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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1. Lately, I’ve been dealing with an absolute nightmare. It started when my neighbor realized our morning commutes aligned. From then on, she hitched a ride with me every single day. I found it annoying, but since it was on my way, I was too polite to complain. With Labor Day weekend approaching, I was planning a getaway with my best friend. Out of nowhere, my neighbor sent me a massive PDF file. I opened it—it was a detailed itinerary for her family’s holiday trip. Attached was a text: “Olivia, here’s our schedule. Make sure you know the driving routes.” Another message popped up instantly: “Holiday traffic will be a nightmare. We’re leaving a day early, so make sure you request time off work.” I stared at my phone, caught between fury and disbelief. Was she really treating me like her unpaid chauffeur? I took a deep breath, about to shut her down, when another text appeared: “I saw a notification on your phone about those concert tickets you got. I canceled them for you.” Then the kicker: “You really shouldn’t waste money chasing pop stars at your age.” Before I could process that, she made an even crazier demand: “If you’ve got that much money to burn, our family vacation will cost around eighteen grand. You can just cover it for us.” I felt my blood literally boiling. That was the farewell tour of an artist I had worshipped for ten straight years. I had pulled every string imaginable and stayed up until dawn just to secure those VIP tickets. This morning, Martha had knocked on my door claiming her phone was completely dead and she desperately needed to call her relatives out of state. Like a fool, I lent her my phone. I never imagined she would maliciously snoop through my apps and cancel my once-in-a-lifetime tickets just to force me into being her family driver. My hands were shaking so badly I had to jab the screen three times before I finally managed to dial her number. It rang forever before she picked up with a sickeningly sweet drawl. “Well hey there Olivia! Did you read through the itinerary? Don’t you think my family planned a fabulous trip?” I swallowed the absolute rage clawing at my throat and yelled into the receiver. “Who gave you the right to touch my phone and cancel my tickets without my permission!” Martha’s voice floated back, completely and utterly unbothered. “Oh honey, why are you being so ungrateful? I was looking out for you!” “You are young. You will need that money for important things down the road. Blowing a thousand bucks to watch someone sing? Have you lost your mind?” “I figured I would do you a huge favor and save you some cash, so I just hit the refund button.” “Besides, you are going to be driving us to the coast for the holiday anyway. You wouldn’t have time for a concert. You can just put those refunded dollars toward our vacation expenses instead.” I was genuinely speechless. Cancel my tickets, then expect me to foot the bill for their eighteen thousand dollar family vacation? The sheer delusion was astronomical! “It is my money, and I will spend it however I damn well please! I do not need you making financial decisions for me!” “And for the record, I never agreed to go anywhere with your trashy family. I am not paying a single dime of that eighteen grand!” Martha’s tone shifted instantly, her voice turning shrill and defensive. “Excuse me, little girl? Is that how you speak to your elders!” “I see you going to work and coming home all alone every single day. I was doing you a favor by taking pity on you! I didn’t want you sitting alone in your apartment like a loser for the holiday, so I was generous enough to let you tag along and show you a good time.” “Since you are coming with us, it is only right that you cover the expenses. We are basically babysitting you!” I laughed out loud, a harsh and bitter sound. Suddenly, all the disgusting things she had done while hitching free rides flashed through my mind. If we agreed to leave at seven, she would always drag her feet until half past. The moment I rushed her, she would roll her eyes and guilt trip me about having to cook breakfast for her husband and son. Once inside my pristine car, she would always bring the most pungent and offensive foods. Greasy garlic kebabs or stinky tuna salads that left a lingering stench in the cabin for days. She would stuff her greasy wrappers into my door compartments, smearing my expensive leather seats without a single word of apology. If I had to brake a little too hard during rush hour, she would make snide, passive-aggressive remarks about my terrible driving making her carsick. I had kept my mouth shut all this time simply to keep the peace. But my silence had only bred her monstrous entitlement. I took a massive breath, forcing my heart rate down. “Listen to me very carefully Martha. I have absolutely zero interest in your pathetic family vacation, and I am not giving you a single cent!” “As for you messing with my phone and refunding my tickets, I am gathering the evidence and I will hold you legally responsible.” “And starting today, do not even think about getting near my car again!” Without giving her a single second to respond, I hung up. 2. The second the call ended, Martha’s texts started flooding in. [What is that supposed to mean? You aren’t coming?] [If you weren’t coming, why didn’t you say so earlier! Our itinerary is totally locked in and the hotels are booked. Backing out now is just sick and twisted!] [Because you ghosted us, all the budget flights are sold out! Now my family has to buy last-minute premium tickets!] [You are going to cover this loss! The flights plus the vacation packages come out to twenty-five grand. Wire me the money right now!] I did not even have the energy to entertain her lunacy. I blocked her number immediately. Half an hour later, my phone started buzzing relentlessly. It was the community HOA WhatsApp group. I was being tagged endlessly. I opened the app and saw Martha aggressively playing the victim, typing out massive paragraphs for everyone to see. [Neighbors, I need you all to weigh in on this! I was generous enough to invite Olivia from downstairs to join my family on our Labor Day vacation.] [I paid out of pocket to book the hotels and plan the routes. But right before the holiday, she completely ghosts us!] [Because of her, the cheap flights are gone and we are forced to buy expensive tickets. When I asked her to cover the damages she caused, she had the nerve to block me!] [Young women these days are so unbelievably selfish. Zero integrity!] Right on cue, the nosy neighborhood gossips leaped into the fray. [Oh my goodness, young people are just so unreliable lately.] [If you made a promise to someone, you have to follow through. Making them lose all that money is awful.] [Olivia honey, you really messed up here. You should just pay them back.] [Exactly. We all have to live next to each other. Don’t make the living situation toxic over some money.] I stared at the screen, physically nauseated by the barrage of holier-than-thou comments. My fingers flew across the keyboard. [Martha, are you completely out of your mind?] [When did I ever agree to go anywhere with you? You sent me an itinerary completely unsolicited, demanded I be your unpaid chauffeur, and told me to foot your eighteen thousand dollar bill!] [You bum rides in my car every day, trash my interior without apologizing, and this morning you stole my phone to cancel the concert tickets I fought tooth and nail to get!] [And now you want to extort me for twenty-five grand? Keep dreaming!] The group chat went dead silent for a long moment. But soon enough, the fence-sitters who usually played cards with Martha started typing again. [Even if Martha was a bit pushy, she was just worried you would be lonely!] [Right! Since your tickets are gone anyway and you have nowhere to go, you might as well just join them on their trip.] [Everyone looks out for each other here. It’s totally fine for you to pitch in some money since they are bringing you along.] [Olivia, be the bigger person. Just apologize and let it go.] Reading these ridiculously tone-deaf comments made my stomach churn. It is always so easy to be generous when it is not your money on the line, isn’t it? I scoffed, typing out one final message. [Since you all love charity and helping neighbors so much, why don’t you guys pool together twenty-five grand and pay her yourselves!] I hit send and immediately permanently exited the group chat. 3. After leaving the chat, my stomach let out a loud rumble. Thanks to Martha’s psychotic behavior, I had completely forgotten to eat dinner. I grabbed my car keys, deciding to treat myself to some takeout from my favorite upscale bistro to blow off some steam. Walking down into the underground parking garage, I clicked my key fob. The headlights flashed in the dim lighting. But as I got closer, my heart dropped. There was a massive, heavy-duty metal boot locked tightly around my front left tire. My blood pressure spiked instantly. I immediately called the HOA security desk to send someone down with bolt cutters. Ten minutes later, a security guard hurried over accompanied by a local locksmith. The locksmith had just pulled out his tools when Martha suddenly came sprinting out from behind a concrete pillar, violently shoving the poor guy away. “Don’t you dare unlock that! Leave it alone!” I glared at her, my voice turning to ice. “Martha, did you put that boot on my car?” Martha crossed her arms over her chest, tilting her chin up with a smug, defiant smirk. “I sure did. What are you going to do about it?” “My family needs to use this vehicle tomorrow morning for our trip. You are not moving it!” I let out a dry, disbelieving laugh. “Are you completely insane? This is my personal property. What gives you the right to hold my car hostage?” Martha spat on the ground near my shoes. “Who cares whose car it is? If you refuse to pay us the money you owe us, then we are taking the car as collateral!” “My husband can drive perfectly fine anyway. We don’t need a spoiled brat like you behind the wheel.” I whipped my head around to look at the security guard. “Is this how building management handles things? You just let random people boot the residents’ cars?” The guard coughed awkwardly, refusing to meet my eyes, and actually had the nerve to try and mediate. “Miss Olivia, we are all neighbors here. Let’s just talk this out calmly.” “Martha here says she desperately needs a vehicle. Why don’t you just let them borrow it for the weekend? It’s good to help out the community.” My eyes widened in pure shock. “Help out? She is literally hijacking my vehicle in broad daylight, and you call that borrowing?” “Is this how you protect the residents?” The guard flushed red, looking incredibly guilty as he mumbled. “Look, you guys need to sort this out yourselves. I can’t get involved.” Seeing the guard back down only fueled Martha’s ego. She practically glowed with triumph. “You better listen to reason and hand over those keys right now, Olivia. Otherwise, this car is never leaving this garage again!” I took a deep breath, pulling my phone from my pocket. “Fine. If we cannot communicate like civilized adults, I am calling 911. Grand theft auto and extortion. I am pretty sure the dollar amount involved will get you a cozy cell for a few years.” I dialed the numbers, my thumb hovering over the call button. Martha’s face drained of color. The threat of actual police clearly terrified her. “What are you doing! Don’t call the cops! It’s not even a big deal!” She lunged forward, trying to snatch my phone from my hand, but I easily sidestepped her. “If you do not want to be arrested tonight, you will take that boot off my car right now!” Martha glared at me, her teeth grinding together so loudly I could hear it. We stood in a tense standoff for a few agonizing seconds before she finally reached into her pocket. She pulled out a rusty key and angrily unlocked the heavy metal clamp. “You better watch your back, Olivia! This isn’t over!” She delivered a hard kick to my tire before stomping away, muttering curses under her breath. I looked down at the fresh scratches on my rims, a wave of deep exhaustion washing over me. I made a mental note to drive the car to the official dealership first thing in the morning. Leaving it at the shop for a few days seemed like the safest way to keep it out of her psycho clutches. 4. The next morning, I got dressed and headed downstairs. The moment I stepped out of the elevator into the garage, I saw Martha standing right next to my parking spot. She was beaming, looking prouder than a peacock. A heavy pit formed in my stomach. I broke into a run. What I saw made my vision go entirely red. My windshield was completely shattered, a spiderweb of violently bashed-in glass. The entire body of the car was covered in deep, jagged scratches that dug all the way down to the primer. And scrawled across the side doors in dripping, blood-red spray paint were three massive words: “PAY UP BITCH!” The adrenaline rushed straight to my head, and my hands began to tremble uncontrollably. “Aww, does that hurt your feelings?” Martha’s lips curled into a vicious, malicious grin. Her eyes danced with provocation. “I told you this wasn’t over.” “You think you are so special just because you have a fancy car?” “Since you refused to pay us the cash, and you refused to let us take the car, then nobody gets to drive it.” I turned my head slowly to look at her. “You did this?” Martha jutted her chin out, entirely fearless. “So what if I did?” “Let me make something very clear to you, Olivia. You better wire me that twenty-five grand right now. Otherwise, next time, it won’t just be the car getting smashed!” I stared directly into her eyes, my voice deadly calm. “This is felony vandalism and destruction of private property.” “You will pay for every single cent of this damage. I will make sure you rot for this.” Martha let out a loud, mocking cackle. “Pay you? Keep dreaming!” “Do you have any actual proof I did this?” “In case you forgot, my husband is the property manager for this entire complex. I already had him shut off the security cameras down here.” I did not even waste my breath arguing with her. I pulled out my phone and immediately dialed 911. “Hello, police? I am at the underground garage of the Riverfront complex. Someone has maliciously vandalized my vehicle. The monetary damage is extreme. Please send officers immediately.” Hearing me actually call the cops, Martha’s confident smirk faltered for a second, but she quickly masked it with renewed arrogance. “Go ahead! Call them! Let’s see what the cops can actually do to me!” Less than ten minutes later, a cruiser roared down the concrete ramp, lights flashing. Two uniformed officers stepped out quickly. Almost simultaneously, Gary, Martha’s husband and the building manager, arrived at the scene with three security guards trailing behind him. The moment Martha saw her husband and the cops, her entire demeanor flipped like a light switch. Her eyes welled up with dramatic tears, and she threw herself violently into Gary’s arms. “Gary! Thank God you’re here! This woman is terrorizing me!” “Officers, please, you have to help me!” “I was just walking to my car, and I saw her vehicle was damaged. I kindly walked over to ask if she needed any help.” “And out of absolutely nowhere, this psychotic woman grabbed me and started accusing me of smashing it! She is trying to extort me for money!” “She is an awful person who causes trouble with everyone in the building. Someone else obviously wanted revenge on her, and now she’s trying to pin the blame on an innocent mother!” Gary wrapped his arms protectively around his wife, shooting me a disgustingly hostile glare. “Miss Olivia, you need to have some decency. I understand you are upset about your car, but you cannot just throw wild accusations and slander my wife!” The lead officer frowned deeply, taking in the absolutely brutalized state of the vehicle before turning to Gary. “You are the building manager? Pull up the surveillance footage for this sector immediately.” Gary let out a heavy, theatrical sigh, spreading his hands in a gesture of fake helplessness. “I am so sorry, Officer. But we had a terrible thunderstorm last night. The wiring for the cameras in this specific zone shorted out. They are completely fried.” Martha peeked out from Gary’s chest, shooting me a triumphant, venomous look. “Did you hear that? You have zero proof. How dare you accuse me! I should sue you for defamation!” I looked at the two of them, putting on the performance of a lifetime, and I simply smiled. I walked calmly over to the wreckage of my car and pointed to the tiny, seamlessly integrated camera hidden near the side mirror. “The building’s security cameras are broken, huh?” “That is perfectly fine. My car’s twenty-four-hour Sentry Mode camera has been recording everything.”

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Ever since I was little, I’ve been called a human ledger. I never let anyone take a dime of advantage. When the neighbor’s kid ruined my new sundress with a firecracker, I made sure his family couldn’t cook a peaceful meal for a week — they had to eat the overpriced delivery food I sent, complete with an “emotional distress” bill. When a college group project fell apart, I calmly showed the receipts, pinning the blame so precisely on our slacking team leader that he ended up begging the professor not to fail him. My parents called me a cold-blooded shark, worried I’d never find a husband. We fought badly. I moved out and didn’t look back for eight years. Then, as a senior corporate mediator, I got a call from my mother, sobbing hysterically. “Tiana, come home! Your sister’s going to prison! Her boss is making her take the fall for three million in missing funds, and he and his mistress are suing her for harassment!” Reading through my sister’s messy documents, a cold smile spread on my face. The next morning, I slipped into their company conference room, stood before her bosses and colleagues, and opened my phone’s calculator with a bright smile. “Hold on, everyone. Let’s settle the tab first — starting with the first artisanal latte my sister ever bought you.” 1 When I kicked the conference room door wide open, I saw my sister surrounded by a pack of wolves. Sophie had her head bowed. Her shoulders were trembling uncontrollably, looking like a little bird left out in a freezing storm. A slicked-back, greasy looking man in a tailored suit was pointing a finger right in her face, spitting venom with every word. “Sophie! You tanked this project yourself, and now you want to cry about it? This company isn’t a charity! Nobody here is going to baby you!” This charming guy was my sister’s department manager, Marcus. He caught sight of me and furrowed his brow. For a split second, he froze, clearly thrown off by how identical my face was to Sophie’s. Then, he waved his hand with sheer disgust. “You her family or something? Grab her and get out. Stop making a scene in my office.” I did not even look at him. I walked straight past the executives, grabbed Sophie by the arm, and pulled her safely behind my back. Then, under the glaring eyes of the entire room, I pulled out my phone and slowly tapped open my calculator app. “Let’s crunch some numbers, shall we?” My voice was not loud, but it carried a razor sharp edge that instantly silenced the chaotic room. I turned the screen toward Marcus, letting a mocking smirk play on my lips. “Manager Marcus. Let’s start with you.” “Last month, you complained about wrist pain and ‘borrowed’ a forty dollar ergonomic mousepad from my sister. You said you’d return it in two days.” “Assuming eight hours of heavy daily use with a standard depreciation rate, across twenty two working days, that comes out to exactly fifty cents in wear and tear.” “Oh, and you also hijacked the premium Costa Rican coffee beans my sister brought back from her vacation, claiming you just wanted a ‘quick taste’.” “At thirty grams of beans per cup, factoring in the specialty filter paper and the Evian water you insisted on using, that is three bucks a cup.” “You drank it every single morning for three months. Sixty six working days. That brings your coffee tab to one hundred and ninety eight dollars.” “Right, almost forgot. When your girl had her birthday last month, you swiped a bottle of Baccarat Rouge 540 from my sister’s desk. A bottle she hadn’t even dared to open for herself. You called it a ‘workplace emergency’.” “That perfume runs three hundred and twenty dollars at Saks Fifth Avenue. I’ll be generous and waive the interest.” The room was dead silent. Marcus’s face morphed from cherry red to a sickly gray, and finally to a furious purple. It was a spectacular color show. He let out a low, guttural growl. “Why the hell are you calculating all this! It is just petty office stuff. Are you insane!” “Oh, it matters.” My smile grew blindingly sweet. “Even the best of friends need clear ledgers.” I dismissed him entirely and shifted my gaze to a female colleague who had been snickering in the corner just moments ago. “Jessica, right?” “Last week, my sister fronted the bill for the department’s afternoon pastry run. You specifically requested the artisanal matcha crepe cake. Twelve bucks.” “When my sister dropped her Venmo link in the group chat, did your finger ‘accidentally’ slip? Because you only sent her two dollars.” Jessica’s smug smile froze on her perfectly contoured face. She stammered, unable to form a single word. “You owe her ten bucks. Are you Venmoing her right now, or should I call the cops and report petty fraud?” Under the amused and judging eyes of the entire room, Jessica’s face burned crimson. She frantically pulled out her phone and sent the remaining ten dollars. A crisp notification chime echoed in the room. Like a queen inspecting her conquered territory, I paraded around the conference table with my phone raised high. “Dave, my sister printed your quarterly report. Over three hundred pages. She used her own premium copy paper. Paper and ink costs come to five bucks. Pay up.” “And you, Sarah. My sister picked up your sweetgreen salads for six straight months. You covered the food cost occasionally, but the wear and tear on her insulated delivery bags is about twenty cents a day. Thirty six dollars total. Not unreasonable, right?” Within ten minutes, my sister’s phone was pinging like a slot machine hitting the jackpot. Over a dozen transactions flowed in, ranging from a few bucks to a couple hundred. The entire department, aside from Sophie, had their heads glued to the floor. Nobody dared to meet my eyes, and nobody dared to look at Marcus, who was now utterly isolated in the center of the room, shaking with pure rage. Just then, Jessica suddenly stepped forward. She gently touched my arm, her face painting a picture of pure, heartfelt concern. “Oh honey, you must be Sophie’s sister. Please don’t be so angry. We are all a work family here. We see each other every single day. Let’s not ruin our lovely dynamic over some silly little pennies.” 2 Jessica had a flawless face full of expensive makeup. Her big doe eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and her voice was so sickly sweet it could cause a cavity. She looked like the absolute textbook definition of a supportive, empathetic work bestie. This was exactly the mask that had fooled my sister into sharing all her deepest insecurities with her. I glanced at her manicured hand on my arm and let out a short laugh. “Of course you don’t want to ruin the dynamic.” “After all, your dynamic with Manager Marcus is so lovely it practically melted the hotel bedsheets, didn’t it?” You could hear a pin drop in that conference room. Every single pair of eyes aggressively ping-ponged between Marcus and Jessica. The drama was intoxicating. “You psychotic bitch!” Marcus was the first to explode, pointing a shaking finger right between my eyes. Jessica, however, was a far superior actress. Her eyes instantly flooded with genuine tears. She swayed slightly on her high heels, looking like a fragile flower about to wilt under a harsh winter wind. “Sophie… she is your sister. How can she say such vile things about me… We are best friends…” “Best friends? You mean the kind of best friend who steals her client roster, sleeps with her boss, and then helps frame her for a multi million dollar fraud?” I ignored her Oscar worthy performance. I simply grabbed the HDMI cable from the table and plugged it straight into my phone. A second later, a massive, ultra high definition photo splashed across the projector screen. It was a beach photo Marcus had posted on his Instagram last week. The caption read, “Team building retreat. Grinding for the next quarter.” “What the hell is wrong with that picture!” Marcus bellowed, though his voice cracked with a terrifying hint of panic. “Patience is a virtue, Marcus.” I tapped my screen, zooming in on the image. Deeper, closer, until the reflection in his mirrored aviator sunglasses took up the entire wall. In the reflection, Jessica was wearing a tiny, string bikini. She was clinging to Marcus’s bare arm, laughing like a woman deeply in love. And right behind them, clearly visible in the background, was the glowing neon logo of the Eros Boutique Hotel, the city’s most notorious adult playground. I spoke with a slow, agonizing drawl. “Manager Marcus. You took your ‘team’ to a love hotel last Friday. And you expensed it under the corporate account, didn’t you?” “You categorized it as ‘Client Entertainment’. The bill was quite hefty. Eight hundred and fifty dollars.” “I am just dying to know. Which high-profile client required that level of specialized entertainment?” My voice bounced off the soundproof walls, dripping with icy sarcasm. “Did this client require the velvet handcuffs from the bedside drawer? Or was the french maid lingerie absolutely vital to closing the deal?” The room erupted. The executives and colleagues were looking at the two of them with naked disgust. Their so-called corporate retreat was just a dirty weekend getaway funded by company money. “Ahhh!” Jessica snapped. She shrieked like a banshee and lunged at me, clawing wildly to rip the phone out of my hands. Marcus completely lost his mind as well. His face twisted into a demonic snarl as he charged forward, raising his heavy hand to slap the life out of me. I was more than ready. The second he entered my strike zone, I casually sidestepped his swinging palm. I planted my stiletto firmly into the carpet, raised my knee, and drove the pointed toe of my designer heel directly into his groin with everything I had. “Oooogh!” Marcus let out a sound that resembled a dying walrus. He clutched his crotch and dropped straight to his knees, his face scrunching up like a dried walnut. Right at that beautiful moment, the heavy double doors swung open again. The Director of HR, flanked by three burly security guards, stormed into the room. Seeing the absolute carnage, the Director’s face turned the color of week old concrete. 3 The immediate aftermath was entirely predictable. Marcus was suspended on the spot pending a full investigation for “misappropriation of company funds” and “attempted workplace violence.” Jessica was strongly advised to clear out her desk by the end of the day due to “complicity in financial misconduct” and “blatant ethical violations.” I thought the battle was won. I packed up my shell shocked sister and drove her home. I had no idea the real war was just beginning. The very next morning, a massive thread blew up on the company’s internal Blind forum, quickly spilling over to local Reddit pages and industry networking groups. Title: The Truth About My Social Climbing Coworker and Her Psychotic Sister. It was posted anonymously. But the pathetic, victim blaming tone practically had Jessica’s signature stamped all over it. In the post, she tearfully claimed that Sophie was desperate to land a massive tech client and had set her sights on their male executive. She accused my sister of encouraging and even initiating inappropriate sexual banter with the client to secure the contract. She painted Marcus as a tragic hero. He was just a good man who couldn’t stand seeing Jessica bullied by Sophie. He tried to protect her, only to be violently assaulted and framed by the manipulative sisters. The most venomous part of the post was aimed directly at me. “…her mediator sister is even worse. To help Sophie secure her promotion, she actually sent Manager Marcus explicit photos of herself to seduce him! When he firmly rejected her advances, she completely lost her mind and photoshopped those fake reflections to ruin his life out of pure spite…” Attached at the bottom of the post was a heavily blurred, highly suggestive photograph of a woman. The woman in the picture was wearing completely sheer lingerie, posed provocatively on a bed. The face was completely pixelated, but the body type and hair color were an exact match to mine. The smear campaign was ruthless and brutally effective. It perfectly weaponized society’s deep rooted misogyny, twisting a clear cut case of corporate corruption into a trashy soap opera about two aggressive tramps framing an honest, hardworking man. Overnight, the post went viral across multiple platforms. The comment sections were absolute toxic waste. “Takes two to tango. Good girls don’t end up in these situations.” “That sister looked like a total homewrecker anyway. Look at the way she dresses.” “Anyone got the unblurred pics? Asking for a friend.” “Found the sister’s phone number! Let’s ruin these bitches!” Sophie’s phone didn’t stop ringing. Every call was a barrage of disgusting, violent threats. Someone actually drove by her apartment and threw a garbage bag at her front door, writing “Whore” on her mailbox with a sharpie. It took exactly forty eight hours for my sister to completely break down. She locked herself in her bedroom, sobbing into her pillow, refusing to eat or speak. I realized then that Marcus and Jessica were burning the house down with them. Even if they were going down for embezzlement, they were determined to drag our reputations through the mud so we could never show our faces in this city again. They knew the game too well. For a woman, slut shaming is the deadliest weapon in the arsenal. It is the one accusation that is almost impossible to wash off. 4 Under immense pressure from the online fallout, the company executives called an emergency internal disciplinary hearing. Inside the sterile boardroom, Marcus and Jessica had completely dropped their previous arrogance. They were dressed in cheap, drab clothing, looking exhausted and deeply traumatized. “Every word we said is the god’s honest truth!” Marcus pounded his chest, looking pleadingly at the HR Director and the rest of the board. “I have bled for this company for eight years! Why would I throw away my career for a cheap thrill?” “It was Sophie! She wanted the commission so badly she tried to force Jessica to sleep with the client! When I stepped in, she swore she would destroy me!” Jessica immediately provided the backup vocals, sobbing violently and pointing a trembling finger at my sister. “Sophie… I loved you like a sister. How could you feed me to the wolves like that…” “And your sister sending those disgusting photos to my Marcus… Have you no shame at all!” Our legal counsel calmly interjected, stating that the opposition had presented zero factual evidence and was relying entirely on defamation. The opposing lawyer scoffed and fired back immediately. “Evidence? Public opinion is the evidence!” “Your client, Tiana, physically assaulted my client in front of dozens of witnesses. She then produced heavily manipulated, digitally altered images to destroy his career!” “My clients are seeking psychiatric help for severe emotional trauma. What more do you people want?” The senior executives shifted uncomfortably in their expensive leather chairs, exchanging tired glances. I knew exactly what they were thinking. They did not care about the truth. They just wanted the PR nightmare to vanish. Throwing a mid level employee like Sophie under the bus was the cheapest, cleanest way to make the headlines disappear. Sophie sat next to me, her face pale as a ghost. She looked at me with total despair, her lips trembling so violently she couldn’t make a sound. Marcus and Jessica shared a fleeting, triumphant look. The entire room thought I was out of ammo. Marcus even had the audacity to stand up and walk over to my side of the table. He stared down at me, his face twisted in an arrogant, victorious sneer. “What’s wrong, Madam Mediator? Cat got your tongue?” He leaned in close, whispering so only the two of us could hear his toxic gloating. “Let me teach you a lesson, sweetheart. Once the mud is on you, you can never wash it off.” “You and your sister are going to stink for the rest of your pathetic lives.” I didn’t flinch at his threat. I didn’t even look at the pitying eyes of the lawyers around me. I simply stood up, smooth and slow. I reached over and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind my sister’s ear. Then, I tilted my head up, looked right into Marcus’s smug little eyes, and smiled. “Are you quite done performing, Marcus?” “Because if you’re done, it’s my turn.” Before he could react, I looked him dead in the eye and silently mouthed two words. Every single drop of blood drained from Marcus and Jessica’s faces in a fraction of a second.

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