alone. It wasn’t until I was about to sleep that I noticed the fifty-plus missed calls on my phone. A text from him followed. “Lila’s young, she’s just dramatic. Don’t let it get to you. I’ll be back tomorrow, and we’ll do a proper birthday celebration.” I didn’t reply. My mind was filled with the dancing auroras from the film, and a single thought crystallized with perfect clarity. Go chase the light. Don’t stay trapped here anymore. … The next day, Ethan never showed. It was exactly what I expected. I felt no disappointment. Instead, the first thing I did when I got to the office was hand in my resignation letter. Then I booked a flight to Iceland, departing in ten days. I’ve always been swift and decisive in everything I do. It was only in love that I’d allowed myself to be dragged down, indecisive and weak. In ten days, it would have been my five-year anniversary with Ethan. A fitting end to it all. A clean break. On the third night, Ethan stumbled through the door, smelling of whiskey. He stood by the entrance for a long moment, clutching his coat. He was waiting for me to rush over, to take his jacket and fetch his slippers like I always did. But I didn’t move. He found me curled up on the sofa, planning my trip. He shook his head and chuckled. “Still mad at me? Is that why you’ve been giving me the silent treatment?” He loosened his tie, his voice laced with an easy arrogance. “Alright, I’m home now. My head’s killing me. Go make me some of that porridge.” He entertained clients often and refused to take anything to protect his liver. I had once gone out of my way to get a special recipe for a stomach-soothing porridge. Every time he came home drunk, a warm bowl would be waiting for him. I was trying to decide on the third stop of my itinerary and answered without looking up. “There are hangover pills in the nightstand. Take one if you feel sick.” The living room fell silent. I belatedly looked up. Ethan’s face had hardened. “Sloane, there’s a limit to this childish behavior.” “Lila is all alone in this city. She has no one to look after her but me.” “Can’t you be a little more generous? Are you really going to be jealous of a kid?” He seemed to have forgotten that Lila, his “kid,” was only four years younger than me. I raised my bandaged arm. “It’s not me being childish. It’s the fractured arm. I can’t cook. But if you’re really craving that porridge, why not invite Lila over? I can walk her through the recipe.” He froze. In the past, the mere mention of her name would make me lose control. Now, I was calmly suggesting she come cook for him. “Is your arm… okay?” His tone softened. “Lila was feeling unwell that day. She said she has severe claustrophobia, so I wanted to get her to the hospital first, then I was going to come back for you…” His voice trailed off as he met my gaze. Lila just had claustrophobia. She would have been fine once she was out of the elevator. As for him “coming back,” it sounded like a pathetic joke. He coughed to cover his embarrassment and produced a takeout container. “I remembered you love truffle risotto. I brought this specially for you.” “Doctor’s orders. I have to avoid mushrooms. They’re bad for the healing process.” Rejected again and again, the man who had always held the upper hand in our relationship finally lost his patience. “Unbelievable. You’re impossible!” He slammed the container into the trash can and stormed into the bathroom. His phone buzzed on the coffee table. I picked it up without thinking. The screen lit up with a notification. It was a message from Lila. “OMG, the boss’s treat is the best! That risotto was heavenly. Soooo good!” Another message followed. “To show my eternal gratitude, I’ll cook you a feast fit for a king sometime soon!” I glanced at the risotto container sitting in the trash and couldn’t help but let out a small, bitter laugh. The next morning, I was up early, putting on my makeup, ready to go out. Ethan woke up. “Where are you going on a weekend?” “Company retreat.” I paused at the door. “Oh, by the way, if Lila is moving in, you should probably buy some new condoms. The ones in the drawer were expired. I threw them all out.” Without a backward glance, I walked out and pressed the elevator button. The architecture firm where I worked was male-dominated, a fact that had always bothered Ethan. For five years, he had constantly urged me to quit. To put his mind at ease, I had cut off nearly all social contact outside of work. I’d never once attended a team-building event, not even the annual holiday party. Over time, I became the unapproachable loner in the eyes of my colleagues. Since I was leaving anyway, I made an exception and joined the three-day retreat. As I finally let myself relax, playing games, barbecuing, and chatting with everyone, I realized how friendly they all were. When I mentioned my travel plans for Iceland, Carla, a senior designer, gently patted my shoulder. “A young woman like you should be out seeing the world. Don’t keep yourself caged in.” I clutched my cup of juice, my fingertips suddenly cold. “You’re right. I’m only just realizing how many sights I’ve missed all these years.” For a relationship with no future, I had nearly missed out on the entire world. During the retreat, Ethan’s messages were relentless: “Are you having fun? Who are you with?” “Where are you staying tonight? Do you want me to come keep you company?” “When are you coming back? Should I pick you up?” “Why aren’t you answering me?” My phone screen lit up again and again inside my backpack. I remembered how, in the past, I would proactively share my entire itinerary whenever I traveled for work, terrified he might misunderstand something. But when I needed the same sense of security from him, he would always say: “Everyone needs their own space, Sloane. You can’t make me your entire life.” I got home late. To my surprise, Ethan was waiting in the living room. “So, you finally decided to grace me with your presence?” he said, his voice sharp. I dropped my luggage, exhausted. “There was an accident on the road. We were delayed.” He shot up from the sofa. “I’m asking why you ignored my messages for three days! Have you decided to start playing the silent treatment game now?” It hit me then. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand how much that kind of coldness could hurt someone. It was just that for all these years, he had been the one using it on me, watching me toss and turn at night, only to finally accept my timid apologies. “I was just busy with the retreat. I didn’t have time to reply,” I answered calmly. “You, of all people, should understand. After all, it was always your excuse.” I turned and went into the bathroom. When I came out, the living room lights were dimmed, and red wine swirled in two glasses on the table. “The documentary you’ve been wanting to see,” he said, his tone much softer. “I’ll watch it with you tonight.” I shook my head, overcome with weariness. “I already watched it. On my birthday.” Without a second glance at his frozen expression, I walked into the bedroom and locked the door. In the middle of the night, I was startled awake by the violent slam of the front door. The next morning, Ethan was gone. As soon as I got to the office, Carla came over with a smile. “Sloane, about that Iceland trip you mentioned… my nephew happens to be going in a few days too. You two might be able to look out for each other on the road.” Her enthusiasm made me hesitate, but she quickly convinced me. “He’s a professional travel blogger. He’s amazing at planning itineraries. With him as a guide, you’ll have a much easier time.” She clapped my shoulder cheerfully. “It’s settled, then! I’ll have him add you on social media.” My initial reluctance faded. Truthfully, planning a long-distance trip by myself was stressful. I hadn’t traveled for years, and a flicker of anxiety mingled with my excitement. That afternoon, I took time off to attend my university’s alumni day. In front of the administration building, a group of students was taking photos. A man in a sharp suit and a girl with a radiant smile on his arm stood out from the crowd. “Kiss her! This is for the campus couples feature!” someone shouted. Amid the catcalls, the girl blushed and stood on her toes. The sunlight cast a golden halo around them, a picture-perfect scene from a teen movie. “Isn’t that Ethan Vance? He was the big man on campus back in our day. Still has it, I guess,” an old classmate next to me remarked. The comment made Ethan turn his head. The moment our eyes met, a flash of panic crossed his face. He instinctively started to walk towards me, but Lila tightened her grip on his arm. She whispered something to him, and he stopped. My phone vibrated. A message from Ethan. “Don’t misunderstand. I was just helping a student with a photo shoot.” I didn’t reply. I followed the others into a familiar teahouse. As we chatted, my old classmates asked how I was doing. I held my teacup and replied softly: “Single.” Someone immediately jumped in. “You should take a page from Ethan’s book. Find someone young and lively. Look how perfect he and his little girlfriend are together.” I smiled. “Yes. They do make a beautiful couple.” As the words left my lips, I saw Ethan standing right behind me. His face was dark. I had no idea how long he’d been listening. “We need to talk,” he said, his voice clipped. I found it almost laughable. In five years, he had never once publicly acknowledged our relationship. I remember once, for his firm’s annual gala, I’d dressed up to surprise him. In front of everyone, he introduced me as just “a friend from college.” And now that I was finally playing by his rules and drawing a line, he couldn’t handle it? “Is there something you need, Ethan? This is a class reunion. I don’t think this is the right place.” He opened his mouth to say something else, but Lila’s bright voice cut through from the doorway. “Ethan! Everyone’s waiting for you!” He gave me one last, deep look before she pulled him away. After the alumni events ended, I was saying goodbye to my classmates at the gate when a familiar car pulled up silently beside me. The window rolled down, revealing Ethan’s tense profile, cold and hard in the evening light. “Get in.” Exhausted from the long day, I didn’t want to argue on the street. I quietly opened the door and got in. The air in the car was thick with unspoken tension. Before, I would have desperately tried to fill the silence, and he would have cut me off with a frown. “Sloane, can you just be quiet for a minute?” This time, I took out my phone and calmly scrolled through the fresh “couple photos” of him and Lila on the campus forum. Suddenly, the car screeched to a halt. Before I could react, he was leaning over me, his hand clamping down on the back of my neck. We had been together for five years. We’d been wild in this car countless times; it had once been our favorite private space. But now, the image of him kissing Lila in the afternoon sun flooded my mind. I shoved him away, throwing open the door. I stumbled out and retched on the pavement, my body heaving. My stomach spasmed, but only bitter bile came up. Ethan stood by the car, his face shifting from ashen to ghostly white under the streetlight, a mixture of shock and hurt in his eyes. I pulled myself up, wiping my mouth. “You see that? That’s the physical reaction I have to you now. We’re over…” Before I could finish, he slammed the car door and sped away, leaving me in a cloud of exhaust. That night, Ethan, who never posted anything personal, shared an intimate photo of himself with Lila. The caption read: “Finally found the right one.” Congratulations from our mutual friends instantly flooded the comments. My phone buzzed incessantly with concerned messages. I didn’t answer any of them. I made myself some bacon fried rice and, surprisingly, had a great appetite. Late that night, the dip of the mattress woke me. A shadow loomed in the darkness. I almost screamed. “Don’t be scared. It’s me.” I let out a breath of relief, then rolled over, turning my back to him. He flicked on the bedside lamp. The harsh light blinded me. He leaned over me, his eyes bloodshot. “You didn’t see my post? You have nothing to say?” I was exhausted and had no energy for his late-night drama. “I saw it. Congratulations.” His breath hitched. His voice suddenly dropped, laced with a hint of vulnerability. “When I used to come home late, you’d always leave a light on for me… Now you don’t even call.” “Lila and I are just… it’s a mentor-mentee thing. If it bothers you, I’ll have her transferred to another department tomorrow.” I just looked at him, feeling nothing but tired. I once cried and begged him to care about me just a little more, and he always told me I was too clingy. Now that I was letting go, he was tripping over himself to be attentive. Too bad. My flight was in two days. He was a man I no longer wanted. And anything he had to offer, I no longer desired. After that night, Ethan was like a different person. He not only had Lila transferred, but he also replaced his female assistant with a man. Every night he had a work dinner, he would proactively send me his location and photos, though I never responded. The new, young male assistant came by the apartment to pick up a pair of shoes and told me with a cheerful grin, “Ma’am, tomorrow is your five-year anniversary! Mr. Vance has a huge surprise planned. You have to keep your schedule free!” Five years. It was certainly a milestone that deserved a proper goodbye. I opened the couple’s location-sharing app we hadn’t used in ages and followed the pin to the most luxurious hotel in the city.

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I posted a video of my mom pulling money out of a birthday cake online. It was supposed to be a sweet, simple moment, documenting a happy family memory. But the video blew up. The comments section didn’t share my joy. Instead, it was filled with hostility and malicious speculation. 1 “Look at her face drop when she sees the one-dollar bills. What a long face.” “She’s pulling it so slowly, probably counting how much it is. This family is suffocating.” “Finally smiled when she saw the benjamins. Disgusting.” “When the last hundred came out, her expression was totally: ‘That’s it? Just this?’” Some people even went as far as screenshotting my mom’s expressions and adding their own twisted captions. For my mom’s 60th birthday, I wanted to make her happy, so I prepared a money-pulling cake. I put in $999 total, arranged from smallest to largest denomination. Nine $1 bills at the start, followed by $20s, $50s, and finally $100s. It was this order that fueled the malicious interpretations in the comments. They insisted my mom’s face was dark as thunder when seeing the ones, and only brightened up when the hundreds appeared. They said her slow pulling at the start was her counting the money. They claimed my dad’s moving lips were him counting along. The more I read, the colder my heart felt. Worried my mom would see this and get hurt, I started replying to comments one by one. “It’s not like that. Mom was pulling slowly because she was afraid of breaking the cake. It’s her first time receiving a gift like this, she was just nervous.” “Mom didn’t start smiling just because of the hundred dollar bills. Actually, Dad said something behind her right then, and she turned back to joke with him, saying ‘It’s not for you, why are you happy?’” I was anxious and heartbroken, explaining until 2 AM. But no one believed me. Instead, they mocked me for lying to myself. They called me a “blood bag” raising my younger brother. Yes, the comment that stung the most was: “I don’t even need to think about it, I know you have a brother.” That sentence made me falter. Because I really do have a brother. I couldn’t help but pick up my phone and watch the video of Mom pulling the money again, carefully this time. Then I was shocked to discover. What the comments said seemed true. It was just too coincidental. Mom’s face really was stiff while pulling the ones. Her facial muscles relaxed when the fifties came out. And when the first hundred appeared, she started smiling. She pulled the small bills slowly, then sped up when she got to the hundreds. And Dad’s lips were indeed moving. Looking exactly like the netizens said—counting money. My heart sank lower with every rewatch. But I still refused to believe my parents didn’t love me. I insisted it must be a coincidence. Just over-interpretation by strangers. But I seemed to be influenced by them, actually starting to feel these coincidences were… open to misinterpretation. I couldn’t sleep all night, tossing and turning. The next day, my dad called. “Delete that video right now! Your mom read the comments and didn’t sleep a wink, cried all night.” “Why did you have to post our private life online for people to judge? Don’t you know people hate seeing others happy? Showing off like that, are you sick in the head?” Dad’s tone was furious and intense. But I didn’t blame him. I knew he loved Mom dearly. He was just lashing out because he was heartbroken for her. “Dad, deleting it now would make us look guilty. Don’t worry, I’ll figure out a way to solve this and clear Mom’s name. I won’t let them cyberbully her.” I told Dad I was explaining in the comments. But he interrupted me, unwilling to listen. 2 “What’s there to explain? We know how we live, we don’t need them to believe it. They have no right to comment. Just delete it, don’t make me angry.” “Are you happy now that your mom is sick from anger?” “I know what you’re thinking. You just wanted to show off your filial piety, gave a little money and had to broadcast it to the world.” “For your vanity, you hung your mom out to dry online. Have you no conscience?!” Dad’s words were getting more and more out of line. His tone was so heavy, the condemnation so obvious, it reached a point I couldn’t bear. I choked up, “Dad, how can you say that? How could I have such intentions? I’m hurting too seeing Mom getting scolded.” “Can you stop talking to me like that?” “Alright, alright, what nonsense are you spouting?” Mom’s voice cut in from the other end. She must have grabbed the phone. Her gentle but clear voice came through. “Baby, don’t listen to your dad. He’s hot-tempered, speaks without thinking. Mom knows you aren’t like that. It’s okay, don’t be sad.” “Mom, I really didn’t want anyone to scold you…” “I didn’t mean to.” “I know, I know. But baby, just delete the video. Mom doesn’t need strangers to understand. We know the truth. I don’t want to be gossiped about by people we know and don’t know, okay?” Since Mom put it that way, I couldn’t refuse. But deep down, I resisted this. Because deleting it felt like admitting “Mom is a terrible person.” I didn’t want that. The more Mom “compromised” and bore the insults to keep the peace, the more uncomfortable I felt. So I set the video to private. Thinking I’d make it public again once I found a good way to clarify things. But unexpectedly, after I hid the video, even more people came to my DMs to curse me out. [OP, why did you delete the video? Guilty conscience? Big fat blood bag.] [Pathetic and sad. Netizens tried to wake you up, but you won’t listen. You really can’t wake someone pretending to be asleep.] [OP, I dare you to buy a gold bracelet for your mom, then tell her it’s gold-plated silver. See her reaction. If you have the guts, record it and post it. If it’s really a misunderstanding, I’ll kneel and apologize, and post a video clarification across the whole internet. Dare you?] Looking at this DM, an idea struck me. This might actually be a good way to solve the problem. The next day after work, I rushed to my parents’ house. I wanted to tell them in advance, not because I worried they were misogynistic and didn’t love me as the netizens claimed. But because I was afraid they wouldn’t be natural on camera, giving the nitpicking netizens more ammo to drag Mom into the storm again. When I arrived, I found my brother was back too. Which was weird. Yesterday on Mom’s birthday, he said he was busy as hell, couldn’t make it back for her birthday, and probably wouldn’t have time to visit for the next two or three months. So why was he back the very next day? Did he also see the online drama and come back worried about Mom? I approached suspiciously, wanting to hear what they were saying. “Mom, tell me the truth, what were you thinking when you pulled money from the cake? Was it really like the netizens said, you thought it was too little?” My brother, Jason, was grinning playfully. Mom glared at him, annoyed. “Get out of here.” 3 “Mom, I’m not my sister, what can’t you say to your own son? When those ones came out one by one, I don’t believe you didn’t have thoughts.” “Tell me, tell me, I’m just curious. I won’t tell Sis.” Mom was worn down by him. I thought she would get angry and scold him. Just like she scolded me every time I said something she didn’t like. But she laughed. A hearty laugh, without any dissatisfaction. “I know, I can’t even trust my own son.” “But I knew your sister wouldn’t give too little. She isn’t you.” A short sentence, seemingly praising me. But for some reason, I wasn’t happy hearing it. The netizens’ questions kept swirling in my mind. “What did your brother give for her birthday? In your life, is the treatment for your brother and you really the same? Is the effort really equal?” Brother’s birthday gift? I didn’t know. Mom just casually mentioned he mailed a gift. As for what it was, how much it cost, she didn’t mention a word. When I jokingly pressed, she lectured me instead. “Filial piety is about the heart, no need to compare with your brother. Why give yourself so much pressure?” Implying that what my brother sent was precious beyond compare, far beyond my reach. Scaring me into silence. But right now, why would Mom say: “I knew your sister wouldn’t give too little, she isn’t you.” So contradictory, so strange. My head was splitting, but I still couldn’t figure it out. Or maybe it wasn’t that I couldn’t figure it out, but that the clearest, most logical path—the one netizens had already pointed out—was one I was unwilling, didn’t want to, and couldn’t believe. I turned and left. I went to the nearest jewelry store and bought a gold bracelet for $4,000. But I didn’t go home immediately. Instead, I waited patiently for International Women’s Day. I called Jason to go home together to celebrate Mom. “Oh, Sis, I can’t make it back. Didn’t I tell you? I’m swamped.” “You go first, I’ll send Mom a gift later.” “Hey, hey, what did I tell you guys? Can this go here? Why are you working so carelessly?” He seemed really busy. Even in this one-minute call, he was distracted talking to his employees. “Alright, Sis, I’m busy here. Gotta go. You handle it, you know Mom’s not picky, she likes whatever you give.” He hung up so quickly. I didn’t even have a chance to puncture his lie. Lie? I was startled by my subconscious thought. Did I already stop believing him? I put down the phone with a bitter smile, put the bracelet box in my bag, and drove home. Dad was watering the vegetable garden in front of the house. Mom was holding the hose for him. Seeing me back, Mom handed the hose to Dad and walked over in her rain boots. “Work is so busy, why did you come back? Don’t always worry about home.” Mom said with a smile. But I don’t know if it was my mindset, but I felt Mom’s eyes drifting, constantly looking at my hands and behind me while saying this. I couldn’t help but be suspicious: Is she checking if I brought her anything? Such thoughts were painful. I suddenly didn’t want to take out the gold bracelet. Who said it? Using lies to prove lies only gets you lies. “Mom…” Feeling emotional, I wanted to open myself up completely, to lay out all my struggles and internal conflict. 4 To talk to her sincerely and without tricks. “Let’s go inside first.” Mom interrupted me. Her tone was cold and distant. Suddenly scattering all my courage. “How is this child regressing? Who comes home empty-handed?” Dad, who lacked tact, muttered. I didn’t respond. He became more dissatisfied: “Don’t you know what day it is?” “It’s fine if you don’t come back, but since you did, did you really bring nothing? Coming back for Women’s Day with just your mouth, making your mom serve you, how can you be so shameless?” “Shut up!” Mom shouted at him sternly. “What are you saying? The child didn’t prepare anything, are you going to force it? Have some shame!” “Those with heart don’t need teaching, those without can’t be taught. Why waste words? Don’t you know your own child? Is she that heartless?” I thought I must be crazy. I actually felt Mom’s words were full of sarcasm and mockery. Even though Mom had said similar things before, I never interpreted them with such malice. I always deeply believed Mom was genuinely scolding Dad. My heart grew heavier. I took the gold bracelet out of my bag and handed it to Mom. “Mom, Women’s Day gift. Hope you like it.” Joy and excitement visibly burst onto Mom’s face. “Why buy this? Waste of money, gold is expensive now. I won’t take it, go return it.” Mom verbally refused, but her hand stayed extended, letting Dad eagerly put it on her. “How much was this? Thousands?” “No, it’s not real gold. It’s gold-plated silver. Just a few hundred bucks.” I steadied myself and finally said the sentence I had prepared for so long. Mom’s smile froze. But she recovered quickly, the corners of her lips curving up again. “You young people have lots of expenses. Don’t worry about buying me gifts in the future, I have everything.” Saying this, she took off the bracelet from her wrist, sighed, and placed it in my hand. “You’re almost thirty and don’t even have jewelry. Keep it for yourself.” Then, without giving me a chance to speak, she walked alone to the kitchen. I followed. Seeing her sitting alone on the stool, looking so disappointed. Dad snapped out of it and instinctively scolded me. “You’re so old, how do you not understand basic etiquette? If you can’t bear to give gold, then don’t give anything. Giving a fake? Embarrassing! Is this how your mom and I raised you?” These words seemed to speak to Mom’s heart. She suddenly turned her face away, covered her mouth, and sobbed quietly. The old me would have rushed to comfort her in a panic, asking why. Trying everything to fix the mistake and make her happy. But the current me felt like I’d been doused in ice water. The netizens’ words replayed in my mind: “Big fool deceiving herself.” “Still defending your parents? Idiot counting money for the people who sold you.” “If your family isn’t misogynistic, I’ll eat shit doing a handstand.” These words were clearly biased, emotional venting meant to incite conflict. I shouldn’t have listened. But they drilled into my heart like cold snakes. Gnawing deep into my soul. I held up the gold bracelet, walked step by step towards Mom, looked into her eyes and asked. “Mom, do you also think this gift is too light, like Dad said?” “Do you dislike it for not being expensive enough?” I held back tears, stubbornly trying to put the bracelet back on her wrist.

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My childhood best friend’s girlfriend is terminally online, always chasing the latest viral trends. She pestered him with a meme she saw recently: “Julian, you’re a year older than me. Why didn’t you visit me when I was born? Do you even love me?” Julian laughed, playing along with his girlfriend’s joke. He turned to his usually serious and strait-laced uncle, who happened to be there, and asked: “Uncle, how would you answer that?” His usually stoic uncle replied, “I did visit.” “Not only did I visit, I held her when she was a baby.” As he spoke, his gaze slowly drifted and landed on me. 1 Julian and I were childhood sweethearts. For the first twenty years of our lives, we were inseparable. Not just me, but both our parents and all our friends thought we were a match made in heaven. When I was 18, my parents brought up the idea of a marriage alliance with the Thorne family and asked for my opinion. I actually had feelings for Julian. A union between our families would have been a beautiful story. But since we were young, the engagement was put on hold, and we ended up at the same university. For two years, we were more than friends but less than lovers. Everyone thought it was just a matter of time. I allowed my feelings for Julian to deepen, bit by bit. Until the winter of our sophomore year, Julian excitedly told me, “Liv, I met someone I like!” It wasn’t me. Seeing him so happy, I realized the past twenty years hadn’t sparked any romantic feelings in him. The hand-holding and hugs were just friendship to Julian. Love can’t be forced, and I wouldn’t debase myself. I reined in my heart. So, under the shocked gazes of everyone around us, Julian started dating a girl from an average middle-class family. She was pretty, a little spoiled, clearly a girl doted on by her parents. He introduced his girlfriend to everyone in our circle. My presence became slightly awkward. But our mutual friends didn’t think they would last. They always believed that once the novelty wore off, Julian would realize that he and I were the perfect match. Someone comforted me: “Liv, Julian is just caught up in the moment. He’s never met such a naive and innocent girl before. He’ll get bored soon.” He didn’t. Julian dated her for two years. For two years, he paraded his girlfriend around town. Not just me, but my parents and his parents heard all about it. My dad was so angry he wanted to go over and yell at them. My mom stopped him: “If the marriage doesn’t happen, it doesn’t happen. Why ruin the relationship? Our daughter won’t have trouble finding someone.” “Is this just about the marriage?” My dad was still fuming. When our families discussed the union back then, Julian couldn’t have been unaware. He was an adult too. At the very least, his attitude was a tacit agreement. Even though we were never officially together, we almost got engaged. It was my mom who said we were too young and should spend more time getting to know each other. In terms of social etiquette, he embarrassed me and my family. But we remained friends. Our families had business dealings, so we had to maintain appearances. But we could only be friends. Tonight was Julian’s birthday. He booked a large private room and invited a lot of people out to celebrate. I was among them. Of course, so was his girlfriend, Chloe. 2 After Julian started dating, we contacted each other less. But there was still some historical baggage. Before Julian met Chloe, our chat history and interactions on social media weren’t exactly platonic. After he got a girlfriend, she naturally had the right to check his phone. They argued about it a few times. Once, when Julian apologized to me, I found out Chloe had used his phone to delete my contact information. We hadn’t been in touch for a while then, so I hadn’t even noticed. For Chloe to enter Julian’s circle, hearing about me was inevitable. These rich kids who grew up together were somewhat exclusive, so someone must have said something to her. I understood the situation and kept my distance from Julian. For his birthday, I originally planned to drop off a gift and leave. But as I walked in, my gaze swept over a figure in the corner, and I froze. Then my phone lit up. After checking the message, I silently found a seat. “Liv, you made it?” Julian looked pleasantly surprised. “I heard you’ve been learning the ropes with your dad recently, thought you wouldn’t have time.” I smiled and handed him the birthday gift. “Happy birthday.” “Liv,” Chloe’s voice piped up. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Why the mature look lately? You look like you’re pushing thirty.” Chloe was wearing a custom-made pink evening gown worth tens of thousands, with her hair curled, looking exceptionally perky. Of course, she wasn’t lacking in emotional intelligence; she was doing it on purpose. I glanced down at my women’s suit and chuckled lightly. “Really? Guess I’ve got that girl boss vibe down.” Julian tried to smooth things over. “Liv, Chloe’s just joking, don’t take it to heart.” Of course I wouldn’t take it to heart. Not just anyone gets to live in my heart. I wasn’t sitting very close to them, but my eyesight and hearing were decent. Chloe probably saw a new meme online and suddenly said to Julian: “Julian, you’re a year older than me. Why didn’t you visit me when I was born? Do you even love me?” After she said this, not only did Julian laugh, but the people around them laughed too, chiming in: “Yeah, Julian, why didn’t you bring baby formula to visit your future girlfriend back then?” The teasing was good-natured. Chloe was pretty, the innocent kind of pretty. Her personality wasn’t bad either. Having dated Julian for two years, she had some standing with part of the group. So her EQ wasn’t low. Julian casually replied, “I was busy getting spanked by my mom for not drinking my milk properly.” Another round of laughter ensued. Julian turned his head and saw his uncle, who had unexpectedly come to celebrate with him, still there. He jokingly asked, “Uncle, if it were you, how would you answer?” Julian’s uncle, Elias Thorne, was five years older than us. He was an unexpected late addition to the Thorne family. Since childhood, he was the “other people’s kid” parents compared us to. Although only a few years older, his seniority and his overly impressive resume made the second-generation rich kids in the circle quite afraid of him. I used to call him Uncle too. Julian probably just wanted to see what kind of brain circuit his steady, slightly old-fashioned uncle had. Someone nearby laughed: “Julian, don’t make it hard for your uncle. He’s busy with a million things, where would he find time for romance?” The next second, Elias spoke: “I did visit.” “Huh?” The man who usually didn’t smile added softly, “Not only did I visit, I held her when she was a baby.” No one noticed his gaze fixed directly on me. “…” Others thought he was joking: “Hahahaha Uncle, didn’t know you were so good at playing along.” No one took it seriously. Except me. Elias’s gaze didn’t shift. Even without meeting his eyes, I felt it was a bit too blatant. After the party, I found my car in the parking lot. I got in only to find someone already there. The driver hesitated in the front seat. Elias’s soft chuckle came from the back: “Mind giving me a ride? I didn’t drive tonight.” As the door closed, I heard the person next to me say, “I can’t remember the way home. Miss Liv, would you mind letting me stay the night?” 3 Elias pretended to be drunk and leaned on my shoulder. His warm breath occasionally brushed against the skin of my neck, making his presence impossible to ignore. I looked out the window, remembering the night Julian made his relationship official on social media two years ago. It would be a lie to say I wasn’t heartbroken. Less than a month after Julian told me he met a girl he liked, he went public. I was still wondering how our families would handle the fallout. Even more unexpectedly, at the same time, he took his girlfriend to meet our mutual friends. Maybe Julian just wanted to show off how much he liked her, but there were always people in the circle who didn’t like me. During that time, sarcastic remarks naturally followed. Whether I showed I cared or not, I couldn’t avoid the ridicule. That was when Elias returned to the country. He seemed to have a project in New York that wasn’t finished yet. Ideally, I didn’t want to see anyone from the Thorne family those days, but Elias appeared directly in front of me. It was winter break. Elias asked if I wanted to go to the US with him to clear my mind. I was dazed, didn’t understand what he meant. For a long time, both Julian and I were a bit afraid of his uncle. Although only five years older, for as long as I could remember, Elias clearly couldn’t mesh with us childish kids. Blessed by genetics, Elias was excellent beyond words. As we grew older, he gradually became someone we looked up to. With courage and handsome looks clearly superior to his peers, there was no shortage of girls who liked him. I didn’t speak to him much. Most of our interactions were because of Julian. So when he invited me to the US, I didn’t get it. Elias asked me, “Do you still like Julian?” I was silent for a moment, unsure how to answer. “It’s okay if you still do. He’s just a man,” Elias said. “You’ll meet others in your life.” I couldn’t tell if he was comforting me. “Julian likes someone else. Would you consider liking someone else?” Elias looked at me calmly and said, “Would you consider me?” Shock overwhelmed sadness. Tears that were welling up fell, but my eyes were filled with speechless shock. Elias gently wiped a tear from my cheek with a tissue. “Don’t cry for people who aren’t worth it,” he paused, then added slowly, “Of course, you can consider it a detox.” “…” It was the first time I knew Elias had a sense of humor. He said, “If your initial choice of Julian was based on the alliance between our families, then my conditions overall should be better than his.” More than just better. Elias was practically the guaranteed next head of the Thorne family. Julian didn’t have that ambition; his shrewdness was far inferior to his uncle’s. “If you simply liked Julian as a person, well, he’s withdrawn from the conquest for your heart. I don’t think I’m being immoral.” 4 I went to New York with Elias not because I was moved by his words, but because he asked, “Do you plan to join your family’s company after graduation?” “I’m negotiating a project in New York. Want to come along and see?” Elias’s abilities were obvious to all. Like many others, I admired him. Admiration for the strong is a normal mindset. I really wanted to see Elias work. So even after he volunteered to be my marriage partner, I still went to New York with him. Elias kept me by his side for two weeks, without any adult ambiguity. Like a senior mentoring a junior, he taught me a lot. I witnessed his strategic planning and calmness in business. Without any personal feelings involved, choosing Elias was far better than Julian. The benefits were more direct. “But, Uncle, Julian is your biological nephew.” The night before leaving New York, in the hotel bar, Elias and I sat facing each other, soothing English songs playing in the background. The dim bar lighting added a touch of ambiguity. Elias’s expression didn’t change. His calm eyes rested on my face, meeting my gaze: “Yeah, he did you dirty. You can consider becoming his aunt. You’ll be his elder from now on.” “…” Become Julian’s aunt? I admit Elias’s words were tempting, but I had other considerations for my life. Julian hurt me, but he couldn’t influence my next steps. “Uncle, I have another question.” Elias: “You can ask many questions. Also, you can call me by my name.” Call him by his name. I’ve called him Uncle since I was a kid, following Julian. Naturally, I treated him as an elder. But now, our relationship was heading in another direction, adding a sense of taboo. “What is your…” I paused, “view of me?” “You want to know if I’m pursuing you for profit or something else?” Elias asked back. Before I could answer, he said, “Liv, a five-year age gap shouldn’t be too big. Besides Julian, you and I are childhood acquaintances too, right?” I froze. “I’m a few years older. After you started kindergarten, you often ran over to play with Julian. back then the adults were busy, and both you and Julian were quite clingy with me, remember?” Elias said softly. His words brought back memories. It seems little kids always like playing with older kids. Julian and I both pestered Elias when we were small. But as we grew up, Elias got busy with school, then his career. He became the best among his peers, and our relationship naturally changed. “When you graduated high school, my brother and sister-in-law wanted you as their daughter-in-law and discussed engagement with your parents. Back then, you and Julian were innocent playmates,” Elias changed the subject, “But Liv, now he’s backed out first. Even if I am his elder, pursuing a single woman isn’t immoral, right?” Elias took me home. During the half-month in New York, he didn’t cross the line once. That Chinese New Year, Julian and his parents probably felt too ashamed to visit my house because of his relationship. The Thorne family sent Elias instead. There were many people that day. No one knew that in my room, Elias asked me: “Liv, have you thought about it?”

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It started the way everything does these days: a trend I convinced myself was an act of genuine desire. I’d followed the whispers and bought a service merman online. The seller promised impeccable service, a deeply affectionate nature, and the romantic detail that, during special moments, mermen could cry tiny, precious pearls. Yet, the one I bought—Lysander—had been here for two weeks, and far from shedding pearls, he hid in the kelp bed during every single feeding, as if the sight of me was an assault. I messaged the seller, and customer service pinged back almost immediately: “Sweetheart, we are so sorry for the mix-up. How about we process an exchange right away?” I couldn’t help but ask, “What happens to the mermen you take back?” “Oh, honey, don’t you worry. Defective models are never resold. They are typically transferred to a specialized high-end culinary market,” the reply stated, its tone chillingly casual. It was still a life. I decided to give him a little more time. If things didn’t change, then I’d process the return. But that very evening, I saw the creature who wouldn’t even look at me, practically thrashing his tail off for someone else. It wasn’t that he wasn’t affectionate. He just wasn’t affectionate with me. If that was the case, an exchange it was. It was just a fish dying, after all. 1 As soon as I finished checking the seller’s messages, I crept back toward the luxurious custom-built tank that housed Lysander. He spotted me from a distance and immediately spun around, burying himself in the flowing, blue-green kelp. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, that perfect, sculpted form. The aqua algae trailed down his back and across his lower abdomen as the water shifted. No matter how much of a problem he was, he was undeniably, breathtakingly beautiful. He was exactly my type—which was why I had picked him out of the hundreds of profiles. His eye-rims were red, and the tips of his ears had a flush of color. As I moved closer, he bit down hard on his own arm before swimming further away, deeper into the dark. “The manual clearly states this is the onset of the mating cycle—he’s a fully mature merman. Why is he still avoiding contact?” I followed the instructions, raising my hand to gently stroke his cheek. He slapped my hand away without hesitation and took off, circling the furthest reaches of the tank. “I don’t like to be touched by humans.” The slap stung. I looked down at my hand; a thin scratch was already bleeding. He cautiously poked his head out of the kelp, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. I tossed the prepared meal onto the floor nearby and left the basement without another word, my face set in a rigid mask. “Your fish still won’t let you touch him?” My phone chimed. It was Sloane Hastings, my best friend, sending a text. I replied curtly, “Tell me about it. It’s been almost a month, and we’ve barely exchanged ten words.” Sloane: “OMG! Did you get a fake or a factory reject? How much was he?” … “Three million. From the store you recommended.” Sloane: “No way! That’s impossible. Mine was perfect! That place is legacy stock, top-tier reputation. Message them again. Seriously, swap him out.” “Fine. Got it.” I pulled up the store page and sent a concise summary of my ordeal. “The merman I bought from you is over two weeks in, and still refuses contact. Is this normal?” The customer service rep immediately fired back: “Dear, did you follow the unboxing instructions precisely? Deviations from the protocol can sometimes cause initial reluctance.” I was furious. “What kind of ridiculous answer is that? You think I’d spend three million dollars and not follow a basic user manual?” I was practically worshiping this creature. Sloane’s merman, Kai, wasn’t like this. Kai loved coming ashore, would clean himself up, use the specialized dryer on his tail until it became legs, and then warm her sheets. Sloane’s glowing reports were the only reason I’d spent that much on a fish in the first place. The customer service rep, professional and unnervingly polite, didn’t react to my anger. Instead, they offered the solution: “Dear, I am so sorry for this experience. How about we process an immediate exchange? We can ship the new model via Express Courier; it should arrive in three days.” The question I’d asked before slipped out again, driven by a strange, morbid curiosity: “How exactly do you process the returns? Do you ever resell them?” “Sweetheart, rest assured, we are a reputable, high-trust business. Mermen are never resold. The returned models are typically processed for harmless disposal. You can relax about that.” “Harmless disposal means…?” The reply was clinical: “Low-cost transfer to a premium sashimi market for high-grade carpaccio.” Sashimi… I looked back at Lysander in the tank. A pang of something close to pity hit me. He was just socially inept, not a capital criminal. He didn’t deserve to be chopped up for appetizers. It was a life, after all. I’ll give him a little more time. Maybe he would change. If not, then I’d swap him. I closed the app and looked over at Lysander a few more times. Still gorgeous. But I hadn’t bought him just for the aesthetic. Turning on my heel, I walked back to my room and lit a cigarette, the smoke doing little to calm the slow burn of my irritation. A text from home had been sitting on my lock screen for two hours, unanswered. “Rei, your sister is staying with you for a few days. Try to get along. Don’t throw another temper tantrum.” Temper tantrum? I wouldn’t give Tatum the chance to malign me. Tatum and I have always been oil and water. I had no idea what kind of manufactured drama possessed her to decide she wanted to stay at my house. Tatum is my parents’ adopted daughter. I was kidnapped at the age of three and sold off to a remote mountain village, where I lived for eleven brutal years. When I was fourteen, working the fields, my parents suddenly appeared. They said they were my biological mother and father. I returned to the house that had forgotten me with a knot of anxiety in my stomach. The first person I saw was a radiant, polished Tatum. She looked like a designer-clad princess, surrounded by brand names, which only emphasized how much I, the dirty, bewildered prodigal, looked like an interloper. I quickly learned that the year after they lost me, they adopted a girl the exact same age. I genuinely thought we might find common ground until the moment my parents left the room. Tatum leaned in and whispered in my ear: “I’ve been here longer than you. I am their daughter.” “Mom and Dad love me. Don’t think for a second that you can just waltz back in and change that! I won’t let you steal what’s mine!” She’d lived in my house long enough to truly believe it was her own. A few years ago, I might have craved my parents’ love. Now, I simply celebrate my escape from that backwater village and spend their money—lots of it. Tatum will never know that the night before my parents rescued me, I was agonizing over how to escape a dreadful, prearranged marriage. Perhaps sensing my desperation, my parents said nothing, simply handing me an unrestricted black card. As a newly rich pauper, I was still cautious. I bought a few decent outfits and opened a discreet personal account, transferring significant amounts into it every month. On my eighteenth birthday, realizing how uncomfortable I felt in the main house, my parents gifted me this standalone mansion—their compensation for the eleven lost years. Tatum didn’t get one. She was green with envy, but she was calculating enough never to show it to our parents. Her hypocrisy disgusted me. Unlike her, I was honest about my motives: I loved money, pure and simple. I think money is a good thing. And that’s why, despite his standoffishness, the expensive Lysander was what I spent the most on. His diet was exclusively the most expensive imported, air-freighted fare. His water was changed daily and regularly supplemented with a nutrient solution that cost three thousand dollars a vial. Even his tail scales were meticulously groomed by a specialized team. That’s why Sloane’s first comment upon seeing him was: “Rei, that three million? Money well spent. Keep him, and you’ll find out just how much fun he is.” I had bought Lysander entirely to keep up with Sloane. I had reached an age where I was starting to feel the primal urge, the hormonal push toward a deep, intimate connection. Compared to building a relationship with someone whose disposition I didn’t know, a purchased transaction seemed infinitely safer. Safe. Attentive. Eternally Obedient. That was the merman store’s slogan. It was currently proving to be a spectacular lie. Despite my objections, Tatum arrived, her luggage requiring two SUVs to haul. She was unusually quiet upon entering, not engaging in her typical verbal sparring. Instead, she darted her eyes around, taking in the house. What was she looking for? A hidden camera? I couldn’t be bothered with her games. In my own house? Cameras? Not a chance I wouldn’t have them. I had to assume Tatum was plotting something. I didn’t just install them; I made them invisible: in the flowerpots, the outlets, the stuffed animals. And so, it was no surprise when I watched Tatum creep around my house for ten minutes at midnight before finally heading down to the basement. “How could she do this? Keeping you in such a small tank? Don’t mermen have rights? You have thoughts, you feel pain. She’s so inhuman. If I were your owner, I would at least let you swim freely in a private lake.” The voice on the feed was pure, sickening syrup. And Lysander, who had only ever given me an ice-cold shoulder, looked genuinely touched. Half his body was leaning out of the water toward her. Tatum, however, probably didn’t know that lake water would make Lysander’s scales flake. A three-million-dollar merman is high-maintenance. Lysander also had no idea there was a camera in the basement. I had installed it originally for the medical staff who came to check his vitals. I had never paid attention to the feed until Tatum walked down there. And that’s how I discovered that Lysander possessed a tender side—and a talent for water ballet. With his long, chestnut hair flowing in the water, he thrashed his tail wildly for Tatum, his deep-set eyes wide and moist, fixed on her with intense devotion. Tatum’s face was flushed. Lysander obediently nudged his face toward her hand. He ate my food, lived in my house, gave me a condescending look of disdain, and then turned into a warm, devoted puppy for Tatum? I suddenly remembered: Lysander had been delivered directly to the house. I rarely shopped online, so the address was set to my home—the one Tatum still had access to. Tatum must have unpacked him. No wonder. I had coddled him, pampered him, and granted his every whim for over two weeks, yet I wasn’t even allowed to graze his earlobe. His attitude toward me had been consistently frigid. I actually started to think I was the problem—that I was so unlikable even a fish hated me. Looking at the intimate dance between the two of them on the monitor, I immediately messaged the merman shop. “The previous merman isn’t working out. I need an exchange.”

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From the moment I was born, I knew I deserved the best. In my modest adoptive family, they called it “Princess Syndrome.” My adoptive mother saved for months to buy a silk blouse, then locked it away. I’d wear it secretly under my uniform. When caught, I’d lose dinner—so I’d find her hidden snacks and eat them all. My adoptive father claimed he couldn’t afford tutoring, yet kept expensive liquor and cigarettes. I took some and sold them to the corner store owner. With the money, I enrolled in the best prep course and bought imported stationery. Once, my grandmother hid two chicken drumsticks for her biological grandson. At the table, I calmly took both for myself. “I study the hardest,” I said. “I need the nutrition.” They called me selfish, ungrateful—a princess without the pedigree. I never argued. Then, on my eighteenth birthday, a black Maybach arrived outside our old apartment. My real parents—the wealthy Sterlings—had found me. Watching the shock and fear on my adoptive family’s faces, I felt completely calm. It wasn’t Princess Syndrome. I was a real princess all along. … Sliding into the back of the Maybach, I felt no unease. Seated next to me was the girl the Sterling family had raised for eighteen years as their own, Anabelle. “You must be Vivian,” she said, her voice soft. “It must have been so difficult for you all these years.” She took my hand. Hers was soft and delicate; mine had a thin layer of calluses from years of writing. I didn’t answer her question about “difficulty.” Instead, I gently pulled my hand away and traced the edge of the window frame. “This car is due for a service,” I said calmly. The driver’s hands twitched on the wheel, and the car swerved almost imperceptibly. My mother, Eleanor, turned from the front seat to look at me, her eyes wide with surprise. Anabelle’s smile froze. “What did you say, Vivian?” “I said, this car is due for a service,” I repeated. I pointed to an air vent. “The air filter needs changing, too. I can smell fine dust in the air.” A dead silence fell over the car. My father, Richard Sterling, sitting in the passenger seat, looked at me properly for the first time in the rearview mirror. His eyes were sharp as a hawk’s, filled with scrutiny and intrigue. Anabelle’s face cycled through shades of pink and white. She had likely expected a country mouse, either timid and stuttering or gaudy and materialistic. She had a whole script of condescending comforts prepared, and I had just rendered it all useless with one quiet observation. She forced a laugh. “You know so much, Vivian. Unlike me, I just know how to ride in a car.” “That’s alright. You can learn,” I replied, looking her directly in the eye. My tone was sincere. “After all, representing the Sterling family is a heavy responsibility. A basic understanding of luxury goods is essential. You can’t just recognize a brand name. That’s how people mistake you for new money.” A choked chuckle escaped the driver. A sharp glare from Richard in the mirror silenced him instantly. Anabelle’s smile completely vanished. My mother, Eleanor, finally spoke, her voice laced with a complex emotion. “Vivian, dear… how do you know all this?” “If you want to know something, there are always ways to find out,” I answered, my tone light. I didn’t tell them that with the money from my adoptive father’s secret stash, a small portion that wasn’t spent on tutoring went to buying every fashion, automotive, and financial magazine I could get my hands on. The Sterling mansion was perched atop Silvercrest Peak, a breathtaking display of wealth and power. The butler and a line of staff were already waiting at the entrance. “Welcome home, Miss Sterling,” they chorused. I accepted their greeting without flinching. Behind me, Anabelle’s nails were digging so hard into her palms they nearly drew blood. For eighteen years, that title had been hers. The welcome-home dinner was a lavish affair. Eleanor led me into a walk-in closet with three walls lined with haute couture gowns and designer bags. “Vivian, this is all for you. Pick whatever you like.” Anabelle followed us in. “Mother,” she said sweetly, “Vivian just got here. She might not be used to such formal clothes. I have some simpler dresses in my closet. Perhaps she’d like to try one of those first?” She reached for my arm. I sidestepped her touch, my gaze sweeping over the magnificent gowns. From a corner, I pulled out a simple, elegant white dress. “This one,” I said. Eleanor paused. “But Vivian, that’s so plain. It was meant for everyday wear.” “It’s fine. I prefer simple.” A flicker of triumph crossed Anabelle’s eyes. “Yes, Mother, whatever makes Vivian happy. Simple is more approachable, anyway.” I met her fake smile with a cold one of my own. The ballroom was a galaxy of shimmering lights and expensive perfume. I stood by Richard and Eleanor’s side in my simple white dress. Anabelle, in a frothy pink Dior gown, moved like a proud peacock among her flock of friends. It wasn’t long before they descended upon me. The leader of the pack, a girl named Mina, was Anabelle’s chief sycophant. She looked me up and down with an exaggerated laugh. “Anabelle, is this really your long-lost sister from the countryside? She looks so… quaint.” The others giggled, their laughter dripping with unconcealed superiority. Anabelle feigned annoyance. “Mina, don’t be rude. This is my sister.” Then she turned to me, her face a mask of apology. “Vivian, don’t mind her. She just says whatever she thinks.” Before I could reply, another girl chimed in. “Anabelle, you’re just too nice. So, Vivian, where did you live before? Was it like one of those places they do fundraisers for on TV?” The laughter grew louder. I saw my father, Richard, across the room, deep in conversation with several business tycoons. He glanced over, a slight frown on his face, but made no move to intervene. He was testing me. I took a deep breath and smiled, a warm, harmless expression. “Yes, the place I grew up was small and rundown. Nothing like this.” I admitted it freely, my voice quiet but clear enough for everyone to hear. The smirks on their faces widened. Then, I changed my tone. “But because of that, I learned to appreciate things. Unlike some people, who are born in Rome but treat it like their personal playground, squandering everything without a second thought.” My gaze rested gently on Anabelle. Her smile froze. Mina’s face darkened. “What’s that supposed to mean? Who are you talking about?” “I’m not talking about anyone,” I said, still smiling. “I’m just stating facts. For instance, I know my father is in talks with Mr. Lin of Lin Corp, a project vital to Sterling Group’s next five years. I also know that Mr. Davies’s company stock has been unstable and he’s in desperate need of a capital injection. And I know that Mr. Cole’s son”—I gestured to a young man in their group—”lost an eight-figure sum in Macau last month and still hasn’t told his family.” My voice was calm, but with each sentence, the air grew colder. The Cole heir’s face turned sheet white. Mina and her friends were no longer laughing. They stared at me as if I were some kind of monster. Before I arrived, I had spent the afternoon with the butler, memorizing the portfolio he had prepared on every single guest attending that night. I walked over to the utterly stunned Anabelle and, with a small smile, straightened a crease in her gown. “Sister, thank you for this lovely party. But as daughters of the Sterling family, our words and actions reflect on our name. Joking with friends is one thing, but if a few harmless jokes were to jeopardize Father’s business deals, or worse, expose a friend’s private struggles, that wouldn’t be very wise, would it? After all,” I said, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “we can’t just wear the pretty dresses the family provides without doing anything to benefit the family, can we?” My words were soft, but they landed like a slap across her face. She wanted to make a fool of me. So I showed everyone who the real fool was—the one who knew nothing but parties and pleasure, contributing nothing to the family that gave her everything. The mood of the party shifted. The group that had been mocking me now watched me with a new expression, a mixture of fear and curiosity. Richard Sterling walked toward me, a glass of wine in his hand. He studied me for a long moment, then addressed the nearby guests. “Everyone, this is my daughter, Vivian. She’s just returned home and is still learning the ropes. Please excuse her if she seems a bit rough around the edges.” His words were apologetic, but his face held no apology at all. In fact, there was a glimmer of pride in his eyes. I knew I had passed the first test. Anabelle’s face was a storm of emotions. She forced a smile and linked her arm through mine, a picture of sisterly affection. “Yes, my sister is a quick learner. I’m sure the two of us will be a great help to Father in the future.” I smiled and let her cling to me. The game had just begun. Halfway through the party, it was time to cut the cake. A massive, three-tiered creation was wheeled out. Richard gave a short speech welcoming me home, thanking the guests—the usual pleasantries. Then, he handed me the cake knife. “Vivian, you cut the first slice.” As I reached for it, under the watchful eyes of every guest, Anabelle suddenly cried out, “Oh!” She stumbled as if losing her balance, and the full glass of champagne in her hand flew directly at me. I had no time to dodge. The cold liquid soaked the front of my white dress, a sticky, unpleasant sensation. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Vivian! I didn’t mean to!” Anabelle exclaimed, dabbing at my dress with a napkin, only succeeding in smearing the stain into a large, ugly yellow blotch. The room erupted in gasps. Everyone was staring at my predicament. It was a perfectly orchestrated “accident.” She had chosen this moment to ruin my spotlight, to make me the laughingstock of the evening. Eleanor rushed over. “Oh dear, what a mess! Come, Vivian, let’s go upstairs and change.” I looked up at Anabelle’s face, a perfect portrait of innocence and guilt, but I could see the glint of triumph hidden deep in her eyes. I gently pushed her hand away, shook my head, and then smiled at the room. “It’s alright. Just a little accident.” I turned to the butler. “Alfred, would you please bring me the black dress from my wardrobe? It’s the third one from the left. Thank you.” The butler, after a moment’s surprise, nodded. “Of course, Miss Sterling.” While I waited, I didn’t scurry away in embarrassment. I stood my ground, even picking up a small pastry from a tray. My composure surprised those who were expecting a scene. Anabelle tried to speak several times, but my calm gaze silenced her. Soon, Alfred returned with a dress box. I took it and offered an apologetic smile to the guests. “If you’ll excuse me for five minutes.” I didn’t go upstairs. I walked into a small parlor adjacent to the ballroom. Five minutes later, when the parlor door opened again, the entire ballroom seemed to hold its breath. All eyes were on me, filled with astonishment. I had replaced the stained white dress with a sleek, black velvet gown. The cut was simple but impeccably tailored, accentuating my slender, poised figure. My hair was swept up in a simple twist, revealing the long, elegant line of my neck. Most importantly, I had put on makeup. Before coming to the Sterlings, my makeup consisted of cheap products from a discount store. But I had spent countless nights practicing, studying magazines and videos. I knew how to use the simplest techniques to maximize my features: my cool, clear eyes, my straight nose, and a striking slash of red on my lips. If the girl in the white dress was an unpolished wildflower, pretty but forgettable, the woman before them now was a black rose, blooming in the dead of night—mysterious, dangerous, and utterly captivating. I walked slowly to the cake and took the knife from my father’s hand. My eyes swept across the room, finally landing on the pale, stunned face of Anabelle. I raised the knife and sliced cleanly through the cake. Then, I looked up, and a brilliant, radiant smile lit up my face. “Thank you all for coming tonight. Please, enjoy the party.” I knew that from this night forward, no one in this city’s elite circles would ever dare to underestimate the “country girl” again. After the party, my position in the Sterling household underwent a subtle but significant change. The staff treated me with a new level of respect, one born of fear rather than duty. Eleanor’s attitude shifted from cautious guilt to genuine affection and reliance. She started taking me on shopping sprees, showering me with jewelry, as if trying to make up for eighteen years of absence in a matter of weeks. And Richard, my father, began discussing company matters with me at the dinner table, quizzing me on finance and market trends. I answered every question flawlessly. The approval and satisfaction in his eyes grew with each passing day. All of this sent Anabelle into a full-blown panic. She felt her world crumbling. She started mimicking me, a desperate attempt to regain our parents’ attention. I woke up at 6 a.m. for a morning run; she dragged herself out of bed, only to collapse in exhaustion after two days. I read the financial news; she ostentatiously carried around a copy of The Wall Street Journal, but when I asked her what “quantitative easing” was, she couldn’t utter a single word. I took the keys to the Porsche Panamera in the garage, the one she had coveted for years. The next day, she threw a tantrum until Richard bought her a newer, more expensive Ferrari. He bought it for her, but the displeasure on his face was obvious. I knew Anabelle had lost her footing. In the eyes of a businessman like Richard, the choice between a daughter who could only cry and demand, and a daughter who could bring tangible value to the family, was crystal clear. I, on the other hand, never asked for anything. I simply accepted what they offered, and then, in my own way, I showed them that their investment in me was worthwhile. For example, the family chef prepared the freshest Norwegian salmon every day. Anabelle disliked raw fish, so most of it used to go to waste. I made a point of finishing my portion every single time. Eleanor noticed and said, her voice full of tenderness, “Vivian, if you like it so much, I’ll have the kitchen make more for you.” I shook my head. “That’s not necessary, Mother. The standard portion is perfect. The finest ingredients, like the finest things in life, are best appreciated with precision and control. Too much of a good thing becomes tiresome. Just like affection.” My words were pointed. Eleanor froze, a thoughtful expression on her face. From that day on, the kitchen never prepared an excess portion of salmon again. When Anabelle later whined that she wanted some, Eleanor replied coolly, “Resources in this house are allocated based on need. If you want something, you must request it in advance. We don’t waste things.” Anabelle stormed off and smashed something in her room. I knew this was just the beginning. I was going to take back everything that was supposed to be mine, piece by piece. Not just material possessions, but the power to set the rules in this house.

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My family’s secret to making big money was the river right in front of our door. Whenever tourists from out of town came to play, my dad would pretend to drown. When a kind Samaritan jumped in to save him, he’d drown them instead. Then, he’d call my uncle to “recover” the body. They’d tie the corpse to the bow of their boat and demand a hefty “recovery fee” from the victim’s family. It was the perfect crime, and the profits were substantial. Until one day, the body my uncle pulled up was my dad’s. Just like every person my dad had drowned, his death was ruled an accident. My mom was inconsolable with grief, but my uncle and the others looked strange. Later, my uncle told me something was wrong. After my dad was already dead, my uncle received a text message from him. 1 After my dad’s funeral, Grandpa gathered all the men in the family. That included my uncle, my two older cousins, and me. Uncle started by laying out the situation— The police estimated Dad’s time of death around 7 or 8 PM. But Uncle didn’t receive the text message from Dad until after midnight. That text was the reason Uncle took my cousins out on the boat to retrieve a body. Sure enough, he pulled one up. He just never expected it to be Dad. Dad definitely didn’t just drown. It had to be murder. He was a fish in water; he could drag a grown man under and slip away without breaking a sweat. He’d even go home, change clothes, and return to the shore to fake CPR once a crowd gathered. So the question was: who killed him? “It shouldn’t be an outsider. Dad, look at this text from the youngest,” Uncle said, handing his lit phone to Grandpa. My cousins and I leaned in. The message read: “A little bird fell in the water.” The sender was my dad. The timestamp was the night of his death. The problem was, this sentence was our code. It meant someone had drowned, and the body was ready for pickup. Uncle asked rhetorically, “Who else but family knows this code?” Grandpa frowned, glancing at us three boys. We looked at each other, bewildered. That was my own father, my cousins’ uncle. How could we do something like that? Even if we were heartless, what possible motive would we have? Grandpa realized it was impossible too, so he snapped at Uncle: “What are you saying? Don’t spout nonsense!” Uncle quickly explained: “No, I’m not saying the boys did it… I mean, did anyone leak our code?” As soon as the words left his mouth, my eldest cousin, Big Trev, shuddered violently next to me. 2 Uncle saw it too. He exploded in rage, roaring: “You little sh*t! Speak! Was it you?” Big Trev turned pale, stammering: “Dad, I… I didn’t mean to, I…” Uncle jumped up, raising his hand to smack him. My second cousin, Lil’ Trev, and I scrambled out of the way. Luckily, Grandpa stopped Uncle in time, shouting: “Stop it! What good will beating him do? You brute!” He beckoned to Big Trev. “Come here, son. Tell Grandpa… who did you tell?” Big Trev trembled as he approached Grandpa. “It… it was my buddy… Old Zhu from the village entrance…” He started sobbing. “I didn’t mean to! We were drinking, and it just… slipped out…” Uncle was stomping in fury. Grandpa sighed, trying to calm the room. “What’s done is done. We need to figure out what happened…” With Grandpa speaking, Uncle had to settle down. Grandpa looked at me pointedly. I knew my role. “If Old Zhu did it, I’ll go chop his whole family up.” It was my dad, after all. Even though we had no real affection for each other. Growing up watching people die in front of me desensitized me. Death was just a Tuesday. Grandpa frowned again, muttering to himself: “But… Old Zhu doesn’t have any beef with our family…” He turned to Uncle. “Eldest, go find Old Zhu’s father tomorrow. I’ll have a chat, test the waters… see if it’s a personal grudge against the youngest… or if he’s targeting all of us…” But Uncle didn’t respond. The man who was just raging stood frozen, staring blankly at his phone. Grandpa snapped, “What are you looking at? Did you hear me?” Uncle jolted, frantically turning the screen to Grandpa. “No, Dad, look at this!” On the screen was a new text message: “A little bird fell in the water.” Silence fell over the room. Even Grandpa went quiet. 3 Big Trev broke the silence first. “That number… that number looks like Old Zhu’s!” He pulled out his own phone, checked for a few seconds, and confirmed: “It is! That’s his number!” Grandpa’s frown deepened. Uncle hesitated, then asked carefully: “Dad… should we take the boat out?” Grandpa thought for a long while before instructing: “Go. But be careful… no matter whose body you find, or if you find nothing… keep quiet. Do not call the police. Come back and we’ll discuss.” Uncle nodded vigorously. He signaled us three to get the boat ready. Recovering bodies takes skill. The river isn’t a stagnant pond; bodies move. But we were pros. We knew the spots downstream where bodies got stuck. There was a cluster of jagged rocks that acted like a net. The banks there were thick with thorny brush, inaccessible by land. You had to take a boat. We knew the route by heart. Soon, we arrived. We killed the engine to avoid hitting the rocks. It was time for manual labor. Big Trev and Lil’ Trev tied safety ropes around their waists, ready to dive and check the rocks. I looked at the pitch-black water. The spotlight only illuminated a small patch. Fear crept into my gut. I couldn’t help but suggest: “Uncle, I’m not good at this part… my swimming isn’t great… can I stay on the boat and work the winch?” Uncle sensed my fear and waved his hand. “Fine, you stay. Your cousins know the drill… but you really need to work on your swimming… you have to take over your dad’s business one day…” I let out a breath. Uncle didn’t go in either. My cousins put on headlamps and dove in confidently. Bodies don’t float immediately. If they were caught in the rocks, they’d likely be underwater. Sure enough, a light signaled from the surface. Uncle steered the boat closer. It was Big Trev. He yelled: “Found it! Drop the rope!” Uncle threw down the winch cable. Big Trev dove back down. Soon, the rope was secured. Uncle cranked the winch. The body slowly dragged toward the boat, rising until it hit the bow… Big Trev shone his light on the face and shouted: “Holy sh*t! It really is Old Zhu!” Uncle locked the winch but frowned. He looked around, then shouted at Big Trev, who was still in the water: “Where’s your brother?” I realized it then— Lil’ Trev hadn’t come up yet. Big Trev froze. “Pull the safety rope! Fast!” 4 When we pulled Lil’ Trev up, he was completely unconscious. If Uncle hadn’t reacted fast, he would’ve drowned. On deck, Lil’ Trev coughed violently. Uncle cleared the mud and weeds from his mouth and nose. He tilted Lil’ Trev’s head back to open the airway. After vomiting a gallon of river water, Lil’ Trev finally gasped for air. But he was delirious. We rushed him home. My aunt was shocked and immediately started caring for him. I didn’t dare tell my mom; she was still grieving. Grandpa found it unbelievable. Lil’ Trev was a better swimmer than Big Trev. He’d dived that spot a hundred times. How could he drown? Lil’ Trev remained groggy but seemed out of danger. With Auntie watching him, Grandpa ordered us to dispose of Old Zhu’s body. “Your dad just died two days ago. If Old Zhu turns up dead too… the cops will get suspicious. Bury him… quick…” Uncle, Big Trev, and I found a spot and buried Old Zhu overnight. When we got back, Lil’ Trev had recovered significantly. He could open his eyes and speak. Grandpa gathered us to hear what happened. At the mention of it, terror flooded Lil’ Trev’s face. He started shaking. His trembling lips managed only a few words: “Head… a human head! Eyes… eyes glowing…”

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