Category: English

It had been eight years since I cut ties with my mother, and of course, we ran into each other in the one place I thought I was safe: The Butter & Bloom Bakery on the west side. She was there to pick up a cake for my sister, Willa. I was the one behind the counter, an employee. After a long, brittle silence, she spoke first. Her voice was layered with a complexity I didn’t care to decode. “Eight years away from your father and me, and this is how you’ve ended up?” Her eyes were red-rimmed, but the emotion behind them—pity, guilt, disapproval—was deliberately unreadable to me. I didn’t answer. I just kept my head down, finished packaging the Lemon Raspberry layer cake, and pushed it across the counter. She stared at the box, her fingers hovering over it as if it might be poisoned. I eventually just pressed the box into her hands and turned away to call the next customer. But she wasn’t finished. She moved closer, dropping her voice, though the edge of accusation was sharp enough to carry. “Don’t you have anything to say to me? I am your mother, Audrey.” I stopped ringing up a dozen macaroons and looked at her, genuinely confused. What was there to say? She was the one who, years ago, had formally forbidden me from using that word—Mom. I hadn’t been that desperate little girl craving her affection for a long, long time. 1 The tension was thick, an awkward, sour contrast to the sweet, buttery smell of the shop. Other patrons were beginning to watch. The silence was broken by my father, Arthur. He walked in, looking flustered. “Is Willa’s cake ready yet?” He spotted me, and the reaction was immediate: his eyes went wide, and this fifty-something-year-old man, a renowned expert in human behavior, teared up right there in public. He reached for my hand. “Audrey, why haven’t you reached out to us all these years? Do you have any idea how much your mother and I have missed you?” I shifted back, avoiding his touch. My voice was level, almost unnervingly calm. “If you don’t have business here, please don’t interrupt my work. I have other customers waiting.” Something in my composure must have enraged my mother. Her face went dark. Just as she was about to launch into a full-scale public dressing-down, her phone rang. I saw Willa’s name flash on the screen. Vivian immediately turned her back to me, adopting a completely different, syrupy tone. “Mom, where’s my cake?” Willa whined. “Almost there, sweetie. Just wait a minute for Mommy.” She hung up and instinctively started her usual monologue, the one I’d heard a thousand times. “You know how your sister is, she loves sweets, still a child at heart, even at her age. Not like you, who was always so…” I cut her off. “Enough.” She froze, the rest of her sentence dying in her throat. The shock on her face was satisfying. The old Audrey—the desperate girl—would have never interrupted. She would have hung on every word, even the insults, just for the chance of prolonging the interaction, the hope of a crumb of attention. “I genuinely have work to do,” I stated, meeting her astonished gaze head-on. “I don’t have time for a reunion. So, could you please leave? You’re disrupting my business.” Vivian started to object, but my father pulled her back. He pasted a practiced, warm smile on his face. “You go ahead and work, sweetie. We’ll come back later.” “Don’t bother,” I rejected instantly. Then I added the one line that would always work: “And please, make sure Willa doesn’t find out you came to see me. We wouldn’t want her anxiety to flare up again, would we?” The color drained from both their faces. Willa called again, her impatient voice audible even from where I stood. Finally, my parents retreated. They walked backward more than they walked forward, taking multiple backward glances, a faint, almost invisible flicker of something—regret? desperation?—crossing their eyes before they finally disappeared. Once they were gone, the professional calm shattered. My fingers were white where they gripped the edge of the counter, and the cloying sweetness of the surrounding cakes was suddenly sickening, almost like acid. It wasn’t until noon that Regina, my boss, returned from her supply run, her arms overflowing with bulk bags of flour and specialty cocoa. I started to move to help her, but she waved me away. “You’ve been on your feet all morning, sweetie. Go take a break. Besides, I know about your back. I can handle a few sacks of sugar.” I froze. Only then did the dull ache in my lower back register. I’d been running on pure adrenaline all morning, but now the pain was a sharp, clear presence. It was an old injury, a souvenir from a night years ago. I’d lived with the constant throb for so long, I usually forgot it was even there. Regina finished unpacking and noticed me sitting in the corner, staring at the floor. She walked over, smiling warmly. “What is it, kiddo? What’s going on?” I snapped out of it, offering her a practiced, easy smile. “Nothing. Just tired.” Skylar, my co-worker and friend, immediately came over, wiping flour dust off her apron. “Tired? Please. Were those two a hassle earlier? I was in the back, but I saw your face shift.” Regina immediately tensed. “What couple? Who was it?” Skylar shrugged. “I don’t know, but they looked vaguely familiar.” Regina, her curiosity piqued, pulled out her phone and rewound the security footage. The moment she got a clear look at Vivian, she gasped, loudly. “Oh my God, that’s Vivian Shaw! The Georgetown professor? I’ve seen her interviews; she’s huge in educational theory. And her husband is Arthur Shaw, the renowned family psychologist. They’re a power couple!” “They’re famous for how devoted they are to their daughters,” Regina went on. “They raised the perfect younger daughter.” “Younger daughter?” Skylar prompted. “What about the older one?” Regina shook her head, unable to recall. She then looked back at me, her eyes wide with confusion. “Audrey, do you know them? That whole scene looked personal.” I looked at both of them, my voice flat and completely devoid of emotion. “I am their older daughter.” The sentence hung there. The one they saw as a disgrace—the aggressor who supposedly preyed on her fragile sister, the villain who tried to kidnap the golden child. Regina and Skylar were speechless, their jaws actually slack. Eventually, their shock morphed into an urgent, quiet curiosity. They pressed me for the story, and I found myself—for the first time—reciting my childhood as if it were a detached piece of fiction. Once, I had the kind of parents everyone envied. They treated me like a princess in a fairytale. I mentioned wanting to see the Northern Lights, and they canceled meetings to take me to Iceland. My father gave up a huge opportunity at a high-ranking private university to stay close to home, just so he could be more present. Even after Willa was born—the sweet, sickly younger sister who cried through the night with fevers—their attention never completely wavered. They’d rock her, then sneak into my room, pulling me into their arms. I was an easy kid, always trying to help. I carried Willa’s backpack, defended her from playground bullies, and split my candy haul with her. For years, they managed to keep the balance. We had two of everything: identical rooms, clothes, toys. Everyone praised them for their enlightened, balanced approach to parenting. The happiness ended when Willa turned eight. They took her for a full medical workup, and when they came back, their faces were grave. My mother, eyes red, pulled me close. “Audrey,” she murmured, stroking my hair, “Willa is fragile. From now on, you have to let her have her way, alright?” My father nodded seriously. “She can’t handle stress. You’re the older sister; you have to take care of her.” I didn’t understand what “fragile” truly meant, but I knew what it meant to be a good sister. I nodded enthusiastically. “I will.” I didn’t know that those two words—I will—were the beginning of my total erasure. My sunny bedroom was converted into Willa’s “solarium” because she needed more light. My beloved upright piano was hauled into a dusty storage unit because the sound “disturbed” Willa’s rest. For my next birthday, when I asked for college prep books, they brushed me off, saying they needed to prioritize Willa’s imported health supplements. “We’ll get yours later,” they promised. But later never came. Skylar and Regina were listening with furious intensity. “Even if she was fragile, they shouldn’t have done that to you!” Skylar hissed. “What happened to the balanced parenting? And what about your sister? How did she treat you?” With my parents’ new attitude as permission, Willa became bolder. She’d deliberately spill milk on my research papers, then sob to my parents that I had pushed her. She’d sneak spicy food, get sick, and claim I had given it to her. At first, they’d ask for my side, but soon, they stopped asking altogether. It was easier to assume the narrative: I was the insensitive, difficult sister who bullied the poor, fragile Willa. “Audrey, she’s fragile. Can’t you just be the bigger person?” my father would lecture. “Willa is sick, you need to be mature and stop provoking her.” I’d try to explain, but my words would inevitably be drowned out by Willa’s immediate, hysterical tears. My parents would just frown, tell me to shut up, and pull her into their arms, leaving me standing there—irrelevant, an obstruction. I became the ghost in my own house. “Be the bigger person” became the family motto. Then came Willa’s ninth birthday. I’d bought her a graphic novel with my allowance, and she’d been thrilled. She suggested a game of hide-and-seek. I agreed, delighted that she finally wanted to play with me. But she vanished. I searched for her all day—nothing. When my parents realized she was gone, they went hysterical. My mother—Vivian—grabbed my shoulders, squeezing so hard I was crying, but she didn’t let go. “Audrey Shaw! Where is Willa?!” she shrieked. I told her the truth, that Willa wanted to play a game, but she didn’t believe me. She slapped me, hard, full force, until my ears rang, and then dragged me into a spare room, throwing me down. I landed hard. I heard a sickening crack from my lower back, and the pain stole my breath. Vivian locked the door. “You ungrateful child! You must be jealous! You hid her! If she isn’t back by morning, you won’t get food or water, you hear me?” My father stood by the door, watching the entire thing with cold, detached eyes. As night fell, I lay paralyzed on the floor. The pain was so intense it eclipsed the hunger. Just as my consciousness began to fade, I heard Willa’s voice from outside the door. Her voice was weak, terrified. “Mommy, Audrey said she was going to abandon me so you could only love her! I was so scared, but I ran back as fast as I could!” I heard my mother hugging her, calling her “sweet angel,” promising to “handle your sister.” My father’s voice was filled with relief and manufactured outrage. They shut the front door, leaving me in the cold, locked room. I don’t know when I passed out. I woke to my parents’ screaming. They rushed me to the ER. The doctor was furious, holding up my X-rays. “A fractured lumbar vertebra, severe hypothermia, high fever. What did you people do to this child? Any later, and the damage would have been irreversible.” My parents didn’t hear him. They had barely settled me when Willa started wailing from the hallway: “Daddy, Mommy, I was suffocating in that closet! Thinking Audrey would leave me made me tremble!” They abandoned my bedside instantly, running to comfort her. They put Willa through a full battery of tests, eventually coming back with a “mild anxiety disorder” diagnosis, which they immediately upgraded to “Severe Clinical Depression.” My mother stormed into my hospital room, pointing a trembling finger at me. “Audrey Shaw! Are you satisfied now? You scared your sister so badly she developed a serious mental illness! How could you be so wicked?” Lying there, battered and broken, listening to their self-righteous accusation, my heart didn’t just break; it froze solid. When I was discharged, my parents took Willa and moved across the state, claiming Willa’s “safety” required it. They left me in the empty house. My mother tossed a few hundred dollars on the table. “Don’t contact us, and don’t ever try to hurt Willa again. We’ll pay your tuition directly, nothing else. Figure the rest out.” They left without a backward glance. This became my life. Working nights to survive, studying during the day, all while managing the constant ache in my back. After graduation, I had respectable scores. I felt a surge of hope—I could escape them now. I applied to a college that fit my interests. But shortly after, my parents called, the first time in months. “You applied to the State University? Who gave you permission?” My mother snapped. “Change it immediately. Willa is here, and you know she can’t handle stress. You’ll just be an unnecessary disruption.” My father cut in, his voice all business. “We’ve already called your counselor. We are your parents; we have the right to make decisions for your future.” I was forced to change my application to a random, unresearched major. I missed the cutoff entirely. No college acceptance. Meanwhile, Willa was being sent to a prestigious European university, money no object, all to “stabilize her emotional state.” I took my meager savings and bought a bus ticket. I needed to know why. I found them in an exclusive downtown bistro I could never afford to walk past. They were celebrating Willa’s acceptance letter, cutting a ridiculously expensive cake. She was wearing a designer dress; they were radiating pride and adoration. Every suppressed feeling exploded. I ran to their table. “What did I do to deserve this? Why did you ruin my life?” The moment Willa saw me, her face turned paper white. She squeezed her eyes shut, did a dramatic, slow collapse against my mother, whispering, “I’m so scared… don’t come near me…” My parents went into full panic mode. Vivian shoved me backward. Arthur’s hand connected hard with my cheek. “Get out! Get the hell out of here, Audrey!” Vivian clung to Willa, her eyes burning with pure hatred. “We don’t have a daughter like you! You’ve always tormented her! From this moment on, we cut you off. We are done. Don’t ever contact us again!” A crowd gathered, their eyes full of judgment. Look at that girl, assaulting her sister. She looks thin, but her heart is wicked. The stares were needles. I watched them rush Willa out, frantic, towards the hospital. No one spared me a second glance. Back in the bakery, the silence was deafening. Skylar and Regina were openly weeping. I smiled faintly. “It’s over now. I don’t have a family anymore. After that, they sold the house, drained whatever money I had left, and cut off contact. I had no degree, no home, and a bad back. Regina hired me. That’s how I survived.” Skylar was stomping her foot, furious. “They’re phonies! That renowned psychologist and professor are absolute frauds!” “If they ever show their faces here again, I’ll handle them,” Regina vowed. “I’ll bake them a special cake—one so sweet it makes them sick!” Just as the words left her mouth, the bell above the glass door chimed. I looked up. My parents stood there, holding a thermal container. And right between them, linked to Vivian’s arm, was Willa.

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I was the rainmaker. The golden goose. The guy bringing in millions in revenue every single month. But because I didn’t kiss the ring—or more accurately, because I didn’t spam the company group chat calling her “gorgeous”—she fired me without blinking. She replaced me with her clueless cousin. Fast forward a month: the company’s sales flatlined. Zero. Zilch. That’s when she showed up at my door, sobbing. “Please, Liam, you have to come back. My boyfriend says if you don’t return, he’s dumping me.” 1 The boss, David, was away on a business trip for a month. He left his shiny new girlfriend in charge as the “interim manager.” I never expected her power trip to start with me. It was 10:00 AM when I strolled into the office with my iced coffee. My coworker, shivering with anxiety, pointed toward the main office. “Tiffany is here. She wants to see you. Now.” Tiffany. David’s new flavor of the month. She was arrogant, loud, and impossible to please. If she didn’t like you, she’d make your life hell. She once bullied a female intern into quitting just because the girl spent “too much time” reporting to David. Tiffany spread rumors that the girl was sleeping her way to the top. David usually turned a blind eye because Tiffany was sweet to him, but now she had the reins. I walked in. Before I could even say “Good morning,” a heavy binder came flying at my head. Smack. It clipped my forehead, leaving a stinging scratch. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” Tiffany shrieked from behind the executive desk. “Office hours start at 8:00 AM. It’s 10:00! Who do you think you are?” I wiped my forehead, staring at her contorted, heavily made-up face. Everyone knew the unwritten rule: The top sales dogs come in at 10. When David’s company was on the brink of bankruptcy years ago, I came onboard. In my first month, I closed five million in sales and pulled the company back from the ledge. Since then, David treated me like royalty. I had flexible hours. Tiffany slammed her hand on the desk. “Look at your punch card! You’ve been late every day this month. You clearly don’t respect company policy.” “According to the handbook, three consecutive tardies means termination.” “So get out. You’re fired!” I looked at her in disbelief. “You’re firing me? Did you run this by David?” I brought in 80% of the company’s profit. Tiffany scoffed, looking at me like I was something she scraped off her shoe. “You’re just a salesman. A glorified peddler. Why wouldn’t I fire you?” “This is my boyfriend’s company. I’m the future owner. I can fire whoever the hell I want.” I sat down on the leather sofa, crossing my legs. “I suggest you call David first.” She rolled her eyes. “Who do you think you are?” She dialed David immediately on speaker. David sounded exhausted. “What is it, babe?” Her voice instantly changed from a screech to a sickeningly sweet purr. “Baby, I miss you~” David sighed. “Just tell me what’s wrong.” She smirked at me triumphantly. “There’s a salesman who refuses to follow the rules. He’s always late. I want him gone.” “Do whatever you want,” David muttered, clearly half-asleep. “I need to rest.” Click. Tiffany looked at me, gloating. “Heard that? I fire who I want. Now get the hell out!” 2 I let out a cold laugh. “Are you sure about this?” “When David comes back and realizes you fired me, he’s not going to be happy.” I was giving her a genuine warning. Headhunters had been blowing up my phone for years with offers double my salary, but I stayed out of loyalty to David. If I left, I’d be fine. Tiffany? Not so much. Tiffany glared at me, her face twisting with malice. “You really think you’re special? You’re an employee. I am his future wife. The lady of the house. You think he’s going to choose you over me?” I shook my head. Fine. If that’s how you want to play it. I walked out of the office. The bullpen was silent. Everyone had heard the screaming. “Liam, what happened?” a coworker whispered. I started packing my personal items into a box. “What happened? I got fired.” They gasped. “Fired? Is she insane? Everyone knows you’re the rainmaker. Isn’t she afraid David will dump her?” I chuckled. “Not my problem anymore. It’s her decision; she can deal with the fallout.” “Honestly, I’ve been grinding for years. I have enough saved to retire if I want. I could use a vacation.” “But why?” asked Jerry, a junior rep. “Did you offend her?” I thought about it. “Probably because I defended Jenny when Tiffany slut-shamed her.” Or maybe because yesterday, Tiffany posted a heavily filtered thirst trap in the company Slack channel, and everyone spammed “You’re a goddess!” except me. I left her on read. That was probably the nail in the coffin. “I should call David,” Jerry said, reaching for his phone. “Don’t,” I stopped him. “Even if I come back, it won’t be while she’s here. I can’t deal with her toxicity.” I took my box and went to Finance to settle my final paycheck. I’d only worked ten days this month, but my commissions alone were over a hundred grand. I told the payroll girl I was fired and to wire the money. Suddenly, Tiffany stormed into the finance office. “Liam! I told you to get out! What are you doing here?” I glanced at her. She looked so smug, banking on her boyfriend’s success. It was disgusting. When I ignored her, she grabbed my arm. “Are you deaf? Why are you touching company documents? Get out before I call the cops!” I shook her hand off. Hard. “Let go.” “I’m getting my paycheck. I’m not even asking for a severance package, which is generous of me.” Tiffany glared at the payroll girl. “How much is he owed?” The girl stuttered, “One hundred thousand and five thousand dollars.” Tiffany’s jaw dropped. “How much?” After the girl repeated it, Tiffany pointed a manicured finger at me. “He violated company policy. He was late. Deduct it all.” I laughed. “The penalty for being late is $200. Did you fail math in elementary school?” Tiffany puffed up her chest. “I made a new rule. Three strikes and you forfeit your entire salary. Now get out!” 3 “Who gave you the authority to make up labor laws?” Tiffany crossed her arms. “I own a piece of this future. My word is law.” I didn’t have the energy to argue with stupid. “Fine. See you in court.” I walked out, box in hand. I drove home, unpacked, and checked my phone. I hadn’t left the company group chat yet. Tiffany had posted a new announcement: From now on, everyone must reply to my messages on Slack and WhatsApp within 5 minutes. Anyone who ignores me will end up like Liam. So that was the reason. David really had the worst taste in women. The chat filled with “Yes, ma’am!” and “Understood!” messages. I rolled my eyes and hit “Leave Group.” Peace at last. But Tiffany wasn’t letting me take my hard-earned money. So, I decided to teach her a lesson. All the VIP clients were saved in my personal phone. I had cultivated these relationships for years. I sent out a mass broadcast message. To my valued clients: Effective immediately, I have resigned from [Company Name]. I will no longer be handling your accounts there. Most of these people only bought from the company because they trusted me. Within two minutes, my phone blew up. Clients were asking where I was going, promising to move their contracts to my new firm. I replied to everyone honestly: I haven’t landed anywhere yet. Taking a break. But I will let you know as soon as I’m back in the game. I spent the entire day replying to messages until I fell asleep. The next morning, Jerry texted me: Bro, it’s chaos. A ton of vendors called to cancel contracts. They said they won’t renew without you. Did you do this? I smirked. I didn’t do anything. I just told them the truth—I don’t work there anymore. Jerry: You’re a legend. Tiffany screamed at three sales reps this morning, asking why they couldn’t retain the clients. People are writing resignation letters right now. Good. Let’s see how she handles the fire. I was preparing to contact a lawyer for my unpaid wages when Tiffany called me herself. I picked up. “Hello?” “Liam, you piece of trash!” she screamed into the receiver. “Where are the client contacts? The files are empty! Those are company property! Send me the numbers right now or I’ll sue you!” I laughed. She was panicking. “You are disgusting! Give me the list! Or I’ll ruin you!” 4 “Those clients? I found them. I wined and dined them. I closed them. They only answer to me. Why should I give them to you?” Tiffany sounded like she was hyperventilating. “The company paid you! That’s your job! You ungrateful dog! My husband paid you millions and you stab us in the back?” “You want the numbers? Fine. I’ll give them to you. Let’s see if you can actually close a deal.” I hung up and emailed the spreadsheet to Jerry to print out for her. A phone number is useless if you don’t have the skill. The next day, Jerry sent me a video. It was taken secretly from his desk. Tiffany was on the phone with a major client. “Did Liam tell you to say that? How much is he paying you to lie to me?” she shrieked. “If you don’t buy from us, get lost! Good luck finding another supplier!” She slammed the phone down, smashing the screen. “I don’t believe this company will die without that traitor!” she yelled at the silent office. “Everyone, get out there! I want five new clients from each of you by the end of the day!” “Five? Today?” Jerry muttered in the video. “We sell heavy industrial machinery. Getting one lead a month is hard.” Tiffany’s eyes bulged. “What? You want to mutiny?” Old Man Zheng, a sales veteran, stood up. “Maybe we should wait for David to come back. You don’t understand the sales cycle…” “You’re incompetent!” Tiffany cut him off. “The company doesn’t need dead weight. If you can’t do it, get out!” Zheng’s face turned red. He took off his badge and threw it on the desk. “I can’t do it. Find someone who can.” He walked out. Then another rep stood up. Then Jerry. “We quit.” “Fine! Go! All of you!” Tiffany screamed. “You think the world stops spinning without you? You’re all useless!” The video ended. Jerry texted: Boss is going to come back to a graveyard. That afternoon, there was a knock on my door. I opened it to find Zheng, Jerry, and the entire sales team standing in my hallway. 5 I ushered them in and poured tea. “What are you guys doing here?” Zheng looked at me, looking tired. “I led them here. Tiffany went too far. She actually blacklisted us within the industry group chat, saying we were fired for cause. Now nobody will interview us.” I slammed my cup down. “That woman is toxic.” “We have mortgages, Liam. Kids. If we can’t work…” Zheng hesitated. “We want to follow you. If you start something, we’re in.” “Yeah, Liam,” Jerry added. “We only trust you. David is a good guy, but his taste in women destroyed the company.” I looked at their desperate faces. I felt a fire light up in my chest. “Okay. I’ll handle it.” “From today on, we work for ourselves. We start our own agency. When Tiffany runs that place into the ground, we’ll be the ones standing.” They cheered. I immediately organized them. The veterans went to find suppliers. I contacted my client list. We offered the same product, but cheaper, because we had lower overhead. The suppliers knew me. They knew I moved volume. They signed with us immediately. Within a week, we had poached almost every major contract. The commissions we were making were insane compared to our old salaries. More ex-colleagues heard about our success and quit to join us. Jerry gave me the latest intel: “After the sales team left, Tiffany hired her cousin, her uncle, and her aunt to fill the seats. They just sit in the office acting like royalty, ordering the admin staff around.” “They haven’t closed a single deal since you left.” I laughed. “David is going to have a stroke.” “David video calls her every day,” Jerry said. “And she lies to his face. Says everything is booming.” “I heard her talking to her uncle before I left,” another guy chimed in. “She asked if they were going too far. Her uncle said, ‘If he gets mad, accuse him of assault. You think we gave him our innocent niece for free?’”

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I’m the Director of Human Resources for my company. During an interview, a candidate named Maya Chen presented a resume so riddled with lies it was almost comical. I called her out on the spot and politely showed her the door. The next day, she registered dozens of sock puppet accounts and launched a coordinated smear campaign across every major job search platform. 【Exposing the Dark Underbelly of a Major Tech Firm: HR Director Adrian B. is a Predator.】 【He didn’t even look at my resume. He just stared at my legs the entire time. His hand was practically reaching for me.】 【He hinted that if I just came to his hotel to “chat” at night, even the director’s position could be mine.】 【What good is being handsome? He’s just another greasy, disgusting sexual harasser. Vile!】 Messages of concern poured in from my colleagues. I simply compiled the screenshots. The young woman seemed to have forgotten what my company specializes in. Crisis communications and information warfare. And I am the founder of that department. … I forwarded the screenshots directly to my assistant. “Run a full background check on this Maya Chen. I want every social media account she’s ever had. The more detailed, the better.” My assistant’s half-typed message of sympathy vanished, replaced by an immediate: 【Yes, Mr. Black. Right away.】 The online firestorm spread faster than I’d anticipated. “HR Director Adrian B.” was quickly doxxed. My full name, my photo, and my company were plastered everywhere. Within hours, the hashtag #BigTechExecSexualHarassment was trending. The company’s internal servers were on fire. Colleagues in every department were whispering. My phone rang. It was the CEO, Mr. Thompson, his voice grim. “Adrian, what the hell is going on? This is a PR nightmare. We already have partners calling to ask questions.” “It’s a candidate whose fabricated resume I rejected,” I said, my voice perfectly calm. “This is her retaliation.” “Retaliation?” His voice grew cautious. “What kind of retaliation? You didn’t do anything… out of line, did you?” I understood his caution. In a scandal like this, a corporation’s first instinct is always self-preservation. “Every interview I conduct is recorded on audio and video. You can pull the tapes at any time.” “Good, good…” Mr. Thompson breathed a sigh of relief, but his tone quickly hardened again. “But you know how it is. The online mob doesn’t care about evidence; they run on emotion. For now, stay silent. Our legal team will issue a statement. We need to kill this story, fast.” I gave a noncommittal “Mm.” Kill the story? No. I never intended to kill it. I was going to let this fire burn until it was an inferno. As soon as I hung up, an encrypted file arrived from my assistant. The dossier on Maya Chen was exhaustive—every failed class from elementary school to college, every past relationship, every single account she’d ever registered on even the most obscure platforms. I found one of her phone numbers and dialed. It rang for a long time before she answered, her voice thick with sleep and suspicion. “Who is this?” “Ms. Chen, this is Adrian Black.” The line went silent. A few seconds later, a sharp, mocking laugh came through. Her tone shifted to one of pure arrogance. “Well, well, if it isn’t the great Director Black. What’s the matter? Saw the trending topics and got scared? Calling to beg for mercy?” I ignored her taunt. “What are your demands?” I asked calmly. “If you felt uncomfortable during the interview process, we can discuss it.” My composure seemed to fuel her ego. “Discuss? Alright, let’s discuss!” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “First, your company will issue a public apology on its homepage, admitting to your sexual harassment and your unfair hiring practices.” “Second, you will immediately send me a job offer. The position… hmm, let’s make it your Assistant Director. I think it suits me.” “And third, five hundred thousand dollars in compensation for my emotional distress. Not a penny less.” She paused, then added flippantly, “Oh, and you’ll write the apology yourself. I want it to be tearful. I want it to be sincere. Otherwise, the ‘evidence’ I have is just the tip of the iceberg. I can ruin you, Adrian. I can make sure you’re a social pariah for the rest of your life. Do you believe me?” I almost laughed out loud. She thought she was threatening me. To my ears, this was a confession. “I’ve received your demands,” I said softly. “Don’t call me again. Have your lawyer contact mine,” she snapped, then slammed the phone down, as if terrified I’d retract my ‘surrender’. I put my phone down and packaged the call recording along with Maya’s entire dossier. I named the file “Phase One Evidence” and sent it to our company’s top legal team. Only then did I see the dozen missed messages from my wife. 【Honey, are those things online true?】 【Please don’t scare me, call me back!】 【How can they say those things about you!】 I called her immediately. Her voice was choked with tears. “Adrian, I saw the comments… they’re saying such horrible things… they’re threatening to come to our house…” A knot of ice formed in my stomach. She was pregnant. “Don’t be afraid. It’s all lies,” I said, forcing my voice to be a steady anchor. “Stay home. Don’t go out, and don’t look at anything online. Trust me. I can handle this.” I just never imagined how fast, how violently, things would escalate. The next day, the atmosphere at the office was toxic. Colleagues who used to greet me warmly now avoided my gaze, offering only awkward nods. When I walked into my own department, it was dead silent. The team I had built from the ground up, the people I had personally mentored, were all staring intently at their screens, pretending to be busy. No one would look at me. I pushed it aside and called my core team for the morning briefing. “Regarding the current situation, I want our PR department to hold all public statements. Await my signal,” I said, proceeding as usual. “Also, have the tech team continue to monitor the IP addresses of those sock puppet accounts and track the source of any new negative posts…” I was cut off. “Mr. Black.” It was Sarah. A management trainee I’d hired two years ago and personally promoted to team lead. She stood up, her eyes blazing with the self-righteous fire of someone “speaking truth to power.” “I think what the company needs to do right now is distance itself from you, immediately.” The entire conference room went silent. Everyone stared at her in disbelief. I frowned. “Sarah, what are you trying to say?” She took a deep breath, as if summoning immense courage. “As a woman, I feel sympathy and anger for what Maya went through. Whether her resume was fake or not is irrelevant. It’s not an excuse for workplace sexual harassment!” “The public opinion is completely one-sided. Everyone is standing with the victim. If the company continues to protect you, we’ll be branded as an organization that shelters predators. It will be devastating for our brand!” “Furthermore,” she said, looking around at the other female colleagues in the room, “as our direct supervisor, this incident makes all of us women on the team feel incredibly… unsafe.” As soon as she finished, another female colleague timidly chimed in, “Yeah, Mr. Black, the things people are saying online are so specific… it’s really disturbing.” A chill went down my spine. The very people I’d invested in, the ones I expected to have my back, were stabbing me in it without a second thought, all for some misplaced sense of “female solidarity.” This was the team I had so carefully cultivated. I managed a small smile. I looked at Sarah. “So, what’s your recommendation?” She seemed emboldened. Her voice grew louder. “I recommend that you resign, effective immediately. And issue a public apology to Maya and the public to salvage the company’s reputation. As the head of this department, it’s the only responsible thing you can do!” I started to clap, slowly and deliberately. “Well said. In crisis management, the core principle is to sacrifice the pawn to save the king. You’ve learned the lesson well.” A flicker of pride crossed Sarah’s face. Then my smile vanished. My voice dropped to absolute zero. “But you’ve forgotten the most important rule.” “In information warfare, the facts—the truth—are the ultimate nuclear option.” “You didn’t do the most basic level of investigation. You didn’t even try to verify the claims. You convicted your own boss based on a few screenshots and some inflammatory internet comments.” “Sarah, you are professionally incompetent.” I watched the color drain from her face. “Meeting’s over. You can go to HR and process your termination.” Sarah froze, tears instantly welling in her eyes. “Mr. Black… I… I didn’t mean it like that! I was just trying to protect the company! You can’t fire me for speaking the truth!” I didn’t give her another glance. I walked straight out of the conference room. The assault didn’t stop. That afternoon, Mr. Thompson summoned me again. His face was a thundercloud. He slammed a document on my desk. “Adrian, read this.” It was a petition. Headed by Sarah, nearly a third of the company’s female employees had signed it, demanding the company take severe action regarding my “harassment case” and terminate my employment. The reason cited was 【a pervasive fear of potential workplace risks and an inability to work in an unsafe environment.】 “This is now affecting internal stability!” Mr. Thompson’s hands were shaking with rage. “The board is under immense pressure. Several directors are already suggesting you be placed on temporary leave pending an internal investigation.” I looked at the pages filled with signatures. It was absurd. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Maya. A photo of me standing outside the CEO’s office. 【Heard you got suspended. How’s it feel to be betrayed by your own people, Director Black?】 【Don’t worry. This is just the beginning.】 【I told you. I’m going to destroy your reputation. You won’t be able to work in this industry ever again.】 The official suspension notice came swiftly. To appease the public, the company released a statement announcing that “HR Director Adrian Black has been suspended from all duties, effective immediately, to cooperate with an internal investigation regarding a personal controversy.” It was like pouring gasoline on the fire. The internet erupted in celebration. 【See! He’s guilty! Why else would they suspend him?】 【The scumbag finally got what he deserved! We won, sisters!】 Maya immediately posted a new, tearful message, “thanking” the company for delivering justice, casting herself as a hero in the fight against workplace abuse. My phone number and home address were leaked. A torrent of abusive texts and harassing calls flooded in. Piles of garbage takeout bags with “scum, go die” written on them appeared at my doorstep. But the final straw—the thing I could not tolerate—was when someone Photoshopped a picture of my wife into a funeral portrait and sent it to my phone. I had to turn off my phone, unplug my internet, and move my wife to a hotel. Seeing her tremble with fear and rage, I felt a pain sharper than any knife. Online harassment is never just words on a screen. It grows fangs, and it attacks the people you love most. These self-proclaimed champions of justice were inflicting pain on an innocent, pregnant woman without a shred of remorse. They had just pulverized the last bit of restraint I had, the part of me that wanted to keep this a “lesson.” After settling my wife, I went straight to Kevin’s office building. He was the other “victim” Maya mentioned in her posts. My assistant had confirmed that during that time frame, the only male candidate I’d interviewed was named Kevin. I waited downstairs for two hours. He saw me from a distance, and his face went pale. He spun around and tried to run. “Kevin,” I called out. “I just want to talk.” He flinched back, his eyes wide with panic. “Mr…. Mr. Black… Don’t, don’t come any closer.” I kept my voice as gentle as I could. “I just want to ask you about Maya’s posts online…” He suddenly shrieked, cutting me off, his voice high and terrified. “Stay away from me! It was you! You harassed me!” “During the interview, you asked if I had a girlfriend! You put your hand on my shoulder and said I was ‘cute’!” “I… I was too scared to say anything!” His hysterical screams immediately drew the attention of everyone leaving work. A crowd formed, their eyes landing on me, filled with contempt and fury. “Ugh, a wolf in sheep’s clothing!” “He got suspended and he’s still bold enough to harass his victims? The nerve!” “Call the police! Someone call the police and get this creep arrested!” The shouting escalated. A man walking by hurled his half-finished bubble tea at me. The icy liquid and tapioca pearls streamed down my face and hair. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t even wipe it off. I just lifted my head and, through the crowd, I met Kevin’s eyes. He recoiled from my gaze, unable to hold it. My voice was quiet but carried. “Kevin, you will be held legally responsible for every single word you’ve said today.” Then, ignoring the insults and the dozens of phones recording me, I turned and walked away. A few days later, Maya appeared on a popular talk show as a representative of “brave whistleblowers exposing workplace corruption.” She cried, her tears catching the studio lights. “I know… at first, a lot of people thought I was just seeking attention, that I was lying.” “That Director Black, he’s so powerful, so high up… I’m just a recent graduate. How could I ever win against him?” “But I couldn’t stand by and watch him hurt more people… I reached out, and I finally found another victim, Kevin. We gave each other the courage to speak out…” “We just want justice. We want people like him to face the consequences…” Her voice broke, and she couldn’t continue. The host handed her a tissue, her face a mask of sympathy as she guided the narrative. “As we can see, the villain has been suspended. This is a victory, a first step!” The studio audience burst into supportive applause. At that exact moment, the rear doors of the studio swung open. Several uniformed police officers walked in. And then, I stepped out from behind them, my eyes fixed on the spotlighted, utterly stunned face on the stage.

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I can hear my dog’s inner thoughts. While walking him, I suddenly heard: “Mom! Mom! Mom! Say the dog’s name quickly!” I yelled, “Buddy!” Buddy turned around to look at me. And turning with him was a gorgeous blonde guy. 01 At the beginning of the year, I visited a pet-friendly temple to pray for wealth. The monk suddenly grabbed my arm. “Miss, you don’t need to pray for money. Your fortune has already arrived.” I cleaned out my ear, utterly skeptical. The monk explained, “You are destined for romance, and that romance is your wealth.” Twenty-five years of being single. I always thought I was the main character, the lone wolf. So I bowed to the monk and said, “No, thanks. I prefer to believe I control my own destiny, not fate.” After leaving the temple, something even stranger happened. A voice, seemingly from nowhere, echoed in my mind. “Mom won’t date, and Mom won’t find the dog a girlfriend either. But Mom gives the dog food, so Mom is good and bad at the same time.” I looked down. Sure enough, Buddy was looking at me suspiciously. I tentatively held my phone to my ear and asked, “Oh, they want me to take Buddy to be neutered? Today?” Buddy always resisted going to the vet. Even now, hearing the word ‘vet’ would send him running away from me. This time was no exception. Even on a leash, Buddy lunged forward desperately. “Mom must not take the dog to lose his balls! The dog still needs to sniff little Belle’s butt next door!” After confirming that I could actually hear Buddy’s thoughts, I bowed again toward the temple. Then, unable to argue with Buddy, I let him pull me along. It was hard to tell who was walking whom. After a few minutes of running, Buddy suddenly stopped. I heard again: “Mom! Mom! Mom! Say the dog’s name quickly!” I didn’t understand, but I did as I was told. “Buddy.” “Mom, louder! The dog can’t hear you.” … Ugh! This little menace! Furious, I yelled out, “BUDDY!” Buddy finally turned around. And turning with him was a blonde heartthrob up ahead. When I saw his face, I was slightly stunned. He saw me, a look of surprise flashing across his face. He actually walked toward me. His voice was intense: “I don’t know how you found out my nickname, but you’d better not tell anyone.” “If I find out one other person knows I’m called Buddy, I’ll make you regret it.” Buddy chimed in: “The dog knows, but the dog isn’t a person.” I looked at the handsome man, slightly embarrassed. “Maybe you should get up first? Stop kneeling on the sidewalk.” I had no idea what happened, but he had just suddenly dropped to his knees. After much persuasion, he finally stood up. Then, to ensure my silence, he added me on social media. Was all that really necessary? His retreating steps were a little clumsy. Maybe he’d been kneeling for too long. For some reason, he looked vaguely familiar. A gentle panting sigh reached my ear again. “Mom, the dog told you, if you ask someone for help, you need the right attitude. The dog used its head to hit his knees. The dog is awesome and protected Mom.” Huh? I finally realized. It wasn’t that he wanted to kneel; he was physically forced. 02 When I got home after walking the dog, it was dinner time. Mrs. Lee and Mr. Perry from next door invited me to eat with them. It wasn’t the first time. I took the fruit I’d just bought and headed over. But the door opened surprisingly fast today. I heard Buddy’s voice again, sounding absolutely lecherous: “Little Belle.” “Little Belle, tee hee, Buddy the big brother is here to see you~” Sometimes, I really want to smack him. If I’d known my dog was a lecherous old man inside, I still probably would have chosen him. I’m a sucker for a pretty face (or snout). And then. I keenly caught a murmured thought: “Little Belle says her daddy is home today.” Daddy? Mr. Perry? He’s always home, isn’t he? I was completely zoning out when a snap of fingers brought me back to reality. Standing in front of me was the blonde heartthrob who had knelt before me earlier. He was wearing an apron, and sweat beaded on his forehead. He had total “husband material” energy. I swallowed. Buddy next to me barked aggressively: “It’s Daddy,” Huh? He continued: “It’s Little Belle’s daddy. He’s Little Belle’s daddy!” I blurted out. “Daddy?” Our eyes locked. The handsome guy froze, a faint blush staining his cheeks. Mr. Perry, who had just arrived at the door, paused and cleared his throat awkwardly, looking at both of us. “You two know each other?” More barks came from below—it was Little Belle’s voice. “Daddy!” “It’s my daddy!” She wagged her tail excitedly. I looked at the handsome guy, then at Little Belle, desperate to turn and run. Mrs. Lee quickly pushed Mr. Perry forward. Luckily, Mr. Perry reacted fast, grabbing my hand. “Good job, good job! I’ve always wanted a daughter.” I sniffled and followed them inside. I almost left their biological son outside the door. 03 At the dinner table. I chatted enthusiastically with Mrs. Lee and Mr. Perry. Mrs. Lee frequently instructed her son to serve me food. “The tenderest piece goes to Hannah.” “Go on, don’t just stand there. Get my good daughter another bowl of soup.” “Here, grab a slice of meat. Hannah likes the marbled kind.” By the end of the meal, I realized I had so many preferences I hadn’t even known about. I couldn’t help but admire Mrs. Lee’s keen observation skills. As for her son? He was practically a robot. When Mrs. Lee pulled out the photo album after dinner to reminisce, I never would have guessed that the little chubby kid in the pictures had turned into the striking blonde guy sitting across from me. In the photo, I was graduating from high school. The chubby kid was Ethan Perry. He had just finished middle school, and his parents were sending him abroad for school. In my memory, Ethan was a small, pale, chubby boy, a head shorter than me, and usually quiet. Even taking the photo was awkward. Mrs. Lee had to push him forward: “Ethan, hurry up and pose with your big sister.” Our two families had known each other for over ten years. I heard his parents say that Ethan might not come back after finishing his studies. I felt a little down and threw an arm around his shoulder. Looking back at the frozen moment now, Ethan looked utterly helpless, his face full of embarrassment. Just like now. “Mom, why are you bringing out these pictures?” Ethan complained, his expression sour. His cheek looked bruised, slightly caved in. He thought no one was looking, but his palm was pressed down on a photo. I had already seen it. It was a picture of him in diapers. Tiny. And very cute. I couldn’t help but chuckle. He caught my eye, turned, and glared at me. “Stop staring.” “Stare one more time, and I’ll take your eyes out.” His voice was slightly louder when he said this, causing Buddy to immediately start growling and mumbling insults. “Who do you think you’re talking to, you punk?” “Dare to threaten my mom? You’re asking for trouble. The dog is only three, but it has plenty of strength and tricks up its sleeve!” Barking, he latched onto Ethan’s pant leg. Protecting the mother at all costs. Little Belle whined, putting a paw on Buddy, trying to mediate: “Forget it, forget it. It’s tough for everyone.” “Don’t bite my daddy~” Seeing Buddy wasn’t letting go, I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and scolded, “Buddy, apologize immediately!” I deliberately emphasized my distaste for such aggressive behavior. The next second, the man in front of me spoke first. “I’m sorry.” I stared blankly at the man, who quickly turned his head away after speaking. Wait, is this right? I felt like a circuit breaker had tripped in my head. Ethan sighed, knelt down, and rubbed Buddy’s head. “I didn’t mean to yell at your mom.” “But you did the right thing. Next time, your big brother will buy you treats, okay?” Buddy bared his teeth, reminding him, “Not big brother, Uncle.” I looked in the mirror and saw the hair on top of my head had been ruffled into a garlic bulb shape. I secretly barked low: “Mommy-Sauce, speak up for me! Speak up for me!” I wanted to say something, extending my hand to signal Ethan to stand up, but he misinterpreted it as me wanting to pull him up and took my hand. His palm was warm. He didn’t rush to stand. Suddenly, he raised his beautiful eyes to look at me, his tone shifting. “I already apologized. What else do you want?” I honestly didn’t expect things to progress like this. I was flustered, my cheeks burning. My mouth was a mess of words. “No.” “I was just calling Buddy… I wasn’t talking about you.” “I was just calling Buddy,” he said, sounding a little wronged. Forget it. The more I explained, the messier it got. 04 Actually, the name Buddy and I have a long history. The day I dropped Ethan off at the airport, I was actually quite sad, but I couldn’t cry. It might be hard to imagine. But when a little white marshmallow of a boy is in front of you, snot running down his face, throwing a tantrum, you can’t help but stifle a laugh. He was bossy even at that young age, sobbing as he waved goodbye: “I’m Sister’s only Buddy, right?” I stroked his head and affirmed repeatedly, “Yes, yes, yes.” But he didn’t know I was a people-pleaser. After seven, eight, nine, ten dinners, Ethan finally started acting like Mrs. Lee and Mr. Perry’s son! Well, not entirely. Today, I was shopping with him at the supermarket. The lady on the first floor recognized me. “Isn’t that Hannah?” Seeing Ethan next to me, she was both surprised and delighted, her eyes sparkling with gossip. “Your boyfriend?” Without waiting for me to confirm or deny, the lady immediately started gushing. “No wonder I haven’t seen you dating anyone! You were waiting for this tall, handsome young man. Our Hannah has good taste!” I looked at the man next to me, who acted completely indifferent, and sighed loudly. Trust a man, and the sun rises in the west. I quickly waved my hands. “Auntie, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s Mr. Perry’s son.” “The real, biological son.” Ethan was slightly nudged by my words and slowly confirmed with an “Mmm.” But the lady was thrilled, grabbing both of our hands. “That’s even better!” “Making it a family affair!” What on earth is she talking about!? She even stacked our hands together. I chuckled awkwardly. “Auntie, the discount section is starting soon. Aren’t you going to check it out?” Auntie looked reluctant but bolted away. Our hands were still stacked together. I quietly pulled my hand away. A moment later, he said abruptly, “Thank you.” I was completely confused. I simply replied, “You’re welcome.” Later, as he was grabbing some groceries, his hand, resting on the shopping cart, accidentally touched mine. I tried to pull my hand away, but this kid had the strength of an ox. I couldn’t get it back no matter how hard I tried. Finally, I ‘casually’ stepped on his foot. Only then did he casually notice, saying sarcastically, “Oh, was your hand down there the whole time? It’s small, cold, and hard. I didn’t notice.” I didn’t notice~ Ugh. So. I stepped on his foot again. 05 Ethan’s cooking skills were genuinely excellent, leading me to suspect he didn’t study art abroad but culinary arts. I went to help him in the kitchen. At first, neither of us spoke. The atmosphere was incredibly awkward. I started making forced small talk. “Little Brother, how long are you planning to stay in the country?” Ethan glanced at me, poker-faced. “Depends on my mood.” He added, “Big Sister!” “Oh.” “Did you date anyone abroad? I heard there are a lot of beautiful women at your school.” As if annoyed by the question, he stopped washing dishes and looked straight at me. “What about you? You never met anyone suitable? I heard a lot of guys at your school were asking about you.” Aggressive. I scratched my head. “How do you know that?” I had only told Mrs. Lee. He went silent again. After a moment, Ethan bossed me around naturally. “Big Sister, hand me that plate.” “Where is it?” I followed his gaze and saw a plate left on top of the fridge. It was a bit high. I couldn’t reach it. I tried harder. Still couldn’t reach it. Suddenly, an arm reached over me from behind. It was Ethan, using his height advantage to easily grab the plate. I instinctively turned my head, my breath catching. Ethan’s lips were barely an inch from my eye. His breath was hot. “Still… still haven’t gotten it?” A low murmur brushed past my ear. “Mmm.” I froze in place. When people are flustered, they often blurt out nonsense. “All the students at my school are on vacation now.” “Oh.” “They’re not serving teachers at the school cafeteria anymore.” “Is that so?” “What do you think I should eat tomorrow?” “Up to you.” Completely unhelpful. During the conversation, I heard Buddy’s faint barks: “Mommy.” “Mommy.” “Baby tummy…” They quickly faded away. I almost thought I was hallucinating.

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I died while he was flirting with the florist. I haunted him for three years over it. The moment I materialized, scaring off his date, the girl trembled: “Your place is haunted!” He looked unbothered, smirked, and said: “Yeah. A really hot one.” 1 The beauty screamed “You’re sick!” and bolted. Ethan Vance walked her to the door politely: “Won’t you stay? She’s actually very understanding!” The girl was too terrified to hear him. She just shrieked in humiliation: “I came here to see your cat do flips! Go to hell!” Ethan chuckled, closed the door. He turned to see me, arms crossed and furious, completely unfazed by my spectral presence. “Which one is this, this month?” He sounded bored, not mad at all. “The third,” I said proudly. Ethan flopped onto the sofa, and I bounced right off him—my ghost self lifted a foot in the air. “Molly, are you trying to make me a monk?” Ethan pointed to himself: “Three years of celibacy, thanks to you.” I scoffed: “Look how healthy you are now.” When we were dating, he was a wreck. He gave a dry laugh: “My body’s fine, but living just feels meaningless.” I couldn’t argue with that. Ethan used to be a total playboy. He was handsome, rich, successful, and a guaranteed catch. I fell for his vibe: that lazy, seductive quality. He was a Black Baccara rose in full bloom, intoxicating and dark. When I was falling hardest, he gave me the cold truth: “I will never get married, and I won’t be devoted to just one person. I live for the moment. I won’t be responsible for anyone.” He was cool, collected, and totally reckless. Yet, we were stuck in a messy, two-year, on-again, off-again cycle. Our story ended when the blood soaked the concrete. The last sound I heard was the dull thud of a bat hitting my head. Before the attack, I had quickly wiped my phone. The last message I received wasn’t from Ethan; it was a photo from a friend. Ethan was holding flowers, and the florist was smiling up at him. A perfect pair. I knew it. The playboy wasn’t going to turn his life around for me. My last thought before I faded was: “I wonder if Ethan Vance will still have the nerve to date the florist when he finds out I’m dead?” 2 Ethan picked up the white roses on the coffee table, carefully arranged them in a vase, and spritzed them with water. The droplets clung to the velvety petals. He bought flowers constantly after I died. Not for me, of course. It was because the florist was gorgeous. He used the excuse of buying flowers to flirt with her. It must have felt cursed because his first date with the florist was the day I died. So, no matter how hard the florist tried, Ethan never touched her. Ethan admired the roses and casually instructed me: “Your spectral presence is cold. Stay close to the vase. The low temperature will help keep them fresh.” You know how to be practical, I’ll give you that. I got mad, and the temperature in the room dropped sharply. Ethan looked smug. He wore that “I’m the king” expression. “Want a new dress? I can burn one for you.” He was obscenely rich. That’s why I’m the best-dressed ghost in the afterlife. My dead friends are constantly jealous of my designer gowns. Ethan buys the clothes based on my spectral instructions. He comes home late. He sets the charcoal pit under the old oak tree and meticulously burns the clothes and some cash for me. The black smoke billows out, stinging Ethan’s eyes. A passerby shouts angrily: “Who the hell is burning trash here?” Ethan coughs: “Sorry, sir! I’m just sending some things to my ex. I’ll be quick!” An old lady walks up and pulls the man away: “Leave him alone. The poor guy’s girlfriend was murdered a couple of years ago. It was brutal. He’s gone a little crazy. I often see him talking to thin air.” “Wow, how sad.” “I know. No one wants to date him anymore.” My hands clenched. Ethan remained calm, ignoring everything. I felt a pang of guilt. Ethan was usually a magnet for attention. “Ethan, let’s go.” He lifted an eyelid: “Almost done. Did you receive it?” “Yup. The underworld post office signed for it.” He smiled: “Good.” 3 Ethan woke up, tears tracing his temples. He wiped his eyes and whispered hoarsely: “Molly.” “Hmm?” I was trying on the new dress. Seeing me, Ethan sighed, closed his eyes, and covered his face with his arm. His breathing hitched, then calmed. I put on the new Chanel jacket and twirled in front of him. “Do I look good?” He looked up. In the sunlight, his eyes were a clear, light brown. His voice was teasing: “You look better without it.” I blushed: “Stop that!” He laughed, just looking at me. I sighed: “It’s my birthday in two days.” “I know.” “Go visit my grave, would you?” He didn’t answer. I sighed again. “Ethan.” I held my hand up to my chest, indicating a height. “My grave grass is already three feet tall. You haven’t visited once.” Ethan really was stubborn. I was an orphan and not close to many people. The police could only find Ethan to claim my body. I managed a dark laugh. Figures Ethan would be the one to send me off. He claimed my body from the morgue. My body was brutal—my head bashed, covered in bruises. He couldn’t see me then. I watched his hand tremble as he pulled back the sheet. A normal person would have been hysterical. But Ethan was cold. He just stood there, staring at me. He should have at least cried, just for show. We were together for three years! After a long time, he gently brushed my nose with his index finger. He said: “I hope you died for a good cause.” The empty room offered no reply. He calmly told the police about my life. “She likes pink.” “Her job was a reporter.” “She has a small mole on her thumb web.” “I was her boyfriend, not her husband. We had no legal cohabitation.” It’s funny. Ethan told me upfront: “Don’t look for security in me. I don’t have it. Don’t try to change me with love. I will never get married, so if that’s your goal, leave now.” Everyone thought we’d crash and burn. But he knew me best. His eyes were hollow, his thin lips reciting my habits. I wondered if he knew my favorite position. I couldn’t help but criticize him— Ethan, couldn’t you pretend? You’re too calm. Won’t the police suspect you’re involved in the murder? But my ghost worries were unnecessary for the living. Finally, Ethan leaned forward, clasping his hands. “I want to see the security footage of the incident.” Ethan watched the footage and then left. He never went back to the precinct. He never came to see me. The mountain didn’t come to me, so I went to the mountain. I watched him quit his job. Not for me, of course. He wanted to start his own company. Being an investment banker was lucrative, but Ethan wanted to be the boss. The startup phase was hard. So, I understood why he missed my funeral. The funeral home occasionally called him for payment confirmation. He always said: “Use the most expensive option.” He was most attractive when he was being financially ruthless. 4 “But no one has visited my grave in three years.” I felt genuinely upset. Ethan was unmovable. “I hired someone to clean it.” And paid them well. I scoffed: “You could burn that money to me, and I could sweep it clean with a single gust of cold air.” He smirked: “I’ll burn you more later.” “Are you really not going?” I held up three fingers aggressively. “Three years! Don’t you even wonder if my looks have changed?” He laughed: “How would you change?” “Get old?” He denied it: “No. Your life is permanently twenty-five.” That hit both of us. I died three years ago. The day after I died was my twenty-sixth birthday. I would never be twenty-six. The air grew heavy. Ethan asked: “What’s the afterlife like?” “It sucks.” “How so?” I shook my head mournfully: “A male ghost hit on me the other day. I was lonely and almost said yes, but he drank the River Styx water and didn’t remember me five seconds later.” I gave him the finger: “Are all you men so forgetful?” He changed the subject: “So you’re dating other guys behind my back?” I was equally sharp: “Aren’t you dating other girls behind my back?” We were even. Ethan smiled and shook his head: “At least I brought them home for you to inspect.” I dismissed that. But I was curious: “You’ve been celibate for three years. Seriously, no urge?” He shrugged: “I even lost interest in porn.” I leaned in, unbuttoning my second button, raising an eyebrow suggestively: “How about this?” He glanced at my chest. “What is that? A ghost movie?” He really knows how to kill the mood. I got angry and turned to leave. Ethan instinctively reached out, but his hand passed right through me. He looked lost for a moment. He quickly recovered. “Fine, I’ll go.” “Huh?” “I’ll visit your grave. Should I bring fried chicken?” My eyes turned into stars: “And beer~” He smiled: “Deal.” Ding-dong. Ethan’s phone displayed a news notification. Headline: “Three Years Ago: Vicious Assault and Death of Young Woman, One Participant Released from Prison.” It featured a photo of a man with a buzz cut in an orange jumpsuit. He looked clean-cut, but the image of him smoking, the red glow of the cigarette at his lips, sent shivers down my spine. I clenched my hands, trying not to lose my composure in front of Ethan. I gave a casual wave: “Gotta run.” “Where to?” “Stop being so clingy, dude. I’m a busy ghost.” I have a ghost life to live. I need to sleep and work. 5 Ethan doesn’t know this. Standing next to him all day drains my energy. I have to go back to my grave to recharge. That’s where my ashes are. And every day, the old man who cleans the cemetery comes by and tells me about his slow-burn romance with the cafeteria lady. It’s a special kind of torture. I never told Ethan any of this. He doesn’t want to visit me anyway. The old man is the only living person who talks to me. I shouldn’t let Ethan take that away. I’d be bored to death. Under the moonlight, I shared my offerings with my dead friend. Her name is Chloe. She died of cancer. She’s my neighbor and senior ghost. “Molly, why haven’t you moved on yet?” I took a bite of cake and shook my head: “Not yet.” “Why?” “You haven’t moved on either.” She laughed: “I’m staying to watch my jerk ex and his ‘true love’ suffer.” Hilarious. After Chloe died, her ex realized she was his soulmate and went completely insane. Chloe stayed just for the drama. He also had one redeeming quality: he kept burning designer clothes for Chloe. “What about you? Why are you staying? Is it to watch what happens to the people who killed you?” What happens? They are powerful. They hired people to take the fall. They didn’t spend a single day in jail. Bad people always win. Life is unfair. “I don’t care how they die…” The wind howled, making the quiet cemetery even more desolate. “I’m just worried about someone.” I said quietly. There’s no one in the graveyard at night. The living only visit in the daytime, when the sun is warm. And I, a ghost. I only live in the dark. I accepted this fact, and Ethan should too. “Are you talking about your ex? Didn’t you say he’s still clubbing and working? Take it from a seasoned ghost: the living move on quickly. You might not be as important as you think, babe.” Chloe wasn’t being cruel. We ghosts can’t linger too long. We start to fade and forget the way to the Underworld. My memory has been getting foggy lately. The price of lingering for the wrong person is too high. But Ethan is worth it. He is worth it.

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The intern, Nancy, had set up a deposit transfer on my account. No matter how much I deposited, the balance always reset to fifty dollars. In my past life, my biggest dream was to buy an apartment near the office. I finally saved the fifty-thousand-dollar down payment, my hands shaking as I handed over my card. But the agent just looked at me with pity. “Declined. Insufficient funds.” I checked statements, argued with the bank, even filed a police report. Everyone thought I was crazy. Every transaction was there, clear as day, but I hadn’t made any of them. I sobbed to my parents, only to be scolded. “Nora, if you need money, just ask. You don’t have to lie,” my mom said, sharp with disappointment. My coworkers smirked at my statements. “Look, Nora’s spending thousands at The Velvet Rope after midnight. Wonder what kind of escort costs that much?” I posted my story online anonymously, but was called an attention-seeker. Only one comment offered real advice: watch the people around you. So I did. Every time Nancy bought something—even a coffee—a matching charge appeared on my account. I confronted her. She laughed, called me pathetic, and convinced everyone I was having a breakdown. They had me committed. After two years of torment, I escaped and jumped into the river. When I opened my eyes, I was back, the day before I was supposed to buy my apartment. 1 The first thing I did after my rebirth was check my online banking. Just as I expected: fifty dollars. My mind raced, piecing it all together. By now, Nancy had already siphoned my life savings into her own account using some dark, digital magic. I wanted to tear her apart, to drag her down with me, but then I remembered the image of my parents from my last life, their hair turned white with grief overnight. I couldn’t be reckless. That would just be a repeat of the same tragedy. Just then, my department manager, Kate, called me into her office. “Nora, I’ve got a tough client for you, but the commission is a sweet five grand. Don’t say I never look out for you!” I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. Five thousand dollars. That was a month’s rent, with plenty left over. But I shook my head. “Thanks, Kate. But I’m not taking any new clients for the next month.” I walked out of her office, ignoring her stunned silence. The office walls were thin, and the chatter outside died down as my words carried. Instantly, the whispers started. Did you hear that? Nora—’The Machine’—is turning down a commission? Not just today! She said for the whole month! I ignored them, pulled out my phone, and opened a delivery app. I ordered the largest iced Americano they had, and with a tap, the last fifty dollars in my account vanished. In my past life, I wouldn’t have even spent four dollars on a sugary latte from the corner cart. To put down roots in the concrete jungle of Sterling City, I had lived on a knife’s edge. I worked until two or three in the morning doing client follow-ups, then woke before dawn to cram myself into a subway car packed like a can of sardines for a two-hour commute, all just to clock in on time. Fifty dollars docked for being late once. That was almost a week’s worth of food. All I dreamed of was a place of my own near the office, even if it was just a tiny, three-hundred-square-foot studio. Every payday, I’d allow myself a hundred dollars for living expenses. The rest went straight into my savings. And now, the fifty thousand I had bled for was lining someone else’s pocket. Suddenly, the office door flew open. “Lunch is on me, everyone!” It was Nancy, her voice obnoxiously loud. Her face was flushed with excitement, a brand-new Chanel bag swinging from her arm. She looked like she’d just hit the lottery. “We’re going to The Meridian Grand! Order whatever you want!” The office erupted. Coworkers swarmed her. “Nancy, did you strike it rich?” “Who’s the sugar daddy?” I didn’t move. I just sipped my coffee, my eyes cold as ice as I watched her. I knew exactly where the money came from. It was mine. Nancy, basking in the attention, waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, it was nothing. I just bought a lottery ticket the other day and got lucky.” Someone nosy immediately pressed, “How lucky?” 2 Nancy’s eyes flickered toward me, a smug smile playing on her lips. “Not much,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Just a couple hundred thousand.” A collective gasp echoed through the office. A couple hundred thousand dollars. To us, people barely making five figures a month, that was an astronomical sum. But I noticed something. From the moment she walked in, her gaze kept drifting toward me, like a scientist watching a lab rat, waiting for a reaction. She was checking to see if I’d realized my bank account was nothing more than a hollowed-out shell. I fought back the tidal wave of hatred rising in my chest, swallowing the accusations that were burning my throat. I couldn’t spook her. Not yet. I stood up, forcing a perfectly pleasant smile, tinged with just the right amount of envy. “Nancy, that’s amazing! Congratulations! I hope some of that luck rubs off on me.” Seeing me act so normal, a flicker of surprise crossed her face, followed by a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh of relief. She must have thought I was still blissfully unaware. Later, just before lunch, Lily from the next cubicle leaned over. “Hey Nora, didn’t you say you were going to look at apartments once you had the down payment? When are you going? I can come with you!” The mention of the apartment made my fists clench so tightly my nails dug into my palms. I forced them to relax, my expression remaining breezy. “No rush,” I said. “I lost my ID a few days ago, have to wait for a replacement. Besides, with the market dipping, it’s better to wait and see, you know?” As the words left my mouth, I felt that familiar gaze on me again. It was Nancy. Watching me, a poorly hidden glee dancing in her eyes. Nancy had only been an intern for two months. She was short, overweight, with a plain face and performance that was always at the bottom of the department’s rankings. In our sales division, where looks and numbers were everything, she should have been invisible. But in my previous life, this was the woman who took my fifty thousand dollars, got full-body liposuction, and had her face completely redone. She transformed into a stunning beauty everyone adored. And it was her who used my money to buy loyalty, conspiring with those sleazy colleagues to have me committed for being “mentally unstable.” The memory of those two years in the hospital sent a chill down my spine. I took a deep, steadying breath. At The Meridian Grand, Nancy grandly told everyone to order whatever they wanted. I didn’t hold back. I flipped the menu straight to the most expensive pages. “The King Crab. The largest one you have.” “Lobster Thermidor.” “And this, the Foie Gras.” “I’ll have the caviar service as well.” With every dish I ordered, the expressions on my colleagues’ faces grew more and more priceless. Lily tugged at my sleeve, whispering, “Nora, isn’t this… a little much?” I just smiled at her, saying nothing. How can it be a waste when I’m spending my own money? Nancy’s cheek twitched, but in front of everyone, she had to maintain her generous facade. “It’s fine! Nora is our top salesperson, she’s earned it! She needs to eat well to keep up her strength.” Her smile was dazzling. “We need her to keep bringing in those big numbers for the department!” Before I could reply, another coworker chimed in. “Oh, Nancy, you weren’t here this morning. Nora already told Kate she’s not taking any new clients for the next month.” The air went still. I slowly wiped my mouth with a napkin and looked up at Nancy. The smile on her face froze, then cracked. “What did you say?” she shrieked, her eyes locked on me, her voice sharp and shrill. “Nora, why would you stop taking clients? What are you trying to pull?” 3 I met Nancy’s fiery gaze and let a slow smile spread across my face. “I’m taking a break. Why are you so worked up about it?” The other colleagues exchanged confused glances, the flames of gossip burning brightly in their eyes. “Yeah, Nancy,” Lily chimed in. “Nora’s not worried, so why are you having a meltdown?” “Seriously,” someone else added. “You’d think it was your commission she was giving up.” The chorus of questions was like a bucket of cold water on Nancy’s hysteria. The rage on her face vanished, replaced by a mask of deep, dramatic concern. “I… I’m just worried about Nora!” she declared, her voice rising as if volume equaled sincerity. “You said you were just a few deals away from your down payment! The listings at The Sterling Point Condos are so hard to get. If you stop now, you’ll lose so much money! I just feel terrible for you!” She looked like she was on the verge of tears. It was a masterful performance. I laughed. “I’m tired. I need a rest.” I nonchalantly picked up a grilled prawn and began to peel it with deliberate slowness. “Besides,” I paused, looking up at her with an expression of pure innocence, “didn’t you just win the lottery? A couple hundred thousand. If I happen to come up a little short on my down payment… you wouldn’t mind helping me out, would you?” The air froze again. Every eye in the room swiveled to Nancy. The color drained from her face, leaving it a sickly white. Her lips trembled, but no words came out. I popped the prawn into my mouth and added sweetly, “You’re so generous, Nancy. I’m sure you would. Right?” Trapped in the spotlight of everyone’s stares, she was being roasted alive. Finally, she managed to squeeze a few words through her clenched teeth. “Of… of course.” As if terrified I’d actually ask, she quickly added, “But, I mean, it wasn’t that much. Just… just some pocket money.” I glanced at the new Celine dress she was wearing, the limited-edition Chanel bag by her side, and the feast on the table that could feed a family for a month. Right. My fifty thousand dollars was just her pocket money. I enjoyed every last bite of that meal. Before we left, I asked the waiter to pack up the untouched King Crab and the rest of the lobster. I heard a few colleagues whispering behind my back. “Oh my god, she’s taking the leftovers? How tacky.” “It’s like she’s never seen good food before. So embarrassing.” I heard them, but I acted as if I hadn’t. I just turned to Nancy with a radiant smile. “Nancy, it was so good of you to treat us, but I can’t let all this amazing food go to waste. I’ll take it home to enjoy later. You don’t mind, do you?” Nancy’s face was a kaleidoscope of fury and humiliation. But in front of everyone, she could only grit her teeth and nod. “No… I don’t mind.” Back at the office, I placed the takeout containers in the communal fridge with a theatrical flourish, completely ignoring the judgmental stares. That afternoon, I knocked on the door of the finance department. “Sarah? I need to request a salary advance for half the month.” Sarah looked up from her screen. “You know the rules, Nora. Needs a manager’s signature, and it all gets direct-deposited at the end of the month.” I handed her the request form, already signed by Kate. “It’s been approved.” I leaned in closer. “And I don’t want a transfer.” “I want cash.” If money in my account could be stolen by a ghost in the machine, then physical cash should be safe. An hour later, I was back at my desk, a thick envelope of bills tucked into my purse. It was my base salary and last month’s commission—fifteen hundred dollars. I stuffed it into the deepest, most hidden pocket of my bag and zipped it shut. In my last life, my downfall began with fifty thousand dollars. This life, I would climb my way back up starting with this fifteen hundred. I hadn’t even been sitting for five minutes when it started. A frantic, uncontrollable twitching in my right eyelid. Thump. Thump. Thump. Each beat was more violent than the last. An overwhelming sense of dread seized my heart. My hands flew to my bag. I ripped open the zipper, my fingers scrambling for the hidden pocket— It was empty. The envelope was there, but the thick stack of cash inside had vanished into thin air. My blood ran cold. The hair on my arms stood on end. I never imagined the transfer Nancy was using on me had no limits. Was she trying to cut off every possible lifeline? I looked across the room at her. A flicker of pure, triumphant joy flashed across her face. I clenched my fists until my knuckles were white. Good. I already had a plan.

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

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

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

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

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