Category: English

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

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

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

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

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

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

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I dropped twenty-five hundred dollars on a dress for a review, and I couldn’t even get it on. I checked the sizing chart on the product page again and again. I hadn’t made a mistake. Defeated, I initiated a return. I never expected the seller’s response to send a hot rush of blood to my head. [To process your return, you must upload a video detailing twenty flaws in your own body. Then, strip completely naked and get on your knees and bow to the camera in apology.] [Each bow must be audible. As you bow, you must repeat, “I’m sorry, Mr. Designer. The problem is my body.”] I was furious. This was a flagrant violation of my dignity. I told them I was filing a formal complaint. The customer service rep couldn’t have cared less. “Go ahead. I’ve seen plenty of women with crappy bodies like yours. It’s just a few bucks in fines. We can afford it.” Unfortunately for him, he’d picked the wrong target. As a fashion influencer with over ten million followers, I was after a lot more than just a few bucks. 1 The zipper was stuck fast, halfway up my back. No amount of straining would budge it. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and the fabric around my waist and hips was so tight I could barely breathe. Finally, I gave up. With my last ounce of strength, I wrestled the dress off my body. It took a few moments to catch my breath before I picked up my phone, opened the shopping app, and navigated to the customer service page to request a return and refund. Before I could even carefully fold the dress, my request was rejected. [Your return/refund request has been denied by the seller.] I paused, realizing I probably should have messaged them first. That was likely the reason for the instant denial. I quickly opened the chat window. [Hi, the dress I ordered doesn’t fit. I’d like to process a return.] The message was marked as read almost immediately. But the same customer service that had denied my request in seconds now met me with a wall of silence. I tried initiating the return again. Again, it was instantly rejected. [Your return/refund request has been denied by the seller.] Frustrated, I sent another message. After another long wait, a reply finally came through. [We do not offer a seven-day no-questions-asked return policy.] The bluntness of the message stunned me. I was used to customer service reps starting every message with a nauseatingly sweet “Hi, sweetie!” This was a first. But that wasn’t the important part. I quickly pulled up the product page again. Sure enough, tucked away in the fine print, there was no mention of the standard seven-day return policy. Fine. My mistake for not noticing. But refusing a return on a product that was clearly defective was another matter entirely. As an influencer who had reviewed thousands of garments, I knew I couldn’t back down now. This was a twenty-five-hundred-dollar dress. I wasn’t about to let it become a very expensive decoration. Nobody’s money grows on trees. I opened my browser, screenshotted the relevant consumer protection laws regarding online sales, and sent them over. [Hi there. By law, most goods sold online are subject to a seven-day return policy, and women’s apparel is included within that category.] [Even if it’s not a quality issue, I have a valid reason for the return. I didn’t order the wrong size, nor did I misjudge my own measurements.] [The fact that it doesn’t fit is a problem with the dress itself. Do you require any proof from my end?] I kept my tone professional and polite, simply stating the facts without aggression. This time, the reply was swift. [Send pictures.] [Make them clear.] The clipped, impersonal tone was grating, but a request for proof was standard procedure. It was a breakthrough. A return was possible. 2 I sighed, looking at the dress lying in a heap beside me. Reluctantly, I picked it up. The last thing I wanted was to squeeze myself back into that torture device, but if it meant getting my money back, I had to do it. Besides, it would make for great video content later. The unforgiving fabric and impossibly tight waistline made the process an ordeal. Finally, I had it on again, the zipper still hopelessly stuck. I grabbed my phone and started taking pictures. The zipper that wouldn’t budge. The red marks the seams left on my arms. The way the waistline cut into my skin, creating rolls that weren’t normally there. I documented everything and sent the photos over. [As you can see, the zipper is completely stuck. The waist is far too tight, and there’s no room in the sleeves.] [I checked the size chart carefully before ordering. I’m a standard small, but according to your chart, I needed a large. I ordered the large, and it still doesn’t fit.] I typed out the message, breathless from the effort, hoping to convey my frustration. A few minutes after the pictures and message were marked as read, the reply came. [I can’t tell anything from these pictures.] I stared at my phone, bewildered. [How is that not clear enough? What more do you need to see?] The rep was unperturbed. [Send a video. A video of you putting it on and taking it off. I need to see how the entire dress performs on your body.] I rubbed my face in exasperation. He was deliberately making this difficult. Just getting the dress on and off was a workout. To film it without flashing the camera, I’d have to wear a tank top underneath, which would make it even tighter. But had I come this far just to let twenty-five hundred dollars go down the drain? I took the dress off again, put on a tank top, set up my phone, and hit record. I narrated the whole process, pointing out every spot where the dress caught or constricted. Once it was on, I showed the camera all the areas that were clearly too small, explaining each issue. To top it off, as I struggled to take it off, I ended up in a ridiculous, contorted pose that perfectly demonstrated just how ill-fitting the garment was. I sent the video and collapsed onto the floor, exhausted and overheated. I never wanted to go through that again. Photos taken. Video recorded. Surely, that was enough to get my refund. A few minutes later, his reply made my blood boil. [This isn’t a problem with the dress.] [It’s a problem with your body. It doesn’t fit because your figure is bad, and you’re blaming the dress. I’m not giving you a refund.] The words on the screen felt like a slap. I nearly threw my phone. Did he think I sent him a video so he could critique my body? Whether my body was “good” or not was irrelevant. This was a size large dress that a person who wears a size small couldn’t even get into. How was that my fault? I was seeing red, my chest tight with fury. Just then, a message from my friend Mimi popped up. I tapped on it, ready to vent. But the link she sent left me numb with shock. It was a link to a forum post titled: “She Blames My Dress for Her Lousy Body. My $2500 Dresses Aren’t Made for Trash Like This.” The cover image was one of the unedited photos I had just sent to customer service. Forgetting to even reply to Mimi, I clicked the link, my whole body trembling. “Can you believe someone had the audacity to return a $2500 dress? Do you know how much of my soul I pour into my work?!” “Her body is so pathetic she can’t even fit into a size large. Instead of reflecting on how disgusting her figure is, she blames the dress?” “I made her send a video, and she actually did it. Flat-chested, no ass, waist like a tree trunk.” “And she’s wearing a t-shirt underneath. What’s she trying to hide? Women like her shouldn’t even be allowed to wear dresses. Looking at her is an assault on the eyes!” The comment section was a cesspool of agreement. “She’s obviously just a cheapskate who wanted to wear a nice dress for some Instagram photos and then return it.” “OP, post the video! I want to see just how bad her body is!” I was about to explode. My fingers flew across the keyboard. “It’s a consumer’s right to return a faulty product! How dare you violate her privacy by posting her photos online? And what business is it of yours what her body looks like?” The original poster replied almost instantly, his tone dripping with venom. “Looks like I hit a nerve. You must have a hideous body too, right? Why don’t you post a picture? We can all see who’s worse.” A few people sided with me. “Dude, who are you to judge her body? Your design is clearly flawed, and you won’t even let her return it. From what I can see, your size large is smaller than a child’s medium. How can you sit here and talk trash?” The poster was relentless. “Another fatty triggered, huh? If you can’t fit into my clothes, it means you need to lose weight. Go get some lipo or something. Otherwise, your boyfriend won’t even be able to look at you!” One of his cronies chimed in: “Yeah! Keep messing with her! Make her send more vids! The kind we like!” The poster immediately replied: “Good idea. How about a naked one?” A moment later, a new message from customer service appeared on my phone. [If you want your refund, upload a video detailing twenty flaws of your own body. Be comprehensive. For example: breasts too small, thighs too fat, etc.] [Then, strip completely naked and get on your knees and bow in apology.] [Each bow must be audible. As you bow, you must say you’re sorry to the designer, that the problem is your body. If I see you are sincere, I will process your refund.] 3 I understood every word on the screen, but the combination of them made my blood feel like it was boiling over. He had already violated my privacy and posted my photos online for public ridicule. Now he wanted to subject me to this humiliating ritual. This was no longer about a simple return. This was a deliberate, malicious attack designed to break my spirit. I was shaking with rage. I had complied with all of his ridiculous demands, hoping to resolve this peacefully and exercise my basic rights as a consumer. But that was not a sign of weakness. He wanted me to insult myself, to prostrate myself naked and beg for forgiveness? Only a complete psychopath would demand something so twisted. There was a time when I, too, had tortured my body, chasing the impossible standards of a “size zero,” “thigh gap,” and “90-degree shoulders” that were trending online. It wasn’t until I broke free from that mindset that I realized the concept of a “good” or “bad” body is an arbitrary standard set by others. Health is all that matters. And now, this stranger, this customer service rep, felt he had the right to pass judgment on my body, to force me into his perverse mold of self-loathing. He had another thing coming. The last thread of my composure snapped. All the frustration and anger I had suppressed came roaring to the surface. I wanted to tear him apart. But as a seasoned reviewer who had dealt with hundreds of brands, I knew that lashing out would get me nowhere. A simple complaint or an angry tirade wouldn’t be enough to truly punish him. I needed irrefutable proof. I needed to make him say it himself. I took a few deep breaths, forcing the inferno in my chest down to a simmer. I typed calmly. [I’m sorry, the platform seems to have flagged some keywords. I can’t see your message clearly. Could you send it as a voice memo so I know what I need to do?] A gruff, male voice came through the speaker. “I want you to list your own flaws, so you have a clearer understanding of your disgusting body. Then, you’re going to get naked and bow down to me, to apologize for having such a trashy figure.” I recorded the entire voice memo, then took screenshots of our entire chat history, making sure the timeline of his harassment was crystal clear. I switched back to my chat with Mimi, who had been sending a stream of concerned messages. [Do you know a good lawyer?] She replied instantly, surprised. [You’re going to sue him?] I looked at the forum post, where the number of views and comments was still climbing. I clenched my jaw. [Damn right I am. A slap on the wrist won’t teach him anything. It’s time to go for the jugular.] But this evidence alone wasn’t enough. Not for what I had in mind. I didn’t reply further. Instead, I went to the shopping app’s main help center and found the “File a Complaint” button. I uploaded all the evidence. The platform’s response was slow. Finally, after an agonizing wait, a notification popped up. [We sincerely apologize for your negative experience. The platform will mediate this issue, and we will update you here with the resolution.] The next second, my phone rang. I answered. A familiar, gruff voice yelled through the speaker. “You dared to file a complaint?!” Here we go. This is what I was waiting for. I turned on my phone’s screen recorder, took a deep breath, and replied calmly. “Is this the customer service representative? You told me to strip naked and bow to you. Who else was I supposed to complain about?” A sneer came from the other end of the line. “Ha! You think a complaint is going to do anything? Big deal, they’ll fine me a few bucks. You think I can’t afford it? I’ve seen plenty of women with disgusting bodies like yours. And let me tell you something, I’m not some customer service drone. I’m the designer of this brand. If you don’t do what I say, you have no idea what I’m going to do to you.” 4 So that was it. He wasn’t some low-level employee. He was the designer. That explained his arrogance. He felt untouchable. “So you’re the designer? A man designing women’s clothing?” He spat a curse. “You women can’t do anything right. It takes a man to design clothes that actually look good. And let me tell you, it’s too late now. Even if you got naked and bowed, I wouldn’t take the dress back!” I let out a cold, internal laugh, but my voice was filled with feigned humiliation. “Then what do I have to do to get my money back?” His voice was thick with triumph. “Your body is trash, but your face isn’t half bad. So, on top of the bowing, you’re going to strip and do a little slutty dance for me.” “You’re one of those girls who buys expensive clothes just for a photo op, right? Your wallet is probably as empty as your head. If you don’t get this twenty-five hundred back, you’ll be eating dirt for a month.” “But if you dance well, if you make me happy… maybe I’ll even throw you a few bucks. Hahaha!” I waited for his obnoxious laughter to die down before asking coldly, “Aren’t you afraid I’ll post this online?” He laughed even harder. “A woman with a body like yours? You’d dare show your face online after this? Just do as I say and stop embarrassing yourself.” Perfect. I had all the explosive, damning statements I needed. I hung up, not giving him another second to spew his poison. Then, I immediately called my friend. “Mimi, have you found a lawyer? And have you reached out to the other influencers?” Mimi’s reply was swift and decisive. “All contacted. Everyone is fired up. They’re ready to clean house in the fashion industry.” “Good,” I said, organizing the files on my computer. “This time, we’re not letting them get away with it. This time, everyone is going to see just how toxic the women’s fashion world has become.”

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On our wedding anniversary, my wife bought me a cheap, fifteen-dollar drugstore watch. Because of that simple gift, her first love flew into a jealous rage and had his dog attack me, leaving me blind in my right eye. When my mother, infuriated, kicked the dog away, he ran crying to my wife, claiming my mom had abused his precious pet. My wife, Audrey, refused to listen to a word I said. As a “lesson,” she had my mother locked in the kennels with our five Cane Corsos. I fell to my knees, begging her, pleading with her that the dogs were dangerous, that they would kill her. She was busy online, ordering an apology gift for the man’s dog. She shoved me away with her foot, her voice sharp with annoyance. “They’re professionally trained, Ethan. They’re just for show. Stop being so dramatic.” To keep me from “making a scene,” she locked me in my room. I broke down the door. I raced to the kennels and rushed my mother’s broken body to the hospital, but I didn’t have the money to pay for the emergency surgery. I had no choice but to call my wife. She was in the middle of a candlelit dinner with him. The moment I mentioned money, she hung up. By the time she came home, my mother was dead. Seeing my tears, she tossed a platinum credit card onto the floor, her voice dripping with impatience. “What’s all this melodrama? Your mother is tougher than she looks. You really think a few overgrown puppies could get the best of her?” She sighed, a sound of pure exasperation. “Look, because she’s an elder, I’ll let it slide this time. Take this money, buy her some vitamins to calm her nerves. And tell her I’ll give her a grandchild next year. That should cheer her up.” She didn’t know. She didn’t know my mother was gone, and that as for my wife… I didn’t want her anymore either. 1 Audrey watched me, her perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched, as I ignored the credit card on the marble floor. “I gave you the money you wanted,” she said, her tone clipped. “Now go tell your mother to stop hiding and come out here to apologize to Milo.” Milo. That was the name of the poodle mix that had mauled my eye and started this entire nightmare. I lifted my head, my vision swimming, and stared at her. I truly stared at the woman I had been married to for five years. I couldn’t comprehend it. How could she so easily believe the lies of another man over me, over the evidence of her own eyes? How could she condemn my frail, elderly mother on the word of her high school flame? My mom had spent half her life in a hospital bed. She’d finally, miraculously, gotten better. She hadn’t even had a handful of good days before being torn to shreds by dogs. And now, even in death, Audrey expected her to apologize. To a dog. The image of my mother’s mangled body flashed behind my eyes. A wave of grief and fury so strong it nearly buckled my knees washed over me. I pointed a trembling finger to the thick gauze bandage covering my right eye socket. “That animal blinded me,” I choked out, my voice raw. “My mother gave him one little kick. Just to get him away from me. And that was wrong?” My anguish, my hoarse questions, didn’t move her in the slightest. Her gaze was as cold and hard as the floor beneath my feet. “Milo nipped you by accident. And I already punished him—he got three fewer kibbles for dinner. Your mother, on the other hand, took it upon herself to physically assault him.” She crossed her arms. “If I hadn’t gotten there when I did, she would have killed him!” Across the cavernous living room, Spencer—her “one that got away”—cradled the dog, a smug, triumphant smirk on his face. Then, in a blink, his expression shifted to one of pained compromise. “Audrey, maybe we should let it go,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “I mean, technically Milo only bit him because he was yelling… but Ethan is badly hurt. We shouldn’t force his mother to apologize.” He stroked the dog’s fur. “Besides, you were too lenient with Milo. Of course, she was upset. I’ll tell you what.” He feigned a grimace. “I’ll poke Milo’s eye out right now, just to make it even.” He spoke with such theatrical brutality, but his hand never stopped its gentle, soothing motion. The performance was so obvious, so transparent, yet Audrey was completely blind to it. She panicked. “No, Spencer, don’t!” The cool, aloof Audrey Hale I knew, the titan of industry, was suddenly flustered, practically begging him not to harm a fly on that dog’s head. She wouldn’t even consider a punishment as light as putting him in another room for an hour. The irony was a bitter pill in my throat. This was all because Spencer couldn’t stand seeing Audrey show me the slightest kindness. The fact that she had, on a whim, bought me a cheap fifteen-dollar watch from a drugstore had been enough to send him into a jealous frenzy. He’d called his friends over, men who held me down while he sicced his dog on me, all as a “punishment.” The security cameras in the mansion had recorded everything. But Audrey couldn’t be bothered to look. Spencer’s tearful, twisted version of the story was all the proof she needed. It was my fault. All of it. I had to admit, the power of a first love was something to behold. His dog was more important than her husband and her mother-in-law combined. I tuned them out as they continued their dramatic debate. I hadn’t come back for this. My mother’s body was at the funeral home. I was only here to gather a few of her belongings. In a daze, I walked to her room and picked up a bright, floral-print dress. It was the one I’d bought for her the day she was discharged from the hospital. She had adored it, wearing it every chance she got, preening for her friends. “My son bought it for me. Isn’t it beautiful? He’s so smart, so thoughtful. My Ethan.” Her voice, her smiling face, flickered in my mind for a second before vanishing into the grief. My eyes burned and my throat tightened. Before I could even process the fresh wave of pain, a hand shot out and snatched the bag from my grasp. “You’re not leaving until your mother comes out here and says she’s sorry!” Audrey yelled, yanking on the strap. There was a sharp, tearing sound. The bag ripped open. Its contents scattered across the floor. The poodle mix, Milo, trotted over gleefully, snatching the floral dress in his teeth. Something inside me snapped. I lunged forward, kicking the dog away and scrambling to grab the dress. Milo yelped dramatically. That was it. Audrey exploded. “Guards!” she screamed, and two of her security detail materialized, grabbing my arms and pinning me. “It’s a stupid piece of clothing! The fact that Milo wanted to play with it is a compliment, and you attack him? You’re just like your mother—completely out of control! Since you won’t let her apologize, you can do it for her!” I watched, helpless, as the dog shredded my mother’s most treasured possession. Strong hands forced my head down, slamming it against the hard floor. Once. Twice. The sharp pain radiating from my forehead was nothing, not even a fraction of the agony in my chest. Tears I could no longer hold back streamed down my face. A dark, wet patch of red began to seep through the white gauze over my eye. The sight of the blood seemed to startle Audrey. She paused, then waved the guards off. “It’s just a dress, Ethan, my God. I’ll buy you a hundred more. A grown man crying over something so trivial. It’s embarrassing.” Free, I ignored her. I wiped my face, found another bag, and silently, carefully, folded the other pieces of my mother’s clothing and placed them inside. The blood was spreading on the bandage. Audrey’s brow furrowed in something that almost looked like concern. “Your stitches have opened. I’m taking you to the doctor.” She reached for me, but at that exact moment, Spencer gave Milo a sharp kick. The dog yelped again and scampered away, immediately drawing Audrey’s attention. Spencer shrugged, a picture of helpless frustration. “He’s too smart for his own good. He sees you paying attention to Ethan and gets jealous.” Audrey was instantly consumed with guilt. “Oh, my poor baby. It’s my fault. I’ll go find him right now.” She started to leave, then hesitated, her gaze flickering back to me. “If he runs off, someone could steal him. He could be killed. You go on to the hospital. I’ll meet you there after I’ve calmed Milo down.” She turned fully, her voice hardening again. “And I’m letting you both off the hook for today. But this is the last time. You can tell your mother that as long as she lives under my roof and eats my food, she will follow my rules.” She still didn’t know. I watched her run after the dog, too tired to say another word. I finished packing and left for the funeral home. 2 The air in the crematorium was thick with the sound of weeping. But my tears had run dry. I just stood there, silently feeding my mother’s clothes into the incinerator. My father died when I was young. My mother had raised me alone, working herself to the bone, only to be diagnosed with a terminal illness. I’d dropped out of college to work, to pay for her treatments, only to have my wages stolen by a crooked boss. I was desperate, with nowhere to turn, when a sleek black town car pulled up beside me on the street. The window rolled down, and there was Audrey Hale. She looked down at me from the leather-upholstered fortress of her car. “Ethan Cole, right?” she’d said. “I have a proposition for you. Marry me. Move into my family’s estate. In return, I will cover all of your mother’s medical expenses, and I’ll pay for you to finish your degree, even graduate school.” “Okay,” I’d said, without a moment’s hesitation. She thought I’d agreed for the money. She had no idea that I’d been in love with her for years, ever since we were in the same class in high school. Back then, I was the one who made an extra breakfast sandwich every morning and left it on her desk before anyone else arrived. When the other girls, jealous of her family’s wealth and her effortless beauty, started to bully her, I was the one who anonymously reported them for cheating on tests, getting them suspended. When I saw them about to pour dirty mop water into her bottle, I switched it with one of their own, letting them drink their own poison. Slowly, the bullying stopped. A rumor went around that Audrey, the untouchable princess, had a secret knight protecting her. I never dared to step forward. The chasm between our worlds was too vast. We could never have been together. And sure enough, after graduation, she went to study abroad and cut off all contact. When we met again, all those years later, she didn’t recognize me as her old classmate. It didn’t matter. Just being with her was enough. After the wedding, our life was one of polite distance. We were like roommates, two strangers sharing a roof but never crossing into each other’s lives. I knew she had no feelings for me, but I wasn’t discouraged. Life is long, I told myself. Eventually, I could win her over. I poured myself into my studies, managed the household, and tried to be the perfect, supportive husband. Then, a month ago, Spencer returned from Europe. And I learned that she had a great, unrequited love. The one that got away. Years ago, when Audrey’s parents had pressured her to marry, Spencer, unwilling to marry into her powerful family and live in her shadow, broke up with her and left the country to pursue his own ambitions. In a fit of pique, she found me—a poor student who happened to bear a striking resemblance to him—and married me instead. I was just a replacement. A pathetic stand-in. Even knowing the truth, I didn’t feel I had the right to be angry. After all, Audrey had been generous. She had saved my mother’s life. So I stood by as she moved Spencer into our home. I held my tongue, treated him with respect, and yielded at every turn. But living with him, I saw the man he really was. He was nothing like the kind, noble person Audrey described. He would “accidentally” spill hot coffee on himself and blame me. He would stage a fall on the stairs and claim I’d pushed him out of jealousy. His petty cruelties were endless, chipping away at the fragile trust Audrey and I had begun to build. And now, with a spoiled little dog, he had taken my mother’s life. I watched the box of my mother’s ashes be lowered into the ground. Kneeling by the fresh grave, my heart felt like a hollow, cavernous ruin. Her true love was back. So I would leave. I would give them the life they wanted. Audrey had promised to meet me at the hospital, but the sun had set and my phone remained silent. I knew she’d forgotten. I wasn’t surprised. After the funeral, I went to a print shop. I returned to that cold, empty mansion with a single document. I knocked on her study door. “Come in.” She was at her desk, immersed in her work. I placed the divorce papers in front of her. “Sign this.” Without even glancing at it, she picked up her pen and scrawled her signature. “Don’t you want to see what you’re signing?” I asked, my voice tight. She didn’t look up. “What could you possibly want from me, Ethan? It’s your greedy mother again, isn’t it? Putting you up to asking for more money.” My fists clenched at my sides. I opened my mouth to tell her, to finally tell her everything. Bang! The door flew open, slamming against the wall. Audrey hated loud noises. Anyone entering her study, including me, was required to knock softly and wait for permission. But this person, this intruder, was met not with anger, but with a delighted smile. “Spencer! You have to tell me what that paper you gave me means,” she said, rising to greet him. “I’ve been staring at it for five hours, I’ve cross-referenced everything online, and I still can’t decode it.” Spencer laughed. “Decode what? It was a flyer for a pizza place I picked up on the street. I was just using it to fan myself. You’re too much.” The powerful CEO, my wife, stuck her tongue out at him playfully. She wasn’t angry about the wasted time. She carefully placed the junk-mail flyer into a silver picture frame and set it on her desk, admiring it like a piece of fine art. The legal document I’d brought her didn’t warrant a single glance. A greasy flyer from his hand was a treasure. The difference between being loved and not being loved was a stark, brutal thing. They began to chat, completely forgetting I was in the room. I quietly picked up the signed divorce papers and walked out. 3 The next morning, I was at my lawyer’s office first thing. “Everything is filed, Mr. Cole,” he said. “We’ll have her served by the end of the day.” I thanked him and stepped outside to call a cab. As I did, a message popped up on my phone from the home health aide who had looked after my mother at the hospital. Mr. Cole, your mother left a few things here with me. Are you free to come pick them up? I am, I typed back. I headed for the address she sent—a private room at an upscale restaurant. As I approached the door, I was about to text her that I’d arrived when I heard familiar voices from within. Instinctively, I peered through the crack in the slightly ajar door. Inside, Audrey and Spencer were linking arms, about to drink from each other’s glasses. A group of their friends were cheering them on. “Audrey, you’re too young and vibrant to waste your life with someone you don’t love!” one woman shouted. “That Ethan guy was never good enough for you,” another added. “Just divorce him and get back together with Spencer already! It’s destiny!” All eyes turned to Audrey. She just smiled, holding up her glass. “Marriage is what it is,” she said, deflecting. “Life is never perfect.” I had heard enough. I started to back away, but Spencer suddenly looked up and shouted. “Ethan? What are you doing here?” His voice was laced with theatrical panic. “Audrey and I were just playing a game! It doesn’t mean anything, I swear! Don’t get the wrong idea. Here, I’ll… I’ll do three shots as punishment.” He dramatically threw back three glasses of whiskey. The confused party guests instantly understood. Their faces hardened as they turned on me. “He’s just the stand-in, and he has the nerve to get jealous of the real thing? The arrogance!” Audrey shot me a look of pure annoyance. “Get out,” she said, her voice like ice. I didn’t need to be told twice. I turned to leave. But this time, Spencer followed me out. “Leaving so soon? Don’t you want your mother’s things?” I stopped and turned to face him. I should have known. He had paid the aide to lure me here, to make sure I saw that scene. He was a vicious man; this was a trap, and I was walking right into it. I was about to ignore him and keep walking. But then he pulled something from his pocket. A small, delicate gold locket. He dangled it from his fingers. “Look familiar? Just dug it up yesterday.” My blood ran cold. I recognized it instantly. It was the locket my father gave my mother. She had cherished it her entire life. Yesterday, at the burial, I had placed it inside the urn with her ashes. How did he have it? Had he… had he actually dug up my mother’s grave? Before I could even form the question, his fingers opened. The locket fell to the marble floor and shattered. “Oops,” he said with a smirk. “Clumsy me.” A roar filled my ears. Spencer saw my reaction and his smile widened into a triumphant sneer. He leaned in close, his voice a low, venomous whisper. “You know, those Cane Corsos? I raised them myself. They’re bred to be vicious. I did it all on purpose, Ethan. I had Milo bite you. I suggested to Audrey how she should ‘teach your mother a lesson’…” He paused, savoring the moment. “How does it feel, Ethan? To watch your own mother get torn apart, and be completely powerless to stop it?” “This is what you get for trying to take what’s mine.” “Audrey belongs to me,” he hissed. “Stay away from her. Or next time, it’ll be you in the ground.” My vision turned red. I didn’t think. I just swung. My fist connected with his face. Then again. The world dissolved into a cacophony of shouts and screams. I heard none of it. There was only one thought in my head. Kill him. Avenge my mother. “Stop it!” Audrey’s shriek cut through the haze. Her bodyguards swarmed me, pulling me off him. Spencer knelt on the floor, coughing up blood. “Audrey… don’t blame him,” he gasped. “He asked me to get the locket for him… and I dropped it. It’s my fault. He has every right to kill me.” Audrey rushed to his side, dabbing the blood from his lips with a napkin. She glared at me, her voice filled with disgust. “It was a stupid locket! How much could it possibly be worth that you’d do this to him?” “That’s not—” I started to explain. But she cut me off, her rage boiling over. She grabbed her handbag and swung it, the heavy metal corner catching me squarely on the forehead. “Not what?” she screamed. “I saw it with my own eyes! Are you going to stand there and tell me Spencer is framing you?” The blow split my skin open. Warm blood trickled down my face. I let out a short, bitter laugh and said nothing more. What was the point? She wouldn’t believe anything I said. I shook off the guards’ lingering grip and knelt, carefully picking up the shattered pieces of the locket. The sharp edges sliced my fingertips, but I didn’t feel it. Seeing this, Audrey seemed to hesitate, her anger momentarily flickering. She opened her mouth as if to stop me. But then Spencer let out a series of wracking coughs. “Audrey,” he wheezed, “he’s your husband. And his injuries are worse than mine. You should take him to the hospital.” Audrey sighed, her brief moment of concern vanishing. She turned her full attention back to him. “You’re too kind, Spencer. That’s why people always take advantage of you.” Her voice softened. “What does it matter if he’s my husband? You were the one who protected me in high school when I was at my lowest. You saved me. He hurt my savior. I should be making him pay, not taking him to the hospital. He can dream on.” She helped Spencer to his feet. “Come on. I’m taking you to a doctor. We can’t have a scar ruining that handsome face.” And with that, she led him away without a backward glance. The world around me faded away. All I could see were the broken pieces of my mother’s locket. When I had gathered every last one, I stood up and walked out, ignoring the pointing fingers and whispered condemnations of the crowd. I went back to my mother’s grave. The earth was disturbed. The urn was gone. There was no time for grief. I found it tossed aside in the bushes, cracked open. I fell to my knees and began scooping up the ashes, now mixed with dirt and mud. I held the filthy, broken container in my arms, checked into a cheap motel, and booked the first flight I could find. This place was no longer safe. I would take her home, to the town where we were born, and bury her there. That evening, a message from Audrey appeared on my phone. As cold as ever. Did you get that cut on your head looked at? A second message followed. It’s Spencer’s birthday tomorrow. You will come and bring a gift to apologize. If you do, I will forget about what happened today, and we can try to make this work. And a third. Tell your mother she can come back, too. It’s more comfortable here than wherever she’s hiding. She sent the messages, assuming, as always, that I would bend to her will. I didn’t bother replying. Instead, I forwarded the evidence of Spencer’s illegal ownership of dangerous animals to the police, along with a formal statement about my mother’s death. The next morning, my lawyer confirmed the divorce was final. I put Audrey’s copy of the decree in a courier envelope and had it sent to her. Then, clutching my mother’s ashes, I boarded a flight home, leaving that city and its ghosts behind me forever. I would never see Audrey Hale again. … In the private room at the restaurant, Audrey was still waiting, a hopeful look on her face. Knock, knock, knock. A smile touched her lips. “That must be Ethan, here to apologize.” Spencer, his face artfully bruised, waved a dismissive hand. “Well, I was partly to blame. It doesn’t seem right for him to be the only one apologizing, does it?” Audrey was resolute. “When you do something wrong, you apologize. Stop making excuses for him.” She walked over and opened the door. It wasn’t me. It was a courier. “Audrey Hale? This is for you.” She assumed it was a gift from me, a peace offering. She tore open the corner of the envelope, but before she could look inside, two uniformed police officers walked past her and stopped at their table. “Spencer Croft?” one of them said, looking at the man who had come out to see what the commotion was. “We have a report, filed by an Ethan Cole, that you illegally housed five dangerous animals, resulting in the death of his mother. You need to come with us.” Audrey stared, utterly bewildered. “Ethan’s mother is dead? That’s impossible. There has to be a mistake. I’ll call him right now and clear this up!” She fumbled for her phone, and in her haste, the contents of the envelope slid out and fell to the floor. It was a single, folded document. A certificate of divorce.

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When Liam Gallagher and I divorced, we were both calm. He asked me, considerately, what I wanted. I answered without a second thought. “The cars, the house, the savings.” “And half the company stock.” Liam blinked, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “What about the children? You don’t want either of them?” “You love them so much. Are you really going to abandon Leo and Mia?” I looked down at my wrist, at the latticework of scars from years of self-harm, and gently shook my head. Not anymore. From now on, I wanted nothing to do with Liam Gallagher. Nothing except his money. 1 Seeing my cold indifference, Liam looked like he wanted to say something more. But after a moment’s hesitation, he simply signed the divorce papers in silence. As we parted, he spoke with a detached politeness. “I can’t give you the stock, but you’ll always be their mother. If you ever run into trouble, you can always call me.” I nodded. The moment I turned away, I dropped the business card he’d handed me into the nearest trash can. In this lifetime, I would rather die than see Liam Gallagher again. When I got home, I told our housekeeper, Maria, to pack up all of Liam’s things and throw them out. She chuckled, thinking it was just another fight. “Ma’am, did you and the mister have another argument?” she teased. “If you ask me, you should just let it go. He really does care for you. It’s not worth giving up your place as Mrs. Gallagher over a moment of anger.” Maria had seen it all—the years of suffering, the endless humiliation. She knew the torrential force of my love for Liam, and she had witnessed my hysterical breakdowns after each of his betrayals. She, like Liam, was convinced I would never leave. But this time, I didn’t cry or complain. I simply took our wedding portrait down from the wall. “My mother is dead,” I said, my voice calm and empty. The smile froze on Maria’s face. She stood there, stunned and speechless, before stammering out an apology. I just smiled faintly and said nothing. Then, with all my strength, I smashed the heavy frame against the floor. Maria jumped back, startled. Then she was immediately by my side, helping me clean up the shattered glass. She expertly tended to the small cuts on my hand, a familiar routine. “Good riddance,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re a Harvard graduate, for goodness’ sake. You can do so much better without him. You don’t have to take that kind of abuse, dear.” “I know,” I whispered, my head bowed. I hadn’t wanted to cry. But as I looked down, tears began to fall, hot and unstoppable. There was regret and sorrow, yes, but also a flicker of something else: the exhilarating relief of a survivor. Ten years. The romantic fairytale of the prince and the small-town girl had finally reached its end. It wasn’t a happy one, but it was the one I should have expected all along. 2 At eighteen, I was the valedictorian of my county, accepted into Harvard. That same year, I met Liam Gallagher, a successful alumnus who had returned to campus to make a donation. The beginning of our story was breathtakingly romantic. Liam fell for me at first sight. The moment his speech ended, he began a relentless pursuit. He’d wait for me after class with flowers and bubble tea. He’d bribe my roommates for information on my whereabouts. He memorized every little thing about me and declared his love for me under a sky filled with fireworks. Back then, everyone said we wouldn’t last. A girl like me, a Cinderella from a small town, could never truly belong with someone like Liam Gallagher. But Liam didn’t care. He fought against the pressure from his family and the world, proposing to me and shielding me from all the malice. Under his protection, my once difficult life switched to easy mode. I was showered with jewelry and bouquets, offered scholarships to study abroad. Resources were poured on me, everything I could ever want handed to me before I even had to ask. For a naive, dreamy teenage girl, Liam’s intense affection was intoxicating. I fell hard and fast, giving up my ambitions to marry him. Dating, marriage, pregnancy—it all unfolded so perfectly. Life felt effortless. I was drowning in the joy of love, completely unaware that every gift from fate comes with a hidden price tag. The day our son, Leo, was born, Liam’s mother, a woman I had never met, swept into my hospital room and took my baby from his bassinet. Her smile was polite, but her voice was cold and dripping with condescension. “Leo is the future heir to the Gallagher fortune. His position is of the utmost importance,” she stated. “Given your background, you are not qualified to raise him.” After ten months of carrying him, after a difficult labor, I wasn’t even allowed to hold my own son. To even see him, I needed permission. I begged Liam not to be so cruel, not to separate me from our child. He just looked at me with a strange expression. “My mother’s right, Nora. You’re from the country. We had an agreement—I could mess around all I wanted, but when it came to the children, her word was law.” I was on the verge of collapsing from grief, but Liam just wrapped his arms around my waist and tried to kiss me, laughing it off. “Come on, don’t be sad,” he said casually. “If you love kids so much, we’ll just have another one.” I couldn’t push him away. But when his eyes fell on the dense network of stretch marks covering my stomach, he stopped. A flicker of disgust and conflict crossed his face. After a moment’s hesitation, he simply said, “You must be tired. Get some rest.” His coldness was like a slap in the face, waking me from my beautiful dream. I remembered his mother’s contempt, the snickering of those around me. I suddenly realized that this grand, sweeping love story was nothing more than the whim of a rich boy. Fate had given me a gift. Now, it was starting to collect the interest. Losing my son was only the beginning. During my postpartum recovery, I fell into a severe depression. I called Liam, but he never answered. I sent texts, but they went unread. I was sick with worry, imagining the worst had happened to him. The next morning, I woke up to the news. Photos of him in bed with a starlet were plastered all over the internet. The world began to speculate how long it would be before the small-town Cinderella was thrown out of the palace. The public mockery shattered the last of my illusions. I couldn’t accept it. My depression spiraled. We had the most vicious fight of our lives. In a complete breakdown, I grabbed a knife and threatened to jump from the balcony. That was the only time I saw fear in his eyes. He rushed to hold me, his body trembling as he apologized. Like every cheating husband, he wept and swore it was all a misunderstanding, that he loved me, begging for another chance. That night, Liam knelt before me, tears streaming down his face. “Nora,” he pleaded, “please forgive me. Just this once.” 3 I made the second worst mistake of my life. I forgave him. For our son. For the lingering love I couldn’t cut away. And because my mother was in a terrible car accident, leaving me with no other home to run to. So, Liam and I reconciled. And soon, I was pregnant with our second child, Mia. Just like with Leo, Mia was taken away the moment she was born. The excuse this time was that Liam needed to focus on work and couldn’t be disturbed by a crying baby. To see my children, I had to go to the family estate before dawn every day to serve his mother. I poured her tea, massaged her shoulders, and even knelt to wash her feet, all in the desperate hope that she would show a sliver of mercy and let me spend time with my own kids. But all my efforts were rewarded with Liam’s brazen betrayals and my children’s deep-seated resentment. Leo refused to call me “Mom.” Whenever he saw me, he would scowl and say, “That stupid country woman is here again. I don’t want to see her.” Mia was too young to speak. She would just cry until her grandmother held her. Meanwhile, my mother’s condition was getting worse. The coldness of my children and the crushing weight of my life left me exhausted and hopeless. Just when I needed him most, Liam was building a new life with another woman. It was our wedding anniversary. Leo refused my invitation to celebrate. Liam didn’t answer my calls. Instead, his new lover thoughtfully sent me a video of them in bed together. Listening to their intimate sounds, I finally broke. I grabbed a blade and dragged it across my arm, over and over. When Maria burst into the bathroom, I had almost bled out. She frantically called Liam. This time, he didn’t come home until morning. He crouched in front of me, a smirk on his face as he looked at my mangled arm. “Weren’t you going to die? A whole night has passed, and you’re still here, clinging to this family like a stray dog.” His words shattered my fragile calm. Without a second thought, I threw myself off the balcony. I didn’t die. I just broke my leg. Mrs. Gallagher paid off the reporters and dragged me to my mother’s hospital room. She looked down at me, her voice like ice. “The ICU costs twenty thousand a day. If you ever dare to embarrass the Gallagher name again, I’ll make sure your mother dies with you.” That was the first time I realized that even death was a luxury I couldn’t afford. I was trapped. I couldn’t let go of the past, couldn’t sever the ties to my children. So I humbled myself, shrinking into nothingness in a marriage that had devoured my soul. I watched my son and daughter grow distant, watched Liam move from one woman to the next, watched them use my own mother to control me. Marriage into a wealthy family was a sweet dream and a painful chain. Cinderella had become Mrs. Gallagher, but the prince was still lost in his game, “saving” one beautiful, poor girl after another. Until one day, Liam went too far. He fell for a socialite in her thirties with a string of ex-husbands, and he got her pregnant. Mrs. Gallagher was furious. She slapped me twice across the face, screaming at me for failing to control my own husband. “What good are you if you can’t even keep a man’s heart?” she shrieked. “I order you to clean up this mess immediately. Otherwise… I will cut off your mother’s medical funds and ensure you never see Leo or Mia again!” With my marriage in ruins, my mother was the only pillar I had left. I couldn’t lose her. Steeling myself, I went to see the woman, Seraphina. Unlike Liam’s other flings, she wasn’t arrogant or aggressive. She was polite, even deferential, calling me “Mrs. Gallagher” with a pleading look in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I never intended to disrupt your family,” she said softly. “I just love Liam so much. But for his sake, I’m willing to get rid of this child and disappear forever.” Seraphina was true to her word. She took the money and vanished. That night, Liam, who hadn’t been home in ages, walked into my room. Without a word, he pushed me onto the bed and took me. For an entire month, he didn’t let me leave that room. Not until I was pregnant with our third child. As a reward for solving his problem, and to keep Liam at home, Mrs. Gallagher made an unprecedented concession: I would be allowed to raise this child myself. Around the same time, my mother’s health began to improve under the care of the Gallaghers’ private medical team. I was ecstatic. I thought my suffering was finally over, that things were finally looking up. But when I was eight months pregnant, Liam pushed me down the stairs.

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1 It was an evening like any other. I was at the sink washing dishes when Toby’s voice drifted in from the living room, carrying its usual cool detachment. “Can’t you read a book or something? Try to improve yourself.” My hands stopped moving. He continued, “In the future, Lily is going to need more than a mother who’s just a housekeeper.” Clang. The plate hit the drying rack with a sharp crack. I froze. And in that single, shattering moment, I understood everything. He was comparing me to someone else. Some new standard I was failing to meet. … 2 Our six-year-old daughter was in the room, so I held my tongue and finished tidying the kitchen without a word. “Lily, honey, why don’t you go to your room and draw for a bit?” Once she was gone, I turned on the television and flipped to a trashy soap opera. A frown creased Toby’s brow. “Aren’t you going to do the dishes? They’ll start to smell.” He had a sensitive nose. The house had to be immaculate, free of any lingering odors. Anything that might create a smell had to be dealt with immediately. I poured myself a cup of tea and kept my eyes glued to the screen. “If it’s a job anyone can do, then you do it.” Toby let out a short, humorless laugh. “I was just offering a suggestion. It’s for Lily’s benefit, too. Is there any need to be so dramatic?” “Wash them or don’t. It’s up to you.” The drama on screen was reaching its climax. The wife and the mistress were in a screaming match in public. The husband wrapped his arms protectively around the mistress, shouting at his wife. “Look at you, you’re acting like a madwoman! Do you have any shred of dignity left? Every day I have to look at your sloppy, unkempt face, and it makes me sick.” The wife looked utterly destroyed, incapable of fighting back as her husband stormed away with the triumphant mistress in his arms. It was, admittedly, garbage television. I turned my head to look at Toby. “Do you think all cheating men invent excuses like that to cover up the simple fact that they can’t control themselves?” His expression tightened for a second before his cool mask slipped back into place. “What kind of question is that? How would I know?” I didn’t reply, just held his gaze. I saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. He spoke again. “If you have so much free time on your hands, you should sign up for a class. Improve your skills. Don’t waste your life on this meaningless drivel.” I switched off the TV and stood up to go to the bedroom. As I passed him, I made sure to add, “Don’t forget the dishes, Professor.” The next day, I hired a part-time housekeeper to handle the cooking and cleaning. When Toby came home that evening, Lily and I had already finished dinner. He saw the stranger in our home and frowned, his eyes questioning me. “The new housekeeper,” I said simply. “You know I don’t like having strangers in the house. You should go back to cooking. I’m used to your food after all these years.” I smiled. “After all these years, shouldn’t you be sick of it by now?” I’ve never been one to suffer in silence. Back in school, when bullies came after me, I’d fight back so effectively they’d be crying for their mothers, but you’d barely find a mark on them. I, on the other hand, always made sure to look like the victim. Faced with my sarcasm, Toby sighed. “I make one little comment, and you hold a grudge this long. Thea, you can’t stay a child forever. Some of those rough edges need to be smoothed out. You need to be a better role model for our daughter…” I picked up a water glass and hurled it at his feet. It shattered on the floor. “Are you done?” “If you’re not eating, I’ll have the housekeeper throw it out.” Ignoring his stunned expression, I turned to the startled woman and spoke in a gentle voice. “That’s all for tonight, thank you. Please come back at the same time tomorrow.” “Ma’am, should I do the dishes?” I shook my head. “No, thank you. I have someone else in mind for that job.” After she left, Toby looked like he was about to explode. “You act like this in front of strangers?” “What, am I embarrassing you? Tarnishing the great Professor’s reputation? Am I not worldly enough for you? Not cultured enough? Not as good as whoever you’re comparing me to out there?” “Thea, you’re being completely irrational!” He slammed the door on his way out. Irrational. Right. 3 But he used to love this part of me. He once told me that my bright, fiery personality had shown him a world he never knew existed. He was captivated by the collision of our two different worlds, our opposite natures. He said it made his life complete. I joined the university’s kickboxing club as a freshman. I was one of the few women who endured the brutal training all the way to the finals. Toby, who looked like a delicate scholar who might be knocked over by a strong breeze, fell for me the first time he saw me in the ring, sweat-drenched and fearless. “Your name is Thea,” he’d said once, “It sounds so gentle. It doesn’t match your personality at all.” “What? You see a name like that and expect some delicate literary genius? Sorry to disappoint you, professor. I’m more of a fighter.” He shook his head, flustered. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I think you’re… you’re so cool. Like a warrior from an old story, fighting for justice. I’ve… I’ve never met anyone like you.” He’d lowered his head then, his ears turning bright red. “Well, you have now,” I’d said. “Guess you’ll get used to it.” I turned to leave, but his urgent voice stopped me. “Wait! Can I… can I get your number?” “Sure.” He was a man of few words, and I wasn’t much for small talk. We didn’t interact much after that. Then one day, he was on his way back from his part-time job when a group of local thugs cornered him, demanding protection money. With his slender build, it was clear he couldn’t take a punch. Since he’d called me a warrior, and I happened to be there, I figured I should probably live up to the title. “Hey! Picking on someone weaker than you? How brave. Why don’t you try a few rounds with me?” They swarmed me instantly. Clearly, I was the more interesting target. Toby had been prepared to take a beating rather than give them his money. But seeing them turn on me, his eyes went red with fury. “Thea! Run! Don’t worry about me!” I shot him a look. “Maybe try a different kind of cheerleading.” I didn’t have much time, so after a quick warm-up, the fight was on. I had some training, but there were a lot of them. I took a few hits—a couple of scrapes on my face, a twisted arm. Toby cried the whole way to the clinic, and I laughed at him the whole way there. After that, he said a debt like that could only be repaid with a lifetime. Later, we graduated. I started my own business. He went on to grad school, climbing the academic ladder until he became a tenured professor. I funded most of that journey. He went from a small-town kid who studied his way out to a level of success most people only dream of. Back in his tiny hometown, he was a local hero. His parents, who had been farmers their whole lives, were the envy of the entire town. He used to say I was his guardian angel. Our life got better and better. We moved into bigger houses. We had our daughter. To take care of her, I stepped back, handed the daily operations of my company over to a professional manager, and focused on building our home. And now, he was starting to resent me for it. I didn’t know how far things had gone with his “reference point” out there, but my gut told me they were still in the early, simmering stages. Without proof, there was nothing I could do. For now. But I had money, and I had time. I was more than willing to play his game. Toby remained meticulous. His hair was always perfect, his shirts crisp and without a single wrinkle. He never came home smelling of anything he shouldn’t. He was still the dedicated academic, Professor Toby. The only change was that after that night, doing the dishes became his job. It was another ordinary day. I needed a book on contract law for a potential company acquisition, so I went into his study. I found it and was about to leave when a flash of red from a gap in the bookshelf caught my eye. It looked out of place. A strange feeling pulled me toward it.

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