Category: English

My neighbor diverted the raw sewage from his hog operation directly into my wheat fields. The foul, black sludge swallowed the waist-high stalks, destroying an entire year’s harvest overnight. My dad was ready to grab a shovel and commit murder. My mom was on her knees, sobbing, begging me to run to the Councilman for help. I stopped them both. I didn’t say a single word. The next day, I silently drained the toxic mess and planted hundreds of willow trees in the mud. The whole town laughed, calling me an idiot. My neighbor smirked, convinced I was a coward who had accepted defeat. Three years later, a convoy of EPA agents pulled up to his front gate. 1 The August wind should have carried the scent of ripening wheat, the sweet, dusty promise of harvest. But standing on the ridge of my family’s land, all I could smell was the gut-churning stench of rot and ammonia. The golden waves I had nurtured were gone. In their place was a horizonless hellscape of black water. My waist-high wheat stalks were drowning in a thick, dark sludge. The heavy heads of grain drooped into the filth like the heads of drowning victims. Sunlight hit the surface, reflecting a sickly, iridescent oil slick. Swarms of bluebottle flies buzzed in a frenzied, chaotic cloud above it. This was my family’s only field. My entire savings. My hope. My name is Mason. I have a degree in Agronomy. I spent two years burning out in a city cubicle, getting laid off, and growing sick of the rat race. In the end, watching my parents age over video calls broke me. I chose to come back to the small, dying town where I was born. I brought my degree and every cent I had to my name, determined to use scientific farming to give my parents a better life. My crop was the best in the county. The stalks were sturdy, the kernels full. Everyone who drove past stopped to say that my college degree hadn’t been a waste of time. My dad, Frank—a man who’s spent fifty years working dirt until his hands looked like tree bark—had been happier these past few months than I’d ever seen him. He’d walk the perimeter three times a day, hands clasped behind his back, chest puffed out, grinning like a fool. He told me that once we sold the harvest, he’d bank the money for my future wedding. Now, it was all gone. Overnight. Our neighbor, Bubba Vance, had expanded his hog operation. To save money on a septic system and waste treatment, he dug a trench straight from his pits to the lowest point of the valley: my field. Hog manure, urine, wash-water, and the chemical sting of industrial disinfectant surged down the hill, effectively drowning our livelihood in toxic waste. “Vance! You son of a bitch!” My dad’s eyes went bloodshot instantly. Veins bulged from his neck to his temples. He looked like an enraged bull seeing red. He roared, spinning around to grab the heavy iron shovel leaning against the fence post. He was going over there to kill Bubba Vance. “Frank! Don’t do it!” My mom, Martha, threw her arms around his waist, her knees buckling into the mud. Her wail was a sound of pure, jagged heartbreak. “Don’t go, Frank! If you hurt him, we lose everything! You’ll go to jail!” “A whole year of sweat and blood! Oh God, why are you doing this to us?” She pounded the ground, her hands splashing into the toxic muck, sobbing until she choked. I grabbed my dad from behind, locking my arms around his biceps. His muscles were hard as iron, shaking with adrenaline. He fought against my grip. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a giant hand, crushed, and tossed into that cesspool. Rage, nausea, and injustice bubbled in my chest like magma, threatening to erupt. But my face remained a mask of stone. I leaned in, putting all my strength into holding him back, and whispered into his ear. “Dad. Stop.” My voice was cold. It sounded alien, even to me. “Let go of me!” He whipped his head around, glaring at me with wild eyes. “Mason! Are you a man or not? He’s destroying us, and you want to play the coward? Did all those books you read turn your spine to jelly?” Mom was screaming now. “Mason, go find Councilman Higgins! Ask him to help us! How are we going to survive this?” Councilman Higgins? He was Bubba Vance’s first cousin. Asking him for help was like asking a wolf to guard the hen house. Just then, a horn blasted. A rusted-out, lifted pickup truck rolled to a stop on the gravel road nearby. Bubba Vance, a man whose neck had long since been swallowed by layers of fat, rolled down the window. He looked at our flooded field and hawked a thick glob of spit onto the ground. “Well, look at that, Frank. Checking the crops?” He grinned, revealing teeth stained yellow by tobacco. It was a blindingly arrogant smile. “Consider that free fertilizer. Don’t thank me, that’s what neighbors are for. Next year’s crop is gonna be huge!” The woman beside him in the passenger seat cackled, her voice shrill. “That’s right! Saved you a fortune on chemicals! You college boys better learn to do the math!” Humiliation. Naked, unadulterated humiliation. My dad was shaking so hard I thought he might have a stroke. My mom’s wailing stopped, replaced by hopeless, gasping sobs. I didn’t respond to their taunts. I just slowly lifted my head. Across the fifty yards separating us, I locked eyes with Bubba. There was no anger in my gaze. No pleading. Nothing. Just a dead, icy silence. Bubba’s laughter cut short, like a radio suddenly switched off. He shivered, unsettled by the look, muttered “freak” under his breath, and stomped on the gas, leaving us in a cloud of black diesel smoke. I supported my father, who could barely stand, and pulled my mother out of the mud. “Let’s go home,” I said. That night, the lights in our house burned until dawn. Dad didn’t eat. He lay in bed, chest heaving, his blood pressure spiking dangerously high. Mom sat on the edge of the mattress, eyes swollen shut, tears leaking silently as she muttered, “What are we going to do? What are we going to do?” The air in the house was heavy enough to crush a man. I sat alone in my room, a fresh notebook open on my desk. Outside, the crickets and frogs were silent, as if terrified by the death radiating from our land. I didn’t turn on the lamp. In the darkness, I wrote. I drew diagrams. The scratching of my pen against the paper was the only sound in the void. When the sky turned gray with dawn, I closed the notebook. I looked out the window. The anger, the pain, the despair—it was all gone. Replaced by a calm that felt cruel. Bubba Vance. You like dumping filth on people? Fine. I’m going to show you exactly what it feels like to drown in your own waste. 2 I left the house early the next morning. I didn’t go to the Councilman. I didn’t go to argue with Bubba. I went into town. Using the last of my savings and a loan from an old college buddy, I rented a high-capacity industrial water pump. My parents thought I was going to drain the sewage to try and replant a late-season crop. They knew it was hopeless, but seeing me do something stopped them from screaming at me. The pump roared for two days and two nights. I drained the black sludge into an abandoned drainage ditch nearby. The field lay exposed—a expanse of black, necrotic mud covered in a layer of rotting wheat stalks, smelling worse than a corpse. My family waited for my next move. But I didn’t buy seeds. I made a call to a friend working at the State Agricultural Research Center. I ordered several hundred saplings. Not just any trees. I ordered a specific hybrid of Willow—Salix matsudana crossed with White Willow. A bio-engineered variety known for its hyper-tolerance to heavy metals and organic pollutants. Three days later, a delivery truck dropped the root balls at the edge of the property. Under the confused and mocking gazes of the entire town, I rolled up my pant legs and waded into the toxic muck alone. Digging holes. Planting saplings. Packing soil. Watering. Sludge splattered my face. Sweat mixed with the filth running down my neck. The smell made me gag every ten minutes. But I didn’t stop. The locals gathered on the road like they were watching a circus freak. “Did the college boy lose his mind?” “Good farmland ruined. He’s planting trees? Can’t eat willow bark.” “He’s cracked. The boy is broken. Shame about Frank and Martha… a lifetime of work gone.” Their whispers were like needles pricking my parents’ hearts. My dad’s face went from red to gray. He stormed down the embankment, pointing a shaking finger at me. “Mason! Get out of there! I have never been so embarrassed in my life! Are you trying to kill me?” He hadn’t eaten a full meal in two days. His voice cracked. Mom stumbled after him, tears flowing again. “Son, please. Stop this madness. Let’s just accept it. I’ll go beg Bubba. I’ll beg him to have mercy next year so we can eat.” I stopped digging. I straightened my aching back and looked at their weathered, desperate faces. My heart bled for them. But I couldn’t explain. Not yet. Any explanation would sound like insanity to them right now. I looked them in the eye and spoke with a firmness they hadn’t heard since I left for university. “Dad. Mom. Trust me. Just this once.” I turned back around, bent down, and planted another tree. My silence broke them. Dad collapsed onto the dirt, clutching his chest, gasping for air. Mom’s weeping turned into a low, keening wail of defeat. Bubba Vance drove by in his truck. He stopped to admire my “work.” He walked the perimeter, then threw his head back and laughed—a loud, booming sound that echoed off the hills. “Hahaha! Alright, kid! I gotta hand it to you! Creative!” He walked up to the edge of the field and slapped my muddy shoulder hard enough to make me stumble. “College brain, right? You know you can’t beat me, so you’re changing careers! Not bad. When those willows get big, I’ll need firewood for scalding the hogs. They burn hot!” His wife shouted from the truck. “At least he knows when to quit! Unlike some old stubborn fools!” Every word was salt in my father’s open wounds. I could feel Dad’s murderous gaze burning into my back. But I didn’t react. I was a machine. I planted the last sapling. When I packed the final mound of earth, I stood up and looked at the rows of spindly, fragile sticks protruding from the black mud. They looked weak. A strong wind could knock them over. But to me, they weren’t trees. They were soldiers. They were the first pawns on the board. A three-year game of chess had just officially begun. 3 My “Willow Field” became the town’s biggest joke. I was the punchline of every conversation at the diner and the feed store. “The boy who studied himself stupid.” My parents gave up on me. Except for meals, they stopped talking to me. The house felt like a tomb. Bubba Vance was the victor. He became even more arrogant, bragging to everyone that I had rolled over like a dog. He preached his gospel that money and connections could crush anyone. A week later, Councilman Higgins finally decided to make an appearance. He summoned my parents, me, and Bubba to the Town Hall. Inside the peeling office, Higgins sat behind an old desk, nursing a coffee, his belly pressing against the wood. He started by slapping Bubba on the wrist. “Now, Bubba, that wasn’t right. We’re all neighbors here. You can’t just dump water wherever. It looks bad.” Bubba hung his head, feigning shame, but I saw the smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. Then, Higgins turned to us. “But, Frank, Martha… you can’t hold a grudge. Bubba is contributing to the local economy. Accidents happen. It wasn’t intentional.” Not intentional? Did the trench dig itself? Bubba reached into his pocket and pulled out five crumpled hundred-dollar bills. He slammed them onto the table. “Cousin… I mean, Councilman is right. Frank, take this. Buy some medicine. Let’s call it even.” Five hundred dollars. He destroyed a crop worth twenty thousand dollars, wiped out our savings, and offered five hundred bucks. It wasn’t compensation. It was a slap in the face. I saw my dad’s face turn purple. His fists clenched at his sides. My mom stared at the money, her lips trembling, humiliation washing over her. Higgins pushed the money toward my dad. “Alright then. Bubba apologized. He showed good faith. Frank, let it go. We all have to live here.” He looked at me, his eyes patronizing. “Mason, you’re an educated man. Be the bigger person. Go pull up those weeds you planted and start over next year. I’ll make Bubba write a promise note that he won’t do it again.” A promise note? From a man like that? It was worth less than toilet paper. I had been silent the whole time, a spectator to this farce. Until now. I stood up. Under everyone’s surprised gaze, I reached out. With two fingers, I picked up the stack of bills and slid them slowly back across the table to Bubba. The movement was gentle, but final. I looked Councilman Higgins in the eye and spoke. My voice was quiet, but it filled the room. “Councilman, first: My losses—not counting labor or emotional distress—are at least twenty thousand. Five hundred is a joke.” “Second: My land is a willow grove now. What I grow is my business. It’s not up for debate.” My words hit the room like a brick. Higgins froze. Bubba exploded. He slammed his hand on the table and jumped up, pointing a sausage-like finger in my face. “Mason, you ungrateful little shit! You trying to blackmail me? You want to play hardball?” I looked at his red, screaming face and smiled coldly. “I don’t want to play anything.” “Water can be cleaned. But a dirty soul? That’s harder to fix.” I turned to my stunned parents. “Dad, Mom. Let’s go.” I walked them out, ignoring the shouting behind us. Outside, the sun was blinding. My parents were silent, but I felt my dad squeeze my hand. His grip was warm. For the first time, he was doubting his conclusion that his son was a coward. 4 Autumn arrived quickly. Miraculously, the willow saplings survived. They rooted into the poisoned soil, shooting up green branches, growing at a supernatural rate. More importantly, the stench began to fade. The willows were drinking the filth. One afternoon, I was pruning branches when a voice called out. “Excuse me? Are you Mason?” I looked up. A girl in a white t-shirt and jeans stood on the ridge. She had a high ponytail and bright, intelligent eyes. “I am. And you are?” “I’m Elena. I’m the new Soil Conservationist with the Extension Office.” She smiled, revealing dimples. “I was driving by and saw this… it’s incredible.” She didn’t look at me like I was an idiot. She looked… fascinated. She squatted down, examining the soil. “This land… it was contaminated, right?” I nodded. She stood up, eyes shining. She lowered her voice like we were conspirators. “Phytoremediation? You’re using a willow-microbe consortium to degrade the organic pollutants and sequester heavy metals?” My heart skipped a beat. For months, I had been an island. She was the first person who spoke my language. “Exactly,” I said, grinning for the first time in forever. Elena became a regular. We tracked pH levels and growth rates. She brought me professional testing kits from the university. She was the only bright spot in a gray world. Our friendship didn’t go unnoticed. Bubba Vance watched from his porch, eyes narrowing with jealousy and suspicion. To a man like him, a “college boy” conspiring with a “government girl” meant trouble. A week later, on a moonless night, disaster struck. I arrived at the field to find the row of trees closest to the road hacked down. Clean cuts. Sap bleeding onto the ground. My blood boiled. It was Bubba. It had to be. My dad saw it and grabbed a machete. “I’m going to kill him! Mason, get out of my way!” I blocked his path again. “Dad! Proof? Where is the proof?” Dad faltered. “So we do nothing?” “No,” I said, staring at the stumps. “He did it once. He’ll do it again.” That night, I borrowed money from Elena and ordered four military-grade trail cameras with night vision. Bubba, you like working in the dark? I’m going to give you an audience. 5 I hid the cameras in the foliage, angled to cover every approach. Then, I set the trap. I went to the general store with my mom and spoke a little too loudly. “Mom, Elena said because of my innovation, the state is giving me a ‘Green Initiative Grant.’ It’s a few thousand dollars. Should be here next week.” Mom, bless her, played along. “Really? That’s wonderful!” The rumor spread like wildfire. Bubba heard it. I knew he would. He destroyed my land, and now I was going to profit from it? His ego couldn’t take that. Three nights later, my phone buzzed. Motion alert. The feed was grainy and green, but clear. Bubba Vance. Holding an axe. And he wasn’t alone. He had brought his teenage son, Junior. “Dad, why we doin’ this?” Junior whined. “Shut up and chop,” Bubba hissed. “This little punk thinks he’s gonna get free money? Not on my watch.” They went to work. Bubba swinging the axe, Junior pulling up saplings. They laughed. They cursed my family. And the four cameras recorded every second of it in 4K resolution. I didn’t run out there. I let them finish. I needed a felony amount of damage. When they left, I retrieved the SD cards. I played the footage on the living room TV. My parents watched in silence. Dad shook with rage, but when it was over, he looked at me with new respect. “I’m going to the Sheriff,” Dad said, grabbing his keys. “No,” I said gently. “Not yet.” “Police means a slap on the wrist. A fine. He’s rich, he’ll pay it and laugh.” I looked out the window into the dark. “I don’t want to fine him, Dad. I want to bury him.”

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I found a girl passed out on the sidewalk, dead drunk. Being a decent guy, I got her a room at a five-star hotel to keep her safe. She thanked me by calling the cops and accusing me of rape. She sobbed on the stand. “I was drunk… I woke up in a hotel bed, naked.” “You monster,” she cried, pointing at me. “I don’t even know you. How could you do this to me?” … I paid an exorbitant amount for bail. The day after I got out, I saw her again. Same situation, passed out drunk on the street. This time, I walked on by. 1 “You bastard! She’s only twenty! Are you even human?!” A middle-aged man, his eyes bloodshot, screamed at me, his voice cracking with rage. If the bailiffs weren’t holding him back, he would have torn me apart with his bare hands. Beside him, the girl, Tina, was a portrait of sorrow, her shoulders shaking with sobs as if I were some kind of monster. “Mr. Vance,” the opposing counsel’s voice was like ice, “my client, Miss Tina Reed, accuses you of raping her two nights ago in room 708 of the Grand Astoria Hotel. How do you plead?” The comments on the livestream of the trial were a torrent of hate. “Scumbag! Fry him!” “Looks so clean-cut in that suit, but he’s a total predator.” “That poor girl. They need to throw the book at him!” I stood in the defendant’s box, my mind a complete blank. I thought back to two nights ago. I was on my way to meet friends after a work dinner when I saw a girl passed out on the sidewalk. A group of guys who looked like trouble were circling her, whistling, their intentions clear. I frowned and walked over. “What do you think you’re doing?” They were younger than me, but I’m built solid. They muttered a few curses and shuffled off. I knelt and gently tapped the girl’s cheek. “Hey, wake up. Where do you live?” The reek of alcohol was overpowering. She was completely unresponsive, just mumbling something incoherent. I looked in her purse for a phone or an ID, but all I found was makeup and a set of keys. Leaving her there, dead drunk, was just too dangerous. I sighed, hauled her to her feet, and half-carried her to the nearest decent place, the Grand Astoria. I got her a room and laid her on the bed. I remembered my first-aid training and made sure to turn her on her side, in case she got sick. The moment I did, she threw up. All over the brand-new Armani suit I was wearing for the first time. The smell was so foul I almost joined her. I stripped off the ruined jacket, threw it in the trash, pulled the covers over her, and left. My friends were waiting. I thought that was the end of it. A small, insignificant act of kindness that had cost me a new suit. Bad luck, nothing more. The next day, I was in the middle of a crucial project meeting at my firm when two police officers walked right into the boardroom. “Who’s Alex Vance?” Every head in the room turned to me. “We’re from the city PD. You’re a suspect in a sexual assault case. Please come with us.” In front of my bosses and my entire team, they slapped handcuffs on my wrists. In that moment, I went from the company’s rising star to its resident rapist. 2 “Mr. Vance, please explain to the court why you would take a complete stranger, a drunk young woman, to a hotel?” Tina’s lawyer was relentless. “Like I said, I was concerned for her safety,” I answered calmly. “Her safety?” he sneered. “So your ‘kindness’ was to get her a hotel room?” “She was unconscious. I couldn’t get an address out of her. A hotel was the safest option at the time.” Tina’s father exploded again. “Bullshit! You were just using that as an excuse to take advantage of my daughter!” “Order!” the judge warned, banging his gavel. The lawyer continued. “Hotel security footage shows you entering room 708 with Miss Reed at 11:10 PM and leaving at 11:35 PM. What did you do in that room for twenty-five minutes, Mr. Vance?” “I got her settled, dealt with my ruined clothes, and left.” “Dealt with your clothes? Or dealt with the evidence of your crime?” Tina’s sobs grew louder. “When I woke up, I was in the hotel bed. My clothes were off. My head was pounding… I couldn’t remember anything.” She pointed a trembling finger at me, her eyes filled with a mixture of terror and hatred. “I found the room key on the nightstand and had the front desk look up who paid for it. It was him. I don’t even know you! Why would you do this to me?!” Her accusation was like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. I looked straight at her. “Let me ask you,” I said, my voice low and steady, “do you have a single piece of evidence that I touched you? Any marks on your body? Any physical evidence from the room?” Her lawyer answered for her. “My client underwent a full examination. Due to your sophisticated methods, you left no obvious signs of violence! But that does not exonerate you! As for evidence, my client was disoriented. Who knows if you cleaned the scene?” Her father roared, “My daughter’s word is all the proof we need! She’s a good girl! Do you think she would ruin her own reputation to frame you? What kind of monster are you?!” The online vitriol intensified. “Still denying it! What a piece of work.” “These smart criminals are the scariest. They know how to cover their tracks.” “She has no reason to lie. Believe the victim!” I was trapped. A young woman’s tears were the most powerful “evidence” in the world. In the court of public opinion, a thirty-year-old man taking a drunk twenty-year-old to a hotel was guilty by definition. My explanations were useless. The lawyer pressed on. “Mr. Vance, you claim this was an act of kindness. Have you ever performed similar acts of ‘kindness’ before? Can you produce a single witness to testify to your sterling character?” I was speechless. I was an orphan, raised on the pension benefits of my father, a fallen soldier. I’d worked my ass off to get where I was. I didn’t have a large circle of friends, and certainly no one I could call to vouch for my moral character on a witness stand. My silence was taken as an admission of guilt. The judge looked from me to the weeping girl and called for a recess. “We will reconvene next week to examine the prosecution’s evidence.” Because I was the son of a war hero and had a clean record, and because my father’s old unit stepped in to post an astronomical bail, I was temporarily released. The moment I stepped out of the courthouse, I was swarmed by reporters. The flashbulbs were blinding. Tina’s father broke through the crowd and punched me square in the jaw. “Scumbag! I’ll kill you!” I didn’t fight back. I couldn’t. I was out on bail. If I retaliated, I’d be back in a cell with an added assault charge, and tomorrow’s headlines would read: ACCUSED RAPIST ATTACKS VICTIM’S FATHER OUTSIDE COURTHOUSE. 3 My life was in ruins. The company put me on indefinite leave to “handle my personal affairs”—a polite way of firing me. In my apartment complex, neighbors would see me and immediately cross the street, their eyes filled with disgust and fear. My landlord called and told me to get out, said I was ruining the building’s reputation and he was getting grief from the other tenants. I locked myself in my apartment, poring over legal texts. The evidence was all against me, the DA was sharp, and the public had already convicted me. Tina’s father had used his media connections to paint me as a monster. Someone had even dug up the fact that my parents were fallen heroes. “He’s spitting on their graves!” “They should strip him of his parents’ honors! He doesn’t deserve them!” “Human trash.” Those words hurt more than any punch. I turned off my phone, feeling the walls close in. That night, I went out for a walk, just to breathe. I found myself at the same intersection as two nights ago. And I froze. A familiar figure, in the exact same pose, in the exact same spot. It was Tina. She was drunk again, passed out on the cold pavement. Her purse was open, lipstick and a compact scattered on the ground. The night air was chilly, and she was wearing nothing but a thin dress. I stood about thirty feet away, just watching her. My fists clenched and unclenched. I saw her father’s twisted face. Her lawyer’s cold, accusatory eyes. Her own pitiful, tear-streaked performance on the stand. Help her again? And wait for another accusation when she sobered up? Maybe this time it would be robbery? A bitter laugh escaped my lips. To hell with kindness. This world doesn’t deserve it. I pulled out my phone. 10:30 PM. Then I turned and walked around her, like stepping over a piece of trash that had nothing to do with me. Behind me, I heard a few low whistles as a group of young men headed in her direction. I didn’t look back. 4 The next morning, the frantic buzzing of my phone woke me. It was my lawyer. “Alex! It’s bad! Turn on the news!” I switched on the TV. The local morning news was covering a story. “Tragedy struck last night as a young woman was found deceased on a city street. Police have identified her as twenty-year-old Tina Reed. A preliminary investigation suggests the cause of death was asphyxiation after choking on her own vomit while intoxicated…” The screen showed Tina’s face, pale and lifeless. Police tape cordoned off the scene. The anchor’s voice was filled with sorrow. “Sources say Miss Reed had been drinking heavily. If only a kind passerby had noticed her condition and helped her, even by simply turning her head to the side, this tragedy might have been avoided. The death of this young woman is another stark reminder that apathy is the most terrifying disease of our society.” I stared at the screen, my face a blank mask. A kind passerby? The last kind passerby was being raked over the coals by the entire country and was about to face prison time. Just as I turned off the TV, my phone rang. It was her father’s number. I didn’t answer. I could imagine the venom, the unhinged accusations he would be screaming into the phone. He would blame me for his daughter’s death. In his mind, it was all my fault. Sure enough, within half an hour, the narrative online had shifted. #RapeVictimDiesAfterOrdeal The hashtag shot to the top of the trending list. The comments were a baying mob, calling for my head. “He’s a murderer now!” “It wasn’t just rape, it was manslaughter! He needs the death penalty!” “Avenge this poor girl! Make the monster pay!” My face and personal details were plastered all over the internet again. I was now the villain responsible for a young girl’s death. My lawyer called again, his voice grim. “Alex, this is not good. Public opinion is overwhelmingly against you. They’re saying you killed her. You need to be prepared for court this afternoon.” “Prepared for what?” I asked. “They’re going to use this. The pressure on you will be immense. You…” “I know,” I cut him off. I hung up, walked into my bedroom, and put on my best suit. I stood in front of the mirror and straightened my tie. The man looking back at me was calm, his eyes cold. Tina, you tried to ruin me with a lie about your honor. Now you’re trying to bury me with your death. You and your self-righteous father have underestimated me. This game is just getting started. At 1:30 PM, I was back in the defendant’s box. The gallery was packed with reporters. Tina’s father sat in the front row, dressed in black, his bloodshot eyes fixed on me like a predator.

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A taming system fell from the sky, and I immediately used it on the campus heartthrob. “Call me Your Majesty!” “Take a walk with me.” “Let me touch you!” He never resisted, letting me do as I pleased. I was quite satisfied. Until I saw him holding hands with his childhood sweetheart by the lake… I was sick with jealousy. So I activated my power, pinned him to the sofa, tore at his clothes, and kissed him senseless. When I’d had my fill and was about to leave, he wrapped his arms around my waist. “Well? Aren’t you going to take responsibility for that?” I was stunned. I screamed at the system in my head. It blinked and stuck out its tongue. “(Tee hee, how embarrassing!) Actually, honey, I don’t have any powers to control people at all~” Me: ?? You son of a bitch, you played me! 1 I have a crush on Duke Shaw. I’ve had a crush on him since high school. But now I’m a sophomore in college, and I still haven’t told him. Because he’s the undisputed campus heartthrob. And I’m… a nobody. I often ask the universe, what’s the harm in making one more girl stunningly beautiful? The universe never answers. Until today. A voice suddenly popped into my head. “(Whimpers) Hello, host! I’m Angel Service System 511.” “Sweetie, can you hear me? 511 is at your service.” “Sweetie? Are you deaf?” … Have I been reading so many web novels that I’ve finally lost my mind? I’m in the middle of a lecture, and my brain is already going haywire?! Unreal. Absolutely insane. But I still found myself replying: “Who are you? What do you want?” System 511 cooed, “Sweetie, I heard your wish, and I’m here to help you make it come true.” My eyes lit up. “Really? Are you here to turn me into a world-class beauty?” “Well, no…” 511 cleared its throat awkwardly. “But honey, I can grant you one ability—the power to tame a person for a designated period of time!” “No matter what you command, they will obey.” That sounded familiar. Like something I’d read in a spicy fanfic. Still, I was thrilled. “Really? They’ll obey any command?” The system’s reply was firm. “Of course, sweetie.” And so… My gaze drifted involuntarily toward Duke Shaw. He was sitting perfectly straight, his tall frame cutting a sharp silhouette. His slightly long hair fell over his forehead, and his eyes were downcast, lost in thought. As if sensing my stare, he suddenly turned his head. I quickly looked away, pretending nothing had happened. The power to tame someone? A very useful power indeed. After all, I’ve been dying to get my hands on Duke for a very long time. 2 511 told me that to use the taming power, I had to follow three rules: One: We had to be alone together. Two: I had to hold his face in my hands and look directly into his eyes to issue a command. Three: The control period could not exceed five minutes. “Okay, got it!” I rubbed my hands together, eager to try. Heh heh, my sweet, unsuspecting prey. Here I come! After class, Duke walked over to me and gave me a light flick on the forehead. “You weren’t paying attention in class. What were you staring at me for?” I rubbed my head, my tone dismissive. “Don’t be so conceited. I was just thinking about what to get for lunch.” Could I really tell you I was plotting how I was going to pounce on you in a few minutes? That would be terrifying. “Perfect. Let’s go to the cafeteria together.” Normally, I would have agreed in a heartbeat. But the cafeteria was always packed. I couldn’t use my power there. So I had to force myself to say no. “Nah, I’m eating with my roommate… but wait for me after your last class! We can walk home together!” “Deal.” As I watched Duke walk away, my heart did a little dance. In high school, my grades were really unbalanced. Our teacher paired me up with Duke, who had the opposite problem, so we could tutor each other in math and English. That’s how we became friends. Honestly, he was already gorgeous back then. A handsome face, a great personality, and tons of friends. He was ridiculously popular. I was always seeing girls from other classes trying to talk to him. Because of our tutoring sessions, Duke was always nice to me. He’d bring me snacks and invite me over to his house to do homework on the weekends. Staring at that handsome face day after day, it wasn’t long before I was completely smitten. But a secret crush is a one-woman war. I once asked him what his ideal type was. He just smiled and said nothing. Undeterred, I asked his friend. His friend pointed to Isabelle Croft, the beautiful valedictorian of our class. He told me Duke was into her. They were childhood friends, a match made in heaven. I was already too scared to confess, and now I knew he liked someone else. So I just studied harder, hoping to close the distance between us, even if just a little. The day our college entrance exam scores came out, I called Duke immediately. When I found out his score was only a few points higher than mine, I was ecstatic. I made him promise to show me his list of college choices before he submitted it. I copied his application, school for school. Finally, we ended up at the same university in our city. And by some stroke of luck, our major only had one freshman class. So Duke and I were classmates once again. It’s been two years. He’s still just as lukewarm towards me as ever. We’re just friends. But… Who wants to be his friend?! 3 After my last class, I deliberately dawdled in the classroom for a good fifteen minutes, waiting for a chance to be alone with him. When all the other students had finally left, Duke looked at me, a hint of exasperation in his voice. “Summer, are you planning on taking your entire desk home with you?” 511’s voice suddenly burst into my head. “Host, now’s your chance—” I shot up from my seat, took a deep breath, cupped Duke’s face in my hands, and stared into his eyes. A few seconds later, I spoke. “Obey my command!” Duke blinked, but he didn’t speak or resist. My heart exploded with joy. It actually worked! Normally, he would have called me a lunatic by now. Okay, what command should I give him? I cleared my throat. “Call me Your Majesty!” 511 was speechless. “…Sweetie, are you insane?” I blushed. “It’s just a test run!” Duke looked at me, his perfect lips parting slightly. Then, he spoke, his voice low and clear. “Your Majesty.” I nearly jumped out of my skin with excitement. He actually did it! That was a completely ridiculous request! Oh my God! The system wasn’t lying! I quickly composed myself. There was still time, I couldn’t waste it. I issued my next command. “Walk with me on the athletic track!” The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Five minutes wasn’t nearly enough time for a walk. Just then, 511 swooped in like a superhero. “Go, sweetie! Since this is your first time, I’m giving you a one-time bonus of unlimited time. Go and enjoy yourself!” A bonus offer? This system was the best! Overjoyed, I grabbed Duke’s hand and bolted downstairs. He had no idea how many times I’d gone for a walk after dinner, watching couples stroll hand-in-hand, chatting, or hiding in a corner for a hug and a kiss, and felt a pang of envy. Today, I finally had someone to walk with me. It was perfect. On the track, I held onto the corner of Duke’s shirt, and we walked slowly for half a lap. Then, I slyly reached for his hand. His hand was broad, his fingers long and elegant. Of course, a guy with a face like that would have beautiful hands. I tried to weave my clumsy fingers between his, aiming for the perfect hand-hold. But his knuckles were firm, and he wasn’t exactly helping me out. After a few seconds of struggling, my fingers just hurt. “Stupid hand! What’s the point of being handsome if you can’t even hold a girl’s hand properly?” I playfully smacked the back of his hand. At that, Duke suddenly turned his hand over and laced his fingers tightly with mine. My heart started hammering against my ribs. His palm was warm, maybe even a little sweaty. We were so close I could feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek. My face flushed crimson, and my pulse was racing. 511 was my one-woman hype squad. “Go for it, sweetie! He’s still under your control. He’ll do whatever you say!” I cursed at it in my head. Shut up! But what came out of my mouth was something entirely different. “Kiss me.” Duke froze for a second. Then, he cupped my face in his free hand and slowly leaned down. His soft, beautiful lips brushed against the corner of my mouth. My head spun. I was as red as a boiled lobster. Ahhhhhhhhhhh— I actually kissed Duke Shaw! 4 In the end, I ditched Duke and ran for my life. Yes, I’m that pathetic. I couldn’t face him after he snapped out of it. And I was terrified of what he’d think if he knew what I did to him while he was… not himself. But as soon as I got home, I was filled with regret. If I’d known he wouldn’t fight back, I should have kissed him more, touched him more. What a waste! I buried my face in my pillow, reliving the moment for a while before a new thought struck me. “Wait, I just ran off. Will he be able to get home by himself?” 511 (cute face): “Of course, sweetie! The moment you left, the power automatically deactivated.” That made me feel even worse. “When he came to his senses and realized I’d ditched him, he wasn’t mad, was he?” 511 (pouting face): “Of course not, sweetie! And if you’re worried, I can help you erase his memory of this afternoon.” I shot that down immediately. “No, don’t do that! I don’t want to mess with his head!” That would just make things worse. That weekend, my roommate Maya called me. Her friend in the dorm next door was having a birthday party and she wanted me to go with her. I had nothing better to do, so I agreed. I never expected to see Duke and his roommates there when we arrived at the karaoke lounge. Great minds think alike, I guess. The birthday girl greeted us and then went to pick some songs. Thinking about what I’d done to Duke on Friday, my face burned with embarrassment. Luckily, the room was dimly lit, so no one noticed. Duke and his roommates were playing cards at another table. He looked completely normal and didn’t even say hi. I felt a pang of disappointment. We’ve been classmates for years, and he’s just going to pretend I’m invisible? Jerk. Tomorrow, I’m definitely going to find a chance to punish him with my powers. After singing a few songs, the birthday girl sat down next to Duke, draping an arm over his shoulder. They looked awfully chummy. I was so annoyed I cracked a walnut with my bare fist. Maya popped the nutmeat into her mouth, giving me a sideways glance. “What’s wrong? Jealous?” “You’re just too passive,” she said. “If it were me, I’d go right over there and join them. Who’s afraid of who?” That set me off. “He’s been ignoring me since I walked in! Am I supposed to chase after him and beg for his attention?” Maya looked at me, completely serious. “You’re lucky you have a hot guy to chase. Don’t be so picky.” Me: … “And stalking him like a little thief every day isn’t going to get you anywhere,” she continued, offering some unsolicited advice. “Why don’t you just confess?” I took a swig of beer, my heart full of bitterness. “You think I don’t want to? I’m afraid he’ll reject me, and then we won’t even be able to be friends anymore.” Maya peeled an orange. “So what? It’s not like you’re getting anywhere with him now.” …She had a point. I couldn’t even argue. The birthday girl picked up the microphone and called for everyone’s attention. “Today is my 20th birthday, and I’m so grateful you could all be here to celebrate with me.” “My mom once told me that after a girl turns 20, she can start making her own decisions in life. Even if she regrets them later, at least she’ll have no regrets about not trying!” As she spoke, Maya nudged me, wiggling her eyebrows. “Based on my experience, she’s about to confess to a guy in this room.” “The time, the place, the mood—it’s all perfect!” “Oh, please,” I scoffed. “You think everyone is as shameless as you are?” Maya was undeterred. “Wanna bet? If she confesses, you give me twenty bucks. If not, I give you twenty.” I snorted. “You’re on!”

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I was on a reality show with my sister. I was making instant noodles for her when she insisted I was doing it wrong. “Mom always puts two eggs in when she makes ramen.” But growing up, I never once had an egg in my ramen. Right there on set, we called our mom. She admitted it. “It’s such a small thing, why are you making a big deal out of it? You’re being so petty, sis.” That day, a discussion quietly trended online. The headline read: [Turns out, hearts really are crooked. Parents never love equally.] 1 When I dialed Mom’s number, I was absolutely convinced my sister was remembering it wrong. When we were kids, we were poor. We only ate instant ramen on our birthdays. I remembered it clearly. There were never eggs in the ramen. My sister, Bella, wouldn’t back down. “There were too! Mom always poached two eggs at the bottom of the bowl. You’re just remembering it wrong.” This show was being livestreamed, and the chat was already buzzing with excitement. People were placing bets on who was wrong. The call connected quickly. Bella has a fast mouth. She spilled everything that happened in seconds. Silence on the other end of the line. Then, Mom admitted it. “Yeah, I put two eggs in for your sister.” Seeing Mom confirm her story, Bella looked smug instantly. But my heart sank to the bottom of a freezing lake. I asked, “Then Mom, why did I never get any eggs growing up?” Mom’s tone was dismissive, even a little accusatory: “It’s just two eggs. Why are you so petty, keeping score with your own sister?” I lowered my eyes and said nothing. I wasn’t keeping score over two eggs. I wanted to ask why she got them, and I didn’t. Bella realized something was off. Her smile faded. But Mom was still laughing on the other end: “Sis, you aren’t seriously mad over two eggs, are you? Come on, stop being dramatic. If it matters that much, come home and I’ll boil you ten eggs.” She reduced my silence to a tantrum over food. I knew if I argued further, Mom would just dig her heels in and get angry out of embarrassment. She’d probably ask if I wanted my sister dead to be satisfied. Most of the time, I wasn’t trying to win an argument. I just wanted fairness. 2 The livestream was still rolling. I didn’t dare listen to what else Mom might say. I hung up. The viewer count spiked during the call. “I feel like Hannah’s mom has no clue what Hannah actually cares about. She doesn’t think she did anything wrong.” “Kinda feeling bad for Hannah. Her parents don’t seem great to her.” “If they really cared, they wouldn’t have sent Hannah into the entertainment industry at fifteen. Look at her sister, studying abroad since she was a kid.” “Hilarious. A bunch of broke people feeling sorry for a celebrity?” “Here we go again. Who doesn’t know Hannah failed school? She’s basically illiterate.” With more viewers came more diverse opinions. The production team moved fast to control the comments. They told me about the situation and asked if I wanted to steer the narrative. “It’s fine. Bad publicity is still publicity.” I didn’t care if people cursed me out. The director looked at me with some hesitation, then told me the plan for tomorrow’s show. “The team saw how much traction the ‘native family trauma’ topic is getting. We want to hold a roundtable discussion tomorrow about family upbringing. Hannah, are you okay participating?” I nodded. I could do it. My family background wasn’t exactly a secret in the industry. But no one knew the details. I was born in a poverty-stricken mountain village. A place so poor it didn’t even have a school. Because of that, I didn’t even finish middle school. Later, a photo of me went viral by accident, and I entered showbiz. My parents used the money I earned to send Bella abroad for school. They always said I was “sensible,” that I learned to earn money early so they didn’t have to worry. But I never chose to be sensible. I was forced to be. We were poor. They had to go to the city to work. They said living in the city was expensive, so they left me in the village. I never resented them for that. But later, they had Bella. And they kept her by their side the whole time. I asked them why. Didn’t they say the city was too expensive to bring me? Why could they bring Bella? They said I was the big sister, I had to be understanding. Bella was small, she needed to be with Mom and Dad. They couldn’t bear for Bella to grow up without parents. When I was mocked by anti-fans for being uneducated, they were busy sending Bella to the best schools overseas to get a shiny degree. I tried to comfort myself over and over. I’m the big sister. I need to be understanding. Mom and Dad don’t love me less. It’s just that when I was little, we didn’t have the means. But hearing Bella say today that her ramen always had two eggs… The lie popped like a soap bubble. 3 At 1:30 PM, the livestream started on time. Bella arrived punctually too. There were also a few industry veterans participating. Bella was bubbly, great at charming the elders. Completely different from me. When I first entered the industry, I was like a mushroom growing in a dark corner. I couldn’t even speak Mandarin properly, let alone flatter people. “A Juilliard grad? That’s impressive.” Simon, a famous music producer, sighed in admiration. “Hannah, your sister is amazing.” I smiled and nodded. Bella really was amazing. Unlike me, she was sparkling. “Juilliard? I just Googled it. Number one music school in the world? How is she so talented?” “More than that. Simon tried to get in back in the day and failed. That school only takes geniuses among geniuses.” “Hannah and her sister are polar opposites. One dropped out of middle school, the other is an academic god.” The chat quickly dug up Bella’s school history. Bella tried to pull me into the conversation. I shook my head. I didn’t really want to talk. When the time came, the host introduced the theme for the afternoon roundtable. [What is the best gift your parents ever gave you?] Bella spoke first. She never seemed to care about others’ judgment, always brimming with confidence. The kind of high-energy “little sun” everyone loves. You could tell at a glance she grew up surrounded by love. I looked at her with envy. Bella talked eloquently for a long time. Most of it I knew, some of it I didn’t. She said: “All the properties at home are in my name. And since I was born, they bought me an insurance policy. As soon as I turn twenty-five, I get $8,000 a month.” She smiled slyly, eyes twinkling. “Mom said no matter how bad inflation gets, even when I’m seventy or eighty, I’ll still get money they saved for me. Then I can tell everyone looking at me with envy, ‘This is candy my mom and dad bought me.’” The chat scrolled furiously: [I’m so jealous. Am I the only one hearing about this insurance now?] [Don’t be jealous. That policy costs like $30k a year. It’s expensive. You pay from birth until the kid is 25.] [Aren’t Hannah and Bella biological sisters? Didn’t she say her family was poor? How did Bella have this insurance since birth?] The people on set who knew a bit about my background cast glances at me, some subtle, some not. The host threw the question to me at the perfect moment. “Hannah and Bella are sisters. Did Hannah know she had this insurance too?” They thought I lied about being poor to build a persona. They wanted to dig up dirt on me. But I just said “Ah,” looking a bit embarrassed. “I don’t think I have that insurance.” If I had that kind of safety net back then, I wouldn’t have dropped out because of poverty. The atmosphere got awkward. The host quickly pivoted. “So Hannah, can you tell us what the best gift your parents gave you was?” “It should be a silver bracelet.” I unconsciously twisted the bangle on my wrist. I’ve worn it since my debut. It was my thirteenth birthday present. In middle school, silver bangles were trendy. Most girls got them from their moms. They said wearing silver was good for your health. I wanted one too. So, I carefully asked Mom. Mom was working in another city then. She sounded impatient. She said silver was expensive and told me to be sensible. But on my thirteenth birthday, I received a silver bracelet. I thought Mom was just being tough with her words but soft in her heart. It wasn’t until later, when Mom let it slip, that I found out the truth. The sudden appearance of the silver bracelet was because… Bella wanted a silver bracelet. But after buying it and wearing it for a few days, she didn’t want it anymore. She thought it looked tacky and ugly. So that silver bracelet appeared on my wrist. When I found out, I was angry. Mom just laughed it off, telling me not to be so petty. The matter eventually faded away, and no one mentioned it again. I thought I had forgotten all these things. I didn’t expect a few simple questions to bring it all back. Wounds I thought had healed were just hidden. They didn’t get better with time; they festered, red and swollen, stinking in the dark. Occasionally stinging. Constantly aching. 4 The chat went silent when I said that. It took a long time for comments to reappear. [That’s so unfair. The sister gets everything, and Hannah only has one bangle to talk about.] [You guys mock Hannah for being uneducated, but she never got a proper education. She even had to drop out.] [This hurts. It feels like Hannah’s parents are so biased. They gave Bella such a good life but left Hannah behind.] A discussion quietly trended to the top of the search charts. The headline: [Turns out, hearts really are crooked. Parents never love equally.] The livestream viewer count skyrocketed. After I finished, it was Simon’s turn. He thought for a moment, seemingly unprepared. Apologetically, he said, “Sorry, I don’t think I have one.” Many people in the industry actually had unhappy childhoods. Simon was a child star. His parents were in the biz. So he was in the public eye from a very young age. But during his teenage years, he got hated on by the entire internet, so he quit. When he returned to the public eye, he had transitioned to a behind-the-scenes producer. Few people knew what he went through during those years. When others discussed this topic… More or less, they avoided deep answers. While we discussed, the chat was also sharing the best gifts they received. [I feel like the best gift my parents gave me was making me a citizen of the world from birth, letting me choose my nationality.] [For me, it’s that my parents didn’t force me to take the Gaokao (college entrance exam) and sent me straight abroad.] [It’s nice. If not for you guys, I wouldn’t know what a ‘world citizen’ is. But I’m not doing too bad. I have lots and lots of love. My parents love me very much.] But most people remained silent. The host seemed to realize the roundtable was getting too depressing. He quickly introduced the next segment. We were led into separate small rooms. There were many questions on the wall. Do you think your parents ever loved you? If you had a time machine, what would you say to your younger self? The director asked me to pick a few to answer. I looked at the questions. The director really knew how to probe. Every question pierced the heart. I was silent for a moment, then bared my heart to the public for the first time. “I think my parents probably loved me.” They loved me, but not enough. Their love was mixed with other things. I still remember when I first entered the industry and got my first paycheck of 3,000 yuan ($450). I kept 2,000 for myself and sent the rest home. After receiving the money, Mom and Dad proactively asked me: Was I cold in Beijing? Was I eating enough? That was the first time I felt their care. They finally remembered their eldest daughter. They would often send me food. Occasionally call to check on me. But I was always confused. I felt this might not be love. I said: “They loved me, but they loved my sister more.” “Their love for me was conditional. Their love for my sister was unconditional.” The chat was silent for a long time before scrolling again. [Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.] [That’s what parental love is like sometimes. Not too much, not too little, just enough to trap you completely. You can’t ruthlessly cut them off, and you can’t forget the pain. Stuck in the middle, suffering forever.]

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I’ve tried to save the tortured, self-loathing male lead seven times. And seven times, he jumped off the roof. Before his death, he arranged everything perfectly. He considered everyone, including his former bullies. Lucas left a note specifically absolving them, ensuring they wouldn’t be cyberbullied after he was gone. Just like the six times before, Lucas left this world gently, trying to take care of everyone until the very end. At the funeral, everyone mourned him. They were regretful, heartbroken, devastated. Everyone except me. Because this time, I was pregnant. I had knelt on the ground, begging Lucas not to give up, begging him not to leave me and our child. But Lucas just gave me that sad, beautiful smile and said, “I’m sorry.” Then I lost my husband, and my child lost his father. I asked the System: Can I stop saving the male lead? I’m done. The System ignored me and booted up the eighth loop. I opened my eyes and found myself back in the high school classroom. Over in the corner was Lucas, the pathetic little outcast, drenched in dirty mop water thrown by the school bullies. I stood up. I saw the faint glimmer of hope in his eyes as he looked at me. Then, I walked right past him. I walked straight up to his stepbrother—the bully leading the pack—and looked into the boy’s malicious eyes. “Kill me.” I stared him down. “Or take me away from here.” 1 Xander’s expression froze. Then, he let out an exaggerated, mocking laugh. “Lina, did you sleep your brain away during lunch? ‘Kill you’? What are you, some kind of emo drama queen?” I didn’t say anything. I just watched him quietly. Gradually, Xander stopped laughing. He looked into my eyes, then abruptly looked away, unsettled. “…Shit. You’re freaking me out.” I kept staring at him stubbornly. Because I knew Xander could do it. In the future, Lucas’s stepbrother would become a murderer. Right now, though, High School Xander just kicked over the mop bucket his friend was holding. “This vibe is cursed. Show’s over. Everyone get lost!” Before leaving, Xander glanced back at me a few times. His brows furrowed, like he wanted to say something but held back. In the corner, that figure was curled up in a ball. High school Lucas was skinny. His skeletal frame looked even more fragile wrapped in the soaked uniform. Dirty water dripped from his black hair, sliding down his sharp brow bone and crashing onto the floor, drop by drop. He just looked up at me like that, his dark, wet eyes unblinking. His pupils constricted slightly, like he’d just seen a ghost. Memories hit me like a tidal wave. Every loop started with this scene. Usually, I would rush over immediately. I’d spread my arms and shield Lucas. I’d scream at Xander and his goons to back off. “Tch—Lina, playing the saint again?” Xander would sneer. “Hey Lucas, look at you. Hiding behind a woman? Pathetic.” And when I finally chased them away and turned around… Lucas would always look up at me with those dark eyes. Like a puppy left out in the rain. It made my heart ache and swell at the same time. Then I would carefully help him up, whisper comforting words, and take him to the sink to clean up… But this time was different. My gaze lingered on Lucas’s dark eyes for half a second. I saw the expectation he hadn’t had time to hide, the confusion about why I wasn’t moving. And the lingering, shattered shimmer of tears. Then, I lifted my foot. And I stepped around him. I didn’t pause. I walked straight back to my desk and sat down. I took out the textbook for the next period and smoothed it out in front of me. I didn’t look back. Finally, the warning bell rang through the school. In the corner, the figure moved. Lucas’s upturned head slowly, inch by inch, dropped down. 2 Class started. Lucas returned to his seat in the back row. The wet uniform clung to his back, outlining his shoulder blades. From the teacher’s podium, you could see his shoulders shaking slightly. But the teacher said nothing. Because Lucas and Xander… they were technically family now. The homeroom teacher had tried calling the parents before—Lucas’s father, who was also Xander’s stepfather. The father’s attitude was to turn a blind eye, clearly favoring his stepson, Xander. The result? Xander’s bullying didn’t stop; it got worse. Since then, no teacher bothered. In the adult world, difficult problems are easily filed away as “family matters.” Right now, I was staring at my textbook, but I couldn’t read a word. Originally, I accepted the System’s contract on my hospital bed to come to this world. The System promised that if I completed the mission, my illness in the real world would be cured. I thought saving a gentle boy would be easy. For the first three loops, I stayed by Lucas’s side as a friend. I blocked the bullies, listened to his fears, and shared every bit of happiness I could find. I naively thought friendship was enough to pull Lucas out of the abyss. But at the end of every loop, all I got was a cold funeral invitation. And a handwritten letter: [Lina, you were my best friend. Thank you. Please be happy.] So clean. So gentle. He thought of everyone else, but forgot to leave a way out for himself. In the fourth loop, I realized my feelings for Lucas weren’t just pity. I fell in love with the boy who would give me his only umbrella in the rain and run home soaking wet. The boy who remembered my period, carried spare pads, and silently carried my heavy books. I loved his kindness toward a cruel world. I even loved his bone-deep insecurity and sensitivity. From then on, I gave it everything. I used all my love, my optimism, my passion. I tried to light a bonfire in his dark world that would never go out. I confessed. We dated. We moved in together. Lucas would sit by the bed watching me sleep, kissing me gently when I woke up. He loved hugging me from behind, burying his face in my neck, whispering: “Lina… meeting you was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me.” I thought he was healed. I thought this time, we could grow old together. But his death always came without warning. One day, Lucas would be wearing the bunny apron I chose, face flushed from the steam in the kitchen, asking, “Lina, do you want steamed fish or braised fish tomorrow?” The next day, I’d find an empty bottle of sleeping pills beside his cold body. One night, we’d be cuddling, his warm breath on my neck. The next morning, the space beside me would be empty, and the smell of blood would drift from the bathroom. Beside his body, there was always a small wooden box. The first time I saw it, Lucas took out a yellowed piece of paper. One glance, and the color drained from his face. I asked him what it was. He immediately put the paper back, gave me a reassuring smile, and said it was nothing. The next day, he turned on the gas in a sealed room. Since then, I desperately tried to find that box. I wanted to know what was written on that paper, what words had the power to push him to death again and again. But I never found it. Until the seventh time. The last time. We had come so far. We were married. Lucas smiled genuinely more and more often. That afternoon, I came back from the hospital, hugging the ultrasound report, wanting to surprise him. And then I saw it. Lucas was standing by the window, holding that piece of paper I knew too well. The joy froze on my face. It took everything I had not to scream, rush over, snatch the paper, and tear it to shreds. “Lucas…” My voice trembled. “I’m… pregnant. Do you want to see our baby?” Lucas looked so pale by the window, like a flicker of light in the snow, ready to melt away. He turned, backlit by the sun, wearing that familiar, tragic smile. “Yeah. In a bit.” My world collapsed. “Lucas!!” I shook the report frantically, tears streaming down my face. “Isn’t this enough?! Don’t you look forward to our baby? What is on that paper? Even if it’s a curse, so what? I’m here! I’m here! We can start over!” In that moment, the fragile air around him shattered. He rushed over and hugged me, apologizing over and over. He held me so tight, as if trying to embed me into his bones. But the next day, he still jumped from the roof of that building. I loved him, saved him, pulled him out of the abyss time and time again. And every time, he chose to jump back in. My effort, my endurance… it was all for nothing. RIIING— The harsh bell snapped me out of my memories. SLAM! A hand slammed onto my desk, making my pencil case jump. A shadow fell over me. I looked up and saw Xander. One hand in his pocket, leaning forward, looking down at me. Two buttons of his uniform were undone, showing his collarbones. His hair was getting long, black strands falling into his eyes. “Hey, Lina.” His voice was lazy, carrying a rogue-ish edge. “That stuff you said before class… ‘take me away’… what did that mean?” Xander paused, then smirked, revealing sharp canine teeth. “You don’t… have a crush on me, do you?” 3 Xander burst into loud, mocking laughter. “Trying to get my attention with that? Pretty unique. I almost bought it. But your acting is seriously—” “Yeah.” I said. Xander’s laughter choked off into a cough. He straightened up immediately. “Cough! You… you said ‘yeah’?” I didn’t look away. Yeah. I give up. I don’t want to save Lucas anymore. I just want to be free from this endless loop. “If I say I like you, will you kill me later?” “…” Xander froze. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. A few seconds later, a flush crept up his neck, burning his ears and spreading to his cheeks. The classroom went silent. Everyone was staring, eyes wide with gossip. Only from the back row came the screech of a chair being dragged. Lucas, who had been hanging his head, now buried his face completely in his arms. His uniform was half-dry, the muscles in his back tight and trembling. “You…” Xander took half a step back. He finally found his voice, but it was loud and cracked. “Are you f*cking crazy?! You’re just a kid, why—why are you always talking about death! You think it’s edgy? There’s a limit to being an emo teenager!” His friend next to him burst out laughing at Xander’s flustered state. Xander snapped like a cat whose tail got stepped on and kicked his friend in the shin. “Laugh at your mom! Shut up!” He was humiliated. I looked at this loud, blustering boy. But in my mind, I saw a different image. Years later. An afternoon. Adult Xander, being escorted out of an apartment building by two officers. Hands cuffed behind his back, stained with dark, drying blood. The onlookers whispered one word: Murderer. The last time I saw Xander, he smiled at me through the police car window. “…Hey! Why are you spacing out?” Present-day Xander poked my forehead. He looked fierce, but his touch was light. “What is your deal? Is this how people confess these days?” He pulled his hand back and ruffled his own hair aggressively, making it even messier. “Say something!” Suddenly, a harsh screech came from the back of the room. The sound of a chair hitting the floor. Everyone turned to look. Lucas was standing up, leaning forward, hand still pushing the desk. His chair was toppled over behind him. Meeting my eyes, Lucas froze, like a kicked dog. Then he panicked, bending down clumsily to pick up the chair. He kept his head down the whole time, hair hiding his face. Once the chair was upright, he didn’t look at anyone. He turned and rushed out of the classroom. “…” Seeing this, the blush on Xander’s face faded. He stared coldly at Lucas’s retreating back and spat out one word: “Freak.” 4 Lunchtime. The cafeteria was a chaotic din. Xander slammed his tray down on the table, jerking his chin at the student sitting next to me. “Move.” The student didn’t argue and scrambled away. Xander sat down heavily. “Hey, Emo Girl. You planning to keep that depressed face all day?” He stabbed at a green pepper on his tray but kept glancing at me. “I’m telling you, the gym rep from the other class? He gave one of our guys a bloody nose last week. Yesterday after school, I cornered him. Guess what? He peed his pants. Hilarious, right?” He kept talking, moving a spare rib from his tray to mine. “Eat. Lunch lady had a shaky hand today, gave me extra meat.” I didn’t touch the rib. I didn’t look at him. Xander tapped his tray with his chopsticks. “What’s with the face? Food sucks? Or do you lose your appetite looking at me?” Xander talked until his mouth was dry. My tray was empty. I wiped my mouth, stood up, and picked up my tray to leave. “Hey! You’re done already? That rib…” Xander tried to talk with his mouth full. I didn’t look back, walking toward the return window. Just as I got close, a figure stood up from a nearby table and followed me. Head down, back slightly hunched, shoulders drawn in. His uniform still had water stains. Lucas. I could feel him behind me. Not too close, not too far. Step for step. Suddenly, a sneaker shot out from the side, blocking Lucas’s path. Lucas was caught off guard. He pitched forward, about to face-plant onto the greasy floor. The students around him were already laughing. Subconsciously, I shot my arm out to catch him— It was pure muscle memory from seven lifetimes of protecting him. My hand hovered for a second. The exhaustion of futility washed over me, and I started to pull back. But a hand grabbed my wrist faster. It was cold, bony, and gripping tight. Lucas used my meager support to steady himself. The students waiting for the show booed in disappointment. I stared at the person in front of me. Lucas was still holding my wrist. He looked up. Those pitch-black eyes were terrifyingly bright. Like he was overwhelmed by an undeserved favor. Lucas’s lips moved. Very softly, very slowly, he choked out words that were almost drowned by the noise: “…Thank… you…” At that moment, Xander rushed over with his unfinished tray. “What the hell are you doing?” His eyes locked onto Lucas’s hand on my wrist. His face went black. “Let go!” Lucas didn’t let go. He stood his ground, unmoving, staring straight at me. The look in his eyes was heavy. “Lina… Lina.” He whispered my name. Raspy. Trembling. “I… I think I have… a lot of new memories.” “In the future… we have a baby, don’t we?”

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My husband prided himself on being a modern, enlightened man. When his mother had a heart attack and was rushed to the hospital, I called him, frantic. He replied casually, “Mom’s in the hospital. It’s serious. You should come now.” In the background, I could hear him laughing with his childhood friend Michelle. “Michelle’s on her period and needs me here,” he said. “Tell you what—I’ll bite this chocolate. If the filling is yellow, I’ll come. If it’s pink, I stay with Michelle.” A pause. “Pink. Guess I’m staying. And don’t worry too much about your mom—everyone has their fate.” In my past life, I begged and borrowed to save his mother. But when I lay dying in childbirth, my husband showed me a pink-filled chocolate and shrugged. His mother turned away, silent. After I died, I watched him hold Michelle, smug. “What an idiot,” he said. “I bought that special chocolate—all pink. If not for the apartment in her name, I wouldn’t have wasted time on her. Only you, Michelle, should carry my child.” Now, staring at his box of “decision-making” chocolates, I smiled coldly. You love making choices, don’t you, dear husband? This time, I’ll make sure you have plenty to choose from. 1 “Mia, I have to run out for a bit. You’re on your own for dinner.” I sat at the table, my mind still reeling, but the words tumbled out of my mouth on instinct. “Where are you going so late? It’s my birthday.” Mark didn’t even pause as he walked to the entryway. He grabbed his coat, his voice laced with impatience. “Michelle just called. She had a nightmare. She’s over there crying her eyes out. Am I supposed to just leave her alone?” “Mia, can you be a little more understanding? She’s younger than you. What’s the big deal with cutting her some slack?” His words finally snapped me back to reality. I looked at the birthday cake on the table and knew, with a chilling certainty, that I had been reborn. Reborn to the day my tragedy began. My birthday. Last time, he’d used those exact words to shut me up, to make me question if I was being too jealous, too petty, for getting upset over a girl a few years younger than me. Back then, desperate to keep our marriage afloat, I had said nothing. I had let him go to Michelle on my birthday. And when Mark came back the next day, he brought a gift and an apology, looking so genuinely sorry. “Honey, I was just so worried yesterday. Michelle and I grew up together. She’s like my little sister. Taking care of her is just a habit. You know if I had any feelings for her beyond that, I never would have pursued you so relentlessly.” I had believed him. I’d even bought Michelle a gift to make up for my hostility. But this time, I was done being the fool. As he was about to leave, I slammed my hand on the table and stood up, my voice cold. “Michelle’s so young? She’s twenty-five, Mark. Does she not have parents to comfort her? Does it have to be someone else’s husband?” “If you’re so in love with her, let’s just get a divorce right now. Then you two won’t have to sneak around anymore.” Mark’s face went rigid. He turned, his eyes darting around nervously. “Honey, what are you talking about? You’re the only one I love. There’s nothing romantic between Michelle and me. I only see her as a sister. Please don’t be jealous. I’m just worried something might happen to her.” He walked over, put his arm around my shoulder, and picked up the box of chocolates from the table, his tone a mixture of indulgence and exasperation. “Alright, let’s let the chocolate decide. If the filling is yellow, I’ll stay and celebrate your birthday with you. If it’s pink, I’ll go check on Michelle.” He popped a chocolate into his mouth, and of course, the filling was pink. He looked at the chocolate in his hand, his face showing no surprise or disappointment. “See, honey? The chocolate has decided. There’s nothing I can do. Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. We’ll celebrate your birthday again.” Before the words were even fully out of his mouth, he was out the door, without a moment’s hesitation. I watched it all unfold with a blank expression. I already knew this would be the outcome. I had no intention of stopping him. Remembering what I had seen after my death, I scanned the room, my eyes landing on the numerous chocolate boxes scattered around our home. I picked up the box Mark had just put down, dumped out the contents, and bit into them, one by one. One, two, three… A laugh escaped my lips. Mark. He really had played me for a fool my entire life. We were colleagues. Shortly after I joined the company, he claimed it was love at first sight and began to pursue me relentlessly. He was thoughtful in every way, bringing me breakfast and dinner, walking me home, even helping me build relationships with my coworkers. When I collapsed at home from a stomach bug, he was the first one to find me, breaking down the door and calling an ambulance. After my parents’ divorce, I hadn’t experienced that kind of care in a long time. I was moved, and I accepted his proposal. At our wedding, he emotionally vowed to cherish me, to care for me, and to never betray me. I thought we would be happy forever, the picture-perfect couple. But after we were married, for some reason, he developed this habit of letting a chocolate make his difficult decisions. The problem was, his “difficult decisions” always involved Michelle. And the chocolate, time and time again, always chose Michelle. For the sake of our relationship, I conceded, again and again. But he only became more brazen. He even said “everyone has their own fate” about his own mother when she was critically ill, because he’d mistaken her for mine. I had planned to have a serious talk with him after his mother recovered. But then I found out I was pregnant. He was ecstatic. “Honey, we’re having a baby! I’ll be even better to you and the baby from now on. I’ll make you the happiest woman in the world!” His mother held my hand, tears in her eyes. “My dear, you saved my life, and now you’re giving our family an heir. You are our greatest treasure. From now on, you are my own daughter.” I was so happy. I thought he had truly changed, and I let the past go. But when I was on the operating table, fighting for my life, I heard his cold voice from outside the door. “The chocolate is pink. Let’s just stop the resuscitation.”

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During an argument on the bus, my “school bully” boyfriend broke up with me. I sneered, “Out of the two of you, you’re the only one with problems.” He instantly lost it, demanding to know who the “other one” was. I made up some nonsense: “Student Council President, 6’1″, handsome, long legs, better than you in every way. Hehe.” The next moment. The guy sitting next to us, wearing a grey hoodie, took off his headphones and pulled down his mask. He coughed lightly: “Correction: I’m 6’1.28″.” Help. I was caught lying by the person I was lying about. 1 It was Friday after school. Brad and I were arguing on the bus. Half the bus full of grandmas and grandpas perked up their ears, listening with relish. “Joy, can you stop overthinking? Sarah is just a really good friend,” Brad said, one hand in his pocket, face full of annoyance. There were no seats left, so we were standing in the aisle. Outside the window, green shadows flashed by rapidly. The wind blew the hair on Brad’s forehead, revealing his cold, impatient eyes. “Friend? What kind of platonic friend uses matching couple avatars in a game?” I scoffed, exposing him mercilessly. If I hadn’t just seen Sarah posting game screenshots and match records, I wouldn’t have known Brad’s cat avatar had a matching half. Good job. Texting me “goodnight” one minute. Gaming with his “female bro” until midnight the next. “You don’t play, what’s wrong with me matching with her?” “I treat Sarah like a bro.” “Why do I need to explain? What does a couple avatar prove?” “Are you delusional? Or just paranoid?” “Stop being unreasonable.” Brad frowned, looking exhausted, like I was the problem. I was stunned. How could he be so shameless? Gaslighting me? Really? 2 I was so angry I wanted to slap him. Just as I raised my hand, the bus hit a red light. The bus driver was wild. No slowing down, just a hard brake right at the line. Before my slap could land on Brad’s face, I spun 180 degrees uncontrollably, nearly flying into the lap of the guy sitting next to us. The guy had headphones on and his eyes closed, seemingly asleep. Most of his face was covered by a mask; his eyelashes were long and thick, resting quietly. Thankfully, I gripped the handrail tight, avoiding intimate contact. Just as I steadied myself, Brad spoke again. “If that’s what you think, I can’t help it.” “We should take a break and cool off.” “You choose.” At peak anger, I suddenly calmed down. Heh. Trying to use a breakup to make me compromise? Fine, let’s break up. There are plenty of fish in the sea. But I couldn’t lose face and just let him win. I laughed in anger. Curling my lip, I tsked and shook my head helplessly: “Let’s break up then. Out of the two of you, you’re the only one with problems.” “What?” Brad froze for a second. Realizing what I said, his face turned ugly. “Joy, am I not enough? You have another man on the side?!” 3 “You’ve got it wrong. He’s the main boyfriend. I just never went public with him.” “You’re the third wheel who chased me relentlessly and intruded on our relationship.” I sighed, condemning him with a heartbroken expression. The audience on the bus couldn’t sit still anymore. Pointing and whispering, lamenting how wild young people are these days. “I… I’m the side piece?” Brad looked like he’d been struck by lightning. Stunned. Then his face flushed red from his neck up. He grabbed my arm and roared furiously. “Joy, you cheater! You played me!” “Tell me who he is! Who is he? How am I worse than him? Speak! Tell me now!!!” Seeing him lose it, I felt amazing. I slapped his hand away and started spewing nonsense. “Liam from the Law School.” “Student Council President, 6’1″, handsome, long legs, better than you in every way. Hehe.” A peak existence everyone looked up to. Let’s see how you compare to him. Before the words even settled, and before Brad could react… The guy next to us who was “sleeping” suddenly took off his headphones. Slender fingers pulled down his mask, revealing superior features. He coughed lightly, his voice clear and melodious. “Um, correction: I’m 6’1.28″.” 4 Everyone at River University knew Liam. Handsome, top student, campus heartthrob, and academic god. Cold and clean temperament, basically a deity. Completely different from the wild, arrogant “school bully” type like Brad. I didn’t know him personally, but I knew his face. Help. I got caught lying by the person I was lying about. “I, uh…” My brain was a mess. I was so guilty and embarrassed I didn’t know what to say. Brad scowled and sneered: “Liam, is she really your girlfriend?” “She and I—” Liam lifted his eyelids and looked at me calmly. It’s over. I’m about to be exposed and slapped in the face by the main character. If Sarah, that little Green Tea, found out, she would spread it everywhere and laugh at me. In a critical moment, I steadied myself, brain spinning fast. “Hi, babe. What a coincidence, you’re here too.” I showed a standard eight-tooth smile, sweet as candy. I intimately grabbed Liam’s jacket, turning sideways to block Brad’s view, staring intently at Liam, begging silently. Don’t expose me. Please, God Liam. I finally stood up to Brad. Please play along. Boohoo. I will repay your great kindness. Meeting my teary-eyed, pitiful gaze, Liam’s nice eyebrows furrowed slightly. Silence for a few seconds. He paused, then said lightly. “She and I are exactly what you think.” 5 We got off at the stop. On the sidewalk, Brad stood in front of me and Liam with his hands in his pockets, gritting his teeth: “Great. I wish you the best.” I rolled my eyes at him, looking up at Liam with a smile and acting spoiled. “Babe, are you happy? Finally gave you a title.” “Everyone else is just trash.” “No one compares to you. I like you the best.” Brad’s face got even worse. “I hope you break up tonight!” He sneered, his aura dropping even lower. Unable to bear it, he dropped that line and turned to leave. “Wait, don’t go!” I called out. “Oh? Can’t bear to let me go?” Brad stopped, raising an eyebrow triumphantly at Liam. “You wish. I mean don’t walk, you’re too slow.” “Run! Get out of my sight immediately.” … After Brad stormed off with a black face, my smile vanished. I put my hands together in prayer, quickly apologizing to Liam who had been silent beside me. “Liam, I’m so sorry. I got carried away and spouted nonsense.” “Brad cares about face the most. Don’t worry, he definitely won’t tell anyone about my lies.” “I promise, it absolutely won’t affect you. And thank you for playing along. Thank you so much.” 6 “It’s okay.” Liam nodded politely. The midsummer evening breeze was gentle. Carrying the cool scent of lime and sea salt soda, blowing away the day’s humidity. He wore simple black pants and sneakers. On top was a loose grey hoodie, zipped halfway down. Revealing a bit of a white T-shirt collar and beautiful, sharp collarbones. Slender figure. Quiet yet eye-catching. I really wanted to bow down to him. Beautiful person, beautiful heart. He’s so good. Boohoo. “Liam, let me treat you to dinner.” Liam refused. I insisted. Finally, he pointed to a nearby convenience store, helpless: “Dinner isn’t necessary. Just buy me an ice cream.” … After buying ice cream, I added Liam on WeChat. One ice cream wasn’t enough. I definitely had to treat him to a meal if I got the chance. After saying goodbye, I took a taxi back to school. Originally, I planned to go see fireflies at the Forest Park with Brad tonight. He didn’t ride his flashy motorcycle, saying squeezing on the bus together was sweeter. Didn’t expect us to argue the whole way and end up breaking up. I opened WeChat, scrolling through my feed out of boredom. Sarah posted another update— “Don’t be sad~ Breaking up is no big deal, I’ll always be with you~ (Hug) (Hug)” I was disgusted. The little Green Tea finally got what she wanted. Her secret delight was leaking through the words. I couldn’t swallow this anger. My eyes turned red. I furiously typed a comment— “I’ll play the trumpet at your mom’s funeral~” 7 After being emo for two days, I was visibly withered. Monday morning classes were killing me. After class in the afternoon, I went to the playground for a walk, and coincidentally ran into Brad again. He was playing basketball with a tense face, as if venting. His jersey was soaked. He looked to be in a bad mood. Sarah sat on the bench, holding a water bottle, smiling at Brad. I kept my head down and walked. Brad had sharp eyes. He saw me, did a fadeaway jump shot, swish. He strode over to block me. “Joy, why are you alone?” “Where’s your boyfriend? Why isn’t he with you?” Me: “He’s not as idle as you.” Sarah, afraid we’d get back together, quickly trotted over. “Joy, you have a new boyfriend? That was fast.” “Then why do you look so bad? Did you break up again?” She looked me up and down, gasping softly. “Shut up! Can you have as little drama as you have hair?” Fire rose in my chest. I stared at her large forehead and sneered. Sarah was pricked, almost losing her composure. She barely maintained her expression, saying fake-ly: “Joy, no matter what you think, Brad and I are innocent. You misunderstood.” “You act more than a trash bag holds trash.” “You really misunderstood us!” “Shake your brain before speaking.” After my barrage, Sarah couldn’t speak. She turned to Brad, voice trembling: “Your ex-girlfriend is so mean.”

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Valentine’s Day. It was my son’s birthday. It was also the fifth year of my mission to conquer my husband, Harrison Sterling. That night, my son, Noah, made a wish in fluent German, looking straight at his father. “I wish Dad and Mom would get a divorce. I want Aunt Bella to be my mom.” Harrison smiled and replied in German, “Your wish will come true very soon.” Aunt Bella. That would be my biological older sister, Bella. Ten minutes later, Harrison called me into the study. He slid a divorce agreement across the mahogany desk. “Let’s divorce. I’m giving you a billion dollars as a settlement. You need to retire from acting and move abroad permanently.” I stared at the papers, my throat tight. “Harrison… did you ever love me?” He set down his pen and looked me dead in the eye. “Chloe, have you forgotten? You were just a stand-in for your sister.” “Now that Bella is back, you need to exit the stage.” His words were precise, surgical cuts to my heart. The light in my eyes finally went out. Five years ago, Harrison was in a car accident and ended up in a coma. His fiancée, Bella, refused to marry a vegetable and fled the country. The family forced me to take her place. I agreed because I had terminal cancer, and a “System” offered to cure me if I successfully made Harrison fall in love with me. For five years, I waited on him hand and foot. When he woke up, he protected me. He flew halfway across the world when I was sick. He even got jealous of our son. I thought he loved me. I was wrong. “Sorry,” I said, my voice steadying. “I lost my composure.” I picked up a pen. “I’ll sign.” Harrison looked at my red-rimmed eyes. He remembered how I’d given up my career for him, how I’d run out at 3 AM in a blizzard just because he craved dumplings. His conscience pricked him. “As long as you don’t disturb my new life, I’ll bring Noah to visit you abroad when I have time…” The room was warm, but I felt freezing cold. He left the door ajar when he walked out. through the crack, I saw Noah cheering. “Dad! My birthday isn’t over yet! Let’s go find Aunt Bella!” Noah shouted in German. “Aunt Bella plays the violin so well. She speaks different languages with me. She lets me eat ice cream. I love being with her.” “Unlike Mom. She always makes that gross sugar-free chocolate cake. I hate it. Aunt Bella brings me imported Godiva.” “Mom is so annoying. Why can’t she be like Aunt Bella?” Every word stomped my heart into the dirt. Harrison laughed. “Let’s go then. To Aunt Bella’s.” I closed the door emotionlessly. They didn’t know I spoke eight languages. I understood every word. The son I poured my life into wanted me gone. I made sugar-free cake because his teeth were rotting. He forgot who carried him to the ER when his toothache made him scream. He forgot who stayed up all night telling stories when he was scared of thunder. Five years of devotion couldn’t beat the three months Bella had been back. Ding. My phone buzzed. A special notification. It was Harrison’s Instagram post. #HarrisonSterling: The only one for me in this life. The photo showed him holding hands with Noah and Bella, standing in front of the Sterling family estate. In five years of marriage, he never took me there. He said his parents thought an actress was too low-class. Now, Bella had been back for three months, and she was the lady of the manor. The post trended immediately. And naturally, my name was dragged through the mud. #Ex-MovieQueenChloe Dream Shattered! I looked at the toxic comments. My heart finally flatlined. I logged into my account, tagged Harrison, and typed: #Congrats to the happy couple. Thanks for the billion-dollar breakup fee. I loved them with everything I had. If they didn’t want it, I’d take it back. For the first time in four years, I summoned the System. “System, I request to leave this world permanently.” Three seconds later, the mechanical voice echoed in my head. [According to mission parameters, the Host successfully completed the conquest four years ago upon the birth of the target’s son. Request approved. You will be permanently deleted from this world in 10 days.] Chapter 2 I had actually completed the mission years ago. But because Noah was small, and because I truly loved Harrison, I chose to stay. Now, neither of them wanted me. The System tried to comfort me: [Host, nobody here loves you anyway. Take the billion dollars and live it up for the last ten days. Then I’ll take you to a new world.] I teared up. It was pathetic, really. I had parents, a husband, a son. None of them loved me. They only loved Bella. When we were kids, Bella danced ballet. My parents bought her a condo as a reward. I practiced until my feet bled and won first place. I thought they’d praise me. Instead, Bella pushed me down the stairs. I broke my leg. My parents said, “You deserved it for stealing your sister’s spotlight.” That’s when I knew I was an orphan with living parents. I tried to build a new family with Harrison. It failed. Fine. I didn’t want any of them anymore. … One hour later. I walked into “The Olympus,” the most exclusive host club in the city, carrying a black card with a billion-dollar limit. On the left, rows of “puppy dog” types calling out “Big Sister.” On the right, “wolf types” smoldering. I waved the card. “Bring me your best-looking guys. I have a billion to burn!” Suddenly, someone grabbed my arm hard. I turned around. Harrison. His eyes were burning with anger. “Posting on social media wasn’t enough? You followed me here? Are you trying to ruin Bella’s welcome party on the 88th floor?” “She’s your sister. Why must you always fight her?” Noah stood beside him, looking disgusted. “Mom, stop embarrassing us. You’re so petty. Being jealous just makes Daddy hate you more.” It stung. I shook off Harrison’s hand. “I don’t have time to disturb your love nest. My schedule is open; if you find me annoying, stay out of my way.” I turned and walked deeper into the club, ignoring them. Harrison watched my back, a strange irritation rising in his chest. … I rented the VIP penthouse at The Olympus. I ordered bottles of Ace of Spades. I hired guys to sing, dance, perform magic tricks. I tipped $50,000 just for a smile. Laughter filled the room all night. But I didn’t smile once. Soon, I was trending again. #HarrisonThrowsPartyForBella #ChloeHiresMaleModels #FallenStar: Chloe Spends Billions on Men! The comments were brutal. “She’s disgusting. Look at those photos, surrounded by men. Does she have a disease?” “How can a classy artist like Bella be related to this trash?” “Die, homewrecker!” I didn’t look at my phone. I just drank, glass after glass. The next morning, a call woke me up. My head was splitting. I answered, and my mother’s screeching voice drilled into my ear. “You ungrateful wretch! You have no shame!” “I…” “Shut up! You’re ruining Bella’s reputation with the Sterling family elders! Get out of that filthy place and go back to the villa! Fix your image or I’ll freeze your accounts! You’ll sleep on the street!” She hung up. Every word was a brand on my soul. I rubbed my temples. “It’s okay, Chloe. You’re leaving soon.” I did go back to the villa, though. Not to apologize, but to get my ID and transfer the money to an account my mother couldn’t touch. I had 9 days left. I was going to enjoy them. … I arrived at the house I’d shared with Harrison for five years. It was quiet. I thought they were out. I went upstairs to the master bedroom. Through the door, I heard low, ambiguous moans. My heart felt like it had been stabbed. Shaking, I reached for the handle. Suddenly, a small body slammed into me like a cannonball. Noah blocked the door, glaring at me with hatred. “Bad Mom! You can’t go in! Daddy said he’s making me a new little sister with Aunt Bella. Do not disturb them!” Chapter 3 I stared at my son. He stood there, arms spread wide like a guardian of justice, protecting the people who were betraying me. I realized then what a failure my life was. I didn’t say a word. I turned around and walked away. When you’re sad, you have to buy happiness. I went to the bank, withdrew cash, and called The Olympus. “Send me seven of your handsomest guys. Top tier.” “Make me happy today. Whatever you want to do, wherever you want to go, I’m paying.” And so… We drove limited-edition sports cars. We ate at Michelin 3-star restaurants. We went drag racing on the cliffside highway. We bought out luxury stores. I did everything the internet said would make a person happy. Finally, exhausted, I parked by the beach and slept in the car. I woke up at 10 AM the next day to a call from Noah’s teacher. “Hello? Is this Noah’s mom? It’s 10 o’clock, why isn’t he at school? is he taking another day off?” I said calmly, “Sorry, I divorced Noah’s dad. Please call him for anything regarding the child.” I hung up. Since Noah was born, I handled everything. School, health, playdates. Before Bella returned, he was a good kid. Three months ago, after Bella came back, Noah hit a kid at school. When I tried to discipline him, he screamed: “You just want me to apologize! Why?! Aunt Bella said kids should release their nature! People should be selfish! I hit him because I wanted to!” “You’re useless! You don’t deserve to be my mom!” He was poisoned. It didn’t matter. I was leaving. Let Harrison clean up the mess. Seconds later, Harrison called. “Chloe! What kind of mother are you? Your son has a high fever at home! Even Bella cares more than you do—she’s crying her eyes out at the hospital right now!” “Even if we’re divorced, don’t take it out on the child!” He berated me like I was garbage. Three months ago, the first time he compared me to Bella, I cried into my pillow all night. Now? I felt nothing. “Wait,” I said. “Weren’t you and Bella with him yesterday? I wasn’t even home. What were you doing?” Harrison choked. “I was busy with work! Bella has been at the hospital all morning. This is your job!” “Come to the hospital. Now.” He hung up. I didn’t rush to the hospital. I didn’t panic. My head still hurt from the hangover. I decided to go back to the VIP suite at The Olympus to sleep. But at the entrance, a swarm of reporters blocked me. “Chloe! You’re partying with male models while your son is in the hospital? Are you fit to be a mother?” “Sources say you stole your sister’s husband because you look like her. The Sterling family never accepted you. Is it because you’re cheap?” “Your sister is taking care of your son right now. Are you ashamed?” Buzzkills. I grabbed a microphone and smiled lazily at the camera. “Did Bella send you?” The reporters froze. Their questions were designed to lift Bella up and crush me. Fine. Let’s give Bella some PR work to do. “You guys are right,” I said clearly. “I can’t compare to Bella. She refused to marry her fiancé, ran abroad to study, forced her little sister to be a substitute bride, and then came back to steal her sister’s husband and child.” The crowd exploded. I ignored them and walked into the lobby, heading for the elevator to the 99th floor. The doors opened, and I ran straight into Harrison. He grabbed my wrist, furious. “Chloe! Who told you to say that nonsense? Do you know how much damage those rumors do to Bella?” I opened my mouth to speak, but a metallic taste flooded my throat. I vomited a mouthful of blood. Chapter 4 The bright red blood splashed onto the white carpet. I collapsed in my red dress, looking like a withered rose. “Chloe?” Harrison’s pupils constricted. He caught me, his voice trembling with a panic he didn’t realize he felt. “Chloe!” My vision blurred. [System, what’s happening?] [System: Host, your physical body still has terminal cancer. However, since the mission was successful, I have disabled your pain receptors.] I blinked, trying to clear my head. Harrison looked terrified. “What is this blood? Chloe, what are you playing at?” Oh. He thinks it’s a trick. I pushed him away and stood up, wiping my mouth. I smiled. “Mr. Sterling, you can’t tell?” I pointed at the floor. “It’s fake. Ketchup. You aren’t actually worried about me, are you?” If he knew I was dying, he’d probably say I deserved it. Harrison’s face went black instantly. “Stop using these stunts to get attention. No matter how jealous you are, you shouldn’t slander Bella publicly.” “Bella had her reasons for leaving back then. She’s kind enough to forgive you. For the sake of our past, if you apologize publicly, I won’t sue you.” I laughed. “Sue me. Send the lawyers. I’m waiting.” … The next day was my birthday. My last birthday in this world. I spent a fortune renting out the Skyline Ballroom at the most expensive hotel in the city. I decorated it beautifully. A farewell party for myself. Before it started, I ran into Harrison and Noah in the lobby. Harrison walked straight up to me. “Chloe, cancel your party.” I laughed. “Excuse me?” “I’m using this venue today to clarify the rumors about Bella.” “And that concerns me… how?” Noah tugged on Harrison’s hand. In German, he said, “Dad, let’s go. If Mom wants to embarrass herself, let her.” Harrison glared at me. “Don’t regret this.” I turned away. Regret? The only thing I regretted was falling in love with him during the mission. At 8 PM, my party started. The giant screen played pre-recorded birthday wishes from industry friends. I drank wine, cheeks flushed, smiling brilliantly. “Thank you, everyone. I’m so happy today.” Suddenly, the screen glitched. It cut to a livestream. My parents’ faces appeared. “Chloe maliciously slandered her own sister. She is rotten to the core. From today on, we disown her!” Then, the screen switched to Harrison and Noah. “My mother, Chloe, abandoned me when I was sick to party with male models. I want to sever the mother-son relationship!” Noah declared. Harrison looked into the camera, ice-cold. “I have divorced Chloe. She defamed my fiancée, Bella. Effective immediately, Chloe is banned from all Sterling properties. Security, please remove her from the Skyline Ballroom.”

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The company-wide raise added a cool two grand to my monthly paycheck. To celebrate, I treated myself to a Mango Paradise smoothie at lunch. My coworker, Leo, sauntered over. “Well, look at you, Sophie. Living the high life, huh?” He leaned in, squinting at the price sticker on the cup, and his voice jumped an octave. “Nine bucks for a smoothie? Man, it must be nice being single. You guys can just throw money around. Not like us poor saps with families to feed. We have to think twice before buying bottled water.” I put down my drink. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He threw his hands up in a gesture of mock surrender. “Whoa, it’s just a joke! I’m just riffing with you. Can’t you take a little banter? No sense of humor?” A hot flash of anger rose in me, but just then, his phone rang. He didn’t even look at the caller ID, just hit the speakerphone button. His wife’s voice, tinny and whining, filled the air. “…this month’s budget is a disaster.” “No money? Just ask Sophie for a loan,” Leo said into the phone. “She’s single, practically rolling in money she doesn’t know what to do with. Besides—” Heads were starting to turn in our direction. He shot me a smug wink and drawled, “Just doing a bit with the wife for you, Sophie. Don’t take it to heart, okay?” A knot of anger tightened in my chest, hot and suffocating. 1 The anger was a stone in my throat. I couldn’t swallow it, and I couldn’t spit it out. Leo, still on his live call, had the audacity to add, “See, honey? Sophie’s all flustered. I’m just riffing, she gets it.” His wife mumbled something else before he hung up, chuckling. I took a deep breath, my eyes locked on him. “Leo, I want an apology.” He wiped the grin off his face and replaced it with a look of exaggerated innocence. “An apology? For what, Sophie? It was just a little office banter, you know? Just riffing to liven things up.” He spoke loudly, making sure the entire open-plan office could hear. “If you can’t even handle a simple joke, how are you ever going to connect with the younger generation?” he said, shaking his head as if he pitied me. A few cubicles over, I heard a stifled snicker. My fingernails dug into my palms. “I didn’t find it funny,” I said, my voice low and tight. “Oh, come on, don’t be a spoilsport.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Fine, fine. My mistake. You’re the bigger person, I get it.” With that, he swaggered back to his desk, leaving me stewing in a cloud of silent fury. It felt like punching a pillow—all effort, no impact. At two o’clock, our team lead called a quick huddle. We had a notoriously difficult client, one whose project plan had already been rejected six times. Nobody wanted to touch that hot potato. As our lead agonized over who to assign it to, Leo’s hand shot up. “Give it to Sophie!” he boomed. “She’s a powerhouse, and with that nice raise she just got, she should be taking on more responsibility.” He turned to me, a sickeningly sweet smile on his face. “The rest of us have to pick up kids and keep the home fires burning. We can’t guarantee we won’t have to clock out right at five. But Sophie? She’s single, her time is her own. It’s the perfect opportunity for her to shine.” I immediately pushed back. “Mark, I’m already juggling three projects. First drafts for all of them are due next Wednesday. My schedule is packed. And this client’s demands are… unique. I’m worried I won’t—” Leo cut me off. “High demands just prove how skilled you are! The most capable person should handle the toughest jobs. Don’t be so modest, Sophie. Everyone knows you’ve got the most potential in this department.” Sarah, sitting next to me, chimed in. “He’s right, Sophie. It’s good for young people to challenge themselves. For those of us with kids and aging parents, our hands are tied.” Another colleague, Dave, nodded in agreement. “Leo has a point.” Our lead, Mark, pushed his glasses up his nose. He looked at them, then at me. “Sophie, you are very capable. This client is a headache, but it could also be a major win. How about it… can you take one for the team?” I looked at Mark’s pleading face, then at Leo’s triumphant smirk, and swallowed the rest of my protests. “Fine,” I said. Leo’s smile was painfully sincere. “That’s the spirit! We’ll all be cheering for you.” My stomach churned. Just before quitting time, the office admin came around collecting money for the last team-building event. It was eighty bucks a head. Leo followed her over, rapping his knuckles on my desk. “Sophie,” he said, his voice oozing with forced familiarity. “You just got that big raise, and you’ve got no dependents. Why don’t you cover an extra two hundred? Call it a treat for the team. Let everyone share in your good fortune.” I looked up at him, my expression flat. “We’re splitting it evenly. I’ll transfer my share.” The smile on his face flickered. “Tch. No fun at all. It was just a suggestion, you know? A joke. Don’t be so literal.” As he transferred his eighty dollars to the admin, he muttered, just loud enough for me to hear, “Makes all that money and she’s still so stingy. No class.” The admin shot me an awkward glance before scurrying away to the next desk. I sat there, feeling a hot flush creep up my back. It was pure rage. The second the clock hit five, I was out of my chair and bolting for the door. One more second in that room and I might have actually exploded. I was heading for the subway when I spotted Leo in the designated smoking area near the main entrance. He was with a guy from another department, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers. His back was to me; he hadn’t seen me leave. I heard his voice, laced with laughter and dripping with condescending pride. “…don’t worry about it. That Sophie in our office? She’s a naive little thing with deep pockets and a thin skin. Next time you have a nightmare project, just push it our way. I’ll feed her a few compliments, and I guarantee she’ll snap it right up.” He took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling a perfect smoke ring. “People like her? They’re the easiest mark in the world.” 2 A cold night breeze swept over me, and I shivered. I slipped away before he could spot me, his words echoing in my head all the way to the subway station. For the next few days, I did my best to avoid Leo. He dropped the difficult client’s file on my desk with a cheerful “The best person for the job!” and washed his hands of it completely. I spent an entire week buried in that project, working late every single night. Finally, I hammered out a proposal that I thought might actually work. On the day of the presentation, the client loved it. They approved it on the spot. A wave of relief washed over me. At least the miserable week had paid off. But less than ten minutes after the confirmation email went out, Leo tagged me in the department group chat. Leo: “Congrats, Sophie! Got it approved in one go, you’re a rock star! To be honest, I threw in a lot of suggestions for that proposal myself. Looks like the sparks from our collaboration really paid off!” I stared at the screen, my blood beginning to boil. He hadn’t offered a single concrete suggestion beyond dumping the mess on my lap. I didn’t argue in the group chat. Instead, I scrolled back through my direct messages with him, found our conversation about the project, and took a screenshot. It clearly showed me asking for background information, and him replying with a series of “Not sure” and “You figure it out.” I dropped the screenshot into the group chat without a word. The chat went dead silent. A few minutes later, a private message from Leo popped up. Leo: “Sophie, why are you being so serious? I was just riffing, trying to make it look like we have good teamwork. Dropping screenshots like that makes us look divided to the managers.” I typed back: “It is what it is.” He sent a single eye-roll emoji. “So lame.” After that incident, I started working closely with Josh from the tech department on a new project. We were constantly huddled at my desk or booking conference rooms to hash out the details. It only took a couple of days for things to feel… off. Josh started avoiding my gaze. Whenever I tried to talk work with him, he’d give me clipped answers and find an excuse to bolt. Then one day in the breakroom, I overheard Leo talking to another colleague. “…see that?” he was snickering. “Sophie won’t leave poor Josh alone. Someone’s getting desperate to get married.” It all clicked into place. That afternoon, I saw Leo holding court with a few others across the office, his eyes flicking towards me as he spoke. I walked straight over and stood in front of him. “Leo, why are you telling people I have a thing for Josh? What gives you the right to spread rumors like that?” My voice was loud enough to carry, and the chatter around us died down. Leo looked startled for a second, then plastered on a wounded expression. “Sophie, what are you talking about? I was just trying to help you out! You’re single, so I thought I’d riff a little, you know, create some buzz!” He spread his hands wide, appealing to the onlookers. “Am I wrong here, people? I was just playing matchmaker! Maybe something good could have come out of it. Why can’t you appreciate a good deed?” Someone nearby let out a low chuckle. I stared at his shameless face. “Leo, you’ve gone too far!” He took a theatrical step back, feigning fear. “Whoa, look at her go! Firing up again!” he shouted to the remaining coworkers. “It’s just friendly concern! A joke! I’m just riffing! Seriously, you need to work on that temper. Who’s going to set you up on dates if you fly off the handle like this?” The others quickly buried their heads in their work, pretending to be busy. I was shaking with rage. I grabbed my bag and stormed out. I was almost at the elevator when I remembered a document I needed for the morning. I turned back to grab it from the printer. The machine was still humming, spitting out the last few pages of a job. I walked over and saw it wasn’t a work document at all. It was a thick stack of fifth-grade math worksheets. On the top page, written in neat handwriting, was the name of Leo’s son. I glanced around. No one was watching. I picked up the stack of paper, still warm from the machine. I flipped through it. The paper was company stock. The ink was from the company’s toner cartridge. This was a hefty stack. The cost of the toner alone wouldn’t be cheap. I placed the worksheets back in the tray. An idea began to form in my mind. 3 The next morning, I made a point of getting to the office early. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before Leo strolled into our section, a USB drive in his hand, making a beeline for that specific printer. He plugged it in and started clicking away. The printer whirred to life. I walked over and stood right beside him. “Morning, Leo,” I said sweetly. “Printing some personal files?” He jumped, spinning around. A flash of panic crossed his face when he saw me, but it was quickly replaced by his usual brand of arrogant nonchalance. “Oh, hey, Sophie,” he said, patting the printer. “This thing was just sitting here gathering dust. Figured I’d print out some homework for my kid. Help you guys use up the toner before it expires, you know?” I watched as another worksheet, covered in dense, black ink, slid into the output tray. “Company policy says the printers are for business use only,” I stated calmly. “Policies are made to be broken, right?” he chuckled. “It’s a small thing. Don’t be so rigid.” I didn’t waste any more words on him. I stepped over to the connected computer, opened the printer settings, and, right in front of him, set a password for all future print jobs. “What are you doing?” he sputtered. “Preventing excessive waste of company resources,” I said, then walked back to my desk. Leo stood there for a few seconds, his face darkening. Then, he suddenly raised his voice, shouting to the entire office. “Hey, everyone, come and see this! Can you believe it? Sophie just password-protected the public printer! I guess none of us get to use it anymore! So much for being a team player. How selfish can you get?” A few colleagues looked over, drawn by the commotion. Sarah, the one who always played peacemaker, spoke up. “Sophie, we’re all colleagues here. It’s just a printer. There’s no need for that, is there?” Dave chimed in, “Yeah, a password is just going to make things inconvenient for everyone.” Seeing he had allies, Leo pressed his advantage. “Exactly! And it’s not like I was printing my novel. It’s for my son’s education! I’m investing in the next generation! What’s so wrong with that?” I couldn’t stand it, but I knew explaining would be pointless. I said nothing. At the end of the month, a supervisor position opened up in our department. Myself, Leo, and one other colleague all met the basic qualifications. I threw myself into preparing my presentation for the promotion review, determined to let my work speak for itself. One afternoon, I went to our manager’s office to give him a progress report. As I approached the door, I heard Leo’s voice from inside. “…and listen, Mark, Sophie’s skills are top-notch, no question. But sometimes… she just doesn’t fit in. She takes jokes too seriously, gets defensive. If she were in a management role, leading a team… I just worry her communication style might be a little… difficult.” I heard Mark murmur something like, “I’ll take that into consideration…” I stood frozen outside the door, a heavy weight settling in my stomach. Over the next few days, the atmosphere in the office felt strange. I asked Chloe, a newer colleague I was friendly with, what was going on. She reluctantly told me that Leo was spreading a rumor that I was so desperate for the promotion, I’d been secretly bad-mouthing the other candidates to management. I tried to explain myself to Mark, but he just gave me a placid smile. “Sophie, focus on your work. Don’t let office chatter distract you. The company values overall performance.” A crushing sense of helplessness washed over me. That night, I worked late again. Needing a break, I headed for the stairwell to get some air. I had just pushed open the heavy fire door when I heard Leo’s voice floating up from the landing below. He was on the phone, his tone thick with smug satisfaction. “…don’t worry, she’s not a threat. I’ve seen her type before. All pride and a paper-thin ego. I’ll just turn up the heat, spread the word a little more, and she’ll pack her own bags and run…” 4 I gently closed the door, shutting out the sound of Leo’s voice. For a long time, I just sat there in the vast, empty office. On Friday, the department went out for dinner. The mood was festive, with plenty of food and drink. Leo was in his element, bouncing from table to table, making toasts and cracking jokes that had the managers roaring with laughter. I had no appetite. I picked at my food, wishing the night would just end. After a few rounds of drinks, he staggered to his feet, tapping his glass for attention. “Everyone! A toast! Let’s raise our glasses to our dear Sophie!” All eyes turned to me. “Why Sophie?” he asked, pausing for dramatic effect. “Because she’s the one who handles all the impossible tasks in our department! And why is that? Because we’re all tied down with families, while she has no one and nothing to worry about! She dedicates all her time—and her raise—to the company! Isn’t that spirit worth a toast?” A few of his cronies half-heartedly raised their glasses. I set down my fork. I could feel the blood draining from my face, my hands clenched into fists under the table. Leo saw my expression and immediately shifted to his innocent-victim act. “Whoa, Sophie, don’t get mad! I’m just riffing! It’s a compliment, really! I’m saying you’re more capable, more enlightened than us common folk!” A wave of laughter rippled across the table. I sat there, feeling like an animal in a zoo, a spectacle for their amusement. Monday morning, our manager, Mark, called me over, his expression urgent. “We have an emergency project. I need a proposal by this afternoon. Leo says he has the baseline data; I need you to build out the core strategy.” Leo appeared moments later, clutching a folder. “The data’s all in here. It’s a tight deadline, so we’re counting on you!” “Is it all verified?” I asked. “Don’t worry, I double-checked everything!” Leo said, puffing out his chest. “Now get to it. The client’s waiting.” I worked through my lunch break, skipping even a sip of water, and managed to send out the proposal just before noon. That afternoon, Mark summoned me to his office. His face was thunderous. “Sophie! What is this data in your proposal? It’s completely wrong! It doesn’t match the client’s reality at all! The client just called me, absolutely furious, and said we were being grossly unprofessional! Do you not check your data before you send things out?” “The data was from Leo,” I stammered. “He said he verified it…” “Get Leo in here!” Mark roared. Leo walked in, picked up the folder he’d given me from my desk, and flipped through a few pages, his face a mask of shock. “Oh my god… this data… This was from some old scratch notes I took. It’s probably not accurate. It was just meant as a rough reference.” He turned to me, his voice dripping with reproach. “Sophie, didn’t I mention you should probably double-check it, just in case? For something this important, how could you just use unverified numbers?” “You never said that!” I trembled with fury. “What do you mean I never said that?” he shot back, his face a picture of innocence. “It was just a casual comment, a bit of a riff. How was I supposed to know you’d take raw data and send it straight to a client?” Mark rubbed his temples. “Enough! Stop arguing! Sophie, you wrote the proposal, you’re responsible! I want a formal letter of apology on my desk by the end of the day.” I felt a chill run through me as I walked out of his office. Leo trailed behind me. “Sorry about that, Sophie,” he whispered. “I really didn’t think it would blow up like this.” I ignored him. I spent the rest of the afternoon writing my apology, feeling the weight of my colleagues’ stares. Leo ambled over to my desk, a mug in his hand. He leaned in, his voice low and slick with faux concern. “Sophie, honestly, after all this, I’m starting to think… maybe you’re not the right fit for our company culture.” My fingers froze over the keyboard. “You’re just too serious,” he continued. “You can’t take a joke. Look at you, you’re making yourself miserable. Why put yourself through this? Maybe… you should consider other options?” His words hung in the quiet office, audible to the few colleagues still at their desks. Under their silent, watching eyes, I slowly lifted my head. To everyone’s surprise, I didn’t lash out in anger or crumble in defeat. Instead, I offered Leo the most genuine smile I had in months. “Leo,” I said softly, my voice shockingly calm. “You’re right.” He froze, clearly not expecting this reaction. I kept smiling, holding his confused gaze, and said, word by word, “I really should start thinking about… my next move.” You want to “riff”? Fine. I’m about to show you how it’s done.

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When the fire alarm screamed through the elementary school, I was two months pregnant. Chaos erupted, a stampede of terrified children and smoke. I reached for my husband, needing his hand, needing safety. Instead, Mark shoved me hard. I lost my footing. The world tilted, and I tumbled backward down the concrete stairwell. Pain, sharp and blinding, tore through my abdomen. I felt the hot, sticky dampness spreading between my legs before I could even scream. Through the haze of smoke and agony, I looked up. I saw my husband. He was shielding his son—our son—and guiding the school’s beautiful young homeroom teacher, Paige, past my crumpled body. Then, as if I were nothing more than debris blocking their escape, he kicked me aside. “God, you’re such a nuisance,” he muttered, his voice cold steel against the heat of the fire. “Why are you always in the way?” I woke up in the hospital to a ceiling of sterile white tiles and a hollow ache where a heartbeat used to be. When I finally dragged myself home, I found a pregnancy ultrasound report on the kitchen counter. It wasn’t mine. Scrawled across the top in clumsy, joyful handwriting was a note from my son: I’m so happy! I’m going to be a big brother! I love Ms. Paige the most in the whole world. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I simply walked to the bedroom, packed my life into a single suitcase, and sent a text to my boss. “David, I accept the transfer. I’ll report to the London office next week.” 1 I had just hit “send” when the bedroom door flew open. I lowered the phone, unprepared for the look of utter disdain on Mark’s face. It was a look I had become intimately familiar with over the last year—a mixture of boredom and irritation. “Leo and I have things to do,” he said, not bothering to look me in the eye. “We can’t go on that trip abroad. Cancel the tickets.” The tone was a command, not a request. That was Mark. I slid my phone into my pocket, my voice steady, devoid of inflection. “I’m going with my friends instead.” Mark exhaled, his shoulders dropping as if he’d been carrying a heavy load. He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. For a second, he played the part of the doting husband, reaching out to awkwardly pat my shoulder. “Listen, Nora. Next month, when Leo is on break, and I have some downtime… how about we do a proper family trip? Just the three of us. Maybe Europe?” He was lying. I knew it, and he knew I knew it. Vacation—that intimate, relaxed space—was reserved for them. For Mark, for Leo, and for the lovely Ms. Paige. I nodded silently, turning back to my suitcase. I folded a silk blouse with precision, smoothing out the wrinkles before tucking it away. Mark paused, unnerved by my lack of a fight. “Right. Well. That’s settled then.” Before I could respond, his phone rang. It was her ringtone. A bubbly, sickly-sweet pop song that grated on my nerves. He answered immediately. The faint, coquettish voice leaking from the receiver made the phantom burns on my skin flare up again. Let them have each other. If they wanted to be a family—the father, the son, and the mistress who wanted to be the cool stepmom—then let them. The door banged open again. Leo, my son, burst into the room. His eyes were shining with a manic excitement as he looked at his father. “Dad! Ms. Paige said she’d be my godmother! Can you believe it? I’m literally the happiest kid alive!” Then he saw me. The light in his eyes instantly curdled into annoyance. “Ms. Paige is burned and hurt, but she still promised to come to work every day,” Leo spat, his voice dripping with a learned cruelty. “Look at you, Mom. You’re fine. You just sit at home enjoying life. Besides spending Dad’s money, what are you actually good at?” Mark chuckled, ruffling Leo’s hair. “Hey, don’t talk to your mother like that,” he said, though his tone carried zero weight. Leo grabbed Mark’s sleeve, whining, “Daddy, come on, let’s go see Ms. Paige. I can’t wait for her to be my new mom.” Mark’s hand shot out, covering Leo’s mouth. His eyes darted to me, panic flashing in them. He turned, offering a tight, nervous smile. “Nora, don’t listen to him. Kids say the craziest things.” “He only has one mother,” Mark added, the lie tasting like ash in the air. I kept folding clothes. “It’s fine,” I said, my voice flat. “More people to love him. I’m happy for him.” Paige was Leo’s homeroom teacher. Before she arrived, our home had been peaceful. But slowly, insidiously, Mark began to praise her. Then Leo started. “Mom, you should be more like Ms. Paige,” Leo would say, pushing away his dinner. “She’s not strict like you. She lets me eat whatever I want. At her house, there are no rules!” We had fought about it, screaming matches that left my throat raw. But every time, Mark and Leo stood shoulder to shoulder, a united front against the “boring, nagging mother.” Two weeks ago, at the parent-teacher conference, the fire alarm had sounded. I had tried to reach for my son. Mark had shoved me away. I lost the baby. They saved her. And now, looking at the sonogram Leo had helped annotate, I knew the truth. The pain in my heart finally eclipsed the physical pain in my body. I turned my back to them to wipe a stray tear. It didn’t matter anymore. Soon, I would be gone. I wouldn’t be an eyesore to this happy little family any longer. 2 I stayed in bed until the afternoon shadows stretched long across the floor. I drank hot water, but the cramping in my lower abdomen didn’t subside; it pulsed, a grim reminder of what I had lost. Before collapsing into sleep earlier, I had put a pot of chicken soup on the stove to simmer. My legs felt like lead as I walked to the kitchen. I just needed something warm. I reached for the ladle, but a hand slapped mine away. “Are you seriously stealing food from a patient? God, you’re greedy.” Mark stood beside me, lifting the entire pot off the stove. “Thank god Leo didn’t inherit your sticky fingers.” I looked at him, blinking slowly. “I made this soup. How is eating my own cooking stealing?” I pointed to the trash can, where a charred, black lump sat on top of the refuse. “You burned whatever you were trying to make. It’s right there.” Mark froze, holding the pot mid-air. He looked at the trash, then back at me, his face flushing an ugly shade of red. “Paige needs bland food for her recovery. I… I assumed I made this.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. My mistake.” “Go rest,” he muttered, turning his back. “I’ll make some instant noodles and bring them to you.” In all our years of marriage, this was the first time Mark had apologized to me. And it was for her. He had never stepped foot in the kitchen before. He used to joke that the kitchen was a “woman’s battlefield.” But for Paige? For Paige, he would learn to cook. Love—and the lack of it—was so painfully obvious in the details. I sat at the table and served myself a bowl of soup. As I lifted the spoon, my sleeve slid down, revealing my bare wrist. Mark frowned, staring at my arm. “Where’s your bracelet?” It was a custom piece, a gift from our early days. I never took it off. His matching one had disappeared months ago. “Lost in the fire,” I said calmly. “Did you forget?” If he had looked just an inch higher, he would have seen the fresh, angry burn scar on my forearm. “Oh,” he said, looking away. “Sorry. When work slows down, I’ll buy you a new one.” Work? Mark wasn’t busy with work. He was busy playing house with Paige. “Dad!” Leo walked in, wrinkling his nose. “Mom’s soup tastes terrible. Ms. Paige’s cooking is a hundred times better.” Leo stared at me, waiting for the reaction. Waiting for me to get defensive, to cook a five-course meal just to prove a point. Mark shot him a warning look and took the bowl from Leo. “Don’t be rude. Let me taste it.” I didn’t engage. I just pulled the pot closer to my right hand and poured myself another serving. “If you don’t like it,” I said softly, “you can go eat at Paige’s house.” Mark opened his mouth to scold me for being jealous, but his eyes drifted to the living room wall. He froze. “Where is our family portrait?” He spun around, his voice rising. “Are you done yet? Why do you have to be so dramatic to get attention?” 3 I wiped my mouth and met his gaze. “The frame fell,” I said. “Glass everywhere. I haven’t had time to clean the mess, so I put the photo away.” The tension in Mark’s shoulders eased, though suspicion still clouded his eyes. “Look, Nora,” he said, softening his tone. “I promise, once Paige is fully healed, I’ll keep my distance. We are the real family here. You know that.” He checked his watch. “Tomorrow is our anniversary. Make a reservation at that Italian place you like. We’ll have a nice dinner.” The classic cycle. A slap in the face followed by a piece of candy. To them, I wasn’t a wife or a mother. I was a utility. A servant who could be dismissed and summoned at will. My phone buzzed. Leo, sensing the shift in atmosphere, sidled up to me. “Mom, your cooking is actually okay. I was just joking.” His eyes held a glimmer of the sweet boy he used to be. I smiled, a sad, small thing. Mark took my phone from the table. “Let’s just book it now. Oh, look, the manager is calling you.” He handed me the phone, grinning. “Nora, stay home tonight. I’ll bring takeout. Wait for me.” Leo giggled, covering his mouth. For a fleeting second, we looked like a happy family. The door clicked shut behind them. The phone in my hand was vibrating so hard it hurt. I answered. It wasn’t the restaurant manager. It was my colleague, Sarah. Her voice was shrill, bordering on hysteria. “Nora! Did you start the fire at the school? It’s all over the internet. People are doxxing you. They posted your address. They’re coming for you, Nora.” I gripped the counter, forcing air into my lungs. “Sarah, listen to me. Our company handles the cybersecurity for that district. Can you pull the server logs? I need the surveillance footage from that day.” 4 Sarah didn’t get a chance to answer. Another call cut in. Then another. And another. I answered one. Screaming. Curses. “Burn in hell, you psycho!” I hung up. Another call. I dialed Mark, my fingers trembling. His voice was unrecognizable—cold, detached. “Nora,” he said, cutting me off before I could speak. “Paige is pregnant. The stress is too much for her. And she saved Leo. You need to take the fall for the fire.” I froze. “What?” “She’s fragile,” Mark continued, sounding reasonable, as if discussing dinner plans. “You’re strong. You can handle the heat. Consider it payback for us. Leo and I will make it up to you.” In the background, I heard a woman’s soft laughter. Paige. Thanking me. They were framing me for arson. And they hadn’t even asked. My phone pinged with another death threat. Why don’t you just die? Even though I was leaving, the betrayal felt like a physical blow. “How dare you?” I whispered, my voice breaking. “How dare you decide to ruin my life for something I didn’t do? This is mob justice, Mark! What about my job? My career?” “Is your career more important than your son’s life?” Mark snapped, his voice rising. “You’re being selfish. Paige saved him! Even if you lose your job, who cares? I’ll support you.” “It’s arson, Mark! That’s a felony!” He scoffed. “Nobody died, Nora. Stop being dramatic. It’s just property damage. You’ll get roasted online for a few days, and it’ll blow over. Besides, that job of yours is pointless anyway.” Nobody died? A sharp cramp seized my stomach. My baby died. But to Mark and Leo, that life didn’t exist. It didn’t matter. I remembered a memory from years ago. Leo, a toddler, squatting next to Mark, both of them looking at me with adoration. “If we have a sister, I’ll treat her like a queen!” Leo had promised. “No,” Mark had corrected gently. “Mommy is the queen. We have to protect her.” Now, my knights were the ones holding the daggers. “Fine,” I said, my voice turning to ice. “I’ll take the blame.” And with those words, the last thread binding me to them snapped. Mark hesitated, surprised by my sudden capitulation. “Okay. Good. That’s… good.”

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