Category: English

Three years after Adrian Shelton left me at the altar, I saw him again across a poker table in Monaco. He sat opposite me, his expression unreadable, his eyes drifting down to the meager pile of chips in front of me. “How much did you lose?” he asked, his voice smooth. “Put it on my tab.” I offered him a polite smile and slid my husband’s exclusive black card onto the felt. “No, thank you. My husband doesn’t like me spending other men’s money. He gets jealous.” The color drained from his face. He let out a soft sigh. “Seraphina, it’s been years. Are you still holding a grudge?” His tone was laced with a weary condescension. “That’s such a childish lie. Who’s going to believe you?” I just smiled, saying nothing. My husband, the King of Monaco’s casinos, kept me so thoroughly occupied at night that I barely had the energy to hold a grudge. … 1 Adrian clearly didn’t believe a word I said. He was about to retort when a glamorous woman slinked up to the table. “Adrian, darling, there you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” She slid into the chair beside him, her arm linking possessively with his. “Who’s this?” she asked, her eyes raking over me with undisguised hostility, as if I were a cheap trinket she’d found at a flea market. “You look familiar,” she mused. “Weren’t you that girl from the Lind family? Tsk, look how far you’ve fallen.” Adrian pulled his gaze from me, his voice dismissive. “An old friend. Seraphina Lind.” “An old friend?” the woman echoed, her hand flying to her mouth in mock surprise. “Oh—I remember now. You’re the one who got jilted at the wedding…” She feigned a slip of the tongue, her apology dripping with insincerity. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I just have no filter, you know? Not like you, Sera. So poised, even after your family went bankrupt, still pretending to be a lady of leisure. You won’t hold it against me, will you? After all,” she purred, “I’m the one who’s Mrs. Shelton now.” It was a blatant provocation. My expression remained cool. I had no interest in their little performance. I gathered my few remaining chips, ready to find another table. “Wait.” Adrian’s hand shot out, pressing down on mine, covering my chips. His eyes were cold. “Seraphina, what do you think you’re doing? Did I say you could leave?” I met his gaze evenly. “Mr. Shelton, I’m moving to another table. Let go.” The “lie” about the black card had clearly gotten under his skin. He let out a cold, humorless laugh. “What’s the matter? Your ‘husband’ didn’t give you enough to play with? Or is it that he doesn’t exist at all?” He leaned forward, his voice a low challenge. “Since your husband is so wealthy, why don’t we play a few hands?” The woman, whose name I now remembered was Isabella, chimed in, her voice sharp. “Yes, Sera. Adrian has been talking about you for years, saying how sorry he is.” She snuggled against him. “Just think of it as giving us a chance to make it up to you.” Her tone shifted, becoming oily and suggestive. “Or are you just a liar? Tell me, which gentleman’s club is your ‘husband’ the main attraction at?” I had no desire to get dragged into this. “I’m not interested.” Isabella deliberately raised her voice, drawing the attention of the surrounding tables. “Everyone, come and see! This woman is a sore loser, pretending to be some rich man’s wife!” Heads turned. Whispers started to ripple through the room. “Isn’t that Adrian Shelton? The CEO of Shelton Industries?” “And that must be his new flame, Isabella.” “Who’s the other woman? Daring to cross Mr. Shelton?” “Never seen her before. Probably some social climber.” “Look at what she’s wearing. How did she even get in here?” The murmurs pricked at my ears. Isabella, seeing she had an audience, grew bolder. “Are you looking down on my Adrian, Miss Lind? We’re offering you a way out, and you’re too proud to take it. Or is it that you stole that black card?” Adrian’s face was a thundercloud. He was convinced I was putting on a show, trying to spite him. He stood up, towering over me. “Seraphina, let’s make a bet.” “You win,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “and I’ll believe you. I’ll believe the card is real.” “You lose,” he continued, “and you’ll admit the card is fake. You’ll apologize.” He paused, his eyes glittering with a cruel light. “And you’ll admit that you’re still in love with me.” “Admit that for the last three years, you’ve been waiting for me to come back.” “Admit that you never got over me.” Every word was a poisoned dart, designed to humiliate me. Isabella fanned the flames. “Adrian, she’d never dare. She’s a fraud. Look at her clothes—do they even cost a hundred dollars?” Adrian waved her off impatiently, his eyes locked on me. “Do you dare? Or is your ‘husband’ just a figment of your imagination? If you don’t have the guts, then get on your knees and apologize, and I’ll pretend this never happened. My patience is wearing thin, Seraphina.” I watched their tag-team performance. They were so certain. So sure I was the same girl from three years ago, the girl they could manipulate and discard at will. A slow smile spread across my face. I nodded. “Alright,” I said. “You name the game. I’m just worried you’ll lose everything you have.” Adrian scoffed. “You? Against me?” 2 We moved to the VIP room. Adrian and Isabella were clearly regulars. The manager bowed and scraped as he ushered them in. “Mr. Shelton, Miss Vance. The usual?” Adrian waved a dismissive hand and gestured toward me. “Miss Lind here would like to play a few hands tonight.” The manager’s gaze fell on me, a flicker of contempt in his eyes. “Is this young lady a member of our casino? She doesn’t exactly look the part for the VIP section.” “Stop wasting my time,” Adrian snapped. “Put it on my account.” The manager immediately fell silent. Isabella draped herself over Adrian’s lap, a clear display of ownership. They were a team, united against me. “What shall we play, Sera?” she cooed. “You decide.” Before I could speak, Adrian “decided” for me. “Let’s play poker.” Isabella clapped her hands. “Oh, perfect! I remember you used to be terrified of poker, Sera. You always said the rules were too complicated.” She looked at Adrian, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “Darling, aren’t you being a little mean?” Her words said one thing, but her eyes danced with malicious glee. Adrian knew I never touched the game. This was deliberate. He wanted to watch me squirm. “Do you dare, Seraphina?” “I have no objection,” I said, my voice flat. The dealer began to shuffle. Adrian and Isabella exchanged a triumphant look. They were sure I was finished. After I lost the first two hands, Isabella started her victory lap. “Adrian, darling, do you remember three years ago?” she murmured, tracing a finger over his chest. “You were so handsome that day, just walking out with me. Leaving her standing there all alone on the stage… tsk, tsk.” Her words were a needle, piercing through my carefully constructed walls. Three years ago. The wedding day. I was in my gown, the hall filled with guests. I thought I was the happiest woman in the world. Then Isabella burst in, clutching her stomach. “Adrian, I’m pregnant with your child!” she’d sobbed, falling to her knees. “You can’t marry her!” The room erupted. Adrian’s parents’ faces turned to stone. I looked at him, waiting for an explanation. Waiting for him to tell everyone it was a mistake. But after the initial shock, he let go of my hand. He took Isabella’s. And in front of everyone, he announced, “The wedding is off. Isabella is carrying my child. I have to do right by her.” I became the laughingstock of the city. Standing alone on the altar, watching them walk away together. The officiant awkwardly announced the ceremony was over. The guests stared at me with a mixture of pity, scorn, and contempt. “The Linds have been thoroughly disgraced.” “I heard he had someone on the side. Seraphina acted like he was a prize.” “Well, look at her now. The groom ran off.” Their stares were a physical weight, threatening to crush me. My father, watching from the front row, collapsed on the spot. “Call.” A cold voice snapped me back to the present. I pushed a stack of chips forward, my face a mask. Adrian frowned. “You’ve changed. You used to cry if you lost this much. Now you’ve lost almost everything, and you’re so calm.” Isabella giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Don’t scare her, darling. She’s not the Lind heiress anymore. She’s poor. She can’t afford to lose.” She pulled a wad of cash from her purse and tossed it on the table in front of me. The bills landed with a soft thud. “Take it. A little something from me. Don’t say we bullied you. Go on, is it not enough? Adrian said he’d make sure you had a good time tonight.” 3 Her tone was one of pitying disdain. “Or is it that your ‘husband’s’ black card has been declined? Do you need me to lend you some money? The interest rate is very low.” My pile of chips dwindled. Adrian and Isabella worked in perfect sync. She’d check her cards, and he’d raise the bet. The dealer’s technique was also suspect; he always seemed to give me a useless card at the most critical moments. Isabella kept glancing at the dealer. His fingers tapped a silent rhythm beneath the table. They were using signals, cheating. They thought I wouldn’t notice. Too bad for them. The first thing my husband taught me in these past three years was how to spot every single cheat in a casino. But I didn’t call them out. I was waiting. Isabella, drunk on her success, began to show off the massive diamond on her finger. “Isn’t it beautiful, Sera? Adrian gave it to me last month. Five carats.” She held her hand out, the ring so close it almost touched my face. “He said I’m the love of his life. He said marrying you was just a business arrangement. He said you could never compare to even a single one of my fingers.” Adrian, watching my “distress,” feigned concern. “Seraphina, just admit it. You don’t have a husband. Why keep up the act? If you concede, I’ll cover all your losses tonight.” He even reached out, as if to touch my face. “Sera, be good. I know you still hate me. But this act will only make me lose more respect for you. Your father is dead, the Lind fortune is gone. What are you trying to prove?” He put on a show of deep sincerity, but there wasn’t a shred of guilt in his eyes. It was as if my father’s death, my family’s ruin, had nothing to do with him. “It was my fault back then, but I was forced into it,” he sighed. “You know what my parents are like. I couldn’t fight them. If you want to blame someone, blame your father for not being strong enough to save his own company. Just come back to me, and I can give you a good life again.” His hypocrisy was nauseating. I let out a cold laugh. “I could never compare to you, Mr. Shelton. Abandoning your fiancée and then swallowing her family’s last hope of survival.” Adrian’s face changed instantly. Isabella went pale. It was the one part of his past he never wanted brought to light. After the wedding fiasco, my family’s company had its credit lines cut overnight. My father, his hair turning white, went with me to beg the Sheltons for help. After all, our families had been allies for generations. We had a marriage contract. My father knelt outside their gate for a day and a night. But Adrian’s parents not only refused to help, citing my “shameful” behavior, they actively worked against us, pulling their own investments and encouraging others to do the same. “The Linds deserved to go bankrupt for raising such a shameless daughter!” “Adrian was wise to call off the wedding!” Overnight, we lost everything. My father couldn’t take the blow. He jumped from the roof of his office building. The ground was stained red with his blood. And Adrian, the man I had loved for ten years, was nowhere to be seen. He was in Europe with Isabella, waiting for their child to be born. They had absorbed my family’s assets. He had built his new life on the bones of my family. Back in the present, I pushed my last few chips into the center of the table. “My only regret is that I was blind.” “All in.” “My father’s regret was saving a snake.” “Adrian Shelton, does the money you bought with my father’s life help you sleep at night?” 4 The barb hit its mark. Adrian’s eyes turned venomous. The mask of civility was gone, his face a mask of rage. He signaled to the dealer. “Deal!” he snarled. “I want to see what you have left to fight me with! I’m going to make you crawl out of here tonight!” As expected, I lost the final hand. Adrian revealed his pocket aces. The dealer swept away my last chips. I had nothing left. Isabella shot to her feet, her voice shrill with triumph. “You lost! Seraphina, you lost! Admit you were lying! Apologize to us! Admit that black card is fake! Admit you don’t have a husband!” She cackled, pointing a finger at me. “Apologize! On your knees! You bitch, you thought you could compete with me for Adrian? You’re not worthy!” Adrian also stood, his superior air restored. He adjusted his cuffs and said, his voice smooth as silk, “As I said, I’ll cover your losses. But you have to admit you have no husband, and that card is a fake.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear. “And that you still love me. Stop pretending, Seraphina. I know how hard these past three years have been for you. Come back to me. I’ll take care of you. Isabella is just a toy. You’re the one I want.” His eyes were full of a possessive, arrogant confidence. “Tell me,” he murmured, “have you been selling your body to survive?” The onlookers whispered among themselves. “So she was faking it.” “No money and she dares to come to the VIP room. Shameless.” “I thought she’d landed some big fish, but she’s just Shelton’s ex.” “Look, she’s lost everything.” “Hurry up!” Isabella shrieked. “Or we’re calling security! Throw this liar out! Women like her should be thrown out on the street! Security! Where the hell is security!” Seeing my lack of reaction, she lunged, her hands reaching for my hair. “You shameless bitch, you’re still smiling? I’ll tear that smile off your face!” Adrian didn’t move to stop her. He watched, a look of cruel amusement on his face, clearly enjoying the spectacle of my humiliation. Under their expectant gazes, I slowly stood up. I looked at them, and a real smile touched my lips. The smile seemed to unnerve them. They thought I’d finally snapped. “What are you smiling at?” Isabella spat. “Have you gone mad? Lost your mind from losing?” I was just waiting. Biding my time. My husband was due for his nightly inspection of the casino floor. And he hated it when people were late. Bang! The doors to the VIP room were thrown open. The casino manager stood there, bowing, his forehead beaded with sweat. “Sir…” A cold, magnetic voice came from behind him. “Get out of the way.” The manager scrambled aside as if he’d been electrocuted. A tall figure stepped into the room, blocking the light. His presence was a physical force, instantly silencing the room. The color drained from Adrian and Isabella’s faces. “Who… who are you?” Adrian stammered. The man didn’t even look at him. He took my cold hand in his, pulling me behind him. His palm was warm and steady. His icy gaze swept over Adrian and Isabella. “Who is bullying my wife?”

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To celebrate my nephew getting into a prestigious private elementary school, my brother treated the whole family to hot pot. While we were waiting for the food, my nephew suddenly leaned way too close to the boiling broth. The burner was already on high. Worried he’d get scalded, I yanked him back to his seat. My sister-in-law, Tiffany, thought I was hitting him. She grabbed a fork and stabbed me right in the eye. Later, they dumped my bleeding body on the side of the road, where I was hit by a car and killed. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the moment my brother suggested hot pot. This time, I didn’t stop my nephew. You like to fidget? You like to touch things you shouldn’t? Go ahead. Burn. 1 “Yes! We got in! Our son is going to St. Jude’s Prep!” Tiffany was screaming, waving her phone in the air like she’d won the lottery. I jolted awake at the sound of her voice, my hand instinctively flying to my eye. It didn’t hurt. I could see. Wait. Was I… back? “Our son is going to be elite now! He’s going to rub shoulders with old money!” My brother, Brad, let out a loud, obnoxious laugh. Everyone in the room was grinning from ear to ear. Everyone except me. “We need to celebrate big time. Let’s go get hot pot.” Just like in my previous life, Brad suggested eating out. I gripped the dishrag in my hand so hard my knuckles turned white. My eye throbbed with a phantom pain. In my last life, I died right after that meal. My nephew, Brayden, had gotten into the expensive private school via a lottery system. The whole family was ecstatic. Brad, who usually rotted on the couch gaming, insisted on a celebratory dinner. I was allowed to tag along, purely to foot the bill if needed. While waiting for the food, Brayden—who acted like he had untreated ADHD on steroids—was bouncing off the walls. I saw him leaning dangerously close to the boiling pot. Instinctively, I pulled him back. It made a noise. Tiffany, who was glued to TikTok, looked up, saw a red mark on Brayden’s wrist, and went feral. “My son does what he wants! Who are you to touch him?” She stabbed me with a fork. I was blinded instantly. They dragged me out, dumped me on the curb so I wouldn’t ruin their appetite, and went back to eating. Disoriented and blind, I stumbled into traffic. As I lay dying on the asphalt, I had one regret. I regretted saving that brat. I regretted not cutting this toxic family off sooner. But now? Now I had a second chance. “Hey! Your nephew is going to a private school. Aren’t you going to offer something, Auntie?” My mom noticed my silence. She reached out and twisted my ear, hard. “I’m giving you face here. Don’t pretend you can’t hear me.” The sharp pain snapped me back to reality. I waved my hands apologetically. “Of course not, Mom. How about I pay for the hot pot?” Mom let go, satisfied. “That’s more like it.” “I want Legos! And those new Jordans!” Brayden started jumping on the sofa, screaming. “If you don’t buy them, I’m gonna smash the TV!” “Your Auntie will buy them for you, right?” Tiffany looked at me, her eyes narrowing with a silent threat. I suppressed the hatred boiling in my gut and smiled, a sweet, plastic smile. “Whatever you want, Brayden. Auntie will buy it all.” Brad’s stomach growled loudly. “Alright, enough yapping. Let’s go eat. I’m starving.” Tiffany shot me a look of pure disdain before masking it. I caught it this time. Turns out, she didn’t love her husband as much as she pretended to, either. On the way to the restaurant, my mind raced. If I was there when Brayden got hurt, they’d blame me. I needed an alibi. In my last life, I treated them like family no matter how much they abused me. Not this time. The pain I suffered? They were going to feel every ounce of it. 2 “Get two orders of everything. Except the shrimp, make that three.” Brad ordered like a king. Looking at the menu, this meal was going to cost at least three hundred bucks. My wallet ached out of habit. Tiffany saw my hesitation. “Oh, fix your face. You look like we’re eating your life savings. It’s just a few hundred.” Mom chimed in, “My grandson is destined for greatness. In the future, people will pay thousands just to look at him. You should be honored.” Delusional. Absolutely delusional. Internally, I was screaming. Outwardly, I nodded. “Brayden won’t forget his Auntie when he’s rich, right?” Brad suddenly pointed his chopsticks at me. “Oh yeah. Tuition is twelve grand a semester. Due next week. Don’t forget.” When I didn’t answer immediately, Mom threw a chopstick at me. “He’s talking to you! You aren’t trying to wiggle out of it, are you?” Why should I pay? Mom forced me to drop out of middle school to work so Brad could go to a community college. When he graduated, I paid for his wedding. Then Brayden was born. Formula, nanny, preschool—I paid for all of it. Brad hadn’t worked a day since he got married. Hearing the demand again made my blood boil. But I kept my voice steady. “Okay. I’ll handle it.” After today, Brayden might not need tuition anymore. He might need a burn unit. The restaurant was packed. A waitress rushed over, apologizing. “Sorry for the wait, the food will be out soon.” Brayden slammed his fist on the table. He started shredding the napkins into confetti. “I want to eat! NOW!” Diners at nearby tables glared at us. Brad scowled, puffing up his chest. “Son, you’re going to a noble school soon. Don’t let these peasants look down on you.” Brayden sniffled. “But I’m hungry.” “You are royalty! In the future, you’ll book the whole restaurant! You can make whatever mess you want, and these losers will have to watch from outside!” It was so cringe-worthy I almost laughed. The people around us were whispering about “bad parenting” and “delusions of grandeur.” Spot on. It was just a private elementary school, yet Brad acted like he’d been knighted. Brayden stopped crying but started acting out. He yanked my hair. He mixed all the condiments on the table into a gross sludge. Finally, the waitress brought the pot. “I’ve turned the heat on high to get it boiling. Please be careful, do not touch the pot. It is extremely hot.” Brad and Tiffany were glued to their phones. Mom was picking her teeth. No one listened. “Okay, we got it,” I said. My hands trembled slightly under the table. Not from fear, but from anticipation. “Mom, my stomach hurts. I need to use the restroom.” Mom didn’t even look up from her Candy Crush. Before I left, I looked Brayden dead in the eye. “Brayden, listen to me. Do not touch the pot. It’s dangerous. Okay?” Brayden was a classic defiance disorder kid. Tell him no, and he’d do it twice just to spite you. Hearing my warning, his eyes lit up. He stared at the metal pot like it was a shiny toy. I saw the glint in his eyes. He was going to touch it. In my last life, I saved him. My reward? Blindness and death. If kindness kills, then I choose to be heartless. You want to touch it? Go ahead. I walked to the bathroom. I waited exactly one minute. Then, a scream pierced the air. A sound so shrill it sounded inhuman. “MY SON! BRAYDEN!” I checked my phone, composed my face, and walked out. Karma had arrived. 3 “Are you people stupid?! Why is the pot so hot?!” Mom was screaming at the waitress, spit flying everywhere. I pushed through the crowd and saw Brayden. His face and the entire right side of his upper body were lobster red. He had practically hugged the boiling metal pot. “I’m calling the police! This is attempted murder! Where is the owner?!” Tiffany was clutching Brayden. She squeezed him too tight in her panic, making him shriek in agony again. The owner rushed over. He looked at the waitress. She was sobbing. “I told them! I told them the switch was on! They didn’t listen!” “So it’s our fault?!” Mom stood up, pointing a trembling finger at the girl. “Did we force the kid to lick the pot?” No, you didn’t. But he did it voluntarily. I rushed forward, putting on my best panicked face. “Mom! What happened? Oh my god, Brayden!” “Don’t talk to me! It’s your fault! Why did we come to this restaurant? You jinxed us!” The owner frowned, trying to de-escalate. “Let’s get the child to the hospital first. I’ll cover the medical bills for now.” Tiffany screeched, “You just want to get rid of us so you can run away! I’m calling the cops! You’re going to jail for life!” The owner actually laughed. “Fine. Call the cops. Check the security cameras. Let’s see if we pushed him or if he grabbed it himself.” The word “cameras” froze them. “I’m telling you! If my son is hurt, you’re paying for it! Just you wait!” A bystander piped up. “I saw it. The lady warned the kid. The aunt warned the kid. The kid grabbed it anyway. He’s a brat, and it’s his own fault.” Brad slammed the table, eyes murderous. “Shut up! You say one more word and I’ll end you!” I didn’t want innocent people getting hurt by my rabid brother. “Tiffany! Look at his face, the blisters are forming! We need to go to the ER now!” Brayden was clawing at his melting skin, whimpering, “It hurts, it hurts…” Finally, they realized yelling wasn’t helping. They scooped him up, shouting threats at the owner as they left. “You wait! We’ll sue you into bankruptcy!” The owner crossed his arms. “I’ll be here.” It was rush hour. It took ten minutes to get a cab. In the car, Mom slapped me across the face. Hard. “You jinx! If it weren’t for you, my grandson wouldn’t be hurt!” Tiffany sobbed, eyes full of venom. “If anything happens to his face, I will kill you.” They conveniently forgot he hugged the pot of his own free will. I stayed silent. Experience taught me that arguing only made them violent. With burns that bad, Brayden was definitely disfigured. But this was just the appetizer. At the hospital, they rushed into the ER. I followed, playing the role of the silent ATM. The doctor took one look and grimaced. “Third-degree burns. Why did you wait so long to come in?” Tiffany was shaking. “Doctor, his face… will it scar?” “The burn area is huge. There’s a risk of infection and complications. We need to run a full blood panel immediately. Go to the lab.” It was a standard procedure. But Tiffany turned pale. “D-do we have to? Can we skip the blood test?” I frowned. Why was she hesitating? Her son was cooking in his own skin. Then, it clicked. Sweat on her forehead. Shifting eyes. Is Brayden… not Brad’s son? I stepped in. “Brad, the doctor is right. If we don’t treat this perfectly, he’ll have scars. The rich kids at St. Jude’s will bully him.” That hit Brad’s vanity. “Right. My son can’t be looked down on. Go. Do the test.” I ignored Tiffany’s murderous glare and grabbed the requisition form. “I’ll take him.” When the nurse handed me the results, Tiffany looked like she was about to faint. I didn’t even need to look at the paper. Her reaction confirmed it. Unfortunately, a standard CBC doesn’t always show blood type clearly to the layman, but if surgery was needed… “The burn is severe and infected. We need to do a debridement surgery immediately.” The doctor’s words made Brad scowl. “What about his face?” “We’ll worry about skin grafts later. Saving the tissue comes first.” Mom finally started crying, glaring at me through her tears. “This is all your fault! You’re paying for the surgery!” I nodded. “Okay.” I’ll pay. It’s a small price to see the look on their faces when they realize the family prince is a bastard. The surgery went well. Brayden came out wrapped like a mummy. “Mom, you guys go home and rest. I’ll stay and watch him tonight.” Mom looked at me with disgust. “Obviously you’re staying. You think we should suffer?” Once they left, I sat by the bed. I reached out and pressed my thumb firmly onto Brayden’s bandaged wound. He thrashed in his sleep, whimpering. I covered my mouth to stifle a laugh. This is how it should be. In my last life, my empathy got me killed. I waited until the nurse came to change the dressing. I made sure to look distressed. Then I texted Brad. Brad, Brayden won’t be able to do P.E. for a long time. I’m photocopying his medical records to send to the school. He didn’t reply, but I knew he saw it. He lives on his phone. The next morning, Brad and the family arrived. I handed him the stack of papers. I had arranged the pages so the blood type report was right on top. As expected, Brad glanced at it, then froze. His face turned a shade of purple I’d never seen before. He snatched the paper closer. Tiffany, oblivious, tried to cling to his arm. “Honey…” Brad threw her off. He roared, shaking the paper. “I’m blood type AB! You’re type O! How the hell is this kid Type O?!” (Author’s Note: Biologically, an AB parent cannot produce an O child). Mom froze. “What?” I stood in the corner, watching the blood drain from Tiffany’s face. Showtime. 4 Brad lost his mind. He gave Mom a look, then grabbed Tiffany by the hair and dragged her out of the ward, kicking her as they went. Mom understood immediately. She went to the front desk and discharged Brayden against medical advice. My job was to carry the boy home. He was seven, but thanks to my funding, he was obese. He weighed as much as a teenager. My arms were screaming by the time we got back. I opened the door to the sound of Tiffany wailing. “I didn’t mean to! It was just one time! I didn’t think…” Brad kicked her in the ribs. “You whore! You dare make excuses? We are divorcing today!” “Honey, you raised him for seven years! Don’t you have any feelings for him?” Tiffany hugged his leg, snot running down her face. “Get out! Take that bastard and get out!” Mom jumped in. “Wait! No!” She whispered something in Brad’s ear. I was standing right behind them. I heard every word. Mom wanted to use Brayden to scam the hot pot restaurant owner. Tiffany couldn’t hear. She thought Mom was defending her. Brad grinned, a twisted, greedy smile. “Fine. You get out. But the bastard stays.” Tiffany wasn’t stupid. She knew Brad wouldn’t treat the boy well now. “Please! Don’t hurt my son! I’m begging you!” They beat her again and threw her out the door. “Hey. Go get a banner made.” Brad kicked my shin. He showed me a picture on his phone. Text: EVIL BUSINESS KILLED MY SON. I couldn’t refuse yet. “Okay.” I went downstairs. Tiffany was still there, limping. She saw me and grabbed my arm. “I’ve always been good to you, right? Help me.” “Okay,” I said instantly. “I’ll watch out for Brayden.” She paused, surprised I agreed so fast. Then her face twisted. “If anything happens to him, I’ll drag you down with me.” Still threatening me. Just like my last life. “Don’t worry,” I smiled. “I’ll make sure he stays alive.” She limped away. I went to the print shop, then detoured to the hot pot restaurant. The owner laughed when I told him about the banner. “Thanks, kid. Don’t worry about me.” I went back home. The scene inside made me gasp. “Mom, he doesn’t look pathetic enough. Cut the bandages on the other side.” Brayden had passed out from pain. He looked like raw meat. Mom looked manic. “This is gonna get us a fortune. We’re gonna be rich.” Brad saw me staring at the boy. “The money is ours. Don’t even think about getting a cent!” I almost laughed. They hadn’t even scammed the money yet, and they were already fighting over the split. “You stay here. If you follow us, I’ll beat you to death!” Mom threatened. In my last life, she shoved a sock in my mouth to stop my screaming after my eyes were blinded. “He can’t make money if he’s blind,” Brad had said. “Useless.” They were monsters. All of them. “Okay, I’ll stay,” I said meekly. I waited until they left, then put on a hat and followed them. At the restaurant, Mom was sitting on the ground, wailing. A crowd had gathered. But the owner was ready. He had a TV screen set up outside. “Folks, look at the security footage! And look at the medical report! The kid was burned on the right side yesterday. Why is his left side bandaged today?” The crowd turned on Mom instantly. Police arrived. Mom and Brad tried to argue, but the evidence was overwhelming. The owner only paid for the initial surgery fee, nothing more. They walked home in silence, faces dark as thunder. Scam failed.

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1 Ten years ago, the Bayport Bridge collapsed. The bridge I built. The disaster claimed dozens of lives. In the aftermath, my own parents screamed “Murderer!” in my face and disowned me. The family of one victim doused me in gasoline, ready to burn us both to the ground. I spent the next decade in prison for it. When I got out, I changed my name. I found a quiet life as a barista in a small-town coffee shop, a life of peaceful anonymity. I thought, finally, it was over. Then, my ex-husband, Shawn Duffer, found me. His construction empire had gone public years ago, and he was now a titan of the industry, basking in the glow of his success. The reporters he brought with him swarmed me, their cameras flashing like a violent storm. “Ms. Collins!” one of them shouted, “Mr. Duffer has been engaged for a decade but never married. He’s been waiting for you all this time!” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. They had no idea. They didn’t know that ten years ago, it was Shawn who let his little mistress slip unqualified people onto the construction team to take kickbacks. And when the bridge crumbled, it was Shawn who let me take the fall. … Caught in the blitz of camera flashes, Shawn’s face remained a mask of cold composure. My boss, Pete, was practically vibrating with excitement. He scrambled over for an autograph, then a photo. Seeing me frozen behind the counter, he called out. “Sue! Come on, get a picture with Mr. Duffer!” he urged, his voice giddy. “This is Shawn Duffer, the youngest billionaire CEO in the country! A photo with him will drive so much traffic to our little shop. I’ll even give you a raise!” My hands, slick with soap and water as I washed a mug, clenched tight. I didn’t look up, but the pack of reporters smelled blood. They descended on me in a heartbeat. “Ms. Collins, so this is where you’ve been hiding,” one sneered, shoving a microphone in my face. “You were once a world-renowned genius of architecture. Now you’re washing cups in a cafe. Quite a fall from grace, isn’t it?” Another one pressed closer. “We hear your ex-husband has been waiting for you, postponing his wedding for ten years. What are your thoughts on that?” I ignored the microphones practically touching my skin, focusing on the simple task in my hands, but the tremble in my fingers betrayed me. I knew Shawn’s methods. I didn’t believe a word of this “undying love” narrative. My guard was up, every instinct screaming danger. The standoff hung thick in the air until Shawn stepped in front of me, shielding me from the cameras. His expression was grim. “This is a private matter between my ex-wife and me,” he announced, his voice low and commanding. “We will not be taking any questions. Please leave.” He turned to me then, his gaze deep and impossibly complex. “Alice.” He paused, the name hanging between us like a ghost. “It’s been a long time.” Hearing his voice again after all these years sent a tremor through my entire body. My hand spasmed. Crash. A coffee mug slipped from my grasp, shattering into a thousand pieces on the tiled floor. A shard of porcelain sliced across the back of my hand. Bright red blood welled up, dripping from my fingertips. Shawn lunged forward, his face tight with alarm. He gently took my hand. “How could you be so careless?” he murmured, his brow furrowed. I snatched my hand back as if burned. “Pete, I’m so sorry,” I stammered, turning to my boss. “I’ll clean this up right away. Just take the cost of the mug out of my paycheck!” Before Pete could recover from his shock, a bright, cheerful voice cut through the tension from the doorway. “Shawn, what are you doing here?” a woman called out. “You just disappeared! Your parents and I were so worried!” I looked up. A woman with a practiced, gentle smile strolled in. She walked right up to Shawn, took his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and pressed a light kiss to his lips. It was Jessica Thorne. The real architect of the Bayport Bridge disaster. Shawn’s fiancée. And trailing behind her, their faces etched with disapproval, were the two people who had severed all ties with me ten years ago. My own parents. Jessica’s eyes found mine, and a smug, contemptuous smile played on her lips. “Well, if it isn’t the great architect, Alice. Long time no see.” She tightened her grip on Shawn’s arm. “Oh, by the way, your parents have adopted me now. So I suppose that makes you my big sister, doesn’t it?” My gaze shifted to the two people behind her. My mother and father. They looked so much older. Their shoulders were stooped, their hair completely white. A thousand tiny needles of pain pricked at my heart. I wondered what they would think if they knew their precious “adopted daughter” was the very person who had sent their real one to prison. My father saw me and snorted in disgust. “We only have one daughter, Jessica. I find the sight of a murderer who’d risk innocent lives for a quick buck utterly sickening.” My mother’s voice was laced with venom. “Shawn, what are you doing with this scum of the earth? It would have been better if she’d just rotted away somewhere.” Their words hung in the air, and suddenly every eye in the coffee shop, including Pete’s, was on me, filled with a strange mix of pity and revulsion. I turned away, forcing myself not to meet their gaze, a hard lump of grief lodging itself in my throat. Shawn let out a heavy sigh. “Don’t blame them, Alice. What happened back then… it hit them hard.” He pulled a gold-embossed business card from his jacket and held it out to me. “I owe you more than I can ever repay. Call me if you need anything. Anything at all.” I didn’t refuse the card. I took it with the polite, detached air I’d show any customer, then placed it casually on the counter. I refused to believe this was anything more than a chance encounter. I had no desire to ever see him again. Three days later, my phone rang. It was Pete. “Sue… I’m so, so sorry,” he said, his voice strained. “I had no idea who you were. A brilliant architect like you, working in my little shop… it’s just not right.” He rushed on. “I’m paying you for the full month. I’ll wire the money right now. You can… you can take tomorrow off. Don’t worry about coming in again.” Before I could say a word, he hung up. Confused, I tried to call back, only to find he had already blocked my number. A moment later, a text message alert chimed. A deposit of $4,500. He’d even given me an extra $1,000. The attached note read: The extra 1k is for your trouble. We’re a small business, Sue. We can’t handle this kind of drama. Please, I’m begging you, just stay away. A cold dread washed over me. This was Shawn’s doing. As if on cue, his name flashed on my screen. I answered. “Alice,” he began, his voice smooth and controlled. “I can’t undo the verdict from back then, I hope you understand that. But I will make it up to you in every other way.” He continued, not waiting for a response. “Working as a barista is beneath you. I’ve already taken care of it. And I’ve bought you a villa in Bayport. I want you to move there. Jessica… she’s young. She doesn’t have your experience with complex blueprints. I need you to help her. I’ll pay you twenty thousand a month.” My fists clenched so hard my knuckles turned white. How dare he? How dare he be the one to push me into the abyss, to make me the target of the world’s hatred, to strip me of my family, only to reappear now, playing the part of a savior, shattering the fragile peace I had built for myself? How dare he arrogantly orchestrate my life as if he had any right? “Help” Jessica? He wanted me to be her ghostwriter, the secret genius behind her name. The thought made me physically ill. I fought to keep my voice steady, my words biting. “Thank you for the generous offer, Mr. Duffer. But I have my own life now. Please, do me the courtesy of staying out of it.” There was a long silence on the other end of the line. When he finally spoke, his tone had hardened. “Don’t be stubborn, Alice. A proud, brilliant mind like yours is only truly happy when you’re creating. I’m offering you financial security and a way to use your talent again. What more could you possibly want?” His voice dropped, a velvet threat. “If you refuse to accept this out of pride, fine. I have other ways.” He hung up. A deep, unsettling feeling crept over me. That afternoon, I learned exactly what his “other ways” were. With my job at the cafe gone, I spent the day pounding the pavement, searching for work. But everywhere I went, the story was the same. No matter how desperate they were for staff, the moment they saw my application, their demeanor would shift. They would be polite, almost reverent, but the answer was always a firm no. Defeated, I headed back to my small rented apartment. My landlady was waiting for me on the doorstep. She was a kind old woman. When I first arrived with nothing to my name, she let me have the first month’s rent free so I could get on my feet. She’d often bring me a bowl of whatever delicious meal she’d cooked for herself. But today, her eyes were red-rimmed and panicked. “Alice, you’re finally back!” she cried, grabbing my hands. “Oh, honey, I am so sorry. I can’t rent this place to you anymore. Please don’t be angry with me. I have no choice.” Her voice broke. “Some powerful man came to town… He said if I keep you as a tenant, my daughter… my daughter who works in Bayport… she’ll…” She trailed off, dissolving into tears. I couldn’t let her suffer for my sake. That night, I packed my few belongings and left. So this was Shawn’s “compensation.” Destroy the life I had, then arrogantly offer me a gilded cage. How utterly pathetic. 2 The day I moved out of my apartment, Shawn appeared. He looked thinner than he had a few days ago, with dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept at all. He brought a moving company with him, directing the workers with a casual authority, as if we were still married and he was simply bringing his wife home. When we arrived at the sprawling, sterile villa, he poured me a glass of honey water. “You always get so tense,” he said softly. “This will help you relax.” I took the glass from him in silence and took a small sip. It was sweet. So sweet it made my whole body shudder. Just like this so-called compensation of his—a gilded offering that felt more like a prison. I set the glass down. “Mr. Duffer, what’s in the past is in the past. If you truly wanted to make things right, you wouldn’t have shown up here and blown up my life.” He flinched, a flicker of something—disappointment? pain?—crossing his eyes. “Alice, don’t be difficult.” His voice was soft, patronizing. “I know you feel wronged. This is just the first step. I’ll find someone else to take the blame, and then, bit by bit, I’ll restore your reputation.” He paused, his gaze intense. “And I know you don’t like Jessica. I’ll make sure she keeps her distance. For now, just rest.” His tone was gentle, but the message was crystal clear: I was not allowed to refuse. He needed me under his control, trapped in his web. But Jessica was never going to stay away. The very same day I moved in, Shawn had barely arrived before she burst through the door, a gaggle of reporters in tow. “Shawn, darling! I heard our star architect had arrived. Why didn’t you tell me?” she chirped, her eyes gleaming with malice. She turned her performance to the cameras. “Even though Ms. Duffer made a terrible mistake all those years ago, everyone deserves a chance to live. I hope you’ve learned your lesson and will try to be a better person from now on!” The real culprit, standing there and lecturing me with a straight face. She then held out a credit card. “This is just a little something from me. You’re a senior in the field, and my fiancé’s ex-wife. Please, don’t say no. If you run into any trouble, you must let us know!” It was a masterful performance. That afternoon, the headlines exploded across Bayport: ENGINEER RESPONSIBLE FOR DOZENS OF DEATHS RETURNS, MAGNANIMOUSLY SUPPORTED BY BILLIONAIRE EX-HUSBAND! KILLER ARCHITECT WELCOMED BACK INTO LUXURY, WHILE VICTIMS’ SOULS FIND NO REST! Overnight, Shawn became the tragic, devoted hero, and Jessica the understanding, saintly fiancée. And I was once again the villain, thrown to the wolves. Whether it was intentional or not, Jessica leaked my new address to the press. From then on, my front gate became a site of pilgrimage for grieving families and angry citizens. They held signs, they screamed obscenities, they threw garbage over the walls. Three days into the siege, my parents came. It was the first time in ten years they had sought me out. For a foolish, fleeting moment, seeing the mother and father who had once doted on me standing there, my heart leaped. “Mom? Dad? You’re here! Please, come in, let me get you some water.” I moved toward the door to welcome them. But my father just glared, his voice dripping with contempt. “Hmph. We wouldn’t dare drink water from a murderer’s hand.” My mother leaned wearily against the doorframe. “Alice, we can never forgive what you did,” she said, her voice tired but firm. “But you can’t keep making mistake after mistake. We are begging you. Jessica loves Shawn so much. You’re divorced. Stop clinging to him.” Her voice, the same soft voice that once sang me lullabies, was now laced with steel. “Jessica is too kind to say this herself, so we will. You need to leave Bayport immediately. If you insist on staying, don’t blame your father and me for finding… ways… to help you leave.” Each word was a perfectly aimed dagger, twisting in my heart. 3 I stared at them, my voice trembling with disbelief. “Mom, Dad… after all this time, have you never, not for one second, believed in me?” My voice cracked. “What if I told you that everything, all of this, was a setup by Jessica Thorne?” SLAP! Before I could finish, my father’s hand cracked across my face. “You wretched girl!” he roared. “Even now, you dare to slander Jessica!” Just then, Shawn pulled up, a bag of groceries in his hand. He saw the scene unfold and froze, his face paling as he rushed toward us, stammering an explanation. But his phone rang. It was his assistant. “Mr. Duffer, it’s an emergency!” the voice on the other end was frantic. “Ms. Thorne is drunk! They’ve taken her to the hospital to get her stomach pumped!” Hearing this, the expressions on Shawn’s and my parents’ faces shifted from anger to sheer panic. Without another glance at me, the three of them scrambled into the car and sped away. I watched them go, a hollow, broken laugh bubbling up from my chest. Tears streamed down my face. So that was it. My pain, my suffering, their threats and their supposed concern… none of it mattered more than a single, drunken phone call from Jessica. I thought that would be the end of it. Ten years had taught me one thing: expect nothing from my parents, and even less from Shawn. But I never imagined their “methods” would come so swiftly. A few days later, I went out to buy some essentials. A group of the victims’ family members must have been tipped off. They cornered me in an alley, and a heavy iron pipe came down on the back of my head. When I woke up, I was inside a rough burlap sack. Through the coarse weave, I could see the dark, shimmering surface of a river. A man’s voice, thick with rage, snarled as a steel-toed boot slammed into my stomach. “You bitch. You thought you could just come back here after what you did?” His words ignited the others. “You give me back my daughter!” a woman shrieked, her voice raw with grief. “She was only nineteen, just started college! You monster!” “My mother died because of you! Because you cut corners! I’ll make you pay!” Fists and feet rained down on me. I tried to scream, to explain, but my mouth was gagged, my pleas muffled into desperate, animalistic sounds. When they finally grew tired, the man who seemed to be their leader spoke again, his voice a low growl. “You owe us for all the lives you took. Tearing you limb from limb wouldn’t be enough.” He spat. “Tonight, you pay your debt in blood.” I heard the whistle of an iron rod cutting through the air, followed by an explosion of agony. They hit me again, and again, and again. Ninety-nine times. I passed out, was revived by a splash of icy water, and the torture continued. I could feel my bones cracking, splintering under the relentless blows. Finally, as my consciousness faded into a dull, gray fog, they tied a heavy rock to my body and heaved me into the river.

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My dad wasted away from esophageal cancer. For two whole years, not a single bite of food passed his lips. By the end, he was nothing but a skeleton draped in skin. The first New Year’s after he passed, he came to my mom in a dream. “Helen, my love, I’m starving. All I want is a taste of your spicy stir-fried heart.” My mom immediately cooked up a huge platter and brought it to his grave. The next day, she had a massive heart attack and died on the spot. I was heartbroken. My wife and I arranged my mother’s funeral. That night, my wife, Kate, also dreamed of my dad. “My dear daughter-in-law, Dad hasn’t eaten in so long. I’m craving your braised liver, with a good, strong whiskey.” Kate woke up, bought ten pounds of liver, and spent the morning cooking. She drove to the cemetery with the food and a bottle of expensive single malt. She came home and was rushed to the ICU with acute cirrhosis. Three days later, she was gone. I was drowning in a sea of grief. I asked my best friend to look after our daughter, Mia, while I handled the arrangements alone. But Mia vanished after school. I went half-mad with panic, finally finding her on the road leading to the cemetery. She was holding a large cup of spicy noodle soup, with pale, spongy pieces of pork lung floating on top. “Daddy, Grandpa and I used to eat here all the time. I dreamed he was hungry.” I snapped. I smacked the cup from her hands, the fiery broth splashing across the asphalt, and dragged her home. That night, I dreamed of my dad, too. “Son, my life was agony. Have pity on your old man.” “New Year’s Eve is the day after tomorrow. I’m coming home for dinner. Remember… you have to make fish!” I woke up in a cold sweat, clutching my daughter. For two full days, we sat in front of the three photographs on the mantel—my dad, my mom, my wife. We didn’t eat or drink. On New Year’s Day, I awoke to find my daughter breathless beside me. Her small hand was still clutching a half-eaten bag of spicy fish jerky. I couldn’t understand. I held her tiny body and screamed until my throat was raw, then I walked to the roof of our apartment building and stepped off the edge. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back to the day my mom, her eyes red with grief, told me she was going to buy pig’s heart. … Just like last time, my mom, Helen, packed up a container of spicy stir-fried heart and started for the door. “Mom!” I shrieked, my voice cracking. “You can’t eat pig’s heart today!” Her hand trembled, spilling some of the sauce. Her eyes welled up. “Leo, it’s not for me. It’s for your father.” “He was crying in my dream, said he was starving, just desperate for a taste of this,” she pleaded, her voice thick with sorrow. “The man starved to death, Leo. He’s a hungry ghost. Can’t you just grant him this one wish?” Ignoring her shocked expression, I snatched the container from her hand, dumped the contents onto a cutting board, and hacked them to pieces with a cleaver. Then, I washed every last bit down the drain. “No one touches pig’s heart today!” I declared, my voice shaking. “What’s gotten into you? Your father adored you more than anyone!” Thump. I dropped to my knees before her, grabbing her legs and wailing. “Mom, I’m begging you. Please, just visit Dad another day!” My mother already had a weak heart, and it had only gotten worse since Dad’s passing. She couldn’t stand against my desperate pleas. I dragged her to the hospital for a full check-up. I called my best friend, Mark, who worked at the hospital, and had him prescribe the best heart medication available, no matter the cost. Mark cleared his schedule and stayed with us for the entire day of tests. “Aunt Helen’s blood pressure is high, and her heart rate is irregular,” he said gravely. “She needs to stick to a very light diet for a while.” He looked directly at her. “And absolutely no organ meats. The cholesterol is dangerously high for her condition.” My mom always listened to doctors. I could see the fear in her eyes as his words sank in, and for the first time, a sliver of relief pierced my anxiety. Once we were safely home, I made her promise not to leave the house. I would get her anything she needed. I didn’t know what caused the tragedy in my past life, but this time, I was going to do everything in my power to keep my family from that path. The hour of her death from my previous life came and went. She was sleeping soundly in her room. The immense weight on my chest finally lifted. The moment the tension broke, an overwhelming wave of exhaustion washed over me. I collapsed onto the sofa and fell into a deep sleep. I was jolted awake the next morning by a call from the emergency services. “Are you the next of kin for Ms. Helen Graham? She suffered a sudden cardiac arrest. We were unable to revive her.” Impossible. She hadn’t eaten the pig’s heart. She hadn’t even gone to the cemetery. I raced to the hospital, but all I found was a body under a white sheet. I talked to the neighbor who went grocery shopping with my mom every day. She told me what happened. The butcher at the market, a notoriously stingy old woman, had been unusually generous that day, pushing everyone to try a sample of her special, farm-raised pork. “Just one bite! What harm can it do? If you like it, you buy!” she’d urged. My mom had protested, saying her blood pressure was high and she needed to avoid meat. But the butcher was insistent, and my mom, not wanting to be rude, finally relented and swallowed a small piece. Minutes later, she collapsed in the middle of the market. It turned out the sample was pork diaphragm—a cut of meat taken from right next to the heart. Tears streamed down my face. Why? Why couldn’t I save her? I stormed over to the butcher’s stall, demanding answers, but her family chased me away with meat cleavers. “We were running a promotion! What’s it to you? It was her time to go, that’s all!” the old woman shrieked after me. “I heard you let your own father starve to death! Don’t you dare come here pretending to be a dutiful son!” I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably, until my wife, Kate, found me and led me home. She bustled around, making funeral arrangements, her presence a small comfort in the storm. But then the memory of my last life hit me like a physical blow. I grabbed her arm, my grip desperate, my voice a ragged whisper. “Promise me. No matter what you dream my dad says… promise me you won’t do it.” Kate just thought I was in shock, overwrought with grief. She nodded quickly, patting my hand. “Of course, honey. Don’t worry. I never dream anyway.” She comforted me for what felt like hours, and slowly, the frantic pounding in my chest began to subside. Back home, I fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep. I woke the next morning to the sound of Kate humming in the kitchen. She poked her head out, her expression full of concern. “Are you hungry? Breakfast is almost ready.” I nodded, shuffling toward the dining table on numb legs. When my eyes focused on the platter she was setting down, my blood ran cold. It was a plate of braised liver. “What are you doing?!” I roared, lunging forward and sweeping the entire plate into the trash can. My eyes were bloodshot, wild with terror. “Did you dream about him?” I demanded, my voice raw. “Didn’t I tell you not to listen to him?” Kate stared at me, her face pale with shock. Then, her expression crumpled in panic. “Leo, calm down! It’s okay! I didn’t dream anything, I just… I had a sudden craving for it.” “What is wrong with liver?” she cried. “Why are you acting like this?” The dam of grief and terror I’d been holding back for days finally burst. I broke down, sobbing like a child. I ended up telling her everything—about my dad’s dream, my mom, the pig’s heart. Kate held me, stroking my hair and murmuring comforting words. “You’re just under so much stress. It’s almost the New Year. Why don’t we take a trip, get away from all this?” she suggested softly. “It was just a nightmare, Leo. If we forget about it, it’ll be okay.” “I promise,” she said, looking me straight in the eye. “I won’t touch liver or whiskey. And if I dream about your dad, you’ll be the first to know.” Three days passed in an uneasy calm. I asked her again and again, and each time Kate insisted that nothing was wrong, that she hadn’t had any dreams. She even gently suggested I see a therapist, an offer I refused. Just as I was starting to breathe again, it happened. Kate didn’t come home from work. Her phone went straight to voicemail. That familiar, ice-cold dread crept back into my heart. I drove like a madman to the cemetery. From a distance, I saw her. She was sitting in front of my father’s grave. She was shoveling pieces of liver into her mouth. Beside her, a half-empty glass of whiskey was raised, as if toasting the cold stone.

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After realizing I was the designated “Evil Villainess” of this story, I decided to stay far away from the gloomy, brooding antagonist. Why? Because for the next five years, we were destined for a toxic, love-hate train wreck. He was supposed to hate me for forcing myself on him, and I was supposed to resent him because I was in love with someone else. But just when I thought I’d successfully ghosted him… The introverted, socially anxious villain suddenly grabbed the hem of my shirt. His ears were burning red, and he stammered: “Hannah… c-can I… sleep with you? If I don’t… I’ll die…” Suddenly, a stream of live-chat comments floated across my vision: [LMAO, the villain has a condition where he needs physical contact with the villainess to survive! Who’s forcing whom now?!] [I declare this the greatest illness ever for an introvert! He never talks, but when he opens his mouth, he wants to bang!!!] [Bang or die trying! Such a yandere setting!] 1 I met Liam Thorne at a club. At the time, I was heartbroken because my childhood crush, Julian, didn’t like me back. When I saw Liam, I mistook him for a new host the club had hired. Without a word, I dragged him into a private VIP booth. The people inside started catcalling and whistling, while Liam stood there, completely frozen. He struggled, trying to break free, his brows furrowed in genuine anger. “Let… let me out!” I cornered him, slamming my arm against the wall beside his head. My other hand touched his chest ambiguously. The person under my hand trembled. His fake aloofness dissolved into fine, terrified shivers. “I’m not…” I pulled out a Black Card and pressed it against his lips, silencing him. “Drink with me. The money is yours.” My friends cheered from the sofas. “Hannah, you really are something. Even in heartbreak, you’re chasing tail.” “Hey handsome, our Hannah just got dumped. Take care of her, and we’ll tip you extra.” I found them annoying, so I kicked everyone out. I pushed Liam onto the sofa. His hair was thick and black, falling obediently over his eyes. A pair of thin-rimmed black glasses hid a gaze that was usually sharp, now panicked. I grabbed Liam’s collar and pressed a bottle of wine to his lips. Just as I was about to force it down his throat… A row of glowing text suddenly appeared before my eyes. [Here we go! The evil villainess is about to force herself on the Big Bad.] [This wine is drugged. It was meant for the male lead, but the villain gets it instead. Tonight, sparks fly. Later, it’s a pure hate-drama: she forces, he resists; she’s cruel, he’s vengeful.] [I love this toxic trope! Too bad they have a tragic ending—one dead, one crippled. Fits the character design though.] [The villain is the unloved illegitimate son of the Thorne family. Due to his environment, he’s currently a withdrawn mute. The humiliation he suffers today will be repaid tenfold in the future.] Wait. Drugged? I would never do something like drugging someone! I have standards! I sobered up instantly. My hand shook, and the red wine poured all over Liam’s collar instead of into his mouth. His breath hitched from the cold liquid. His deep eyes glared at me with stubborn humiliation. He bit his lower lip hard. His pale neck was stained deep crimson. His thin white shirt turned transparent, sticking to his skin. I scrambled off of him and coughed awkwardly. “Uh, um… I’m drunk. You can go.” 2 After Liam left, I sorted through my thoughts. Since our future ending was so tragic, I needed to stay the hell away from him. But you know how it is—once you notice someone you never cared about before, you start seeing them everywhere. Later, I found out he and Julian (the Male Lead) were in the same major. Since I was always following Julian around like a lost puppy, I kept bumping into Liam. “What are you looking at?” Julian leaned on the edge of the pool, following my gaze. Liam was soaking in the corner at the far end of the pool, alone. He seemed to see me. Although it was far, I felt his calm, deadpan eyes tremble slightly before he looked down again. College swimming classes were slack; everyone huddled in groups to chat. Because of Liam’s withdrawn personality, no one went near him. I looked away. “Nothing.” Julian narrowed his eyes, his gaze landing on Liam with disdain. “Him? The Thorne family’s bastard. Unloved. Heard you messed with him at the bar the other day? Nothing happened, right?” “N-no, nothing.” Julian looked at me inquisitively, then smiled that charming smile that used to make my knees weak. He brushed my fingers resting on the pool edge. “Come down and play.” [Ahhh stop flirting, Julian! You belong to the Heroine!] [It’s okay, even though the Male Lead and the Villainess are childhood friends, Julian hasn’t realized his feelings yet. He’s flirting without knowing it.] [Male Lead is for the Heroine. Hannah, just go lock yourself up with the Villain!] So, Julian was the Male Lead. In the plot flashes I saw, Julian wavered between me and the Heroine, flirting ambiguously with both. Our love quadrangle came with a heavy price. I retracted my fingers. “No thanks.” I needed to stay away from Liam and Julian. 3 I got up to swim elsewhere. But I heard a commotion near the deep end. “Yo, isn’t this the Thorne bastard? Why are you in class today?” “Did you do what I told you the other day?” “Why aren’t you talking? Mute?” A few guys surrounded Liam. Liam clenched his hands by his side, eyes cold and unapproachable. His back was slightly hunched, like a thin sapling trying not to snap in the wind. “Move.” The guys sneered. “Or what? Do you know who you offended?” They pushed and shoved. Suddenly, a look of agony flashed across Liam’s face. Before being pushed into the water, his gaze seemed to linger on me for two seconds. He didn’t seem to know how to swim. He thrashed a couple of times before sinking like a stone. The guys on shore laughed, not realizing the severity. Seeing the surface calm down, I dove in. I grabbed Liam underwater. His eyes were closed, his face cold and proud, like a sleeping prince frozen in ice. His upper body muscles were lean and tight, mesmerizing me for a second. Feeling someone grab him, he opened his eyes slightly, then closed them again. He looked in extreme pain, probably from lack of oxygen. He thrashed weakly, his whole body pressing against mine. No time to think. I pinched his chin, pressed my lips to his, and slowly gave him air. Liam’s eyelids fluttered. His withdrawn nature made him want to pull away, but instinct made him cling to me. I held the back of his head and gave him a full breath. We surfaced, gasping. Liam coughed, wet eyelashes drooping, chest heaving violently. Whether from anger or shame, I couldn’t tell. The guys on shore gathered around. “Hannah, are you okay? Why save him?” I climbed up, furious. “What’s your problem? If he died here today, none of you would get away with it.” “It’s not like he can’t swim. Why come to class if he can’t?” “Shut up!” Liam barely moved. Maybe he really was a terrible swimmer. Besides, with his personality, if he could climb up himself, he wouldn’t let someone save him. Let alone let me kiss him like that. But… his lips were soft. I rubbed my lips with my knuckles, lost in thought. [Ooh ooh ooh, reminiscing already?] [Wait, the plot changed? I remember in the original, Liam climbed up pathetically, and Hannah stood on the shore mocking him.] [Yeah, and nothing happened at the bar either.] [Liam CAN swim! What happened to him just now? Why did he sink?] [What’s with the Male Lead? Why is Julian looking at Hannah like that? He looks… dark.] I turned around and saw Julian staring at me. His eyes were calm, but strangely eerie. 4 I left immediately, putting distance between myself and Julian. Ten days later. Late at night, friends called me out for drinks. Before entering the booth, I heard Julian’s voice. “Jules, what’s going on with you and Hannah?” “Nothing. I was just mad she risked herself to save a random guy and left without a word.” “So concerned… seems like you care.” “Tsk, don’t talk nonsense. She’s just a little sister to me.” “Real sister or step-sister? We outsiders can see clearly.” “Shut up, I’m not an animal.” [See? I told you. Julian is just worried. He doesn’t like Hannah.] [Of course, Julian belongs to the Heroine forever. Hannah, go away.] The bullet comments were right. I turned and left. I went back to campus. Bored, I wandered around the track. Unknowingly, I walked to the outdoor basketball court. Someone was playing alone. Slow movements, long shadow. Jump, shoot, three-pointer. Swish. It was Liam. Makes sense. He hates people, so he plays at night. He didn’t play with the usual swagger of a teenager. His movements were precise but restrained. He stopped, took off his glasses, and lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. The glimpse of his lean waist was not only slightly erotic but also kind of cute. Remembering the spicy scenes from the original novel involving that waist, I shook my head violently. I stepped on a soda can. Crunch. “Who?!” Liam looked over alertly. “Just passing by! Leaving now!” “Wai—” We spoke at the same time. Liam seemed to be preparing to say something, looking at me nervously. Suddenly, he fell to his knees. He clutched his chest, his face twisting in agony. Eyes half-open, blurred with pain. Breathing rapidly like a dying fish. I ran over. “Liam, what’s wrong?” He leaned into my arms, sweat rolling down his cheeks. His wrist lay limply on my shoulder. He stared at me for a moment, as if gathering every ounce of courage he possessed. He choked out: “S… sorry.” Then he pulled my neck down, and his lips pressed against mine. A very clean, wet, hot kiss. Liam stayed obediently pressed against me, panting lightly, until his breathing steadied. I was stunned. Before I could react, I heard voices nearby. “Holy sh*t!” I looked up and saw a group of people… and a dark-faced Julian. “What are you doing?” Julian’s gaze was pitch black. His words weren’t sharp, but they carried a heavy pressure. “Little Hannah didn’t come to the party so she could make out here…” someone teased. Liam gripped my sleeve tightly. He turned his head, avoiding everyone’s gaze, but burrowed closer to me. His ears were bright red. I frowned. “You guys scared him.” [LMAO, the villain has a condition where he needs intimate contact with the Hannah to survive! Who’s forcing whom now?] [He learned to force a kiss without a teacher! But he kissed so obediently, scared and shy, hiding in her arms.] [Usually, it’s the guy holding the ‘innocent’ girl saying ‘You scared her.’ This reverse operation is so satisfying! Boss lady energy!] Liam and I stood up. He looked at Julian through his lenses. Amidst the timidity, there was a possessiveness I hadn’t noticed before. “Hannah, he’s an illegitimate…” Julian paused. “Even if you mess around, don’t mix with him…” “I don’t care.” I felt my hem being pulled tighter. Julian looked shocked. “You don’t care? Do you not care about me either?” I was confused. “Aren’t you my brother? Why should I care about you regarding who I date?” Julian choked. “I just… don’t want to see you with someone like him. Uncle Han wouldn’t agree either.” “You’re overthinking it. My dad respects all my wishes, Brother.” Leaving Julian pale-faced, I dragged Liam away.

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1 The precinct called me out of the blue. They asked if I had bought a boba tea last month and accidentally dropped it on the floor. I said yeah, that happened. Hearing me admit it, the officer on the other end said, “You’re in deep trouble. Get down here.” I thought to myself, it’s just a cup of tea. How much trouble can I be in? When I got to the station, the officer looked at me, dead serious. “Ma’am, last month, someone slipped on that tea you dropped. She fell hard. She’s been in the ICU.” I froze. The officer led me into a mediation room. There was a girl there, arm in a cast, heavy gauze wrapped around the back of her head. She was crying, her face flushed and swollen. My brain was still buffering when the officer turned on a monitor. He played the security footage from the mall. On screen, the paper bag holding my boba ripped. The drink splattered on the tile. I looked upset, stepped around it, and walked away. About ten minutes later, the girl in the cast walked by. Anyone who’s been to a mall knows you’re looking at the shop windows, not the floor. Plus, it’s indoors—you don’t expect hazards. She stepped right into the puddle. Her feet flew out from under her. She slammed the back of her head and her arm against the hard tile. The officer handed me the medical report. “Compound fracture in the right arm. Occipital bone fracture. They had to perform a craniotomy to remove bone fragments from her brain. To be blunt, you’re lucky she survived, or you’d be facing manslaughter charges right now.” I stared blankly at the girl. She was pretty, but the officer’s implication was clear: her life was ruined. She was missing a piece of her skull. She’d have a titanium plate in the back of her head forever. Hair might never grow there again. The girl was sobbing hysterically. A crushing weight of guilt and self-loathing slammed into my chest. I just dropped a cup of tea. How did I destroy a beautiful girl’s life? “The other party is asking for $150,000 in damages,” the officer said. “We are just here to mediate. If this fails, she’s taking you to court.” $150,000. I couldn’t save that much in a lifetime. My entire net worth was about $5,000. That was money I’d scraped together by eating instant noodles, saving up for a used Honda so I wouldn’t have to commute in the rain. My dream hadn’t even started, and this $150,000 mountain was already crushing me. The officer advised me to settle. He said he’d seen this before—I would lose in court. “Why is it all on me?” I whispered. “Doesn’t the mall have a duty to keep the floor clean?” “Sure,” the officer said. “But customers don’t have the right to dump liquids and walk away, either. The mall shares liability, but you are the primary cause.” “But I told the janitor!” I blurted out. The officer paused. “You notified a cleaning staff member?” “Yes!” I said. “Right after I dropped it, I went to the restroom to clean my dress. I saw the cleaning lady and told her specifically.” I remembered it vividly because it was such a bad day. The tea had splashed all over my new skirt. The officers exchanged glances. They told me to wait and called the mall management. They requested the shift logs to identify the cleaning staff on the fourth floor that day and summoned the manager. The mall representative arrived quickly. He was slick—suit, tie, greased hair. He introduced himself as Manager Ross. Standing timidly behind him was an older woman in a uniform. I recognized her immediately. She was the one I had told. The officer asked the janitor, “I need you to tell the truth. Did this young lady tell you she dropped a drink and ask you to clean it up?” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I was innocent. But just as I relaxed, Manager Ross turned to the janitor. “Think very carefully. If she told you, then the mall is 100% liable. She walks away free.” “Hey!” The officer barked. “Watch your mouth! Are you threatening a witness?” “Just telling her to be accurate,” Ross said, smoothing his tie. The officer pointed a finger at Ross’s nose. “One more word like that and I’m kicking you out.” Ross shrugged. At that moment, the janitor looked down and whispered, “No.” 2 I stared at her, dumbfounded. “How can you say no? Think about it! I saw you leaning against the sink in the women’s restroom, scrolling on your phone!” The janitor shook her head rapidly. “Really, no. She never told me anything.” My emotions collapsed. I lunged forward and grabbed her collar, screaming out of control, “Why are you lying?! I told you! I told you right to your face!” The old woman trembled, pursed her lips, and started wailing. “I didn’t hear anything!” she cried, wiping tears. Manager Ross shoved me back. “What are you doing? trying to beat her up? Officer, you saw that, right? Assault!” I was gasping for air, rage flooding my brain. I looked at this crying old woman. To the room, I looked like a monster, and she looked like a victim. But she was lying. I know I told her! The officers separated us. One cop looked at the old woman seriously. “Ma’am, think again. Did this happen?” “No!” she sobbed. “If she told me, I would have cleaned it up! I would have!” “You old liar!” I screamed. “Do you have no conscience?!” Manager Ross stepped in front of her. “Officer, we are here to cooperate, not to be threatened.” I was so angry I could vomit. There was a lump in my throat that wouldn’t go down. They were lying through their teeth, acting righteous and victimized, making me look like the crazy one. The surveillance proved I dropped the tea. That was my fault. If surveillance could prove I told the janitor immediately, I wouldn’t be liable. But who puts security cameras inside a bathroom? Manager Ross looked at the cops with a smug, indifferent face. “Officer, the burden of proof is on the accuser. If she claims she told our staff, she needs evidence. Not just her mouth.” A chill went through my body. I had no evidence. Who records themselves telling a janitor about a spill? It’s a mundane, ten-second interaction. But that ten-second interaction was about to ruin my life. The police told me not to panic and to call my family. “How can I tell them?” I mumbled. “My mom will have a heart attack.” The injured girl spoke up through her tears. “You think you’re pitiful? What about me? The day I went into the ICU, my mom had a stroke from the shock! What did my family do to deserve this?” I couldn’t argue with her. I knew she was innocent. But so was I. As an adult, you never want to tell your parents you messed up. But this mess was too big. I couldn’t carry it alone. I picked up my phone, shaking, and called my mom. Mom sounded panicked immediately. She asked if I was hurt. I didn’t know how to explain, so I just begged her to come. She arrived on her e-bike, helmet still on, holding her keys, peering anxiously into the room. “That’s my daughter,” she told the officer, pointing at me. She sat down, clutching her keys like a lifeline, and listened as the officer explained the situation. “My daughter doesn’t lie,” Mom said, her voice trembling but firm. “She has never told a lie since she was a baby.” In her desperation, Mom grabbed the officer’s arm. “She was an essential volunteer during the pandemic! She’s a good person!” Manager Ross scoffed. “So that means we’re lying? Just because you say she’s noble? Oh wow, a volunteer. Big deal.” The officer glared at Ross. “Can you shut up?” Ross put his hands up innocently. “I’m just protecting my employee. They’re trying to use ‘good deeds’ to score points. Is this about evidence or feelings? Let’s just go to court.” He grabbed the janitor to leave. My mom lunged, grabbing the janitor’s sleeve. “Ma’am, please! Tell the truth! My daughter wouldn’t lie to you!” The janitor kept crying. “I’m not lying. She didn’t tell me.” I watched them walk out. The injured girl sighed. “Thank you for trying, officers. I’ll just sue. Let the judge decide.” “Child,” my mom pleaded with the girl. “My daughter didn’t lie.” “It doesn’t matter,” the girl said hollowly. “I’m the one with the hole in my head. Right?” Mom opened her mouth, but nothing came out. We had to sign the papers and leave. Outside, Mom told me to get on the back of her e-bike. “I know you didn’t lie,” she said over her shoulder. “Don’t be scared. Mom believes you. There is justice in this world.” My nose stung. I held back tears. “Don’t be scared,” she kept saying. But as she drove, I saw her wiping her eyes. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I went to the kitchen for a beer. Through the crack in the door, I saw my parents sitting in the living room. They were holding their savings passbook, staring at it as if staring would make the numbers grow. Mom was biting her hand to muffle her sobs. She kept asking Dad what to do. Dad smoked in silence. I retreated to my room. I called every lawyer I could find. They all said the same thing: You will lose. But I wouldn’t accept death without a fight. I knew that janitor was lying. I quit my job. I started tailing her. Many times, I wanted to hold a knife to her throat and force the truth out of her. But that would only make things worse. Finally, I made a dangerous decision. One day, after she left for work, I called a locksmith. I showed him my ID, acted like I lived there, and he opened the door. 3 I didn’t care about breaking the law anymore. I wasn’t going to steal anything. I bought a voice recorder. I practically moved into her house. When she and her husband went to work, I’d sneak out to eat. When they came back, I hid under the bed, not daring to breathe. I told my parents I was working the night shift. I believed walls have ears. She would slip up eventually. The court date was approaching. I was getting desperate. But God finally threw me a bone. The night before the trial, the janitor was tossing and turning. “What’s wrong?” her husband asked. “Court is tomorrow,” she said. “If they find out I lied, will I go to jail?” “What are you afraid of?” her husband replied. “Manager Ross said it’s a civil case. No jail. Even if they find out, the mall pays, not you.” She sighed. “I’m just scared. If I hadn’t been playing on my phone… if I had just cleaned it when she told me…” My heart exploded with joy. I got it! Every word was captured on the recorder. The next morning, as soon as they left, I crawled out from under the bed and ran. I had never run so fast in my life. I had my innocence. At the courthouse, my parents were waiting frantically. I played the recording for them. Mom cried, hitting my arm for doing something so dangerous, but she was smiling. “I knew it! The judge will clear us!” We walked into court. The janitor was still on the stand, lying. “She never told me.” I felt like the protagonist in a movie. I stood up. “You are lying! I have a recording!” The janitor’s face went white. I played the tape. The courtroom filled with her confession to her husband. The opposing lawyer frowned. “Where did this recording come from?” I told the truth. I had to. “Objection,” the lawyer said coldly. “Illegal evidence. She admitted to breaking and entering and planting a bug. This violates privacy laws. The evidence must be excluded.” The judge looked at me, then nodded. “Objection sustained. Evidence is inadmissible. Bailiff, confiscate the device.” I stood there, paralyzed. “But… you all heard it! She lied!” “She could have been joking with her husband,” the lawyer said smoothly. “It’s not legal evidence.” The judge looked at the janitor. “Do you have anything to say?” The janitor, who had been pale, slowly regained her color. 4 She nodded vigorously. “I was just… talking nonsense with my husband at home. She really didn’t tell me!” “You heard the truth!” Mom screamed. “Why won’t you believe your own ears?!” “Order!” the judge banged his gavel. “This court does not encourage illegal acts.” The injured girl looked at me. She said nothing. My world collapsed. They said the burden of proof was on me. I brought proof. They threw it away. “Does the defendant have anything else to add?” the judge asked. I couldn’t speak. That tape was everything. “Judgment,” the judge announced. I lost. The court rejected the girl’s full claim but ordered the mall to pay 30% ($60,000) and me to pay 70% ($140,000). Because I broke into the janitor’s house, I was also sentenced to 5 days of administrative detention. “Injustice!” Mom muttered. “This is an injustice!” “You can appeal within 30 days if you find new, legal evidence,” the judge said mechanically. “You heard she lied!” Mom screamed, losing it. “You’re ruining an innocent girl! You’re not human!” “Order! Or I will hold you in contempt!” Mom ran to the plaintiff’s bench, grabbing the injured girl. “You heard it, right? My daughter is innocent!” “It doesn’t matter,” the girl said. “I just need someone to pay for my surgery.” Mom pointed at Manager Ross. “Even if I sell my organs, I can’t raise $140,000! It’s your fault!” Manager Ross stood up, buttoning his jacket. “The court has spoken. We respect the law. We won’t appeal.” “Don’t you go!” Dad grabbed Ross, veins popping in his neck. “You made her lie!” “Let go,” Ross sneered. “Or I’ll sue you for assault too.” Mom was trembling. “My daughter is innocent…” “Oh, the volunteer,” Ross mocked. “Such a good person. How did she lose?” That broke her. “You bully my daughter… I’m not afraid of jail! My daughter is innocent! I’ll prove it with my life!” She screamed and slammed her head full force into the counsel table. BANG. Blood sprayed across the floor. I lunged for her, but I was too slow. The court erupted into chaos. Manager Ross actually laughed. “What is this, a soap opera?” The bailiffs called an ambulance. They saved her life, but she had a severe concussion and needed to be hospitalized. Sitting outside her room, I felt a darkness I had never known before.

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A family photo I took for my ex-husband and his new family went viral online. Everyone was guessing what kind of trouble I, the crazy ex-wife, was about to stir up now. After all, five years ago, I’d done everything to keep him. I’d walked away with nothing. I’d even managed to get myself thrown in jail, torpedoing a brilliant legal career. The whole city knew the story. But even then, his heart was a stone. The day after our divorce was finalized, he married a sweet young thing seven years his junior. This time, however, there were no tears, no screaming matches, no desperate threats. Instead, I set up a small cart at the entrance of the university, selling fresh crepes. My first customer stood in front of my stand for ten solid minutes without saying a word. Finally, I pulled down my mask and offered him a small smile. “Long time no see, Mr. Heaton.” “Care for a crepe?” 1. Ethan Heaton’s voice was heavy when he finally spoke. “I thought you’d pretend you didn’t know me.” I stretched my lips into a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “No point.” “Why are you doing this? Running a food stand?” “To make a living,” I answered, my voice crisp. “A girl’s gotta eat, right?” To survive, I’d done just about everything these past few years. Even after he’d tried to ruin me, getting me blacklisted from nearly every firm in the city, I’d scraped by, working one odd job after another. He let out a soft sigh. “You used to burn water. How on earth can you manage this?” The bell rang, signaling the end of classes, and a tide of students began to pour out of the university gates. A young man ran up, a familiar grin on his face. “Ava! The usual, one with ham!” “Coming right up,” I called back, cracking an egg with practiced ease. Batter sizzled as it hit the hot griddle. With a flick of my wrist, I spread it into a perfect, golden circle. Ethan watched my fluid movements, a strange, distant look in his eyes, as if he were seeing a ghost. The students were a friendly bunch, gathering around the cart. “Hey, Ava, helping out Mrs. Gable again today?” one of them asked. I nodded. Mrs. Gable was a pro bono client of mine. This little cart was the only thing keeping her and her granddaughter afloat. Over the years, I’d helped countless people just like her. I hadn’t made much money, but I’d picked up a surprising number of skills. The line grew longer, a river of hungry students. I lost sight of Ethan in the bustling crowd. By the time I was packing up, I figured he was long gone. Just like old times, I walked into my favorite little noodle shop and ordered a bowl of soup. A familiar male voice sounded from behind me. “I’ll have what she’s having.” Ethan sat down across from me. With an old, ingrained familiarity, he wiped down my cutlery with a napkin and poured me a glass of hot water. He hesitated before asking, “How have you… how have you been?” “Fine. I’m doing fine.” My tone was flat. The noodle shop was a popular student hangout, and more than a few recognized Ethan. “Mr. Heaton!” “Professor Heaton!” Greetings echoed around us. You didn’t have to ask to see that he was thriving. By contrast, I looked simple, almost destitute. “When did you get back to the city?” he asked. “A month ago.” He paused. “The day you took that picture for us.” I didn’t deny it. I never thought the world could be so small. To run into him and his perfect little family right after I’d returned. I certainly never imagined that a simple family photo, taken for strangers whose faces I could barely see, would blow up my old social media circles and become the subject of so many bets. “Lily didn’t mean to post that picture,” he said. “And all those comments… don’t pay them any mind. It’s all nonsense.” I shook my head. “I don’t have time for any of that.” He was silent for a moment, then lowered his voice. “If you need help, I can—” “I don’t,” I cut him off. “I’m doing just fine.” It was the truth. But Ethan seemed to think I was just being stubborn. His brow furrowed, and his voice rose. “It’s been five years, Ava. Why can’t you just let it go?” “Do you have to degrade yourself like this just to make me feel guilty?” Through the rising steam from my noodles, I looked at his face, still young, still handsome. I could barely remember the hateful expression he’d worn five years ago when he forced me to sign the divorce papers. I looked away. “I let it go a long time ago.” “You…” Our food arrived, cutting him off. The owner of the shop beamed at us. “Well, look who it is! It’s been years since you two lovebirds came by.” Ethan froze. My expression didn’t change. “You must have us confused with someone else, sir.” “No, couldn’t be. I’ve had thousands of customers, but I’ll never forget you two. Always so… attached at the hip,” the owner muttered, scratching his head as he walked away. Ethan turned to me. “Why would you deny it? This was our spot. We came here on dates all the time.” I focused on my noodles. “Was it? I don’t remember.” He suddenly stood up and walked over to a wall covered in a dense collage of photographs. After searching for a long moment, he pulled one out, a triumphant look on his face. “See? Look, this is—” He stopped short, snatching the photo back as if it had burned him. But I’d already seen it. In the faded picture, Ethan was sitting to my left, his arm slung casually around my neck. And on my right, her hand clutching the hem of my shirt, was a shy, pretty girl. His now-wife, Lily. In the bottom left corner, a blurry date stamp read: six years ago today. 2. I was seven years his senior. We met when I returned to my old university as a successful alumna to give a guest lecture. He was the student representative chosen to ask the first question. I remember his eyes—sharp, ambitious. Even in a faded, threadbare shirt, his youthful fire was impossible to ignore. After the lecture, he boldly stopped me. He told me he’d attended every public talk I’d ever given, that I was the reason he was fighting so hard. I had no shortage of suitors back then and was used to the empty flattery of the corporate world. But his admiration was so raw, so intense, that it made my heart skip a beat. Still, I turned him down. Ethan was too young. It was probably just a fleeting crush. I never expected what came next. His pursuit was relentless, almost manic. Ethan didn’t have much money, but he’d use what he saved from his meal plan to buy me enormous bouquets of roses. He’d wait outside my office building late into the night, just to bring me a thermos of homemade soup to help with my hangovers after client dinners. No matter how many times I rejected him, he never backed down. Then one night, I was cornered by a senior partner at a work event. Ethan, who had been waiting for me, saw what was happening. He threw a punch, nearly destroying his own future in the process. I was furious, screaming at him with the harshest words I could find. But his eyes just sparkled as he took my hand. “When Ethan Heaton wants something, he doesn’t stop, even if it means breaking himself against a wall,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “Ava, I’m in love with you. You can reject me a thousand times, a million times, and I’ll still love you.” I gave in. For that fierce, youthful sincerity, I gambled everything. My parents didn’t understand. My friends warned me it would never last. There were times I doubted it myself. But Ethan kept his promises. At his graduation, in front of everyone, he got down on one knee. “Ava,” he’d said, his voice shaking, “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving you made the right choice.” After we were married, I used every connection I had to pave his way. He was brilliant and driven, and within a few years, he’d made a name for himself in the legal world, even opening his own firm. To the world, he was a high-powered attorney. But with me, he was still the same needy, possessive young man. At his insistence, I eventually left my high-profile job at the big firm. I wanted to pursue my ideals more purely, to help those who couldn’t help themselves. It was during that time that I met Lily. Her father’s domestic abuse case had just been thrown out. The moment they stepped out of the courthouse, her father grabbed the frail girl by the hair and began dragging her across the pavement. I ran in to stop him. I took a few punches meant for her and ended up in the hospital. Ethan was livid, but I insisted on helping Lily. She was homeless and terrified her father would come after her, so I let her move in with us. She was endlessly grateful, calling me her big sister. At first, Ethan was cold to her, often getting jealous of the time I spent with her. That changed when I asked him to take over her case. As he delved into her story, his prejudice faded, replaced by pity for the genuinely tragic girl. For a while, the three of us ate together, traveled together. I never once questioned anyone’s sincerity. I didn’t know that the human heart can change in an instant. It all came crashing down on my thirty-third birthday. I’d cut a business trip short to come home and surprise him. The first thing I saw in the entryway was Ethan’s belt, tangled with the little white dress I’d bought for Lily. A soft, intimate light glowed from under the bedroom door, accompanied by the sound of unrestrained, breathy moans. My world shattered the moment I pushed the door open. I grabbed the nearest heavy object from the desk and hurled it at the bed. “Ethan, are you even human? She’s only nineteen!” Lily looked up from his arms, her eyes swimming with tears. “Ava, I-I wanted this. We’re in love.” The pain in my chest was so sharp my voice came out as a ragged whisper. “What about me? What am I supposed to do?” Ethan wrapped the duvet tightly around Lily. After the initial flash of panic, his expression settled into a chilling calm. He slowly got out of bed, walked over to me, and lifted my chin. “You said it yourself. Lily is nineteen. But you?” “Ava, you’re thirty-three.” His eyes scanned my face, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to hide those crow’s feet around your eyes?” “When we’re out together, people think you’re my sugar mama.” My hands were shaking with rage. “Was I not seven years older than you when we met, Ethan?” “If you were so ashamed of me, why didn’t you say something sooner?” The smirk vanished. “You’re right. You didn’t do anything wrong. But you’re so… boring, Ava.” “Lily is young, vibrant. She looks up to me, depends on me.” “Just like you used to love the younger me, remember?” I listened to him, and a hysterical laugh escaped my lips, though tears streamed down my face. “Fine,” I choked out. “Fine… Let’s get a divorce.” But he just frowned. “A divorce? I’m not divorcing you. Not now, anyway.” “Let’s just call it…” He paused. “A way of honoring the promise I made to you all those years ago.” 3. I refused to be force-fed that bitter pill. The day after I discovered their affair, I sent an intimate photo of Ethan and Lily to a group chat for the entire legal industry. It was deleted quickly, but the damage was done. The next day, I threw all of Lily’s belongings out onto the street right in front of Ethan. “Get out.” Lily sobbed, clutching at Ethan’s sleeve. Ethan just gave me a cold look and made a phone call. Half an hour later, every single one of my bank accounts was frozen. On the third day, I went to his firm’s biggest client and informed them of his… moral failings. The client immediately agreed to reconsider their contract. That night, Ethan came home reeking of whiskey. He grabbed me by the back of the neck and slammed me down onto the desk. On it lay a freshly signed, three-year contract extension with that very same client. “Is that all you’ve got, Ava?” Ethan was right. He would do anything to get ahead. I was no match for his ruthlessness. So, I gathered evidence and filed an anonymous tip about his firm’s creative accounting. For good measure, I also paid a visit to Lily’s university advisor and laid out the facts of her situation. But all I got for my trouble was a notice that my own law license was under investigation and had been suspended. When I stormed into his office to confront him, he was feeding cherries to Lily. “Know when to quit, Ava,” he said, gently wiping a smudge of juice from the corner of her mouth. “You lay another finger on Lily, and I can’t guarantee you’ll ever get that license back.” In that moment, a profound sense of powerlessness washed over me. I finally understood just how vast the chasm of power between us had become. “Ava?” A soft voice pulled me back to the present. Lily was standing by our table, her hand resting on a small, round belly. She was dressed head-to-toe in designer brands, her makeup flawless, her cheeks rosy. She was clearly being well taken care of. “It really is you! Ava, I almost didn’t recognize you. For a second, I thought you were one of the waitstaff.” I stared at her, saying nothing. “What are you doing now? I heard you were running a food cart.” She put on a look of profound pity. “You were a legend back in law school. How did you end up like this?” Ethan frowned. “Lily.” “Oh, lighten up. I’m just concerned,” she said, playfully shaking his arm. “We’re all old friends here, why so serious?” I gave her a humorless smile. “Can you really call someone you have a blood feud with a friend?” The air crackled, the friendly pretense shattered. Five years ago, just as my war with Ethan had reached its exhausting peak, another tragedy struck. My mother, a surgeon, was stabbed by the family member of a former patient. I rushed to the hospital, my world spinning. When I got there, I found Ethan holding a trembling Lily, comforting her. “It’s okay,” he was saying. “It’s not your fault. You’re a victim, too.” That’s when I learned the attacker was Lily’s father. He had beaten his wife to death and blamed the doctors for failing to save her. He’d stabbed my mother right in front of them. They had witnessed the whole thing. I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. Ethan hesitantly placed a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you win this case.” I sued Lily’s father. But when the time came for her to testify as a witness, she disappeared. All she left was a text message, dripping with false contrition. [Ava, I’m so sorry. But he’s still my father. I can’t do it.] The case fell apart due to insufficient evidence. My mother was officially found liable for medical malpractice. She died not long after, consumed by grief and despair. Lily came to the funeral, crying harder than anyone. “I’m sorry, Ava, I’m so, so sorry…” I slapped her, hard. Then I lunged, my hands closing around her throat. “Why did I ever save you?” I shrieked. “Give me back my mother!” Ethan shoved me away violently. I stumbled backward, crashing into my mother’s headstone. “Have you lost your mind, Ava? Lily is innocent in all this!” I was shaking from head to toe. “What about me? What about my mom?” “Why is it that the good people are the ones who never get a happy ending?” Ethan’s gaze was like ice. To prevent me from “hurting” Lily further, he called the police. I was detained on assault charges. The next time I saw him was in a visitation room. He brought the divorce papers with him. “Sign this, Ava,” he said. “And we’ll be even.” My heart was a dead weight in my chest as I read the agreement. “…You want me to walk away with nothing?” Ethan showed me a picture of my family home, the front door splattered with red paint and vicious graffiti. “Lily’s mother’s death was partly due to your mother’s mistake in surgery.” “I don’t want you to live in fear. Think of this as… compensation for her.” “After you get out…” He sighed. “Make sure you take care of Mom’s final arrangements.” Tears fell like stones onto the paper. In that single moment, every vow, every promise Ethan had ever made to me, crumbled into dust. I signed the papers, just as he wanted. 4. “We never thought… we never imagined things would be so hard for you afterward,” Ethan said, his voice thick with something that might have been regret. He took a credit card from his wallet. “Take this. As compensation. The pin is your birthday.” Lily’s face tightened, but she forced a smile. “Ava, you really don’t need to treat us like enemies.” “Besides, it’s not like you have a man to take care of you, like I have Ethan. It can’t be easy for a woman your age, all alone…” “I’m not alone.” I cut her off, pushing Ethan’s card back across the table. As I moved, my sleeve slid up, revealing the simple diamond band on my ring finger. “I’m married. And I’m very happy.” They both stared, stunned into silence. Lily was the first to recover. “Oh, really? Well, congratulations, Ava.” A sly look entered her eyes. “So, your new husband… is he…” My phone lit up with a string of frantic calls from a certain someone, demanding to know when I was coming home. I declined the call and texted back a quick reply, answering her question without looking up. “He’s two years older than me.” Lily’s voice was laced with meaning. “Oh. I would have thought you were still into younger men.” “That’s enough!” Ethan’s face darkened. He looked at me, his eyes filled with disappointment. “Ava, do you have to degrade yourself like this?” “Marrying some old man? Making crepes to support him?” “Is this the life you really want? Have you forgotten who you were? You were one of the most brilliant legal minds of your generation!” I hit send and finally looked up at him. “You’re crossing a line, Ethan.” He faltered. “I just… I want you to have a good life.” “Don’t bother.” My voice was clipped and final. “Because I want you to have a miserable one.” I looked from him to Lily. “And I have never, ever forgiven either of you.” “I just decided to stop wasting my precious time on two rotten people.” “I’ve already paid my bill. I’ll be going now.” Without another word, I turned and walked away. Behind me, their hushed, angry voices followed me out. “What was that, Ethan? Are you trying to get back together with that old hag?” “For God’s sake, Lily, stop calling her that! She was like a sister to you!” “And you were like my brother-in-law! Don’t you forget you’re the one who crawled into my bed…” “Shut up and get in the car!” I didn’t slow down, heading straight for the door. Evening was falling, and the sidewalk was filled with people of all ages, coming and going. Time truly is the most impartial judge of all. No one stays young forever. And when a beautiful facade finally crumbles, the true ugliness of the heart is laid bare. I had just stepped out of the restaurant when I heard hurried footsteps behind me. Ethan caught up, grabbing my arm. “Ava, listen to me…” He was out of breath, his eyes gleaming in the fading light. “The truth is, when you left, I…” His words trailed off as a bright, childish voice rang out from behind him. “Mommy!”

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Five years after we broke up, I heard Lucas was getting married. Relieved, I finally flew back home. But as soon as I landed, he cornered me against an airport wall: “Fake news. Planted it just to fish you out.” “But I’m already married!” I flashed my diamond ring, bluffing hard. He stared at the ring, then let out a low, dangerous laugh: “Guess we’re a throuple then.” Me: ??? 1 Lucas was getting married. When I heard the news, I was so happy I couldn’t sleep all night. I booked a flight immediately. “Boohoo, I’m finally back!” As soon as I landed, I called my bestie, crying about how white people food isn’t fit for humans while listing my cravings: “Spicy crawfish, BBQ, hot pot, snail noodles, spicy hot pot, boba…” Just as I was excitedly telling her, “This time, I’m reclaiming all my food rights,” someone grabbed my hand and slammed me against the wall. My phone hit the ground. I stared blankly at the man towering over me. Cold, noble, with bone structure to die for and a face so handsome it was sinful. My mind went blank. From the phone on the floor, my bestie’s frantic voice came through: “Yolanda! Stop listing food! The news about Lucas getting married might be fake! Run!” Me: … Why didn’t you wait until I was dead to tell me?! 2 I wanted to run, but Lucas was freakishly strong. He wasn’t even using much force, but I couldn’t break free. So I could only hang my head like a scolded quail, not daring to speak. Secretly, I scanned for an escape route. After all, when we broke up, Lucas dropped some harsh words: if he ever saw me again, he’d kill me. I just got back. I haven’t even had my spicy crawfish yet. I don’t want to die! “Nothing to say to me?” Seeing my silence, Lucas lifted my chin, forcing me to look at him. I was forced to meet his gaze. Looking into those deep, beautiful peach blossom eyes, now glistening with unshed tears, my heart ached suddenly. My throat felt bitter. I swallowed my tears and turned my face away, voice cold: “No.” I tried to push him away again. “No?” Lucas pinned me harder. His voice was hoarse, choking slightly. “Heartless.” Then, ignoring the crowd, he grabbed my chin and kissed me. The moment our lips touched, my eyes widened in shock. His kiss wasn’t gentle. It was punishing, vengeful. I couldn’t escape, and my tongue went numb. Amidst my anger, I spotted someone nearby raising their phone to film us. Reflexively, I bit him. Hard. He wasn’t expecting it. His lip bled, and he paused, stunned. I pushed him away and slapped him. “Are you crazy?!” I glared at him. “You’re getting married!” I slapped him hard enough to turn his head. He poked his cheek with his tongue, touched his face, then pressed his bleeding lip. He chuckled darkly. “Fake news. Just to trick you into coming back.” I was completely dumbfounded. Fake news?! So what am I? Walking into a trap? I was too shocked to notice the flash of enjoyment in his eyes after the slap. I only reacted when he took my hand, kissed my palm tenderly, and asked if it hurt. Me: ? I slapped him, and he asks if my hand hurts?! Something feels wrong here! But I couldn’t dwell on it. My mind was racing: I can’t repeat the mistakes of five years ago. In a flash of inspiration, I saw the diamond ring on my left hand. I steadied myself and spoke again: “But I’m married.” The air froze. Lucas looked down at the ring, silent. Just as a chill ran down my spine, he laughed low. “Guess we’re a throuple then.” He said it calmly, like proposing a viable business plan. I nearly bit my tongue. “Are you insane?!” What throuple?! Does he know what he’s saying?! While I was still in shock, Lucas hoisted me over his shoulder. 3 He threw me into the back of his Maybach and told the driver to go. “Lucas, this is kidnapping!” Watching the privacy partition rise, I panicked. Ignoring the moving car, I tried to open the door to jump. He grabbed my wrist instantly. The car braked hard. Inertia threw me forward, almost hitting the partition, but Lucas pulled me back. “Do you want to die?!” He hugged me tightly, arms trembling. The warm, familiar embrace dazed me for a second. Memories flooded back, followed immediately by his mother’s words. I closed my eyes, suppressed my emotions, took a deep breath, and pushed him away. I sat as far as possible and stabbed him with words: “Don’t hug me so tight. My husband gets jealous!” I deliberately flashed the ring. A flash of ruthlessness crossed Lucas’s eyes but vanished so fast I thought I imagined it. “Where’s he from?” Lucas grabbed a beer from the fridge, downed it, and asked casually. “What?” I didn’t process it. “I asked where your husband is from.” He crushed the can. “Oh.” I thought fast. “France.” “Hmm, nice. How old?” He took off his Buddhist prayer beads and fiddled with them, asking nonchalantly. “29.” I replied absentmindedly. Was it my imagination? I thought I saw scars on his wrist. “Fit? Height, weight?” He asked again. My thoughts snapped back. “Very fit. 6’2″, 180 lbs.” I was still distracted, not noticing his questions speeding up. “How did you meet?” I spun my brain. “He lost his wallet, I lent him money, then…” “Who else is in his family?” He interrupted. “…Parents, a sister…” I started stuttering. His interrogation aura was intense. He asked seven or eight more questions. Favorite food? First date spot? First movie? Favorite hangout? Hobbies? Favorite position? The questions got trickier. Just as I was getting nervous, he asked again: “How old is he?” “28!” I blurted out. “Height and weight?” He asked rapidly. “6’1″! 170 lbs!” As soon as I said it, I saw his fingers stop moving the beads. He chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Hmm, nice body.” Me: ? Wait, something’s wrong. While I tried to figure it out, Lucas gently took my hand, removed my ring, and with lightning speed, slid a cushion-cut pink diamond onto my finger. It looked over 10 carats. Before I could react, he rolled down the window and tossed my old ring out. “My ring!” My heart bled. It was only ten grand, but that’s money! Instinctively, I lunged to save it, but it was too late. “Throwing yourself at me?” He smiled, catching me as I lunged. He looked pleased at the pink diamond on my hand. “Hmm, looks good. Wear it for fun. I’ll get you a bigger one next time.” Me: ?? Is he speaking human?! I recognized this ring. It was auctioned in Hong Kong three years ago for $70 million. A mystery buyer took it. It made the news because of the price. I didn’t expect Lucas to be the buyer. Or that he’d tell me to wear a $70 million ring “for fun”! 4 Lucas dragged me back to Royal Bay Villa. This was where we lived together back then. Entering the villa, three years of memories crashed over me. We were young and wild. We’d hooked up in almost every corner of this house. Thinking of those reckless scenes, I turned beet red. “Hungry?” Lucas took off his jacket, bent down, and pulled out a pair of pink bunny slippers. He knelt on one knee to put them on me, then changed into matching grey wolf slippers. I recognized them. We bought these couple slippers at the supermarket years ago. Five years later, they were still here. Mine looked pristine, like new. His were worn and old, proving someone had been wearing them for five years. My eyes stung, chest tight. “Cat got your tongue?” He washed his hands, patted my head, and led me to the sink to wash mine. He washed my hands carefully, just like he used to. My eyes stung more. I reminded him: “Lucas, we broke up.” I pulled my hand back and hid it behind me. “Crawfish for dinner?” He dried my hands with a paper towel, ignoring me. “You just landed, spicy isn’t good. Crawfish today, plus some dishes you like. BBQ, hot pot, spicy soup tomorrow.” He put on a pink apron. I bought that. I bought pink on purpose because I liked it, even though he never let me cook. Memories flooded like a broken dam. Tears fell uncontrollably. I turned to leave. But he was faster. He picked me up and set me on the dining table, trapping me. “No crawfish? Hot pot? Snail noodles?” He wiped my tears gently, but they wouldn’t stop. “I want to leave.” I turned away, cold. “Impossible. Unless I die.” His tone didn’t change, but I knew he was serious. But we can’t be together. I looked at him, stabbing his heart word by word: “Didn’t you ask what position I like with my husband? I’ll tell you. I like being on t…” I wanted to make him angry enough to throw me out. But before I finished, he grabbed the back of my head and kissed me. This kiss was urgent, faster than the airport, desperate to prove something. When I was breathless, he let go slightly. I pushed him and slapped him again. Full force. My fingertips tingled. Five finger marks appeared on his face. Shocking. But he wasn’t angry. He held my hand, kissed my red fingertips, and praised me: “Baby’s got strength.” Watching him apply ointment to my fingers carefully, I thought he was insane. 5 Lucas imprisoned me in the villa, confiscating all my communication devices. I tried everything, but he wouldn’t let me go. So I went on a hunger strike. I dumped his carefully cooked meals into the trash right in front of him. He tried force-feeding me nutrients, but I hurt myself. So he compromised. But if I starved, he starved with me. “It’s fine. If we can’t share a bed in life, we’ll share a coffin in death.” He wiped my hands clean with a warm towel, calmly saying he’d arranged everything. “You’re crazy!” I had no energy to argue. I pushed him away and went upstairs to sleep. He followed, hugging me from behind, chin on my neck. I was weak from hunger, dazed, too lazy to care. I woke up at 3 AM, starving. Lucas wasn’t beside me. Listened carefully. Not in the bathroom either. Joy! I crawled up. Three days without food left me weak. Seeing stars, I spotted chocolate on the nightstand. Ignoring everything, I shoved it in my mouth and tiptoed out. The villa was quiet. I crept toward the study. I remembered there was a spare key there. Reaching the study, the door was ajar. Lucas was inside. Damn. Can’t steal the key. Just as I turned to leave, I heard a faint sound from inside. I glanced back and saw Lucas holding a dagger to his wrist!!! “What are you doing!” I rushed in and grabbed the dagger. And saw his bloodied arm! My blood ran cold. Suddenly, I remembered the scars I saw in the car. So those scars came from this too? He reacted fast, pulling down his sleeve to hide the wound. “You’re hurt!” I panicked, trying to get the first aid kit, but he pulled me back. “Heartache for me?” He lifted me onto the desk with one arm, his waist pressing between my legs, pinning me ambiguously. “Lucas!” The position was too intimate. Through thin clothes, I felt his heat on my inner thighs. My face flamed, but I insisted on getting the kit. “Mmh, listening.” His voice was lazy, raspy. The rising intonation at the end was inexplicably seductive. My ears burned. I took a deep breath, trying to be patient. “Let me down. I’ll get the kit to stop the bleeding.” He cupped my face, eyes shining, corner of his mouth unable to stay down. “See? You still care. You still love me.” Me: …Is that the point?! Seeing I was really getting angry, he turned serious. “I wasn’t hurting myself. The doctor said I need to let blood regularly, or I’ll suffocate.” Me: ? Never heard such nonsense. I couldn’t help it: “Lucas, do you think I’m an idiot?” Hearing this, he chuckled low. “Serious, wifey. You always called me a human teddy bear. Your little teddy has been holding it in for five years. If I don’t let blood, I’ll explode.” “Or…” He looked at me, gaze devouring. “I don’t let blood, I let something else?” I didn’t get it at first. Until he pressed me onto the desk and kissed me. Instantly, memories of hooking up on this very desk flooded back. Me: !!! I pushed him away and fled in terror. Behind me, his laugh was wild and helpless: “Slow down.”

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1 My husband, Mike, was an Ivy League prodigy. The moment he graduated, he was flooded with offers from Fortune 500 companies, each one a golden ticket to a brilliant career. But for me, he traded it all in to become a stay-at-home dad. To everyone else, I was the woman who had it all, the one they all envied. In the dead of night, lying beside him in the quiet dark after we’d made love, he fell asleep. On a sudden, reckless impulse, I picked up his phone. My face smiled back at me from the lock screen. But pinned to the top of his chat history was a woman named “Leo’s Mom.” She was the mother of our daughter Lily’s friend from preschool. A new message from her popped up: “Mike, it’s getting cold tomorrow. Don’t forget to bundle up.” Mike had replied with a GIF of a nodding kitten. “You too,” he’d written. I scrolled up, my thumb flying across the screen, page after page, hundreds of them. On all those countless nights I was stuck at the office working late, they had been here, trading these small, intimate words of care. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d sent me a GIF, or even asked if I was tired after a long day. I didn’t sleep a wink. I read their entire chat history, from the very beginning to the very end. Thousands of pages. Mike never said he liked her, never said he loved her. But he would brag to her about a new recipe he’d perfected. He’d send her a goofy, teary-eyed dragon meme asking for sympathy. When the temperature plunged, he’d ask her if she’d switched to a warmer blanket… “Huge storm tonight, there might be thunder. Is your Leo scared of it?” “Not at all! He’s a brave little guy. It’s me, his mom, who gets so scared I can’t sleep.” “Don’t worry. If you’re scared, I’ll stay up and chat with you until you fall asleep.” He followed it with a GIF of a cat flexing its muscles. “Okay!” she replied, with a GIF of a cat throwing confetti. He hadn’t sent me a GIF in years. That was the night of the storm of the century, when thunder cracked over the city all night long. I was trapped at the office, unable to get a cab, and ended up huddled in my desk chair, terrified, snatching bits of restless sleep. He’d sent me one text confirming I wasn’t coming home, and then… silence. All his comfort, all his care, had been funneled to another woman. As dawn broke, he stirred. His eyes fluttered open and landed on me, sitting up in bed, his phone in my hand. He froze for a fraction of a second before casually wrapping an arm around me, smoothly plucking the phone from my grasp. “You’re up early. It’s your day off, isn’t it? Come back to sleep with me.” He nuzzled my neck, not a trace of panic in his voice. I snatched the phone back, opened the chat with “Leo’s Mom,” and shoved the screen in his face. “Don’t you have something you want to explain to me?” I asked, my voice a carefully constructed wall of calm. “Oh. Lily’s good friend at preschool is named Leo. That’s his mom. I just ask her for parenting tips sometimes.” “If it makes you unhappy, I’ll delete her.” And just like that, he tapped the red delete button. It was done. He looked me straight in the eye, his gaze clear and open. Suddenly, my all-night anguish felt absurd, like a fit of baseless jealousy. He made it seem like I was the one making a big deal out of nothing. I said nothing. He tightened his arm around my waist and started tickling me. “Come on, my beautiful wife, it’s the weekend. Give that brilliant brain of yours a rest. She’s nobody important. You’re the only one I love, always.” He teased and tickled until I was breathless with laughter, and for a moment, the dark thoughts were pushed aside. And just like that, it was over. After all, we had been in love for eight years. We had our daughter. 2 After he deleted “Leo’s Mom,” my old habit of never touching his phone vanished. I started checking it from time to time. He never stopped me. And I never again found any suspicious chats with other women. Our life slid back onto its comfortable tracks. As usual, he would drop Lily off at preschool after I left for work. One day, my company organized a family day event. I was on my way back from a client meeting and passed right by the preschool, so I decided to pick Lily up myself. From a distance, I saw them sitting on a bench in the little park next to the school. A delicate-looking woman with long hair and a gentle air was speaking to Mike. “She found out, didn’t she, Mike? She’s the one who deleted me.” I froze. “Yeah, she wasn’t happy,” he said. “But I got a new phone. If you need anything, you can call me on this number.” He handed her a brand-new phone. “You should use this to call me from now on,” she said, her voice soft. “Your old one is so slow. Think of this as a thank you gift for making Lily breakfast all those times.” And the phone he was holding, his own phone, was clearly the matching pair to the one he’d just given her. My hand tightened around my own phone, its paint peeling at the edges. The cold metal dug into my palm. It was one of the matching family phones he’d bought when I was pregnant with Lily. One for him, one for me, and one for our baby. I remember him holding me close, his cheek pressed to my belly, whispering, “Sweetheart, Mommy and Daddy and you will all have the same phone. By the time you’re five, it will be filled with all our happy memories.” “And if they get old,” he’d promised, “we’ll get a new set together. A new family of phones for our family of three.” Lily was four now. Not quite five. But he couldn’t wait. A wave of hollow pain, carried on the autumn wind, crawled up my legs and seized my heart. But I had Lily. We had been through so much together. My parents and my brother died in a car crash when I was in college. I lost my entire family in a single night. He was the one who stayed by my side, day and night, a steady anchor in the crushing darkness. He held me together when I was falling apart. Without him, I might have just faded away in that house filled with the ghosts of their laughter and love. And after Lily was born, he was the one who encouraged me to chase my dreams. He voluntarily gave up his high-paying job to stay home and take care of her. The memories of his love were countless, undeniable… He had loved me so, so much. I stared at my husband, bathed in the gentle sunlight, speaking so softly to another woman, and my world began to feel unreal. They hadn’t really done anything, had they? Not really. Maybe I’d mistaken the phones. It was just a phone, a thank you gift for making breakfast… I tried to crush the ache in my chest. Mike stood up and saw me. I forced a smile and walked over, linking my arm through his. “Still here? Who’s this?” “When did you get here?” Mike asked, sidestepping my question. I could feel his body tense up. “Just now,” I said, leaning in to give him a cheerful kiss. He visibly relaxed, the warm, smiling Mike returning. “This is Leo’s mom. I wasn’t great at making breakfast, so she used to bring some for Lily.” “We were just talking about picky eaters,” he added. Leo’s mom, Sophia, glanced at Mike and then laughed, covering her mouth. “You two are so sweet together. No wonder Lily is so adorable.” “Well, I won’t keep you. I should get going,” she said. She held up the new phone Mike had given her, wiggling it in a little wave. The screen caught the sun, flashing a sharp glare directly into my eyes. It stung. My grip on Mike’s arm tightened, harder and harder, until he winced and murmured, “Elara, what’s wrong? You’re hurting me.” I snapped back to reality, leaning my head on his shoulder coquettishly. “Mike, can you blow in my eye? I think I got something in it.” He bent down, his hands gently on my shoulders, and carefully blew into my eye. The air from his lips was cool against my skin, and my eyes began to water. The tears welled up, spilling over, a silent, unstoppable stream. Through the shimmering blur, his face grew indistinct. What am I going to do? I still love you so much. 3 The weather turned colder, and Lily’s preschool was about to break for the winter holidays. Maybe my breakdown in the park had shaken him, because the new phone he’d bought never lit up. But I couldn’t shake the unease coiling in my gut. One evening after dinner, while Lily was playing in the living room, I brought it up. “Mike, I’m up for a promotion. After the New Year, I might be transferred to the head office in Bridgewater to be a department director. I was thinking we could all move there together.” “My parents are in Bridgewater anyway,” I continued, rambling on. “We wouldn’t have to come back. We can just put the house here on the market.” “The schools are better there, too. It would be a better environment for Lily to grow up in…” He was unusually quiet for a long time. But in the end, he agreed. That night, the new phone disappeared from his drawer. He took Lily out for a walk that lasted an hour. Watching him from the window, carrying our daughter back towards the building, I told myself that once they had no more excuses, no more opportunities to see each other, everything would be fine. Mike would be my Mike again. Due to work commitments, I took Lily to Bridgewater ahead of schedule. I left her with my parents while I sorted out her school enrollment. Mike stayed behind to handle the sale of our house, planning to join us in a couple of days. Two days later, he called. “I’ve found a buyer,” he said, “but they’re being difficult about a few things. I’m trying to negotiate. I’ll be there the day after tomorrow.” I could hear the supposed buyer in the background, loudly picking apart our home. I didn’t doubt him. I just told him to take care of himself and to dress warmly. The next day was Mike’s birthday. That afternoon, Lily and I video-called him to sing “Happy Birthday.” But later that night, after working late, I came home to an empty apartment, and the loneliness hit me like a tidal wave. I missed him so much it was a physical ache. We hadn’t been apart this long in years, and especially not on his birthday. I booked a flight for that same night, took a few days off work, and decided to fly back to surprise him. I’d help him finish up with the house, and we’d come back together. My heart hammered in my chest, a frantic drumbeat of longing. I landed, grabbed a taxi, and even stopped to buy a birthday cake. I practically ran the whole way back to our building. Standing downstairs, I saw the warm, yellow glow of light in our apartment window. It was late. Normally, he’d be in bed by now, holding me. I pressed the elevator button several times, but one of the cars was stuck on the 16th floor—our floor. With no time to think, I bolted for the stairs, taking them two at a time, my lungs burning by the time I reached the top. Our front door was slightly ajar. The apartment was a mess, probably from the packing. I smiled to myself, tiptoeing toward the bedroom, planning my surprise. But my next step never landed. I was frozen in place.

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I sold my grandfather’s only legacy—our ancestral home. The five million was anonymously wired to my fiancée Isabella’s company, Aetherion Dynamics. It saved a three-billion-dollar drone contract, keeping the business afloat. Isabella promised to repay me once her project bonus came, so I could buy the house back. But on payday, the bonus went to a new intern, Ryan Croft. I confronted her. “Did you give my money to Ryan?” Isabella rubbed her temples, her eyes weary. “Noah, I know about your gambling debts. That money would vanish in a week. Ryan is talented and hardworking—he deserves it. This is for your own good.” Her words pierced me like ice. “Gambling debts? Who told you that?” “It doesn’t matter! You promised to change, and now you’re lying and trying to steal company funds!” I looked at her angry face, silent. Picking up the resignation letter on her desk, I signed my name. 1 Isabella didn’t even glance at the letter I signed. She simply tossed it into a drawer. There wasn’t a trace of regret or sadness on her face, only the quiet relief of having disposed of a problem. As I walked out of her office, I saw Ryan handing her a cup of coffee. “Bella, don’t waste your energy being angry at people who aren’t worth it. Your health is more important,” Ryan’s voice was a smooth, soothing balm. Isabella took the coffee, her furrowed brow relaxing into a faint, appreciative smile. “You’re always so thoughtful.” That smile was a dagger in my eye. The hushed whispers of my colleagues followed me as I walked away. The words were quiet, but they sliced through the air with perfect clarity. “A gambler? I knew he was a lost cause.” “Ms. Byers really did everything she could for him. She tried to save him.” “Serves him right. Five million dollars? Who in their right mind would give that to a degenerate gambler?” My face was a stone mask as I walked to my desk and began to pack. On the corner of my desk sat a framed photo from the early days of the company. In it, Isabella and I were crammed into a tiny office, slurping instant noodles. She was grinning at the camera, her smile so bright and pure. I picked up the frame, hesitated for a single heartbeat, then swept it, along with stacks of my design schematics, into the cardboard box. Nine years of my life’s work, traded for a slanderous lie. Clutching the box like a shield, I walked out of the building I had watched rise from the ground, a failure in the eyes of the world I had helped create. When I got back to my small apartment building, I froze. Piled by the entrance were several cardboard boxes, soaked through by the rain. They were the things I’d moved from my ancestral home—all of my grandfather’s old books and belongings. I had asked Isabella to store them at her villa, since my rented place was too small. A note from her, stuck to one of the boxes, was dissolving in the rain, the ink bleeding into the soggy cardboard. “No room for this. Get rid of this trash.” Trash… I knelt, my hands trembling as I touched the waterlogged spines of the antique books. The pages were fused together, my grandfather’s handwritten notes bleeding into illegible gray smudges. They were his life’s work, the last remaining root of my family. A cold, bottomless rage I had never known before surged through me. My heart felt like it had been encased in ice. I pulled out my phone to call her, to demand an explanation for this cruelty. The screen lit up, displaying the smiling face of my grandfather—my chosen wallpaper, a reminder of the man I wanted to be. His expression was so kind. My thumb hovered over the call button, unable to press it. Just then, a text message from a real estate agent popped up. “Mr. Kane, the ownership of the ancestral property was officially transferred at 3 p.m. today. As per your instructions, the funds have been anonymously deposited into the Aetherion Dynamics corporate account.” The last thread of hope snapped. I opened my banking app. Checking Account xxxx Balance: $86.52. The leftover change from selling my heritage. A bitter, self-mocking laugh escaped my lips. For her company, for our supposed future, I had sold my grandfather’s home, and now I was penniless, branded a degenerate gambler. Another notification popped up. It was from the company’s internal group chat. An announcement for a celebratory party, posted by Isabella herself. The theme: “Celebrating the brilliant success of our genius new talent, Ryan Croft, in securing the military contract!” My project, my triumph, the contract I had saved by selling my soul, had become the centerpiece of their celebration. The pain was so deep it had turned to a numb, cold fury. I tried calling Isabella one last time. The only reply was the robotic voice of the automated system: “The person you are calling is unavailable. Please try again later.” She was busy, no doubt, celebrating with her “genius.” I blocked her number, and with it, the entire absurd chapter of my life. I didn’t go home. I dragged the soaked boxes to a cheap motel nearby. The next morning, I went to the bank. I had one other savings account with a little over a hundred thousand dollars in it—my life savings, my last emergency fund. “Sir, I’m sorry, but all accounts under your name have been frozen,” the teller said, her voice flat and impersonal. I stared at her. “Frozen? Why?” “The request was made by your fiancée, Ms. Isabella Byers. The reason cited is a request from family to cooperate with a police investigation into your ‘illegal gambling activities.’” Isabella. Again. She didn’t just refuse to believe me; she was determined to cut me off at the knees, to destroy any chance I had of starting over. An icy dread snaked its way up my spine. I walked out of the bank and called her from my secondary phone, the one she hadn’t blocked. It rang for a long time before she picked up. “Who is this?” Her voice was hoarse, thick with a hangover. “It’s me.” A few seconds of silence, then her tone became frigid. “Noah. Why are you calling? Have you finally come to your senses? Are you ready to admit you were wrong?” “Why did you freeze my bank accounts?” I asked, my voice tight with suppressed rage. “For your own good,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “When you finally kick your addiction and show some real remorse, I’ll unfreeze them. Until then, I’ll manage your money for you.” “What gives you the right—” “The right of being your fiancée! I will not stand by and watch you destroy yourself!” she snapped, cutting me off. “I have a meeting. I’m hanging up.” The line went dead. At that exact moment, a call came in from an unknown number. “Is this Noah Kane?” a rough voice growled. “You owe Titan Financial three hundred grand. When are you planning on paying up?” “I’ve never borrowed money from you.” “Oh yeah? Social Security number ending in xxxx, sound familiar?” He recited my entire SSN. “We’ve got your picture, too. Don’t try to weasel out of this. You’ve got three days. Pay up, or you’re going to find out what happens when you don’t.” He hung up. I understood instantly. Ryan’s setup was more than just a few photoshopped pictures. He had woven an entire web of fabricated debt around me. Before I could even process the shock, my landlord called. “Noah? Have you gotten yourself into some kind of trouble?” he asked, his voice wary. “Ms. Byers’s assistant paid me a visit today. Said you’ve got a bad gambling problem, told me to be careful. I can’t have that kind of thing in my building. The apartment’s no longer yours. I need you out in three days.” My career, my savings, my home. In a single day, I had been wiped clean, thrown out onto the street. I sent my resume to a few other tech firms, but the responses were all the same. “Mr. Kane, we’re sorry, but there are some concerns about your professional reputation. We cannot offer you a position at this time.” Every road was blocked. Desperate for cash, I took the high-performance computer I had built myself—a machine with the power of a server—to a second-hand electronics market. As the dealer stuffed a few crumpled bills into my hand, I felt the last piece of my spirit being stripped away. I found myself walking aimlessly, my feet eventually leading me back to my grandfather’s house. I just wanted to see it one last time. The iron gate swung open, and a group of people emerged, centered around one man. Leading them was Ryan Croft. He was dressed in a tailored suit, beaming like he owned the world—and this house. “Well, well, if it isn’t Noah,” he said, patting the grand, red-lacquered door behind him. “This place has great energy. My girlfriend rented it for me. A little reward for single-handedly landing the military project. It’s going to be my new studio.” He deliberately walked over and bumped my shoulder, whispering in a voice only I could hear. “Your house, your woman, your achievements… they’re all mine now.” I stared at him, my fists clenched at my sides. Just then, my phone rang. It was Isabella. I answered on instinct. “Noah, where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you. If you’re out of money, just tell me. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll take care of your finances for you, and I’ve asked Ryan to keep an eye on the old house for you, so don’t worry, okay?” Her perfectly timed “concern” was the final, twisted joke. Keeping an eye on it for me meant giving it to her new lover. I hung up without a word, a dead silence filling my soul. Looking at their triumphant faces, the last shred of my love for Isabella withered and died. I turned and walked into the drizzling rain. I had no destination, and I needed none. I pulled out my phone and made one more call. “Hello? Is this the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office?” The next day, Aetherion Dynamics published a long article on their official company blog. In it, Isabella wrote in the first person, a heart-wrenching account of how she had “accidentally discovered” my crippling gambling addiction, which had driven me to financial ruin. She detailed her desperate, failed attempts to reason with me, and her ultimate, painful decision to “do what was necessary” to pull me back from the brink, even if it meant public shame. The article was accompanied by a series of expertly photoshopped images, courtesy of Ryan. There were pictures of me entering and exiting casinos in Macau, the backgrounds blurry but my face perfectly clear. There were even forged IOUs for massive sums, with a sloppy imitation of my signature at the bottom. The narrative painted Ryan as the heroic young talent who had stepped up in a moment of crisis to save the company. And I was cast as the ungrateful degenerate who had nearly destroyed it all. The story exploded online. It was picked up by major news outlets. My name became a trending topic, tagged with “gambling,” “traitor,” and “scumbag.” My parents, back in my hometown, obviously saw the news. The moment I answered their call, my father’s rage-choked voice roared through the phone. “You worthless son! If your grandfather knew you sold his house to gamble, he’d be rolling in his grave!” I opened my mouth to explain. “How could you do this to his memory! How could you!” His shouting grew louder, and in the background, I could hear a commotion, other voices yelling. “How could the Kane family produce such a disgrace!” “You should be ashamed to be alive!” I heard strangers’ voices cursing me. “Get out of our town!” “The family of a gambler is just as bad!” It hit me like a ton of bricks. The online mob, using the information Isabella had so conveniently provided, had found my parents’ home. “Dad, listen to me—” “Don’t you dare call me Dad!” he bellowed. “Do you have any idea what just happened? Those people, they came to the house!” “They broke our windows!” “Your mother was so scared, she had a heart attack!” My world went silent. The phone nearly slipped from my hand. “I didn’t gamble, Dad, you have to believe me…” “Still lying!” My father’s voice was cracking now, turning into a sob. “The pictures, the IOUs online, it’s all right there in black and white! Are you saying it’s all fake?” “That nice girl Isabella even spoke out about it! Who are you trying to fool?” My mother must have snatched the phone, because all I could hear was her muffled, desperate crying. “Son, please, it’s not too late! Isabella is a good girl, she’s still waiting for you to come back to your senses. You can’t disappoint her again. Just go back, apologize to her… our family needs you…” “A good girl?” The words were like knives in my heart. She hadn’t just ruined me; she had manipulated my own family into becoming her accomplices. I was defenseless. I stood there in silence, listening to the agonizing sting of being condemned by the people I loved most, until my heart was completely numb. After I hung up, a text from Isabella arrived, as if on cue. “See how much your family is hurting for you, Noah? Does it feel bad?” “Just admit it, and come back. If you’re willing to confess, I can find it in my heart to forgive you this one time.” Her condescending offer of charity, her nauseating hypocrisy, made my stomach turn. I finally understood the exquisite pleasure one could derive from grinding a person into the dirt, then magnanimously offering them a hand up. I didn’t reply. I walked into a nearby internet cafe and sent one last email. “Due to personal reasons, I, the sole patent holder, am hereby freezing all commercial use of said patent, effective immediately.” You wanted to play dirty? Fine. My turn.

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