Category: English

1 The new intern was a walking disaster, but my boyfriend, the department head, insisted on assigning her to me. He even wanted me to let her observe in the operating room. I warned her a thousand times: do not, under any circumstances, hand me the wrong instrument. She still swapped the hemostat for a scalpel. The patient bled out on the table. My license was revoked, my career destroyed. And the intern? She hid behind my boyfriend, her voice trembling. “Dr. Snook, I was just trying to help you finish faster… I didn’t know this would happen…” My boyfriend shoved me aside, his eyes filled with disgust. “Luna was just trying to help! You’re the lead surgeon, and you can’t handle one little complication? You have the nerve to blame her?” Heartbroken, I went home to pack my things, only to be drugged and knocked unconscious by him. When I woke up, I was strapped to a surgical table. I watched, horrified, as the intern plunged a scalpel into my femoral artery. My boyfriend just comforted her, “It’s okay. Just get some practice in. You’ll hit the right spot eventually.” I died from the excruciating pain, but not before they had carved 108 separate wounds into my body. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the intern’s first day. This time, I’ll make sure that damned pair becomes a permanent contribution to medical science. … “Dr. Snook, this is our new intern, Luna Vance. Have her observe your surgery today.” The familiar words sent a shiver down my spine. I stared at Luna, who my boyfriend, Mark Jennings, had just pushed toward me. In that instant, I knew. I had been reborn. Luna beamed, her face a mask of pure innocence. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Snook. I’ll do my best to learn from you!” But the surgery was already underway. The patient was prepped on the table. There was no time to think. I quickly pulled on a pair of sterile gloves. “Stay back. Don’t touch anything. And don’t make a sound.” The scalpel sliced through skin. My focus narrowed. “Surgical lamp, closer.” I fell into the rhythm of the procedure, my movements sure and swift. Without looking up, I held out my hand. “Hemostat.” In my peripheral vision, I saw Luna pick up a scalpel and start to pass it to me. This was exactly how it happened last time. I hadn’t noticed, and I’d reached directly into the patient’s abdominal cavity, severing the aorta in a single, fatal motion. The patient died. I lost my license. Mark blamed it all on me, his voice dripping with contempt as he berated me for not handling the “complication.” Then he drugged me, tied me down, and turned me into a living textbook for Luna to practice on. She carved into me, again and again, while Mark stood by, encouraging her. One hundred and eight stab wounds. I died in unimaginable agony. The memory made my hand tremble with rage. I snapped my hand back, away from Luna’s. “Luna, who told you to touch the instruments?” She froze, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “Dr. Snook, I… I was just trying to help…” “Help?” I shot back. “Help me what? Murder the patient?” From the observation room, Mark’s voice crackled through the intercom. “Ava! Why are you yelling at a trainee?” “Luna was just trying to help! Besides, no harm was done!” I ignored him, took a fresh hemostat from the scrub nurse, and expertly clamped the bleeder. “Get her out of here. The OR is not a place for her to play house.” Last time, because Mark defended her, my resolve softened and I let her stay. The result? As I was closing, she “accidentally” bumped my arm. The suture needle went astray, causing another massive hemorrhage. The patient couldn’t be saved. Afterward, she’d hidden behind Mark, sobbing, “I was just trying to cheer Dr. Snook on, I didn’t know her hands were so unsteady…” The memory of my own brutal death hardened my heart. I pushed all thoughts aside and focused on the surgery, right down to the final suture. “Surgery successful. Patient’s vitals are stable.” Just as I let out a breath of relief, I heard a loud bang. Luna, who was supposed to have been escorted out, had snuck back in. She had stumbled and crashed right into the suspended surgical lamp. The heavy fixture swung violently, hurtling straight toward the patient’s head. Without thinking, I dove forward, shielding the patient’s surgical wound with my own back. The lamp crashed into me. I gritted my teeth, holding my ground. My colleagues rushed to lift the heavy lamp off of me. I spun around before Luna could even begin her tearful performance. And I kicked her. Hard. Right out of the operating room. She tumbled onto the floor outside in a pathetic heap. Mark saw it and roared at me. “Ava! Are you insane? She was just observing! What gives you the right to assault her?” I pulled off my mask, my eyes cold as I looked at the woman he was cradling in his arms. “Dr. Jennings, your intern can’t tell the difference between a hemostat and a scalpel.” “She created chaos in a sterile environment, endangering the patient and nearly causing the surgery to fail.” “You ask me what gives me the right?” I advanced on them, step by step. “Let me ask you two something. Are you here to save lives, or are you here to commit murder?” Mark was speechless, his face turning a dark shade of red. In his arms, Luna’s sobs grew louder, her shoulders shaking pitifully. “Dr. Snook, I really didn’t mean it… It was my first time in the OR, I was so nervous…” “I just wanted to help you work faster, I never thought I’d cause trouble…” Mark patted her back, his voice full of concern. “Ava, she’s just a student. Do you have to blow this out of proportion?” “As her mentor, you should be teaching her patiently, not physically attacking her. Have you lost all sense of medical ethics?” Other colleagues began to gather, whispering amongst themselves. “Yeah, Dr. Snook is being way too harsh.” “She’s just an intern. They’re bound to make mistakes.” I let out a cold laugh, my gaze sweeping over the crowd. “On that table, the patient’s life is absolute. Any action that threatens that life is not a small mistake.” “Nervous? You’re so nervous you mistake a scalpel for a hemostat? So nervous you knock over sterile equipment?” “If I hadn’t reacted in time today, who would be responsible for the body on that table? You, Dr. Jennings?” Mark’s expression was one of pure, unadulterated arrogance. “Luna already told me everything! She said you pushed her because you thought she was in your way!” “I wasn’t going to say anything, to save you some face, but it’s clear now. If there was a real medical accident, you’d just try to pin it on her, wouldn’t you?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Did these two have no shame? “The OR has cameras. Why don’t we just take a look?” Mark snorted. “Look at what? Luna is a sweet, innocent girl straight out of med school. Do you really think she would lie?” “You, on the other hand, Ava, have become increasingly petty and small-minded! You can’t even tolerate an intern!” I looked at his face, contorted with disgust for me, and the last bit of warmth in my heart died. “Mark, we’re done.” He stared at me for a moment, then shrugged, a look of indifference on his face. “Fine by me. A doctor with no ethics like you is going to be fired sooner or later anyway.” “Don’t come crawling back to me when that happens, Ava.” He helped the sniveling Luna to her feet and walked away without a backward glance. I watched them go, a wave of nausea washing over me. Regret? My only regret was being blind enough to fall in love with a piece of human garbage like Mark Jennings in my last life. The wound on my back was a searing fire. I went straight to my office. A colleague saw the massive bruise blooming across my back and gasped. “My God, that must hurt like hell! Where’s Mark? Why isn’t he with you?” I managed a tight smile and said nothing. Thankfully, it was just a deep contusion. No broken bones. The next day, I had barely arrived at my department when I was summoned to the Dean’s office. “Ava, I heard about what happened yesterday. I know you were wronged.” “I’ve already given Dr. Jennings and that intern a stern warning.” I kept my eyes downcast, silent. The Dean sighed. “However, Mark is still the Head of Surgery. He says Luna is very talented and wants to give her another chance.” I refused immediately. “Dean, I can’t mentor her.” The Dean looked troubled. “Ava, I know this is difficult, but the Mayor’s son is scheduled for surgery next week. They’ve specifically requested you as the lead surgeon.” “Mark’s proposal is for Luna to continue observing under you for this one procedure. Consider it her final test.” The Mayor’s son. That surgery was under a huge microscope. He was handing me this time bomb again, hoping I’d crash and burn on the most important surgery of my career. Perfect. Just perfect. I was wondering how I was going to get them both at once. If they were going to offer up their own necks, who was I to refuse? “Fine. I agree.” For the next few days, I prepared for the surgery as usual. Luna shadowed me, acting uncharacteristically obedient. She brought me coffee, organized files—she was so diligent, it was like she was a different person. On the day of the surgery, the Mayor and a host of hospital executives were seated in the observation room. My procedure was flawless. Every step was a textbook example of perfection. Until the patient’s blood pressure dropped. We needed an emergency transfusion. Just as the scrub nurse was about to hand me a blood bag, Luna lunged forward, “tripping” and knocking it from her hand. It burst, spilling all over the floor. While my attention was on the patient, she immediately grabbed a new bag from the backup cart. “I’m so sorry… Here’s a new one, use this!” I connected the transfusion line and opened the valve. Almost instantly, the ECG monitor shrieked with a piercing alarm. The next second, the patient’s vitals flatlined. From the observation room, Mark’s voice boomed over the intercom. “Ava! What are you doing? The patient is in cardiac arrest!” “You must have nicked an artery! I told you your emotions have been unstable, you’re not fit to lead this surgery!” “This is criminal negligence!” Then came the Mayor’s voice, thick with anger and fear. “Dr. Snook, if anything happens to my son, your career won’t be the only thing that’s over!” “I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your life in prison for medical malpractice!” The Mayor’s threat echoed in my ears. But I wasn’t panicking. The surgery had been perfect. It couldn’t have been my error. So what was it? I had been so careful to keep Luna away from everything. How could this still happen? My eyes shot to the transfusion line. A stream of distinctly darker blood was flowing from the connection point into the patient’s body. An acute hemolytic reaction. I ripped out the IV line. “Switch to saline, and prepare a diuretic, stat!” My command was clear and unwavering. The assisting physician and nurses moved instantly. I stared at the ECG monitor. The flat line began to flicker, slowly returning to a regular rhythm. Everyone in the room breathed a sigh of relief. But I felt no relief at all. I looked at the backup cart. The patient was Type A. The bag hanging on the cart was AB. “Who brought this blood?” The scrub nurse’s face was white with terror. “It… it was Luna. After the first bag was spilled, she’s the one who handed you that one.” Luna started crying, waving her hands frantically. “I just took it from the backup cart! It has nothing to do with me!” There was no time to argue. I had to finish the procedure. When the surgery was finally over, I walked out of the OR doors. Mark strode up and slapped me across the face. “Ava! The blood bags are delivered directly from the blood bank. Luna just helped pass one to you. How is this her fault?” “It’s obvious you didn’t cross-check the blood type before the transfusion, and now you’re trying to blame an intern!” The Mayor’s eyes, sharp as daggers, fixed on me. “Dr. Snook, I need an explanation.” Mark couldn’t wait to jump in. “Mr. Mayor, a mismatched transfusion is a major medical incident. As the lead surgeon, she bears full responsibility!” “Our hospital will handle this with the utmost seriousness and give you a satisfactory answer!” Luna chimed in, sobbing her apologies. “Mr. Mayor, I was just anxious about the surgery, so I handed her the bag… I had no idea Dr. Snook wouldn’t perform the pre-transfusion checks…” Her words were expertly crafted. She was completely innocent, and I was the one who had grabbed the wrong blood? I ignored them. I instructed a nurse to retrieve both the spilled blood bag from the floor and the remaining bags from the backup cart. The Mayor was losing his patience, demanding an immediate explanation. Otherwise, he would have me arrested for gross negligence. I spoke calmly. “Mr. Mayor, I have proof that this incident was not my mistake.” “It was a deliberate act of sabotage. Someone was trying to murder your son.”

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During an interview, the host kept grilling me on why I broke up with my ex. I put on a pained expression and said, “I just couldn’t handle a long-distance relationship.” At that very moment, my ex was filming a farming reality show. He came back from the fields at midnight, saw the interview, and immediately raged on Twitter: “Bullsh*t. The walk between our dorms was five minutes. Five. Minutes. And you’re telling me you couldn’t handle the distance?” Consequently, the entire internet demanded I be shipped off to the farm. If we’re ranking toxicity, the host of a divorce variety show comes in second. No one dares to claim first place. They are ruthless. I get it. No sane celebrity wants to go on these shows. So when they finally caught a sucker like me, they had to dig for gold. She practically shoved the microphone down my throat. “So, Zoe, why exactly did you and your ex break up? We’re all dying to know.” I looked miserable on the outside, but inside, I was recycling every sad memory of my life just to keep from laughing. “I… I couldn’t handle the long distance.” She wouldn’t let it go. Thankfully, I was quick-witted and diverted the topic to another guest. But the unexpected happened. My chaotic ex responded. “Bullsh*t. The walk between our dorms was five minutes. Five. Minutes. And you’re telling me you couldn’t handle the distance?” The internet exploded. After all, Chase Sterling is a top-tier A-lister. I’m just a C-list actress. There’s no comparison. He came from a boy band, the most popular member by far. Now that his three-year contract is up and the group disbanded, his popularity has only skyrocketed. Every actress in Hollywood wants a scandal with him. It’s a faster way to get famous than actually acting. So when my agent slapped the contract for “Harvest Hearts”—a farming reality show—on my desk, I was stunned. I thought she and Chase had both lost their minds. “It’s because you have no filter,” she said. “Plus, Chase responded. You’re trending #1 worldwide. The internet is crowdfunding to send you to the farm.” I wanted to cry. Going on a reality show with my ex? That’s basically a death sentence. Especially with his fan base. I really can’t afford to offend him. I asked if I could skip it. My agent said no. She’d already signed the contract. So, she packed my bags overnight and shipped me off to the countryside. Before I left, she added, “I know it’s not appropriate for a girl to go alone, so I found you a companion.” I didn’t pay attention to her words. I was too busy panicking about seeing Chase again. It had been three years. The dirt roads in the countryside were unforgiving. My suitcase wouldn’t roll; I was basically dragging a dead body. I was dying of anxiety, but the camera crew just watched, refusing to help. Suddenly, a familiar, piercing voice rang in my ear. “Oh look, Princess Zoe can’t even walk. How precious.” My eyes widened. I looked up. Sienna?! Holy crap, why is she here? The whole industry knows we hate each other. She looked me up and down with disdain, then grabbed the handbag sitting on top of my suitcase. “Walk faster, short legs.” I opened my mouth to retort but couldn’t. Nobody can look at her 5’9″ model frame and argue about leg length. It didn’t matter. The rural dirt road punishes everyone equally. Soon, the wheels on both our suitcases were stuck in the mud. We were both ready to smash our luggage to pieces. Just as we were about to give up, a hand appeared in my field of vision, naturally taking the handle of my suitcase. I followed the hand up the arm. He was wearing a simple white T-shirt, thin lips pressed together, expression indifferent. “I got it.” I froze, letting him take it. My heart was trying to hammer its way out of my chest. It was Chase Sterling. Another guy took Sienna’s luggage, grinning at me. I recognized him. Jax. The youngest member of Chase’s old boy band. Following behind them, I heard Jax mumble, “Chase is such a dog. I ran over to help Zoe first, but he cut me off.” My footsteps faltered. But Chase didn’t say a word, just led me to the house. The live comments were scrolling across the screen: [My farming boy band has manners! Helping the girls with luggage!] [Chase took Zoe’s luggage!!] [Relax, guys. Zoe was in front, Chase was in front. It’s just geography. Don’t be delusional.] I realized the livestream had already started. The production team put us in the old accountant’s office. It hadn’t been renovated. Peeling paint, flying bugs, no cameras installed yet. Chase frowned and started cleaning. Sienna had already run off somewhere, too disgusted to stay. I started to help him in silence, but the moment I moved, he stopped me. “I never let you do this kind of work growing up, why start now? Go sit over there. I wiped the chair.” So I sat obediently and watched him clean. For a moment, it felt like the old Chase. Growing up, as long as Chase was around, I never had to lift a finger. He was a guy who couldn’t even take care of himself, yet he took care of me with meticulous precision. My nose stung, a wave of bitterness washing over me. If that incident hadn’t happened… Maybe I could have been with Chase forever. After cleaning, Chase pulled out his phone, looking a bit unnatural. “Add me back on WeChat.” I tilted my head, looking at him. He coughed lightly. “We spend most of our time in the fields. If you need something, just message.” I looked at him suspiciously. “Don’t you guys just yell across the field?” Chase touched his neck. “You’re a girl. You don’t have a loud voice.” I narrowed my eyes. Since we were kids, whenever he lied, he touched his neck. Uncomfortable under my gaze, he glared at me, raising a fist playfully. “Add me or I’ll beat you up.” I immediately scanned his QR code. A wise woman knows when to fold. Before leaving, Chase dropped a sentence: “Don’t overthink it. It’s just for work.” I shrugged, feigning indifference. “Oh. I didn’t.” The smile on his face instantly vanished. I was confused. Men. Who understands them? I sat on the bed and started unpacking. Sienna came back from wandering around, complaining the moment she stepped in. “What is this dump? I must have had bad karma in a past life to be stuck here with you.” She complained while making her bed, getting angrier by the second. “Ugh, this is annoying! Zoe, make my bed!” I realized then that Chase had only made my bed. I blinked, looking sincere. “I don’t know how.” Her eyes bugged out. Her expression was a masterpiece. I lowered my head. Boohoo, she’s cursing me out in her head, I just know it. In the end, she had to ask a production assistant for help. When the assistant left, she complimented my sheets. “Those blue fish sheets are cute.” I realized something. The sheets had a blue fish pattern. But I didn’t bring sheets. Chase brought them. Day two of farming. I was woken up at 5:30 AM. My brain was empty, and so was my stomach. I had heard them leave for the fields in my sleep, so I figured there was no breakfast left. I went to the kitchen. I planned to scavenge, but I found a bowl of soup covered in the corner. There was a sticky note: “Breakfast. Don’t die of hunger and blame us.” I knew that handwriting anywhere. Chase. I secretly pocketed the note and sat down to eat the wontons. Unfortunately, Sienna woke up. Chase had only left one bowl. Panicked, I pushed the remaining half-bowl toward Sienna. If I didn’t, she’d tear the roof off. She stared at the bowl, then at me. “Are these guys on a diet? They eat like birds?” I laughed awkwardly, secretly swallowing the wonton in my mouth. After breakfast, Sienna said she was going to balance the books. I had nothing to do, and going to the fields would just cause trouble. So I asked the director to take me to the market. I’d buy them some good food. “Boss, I’ll take all these fruits. And those vegetables.” I was a queen in the market. The livestream comments were flying. [Confirmed: Zoe is a 5-year Chase stan. These are all his favorites.] [OMG, she loves him so much. I’m crying. Get back together, please, do it for me.] [Wait, the director didn’t confiscate Zoe’s wallet? Did they finally grow a heart?] I clutched my wallet tightly. I had argued with the director for three hours to keep this money. On the way back, we passed a pharmacy. I snuck in when no one was looking. I bought a bunch of pain relief patches. Chase was visibly covered in bruises and scrapes. I was terrified he’d collapse in the field one day. Everyone had work to do. If he went down, his workload would fall on me and Sienna, the two idlers. I can’t handle hardship. So I had to buy him medicine. Yes, that’s exactly why. If Chase is healthy, I get to relax. “Harvest Hearts” operates on a model combining agriculture with a farm-to-table restaurant. But operations were tough in the beginning, so the restaurant guests were mostly celebrity friends. When I got back, I realized we had guests. “Zoe, how’s life treating you here?” Liam greeted me, and I snapped out of it. I ran over, surprised. “What are you doing here?” He smiled. “Heard you were farming. Came to see the spectacle.” I met Liam on a drama set. He took care of me during filming, and we stayed in touch. I checked the time and decided to start cooking. The girl who came with Liam was named Vanessa. I’d seen her on shows before, but we weren’t close. She eagerly came over to help. I was flattered. She seemed nice. “I see you bought celery. Chase loves celery. Let’s make a dish with it for lunch,” Vanessa said, waving a bunch of celery. My heart stuttered. I forced a smile. “You know Chase?” She nodded, looking nostalgic. “We filmed a web drama when he first debuted. I was his female lead. We were both idols then, knew nothing about acting. We spent every lunch break studying the script together.” It was a normal statement, but it stung. The comments added fuel to the fire: [Sobbing. I watched that drama! I shipped them so hard. I thought the ship sank, but it feels like they’ve been dating in secret!] [Chanessa is real! Rise, my ship!!] [They’re from the same agency, trained together before debut. Read between the lines, people!] I wanted to gouge my eyes out. Everyone started trickling back. Jax ran into the yard, shouting, “Zoe! Chase talked about you all morning!” I teased him. “Oh? What did he say?” He mimicked Chase’s deadpan face. “‘Zoe is an idiot. Can she even find breakfast? She’s dumb as a rock.’” Chase appeared behind him and smacked the back of his head. “Making up rumors about your brother? You want to die?” Jax shut up. Chase glanced at me. “He’s a kid. He talks nonsense.” I smiled and ignored him. “Zoe, want eggplant for lunch? I saw some ripe ones in the field,” Liam asked from behind. Before I could speak, Chase’s expression sharpened. “She’s allergic to eggplant.” Liam paused, looking at me for confirmation. I nodded, embarrassed. I hadn’t even reacted that fast myself. Vanessa smiled and took the eggplant. “Since Zoe is allergic, I’ll take these away.” I smiled at her and went to the stove. Just as I started to stir-fry, Chase snatched the spatula. “Go play outside. You don’t need to cook.” Wow, he’s looking down on me. I glared at him. “I can cook!” He glanced at me. “I know. But you don’t need to. The men in this house aren’t dead yet. This isn’t a place for you.” I blinked, my heart doing a little flip. Vanessa chimed in. “Chase is always like this, so considerate. Go play, Zoe. I’ll help here. I’ve done this before.” Chase was busy and didn’t seem to notice me, so I said “Oh” and backed out of the kitchen. As I passed him, I checked that no one was looking and shoved the pain patches into his pocket. “Payment for lunch.” I fled the kitchen. [Chase, you are too much!!] [Chanessa is so sweet, Mom & Dad energy! Zoe is like their kid, so cute!] [Zoe, what did you stuff in his pocket?! Mom does not approve!!] [Does anyone remember Zoe bought patches in town…] Watching the scrolling comments, I zoned out. This Chase x Vanessa ship came out of nowhere. I checked Twitter. They occupied three trending topics. Marketing accounts had released behind-the-scenes footage of them filming and training together over the last two days. It baited a lot of fans into shipping them. The hype was almost as big as when Chase responded to my interview… In the distance, Jax yelled, “Chase! We want spicy chicken today! Explosively spicy!” Chase nodded. Most of the ten guys on the show loved spicy food. I noticed almost every meal was spicy. Unfortunately, I can’t handle spice. So I snuck back to get my jar of chili-free mixing sauce. The comments asked what I was sneaking around for. I said I can’t eat spicy food, so I’m getting sauce for my rice. At lunch, Vanessa leaned toward Chase. “Chase, try the cucumber salad we made.” I pouted. “We” made? “I” is her. Who is “we”? Is saying my name embarrassing? Chase was talking to Jax. “I’m not eating…” I watched the refusal form on his lips, but when he saw the cucumber salad, he swallowed the words. “I’ll try it.” He reached out, took a bite, and paused. The atmosphere got weird. Vanessa asked with concern, “Is it bad? I didn’t taste it. Let me try.” She reached for her chopsticks, but Chase stopped her. “Don’t. The salt merchant must have died in this bowl.” Chase took another bite. “And there’s so much cilantro, just call it cilantro salad.” Another bite. “It takes talent to make cucumbers taste like this.”

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When my childhood sweetheart, Leo, brought up that scholarship student for the third time, I teased him with a smile. “Do you think she likes you or something?” His expression turned serious, and he told me earnestly: “Sarah, don’t make jokes like that. She’s different from us. Never look down on anyone who’s working hard.” I pouted, feeling wronged. In the end, they both went to the top music conservatory in the country together. And I threw away my violin, went abroad, and switched to finance. The battle between the Red Rose and the White Rose had long since become smoke and mirrors. The day I returned to the States, he invited me to dinner and put a piece of fish on my plate. I subconsciously pushed it to the side. He froze, and silence stretched between us for a long time. 1 When I returned to the States, I only briefly told my parents. But the Zhou and Song families had always been close. So, seeing Leo at the airport arrival gate wasn’t a surprise. It had been years. He was still handsome. Features like a painting, an air of nobility, wearing a dark trench coat, walking toward me at a measured pace. Maybe it was that musician’s aura, but girls nearby were stealing glances at him. He walked over with a smile and naturally took the suitcase from my hand. “Sarah, tired from the flight?” “The AC is on in the car, go ahead and get in.” Seeing I didn’t move, his smile deepened. “Uncle Song asked me to pick you up.” I hesitated for a moment, then got into the back seat. “Aren’t you busy?” I asked casually. “It’s Monday.” “The Little Princess is back. Even if I’m busy, I have to come, right?” His eyes were deep, emotion unreadable. I looked away, waving my hand with a smile. “Stop teasing me. That’s such a childish nickname, it’s weird now.” He paused. But quickly returned to his natural self. “It’s been so long. Let’s grab dinner.” It was getting late. I hesitated. “Sure.” In the rearview mirror, Leo’s gaze lingered on me intermittently. I pretended not to notice, looking down to reply to messages. [Yeah, just got off the plane.] The reply came quickly. [You have fun in NYC first. I’ll finish up things here and arrive next week.] Just as I was typing, he sent another: [Exhausted lately. Miss you.] The London stock market had been active recently; he was probably busy with meetings. My heart softened. Seeing me looking down at my phone, Leo spoke softly. “Don’t stare at your phone in the car, you’ll get dizzy.” I froze. That familiar, caring tone. Gentle and doting. I couldn’t help looking up at him. It had been years since we fell out. We hadn’t spoken in a long time. Leo acted like nothing had happened. His smile revealed shallow dimples. I put down my phone. “How are my parents’ health?” This trip back was mainly to see family. Seven years had passed. I rarely obsessed over the past anymore. “Auntie was discharged a few days ago. The surgery went well.” His tone was relaxed. “Don’t worry, I was there, wasn’t I?” I fell silent. His uncle was a famous doctor in NYC, and the Zhou family had indeed helped a lot. I smiled politely. “Thanks.” The word hung in the air. Leo froze. I used to be a brat, making him buy me boba, demanding he massage my hands when they were sore from playing violin. Even acting helpless so he’d squat down to tie my shoelaces. I’d hug his neck with a grin, never saying thank you. He’d always flick my forehead helplessly. “You really have no manners. You have to grow up sometime.” At a red light, Leo rested his arm on the window. He asked casually: “And you? How have you been all these years?” 2 After I freshened up, he took me to a nearby French restaurant I used to like. The waiter served the steak. I replied nonchalantly, “Not bad. London is pretty nice.” Leo smiled gently. “I’ll visit sometime.” Halfway through the meal, watching Leo swap my red wine for juice, I said helplessly: “You know, I’m an adult now. You don’t have to do this.” He insisted stubbornly. “Girls shouldn’t drink too much.” There was a professional music stage in the hall. A few girls playing music on stage ran over with stars in their eyes to ask Leo for an autograph. He signed, whispering something to them. The girls covered their mouths, glancing at me, then ran back excitedly. Soon, a familiar melody began. My hand paused. Violin. Norwegian Dance. A complex piece, with the refreshing scent of summer. I still remember the summer I was 17. Leo sat beside me, patiently accompanying me through practice after practice. In the candlelight, his smile was tender. “By the way, Sarah, come by my house sometime. My parents always ask about you.” “And your favorite mille-feuille. The calico cat had kittens last year…” As he spoke, he naturally placed a piece of salmon on my plate. I looked down and pushed it to the side. Leo stopped talking. He was silent for a long time, rubbing his brow. Suddenly, he looked at me with exhaustion. “Sarah, after all this time, do you still hate me?” I stopped eating. Leo looked genuinely confused. “We grew up together. Just because I held her hand during the curtain call?” In the hall, the violin music continued to drift. At the next movement, the melody changed flavor, bringing up memories from even further back. Memories that made me angry, disgusted. Leo’s voice grew louder. His finger tapped lightly on the wine glass. “You gave up your music dream just like that? Never touched a violin again? Abandoned everything to go abroad alone?” He frowned. “And I just didn’t shake off her hand when she came close…” “That was on stage. Why have you always been so willful?” Many people nearby looked over. I stopped moving. Bringing up old history again made the complex tangle of emotions uncomfortable. My knife and fork clattered back onto the plate. I tilted my head, smiling with curved eyes. “Mr. Zhou, I’m sorry, I really don’t understand what you’re talking about.” “Youth, a beautiful first love. It’s a romantic story.” I looked puzzled. “Why should I be angry?” Leo stared at me intently. I picked up my bag and said calmly: “You have your dreams, and I can choose my own path.” “There’s no need to bring up past events.” I glanced at the stage and said honestly: “Besides, I think this piece sounds terrible.” The music stopped abruptly. As I turned to leave, Leo stubbornly grabbed my hand. His eyes betrayed no emotion. “So, you studied finance, which you’re not good at, and accepted a family arrangement?” “Married a man you don’t even know, just to get back at me?” He shook his head faintly. “Sarah Song, have you lost your mind?” I calmly pulled my hand away and whispered: “None of your business.” “Leo Zhou, from what position are you speaking to me right now?” His eyes were dark as ink. He opened his mouth but couldn’t say a word. I smiled. Before leaving, I remembered something. “By the way, I heard you and Mia were both named Principal this year. Congratulations.” 3 Headache was killing me. I went to a nearby cafe and ordered an Americano. While waiting, a short-haired girl in a business suit sat opposite me. Her gaze swept over me inadvertently. Surprise flashed across her face. “Sarah! What a coincidence.” The girl put down her phone and extended her hand happily. “Haven’t seen you in so long! I was your high school classmate!” I was a bit dazed. That period of time I deliberately erased had become blurry. “You and Leo helped me with tuition back then. I always wanted a chance to thank you…” Seeing my lack of reaction, she waved her hand with a smile. “It’s normal you don’t remember me.” “You two were so dazzling, helped so many classmates.” “A perfect match is perfect everywhere. You’re still super beautiful after all these years!” I was silent, looking down. The girl seemed to have opened a floodgate, gossiping excitedly. “By the way, you guys are too low-key. No news for so long.” “There was an interesting bet on the school forum back then.” “Red Rose or White Rose. The debate was fierce.” She sipped her coffee, indignant. “Pissed me off. How could Mia compare to you? How could she beat a childhood sweetheart…” “Miss, your Americano is ready.” I stood up, suddenly finding it funny. I remembered that. Seven years ago, arrogant and proud, I voted for myself under my real name in that forum. I never expected I’d be the one fleeing in humiliation. I turned and apologized. “Something urgent came up. Sorry, I have to go.” The girl didn’t mind at all. She waved at me with smiling eyes. “Sarah, when can I come to your concert? I’ll buy out the house.” I paused, pushing open the door hastily. Looking at her expectant and certain gaze, I didn’t have the courage to tell her. I had long abandoned that dream. I hadn’t touched a violin in seven years… Nights in NYC are always dry and cold, unlike the drizzle of London. Some memories can’t be forgotten, easily disrupting everything. My thoughts drifted far away. Back then, everyone knew I had two loves in life. One was the violin, two was Leo Zhou. No reason other than I knew Leo since childhood, and we started playing violin together. We lived in the same neighborhood, our parents were close friends. We shared a tacit, innate talent for music. We practiced in the music room together, read scores, competed. We knew everything about each other, shared interests, complementary personalities. I was proud and bratty, he was gentle and attentive. Growing up, we did everything together. Skiing in Aspen, getting into elite schools, biking home. He carried my bag, handed me boba, tied my shoes. Background, looks, talent—a perfect match. Back then, everyone thought I would become a world-class concert violinist. And then, marry Leo. But the summer of junior year, someone completely different appeared. Her name was Mia Guan. An ordinary girl. 4 The first time Leo noticed his desk mate was when he casually handed her a cup of boba. The barista messed up the order, and I was picky. He shrugged, about to toss it in the trash. “Um, can I have it?” A weak voice spoke up. Mia looked up at him timidly. On the way home, Leo mentioned it to me. “Seems like low blood sugar, no money for food.” He showed emotion for someone else for the first time. Arrogant as I was, I thought he was just soft-hearted. In the advanced class, Mia was the hard-working type, always at the bottom of the rankings. Always in a generic school uniform. Panicking and crying whenever she missed a beat on the piano. A cowardly look. Just an unremarkable, ordinary girl. But later, Leo talked about her more and more. Saying how excellent she had become, how much he admired her. Every time I disagreed, “But I’m clearly a hundred times better than her.” He would stop and say seriously: “Sarah, she’s different from us. Don’t look down on anyone who is ordinary but working hard.” Sometimes in class, laughter came from the back. Students turned to see Leo blushing, frantically covering Mia’s mouth. She blinked innocently, meeting my eyes. Sometimes when Leo brought me things, he’d bring a portion for her too. He let her use our practice room. He never refused her. Many people started joking. Mia was the White Rose (the pure, gentle love), I was the Red Rose (the passionate, intense love). One pure and simple, one proud and bright. The battle of Red and White Roses was talked about for three years. And that name followed me like a shadow, haunting me. Wherever Leo and I were. We were compared. “But with her princess temper, Mia is much better.” “Guys prefer the gentle type, understandable. Mia is really pitiful.” “Sarah Song is too competitive, but prettier than Mia.” Mia, Mia… I started getting anxious. I threw tantrums. I found it unbelievable. “Do you really like her?” He would always flick my forehead helplessly. “Don’t talk nonsense, it’s bad for her reputation.” At the school anniversary gala, Leo agreed to accompany her on piano. They performed flawlessly, winning applause. Nervous, Mia held his hand tightly during the curtain call. Blushing with joy, the usually plain girl looked somewhat pretty. And Leo hesitated, but didn’t shake her off. Photos were posted online. White shirt and white dress. Viral. Red-eyed, I threw away all his white shirts. We had a cold war for a long time because of this. From then on, seeing white clothes made me want to vomit.

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After being the sole survivor of my last mission, I submitted my resignation to the organization. I hadn’t even been home for two weeks before I was packaged up and shipped off to be married into the illustrious Archer family of the capital. Flynn Archer, in a flashy sports car, sped past me, his eyes dripping with disdain. “A sheltered little princess like you, you’re not from my world.” A curvy, hot-as-hell secretary was in the passenger seat, provocatively locking lips with him right in front of me. He dangled a business contract over my head, forcing me to be his glorified assistant, subjecting me to endless humiliation. When someone gently tried to reason with him, he just sneered. “She wants to be Mrs. Archer? This is what she gets.” Until the day he took me to a shooting range. He raised a pistol, aiming it right between my eyes. “If you can beat me today,” he challenged, “the debt your family owes me will be wiped clean. I’ll even sign over that Westside development project. How about it? You dare?” … 1. I froze, my mind going blank. I couldn’t respond. My gaze was fixed on the gun in his hand. Memories flooded back, a silver needle piercing my brain. A sharp, stabbing pain. A contemptuous laugh brought me back to the present. I turned my head. “Everyone knows the precious Miss Thorne is a debutante, fresh from her studies abroad,” a woman drawled. “Her hands are for playing the piano, not for messing around with things like this.” Stella Vance flicked a lighter open, lit a cigarette, and then passed it to Flynn with her lips, her eyes daring me to react. Flynn was getting impatient with my silence. “Scarlett, are you in or out? Don’t say I didn’t give you a chance.” I looked at him, my lips pressed into a thin line. Ever since I’d been forced into this engagement, he’d made my life a living hell. If I could settle things once and for all today, it would be worth it. Under his impatient gaze, I slowly nodded. “Fine. I’ll compete with you.” The shooting range fell silent for a moment, then erupted in laughter. “Hahaha, did I hear that right? Scarlett Thorne is going to challenge Flynn Archer in a shooting match?” “Little sister Scarlett, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Our Flynn might look like a pretty boy, but he’s got a firearms license. There’s no one in this city who’d dare say they could beat him.” Stella was practically doubled over with laughter, playfully poking Flynn’s chest. “Flynn, you’re so naughty. What if you hurt our dear Scarlett’s delicate hands?” Flynn just shot me a look of disgust. “She’s the one who insisted on following me. She’s like gum on my shoe, I can’t get rid of her.” I didn’t let their insults show on my face. The Archer family’s power had grown exponentially in recent years. My father had pulled every string he had to secure this marriage, begging me to keep Flynn happy. I’d been away from home for so long, and I felt I owed my family. That’s why I’d put up with it all. But now, he was serving himself up on a silver platter. I wasn’t about to turn that down. Flynn gestured with the gun, his chin tilted high. “You sure about this, Scarlett? Don’t come crying to me when you run home in tears.” I smiled faintly and nodded. “I gave my word. I’ll see it through.” He crossed his arms, a playful glint in his eye. “Don’t say I’m bullying you. Standard range rules: best of five, twenty rounds each. You just have to win one round. How’s that?” My eyes were fixed on the black hole of the muzzle. My heart skipped a beat. My hand trembled slightly, but my voice was steady when I replied, “Deal. Draw your weapon.” I went to change my clothes. Stella was still clinging to Flynn, cooing at him. I didn’t look their way. From the moment the staff handed me the pistol, my breath caught in my throat. The world went silent, except for the roaring in my ears. The sounds of crying, the smell of blood, filled my mind. Someone shoved me, and I snapped back to reality. It was Leo Vance, a notorious playboy. He gave me a lecherous grin. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing all alone? I may not be as good as Flynn, but I can give you a few pointers, so you don’t lose too badly.” His greasy hand reached for my wrist. I stepped back, my face a mask of disgust. “Not interested.” His expression soured. “Playing hard to get? Flynn won’t even look at you. Challenging him to a shooting match? You’ve got a death wish.” He stormed off. Flynn and Stella were already at the shooting line. He raised an eyebrow at me. “Round one. Let’s begin.” 2. Flynn wrapped his arms around Stella, carefully placing a pair of noise-canceling headphones over her ears. He guided her hands, standing behind her, his body pressed against hers. The gun fired. From that one shot, I recognized it. A Sig Sauer P320. The 9mm bullet shot straight towards the target, but it felt like it was piercing my own forehead. The sound scraped against my eardrums. The color drained from my face. Dimly, I heard someone laughing. “Look at Scarlett. She’s scared stiff.” “I don’t get why she even came here. It’s just humiliating.” “Look at her. Can she even pull the trigger? She’s probably going to burst into tears any second.” The shots kept coming, each one a hammer blow to my frayed nerves. Seven-ring. Six-ring. Eight-ring… Finally, after twenty rounds, the torture ended. The range officer raised a red flag and ran over with the score. “One hundred and twenty-two.” The onlookers whistled. “It was all Flynn,” Stella said, beaming. “He was guiding my hand. I’ll practice more, I won’t let you down.” Flynn smiled at her, then turned to me with a frown. “You should be more like Stella. If you can’t do something, just admit it. This whole act is pathetic.” My face was pale, but I took a deep breath and stepped up to the line with my own pistol. Behind me, I heard Stella’s venomous whisper. “Flynn, keep an eye on her. We wouldn’t want her to actually get hurt.” He scoffed. “It would serve her right.” I raised the gun. It felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. The crowd was getting restless. “Hurry up! If you’re not going to shoot, get off the line!” I gritted my teeth, closed my eyes, and pulled the trigger. Bang. Miss. A wave of laughter rolled through the crowd. I didn’t hear it. My blood had turned to ice. All that was left was the ringing in my ears. Bang, bang, bang… When I took off the headphones, my forehead was drenched in a cold sweat. The range officer hesitated. “Uh, Miss Thorne… your total is… four…” Flynn laughed out loud. “Scarlett, why don’t you just give me that piece of land your family owns in the south district? I’ll let you save some face.” With what little was left of my composure, I shook my head. That was the last asset my family had. I couldn’t. His face hardened. “You lost the first round. You dare to go for a second?” My face was ashen, but I lifted my chin and met his gaze. “Continue.” Before the second round began, Flynn leaned casually against the shooting table, a smirk playing on his lips. “Scarlett, you can still back out. I’ll even let you keep a little bit of your dignity.” I didn’t say anything, just silently inspected the gun in my hand. Stella fanned the flames. “Flynn, look at her, she’s really putting on a show.” He sneered. “A show? She’s not even qualified to be an actress.” Then, a slow, cruel smile spread across his face. “Stationary targets are so boring. Scarlett, let’s play something a little more exciting.” He clapped his hands, and a staff member came running. “Go get some apples.” My stomach dropped. Stella’s eyes lit up. “Flynn, are you going to do that thing? That’s so cool! The last time I saw you do it, my heart almost leaped out of my chest!” Flynn’s eyes were locked on me. “We’ll put the apples on our heads. I’ll shoot yours, you’ll shoot mine. If you’re too scared, you can surrender now. Get on your knees and apologize to me and Stella, and I might consider cutting the original bet in half.” 3. The range erupted. “Holy shit! He’s not messing around!” “That’s our Flynn! That’s a real man’s game!” “Scarlett is done for. She’s probably too scared to even stand up.” “If her hand slips…” The whispers were like needles in my ears. An apple on my head. It meant I would once again be staring down the barrel of a gun. Not at a piece of paper, but at a living, breathing person. And worse, I would have to stand there and be his target. The bullet would whistle past my scalp, shattering the apple. Fragments of memory, accompanied by a splitting headache, assaulted me again. The metallic tang of blood filled my senses. My fingers curled into a fist, ice-cold. “What? Scared?” Flynn’s voice was laced with undisguised mockery. “You were so tough a minute ago.” Stella chimed in. “Scarlett, honey, this isn’t a game. What if Flynn’s hand slips… or what if you can’t stand still… Tsk, tsk. Just give up. It’s not embarrassing.” All eyes were on me, waiting for the show. They wanted to see me break, to see me humiliate myself, to see me beg. This was his way of crushing what little was left of my pride. I took a deep breath. “Fine.” Flynn raised an eyebrow. “Alright. You’ve got guts.” A nervous staff member handed us each an apple. It felt cold and heavy in my hand. Flynn walked to the designated spot, his posture relaxed, almost lazy. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Miss Thorne.” My hand, the one holding the gun, began to tremble uncontrollably. Not out of fear of him, but from a deep, instinctual revulsion to aiming a weapon at another human being. I walked to my position and raised the gun. In my sights was Flynn’s handsome, malicious face. The wind, my own breathing, the frantic drumming of my heart. Everything else faded away. But my hand was shaking too much. “Shoot!” “See, she’s scared!” “Look at her hand, it’s shaking like a leaf!” “I told you it was all an act!” The taunts rained down on me. I closed my eyes, trying to block them out. When I opened them again, I pulled the trigger. Bang! The shot went wide. The apple on Flynn’s head remained untouched. He hadn’t even blinked. He just stared at me. “Useless.” “Your turn.” He took the apple off his head and walked towards me, pointing to where he’d been standing. “Go on. Stand still.” Like a puppet on a string, I walked over and placed the apple on my head. A playful smile touched Flynn’s lips. He raised the gun with a smooth, practiced elegance. Time seemed to stretch. I could see his finger slowly tightening on the trigger. Bang— The bullet screamed past. I felt a slight jolt as the apple exploded, showering me with pulp and juice. I stood frozen, my heart stopped, a deafening ringing in my ears. A wave of applause and whistles broke the silence. “That was incredible!” “Perfect shot!” “Look at Scarlett, she’s in shock!” I slowly opened my eyes. He was standing in front of me, looking down, and he reached out to wipe a piece of apple from my cheek. “Looks like I win again.” “Scarlett, I suggest you just—” Before he could finish, I lifted my pale face and cut him off. “Best of five. There’s one more round.” Flynn froze. The whole range froze. His eyes darkened. “Scarlett, are you determined to see this through to the bitter end?” I wiped the sticky juice from my eyelashes, my voice surprisingly clear. “You’re the one who set the rules. Best of five.” He stared at me for a long moment, then let out a cold laugh. “Fine. Let’s see how long you can last. Round three, moving targets.” I looked him straight in the eye. “Flynn, if we’re going to play, let’s raise the stakes.”

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1 At the peak of my career, the youngest tenured law professor in the state, I married my childhood sweetheart, Evelyn. They called us the “Twin Stars of the legal world,” and to everyone who looked, we were the perfect, loving couple. Then, in the tenth year of our marriage, my mother took our son out for the day. A car crash shattered everything. The driver was drunk, street racing. My mother’s only instinct was to shield her grandson with her body. She died on impact. And now, in the courtroom, I saw my wife, Evelyn, sitting not beside me, but beside the killer, Raymond Croft. She was his defense attorney. “My client was operating his vehicle in a normal fashion,” she declared to the court, her voice crisp and professional. “The deceased suddenly darted into the road in an apparent attempt to stage an accident for a fraudulent claim. Therefore, the deceased bears the primary responsibility for this tragic outcome.” I stared at the woman I thought I knew, my vision blurring with red-hot rage. “My mother would never do that! I have a witness!” But when my ten-year-old son, my witness, took the stand, he ran to Raymond’s side and clung to his arm. “I saw it,” he said, his voice small but clear. “Grandma tried to get money from Uncle Raymond. She ran right at his car. Dad wanted me to lie, but I won’t. I won’t let anyone hurt my Uncle Raymond.” The world beneath my feet turned to ice. … The trial was over before it began. The judge found the defendant, Raymond Croft, not guilty. And me? As the family member of the party at fault, I was ordered to cover the primary damages—twenty thousand dollars for the repairs to Raymond’s car. I stood on the courthouse steps, a hollowed-out shell of a man, watching Evelyn and my son approach. “Why?” The word was a ragged whisper. “You knew he killed her. You knew. Why would you help him?” “I’m sorry,” she said, her expression unreadable. “Raymond’s mother died years ago saving me in the mountains. I owe him a debt.” She held out a bank card. “There’s another twenty thousand on here. A little something from Raymond, for your trouble.” “My trouble?” I snatched the card, snapped it in two, and threw the pieces in her face. A raw, guttural scream tore from my throat. “Evelyn, is that all my mother’s life is worth to you? Twenty thousand dollars? She was a person! She was my mother!” “The debt you owe Raymond—what gives you the right to pay it with my mother’s life?” “That’s enough!” Evelyn’s voice was sharp, impatient. “This is a courthouse. Don’t make a scene.” My son, Leo, stood beside her, his small face scrunched in disapproval. “Yeah, Dad. Grandma’s dead, so what? If Uncle Raymond went to jail, who would play with me? Why are you being so selfish!” I froze, a chill so profound it seemed to stop my heart. Selfish? I couldn’t fathom that the boy I had raised for a decade, the boy I loved more than life itself, could see me this way. Raymond walked over, a smug, triumphant smirk playing on his lips. “Come on, Ethan. Leo’s just a kid. Don’t take it so hard.” “Uncle Raymond!” Leo’s face lit up. He scampered over, tugging at Raymond’s arm. “I’m a big boy now. I’ll protect you.” “That’s my guy,” Raymond said, scooping Leo into his arms. They looked, for all the world, like a real father and son. I watched them, a bitter, hysterical laugh bubbling in my chest. This was the son I cherished. This was the family I had sacrificed my career to build and protect. Evelyn, cool and composed, pulled a document from her briefcase. “This is an agreement to waive your right to appeal. Sign it, and this whole thing will be over.” “Never.” I ripped the paper from her hand and tore it to shreds. “Don’t you forget, Evelyn. I studied law, too. I was a damn good lawyer. I will not let my mother die in vain.” Her eyes turned to steel. “Then you can try.” 2 After leaving the courthouse, I went back to the scene of the crash. I filed a request for the traffic camera footage, only to be told the cameras in that section had been removed for maintenance. The footage was gone. The car involved had, I was told, “accidentally” rolled into a lake, destroying any remaining evidence. Evelyn had been thorough, erasing every trace of Raymond’s crime. I liquidated my assets, cashed in every favor from my old life, and finally, through a contact at the coroner’s office, got my hands on my mother’s full autopsy report. Multiple comminuted fractures across the body. Evidence of repeated crushing force from a vehicle’s tire on the thoracic and abdominal cavities. The clinical language painted a brutal picture. This wasn’t an accident. It was a deliberate, vicious murder. I left the morgue, report in hand, ready to file an appeal, but Evelyn was there, waiting for me. “What are you doing here, Evelyn?” “I told you, it’s over. Raymond made a mistake.” “He’s so young,” she pleaded. “Are you really going to destroy his entire life just to prove a point?” She lunged, tearing the report from my grasp as her bodyguards moved in, heading for the morgue. They were going to take my mother’s body. I fought, trying to get past her, but she wrapped her arms around me, holding me in an iron grip. “Let me go! He murdered her, Evelyn! It was murder!” “Stop it! I said it’s over!” “On what grounds? He’s a killer! He killed my mother! He has to pay!” “Ethan, don’t make me do this.” She had her men drag me to the crematorium. They carried my mother’s body inside and pushed it toward the furnace. “No!” I thrashed against her, my voice cracking with desperation. “Evelyn, please, let me go! I’m begging you… She was murdered. You can’t do this…” “You’re a lawyer. You know the truth. How can you help him destroy the evidence?” My throat was raw from screaming. For a moment, I saw a flicker of something in her eyes—pity, perhaps—but her grip never loosened. “I’m sorry, Ethan. But Raymond is my line in the sand. I won’t let anyone hurt him. Not even you.” Her voice was a low, chilling promise. “When this is all over, I’ll make it up to you.” The minutes stretched into an eternity. Then, an attendant emerged, carrying a box of ashes. All the strength drained out of me. I collapsed to the floor, a hollowed-out wreck. “Mom… I’m so sorry…” “It’s done,” Evelyn said, her voice softening slightly. “The body has been cremated. Your ‘evidence’ is worthless now. Just let it go.” Her phone buzzed, shattering the silence. Raymond’s cheerful voice echoed from the speaker. “Evelyn! Leo wants to go to the amusement park. Where are you?” “Okay,” she replied, her tone instantly brightening. “I’m on my way.” She hung up and walked away without a backward glance. I knelt on the cold floor, clutching my mother’s ashes, my body wracked with violent tremors. I had the proof, but it was too late. My mother’s killer was free, defended by the daughter-in-law she had adored, and condemned by the grandson she had died to save. A sharp, searing pain tore through my chest. Nausea rose in my throat, hot and acidic. I doubled over, coughing up a mouthful of blood as the world went black. 3 When I came to, I was in my own bed. My phone was buzzing incessantly, a storm of anonymous, hateful messages and threatening calls. The headline was trending nationally: Elderly Woman Dies in Botched Cash-for-Crash Scam. The comments were a cesspool of vitriol. “Good riddance. Serves the old hag right for trying to pull a scam.” “The driver’s a hero! Imagine trying to scam someone with your grandkid there. Thank God the kid had a conscience and told the truth.” “Scum like her should just disappear from the planet.” I scrolled through the endless river of hate, each word a fresh cut on my already bleeding heart. And there, at the top of the trending list, was another story: Star Attorney Evelyn Reed Treats Husband and Son to a Magical Night at the Amusement Park, Complete with a Romantic Fireworks Display. The accompanying photo showed the three of them—Evelyn, Leo, and Raymond—holding hands, smiling, a perfect family. It was a dagger to the heart. I remembered when Evelyn and I were like that. When we first married, she told me she never wanted to be a housewife. So I was the one who stepped back, sacrificing my own partnership track to support her soaring career. “Darling,” she used to say, her voice soft with gratitude, “I’ll never forget what you’ve given up for this family. I swear I’ll never let you down.” When Leo was born premature, frail and fighting for every breath, I was the one who spent sleepless nights by his incubator, the one who begged and pleaded with every specialist I could find until he was safe. I hovered over him as he grew, terrified of losing him, carefully guarding his fragile health. He used to curl up in my lap, his little voice full of adoration. “Daddy, when I grow up, I’m going to take care of you just like you take care of me.” But everything changed three years ago, when Raymond came into our lives as Evelyn’s mentee and legal assistant. Evelyn started coming home later and later. She’d complain about Raymond’s constant mistakes, how he was nothing compared to how sharp I’d been at his age, yet she’d stay at the office with him until all hours, patiently guiding him. Slowly, Leo began to drift away from me, too. The junk food I forbade, Raymond supplied in endless quantities. When I pushed him to do his homework, Raymond would sneak him out to play video games. It all culminated the day I overheard him telling his friend, “I don’t like my dad. I wish Uncle Raymond was my dad.” The bedroom door creaked open. Evelyn walked in, a series of fresh, angry-looking bruises blooming on her neck. “Don’t pay any attention to the noise online,” she said dismissively. “I’ll have my people take care of it.” My gaze was flat, empty. I noticed for the first time that her wedding ring was gone. The faint, cloying scent of Raymond’s cologne clung to her clothes. Leo burst into the room, tugging impatiently at her hand. “See, Mom? I told you Dad was fine. Let’s go! Uncle Raymond is waiting for us to take our family photos.” Evelyn offered a weak explanation. “It’s just for fun. Raymond doesn’t have any family, so he’s always wanted a proper family portrait.” I listened, but I felt nothing. The years of quiet agony had hollowed me out completely. I reached into the bottom drawer of my nightstand and pulled out a folded piece of paper. The divorce agreement. I had drafted it months ago, but could never bring myself to use it. Now, my hand was steady. “Evelyn,” I said, my voice devoid of all emotion. “Let’s get a divorce.” 4 “What?” Evelyn stared at me, her initial shock quickly hardening into annoyance. “I already explained. Raymond lost his mother. He has no one. Leo and I are just trying to comfort him by taking these photos.” Leo, standing beside her, glared at me with cold eyes. “You’re just jealous of Uncle Raymond, so you want to divorce Mom?” He scoffed. “Fine with me. I won’t live with you anyway. You’re useless and boring, and Mom has to pay for everything. You’re nothing compared to him.” The venom in his words finally severed the last, frayed thread of hope I’d been clinging to. “Fine,” I said, my voice flat. “I don’t want you anymore. Go find your new dad.” Leo froze, his mouth falling open in shock. “Enough!” Evelyn snapped. “Do you have to be so ugly about this in front of our son?” She snatched a pen from the nightstand and scrawled her name on the divorce papers. “I hope you don’t regret this.” “Don’t worry,” I said, each word a stone dropping into a well. “I won’t.” Seeing her signature on that paper was like a pressure valve releasing in my soul. I felt… light. From our first date to our last day of marriage, I had bent and broken pieces of myself for her. I’d given up my passions, my career, my very identity, transforming from a legal prodigy into a house husband. The memories flashed before my eyes, a montage of a life that was no longer mine. I folded the agreement and tucked it away. I looked at my son one last time. “Leo, you’re ten years old now. Take care of yourself. The only reason I didn’t let you eat junk food was because of your health…” “I don’t want to hear it!” he shouted, clamping his hands over his ears. “You’re always lecturing me! You and Mom are divorced, so you can’t tell me what to do anymore. Uncle Raymond is my dad now!” I looked at the furious boy in front of me and thought of the sweet child who used to hug my legs and call me daddy. A dull ache spread through my chest. “Okay,” I said softly. “I won’t say another word.” … After leaving the house, I used the last of my connections to find one final piece of evidence and secretly delivered it to the criminal investigation unit. Then, alone, I carried my mother’s ashes to Blackwood Ridge. It’s where my father was buried. My mother had always said her only wish was to be laid to rest beside him. The lonely burial was interrupted. Raymond appeared, his custom leather shoes crunching on the gravel path, a mocking smile on his face. “Ethan. I heard you and Evelyn finally split. Good to see you know when to quit.” “What are you doing here?” My voice was thick with hatred. The man who murdered my mother was standing here, desecrating her final resting place, and I was powerless to stop him. “Just admiring my handiwork,” he said with a casual shrug. “You probably don’t know how bad it was when she died, do you? I made sure to drive back and forth over her a few times. Really made sure the job was done.” “Raymond!” I lunged, my control finally snapping, but he was ready. He threw himself to the ground just as Evelyn and Leo rushed into view. Leo ran to Raymond’s side, helping him up with a gentle hand before turning to me, his face a mask of fury. “You bully! I won’t let you hurt Uncle Raymond!” A sharp sting exploded across my cheek. Evelyn had slapped me, her eyes blazing with undisguised rage. “What the hell is wrong with you, Ethan? Raymond came here to pay his respects, and you attack him?” “Apologize to him. Now.” Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. I looked at the woman and child shielding my mother’s killer, and my shattered heart still found a way to break a little more. “Today is my mother’s burial,” I said, my voice trembling. “And you want me to apologize to the man who murdered her?” “That’s a separate issue. I told you, the accident is a closed case. You hurt Raymond, and you will apologize for it.” “And if I don’t?” 5 Evelyn snatched the urn containing my mother’s ashes. “I’ll say this one last time. Apologize.” “Evelyn, do you have any idea what you’re doing?” I reached for the urn, my hands shaking. Her expression was cold as stone. She stood at the very edge of the cliff, holding the urn out over the abyss. “Raymond is my line in the sand, Ethan. Don’t push me.” Tears streamed down my face. “Don’t,” I begged, my voice breaking. “Evelyn, please… I’ll apologize… I’ll do it…” But Raymond, playing the magnanimous victim, waved a dismissive hand. “Evelyn, it’s fine, really. I’m sure Ethan didn’t mean to hurt me.” “No,” she said, her voice firm. “When you do something wrong, you have to face the consequences.” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. The woman before me was a stranger. So she did understand that wrongdoers deserved to be punished. “I’m sorry,” I choked out, bowing my head in the ultimate act of humiliation. But Leo wasn’t satisfied. He tugged on Raymond’s sleeve. “Dad, you’re supposed to kneel when you apologize. He’s not being sincere.” “Leo, don’t say that, he’s still your father…” “Not anymore. You’re my dad now, Uncle Raymond.” I looked at my son, and the last flicker of hope inside me died. Defeated, I sank to my knees. “I’m sorry,” I whispered to the dirt. “It was all my fault. Please… forgive me.” My eyes, red and swollen, pleaded with Evelyn. “My mother suffered enough in her life. I just want her to be with my father. Please…” A crack appeared in her icy facade. For a second, I saw the woman I once loved. She started to hand the urn back. And then, Raymond stumbled with a cry of pain. Instinctively, Evelyn reached out to steady him. The urn slipped from her grasp, tumbling through the air and over the side of the cliff. “NO!” I watched it fall, a slow-motion nightmare. I scrambled forward, lunging for it, not caring about the drop below. Evelyn yanked me back from the edge. “It’s just a box of ashes! Are you trying to kill yourself?” “Get off me!” I shoved her away with a strength I didn’t know I possessed. “Evelyn, since you two love each other so much, I’ll get out of your way. For good.” With those words, I turned and threw myself from the cliff, my body swallowed by the sea of clouds below.

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When I was seven, my brother sold me to human traffickers to save himself. Years later, I finally made it back home, only to find my parents had “replaced” me with a new daughter. She was draped in designer clothes and jewelry. When she saw me, she covered her nose, looking at me like I was trash. “Where did this beggar come from? She stinks. Does she have diseases?” With just one sentence, my parents’ eyes changed. My brother looked at me with pure disgust. “Why did you come back to ruin our happy life? For money?” That’s when I realized: the fake daughter had become the real one, and I was just a stumbling block. In the end, my brother helped the fake daughter torture me to death while my parents watched and did nothing. When I opened my eyes again, I was five years old. This time, I chose to save myself. Evil brother? Biased parents? You can all go to hell together! 1 “This is my brother. Boys are worth more money. I promise I won’t call the police.” I shoved my brother hard towards the trafficker, then turned and ran on my little legs. The greasy middle-aged man grabbed my brother and dragged him toward a beat-up van. My brother was only seven, still just a kid. He struggled and screamed, “Sissy, save me! Save me!” His eyes were full of fear and begging. The orange soda in his hand spilled all over his clothes. Snot and tears smeared his face. The trafficker looked satisfied. He picked up my brother, threw him in the van, and drove off. The broken license plate rattled against the bumper as they sped away. “Save you? In your dreams.” I turned and ran toward the convenience store. Colorful lollipops and sticky rice cakes—sweet and delicious. I bought some to calm my nerves. I ate while walking home. My parents had just returned from work. Seeing me alone, they asked, “Where’s your brother?” I sucked on my lollipop and said in a sweet, childish voice, “Didn’t brother come home first? Mommy, Daddy, do you want some rice cake?” My parents immediately started searching the neighborhood. They checked with the neighbors we knew, but found no trace of him. Now they panicked and called the police. In an era without surveillance cameras everywhere, finding a trafficker was like finding a needle in a haystack. Even the police found it strange: “Your neighborhood has the best security in the area. How could there be traffickers? Security didn’t see anyone suspicious enter or leave. Have you offended anyone recently? Could this be revenge?” Or maybe they just flashed their wealth too much and got targeted. Mom sat on the floor, devastated. Dad cried his heart out. I sat on a chair, swinging my little legs, watching them with wide, unblinking eyes. Look at them, so heartbroken. So why, in my past life, did they watch me die with such indifference? Right. My brother’s life matters. My life doesn’t. Fine. Then let’s all not live. 2 That night, missing person flyers plastered every street and alley. The TV news broadcasted my brother’s disappearance, offering a $50,000 reward. In an era where the average annual salary was a few hundred bucks, $50,000 was an astronomical sum. I wondered if my brother was even worth $50,000. Would the traffickers send him back for the money? But once the flyers went up, I knew there was zero chance of him returning. Compared to $50,000, life was more important to those criminals. Six months passed. New cases piled up, and my brother’s case went cold. Thinking back to my past life, my brother pushed me toward the traffickers and ran away. I was just learning from him. We are siblings, after all. The same blood runs in our veins. I started using my wits. I often came up with money-making ideas to divert my parents’ attention, helping them slowly move on from the grief of losing their son. Dad rubbed my head happily: “Our little Mona is the family’s lucky star! You’ve helped us earn so much money.” I giggled. “Daddy, on TV, lots of rich people have houses with swimming pools and garages. So fancy.” “Mommy, Daddy, let’s move to a big house too! If we live around rich people, maybe we can make even more money!” “Like they say, your circle determines your income.” My parents were shocked by my words. They immediately decided to buy a villa. They had made enough money to afford a new house anyway. But more importantly, they thought: if my brother ever came back, he might find this place. I needed to cut off that hope completely. I needed to erase the memory of my brother from their minds. “Mona is right. Nothing is more important than your social circle.” The next day, my parents went house hunting. After asking around, they spent a fortune on a luxury hilltop villa. Our neighbors were all VIPs and big shots in the city. I carried Mom’s homemade cookies and visited our neighbors one by one. I was sensible and cute, so I quickly got familiar with them. My parents got quite a few projects through these connections. Even if the profits were thin, they built good relationships. Seeing the timing was right, I spoke up: “Mom, Dad, why don’t you adopt a brother? You’re always busy with work and have no time for me. I’m lonely and want someone to play with.” Why a brother? To completely replace my biological brother’s position in my parents’ hearts. To prevent a scenario where he returns and my sexist parents give him all the credit for my hard work. I wasn’t letting that happen. Now, my status in my parents’ hearts was unshakable. They would agree to whatever I said. 3 You can’t choose your parents, no matter how useless they are. But a brother? That’s different. If I could choose, I was going to pick one to my liking. Stupid ones were out; they’d mess things up. Ugly ones were out; looking at them would be annoying. Besides being kind-hearted, the most important thing was a good personality. I didn’t want another ungrateful wolf for a brother. We visited every orphanage in the city. Finally, I found one that didn’t disappoint. The hint of ruthlessness in his eyes satisfied me. Having seen monsters in human skin in my past life, I knew his type would be hard to control later. I had to cultivate feelings from a young age. “Here~ have some candy.” I took a White Rabbit creamy candy from my pocket and placed it in his slender hand. I said in a soft, sweet voice, “If you eat this candy, you’ll be my brother.” “I have lots of toys and snacks at home. If you like them, I’ll share half with you. How about it, brother? Will you come home with me?” No little boy could refuse such a cute little girl. He was no exception. He carefully took the candy but didn’t dare touch my hand, as if afraid of dirtying it. I reached out and grabbed his hand, showing him off to my parents happily. “Daddy, Mommy, I found the brother I like.” He was clean and good-looking. My parents were satisfied. They asked a few symbolic questions and found him articulate and polite—a rare well-behaved child. So they agreed to my request. … “From now on, your name is Star.” Looking at his beautiful eyes that shone like stars, I announced loudly. He nodded in agreement. The room opposite mine was given to him. My parents had planned to save it for my biological brother, but now it was put to good use. At dinner, he sat in Dad’s lower seat—where my brother used to sit. Slowly, he truly replaced my brother’s position. My parents got used to taking him out, attending events together, and privately referring to him as “our son.” Star was extremely uncomfortable with this change at first, but with my encouragement, he became outgoing and confident. Perhaps the impression of our first meeting was too strong. He truly treated me like a sister to be protected. Every night before bed, he would tell me fairy tales and coax me to sleep. He would quietly eat the food I didn’t like from my bowl. Even if I accidentally bumped into something, he would immediately look pained, wishing he could take the hurt for me. 4 In the blink of an eye, high school arrived. Wrapped in love, Star began to shine. The moment he stepped into school, he caused quite a stir. We were in the same class. Both he and my parents hoped this would better protect me. An old acquaintance from my past life appeared—the fake daughter who tortured me to death, Crystal. She looked delicate and fragile. Every frown and smile carried a “pity me” vibe. Especially her big, watery eyes; it was hard not to feel sympathy for her at a glance. “Star, look at twelve o’clock. What do you think of that girl?” Star followed my gaze and saw Crystal in her pale yellow floral dress, long hair flowing. He didn’t understand my meaning. After thinking for a moment, he said, “I don’t know. Maybe the type most boys like?” Not just boys. My brother was obsessed with her type. For her, he helped torture his own sister. I licked my lips. “Is she your type too?” A flash of disgust crossed his eyes, but his face remained relaxed. “I don’t like her.” I chuckled. “Then what type do you like?” He looked down at me, raising an eyebrow. “Must be the arrogant, willful, unreasonable type.” Me: “…” Crystal was my classmate, but she didn’t test in. She was admitted under a special quota for underprivileged students. Every year, the elite private school accepted a few poor students to show off their “equal education” philosophy. But in reality, these students were usually bullied. After all, the classmates were either heirs or trust fund babies. In my past life, with my brother protecting her, she lorded over everyone. But now, my brother was gone. Let’s see how she acts tough now. The first class usually involved self-introductions. Everyone went up generously, without stage fright. Given their backgrounds, they weren’t afraid of such scenes. When it was Crystal’s turn, her face flushed. She twisted and turned, looking reluctant. “I… I’m too shy.” The teacher smiled. “It’s okay, it’s everyone’s first time. Just relax. Let’s give her a warm round of applause.” Applause filled the room. Star saw I didn’t react, so he didn’t clap either. After three rounds of applause, everyone was getting impatient, but Crystal still hadn’t gone up. She bit her lip tightly, face red, tears falling from her eyes. Really, you can’t polish a turd. 5 After this incident, everyone distanced themselves from Crystal. They found her off-putting. “Crying at the drop of a hat. People might think we bullied her. Disgusting.” “Exactly. She wasted so much time, I didn’t even have time to go to the bathroom during the break. Annoying.” “When we pick seats this afternoon, don’t sit with her. Bad luck will affect my aura.” Everyone chatted freely. Crystal heard every word and ran to tell the teacher. This behavior might work in a normal school, but in an elite private school, it was just humiliating herself. “Student Crystal’s situation is special. I hope everyone can be more tolerant.” “Is there anyone willing to sit with Crystal? She’s timid. If we look out for her, I believe she’ll get used to the school environment quickly.” The teacher waited, but no one raised their hand. Instead, sneers filled the room. The teacher coughed lightly. “How about this? Crystal, who do you want to sit with?” Suddenly, Crystal wasn’t shy anymore. She pointed at Star. “I want to sit with Brother Star.” … That “Brother Star” was called out so coquettishly, people would think they knew each other. The boys jeered, and the girls rolled their eyes in disdain. The teacher nodded. “Okay then. Star, you sit with Crystal and take good care of her.” Star immediately stood up and refused. “Sorry, Teacher. I’m allergic to tears.” The classroom went silent, then erupted in laughter. I curled my lips. He has a way with words. The teacher frowned, realizing it was a flat refusal. But Star was the heir to the Ran Corporation in name; no one could afford to offend him. The teacher had to find a more easygoing girl to sit with Crystal. … After class, Crystal went straight to Star. She acted pitiful. “Brother Star, I didn’t mean to make things difficult for you just now. I just felt you were very kind, like I’ve seen you somewhere before.” No wonder my stupid brother in my past life was wrapped around her finger. Her tricks came in waves. On stage, she resolutely chose to satisfy a boy’s vanity. If that didn’t work, she’d lower her posture in private and play the emotional card. An ordinary boy would have been easily taken down. Too bad she met the oil-and-salt-proof Star. “Are you a pigeon? Cooing ‘brother’ all the time?” Crystal’s eyes reddened with tears. She bit her lip lightly. “Does Brother Star misunderstand me? Or did you hear someone say bad things about me? Although I grew up poor and everyone looks down on me, I just want to make friends. I don’t want to be lonely.” Star snorted with laughter. “Then you should make friends with girls?” Crystal blurted out, “Girls are too much trouble. I prefer playing with boys. No schemes, comfortable to be around.”

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After earning my doctorate, I remained at Metropolitan General, rising to become its most esteemed neurosurgeon. When Sharon Miller, a woman from my hometown, brought in her son with a brain tumor, she came directly to me. I performed the delicate surgery, racing against time to save the boy. Yet the very next day, against all medical advice, Sharon took him home. The bumpy car ride to their rural town caused a cerebral hemorrhage, and the boy, Jake, was dead on arrival. Consumed by grief, Jake’s father confronted me after another marathon surgery. Cornering me in the hallway, he stabbed a hidden knife through my skull. As my vision faded, I saw my junior colleague, Angela, rush to my side. Pretending to apply pressure, she whispered venomously, “Your own fiancé told the family you perform unnecessary surgeries for kickbacks. Blame yourself for standing in my way. There can only be one top surgeon here.” Darkness consumed me, filled with thoughts of injustice. Then, I gasped—my eyes opened. I was back in the exam room, on the day I first diagnosed Sharon’s son. This time, as she screamed for a different doctor, I smiled and gladly agreed. 1. “What are you talking about, Evelyn? My Jake is just a kid! He eats like a horse, sleeps like a log. How could he have a tumor?” Sharon Miller’s voice echoed in the small clinic room. “And you want to cut open his head? Are you insane? That would kill him!” she shrieked, her plump face contorted with suspicion. “We’re from the same town, Evelyn. You can’t make this kind of dirty money off your own people.” I stared at the woman—dark-haired, stout, with a shrewd, calculating look in her eyes. The phantom pain of a blade piercing my skull felt so real, it was as if it had happened a second ago. Wait, I thought, a strange clarity cutting through the haze. Didn’t I die? “Ma’am, please, calm down,” my intern, Crystal, said gently. “Why don’t you let us run some tests? Dr. Reed is the best neurosurgeon in this hospital. Our former director recruited her personally…” “She’s one of the top specialists in the country,” Crystal insisted. Sharon shoved her aside. “I’m not an idiot! You just want to milk us for kickbacks. A few scans and you’ll charge hundreds of dollars! We want a different doctor!” I looked at the furious woman, a chill running down my spine. She clutched her overweight son, Jake, who glared at me and Crystal with hostile eyes. Beside them, his father stood silently, his face grim as he scrolled through his phone. I realized with a jolt. I’d been reborn. It was this couple, this very family, who had destroyed my life. In my previous life, after graduating at the top of my class, I was recruited to this hospital. It had the most advanced neurological research facilities in the country, a place where I could truly make a difference. Out of respect for my mentor, who was old friends with the director, I accepted the position. I’d spent my university years traveling the globe, studying under the world’s best surgeons. The intricate pathways of the human brain were as familiar to me as the back of my hand. My philosophy was simple: prevent disaster before it strikes. I always advocated for direct, decisive action to eliminate the root cause of a disease, minimizing harm to the patient. I poured everything into my work, sometimes even paying for a patient’s treatment out of my own pocket, all for that one chance to snatch a life back from death’s grip. Then Sharon found me. I took one look at her son, Jake, and knew instantly. Cerebral arteriosclerosis. He needed surgery, and he needed it now. But after the successful operation, there were no words of thanks. Instead, they checked him out behind my back. The rough journey home ruptured a blood vessel in his brain. And they blamed me. “My son just had a fever!” I remembered his father screaming, his face a mask of grief and fury. “You incompetent quack! I should have listened to Dr. Sweet! She told me it was just a cold, that he only needed a few days of IV fluids… You… You deserve to die!” It had all been Angela Sweet’s doing. Angela, my junior colleague, had a habit of downplaying serious diagnoses to appease patients, prescribing useless remedies instead of real treatment. “Evelyn, you can’t just jump to surgery for everything,” she would say with that saccharine smile of hers. “I know you’re a brilliant surgeon, but sometimes, a more holistic approach is better. Everyone gets a headache now and then. If you cut open everyone who did, no one would be left alive.” She stoked their fears and resentments. The story went viral online, and my reputation was destroyed. I was fired. After I was murdered, the families of other patients—extremists I had diagnosed with grim prognoses—found my parents’ home. They set it on fire. My mother and father were trapped inside, burned alive. But now, I had a second chance. And as I looked at the Millers demanding a new doctor, I didn’t hesitate. “Fine,” I said, my voice clear and firm. “I agree.” Angela, who had just arrived, stared at me, her eyes wide with disbelief. I was known for my stubbornness, for fighting for what I believed was right for my patients. Why would I give up so easily? This was a direct competition. Whoever performed more successful surgeries this month would be nominated for Head of Neuroscience. Angela coveted that title. In our world, a title meant status, power. Sharon Miller was stunned into silence. The whole speech she’d prepared was now useless. Her husband, however, just looked at me with contempt. “I just asked one of those new AI doctors online,” he grumbled, holding up his phone. “My son has the flu. That’s why he has a fever and a headache. Just give him some flu medicine and a few shots. Don’t waste his time. He has school. You can’t afford to hold him back.” My colleagues nearby gasped. “Sir, you can’t be careless with a child’s health,” one of them pleaded. “What you read online isn’t the same as a real diagnosis. You really should let us run the tests…” “Dr. Reed isn’t lying!” Crystal cried out. “Your son is showing symptoms of sclerosis in his brain. If you ignore it, his life will be in danger!” The next second, Sharon kicked Crystal’s legs out from under her, sending the young intern sprawling to the floor. “You little bitch!” Sharon screeched. “How dare you curse my son to die! To hell with your surgery! We’re not doing it! You think we don’t know how it works? A fifty-thousand-dollar surgery, and forty-five thousand goes right into your pockets!” She turned her venom on me. “And you, Evelyn! Our town was so proud of you, the big university graduate. Has a dog eaten your conscience? Are you using my son as a guinea pig?” At her words, Jake jumped forward and kicked me hard in the shin. “I knew it! You’re trying to get back at me!” he yelled. “It was your stupid dog that barked at me first! That’s why I chopped it up!” A dark shadow passed over my eyes. My dog, my beloved old Shepherd, had been found hacked to death years ago. So it was him. This vicious little monster. “You try to kill me, and I’ll have my parents kill your whole family!” he threatened. My face went cold. I gently helped Crystal up from the floor. If I was right, Angela had already been in contact with them. This little demon, Jake. In my last life, I had saved him. Out of pity and a sense of hometown loyalty, I had even paid for part of his surgery myself. The operation was a success. But I never imagined they would check him out of the hospital against my explicit orders. After intracranial surgery, any jolting movement is forbidden. The country roads were full of potholes, and buses could brake suddenly. A cerebral hemorrhage gives you three minutes. Three golden minutes. Out in the countryside, there was no hope of getting to a hospital in time. I became the scapegoat, the villain. My parents paid the price with me. Only after my death did I learn the truth. It was all a conspiracy. And one of the conspirators was my own fiancé, the forensic pathologist, Dr. Marcus Thorne. Angela Sweet was his first love. For her, he had violated his oath, falsified my autopsy report, and pinned everything on me. “Alright,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion. “I accept your decision. From this moment on, Jake Miller’s health is no longer my concern. His life or death has nothing to do with me.” Angela stepped forward, a look of faux concern on her face. “Evelyn, that’s so cold!” she said, then turned to the Millers with a gentle smile. “Don’t worry, your son will be fine. I’m a neurosurgeon too. It looks like he just has a bad cold. A few days on an IV drip, and he’ll be right as rain.” She tenderly stroked Jake’s head, her smile as sweet as her name. “Mommy, she’s an angel!” Jake exclaimed. The crowd of onlookers murmured in agreement. “Now that’s a real doctor! The other one was so heartless.” “Jumping to surgery for everything. Does she think we’re made of money?” “Yeah, a person’s head isn’t something you can just slice open!” “She’s just trying to line her own pockets.” I ignored them. They clamored to have their appointments transferred to Angela. A triumphant gleam shone in her eyes. This was too easy. At this rate, her patient numbers for the month would soar past mine. The Head of Neuroscience position was as good as hers. “Well, Evelyn, since it’s settled,” Angela said sweetly, “I’ll have my assistant transfer their file to my name.” She couldn’t believe her luck. She had been planning to ask Marcus to help her stage a scene, but this was better than she could have imagined. She’d already had her father, the hospital director, and Marcus pre-screen her patients for the month. They were all minor cases, easy wins to boost her success rate. But she couldn’t compete with my perfect record. I had performed several high-risk, groundbreaking surgeries, and my reputation was growing. A flash of jealousy crossed her face. Even with her father’s help, she was nothing compared to my raw skill. She was terrified of being pushed to the margins. But now… it seemed her luck had turned. Whatever the reason for my surrender, it was a victory for her. I watched her smug expression and thought, You fool. Jake’s condition mimicked the flu, but it was incredibly complex and dangerous. I had been fortunate enough to assist on a similar, groundbreaking surgery with the world-renowned Dr. Alistair Finch and my late mentor. Jake’s case was identical to that one. But such cases were exceedingly rare. In my previous life, Jake had been the first documented case in the country, a case of immense research value. But remembering what it had cost me, I wanted no part of it. I didn’t try to stop the other patients from leaving. In my last life, they had filmed my confrontation with the Millers, later using the edited footage to help Angela smear my name. “Excuse me,” a smooth, gentle voice said. “If you need to transfer your appointments, the line starts over here.” I looked up. It was Marcus. My heart turned to ice. Marcus was a forensic pathologist for the city police, in charge of autopsies. “Evelyn,” he said, smiling warmly. “Looks like you’ll finally get to leave work early for a change.” He turned to Angela. “Angela, thank you so much for taking this on. Now I can finally have some quality time with my fiancée.” He was playing the part of the devoted partner, smoothing things over for Angela. I looked at him, a half-smile on my face. A flicker of unease crossed his eyes. “What do you mean by that, Marcus?” I asked. “Evelyn, I was just worried they would give you a hard time. You know how tense doctor-patient relationships can be these days. Their emotions are running high. I didn’t want them to do something drastic.” He looked so sincere. If I hadn’t lived through it all before, I might have believed him. The man was a master of deception. He was the one who had secretly stoked the Millers’ anger in the first place. Soon, the Millers were officially transferred to Angela’s care. She theatrically placed a stethoscope on Jake’s chest and took his temperature. “Yes, it’s definitely a bit of a cold,” she announced. “And the headache is normal. It happens when you cough a lot. Some anti-inflammatories and a few days on a drip should clear it right up.” Just then, the hospital director—Angela’s father—walked over. He made a show of reviewing the chart in front of everyone. “Dr. Sweet is correct,” Director Sweet announced. “I’ve just seen the blood work. The boy definitely has influenza.” The Millers beamed. “See! We told you!” Sharon said, turning to glare at me. “Evelyn, how could you try to rip off your own people? You were trying to rob us and kill our son!” The crowd erupted again, their anger directed at me. “The director himself said it’s the flu!” “She wanted to do surgery for the flu? That doctor has no ethics!” “Who would dare be her patient? She’ll cut your head open just to see what’s inside!” Angela basked in the attention, stepping forward to play the benevolent peacemaker. “Everyone, please calm down. My senior colleague’s specialty is surgery. It’s what she does best. So it’s natural that… her first instinct is to operate. My family comes from a long line of holistic healers, so my focus is on non-invasive treatment. Different doctors, different philosophies. Please try to understand.” Her carefully chosen words fanned the flames once more. “We trust you, Dr. Sweet!” “Quacks like her will get what’s coming to them!” “She treats people from her hometown like lab rats!” “This is a prestigious hospital! How can they employ scum like her?” A triumphant smirk flickered across Angela’s face. She didn’t even have to lift a finger, and I was destroying myself. This was too easy. Still, she put on a troubled expression. “Evelyn, I didn’t mean to steal your patient…” “It’s fine,” I said calmly. “You can handle it. I have no objections. We must respect the patient’s right to choose.” I turned to my intern. “Crystal, you’ll be my assistant from now on. Could you please help transfer these files to Dr. Sweet?” Crystal’s eyes went wide. “Dr. Reed… am I dreaming? I get to learn from you? Really?” Others might not know, but Crystal and I had graduated from the same medical school. She knew that I was a legend there. She could see exactly how these people were trying to sabotage me. “Of course,” I said, a genuine smile touching my lips for the first time. In my last life, when the Millers attacked, innocent people were hurt. Crystal was the only one who tried to step in. Her hand was badly slashed, ending her career as a surgeon before it even began. She was a true doctor, and her journey shouldn’t have ended that way. “You’re right, this does lighten my workload,” I said, glancing at Marcus with a wry smile. “In that case, I’ll take my new assistant out for a celebratory dinner. We’re clocking out early today.” Marcus looked relieved that I was being so agreeable, but a flicker of worry crossed his face. “Evelyn, something’s come up at the precinct…” I nodded understandingly. “Of course. You go handle it.” I knew what he was doing. He wanted to stay and help Angela. Her medical skills were, to put it mildly, questionable. She had been my senior at university, but only because she’d had to repeat several years. She had barely managed to graduate, let alone master the art of medicine. I looked at the crowd of patients, all gazing at Angela as if she were their savior. A wave of bitter irony washed over me. I couldn’t wait to see how a doctor who could barely identify the parts of the human anatomy planned to cure the country’s first documented case of intracranial vascular sclerotic tumors. Back in my office, I started brewing some herbal tea. “Dr. Reed,” Crystal whispered, her voice laced with anxiety. “Are you really not going to do anything? We don’t have a single patient left. You’re the expert here.” Just as in my last life, someone in the crowd had recorded my “refusal” to treat the Millers. The video was already spreading online, painting me as a callous monster. Compared to the beautiful and gentle Angela Sweet, I was the perfect villain. Sure enough, Director Sweet soon summoned me to his office. Angela was standing behind him, a smug look on her face. “Dr. Reed,” the director began, his tone stern. “Your patient recovery numbers this quarter are less than half of Angela’s. I know the old director brought you in, but this hospital operates on results. This situation is making things very difficult for us.” “A hospital isn’t a charity, you understand.” He slid his phone across the desk. “The patients have a very strong opinion of you. Take a look.” The video of me “refusing” treatment was playing. It had tens of millions of views. The comment section was a torrent of abuse. Of course, the part where the Millers were screaming and kicking was conveniently edited out. “A doctor who doesn’t value human life! Who would trust her?” “Greedy witch! I hope her whole family dies!” I stared coldly at the angle of the video. I remembered it perfectly. It was filmed from the exact spot where Marcus had been standing moments before he “appeared” to break things up. The implication was clear. “Dr. Reed, this is a very serious matter in the public eye. We have a reputation to maintain.” He steepled his fingers. “We are considering revoking all of your performance bonuses for the year, as well as… your eligibility for the Head of Neuroscience position.” “Director Sweet,” I said calmly. “I understand you want to pave the way for your daughter. But you should be careful what you wish for. Don’t let your ambition ruin her career, and yours along with it.” I looked him dead in the eye. “To coddle a child is to condemn them.” I glanced at the family photo on his desk, then turned and slammed the door behind me. This wasn’t the first time he’d tried to get rid of me. I refused to use the overpriced imported drugs and equipment he pushed, and I refused to take part in the kickback schemes he ran with other clinics. The real money-grubber wasn’t me. Director Sweet watched me go, taking a deep breath. “Angela, that’s as much as I can do for you,” he said once I was gone. “You have to handle this opportunity carefully. Why did you let this blow up so big?” “The public attention on this case is massive now,” he continued, a note of worry in his voice. “Fortunately, this Jake Miller’s illness isn’t serious. But… I’m worried. Evelyn was the old director’s hand-picked successor. His judgment was never wrong.” “You need to find a way to get that boy cured and discharged as soon as possible. What happens to him after he leaves our hospital is not our problem.” There was a deep unease in his voice. He and all the senior doctors had reviewed the case. It really did look like a migraine caused by the flu. Could one young woman really be smarter than all of them, with their decades of clinical experience? He scoffed. This hospital didn’t need talented people. It just needed obedient people. A dark glint appeared in Angela’s eyes. “Don’t worry, Dad. Evelyn was a big shot in university. I just can’t stand her high-and-mighty attitude. If you don’t pull a weed out by the roots, it will just grow back again.” She wanted it to blow up. She wanted to make it impossible for Evelyn Reed to ever practice medicine again. A venomous look crossed her face. Throughout their internship, people had constantly compared them. It was always a comparison between heaven and earth. This time, she was going to be the one in heaven, and she would grind Evelyn Reed under her heel until she was nothing but dust.

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I’m an artifact restorer. I had just finished my final painstaking repair on the House of Blackwood’s Dynastic Jade Bangle, a piece from the Tang Dynasty valued at over two hundred million dollars. My fiancé’s long-term “charity case,” Piper Finch, swooped in and snatched it. “Anya, can I just touch it? Please?” she cooed. Before I could answer, she slipped the massive bangle onto her wrist. “Oh, I love this so much! You should just give it to me!” She leaned in, her voice conspiratorial. “You could make a fake for the client—they’d never know. Pretty please?” I patiently explained that asking me to commit a felony was, in fact, a felony. The next second, the jade hit the concrete floor of my studio, shattering into irreparable fragments. Piper looked down, gave a tiny, remorseful pout, and stuck out her tongue. “Oopsie, I’m so clumsy! I’m such a big dummy.” She lifted her eyes, blinking innocently. “But it’s okay, right? You’re the best, Anya. I know you can fix it.” She strolled away, leaving me to face a two-hundred-million-dollar loss that would bankrupt me. My fiancé, Grant Sawyer, didn’t blame her. “It’s your fault for not guarding it better. Why take it out on Piper? We can always earn the money back. Don’t make Piper upset.” Piper giggled, flashing a peace sign. “I won’t be upset! Just take me out for hot pot! If one meal doesn’t fix it, two will!” The sheer audacity of it all was enough to trigger my heart condition. I reached for my medicine, only to discover the pills had been replaced with effervescent Vitamin C tablets. As I was being loaded into the ambulance, I saw Piper pouting in Grant’s arms. “Anya is always so moody. I just wanted to give her a vitamin boost and help her skin glow.” I opened my eyes and found myself back in my studio, the very moment I had finished the restoration. 1 Piper was holding the bangle, her eyes greedy. “Anya, you should just give it to me. You could make a fake for the client…” Before the words “a fake for the client” left her lips, I snatched the bangle back. I slammed the vault door shut and twisted the combination lock with a decisive, echoing click. “Absolutely not.” She looked stunned, tilting her head like a confused puppy. “If not, then… why not?” I didn’t bother with excuses. I pointed a rigid finger at the door. “Piper Finch, grab your cheap canvas tote and get out. You’re fired.” She blinked slowly. “Huh? I don’t understand. What do you mean?” I inhaled deeply, nodding to my assistant, Sam, to guard the vault. Then, I unceremoniously shoved Piper toward the exit. “You’re done!” She stiffened, clawing at the doorframe. “Grant told me to intern here! It’s only been half a day! How am I supposed to learn if you send me away?” Smack! I drove my open palm across her cheek. “You asked me to give you a client’s priceless artifact and then commit fraud by creating a forgery! You are unethical, legally delinquent, and morally corrupt. You don’t belong in my studio—not as a restorer, not as a janitor!” She clutched her red cheek, her lips trembling in a wounded pout. “I was just joking! I didn’t actually want it. What exactly did I do wrong?” I gave her a humorless smile and began dragging her toward the main exit. “I was wrong! My little empire can’t contain a grand mess like you!” “Security! Escort Miss Finch off the premises immediately. She is permanently banned from the building!” Watching the security guards physically haul Piper away, I finally let out a shaky breath. Grant had been funding Piper since she was seventeen. When she graduated, he insisted she intern with me. She was a History major, a good fit on paper, so I relented. Who would have thought that half a day with her would cost me everything, including my life? The memory of choking on those Vitamin C fizzies as my chest crushed in the last timeline sent a familiar, terrifying ache through me. I fumbled for my backup medication and swallowed a pill immediately. This time, the bangle was safe, and Piper was gone. I just needed to survive the next few hours until the two o’clock handover. I leaned back in my chair, hoping for a moment of peace, but Sam burst back into the room. “Anya! The Dynastic Bangle! It’s shattered!” I sprang up. “What? How!?” Sam stammered, twisting his hands. “It was Mr. Sawyer. He—he brought Piper back. And then he opened the vault himself.” The air rushed out of my lungs. The vault combination—only Grant and I knew it. Only Grant. My fiancé, the one person I thought I could trust, was the variable I hadn’t controlled. I threw open the repair lab door. The sight before me sent a bone-deep chill through my soul. Piper was humming a tuneless melody, attempting to ‘re-bond’ the hundreds of jade shards with a tube of Super Glue. “I only wanted to wear it for a minute to feel the energy of a thousand years,” she whined. “I don’t know why it just slipped off.” “Grant,” she looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, “Am I really that useless? I mess up everything.” Grant, my fiancé, was stroking her hair. His voice was devastatingly soft. “No one is going to blame you, Pip. It was just a slippery piece of jewelry.” “Now, stop crying.” But Piper’s sobs intensified. “Anya will be even angrier! She fired me this morning just because I wanted to touch it! I have to fix it before she comes back. Come on, Piper, you can do this!” Grant playfully flicked her nose. “It’s nothing. Your Grant will handle her.” I grabbed the nearest object—a heavy ceramic water cup—and hurled it straight at Grant’s face. “It’s nothing?! A thousand-year-old artifact is destroyed, and you’re still defending her and threatening me?” Grant wiped the water from his face, his expression ugly. “Anya, that’s enough! It’s just a broken piece of jewelry. Piper is trying to fix it! Besides, she’s crying! What more do you want?” She’s crying? So her tears are worth two hundred million dollars? Worth my life? I smiled, pulling out my phone. “Fine. I’ll call the police. Piper illegally entered my studio and destroyed a client’s property. We’ll let the law decide.” Grant slammed his hand down, knocking the phone from my grip. “I won’t let you do that! You want her to have a criminal record? To ruin her life forever?” “Anya, be the bigger person! If everyone were as petty as you, the world would fall apart!” Rage surged through me. I lunged to slap him, but he caught my wrist in an iron grip. “You’re just looking for money, aren’t you? Fine! I’ll pay for it!” I stared at him, my teeth grinding. He thought money would solve this? He was a mid-level corporate drone—how could he pay for it? In the last timeline, I had liquidated my studio, borrowed from every friend and relative, and nearly killed myself to come up with the two hundred million. He, meanwhile, had sent me a text. He’d sent me five hundred dollars. Not five thousand, not five million. Five hundred. He’d said, “Baby, I need to save my money to build our home, so you won’t have to suffer later.” He didn’t want me to suffer? He was sending Piper two thousand a month for spending money, but our five-year relationship was only worth five hundred? When I was dying in the ambulance, he was comforting Piper. He hadn’t even looked at me. Now, he was willing to sacrifice everything for her. Fine. I would grant his wish. “We’re done, Grant. I will not be your co-debtor in this disaster. The engagement is over.” Grant’s eyes widened. “Break up? Over a compensation fee?” “A fee?” I laughed, a sharp, disbelieving sound, and was about to state the magnitude of the debt when Piper rushed over, presenting the glob of Super Glue and shattered jade. “Anya, look! I fixed it!” “Artifact restoration isn’t hard at all, you know! Took me a few minutes.” She winked triumphantly at Grant. “Grant, am I talented or what?” Grant chuckled, his expression melting into adoration. “You’re the best, Pip.” Fueled by his praise, Piper pulled out her phone and started a Live on her preferred app. She shoved the glue-soaked bangle right up to the camera. “Trust me, you guys! Artifact restoration sounds all high-brow, but you can basically run the game with a tube of Krazy Glue!” “Look at this hot, fresh, thousand-year-old bangle I just fixed. Self-taught, one-shot success, y’all.” The comments section immediately exploded. [Someone call the police!] [She has to be trolling!] The view count skyrocketed into the tens of thousands within minutes. Grant shot me a cold look and immediately started tossing virtual gifts—ten of the most expensive “Carnivals”—into the live stream. “I’ve always got your back, Pip,” he typed. Sam, my assistant, looked faint, frantically refreshing the live stream. “Anya, this is bad. It’s trending. What if he sees it? Should we make her shut it down?” I shook my head. “It’s too late.” The bangle was a Blackwood family heirloom, treated as the dynasty’s lifeblood. The Blackwoods were an international conglomerate, the ultimate gatekeepers of the collectibles world. I had waived my restoration fee to secure a favor from them, a critical networking move. In the last timeline, after Piper broke it, I had groveled to Mr. Blackwood, and had even been held at gunpoint. It was only out of the thin thread of respect for my skill that he agreed to settle the matter for two hundred million. But getting on the Blackwood’s bad side meant more than just money. My phone rang. Seeing the caller ID, I answered, my voice deferential. “Hello, Mr. Blackwood.” “Anya,” his voice was unsettlingly calm. “I see my bangle on the internet. What is this ‘Genius Restoration Beauty Brings Thousand-Year Artifact to Live Stream’ nonsense? What is going on?” Cold sweat beaded on my palm. “Mr. Blackwood, I…” Before I could finish, Piper grabbed the phone. “Hi, Grandpa Blackwood! I’m Piper, the genius restorer!” “I’m the one who fixed your bangle, not Anya. She didn’t help at all.” Mr. Blackwood’s tone was impossible to read. “Oh? You call that… fixed?” Piper nodded excitedly. “Yes! Why wouldn’t it be fixed? I worked so, so hard to glue it back together for you, Grandpa Blackwood!” A long silence followed on the line. “Anya, two o’clock this afternoon. I want to see the bangle, perfectly intact. Otherwise… you know the consequences.” Before I could reply, Piper chirped, “Don’t worry, Grandpa Blackwood! I’ll personally deliver it for you!” The line went dead. Piper wrapped her arms around Grant and spun around happily, then tossed her hair dismissively. “See, Anya? You worry too much! Grandpa Blackwood is so sweet. We don’t have to pay a thing!” I was beyond words. I simply turned to Sam. “Sam, tell the staff to clock out early. Miss Finch will be personally delivering the bangle to the Blackwood Estate.” Sam exhaled deeply, clutching his chest in relief. I packed my things and headed for my car. Grant and Piper immediately slid into the back seat. “Drive us to the Blackwood Estate.” His tone was a demand. I laughed, a tight, unpleasant sound. “Why would I?” Grant narrowed his eyes, studying me. “Mr. Blackwood demanded you be there for the handover. You need to be present.” He paused, a flicker of genuine anxiety crossing his face. “What exactly are the consequences he mentioned? Is Piper in danger?” I had occasionally mentioned Mr. Blackwood’s reputation. At least some of it had registered with him. My voice was deliberately playful. “What do you think?” Grant bristled. “Anya! Piper’s safety is at stake! Can’t you just answer the question?” Watching the vein pulse in his temple, I smiled. Mr. Blackwood’s word could launch a career or obliterate a life. Piper thought he was sweet? Well, he only lightly chastised his own grandson for destroying an antique. For outsiders, the fate was often a lot worse. I waited a moment, deciding to give them one last chance to save themselves. “Maybe we should still call the police.” With the police involved, the Blackwoods would at least show some restraint. “Why would we call the police?” Piper’s eyes were wide. “The bangle is fixed, and Grandpa Blackwood accepted it.” “Anya, you keep saying ‘call the police’—are you hoping I’ll go to jail?” A look of sudden, manufactured clarity crossed her face. “I get it! You’re jealous because Grant is nice to me, so you want me to die in prison, right? That way, Grant will be all yours!” She turned to Grant, forcing a heartbreakingly ugly smile. “It’s okay, Grant. If I have to die, I will. But promise me—in the next life, you’ll find me before my alcoholic father kills me. Promise you’ll keep taking care of me.” Grant’s hands clenched into fists, his eyes bloodshot. “Anya!” He raised his hand and brought it down hard across my face. “If you touch a single hair on her head, I will kill you!” The blow was vicious. My cheek stung, and I tasted blood on my lip. I licked my mouth, then, without hesitation, spun and delivered an equally brutal slap to Piper’s face. “A mark on her skin, a wrench in your heart, Grant. Fair trade.” Piper froze, then dissolved into hysterical, gut-wrenching sobs in Grant’s arms. “Grant, why does Anya always bully me?” Grant’s eyes flashed with pure hatred. He raised his hand to strike me again. I held his gaze, not flinching. His eyes were filled with disgust and loathing, devoid of any of the love he’d once sworn. Yet, he was the one who had pursued me relentlessly for two years, kneeling and weeping for me to agree to marry him. When had his vision become so completely consumed by Piper? Seeing my face, pale and swollen, his hand froze in mid-air. “Is it your heart?” “Don’t just stand there! Take your medication!” My hands trembled as I reached for my emergency bottle in the car door, but only fizzing tablets spilled out. The sudden, terrifying sense of suffocation returned. Piper had dawdled that morning, making excuses to stay in the car. That was when she’d swapped my emergency supply. Not only had she swapped the pills in my apartment, but now she was trying to eliminate my final fail-safe. Was I doomed to die by her hand again? Seeing me immobile, Grant frantically urged me. “Anya! Take them! Why aren’t you taking them?” Piper threw her hands over her head. “Oh no! I didn’t know Anya had a heart condition! I thought they were just Vitamin C! I thought the fizzies would be sweeter and taste better, so I… I swapped them.” “Grant, did I do something wrong again? Why am I always so stupid?” Grant shook his head, his tone still gentle. “It’s okay, Pip. It wasn’t your fault. You were trying to be kind.” He was telling me it was okay that I was dying because of her? Did he truly believe that Piper could commit murder and still be nothing more than innocently clumsy? The scene was a chilling echo of my death in the previous timeline. Desperately, I fumbled for my phone to call 911, but instead, my fingers brushed against a small, hard object in my jacket pocket—the pill I had swallowed earlier. I retrieved the single tablet and swallowed it dry. The suffocating pressure in my chest finally began to recede. Grant let out a huge sigh of relief. “Anya, you need to keep track of your own medication. You really scared me.”

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My only crime was telling a student to focus on her finals, not her boyfriend. Now, she’s published a trashy roman à clef, claiming I broke them up so I could step in and claim her guy. What she doesn’t know is that the “hero” of her story—the one I was allegedly fighting for—is my own flesh and blood. A mother looking out for her son? That’s not a crime. It’s instinct. St. Jude’s Prep invited one of its most “successful” recent graduates, Olivia Vance, back to campus for a celebratory keynote address. Olivia was my former student. Four years ago, she had graduated at the top of her class and gone on to Eastwood University. In the packed auditorium, she suddenly held up a book—a novel—and began recounting her “journey” to the thousands of students and faculty. “This is my autobiographical novel, Against the Wind and Tide: Our True Romance,” she announced, beaming. “It’s the real story of my high school years. It features the glorious triumph of me and my amazing, straight-A boyfriend, Ryan Beaumont, as the top-two couple who got into Eastwood. And of course…” Olivia paused, her eyes locking onto mine in the front row. A shallow, triumphant smile curled her lips as she raised her voice: “It also details how our former homeroom teacher, Audrey Fang—who you can find right here,” she gestured toward me, “tried to use the ‘no dating policy’ to sabotage true love—and, more shockingly, how she tried to use her position of power to steal my boyfriend for herself.” The sound was a collective intake of breath, a roaring silence. Thousands of eyes swiveled in my direction, impaling me where I sat. 1 Olivia had been a student I’d nearly broken myself for. Her grades were once floundering in the C-range, but after three years of my exhaustive, single-minded focus, I’d managed to drag her to the top twenty. Just before the SATs, I even created a customized practice exam based on her specific weaknesses—a test that, by sheer luck, gave her the exact edge she needed to graduate as class valedictorian. The silhouette of that earnest, slightly overwhelmed girl in my memory shattered, dissolving into the polished, venomous figure now standing on the stage. I couldn’t be mishearing this. The smile I’d worn for the alumni event froze on my face. Olivia saw the shift—my sudden, helpless exposure—and a flash of pure satisfaction crossed her eyes. She leaned back into the microphone. “Ryan and I were deeply, innocently in love in high school, but our homeroom teacher, Audrey Fang, repeatedly tried to drive a wedge between us,” she continued, her voice heavy with manufactured grievance. “Because she was clearly obsessed with Ryan’s youth and looks, she hid behind the ‘no dating’ rule to bully us into breaking up.” “Thankfully,” Olivia chirped, “Ryan’s love was too strong. We encouraged each other, overcame every obstacle, and got into Eastwood together. And now, we’re finally getting married.” She lifted her left hand, showcasing an immense, blinding diamond on her ring finger. A simultaneous burst of applause and fevered murmuring erupted. “Poor Olivia, having to deal with the school’s creepiest teacher, Ms. Fang.” “Ms. Fang is old enough to be Ryan’s mother! Talk about a cougar.” “I can’t believe a woman like that was ever my homeroom teacher. Sickening.” I stared at Olivia. She held her novel to her chest, her expression one of wounded innocence. I pushed myself up from my seat. The low hum of gossip died down as I walked toward the stage, picking up the spare microphone. Everyone held their breath, watching me. I stopped a few feet from Olivia. My voice, surprisingly, was level. “Olivia, your address is… certainly a choice. But I have to ask: What exactly is the problem with a teacher enforcing a ‘no dating’ policy?” The auditorium was deathly quiet, waiting for her counterattack. She adjusted the desk mic, meeting my gaze head-on. “You don’t believe students have a right to a normal, healthy relationship. That’s problem number one.” “And number two? You know exactly what the problem is. It wasn’t about our studies, Ms. Fang. It was about your own predatory, manipulative agenda.” She paused for maximum effect. “You threatened Ryan. You used your status as a teacher to tell him that if he didn’t break up with me—and didn’t comply with your perverse advances—you’d make sure he couldn’t graduate or get into the college he wanted.” Boom. The hall exploded in noise. Thousands of shocked, horrified whispers. My hand tightened around the microphone, my knuckles white, my breath coming fast and shallow. “Do you have any proof for this accusation?” Olivia’s face briefly flickered, but she quickly regained her composure. “You were very careful. You never left a paper trail. If I hadn’t followed Ryan and found out you were constantly forcing him to come to your house, I never would have known he was suffering from your sexual harassment.” The whispers swelled, turning into shouts. “No way! This is the most scandalous thing I’ve ever heard!” “She should be reported to the state board! Sexual harassment of a student!” “Ms. Fang? That old woman? Who knew she was so twisted on the side?” The accusations were a physical wave, threatening to crash over the stage. Principal Miller quickly grabbed his microphone and prematurely ended the assembly. I was escorted out by two security guards, threading my way through a suffocating crowd of glaring faces. In my pocket, my phone vibrated. A new text blinked to the top of my lock screen, from Ryan. [Mom, I’m booked solid here, but I’ll be home in a month. See you then.]

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Declan Kincaid and I were supposed to get married. Five years after Liam Scott left the country to join Doctors Without Borders, his gift for my wedding arrived: two large crates filled with all the handwritten love letters I’d ever sent him. My fiancé, Declan, meticulously went through every single one. With tears in his eyes, he slipped off his platinum wedding band. “I’m sorry, Evie. I thought I could convince myself to accept your past.” Seeing Liam, wind-battered and dusty, standing in the doorway behind Declan, a sudden laugh escaped me. Five years. And he was still using the same tactics. But the bitter truth was, I no longer loved him. 1 The upbeat celebration music screeched to a halt. The guests in the ballroom gaped, the clinking of silverware and dishes abruptly ceasing. The wedding planner, sweat beading on his forehead, gripped the microphone and forced a strained laugh, clearly unsure how to salvage the situation. A gust of wind swept through the open door, scattering the drapery and setting the indoor chimes ringing. This space, a blend of rustic charm and modern elegance, was a labor of love, a joint effort between Declan and me. As Declan walked past Liam, he stumbled, but he didn’t look back, vanishing around the corner of the hallway. Liam was staring right at me, his handsome, sun-darkened face breaking into a wide, bright smile. “Evie. Long time no see.” My expression blank, I slowly lifted the veil from my hair. My mother shot up from her seat, the scraping sound of her chair against the polished floor a jarring alarm. She bit down hard on her lower lip, shaking her head at me. The fleeting joy in her eyes was swiftly replaced by a torrent of despair. Lifting my chin, I spoke flatly: “It certainly has been a long time, Liam. And thanks to you, again, my wedding is cancelled.” A woman, slender and impeccably dressed, poked her head out from behind Liam. She pursed her lips in a display of indignation. “We came all this way to see you, out of the goodness of our hearts, and you’re still holding on to ancient history…” “That’s enough, Chloe!” Liam cut her off with a sharp frown. Chloe, once the epitome of an untouchable, spoiled socialite, immediately fell silent, her compliance unsettling. Liam still knew how to train his dogs. I calmly addressed the stunned room: “Everyone, please, enjoy the feast. It’s on me. I’ll ensure all gifts and contributions are returned shortly.” I took my mother’s hand, guiding her toward the exit. Her palm was a sheet of ice, sending a shudder through me. A tall, lean figure blocked our path. Standing against the light, I couldn’t make out Liam’s expression, but his voice was much softer now. “Mrs. Miller, Evie. Please, believe me. The gift I sent was not those crates of letters. It was a framed butterfly I caught in Africa—a symbol of peace and safe return—I wanted you to have it. I don’t know how the courier service messed up.” He paused, his voice thick with a forced sincerity. “It’s been five years. I missed you both. I wanted to come back and see your father, Evie.” My mother’s pale face flushed crimson with rage. Her lips trembling, she spat out, “Get out. You don’t have the right to see him!” Liam’s eyes were full of a contrived conflict and helplessness, and he cast a meaningful look at me, as if expecting me to intervene, to solve his problem as I always had. I did not hesitate. “My mother is right.” A person, after all, can’t afford to fall into the same trap twice. Declan’s discarded wedding ring still sat on the stage. The cold diamond caught the light, refracting a chilling brilliance. I walked over and picked it up. As I turned, Chloe and Liam’s fingers intertwined. She held their joined hands high, a triumphant smirk replacing her frown. “Annabel Miller. Liam Scott and I are back, and we’re getting married soon, by the way. Since you and ‘Liam’ have known each other for so long, we’d love your blessing.” The murmuring in the room intensified, guests sighing and expressing their surprise at the dramatic spectacle. I put my arm around my mother and headed out without looking back. “Why wait? You can use my stage for your wedding today. You love picking up things other people have tossed aside, don’t you?” The crowd behind us erupted in a chorus of whispers and mocking laughter. Strangely, there was no rush of relief or satisfaction. I placed a hand over my heart. It was silent. It no longer beat for them. All my joy, anger, sorrow, and delight had been burned away in that fire five years ago. After settling Mom into the care facility, I walked home in my heavy bridal gown. Along the way, I tossed both the engagement and wedding rings into a public trash can. Bad things, once recognized, should be discarded. People, too. Yet, people aren’t always bad. At least Liam Scott, once upon a time, had been so good. 2 My father had always been a charitable man. When his army buddy died unexpectedly, he took on the responsibility of funding the education of the man’s only son. Liam Scott, that year, was true to his name—quiet and subdued. He wore a school uniform mended countless times, his lips pressed into a thin, unyielding line that no one could seem to break. The teacher seated us together when he transferred to our class. Finding him a frustratingly silent companion, I deliberately hid his pen, just to make him say something to me. To my surprise, after school, instead of going home, he spent the entire evening collecting empty bottles and cardboard to sell. With the money he earned, he bought a new pen, and then, respectfully, placed the remaining coins into the cup of an old beggar on the street corner. He must have known that man was a notorious local scammer. That day, I realized Liam was not just a quiet ox; he was a stubborn fool, too. But even a stubborn fool like Liam sometimes learned to yield. I woke up, groggy and disoriented, to a startling number of notifications on my phone. The chat thread that had been blank for five years had new messages from Liam. “I haven’t agreed to marry Chloe. Come out, let’s talk properly. There are so many misunderstandings between us.” Misunderstandings? My pain, the trauma I had lived through, was a misunderstanding in his eyes? Smart as he was, Liam knew exactly how to get me to agree. He mentioned he wanted to tell me the last words my father had spoken to him before he died. I agreed to meet. He brought a butterfly-shaped cake, pushing it toward me with a smile. “Here. I remember you used to love sweets.” “Liam, you loved it. You had an insatiable sweet tooth. I never did. Don’t you know that, truly?” A wave of helplessness washed over me. I rubbed my temples, utterly drained. “Forget it. Just say what you need to say, then I’m leaving.” A flicker of hesitation crossed his face, imperceptible, but it was there. He quickly regained his composed, reserved demeanor. “Evie, you should apologize to Chloe. The things you said today were unacceptable. She was reduced to tears.” I laughed, the sound hollow. “Everything I said today was the truth. You know that better than anyone.” “Apology is not happening. If you’re so concerned, go back and comfort her right now.” It wasn’t the first time he’d abandoned me like this. His scales had always been unbalanced. The year Liam met Chloe, we were already planning our wedding. I had clumsily chased after him, and he had finally turned to look back at me. He chose medical school instead of the military academy. He told me, “Northern University’s Medical School is closer to your home. You’re a homebody, and I don’t want us to be too far apart.” That summer, Liam Scott worked relentlessly, saving up for tuition, and took me on a graduation trip. We held each other on the beach, and we kissed on the Ferris wheel. After graduation, we were finally of legal age. My father, with a kind heart, said Liam was an unfortunate child, and since I loved him, we should give him a home. I was ready to give him that home. But he was afraid to enter it. He went to my father and knelt heavily on the floor. “Sir, I watched my father die right in front of me. For years, all I’ve thought is, what if I could have saved him?” “I couldn’t save him, but I can save more people. Being a Doctor Without Borders is my dream.” Clap! The sound was sharp. Eavesdropping by the door, my heart skipped a beat. My usually gentle father shouted at him, his voice laced with fury: “Don’t even think about it! I promised your father I would look after you! Your life, this life, is meant to be one of domestic bliss!” When Liam emerged with a blazing red handprint across his cheek, I still hadn’t moved. His eyes were bloodshot as he stared at the matching wedding bands I had just bought, his voice a choked, painful whisper: “Evie, you always said marriage wasn’t a cage. Why do I feel so much pain?” I wasn’t doing any better. I rushed into the study to find Dad clutching his heart, struggling for breath, slumped in his chair. As I pressed his medication into his hand, he gripped my wrist tightly. “Evie, you must… you must hold on to Liam.” I didn’t know how to hold on to Liam. I only knew he loved sweets. Perhaps his life was too bitter, and he needed the sweetness to balance it out. I spent the afternoon baking a cake, searching everywhere to find him. Finally, I found them at his father’s gravesite. Chloe was clinging to his embrace, her pale, delicate face flushed. “I know you’re a man with great ideals and ambition, Liam. Whatever you decide, I support you. My family has the means to be our safety net.” “I’m willing to go with you, to the ends of the earth.” I ran toward them, throwing the cake right at her. Ignoring all dignity, I yelled, “Shameless! He already rejected you, and you’re still sticking to him like a leech!” Liam did not push her away. Instead, his hand landed on me. “Evie, are you done with this drama?!” He had never once raised his voice at me since we were kids. I fell silent, gently wiping the frosting from his face. Liam’s gaze was fraught with inner conflict, but in the end, he followed me back home. However, he was going back to pack. Unable to stop him, I pulled out a clinic report. “Liam, I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a father.” He snapped his head up, meeting my eyes with a look of pure scorn. “What new trick is this?” My stomach began to seize up, the pain forcing me to crouch down. When I looked up again, I was alone. He was leaving. He had made his choice. The day before his departure was his birthday. I went out to buy him a gift. A car screeched to a halt beside me, and as the door opened, a strong force yanked me inside. A hood was thrown over my head, and a rain of fists began to fall. I covered my abdomen, begging them to stop, but my clothes were violently ripped off. I heard the continuous click-click-click of a camera shutter and a girl’s high-pitched, triumphant giggle. When I was dumped on the side of the road, I reached down, wincing in agony. My hand came away sticky and warm. I lost consciousness completely. I woke up to the smell of disinfectant and my phone ringing non-stop. When I answered, Mom’s hysterical scream hit me like a physical blow, leaving my mind numb. By the time I rushed back, the house that held all our happy memories was reduced to a heap of ruins. Smoke hung thick in the air, a towering pile of black, collapsed debris. As the morticians wheeled away my father’s charred remains, my mother collapsed, passing out from the shock. I couldn’t reach Liam, but I knew my father’s last visitor had to be him. The investigation concluded that the culprit for the massive fire was a single candle. My father had lit it, hoping Liam would make a wish. That was all. I found his rental apartment, only to be told by the landlord that he had already left for Africa. He’d left in a hurry, taking only the two large crates of handwritten love letters from our dating years, entrusting the rest of his belongings to the landlord. The only thing he left for me was a text message before his number was deactivated: “Evie, I’m gone. I hope every day of your future is as happy as the first day I met you.” Suddenly, I no longer wanted to pursue why he left when I needed him most. His manipulative softness was, indeed, potent. For five years, my mother has fluctuated between periods of lucidity and madness. The start was incredibly hard. I worked during the day to earn money for her medical bills and delivered food at night, sleeping only three hours a day. Once, I collapsed at work, my head hitting the floor with a sickening thud. Blood poured from a gash. Thankfully, Mom’s condition gradually stabilized. I borrowed some money and opened a bakery. She asked me if I couldn’t let go of Liam, that curse on our lives. No. It wasn’t that. I simply started to understand why Liam loved sweets so much. Because life, truly, was unbearably bitter. The candlelight flickered on the table, illuminating Liam’s face, which overlapped with the image of the man in my memory. I asked him, “So, you won’t tell me until I apologize to her?” Liam paused. “Yes.” I picked up the wine bottle in front of me and smashed it against his head. CRASH. My heart shattered too. “I will never apologize to the person who killed my child!” Blood streamed down Liam’s face, tracing an ugly path. His eyes widened, and a panicked look replaced his composure. “There must be some mistake, Evie. Chloe might be spoiled, but she wouldn’t hurt anyone.” “Besides, did you really get pregnant back then? I remember I didn’t…” I didn’t listen to the rest. I turned and walked out quickly. There was no point wasting my breath on a man who refused to believe me. My mother had a relapse after seeing Liam. When I arrived at the hospital, she was banging her head against the wall. I held her tightly, letting her bite and pinch me, new, terrifying bruises forming over old ones. I finally managed to soothe her to sleep. When I looked up, Liam and Chloe were standing outside the glass window, exposing my most vulnerable moment. He was quiet for a moment. “What happened to your mom?” I didn’t answer. Chloe spoke first, her tone laced with faux sympathy: “Liam said your parents were kind to him, so he should check in on them. But since your mom is like this, maybe we should just go. Wouldn’t want her to hurt anyone.” “And your dad?” I forced a tight smile. “My dad? He died on June 12th, 2015.” The day Liam left. I clearly saw the composed barrier in his eyes crack, tearing apart. He finally seemed to grasp the reality, reaching out clumsily to catch me. 3 “Evie, the real reason I left so decisively was because…” 4 “It was because Uncle Annabel told me I should pursue the life I wanted. He said he wouldn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want anymore.” “I never imagined he would get hurt after I left. How… how did he pass away?” Tears streamed from my eyes. I took a step back, and his outstretched hand fell short. “After you left, he had a heart attack and knocked over the cake. The single candle he lit especially for you is what killed him.” “Liam, sometimes, I can’t help but hate you. If you hadn’t been so eager to leave that day, if you had just stayed a little longer, he would still be here with me.” Chloe stuck out her chin, placing herself protectively in front of Liam. “Hey! You can’t blame Liam! It’s your father who had a short life!” “That’s enough, Chloe! Get out!” Liam roared, the sound echoing down the hallway. Chloe flinched, her eyes instantly filling with tears. “You’re shouting at me—for her?” “Don’t forget who spent five years with you in that impoverished, dreadful place! If my father hadn’t given us all that money, do you think you’d be living so comfortably?!” “Liam, do you even have a heart?!” She ran off crying. A flash of blatant annoyance crossed Liam’s eyes. He truly had no heart, I thought bitterly. Wiping the tears from my face, I spoke calmly. “It’s been so long. Neither of us wants to see you anymore. Just go. Marry Chloe, and you’ll be set for life.” “I’ll just pretend my father took in an ungrateful stray dog.” Liam stared intensely at me, a raw, near-feral cry escaping him: “You don’t want me? You were the one who told me you’d give me a home—that’s why I came back!” “I’ve held on to those words for five years!” “I never intended to marry Chloe. She’s the one who’s been constantly clinging to me!” A dark figure charged in, landing a punch that sent Liam stumbling six feet away. I grabbed Declan’s arm, the skin under my palm hot with adrenaline. “Stop, Declan. Don’t dirty your hands on him.” He looked at me, stunned, a flicker of confusion in his expression.

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