Category: English

That afternoon when I had the car accident, I called my fiancé Hudson seven times. On the seventh call, he finally picked up. In the background, I could hear airport announcements. Enduring the searing pain, I told him I’d gotten into an accident on the South Highway. The car had flipped over, and I was bleeding badly. “Don’t panic, I’ll send my assistant over,” he said hurriedly. “I need to fly to New York right now. Cecilia’s depression relapsed—she took sleeping pills and her emotional state is very unstable. I have to go see her.” Cecilia Lewis—his ex-girlfriend who developed severe depression after their breakup. After five years together, I’d gotten used to that name being prioritized over mine. Fighting through the pain, I said, “Hudson, I’m really bleeding a lot.” There was a second of silence on the other end. Then he said impatiently: “Nina, I told you I’d send my assistant. Don’t you trust me?” Without waiting for my response, he hung up. Three months later, I got married. My husband wasn’t Hudson. When friends asked how I could marry Zander Hayes after only knowing him for three months, I said: “Because he never hangs up on me.”

“Ma’am, don’t fall asleep. Can you hear me?” The car cabin reeked of blood. The airbag lay deflated to one side. I forced my eyes open. Outside the window was an anxious face. He held a window-breaking hammer in his hand. “The ambulance is almost here. I’ll pull you out first. It might hurt a bit—try to bear with it.” I nodded, watching him efficiently break open the car door. The screech of metal grating against metal was piercing. At that moment, my phone screen lit up. A message from Hudson. [Nina, I’ve already boarded the plane.] [Stop using injuries as an excuse to trick me. Cecilia can’t be left alone right now. Be more understanding.] Blood dripped from my forehead onto the screen. The man outside the car glanced at the screen. “Your boyfriend?” he asked. I closed my eyes, my voice hoarse. “Ex-boyfriend.” He didn’t ask further. He took off his jacket, placed it over the broken glass, slipped his hands under my arms, and carefully lifted me out of the cabin. “I’m Zander Hayes,” he said, setting me down on the grass by the roadside. “A doctor who happened to be passing by.” “Thank you.” I looked at his blood-stained shirt. “I got your clothes dirty.” He took gauze from a first aid kit and pressed it against my forehead. “Hold this. Don’t let go.” My phone vibrated again. It was Hudson’s assistant, Andy. [Miss Nina, Mr. Hudson asked me to transfer five hundred thousand dollars to you. He said if you’re upset, go buy something you like.] [Mr. Hudson is just trying to save someone. Please be more understanding and don’t fight with him at a time like this.] Five hundred thousand dollars—to buy my silence while I teetered on the edge of death. I didn’t accept it. I just locked my screen. The ambulance arrived quickly. Zander climbed in with me and briefed the paramedics on my condition. “Multiple soft tissue contusions, mild concussion, five-centimeter laceration on the forehead.” “Where’s the family?” the medic asked. “We need family to sign.” “No family,” I said, staring at the ceiling lights. Zander’s hand paused while taking my blood pressure. Then he called out a number. “Blood pressure is low.” At the hospital, a nurse wheeled me in for stitches. The anesthetic went into my forehead. The swelling pain spread instantly. I didn’t cry. I didn’t even furrow my brow. The doctor seemed surprised. “Doesn’t it hurt?” “I’ve hurt worse,” I said, staring at the clock on the wall. Worse than this was two years ago in the emergency room, watching the blood beneath me go cold, drop by drop. Hudson’s flight should be landing soon. Right now, his mind was probably filled with whether Cecilia had taken her medication, whether she’d done something reckless. As for how much blood I’d lost— He didn’t care. After the stitches, I sat in the observation room. Zander walked over with the payment receipt. “I covered the fees for now. Your phone died,” he said. “Thank you, Dr. Hayes.” I took the receipt. “Let me get your contact info so I can transfer the money back.” I borrowed a charger from the nurse’s station. As soon as I added him on SnapChat, Hudson’s call came through. “Nina, when are you going to stop this tantrum?” Hudson’s voice was filled with suppressed rage. “Andy said you didn’t take the money and your phone was off. Are you trying to make sure everyone knows you’re jealous?” I glanced at Zander sitting across from me and said calmly, “I’m not throwing a tantrum.” “Then why’d you turn off your phone?” Hudson sneered. “Let me tell you, Cecilia’s condition is really bad right now. Don’t make trouble for me at a time like this. When I get back, we’ll talk about the wedding.” “There’s nothing to talk about.” “What are you trying to pull now?” “Hudson, let’s call off the engagement.” Silence on the other end for two seconds. He laughed derisively, his tone dripping with disdain. “Fine, Nina. You’d better not regret this.” The call ended.

Zander handed me a cup of warm water. “If you need it, I can help you arrange for a caregiver,” he said in a professional tone. “That won’t be necessary. I can take care of myself.” I took the cup. “Thank you for today.” “Just doing my job as a doctor.” He glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting. I should go. If you feel unwell later, come back to the hospital.” “Okay.” Watching his retreating figure, I took a sip of water. Warm—just right to ease the spasms in my stomach. I stayed at the hospital overnight for observation. The next day, gauze still on my forehead, I returned to the house I shared with Hudson. In the living room, two pairs of slippers sat side by side. One was my taupe slippers. The other was a pair of pink bunny slippers. Those were from last month when Cecilia tried to jump off a building and Hudson brought her here to stay temporarily. At the time he’d said, “Cecilia’s depression is acting up. It’s not safe for her to live alone. Be reasonable about this.” I was reasonable. The result? My face wash was replaced with her preferred brand. The closet gained a row of her pajamas. Even the succulents on the balcony were replaced with roses because, according to her, they “made her feel depressed.” On the table sat a half-eaten walnut cake. I’m allergic to walnuts. Hudson always knew this. But Cecilia liked them, so the house was always stocked with walnut cake. Once, I ate some by mistake. My whole body broke out in hives and I couldn’t breathe. Hudson took me to the hospital, but only blamed me: “It’s written so clearly on the package. You didn’t read it yourself—whose fault is that?” He knew. But he didn’t look. I grabbed a garbage bag. I threw in the bunny slippers and the walnut cake. I grabbed the potted roses from the balcony and smashed them into the trash bin, pot and all. I started packing my things. There wasn’t much. Over these five years, I’d spent all my energy trying to fit into Hudson’s life. The closet was full of neutral-colored clothes he preferred. The vanity held the light perfume he was used to smelling. My phone rang. It was Hudson’s mother. “Nina, I heard Hudson went abroad?” Her voice carried its usual criticism. “Yes.” I folded clothes into my suitcase. “Really, you should know better. You know Cecilia’s health is fragile—why didn’t you go take care of her? Hudson’s just a man. How could he be as attentive as you?” I stopped what I was doing. “Mrs. Barrett, I’m Hudson’s fiancée, not Cecilia’s caregiver.” Silence on the other end. “How can you talk like that? Cecilia is so pitiful. Why are you competing with someone who’s ill? Besides, Hudson has a kind heart. As the future Mrs. Barrett, can’t you be more magnanimous?” “I’m very magnanimous,” I said, zipping up my suitcase. “That’s why I’m giving the position of Mrs. Barrett to her.” “What do you mean?” “Exactly what it sounds like.” I hung up. Dragging my suitcase to the door, I looked back at the house I’d lived in for three years. Our engagement photo still hung on the wall. In it, Hudson looked at the camera, but his gaze was distracted. That day during the shoot, Cecilia had sent him a message. Then he went to make a call, leaving me waiting under the stage lights for two hours. I walked over and took down the frame. Face down, I tossed it on the floor. I pulled my suitcase out of the complex. Taking out my phone, I messaged my realtor. [That property in South District—list it for me. The faster the better.] That was the dowry house my parents left me. Hudson had said we’d live there after the wedding since it was close to his company. Now, it wasn’t needed. The realtor replied instantly: [Miss Nina, Mr. Hudson contacted us yesterday about that property. He wants to transfer it to a Miss Lewis.] I stared at the words on the screen. My fingers felt cold.

The realtor called. “Miss Nina, this… Mr. Hudson said you’re getting married soon, so the house is joint property and he has the right to handle it.” Standing by the roadside, I said calmly, “Only my name is on the deed.” “But he had your power of attorney and a copy of your ID…” “The power of attorney is forged. Stop all transactions immediately, or I’ll sue your office too.” I hung up and went straight to the police station. Filed a report, gave a statement, applied to freeze the property transaction. By the time I finished the whole process, it was afternoon. Walking out of the station, I opened SnapChat. On my feed, Cecilia had posted a new update. [Even at the other end of the world, as long as I’m afraid of the dark, he’ll rush over. Next step: moving into our home~] The attached photo showed a slender hand peeling an apple into a heart shape. I knew that hand too well. On the wrist was the limited edition watch I’d scoured the whole city to buy him last year. Below were comments from our mutual friends. [Mr. Hudson is still so devoted. When can we drink at your wedding?] [After all this time, I only recognize you two as a couple!] Hudson replied to the comments: [Don’t talk nonsense. Cecilia needs rest right now.] No denial. His words dripped with indulgence. Cecilia couldn’t wait to be the lady of the house, and Hudson was paving the way for her. I liked the post. In the Barrett family group chat, Hudson’s mother was on a passionate rant. [Young people these days have such tempers, threatening to break up over nothing. They don’t even look at their own qualifications. Who’d want her without the Barrett family?] Several relatives chimed in below. [Exactly. Hudson is so outstanding, and she still isn’t satisfied.] [Cecilia is such a lovely girl—good family background, gentle personality. Such a shame about her fate.] I didn’t argue back. I left the group chat that had suffocated me for years. And I blocked Hudson’s contact. After doing all this, the tightness in my chest suddenly disappeared. I even had the mood to find a hotel and check in. That evening, I ordered Japanese food delivery. Hudson used to say takeout wasn’t clean and insisted I go to the market to buy fresh ingredients and cook from scratch. Now, eating salmon, I felt liberated. Halfway through the meal, an unknown number called. “Nina, have you lost your mind?” Hudson’s roar came through the receiver. “Why did you call the police? That house would just sit empty anyway. What’s wrong with letting Cecilia stay there temporarily after she returns home?” “Does ‘staying temporarily’ require transferring the deed to her name?” “The realtor got it wrong! I just wanted to add her name to give her security!” Hudson spoke as if it were perfectly reasonable. “Using my premarital property to give her security?” I laughed. “Nina, don’t twist my words like that. We’re getting married soon—what’s yours is mine, isn’t it? You got the police involved at the realtor’s office. Where does that leave my reputation?” He only ever cared about his reputation. “Hudson, we’re not getting married.” “Not this again!” His voice was irritable. “Do you think that by leaving the group chat and blocking me, I’ll come running back to coddle you? Let me tell you, if you don’t drop the case this time, the wedding is postponed indefinitely!” “Whatever.” I hung up and blocked that number too.

The next day, I went to the bridal boutique. The custom wedding dress I’d tried on three times and altered twice hung in the display window. The shop manager saw me and greeted me with a beaming smile. “Miss Nina, we’ve taken in the waist as you requested. Would you like to try it on again?” I stood in front of the window. The pure white wedding dress and the white gauze on my forehead overlapped. I once thought that putting on this dress would mark the day my five years of waiting finally paid off. I reached out and gently touched the tulle on the hem. No anger as I’d imagined. No grief either. “No need to try it on,” I said, withdrawing my hand, my tone calm. The manager froze. “Then… shall I wrap it up for you?” “Get a trash bag,” I said, smiling faintly at her. “Throw it away.” “Miss Nina! This was hand-sewn by a French designer…” Ignoring the manager, I turned and pushed open the boutique door. Just as I reached the intersection, a car screeched to a halt in front of me. The door swung open and Hudson stepped out quickly. He wore a trench coat. Stubble had grown on his chin from catching overnight flights. His brow was furrowed in its habitual way, his expression agitated. “Nina! When are you going to stop this tantrum—” He’d been about to yell at me, but when his gaze landed on my pale face and the gauze on my forehead, his pupils constricted sharply. He froze, a trace of panic creeping into his voice. “What happened to your head?” He instinctively raised his hand to touch my forehead. Just as his fingertips were about to make contact, I flinched backward. Hudson’s hand hung suspended in midair. Bewilderment flashed through his eyes. In these five years, I’d always been the one to lean my face into his palm. I’d never pulled away from him before. His fingers slowly lowered as he tried to mask his panic with coldness. “What exactly are you trying to pull?” His tone softened slightly, but still carried condescension. “To force me to come back, you’re even throwing away the wedding dress? Fine, Nina. You win. I’m back.” “I didn’t transfer the house to Cecilia either. I’m doing everything your way, okay?” He paused. “I’ll take you shopping for a bag later. Stop being upset.” I looked at him coldly. A breeze swept past, carrying his cedarwood scent. Mixed with the cedarwood was a trace of Cecilia’s sickly sweet perfume. On the edge of his collar was a smudge of lipstick. Before, whenever I detected these scents and marks on him, nausea would rise in my stomach. Jealousy and hurt would keep me awake all night. But now, I felt strangely calm. “Hudson,” I said, my voice gentle. He looked at me, relief washing over his face. “Yeah? You done being mad?” “I’m not allergic anymore,” I said softly, looking at him. Hudson froze, bewildered. “What allergy? Did you eat something wrong?” “Before, whenever I smelled her perfume on you, I’d feel nauseous.” I tugged at the corner of my mouth, giving him a small smile. “But now, looking at her lipstick stain on your collar, I don’t feel anything at all.” Hudson’s face instantly drained of color. His lips trembled faintly, as if he finally realized— I wasn’t throwing a tantrum. I truly didn’t care anymore. “Nina…” He lunged forward to grab my wrist, panic overtaking him. “Don’t say things like that! The wedding is still on for next month. I promise you, after we’re married I’ll absolutely keep my distance from her…” I didn’t struggle. I let him grip my wrist. His palm was hot, filled with urgency, but I only felt exhausted. My gaze fell on my ring finger—on that mediocre engagement ring. Cecilia had casually remarked that “solitaires are too tacky, they have no soul,” so Hudson bought me this plain band instead. I slowly raised my hand, pinched the ring, and gently slid it off. The ring came off easily—too loose. It didn’t take any effort at all. My finger didn’t even have an indentation from wearing it, as if it had never belonged there. “Nina! What are you doing!” Hudson’s voice cracked completely. His grip on my wrist tightened suddenly. Ignoring his loss of control, I simply placed the ring in his trench coat pocket. “Give it back to you,” I said, raising my head to look calmly at his reddening eyes. “This ring, along with you—neither was made for me in the first place.” With that, I yanked my hand free. A stark red mark now encircled my wrist. I didn’t even rub it. I turned, raised my hand, and flagged down a passing taxi. “Drive.”

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My husband was known as the untouchable, ascetic billionaire of New York’s old-money elite. For three years of our secret marriage, he was cold, distant, and never spared me a second thought. Until a video of him passionately kissing his “first love” inside his car was leaked. That was when I realized he also had a side that couldn’t control his passions. It just wasn’t for me. Later, that first love came to my door to provoke me. During the scuffle, I fell down the stairs, resulting in a premature birth and severe hemorrhage. That night, rumors spread through elite circles that the untouchable heir had stepped down from his pedestal, standing in an endless blizzard, bowing with every step to a secluded monastery to beg for my safety. But I only handed him a divorce decree. Dark red blood seeped from his forehead, his voice trembling: “Don’t divorce me, the child needs a father.” I slowly pulled my hand from his grip: “There’s no need. I can raise this child perfectly fine without a father.” 01 Ten minutes before the video of Arthur Vance and Bianca Sterling passionately kissing in his car was exposed, I was holding a press conference. Announcing my temporary hiatus from acting. I had just won Best Actress last month. To suddenly step away at the peak of my career sent the room into an uproar. Countless microphones were shoved in my face. “Olivia, could you tell us why you’re stepping away from the industry?” “Paparazzi caught you at an OB-GYN clinic recently. Are the pregnancy rumors true?” “Who is the father of the child?” I tilted my head, smiling for the cameras. Resting a hand on my slightly rounded stomach, I was just about to answer them one by one. Suddenly, someone gasped. “Look at the trending topics! Bianca Sterling’s new romance is exposed!” My eyelid twitched. The room erupted into chaos. The interview was abruptly cut short as my manager, Jessica, pulled me backstage and shoved her phone into my hands. The trending topic was a video, only a few seconds long. A rainy night. The window of a Maybach rolled halfway down. Bianca, wearing a vintage silk slip dress, was nestled softly in a man’s embrace, eagerly offering up her red lips. A hand, wrapped with a string of wooden prayer beads, was possessively resting on her slender waist. The atmosphere was intimate and deeply romantic. #SilkFairyAndAsceticBillionaireCarKiss# #BiancaAndArthurSoSweet# #HeIsUntouchableButBreaksHisVowsForHer# These hashtags completely crushed the news of my hiatus, rocketing to the top three spots on the entertainment charts. Jessica’s face was livid. “This Bianca bitch. It wasn’t enough for her to steal your endorsements and roles, now she has to steal your spotlight too.” She lit a cigarette, speaking without thinking in her sheer rage. “Olivia, your husband is an elite billionaire too, right? Tell him to step up and warn Bianca. I highly doubt she’d dare to be this arrogant if he put her in her place.” I kept my head down, remaining silent. It wasn’t until the phone screen automatically went dark, reflecting my own pale, ghost-like face. Only then did I manage to force a sentence out of my dry throat. “My husband… is Arthur Vance.” Drop. The cigarette slipped from Jessica’s trembling fingers and hit the floor. 02 Very few people in the industry knew I was Arthur’s wife. The Vance family firmly believed I was a shameless gold digger who had actively seduced Arthur, so they strictly locked down the news of our marriage. But that wasn’t the truth. Three years ago, I attended a gala event. Afterward, an investor came over for a toast. Completely off guard, I drank a glass of champagne laced with a powerful aphrodisiac. As I was being dragged to a hotel room, I dug my nails into my palms, using every ounce of my strength to break free from the investor’s grip. Stumbling and dizzy, I pushed open the ajar door of the room next door. “Help… help me.” I curled up in the corner, soft whimpers escaping my lips. A man walked out of the bathroom, heavily intoxicated. He looked me up and down. Then, he suddenly pulled me into a fierce embrace. “Finally willing to come back to me?” His burning breath brushed against my ear. Before I could even speak, his lips crashed down on mine. … The next morning, the room was bathed in bright daylight. I finally saw the man’s face clearly—Arthur Vance. The heir to the Vance Empire, hailed as New York’s ascetic billionaire. He was inherently cold, famously disciplined, and untouchable. Yet last night, he was practically feral. I grabbed my scattered clothes and fled as if my life depended on it. I thought it was just a one-night stand, a mistake that would never cross my path again. But that very afternoon, Arthur appeared at my front door. “Miss Olivia Hayes. I apologize, I had too much to drink last night.” He asked for my bank account number and transferred five million dollars into it. “I can take responsibility for you. Consider this your dowry.” On the day we signed the marriage papers, I asked him why he decided to marry me. He said the Vance family had strict morals. He took a girl’s innocence, so it was only right that he took responsibility. I smiled slightly, thinking Arthur must be a decent man. Marrying him seemed like a good choice. Sadly, it wasn’t until this very moment that I finally understood. Arthur married me because of guilt. Bianca and I looked strikingly similar. Drunk and heartbroken, he had mistaken me for her. That was the only reason that absurd night ever happened. 03 Pulling myself out of my memories, I blinked my stinging eyes. I picked up Jessica’s dropped cigarette and threw it into the trash can, along with the pregnancy ultrasound report in my pocket. Jessica hastily tried to stop me. “What are you doing? Aren’t you going to tell Arthur you’re pregnant?” I didn’t answer. My gaze shifted to the phone screen that had lit up again. Bianca was giving a live media interview. Still wearing that vintage silk dress, there was now a string of sandalwood prayer beads wrapped around her pale wrist. I recognized them. They were Arthur’s. I had heard they were a relic left behind by his late mother, meant to be given to the woman he would spend the rest of his life with. I had half-jokingly asked him for them once, only to be ruthlessly rejected. Now, they were resting on Bianca’s wrist. I curled my lips in a self-deprecating smirk. Bianca smiled sweetly at the cameras, intentionally playing with the wooden beads. A reporter asked the obvious question: “Miss Sterling, were those gifted by Mr. Vance?” “Yes, it was him.” Bianca bit her lip, putting on the shy demeanor of a schoolgirl in love. “But Arthur and I are just friends right now.” “Friends who kiss?” She nodded, her eyes welling with tears. “It’s my fault for being young and impulsive back then. After an argument, I left to study acting in Europe without even saying goodbye. Please, media friends, help me persuade Arthur. Tell him not to be mad at me anymore… I mean, we already kissed…” Bianca’s voice grew softer, her eyes turning red like a wronged little rabbit. Incredibly endearing. Naturally, fans and media alike began pleading on her behalf: “Mr. Vance, please forgive Bianca! You two are perfect for each other.” Jessica was so furious she was cursing up a storm right next to my ear. “Damn it, she is shameless!” “Does she not know Arthur is already married?” Of course Bianca knew. The very first movie she shot after returning to the States was a co-starring role with me. One night after filming, she stopped me in the hotel hallway. “Mrs. Vance, are you enjoying married life?” I didn’t understand and was about to ask her what she meant. She just gave me a meaningful smile and walked away. That was also the night Arthur—who was always cold, distant, and never cared about me—unexpectedly showed up at the set to see me. The soundproofing in the hotel was terrible, so I bit my lip tightly. Arthur ran his fingers through my hair, his voice hoarse and coaxing: “Wife, be good… open your mouth…” In our three years of secret marriage, it was the first time he had ever called me “wife.” I was so dizzy with joy, thinking he was finally starting to accept me. But I didn’t realize that Bianca was staying in the room right next to ours. He only came to me to make her jealous. Arthur never loved me. By the time I realized this, I was already three months pregnant. I had originally planned to tell Arthur he was going to be a father right after the press conference ended. But that video beat me to the punch, completely ripping the veil off this sham of a marriage. I used to think Arthur was just naturally cold. When he faced me, it seemed like he was utterly incapable of having emotions. Today I learned he too had moments of uncontrollable passion. Just not for me. Suddenly, these past three years felt like a massive joke. Tears forced their way out, ruining my pristine makeup. Through my blurred vision, a pair of polished leather shoes appeared. Arthur stood there, hands in his pockets, looking down at me from above. His voice didn’t carry a single ripple of emotion: “Olivia, you know everything now.” I knew the real reason he married me. And I knew the real reason he was so cold to me. I wiped my tears, stood up, and slapped him hard across the face. “Arthur Vance, you are a complete bastard.” 04 I booked an abortion for a week later. Aside from Jessica, I didn’t tell a single soul. Not even Arthur. Yet, on the day of the surgery, I was blocked by him in the hallway of the clinic. Arthur stared at me intently for a few seconds. His gaze slowly shifted down to my stomach. “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?” he asked coldly. I found it hilarious. “Why should I tell you?” “I am the child’s father.” Still that same indifferent tone. No emotion, just stating a fact. A sudden surge of anger hit me, and I snapped back: “Does a cheating husband even deserve to be a father?” That sentence successfully infuriated Arthur. He warned darkly: “Olivia, stop throwing a tantrum.” How was I throwing a tantrum? The private hospital had intense security, so there were no bystanders, but our argument still drew the attention of the nurses. Not wanting to cause a scene, I pulled my mask up higher. The next second, my name was called. It was my turn. I pushed past Arthur and walked into the consultation room. I had barely taken two steps when my body suddenly felt light. I was scooped up into his arms. “Have you made enough of a scene?” Arthur looked down at me. “If you’re mad at me, take it out on me. The child is innocent.” He was holding me with immense strength. I couldn’t break free. Frustrated and desperate, I pounded on his chest. “Arthur, are you sick in the head?! If you want a child, divorce me and go have one with Bianca! What right do you have to interfere with my decision… Ah!” Arthur suddenly let go, tossing me into the back seat of the Maybach. Remembering that in that video, he and Bianca had kissed in this exact spot, my stomach violently churned with nausea. Ignoring my pale, disgusted expression, he gripped my chin and crashed his lips onto mine. A faint metallic taste of blood filled the air. Arthur had bitten my lip. For the first time, he lost control of his emotions because of me. He sneered, “Divorce? Olivia, don’t even dream about it.” I frowned, looking up at him. I completely failed to understand his thought process. He clearly didn’t love me. Why was he still trying to trap me? 05 We sat in a tense, silent standoff. Neither of us spoke. It was early autumn. A cold rain began to fall unexpectedly. Arthur glanced out the window, a flicker of worry passing through his eyes. I followed his gaze and, sure enough, saw a figure in a vintage silk dress standing under a tree not far away. It was Bianca. She had come too. A bitter smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. It seemed Arthur truly, deeply loved Bianca. Loved her so much that even when coming to the hospital to confront me, he couldn’t bear to be apart from her. Through the misty rain, Bianca stared at me stubbornly, her eyes practically dripping with poison. But when she looked at Arthur, she instantly reverted to a pitiful, helpless look, even perfectly timing a delicate sneeze. And Arthur’s heart immediately ached for her. Just as he was about to step out of the car, I deliberately called out to him. “It’s me or Bianca. You can only choose one.” “If you truly don’t want a divorce, then make her hold a press conference right now. Have her publicly apologize to me and admit to intruding on our marriage.” The air went dead silent. Arthur delayed his response, and Bianca stared at him nervously. After three years apart, she knew Arthur still harbored feelings for her, but she wasn’t entirely sure of my place in his heart. She was terrified. Terrified he would agree to my demands. Terrified he wouldn’t want her anymore. I rushed Arthur. “Have you decided?” Bianca panicked. Like a rabbit baring its fangs, she glared at me with pure hatred. “Why should I apologize to you? Haven’t you heard the saying: The one who isn’t loved is the real third wheel.” “So what if you married Arthur? In the last three years, he hasn’t forgotten me for a single day.” As if to prove her point, she raised her hand and waved it in front of me, showing off that string of prayer beads. “You’ve never even worn his family heirloom once. You are truly a failure of a Mrs. Vance.” Her mockery was piercing. In the past, I probably would have fainted from anger. But now, I just looked at her calmly, my fingers quietly tightening inside my pocket. I wanted her to keep talking. The more she said, the better. Bianca noticed my subtle movement and pointed at me, screaming: “Arthur, she’s recording! She’s recording us!” Arthur looked up at me, and I met his gaze. We stared at each other, leaving only silence between us. He hesitated for a long time. Finally, he held his hand out to me. “The phone. Give it to me.”

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By the eighth year of being in love with Sebastian, he still refused to acknowledge me as his fiancée. He stripped me of my red carpet qualification just to please his little kept woman. And in front of the media, using the exact same mouth that had kissed me thousands of times, he claimed that we were “just ordinary friends.” Later, I looked at him and said with absolute seriousness: “Don’t pull away. If you do, we won’t look like ordinary friends.” The corners of his eyes turned red, his voice trembling violently: “An ordinary friend? Is that all I am to you?” 01 When I was notified that my red carpet walk had been canceled, I was in the middle of interacting with my fans online. My hands froze on the keyboard. I looked up at my manager, Sarah, in absolute disbelief. “Why?” She sighed heavily, gently rubbing my wrist to comfort me. “Because some people have powerful backers. I asked around. They said it was Sebastian’s little girlfriend.” My fingers instinctively curled into my palms. Sebastian… was my fiancé. I had been in love with him for exactly eight years. Even his notoriously difficult, aristocratic mother had officially accepted me. But to him, I was still a secret. A woman with no title, no public acknowledgment. Even Sarah didn’t know the truth. 02 When I saw Chloe walking into the venue, her arm securely linked through Sebastian’s, a suffocating, near-death sensation crushed my chest. I knew Sebastian had a childhood sweetheart. She grew up in his elite social circle and was basically treated as the pampered princess of their group. She had gone abroad for high school, but whenever I had dinner with Sebastian’s friends, someone would always bring her up. I opened a WeChat message to one of Sebastian’s friends and sent a photo of him and Chloe walking the carpet. [Is this the girl you guys were talking about?] The person on the other end was clearly panicking. The [Typing…] bubble appeared and disappeared for a full five minutes before a reply finally came through. [Yeah, haha. But I was just talking nonsense back then, don’t read into it! Sebastian probably just thought you’d be too tired to walk the carpet, so he didn’t ask you to come with him. Don’t overthink it, Sister-in-law. Do you want me to ask him for you?] I pressed my lips together and typed back. [Thank you, but there’s no need. I already asked him. It’s fine.] After ending the conversation, I looked toward the front row where the two of them were sitting. If Sebastian turned his head even once, he would see me. He would see his deeply humiliated fiancée. The fiancée he had stripped of a red carpet walk with a single sentence. But he didn’t look back. Not even once. On stage, the host smiled warmly and announced: “And the nominees for Best Supporting Actress of the Year are—” The massive screen behind them cycled through several clips, finally stopping on me, Chloe, and two other actresses. I nervously grabbed Sarah’s hand. Sarah glanced at me and leaned in to whisper: “Let it go. The award is rigged for Chloe. It’s completely meaningless now. It’s a total sham.” My heart gave a violent lurch. The exact second she finished her sentence, the name [CHLOE] exploded across the giant screen. Even the seasoned, professional hosts couldn’t completely hide the brief flash of shock on their faces. Chloe looked around in feigned surprise, until the man sitting next to her leaned in and said something to her. Reading his lips, his first sentence was: “Why aren’t you going up?” His second sentence was: “Didn’t you really want this award?” He used to ask me that exact same question, countless times. Didn’t you really want to win an award? I would always tell him I was going to work incredibly hard for it. And Sebastian would always smile and say: “Okay. I’ll wait for you.” “Keep working hard.” He didn’t wait. As Chloe stood up, the camera swept past the man beside her. Sebastian was clapping, his expression perfectly calm and composed. The hushed murmurs of confusion in the venue instantly died down. He was publicly protecting her. 03 I didn’t even know what expression to put on my face. A brief moment of my composure slipping was instantly captured and launched onto the trending page. #ChloeBestSupportingActress #MayaReaction I clicked on the live feed. It was an absolute warzone. [Her fans are hilarious. They were hyping her up like crazy before the announcement, and now that she lost, they call it rigged? What, does your queen just not want the award?] [Honestly, it’s so hard to watch. She lied to her fans saying she was walking the red carpet, but she wasn’t even invited to walk. Then she looks like she’s attending a funeral when someone else wins.] [She worked so hard for this, is she not allowed to be sad for a second? Leave Maya alone, she didn’t do anything wrong.] [We all know exactly how Chloe got that award. Everyone can see how good Maya’s acting is.] [Don’t make me laugh. Yeah, yeah, our Chloe is just a god. The great CEO Sebastian personally makes soup for our Chloe and stays on set with her all day. Unlike your irrelevant idol, who isn’t even fit to carry Chloe’s shoes.] [Chloe deserves it! She’s skyrocketing straight into high society! Maya will never reach her level in this lifetime.] I stared at the comments, my eyes burning. It felt like something foundational inside my heart was slowly, quietly collapsing. I searched for videos of Sebastian and Chloe together. September 23rd: Chloe on set filming. Sebastian by her side the entire day. On September 23rd, I sent him five messages. He didn’t reply to a single one. The next day, Sebastian replied: [I was busy yesterday.] August 17th: Sebastian photographed carrying a thermos, delivering homemade soup to Chloe. I had practiced making that soup for two months. I had burned my hands countless times. I tasted it over and over, carefully preparing a pot of soup for him, filled with nothing but love. My heart was pounding when I gave it to him. He said: [It’s delicious.] I was ecstatic for an entire day. It turns out… he just handed it straight to Chloe. He could have just told me. Why did he let me feel so incredibly happy for so many days? July 25th: The two of them photographed on a private vacation. That was the day Sebastian gave me a bracelet. I gripped my wrist, squeezing tightly. The freezing, metallic texture bit into my palm. The physical pain stopped my tears from falling. Sarah frowned, looking at me, and suddenly said: “Smile. Don’t look so miserable.” “If you lose this award, you lose it. Your career is still long. You’ll have other chances.” I forced a smile, my eyes blurred with unshed tears. The tears glinting in my eyes startled her. She quickly raised her hand to cover my eyes. She said gently: “It’s okay. You’re still so young. Today isn’t the end of your life.” 04 Sarah arranged for a driver to take me home. Sitting in the car, watching the city lights blur past the window, I couldn’t help but think about the past few years. I had been secretly in love with Sebastian for years, but he had absolutely no idea. He thought our very first meeting was in college. “Oh, you went to Lincoln High too? What a coincidence.” “Yeah, what a coincidence.” Just to manufacture those two short lines of dialogue, I had studied obsessively, burning the midnight oil for three grueling years, over a thousand days and nights. But to him, I was just a junior in his program. One of countless juniors. I manufactured dozens of “coincidences” just to barely earn the title of “friend.” After graduation, he took over his family’s corporate empire. I stubbornly insisted on entering the entertainment industry. The next time we met was at a networking dinner. He was the billionaire investor; I was the third-string supporting actress. “Long time no see. Why did you decide to become an actress?” I said: “Because I love it.” At the wrap party, I found Sebastian smoking alone on a balcony. Separated by a single glass door, the crowd inside was cheering and celebrating. Out here, it was just him. “Are you not having fun?” He was leaning lazily against the railing, resting one arm on the metal. When he turned his face to look at me, he casually crushed the glowing ember of his cigarette into the ashtray. He asked me: “Maya. Are you in love with me?” Love is like a cough. You can’t hide it. I instantly lost my voice. In the eerie, suffocating silence, his gaze burned, sweeping over my face and my body. He let out a scoffing laugh. “Seriously, Maya. You aren’t my type.” Hearing him use my old college nickname instantly dragged me back to that bitter, agonizing period of my youth. A desperate, echoing unrequited love that never received a response. The person I had chased for my entire youth was standing right in front of me. And in a tone that was both incredibly gentle and unbelievably cruel, he told me: “We are never going to happen.” I said: “Oh.” I blinked rapidly, fighting desperately to hold back my tears.

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When I was four years old, I followed my parents on a charity trip to an impoverished mountain town, where I was nearly abducted by human traffickers. It was Harper who saved me. My parents offered to fund her education out of gratitude. She took the opportunity to play the victim, using that favor to guilt-trip her way into moving into our house. Consumed by jealousy, she eventually murdered me, poisoned my parents, and seized our mansion and all our wealth. My entire family died tragically, while she flaunted our stolen fortune to become a mega-influencer with tens of millions of followers. When I opened my eyes again, I was standing in Harper’s drafty, run-down stone house. Just before my parents could offer to sponsor her, I looked up timidly and asked: “Mommy, what does ‘little bitch’ mean?” 01 Hearing me curse, my mom’s face instantly dropped. “Who taught you to say that?” I innocently pointed a tiny finger at Harper’s mother. “That’s what this lady called me. She also took Grammy’s emerald necklace.” Mrs. Jenkins’s face drained of color. Standing off to the side, a dark, scrawny Harper had been staring blankly into space this whole time. My dad was the first to react, his expression darkening as he reached for my mom’s purse. The emerald necklace was gone. My maternal grandmother had passed away last month, and that necklace was the only thing she had left for my mom. We had come to this rural town to do charity work precisely to fulfill my grandmother’s dying wish of donating part of her estate. In my previous life, we didn’t realize the necklace was missing until we got home. Because it was so valuable, my mom called the police. But the rural area was underdeveloped—there were no security cameras on the dirt roads, the villages were interconnected, and the population was dense and chaotic. There was simply no way to track it down. Mrs. Jenkins had cried to the heavens, accusing us of framing her. Her dramatic performance made everyone think she was innocent. It wasn’t until after I died that I discovered the truth: Mrs. Jenkins, unable to extort more cash from Harper, had pawned the necklace to buy a house for her son’s wedding. While I was lost in my memories, Mrs. Jenkins—now enraged—spat on the ground at our feet. She grabbed a rusted pitchfork and started driving us out: “Fake philanthropists! So what if we’re poor? Does being poor mean we have to steal from you? At the end of the day, you rich folks just look down on us!” “Get the hell out of my house, you little bitch!” Her banshee-like screeching drew a crowd of neighbors. It also jolted Harper out of her daze. Her eyes regained their focus. After a brief few seconds of shock, she pushed past her mother and ran out: “Mr. and Mrs. Hayes, my mom took the necklace! I’ll get it and give it back to you right now.” “I really want to go to school. Please, for the sake of me saving Samantha yesterday, please help me.” Hearing Harper’s words, Mrs. Jenkins’s features twisted into a grotesque mask of fury. “You ungrateful little wolf! Framing your own mother just to suck up to these rich people! I’ll beat you to death!” Mrs. Jenkins violently slammed the handle of the pitchfork into Harper’s back, over and over again. Several villagers tried to break up the fight, but she swung the pitchfork to ward them off. The entire village echoed with Harper’s agonizing screams. 02 Ultimately, my parents called the police. The cops arrived just in time to put an end to the circus. After Mrs. Jenkins was restrained, Harper, covered in bruises and limping, went into the back room. She brought out the emerald necklace. With the evidence secured, Mrs. Jenkins was arrested on the spot. My parents safely tucked the necklace away, but they didn’t breathe a single word about sponsoring Harper. When Mr. Jenkins returned from the fields with his hoe, my dad handed him a stack of cash as a token of gratitude for saving me. Seeing that we were about to leave, Harper looked at us in sheer disbelief and screamed, losing control: “Wait! That’s it?” My mom turned to look at her in confusion. My dad instinctively reached out, shielding me behind him. Harper looked shocked and appalled: “This isn’t how it goes! You’re supposed to sponsor my education! If it weren’t for me, this dead bi—I mean, Samantha, would have been taken by the kidnappers.” “Mom, Dad, you’re going to take me with you, right?” Her seemingly manic words confused everyone else, but I understood them perfectly. In my past life, to put up the facade of a wealthy heiress, she claimed my parents were like a second set of parents to her and simply started calling them “Mom” and “Dad.” My mom corrected her a few times, but seeing she wouldn’t change, eventually gave up. My dad just avoided her altogether. I really hadn’t expected Harper to be reborn too. Hearing her call them that, my parents’ faces turned pitch black. Mr. Jenkins’s face contorted in rage. Cursing loudly, he slapped Harper hard upside the head. Harper’s eyes widened in fury as she tried to fight back, but Mr. Jenkins kicked her to the ground. My mom shielded my eyes and quickly carried me into our SUV. Meanwhile, Harper chased our car barefoot, crying and screaming. Until she couldn’t keep up anymore. My dad pulled his gaze away from the rearview mirror, frowning. “Is that girl mentally unstable?” “With parents like that, it’d be a miracle if she turned out normal. Thank God we didn’t bring up the sponsorship right away, or that family would have stuck to us like leeches.” My dad nodded in agreement. I slowly lowered my eyelashes. Harper didn’t know that my parents valued my upbringing and environment above all else. After witnessing the true nature of her family, they would never let me associate with someone like her. 03 Before we left, the town mayor approached us. The village was desperately poor and isolated. There were too many kids who couldn’t afford school, and if they missed out on us, who knew when the next charitable donors would arrive. She handed my parents a roster. Every child on the list had a photo and their family’s background attached. She hoped my parents could selectively sponsor a child’s education, even if it was just one. After the fiasco at Harper’s house yesterday, my parents were actually quite hesitant. But faced with the mayor’s earnest, pleading eyes, they didn’t know how to refuse. I stood beside them, flipping through the roster, and spoke up as if by accident: “Mommy, Daddy, this boy helped save me the other day too.” My parents turned their heads. Seeing the child I pointed to, the mayor’s face immediately lit up with joy: “Oh, that’s little Liam Carter. He’s just started third grade. He placed first in the whole district on the placement exams a few days ago.” “His mom was the only college grad from our village. When his dad broke his legs on a construction site, she gave up her city job and came back to take care of him. They had Liam, and she’s been here ever since.” After a brief discussion, my parents relented. They said we would visit Liam’s house tomorrow. I threw a childish tantrum, insisting we go thank the “big brother” in person right now. Unable to say no to me, my parents drove us there. In my past life, the person who actually saved me from the kidnapper was Liam. While Harper dragged me away to run, Liam had wrapped his arms tightly around the kidnapper’s waist, refusing to let go so the man couldn’t chase us. I originally wanted to scream for someone to save Liam. But Harper told me the kidnapper was Liam’s relative. She claimed they staged the whole thing just to scam my parents out of money. I believed her. The next time I saw Liam was during my freshman year of college. He returned to our university as a distinguished alumnus giving a speech. Back then, the campus was full of legends about Liam Carter. They said he was the only true genius-slash-heartthrob in the history of our Ivy League school. He studied architecture and interior design, taking on freelance gigs to make money since his freshman year. Before he even graduated, he had offers from top Silicon Valley tech giants. After building his network and padding his resume at a major firm, he quickly quit to start his own business, becoming an industry titan. I never expected someone like him to confess his feelings to me. But at the time, because of the lies from our childhood, I publicly rejected him. It wasn’t until Liam attended my funeral that I learned the truth. From Harper’s mocking, gloating words, I found out that on the day we ran away, Liam’s leg had been broken by the kidnapper, nearly leaving him permanently disabled. And that kidnapper was absolutely not his relative. My final memory before my rebirth was backstage at an influencer awards ceremony—where Liam violently drove a steel fountain pen straight into Harper’s forehead to avenge me. In my past life, he avenged me. This time, it’s my turn to protect him. 04 At the hospital, Liam’s parents welcomed us warmly. After understanding the situation, my parents immediately arranged for Liam to be transferred to a top-tier hospital in the city. They brought in orthopedic specialists for a joint consultation. Once it was confirmed that Liam’s leg would make a full recovery, his parents thanked mine with red, tear-filled eyes. By his hospital bed, I asked Liam: “Does it hurt?” Liam shook his head. I stared into his eyes. “Big brother, thank you for the other day. You have to get better quickly.” “I will. What’s your name?” “Samantha.” “I’m Liam Carter. Here, this is yours.” He opened his palm. It was my hair clip. In my past life, after I rejected him, the hairpin he returned to me was this exact one. Back then, I had thrown it straight into the trash. Thinking about it now made me want to go back in time and slap myself. When I looked up at him again, my eyes curved into a sweet smile: “You keep it as a souvenir, big brother. You have to remember me. When I grow up, I’ll come find you.” “Okay.” Liam solemnly closed his fist around the clip. My parents officially chose to sponsor Liam’s education. I don’t know if it was a side-effect of being reborn, but after returning home, I ran a high fever for a week. The moment my fever broke, we received devastating news about Liam’s family. 05 Liam’s parents were dead. Someone had laced their cooking pot with strychnine rat poison. Liam only survived because he was still living and eating at the hospital. The ones who poisoned them were Harper’s parents. They were consumed by jealousy that the Carter family had “stolen” their sponsorship spot. While Liam’s parents were at the hospital visiting him, Mr. Jenkins sneaked into their house and poisoned their food. After the Carter family died, Harper’s parents actually stood on their fence watching the commotion like it had nothing to do with them. Liam was now an orphan. His relatives were mostly struggling financially and couldn’t even fend for themselves; no one was willing to take him in. His schooling became a major issue. The village mayor called my parents to explain the tragedy and asked if they needed to pause the sponsorship. After discussing it, my parents decided to adopt Liam. When we arrived to pick Liam up, we could see a massive crowd of people gathered outside his hospital room from down the hall. Harper’s loud, weeping voice echoed from inside: “Liam, I’m begging you! Please sign the forgiveness letter for the judge.” “If my parents go to prison, my life will be completely ruined!” I squeezed through the crowd. I saw Harper kneeling at Liam’s feet, aggressively kowtowing to him. Fury surged through me. I rushed forward and yanked her up by the collar. Smack! A sharp slap echoed across Harper’s face. Everyone was stunned. Harper snapped out of it and screamed: “What are you doing, Samantha?!” I was originally going to curse her out, but seeing my parents approaching, I swallowed the vicious words. Mimicking a child’s crisp, innocent tone, I said: “Big sister, your mommy and daddy murdered his mommy and daddy, and you’re actually forcing him to forgive them! You’re a bad person!” “Also, I don’t think I ever told you my name. How do you know I’m Samantha?” Thanks to my reminder, my parents immediately caught on. My mom rushed over, picked me up, and gently comforted me. My dad stared at Harper with eyes full of suspicion and hostility: “Did you and your parents target our family from the start? Was that kidnapper hired by you?!” In my past life, because Harper always felt out of place in our home, my parents went out of their way to care for her—treating her even better than they treated me. Even if she made a small mistake, they never scolded her. Let alone look at her with such intense scrutiny. Harper was terrified and frantically tried to defend herself. “Mr. and Mrs. Hayes, that day was the first time we ever met! I didn’t know you before, and I didn’t know you were coming to the village.” “I just heard you calling her ‘Sammy’ that day, and I knew you were Mr. Hayes, so I guessed her name was Samantha.” “She hit me first just now! Look at my face!” She purposely turned her head, deliberately exposing her right cheek. But there were no finger marks on her face, not even a trace of redness. No matter how loud the slap sounded, it was still just the strength of a four-year-old. Feigning fear, I buried my face in my mom’s shoulder and started to cry softly. Furious, Harper ran out to the onlookers in the hallway. “Grandma, you tell them! Didn’t Samantha hit me first?!” “Sir, you definitely saw it, hurry up and tell them!” But no one paid her any attention. Her voice grew increasingly hysterical. It wasn’t until the village mayor arrived and dispersed the crowd that Harper finally went silent.

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After completing my transmigration mission, I returned to my original world. Only to find out I was pregnant with the male lead’s child. The system told me the baby didn’t belong to this universe and couldn’t survive here. As my child lay on his deathbed, gasping for his final breaths, the system reappeared and said— “The only way to save him… “Is to send him back.” 01 It had been five years since I last heard from the system. When its voice echoed in my mind again, I was frantically running up and down the hospital corridors, begging doctors for answers, and trying to settle the astronomical medical bills. Leo had just been placed on critical life support, and my mind was a chaotic, terrifying mess. Suddenly. A sharp hiss of static crackled in my ears. That familiar, mechanical electronic voice rang out. “Host, it has been a long time.” It looked at the thick stack of medical charts and unpaid bills clutched tightly in my trembling hands, its mechanical tone carrying a hint of synthetic sympathy. “Do you remember what I told you before? “This child does not belong to this world. “If you want to save his life now, the only way is to send him back to his original universe.” I knew the system wouldn’t intervene out of the goodness of its artificial heart. “What’s the catch?” The system went quiet for a brief moment, then replied: “After you left, the male lead never ended up with the female lead. “Headquarters has officially flagged your previous mission as a failure. You need to return and complete the narrative. “However…” It hesitated, falling back into a long, static silence before finally speaking. “Let’s just take it one step at a time.” 02 Years ago, I was diagnosed with terminal cancer, left with only months to live. In my darkest, most desperate moment, I was forcefully bound to this transmigration system. I was thrown into a toxic, angsty billionaire romance novel, and my assignment was to play the tragic first love—the beautiful girl who gets away. My purpose was to make the male lead fall deeply, irreversibly in love with me, only for me to brutally break his heart and vanish, paving the way for the actual female lead to enter the picture. As long as the mission succeeded… I would be allowed to return to my original world with a perfectly healthy, cancer-free body. The binding was instantaneous and permanent. It was a miracle, a second chance at life, and I cherished it deeply. So, I pursued Caleb Thorne with everything I had. I bought him flowers, took him to see the sunrise, and planned elaborate dates. We did everything normal, deeply infatuated couples do. Slowly. We fell in love. We built a life together. … And eventually. I realized I couldn’t bear to leave him. 03 But back then, under the system’s relentless, frantic warnings… One morning, I made up a pathetic excuse and initiated our very first breakup. He pulled me tightly against his bare chest, mumbles of sleep still thick in his voice. “I’m sorry, babe. I know I’ve been working late. Once this corporate merger clears, I’m all yours. Be a good girl and go back to sleep.” He was still half-asleep, assuming I was just being playful or throwing a minor tantrum. I silently reached down and peeled his arms off my waist. “I’m not joking, Caleb. I want to break up.” Caleb froze, the sleep instantly vanishing from his eyes as pure panic took over. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I know I messed up. “I’ve been buried in work lately, and I haven’t spent enough time with you. “Give me a few days, and I’ll clear my entire schedule. “Didn’t you say you wanted to take a romantic trip to Aspen to see the snow? “I was wrong, honey. We can’t break up.” … His voice cracked, his breathing hitching until he was practically choking back tears. Me: “…” What happened to the ruthless, unyielding Alpha CEO persona the author promised? 04 And so. Our first breakup fizzled out into nothing. Caleb became incredibly clingy. During every spare second of his workday, he would call or text me, terrified of making me feel neglected. Every single moment outside of the office was dedicated entirely to me. I couldn’t find a single flaw to complain about, and our breakup made zero progress. The plot was completely stalled, and the actual female lead was scheduled to return from her Ivy League studies abroad very soon. The system’s warnings grew increasingly frantic and deafening. So. The second time I tried to break up with him, Caleb drowned his sorrows in alcohol, looking so profoundly destroyed that my heart shattered, and I folded immediately. The third time I tried to break up, Caleb wired $100 million directly into my bank account, and I happily agreed to give us another chance. The fourth time, I literally packed a bag and ran away. Caleb responded by legally signing over his corporate equity shares and several luxury estates to my name. I was so deeply moved that we got back together again. … This was lierally— Insane! Who? Who on earth could possibly refuse that?! Well, I certainly couldn’t. I don’t know if poverty can break a person, but absolute wealth definitely wins every single time! System: “…” 05 One afternoon, while I was intentionally ignoring the system’s thousands of frantic, incoming mental alerts. I was sitting in a quiet café, waiting for Caleb to get off work. Watching an elderly couple holding hands as they slowly crossed the street outside the window. Under the shifting shadows of the oak trees, the old man gently handed his wife a bottle of water, carefully wiping the sweat from her forehead with a handkerchief. Suddenly, I wondered if Caleb and I would look like that when we grew old. Supporting each other, moving with slow, fragile steps, holding hands until the very end of our lives. It was a greedy thought. A beautiful, desperate longing. I grew up in an underfunded orphanage. There were too many kids, and we never had enough to eat. Getting beaten up and having my food snatched away by the older kids was just daily reality. I finally managed to grow up, secure a job, and support myself… only to be gut-punched with terminal cancer. But in this fictional universe, I had a man who loved me with every fiber of his being, and I loved him just as deeply. Why couldn’t we just be together?! I refused to accept this cruel script. So, I proposed a compromise to the system. The system panicked instantly: “Host! Absolutely not! Backing out of a completed mission triggers catastrophic consequences!” Me: “What kind of consequences?” The system urged: “There have been hosts before who tried to sabotage their missions to stay behind. In the end, they were violently rejected by the universe and forcefully deported back to their original world.” Back then, I thought to myself: The worst-case scenario is just being deported back to reality. At worst, I just go back to being a dying cancer patient. I had to fight for my own happiness. I couldn’t live with the regret. … 06 But after that… Caleb started suffering an endless series of bizarre, escalating accidents. At first, it was minor things—slicing his finger open while sharpening a pencil. Tripping over flat pavement and scraping his knees raw. Then, while conducting a routine inspection at a construction site, a loose steel beam fell from above and slammed directly into his head. Thank God he was wearing a hard hat; he escaped with just a concussion. I lived every single day wrapped in absolute, suffocating terror. Caleb, ironically, tried to comfort me, brushing them off as freak accidents. But then, while driving to pick me up from work, his car was hit head-on by a driver going the wrong way down a one-way street. I heard the vehicle was completely pulverized, compressed into a heap of scrap metal. I frantically sprinted to the hospital, only to see Caleb lying in the ICU, fresh out of major surgery. His head was fully wrapped in white gauze, stained with bright crimson blood. One arm and one leg were suspended in heavy traction. My heart shattered into a million pieces, and tears instantly flooded my face. System: “Host, you do not belong to this world. You aren’t bound by the physical rules here, but the narrative backlash will manifest randomly onto him…” Watching my eyes turn bloodshot from crying, it added softly, “Don’t worry. He’s the male lead. The plot armor won’t let him die.” He wouldn’t die, yes. But he would bleed. He would scream in pain. He would suffer. The system continued: “We are completely out of time. The female lead is landing tomorrow. It’s too late to swap in a backup host to replace you. Look…” If I refused to break his heart, Caleb would continue to face an endless cycle of near-fatal accidents. Until I walked away. They knew exactly how to twist the knife in my heart. After running in circles, I was forced back to the exact same starting line. I looked at Caleb lying on the bed, hooked up to a dozen beeping monitors and IV lines, his face ghostly pale from blood loss. I dug my fingernails deep into the palms of my hands. And made the most agonizing choice of my life. “I will leave.” 07 When I returned to my original world, my body miraculously healed. But then I discovered I was pregnant. It was Caleb’s child. I was overjoyed. I was carrying a piece of the man I loved more than life itself. Leo was born prematurely. On the day of his birth, the system briefly flickered back into existence. It told me Leo didn’t belong to the laws of this universe and would be incredibly difficult to keep alive. I didn’t care. I loved him. No matter how fragile he was, I was going to raise him. I became just like any other single, first-time mother. I learned how to meticulously care for him, protecting his fragile life with everything I had. But Leo was infinitely weaker than normal children. At best, he suffered from constant, relentless fevers and colds. At worst, he would slip into deep, catatonic slumbers for days, unable to wake up. I practically lived at the hospital, running between clinics. Until he turned five. He collapsed in the living room again, and I rushed him to the ER. This time, he didn’t wake up. The doctors told me they couldn’t find a medical cause. His vitals were fading by the hour. … And that was when the system appeared once more.

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When they found her, her body was covered in scars, and a camera mounted across from her had recorded ten solid hours of torture. Yet, the three trust-fund kids who destroyed her were walking free, arrogant as ever. I watched the news with a completely blank expression. That night, I scaled the wall and broke out of the state psychiatric hospital. 01 Nurse #18 didn’t come to deliver a sunflower today. No one to bother me. Logically, I should be happy. But for some inexplicable reason, the irritation grew stronger and stronger, so loud it drove me to the edge of losing control. My eyes went bloodshot. I violently smashed a glass against the wall. In an aggressive stance, I scrutinized every living thing in the room. Finally, with steady, ruthless precision, I caught a rat. The little nurse had said that human life isn’t something to be trampled on. Not just other people’s lives, but my own life, too. Both are equally precious, she claimed. She was always saying these baffling things, trying to “redeem” me. She even said she wanted to be my friend, calling me Chloe the very first time we met. What a ridiculous, stupid girl. My hands didn’t stop moving. I easily disposed of the rat. The crimson staining my palms was warm, seemingly trying to soothe my nerves. But the suffocating irritation didn’t lessen; it multiplied. Whispers from the hallway suddenly drifted in: “She just graduated… how could something like this happen?” “Ugh, I don’t even have the stomach to open that video. After those three animals ruined her, they actually recorded it.” “The worst part is, I heard those scumbags got released without a scratch.” I walked toward them, cutting off their conversation. “Is #18 on vacation today?” In the three years I’ve been locked up here, this was the first time I willingly initiated a conversation with anyone. I tried to soften my features, even forcing out what could loosely be considered a smile. But they still scattered in terror, dropping a phone on the linoleum floor. I twitched my lips. Figures. They claim they don’t discriminate against patients, but once they heard I had blood on my hands, the entire staff treated me like a plague. I didn’t have to deal with their hypocritical faces, which usually gave me some peace and quiet. But this year, that fresh-out-of-college Nurse #18 showed up. Every single day, she shoved a sunflower into my hands, smiling brightly as she declared we were going to be friends. She was so annoying. I threw away all those ugly flowers. I hated her. I hated the carefree dimples on her cheeks when she smiled. But where did she go now? It’s not that I cared about her. I just needed to confirm she’d never come back to bother me again. My gaze fell on the dropped phone. The footage playing on the screen made my pupils violently contract. The victim on the screen was #18. The camera was zoomed in perfectly on her face. Her eyes were trembling, her pupils dilated to the extreme. I was all too familiar with that look. It meant the person was in a state of absolute, paralyzing terror. The young girl was dragged into an obscenely expensive black SUV. The sunflower in her hand was swatted away impatiently by a man, its yellow petals scattering across the concrete. The camera locked onto her face, documenting the most agonizing, vile things a human could endure in this world. At first, she was screaming and crying her heart out. Later, the three men got annoyed that she was too loud. With a swift slice of a knife, they made sure she’d never speak again. At the very end, a man’s frustrated voice cursed from off-camera: “Damn it! How is she this fragile? She’s dead already?” She was tossed out of the car like a broken, blood-soaked ragdoll. “According to our investigation, the victim, Sunny Davis, walked this route every day to visit a local flower shop…” “The suspects mapped out her daily routine, ambushed her on this road, and subjected the victim to ten hours of torture…” So #18’s name was Sunny. Such a stupid name. It fit her perfectly. If she hadn’t gone out of her way to buy me those stupid flowers, wouldn’t she be fine? I watched the entire video with a deadpan expression, my hands continuing to dissect the rat. But the paring knife suddenly felt incredibly heavy. No matter what I did, I couldn’t make a clean cut. I even accidentally nicked my own fingers. Hurting myself while using a blade was something I never tolerated, something that never happened to me before. But now, it happened just like that. Why? Was it because of Sunny? It felt like a blunt knife had been violently shoved into my chest. It wasn’t a sharp pain, just impossibly heavy, crushing the breath out of my lungs. Even more uncontrollably, this heavy grief started from my heart and spread out through my limbs. It hurt so much. I didn’t understand why I was feeling this. I threw the mangled meat onto the floor, grabbed my head, and screamed. The birds in the trees outside scattered in a panic. Panting heavily, I slowly raised my head. In a row of identical, sterile cubicle-like rooms, my room stood out like a sore thumb. In this dreary, gray-and-white asylum, only my room was bursting with massive splashes of bright yellow. I had told a tiny lie. Those sunflowers I supposedly threw away? I actually sneaked out and picked them all back up. Like a thief who had stolen her whole life, I finally had a treasure to call my own. After the initial disbelief came the cowardly fear; I wanted to hide them all away so no one could take them. But now, someone had plundered and destroyed even this tiny sliver of bright yellow. How dare they? 02 “Police alert: A patient has escaped from the state psychiatric facility.” “According to records, it is Chloe Miller, the violent offender who strangled her biological father to death three years ago…” Listening to the radio in the cab, the corners of my mouth curled into a mocking smile beneath my mask. My eyes dropped back to the files in my hand. Out of the three animals, Hunter Vance was the first to strike. He was the one who dragged Sunny into the car. A silver-spoon brat who had grown bored of his endlessly smooth, privileged life. He would pay any price chasing cheap thrills and morbid curiosities. My smile deepened. This kind of brainless brute was the lowest tier of trash in our circle of psychos. Dragging a massive suitcase, I walked right into the VIP club where Hunter was partying. I found his private booth and heard the noise inside. “I want a thrill! A real thrill, do you get it?! Not cheap trash like you who just shake it for a few bucks!” I kicked the door open and walked in under the stares of the entire room. Hunter froze for a second, then grabbed a glass bottle and hurled it at my head. “Who the hell are you? You dare crash my booth?” I sidestepped it easily and spoke with a half-smile. “Mr. Vance doesn’t need to know who I am.” “You just need to know I have a thrilling game. Guaranteed to satisfy you.” Flushed with alcohol, Hunter pushed the bottle girl off his lap, eyeing me with sudden interest. “Oh? What kind of fun do you have?” I opened the suitcase, pulled out a packet of powder, and dumped it right into his glass of liquor. “Drink this, and you’ll fall into a deep sleep for one hour.” “I’ll pack you into this suitcase and take you to a one-hour trip to paradise.” “I just wonder if Mr. Vance has the guts to take a gamble?” Hunter stared at the spiked drink, narrowing his eyes, seeming to hesitate. I took a step forward, locking eyes with him. “Don’t tell me you’re scared?” “The Vance family owns half this city, and with a dozen witnesses right here, do you really think I could kidnap and sell you?” “I wouldn’t be scared even if the Grim Reaper himself showed up!” Hunter sneered, grabbed the glass, and downed it in one gulp. I laughed along with him. Laughing at his stupidity. Laughing at his ego. I thought I would have to waste a lot of breath, or even physically force it down his throat. I never expected that, in his pursuit of a “thrill,” he would hand his life over to me so easily. Right in front of his wealthy frat-boy friends, I folded Hunter into the suitcase. I easily lost his bodyguards in the alleyways. Now, he couldn’t fly away even if he grew wings. 03 When Hunter woke up, I was boiling down pork rinds and animal bones. He realized his clothes had been stripped off, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, strapped tightly to a metal chair. He immediately flew into a panicked rage: “Where the f*ck did you take me, you crazy bitch?!” “Hey! Are you deaf? I’m talking to you!” “How many lives do you think you have to dare tie me up?!” I paused my stirring, turning around in annoyance. “You’re so loud.” I grabbed a meat cleaver, casually sharpened it twice against a stone, and walked toward him. Hunter glared at me mockingly and spat on the floor. “Who are you trying to scare? Come on! Let’s see if you actually have the guts to do it…” Before he could finish, the blade flashed. “Mmph… mmmph!” He stared at me in absolute horror, realizing he could no longer make a sound. I spat back at him, turning around with a deadpan face. If I hadn’t promised Sunny, I would have just ended him right here. Hunter let out muffled, agonizing wails from his throat. True terror finally broke across his face, and the sharp stench of urine pooled beneath his chair. “Not enough.” I shook my head, playing with the cleaver in my hand. I severed the tendons in his arms and legs, ensuring he would never walk or fight back again. The timer on the stove chimed perfectly. I smiled. The collagen was finally ready. Using massive amounts of boiled gelatin and silicone polymers, I crafted a meticulously detailed, hyper-realistic silicone mask exclusively for Hunter. Even his closest friends wouldn’t be able to recognize him. I knocked out the newly-faced Hunter and dressed him in fresh clothes. Then, I took him to find the second animal: Silas Montgomery. 04 In the video, Silas was the elegant psychopath. He used the most brutal, calculated methods to leave those horrific wounds all over Sunny’s body. He had a very handsome face. Even though he was a disgusting monster on the inside, that good-looking exterior made him incredibly popular. According to the files, Silas played the field, but the truth was, he was completely impotent. He could only find release through torture. He would bring his dates back to a secluded mansion, where he would subject them to an array of medieval torture devices. He seemed like he had a brain, but not much of one. Which played right into my hands. I dumped Hunter right on Silas’s doorstep. When Silas opened the door and saw the incapacitated stranger, he froze for a long time. He looked around, hesitated, but ultimately couldn’t resist the temptation and dragged Hunter inside. I smiled from the shadows. Such a beautiful, unconscious, physically helpless plaything. It was a fatal temptation for Silas. It was criminal psychology; it was baked into his DNA. Not to mention the Montgomery family spoiled him rotten. Even if he caused a disaster, his family would always wipe his ass for him. He couldn’t turn this down. Checking the time, Hunter would be waking up very soon. When he opened his eyes, he would find his role completely reversed—from the abuser to the meat on the chopping block. And his partner in crime, his twisted best friend, would be standing over him with tools, just like they did to Sunny. He would try to scream and explain, only to realize the organ for speech was missing. He would try to fight back or run, only to find his limbs were dead weight. In that moment, his helplessness and terror would be magnified to the absolute limit. The violence he inflicted on Sunny would be returned a thousandfold upon his own flesh and mind. Wasn’t this the ultimate thrill he was chasing? Thinking about this, I only felt he was getting exactly what he deserved. I had promised Sunny I wouldn’t get innocent blood on my hands again. But I never promised I wouldn’t borrow someone else’s knife to do the killing. Underneath the silicone mask, I had embedded a micro-camera. Right now, it was live-streaming the interior of the mansion to the entire internet. Just as I imagined, Silas was meticulously picking out his tools. Exactly like they did to Sunny. Silas used them, one by one, on Hunter. He had absolutely no idea the lamb on his slaughtering table was his best friend. Hunter’s body was rapidly covered in brutal wounds, but he had nowhere to run. Backed into a corner with no escape, Hunter let out terrified, whimpering sobs from his throat. He watched helplessly as everything he had done to others was visited upon him. Comments flew across the live stream. [I can’t even watch, is this legal to broadcast?] [Wait, isn’t that Silas Montgomery? The rich kid from the nurse torture case on the news?] [Am I seeing things? Is Silas pressing a branding iron to that guy’s face?] Under the intense heat, the adhesive on the silicone mask melted, and the fake face sloughed off. The entire internet was stunned. Silas’s hand froze in mid-air. He stood there, completely paralyzed, as if struck by lightning. By the time the Vance family arrived, Hunter was already dead. The wounds on his body were unimaginably cruel. Hunter was the sole male heir of the Vance family, destined to inherit their empire. The look the Vance patriarch gave Silas was like looking at a dead man. But just when everyone thought the Vance family would tear Silas to pieces in court, Silas was once again released without charge. Rumor had it the Vance family proactively signed a letter of forgiveness. The internet was completely baffled. Until three days later, when Silas’s remains were found in the wilderness. He had been eaten alive by wild dogs, stripped clean down to the skeleton. Watching the news broadcast of the Vance family offering their “condolences” to the Montgomery family, I scoffed. The Vance family was sloppy. If anyone bothered to dig a little deeper… They’d find out that those “wild dogs”… Came directly from the Vance family’s private breeding kennels. 05 The only one left who hurt Sunny was the last man: Adrian Pierce. His file was completely blank. In Sunny’s video, Adrian never lifted a finger. He just sat in the center seat, high and mighty, coldly watching those two rabid dogs tear Sunny apart. Clearly, he wasn’t interested in Sunny, nor did he care if she lived or died. So why did he instigate those two to attack her? What was his ultimate goal? I stared at the photo of those cold, detached eyes. He looked as if he cared about nothing, yet simultaneously obsessed over something. He was infinitely more terrifying than trash like Hunter and Silas. But I wasn’t in a rush to make my move. Someone as smart as Adrian—with Hunter and Silas dying back-to-back, he would easily guess someone was pulling the strings from the shadows. With the instinct of a fellow predator, I simply waited in my apartment for him to come to me. One day, two days. On the third day— The doorbell rang. I opened the door to find a face even more vividly melancholic and handsome than the photo. Adrian’s eyes were brimming with a smile. Like an old friend he hadn’t seen in years, he casually strolled into my home. He said, “Chloe, long time no see.” I smiled back and poured him a glass of water. “Long time no see.” 06 Adrian and I were old acquaintances. The first time we met was in his father’s basement. Back then, a tiny version of me was pinned against a wooden table, enduring the absolute worst malice a grown man could offer. I didn’t know what I had done wrong. All I knew was that my biological father had wagged his tail like a dog, begging the Pierce family for favors. He packaged me like a gift and delivered me straight to the Pierce family’s basement. Adrian hid by the doorway, watching his father abuse me. The look in his eyes shifted from initial curiosity. To utter fascination. Finally, one day, he stood behind his father, raising a heavy blade high in the air. Without hesitation, he drove it straight through his father’s back, piercing his heart perfectly. He didn’t do it to save me, of course. He did it because he wanted to possess me exclusively. He traced my face, obsessively whispering that I looked exactly like his late older sister. He wanted to lock me up and keep me forever. I docilely leaned my cheek into his palm and whispered my poison. “Little master, true control doesn’t come from ropes. It comes from taming.” “If you let me go, and I willingly come back to find you, only then will I truly belong to you.” He agreed. I will forever remember what my biological father said when I walked through the front door. “Why are you back? It’s a massive blessing that we could latch onto the Pierce family, stop throwing tantrums.” I smiled and told him not to worry. I said I just came back to celebrate his birthday. I gifted him a ridiculously expensive leather belt. Then I cooked dinner myself and served him a bowl of soup. “Happy birthday.” My dearest father. While the paralytic in the soup kept him from moving a single muscle, I used the belt I gifted him to take his life in the most agonizing way possible. I demanded the cops perform an autopsy. I wanted to see if his heart was black, or made of ice. Ironically, for a man who took pride in selling his own daughter, his heart was still warm and red. Adrian never got to see me return. Because I was diagnosed with severe schizophrenia and the cops locked me away in the asylum.

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After moving into my new place, I was added to a strange group chat. The people in the chat loved to roleplay as animals to communicate. Every day, I lurked in the chat, reading their conversations with intense amusement, but I never spoke. Until one day, a mouse got into my apartment. I posted in the group: “Does anyone know a reliable exterminator or pest control service nearby?” A few moments later, someone named AAA_Orange_Cat_Exterminator tagged me. [Two cans of wet food. Non-negotiable.] [The cat is at your door. Open up.] Outside my door, there actually stood an orange tabby cat. 01 On the very first day I moved into my new apartment, I was dragged into a bizarre group chat. The group was named Maplewood HOA Community Chat. Every member’s profile picture was a cute, random animal. At first, I didn’t think much of it. I just assumed the property manager added me to make sending community announcements easier. Until one day, I accidentally glanced at the chat log. Evil_Fleece_Monster: [Damn it! I got caught sneaking snacks, and my mom smacked my butt. I’m going to chew up her slippers tonight.] British_Gentleman: [Useless! How can you let the pooper-scooper assert dominance over you?] [Image: “I am the Emperor” Meme] Golden_Chubby: [I have a question. When you guys drink water, does the water ever feel… spicy?] British_Gentleman: [Idiot! Your water fountain probably has a short circuit! Kick it over immediately.] Sweet_Little_Cheese: [My mom wants to clip my nails! 911! Someone call 911 for cats!] I watched the chat with intense fascination for a long time. I figured this was just a bunch of the neighborhood kids being highly active online. Roleplaying as their pets to chat. Honestly, watching their adorable, dramatic conversations was pretty therapeutic. Suddenly, a new message popped up. [I think a stranger got into my house.] [Image: Dog secretly observing from a corner] The profile picture was a husky puppy. Judging by his previous messages, I always assumed he was a four- or five-year-old kid. My heart tightened. I was just about to ask if he was home alone. When the other group members started questioning his intelligence. [Are you SURE it’s a stranger?] [Another stranger? The last ‘stranger’ that broke into your house was just your dad wearing a different jacket.] [911! I’ll call 911 for you!] I hesitated and decided not to tag the property manager just yet. A second later, the little husky replied: [Hehe, never mind! It was just my dad wearing a medical mask. As a reward, I’m going to pee in his room tonight.] False alarm. I thought it was hilarious, but at the same time, a faint, lingering feeling told me something was… slightly off. 02 One evening, I got home late from a job interview. The moment I flicked on the living room lights, a black shadow darted across the floorboards. My heart skipped a beat. I was just about to crouch down and check under the coffee table. When a massive rat charged directly at my foot. I screamed and jumped onto the coffee table. Terrified, I immediately typed a frantic message in the group chat. [A rat got into my apartment! Does anyone know a reliable exterminator nearby who can come immediately?! Online waiting! Urgent! Urgent!] [Meow? Rat? What’s a rat?] [A rat is a fast little toy that squeaks when you bite it. My dad doesn’t let me play with them.] [Are you new here? I haven’t seen you before. Why is your profile picture a human? What species is your family?] Can’t a profile picture be a human? What do you mean, ‘what species is your family’? I didn’t have time to overthink it. The squeaking sounds were making every hair on my body stand up. I quickly opened Yelp to search for an emergency pest control service. Right then, someone tagged me in the group chat. AAA_Orange_Cat_Exterminator: [Two cans of wet food. Non-negotiable. Arriving immediately.] [The cat is at your door. Open up. Meow.] That fast?! I opened the front door. The hallway was completely empty. Just as I was about to close it, a sharp meow caught my attention. An incredibly polite orange tabby was sitting on my welcome mat, its front paws neatly tucked together. As we made eye contact, a completely unbelievable thought surfaced in my mind. “Are you… AAA_Orange_Cat_Exterminator?” The orange cat meowed twice. A message popped up in the group chat. [It is the cat.] [Two cans. Starting work immediately.] I found it so absurdly funny that I reached out to pat its head. The orange cat tilted its head, dodging my hand. [Meow meow meow. That costs extra. Head pats are half a sausage.] 03 I didn’t own any pets, so naturally, I didn’t have any cat food. I negotiated with Mr. Orange to use four sausages as payment. He licked his paws and agreed. But he demanded an installment payment plan. Deal struck. The incredibly agile Mr. Orange tracked the target from the living room straight into the kitchen. Aside from accidentally knocking over a glass of water I had left on the counter… The extermination service was successfully completed. Worried I’d be scared, Mr. Orange placed the dead rat out in the hallway. [Human. The cat accidentally broke your cup. The cat will deduct one sausage from the fee.] I shook my head. [A deal is a deal. Four sausages, not one less. But… can I get one free head pat?] Mr. Orange let out a soft, sweet meow. He lowered his head and rubbed it affectionately against the palm of my hand. Before leaving, he told me that if I ever needed him again, I could just call him in the group chat. It wasn’t until the apartment was completely quiet that I finally snapped back to reality. It felt like I was dreaming. The animals in the Maplewood HOA Community Chat were actually real animals. Those profile pictures… were their actual faces. 04 No matter how magical and surreal last night’s experience was… When the sun rose the next day, I still had to hustle across this unfamiliar city for job interviews. I lived on the 12th floor. When the elevator stopped on the 10th floor, a guy walked in holding a husky on a leash. He looked familiar. To clarify, I mean the husky looked familiar. I stared at the dog unblinking. Sensing my gaze, the dog stared right back at me unblinking. The guy noticed us having a staring contest. “Do you two… know each other?” I frantically waved my hands. How was I supposed to explain that I thought his husky was the one from the group chat? I couldn’t exactly ask him, Hey, did he pee in your room last night? Just then, a notification popped up from the Maplewood HOA Community Chat. My_Dad_Calls_Me_Einstein: [I just saw a lady in the elevator. She looks familiar, like I’ve seen her somewhere before. Hehe, she smells so good. I want to be petted.] Evil_Fleece_Monster: [Stupid dog!] British_Gentleman: [Stupid dog!] I tentatively reached my hand out, and sure enough, the husky eagerly nudged his head into my palm. The guy gave me a look that clearly said, And you claim you don’t know each other? While petting the dog, I asked gently, “What’s his name?” “Max.” I crouched down and gently squeezed his paw. “Hi there, Max.” The guy: “…” “My name is Max!” I looked up, mortified. “I am so sorry! I wasn’t thinking.” Max’s face turned slightly red. “It’s my fault for not realizing. His name is… Meatball.” My_Dad_Calls_Me_Einstein: [Einstein! Lady, my name is Einstein! My stupid dad forgot my name again! Hit him! Hit him! Hit him!] Einstein immediately stood up on his hind legs and started throwing paws at Max right there in the elevator. Max cursed at the “stupid dog” while trying to block the hits. I stood to the side, laughing while trying to break up the fight. 05 After running around all morning, I interviewed at three different companies. The results weren’t looking great. I decided to head home first to grab a bite to eat. While walking back along the street, I noticed a pet supply store with a “For Lease” sign in the window. Thinking about the Maplewood HOA Community Chat, a bold idea flashed through my mind. Wasn’t this the ultimate, direct line to consumer demand? If I could be my own boss, why would I want to be a corporate wage slave? I quickly calculated my savings, contacted the current owner on the spot, and took over the lease. Then, I started dropping promotional messages in the group chat. [Does anyone like this new little toy?] [We just restocked new biscuits, freeze-dried snacks, and treats! Tell your pooper-scoopers to bring you to the store for free samples!] The moment those promos dropped, the group chat exploded. No dog or cat had ever posted video advertisements in the chat before. They instantly realized I was different. British_Gentleman: [It’s a human! It’s a human! It’s a real human! A human infiltrated the chat!] [Image: “The Emperor Has Fallen” Meme] AAA_Orange_Cat_Exterminator: [The cat already told you guys last time…] Sweet_Little_Cheese: [Human, can you tell my mom that I don’t like getting my nails clipped?] At first, the pets in the group were stunned by my human identity. But once they realized I meant no harm, they quickly got used to it. They even started frequently asking me to pass messages along to their owners. So, I launched a special promotion. Any customer who spent over $100 in a single transaction would receive one free “Pet Consultation” session. 06 My very first customer was Max. He bought a 20-pound bag of dog food and a few chew toys for Einstein. “Can you actually communicate with them?” I gave a non-committal smile. He raised an eyebrow, smirking playfully. “Alright, then ask him this: He eats way too much, and his dad can’t afford him anymore. Ask him if he can go out and get a job to support himself.” I waved Einstein over, taking the opportunity to grab my phone. A moment later, I suppressed a laugh and said, “Ein… Meatball says that if you’re out of money, it’s okay. He can go out and eat poop. And he can take you with him. He said he’ll eat the base of the poop, and you can eat the pointy top.” Max looked down with an utterly indescribable expression. Einstein stared back up at him with eyes full of absolute, earnest devotion. “You stupid dog! After all the blood, sweat, and tears I sacrificed to raise you, this is how you repay your old man?!” Max violently ruffled the dog’s head. My_Dad_Calls_Me_Einstein: [???] [I gave Dad the best pointy part of the poop, and he’s STILL not happy! He’s bullying a poor dog! Hit him! Hit him! Hit him!] Einstein stood up on his hind legs, wildly swinging his front paws, and started brawling with Max right in the middle of my store. I have no idea how a dog learned to throw hands like a boxer.

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I glared at the five-year-old munchkin at my feet and viciously swapped his glass of milk for a cup of pure, unsweetened kale juice. From then on, he wasn’t allowed to be a picky eater. If he wanted a pet, he was on litter box duty. Later, when he applied for college, I even secretly altered his applications. Years later, the villain achieved massive success. I thought my doom had finally arrived. Instead, he stood before the media and said, “The person I want to thank the most is my mom. Her love accompanied me as I grew up, and she guided the direction of my life.” Wait a minute, did something go wrong here? 01 After I died of an illness, the System let me transmigrate as a villain’s wicked stepmother so I could continue living. But the catch was: I couldn’t break character. This was a gritty urban thriller novel. The five-year-old standing before me, Oliver Vance, was destined to become the ultimate villain who would one day ruin the male lead’s family. And the primary cause of his twisted psychology was me. His wicked stepmother. I thought about it for a moment. I really didn’t have any experience being evil. I simply interpreted it as: Don’t let him have it too easy. So, I looked at the little guy sitting properly in his chair, quietly drinking his milk. I snatched the cup away from him and handed it to the nanny. “Swap this for pure kale and wheatgrass juice. The more bitter, the better.” The little guy was stunned for a second, a white milk mustache still clinging to his upper lip. He glared at me furiously, but didn’t dare speak. When I transmigrated, this body had already been married into the Vance family for over half a year. According to the original plot, after I realized that Arthur Vance—the villain’s father—rarely came home, I gradually tore off my gentle mask. I started tormenting and framing little Oliver in every way possible. At first, he fought back, but how could a kid win against an adult? Every time he complained, I’d double down, falsely accusing him and twisting his words. After long-term emotional abuse, he had learned to swallow his anger and stay silent. Now, all I had to do was carry on this legacy. With a little bit of my own flair added in. Oliver had probably never tasted pure kale juice in his life. His little face scrunched up into a tight ball, and he instinctively stuck his tongue out in disgust. My heart melted at how cute he was, but I forced a cold tone. “Drink it all!” Making a kid drink gross health juice is basically cruel and unusual punishment. How is this not a form of abuse? I was doing a phenomenal job as an evil stepmother. Thinking of this, I couldn’t help but let out a sinister laugh. 02 After breakfast, the nanny was getting ready to take Oliver to preschool. I frowned when I saw him dressed in cheap, worn-out clothes. “Why are you dressing him like that on purpose?” “Didn’t you say before that we shouldn’t feed a child’s vanity, and that it’s better to keep him low-profile?” Tsk, tsk. The original owner of this body was truly wicked and manipulative. She actually wanted to use this method to crush Oliver’s self-esteem. But she completely miscalculated. What do kids in preschool know about being rich or poor? At this age, a kid’s biggest fear is being isolated and left out. Thinking of this, I immediately ordered the nanny to change Oliver into a tailored baby Armani suit. I even added an adorable little bow tie. Then, I had the driver pull out the most expensive, flashy Rolls-Royce from the garage. I had to make absolutely sure he became the most extra, stand-out kid in the entire preschool. Hate the rich! Let them all hate the rich! I suppose my behavior was a bit too different from my usual self. Right before leaving, little Oliver anxiously pursed his lips and asked softly, “Why are you doing this?” I crouched down and let out a villainous cackle. “Because I’m evil!” Oliver was so scared he took a step back. I lunged forward and planted a massive kiss right on his chubby little cheek. He covered his face in horror. I took the opportunity to threaten him. “Hurry up and say goodbye to Mommy, or else when you get out of school this afternoon, I’ll personally come block the preschool gates.” After living with the original owner for half a year, he probably hated my guts. Kissing him and forcing him to call me Mom was basically tap-dancing on his last nerve. But he had no choice but to submit. Watching Oliver clamp his mouth shut and run out the door, I felt I was being villainous beyond measure. 03 After Oliver went to school, I started wandering aimlessly around the massive mansion. The novel stated that Arthur Vance was always busy with business, often disappearing for weeks at a time. I was purely a wife he married just to have someone look after Oliver. He deposited a $500,000 allowance into my account every single month. He probably thought a massive allowance would make a stepmother treat his kid well. He didn’t realize it only fueled her greed instead. Thinking of this, I sighed and asked the System, How long do I have to keep up this evil persona? The System replied: The wicked stepmother has a crucial scene where she secretly alters Oliver’s college applications, forcing him to go abroad where he experiences even darker things. So, your persona must be maintained at least until Oliver takes his SATs and applies for college. A rough calculation meant I had at least thirteen years left. Although living as a billionaire’s wife meant every day was a blessing, having to maintain an evil persona every single day was exhausting. So, I decided to go on a crazy shopping spree to comfort myself. 04 As the sky began to dim, the driver pulled up right on time at the gates of the private preschool. Oliver hadn’t said goodbye to me when he left this morning. If I said I was going to pick him up, I had to follow through. I needed to establish my absolute authority. Let him know the true terror of his wicked stepmother. I have to say, this elite private preschool looked like a literal castle. Not long after, a teacher led a group of munchkins out the doors. They waddled around, finding their respective parents. I decided to sit quietly in the car for a moment. I planned to pop out and give Oliver a jump-scare right when he started panicking that his parents forgot to pick him up. But to my surprise, the moment the teacher walked away, several kids surrounded Oliver. I could vaguely hear them teasing him about “Mommy… picking you up.” Oliver kept his head down in silence. Those kids started jumping around him, clapping their hands and laughing. Me: ??? Hold on, are we bullying now? As a certified evil stepmother, I immediately swooped in to ruin their fun. “Hey, why aren’t you brats going home? Did your parents abandon you? Is that it? Are you unwanted?” I pulled the surrounded Oliver behind me and glared viciously at the group of kids. Yes, exactly like this. I’m going to alienate all of his little friends. “Who are you? Are you the liar’s big sister?” Being called a big sister made my heart flutter a little. But I immediately snapped back, “Who’s a liar? Didn’t your teacher teach you manners? I am Oliver’s mother! Our Oliver doesn’t like you, and you’re not allowed to play with him anymore.” “Oliver’s mom? His mom is the nanny, I’ve seen her! She doesn’t look like you. He lied and said she wasn’t his mom. He’s just a vain liar, we don’t want to play with him anyway!” What kind of messy preschool drama was this? “I am Oliver’s mother!” I angrily raised my fist, and the group of bratty kids immediately scattered, giggling as they ran off. At that moment, Oliver, who had been standing behind me, tugged at the hem of my shirt. He looked up at me, his big eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Thank you for coming to pick me up today.” Wait, is something wrong here? Why is he thanking me? 05 I guess my tactic of establishing authority actually worked. Once we got home, Oliver was unusually obedient. Not only did he trot behind me like a little duckling, but during dinner, he actively helped me peel my shrimp. He carefully placed the peeled shrimp into my bowl. Seeing I hadn’t moved to eat it, he made sure to emphasize, “I washed my hands.” I picked up my fork. Delicious. “Good peeling. Your reward is to peel a few more for me.” Little Oliver pursed his lips to hide a small smile, lowered his head, and earnestly went back to peeling shrimp. Eventually, I was too full to eat anymore, and the rest of the shrimp ended up in his tummy. Having eaten too much for dinner, it was time for some physical activity. Considering my evil persona, what better exercise than tormenting a child? I dragged my eighteen shopping bags into his room. I waved at Oliver, who was currently playing with a Rubik’s Cube. “Come here. Try on some clothes.” Oliver’s clothes were usually custom-tailored and delivered directly. He had probably never done a fitting session before, so at first, he was super excited. He even smiled, showing his cute little canine teeth. Until later. He choked back a sob, “Please… I can’t try on any more…” “But we haven’t even tried the bumblebee, the penguin, the little duckling, or the monster onesies yet.” Oliver went silent. Wearing a green dinosaur onesie, he just stood there, looking at me with teary eyes. Me: … Fine. Evil plan continued, switching to the next project. 06 When it was time for bed, I decided to inflict my final torment of the day on Oliver. I forced him to stay in my room to sleep with me. After he changed into his pajamas, I handed him a storybook. “Read a story to Mommy. Coax Mommy to sleep.” Oliver stared blankly, as if unable to comprehend how an adult could be this shameless. But he still took the book. “Once upon a time… a queen sat at an… o-pen win-dow, doing needlework for her daugh-ter.” Me: … I forgot the kid was only five and didn’t know many words yet. But this gave me an inspiration. Most kids love playing and absolutely despise studying. A lightbulb went off in my head. A truly sinister plan began to form. Beside me, Oliver was still stumbling through the book. He obviously knew he was struggling with the words, and seeing me staring at him, his little face flushed bright red, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I… I… I can read it to you tomorrow, okay?” I let out my villainous cackle and snatched the book away. “Lie down. Now it’s Mommy’s turn to read you a story. Tonight’s story is called Snow White and Her Seven Stepmothers.” An absolutely terrifying horror story. In the end, I have no idea if Oliver fell asleep, but I managed to put myself to sleep telling it. In my hazy state, I felt something soft press gently against my cheek. A tiny voice whispered, “Mommy.” 07 The next morning, while Oliver was at school, I put my “Tiger Mom” plan into motion. Advanced phonics, Kumon math, French, piano—I scheduled it all. I hired the strictest tutors and bought the thickest workbooks. I fully expected that when Oliver got home and found out, he would feel like the sky was falling. To my surprise, he adapted perfectly. He put extra, intense effort into learning to read. A few days later, as I was walking past the study, he poked his little head out and read aloud, loudly and fluently: “Once upon a time, a queen sat at an open window, doing needlework for her daughter.” After reading it, he looked at me with a face full of expectation. To encourage him, I decided to reward him by letting him read me bedtime stories every night to put me to sleep.

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Kristen’s funeral wasn’t even over yet. The scent of white roses and burning wax still hung heavy in the chapel. But I simply reached out, took her best friend Sarah’s hand, and walked right to the front of the grieving crowd. “I am going to marry Sarah,” I announced. I pulled out the diamond ring I had originally bought for Kristen years ago and slid it onto Sarah’s finger. Kristen’s older brother, Carter, charged at me with bloodshot eyes. “Doug Blake! Are you even human?!” My bodyguards immediately intercepted him, pinning him back. He thrashed against them, his voice tearing through the chapel. “My sister is lying right there in that casket!” “You are proposing to this slut right in front of her?!” “Have you two been sleeping together this whole time?!” I calmly shifted my gaze to Kristen’s black-and-white portrait resting on the altar. “This was Kristen’s dying wish.” “She wanted the two people she loved most to support each other and walk the rest of this life together.” The crowd erupted. The entire chapel was filled with gasps, curses, and people calling me a twisted liar. But nobody understood what I really meant. 1 “Doug, you have lost your damn mind!” Kristen’s mother clutched her chest, gasping for air before collapsing straight toward the floor. Relatives rushed to catch her, chaotic shouts echoing as they fanned her and rubbed her back. Her cloudy, tear-filled eyes locked onto me with pure venom. “My daughter just passed away! Her body isn’t even cold yet!” “And you couldn’t wait to parade this woman in front of everyone? You want to give everything my daughter owned to this homewrecker?!” “How can you face Kristen in the afterlife?!” Sarah’s hand was trembling violently inside my grip. I just squeezed it tighter, raising my eyes to scan the room full of furious faces. “Like I said, the wedding will be scheduled soon.” “Everything under Kristen’s name, the mansion in the East End, her company shares, and all the cash in her personal accounts, will go entirely to Sarah.” “You animal! You are a literal animal!” Carter broke free from the bodyguards for a split second, the veins bulging on his forehead. His eyes were so red they looked ready to bleed. “Do you remember how my sister treated you?!” “When your first startup failed, she pawned her wedding jewelry to help you pay off your debts.” “When you were hospitalized, she sat by your bed for three days and three nights without closing her eyes!” “Now that she is gone, this is how you repay her?!” “Stealing her inheritance, marrying her best friend… do you even have a heart?!” He lunged forward again, but the guards quickly wrapped their arms around his waist, dragging him back. Carter thrashed wildly. His roars were so loud they made the white floral arrangements shudder. “Sarah! You filthy bitch!” “My sister treated you like her own flesh and blood! She shared everything with you, and this is how you pay her back?!” “Stealing her man and swallowing her fortune the second she is gone? Aren’t you afraid of going to hell?!” Sarah’s face drained of all color. Her lips parted as she tried to say something, but her voice was instantly drowned out by the tidal wave of insults. “You ungrateful piece of trash!” An elderly uncle, shaking with rage, pointed his cane right at my nose. “If Kristen is watching from heaven, she will crawl back down just to rip the faces off you two!” “They definitely hooked up ages ago!” Someone whispered the accusation loudly. It wasn’t a scream, but it acted like gasoline on an open fire. “Exactly! They probably killed Kristen so they could be together!” “Otherwise, why would they be so brazen about it?!” Someone accidentally knocked over the memorial candle stand. Hot wax and ashes spilled across the floor, mixing with scattered funeral programs, making the scene look incredibly pathetic. A relative grabbed a handful of white carnations from the altar and hurled them violently at us. The petals shattered, landing in Sarah’s hair and on the shoulders of my tailored black suit, like a silent, mocking judgment. And in that moment, the absolute chaos of the chapel was already being recorded. Several people had their phones up, lenses zoomed in perfectly. They captured Carter’s roars, the elders’ curses, and the cold silence of Sarah and me. Within minutes, those clips were edited, slapped with the title “Trashing the Dead: Husband Marries Mistress at Wife’s Funeral,” and uploaded across every major social media platform. It took less than half an hour. #FuneralProposal #DougBlakeGivesMillionsToMistress #JusticeForKristen The three hashtags skyrocketed like rockets, dominating the top trending spots on Twitter and TikTok, glowing with that blinding red “Viral” tag. 2 The comment sections were a total warzone. The sheer volume of rage practically melted the servers. [What kind of absolute garbage human being is Doug Blake?] [His wife is literally lying in a casket in the same room, and he couldn’t wait to marry her bestie and split her money? He is a psychopath!] [Sarah is disgusting. Stealing your best friend’s man and her money? This had to be premeditated.] [My heart breaks for Kristen. She loved the wrong man and trusted the wrong friend.] [Hold on… is it possible Kristen didn’t die of natural causes?] [They are way too eager. It’s almost like they couldn’t wait for her to die!] [The police need to investigate! Scum like this deserves to be ruined and locked up forever!] My phone buzzed relentlessly against my chest. Texts, calls, and emails flooded in, packed with curses and interrogations. Random unknown numbers started ringing, and the second I answered, people would just scream death threats into my ear. My company’s PR department was having a collective meltdown. They sent me dozens of urgent messages begging for a crisis management strategy. Our stock price had already started to plummet off a cliff. But I ignored all of it. I casually turned off my phone and slipped it back into my suit’s breast pocket. I looked down and gently brushed a crushed white petal out of Sarah’s hair. My fingertips brushed against her ice-cold skin. She looked up at me, her eyes brimming with panic and dread. “Doug, maybe we should just leave?” I shook my head and reached out to smooth her wrinkled collar. “Don’t be afraid.” Then I turned back to face the crowd, meeting their furious, murderous glares. My voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the deafening noise. “I have said what I needed to say.” “The wedding will be held when the time is right.” “I have already decided where the inheritance goes.” “My lawyers will expedite the legal paperwork.” “Whether you believe me, or how much you want to curse me, that is entirely up to you.” My eyes drifted to Kristen’s black-and-white portrait. She was smiling so gently in that picture. “When the time comes, I will give everyone, including Kristen, a complete explanation.” “An explanation?! What kind of sick explanation could you possibly give?!” Carter was trembling with rage, still pinned down by the security team. “You murdered her! I am calling the cops! I am going to make you and this bitch pay!” I let out a relaxed, easy smile. “Call the cops?” “Go ahead. I am more than happy to cooperate.” The second the circus at the funeral ended, I booked the earliest flight out. I took Sarah straight to a luxury tropical island. Sunshine, white sandy beaches, crystal clear water. I held Sarah’s hand, posing for a picture under a palm tree. She was wearing a flowing white sundress, smiling softly, with Kristen’s diamond ring sparkling on her finger. The caption read: “To the rest of our lives. Please take care of me.” I posted it directly to my personal accounts. No privacy settings, entirely public. The internet exploded all over again. The backlash was ten times more violent than the day of the funeral. [Doug Blake, are you even a human being?!] [Going on a honeymoon right after your wife’s funeral? And you have the nerve to post pictures showing off?!] [Looking at Sarah’s face makes me sick. Wearing a dead woman’s ring.] [Living in a dead woman’s house and she can still smile like that?] [Do these two even have a conscience?!] [The grass hasn’t even grown over Kristen’s grave yet!] [Cancel his company! Society needs to permanently blacklist this piece of trash!] My direct messages were flooded with the most vile threats imaginable. People photoshopped my face onto crime scene photos. Internet sleuths tracked down our resort location, threatening to fly out and “teach us a lesson.” But I didn’t care. In fact, I kept posting daily updates. A photo of Sarah’s silhouette by the ocean. A close-up of us sharing an expensive gelato. Our hands intertwined under a golden sunset. Every single post was like pouring aviation fuel straight onto the internet’s raging fire. 3 Ten days later, the honeymoon was over. I brought Sarah back to the corporate headquarters. When I pushed open the double doors to my executive office suite, it looked like a disaster zone. More than half the cubicles were completely empty. Files were scattered across the floor. Several department heads were actively leading their teams in packing up their desks. “Mr. Blake, we are resigning.” The Marketing Director spoke first, his tone dripping with absolute disgust. “We fundamentally disagree with the kind of person you are, and we refuse to work for you a second longer.” “Exactly, we are walking out too!” “Protecting a mistress and stealing your dead wife’s money? We don’t serve bosses like that!” “Either you step down, or we walk. We choose the latter!” The employees chimed in one after another, their eyes filled with a mix of contempt and bitter disappointment. The massive office was practically hollowed out. Only a few veteran employees stood awkwardly in the corners, hesitating. I leaned casually against my mahogany desk, drumming my fingers lightly against the surface. I kept my voice perfectly level. “That is perfectly fine. Anyone who wants to leave is free to go.” I turned to my secretary and told her to bring out the severance packages I had drafted beforehand. “For those who have been here for over three years, you will receive an extra three months of severance pay. For those over five years, six months.” “All unused PTO and sick days will be cashed out fully and added to your final check.” The second those words left my mouth, the entire floor went dead silent. Even the people who were carrying their cardboard boxes toward the elevators froze in their tracks. The news of my massive payout leaked to the internet almost instantly. The netizens lost their minds even more. [Is Doug Blake actually insane?] [He betrays his wife, gives her parents a heart attack, but acts like a saint to his employees?!] [This is wild. Doing the most villainous things in his personal life, but throwing around cash to buy loyalty at work? Terrifying!] [Is he trying to use money to shut everyone up?] [Too bad we aren’t buying it!] [Treating his staff so well but being so ruthless to his dead wife. What is this guy’s brain made of?] [Hypocrite!] [Fake saint!] [He is a psychopath!] Negative labels washed over me like a tsunami. I scrolled through the brutal comments on my phone, then looked up at the employees slowly filtering out of the office with their generous checks. A faint, subtle smile curled the corner of my mouth. Sarah stood next to me, her face deathly pale. “Doug, if this keeps up, the entire company is going to collapse…” I reached out and patted her shoulder, my voice smooth and unbothered. “If it collapses, I will just build another one.” They didn’t understand. I never cared about saving this company, nor did I care about public approval. What I wanted was to make the rats hiding in the dark panic. And this entire circus? It was only just the beginning. The heavy glass doors to my office were suddenly shoved open. I was in the middle of signing the very last severance agreement. A squad of federal financial investigators walked in wearing dark suits, their expressions stone-cold. “Doug Blake, we received a highly detailed anonymous tip. Your company is suspected of massive financial fraud and severe tax evasion. We are here to conduct an official investigation.” Stacks of ledgers and banking documents were slapped onto my desk. Every single highlighted number was shocking. When they presented the final calculation, even I was genuinely taken aback for a second. “The back taxes and federal penalties owed total exactly fifteen million dollars.” The news grew wings and flew across the internet in seconds. #DougBlakeCompanyRaided #FifteenMillionDollarFine The hashtags hit number one instantly. The internet threw a massive party. The comment sections were filled with people cheering and popping digital champagne. [Karma never misses! The trash finally got what he deserved!] [This is what you get for betraying your wife! The money is gone, the company is dead. Serves him right!] [Just throw him in a federal prison already. Let him rot in a cell for the rest of his life!] Hearing the blood in the water, Kristen’s family rushed over. 4 Carter showed up at the corporate lobby leading a pack of angry relatives. He wore a twisted smile of pure vindication, his voice echoing off the marble walls. “Doug Blake, this is exactly what you deserve!” “But before the government seizes your assets, you are going to spit out my sister’s inheritance! And you are going to pay the Collins family extra for emotional damages!” “Otherwise, Kristen will never rest in peace down there!” The netizens watching the live streams enthusiastically backed him up. [He is absolutely right! The family should squeeze every penny out of him. Don’t let this scumbag off easy!] [The money was Kristen’s to begin with. He needs to use it to pay for his sins!] [Support the Collins family! Drain Doug Blake until he has absolutely nothing left!] Right at that moment, the wail of police sirens approached the building. Two uniformed detectives walked straight into my office and flashed their badges. “Mr. Blake, the sheer amount of money involved in your company’s fraud elevates this to a major criminal offense. Please come with us to the precinct.” Carter and his relatives immediately started cheering. The live chat on the streams scrolled so fast it was just a blur of text. But I calmly raised my hand, stopping the detectives in their tracks. My face didn’t show a hint of panic. “Hold on.” “This fraud is not my responsibility.” Carter let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Not your responsibility? What, did a ghost do it?!” “Doug, have some damn shame! You are backed into a corner and you are still trying to pass the buck?!” I ignored his taunts. My gaze swept slowly across the room, making eye contact with everyone present. “It is my wife, Kristen’s responsibility.” “She knows the details of this fraud much better than I do.” The whispers in the room and the raging comments online erupted simultaneously. “He is insane! He has officially lost his mind!” “Blaming a dead woman?! This man truly has no bottom line!” “Throwing dirty water on Kristen when she is already in the ground… Doug Blake is going to burn in hell!” The lead detective frowned deeply. “Mr. Blake, please cooperate with the investigation. Do not spout nonsense.” I didn’t argue. I pulled out my phone and dialed a heavily encrypted international number. I tapped the call button and put the phone on speaker, resting it on my mahogany desk. Carter’s voice was dripping with pure disdain. The millions of people watching the live streams were practically eating popcorn, waiting for my final, pathetic joke to play out. “Is he actually dialing a number? Who is he calling? A ghost?!” “What a clown! Let’s see how he tries to spin this lie!” The ringing tone echoed through the speaker. One ring. Two rings. Three rings… Just when everyone was convinced it would go to voicemail. A clear, female voice suddenly came through the speaker. It even carried a hint of lazy, husky arrogance. “Hello? Who is this?”

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By the hospital window, I stared down at the street below with a single, liberating thought: If I just jumped, it would all be over. This was my 28th hospital stay in three years, all thanks to him. The evidence was written across my body—three cracked ribs, a patchwork of angry burns, and a constellation of deep bruises—a brutal testament to a nightmare that had no end. It wasn’t that I hadn’t fought back. He’d torn up my divorce filings. Every escape attempt ended with me being dragged back to a beating more savage than the last. Hope had been beaten out of me, leaving only a hollow, desolate ache. Then, just as I was about to give in, a package arrived from a friend overseas. Inside were two dolls, one crafted to look like me, the other like him. Tucked beside them was a thin sheet of paper titled, “Instructions for the Shared Pain Dolls.” 1 That single sheet of paper held just a few simple rules. “Pathetic,” I muttered to myself. “Thinking a couple of dolls could save me.” I tossed them aside and started for the door, my mind set on the hospital roof. Then my phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. [You’ll never know if you don’t try.] [Besides, things can’t get any worse, can they?] It was from my friend, the one who sent the package. We hadn’t spoken in years. I’d changed my number a dozen times since then. Yet, she knew exactly which hospital, which room I was in. A flicker of something I hadn’t felt in a long time—hope—ignited in my chest. “Maybe,” I whispered, “maybe this could actually work.” I snatched the instructions and read them again. 1. The dolls require a binding of blood, hair, and nail clippings from the intended subjects. 2. The first doll bound becomes the Primary. The second becomes the Secondary. 3. Once bound, the Secondary will experience all pain inflicted upon the Primary. The dolls require a binding. My hands moved with a sudden urgency. I plucked a strand of hair from my head and clipped a sliver from my fingernail. For the blood, I just had to press my thumb against a wound that hadn’t quite healed. The moment the three items touched the doll that looked like me, they vanished, absorbed into the fabric. The doll’s posture seemed to shift, its vacant expression mirroring my own exhaustion. I could feel it—a faint, thrumming connection between us. It was real. It actually worked. My mind, once a barren wasteland of despair, was now racing with possibilities. But first things first: I had to bind my husband, Victor, to the other doll. Ignoring the doctor’s protests, I checked myself out and went home. The house was just as I’d left it—a sprawling, modern mansion decorated entirely to Victor’s taste. A cold, sterile palette of black, white, and grey that suffocated the air and pressed down on my soul. Victor’s family was obscenely wealthy. It was their money and influence that made divorce impossible, escape a fantasy. I was a prisoner in a gilded cage. But now, I had the dolls. I had a chance to tear this cage apart. Victor was already home from work. He looked up, a flicker of surprise in his eyes when he saw me. “I thought you’d stay in the hospital until you were fully recovered.” A cruel smirk played on his lips. “You know, I love it when you’re broken. It’s so beautiful.” At thirty-five, he was the picture of a successful executive, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit. But beneath that polished veneer was a monster. A sadist. “Come here,” he purred. “Be a good girl.” I fought the tremor that ran through me, a Pavlovian response to his voice, and walked toward him. His fingers were like ice as they traced the line of my jaw, raising a carpet of goosebumps on my skin. I didn’t dare move. “See? If you were always this obedient, why would I ever have to hurt you?” His grip tightened, his fingers digging into my cheeks, squeezing my face. A phantom pain, a memory of a thousand other moments just like this, shot through my entire body. “Honey, would you like some fruit?” I blinked, forcing tears to well in my eyes and spill down my cheeks, dripping onto his hand. My tears always pleased him. He released me and sat on the sofa, a silent assent. I went to the kitchen, my movements stiff and sore. The fruit was already washed and sliced, just the way he liked it. My barely-healed injuries screamed in protest, but I pushed through, carrying the platter to him. “Your nails are getting long. Should I trim them for you?” “Hm,” he grunted, spearing a piece of watermelon with a fork. He popped it into his mouth, the bright red flesh a stark contrast to his pale skin. It looked like a piece of my own heart. Fighting the urge to shrink away, I knelt at his feet and gently took his hand, the nail clippers cold in my other palm. “Ava, why are you so tense?” His voice was a low murmur, laced with amusement. “Look at you, sweating already.” He leaned in closer. “Are you hiding something from me?” His voice was a snake coiling around my neck. My breath hitched. I froze. 2 I struggled to keep my voice even. “I’m just… not fully recovered yet.” It was his favorite game, a relentless campaign of questions and accusations designed to break me down, to make me so terrified of him that my body betrayed me with shakes and stutters. It didn’t matter if I’d done anything or not; his suspicion was its own conviction. “Are you blaming me, then? Did I hit you too hard?” he asked, his voice deceptively soft. “It was just a little punishment for your disobedience.” A little punishment? Three cracked ribs were the mark of his foot. The tapestry of bruises was the art of his fists and open palms. The burns covering my back were the answer to his question of whether I was faking unconsciousness, tested with a full kettle of boiling water. I wanted to scream. To fight back. To make him feel every ounce of the agony he’d inflicted on me. Instead, I let my trembling hand guide the clippers, intentionally cutting a fraction too deep, drawing a speck of blood from under his nail. “I’m so sorry, I…” I started to apologize, instinctively clenching the nail clipping in my fist. The slap came so fast I didn’t see it. The force of it sent me sprawling to the floor. Before I could recover, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and hauled me up, his other hand striking my face again and again. The warm, metallic tang of blood filled my mouth, a taste I knew better than any other. He dragged me closer by my hair, forcing me to look at him, a predator admiring his broken prey. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” he hissed, his face inches from mine. “This is your pathetic little revenge, isn’t it?” I squeezed my hand tighter, protecting the precious clipping. Does he know about the dolls? How could he? How do I get out of this? Do I have another chance? Should I run? A storm of panic raged in my mind. He stared into my wide, terrified eyes, and then a horrible, slow smile spread across his face. “This is your grand rebellion? Nicking my finger with a nail clipper?” He let out a sharp, ugly laugh. “You’re like a kitten, Ava. So adorable.” He tugged on my hair, sending a fresh spike of pain through my scalp. “This is what I love. This is what makes it fun.” He straightened up, releasing me. I crumpled to the floor in a heap. “The more you fight, the more interesting it gets,” he said, his voice a low growl. “So go on. Run. Fight back. Let’s have some fun, Kitten.” He turned and strolled out of the room, humming a cheerful tune, completely unconcerned by the blood welling on his fingertip. This was my chance. After a particularly bad beating, he always gave me time to recover. He wouldn’t kill me outright; he preferred the game of cat and mouse, of breaking me, letting me heal, and then breaking me all over again. The slaps were the end of it, for now. I scrambled back to the bedroom, half-crawling, and slammed the door shut. I pulled the dolls from my bag. I found one of his hairs on the bedsheet. Then, with shaking hands, I placed the hair and the bloodied nail clipping onto the second doll. A crimson light flashed, and a new connection sparked to life, linking me to this second doll, to him. Finally. The binding is complete. I sagged against the floor, my body limp with relief. Knock. Knock. Knock. The sound made me jump. It was Victor. “Ava, I seem to recall telling you not to lock your door.” His voice was dangerously calm. “Are you being disobedient again?” 3 My hands fumbled, trying to hide the dolls behind my back. But before I could, I heard the click of a key in the lock. The door swung open. Victor stepped inside, his eyes immediately landing on the dolls I was so clumsily trying to conceal. He strode over and snatched the one that looked like me. He held it up, examining it with a critical eye. “Not bad. The resemblance is uncanny.” His gaze flicked to me. “What are you up to? Why so jumpy? Don’t tell me you’re playing with voodoo dolls.” He roared with laughter, carelessly swinging my doll by its leg. “I have to admit, it even captures your current, broken-down state. Who knew you had such a talent for crafts?” His fingers tightened around the doll, twisting its limbs, crushing its fabric body. A jolt of pain, faint but real, shot through me from the doll. An idea, brilliant and terrifying, sparked in my mind. If I feel what happens to the doll… does that mean the damage works both ways? I glanced at the doll in my hand—his doll. It was already beginning to reflect the state of the Primary. It would work. I flicked the switch. Instruction #4: The Primary can turn the pain-sharing connection on or off at will. A strangled scream ripped through the room. Victor collapsed, his body hitting the floor with a heavy thud. The sudden, alien agony that flooded his system was so overwhelming he couldn’t even process it. “Call an ambulance! Call a damn ambulance!” he shrieked. The intense pain forced his hand open, and my doll dropped to the carpet. He curled into a tight ball, his towering 6’2” frame crumpled in a desperate attempt to lessen the torment. “So this is what you look like when you’re in pain,” I murmured, a strange sense of calm washing over me. For the first time, he didn’t seem like an invincible monster. I ignored his pleas and picked up my doll, the Primary. I needed to know: was the pain he felt just a reflection of my own injuries, or could I inflict new pain through the doll itself? The doll was mangled from his abuse. I looked at its face, so much like my own, and without a shred of pity, I bent its leg backward until it snapped. A sickening crack echoed in the quiet room. “Aaargh!” Victor clutched his knee, letting out another piercing, agonized howl. “It works,” I whispered. “What works? What the hell are you talking about?” he gasped between screams. “Ava, I told you to call an ambulance! Did you hear me? Do you want another beating?” His voice, usually a tool of terror, was now music to my ears. No wonder he loved to hear me scream and beg. It was a beautiful sound. “You want me to call an ambulance?” I stepped closer, looking down at him. “Then beg me, Victor. Beg me, and maybe I’ll make the call.” My face was still swollen, the burn dressing on my back a constant, throbbing reminder of his cruelty. But in this moment, I held all the power. I held his pain in the palm of my hand. “You bitch! You’re dead—AGHH!” He didn’t finish his threat. I pressed down hard on the doll’s chest, and Victor immediately began to choke, his breath catching in his throat. “Ava… please,” he wheezed, his voice cracking. “Call an ambulance. I’m begging you.” The pain had broken him. Tears and snot streamed down his face, painting a pathetic picture. I pulled out my phone and dialed for an ambulance. Just like Victor said, the game is only fun when there’s resistance. Besides, I needed to know if a hospital could find any physical cause for his injuries. The paramedics arrived quickly, loading the still-screaming Victor onto a stretcher. The staff at the local hospital knew me by sight; they must have assumed I was the patient again. They were in for a surprise. From now on, the ambulance would only be for Victor. 4 After they wheeled Victor away, I slept. For the first time in three years, I slept through the entire night without waking up in a cold sweat. The wounds on my body still ached, but for once, my mind was at peace. I woke the next morning to a strange sensation. The connection to the dolls felt stronger. They had leveled up. Instruction #5: When the Secondary’s pain reaches a certain threshold, the Primary may upgrade. An upgraded Primary can amplify the pain felt by the Secondary. The sustained agony from the night before must have triggered it. My control over the dolls felt sharper, more intuitive. The hospital, predictably, had found nothing wrong with Victor. Painkillers hadn’t touched the phantom agony. He came home that afternoon. The moment he walked through the door, he roared my name. He sounded unhinged. I stood at the top of the stairs, looking down on him. “Was this you?” he snarled, his face contorted with rage. “Some kind of trick? It’s those dolls, isn’t it?” “They ran every test imaginable and found nothing. Nothing! The doctors think I’m having a psychotic break.” He pointed a shaking finger at me. “Ava, I underestimated you.” I said nothing, letting him burn himself out with his impotent fury. Constant, unexplained pain can shatter a man’s composure. He was already losing his mind. But this was the pain I had lived with for three years. “Does it hurt?” My voice was as cold as the marble beneath his feet. “Good. So do I.” “And the painkillers don’t work, do they?” Instruction #6: The shared pain cannot be mitigated by external means, such as medication. “So it was you,” he seethed, his teeth grinding together. “Fine. If it hurts, it hurts. But now, I’m not just going to make you hurt. I’m going to kill you.” The calm, controlled mask he always wore was gone, replaced by a terrifying, wild-eyed madness. I activated the upgrade. A 130% pain amplification surged through the connection. He gasped, his strength instantly draining away, and staggered against the wall. But even through the agony, he lunged for me, his hand closing around my wrist like a vice. A corresponding jolt of pain shot through his own wrist. “What the hell did you do?” he growled through gritted teeth. I just stared back at him, my silence a wall he couldn’t break. “Go on then,” I challenged him. “Kill me. Let’s see who dies first. You from the pain, or me from the beating.” He let go, his mind racing. Then, a look of realization. “The dolls! It’s the dolls. Where did you hide them?” he yelled, tearing the house apart. “You tried to hide them yesterday, I knew it!” I tried to stop him, but even in agony, he was stronger than my injured body. My attempts to create new pain by digging my nails into my own skin only seemed to fuel his desperation. He was willing to endure anything to find the source. Finally, he found them, tucked away in my closet. He snatched up his doll, the Secondary, and a triumphant, cruel smile returned to his face. “I have to admit, Ava, that was a clever little trick. You taught me a lesson.” He held the doll up. “But now that I have this, let’s see how you fight back!” He stormed into the kitchen, turned on the gas stove, and without a moment’s hesitation, tossed the doll into the open flame. The fire roared to life, engulfing the small figure. Victor turned to me, a look of pure, malevolent victory on his face. He cracked his knuckles, already planning his retribution. But in the next instant, his triumphant expression twisted into a mask of pure horror. The searing, blistering agony of being burned alive consumed him. The doll, made of what looked like simple cloth, was completely unharmed by the flames. He collapsed, screaming, his face turning a blotchy red as the phantom burns spread across his body. I started to laugh. It was a beautiful thing, wasn’t it? To give someone a flicker of hope, only to snatch it away and plunge them into absolute despair. It was the exact same feeling I had every time I thought I’d escaped, only to see his car pull up in front of me. Instruction #7: The bond can only be broken by death.

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