Category: English

Three years after I was released from prison, I ran into my adoptive brother, Danny, at the hospital. I was there for my psychiatry appointment. He was carrying a bag from the high-end cosmetic clinic, filled with the signature facial masks his new sister, Isabelle, loved. When he caught sight of me, thin and worn, a frown creased his brow. “Why didn’t you say anything about being released early?” My expression was neutral. “You changed your number. I couldn’t reach you.” He cleared his throat, a flicker of embarrassment in his eyes. “Well, since you’re out, you should come home.” I took a step back. “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.” Shock flashed in his eyes. “Carol, are you still angry with me?” I just shook my head, saying nothing. I had found my real brother. You can’t love or hate someone who has become irrelevant. … I bent down to pick up the medical file he’d knocked from my hand, but he was faster. The words “Autism Spectrum Disorder” printed neatly on the cover seemed to sting him. His brow furrowed. “Carol, it’s been years. Isabelle has forgiven you. So have I.” “You shouldn’t let these negative emotions consume you.” I offered a faint smile. “I won’t.” After a polite and distant goodbye, I started to walk away, my gait uneven. Behind me, Danny’s eyes turned red. “Carol, your leg… is it injured?” His voice was strained. “How can you dance like that?” I paused for a second, my gaze dropping to the prosthetic beneath my slacks. I managed a small smile. It had been a long time since its existence had caused me any pain. Danny rushed forward, grabbing my wrist. His voice was a low, urgent whisper. “You have a prison record, a bad leg… how are you supposed to survive on your own?” “Come home with me. I’m your brother, and Isabelle’s. Even if you made mistakes, I’ll still take care of you both, just the same.” Before I could refuse, Isabelle stepped out of the clinic, a radiant smile on her face. The smile froze when she saw me, but it returned a second later, brighter than before. “Sister! You’re out of prison?” Her voice was deliberately loud, drawing the eyes of everyone in the hallway. Danny’s frown deepened. “Isabelle, keep your voice down. Carol is still my—” He trailed off as Isabelle’s expression crumpled into her usual look of wounded innocence. I cut him off. “It’s fine.” “No need to hide it. She’s telling the truth.” Isabelle reached for my hand, but I shifted away. Her smile never faltered. “It’s my birthday today. My brother brought me for a six-figure rejuvenation treatment. So expensive, isn’t it?” “He also baked me a cake himself, and since he knows I love a celebration, he ordered fireworks for the whole city.” She paused, then covered her mouth, her brow furrowed in mock concern. “Oh, sister, I’m so sorry.” “What I mean is, I wanted to invite you to my birthday party. It’s just one more plate at the table. My brother and I wouldn’t mind.” Danny shot her a warning glance before turning to me, his tone placating. “Carol, I’ll do all of this for your birthday, too. Just… come tonight, say hello to everyone.” I looked at them both, my face a placid mask. “No, thank you. I have plans. I wouldn’t want to intrude.” The silence stretched for a moment. Danny’s voice was laced with bitterness. “All your old friends cut ties with you after what happened. Who could you possibly have plans with?” “Carol, I know you blame me, but no matter what, we are the closest people to each other in this world.” I gave a noncommittal smile. Once, that was true. I was born with a severe form of autism. Everyone called me a monster. My mother, unable to bear the whispers and stares, took my older brother and ran. When my father was at work, he left me with the old woman downstairs. The neighborhood kids would throw rocks at me, trying to see if they could make the silent monster speak. Danny was always the one who chased them away, pressing a lollipop into my hand afterward. Then he saw his mother having an affair with his uncle. At an age where secrets are impossible to keep, he told his father. That night, his father murdered them both before leaping from the roof of their apartment building. The day social services came for him, I clung to his hand and refused to let go. So he stayed. That day, my father gained a new son, and I gained a new brother. To escape the whispers that Danny had caused his parents’ deaths, my father moved us to a small coastal town. During a typhoon, my father was swept out to sea while saving Danny from the churning waves. That night, Danny held me as I huddled in a corner and swore an oath. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll make up for all the love you’ve lost.” He delivered milk at dawn, hauled bricks on construction sites during the day, and delivered takeout at night, all to pay for my expensive therapy. Seeing his bruised shoulders and cracked hands, I began to understand. I found something I loved: dance. The doctors said it would help me open up, so Danny worked himself to the bone to send me to the best dance academy. One afternoon, the studio caught fire. By the time Danny arrived, the flames were painting the sky red. Someone shouted that the quiet, non-verbal girl was still inside. He didn’t hesitate, charging toward the inferno. “I have to save my sister!” The fire singed his hair, but he kept pushing forward. I saw him through the crowd, choking on the thick black smoke, and for the first time in my life, I spoke. “Brother, I’m okay.” In that moment, Danny, who never cried, held me and wept with joy. “Carol, you spoke! You finally spoke!” After that, everything changed. I went to school, I danced, and Danny, free from worry, built an empire. In just a few years, he became one of the city’s most successful entrepreneurs. Everyone knew he had a sister he treasured more than life itself. Cocooned in his absolute devotion, my autism receded. I became a happy, thriving dancer. I thought we would live like that forever. Then he brought Isabelle home. She was a dance student from a prestigious university, working as a summer intern at his company. She’d been disowned by her mother for exposing an affair between her mother and a senior partner. Her father blamed her for driving his wife away and left her to fend for herself. Danny said her lonely, desperate state reminded him of himself as a boy, so he decided to take her in. I knew how much his parents’ death still haunted him, so I agreed. One day, Isabelle looked at the locket I always wore. “Your locket is so beautiful, sister.” Before I could respond, Danny unclasped it from my neck and handed it to her. “Think of it as a welcome gift.” I snatched it back instinctively. Danny’s face fell with disappointment as he met Isabelle’s tear-filled eyes. “I’ve bought you so much jewelry, Carol. It’s just a locket. Is this who I’ve spoiled you into becoming?” Tears of betrayal streamed down my face. “I have a lot of jewelry, but this… this is the only thing my father ever gave me.” I ran out of the house in a rage, forgetting my phone. I sat on a bench outside, just as I had countless times before, and began counting down from twenty, waiting for him to come and apologize. I counted through the entire night, but he never came. When I finally returned home, he was feeding Isabelle breakfast. At that moment, something inside me began to harden. That evening, Danny apologized, promising he would never favor Isabelle again. I let it go and threw myself into rehearsals for the dance company’s national tour. A month later, Danny decided to throw a lavish party for Isabelle, to celebrate her “new life.” He insisted that as her older sister, I had to be there. Not wanting to ruin the mood, I took time off from rehearsals and bought Isabelle a pink diamond as a gift. But at the party, she fell to her knees before me. “Sister, I don’t want the diamond. My lifelong dream has been to be a principal dancer. Please, just give me your role in this tour. Please?” It was a role I had worked over a decade for. I refused without a second thought. The party ended on a sour note. On the first day of the tour, someone hid nails in my dance shoes. My feet were shredded. I fell from a ten-foot platform. While I was in the emergency room, Isabelle took my place as the principal dancer, dazzling the audience. Danny was there, recording her entire performance. The hard shell around my heart grew thicker, heavier. I couldn’t breathe. I trashed my entire hospital room, demanding that Danny send Isabelle away. His expression was cold. “You were careless. It has nothing to do with Isabelle.” “She coveted the role!” I screamed, hysterical. “She put the nails in my shoes!” He looked at me with the same expression I had seen so many times in my childhood, when others called me a monster. “Do you have to be this way?” “Have you forgotten? It was this monstrous side of you that drove your mother away.” His words were more devastating than a thousand stones. The shell around my heart tightened, suffocating me. After I was discharged, I frantically searched for proof, obsessed with making him see that he was wrong, that Isabelle had hurt me. But all the security footage had been tampered with. I offered a huge reward for information. Finally, another dancer came forward with a video on her phone, showing Isabelle planting the nails. I put the video online. It was my last stand, my final attempt to make him see the truth. But Isabelle was more ruthless. She slit her wrists, waiting until the floor was slick with blood before allowing Danny to “discover” her. Outside the operating room, for the first time in his life, Danny hit me. “Isabelle is just insecure! She never meant to hurt you,” he seethed. “Because of you, she has nightmares. She spends every day praying for forgiveness. Isn’t that enough?” His words cut through my shock. “So you knew? You knew she put the nails in my shoes? The security footage… you had it erased?” His eyes flickered. He didn’t speak, but I had my answer. “She didn’t mean for it to be serious,” he said softly, trying to placate me. “Otherwise, your legs would have been permanently damaged.” “It’s just a principal role. If you post a clarification for Isabelle right now, I’ll buy you your own dance company. You can be the principal every day.” I slapped him, my hand stinging. “So that’s it, Danny? You’re trying to insult me with your money?” His face was a blank mask. “What else is there?” I laughed, a sharp, broken sound. “If you think I will let you destroy Isabelle,” he continued, his voice cold, “you are mistaken.” He picked up one of the nails from the evidence bag and drove it into his own foot. “I’m paying for your pain with my own. Is that enough for you?” Drops of crimson splattered on the white floor. Isabelle ran out, crying, pressing her hands to his wound. “Brother, I’m sorry. I was just jealous of her,” she sobbed. “Jealous of your love, of her career. I couldn’t control myself.” He comforted her gently. “It’s okay. I know you’re a good, kind girl at heart. I’ve shed her blood for her. She has no right to blame you anymore.” I lost control. “Danny! This isn’t over between us!” He looked at me with disgust. “Carol, if Dad could see how vicious you’ve become…” “You have no right to talk about my father!” I shrieked. “You’re the one who’s blind! I will prove it to you!” I hired a private investigator. It didn’t take long to discover that Isabelle was no innocent flower. I bought a compromising video of her and her boyfriend. In it, she was tied up, crying for help as he had his way with her—a scene that looked exactly like an assault. But her boyfriend explained it was just a game they played, a BDSM-style roleplay that she loved. I threw the USB drive at Danny. “Isabelle is not who you think she is! She’s been making videos like this since she was eighteen! She doesn’t deserve to be part of our family!” At the same time, the clip of Isabelle “being assaulted” was leaked online. She collapsed into Danny’s arms, weeping. “Sister hates me so much… she’s exposed my most painful trauma to the world. I can’t live with this shame. The life I owe you, brother… I’ll repay it in the next one.” She raised a dagger to her heart. Danny caught the blade with his bare hand, blood dripping from his palm. His gaze pierced through me, his voice like ice. “Can’t you see she was forced? Do you have any idea how important a girl’s reputation is?” “The video online… it wasn’t me who—” I tried to explain. He cut me off as if he hadn’t heard. “It seems you don’t. Perhaps it’s time you learned firsthand.” He hired the best lawyers in the country. The trial was broadcast live. He had me convicted for slander and invasion of privacy and sent to prison. I became a pariah. When I tried to appeal, he crushed my hope. “You look down on my money? I want you to understand that everything you have, I gave to you. As long as I’m here, you won’t find a single lawyer in this city to help you.” “I hope five years in prison will teach you respect, compassion, and weakness.” The shell around my heart sealed shut, trapping me in an endless darkness. My last memory was of him walking away with Isabelle, never once looking back. The man before me blurred, merging with the face from my memories. I felt no pain, no resentment. Nothing at all. My psychiatrist was right. I had truly moved on. I smiled calmly. “The closest person in your life can be your sister, Mr. Crawford, or your future wife. But it will never be me.” The bitterness in Danny’s voice deepened. “Carol, do you have to speak like this? I know my punishment was harsh, but I just didn’t want you to become spoiled and arrogant.” “Listen to me. Come home. I’ll take care of you. The world is a dangerous place. You’ve been sheltered your whole life. Only at home can I give you the best protection, the best medical care, the best of everything…” “Carol!” A voice from down the hall cut him off. I turned and saw my brother, Adrian, jogging toward me, a mask covering his face.

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Ivy and I were lured into a nightmare disguised as a vacation, sold into a high-end trafficking ring south of the border. For three thousand dollars a night, any man could own us. By the time the Feds and the Blackwood family’s private security kicked down the doors, I was the establishment’s top earner, sitting atop a wealthy client, counting a stack of cash with trembling hands. My best friend, Ivy Blackwood, wasn’t so lucky. She was found in the basement, visibly pregnant and in a permanent vegetative state. The Blackwood family put a five-million-dollar bounty on the head of the broker who sold us. But I, the only witness who knew the truth, chose silence. Ivy’s mother knelt on the marble floor, begging me to speak. I closed my eyes and feigned sleep. The detectives grilled me for hours. I gave them nothing but dead air. Ivy’s brother—my fiancé, Roman Blackwood—finally snapped. He threw me onto the Neural Projection Stage. “Ivy is living a fate worse than death, and you’re protecting the monsters!” “To think I ever loved a piece of trash like you… it makes me sick.” “Today, the Neural Interface is going to drag the truth out of your skull, and I’m going to send you and your accomplices straight to hell.” But when the truth finally flooded the screens, Roman didn’t scream. He fell to his knees, silent. 1 Roman chose the Crestview University stadium for my public execution. It was our alma mater. It was also where we first met. The arena, capable of holding ten thousand people, was packed to the rafters. Everyone I had ever known was there. Close relatives, old friends, professors, down to the delivery driver I’d tipped once and the woman who ran the diner down the street. Roman had invited them all. I covered my face, instinct screaming at me to run. But Roman’s hand was a vice on my shoulder, pinning me to the chair. I couldn’t move. He gripped my throat. Those eyes, once warm with the promise of forever, were now cold, hard flint. “Nora, do you even know what shame is?” “I’m asking you one last time. Who sold Ivy?” His grip tightened. My face burned, oxygen fleeing my lungs. I teetered on the edge of consciousness, but I kept my lips sealed. The Blackwood family swarmed me, a tide of expensive fabric and raw fury. “You heartless bitch! Ivy and Roman gave you everything, and you protect the people who destroyed her?” “She was born for the gutter! Probably enjoyed it down there! That’s why she won’t talk!” Hands clawed at me, tearing my clothes, exposing my scars and skin. Flashing cameras blinded me, my humiliation broadcast on the massive Jumbotron above. “Look at her! Let the whole world see what a traitor looks like!” Roman loomed over me, a needle the width of a pinky finger poised at the base of my skull. His gaze cut deeper than the metal ever could. “The Neural Interface does more damage to the brain than a lobotomy.” “It’s going to hurt, Nora. Imagine childbirth, then multiply it by twenty.” “And every dirty, secret memory you have? It’s going to be played out in 4K for everyone to see.” “This is your last chance.” The thought of those dark, grimy months in the compound made my pupils dilate. My body betrayed me, shaking violently. “No… don’t look,” I whispered. “Roman, please. Trust me. You’ll regret this.” For a second, hesitation flickered in his eyes. Then he glanced at his mother, her hair turned white overnight, and the hesitation hardened into disgust. “Regret?” ” The only thing I regret is pulling you out of that hellhole.” “I should have left you there to rot.” The metal pierced my scalp. It plunged deep into the neural tissue. The pain wasn’t just physical; it was existential. It shattered my consciousness. I couldn’t even form the words to beg. I just opened my mouth, and a sound that didn’t belong to a human tore out of me. The crowd went wild. “She deserves it! That toxic snake deserves every second!” On the giant screen, the static cleared. My memories began to play. The first scene flickered into view. Ivy’s hospital room. She looked like an origami figure, fragile and paper-thin, except for the swollen mound of her stomach. The doctor, looking grim, delivered the news. “Her brain activity is minimal. The chances of her waking up are statistically zero.” “And… given her physical state, a termination is too risky. She has to carry the child to term.” Ivy’s mother collapsed onto her daughter’s chest, wailing. In the memory, I stood by the window, eyes dead, staring at nothing. The Roman on the screen exploded. He grabbed a handful of my hair and dragged me to the bedside, slamming my forehead against the cold tile floor. “Why? Why won’t you tell us?” “What did the Blackwoods ever do to you? Did I not love you enough?” “Nora, do you even have a heart?” The crowd in the stadium roared their approval. “The Blackwoods are saints. Their daughter is a vegetable, carrying a rapist’s baby, and they can’t even abort it.” “Nora isn’t human. Look at her. Her best friend is gone, and she doesn’t shed a tear.” “She’s probably jealous. That’s why she let it happen.” Ivy’s mother, fueled by the crowd, rushed the stage. Her nails raked down my cheek, drawing blood. She grabbed the control lever of the extractor and jammed it forward. “My Ivy will never wake up! Why should you get to live?” My scream echoed off the stadium walls. Blood splattered onto Roman’s pristine trousers. He turned his face away, his voice icy. “Widen the search parameters. I want the truth.” The surge of electricity forced a jump in the timeline. The screen shifted. Roman was dragging me into a condemned warehouse in the bad part of the city. He stripped me and hoisted me up by my wrists. The room was filled with homeless men, eyes hungry, hands filthy, reaching for me. Roman’s eyes were bloodshot. He squeezed my jaw, forcing me to look at him. “Nora, who is he? Who is worth dying for?” My body in the memory was vibrating with terror, but I clamped my jaw shut. “I don’t know.” That broke him. “Since you miss the whorehouse so much,” he spat, “I’ll give you a taste of home.” Someone handed him a cigarette. Through the smoke, his voice was a jagged blade. “Give her to them. A dollar a turn. No refusals.” “Whatever she earns, buy Ivy’s favorite irises. Send them to the hospital.” The images that followed were the stuff of nightmares I had tried to bury. I clapped my hands over my ears, desperate to block out the sounds of my own degradation. Roman pried my hands away, laughing darkly. “Oh, playing the victim now, Nora?” “You’re the last person on earth who deserves pity.” “You’re protecting a criminal. You earned every second of this.” The audience ate it up. “Look at her, trying to manipulate us with a sob story!” “Ivy is a living corpse! Her parents are destroyed! Nora got off easy!” “She was the top earner down there, remember? Maybe she liked it.” “If she won’t talk after all that torture, maybe she is the mastermind.” “Has to be. If not the boss, then a willing partner.” Ivy’s mother, hearing the crowd, lost what was left of her mind. She slapped me, a sharp crack that silenced the front row. “Crank it up! Burn her brain if you have to! Dig it all out!” The technician looked pale. “Sir, she’s already at critical levels. If we push the voltage, she could be left permanently disabled…” “She’s already broken,” Roman said, his face like stone. He reached over and turned the dial to the maximum. “She deserves it.” The current hit my brainstem like a lightning strike. My body curled into a fetal ball. Warm liquid spread down my legs. As I lost control of my bladder, a new memory ripped onto the screen. A dark, damp room. A heavy iron chain around my neck, chafing raw skin. Two guards were beating me, trying to force me into a private room with a new buyer. When I refused, they placed a phone book on my chest and hammered it with fists—maximum pain, no bruising. A gasp from the stands. “I know that trick. It hurts like hell but leaves no marks.” “She looks like a victim there… how could she be an accomplice?” “Don’t be stupid,” someone shouted back. “She’s curating these memories! It’s a manipulation!” Roman’s fingers trembled as they closed around my throat again. “Still protecting him?” “You think showing me this makes me soft? You’re delusional.” “You’re a monster, Nora.” The memory shifted violently again. The screen showed me in a dressing room, applying heavy makeup, wearing barely enough silk to cover my shame. The stadium erupted. “See! She is a whore!” “Took a few beatings and then happily sold herself!” I shook my head frantically, trying to dislodge the memory, but the machine was relentless. The scene changed. Ivy. She was pinned under three men. She was screaming, her skin a map of bruises. The leader of the gang covered her mouth, looking at me with a dead-eyed smile. “I don’t run a charity.” “This one’s sick. She can’t work.” “Either you earn her keep, or we throw her to the dogs.” In the memory, I threw myself over Ivy’s body. “Please! Get a doctor! I’ll do it!” “I’ll work! I’ll pay for everything! Just don’t hurt her!” The montage accelerated. Me, swallowing my vomit, smiling at men who smelled like rot. Me, dragging my broken body to the boss, begging on my knees. Not for freedom. For better antibiotics for Ivy. The stadium fell into a stunned silence. “She… she sold herself to save Ivy?” “That’s not the behavior of a criminal.” “Jesus. The Blackwoods are torturing the woman who saved their daughter.” Ivy’s mother shrieked, shaking my shoulders. “Fake! It’s all fake!” “It’s CGI! It’s a lie! If she cared about Ivy, she’d give us the name!” “It’s a sympathy play! Look at her, she’s alive, isn’t she? My Ivy is gone!” The crowd, fickle as the wind, turned back. “Ungrateful trash!” “Rot in hell, Nora!” Roman’s face was gray. He stared at the screen, then screamed at me, a sound of pure desperation. “Who is it?! Who is worth betraying me? Betraying Ivy?” “I gave you everything!” “Why isn’t it you in that hospital bed?!” He wiped a tear from his cheek and turned to the doctor. “Don’t stop. More power.” “We don’t leave until I have a name.” “Mr. Blackwood,” the technician stammered. “Her vitals… she’s going to brain-dead…” “If she’s protecting a slaver, she’s better off dead.” Roman grabbed a second probe and jammed it into the base of my neck. The machine whined, a high-pitched frequency that shattered teeth. My body thrashed, galvanized by the electricity. The memories began to strobe. My childhood, abandoned by my parents. The orphanage. The scholarship. Meeting Ivy. Becoming sisters in everything but blood. Meeting Roman at Ivy’s sweet sixteen. Falling in love. The images swirled, but the name—the face of the villain—was missing. The technician threw up his hands. “Her will is too strong. Her subconscious is locking down the core memory. I’ve never seen resistance like this.” I looked at Roman. My vision was blurring, tunneling. I tried to speak, but my tongue was heavy lead. To him, my silence looked like mockery. He laughed, a brittle, insane sound. He grabbed the technician by the collar. “Do whatever it takes.” In the front row, a young woman—an intern who had always looked at Roman with hungry eyes—stood up. “The body has a failsafe. If the pain threshold is breached, the mind loses control of the blockade.” Ivy’s mother stopped crying. She reached into her purse and pulled out a pair of rusted gardening shears she’d found in the stadium utility closet earlier, manic in her need for a weapon. She handed them to Roman. “Ten fingers connected to the heart, isn’t that what they say? Cut them off. Let’s see her keep secrets then.” “We owe this to Ivy.” The stadium held its breath. Then, a chant began. Low at first, then thundering. “Truth! Truth! Truth!” “Do it, Roman! Stop the traffickers!” Empowered by the mob, Roman’s eyes steeled. He walked to the chair. He took my hand—the hand he used to hold during movies—and caressed my thumb. Then he took the rusted shears. “You brought this on yourself.” “You could die a thousand times, and it wouldn’t be enough.” The metal crunched through bone. I didn’t scream. I convulsed. My body jerked like a severed wire. Blood sprayed, hot and metallic, painting the floor. “You…” I choked out, the words bubbling through blood. “You will regret this.” Roman looked at me, dead-eyed, and jammed the shears into the open wound. “The only thing I regret is not seeing you for what you are sooner.” “You destroyed Ivy.” One finger. Two fingers. Roman Blackwood cut them all off, one by one.

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After being framed time and again by the impostor who took my place, my parents kicked me out. I starved to death on the cold streets of the city. In the Afterlife, the Arbiter reviewed my file, his brow furrowing as he looked over my mortal record. “You were set up multiple times. Why didn’t you defend yourself?” “I did,” I said, choking back tears. “I told them the truth. But no one believed me.” The Arbiter signed a document with a flourish. “If no one believed you, then let’s make her speak the truth herself.” “I’m giving you a second chance. Good luck.” A wave of dizziness hit me, and suddenly, I was back. Back to the day my biological parents finally brought me home. Only this time, I had a Truth System installed in my rival. Jessica, the girl who had been raised in my place, saw me walk through the door. She smiled sweetly and started to say, “Sister, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” But her tongue twisted, and what actually came out was: “Dammit, they actually found this trash. I need to figure out a way to make Mom and Dad kick her out onto the street!” Jessica clamped her hands over her mouth in panic. The entire room went silent. Every eye landed on her. Good, Jessica, I thought, suppressing a smirk. Let’s see how you act your way out of this one. 1. My parents, Richard and Martha Vance, stared at her, eyes wide with disbelief. “Jessica! What has gotten into you? You never use foul language!” “We raised you to be a Vance, a lady of high society. How can you curse like a sailor?” My chest tightened. The point of her sentence was that she wanted to manipulate them into disowning me. Yet, they completely ignored the malice. They didn’t care that she wanted me gone; they didn’t care that she called me trash. They only cared that their carefully cultivated “perfect daughter” had slipped up on her etiquette. Thinking back to my past life, to how easily they bought into her lies… I realized something. They weren’t just blind. They just didn’t care about me. Jessica quickly pivoted, putting on her best wounded-doe expression. “I… I don’t know what happened…” “I couldn’t control my mouth just now. Those weren’t my thoughts…” “Daddy, Mommy, I don’t know if I should say this, but the moment Elara walked in, I felt this dark, heavy energy…” My parents turned to me, their gazes instantly hardening into disgust. “Elara, what kind of voodoo did you learn out in that backwater town? How dare you use it on your sister?” “Listen to me. Now that you are a Vance, you will follow our rules. Leave that low-class garbage behind!” “We brought you back not expecting you to bring us glory, but the least you can do is not embarrass us!” My biological brother, Tyler, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Jessica started acting strange the second Elara arrived. She must have brought something unclean into the house.” “We need a cleansing. I won’t feel safe sleeping under the same roof otherwise.” I shook my head frantically. “I didn’t bring anything! Jessica just accidentally spoke her mind!” They ignored me. Richard immediately called up the family’s “spiritual advisor,” a man named Brother Thomas. Thomas was a regular grifter who knew exactly which side his bread was buttered on. He exchanged a subtle glance with Jessica before putting on a solemn face. “Miss Elara is indeed carrying a dark attachment. This entity cannot be removed by prayer alone. It requires physical expulsion.” “Since the entity has targeted Miss Jessica, she must be the one to wield the instrument. She must strike Miss Elara eighty-one times with a leather whip to drive the spirit out.” Without a second thought, my parents ordered the staff to tie me up. Jessica picked up the whip. Her eyes gleamed with venomous delight. “I’m so sorry, Elara. I’m only doing this for your own good.” She giggled, a triumphant sound, and raised her arm to strike. But as the whip came down, her mouth betrayed her again: “Look at this. Mom and Dad always take my side. I say you’re cursed, and they let me beat you. In this house, you’re nothing but a dog to me!” Hearing this, my parents just frowned. “Jessica, hit harder! Beat the demon out of her!” Jessica put her whole back into it. The leather sliced through my clothes, cutting into my skin. When the eighty-one lashes were finally over, they untied me. I collapsed to the floor, paralyzed with pain. My parents told a servant to help me upstairs, but Brother Thomas held up a hand. “Wait. Miss Elara should not stay in a spacious, comfortable room. Dark entities thrive on comfort and will return. A cramped, dark space is best.” My parents thought for a moment. “The storage closet on the first floor is small and has no windows. But a bed won’t fit…” Thomas nodded sagely. “That is perfect. If Miss Elara suffers a bit, the entity won’t want to come back.” 2. I was thrown into the damp, dark storage closet. I curled up in the corner, my body trembling with agony, despair clawing at my throat. I thought having the Truth System would make this life easier. I didn’t expect it to start off even harder than the last one. The door creaked open. Jessica walked in, looking down at me like I was a cockroach. “You did something, didn’t you? Made me speak the truth.” “You’re so naive, Elara. Even if I say it out loud, so what? Mom and Dad will always choose me.” “So what if you’re the blood daughter? You’re just a loser from the boonies. You think you can compete with me?” “Do yourself a favor and go back to the dirt you came from…” Footsteps approached from the hallway. Jessica’s face instantly shifted to terror. “Sister, what are you doing? Please, don’t hurt me!” She grabbed a letter opener from a shelf and jammed it violently into her own arm. Hearing her scream, my parents burst in, pushing past me to cradle her. “Elara! What did you do to Jessica?!” I looked at them coldly. “I didn’t do anything. I just watched her perform a one-woman show.” “You think we’d believe Jessica stabbed herself? Are you insane?” Jessica gasped weakly, leaning into Martha. “I just… I just asked if she was scared sleeping alone, if she wanted company… and she… she stabbed me…” Richard and Tyler glared at me with pure hatred. “Elara, how can you be so vicious? How did the Vance bloodline produce something so heartless?” My father raised his hand to slap me. But Jessica’s voice rang out again. “I came in here to trigger this bitch, told her she has no place here, and then I stabbed myself to frame her!” She slapped her hands over her mouth. My father’s hand froze in mid-air. The room went dead silent. I looked at my parents. “Did you hear that? That is the truth.” Tyler scoffed, breaking the tension. “Clearly the cleansing wasn’t thorough enough. The demon is still making her say crazy things to frame Jessica.” My parents didn’t argue. They told Tyler to take Jessica to get bandaged up. They glanced at me with cold indifference and turned to leave. “Why?” I asked the question to their retreating backs. “You know she’s telling the truth. You know she staged it. Why do you still side with her?” Martha turned, a sneer curling her lip. “Elara, love is built over time. It doesn’t just appear because of DNA.” “For over a decade, Jessica has been our daughter. We poured everything into her.” “Even putting feelings aside—look at her. Her elegance, her speech, her education. That is what a Vance daughter looks like.” “You? You’re a farm girl. You can’t compare.” “A daughter represents the family face in public. Look at yourself. You’re unpresentable.” “Then why bring me back at all?” “You think we wanted to? The police made a huge scene about finding you!” “We couldn’t leave our biological daughter out there without the media tearing us apart.” “The Vance family won’t let you starve, but don’t you dare think you can replace Jessica.” They walked away. That was the moment my heart finally froze over. I remembered the secret the Arbiter had told me about Jessica. I smiled. I didn’t want their cheap affection anymore. I was going to make sure they knew the truth. And then, I was going to make sure they lost everything they cared about. 3. I went to find Brian Powell. The Vance and Powell families had arranged a marriage between Brian and Jessica years ago. Brian hated the arrangement, but he couldn’t defy his family’s orders. When I was brought back, my face had been plastered all over the news. Brian recognized me immediately. He looked at me with bored indifference. “What? Is the Vance family swapping brides now?” I shook my head. “I’m here to make a deal.” Brian raised an eyebrow. “What kind of deal?” “I know you don’t want to marry into my family. It’s just business pressure.” “If Vance Enterprises suddenly went bankrupt, your parents wouldn’t force you to go through with the wedding, would they?” “I have a way to tank their stock.” Brian sat up straighter. He laughed, a sharp, cynical sound. “It seems the prodigal daughter has realized that blood isn’t thicker than water.” “Well? Do we have a deal, Mr. Powell?” “If your family goes under, you go down with them. You’re willing to lose everything?” “I told you, this is a trade.” “I help you destroy the Vance legacy. In return, you give me ten million dollars in cash. And when the bank auctions off the Vance estate, you buy it and deed it to me.” “That’s it?” “That’s it.” Ten million was enough for a lifetime of comfort. As for the villa… in my last life, they kicked me out of it to die. In this life, I was going to kick them out. Brian nodded slowly. “Bankrupting Vance Enterprises isn’t a small task. What do you need from me?” “First, the money. Now. I don’t trust you not to stiff me.” Brian took the slip of paper with my account number, handed it to his secretary, and five minutes later, the funds cleared. I smiled. “You aren’t worried I’m scamming you?” “It’s just ten million. I’ll take the gamble. Besides, no one in this city is stupid enough to scam Brian Powell.” “What’s part two?” “Next week, the Powells are hosting the Grand Gala. I need you to add a segment to the program…” When I finished explaining, Brian looked at me with confusion. “That’s all it takes?” I nodded. “Just sit back and watch the show. You’ll witness the Vance empire crumble in real-time.” A week later, the Grand Gala—the most exclusive event in the city—arrived. When the invitation arrived at the house, Jessica noticed a new addition to the schedule. All heirs and heiresses will take the stage to share a personal story from their upbringing. Jessica squealed with delight. “This must be Brian’s idea! He wants to get to know me better but is too shy to ask directly, so he made a whole event out of it.” “It’s so romantic! Like, ‘to hug you, I hugged the whole world’ vibes!” “I have to write the perfect speech!” She glanced over at me, her eyes narrowing. “Mom, Dad… does Elara have to speak, too?” “I’m so curious what a farm girl would even talk about. Shoveling pig manure? Is that what you did all day, Sister?” 4. My parents looked at me with undisguised revulsion. “It’s a high-society gala. What could she possibly share without making us vomit?” “Elara, listen to me. Everyone knows you’re back, so we have to take you. But keep your mouth shut.” “Smile more, speak less. Do not show your lack of breeding. We cannot afford the embarrassment.” “And I heard you went to see Brian the other day? You think just because you’re the biological daughter you can steal Jessica’s fiancé?” “Look in a mirror. Brian wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole even if he had brain damage.” “From now on, you don’t see anyone without our permission. Stop humiliating us.” Jessica beamed, soaking up my humiliation. “I’m going to go write my speech. Don’t worry, Daddy, Mommy. I’ll make the Vance name shine!” Watching her skip away, a cold smile touched my lips. Yes, Jessica. Prepare that speech. Make it perfect. Polish every word. It’s a waste of time. Because when you open your mouth, not a single word on that paper is going to come out. Mom, Dad… I can’t wait to see the look on your faces when you learn the truth. The night of the gala arrived. The Powell ballroom was a sea of crystal chandeliers and designer gowns. Jessica walked arm-in-arm with Tyler, while my parents beamed with pride behind them. I trailed behind like an unwanted shadow. People recognized me as the returned daughter and came over to look. Martha pinched the fabric of my dress, pulling me forward roughly. “Yes, well, she’s a country girl. Hasn’t seen the world. Apologies if she’s awkward.” “We feed her, clothe her, try to teach her, but she’s just… hopelessly rustic.” The guests offered polite, empty platitudes. “At least she’s home. Don’t push too hard. You already have such an outstanding daughter in Jessica.” Nearby, Jessica was fluttering her eyelashes at Brian. “Brian, you have to listen carefully when I give my speech later, okay?” The event began. The heirs and heiresses took the stage one by one. Soon, it was Jessica’s turn. She glided up to the microphone, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and held up her speech cards. “Good evening, everyone. I am Jessica Vance. As many of you know, I was an orphan adopted by my wonderful parents.” “They gave me the best…” She didn’t finish the sentence. Her tongue twisted violently. And then, the bombshell dropped. “Actually, I’m not an orphan. My coming to the Vance family was entirely…

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My sister, Eliza, was gone. Shaking, I called my CEO wife’s executive assistant. I needed to pre-pay $800 from our family fund for Eliza’s cheapest, thin-pine coffin. On the other end, the assistant, Marcus, gave a short, contemptuous laugh. “Mr. Ethan, is this you again? We just approved fifty thousand last month. Are you trying to print money off the Foundation’s account?” “My sister, she—” Before I could finish, my wife’s voice cut in, cold and razor-sharp: “Ethan, your recklessness has to have a limit. I transferred over thirty million dollars total. That wasn’t enough for your sister’s medical bills?” The sudden thrum in my skull felt like an electric shock. Thirty million? The funds her male secretary approved for me—the maximum I ever received in a month was five hundred dollars. During the worst months, it was sometimes as low as forty cents. My heart went instantly numb, but I couldn’t find a single word left to explain. I dropped my cell phone onto the leather seat of the sleek, dark Maserati GranTurismo that had been waiting patiently outside my house for eight months. The woman inside, Anya, smiled gently at me. I found my courage and spoke. “You said if I signed the divorce papers, you’d give me an unlimited black card… was that true?” 1 Anya looked at me with tender eyes. “Of course it’s true, Ethan.” She handed me a pristine black card—no numbers, just a minimalist symbol. “The PIN is your birthday.” I took the card. The cold, smooth weight finally anchored my trembling fingers. “I need to… handle my sister’s funeral arrangements first.” “I’ll go with you.” She lightly squeezed my hand, her voice steady and certain. Twenty minutes later, I stood outside Victoria Ashworth’s executive office. The massive soundproof door couldn’t fully muffle the sound of gasping and heavy breathing that made my cheeks flush hot. I didn’t hesitate. I drew a deep breath and raised my hand to knock. “Enter.” Victoria’s voice was clipped, tainted with the annoyance of interruption. I pushed the door open. Though I’d steeled myself, the sight still stabbed my eyes. Her assistant, Marcus, was scrambling up from between her legs, zipping his trousers while frantically trying to smooth his wrinkled dress shirt. Victoria’s face was still flushed, and she was deliberately, slowly smoothing the fitted fabric of her pencil skirt over her thighs. She frowned when she saw it was me. Every anniversary, I used to throw a fit because she wouldn’t come home. This time, she likely assumed the same childish tantrum. I calmed my breathing and slid a document across her desk. “Sign this.” Victoria glanced at the cover, scoffed, and assumed it was another agreement for a handout. “How much do you want this time?” When I didn’t speak, didn’t beg her to come home like I used to, she uncharacteristically offered more. “It’s our anniversary today. Sorry, I forgot to buy you a gift. Take this card and go buy yourself something you like.” She tossed a subsidiary card—a corporate platinum—toward me. I didn’t reach for it. I just repeated: “Sign. It.” Finally, true impatience crossed her face. She picked up the file, flipped straight to the final page, and, without reading a single word of the contents, signed her full name with a flourish. “Victoria Ashworth.” Two words. They ended our ten-year marriage. Watching her sign, my heart felt simultaneously hollowed out and completely unburdened, as if I’d shed a suit of armor I hadn’t realized I was wearing. She remembered the anniversary. But she didn’t know that from this day forward, it was two anniversaries: the day our marriage ended, and the day my sister, Eliza, died. Marcus, who had been sneering at me, assuming I was there for money, caught sight of the words “Divorce Settlement Agreement” on the document. The contempt in his eyes instantly morphed into barely contained elation. I picked up the signed papers and turned to leave. “Allow me to see you out, Mr. Ethan.” Marcus rushed to follow. Outside the office, he yanked me into the privacy of a narrow corridor. His voice was a blend of gloating and insult. “Good riddance.” He pulled a thick, crumpled stack of bills from his pocket and threw them in my face with a sharp smack. “Take the money. Buy your dead sister a coffin. Consider it a tip from me.” Dead sister! What right did this son of a bitch have to invoke her? The fuse finally blew. I grabbed his collar and slammed my fist into the bridge of his nose. “My sister only needed two thousand dollars for the surgery!” “Two thousand! Your approval process took three months! Three months! Until the day she died, the money never came through!” “The final deposit was forty cents! Did you hear that? Forty cents!” I was a madman, pouring all my strength into every punch. He was the one who killed my sister. Desperate for that $2,000, I tried to work a delivery job to raise the funds. He did this. He claimed I was tarnishing Victoria’s image, and he used corporate security to have me held and questioned until the money was raised. When I was finally released, the only thing waiting for me was Eliza’s cold body. The doctor said she’d been calling for me, “Brother, Brother,” until her voice trailed off and she simply stopped breathing. Marcus let out a shrill, porcine shriek. His nosebleed splattered across my worn leather jacket. Hearing the noise, the office door was thrown open. It was Victoria. She saw us fighting and, with a frightening clarity of purpose, delivered a vicious kick to my lower back! She knew better than anyone that I suffered from severe lumbar strain from the years I spent testing her experimental drugs and equipment. The white-hot pain instantly drained my strength. I curled up on the cold floor. “Ethan, what the hell is wrong with you now?!” Victoria didn’t spare me a glance. She rushed past me, straight to Marcus, tenderly dabbing the blood from his face. “Are you alright? Does it hurt?” I touched my spine, now throbbing with soft pain, and felt a surge of self-mockery. The old Victoria would protect me if I so much as snagged a thread on my shirt. Now, she’d physically assaulted me for a man who hadn’t even scraped his skin. Seeing Marcus’s pathetic state, she spun back and delivered a sharp, echoing slap across my face. The world went white and fuzzy. My ears rang, and my mouth filled with the bitter taste of blood. Her eyes were filled with disappointment. “I gave you so many chances, and you wasted every one of them.” “Marcus, freeze all his funds. Change the codes to the house. As for you, Ethan… go to the Guest House. Take thirty lashes and kneel for three days and three nights. When you’ve come to your senses, you can come and apologize to Marcus.” With that, she supported the whimpering Marcus and walked away, never looking back. I lay on the icy marble floor and started to laugh. Funds? What funds did I have? The house? That mansion held nothing of mine except a few faded, worn-out shirts Victoria bought me in college. And the Guest House… It was merely a black-painted annex she used to discipline me. Stepping into her office unannounced earned me ten lashes. Failing to secure the perfect dress for a gala earned me ten. Even visiting my own sick sister was punished with ten lashes, because, as she claimed, “seeing other women makes me feel insecure.” I squeezed the warm, heavy black card in my pocket. Using every ounce of my will, I pulled myself off the floor. Dragging my nearly useless leg, I staggered, step by painful step, toward the Maserati still waiting below. I, Ethan, was rich now. And I was going to buy my sister the finest coffin in the world. Anya opened the car door. When she saw the handprint on my face and the blood on my jacket, her eyes immediately filled with tears. “You have me now. No one will ever touch you like that again.” Her voice was choked with emotion. I had come to believe that all women’s promises were lies. But then she reached into the glove box and pulled out a watch I’d lost in high school, and a faded, yellowed math notebook. “Remember? The girl hiding behind the bleachers because she failed the math final?” “You were the one who comforted me, gave me your notes, and made me believe I could pass. I found your watch in the cafeteria. I tried to return it, but you’d transferred schools and I never saw you again.” “Now, it’s back where it belongs.” I stared at the watch. My eyes burned. Someone, truly, had kept me in their heart for all these years. “As soon as I’ve seen to Eliza’s funeral,” I gripped her hand tightly, “we’re getting married.” Eliza’s funeral was simple but deeply solemn. With Anya’s money, I purchased the best plot and the finest silk-lined casket. Standing before the headstone, looking at the photo of Eliza’s bright, laughing face, my heart was shredded. My phone vibrated. A screenshot from a former colleague. It was Victoria’s social media. Marcus had his arm draped around her waist beneath a Maldivian sunset. Around her neck was the anniversary necklace I had bought her last year by saving every penny I had. The caption, written by Marcus: “The CEO deserves a break. I’ll take care of her from now on.” A second photo, buried in the feed, was a half-naked bed selfie—them under a thin sheet, the hotel bedsheets disheveled in the background. My heart had died the moment my sister did. Now, the final flicker of warmth was incinerated. Expressionless, I opened Victoria’s messaging app. I typed two words. “Victoria, we are done.” Then, I blocked and deleted all contact information for both her and Marcus. It was done. Meanwhile, thousands of miles away in the Maldives. Victoria, mid-flirt with Marcus in the infinity pool, felt a sharp, unprovoked pang in her chest—an intense flicker of unease. She impatiently shoved Marcus away and, guided by a strange compulsion, opened my direct messages. She intended to send some demanding text, but the screen flashed a stark, red exclamation point. Victoria froze. Ethan had deleted her? Disbelieving, she called my number. “The number you have dialed is switched off.” A flicker of panic ignited. She tore through every social media platform—Twitter, Instagram, even the old account I hadn’t used in years. In every case, she was blocked. For the first time, this man, my shadow, had used a weapon of absolute finality to vanish from her world. Victoria’s face twisted into a mask of ugly shock. But quickly, she found a familiar, comfortable rationalization. “He’s sulking because I missed our anniversary. He’s trying the push-and-pull routine.” She muttered to herself, her eyes regaining that familiar look of high-altitude confidence. “Playing hard-to-get? Such childish manipulation.” She gave a small, scornful laugh, then expertly opened a luxury app. She bought a pile of items I’d once mentioned wanting but she’d never cared about. She also ordered a limited-edition supercar I’d dreamed of for years. “Book the next flight back,” she ordered Marcus, her tone edged with an unconscious irritability. She needed to return, to personally watch that man crawl back and beg for her forgiveness. While she was in the air, Anya and I walked into the local Registrar’s office. When the two official certificates were placed in our hands, I felt like a man who had been trapped in an ice cave for ten years and finally saw the sun. “Husband,” Anya whispered the word for the first time, a blush on her cheeks. “Let’s go home.” She drove me to her private garage. When the enormous alloy door slowly rose, I was stunned into silence. An entire basement floor, filled with over a hundred top-tier luxury vehicles. From a Rolls-Royce Ghost to a Bugatti Veyron, they shone under the recessed lighting with a cold, expensive luster. “Pick any one you like. It’s yours now.” Anya pressed a key fob into my hand. I looked at the Koenigsegg key in my palm, a burning sensation in my chest. This was the first time in my life I had been treated with such profound respect. “No… this is too much.” “When you go out to seal a business deal, you can’t be caught without a car that commands respect.” Anya lifted my face and looked me in the eyes, utterly serious. “Besides, you deserve the best things in this world.” Her sincerity and trust were a deep, moving tide. I was speechless. “You’re… you’re not what I thought.” She smiled, a flash of pure, wry intelligence. “The state’s top science and math scholar from a decade ago? Did you really think I had no ambition?” Anya’s words were a key, unlocking ten years of buried shame and resentment. She was right. The early, crucial technology that built the Ashworth Group into what it was—that was all me. Victoria used “love” and “insecurity” to tie me to the shadows. She convinced me to sign over all my equity and assets in her name, claiming she needed the security. I got nothing in return but the public title of a kept man. “Now, we are a team.” She took my hand and placed it over her heart. “My company, Global Bio-Tech, is yours. Half the shares are yours. Ethan, go do everything you were meant to do.” My eyes finally gave way. I nodded, a wetness on my cheeks. I knew it then. My new life had begun. Victoria, exhausted and laden with my “apology gifts,” returned to the cold mansion. When she didn’t find me taking my punishment in the Guest House, a flicker of outrage at my defiance rose in her, but she quickly suppressed it. She decided to be the bigger person—she had neglected him. They would just celebrate their anniversary now. However, she searched the entire estate—the master suite, the study, even the cramped storage room I sometimes used as an escape. “Ethan!” Her voice echoed through the vast, empty rooms. No answer. A cold, unfamiliar panic started to coil around her heart like a vine. “Where is he?” she demanded, grabbing the housekeeper. “Madam… Mr. Ethan… he…” the housekeeper stammered. Marcus, standing nearby, interjected with a smirk of schadenfreude: “V, he’s a piece of trash. He’s gone, who cares? You have me now.” “Snap!” Victoria’s hand whipped out, delivering another sharp slap that sent Marcus’s head spinning. “Did I give you permission to speak?! What right do you have to even utter his name?!” “And you,” she pointed at Marcus’s chest, her voice low and dangerous, “don’t mention divorce again! I didn’t agree to anything!” Marcus clutched his face, momentarily stunned. It took him a beat to realize what she’d said. He stammered: “V… but… but you did divorce him! The papers Mr. Ethan gave you to sign that day… that was the settlement agreement!”

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1 For 365 days a year, my girlfriend would hire 365 different gig workers to go on dates with me in her place. All because of her insufferable ex, a man still playing his tragic game of winning her back, always using self-harm as his trump card. I suggested we move to a different city. But my girlfriend, Serena, just screamed at me. “If he dies, you’ll be a murderer!” “Why can’t you just tolerate him? You’re so petty!” It all came to a head on the day of our engagement party. She sent another proxy to stand in for her. This time, I slid the ring directly onto the proxy’s finger. “Fine,” I said. “New bride it is.” … I was just about to take off my suit jacket when Serena came through the door. She was propping up a man who was swaying, drunk off his feet. Her small frame strained under his weight, terrified he might fall. My hands froze on my jacket. “Go make Damian a hangover cure, and then cook me dinner,” she ordered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if I were her servant. Damian, his face flushed with alcohol, glared at me from Serena’s shoulder. “I’m not eating anything he makes. It’s disgusting.” “If Daddy’s not eating, I’m not eating either!” Ella, their daughter, shot out like a tiny cannonball, planting her hands on her hips and looking up at me with pure defiance. “Fine,” I said quietly. I had no intention of cooking for them anyway. Ella was Serena and Damian’s daughter, but I had been the one raising her since she was born. Five years of being the dependable man, the steady hand for this mother and daughter, yet in their eyes, I was still an outsider. Their world revolved around Damian. I turned and walked back to my bedroom. A few minutes later, Serena followed me in, holding a steaming mug. “Martin, I made you some coffee.” This was her pattern. She’d issue a command, then follow it with a small, placating gesture to soothe my feelings. It was our unspoken signal to move on. But this time, I just glanced at it. “Just put it down.” My flat reaction must have thrown her. Her expression grew complicated. She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. “Today was our engagement party. Aren’t you forgetting something?” “What?” I asked, genuinely confused. She held out her left hand, fingers spread. “You need to put the ring on me.” My gaze followed hers to her ring finger, and a sharp sting went through me. There was already a ring there. Her eyes darted away, and she quickly pulled it off. “Damian forced me to wear this. He said he wouldn’t leave the bar unless I put it on.” She held her bare hand out to me again. I ignored it, walking right past her to hang up my suit. “Don’t bother. The proxy is already wearing it for you.” Serena’s voice instantly became shrill. “You gave my ring to a gig worker?!” “Weren’t we celebrating my engagement to her today?” I replied calmly. “What’s the problem with her wearing the ring?” I don’t know which part of that set her off, but she suddenly hurled her handbag at me. It wasn’t enough. She grabbed a vase from the entryway and threw that too. I instinctively raised my arm to block it. Ella appeared from nowhere, slapping at my legs, her little face a mask of fury. “Bad man! Bad man! Don’t you hit my mommy!” Seeing her, I worried she’d get hurt. I quickly wrestled the vase from Serena’s hands, but Ella sank her teeth into my calf, hard. She clung to my leg, screaming toward the living room. “Daddy, come quick! Mommy’s being attacked!” A drunk man has little self-control, and I was already the person he hated most in the world. The next thing I knew, there was a sharp pain, and warmth trickled down the side of my head. Serena froze, her hands tightening into fists. Only Ella was clapping. “Yay! The bad man is down! The bad man is bleeding!” Serena rushed to get a first-aid kit, pressing a piece of gauze to my wound. “I’ll take you to the hospital.” She held the gauze firmly against my head. I tried to push her away, but she just kept pressing, guiding me out the door. A flicker of warmth touched my cold, numb heart. “Martin,” she said as she started the car. “I want to talk to you about something.” “I want to change Ella’s last name back to Vance.” My breath caught in my throat. That fleeting moment of gratitude, of feeling cared for, felt like a cruel joke. I looked at her and laughed, my voice devoid of any emotion. “Ella is your child. She should have your name. You don’t need my permission.” A flicker of surprise crossed her face. “You agree?” Before today, I would have fought for them, cherished them as my own, tried to tuck them away from the world and protect them. But now, I was just tired. I was done fighting. “She’s your daughter, Serena. It’s your decision.” A joyful light filled her eyes. “I knew you’d think of what’s best for Ella! This way, she’ll have two daddies.” My head was pounding. I didn’t reply. She chattered on for a while before focusing on the road. We were halfway down the winding mountain road when her phone rang, playing a custom ringtone I knew was for Ella. The moment she answered, Ella’s panicked voice filled the quiet car. “Mommy, Daddy’s cutting his wrist with a knife again! You have to come back!” Serena immediately slammed on the brakes and spun the car around. “Serena,” I said, my voice low. She shot me an irritated look. “This is a matter of life and death! Can you not be so dramatic right now? Have some compassion, for God’s sake! Don’t be so cold-blooded!” I shook my head, my own voice eerily calm. “Just do me a favor and call me a car.” Only then did she seem to remember the blood matting my hair. A sliver of guilt appeared on her face. She quickly made a call. “I’ll just go check on him, and I’ll come right back for you. Wait for me at the hospital.” I watched her car disappear into the darkness, a single thought echoing in my mind. I won’t be waiting for you anymore. 2 I met Serena five years ago. It was on a desolate stretch of highway, just like this one. She had collapsed on the side of the road. I took her to the hospital, where the doctor told me she was pregnant. For two whole days, I couldn’t reach any of her family. Finally, a man claiming to be her fiancé showed up, but he only accused her of faking the pregnancy and called me an actor she’d hired. I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity. In the weeks that followed, I watched as Damian’s first love, a woman named Victoria, tormented Serena, framing her for things she never did. Eventually, Serena’s spirit broke. She begged me to take her away. Damian, of course, tried to win her back. But Serena, her heart shattered, refused him. I remember her saying that a broken mirror can’t be put back together. Once it’s cracked, the pieces will never fit the same way again. Naturally, after that, Serena and I fell together. And I came to love Ella as my own daughter. I woke up with a pounding headache, pressing my hands to my forehead as if trying to hold the pieces of a bad dream together. A man with a grim face was standing by my bed. “You’re awake? Good. Pay your fare.” “If I’d known you were a hospital case, I never would’ve picked you up. What a waste of my damn time.” I looked at him, finally recognizing the rideshare driver Serena had called for me last night. I opened my banking app, but all I had was the small amount of grocery money Serena had transferred to me. It wasn’t nearly enough. I had no choice but to call her. The driver’s impatient stare was burning a hole in me. I called twice. No answer. “Come on, kid, hurry it up,” he grumbled. “I’ve got other fares to pick up. Stop wasting my time.” Desperate, I called my daughter. The second I spoke, Ella’s voice, sharp with scorn, shot through the phone. “You’re pathetic! So pathetic you have to call a kid for money. You might as well just go die!” She was shouting so loudly that the quiet hospital hallway went silent. Patients passing by shot me strange, pitying looks. Just then, a nurse walked up to my bed. “Bed 102? You need to go down and settle your bill. The total is four thousand, three hundred and sixty-two dollars.” My face fell. That was it. The driver was now certain I was broke. He grabbed the front of my shirt, the flesh on his face jiggling with anger. “You piece of crap! You take a private car with no money? I’ll beat the hell out of you!” Seeing the commotion, the nurse’s tone hardened. “Sir, please pay your bill immediately. You’re disturbing the other patients.” Everyone was staring, whispering. I felt completely cornered, helpless. Suddenly, a young woman appeared, pulling the driver’s hand off my shirt and stepping in front of me. “I’m so sorry, honey,” she said, looking at me with feigned exasperation. “It’s my fault for letting you spoil me so much. You never leave any spending money for yourself.” She then turned, all business. “Sir, you can scan my QR code right here. And Nurse, I’ll be down to pay the bill as soon as I’m done here.” “Oh, so he’s just one of those guys, wrapped around his wife’s finger,” someone muttered. “Hey, kid, sorry about that. We misunderstood.” The crowd, suddenly enlightened, dispersed, their judgment turning into murmurs of approval. Later, in the hospital cafeteria, I looked at the woman with the chic, chin-length bob and it finally clicked. “You were the proxy from the engagement party.” She extended a hand. “Let’s start over. My name is Claire. I’m a lawyer with the Sterling Firm.” I let out a dry laugh. “A lawyer who does proxy work?” “A side hustle,” she said with a shrug. “Don’t judge. Since we ran into each other, I wanted to give this back to you.” She held out the ring. “No, thank you,” I said, the words tasting like ash. “It’s not mine.” Even the engagement ring had been bought with Serena’s money. I felt like a complete clown. “I don’t like owing people favors,” Claire said. “So, how about this? In return, I’ll help you get your job back at Apex Airlines.” I looked up, shocked. “You know who I am?” “The legend of Captain Jiang,” she replied with a small smile. “The man who saved an entire plane. Of course, I know you. I just never understood why you quit at the peak of your career.” The world thought it was psychological trauma. No one knew that Damian had systematically destroyed my career, pressuring every airline until none of them would dare hire me, all as part of his twisted campaign to win Serena back. I gave a bitter laugh. “Tell me how.” I didn’t believe for a second she could change anything. She crossed her arms. “The person who created the problem is also the key to solving it.” Before she left, Claire gave me her card and told me to think about her offer. I went back to the villa. For the next two weeks, I didn’t see Serena at all. Then, one night, I got a call from her best friend. “Serena’s drunk. She needs someone to take care of her.” “Let her sleep it off at your place,” I said calmly. “Or call Damian.” God is my witness, I was genuinely thinking of what was best for her. But Serena, who was supposed to be dead drunk, came home and threw herself at me, sobbing. She buried her face in my chest, her nose red. “Why didn’t you come get me?” “That bastard Damian… his precious Victoria is coming back, and he still won’t let me go. What does he think I am? A dog he can just summon whenever he feels like it?” I looked down at her. This time, I didn’t offer my usual comfort. I just said, softly, “Serena, you still have feelings for him. Maybe you should give each other a real chance.” Her face changed instantly. “What are you trying to say? You’re pushing me away? You’re pushing me onto someone else? I’m with you now! Are you trying to dump me and be the bad guy?” “I’ve already booked the wedding venue! Besides, where would you go without me? Begging on the streets? Don’t be ridiculous!” I checked the message on my phone. She was serious. She’d booked a venue for three weeks from now. I was stunned. Could she actually want to marry me? That very night, that foolish hope was brutally crushed. I was staring, numb, at the pregnancy test I found in her drawer. In the five years we were together, I had respected her boundaries. I had waited, never once touching her. She had told me she wanted to have a daughter with me, one just like Ella. She’d said her biggest regret was getting pregnant out of wedlock, letting Ella suffer the judgment of others. My head started to buzz, my breathing grew ragged. It was all a one-sided fantasy. She would rather have child after child with Damian than let me, her supposed partner, even touch her. My years of devotion felt like one long, sick joke. After that day, Serena threw herself into wedding planning with a manic energy. I felt nothing. No one could have guessed that I had also hired a proxy for the wedding day. On the day of the wedding, I sat in the audience, a baseball cap pulled low over my eyes, and watched Serena walk down the aisle in a flowing white gown. I had picked it out for her myself, ensuring it would be comfortable and place no pressure on her belly. The time for the ceremony drew near, and I still hadn’t appeared. Serena called my phone several times. I didn’t answer. She walked over to my best friend, Marco. “Marco, can you get ahold of Martin?” Marco shook his head, hiding his phone behind his back. “Serena, maybe you should just call it off. Everyone in the city knows Martin’s a player. Who knows what kind of diseases he might have? I don’t think you should marry him.” “Yeah, Serena, listen to us,” others chimed in, rallying around her. Just then, a voice called out from the entrance. “The groom has arrived!” Serena’s head snapped up. She lifted her dress to run toward the door, then froze. “Damian?” I took off my cap and walked onto the stage. “Congratulations to you both,” I said, my voice ringing through the silent hall. “Serena, this is the exclusive proxy I hired just for you. How does he compare to the 365 you hired for me? Are you satisfied?”

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I used to buy my fruit from the same little stand on the corner. I did it because the owners were an elderly couple, Mr. and Mrs. Peterson, with no one to look after them, just struggling to get by. So, I never haggled, never even asked the price or checked the weight. That is, until I noticed the dates he sold me were two dollars a pound more expensive than what he charged the person right before me. “Mr. Peterson,” I asked, “why did you sell those dates to her for eight dollars a pound, but charge me ten?” He just smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Because you’re a teacher, Miss Chloe. You have a beautiful, kind heart. You’re just storing up good karma for yourself.” So that’s what it was. They were ripping off a regular. 1 I made a point of stopping by their stand every Monday and Friday to help them out. They were trying to make a living, but their sons were worthless, and their life was pitifully hard. When Mrs. Peterson was in the hospital a while back, I couldn’t help myself and slipped him $800 in cash. “Make sure your wife gets the best care, Mr. Peterson,” I’d told him. His hand trembled as he took the money, his eyes welling up with tears. His voice cracked, thick with emotion. “Thank you, Miss Chloe. Thank you.” He then scooped a huge bag of dates and handed them to me. I quickly pulled out another hundred-dollar bill. “These look fantastic today. I’ll take them.” I never questioned the price with him, never asked how much things weighed. I always just gave him extra; it had become a habit over the last two years. To me, it was just pocket change. Just as he was about to take the bill, a hurried customer cut in. “Hey, how much for the dates?” Mr. Peterson’s eyes darted toward me, a flash of guilt in them. He suddenly seemed anxious to get rid of me. “Why don’t you head on home, Miss Chloe? I’ll hold these for you. You can pick them up after work.” I didn’t think anything of it. But as I turned to leave, I heard Mr. Peterson’s quiet voice behind me. “Eight dollars a pound. How many do you want?” Eight dollars a pound? My feet felt like they were glued to the pavement. I’d been buying dates from him every day for a while now. He’d told me just the other day they were ten dollars a pound. That’s what he’d been charging me all along. Why was it suddenly eight for someone else? A bitter feeling started to creep in. I didn’t mind giving them money to help; I like being charitable. But I couldn’t stand being deceived. To see if I was imagining things, I waited in my car for an hour before walking back to the stand. “Mr. Peterson,” I asked, trying to keep my voice even, “how many pounds were in that bag you set aside for me? What’s the total?” He held up a hand, showing all five fingers. “Five pounds even. That’ll be fifty dollars.” He grinned, revealing a set of decaying teeth. He looked so honest, so simple, as if charging me fifty bucks was doing me some huge favor. Had he been doing this for the past two years? “Fine,” I said, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. “Five pounds it is.” I tried to reason with myself. He’s an old man, his kids don’t support him, what’s a little extra money? I always gave him more anyway. I was used to it. It didn’t matter. But this time, it did. I pulled out a fifty-dollar bill and handed it to him. Mr. Peterson’s smile vanished. He clutched the bill, his face twisting. “Miss Chloe, you never ask the price… you never ask about the weight. Why are you… why are you doing this now?” “Is there a problem?” My voice was colder than I intended. “Well, you were going to give me a hundred before, weren’t you? Why only fifty now? Are you shorting me?” he pressed, his voice rising. “Come on, Miss Chloe, give me the hundred. Times are tough, you know? This fruit stand, it doesn’t make much.” He started to look pathetic again, his brow furrowed. “We’re regulars, aren’t we?” An hour ago, I was perfectly willing to give him that hundred dollars. Now, I wasn’t. And he had the nerve to act wronged. A wave of revulsion washed over me. I slapped the fifty onto the counter, grabbed the bag of dates, and turned to leave. I hadn’t gotten ten steps before I heard a voice call out from behind me. “Miss Chloe! You didn’t pay enough! It’s supposed to be a hundred!” It was Mrs. Peterson, his wife. She’d appeared from nowhere and was now hurrying after me. A hundred? They were really doubling down on this. I held up the bag. “Five pounds,” I stated firmly. “Your husband said ten dollars a pound. That’s fifty dollars, right?” “Oh, you misunderstood!” Mrs. Peterson cried, her voice shrill. “These are the large dates, the good ones, shipped all the way from California! They’re twenty dollars a pound! You have five pounds there, so it’s one hundred dollars. What you’re holding, Miss Chloe, that’s the premium stuff.” Her face was etched with a greed I’d never seen before, and it made her a stranger. And Mr. Peterson… he just stood there, watching, silent. The so-called premium dates in my bag were the exact same size as the ones the other customer had bought. There was no way mine were worth twenty dollars while hers were eight. They were trying to shake me down. The hundred dollars they thought they had in the bag had turned into fifty, and they weren’t about to let it go. A nauseating feeling shot through me, leaving me dizzy in the cold wind. I had been buying fruit from their stand, helping them, for two years straight. And this is how they repaid me? By ripping me off? “So you’re sure,” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet, “that you’re selling these to me for twenty dollars a pound?” My heart felt like a block of ice. “In that case, I’d like the eight-dollar ones. Do you have any of those?” As a teacher, I was used to maintaining my composure in public, so I kept my voice steady, even as my blood boiled. Mrs. Peterson shook her head frantically. “No, no, we’re all out of those! We only have the twenty-dollar ones left. They’re the sweetest, the freshest.” She was insistent. I had to pay the hundred. They had just taken $800 from me this morning, and now they were trying to bleed me dry over a bag of fruit? Did I have “sucker” written on my forehead? Or had their dependence on my charity morphed into some twisted sense of entitlement? I could be generous, but I would not be played for a fool. “Fine,” I said, my voice rising. “Then I don’t want them. Take your dates back, and you can give me my fifty dollars.” I slammed the bag back down on the fruit stand and held out my hand to Mr. Peterson. He plastered on a smile, his tone shifting into that of a preachy old man. “Now, Miss Chloe, I know you’re a good person. You love doing good deeds. You’ve been helping us for two years, and we’re very grateful. But in return, I’ve always sold you the best seasonal fruit, always saved the first pick for you.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Besides, doing good deeds builds up good karma. Think of all the blessings you’ve stored up! You’ll find a wonderful husband, have beautiful children… you see? You’re not losing anything at all, are you?” Before I could even react, his wife chimed in with the same sanctimonious tone. “We appreciate your business these past two years, Miss Chloe, we really do. But business is business, and gratitude is gratitude. Let’s not mix the two.” “Many times,” she continued, “we wanted to repay you. But you’re a teacher, you drive a nice car… we knew you didn’t need anything from people like us, right?” She finished with a series of hacking coughs, bending over as if she were about to be sick. Watching her pathetic display, a hot spike of irritation shot through me. This was blatant guilt-tripping. Moral blackmail. The whole atmosphere felt toxic, and I needed to get away. But as I turned to my car, Mrs. Peterson lunged in front of me. “One hundred dollars for the dates, Miss Chloe. You pay, take the fruit, and then you can go.” I finally snapped. “I don’t want them! I’m not buying them! I’m not even hungry!” All thoughts of maintaining a professional image were gone, incinerated by their blatant manipulation. “But you already had us bag them up! You can’t just decide not to buy them now. You can’t bully us poor, honest old folks, can you?” I almost laughed. Me, bullying them? They had been working together to fleece me, and if not for that one little slip-up today, I would have been none the wiser. Helping them had become so ingrained in my routine. “I’m bullying you?” I shot back, my voice dripping with disbelief. “I’ve bought fruit here nearly every day, never asked the price, and always paid extra. Was I bullying you then? You sell dates to someone else for eight dollars and charge me ten, then try to jack the price up to twenty to squeeze a hundred out of me, and now you have the gall to say I’m the bully? Why don’t you calculate how much you’ve scammed out of me over the years?” “I have to get to school,” I finished, my voice shaking with rage. “Don’t waste any more of my time.” I swore to myself I would never set foot near this place again. Con artists didn’t deserve an ounce of my sympathy. Just then, Mrs. Peterson threw herself in front of my car, wailing. “Miss Chloe, you can’t just leave the fruit you picked out! These are the ones you wanted! You can’t waste our time like this!” Seeing that she wasn’t going to move, my frustration boiled over. “Mrs. Peterson, I need to get to school. And if you really want to talk about money, I gave you eight hundred dollars this morning. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to help you anymore. I regret it. So how about you give me my $800 back?” My whole body was trembling with a fury I hadn’t felt in years. My entire worldview, my belief in helping others, was being shattered on this dirty sidewalk. She started sobbing, a pathetic stream of tears and snot running down her chapped face. In the cold air, her weathered, gaunt features made her the very picture of a victim. Anyone watching would have thought I was the monster. “That’s not how it works,” she whimpered. “Your donation was a donation. The dates are business. You can’t mix them up. You’re a respectable person, Miss Chloe, you can’t act like this.” I was done. I couldn’t argue anymore. I yanked my car door open, threw it in reverse, and sped away. But I had only just pulled up to the school when I saw her again. I don’t know how she got there so fast, but there she was, hauling a huge basket of dates, tears streaming down her face. “Miss Chloe, don’t be angry!” she cried out, loud enough for everyone to hear. “The dates aren’t expensive! We’ll sell them to you for eight dollars a pound, but you insisted on three! There are ten pounds here… fine, fine, just give me thirty dollars for the whole basket!” Wait. A minute ago, she was demanding a hundred. Now, she was claiming I had more dates, and she was asking for less money? I looked around. Students and fellow teachers were walking by, many of them slowing down to stare. I knew exactly what she was doing. She was here to humiliate me, to make me look like a cheap, petty bully in front of my colleagues and students. This wasn’t just about money anymore; it was malicious. I felt a suffocating wave of disgust and regret. Why had I ever tried to help these people? Just then, a smug voice cut through the air. “Miss Chloe, you shouldn’t be treating an elderly person like this. Look how old she is, and you’re giving her such a hard time? I got it all on video. I can report you, you know. Get you fired.” It was Kyle’s mother. Kyle was the biggest troublemaker in my class, a bully I’d had to discipline countless times. I had called his parents, made him write apology letters—and his mother had hated me for it ever since. Of course she would show up now. Mrs. Peterson, though old, was sharp. Seeing she had an ally, her eyes lit up. She leaned in close to me, her voice a venomous whisper. “This can all go away very easily. Just give me twenty thousand dollars, and I’ll tell everyone you did nothing wrong. I’ll clear your name. What do you say?” Twenty thousand dollars. Blackmail. Kyle’s mom had a video of me “bullying” an old woman, and Mrs. Peterson was ready to cash in. I was trapped at the gates of my own school. If I paid her off, I would be rewarding her cruelty, and I would hate myself for it. If I refused, my career as a teacher could be over. My reputation would be destroyed. To think, all of this happened because I decided I didn’t want to be overcharged for a bag of dates. “Fine,” I said, my voice hollow. “Give me the dates.” She eagerly handed over the heavy basket. She said I wanted them for three dollars a pound, right? Then that’s what I’d give her, right here in front of everyone. If they wanted to make me miserable, I’d make damn sure they didn’t have a good day either. I took out thirty dollars and gave it to her. I turned to walk into the school, the basket feeling like a block of lead in my hand. Behind me, Mrs. Peterson let out a heart-wrenching sob. “Can you believe the nerve of some teachers? I bring her ten pounds of my best dates, and she only gives me thirty dollars! I was just being polite, and she takes advantage! The cheapest dates anywhere are eight dollars a pound! She’s cheating me out of fifty dollars! We work so hard, and for what? Pennies! Is she trying to kill us?” She was a master, twisting the truth, painting herself as the victim. To the onlookers, she was just a frail, poor old woman. A sympathetic figure. Kyle’s mom let out a triumphant laugh. “Hahaha, I got it all! You’re finished, Miss Chloe! Bullying the elderly! You’re toast! Nobody’s going to let you get away with this. How could you be so cruel?” Looking at their vicious, gloating faces, I didn’t even bother to argue. My heart felt bruised and numb. I walked woodenly into the staff room, set the dates down, and pulled out my phone. I dialed a number. “Mr. Davison? That fruit stand on East Gate… tear it down. I want them gone. Now.” The land that fruit stand sat on? It was my family’s property. When the area was redeveloped, all the old buildings were demolished. All except for that one little plot. I had specifically requested it be left for the Petersons. I charged them only $300 a month in rent. They sold fruit out of the small storefront during the day, and at night, they’d lock up and live in the spacious eighty-square-foot room in the back. “Of course, Miss Chloe. You’ve finally seen the light,” Mr. Davison said, a clear note of relief in his voice. “I never trusted that couple, but I didn’t want to say anything.” He had always followed my instructions without question, but I remembered now he’d been unusually quiet, almost disapproving, when I’d first told him my plans for the stand. He’d seen something in them I hadn’t. After the call, a small measure of relief settled over me. I had to focus on preparing for my classes tomorrow.

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1 I was grabbing a greasy kebab from a street cart—a guilty pleasure—when I ran into an old college classmate. Her eyes widened. She said I was taking the silent treatment with Sophia too far. Sophia Thorne. Daughter of the wealthy family my father worked for, and my first love. We’d planned to study abroad together—a bright, clear future. But at our graduation party, someone drugged her. When I rushed to help, she suddenly came to her senses in the haze. She had her bodyguards throw me, naked, out of the room as everyone watched, screaming I was a gold digger who’d do anything for money. After that, my name meant “social climber.” The city’s scorn grew suffocating, so I left with my father. That was two years ago. Now my classmate pulled out her phone. “You have no idea—Sophia’s been searching for you like crazy,” she said. “Just apologize and humor her. Couples fight and make up. It’s not a big deal.” A bitter laugh escaped me. I showed her my lock screen—a smiling woman and a baby—and the gold band on my finger. “Make up?” I said flatly. “I’m married. I have a kid.” … 2 This classmate, Chloe, had been Sophia’s best friend since childhood. She’d been a spectator to our entire relationship, from its innocent beginnings to its fiery end. She fumbled, hanging up the phone, her hand trembling slightly. After a long moment, she stared at me, her voice a hushed, horrified whisper. “No way, man. You seriously had a kid with someone else behind her back?” I’d snuck out tonight for a moment of peace, not a trip down memory lane. I had no intention of continuing this conversation and turned to leave. But she scrambled to block my path, her face a mask of undisguised panic. “Sam, listen to me! Sophia is even richer now than when you two broke up!” Her words tumbled out in a rush. “She took over the family business. She’s Northwood’s most eligible bachelorette! She even said if you come back, she’ll marry you. No prenup, nothing!” Her desperate pitch faltered as she saw the complete lack of emotion on my face. Still, she pushed on, one last desperate plea. “Just… divorce your wife. Get rid of the kid. I’ll pretend I never saw you tonight.” My blood ran cold. The look in my eyes must have been sharp, because she flinched. “You and Sophia need to see a shrink,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Stop harassing people.” Her face flushed a deep, angry red. She pointed a trembling finger at me, speechless. I was already halfway down the block when I heard her shriek behind me. “Who are you trying to fool, Sam? Weren’t you the pathetic loser who drugged Sophia trying to climb into her bed in the first place?” Climb into her bed. That label had been stuck to me from the day Sophia and I started dating. She was the city’s beloved heiress, and my father was just a gardener on her family’s estate. An heiress and a nobody. It was a mismatch in everyone’s eyes. But Sophia’s love had been fierce, unapologetic. People whispered that I must have used some dirty trick, some low-class charm to bewitch the daughter of a prestigious family. Back then, I was young and proud, my self-respect my most prized possession. All I knew was that I loved Sophia, and she loved me. So I gritted my teeth, fueled by a burning desire to prove them all wrong. I wanted to show the world that Sam Cole, on his own merit, was worthy of Sophia Thorne. I refused her supplementary credit card. I never used her connections to pad my resume. From eighteen to twenty-two, our relationship, the one everyone swore would fail, lasted four years. I thought we would have so many more. Then, the summer after graduation, Julian Vance, the son of a close family friend of the Thornes, came to stay with them in Northwood. Julian was the real deal—a blue-blooded scion from a legacy family. He played the harp, excelled at equestrianism, and could dance like a professional. He was radiant and confident, possessing everything I had, and everything I didn’t. Whispers started circulating, dropped casually in front of me, about an old, informal betrothal pact their parents had made years ago. Julian’s visit, they said, was to make it official. Anxiety gnawed at me until I couldn’t take it anymore. I drove to the stables to find Sophia. Every Saturday afternoon, she’d be there, riding to blow off steam. But this time was different. When I found her, she wasn’t riding. She was leaning against the fence, her gaze fixed on the center of the ring, her eyes sparkling with an unfamiliar light. I followed her line of sight. There was Julian, magnificent in his riding gear, effortlessly commanding his horse. I watched him for a moment, then looked back at Sophia. She hadn’t noticed me. Her attention was completely captivated by him. My unease morphed into full-blown panic. I finally called her name. She started, turning to me. Then her face lit up, and she grabbed my hand, gushing about how incredible Julian’s riding skills were. Finally, she asked, “Sam, want to give it a try?” My face burned with shame. “I… I don’t know how to ride,” I mumbled, feeling myself shrink. The disappointment that flashed in her eyes felt like a dagger to my heart. We had a fight that day, a stiff, awkward argument. She looked utterly bewildered but tried her best to explain. She insisted she didn’t like Julian, that the childhood engagement was just a drunken joke between their parents that no one took seriously. Logically, that should have been the end of it. But the knot in my throat only tightened. I wanted to tell her to stay away from him. I wanted to say, Just wait for me. I’ll be someone great one day, someone who deserves you. But the words were trapped, suffocated by a pride that felt more like poison. To say any of it would be to admit my own inferiority, my own desperate, pathetic jealousy. So, I grew quiet. Sophia didn’t seem to notice. She and Julian had too many shared interests to explore. But her mother did. Mrs. Thorne summoned me to the sunroom, her tone as light and pleasant as if she were discussing the weather. “Do you know why I never tried to stop Sophia from dating you, Sam?” I remained silent. “Because I knew it would never last,” she continued, her smile never reaching her eyes. “This way, she gets it out of her system. There will be no lingering obsession.” She gestured vaguely towards the garden. “See? Look how well she and Julian are getting along now.” I stood there, a chill spreading down my spine as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over me. “Sophia told me she doesn’t like him,” I managed to say. Mrs. Thorne let out a soft, soundless laugh, adjusting the cashmere shawl around her shoulders. “You foolish boy. If you step aside gracefully, you’ll give her an easy way out.” “And if I don’t?” “Sam,” she said, her voice losing its feigned warmth, “this is a notification, not a suggestion.” Mrs. Thorne was a woman of her word. The next day, she fired my father. He stood before me, tears streaming down his weathered, sun-beaten face, his chest heaving with frustrated sobs. His hands moved frantically, signing his story. “They said I was a thief. They docked a month’s pay. But I wasn’t! I never left the gardens!” I choked back my own tears, apologizing over and over, promising I’d get his wages back. But when I went to find Sophia, she was playing a video game with Julian. She glanced up at my interruption, tossed her controller aside, and asked in a strange, detached tone, “Sam, why did you get together with me in the first place?” I froze. “Did your mother say something to you?” I asked, my voice sharp. “Sophia, don’t listen to her, she—” “Don’t talk about my mother like that, Sam,” she cut in, her expression hardening with irritation. I stood there, lost, staring at this suddenly unfamiliar woman. The annoyance in her eyes felt like a physical blow. After what felt like an eternity, she turned away, waving a dismissive hand over her shoulder without even looking at me. “Just go home for now.” I stood outside the door, watching as she sat back down. Julian picked up his controller, said something that made her laugh, and she leaned against him, her body relaxing into his. He didn’t pull away. For the first time, I felt a horrifying certainty that Mrs. Thorne had been right all along. A few days later, two things arrived simultaneously: my father’s missing wages and my acceptance letter from UPenn. Seeing the joy on my father’s face as he clutched the check, and reading the email on my phone, I hesitated. Finally, I sent Sophia a text, thanking her and telling her my offer had come through. Going to UPenn together had always been our plan. She replied instantly with an address and two words: “Come here.” Sophia was out with her circle of friends—the daughters of Northwood’s elite, whose favorite pastime was stirring up trouble. When I walked in, the girl nearest the door raised her champagne flute. “Well, well!” she drawled. “Look who it is! Sir Sam himself. Congrats on the UPenn acceptance letter! Don’t forget us little people when you’re on top!” I’d grown used to this kind of veiled mockery over the years. I ignored her and walked straight to Sophia, who was staring down into her drink. Before I could even sit, the same girl added with a smirk, “You know, Sam, you’re a classic case of marrying up. Let’s be real, someone from your background would never get a chance to study abroad if it weren’t for Sophia.” Her words had barely settled when Sophia let out a cold laugh. She rose slowly, gracefully, holding her wine glass. Then, in front of everyone, she poured the entire contents over the girl’s head. The empty glass smashed at her feet, and Sophia’s hand cracked across her face in a vicious slap. “Your mouth stinks,” Sophia spat. “You should keep it shut.” The room erupted into chaos. The two of them were a tangle of flailing limbs and curses until they were finally pulled apart and sent to separate hospitals. In the car on the way to the emergency room, Sophia wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth. Without looking at me, she asked, “Did you get the money?” I was dabbing at a cut on her knuckles with a napkin. I nodded. She snatched her hand back, a strange, bitter chuckle escaping her lips. Then she grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet her gaze. Her eyes were intense, searching. “Sam,” she said, each word a carefully placed stone, “if I didn’t have money, would you still be with me?” A wave of exhaustion washed over me, so profound it was almost dizzying. But I held her gaze, swallowing the lump in my throat, and answered with all the sincerity I had left. “Sophia, believe it or not, it’s always been you. Just you.” Years ago, my father, who is deaf-mute, was repeatedly cheated out of his wages by unscrupulous agencies who took advantage of him. It was Sophia, passing by, who stopped and gave me her number, telling me her family needed a gardener and that my dad should try applying. The memory of her bright, confident smile still visited me in my dreams. She was a splash of vibrant color in my otherwise gray life. How could I not love her? But I knew, in that moment, she didn’t believe me anymore. The way she looked at me was different now. It was the calculated, scrutinizing gaze of a superior assessing a subordinate, someone trying to curry favor. For the first time, I seriously considered ending things with her. But the thought alone was a physical pain, a fist clenching around my heart. So I did the cowardly thing. I buried my head in the sand and did nothing. Until the graduation party. I was in a storage closet, grabbing more chairs, when I saw Sophia stumbling down the hotel corridor, swaying so badly she was about to collapse. My heart seized. I dropped the chairs and sprinted towards her, catching her just as her knees gave out. Her hair was a mess, her face flushed, and she was muttering about being hot. I assumed she was just drunk and started half-carrying, half-dragging her towards a private lounge to rest. It wasn’t until she pushed me onto the sofa and pinned me down that I realized something was terribly wrong. I struggled, trying to hold her off while fumbling for my phone to call 911. But she clung to me, her body trembling with sobs, mumbling my name over and over. A traitorous thought flickered through my mind: maybe this was fate making the choice for me. And Sophia, it seemed, had made her choice too. She lifted her head, her eyes hazy as she tried to focus on my face. “E…than?” My hands trembled as I reached up, my fingers brushing against the back of her neck. The next second, a powerful kick sent me sprawling onto the floor. Sophia clutched at her dress, staring down at me with wide, horrified eyes. “Are you insane? What do you think you’re doing? You drugged me!” I stared back at her, stunned. “Drugged you? No, I just saw you… you looked like you were about to pass out, so I…” My words died in my throat. The look in her eyes—pure contempt and disgust—silenced me. “Keep lying,” she sneered. “Just keep lying, Sam. When did you become this… this creature?” My face burned with humiliation. “It wasn’t me,” I pleaded, a last, desperate attempt to salvage the truth. “I didn’t do anything! You can check the security cameras!” Her only response was a cold, mocking silence. My heart felt like it was turning to ice. I turned away, wiping at the corner of my eye, and whispered the words I’d been avoiding for weeks. “Sophia, let’s break up.” The silence was shattered by her sharp, cruel laugh. She strode over, her heel pressing down hard on my shoulder, pinning me to the floor as she pulled out her phone and called security. “Wow, Sam, you’re good,” she said, her voice dripping with venom. “Playing hard to get now? Is money really that important to you?” She let out a sharp, decisive breath. “Fine.” Before I could react, two burly security guards were at the door. Sophia opened it wide, pointing a trembling finger at me. “Get him out of here,” she commanded, her face a blank mask. “Throw him into the hallway. Just like that.”

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My mother was a professional con artist. Her specialty was staging accidents. Every day, she’d drag me to a busy intersection, and we’d hunt for our mark. As soon as a car slowed down, she’d shove me into its path. I’d get hit, and she’d rush over, wailing and screaming, clutching me as if I were dying. She’d tell the driver they’d hit a child, and if they didn’t hand over a hundred thousand dollars, this would not end well. I’ve had three broken bones. Each time she got the money, she’d buy me an ice cream cone as a reward. But the sweetness of the ice cream could never mask the agony of a fractured bone. … 1 “Nina, are you ready?” my mother whispered, crouching at the mouth of an alley. I clutched my backpack and nodded, my eyes glued to a black sedan making a slow right turn at the intersection. My leg was still in a cast, the “trophy” from last month’s job. “Mom, my leg still hurts…” “Suck it up!” she snapped. “Look at that car. You can tell they’re rich. This one’s the big score. If we land this, we can take the rest of the month off!” Then, timing it perfectly, she gave me a vicious shove from behind. I flew forward, landing hard in front of the car. The driver’s door flew open, and a man in a sharp suit scrambled out. “Little girl, are you okay?” My mother was on him in a flash, launching into her performance. “My baby! My poor, cursed child! You bastard! Are you blind?!” I lay on the pavement, expertly shutting my eyes and letting out a low moan. Over the years, we’d perfected this routine, scamming dozens of people. The fear I’d felt in the beginning had hardened into a numb resignation. It only took two years. “One million,” my mother screeched, naming a price that was pure fantasy. “Not a penny less, or I’ll die right here with you!” The man’s brow furrowed for a moment, as if he were considering it. “Fine,” he said, stunning us both. “But not here.” He opened his car door. “Get in. We’ll go to the hospital. I’ll pay for the examination, the medical bills, the emotional distress. I won’t short you a dime.” My mother was speechless. She’d never expected it to be this easy. Overjoyed, she scooped me up and bundled me into the car. But the car didn’t head toward the city. It drove further and further into the outskirts, until it finally stopped in front of an abandoned factory. “Mister, this isn’t the way to the hospital…” I whispered. He turned, his face stripped of its earlier kindness. “I know,” he said with a chilling smile. “This is a place for teaching lessons.” 2 The man’s name was Landon Pierce. He dragged my mother out of the car. She shrieked, “What do you want? I’m warning you, don’t try anything crazy! I’ve already called the police!” Landon ignored her. He retrieved a crowbar from the trunk and tossed it at her feet. He pointed at me. Then at my mother. “Her, or you?” “What?” she stammered, not understanding. “I said,” Landon’s voice was flat, emotionless, “do you do it, or do I?” “Your daughter has one leg in a cast. The other one is perfectly fine.” “You choose. Either you break your own arm, or I’ll help you out and break your daughter’s other leg.” The color drained from my mother’s face. She looked from the crowbar on the ground to me. “Sir, please, I was wrong! I swear, I was wrong! I have a family to support, I was just desperate…” “Choose,” Landon cut her off. A single, unyielding word. I stared at my mother, the woman who always claimed I was her entire world. I waited for her to pick up the crowbar, even if it was just for show. I waited for her to shield me with her body, to scream “Don’t you touch my daughter.” She didn’t. She dropped to her knees with a thud and clutched Landon’s leg. “Please, I’m begging you, let me go! I can’t break my arm! How will I work? How will I support her?” “She’s young, her bones heal fast! She’ll be fine! Please, hurt her! Just don’t touch me!” In that moment, even the wind howling around the factory seemed to fall silent. Landon kicked her away, his face a mask of undisguised contempt. He came to the car, opened the door, and pulled me out. “Mom! Help me!” I cried, reaching for her. My mother scrambled to her feet, but not to run to me. She stumbled away, toward the factory gates. “Nina, you just be brave! Mommy’s going to get help!” She ran without a backward glance, leaving me alone with this monster. Landon didn’t follow her. He just looked at me, his expression a mixture of something I couldn’t name—pity, maybe, or disgust. He knelt and gently touched my good leg. “Does it hurt?” I was too terrified to speak, shaking my head frantically. “Don’t be afraid. Uncle will be very gentle.” He stood up and raised the crowbar. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the familiar, sickening pain. There was a sharp crack. My scream died in my throat. Landon had broken my other leg. He tucked a bank card into my pocket. “The PIN is six zeros. A lesson for you both. There’s enough money in there to live on for a long time, and enough to fix your legs.” “Tell your mother this is what she earned. I hope she enjoys the money she bought with her daughter’s two broken legs.” He got back in his car, started the engine, and the black sedan vanished down the road. My mother must have been hiding nearby. She came running back, saw me crumpled on the ground, and after a brief pause, threw herself on me, frantically searching my pockets. When she found the card, her face lit up with a grotesque, ecstatic joy. She hugged me, not with concern, but with manic excitement. “Nina! My darling girl! You’re Mommy’s lucky charm! We’re rich! We’re rich!” She spun in a circle, holding me tight, oblivious to the searing pain in my legs. Tears streamed down my face. I couldn’t tell if they were from the pain, or from the chill that had settled deep in my heart. Mom, I thought, your lucky charm now has two broken legs. 3 I spent the next six months in bed. With both legs broken, my mother could no longer use me for her scams. She hired the cheapest, unlicensed doctor in town to set the bones crudely and applied the lowest-quality ointment every day. My recovery was slow and agonizing. The breaks left me with permanent damage; on rainy days, a deep, gnawing pain would shoot through my legs. With the money, my mother bought new clothes and jewelry. She also developed a gambling addiction. The money vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Her anxiety returned. “This is all your fault,” she’d rage at me. “If you hadn’t been so useless, so scared of that man, we wouldn’t have lost our source of income!” I sat in my wheelchair, staring silently out the window. I once thought having both legs broken was rock bottom. I never imagined she could always find a new way to drag me deeper into hell. She discovered a new “business opportunity.” There was a spoiled rich kid in our neighborhood named Kyle. He was sixteen or seventeen and terrorized the community on a modified electric scooter, speeding recklessly down the sidewalks. Everyone despised him, but his family was wealthy and powerful, so nobody dared to say a word. My mother set her sights on him. “Nina, when that little punk comes around the corner, you’re going to roll yourself out there. Got it?” “Mom, I’m scared…” I gripped the arms of my wheelchair. “Scared of what? He hits you, we get a huge payout! It’ll pay for your college tuition!” She was painting her fantasies again, as if my well-being meant nothing to her. Kyle’s scooter tore around the corner in a blur. My mother shoved me from behind. The wheelchair shot out into the middle of the path. There was a screech of brakes. The wheelchair was knocked over. I was thrown out, my head cracking against a stone curb. Blood streamed down my forehead, blurring my vision. My mother’s performance began right on cue. “Oh, God! Someone help! He hit my poor daughter!” A crowd gathered, pointing fingers at Kyle, who stood there, pale and stunned. “I… I didn’t mean to…” “Didn’t mean to? Look at my daughter! Her legs were already broken, and now you’ve cracked her head open! You’re not leaving here until you make this right!” A kind-looking woman pushed through the crowd, trying to help me up. My mother shoved her away. “Don’t you touch her! We don’t need your fake sympathy! You rich people are all the same!” The woman froze, looking from my mother to me, her eyes filled with a sad pity. Her name was Maria, and she was Kyle’s family’s housekeeper. Kyle’s parents arrived quickly, their apologies profuse. “Ma’am, we are so sorry. We haven’t raised our son right. Look, let’s settle this privately. Name your price.” My mother had what she wanted. The haggling began. I lay on the ground, listening to the murmurs of the crowd. “That poor kid, having a mother like that.” “I know, right? Using her own child as a meal ticket.” “Still, that Kyle kid had it coming.” No one asked if I was in pain. They were just spectators at a circus. In the end, my mother got two hundred thousand dollars. She pushed me home, humming a cheerful tune. “See, Nina? Mommy’s smart, isn’t she? I earned you a fortune!” I closed my eyes, unwilling to speak. Mom, if I ever really do die, will you use my corpse to bargain for even more money? 4 The Kyles paid, but on one condition: my mother had to bring me to their house to sign a formal agreement, officially closing the matter. My mother saw this as a reasonable request, given the money she’d received. She dressed me in my only new outfit and pushed my wheelchair to their home. It was a mansion, dripping with gold and marble. Kyle’s mother was effusively welcoming. “Please, come in! You must be Nina. Such a beautiful child. It breaks my heart to see you suffer so.” She stroked my head and handed me an expensive-looking teddy bear. Kyle trudged down the stairs, looking mortified. “Mom, do we really have to do this? It’s so embarrassing.” “Quiet, you!” his mother snapped. “Kyle, apologize to your sister. Now.” He shuffled over and mumbled a barely audible, “Sorry.” “See? We’ve just spoiled him rotten,” Mrs. Kyle said with a laugh. “Oh, it’s nothing, boys will be boys!” my mother chirped, her smile wide. The atmosphere seemed peaceful, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a strange coldness in Mrs. Kyle’s eyes when she looked at me. After the apology, my mother was ready to leave, but Mrs. Kyle insisted we stay. “Don’t rush off! I had Maria prepare some snacks. Please, have something before you go.” Maria, the housekeeper who had tried to help me, brought out a tray of pastries and gave me a small, kind smile. We were shown to a small sitting room off the main hall. Kyle followed us in and sat opposite me, glaring. My mother was busy chatting with Mrs. Kyle, boasting about how hard her life was, raising me all by herself. Suddenly, Kyle stood up and walked over to me. “Hey, I heard your mom’s a professional scammer,” he whispered. I ignored him. “What, you deaf now? If it wasn’t for you, my dad wouldn’t have beaten me! This isn’t over!” He suddenly shoved my wheelchair, hard. There were two low steps leading out of the room. The chair tipped, and I was thrown out, my head slamming against the sharp edge of a marble tile. The world went silent. I couldn’t hear my mother’s screams or Mrs. Kyle’s gasp. I only saw Maria’s horrified face as she ran toward me. Just before I lost consciousness, I felt her press something small and hard into my hand. My mother’s reaction this time was even faster. She wasn’t just demanding money; she was throwing a full-blown tantrum. “You’re trying to murder us! If anything happens to my daughter, I’ll make sure your whole family pays!” Mrs. Kyle’s face had changed. She hadn’t expected her son to be stupid enough to pull a stunt like this. “Ma’am, calm down! It… it was an accident!” “An accident? You did this on purpose! Money! Five hundred thousand! Not a penny less!” my mother screamed a new number. This time, she got exactly what she wanted. To make the problem go away, the Kyles paid her off again. I was rushed to the hospital and diagnosed with a severe concussion and temporary hearing loss. The doctor said if it had been any worse, I might never have woken up. My mother stayed by my bedside, not out of concern, but out of fear that if I died, her golden goose would be gone for good. She only relaxed once I regained consciousness and could hear again. I looked at her, unable to speak a single word. My fist was clenched tight. Inside was a piece of fruit candy. And wrapped in the candy’s paper, I could feel something else.

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My mother was desperate for a son. After finally getting pregnant, she took every sketchy “gender-swapping” pill and herbal remedy she could find, convinced they would turn her fetus into a boy. In my past life, I begged her to stop. I showed her science books, pleaded with her to be healthy. She listened, stopped the crazy remedies, and gave birth to a healthy baby girl. My entire family blamed me. They said it was my fault the baby wasn’t a boy. I ended up dying at their hands. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the moment my mother announced her pregnancy. This time, I kept my mouth shut. Chapter 1 “Penny, I’m pregnant. Do you want a little brother or a little sister?” When I heard my mom say those words, I realized I had been reborn. In my previous life, my mom got pregnant with her second child at forty. Desperate for a son, she resorted to every trick in the book—”gender-swapping pills,” weird herbal brews soaked with animal parts, you name it. I tried to stop her, showing her parenting books and articles about the dangers. Because of my intervention, she had a healthy baby girl. My family blamed me. They claimed my interference turned the “brother” into a sister. They said I was responsible for her. I loved my little sister and took care of her tirelessly. But she grew up hating me, blaming me for her gender because the guy she liked was gay. In a fit of rage, she hacked me to death with a kitchen knife. This time, I’ll give them exactly what they want. I flashed a huge smile. “Of course I want a brother! Otherwise, who will carry on the family name? Mom, Dad and Grandma treat you so well, you can’t let the family line end with you!” My dad and grandma immediately shot me approving looks. My mom’s smile froze for a second before she forced it back. “Penny, how can you say that? A sister would be just as sweet and well-behaved as you.” Heh. In my last life, when I honestly said I wanted a sister, she went crying to Dad and Grandma, claiming I cursed her to have a girl because I was afraid a brother would steal my inheritance. Dad beat me black and blue for that. “What’s good about a girl? If you don’t give me a brother, who’s going to have my back? When I make money, am I supposed to give it to outsiders?” I said with righteous conviction. Grandma beamed, grabbing my hand. “Our Penny has grown up! She finally understands!” I hugged Grandma affectionately. “Grandma, it’s all thanks to my little brother. Just the thought of him makes me sensible. He’s going to be the pillar of this family!” In the past, whenever Dad and Grandma bullied Mom, she would just cry. I’d rush to defend her, only for her to turn around, play peacemaker, and join them in scolding me for being disrespectful. I took countless beatings for her. Never again. Mom’s face turned pale, and she looked like she might faint. Chapter 2 Soon enough, Grandma found some “gender-swapping pills” for Mom. “Even though it’s probably a boy, we can’t leave it to chance. I spent a fortune on these pills. The seller guaranteed it’ll be a boy if you finish the course.” Grandma handed the bottle to Mom. Mom looked at me. I focused on mopping the floor, pretending not to see a thing. She had no choice but to take them. “Grandma, I heard pregnancy makes you forgetful. Maybe you should keep the pills and give them to Mom every day. This is about my little brother; we can’t risk any mistakes,” I suggested. You love taking them? Eat up! Grandma nodded vigorously. “Right, right! Penny is so smart. All that schooling wasn’t for nothing.” I gave Grandma a sweet smile. That night, while Dad was working the night shift, Mom pulled me into the master bedroom. “Penny, I don’t want to take those pills. Look at these news articles, they say those pills are dangerous,” she whimpered, showing me her phone. So she knew. She knew they were scams, yet in my past life, she told my sister that if I hadn’t stopped her, my sister would have been a boy. I treated her as my closest ally, a fellow victim of this family. I fought her battles, and she sacrificed me without hesitation. Good. Very good. I smiled slightly and raised my voice. “Mom, how can you believe the media? They write nonsense all the time!” I walked out of the room, shouting, “Grandma! Come quick! Mom doesn’t want to take the pills!” Mom couldn’t stop me in time. Grandma rushed in hearing my shout. I shoved the phone in Grandma’s face. “Grandma, look! Mom is reading this garbage because she doesn’t want to take the pills. She doesn’t want a son!” Grandma was illiterate, but she squinted at the phone anyway. “Mom, no! It was Penny who told me this! She’s always scheming, how would I know about this stuff?” Mom immediately tried to throw me under the bus. I widened my eyes innocently and pulled out my old Nokia phone, playing the recording I had just made. The recording stopped right before her accusation. Mom was speechless. Chapter 3 For the sake of the “grandson” in her belly, Grandma didn’t scold Mom too much, just gave her a death glare. She pulled me out of the room. “Penny, don’t hold it against your mother,” Grandma advised. She wasn’t siding with Mom; she was siding with the “grandson.” I smiled obediently. “Grandma, how could I blame Mom? I’m just worried…” “Worried about what?” “I’m worried little brother will think Mom doesn’t welcome him. What if he decides not to come?” I said with a concerned face. Grandma’s eyes darted around nervously. I stopped there. I knew she got the message. I didn’t want to be involved anymore. I was a senior in high school; studying was my priority. In my last life, I split my focus taking care of Mom and only got into a decent state college. With this second chance, I deserved a better life. “Grandma, I’m graduating soon. Once I’m done, I’ll get a job and won’t need my room anymore. Why don’t I move into the dorms now? That way, you can turn my room into the nursery for little brother,” I told Grandma. My boss taught me well in my past life—always paint a pretty picture. Grandma beamed, praising my thoughtfulness. I don’t know what she told Dad, but he agreed. The day I left for the dorms, I saw Grandma carrying a jar of “special herbal wine” like it was treasure. Mom, enjoy your days ahead. Chapter 4 I started living at school, throwing myself into my studies. Although Dad and Grandma agreed to let me stay at school, they gave me a pitiful allowance. It was barely enough for three meals a day. Since I didn’t want to go home on weekends, I skipped breakfast to save money, eating only twice a day. My deskmate, Sarah, noticed I hadn’t eaten breakfast for a week. One morning, she handed me two meat buns. “Here. You can’t study on an empty stomach. Don’t worry about it; my family owns a bakery. Feeding you is nothing.” I laughed and cried at the same time, clasping my hands together. “Thank you, benefactor! I will repay this kindness one day!” “Shut up,” she pushed me playfully. In my past life, we were best friends too. After I was murdered, she couldn’t reach me and called the police immediately. But because my sister was a minor and my parents wrote a letter of forgiveness, she only got three years in juvie. Classmates noticed my situation and often gave me food—an apple here, a bag of chips there. But Sarah’s two meat buns every morning were a constant. Time flew by, and the semester ended. I jumped from the 50th rank to the top 10 in the final exams. Teachers and classmates were happy for me. After finals, winter break arrived, and I had to go home. Chapter 5 The moment I opened the door, my jaw dropped. The house was a mess. The smell was indescribable—a mix of rot and something sour. Jars of murky liquid with questionable animal parts lined the kitchen counter. The olfactory assault almost made me vomit. “Penny, you’re back!” Grandma returned from grocery shopping, beaming. She shoved her bags into my hands. I saw a plastic bottle filled with bright red liquid. It looked like blood. “What is this?” I asked. “Deer blood.” Grandma snatched it back as if afraid I’d drink it. “It’s good stuff! The recipe says drinking buck’s blood guarantees a son. It’s for your mom, don’t even think about it.” My mouth twitched. In this life, without my interference—and with my encouragement—Grandma had gone completely off the rails. “Penny.” Mom walked out. She should be about six months along, but she had ballooned. A double chin, a terrifyingly huge belly. Her hair was thinning, her eyebrows had fallen out, yet she had a dark shadow of a mustache and visible pores. She used to be so vain about her beauty. She was beautiful. Now, she had nothing to do with the word. She looked at me teary-eyed. “Penny, you didn’t come home for so long. Is it because you’re unhappy about having a brother?” “Come back. Even with a brother, you’re still our daughter. He won’t take your place.” Crazy woman. I rolled my eyes. Judging by her appearance, Grandma had been feeding her a lot of “good stuff.” She wanted me back just to use me as an excuse to stop eating them. It’s not like she called the shots in this house anyway. Ignoring her, I pulled Grandma aside. I mysteriously pulled out a talisman I had drawn based on a Baidu search. “Grandma, my classmate’s mom had a son last year. He said she wore this talisman every day. I begged him for ages before he gave it to me.” Grandma’s beady eyes lit up. She snatched the talisman. “You’re a smart girl.” I stayed home for one night and witnessed Mom’s diet. Greasy meat, followed by “fetal preservation pills” washed down with deer blood, then two bowls of that “special wine.” Watching Mom’s face turn ash-gray after drinking it, I was impressed. The “brother” in her belly was still kicking after all that. Talk about vitality. Mom kept shooting me pleading glances while drinking the blood. I ignored them all. Eventually, her gaze turned venomous. My room had already been converted into a nursery, so I slept on the living room sofa.

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When I was eighteen, my dad came home with my nemesis and a DNA test report in hand. Suddenly, floating comments appeared before my eyes like a live stream: “The heroine is no longer the only daughter of the Vanderbilt family.” “The show begins! Let me savor this family drama!” I was furious and slammed the table: “You bold illegitimate child! How dare you step into my house!” My dad immediately covered my mouth and scolded: “Don’t talk nonsense! Julian is your mom’s and my biological son.” Julian and I were born on the same year, same month, and same day. If he is my mom and dad’s child… Then who am I? 1 High school graduation. I walked out of the exam hall full of confidence, looking for my nemesis, Julian. The exam felt smooth. I wouldn’t say I’d be the state valedictorian, but beating Julian should be a lock. I had to go rub it in his face. The students poured out of the school like wild dogs off the leash. But finding Julian was easy. Just look for the tallest guy in the crowd. After all, Julian is 6’3″. I scanned the crowd and locked onto him instantly. Julian looked weird today. He was wearing a flashy suit and seemed to have styled his hair. Looking a little handsome. The roses in his arms were still fresh with dew. Oh no, this guy is definitely going to confess his love to someone. I calculated the failure rate of Julian’s confession. Rich kid, straight-A student, school heartthrob, captain of the basketball team with abs… Plus a bunch of first-place trophies from various competitions. With all these buffs, the probability of Julian failing his confession was lower than the sun rising from the west tomorrow. Is this guy really going to win at both love and academics? No way. Not on my watch. I hid behind the crowd, secretly took a photo, and sent it to Julian’s mom. Auntie May, I’m reporting Julian for dating early. Auntie May replied quickly: Bella, isn’t Julian confessing to you? Are you rejecting him and reporting him at the same time? Huh? Me? Confessing to me? In an instant, I felt like I was hit by Pikachu’s Thunderbolt, fried to a crisp. Wait, I’m not a French fry. I mean, I was shocked to the core. No! Is that the point? The point is, I treat Julian as my nemesis, and he wants to date me? Even if he’s the school heartthrob, that’s a no. For the first time, I felt my 5’3″ height was actually pretty good. Easy to slip away. I followed the crowd and snuck home. After graduation, I should be catching up on sleep. Dating is such a waste of time. 2 Sleeping groggily, I felt myself being wrapped in a large embrace. I was too sleepy, found a comfortable position, and continued to sleep. My face felt ticklish, so I swatted at it in my dream. Someone seemed to speak: “Okay, no more kissing.” I don’t know how long I slept before my eyelids were willing to open. As soon as I opened my eyes, a pair of beautiful eyes met mine with a smile. Is this a fox spirit? I reached out and touched his face. So handsome. Consciousness slowly returned. Wait! I finally realized it was that dog Julian who climbed over the balcony into my room again. I kicked him off the bed. Caught off guard, Julian fell with a heavy thud. The floor shook. “Trying to murder your husband?” Julian rubbed his butt and climbed up. Before I could retort, the next second, roses were stuffed into my arms. Julian said, “Happy graduation, my little wifey.” I stuffed them back. “Not accepting, thanks.” Julian stuffed them back again: “You promised to marry me when we were kids.” I stuffed the flowers back again: “Childhood promises don’t count.” Julian: “A gentleman’s promise is heavy as a mountain.” Me: “I’m a villain.” Julian: “You, you, you…” Me: “You what!” … After three hundred rounds, Julian left resentfully. Leaving behind a sentence before he left. “Bella, I’ll be back.” 3 I thought Julian would come back. But I never thought Julian would come back like this. My dad brought him in. I thought he couldn’t out-talk me and decided to try a different approach. But my dad’s expression was wrong, and Julian’s expression was even more wrong. It felt like the world was about to explode in the next second. My dad, hands trembling, took out a paternity test report. The subjects were my dad and Julian. The conclusion read: Based on the analysis of DNA results, it is supported that Arthur Vanderbilt is the biological father of Julian. What?! Maybe because the plot was too melodramatic, it actually summoned bullet screen comments (danmu) floating in the air: “The heroine is no longer the only daughter of the Vanderbilt family.” “The show begins! Let me savor this family drama!” “I expected messy, but not THIS messy!” Julian and I were born on the same year, same month, and same day! That means my dad cheated with Auntie May shortly after being with my mom. Or maybe he came back from cheating and had me with my mom. In an instant, my sky collapsed. No wonder I’ve always felt like Julian and I were astrologically incompatible. Since that’s the case, don’t blame me for not being polite. I was furious, slammed the table, and stood up: “You bold illegitimate child! How dare you step into my house!” Julian looked at me, his eyes full of sadness. Why is he sad? Aren’t my mom and I the biggest victims? I opened my mouth, planning to directly greet the culprit—my dad, that old scumbag. My dad immediately covered my mouth and scolded: “Don’t talk nonsense! Julian is your mom’s and my biological son.” Please, Julian and I were born on the same day. If Julian is my mom and dad’s child… Then who am I? My brain spun fast. My dad is 6’3″, my mom is 5’9″. And I am 5’3″. Growing up, everyone said I didn’t look like my dad or my mom. The bullet screen didn’t forget to add insult to injury: “The heroine is really too cute.” “Why is the heroine’s brain full of illegitimate children? Has she never thought about being switched at birth?” At this point, there is only one truth. The “Switched at Birth” trope has become reality. Julian and I were switched. I am not my mom’s biological daughter! For a mommy’s girl, this is a fatal blow. Moreover, my mom and Auntie May have different parenting philosophies. Thinking about Auntie May’s strict elite education, Julian and his brothers grew up between school and tutoring classes. While my mom had only one attitude: as long as my daughter is happy. That won’t do. I can’t believe this dog-blood life. Oh heavens! Oh earth! Oh fate! I rushed over, hugging my mom and crying: “Mommy, although I’m not your biological daughter, I really love you, I can’t bear to leave you! Mommy, don’t drive me away, don’t send me to Auntie May.” I cried sincerely. It didn’t move my mom; instead, she slapped the back of my head mercilessly. I was shocked, freezing on the spot. Did the love transfer so quickly? I wailed even louder. My mom said grumpily: “I told you to read fewer messy novels, but you wouldn’t listen. Something happens, and you start fantasizing. Your primary task now is to delete that reading app from your phone.” How can I do that? I haven’t finished reading so many good stories. I looked aggrieved. My mom couldn’t help laughing. It melted my dad’s eternal iceberg face, bringing a hint of warmth. My dad patted my head and softened his voice: “Stop crying. We didn’t say you aren’t our biological daughter either.” What? Under my parents’ explanation, I finally figured out the whole story. It turned out my mom gave birth to fraternal twins back then. But Auntie May, who gave birth on the same day in the same VIP ward, had a stillborn baby due to doctor error. The doctor couldn’t afford to offend the richest family in the city, the Sterlings. Seeing that our family had twins, he took my mom’s son, swapping the civet for the prince, to replace the Sterling family’s stillborn. Then he told my family: “Congratulations, you have a precious daughter.” Full of holes. Unreasonable. Makes no sense. I could only ask my mom: “Didn’t you do prenatal checkups?” My mom suddenly had tears in her eyes, looking up at the sky. My dad took out a cigarette, lit it, and took a deep drag. Sighing, he answered: “Your mom and I were DINKs (Double Income, No Kids). If we knew she was pregnant, we would have aborted. Probably knowing our thoughts, you two siblings gave your mom zero pregnancy symptoms and even caused some monthly bleeding to confuse us. When your mom had a stomachache and was sent to the hospital, you two popped out.” Julian and I were silent. Suddenly, a comment floated by. “Although it’s a mess, does anyone feel sorry for our male lead? He’s about to shatter.” Male lead? I looked at Julian. F*ck! I’m the heroine? Julian is the male lead? We are biological siblings! I can only pray we are going for a family affection route. Deep sibling love is barely acceptable. The bullet screen never let me go: “The male lead wakes up to find his beloved wifey became his biological sister. His sky collapsed.” “Male lead’s inner monologue: I wanted wifey to call me ‘Oppa’ (Brother), but I meant it in a romantic way, not a genetic way.” “It’s okay, it’s okay, this is all part of the setbacks. The heroine will end up with the male lead.” “Nemesis trope plus taboo elements, ahhh author you really know what you’re doing.” “Like! Write more! Love to watch!” Oh my god. No way. Everyone knows incest is intolerable to society. The place that tolerates what society doesn’t tolerate is also intolerable to society. Oh no, it’s the German Orthopedics Ward! (Internet slang for incest treatment) My god! Is Julian trying to ruin this family? I sneaked a peek at Julian, trembling with fear. Julian caught me. Julian’s beautiful dark pupils trembled. Sensing my wariness towards him, the pool of spring water in his eyes shattered into a sky full of stars. I didn’t comfort him. Who knows where the comfort would lead? I insist on: better you die than me. Let Julian be sad by himself. 4 I started avoiding Julian. No, I have to call him Arthur Jr. now… wait, no, Julian Vanderbilt. The fact that Julian is my brother brought quite a shock to my circle. They started a new group chat, discussing frantically. “Oh my god, that doctor had some guts. Swapping babies, offending two wealthy families at once!” “Good thing the doctors and nurses involved back then were all sent to prison by the Sterlings.” “Deserved. But I’m curious what Julian thinks?” “What can he think? Probably going crazy. Not playing ball, not logging into games, locking himself in his room all day. He even bailed on the graduation trip to see the Northern Lights in Scandinavia.” “Well, how could Julian go now.” “Why do you say that?” “Because Bella has always liked the Northern Lights. Julian planned to take Bella to see them and bond.” “Julian liked Bella so much, a secret crush for years, finally finding out she’s his biological sister. How can he handle it?” “Feel sorry for Julian.” “Feel sorry +1.” Amidst a pile of sympathy. I belatedly realized that some of Julian’s strange behaviors back then made sense if he liked me. Basketball game, taking away the water I just opened. Insisting on teaching me different solutions to math and physics final questions. Reporting boys who wrote me love letters… Too many to count. Back then, I thought he was provoking me… But it’s meaningless to say these things now. The group was still discussing: “By the way, did Julian confess to Bella? If he succeeded, wouldn’t that be the real-life version of ‘May all lovers turn out to be siblings’?” “Even if they dated, they’d have to break up. Wealthy families like ours can’t accept taboo love.” I really want to curse this pretentious guy to death. Someone beat me to it: “Lee the Second, what nonsense are you spouting? No normal family would accept it, okay!” “Wait, who the hell added Bella to the group!” “Holy sht!”* Amidst a pile of “grass” (slang for f*ck) emojis, the newly established gossip group was disbanded. So uncomfortable, can’t watch them gossip about me anymore. I felt helpless. It’s no longer about love or not love. Julian being my brother is an established fact. We have to stay within the bounds of secular morality. Julian should understand. He thinks about his romance. I think about my inheritance rights. I hope Julian doesn’t hate me because of love and fight too hard for the money. I think a 50/50 split is reasonable. The evening breeze was a bit hot today. Cicadas disturbed my dreams. I climbed up. Stared at the wall Julian used to like climbing the most from the balcony, dazing for a long time. I don’t know how long passed, the door of the balcony next door clicked softly. I turned my head and saw Julian, who now lives next to me. He didn’t expect me to be on the balcony either, stunned for a long time before speaking. “Why… haven’t you slept yet?” The love I didn’t notice before was now surging in Julian’s eyes. I seemed to find the beginning of the tangled mess. Julian’s love was being peeled away bit by bit in front of me. I started to see. But now the love carries struggle. Julian wanted to hide it, but couldn’t. If I had to describe my feelings. It’s that, I rejected him before because I’ve been single since birth and couldn’t accept a confession momentarily. Now it’s a moral judgment! Dame (No)! It won’t pass censorship. I could only pretend to be sleepy and yawned. “Going to sleep now. Goodnight. Brother, you sleep early too.” I turned back to my room and lay down. Couldn’t sleep at all. Because the bullet screen started refreshing: “Brother! One word, shattered our humble male lead’s heart into glass shards.” “It’s most moving when you want to love but can’t.” “Can only say the male lead’s moral bottom line is too high.” Damn, this is basic morality, okay? But I didn’t dare speak, afraid of being discovered. Continued peeking at the bullet screen: “Begging the heroine to look at our broken puppy, he’s turning from a sunny boy into a gloomy ghost.” “Really want to fast forward to the forced love plot.” Forced love? Is this serious? No, I have to escape this terrible native family. Swim fast, little fish, anywhere is freer than here.

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