Category: English

The summer I turned ten, my younger sister vanished. She disappeared on her way to drop off lunch for our parents. There were no security cameras, and no one saw her. Because I was the one who was supposed to deliver that food, my mother never spoke another word to me. Fifteen years later, I became a police officer, retracing the exact route my sister took that day over and over again. The past slowly resurfaced in my mind, piece by piece. Gradually putting together a truly heartbreaking truth. 01 August 10, 2009. The day my sister went missing. Back then, we lived in a run-down trailer park on the industrial outskirts of town. My father, Robert, worked as a laborer at the nearby chemical plant. My mother, Susan, ran a busy roadside convenience store. During the summer, lots of people stopped by the store to buy ice cream and cold drinks around noon, so my dad would go help out after his morning shift. They were always so busy they rarely had time to stop and eat. Because of that, almost the entire summer, I was the one making lunch for the whole family. I was ten years old. The kitchen had no air conditioning, only a single, beat-up box fan. Once the water on the stove boiled, the steam filled the room, and the fan only blew hot air around. Whenever I cooked, I was drenched in sweat. The day it happened, it was exceptionally hot. After I finished making the food, I felt like I was getting heatstroke. There was no one else home. My grandmother, Mary, lived in the house right next door to our lot, but she was a harsh, bitter woman. Not only would she refuse to help, but she’d also hurl insults at me, so I never dared to bother her. I splashed cold water on my face, pushed through the nausea, and served my sister, Lily, a bowl of cold pasta salad so she could eat first. Then I packed my parents’ portions into Tupperware and loaded them into a tote bag. Lily took a few bites of her pasta and looked up at me. “Chloe, you lie down in front of the fan. I’ll take the food to them today. I know the way. I’ll finish the rest of my lunch when I get back.” It was a ten-minute walk from our house to the store. There was only one dirt road, and it wasn’t completely isolated. I had walked it with her more times than I could count. Still, I was uneasy. “Are you sure you can carry it?” I asked, half-lying on the couch with a wet rag pressed to my forehead. “I’m fine! Don’t worry, Chloe. It’s a short walk. I’ll be right back.” Without giving me a chance to argue, she grabbed the bag and headed for the door. Because she was chronically ill, Lily was incredibly frail. When she gripped the bag, the bones in her shoulders jutted out. Her tiny silhouette looked so fragile from behind. Right before she stepped out, she turned and waved. “I’ll be right back! You better not steal my pasta while I’m gone!” “Don’t worry, I won’t eat it!” I waved her off impatiently, urging her to go. But she never came back. 02 “Do you think… if I had told her I was going to steal her food, she would have hurried back?” On January 9, 2024, I officially joined the city police department as a rookie officer. Eight months later, I found myself talking to my mentor, Detective Miller, about the cold case that had tortured me for fifteen years. “When did you realize she was gone?” Detective Miller asked. I rubbed my tired eyes. “Around 2:00 PM. After she left, I forced down a bite of food and fell into a deep sleep. I woke up to my dad slapping me across the face.” Even though it had been years, I remembered it vividly. The moment I opened my eyes, I was met with my father’s violently angry face. “Why the hell didn’t you bring us our food?! Are you trying to starve us?!” I burst into tears. “Lily went to deliver it ages ago!” It was only after I said it that I noticed her half-eaten bowl of pasta still sitting on the table. It suddenly hit me that Lily hadn’t returned. A freezing chill crawled up my spine, and the sheer terror sucked the tears right out of my eyes. 03 We searched everywhere. Back then, the security camera grid hadn’t expanded to the back roads; only the main highway had surveillance. Our family ran around like headless flies, searching frantically. The police dragged the nearby pond three times. Nothing. They hired people to lower cameras into the drainage pipes and local wells. Nothing. After we officially filed a report, the police checked the highway footage and found no suspicious persons. They canvassed the neighbors and residents from the adjacent neighborhoods. Not a single person had seen her. Lily had simply vanished. My mother beat her fists against my chest, collapsing onto the dirt, sobbing hysterically. “Why are you so lazy?! If you had just taken the food yourself, she wouldn’t have gone!” My grandmother, a strict religious fundamentalist, declared that the Lord would never forgive a selfish, lazy child who lost her own sister. In a fit of rage, my father kicked me five or six times, sending me sprawling to the ground. The neighbors didn’t know the full story, so no one stepped in to stop him. They just pointed their fingers at me, whispering. Like a wooden puppet, devoid of a single tear, I walked to the dirt road where Lily disappeared. I stood there stubbornly for three days, refusing to blink, staring at the intersection, desperately hoping her tiny figure would appear. But no miracle came. After that incident, my family barely spoke to me. My mother, in particular, never said another word to me for the next fifteen years. By middle school, I moved into the dorms. I’d come home on weekends, grab my allowance and clean clothes, and leave immediately. I didn’t dare stay a minute longer than necessary. Over the years, I walked the route she took to deliver that food countless times. I stared at every blade of grass, every single tree, hoping to find a clue, imagining a million different scenarios. It was absolute torture. 04 “How long did your afternoon naps usually last?” Miller asked, flipping through the old case file I had dug up. Back then, it was classified as a standard missing persons case, left to gather dust for over a decade. “It varied. Sometimes long, sometimes short. But that day, I felt abnormally exhausted. I slept for over two hours, right up until my dad hit me.” “You said you had heatstroke. Do you remember what it actually felt like?” I tried hard to recall the physical sensations of that noon. “Lethargy. Extreme drowsiness. Dizziness. My head felt incredibly heavy…” Miller listened, then fell silent for a moment. “Has it ever occurred to you that you might not have had heatstroke at all?” My scalp prickled. I stared at him, my eyes wide. “The symptoms of heatstroke are dizziness, headaches, muscle weakness, nausea, vomiting, and cold sweats,” Miller explained. “Your symptoms don’t sound like heatstroke. They sound like you ingested…” My heart dropped. Before he could even finish, I blurted out, “Ingested what?” “Sleeping pills. Or some kind of strong sedative,” Miller said, giving me a meaningful look. Why hadn’t I thought of that? The symptoms of sedative ingestion and heatstroke do overlap in some ways. But heatstroke has two very distinct trademarks: nausea/vomiting and cold sweats. I remembered that day perfectly—I didn’t have either! The hairs on my arms stood straight up. 05 Back then, the adults—including the police—just assumed I was a lazy kid making excuses to avoid walking in the heat. Everything I said was dismissed as a child trying to dodge responsibility. They focused all their energy on searching for a missing person. And because of that, they missed a massive, glaring clue. “Boss, what made you realize it wasn’t heatstroke?” The case finally had a breakthrough. I was trembling with adrenaline. “It’s simple. From the way you talk about her, it’s obvious you and your sister had a deeply bonded relationship. She was little, walking alone, and you were incredibly worried about her. Under normal circumstances, you would have fought to stay awake until she got back safely. But instead, you passed out hard. You slept for over two hours, and if your dad hadn’t hit you, you probably would have slept longer. Obviously, that wasn’t natural.” My eyes burned. I nodded. In all these years, Miller was the very first person to notice that the bond between me and my sister was extraordinary. When Lily went missing, my dad pointed his finger in my face and screamed: “What kind of older sister are you?! She goes missing and you just sleep through it?! Why didn’t you just die in your sleep?!” Back then, I couldn’t understand why I had fallen asleep so heavily. I hated myself just as much as they hated me. No one knew how much I loved her. No one knew that our bond went far beyond normal siblings. It wasn’t just because we spent 24 hours a day together before I started grade school. It was because, through freezing winters and scorching summers, we only had each other to rely on. Because my parents were always working at the store, they left us at home to be watched by our grandmother. But Grandma was a religious fanatic, constantly running off to church gatherings and prayer circles, leaving us alone in the house all day, completely neglected. Because of that, I learned to cook on the stove when I was six. If I burned the rice, we ate burnt rice together. If I cooked it perfectly, we shared the perfect meal. When other kids cried, they called for their mothers. But when Lily cried, she called for me. 06 “You were sweating heavily that day, which means you probably drank a lot of water. The problem was most likely in your cup,” Miller said, pointing at the mug on my desk. “But who would drug a ten-year-old? And why?” I couldn’t help but ask. As I said it, two horrifying possibilities flashed through my mind, each more despairing than the last. “Did your family have any enemies?” I shook my head. “My parents were all about keeping the peace for their business. The only person who had a grudge against us was the local town creep, but the police confirmed he had a solid alibi that day.” Just then, a commotion erupted in the precinct lobby. A couple had come in to report their child missing. “Officer, please! Our daughter is eight. She’s severely autistic. My husband was taking her to her therapy session, and she wandered off on the way! You have to help us!” The woman was frantic, practically dropping to her knees. The husband looked despondent, loudly blaming himself, but there was an unmistakable look of relief hiding in his eyes. Seeing this, I knew exactly what was going on. I hadn’t even been on the force for a year, but I had already seen cases like this several times. Usually, it involved a special-needs child. The parents couldn’t afford the medical bills, or they simply couldn’t handle the lifelong emotional and physical toll. Seeing no hope, they intentionally abandoned the child. But to avoid being judged or investigated, they’d come to the police station to put on a theatrical performance. Despite knowing this, I dutifully took down the husband’s statement. “We were walking past the boardwalk at the beach. She saw people feeding the seagulls and got hyper-fixated. I couldn’t pull her away. So I turned around to buy a bag of birdseed from a kiosk, and in that split second, she vanished.” The child allegedly went missing around 5:00 PM, which perfectly coincided with high tide at the beach. They claimed they searched everywhere before coming to the police, meaning it had already been over two hours since she “vanished.” If she fell into the ocean, it only took minutes to drown. If she was taken by a trafficker, two hours was more than enough time to reach the interstate or a train station. It was too late. Even so, the police department couldn’t just ignore it. Miller ordered me to issue an immediate Amber Alert, blasting it across social media using the beach as the radius epicenter. He dispatched a squad to all major transit hubs and contacted two professional search-and-rescue teams to scour the coastline through the night. We did everything humanly possible. The rest was up to fate. 07 After the couple thanked us profusely and left, Miller looked out at the pitch-black night sky. “The odds of that kid being alive are slim to none. It’s only a matter of time before a body washes up.” He turned to me. “Your sister had severe asthma, right? Is it possible that…” I shook my head frantically, denying it. “No! My family never saw her as a burden. After Lily went missing, I became the ultimate sinner of the house. My mom hasn’t spoken to me in fifteen years.” He studied me, tapping his pen against the case file. “What about your grandmother? How did she treat you two?” I flinched. “You suspect my grandma?” It was true—if it wasn’t an enemy, the only people who had access to my water cup to slip in a sedative were my parents or my grandmother. “Not entirely. I’m just considering all possibilities and analyzing the case,” Miller replied. “Honestly, she treated us terribly. But that day, she had an airtight alibi. People testified she was at a neighbor’s house for a prayer circle.” Miller fell silent for a moment, then asked, “Are you absolutely sure no one saw your sister on that road?” “That dirt road was mostly abandoned, especially at noon in the dead of summer. There were only three shacks along the path. Two were dive bars that didn’t open until nightfall. The third was a boiled peanut stand run by a blind man. He lived in the shack, but he never opened for business at noon. So, no. No one saw her.” Miller shook his head repeatedly. “That is bizarre. This case really defies logic.” If even Miller was stumped, the hope that had just ignited inside me was extinguished. I stared at the photo of the missing autistic girl on my computer screen. She was the same age my sister was. She had the same big, dark eyes. My heart felt like lead. Seeing my despair, Miller encouraged me: “Chloe, don’t give up. As long as a body hasn’t been found, there’s hope she’s alive. Try to remember the details. In police work, we rely on intuition and meticulousness. If someone did something, they left a trace. Go back to your old neighborhood when you have time. See if it jogs your memory.” I nodded.

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After I suddenly collapsed and died in my dorm room, the university, desperate to avoid a scandal, offered my mom a job in the cafeteria to keep her quiet. Then, one by one, my roommates started dying. When the police reopened the investigation into my death, my mom just smiled calmly. “My daughter died of a sudden, natural cardiac event. Why would you be looking for a murderer?” 01 Rumors were spreading around campus that Dorm Room 332 was cursed. In just one month, three girls from that room had died. Bed 1: Me, Chloe Miller. Dead from sudden cardiac arrest. Bed 2: Ashley Parker. Strangled to death in the woods behind the library. Bed 3: Madison Reed. Brutally dismembered, her limbs missing. The only one left alive was Bed 4: Emily Carter. She dragged Ashley and Madison’s parents into the university cafeteria, pointing a shaking finger directly at the busiest food counter. “It’s her! That lunch lady! She’s Chloe Miller’s mother! She’s the murderer!” Then, she screamed at the top of her lungs hysterically: “Stop eating! You’re eating human flesh!” Amidst the screams and the sound of students gagging, my mom didn’t even look up. She scooped up a ladle of braised pork, casually shook half of it back into the tray, and slammed the rest onto a student’s plate. Only then did she drop the heavy metal ladle, wipe her calloused hands on her apron, and point right back at Emily. “If you have proof, go call the cops! If you don’t, shut your damn mouth before I break your legs!” Ashley and Madison’s parents lunged forward, trying to drag my mom out from behind the counter. My mom casually picked up a massive meat cleaver, instantly freezing them in their tracks. “Cowards,” my mom muttered. She turned to the terrified students in the cafeteria and yelled: “Sit back down! Nobody leaves until they finish their food! You’re college students, act like it! Don’t waste food!” 02 The police arrived at the cafeteria shortly after. During a search of the staff locker room, they found evidence. A thick rope tied into a hangman’s knot, and a bloodstained butcher knife. The detectives placed the evidence on the table in front of my mom. She scoffed and defended herself: “That rope is what I use to do pull-ups in the morning. I didn’t strangle Ashley. “And that knife is what I use to chop pork ribs. What does that have to do with Madison? “I’m not a murderer. I’m a good person.” Nobody believed her ridiculous explanation. The murder weapons from the recent killings had never been found. Now, they were sitting in my mom’s locker. The police identified her as the prime suspect and took her away in handcuffs. But what absolutely no one expected was that the DNA on the rope belonged exclusively to my mom. Just her skin cells. And the blood on the knife? Laboratory tests confirmed it was 100% pig blood. The evidence didn’t match the crimes at all. The next day, my mom was back behind the cafeteria counter. She scowled at the students whispering and pointing at her. “Why is everyone hiding from me?! Come get your food! I told you I’m a good person, why won’t anyone believe me?” 03 My name is Chloe Miller. I lived in Bed 1 of Dorm 332. A month ago, I died silently in my dorm room. By the time my roommates found me, rigor mortis had already set in. Everyone believed I had died from a sudden cardiac event. Even I—who was now floating around as a ghost—believed that was what killed me. All I remembered was waking up that morning feeling dizzy and violently nauseous, before completely blacking out. When I woke up again, I was a ghost floating in the night sky, watching my mom scream at the university administration. “My daughter died at your university! You are going to pay me a million dollars in compensation!” My mom was throwing an absolute tantrum on the lawn outside my dorm building. Dozens of students gathered around, whispering: “Who is that crazy lady?” “That’s Chloe Miller’s mom. The girl who died this morning.” “Chloe Miller? Why does that name sound so familiar?” “Oh, remember the leaked photos on the campus forum? That was her.” “Ohhhh, the girl who was exposed by her roommate for being a sugar baby? No wonder her mom is acting like trash. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” 04 When the gossip reached my mom’s ears, she threw an even bigger fit. Finally, the Dean of Students, Richard Stone, arrived on the scene. Looking absolutely furious, Dean Stone pulled my mom aside to negotiate. He offered her a one-time settlement of $250,000, plus a permanent, union-protected job in the university cafeteria with full benefits and a pension. The conditions: My mom had to stop causing a scene, she could not file a police report, she could not request an autopsy, and she had to sign a non-disclosure agreement to help the university sweep my death under the rug. My mom agreed immediately. She signed the paperwork with a massive grin, practically drooling as she counted the zeros on the bank transfer. After that, she went up to my dorm room. Humming a cheerful tune, she started packing up my belongings. Students from the neighboring rooms crowded the hallway, watching in disgust. My mom completely ignored them. She greedily peeled the decorative wallpaper off my walls, stuffing it into a trash bag, muttering to herself about how much she could sell the scrap paper for at the recycling center. A girl from the room next door whispered loudly: “Her daughter’s body isn’t even cold yet, and all she cares about is how much money she can make selling her dead kid’s stuff? What kind of mother is that?!” Another girl gossiped: “I heard Chloe had to take out massive student loans and work three off-campus jobs just to afford tuition. Is that true?” A senior who knew me nodded: “It’s true! Her mom didn’t give her a single dime. In fact, her mom constantly harassed her and demanded Chloe send her money!” Even the dorm RA couldn’t watch anymore. She yelled: “If Chloe could see this, it would break her heart!” 05 After my mom left campus, things went quiet. Until the day of my funeral. A few of my close friends from high school traveled to my hometown to say their final goodbyes. My cheap casket lay on the ground, surrounded by white paper flowers. The quiet, muffled sounds of my friends crying drifted through the cemetery. The only thing ruining the somber atmosphere was my mom screaming curses at me. She rested one foot on my casket, spat on the ground in disgust, and yelled loudly enough for the whole town and all my friends to hear: “Spit! Useless burden when she was born, and a short-lived disappointment when she died! “She died before she even made enough money to take care of me in my old age! What an ungrateful bitch!” Under the horrified stares of everyone present, my mom kicked my casket hard. She yelled at the gravediggers holding their shovels: “Hurry up and bury this bad luck! Whoever digs the fastest gets an extra fifty bucks!” After we got home, my mom acted like nothing had happened. She went to the local market to buy groceries. Some neighbors recognized her and tried to offer their condolences. But my mom just smiled smugly: “She was just a girl, who cares if she died? If she lived and got married, I’d probably only get a few thousand bucks for the dowry. She died and the school gave me a quarter of a million dollars AND a union job with a pension! That’s a massive profit! “Hey, is this beef fresh? I don’t want it if it isn’t! I have money now, I’m buying the good stuff to celebrate!” Whether it was the neighbors or my friends, everyone cursed my mom behind her back for being a heartless monster. But I was the only one who knew… the only thing they saw was exactly what my mom wanted them to see. Seven days after I was buried, Ashley Parker died. She was strangled to death, her body dumped in the woods behind the library. The students who found her body said Ashley’s mouth was open in a silent scream… but her tongue had been completely severed and removed. 06 Photos of the crime scene and wild rumors exploded across the campus. The university couldn’t suppress a murder this brutal, and the police were called immediately. Security cameras showed Ashley taking a phone call, then walking alone toward the woods. Unfortunately, there were no cameras inside the woods, and the cameras didn’t capture anyone suspicious following her. The person she was on the phone with was her boyfriend, Kevin Stone. But Kevin vehemently denied making the call. He claimed he had lost his phone earlier that day and hadn’t received his replacement SIM card yet. Kevin’s roommate, David, backed up his alibi, testifying that they were playing video games in their dorm the entire time. The police interviewed dozens of students, and no one believed Kevin would murder Ashley. They were the campus “It Couple.” They were deeply in love, and Kevin was genuinely devastated by her death. I knew Kevin. He was a wealthy, arrogant trust-fund kid, but Ashley had him wrapped completely around her finger. To put it nicely, he was incredibly devoted. To put it bluntly, he was a brainless puppet who did whatever she wanted. 07 After Ashley’s death, Kevin locked himself in his dorm, getting blackout drunk every single night. His roommate, David—his closest friend—stayed by his side, patiently comforting him. One night, I saw Kevin sitting on the floor of his dorm balcony, surrounded by empty liquor bottles. David was consoling him: “Bro, I know it hurts. Losing someone like that… anyone would lose their mind. “Cry it out. But once you’re done crying, you have to let it go. If Ashley is watching you from heaven right now, seeing you destroy yourself like this would break her heart.” Kevin grabbed a bottle, chugged a massive gulp of whiskey, and burped, the smell of alcohol heavy in the air. “Dave… didn’t you used to have a massive crush on Chloe? “When you tried to ask her out, Ashley totally blocked you and refused to let you near her. You two got into a huge screaming match over it, right? “Now Chloe is dead, and you’re acting like nothing happened.” David let out a cold, disgusted laugh. “Chloe told me she didn’t want to date in college. “I thought she was this pure, innocent girl focused on her studies. But the truth? She was whoring herself out as a sugar baby to some rich old creep! “Even if she was standing butt-naked in front of me right now, I wouldn’t look twice at a cheap slut like her!” The night wind carried their nauseating conversation directly to me. Ghosts don’t have physical ears. I couldn’t cover them to block out the sound. If I could, I would have turned into a vengeful demon and ripped the people spreading these lies into shreds. But I still didn’t know who originally started the rumors that destroyed my reputation. A few days later, the police released an update. The cybercrime unit had recovered the data from Ashley’s hard drive. They found a critical, undeniable piece of evidence: The anonymous user who posted the fabricated “sugar baby” rumors and deepfakes of me on the campus forum… was the victim, Ashley Parker. 08 A few months ago, deepfake photos of my face edited onto explicit images were posted anonymously on the university forum. The post claimed I was a gold-digging sugar baby sleeping with married men, and even attached a picture of my student ID card. I went to the police, but they couldn’t do anything. They told me cyber-defamation was a civil matter. I would have to sue the forum platform to get the IP address of the poster, and then file a private civil lawsuit against the individual. Or, I could just ignore it and pretend it never happened. Filing a lawsuit and hiring a lawyer required money. And I had absolutely no money. The post was eventually deleted by moderators, but the harassment, the insults, and the slut-shaming lasted for months. Even after I died, people were still passing around the fake photos. And the source files for those fake photos were sitting right on Ashley’s laptop. After Ashley died, the police questioned my mom, asking if she knew about the cyberbullying I endured. My mom didn’t even look up from snapping green beans. She spat angrily: “Of course I knew! That ungrateful little bitch! I starved myself to pay her tuition, and she goes off and becomes a whore for some rich old man?! “Officers, you tell me! She was living the high life, sleeping on piles of cash, and she never sent a single dime back to her own mother!” The two female detectives were visibly stunned. As they left the cafeteria, I heard them whispering to each other: “That poor girl. How did she end up with a monster like that for a mother?” But I didn’t feel sorry for myself at all. Because absolutely no one knew what happened on the night Ashley Parker died. My mom snuck past all the campus security guards, hiked out to the town cemetery in the dead of night, and placed a small glass jar on my grave. “Chloe, watch closely. Every single person who hurt you is going to pay with their blood!” Inside the wide-mouthed glass jar, floating in preservative fluid… was a freshly severed human tongue. 09 The police couldn’t find a single shred of physical evidence linking anyone to the crime. It was as if an invisible hand had meticulously wiped away every clue. With Ashley dead, Dorm 332 only had two girls left: Madison and Emily. Emily was completely paranoid, constantly terrified someone was coming to murder her, jumping at her own shadow. Madison, on the other hand, was entirely unbothered. She strutted in and out of the cafeteria every day, completely ignoring the campus rumors that the “Cafeteria Lady” murdered Ashley. In fact, every time she got food, she specifically went to my mom’s counter. She would look my mom dead in the eye and say loudly enough for everyone to hear: “Hey, lady. My name is Madison Reed. I was Chloe’s roommate. “I don’t care if you murdered Ashley or not. Just know this: I never bullied Chloe. If you’re looking for revenge, look elsewhere. Don’t come looking for me.” My mom rolled her eyes aggressively and snapped back: “What the hell are you talking about, you crazy brat?! I don’t have a slut for a daughter!” The students waiting in line were amazed by Madison’s sheer audacity. Madison walked away with her food tray, scoffing dismissively. “If you didn’t do anything wrong, you don’t have to be afraid of ghosts. Move, I’m eating.” But did Madison really not do anything wrong? A few nights ago, I watched my mom sneak out of the staff dorms, perfectly avoiding the blind spots of the campus security cameras, and break into the administrative building. I have no idea how my mom bypassed the electronic security doors. All I know is she picked the lock to my academic advisor’s office, rummaged through the filing cabinets, and pulled out two manila folders. They were the applications for the Federal Pell Grant and the university’s Needs-Based Scholarship. One folder had my name written on it. Wearing rubber gloves, my mom gently, tenderly traced her finger over the letters of my name on the folder. But when she opened the folder and pulled the documents out, she completely froze. The folder was empty. It contained nothing but blank, white printer paper. 10 I remember exactly what happened two months ago. My academic advisor posted an announcement in the class group chat: The university had just received funding for an emergency Needs-Based Financial Aid Grant. Any student who met the low-income requirements needed to submit their application packets immediately. I spent hours writing my personal essay and gathering my financial documents. I handed the packet directly to my advisor. But a few days later, my application was officially rejected. “You already received the Academic Merit Scholarship. You cannot double-dip and receive the Needs-Based Grant as well. It’s university policy,” my advisor told me flatly. But I had read the university handbook cover to cover. The Academic Merit Scholarship and the Needs-Based Grant were from entirely different funding pools. There was absolutely no rule preventing a student from receiving both. But my advisor refused to listen and firmly rejected my application. Left with no choice, I had to give up. Because the grant was highly competitive, each academic major was only allotted two spots. According to university rules, to finalize the selection process, the applicants had to give a short speech in front of a panel of professors and student representatives. The speeches were recorded and submitted to the Financial Aid Board for review. The fifth student to walk up to the podium… was Madison Reed. She shoved her brand-new iPhone 15 Pro into the pocket of her designer jacket, pinched her printed speech, and stood at the podium, impatiently tapping her expensive acrylic nails against the wood. “Hello professors, hello students. My name is Madison Reed. “I come from an incredibly impoverished family. When I was very young, my father passed away, leaving my mother to raise me entirely on her own. “When I was little, to take care of me, my mother couldn’t hold down a full-time job. We survived barely scraping by on the money she made working grueling odd jobs. “When I finally grew up, I worked part-time jobs after school to help pay the bills. “However… tragedy struck again. My mother was diagnosed with a severe, terminal illness. To pay for her medical treatments, we not only drained our meager savings, but went into massive, crippling debt…” The students in the audience immediately started whispering. The advisor demanded silence multiple times, but the quiet, confused chatter continued. “Wait, Madison’s dad is dead? I literally saw him drop her off in a Mercedes last month.” “She gets an allowance of like $2,000 a month. Since when does she work part-time?!” “I literally saw her post an Instagram story last week complaining that her mom went on vacation to Hawaii without her! When did her mom get terminal cancer?!” I was the only person in that room who knew the truth. Madison was reading my essay. Word for word. That wasn’t just my pain. That was my life. 11 The whispers in the classroom grew louder and louder until it was a deafening roar in my ears. I grabbed my head, covering my ears, curling into a tight ball in my seat, desperately trying to block out the psychological torture of hearing someone steal my trauma for profit. Madison gave a half-hearted, dismissive bow, walked off the podium, and shot me a mocking, condescending glare as she sat back down. The moment the panel concluded, I walked straight out of the classroom and called the State Department of Education’s anonymous whistleblower hotline. The very next day, the Vice Dean called me into his office. “Chloe, the university is fully aware of what happened. “We have decided to officially revoke Madison’s eligibility for the grant, and a formal disciplinary warning will be placed on her academic record. As for your academic advisor, the university is issuing an official reprimand, revoking his annual performance bonus, and placing him on strict probation. If this happens again, he will be terminated immediately. “If you are satisfied with this outcome, we kindly request that you withdraw your formal complaint with the State. “You are a sophomore. You still have two more years before you graduate. Escalating this further will only make things difficult for everyone involved. Don’t you agree? “I personally guarantee that next year’s Needs-Based Grant will have your name on it!” The carrot and the stick. It’s the oldest, most effective management tactic in the book. I could afford to offend a classmate. I could afford to offend an advisor. But if I wanted to graduate with my degree, I could absolutely not afford to offend the university administration. I thought the incident was over. I had no idea that Madison would harbor a venomous, psychotic grudge against me for it.

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He dumped me, then immediately fell for a poor, “innocent” girl who was even better at acting like an angel than I was. In my past life, to prove him wrong, I decided to rebel. I started hanging out with a bad crowd, got mixed up with some dangerous street thugs, and when I was cornered with nowhere to run, I begged him to save me. He completely ignored me. He covered his new girlfriend’s eyes with his hand and whispered softly: “Don’t look, it might scare you.” He abandoned me in that pitch-black alleyway, where I was brutally tortured to death. When I opened my eyes, I had traveled back in time—to the exact day he rejected me. 01 It was time to cut the birthday cake. Our friends were cheering, egging me on to confess my feelings. I gathered every ounce of courage I had and said: “Lucas, my birthday wish… is you.” The hand Lucas was using to hold his cigarette trembled slightly. The corner of his mouth curled up. He gave a wicked, lazy smirk: “Sorry. You’re way too ‘good girl’ for me.” “You’re just not my type.” In my past life, that single sentence drove me completely insane. Thinking about the horrific, agonizing way I died… A freezing chill shot down my spine. In that moment, I genuinely wanted to grab the cake knife and murder him. “Summer, are you okay?” “Lucas, what the hell is wrong with you?! Can’t you just say something nice to make the birthday girl happy?!” Lucas maintained that arrogant, lazy posture he always had. He blew a ring of smoke. And drawled lazily: “Sorry. Lying just isn’t my style.” His careless, raspy voice used to sound so attractive to me. But hearing it now, I only felt pure, visceral disgust. In front of everyone, my expression turned ice-cold. I looked at the cake and made a new birthday wish. “Lucas, my wish is that in this life, and every life after, you and I never cross paths again.” I blew out the candles. My friends tried to stop me, but they couldn’t. The smirk on Lucas’s face instantly froze. “Summer, are you serious right now?” “I’ll give you one more chance. Make a new wish, and I’ll pretend I didn’t hear what you just said.” No need. I completely ignored him. I picked up the knife to cut the cake. Lucas lunged forward and grabbed the blade of the knife with his bare right hand. “Summer, I am talking to you.” The sharp blade sliced into his fingers. Blood started dripping onto the table. Someone screamed: “Blood! Lucas, you’re bleeding!” I knew exactly what this was. He was having another one of his “episodes.” Lucas suffered from severe psychological issues. In my past life, I was the only person who could calm him down when he spiraled. Well. To be more accurate. Before the poor, innocent scholarship girl showed up… I was the only one. Because of that, I always delusionally believed I was special to him. Until the day I overheard him comforting her, using that same lazy, raspy tone. “She’s completely different from you.” “At best, she was just a temporary placebo. But you… you are my only cure.” “If I lose you, I will literally die.” I let go of the knife handle and stepped back. “If you like it that much, keep it.” I turned around to leave. Lucas threw the knife aside and grabbed my arm. His bloody fingers stained the sleeve of my pristine white button-down shirt. “Summer, who exactly are you throwing this tantrum for?” The sight of the blood triggered a violent wave of panic. I couldn’t control it. The horrific, agonizing memories of my past life flooded my brain. The world started spinning, my vision went black, and unable to bear the psychological weight, I fainted. When I woke up, Lucas was sitting by my bed. “You’re awake?” “You were the one who threw a tantrum, but I had to carry you all the way home. So, Summer, how are you planning to make this up to me?” Lucas was a classic bad boy. He loved saying ambiguous, flirtatious things like this. Things that always planted pathetic, delusional hopes in my heart. But I was no longer the stupid girl I used to be. I knew the truth perfectly well. When Lucas is actually in love, he can’t utter a single smooth, flirtatious line. When he confessed to her, his voice was literally shaking with nerves. I let out a heavy sigh and looked at him. “I’m exhausted.” “Lucas. After today, let’s stop seeing each other.” 02 The next day, I walked to school alone. Lucas didn’t wait for me at our usual spot. I knew exactly what he was doing. This was his version of a “punishment.” He was waiting for me to apologize to him. But I completely ignored his existence for the entire day. That afternoon, I was napping at my desk when my lab partner shook me awake. “Summer! Wake up! Lucas is in a massive fistfight on the basketball court!” I was still half-asleep. But she practically dragged me all the way to the courts. “Hurry up! Lucas is going absolutely psycho! You’re the only one who can stop him!” No. She was wrong. I didn’t need to go anywhere near him. Because his leading lady had already made her grand entrance. I guessed perfectly. By the time we pushed through the crowd, the fight was already over. Lucas was sitting on the sidelines, drenched in sweat, breathing heavily. And sitting right beside him… was a girl. She had her hair tied in a simple, low ponytail. Her face was pale and delicate. She was holding his hand, her voice trembling with the faintest hint of a sob. She whispered softly: “Lucas, you’re hurt.” Lucas violently hated when strangers touched him. He instinctively went to yank his hand away. But the exact second his eyes locked onto me standing in the crowd, he froze. His eyes darkened, and he deliberately let Chloe—the scholarship girl—keep holding his hand. The senior he had just beaten to a bloody pulp was being helped up by a few of his friends, preparing to leave. “Wait.” Lucas called out, stopping them in their tracks. He pointed to Chloe sitting next to him. “Apologize.” The senior’s face was bruised and swollen beyond recognition. A student nearby tried to intervene: “Lucas, come on. Let him go to the nurse first.” Lucas refused. His voice dropped to a terrifying, lethal pitch, repeating himself: “I said… apologize to her.” Chloe grabbed Lucas’s arm tightly and shook her head pitifully. “It’s fine, Lucas. Really, I’m okay.” The senior, despite being beaten half to death, was forced to bow deeply and apologize. Someone in the crowd whispered, asking why the fight started. My lab partner answered: “That guy called Chloe a ‘broke charity case,’ and Lucas overheard him.” “He deserved it! That’s what he gets for running his mouth!” “Lucas is so hot! Literally stepping up to defend her honor!” “Are we literally watching a Wattpad romance happen in real life?!” But I was the only one who knew the truth. In my past life, Lucas relentlessly bullied and terrorized that senior until he was forced to transfer to a different school. The day before he left, he pulled me aside. He warned me to be very, very careful around Chloe. He refused to say anything else. He was probably too terrified of Lucas to speak the truth. The senior needed to go to the hospital, but the ambulance was going to take a while to arrive. I walked over and tossed him my keys. “Take my car. Drive yourself to the ER.” The senior froze in shock. “Thank you… but I couldn’t…” Lucas stormed over and grabbed me hard by the arm. “Summer, are you purposely trying to piss me off?!” I glanced past him, looking at Chloe, whose eyes were still perfectly red and teary. “Focus on your own drama.” “If you walk away right now, don’t ever come looking for me again,” he threatened. I didn’t even look back. I helped the other students support the senior and walked away. CRASH! The crowd behind me gasped. It was the sound of Lucas punching the metal pole of the basketball hoop full force. Tsk. Have fun breaking your knuckles. 03 Lucas and I didn’t interact at all for the next few weeks. I heard that because of Chloe, he completely stopped getting into fights. He even claimed he was turning his life around and started actually studying. Lucas’s friends tried to get him to go to the PC cafe to play games. Chloe whispered softly to him: “You haven’t finished your SAT vocabulary flashcards yet.” Lucas let out a heavy, dramatic sigh and slumped back into his chair. “My ‘mom’ is too strict. I can’t go.” I had to listen to my lab partner narrate these cheesy, romantic little anecdotes every single day. But whenever I walked close, they would immediately stop whispering and turn away. “I feel so bad for her.” “I know, right? She chased Lucas for years, and then some poor scholarship girl just swooped in and stole him.” Did I look pitiful? I certainly didn’t think so. My college application process was already finalized. As soon as I passed my final AP exams, I was moving to New York to attend Columbia University. I was going to major in Journalism—my absolute dream. My bright, beautiful, and completely new life was about to begin. One afternoon, as I was walking home, Lucas’s mother stopped me on the sidewalk. “Summer, Lucas forgot his medication again. Could you please take it to him for me, honey?” I really, really wanted to say no. But when I saw the dark, purple bruises peeking out from under the cuffs of his mother’s blouse… I sighed heavily. “Okay.” I texted Lucas: “Where are you?” It took him a long time to reply. He finally sent me a location pin. A local billiards hall. In my past life, I had spent way too much time in that exact spot. When I arrived, I navigated the dark, basement staircase perfectly. The suffocating smell of cheap cigarette smoke instantly made me nauseous. I spotted Lucas immediately. He was standing at the center table, actively hustling a game of pool. There was a massive stack of hundred-dollar bills sitting on the edge of the table. I walked straight up to him and tossed the pill bottle onto the green felt. “Your mom asked me to bring this to you.” Seeing me, Lucas furrowed his brow. “Who told you to come here?” I didn’t even bother answering him. I dropped the pills and turned to leave. But one of his friends blocked my path. “Yo, Lucas. Is this the girlfriend?” Lucas let out a cold sneer, accepting a lit cigarette from the guy and tucking it behind his ear. “Do you honestly think that’s possible?” Right at that moment, Chloe walked into the billiards hall, wearing her school backpack. The second she walked in, she started violently coughing from the smoke. Lucas immediately stood up and moved to block her from the haze. “Put out all the cigarettes right now.” The guy with the yellow teeth who had just blocked me grinned widely. “Ah. So this is the real sister-in-law.” Chloe’s face flushed beet red. “Lucas, stop them from saying that! The teachers said we aren’t allowed to…” “I know.” Lucas playfully tapped the tip of her nose. “Be a good girl, call me ‘Daddy,’ and I’ll let you go home.” Chloe let out a tiny gasp, pointing at the cigarette tucked behind his ear. “Lucas! Didn’t you promise me you were going to quit smoking?!” I felt Lucas’s gaze land directly on me. I suddenly remembered… I had also demanded he quit smoking once. Because I’ve had severe asthma since childhood, and cigarette smoke triggers my attacks. Back then, he didn’t even bother to give me a fake promise. He deliberately blew a ring of smoke directly into my face and smirked: “Can’t do it.” A cold, mocking smile curled the corners of my lips. I tried to maneuver around the crowd to leave. But I was grabbed again. “Don’t leave yet, baby!” “Lucas, hurry up! It’s a two-on-two match. Since my girlfriend is playing for my team… who are you gonna use for yours?” 04 I didn’t hesitate. I just kept walking. But Chloe reached out and grabbed my sleeve. “I… I don’t know how to play pool.” I frowned, looking at her. “What does that have to do with me?” “I…” After my sharp response, Chloe’s eyes instantly welled up with tears. Lucas rushed over, pulling her behind his back protectively, glaring at me. “Can’t you speak to her like a normal human being?!” “You’re a psychopath.” I tried to walk away, but he blocked my path again. My patience completely snapped. I decided to push his buttons. “What’s the matter, Lucas? Playing hard to get? Are you desperately trying to make me your girlfriend?” “Keep dreaming.” “Then get the fuck out of my way.” I walked out. This time, no one tried to stop me. Behind me, I heard Chloe panic. “What do we do, Lucas? I really don’t know how to play.” Lucas replied, his voice dripping with patience and affection. “Don’t worry, idiot. As long as I’m here, we won’t lose.” I literally could not care less who won a stupid game of pool. But that night, during dinner… My mom wouldn’t stop sighing. “I saw Sarah (Lucas’s mom) again today. She was covered in bruises… Richard went way too far this time…” “Oh, by the way, Summer. I haven’t seen Lucas come over for dinner in days. Did you two get into a fight?” “No.” “That’s good. You should invite him over more often…” I looked up, cutting my mom off mid-sentence. “I cut him off. We aren’t friends anymore.” “What? Why?!” I took a bite of my perfectly cooked sea bass. “No reason. I just despise people who are legally blind.” My mom asked cautiously, “Did Lucas get a girlfriend?” I picked up a piece of fish and placed it into my mom’s bowl. “Yep. The ‘I’d die for you’ trope just walked straight out of a novel into real life. It’s incredibly sweet.” They were busy acting out their little teen romance drama, and for some reason, they absolutely insisted on casting me as the bitter, jealous villainess. Fine. The next morning, as soon as I walked into the classroom, I heard Chloe crying. “What am I going to do, Lucas? The envelope was in my backpack this morning… how could it just disappear?!” My lab partner whispered to me: “Chloe lost the class funds she was in charge of collecting. Everyone’s helping her look for it right now.” I casually threw out a logical suggestion: “Why don’t you just check the security cameras?” But my comment made Chloe violently defensive. She marched right up to my desk and said: “Summer, I know I grew up poor, but I am absolutely not desperate enough to steal the class funds!” I never even said she stole it. Why was she panicking? Lucas walked over, his voice cold and commanding. “Apologize to her.” I completely ignored him. I placed my backpack on my desk and sat down. He grabbed my backpack and hurled it across the room. Then, he violently flipped my entire desk over. Lucas was having another episode. “Apologize to her. Are you deaf?” The entire classroom went dead silent. No one dared to breathe. And absolutely no one dared to step in and stop him. I bent down, trying to pick my desk back up. Suddenly, a hand clamped brutally around my throat. His eyes were bloodshot. “I. Said. Apologize.” I couldn’t breathe. Tears stung my eyes. The pressure around my neck instantly began to form a dark, angry red bruise. Chloe finally stepped in, grabbing his arm. “Lucas! Lucas, stop!” But he refused to listen to anyone. He just kept glaring at me with those terrifying, bloodshot eyes. I have no idea who he was projecting onto me in that moment. It took three male teachers sprinting into the classroom to finally pry him off me. Chloe rushed forward and threw her arms around a thrashing, frantic Lucas. “It’s okay! It’s okay, Lucas! I don’t care what anyone else thinks! As long as you believe me, that’s all that matters!” He buried his face into the crook of her neck, but his eyes… his eyes stayed locked directly on me. The teachers escorted me to the nurse’s office. His dark, erratic gaze followed my back until I completely disappeared from sight.

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After the “innocent” girl stole my boyfriend, I furiously went to confront her. She was in full makeup and begged me not to hit her in the face. I clapped my hands together in a prayer pose: “Sister, please tell me your secret. How did you get that cheapskate to buy you designer bags and clothes, when I couldn’t even get him to buy me a coffee?” She let out a long breath and proceeded to teach me how to hook a sucker. Later, I brought a man to show her my progress. She stuttered, “B-b-brother? You… you’re the sucker?!” 01 Lately, my best friend and dating coach has been exhibiting signs of a split personality. She has two completely different attitudes toward the exact same behavior. This all started when she and I both entered the dating scene at the same time. My boyfriend’s name is Lucas Hayes. He’s a shy, introverted, gentle, and rational guy. As for my best friend Chloe’s brother, I had never met him. But based on her descriptions, he sounded like a petty, hot-tempered, and stupid guy. Chloe was incredibly frustrated. Her stupid—but undeniably wealthy—brother had been entangled by a high-level gold digger. “Can you believe it? This girl literally sends my brother links to gifts she wants him to buy her.” When I saw that message, my eyes widened. After all, my birthday was just two days ago. I had asked Chloe for advice, and she specifically told me to just send my boyfriend links to the gifts I wanted. Me: “Um, Chloe, but I did the exact same thing.” Chloe replied instantly: “Girl, how can you even compare yourself to that bitch?” I stared at my phone screen, seriously questioning where Chloe’s loyalties lay. When Valentine’s Day arrived, I went out on a date with Lucas, and Chloe started blowing up my phone. “You’ve only been dating for three months! DO NOT go back to his place! “I’m begging you, you’re going to ruin everything, ahhhh!” My phone kept buzzing non-stop. Lucas looked down, holding his knife and fork. Suddenly, the sound of him cutting his steak seemed deafeningly loud. On a Valentine’s Day date, having your phone blow up with messages makes it look suspiciously like you’re juggling multiple guys. I hastily explained, “It’s a girlfriend of mine. She might have an emergency and needs me to go back and help.” Under Lucas’s scrutinizing gaze, I awkwardly grabbed my phone and fled the rooftop restaurant. As I walked away, I sent a voice memo to Chloe: “Babe, I promise, I’m sleeping in my dorm tonight. I’ll FaceTime you later, okay?” Just as Lucas drove his car past me, he happened to hear that exact sentence. His hands paused on the steering wheel. His expression wasn’t great, but he kept his composure. “I’ll drive you back.” A few days later, Chloe was gossiping with me again. “Oh my god, my brother is so pathetic. He spent so much money on that girl, and she actually cheated on him on Valentine’s Day. “This girl is playing 4D chess. She takes his money and his heart, but she won’t sleep with him.” I was staring at my phone, sighing heavily. I had zero interest in Chloe’s unlucky brother; I was far more concerned about my own situation. “Chloe, ever since you made me leave on Valentine’s Day, my guy has been ignoring me.” Chloe sent a shocked emoji sticker. “Tsk, what a tasteless man.” She tried to comfort me in every way possible, claiming that men who expect girls to just throw themselves at them and then throw a fit when it doesn’t happen are completely typical. “Just dump him. The next one will be better.” Huh? Just dump him? We hadn’t even been dating that long. 02 The only reason I even knew Chloe was thanks to my ex-boyfriend, Ryan. When Ryan and I were dating, he insisted on splitting the bill down to the last penny, even for two cups of boba. My friends all mocked me for being blindly in love. Right when I was planning to break up with him, he actually dumped me first. He had found “true love,” and it was Chloe. I heard he bought her designer bags, clothes, and even maxed out his credit cards to buy a Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet for his “goddess.” Ryan broke up with me because Chloe said she wouldn’t accept advances from a man who had a girlfriend. Good news stays home, but bad news travels fast. I became the biggest joke on campus. This little homewrecker Chloe had absolutely destroyed my reputation. Fuming with anger, I stormed into a nightclub to find her. She was leaning toward the bathroom mirror, touching up her makeup. She was wearing a Chanel suit, smelling of camellia perfume. Even a single strand of her hair looked exquisitely maintained. She looked incredibly expensive. “Sister, I’m Ryan’s ex-girlfriend.” Chloe frowned slightly, took a moment to remember, and parted her lips: “Ah, you mean that grad student from the university?” She turned off the faucet, stared straight ahead at the mirror, and lazily asked what I wanted. I didn’t say a word and slowly walked toward her. Chloe was petite and delicate. In a fight, she definitely wouldn’t be a match for me. She backed into the corner, covered her face with her hands, and slowly slid down the wall. “Sister, I swear I didn’t lead him on! If you’re gonna hit me, please don’t hit my face.” Uh, why was she so easily scared? I grabbed her arm and pulled her up. She leaned against the wall, stunned. I clapped my hands together in a prayer pose, looking at her with desperate eyes. “Sister, please tell me your secret. How did you get that cheapskate to buy you designer bags and clothes, when I couldn’t even get him to buy me a coffee?” Chloe bent over and let out a huge sigh of relief. “Girl, why didn’t you say so? That’s it?” “Wuuuu, I seriously want to know so badly!” 03 Chloe and I hit it off immediately, like we had known each other our whole lives. She taught me everything she knew. She said this kind of thing could only be understood, not easily explained. But since I was her very first apprentice, she would personally supervise and guide me through the whole process. She told me to go find an experimental subject first. “Sister, is there any specific requirement for the subject?” A confident smile appeared on Chloe’s face. She shook her head mysteriously: “As long as he’s handsome. The more handsome, the better.” A task this good actually existed? I added Chloe on social media and headed back to find my test subject. I had barely walked out the door when I saw the perfect candidate. He stepped out of a car—tall, with perfect posture, a detached gaze, and an impatient expression. Seeing him from afar, the words “the more handsome, the better” instantly echoed in my mind. This was a match made in heaven. I rushed over and blocked his path. “Hey, can I get your number?” Hearing me call out to him, he was already frowning. He said he didn’t give out his number, then tried to walk away. I quickly grabbed his arm. I couldn’t let him escape. “Then since you have a mouth, can I kiss you?” I tried my best to squeeze out a harmless, innocent smile. His eyes widened, looking like he doubted his own hearing. “Uh, actually, you can have my number.” He seemed to be in a rush. While repeatedly apologizing, I obediently scanned his QR code to add him. He actually laughed at me. “It’s fine. Take your time.” He was surprisingly gentle. I couldn’t help but blush, feeling a bit dizzy. Getting the handsome guy’s number was step one. That evening, I started texting him. “Hi! Did you have fun tonight?” A long time passed before he replied. “I wasn’t out having fun. I was looking for my sister.” My silence was deafening. This guy sounded like a total creep. Although maybe it was true, it’s generally not recommended to be so blatantly direct. But I replied instantly anyway. “Did you find her?” “Of course I found her. I took her home.” I hesitated for three seconds, then blocked him. This one wouldn’t work. Good-looking on the outside, totally messed up on the inside. 04 The next morning, I saw this creepy handsome guy at my campus gate. He stood there in a tailored suit, sticking out like a sore thumb among the college students passing by. Girls walking past kept sneaking glances at him, but he was completely oblivious, just muttering to himself repeatedly. “Remember, looking for my sister, not a sister.” When he spotted me in the crowd, I turned to run, but he dashed in front of me and blocked my path. “I’m so sorry. I misspoke yesterday. I was looking for my sister. My biological, same-parents sister.” He tapped his phone screen, pulling up our chat history. “You blocked me. I thought about it for a long time and asked my sister. She said you probably misunderstood. Now, could you please unblock me?” I blankly pulled out my phone and removed him from the blocked list. His eyes lit up. He told me to keep in touch, then turned to leave. I was speechless. He came all the way to my campus early in the morning just to tell me to “keep in touch”? I called out to him: “Um, it’s almost lunchtime. Do you want to grab food?” I suddenly realized I didn’t even know his name. “My name is Olivia. What’s yours?” “Lucas Hayes.” Lucas had seen the background of my social media profile, which happened to be the iconic clock tower of my university. He offered to take me to lunch and asked if I preferred sushi, Korean BBQ, Thai, or American. I took him to a hotpot place. Chloe taught me this: Take rich guys to eat cheap food, and take broke guys to eat expensive food. It’s all about creating a contrasting experience. Judging by his suit, Lucas was definitely not broke. I ordered the spiciest beef tallow broth and looked at Lucas expectantly. He pursed his lips and looked back at me. Under my eager gaze, he carefully picked up a slice of beef with his chopsticks, rinsed it in his glass of water three times, took a bite, and immediately started coughing uncontrollably. I hadn’t realized he couldn’t handle spicy food at all. I watched helplessly as he coughed so hard his stomach issues flared up, and I ended up taking him to the hospital. While paying his medical bill at the nurse’s station, I unexpectedly ran into Chloe. Her brother was also admitted here. Chloe asked me secretively, “Wasn’t that guy from last time a creep? My brother is still single. Should I introduce you so you can practice on him?” What kind of sister throws her brother under the bus like that? And why practice on him? Chloe sighed helplessly: “My brother has more money than brains, just a bit older. But he’s a great catch. Better to let you have him than some stranger.” I rejected Chloe’s offer: “Never mind. That handsome guy from last time wasn’t a creep. It was a misunderstanding.” Chloe looked extremely puzzled: “A creep can be a misunderstanding? Did your brain break again?” “Sister, I really think this guy is different.” After all, when Lucas was clutching his stomach in agonizing pain, he still insisted on paying the restaurant bill before we left. Chloe sternly criticized me, then demanded I take her to see this “creep.” “Olivia, you’re a lost cause. I need to see what kind of handsome guy has you this bewitched.” I was exasperated. “Shouldn’t you go check on your brother first?” Chloe smiled and gestured for me to lead the way: “He has chronic issues, he’s not dying. I’m much more worried about your situation. Lead the way.” Unable to argue with her, I led her to see Lucas. “Just look from a distance. Please don’t scare him, he’s very introverted.” “Olivia, feeling sorry for a man is the quickest way to ruin your life.” I brought Chloe to the door of his room, and she peeked inside. Suddenly, she gasped: “Holy crap, that’s my brother!” 05 Chloe instantly shrank back in terror and hid to the side. I was curious what her brother looked like too, but there were four people in the shared hospital room. Which one was her brother? Lucas was sitting on his bed, holding a thermos, quietly drinking water. Ah, he’s so cute. Meanwhile, Chloe was crouching on the floor, muttering, “What’s wrong with him? Why is he in a shared room?” Hearing that, I looked toward the patient in the farthest corner. He looked much older and was loudly complaining about something. He was so loud he even startled Lucas, who began to look uncomfortable. I glanced at Chloe. “Aren’t you going in to calm your brother down? He looks really irritable.” “You think he’s irritable too, right? If I go in there, I’m just asking to get yelled at. Just pretend I was never here.” Chloe was about to bolt, but I had no intention of leaving. I rolled up my sleeves, ready to teach her brother a lesson. What an uncultured jerk. Chloe whispered frantically to stop me: “No, don’t! My brother absolutely hates it when people make noise in public places.” Are you kidding me? There are people like that? What a hypocrite! I raised my foot, kicked the door open, and marched in. Chloe looked horrified. She let out a small shriek and bolted down the hallway. I pointed straight at the older man: “You! Yeah, you! If you don’t like shared rooms, pay for a private one! What are you yelling about? Everyone else is fine, why can’t you handle it?” Dead silence. After a long pause, the older man said weakly: “I wasn’t yelling. My IV infiltrated, I was trying to call the nurse.” Lucas was also staring at me, stunned. To be precise, the entire room was stunned. Well, this is awkward. Blame the soundproof doors. I pursed my lips, squeezed out an awkward smile, and marched over to the man’s bed. He looked so scared he shrank back. I reached out and pressed the call button. “It’s fine, sir. Just press this button.” The man swallowed hard, hid under his blankets, and mumbled, “Thank you.” I turned around. SWISH! Every single patient violently pulled their privacy curtains shut. Except Lucas. I looked at him. He held up his thermos, hesitating: “You must be thirsty. Do you want some water?” I wanted to cry. I took a few deep breaths: “I’m so sorry, I misunderstood. I thought he was complaining about the shared room…” Lucas looked uneasy, avoiding my gaze: “I think right now, no one would dare to complain.” I sighed, took the thermos, and took a sip. The hand Lucas used to hold the paper cup froze in mid-air. I started coughing violently. 06 Ever since the hospital incident, my relationship with Lucas became even more awkward. There was zero romantic tension. But he definitely had some interest in me. The food street near campus was noisy. Lucas sat across from me, eating his noodles with extreme elegance. This was the third time this week he had come to eat with me. And today was only Wednesday. He came every day, but he barely spoke. Even when he did, our conversations never clicked, and our food tastes were completely different. But he was wealthy and handsome, making us a perfect match. I sighed. He was just too hard to make progress with. Right then, someone pushed open the restaurant door, walked straight up to our table, and slammed two cups of boba tea down. I looked up from my noodle bowl in shock. It was my recently-dumped ex, Ryan. I started coughing violently again. Who understands this fatal level of secondhand embarrassment? Ryan was the kind of ex-boyfriend whose very existence made me feel deeply ashamed. Before Ryan could say a word, I grabbed him by the arm and sprinted for the door. Lucas froze, his brow furrowing slightly. As I peeked back to observe Lucas’s reaction, Ryan said from beside me, “Olivia, let’s get back together.” I waved my hands frantically: “Absolutely not. Do me a favor and never show up in front of me again. You don’t have to feel guilty, it was a mutual breakup. If you don’t have anything else to say, please leave.” Ryan followed my gaze and saw Lucas, dressed in a sharp suit, paying the bill. He sneered: “Olivia, you dumped me and immediately found a rich guy, didn’t you? You never loved me. You hated that I didn’t have money to buy you gifts. It must have been so hard for you to pretend.” Obviously, Ryan had failed in his pursuit of Chloe and wanted to come crawling back. I normally wouldn’t bother wasting my breath on him, but his sarcastic tone and victim-blaming instantly set me off. “Ryan, I’m giving you an out and you won’t take it? What the hell are you pretending for? You liked Chloe—was it not because she was rich? Stop playing the victim. I don’t like you because you’re a hypocrite. When we dated, you made us split the cost of boba, and we took turns paying for meals. Did you really think I was an idiot?” “So what? You agreed to it. I didn’t force you. At the end of the day, being broke is my original sin, right? You’re only having dinner with him every day because he has money!” Ryan started spiraling into impotent rage. I immediately fired back: “Tsk tsk, triggered? I do like rich guys. Do you think I give a damn about what a barking dog like you thinks?” When Lucas walked out, he happened to catch that last sentence. His footsteps halted, and he looked deeply thoughtful. Ryan looked triumphant: “Well, now you have to explain yourself to your ATM machine.” Crap. My relationship with Lucas had barely begun, and now his impression of me was plunging. We walked down the tree-lined path in silence. Lucas kept glancing at me, looking like he wanted to say something. I accepted my fate: “Mr. Hayes, just say whatever is on your mind.” “Do you really like wealthy men? Roughly what net worth? Do you have specific requirements? Could you tell me what you’re looking for in a partner?” I thought I was hallucinating. I stared at him blankly. What did he mean? Lucas avoided my gaze, looking completely out of his element: “I’m not incredibly wealthy, but I have a bit. I don’t know if that falls within your acceptable range?” This time I understood. He was doing some bizarre form of confessing his feelings. Or more accurately, an awkward mating dance. I had never seen anything like it. If I said I didn’t like rich men now, he would be heartbroken. “Uh, I think your net worth is perfectly fine.” God knows what his net worth actually was. I was entirely focused on his face anyway. Lucas’s eyes lit up: “So we’re officially together now?” I held my cheeks, nodding furiously, my face burning red. He’s so cute, ahhh—I’m dead.

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After three years of a completely loveless marriage of convenience. The day I finally handed him the divorce papers. He simply nodded and said, “Okay.” But right above his head, a glowing text box—like a Twitch chat—suddenly appeared: [You psychotic yandere. You already had the custom-sized chains and toys installed in the basement for her, why are you pretending to be a gentleman?!] [Oh, girl… the second you sign those papers, you’re going to wake up in a soundproof room negative-distance away from the guy you hate most.] [Yesss! The captivity arc is finally happening! This is gonna be so hot! His true demon form literally has barbed spikes! She did so much evil shit, she totally deserves to have her eyes roll into the back of her head…] [Ugh, if she had just given him an ounce of affection over the last three years, this crazy obsessive bastard would have happily been her loyal dog. Now his love has mutated into toxic hatred, and she’s screwed…] My hand holding the pen violently shook. I slowly looked up at the completely expressionless man sitting across from me: “Um… actually, let’s hold off on the divorce for a bit.” 01 “What?” Liam Sterling’s thin eyelids lifted slightly, his tone completely indifferent. His utter lack of emotion made me seriously doubt if I was hallucinating those floating chat comments. I took a deep breath, set down the pen I was using to sign the papers, and scrambled to find an excuse: “I suddenly don’t want to get divorced anymore. You know what they say, even one day as husband and wife creates a lifelong bond! We’ve been together for three years, we’re totally used to each other, and honestly… I think I’m a little dependent on you…” By the end of my sentence, his expression had shifted to pure confusion. My confidence evaporated, and my voice trailed off into a squeak. My marriage to Liam was a complete accident. Five years ago, ever since a broke, naive intern named Chloe showed up at our company, my perfectly smooth, privileged life spiraled into an absolute disaster. My childhood sweetheart, whom I had been promised to since birth, fell madly in love with her. He publicly broke off our engagement, humiliating me in front of our entire social circle. Even my parents—who had always spoiled me rotten—inexplicably took Chloe’s side. I was consumed by a blinding, psychotic jealousy. Desperate to prove I wasn’t just “unwanted garbage,” I threw a massive tantrum and impulsively married Liam Sterling. Liam was the ruthless, terrifying, and universally feared billionaire CEO of the city. He was also rumored to be a literal demon. For the three years of our marriage, I made it my personal mission to destroy Chloe’s life. But every single time, I failed miserably. Either Liam would intervene and stop me at the very last second. Or my plans would miraculously backfire and blow up in my own face. Recently, my plot to frame Chloe had been completely exposed. My reputation was in ashes, and almost all my friends had blocked my number. I knew Liam despised my toxic, malicious behavior, and that he secretly favored Chloe. I figured, before he could kick me to the curb like everyone else, I’d beat him to the punch. At least if I dumped him, I’d salvage a tiny shred of dignity. When I texted him asking for a divorce, I knew he was in the middle of a massive board meeting. But he called me back almost instantly. “Give me one reason.” His voice echoed through the phone. I gave a malicious, petty laugh: “Last time you didn’t close the bathroom door all the way, and I accidentally saw your tail. It looked slimy and absolutely disgusting.” So now… when I claimed I was “dependent” on him? Forget Liam, even I didn’t believe my own bullshit. “Are you absolutely certain you don’t want to divorce?” Not receiving the cold sneer I was expecting, his deep, magnetic voice pulled me back to reality. “I don’t want to divorce right now.” I watched Liam’s face intently. There wasn’t a single trace of joy in his expression. “Whatever you want.” After a few seconds of silence, he picked up the half-signed divorce papers from the desk… and fed them directly into the paper shredder. The glowing comments popped up again: [Wait, what is happening to the evil villainess? Did she suddenly grow a brain?] [Is Blair finally figuring it out? Is she trying to cling to the second male lead for survival? Too late for that, sweetie. His hatred for you has already festered into something terrifying.] [Who said it’s too late?! The timing is absolutely flawless! Did you guys not see the psychopathic, euphoric smirk on his face when he shredded those papers?! Also, the paper shredder is sending me. This man was absolutely terrified she was going to change her mind and sign them again.] [Keep going, villainess! Do not stop! Gas the pedal! The second male lead is an obsessive, yandere demon with zero morals, and you’re a toxic villainess. You two are a match made in hell! Seduce him, and then you can easily team up and destroy the female lead!] 02 I spent the entire afternoon processing my reality. I finally understood. I was living inside a fluffy, billionaire romance novel. Chloe was the sweet, innocent female lead. And I was the toxic, malicious villainess who was destined to be locked in a basement by the second male lead until I died. No wonder everyone who even got close to Chloe became instantly, inexplicably obsessed with her, as if the entire universe revolved around her. My brain was completely fried from the information overload. After showering that night, I picked up my phone to relax, only to find an apocalyptic tsunami of hate comments. Almost every single one of my social media accounts had been nuked by the internet. Everyone was screaming for justice for Chloe. My ex-fiancé, Noah, sent me a text: [Blair, don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re just using these disgusting tactics to force me to leave Chloe and get back together with you.] [Heh. You went through all this trouble just to see me, right? Fine. You win. Friday afternoon. Our usual spot.] I didn’t reply. I blocked his number and locked my phone. The comments in the air updated: [I’m not trying to defend her, but the villainess going crazy actually makes total sense. Imagine being a proud, pampered billionaire heiress, and literally overnight, your parents, your fiancé, and all your friends get brainwashed into ignoring you and obsessing over some random girl. I’d go psychotic too.] [She has the looks and the money! Why did she have to lose to a brain-dead female lead who probably doesn’t even know how to use Microsoft Word?! This novel has zero logic…] [If I were the author, I’d slap the delusional female lead, double-slap the arrogant male lead, and lock the villainess and the yandere second male lead in a room together. Make them have eight kids before they’re allowed to leave. Thoughts?] “…” Absolutely terrible thoughts. After calming down, I got ready for bed. I had just taken off my robe when… The bedroom door suddenly swung open. Liam’s gaze traveled slowly from the top of my head, stopping dead on a specific spot. I frantically grabbed my robe and threw it back on. “My apologies. The door wasn’t locked.” Liam’s eyes burned with a scorching intensity. His Adam’s apple bobbed heavily, and beneath his crisp dress shirt, patches of obsidian-black scales faintly materialized on his skin. When a demon is aroused… their true form involuntarily reveals itself… The words “Get out” were literally on the tip of my tongue. Then I saw the comments: [I can already predict the villainess is going to give him a disgusted, superior glare and tell him to get out. Such a gorgeous girl, so aggressively determined to get herself killed. This is exactly how the second male lead’s love was slowly ground into dust.] [Blair, baby, please be nice to your husband. If you slap him now, your lips are going to suffer the consequences in the basement later. Tearing the corners of your mouth is really gonna hurt.] Thanks to the helpful warning from the interdimensional peanut gallery, I swallowed my pride, did a violent 180, and offered Liam a faint, sweet smile: “It’s okay, Hub—” Liam, who had already taken a step back to leave the room, froze completely. His eyes darkened dangerously, waiting for me to finish the sentence. Hiss. I blame the chat for constantly spamming the word “Husband.” It totally influenced my brain… [I AM DYING OF ANXIETY! SAY IT! JUST SAY IT! If you call him ‘Husband,’ he will literally give you his life! The female lead means absolutely nothing compared to you!] [Can we please stop pretending the second male lead is just some pathetic simp? After three years of emotional abuse, he definitely hates the villainess way more than he loves her. Besides, have you all forgotten?! He’s the one who locked her in the basement until she died, specifically to protect the female lead!] The comments split into a violent, two-sided war. I raised an eyebrow. I really wanted to test the validity of these spoilers. Leaning into the tension of the moment, I purred: “Liam, do I have a good body?” “Average.” He lowered his eyes, his expression completely unreadable. [What a fake, arrogant prick. If you keep denying it, you’re never going to get a wife. No wonder she’s been married to you for three years and still preferred the male lead. You kind of deserve it, bro.] [Wait, am I hallucinating? Did the villainess actually not look disgusted by him today?! ARE MY TOXIC VILLAINS FINALLY GETTING THE ROMANCE THEY DESERVE???] Refusing to back down, I took a step forward, teasing him: “You didn’t even look. How do you know it’s average?” “I don’t need to look.” Liam’s voice was freezing cold, but his long fingers involuntarily curled into tight fists. His knuckles were turning a faint, flushed pink. He was literally gripping the seams of his pants so hard they looked ready to tear. I never noticed this before, but when this terrifying man gets flustered, it’s actually incredibly cute. I noticed his collar was slightly crooked. I reached out to adjust it for him. “Don’t touch me.” A low, icy warning rumbled from above my head. Very aggressive. I froze. I suddenly remembered the argument playing out in the chat. Right. For the past three years, I had never given Liam a single shred of affection. Meanwhile, Chloe acted like a warm little ray of sunshine, constantly encouraging him to step out of the shadows. It was only logical that Liam would despise me. I let out a self-deprecating laugh and pulled my hand back mid-air. “Make sure you close the door on your way out. I’m going to sleep.” He shut the door. But he didn’t leave. Instead, he took a slow, deliberate step toward me. His breathing grew heavy and scorching hot. The rims of his eyes were a terrifying, bloodshot red from sheer restraint. I finally realized something was seriously wrong. “Liam… what’s wrong with you? Do you have a fever?” The chat: [More accurately, he’s in heat… Bro, you are way too down bad. The villainess literally just flirted with you out of boredom, and it felt so good it triggered your rut early.] [Rut?] I muttered to myself in shock. We had been married for three years. How did I absolutely never know he had a rutting season?! The chat: [The villainess is so dumb, she actually thought he was just naturally celibate and cold. Hello?! He’s a literal incubus! Plus, your body is a 10/10, and your face is canon-verified as the most beautiful in the novel. He just loved you too much to force you.] [Whenever his rut started in the past, he would steal a piece of your underwear and hide in another house so you wouldn’t see him in that state.] [The comment above just reminded me of those poor, innocent panties. They were definitely shredded to pieces by his ‘unique demon anatomy’…] I stared blankly at the scrolling text, feeling like my eyes needed to be pixelated. So the reason he told me not to touch him… was because he was in rut? Liam let out a strained, agonizing groan, burying his face into the crook of my neck, aggressively nuzzling my skin. His pale, aristocratic skin was flushed with a deep, feverish crimson, entirely consumed by lust. It completely shattered the cold, untouchable aura he usually projected. In the past, I had been so blindingly obsessed with destroying Chloe and trying to win back Noah, that I had never actually looked at Liam properly. I didn’t even realize… this man was breathtakingly, devastatingly gorgeous. His features were sharper and more perfect than any Hollywood A-lister. 03 “The drawer… in the study… there’s medicine and syringes. Go… get them…” Liam’s voice was broken and ragged. He was desperately, frantically trying to hide the dark, intricate demon tattoos and obsidian scales that were rapidly spreading across his skin. I watched him enduring the absolute limits of his self-control. He had bitten his own lip until it bled. His dress shirt was soaked with sweat, clinging to his skin, perfectly tracing the heart-stopping ridges of his abs… I suddenly changed my mind. I had slept in an empty bed for three years. Sure, my cravings weren’t as intense as a literal incubus. But I was still a normal, healthy human being. Even though the very first rule in our marriage contract—the one I personally drafted—was: No catching feelings. Strictly financial. Absolutely no taking advantage of each other. But whatever, I’m the morally bankrupt villainess! Since when do I care about keeping promises?! Having made my decision, I gently patted his cheek and whispered, “Liam. Try to be gentle, okay?” “Don’t touch me. I’m… dirty…” Liam trembled violently from my touch, still desperately clinging to the very last shred of his morality. “But I want you…” I let my robe fall to the floor. I used my thumb to wipe the blood off his lips, went up on my tiptoes, and kissed him. The chat: [HOLY SHIT! The villainess initiated?!] [THE CHEEK PAT! AHHHHHH! THAT WAS SO DOMINANT! I AM DECEASED! MA’AM, DO YOU NEED A DOG?!] [Love mixed with hatred is toxic garbage. But love born entirely out of pure, unadulterated hatred? THAT IS CINEMA!] [MY HEART IS POUNDING! MY HANDS ARE SHAKING! ARE MY TOXIC VILLAINS FINALLY DOING IT?!] The exact millisecond our lips touched, Liam instantly seized total control. His massive, burning-hot hand gripped the back of my head like a vice. The oxygen in my lungs was forcefully plundered. My legs instantly turned to jelly. Without me even noticing, a thick, powerful, obsidian “rope” wrapped securely around my waist. It was wrapped so incredibly tight that it actually hurt. I let out a muffled whimper against his mouth, trying to bat it away. “I’m sorry. Don’t… please don’t look…” Liam snapped out of his haze like he had been struck by lightning. His pupils contracted violently in sheer panic, desperately trying to hide the demonic tail that had slipped out due to his arousal. Before I could even process what was happening, the man panicked, scrambled backward, and sprinted out the bedroom door like his life depended on it. A few seconds later, I heard the frantic, chaotic sound of drawers being ripped open and slammed shut in the study next door. The sharp, bitter scent of clinical medication rapidly filled the air. I leaned heavily against the wardrobe, gasping for fresh air, reading the scrolling chat: [LIAM STERLING, YOU ABSOLUTE COWARD! GET YOUR ASS BACK IN THERE! I LITERALLY TOOK MY PANTS OFF FOR THIS, WHY ARE YOU RUNNING?!] [Enough! Am I the only one who actually feels horrible for him? He’s been bullied, alienated, and humiliated his entire life for being a demon. He was so happy when he finally married the love of his life, only for her to tell him his true form made her physically sick. Of course he’s traumatized and insecure!] [Blair, my precious queen. Why did you have to show disgust at his true form at that exact moment?! You literally broke his heart!] Wait, no! I swear I’m innocent! I literally just wanted him to loosen the grip a little bit… 04 The next morning, when I woke up, Liam was completely gone. I sat at the kitchen island eating a breakfast sandwich. I took a deep breath, counted to three, and turned on my phone. To my absolute shock, every single piece of internet hate targeting me seemed to have evaporated overnight. The media outlets that had been attacking me the hardest? Their accounts had been completely suspended. A friend in the media industry—one of the few I had left—sent me a photo of my parents walking into their corporate headquarters. The caption read: [Everything is handled!] A massive smile spread across my face. I knew my parents wouldn’t just abandon me. After all, every single massive PR disaster I caused in the past had ultimately been cleaned up by them. [LMAO, I can’t. Every single time the second male lead secretly cleans up the female lead’s messes, he just lets her cheap, fake parents take all the credit…] [Liam Sterling: The absolute pioneer of the ‘Cold-Faced Wife-Guy’ genre. If his wife is in a good mood, he happily serves his wife. If his wife treats him like garbage, he coldly serves his wife.] [It’s a shame the villainess is completely oblivious. Even though she somehow avoided the divorce flag last night, she’s definitely still destined for the non-consensual captivity arc.] I stared at the screen, absolutely horrified, my eyes darting between the chat and my phone. I zoomed in and scrutinized the photo of my parents for ten solid minutes. Holy shit… I can actually see the Photoshop artifacts… I frantically opened iMessage, scrolled to the absolute bottom of my contact list, and found Liam: [Are you free today? I really need to talk to you.] He replied instantly: [Wrong number.] “…” [No it’s not, Hubby~] This time, the reply took much longer: [I am deeply sorry for what happened last night. You shouldn’t have been forced to see those disgusting things. I am completely booked today. If you want to proceed with the divorce, please contact my legal team.] [No no no,] I frantically typed back. [Absolutely not a divorce.] Liam: [Okay. See you this afternoon.] The chat: [I am dying of laughter. Divorce? Too busy. No divorce? See you this afternoon.] [That was way too close! The villainess just narrowly dodged the dark-room captivity route again. It feels like she’s starting to realize something is wrong and is actively trying to save herself.] [Why do I feel like there’s a massive, terrible plot point coming up right about now? I can’t exactly remember what it was.] 05 That afternoon, I spent extra time getting ready and arrived at the coffee shop near Liam’s corporate headquarters thirty minutes early. I ordered a pastry and slowly, casually ate it. I heard the sound of someone pulling out the chair across from me. I beamed with a bright smile: “Hubby, you have to try this…” When I looked up, I realized the man sitting across from me was definitely not Liam. Noah stared at my stunning, strapless red dress and flawless makeup, letting out a dark chuckle: “Blair, do you really love me that much? You actually had the nerve to call me ‘Hubby’ out loud.” I had absolutely zero patience for his bullshit. I stood up and prepared to leave. He grabbed my wrist. “Let go of me. My actual husband is in the area.” “Stop pretending. If it weren’t to make me jealous, a proud, arrogant girl like you would never have married a freakish half-breed monster like Liam Sterling. Don’t think I don’t know the truth. For the past three years, you haven’t let him touch you once.” Noah’s gaze dropped to my bold, red lipstick. His eyes darkened, his tone turning sleazy: “If I give you one kiss, is that enough for you to stop torturing Chloe for a while?” Looking at the man in front of me, he felt completely, utterly alien. The cool, slightly rebellious boy-next-door from my childhood… when exactly did he turn into this disgusting creep? It seems that every single person who comes into contact with Chloe eventually mutates into someone I don’t recognize. Noah grabbed my chin, slowly leaning in: “Blair, you got all dressed up looking this gorgeous just to see me, didn’t you, hm?” As I struggled against his grip, I looked through the glass window of the cafe. Liam was standing right outside on the sidewalk, watching us. The chat: [Stop hoping for a miracle, villainess. Liam has been standing there since the exact second you called Noah ‘Hubby.’ Demons have incredibly enhanced hearing. He heard every single word.] [Oh my god! The love triangle! The drama! I am living for this!] [Incredible. Every single time I think Blair has finally secured her survival, she miraculously invents the 361st way to get herself killed.] Using every single ounce of strength in my body, I violently shoved Noah away and sprinted out of the coffee shop. A microsecond before Liam turned to leave, I grabbed his sleeve. His pupils were pitch black, an endless, terrifying abyss: “Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?” “No! I have absolutely no idea why Noah is here…” Halfway through my sentence, I suddenly remembered the text message Noah sent me right before I blocked him. Today was Friday afternoon. But I literally never agreed to meet him! I was trying so hard to avoid the male and female leads to save my own life. Is the power of the plot armor truly this terrifying and absolute?! 06 “He tried to force a kiss on me just now. I refused and shoved him away immediately.” Liam’s facial features were incredibly sharp and angular. When he wasn’t smiling, he looked as dangerous as a drawn sword. Combined with the fact that he was nearly six foot three, his sheer, intimidating aura was enough to make anyone’s scalp go numb. Normally, I was incredibly articulate, but right now I was stammering nervously: “I asked you to meet me this afternoon because I wanted to tell you that last night, I was 100% willing. That was my first kiss! I didn’t know how to breathe properly, and I was clawing at you because you were holding me way too tight and I couldn’t get any oxygen. I was not disgusted by you!” After pouring all of that out in one breath, I gathered my courage and looked directly into Liam’s eyes. The terrifying, pitch-black abyss in his pupils slowly receded back to a normal color. The chat: [YES! The direct approach! We are saved!] [Wait, is the villainess telling the truth, or is she just saying this to make the male lead jealous?] [Is the commenter above a comedian? Does that psychotic male lead even deserve her? The author thought they were writing a charming, irresistible playboy, but in reality, he’s just a greasy, creepy stalker. He’s a perfect match for that braindead, pick-me female lead. As long as the villainess isn’t legally blind, she’s obviously going to choose the second male lead (even if she was technically blind for the last three years).] “Blair.” Noah walked out of the coffee shop, staring at me and Liam standing shoulder-to-shoulder: “You’re in your twenties. Why are you still playing these childish, pathetic games? Did you really think this was going to make me jealous?” I slid my fingers down Liam’s sleeve and intertwined them perfectly with his, interlocking our hands: “Noah, I don’t love you anymore. I am married. I have a husband. Please never, ever harass me again.” “And what if I told you Chloe and I broke up, and I’m currently single?” Noah looked at me casually, acting like he held all the winning cards in the universe. I tried to take a step forward, but felt a strong resistance. I realized Liam was standing frozen in place. He was squeezing my hand so tightly his fingertips were trembling. He was deeply insecure. “I don’t give a shit if you two broke up,” I snapped, thoroughly annoyed. “Even if you were single, and even if you liked men, it has absolutely nothing to do with me. Get out of my way. Piss off.” When I was a teenager experiencing my first crush, I genuinely did have feelings for my childhood friend, Noah. But over the years, he repeatedly took Chloe’s side, constantly kicked me when I was down, and watched me suffer with cold indifference. Whatever tiny sliver of affection I had left for him had completely evaporated, leaving nothing but pure, unadulterated annoyance. Noah’s arrogant smile completely froze on his face. I checked my phone. I had dozens of missed calls. The reservation for the romantic, candlelit dinner I had booked was already thirty minutes late. It was probably completely ruined. “Liam. Let’s go home.” “Okay.” Liam’s limited-edition Rolls-Royce was parked directly across the street. From the moment I got into the passenger seat until we drove away, I didn’t look back at Noah once. The chat: [The villainess is so gorgeous and ruthless, I am obsessed. I officially believe she genuinely does not give a single shit about the male lead anymore.] [The male lead’s character design is so repulsive. He’s constantly breaking up and getting back together with the female lead, while simultaneously obsessing over the villainess’s flawless beauty and trying to grope her. Our Queen Blair’s princess temper isn’t going to tolerate his garbage.]

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My cousin Tyler loves gaming, but he’s terrible at it. Every time he plays, his teammates absolutely roast him. After seven straight days of intense voice-chat arguments, his skills hadn’t improved, but his vocal cords went on strike. I got nervous and accidentally called the guy “hubby” instead of “buddy.” The toxic gamer on the other end fell silent. Suddenly, his voice turned incredibly smooth and teasing: “There’s no romance in esports. Being trash at the game is the original sin. Don’t try this on me.” “Marriage requires careful consideration. I’m not that easy.” “But… seeing how insistent you are, I guess it’s not impossible…” “Wifey, do we have time to go house-hunting for our starter home this afternoon?” I was speechless and immediately quit the game. Shortly after, at my lab’s welcome dinner, everyone was gossiping about our aloof, genius senior PhD student buying a house for his future bride. 01 After another incredibly stupid play where Tyler fed the enemy team a free kill, his teammate turned his mic on: [Bro, do you work for DoorDash? Because you’re feeding them non-stop.] [Are you playing with your monitor turned off?] [I’ve seen smooth brains, but yours must be polished.] [Minecraft couldn’t dig up a blockhead as dense as you.] Tyler was furious. He used every ounce of strength his throat had left to let out a hoarse “Croak!” which caught my attention. I held back a laugh. “Do you need water?” Tyler shook his head and typed furiously on his phone: “Sis, this guy is flaming me. Trash-talk him for me.” I refused. “You know I’m an angry crier. I can’t argue with people.” Tyler started thrashing around, making weird noises. Sometimes it was a “Croak!”, sometimes a “Quack!”. The nurses peeked into his hospital room several times. Embarrassed, I pinched his mouth shut. Tyler held up his phone, blinking pitifully: “Sis, this is about my honor as a man. If you help me, I’ll give you my entire allowance for a month.” I capitalized on the moment and held up two fingers. Tyler nodded mournfully and typed through gritted teeth: “Fine. Two months.” I put on the headset. The toxic rager on the other end was still going off. A few seconds later, I realized I had overestimated my mental fortitude and underestimated his aggressiveness. Even though I knew he wasn’t yelling at me, I couldn’t control my physiological reaction. My nose started to sting. As expected, things went completely off the rails. I steeled myself and opened my mouth, intending to say “Listen here, buddy!” But my voice trembled, and I accidentally said “Listen here, hubby!” Because I was trying so hard to hold back tears, my tone sounded incredibly aggrieved, like a girlfriend whining for attention. The atmosphere, which had been hostile and explosive just a second ago, instantly turned weirdly intimate. Tyler, me, and the toxic rager all fell into a bizarre silence. After a long time, the guy finally turned his mic back on, his voice suddenly dripping with playful teasing: [Oh, it’s a girl.] [There’s no romance in esports. Being trash at the game is the original sin. Don’t try this on me.] [Marriage requires careful consideration. I’m not that easy.] I opened my mouth to explain, but he immediately added: [But… if you’re really going to be this insistent, I guess it’s not impossible…] [Honestly, the fact that you can tell your teammates from your enemies is already amazing. Even though you just stood there taking damage and missed all your ultimate moves, taking a step back, aren’t the people attacking you the ones really at fault here?] [I’m 23 this year. The perfect age to settle down.] [Wifey, do we have time to go house-hunting for our starter home this afternoon?] I was stun-locked for a solid thirty seconds by this rapid-fire monologue. I couldn’t tell if he was genuinely messing with me or just being extremely sarcastic. But either way, from the moment that slip of the tongue happened, I had already lost the high ground. Tyler and I exchanged a look, and I awkwardly quit the game. Looking at my shattered cousin, I carefully tried to smooth things over: “Um, hey, how about you just give me half a month’s allowance? I’d feel bad taking two months’ worth for that.” Tyler buried his face in his pillow and spitefully Venmo’d me fifty bucks. 02 Because I had more important things to do today, I didn’t dwell on the little gaming incident. After leaving Tyler’s hospital room, I hurried to catch an Uber to Harvard for my graduate program orientation. After getting accepted into the Master’s program, I had asked around about my specific lab. Our advising professor was extremely busy, so the person assigned to guide me was a PhD student known as the “Boy Genius,” Asher Davies. Rumor had it that at 23, he had already achieved things most people couldn’t reach by 53. I had looked up his profile, originally intending to worship the academic titan’s research papers, but I ended up staring at his ID photo the entire time. Unlike the stereotypical image of a plain, rigid engineering PhD student, Asher had a face that was almost dangerously attractive, with surprisingly thick hair. From certain angles, he looked like a young Timothée Chalamet… Motivated by the prospect of working with a gorgeous guy, my chronic laziness vanished, and I actually chose to check in early. The lab door was wide open. The second I stepped inside, I pinpointed Asher in the crowd. He looked to be over 6’1″, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His hair was dyed a smoky blue, matching the stud in his ear, which made his skin look even paler and cooler. He had deep-set eyes and a small mole on the bridge of his straight nose, adding an inexplicable touch of sex appeal to his aloof aura. Seeing him in person was ten times more impactful than the photo. Even though I had mentally prepared myself the whole ride there, my heart still raced, and I couldn’t look away. “I heard you like watching Bridgerton in the lab. Since you love drama so much, let’s call this paper the Duke of Disappointment.” A low, cold voice drifted clearly into my ears, instantly snapping me out of my trance. Oh no. The genius PhD senior was a beautiful, venomous-tongued tyrant! The senior girl who was being criticized scurried back to her desk, giving me a quick nod as she passed. I quickly waved back. Asher finally noticed me and lazily lifted his eyes. His tone was noticeably softer than a moment ago, but still cold and distant: “Hello, you’re Sophie, right? I’m Asher Davies. I wasn’t at your interview, but I reviewed your resume later. You ranked first in your undergrad class. Not bad.” I smiled politely. “Thank you, Senior…” “But your extracurricular research experience is severely lacking, and you have zero published papers. I’m very curious what you do in your free time.” My smile froze. I dropped my head and muttered, “I play video games, hang out at the mall…” I secretly rejoiced that Asher hadn’t been at my interview. Otherwise, I might not have even made it into the program. Asher gave me a brief tour of the lab, handed me some introductory reading materials, and went back to his desk. As I quietly unpacked my things at my new desk, I sneaked glances at him. Asher seemed to be waiting for a message. He checked his phone every five seconds. Was he waiting for his girlfriend to text him? Someone that handsome and brilliant definitely had a girlfriend. While I was wondering, Tyler sent me a bunch of screenshots. It was DMs from that teammate: [Wifey, why won’t you add me on Snapchat?] [I picked out three floor plans for the house. Take a look and see which one you like best.] [Wifey, why are you ignoring me? Do you not like the in-game skins I bought you, or are you just upset because we lost the last match?] [Get online. I wasn’t playing seriously last time, but I promise we’ll win this one. If anyone dares to trash-talk you, I’ll flame them to death.] Tyler complained: [Sis, I think this bro is actually serious.] [Getting called ‘Wifey’ by a dude non-stop is making me sick.] [I don’t even dare to log in anymore. You know what, Sis? I’m just going to block him.] Not long after Tyler sent those texts. Asher suddenly stood up from his desk. His eyes looked slightly red, and he hurried out the door. Did he just get into a fight with his girlfriend? I guessed silently. 03 A little while later, Tyler texted again: [This guy has too much money to burn. Does he think he’s in a romance novel? He actually put a server-wide bounty out looking for me.] [My crush saw the wanted poster and asked me if I bat for the other team.] [Sis, if this keeps up, my reputation is ruined. You started this romantic debt, you have to take responsibility.] I sighed: […How am I supposed to do that?] [Sis, let’s trade game accounts. You deal with this guy.] Looking at my stressed-out cousin. I felt bad and agreed to his proposal. I unblocked the guy, furiously typed out a massive paragraph of explanation, but before I could hit send… He excitedly messaged me: [Wifey! I knew you just accidentally hit the settings menu and misclicked the block button hidden in the corner! You definitely weren’t avoiding me on purpose like they said.] I muttered in my head: Actually, what they said was 100% accurate… [I just asked my mom. She said girls hate men who are all talk and no action.] [So I paid cash and bought the house outright. We live in the same city anyway, so you can come over anytime to see if you like it.] Reading that, I nearly choked on my water. I comforted myself, thinking he was definitely lying. Please. What 23-year-old could pay cash for a house? I’d be impressed if he could pay cash for a Starbucks coffee. But immediately after, he sent detailed interior photos and a street address. Downtown. Luxury penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows. It didn’t look photoshopped at all… My brain practically short-circuited as I stared blankly at the screen. He was still typing out long paragraphs about our future together. I suddenly remembered a news article Tyler had shown me. A couple met online and promised to get married. The guy spent all his money on his “girlfriend,” and when she backed out at the last minute, he jumped into a river. Thinking about that, a wave of unspeakable guilt washed over me. I’m so sorry, Toxic Bro. I really didn’t mean to. If I had known you were this pure-hearted and intense, I would have cleared up the misunderstanding the second I misspoke. But now he bought a house. He spent the money. Apologizing on my knees wouldn’t fix this. Terrified of triggering him, I deleted the massive explanation I had typed out and delicately replied: [Don’t you think we’re moving a bit too fast?] [You’re right, the courthouse is probably closed by now. Let’s meet in front of City Hall at 8 AM tomorrow. I’ll come pick you up.] Me: [No, no, no, what I mean is, can we go back to the very beginning and just start as normal online friends?] This time, his reply was slow. He was clearly going through a massive internal struggle: [Wifey, but… when you called me hubby earlier, that’s not what you said…] I frantically shut it down: [Maybe the slang is different where you’re from! Where I live, we don’t call normal online friends ‘hubby’.] I glanced at his username: [Ash]. A spark of inspiration hit me: [How about this? I’ll call you Ash, and you can call me Soph.] Soph was my family nickname. He struggled to reply: [Okay.] I was satisfied. Even though this guy was a bizarre romantic, at least he listened. Since I couldn’t reject him harshly, the only option was to slowly ice him out until he gave up on his own. It was a bit toxic of me, but at least it wouldn’t end in a tragedy. 04 Over the next month, Ash continued to message me non-stop every single day. He was desperate to learn more about me. This included, but was not limited to, asking for my real name, what school I went to, and my home address. I blocked all of it using my ultimate catchphrase: “We’re just online friends right now. You’re crossing a boundary,” delivered half-jokingly, half-seriously. Even through the screen, I could feel the suffocating frustration of a man who had a heart full of love and nowhere to put it. Especially when I subtly suggested he return the house or try paying attention to other girls around him. Under my relentless icing-out strategy, my interactions with Ash gradually dwindled to just gaming. I had no choice; he was just too good at the game. Plus, ever since our first misunderstanding, he seemed to realize I didn’t like a hostile environment. So he rarely used his mic to flame people anymore. A perfect gaming buddy like him was incredibly hard to find. Today was like any other day. While the lab was empty, I opened the game on my phone and waited for Ash to invite me. Suddenly, a deep, pleasant voice sounded right behind me: “Sophie.” Terrified, I immediately slammed my phone face down on the desk. I turned around—sure enough, it was Asher. I had no idea when he came in through the back door. Ever since I carefully pried it out of my senior lab mate, Chloe, that Asher had actually never been in a relationship before… I stayed up all night drafting a master plan to win him over. I was full of confidence that I would make him mine. But a month passed. Even the janitor who delivered our water jugs could tell I had a crush on Asher. Yet no matter how many pretty dresses I wore to catch his eye, or how many times I bought him breakfast and tried to impress him… Asher remained completely blind to it. I figured maybe geniuses were naturally attracted to intelligence. So, I decided to switch gears, work incredibly hard, and use my brilliant academic performance to catch his attention. I didn’t expect that less than a day into this new phase of the plan, I would die on the battlefield. “S-Senior,” I stammered guiltily, hiding my phone behind my back. Asher’s perfectly shaped eyebrows raised slightly. His voice was cool and a bit sharp: “Read the sign posted on the wall.” Maybe his tone was too fierce. My chronic angry-crying flared up again. My nose started to sting, and my voice trembled. Just like the day I accidentally said “hubby,” it sounded exactly like I was whining: “No… no food deliveries, and no gaming or anything unrelated to academics allowed in the lab.” “Soph…” Asher’s pupils contracted imperceptibly, and he muttered something almost too quietly to hear. I froze for a second, trying hard to control my emotions and returning to my normal tone: “Senior, what did you say? I didn’t catch that.” “Nothing,” Asher lowered his eyes slightly. “What game were you just playing?” Hehe. It seemed my reflexes were fast enough. Asher hadn’t actually seen my screen. Thinking about the massive server-wide gossip surrounding me and Ash, I purposely named a completely different, unrelated game. Asher gave a low hum of acknowledgment. A flash of disappointment seemed to pass through his eyes. “Write an apology essay. Give it to me later. Don’t let it happen again.” Taking advantage of the moment, I pulled out the simulation report I had poured my blood, sweat, and tears into recently, offering it to him like a treasure. His long, slender fingers flipped through the pages methodically, his knuckles tinted a faint pink. The breeze stirred the hair on his forehead, and the soft scratching sound of his pen circling things on the paper filled the air. It made my heart melt. Honestly, Asher just looked unapproachable on the outside. Deep down, he was probably very gentle. “I looked at the draft. The logic is a mess. Where’s the main text?” Okay, I take back what I just said. “Senior, that is the main text.” I stared blankly at his opening and closing pale pink lips, swallowing hard. “Sophie, am I good-looking?” “Ah.” My heart dropped. I suddenly felt the intense embarrassment of having my secret crush exposed. My cheeks burned, but I nodded honestly: “Yes… your lips look soft…” I just don’t know what it would feel like to kiss them… I didn’t dare say the second half out loud. Asher’s usually lazy, cold voice grew a bit stricter: “You have good talent. Spend your time reading more literature, and stop wasting your energy on things that are destined to have no result. Understand?” I assumed he was still talking about me sneaking around playing video games. With red eyes, I nodded, looking like an obedient child admitting a mistake. Seeing my pitiful expression, Asher didn’t press the issue. He pulled out his phone and hurriedly replied to a message. No matter what Asher did, he prioritized efficiency. He was a typical overachiever who equally looked down on anyone who was bad at what they did. I wondered who was honored enough to warrant this much patience from him. It made me a little jealous… After Asher walked away, I unlocked my phone. I had dozens of new DMs. [I’m so sorry, Soph. I got delayed by something. Don’t worry, I promise I’ll carry you today and we’ll destroy them.] Even though I had been icing him out for a month, Ash’s words still showed he wasn’t satisfied with just being friends. Dragging this out any longer was just wasting both of our time. Getting caught playing games today was probably a sign. I hardened my heart and replied: [I’m sorry. My real-life crush doesn’t like me playing games. I probably won’t be logging on anymore. Goodbye.] 05 Over the next few days, Asher’s mood visibly plummeted. He often just stared blankly at his phone. One day, I ran the wrong experimental data, completely wasting an entire afternoon. Chloe patted my shoulder. “An hour. Minimum.” “What?” Chloe sighed. “Last time I made the exact same mistake, Senior Asher yelled at me for half an hour. He’s in a terrible mood right now, so I’m guessing an hour, minimum.” Hearing that, I was terrified and trembling all afternoon. But Asher didn’t say a single word. He just silently adjusted the parameters back to normal for me. His usually arrogant, cool face looked utterly deflated. He had less energy than the white mice in the lab next door. This continued until Professor Miller returned from a business trip and treated the entire lab to dinner. While we waited for the food, everyone was chatting. Except Asher, who kept his head down staring at his phone, radiating a terrifyingly dark aura. Mason, who was sitting closest to him, teased: “Asher, bro, online dating is a scam to begin with. You should’ve been more careful. Otherwise, you end up like this—house is bought, but the bride ran away.” I sharply caught the keyword, my smile freezing on my face. “What bride?” Chloe had clearly told me that Asher’s focus was rock solid, he didn’t care about women, and had never dated anyone. I turned around. Chloe looked just as confused as I did. Mason observed Asher’s expression and sighed: “It’s nothing. Simply put, our boy Asher finally fell for someone, and before they even went on a single date, he got played by a toxic e-girl.” “Really? That’s way too far!” I felt a genuine surge of anger. How could someone as proud as Asher, someone who never bowed his head to anyone, get his feelings played with? If that girl didn’t know how to appreciate him, she should step aside and let me handle it. Mason was indignant. He nudged Asher: “See? Even the freshman can’t stand it. Asher, bro, loyalty is a good thing, but being this obsessed is just delusional.” The other seniors at the table who were enjoying the gossip all wore matching expressions of shock. They muttered among themselves: “That’s crazy. Usually, Asher is the one rejecting people. I can’t believe there’s a woman out there who rejected him.” “No way, Asher, really? If even you can’t find a wife these days, how are the rest of us background NPCs supposed to survive…” “Asher, with your face, your achievements, and your earning potential, you’re one in a million. That girl doesn’t know how lucky she is.” Asher frowned impatiently and shot Mason a death glare: “Don’t talk about her like that.” 06 Chloe’s eyes darted around, and she shot me a look: “Asher, you know what they say. The best way to get over a breakup is to start a new romance.” “Since online dating is a scam, why don’t you look at the single girls right in front of you?” Chloe’s gaze pretended to casually land on me: “Like Sophie! She’s pretty, she has a sweet voice, she’s ambitious and humble…” Chloe’s hand poked my ribs under the table. I was ticklish and accidentally snorted a laugh. To ease the awkwardness, I nervously tried to keep the conversation going: “Um, yeah, what she said. I’m pretty great.” Chloe gave me a look of pure exasperation: “…” The other seniors around the table covered their mouths and snickered. Seeing what was going on but not calling it out, they all started hyping me up: “Honestly, I’ve been wanting to say this. Senior Asher definitely plays favorites with Sophie. No matter what reading material it is, he goes through it first, highlights all the key points, and then gives it to her. We definitely didn’t get that treatment when we joined.” Asher’s eyes naturally curved upward, and the way the light caught his gaze made him look incredibly captivating. “You guys are smarter. I was worried she wouldn’t understand it.” “…” The smile that had just bloomed on my face vanished. Professor Miller joined in the fun: “You guys aren’t wrong. Asher, I’ve noticed you truly never speak harshly to Sophie. You aren’t even that gentle when you’re grading papers for my classes.” Everyone laughed together. I also let the corners of my mouth curl up, staring at Asher with bright, hopeful eyes, looking deeply affectionate and shy. Looking at it this way, I really was somewhat special in Asher’s heart, wasn’t I? His dark eyelashes fluttered slightly. The blue stud in his ear reflected the light, making his aristocratic vibe feel a bit unapproachable. “Sophie, what was your SAT Reading score?” I froze, not understanding why he was asking that. “780. Why, Senior?” Asher frowned slightly. “With a score like that, logically, you should be able to understand what I mean.” I blinked in confusion. Asher leaned back in his chair, casually scanned the crowd, and unlocked his phone. I was usually slow to catch on, but this time I was very sharp. I picked up my phone too. Sure enough, my pinned contact sent me a message: [Do I really have to spell it out so bluntly?] [I already have someone I like. I’m going to keep pursuing her, even if she rejects me.] [I will have a girlfriend, but it will never be you.] My mood plummeted from the clouds straight into the abyss. My eyes widened, but I didn’t dare look up and meet Asher’s gaze. So, when he told me not to waste energy on things destined to have no result… he meant this. Asher had rejected me a long time ago. And I was still charging forward like an idiot, thinking he was enjoying the flirtatious atmosphere just now. Not rejecting me publicly in front of everyone was the last shred of dignity Asher was leaving me. I fought back the sour feeling in my throat and forced a casual tone as I typed: [Senior, you misunderstood. I actually don’t like you like that.] Asher: [That’s for the best.] I silently picked up my drink and downed it in one gulp.

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Manhattan’s most elusive billionaire heir unexpectedly broke the internet by posting a suggestive thirst trap of his rock-hard abs on Instagram. The caption read: “Waiting for you in bed.” A rising Hollywood starlet immediately replied: “I’ll be home early tonight.” Overnight, the internet went into a shipping frenzy: “Oh my god, it’s so sweet. This is them going Instagram official!” But… if she is his official girlfriend, then who the hell am I? 01 I am the most notoriously hated, controversial actress in the entertainment industry. Lately, my luck had been absolute trash. Several high-profile projects I starred in had been permanently canceled because my co-stars got caught up in massive legal scandals. My reputation was in the gutter, and I had zero interest in acting. To keep me relevant, my manager used her connections to book me a spot on a live-streamed reality show. The primary guest star on the show, unfortunately, was the rising Hollywood starlet Serena Croft. She was the rumored new girlfriend of Christian Vance—the billionaire heir to the Vance corporate empire—and she also happened to be my absolute arch-nemesis. The second the cameras started rolling, the host, Brooke Harrison, asked us to introduce ourselves to the live audience. Serena smoothed her baby-blue designer sundress, pitching her voice to sound sweet and sugary. “Hi everyone! It’s your favorite girl, Serena, here!” Brooke gave a sly, knowing smirk to the camera. “And if the rumors are true, maybe very soon we’ll be calling you Mrs. Vance.” Amidst the forced cheers of the studio crew, Serena lowered her head, flashing a practiced, blushing smile. “Oh, it’s still way too early for that.” I couldn’t help but furrow my brow. But out of basic professional courtesy, I didn’t interrupt her little performance. The live chat on the screen was already losing its collective mind: [Oh my god! Serena is basically confirming her relationship with Christian! A psychic on TikTok literally just said she has the face of a billionaire’s wife. I can’t believe she’s actually going to become Manhattan’s ultimate trophy wife.] [Serena is so precious. No wonder the notoriously cold, untouchable billionaire heir finally fell for someone. Imagine their sex life… I’m blushing just thinking about it.] [Did you guys see the thirst trap Christian posted last night? Holy shit, his abs are literal steel. My face is burning. Serena is eating so good.] Then, someone noticed me sitting quietly in the corner of the frame. [Wait, look at Kendall’s face. Why is that toxic clout-chaser scowling? Is she seriously jealous that Serena bagged a billionaire? Gross.] [Our Serena is infinitely more popular, more successful, and more loved. Her boyfriend is a lieral crown prince, and Kendall’s career is literally tanking. She must be suffocating with jealousy right now. Heh.] Staring at the wave of hate comments, I blinked. I wasn’t jealous of Serena at all. I was just profoundly, utterly confused. Exactly three days ago, because that stubborn, straight-laced prick Christian Vance refused to try a new position in bed, we got into a massive screaming match and entered a brutal cold war. In a fit of rage, I blocked his number and every single one of his social media accounts. I never expected that the dominant, corporate tyrant, unable to reach me, would actually log onto his ancient, untouched Instagram account to post a public message. In the photo, the man had clearly just stepped out of the shower, lying flat on his back in bed. Crisp, glistening water droplets were perfectly traced across the razor-sharp ridges of his abs. His long, elegant fingers were tangled in the dark silk sheets. It was an unbridled, devastatingly seductive thirst trap. The caption read: “Waiting for you in bed.” It pushed the suggestive, intimate atmosphere to an absolute extreme. A few minutes later, Serena had intercepted the narrative, reposting his photo with a coy, blushing comment: “I’ll be home early tonight.” By midnight, the shipping hashtag for Serena and Christian had hijacked the number one trending spot nationwide. The narrative was concrete, full of fake authority. The top comment from a fan read: “They are lieral soulmates. This is them going Instagram official!” Staring at the screen, my head was full of question marks. If Serena is Christian’s official girlfriend, then who the hell am I? Did that man genuinely find a replacement after only three days of a cold war? Wow. Unbelievable. When he was with me, he acted so pristine and conservative, his heart hammering and his face flushing hot if I just tried to hold his hand in public. I spent an entire year painstakingly breaking down his walls and teaching him how to be a lover, only for him to parade his affection to my arch-nemesis on social media?! 02 After the introductory segment concluded, the host moved us along to the first icebreaker game. A cliché game of Truth or Dare. During the very first round, Serena lost. Brooke looked ecstatic, turning the camera toward her. “Well, Serena! Are you going to choose Truth or Dare?” Serena thought for a moment, smiling sweetly. “Truth.” Sensing a massive opportunity to farm drama, Brooke’s voice pitched up in excitement. “Oh! Any question at all?” Serena covered her face cutely, looking shy. “Just don’t make it too wild, please. He prefers to keep a very low profile.” The live chat went into another shipping frenzy: [HAHAHA, Christian is like: ‘Stop calling me he, just read out my social security number already.’] [Who knew that after going Instagram official, this couple would be so unbothered about hiding it? The sweetness is suffocating.] [Look at Kendall’s face. She looks green with envy. She’s been fighting Serena for roles and sponsorships for years, and now that Serena has an entire corporate empire backing her, Kendall looks completely paralyzed.] Are you kidding me? I was literally just adjusting my colored contacts. How the hell did that translate into me rolling my eyes in envy? After securing Serena’s permission, Brooke gave a fawning, gossipy grin. “Alright! Our question is: can you describe the exact moment you and Christian met?” Serena pressed her lips together, her eyes distant as she pretended to recall a beautiful memory. “Last winter, I was shooting a commercial as the brand ambassador for Vance Enterprises. After we wrapped, Christian personally bought me a hot cocoa, and we spent hours walking through the private corporate gardens together…” The more Serena spoke, the redder her cheeks became, until she shyly lowered her head. “Oh wow~ That is so romantic,” Brooke and the other guests gushed, acting completely captivated by the story. Sitting in the corner as a glorified background prop, I listened to her story, and something felt deeply, profoundly wrong. I set down my half-eaten orange and couldn’t help but interrupt: “Are you absolutely sure Christian Vance personally bought you that hot cocoa?” Serena froze for a fraction of a second. She quickly recovered her signature smile, though her voice sounded slightly victimized. “Yes, I am. Why? Are you implying I’m a liar, Kendall?” I offered a highly diplomatic warning: “I think you should try real hard to remember that day correctly…” Because I remembered that day perfectly. I remembered it because due to a certain shameful test of physical endurance in bed, Christian hadn’t even stepped foot inside his corporate office that day. He and I had been completely tangled up in my bedroom from the mattress to the floor-to-ceiling windows to the vanity for an entire afternoon. His bespoke designer leather belt had literally snapped when he went to put his clothes back on that night. The hot cocoa she was talking about was a generic winter perk provided by the HR department to every single employee on the corporate lot that day. Even the cleaning staff got a cup. And as for that romantic walk through the private gardens? It was literally hailing golf-ball-sized chunks of ice that day! Serena clearly didn’t expect anyone to call her out. Her sweet smile completely hardened on her face, and her voice carried a sharp, barely hidden hostility. “Kendall, you’re questioning my relationship so aggressively… do you know Christian well?” Given my career, the last thing I wanted was to expose my relationship with Christian Vance. Plus, we were still in a cold war, so I gave a vague, detached answer: “We’re alright.” We just had a negative-distance physical alignment four or five times a week. Serena put on a mask of pure innocence. “Oh, really? That’s nice. But… Kendall, it’s so weird. I’ve never heard Christian mention your name once…” The live chat exploded: [LMAOOOOO! The reality check hit her like a hurricane! I am dying laughing at Kendall’s desperate attempt to clout-chase. She actually had the audacity to question Serena’s relationship when she’s probably never even breathed the same air as Christian.] [Hold on, am I the only one who thinks Kendall’s guilty, shifty expression looks like she actually has a history with him? What if Serena is the one lying…?] [Commenter above, what kind of psychotic delusion are you living in? What history could a controversial, hated actress have with a billionaire heir? She’s been trying to steal Serena’s roles for years, and now she’s trying to steal her man. Her skin is thicker than a vault door.] 03 After the Truth or Dare game concluded, it was almost noon. The reality show had an ironclad tradition for its lunchtime segment. Every guest star had to pull out their phone, go into their contact list, and invite one friend to come to the studio set in person to draw a lottery card. The card would dictate whether the guest star got to eat a gourmet, Michelin-star feast for lunch, or a plate of toxic, inedible sludge. It was a highly calculated, transactional strategy designed by the producers. They only had to pay the appearance fees for two stars, but got to farm the viral engagement of four celebrities. The production assistant returned our phones, which had been confiscated at the start of filming. Brooke gave a mysterious, excited grin. “Today’s invitation segment is going to be a little different from our previous episodes. We are going to mirror your phone screens directly onto the massive studio monitors, and let the fans choose who you text!” Serena smoothly agreed, opening her messages app. Her phone screen instantly mirrored onto the giant monitors behind us. Her pinned conversation at the top of her contact list bore the name: “My Sweet Christian.” The concurrent viewership on the livestream instantly doubled. The chat was completely flooded with Christian Vance’s name, the metrics skyrocketing. Brooke looked ecstatic as she looked at Serena. “Wow! The fans and I are absolutely dying to see the future Mr. and Mrs. Vance reunite on screen!” Amidst the cheers of the crew, Serena slowly typed out a message in the chat box: “Christian, are you free to drop by the studio for lunch?” The live chat went wild: [Oooooh! See? Falling in love really turns even the coldest billionaires into soft little boys. Pinned contact and a cute nickname? I am choking on this romance. I can’t wait for them to stand in the same frame so Kendall can finally see reality.] [I heard the Vance family has extremely strict, old-money traditions. They’re incredibly private and forbid their heirs from ever participating in non-corporate entertainment media. Is Christian seriously going to break a generational rule just for Serena? Wow, this is a literal wattpad book.] Time ticked away, minute by minute, but the conversation with “My Sweet Christian” remained completely dead. No reply. Serena had no choice but to disconnect her screen mirroring. A few seconds later, her eyes suddenly widened in feigned, ecstatic surprise, and she spoke in a sweet, performative pout: “Christian just texted me privately! He said he was stuck in an emergency board meeting and his schedule is completely packed today, so he can’t make it out for lunch.” “But he said he’s going to buy me a few designer bags to make it up to me. Hmph, a few bags isn’t going to cut it. I’m going to demand he buy me a hundred. I’ll keep one, and distribute the rest to Brooke and my beautiful fans.” Hearing that Christian wasn’t coming, the fans in the chat were initially disappointed, but within seconds, they recovered and started shipping them again. [Wow, Christian spoils Serena so much. A hundred designer bags like it’s nothing? The absolute wealth is terrifying. I wish I could body-swap with Serena for just two days.] [We really have to thank Serena for giving us such incredible perks. I can’t even imagine how expensive a bag bought by a billionaire heir is going to be.] [Is this what it looks like to have an infinite bank account? No wonder Kendall looks like she’s dying of jealousy right now. She’s probably burning alive inside.] Brooke’s eyes were literally shining with greed, her voice dripping with sycophantic praise. “Oh my god, thank you so much, Serena! I guess I’m finally getting a taste of what it’s like to be a billionaire’s wife!” In the middle of the celebratory atmosphere, I lierally burst out laughing. Because Serena had disconnected her screen mirroring, the audience couldn’t see her actual text thread. But I knew with absolute certainty that it was mathematically impossible for Christian Vance to have sent that text message. Predictably, my laughter triggered another nuclear explosion in the live chat, with everyone accusing me of being a bitter hater who couldn’t stand seeing someone else win. Only a few rational viewers raised a suspicion: [Isn’t it a little too convenient? The exact second she disconnects her screen mirroring, Christian text her privately? Are we sure she didn’t just make that up?] But their comments were instantly obliterated by the aggressive mob of fans: [You must be Kendall’s burner account. Just like your idol, you’re like a rat hiding in a sewer, completely miserable because you can’t handle someone else’s happiness.] […] Hearing my laughter, Brooke finally directed her attention to me, her tone dismissive and dry. “Kendall, are you ready to mirror your screen?” I was about to nod when a sudden realization hit me. I instinctively tightened my grip on my phone. “Can you give me a second?” Brooke was visibly irritated, wanting to keep the momentum going. “Is Kendall feeling a little overwhelmed by the game? It’s fine, let me help you with that.” Without warning, Brooke reached over and forcefully snatched the phone out of my hands. Before I could lock it, my screen mirrored directly onto the massive studio monitors. The image that exploded onto the screen showed the sharp, dangerous silhouette of a man. His pale, perfect lips were pressed into a hard line. The man was kneeling flat on a polished hardwood floor, his face tilted up slightly. His tailored suit fabric stretched tightly over his powerful frame, and his corporate tie was being lazily, effortlessly wrapped around a woman’s hand, her fingers painted with dark crimson polish, pulling him forward. It was cold, dominant, and packed with an absolute, suffocating sexual tension. Even though the photo only captured the lower half of his face, a viewer in the chat recognized him instantly: [Wait… THAT’S CHRISTIAN VANCE! Why the hell is he kneeling like a submissive dog?!] [Holy shit, this photo isn’t available anywhere on the internet! Why does Kendall have this?! I am losing my mind, is there actually something going on between them…?] [Are you blind? This is an obvious deepfake photoshop. Kendall is a pathetic, obsessive stalker who edited her own hand into a fake picture. I can’t wait to watch the billionaire’s lawyers destroy her career for this.] [LMAO, the commenter above is right. Let’s make Kendall invite Christian right now! Serena is too sweet to defend herself, let’s let Christian Vance personally show up and nuke this clout-chaser’s existence into the ground.] The comments demanding “FORCE KENDALL TO INVITE CHRISTIAN VANCE” began aggressively spamming the screen. 04 Brooke and the other guests leaned back, looking like they were settling in to watch an execution. Only Serena proactively approached my chair. Having just failed to bring her own “boyfriend” to the set, she was desperate to use me to regain her dominance. “Kendall, the audience has already made their choice. Why haven’t you sent Christian a message yet?” A few seconds later, she put on a mask of pure, mock-sympathy, lowering her voice. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Kendall. You claimed earlier that you and Christian were ‘alright,’ so I assumed you actually had his number. I didn’t realize… you don’t even have his contact info…” The live chat poured out absolute, unbridled mockery: [HAHAHA, she talked a massive game, and now she can’t even back it up. If I were Kendall, I would pack my bags and run out the back door right now to save myself from the absolute embarrassment.] [Wait, am I the only one who thinks Serena is acting a bit toxic? She knows Christian is busy, yet she’s forcing Kendall to text him just to humiliate her.] [Toxic? Are you crazy? Serena is the legitimate girlfriend. Watching some cheap slut try to clout-chase using her man, she’s being incredibly polite by not screaming in her face.] Seeing my lack of movement, Brooke took up the mantle of justice for Serena. “Kendall, Serena is speaking to you. Out of basic human politeness, don’t you think you should reply?” I looked at Serena, my tone deadpan and flat. “With acting skills like that, you should really focus on booking a movie role instead of doing reality TV.” Brooke’s mouth popped open in fury, but Serena stopped her from screaming, looking like a fragile, weeping angel. “Kendall, I understand that you’re in a bad place with your career right now.” “How about this? I’ll give you Christian’s number myself. But whether he actually blocks you or ignores you, I can’t guarantee…” I casually cut her off. “No need. I already have his number. I just blocked him.” The live chat erupted with laughter: [Everyone else is dying to get a billionaire’s number, and she claims she blocked him? Who is she trying to fool?] [God, I despise people who flex things they don’t have. Especially when the lie is this transparent. Serena has offered her a way out multiple times, even offering to give her the number, and she acts like a smug, arrogant bitch.] [Filming a show with a toxic parasite like her must be exhausting for Serena.] Brooke wore a look of pure, euphoric malice. “Kendall, since you swear you have his number, send him the invitation right now.” The entire cast turned their heads, waiting to watch the train wreck. Under the collective gaze of the room, I slowly went into my block list, unblocked the contact labeled “My Little Puppy,” and typed out a single line: “I’m giving you exactly one chance. Get your ass over here and make me lunch.” He replied instantly. [BABY! You finally unblocked me!] [Let’s make lunch together! Can we try that new position you picked out last time? I swear I’ve been practicing it every single day in my head.] [Baby, please don’t ignore me. I promise I will never say no to any of your demands in bed ever again…] I used the absolute maximum speed of my fingers to disconnect the screen mirroring, but it was too late. The 18+ explicit text messages had already been hard-witnessed by the entire internet. A suffocating, dead silence paralyzed the entire studio for fifteen seconds. 05 Brooke stood frozen, her jaw practically on the floor. “Kendall… who exactly were you texting just now?” I was internally cursing that idiot for typing out our bedroom secrets on a public frequency, but I kept my face deadpan as I locked my phone. “Christian Vance.” “The billionaire heir Christian Vance?!” I gave a cold laugh. “Is there another Christian Vance?” I had been targeted, blackmailed, and deliberately defamed by Brooke and Serena the entire morning. They wanted to use me as a villainous prop to elevate Serena’s image and farm viral metrics for their show. Well, congratulations. The live chat flipped completely: [HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! The narrative just executed a nuclear inversion! Kendall lieral had the billionaire heir blocked! And he’s a submissive little puppy for her?! Is this real life?!] [LMAO, I am living for this. The host is an absolute corporate hack who always kisses up to rich guests and tramples on lower-tier actors. Kendall just completely destroyed her on live TV. Savage.] [I can’t breathe. I am lieral staring at the screen with my jaw open.] […] Brooke’s face went completely blank, her mind short-circuiting as she looked at Serena for help. Serena rushed over to my desk, her eyes rimmed with tears. “Kendall, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing. But faking a corporate billionaire’s identity online is a federal crime. You are actively destroying his corporate reputation. This is going too far.” She was desperately trying to convince herself it was a fake account or a hired model. Brooke quickly caught onto her lifeline. “Exactly! The profile picture on Kendall’s phone doesn’t even match Serena’s contact picture! You hired a fake model to pretend to be him, didn’t you?!” The live chat spam continued: [Wait, the commenter has a point. Billionaire romance leads don’t text like desperate, horny puppies. And ‘My Little Puppy’?! Does Kendall really have the balls to call Christian Vance a dog? No way.] [I bet she just hired a high-end male model from an agency to change his name on WhatsApp. Kendall’s reputation is trash anyway, she’s probably desperate enough to commit fraud for clout.] [I feel so bad for Serena. This crazy bitch is literally unhinged. I hope Christian’s legal team sues her into bankruptcy.] I looked at the host, my expression perfectly calm. “That’s his private account. Only his immediate family and I have access to it.” Before the host could reply, my phone started vibrating relentlessly. He was spamming me. [I’m so sorry, baby. I was busy reviewing that position this morning, so I didn’t see your text or the notifications. It’s my fault.] [I didn’t mean to expose our relationship to the media. I promised you I would never interfere with your career or forcefully claim a public title.] [But since I’m coming to the studio right now, you have to give me a title. Boyfriend? Husband? Or… your loyal dog is fine too.] I didn’t even bother trying to hide the screen anymore. Brooke turned to Serena, her voice trembling. “Serena… did Christian mention what time he was arriving?” Serena’s face was completely devoid of color. She stammered, her voice shaking violently. “Christian is extremely busy today… he’s in a board meeting… he’s not coming…” I locked my phone and announced flatly: “Christian Vance will be here at 12:30 PM.”

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When I raced to the Town Hall, a pine casket sat in the center of the square, stained with horrific, dark streaks of blood. The person inside had long since suffocated, their life snuffed out in the dark. The catalyst for all of this? A simple gesture of kindness. An old neighbor had brought my mother a small gift—a vintage locket—as a thank-you for years of friendship. But when my husband, Derek, found out, he exploded. He was convinced my mother was taking “bribes,” trying to use her connection to him to grease the wheels of his upcoming promotion. He was the Chief of Police, a man obsessed with his own shadow. His deputy, Jade—a woman who hung on his every word with a devotion that turned my stomach—was even more indignant. She claimed she would “teach my mother a lesson” on his behalf. She had gone further than anyone could have imagined. She had broken my mother’s limbs, tied a black blindfold over her eyes, and nailed her into that casket. She brought the box to the Town Hall for a public shaming, a spectacle of “justice.” Standing before the tragedy, Jade didn’t show a flicker of remorse. Instead, she smirked, her voice airy. “It’s a victory for integrity, don’t you think?” Derek arrived on the scene, his face a mask of cold indifference. Without a second thought, he ordered the casket to be hauled away to the river. “Your mother obviously died of shame,” he said, not even looking at the blood on the wood. “What does this have to do with Jade? Jade was being generous just by tolerating your mother’s disgraceful behavior. Most people would have had her locked up.” Then, he turned his fury on me. “You better apologize to Jade right now, Cassie. Do it, or don’t bother coming home. You’re one step away from losing your status as my wife.” I stepped forward, blocking the men who were about to haul the casket away. I reached down and pulled back the heavy black cloth covering the lid. And then, I laughed. I couldn’t help it. The sound bubbled up from my chest, sharp and hysterical. To this moment, Derek had no idea. The woman lying broken in that casket wasn’t my mother. It was his own. 1. “You’ve lost your mind,” Derek snapped, his eyes flashing with disgust. “Your mother is dead, and you’re standing there laughing? Apologize to Jade. Now.” He looked at me as if I were a stain on his polished boots. But why would I seek justice for the woman in that box? She wasn’t mine. I didn’t need to fight for someone who had spent years making my life a living hell. “I’m not apologizing,” I said, my voice steady. “Do whatever you want.” Jade shivered, shrinking into the crook of Derek’s arm. She let out a long, theatrical sigh. “Seeing all this blood… I’m going to have nightmares tonight. If I don’t get any sleep, I don’t know how I’ll manage the precinct tomorrow.” That was her specialty—flipping the narrative. She could turn a hangnail into a tragedy, and Derek would move mountains to soothe her. He turned his rage back on me. “Cassie, do you have a soul? Your mother took a bribe. Jade was trying to protect my reputation. The woman died because she couldn’t face her own guilt. As her daughter, the least you can do is say you’re sorry for the mess she made.” I remained unmoved. “I’ve done nothing wrong. And neither did my mother.” Derek’s face turned a dangerous shade of crimson. He turned to his deputies. “Fine. If she wants to be stubborn, let’s finish this. Fill the casket with water and seal it tight. You won’t get a chance to say goodbye, Cassie. Not ever.” I shrugged, indifferent. Jade walked over, her movements feline and triumphant. She reached out to take my hand, but I pulled away. “Cassie,” she whispered, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “I know you’re upset. I really didn’t mean for this to happen. It was just supposed to be a little… disciplinary lesson. You’re not going to hold this against us, are you? You’re not going to go to the commissioner and make a scene, right?” I looked her in the eye and felt a cold smirk touch my lips. “I won’t. I promise.” Ever since I married Derek, his mother, Beatrice, had treated me like a servant. She carried her status as the “Chief’s Mother” like a scepter. She’d make me drive two towns over just to get her specific brand of imported tea. She demanded four-course dinners every night, never the same thing twice. If I was even five minutes late coming home from the textile mill, she’d scream at me in front of the neighbors. “You think you’re special because you have a job? You’re a wife first! You’re out there flaunting yourself while your house is a mess?” Looking at the casket now, I realized that some monsters really do destroy each other. Derek remembered something then. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few crumpled grocery vouchers, tossing them at my feet. “Take these. Consider it hush money for your mother’s… departure. Her life wasn’t worth much anyway, so this is more than generous.” Five days’ worth of groceries for a human life. It was a bargain, considering the life inside wasn’t the one he thought it was. He looked down at me, waiting for me to bow, to scrape the papers off the pavement. Before I could even move, he started barking orders about how I should spend them. “Since your mother is gone, you don’t need to waste these on her. Go to the city tomorrow. Exchange them for cash if you have to, but I want you to bring back that expensive skin cream my mother likes. She’s been complaining about being out for two days. If you don’t take care of her, don’t expect to keep your place in this house.” The same old threat. I was tired of hearing it. I used to endure it because I loved him. I accepted his mother’s cruelty because I thought it was the price of being with him. But today, the veil had finally lifted. There was nothing left in his heart for me, and nothing left in mine for him. I felt an eerie sense of calm settle over me. “Fine,” I said, my voice quiet but clear. “Let’s get a divorce. File the papers tomorrow.” Derek froze. His eyes widened, his finger trembling as he pointed at me, unable to even form a coherent sentence. I didn’t wait for him to find his words. I turned and walked away. 2. I went back to my mother’s house, my heart hammering against my ribs until I saw her sitting on the porch, knitting a sweater. She was alive. The horror in the square hadn’t been a dream, but my mother was safe. I ran to her and threw my arms around her, my voice thick with unshed tears. “Mom, let’s go. Let’s go to San Francisco. I heard the coast is opening up, there are so many opportunities there.” My mother sensed the shift in me immediately. “You and Derek… I told you from the start he wasn’t the one, honey. If you need to clear your head, I’ll go with you.” “Good,” I whispered. “We leave in three days.” I spent the next day with her, soaking in her presence. When I finally returned to the house I shared with Derek, I found he had already set up a makeshift memorial in the hallway. My mother’s photo—a grainy, old portrait—was framed on a small table. He walked toward me, a smug smile on his face, as if he were expecting a gold star. “Look, honey. I set this up for you. If you miss her, you can come here and talk to her.” He gestured to the photo. “I had to pull a lot of strings to get this printed on short notice. I put a lot of effort into this for your mother. Pretty thoughtful, right?” I let out a dry laugh. He had a darkroom right at the precinct. This had taken him five minutes. He actually thought he could win me back with a piece of paper. I picked up the photo and tossed it into the trash can. “Are the divorce papers ready?” His brow furrowed, his expression souring. “You’re still on that? It was just a fight, Cassie. We’ve been married for ten years. You don’t just throw that away over a little disagreement.” I didn’t even bother to argue. Two years ago, when Jade complained that I made her head ache with my “negative energy,” he had threatened to divorce me three times in one week. In his world, the death of my mother was a “little disagreement,” but Jade’s mood swings were a national emergency. He tried to pull me into his arms, his voice softening into that manipulative purr he used when he wanted something. “Come on, don’t be like that. I’m going to throw a massive funeral for her. A real send-off. It’ll make up for everything, okay?” “I don’t want it,” I said flatly. He gripped my hands tighter. “After the funeral, I’ll take some leave. We’ll go on a trip. Just us. But… I need you to do something for me at the service. I need you to tell everyone that your mother died because she was overwhelmed with shame. Tell them it had nothing to do with Jade. The mayor heard some rumors, and it’s starting to look bad for her career.” There it was. The hook. All the sweet talk was just grease for the gears. “She killed someone, and you want me to clear her name?” I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Derek, I thought you were a man of the law.” His face darkened instantly. He let go of my hands. “She did it for me! If people thought your mother was taking bribes under my roof, I’d be finished! You’re going to help her, Cassie. Whether you like it or not.” I smiled thinly, a sudden idea taking root. “Fine. I’ll do it. But you have to grant me one request.” He lit up, the tension leaving his shoulders. He leaned in and kissed my cheek. “That’s my girl! I knew you’d come around. I’m the luckiest man alive.” I didn’t say a word. I didn’t tell him that my one request was the divorce. Before he left for the evening, he grabbed the antique pocket watch from the dresser—the one thing I truly cherished. “Jade’s been so jumpy since the incident,” he said carelessly. “She says the rhythmic ticking helps her sleep. You never wear this anyway, so I’m giving it to her.” That watch was the only thing he’d ever given me that meant something. We hadn’t had a real wedding; we’d just gone to the courthouse. Back then, he wasn’t a Chief. He was a struggling officer who had saved for months to buy me that three-hundred-dollar watch because I’d admired it in a shop window. I only wore it twice because I was so terrified of scratching it. He knew that. He knew I loved it because it represented who he used to be. Now, it didn’t matter. He could give her the watch. He could give her the whole world. I didn’t want any of it anymore. As he reached the door, he paused. “By the way, have you seen my mom? She hasn’t been around for two days. Tell her to call me when she gets back.” I felt a chill of dark satisfaction. “Oh, you’ll see her tomorrow, Derek. At the funeral. I promise.” 3. The funeral was a grand affair. Half the town showed up, along with everyone from the precinct. Derek wanted a spectacle to ensure Jade’s reputation remained untarnished. Jade was a mess of theatrical tears, huddled against Derek’s chest. “Do you think Cassie really hates me? Oh, Derek, you’ll protect me, won’t you? You won’t let her hurt me?” Derek stroked her hair, his eyes full of pity. “Don’t worry, Jade. She won’t touch you. We’re going to clear everything up today.” The woman who had literally nailed a person into a box was playing the victim. It was almost poetic in its absurdity. I stood before the casket and lit a stick of incense. Regardless of how Beatrice had treated me, she was dead now. This was my final act of politeness. Jade stepped forward then, suddenly pulling a stack of papers from her coat. She let out a heavy, fake sigh. “Cassie, I know we should let the dead rest,” she said, her voice loud enough for the crowd to hear. “But your mother’s actions are casting a shadow over this entire department. For the sake of the truth, we have to address this.” I took the papers from her. They were “records” of my mother’s supposed bribes—extravagant amounts of money she had allegedly taken from townspeople over the years. I threw the papers onto the grass. “This is a lie,” I said coldly. “The neighbor gave her a locket and a pie. You’ve written down five hundred dollars. None of this is real.” Jade recoiled as if I’d struck her, sobbing into Derek’s shoulder. He stepped forward, shielding her. “Don’t you dare act out here! Jade spent weeks investigating this! You think she just made it up? I know for a fact your mother used my name to scam people all over this county!” Jade looked up, her eyes swimming with crocodile tears. “Derek, maybe we shouldn’t… she’s dead, after all.” “If you’re going to bring it up, have the guts to stand by it,” I snapped at her. Derek’s rage boiled over. “I’m bringing it up because everyone needs to know! Your mother got what was coming to her! Jade was just doing her job, and I won’t have her blamed for a criminal’s heart attack!” The crowd began to murmur. “I did see Cassie’s mom buying expensive meat at the butcher’s every week,” one woman whispered. “And they got a new TV last month,” another added. “Where does a factory worker get that kind of money?” I balled my fists. “I bought those things! I saved my wages for two years to buy my mother that TV!” Jade gave me a pitying look. “Cassie, honey, we all know what you make at the mill. It’s okay to be ashamed, but don’t lie.” Derek sneered. “And what about those people who came to the precinct last month looking for me? I bet your mother took their money and promised them favors.” They had the crowd in the palm of their hands. Jade tilted her head, a predatory gleam in her eyes. “Since all that property was bought with ‘bribe money,’ it should be confiscated and given to the town charity. We should go to your house right now and take it back.” 4. Jade led the charge. They burst into my mother’s house like a swarm of locusts, smashing things as they went. She took a sledgehammer to the TV I had worked so hard for. “Everything bought with blood money has to go!” she chirped, looking over her shoulder at Derek for approval. Derek stood by the door, clapping his hands. “Exactly! This is how we purge corruption!” I stood in the corner, silent, a small smile playing on my lips. I had already called the state police from the town over. I wanted to see how they’d handle the finish line. Jade dug through a jewelry box and pulled out a gold bracelet. “And this? I suppose you bought this too, Cassie?” I lunged forward, feigning desperation. “Put that back! That’s an heirloom!” Derek grabbed my shoulder, pinning me back. “Heirloom? You never mentioned an heirloom. This is just more stolen goods!” Jade smirked, her fingers loosening. The bracelet hit the hardwood floor with a sharp crack. “Oops. My hand slipped. But it wasn’t yours anyway, was it? No harm done.” That bracelet had been in my family for three generations. My mother was supposed to give it to me on my wedding day, but she’d kept it, saying she wanted to make sure it was safe. She’d gone through three hospitalizations without selling it, just so she could pass it down to me. Tears of genuine fury pricked my eyes. Derek looked at me with total indifference. “I was going to let you keep your dignity if you just apologized,” he said. “But your mother’s crimes are too big. To save Jade’s career, I have to make this public. Your mother can carry the bad reputation to her grave. It’s better her than Jade.” “Enough!” I screamed. I glared at him, my voice trembling with rage. “Derek! My mother didn’t take any bribes. And the person in that casket isn’t my mother. It’s yours!” He started to laugh, ready to dismiss me as hysterical. But then, the front door swung open. My mother walked in, followed by two state troopers. Derek froze. He looked at my mother, then at the troopers, his face draining of color. As the officers headed toward the “memorial” in the town square, Derek broke into a run. He reached the casket and tore at the lid with his bare hands, ripping his fingernails on the wood. When the lid finally gave way, and he saw the broken, bloated body of his own mother, he let out a howl that sounded like a dying animal. The state troopers didn’t hesitate. They walked straight to Jade. “Jade, you’re under arrest for second-degree murder, evidence tampering, and destruction of property. You have the right to remain silent.”

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I gripped the printed flight confirmation in my hand until my knuckles turned a ghostly white. This was supposed to be a surprise for Jackson Burke’s twenty-fifth birthday—a cross-country flight from New York to San Francisco to finally close the gap of our long-distance relationship. I had spent months planning this, thousands of miles for a single moment of joy. Then, a notification from the “Inner Circle” group chat shattered everything. Jackson had posted a photo. It was a shot of a rumpled, messy king-sized bed, the sheets tangled in a way that left nothing to the imagination. His caption felt like a physical blow: “Long distance is a joke. Turns out the little intern at the office is way more ‘hands-on’ than a screen.” He had clearly forgotten I was still in that chat. The group exploded. His “bros” scrambled to do damage control, posting laughing emojis and telling him he was just “sampling the local flavor.” They told me not to take it personally—that Lexi, the “struggling” intern from the scholarship program, was just being sweet and attentive, and Jackson was a guy with needs who couldn’t help himself. Jackson didn’t delete the message. Instead, he tagged me directly. His tone was chillingly entitled: “Since you saw it, I’ll be straight with you. I had a few drinks last night, and I couldn’t resist her.” “Michelle, you’ve always been the sensible one. Don’t be a drama queen about this.” So, the reason he missed my birthday call? The reason he said he was pulled into an all-nighter at the lab to finish the “breakthrough” project? It was all a lie. He wasn’t in a lab. He was in a hotel room, exploring someone else. Lexi, the so-called “impoverished” intern, decided to chime in with her own brand of toxic sweetness: “I’m so sorry, Michelle. You have everything—the career, the money—but I only have Jackson. Please don’t hate me…” I stared at the screen, a jagged, cold laugh escaping my throat. Slowly, deliberately, I tore the flight confirmation into tiny, unrecognizable shreds. Jackson, if you love “charity cases” so much, then you can rot in the gutter with her. … “Michelle, since you’re reading the chat, I’m not going to waste time explaining.” The phone rang before I could even process the silence. Jackson didn’t even wait for me to say hello. “You need to apologize to Lexi right now so we can move past this.” “I need to apologize to her?” I squeezed the phone, my nails digging into my palm. “You went radio silent in the group chat, Michelle. Do you have any idea how that looks? It’s passive-aggressive,” Jackson snapped, his voice thick with self-righteousness. “Lexi was so intimidated by your silence that she cried all night! She thinks you’re going to use your influence to ruin her.” “Ruin her?” My laugh was brittle. “Jackson, you’re playing house with a girl using the money I sent you to cover your ‘living expenses’ while you built that project. And you’re telling me you’re the one being tortured?” “Don’t bring up the money again!” Jackson’s voice rose, a sure sign I’d hit a nerve. “What’s a few thousand dollars anyway? Once I land the core investment, I’ll be worth ten million. Lexi is the one pulling all-nighters running data for me. What do you do? You send ‘good luck’ texts from three thousand miles away. You’re useless to me here.” In the background, I heard a soft, performative sob. “Jackson, don’t be mean to Michelle,” Lexi’s voice drifted through the speaker, thin and fragile. “It’s my fault. I’m not high-class like her. I’ll just leave…” “Lexi, stay put!” Jackson muffled the receiver, but I could still hear him. “She doesn’t know the first thing about back-end architecture. Without you, this project would have folded months ago.” My blood ran cold. Back-end architecture? The “core project” he was so proud of? I had spent the last year pulling actual all-nighters, writing every single line of that proprietary code and sending it to him so he wouldn’t feel like a failure. “Jackson,” I said, my voice so calm it terrified me. “Are you sure you want to burn this bridge today?” “Burn it?” Jackson scoffed. “Don’t try to threaten me with a breakup. You either get in that chat and tell everyone you forgive her, or we’re done. Period.” “Understood.” I hung up and immediately left the group chat. The next morning, I didn’t cancel my flight. I boarded the plane to San Francisco. But I wasn’t going there to win him back. I was going to take back what belonged to me. Three hours later, I stood outside the door of the luxury apartment Jackson was “renting” near campus. I still had the code. When I pushed the door open, the scent of a floral perfume that wasn’t mine hit me like a physical wave. Everything had changed. Lexi’s cheap heels were tossed in the foyer. On the sofa sat a pile of designer hoodies I’d bought for Jackson; they had been shredded and used as cleaning rags. The bedroom door was ajar. Lexi was sitting at my vanity, slathering a thick layer of a bespoke, $800-an-ounce night cream—a set I hadn’t even opened—onto her face. Jackson was behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. “Jackson,” Lexi pouted into the mirror. “Michelle’s stuff feels so cheap. My skin is actually breaking out.” “She always was a bit of a penny-pincher,” Jackson murmured, kissing her neck. “Just wait until tomorrow. Once Astra Ventures signs that $10 million check, I’m taking you to Bergdorf’s. We’ll buy you the real stuff.” I leaned against the doorframe, my voice cutting through the air like a blade. “That’s a custom Biologique Recherche line, Lexi. It’s five thousand dollars a bottle. The reason it feels ‘off’ is because your skin isn’t used to anything that isn’t sold at a drugstore.” They both spun around. Jackson’s face went pale, then instantly morphed into a mask of fury as he stepped in front of Lexi. “Michelle? Are you stalking me now? Who gave you permission to be here!” “I pay the lease on this apartment, Jackson. I don’t need permission.” I looked at his protective stance and felt a wave of nausea. “You pay? Please.” Jackson let out a derisive snort. “The two thousand you send me barely covers the utilities in a place like this. Stop trying to play the big-shot benefactor. It’s pathetic.” He had no idea. I hadn’t rented this place; I’d bought it outright a year ago so he could live in comfort. The “two thousand dollars in rent” I asked for was a lie I told to protect his fragile ego. Lexi cowered behind him, her eyes red. “Michelle, please don’t be mad. I’ll wash it off. I’ve just never seen such pretty things before. I was curious… Please don’t stress Jackson out. He has the biggest meeting of his life tomorrow.” “Shut up,” I said coldly. “You’re a footnote, Lexi. Don’t speak to me.” I walked past them and grabbed the laptop sitting on the desk. It was my laptop—the one containing the original source code for the entire architecture. Jackson grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight I felt my bones groan. “Are you crazy? That’s Lexi’s computer! She’s been working on that data for a month!” “Her computer?” I wrenched my arm back and pointed to the small, elegant engraving on the bottom of the chassis: M.S. “I had this custom-built last year. Those are my initials, Jackson. You’re not just a liar; you’re a thief.” Lexi burst into theatrical tears. “Jackson, I did that! I told you! I engraved ‘My Soul’ on it so I’d never forget how much you supported me! Why is she being so cruel?” Jackson’s eyes turned bloodshot with rage. He swung his hand, and the sound of the slap echoed through the room. Crack. My head snapped to the side. My ears rang, and I tasted the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. “Michelle, you are psychotic!” Jackson yelled, pointing a finger at me. “You can’t handle the fact that Lexi is actually talented. You’re so jealous that she helped me finish the code that you’re trying to steal it? You’re evil!” I held my burning cheek and looked at him. Really looked at him. “You hit me.” “And I’ll do it again if you don’t get out!” Jackson’s face was twisted with disgust. “Leave! Now! Before you ruin anything else!” I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I simply lifted the laptop and slammed it onto the hardwood floor with everything I had. The screen shattered. The chassis buckled. “No!” Jackson screamed, diving for the wreckage. “The source code! The meeting is tomorrow!” “Since it’s ‘hers,’ she can fix it,” I said, turning on my heel. Behind me, Lexi let out a strangled gasp. “Jackson… the motherboard is crushed! We don’t have a backup of the final build! What are we going to do?” “Michelle! You bitch! You’re not leaving!” Jackson lunged at me, grabbing the collar of my coat and slamming me against the wall. “Give me the cloud password. Now. Or I’m calling the police!” My back throbbed from the impact. I looked into the eyes of the man I had loved for two years—a man who was now a monster for the sake of a girl who had stolen my life. “Jackson, do you know why I kept the primary build on a local drive?” I whispered, my voice terrifyingly steady. “Because it was my heart. Go ahead. Call the cops. Tell them you’re trying to scam Astra Ventures out of ten million dollars using a program you didn’t write.” Jackson froze. A flicker of genuine panic crossed his eyes. Lexi ran over, clutching Jackson’s arm. “Michelle, how can you be so heartless? Jackson is right on the edge of success! If you withhold that password, you’re destroying his entire future! If you ever loved him, you’d sacrifice this for him!” “Love?” I looked at her with pure disdain. “You’re a thief, Lexi. You stole a boyfriend and a few lines of code. You don’t get to talk to me about sacrifice.” “I didn’t steal anything!” Lexi sobbed, burying her face in Jackson’s chest. “Jackson, I didn’t… we worked on that data together!” “Enough!” Jackson shoved me aside and pulled Lexi into his arms. When he looked at me again, his eyes were dead. “I see who you really are now, Michelle. We are done. Permanently.” “Good.” I straightened my coat. Just then, my phone began to vibrate violently in my pocket. It was my mother’s lead surgeon. “Ms. Griffith? Your mother’s condition has taken a sharp turn. We need to move her into the second stage of the targeted immunotherapy immediately. But we ran into an issue—the two hundred thousand dollars you deposited into the hospital escrow account was withdrawn this morning. We can’t proceed without the funds.” My heart stopped. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. I looked up at Jackson, my voice trembling. “You touched the money? My mother’s medical fund?” I had put that money into a joint account under his name months ago to keep his credit score up for the “business,” thinking he’d never touch what I told him was for my mother’s life-saving treatment. Jackson showed zero remorse. He actually laughed. “Medical fund? You mean the money you ‘saved’ by skimping on my allowance for the last two years? That was my money, Michelle. Lexi needed a dress for the Astra gala tomorrow. She couldn’t show up looking like a peasant. I wasn’t going to let her be embarrassed.” “Two hundred thousand dollars,” I whispered, my vision blurring with hot, angry tears. “You spent my mother’s life on a dress?” “Stop acting like a martyr,” Jackson snapped. “Your mother has been a vegetable for a year. Why waste good money on a lost cause?” Lexi reached up and nervously touched a diamond necklace glinting at her throat. “Michelle… the necklace was only sixty thousand… it wasn’t the whole two hundred… The rest went to my private coaching fees for the presentation. Jackson just wanted me to look the part.” I didn’t think. I lunged forward and delivered a stinging slap across Lexi’s face. She screamed, collapsing to the floor and clutching her cheek, gasping for air as if she were dying. “Lexi!” Jackson roared. He stepped forward and kicked me squarely in the stomach. The force of it sent me flying backward. I crashed into the pile of broken glass from the vanity Lexi had knocked over earlier. The shards sliced through my white cashmere sweater, and I felt the warm bloom of blood against my skin. “Don’t you touch her!” Jackson stood over me, his face a mask of pure malice. He brought his heavy boot down on my hand, grinding it into the floor. “Your mother can rot for all I care. But if you touch Lexi again, I will make sure you never walk again.” The pain was blinding. I felt my fingers pop, the agony radiating up my arm. I watched him. I watched him pick Lexi up with the tenderness of a saint, whispering sweet nothings into her ear. “Give me the password,” Jackson said, looking down at me as if I were a cockroach. “Consider that two hundred thousand the price for your life. Give it to me, or your mother gets kicked out of that clinic tonight.” He didn’t know that I was the primary donor for that clinic. I gritted my teeth, pulling myself up from the glass, inch by agonizing inch. I looked him in the eye. “The password is my birthday.” Jackson immediately pulled out his phone, his thumbs flying. Once he saw the “Access Granted” screen for the cloud drive, he let out a sigh of relief. The look of disgust returned to his face. “Get your trash and get out. Now.” I dragged myself toward the door, my hand dripping blood onto the pristine floor of the apartment I had bought for a ghost. The next evening. The Grand Ballroom of the Fairmont San Francisco. The room was a sea of black ties, silk gowns, and the heavy scent of old money. Jackson Burke was the man of the hour, glowing under the crystal chandeliers as he basked in the praise of the tech elite. Lexi was on his arm, draped in the sixty-thousand-dollar necklace, preening under the spotlight. “Mr. Burke, the rumors about this algorithm are incredible,” one of the venture capital titans said, raising a glass. “You’re too kind,” Jackson beamed, patting Lexi’s hand. “But I can’t take all the credit. My partner, Lexi Moore, is the true genius here. She’s the architect of the vision.” Lexi blushed, looking down with practiced modesty. “Jackson is being modest. He’s the one who guided me.” A ripple of polite applause went through the crowd. I stepped off the elevator and entered the room. I wasn’t wearing a gown. I was wearing a simple black suit, my hand wrapped in a thick, ugly bandage. “Well, look who it is,” Lexi said. She had spotted me and broken away from the crowd, intercepting me near the bar. “The bitter ex. Are you here to beg for a job?” I didn’t answer. I walked toward the wine service. Lexi’s face twisted with annoyance at being ignored. She took a step forward, grabbed a glass of red wine, and—with a theatrical gasp—poured it over her own head. “Ah!” She shrieked, falling to the floor in a heap of wet silk. “Michelle, please! I’m sorry! I’ll give him back, just don’t hurt me!” The music stopped. Every eye in the ballroom turned toward us. Jackson charged through the crowd like a bull. When he saw Lexi shaking on the floor, drenched in wine, and me standing there with a cold, blank expression, his rage boiled over. “Michelle!” He didn’t hesitate. He stepped up and swung. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t block. Crack. The blow was so hard it sent me to the floor. My bandaged hand hit the marble, and I felt the stitches tear. Blood began to seep through the white gauze instantly. The room went silent. I slowly sat up, wiping a smear of blood from my lip with my good hand. I looked at the faces around me—the judgment, the mockery. I looked at Jackson, standing tall in his stolen glory. I looked at Lexi, smirking from the safety of his arms. “The CEO of Astra Ventures will be here any minute,” Jackson hissed, leaning down so only I could hear. “We’re signing a ten-million-dollar deal. Tomorrow, I’m calling our legal team. I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your life in a cell for harassment and extortion.” “Jackson,” I said, my voice carrying through the hushed hall. “You said you’d use Astra’s legal team against me?” “You’re damn right!” Just then, the massive gold-leaf doors of the ballroom were thrown open. A phalanx of security guards in black suits cleared a path. Victor Blackwell, the Executive Vice President of Astra Ventures—a man known as the “Executioner” in the business world—strode into the room. Jackson’s eyes lit up. He shoved Lexi aside and rushed forward, his face turning into a mask of pathetic sycophancy. “Mr. Blackwell! Sir! You’re here. Please, excuse the scene. Just a disgruntled former associate. I’ll have security clear her out so we can sign the documents—” Victor Blackwell didn’t even blink at Jackson. He walked right past the man, ignoring his outstretched hand. He stepped directly in front of me. Before the shocked eyes of every billionaire and socialite in San Francisco, the man who held the keys to the city’s kingdom—the man everyone in this room feared—bowed. A deep, ninety-degree bow. His voice was thick with genuine terror. “Miss Griffith.”

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The scent hit me first—that familiar, cloying perfume she always wore. It drifted into my senses without warning, a ghost of a memory I hadn’t summoned. Before I could even think, my hand moved. I slapped her. Hard. Mallory stumbled back, the force of the blow snapping her head to the side. She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She just looked at me with that same maddening indifference she’d perfected over the years. “So,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “I guess you heard.” Just an hour ago, I had been at a boutique downtown, helping my best friend, Gavin, pick out an engagement ring. We were standing under the harsh glow of the chandeliers when he suddenly let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Your wife is quite the charmer, Tom,” he’d said, his voice dripping with something foul. I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He tilted his head, pulling his collar down to reveal a jagged, dark red mark on his neck. “She did this in the car last night. You should tell her to be a little more careful. She’s got a bit of a bite.” The world turned into static. My throat tightened until I could barely breathe. “Gavin, what are you saying? Have you lost your mind?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into his jacket and tossed a piece of paper onto the velvet jewelry counter. It was a sonogram. “She loves you, sure,” Gavin whispered, leaning in so close I could smell his cologne—the same scent that was now clinging to Mallory. “But let’s face it, Tom. You’re broken. You can’t satisfy her. All those years of… whatever happened to you… they ruined you. I can give her what she actually needs. I can give her a child. That’s why she’s choosing me.” I’d stumbled back then, the jewelry store spinning around me like a carousel from hell. … My entire body was shaking, a coldness seeping into my bones that no heater could touch. Mallory watched me, her tongue poking the inside of her cheek where my ring had probably cut her. “You’ve been Gavin’s best friend for twenty years, Tom. How is it you never learned a thing about his temperament? He’s much gentler than you.” Her tone was exactly the same as it had been yesterday. Calm. Rational. It was the tone she used when discussing the grocery list or the weather. Every word was a scalpel, peeling back my skin. “Doesn’t this disgust you?” I choked out, my voice thin and brittle. She paused, then smiled. It wasn’t a cruel smile; it was worse. It was pitying. “You’re the one who’s inadequate, Tom. Every time we… finished… I felt empty. And let’s not forget your history. You were basically a plaything for that woman, weren’t you?” A wave of nausea hit me. The disgust in her eyes was unmistakable. “I could never let my child have a father with a history as filthy as yours,” she added. I froze. My ears were ringing so loudly I could barely hear my own heartbeat. I looked at her, searching for the woman who, only twenty-four hours ago, had curled into my chest and whispered that she loved me more than life itself. The woman who had promised that my past didn’t matter, that she would be my sanctuary. “Do you even hear yourself?” My voice broke, the back of my eyes burning with a stinging heat. She reached out, her fingers grazing my cheek with a phantom tenderness before she sighed. “I know. It’s not that I don’t love you, Tom. But I wanted to see what a ‘clean’ man felt like. And honestly? You’re the one who lied to me first. You never told me the full extent of your… damage.” She stepped over to Gavin, who had just walked through the door, and looped her arm through his. “Gavin is your brother in every way that counts,” she said. “He’s not trying to take your place. He even said the baby could call you ‘Dad’ eventually. You should be thanking him.” I watched their fingers intertwine—the gold band I’d bought her glinting in the light. My vision blurred. Yesterday, I’d found that sonogram in her purse. I’d been so ecstatic that I’d called for a celebratory dinner with Gavin. I wanted to share the greatest joy of my life with my best friend. But when they arrived, they ignored me. They spent the whole night bickering. Gavin complained that Mallory wasn’t “domestic” enough; Mallory snapped at him for being overbearing. I’d laughed it off, used to their “sibling-like” friction. I’d spent the whole night playing mediator, forgetting all about the pregnancy announcement I’d planned. And now, they stood together, telling me that the child I had been praying for—the one I thought was a miracle given my health issues—was a betrayal in physical form. I was gasping for air, my lungs refusing to expand. Mallory stepped forward, a look of faux-concern on her face. “Just don’t make a scene, and things can go back to how they were,” she said. “Last night, after Gavin and I had that ‘fight,’ I told you I had to go back to the office. I didn’t. I was in his car. I bought this red lace set… I wanted to see if he could do what you couldn’t. It turns out, he could.” The hole in my chest felt like it was being blasted by an arctic wind. My teeth were literally chattering. “He’s my best friend, Gavin! Why?” Gavin took a step toward me, clapping a hand on my shoulder with the same casualness he’d used a thousand times before. “Tom, man, because we’re brothers, I’m not a threat to you. This? This was just for the thrill. A little excitement for me and Val. In our hearts, you’re still the most important person.” I clenched my fists so hard my nails drew blood. The air was thick with the scent of their shared secret. Mallory leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Cheer up. You always wanted to know what kind of woman Gavin would finally marry, didn’t you? Well, you’re going to be the best man at our wedding.” The diamond on her finger caught the light, stabbing at my eyes. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I swung my hand again, catching her across the other cheek. “You’re both sick,” I spat. “You’re disgusting.” Before the words had even left my mouth, Gavin lunged. He shoved me hard, my back slamming into the edge of the marble table. Pain exploded through my spine. “We’re disgusting?” Gavin barked, his voice dropping an octave. “You’re the one who spent months in bed with my sister, Tom. You’re the one who crawled into her sheets like a dog. Don’t you dare talk to us about ‘dirty.’” Mallory looked down at me, her expression cold. “Get a grip on yourself, Tom.” Then, they walked out. They left me there, collapsing into the dark abyss of my own memory. Gavin and I had been inseparable since we were kids. When he was seventeen, his life fell apart. His father died, and his mother remarried a man with a teenage daughter named Lydia. Gavin used to cry to me, telling me how Lydia would hit him, how she bullied him in that house. I felt for him. I went over there constantly to stand up for him. On his eighteenth birthday, I’d saved up every cent I had to buy him the gaming console he’d wanted for years. I went to his house to surprise him. He gave me a glass of juice. When I woke up, the world was a blur of blood and searing, agonizing pain. I remember Gavin standing over me, shouting at Lydia, pretending to defend me while I lay there, broken. Fate wasn’t done with me. Lydia ended up pregnant. Her father—Gavin’s stepfather—burst into our house with a knife, demanding I “take responsibility” for his daughter. My parents, desperate to save my life, emptied their life savings to pay them off. We moved to another city, fleeing the shame and the trauma. But the pain never left. By the time I met Mallory, I was a shell of a person, drowning in depression and self-loathing. She was the light. She looked at me with those soft, brown eyes and leaned her head on my shoulder. “Why are you always so sad, Thomas?” I was terrified to let her in. But she stayed. She held my hand through the night terrors and whispered, “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. I’ll wait for you to get better.” On the day we got engaged, she promised she would spend her life healing me. And now… The pain was so intense I felt like my organs were shutting down. I thought I had started over. I thought I was safe. But the two people I loved most had just reached back into my past, ripped open the scars, and poured salt into the wounds. I cried until I couldn’t breathe. I cried until my eyes were swollen shut. When my phone finally buzzed, it was a text from Mallory. [Tom, go to the pharmacy and pick up some prenatal vitamins and some spotting medication. Things got a little too heated just now, and I’m worried about the baby.] Then a message from Gavin: a photo of him and Mallory, her head on his bare chest. I stared at the screen, my breath hitching. The phone rang, shattering the silence. Mallory’s voice came through, sounding satisfied and drowsy. “Tom? Did you see the message?” I forced the words out, my voice trembling with a murderous edge. “Mallory, how can you be this pathetic? Aren’t you afraid I’ll snap and kill you both?” There was a pause. Then, Gavin’s laugh echoed in the background. “Tom, buddy, you’re too weak. You’re a coward. You shake when someone raises their voice. You don’t have the stomach for murder. Well, except for that time you killed my sister’s ‘baby’ by leaving, right? But this kid? You love this kid too much to hurt it.” He told me to hurry up with the medicine and hung up. I started laughing. A jagged, broken sound. I was afraid of loud noises because of the way Lydia used to scream while she hurt me. It was a physical response to trauma, not a lack of courage. But I wasn’t afraid of dying anymore. And I was going to make sure they felt every ounce of the hell I was living in. I drove to Gavin’s place. I pushed the door open to find a trail of clothes leading to the living room. They were on the sofa, locked in a heated, desperate kiss. The wet, rhythmic sound of it turned my stomach. I gripped my phone, recording them as I walked closer. Gavin saw me. Instead of stopping, he pulled Mallory closer, a provocative smirk on his face. He wanted me to watch. “You know, Val,” Gavin whispered, his voice loud enough for the camera to catch, “when I found Tom in my bed with Lydia all those years ago, they were kissing just like this.” The lie—the absolute, monstrous lie—burned through the last of my sanity. He had set me up. He had handed me over to his sister, and now he was using that violation as a weapon. I held the phone steady, my voice cold and dead. “This is a live stream of my wife and my best friend. Please, don’t stop on my account. Give the audience a show.” Mallory froze, burying her face in Gavin’s chest. A moment later, she lunged out and slapped the phone from my hand. “Thomas! Have you lost your damn mind?” I didn’t move. My eyes were fixed on her wrist. On the pale skin, there was a new tattoo—a string of obscure, gothic letters. The room began to tilt. My vision tunneled until all I saw was that tattoo. It was identical to the one Lydia had. I remembered those letters. I remembered that wrist holding the rope around my neck. I remembered those sharp nails carving those same letters into my skin. “Mallory,” I whispered, my voice shaking violently. “What is that?” She glanced at her wrist, her voice turning soft again. “Gavin said you had a thing for women with tattoos on their wrists. I did it for you.” I looked up and caught Gavin’s eye. He was gloating. He’d done it on purpose. He’d marked her with the symbol of my rapist just to see if he could break me. The final string snapped. I grabbed the paring knife from the fruit bowl on the coffee table and pressed it against Gavin’s throat. My hand was shaking, tears streaming down my face. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You wanted to remind me.” Gavin’s face paled for a split second, but then he tilted his chin up, daring me. “It’s just a tattoo, Tom. Get over it.” I broke. I pressed the blade harder. Blood began to bead on the steel. Gavin’s eyes widened. Then, a heavy blow struck me in the back. A hand slammed across my face, sending me reeling. “Thomas, stop it! You’re insane!” Mallory screamed. I rolled onto my back, laughing through the tears. “I’m insane? Do you even know why he made you get that tattoo, Mallory?” Before I could say another word, Mallory doubled over, clutching her stomach. “God… it hurts. Gavin, something’s wrong.” Blood began to bloom through her light-colored skirt. Gavin’s face transformed into a mask of pure terror. He didn’t care about my words anymore. He scooped Mallory up, his elbow slamming into my chest to shove me out of the way. Mallory leaned into him, her eyes fixed on me with a chilling hatred. “If anything happens to this baby, Tom, I will destroy you.” They ran out, leaving me hollowed out on the floor. I couldn’t even cry anymore. I wandered out of the house, the world turning grey and fuzzy. Everything went black. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. A nurse told me I was sick—that the stress had triggered a physical collapse and I needed surgery. She asked for my emergency contact. No one had answered. “I have no one,” I whispered, the pillow soaking up my tears. My parents were hundreds of miles away. In this city, I had only two people I called family. And they were busy with each other. Gavin sent me a photo. They were in another wing of the hospital, holding each other, smiling. I stared at it, letting the jealousy and the hate burn me alive. How could they be happy on the ruins of my life? I sent a photo of my medical chart to Mallory. She didn’t reply. It wasn’t until dusk that she finally walked into my room. She looked tired, her eyes dark. “How long have you been sick?” she asked. I smiled, a jagged, bitter thing. “I tried to tell you the day Gavin picked out the ring.” She didn’t say anything. she just twisted the ring on her finger. She stood there for a long time, her head bowed. Finally, she spoke, her voice cold as a winter morning. “You need to postpone the surgery.” “What?” “The baby is the priority right now. Gavin and I… we need support. Your condition isn’t life-threatening this second. You can wait a few weeks. Besides, we talked about it. The baby will still call you ‘Dad.’ Isn’t that enough?” My blood turned to ice. I looked at her, truly seeing her for the first time. She walked to the bed and squeezed my hand. “Isn’t this good, Tom? We both still love you.” I felt my stomach turn over. I shoved her away and vomited over the side of the bed. She narrowed her eyes, her voice hardening. “I’ve already told the doctors to switch you to conservative treatment. No surgery for now.” The door opened, and two orderlies walked in. They grabbed my arms. I was too weak to fight, but I found the strength to scream. “Mallory! I am asking you one last time—are you really going to sacrifice my life for that mistake?” She looked like she might hesitate for a second, but then her face set into stone. “Tom, stop being dramatic.” I started laughing—a wild, hysterical sound. I broke free from the orderlies’ grip with a sudden burst of adrenaline. Before anyone could stop me, I threw myself toward the open window. In that split second of weightlessness, I saw Mallory’s face. Pure, unadulterated horror. I smiled. I wanted her to see me break. I wanted her and Gavin to see my blood on the pavement and never have a night of sleep again. But it was only the third floor. I didn’t die. I just broke. My ribs shattered, puncturing my lungs. The pain was astronomical—a physical agony that matched the one in my soul. After I was stabilized, Mallory sat by my bed. “Was it worth it?” she asked, her voice dripping with irritation. “Jumping out a window to scare me? It’s pathetic, Thomas.” I let out a wet, wheezing laugh. “Scare you? Mallory, you’re a monster. You’d kill your husband for a child that was born out of a lie. You’re a beast.” The last of her patience vanished. “Maybe you’re the one who’s ‘filthy,’ Tom. No matter how much she forced you, you’re the one who had a physical reaction back then, aren’t you?” With those words, she erased everything. She blamed the victim. She justified the trauma. I was done. “I want a divorce. Go to Gavin. I’m done.” She froze, staring at me in silence for a long time. I didn’t look at her. I reached for my phone and called Gavin. He arrived minutes later. “Val, wait outside. I need to talk to him.” She left without a word. “Are you happy now?” I whispered. “You ruined me then. You ruined me now.” He smiled, but there were tears in his eyes. “I didn’t want to do it, Tom. But back then, the only way I could get Lydia to stop hitting me was to give her you. I had to survive.” I closed my eyes. My heart was a graveyard. “I’ve always felt like I owed you,” Gavin continued. “That’s why I won’t take Val away completely. We’ll just have our fun, and when I’m bored, I’ll give her back to you.” The hate I’d been suppressed for a decade finally erupted. I didn’t hesitate. I lunged from the bed, grabbing a scalpel the nurse had left on the tray. I drove it into Gavin’s abdomen. He screamed. Mallory burst in as he collapsed. The color drained from her face. She kicked me away and fell to her knees beside him. “Thomas! This is attempted murder! Are you insane?” I wiped the blood from my face. “He owed me that.” Mallory’s eyes were dark with rage as she called for the doctors. She looked at me, her voice trembling. “This isn’t over.” I tossed the signed divorce papers at her feet. “It is for me. We’re even.” She stared at the signature, her hands shaking. “Are you serious, Tom?” Gavin groaned in her arms. “It hurts… Val, am I going to die? I want to see the baby…” Her panic returned. “I’ll deal with you later,” she snapped at me, and they rushed him away. I laughed, a hollow, broken sound. There wouldn’t be a “later.” I wiped my eyes and dragged myself out of the hospital, heading for the airport. But as I reached the exit, I ran into someone. My body began to shake, and I nearly fell. … Gavin survived. But Mallory couldn’t stop thinking about those divorce papers. As she watched Gavin sleep, a gnawing unease took root in her chest. She hurried back to my room, but when she pushed the door open, the sight that met her eyes shattered her world.

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