Category: English

As a girl from the sticks, I used to envy the daughter of the richest man in town. Why? Because once, the tangerines from our village fell on the ground and stained her designer heels. With a single phone call, she had every tangerine tree in our village uprooted. But then one day, the richest man personally came to find me. Turns out, I am the real heiress. I packed my bags overnight, grabbed my little yellow dog, and enthusiastically said goodbye to the uncles and aunties in the village. The whole village waved goodbye with teary eyes: “Little Lin, live that heiress life well! Don’t come back to this hardship!” I shook my head vigorously. No way! The billionaire’s estate isn’t even as big as one hill in our village; it’s not enough space for me and my dog, Buddy, to run two laps. I’m just going to collect my compensation. But if they refuse to pay… well, things are going to get crazy. 1 On the way to pick me up, my billionaire father, Samuel Stone, set three rules for me: First, I cannot publicly reveal my identity without permission. Second, I cannot kick out the fake heiress, Sarah. Third, I cannot compete with Sarah for affection. So, when I walked into the living room and saw Sarah crying like a delicate pear blossom in the rain, I immediately turned around with Buddy in my arms and headed for the garden. “Sarah, don’t cry, you will always be my only daughter.” Mmhmm, that’s my biological mother, Mrs. Stone. “Exactly, you are my only sister. That hillbilly doesn’t deserve to call me brother.” I raised an eyebrow. That’s my brainless brother, Shawn. I didn’t bother listening to the rest. I just ran two laps around the garden with Buddy. Buddy stuck out his tongue in disdain. I nodded. The Stone family’s garden isn’t even as big as a single hill back home. No wonder Buddy isn’t impressed. Estimating that Sarah’s performance should be over, I took Buddy and walked straight into the living room, finding a single sofa to sit on. Buddy obediently lay at my feet. As soon as I sat down, my billionaire father, Samuel, who had been benevolent in the car, looked at me coldly. “Did you forget everything I just said?” My wonderful brother, Shawn, looked at me coldly, like I was something dirty that shouldn’t be there. I pointed a finger at Sarah. “First, I didn’t reveal my identity. Second, I didn’t kick her out. Third, I didn’t fight for affection.” Samuel paused, choking on his words. “Sister, do you dislike me?” Sarah looked aggrieved, her eyes quickly reddening. Mrs. Stone immediately patted her hand in comfort, then turned her sharp tongue on me: “Lin, since you’re back in the Stone family, you need to learn our rules. Don’t bring your rough country ways here.” “And that dog, filthy. How can you bring it into the living room? Get rid of it tomorrow.” I slowly stroked Buddy’s head before looking up at her directly: “When he came to pick me up, he promised I could bring Buddy.” “As for rules, I followed the three he set. My rule is that people should keep their word.” I emphasized the word “he,” turning my gaze to the silent Samuel. Samuel looked a bit embarrassed and coughed. Shawn, who hadn’t spoken, snorted coldly: “Dad was just placating you. But the family image is important.” “You need to adapt to high society quickly, instead of bringing village stuff here.” He paused, the disdain in his eyes deepening, “After all, your last name is Stone now.” “My last name is Lin.” I corrected him calmly, “Like the forest.” The atmosphere in the living room solidified. Sarah’s tears finally fell: “Brother, don’t talk to sister like that. It’s all my fault. If not for me, sister wouldn’t have suffered so much outside.” “Sister, you should blame me. Hit me, scold me, as long as you can vent your anger. Even if you kick me out, I…” I watched this family of four. One playing the victim, one the protector, one the peacemaker, and one looking down from high above. A perfect performance. They wanted to intimidate me, make me realize my place, make me grateful, and make me feel guilty towards Sarah. Unfortunately, they got it wrong from the start. I didn’t come to claim kinship. I came to collect a debt. From my canvas bag, I took out a stack of A4 papers, neatly stapled, and placed them in the center of the coffee table. “So, next, let’s talk about the compensation.” Instantly, everyone froze. 2 Shawn sneered as if he heard the biggest joke in the world and reached for the papers. He flipped through two pages, and his expression went from mocking to livid. “Tangerine grove damage assessment… based on the average yield of the past five years, estimated total yield loss for the next ten years… including labor costs, land maintenance costs, brand value loss… totaling $18.5 million?” His voice trembled as he read the final number, and he slammed the papers onto the table, scattering them everywhere. “Are you crazy? This is extortion!” Mrs. Stone snatched a few pages, her eyes widening, then screamed: “You ungrateful wretch! The Stone family brings you back to a life of luxury, and instead of being grateful, you want money? Eighteen million? Why don’t you just rob a bank!” I ignored their hysteria and looked at Sarah. Her performance was right on cue. Tears fell like broken beads. She stood up, swaying, her voice filled with endless grievance and self-blame. “Sister… I know it’s all my fault. I was ignorant and ruined the village’s tangerine grove…” “But I didn’t mean to…” “Blame me if you want, hit me or scold me, but why use money to hurt Mom and Dad’s feelings? We are family…” She started to kneel towards me, “I apologize, I’ll kowtow to you, please don’t do this…” Shawn and Mrs. Stone rushed to support her. The family huddled together, glaring at me as if I were the villain tearing apart their happy home. “Lin! Look what you’ve done to Sarah!” Samuel finally slammed the table and stood up, pointing at my nose, full of disappointment and anger: “The Stone family owes you nothing! Bringing you back is a favor, not an obligation! If you keep making trouble, get out!” I waited for them to vent, then spoke slowly, my voice not loud but clear enough for everyone to hear. “First, this isn’t extortion, it’s compensation.” “What Sarah destroyed was the livelihood of over a hundred families in the village for the next ten years. This data was recorded by my grandfather in his ledger for decades, stroke by stroke, accurate to the harvest of every single tree.” I paused, my gaze sweeping over each of them. “Second, I already said, my last name is Lin. I came back not to recognize any relatives, nor to be anyone’s sister.” I stood up, looking down at this ridiculous family of four, finishing my sentence word by word. “I am here to collect a debt. Paying debts is the law of the universe.” “Your Stone family affection is worthless to me. I don’t want it.” 3 Samuel eventually accepted my $18.5 million compensation list. He didn’t say he would pay, nor did he say he wouldn’t. Instead, he looked at me with a new, complex gaze for a long time, then made a decision: send me to school. The same school as Sarah, Derby International High School. Mrs. Stone was all for it. She looked at me with malicious glee: “It’s time to learn some manners. Don’t always act so uncultured and embarrass the Stone family.” Shawn added with contempt: “Sarah’s circle is full of elites. Going there will open your eyes. Don’t just think about your tangerine money, your vision is too small.” I understood their intention. Throw me into an environment completely foreign to me, where background and status matter everywhere. Make me feel ashamed, make me see the vast difference between Sarah and me. So I would retreat in defeat, obediently give up that “extortion” sum, and become a docile puppet dependent on the Stone family. Nice calculation, but useless on me. On the first day of school, I became a celebrity at Derby High. Not because I was the real heiress of the Stone family, but because I wore faded canvas shoes. Carrying a canvas bag printed with “Serve the People,” followed by a little yellow dog wagging its tail. Of course, Buddy couldn’t enter the school building, so I let him wait by the security booth at the gate. The security guard was nice and gave him a bowl of water. Sarah’s lackeys were active. The leader was named Jessica. They buzzed around me like flies. They would “accidentally” spill milk on my homework; Loudly discuss my “street vendor clothes” behind my back; Even stuff trash in my desk. Sarah always put on an innocent and helpless look, occasionally coming over to fake-persuade: “Jessica, don’t treat my sister like this. She’s new and not used to it.” Then Jessica and the others would intensify their efforts, claiming to “fight for justice” for Sarah. I couldn’t be bothered. Arguing with a bunch of spoiled brats is a waste of time. My purpose here isn’t to make friends or fit into any circle. I’m just waiting for my $18.5 million to hit my account. Soon, the school organized a grade-wide placement test. This became the new fun for Jessica and her crew. They spread rumors everywhere that I, the “illiterate” from the mountains, probably didn’t even know how to fill out a Scantron sheet. They said I would definitely rank last in the school, disgracing Sarah’s class. On the day of the exam, I finished all the papers half an hour early, then slept on the desk until the bell rang. This behavior solidified my image as a “slacker” in their eyes. Sarah looked at me with a hint of pity. The day the results were posted, the bulletin board was crowded, three layers deep, noisy as hell. I had no interest in joining the fun and was about to walk around. Then I heard a collective gasp from the crowd, followed by deathly silence. Then, everyone’s eyes turned to me like searchlights. I was baffled but still dragged to the bulletin board by busybodies. The crowd parted automatically for me. I looked up at the red list at the very top. In the first place, two words were clearly written: Lin Ya. 4 Followed by a string of numbers: English 145, Math 150, Science 148, Social Studies 305, Total 748. A score so high it was terrifying, leading by a mile. Second place was the usual grade leader, with a total of 695. As for Sarah, I scanned down and found her name in seventh place, total score 681. The hallway was silent. Jessica’s mouth hung open, looking like she’d seen a ghost. Sarah stood not far away, face pale, knuckles white from clenching her fists. That night at the dinner table, the atmosphere was heavier than ever. Samuel, Mrs. Stone, and Shawn held copies of my report card, reading it over and over, as if trying to find a flower blooming in the numbers. For the first time, no one dared treat me like a silly girl from the village anymore. After the placement test, the Stone family quieted down a lot. At the table, Mrs. Stone stopped mocking me, and Shawn stopped using his elite theories to belittle me. They just ate in silence, looking at me with probing, scrutinizing, even wary eyes. This silence felt more fake than the previous noise. I knew this was just the calm before the storm. If one strike fails, they switch to a more covert, vicious method. Especially Sarah. Her look changed completely. Before, it was teasing and pity like a cat with a mouse. Now, it was a coldness mixed with jealousy and malice. In front of me, she still tried to maintain that gentle, kind, harmless appearance, but her acting skills had degraded. The hate deep in her eyes occasionally leaked out, like a poisoned needle, sharp and cold. Soon, her self-perceived opportunity arrived. 5 The school was hosting its annual Chemistry Competition. Winners not only get extra credit for college applications but also a significant boost for Ivy League admissions. As a perennial top student, Sarah was determined to win this award. The competition was in pairs. To everyone’s surprise, Sarah actively invited me to team up with her. She stood at my desk, smiling sweetly: “Sister, let’s participate together? Your theoretical knowledge is so good, and I’m better at hands-on experiments. If we team up, we’ll definitely be first.” I put down my pen and looked up at her. Then I nodded calmly, “Okay.” I knew it was a trap. But I also knew you can’t guard against a thief every day. I came to the Stone family to collect a debt. A gleam of success flashed in Sarah’s eyes, almost too fast to catch. From that day on, a small gadget I bought online came in handy— A micro voice recorder that looked exactly like a regular fountain pen. The preparation phase seemed normal. The afternoon before the competition, we were running a final data simulation in the lab. Halfway through, Sarah suddenly said she felt unwell and went to the infirmary, leaving Jessica to keep me company. I nodded and continued processing the reagents. After Sarah left, Jessica leaned in: “Lin, is there something wrong with the scale on that beaker? Let me check it for you.” Just as she pretended to help me check the instrument to distract me, I heard a faint zipper sound behind me. And the tiny sound of a memory card being pulled out of the data logger. I didn’t turn around. When I turned back, Jessica was back in her original position, just a bit pale. And the data logger slot on the lab bench was empty. “Where is my data card?”

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After I got into a car crash at three years old, I was accidentally bound to a “Savior System.” [Mission Objective: Obtain 100 Affection Points from mother, Susan Hayes.] [Mission Reward: One (1) Revival Card.] [Friendly Reminder: Host has only seven days to be revived. Mission failure will result in immediate death.] My little hand touched the gauze wrapped around my head, and my eyes lit up. I’m Mommy’s little sweetheart! Of course, she’ll give me a hundred points. “Nina!” The hospital room door suddenly burst open. Mommy rushed in, her face etched with worry and heartache. “Does your head still hurt? Mommy was so, so scared.” See? Mommy loves me the most. A sweet warmth spread through my chest. The next second, the system’s cold voice echoed in my mind. [Target acquired. Displaying current Affection Value.] A string of numbers materialized above my mother’s head. [Affection Value: -999.] 1. I froze, my little face turning pale. The system said that -999 meant “extreme loathing.” Only 999 meant “deeply loved.” “Nina, you must still be feeling awful after the crash,” Mommy said, gently stroking my head. She pulled out a little teddy bear thermos. “Mommy made you your favorite chicken soup. Here, have a taste.” She smiled at me, her eyes crinkling as she brought a spoonful to my lips. I obediently opened my mouth. My confusion and fear melted away. Mommy made me soup. How could she possibly hate me? The system must have made a mistake! Just then, Daddy strode into the room, his face filled with panic. He swept me into his arms. “Sweetheart, let Daddy see. Are you hurt anywhere?” I hugged him back tightly, my voice small and milky. “Daddy, I’m okay!” “Our little piggy is tough as nails,” my older brother, Leo, drawled, leaning against the doorframe with a grin. “The doctors said it was a bad crash, and all you got was a concussion.” He winked. “I bet the car saw how much you weigh and swerved to get away.” “Leo!” Mommy’s face hardened instantly. She grabbed my brother’s ear. “How can you talk like that? Is that how you show concern for your sister? Go stand outside!” “Mom, I was just kidding! Why are you always on her side?” Leo howled as he was banished to the hallway. See? Mommy really did love me the most. I breathed a sigh of relief and was about to give her a happy kiss when the numbers above her head flickered: [Affection Value: -1000] I froze again. My lip trembled, and a knot of panic and tears formed in my throat. How could this be? Mommy loves me. I quickly rummaged through my little bag and pulled out the present I’d bought for her before the accident. It was a cute little bunny brooch. “For Mommy,” I said, carefully holding it out to her. “Mommy, do you like Nina’s present?” “It’s beautiful! My Nina is so thoughtful!” Mommy’s face lit up with surprise. She took the brooch and immediately pinned it to her collar. “Mommy loves it so, so much.” Seeing her smile, I couldn’t help but smile too, pushing the system’s scary words to the back of my mind. After lunch, Mommy said she was going out to buy me some fruit. I slid off the bed, wanting to ask her to bring me a lollipop because the medicine tasted so bad. Before I could say a word, I saw her face turn to stone. She unpinned the bunny brooch, snapped it in half with a sharp crack, and threw it into the dark trash can. My heart squeezed tight. My nose stung, and tears rolled down my cheeks. Why? But Mommy said she liked Nina’s present… Just then, her phone rang. “Yeah, she’s not dead, just a concussion,” she said, her voice tight. “But Laura, the older she gets, the more her face looks just like that rapist’s!” Her voice broke with a sob, growing more agitated. “Sometimes I just want to tell my husband the truth! That Nina isn’t a symbol of our love!” “She’s a demon seed! Every time I hear her call me ‘Mommy,’ I feel sick to my stomach. Holding her feels… filthy!” 2. I stood frozen, my small body rigid. I didn’t really understand words like “rapist” or “demon seed,” but I knew they were bad things. Very, very bad things. Auntie Laura was trying to calm her down on the other end. “Susan, get a hold of yourself. Your husband and son adore her. Your life is so good now. If you tell them what happened three years ago, you’ll be the one destroying your family!” “I know… but it’s so hard to keep it all inside…” Mommy’s voice was filled with pain and resentment. “Why did she have to live? Why couldn’t she have just died in the crash?!” Slowly, step by step, I backed away until I hit the corner of the room, curling myself into a tiny ball. Fat tears plopped onto the back of my chubby hands, hot and stinging. So… Mommy really, really hated me. That bright red -1000 wasn’t a game. It was real. The system reminded me again: I had to raise my mother’s Affection Value to live. Otherwise, in seven days, I would die. I didn’t want to die. Daddy and Mommy and Leo all loved me. When I grew up, I was going to make lots and lots of money for them. I thought about how every time Mommy took care of me, it felt like she loved me. Maybe if I took care of her, she would start to like me, just a little bit. The day I was discharged, I saw Mommy rubbing her temples, looking tired. I immediately grabbed my big water bottle and waddled over to the water cooler. “Nina get water for Mommy!” I stumbled as I walked, spilling water all over my dress. When I finally reached her, I stood on my tiptoes, holding the cup up high, my eyes shining. “Mommy, drink water. Then you won’t be tired anymore!” Mommy blinked, then her face broke into that familiar, gentle smile. “Thank you, Nina. You’re such a good girl.” Her voice was still so nice to listen to. But as she took the cup, I saw it clearly. The red number above her head changed. [Affection Value: -1500] I stared at the number as it plummeted. My lip quivered, and I couldn’t hold it in anymore. A loud “Waaah!” burst out of me. I felt so hurt and scared. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Why is Daddy’s little girl crying?” Daddy was the first to rush in, his big, rough hands clumsily wiping my tears. “Does your head hurt? Daddy will blow on it for you, okay?” Leo squeezed in too, holding a pudding cup he’d just bought me. “Don’t cry, little piggy. Have some pudding. It’s your favorite strawberry flavor.” They surrounded me. Daddy patted my back gently while Leo made funny faces to make me laugh. Any other time, I would have giggled through my tears and thrown my arms around them. But now, through my blurry, tear-filled eyes, I saw Mommy standing behind Daddy. She looked concerned, and she was saying, “Why is she crying so hard all of a sudden?” But the number above her head was dropping like a broken counter: [-1600… -1700…] Every comforting word from Daddy and Leo sent the number spiraling down. I think I understood. The more Daddy and Leo loved me, the more they spoiled me… the more Mommy hated me. Looking at her worried, yet utterly cold expression, my heart ached. I decided I had to be quieter from now on. I couldn’t be a crybaby anymore. Maybe then… Mommy wouldn’t hate me so much. 3. At dinner, I didn’t chatter about my day at preschool. I just kept my head down, pushing rice around with my little spoon. Even when my favorite custard was served, I didn’t dare shout “More, more!” like I used to. “Nina, you’ve been so quiet lately,” Daddy said, a worried frown on his face. “Is the food not good?” I shook my head hard, swallowing my craving for more custard. “Nina’s not hungry,” I whispered. He frowned but didn’t press. I peeked at Mommy. Her number had only dropped by 3. That night, I tripped over a toy and bumped my knee on the corner of the table. It hurt so much. I opened my mouth to cry, but then I remembered Mommy’s hateful eyes. I clamped my hands over my mouth, stifling the sobs until my face was red and my eyes were swimming with tears. Leo ran over, his face full of concern. “Where did you hit it? Does it hurt? Let brother see!” But I flinched away from him like a scared little rabbit and scrambled onto the couch, curling into a ball. “Doesn’t hurt… Nina’s okay…” I whimpered. Mommy was standing in the kitchen doorway, watching us. She seemed… satisfied with what she saw. Her number didn’t change at all. A wave of sadness washed over me, but it was mixed with a strange kind of joy. A small, hopeful smile touched my lips. Mommy… was she finally not hating me as much? I became even quieter. When Daddy came home from work and tried to give me his usual kisses and lift me high in the air, I would run and hide in my room. When Leo wanted to take me out to play, I’d say I was sleepy. The looks on their faces were full of worry and confusion. “She’s been like a different person since the accident,” I heard them whisper. “Maybe she has some kind of trauma.” “She doesn’t smile anymore. She’s lost all her spark.” They became even more careful around me, even more attentive. And I withdrew even more. But my plan seemed to be working. For two whole days, the number above Mommy’s head stayed stable at “-2000.” The system kept nagging me. [Host, only three days remaining. Please increase the target’s Affection Value as soon as possible. Otherwise, you will die in three days.] But I didn’t dare try to please Mommy. She didn’t like it when I got close. I think… I was more afraid of her hateful eyes than I was of dying. In the middle of the night, I woke up thirsty. I tiptoed to the living room for some water and heard Mommy’s voice coming from the study. It was hushed and full of tears. “…that rapist is threatening me with the video again. He wants a hundred thousand this time. If I don’t give it to him, he’ll tell Daniel everything!” “What am I going to do? I hate him so much! I want to kill that monster!” I stopped, clutching my stuffed bunny tightly. Rapist? Was that the bad man who made Mommy hate me? How could I help her? I asked the system, but it didn’t answer. The next day, Daddy and Leo were going out to buy me my favorite strawberry cake to try and cheer me up. I tugged on Daddy’s shirt, my heart filled with a strange panic. “Daddy, you don’t have to. Nina doesn’t like cake anymore.” He stroked my head, his eyes full of pain. “What’s this? My little sweet tooth doesn’t like cake anymore? Don’t worry, Daddy and Leo will be back soon.” They left. I watched their car drive away, and the panicky feeling in my chest grew stronger and stronger. Two hours later, Mommy answered a phone call. The color drained from her face. She looked at me, and her eyes were terrifying. Smack. She slapped me, hard. “It’s all your fault! You’re a curse! If my husband and son die, I will never forgive you!” 4. It was the first time I had ever seen Mommy look so wild and broken. I was so scared I trembled all over. My cheek stung, and tears welled up in my eyes, but I didn’t dare let them fall. “Mommy… what happened?” “They were in a car crash. That rapist hit them. It’s because of your accident that he demanded more money from me! I couldn’t pay, so he tried to kill my husband and son!” Mommy was sobbing hysterically, her eyes burning with a deep, chilling hatred. “Nina, why did you have to live?! If you had died, our family would have been fine.” “Mommy…” I listened to her broken questions and curses, and the tears finally spilled over. I think I understood. The bad man didn’t just bully Mommy; he had hurt Daddy and Leo, too. And it was all because of me. If I hadn’t been born, Mommy wouldn’t be bullied by the bad man, and Daddy and Leo wouldn’t have gotten hurt. I watched, terrified and helpless, as the number above her head started jumping like crazy. The red deepened until it looked like it was about to drip blood. [Affection Value: -9999] [Target’s Affection Value has dropped below -5000. Triggering Level 3 Punishment: Three minutes of neural shock every hour!] The next second, a buzzing roar filled my head, and a violent pain shot through my body. It felt like a million needles were stabbing me all at once. I collapsed to the floor, my body spasming. It hurt so much. I wanted to cry, but Mommy was so sad already. Nina couldn’t make Mommy even angrier. The system’s warnings flashed in my mind. [CRITICAL WARNING: If target’s Affection Value drops below -10000, host will be immediately terminated! Please increase Affection Value to preserve life!] The pain was so bad I was convulsing, but I stayed quiet. I watched Mommy grab her car keys and flee the house. System-uncle, Nina doesn’t want to do the mission anymore. It’s okay if Nina dies. That way, Mommy can be happy. And Daddy and Leo can be safe. Daddy and Leo’s injuries weren’t serious. After they were moved out of the ER, they just needed to be observed for a few days. They were worried about me being home alone, so they sent Mommy home. She seemed calmer. When she saw the handprint on my face, she silently applied some medicine to it. The number above her head was now -9000. “Mommy, it doesn’t hurt,” I said, clutching my empty, rumbling tummy. I forced a smile onto my pale little face. In the last two days of my life, I wanted to try and make Mommy happy, just once. “I’m not hungry either, Mommy. But you have to eat. You can’t get sick. Daddy and Leo would be worried.” Mommy’s lips were pressed into a thin line. Her voice was harsh. “I don’t feel guilty. I don’t need to feel guilty.” But the number above her head changed to -8000. The system said this was a good thing, but I didn’t care anymore. The next day, Mommy put my coat on. Her voice was flat. “Come on. I’m taking you somewhere.” She didn’t take me to the hospital to see Daddy and Leo. She drove to a run-down, deserted part of town. There was a tall, scary-looking man waiting for us. He had a mean look on his face. He sneered at Mommy, demanding money. But Mommy suddenly let out a cold laugh. She grabbed me by the neck. “I know you’re sterile now. You can’t have any more kids. This is your one and only child!” “I’m telling you, if you ever harass me again, if you ever touch my family again, I will kill her right in front of you! You’ll have no one to carry on your name!” Her fingernails dug into my skin. It hurt so much that tears welled up in my eyes. I gritted my teeth and looked at the strange man. Was this him? The bad man who made Mommy hate me? He scoffed, his cloudy eyes looking me up and down with disgust. “A useless girl is just a useless girl. So what if she dies? It’s not like she’s a son. Susan, you think you can threaten me with this? You’re dreaming!” “Give me the money. Or else.” Mommy froze, fear flashing in her eyes. She let go of me and tried to run. “Trying to run?!” The bad man’s face twisted into a snarl. He pulled a glittering knife from behind his back and lunged at her. “Don’t hurt my mommy!” In that instant, I used every bit of strength I had. I launched myself forward like a little cannonball, right in front of my mother. Shhhk. The knife sank deep into my chest. Blood gushed out, instantly staining my little flowered dress…

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1 The night of our wedding, my A-list actor husband, Damian Hale, left me for a private rendezvous with his ex-girlfriend. When he returned, reeking of alcohol, he held me and whispered her name: Luna Latham. The next morning, Luna posted on her social media: 【Some loves can only be spoken in whispers, hidden by time. I wish you happiness.】 Her fans swarmed the comments, branding me a homewrecker. My agent, Carla, was practically having a meltdown. I scrolled through my phone, completely unbothered. “What’s the rush?” I said calmly. “Leak the photos from their hotel room last night. Tell the press it was me, the ‘devastated wife,’ who caught them in the act.” “And remember,” I added, “censor the photos, but make sure everyone can recognize that specific watch on Damian’s wrist.” … Ten minutes after the photos went live, the social media servers crashed. 【Damian Hale Cheats on Wedding Night】 【Luna Latham the Homewrecker】 【Rachel Reed Catches Husband Cheating】 Three hashtags shot to the top of the trending list. Carla’s phone was ringing off the hook. She covered the receiver, her face pale as she looked at me. “Rachel, it’s Damian’s team, and… Mrs. Hale is on the other line.” I nodded, gesturing for her to continue. “They’re demanding you post a retraction immediately. Say they were stills from a movie, or just friends who had too much to drink and the angle was misleading.” A small, cold laugh escaped my lips. “A retraction? Why would I do that?” “I am Damian Hale’s lawfully wedded wife. My husband abandoned me on our wedding night, and now I’m expected to cover for his affair with his ex?” “Carla, do I look like some brain-dead saint to you?” Carla was speechless. The door to my suite burst open. Damian stormed in, his eyes shot with blood. He was clutching his phone so tightly his knuckles were white. “Rachel! Are you insane? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” He slammed the phone down on the coffee table in front of me. The screen showed the photos I’d leaked. “Why would you do this? Luna is innocent!” he roared. “She was just upset, so I went to have a drink with her. Nothing happened!” I met his furious gaze, my own expression perfectly calm. “Nothing happened? Then why was she wearing your shirt?” “Nothing happened? Then why did you come home, hold me, and whisper her name all night?” The color drained from Damian’s face, then flooded back in a wave of crimson. He looked like he was choking. He clearly hadn’t expected me to be listening. “I was drunk!” he yelled, his voice cracking. “I made a mistake! A mistake any man could make!” “Did you have to blow this up, ruin my career, and destroy Luna’s life over it? I never knew you were so malicious!” I rose from the sofa and walked toward him. “Damian, you destroyed our marriage. You destroyed yourself. And you destroyed that precious Luna of yours.” “Malicious? Compared to you two, I’d say I’m serving justice.” “And let me correct you on one thing,” I added, my voice dripping with ice. “Not all men make that ‘mistake.’ Only the ones who can’t keep it in their pants. Don’t you dare drag everyone else down with you.” He trembled with rage, his hand flying up to strike me. I didn’t flinch. I just stared at him, my eyes cold and unflinching. “Go on. Hit me. Tomorrow’s headline will be ‘A-List Actor Damian Hale’s Domestic Abuse Scandal.’” “I guarantee you, it will trend even higher than your affair.” His hand froze in mid-air before falling limply to his side. Then, the phone rang again. It was Damian’s mother, the formidable Eleanor Hale, chairwoman of Zenith Media. The second I answered, her imperious voice cut through the line. “Rachel, delete the post immediately. Then, call a press conference and apologize. Say it was all a misunderstanding.” “You will not drag the Hale family name through the mud like this.” I leaned back on the sofa, calmly filing my nails. “Mrs. Hale, the one dragging your family name through the mud isn’t me. It’s your darling son.” “On his wedding night, he chose to do this. The fact that I haven’t filed for divorce yet is the only respect I’m showing the Hale name.” There was a beat of silence on the other end, then a voice tight with fury. “What do you want? Film roles? Money? Name your price. Just make this go away.” I blew a speck of dust from my nail. “I don’t want anything.” “I just want what’s fair.” Mrs. Hale laughed, a cold, sharp sound. “Fair? In this business, power is fairness. And I have the power.” “Don’t you forget, Rachel, who gave you everything you have. Without the Hale family, you are nothing.” “So drop the naive act. I’m giving you thirty minutes to think it over.” “If I don’t see a public apology from you in half an hour, you will face the consequences.” 2 The line went dead. Carla looked at me, her face etched with worry. “Rachel, she’s not bluffing. You know she’ll do it.” “Those endorsement deals, the script for that blockbuster… Zenith Media pulled all those strings for us.” I patted her hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry. The sky isn’t falling.” Thirty minutes passed. I posted nothing. Instead, a photo of Luna Latham, weeping in a hospital bed, appeared on her official social media, posted by her team. The caption read: 【Thank you for the concern. I’m alright. Please don’t blame anyone. It’s all my fault.】 In the photo, she wore a hospital gown, a pristine white bandage wrapped around her wrist. She was a picture of tragic fragility. Instantly, the public narrative flipped again. The hashtag #LunaLathamSuicideAttempt shot to number one, eclipsing everything else. My comment section became a cesspool. An army of self-righteous fans flooded in, cursing me with the most vile language imaginable. 【She tried to kill herself because of you! Rachel Reed is a monster!】 【Damian, divorce her! You must have had the worst luck in the world to marry a woman like that!】 【My heart breaks for Luna. We’re here for you, always.】 Damian called again. This time, his voice was choked with tears and raw hatred. “Rachel, Luna tried to kill herself! If anything happens to her, I swear I will never forgive you!” “Are you happy now? Are you satisfied?” I listened quietly to his tirade until he exhausted himself. Then, I spoke, my voice soft but lethal. “Damian, do you really think the world revolves around your tragic little love story?” “She cries, and it’s my fault. She checks into a hospital, and I’m the one who pushed her.” “What about me? I’m your wife. The one you two conspired to humiliate. Am I just supposed to take the abuse? To swallow my pain and say nothing?” “Go to the hospital. Stay by her side.” “And when you do, tell her to commit to the role next time. That scratch on her wrist looks like a paper cut. Today’s audience isn’t that gullible.” My defiance was the final straw. The Hales declared war. The next day, the official social media account for the blockbuster film I was set to star in announced that I had been removed from the cast, citing “personal conduct issues that have caused a negative social impact.” One by one, my high-end endorsement deals released statements terminating our contracts. Carla held the termination letters, her hands shaking. “It’s over, Rachel. It’s all over. Mrs. Hale is going to blacklist us completely.” Overnight, I went from being one of Hollywood’s brightest rising stars to a reviled outcast. Damian sent me a text. 【Is this what you wanted? I gave you a chance, Rachel.】 【Get out of my house. Now. My lawyer will be in touch with the divorce papers.】 I looked at the message and laughed. Get out? This mansion, the one with the deed in my name, was a wedding gift from my parents. I texted back one word. 【You.】 He must have lost his mind, because he showed up minutes later with two bodyguards in tow. “Rachel, don’t push your luck! This is a Hale property! You have no right to be here!” he snarled, pointing a finger at me with an air of supreme arrogance. I remained seated on the sofa, watching his little performance with amusement. “Damian, darling, has playing pretend for a living addled your brain? Open your eyes and read the name on the deed.” “This is my pre-nuptial property. It has absolutely nothing to do with you or the Hale family.” Damian froze, completely stunned. He obviously had no idea. Behind him, Luna Latham leaned weakly against the doorframe, a perfectly calibrated expression of shock and hurt on her pale face. “Damian, let’s just go,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “It’s clear she doesn’t want us here. Let’s not make her angry.” She tugged at his sleeve, the perfect damsel in distress. Damian looked at her, his eyes overflowing with adoration and pity. He turned back to me, his gaze venomous. “You wait, Rachel. You will pay for what you’ve done today.” “I will make sure you never work in this town again!” I stood and walked calmly towards them. “Fine by me,” I said with a smile. “I’ll be waiting.” 3 My gaze shifted past Damian, landing on Luna. “Ms. Latham, the next time you decide to stage a suicide attempt, you should probably have a medical report to back it up.” “Otherwise, faking an illness for sympathy… people might think you’re pathetic.” Luna’s body went rigid, her face turning an even more ghastly shade of white. Damian immediately shielded her with his body. “Shut up, Rachel!” he roared. “Don’t you dare say another word to her!” I watched his white-knight routine, finding it utterly absurd. “Hurt her?” I let out a cold laugh. “The person who’s truly hurting her is you.” “You’re the one who gave her false hope. You’re the one who let her believe she could walk all over me to get what she wanted.” “You, Damian, are the root of this entire tragedy.” The Hales’ blacklisting was swift and brutal. All of my projects were canceled. My team was forced to disband. Only Carla remained by my side. The online hate campaign against me was relentless. Extremist fans doxxed me, throwing paint on my front gate and sending me anonymous death threats. Carla called the police, but it was useless. They were like flies drawn to blood; for every one they shooed away, another dozen would appear. Meanwhile, Damian and Luna were thriving. They attended a charity gala together, and in front of the cameras, Damian looked at Luna with boundless affection. “I will handle my personal affairs as quickly as possible,” he announced to the press, “and give Luna the official status she deserves.” The internet erupted, celebrating their “epic love story.” And I was cast as the villain, the evil ex-wife standing in the way of their happiness. Mrs. Hale called me again, her tone dripping with the condescending pity of a victor. “Do you regret it now, Rachel? I told you, you’re no match for me.” “But I’m feeling generous. Kneel and beg me.” “Then, post a public apology, taking full responsibility. Admit you were jealous of Luna and maliciously started these rumors.” “Do that, and I might consider leaving you with a shred of a career.” Her words were so preposterous I could only laugh. “Mrs. Hale, have you forgotten my last name?” My father is Robert Reed. Though long since retired from the front lines, his name still commands immense respect in the world of finance. My mother is one of the country’s most celebrated artists, a master whose students are scattered throughout the art world. I was never some helpless vine who needed the Hale family to survive. The only reason I hadn’t used my family’s connections was to preserve a final ounce of dignity—for myself, and for the man I once loved. But it was clear they didn’t want it. Mrs. Hale’s voice turned to ice. “It seems you’re determined to be stubborn.” “Then don’t blame me for being ruthless.” “Rachel, I will teach you the true meaning of despair.” After she hung up, my father called. His voice was as calm and steady as ever. “Rachel, you’ve been wronged.” “Do whatever you feel you must. Your father will always be your strongest shield.” Tears welled in my eyes. The pain and humiliation I had bottled up for days finally burst forth. “Dad,” I choked out, “I’m okay.” After the call, I wiped my tears and dialed another number. “Interested in a business proposition?” A low, smooth laugh answered me. “An invitation from Ms. Reed? I’m always interested.” “Tell me,” the voice purred, “how do you want to play?”

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I was dead last in my class. The System told me the only way to fix my brain and raise my grades was to bind myself to the student ranked #1 and establish “physical intimacy.” So, I became a simp for my toxic childhood friend, Julian. I followed him around like a lost puppy, ignoring his mockery and disgust, doing everything to please him. Then, I got a new desk mate. Liam was a transfer student, already scouted by Ivy Leagues. He was smart, gentle, and his smile looked like the sun. He brought me breakfast every day and patiently taught me how to solve math problems. Julian hated him. He ordered me not to speak to Liam. I obeyed. Until the next mock exam results came out. My new desk mate had dethroned Julian. Liam was the new Number One. (01) The noon heat after the mock exams was suffocating. As I walked up to the classroom to deliver porridge to Julian, I heard the boys laughing inside. Their tone was flippant, stinging my ears. “Did Stella actually go buy medicine?” “Yeah, I just casually mentioned Julian wasn’t feeling well, and she bolted.” “It’s like a hundred degrees out there.” “So what? She’s so obsessed with Julian, if he told her to bark, she’d probably get on all fours.” “Actually,” someone mused, “Stella is pretty cute. She’s got a nice face and a good temper.” Someone jeered, “You like her? Ask Julian to pass her to you.” “Julian, would you miss your little sidekick?” Silence for a few seconds. Then, Julian’s cold, clear voice cut through the air. “Get lost.” He sounded annoyed. The room went quiet, then someone asked hesitantly, “We tricked Stella into thinking you were sick so she’d run errands in this heat… you’re not mad, right?” “Why would I care?” Julian paused, his tone indifferent, dripping with his usual disdain. “If she’s stupid enough to believe whatever people tell her, how is she any different from a pig?” The room erupted in laughter. Someone was even pounding the desk. It was lively inside. I looked down at the porridge and medicine in my hands. Julian has a weak stomach. I’ve seen him pale, vomiting, and weak. That’s why when I heard he wasn’t feeling well and saw him face-down on his desk, I ran to the pharmacy. Turns out, I was being played. I stood there, dazed. (02) I couldn’t go back into the classroom, so I found a shaded spot to sit. I hadn’t eaten lunch, and my stomach was growling. The porridge steamed, smelling savory. It smelled good. I was hungry. I figured since Julian wasn’t actually sick, there was no point going in. I might as well eat it myself. [Julian is such a piece of trash! Can he even speak human?] The System’s voice exploded in my head. It sounded like it had been holding back for a long time, gritting its virtual teeth. [Stella, let’s go in there and slap him! I can’t take this anymore! So what if he’s #1? Unbind! We are not serving him anymore!] I was opening the lid of the porridge. I paused. “Huh? Can we do that? But he’s the top student.” The System: […] It reviewed the records. Julian had indeed been #1 on every single exam. So my binding target had never changed. The System deflated. [Fine. Forget it, Stella. Eat first. Eating is important.] As the warm food filled my stomach, the sadness from the scene upstairs finally hit me, slow and heavy. I was born with slow reactions. My emotional processing is weak. I learn things slowly and forget them quickly. That’s why I’ve always been dead last in the rankings. It’s not that I don’t try. I just don’t have the talent. My stupidity feels innate. Even if I do the same math problem a thousand times, I’ll forget the formula the next time I see it. Julian is different. He’s been #1 since kindergarten. The “neighbor’s kid” everyone compares you to. I used to envy him. How could someone be so smart? Then, in high school, I bound with the “Academic Genius System.” The System told me my intelligence was “locked” by some force. To “unlock” it and improve my grades, I had to be in close contact with the smartest person around. It called it “osmosis.” Before my parents died, their only wish was for me to study hard and get into a good college. I didn’t want to disappoint them, so I tried my hardest. But it was useless. With my grades, community college was a stretch. So, even though I knew Julian despised me, I followed him like I did when we were kids. I became his gofer. I agreed to every demand. I ran errands, bought water, held his umbrella. Because he was my target. Julian was cold, sharp-tongued, and arrogant. He was moody. When he was in a bad mood, he’d say things like he did today. He called me dumb, laughed at my IQ, called me a leech. But when he was in a good mood, he’d teach me how to solve a problem. Once, during a storm, I gave him my umbrella and prepared to run home in the rain. He grabbed me and pulled me under the canopy with him. The streetlights cast a warm yellow glow, softening his sharp features. He said, “Stella, are you an idiot? This umbrella is big enough for two.” His body heat traveled through his palm into my arm. We walked side by side in the rain. I didn’t know what “intimacy” the System required, so I just tried to be good to him. It hadn’t worked much before. But that moment under the umbrella, when Julian pulled me close… My heart pounded. I felt like my brain actually cleared up. When I got home, I didn’t forget what I studied. Sure enough, on the next monthly exam, I went up ten spots. Still at the bottom, but not the bottom. I might be slow, but I understand fairness. I don’t actually like Julian. He’s too mean. I approached him to use him for grades. Even though the System said my “borrowing” his intelligence didn’t hurt him, my parents taught me never to take advantage of people for free. So I tried to repay him. And since I couldn’t tell anyone about the System, I had to hide my true motive. That’s why I tolerated his cruelty. But today was different. I went to buy medicine because I was worried about him. When I ran out of the school gates, I wasn’t thinking about him as a target. I thought of him as a friend. I couldn’t watch a friend suffer. When we were kids, he used to look at me with disgust and say, “You’re as dumb as a pig. I don’t make friends with pigs.” So I stayed away. When he shared his umbrella, I thought we were friends again. But it was just me thinking that. I didn’t need the System to tell me. He said those things today because he doesn’t see me as a friend. Julian has never changed. (03) After finishing the porridge, I headed back to the classroom. Most students were napping, but Julian was sitting there, staring into space. He looked annoyed. His brows were furrowed, only relaxing slightly when he saw me. He lowered his voice. “Where did you go?” I told the truth. “I went to buy something.” His brow smoothed out more. He huffed lightly. “Where’s the porridge and medicine?” I looked at him. I really wanted to ask: You weren’t sick, so why are you asking for it? But it felt unnecessary. Compared to the System’s rage, I felt calm. Because I just didn’t care that much anymore. Julian isn’t my friend. No matter how mean he is, I won’t get angry. As long as he’s #1, I’ll keep following him to fix my grades. My reactions are slow. I don’t process hurt quickly. The sadness from earlier had already blown away with the wind. “I ate it,” I said earnestly. “I’ll buy it again next time you actually need it.” He looked stunned. His eyes darkened, and he looked like he wanted to say something, but stopped. As I walked past him, he said stiffly, “Stella, I want breakfast from Golden Lotus Dim Sum tomorrow.” Golden Lotus is a super popular spot. I’d have to wake up at 5 AM to queue. The System was grinding its teeth: [Stella, don’t debase yourself! Let him starve! Buy him breakfast? I say pour boiling water on him! We don’t need him, we’ll become geniuses on our own!] Me: “…” Me, a genius? I didn’t want to crush the System’s spirit, so I comforted it. “It’s okay. I like Golden Lotus too. I can buy some for myself.” When I got to my desk, I saw the desk next to mine was dusty. I took out a wet wipe and cleaned it. Julian turned around, saw this, and sneered. “Doing useless things every day. No wonder you fail every exam. If you spent this time on two math problems, maybe you’d get a pity point.” I didn’t understand why he was mad again. But I just gave a soft “Oh.” The System was furious: [He refuses to sit next to you, but gets mad when someone else does? He’s just jealous because the other guy got scouted by a top university!] I didn’t use to have a desk mate. Liam, the transfer student, arrived this semester. He wore a mask, but his eyes were beautiful. On his first day, he smiled and asked if he could sit next to me. He was smart and gentle. He patiently explained questions and never called me stupid. But he seemed sickly. He always wore a mask, coughed often, and had a raspy voice. I did his cleaning duty once, and he brought me breakfast for a whole week. Liam Xubai. Even his name sounded nice. Julian hated him. Every time he saw me talking to Liam, his face looked stormy. Finally, one day, he ordered me to stay away from Liam. I asked why. Julian said “no reason” and asked if I still wanted to study with him. I had to agree. I tossed and turned all night, not knowing how to tell Liam. It was the first friend I’d made in a long time. Luckily, I didn’t have to be mean. Liam stopped coming to school after that day. The teacher said Liam had secured his college spot and was busy with other things. Liam was a genius on the same level as Julian. Maybe geniuses just naturally repel each other. Julian looked at me, his tone cold but casual. “Stella, about you wanting to be my desk mate… I thought about it. As long as you don’t annoy me, it’s fine. When the rankings come out tomorrow, go tell the teacher to move you next to me.” I didn’t speak. I felt much happier sitting next to Liam than Julian. But Liam wasn’t coming back. Tomorrow, the results would come out, and Julian would still be #1. The college entrance exam (Gaokao) is coming. I have to get into college. I lowered my eyes and gave a soft “Mm.” (04) Results day. I woke up early to queue at Golden Lotus. I walked into school carrying the bags, still half-asleep. The bulletin board had just been updated. Only a few people were there. As I walked over, a voice like a clear spring stream sounded beside me. “Good morning, Stella.” I turned. A tall, bamboo-straight figure stood there. The boy looked down at me with a smile, making even the ugly school uniform look high-fashion. His face was unforgettable. But I felt like I’d never seen him before— Then I met those beautiful eyes. I hesitated. “Liam…?” “Yeah,” he said. “Long time no see.” I was happy. “Did you come back to school?” “Finished my business,” he said nonchalantly, stopping beside me. His smile was bright, like a summer breeze. “So I came back a couple of days ago to take the exam.” The crowd around the bulletin board grew loud. “Holy crap!” Someone screamed. “The #1 spot isn’t Julian anymore! Who is Liam Xubai?!” “718 points? Is he human? He beat Julian by like twenty points…” “Liam? The transfer student? I think I saw him during the test.” “Three years, and Julian finally lost the top spot!” The noise grew louder. My eyes grew wider. I looked at the handsome youth standing before me, stunned. “You’re the Class Rank One?” [OH MY GOD!!! STELLA!! We don’t have to look at Julian’s stank face anymore!!] The System screamed in my brain. [Switch binding! Switch binding! Processing now!!] I stared at Liam blankly. “If there isn’t someone else with my name, then I guess so,” Liam said casually, changing the subject. “It’s still early. Want to go to the cafeteria for breakfast?” Breakfast. I looked down instantly at the shrimp dumplings and scallop porridge in my hand. The aroma was amazing. Better than the cafeteria. “Do you eat this?” Without hesitation, I held up the plastic bag. “Here. Let’s eat together.” “Really?” He looked surprised, then his eyes curved into crescents. “Then I’ll bring you breakfast tomorrow. Deal?” Julian had never said anything like that to me. He never brought me breakfast. I didn’t know how to react, but something deep inside me cracked open, and a warm feeling sprouted from the fissure, spreading through my limbs. The System eagerly displayed a holographic screen: [Please confirm switch. Target Julian Xu changed to Target Liam Xubai.] In my heart, I whispered: “Confirm.” It was done. I looked at Liam, pursed my lips, and smiled. “Mm!” “Stella.” A familiar voice rang out. I turned. A group of boys stood behind me—the same ones who were laughing yesterday. In the center, Julian stood with a face dark as thunder. He must have been watching for a while. He stared at the breakfast I was handing to Liam. He pulled the corners of his mouth into a sneer and commanded, “Come here.” In the past, I did whatever he asked. Even when I didn’t want to. But Julian never cared about what I wanted. I shook my head. “I’m going to eat breakfast.” Julian looked incredulous. It was like he couldn’t process me rejecting him. But quickly, he reverted to form. Looking down at me, his voice cold and threatening, “Stella. I won’t say it a second time.” Last time he used this tone, he ignored me for two weeks and threw all my gifts in the trash. He knows I’ve always been afraid of him ignoring me. It always works. People were watching. I swallowed my words, turned my back to him, and looked at Liam. “Let’s go.” In that moment, the certainty in Julian’s eyes shattered. He instinctively took a step forward, like he wanted to grab me. But he stopped. He looked at me for a few seconds, then turned and walked away without a word.

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1 My best friend and I were a team of two: the beautiful, wicked women of this city’s elite. She was the canary in a gilded cage, kept by Jean Vance, the scion of an old-money dynasty, in his penthouse overlooking the park. I was the trophy girlfriend to Damian Blackwood, a tech mogul with new money and an insatiable need to show it off. We pooled the cash they gave us, a seventy-thirty split in her favor. She said I had terrible taste, that my man wasn’t as generous as hers. I said she had rocks for brains, that her man was all empty promises and charm. We bickered and fought, but together, we kept every other wannabe, every starlet and model, firmly in her place. Until the ingenue appeared. For her, Jean hung up on my best friend, Stella, for the first time ever. For her, Damian froze all of my credit cards. Stella and I just looked at each other. We didn’t need to say a word. Ah. The main character had arrived. … “I’m sorry, your card has been declined.” The cashier’s voice was quiet, but it echoed through the hushed boutique. Every head turned. Eyes, sharp with judgment and barely veiled contempt, drilled into me. The diamond bracelet, with its six-figure price tag, felt suddenly heavy in my hand. Just minutes ago, the sales associate had been fawning over me, calling me “Miss Zoe.” Now she’d taken a subtle step back, her posture radiating suspicion. I placed the bracelet gently back on its velvet tray. My hands were steady. “My apologies. Let’s try a different one.” I pulled out another card—not one of the endless black cards Damian had given me. This one was mine. The transaction went through instantly. I signed the slip, my movements crisp and deliberate. Stepping out of the mall, the sunlight was blinding. My phone buzzed. It was Stella. “My supplementary card just got canceled.” Her voice was flat, unreadable. “Mine too,” I said. A beat of silence on the other end. “Meet me at the usual place.” A smile crept into Stella’s voice. “Knew you’d be fine. I’ve got your back.” “See you there.” I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address of the small apartment we’d bought together with our own squirreled-away money. Through the window, the massive, imposing logo of Damian’s corporate headquarters flashed by. I turned my head away, my face a mask of indifference. The game was on. Stella was already there when I arrived. She’d kicked off her four-inch heels and was pacing the hardwood floor barefoot, still dressed in a stunning couture gown from some event. “Jean stood me up for that girl, Jenny Dallas.” She grabbed a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge and chugged half of it. “He had my seat removed from the head table at the charity gala. Just like that. I was the laughingstock of the entire evening.” I tossed the box with my new bracelet onto the coffee table. The diamonds inside caught the light, scattering cold, hard fire. “Damian was faster. He went straight for the accounts.” Stella stopped pacing and looked at me. Our eyes met. No complaints. No tears. We knew this was coming. In the story we’d been dropped into, this was our fate. The wicked supporting characters were destined to be crushed under the heel of the main couple, to become nothing more than stepping stones for their epic love story. “Hah,” Stella laughed first, a raw, sharp sound. “It’s finally starting.” I flipped open my laptop and pulled up our private joint account. The balance was a long, beautiful string of numbers. “We’ve held up our end of the bargain. We’ve been paid in full,” I said. “Now, it’s time to collect some interest.” Stella leaned over my shoulder, her eyes gleaming as she stared at the screen. “What’s the plan?” “Damian is about to launch a massive luxury development project called ‘Azure Vista.’ It’s his golden ticket, the thing that’s meant to wash away the stench of new money and get him a seat at the table with the old-money establishment.” My fingers flew across the keyboard. “I want to take that golden ticket and shatter it at his feet.” Damian Blackwood’s birthday gala was the event of the season. I showed up in a slinky, black slip dress that clung to every curve. I didn’t have an invitation. A security guard moved to block my path. “Miss Zoe, you can’t go in.” I didn’t even look at him. My gaze swept over the glittering crowd and locked onto Damian. He was holding court with a group of industry titans, laughing and charming them all. And there, tucked beside him, was Jenny Dallas. She was in a white, gossamer dress, looking as pure and fragile as a water lily. She saw me. Her eyes widened, and a hand flew to Damian’s sleeve, clutching it as she shrank behind him. Damian followed her gaze. The moment he saw me, his brow furrowed into a thunderous scowl. He strode towards me, disgust etched plainly on his handsome face. “What the hell are you doing here?” His voice was ice. “Happy birthday, Damian.” I gave him my most dazzling, meaningless smile. “I forgot to give you your present.” “Get lost.” “Not so fast.” I pulled a tiny USB drive from my clutch, dangling it in front of him. “Think of it as one last gift. For old times’ sake.” Damian’s eyes darkened. 2 He thought it was a sex tape. Or compromising photos. His hand shot out to grab it. I sidestepped him neatly. “Let’s keep this civil, Damian.” Heads were turning now. Whispers were starting to ripple through the crowd. Jenny drifted over, laying a delicate hand on Damian’s arm. “Damian, please don’t. Let’s just talk this out.” She turned to me, her eyes already welling up with tears, her voice trembling just so. “Zoe, darling, is there some kind of misunderstanding? Damian didn’t mean to hurt you, please don’t be angry with him.” What a perfect little actress. I ignored her completely, my eyes fixed on Damian. “Want it?” His face was a mask of fury. He bit out two words through clenched teeth: “Name your price.” “Straight to business. I like that,” I smiled. “I want five percent of the Azure Vista project. Non-dilutable shares.” His pupils constricted. Jenny gasped. “Zoe, you can’t! That’s extortion! You know how much that project means to Damian!” “Shut up,” Damian snarled, his gaze never leaving mine. “You’re dreaming.” “Am I?” I casually tossed the USB drive into the champagne tower next to us. Golden liquid splashed as the tiny device sank slowly to the bottom. “It’s a one-time offer, Damian.” I turned and walked away. The sharp click-clack of my heels on the marble floor sounded like a war drum. “Stop!” Damian’s voice roared behind me. I didn’t break my stride. As I stepped out of the hotel’s grand entrance, Stella’s car pulled up to the curb. I slipped into the passenger seat. “Done?” she asked, handing me a bottle of water. “He’ll bite,” I said, twisting the cap. A man like Damian Blackwood prized two things above all else: his reputation and his sense of control. There was nothing on that USB drive. But his paranoia? That was my most powerful weapon. Sure enough, less than thirty minutes later, my phone rang. It was Damian’s lawyer. “Miss Zoe, regarding your proposal… Mr. Blackwood has agreed in principle.” The contracts were signed without a hitch. Damian probably thought the 5% stake was just on loan to me. Once he got his hands on the non-existent drive and confirmed there was no threat, he’d find a way to take it back. But now, I had access to all of Azure Vista’s internal documents. Back at our apartment, Stella and I spread the thick binders and blueprints across the floor. “Damian’s ambition is off the charts,” Stella said, tapping the master plan. “He wants to turn this land into an ultra-exclusive private resort. Membership fees starting in the eight figures.” “Which means the entire project hinges on two things: privacy and exclusivity,” I pointed out. “And both of those things depend on one man.” We looked at each other and said the name in unison. “Alistair Finch.” Alistair Finch was the country’s foremost architectural visionary, a master of spatial aesthetics, and a notorious recluse. His designs were masterpieces, and getting him to take on a project was next to impossible. Damian had moved heaven and earth just to get a meeting. And Jenny Dallas, in her new role as a devoted “student” and “admirer,” was spending every single day at Finch’s studio. According to the original script of this story, Jenny was supposed to win Finch over with her “innocence” and “raw talent.” He would then agree to personally design Azure Vista, cementing Damian’s legacy. “Her talent?” Stella scoffed. “You mean her talent for plagiarism?” We both knew. Jenny’s graduating thesis—the award-winning watercolor painting First Light that had made her a star—was a complete and total rip-off of a piece by an obscure foreign artist. The original artist had vanished from the public eye years ago, and the work had never been widely published, giving Jenny the perfect cover. “We can’t just drop the plagiarism bomb on her,” I said. “That would be letting her off too easy,” Stella finished my thought. “She needs to be at the absolute height of her glory when she comes crashing down.” 3 My phone rang. It was Damian’s assistant. “Miss Zoe, Mr. Blackwood requests your presence at the Azure Vista site for a preliminary survey.” I raised an eyebrow. So, he wanted to put me in my place in front of Alistair Finch while propping up his new muse. “Of course,” I said sweetly. After I hung up, Stella asked, “You’re not going alone, are you?” “Of course not.” I grinned at her. “You’re coming with me. We’ve got front-row seats to the show.” The project site was out in the countryside, a stunning expanse of rolling hills and pristine forest. When we arrived, Damian and Jenny were already there, deep in conversation with an imposing, silver-haired man dressed in a minimalist linen suit. That had to be Alistair Finch. The moment Damian saw us, his face darkened. Jenny, on cue, adopted an expression of surprise mixed with gentle distress. “Zoe? Stella? What are you doing here?” “As a shareholder, I thought I should see the investment for myself. Isn’t that right?” I smiled. Damian just grunted and turned his back on me. Alistair Finch’s gaze drifted over us, cool and detached. The survey began. Damian’s project manager led the way, while Jenny stuck close to Finch’s side, whispering her “insights” on the landscape in a voice as soft and sweet as honey. “Mr. Finch, I envision a stream diverted through here, with a winding bridge. We could plant weeping willows along the bank to create a sense of… contemplative discovery.” Finch remained noncommittal. Damian, however, was beaming. “A brilliant idea, Jenny. Truly inspired.” The group made its way to the edge of a steep cliff overlooking a deep, rocky ravine. Jenny’s eyes flickered towards a small, unremarkable wildflower growing near the edge. Then, with a tiny, theatrical gasp, she stumbled, her body pitching directly towards the drop. Damian moved like lightning, catching her and pulling her into a protective embrace. “Careful! Are you alright?” His voice was thick with concern and adoration. Nestled against his chest, Jenny’s face was pale, her voice trembling as if in shock. “I… I saw the most unique flower over there. I just wanted a closer look, I didn’t realize the ground was so slippery…” Right. The classic damsel-in-distress routine from the book. Too bad for you, sweetheart. I’m playing the villain now, and I’m not buying it. Stella whispered in my ear, “The Academy owes her an Oscar.” After soothing Jenny, Damian turned to me, his expression instantly turning venomous. “Did you push her?” The air went still. Every single person turned to stare at me. The project team looked terrified. Even Alistair Finch was frowning, his sharp eyes fixed on me. In Damian’s arms, Jenny trembled, burying her face deeper into his suit. Her muffled voice was a masterpiece of reluctant accusation. “Damian, no, it wasn’t Zoe’s fault, please don’t blame her… I just lost my footing.” Her defense did more to condemn me than any accusation could have. Damian’s rage was palpable. “Zoe. I warned you. Don’t you ever touch her.” I stood my ground, silent and still. Stella stepped in front of me, a protective shield. “Watch what you say, Blackwood. There are a dozen witnesses here. Nobody saw anyone push anybody.” “Besides her,” Damian sneered, “who else here can’t stand the sight of Jenny?” “I can’t stand the sight of you,” Stella shot back without missing a beat. “You—!” “Enough.” It was Alistair Finch. His voice was quiet but carried an undeniable authority. He glanced at the edge of the cliff, then back at the spot where Jenny had pointed. There was no “unique flower.” There was nothing. A flicker of scrutiny crossed his face. “We are professionals,” he said coolly. “Let’s keep our focus on the project, shall we?” The master had spoken. Damian couldn’t press the issue further. He shot me one last poisonous glare before leading the still-trembling Jenny away. The farce was over. For now. 4 Stella was quiet on the drive back, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Is Damian blind? How could he fall for such a pathetic, clumsy act?” “He’s not blind. He just doesn’t want to see,” I said. “It doesn’t matter if Jenny was acting. He needed an excuse to put me down, and she handed him one on a silver platter.” That was the power of being the main character. “So what do we do?” Stella asked. “We can’t let her get away with framing you every time.” “Let her act,” I said, watching the scenery blur past the window. “The more dramatic her performance, the more it’s going to hurt when she finally takes a real fall.” Back at the apartment, I opened my laptop and logged into an international art forum. I typed in the name of the artist Jenny had plagiarized: Anya Sharma. There was painfully little information about her. All I could find was that she was an Indian painter who held a single solo exhibition a decade ago, and then disappeared. I clicked on the exhibition details. A small, black-and-white photo showed Anya Sharma standing in front of one of her paintings. The composition, the atmosphere… it was unmistakably the framework for Jenny’s First Light. At least an eighty percent match. I saved the photo. It wasn’t enough. I needed something more. Something undeniable. Something that would not only expose Jenny but would also ignite the fury of a purist like Alistair Finch. Just as I was plotting, my phone rang. An unknown number. I answered. It was the cold, impersonal voice of Damian’s assistant. “Miss Zoe. Congratulations. You are now the guarantor for a new venture.” A knot of ice formed in my stomach. Here it comes. The assistant continued, “A commercial loan in the amount of fifty million dollars. You have been signed on as the sole guarantor under an unlimited liability agreement. Should the project default, you will be responsible for the entire debt.” “When did I ever sign that?” “Mr. Blackwood signed it for you. In your name,” he said, as if discussing the weather. “Oh, and I forgot to mention. The project is scheduled to default today.” The line went dead. Stella had heard everything. Her face was pale. “He’s trying to ruin you. Bury you under a debt you can never repay!” The book’s cruelty was more vicious than I’d remembered. My phone rang again. This time, it was Damian. “Zoe. I’m curious to see just how unbreakable you really are.” His voice was laced with sadistic pleasure. “This was you,” I stated, my voice even. “Of course,” he admitted without hesitation. “Now, come to the West Side scrapyard. Get on your knees and beg me. If you’re convincing enough, maybe I’ll be merciful and make this little problem of yours disappear.” The call was on speaker. Stella’s fists were clenched so tight her knuckles were white. I gazed out the window at the oppressive night sky. “Damian,” I said, my voice dangerously calm, “you really think you’ve won, don’t you?” He chuckled, a low, arrogant sound full of absolute certainty. “Don’t I?” I smiled. “Fine. I’m on my way.” I hung up and looked at Stella. “Call the police.” 5 She stared at me, horrified. “Are you serious? You’re walking right into his trap!” “He doesn’t want me dead. He wants to see me grovel,” I said, grabbing my purse and checking the tiny recording pen inside. “The more arrogant he is, the more careless he’ll be.” I drove to the scrapyard. Damian was leaning against a black Bentley, flanked by several imposing bodyguards who looked like they were carved from granite. He saw me, and a cruel smile twisted his lips. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.” “How could I refuse an invitation from the man of the hour?” I walked towards him, my steps measured. “So, you’ve come to your senses?” His eyes raked over me, dripping with contempt. “Kneel.” I didn’t move. I just held his gaze. “All of this, just to make me kneel. Forging my signature, setting me up for a fifty-million-dollar debt… it’s quite the production, Damian.” “This is just the beginning,” he said, savoring what he thought was my fear. “That agreement you faked? Once it comes to light, Blackwood Enterprises will be at the center of a massive financial fraud scandal. What do you think your board of directors will have to say about that?” I clicked the stop button on the recorder in my pocket. “Are you insane?” For the first time, his composure cracked. “Takes one to know one.” I took out my phone. Right there, in front of him, I emailed the audio file to his lead counsel, CC’ing the private email address of the chairman of his company’s board. “You’re bluffing,” he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. “You forced my hand.” I turned to leave. “Now, I believe you’re the one with the headache.” Checkmate, you arrogant bastard. I was completely drained when I got back to the apartment, collapsing onto the sofa. Stella handed me a glass of water. “We won this round.” “It’s only temporary,” I said, taking a sip. “Damian’s retaliation will be swift.” The next day, the entire city was buzzing with the story. They said I was a desperate ex, so obsessed with getting Damian back that I’d staged my own fake kidnapping to frame him, even getting the police involved. The smear campaign was swift and brutal. Overnight, I became the psycho ex-girlfriend, the manipulative villain in everyone’s story. Stella didn’t fare much better. Jean Vance sent his butler to her apartment to reclaim every piece of jewelry he’d ever given her. Like an auditor taking inventory, the man checked each item off a list. “Mr. Vance asked me to inform you,” the butler said, his voice cold, “that you are no longer worthy of owning these items.” Stella dropped the last earring into the velvet-lined box. “Tell Jean,” she said, looking the butler dead in the eye, “that his taste, it seems, is only fit for trash like Jenny.” We were completely ostracized. The people who used to flock around us now avoided us like the plague. Damian and Jean wanted to make one thing clear: without them, we were nothing. Stella and I were holed up in our little apartment, eating instant noodles. The financial news was on TV. A triumphant Damian Blackwood was officially announcing the launch of the Azure Vista project. He proudly introduced the soul of the project: special guest designer, Jenny Dallas. On screen, Jenny was the picture of grace in a simple, elegant silk dress. She stood by Damian’s side, speaking eloquently about her vision for the project, her voice full of artistic passion. “She’s such a fraud,” Stella muttered, slamming her noodle cup down. I pushed some of my noodles into her cup. “Eat. Don’t waste your anger on people like her.” She snorted, slurping up a mouthful of noodles, and nudged my leg with her foot. We met each other’s gaze, and in her eyes, I saw the same stubborn fire that was in mine. My eyes were glued to the TV, specifically to the painting hanging behind Jenny—her masterpiece, First Light. An idea began to form. “Stella. I need to get to Kyoto.” “Kyoto?” she asked, confused. “I’m going to find Anya Sharma,” I said. “I need to get my hands on the original painting. Or, even better, I need to get Anya Sharma herself to stand right in front of Alistair Finch.”

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I grew up bouncing between continents. My mother, Vivian, terrified I’d bring home a bohemian artist or, God forbid, someone who didn’t understand the rules of the Metropolitan Elite, settled the matter herself. She’d found me a fiancé—a man of status and impeccable pedigree—and demanded I return to Manhattan’s high society for the engagement. I was at a flagship boutique on Fifth Avenue, looking for an engagement dress. I spotted a stunning ivory silk bustier gown. Just as I reached for it, preparing to try it on, a woman nearby glanced at the dress in my hand. “That style is actually rather chic,” she announced to the attendant. “Bring it over. I want to try it.” The attendant, without a word, snatched the gown rudely out of my grasp. “Excuse me?” I said, bristling. “There’s a clear first-come, first-served rule here. I had it first. Do you people have any sense of decency?” She looked me up and down with utter contempt. “That dress is worth twenty-five thousand dollars. Could a pauper like you even afford the sales tax?” She tossed her perfectly coiled hair. “I’m Savannah Reed, the Devlin Group CEO Brooks Devlin’s Ward. In this city, the only ‘decency’ that matters is what the Devlin family decides it is.” Well, wasn’t that convenient? Brooks Devlin was the man I was supposed to marry. I immediately pulled out my phone and called him. “Your Ward just stole my engagement dress. How exactly do you intend to handle this?” 1 The word “Ward,” when she said it, always sounded less like a relative and more like an indiscretion wrapped in an expensive label. If Brooks couldn’t offer a solid, respectable explanation for this whole mess, our engagement was clearly off. But to my surprise, Brooks’s voice on the other end was frigid. “Who is this? And since when do you, an outsider, get to weigh in on my relationship with Savannah?” I was about to snap that I was his fiancée when he simply hung up. My jaw dropped. The nerve. Not only did he allow his “Ward” to harass me, but he hadn’t even bothered to save my number. Savannah, watching the whole exchange, dissolved into delighted laughter. “Bitch! Did you really think getting ahold of Brooks’s number meant you could hitch your wagon to the Devlin star? Dream on.” Her eyes raked over my simple, comfortable outfit. “Even the janitors at the Devlin Group wear pricier things than that.” I’d always prioritized comfort and simplicity over designer labels. It had never occurred to me that one day, my outfit would be used as a weapon against me. “It’s the 21st century, and you’re still pulling the ‘judge-a-book-by-its-cover’ routine,” I shot back. “Brooks must be blind to keep a judgmental waste of space like you around.” The argument had thoroughly killed my interest in the dress. I took it from the sales rack, intending to buy it immediately. The counter clerk looked hesitant. “Ma’am, our store gives priority to our Black Diamond Tier members.” Savannah’s smile widened smugly. She pulled a gleaming, invitation-only card from her clutch and slammed it onto the glass counter. “A million-dollar deposit to even apply for this tier. What are you waiting for, you poor trash?” I am generally not a confrontational person. But Savannah Reed had succeeded in unleashing my fury. I retrieved my sleek, unmarked Centurion Card and handed it to the clerk, keeping my voice level despite the adrenaline rush. “Enroll me. Max membership. And then package this dress for me.” Savannah leaned in, her voice a low threat to the clerk. “Manhattan belongs to the Devlins. If you sell that dress to her, my Brooks will buy this entire boutique tomorrow and have you all fired.” The clerk recoiled slightly. “I’m just an employee, ma’am. I truly cannot afford to cross the Devlin Group.” The crowd that had gathered began whispering. “I’ve seen Miss Reed a few times. Mr. Devlin is completely obsessed with her.” “Someone crossed her last year and was ruined. Bankrupted.” “Even if she has some money, it’s nothing compared to the Devlin empire. Just apologize, sweetie. Beg her to let you go.” Savannah was preening, her head tilted back, soaking up the validation. “Bitch, get down on your knees. Shout ‘I am a pathetic phony and I was wrong’ three times. Maybe then I’ll consider granting you mercy.” Twenty-six years on this earth, and this was the first time someone had dared to be this arrogantly insolent in front of me. “Say that again,” I prompted, a slow smile touching my lips. “What am I supposed to shout?” “Are you deaf? ‘I am a pathetic phony and I was wrong!’ Can’t you hear those words?” I allowed the smile to turn into a full, cold smirk. “I heard you perfectly. Since you already know you’re a pathetic phony, why don’t you just get lost and stop cluttering up my sightline?” The realization hit Savannah instantly. She had been played. She shrieked, windmilling her arms as she rushed toward me. It was laughable. She was a stage-four amateur. I’m a black belt. I delivered a clean, hard side-kick. Savannah crumpled to the marble floor, shrieking. A collective gasp went up from the onlookers. “Oh my God! How could she do that to Miss Reed?” “If Mr. Devlin hears about this, he’ll have her shredded.” “The Lord himself couldn’t save her now.” Their panic didn’t move me. The Devlin family’s entire standing in this city was, as I knew, indirectly dependent on my mother. There was no one here I needed to fear. I slapped my card back on the counter. “Checkout. Now.” The clerk was trembling, but she processed the payment, bagged the gown, and handed it to me. I picked up the dress and turned to leave. But Savannah, scrambling back up, blocked my way again. “You can’t just walk away!” I raised my hand and wiggled my fingers in front of her face. “Want to test my hands again?” She flinched back instantly. I scoffed and stepped toward the exit. Just then, a sleek, black Bentley pulled up outside. The first thing that hit the Fifth Avenue sidewalk was a custom, thin-soled leather loafer—Bottega, probably. That’s when the relief hit, a physical gasp in my chest. I followed the line of the leg up, feeling a sudden rush of anticipation. He was easily six-foot-three, broad-shouldered, and lean. And the face. Chiseled, perfect angles. A 360-degree knockout. Savannah immediately dissolved into theatrics, running over to cling to his arm. “Brooksie! She took the dress I wanted and she kicked me!” So, this was my fiancé. I am, admittedly, a sucker for a beautiful face. Brooks Devlin’s looks were exactly the kind of jawline-and-smoldering-eyes that made my pulse jump. For this face, I could almost forgive his earlier rudeness. I offered what I thought was my most charming smile. “Hello. I’m Audrey Bellwether. Your fiancée.” No wonder Mom was so confident I’d approve. She really did know me too well. The onlookers gasped again. “What?! She’s the Devlin CEO’s fiancée?” “A fiancée beats a Ward, right? No wonder she’s so confident.” “Maybe. It depends on who he favors more.” Brooks’s gaze landed on me, and his voice was cold, dismissive. “Don’t flatter yourself. That contract was forced by my father. I never agreed to it.” Savannah draped herself intimately over his shoulder, her eyes burning with pure triumph. “Look at you. You’re such an ugly duckling. Brooks would never marry you.” Someone in the crowd chimed in. “Exactly! Mr. Devlin is going to marry an actual society princess. Not this peasant.” “She’s so low-class, she probably couldn’t even get a job sweeping floors at the Devlin offices.” I knew I wasn’t a goddess, but I was definitely not ugly. Why, in their mouths, did I sound like something scraped off the bottom of a shoe? The human tendency to latch onto power and crush the weak was truly vile. “Brooks Devlin,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “Go tell your father that I am breaking off this engagement. You’re not good enough for me.” I knew my mother had made his father jump through hoops to secure this alliance. If his son had ruined it, there would be hell to pay. The thought cheered me slightly. I was done with these idiots. I turned to walk away. But Savannah, emboldened by the presence of her man, blocked my exit again. “You’re not going anywhere, bitch! You stole my dress and hit me. We’re not done settling the score.” I looked at her with disdain. “How do you propose to settle it?” Thinking I was intimidated, she raised her hand to slap me. “By hitting you until I’m satisfied.” I intercepted her wrist with one hand and delivered a sharp, clean slap across her cheek with the other. She stared at me, disbelief twisting her features. “You—you hit a—” I reversed the movement and hit her again, harder. I asked, my voice low and dangerous, “Are you satisfied now?” The two slaps thoroughly extinguished her bravado. She whimpered and scrambled to hide behind Brooks. “Brooksie! You have to protect me!” Brooks pulled her protectively into his arms, then glared at me. “You dare lay a hand on my person? You must have a death wish.” He signaled his bodyguards behind him to grab me. I managed to take out the first one, but I was quickly overwhelmed. They were professionals. After a few solid blows, I was on the ground. Two of them hauled me up, dragging me back in front of Brooks and Savannah. Brooks gave Savannah a sympathetic look. “Go on, Sav. Settle it. Do whatever you want. I’ll take care of the fallout.” That was all the assurance she needed. She swung her arm, slapping me twice, then spat a stream of saliva right onto my face. “Bitch! You were so tough a minute ago! Where’s that attitude now?” Then, she kicked me hard in the lower abdomen. Clutching my stomach, the pain blinding me, I looked up at both of them. “You will both regret this. I swear, I will never let you get away with this!” Savannah laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “The Devlin family is one of the three pillars of power in this city! What are you, a street urchin, going to do against us?” “Today, I’m going to make sure you remember what it costs to cross me!” She pulled a silver nail file—no, a set of clippers—from her purse and dragged the sharp edge across my cheek. A searing heat erupted, and my skin swelled, blood quickly beading along the line. “I told her not to cross the Devlins,” a woman whispered mournfully. “What a shame. Such a lovely face. Now it’s ruined.” “We common people just have to know when to keep our heads down.” Savannah raised the clippers for another swipe. The sheer terror of being permanently scarred seized me. I immediately started pleading. “I’m sorry. The dress is yours. I shouldn’t have fought you for it.” Not a gentleman’s revenge; a quiet one. But Savannah carved another line across my face. “Too late for apologies, bitch! I’m not done until I’ve satisfied my rage!” I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat. I looked at Brooks. “Brooks Devlin, don’t you care who I am? Allowing her to do this to me—you will regret it!” He looked disgusted. “Your identity? You mean your tramp of a mother, who sweet-talked my old man until he lost his mind and forced this engagement? That identity?” Savannah’s eyes glinted with malice. “A gold-digger’s daughter. You must be a little gold-digger yourself. I think we need to strip you down and wash the stench off you!” “No!” Just then, my cell phone rang inside my purse. I struggled frantically, but Savannah snatched it before I could reach it. She swiped the answer button. My mother’s voice, calm and warm, filled the air. “Audrey, how did the dress shopping go?” I screamed into the phone. “Mom! Please, help me! I’m being beaten, and they’re going to strip me!” Vivian’s voice snapped with immediate panic. “What! Who is doing this?” Savannah’s voice, arrogant and loud, cut across the line. “It’s me, your worst nightmare! Your little gold-digger is out here soliciting attention, so I’m giving her a lesson in manners!” My mother’s voice was deadly quiet. “I don’t care who you are. Release my daughter immediately, or when I get there, you’ll be the one learning a lesson.” “Oh, do come over! I’ll be right here waiting for you, witch. I’ll peel the skin right off you both!” Smash. Savannah slammed the phone down, shattering it. She backhanded me again. “You two are cut from the same trashy cloth! When your mother gets here, I’ll strip her too!” Time crawled by. It felt like half a century, though barely five minutes had passed. Finally, a familiar, armored Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled into the loading zone outside the boutique. My mother, Vivian, pushed the car door open and stepped out. “I’d like to see who is planning to peel my skin.” The moment I saw her, the shame and pain of the last hour collapsed into pure relief. “Mom!” I choked out. Vivian rushed toward me, pulling me into her embrace. Finally, nestled in her familiar, expensive scent, I felt safe. The onlookers gasped again, their whispers changing direction. “Look at that car! That’s a custom-armored Phantom. Global limited edition.” “Only old-money or serious power owns a car like that. Miss Reed might have just kicked a steel plate.” “A steel plate? No one is harder than the Devlins!” Savannah was of the same mind. She marched right up to my mother, oblivious to the danger. “So, you’re the old witch. Your daughter tried to steal the dress I wanted and she attacked me. Tell me, how exactly are you going to pay for this?” Vivian simply raised an eyebrow. “Tell me. How do you want to be paid?” Savannah, mistaking my mother’s stillness for fear, crowed her demands. “The dress has been touched, so you owe me ten times the price for compensation. For the two bruises I got, she needs to kneel before me, kiss my shoes, and give herself twenty open-hand slaps. Most importantly, the engagement to Brooks is canceled.” She made a grand, condescending gesture. “If you agree to all of this, I’ll be merciful and let you leave the store. Otherwise, neither of you is walking out of here.” My mother, hearing the sheer gall of the demands, actually started to laugh. She patted my shoulder reassuringly, then walked slowly toward Savannah. “The engagement between Audrey and Brooks will certainly be called off, because Brooks Devlin is utterly unworthy of being my son-in-law. As for the rest of your demands…” Vivian raised her hand and delivered a savage, precise slap across Savannah’s face. “You can forget about them. The only people not walking out of here today will be you.” Savannah was stunned for a second, then tried to retaliate. One of my mother’s bodyguards moved with lightning speed, kicking Savannah’s legs out from under her, forcing her to her knees. Her arms were pinned behind her like steel restraints. “Brooksie, it hurts! Help me!” Savannah cried out, looking up at him. Brooks signaled his own bodyguards, but they were quickly dispatched by Vivian’s team. Within moments, Brooks Devlin was also forced to his knees, pinned directly in front of me. My mother slapped Brooks with equal force. “Since you were a child, I haven’t allowed a single finger to be laid on my daughter. You allowed her to be subjected to this humiliation. You will pay for it tenfold, a hundredfold!” Brooks shouted defiantly. “I’m the CEO of the Devlin Group! You crazy old woman—do you have any idea the consequences of hitting me?” “You dare to hurt my daughter? I wouldn’t hesitate to slap your father just as hard if he were here!” The crowd gasped again.

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The rule held firm for three years—the length of our marriage and the length of our divorce: Rhys, the acclaimed painter, would not paint me. Not once. Now we were back together. I no longer raised a fuss about entering Rhys’s studio, nor did I care what time he stumbled in at night. When Dahlia—The Muse—showed up at our loft for a modeling session, I even helped Rhys craft a plausible excuse. “I get it,” I said, shrugging. “It’s art.” Rhys froze. He gripped my wrist, his eyes searching my face with an intensity that used to make my stomach clench. 1 Rhys’s expression hardened, and he offered a flat, impatient explanation: “I just had her over to model.” “She’s my inspiration. I can only find my vision with her. Her clothes got wet, so I gave her a clean shirt.” As he spoke, he positioned himself, subtly shielding Dahlia, his eyes brimming with a familiar mix of annoyance and defensiveness. “What we have is a purely artistic relationship, Anya. It’s not the filth you’re imagining.” I glanced past him at Dahlia. She was wearing one of his expensive dress shirts, the hem barely covering her upper thighs, exposing two slender, pale legs. Seeing my silence, Dahlia’s eyes welled up with performative tears. “Anya, please don’t fight with Rhys because of me.” “Maybe… maybe I just shouldn’t come back.” I cut her off, my voice even and calm. “I understand, Dahlia. It’s art, after all. I’m not angry.” Rhys’s face went completely blank. He stared at me for a long, bewildered moment, trying to burn a hole through my calm exterior. “Then why are you dragging a suitcase?” he demanded, his brows furrowed. “The old you—when we fought, you’d always storm out, threatening to leave. How long are you planning to disappear this time?” Ah. I blinked up at him. Rhys’s eyes were already faintly red, and his voice actually held a hint of a tremor. I suppose it made sense. He’d been holed up in his studio with Dahlia for days, completely losing track of time. Fearing I’d interrupt his creation, I hadn’t bothered to tell him I was leaving the city for a week-long business trip. He hadn’t even noticed I’d been gone. I wheeled the luggage into the room, explaining flatly, “I’m dragging a suitcase because I just got back from a work trip.” The tension finally eased from his tightly-knit brow. I caught sight of my guest bedroom. It was cluttered with Dahlia’s things. “She needed to stay here temporarily for convenience,” Rhys mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. I simply nodded, pulling my bag toward the master bedroom. “Oh, and I’m pulling an all-nighter at the office tonight. I won’t be back.” I was creating a perfectly serene environment for their art. I turned to leave, but Rhys suddenly grabbed my hand. “You’ve always wanted me to paint you, right? When the gallery show wraps, I’ll paint you.” “Consider it a birthday gift.” His tone was assured, imbued with the casual condescension of a king bestowing a favor. Rhys was certain I would melt. After all, for the three years we were married, I had begged him to paint me. Each time, he’d dismissed it with the same, cold refusal: “I only paint landscapes. I don’t do portraits.” It wasn’t until I accidentally walked into his studio that I saw the meticulously framed paintings, all featuring the same subject: Dahlia—his unattainable ideal, his Golden Girl. I was young then, desperate, and foolish enough to issue an ultimatum: Choose between me or her paintings. I lost. Instantly. Rhys didn’t hesitate; he chose the latter. His rejection was so quiet, so cold—so cruel. He made it clear I was an insignificant stranger. That relationship ended with my hysterical, tearful divorce petition. I cried myself sick for six months, convinced I would never recover. But hearing the story now, there was nothing but a dull indifference. Time truly is a remarkable thing. “You should go back to your work. Dahlia is waiting.” I gently withdrew my hand from his grip, my voice as unremarkable as if commenting on the weather. Rhys finally let me go. 2 I worked a grueling rotation for a full week to complete the project. Late that night, a text from Rhys arrived. I have more important things tonight. I’ll make up your birthday later. Be good. I wasn’t surprised. Last year, one phone call from Dahlia, and he’d ditched me to fly overseas and watch the sunrise with her. The year before, he was at an international exhibition, with Dahlia, his model, by his side. What was I doing on those birthdays? I cooked a full-course meal and waited—from the time the sun rose until it set, and then again until it rose. I didn’t realize that my partner of many years was, in fact, painting portraits until I saw the headline featuring the beautiful, perfectly-matched pair—Rhys and Dahlia. His paintbrush, it turned out, only moved for Dahlia. She was his only Muse. In those days, blinded by jealousy and a crushing sense of inadequacy, I called him countless times, teetering on the edge of hysteria. He finally answered. On my end, it was a desperate, screaming interrogation. On his, it was tired, dismissive platitudes. “Anya, you’re not a child. Can you stop being so dramatic?” But I couldn’t stop. I was reckless enough to demand a definitive answer. “Rhys, tell me. Who matters more—me or Dahlia?” The silence lasted forever, so long that I thought he wouldn’t answer. Then came his featherlight reply: “Don’t be ridiculous.” “Fine. I’ll burn those paintings.” He lost his composure. His voice, for the first time, was sharp with anger and panic. “Anya, you wouldn’t dare!” “Try me.” I hung up, shaking. But when I burst into the studio with a sledgehammer, I stopped dead in front of the canvases. His paintbrush truly did possess warmth. Dahlia, captured by his hand, was beautiful. Even sitting still, she was vibrant, youthful, and playfully alive. Every stroke was infused with love… That night, I sat alone in the studio, wide awake. And I cried for an entire night. I cried until my tears ran dry, and the reservoir of love in my heart was bone-dry, too. 3 When we reconciled this time, Rhys had been clear: he wasn’t a man to be held back by petty, small emotions. He was an artist who needed to create and had no time to coddle my feelings. I smiled and told him I understood. After all, I was busy now, too. I had a major meeting tomorrow. I needed rest. On the way home, I bought myself a tiny strawberry shortcake from a local bakery. I went to the apartment I’d kept since before we married. As the cake melted in my mouth, I remembered the one birthday Rhys did spend with me. It was ridiculous, but that one birthday landed me in the ER. He came home very late, carrying a cake box. I was as delighted as a child and didn’t look closely at the packaging. I didn’t even mind that a slice had already been cut. But one bite revealed the flavor: pineapple. I’m severely allergic to pineapple. Fearing I would spoil the moment, I forced myself to swallow it. Later that night, I woke up covered in hives, struggling to breathe. As I lay in the hospital, hooked up to an IV, Rhys apologized from the chair beside the bed: “I’m sorry, I mixed it up.” I didn’t press for details then, only accepted the apology. I learned later. That cake he brought home was the slice Dahlia had left over. He hadn’t even remembered my birthday; he was just too lazy to deny it, seeing my excitement. Pineapple cake had always been Dahlia’s favorite. I lit the single candle, blew it out, and silently made a wish. In the past, my wishes were always about him: I wished he would spend more time with me. I wished he would paint me a portrait. I wished he would love me a little. This time, my wish was just for myself. I wished I would focus on my career, live well, and never mourn a worthless person again. Wish made, I took a hot shower and went to sleep. 4 I was woken up in the middle of the night by an insistent ringing. It was Toby, Rhys’s friend—the same one who once called me Rhys’s doormat. “Anya, Rhys got into a fight, and his right hand was cut with a knife. Get to the hospital!” His voice was frantic. After a pause, he hesitated, then added sheepishly, “It was for Dahlia, but don’t freak out, okay, sis?” I replied, “Got it.” The voice on the other end went still. “Anya, you—” I hung up before he could finish. I felt nothing but the sheer annoyance of having my sleep interrupted. I slowly, deliberately changed my clothes before finally leaving the apartment. I used to cherish those hands more than he did. I wouldn’t let him cook, terrified he’d injure himself. I hand-knitted gloves for him every winter to protect him from the cold. If he got a papercut, I’d panic for half an hour. I went to the hospital. Not out of concern. Just because, with the title of “reconciled couple” still hanging over us, not showing up would be harder to explain. As I reached the room, I heard Rhys’s friends talking. “Remember? Three years ago, when Dahlia announced her new boyfriend overseas, Rhys went absolutely insane. He was speeding, then crashed his car. Ended up in a wreck.” “But that’s Dahlia we’re talking about. Rhys is usually so cold, so rational, but for her, he’s broken every rule. The only fool who thought he actually cared about her was Anya.” “Tell me about it. When he crashed, Anya dove across the car to protect his drawing hand. She got several stitches on her forehead. When he woke up, he just proposed to her to piss Dahlia off.” They were right. I’d chased Rhys for years. Since college. He was the popular, handsome, and talented senior. I joined the art club for him, brought him coffee every morning, and organized his supplies. I even threw myself in front of him during the crash, protecting his livelihood. I thought, when he finally said, “Let’s try,” he had seen my good heart. I never imagined it was just a spiteful reaction to Dahlia’s official announcement. “Anya… Anya’s here.” Someone saw me. The group flinched, their faces sheepish. “We were just kidding, Anya. All that stuff is in the past.” I walked past them without a word, nodding as I entered the room. Rhys, lying in the bed, immediately scanned my empty hands. As if to remind me, he exposed his bandaged right hand. “Anya, I’m hurt.” Seeing no reaction, he explained, defensively, “Dahlia and I grew up together. I couldn’t just stand by while she was harassed. Anya, stop being so petty. Don’t obsess over small things.” I looked up at him, my expression perfectly serene. “I’m not being petty. If you’re injured, call a doctor and change the dressing on time. It’s your hand. I have no authority over it.” He froze, blinking, confusion flickering in his eyes. Then annoyance. He seemed unable to comprehend why I wasn’t falling apart, weeping with fear, as I used to. 5 As we stood in awkward silence, the door swung open. Dahlia rushed in, eyes red, and flew into Rhys’s arms, ignoring me completely. She was sobbing. “Rhys, it’s all my fault. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be hurt.” Rhys’s face softened. He gently patted her back, soothing her. “It’s not your fault, I wanted to help you.” “I brought you bone broth. Try it.” They leaned into each other, intimate, like a real couple. I was the superfluous outsider, standing awkwardly in the corner. While comforting Dahlia, Rhys kept glancing at me, checking my reaction. He was waiting for the familiar storm—the jealousy, the temper tantrum, the tears. Instead, I took out my phone and checked the time. Tomorrow’s meeting starts at eight. It’s a forty-minute drive from the hospital to the office. Accounting for time for a shower and breakfast, I needed to wake up by six-thirty. It was best to leave now and rest. In my peripheral vision, Rhys took the thermos. He took a sip and frowned instantly. “Rhys, I’ll stay the night to take care of you,” Dahlia offered gently. Perfect. I was about to suggest I leave. Rhys, however, pulled his arm away from Dahlia, his face suddenly stern. “Go home, Dahlia. You’ve had a long day. Anya can take care of me.” Dahlia looked stunned but nodded. After she left, silence descended. Rhys watched me for a long time, then spoke: “Anya, I want your soup.” He was particular about his food. The rich, complicated broths he liked took me a dozen hours to simmer over a carefully controlled flame. Even a slight deviation in the seasoning would be instantly rejected. The year I graduated college, I had a job opportunity in Hong Kong—excellent pay, a great position. But he said, “I don’t want a long-distance relationship. Anya, don’t leave me.” I gave it up without a second thought, staying behind to cater to his every need. I left a light on for him every night for three years. I cooked meals, reheated them, and reheated them again. Even though he rarely came home, I persisted. On the rare occasion he returned, he’d barely look at the food. Then he’d frown and ask, “Are you this bored all the time? Is all you do wait for me and cook?” Now, I stepped back, avoiding his outstretched hand. “I don’t have time to cook.” “I have an important meeting tomorrow. I have work to focus on.” Rhys’s expression instantly darkened. This was the prelude to his familiar, cold rage. I ignored his reaction, turned, and walked out the door.

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I ran into my parents for the first time in ten years while taking my daughter for a low-tide stroll on the beach. Lila was sprinting toward a statue for a photo with her favorite limited-edition plushie, when she ran straight into my mother. Lila looked up to apologize, and the moment my mother saw her face, she froze. A stunned silence hung in the humid air. “Rob, look at her,” my mother murmured, her voice thin. “She’s Seraphina. Exactly like our Sera at that age.” I pulled my sunhat lower, hurried forward with a quick, generic apology, grabbed Lila’s hand, and spun to walk away. But my father’s voice, unchanged, harsh, pinned me in place. “Seraphina Prescott! Ten years! Why haven’t you come home?” He stepped closer, his face a mask of practiced hurt. “Do you have any idea how much money we spent trying to find you? We looked all over the world.” He took one look at my weathered linen shirt and the simple life stretching behind me on the sand. “You’re still so willful, so much less grounded than Briana!” I turned back, my voice flat, calm, and definitive. “Sir, Ma’am, you have the wrong person. My home is right here.” The home they were talking about, I had left behind a decade ago. 1 “Seraphina! What is this attitude? You don’t recognize your own parents?” Seeing my silence, my father’s face flushed a deep red. “It seems the lesson we gave you wasn’t enough!” Before I could speak, five-year-old Lila stepped forward, throwing her arms out wide to shield me. “Mommy is a good person! You are mean people, and you can’t bully my mommy!” My father’s hand shot out, his finger trembling as he pointed at me. “Is this your daughter? Fine! No wonder you didn’t come home. You ran off with some lowlife!” He raised his hand. “I’ll beat the willfulness out of you, you ungrateful girl!” The sharp crack of his palm against my cheek echoed the sound that had once shattered my childhood. When Lila realized I’d been hit, she wailed and threw herself at my father’s legs, punching and kicking him with tiny, desperate fists. “Mean man! Don’t hit my mommy! My Daddy will fight you!” Ignoring the stinging heat on my face, I yanked Lila back. “Lila, we’re going home. Now!” My mother rushed up, grabbing my arm. “Sera, stop being dramatic! Your father is just upset because he’s missed you!” “He missed you so much a few years ago that he had a heart attack—he almost… Just apologize to him and come back with us.” I snatched my arm free. My voice was ice. “My name is Ava Jensen, not Seraphina Prescott. If you follow me, I’m calling the police.” With that, I scooped Lila into my arms and walked toward the small inn, not once looking back. Back at the inn, I collapsed onto a stool behind the bar, feeling hollowed out, unmoored. Lila, still sniffling, ran into the kitchen and dragged my husband, Owen, out by the apron strings. “Daddy, kiss Mommy! A mean man hit Mommy today!” Hearing this, Owen quickly wiped his hands on his checkered apron and strode over to me. He pulled me into a fierce hug, then gently cupped my face, turning my head from side to side. “Where? Does it hurt? Come on, I’ll take you to the clinic.” I caught his hand and shook my head. “I’m fine. Just ran into a couple of people I’d rather not see.” Owen understood. He didn’t ask for details, just pulled me tighter, stroking my back, slow and steady. “Don’t worry, Ava. I’m here. No one is going to hurt you again.” Lila stretched up on her tiptoes, her soft, little hand patting my forehead, mimicking the way I comforted her. “Mommy, be brave! Don’t worry, Lila protects you!” Owen joined the chorus, pitching his voice to match our daughter’s sweet, silly tone. “Ava, be brave! Don’t worry, your husband protects you!” Watching them, the edges of my vision blurred. A long, long time ago, I had been cherished that way, too. I was afraid of the dark, so my parents covered the hallway between their room and mine with glow-in-the-dark stickers. Dad told me the flower fairies would guide me to them. I was afraid of thunderstorms, so on rainy nights, they’d set up a small tent in my bedroom. We’d all three squeeze in, me sandwiched safely between them. “Sera, my girl, be brave! Don’t worry, Daddy and Mommy will always protect you!” All of that ended the year I turned seven, the day my mother brought home her best friend’s daughter. “Sera, this is Maureen’s daughter, Briana Weaver. She’ll be your sister now.” I was thrilled. I took her hand and led her on a grand tour of my princess room. I gave her the music box my father had brought back from Europe. I pulled out the designer sundress, the one I treasured most. “Bree, this was my birthday gift from Mom. It’s custom-made. The only one in the world!” Briana took the dress, looked at it for a second, and then violently flung it on the floor, stomping her foot down hard on the delicate fabric. “What are you doing!” I shrieked, pushing her away. The crisp, new fabric was ruined with muddy footprints. Briana sat down instantly and erupted into dramatic, gasping sobs. Her cry brought my mother running. She rushed in, picked up Briana, and hugged her close, soothing her. “Bree, darling, what happened? Tell Aunt Victoria.” Hiding in my mother’s embrace, Briana choked out a lie. “Sera called me a charity case and said I wasn’t allowed to touch her things…” “Aunt Victoria, where is my Mommy? I miss her. Did she really leave me?” My mother’s eyes instantly filled with tears. She hugged Briana tight. “Bree, sweetheart! I’m your mother now.” Then, she turned and yelled at me, her voice sharp and unfamiliar. “Seraphina Prescott! How could you be so insensitive? Apologize to Briana, right now!” I pointed at the ruined dress on the floor, my own eyes swimming. “But she stomped on my dress first!” “A silly piece of cloth is more important than your sister’s feelings? You are so spoiled!” “But you made it for me…” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I haven’t even worn it once.” “Seraphina, we have clearly spoiled you rotten,” my mother sighed, rubbing her temples. “You will stay in your room tonight and think about what you’ve done.” She took Briana to The City Grille, the upscale restaurant I had been begging to visit. That night, she brought me back a small slice of stale carrot cake. Mom told me Briana was a poor, sad girl. She had lost her father, and now her mother. I had to be the understanding one. I needed to let her have things. Eating the cake, I nodded dumbly. But that single allowance cost me everything I owned. If Briana wanted it, my mother would simply say, Sera, let Briana have it. My dolls. My bedroom. Even my passion. When I was ten, the painting I’d worked on for six months was entered into a prestigious national competition by Briana, who won first prize. I confronted my mother, demanding to know why. “You’ve won so many awards, what’s the harm in letting her have this one? Bree needs this prize to secure her apprenticeship.” “But I worked on that for half a year!” I screamed at her. “Enough!” My father emerged from his study, his face thunderous. “If it takes you six months to finish one painting, you have no talent anyway. Stop this nonsense!” That evening, I ran a dangerously high fever. While I lay burning up, delirious, they were out at a lavish dinner party for Briana’s new mentor. It was my grandmother, who drove in from the country the next day, who found me and rushed me to the hospital. The doctor said an hour more and the fever would have caused brain damage. Grandma lost it. She took me back to her simple farmhouse, ignoring my parents’ protests. They tried to call me home, but every time they planned a trip, Briana would conveniently fall ill or run away. Eventually, they stopped calling. And I stopped asking. The years with Grandma were the most peaceful of my life. She didn’t call me Seraphina; she called me Ava. She said I was her best girl, her top-notch granddaughter, the best girl in the world. But Grandma’s health failed. When I was a senior in high school, she was hospitalized again, and she insisted my parents take me back for my final year of school. I carried a massive bag of Grandma’s famous buttermilk biscuits, full of anticipation, and burst through the door. Grandma said Mom loved these biscuits when she was little. The housekeeper, however, informed me my parents had taken Briana on a trip to Europe. For three days, I kept the biscuits warm, waiting. “Sera, Mommy missed you so much!” My mother rushed in and hugged me the second they got home. My father ruffled my hair. “Kid, you’ve grown taller!” I was about to hand over the bag of biscuits when Briana let out a sharp, dramatic shriek. They instantly dropped me and rushed to her. “Mommy, Daddy, I wanted to give Seraphina a gift, but I pinched my hand on the suitcase latch!” Briana wailed, her eyes overflowing with tears. “I’m so clumsy!” My mother blew gently on her fingers. “Silly girl, how will you paint now that you’ve hurt your hand?” “Look how red it is! Come on, we’re going to the emergency room.” My father’s face was etched with concern as he grabbed the car keys. “Sera, Briana’s hurt. We’re taking her to the hospital.” As they walked out, my mother glanced at the biscuits in my hand. “Those things are pure carbs, Sera. You’ll pack on the weight and get zits.” I looked down at the blister on my own hand, where hot grease had popped during the baking. I sat down and slowly ate every single biscuit. That night, I told my parents I was moving into the campus dorms. They initially refused, but after Briana’s saccharine, “good-hearted” suggestion that I needed space to study, they consented. The day I received my university acceptance letter, I flew home to pack. Grandma’s greatest regret was never having seen the ocean. I chose a college right on the coast. I was going to take her there. I pulled my suitcase to the front door, my hand on the knob, when my phone rang. It was the county hospital. “Is this Seraphina Prescott? Your grandmother… she’s in critical condition. You need to come quickly…” The phone slipped from my fingers and smashed on the floor. I stumbled out the door. My parents were standing there, their faces pale and distraught. “Mom… the hospital called… Grandma… she’s dying…” I collapsed into my mother’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably. “Take me… take me to the hospital… I have to see her… one last time.” “Sera, your grandmother will be fine. We’ll take you right away.” My mother held me close, stroking my back. “But first, promise Mommy one thing. Please?” “What?” I looked up through my tears. “Help Briana!” My mother gestured behind my father. Briana peered out, smelling strongly of alcohol, shaking like a leaf. A cold wave of dread washed over me. “What’s wrong with her?” “Briana… she was drinking tonight, and she drove… she hit someone. She panicked and left the scene.” My mother’s voice was shaking. I instantly understood, but I forced myself to ask. “What do you want me to do?” My mother gripped my arm tightly. “Sera, help her. Take the blame for her, okay?” “Briana is still so young. She has no parents left, her life has been hard enough. She can’t have a criminal record. It would ruin her. She would kill herself!” I yanked my arm away, my voice a raw scream. “What about me? Is my life disposable? Can I be ruined?” “How can you even think that?” My mother looked genuinely wounded. “You are our daughter, a Prescott! Even with a stain, you’ll always be our cherished Seraphina. We can afford to take care of you forever!” “This will not affect your future!” I looked at her, and a strange, terrible laugh escaped me. “I can’t help you with this.” “If you won’t take me to Grandma, I’ll go myself!” I grabbed my suitcase and rushed for the door. “Stop right there!” My father bellowed. Two bodyguards appeared out of nowhere and grabbed me, holding me fast. “If you don’t agree today, you won’t take one step out that door!” I looked from him to my mother standing behind him. “Mom, that’s your mother! You don’t care if she lives or dies?” “Sera, your grandmother has doctors. But Briana? If we don’t help her now, it’s a death sentence!” My mother began to wail. “Briana said she’d die if she went to jail! Seraphina, please, just pity your mother. Save her life!” As she screamed, she snatched the car keys from my hand and tossed them to the lawyer standing nearby. Then she pulled out her phone and, right in front of me, dialed 911. “Hello, I’d like to report a crime. The person who committed the hit-and-run on Coastal Road was my daughter, Seraphina Prescott.” When she hung up, I looked at them, tears streaming down my face from laughter. “Mr. and Mrs. Prescott, you truly are pillars of the community.” I stopped struggling and spoke calmly. “Fine. I agree to take the fall for Briana Weaver.” “But you must immediately take me to the hospital. I have to see my grandmother.” When we arrived, it was too late. Grandma had stopped breathing thirty minutes earlier. I knelt by the hospital bed, unfolding my university acceptance letter and placing it where she could see. “Grandma, look! Ava got into college. Ava can take you to the ocean now!” The police escorted me out of the hospital shortly after. At the station, I tried to recant. But my parents, with the help of their high-powered lawyer, had already manufactured a flawless chain of evidence. The day of the trial, my parents sat in the front row of the gallery. Briana was nestled in my mother’s arms, weeping theatrically. My mother stroked her back, her eyes full of pity. My father sat beside them, whispering comforts. I never looked at them again. I was convicted of hit-and-run and sentenced to three years in prison.

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My mother always said my whole life was built on sheer luck. When I got first place on an exam, she’d say, “You’re a good guesser.” When I won a gold medal, it was, “The judges must have been blind.” When I was accepted into Kingston University, she told everyone we knew, “The girl has no real talent. She’s just lucky!” So, on my first day of school, she handed me a book of scratch-off tickets. “Since you’re so lucky,” she said with a thin smile, “you can rely on luck for your living expenses.” “You get one book per semester. Whatever you scratch is what you get. That’s fate.” “And just to make sure you don’t come crying to me when you’re broke, I’m blocking you. I’ll add you back next semester.” And with that, ignoring my desperate pleas on the other end of the line, she blocked all of my numbers. Left with no other choice, I started scratching two tickets a day. On a good day, I’d win twenty, maybe fifty dollars. Most days, I won nothing. I survived by secretly fishing my roommate’s expired cookies out of the trash can. During the last week of the semester, I was severely anemic. As I used the last of my strength to scratch the final ticket, I had to laugh. My mother was right. I really was lucky. … My vision swam with black spots; everything had a double image. The book of five-dollar scratch-offs my mother had given me was like a countdown to my own demise, and only one ticket remained. The thirty dollars I’d won before had been stretched to its absolute limit, even living on nothing but steamed buns and pickled vegetables. Two weeks was all it could last. My stomach felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand, cramping with a dull, persistent ache. I called my mother, clinging to one last sliver of hope, but reality slapped me with a bucket of ice water. Still blocked. She hadn’t unblocked me. Desperate, I borrowed a phone from a student I didn’t know and dialed her number again. “Mom…” Before I could say another word, her sharp, cruel voice cut through the line. “If I remember correctly, you still have one ticket left, don’t you? Don’t come crying to me about being broke. I’m not falling for it! If you’re so capable, then use that same ‘luck’ you used to get into college and win scholarships!” The line went dead. I tried calling back, but the phone was turned off. The last scratch-off ticket felt heavy in my hand. I was terrified to scratch it, terrified that it would be another loser. When I started the semester, I was a healthy weight. Now, I was severely malnourished. At five-foot-five, I weighed only eighty pounds. The veins showed blue through my translucent skin. I got back to my dorm room. It was empty. My steps were unsteady as I shuffled toward the trash can. It had become a habit, checking to see if my roommates had thrown out any leftovers or expired food. It was how I had survived most of the semester. Just as I started digging through the trash, the door swung open. “Ugh, Zoe, are you digging through the trash again? That’s disgusting.” My roommate Dana’s voice made my face burn with shame. I snatched my hand back as if the bin were red-hot. Her eyes fell on the scratch-off tickets on my desk, and understanding dawned, followed by undisguised contempt. “I seriously don’t get you. How can you have such a bad gambling addiction? You’d rather dig through trash for food than stop buying those things!” “Even if you love scratching tickets, couldn’t you at least get a part-time job to feed yourself?” “Whatever. I guess it’s just my bad luck to be stuck in a room with someone like you.” With that, Dana glanced at the last bite of cake in her hand, tossed it into the trash, and walked out. I was dizzy with hunger, my head buzzing. I didn’t have the energy to wonder if her act was one of pity or humiliation. I pounced on the trash can like a starving animal and retrieved the piece of cake. I devoured it, shoving it into my mouth. Hot tears streamed down my face, mixing with the cake crumbs, creating a taste that was both salty and bitter. I couldn’t blame her for thinking that. She didn’t know that before school even started, my mother had printed flyers with my face on them and distributed them to every shop around campus with a single instruction: Do not hire this girl for part-time work. She had cut off all my escape routes. “Isn’t she lucky? Then let her rely on luck to eat,” my mother had said. I wondered if her face held the same mocking expression as Dana’s. I had tried to explain countless times that it wasn’t luck. Every award, every accomplishment, was the result of my own hard work. But she never believed me. To her, everything I achieved was just “luck.” Two simple words that erased all of my effort. The last bite of cake settled in my stomach, and the dizziness subsided slightly. My eyes returned to the final scratch-off ticket on my desk. I made my decision. With trembling hands, I began to scratch. As the silver coating peeled away, my heart sank with it. Until the very last line. The prize amount: $20. My heart died completely. That meant I had to survive on twenty dollars until my mother gave me a new book of tickets next semester. Clutching the ticket, I left the dorm to cash it at the lottery stand outside the campus gates. I had just stepped out of the building when I heard the stern voice of my academic advisor behind me. “Zoe Miller!” I turned. When he saw the scratch-off ticket in my hand, the disappointment on his face deepened. “Someone told me about this, but I didn’t want to believe it. You got into this university with one of the top ten entrance scores in the state. How could you become obsessed with games of chance?” “Look at your grades now. You’re failing almost every class! You are a profound disappointment!” “Consider this conversation a warning. If you continue down this path, I will have no choice but to follow university regulations and recommend your expulsion.” I stood there under the blazing sun, listening to his lecture. The energy from that single bite of cake was already gone. I started to sway. “Zoe?!” His expression shifted from anger to alarm. “Are you alright?” He glanced at my skeletal hands and sighed. “Let me take you to the cafeteria to get something to eat. And please, stop spending your food money on lottery tickets. You can’t live your life waiting for a miracle.” I didn’t refuse his offer. At this point, anyone who gave me a meal was my savior. Dignity? Pride? They were worthless when you were starving. I hadn’t eaten a proper meal from the cafeteria all semester. I’d only ever bought plain steamed buns and drank the free hot water. I had no energy to pay attention in class; the words on the blackboard swam before my eyes like tadpoles. My grades had plummeted, and my pride was in pieces. After devouring the meal, I felt much better. I could walk without stumbling, and my mind felt clearer. I thanked my advisor and turned to leave, but he stopped me, his brow furrowed. “Where are you going?” I held up the crumpled ticket. “To cash this in. Otherwise… I won’t have anything to eat.” “Zoe!” he exclaimed, his anger returning. “Have you already forgotten everything I just said?” “Or are you deliberately defying me? Do you want to be expelled? I shouldn’t have bought you that meal. Maybe if you truly starved, you’d understand the gravity of the situation!” “Give me that ticket. It’s time to cut your losses!” He held out his hand, his expression demanding and unyielding. I quickly hid the ticket behind my back. “Sir, I really can’t give this to you. You don’t understand.” He slammed his hand on the table. “You’re a lost cause! I’m telling you right now, if you don’t hand it over, I will go back to my office and issue a formal demerit and disciplinary action against you!” I lowered my head, my nails digging into my palms. After a moment of internal struggle, I bowed to him. “I’m sorry, sir. I really can’t.” Ignoring his shouts behind me, I turned and ran towards the lottery stand as fast as my weak legs could carry me. The woman at the counter took my ticket and rolled her eyes. “Seriously, what an addict,” she muttered. “Wasting her parents’ hard-earned money like this.” A bitter taste filled my mouth. If I told her this ticket was my living expense, the only thing keeping me alive, she’d probably think I was even crazier. “QR code,” she said impatiently, holding up her phone. I took out my own phone, its screen a spiderweb of cracks, and was about to open my payment app when a thought struck me. Suddenly, I didn’t want to cash it in anymore. “I’ve changed my mind,” I heard myself say. “I’d like to exchange it for a new one.” The woman gave me a massive, undisguised eye-roll, then tore off another five-dollar ticket and threw it on the counter. “Hopeless. How did Kingston University ever accept a student like this?” I had heard words like that so many times—from my roommate, from strangers, from her—that they no longer stung. I took the new ticket, thanked her, and turned to leave without scratching it. I hadn’t taken more than a few steps when my phone rang. The screen displayed a single word: “Mom.” I froze. That name felt like a relic from another lifetime. “Hello?” I answered just before the call ended. Her sharp, acidic voice immediately filled my ear. “Hmph. I thought you had too much pride to answer my calls.” “You should be done with the book of tickets I gave you. How much did you win on the last one?” “Twenty dollars,” I said truthfully. The sarcasm in her voice deepened. “Tsk. I guess you really are lucky. You’re not dead yet.” I couldn’t take it anymore. “Mom, do you have any idea how I’ve been surviving this semester? On handouts from my roommate and scraps I find in the trash! If my advisor hadn’t bought me a meal today, I would have collapsed and ended up in the hospital!” I thought hearing about my suffering might change her mind. Instead, she laughed. “So? Are you trying to brag about how lucky you are to have a nice roommate and a kind advisor?” “Zoe, I’m trying to teach you a lesson! You can’t rely on handouts!” “If you can get into Kingston on luck, then you can certainly eat a full meal on luck. It shouldn’t be that hard, should it?” Tears burst from my eyes. I screamed into the phone, my voice raw with pain. “I got into Kingston, I won those competitions, because I worked for it! I never once said I got in because I was lucky!” My outburst only made her more impatient. “Stop pretending. Hard work? I gave birth to you; I know exactly what you’re made of. When I was pregnant with you, I deliberately fell down a few times and couldn’t even get rid of you. If that’s not luck, what is?” Her words froze the blood in my veins. It was the first time she had ever said it so plainly, so cruelly. I had heard the whispers from relatives. When she was pregnant, a village doctor told her she was having a girl, and she didn’t want me. Abortion techniques weren’t as advanced back then. She didn’t have the courage to go through with it, so she gave birth to me. But the delivery was difficult, and she had to have a hysterectomy. She could never have another child. Because of that, my father divorced her. All the pieces clicked into place. Rage and grief exploded inside me. “If I had known I’d be living off scratch-off tickets, do you think I would have chosen to be born?” “Now you’re complaining?” she sneered. “Fine. From now on, I’ll buy you the two-dollar tickets instead.” “Since you’re so lucky, it’ll save me some money!” With a sharp click, she hung up. She had probably blocked me again. I walked back to my dorm in a daze and stared at the new ticket for a long time. Finally, I gathered my courage and began to scratch. The first line: nothing. The second line: nothing. The third… nothing. With only the last line left, I closed my eyes and scraped randomly at the ticket. After a long moment, I opened them, my hands trembling. I had won. The prize box read… $500,000! A storm of emotions swirled in my chest, but overwhelming it all was a wave of pure, unadulterated joy. The grand prize had to be claimed at the central lottery office. Wasting no time, I shot out of my room and started running. Thankfully, it wasn’t far from the university. I didn’t have money for a bus, but I made it there in half an hour on foot. Even as the money was transferred into my account, it felt like a dream. I stared at the string of numbers on my banking app, tears streaming down my face. I went to the most expensive restaurant in the city and ate until I was full. The other patrons stared at me, at my skeletal frame and ravenous eating, like I was a ghost back from the dead. My mother was right. I really was lucky. After wandering the city all day, I returned to my dorm to the sound of my phone ringing. It was her. “Zoe, darling, did you win the lottery?” The affectionate nickname sent a shiver down my spine. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d called me that. Even when I got into Kingston, her reaction had been lukewarm at best. “Win what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her tone immediately soured. “Zoe Miller, don’t you play games with me! I saw it on the news! A grand prize scratch-off was claimed in the city today. I recognized your back in the photo! I’d recognize you even if you were a pile of ash.” I cursed myself. In my excitement, I had only thought about claiming the prize and getting a hot meal. I had forgotten to disguise myself. “You’re mistaken. It wasn’t me.” I hung up before she could reply. She called again and again, but I didn’t answer. Finally, I blocked her number. I thought that would be the end of it. The next morning, I was shaken awake by Dana. “Zoe, get up! Something terrible has happened!” Her next words jolted me fully awake. “Your mother is on the roof of the science building. She says if you don’t come to see her, she’s going to jump!” All sleepiness vanished. I leaped out of bed and ran outside, still in my pajamas, my hair a mess. “I am here to expose my daughter, Kingston University student Zoe Miller!” my mother’s voice shrieked from above. “She has always been a gambler, relying on luck, with no respect for her own mother!” “And now that she’s won the lottery, she wants to cut me off! Does a student like this deserve to be at Kingston?” Even though it was early, the campus was already dotted with students on their morning jogs. Everyone stopped to watch the spectacle. Some people cursed my name, some looked on with envy, but most just watched with the detached curiosity of a crowd at a circus. I looked up at the crazed figure of my mother on the rooftop. I opened my mouth to shout for her to come down, but the words died in my throat. She said I was a gambler. Fine. This time, I’d bet on her. I’d bet she didn’t have the guts to jump. I turned and walked away from the crowd, back to my dorm. I sat down at my desk and wrote an application for an overseas research program. I won the bet.

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My daughter was mowed down on the campus promenade by a drunk, speeding trust-fund brat. Her femur was shattered. Multiple ribs were broken. She was, and still is, in a coma. His parents requested a meeting to settle things. Her tone was a blade of arrogance, sharp and self-assured. “Ava,” she said, “just sign the liability waiver. Let’s not drag this out and ruin my son’s future.” A wildfire of rage consumed what little reason I had left. I snatched the papers and threw them back in her face. “You can go to hell.” A smirk played on her lips as she looked up at me from her seat. “The law is quite clear. Even in a wrongful death suit, the payout is rarely more than a couple of million. Your daughter isn’t even dead. How about we cover the medical bills and add two million on top of that?” She slid a black credit card from her wallet, flashing it like a trophy. “I’m sure you’ve never seen one of these. It’s an Amex Centurion. Invitation only.” My eyes locked on the card. On the unique, custom filigree pattern in the corner. A pattern I knew intimately. It was the birthday gift I had given my husband. For a sickening moment, I tasted blood in the back of my throat. I swallowed it down, my gaze turning lethal. “Name a price for your son’s life,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “I’m buying.” 1 When I first arrived at the hospital, my legs nearly gave out. My daughter, Maya, was a fragile doll wrapped in white, lying still and silent in the ICU. The machines breathed for her. The police officer showed me photos from the scene. Maya and two other girls, their limbs bent at unnatural angles like broken marionettes. Their white university sweatshirts were stained a horrifying, deep crimson. The doctor’s words echoed in my head. She walked right up to death’s door. A fraction of an inch closer… After three days of holding vigil by Maya’s bedside, I got a call from the academy. The parents of the boy who did this wanted to meet. I found her in the headmaster’s office, a woman dripping in jewels, scrolling idly on her phone. She glanced up, her expression one of utter boredom. “You must be Ava, Maya’s mother. Sit.” She slid a document across the polished mahogany table. A liability waiver. “Let’s not waste time. Sign this. My son has a bright future, and I don’t want this… incident… to interfere with it.” The arrogance was suffocating. The entitlement, absolute. The image of my daughter, blood-soaked and broken, flashed behind my eyes. An inferno of rage burned away the edges of my sanity. My hands trembled, not from fear, but from a fury so profound it threatened to tear me apart. I gripped the papers, and with a guttural scream, ripped them to shreds, throwing the pieces in her face. “Your son is a monster. You’re dreaming if you think I’ll let this go!” I lunged at her, a primal urge to claw that smirk off her face, to make her feel a fraction of my pain. Why should the one who caused all this suffering sit there so high and mighty, so utterly untouched? The headmaster and another teacher, who had been standing by like useless statues, finally sprang into action, grabbing my arms. “Mrs. Harrison, please, calm down,” one of them pleaded, as if I were the one out of line. “Mrs. Vance is here in good faith, to find a resolution.” Audrey Vance calmly brushed the paper scraps from her silk blouse, her eyes glittering with derisive pity. “I’ve already had my people look into you,” she said, her voice smooth as venom. “Your daughter wears clothes from Zara and Gap. Non-designer. I’d wager you’re a typical working-class family.” “The law is quite clear,” she repeated, as if lecturing a child. “Even in a wrongful death suit, the payout is rarely more than a couple of million. Your daughter isn’t even dead. How about we cover the medical bills and add two million on top of that?” She leaned forward, a conspiratorial gleam in her eye. “Two million dollars… that must seem like a lottery ticket for a family like yours. Think about it. If you save a hundred thousand a year, it would take you twenty years to earn that. One little accident, and you get it all at once. You should see this as a blessing, our little act of charity. Don’t be greedy. It’s unbecoming.” I stared at her, the hatred in my soul so potent I could feel it radiating from my skin. My whole body shook. “Your son was drunk, street racing on a campus promenade. He critically injured three people and hurt dozens more. The only place his future belongs is in a prison cell for the rest of his life!” Audrey feigned a theatrical arch of her brow, then let a chilling smile spread across her face. “Have you ever heard the expression, ‘Money makes the world go ‘round’?” she purred. “And I have more than just money. I have influence. Why do you think this story hasn’t blown up on the news or social media? Because I…” She flattened her palm and pressed it down, a gesture of absolute power. “…had it suppressed.” As if for emphasis, she produced the black card again, her eyes shining with smug triumph. “Do you know what this is? The Amex Centurion card. You need a net worth in the hundreds of millions to even qualify. A number you can’t even fathom.” My gaze fell again on the familiar, custom filigree in the corner. The world tilted on its axis. My heart, already shattered, plunged into an abyss. That was the supplementary card I had given my husband, Mark. His mistress was trying to use my own money to buy my daughter’s life. The last few weeks clicked into place with horrifying clarity. A month ago, Mark asked for a birthday present. A new luxury sports car. I’d said yes. The model he described matched the one that hit my daughter. Three days ago, the head of my company’s PR department mentioned Mark had requested a full-court press to contain a “negative social media narrative.” Lost in my grief over Maya, I’d approved it without a second thought. A metallic tang of blood filled my throat again. I swallowed it down. My voice, when it came out, was glacial. “Then what’s the price for your son’s life? Name a number. I’m buying.” 2 For a split second, a flicker of genuine shock crossed her face. Then, she let out a short, sharp laugh. “Heh.” “I know you’re upset about your daughter, but tantrums won’t solve your financial problems. And really, what kind of money could you possibly have?” My gaze was unblinking, heavy as stone. “Name a price.” The surprise returned, quickly replaced by a dawning, greedy comprehension. “Oh, I see. You think two million is too low. Fine. Three million. Any more than that, and frankly, your daughter just isn’t worth it.” I repeated myself, my voice flat and devoid of emotion. “I said, I want to buy your son’s life. Give me a number.” She sized me up, from my simple black dress to my worn-out shoes, and then burst into full-throated laughter. It was a cruel, mocking sound. “Ten million,” she finally gasped, as if it were the funniest joke she’d ever heard. “If you can produce ten million dollars, you can have my son’s life. Ha! But people like you… you couldn’t save that much in a hundred lifetimes.” I nodded slowly. “Ten million. It’s a bit steep for a piece of trash, but fine. His life is mine.” I pulled out my phone and sent a single text to my assistant. Audrey scoffed. Even one of the teachers felt the need to intervene. “Mrs. Harrison, please, be reasonable,” he said, his tone placating. “The Vances are not people you can afford to provoke. You could lose everything—your daughter’s medical coverage, even your job.” I’ve always taught Maya to be modest, to be humble. The teachers at this elite academy, however, were masters of kissing up and kicking down. No one here knew that I was the chairman of the board of Apex Innovations. That my husband, Mark, the company’s CEO, was merely its public face. “I’ve recorded our entire conversation,” I said calmly, looking at Audrey. “And I’d like the teachers present to act as witnesses to our agreement.” That finally seemed to get under her skin. Her face hardened. “Fine. You want to play hardball? You won’t get a single penny. And let me tell you something else. My husband has already dispatched Apex Innovations’ chief legal counsel, David Klein, to handle this. The man has never lost a case in his life.” I nodded again. “Perfect.” The teachers were now looking at me as if I’d completely lost my mind. “The poor woman’s cracked from the trauma,” one whispered to another. “It’s a shame. A real tragedy. But to go up against the wife of Apex’s CEO? In this city, everyone knows they can move mountains.” Just as Audrey’s smugness reached its peak, the parents of another victim arrived. Audrey repeated her offer to them, the same cold speech, the same dismissive tone. The father’s face was a mask of anguish and indecision. “We can’t sign it, honey,” the mother sobbed. “We can’t. Our little girl… there isn’t a single part of her that isn’t broken. How can we just let that monster walk away? I can’t live with it!” The father sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “But the treatments… we need the money. And how can we possibly fight a family like that? If we don’t sign, we’ll probably get nothing at all!” The mother’s cries intensified. “My baby… why did this have to happen to her?” As the father reached for the pen, his hand trembling, I stood up and blocked his path. “Don’t sign it,” I said, my voice firm. “She has no money to give you. I will personally cover all of your child’s medical expenses—every treatment, every surgery, for as long as it takes.” The couple stared at me, bewildered. Audrey shot me a furious glare. “What nonsense are you spouting? This card,” she brandished the Amex, “can handle two million, ten million, whatever I want, in an instant.” A teacher grabbed my arm, frowning. “You’re not just refusing the money for yourself, now you’re interfering with others. They’re being much more sensible than you.” My eyes were like ice, but a slow, cold smile touched my lips. “So confident, are we?” I turned and took the other parents’ hands in mine. Looking at their grief-stricken faces, my own tears finally fell. We are all just parents, wanting to protect our children. “Ask her to run the card right now,” I whispered to them. “If she can’t, it means she’s lying.” The couple squeezed my hands back, their sorrow momentarily replaced by a flicker of resolve. They nodded. The academy’s finance officer was quickly summoned with a POS terminal. “We can process the payment now, and the school will transfer the funds directly to the parents’ accounts.” Audrey held her head high, swiping the black card with a flourish. A mechanical female voice announced, “CARD DISABLED.”

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