Category: English

To help his struggling “apprentice” pass her exams, my boyfriend bombed his own SATs. Then, he secretly changed my college application preferences. He switched my top-choice Ivy League university to the same mid-tier state school he applied to. “We promised never to do long distance,” he said, pleading. “I messed up this one time. Can’t you just compromise for me?” Before I could speak, his “apprentice” started crying. “It’s all my fault. I’m too stupid to get into a good school. But my mentor promised we’d go to the same college. I really can’t make it without him. You understand, right, Zoe?” They thought the application deadline had passed and I had no choice but to accept it. Little did they know, I had already changed it back. 1 The day before the college application deadline, I discovered my top choice had been changed from Stanford to Southern State University. One is a top-tier institution; the other is an average state school thousands of miles away. My grades had always been top three in my year. I crushed the SATs, scoring 1580. I worked myself to the bone for years, day and night, just for Stanford. Staring at “Southern State University” on the screen, I broke into a cold sweat despite the summer heat. My hands trembled so much I typed the wrong password twice before finally logging in and changing it back. Our guidance counselor had stressed the importance of account security a million times. Every year, stories circulate about students sabotaging each other. My password? Only one other person knew it. My childhood sweetheart and boyfriend, Liam. The next evening, I went to find him. “Zoe! Why didn’t you call first?” Liam had just showered. He walked towards me, towel-drying his wet hair, smiling. “Today is the deadline,” I said. He froze for a second, then looked up with an unnatural expression. “Yeah, finally over. We can relax. Our hiking trip is finally happening.” “Where did you apply?” “Huh?” He played dumb for a second, then looked sheepish under my glare. “Well, I didn’t do great… so I applied to Southern State. It’s a decent school…” “So you secretly changed my application?” I didn’t have the patience to dance around it. My voice trembled as I shouted. “How is it ‘secretly’? Zoe, that’s harsh.” I had imagined a thousand reactions—shame, apology, regret. But I never expected this shamelessness. “Didn’t we agree to go to the same college? No long distance? Could you really bear to be apart for four years?” Liam stepped closer, looking into my eyes, trying to charm me. “But you could have applied to other schools nearby! We could still be in the same city!” He knew Stanford was my dream. Cornered, he got defensive. “Okay, okay, Zoe, don’t be mad. I didn’t think it through. But it’s done. Southern State isn’t bad, and your major is strong there. Better to be a big fish in a small pond. We can transfer later. You’re smart; you’ll be a top student anywhere.” He reached out to hug me. I slapped his hand away with all my strength. “No!” Even though I was disappointed the moment I saw the change, hearing him say these things to my face felt like a physical blow. “Why? What about my three years of hard work? What gives you the right to decide my future? Changing someone’s application is illegal, you know that?” I screamed, crying hysterically, ignoring the passersby. Liam clutched his red arm, stunned. “Mentor, are you okay? Zoe, how could you hit him? It’s my fault! Hit me if you want, don’t take it out on him!” Bella popped out of nowhere, throwing herself onto Liam, inspecting his arm with exaggerated concern. “Mentor made a bet with me. He tutored me before the exams, promising he’d go to the same college if I didn’t get into a top-tier school.” 2 Bella’s eyes were red as she shielded Liam, looking at me with tear-filled eyes. “Zoe, I’m sorry. I’m just too stupid. Mentor helped me so much, but I still dragged him down. I wish I was smart like you, getting high scores without even trying.” She turned back to Liam, sobbing. “Mentor, I’m so dumb.” Liam hated seeing people cry. In the past, if I cried, he would panic regardless of who was right. But now, the person making him panic wasn’t me. “Bella, don’t say that. You worked hard. You went from regular classes to honors and got into college. I won’t let you talk about yourself like that. My apprentice can’t be this weak.” Liam rubbed Bella’s head, helpless but firm, like he was comforting a child. I knew that expression well. He used to do that to me when I broke down over math problems. But ever since Bella joined our class, that spot belonged to her. “How do you know I didn’t work hard? What makes you think my scores came easily?” I stared coldly at their intimacy. Bella flinched like a frightened bird, then stammered an apology. “Sorry, Zoe, I didn’t mean that. I’m just clumsy with words. I meant to praise you. Unlike me… Mentor helped so much, and I still failed.” Her voice faded into sobs again. I seriously suspected Bella was a humidifier in a past life; she leaked water constantly. I was used to her act and wanted to ignore it, but Liam snapped first. He pulled Bella behind him, frowning at me. “Enough, Zoe. Bella is already sad about her scores. Can you stop rubbing salt in the wound?” “So, you’re going to Southern State for her? And dragging me with you?” Hit by the truth, Liam lost his fire and looked down. “I don’t care about your teacher-student bond. I scored 1580. Why should I go to a mid-tier school?” Something I said triggered him. He looked up, glaring. “Zoe, you’ve changed. We promised to go to college together. Just because I slipped up once, you’re abandoning me?” They say you become who you hang out with. Hanging out with Bella turned Liam into a gaslighting victim-player. “If I wanted to abandon you, I would have done it when you were skipping school in middle school. Instead, I dragged you back to class and sacrificed my sleep to tutor you. I lost ten pounds before the entrance exams.” Thinking of the past, I choked up, tears finally falling. Seeing me cry, Liam let go of Bella and reached for me. Instinctively, I took a step back. His arm froze in mid-air. He paused, then slowly clenched his fist. “Zoe, how long are you going to keep this up? Are we really doing this?” “Yes. We are.” “Fine. Whatever. You’ve brought up breaking up so many times this year, and it always ends the same way. Calm down and think about it.” With that, he turned, put his arm around Bella, and walked away. 3 The cicadas were deafening. The humid summer night air was suffocating. Watching them walk away, my heart sank. Liam and I grew up together. True childhood sweethearts. In middle school, Liam’s dad gambled away their money and divorced his mom, who left and never returned. He was left with his grandma, who ran a small dessert shop. It was a rebellious age. Liam started cutting class, hanging out at internet cafes, smoking, drinking, riding motorcycles with thugs. I couldn’t watch him ruin himself. I dragged him out of internet cafes and karaoke bars time after time. At first, he cursed me out. Until one day, some thugs harassed me while I was looking for him. Liam went berserk and fought them, getting pretty banged up. After that, he stopped skipping. He let me tutor him, looking at me with shining eyes, blushing when our gazes met. We were too young to understand love, but I remember him saying: “Zoe, I’ll listen to you from now on. High school, college, grad school… I want to be with you forever.” His confession was sincere and passionate, a pebble dropped into the spring of my heart, creating ripples that lasted for years. Liam was smart. Once he tried, his grades soared. We got into the same high school, the same honors class. The honors class was the top 40 students, taught by the best teachers, moving fast, aiming for Ivy Leagues. Anyone in the top 40 could get in, but in three years, only one person tested in from a regular class: Bella. 4 In the first semester of senior year, a pretty girl with pigtails transferred into our class and became Liam’s deskmate. She was lively, beautiful, and completely out of place among the other 39 of us. She snacked in class, listened to music, read novels, and did her makeup. She couldn’t keep up with the curriculum but didn’t care. She just pestered Liam whenever homework was due. At first, Liam was annoyed and cold. Bella didn’t give up. She announced to the class: “From now on, you’re my mentor, and I’m your apprentice. Mentor, please accept my bow!” From then on, wherever Liam was, Bella was there. Liam’s attitude shifted subtly. Whenever I discussed problems with Liam, Bella would appear, shoving a cold Coke into his hand, asking innocently: “Mentor, what are you talking about? Are you tutoring Zoe behind my back? Waaah, I’m your apprentice! You’re biased!” She’d playfully hit his chest, giggling. And Liam… he would smile slightly. I felt a surge of annoyance, slamming my book shut. “Bella, wake up. I’m third in the grade. He’s tenth.” She didn’t understand jealousy, she just weaponized her feelings. Liam’s eyes darkened. He shoved the Coke into my hand and took Bella back to her seat. The cold bottle woke me up. I didn’t drink it. It spilled in my desk later, sticky and gross. Liam fully embraced the “mentor” role, tutoring her day and night. Our study weekends became three-person events. One evening, Bella gathered candles and sparklers. On our way home, she staged a romantic confession. She stood in the candlelight, waving sparklers, shouting Liam’s name. “Mentor, thank you for taking care of me. I know I’m trouble, but I really like you. I want to be with you forever. You don’t have to respond, just let me follow your footsteps.” A crowd gathered. Liam, holding my hand, instinctively let go. “What’s happening? Honors class drama?” “Aren’t Liam and Zoe a couple? Is Bella a homewrecker?” “Yeah, shameless. Heard she cheated to get into the honors class.” … The whispers grew louder. Bella looked like she was about to cry. Liam stepped forward, took her hand, and led her through the crowd, disappearing from view. I was left standing there, the center of attention. Pointing fingers, whispers, looks of pity, curiosity, mockery… it felt like death by a thousand cuts. The next day, Liam explained he didn’t want Bella to be embarrassed. “What about me? What about my embarrassment?” He laughed like I told a joke. “Zoe, stop it. What’s embarrassing? Someone confessing to your boyfriend makes you look good! Besides, I told her I like you. She agreed to just be my apprentice.” He swore up and down, making me feel like the unreasonable one. I felt something detach inside me. The anger and hurt faded into numbness. Just like now, watching them disappear, my heart was still.

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I put down six hundred thousand dollars to start a business with the brother who was drowning in debt. When the place finally took off, he didn’t hesitate to kick me to the curb. “My wife and I did all the heavy lifting in that kitchen. You were barely around.” “You invested six hundred thousand, and I’m paying you six hundred thousand back.” “We’re square.” 1 Rick Flynn placed six hundred thousand dollars in cash on the table in front of me. I stared at the thick stacks, a hollow feeling spreading through my chest. I genuinely didn’t understand what he was trying to say. Rick slid the money toward me with a casual push. “That’s your original investment, Dean. Your principal. I’m handing it back.” I managed a tight smile. “What is this supposed to mean?” “Why the sudden urge to return my capital?” Rick’s face was dead serious. “The Millhouse Bistro is fine with just me and my wife running it now.” “I’m returning the six hundred thousand you put in.” “You won’t need to come in anymore.” The words hit me like a physical blow, and I froze. Rick and his wife were trying to push me out? To cut me off entirely? “I… won’t need to come in anymore.” “You’re telling me I’m being kicked out?” I pointed a finger at my own chest, asking the question again, needing to hear the absurdity confirmed. Rick didn’t flinch. He spoke without a trace of hesitation. “For the past year, my wife and I have been busting our asses keeping that Bistro running.” “You haven’t managed a thing.” “What claim do you even have on the place?” I had poured six hundred thousand dollars and over a year of my life into launching this “Millhouse Bistro.” We built it from zero to generating over thirty thousand dollars in monthly revenue. And just as we were about to hit the real money, Rick was telling me I had no claim, no stake, nothing. I honestly never thought Rick would do something like this. Rick and I were high school friends. After graduation, I went North for college. Rick chose to dive straight into the working world. We always kept in touch, meeting up for drinks and catching up every winter and summer break. He got married during my sophomore year. He took his wife’s family’s savings, their nest egg, and invested in a franchise that turned out to be a scam. He didn’t just lose the money; he racked up over two hundred thousand dollars in debt. To pay it off, Rick had to work a day job and run a late-night street taco stand after hours. His wife was out of work. They had two infants at home, burning through formula and diapers. His wife was threatening divorce daily. Over drinks, Rick confessed, tears streaming down his face, about the crushing pressure. He said every morning he woke up, all he saw was money—or the lack of it—suffocating him. He’d even considered driving his truck off the Starlight Bridge and ending it all. He was a friend of two decades. I couldn’t stand by and watch him do something reckless. I decided to pull him out of the hole. But I never, not in my wildest dreams, imagined that after I pulled him from the fire, he’d turn around and stab me in the back. “Rick, are you drunk? Or did you hit your head?” “Are you even listening to yourself?” “Who the hell invested in this Bistro in the first place?” I jabbed a finger toward him, my voice rising. Rick gave me a cold, dismissive glance. “You invested six hundred thousand. I’m giving you six hundred thousand back.” “I’m not stealing anything from you.” “I think you’re the one who needs his head checked.” 2 I actually laughed, the sound dry and humorless. The entire concept, the business model, and the initial capital for The Millhouse Bistro came from me. A year ago, when I was trying to figure out how to rescue Rick, I asked him what he knew how to do. He said all he knew was food service, and not much else. I didn’t hesitate. I called a college roommate whose family ran a successful restaurant chain with four locations in their city. I negotiated hard and eventually paid a hundred thousand dollars just for the rights to use their signature recipes. I took Rick up there, and we spent over a week learning everything—from the kitchen’s flow to the overall operational model. My roommate held nothing back. When we came back, we budgeted the cost for a similar farm-to-table concept: it came out to roughly six hundred thousand. Rick was broke. He offered to work for me, but I refused. The whole point of this venture was to get him back on his feet. Just being my employee wouldn’t solve his long-term crisis. “I’ll put up the money. You put in the labor.” “We split the profits fifty-fifty. If we lose money, it’s all on me.” Because I still had my family’s businesses to manage, I couldn’t dedicate my full attention to The Millhouse Bistro. The place needed a full-time, dedicated captain. So, Rick and I had a verbal agreement: I cover the capital, he covers the operations, and we split the returns evenly. 3 And now, barely a year into the operation, Rick and his wife were desperate to cut me out. “Rick!” “Who was it that dragged you out of foreclosure and debt?” “Do you have any conscience left at all?” I couldn’t help but yell at him. Rick looked up at me, a sneer twisting his lips. “We’re talking business here, Dean. Leave the emotional crap out of it.” “You keep going on about saving me. If you’re so charitable, why are you fighting me over this now?” “You put in six hundred thousand. I’m returning six hundred thousand.” “What’s the problem?” Rick was completely nonchalant, acting as if I was the one being unreasonable. He clearly thought I was fighting over a few petty dollars. The money wasn’t the issue. I had my own capital. The problem was the sudden, brutal, and unjust dismissal. Since Rick wanted to “talk business,” I decided to lay out the terms, down to the last penny. “I put six hundred thousand into this for a year, and you’re giving me six hundred thousand back a year later?” “Do you think we’re playing house here?” I lowered my voice, making it dangerously calm. My six hundred thousand would have at least earned some interest in a bank for a year. And right now, the Bistro was killing it—packed every night. The daily cash flow was consistently around ten thousand dollars. After factoring in all overheads, the net profit for the year should have been well over $1.4 million. Rick, meanwhile, was pretending the profit didn’t exist, simply returning the principal and having the nerve to claim I wasn’t losing anything. “Rick and I handle every single detail in that Bistro, big or small.” “You haven’t lifted a finger. You just wrote a check for six hundred thousand.” “We’re giving you back the six hundred thousand. What’s wrong with that?” Monica, Rick’s wife, chimed in, echoing his exact defense. Seeing the look of ungrateful arrogance on Monica’s face, a cold rage burned inside me. Just a year ago, both of them treated me like a godsend. Now that they were making money, they were baring their teeth. I managed to control my fury and spoke through clenched teeth. “If I hadn’t lifted a finger, how do you think this whole damn operation got off the ground?” Monica curled her lip and let out a cold laugh. “You mean all those times you brought your friends to eat and drink on the house, running up hundreds in tabs? Did you ever pay?” “You eat for free, fine. But anyone who dropped your name got a minimum twenty percent discount. Sometimes you comped the entire meal.” “That’s your ‘effort’! Anyone can freeload.” Rick and Monica, tag-teaming the attack, painted me as a greedy parasite who only showed up to eat free meals. 4 “Why do you think I was hosting those dinners?” “It was to bring in customers, to build a clientele!” “Tell me which of those people hasn’t become a regular, a big spender at The Millhouse Bistro?” When the Bistro first opened, business was dead. Rick was in debt, and everyone in his network avoided him like the plague. It was impossible for him to drum up business using his own contacts. I had to leverage my own network, hosting regular events to draw people in. In the restaurant business, you live and die by repeat customers and good will. Maintaining that requires favors and good-faith hospitality. But in Rick and Monica’s eyes, this was nothing but me taking advantage. “Stop trying to flatter yourself.” “They became customers because the Bistro’s food is good. The menu is great.” “If the taste was bad, who would keep coming back?” I nearly choked on my laughter. “The menu is great? The taste is good?” “Who do you think found the recipes and the people to teach you?” “If I hadn’t bent over backwards sourcing ingredients and recipes, where would your signature dishes be?” Every single profitable dish on that menu had been acquired and curated by me. The two signature dishes from my college roommate alone cost me a hundred thousand. To cater to the local American market, I spent another fifty thousand buying the rights to several regional specialty dishes. Sourcing these recipes was a nightmare. Unlike my college roommate, who lived states away, these local chefs were direct competitors. By learning their techniques, I was taking food off their tables. I had to spend heavily, trading in money and favors, practically begging to learn those techniques. That’s where their “great menu” came from. “Psh!” Monica exploded when I brought it up. She pointed a finger directly at my face and shrieked. “And you have the nerve to bring up sourcing the ingredients?” “How many kickbacks did you take in the process, huh?” “The chicken market rate is under five dollars a pound. The chicken you sourced cost us twenty-six dollars a pound!” “Five times the price!” “And the fish, the mushrooms, the produce—every single item was several times more expensive than the market rate!” At that point, I couldn’t be bothered to say another word. Genuine, pasture-raised, organic, heritage poultry—the kind we used—was in such high demand that people waited months for it. Rick and I had gone through hell to secure those contracts. They knew this. Now they were just picking fights. This was undeniable proof that Rick and Monica were absolutely determined to cut me out. Anything I said would be useless. “Fine. I’m out.”

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I got scammed by a rental agent and moved into a “columbarium apartment” – a place where people store urns instead of living. To my surprise, there was already a tenant: a young, handsome, and tsundere ghost. I took a closer look, and hey! Turns out, we’re old acquaintances.I got scammed by a rental agent and moved into a “columbarium apartment” – a place where people store urns instead of living. To my surprise, there was already a tenant: a young, handsome, and tsundere ghost. I took a closer look, and hey! Turns out, we’re old acquaintances. 1 The doctor gave me six months to live. So, I quit my job, moved out, and planned to spend my remaining time in peace and quiet. I found a rental agent online. I told him my only requirement was a quiet place with few people. The agent took me to see a place that same day. The complex was called “Moonlit Gardens,” located in the scenic suburbs. It was an upscale community with high property values, yet the rent was suspiciously low. The agent told me he was the building manager and the owners were an elderly couple vacationing abroad who asked him to rent it out. When I asked why the rent was so cheap, he hemmed and hawed, explaining that the owners were rich and didn’t care about the money; they just wanted someone to look after the place. I bought it. The interior decoration was right up my alley, so I signed the lease on the spot. As if afraid I’d change my mind, the agent made me pay the deposit, rent, and a finder’s fee right then and there. The next day, I moved in. I arrived in the evening, unpacked my stuff, and went to sleep. That night, a storm hit. I was woken by thunder and lightning. Behind the billowing curtains, I saw a faint silhouette. It looked like a man. At first, I was terrified, thinking someone had broken in. But after watching for a while, I realized the shadow flickered in and out of existence. Was I hallucinating? I stared at it for a moment and shivered. The wind was freezing. I got out of bed, went to the window, and shut it. The sound of the storm muffled instantly, and the shadow disappeared. I turned off the lights and went back to sleep peacefully. The next morning, the sun was shining. I sat up, stretched, and opened the curtains to bask in the warmth. Then I saw it. A bloody handprint on the pristine window glass. My blood ran cold. I remembered clearly—when I cleaned yesterday, the glass was spotless. But I calmed down quickly. I grabbed a rag from the bathroom, opened the window, and tried to wipe the handprint from the outside. But no matter how hard I scrubbed, the handprint remained. That’s when I realized—the print was on the inside. Okay, so this place has issues. A supernatural thought crossed my mind. But hey, I’ve accepted death; what else can’t I accept? I wiped the inside, and the blood came right off. As I washed the rag in the bathroom, thinking about the shadow last night and the handprint this morning… I concluded the place was haunted. I wrung out the rag and looked up at the mirror. My reflection, previously expressionless, slowly cracked a wide, creepy smile. But I wasn’t smiling. I watched as my reflection’s mouth stretched wider and wider, almost reaching my ears. While grinning like that, it raised a hand and used a finger to write my name on the mirror, stroke by stroke— Riley. The letters dripped with blood. It was horrifying. How did it know my name? I frowned and asked the mirror, “What are you doing?” My reflection froze. The creepy grin vanished, replaced by a cold, menacing glare. Then, fine cracks appeared on the glass. It seemed the thing in the mirror was pissed. I stepped back, shielding my face with my arm. Good call. Two seconds later, the mirror exploded. Crash! Shards littered the floor. I looked down, and countless fragments reflected countless versions of me, all staring back coldly. Then, everything returned to normal. 2 I wanted to confront the agent, but I knew he wouldn’t admit anything. The money was gone, and getting it back would be harder than climbing to heaven. But I didn’t want to move out. Renting such a nice place at this price in this city was a pipe dream. Aside from being far from downtown, it had no flaws. And since I only needed to go to the hospital occasionally, the location didn’t matter. This was the perfect place for my final days. As for the haunting? I’m a dying woman. I’ll be a ghost soon enough. What’s there to be afraid of? I called a home goods store to order a new mirror. As soon as I gave the address, the owner refused to come. First, he said it was too far, then he said they were short-staffed. I didn’t buy it. I offered double the price, and he reluctantly agreed. That afternoon, the doorbell rang. It was the delivery guy, a middle-aged man looking nervous. He installed the mirror quickly. He was sweating buckets, so I handed him a tissue. “Sir, are you hot?” I asked. He wiped his sweat, looked at me hesitantly, and asked, “Are you renting this place?” “Yes.” “Have you seen anyone else around here?” he asked, his voice trembling. I shook my head. “No.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “That’s because… every apartment in this complex is a columbarium.” “What’s a columbarium?” I asked. He looked around the living room warily. “Google it. I’ve said too much already.” With that, he fled as if his life depended on it. Now that he mentioned it, I realized I hadn’t seen a single living soul in the complex since I moved in 24 hours ago. But I asked for “quiet,” didn’t I? I liked quiet. But now, it felt… dead. I also realized that despite it being summer, there wasn’t even the sound of cicadas. I Googled “columbarium apartment.” A slew of news articles popped up. Turns out, these are apartments bought specifically to store cremation urns. Usually for two reasons: Cemeteries are too expensive. People want their deceased loved ones to “live” in better conditions. Given the property values here, it was definitely the second reason. This place was luxurious. According to the agent, the owners were an older couple. So the urn stored here probably belonged to their child. But if it’s a shrine for their kid, why rent it out? Aren’t they afraid of disturbing the spirit? I was certain now. There was something else in this house besides me. I thought for a moment, then shouted into the empty room: “I know you want me gone, but I paid rent! Your parents rented this place out, so don’t blame me, okay?” Silence. Where was he hiding? How do ghosts live, anyway? I was getting curious. 3 That night, I turned off the lights and lay in bed. I heard footsteps in the living room. I closed my eyes tight. Not because I was scared, but because I was worried he might look gruesome. In movies, ghosts are always terrifying. My heart is weak. If he scares me to death, I lose my last bit of time. In the pitch black, I heard only my breathing and the slow, eerie footsteps outside. They stopped at my bedroom door. A bone-chilling cold wrapped around me. The warmth of my blanket vanished, replaced by the damp chill of a grave. The footsteps didn’t continue. Was he blocked by the door? Why was it so cold? I reached down to pull the blanket tighter and touched something icy. It was hard, but slightly soft. Like… A human hand. I snapped the bedside lamp on. The soft light filled the room. The hand under my blanket slowly retracted to the foot of the bed and vanished. But I saw it clearly. It was big, with distinct knuckles and long fingers. A man’s hand. I was furious. If he’s a male ghost, doesn’t he know boundaries? He was groping me on purpose! 4 For the next few days, I walked around with a scowl, slamming doors and throwing things. Maybe my bad mood suppressed him, because the ghost seemed to chicken out. He stopped scaring me. Instead, he started messing with my food. Everything I bought spoiled within minutes. And it tasted weird—like burning paper money. Since he couldn’t scare me away, he decided to starve me out. I bagged up the spoiled food and put it outside the door. As I tied the bag, the door slammed shut behind me with a loud bang. I barely pulled my nose back in time. I looked down at my slippers and patted my empty pockets. No phone. No keys. It was late at night, and I had nowhere to go. That ghost finally found a chance to lock me out. Not only does he have no ghost-ethics, but he also hits below the belt! I pounded on the door, yelling for him to let me in. Of course, he wouldn’t. So I decided to make his life hell. I banged on the door for half an hour. Suddenly, I heard a creak. The door next door opened. If this whole complex is a columbarium, then the neighbor must be a ghost too. A pale foot stepped out. I held my breath and looked up. It wasn’t a scary monster, but a hipster guy with a man bun and a beard. If not for his pale skin and dead eyes, I would’ve thought he was alive. He walked up to me. Suddenly, more ghosts appeared in the hallway. Some walked out of doors, some passed through walls, some floated down from the ceiling. I leaned against my door, terrified. The hipster ghost sniffed me. “A living person?” A woman in her thirties, looking like a cool corporate boss, frowned. “I felt a disturbance recently. So it was you.” An old grandpa ghost smiled kindly. “Miss, who sent you here? Were you tricked?” I nodded vigorously. “Yes, Grandpa. The agent said the owners were on vacation and asked him to rent it out. I moved in and found out…” I didn’t want to finish the sentence in front of them. The ghosts started chattering indignantly. “It must be that Dave guy!” “Yeah, he’s a piece of trash!” “Remember last year? My son went out of town and left the keys with him, and he rented it out immediately!” “This girl was definitely scammed! We buy these places for our peace. Who would rent them out? Especially that family—they don’t need the money.” I was stunned. So I was scammed. The hipster ghost stared at me intently. It made my scalp tingle. “Are you dying?” he asked. Silence. Every ghost stared at me. I lowered my head. “Yes. I have less than six months.” The boss lady looked at me with pity. “No wonder you can see us.” She looked at my door. “I heard you banging for a while. Are you locked out?” The grandpa ghost looked angry. “That boy in there is bullying you!” He walked up and banged on my door. “Hey, you in there! Open the door for the girl!” The hipster ghost pointed at my apartment. “The guy in there is new. He’s a loner, doesn’t talk to us much. But we’ll help you.” He turned and shouted, “Kiki! Mimi!” Two twin girls, about seven or eight, skipped over, giggling. They passed right through my wall. A moment later, the lock clicked. The twins opened the door from the inside and skipped out. The boss lady patted my shoulder. “Go on in. If he bullies you again, tell us.” “Thank you,” I bowed deeply. The ghosts watched me enter, then dispersed. I looked through the peephole. In two seconds, the hallway was empty.

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[I’m back. Do you still want me?] Staring at the text from my first love, I sank into memories and contemplation. Jason snatched my phone away, frowning deeply. “Why are you snooping on my phone?” “I told you, Seraphina is the most important person to me.” Seeing my silence, he added, “Of course, I won’t divorce you.” My eyebrow twitched. He seemed to have misunderstood. “That’s my phone you’re holding.” Jason’s face suddenly turned very ugly. “Who is this guy?” 1 [I’m back. Do you still want me?] Aside from this sentence, there was no other information, but I roughly knew who it was from. Thinking of that face, I involuntarily fell into memories. I didn’t even notice when Jason walked up behind me. He snatched my phone, brows furrowed. “Chloe, since when did you pick up the habit of snooping on other people’s phones?” I saw a hint of disgust in his eyes. Before, he was at most indifferent or dismissive towards me. He had never been so emotionally expressive… “I told you, Seraphina is the most important person to me.” I blinked. Did he tell me voluntarily? Wasn’t it because I accidentally overheard their phone call? He only confessed when he couldn’t hide it anymore. And that was after we got married. No, that wasn’t even a confession; it was a notification. Seeing I didn’t speak, he added another sentence. “Of course, I won’t divorce you.” My eyebrow twitched. His misunderstanding was thorough. I couldn’t help but remind him. “You’re holding my phone.” Jason swiped up. Only that text message was there. Indeed, it wasn’t his phone. Jason’s expression suddenly became very ugly. “Who is this guy?” 2 I knew that in this situation, the more I tried to hide it, the more suspicious Jason would be. So I explained frankly. “Should be my ex.” Jason’s grip on the phone tightened. I reminded him again before he swapped phones with me. I couldn’t blame him for the mistake; our phones looked identical. Even the text message was word-for-word the same. His Seraphina had sent him the exact same line: [I’m back. Do you still want me?] What a coincidence. The only difference was the date, a small line of text, easy to miss. Jason, who was in a hurry to leave, suddenly stopped. He sat on the sofa, seemingly casually interrogating me. “He’s your ex?” Although I had already answered him, I nodded. “Yes, my ex.” Actually, also my first love, childhood sweetheart, fiancé by arrangement. “How long did you date?” “A little over a year.” If dating counts from the first kiss, we really only dated for a little over a year. “When did you break up?” “2019.” The year before Jason and I got married. Time flies; in the blink of an eye, Jason and I have been married for almost five years. Jason’s body gradually relaxed, as if he felt the man on the other end of the phone wasn’t much of a threat. “It’s almost our fifth anniversary, let’s go to…” “Does what you said about us playing our own games still count?” Jason and I spoke at the same time and froze at the same time. He stared at the tips of his shoes, lost in thought. I had to speak first. “Where did you want to go just now?” “To the old family house.” I said “Oh.” Good thing I didn’t overthink it. If it were before, I would have definitely thought he wanted to celebrate our anniversary with me. Jason fell silent again. I looked at half of his face in the shadow. No expression, no emotion visible. I gathered my courage and asked again. “Does what you said, about playing our own games, still count?” 3 He said this himself two months ago. Maybe annoyed by my questioning, he said: “Can you stop staring at me all the time? If it really doesn’t work, we can just play our own games. You go find someone outside too.” At that time, I was so hurt I could barely breathe. But now, I was actually somewhat glad he said those words. They say time is the best director. It won’t let anyone go, but once you learn to go with the flow, it brings you some unexpected surprises. Jason laughed ambiguously. “Counts. Of course it counts.” He stood up and strode away. Before his hand touched the doorknob, he stopped. He didn’t turn back, but his voice came clearly. “Although I said we could play our own games.” “You are still my wife. Don’t be too flashy.” I responded obediently, “Okay.” Anyway, I’ll use him as the standard. I definitely won’t be setting off fireworks all over the city or getting into fistfights at banquets like him. Jason turned back to look at me. “You’d better inform the other party clearly in advance that you are married.” “Otherwise, if a scandal breaks out, it won’t be good for either of our families.” I nodded. His reminder was valid. I would tell him. I looked at Jason; he still showed no sign of leaving. “Do you have anything else to say?” His fingers unconsciously tapped his pants leg twice. “What’s his name?” “I don’t mean anything else, I’m just afraid you’ll be scammed…” I interrupted him. “Perry Pierce.” “The CEO of Pierce Tech? Peter Pierce’s son?” “Should be.” I didn’t know if he was the CEO of Pierce Tech, but Uncle Pierce’s name was indeed Peter. This time, Jason didn’t stay any longer and left without looking back. 4 Jason sat in the car, feeling irritable. But he didn’t know what he was annoyed about. Thinking of Perry Pierce, he felt relieved. He knew this person, had interacted with him once or twice. His background and looks were not inferior to his own, and he founded Pierce Tech single-handedly. Apart from his own abilities, he was also a man of pride and principles. Sending such a message, he probably didn’t know Chloe was married. Such a person wouldn’t do something so bottomless for Chloe. Moreover, Chloe didn’t have that kind of charm. The phone rang; it was Seraphina calling. He had promised to take her to a newly opened restaurant today. After three rings, he answered. “Something came up suddenly. I’ll take you next time.” Although Seraphina was a bit unhappy, she sensibly told him to busy himself with his own affairs first. See, this was the woman he liked. He liked Seraphina, who was considerate, pure, and kind, not a woman like Chloe who was sharp and insisted on piercing through everything.

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The day I was released from prison and immediately went viral on every social media platform, Anya Prescott, my wife—no, my ex-wife—waited outside the federal penitentiary until deep into the night. Ten years ago, a student Anya had secretly sponsored used my architectural model to win a national competition. That’s when I learned they had a three-year-old child. Dean Miller had named my creation after the boy. I lost myself, struck out, and was locked away for a decade. Stepping out, I was no longer the brilliant, ambitious scientist I had been. I was a shell. I spotted a piece of discarded metal near a trash receptacle, picked it up, wiped it clean, and slipped it into my pocket. A nervous habit. A familiar, trembling voice came from behind me. “Gabe. I’ve been looking for you for days. Why didn’t you wait?” She grabbed my pale wrist, her touch jarring. “I never married anyone else, Gabriel. You have to believe me.” I gave a faint, detached smile and pulled my hand away. “Ms. Prescott, I’m flattered you’d joke. But your child must be starting middle school now, shouldn’t he?” Her pupils contracted, and her lips began to tremble. She was the key witness who had put me behind bars a decade ago. 1 Anya and I were photographed almost instantly. The headline GABE ASHTON STALKS ANYA PRESCOTT ON RELEASE immediately went to the top of the trending topics. The photo showed Anya’s back, making it look as though I had cornered her. The online community, who had been following the story of my release, erupted in outrage. He has no shame! First thing he does out of prison is harass Ms. Prescott! Terrifying. How is a psycho like this allowed back on the street? @DeanMiller protect yourself and your kid! I heard he only attacked him because she rejected his marriage proposal! Scientists going crazy are the worst. Absolute sociopath! Everyone began tagging Dean Miller. He responded quickly, posting a selfie from a lab with the caption: Everyone, rest assured. I am safe. I will protect the people who matter most to me. That little exchange earned him another wave of public sympathy. I logged off the feed. The next second, my phone rang. The number was unlisted, but I knew the sequence—it was once etched into my memory. I rejected the call without a second thought. Once, twice… I dragged the number directly into the blocked list. A text message immediately popped up from a new number. I’m sorry. I didn’t know it would be like this. I’ll handle the media. I blocked that number too. I had just put the phone down when it rang again. I didn’t check the caller ID. I answered, ready to unleash a torrent of suppressed anger, but a familiar, gentle voice came through. “Gabe, dear, the best way to prove yourself is to live your life well. I don’t want those awful online words to touch you.” My old middle school teacher, Ms. Reed. She continued, “Our district is hosting a robotics and intelligent modeling competition, and we’re short on an experienced mentor. Do you have the courage to come?” My eyes instantly welled up. She was my junior high teacher, the woman who first lit the spark for me in physics. Tears caught in my throat, I nodded. “Ms. Reed, I will be there. Thank you.” The voice on the other end caught. “Oh, good boy. I knew you’d find a way to stand back up.” After hanging up, my heart pounded for a long time. It was true—my life had nothing to do with Anya Prescott anymore. I followed the time and address Ms. Reed gave me and arrived at the high school lab precisely on time. I paused at the doorway when I realized two students were arguing heatedly. I decided to listen first. “My thermal-dynamic coupling model is absolutely right! My dad told me so! My dad is Dean Miller—his theory won a national prize! Who the hell are you?” Finn Miller’s eyes were bloodshot as he glared at a skinny, nervous-looking boy. “I’m not saying the theory is wrong, but the value you used is too high. It will burn out the circuit…” 2 “Bullshit!” Finn suddenly grabbed a handful of project materials off the table, ready to throw them at the other student. I quickly stepped forward to intervene, accidentally knocking Finn off balance. He froze for a moment, then shouted, “Who are you? Why did you hit me? I’m calling the police!” I looked coldly at the boy—he had Anya’s sharp features, but the arrogance of Dean Miller was unmistakably etched in his bones. “You’re Finn Miller? Your father is Dean Miller, so everything he says is automatically right?” I felt the blood rising in my neck. “Did your father ever tell you that he stole someone else’s work?” I couldn’t help myself. Confronting that stain on my life, that name, broke the dam. The words were out before I could stop them, and immediately, I regretted it. But it was too late. The incident escalated, and before the evening was over, the police were involved. That night, I was trending again. Everyone claimed I was obsessed with Anya, and since I couldn’t have her, I was seeking revenge by attacking her son. My temporary rental apartment was quickly tracked down. The door was covered in vile graffiti and hateful curses. Someone had even left a suspicious package on the mat—a cardboard box doused in red paint with razor blades taped inside. The landlord demanded I vacate immediately. As I was carrying my clothes—which had been thrown onto the floor—down the stairs, I ran straight into Anya. “I’m so sorry…” She nervously rubbed the edge of her coat pocket, looking down, but stealing glances at my face to gauge my reaction. The movement instantly flashed me back to Anya in middle school. I closed my eyes, trying to clear those toxic images. “Ms. Prescott, I never want to see you again. I just want a quiet life. Don’t show up around me.” Her eyes reddened, and her expression was guarded and pained. “Gabe, I just wanted to apologize. It’s fine if you don’t forgive me. We’re still old friends, and I can actually help—” “The best way you can help me is to stay far away.” I met her gaze squarely. “Anya Prescott, if I had known that meeting you would bring this much disaster, I never would have…” She interrupted me frantically. “Gabe! Stop! Please, I’ll leave.” I had forgotten. The past we shared, the one we could never return to, contained not only my scars but hers as well. Even after all these years, we both still knew exactly how to twist the knife in the other person’s deepest wound. When I first met Anya, she was the school’s favorite target for bullies. One afternoon, a few older high school kids had her cornered in an alley, pelting her with empty water bottles. “Your grandma is a junk collector, right? We’re helping you! How are you going to thank us?” “Little trash brought up by old trash. You stink!” A rush of misguided empathy made me step in front of her. “Her grandmother works hard to put her through school. There’s no shame in that.” “If your parents knew you were harassing people, that’s what would be shameful!” After that, I started splitting the breakfast my mother prepared for me with her. I helped her with her homework and supervised her study. We even worked side jobs together. She became my shadow, my loyal knight, always looking after me. During our senior year of college, she used her part-time earnings to buy a cheap, simple wedding dress. She put it on and stood before me. “Gabriel Ashton, I only want to marry you in this life. I will only marry you. Will you… will you be with me?” I smiled, lifting the veil she wore. “Yes, Anya Prescott. I’ll marry you.” The night of our wedding, she wasn’t a good drinker, but she didn’t miss a single toast. She drank until her feet were unsteady and her mind was cloudy. Yet, she still stood before my parents and family, swearing her fidelity to the heavens. 3 “I, Anya Prescott, swear I will only ever marry Gabriel Ashton and only love Gabriel Ashton. If I break this oath, let the heavens strike me down, let me not find….” I stopped her foolish oath with a kiss. With the cheers and blessings of our families, I truly felt like the happiest man alive. She was an exemplary wife for the next few years. Even when her company grew busy, she always made time to surprise me. She took my parents on trips and helped my relatives’ children find jobs. She did everything she could to be good to me. And that’s exactly how she fooled everyone. Dean Miller was a student I had started sponsoring after college, a kid I personally introduced to Anya. In the first few years, when Anya’s company was just starting up, she worked nonstop. She would come home late at night, smelling heavily of smoke and alcohol. “Gabe, the men under me keep undermining me because I’m a woman…” As I massaged her temples, I thought of Dean Miller. He was smart, hardworking, and had a fierce, defiant persistence in his eyes. “Have Dean go help you. He’s bold and meticulous. He can be trusted.” That’s how Dean entered the company. Because I vouched for him, he gradually took over some confidential but tedious tasks. Anya had less to worry about and finally found some relief. She even started spending time with me in the lab. She would watch me tinker with different robotic models, then hold me from behind, her voice full of emotion. “When I was little, I always wished a Knight in Shining Armor would come save me and defeat all the bullies.” “I stopped wishing for that a long time ago.” I turned my head to ask why. “Because my Knight, my protector, came into my life when I was in eighth grade.” From that day on, in addition to my main research, I wanted to give her a surprise. I began to integrate the concept of protection into a model I was designing. It was meant to be my gift to her. Later, her career stabilized. Dean Miller became a regular fixture at our house. He often delivered documents or asked me for technical advice. I never held back any knowledge. Our relationship grew closer. He knew I loved tea and searched high and low for rare blends. He never missed a birthday. “Gabe, I wouldn’t be here without you. Ms. Prescott trusts me, and I can’t let either of you down.” My own research reached its most critical stage. I was the one spending all my time in the lab. Dean often took Anya’s place, bringing me dinner. I thought he was simply expressing gratitude. Until the day of the globally recognized model design competition. I saw my design—the one I’d poured my soul into—named after the boy, Finn. I saw Dean Miller’s signature as the sole author on the project summary. I wanted to ask Anya if she knew. Instead, I saw a small boy running back and forth outside her executive office. The woman I had spent fourteen years building a life with. She had a three-year-old child with another man. I stormed into her office. “Anya Prescott, is that child outside yours?” She merely looked up, detached. “Gabe, watch your tone and the setting.” “My tone? I am your legal husband! When did you get pregnant? How could I have—” My voice died in my throat, cut short by her cold expression. I suddenly remembered a time when I had traveled abroad for a seven-month seminar. The week before I was due back, she claimed she needed to expand the market, staying away from home for four months straight. I closed my eyes, unwilling to ask any more. 4 She leaned back in her leather executive chair. “Since you know, I won’t hide it. I’ve had the child. I can’t put him back. Your mother always complained I couldn’t bear children. The truth is, you’re the one who couldn’t.” I stared at the blatant cruelty on her face, seeing a woman I’d never known. She paused, then slid a stack of prepared documents across the desk. When I saw the word Divorce on the papers, I ripped them to shreds. I looked at the woman I had poured everything into supporting, utterly disbelieving. I refused to sign and, in a rage, went back to my parents’ house. My mother, furious, marched to Anya’s office and slapped her publicly. “You’re despicable! Without my son, you’d still be scavenging for food! You ungrateful snake!” Anya’s eyes were filled with scorn. “Fine. Let’s see who really needs who.” That very day, Anya withdrew her investment from my father’s manufacturing company. The news spread like wildfire. The next day, competitors deliberately undercut my father’s bids, causing the company’s cash flow to collapse. Partners abandoned him. She even forced my relatives’ children out of the company and blacklisted them across the industry. These were the same people who had gathered every penny they had to help Anya launch her company when she was short on startup capital. But in an instant, she had turned, ready to cut off everyone’s livelihood. My father suffered a stress-induced heart attack and was hospitalized. Anya eventually swallowed up the company for a fraction of its value. My mother, unable to bear the shock, fell gravely ill. Anya appeared again, tossing a new agreement in front of me. “Sign it. You walk away with nothing, but I’ll stop harassing your parents.” Looking at my father in the ICU, my hand trembled as I signed the papers. When I walked out of that house with my last few belongings, Dean Miller was waiting at the door. “Gabe, this is the right choice, isn’t it? If you’d just given up your spot sooner, would your parents have had to suffer like this?” He laughed triumphantly. All the anger and humiliation I’d stored up burst forth. I grabbed a utility knife from a nearby moving box and pointed it at him. “Get out of my house! Get out!” Instead of backing away, he lunged forward, grabbing my hand and plunging the blade deep into his own abdomen. Anya arrived just in time to rush him to the hospital. Under Anya’s manipulation, all the evidence pointed against me. No lawyer dared to take my case. She personally took the stand as a witness. “I saw Gabriel Ashton attack Dean with a knife out of jealousy. He is volatile and has repeatedly threatened Dean.” My hospitalized parents fought through their illnesses to run around, trying to save me. But Anya was resolute. She wanted me destroyed. On the day of the final verdict, my father coughed up a mouthful of blood on the courthouse steps. He didn’t make it. Not long after, my mother also passed away. I was convicted of aggravated assault and given the maximum sentence: ten years. Now, I watch her call a press conference, releasing surveillance footage from the high school lab. She went to extreme lengths to clear my name. “Gabriel Ashton did not target the child. I will pursue legal action against all false statements online. Regardless of the full truth of the past, I owe him. I will not allow anyone to defame him.” I don’t know how much time passed. A single tear hit the black screen of my phone. The screen reflected my face, etched with a bitter, hollow mockery. 5 Dean Miller tracked me down as I was eating a cheap, ten-dollar bowl of plain noodles at a greasy spoon in a rundown part of the city. He pulled up in a sports car, wearing a costly suit—a jarring contrast to the neighborhood. “Gabe, why are you eating in a place like this?” He placed his designer briefcase on the table, glanced with disdain at the mismatched, stained chair, and didn’t sit down. “Here’s a hundred thousand dollars. Leave the city. Don’t ever show your face to Anya again.” I kept my head down and continued eating my noodles, ignoring him. He wasn’t upset; instead, he leaned slightly forward and lowered his voice. “Ten years in prison didn’t teach you a lesson?” “Look at yourself—you’re a mess. How do you think you deserve her now?” I put down my chopsticks and looked up at him—at his designer labels, his desperate attempt to project success. His six-figure watch and thousand-dollar jacket couldn’t hide the scent of insecurity clinging to him. He hadn’t been doing well. “Dean, why the rush? What are you so afraid of?” His face twitched. “Afraid of you? Gabriel Ashton, look at yourself! Do you think I’m afraid of or jealous of an over-the-hill man who spent ten years in jail and has nothing to show for it?” “Then what’s the money for? In your mind, the successful Anya Prescott is only worth a hundred thousand dollars?” Dean seemed to realize his mistake. He clutched the briefcase, forcing a smile that was too wide, and raised his voice slightly. “You’re joking. I know you’re struggling right now, and I just wanted to help! But since you brought it up, if a hundred thousand isn’t enough, how much will it take for you to finally leave us alone?” His performance was nauseating. I stood up to walk away, but he grabbed a handful of my jacket near my waist. “Gabriel Ashton, Anya and I have a teenage son! Are you still going to cling to her? Are you really going to be the pathetic third party who won’t let go?” I pulled hard on my jacket. He held on stubbornly. In the struggle, my jacket was ripped down, exposing a section of my forearm—a winding, twisted burn scar. He stared blankly at it. I quickly snatched the jacket back, which knocked his briefcase onto the table. His phone slid out. That’s when I saw it. He had clipped a camera to the bag’s interior, running a live stream. OMG! He has so many injuries on his body! Must be prison beatings. Good! Serves him right! That looks terrible, but it doesn’t look like a beating. Could he be self-harming? That explains the obsession! Poor Dean Miller! Look how desperate he is! The comments section was instantly flooded with malicious speculation. I shut off the live stream, unwilling to let so many people pry into my life. The moment the stream cut out, Dean’s mask dropped. It was replaced by raw, frantic hatred. “Gabriel Ashton! How dare you come back? You’re a killer! You tried to kill me ten years ago, and you almost killed my son now!” “And now you’re stalking my wife, harassing her, and trying to ruin my family! If your parents knew how low you’ve become, they’d be turning in their graves!” His chest heaved, and spittle landed on my face. “Why are you staring at me? Am I wrong?” I swung a punch hard, the impact jarring my arm. Dean completely lost it, lunging at me to fight. Suddenly, a figure appeared, pulling me aside and stepping between Dean and me.

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In the dead of night, I caught Julian whispering on the phone, his voice dripping with tenderness. “Sleep tight, darling. Don’t cry. I’ll come see you as soon as I’m done with work.” He refuses to divorce me, yet he cheats on me just to torture me? What’s the point? I decided to turn up the heat. So, I hired a senior from my university to play the role of my affair partner. We paraded around right under Julian’s nose, making sure he saw everything. I figured with both of us cheating, this marriage would be so rotten he’d finally agree to a divorce. 1 At 4 AM, I went downstairs for a glass of water and heard Julian on the balcony, keeping his voice low. In the darkness, his deep, affectionate tone cut right through the silence. “Sleep tight, darling. Don’t cry. I’ll come see you as soon as I’m done with work.” My heart seized, and all sleepiness vanished instantly. I quickly crouched down, using the stair railing to hide myself. Hearing him lock his phone screen, return to his room, and close the door… Only then did I let out a breath and reach a conclusion— He was cheating. They say when a man cheats, the wife always has a sixth sense, stumbling upon the truth through inevitable coincidences. Look at me: thirsty at this exact ungodly hour, out of water in the bedroom, forced downstairs to catch him on the phone. If that’s not divine intervention, what is? Julian is nine years older than me. Back when my dad’s company was facing bankruptcy and desperately needed funds, Julian generously invested three hundred million, saving my dad from disaster. My dad knew Julian didn’t do charity. He asked what Julian wanted in return. Julian leaned back on the leather sofa, just smiling at my dad. After several repayment plans were rejected, my dad thought of selling his daughter. “My daughter, Dream, is gentle and pretty. A fortune teller said she brings luck to a household. Does Mr. Sterling need a wife?” Julian stopped smiling and said solemnly, “Then I’ll follow my father-in-law’s arrangement.” I was a freshman in college, only nineteen. My dad persuaded me: “Mr. Sterling is handsome, steady, and experienced. Marrying him isn’t a loss for you.” A year later, I married Julian. On our wedding day, I overheard his subordinates gossiping. They said he had a “white moonlight”—the one that got away—but since he had to marry, he just found someone to make do. After the wedding, I moved into Julian’s villa in the Riverside District. For three years, I lived upstairs, he lived downstairs. We were like neighbors, like roommates, but not like husband and wife. Year-round, he was always busy. The number of times we ate together could be counted on one hand. In the business world, he was a renaissance man: calm, decisive, with a unique vision and precise decision-making. Headlines were full of photos of his gentle, restrained smile. To promote a new menswear line, he even modeled himself, taking a set of photos under the green trees of Southern University. Approaching thirty, he stood quietly under the tree, blending maturity and youth perfectly, balancing introversion and flamboyance. It caused a sensation at Southern University. Those photos moved my heart too. But so what? He didn’t love me. He hadn’t touched me in three years. I was in the prime of my youth. Seeing classmates cuddling with their boyfriends… I felt a sense of loss, like my youth was being strangled in the cradle. The culprit behind all this was Julian. Because of his ridiculous “return on investment,” he gambled with my life. I brought up divorce with him, two or three times a year. The first year, he replied: “Your father’s company is still in crisis. Divesting now, have you thought it through?” The second year, my dad’s company started making steady profits. I brought up divorce again. He replied: “Mrs. Sterling, a marriage contract isn’t child’s play, but a lifelong commitment. Think about it again.” The third year, he replied: “It seems you haven’t thought it through yet. Keep thinking.” Always the cold “thinking,” mixed with considerations of family interests. True, my reasons weren’t strong enough, and he did help my family. But now it’s different. He cheated. I was a little sad, but also vaguely excited. 2 I found a senior I’d recently met, Sawyer. Sawyer was sunny and handsome, not only the student council president but also a part-time race car driver. Rumor had it he was every girl’s ideal type on campus. Once, I saw him working at a convenience store and knew he needed money, so I proposed a deal. “You just need to play my boyfriend. Three thousand a pop, cash on the spot. Deal?” Sawyer frowned, looking confused. “Is your husband bad to you? Why use this method to divorce?” I didn’t want to explain, just said, “Will you take the job, Senior? It is tricky. My husband has some influence, so there might be personal risk.” Sawyer smiled. “I was just worried about your reputation.” “Don’t worry. My husband is cheating too. If he dares to expose me, I’ll expose him. I have nothing to lose.” Sawyer choked, looking a bit speechless. Probably scared by the adult world. But a moment later, he accepted with interest: “Sure.” My second preparation was hiring a private investigator to look into Julian. Results came quickly. Julian’s “white moonlight” was his childhood sweetheart, Ginger, who had emigrated to New Zealand. She happened to be going through a divorce recently. His late-night calls were ninety percent likely to her. One in the country, one abroad—physical contact was unlikely, but emotional cheating was equally unforgivable. I told the PI to keep a close eye on Julian. Then, I started my cheating plan. I arranged to meet Sawyer in the commercial district below Julian’s company. The PI said Julian often went to a Huaiyang restaurant there to discuss business. So I dragged Sawyer there. Just in time to see Julian leading two people into a private room named “Misty Jiangnan.” Not long after, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Julian walking out with his long legs. Seeing Sawyer and me sitting conspicuously in the lobby dining, his steps faltered, almost tripping. I pretended not to see him, laughing with Sawyer, and even deliberately picked up a piece of lily bulb to feed him. Then I took a tissue and wiped Sawyer’s lips. Sawyer, back to Julian, flashed a smile at me. He was born handsome, his eyes affectionate, and his ears even turned red. I thought to myself, Sawyer is too good at acting; I have to keep up. So when Sawyer fed me, I responded with equal affection. Julian must be fuming, wishing he could sign the divorce papers right then and there. To redeem the humiliation he suffered from me. Sure enough, less than ten seconds later, my phone flashed. A text from Julian: [Where are you?] Acting requires commitment. I looked around guiltily, performing the “sneakiness” of an affair to perfection. Actually, I kind of hoped he’d show up and expose me, but he seemed to have hidden away. So I didn’t reply. After eating for forty minutes and digesting, I slowly took out my phone and replied to Julian: [At the school cafeteria.] Blatant deception from your wife—you should be furious, right? Burn, Mr. Sterling’s apoplectic rage! However, the chat box kept showing “Typing…” About ten minutes later, a message appeared: [Hmm, cafeteria food isn’t good. Starting tomorrow, I’ll have the butler send you meals.] Me: [No need, no need. I’m happy eating with classmates.] Julian: [Be good, don’t be stubborn with me, or I’ll have to deliver it myself.] Me: [Oh, okay, let the butler send it then.] “…” Shouldn’t he immediately appear in front of Sawyer and me, catching us in the act? Then, angrily sign the divorce papers. From then on, we go our separate ways, he marries his divorced white moonlight, and they live happily ever after. That day, the PI reported back— He hastily ended the restaurant meeting, went back to the company, and dragged the key staff into a meeting. Black-faced the whole time. Anyone who spoke out of turn got scolded like a dog. Also, he hired someone to follow me. 3 With the battle started, I was careful everywhere. At night, I deliberately came home late. The villa was pitch black and silent. I thought Julian wasn’t back yet. Entering the living room, I found a shadow on the sofa. Startled, I quickly turned on the lights. Julian looked up at me, face weary. The kind of exhaustion after a massive rage. His resentful gaze lasted two seconds, quickly covered by calm. “You’re back. Is everything going well at school lately?” His voice was pressed low, suppressing all emotions. I replied lightly and happily, “Very smooth. And you, Mr. Sterling?” “Mm, all good.” Like nothing had happened. His deep, sharp gaze fell on my bag, where a newly bought charm hung— A heart shape formed by black and white swans necking. Symbolizing love. His hand resting on the sofa unconsciously scratched the fabric. Felt like the next second, he’d rush up, rip off my charm, and throw it in the trash. Stalemate for five seconds. He let go, squeezing out an ugly smile: “What’s that?” “Just a little charm, a classmate bought it.” Actually, I bought it myself, specifically to provoke him. He nodded expressionlessly, politely and difficulty praising: “Nice.” My only evaluation of his calm reaction: Sly old fox. Time to add more fuel. That night, I shuttled back and forth between the living room, the island, and the second floor several times. Humming a popular little love song in a great mood: “At 4 AM, I saw the begonias awake, perhaps secret love is hidden in tears…” “At 5 AM, wanting to lull this longing to sleep…” Didn’t his call happen at 4 AM? Such an obvious hint, wonder what he thinks… Since the affair plan started, I began changing my image. Usually bare-faced, now I started wearing light makeup. Swapped the cartoon cotton pajamas for a slim, sexy silk nightgown. The innocent student vibe dropped by eighty percent instantly. Julian sat on the living room sofa the whole time, typing away on his keyboard. But his peripheral vision entangled around me like vines as I moved back and forth. He’s a cautious, meticulous man. If he found me annoying, he could have faced the floor-to-ceiling window. The villa sits halfway up the mountain. Looking down from the window, you can see the entire night view of Jin City. Very atmospheric. He used to always sit facing the window. But tonight, he insisted on sitting facing the stairs, the island, and the living room. Suddenly, he asked, “What song are you singing?” “An internet song, ‘Begonias Awake at 4 AM’.” “Mm.” After a silence, he asked again, “You like silk nightgowns?” “Ah haha, well…” I paused deliberately, acting like I was frantically thinking of an excuse. “Recently, I feel this is more feminine.” His hand on the keyboard paused, asking with feigned calm, “Why suddenly want to be feminine?” Finally asked something relevant. I made up a lie: “Because someone said silk nightgowns feel better to the touch.” His hand on the keyboard unconsciously clenched into a fist, then released after a moment. His tight jaw also relaxed suddenly. Then, with a malicious chuckle: “Then I must thank that person for being so considerate of me.” He put down the laptop, strode over to me in a few steps, looking down at me with immense pressure. Scared, I kept retreating, but he pressed on until he pinned me against the wall. Then, a large hand forcefully grabbed both my wrists, pinning them against the wall. Overbearing and aggressive, forcing my body tight against his. The heat of his chest seeped through the thin fabric into my skin, making my throat dry. I thought he finally decided to exercise his husbandly rights. After all, that look was hotter than ever, restraining complex emotions. “Then I must try this damn good texture.” Almost said through gritted teeth. As soon as the words fell, a warm palm stroked the small of my back, rubbing back and forth a few times. His eyes held a bit more madness. But he let go of me, saying insincerely, “Tried it. Not good at all. Don’t wear it anymore.” “Some people will deceive you to achieve their goals. You’re still young, can’t distinguish, you’ll suffer losses.” This sentence left me three parts confused, seven parts angry. Felt like my IQ was insulted. Also, even if I cheated, he doesn’t care? Only lack of love allows such magnanimity. Or, afraid of piercing the paper window, Mr. Sterling’s reputation would be ruined. Husband and wife both cheating, this marriage is rotten to the core. Yet for his reputation, he can endure more than a Ninja Turtle. While typing the divorce agreement, I reviewed— Looks like the fire isn’t hot enough. 4 The next morning, music came from Julian’s room: “At 4 AM, I heard the begonias awake…” After breakfast, he unprecedentedly wanted to drive me to school. I couldn’t refuse, sitting awkwardly in the passenger seat. In the car, again: “4 AM…” I was going crazy. Provoking me, afraid I don’t know he’s secretly in love with Ginger? Julian, just you wait. Today I’ll make you see green! I slammed the car door and went straight to find Sawyer. There was a dodging figure behind us. I smirked, wrapped my arms around Sawyer’s neck, and jumped onto him. Sawyer had to reach out and support my butt. I admit, a bit excessive, but Julian forced me. Since we’re doing it, make it real. I planted a shallow kiss on Sawyer’s cheek. Sawyer’s acting skills were top-notch. He flushed red on the spot, stammering in a low voice: “Ju-Junior, is this… maybe not good?” I smiled like a junior immersed in romantic love, grinning like a kid who got candy. “It’s all acting, don’t take it seriously.” Disappointment flashed in Sawyer’s eyes, then he nodded with a smile. That day, Sawyer took leave from his advisor just to act with me. We ate, shopped, gamed, watched movies hand in hand… Did everything couples do. Besides acting, Sawyer was a good companion, never a killjoy. I had a great time. Before leaving school at night, Sawyer and I stood under the cherry blossom tree to say goodbye. I transferred an extra two thousand to him. Added: “You gave your first kiss, it’s only right.” Under the cherry tree, bathed in the dim streetlight, Sawyer radiated a hazy beauty of youth. Beautiful as a painting. He chuckled, hand on forehead. Then, he cupped my face, lowered his head, and pecked my lips lightly: “Junior, this is a first kiss. Since I took the money, service must be thorough.” Voice low and bewitching. I was dazed for a moment. Suddenly heard the sound of someone falling into the bushes behind us. Understood instantly. Sawyer really is a master actor.

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I’m a professional scammer. I once posed as the “White Moonlight”—the first love—of a blind heir. I played the role for three years, gave birth to a child, and left. Five years later, I was running a fortune-telling stall. A kid walked up and handed me a thousand dollars. “I want to find out where my mom is.” Just as I pocketed the cash, a woman rushed over. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” She looked familiar. I thought for a moment. Ah, it’s the real White Moonlight of that blind heir. After a few seconds of silence. I took the money out and handed it back to the kid. “Your mom is here. Here’s your money back.” He didn’t take the money. He just stared at me unblinkingly. “She’s not the mom I’m looking for.” 1 My hand froze in mid-air. A moment later, I turned to Sofia. “Kids will be kids. You should take the money.” She took the cash and grabbed the boy’s arm to leave. He bit her hand, snatched the thousand dollars back. “This is my allowance! You can’t take it!” Sofia hissed in pain, glaring down at him. “Leo!” Then she caught herself, squatting down and softening her voice. “Be good, come home with Mommy. Daddy will be worried.” “You guys ignore me anyway! Just go have another one!” Leo pushed her away, sat back down on the stool properly, and handed me the money again. Sofia sneered, giving me a meaningful look. “Fine, read his fortune. See if his mom still wants him.” From her tone, Leo definitely knew she wasn’t his biological mother. Did that mean Julian knew too? But when I left, I was still using Sofia’s identity. My mind was a mess. But I kept a straight face, took the money, and asked Leo: “Do you know your birth date?” Of course I knew the answer. Ten months of pregnancy, a C-section, pain like I was being ripped apart. Hard to forget. “January 8th, 2020.” He looked at me seriously. “Daddy said it was really cold that day.” I remembered. It snowed that day. The hospital room and the world outside were all white. I always had poor circulation; even with the heater blasting, my hands and feet were freezing in winter. That night, Julian sat at the foot of the bed, warming my feet with his hands. He sat there all night. But he was warming Sofia, not Jane. I looked at the real Sofia standing in front of me and buried those memories deep down again. Then I pulled out some wooden sticks and pretended to calculate. After a while, I said, “You and your mom have no destiny together. Stop looking.” Leo’s lip quivered. “Liar.” “Daddy said Mommy is in the place with the most liars.” 2 I am indeed a good liar. A professional one. I’ve posed as parents, girlfriends, mistresses—always five-star reviews. I played online dating games, scammed guys out of a couple grand then broke up with them to teach them a lesson. I tricked rich kids into opening bottles worth tens of thousands at clubs. … But the biggest con of my life… Was pretending to be Sofia and deceiving Julian for three years. Sofia went abroad, Julian chased after her, got into a car accident on the way, and went blind. He became depressed and withdrawn. Julian’s parents couldn’t stand it, so they found me to impersonate Sofia. To play the role perfectly, I went all in. Learned bass, adjusted my voice, learned to sing. Yes, they were musicians. The band was just getting famous when Sofia chose to study abroad. So they fell apart. The first time I saw Julian, he was sitting by a floor-to-ceiling window, staring at the shadows of trees outside. His eyes were lifeless. I imitated Sofia’s tone and told him I was back. But I didn’t expect his first sentence to be— “Why did you use an erhu in the intro of that demo?” I had imagined countless scenarios where I’d need to act. Crying together, fighting, a warm reconciliation. But never this. So, I stammered for a while and only managed to say: “To promote traditional culture.” Silence fell. Julian tilted his head, confusion in his sightless eyes. Finally. He said, “I want to hear you sing. Our first song.” I sighed in relief. Luckily, I had practiced every one of their songs thousands of times. I knew them by heart. Julian played the piano for me. Even blind, he played beautifully. He just couldn’t see the sheet music anymore. When the song ended, he said: “You sang well. Better than before.” 3 Whether Julian knew of my existence or not, I was a money-grubbing liar. I played his first love for money. I gave birth to a child for money. And for money, I left without looking back. I didn’t deserve him. And I didn’t deserve to be Leo’s mom. Snapping back to reality, I said expressionlessly: “Then you should go to the police station. Lots of liars there.” Leo’s round, almond eyes suddenly turned red. He looked helpless. Sofia smirked. “Can we go now?” Leo reluctantly followed her. He kept looking back at me as he walked away. Looking so aggrieved. I lowered my head, packing up the wooden sticks and charts. Then I adjusted my white wig, limped away without looking back. After turning a corner, I hopped on my electric scooter. Zoomed away. They shouldn’t have recognized me. I had never met Sofia. And I suppressed the urge to peek at Leo for five years. Plus, I was disguised as an old woman. Fortune tellers need to look old to be credible. So, I thought this was just a random encounter. Until the next day. Leo came back to my stall, pulled out a thousand bucks. “Calculate my mom’s name.” I hesitated and asked, “You come out alone every day? Doesn’t your family care?” He shook his head. “Daddy went shopping with that woman. I snuck out.” That woman? He didn’t call Sofia “Mom.” Was she bad to him? I thought about it for a long time, then took the money. Better with me than wasted. I shook the sticks and gave him an answer. “Your mom’s last name is Jane. But the first name is hard to calculate.” “Buy a Heavenly Charm from me, $6480, and I’ll tell you right away.” 4 This time, Leo was crying as Sofia dragged him away. Because I scammed all his toy money and didn’t tell him the first name. He wailed as he left. “Waaaah, Mom really is a big liar waaah, my Transformers and Ultraman waaaah.” He was definitely looking for me on purpose. But who told him I was his mom? Julian? Or his parents? But none of them had a reason to tell him. The kid’s crying was loud. Other vendors cast scornful looks at me. I ignored them. Got on my scooter and left without looking back. I thought the little prince would give up. But for the next few days, he kept coming to my stall. Sending money. I moved east, moved west, even set up in front of a temple, couldn’t shake him. The last time. He wore overalls and a little backpack, sat on my stool. “Big Liar, I want to live at your house.” “…” I packed up quickly and pulled the stool out from under him. Leo landed on his butt. He stood up shakily, patted the dust off, and looked at me with puppy dog eyes. He was really good at playing the victim. Just like Julian sometimes. I pushed down the feeling in my heart, ignored him, and walked away. Rich kid out alone? Impossible without bodyguards. It’s a trap. But after turning the corner, I didn’t get on the scooter. I took a different path and watched Leo from afar. He stood there, hands clasped nervously, staring in the direction I left. Like an exquisite little figurine. His features looked like me, but his aura was more like Julian. The first time I saw him, my heart tugged involuntarily. Almost cried. But my acting has always been top-notch. Half an hour passed. Leo didn’t leave, and no one from the Sterling family appeared. …Is this how Julian treats his son? Because he knows he’s not Sofia’s child, he doesn’t care? An indescribable bitterness surged in my heart. I stared at Leo for a long time, then finally walked back to him. “Let’s go. Come home with me.”

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When I took Leo for his annual physical, the nurse mentioned he was charting a little short and suggested we look into his growth development. I immediately booked an appointment at a pediatric growth clinic. When the results came back, the doctor looked at me, perplexed. “Are you absolutely sure Leo is six years old?” I blinked. “Yes. His birthday was just a few weeks ago.” The doctor pointed to the X-rays. “His bone age indicates he’s closer to five.” “I think I’d remember my own son’s birthday,” I snapped, grabbing Leo’s hand and walking out. I drove straight to the private hospital owned by my best friend, Marcus Bell. He pulled in the most respected pediatric specialist, who didn’t just re-shoot the bone age scan, but also ran a full workup, including a telomere length test. The specialist’s face was grave. “Both the bone age and telomere results are consistent with a five-year-old. If you are certain about his birth date… Mr. Sullivan, I recommend a paternity test.” The world went quiet. A dull roar filled my ears. Thirty minutes later, the nurse handed me the report. The words were black and white, utterly unambiguous: “Paternity Excluded.” I gripped the paper, my hands shaking uncontrollably. “Then where is my son? Where is my child?” 1 Marcus glanced at Leo, who was oblivious, playing with a toy car. “Dean,” he lowered his voice. “The kid… he really doesn’t look like you. But he’s the spitting image of Tia.” It hit me. Six years ago, I was pulled onto a top-secret mission. To insulate Tia and the baby from any risk, I’d lied, telling her I was launching a startup in Africa. I went dark for an entire year. When I returned with a commendation ribbon, a year later, Leo was tiny and thin, looking nothing like the robust infant I’d left behind. Tia had tearfully claimed she’d suffered terrible insomnia after I left, her milk dried up early, and that’s why the baby was so frail. My guilt had been immense. From that day on, I never questioned her, always trying to compensate for my absence. Just then, my phone rang. Tia’s furious voice hit me like a physical blow. “A simple physical exam and it took you this long? You can’t even manage that! God, you’re useless!” I mumbled some vague excuse and got off the line. My gut was screaming that this was the tip of an ugly iceberg, but I knew better than to tip my hand now. I hung up and drove Leo back to the car. He immediately started kicking the back of my seat. “Stop it,” I warned him over my shoulder. He suddenly raised his little fist and, before I could react, slammed it into my eye. My vision flashed white. I swerved, nearly hitting a parked tree. “My mom says you’re just a mooch who lives off her money. You don’t get to tell me what to do!” He wasn’t mine. That vicious, entitled streak was a clear sign. He was an ungrateful little viper. I’d poured my heart and soul into raising him for years, and it was worth less than feeding a stray dog. “Act up one more time,” I growled, “and I swear I’m pulling over and leaving you on the curb!” When we got to Tia’s office building, she was waiting outside, hands on her hips, instantly furious. “Three hours for a check-up? Three hours! Are you going to pay for Leo missing his classes?” The kid, seizing the moment, kicked me hard, spat a glob of saliva onto my shirt, and instantly hid behind Tia. I had to swallow the urge to grab him and shake him. Finding my real son was the priority now. I locked eyes with Tia. “We’ve been married for eight years. If you’ve done anything to betray me, I’m giving you a chance to be honest right now.” A flash of panic crossed her face, but she instantly regained her composure. “Are you losing it? You’re a grown man who can’t hold a decent job or handle one kid, and now you’re trying to gaslight me? Get a grip!” “Apologize to me right now! Or you can forget about your allowance this month!” People passing by stopped and stared, whispering and pointing. “Look, it’s the guy who lives off his wife…” I was about to say something, anything, when Marcus’s call came in. “Dean, I have a lead on the whole Leo situation. Get back here now.” I turned to leave, but Tia grabbed my arm. “You will apologize to me!” I shoved her hand away. She stared at my retreating back, utterly stunned. “How dare you…” I burst into Marcus’s office. He looked worried. “Dean, try to stay calm.” He slid a manila envelope across his desk and opened it. I thought I was prepared for anything, but what I saw obliterated me. Shortly after I’d deployed, Tia had reconnected with her high school sweetheart, Rex Kincaid. She’d gotten pregnant with his child. To ensure her bastard son got citizenship and access to the city’s resources, she had substituted him for my Owen. My real son, Owen, had been dumped on her aunt in a rural, run-down county, with only two hundred dollars a month for his upkeep. I shattered the glass on the desk. “That snake! That viper!” I spun toward the door, ready to drive to her hometown. Marcus grabbed me. “Wait. Owen isn’t there anymore. Every summer, her aunt would essentially rent him out to an old man in the village to take him out begging. They’re transients… they could be anywhere.” Begging. The word was a punch to the gut. I felt the office spin. I forced myself steady. I pulled out my phone and dialed the number I hadn’t touched in six years. “This is Dean Sullivan. Please… I need your help finding my son.” A deep, resonant voice answered immediately. “You are a national asset, Dr. Sullivan. Rest assured, we never abandon our own.” I hung up, my heart tearing apart. My Owen should have been enrolling in the city’s best prep school, not kneeling on a street corner, kowtowing for change. Thirty minutes later, the contact texted me an address. It was in a dilapidated, almost slum-like part of the city. I grabbed my keys and sprinted out. The address led me to a grimy, boarded-up rental room. Before I even reached the door, I heard a child’s panicked wailing. Then came an old man’s furious yell: “That’s all you brought back all day? I’ll beat you to death, you worthless brat!” I kicked the door in, lunged forward, and pulled the boy into my arms. I looked down at his face—a mirror image of my own. I didn’t need the DNA test. This was my Owen. The initial shock of relief gave way to horror. I saw a small space heater with a piece of metal—a branding iron—glowing on top. The boy’s thin legs bore two identical, circular scars. The wounds were festering, weeping pus, and the stench was sickening. “Are you even human?” I roared, kicking the old man square in the stomach. I carried Owen and burst into the ER. “Doctor, fast! My son needs help!” The doctor later told me that a few more hours, and they would have had to amputate. I sat by his bed, watching his pale, frail face, my heart aching with a physical pain. His lashes fluttered. When he saw me, he flinched and tried to shrink back into the covers, his wide eyes filled with pure terror. I gently held his cold little hand, my voice thick with emotion. “I am so sorry, Owen. Daddy was late. You shouldn’t have suffered.” “You’re… my dad?” he whispered, testing the words. I nodded hard. “Yes. And I’m going to take care of you, always.” CRASH! A heavy thermos slammed into the bedrail right beside Owen’s head. If it had hit him, the damage would have been catastrophic. A child’s laugh echoed from the doorway. “Fun! That was so much fun! I got a bulls-eye!” I looked at the thermos on the floor—it had a cute dinosaur print. I’d special-ordered it from Japan last year. For Leo. Tia stormed in, pointing a finger at my face. “Dean Sullivan, are you insane? How dare you have the police arrest my uncle! Go down to the precinct and get him released right now!” Only then did I realize: the old man who had brutalized my son was her uncle. That whole family, a nest of vipers. I gave a slow, cold smile. I stepped aside, revealing Owen, who was still flinching behind me. Tia’s jaw dropped. “L-Leo? What are you doing here?” Rex’s son, Leo, pointed at Owen. “Hey, isn’t that the nasty beggar from my great-aunt’s place?” The disgust in his eyes was palpable. Tia instantly shoved Leo behind her, her eyes scanning me with deep suspicion. Her gaze darted everywhere but mine. “What… what exactly do you know?” she asked, her voice a low trial balloon. “I know the ‘Leo’ you’ve been raising is Rex Kincaid’s bastard.” I smiled, but my eyes felt like chips of ice. She decided to abandon the pretense. Her voice shot up, hysterical. “And what right do you have to feel wronged? Everything you eat, everything you wear, is paid for by me!” She lunged half a step forward, flecks of spittle hitting my face. “You said you were starting a company in Africa. What happened? You came crawling back with nothing! If Rex hadn’t shown me how to run a business, I’d be sucking wind following you!” “And that justifies your cheating? That justifies dumping my son in the middle of nowhere so your bastard could steal his name and his life?” “Yes!” She jutted her chin out, screaming. “Rex knows how to give me the life I deserve! He’s a real man! And I’m happy to have his kid!” She pointed at me, spitting on the floor near my feet. “You are a spineless, worthless coward! And that’s why your son deserved to be a nobody in some trailer park!” She grabbed the glass sitting on the bedside table and threw it at me. I threw up my arm to deflect it, and a shard scraped a bloody line across my wrist. On the bed, Owen flinched violently. His voice was a thin sob. “I’ll be good. I’ll call you Aunt Tia now, I promise I won’t call you Mom. Please, don’t hit my daddy…” A crowd of onlookers had gathered. Murmurs began to rise. “How could a mother be so cruel to such a sweet child?” I stroked Owen’s hair, then pulled a folded document from my jacket pocket and slapped it onto the bedside table. “Divorce. And your bastard is giving my son his name back.” Cutting all ties with Tia was the immediate priority. I had to ensure this snake could never touch Owen again. Tia snatched the document, tore it into confetti, and threw the pieces in my face. “You want a divorce? It’ll be on my terms!” Barely five minutes later, the door flew open. Rex Kincaid stood there, flanked by over a dozen sharply dressed lawyers, a looming, black cloud of suits. Leo, the fake son, immediately darted forward and latched onto Rex’s leg. “Daddy! Dean Sullivan called me a bastard! Beat him up for me!” Rex’s eyes slid over to me, dripping with contempt. “Don’t worry, son. Daddy’s going to make him kneel and apologize.” One of his lawyers stepped forward and flicked a document into my chest. “Mr. Sullivan, take a look.” It was a post-nuptial agreement. When I’d returned from my mission, Tia had played the victim, claiming she felt insecure after my year-long absence. Drowning in guilt, I signed it without a second thought. The agreement stipulated that all assets acquired during our marriage belonged solely to her, and in the event of a divorce, I would walk away with nothing. Rex’s smile stretched ear to ear. “Kneel and beg my son for forgiveness, and I might let you keep that dump of a house. Otherwise, you and your little tramp can sleep under a bridge tonight.” Tia wrapped her arm around Rex, her face smug. “Even if you steal back your son’s name, so what? No house means no residency, and no elite schools!” “Keep the ‘dump.’ You earned it.” I picked up the pre-torn agreement, pulled out a pen, and signed my name on a clean corner. Tia bent down to Owen’s level. “Your daddy is broke. Empty pockets. He’s going to take you begging, honey. You two can hold hands and beg on the street corner. Ha ha ha!” Owen choked, grabbing my shirt. “Daddy, I don’t need to eat meat. I’m good at working hard. Please, don’t make me beg…” My throat tightened until I couldn’t speak. I pulled him into my chest. “I promise, Owen. You will never suffer like that again. I’m going to make you the happiest kid in the world.” “What a performance!” Rex scoffed, pulling out his phone and shoving a video in my face. “Take a look—you’ve officially been evicted.” The screen showed my living room. My personal assistant was tossing my belongings into massive trash bags. Then the camera panned to my study. My computer—the monitor smashed, the CPU tower shoved into a recycling bin. The hard drive held my most recent, classified research—work that, if successfully implemented, could completely eradicate the Ebola virus. I immediately dialed my secure contact number, summarizing the situation in three clipped sentences. A calm, grave voice responded: “Order received. Immediate action.” Less than three minutes later, the video on Rex’s phone suddenly shifted tone. A swarm of people in specialized tactical gear poured into my house. A man in sunglasses said something to the assistant, who instantly went slack-kneed and collapsed to the floor, terrified. Next, several agents carefully knelt by the recycling bin, retrieving the damaged PC parts. They handled the hard drive as if it were a priceless relic, placing it gently into a secure box. Rex’s face darkened instantly. “Dean Sullivan! You call in a few thugs and think you can scare me? You forget who’s backing me?” Tia puffed out her chest. “Rex and I land all those major contracts because he has a big-shot backer! The man’s name would make you faint! Apologize now, and we might still forgive you!” I gave them a look of pure contempt. “You mean the CEO of Aethel Biotech, right? The one who funneled ninety percent of their contracts your way these past few years? How else do you think a mediocre pair like you could run a company?” Rex and Tia stared, their shock undisguised. They hadn’t expected me to know the puppet master. Tia quickly recovered, raising her chin defiantly. “So you know! Good! Now kowtow to my son, or I’ll make sure you can’t get a job in this entire city!” The agent on the recovery team called back. “Dr. Sullivan, the drive is secure. Data intact.” I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Thank you. Please have the contents of my study delivered to my office…” I didn’t finish the sentence. Tia suddenly lunged and smacked the phone out of my hand. She stood, hands on her hips, screeching. “You want your things? Forget it! You’re not taking a single thing—not even a pin!” My patience snapped. I pulled the hospital phone off the wall and called security. “Inpatient Room 502. Send guards immediately. Clear out all non-essential personnel.” Rex glared at me, slamming his hand on the bedside table. “Hey! I’d like to see who in this city has the guts to challenge me!” He spun to his entourage of lawyers and muscle. “Take him out! Cripple Dean Sullivan! Double pay for everyone this month!” The thugs instantly surrounded us, fists aimed directly at my face. I tightened my grip on Owen, and slammed my elbow into the jaw of the guy who charged first. At the same moment, the hospital security guards burst in, joining the chaos. The room erupted into a brawl. IV poles crashed, and the bedside table overturned. My arms locked around Owen, shielding him. I spotted a gap toward the door, but Rex suddenly grabbed a shard of broken glass and lunged at my son’s body. “Die, you piece of trash!” I kicked him hard in the gut. He screamed, stumbling backward into the wall. Just then, another wave of men surged into the room—a team of black-suited security professionals. Rex’s eyes lit up when he saw the lead man. He rushed forward, a sickeningly ingratiating smile plastered on his face. “Mr. Rhodes! You’re here for me, right? Did the CEO of Aethel finally agree to that dinner? I’ve been waiting for days…” Mr. Rhodes walked right past him. He stopped directly in front of me, his voice deferential. “Dr. Sullivan. My apologies for the delay. I hope you and the young master haven’t suffered too much.”

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1 Before the Thanksgiving break, Ken promised he’d spend the entire break with me, helping with wedding preparations. But the night before the holiday officially began, he called to say something had come up at the lab and he wouldn’t be able to make it back. Ken has always been the cool, aloof, scholarly type. I should have trusted him completely. But just a few minutes before his call, I’d received a text confirming a hotel room booking in his name. I stared at the message, stunned. It was a well-known hotel for couples. At first, I thought my stuffy, unromantic professor had finally learned a thing or two about romance. Then he called with his excuse about the lab. Like hell I’d believe that. I floored the gas pedal and sped over. The room door was unlocked. A beautiful young woman, wrapped in a bath towel, was sitting cross-legged on the bed with a laptop. She didn’t seem surprised to see me. In fact, she offered a sweet smile. “Hello, Ms. Bernstein.” I narrowed my eyes and looked at Ken. His back was to us, deep in a phone conversation, completely oblivious to my arrival. “Ms. Bernstein, I’m one of Professor Miller’s students. My name is Zoe,” she said, her smile creating two charming dimples. “We had some data we hadn’t finished processing. The professor was worried that being in the lab so late, just the two of us, might damage my reputation if someone saw us. So he brought me here to work. Please don’t misunderstand.” She finished with a playful stick of her tongue. My heart sank like a stone. Ken was a man of few emotions, his world revolving around his experiments and his teaching. He’d never shown any particular concern for any woman. That included me, his fiancée of five years. But now, Zoe was telling me that Ken had gone out of his way to book a hotel room, all for the sake of her reputation. A bitter taste filled my mouth. Suddenly, I didn’t care about being poised and graceful anymore. “If you’re here to work, then work. Who are you trying to impress, sitting there with your bare arms on display?” The girl froze. She clearly hadn’t expected my sudden outburst. Her beautiful eyes instantly filled with tears. “I’m sorry, I’ll get dressed right now.” As she stood up, I noticed she had Ken’s jacket draped over her legs. The commotion finally caught Ken’s attention. He hung up the phone, his face a mask of surprise. “What are you doing here?” “I’m here. What about it?” My tone was sharp, and he realized I was angry. With an almost imperceptible sigh, the man started to pack his things to leave with me. “And get rid of that damn jacket,” I snapped, pointing at the coat in his hands. “You know I’m a germaphobe. How dare you let some clueless girl touch my things!” The tension in the room was thick. Zoe’s face was as white as a sheet. Ken frowned at me, but he put down the jacket and left with me. It was the first time I had ever lost my temper in front of him. In the past, a girl with a face as punchable as Zoe’s wouldn’t have escaped without a few slaps from me. But Ken was a refined, well-educated man. To fit the image of a professor’s wife, I had curbed my temper significantly. But he didn’t see it that way. “Zoe is just a kid. You shouldn’t have been so harsh with her.” A kid? I let out a cold laugh. “What kind of kid goes to a couples’ hotel with her professor? Ken, are you trying to sabotage your own career?” Ken slammed on the brakes. The sudden stop sent me lurching forward. “Audrey, watch your mouth! We were just there to process data!” I couldn’t remember him ever raising his voice at me like that. Ken was perfect, the object of countless young girls’ affections. But his mind was always on his experiments, and he never gave anyone outside his academic circle a second glance. That’s why I’d always felt so secure with him. But now, he had changed. “Ken, this is the first time we’ve ever fought over another woman.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, his face etched with exhaustion. “I don’t want to fight. You’re being unreasonable.” “I’m going to stay somewhere else for a few days. You need to cool down. We’ll talk when you’re ready.” The September night air in the city was chilly. Without a moment’s hesitation, my fiancé left me on a deserted street and drove away. I pulled my coat tighter around me. Suddenly, I had a feeling this wedding was not going to happen. I went home that night and came down with a high fever. I slept for a full day and night before I remembered that today was the day Ken and I were supposed to try on our wedding dress. But I’d been sick and hadn’t reminded him, and he hadn’t sent me a single message. Instead, Zoe’s social media was updated. The first post was a picture of a table laden with desserts, captioned: [Master said that eating sweet things makes you feel better. So Master doesn’t worry, I’m going to eat all of this!] My breath caught in my throat. I had asked Ken to take me to that dessert shop countless times, but he was always either “too busy” or he’d forget and stand me up. An indescribable feeling spread through my chest. I kept scrolling. The second post was taken at a bridal salon. She was wearing my custom-made wedding dress, a sweet smile on her face. Behind her, Ken’s gaze was tender. They looked like a loving couple. The caption read: [A little birdie told me to help out~ Master asked me to try on the wedding dress and give my opinion. Everyone, help me out, is there anything wrong with this dress?] My mind went blank. When I came to my senses, my hands and feet were cold. Trembling. A wave of nausea washed over me. It was like finding a swarm of cockroaches in a garden I’d lovingly tended for five years. The flowers were still there. But it was disgusting. For a moment, I wanted to march right up to Zoe and tear that dress off her. But you can’t just swat at cockroaches. It only makes things messier. I called my brother and asked to borrow one of his handsome friends. Then I instructed my housekeeper and driver to prepare some expensive gift baskets. Finally, I made a reservation at the most famous restaurant in the city. The next morning. I treated Ken’s students to a meal, and as a reward for their hard work, I gave each of them a gift basket. Everyone except Zoe. University students love to gossip. I answered all of their questions truthfully. The looks on their faces were a mixture of shock and disgust. Before the meal was even over, the story about Zoe was all over the campus confession page. After lunch, my brother’s friend, Leo, picked me up right on time to go to the bridal salon. Leo was handsome, with perfect model-like proportions. Compared to Ken’s cool demeanor, Leo had the eye-catching presence of a cover model. Most importantly, Leo was patient. No matter how many dresses I tried on, he was happy to change into a new suit for a photo with me. Thirty-two wedding dresses, and every single photo was perfect. It was an experience I had never had in my five years with Ken. Afterwards, I posted all the photos on social media. The caption read: [My fiancé was busy eating dessert with someone else, so I had to find a stand-in. Everyone, help me choose, which one looks best?] By the time I was done, Zoe’s world had imploded. Someone followed the clues from her social media posts and exposed her on the campus confession page. Zoe’s two-faced behavior at school had already earned her a fair share of enemies. This incident just gave them a reason to pounce. The situation escalated quickly, and Zoe was called into the dean’s office. She came out after a three-hour meeting, pale and with red-rimmed eyes. On her way back to the dorm, she was met with open jeers and laughter. Zoe couldn’t take it. She called Ken in tears, threatening to drop out of school. And so, two days later, Ken once again set foot in our marital home. “Audrey, do you really have to target my student like this?” “Causing such a scene right before the wedding, do you even want to get married anymore?” This was the second time in five years I had seen Ken truly angry. Both times, it was because of the same woman. I’m not one to get angry easily. By this point, I was just tired of it all. “Ken, I need you to understand something.” “I didn’t do this on a whim, and I’m not making things up.” It was a reminder. This whole mess started with him. When he realized this, he was the first to back down. “I don’t understand all that social etiquette stuff. I just do what I think is right without thinking too much about it.” “You told me that girls like to eat sweets. She was crying all night because of you. As your fiancé and her professor, I felt I should make it up to her.” “As for the wedding dress, the designer is going abroad. You were sick, and I was afraid you wouldn’t have time, so I asked Zoe to help.” His calm, steady eyes didn’t seem to be lying. For Ken, offering an explanation was a concession. He hadn’t made any unforgivable mistakes, so I didn’t need to keep pushing. Otherwise, our relationship would be over. “If there’s something you don’t understand, I can teach you. But I don’t like you creating conflict between us because of another woman.” With a man as dense as Ken, throwing tantrums was useless. Stating my needs was more effective than arguing. “And one more thing.” “You may be stuffy and boring in the eyes of the world, but I love that your emotional world is clean and untainted.” “Ken, I don’t tolerate any gray areas. I hope you don’t lose that quality.” The air was finally cleared. A smile spread across Ken’s face as he pulled me into his arms. “Don’t worry. You will always be my only wife.” Ken was never one to procrastinate. As soon as I made my feelings clear, he transferred Zoe to another professor’s supervision. I also went to the school and cleared up the rumors to save her from further embarrassment. Life returned to normal. We went back to the bridal salon to try on the dress again. I don’t like second-hand clothes. So I arranged with the designer to have an identical dress made after the alterations were complete. When I finally put on the wedding dress I’d been waiting for for over half a year, the gloom of the past few days vanished. Every detail of the dress was exactly as I had designed it. The perfect skirt accentuated my figure flawlessly. Ken was mesmerized. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, looking at our reflection in the mirror. “Audrey, you are the most beautiful bride.” Belatedly, Ken became jealous of the photos I’d taken with Leo and insisted on having a photo shoot with me that very day. The dressing rooms were separate.

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I got into a fight with the male lead’s sister. She was screaming at the top of her lungs, “My brother has a gorgeous girlfriend! Does yours?” “My brother has parents who love him and are mentally stable! Does yours?” I sneered. “My brother would eat sh*t if I asked him to. Would yours?” That night, my brother came home after being rejected for the seventh time, looking like his world had ended. Then he saw me squatting at the door, wearing the most ingratiating smile I could muster. He paused, sighing helplessly. “What did you do this time?” Before I could answer, his phone rang. The man on the other end hesitated before saying, “You win, okay?” “But eating that… I really can’t bring myself to do it.” 1 After hanging up the phone, my brother called out to me as I tried to shrink into the shadows and sneak inside. “Mia Jiang, get back here.” I shuddered. Full name. He was actually mad. I slumped my shoulders and shuffled back, looking up at him. My entire body screamed guilty. “Bro.” I called him sweetly, trying to butter him up. But his gaze remained heavy and unwavering. “I didn’t mean to.” I’ve known since I was little that my brother, Julian Jiang, is a villain. And his nemesis is the male lead, who has everything—a successful career and a perfect love life. The male lead has a sister with a big mouth who happens to be in my class. Let’s call her Loudmouth. Every day, she brags in class. “My brother finally succeeded in his confession! Now he has a super beautiful girlfriend. That sister even bought me several dresses. I love them so much!” In contrast, that day my brother came to pick me up thirty minutes late. His eyes were red, and he looked like he’d lost his soul. I tugged at his shirt and asked what was wrong. He forced a smile, bent down, and ruffled my hair. “Nothing. Just… the person your brother likes already likes someone else.” “So what if she likes someone else? If you like her, keep chasing her.” I tilted my head and looked at him. “Are you scared?” After the parent-teacher conference, Loudmouth started sharing snacks her parents prepared. “My parents really love me and my brother. They prepare so many snacks every day, I’m getting tired of eating them.” She spotted me. “Mia, why does your brother always come to the meetings? Don’t your parents care about you?” I put down my textbook and told her seriously, “My brother and I came from an orphanage. We don’t have parents.” “There are people without parents?” Loudmouth gasped. “That’s so sad. There are two fewer people in the world to love you and your brother.” I knew she didn’t mean any harm; her words were just a bit sharp. So I replied, “I have my brother, and that’s enough.” Maybe because we both have brothers, Loudmouth loves sticking to me. Every other sentence is “my brother this, my brother that.” The argument happened that afternoon. Loudmouth said, “It’s so annoying. That pretty sister is already with my brother, but there are still blind people confessing to her, trying to steal her away!” She was insulting my brother. Of course, I couldn’t let it slide. We started arguing, and eventually, the topic returned to our brothers. Loudmouth was smug. “My brother has twenty properties and seven sports cars. Does yours?” “My brother has a gorgeous girlfriend. Does yours?” “My brother has parents who are mentally and physically healthy. Does yours?” … I was speechless. My brother had none of those things. But we were this deep in; how could I admit defeat? So I sneered, “My brother would eat sh*t if I asked him to. Would yours?” That sentence killed the competition. Loudmouth was dumbfounded. After school, I saw the male lead picking up Loudmouth. She was hugging his leg, crying and begging him to eat sh*t. I didn’t dare look again. I stared straight ahead and walked home like a robot. 2 My brother rarely misses picking me up. Usually, if he’s busy, he messages the neighbor, Auntie Wu, to pick me up along with her granddaughter. I waited at the school gate for a long time, but Julian never showed up. Seeing the sky turning dark, I decided to walk home. As soon as I got home, I saw a thick stack of documents on the table. It included my personal info, daily habits, and even details like how I only eat the leafy parts of vegetables. I had a bad feeling. I put down my bag and snuck into my brother’s study. Julian never hides anything from me, so I easily opened his computer. The last song played was “I Once Thought about Ending It All.” Recent search history: “How to leave all inheritance to a minor?” “Top 10 orphanages in the country.” “Will a brother’s death leave psychological trauma on a sister?” … I took a deep breath, shut down the computer, and restored the study to its original state. Then, I called Loudmouth. Thirty minutes later, my brother came back. He was holding a bouquet of undelivered flowers, the corners of his eyes red, his smile forced. If I remember correctly, this was Julian’s seventh failed confession. The person he likes is the heroine. The heroine will always end up with the male lead. My brother is the villain. But he doesn’t know that. He just thinks he’s not good enough. I walked up and hugged Julian’s waist. Looking up at him, I said, “Bro, you’re finally back.” “I cooked today! I made dinner for you.” I brought out a pot of soup with a weird color and a strange smell. “Midterm results are out too!” I handed him three test papers. All three had single-digit scores. Added together, they were less than my brother’s age. Julian’s hand holding the papers started to tremble. I continued to drop bombs. “Bro, my teacher said you should take me to the hospital. She thinks I might have ADHD. What’s ADHD?” My brother closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the light was gone. He hesitated, “I remember you got full marks in all subjects last semester?” “Yeah.” I stirred the soup. “But studying is boring. When I grow up, I want tattoos. Uncle Dragon next door has tattoos all over his arms. So cool.” Julian frowned. “Mia, where did you learn all this?” He lectured me seriously for half an hour. I hung my head and pretended to listen. After the lecture, my brother put on an apron and went to the kitchen. Just then, the phone rang. I looked at him guiltily. Julian paused, sighing helplessly. “What did you do this time?” He answered the phone. The man on the other end hesitated before saying, “You win, okay?” “But eating that… I really can’t bring myself to do it.” Before my brother could ask me what was going on, my smartwatch rang. Loudmouth was crying so loudly her voice echoed through the room. “Waaaah Mia! My brother refuses to eat sh*t!” “He said he can do anything and give me whatever I want. I just want him to eat sh*t, but he won’t!” “Can I trade brothers with you? I want one who eats sh*t!” 3 Dead silence in the living room. I peeked at Julian’s expression. He pushed aside the soup and my test papers, lifting his chin. “Sit.” When my brother keeps a straight face, he’s actually quite scary. I obediently sat opposite him and bowed my head. “Bro, I was wrong.” “Was that call from Lucas’s sister?” I nodded. My brother asked, “Since when?” “What?” I looked up, confused. Julian closed his eyes. “Trading brothers. Since when did you want to trade brothers?” Before I could answer, he started blaming himself. “Sorry, Mia. I haven’t done enough. The company has been in trouble recently, and I didn’t take care of your feelings.” “I know I’m not a good brother. Lucas is… someone like him, it’s normal for you to like him and want him as your brother.” Julian looked dejected. He forced a smile. “I didn’t take good care of you.” Seeing him getting sadder, I kicked my legs, jumped off the chair, and grabbed his hand. “But I don’t want to trade with Sophie!” “You are the best brother in the whole world!” Julian stared blankly at my hand holding his. “But I don’t have twenty properties or seven sports cars.” I shook my head firmly. “Doesn’t matter!” “I don’t have a beautiful girlfriend.” “I don’t care!” “I don’t have parents either.” “I have you, and that’s enough.” “Mhm.” Julian said quietly, “But your brother won’t eat that either…” I shut my mouth immediately. At that moment, someone banged on the door loudly. Loudmouth Sophie’s piercing voice came through. “Mia Jiang! I’m here to trade brothers!” Two more people squeezed into our tiny living room. Sophie dragged the male lead, Lucas, inside. She wasn’t shy at all. She looked around, then fixed her eyes on Julian. Her eyes lit up like lightbulbs. Sophie pushed Lucas towards me with satisfaction and patted my shoulder generously. “I’ll trade you this useless brother of mine for now. You go live in my villa tonight. I’m staying here with Brother Julian.” Lucas, being the author’s favorite son, was perfect in every way. His only flaw was being a “sis-con.” He spoiled his sister, who was thirteen years younger, rotten. Knowing his sister was just acting on a whim, he said awkwardly, “Mr. Jiang, can Sophie stay here tonight? We can discuss the accommodation fee.” “What do you mean ‘tonight’?” Sophie looked at her brother with disgust. “You’re so useless, I don’t want you anymore. From now on, I’m Brother Julian’s sister. I’m living here forever.” She pushed me forward. “Mia, all my dresses, dolls, and snacks are yours. Just say yes and trade brothers with me.” I didn’t expect Sophie to be so obsessed with this trade. Just as I was about to refuse, the silent Julian spoke up. His face was calm. “Okay. She’ll trade.” 4 I ran into my room. Grabbed clothes from the closet and stuffed them into my small backpack. Cheers from Sophie filled the living room. I could vaguely hear Lucas trying to persuade her gently. “How about I stay with you? I’m worried about leaving you alone.” Sophie didn’t care. “Leave the nanny here. You go. Mr. Lucas, we are not related anymore. Don’t call me sister.” Lucas kept trying to persuade her. I sniffled, suddenly wanting to cry. Julian didn’t want me anymore. He thought I was a burden and had been planning to send me away. Even if I failed exams or got tattoos, he wouldn’t care anymore. My brother didn’t want me. The door closed softly. Julian had come in. He took out the messily stuffed clothes from my backpack and folded them one by one. He even remembered to pack my favorite elephant water bottle. After packing, Julian pinched my cheek gently. “Let’s go.” “Bro.” Staring at his back, I mumbled, “Do you not want me anymore?” Julian seemed to stiffen. After a long while, he turned around and smiled again. “How could I?” Liars grow long noses. Sitting in the Chu family car, I hugged my backpack and looked at Julian through the window, trying to memorize his face. He was bending down, listening to Sophie, smiling occasionally. Liar. Next time I see Julian, his nose will definitely be longer. I turned my head away, refusing to look at him. The Chu villa was even bigger than I imagined. The car stopped at the gate, and the heroine, Claire Ji, was waiting there. I’d only heard of Claire from Julian and Sophie. Seeing her in person, I was dazed. Claire held a teddy bear, leaned close, her eyes shining. The evening breeze blew her hair, carrying a faint scent of jasmine. “Little Mia, welcome.” My face felt hot. I buried it in my backpack. “Mhm.” The adults must have communicated because dinner was all my favorite foods. Maybe because I tasted my own dark cuisine earlier, I had no appetite. I ate a few bites and left the table. I almost got lost walking in the villa. Finally, Claire led me to my room. “Go in and see. Do you like the room I decorated for you?” The room had soft carpets, a closet full of pretty dresses, and dolls everywhere. Julian spoiled me, but his small company had just started and was already facing bankruptcy. I had never lived in such a big room. “I like it.” I nodded and added, “Thank you, big sister.” Claire poked my little ponytail and left satisfied. In the middle of the night, I woke up with a stomachache. Maybe the dark cuisine did it. I was sweating cold sweat. I fumbled for the lamp switch but couldn’t find it. My slippers were missing too. Barefoot on the carpet, looking at the pitch-black unfamiliar room, an unprecedented wave of grievance hit me. I squatted down, hugging my knees. Curled up in a ball. The pain came in waves. I gritted my teeth, refusing to make a sound. After who knows how long, whispered conversation came from outside. “Do you think Mia is asleep?” “She didn’t eat much dinner. Text Julian and ask what else she likes.” “The AC seems low. Is she cold?” … The door wasn’t fully closed. It was pushed open a crack. Warm light from the hallway spilled in. Through my sweat-drenched bangs, I looked up with difficulty. “Mia!” The moment Claire hugged me, I gripped her shirt tightly. I was rushed to the hospital overnight. Luckily, it wasn’t serious. When I woke up, Claire and Lucas were still by my bed. Only a dim lamp was on. I moved slightly, and they noticed immediately. “Does it still hurt anywhere?” Seeing me shake my head, Lucas asked, “Can’t sleep? Want me to tell a story?” “Forget it, you only know the same few stories. I’ll tell one.” “Long, long ago…” I fell asleep to Claire’s gentle voice. Closing my eyes, I thought spitefully: If only Lucas and Claire were my real brother and sister. Julian didn’t want me, so I didn’t want him either.

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