Category: English

After getting “canceled” online, my dad shipped me off to our family farm to take care of piglets with my grandpa. Thinking it would be funny, I started a livestream to name the piglets. Netizens were roasting me? Fine, I’ll just use their usernames as names. But when it came to the last piglet—a super cute, chubby white one—no matter how much the internet screamed at me, I insisted on naming it “Julian Hayes.” Later, this hit the trending topics. And to everyone’s shock, the usually cold and aloof A-list actor Julian Hayes posted on Weibo to clap back. The picture showed Julian holding a Golden Retriever puppy. Caption: “This one is named Ann.” 1 My name is Ann Jiang. I’m a D-list celebrity. During a variety show, in an attempt to save a teammate, I accidentally pushed the mega-star Bella down. Boom. Instant cancellation. The internet swarmed me, calling me malicious, heartless, a bully, blah blah blah. Eventually, the news reached my billionaire dad. He solemnly told me to get my butt back home. My dad wanted me to inherit his billion-dollar empire. I wasn’t interested, so I snuck off to join the entertainment industry behind his back. This scandal was the perfect excuse for him. No matter how I begged or promised, he was determined to drag me back. So, I was exiled to the family farm’s pigsty. Daily routine: Feed pigs, watch pigs, open gate, close gate, shovel feed. Later, the sows gave birth to a lot of cute piglets. But some… weren’t exactly lookers. Bored out of my mind, I decided to entertain myself. I started a livestream to let netizens name the piglets. 2 As soon as I went live, tens of thousands of people flooded in. It scared me. You’d think I was actually famous. But really, I’ve always been “black-red” (famous for being hated). My web dramas flop, and in variety shows… well, I do whatever it takes to win. Watching the viewer count climb, I gathered the piglets together and cleared my throat. “Hi everyone, I’m Ann Jiang. I want to name my piglets, does anyone have any good suggestions?” The comments were scrolling fast, full of hate. CilantroHater: [Ann Jiang is raising pigs now? That desperate?] WolfKing: [I knew she was a hillbilly lol] Looking at the comments, I was a bit worried. They were just cursing at me, which wasn’t helping with the names. Then I saw a comment that gave me an idea. Did_Bella_Poop_Today: [Pusher Girl dares to show her face? Disgusting.] Since they were using words to hurt me, why couldn’t I use their names for the pigs? 3 I looked at the comment cursing me, then turned to look at the piglets. I picked one out. This one was pitch black with an underbite. Definitely the ugliest one. Okay, little piggie, you’re the chosen one. I pulled the little black pig over and said to the phone, “Okay friends, this ugliest piglet is now named Bella_No_Poop.” The comments stopped for a second, then exploded with “HAHAHAHAHA”. Someone even sent me a small gift, a few lollipops. [Hahahahahaha this is too funny sisters] [How dare you, the person above is ridiculous, hahahaha] [You got guts, kid] As the comments scrolled, another one caught my eye. Bella_Loves_Hot_Guys: [Why are you always chasing clout? So cringe.] Coincidentally, a piglet nudged my leg. I picked it up and shoved its face into the camera. “Mm, this second-ugliest pig is now named Bella_Loves_Ugly_Guys.” [Hahahahaha, this girl is hilarious] [Piglet: No one is speaking up for me?] [Piglet: You think you’re noble? You’re using me as a weapon!] [Is the vibe shifting? She’s clearly malicious, full of bad intentions] Watching the arguments in the chat, I couldn’t help but laugh. Then I got flamed. I_Want_Money: [You pushed someone and think you’re right? You’re everywhere.] I picked another piglet and booped the phone with its nose. “This ugly pig is named You_Got_No_Money.” [Hahahaha, that’s a personal attack] [Hahaha, you’re broke too] While everyone was mocking me, suddenly the user named I_Want_Money sent me a Carnival (expensive gift). It was my first livestream, first time seeing this. Watching the big spender drop Carnivals was dazzling. Whoa, playing hard? The big spender kept sending gifts, only the expensive ones. Other netizens joined in like they were starting a riot, and my livestream became chaos. Seeing it getting out of hand, I spoke up, “Enough, enough. Keep sending and you won’t have any money left.” [This kid really doesn’t care.] [Was she always this funny? Converting from hater to fan.] [Same here ^] … Only one piglet left. A white, chubby, super cute one. Netizens urged me to grab someone’s name quickly. “Nope. This piglet can only be named Julian Hayes.” [???!!!!] 4 When it came to the last piglet, the netizens were active. [Hurry up, name this one!] [This piglet is so cute!!!!] [Use my name, I curse better] [The person above is sinister, use mine] Watching the comments, I turned to look at the piglet, gently stroking its ears. “Can’t do that. I have a plan for this one’s name.” [What is it what is it] Seeing their questions, I smiled slightly. “This one is Julian Hayes.” The chat exploded. [What???! Say that again??!!] [Huh?!!!!] [No!!!! You can read my ID card number, I can be your pig, but you can’t make my god a pig!] [Cringe girl chasing clout again, hehe] Seeing their reaction, I repeated it. “This piglet is named Julian Hayes, no negotiation.” Ignoring the netizens’ thoughts, I picked up the piglet and ended the stream. For a nobody like me, this stream wouldn’t mean much. At worst, I just leached off Julian’s fame again. Bad publicity is still publicity. Use all available resources. After a few years in this industry, I’ve learned that thick skin takes you far. I’m stuck in a pigsty thanks to him anyway. Leeching a bit is fair game. But what I didn’t expect was that after this livestream, my life was about to get interesting.

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My husband has severe social anxiety and a stutter. When we went to City Hall to get our marriage license, he was so nervous he couldn’t say “I do.” We became a running joke for the clerks. When my father had a sudden heart attack, I cried and begged him to call 911, but his stutter was so bad he couldn’t get the address out clearly. He delayed the paramedics past the golden hour of survival. At my father’s funeral, my relatives all tried to console me. “He didn’t do it on purpose. It’s an illness. Your father wouldn’t blame him. You two need to move forward and live your lives.” I nodded numbly and believed them. Until I was sorting through my father’s belongings and found a security recording. In the video, right after my father collapsed, my husband took out his phone. In a smooth, perfectly articulate voice, he called a woman named “Zoe.” “Babe, don’t be mad anymore. The old man is finally out of the picture. As soon as I handle the funeral, I’ll pick you up from the airport. We’re going to the Maldives.” He hung up, looked down at my father’s dying body, and practiced his stutter three times before finally dialing 911. It turned out his fluency was never meant for me or my family. … The funeral was over. I clutched my father’s black-and-white portrait, my nails digging so deep into my palms that they drew blood. But the sharp sting was nothing, not even a tenth of the pain tearing my heart apart. Leo’s stammering voice came from behind me. “St-Stella… I’m… I’m s-so sorry.” “I’m… I’m u-useless… I… I k-killed Dad…” I didn’t turn around. He spoke again, his voice choked with sobs. “H-hit me… yell at m-me… just… just d-don’t ignore me…” I walked into the bedroom with the portrait and locked the door behind me. Leo pounded on the door, his cries muffled. “Stella… o-open the door… I was wr-wrong…” I leaned against the cool wood, listening to him weep, and a single thought echoed in my mind. The son of a bitch is a damn good actor. I sat down at my computer and plugged in the USB drive from my father’s study. The security footage flickered to life. My father was on the floor, clutching his chest. Leo stood over him, pulled out his phone, and made a call. “Babe, don’t be mad anymore. The old man is finally out of the picture.” His voice was clear, fluid, without a hint of a stutter. “As soon as I handle the funeral, I’ll pick you up from the airport. We’re going to the Maldives. I’ve already booked that hotel you wanted.” He was smiling, his eyes filled with a tenderness I had never seen. After he hung up, he walked over to my father, squatted down, and began to rehearse over his dying body. “I… I… I c-can’t… c-can’t get through… I’m s-so s-sorry…” Once. Twice. Three times. He practiced with the focus of a stage actor perfecting a line. Only then did he dial 911, reporting the address in that pathetic, broken voice. I watched the entire video, my hand shaking so violently I couldn’t control the mouse. I didn’t sleep that night. The next morning, I put on makeup and took out the divorce papers I had already prepared. When Leo saw me emerge from the bedroom, his eyes darted away. “St-Stella… d-did you sleep… at all? I… I m-made you some oatmeal…” I slid the papers across the table to him. “Sign them.” He froze for a second before his eyes focused on the document. The words “Divorce Agreement” were printed in bold at the top. The color drained from his face. He dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around my legs. “N-no… d-don’t… Stella…” “If… if you l-leave me… I… I can’t live w-without you…” I looked down at him. He was a mess of tears and snot, his words barely intelligible. “I… I kn-know… I’m useless…” “B-but… I r-really love you… please… d-don’t… don’t leave me…” I had seen this act countless times. Whenever he felt slighted or bullied out in the world, he would come home and cling to me just like this, crying. And I would feel a pang of sympathy, comfort him, and tell him, “It’s okay. I’m here.” Now, it just made my stomach turn. The front door was suddenly thrown open. Leo’s sister, Sarah, stormed in and shoved me hard. “Stella, have you lost your mind?” “Your father was just buried, and you’re forcing Leo to divorce you? Do you have any humanity at all?” I stumbled back a few steps. She wasn’t finished. “He has an illness, you know that! He’s already blaming himself. Are you trying to push him over the edge?” she shrieked. “What happened to your dad was an accident! Leo didn’t want it to happen! After everything he’s done for you all these years, how can you treat him like this?” I laughed. She stopped, stunned. “What are you laughing at?” I didn’t answer. I just bent down and picked up the divorce papers she had kicked aside. Leo was still on the floor, shaking. “S-Sarah… stop… It’s n-not her fault… it’s all m-me…” His sister helped him up, her voice softening with pity. “Don’t be scared, Leo. I won’t let her bully you.” She then shot me a venomous look. “I’m telling you, Stella, you can forget about this divorce! Do you have any idea how many opportunities Leo gave up for you? He could have been at a top firm, but he stayed in this dead-end town to help take care of your father!” I looked from her to Leo. His head was bowed, his shoulders trembling even more violently. I folded the divorce papers and went back to my room. Behind me, I heard Sarah’s triumphant sneer. “Good. You know what’s good for you.” I closed the door and leaned against it. I knew a divorce wasn’t happening today. The next day, the entire family descended. The living room was packed with Leo’s parents, his sister, and the whole clan of aunts and uncles. Leo’s mother started. “Stella, dear, your father just passed away. If you try to divorce Leo now, your father won’t be able to rest in peace.” “Leo has his condition, it’s true, but his love for you is real.” She started to cry, grabbing my hand. “It’s our Leo who has wronged you, but you know about his illness. Please, just be patient with him. Our family will make it up to you, I promise.” Sarah immediately chimed in. “Exactly! Leo has sacrificed so much for you. How can you be so heartless? What happened to your dad was a tragic accident.” I sat on the sofa, watching them perform. Leo knelt before me, his eyes red and swollen. “St-Stella… I… I was wrong… p-please… don’t leave me…” His mother dabbed her eyes. “Look at him. You’re driving him mad.” Just as I was about to speak, the doorbell rang. My father’s lawyer stood on the doorstep, holding a file. “Ms. Davis, according to your father’s will, I am required to read it in the presence of the family.” The living room fell silent. The lawyer cleared his throat. “Mr. Davis leaves all company shares, properties, and savings entirely to his daughter, Stella Davis.” The moment he finished, the expressions on every one of their faces changed. Leo’s mother dropped my hand and plastered on a smile. “Oh, my! My dear father-in-law truly doted on Stella.” Sarah’s tone shifted instantly. “Stella, I was a bit harsh earlier. Don’t take it to heart. Leo is so lucky to have you.” The aunts and uncles all started nodding and agreeing, praising me for being a capable and virtuous wife. Leo was frozen in place, a flicker of panic in his eyes. He clearly hadn’t expected this. I watched him, a cold smile touching my lips. After the lawyer left, the family’s act shifted into high gear. Leo’s mother clutched my arm. “Stella, dear, you’ll be running such a large company now. You must be overwhelmed. Why don’t you let Leo help you? His speech isn’t great, but he’s a very steady worker.” Sarah leaned in. “She’s right. You’re husband and wife. You should share your fortunes and your burdens.” I nodded. “I’ll think about it.” That night, my phone buzzed. It was a picture from Zoe. She and Leo were leaning close, and he was smiling that same tender smile. The caption read: Your dad’s dead and you’re worried about a company? Let my Leo handle it. You should focus on your grief. I stared at the photo for a long moment, then a slow, deliberate smile spread across my face. The next day, I slipped a document into a folder of procurement contracts. On top were several supplier agreements that needed to be signed. At the very bottom, I placed a “Full Power of Attorney for Corporate Affairs,” which included a clause voluntarily relinquishing all personal claims to shareholdings under specific circumstances. I handed the folder to Leo. “There’s some company business. Can you sign these for me? I’m in no mood to look at them.” He took the folder, a flash of triumph in his eyes. He thought I was relying on him, that I couldn’t function without him. He picked up a pen and, in each signature box, he scrawled his name with a confident flourish. His handwriting was fluid, not the cramped script of someone with social anxiety. He signed the last page without even looking at it. I took the folder back and returned to my room. Behind me, I heard his stammering voice. “St-Stella… y-you should… get some r-rest…” I closed the door and opened the folder. On the last page, under “Full Power of Attorney,” Leo’s bold signature was perfectly clear. He thought he now held the real power in the company. He became busy, frequently staying out late, if he came home at all. When I asked, it was always the same excuse. “C-company… b-busy… h-had to… entertain clients…” The ambition and glee were practically spilling out of his eyes. He thought I couldn’t see it. The truth was, I didn’t have time for him. Every day, I went to my father’s favorite tea house and personally sorted through the books and tea sets he had left behind. The fragrant steam calmed me, and for the first time in a long time, my heart felt at peace. One day, I was polishing a clay teapot when the building manager called. “Ms. Davis? Someone is here to move furniture into your apartment. They say they’re family, but we needed to confirm with you.” Family? My father was gone, my mother passed years ago. I had no other family. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. I drove home immediately. In the parking lot, movers were unloading brand-new, ornate European furniture from a large truck. And in the hallway outside my apartment, the custom mahogany bedroom set my parents had commissioned for their wedding was piled up haphazardly, covered in dust. A woman in a flashy dress was directing the movers with her hands on her hips. It was Zoe. She saw me and didn’t even flinch. She just crossed her arms, a smug grin on her face. “Stella, you’re back!” she chirped, walking over as if we were old friends. “These old antiques take up so much space, and the style is so dated. I’m helping you upgrade to something modern. You’ll love it.” I looked at the furniture, tossed aside like garbage—the testament to my parents’ love—and my body started to shake with rage. My voice was ice. “Who told you you could touch my things?” “Get out.” Zoe laughed as if I’d told the world’s funniest joke. She pulled a set of keys from her purse and dangled them in my face. “Leo gave them to me. He said this is my home now, too. He was worried you’d be lonely and wanted me to keep you company.” “Oh, and by the way,” she added, pointing to my father’s study. “That room is so depressing. It has that old man smell. I’m going to turn it into a media room, with the best surround sound system and a projector. We can watch movies at home. Won’t that be great?” My father’s study. The room that held his life’s work, his most treasured collections. My reason snapped. I grabbed a porcelain vase from the entryway table—one of my father’s favorites—and without a second thought, I drew my arm back to smash it into her gloating face.

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I have a constitution made of glass. Or at least, that’s what I was always told. The first time I went to my boyfriend Jared’s house for dinner, he handed his mother a printed sheet of paper. “Riley is allergic to seafood, mangoes, strawberries, eggs, dairy, beef, and lamb… pretty much everything,” Jared explained earnestly. “Please make sure none of this is in the food.” The list was so long it was almost comical. But after dinner, Jared’s mom suddenly gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh no… I just realized. I put a spoonful of oyster sauce in the sautéed broccoli for flavor. Riley, honey, are you feeling okay?” Under the terrified, caring gaze of both mother and son, I froze. I waited for the throat closure, the hives, the panic. But I slowly shook my head. “I… I feel fine. But I’m supposed to be deathly allergic to seafood…” These allergies were the gospel truth according to my parents. Because of them, since I was a child, my plate only ever held plain boiled vegetables, while the steaks, burgers, and fish were piled high on my younger brother’s plate. My brother, Tyler, used to mock me constantly: “Guess you were just born with bad luck, Sis. No good food for you.” I still couldn’t believe it. Back at my apartment, after hours of mental preparation, I decided to test fate. I drank a glass of milk. Then I ate a mango. Then I ordered a medium-rare steak and devoured the whole thing. Nothing happened. No reaction. Absolutely nothing. I curled up on my floor and wept uncontrollably. 1 Jared’s mom, Mrs. Davis, is an incredibly thoughtful woman. She knew about my “condition.” The dinner table was spread with eight dishes, all vegan, all carefully prepared. She untied her apron, looking at me with a warm, apologetic smile. “Riley, I know you can’t have seafood, dairy, or red meat—Jared gave me the list of twenty items. So I made everything vegetarian, and I went light on the salt, too. I hope you like it.” That gentle, cautious kindness warmed my chest. I picked at my rice, feeling shy but deeply grateful. But when I took a bite of the broccoli, I paused. It was savory. Richer and more delicious than any vegetable I’d ever eaten at home. I couldn’t help but blurt out, “Mrs. Davis, this broccoli is amazing! It tastes so much better than what I eat at home. Did you use a special spice?” That’s when her face went pale. She slapped her thigh. “Oh my god! I forgot! I added a spoonful of oyster sauce to boost the flavor. Oyster sauce… it has oyster extract! That’s seafood!” The air in the room solidified. Jared’s face drained of color. He threw down his fork and grabbed my arm, practically dragging me toward the bathroom. “Is your throat tight? Can you breathe? We need to get you to the ER, now!” His mom was right behind us, her voice trembling. “Rinse your mouth out! Hurry!” I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, the sound of running water filling my ears. I stared at my reflection. “I don’t feel anything,” I whispered. “But I’m allergic to seafood…” My reflection stared back. Rosy cheeks. Clear eyes. No swelling. No rash. I took a deep breath. Then another. My lungs filled easily. My heart beat steadily. My parents had always told me I had severe, anaphylactic reactions. That a single touch of an allergen could send me into shock or kill me. “Riley, let’s go to urgent care just to be safe,” Mrs. Davis said, handing me a glass of water, her hands shaking. Her genuine fear made the absurdity of my reality crash down on me. I shook my head. For the first time in twenty-seven years, I doubted the “illness” that defined my life. “Mrs. Davis,” my voice was raspy, “I think… I think I’m actually okay.” Jared let go of my arm, but his brow remained furrowed. “But your parents said it’s severe. Even a trace amount…” His mom interrupted, sensing something heavy in the air. “As long as she’s okay. That’s all that matters.” The rest of the meal tasted like ash. 2 When Jared drove me home, the silence in the car was thick. He tried to speak a few times but stopped himself, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. When he pulled up to my rundown apartment complex, he finally turned to me. “You okay?” “I’m so sorry,” I managed a weak smile. “First time meeting your parents and I caused a scene. I must have scared them.” Jared sighed and gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Don’t be silly. My mom isn’t mad, she was just worried. Go upstairs, take a hot shower, and get some sleep. It’ll be better in the morning.” “Okay.” “Riley,” he called out as I opened the door. “Don’t overthink it. Call me if you need anything.” But how could I not overthink it? My entire life felt like a carefully constructed lie, and someone had just pulled the loose thread that unraveled everything. Back in my tiny rental, I didn’t even turn on the lights. I sat in the dark and ordered takeout. I ordered everything I was forbidden to touch. A cheeseburger. A strawberry milkshake. A shrimp basket. Mango sticky rice. When the food arrived, I laid it all out like a chaotic banquet. I opened the milkshake—the liquid that terrified me for years—and took a sip. Sweet, creamy coldness slid down my throat. I waited for the itch. The choke. Nothing. I shoved a piece of shrimp into my mouth. Then a bite of the burger. Then the mango. I ate like a starving animal, bite after bite, until my stomach hurt from fullness, but my heart felt like a gaping black hole. I stared at the empty containers and burst into tears. A tsunami of grief washed over me. 3 The dinner table at my childhood home was a battlefield divided by an invisible line. On my parents’ and brother’s side: steaming roast beef, buttery crab legs, rich stews. The smell alone was intoxicating. On my side: a plate of boiled cabbage and a bowl of plain white rice. No oil, just a pinch of salt. A soggy green pile. My brother Tyler would sit across from me, grease on his chin, laughing with malicious glee. “Riley, you really have no luck. Look at you, eating grass like a rabbit.” He would deliberately wave a greasy rib under my nose, watching me flinch, enjoying my longing and my fear. My mom would place the last piece of steak on Tyler’s plate, never even glancing at me, muttering the mantra I heard every day: “Riley can’t eat that. She’ll die. Her allergies are fatal.” Those words were my shackles. In school, while other kids bought hot lunches—pizza, tacos, nuggets—I sat in the corner with my cold Tupperware of boiled greens. I ate quickly, terrified someone would ask, “Riley, why do you only eat that?” Malnutrition made me small and frail. My hair was brittle, my skin pale. In gym class, I couldn’t finish a mile run without nearly fainting. The teachers were concerned, but my parents just shrugged. “She has a weak constitution. Born that way.” When I was seven, I watched Tyler eat a hard-boiled egg. It looked so soft, so perfect. When Mom went to the kitchen, I snatched a tiny piece of the white and popped it in my mouth. It was delicious. But before I could swallow, a hand clamped onto my jaw. Mom screamed, her face twisted in rage. “What did you eat?!” She dragged me to the bathroom, forced my mouth open, and poured salt water down my throat until I choked. She shoved her fingers down my gullet. “Spit it out! Do you want to die?!” I vomited until there was nothing left but bile. The humiliation and pain of that day branded a physiological fear into my brain. My body learned to reject those foods out of terror. But tonight? Tonight I ate everything. And I was fine. I lay on the cold floor, sobbing until my body convulsed. Twenty-seven years. I had been a donkey blindfolded and forced to grind the mill, stripped of the simple joy of food, labeled “sickly” to cover up their cruelty. 4 The next day was Sunday. My mom summoned me home for lunch. The table was set with that familiar, ironic divide. For them: Braised pork knuckles, sweet and sour ribs, a steamed sea bass. For me: Boiled spinach. Plain rice. Yesterday, the smell of the meat might have made me feel pathetic. Today, it just made me feel cold. “So,” Mom started, picking the bones out of a piece of fish and placing the meat in Tyler’s bowl. “How is Jared’s mom? Did she give you a ‘meeting gift’?” Her eyes darted around, greedy and sharp. Mrs. Davis had given me a check for $10,001—a symbolic gesture meaning “one in ten thousand.” I looked at my mother’s calculating face. “No.” Mom’s fake smile vanished. “No? What do you mean no?” “That is so tacky! First time meeting the parents and not a dime? That family is cheap. You’re going to suffer if you marry into that.” She immediately started calculating. “Since they’re stingy, the wedding contribution needs to be higher. We need at least $50,000. Cash. I raised you, fed you well all these years, I can’t give you away for free.” Fed me well? I looked at the limp spinach. What a joke. “What about my dowry then? What are you giving me?” I asked. Mom paused, then scoffed. “Dowry? Girls don’t get dowries. We’ll buy you some nice new bedding sheets. That’s enough.” “Oh,” I nodded. “Actually, Jared and I talked about it. We aren’t asking for any money from his parents. We’re modern.” “No!” Tyler stopped chewing on his rib. “Sis, if you don’t get that money, how am I supposed to get married? My girlfriend said if I don’t have a $40,000 down payment for a condo, she won’t marry me!” Mom glared at him to shut up, then turned her “gentle” face back to me. “Riley, don’t talk nonsense. Eat your dinner.” “Okay. I’ll eat.” Under their shocked gazes, I reached my chopsticks across the invisible border. I picked up a massive, greasy chunk of the braised pork knuckle from Tyler’s side. And I took a huge bite. “Are you crazy?!” Mom shrieked, jumping up from her chair. “Spit it out! You’ll die!” Her voice was the same frequency as it was when I was seven. “But Mom,” I chewed slowly, swallowing. “I don’t feel sick at all.”

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After my sugar daddy went bankrupt, he wanted to end it all. I pretended not to notice. “Babe, your birthday is next month. I saw this watch that would look perfect on you. It’s a shame it’s five million dollars. I don’t have enough money.” My sugar daddy’s eyes went red with emotion. “I can’t believe you remembered.” So, he went out to haul bricks, deliver takeout, and sell off his properties until he finally scraped together five million. I didn’t even look at the money. I spent it all immediately. Then I pouted, “That new bag that just dropped is so cute too. I really want it…” He completely gave up on dying. Now, the moment he opens his eyes every morning, all he thinks about is making money. 1 In my third year as Dominic’s trophy girlfriend, he seemed to go bankrupt. While Dominic was still away on a business trip, the house staff started clearing out one by one. Mrs. Higgins, the housekeeper I was somewhat close with, tried to give me a heads-up before she left. “Miss Meng, pack up whatever valuables you can and run while there’s still something to grab.” Did she think I didn’t want to run? But after three years of being pampered by Dominic, I was spoiled rotten. Sure, I was a “canary in a gilded cage,” but Dominic was sweet, generous, and surprisingly easygoing. I hadn’t suffered a day in three years; it was pure luxury. If I left him, where was I going to find another sucker willing to spend money on me and cater to my every whim? Maybe the rumors were false? I decided to hold out a little longer. 2 The day the bankruptcy news was confirmed, Dominic came back. His suit was wrinkled, and the dark circles under his eyes told me he hadn’t slept in days. He sat on the floor, leaning against the sofa. In his hand was a small fruit knife, glinting in the dim light. His expression was flat, his eyes dead. He twirled the knife in his fingers, aiming it toward his wrist. Everyone else had left. The house was dark. It took me a while to fumble for the light switch. Hearing the noise, Dominic turned his head, stunned. “Cece… you’re still here?” I pretended I didn’t understand what was happening, acting blind to the knife in his hand. I threw myself at him with my usual exaggerated affection. “Babe! You’re finally back! I missed you so much!” Habitually, my hand slid into his pocket. Empty. Nothing there. It seemed he really was broke. Dominic used to bring me expensive gifts after every trip. Realizing what I was looking for, a flash of desolate sadness crossed his eyes. “Cece, I’m sorry, I…” I cut him off, sitting in his lap with a look of regret, playing with his fingers. “Babe, your birthday is next month. I saw this Patek Philippe that fits you perfectly. But it’s five million dollars. I don’t have enough.” Interrupted, Dominic forgot his suicide speech. Once he processed my words, his eyes reddened. “My birthday… you remembered?” I gave him a coquettish look. “How could I forget your birthday?” He looked incredibly moved. His hands were trembling. “It’s just five million. I’ll transfer it to you right now…” Then he remembered. He was broke. I stared at him with wide, expectant eyes. Dominic wiped his eyes, his voice dropping to a whisper. “There’s a slight issue with liquidity. I’ll transfer it in a couple of days.” “Forget it. I’m going to handle this now.” He stood up, trying to leave. I pushed him back down. “Since you were gone, all the staff left for some reason. There’s no one to cook.” Dominic’s face looked terrible. He clenched his fists, then relaxed them. “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.” He took off his jacket and headed to the kitchen. “I’ll make dinner right now.” There were still ingredients in the fridge. Dominic put on an apron and got to work. I hadn’t seen him in two weeks. He looked thinner, but his body was still top-tier—broad chest, tight ass. After eating so well with Dominic, how could I ever settle for another man? Sob. I was trapped. 3 Dominic learned to cook while studying abroad. It wasn’t gourmet, but it wasn’t bad. Luckily, I wasn’t just hungry for food. The real feast was later. After eating, Dominic tried to leave again. I dragged him straight to the bedroom. “Babe, you’re acting so weird since you got back. Did something happen?” Dominic’s eyes flickered. His resistance weakened. “No, I just want to sort out the funds quickly.” I traced circles on his chest, my voice dripping with grievance. “Work again? Don’t you miss me after being gone so long?” My leg hooked around his waist. His Adam’s apple bobbed. I didn’t give him a chance to speak. I kissed him. I needed to get my fill first. Halfway through, Dominic hugged me tightly, choking back a sob, looking fragile. “Cece, you’re so good to me.” I quickly covered his mouth. Okay, stop talking. You’re making me feel guilty. 4 When I woke up, Dominic was gone. Probably out looking for work. I took my time getting ready. Breakfast was already made and sitting on the table. After eating, I was a bit stuffed, so I walked around the garden. My best friend texted me a string of exclamation marks. “I feel like I’m hallucinating. Why does my delivery guy look exactly like your man?” Attached was a blurry, abstract paparazzi-style photo. I clicked it open and zoomed in. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. He’s 6’2″, but she managed to make him look 4’11”. Despite the terrible angle, I recognized Dominic instantly. He used to be a CEO. How did he fall this far? I asked around in my circle. Turns out someone was deliberately sabotaging him. His resume was being thrown in the trash everywhere he applied. Damn it. My heart actually hurt for him. Truth be told, I had assets. Dominic had been generous over the years, and since I only love money, I’d converted all his gifts into cold, hard cash. Worst case scenario, we swap roles. I’ll keep him. It’s too cruel to watch him like this. When Dominic came back, I stopped him. “Babe, maybe we should go live in my hometown for a while.” Visibly relieved, he nodded. “Okay.” With his agreement, I started packing. Clothes, shoes—all essentials. This bag is worth $20k, this one $50k. They’re basically money. Gotta take them. The jewelry Dominic bought me at auctions? Expensive. Packing that. I filled several huge suitcases. Looking at the pile of luggage, I realized Dominic was being too quiet. I went to find him. He was sitting on the sofa, motionless. Something felt off. “Why aren’t you packing?” He finally reacted. “I don’t have much. Just some toiletries.” He casually threw a few things into a backpack. That night, Dominic went to sleep early. He hugged the blanket, his brow relaxed, sleeping peacefully. It made my heart soft. If only I hadn’t seen the drafted text on his phone: I liquidated everything under my name. It’s exactly five million. Cece, take the money and live a good life. And the bottle of sleeping pills hidden in the back of his nightstand. 5 The next day, Dominic slept in, which was rare. When he got up, he seemed energetic. He put on a suit, looking like he was going on a long trip. “Cece, I transferred the five million to your account.” “I have to go on a business trip. I might be gone for a month. Go back to your hometown first. I’ll find you there.” As he was putting on his shoes, I pretended to just see the notification. I didn’t even blink. I spent it all immediately. Dominic, who saw everything, froze in place. I put down my phone, looking innocent. “Babe, what’s wrong? You look pale.” “Are you going on a trip? Oh, look! That new limited-edition bag is so pretty too. I really want it…” You want to die behind my back? Earn me another hundred million first. The alarm I had set beforehand went off. Dominic forced a smile and answered it. “The trip is canceled? Okay, I understand.” I saw the despair beneath his blank expression. According to my character setting, I should be comforting him right now. Being the understanding girlfriend. But I’ve gone dark side. I ignored his pain and shoved my phone screen in his face. “Babe, look! Should I get this pattern or that one? They’re both so cute. I can’t choose.” Before the bankruptcy, Dominic wouldn’t have even looked up. He would’ve just said, “Buy both.” Now, he secretly pinched his thigh to stay conscious. “The blue one.” I pouted. “But the pink one is cute too.” He quickly pivoted. “Then buy the pink one.” I looked down, twiddling my fingers. “But the blue one is also nice. What do I do, Babe? I love them both.” It took him a long time to squeeze the words out of his throat. “Then buy both.” After saying it, he fled toward the door. “I can’t talk right now. I’m going to be late for work. Bye.” His back looked aged and weary. For a moment, I wondered if his desire to strangle me outweighed his desire to kill himself. After Dominic left, I looked at my packed bags and started unpacking. Guess we aren’t going to my hometown anytime soon.

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Will Orlando’s love for me was once an ocean. Now, the tide has gone out. To be with another girl, he had me hypnotized—tricked into falling for his best friend, Adrian. I broke up with him, just as he planned, my heart supposedly belonging to Adrian now. But now, he’s desperate to undo it all. What he doesn’t know is, the hypnosis never worked. I just… I really don’t love him anymore. 1 I was standing just outside the private lounge, listening to Will and Adrian talk. “You’re actually going to have Lara hypnotized?” That was Adrian’s voice, sharp with disbelief. “Lara and I are engaged,” Will replied, his tone chillingly casual. “But the thought of spending the rest of my life with just one woman… it’s starting to feel claustrophobic. So, I’ll have a hypnotist make her think she’s fallen for you. She’ll break up with me.” He paused, the sound of ice clinking in a glass. “Then, when I’ve had my fun, we’ll reverse it, and things will go back to the way they were.” “Right,” Adrian said, his voice unreadable. “And you want her to fall for me?” “Of course. You’re the only one I can trust. I know you’ve never liked her, and you wouldn’t touch her even if she threw herself at you. If she fell for anyone else, I couldn’t be sure they’d keep their hands to themselves.” Will’s logic was as flawless as it was cruel. “How thoughtful of you,” Adrian scoffed. “Just itching to go public with that little intern, aren’t you?” “You get it,” Will said, a smirk in his voice. I backed away from the door, my movements silent, and walked away. 2 Will brought me to an office with a view of the city skyline, saying we were meeting a friend. I found myself settling into a plush recliner. Then, I was asleep. When I woke up, two handsome faces were looking down at me. Will and Adrian. “Lara, you fell asleep,” Will said, reaching for my hand. I pulled away, my eyes finding Adrian’s across the room. I held his gaze, letting him see the deep affection I was supposed to be feeling. Will and Adrian exchanged a look. It worked. I saw the tension leave Will’s shoulders in a quiet sigh of relief. … That night, we were in a private club with Will’s friends—the usual crowd of city heirs and trust-fund kids. Adrian sat across from us, nursing a drink. I was still seated next to Will, but on his other side was Lily, the new intern from his company. The way they leaned into each other, the small space between them, it was clear they were the couple. I was the third wheel. During a party game, Lily had to take a dare. One of the guys, Wes, grinned, knowing exactly what to do. “Pick someone in the room and kiss them for a full minute!” A blush crept up Lily’s neck, a perfect performance of innocent charm. She glanced at me, her eyes wide. “Lara, I really only know Will well… would you mind if I chose him?” “Oh, come on, it’s just a game! Of course she won’t mind,” Wes chimed in, shutting down any potential protest. “And once you’re picked, Will, you can’t say no.” The old me would never have allowed my fiancé to kiss another woman. But in the eyes of everyone who knew the plan, I was already in love with someone else. I just smiled and shrugged. Lily looked at Will with a shy, girlish hesitation before leaning in. He smirked, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into a deep kiss. The room erupted in cheers, fueling the spectacle of our breakup. When they finally pulled apart, Lily buried her face in Will’s chest, the tips of her ears bright red. He held her close, stroking her hair. “Hey, nothing to be embarrassed about,” he murmured, his voice laced with a tenderness I hadn’t heard in years. Then, still tucked in his arms, Lily looked at me. “I’m so sorry, Lara,” she said, but her eyes shone with the unmistakable light of victory. The next round, I lost. Same dare. A hush fell over the room. Everyone watched me, waiting. Who would I choose? 3 Will kept his arm around Lily, pointedly not looking at me. He was practically begging me not to pick him. Across the room, Adrian shifted, a flicker of something uneasy in his expression. I played my part. My gaze landed on Adrian. “Can I choose you?” I felt Will relax beside me. Adrian looked at me, a slow smile spreading across his lips. He nodded. I walked over to him, and he stood to meet me. My hands went to the back of his neck, and I had to stand on my toes to reach him. He dipped his head, meeting my lips with his. He wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me flush against him, deepening the kiss. Another round of whistles and hoots filled the air. For me, the minute stretched into an eternity. When the time was up, I pulled away. I caught a glimpse of Will’s face—a flash of irritation he couldn’t hide. Good. “Well, guess I should give you two some space,” Wes said, getting up from his spot next to Adrian and sliding into my old seat beside Will. I sat down next to Adrian. For the rest of the night, Will doted on Lily. And my eyes, for all the world to see, never left Adrian. The party was a stage, and we all played our parts perfectly. Late that night, the four of us stood outside the club. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the diamond ring Will had proposed with a year ago. The promises of forever, once so vivid, now felt like a distant memory. I held it out to him. “I think it’s time I gave this back to you.” Will managed a smile and took it. “If this is your decision, I respect it. We can still be friends.” I nodded, my gaze flickering to the girl clinging to his arm. “I’ll come by to get my things tomorrow.” “Tonight, then…” Will started, then looked at Adrian. “My man, you wouldn’t mind putting her up for the night, would you?” Adrian gave a noncommittal shrug. “Plenty of room.” “Alright, we’re heading out.” Will gave Adrian a look brimming with trust, then wrapped his arm around Lily and led her to his car. I stood there, watching the man I had loved for years drive away with another woman, until their taillights blurred into nothing. “Second thoughts?” Adrian’s voice beside me was laced with curiosity. I turned to him. “Who I’m thinking about? I thought that was made pretty clear tonight. Just like it’s clear who Will is thinking about.” A corner of his mouth lifted. He led me to his car, and we drove to his place. 4 We arrived at a mansion in the city’s most exclusive neighborhood. He led me upstairs, and the moment the door to the hallway closed, he spun me around and kissed me. I froze, turning my head away. “What are you doing?” He raised an eyebrow. “What, you agree to come back to my place, and you don’t know what’s going to happen?” I blinked. Wasn’t I supposed to be the one in love with him? And didn’t he always hate me? Was this another test? A way to prove to his friend that the hypnosis was a complete success? I lowered my eyes. “I’m just… surprised. I thought you didn’t like me.” He pulled me back against him, his fingers tilting my chin up. “You’ve been staring at me all night. I’m just giving you what you want.” He studied my face. “Or am I wrong?” I held his gaze for a long moment, then lowered my head and kissed his fingers where they rested on my chin. I saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes before he swept me into his arms and carried me into his bedroom. That night, my body and my memories split apart. I remembered the year I’d spent caring for a bitter, broken Will after his accident, when he’d driven everyone else away with his rage. The day he finally walked again, he held me so tight I could barely breathe. I knew we were from different worlds, but he’d sworn he’d disown his family before he let me go. The year my mother died, he held me and promised he would always be there for me. Last year, he lit up the entire night sky with fireworks and asked me to be his wife. This year, he grew tired of me. He had my mind altered so I would fall for another man, just so he could sleep with someone new. He held a younger, prettier girl and said goodbye. … Sometime in the dead of night, I woke up thirsty. The dim light filtering through the window showed an empty space beside me in the bed. I padded barefoot out of the slightly ajar door and heard voices coming from the living room downstairs. 5 “Shouldn’t you be tucked in with your little bunny right now? Why are you calling me?” It was Adrian. “It’s just… weird,” Will’s voice crackled through the phone. “Not having Lara next to me. I’m not used to it.” “Is she okay over there? She’s in a guest room, right?” “Of course,” Adrian chuckled dryly. “Can’t have her sleeping on the couch, can we?” “Thanks, man. Seriously. But I have to admit, seeing her kiss you today… it didn’t feel good. I remember when she was a blank canvas, you know? And I was the only one who ever got to paint on it.” “Tsk. Getting sentimental? Your new canvas isn’t so bad, or you wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble,” Adrian shot back. “It’s different, Adrian. My subconscious just knows that Lara belongs to me, body and soul. So if she gets too close, you need to keep your distance. You don’t even like her, so it’ll just make you uncomfortable anyway.” “Relax. You know me. You, on the other hand, might want to hang up. Your girl might wake up and wonder why you’re on the phone asking about your ex-fiancée.” “Right. Talk later.” I turned and slipped back into the room as silently as I’d left. A moment later, the door opened and he came in. He saw me sitting up. “What’s wrong? Need the bathroom?” he asked, his voice soft as he walked toward me. “I’m thirsty,” I said. “Stay put. I’ll get you some water.” He returned with a glass, and I drank it down. He set the empty glass on the nightstand, then gathered me into his arms, his fingers gently tracing the line of my jaw. He leaned in, his lips brushing mine. “Since you’re awake,” he murmured, “how about another round?” He pressed me back against the pillows. My eyes were wide open. Will had just said those words on the phone. And his best friend was now doing this. Will had no idea that the brother he trusted with his little scheme was tangled up in the sheets with me on the very first night. 6 Adrian said he was taking me to a birthday party. It wasn’t until we arrived that I realized it was for Lily, hosted by Will. The lavish ballroom was a fantasy of fresh flower petals and balloons. All of Will’s friends were there, celebrating her. Lily, in a pristine white dress, looked like a princess, basking in the glow of adoration. She tugged playfully on Will’s arm, pulling him down to her level. She whispered something in his ear, then gave him a quick, darting kiss on the cheek before hiding her face, all innocent shyness. She was the perfect picture of a pure, harmless little bunny. Will was clearly smitten, giving her nose a playful tap. Then he looked up and saw me walking in with Adrian. His smile froze. For a split second, I saw a flicker of panic in his eyes before he masked it. “Oh, Adrian, Lara! Thank you so much for coming to my party!” Lily called out, her voice bright and cheerful. A moment later, a cascade of fireworks erupted over the lake outside. Will had arranged it for her. Lily gasped, her eyes wide with delight as she watched the sky. The other guests pointed and murmured in appreciation. These were the same friends who had been there last year, on my birthday. Will had set off fireworks for me, too. And as I’d watched them, overwhelmed with joy, he had dropped to one knee. He held up a ring. “Lara,” he’d said, his voice thick with emotion, “twenty-something years ago, your mother brought you into this world and gave you a past. Today, I want to take over for her. I want to be the one to love you and take care of you in your future.” I had cried, letting him slide the ring onto my finger. Now, he had made me a spectator, forced to watch him give all of that to someone else. “Do you like it?” he asked Lily softly. “Yes!” she nodded emphatically, leaning into his embrace. “I’m so happy, so incredibly happy. I wish this moment could last forever.” Will hugged her, stroking her hair. “Silly girl,” he chuckled. Suddenly, a jacket was draped over my shoulders. I turned to see Adrian beside me. “It’s getting cold,” he said simply. When the fireworks faded, we all went back inside. I was on my way back from the restroom when I heard voices from the stairwell. 7 “Adrian, why are you being so considerate, putting your coat on Lara?” It was Will. “Funny,” Adrian shot back. “In a moment like that, you had time to notice?” “I’m just surprised. Since when are you so thoughtful?” Will’s voice was laced with suspicion. “She’s staying at my place, isn’t she? If I don’t look out for her and she gets sick, am I supposed to take care of her? Or are you volunteering?” Adrian retorted. Will was silent for a moment. “You two looked pretty happy tonight,” Adrian continued. “Lily really seems to brighten you up.” “Yeah,” Will said, his voice softening. “Being with her feels like it did with Lara in the beginning. She’s sweet, she’s uncomplicated. It makes me want to spoil her.” “Lily’s another blank canvas for you. You’ve been with Lara for years, you’re bored. Why not just let this be the new reality? Let Lara find her own happiness somewhere else,” Adrian suggested. I didn’t wait for Will’s answer. I walked away. … Back at Adrian’s place, he pulled me into another kiss the moment we were through the door. Later, in bed, he was toying with my hair as I lay with my back to him. “I found an apartment,” I said suddenly. “I’ll move out tomorrow.” He went still. He turned me over to face him, his eyes narrowed. “You’re moving out? After all this?” I looked at him. “It’s not right, for us to be living like this…” He cupped my jaw. “So it was right to live with Will, but now that you’re my woman, it’s not right to live with me?” “I just… I remember you used to hate me,” I said, confused. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face. “Aren’t you in love with me? I’m just making your wish come true. If we’re not together, you broke up with Will for nothing, didn’t you?” I stared into his eyes. “You’re so kind. What if this makes me love you even more?” A genuine smile broke across his face, and he kissed me hard. This man, it seemed, was genuinely happy that I loved him. I let him have his way, my mind already spinning, planning. 8 That weekend, the whole crew went to a villa on the coast. Lily brought along two of her old college friends, a move Will seemed to indulge without a second thought. I was lounging on a sofa chair by the shimmering pool, the vast blue ocean stretching out before me. I reached for the bowl of cherries on the table beside me. Just as my fingers brushed the fruit, the entire bowl was snatched away. “Lara, my friends and I were just craving these. You don’t mind if I take them, do you?” Lily asked, already walking away with the bowl in her hand. I watched as she took it over to where her friends were sitting. “Lily, isn’t she Adrian Vance’s girlfriend?” one of them whispered, clearly thinking it was a bold move. Lily scoffed. “Girlfriend? Please. After Will broke up with her for me, he felt sorry for her, so he asked his friend Adrian to look after her. Adrian can’t stand her.” Her friends’ eyes widened in understanding. “Oh, so that’s how it is.” “You’re amazing, Lily. We’re so lucky to know you.” “Seriously, getting to hang out in a place like this, meeting all these powerful, handsome men… it’s all thanks to you.” “We always knew you were destined for great things, Lily. And look at you now, with Will Orlando so in love with you. You’re going to be a lady of society.” “She could kick her out of that chair and no one would say a thing. She’s just Will’s ex. Lily’s being merciful by even letting her sit there.” The two friends fawned and flattered, echoing Lily’s own contempt. She sat there, preening under their praise, popping cherries into her mouth like a queen. It was so transparent—she’d brought them here to show off, to be admired. I shook my head slightly and settled back into the chair, too bored to care. Just then, Adrian walked out of the villa. “Oh, Adrian!” Lily called out sweetly. He ignored her completely and came straight to me. He leaned down, gently stroking my cheek. I wasn’t asleep, so I playfully pushed his hand away. He just chuckled, then lifted me up and settled me onto his lap. I rolled my eyes and slid off, but the lounge chair was big enough for two. I shifted to give him space. He sighed in mock defeat but settled for tucking me into the crook of his arm. He glanced at the empty table, frowned, and snapped his fingers. A server appeared instantly, and Adrian ordered a platter of fresh fruit. As Lily and her friends watched Adrian intimately nestle me against him and feed me a slice of mango, I saw them whispering again. “Lily, didn’t you say…” Lily’s expression soured. But then she saw Will approaching. “Will,” she cooed, her voice instantly soft. He walked over, but his eyes were fixed on me and Adrian. I saw his jaw tighten as Adrian held a grape to my lips. 9 He walked over to Lily’s side. She immediately shooed her friends away, and they scurried off. I took the grape from Adrian’s fingers and touched it to my own lips before playfully offering it to him. I saw his Adam’s apple bob as he opened his mouth to take it. At the last second, I pulled it back and popped it into my own mouth, laughing. “Lara…” Adrian groaned, then leaned in to steal a kiss. “Stop,” I giggled, turning my head. As I did, my eyes met Will’s. He was staring, his face a thundercloud. “Will?” Lily was trying to offer him a piece of fruit, but he wasn’t paying attention. He tore his gaze away from us, his lips a thin, hard line. I turned my back to him and took a bite of the strawberry Adrian was now offering me. It was true. There was a time when I was only ever like this with Will. I only laughed in his arms, only shared these playful moments with him. Now, it was time to learn how to give them to another man. … I went inside the villa to charge my phone and, once again, overheard a conversation from the stairwell. “Adrian, what the hell? Why are you suddenly all over her? We had a deal,” Will hissed, his voice tight with anger. “Will, don’t forget, you’re the one who made her fall in love with me. Her feelings for me are uncontrollable,” Adrian said calmly. “And since she’s living with me, did you really expect us to have zero contact? What am I supposed to do, keep her locked in my house as a platonic roommate? If she feels unwelcome, she’ll leave. And the next thing you know, while you’re off playing with your new toy, some other guy will have swept in and taken her.” I had to suppress a laugh. Adrian was a master manipulator. And Will was falling for it. “Just… keep your distance. You hate her, don’t you? You used to complain every time you saw her with me. So why are you acting so close now?” “You know how I am,” Adrian said with a dismissive wave in his voice. “Better the devil you know. Why sweat the small stuff?” There was a pause. Then Adrian added, “Of course, if you feel like she’s been… tainted, no longer pure enough for you, you could always choose to make a permanent change…” “Shut up, Adrian,” Will snapped. … Later that afternoon, we all went down to the beach. I was wearing a light, white button-down shirt over my bikini, my feet bare on the warm sand. Adrian had gone back to the villa to grab my phone. “Ouch!” Something sharp dug into the sole of my foot. I cried out, stumbling. Will, who was walking with Lily nearby, rushed over and grabbed my arm to steady me. “Are you okay?” “I’m fine.” I pulled my arm away and checked my foot. Just a sharp shell, no blood. “What the hell is that on your collarbone?” Will’s voice was suddenly low and dangerous, his eyes locked on my chest.

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Ten years. Ten years of playing wife to the man my runaway sister abandoned, mother to the child she left behind. And all it took to shatter that fragile peace was sitting in her armchair. The boy I raised pushed me from the third-floor landing. My spine was splintered, my body slick with blood, yet when I pleaded with him to call for help, he just looked down and sneered, a perfect echo of his father. “You don’t get to touch my mom’s things. Ever. I’m telling you, you will never be Audrey!” “You want help? I hope you end up paralyzed. I hope Dad throws you out on the street!” I stared up at the child who, since the moment he was handed to me in a blanket, had been my sole responsibility. The agonizing pain of my broken body was nothing compared to the slow, relentless flaying of my heart. After the emergency surgery, still woozy from the anesthesia, I found the strength to make a single international call. “Professor Warren,” I whispered into the receiver. “I’m ready to come home.” 1 I hung up just as Preston, Mom, and Dad swept into the room, Leo trailing behind them, his face a mask of furious, self-pitying innocence. “Why should I apologize to that… woman!” Leo snarled, pointing a vicious finger at me. “She went and sat in Mom’s chair first! I just shouted, and she got scared and fell down the stairs. She wasn’t even bleeding that much at first. I thought she was just putting on another one of her pathetic little shows.” The words grew crueler, yet the adults didn’t stop him. They just stood there, their expressions cold and accusatory, focused entirely on me. I didn’t bother to defend myself, just stared blankly out the window. Preston’s voice was a low, familiar burn. “Ainsley, Leo is talking to you. Look at him. What kind of mother ignores her own son?” I laughed, a dry, bitter sound. “What kind of son stands over his mother’s injured body, insults her, and never asks if she’s in pain?” Preston’s impatience sharpened. “That’s only because you’re not affectionate enough, Ainsley. You’re always trying to guilt him with your exaggerated dramatics.” Exaggerated dramatics? Leo was born with a delicate constitution, constantly battling illness. I was the one who kept vigil for ten years, learning specialized acupuncture and massage, brewing every obscure Chinese tonic and medicated broth imaginable. My long, pianist fingers—the ones that earned me a scholarship—were now calloused and swollen from endless hours of domestic labor. Leo once admitted he was scared of the dark, and I didn’t close my eyes for three straight days and nights, simply sitting by his crib. But Preston never saw it. Leo never saw it. “Ainsley,” Preston lectured, cutting into my thoughts, “when you married into the Hawthorne family, I had one requirement: Take care of Leo. Was that truly so difficult? If you couldn’t even manage that, then I told you I’d divorce you—” “Then let’s do it,” I cut in, my voice level. “Divorce me. I don’t want to be Mrs. Hawthorne anymore.” Preston froze, stunned. He hadn’t expected that. After all, my family had begged for this marriage. Ten years ago, my sister, Audrey, had married Preston—the original plan—but then her ‘Holy Grail,’ the one she’d always loved, came back to the States. Audrey abandoned her newborn son and vanished without a trace. The Hawthorne family was furious. My parents, desperate to save the Caldwell family business, tricked me. They lured me home from my Ph.D. program, drugged me, and pushed me into Preston’s bed. The scandal was massive. With an infant Leo needing care, Preston had no choice but to marry me. We had an agreement: ten years. When Leo was old enough, the sham marriage would end. But in every argument, Preston weaponized that promise, using divorce as a threat. Well, the threat had lost its power. My parents erupted first. “Ainsley, what are you talking about? You can’t leave! Who will take care of Leo if you go?” Their faces, etched with disappointment, were the same ones I’d faced when I initially refused to give up the engagement. The contract was originally for me, Ainsley Caldwell, the daughter my mother carried when the deal was struck. But later, when Audrey was heartbroken by her forbidden romance and impulsively decided to marry, my parents demanded I step aside. Seeing my silence, my mother quickly softened her tone. “Alright, alright. You’re hurt, so we won’t make you apologize to Leo. Just swallow your pride, honey. We’ll even give you your house keys back. You can come and go as you please.” After I married Preston, they took my key to the Caldwell family home. They instructed the security and the driver to deny me entry unless I was with Leo. “Ainsley, you have to burn your boats. You must have no retreat, no home base, only then will you truly treat the Hawthorne house as your own and Leo as your own son.” They were true to their word; once, when an enraged Preston threw me out, I spent the night on the porch in the rain, and they never let me in. Preston, seeing my silence, misread it as calculation. He offered a cynical olive branch. “Fine. It’s just a few cracked ribs, it’s not a big deal. Stop pouting. When you’re better, I’ll take you to get wedding photos done.” In ten years, we hadn’t taken a single photograph together. If a photo-bombing party guest accidentally caught us in the same frame, Preston would snap at me for trying to steal a moment. But now, I wanted none of it—not his mock affection, and certainly not my parents’ false pity. “It won’t be necessary,” I said flatly. “I’ll be gone next month.” The room plunged into a suffocating, dead silence. Then, my parents’ and Preston’s fury washed over me. “Are you listening to yourself, Ainsley?” “Leo has his Math Olympiad next month! Who will tutor him? Who will manage his schedule?” “You’re a mother! How can you be so selfish? Abandon your child over a stupid tantrum?” A mother? I looked at Leo, whose eyes were still burning with resentment. For a decade, he’d only called me ‘Ainsley-Auntie.’ For the past two years, he wouldn’t even use a name, preferring ‘that woman.’ He had called me ‘Mom’ once, when he was just learning to talk. Preston had exploded. He ripped the child from my arms and banished me from the house. “Don’t waste your energy, Ainsley. Leo only has one mother!” Even after Audrey had abandoned him, Preston reserved that title for her. Every time Leo slipped up and called me ‘Mom,’ Preston would punish him. Ten years, and I was just a highly paid, perpetually ignored nanny. But it was almost over. I faced them, calm now. “You all said it yourselves: I was only fit to occupy this position for ten years. The time is up. I’m leaving.” My parents looked at me with disappointment and irritation. “Nobody is forcing you out! Why bring that up now?” They were only worried about the Caldwell-Hawthorne business ties. Preston, surprisingly, did not look relieved. He frowned. “What kind of excuse is that? If you’d just begged, would I really have kicked you out?” He spoke with the entitlement of a king granting a favor. “Fine, if you’re worried about what people will say, I’ll post a single status update on social media. I’ll announce that you are officially the Mrs. Hawthorne.” He hadn’t even given me a wedding. When business partners or friends came over, he introduced me with a casual wave: “The one who keeps the house and watches the kid.” Everyone knew I was the desperate gold-digger who failed to climb the social ladder and whose decade-long grace period had expired. But a title was meaningless to me now. I replied with a cool detachment. “The doctor said I might have a permanent limp. A woman with a physical disability can’t possibly be the ideal Hawthorne wife, and she certainly shouldn’t raise the heir to the Hawthorne name.” Preston relaxed, assuming he had solved the riddle of my anger. “You’re worried about that? Don’t be silly. With my resources, no one will dare speak ill of you, and we can hire the best doctors. Stop sulking, Ainsley. What are you going to do, anyway? You’ve been a homemaker for ten years; you won’t survive without the Hawthornes or the Caldwells.” He continued, condescendingly, “If it means that much to you, I’ll have my secretary buy you a diamond ring. We’ll have one family dinner, and you’ll be the ‘official’ Mrs. Hawthorne. As for the public announcement? You can forget it. What if Audrey sees it? What if she decides not to come home?” He ushered my parents and Leo out, leaving only his secretary to discuss my recovery. Oh, and the offered ring. The secretary, aloof and judgmental, approached the bedside. “Miss Caldwell, Mr. Hawthorne approved a budget of one million dollars for the ring. We can only get you a ready-made piece. If you don’t know much about jewelry, just pick the most expensive one. It will count as your personal asset, by the way.” Preston always believed I was a mercenary woman who slept my way into his life, which is why he only allowed me a meager three-thousand-dollar monthly allowance from the house manager. The secretary obviously thought a million was an astonishing show of generosity. Yet the custom-made armchair I dared to sit in—the one commissioned for Audrey—cost ten million. The master suite, a room I had never been allowed to enter, was filled with Audrey’s sacred belongings, easily worth ten times that. I pushed the secretary’s tablet away. “Just pick something. I don’t care.” That ring, like everything else Preston had ever given me—even the cheap corporate gift baskets—would likely just be destroyed by Leo eventually. Besides, I wouldn’t be wearing it. Just as the secretary left, Leo came back. He opened a thermos and threw the scalding oatmeal at me. “You better wise up and disappear fast, or next time I’ll use something worse.” He was small, so the oatmeal mostly hit the sheets, but a few drops splashed my forearm. It was the same oatmeal I had woken up at four in the morning to prepare for him, yet it burned my skin like acid. Seeing the angry red marks, Leo’s face broke into a satisfied smirk, and he left. The nurse came in, changed the linens, and applied cream. As she was leaving, she paused, then spoke softly. “Some children, Miss Caldwell, are simply ungrateful.” I looked down at the bandages covering my body, and the tears finally started to fall. A stranger could see it, but I had blindly believed for ten years that genuine kindness would be returned in kind. But whether it was Preston, my childhood friend, or Leo, the boy I raised from birth—my sincerity was always met with malice. They didn’t visit me once during the next two weeks. I hired a private aide, and on the day I was released, I returned to the Hawthorne house in a wheelchair to collect my belongings. I opened the front door and saw them all in the living room, laughing, surrounded by warmth and joy. In the center, radiant and glowing, was Audrey, my sister, who hadn’t been seen or heard from in a decade. My parents clutched her, their eyes red. “Audrey, darling, you’re back. That’s all that matters. What do you want to eat? Your mother will cook it for you.” Leo was clinging to her like a baby koala. “Mom, you’re finally home! I won’t be the boy with no one who cares about him anymore.” Even Preston, the ice king, was smiling with undisguised adoration. “Audrey, I knew you couldn’t stay away from me.” They were united, ecstatic, as if Audrey’s sudden disappearance—the event that had nearly ruined them—had never happened. When my parents begged me to step in, one had claimed a heart attack and the other had cried until her eyes were nearly blind. They told me Audrey had no soul. I helped stabilize the family business, negotiated with the Hawthornes, and walked into what I knew was a marriage of fire, only because they pleaded with me. Preston, too, had spiraled into an alcoholic depression after Audrey left. I had stayed by his side, Leo in my arms, and helped him climb out of the darkness. He had solemnly promised me we would make a real life together. And Leo, when he finally realized his mother had abandoned him, had a massive breakdown, weeping day and night until I swore I would never leave him. Ten years of devotion, completely erased by Audrey’s sudden return. The sound of my wheelchair entering the room drew their attention. My parents’ faces flushed with embarrassment. “Ainsley, you’re back? Why didn’t you call ahead?” They looked at me as if I were a ghost who had ruined their perfect family portrait. I instructed my aide to push me toward the stairs. “I couldn’t reach any of you. I called hundreds of times.” I needed their signatures on medical forms. I needed to discuss Leo and Preston’s arrangements after my departure. Every message I sent over the past two weeks had vanished into a black hole. Yet now, they were angry at me for not calling. Preston looked away uncomfortably. “It was just a busy couple of weeks. Go on up and rest, Ainsley. Don’t strain yourself.” Rest? Since when was he attentive? He was only worried about me interrupting his reunion with Audrey. But I no longer cared. Leo spoke up from behind me, his voice dripping with malice. “Go crawl back into your hole! My real mother is home now. You coarse, ugly woman. You can’t compare to her little finger.” Audrey was dressed impeccably, her makeup flawless, her long, manicured nails sparkling. She did look beautiful compared to my makeup-free, oversized sweatshirt look. I used to care about my appearance, but I stopped when I was caring for Leo—I worried my long hair would tangle in his tiny fingers, my nails would scratch his delicate skin, and my perfume would irritate his lungs. Leo, apparently, never noticed or cared. I ignored him and continued upstairs. I had a phone call with Professor Warren, finalizing my arrangements. He asked one last question, his voice hesitant. “Ainsley, are you truly sure? That’s the boy you raised for ten years. And Preston… you two were childhood sweethearts. After a decade, those bonds only deepen.” Deepen? The moment Audrey appeared, I was instantly obsolete. “Professor,” I said firmly. “I’ve made up my mind. I don’t belong here.” I hung up and sat in silence. I turned and saw Preston standing in the doorway, watching me. Seeing my startlement, he scoffed. “Oh, come on. Stop acting. You make such a dramatic exit, and now you’re suddenly talking on the phone about leaving the country? It’s all for show, isn’t it? Audrey is back, so now you’re playing the run-away bride, trying to get me to chase you.” His familiar contempt was a dull ache. For a second, a complex mix of feelings—anger, nostalgia—floated up. Preston hadn’t always been like this. He had trusted me unconditionally once. When my parents tried to force me into a boarding school a thousand miles away to clear the field for Audrey, Preston had refused to eat for three days and risked losing his inheritance until his family finally agreed to send him to my school. I truly believed we would have a fairytale ending. I fought with all my strength against my parents’ attempts to cage me, to break my will and force me out of the engagement. But when I finally escaped the basement where they were holding me, the first thing I saw was him on bended knee, slipping a ring onto Audrey’s finger in a lavishly decorated hall. My parents told me Audrey was simply better than me, and Preston finally saw it. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t true, but the pure joy on Preston’s face when he held Audrey was undeniable. When my parents begged me to clean up Audrey’s mess, a selfish impulse was mixed into my agreement. I thought I could still get the old Preston back. Ten years of cold indifference had taught me the truth. Preston only had eyes for Audrey. “Dad! Did you go up to get that smelly woman to cook? What’s taking so long? Mom’s hungry downstairs!” Leo’s shrill voice cut through my memory. Preston glanced at me. “Stop playing your little games. Audrey specifically asked for your cooking. Go make her dinner. If you perform well, I might consider letting you stay on the property.” I gripped the arms of my wheelchair, choking down the rage. “I’m injured. You want me to cook for Audrey in this condition?” Leo shrieked again. “You don’t have a real injury, you fake! Stop pretending to be an invalid!” A few more hours, and the injury would have been permanent. That’s what the doctor said. That severe injury, in Leo’s eyes, was a minor inconvenience. I looked at the face I had woken up to every morning for ten years, now contorted with contempt. I couldn’t find a trace of the sweet boy who used to cling to me and say, “The heavens made a mistake. I chose you to be my mom.” I pushed the emotions down. Preston and Leo stood there, expecting compliance. The bitterness was overwhelming. “Fine,” I said, a self-deprecating smile touching my lips. “At least push me down there.” Preston scoffed and called the housekeeper. “Don’t try to find excuses to get close to me, Ainsley.” In the kitchen, Audrey strolled in like the queen returning to her throne. “Thank you so much, Sister, for watching the house. I’ll make sure Preston gives you a generous severance when you leave.” She then proceeded to list her dinner request: “Just keep it simple, you know my tastes. Bird’s nest porridge, braised sea cucumber, King Crab. Don’t make a fuss.” The housekeeper whispered nervously, “But Miss Caldwell, these are complex dishes. They require four to five hours of preparation, and you said we couldn’t help…” Audrey raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Are you saying my sister is too good to make me dinner?” My parents’ voices boomed from the living room. “Ainsley, your sister has just come home! Are you going to deny her this small request?” I had told myself I was numb, but their blatant bias still stung. This is the last time. I looked straight at Audrey. “I leave tomorrow. You don’t need to try and torture me anymore.” Audrey’s face instantly lit up. “You said it, not me! I’m not running you off.” She glanced at the housekeeper. “Fine, let them help you.” She then flounced off, responding to the urgent calls of Preston and my parents. With the housekeeper’s pitying gaze on me, I started to cook. Even with help prepping the ingredients, operating from a wheelchair was exhausting. After what felt like an eternity, and with my injured leg throbbing, the feast was complete. I rolled out of the kitchen. The villa was silent. The house manager approached me, looking troubled. “Miss Caldwell, Ms. Audrey said she wanted a late-night street food snack three hours ago. Mr. Hawthorne and your parents drove her out to get it.” I felt nothing. Not surprise. Not despair. I gave a quiet sigh. “I see. Please push me upstairs. I need to pack.” The next morning, before the sun was fully up, my arranged car arrived. The driver gasped as we were about to pull out. “Whoa! What’s this kid doing?” I craned my neck. It was Leo, standing directly in front of the car. He was still in yesterday’s crumpled clothes, shivering in the cold morning air.

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I will die at 2:40 AM today. The killer is a man wearing a black hood. Calling the police, hiding, running away, offering money—nothing works. He finds me every time with uncanny precision, then cleanly ends my life. Trapped in the 31st loop of this death day, I finally manage to rip off his hood during our struggle. But under the hood, the face I see is my own. An older, wearier version of me, aged by over a decade. He looks at me, his voice hoarse: “Chen Mo, get out of the way.” 1 My name is Chen Mo. I am an incredibly ordinary convenience store clerk working the night shift. After graduating from college and failing to find a “real” job, I ended up here, in this suburban 24-hour store, just to make ends meet. No family, no friends, not even a pet. That’s probably why no one has noticed I’ve died thirty times. The first time I woke up in the loop, I thought it was a dream, until the searing pain of a blade slicing my skin pulled me back to reality. The second time, I tried to call the police, but the landline was dead, and my cell signal mysteriously vanished. The third time, I hid behind the shelves, but the robber found me effortlessly, as if he knew exactly where I’d be. The fourth time, I grabbed the biggest wine bottle I could find to fight back. He dodged it easily, and the blade pierced my heart just the same. Ten times, twenty times, thirty times… every death was despairingly real. I tried everything: running out the front door only to be intercepted, hiding in the bathroom and being dragged out, playing dead only to be stabbed anyway. I even piled all the cash on the counter. He ignored the money and killed me. The robber’s movements were too precise for an ordinary criminal. He knew every inch of the store like the back of his hand. It was as if he had rehearsed this countless times. This wasn’t a robbery; it was an execution. Why me? Why this store? Why must I die over and over again, only to wake up standing in front of the freezer? Tonight, for the 31st loop, I decided to change my strategy. I would memorize every detail about him. Every movement, every habit. If I can’t stop my death, at least I need to know why I’m dying. 2 Time ticked away. I stood by the freezer, forcing myself to be calm. The loop gave me one advantage: I could predict the immediate future. The robber would enter through the back door, take five steps to the corner of the aisle, then eight steps to the register, and lunges straight for me. He walked with a slight drag in his right foot—maybe an old injury, or just a habit. He always held the knife the same way: left hand in his pocket, right hand holding the blade, edge down—a classic ambush stance. He never spoke. He never took the money. His target was always, only, me. I took out the store’s inventory notebook and quickly jotted down these observations, even though I knew the writing would vanish in the next loop. 2:39 AM. I quietly shifted my position, standing to the side of the register instead of directly behind it. 2:40 AM. A faint noise from the back door… he’s here. I held my breath, pretending to organize the shelves while watching the back entrance out of the corner of my eye. The shadow arrived on schedule. Familiar footsteps, familiar path. But this time, I noticed more. There seemed to be a scar on his left wrist, visible only when his sleeve shifted. He was about my height and build, but his movements were sharper, more decisive. As he approached the counter and realized I wasn’t in my usual spot, he paused for a split second. Now! I grabbed the fire extinguisher I had prepared and sprayed it directly at him. He clearly didn’t expect this. He hesitated for a moment, but then reacted with shocking speed. He dodged sideways, evading most of the spray. That wasn’t a normal human reaction time! Still, the extinguisher bought me a few precious seconds. I dropped it and grabbed the mop next to the counter, charging at him. This was the first time I initiated the attack instead of waiting to die. Amidst the white powder, we grappled. I could feel his strength and technique far surpassed mine. But I had resolve—fueled by the anger and experience of thirty deaths. During a dodge, I saw his sleeve slip again. The scar was clearer now. It was a surgical scar, located precisely over the radial artery. Why did that detail feel so familiar? Before I could process it, the robber regrouped. The blade came at me again. This time, my death was more painful than ever, but I was closer to the truth than ever before. 3 I opened my eyes in front of the freezer again. But this time, the fear was gone. I had a plan. I had a direction. 2:37 AM. I walked straight to the security room and pulled up the camera feeds. I had ignored this before. The store had six cameras; maybe they caught something I missed. The room was tiny, just an old monitor split into six grainy screens. It was enough. I fast-forwarded through yesterday’s footage and noticed something strange. Starting at 2:00 AM, the feed would occasionally jitter or show static, like signal interference. Even stranger, at 2:40 AM, the moment the robber entered, all cameras blacked out for exactly one second. That couldn’t be a coincidence. I switched to the live feed. 2:39 AM. The back door camera caught a shadow lingering outside. He was here. I picked up the landline in the security room and dialed the police. “Hello? South City Convenience Store. A robbery is in progress. Please send someone immediately!” There was a second of silence, then a calm female voice: “What is your specific address?” I rattled off the address while staring at the screen. The figure had pried open the back door and was slipping inside. “Police will arrive in five minutes. Please stay safe.” Five minutes? I didn’t have five minutes. Watching the robber get closer on the screen, I had an idea. There was a panic button in the security room connected to the local precinct. I smashed the red button. A piercing alarm shrieked through the store. On the monitor, the robber flinched, clearly startled. But instead of running, he moved faster. He knew he was running out of time. I grabbed the security baton and hid behind the door. The moment he burst into the room, I swung with everything I had. Whack! The baton hit his shoulder. He stumbled back two steps. First time I had the upper hand. While he was off balance, I swung again, hitting his head. The black hood loosened, revealing a tuft of graying hair. My heart pounded. Finally, I would see the face of the butcher who had tortured me for thirty loops. Seizing his moment of instability, I lunged forward and ripped the hood off. It was a face I knew intimately, yet weathered by time. It was me, but fifteen years older! Sunken eyes, exhausted gaze, a scar on the forehead… even the mole on the chin was identical. The future me looked at me with grim determination: “Don’t get in the way, Chen Mo!” His voice was hoarse, but it was undeniably mine, just worn down by years. I stepped back in shock. “You… you’re me? Why do you want to kill me?” “Our daughter has a rare blood disease. If I don’t get the money… Chen Xi… won’t make it!” Daughter? I don’t even have a girlfriend. How could I have a daughter? Before I could ask, the future me raised the knife, his eyes filled with despair. “I’m sorry. But this is the only way she lives.” As the blade pierced my chest, my brain was still reeling. The robber was my future self. 4 Waking up in front of the freezer again, my heart hammered—not from fear, but shock. The name Chen Xi echoed in my mind. My daughter? My future daughter? Why would my future self go to such lengths, even killing his past self, to save her? 2:20 AM. I sat at the register and opened the store computer. I couldn’t just wait to die. I needed to know more. I searched “Chen Xi” + “Rare Blood Disease.” Too many results. I searched “Extremely expensive blood disease treatments.” Several possibilities popped up. The most severe was a rare genetic condition called “Heiman-Faber Syndrome.” Less than 500 confirmed cases worldwide. Treatment costs could easily exceed a million dollars. Was this it? But even so, why kill his past self? Robbing a convenience store for a few thousand bucks wouldn’t solve a million-dollar problem. Unless… it wasn’t just about money. I searched “Time Travel” + “Ethical Issues” + “Paradoxes,” skimming through sci-fi and physics discussions. 2:39 AM. I shut down the computer and stood behind the counter, waiting for him. This time, I wouldn’t run. I wouldn’t fight. I was going to talk. When the black figure entered from the back, I spoke immediately: “Chen Xi has Heiman-Faber Syndrome, doesn’t she?” His steps faltered, but he recovered quickly and kept coming. “I know who you are. I know why you’re here,” I continued. “But killing me won’t help. We should figure this out together.” The future me stopped. Through the hood, I felt his burning gaze. “You know nothing. It’s too late. There is no other way.” “At least tell me the truth!” I shouted. “Why this store? Why tonight? Why must I die?” He didn’t answer, just kept advancing. I noticed he occasionally clutched his chest while walking. It wasn’t just his daughter; he was sick too. “You’re ill too, aren’t you?” I probed. That stopped him. He pulled off the hood. That face—so like mine, yet so full of pain—stared back. “Listen, past me. There are things you will never understand unless you live through what I have,” he said. “Chen Xi needs a bone marrow transplant. But our marrow doesn’t match anymore because…” He suddenly grabbed his chest, doubling over in pain. I stepped forward to help, but he instantly raised the knife, warning me back. “Because of what?” I pressed. “Because time travel changed me. It changed everything.” He gritted his teeth, pulled the hood back on, and charged. As I died this time, my mind was filled with heartache for a daughter I had never met. 5 Waking up again, confusion was gone. Only resolve remained. I had to find a third way. A way for Chen Xi to live without sacrificing either “me.” 1:30 AM. I left the register and started scouring the store for clues. Why did he choose this store? Why this time? There had to be a reason I missed. I checked every shelf, every drawer. I even lifted the floor tiles under the counter. 2:20 AM. Deep in a locker in the staff break room, I found a small safe. I had never seen this safe before. It wasn’t standard store equipment. I tried every code I could think of: my birthday, the last four digits of my ID, even Chen Xi’s initials. Nothing worked. 2:35 AM. I gave up on the safe and returned to the counter, ready to face him again. Maybe I could get more info tonight. 2:40 AM. The footsteps arrived. In this struggle, I noticed he seemed more desperate, his movements rougher. During a grapple, a worn locket fell from his collar. I seized the chance, grabbed the locket, and backed away. He panicked, reaching for it, but I was too fast. I opened it. Inside was a blurry photo of a little girl. She was about six or seven, with my eyes and nose, smiling innocently. Chen Xi. On the back of the photo, a date was scratched in with a fingernail: April 23, 2035. I looked up in shock. “You’re from ten years in the future?!” He didn’t deny it. Painfully, he said, “That’s the day she died. Unless we change the past.” Died? Before I could ask more, he snatched the locket back and drove the knife into my chest. This time, death came with a terrifying realization. He wasn’t just trying to save her life. He was trying to undo a tragedy that had already happened. In subsequent loops, I tried leaving messages. I taped a note under the counter: I know about Chen Xi. I want to help. Please don’t kill me. Let’s work together. 2:40 AM. He came in, saw the note, ripped it up without hesitation, and killed me. Next time, I wrote on the break room mirror in lipstick: For Chen Xi, we must cooperate. He ignored it and rushed the counter. I left a video message on the computer screen. He glanced at it, turned it off, and killed me. Why was he so stubborn? Had he tried everything in his timeline and concluded this was the only way? In one loop, I noticed an anomaly. The store lights began to flicker irregularly. Strange, crack-like shadows flashed on the walls. At first, I thought it was the wiring. But I realized it only happened around the time he appeared. Even stranger, the future me seemed to notice it too. Every time the lights flickered, he moved faster, as if racing against time. Was this a warning?

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When the Doppelgangers invaded, I awakened the “Human Mimic System.” The rules were simple: Do something irrational, and I’d earn Mimic Points. These points could upgrade my body parts, allowing me to perform horrific feats—like popping my eyeballs out of their sockets. One day, a group of Doppelgangers gathered, whispering, “I feel like there’s a human hiding among us.” 1 I’m a horror game junkie. Escape rooms, puzzle solvers, battle royales, spotting the imposter—you name it, I’ve played it. Everyone knows the lore: Doppelgangers mimic, kill, and replace humans. Of course, I never thought I’d see one in real life. It was Saturday, and I was trying to activate my new system. This “cheat code” had been in my head for a week, but I hadn’t figured out how to use it. Today, I decided to stalk a random dog. Would stalking a stray dog count as “irrational behavior”? I had no idea. As I walked out of the campus gate, something felt off. A cold gaze followed me, but I couldn’t pinpoint the source. As long as it wasn’t PETA, I was fine. Shaking off my paranoia, I stuck to the plan. I picked a stray mutt on the street and started following it. If you’ve ever been chased by a dog, you know the drill: you walk past, it watches. You run, it barks and chases. Today, the roles were reversed. The dog stopped; I stopped. The dog walked; I walked. The poor thing kept looking back, clearly terrified. Ding. The system chime rang in my head. [Mimic Points +10. A Doppelganger witnessed this event and experienced a cognitive error.] [Note: The entity chasing the dog is your imitator.] [Doppelganger Exposure +50.] [When Exposure reaches 100, you will assimilate the Doppelganger.] A chill ran down my spine. Doppelgangers were real. This was definitely not good news. Imagine the anxiety of realizing everything around you is unpredictable. In games, I’ve accidentally let Doppelgangers into safe zones, leading to gruesome massacres. They could be your friends, your neighbors, your RA, your roommate… Terrifying. In games, you can reload a save. In reality, you can’t. Especially now, when the news of the invasion hasn’t broken yet. How many of them are there? No one knows. Putting aside my fear, I had to deal with the imitator first. To do that, I needed to keep racking up Mimic Points. As the dog whimpered and ran away with its tail between its legs, I dumped all 10 points into the “Brain” stat. [Brain +10. You will generate more “human-like” ideas.] A spark of inspiration hit me—I was going to get a manicure for a chicken foot. Wait, that idea made me blush instantly. I should have put 5 points into “Thick Skin.” This was going to be social suicide. With a heavy heart, I bought three braised chicken feet. I accidentally ate two on the way. Resisting the urge to eat the last one, I clutched it in my hand. I scanned the people around me. Do I need new glasses? Why haven’t I spotted the Doppelganger yet? I walked into a nail salon, holding the chicken foot. I took a deep breath. “Hi, can you give my chicken foot a manicure?” The nail tech looked at me blankly, question marks practically floating above her head. Oh god, I wanted to dig a hole and die. After adding, “I’ll pay extra,” she reluctantly agreed. The mechanical voice rang again: [Mimic Points +10. A Doppelganger witnessed this event. Cognitive error deepening.] [Note: The entity manicuring the chicken foot is your imitator.] [Doppelganger Exposure +50. Total Exposure: 100.] [When you identify the Doppelganger, you will wear its skin.] So it’s basically a skin system? I walked out of the salon holding a glamorized chicken foot. The sun felt exceptionally hot today, burning my face. It felt like my face had been upgraded and reinforced. The nail tech did her best, but my wallet was empty. If my boyfriend didn’t bring me breakfast, I was at risk of eating grass for the next two weeks. Worst case scenario, I could try dumpster diving. Ignoring my wandering thoughts, I dumped the new 10 points into “Eyes.” [Eyes +10. Eye adjustability increased. You can slightly control pupil color, bloodshot level, pupil size, and detachment.] My eyelid twitched. I thought it would boost observation skills. These upgrades were getting weird. At this rate, I wouldn’t know who was more like a Doppelganger—me or them. I opened my front-facing camera. Under my control, red veins crept across my whites, making me look sleep-deprived. Not enough. I tried turning the whole eye white. Just a pale glaze, not quite horror movie level. Shrinking the pupils? Still not pinpoint enough. I needed more points to make it useful. More importantly, I realized something: I only got points when a Doppelganger was watching. Identifying it immediately might be a mistake. I should farm it for points. A new idea popped into my head: “Take a cat to the vet for neutering, then lie on the operating table myself.” I really should have put those 5 points into Thick Skin. After capturing a stray tabby, I dragged it to the vet clinic. “Hi, do you do neutering here?” The cat in my arms started squirming, sensing danger. The nurse nodded and smiled. “Yes, we do.” I put the cat down, kept a straight face, and climbed onto the examination table. “Please neuter me!” The nurse’s eyes widened. Even the cat looked confused. She blurted out, “Huh?” System prompt: [Mimic Points +20. Your behavior has completely distorted the imitator.] [Doppelganger Exposure +100. Note: It is now purple with confusion.] 2 Under the nurse’s “calling the psych ward” gaze, I rolled off the table. Walking out of the clinic felt like escaping death. Social death is still death. That was terrifying. I almost clawed through the floor with my toes. She even patiently explained why she couldn’t do it, which made me even more ashamed. Taking a deep breath, I noticed the sky was getting dark. I immediately spotted someone casually following a dog. As expected, she was the Doppelganger mimicking me. Looking closely, she did resemble me. In dim light, she would be my twin. Seeming to notice my gaze, she subtly showed off the manicure on the chicken foot she was holding. Like she was saying, Look how beautiful this is. Oblivious to how abstract and insane it was. The moment I recognized her, her death sentence was signed. But I’d spare her for now. I continued my “human” behavior—talking to thin air. “What did you think of the surgery?” Pause. “Seems you rate the doctor highly.” Pause. “I’ll treat you to dinner tonight, don’t argue.” Pause. “Just remember to bring your wallet.” After a string of soliloquies, the system chimed: [Mimic Points +5. The imitator believes it has gathered sufficient information and will attack you in a secluded area. Please identify it before the attack.] Night had fallen. The Doppelganger stopped hiding, its gaze filled with naked hunger. Walking through the deserted streets, the cold feeling grew stronger, like I was about to be flayed alive. I reached a dark alley and stopped. “You are a Doppelganger, aren’t you?” She looked surprised, then smirked cruelly. “When did you figure it out?” System prompt: [Do not use questions when identifying.] Strict. I turned around, pointed at her, and said, “You are a Doppelganger.” [Identification Successful. Urban Legend Unlocked: The Human Mimic.] [In the city’s shadows, Doppelgangers lurk. Among them hides the Human Mimic. Its behavior deviates from the norm, bringing error, chaos, and death to Doppelgangers.] [Tonight, a Doppelganger disturbed the Mimic.] [Legend Unlock Progress: 2%. The Doppelganger fears you.] The Doppelganger before me looked terrified. Inch by inch, it crumbled, turning into a set of summer clothes that the system absorbed. I pulled up the description: [Congratulations, you have acquired Identity 1: Incomplete Doppelganger (Mimic Form). She was a failure even among her kind.] [Note: Identity becomes invalid if exposed.] [But don’t worry. Beneath the Doppelganger skin lies the Human Mimic.] 3 “Did you guys hear? Someone from Room 305 went missing.” As soon as I got back to the dorm, my roommate Sarah brought up the news. “Is it that tall, skinny girl?” Emily asked. Sarah looked at her. “Oh, you knew too?” Jessica put down her study materials. “Is this a big deal? Maya, have you heard?” I shook my head. “Nope.” Thinking to myself, Is this related to the Doppelgangers? Sarah looked at us. “Her sister came to the school demanding answers. It might blow up depending on how the admin handles it.” Emily tutted. “Her RA is weird too. The girl’s been gone for two weeks and he didn’t even think to look for her.” Sarah joked, “Maybe he’s a Doppelganger?” My heart skipped a beat. “It’s possible.” She laughed. “I didn’t mean the ones from your game.” I put my suspicion aside. It wasn’t easy to explain Doppelgangers right now. I could show off my adjustable eyes, but that would probably get me chains in a research lab, not understanding. Before the truth surfaced, I had to be careful. I asked, “What’s the RA’s name again?” Emily recalled, “Something like Lee… Fly?” Jessica added, “Lee Xinfei. He’s the advisor for the music club. He’s a nice guy, don’t spread rumors.” I looked at Jessica. I noticed she was watching a lecture video at 1x speed on her laptop. She had headphones on earlier, so I hadn’t noticed. If I recall correctly, she always watches videos at 2x speed. Noticing my gaze, she asked, “What are you looking at, Maya?” I laughed it off. “Nothing, just spacing out.” If she had already been replaced, the situation was worse than I thought. The invasion might have started a long time ago. After lights out, I put my pillow at the foot of the bed, lay facing the other way, and covered my head completely with the duvet. Basically reversing my sleeping position. A normal person wouldn’t do this. I was just testing. Then, the sound I didn’t want to hear rang out: [Mimic Points +1. A Doppelganger witnessed this. It is confused.] I shivered. This meant one of my roommates was gone forever. I dumped 20 points into my “Arms.” I hoped for a strength boost. I needed to protect myself and get revenge. [Arms +20. Your arm joints can now bend freely. Please ignore the clicking sounds.] [Action Unlocked: Handstand. Movement speed increased by 50% while in a handstand.] [Action Unlocked: Crawl. You can briefly cling to walls while crawling.] [Passive Unlocked: Fear Harvest. Reaching 90% triggers a random effect.] Looking at the list, I pondered. Seems like hitting 20 points triggers a major change. I had 6 points left. I’d save them. I had skills now, but couldn’t use them yet. It was a sleepless night. Excitement, fear, sadness, and hatred mixed together. I decided to text my boyfriend, warning him about the Doppelgangers. At 1 AM, he replied: “My roommate sucks at gaming, he must be a Doppelganger.” How to explain? “Not internet slang. The horror game kind. You streamed those games, you know them.” He understood. “The monsters that mimic humans?” I sent a thumbs-up emoji. “Like the Mandela Catalogue, but maybe worse.” I sent him a graphic: Check for biological inconsistencies. Check for stiff movements or expressions. Check for repetitive speech patterns. Check if they stare at you constantly, causing unease. Look for tiny non-human traits. A while later, he replied, “Actually, it is weird. Star is left-handed, but he smokes with his right hand. Today he used his left.” “Is he a Doppelganger?” I sent several messages after that, but he didn’t reply. My eye twitched. Did something happen? The next morning, he replied, “Fell asleep last night. Tell me more later.” Eating breakfast downstairs, he asked, “You know a lot about this?” Alarm bells rang. Was he replaced? “Not much more than you.” He nodded. “There haven’t been any new Doppelganger games in three years. Why bring it up?” “I’m replaying old ones.” He looked disappointed. “Thought there was a new game to stream. My follower count is dropping.” His logic seemed sound, but I had my own test. “Come with me to the car wash.” He was surprised. “You bought a car? Did you win the lottery? Don’t forget me when you’re rich. I can call you Mom if the breakup fee is high enough.” In my bag were two black rooks from a Xiangqi (Chinese Chess) set. I planned to use them on Jessica, but he was first. At the car wash, he asked, “Where’s the car? We walked here.” I pulled out the two chess pieces (which are called ‘Cars’ in Chinese). “Wash these cars.” He gave me the Nick Young question mark face. ??? “You’re hilarious.” “Find a tap and wash them yourself, don’t prank the workers.” I stared into his eyes, heart pounding. No system prompt. I sighed in relief. “Never mind. Let’s go.” He looked at me. “You’re acting weird. Are you a Doppelganger?” I hesitated, but decided not to reveal my identity. “Just be careful. Some have infiltrated.” He looked down at me. “Are you tired lately?” I felt the difficulty of convincing him. I could convince anyone easily, I just chose not to. Selfishness won over love. “Just keep an eye out.” He smiled. “I’m a horror game streamer. Don’t worry.” After parting ways, I met up with Jessica to go shopping. My next move: buy the same item repeatedly at the same stall. After buying lilies for the sixth time at the corner florist, the prompt chimed: [Mimic Points +10.] [Over ten Doppelgangers witnessed this.] 4 I froze, holding the flowers. I scanned the florist, Jessica, and the bustling street outside. Jessica complained, “If you like them so much, buy more. I’m losing my mind here.” The clerk kept her customer service smile, but her eyes were weird. “Enough. Let’s go back.” Back in the dorm, I threw all the lilies in the trash, put the empty vase on the balcony, and filled it to the brim with water. Jessica stared at me like the screaming marmot meme. “Huh?!” System: [Mimic Points +10. The Doppelganger’s brain has been impacted. It cannot believe what it is seeing is real and not a hallucination.] I smiled at her. Gotcha. As I went to close the door, she quietly locked it. The other two roommates were out and wouldn’t be back soon. She was thinking the same thing I was. I smiled and didn’t call her out. Jessica walked up to me. “Maya, I lied yesterday. I know something about the missing girl.” I feigned surprise. “Why didn’t you say so?” She looked around and whispered, “Because one of the other two is a Doppelganger.” The weasel paying respects to the chicken. I sneered internally but kept a straight face. “How can Doppelgangers be real?” She looked anxious. “You have to believe me. Her death is related to them.” “She died?” Jessica nodded. “I saw it. Two weeks ago, I went to Mr. Lee’s office about the choir. I saw that girl leaving.” “She mentioned our room. She said: ‘Mr. Lee, someone in 301 is following me.’” “Mr. Lee told her to calm down, said it was impossible.” “She said: ‘I’ll find proof!’” I said, “That doesn’t prove she’s dead.” Jessica looked at me. “I have proof. Under Emily’s bed. Go look if you don’t believe me.” Unsure of her game, I shook my head. “I can’t rummage through people’s stuff.” She looked exasperated. “Why are you so stubborn!” Jessica stood up, went to Emily’s bed, and pulled out a human skin. “See? Believe me now?” I looked at her strangely. “But that’s your bed.” She smiled sinisterly. “Yes, it is.” I bent down to look. My two eyeballs popped out like ping pong balls and rolled towards her, staring straight up. I stood up, empty sockets facing her. “My eyes fell out. Can you pick them up for me?”

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My best friend Claire and I had our dream wedding, marrying the Miller brothers. I married Joe, the swimmer; she married Liam, the surgeon. But their childhood sweetheart, Scarlett, crashed our joint honeymoon. During a rafting trip, we were all thrown into the river. The brothers dove in—but swam only to Scarlett, leaving us to the rapids. We were pulled from the water, bleeding heavily. Paramedics called our husbands. Mine snapped, “Sienna, must you be so needy? Scarlett’s in the hospital. Be considerate for once!” Claire’s husband was just as cold: “This better be important.” Told we were miscarrying and needed surgery, they both sneered, “If you’re going to lie, be believable. A honeymoon baby was a mistake anyway.” Signing the consent forms alone, Claire and I made a silent pact. We were done. 1 The first thing I did after waking up from the anesthesia was call Joe to demand a divorce. He finally answered on the seventh call, his voice dripping with impatience. “What do you want now? Are you ever going to stop?” We weren’t even through our honeymoon, and he already despised me this much. I heard a woman’s soft cry in the background, followed by the urgent, caring voices of Joe and Liam. Swallowing the bitterness that rose in my throat, I cut to the chase. “The honeymoon’s over. As soon as we’re back, I’m filing for divorce.” There was a sharp intake of breath on his end, then an explosion of rage. “Sienna, are you insane? I told you, Scarlett is in the hospital! I have to be here for her.” “None of this would have happened if you and Claire hadn’t insisted on sharing our raft! How else would Scarlett have fallen in?” he yelled. “It’s bad enough you don’t give a damn about her, but now you’re pulling this jealous stunt? I married you, just like you always wanted. Isn’t that enough? Why do you have to be so petty?” “You’re right,” he spat. “The honeymoon is over. Take your pathetic best friend and get lost. Just stay the hell away from me and my brother!” He hung up before I could say another word. That’s when I realized. He hadn’t married me because he wanted to. He’d married me to grant my wish. He seemed to have forgotten he was the one who once swore he’d never marry anyone but me. And the rafting trip? It was Scarlett who had insisted on it. All she had to do was say she wanted to go, and Joe and Liam made it happen. If it wasn’t for her, Claire and I would have never set foot in that raft. Besides, a four-person raft was the perfect size. Scarlett was the extra passenger, yet Claire and I were the ones who were thrown away. After falling into the water, the rapids spun us around until we were dizzy and disoriented. We swallowed mouthful after mouthful of river water, our struggles growing weaker. At one point, my head was about to smash against a rock, but Claire managed to pull me away just in time, her own body taking the brunt of the impact. Who could have known that the babies we had longed for would arrive so quietly, only to be torn away just as silently? A tragically perfect mirror of our marriages. Claire woke up after me, only to find she couldn’t even reach Liam. He had blocked her number. We just stared at each other, silent, as tears streamed down our faces. Just then, a notification for a trending video popped up on my phone. I opened it. It was a video of the Miller brothers’ heroic river rescue, and it had gone viral. In the clip, Joe and Liam worked together, lifting a terrified Scarlett out of the raging water. No matter how powerful the current, they refused to let her go. Once on shore, she murmured something about her chest hurting, and Joe immediately began performing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Liam was right there beside him, meticulously disinfecting and bandaging a barely visible scratch on her arm. The comments section was flooded. Thousands of women wished they were Scarlett, to be saved so valiantly by two gorgeous men. Scarlett herself commented under the viral video: They saved my life… how can I ever repay them? Taking suggestions! Urgent! Her comment was immediately pinned to the top with a flood of likes. The internet had spoken. A debt like that can only be paid back one way! With your body! Two ridiculously hot heroes? Go for it, girl! Don’t hesitate! You snooze, you lose! Scarlett replied coyly to her new fans: Well, if you all insist! Get the wedding bells ready, everyone! So, a love triangle wasn’t crowded after all. It was our marriages, Claire’s and mine, that had made their perfect trio feel cramped. No one noticed the two other figures in the video, being swept further and further downstream. Just like Joe and Liam, the world only had eyes for Scarlett. Well, if they wanted a show, we would give them one. With a shared, unspoken understanding, Claire and I posted our own comments under the video. Just a heads-up to the two heroes: let us know when you have a free moment to sign divorce papers. Wouldn’t want to get in the way of your real honeymoon. Scarlett’s confidence came from the brothers’ blatant favoritism. If they loved her so much, why had they married us in the first place? The moment we posted, our inboxes exploded. Mindless internet trolls told us to get out of the way and let true love run its course. A few kind souls offered their sympathy. And Joe, who hadn’t contacted me in two days, called me instantly, his voice a torrent of fury. “Sienna, who gave you permission to run your mouth online? Can you not survive a single day without throwing a jealous fit?” “Scarlett can’t swim! The situation was critical! Was I supposed to let her drown while you saved her?” “She would be dead if we hadn’t saved her! Would you have given your life for hers? Is that what you wanted?” “The rescue team got to you. You’re perfectly fine, so stop your whining. And you paid a doctor to fake a miscarriage? There’s a limit, Sienna.” “You and Claire are going to delete those comments, and then you’re going to record a public apology to Scarlett. If one more person calls her a homewrecker because of you, I’ll make you regret it.” This was the first time he had reached out to me since the accident. Not to ask if we were hurt—he assumed that since we could swim and the professionals had arrived, the worst we’d suffered was swallowing a little dirty water. He didn’t care that his demand for an apology would only fuel the online mob calling for our heads. His only concern was protecting Scarlett’s reputation. But wasn’t forcing her way into two marriages the very definition of a homewrecker? The man I had loved for five years truly had no heart for me. A five-year marathon, finally ending with the wedding he’d promised. And now, not even two weeks later, the happy marriage I’d dreamed of was ending with the death of my child. Maybe our babies knew. Maybe they decided to leave the moment they realized their fathers wouldn’t choose their mothers. The brothers had been clear: they would have made us get rid of a honeymoon baby anyway. Even without the accident, our children were never meant to be. Joe was still on the line, waiting for me to break down, to apologize, to beg. His impatience was palpable. “I’m talking to you! Are you mute?” A cold laugh escaped my lips. “Are you deaf? I said, we’re getting a divorce.” 2 With me, Joe was usually a man of few words. Even during arguments, he preferred to let things cool down. The only exception was Scarlett. When it came to her, he could unleash a firestorm of rage at me. And it always ended with me being the one to apologize. I loved him, so I always gave in. I believed that since he had promised to marry me, he would honor it. Looking back, a clean break would have been kinder. On the other end of the line, Joe’s breathing grew heavy. He was clearly enraged by my defiance. “Sienna, I hate being threatened. I brought you on this honeymoon as a courtesy, not so you could compete with Scarlett like some catty teenager. Why do you have to be so damn insecure? My own brother is at his wit’s end because of your brainless friend. If you keep this up, don’t blame me when this is all over.” “Oh, it’ll be over, Joe,” I said calmly. “The moment the divorce is final.” He was stunned into silence for a second, then he hung up and immediately video-called me. His face was a thundercloud, a clear sign he was at the end of his rope. “Say that again. You want a divorce?” he snarled. “Did you think marriage was a game? You were the one rushing to the altar, and now you’re the one screaming for a divorce. Are you trying to make a fool out of me?” “You’re almost thirty, throwing tantrums and getting jealous over nothing. Who else would have married you? No one wants a woman like you!” He had spent five years emotionally manipulating me about my desire to get married. He knew exactly where to stick the knife. “What’s wrong with being almost thirty? It’s not a death sentence. And it’s not like you’re the last man on earth. And even if you were, I’d still divorce you.” Because of them, because of their choice, Claire and I had almost died, taking our unborn children with us. I would rather die than stay married to him. Marrying Joe had once been my greatest dream. I’d ignored my parents’ warnings, determined to have him. If I could be stubborn enough to marry him, I could be resolute enough to leave him. He was the wall I had to run into. Now, bruised and broken, I finally understood: marrying a man who doesn’t truly love you is a lifetime of misery. Before the wedding, no matter how much I fought with him over Scarlett, I never once considered leaving. I foolishly believed that being his first real love made me special. It wasn’t until he swam toward her, watching me get swept away without a flicker of concern, that I finally understood my place. I was just something to keep his bed warm. “Sienna, you’re not a child anymore. Are you really going to throw away our marriage over something so trivial?” Trivial. Watching me nearly die was trivial. “Yes,” I said. “For this one, trivial thing.” He once draped his swimming medal around my neck and joked that if my mother and I were drowning, he was fast enough to save us both. I was so touched at the time. I didn’t need him to lie and say he’d save me first; those were just words. But I never imagined that when a real-life drowning scenario played out, he would swim to his childhood sweetheart without a second thought. For him, there had only ever been one right answer. I was the wrong one. Two weeks ago, at our wedding, he took my hand from my father and promised to protect me for the rest of his life. His ‘rest of his life’ was short. It lasted fifteen days. “Fine! Have it your way! We’ll get a divorce. But don’t you come crawling back to me, because I never go back for seconds.” He ended the video call abruptly. I knew why. In the background, I’d heard Scarlett’s sweet voice, telling him she was thirsty. One word from her, and Joe would give her the world. He was an expert in the water, yet he hadn’t noticed that Claire and I were in real trouble. He didn’t even notice I was lying pale in a hospital bed on his video screen. Before Scarlett returned, he had been lukewarm, but he would at least stay up all night with me if I had a fever. We had been in love once, for a little while. Now, that love was gone, washed away. All it took was one look from Scarlett, and I lost everything. Joe’s voice had been loud. Claire, lying in the bed next to me, had heard every word. She crawled onto my bed and hugged me, her body shaking with angry sobs. “Sienna, we were so blind. How could we have mistaken those scumbags for the loves of our lives?” Before I could comfort her, her phone started ringing incessantly. Liam, apparently willing to unblock her just to give Scarlett a victory, was calling. Tears streamed down Claire’s face. She meant to reject the call, but a teardrop landed on the screen, and her swipe accidentally answered the video chat. “Why are you crying, Claire? Do you think red, puffy eyes are going to make me forgive your monumental screw-up?” Liam’s face filled the screen, twisted with contempt. “If you and Sienna are so bored, go find your own fun. Go to a club, hire a male stripper for all I care. But you do not get to drag Scarlett’s name through the mud online!” “She poured her heart and soul into planning this trip for us, and this is how you repay her? By getting her torn apart by strangers online? Do you have any conscience at all?” Claire’s tears became a torrent. 3 Her crying didn’t stop Liam. It only fueled his tirade, as if he and his brother wouldn’t rest until they had verbally beaten us into submission. “Don’t just sit there and cry. If you weren’t my wife, I’d give you a taste of your own medicine. With my brother’s and my reputation, turning the internet against you would take minutes.” “If I were you, I’d be crawling over here to beg for Scarlett’s forgiveness, and then I’d get the hell out of sight. Crying won’t solve anything.” Claire hadn’t even wanted to answer. Seeing her get ripped to shreds without saying a single word, a protective fury surged through me. I snatched the phone. “Liam, you’re a bastard, just like your brother. Go file the damn papers!” Claire found her voice, a choked sob. “Liam, I want a divorce!” After the call, she was a wreck, trembling with a mixture of grief and anger. I held her tight, and we cried together, letting it all out. Who would have thought? A celebrated swimming prodigy and a life-saving surgeon, leaving their own wives to die. Their polished public images had charmed everyone, including us. But we were the only ones who knew the ugliness that lay beneath the surface. “Sienna, maybe this is a blessing in disguise,” Claire whispered, her voice raw. “At least we see them for who they are now. We don’t have to waste our lives, or bring children into a loveless marriage.” “Claire, I’m so glad you can see it that way. I was so afraid you wouldn’t be able to let Liam go…” She had chased after him since she was a teenager. That kind of first love is hard to forget. She had dedicated more than a decade of her life to him, only for it to end like this. “Sienna, a heart doesn’t turn to ice in one day. I don’t regret marrying him, and I certainly don’t regret divorcing him. It was my choice, and now I’m choosing to cut my losses.” We held each other again, drawing strength from one another. Our marriages were over. We had accepted that the moment we woke up from surgery. Our only regret was for the two small lives that had flickered briefly inside us, sacrifices on the altar of our failed relationships. We prayed they would find happier homes next time. Composing ourselves, we began preparing for the divorces. Being newlyweds, there were no complicated assets to divide. All we needed were their signatures and a trip to the courthouse. Just as we finished drafting the agreements, we both received notifications on our phones. It was from a social media app. Our husbands, using their verified public accounts, had replied directly to our comments under the viral video. Joe Miller: My wife gets a little jealous sometimes and likes to make a big deal out of small things. If you have questions, ask me. Please don’t attack an innocent person! Liam Miller: My wife and sister-in-law are both excellent swimmers, and they were immediately picked up by the professional rescue team. They weren’t hurt. Please don’t get carried away by their little joke. They even posted a group photo of the four of us from earlier in the trip, trying to prove we were fine. Their posts ignited a firestorm. The internet collectively decided we were manipulative drama queens, trying to piggyback on Scarlett’s newfound fame. After all, she had leaned into the viral moment, building a brand and gaining hundreds of thousands of followers. I checked my messages and saw Joe had been demanding my login credentials. Because I hadn’t deleted the comment and apologized, he was going to log in as me and do it himself. I had to laugh. He would literally walk through fire for Scarlett. For me, there wasn’t an ounce of sincerity. All my passwords were our anniversary dates. He had forgotten. Thank god he forgot. I can’t imagine the ways he would have publicly humiliated me to appease her. Their self-righteous declarations online showed a complete disregard for the torrent of abuse we would face. It was just like in the river—they had left us to drown. You two bitches should just die. Threatening divorce like it’s a joke. You think you’re so special? Get a real divorce then, or I’ll curse you out myself! What did your husbands do wrong, you psycho? They saved someone! You’re fine, so stop being so bitter! Attention-seeking whores, get a divorce and leave those poor men alone. I can picture your ugly, jealous faces. You two are so obsessed with each other, why don’t you just get together and make room for the real queen! The internet may have rules, but online mobs don’t need a reason to attack. The pain of the drowning, the miscarriage, the decision to divorce… it was a private agony that only Claire and I could understand. Joe and Liam couldn’t see the hospital beds we were lying in, but their indifference was one thing. To actively lie and paint us as villains was pure poison. We looked at the flood of hate pouring into our phones. We were done being punching bags. If the brothers wanted to weaponize the internet to protect Scarlett, we weren’t going to just lie down and take it. We took a picture of our surgery consent forms—the ones detailing the procedures for our miscarriages—and sent them directly to our husbands.

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When I lost the baby, Ethan wept outside the delivery room. Even the nurses were touched, whispering enviably, “Your husband loves you so much. You’re lucky.” I looked at Ethan, who was carefully blowing on a spoonful of soup to cool it down for me. “Yeah, I am.” But later, I saw a field of red roses covering an entire hillside. And I saw him standing there, shouting, “I love you!” to the girl who killed our child. 01 Ethan had been incredibly busy lately. Busy meeting clients, busy with board meetings, busy with “networking.” He’d come home in the middle of the night, reeking of alcohol. “Chloe, I’m so tired.” He would kiss me on the forehead. “But when I think of you and the baby, it’s all worth it.” I would gently stroke my belly, looking at him with heartache as he passed out from exhaustion. This was our third year of marriage. Finally, we were having a child. Ethan and I met in college. Relying on his sharp business acumen and my unwavering backend support, we built our startup from a garage project into a thriving company. Two years ago, we actually conceived. But back then, the company was in a critical growth phase. We were running ourselves ragged, flying across the country every other day. “Let’s not keep it,” I had said, cupping Ethan’s face, my voice firm but shaking. “We can have children later. But this opportunity for the company… it’s once in a lifetime.” Ethan’s eyes had turned red. I knew how hungry he was for success. We had poured our blood and sweat into this business. I couldn’t let my personal desires destroy the hard work of so many employees. Even though I loved kids, for the sake of our future, I gave up that first pregnancy. Now, “Ethan & Co.” was stable. We were finally getting our wish—soon to be a family of three. Even though I was only four months along, Ethan had banned me from doing any work or chores since the day the stick turned pink. Buzz. My phone lit up on the nightstand. I quickly silenced it, terrified of waking Ethan. It was a picture message. I clicked it open. It was a photo, taken at a tilted, secretive angle. Across a candlelit table sat a man. The photographer was clearly a woman—her hand was visible in the corner, slender, with an intricate manicure and a distinctive crystal charm bracelet. But my eyes were glued to the man’s hand across from her. On his wrist was the diamond-encrusted Cartier watch I had given Ethan for his birthday just days ago. My heart started hammering against my ribs. I zoomed in. On the man’s index finger, there was a faint, white scar. It was Ethan. That scar was from our first year of marriage. I couldn’t mistake it. Back then, the company was just starting, and we needed every penny for capital. We lived in a cramped studio apartment on the outskirts of the city to save on rent. The building was ancient, and the wiring was shot. One night, the power cut out while Ethan was chopping vegetables. He sliced his finger open in the dark. I scrambled to find the first aid kit by the light of my phone screen, bandaging him up with trembling hands. We sat in the dark, eating cold sandwiches because the electric stove wouldn’t work. “Chloe,” his voice had been dry and raspy. “I’m sorry I’m making you suffer like this.” “One day, I promise, I’ll give you the happiest life imaginable.” I had leaned my head on his shoulder. “I know.” I believed in that future. And true to his word, we eventually got that life. Until that hand appeared in another woman’s photo. 02 When Ethan woke up the next morning, I had already made oatmeal. Watching him scroll through his phone with a faint smile, I asked, casually as I could, “Who was the dinner with last night?” Ethan glanced at me. “The General Manager of OmniCorp. You’ve met her.” I had met her. The GM of OmniCorp was indeed a young woman. I nodded and didn’t say anything else. Ethan put down his spoon. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” I said softly. “Just try not to drink so much next time.” “I know. The Omni contract is still up in the air. I have to go meet her again today to finalize terms.” I cleared the table. “Okay. I have my prenatal checkup this afternoon. Are you free?” Ethan walked over, wrapped his arms around me from behind, and kissed my cheek. “Babe, this partnership is make-or-break. Can you drive yourself to the clinic this one time? I’ll go with you next month, I promise.” I looked up at him. “But the doctor said these first few months are crucial. I really wanted you there.” Ethan looked me in the eye. “Chloe, please. Be reasonable.” That phrase. It sounded so familiar. A few months ago, when we found out I was pregnant, he used that same tone. “Chloe, I want you to step back from the company for a while.” “The stress is too much. I’m worried about you.” I was surprised. I had weathered the stormiest days of our startup; I wasn’t fragile. “It’s fine, I can—” “Chloe,” he had looked at me with intense seriousness. “I don’t want anything to happen to our baby.” “Please. Be reasonable.” Seeing his determination, I had agreed. Just like today. He smiled, coaxed me into eating a few more bites, and left for the office. I got dressed and headed to the hospital. That drive would change my life forever. 03 I was waiting at a red light when the car behind me slammed into my bumper without braking. The impact was massive. Inertia threw me forward, and despite the seatbelt, my lower abdomen slammed hard against the steering wheel console. A sharp, tearing pain ripped through me. My vision blurred. The driver of the other car ran up and tapped on my window. I used every ounce of strength to pop the door open. “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking at the light…” It was a young, pretty girl. Her sweet, apologetic smile vanished instantly, replaced by horror. “Oh my god… you’re bleeding…” she shrieked. I looked down. Blood was soaking the beige car seat. My baby! Panic, cold and sharp, woke me up. “Call 911! Now!” I screamed. “No, wait, the ambulance will take too long. Get in my car, I’ll drive you to the ER! It’s two blocks away!” The girl hesitated, looking terrified. “I… I’m scared to move you…” I roared at her, “Drive! My baby is dying!” Frightened by my hysteria, she helped me into her passenger seat. She was sobbing as she started the car, but instead of focusing, she called her boyfriend. “Babe, I accidentally hit a pregnant lady’s car… she’s bleeding a lot… I’m driving her to the hospital, what do I do? I’m so scared…” She listened to the voice on the other end, calming down slightly. I was frantically trying to call Ethan. Line busy. Again. Line busy. Pick up, Ethan! Our baby! I dialed the office line in desperation. “Put Ethan on the phone! It’s an emergency!” My assistant sounded confused. “One second… wait, he was just here. Where did he go? He literally just vanished.” “Find him and tell him to call me!” I yelled and hung up. We arrived at the ER. Nurses rushed me onto a gurney. The diagnosis came quickly: severe trauma caused a placental abruption. I had lost the baby. Lying on the hospital bed, moments before surgery to remove the tissue, I heard the girl whining to her boyfriend on the phone in the hallway. “Can you hurry up? I’m really scared. What if she tries to sue me for everything?” The anesthesia kicked in. A single tear rolled down my temple. I’m sorry, baby. 04 When I opened my eyes, Ethan was sitting by my bed, eyes rimmed with red. “Ethan…” My voice was a croak. He quickly poured me water. “Chloe, I’m so sorry. I was in a meeting…” I paused for a long time before finding the strength to speak. “The baby… the baby is gone.” Ethan took a deep breath and forced a pained smile. “I know. Chloe, it was an accident. Nobody wanted this. Don’t worry, we can have another one.” “Where is she?” I suddenly remembered the driver. “The girl who rear-ended me.” Ethan stroked my hair. “I told her to go home. The police contacted me about the accident report. It’ll depend on their investigation. Having her here would just upset you, so I sent her away.” Tears began to fall again, soaking the pillow. “Why? She should pay for this!” Ethan was silent for a moment. “In these cases, it’s usually just financial compensation.” I closed my eyes. “I wish she could go to jail…” “Chloe, jail won’t bring the baby back. It’s pointless to fixate on punishment.” I opened my eyes, looking at him in disbelief. “Pointless? She killed my child! She just pays a fine and walks away? What about me? Can money fix this?” Ethan frowned. “That’s how the law works. Chloe, listen to me. We will have other children. That girl is in her early twenties. A criminal record would ruin her entire life.” He sighed. “I know you’re grieving. I’m hurting too. Just focus on getting better. Don’t think about the messy stuff.” I stared at Ethan, trying to find the man I married. He looked the same. But his words… they didn’t sound like him. Was I just overwhelmed with grief? Was I being unreasonable to want someone to pay for their mistake? Seeing my expression shift, Ethan gently took my hand. “Chloe, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

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