Category: English

I loved Dax Thorne for five years, and for every single one of those years, I’d been tormented. Until the Vance family empire collapsed, my loved ones died, and everything I held dear was systematically destroyed by Dax. Eventually, in a raging inferno, I set myself on fire, right there in front of him. Everyone outside thought Dax had finally gotten his revenge. Only he knew that the moment I died, he truly lost his mind. Muffled cries of pain echoed through the room. Dax was performing the most intimate act, yet his expression was colder than a winter storm, as if he were miles away, trapped in a frozen wasteland. I struggled to breathe, a terrifying sense of suffocation building inside me, and instinctively thrashed against him. Just when I thought I was about to black out, Dax suddenly released me. I gasped, gulping in air, but before I could catch my breath, his rough movements shattered the fragile calm again. The torment went on for what felt like an eternity, only stopping when I was on the verge of losing consciousness. My phone rang. Dax picked it up, a flicker of cruel satisfaction in his eyes as he looked at the screen. He answered. The voice on the other end announced the collapse of Vance Enterprises. My eyes, which had been half-closed from the agony, snapped open. I stared up at him, disbelief flooding my senses. “Vance Enterprises… collapsed? What happened?” My voice was hoarse, weak, yet laced with sheer shock. Dax noticed the terror in my eyes, and a cruel smirk twisted his lips. “Like it? That’s my first gift to you.” I gazed at his smile, a chilling realization dawning on me. “Dax… you did this? To Vance Enterprises?” He gripped my chin, forcing my face up until I was trapped in an intimate, yet utterly terrifying, proximity. “Yes. Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this day?” I ignored the throbbing pain in my jaw, my heart plummeting to my stomach. “Why? Why would you destroy my family?” Dax shoved me off the bed, watching me fall to the floor. His eyes, usually so carefully guarded, now blazed with raw, unrestrained hatred. “Elara Vance, the Vance family’s ruin? You brought this on yourselves! If your mother hadn’t forced Seraphina away, she never would have broken up with me, and she certainly wouldn’t have died because of you!” Because of Seraphina… He hated himself, hated everyone in my family. So all his past tenderness, his kindness, had been a lie. This was his true face. My heart clenched. “No!” My face was pale. “My mother didn’t force Seraphina to break up with you, and I didn’t hurt her!” Dax’s eyes turned venomous. “You think I’d believe a word you say?” Years ago, Dax had been with Seraphina Hayes, my family’s adopted daughter. But my mother, knowing I harbored feelings for him, had forced Seraphina to break up with him. Dax still remembered Seraphina crying, clinging to him, saying she had no choice. The Vance family’s vast empire was too powerful; if they didn’t break up, my family wouldn’t let her go. Dax had been heartbroken, but at the time, his own family lacked the power to stand against mine. He’d had no choice but to painfully break up with Seraphina and marry me. Yet, even after all that, I still hadn’t let Seraphina go. He remembered the scene of Seraphina drowning, and it made him want to slaughter my entire family. But he couldn’t avenge Seraphina, so he had to swallow his hatred and live a lie with me. Until today. Finally, he had the power to avenge Seraphina. Dax said nothing more. He dragged me downstairs, opened a small room in the corner of the first floor, and shoved me inside. I stumbled, falling to my knees. My eyes widened in horror as I looked up at the scene before me. On the table in the room sat a framed photo. The girl in the picture was beautiful and delicate, with a melancholic air. It was Seraphina Hayes. I tried to stand, but Dax’s foot lashed out, kicking me in the back of my knee. I crumpled to the floor. “In front of Seraphina, you only deserve to kneel.”

Dax took a few steps closer, his leather shoe pressing down on my bare foot. As I cried out in pain, he spoke slowly. “Tell me, do you think Seraphina felt this much pain the day she died?” I looked at Seraphina’s photo, propping myself up with my arms on the floor. A bitter realization dawned on me, and I suppressed a groan of pain. “Dax, I didn’t kill Seraphina.” Back then, Seraphina had found herself a man far wealthier than Dax and decided to break up with him. I felt bad for Dax, so I didn’t dare tell him the truth. But after I married Dax, Seraphina regretted it. I still remember sitting in Seraphina’s car. She’d said she had something to tell me, but instead, she stomped on the gas pedal, speeding toward the bridge. Seraphina’s expression was wild, her words sharp and venomous. She’d screamed that if I, Elara Vance, died, Dax would forever be hers. But something went wrong with Seraphina’s plan. After the car plunged into the river, I easily unlatched my seatbelt and escaped. Seraphina, however, got stuck in hers and drowned inside the car. And the scratches and marks from our struggle? In Dax’s mind, they became proof that I had deliberately wrestled the steering wheel from Seraphina. Dax pressed down harder, his eyes filled with dark malice. “You still dare to lie?! I saw you climb out of that river with my own eyes while Seraphina stayed at the bottom forever! Are you going to tell me Seraphina drove the car down herself?!” I gasped, a soft whimper of pain escaping my lips. It felt like my foot bone was about to snap under his weight. I shook my head frantically, not knowing how to explain it so Dax would believe me. Seraphina was dead, and her silence condemned me. Seeing my tormented expression, Dax let out a chilling laugh of pure satisfaction. “Before, I couldn’t touch you because of your family’s power. But now Vance Enterprises has fallen. Let’s see who can save you now! And your mother and your sister? I won’t let a single one of them go!” “Are you… are you going to kill them?!” A sudden terror seized me. I tried to pull away, but his foot pinned me down. “Dax Thorne, murder is a crime!” “You killed Seraphina, and the law didn’t punish you, did it?” Dax half-crouched, reaching out to grab my hair, forcing my gaze toward Seraphina’s photo. “Don’t worry, I won’t kill you. Death would be too easy. I’ll make sure you live a long, miserable life, atoning for Seraphina.” After that, Dax kept me imprisoned in his mansion. My phone was confiscated. My left foot bone was indeed broken, just as he’d promised. But he wouldn’t allow a doctor to treat me. Helpless, I had to suffer in silence, crudely bandaging my foot with a piece of wood, hoping it would heal on its own. Imprisoned, I became Dax’s plaything. My fractured foot was repeatedly tormented by him, shattering any hope of it ever healing properly. Dax pinned me against the cold floor, unleashing his wild, raging desire. The floor was freezing, but Dax’s body was scorching hot. I shivered, caught between the cold and the heat, struggling to breathe. I placed my hands on his arm, which felt like an iron bar wrapped around my neck, and pleaded, my voice breaking. “Dax… you can do anything you want to me… just please, can I see my mother and sister… just once?” Dax’s hand slowly tightened. “Do you want to see their corpses?” My eyes widened in horror. When I spoke again, my voice was choked with tears. “No… no, I don’t… please, my family is innocent, don’t hurt them…” “Your family is innocent? Was Seraphina not innocent?” With that, Dax thrust hard, and a cry of pain escaped my lips. Dax left after he was finished. I slowly got up from the floor, stumbling my way to the bathroom. Warm blood trickled down my thigh and dripped onto the tiles.

I sank into the bathtub, my lower body screaming in burning agony. My face was ashen, and I stared blankly at my horribly deformed left foot. From now on, I’d be crippled for life. I lay in bed, unable to sleep all night. I watched the sky outside gradually lighten. Suddenly, I heard faint sounds. Curiosity stirred. I sat up, limped downstairs, and saw the living room TV was on, broadcasting the city’s top news story. I stood in the living room, frozen. The news headline on the screen read: “Former Vance Enterprises Head Dies of Heart Attack at Home.” The reporter’s camera panned to a sobbing young girl. It was Willow, my little sister. My ears roared. Tears blurred my vision, but I kept my gaze fixed on her frail figure. How could this be? My mother’s health had been improving, hadn’t it? Why would she have a heart attack now? And Willow… she wasn’t even an adult yet. How would she survive out there, all alone? Without thinking, I tried to rush out, but the bodyguards outside pushed me back. No matter what I said, they wouldn’t let me leave. Not until evening, when Dax returned. The TV was still on, playing the evening news, filling the silent living room with a strange clamor. Hearing footsteps, I looked up, staring directly at Dax as he entered. I didn’t know why, but he suddenly felt like a stranger. I’d loved Dax for over a decade, but when had he changed like this? Dax walked over, and a sharp slap landed across my face. My head snapped to the side from the impact. I heard Dax’s voice above me, cold and unforgiving. “You don’t deserve to look at me like that.” A red, swollen handprint bloomed on my pale cheek. I felt no pain, only stared at him with wide, empty eyes. “My mother… did you kill her?” Dax met my gaze. “She deserved it. If she hadn’t forced Seraphina away, Seraphina never would have broken up with me!” Then, Dax sneered. “Rather than saying I killed her, it’s more accurate to say you killed her. If you hadn’t been so desperate to marry me, how would she have died?” My face went white. I couldn’t hear Dax’s continued mocking. Only his words echoed in my mind: *my mother was killed by me*. Yes, wasn’t my mother killed by me? It was my delusional hope, my naive belief that I could win Dax’s heart, that brought about this catastrophe. It was my stupidity, my self-righteous love, that destroyed the Vance family. Salty tears slid past my lips. I mumbled, “I was wrong. It’s all my fault…” After that, I completely gave up fighting. I no longer thought of escaping, nor did I dare mention wanting to see my sister, terrified Dax would hurt Willow. I became a caged bird in Dax’s mansion. The food I ate came back up again. One night, while in bed, I told Dax about it. His frantic thrusts stopped. He’d clearly thought the same thing I had. After he finished, he called his private doctor. The doctor examined me and finally concluded: I was indeed pregnant. One month along. Dax spoke. “Get rid of it.” My hands rested on my lower belly, my expression eerily calm. Dax’s words didn’t faze me. His decision was exactly what I expected. Knowing his personality, he would never allow this child to be born. I suppressed a flicker of sadness in my eyes. This child came at the worst possible time. I didn’t want to bring him into this world to suffer. The doctor hesitated. “We can’t perform the procedure here, Mr. Thorne. Do we need to go to a hospital?” Dax suddenly smiled. “No need.” He dismissed the doctor and called a bodyguard upstairs. The bodyguard entered, carrying an iron bar. My gaze fell on the bar, and a sudden dread filled me. “What are you going to do?” Dax said calmly, “It was my oversight, allowing you to get pregnant.” He gave a look, and the bodyguard stepped forward, pinning me down. I struggled, but couldn’t break free from his grasp.

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The maître d’ approached with that look—pity barely masked by professional courtesy. “Another glass of champagne, Mrs. Montgomery?” I shook my head, forcing a smile that felt like cracked porcelain. “No, thank you. I’m sure my husband will be here any minute.” We both knew it was a lie. The anniversary dinner reservation had been for 7:30 PM. The delicate watch on my wrist—a wedding gift from Chris—now read 9:17. Around me, Boston’s elite dined in intimate pairs, their laughter and conversation forming a backdrop that only amplified my solitude. The candle between the two place settings had burned down significantly, wax pooling on the pristine tablecloth. The small gift box wrapped in silver paper sat untouched beside my plate, corners perfectly aligned the way Chris preferred things. Beside it lay the cream-colored envelope containing my handwritten letter—words I’d rewritten a dozen times, trying to breathe life back into our marriage. I reached for my phone, tucked discreetly in my clutch beneath the table. No missed calls. No apologetic texts. Just silence—the kind I’d grown accustomed to over three years of marriage. My finger hovered over Chris’s name, but pride kept me from calling. Again. Instead, I opened Instagram, a habit born of masochism more than hope. The first post stopped my breath. There he was. My husband, his strong arm wrapped protectively around Jamie Collins’s slender waist as he guided her through the sliding doors of Boston General’s emergency entrance. Her head rested against his shoulder, face contorted in apparent pain. The caption read: *Chief Montgomery to the rescue! Even America’s Sweetheart @JamieCollinsRN needs a hero sometimes. #NightShiftDrama #BostonGeneral* The timestamp: 7:15 PM. Fifteen minutes before he was supposed to meet me. I zoomed in on the image, studying the details like a pathologist examining tissue. Chris’s expression—concern etched across his handsome features, but something else too. A tenderness I hadn’t seen directed at me in… I couldn’t remember how long. Jamie’s designer blouse, perfectly pressed despite her “sudden illness.” The way her manicured hand clutched at his lapel. The comments scrolled beneath: *OMG they’re so cute together!* *Wasn’t tonight his anniversary? Awkward…* *Poor Evelyn Parker always waiting somewhere LOL* I set my phone down with trembling fingers, heat rising to my cheeks. Everyone knew. The entire hospital staff, their social circles, probably half of Boston’s upper crust—all watching this slow-motion car crash that was my marriage. The waiter approached again, this time without words as he cleared away the untouched champagne flute and the bread basket that had gone stale. His eyes flicked to the gift and letter before looking away quickly. “I’ll take the check,” I said softly. “Dr. Montgomery already arranged to have the dinner charged to your account, Mrs. Montgomery. Standing instructions.” His voice was kind, which somehow made it worse. Of course. Chris had set up automatic billing for our anniversary dinners. Efficient, like everything else about him. Except showing up. — The morning light streamed through the penthouse windows when I returned from my sister’s apartment. I hadn’t been able to face our empty bed last night, not after sitting alone in that restaurant, not after those photos. The silence of our home greeted me—pristine surfaces, designer furniture, the curated art pieces that decorated walls but somehow never made this place feel warm. I set my keys in the crystal dish by the door, the soft clink echoing through the space. That’s when I saw it. Draped carelessly over the back of our Italian leather couch—a camel-colored scarf with the distinctive Burberry pattern. Not mine. I approached it slowly, as if it might rear up like a snake. My fingers brushed the cashmere, still carrying the faint warmth of its owner. I lifted it to my face, inhaling involuntarily. Floral notes with a hint of something spicy. Unmistakably feminine, unmistakably not my signature scent. The perfume lingered in the air too, I realized—not just on the scarf. It hung in our living room like an invisible intruder. I followed the scent, my legs moving mechanically toward our bedroom. The bed was made—our housekeeper’s work, not Chris’s. But one of the decorative pillows was slightly askew, the duvet not quite perfectly aligned. Something inside me—something that had been bending and bending for three long years—finally snapped. I stood in our pristine living room, the Burberry scarf clutched in my trembling hand as I heard the front door open. Chris strode in with the confidence of a man who owned the world—tailored suit, not a hair out of place, his surgeon’s hands holding nothing but his phone and car keys. No gift. No apology. “You’re home,” he said, his tone suggesting mild surprise rather than guilt. He set his keys in the crystal dish beside mine, the soft clink echoing between us. “I found this.” I held up the scarf, watching his face for any flicker of recognition or remorse. “And there’s perfume in the air. Perfume that isn’t mine.” His expression remained impassive, but something hardened in his eyes. “What exactly are you implying, Evelyn?” “I’m not implying anything. I’m asking why Jamie Collins’s scarf is in our living room, and why our bedroom smells like her perfume.” My voice was steadier than I expected, fueled by three years of swallowed hurt. Chris sighed—the patronizing sound he reserved for patients who questioned his medical judgment. “That’s Jamie’s? She must have left it when the surgical team met here last week for the quarterly planning session. You were at your mother’s charity event, remember?” I hadn’t known about any meeting in our home. “And the photos of you bringing her to the ER last night? During our anniversary dinner?” The words scraped my throat on their way out. His face softened into something resembling concern, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “She collapsed after her shift. What was I supposed to do, Evelyn? Let her suffer because we had dinner plans?” “You could have called.” “I was busy saving someone who needed me.” He stepped closer, placing his hands on my shoulders. They felt heavy, not comforting. “Honestly, this jealousy isn’t like you. Jamie is my resident, nothing more. Perhaps you should talk to someone about these… insecurities.” The suggestion that I needed therapy for noticing the obvious made something cold settle in my stomach. I stepped back, his hands falling away. “I waited for two hours,” I said quietly. “And I’m sorry about that.” He wasn’t. “But this paranoia needs to stop. It’s beneath you, and frankly, it’s beneath us.” Us. As if we were still a team. As if there had ever been an “us” beyond the merger of our family names and bank accounts. I watched him walk away, disappearing into his study without another glance at the scarf still dangling from my fingers. — The Boston General Foundation Gala glittered with wealth and ambition. Crystal chandeliers cast diamond-like reflections across the ballroom as Boston’s elite mingled, champagne flutes in hand. At our table near the stage, I sat alone while Chris worked the room, his charismatic laugh carrying across the space. “Mrs. Montgomery, you look absolutely stunning tonight,” Dr. Weiss’s wife said, settling into the chair beside me. Her eyes held the same pity I’d seen in the maître d’s. I smiled politely, smoothing the silk of my emerald gown. “Thank you. And please, call me Evelyn.” Chris finally returned to our table just as the hospital director took the stage to introduce him. He squeezed my shoulder briefly—a public display of affection for watching eyes—before straightening his bow tie. “And now, I’m pleased to introduce our Chief of Surgery, the visionary behind Boston General’s upcoming West Wing expansion, Dr. Christopher Montgomery.” Applause rippled through the room as Chris ascended the steps to the podium, his smile dazzling under the spotlights. I clapped mechanically, the diamond wedding band on my finger catching the light. “Thank you all for your continued support of Boston General,” Chris began, his voice commanding the room. “Tonight’s contributions will—” A commotion from the side of the stage interrupted him. Jamie Collins, resplendent in a form-fitting silver dress, swayed dramatically, one hand pressed to her forehead. “I’m sorry,” she called out, voice breathy and weak. “I feel faint…” Without hesitation—without even a glance in my direction—Chris abandoned his speech mid-sentence, rushing to her side. The microphone picked up his concerned murmur: “I’ve got you, Jamie.” Every eye in the ballroom shifted from them to me, watching for my reaction as my husband guided his resident to a chair, kneeling beside her with tender attention. I remained perfectly still, my face a practiced mask of composure while something inside me calcified into resolve. This would be the last time Christopher Montgomery made me a spectacle of pity. I sat across from Marcus in his office, the morning light filtering through the blinds and casting striped shadows across his polished desk. His eyes—kind but shrewd—studied me as I slid the folder of documents toward him. “You’re certain about this?” he asked, his voice steady and calm as always. “I’ve never been more certain of anything,” I replied, surprised by the steadiness in my own voice. Three days had passed since the gala, since Jamie’s theatrical swoon and Chris’s reflexive abandonment of his speech to rush to her side. Three days of silent meals and separate bedrooms. Marcus nodded, opening the folder to review the withdrawal forms I’d already filled out. “The West Wing expansion is his pet project,” he said, not a question but a statement of fact. “Without your family’s backing, it stalls immediately.” “I know.” A small smile played at my lips. “That’s rather the point.” He met my gaze, his expression professional but with an undercurrent of approval. “I’ll process these personally. The first transfers should complete by tomorrow.” I picked up the Mont Blanc pen he offered, feeling its weight in my hand. Each signature felt like reclaiming a piece of myself—Parker funds that had been funneled into Montgomery dreams without so much as a consultation. One elegant stroke after another, I signed my maiden name. Evelyn Parker. Not Montgomery. Parker. “There will be questions,” Marcus warned gently. “From the board, from Chris.” “Let there be,” I replied, capping the pen with a satisfying click. — The text message came three days later from Olivia Chen, a nurse I’d always exchanged pleasantries with during hospital functions. We weren’t close, but there had always been a quiet respect between us. *I think you should see this. I’m sorry.* Attached was a screenshot of what appeared to be an accidental group text Jamie had sent to several hospital staff members before quickly deleting it. But not quickly enough. The image showed Chris, unmistakably Chris, shirtless in what was clearly not our bed. The timestamp: 2:17 AM last night. While I’d been sleeping alone in our penthouse, believing he was working a late shift. I stared at my phone, waiting for the tidal wave of pain to hit. Instead, I felt an odd sense of validation. Proof. Finally, irrefutable proof that I wasn’t paranoid, wasn’t imagining things, wasn’t—as Chris had suggested—in need of therapy for my “insecurities.” *Thank you, Olivia,* I typed back, my fingers steady. Her response came quickly: *Are you okay?* I considered the question, truly considered it. Was I okay? No. But I would be. *I will be,* I replied honestly. — The doorman called up just after midnight. “Mrs. Montgomery, there’s a courier with a delivery for you. He insists it’s urgent.” “Send him up, please, Thomas.” Minutes later, I signed for a manila envelope with no return address. The courier—a young man with tired eyes—nodded respectfully before disappearing back toward the elevator. Inside the envelope: eight high-quality photographs. Chris and Jamie at an intimate restaurant in Cambridge, his hand covering hers on the table. Chris and Jamie entering a hotel that wasn’t Boston General. Chris kissing Jamie against her car in a darkened parking garage, his wedding ring clearly visible on the hand cupping her face. I spread the photos across our dining table, studying each one methodically, as if they were evidence in a case I was building. Which, in a way, they were. My laptop hummed to life as I created a new, encrypted folder. I scanned each photograph, saved it, and labeled it with the date visible on the timestamp. Then I gathered the physical copies, returned them to the envelope, and locked them in my personal safe—the one Chris didn’t have the combination to. Someone was watching them. Someone wanted me to know. As I closed my laptop, my phone lit up with a text from Chris: *Surgery running late. Don’t wait up.* I smiled to myself, a cold, determined smile that would have surprised anyone who thought they knew Evelyn Parker-Montgomery. *No,* I texted back. *I won’t wait.*

I once thought Frank Tucker was the love of my life. Convincing my family to accept our extravagant wedding was a significant challenge. My parents even planned to launch a billion-dollar True Love Jewelry line on our wedding day. But just a week before the ceremony, Frank dropped a bombshell, insisting he needed to marry Celeste Armstrong first to fulfill a promise to her late mother, his first love. “For Celeste’s sake, everything else can be put aside,” he said impatiently. “If money is your concern, why don’t you just find someone else to marry?” It dawned on me then that in his world, both I and my career were always secondary to his romanticized vision of Celeste. Resolute, I turned around and called my family, “Sam, keep the wedding as planned but find me another groom.” On the day I went to try on wedding dresses, I waited a long time outside Autumn Saunders’ company before she lazily descended the stairs. As soon as we got into the car, she tossed me a necklace. “Celeste wanted me to give this to you. She felt awkward at the funeral yesterday because of you. Maybe you should find some time to apologize.” The necklace was obviously a promotional gift; I had seen it in Frank’s online shopping cart days ago. I replied indifferently, “I don’t want it.” Frank frowned. “Why are you upset now? You embarrassed her by stating I’m not her fiancé at the funeral, and she didn’t even hold a grudge. She even thought to send you a gift, and you’re being ungrateful?” The Frank who once stood by me was gone; now he cherished someone else. Frustrated, he opened the car window. After a long silence, seeing no sign of appeasement from me, he finally relented, “Fine, I’m accompanying you to the bridal fitting today, so let’s not argue.” It was the first time all year he had conceded anything. At the bridal shop, the staff greeted us warmly: “Mr. Tucker, Miss Hicks, your twenty custom wedding gowns and suits are ready.” But Frank’s mind was elsewhere; his eyes were glued to his phone, urgency evident on his face. Catching my look, he quickly put his phone away and, with a trace of apology, said, “Addison, something’s come up with Celeste. I need to leave right away. Try on the dresses yourself and pick a suit for me as well. I trust your judgment.” With that, he hurriedly hailed a cab, leaving me alone. The staff approached, tentatively asking, “Miss Hicks, would you like to personally choose the suit?” I pulled my gaze back from the door and nodded. Of course, I needed to choose a suit, but it wasn’t for Frank Tucker. After all, the groom had changed. “Sam, keep the wedding as planned but find me another groom.” Sam was incredulous, “You’re calling off the wedding?” “No, he wants to marry someone else,” I replied with a bitter smile. I had navigated so many familial hurdles to be with Frank, gaining my parents’ approval and tying the launch of our jewelry line to the wedding day. Now, all efforts seemed in vain. Sam paused for a long time before saying, “That leaves Josiah Hicks. His family has been pressuring him lately, and he’s been seeking a bride.” I frowned. Josiah was my arch-nemesis. On the day of our engagement, he foretold that my dream wedding would crumble, and ironically, here we were. With time running short, I could only say, “Then him. See if he’s interested. If not, I’ll figure something else out.” Sam quickly responded, “No need to ask. He’ll definitely agree.” “What?” Before I could probe further, Sam muttered something and hung up. After selecting wedding dresses, I got into a car to go home, expecting Frank wouldn’t return all night. But as dinnertime approached, there he was. He walked briskly up to me, holding a takeout box. “I went across town to get this for you, late-night snacks from Harry’s.” I looked at the ravioli in front of me. There were three fewer than usual, and one had a bite mark—clearly someone else had eaten it. Half an hour ago, I had seen Celeste post on Instagram, sharing the same food I now held. “My man didn’t forget to grab me a late-night snack. Thanks, love!” I put down my fork, suddenly losing my appetite. “I don’t want to eat. Just toss it out.” Frank looked annoyed but held his tongue and sat next to me to complain. “You have no idea how upset Celeste was today. Her parents went over to her house, berating her for having no money and no decent dowry. She was so upset she cried.” “Celeste just returned from abroad and doesn’t have much money. I thought your dowry could help her out.” His presumptive tone made my stomach churn. I looked at him with a sardonic smile, “So it’s my job to provide the dowry for your wife?” No wonder Celeste Armstrong would go to such insane lengths, even digging up her own mother’s grave just to frame me. It turns out her supposed death was all a charade. I texted Frank Tucker: “Celeste’s mom isn’t dead. Check the email I sent you for the truth.” Whether he reads it or not is no longer my concern. Josiah Hicks personally booked my flight for three days later. When Frank came back, he found me packing. Half of my clothes were strewn about; some were earmarked for New York. “Why are you packing?” Frank asked, his tone tinged with suspicion. “I’m just relocating,” I replied casually. He paused for a moment, not grasping the reality, and continued, “The company is in New York. We’ll need to settle there after the wedding, so it’s good to get a head start.” Finishing his statement, he shot me an intense look. “You should apologize about Celeste’s mom soon. Don’t put me in a tough spot—how about doing it on the wedding day?” With that, he tossed his phone onto the table and went off to find his ID; he and Celeste were getting their marriage license today. He didn’t return until late that night. When I checked my phone, there was already a message from Celeste. She’d sent a picture of her and Frank in matching outfits, lying side by side in bed. I shut my eyes, trying to suppress the ache in my heart. I suppressed the surge of emotions and switched off the phone. All night, it buzzed every hour with Celeste sending videos of her and Frank, each one more mocking than the last. The next morning, Josiah messaged me. “Addison, the flowers have bloomed. You can return whenever you wish.” Attached was a photo of two marriage licenses next to a vibrant red rose. I hadn’t expected him to keep the plant I’d given him so long ago. A strange emotion bubbled up inside me. I replied with a simple, “Okay.” As I set my phone aside and began organizing my work files, Frank showed up again, packing his everyday essentials. “I’ll be staying with Celeste for a few days to help with wedding preparations. She’s swamped, handling it all by herself. Make sure you’re prompt for the wedding the day after tomorrow.” After talking, he launched into a long explanation, insisting he was just going to assist and asking me not to cause any trouble. “I won’t be attending,” I said, my gaze lowered. After last night, any lingering affection I had for him had evaporated entirely. Seeing my composed demeanor, an inexplicable panic swept over Frank. He hesitated. But recalling Celeste’s insistent pleading, he relaxed his grip on the phone. How could Addison, who loved him so deeply, ever let something go off track? Feeling assured, he breathed a sigh of relief and disappeared from my view without further argument. Watching his back as he left, I dialed a number. That evening, a helicopter landed in the town square. A man approached me. “Ms. Hicks, your helicopter is ready. It will transport you safely to New York in half an hour.” I nodded, handing him an envelope. “Deliver this to the wedding tomorrow. It’s my wedding gift to the bride and groom.”

I spent a decade by Khalil’s side, helping him build his empire and rule the underworld. Then, out of nowhere, he married someone else behind my back. I overheard him joking with his most trusted men, “Make sure Harlow never finds out about my wife, or she’ll blow up, and we won’t be able to calm things down.” For ten years, I was his rock through every storm. He promised that once he left the life of crime, he’d make a home for us together. But now, as he turns his life around and goes legit, those promises have vanished into thin air. I didn’t raise hell or confront him this time. Instead, I found myself in the company of someone new—a devoted companion—and decided to give him a chance. Standing outside Khalil’s office, I listened to the laughter resonating from the lounge down the hall—Khalil and his closest confidants, bantering away. Yahya’s voice rang out teasingly, “Boss, did your wife ring up again yesterday?” A deep, magnetic laugh followed—Khalil’s voice, “She’s constantly on edge, worried some temptress will steal me away.” His tone turned serious, “You are my most trusted allies. Keep my wife a secret from Harlow.” It felt like a punch to the gut. Bjorn’s hesitant voice piped up, “What if Harlow finds out? She’s stuck by you, risking it all for ten years.” Khalil’s voice turned frosty, “Ten years, big deal.” “Great partner, sure, but marriage? Not a good match.” “The company’s evolving. I need a wife who can open doors to high society, not someone tangled in old battles.” “Besides, she can’t have kids anymore. What would become of my legacy? Charity? How laughable.” I stood frozen, ice running through my veins. Memories of that stormy night five years ago hit me like a tidal wave. I was at the hospital for a check-up when Yahya’s call came through, “Harlow! Khalil’s been jumped!” I didn’t wipe off the ultrasound gel. Just threw on my coat and raced there. Khalil was surrounded, his dark suit drenched in blood, left arm hanging limp. The bald leader lunged at his throat with a knife. Instinct took over—I threw myself in front of Khalil, taking the blow. Turning, I blocked another knife aimed at him. Moving an inch would’ve meant his heart pierced. Before I blacked out, I saw Khalil’s eyes, frantic. His voice rang in my ears, “I swear on my life I’ll never betray you…” When I came to in the surgery room, the doctors broke the news: I lost the child and might never conceive again. Khalil sat beside my hospital bed, an IV in his hand, “When this life of battles ends, we’ll get married.” “I’ll tell the world you mean everything to me.” But now, the laughter from down the corridor mocked me awake from my daydream. Those promises and tears seemed to have died with our unborn child in that storm. Khalil’s magnetic voice continued, “Harlow’s got nothing on my wife. Meeting her showed me what a real woman is.” “Soft as water, especially in bed—it’s a whole different experience…” His words slithered into my ears like poison. “Harlow…” He laughed derisively, “She’s like a block of wood, always fighting among men. You’ve seen her wield a knife, right? Tougher than any man, not a hint of femininity.” Khalil took a swig of whiskey, his Adam’s apple bobbing, “I regretted sleeping with her from the start.” “Scarred all over, harsh to touch, unlike my wife’s soft skin.” A chorus of crude laughter erupted from the lounge. My stomach churned as I recalled his first touch, fingers tracing the scar on my belly, calling it a badge of battle. Looking back, his gaze might’ve been pride in conquering a fierce woman, not love. Suddenly, Yahya’s laughter stopped, “Boss, you say all that, but if Harlow finds out…” “What? Can’t I speak the truth?” Khalil slammed his glass down, “She’s just a barren hen, thinking I’d marry her?” My teeth chattered. I wanted to walk away, but my legs felt like lead, unable to decide which foot to move first. “Want to hear the real kicker?” Khalil’s voice was lowered, filled with malicious excitement, “She still thinks I’ll marry her. Every time we’re together, she asks, ‘When are we getting married?’ It drives me crazy…” Bjorn chimed in, concern in his voice, “Boss, secrets don’t keep forever. If Harlow finds out, what’s your plan?” Khalil sneered, swirling his glass, the amber liquid catching his steely gaze. “Why rush? I’ve got it all planned.” His voice dropped, “Next Wednesday’s the final handover with the Phoenix gang; I’m sending Harlow.” Yahya sat up straight, “Boss, Phoenix wants her gone; they hold a grudge…” “Moreover, they’re plotting something for the handover; I’m worried about Harlow’s safety…” Khalil interrupted, smiling cruelly, “Let her step on the mine.” “Phoenix wants her gone, I’ll give them the chance. When she’s in danger, I’ll swoop in to save her, a repayment for saving me.” “Then, I’ll announce my marriage. I doubt she’ll dare trouble my wife again.” I held my breath, afraid to make a sound. Bjorn hesitated, “But she’s been with you for so long, what if…” Khalil lit a cigarette, his face hidden by smoke, “I won’t let gratitude bind me. I just want to be good to my wife now!” He blew out a smoke ring, casually adding, “Next Wednesday, keep quiet. I’m settling this score with her, ending the marriage talk.” I backed away, my legs heavy like lead. The man I shielded with my life now prepared to throw me to the wolves. The fire that burned in me for ten years suddenly went out. I accidentally knocked over a vase in the corridor. The shattering porcelain halted the laughter from the lounge. Khalil bellowed, “Who’s there?” I ducked into the emergency stairwell, ascending one flight before slipping into the elevator. Ten years of whispers and vows through crisis had become the roadblocks in his quest for happiness. My phone buzzed in my pocket—a message from Khalil, “Harlow, where are you? Did you stop by the office today?” With trembling fingers, I almost told him I’d been there, that I’d heard it all. But I hesitated, deleting what I’d written, typing instead, “I don’t want repayment of that empty gratitude. I’m leaving.” Deleted again. In the end, I sent nothing. I stuffed my phone back in my bag and wiped my tears, feeling numb. If you want us to settle the score, I’ll grant your wish. Khalil returned three hours later. “Harlow?” His voice was deliberately gentle, probing. I sat blankly in the living room, but as I turned, a smile was already on my face. “You’re back? I made your favorite chicken soup with sweet potatoes in the kitchen.” His eyes lingered on me for a moment, his Adam’s apple moving slightly. “Where were you this afternoon? You didn’t answer any of my messages.” I moved toward the storage cabinet, catching a glimpse of his tense jawline in the reflection of the glass door. “I went to pick up your birthday gift. Once I got back, I got busy with dinner and forgot to reply.” When I revealed the Rolex watch from its box, I saw a flicker of emotion in his eyes. I fastened the watch onto his wrist. “Next Thursday is Thanksgiving, and it’s also the day you retire. It’s a big double celebration.” His voice was a bit hoarse. “Did you spend all your savings on this watch?” I secured the clasp. “Sincerity can’t be measured in money, Khalil.” I suddenly looked up, meeting his gaze directly. “Is there anything you need to tell me?” The air grew thick with tension. Emotions swirled in his eyes—partially moved, partially conflicted. Just when I thought he might say something, the phone rang, breaking the moment. All the unspoken words faded away with the ringing, and the light in my eyes slowly dimmed. He answered quickly, masking the emotions that had just surfaced. I could only hear a woman’s voice on the other end, asking him when he’d be home, promising a surprise for the evening. His expression brightened instantly, filled with anticipation. He hung up quickly and turned to me, “Something’s come up with the crew. I need to handle it. I’ll make it up to you later.” He hurried out, leaving only the aftershocks of a closing door. I stood frozen at the entrance, feeling my entire body grow rigid. Soon, it was time to meet with Judah Franklin’s crew. Khalil’s call came through beforehand, “Harlow, this is the last deal. I don’t trust anyone else; only you.” I stood by the large window, gazing at the overcast sky outside, a faint, forlorn smile stretching across my lips. “Alright.” I replied softly, my voice steady, “I’ll be there on time.” Whether it was to repay a debt or step into the unknown, I was ready. 2 a.m., international waters. Judah’s ship approached slowly. The deck was crowded with people, a mass of shadows under the moonlight, knives flashing menacingly in the night. Judah stood at the bow, grinning widely, “Miss Thompson, long time no see.” I nodded slightly, signaling my men to bring the cargo onto the deck. “Inspect the goods.” Judah ordered his men to check the shipment, but as soon as the cover was lifted, he shouted, “Open fire!” Bang! Almost simultaneously, Judah’s crew attacked from all sides! “Miss Thompson! We’ve been ambushed!” My men shouted in panic, but Khalil had sent too few people; we were quickly cornered! Bullets whizzed past as I dodged a fatal shot, raising my hand to take down an oncoming enemy. But there were too many, and we were pushed back. “Retreat!” I yelled, “Everyone to the speedboats!” My men quickly retreated while I covered them, running out of ammunition fast. Just as I was about to jump onto a boat, a bullet pierced my shoulder from behind! Pain exploded instantly as I staggered and turned back, only to see Nikolai, one of Khalil’s men, slowly lowering his weapon, his eyes cold. I lost my balance, plunged into the sea, and the cold water swallowed me whole. Staring up at the ocean surface, I saw in the distance Khalil’s ship speeding toward me. He finally came. To play out his tale of settling scores. But I no longer needed him.

I sat in the plush leather chair of Sean’s law office, my body still aching from the miscarriage three days ago. The cramping hadn’t stopped completely. Neither had the bleeding. The doctor had advised bed rest, but Sean’s lawyer had made it clear—today was non-negotiable. “Mrs. Harrington, please sign here… and here.” The lawyer’s voice was clinically detached as he slid the divorce papers across the polished mahogany table. His finger tapped impatiently at each yellow tab. I couldn’t look at Sean. In the ten years we’d been married, I’d memorized every expression that crossed his face. Today, I couldn’t bear to see which one he wore—contempt, perhaps, or worse, nothing at all. Instead, my gaze drifted to Natalie Benson, perched beside him like a bird of prey. Her red-lacquered nails rested possessively on his forearm, her diamond bracelet catching the light. My bracelet. The one Sean had given me on our fifth anniversary. “June.” Sean’s voice finally broke the silence. Cold. Distant. A stranger’s voice. “The sooner you sign, the sooner we can all move on.” The lawyer cleared his throat. “I should remind you, Mrs. Harrington, that should you choose not to sign today, Mr. Harrington is prepared to contest any custody arrangements for future children and—” “Future children?” The words escaped me before I could stop them. My hand instinctively went to my abdomen, still tender from the loss. “I just lost our baby.” Natalie’s lips curled into a smile that never reached her eyes. “Well, that simplifies things, doesn’t it?” Sean didn’t even flinch at her cruelty. He just stared at his watch, as if my grief were an inconvenience, a meeting running overtime. “Sign the papers, June,” he said flatly. “Or you’ll leave with nothing.” My hands trembled as I picked up the pen. Each signature felt like another piece of myself being carved away. With the final stroke, ten years of marriage—of loving Sean, of building a life with him, of sacrificing everything I’d ever wanted—was reduced to a stack of legal documents. The drive back to our apartment—no, Sean’s apartment now—was a blur of rain-slicked streets and blurry traffic lights. My chest felt hollow, as if something vital had been scooped out. When I reached the door, my key still worked. Small mercies. But inside, everything had changed. The closet in our bedroom stood open, emptied of my clothes. The bookshelves had been purged of my novels and textbooks. Even the photographs had been removed from their frames, leaving ghostly rectangles on the walls where our memories had once hung. In the living room, cardboard boxes were stacked neatly, labeled in a handwriting I didn’t recognize. “June’s Things.” “Kitchen—June’s.” “Miscellaneous.” A note sat on the kitchen counter, Sean’s precise handwriting unmistakable: *June, The movers will collect these boxes tomorrow. You have until noon to vacate the premises. Your access to our joint accounts has been temporarily suspended pending the finalization of our divorce. —Sean* No goodbye. No acknowledgment of our decade together. Just logistics. A soft knock at the door startled me. When I opened it, Mrs. Chen from across the hall stood there, her kind face creased with concern. “I saw the movers earlier,” she said softly. “They left these by the door.” She held out a pair of worn ballet flats—my favorite shoes for padding around the apartment on Sunday mornings. That night, I sat on the bathroom floor, the cool tiles pressing against my legs. The bottle of sleeping pills Sean had gotten prescribed for his insomnia sat in my palm. How many would it take? Would it hurt? “June?” The voice was so achingly familiar that for a moment, I thought I’d imagined it. But when I looked up, he was there in the doorway—Sean. Not the Sean who had sat across from me in that sterile law office, but Sean as he had been when we first met. Eighteen years old, with warm eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. Hair slightly too long, falling across his forehead in that way that had made my heart stumble the first time I saw him. “Sean?” My voice cracked. He knelt beside me, and when his hand touched mine, it was warm but somehow not quite solid—like touching sunlight through a window. “What are you doing?” he asked gently, his eyes fixed on the pill bottle in my hand. Morning came with cruel persistence. I hadn’t slept—not really. The pills remained uncapped beside me, a temptation I’d resisted only because of him. Because of young Sean, whose impossible presence had somehow anchored me through the darkest hours. I dragged myself to the bus stop, my belongings stuffed into a single suitcase. Mrs. Chen had offered her couch, but pride—the last thing I owned that Sean couldn’t take—made me refuse. The bus lurched forward, and I clutched my phone, scrolling through credit card applications. Each rejection notification felt like another door slamming shut. *Insufficient credit history. Application denied. Unable to verify income.* ‘They’re making a mistake,’ came a soft voice beside me. I looked up to find young Sean sitting there, his eyes warm with concern. In the harsh morning light, he seemed more substantial than he had in the bathroom darkness, yet still somehow ethereal—like a photograph coming to life. ‘What are you?’ I whispered, earning a concerned glance from an elderly woman across the aisle. He smiled that crooked smile I’d fallen for a lifetime ago. ‘I’m here because you need me to be.’ His hand covered mine as another rejection flashed across my screen. Though I couldn’t truly feel his touch, something warm spread through my fingers. I bit my lip hard, fighting back tears that threatened to humiliate me further in this bus full of strangers. ‘You’ll figure this out,’ he said quietly. ‘You always do.’ The bus jolted to a stop, and when I looked again, the seat beside me was empty. — ‘You came!’ Sarah Evans exclaimed, her surprise poorly concealed as she air-kissed my cheeks at the law firm’s holiday party entrance. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d… well, you know.’ I smoothed down the borrowed dress—a castoff from Mrs. Chen’s daughter. Too tight across the chest, too loose at the waist, but it was black and unremarkable. Perfect for disappearing. ‘I appreciate the invitation,’ I lied, scanning the room for Sean. This was madness, coming here. But I needed to speak with him about the accounts. About the future. About anything that might give me closure. The party hummed with expensive conversation and tinkling crystal. I sipped champagne that tasted like ashes, nodding at former friends who suddenly found the appetizer table fascinating when they spotted me. David Miller, the managing partner, tapped his glass for attention. ‘If I could have everyone’s moment, please! We have something special to celebrate tonight.’ The crowd parted, and there they were—Sean and Natalie, her arm possessively wound through his. She wore red, vibrant as a fresh wound against the sea of conservative black and navy suits. ‘To new beginnings,’ David continued, raising his glass. ‘And to the future Mr. and Mrs. Harrington!’ The room erupted in applause. My champagne glass froze halfway to my lips. ‘And because a picture is worth a thousand words,’ Natalie’s voice cut through the congratulations, ‘we’ve prepared a little slideshow of our journey.’ The lights dimmed. The projector flickered to life on the wall behind them. And there I was—pale, hollow-eyed, curled in a hospital bed. The date stamp showed three days ago. My miscarriage. My private agony, projected six feet tall for everyone to see. ‘Oops,’ Natalie giggled, feigning embarrassment as gasps rippled through the crowd. ‘Wrong folder!’ The room spun. Faces blurred into masks of horror and morbid fascination. I stumbled backward, knocking into a waiter, sending a tray of glasses crashing to the floor. The shattering sound broke whatever spell had frozen me in place. I fled. — ‘Sean!’ I called out, my voice echoing in the parking garage beneath his firm the next morning. He was walking toward his car, briefcase in hand. He turned slowly, his face a perfect mask of indifference. ‘June. You shouldn’t be here.’ ‘The accounts,’ I said, my breath forming small clouds in the December air. ‘They’re empty. All of them.’ ‘Yes.’ No explanation. No apology. ‘How am I supposed to—’ ‘You should check your credit report,’ he interrupted coolly. ‘The mortgage, the car loans, your student debt—they’re all in your name now.’ The ground seemed to tilt beneath me. ‘You can’t do that.’ ‘It’s already done.’ He checked his watch. ‘Anything else?’ A sleek black limousine pulled up behind him, its tinted window rolling down to reveal Natalie’s smirking face. ‘Sean,’ I whispered, searching for any flicker of the man I’d married. ‘Why?’ He turned away without answering, sliding into the limo beside her. As they pulled away, I caught a final glimpse of Natalie’s triumphant smile through the darkened glass. Standing alone in the cold garage, I realized with sudden clarity that the man I’d loved was truly gone. And in his place was someone I no longer recognized—someone capable of destroying me without a second thought. I stared at the ceiling of Chris’s spare bedroom, watching the shadows from passing cars slide across the cracked plaster. The mattress smelled faintly of mothballs and something else—a lingering scent of my brother’s military life, perhaps. After the parking garage confrontation with Sean, I’d had nowhere else to go. My credit cards were maxed out, my accounts emptied, and my name was now attached to debts I hadn’t even known existed. “You can stay as long as you need,” Chris had said when I showed up at his door, suitcase in hand, eyes swollen from crying. His apartment was small—a one-bedroom converted to two by adding a wall that didn’t quite reach the ceiling—but it was clean and warm. Military precision evident in the perfectly made bed, the precisely aligned shoes by the door. I rolled onto my side, wincing at the hollow ache that still lingered in my abdomen. The physical reminder of everything I’d lost. “Hey, you up?” Chris’s voice came softly through the thin door. When I didn’t answer, he pushed it open anyway, his wheelchair barely fitting through the narrow frame. “Brought you something.” He wheeled over to the bed and handed me a battered leather journal. The cover was worn smooth at the corners, the pages yellowed with age. “What’s this?” I asked, running my fingers over the soft leather. “My therapist gave it to me when I came back from Afghanistan. Said writing down the next steps, no matter how small, helped make the impossible seem possible.” His eyes, so like mine, held no pity—just quiet understanding. “Thought you might need it more than I do now.” I clutched the journal to my chest, tears threatening again. “I don’t know what the next steps even are, Chris.” He gestured to the wall behind me, where his service medals hung in a simple frame. “When they first put me in this chair, I couldn’t see past the next hour, let alone the next day. But you keep going. One step, then another.” He reached out and squeezed my hand. “You’ll rebuild, June. And I’ll help you.” — The nonprofit where I’d worked before my marriage to Sean was housed in a converted Victorian in Capitol Hill. I’d spent three happy years there before leaving to support Sean’s career move to New York. Now, back in Seattle with nothing but desperation, I hoped they might remember me fondly. “June Parker!” Maria Sanchez exclaimed when I walked into her office. “Or is it Harrington now?” “Parker,” I said firmly. “It’s Parker again.” Maria’s warm brown eyes softened with understanding. She’d been my supervisor years ago, and time had added silver to her dark hair but hadn’t diminished her kind smile. “Well, Ms. Parker, your timing is impeccable. We just got funding for a new community outreach position. The pay isn’t spectacular, but—” “I’ll take it,” I interrupted, then flushed. “I mean, I’d like to apply. If that’s possible.” She laughed. “Let’s start with an interview, at least. How’s tomorrow?” I left feeling lighter than I had in weeks. The next day, I wore my only remaining professional outfit—a navy skirt suit I’d managed to grab before the movers came—and answered Maria’s questions with growing confidence. By the end, her smile told me everything I needed to know. “We’ll be in touch very soon,” she promised, walking me to the door. Three days later, a terse email arrived: *Dear Ms. Parker,* *Thank you for your interest in our Community Outreach Coordinator position. After careful consideration, we have decided to pursue other candidates whose qualifications better align with our current needs.* *We wish you the best in your future endeavors.* I stared at my phone in disbelief. The interview had gone perfectly. Maria had all but offered me the job on the spot. Before I could stop myself, I was dialing her number. “June,” Maria answered, her voice tight. “I was hoping you’d call.” “What happened?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice steady. A long pause. Then: “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but… Natalie Benson called our executive director yesterday. Sean’s firm is our biggest donor, and she made it clear that if we hired you, they would withdraw their support.” The phone nearly slipped from my suddenly numb fingers. “She did what?” “I’m so sorry, June. We can’t lose that funding—we’d have to close our doors.” After we hung up, I sat on Chris’s fire escape, watching the sun sink behind the Seattle skyline. The metal was cold through my thin pants, but I barely noticed. First my marriage, then my home, my financial security, and now even the chance to work—all systematically stripped away. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” I turned to find young Sean sitting beside me, his legs dangling over the edge of the fire escape. In the fading light, he looked almost solid. “Do you remember our first date?” he asked, his eyes reflecting the deepening twilight. “The coffee shop near campus,” I whispered. “You spilled your latte all over my economics textbook.” He smiled, and suddenly I wasn’t on the fire escape anymore but sitting in that crowded university café, watching eighteen-year-old Sean frantically blot at my ruined book with napkins, his face flushed with embarrassment. “I’ll buy you a new one,” he was promising, his eyes—so warm then, so full of life—meeting mine across the table. The memory shifted, and we were dancing in the spring rain on the empty quad, my sundress plastered to my skin, his laughter echoing across the deserted campus. Then we were lying on a blanket in the darkness outside Madison, watching the Perseid meteor shower streak across the summer sky. “Someday,” he whispered, taking my hand, “I’m going to give you the world, June Parker.” The memories faded, leaving me alone on the cold fire escape, tears streaming down my face. The contrast between those cherished moments and my current reality was almost too painful to bear. “Why are you showing me this?” I asked the empty air where young Sean had been. But there was no answer, only the distant sound of traffic and the hollow ache of everything I’d lost.

My lover has delusions. He sees me as his enemy, his mortal foe, the one person he despises most. Day after day, I play along with his twisted game. Until one day, I just couldn’t anymore. I was diagnosed with cancer. **1** When I got home, the house was dark. I dropped my bag, kicked off my shoes, and fumbled for the light switch on the wall. The moment my hand hit the switch, a plate flew past my head. I ducked, barely dodging it. The lights flickered on. Julian stood on the stairs, his face utterly blank as he stared at me. “So, you decided to show up.” “…” I managed a small smile and walked over to him. I reached out and wrapped my arms around him. “Can you stop acting like a whiny, complaining partner, Julian?” He smelled faintly of the cologne I’d picked out for him, a floral scent. I always hoped it would soften the icy aura he gave off. But it never did. His eyes still held pure revulsion when he looked at me. **2** Tiny shards of light glittered from the crystal chandelier. But even with the lights on, the living room felt unnervingly cold. And the man sitting beside me offered no warmth at all. I placed my tablet on my lap, flipping through pages to show him. “Look, for our wedding, don’t you think this dress would be perfect?” “The skirt is designed like a mermaid’s tail.” “It’s so beautiful, like shimmering light just gliding over it.” “And I really love this one too, the veil has stars on it, just like the ones you showed me at the—” A mocking laugh cut me off. He raised his head, his dark eyes fixed on me. “Did we ever *have* a past?” I desperately wanted to tell him we did, that we had so many wonderful memories together. But the man in front of me always saw me as a monster, the kind of villain beyond redemption. He grabbed my chin, pulling my face close, and his lips brushed against the corner of mine. His voice, usually so cold, had a seductive lilt, a dark, alluring whisper that made me shiver. “Good girl, now give me the medication.” **3** Julian listened to me, but only because… I had something he desperately craved. If he’d ever bothered to look through the agency’s internal reports from years ago, he would have starkly seen his name listed under drug enforcement commendations and injured in the line of duty. Julian developed an addiction during his undercover work. After his undercover assignment ended, he was diagnosed with a paranoid psychotic disorder. Essentially, delusions. He classified almost everyone around him as an enemy, and that included me. Even me, the person he once said he loved most, the one he swore to protect with his life. The gentle man I knew was long gone. He’d been dragged into his own personal hell, and his gaze when he looked at me was like looking into a thousand-year-old ice cave. The bedroom was dim. I yanked on his collar, pushing him back onto the bed. He was beneath me, yet his eyes were strangely calm. Even tainted by addiction, he looked as pure as a distant, untouchable god. A slight curl of his lips was still enough to take my breath away. I leaned down to kiss him, but with a surprising surge of strength, he flipped me over. He fumbled in my chest pocket for a moment and pulled out a syringe. Then, with practiced ease, he plunged it into his right arm. … To him, that syringe was a hit of pure drug. But it wasn’t. It was a specially formulated sedative, a psychiatric medication designed just for him. Addiction recovery isn’t something that happens overnight; it requires slowly tapering the dosage. Suddenly, I understood why he hated me so much. Because, in his eyes, I wasn’t his closest lover. I was the one who had gotten him hooked, then dangled just enough to manipulate him, day after day… Just a villain. **4** I had a dream. It was years ago, when Julian was still undercover. One Christmas Eve, I went to meet him. We navigated through the crowds, seeing each other only through the folds of newspapers we pretended to read. He had his hands shoved into his pockets, leaning against a railing like he didn’t have a bone in his body. Julian was handsome, and even a slight smirk made him look dangerously charming, drawing glances from every girl nearby. Right in front of me, he whistled at two of them. I kicked his shin. “Ow!” he yelped, then lowered his voice to call out to me. “Babe, I have to play the part, right?” He was already starting to pick up the rough edges of the underworld, but his eyes were still clear. Christmas carols jingled in the background. He tilted his head back, a playful tone in his voice. “Three years from now, then another three years, then another three…” It was a line from ‘Infernal Affairs,’ our favorite crime thriller. He turned his head, our eyes finally meeting in the reflection on the glass. “When am I finally going to marry you?” … I lowered my newspaper, brushing past him. “Finish your mission, and I’ll be waiting for you to marry me.” … The mission was over, but I never got to marry him. I woke up early the next morning, and the spot beside me was empty. No sign of him. I knew he hated me, that he didn’t want to share a bed with me. But when I went downstairs and couldn’t find him anywhere, panic set in. I searched every single room in the house. Nothing. I called a friend, my hand shaking so hard I could barely hold the phone. But he wasn’t anywhere. I clutched my head and sank to the floor. Lately, it was always like this. If I thought too hard about anything, my head would throb. My vision blurred from the pounding pain, but the desperate worry of not finding him was the real torture. Frantically, I typed out messages, even thinking of asking my old colleagues at the agency to help me track him down. My frantic heart pounded faster and faster, until a pair of white sneakers appeared in front of me. “What are you doing?” His voice was steady, still so cold and indifferent. Julian wasn’t Julian anymore, and yet, he still was. But the detached man standing before me could never truly merge with the playful boy from my memories. I stood up and wrapped my arms around him. I don’t know why, but I always loved holding him. It was like I could somehow imprint my warmth onto him, even though he never once hugged me back. “I thought you left, Julian.” He took a step back, subtly pushing me away. “I just went to water the flowers.” “…” I smiled faintly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “What do you want for dinner tonight? I’ll make you…”

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My roommate and her boyfriend had a major breakup, but I was the one who got kidnapped. In my previous life, Chloe told me her boyfriend, Ryan, was probably cheating and asked me to test his loyalty. I never imagined Ryan wasn’t cheating at all. Instead, he was obsessively in love with her. After Chloe broke up with him, he kidnapped me and forced an entire bottle of bleach down my throat, leading to my agonizing death. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day Chloe pulled the same old trick. Knowing the truth this time, I dialed 911: “Hello, Officer, I suspect someone just drugged me…” “Cassie, what are you spacing out for? Are you even listening to me?” Chloe’s sweet, yet oddly demanding voice, drifted into my ear through the phone. Familiar memories flooded back, and I felt a jolt, instinctively touching my throat. No burning sting. No numb sensation of chemical corrosion. I had been reborn?! In my last life, it was exactly today. Chloe had pleaded and pestered me on the phone, begging me to help her test if her boyfriend, Ryan, was really cheating. “Cassie, we’re best friends, you know? Only you can help me with this.” She sighed dramatically on the other end, her voice filled with such grievance, as if she’d suffered the greatest injustice. “I just have this gut feeling. Could you just go feel him out for me? Just chat with him a bit, see how he acts around other girls.” “You know Ryan. He seems aloof, but he totally falls for your straightforward type. If you test him, he won’t be on guard.” “If he really has changed, I can at least get over him, right? Please, help me out?” Back then, I had just graduated. I was naive and easily swayed. I couldn’t resist her repeated pleas and agreed. I never imagined my roommate, with whom I lived day in and day out, harbored such a venomous heart. In my past life, I followed Chloe’s script. At a party she’d conveniently arranged, I casually brought up relationship topics. I even said a few ambiguous things as she instructed. Ryan, already upset by Chloe’s recent coldness, blew up on the spot after my interference. Soon after, Chloe broke up with him. But then Chloe, sobbing dramatically with tears streaming down her face, told Ryan that I had been interested in him all along and deliberately stirred up trouble between them. “I knew she liked you for ages. Her eyes always looked at you weirdly. I thought she’d give up eventually, but I never expected…” “Cassie’s my best friend, I don’t want to hurt her, Ryan, let’s just break up!” All the words I had said, following her instructions, became “proof” of me “seducing” Ryan. Looking back now, Chloe wasn’t trying to test Ryan at all. She clearly wanted to break up but didn’t want to be blamed for cheating, so she staged this whole act. Ryan, with his extreme personality, was blinded by rage. He kidnapped me. “I wondered why she suddenly dumped me! So it was you messing things up behind her back!” I desperately explained that it was all Chloe’s setup, but he didn’t believe me. During our struggle, he pulled out a bottle of bleach from somewhere and forced it into my mouth. “She thought you were her best friend, but you secretly tried to steal her boyfriend!” “Chloe loves me so much, why would she break up with me?! It’s all because of you! Even now, Chloe refuses to get back with me.” “Since you like me so much, then just die!” I writhed on the floor in agony. Before losing consciousness, I only saw Ryan’s twisted, desperate face. By the time the police arrived, I was already dead, from acute chemical poisoning. Ryan was sentenced to life imprisonment for murder. His entire life was utterly ruined. His decent, hardworking parents turned white-haired overnight, nearly fainting from grief in the courtroom. And Chloe? At my funeral, she wept profusely, playing the part of a poor soul who had lost her dearest friend, but her eyes were full of triumph. “Cassie, don’t blame me. Blame yourself for being too trusting. I just said a few ambiguous words, and you actually believed them.” “I didn’t want to hurt you, and I wanted to break up with Ryan peacefully. But that lunatic Ryan would just smash things and get violent every time I mentioned breaking up.” “Besides, it was that lunatic Ryan who did it himself. It has nothing to do with me.” It turned out she had calculated everything from the start. She wanted to get rid of Ryan but was afraid of his extreme personality and what he might do, so she designed this whole thing to implicate me. She even posted tributes to me on social media, subtly implying that I had a crush on Ryan and was accidentally harmed when my advances were rejected. She cleaned her hands completely, winning widespread sympathy. My parents, having to bury their own child, had all the life drained from them overnight. They eventually withered away from grief and sorrow. Perhaps Heaven itself couldn’t stand such injustice, and miraculously gave me a chance to come back. This time, I would make Chloe pay back every single debt, down to the last penny!

“Cassie? Are you listening or not? Just help me this once, please? I’ll treat you to dinner tonight!” Chloe’s voice on the other end of the phone continued to nag. I took a deep breath, suppressing the rising hatred. “Okay.” Chloe’s voice instantly brightened, full of undisguised eagerness. “I knew you were the best! You wouldn’t just stand by and let me be fooled.” I clutched my phone. “Well, he is your boyfriend. You need to know the truth. Tell me, what should I do?” “Just find a chance to ask Ryan out for dinner.” Chloe lowered her voice, a calculated excitement in her tone. “Just say… say that I’ve been complaining to you lately about him not being attentive enough, and you’re sticking up for me, wanting to talk some sense into him.” “Then you can subtly ask if he has something on his mind, or… if he’s met any girls who caught his eye.” She paused, then added, “Remember, don’t be too direct. Act like it’s just casual conversation.” “If he avoids eye contact or speaks vaguely, then something’s definitely wrong! Make sure to tell me right away so I can make my plans.” I intentionally dragged out my words, pretending to hesitate. “Is that really okay? What if he finds out you put me up to it? Won’t he get mad?” Chloe scoffed, her voice confident. “Don’t worry, he trusts you so much, why would he suspect anything?” “Besides, even if he found out, he’d only blame me for being nosy. At most, we’d have an argument, which would be a perfect chance to see his true colors.” I “reluctantly” agreed. After hanging up, the smile on my face instantly vanished. Chloe wasn’t looking for the truth at all. She clearly wanted to use me to plant a seed of doubt in Ryan’s mind, paving the way for her future “victim” persona. In my past life, she taught me the exact same way, step by step, leading me into the trap she had dug. But this time, the hunter and the hunted were about to swap places. After hanging up, I immediately opened Amazon and ordered a tiny voice recorder and a few miniature pinhole cameras. Then I contacted a realtor, giving “roommate’s incompatible schedule” as my reason for urgently seeking a new apartment. I didn’t want to spend another day in that place. Soon, I arranged to meet Ryan, following Chloe’s “script.” The location was a nice Western restaurant. I specifically booked a private room, making it easy to set up the equipment. Arriving half an hour early, I skillfully hid the cameras in a potted plant in the corner of the room and behind a framed painting. I also placed the voice recorder in the side pocket of my canvas bag, ensuring it could clearly pick up sound. As expected, after only a few minutes of chatting, Chloe “surprisingly” appeared with a few mutual friends. “Oh, Cassie, what a coincidence!” She beamed, intimately linking her arm through mine, her eyes quickly scanning the private room as if checking for something. “My friends and I were just shopping, and we happened to pass by here. We just came to say hello, hope we’re not interrupting?” I scoffed inwardly but kept my face neutral. “Of course not, the more the merrier.” Ryan was clearly a bit surprised but still stood up and greeted them with a smile. He had indeed been troubled lately by Chloe’s hot-and-cold attitude, and a hint of subtle fatigue was etched on his brows. During the meal, Chloe acted incredibly dependent on Ryan, showing him much care and concern, as if their relationship was perfect. But I noticed that when she lowered her head to play on her phone, her sweet smile would vanish instantly. Her eyes even held a hint of subtle distortion and annoyance. Mid-meal, the private room door opened. A waiter entered, pushing a beautiful cake, singing “Happy Birthday.” Ryan stood up, holding a bouquet of Chloe’s favorite white roses. He awkwardly scratched his head. “Happy Birthday, sweetheart. I meant to surprise you tonight, but I didn’t expect everyone to be here.” Everyone immediately started cheering and clapping, exclaiming, “How romantic!” and “Ryan’s so thoughtful!” Chloe’s smile froze for a second. Then it became exaggerated, and with reddened eyes, she threw herself into Ryan’s arms. “You scared me! I thought you forgot!” But I was sitting diagonally across from her and saw it clearly. When her face was buried in Ryan’s chest, her lips were turned downwards, and her eyes were filled with a grim, hateful look. I picked up my water glass, hiding the coldness in my eyes. While everyone’s attention was on them, I casually leaned towards Ryan and said: “Ryan, you’re so good to Chloe.” “Honestly, girls love these kinds of surprises, especially when you feel she’s been a little distant lately. Maybe a surprise like this can cheer her up.” Ryan paused, then thoughtfully glanced at Chloe. “You’re right. Maybe I’ve been neglecting her too much lately.”

After the dinner, back at our shared apartment. Chloe immediately dropped her facade. She closed the door, then turned around and questioned me, “Cassie, what did you say to Ryan? He was looking at me weirdly today.” I feigned a troubled expression and pulled out my pre-prepared explanation. “I didn’t say anything… just chatted about how you two have been lately.” “He said he felt you hadn’t been very happy recently and asked me if you had something on your mind.” I deliberately showed a confused expression. “Speaking of which, Ryan is quite considerate towards you, sending flowers and preparing a cake. How come you don’t seem very happy? Did you misunderstand something?” Chloe’s face instantly became unnatural, her eyes darting away. She probably hadn’t expected me to not only fail to sow discord as she’d planned but also to mention her “having something on her mind” to Ryan. This uncertainty made her a bit flustered. “No… nothing,” She forced a smile, her tone a little stiff. “Maybe I was overthinking it… Anyway, it’s getting late. I’m going back to my room.” Watching her flee, I knew she wouldn’t dare make any rash moves for now. In the following days, Chloe’s attitude towards me became noticeably colder. She no longer clung to me like before, but her eyes held a new wariness and scrutiny. I enjoyed the peace and quiet, dealing with her while speeding up my apartment search. Soon, I found a satisfactory apartment from the listings my realtor sent me. While Chloe was at work, I arranged for a moving company, ready to pack up and leave. Just as I was directing the movers to secure the boxes, hurried footsteps echoed in the hallway. Chloe stepped out of the elevator and froze instantly at the sight of my packed luggage at the door. “Cassie? What are you doing?” She rushed over and grabbed my arm, her panic barely concealed. “Why are you suddenly moving? Did I do something to upset you?” I gently pulled my arm free and took a step back. “You’re overthinking it. It’s just that this place is too far from my office, and the commute isn’t convenient.” I frowned. “By the way, why are you back? Isn’t it your work hours?” “I left some files at home, so I came back for them.” As she spoke, she tried to get closer to me again. “Are you still mad at me? Just because I asked you to help me test Ryan?” “My tone was bad last time, I apologize. Please don’t be like this.” Her fake concern, in my past life, would have gone unnoticed. I might even have softened. But now, I just felt disgusted. I ignored her, stepped aside for the movers, and followed them out. At my new place, I pulled out my phone and opened the live feed from the camera app. Sure enough, a leopard can’t change its spots. Just like in my past life, Chloe was on the phone with Ryan, feigning tears.

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I died in the year I loved him most. His fortune, worth hundreds of millions—he just walked away from it all. He let his entire empire burn, just to be with me. Then I opened my eyes again, ten years earlier. We had just gotten married, and I hated him more than anyone. I rushed to his company, and the moment I saw him, I choked out, “Julian, I’m sorry.” He froze for a brief moment, then his expression turned cold. “Go on, tell me. How are you going to torture me this time?” I remember Julian didn’t make it out of that final explosion. He, who was always so impeccably neat, knelt beside me and whispered, “Clara, don’t be scared. I’m here with you.” He was 38 that year. A fortune worth hundreds of millions—he just walked away from it all. He let his entire empire burn, just to be with me. … It was a midsummer evening, and the setting sun outside the window bled like fire. A muggy breeze drifted into the room. I woke from my dream, sitting on the bed in a daze. The alarm clock in the corner ticked softly, and the desk calendar lay quietly on the table. “Madam, Mr. Julian just called. He said he won’t be back tonight.” Martha’s voice drifted in from the living room, calm and peaceful. I looked down at the brand-new wedding ring on my ring finger. I closed my eyes for a moment. I was actually back ten years in the past. The sky-high flames from before I died, and that warm, strong embrace, felt so real. In his final moments, Julian had still been telling me, “Don’t be afraid, Clara. I’ve waited for you for too long in this life. In the next, I’ll find you early.” Was this a dream, or reality? I pinched myself, and a dull ache shot up my thigh. The blaring car horns outside the window jolted my chaotic thoughts awake. After the initial shock, a deep, lingering ache and bitterness washed over me. A meticulously orchestrated misunderstanding had made me hate Julian for many years. During that time, his rivals used every dirty trick to crush him. They left him no room to breathe. At home, my coldness kept him away, so he rarely came back. Julian’s parents had passed away young, and he had no other relatives. He lived for half his life, guarding a vast business empire all alone. Later, the misunderstanding was resolved. We had a brief six months of happiness, and I even became pregnant with our child. But before I could tell him the news, I died a tragic death. … “Madam, the flowers have arrived. Are you ready to go?” Martha came in to ask. “What?” My mind was still reeling. “The flowers, weren’t you going to see Mr. Noah?” Noah… Hearing that name suddenly, I froze. A tangled mess of thoughts suddenly found a thread. So, it was this day.

Noah was my childhood friend. He was also a very talented actor. Unfortunately… a “accident” left him with severe burns all over his body, requiring long-term hospitalization. On this day in my previous life, I carried a bouquet of flowers to the hospital. After celebrating Noah’s birthday at the hospital, I emerged to find Julian sitting in his car, a cigarette burning down to its filter between his fingers, completely oblivious. I didn’t want to explain anything, didn’t even want to see him. “Clara.” Julian spotted me, stubbed out his cigarette, and got out of the car, his voice filled with sorrow. “…It’s my birthday today.” I stopped, turning back to look at him coldly. “So what?” Julian’s dark eyes stared at me, silent. I said, “It’s Noah’s birthday too. You did whatever it took to marry me, ruined his face, and destroyed his future. What more do you want from me?” Julian opened his mouth, but only managed to say, “That was just an accident…” “If you hadn’t invited him that day, he wouldn’t be lying in a hospital now. How can I believe that was an accident?” Julian fell silent. Finally, he told me, “I’m sorry.” From that day on, my relationship with Julian plummeted. A long and agonizing cold war began. Later, I learned that what even Julian believed was an “accident” was nothing more than a scheme by certain people to drive a wedge between us.

“I’ve already put your things in the car for you. If you leave any later, you’ll hit traffic.” Martha came back to call me. Outside the window, the sunset was halfway down, casting dim light. I snapped back to reality, hastily pulling on my coat, and got into the car. Because I suddenly realized that this was ten years ago, and everything could still be changed. The driver merged into traffic. “This road to the hospital is already jammed. Maybe you should call Mr. Noah and ask him to wait…” “Not the hospital.” I looked at the constantly changing traffic lights outside the window, and changed my mind. “To the company.” … Truth be told, I didn’t have many memories of Julian’s company. When I was younger, I hated him so much I never bothered to visit. Later, when I loved him, he was being targeted by enemies, and danger lurked everywhere, so I didn’t dare go looking for him. Which is why, at this moment, standing beneath a cluster of towering office buildings, I felt a bit lost. Which one was his office building anyway? Passersby eyed me curiously: holding a giant bouquet, dressed elegantly, with makeup on, like a girl about to confess her feelings. I awkwardly pulled out my phone and dialed Julian’s number. Just his full name. Not even listed as an emergency contact. I pressed call, expecting to wait a long time. But after just two short rings, he picked up. His cool, distant voice came through the receiver. “What is it?” Hearing his voice again, my eyes suddenly welled up, and my voice involuntarily caught in my throat. “Julian, where’s your office? I can’t find it…” The passersby looked at me even stranger. A woman who couldn’t find her husband’s office, standing on the curb, sobbing. Julian seemed to be in a meeting. He paused briefly, then said, “Let’s stop here for today.” Then he told me, “Go stand on the sidewalk. I’m coming down.” A few minutes later, Julian walked out of the office building. His tall figure cut through the neon lights, dressed in a sharp suit, noble and self-possessed. In contrast, my reflection in the glass showed eyeliner streaking down with my tears, like the girl from ‘Orphan’. Damn it, it was all ruined. “Why are you here?” His tone was flat, almost icy. I turned my head. The tall, handsome man was looking at me with a cold expression, his pupils reflecting my scribbled-on face, his expression stiffening slightly. No matter when, Julian was always perfectly composed. Like a flower blooming on a cliff, unsullied. “I’m sorry,” I said, lowering my head, not daring to look at him. “Did I bother you…” “Today…” He only said two words, then stopped. I knew what he wanted to say. Today, I should be celebrating Noah’s birthday, not showing up here. That actually reminded me. I shoved the flowers into his arms, mumbling vaguely, “Happy birthday.” A long silence followed. I secretly glanced at him and noticed he was staring at the bouquet, but he didn’t look very happy. After a long moment, he let out a bitter, sarcastic laugh. “Clara, those are his discards, aren’t they?” “What?” I realized his mood had shifted, and my gaze suddenly fell on the bouquet, my heart sinking. Oh no! Ice-blue roses. Their meaning: to give you the stars and the sea. Noah’s favorite things were also the stars and the sea. My memories upon waking had been too chaotic. I’d been so focused on finding Julian that I’d overlooked these details. “I’m sorry, I—” “Thank you for the birthday gift.” Julian’s tone was almost stiff. “It’s getting late. Have the driver take you home.” He turned to leave. I quickly grabbed the hem of his suit. “Wait!” Julian hadn’t expected my move and didn’t stop, causing me to stumble and crash hard into his back. His bespoke suit was a crumpled, colorful mess. Julian turned, staring at my fingers, silent for a long time. I was stubborn, insisting, “Julian, I’m not going back.” His expression was desolate. “Clara, how are you going to torture me this time?” That question was really hard to answer. From my memories, Julian and I had just gotten married around this time, and I was constantly picking fights with him. I was 23, he was 28.

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I transmigrated into the villainess of a dark romance novel, only to find myself giving birth to the ruthless CEO’s triplet daughters. To win a smile from Veronica, the woman he adored, he packed me and our three wailing baby girls into an underground fighting arena. On the live stream, he wrapped an arm around Veronica, his voice chilling: “You and these worthless liabilities – whoever survives till the end, I’ll allow them to come back.” Veronica giggled, her laughter sickeningly sweet: “Oh, Dominic, you’re so naughty! Hurry, let everyone see the thrill of a mother and daughters tearing each other apart!” I closed my eyes in despair, clutching my three starving daughters. *Ding! Congratulations, Host! The ‘Husband’s Hellfire Redemption’ System has activated.* I curled my lips, revealing a chilling, white smile to the camera. “Dominic, darling, are you ready to lose everything and crawl on your knees to beg me?” *Ding! Newbie Gift Pack issued: Pain Empathy (100%). All physical and psychological pain you endure will be transmitted to the ‘target’ — the male lead of this dark romance — with zero delay and zero loss.* Our clothes were ripped off, leaving me and my three daughters wrapped only in a greasy, tattered tarp, then we were thrown into the arena like trash. My three daughters were burning with fever, their small bodies terrifyingly hot, whimpering like kittens in my arms. Barefoot, I stepped onto the slick, greasy ground. A bone-chilling cold shot straight up my spine. Almost at the exact same moment. “Ah!” Dominic Hayes’ caviar dropped to the floor. He clutched his mouth, a powerful wave of nausea surging up his throat, as if he’d just swallowed a mouthful of rotten swill. “Dominic, darling, what’s wrong?” Veronica Lane leaned into him, wiping the corner of his mouth with a concerned handkerchief. “Nothing.” Dominic frowned. “Maybe the seafood wasn’t fresh. There’s suddenly a taste of rust and sour slop in my mouth.” He picked up a glass of ’82 Lafite from a nearby table, elegantly rinsed his mouth, then spat onto the expensive Persian rug beside him. “Baby, don’t mind me. Try this – air-freighted bluefin tuna.” He spoke in the gentlest tone, with the most caring words. I watched coldly from the giant screen on the ceiling. “System, the game has begun.” Dominic was about to feed Veronica a piece of tuna when his heart violently spasmed, as if an invisible hand had brutally squeezed it. It was an extreme, gut-wrenching sense of abandonment. He didn’t know it was precisely how I felt at that moment. *Clang!* At the other end of the iron cage, a small door opened, and a guard threw in a metal bucket. Inside were foul, maggot-ridden scraps, emitting a nauseatingly sour stench. “Eat it, bitch. Mr. Hayes said if you want to live, you have to eat like a dog.” The guard’s mockery echoed through the arena via the live broadcast. My eldest daughter, Lily, was delirious with fever, her lips cracked, unconsciously whimpering: “Mommy… water…” I stared at the bucket of maggots, my stomach churning. But I knelt anyway, using my hands to carefully push aside the squirming maggots in that slimy filth, trying to find a drop of clean water underneath. The moment my fingertips touched the cold, slimy maggots— “Ugh!” Dominic could no longer hold it in. Right in front of Veronica, he vomited the top-tier meal he’d just eaten all over the floor. The head-spinning, nauseating sensation that came from my fingertips was 100% synchronized to his nerve endings. Veronica recoiled in disgust, pinching her nose. “Dominic, you’re so disgusting! What’s wrong with you?” “I… I’m fine…” Dominic hadn’t finished speaking when a rustling sound came from the shadows of the iron cage. The first “appetizer” arrived—a pack of starving, rotting rats. Their eyes gleamed red in the dim light, and they charged at us without hesitation. I instinctively clutched my three daughters tightly, forming a wall of flesh with my back and legs. “Ah—!” A rat sank its teeth viciously into my calf. Sharp teeth pierced through flesh, sending excruciating pain through me! “Argh!!!” At the same instant, Dominic clutched his calf, letting out a horrific scream in front of everyone, rolling off the sofa. The wealthy socialites present were stunned. Veronica was startled too, but mostly she felt mortified. “Dominic! What’s wrong with you? It’s just a leg cramp, isn’t it? Everyone’s watching!” “It’s not a cramp! It’s… it’s like a dog bite! It hurts! It hurts so much!” He couldn’t comprehend why his perfectly intact skin, beneath his thousand-dollar custom suit pants, was experiencing the agonizing sensation of being torn open alive. I endured the pain, listening to his screams from the big screen, and I smiled. Dominic, this is just the appetizer. The large cage door opened again, and a hungry, drooling wolf stalked in. The wolf’s target was clear: my wailing daughters in my arms. It lunged suddenly! I didn’t have time to think, instinctively blocking it with my left arm. *Splatt!* The wolf’s fangs sank deep into my arm, tearing a gash so deep the bone was visible. Blood instantly stained the dirty tarp. “Aaahhhhhh—!!!” A bomb seemed to detonate in Dominic’s mind. The agonizing pain of his arm being brutally ripped open made him instantly crush the wine glass in his hand. Glass shards dug deep into his palm, bleeding profusely. But he found that the pain in his hand was less than a thousandth of the excruciating pain originating from me in his mind.

Amidst the agonizing struggle with the wolf, the cold system prompt sounded again. *Ding! Host’s will to survive is strong, unlocking new skill: Memory Whiplash. You can select one of your most painful memories and 100% synchronize it to the empathy target, causing a mental shock.* I spoke without hesitation: “Select the memory of the triplet’s difficult birth!” Memories surged like a tide, overwhelming Dominic’s mind through the system. *Memory Scene One: The Delivery Room* I was drenched in sweat from the pain, gripping the bedsheets, pleading with the doctor: “Please, a C-section! I can’t take it anymore!” The doctor’s face was expressionless: “We need a family member’s signature.” The call went to Dominic. In the background, Veronica’s娇滴滴 voice: “Dominic, the doctor says my ankle is only a slight sprain, but I’m so scared! Stay with me, don’t leave.” Then came Dominic’s impatient roar: “Natural birth! Make her endure it! What woman doesn’t go through pain during childbirth? Stop being so dramatic!” *Memory Scene Two: Outside the Operating Room* I was hemorrhaging, my life hanging by a thread. The doctor rushed out and asked him: “Mr. Hayes, the mother’s condition is critical. Who do we prioritize, the mother or the baby?” He was gently applying a cold compress to Veronica’s ankle, not even looking up. “Save the baby. She won’t die. It’s just giving birth. Doesn’t every woman give birth?” *Memory Scene Three: The Hospital Room* I was weak postpartum, suffering from incontinence. The nurse’s aide, bribed by Veronica, deliberately left me on a bed soiled with filth for several hours. She even loudly mocked me in front of everyone else in the room. “Look at you, Mrs. Hayes, what a mess you’ve made! You’re humiliating Mr. Hayes!” The excruciating twelve-level labor pain, the bone-chilling abandonment, the boundless humiliation of being shamed, combined with the fear of being torn by the wolf—four layers of pain piled up, like a towering mountain, crushing Dominic’s soul. “Ugh… ah…” His eyes rolled back, foam escaped his lips, and he collapsed onto the floor, convulsing violently. “Dominic! Dominic, what’s wrong? Don’t scare me!” Veronica shrieked, but her first reaction wasn’t to call a doctor. Instead, she quietly pulled out her phone, aimed it at Dominic’s grotesque face, and started recording. “Darling, look, he seems to be dying.” She cried hypocritically while rapidly texting her backup lover. In the arena, the wolf seemed to pause for a thousandth of a second due to Dominic’s violent reaction as the empathy target. Now was my chance! I seized the opportunity, picking up a sharp metal shard someone had dropped on the ground with my uninjured right hand. I used all my strength and slashed at the wolf’s throat! Warm wolf blood splattered across my face. The wolf crashed to the ground. *Ding! Congratulations, Host! You have achieved a counter-kill. Reward: Newbie Gift Pack – Potent Hemostatic Spray x1, Compressed Biscuits x3.* I didn’t stop my bleeding first. The wound on my arm was still gushing blood, but I merely knelt on the ground, my trembling hands carefully breaking the three precious compressed biscuits into small pieces, feeding them bit by bit to my terrified daughters. “Don’t be scared, babies. Mommy’s here.” This maternal love, born in the depths of despair, was clearly transmitted through empathy to the convulsing Dominic. This feeling wasn’t pain, yet it tormented him more than any pain. Because in his memories, he had just personally ordered the扼杀 of the very source of this warmth.

The wolf was dealt with, but the danger wasn’t over. The metal net above the arena opened, and dense swarms of venomous snakes rained down. “Oh my God! Snakes!” “They’re done for, aren’t they? With three liabilities.” “Mr. Hayes sure knows how to entertain! I’m getting excited! Yay! I bet 10 million that woman will throw her kids away first!” On the big screen, the excited chatter of the wealthy elite was relentless. I immediately shielded my daughters in a corner, forming a barrier with my body. Mixed among the snakes were several massive, slimy carrion-eating monitor lizards. Their target wasn’t us, but the still-warm wolf carcass nearby. The giant lizards opened their gaping jaws, tearing and swallowing the rotting flesh, nauseating fluids splattering everywhere. This primal, barbaric scene intensified one of my daughter’s fevers, causing her to hallucinate. She mistook a slowly slithering snake for my hand and actually laughed, reaching out to grab it. “Baby, don’t move!” I was terrified, clutching my daughter’s crying, struggling body with my uninjured hand. This tearing sensation, where I had to hurt her to protect her, felt like a knife twisting in my heart. *Ding! Host’s clever survival tactics have been recognized, rewarding new permission: Public Opinion Control (Basic). You can edit videos under 30 seconds and anonymously upload them to any online platform.* My chance had arrived. I deliberately allowed a colorful, non-venomous snake to bite my ankle. The illusion of being “poisoned” and the sharp pain were immediately synchronized to Dominic. “Help… I’ve been poisoned… there are snakes…” In Dominic Hayes’s corporate office, he writhed on the floor in agony, disrupting everyone trying to help him. At the same time, I activated [Public Opinion Control]. I didn’t spread videos of my own suffering; that would only satisfy the spectators’ morbid curiosity. I carefully edited a 30-second video: The background was the hellish scene of snakes encircling us and giant lizards devouring a corpse. The foreground was me, enduring the agonizing pain in my ankle, gently wiping away my daughter’s tears with the blood-stained hem of my clothing. I made no sound, only silently mouthed to them: “Mommy’s here.” The video ended with my feverish, hallucinating daughter placing her small hand on my face, innocently asking: “Mommy, are we playing a game?” I titled the video: *Mother of the Year: Hell-Level Parenting in Action.* Then, I anonymously uploaded it everywhere online. In less than ten minutes, the video exploded. #HellLevelParenting gained viral traction, rocketing to the top of the trending topics on Ins. “Holy crap! Is this a movie? It looks so real!” “That’s not special effects! Look at the mother’s arm wound, it’s real! And those snakes and monitor lizards!” “Investigate! Find out! Where is this? This is murder!” “That mother’s eyes… I’m crying. For her children, she truly fears nothing.” Soon, resourceful netizens, through a fleeting logo in the live stream background, identified the owner of this underground fighting arena—Dominic Hayes, CEO of Hayes Group, a man known nationwide for his “loving husband and devoted family man” public persona. Public opinion utterly erupted. “What ‘loving husband’ persona? His wife and kids are being fed to snakes in a fighting pit! That bastard!” “Boycott Hayes Group! This scum’s company must go bankrupt!” Hayes Group’s PR department’s phones were ringing off the hook, and their stock began a precipitous freefall. Dominic received countless calls from shareholders and partners demanding answers. But his mind was filled with the slimy sensation of snakes and the innocent cries of his daughters, making him roar incoherently: “Get away! Don’t touch me! There are snakes!” On the cold floor of the arena, I watched the Hayes Group’s market value evaporate on the system panel, and for the first time, a chilling smile touched my lips. Dominic, it seems that only by hurting myself, did I truly, for the first time, hurt you.

Under public pressure, the bloody live stream was forcibly paused. My daughters and I were dragged out of the arena and locked in a damp isolation room. My daughters’ fevers worsened, and they began to babble deliriously. Just as I was about to despair, the door quietly opened. A doctor in a white coat, carrying a medical kit, walked in. “Miss Reid, I was sent by Mr. Hayes.” He injected my daughter with a fever reducer, speaking in a low voice. “Mr. Hayes saw the online backlash and regretted it. He sent me to get you out.” He slipped a keycard into my hand. “This path leads to the parking lot outside. Hurry, before you’re discovered.” I looked into his sincere eyes, half-believing, half-doubting. Dominic Hayes having a change of heart? Pigs would fly first. But looking at my dying daughters in my arms, I had no choice. This glimmer of hope, this chance at escape, was also synchronized to Dominic through the system. His tortured nerves received a brief respite, and he even had a fleeting illusion that “maybe things could still turn around.” I held my three daughters, following the doctor’s directions, moving with difficulty through the labyrinthine underground passages. Finally, at midnight, I saw the door marked “Exit.” Freedom was just ahead. I used my last ounce of strength, swiped the keycard, and pushed open the heavy metal door. Beyond the door was not the free parking lot. But blinding spotlights, countless high-definition cameras aimed at me, and… Dominic Hayes and Veronica Lane, standing in the center of the arena, applauding. My heart instantly plummeted into a bottomless abyss. Dominic put his arm around Veronica, a devilish grin on his face. He spoke into the microphone, his tone like an art connoisseur: “Having fun, my dear wife?” “To provide our esteemed guests with an even more thrilling spectacle, I meticulously prepared this survival reality show just for you. It’s a custom-made, paid-access experience, you know.” As Dominic’s words fell. The iron door behind me slammed shut. At the other end of the arena, a massive iron cage was hoisted, and a狂暴 black bear, injected with an overdose of stimulants, was unleashed with a roar. Its eyes were bloodshot, and its size was three times that of the previous wolf. The power imbalance was absolute. I looked at Dominic’s sneering face, Veronica’s triumphant smile, and the charging black bear. My physical and mental defenses completely collapsed at that moment. Tears of blood streamed down my face. Only one thought remained: if hell had an end, it would be here. But the boundless despair of my towering hatred simultaneously exploded in Dominic’s mind. “Ah—!” Dominic clutched his head, emitting an inhuman scream. Fine trickles of blood oozed from his eyes and mouth, his face a mask of utter agony. And at the very edge of that despair, I finally heard a familiar electronic prompt.

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