Category: English

I died unexpectedly in childbirth, only to wake up fifteen years later. On my first day back, I discovered that the daughter I died giving birth to was being tormented by my husband’s supposed “White Moonlight” and her daughter. My husband himself had transformed into a ‘Zen Master’ of the New York elite, perpetually shrouded in incense smoke and detached from the world. So, I grabbed him by the hair, slapped him three times, and coldly stated, “Is this how you mourn me, Ethan?” 1 I struggled to open my eyes and found myself standing right next to my old high school. There were a few pedestrians on the sidewalk, some glancing curiously at my dazed state. Ten minutes later, staring up at the sky, I had to face the facts. I hadn’t just been reborn; I’d jumped fifteen years into the future. Gathering myself, I borrowed a phone from a stranger and called my late husband, Ethan Shaw. After a few rings, the call connected. “Hello, who is this?” The familiar male voice came through the speaker—still smooth, but with a deeper, more magnetic maturity than before. My nose stung. Tears welled up as I said, choked with emotion, “Ethan Shaw, it’s Sophia Hayes. I know this is hard to believe, but I think I… time-traveled? I’m near our old high school now. Just come pick me up.” A long silence followed on the other end. Just as I was about to say something to lighten the mood, the man on the phone suddenly sneered, his voice laced with scorn: “I don’t know where you people got my number, but tell whoever is behind you to come up with a better trick next time. Thinking you can fool me just by imitating her voice? How pathetic. Have some dignity.” Ethan’s unexpected verbal assault stunned me. My fingers went cold, and then uncontrollable fury boiled up. Ignoring where I was, I lashed out: “Ethan, are you serious right now? You can’t tell the difference between your own wife’s voice and a fake? You’ve wasted the last fifteen years, haven’t you?” The line went silent. I continued my rant: “I don’t care where you’re messing around. I’m telling you, if you’re not here in half an hour, you better clean up your own mess and die!” With that, I hung up. The stranger stared at me in shock. I offered her an apologetic smile and handed back the phone. She took it, hesitated, then asked: “Excuse me… are you looking for Ethan Shaw from Shaw Industries? I’m sorry, but you had it on speaker, and his voice sounded familiar…” I paused, then nodded, asking tentatively: “You know him?” She let out a breath and waved her hand, saying: “Everyone in this city knows the Shaw Prince.” 2 Seeing my curiosity and assuming I was a friend of Ethan’s, her gossip antenna went up. She eagerly spilled the tea: “After Mrs. Shaw died giving birth, she left behind one daughter. Everyone thought Mr. Shaw would remarry soon, especially since his ‘White Moonlight’ made a huge deal about moving back to the country. But after growing Shaw Industries into a giant, Mr. Shaw just… announced he was giving up worldly life. No one knows where he is, though he occasionally shows up at the annual corporate gala. But I heard…” “Heard what?” I prompted. The stranger paused, then continued: “Well, this is just a rumor, but they say Mr. Shaw and his ‘White Moonlight’ are getting back together soon. Everyone’s betting he’ll come out of his spiritual retreat for her. After all, she’s the big-time actress, Holly Green. What man could resist that?” I raised an eyebrow and let out a cold laugh. “Looks like I showed up just in time for Ethan’s wedding cake.” The stranger saw the dark look on my face, realized she’d overshared, quickly took her phone, and scurried off. Two shocks in a row right after I time-traveled. I felt the sadness hit me hard. If Ethan and his ‘White Moonlight’ were truly soulmates, I wouldn’t interfere. I didn’t have the right to expect him to mourn me for fifteen years. But I hadn’t even seen my daughter yet. I had no idea how she was doing. Based on what I knew about Ethan, he’d probably send her to our alma mater. Getting out of the taxi, the familiar school gates came into view. Suddenly, I heard a commotion. I looked up and saw a group of bleached-blond delinquents roughhousing and cornering a small, meek, short-haired girl near the school entrance. It was clearly bullying. I frowned. This was supposed to be the city’s top private academy. How could this be happening? For some reason, the short-haired girl looked vaguely familiar. I couldn’t help but follow them. The group led the girl into a secluded alley. The leader, a girl with a pretty, innocent face, did something shocking. She kicked the short-haired girl right in the stomach. The girl crumpled to the ground, crying out in pain. The leader sneered: “I hear Uncle Ethan got you some super expensive birthday present. Hand it over so we can all see it.” The short-haired girl hugged her backpack tightly, trembling. “I can’t do that!” The leader kicked her again, her face twisting with a malice that didn’t suit her age. She spat at the girl and hissed: “Anna Shaw, don’t be an idiot!” The moment I heard the name, my heart seized up. Anna Shaw… Ethan and I had agreed on that name for our child, whether it was a boy or a girl. I looked sharply at the girl on the ground. Even with her heavy, short hair obscuring her face, I could see the bright, familiar eyes. That spitting image of me! Who else could it be but my daughter? Just then, the tall girl looked down and ordered the others: “Grab her backpack! Then strip her clothes off. This time, we’ll teach her a lesson for disrespecting me!” 3 My eyes narrowed. The last shred of my sanity burned away in a flash of pure rage. I wanted to tear these bullies limb from limb. Oh, Ethan Shaw. This is how my daughter spends her days, huh? I snatched a wooden stick from beside a dumpster, rushed forward, shoved through the crowd, and shielded Anna. The tall girl jumped when she saw my face. Then, as if triggered, she yelled: “This doesn’t concern you, old lady! Buzz off before we beat you too!” “Save your breath,” I said coldly. “None of you are getting away.” A bunch of overgrown kids. When I rescued Ethan from kidnappers single-handedly, these punks hadn’t even been born. I casually stretched my muscles. Thank goodness my body was still in its twenties; otherwise, this might actually be a challenge. A few minutes later, the blond delinquents were sprawled on the ground, whimpering. I planted my heel firmly on the leader’s face and twisted, but it still didn’t satisfy me. I delivered two hard kicks to her stomach. That squared the score for the kicks she gave my daughter. The leader was spitting blood and twitching, her high-and-mighty attitude gone. She slurred: “My mom… my mom won’t let you get away with this! Uncle Ethan won’t either!” “Ooh, who’s your mom?” I enjoyed watching her humiliation. “Tell me all about her. I want to see which major tramp raised this little tramp.” “Her mom… her mom is Holly Green,” Anna, who had been shaking behind me, finally managed to say a complete sentence. She carefully tugged my jacket and said anxiously: “Please, ma’am, you have to leave! If her mom finds out, you’ll be in danger…” Hearing that name again, my heart sank. I knew exactly why my daughter was the way she was now. I pulled Anna into a fierce hug, gently stroked her soft hair, and whispered: “Don’t worry, sweetie. Mommy’s here to protect you.” Anna’s eyes widened slightly. She whispered back: “Mommy… are you… Mommy?” Mother and daughter, connected by an unspoken bond. It often doesn’t need words, just a look. Anna instantly believed that the powerful, beautiful woman standing before her was her mother. I helped Anna slowly walk out of the dark alley, only to run straight into an unwelcome guest. “Dad… why are you here?” Anna asked timidly. 4 Speak of the devil. I looked up. The man in front of me looked almost the same, only broader and with a more mature, composed demeanor. It was as if fifteen years had only left a speck of dust on him. “Ethan Shaw, long time no see,” I said coolly. Ethan’s eyes went red the moment he saw me. He reached out a trembling hand, trying to touch my face. The moment he made contact, he jerked his hand back as if burned, staring at me in confusion: “Sophia… it’s really you. You’re back.” Feeling my daughter’s grip tighten on my arm, my expression hardened. Ethan clearly felt uncomfortable under my gaze, finally realizing the situation. The tall girl, beaten senseless behind him, crawled toward Ethan like he was her savior, weakly begging him to save her and kill the evil woman who attacked her. Ethan frowned, looking at the girl on the ground, his voice tinged with irritation: “Not you again?” I cut him off: “So? Are you going to kill me to avenge your ‘White Moonlight’?” Ethan frowned deeper: “What ‘White Moonlight’? Don’t you know who I am?” “I don’t care who you are. Ethan Shaw, you have utterly disappointed me.” With that, I walked past him, pulling Anna along. Ethan violently grabbed my arm, his eyes so red they looked like they might bleed. He practically screamed: “Don’t you dare leave! You are not taking another step away from me!” “Smack!” A loud crack echoed in the silence. The surrounding area went quiet. Even the groaning delinquents shut up, and Anna’s mouth dropped open. Ethan’s face was turned to one side from the blow. He stared at me blankly. I ground out: “Our daughter is bullied like this, and you clearly knew nothing—or worse, didn’t care. Which is it?” “Smack!” Another sharp crack. Ethan’s face snapped to the other side, and tears finally began to fall. I continued: “No time for your daughter, but plenty of time to chase your ‘White Moonlight’ and make it front-page news? Aren’t you ashamed?” “Smack!” A final loud crack. I pointed directly at Ethan’s nose and said, every word like a punch: “Ethan Shaw, this is how you honor my memory?”

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“I’m back. Do you still want me?” I sank into thought, staring at the text message from my first love. Liam grabbed my phone, his brows furrowed. “Why are you looking through my phone?” “I’ve told you, Chloe is the most important person to me.” Seeing my silence, he added, “Of course, I won’t divorce you.” My heart jumped. He clearly misunderstood. “That’s my phone you’re holding.” Liam’s face instantly hardened. “Who is this man?” 1 “I’m back. Do you still want me?” There was no other information, but I instantly knew who it was. The face that came to mind pulled me into a deep memory, and I didn’t even notice when Liam walked up behind me. He snatched my phone, his brows tightly furrowed. “Summer, since when did you start checking other people’s phones?” I saw a hint of disgust in his eyes. Before, he was mostly indifferent or distant towards me, never this outwardly emotional. “I’ve told you, Chloe is the most important person to me.” I blinked. Did he really tell me that voluntarily? No. I accidentally overheard their phone call, and only when he couldn’t hide it anymore did he “confess.” And that was after we got married. No, it wasn’t a confession. It was a notice. Seeing my continued silence, he added, “Of course, I won’t divorce you.” My heart jumped. His misunderstanding was complete. I couldn’t help but correct him. “That’s my phone you’re holding.” Liam scrolled up. There was only that one message. It really wasn’t his phone. Liam’s expression instantly became dark. “Who is this man?” 2 I knew that the more I hedged, the more Liam would suspect me. So I explained honestly. “It should be my ex.” Liam’s grip tightened on the phone. I had to remind him again before he handed it back. I didn’t blame him for the confusion; both our phones looked identical. Even the message was exactly the same. His “Chloe” had sent him the exact line: “I’m back. Do you still want me?” The timing was uncanny. The only difference was the date, a small detail that was easy to miss. Liam, who had been in a rush to leave, now lingered. He sat on the sofa, seemingly casually pressing me. “He’s your ex?” Though I’d already answered, I nodded again. “He’s my ex.” He was also my first love, childhood sweetheart, and my fiancé by family agreement. “How long did you date?” “A little over a year.” If dating only counted from our first kiss, then yes, it was only a little over a year. “When did you break up?” “2019.” The year before Liam and I got married. Time truly flew. Liam and I had been married for almost five years now. Liam’s body language relaxed, as if the man on the other side of the text wasn’t much of a threat. “Since our fifth anniversary is coming up, why don’t we go to…” “Does your proposal about us having an open relationship still stand?” Liam and I spoke at the same time, both pausing awkwardly. He stared at his shoes, lost in thought. I decided to take the lead. “What were you just saying about going somewhere?” “To the family estate.” I breathed a sigh of relief. Good thing I hadn’t let myself get my hopes up. Any other time, I might have thought he meant celebrating our anniversary. Liam fell silent again. I looked at his half-shadowed face; his expression was neutral, giving away nothing. I gathered my courage and asked again. “Does your proposal about us having an open relationship still stand?” 3 He had said those words two months ago. He was likely annoyed by my constant questioning and snapped: “Can you stop staring at me all the time? Fine, we’ll have an open relationship. You go find someone else, too.” Back then, the pain made it hard to breathe. But now, I was almost grateful he had said it. Time, the best director, never lets anyone off the hook. But if you learn to roll with it, it brings unexpected surprises. Liam gave a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yes. Of course, it stands.” He stood up and walked swiftly. Just as his hand reached the doorknob, he paused. He didn’t turn around, but his voice was clear. “Even though I said we can have an open relationship.” “You are still my wife. Don’t be too flashy.” I responded meekly, “Understood.” I would simply follow his standard. I definitely wouldn’t cause a scene by setting off fireworks across the city or starting a brawl at a dinner party, like he did. Liam finally turned and looked at me. “You’d better tell him you’re married first.” “If a scandal breaks out, it will reflect badly on both our families.” I nodded. His reminder was valid. I would tell him. I looked at Liam. He still showed no sign of leaving. “Anything else you need to lecture me about?” He unconsciously tapped his fingers against his trouser leg. “What’s his name?” “I don’t mean anything by it. I’m just concerned you might get scammed…” I cut him off. “Ethan Han.” “Ethan Han? The CEO of FlameTech? Harrison Han’s son?” “I believe so.” I didn’t know if he was the CEO of FlameTech, but his dad was definitely Mr. Harrison Han. This time, Liam didn’t hesitate. He turned and walked out without looking back. 4 Liam sat in his car, feeling irritated. He wasn’t sure what was bothering him. He thought of Ethan Han and felt slightly reassured. He knew the man, having dealt with him once or twice. Ethan was successful, handsome, and rich—nothing less than Liam himself. More importantly, he was a man of principle and pride. It was likely he sent the message without knowing I was married. A man like that wouldn’t stoop to stealing another man’s wife. Besides, I didn’t have that kind of irresistible charm. His phone rang. It was Chloe. He had promised to take her to a new restaurant today. He answered after three rings. “Something came up. I’ll take you next time.” Chloe sounded slightly disappointed but gracefully told him to take care of his business first. See? This was the kind of woman he liked—considerate, sweet, and simple. Not sharp and aggressive, constantly demanding answers, like I was. 5 After much thought, I decided to text Ethan back. [Ethan, is that you?] [It’s me.] His reply took so long I almost thought he wouldn’t answer. Our breakup had been brutal, a betrayal in his eyes. He left the country immediately and hadn’t returned in years. I genuinely thought we’d be estranged forever. I slowly moved on a year after he left. Then I married Liam. At first, I enjoyed the feeling of being with Liam. His charisma focused all my attention on him, helping me forget my troubles. I thought I might truly fall in love with him. But in the fourth year of our marriage, his “moonlight” returned. The girl named Chloe. She was back. It was a clichéd, dramatic story. His family had forced her to leave years ago. When she returned, crying and telling Liam everything, all his principles vanished. When I discovered the affair, he told me resolutely that Chloe was the most important person in his life. He said that if she hadn’t left, I would never have married him. But we both tacitly avoided divorce. Five years of marriage meant six years of cooperation between the Song and Chen families. The financial entanglement was too deep to easily untangle. But having an open relationship was fine. In this circle, such things were common, and they certainly wouldn’t jeopardize money. I was nervous. I had changed so much over the years. I wondered what Ethan was like now. [I’m married.] I struggled to type those few words. The anxiety stretched time. After what felt like an eternity, he replied with a single question mark. I bit my lip, agonizing over what to type. Finally, I screenshotted the image I received earlier and sent it to him. [What does this mean?] The tension was agonizing. I typed and deleted, trying to find the right words. [Although I’m married, our relationship isn’t what you think.] Before I could finish the sentence, he sent an image. His image was blank. The text “I’m back. Do you still want me?” was missing. I realized there must be some mistake. I desperately tried to delete the partial message I’d typed, but my eyes were too blurry with tears. In my panic, I sent the unfinished message. I quickly wiped my tears and retracted the text. After a few seconds, he sent a new message. [We were playing Truth or Dare this afternoon. My friend grabbed my phone and sent that. He deleted it immediately, and I didn’t know. I apologize if it caused you any distress.]

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1 On our wedding anniversary, my husband updated his food blog, Memos for Evie. The post featured a photo of the Beef Wellington he had just placed on the table. The caption read: “Year three, a new creation. May you always love the simple joys of this world.” The top comment was from a fan: “What amazing dish did Eddy cook for his wife this time? You’re so lucky!” He replied: “She loves it.” But the thing is, I don’t eat beef. … “Have a taste?” Eddy slid a small, perfectly sliced piece of steak across the table to me, his eyes filled with anticipation. He was wearing a new white shirt I’d bought for him, his features soft and gentle in the candlelight. A single serving of Beef Wellington at a restaurant costs a fortune, yet my husband had spent the entire afternoon recreating that expensive delicacy just for me. A warmth spread through my chest. I picked up my fork but hesitated. “Eddy… I don’t eat beef. Did you forget?” The smile on his face flickered for a fraction of a second. “Sorry, I forgot.” His apology was smooth, natural. “Things have been so hectic with the new project at work, my mind’s a mess. How about I make you some pasta instead?” I shook my head and smiled, telling him it was fine. There were plenty of other dishes on the table. He’d prepared an entire feast for our anniversary: escargots de Bourgogne, cream of mushroom soup, and even my favorite, a fluffy soufflé. But that flawless Beef Wellington, sitting silently in the center of the table, made my stomach clench. In all our years together, he had never once cooked beef. My gaze drifted to his phone, which he’d left on the table beside him. The screen was lit up, displaying his food blog with its million followers: Memos for Evie. On a strange impulse, I picked it up and tapped on the latest post. “Year three, a new creation. May you always love the simple joys of this world.” I scrolled down through the three thousand comments. Beyond the sea of envious replies at the top, one bolded comment from a “special follow” caught my eye. The username was EvieNeverLooksBack. “Eddy, happy anniversary to me too, from across the ocean.” Eddy’s hand shot out to snatch the phone back, but I was faster. I tapped on her profile. The background of her page was a hazy photo of a couple on a school field at dusk. A boy in a white shirt and a girl in a pleated skirt. Even through the blur, I recognized him. It was eighteen-year-old Eddy. And the girl… I happened to know her, too. Evelyn Monroe. Eddy’s college ex-girlfriend. The one his friends still talked about with a wistful sigh—his old flame, the one that got away. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone. So, Evie was Evelyn. Eddy once told me that we would have a beautiful daughter one day. Evie, he’d said, was the name he had picked out for her. I turned the phone to face him, my voice barely a whisper. “So, Memos for Evie… it’s memos for Evelyn?” “And Evie was never a name for our daughter, was it?” The color drained from Eddy’s face. His lips moved, but no words came out. I couldn’t stop myself. I kept scrolling through Evelyn’s feed. Her latest post was from three days ago, a picture of her feeding pigeons in Paris. The caption: “Missing the taste of roasted sweet potatoes from that little street corner vendor.” And Eddy’s blog, just two days ago, had a new post. A photo of a perfectly roasted sweet potato, glowing with warmth. The caption: “Some flavors never change.” Further back, Evelyn mentioned she was craving something sweet. Eddy made a soufflé. Caption: “A little sweetness for you, always.” Evelyn complained about not sleeping well. Eddy simmered a calming herbal soup. Caption: “May you sleep soundly every night.” Post after post, year after year. For three whole years, over three hundred entries. Every meal he had ever made for me was documented on this account, Memos for Evie. I had been so moved by what I thought was his unique, romantic gesture just for me. My colleagues envied me, saying I’d married the perfect man—a handsome, devoted chef. It was all a lie. A complete and utter joke. Eddy’s silence shattered the last of my illusions. I looked up at him. “Eddy, I’m pregnant.” I pulled the crumpled test from my purse and laid it on the table between us. “Six weeks.” I had planned to give it to him as a surprise, the best anniversary gift of all. Eddy’s pupils contracted. He stared at the test, then at me, his face ashen. “Claire…” he finally choked out, his voice raw. “I’m sorry, I…” “So, when you wrote ‘she loves it’ on your blog,” I cut him off, my voice steady, “who is ‘she’?” Eddy’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His breathing grew heavy and ragged. He looked at me, his eyes a swirling mess of panic, guilt, and the cornered anger of being exposed. “Claire, it’s not what you think.” He reached for my hand, but I pulled away. “Then what is it?” My voice was quiet, but every word was sharp. “Tell me. Am I misunderstanding, or have you been lying to me this whole time?” Three years of marriage, all those tender moments, now felt like a thousand tiny needles piercing my skin. I finally understood. All his kindness, all his care for me, had been filtered through the shadow of Evelyn Monroe. He wasn’t taking care of me. He was reliving his memories of another woman through me. The light from the crystal chandelier overhead felt blindingly bright. Eddy finally gave up trying to explain. He slumped into the chair opposite me, burying his hands in his hair, a portrait of defeat. “It’s over between us. It has been for a long time,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Claire, that’s all in the past. I love you now.” I laughed. The sound was harsh and jarring in the quiet room. “You love me?” I pointed at the steak. “You love me, but you don’t know I don’t eat beef?” “You love me, but you planned on naming our child after your ex-girlfriend?” “Eddy, don’t you dare insult the word ‘love’.” My eyes fell back to the phone screen. Eddy, happy anniversary to me too, from across the ocean. The words sliced at my heart. I pushed the phone back to him. “You should reply to her. You don’t want to keep your old flame waiting.” As if on cue, the phone began to ring, shattering the heavy silence. The caller ID read: Evie. Eddy froze, his thumb instinctively moving to reject the call. I watched him. “Answer it,” I said slowly. “Why wouldn’t you?” His finger hovered over the red icon for a long moment before finally swiping to green. I couldn’t hear what was said, but the tension instantly drained from Eddy’s body. His voice, when he spoke, held a tenderness I had never heard before, an unconscious doting tone. “Evelyn.” That one name was enough to shatter my last defenses. He always called me Claire. Only for her was it the intimate, bone-deep Evelyn. I couldn’t make out her words, only piece together the story from his replies. It seemed she was alone abroad, had just broken up with her boyfriend, and her chronic stomach issues were flaring up. “Don’t cry. I’m here,” Eddy murmured, his voice low and soothing, like he was comforting a heartbroken child. “You want my soup? Okay, I’ll figure something out.” “Be good. Don’t eat anything you shouldn’t. Wait for me.” I sat at the table, methodically eating the now-cold soufflé. The dessert that once tasted like pure bliss was now just a bitter paste in my mouth. Finally, he hung up. He turned and met my gaze, a flicker of discomfort on his face. “Claire, Evelyn… she just broke up with her boyfriend. She’s not in a good place.” I said nothing, just stared at him. “She has really bad stomach problems, and she’s all alone in Paris. I’m just… worried.” “And?” I asked. Eddy pressed his lips together, as if making a difficult decision. “Christmas is in two days. We promised we’d go to my parents’ for dinner,” I reminded him. “I know.” He strode over to me and knelt, trying to take my hands. “Claire, I know this sounds horrible right now. But Evelyn… she really can’t handle this alone. Can I just…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “You want to go to Paris?” I finished for him. Silence. My heart sank, stone by heavy stone. I was pregnant. Our home, our promised holiday with family—none of it mattered more than a single phone call, a few tears from her. “Can you please not make this a scene?” Seeing my silence, Eddy’s patience seemed to wear thin. His brow furrowed, his tone shifting to one of annoyance and accusation. “Claire, I admit I was wrong about the blog, and I apologize. But Evelyn is sick. She’s been through a lot. I can’t just abandon her.” “She’s been through a lot?” I repeated the words, a hysterical laugh bubbling up inside me. “What about me? Has my life been easy?” I pointed to my stomach. “Eddy, your child is in here! And you’re going to abandon your pregnant wife to fly across the world to take care of your so-called ‘troubled’ ex-girlfriend?” “I’m not abandoning you!” he snapped, his voice rising as if I’d hit a nerve. “I’ll only be gone for a few days, just until she’s stable. I’ll explain everything to Mom and Dad. Why can’t you just be a little understanding?” I looked at this man—so familiar, yet suddenly a complete stranger—and felt the sheer absurdity of it all. “Eddy, are you asking me to be understanding about you leaving to take care of your ex?” “She’s not just an ex-girlfriend!” he blurted out. The words hung in the air. He realized his mistake instantly, his face paling. I seized on it. “Then what is she?” I pressed. “Tell me, Eddy. What, exactly, is Evelyn Monroe to you?” He clenched his jaw, a vein throbbing in his temple. The silence was suffocating. Finally, as if all the fight had gone out of him, he deflated. “Claire, I’m begging you.” His voice was laced with exhaustion. “Are you really going to go?” I saw the desperation in his bloodshot eyes, the undisguised urgency. “And you won’t regret it?” He didn’t answer. He just walked past me and into the bedroom, where he began to pack a suitcase. His movements were quick, decisive, without a hint of hesitation. I watched him throw his passport, a charger, a jacket into the bag, as if he were rushing off not to a disaster, but to a grand, romantic rendezvous. The moment he clicked the suitcase shut, I spoke. “Eddy.” “Take that passport. And don’t ever come back.” He paused for a second, then walked out the door without a backward glance. The only message I received was one sent from his phone two days prior, in the dead of night: “Landed safely. Don’t worry.” Don’t worry. What a joke. He didn’t send another message for days. Soon, the morning sickness hit me, hard. I couldn’t keep anything down, eventually subsisting on just sips of water. I sent Eddy a text. No reply. I took a leave of absence from my job at the bakery, told my mother-in-law that Eddy was away on a business trip, and quietly packed my own bags, planning to go to my parents’ house. Just as I finished packing, a wave of nausea hit me. I ran to the bathroom and was violently ill. As I pushed myself up, the world went black. I stumbled forward, my head cracking hard against the edge of the sink. Blood streamed down from my temple, blurring my vision. I lay on the cold tiles, a sharp, twisting pain ripping through my lower abdomen. I fumbled for my phone and dialed Eddy’s number. It rang and rang. Just as I was about to give up, someone answered. But the voice was a sweet, feminine coo. “Hello? Are you looking for Eddy?” It was Evelyn. My blood ran cold. “Where’s Eddy?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Put him on the phone.” “He’s making soup for me. He can’t come to the phone,” Evelyn said, her tone a mixture of smugness and impatience. “Who is this, anyway? Don’t you have any sense? He flew all the way to Paris to take care of me, and you keep harassing him with calls.” The pain in my abdomen was getting worse, more frequent, like a thousand knives churning inside me. I ignored her venomous tone and pleaded, “I’m his wife. I fell… I’m bleeding… please, tell him to come home…” A soft laugh came from the other end of the line, dripping with contempt. “Ma’am, I’ve seen this little sympathy act a million times. Faking an illness to guilt a man into coming back? Do you really think Eddy will fall for that?” “I’m not… I really…” “Yeah, yeah,” she cut me off impatiently. “My stomach is delicate. Eddy is busy perfecting a new soup recipe just for me. If you’re really in trouble, call an ambulance. Stop bothering us.” With that, she hung up. Listening to the dial tone, my heart, in that single moment, died completely. The bleeding was getting heavier. My consciousness began to fade. With my last ounce of strength, I hung up and dialed 911. Lying in the back of the cold ambulance, listening to the wail of the siren, my mind was a blank slate. The cramping in my abdomen grew more intense. I knew I was probably losing my baby. And maybe that was for the best. I didn’t want my child to have a father who would abandon his wife and child for another woman. At the hospital, they rushed me into an examination. “There are signs of a threatened miscarriage,” the doctor said gently. “Where is your husband? We need his signature to discuss options for saving the pregnancy.” I looked at the doctor and managed a smile that was more painful than a sob. “He’s dead.” The doctor stared, a look of pity in his eyes. “Then… are there any other family members?” “No one. It’s just me.” I looked at him calmly. “Doctor, this baby… I don’t want it.” He was aghast. “Are you crazy? Do you have any idea what this could do to your body? If you terminate now, you might never be able to conceive again!” “I know.” “Then why would you…” “Doctor, there’s nothing to discuss.” I cut him off. “Do the procedure. Now.” The surgery was a success. When the anesthesia wore off, the pain was excruciating. Not just physical, but a deep, hollowing agony in my soul. I lay in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, sleepless through the night. The next morning, the door to my room was thrown open. Eddy burst in. His eyes were shot with red, his face contorted in a panic I had never seen before. He rushed to my bedside and grabbed my hand. “Claire! The baby? Where’s our baby?” His voice was shaking. I looked at him and found it all so laughable. “The baby?” I said softly. “It’s gone.” A violent tremor wracked Eddy’s body. “Gone…?” he whispered, his face as white as the sheets. “How could it be… how could it be gone…?” Watching him shatter, a strange, vindictive pleasure coursed through me. “Eddy, I killed your child with my own hands.” “NO!” he roared, a guttural scream tearing from his throat as tears streamed down his face. He collapsed to his knees beside my bed, his hands clutching the sheets. “Why… Claire, why would you do that…? That was our baby…” He sobbed like a child, asking me why over and over. I looked at him, my expression cold as ice. “He was already dead the moment you chose to abandon your pregnant wife and fly to Paris for Evelyn.” My words were the final blow, extinguishing the last flicker of hope in his eyes. My body felt hollowed out after the procedure. I was curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a thick blanket, when Evelyn appeared at my door. The doorbell rang for the third time before I could muster the strength to answer it. It was her. Dressed in a chic, tailored cashmere coat, a large paper bag in her hand. “Claire,” she said, her voice sweet with a practiced familiarity. “Long time no see. I heard you weren’t feeling well, so I came to visit.” “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Her smile widened as her eyes swept past me, taking in the empty living room. “Eddy told me I could use the key to this place anytime.” Before I could react, she had already wheeled her suitcase into my home. She pulled a stack of photo albums from the bag and began to show them to me. The images were like poisoned daggers, stabbing into my eyes. One was at the airport.

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When I landed back in the States after three years abroad, my childhood sweetheart was now a billionaire CEO, dating my doppelgänger. His mom hit me up immediately: “Ten million dollars. Get back with my son.” I politely declined. “Mrs. Sterling, you know the rules. A proper ‘the one that got away’ stays away. I’m supposed to be dead to him.” “One hundred million. Are you in or out?” “Say less. Satisfaction guaranteed.” 1 The day I touched down at JFK, my phone lit up with a call from a number saved as “Sugar Mama.” I smirked and answered. “Hi, Mrs. Sterling.” Yep. My ex-boyfriend’s mom is my primary investor. She’s the angel who funded my “study abroad” escape plan. “Chloe, I’ll give you ten million dollars. Get back with Liam.” “Mrs. Sterling, come on. Liam and I broke up three years ago. Plus, have you seen inflation? Even pork prices are up.” “…Thirty million. Drive that little girlfriend of his away.” “Mrs. Sterling, you know the drill. As a qualified ‘white moonlight’—his first love—I’m supposed to be a ghost. How could I meddle in their relationship?” She knew my style. Silence on the other end for a few seconds, then she gritted her teeth. “One hundred million. Do we have a deal?” Damn. Sugar Mama doesn’t play. I agreed instantly. “No problem. Consider it done.” She hung up immediately, like speaking to me was physically painful. Two minutes later, a notification popped up. Deposit received: $30,000,000. Gotta love a repeat customer. Pre-payment is standard procedure. I stared at the long string of zeros in my bank app, grinning like an idiot. On the airport TV screens, a news ticker flashed: [Billionaire CEO Liam Sterling drops $50 million on Malibu mansion for actress Seraphina Rose.] I looked up and saw that familiar face. Three years later, Liam had leveled up. The boyish softness was gone, replaced by a cold, sharp edge. He looked like a man who could ruin your life with a signature. Next to him was Seraphina Rose. A gorgeous actress who looked about 50% like me. I chuckled. Liam, you cliché. Playing the “replacement” trope? 2 Three years ago, my parents died in a car crash. My family’s company went bankrupt. I was eighteen, orphaned, and kicked to the curb by vultures posing as relatives. In the pouring rain, Liam pulled me into his arms. “Chloe, don’t be scared. I’ll protect you.” I held onto him, soaking up his warmth. Back then, he was just a kid. He had nothing but a sincere heart. He offered it to me on a silver platter. But in the real world? A sincere heart is worthless. So when his mom found me, slapped a ten-million-dollar check on the table, and told me to leave, I didn’t hesitate. The day I left, Liam called me a hundred times. He begged. “Chloe, don’t go. I’ll take care of you, okay? Please, don’t leave me!” It was the first time I heard the big-brother figure of my childhood cry. I comforted him gently, told him to be a good boy, and then blocked his number. 3 I sent my resume to the jewelry design firm owned by Sterling Corp, rented an apartment nearby, and started doing my homework on the last three years. Holy crap. For the first two years, Liam grinded. He went from the overlooked heir to the iron-fisted CEO in record time. My childhood friend became a tyrant, completely sidelining his own mother in the company. As for meeting Seraphina? Pure soap opera drama. A year ago, Seraphina was a nobody. Her shady agent tricked her into attending a “networking” party to sell her off to some old pervert. Liam, playing the white knight, saved her. Since then, the stoic CEO has been obsessed. He takes her to galas, feeds her resources, and spoils her rotten. They haven’t officially announced it, but everyone knows. “CEO and the Starlet?” I scrolled through fanfiction written by netizens. “Damn, the writing isn’t bad.” The lore was basically public knowledge. Seraphina’s backstory: Orphanage kid, mid-tier college, hustled from extra to leading lady. Very inspirational. Liam’s devotion: Buying her diamonds, dresses, mansions. Getting her roles. The conflict: Mama Sterling hates Seraphina. Liam fights his mom for her. Now I understood why Sugar Mama called me the second I landed. Back then, Liam just defied her to date me—a bankrupt orphan. She threw money at me to make me disappear. Now, he’s sidelining her for his new toy? She probably wants to murder Seraphina. 4 I settled in with my new Samoyed puppy from the pet store. I rubbed his fluffy head. “Money! Money! Who’s a good boy?” His name is Money. Manifestation, people. My phone rang. “Ms. White? Your application has been approved. When can you start?” “Tomorrow works.” I hung up and kissed the dog. “Lucky boy! The money is literally coming!” The next morning, I put on my “corporate baddie” outfit and walked into Sterling Tower. “Whoa! Are you Chloe?” A girl with a ponytail bounced over. “I’m Jess! I’m obsessed with your designs! Especially the ‘Rose Poetry’ collection! I can’t believe we’re coworkers!” I smiled. “Thanks. That’s my favorite too.” After all, the inspiration for ‘Rose Poetry’ was Liam. Jess was super bubbly, filling me in on office gossip. Two days later, Jess sprinted to my desk. “Did you hear? The Big Boss is coming for an inspection this morning!” “Which boss?” “Liam Sterling! And rumor has it he’s bringing his girlfriend.” Liam and Seraphina? I immediately grabbed my makeup bag and headed to the restroom. I thought I’d need time to get close to him. Who knew he’d deliver himself to my doorstep? Ex-girlfriend reunion rules: You must look better than them. 5 The floor was buzzing until the elevator dinged. Liam walked out holding Seraphina’s hand, fingers interlaced. Jess nudged me. “Hey, zone back in! Manager wants the design team in the conference room.” I walked in. Liam sat at the head of the table, looking sharp in a suit that probably cost more than my car. When we walked in, he glanced at the door. Our eyes met. I wondered how he’d react. He just looked away, indifferent. Like I was a stranger. A pang of bitterness hit my chest. I ignored it and sat down. The manager was bowing and scraping. “Mr. Sterling, Ms. Rose, the design team is here.” Liam looked at Seraphina. “You pick.” Seraphina smiled at us. “Sorry to bother everyone. Liam insisted on designing our one-year anniversary gift personally.” Barf. “I smell the stench of love,” Jess whispered. “By the way… is it just me, or do you and his girlfriend look kinda alike?” Before I could answer, Seraphina spoke up. “I heard Chloe just joined the team. Can I meet her?” I stood up, smiling. “Hi. Chloe White.” Seraphina looked surprised. “I love your work! I didn’t realize we had similar taste and similar faces!” 6 Provocation? Definitely. She wasn’t as innocent as the fanfics claimed. Whatever. I’m not a saint either. “Yeah,” I said, tucking hair behind my ear. I looked straight at Liam. “I’m surprised too. Three years later, Mr. Sterling’s taste hasn’t changed a bit.” I smiled sweetly. “Swapped the person, kept the model.” Seraphina’s face fell. Liam couldn’t sit still anymore. He stared at me with cold, dead eyes. “I’m not like some people. Flipping a switch, heartless and cruel.” The colleagues exchanged glances. The tea was piping hot. “Chloe, you’re funny.” Seraphina stepped between us, blocking Liam’s view. She forced a smile. “So, it’s decided! Liam’s anniversary gift for me… I’ll leave it in your hands!” She emphasized “anniversary gift” like she was marking territory. Sorry, girl. I’m immune. “You’re welcome. Remember to pay the 30% deposit upfront.” Strictly business. Even the boss’s girlfriend follows protocol. The room went silent. The bald manager looked like he wanted to laser-eye me into oblivion. Liam stood up, radiating menace. He sneered. “Don’t worry. You’ll get what’s yours.” He stormed out. The manager sighed. “Chloe White, what did you see in Mr. Sterling’s exit?” Me: “Tall, dark, and handsome?” “Wrong! Rage!” The manager face-palmed. “A great career path right in front of you, and you torched it!” Colleagues looked at me with pity or glee. Jess looked worried. “Chloe… being blunt is cool, but in corporate, you gotta play the game.” “Me?” I pointed at myself. “Oh, I’m playing the game. Hard.” My phone buzzed on the table. Unknown number. I picked up. A stranger’s voice. “Ms. White? This is Mr. Sterling’s assistant. He has a message for you.” “Wow,” I said. “Bosses are so arrogant these days. Can’t even speak for themselves?” Silence. Two seconds later, a familiar, gritty voice came through the speaker. “Chloe. If you want the deposit, unblock my number.”

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Chapter 1 The summer after graduation, Scott and I finally crossed the line. Caught up in the heat of the moment, I couldn’t help but cry out, only to hear him whisper a name. “Luna.” But my name is Rainie. Luna is my twin sister. I froze, looking up at Scott with uncertainty. “Who did you just call?” “Rainie,” Scott breathed, leaning down to kiss my eyelids, not breaking his rhythm. “You’re distracted. Am I not trying hard enough?” His movements became more aggressive, shattering my doubts. Scott was a varsity athlete—star of the track team. He had stamina for days and knew exactly what he was doing. I trembled, pushing weakly against his chest. “Stop…” He leaned close to my ear, his voice raspy. “Babe, let’s try being on top.” All night, he tossed me around like a ragdoll. No matter how much I cried or begged for a break, he wouldn’t stop. It wasn’t until dawn that he finally seemed satisfied and went to the bathroom to shower. I collapsed on the bed, feeling like my body had been dismantled. That’s when the phone on the nightstand started blowing up. Ding. Ding. Ding. It was Scott’s phone. I instinctively glanced over and saw a WeChat notification pop up on the lock screen. bro congrats on finally popping the cherry last night! My heart skipped a beat. My hands were shaking as I unlocked his phone. I opened the group chat Scott had with his teammates, and I froze. In the middle of the night, Scott had posted a photo of the bloodstained bedsheet. Below the photo was a stream of messages: Bro, did you actually do it with Rainie? I thought you were obsessed with Luna? You guys don’t get it. They’re twins. They look the same, bodies are basically the same. Scott’s just using Rainie for target practice. Gotta get some experience so he doesn’t hurt Luna when they finally get together. True that. Luna is Scott’s goddess. Better to break in the spare tire first so he knows how to treat the real deal… The words were like shrapnel, exploding in my brain and leaving everything blank. I had imagined a million reasons why Scott chose me. I never imagined this. Scott was the school’s golden boy. Popular, athletic, dangerous. I was the quiet one. The nerd. The background character. We shouldn’t have crossed paths, until sophomore year when I had a period accident during gym class. Scott had tied his varsity jacket around my waist. Since then, there was breakfast on my desk every morning and a handwritten love letter in my locker every day. First love took root in my heart. But I never understood why Scott chose me. I once asked him, “Why do you like me?” He said, “Because it’s you.” My teenage love, the gamble of my entire youth… it was all just a carefully orchestrated “trial run.” I clenched my fingers until my knuckles turned white. The water in the bathroom stopped. I panicked, closed the app, and put the phone back. The door opened. Scott walked out with a towel around his waist, water droplets clinging to his abs. “You’re up. Hungry?” He walked to the bed, asking tenderly, his eyes scanning the red marks on my collarbone. I looked at him, but all I could hear was the hallucination of him calling out “Luna” last night. “Not hungry.” Seeing my red eyes, Scott hugged me nervously. His hand slipped under my shirt, clearly wanting to go for round two. I didn’t want him to touch me. I didn’t want to be a tool anymore. I pushed him away. “No. It hurts.” Scott withdrew his hand, looking apologetic as he smoothed my shirt. “I lost control last night. You rest. I’ll go downstairs and grab breakfast. Need to cool off anyway.” He dressed and left the hotel room. Staring at the stain on the white sheets, I felt like my soul had been sucked out. For two years of secret dating, I hid it from teachers, hid it from classmates, and did everything Scott wanted. He wanted to go to Capital U, so I made Capital U my goal. He wanted to hold hands under the desk, so I let him while reciting vocabulary. He wanted to meet behind the bleachers, so I gave him my first kiss. Now that finals were over, he said he wanted a “rite of passage,” so I came to this hotel and gave him my virginity. I thought this love would last forever. I didn’t expect the truth to be a guillotine. Since he liked Luna all along, then I was done. I got dressed, walked out of the hotel, found a pharmacy across the street, and awkwardly asked for the morning-after pill. The clerk looked me up and down, frowned, and slammed a box on the counter. “Why didn’t your boyfriend use protection? This stuff is bad for you, kid.” My face burned. There were condoms on the hotel nightstand. I had tried to make Scott use one, but he had just bitten my ear, whispering, “Rainie, it doesn’t feel good with that on. I’m hurting, babe. Just let me, okay? I promise I’ll pull out.” My softness was rewarded with betrayal. I paid and thanked the clerk. “Thanks. Just this once.” I would never believe Scott’s lies again. Chapter 2 Before I even left the store, I heard whispering behind me. “Kids these days. No self-respect.” “Looks like a good girl, but buying Plan B at her age? Trashy.” Their words were like a whip across my face. I walked fast, swallowing the pill dry with a bottle of water at the bus stop. I choked, coughing until tears came out. “Rainie!” Scott ran toward me, panic in his eyes. “Why did you leave the hotel? You didn’t answer my texts. Are you trying to ghost me after last night?” He looked aggrieved, like I was the heartless one. I wanted to laugh, but my chest just hurt. “I went to buy Plan B.” I waved the empty box. His face changed, flashing with guilt. “You should have told me. Or let me buy it. I was worried.” “Won’t happen next time.” Scott sensed I was off. He grabbed my hand. “I couldn’t hold back last night. I’ll be careful next time.” “The Class President organized a graduation party at the City Center. Let’s go together.” I took a step back, pulling my hand away. “We haven’t gone public. To avoid gossip, we should go separately.” Scott froze, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll catch a cab.” I didn’t look back. I got on the bus. Scott had promised to announce our relationship after graduation. But in the group chat, he talked trash and denied me. Hidden in the bro-code was the truth. This relationship didn’t need to be public. It needed to be buried. When I got to the party, the private room was full. Luna, dressed like a princess, was surrounded by people. Scott was sitting next to her, peeling lychees for her. The guys were jeering. “Scott, we’re graduating. Aren’t you gonna confess to the Class Beauty? Once college starts, you’ll have too much competition!” Everyone knew Scott treated Luna well. While he dated me in the shadows, in the light, he carried her books and bought her lunch. He even rallied the guys to vote her Prom Queen. Whatever. We were twins. We looked alike. Back then, Scott’s excuse was: “Rainie, your sister is frail. If I don’t hype her up, people will bully her. You’re different. You have me.” I was so stupid. I thought he just loved me so much he loved my family too. I pushed the door open. Scott looked at me without a hint of guilt. Luna jumped up. “Sis! You didn’t come home all night! Mom and Dad were worried sick!” The room went silent. Then the whispers started. “Whoa, the valedictorian stayed out all night?” “Rainie looks like a nun, but plays dirty…” Luna looked secretly pleased. “None of your business,” I said calmly. I tried to walk past her, but she grabbed my arm, feigning sisterly love. “Sit next to me!” She tugged my shirt down, exposing the hickeys Scott left on my collarbone. “Omg, Sis, what is that?” Luna gasped. Everyone stared. Judgment, mockery, disgust. “Pure nerd? More like thirsty.” “Look at those marks. Must have been a rough night.” “I didn’t know she had a boyfriend. Did she just hook up with some random thug for a graduation gift?” I pulled my shirt up, looking at Scott in humiliation. He didn’t even look at me. He kept peeling fruit for Luna. I steeled myself. “Nothing. Dog bit me. It’s an allergic reaction.” A dog with no conscience. Chapter 3 The room erupted in laughter, guessing which “dog” I’d slept with. Scott’s face darkened. He tapped the table. “Everyone’s here. Let’s eat.” Silence fell. The Class President smoothed things over. “Right, right. Eat up, guys.” Everyone started talking about summer plans. Traveling, driving school, part-time jobs. After dinner, we played games. Luna drew a dare: Choose a boy to princess-carry you for one minute. The boys cheered. Luna looked shyly at Scott. “Scott… can you help me?” Scott pursed his lips, scooped her up with one arm effortlessly. “Hold on tight.” Luna squealed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Scott’s a beast!” the guys yelled. I looked away, curling my fingers into my palms. Next round, I got picked. Drink three shots of baijiu or kiss a guy in the room. The boys smirked. I glanced at Scott. He sat next to Luna, avoiding my eyes. “I already played the knight tonight. I’m sitting this one out.” A slap in the face would have hurt less. I grabbed the glass and downed the liquor. It burned like acid. I teared up and ran to the bathroom to throw up. I splashed water on my face, staring at the mirror. Red eyes, messy hair, visible hickeys. I looked like a clown. I fixed my clothes and forced a smile at my reflection. “It has to hurt to heal, Rainie. Don’t be afraid.” I didn’t go back in. I texted the President that I was leaving and walked out. On the bus, I opened WeChat and scrolled through two years of chat history with Scott. Rainie, I like you. Be mine? Can’t sleep. Thinking of you. Photos of him playing basketball, us in our uniforms. I used to treat these gigabytes like treasure. Now, my fingers trembling, I selected the 6.9 GB file and hit [Delete]. It was gone. Like he never loved me. I got home. Slap! My dad hit me so hard I fell to the floor, ears ringing. “You disgrace! Out all night, now drinking? Have you no shame?” I looked up. Luna and Mom were on the sofa, watching. “It was a class party. I drank a little and got sick. Luna can verify,” I rasped. Luna jumped in. “There was a party, but Rainie left early without telling anyone. I can’t verify anything.” “Just because exams are over doesn’t mean you can go wild! You’re embarrassing us!” Mom looked disappointed. “Rainie, why can’t you be like your sister? If you were half as good as Luna, your father wouldn’t be this angry.” I knelt there, lip bleeding. On the coffee table, I saw a travel brochure: [Luxury Bali Trip for Three]. It was signed by Mom, Dad, and Luna. “You’re taking Luna to Bali? Leaving me here?” Mom’s eyes shifted. “Luna won a raffle at the mall. Only three tickets. We have to go with her.” “Stay home and reflect on your behavior. We’ll take you next time.” I smirked. “When is next time?” Luna was born frail. The doctors said I “stole her nutrients” in the womb. My parents always favored her. My toys became hers. The chicken drumsticks were hers. “Next time, we’ll buy two,” Mom always said. Next time never came. Dad raised his hand again. “Don’t talk back! Go to your room!” I stumbled upstairs. My phone buzzed. It was my homeroom teacher, Mr. Li. Rainie, come in tomorrow morning to estimate your score and discuss college applications. Okay, I replied. College. My escape route. The next morning, Mr. Li beamed at me. “Based on your answers, you’ll easily get into Capital U. I know that’s your goal.” “Here’s their brochure.” I looked at it. Capital U was Scott’s dream. “Mr. Li,” I said, voice steady. “I want to apply for early admission to the Northwest Research Institute.” Far away from home. Far away from Scott. Chapter 4 Mr. Li paused. “The Northwest? Why go so far? The resources aren’t as good as Beijing.” I gave the speech I’d rehearsed all night. “I want to contribute to the nation’s defense development.” He admired my resolve but hesitated. “It’s a big decision. Discuss it with your parents?” “No need. I’m eighteen. I can decide. Please keep it a secret, Mr. Li.” He submitted my application to the early admission system. “Go home and pack. If you get in, you leave next month.” I thanked him and walked out. Scott was waiting at the stairs. “Teacher said you’re leaving? Where are you going?” I dodged him. “Nowhere. He meant we’re all leaving for college soon.” Scott followed me. “You didn’t text me goodnight yesterday. Are you mad? I kept my distance at the party because they were teasing Luna. I didn’t want to embarrass her.” He tried to ruffle my hair. I dodged. “I’m Luna’s twin,” I said bluntly. “Did you like her from the beginning?” Scott frowned. “No way. Why would I date you then?” “Rainie, I belong to you now. You aren’t trying to bail on me, are you?” Luna popped her head around the corner. “Scott! You said you’d help me estimate my score!” “Coming!” Scott yelled back. Then he looked at me apologetically. “I promised her. Don’t overthink it. I’ll help you later.” He walked away. “They look so cute together,” a junior sighed nearby. “I heard they kissed at the party.” I laughed bitterly. I went to the dorms to pack. In my drawer was a diary of us. I tore it up and threw it in the trash. A photo of Scott playing basketball fell out. Before I could grab it, a classmate snatched it. “Isn’t Scott with Luna? Why do you have his pic, Rainie?” “Twins share everything, even boyfriends, right?” “Gross. Fantasizing about her sister’s man.” I snatched the photo back. “Rumors aren’t facts. I don’t like Scott. And I don’t pick up trash.” I ripped the photo to shreds and threw it out the window. The pieces rained down on Scott, who was walking below. He looked up, locking eyes with me. Chapter 5 “Jiang Shiyu, what is your problem?” Scott looked annoyed. I ignored him, turning back to my packing. He called me repeatedly. I ignored the calls. When I walked out of the dorms, he blocked my path, holding the confetti of his photo. “Explain.” He had picked up every piece in the hot sun. He smelled like sweat and summer. “Roommate saw it,” I lied smoothly. “You said keep it secret. I had to destroy the evidence to stop the rumors.” Scott deflated. “I’m not trying to hide you forever. Just… not yet.” “It’s fine. I get it.” He relaxed, thinking he’d won. He pulled out some papers. “I got the answer keys. Let’s calculate your score.” “Mr. Li already did it.” I walked away. Scott watched me go. I didn’t care anymore. I walked toward the bus stop, watching the sunset over my high school days. Suddenly—Ring ring! A bike came hurtling toward me. It was Luna. She was aiming right for me. I dodged. Crash! She swerved, hitting a billboard and knocking it over. I stumbled and fell, scraping my knees. “Luna!” Scott’s voice. He ran over, ignoring me, and scooped Luna up. “Rainie! Why did you jump in front of the bike? That was dangerous!” “She was crossing the road and hit me!” I shouted. Luna sobbed into his chest. “I just wanted to say hi to Sis… the brakes failed… I didn’t mean to…” “It’s okay, I’ll take you to the hospital,” Scott cooed. A security guard ran over. “Hey! That sign cost five hundred bucks! Who broke it? You gotta pay!” Luna pointed at me. “Officer, she was riding the bike. She hit me and the sign.” I stared at her. “No, she hit it. Ask him!” I pointed to Scott. The guard looked at Scott. Scott hesitated. Then, he pointed at me. “She was riding the bike.”

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1. My wife and daughter had stumbled into the abandoned minefield on the back hills. Panic ripped through our small town. The urgent, distorted voice of the town’s emergency broadcast crackled to life, a desperate plea that echoed through the valley: “Jake Miller! You’re the only one who can defuse those military-grade mines! Get to the back hills! Your daughter needs you!” My neighbors dragged me from a poker game, their hands rough on my arms as they shoved me toward the hills. Through the barbed wire fence, I could see my daughter, her face smeared with blood and tears. “Dad, please, help us!” she screamed, her voice thin with terror. “You’re the inly one who can do this…” My face went pale. I grabbed my defusal kit and charged forward. The whole town thought I was rushing to save my family. But I wasn’t. I veered off, crouching down, moving slowly toward a small white mouse trapped in the corner of the field, its leg caught in the tripwire of a mine. “This kit,” I muttered to myself, “can only be used once.” And I was choosing to save the mouse. My daughter watched, her face crumbling in disbelief as I moved toward the animal. “Dad, are you crazy?” she shrieked. “What about me? I’m your daughter!” Her voice was a raw, hysterical cry of despair. “You’re saving a rodent instead of me?” My wife, Sarah, stared at me, her face ashen. “Jake, I’ve been a good wife to you all these years. How could you abandon us now for a mouse?” The townspeople watched, their faces a mixture of confusion and disapproval. I ignored them all. I gently freed the mouse, cupping it in my hands and brushing the dust from its white fur. “Jake, now that you’ve saved the animal, are you coming to save us?” Sarah’s voice was thick with unshed tears. I looked over at her and shrugged. “Forgot to mention,” I said, my voice casual, “the detector on this thing only works once.” Her eyes widened in horror. “Then what about me and Lily? What are we supposed to do?” Her voice escalated into a shrill scream. “Jake, I know you can build a new one! You know what these mines can do! You’re the only one in this whole town who can save us!” She was sobbing, her cries echoing in the tense silence. I just carefully set the mouse down and watched it scurry away, my gaze never once meeting theirs. It wasn’t until the villagers surrounded me, pushing and shoving, calling me heartless, that I finally turned around. I looked at the two weeping women and spat out, my voice dripping with annoyance, “You’re not dead yet, are you? What’s the rush? Trying to punch your ticket to the afterlife early?” Lily collapsed to her knees. “Dad, I don’t know what’s wrong with you. You used to love me more than anything. Are you really not going to save me?” She bowed her head, her forehead hitting the dusty ground. “I know you were away in the army for most of my life, but I’ve always loved and respected you. Is this because I said I wanted to marry that boy from the next town over? I won’t! I’ll do whatever you want! Just please, save me and Mom!” Sarah’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “Jake, this is nothing for you. I’ve seen you assemble those kits. It takes you three minutes! Do you have a heart? Are you really going to watch your wife and daughter die?” I had never seen her so broken, not in all our years of marriage. I just sat down on the ground, yawned, and pulled a deck of cards from my pocket. “We didn’t finish our game, Bill,” I said to my neighbor. “I had a straight flush.” Bill’s face paled. “Jake, that’s your wife and child in there! How can you be like this?” “They walked in there themselves,” I said coldly, not even bothering to look at him. “It’s their own damn fault. Am I supposed to take the blame for their stupidity?” Sarah’s eyes turned red. “Jake Miller! I thought we had a good marriage,” she screamed, her voice trembling. “I can’t believe you’d just leave us here to die!” She laughed, a bitter, broken sound. “Fine! I’ll walk out myself. If I die, Lily can use my body as a bridge!” “Good,” I said without looking up. “Go ahead and die.” Sarah froze, her foot hovering in the air. She slowly pulled it back, her face a mask of terror. Lily, in her panic, had fallen. Her face was a mess of dirt and blood. “Dad, if you don’t clear a path, we’re not getting out of here,” she sobbed. “I’m your only daughter. Are you really just going to watch me die?” One of our neighbors couldn’t take it anymore. “Jake,” he said, his voice pleading, “I’ve got some old supplies from my army days. I’ll bring them to you. Just please, save Sarah and Lily.” I shot him a look that could freeze fire. “When did I say I was going to save them?” Sarah’s tears flowed freely. They were both injured from an earlier blast when they had tried to retreat, and now they were too scared to move. Sarah’s right hand was gone, a bloody stump wrapped in a makeshift bandage. She pointed at me with her mangled arm, her voice choked with tears. “Jake, how can you be so cruel?” Lily’s voice joined hers, a chorus of accusation. “Dad, I’ve always been a good daughter to you! You could save us, but you used your only chance on an animal! Now Mr. Johnson is offering you more supplies and you won’t even lift a finger! Are you even human?” “I’m the only one with the skills,” I said, my voice flat and bored. “I save who I want to save. Besides, what were you two doing in the minefield in the first place? You make a stupid mistake and now you expect me to risk my life to clean up your mess? You’re grown women. It’s time you learned to take responsibility for your own lives. Begging me won’t do you any good.” “Jake,” Sarah’s voice trembled, “even if you won’t save me, Lily is your own flesh and blood! How can you watch her die?” I laughed, a cold, empty sound. “You’re the one who led her in there. You didn’t seem to care much about her life then. Don’t you dare talk to me about ‘family.’ My life is valuable. I’m not wasting it on you two.” I threw my cards on the ground in frustration. “Bill, I had a winning hand. You’re not trying to get out of paying me, are you? How about another round?” The villagers stared at me, their faces turning from shock to fury. One of the younger men stepped forward. “Jake Miller, we used to respect you. We called you ‘chief’ because we thought you were a decent man. But you won’t even save your own family. You’re not a man at all. We know you were a demolitions expert in the army. This is nothing to you. We’ve got the supplies. Why won’t you help them? Is your heart made of stone?” Before I could answer, a couple of them lunged at me, pushing me to the ground. I didn’t even flinch. I just slowly got to my feet, brushing the dust off my clothes with a contemptuous smile. “So, Bill, are we playing or not? If not, you at least owe me for the gas I spent getting here.” “Jake,” Sarah’s voice was raw, “why do you hate me so much? Whatever it is, we can sort it out later. Please, just save us!” I glanced at her, my voice dripping with scorn. “Weren’t you going to make a path for Lily with your dead body? Get to it.” I picked up my cards and dealt myself a new hand. A royal flush. I smiled. Lily stared at me, her face a mask of utter despair. She fell to her knees and began to beg, her forehead hitting the ground again and again. “Dad, please! I’ll be your slave for the rest of my life! I’ll never get married, I’ll take care of you forever! Just save us!” Her leg was a bloody mess, blood pooling around her torn jeans. But still, she knelt, her back straight, her eyes pleading. The sight of them, covered in blood, was horrific. Some of the villagers were crying, their hands over their mouths. “Jake Miller, are you a monster?” someone finally roared. “That’s your wife! Your daughter!” The shouting was getting on my nerves. I pushed through the crowd and yelled at Bill, “Alright, go get your damn kit!” A wave of relief washed over the crowd. “See?” someone said, “I knew he couldn’t be that heartless. Sarah and Lily must have done something to really piss him off. He was just teaching them a lesson.” Bill scrambled to bring me the supplies. I took the kit and looked at it. “This is the last one?” He nodded gravely. “The last one. You’ve only got one shot.” I nodded back and quickly assembled the new detector. Sarah and Lily watched, their faces filled with a desperate, fragile hope. I smiled at them, my voice light, as if the past hour had never happened. “Scared you, didn’t I? I just wanted to remind you not to come back here again.” Lily nodded vigorously. Sarah’s eyes were red. “Jake, I knew you wouldn’t leave us…” The next second, I walked to the edge of the cliff overlooking the ravine and, without a moment’s hesitation, threw the newly assembled kit over the edge. It shattered on the rocks below. Everyone froze. That was the last kit. Without it, Sarah and Lily were dead. The crowd erupted. “Jake Miller! You’re not a man, you’re a monster! You don’t deserve to be our town chief!” “You’re a cold-blooded bastard!” “I’m writing a letter to the county! I’m getting you removed from office!” I just stood there, facing their fury, and grinned. “Don’t forget,” I said, my voice calm and steady, “every single one of your businesses, your livelihoods… I brought that to this town. You want me gone? Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you’re starving.” Silence. They stared at me, their faces white with rage, but no one dared to say another word. Lily was losing a lot of blood. Her face was pale, her lips blue. She was fading. But with her last bit of strength, she screamed at me, “You don’t deserve to be my father! Even an animal protects its young! You’re a murderer!” She tried to stumble toward me, forgetting where she was. A deafening blast ripped through the air. Dust and smoke billowed up, and with it, a spray of red. “LILY!” Sarah’s scream was a sound of pure agony. When the smoke cleared, all that was left of Lily was her lower body. Her eyes were still open, staring at me with a look of pure, undiluted hatred. Sarah, covered in her daughter’s blood, crawled toward the remains. “Jake Miller,” she shrieked, “you killed your own daughter!” I just stood there and slowly, calmly, lit a cigarette. Sarah collapsed, a pool of blood spreading out from under her. The villagers finally lost it. “You’re worse than an animal, Miller!” “There’s a special place in hell for you!” Forgetting about their livelihoods, they began to draft a petition to have me arrested. That night, the county government took notice. A special investigation team was dispatched to our town. “Good,” I thought, taking a long drag from my cigarette. “Things are finally getting interesting. Now the truth can come out.” It took two days for the rescue team to get my wife out of the minefield. My daughter was long gone, just a charred pile of remains. As they carried Sarah out on a stretcher, she looked at me with eyes full of venom. “It was you, Jake,” she hissed. “You refused to save our daughter. You destroyed our only hope. If it wasn’t for you, Lily would still be alive.” I shrugged. “What’s it got to do with me? You’re the one who took her in there. You killed her, not me.” Sarah gasped, clutching her chest, and passed out. The lead investigator stepped forward. “Mr. Miller,” he said, his voice cold, “we’ve received numerous complaints against you. We’re here to investigate whether you intentionally harmed your family and refused to provide aid. Our background check shows that Sarah and Lily Miller have been nothing but a devoted wife and daughter. Everyone speaks very highly of them. They were always respectful and caring toward you. We want to know why you stood by and did nothing when you had the power to save them. You saved a mouse, but not your own family. Was it because your daughter wanted to marry someone you didn’t approve of? Is that why you wanted her dead?” I blew a smoke ring in his face. “This is a family matter. Are you really going to interfere?” A woman from the village pushed through the crowd. “He’s a heartless bastard!” she screamed, pointing at me. “Lily was such a good girl! She was the best kid in this whole county! Every time her teacher gave out treats, she’d save them for him! And he just let her die!” Sarah opened her eyes, her voice a trembling whisper. “I don’t know what happened to him. I don’t want anything from him anymore. I just want a divorce. I’m taking the TV, the refrigerator, everything. I’m not leaving you a damn thing.” I looked at her and smiled, a cold, cruel smile. “What makes you think any of that is yours? A divorce? You think you have any say in the matter?” I leaned in close, my voice a low whisper. “Is that your picture on our marriage certificate, Sarah?” Her eyes flew open, her face draining of all color. She stared at me, her eyes wide with terror. I just smiled. “It’s finally over.” I gestured toward the hospital entrance. Two figures, dressed in rags, were standing there. Sarah saw them, and a tremor ran through her body. Her pupils dilated, her mouth fell open.

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My senior year of high school, my parents cut me off. Completely. They demanded I drop out. With no other options, I walked into St. Jude’s Academy, a place crawling with trust fund babies and nepo babies. Because my grades were stellar, the school waived my tuition. But I still needed to eat. After starving for two weeks, wearing my most pathetic, threadbare clothes, I finally mustered the courage. I looked at the class of rich kids who never studied and said: “Hey… does anyone need their homework done? It’s… it’s only five bucks a pop.” The young masters and misses, busy flexing their wealth, stopped dead. They all stared at me in shock. A moment later, the room erupted: “Five bucks? Are you insulting me? Five hundred! Do mine first!” “I’ll pay five thousand! I’m first in line!” “Fifty thousand! US Dollars!” “Screw you guys! I’m lighting a sky lantern! Let’s see who dares outbid me today!” 1 The day I got kicked out, I had just started senior year. My dad, face twisted in rage, pointed a shaking finger at my nose. “Other girls your age are bringing in bride prices! But you? You’re just a money pit, spending my cash all day.” My mom chimed in, her voice dripping with false concern. “If you don’t marry, where will your brother get the money to marry and carry on the family line?” I clutched my stack of academic awards, screaming my defense until my throat was raw. It was useless. I ran away. My dad’s voice chased me out the door. “I’d like to see how you survive until college without us feeding you!” I took my transcripts and went from high school to high school. The answer was always the same: “Your grades are okay, but who knows if you’ll slip up senior year?” “We can only offer a tuition waiver.” That wasn’t enough. Clinging to my last shred of hope, I stood in front of St. Jude’s Academy. This place was rich kid central. Heirs and heiresses everywhere. Their daily routine was fighting and flexing. Nobody studied. In their world, the SATs were just a formality. They were all going abroad anyway. When I stood in the office, wearing clothes washed so many times the hems were fraying, the Dean looked down her nose at me. “You’re sure you want to come here? Aren’t you afraid of getting bullied?” I shook my head vigorously. “As long as you can waive the tuition and give me a tiny scholarship…” “Just a little… fifty, no, twenty bucks a month is fine. I’ll study hard. I’ll bring honor to the school.” The Dean agreed. I took the advanced scholarship check for two thousand dollars, thanked her profusely, and backed out. As the door closed, I heard her scoff. “Twenty bucks? Who does she think we are?” 2 I made it into the classroom. The noise of the rich kids died down instantly. They all sized me up with curious eyes. “What is she wearing? Are those holes intentional? Is this the new ‘Warzone Chic’ from Balenciaga?” “Why not Chanel?” “The fabric is holding up surprisingly well for being that worn. Must be off-brand. Only street stall stuff is that durable.” “Oh, you’re an expert? You wear that stuff?” “You dare accuse me of wearing street stall clothes? You’re dead! I’m telling my dad to pull funding from your dad’s company tomorrow…” Two rich kids started brawling. I kept my head down, walked past them, and found my seat. It was in the corner, right next to the trash can. I blocked out the gossip. I’d heard worse from my parents. The mockery of these pampered kids was nothing. Now I had a school. I had a shot at college. Nobody bullied me. During the break, a gorgeous girl even ran over to my desk, looking at me like I was a new species. “Hey, Perry,” she asked, genuinely curious. “Why are your clothes so tattered? Did you not like this season’s couture?” “Is it possible,” I said slowly, “that I just can’t afford it?” “Why not? Did you get your allowance cut? You can just draw from your trust fund.” I sighed. What is a trust fund? Chloe rested her chin on her hand. “How did you get here?” “Walked. Got up early.” “Why didn’t your driver drop you off?” “No driver. No car.” “Then why not ride your motorcycle?” “Don’t have one of those either.” “Oh, I get it. You only like helicopters, and yours was in the shop this morning, right?” I hid my face behind a book. Forget it. I can’t explain this. 3 Two weeks in, I was basically invisible. I huddled in my corner, grinding through practice problems. The teachers started to like me. Because I was the only one listening. I took notes, answered questions, and saved them from the awkward silence of an empty room. But my focus was slipping. I was hungry. So hungry I wanted to gnaw on the desk. Tuition was free, but I had to pay for housing. The Dean refused to let me live in the dorms. She said my background was too “different” and the other students wouldn’t accept it. I had to rent a place. Rent was insane. I begged the landlord until he agreed to take six months upfront. My two thousand dollars instantly became one hundred. In this city, where land is gold, that only got me a tiny attic room in the boonies. The last hundred went to utilities. I was broke. My grades weren’t good enough for Ivy League yet, so I didn’t dare ask the Dean for more money. Living in that hellhole at home had destroyed my study time. Despite killing myself to catch up, my junior year scores were only good enough for a state school. I wasn’t the main character in a novel who could date, slack off, and still get a perfect SAT score. My stomach had been empty for over eight hours. Breakfast was a piece of steak and half a tuna sandwich I fished out of the school trash can. Delicious, but tiny. I licked my lips and looked up at my classmates as the final bell approached. They were discussing which golf course to hit or whose yacht to party on. I pinched my arm hard, summoned every ounce of courage I had, and asked timidly: “Um… excuse me… does anyone need their homework done? It’s… it’s only five bucks a copy.” 4 I had never seen these kids do homework. Whenever the teacher assigned it, I was the only one writing it down to do later under my scavenged lamp in that stifling attic. After I spoke, the room went silent. The flexing stopped. Everyone looked at me like I’d grown a second head. Chloe gasped. “Class Prez, you do homework?” Since the teachers loved me, I had been promoted to Class President. Which meant I also did all the cleaning. My voice was barely a squeak. “Yes. I write fast and accurate. If you need a ghostwriter, consider me.” “I don’t charge much. Five bucks a paper. Buy five, get one free.” Thinking about how rich their families were, I quickly added: “Price is negotiable if that’s too high.” Shock cracked across their faces. Then, chaos erupted. “Five bucks? Are you looking down on me? Five hundred! Do mine first! Let my dad see his son loves learning!” “Five hundred? Embarrassing. I’ll pay five thousand! I’m first!” “Fifty thousand! US Dollars! I have nothing but money!” “Sky lantern! I want to see who dares outbid me today!” 5 The classroom was a zoo. The bids were getting ridiculous. It was like I was selling a Picasso, not Algebra II homework. I waved my hands frantically. “Just five bucks! I can’t take more. If you want it done, I’ll go in order.” “It’s all STEM stuff anyway, I can do it fast.” Business needs to be sustainable. I was afraid if I took too much, their parents would find out. Freshman year, I did homework for six bucks. A parent checked the accounts, found out, and screamed at my door for an hour. The shouting continued until Chloe secured the first slot. She triumphantly transferred me twenty bucks. My second-hand phone lagged for a solid minute before the notification popped up. I stared at the balance. Twenty dollars. “Don’t worry, Miss Chloe. I promise to make your homework look beautiful tonight.” I made a hundred bucks that day. Five orders. I worked until 1 AM. To ensure quality, I never took more than I could handle. The next day after school, I was staring at a fresh hundred-dollar transfer, about to shoulder my Chanel backpack (scavenged from the trash), when I was blocked. The class’s richest, most volatile Queen Bee stood in my way. She tapped her diamond-encrusted nails and nodded at her two minions. “Drag her to the bathroom!”

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The day before her graduation party, my sister was raped and murdered in a back alley. And I was trapped in that day forever. Countless times, I thought, “If only I hadn’t wanted ice cream,” “If only I hadn’t taken the shortcut to get home faster…” maybe she would still be alive. When I opened my eyes again… I was back in that summer. 1 That year, it was the hottest summer on record. The temperature hit 106 degrees. My sister, Maya, was the top scorer in the city. I had just barely scraped into a prestigious high school. Our future was bright. Maya’s familiar voice reached my ears again after ten years: “Take a shortcut? Don’t you want to catch Grey’s Anatomy at 7:30?” Tears gushed out uncontrollably. Through my blurry vision, the clock on the wall behind Maya read 7:15 PM… The countdown to death had begun! I shuddered and almost screamed: “No! Mom and Dad said those alleys are dangerous!” Maya was startled by my outburst: “Since when are you such a chicken, Dodo?” “Okay, okay, we won’t take the shortcut. Don’t cry!” I looked at Maya’s vivid, lively face. The face that had been crushed and covered in blood in my nightmares countless times. I swore in my heart. This time, I absolutely would not let anything happen to Maya! 2 My voice was tight: “I saw on the news recently that bad things happen in those alleys. Let’s stick to the main road!” Maya chuckled: “Alright, safety first. Good job!” She spoke to me like I was a child. She was only three years older than me. She was just a kid too, but she always yielded to me, spoiled me. And because of me, she lost her future. I stared at the digital watch on my wrist. 7:17 PM. In my past life, not wanting to miss the drama at 7:30, I insisted on taking a shortcut and dragged Maya into the alley. At a fork in the alley, a dark figure suddenly lunged out and covered Maya’s mouth with a towel. I screamed my lungs out, but no one answered in the deserted alley. Maya slumped to the ground. The man picked up a brick and smashed it into my head. I fell into a stinking pile of garbage, like a dying fish, watching helplessly as Maya was stripped and murdered. Thinking of this, I couldn’t stop shivering. It was still light out at this time in summer, and there were plenty of pedestrians on the street. Street vendors were selling hot dogs and pretzels on the sidewalks. My palms were sweating profusely. My throat was dry. I kept comforting myself. He wouldn’t dare to commit a crime in broad daylight, right? Maya turned to look at me: “Dodo, I noticed you haven’t said a word the whole way. Did the sun rise in the west today?” Yeah, I used to be a chatterbox. I could write a dissertation on whether Team Edward or Team Jacob was better. When Maya called me “Little Sparrow,” I proudly declared I would become a teacher even more talkative than her homeroom teacher. Maya laughed, saying, “I pity the class that gets you.” That noisy me, full of longing for the future… Died with Maya that summer. The smile was still on Maya’s face. “Wait, don’t tell me—” Her voice cut off abruptly. All expression on Maya’s face froze instantly, eyes widening in shock. Bright red blood sprayed from her slender neck. She opened her mouth, seeming to want to grab something, and fell straight forward. “Ah—” “Psycho—” “Murder—” Chaos erupted around us, screams filling the air. My mind went blank. A cold blade plunged fiercely into my back. The immense impact made me stumble forward. I turned my head in excruciating pain— It was that masked man! Those eyes were staring straight at me. Why! Why did we meet him again this time! He roared like a beast: “B*tches!” “You all deserve to die!” 3 In my past life, he was the same. While stripping Maya, he kept cursing. “Deserved!” “I’m doing God’s work!” “Women deserve to die!” As if he harbored monstrous hatred. But we didn’t even know him… Opening my eyes again, I gasped for air. Looking around, I was back in the convenience store. The clock on the wall read 7:15 PM. Maya’s voice rang out again: “Take a shortcut? Don’t you want to catch Grey’s Anatomy at 7:30?” I immediately rushed inside the store, turning back to Maya: “I want to see what snacks they have.” Maya followed me in, looking puzzled: “Weird. Usually, you can’t even miss the opening theme.” I thought hard. Maybe that killer just wanted to commit a random crime? Not finding anyone in the alley, he went to the main street. In the first timeline, when the police found him, he had already committed suicide at home. The police came to my house with a photo asking if I knew him. I had never seen the man in the photo. Neither Maya nor I could have known him. It shouldn’t be a revenge killing… I read in detective novels that people like him might just hate society. So this time, we’ll stay in the store a bit longer. Surely we can avoid him, right? 4 I touched every bag of chips on the shelf, picked it up, put it down. That summer, the packaging for Lay’s chips hadn’t changed yet. In elementary school, Maya, being in middle school, had a daily allowance of two dollars. It was a huge sum to me. I pestered her to buy me chips. One bag each. It tasted better than any Michelin-starred meal. “Miss.” A little boy looked up and pleaded: “Can you help me get the magic pills?” I froze: “Magic pills?” Maya chuckled, reaching up to grab a pack of Maltesers and handing it to the boy. The boy jumped happily: “With these magic pills, mom and I can live forever!” Magic pills… I used to chase Maya around, shouting spells from Harry Potter. The sunset completely covered the small shop. Memories of the past glowed golden in the evening light. Interrupted suddenly by the shop owner’s voice— “What do you need?” Then a raspy voice: “Lighter.” The owner said lazily: “Two bucks.” I instinctively peeked out from the aisle. It was him. He was still wearing a mask! He took the lighter, excitement flashing in his eyes, and unscrewed the cap of the water bottle in his hand. The owner shouted: “Hey! What are you doing!” Immense fear struck me. I screamed at the top of my lungs: “Run!” “He’s crazy!” But it was too late. The convenience store was instantly engulfed in flames. The smile on Maya’s face was replaced by terror in a split second. A woman’s cry came from outside. “Save my son! He’s only five, he’s still inside!” “Please, save him!” … 5 4 dead, 1 injured in the convenience store fire. In this sudden disaster, I was the sole survivor. Burns covering 90% of my body left me lying in a hospital bed all day. Sinking into endless regret. My self-righteousness not only failed to save Maya… But killed more innocent people. In the first timeline, the memory of the shop owner giving us wedding candy was still vivid. Her face was all smiles: “My brat is finally getting married! You all must come to the wedding next month!” And now? She would never see her son get married. And that little boy, his mom used to complain to neighbors at the street corner: “All he does is play! Got a zero on his test! I’m so mad.” Just yesterday, she jumped from the roof, leaving a long letter on the table. She said in her next life, she still wants to be his mom. I killed them. My parents’ hair turned white overnight. My once-talkative father became silent, and my mother’s eyes were swollen like walnuts, yet she forced herself to comfort me: “Don’t be scared, Dodo… being alive is good, being alive is good…” “Mom and Dad will always be with you…” Neighbors whispered at the door: “Sigh, the Luo family is cursed. Their eldest daughter could have gone to Ivy League.” “Exactly. The younger one got into a top high school too, and now…” “How will they live… a good family, ruined.” Yes. A good family ruined. I am everyone’s curse. Why wasn’t it me who died? Maya’s classmates, some held acceptance letters from top universities, becoming elites in big tech companies years later. Some became influencers with millions of followers. Some started businesses, went abroad, started families… Only my sister. Only she was left forever, lonely, in that hottest summer. When I was about to drown in despair, a man in uniform entered the ward. He walked to my bed, holding a photo of a man, looking solemn: “Do you know this person?” That face… I wanted to tear him to pieces! In the first timeline. They had already asked me with this photo. The man in the photo had an extremely ordinary, dull face. Corners of his mouth slightly drooping. Looked like he was about our age. I searched my memory for this face again. But I really didn’t know him. I shook my head. The police officer frowned tightly. His next words made me gasp. “However, when we investigated his home, we found something extremely unusual.” “His room was covered with photos of your sister!” My heart stopped. “And in his diary, we found a lot of content about your sister. He described your sister, Maya, as his girlfriend.” “Think carefully, did your sister ever mention this person?” No! Impossible! Absolutely impossible! She said before college, she would only focus on her studies! I struggled, wanting to ask more— What else was written in his diary? What was his motive? The police officer’s lips were still moving, but I couldn’t hear any sound. My vision went black.

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Answering an emergency call got me reported for a “bad attitude,” and my department head fired me on the spot. The patient’s mother gloated, “Good. You deserve to be unemployed.” So I walked away and took a job at a private institute for triple the salary. The next day, that same mother burst into my new ER, clutching her child. “Please, I’m begging you, save my son!” Her son had a rare disease. Only three doctors in the entire city knew how to treat it. Two of them were overseas. The third one was me. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m no longer a doctor at your hospital.” My old department head showed up with the hospital president. “Name your price! Anything!” I pointed at the mother. “I want her on her knees outside my mother’s ICU room until the day my mother walks out of it.” Three months later, I took half of my old department’s doctors with me. 01 It was two in the morning, and the emergency room at City General Hospital was a gaping, unhealing wound in the belly of the sleeping metropolis. The air was a thick, suffocating cocktail of antiseptic, iron-rich blood, and the sour tang of vomit. The hallways were crammed with temporary gurneys. A desperate symphony of moans, coughs, the anxious whispers of families, and the incessant, rhythmic beeping of monitors filled the space. I was wearing a white coat stained with blood and God knows what else, having been on my feet for eighteen consecutive hours. The soles of my feet felt like I was walking on shattered glass; every step was a fresh stab of pain. My eyelids were leaden weights. A relentless, pounding drumbeat throbbed at my temples. My brain felt like it was pickling in formaldehyde—dull, slow, and numb. I was in the middle of administering a nebulizer treatment to a patient having a severe asthma attack when my phone began to vibrate violently, as if possessed. The screen lit up with the caller ID: “Nanny.” Beneath it, a glaring notification: 12 Missed Calls. My heart plummeted. A cold dread seized my throat. I answered, and the nanny’s hysterical sobs exploded through the receiver. “Dr. Ross! Your mother… her heart… it stopped! The ambulance isn’t here yet!” BOOM. My mind went blank. The world fell silent, replaced by a high-pitched ringing in my ears. The nebulizer mask slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor. It took me a few seconds to find my voice, and when I did, it was a ragged, trembling mess. “Now! Start chest compressions, now! The way I showed you! Push hard! Don’t stop!” My voice was shrill with terror, completely out of control. A woman holding a child, who had been glaring at me with impatience, shot to her feet. Her name was Sharon. I remembered her. Her son had a simple fever, but she’d been raising hell in the ER for two hours. “Doctor! Have you no professional ethics? My son has been waiting with a fever for two hours, and you have time to be on a personal call?” Her voice was sharp and acidic, every word a poison-tipped dart. Tears of panic were welling in my eyes. I couldn’t spare her a glance. I screamed into the phone, “Push hard! Do you hear me? Don’t stop! Whatever you do, don’t stop!” “What is this attitude?” Sharon suddenly raised her phone, the camera pointed directly at me. “This is how City General treats its patients? I’m reporting you! I’m putting this all over the news!” My eyes were bloodshot. I was practically begging. “My mother is in cardiac arrest. Can you please, just let me finish this call?” “Everyone has emergencies!” Sharon sneered, her face a mask of spiteful righteousness. “So your mom is in a rush, but my son isn’t? If my son’s brain gets damaged from this fever, are you going to take responsibility? Why is your emergency more important than his? You’re just trying to slack off!” Her words were a poisoned blade, twisting into my most vulnerable spot. Just then, the department head, Dr. Evans, arrived, drawn by the commotion. The practiced, bureaucratic smile on his face vanished the moment he saw the video Sharon was recording. He yanked me into a nearby office, the door slamming shut behind us, muffling the chaos outside. “Lena,” he began, wringing his hands, his face a mask of deep disappointment. “Look at this. The optics are terrible. Doctor-patient relations are so tense right now. You’re making the hospital look bad.” I was shaking all over, my voice choked with sobs. “Sir, my mom… she’s in cardiac arrest, I…” “That’s enough,” Dr. Evans cut me off, his tone shifting to cold and clinical. “You’re suspended, effective immediately. Come in tomorrow to handle your termination paperwork.” I looked up, incredulous, feeling as though a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. “What… what did you just say?” Dr. Evans avoided my eyes, his gaze fixed on a plaque of hospital regulations on the wall. “You’re not a rookie, Lena. You know how important the patient relationship is. My hands are tied. I have to placate the family.” The office door burst open. My colleague, Dr. Cole, stormed in, his face livid. “Sir! Dr. Ross has worked three straight double shifts! Her mother is dying, and you’re going to—” “Enough!” Dr. Evans waved his hand dismissively, as if shooing a fly. “This is the hospital’s decision! It’s final!” From the doorway, Sharon poked her head in, a triumphant smirk plastered across her face. “That’s more like it. A bad attitude deserves to be punished. She deserves to be unemployed.” That smile was a physical pain in my eyes. I bit my lip so hard I could taste the metallic tang of blood. Without a word, I tore off the heavy, stained white coat—the one that carried the blood and fluids of strangers—and threw it onto Dr. Evans’s pristine desk. Then, I turned and ran. “Lena!” Dr. Cole yelled after me. But I was already in the elevator. The doors slid shut, sealing me off from the world. The stark, white light of the hospital corridor was sliced into a thin line, then vanished. In the small, silent box, I leaned against the cold metal wall, the strength draining out of me all at once. And finally, the tears came. 02 I ran into Central Medical Center like a madwoman. The red light above the ICU pulsed like an ominous eye in the bleached-white hallway. Our nanny was waiting by the doors, her eyes swollen shut. Seeing me, she broke down completely. “The doctors said… they said it’s really bad…” The heavy automatic doors slid open, and a doctor in green scrubs emerged. When I saw his face, I froze. It was Mark. My ex-boyfriend. He looked at me without a flicker of emotion. The eyes that had once held so much love for me were now filled with nothing but professional detachment. “Family? You need to sign here.” His voice was flat, devoid of any feeling. My hand trembled as I took the pen. The words on the page danced and blurred before my eyes. “How… how is she?” My voice was a broken whisper. Mark’s tone was as clinical as if he were reading a weather report. “Acute myocardial infarction. She missed the golden window for resuscitation. The prognosis is not good.” My knees buckled. I had to grab the wall to keep from collapsing. “It’s my fault… it’s all my fault… I wasn’t there in time…” A tidal wave of guilt and self-loathing crashed over me. Mark watched me, a flicker of something like scorn in his eyes. “You’re a doctor, aren’t you? How did you not know your own mother had a severe heart condition?” My face was as white as a sheet. My lips moved, but no sound came out. “Her… her check-ups were always normal. I didn’t know… I really didn’t know…” “We’ll observe her for the next 24 hours,” he said, taking the signed form and turning to leave. He took two steps, then paused and looked back. His next words were spoken softly, but they landed with the force of a physical blow. “I heard you got fired from City General.” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. I said nothing. A corner of his mouth lifted in a sarcastic smirk. “You always said your career was more important than our relationship. Well, look at you now. You don’t have a career anymore, either.” I closed my eyes, letting the hot tears trace cold paths down my cheeks. The bench outside the ICU was hard and cold. I pulled my thin jacket tighter around me and didn’t sleep a wink. At 5 a.m., my phone lit up. It was a text from Dr. Cole. It’s all over the department. Dr. Evans singled you out in the morning meeting. Said you were a disgrace to the ER, a gross violation of professional ethics. I stared at the words, a sharp pain lancing through my heart. Another text followed. The head nurse is telling everyone in the group chat that you got what you deserved. That you were always so aloof and never fit in, and now it’s karma. A smile that was more like a grimace stretched my lips. My “aloofness” was just my refusal to play their political games, to join the gossip circles, to suck up to Dr. Evans, to sign off on unnecessary tests for patients. In their eyes, that was being stuck-up. At 8 a.m., the sun came up. The hallway began to fill with people. A few doctors I recognized from medical conferences walked past. They saw me sitting outside the ICU, but they averted their gazes and quickened their pace, pretending I wasn’t there. I even heard one of the younger nurses whisper to her friend, “Look, that’s her. The one who got fired for offending a patient’s family. She totally brought it on herself.” The whisper was quiet, but it drilled into my ears. I didn’t even have the strength to argue. My phone chimed again. A text message. It was my landlord. Lena, rent is due this month. I opened my banking app. The account balance was a glaring, negative red number. I had forgotten. The hospital had already frozen my direct deposit. The nanny brought me a bowl of steaming porridge. “Dr. Ross, you haven’t eaten since yesterday. Please, have something…” I looked at the simple millet porridge in the thermos, exactly the way my mom always made it for me after a long night shift. The tears started again, fat, uncontrollable drops splashing into the warm porridge, vanishing without a trace. My life, it seemed, had been stirred into the same messy, indistinguishable pulp. 03 On the third morning, I was still keeping vigil outside the ICU, a soulless statue carved from grief. A well-dressed, distinguished-looking man in his fifties walked toward me. The nanny saw him and jumped to her feet. “Director Finch! What are you doing here?” I recognized him. He was Dr. Alistair Finch, the president of the prestigious Sterling Institute, and one of my mother’s old university classmates. Dr. Finch’s gaze settled on me, his deep-set eyes full of sympathy. “I heard about what happened with your mother. Lena, my dear, are you alright?” I managed to pull the corners of my mouth into a stiff smile. “Thank you for your concern, Dr. Finch.” He dispensed with the pleasantries and got straight to the point. “Lena, I want you to come work for me at The Sterling Institute. Three hundred and fifty thousand a year, your own private clinic, and you can build your own team.” I was stunned, my mind struggling to process his words. “Dr. Finch, in my current situation…” “I know you were fired,” he interrupted, his voice steady and firm. “But I’m hiring you for your skill as a physician, not for a work history that has been unjustly destroyed.” I shook my head, my voice hoarse. “Right now… I can’t even think about that…” Dr. Finch suddenly lowered his voice, and what he said next made the blood freeze in my veins. “Don’t you want to know why your mother’s heart condition suddenly became so critical?” My head snapped up. I stared at him. “What… what do you mean?” “She’s been getting her arrhythmia medication from City General for a long time, correct?” Dr. Finch’s gaze was sharp. “I’ve reviewed her chart. She had a minor arrhythmia. It should never have progressed to full cardiac arrest.” My breathing quickened. A terrible thought began to form. “But… but all her recent check-ups were normal!” Dr. Finch looked at me pointedly. “Normal check-up reports, but an abnormal reaction to her medication. Lena, the pharmaceutical procurement at City General… it’s a corrupt system.” All the color drained from my face. I remembered. My mother had been complaining recently that the hospital’s medication made her feel worse, that her heart raced more after taking it than before. At the time, I dismissed it as a side effect. I told her to give it time. How could I have been so careless? “If you want to find the truth, you need a platform, one that isn’t controlled by City General’s politics,” Dr. Finch said, his words like a key unlocking the door to vengeance in my heart. “My institute can give you that platform.” I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms. The sharp pain brought me a terrifying clarity. “I accept,” I said. My voice was quiet, but each word was laced with ice. Dr. Finch nodded, satisfied. “Good. Come in tomorrow to sign the contract. I’ve already had it drawn up.” He turned to leave, then paused. “By the way,” he added. “The head of procurement at City General, a Director Jennings, just booked a twenty-thousand-dollar executive health screening package for his entire family at our institute last week.” I drew a sharp, ragged breath. Director Jennings’s salary was barely six figures. Where did he get that kind of money? In that moment, I knew with absolute certainty: what happened to my mother was no accident. It was an attack. I looked through the thick glass of the ICU window at my mother, lying motionless, a tangle of tubes keeping her alive. I made a silent vow. Whoever did this to her, I would make them pay. In blood. 04 The Sterling Institute was a gleaming thirty-two-story tower of glass and steel in the city’s most affluent district, a modern temple of medicine. There was none of the crowding, chaos, or despair of City General. Here, there was only quiet, light, and a reassuring sense of order. The head of HR showed me to my new office. “Dr. Ross, this is your private clinic. Two thousand square feet, fully equipped with the latest diagnostic technology imported from Germany.” I stood before the massive floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the river of traffic below. It felt like another world. Just three days ago, I was fighting with a patient’s family over a single gurney in an ER so cramped you could barely turn around. The HR manager handed me a beautifully bound contract. “Dr. Ross, your base salary is three hundred and fifty thousand, with quarterly bonuses and project-based incentives. All benefits are at the highest tier.” I signed my name, “Lena Ross.” The nib of the pen scratched against the paper. It felt unreal, like a dream too good to be true. Meanwhile, back at City General, the head nurse was showing her phone to Dr. Evans. “Sir, look. That woman, Lena Ross, went to Sterling. I heard they’re paying her three hundred and fifty grand a year,” she said, her voice dripping with envy. Dr. Evans took a sip from his thermos and sneered. “Private hospitals are all smoke and mirrors. They’ll say anything to create buzz. Who does she think she is, some kind of miracle worker? Just wait. See how long she lasts.” Across town, in a neighborhood online group, Sharon was bragging about her “victory.” “You guys, that super rude doctor I told you about? I got her fired! That’s how you deal with these people who take your money and don’t do their jobs!” The chat filled with likes and supportive comments. “You go, Sharon! Someone had to teach them a lesson!” “Exactly! We’re the customers! They’re supposed to provide a service! If they have a bad attitude, they shouldn’t be doctors!” Sharon beamed at her phone screen, then hugged her son and kissed his cheek. “See, baby? Mommy will always stand up for you.” She was so absorbed in her triumph that she didn’t notice the unnatural flush on her son’s face. Back at the Sterling Institute. Dr. Finch knocked and entered my office. “Lena, this is your team. Three assistants.” Three young people stood behind him. One of them, a young woman, saw me and gasped. “Dr. Ross!” I recognized her. It was Mia, one of my former medical students. “Mia? What are you doing here?” Mia shuffled her feet, embarrassed. “Dr. Ross, I… I was also ‘let go’ from City General…” A warmth spread through my chest. I walked over and patted her shoulder. “It’s alright. You’re with me now. We’re going to do great work here.” The other two assistants, both recent graduates, introduced themselves, their eyes shining with respect. That afternoon, my first consult request arrived. A VIP patient, the chairman of a major local corporation. He’d had a persistent high fever for three weeks, had been to every major hospital in the city, and undergone countless tests, all inconclusive. I studied the thick file of medical records, my brow furrowing. “Let me see the patient,” I said to Mia. In the hospital room, the family crowded around me, their faces etched with anxiety. A middle-aged woman with red-rimmed eyes grabbed my arm. “Doctor, please, you have to save my father! Money is no object!” I approached the bed. The patient was semi-conscious, his breathing shallow. I began a thorough physical examination. As my fingers touched his fingertips, I noticed a subtle detail that had clearly been overlooked—slight clubbing at the ends of his fingers. The name of an extremely rare but highly fatal disease flashed in my mind. I looked up, my voice firm and unwavering. “Prep for a bronchoscopy, now. And run a serum G-test and GM-test, stat!”

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On the first day of freshman year, I excitedly brought local snacks to share with my new roommates. But as soon as I finished introducing myself, my three roommates suddenly pushed me out the door, resolutely refusing to share a room with me. They even dragged the Resident Advisor into it. The RA had no choice but to scramble and coordinate a new room for me. But the moment I arrived at the new room, before I could even wheel my luggage in, I was met with fierce resistance from the new roommates. They wouldn’t even let me in the door, claiming they’d rather drop out than live with me. I was completely baffled, thinking someone had been spreading rumors about me. But I’d never offended anyone. I scoured the class group chats, campus forums, and confession pages, but found nothing about me. I asked other classmates. They were friendly one minute, but the moment I mentioned becoming their roommate, their faces changed instantly. Yet no one would tell me why. 1 “Sir, we absolutely refuse to be his roommate.” “Yeah, if I have to room with him, I’m dropping out.” “This…” Seeing his persuasion falling on deaf ears, the Resident Advisor looked at me helplessly. “Sorry guys, can you at least tell me why?” “I’m really easy to get along with. I lived in dorms in high school, I promise I’m not high-maintenance.” I carefully grabbed one of the students, hoping he’d give me a reason. He just glanced at me and shook off my hand. “No reason. We just refuse to room with you.” I leaned against the doorframe, looking at my homeless luggage, feeling like I was about to break down. I’ve always been introverted and quiet. Although I don’t have many friends, I’ve never made enemies. I didn’t understand why, in a new city, a new school, facing complete strangers… Everyone was so resistant, refusing to be my roommate. “Sorry, Julian. I really can’t find anyone willing to room with you right now.” “The school doesn’t have single rooms. How about you stay in a hotel for now, and I’ll try to coordinate another room for you?” “Don’t worry, maybe there’s just a misunderstanding. It’ll clear up once people get to know you.” The RA patted my back soothingly. Right, did someone say something about me? The RA’s words reminded me. I immediately checked the class group chat, the school’s online forum, and the confession wall. I scrolled to the bottom but found nothing about me. Besides, I was the only one from my high school to get into this university. There shouldn’t be anyone here who knows me, let alone badmouths me. Just as I was racking my brain, someone called out to me in the classroom. “Julian, what a coincidence! You’re in my class?” I looked up and saw the first person I met at this school, Zack. I met him on the way to registration. He had low blood sugar and almost fainted. I gave him a drink and some bread just in time, which helped him recover. We were busy moving luggage then, so we just exchanged contacts and parted ways. I didn’t expect him to be my classmate. “Zack, do you have an empty bed in your room? Can I be your roommate?” I grabbed Zack like a drowning man clutching a straw. 2 I just helped him. He should know what kind of person I am. Even if someone badmouthed me, he shouldn’t believe it. It just so happened that the RA and I had visited almost every room except the last one. I was too disheartened to go. Unexpectedly, Zack was in that last room. I waited expectantly for Zack to nod. But to my surprise, hearing that I wanted to be his roommate, Zack’s face changed instantly. “No, our room is full.” “They won’t agree to room with you.” Zack dropped his smile and looked at me warily. “Zack, why? Why don’t you want to be my roommate?” “You know I’m not a bad person.” I tugged at Zack, on the verge of collapse. I didn’t expect him to be my roommate anymore. I just wanted to know the reason. I could change whatever it was. But he yanked his hand away. “No reason. Just don’t want to room with you.” Helpless, I posted on Reddit for advice. We’re all classmates, why is there not a single person willing to accept me as a roommate? Kind netizens quickly offered many theories. “Did someone say you have an infectious disease?” I stared at this comment, realization dawning. Recently, there were rumors about students with HIV entering schools. To prevent discrimination, names are usually kept confidential. Did someone say something to make people think I have an infectious disease? I immediately booked a full physical examination at the hospital. I tested for every possible infectious disease. A few days later, the report came out. All negative. I didn’t have any infectious diseases. Excitedly, I projected the report on the big screen in class. To prevent doubts about Photoshop… I even logged into the hospital’s system on the spot to show the electronic report. I thought the misunderstanding would be cleared, and someone would accept me. But to my surprise, I asked every classmate, and still, no one was willing. Mentioning moving in made them threaten to drop out. Now, even the netizens were stumped, suspecting I was hiding something. The comments turned from helpful to sarcastic. “Clickbait, bet the OP is a scammer.” “Only telling your side of the story? Why would everyone hate you for no reason? You must be hiding something.” “Next time I see a post like this, I’ll win the lottery.” My DMs filled with abuse. Breaking down, I deleted the post. 3 My situation soon spread to other classes in the department. Without knowing the truth, some said I did something unforgivable, others said I had a terrible disease. Walking through the department building, I felt people pointing and whispering. I stayed in a hotel for half a month. The cost was draining me. Helpless, I had to ask my parents for more money. But seeing my parents in the video call, squatting by a construction site eating plain buns, I couldn’t open my mouth. After having me, my parents decided not to have more children, fearing I’d be treated unfairly. Though not rich, they gave me the best of everything. Even with limited education, unable to help with certain things… They always cared for and encouraged me. “Julian, are you used to living at school? Getting along with roommates?” “We know you don’t like to talk, but try to have good relationships with classmates.” “Making friends will make you happier.” “Julian, are you eating well? School just started, but you look thinner.” Hearing Mom’s concern and thinking of my recent ordeal, tears threatened to spill. I hung up hastily. Although I didn’t ask, Mom transferred money, telling me to buy good food. I knew I had to move into a dorm ASAP. I gave up on my department’s dorms and begged the RA to find a bed in another department. Finally, the RA’s relentless efforts paid off. “This is a senior dorm from another department.” “They’re all out on internships, so the room is empty. There’s one vacant bed.” “Both department RAs talked to them, and they agreed to let you move in.” Hearing this, I wept with joy. Finally, someone accepted me. No more expensive hotels. I happily organized my luggage and cleaned the room inside out. Thinking if the roommates came back, I’d leave a good impression. But that day came sooner than expected. Before I could enjoy two days of peaceful campus life, I learned a senior was returning from his internship. Knowing he was coming back, I anxiously lost sleep. The next day, I was restless. Afraid he’d kick me out upon seeing me. But thankfully, my fears were unfounded. The senior was friendly, even sharing snacks he brought back. Seeing the clean room, he praised me non-stop. Saying he met a god-sent junior. I was overjoyed, feeling warmth from a classmate for the first time. We got along well, and I thought everything was on track. Until that day, after class, carrying takeout and watermelon, ready to game with the senior… I reached the door and found a crowd. My senior roommate, two RAs, and two guys I didn’t know. Probably the other two seniors living here. “No, he must move out.” 4 “We’re seniors, why shove a freshman in with us?” “We can buy that empty bed, or put someone else there.” “Anyway, Julian Jiang is a no-go.” Looking at the senior who smiled at me this morning, now wanting to throw my luggage out. I was stunned. The watermelon slipped from my hand. It smashed, red juice spreading like the blood from my heart. “Bro Lin, didn’t we get along fine?” “Why kick me out again?” “Why? Why does no one want to room with me?” I broke down completely, grabbing the senior I lived with for days, demanding an answer. Almost kneeling to beg him. But no matter what I said, he coldly demanded I pack and leave immediately. Saying if I didn’t move, he’d keep the whole building awake. Even the RA threatening their graduation didn’t shake them. Not wanting to disturb others, I silently packed and left. The RA told me he really couldn’t find a dorm that would take me. He applied for a refund of my accommodation fees so I could rent off-campus. I gave up completely. Helpless, I found a part-time job at a bubble tea shop to pay rent. Luckily, I quickly found a suitable place. With the refunded fees, I managed. I didn’t need to ask my parents for money. One day at the bubble tea shop, I unexpectedly saw Zack buying a drink. Since I begged him to be roommates and failed, we hadn’t spoken. Surprisingly, seeing me working here, he initiated conversation. “Julian, I still need to thank you.” “Without you, I might have fainted on campus the first day.” “Anyone passing by would have helped. No need to thank me.” I handed over the tea coldly. Recent events exhausted me; I didn’t want to deal with school people. “Julian, I…” But for some reason, Zack looked very guilty, unlike his arrogant refusal before. Seeing I ignored him, he lingered at the door for a long time, seemingly wanting to say something but hesitating. Finally, urged by other staff, he left. “What happened? Did he owe you money? Why look at you like that?” A coworker asked curiously after Zack left. I just shook my head. Actually, I found it strange too. Since I moved out and gave up on dorm life… Many classmates seemed friendlier, no longer avoiding me like the plague. Even for group projects, people started willing to team up with me. Especially Zack. He seemed to want to fix our relationship but always stopped short of speaking. I didn’t know why, but since I couldn’t figure it out, I stopped thinking about it. Living alone for four years is fine. After graduation, this mess will be behind me. But while I moved on, someone else didn’t.

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