Category: English

My mother and I were reborn together. In our past life, she gave everything to her precious son. When his love life failed, he snapped, killed someone, and went to prison. To raise money to bail him out, she drowned me in the bathtub. Later, she was beaten to death by the victim’s parents. After rebirth, Mom changed completely. “I’m going to make up for all the years I’ve wronged you, sweetie.” Everyone says she’s turned over a new leaf, realizing how good her daughter is. But I don’t believe it. 1 In my previous life, Mom tricked me into coming home for Christmas, claiming she wanted us to be together. She ended up drowning me in the bathtub. “I gave birth to you, I raised you. Your money, everything you have, belongs to me and your brother!” Water filled my nose and ears. I wanted to turn and ask why she was doing this, but I could only choke on the water, dying in silence. “My girlfriend is coming over for Christmas. She said she won’t accept living under the same roof with anyone else, especially you!” My arm was yanked violently, snapping me back from the blurry memories. In front of me, my brother, Tyler, was yelling at me for his precious girlfriend. “Pfft.” “What are you laughing at?” This idiot. He still treats that girlfriend like a treasure. Later, when he found out she was just using him as a rebound, he stabbed her to death right on the street. That was why Mom was so desperate for my inheritance—to get him out of jail. “Hurry up and move out. No, leave now!” Seeing me silent and just smiling at him, he got impatient. He dragged my arm, trying to throw me out the door. “Stop it!” “How can you talk to your sister like that? This is her home, no one can kick her out!” I froze. Mom was defending me against her precious son? In my past life, Mom was the one who personally kicked me out. “You’re the older sister, you should be more understanding.” She had thrown my few clothes into a trash bag. And threw me out along with it. I will never forget the look in her eyes as she closed the door. Like she was looking at a bag of garbage tossed into the dumpster. “Mom, didn’t you say last night she had to go? Why are you protecting her now?” “Jessica said she won’t live with a sister-in-law, and she’s carrying your grandkid! Whose side are you on?” Tyler looked at me smugly. He knew how much Mom wanted a grandson. But only I noticed the twitch on Mom’s face. “Your sister is my flesh and blood, of course I’m protecting her.” “As for Jessica… my precious son, you’re still young, don’t be impulsive.” “Mom, what are you saying? Weren’t you the one telling me to marry Jessica ASAP?” I leaned against the doorframe, watching them argue coldly. Now I was sure. Mom, like me, had been reborn. 2 But I don’t believe a leopard can change its spots. Mom protecting me like this… she must want something. “Come with me.” Mom pulled me back to my room. The moment she opened the door, a smell of stale mold hit me. The room was dark, piled high with old cardboard boxes and junk. In my past life, when I bought my own place, my only requirement was good lighting. I was sick of living in the dark. I stood at the door, not moving. Mom realized something, and the smile on her face froze. Awkwardly. “Uh, I’ll clean this room tomorrow. I promise it’ll be spotless.” I didn’t say a word. Even reborn, she wasn’t planning on giving me my room back. She’d rather let Tyler use it as a game room. Mom pulled me to sit on the creaky folding bed, her eyes full of concern. “Did you get your job offer?” “Yeah, why?” “You don’t have to leave. Just pay $300 a month for rent, and you can stay in this room!” The door was shoved open by Tyler. “$300?” Tyler stood there, hands in pockets, looking impatient. “What, too expensive? If it’s too expensive, get out.” Although I absolutely could not lose this house. But. “For $300, I can rent a decent studio. Why would I live in your pile of junk?” Tyler opened his mouth to argue. “Shut up and get out!” Mom scolded him while frantically signaling him with her eyes. Tyler huffed, refusing to move. Clearly determined to kick me out. Mom looked panicked. “He’s just being childish, don’t take it to heart.” I was more and more certain she wanted something from me. An unknown enemy is the scariest. Now that I knew she had an agenda, I felt relieved. “If he’s childish, teach him. If you also think I’m in the way, Mom, I’ll leave right now.” As soon as I said that, Mom panicked and grabbed me. “Don’t go, if you go, I…” The rest of her words stuck in her throat. I stared into Mom’s eyes, pressuring her. Mom bit her lip hard. Slap! A crisp sound interrupted Tyler’s whining. Tyler froze, then clutched his face, looking incredulous. “You hit me for this bitch?” “I can’t listen to your rudeness anymore.” I pretended to leave. Slap! This slap, Mom used full force. Tyler’s face swelled up instantly. “Don’t you dare make a scene!” “Look at yourself! She’s your sister, how can you push her like this for an outsider?” Tyler was unwilling but dared not talk back. He stared at me for a few seconds, then stormed out, slamming the door. Mom wanted to chase after him but hesitated because of me. Her face was full of conflict and pain. “Um, I have to go out for a bit. Don’t mind him, stay home and be good.” At Tyler’s door, Mom whispered. “Be good, Mommy’s going to buy you medicine.” Indeed, her precious son. Just a slap and she’s heartbroken. I remember when I was little, I was so hungry I ate a piece of bread Tyler didn’t want. Mom slapped me twelve or thirteen times in a row. She didn’t show a shred of mercy then. Mom left, and the room fell silent. I looked at the junk-filled room and dialed the number for the Securities and Exchange Commission. “Hello, I’d like to accept the offer.” Then I sent a rejection email to the investment bank. In my past life, to make money for the family faster, I chose the investment bank. Everyone there worked themselves to death for commissions. In a few years, I developed all sorts of stress-related illnesses. “I don’t know what got into Mom to protect her. Don’t worry babe, I’ll make sure she gets out!” 3 Sure enough, his backup arrived shortly. “My grandson and granddaughter-in-law need a new house. They won’t live in this dump! Go get a loan and buy your brother a house!” Grandma stormed in, yelling at me. “Why should I take out a loan for them?” “You’re the older sister! Your brother is getting married, you should contribute! You have a job now, the bank will lend to you. Go do it, stop playing dumb!” Grandma was always so entitled. When I was little, Tyler broke her favorite vase, and she slapped me. “Why didn’t you watch your brother?” Tyler stole the imported candy my teacher gave me for getting first place. “Why are you so stingy as a sister? Suffering is a blessing! Fighting your brother for food, aren’t you afraid your mouth will rot?” This bias ran through my entire childhood. “What does his marriage have to do with me? No money but wants to date, trying to look rich when he’s broke.” Hearing this, Grandma’s face turned livid. She suddenly grabbed my hair. I gasped in pain. “Getting bold, are we? Talking to me like that!” Her other hand grabbed my collar, shaking me violently. “Let go, old hag!” I gritted my teeth and struggled. But she was like a madwoman, cursing non-stop. “Raised you for nothing all these years! Ungrateful wretch, won’t help your brother’s marriage, God will punish you! You’ll get struck by lightning sooner or later.” “Aren’t you afraid Mom will come back and deal with you?” I yelled at Tyler standing nearby. He was playing on his phone. “I don’t know what spell you put on Mom. But even if she dares to talk back to me, can she talk back to Grandma? Our family relies on Grandma’s pension. What can she do to Grandma?” Hearing this, my heart went cold. Grandma’s grip got rougher. My scalp screamed in pain, cold sweat dripping down. “What are you doing!” The door was suddenly pushed open with a bang. Mom rushed over and forcibly pried Grandma’s fingers open. Grandma screamed in pain. “Are you crazy?” Grandma looked at Mom in disbelief, her voice shrill. Tyler’s eyes widened too. “You’re the crazy ones, treating your own family like this for an outsider.” Mom’s tone was rare and firm. The back blocking me felt unfamiliar for a moment. “If you don’t move, don’t ask me for living expenses anymore!” Mom had no income. That was why she had been subservient to Grandma all these years. Mom straightened her back and lifted her chin. “Fine, don’t give it! Think I’ll starve? But if you dare bully my daughter again, don’t blame me for turning nasty!” Grandma trembled with rage, cursing as she slammed the door and left. Tyler looked at Mom, speechless for a long time. “Crazy. You’re definitely crazy.” He smashed his fist on the table and stormed into his room. Only Mom and I were left in the living room. I held my throbbing head, looking up at her. Mom’s face showed a rare softness. She even reached out and gently straightened my messy collar. “It’s okay, Mom’s here.” She had never used such a gentle tone with me before. 4 Neighbors I met these past few days were all emotional. “Your mom really changed. She even talked back to the old lady for you. She never dared to be so tough before! You must be a good daughter to her from now on.” Listening to these words, I just lowered my head and smiled. Mom really was different. When I went to work, breakfast was ready on the table. Before I got off work, she’d text asking what I wanted for dinner. She even washed and folded the old clothes in my closet. These things seemed ordinary, but they used to be exclusive to Tyler. Before, if I came home a little late from school, she wouldn’t even leave me leftovers. Only a sink full of dirty dishes for me to wash. Not to mention the hot milk before bed, that was Tyler’s special treat. For a moment, I almost started to believe she really wanted to make it up to me. Coming home from work, Mom served a plate of braised ribs. “Eat more, you loved this when you were little.” Mom put a rib in my bowl. So she knew. But back then, getting a few bony pieces with barely any meat was already my luckiest day. I took a bite. The taste was exactly as I remembered. Savory, with a hint of sweetness. At night, she brought a glass of hot milk to my bedside, her tone cautious. “Is work tiring these days?” I took a sip of milk. She suddenly sat down and asked casually. “You’ve been at the investment bank for a while now, have you come across any insider stock tips?” My hand paused slightly, the milk rippling in the cup. I looked up at her. Mom’s eyes revealed an unconcealed hunger. That light was greed for money. The same look she had the day she killed me. “No insider tips, just public information.” I didn’t tell her I wasn’t at the investment bank at all. I smiled, hiding my gaze behind lowered lashes. Added a sentence. “But there’s a stock that might rise soon, called ‘ClearView Tech’, heard it’s going to skyrocket.” “Are you sure that’s the name?” She muttered under her breath, nodding repeatedly as she left. “Seems to be this one. This should be the bull stock from the past life.” The next morning, the daily breakfast was gone. When I came home from work, Mom blocked the door. “You have to hand over your salary to me every month from now on.” Her voice was as cold as in countless past days, maybe even harsher. “Everything in the house costs money. You have a job now, you should contribute to the family. Don’t think about hiding private money!” She gave me a cold glare. “Why aren’t you talking? Eating my food, living in my house, and not paying up? Do you think I owe you?” I looked at the familiar disgust on her face. So she didn’t remember which stock was the winner in the past life, so she treated me well to extract information. Now that she had the info, I was useless. Tyler looked smug. “I told you, how could Mom suddenly change and be nice to you? Money-loser, hurry up and earn more money, maybe Mom will reward you with a little motherly love.” “Look at your face that day, were you touched? Hahaha, so funny.” Looking at their faces, my heart was surprisingly calm. Good thing I never truly believed her. Watching Mom and Tyler echo each other, a smile floated onto my lips. ClearView Tech. Mom, buy it hard.

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I am a special kind of “Spirit Bride,” specializing in performing rituals for men who have just died. The ritual, known as “Passing Joy,” involves transferring the luck of the living to the deceased so they can reincarnate well in the next life. I have successively performed this ritual for thirty-seven dead husbands. The fee is $50,000. It requires not only a bowing ceremony with the deceased but also a wedding night—consummating the relationship. Today, I received the order for my thirty-eighth husband. It was a Friday in early July. I had just turned on my phone and selected a photo of a male model to critique with a professional eye when a strange number called. I picked up, and an anxious female voice came from the other end: “Is this Ms. Sarah Green? My son just died. We need a Passing Joy ritual. Is it convenient for you to come over now?” The other party made further demands. They wanted to perform the ritual twice for their son: once at home in the bridal suite, and once at the cemetery. And she promised: after the ritual was completed, she would give me $130,000 as a fee. I hesitated for a moment but agreed. Although I had never taken a job involving two ceremonies before—usually, it’s just once in the bridal suite, and the cemetery is frankly too scary—the money was just too good. For a professional Spirit Bride, there was no reason to refuse. Refusing would not only mean losing money but also letting my reputation gather dust. I instructed the woman on the phone, who had lost her son, to buy several hot water bottles to warm up his body. This was naturally for my own benefit. After all, the ritual involves intimate contact, and I didn’t want to be hugging a cold, stiff corpse when the time came. Keeping the corpse warm makes it feel almost no different from a living person to the touch. After hanging up the phone, I immediately called my boyfriend of three months, Liam. “Let’s break up! You’re too short; you don’t deserve me!” After saying that, I ignored the crazy screaming from Liam on the other end, hung up, and then blocked and deleted his number and social media. As a professional Spirit Bride, I have professional ethics. I never keep two boats afloat at the same time. Before every new ritual, I decisively dump my current living boyfriend. Because the dead deserve respect too. However, most of the time, these living boyfriends are not willing to be dumped by me. Firstly, it might be a matter of pride. Secondly, although we professional Spirit Brides have thin luck due to the rituals, our long-term deep interaction with dead things has caused our bodies to form a special constitution different from ordinary women. Because we carry heavy “Yin” energy, this energy slowly condenses into a “Yin Bead” in the lower abdomen. Those who possess a Yin Bead naturally emit a strange fragrance from their bodies, a scent sufficient to make all men intoxicated and crazy. After dealing with Liam, I sent a WeChat message to my best friend, Chloe. “Girl, I’m getting married. Remember to send a gift!” She replied quickly. First, a “mind-blown” emoji, then a sharp roast: “Sarah Green, do something human for once. This is your thirty-eighth marriage. The money I’ve given you for gifts over the years could buy a car by now!” Of course, despite her roasting, she still sent me a red packet of $30 with a note: “I’m so poor this month I’m eating dirt. This was my last bit of money for underwear!” I thought about it, plucked a strand of my hair, tied two knots in it, took a picture, and sent it to Chloe: “Don’t worry about having no underwear to wear. I’m gifting you a new style of G-string. Am I thoughtful or what?” After sending that, ignoring Chloe’s new round of insults, I packed my luggage, shouldered a hiking backpack, and went out. I followed the location sent by the employer’s family and took a taxi. Two hours later, I arrived at a village in the western suburbs. “Sir, please wait a moment. I’m going to change my clothes in the car!” I said this and opened the hiking bag to take out my gear. The taxi driver had made a few hundred bucks on this trip alone, so his attitude toward me was quite good. Hearing this, he actively got out of the car to give me privacy. A few minutes later, I got out of the car changed. At this moment, I was dressed in a bright red traditional Chinese wedding gown—a Xiuhe suit—wearing a phoenix crown and hairpins, red embroidered shoes on my feet, and a red veil on my head. However, because I still needed to see the road, the veil was not lowered to completely cover my face. The taxi driver stared blankly. “Miss, are you… holding a wedding?” I nodded. “Yes, everyone is waiting for me to perform the ceremony!” The driver was half-surprised, half-judgmental. “Why are you, the bride, alone? Is there no one to pick you up or send you off?” I smiled sweetly. “My husband isn’t a living person, so he can’t come to pick up the bride!” “Holy sh*t!” The driver’s face turned pale. He hurriedly pulled open the door, dived into his car, and sped away in a flash. Following the information provided on the phone, I soon found the old mansion in the village and met the woman who called me. The woman’s name was Peggy. She was in her fifties, dripping with gold and silver, dressed like a wealthy lady, but currently, her face was full of grief. Besides her, there was a middle-aged man. According to Peggy’s introduction, his name was Norman, the master of this mansion and the father of the deceased. After seeing me, Peggy looked me up and down, then nodded, forcing a smile. “Ms. Green is truly beautiful. My son had a hard fate, but at least he has some luck in the end!” Norman also nodded at me. “Sorry to trouble you, Ms. Green!” I nodded slightly. “You are too polite! It’s getting late, let’s hurry up with the ceremony. Where are the things I asked you to prepare?” Peggy said, “Everything is ready!” Saying that, she waved her hand, and someone immediately brought over a large red rooster. I opened my hiking bag, took out a writing brush and red paper, and then asked Peggy for the relevant information, including the name, age, birth date and time, and cause of death. Peggy rambled on, saying a lot in one breath, crying and laughing intermittently. It was clear she was very sorrowful about her son’s sudden death. After she finished, I extracted the following useful information: My prospective husband for this ritual was named Nathan. He was Norman’s only son, twenty-seven years old. After graduating from Tsinghua University, he got his Master’s at Stanford. Born in the year of the Horse, September, between 7 and 9 AM. Died of heart disease. I picked up the brush and wrote Nathan’s name and birth details on the red paper, then pasted it onto the big rooster. Finally, the big red rooster took Nathan’s place and completed the bowing ceremony with me. After bowing to heaven and earth, Peggy led me to the bedroom. Naturally, Nathan’s corpse was waiting for me in the bedroom. Before leaving the bedroom, Peggy earnestly instructed me: “Sarah, having bowed to heaven and earth, you are the wife. Mom will speak frankly. Nathan grew up so big, always busy with his studies and career, he never even had a girlfriend. Mom is begging you, treat him well later, let him have a perfect wedding night experience! Mom will give you an extra $15,000 in a red envelope!” Hearing there was an extra bonus, I immediately stated my position: “Mom, you are too polite. Don’t worry, I guarantee Nathan will be the happiest man tonight! Of course, if you sympathize with us younger generation and insist on giving $30,000, I will definitely work even harder!” The bonus directly doubled! Peggy was probably shocked by my shamelessness, her mouth gaping. After a while, she nodded. “$30,000 is no problem, but I want to make one thing clear. I will bring a doctor over tomorrow morning to check. Sarah, don’t think about fooling me!” “Mom, you have to believe in a daughter-in-law’s professional ethics!” “Mom believes you! By the way, Sarah, give me your phone for safekeeping first. I don’t want certain photos of my son spreading in the future. I hope you can understand!” I could indeed understand this request, so I casually took out my phone and handed it to her. Peggy then left satisfied, thoughtfully closing the door behind her as she went. After Peggy went out, I scanned the furnishings of the bedroom. Two large red candles were lit on the nightstand. A male and a female paper doll with painted red cheeks stood at the head and foot of the bed. This scene might seem weird to others, but I’ve seen it a lot, so I didn’t feel anything special. I walked towards the bed on my own. Finally, I was going to see the object of my ritual this time. I wondered what he looked like. Okay, I admit I’m shallow about looks. I saw a young man lying face up on the bed. His eyes were closed tight, his chest didn’t rise or fall at all; clearly, a genuine corpse. However, even with his eyes closed, one could still see his sword-like eyebrows, thin lips, chiseled face—extremely handsome. And his nose was tall and big. I couldn’t help but reach my hand under his white shirt. First I felt the warm… hot water bottles, and then under the hot water bottles, I felt hard abdominal muscles. I felt around carefully and counted. Tsk, a full eight-pack! The sexual tension was maxed out! “Nathan, nice to meet you. Let me introduce myself, I am Sarah Green, here to pass joy to you. I heard you’ve never had a woman before? You really are a rare man! Now please lie still and don’t move, I’m going to start fulfilling my duties as a Spirit Bride!” Nathan was obedient, lying there honestly without moving a muscle. Of course, I knew a corpse couldn’t move. Saying this was purely to relax the atmosphere and add some flavor, similar to the “you just lie there and let me do the work” scenario. As a professional Spirit Bride, I am diligent and responsible. At this moment, through psychological suggestion, I had safely placed myself in the role of a newlywed wife. Nathan was my husband, and I could do whatever I wanted to him. “Hubby, sleeping in clothes is uncomfortable. Wifey will help you take them off!” After reciting that, I stripped off Nathan’s clothes and pants one by one, stripping him completely bare. “Hubby’s skin is so white, and his body is very fit! Wow! People say those with big noses are gifted, and sure enough, that saying is true!” Then I took off my own clothes, climbed onto the bed, and lay down beside Nathan. “Hubby, have you ever been touched by a woman here? What about here? And here?” “Hubby don’t worry, wifey will be gentle with you!” Because Nathan’s parents had followed my instructions earlier to keep the corpse warm, the body was still soft. To the touch, aside from the body temperature being lower than a normal person, it wasn’t too stiff. Then I turned Nathan over, making him lie face down on the bed. The principle needed here isn’t complicated: blood flows to the lowest point. After a full half-hour, I turned Nathan over again, letting him lie flat. Then I jumped up and straddled Nathan’s waist. Suddenly, my eyes widened. Because I clearly felt Nathan’s waist actively thrust upward once. I gasped subconsciously. And those two paper dolls standing at the head of the bed, unbeknownst to me when, had turned their heads, facing the bed, as if expecting a good show… Enduring the softness in my bones, I quickly rolled off and couldn’t help but put my hand on Nathan’s chest to feel. He still had a heartbeat! I thought it was my illusion, so I pressed my ear against his heart. Listening to that not-so-strong heartbeat, I finally confirmed: this man, he isn’t dead yet! When I touched his body earlier, I actually felt something wasn’t quite right. According to my calculations, this man’s time of death, by now, should have been over five hours ago. A corpse begins to stiffen between half an hour to two hours after death, and the subsequent time involves continuous stiffening and cooling of the body. Even with hot water bottles applied, after so much time, the body couldn’t possibly still retain elasticity like a normal person, nor could every part still hold warmth. This meant that this man had not completely lost his life! It was too late to send him to the hospital now; he might actually kick the bucket on the way. So, I decided to use the first-aid methods I learned in college to try and bring him back. So I rubbed his body to promote blood circulation while using my own body to provide him warmth, and occasionally gave him artificial respiration. After all, I was saving a life, so I didn’t care about the details. Plus, I took hundreds of thousands from them, and he was a super handsome guy, so it wasn’t a loss. After working for about two hours, this handsome guy coughed a few times and finally opened his eyes. I looked surprised and was just about to go out and tell them the good news. I believed my temporary in-laws would be very happy to see their son wake up. Maybe they would even reward me heavily for saving their son. However, just as I got out of bed, the man’s hand grabbed me. “Don’t go out. They… they aren’t good people!” I widened my eyes, not understanding what he meant.

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The day Cayden and I finalized our divorce, I didn’t take either of our children. My five-year-old son, Jim, clutched my hand, refusing to let go. My three-year-old daughter, Sophie, hugged my leg, crying until she was out of breath. But I remained unmoved. Beside me, Cayden’s eyes were red-rimmed. He told me I didn’t deserve to be a mother. I didn’t argue. Three years later, we ran into each other on the street. The three people who had once begged me to stay now had another woman with them. They walked right past me without a single glance. My best friend nudged my shoulder and asked, “Do you regret it?” I smiled. Not a single regret. Not after Cayden had hidden the truth from me, letting his ex-girlfriend live in our home for five years. The moment I learned that, I decided I would never look back. 1 I never imagined that Cayden, the man with whom I had two children, still had an ex-girlfriend he couldn’t forget. He kept it a secret from me, bringing her into our home to live with us for five years. He let her be with my son and daughter from the day they were born. So much so that my mischievous five-year-old son, who listened to no one, obeyed only her. My sweet three-year-old daughter, who wanted no one else to comfort her, would only let her rock her to sleep. At first, I had no idea. But one day, as I was walking Sophie to preschool, we saw a young couple kissing on the sidewalk. My daughter pointed at them, her voice filled with a curious excitement. “Mommy, Daddy and Auntie Eliza do that too.” Halfway through her sentence, she clamped her hands over her mouth. If it weren’t for that gesture, I would have dismissed it as a child’s fantasy. But it was clear my daughter had been told to keep a secret. After that, no matter how much I prodded, she kept her lips sealed. She wouldn’t say another word to me. After dropping Sophie off, I was supposed to go to the office, but instead, I turned the car around and went home. As I pulled into our neighborhood, I saw Cayden’s car parked in front of our house. A chill ran through me. He had left for work before me that morning, without even eating breakfast. Why was he back? And why now, when I was supposed to be gone? I pushed open the door and heard voices coming from the dining room. “Cayden, you’ve had stomach problems since we were dating. If you don’t start taking better care of yourself, I’m going to get angry.” The tone was a playful pout, one I had never heard before. Cayden took a sip of the warm porridge, his voice laced with a similar fondness. “Alright, alright, I came back, didn’t I? You’re the only one who can keep me in line.” I hid behind the door, my hands trembling violently. I couldn’t believe it. This wasn’t the way Cayden spoke to anyone but me. Just as I was about to step inside, I heard Cayden’s voice again, watching the woman bustle around. “Eliza,” he said, his voice laced with concern. “In my heart, you’re no different from my wife. Don’t think of yourself as anything less. “Bringing you here as our ‘housekeeper’ was just an excuse. It was the only way I could keep you close and take care of you. Don’t take the title seriously.” The woman lowered her head. Whether she stumbled or was overcome with emotion, I couldn’t tell. She suddenly buried her face in Cayden’s chest and stayed there. “Cayden, I wanted to,” she murmured. “Being here with you, and with your children… I’m already so happy.” Wasn’t she just? All these years, I thought I had found the perfect, most caring house manager. I didn’t just raise her salary. I was grateful for how she helped with the children, treating her like a sister. My clothes, my makeup, my purses, my jewelry. She could borrow whatever she wanted, use whatever she liked. I never would have imagined it. In my own home, I had been living with the woman my husband loved for five years. I took a deep breath. Stepping into the room and meeting two pairs of startled eyes, I spoke with perfect calm. “Cayden, let’s get a divorce.” 2 If this marriage was a mistake from the start, my only response was to end it immediately. My life is short. My youth is shorter. I have no extra energy to waste on the wrong person. If I made a mistake, then I would correct it. But I had to have custody of our two children. I thought Cayden, a man who could keep his ex-girlfriend by his side for five years, would jump at the chance to divorce me. But he didn’t. The moment I walked in, a look of agony crossed his face. He rushed toward me, his trembling hands gripping my shoulders, refusing to let go, as if I were still the only woman he cherished. “Chloe, don’t talk about divorce. The words alone are enough to shatter my heart.” He sounded like he meant it. But I didn’t believe him. I wrenched myself from his grasp, the revulsion I felt finally boiling over. I slapped him, hard. In five years of marriage, Cayden and I had never once raised our voices at each other. The man sighed, a look of weary resignation on his face. “Chloe, are you calm now? Can you let me explain?” He told me Eliza was, after all, a woman he had once loved. Five years ago, she had been trapped in a bad marriage. After her divorce, she had nowhere to go. He couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. In his explanation, there was no apology, no guilt for deceiving me before we were even married. He still believed he had done the right thing. “Eliza was raised by her grandparents. She’s all alone now. If I don’t take care of her, no one will.” I was stunned by his words. Who was Eliza to him? Why was it his responsibility to care for another woman for the rest of her life? But I didn’t want to ask. I just looked at the woman beside him, sobbing quietly, the very picture of pitiable beauty. “I want her gone today. You can put her up anywhere you like, but I find her presence in this house… disgusting.” The moment I said that, the tenderness in his eyes vanished, replaced by a sharp, cold edge. He could be wronged, but the woman he loved could not. Was that it? I turned, pulling out my phone to call my lawyer as I walked out the door. When I came home that evening, Eliza was still there. She was playing happily with my children, who had been picked up from school early. When she saw me, she smiled as if nothing had happened. “Chloe, want to join us? Look how happy Sophie and Jim are!” As a woman, I could see the challenge in her eyes. Was she flaunting the promise Cayden had made to her? Was this her declaration of war? Unfortunately for her, she chose the wrong tactic. When it comes to people who aren’t worth my time, even fighting back feels like a waste of energy. I pointed to the open door. “Eliza, are you going to pack your bags now, or do you want me to do it for you?” At the sound of my words, my son and daughter, who had been engrossed in their games, dropped their toys. Like two little knights, they stood protectively in front of her. “Mommy, don’t make Auntie Eliza leave! Me and Daddy don’t want her to go!” 3 In that moment, in the clear, innocent eyes of my children, I saw a flicker of hatred for me. They looked as if I were trying to steal their most prized possession, ready to fight me to the death. I blinked back the blurriness in my eyes, a bitter laugh caught in my throat. That bastard, Cayden. He had let my children live under the watch of my rival for five years, without me suspecting a thing. Day and night together, it was impossible for them not to form a bond. My two children were now Eliza’s greatest weapons against me. Cayden emerged from the kitchen. He didn’t look at me. Instead, he patted Jim and Sophie on the head, a gesture of encouragement. “Good job,” he praised. “Daddy’s giving you both an extra big piece of chicken tonight.” Jim puffed out his chest, his face beaming with pride. “Me and Sophie listen to Daddy. We protected Auntie Eliza even when Mommy was being mean to her.” Sophie’s little pink lips formed a pout. She stared at me. “Mommy, if you make Auntie Eliza leave, then you can make me and Jim leave too.” They had drawn their battle lines. And I was the outsider in my own home. It would be a lie to say it didn’t hurt. But they were just children, easily manipulated. I couldn’t blame them. Once they were living with me, they would eventually understand who their real mother was, who loved them most. Only after Sophie had spoken did Cayden finally look at me. He sighed. “Chloe, you see? The children adore Eliza. Why do you have to be the wicked stepmother in this story?” I didn’t want to argue with him about his disgusting behavior in front of the children. I said nothing. My silence must have seemed like surrender. Cayden took my hand and pulled out a chair for me at the dining table. I looked at the feast spread before us. I suddenly remembered. Cayden was an excellent cook, but he rarely cooked. Aside from our children’s birthdays, he often missed my own important celebrations if he was busy. But thinking back now, I realized that for the past five years, on Eliza’s birthday, he had always come home hours early from work. A wave of nausea washed over me. Even after five years of sharing a bed, even after I had borne him two children, did I still mean less to him than Eliza? The thought stunned me. In the end, I was still trapped in the pain Cayden had inflicted. While I was lost in thought, Cayden, Jim, and Sophie had all sat down next to Eliza. The four of them faced me, a clear division between us. I wanted to sweep everything off the table. But watching my children’s eager faces, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. My love for them was my weakness, and it paralyzed me. “I’m tired. You guys eat.” 4 That evening, he took the children out to see a movie. I had planned to talk to them, so I waited in my room. Around nine o’clock, Jim sent me a few photos from his smartwatch. They were selfies, but in the background of every single one, Cayden and Eliza were holding hands. They had taken my children and created a picture-perfect family of four. How many times had this happened during those five years of deception? A wave of disgust rose in my throat. I ran to the bathroom and retched. It was sickening, truly sickening. When Cayden came home, he was clearly smiling. But the moment he saw me, he froze, as if caught red-handed, and the smile vanished. I ignored his guilty conscience and held out my hands. “Jim, Sophie, come upstairs to bed with Mommy.” When Eliza wasn’t involved, the children were still obedient. They each took one of my hands and followed me upstairs. After their bath, I held them close and asked casually, “If Mommy and Daddy were to separate one day, would you want to live with Mommy?” Sophie, my soft, cuddly daughter, hugged me. “I’d live with Mommy,” she said in her milky voice, “but you have to bring Auntie Eliza with us, so Daddy will follow, and we can all be together again.” Jim nudged his sister. “You’re so dumb. If Mommy and Daddy separate, it means they’re getting a divorce. After the divorce, Daddy will marry Auntie Eliza. He won’t live with Mommy anymore.” He rolled over, his back to me, and went back to his tablet. “I’m choosing Daddy. You can have Mommy.” The moment Sophie heard she would have to choose me, she burst into tears. “I don’t want Mommy! I want Auntie Eliza! I want to be with Daddy too!” I never realized how deep a hold Eliza had on my children’s hearts. These past few years, I had been busy with work, but I had never been absent from their lives. I didn’t think I was a bad mother. But their words, even if they were just being childish, set off alarm bells. I immediately put all my work on hold. Before the divorce was final, I devoted myself to being a full-time mother at home. 5 I had already given Cayden the divorce papers. He hadn’t signed them, but as soon as the mandatory waiting period was over, I would file for a court order. He took the papers, his eyes red, his expression pained. “Chloe, can you really be this cruel to me?” he asked. “Yes, I admit I hid my past with Eliza from you before we were married. But I married you, didn’t I? There’s no future for me and her. What are you so worried about?” I watched as he tore the divorce papers to shreds. I hesitated for a moment. “Then throw Eliza out of this house.” His pained expression froze. I could see the hesitation, the conflict, the outright resistance in his eyes. His hands, hanging at his sides, clenched into fists. After a long silence, he finally met my gaze. “Chloe, I promised Eliza I would take care of her for the rest of her life. If I go back on my word now, I wouldn’t be a man of my word.” Faced with a second chance, Cayden once again chose another woman. “Fine. Then let’s get a divorce.” I turned away, a mocking smile on my lips. Even if he had chosen to kick out his ex-girlfriend, I would never have taken him back. I just wanted to see the look on his face. The look on the face of a man who claimed to love me while betraying me. I wanted to burn this disgusting moment into my memory and sever the last remaining thread of affection I had for him. Since I had been home all day, the children had become very attached to me. Jim’s birthday was coming up, and I planned to use the party to win them over completely. 6 The neighborhood kids and their parents were starting to arrive. I had just finished my makeup and changed into my dress. Before I could go downstairs, Jim and Sophie pulled me into the bedroom. Seeing their excited little faces, I thought they had a secret to share. I knelt down, and in an instant, they turned and bolted from the room. The door slammed shut. For a moment, I thought it was just a game. I smiled. “Come on, you two, open the door for Mommy,” I cooed. “Our friends are waiting.” They didn’t answer, just giggled from the other side of the door. I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Then, Cayden’s stern voice. “What is this nonsense? Who told you to lock your mother in her room?” He jiggled the handle, but it wouldn’t open. “Chloe, don’t worry,” he said, his voice soft against the wood. “I’ll go get the key and let you out.” “No! You can’t let Mommy out!” Jim shouted, his eyes wide. “Mommy is here for every birthday. It’s boring! This time, I want Auntie Eliza to be with me when I blow out my candles. Mommy can celebrate with me next time. Or she can celebrate with Sophie on her birthday.” I thought my son’s words had shattered my heart. But it was my daughter’s rejection that tore a gaping hole right through it. “I want Auntie Eliza too! I don’t want Mommy! I wish Auntie Eliza could be my mommy.” Nearly a month of doting affection, all for this. How utterly ridiculous I was. Outside the door, Eliza gathered my children into her arms, her face a mask of touched emotion. “Jim, Sophie,” she choked out, “having your love is more than enough for me. I wouldn’t dare ask for anything more. After all, I’m just an outsider in this family.” Cayden, who had been silent, finally spoke. His voice was tinged with a deep sympathy. “Eliza, you’ve been through so much these years. It’s just one birthday party. You’ve earned the right to be there as his mother.” He paused, then knocked on the door. “Chloe, this is what Jim wants. Don’t spoil his birthday. Just get some rest. I’ll bring you a piece of cake later.” The voices outside faded away. I slid down the door, completely drained. I closed my eyes, refusing to let the tears fall. I made my decision. He could have the children. 7 The party ended, but Cayden never came to unlock the door. The house below was silent. It seemed everyone had left. My phone was in the dressing room. I couldn’t call anyone. I thought maybe Cayden had taken the kids out for a walk. But the sky grew dark, and they still hadn’t returned. Then, the power went out. As the last sliver of twilight vanished, the room was plunged into darkness. But the houses nearby were still brightly lit. Someone had flipped the circuit breaker. Who? I think I knew. Cayden knew that when I was a child, a nanny had locked me in a closet. I never got over the fear of being trapped in the dark. I curled into a ball under the covers, smaller and smaller. I had never wished for Cayden’s return more than I did in that moment. But he didn’t come. The minutes ticked by, turning into hours. The sun came up. Cayden had been gone all night.

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When the gunshot rang out, I finally realized that the man I deeply loved was the male lead in a trashy romance novel. The male lead is destined to love the heroine. So, where does that leave me, the faceless ex-wife? So this time, I’ll be the one to ask for a divorce. Any reason will do. He doesn’t care anyway. Let’s go with… I fell for a younger man. But the man just smiled arrogantly: “Go cut ties with him. I can forgive you once.” 1 Chloe was filming an underwater scene today. Her ink-black hair swirled in the water, and her delicate face looked even more translucent and pale from being submerged repeatedly. So this is the woman Adrian loved to the point of madness? It’s not surprising. She is truly beautiful. Mark, Adrian’s assistant, walked over. “Mrs. Vance, should I arrange for you two to have lunch?” I shook my head. “Don’t reveal my presence.” “Yes,” Mark said. “She thinks she was selected purely based on her audition. Mrs. Vance, how should I arrange her schedule next?” “Adrian recently invested in a film project. Take her there.” Mark was clearly taken aback. “Mrs. Vance, you might not know this. Ms. Chloe has only been filming for a week, and already four actors on set are fighting to confess their feelings to her. People are literally fighting over who gets to buy her breakfast. Are you… really comfortable putting her next to Mr. Vance?” Mark looked genuinely confused. After all, when Adrian had merely selected an unmarried female secretary in the past, I had thrown a massive fit in his office. Doing something like this now seemed completely out of character for a jealous woman like me. I said calmly, “Isn’t it normal for the heroine to be loved?” Mark looked blank, as if he wanted to ask more. I lowered my voice, reached out, and patted his shoulder. “This is a matter of life and death. I’m entrusting it to you. Please make sure Adrian sees her soon.” 2 After I said goodbye, Mark still stood there, motionless. I sighed inwardly. Mark was afraid of offending Adrian by acting on his own. In my previous life, Adrian fell in love with Chloe at first sight at a charity gala. He pursued her aggressively, but she rejected him repeatedly. It was Mark who eventually played matchmaker, bringing them together. I understood why Adrian would fall for Chloe, but what I didn’t understand was—Mark was supposed to be my person. Why did he side with Adrian when our marriage fell apart? Lost in thought, I drove to the house Adrian and I shared. The white detached villa faced south, filled with light. In front of the house, a large field of pink and white roses bloomed. Adrian had planted them himself before we got married. I had always thought they were a symbol of our love and cherished them more than anyone. Now, after staring at them for a moment, I instructed the gardener: “Dig up all these flowers.” When I walked inside, Adrian was sitting on the living room sofa. Even though I had mentally prepared myself, seeing Adrian again still made me dizzy. In my memory, the last time we met was at his wedding to Chloe. Even though it was a second marriage, the ceremony was magnificent, dazzling, and extravagant. Watching from the audience, the darkness in my heart grew uncontrollably. Before I knew it, I had grabbed a steak knife from the table and rushed toward them as they embraced happily. The moment the bodyguard’s bullet hit me and my consciousness faded, I realized— This world was a melodramatic romance novel about a wealthy CEO’s obsessive love. My husband, Adrian Vance, was the male lead. And I was just Adrian’s faceless ex-wife, a nameless supporting character. My only role was to haunt the main couple, creating misunderstandings and conflicts. A literal cannon fodder. After mocking my past life’s definition, I prepared to go back to my room. As I tried to pass by, Adrian turned around. He seemed to have just showered, his body still damp. Water droplets slid down his neck, over his chest muscles, down his lean waist, and disappeared into the shadows of his bathrobe. I tried to walk past without looking up, but I tripped. Just as I was about to fall, a faint scent of men’s cologne wafted over. Adrian’s strong arm steadied me. He looked down lazily, his tone indifferent: “Throwing yourself into my arms the moment you get home?” 3 I pushed Adrian away hard and stood up straight. He scoffed, picked up a wet wipe from the coffee table, and slowly cleaned his hands. “Mark already called me.” My heart skipped a beat. I didn’t expect Mark to confer with Adrian so quickly. It seemed… their relationship ran deeper than I thought. “Mrs. Vance,” Adrian stared at me, his dark eyes devoid of warmth, his tone mocking, “Go ahead. How are you planning to pick a fight with me this time?” “Just recommending a newcomer with potential,” I pulled my coat tighter. “Don’t overthink it.” Adrian said sarcastically, “Then I should thank you for your generosity.” I looked at him. “Ms. Chloe is beautiful. She evokes pity.” “So what?” He was dismissive. “Are there few vases in this industry?” I fell silent. I hadn’t expected that delivering the heroine to Adrian myself would trigger his rebellious streak. But once he sees her, he’ll eat his words. Adrian clearly lost patience, looking down at me condescendingly. “Stop doing unnecessary things. I promised Mother that the position of Mrs. Vance would always be yours. As for anything else, stop daydreaming.” … I listened to these words numbly. Adrian was as harsh as ever. In the past, I would have eagerly expressed my loyalty and love, hoping to move this arrogant man. But now, I just lowered my eyes and nodded in agreement. “I understand. You didn’t marry me willingly; you were forced by your family. If you fall in love with someone else, I won’t pester you anymore.” Adrian remained expressionless. “Nice words. Can you actually do it?” He didn’t believe me at all. I suppressed my displeasure and was about to retort when Adrian extended his hand. A silver key lay quietly in his palm. 4 I had studied painting since I was a child. The attic on the top floor of our new house was my private studio. In many lonely nights, I would sit in the studio, sketching Adrian’s features stroke by stroke. I never showed them to anyone, and the studio door was usually locked. I didn’t know Adrian had been inside. Heat rushed to my face, and I snatched the key back. “Who let you in?” Adrian countered, “Did you get my permission to draw me? I walked in and saw my face everywhere. It was disgusting!” I clenched the key, my heart turning cold. “Enough, Adrian. I was confused before, but now I see clearly.” I took a document out of my bag and handed it to him. “What is this?” “Something you’ve always wanted,” I said. A divorce agreement. This was the first gift I decided to give him—and myself—after waking up.

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The first year of our marriage, my husband went overseas to work on an offshore rig and died. They never even found his body. For eight years, I gritted my teeth and carried on. I cared for his aging parents, never once complaining. Until the day they walked in with a seven-year-old boy. “Leo died so young, and you’re almost thirty,” my mother-in-law said. “We brought a child back so you’ll have someone to look after you in your old age.” The boy, coached to perfection, ran over and hugged my waist, rubbing his face against my side. “Mommy, I’ll be really good!” I shoved him away so hard he stumbled. I snatched the bag of clothes from his hands and threw it out the front door. His belongings scattered across the porch. “If you insist on keeping him,” I said, my voice shaking with rage, “then as of today, I’m done caring for you.” They both froze, stunned by my reaction. My mother-in-law’s face fell. “We did this for you, out of the goodness of our hearts! How could you say something so cruel?” I didn’t back down. My voice grew sharper. “If you insist on raising this child, you can leave my house right now!” 1 The words had barely left my mouth when tears welled up in the boy’s eyes. “Mommy,” he sobbed, “I can do laundry and cook, and I can sweep the floor. Please don’t make me leave, please…” He bit his lip, his voice small and childish, his tear-filled eyes pleading. He looked utterly pathetic. He was playing the part of a good, pitiful boy perfectly, enough to break anyone’s heart. Anyone but mine. My mother-in-law bent down, gathering the clothes I’d thrown. She took the boy’s hand and glared at me. “Amelia, I know you had a miscarriage. I know you have issues with children!” “But Connor is different! He’s obedient and smart. Having him around might even heal you!” Her voice took on a sharp, accusatory edge. “Or is this because you’re planning to remarry? You want a child of your own then, is that it? I suppose with all those successful men at your company, you couldn’t possibly stay lonely forever!” I let out a cold laugh, clinging to my last shred of composure. “You’re overthinking things, Mom. If you and Dad like him so much, you can take him back to your hometown and raise him yourselves. We can all go our separate ways.” She pointed a trembling finger at me. “Amelia Liu, how dare you speak to me like that! Have you forgotten what you promised us?” I hadn’t forgotten. How could I? Eight years ago, Leo Crawford was working overseas when a sudden storm capsized his rig, taking his life. When I got the news, I was happily planning our honeymoon. The grief hit me like a physical blow. I was three months pregnant, and the shock caused me to miscarry on the spot. My baby was gone. He was gone. When I woke up from the haze of grief, I was given the letter he wrote before every trip out to sea, a pre-written will. Every word was a plea—a plea for me to take care of his parents. I agreed without a second thought. To give my husband’s soul some peace, I even signed a legally binding contract, promising to support them. My mother-in-law clutched her chest, her face a mask of disappointment. “You promised Leo you’d support us until we died! You signed a contract, in black and white! And now you’re throwing us out? What is the meaning of this?” “And look at this sweet boy, crying his heart out! How can you be so heartless?” This boy was sweet, alright. Too bad he was the son of Leo and his mistress. Three months ago, a large sum of money from the account I maintained for my in-laws was transferred to an unfamiliar overseas account. I asked a colleague to look into it, and what he found unraveled everything: My dead husband was very much alive. And he had a son with his mistress. This boy, Connor, was that son. My in-laws had brought him here with one goal: to get me to pay for the boy’s medical treatments. To use me as a walking wallet. Well, since they’d delivered themselves to my doorstep, I would personally draw the real culprit out. And then I would drag him to the police station. I blocked the doorway, unmoving. “Of course, I remember the contract.” “But if the child doesn’t leave, you do. This is not up for discussion.” My father-in-law, who had been silent until now, grabbed the boy’s hand and tried to push past me. “Connor is staying here today! We’ve already made arrangements.” I laughed coldly, grabbing Connor’s other arm and pulling him back. The boy shrieked in pain. “I paid for this house, every last cent! If I say no strangers are allowed inside, then they are not allowed!” My mother-in-law flew at me, trying to pry my fingers loose. “Why are you being so stubborn? We’ll use our own pensions to raise him! We won’t take your money!” “And what’s wrong with living in your house? What’s yours is ours!” The sheer entitlement in her voice was staggering. After eight years of supporting them, I had no idea my assets had become theirs. A muscle twitched in my jaw, but I didn’t let go. I took a deep breath, fighting down my rage. “How much is your pension? The two of you spend thousands of my money every month. Do you really think your pittance of a pension will cover it? In the end, I’d be the one footing the bill anyway!” Her face flushed crimson. Before I could say more, my father-in-law’s hand shot out. The sharp crack of a slap echoed in the hallway, my head snapping to the side. “Your parents died young! I never wanted Leo to marry you in the first place!” he roared. “You’re bad luck! You jinxed your parents, and now you’ve jinxed my son to death! So what if we spend your money? Why have you become so vicious?!” The boy’s cries escalated into terrified screams. I held my cheek, my mind a complete blank as I saw our neighbors gathering in the hallway, drawn by the commotion. 2 I stood frozen for a few seconds before my head snapped up, my eyes locking onto his. My voice was ice, laced with a tremor I couldn’t control. “You’ve been waiting to say that for a long time, haven’t you?” I jinxed my parents? And Leo? My parents died in a fire, sacrificing their own lives to save others. My parents were heroes. I clenched my fists, a wave of nausea washing over me. Sensing things were getting out of hand, my mother-in-law quickly stepped in front of her husband, her tone softening. “Amelia, your father was just angry. He didn’t mean it. Don’t take it to heart.” “Your parents saved so many people. Everyone is grateful for what they did.” She reached out to pat my shoulder. I bit my lip and recoiled from her touch, shaking with a rage so intense I couldn’t speak. Our neighbor, Mrs. Wagner, peeked her head in. “Goodness, what’s all the commotion? Are you all okay?” My mother-in-law latched onto her like a lifeline, forcing a strained smile. “Oh, it’s nothing serious. We just… we brought a child home, thinking he could be a companion for Amelia in her old age, and she’s not happy about it. Just a little spat with her father…” “Mrs. Wagner, maybe you can talk some sense into her!” she pleaded. “This child is from a distant relative. His parents died, and no one else in the family wanted him. He has nowhere to go…” Understanding dawned on Mrs. Wagner’s face, and she turned to me. “Amelia, honey, your in-laws are just trying to do what’s best for you.” “You’re almost thirty. It’s not right for you to be alone. A child brings life to a house! And you’ll have someone to rely on when you’re older.” Before she had even finished, Mrs. Miller chimed in. “You hear those horrible stories on the news all the time, about single women dying alone in their homes and not being found for weeks… It’s tragic! If you had a child, that would never happen.” She looked at me with pity. “That’s right,” another neighbor added. “It’s been eight years since Leo died, and you’ve never remarried. Everyone knows how devoted you are.” “This child clearly adores you. If you don’t keep him, who will take care of you when you’re old?” I almost laughed. So, if you don’t have children, you’re doomed in your old age? If I die and no one finds my body, it’s not like I’ll know. Why worry about it? Besides, as a general manager at my firm, I earned a six-figure salary. Did they really think I couldn’t afford to check myself into a top-tier retirement community? A cold smirk touched my lips. My patience was gone. “How I live out my golden years is my business, thank you. I’ll arrange for a very nice facility for myself, and I assure you, it will be far more peaceful than this.” My mother-in-law shrieked back, “Haven’t you seen the news? Those places are filled with abusive staff! Without children to stand up for you, you’ll be abused to death! A child you raise yourself is the only one you can trust!” She gave the boy a shove. He immediately dropped to his knees on the hard floor. I frowned. The next second, he began knocking his head against the ground. “Mommy, don’t send me away! Mommy, please don’t send me away!” After just a few thuds, a large, angry welt was already forming on his forehead. My mother-in-law rushed to pull him up, her voice dripping with fake sympathy as she presented him to me like a prized possession. “Oh, my poor darling! My sweet boy! Where else will you find a child so devoted and obedient?”

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The new intern had a pathological need to pry. On Valentine’s Day, my husband dropped a million dollars on a handbag at the luxury boutique where I work, just to boost my sales numbers. Later that night, as I was on a date with him, a passive-aggressive message from the new intern buzzed on my phone. “Our work app shows you just logged another thousand steps. That’s the exact distance to the hotel next door.” “Wow, Lily, you really work fast. Close a million-dollar deal and head straight to a hotel room with the client?” My face went cold. I typed back a sharp reply. “With your talent for sniffing out people’s business, you should’ve been a police dog.” That night, I came home to find my doorstep covered in funeral wreaths. It was all because of a post the intern had made. It had gone viral. [The Salesgirl Who Slept Her Way to My Million-Dollar Commission!] A pair of my snagged stockings, which I’d thrown in the trash, had become her “proof” that I seduced clients on the job. The entire internet pitied the intern. I became the “slutty salesgirl” everyone was cursing. What she didn’t know was that my husband is a tech titan worth billions, and for me, this job was just a way to kill time. 1 “Oh, Lily, buying a plane ticket? Planning a little getaway?” “It’s Valentine’s Day today. Are you and your boyfriend taking a trip tomorrow?” I’d just arrived at the boutique when Vivian, the new intern, cornered me in the staff lounge. Her question caught me off guard. I had, in fact, booked a flight for my husband that morning. Without thinking, I answered, “Yeah, I did. How did you know?” A smug look flashed across her face. “Your frequent flyer app. It showed an update—211 eco-points for skipping the in-flight meal.” Before I could even process that, she finished touching up her makeup and breezed out of the lounge. A chill ran down my spine. What was wrong with this girl? Frowning, I opened the app and immediately blocked her account. This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, and the more I thought about it, the more unnerved I became. A couple of weeks ago, I bought a new car and ordered a custom air freshener for it on Amazon. That very evening, she waited for me in the mall’s underground parking garage. “Hey! I had no idea you got a new car, Lily!” she’d chirped, beaming with pride. “I saw the air freshener in your order history and figured it out. Since you’re driving, can you give me a ride home? It’s on your way.” Not wanting to cause a scene, I agreed. It was not on my way. I spent nearly an hour stuck in traffic on the freeway, driving ten miles out of my way to drop her off. After that incident, I locked down all my social media accounts and even created a separate filter for her on my private photo streams. I shook my head and sent a quick text to my husband, venting my frustration. It was Valentine’s Day, and business at the high-end boutiques was booming. I’d been closing sales all day, many of them from friends and my husband’s business partners who specifically requested me. By the end of my shift, my sales were already approaching the million-dollar mark. Vivian, on the other hand, had a revolving door of customers who came and left empty-handed. Her sales were dismal. After ringing up another hundred-thousand-dollar purchase, I was heading to the lounge for a break when I saw her clutching a new limited-edition silk scarf, her knuckles white as if she wanted to tear it to shreds. Her eyes, glinting with envy, fixed on me. “You’re so lucky, Lily,” she said, her voice tight with resentment. “You’ve made a month’s commission in a single day.” I gave her a polite, dismissive smile and said nothing. Just then, as it was her turn to take the next walk-in client, my husband stepped into the boutique. “I’m here to see Lily,” he said. My colleagues barely batted an eye; it was common for clients to have a preferred sales associate. I’d never shared any details about my personal life at work. No one even knew I was married, let alone that my husband was a giant in the tech world. So, of course, they didn’t recognize him. But that small moment was all it took to show me the truly dark side of the workplace. “Lily,” Vivian hissed, grabbing my wrist. Her voice was pure saccharine poison. “It’s my turn to take a client, and you’ve hit your numbers for the day. Why don’t you let me have this one?” I winced, pulling my arm away. A patch of angry red skin was already forming where her nails had dug into my wrist, nearly breaking the skin. “Vivian, you can speak to me without grabbing me.” She just rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. I barely touched you. Don’t be so dramatic.” “Just let me have this client, Lily.” I met her gaze, my voice turning to ice. “No.” My husband, seeing my dark expression, simply handed me his VIP card, and I led him into the private viewing room. 2 “What’s wrong? Did your colleague bother you again?” “That girl, Vivian… she’s just so unbelievably weird. I can’t stand her.” I sighed, and as I turned, I brushed against a display cart. A sharp hiss echoed in the quiet room as my stocking caught on the corner, tearing a long run up my leg. “Alright, don’t be angry. It’s Valentine’s Day,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm. To cheer me up, he gestured to a rare leather handbag that had just arrived. A million-dollar bag. He bought it without a second thought, and neither of us thought much of it. My closet at home was already overflowing with them. But the moment my husband left with the bag, Vivian stormed up to me, jabbing a finger in my face. “Lily! You have to give me that million-dollar sale!” “That commission was supposed to be mine! If you don’t give it to me, I’m reporting you to corporate for stealing my clients and workplace bullying!” Her outburst was so absurd I almost laughed. “And which one of your eyes saw me steal your client?” “If you’re having a psychotic break, go to a hospital. Don’t have it here.” A few of my colleagues, with whom I had a good relationship, saw I was genuinely angry and stepped in. “That’s enough, Vivian! The client specifically asked for Lily.” “He always asks for Lily when he comes in. Just drop it.” They held Vivian back as her face flushed a furious red. If looks could kill, she would have devoured me whole, all traces of her usual innocent facade gone. “You… you just wait!” she spat. Perfect. I loved seeing her seethe, completely powerless. “Instead of wasting energy trying to poach my sales,” I said coolly, “you might want to spend some time actually learning the product catalog. You couldn’t even tell half a dozen clients today whether we had their items in stock. If I were you, I’d be hiding my face in shame.” “Oh, wait, I forgot,” I added, unable to resist one last jab. “You’re too busy prying into everyone’s private lives to bother with professional knowledge.” Finally, the anger that had been simmering inside me all day was released. She pointed a trembling finger at me, so furious she was practically vibrating. I didn’t give her another glance. I walked into the staff lounge, changed out of the ruined stockings, and tossed them into the trash. That evening, my husband had booked a candlelight dinner for us at the five-star hotel right next to the mall. After my shift, I took a short, pleasant stroll over. I’d barely settled in at our table when two new messages popped up on my phone. 「Our work app shows you just logged another thousand steps. That’s the exact distance to the hotel next door.」 「Wow, Lily, you really work fast. Close a million-dollar deal and head straight to a hotel room with the client?」 The steak in my mouth turned to ash. I picked up my phone, my face a mask of ice, and shot back a reply. 「With your talent for sniffing out people’s business, you should’ve been a police dog.」 Then I blocked her. I’d taken this job to experience life, not to be harassed. If she wanted to burn bridges, fine. I had no reason to keep someone like her in my contacts. After dinner, my husband and I went to a movie. When we finally drove home, a massive ‘surprise’ was waiting for us. Our front door was surrounded by funeral wreaths. More were arriving, delivered by couriers who were assembling them right on our lawn. My heart hammered against my ribs; I thought I was going to have a stroke. The scene was so outrageous that even my husband, a man of unshakable composure, couldn’t stay calm. He was on the phone with building security in an instant. “What the hell is going on with your package screening process!” The security manager rushed over, wiping sweat from his brow. “Mr. Grant… we honestly had no idea they were funeral wreaths…” “The delivery orders just said they were Valentine’s bouquets that required on-site assembly…” 3 I stared at the banners draped over the wreaths. 「MAY THE ‘SALES SLUT’ REST IN PEACE!」 「GO TO HELL, YOU WRETCH!」 「PAYBACK’S A BITCH, AND IT’S HERE.」 … I knew, with a gut-wrenching certainty, that Vivian was behind this. I quickly pulled out my phone and found the social media account she used to promote her sales. And there it was. A post she’d made three hours ago. [The Salesgirl Who Slept Her Way to My Million-Dollar Commission!] The post was explosive. In just a few hours, it had amassed over a hundred thousand likes. The content was even more insane. It was a meticulously crafted narrative complete with photos, a timeline, and Vivian’s own twisted, Sherlock Holmes-style analysis. The top image was a photo of the snagged stockings I’d thrown away. [After stealing my client, she took him into the private VIP room. When she came out, her stockings were torn. Right after he paid, she followed him to a hotel to finish the job…] I scrolled down to the comments and felt the blood drain from my face. The internet mob was tearing me to shreds. 「WTF! It’s 2025 and scum like this still exists? Bullying new hires and stealing their sales!」 「I feel so bad for the author. I hope this evil old witch gets hit by a bus!」 「I can’t take it anymore. Someone needs to dox this trash! I’m going to serve some justice tonight and expose this homewrecking whore!」 「Guys, my buddy’s a hacker. He got her info. Here’s her home address…」 「Replying to @HackerGod: Sending you a DM! I want to send a wreath!」 … Reading through the comments, a wave of cold fear washed over me. She had spun an entire ‘truth’ from a pair of snagged stockings I’d thrown in the trash. If the man in that room hadn’t been my own husband, I wouldn’t have been able to defend myself even if I had ten mouths. The entire post was a diatribe accusing me of sleeping my way to the top, of bullying a new intern, and of stealing her commission. To paint me as a serial offender, she’d even dug up old vacation photos from my overseas social media accounts—pictures from trips I’d taken months ago. There was a casual shot of my husband and me holding hands in a first-class cabin. That photo had ignited a whole new firestorm in the comments. 「This old hag is just an international call girl who sleeps around on trips!」 「I’m done. Wreaths aren’t enough. I’m reporting her to her company’s corporate office. They need to fire this prostitute!」 … The comments made me so angry I could barely breathe. Even my husband’s face was a thundercloud of fury. “We’re calling the police.” “Don’t be afraid, Lily. I’m getting our lawyer on the line right now.” I couldn’t believe Vivian’s obsession was so strong she’d even managed to find my private accounts on foreign social media platforms. Thank God I only ever posted travel photos and never a single picture showing my husband’s face. Otherwise, she would have uncovered my real identity long ago. Our lawyer immediately began compiling a chain of evidence for the cyberbullying case. I opened my company’s work app and saw that Vivian had posted in the main corporate group chat, using her real name. 「A senior employee stole an intern’s million-dollar commission. How does the company plan to handle this?! @everyone」 The group, which had been buzzing with sales reports just a moment before, fell dead silent. Vivian wasn’t done. 「Don’t play dead! I have proof that this sales associate seduces clients during work hours and sleeps with them for sales! @everyone」 She was making all this noise, all based on a picture of stockings from a trash can. My hands clenched around my phone as I forced myself to stay calm. I typed out a reply. 「First of all, the client was a VIP who specifically requested me. There was no ‘stealing’ of your commission.」 4 「Secondly, you used a photo of torn stockings to launch a nationwide smear campaign, accusing me of sleeping with clients, and then led an online mob to dox me and leak my private information. I have already reported this to the police, and my lawyer is involved.」 My firm response prompted a few others in the group to speak up for me. 「A VIP client has a preferred associate. How is that stealing a sale? That’s ridiculous!」 「These interns these days have some nerve. I just pulled up your sales records, Vivian. You’ve been here two months and haven’t even cleared half a million in total sales. What exactly are you whining about?」 「Lily is the top seller in the entire region. She has nothing to hide. You, on the other hand, should get ready for a lawsuit and a police investigation.」 For the next half hour, Vivian was silent in the group. I thought she had finally backed down. I was wrong. She took screenshots of our internal company chat and posted them online for everyone to see. [The Slutty Salesgirl Who Stole My Commission Is Now Threatening to Sue Me!] The post was filled with images of our private conversation. I stared at the screen, a new wave of anger rising. Our employment contracts had a strict, legally binding clause against leaking internal company communications. She was truly asking for it. But the internet mob, now being used as her weapon, exploded. Within minutes, all of our brand’s official social media accounts were under siege from a massive wave of online attacks. By the time our corporate legal department could react, the entire internet was calling for a boycott of our brand. At that moment, my personal cell phone rang. It was an unknown number. “Lily, how do you like it? My little Valentine’s gift for you?” Vivian’s voice, dripping with triumphant malice, crackled through the phone. The sound of it was so repulsive it made me want to vomit. I fought back the nausea and replied with cold contempt. “Calling you a police dog is an insult to dogs. You’re nothing but a sewer rat.” A cold laugh answered me. “Tch!” “Don’t even try to scare me with your lawyers. The police can’t help you either. You’re the public enemy right now, the slut the entire internet wants to see burn.” “Oh, by the way,” she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I found some information on your VIP client. You’re finished! The man you seduced today is the billionaire CEO of a major tech company!” “And he has a wife! What do you think will happen if I give his dear wife a little call? Don’t blame me when she has you beaten to a pulp.” “Give me all of your commission from this month—all thirteen million of it—and I might consider letting you off the hook.” A cold smile touched my lips. “Go on then. Call her.” Her frustration was palpable. “I have proof you went to the hotel! You just wait!” And she did it. Vivian used the client’s number to call my personal phone. The line rang—ring, ring, ring. I answered it myself. “This is she,” I said calmly. “Vivian, is there anything else you want to say? I’ve already forwarded all your fabricated evidence to the police.”

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On my very first day at my new school, the resident bad boy decided to make my life hell. All because I accidentally wore a similar outfit to the school’s “Queen Bee.” Suddenly, I was labeled a “pick-me girl” and a “try-hard.” The bad boy, Jace, deliberately poured a carton of milk over my head. Then, with fake sincerity, he apologized while roughly messing up my wet hair. When he noticed my mismatched eye color, he sneered. “Wow, wearing colored contacts on the first day? Who are you trying to seduce?” I looked at him calmly. “It’s not a contact lens. It’s a prosthetic.” 1 “What?” Jace looked like he hadn’t heard me right. He frowned, his expression shifting from arrogance to something weirdly unsettled. “What did you just say? If it’s not a contact, what is it?” I sighed internally. The one thing I dreaded about transferring schools was happening immediately. Calmly, I swatted Jace’s hand away. I slicked my milk-soaked hair back, wiped the white streaks from my face with a tissue, and revealed my pale forehead and bloodless complexion. I locked eyes with him. “Watch closely.” Jace’s brow furrowed in confusion. The next second, with practiced ease, I lifted my eyelid. Right there in front of the entire class, I popped the prosthetic piece out of my left eye socket. I placed the golden-hued artificial eye on the desk in front of a now pale-faced Jace. I repeated myself, my voice flat. “This isn’t a contact lens. It’s a prosthetic eye.” “Was I clear enough?” The rowdy classroom instantly fell into a deathly silence. Jace stared at my empty eye socket for a long time, then stumbled back two steps in disbelief. “How…?” He looked dazed, his hand instinctively reaching out as if to touch my face, but I blocked him. I lowered my head and quickly slipped the piece back in, adjusting it until it sat right. I knew I must look pathetic right now—soaked in milk, blind in one eye. But it didn’t matter. I’d been through worse. This was nothing. When I looked up again, Jace was staring at me with a complicated expression. “I thought you were…” His lips trembled, like he wanted to say something else. But the bell rang. I didn’t wait. I walked right past a stiff-as-a-board Jace and went to my desk. My hair was dripping wet. I wiped it silently with tissues, but it didn’t help much. It just left that gross, sticky feeling of drying milk. I ran out of tissues quickly. I ignored the mess on my hoodie and pulled out my textbook. Jace stood by my desk, frozen. He watched me try to clean myself up without saying a word, his hand still gripping the empty milk carton. When I finally stopped wiping, his gaze lingered on my damp hair. After a long pause, Jace kicked the chair of the girl in front of me—Chloe. “Give me a pack of tissues,” he rasped. Chloe glared at him. “Jace, what is your problem? The teacher’s coming. Sit down.” “I said, give me the tissues!” Jace’s voice suddenly spiked. “Do you not speak English?” 2 The room was already quiet, waiting for the teacher. Jace’s shout made everyone jump and turn to look at him. Chloe flinched, looking scared. Her eyes turned red as she dug a half-used pack of tissues out of her bag and threw it at him. “You’re crazy! Why are you yelling at me?” Jace ignored her. He grabbed the tissues and thrust them toward me. I didn’t reach for them. His hand hung awkwardly in the air. “Take them. Use them,” Jace said, his face pale, his tone laced with frustration. I slowly looked up and met his eyes. The moment Jace saw my golden pupil, he flinched like he’d been stung and jerked his head away, avoiding eye contact. “Stop staring at me,” he barked, trying to sound tough. “Just take the damn tissues.” It dawned on me then. After I took out my eye, Jace’s attitude had done a complete 180. Looking at how awkward he was acting, a ridiculous thought crossed my mind. “Is this… your way of apologizing?” I asked calmly. Jace froze. His fingertips trembled slightly, betraying his panic. “If accepting your tissues means I have to forgive you, then no thanks.” I stared at his furrowed brow. “I have no intention of accepting your apology. So please, take your stuff and stay away from me. Thanks.” Jace’s face dropped. He looked dark and stormy. Seeing he couldn’t talk me into it, he didn’t explain. He just shoved the tissues into my desk drawer. I immediately took them out and dropped them on the floor. Jace silently picked them up and tried to hand them to me again. Just then, the teacher walked in. Chloe, watching this tug-of-war from the front row, looked like she was about to explode. Before the teacher reached the podium, she stood up and yanked Jace’s arm, dragging him to the back of the room. “She doesn’t want to talk to you. Why are you simping so hard?” She pulled him away, deliberately bumping my desk hard as she passed. I didn’t look at them. I stared straight ahead. Halfway through class, a loud, crisp slap echoed from the back row. It sounded like someone had hit themselves—hard. Heads turned. Even Chloe kept looking back at Jace, shocked. Every time she looked at him, she’d turn around and glare at me with pure venom. Like I had committed some unforgivable crime. I ignored them both. 3 I barely made it to the break. The sticky milk feeling was unbearable. I stood up to go to the bathroom to wash up, but as I moved, someone’s foot shot out and tripped me. I lost my balance and pitched forward. I threw my hands out to catch myself, but my palms skidded across the rough floor. “Ah,” I hissed. The skin on my wrist tore open, blood immediately oozing out and staining my sleeve. It looked worse than it was. I was about to push myself up when someone shoved through the crowd. Without a word, strong arms wrapped around my waist and legs, scooping me up into the air. I wasn’t ready for it. In my panic, I grabbed the person’s shoulders. “You okay?” Jace’s voice rumbled near my ear. He saw the blood on my arm and frowned deeply. “Don’t move. I’m taking you to the nurse.” “It’s my hand that’s hurt, not my feet,” I said calmly. “Put me down. I can walk.” Jace acted like he was deaf. He tightened his grip on my waist. “I can carry you,” he muttered. “Stop trying to be tough.” I almost laughed at the absurdity. I opened my mouth to argue. But right then, Jace seemingly tripped over nothing. Gravity took over. The sickening feeling of falling washed over me, triggering a flash of bad memories. My body went rigid. “Jace!” I screamed, terrified. He reacted fast, trying to cradle the back of my head with his hand. But momentum won. We hit the ground hard. Because he was holding me, Jace landed on top of me, crushing me with his full weight. My head smacked against something hard. Thud. My ears rang. The world went fuzzy. Right before I blacked out, I heard Jace yelling frantically at the crowd. “Chloe! Get over here! Your cousin fainted!” My heart sank. So, Jace knew I was Chloe’s cousin. No wonder he hated me. 4 I woke up at an awkward time. “You promised you’d help me teach her a lesson!” Chloe’s shrill voice pierced the air. “Why are you backing out now?” I kept my eyes closed. I could hear the rhythmic tapping of fingers on a desk. Jace. “I said I’d help you teach her a lesson,” Jace said, clicking his tongue impatiently. “But you didn’t tell me she was disabled.” “I’m not bullying a disabled girl, Chloe. What do you think I am? An animal?” Chloe’s aggressive tone choked off, turning into a whiny sob. “She’s just a crippled bitch!” Chloe’s voice spiked, hysterical. “If she ruined your life and stole everything from you, I bet you wouldn’t be sitting here acting all high and mighty about forgiveness!” Jace went silent. The tapping stopped. “Jace,” Chloe said, her voice low and intense. “You promised. You owe me for taking the fall for that suspension last semester.” “I don’t want anything else. Just help me destroy her.” I heard her footsteps approach him. She whispered, venomous. “Destoy her. I don’t care how you do it.” A long silence filled the nurse’s office. I could hear the breeze rustling the curtains. Then, Jace sighed. “Fine. I’ll do it.” Chloe instantly switched from rage to delight. She didn’t even care about his hesitation, happily offering to buy him lunch. They left the room together. As the door clicked shut, I opened my eyes. My head throbbed, but it was manageable. I sat up, stopped the recording on my phone, and saved the file. I knew Chloe didn’t like me. When I first moved into my aunt and uncle’s house, her hostility was thinly veiled behind fake smiles. But I didn’t realize she hated me this much. Enough to ask the school bully to “destroy” me. I thought back to the slap Jace gave himself in class. And his reluctant “Fine, I’ll do it.” It was almost funny. Actually, I was kind of curious. I wanted to see exactly how Jace planned to “destroy” me.

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1 I’m the idealized ghost of a boyfriend, the one who died taking a knife for her. Ten years after my death, a System forcibly resurrected me and told me I had to be a stepfather. 「Host, your objective is to save the child on that rooftop.」 「He’s your wife’s son. If you don’t intervene, he will die today.」 I didn’t want to see a kid die, but I’ve always had a domineering streak. So I walked up and kicked him. Lightly, but still a kick. “You’re just as pathetic as your mother. What’s with all the melodrama?” “Where is your mom, anyway? Call her. Tell her to come get me.” … The kid just stared at me, then looked around wildly, as if I were a ghost that had materialized in broad daylight. In the end, he didn’t ask a single question. He just lowered his head again. I couldn’t stand that spineless act. I ran a hand through my hair in frustration and snatched the phone from his pocket. “Do you know your mom’s number?” The call log and notifications were completely empty. Not even a single spam text. He fumbled for a moment before slowly punching in a number. The phone barely managed one ring before the call was disconnected, leaving only a dial tone humming in the silence. I scowled. “Zara Hayes has really grown a backbone, hasn’t she? Daring to ignore my calls.” The little brat next to me didn’t react. He just stood there, a silent, miniature statue. After eight consecutive calls, someone finally picked up. A man’s voice answered. “Harry? Ms. Hayes is busy.” Then he hung up, not even giving me a chance to curse him out. I was so furious I nearly smashed the phone, but the kid tugged on my shirt, stopping me. I forced my anger down. “It’s fine, kid. We’ll go find Zara and settle this score together.” He clutched my sleeve, his expression blank. It took him a long moment to force out a few words. “I won’t be a burden.” The phrase instantly deflated my anger. I let out a helpless sigh. “Fine. Let’s go back, then.” Once we were in the car, I stared at him for a long time. “Your name is Harry?” “Yeah.” I asked the System again. “Is he really Zara’s son?” 「According to the rules of your human world, yes.」 I resigned myself to my fate and started trying to be a proper stepfather. I asked him what he liked to eat. He said anything was fine. I asked him what he liked to play. He didn’t answer. I asked him why he was on the roof. He turned away from me. That was the last straw. I pulled him into my lap. “Does Zara have any idea you were about to go play flying squirrel off a skyscraper?” Only then did he slowly lift his head, like a robot rebooting, and spoke with stiff precision. “Mom is busy. I won’t be a burden.” The words lodged in my throat. It felt like I was choking. Was that the only phrase he knew? “I won’t be a burden.” How in the world did Zara raise a son like this? The System offered a quiet word of comfort. 「Don’t be too hard on him, Host. The child is just too considerate. He bottles everything up.」 I knew that. He was just a little kid. This was clearly the fault of the adults in his life. The car pulled up to a familiar house. Suddenly, a crucial question popped into my head. “System, where’s his dad?” 「He doesn’t have one.」 No dad? The moment I opened the front door, I felt a wave of dizziness. It was as if I’d just stepped out for a walk, not like I’d been gone for ten years. The coat I’d carelessly hung in the entryway was still there, perfectly preserved, without a single wrinkle. There was no trace of another man having ever lived in this house, save for a single pair of cufflinks sitting by the door. I went upstairs, my feet finding their way automatically, and opened the door to my old room. It was exactly as I had left it. When I came back downstairs, I realized Harry had vanished. I searched everywhere, finally finding him tucked away in a corner of the living room. He’d unearthed an advanced calculus workbook thicker than a brick and was sitting there, methodically solving problems. He was being so good it was terrifying. “System, is he like this every day?” I asked. 「Yes. For Zara’s son, not being exceptional would also be a way of causing trouble.」 I immediately strode over, snatched the workbook, and tossed it into the trash. Harry stared at me, dumbfounded, then his brow furrowed. His head tilted back and forth, like a little robot with a short circuit. I stared back, a silent challenge. Ten minutes later, my eyes burning, I finally caved. “I’m hungry.” The robot successfully processed the command. His head bobbed, and he scurried into the kitchen, expertly turning the knob on the gas stove. “Danger! Don’t touch that!” My heart leaped into my throat. I lunged forward and slammed the valve shut. He flinched back like a startled cat, cowering in the corner, his face a mask of confusion. I was about to lose my mind. I looked around the pristine kitchen and asked the System, “How old is he?” 「Six.」 Fantastic. Letting a six-year-old cook with a gas stove. Zara must have had rocks for brains. I paced back and forth, hands on my hips, trying to wrestle my temper under control. Finally, I turned to Harry. “That’s too dangerous. I’ll take you out to eat.” As we left, I growled under my breath. “System, you get out here right now. What the hell happened these last ten years?” The System glitched for a moment before beginning its report. After I died, Zara threw herself into her work, becoming a machine that did nothing but grind from dawn till dusk. She paid no attention to her own health or emotions, so naturally, she had none to spare for Harry. For years, a nanny had cared for him. But with no other adults in the house, the nanny began to secretly abuse him. It was only discovered when the bruises on his body became too numerous to hide. Zara fired the nanny. And for the first time, Harry made a request. “I can take care of myself. I don’t want a nanny.” “I won’t be a burden.” From that day on, Harry lived alone. Zara’s assistant, Sean, would check on him every couple of days. “Who is Sean?” 「A new assistant Zara hired after you died.」 So, in the ten years I was gone, Zara’s world had filled with things I knew nothing about. The System ignored my internal monologue and continued. 「Sean is known for being well-liked at the company, which is why Zara trusted him. But Harry has never liked him. In fact, he’s shown a clear aversion to the man.」 “Why?” For a robot like Harry, showing any emotion at all, let alone outright dislike, was a huge deal. 「Because Sean tried to convince him to tell Zara, ‘I want Sean to be my daddy.’」 「Harry refused. After that, Sean started targeting him.」 “How?” The cruelty of adults might be less direct than that of children, but for a vulnerable kid like Harry, it was devastating. 「As you’ve seen, Harry is very reserved.」 「So, Sean told Zara that Harry was slow-witted and a pathological liar. Then he turned around and told Harry that Zara considered him a dead weight, a burden she wished she could be rid of.」 「He told him that a bastard from nowhere like him was unworthy of love. That once he married Zara, Harry, the little parasite, would be finished.」 My fists clenched without me realizing. A cold sneer twisted my lips. “A dead weight, huh?” 「What are you planning to do?」 the System asked meekly. “Help Zara get her eyes checked. If she’s not going to use them, she might as well donate them.” “And that Sean… preying on a little kid. I’m going to make him wish he’d never been born.” As if on cue, Sean arrived. An arrogant voice boomed from the doorway. “You little brat, this water is scalding! Are you trying to kill me?” “And who gave you permission to bring a strange man into this house?” “What do you think this is, a dumpster? Isn’t it enough that I have to deal with you, you little piece of trash? Now you’re bringing in a big one?” “Tell him to get the hell out.” Harry, who never fought back, moved. He stood in front of Sean, blocking his path. “No.” Sean’s jaw clenched in fury. “Harry, do you have any idea what you’re doing?” “I swear, I’ll call Ms. Hayes right now and have her throw you out on the street.” “Move it, you bastard from nowhere.” Harry just stood there, his head bowed, not moving, not saying a word. A sharp pain, like a needle, pierced my heart. I stepped in front of Sean. “You love talking trash so much. How come you haven’t been recycled yet?” Before he could retort, my palm connected with his cheek. “You dare hit me?” “I’ll do more than hit you if you don’t stop spewing garbage.” I pulled Harry behind me, shielding him. Sean clutched his face, his eyes raking over me, a contemptuous sneer on his lips. “Do you have any idea who I am? I’m Ms. Hayes’s most trusted assistant. The man who’s been by her side longer than anyone.” “So you’ve charmed this little bastard. So what? I’m the one who’s going to be with Ms. Hayes. And when I am, I’ll have you both thrown out.” He turned back to Harry, his voice a low threat. “Ms. Hayes specifically ordered that dead man’s room to be sealed. No one has been allowed in for years. And you let this stranger in there. Think about the consequences.” “If I tell her about this, you’re finished. So…” Smack. Another slap. “Still barking?” Sean stared at me, his face now a matching set of bright red handprints, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You hit me again?” “Do I need to make an appointment?” He lunged at me, but Harry threw himself in front of me, a small, unmovable shield. Sean hissed out three sharp “Fine’s” and pulled out his phone, dialing Zara. “Ms. Hayes, I just got here and Harry brought a strange man into the house. He even let the man into… his room.” “And they hit me…” I scoffed. “Playing the victim, are we?” “Wait!” Zara’s voice suddenly crackled through the phone, laced with a tremor of shock and something else… hope. “Turn on the video. Let me see his face.” Sean looked confused but obeyed, pointing the camera at me. But then, Harry lunged forward and knocked the phone out of his hand. “Get out.”

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A student exposed me on the campus Confession Wall, calling me a “total fraud” of a professor because I never took attendance. What the netizens didn’t know was that my “Contemporary Literary Criticism” class was an elective. The syllabus clearly stated: 30% for participation and group projects, 70% for the final term paper. The big paper was the real deal. But the internet decided I was “ruining the youth” and “waiting for retirement.” Fine. I’ll give the people what they want. I posted an announcement directly in the class GroupMe: “In response to student feedback regarding classroom discipline and academic standards, and acknowledging that previous attendance policies were too lenient, effective next week: This course will implement a strict, mandatory roll-call policy for every class. Attendance will now account for 10% of the final grade. Furthermore, the final exam format will change from an open-book term paper to a closed-book, in-class written exam.” The group chat exploded. Students who usually lurked, borrowed homework, or begged for study guides suddenly came alive. “Professor, we were wrong! Your old way was perfect!” “Please, change the grading scale back!” A few students even blocked the door to my office, begging with sad faces for me to reverse the policy. 1 This semester, my “Contemporary Literary Criticism” class was packed. The lecture hall was full, mostly because of my reputation: “No attendance, no failing.” A boy in the back row named Sean stood up, interrupting my lecture with a deliberately provocative tone. “Professor, isn’t it boring just reading off the slides every day? This is a top-tier university, and you don’t even take attendance. Isn’t that a bit… water-downed? Where’s the academic rigor?” The room went silent. The class rep, Sarah, quickly scolded him. “Sean, sit down! Professor Lee’s class isn’t about forcing people to sit here. You actually learn real skills.” Another student chimed in, “Yeah, last year a senior used his final project from this class as a portfolio piece and got hired by a Fortune 500 company. Isn’t learning practical skills better than just sitting here like a zombie for attendance points?” “Oh? Is that so?” Sean drawled sarcastically. “Taking attendance is an attitude problem. If you can’t even maintain basic classroom discipline, how can you claim to have high teaching standards? Without structure, content is useless.” Sarah and the other student looked annoyed but shut up. Many students around them started jeering, looking at Sean with admiration. Emboldened, Sean straightened his back, his words becoming even sharper. “Professor Lee, I think since we are an Ivy League-level school, teaching management should be more standardized. Like attendance. Even if it’s an elective, it shouldn’t be this casual. If we had strict sign-ins, or even GPS check-ins, it would reflect the school’s rigor, right?” I looked at him, amused. I remembered this student, Sean. Last semester, he submitted a final paper with a 70% plagiarism rate on Turnitin. The logic was non-existent. I failed him immediately. He came to me later, begging and pleading for a pass, but I turned him down. He looked furious then, but didn’t say a word. So today, he was here for revenge. Pathetic. “Sean, I hope to attract minds interested in knowledge, not bodies tethered by attendance. 70% of the grade is the final project. That’s the real battleground. What’s the point of tying people to their seats if their minds aren’t here?” Sean’s smile froze. “Professor, I didn’t mean that. I meant combining discipline with freedom is the art of teaching management.” I interrupted him. “I only know that giving students the power to choose and be responsible for themselves is the greatest respect. If you think it’s worth it, listen. If not, leave. We’re in college. Treating adults like children is pointless.” He argued unconvinced, “I’m just making a suggestion.” After sitting down, he muttered loudly, “Old stubborn fool. Can’t reason with him. Just uses his title to suppress people. Feeding us chicken soup without asking if we want to drink it!” I didn’t pay much attention to this episode, dismissing it as youthful arrogance. I’ve been teaching for over ten years. I stick to this method because I believe the core of university education is awakening internal drive, not indoctrination and control. I’ve seen too many “well-managed” students get lost the moment they leave campus. But after class, seeing the hostile looks some students gave me, I had a bad feeling. 2 When I got home and started prepping for tomorrow, a colleague sent me a link to a TikTok video. “Lee, you’re trending on Campus Wall. What’s going on? Better handle this with the poster privately before it blows up.” My heart sank. I clicked the link with trembling fingers. The video was titled: [Gen Z Student Cleans Up ‘Water Course’: Professor Never Takes Attendance. Is This Irresponsible?] It already had over 100k likes. The poster’s profile picture was Sean’s face. Caption: “Mustered the courage to suggest the ‘Water Professor’ standardize teaching and manage attendance.” The video cut to me saying: “You can come or not, my class is just like this.” My patient explanation of the grading criteria and teaching philosophy had been edited and autotuned to make me sound like an arrogant, unreasonable dictator. It was followed by a shot of an empty classroom after class, captioned: “Besides me, the brave student who dared to speak up, no one wants to listen to this Water Professor’s nonsense.” “We don’t need so-called freedom. We just need a responsible teacher, a class worthy of our tuition and youth. Is asking the teacher to take attendance and maintain order too much?” In the ten minutes I watched, the comments jumped from hundreds to tens of thousands. [There are still teachers this lazy? Never takes attendance?] [Good job, bro! Expose him! Which school? What class?] [This kind of tenure-track trash needs to be cleaned up. Support you!] [No wonder college grads can’t find jobs. It’s because of professors like this.] I was so angry I saw stars. I put 70% of the grade on a project that tests real ability, and he calls it “irresponsible.” I tried calling Sean, but his phone was off. I could only watch as the likes climbed from tens of thousands to millions. I arrived at school early the next day. Sean, leading a group of his “supporters” (the class committee), was waiting at my office door. The sports rep, Mike, a 6’3″ giant, stood in front of 5’7″ me like a wall, using his biceps to intimidate me. “Professor Lee, Sean is just looking out for the class. No malice intended. We just hope the course can be more standardized and cohesive. The public is watching. If you don’t change the attendance policy, how can you keep up with the times?” Sean smugly showed me the post with two million likes. “Professor, this isn’t just my request anymore. It’s the universal call of the students.” I said calmly, “The syllabus and grading criteria were announced at the start of the semester. They won’t be changed easily based on one-sided words.” Sean smirked. “Professor, rules make the world go round. The netizens’ eyes are sharp.” “The video has millions of views now. If you don’t think of a solution, I can’t guarantee it won’t reach the Dean, or even bigger platforms.” This was an open threat. Just then, my phone rang. It was the Department Chair. “Lee, what’s going on? I’ve received several calls. People are seeing videos online saying your class is loose and ‘watered down.’ The impact is very bad. Be careful.” “Also, the Academic Affairs Office called. They saw the online sentiment and want our department to investigate and provide a statement ASAP.” Seeing my face change, Sean’s smile widened. He even shook his phone screen at me, showing the rising share count. “Professor Lee, do you still think this is just me being unreasonable?” I clenched my fist and refreshed the post. Sure enough, the video had been uploaded to TikTok and YouTube, and our university’s official account was tagged. What chilled me even more was that the thread of comments cursing me as a “Water Professor” had reached ten thousand. 3 [I’m Professor Lee’s student. Besides reading off PPTs, he knows nothing.] [Using ‘academic freedom’ as a cover for laziness. Typical tenure abuse.] [I envy other professors who give study guides. We have to guess what’s on the exam.] These accusations made me dizzy. The boy who said I “only read PPTs”—last semester his paper was a mess. I called him to my office and helped him revise it sentence by sentence for three nights. He got a B+ and cried, saying, “Professor, I would have failed without you.” The girl envious of study guides—a month ago she posted on Instagram thanking me for a book recommendation that sparked her academic interest. The photo was of the out-of-print book I gifted her. But now, they could lie through their teeth and follow Sean to paint me as an unforgivable academic fraud. This fickleness was like a bucket of ice water, extinguishing all the passion I had poured into teaching over the years. Looking at the IDs eagerly piling on in the forum, I suddenly felt like a complete idiot. Staying up until 3 AM to prep lessons, spending my own money to buy hundreds of classic books for the classroom library, resisting the pressure of research KPIs to leave time for student questions. I gave everything, hoping to ignite even one or two minds thirsty for knowledge. And the result? They just want you to highlight the key points, leak the exam questions, and hand them an easy A. I actually thought I was doing something meaningful. Overnight, I went from “the most open-minded Professor Lee” to a morally bankrupt “Water Course Slacker.” My DMs were filled with filthy curses. Someone even photoshopped my lecture screenshot into a funeral portrait with the caption “Misleading students, deserves to die.” Early the next morning, the Department Chair found me, dark circles under his eyes, voice hoarse. “Lee, the students who started this must apologize publicly and delete the posts.” “The school will also issue an official statement to defend your reputation.” I pointed to a top comment: “Waiting for the school to whitewash their own. Academic trash get out.” I smiled bitterly at the Chair. “Do you believe that once the statement is out, the label of ‘school protecting its own’ will be slapped on, and my teaching career will truly be over?” He froze, mouth opening and closing. “But what they said is false!” When a person is pushed onto the gallows of public judgment, does the truth matter? How many scholars have been ruined by public opinion? I tried to cheer myself up, forcing a laugh. “It’s okay. There will always be sensible students who will stand up and speak the truth. Can white really be turned into black?” But when I refreshed the forum and saw a new post from thirty seconds ago, I was struck by lightning. [Insider Info: The book list Professor Lee recommends is full of unsellable books. He colludes with booksellers for kickbacks. He forces us to buy reference materials and takes a 50% cut.] The poster’s avatar was one I knew well. Mike, the sports rep. The Mike whom I personally visited in the hospital when he was sick, and to whom I gave my own out-of-print book. This post was instantly pinned and exploded in popularity. My anger was replaced by exhaustion. The last shred of illusion about the teacher-student bond was shattered by these vicious attacks. I looked up sharply out the office window. The academic building was brightly lit. I could imagine how many students behind those screens were excitedly typing away, not studying, but participating in this collective crusade against their teacher. I didn’t dare to imagine. Yesterday I was up late grading their thesis outlines. Today, these students who claimed to respect teachers were probably plotting my demise in group chats. The Chair suddenly handed me his phone, face grim. “Lee, Vice President Wang. He’s in charge of discipline.” I took the phone and spoke calmly. “VP Wang, please rest assured. I will give the school, and myself, an explanation.” Standing aside, the corner of Sean’s mouth curled into a triumphant arc. “Professor Lee, admit your mistakes early. Release the final exam questions and study guide, and we can say a few good words for you in the threads.” “Otherwise, when the school issues a punishment, it won’t look good for you.” “By the way, I have an interview with the campus radio station at 10. Your time is running out.” I stood up, walked to the Chair’s desk, picked up the “Crisis PR Plan,” and tore it in half. “Contact all media. 10 AM, Liberal Arts Building, Lecture Hall 101. I’m holding a press conference.” “I have an important decision to announce.” The Chair hesitated. “Lee, are you compromising? We can’t bow to this kind of behavior.” I interrupted him coldly. “Chair, don’t worry. I will never surrender.” With that, I turned and left the office. Behind me, I could hear the suppressed snickers of Sean and his cohorts. Laugh. The harder you laugh now, the harder you’ll cry at 10 o’clock. 4 At 10 AM, Lecture Hall 101, which seats hundreds, was packed with reporters and rubbernecking students. All eyes were on me—a mix of excitement, curiosity, greed, and anticipation. They looked at me like a convict about to be executed. Sean and Mike were surrounded by a group of students in the center, looking like rebel leaders against authority. Sean even set up a tripod and started livestreaming. “Fam, the unethical professor is bowing to pressure and apologizing publicly. This is a victory for students. As long as we unite, we can get Water Professors fired forever.” “Let’s witness history together.” I walked slowly onto the podium. Microphones and cameras were shoved in my face. I bowed deeply to the audience. “I’m sorry.” The crowd erupted. Reporters fired sharp questions: “Professor Lee, is your apology for not taking attendance, for watering down the curriculum, or for taking kickbacks from booksellers?” “Do you admit to using recommended books for personal gain?” “Will you release the final exam questions and grading criteria today?” … I straightened up, looking at those young faces written with calculation, and spoke firmly: “I have never mandated the purchase of any books. All recommended books are available in the library. I have no financial dealings with any booksellers. The so-called kickbacks are pure fabrication.” I signaled my assistant to turn on the projector. My purchase records, emails with publishers, and screenshots of students posting about borrowing my recommended books from the library appeared one by one. The reporters’ expressions grew serious. But Mike shouted from the floor, “Those can be faked! Who knows if they’re real? If you have guts, fix the attendance! Give us the exam questions and study guide!” His words drew whistles and applause. Sean smugly pointed his livestream camera at me, as if recording my submission. I smiled and nodded. “Student Sean is right. I should indeed prioritize the students’ core demands and respect everyone’s desire for strict attendance management.” Cheers erupted. Sean’s stream was flooded with comments like “Professor kneels!” and “Gen Z fixes academia!” I waited for the cheers to subside, then changed my tone abruptly. “After emergency consultations with the college and university, I have decided to make the following major adjustments to the assessment and teaching methods of ‘Contemporary Literary Criticism.’” Everyone held their breath, eyes filled with greedy anticipation. I looked at them and announced the decision clearly and calmly: “Effective immediately, the open-ended essay assessment method, which has been used for years, is completely abolished.” Several students stood up in excitement. I ignored them and continued: “To satisfy everyone’s desire for roll calls and exam study guides, this course will switch to a standardized assessment model consistent with compulsory public courses. That is, a clear scope of key points will be defined, and a closed-book examination format will be adopted. Attendance/Participation will count for 50%, and the Final Exam will count for 50%.” Silence fell over the room, followed by an even louder uproar. From open-ended essays that valued process and encouraged thinking, to rote memorization and a standardized test that determined one’s fate in a single shot. The massive gap froze many smiles. Sean sat down heavily on the floor. Recovering, he was the first to jump up, pointing at my nose and cursing, “Why?! We can research and discuss essays! Closed-book exams? Are you deliberately making it hard for us?” I looked at him coldly. “For the final assessment, you complained that the key points were vague and suspected leniency. Now, a closed-book exam, with unified standards, absolutely fair and just—isn’t this exactly what you asked for?” I signaled my assistant to switch the slide. The screen showed a screenshot of a notice just released by the Academic Affairs Office. [Preliminary Investigation and Handling Explanation Regarding Recent Online Opinion Involving Teaching Accidents], as well as emails from several cooperative research institutions stating “Need to Re-evaluate Cooperation.” I looked calmly at the students, whose expressions were shifting from dissatisfaction to shock and panic, and continued: “Due to the massive negative public opinion triggered by this false report, the academic reputation of the school and myself has been severely damaged, leading to the potential suspension of several important cooperative research projects. To enforce academic discipline, the university has decided to reduce the quota for outstanding student selection in the School of Liberal Arts by 30% this year. Quotas for various scholarships and graduate school recommendations will also be tightened.” A reporter immediately asked, “Professor Lee, are you using academic resources to retaliate against students?” My gaze swept over the pale faces below, and I twitched my lips. “I am merely stating the direct consequences of this incident. I have no interest in retaliating against students. I am simply changing my original teaching intentions to satisfy the students’ calls.” Then, I bowed deeply to the room again. “Congratulations. You got what you wanted.” Every young face was written with blindsided despair.

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The CEO of our parent studio, Seraphina Frye, visited the set today. She brought a box of artisanal chocolates, worth a cool ten thousand dollars, for the leading man, Aiden Reed. The whole crew started joking around, begging for a piece. So I joined in the fun. “Hey, sis, where’s mine?” Her warmth vanished the second she looked at me. “In your dreams,” she said, her voice like ice. Of course, some freelance photographer caught the whole thing on camera, and the clip went viral. I was crucified online. “Who does this guy think he is? Does he even own a mirror? Trying to start shipping rumors with Ms. Frye.” “He’s a nobody trying to steal Aiden’s girlfriend. Pathetic.” Later, Aiden’s friends dragged me into a dressing room, tore my clothes, and filmed a humiliating video, all to “teach me to respect my superiors.” Un-fucking-believable. All I did was ask my own sister for a piece of chocolate, and now I’m public enemy number one? 1 “You piece of shit! How dare you try to move in on Aiden’s girl in front of everyone!” “Get on your knees and apologize, and maybe we’ll let you go. Otherwise, we can end your career right now. Don’t believe us? Try it.” Aiden’s cronies shoved me hard, sending me sprawling onto the cold floor of the dressing room. One of them was Lucas, the second male lead in this production. He’d gotten the part by kissing Aiden’s ass—a part that was originally mine. I was demoted to the fourth male lead. Now, he sat perched on the makeup counter, phone in hand, recording my humiliation. Another guy pinned my shoulders, forcing me to my knees. “Apologize! Did you forget what we told you? You think you can get away with poaching from a senior actor?” I was speechless. “What are you even talking about? I wasn’t poaching anything. Everyone else was joking around, so I asked for a chocolate! Besides, Seraphina Frye is my sister. Why would I need to ‘poach’ anything?” Lucas rolled his eyes so hard I thought they’d fall out. At his unspoken signal, the guy behind me kicked me squarely in the back. “Shameless bastard. You’ve got some nerve calling her your sister.” This was ridiculous. The only reason I didn’t sign with Seraphina’s company was to avoid accusations of nepotism. Plus, her attitude toward me has always been a confusing mix of hot and cold, completely unpredictable. So, we had a silent agreement to keep our relationship private. And now, here I was, paying the price. Nobody believed me. Lucas sauntered over, phone still raised, and kicked me again. “We’re all in the same business! You think we’re idiots?” “Ms. Frye is the head of a major entertainment empire. You think you can just claim to be related to her?” “We looked into it. Seraphina Frye has no brother. Stop trying to ride her coattails.” “If you want to survive in this industry, you’ll get on your knees and apologize properly. Otherwise, I’ll make sure you never work in this town again!” Lucas shot a look at the guy next to him. The man behind me pulled out a utility knife, its blade glinting under the lights, and pressed the cold steel against my cheek. I froze, tilting my head away, holding my breath, terrified that one twitch would leave a permanent scar on my face. “It’s true!” I choked out. “My father and Seraphina’s father served together in the army. My dad saved Mr. Frye’s life. After my parents… after the accident, I went to live with the Fryes. Seraphina really is my sister. I swear, I have no romantic feelings for her. If I did, don’t you think I would have made a move years ago?” They exchanged uncertain glances. For a moment, they hesitated. Lucas made a call. It sounded like he was talking to Aiden. “Right. I get it.” The moment he hung up, he delivered another vicious kick, this time right to my chest. “You lying piece of shit! Aiden just asked. Seraphina said she doesn’t have a brother.” The world spun, and my head slammed against the floor. It felt like my skull had cracked open, static flooding my vision. I only came back to my senses when they grabbed my collar and started shaking me violently. I should have known Seraphina would deny me. Ever since I was a kid, she’d felt like I had stolen her parents’ love. She even accused them of favoring a boy over their own daughter. A wave of bitter injustice washed over me. Just then, a girl with a messy neon-pink mohawk and ripped fishnets swaggered in. She whistled, looking me up and down. “He’s cute. Not like I’m losing out here. But… he’s not gonna call the cops, is he?” 2 I froze. As the horrifying realization of what they planned to do dawned on me, I began to struggle with every ounce of strength I had. “Let me go! I’ll call the cops! You won’t get away with this!” Lucas just laughed. “You won’t. In this business, you make sacrifices to protect your career. Who in Hollywood is really clean? Besides, if this gets out, it’s just him sleeping with a fan. You’re the victim here.” The girl’s hesitation vanished, replaced by a wicked grin as she advanced on me. Lucas and his buddy pinned me to the floor. The impact sent a shock of pain through my entire body. I heard the sound of fabric ripping. “Damn, celebrities are something else. Not just a pretty face, skin’s soft too.” I screamed and fought, a wild animal in a trap. “Seraphina will kill you for this!” Lucas slapped my face while helping the girl unbuckle my belt. “You have no idea how much Ms. Frye dotes on Aiden, do you?” “A corporation doesn’t just destroy its biggest star. Especially when he’s her boyfriend. Everyone can see how in love they are. She’ll probably thank us for taking out trash like you.” The girl’s hand slipped inside my jeans. And in that exact moment, we heard footsteps approaching outside. “Ms. Frye, how about I treat you to that French place on Belmont Street tonight?” It was Aiden’s voice. “I’ll have to pass. A family elder isn’t well; I need to get home tonight.” It was Seraphina! She was right outside the door! Even if she didn’t want to acknowledge me, she had to know how devastated Mr. Frye would be if something happened to me. I summoned every last bit of strength, wrenching myself free from their grip. “Seraphina! Mmph! Mmph!” Before I could finish, they tackled me again, quick and brutal. “Shut the hell up!” A tangle of hands clamped over my mouth and nose. Lucas’s face was tight with panic. “What the hell is she doing here? Who is she looking for?” The agony of suffocation made my legs kick out wildly. I fought, desperate, and managed to land a solid kick on a nearby metal locker. Finally, just as my vision started to black out, I kicked over a chair. “What was that noise?” Seraphina’s voice, sharp and clear, cut through the door. 3 Seraphina was trying the handle. But the door was locked from the inside. Lucas and his crony shoved me into an adjoining closet. Aiden’s voice floated in from the hallway, smooth and placating. “It’s a dressing room, someone’s probably in there. Weren’t you in a hurry to see your family, Sera? Let me walk you out.” A cold dread filled me. Don’t let her leave. Thankfully, Seraphina insisted. “Open this door! Whoever is in there, open up right now.” Lucas and his friends started to panic, pushing the responsibility onto each other. He shoved the girl forward. “You go out there and stop them if you don’t want to go down with us.” She was trembling. “This has nothing to do with me! I didn’t even do anything yet!” “He’s barely conscious and his pants are ripped. You think anyone’s gonna believe you’re innocent?” Defeated, the girl went to unlock the door. Seraphina’s voice, colder than a winter storm, filled the room. “Who are you? Why was this door locked? What were you just doing?” The girl’s voice shook. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Frye. I’m from maintenance… I was here to fix a light, and my husband and I… we got a little carried away.” I could practically hear Seraphina grinding her teeth. “Who gave you permission to do… that… in here?” “And your husband,” she added with venomous disgust, “has some nerve, screaming my name while he’s at it. How revolting.” The girl stammered, “That’s because… my husband… he admires you a great deal.” The tension outside was thick enough to cut with a knife. Aiden tried to smooth things over. “Come on, Sera, let it go. Just a couple who couldn’t control themselves. It’s not worth getting upset over. We can have her fired.” I was still being held down, unable to make a sound. I could hear her footsteps turning to leave. With a final, desperate surge of adrenaline, I tore free from the man holding me. “Seraphina! Help—!” I never finished the word. A searing pain erupted in my back, and my body pitched forward. I never imagined Lucas would actually use the knife. My body slammed against the closet door with a heavy thud. Lucas and his friend’s faces went ghostly white. He stared at the blood on his hands, let out a terrified shriek, and flung the knife across the room. “He’s gonna die! We’re all screwed!” “I didn’t mean to! I was just trying to stop him!” Their whispered panic was drowned out by the roaring in my ears. But even if I was dying, I wouldn’t die hidden away in some dark, filthy closet. While they were still frozen in shock, I fought through the agony, my hand closing around the doorknob. By the time they reacted, it was too late. I stumbled out of the closet and fell directly into someone’s arms. Tragically… they were Aiden’s. He was half a head taller than me. One arm wrapped around me to hold me up, while the other clamped firmly over my mouth, silencing me completely. “Whoa, buddy, running out without your pants on? I know you admire Ms. Frye, but this is a bit much.” As the blood drained from my body, so did my strength. My consciousness began to fade. Seraphina sounded irritated, disgusted. She hadn’t even looked at me. I just heard her voice, dripping with contempt. “Get him out of here. Or I’m calling the police.” So this was it. Twenty years under the same roof, and she couldn’t even recognize my voice. How much did she have to hate me? No, it wasn’t hate. It was worse. Indifference. All my despair and fury focused into one single point. I bit down, hard, on the hand covering my mouth. A piercing scream. Aiden yanked his hand away. And finally, Seraphina turned to look at me. It was too late for Lucas, who rushed out to try and restrain me again. I stood before her, my clothes torn, barely covering me, blood soaking through the fabric and dripping onto the floor. I saw Seraphina’s eyes widen in horror, the color draining from her face. Lucas’s voice trembled. “Ms. Frye, this guy was spreading rumors that he’s your brother. We were just teaching him a little lesson for you.” But I only had eyes for her. My voice was a broken whisper. “Seraphina, I hate you.” “Leo!” In the final second before darkness took me, I saw her running toward me.

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