Category: English

1 I was bored on the bus, scrolling through my phone, when a post on a forum caught my eye. The title was: “I had a horrible childhood, and now I’m jealous of my daughter. What do I do?” The top comment was: “Just make her repeat your life.” The replies were a firestorm of outrage. But I froze. The top commenter’s profile picture was identical to my mom’s. I was just killing time, but this post pulled me in. The original poster said she’d grown up with nothing. Now, seeing her newborn daughter surrounded by loving parents and doting grandparents, she felt a twist of bitter jealousy. She was asking for advice on how to handle it. Most of the replies were kind, suggesting postpartum depression and talking to her husband. Others recommended taking a vacation after her maternity leave to relax. But that one top comment was jarring: [Make her live the same life you did.] [Otherwise, how is it fair that you suffered so much, and she gets a better life for free?] People were tearing her apart, calling her a monster. But the commenter just doubled down: [I’m already doing it. I never had new clothes, so I don’t let my daughter have new clothes.] [I never had enough to eat, so I lie to my daughter and tell her we’re poor, to make her skip meals and ‘conserve.’] [As soon as I started doing it, I felt so much more balanced.] The comment section was horrified. But I just felt a cold dread creeping up my spine. Because the profile picture was my mom’s. A low-res photo of a sunflower. And the coincidence was sickening. My mom always told me we were poor, forcing me to wear my cousins’ old hand-me-downs. They were always the wrong size, and I was relentlessly bullied for it. I remember my aunt gave me a dress once. My mom smiled and accepted it. The moment my aunt left, she took a pair of scissors and cut it to shreds. She told me, with a serious face, that the world was full of bad men, and wearing dresses was “unsafe.” I believed her. I didn’t own a new piece of clothing until I went to college and paid for it myself with my work-study money. Looking at all these coincidences, my stomach sank. Could this “Top Commenter” be my mom? Do mothers like that really exist? My hand was shaking as I kept reading. The replies were brutal: [You’re a vile human being. If you didn’t want a kid, you shouldn’t have had one. What’s the point of giving birth just to torture her?] [People like you should be sterilized. You’re a waste of resources.] The Top Commenter shot back, full of scorn: [You all feel so sorry for her, but do you even know what she’s like?] [She’s been a bad seed from day one. She stole a barrette from a classmate and then lied, telling me she saved up to buy it.] [That’s a laugh. I never give her an allowance. How could she ‘save’ anything?] [When I exposed her lie, she didn’t even feel ashamed. She ran to her teacher, playing the victim, saying she’d collected cans for weeks. I was so angry I dragged her back and made her apologize to the entire class.] [A daughter with no morals. Why should I be good to her?] The replies were stunned: [She’s your daughter. You didn’t believe her? You humiliated her in front of her whole class? She’s the unluckiest person in the world to have you as a mom.] [If I were your daughter, I would never, ever forgive you.] The commenter was unfazed: [Please. I’m a woman. I can see right through her little games.] [She’s a compulsive liar. Vain. Materialistic.] [I grew up without barrettes and I turned out fine, didn’t I?] [If I don’t crush those ideas out of her now, she’ll end up embarrassing me for the rest of my life.] 2 My blood ran cold. I did buy a barrette when I was a kid. All the other girls in my class had one. I was so jealous. I spent weeks collecting cans from the school dumpsters after class and redeeming them at the recycling center. When I finally had enough, I bought one. My mom saw it. She, who was always so gentle, went insane. She ripped it out of my hair. “You shameless little bitch!” she screamed. “Who did you steal this from?” I was terrified. I tried to explain. She didn’t believe me. She dragged me to school and went from classroom to classroom, asking if anyone was missing a barrette. Humiliated, I told my teacher the truth. My mom slapped me, hard, right in front of her. “You’re lying to your teacher now? Is this how I raised you? You’re embarrassing me to death!” In the end, even though there was no “victim,” I was forced to stand in front of my class and read a written apology. After, my mom told me it was for my own good. She didn’t want me to get into the “habit of comparing” myself to others. She said we were poor, and we had to be humble. We couldn’t buy things we couldn’t afford, and we definitely couldn’t steal. Looking at her rough, calloused hands, I was convinced. I felt sick with guilt. Here we were, barely scraping by, and I was wasting money on stupid trinkets. I never bought anything like that again. While other girls were discovering makeup and pretty clothes, I was the gray, frumpy ugly duckling. I told myself it was fine. Every family was different. My parents were doing their best. But now, I was reading a different story. I kept scrolling. Her replies were so unhinged that someone finally asked: [You treat your daughter like this. Aren’t you afraid of backlash? Aren’t you scared she’ll hate you?] She replied, full of pride: [I’m not stupid. You give them a slap, then you give them a sweet. I’ve got her wrapped around my little finger. She still tells me she loves me and wants to take care of me when she’s older.] I let out a bitter laugh. After every screaming match, after every slap, my mom would always calm down and give me a small piece of candy, or say a few soft words. And I would burst into tears, convinced I was the one who had done something wrong. That I wasn’t grateful enough. I never imagined it was all a calculated performance. She was just forcing me to live her life. Just to make herself feel “balanced.” I looked at the gift I’d bought her, sitting in my lap. I felt sick. 3 The bus slowed to a stop. We were at the station. This was my winter break. I was finally home. I’d had a million stories to tell my mom. I wanted to tell her about my classes, about life in the city, about all the new things I’d seen. Now, I just sat there. I stood in the terminal for a long time. I decided I had to confront her. I had to know. As I started walking, I glanced at the thread one last time. That’s when my blood turned to ice. The Top Commenter had posted again: [I wanted to make the little bitch get a job at the local factory after high school. But she had to go and get into a good college. A good one. Now everyone back home talks about how smart she is, how she ‘made it out.’] [Every time I see her proud face, it makes me sick.] [If I’d had her opportunities, I’d be a thousand times more successful.] [She’s only a junior, and she hasn’t been home in two years. She’s already got an attitude. Once she graduates, she’ll be gone for good, won’t she?] [Hmph. When she gets back this time, I’m making sure she never leaves. She’s not getting away from us.] I gripped my phone, my knuckles white. I hadn’t been home in two years because I was working two jobs to pay for tuition and rent. My mom knew that. She’d always praised me for being so responsible. What did she mean, “never leaves”? The replies asked her what she was planning. She didn’t hide it: [I found her a husband. She’s getting married as soon as she’s back.] [She can live in the next town over. That way, we can all ‘look out for each other.’] The forum exploded. They called her evil, inhuman. My mom was indignant: [It’s a parent’s right! I got married and stayed here, why is she any different?] [None of you understand what I went through. She can’t understand my suffering unless she walks the same path.] [Besides, you have to suffer to build character. I’m doing this for her own good.] People in the thread threatened to report her, to call the police. That finally scared her. She deleted her account. My vision blurred. All the complicated, swirling emotions boiled down to one, single thought. I have to get out of here. I have to leave this family. I wiped my eyes and turned to buy a ticket back to my college town. I hadn’t taken two steps before I froze. There, standing at the only exit, were my mom and dad. And a strange man. They saw me. Their faces lit up. “Maya! We’re over here!” I was trapped. This station was tiny. There was no other exit. I couldn’t go back to their town. But if I made a scene here, they’d just play the “worried parents” card. The cops, if they even came, would see it as a “family dispute” and tell us to handle it ourselves. I couldn’t alert them. I had to play along. I had to find a chance to run. I put on a bright, fake smile and walked toward them. “Mom! Dad! What are you guys doing here?” My mom grabbed my arm. “You haven’t been home in two years! Of course we’d come to pick you up!” “Look, your dad came, too.” If this were yesterday, I’d have been thrilled. My dad had always been cold, reserving all his affection for my cousin, Kevin. He’d take Kevin fishing, buy him things, like he was his real son. My mom always sighed that I wasn’t born a boy. I’d spent my childhood feeling inferior to my cousin. I glanced at the strange man next to them. “Mom, who’s this?” “Oh, this is Bucky!” she said, way too enthusiastically. “You remember Bucky, right? He used to babysit you! He has a truck, so he was nice enough to give us a ride.” Bucky looked me up and down, a weird, appraising stare. Then he gave my mom a subtle nod. I instinctively took a step back. I didn’t remember Bucky, but I’d heard about him. He was the town loser. Pushing forty, no job, just drank and gambled. The only thing he had was a small inheritance his dad left him to “find a wife.” Even the most desperate people in town avoided him. And my mom wanted to marry me to him. My eyes started to sting again. 4 It was around noon, and our town was still a long drive away, so we stopped at a diner. At the table, I put a piece of pot roast on my plate. My mom sighed. “I never had food like this when I was a kid. We were lucky to get scraps. You kids have it so good.” This was her routine. On the rare occasions we had meat, she’d wait for me to take a bite, then start her ‘childhood suffering’ speech. I would always, always, feel a pang of guilt, put down my fork, and push the meat to her and my dad. This time, I pretended not to hear her. I smiled, took a huge bite, and kept eating. If I was going to make a run for it, I needed the energy. My mom looked stunned. But Bucky was there, so she couldn’t say anything. She just quietly started eating. Halfway through the meal, I felt my pocket. Wallet, debit card, ID. All there. Thank God I always keep them on me. I wiped my mouth. “I’m going to the restroom.” My mom’s eyes flicked to my suitcase by the table, then to my half-eaten plate. She knew I’d never waste food. She nodded. I stood up. I walked. The exit got closer. My heart was pounding. I was almost at the door when the waitress called out, “Hon, you’re going the wrong way. Restroom’s over there.” My blood ran cold. The next second, I heard my mom’s chair scrape back and her voice, sharp with suspicion. “Maya! Where are you going?” I bolted. If I went back to that town, it was over. My mom and dad tried to chase me, but the waitress blocked them, holding the bill. “Hey! You haven’t paid!” Bucky shoved past them and ran after me. The street was crowded. I sprinted into the thickest part of the crowd. “HELP!” I screamed. “KIDNAPPER! HE’S TRYING TO TAKE ME!” People immediately turned. A few men blocked Bucky’s path. Bucky, to my horror, started yelling, “She’s not being kidnapped! She’s my wife! I caught her cheating, and she’s trying to run! Don’t let her fool you!” I couldn’t believe his nerve. But the crowd wasn’t stupid. One man laughed. “Your wife? Buddy, you’re old enough to be her father. We’re not idiots.” “Somebody call the cops! Get this creep away from her.” Bucky looked terrified. What he was doing wasn’t that far from kidnapping, and my parents weren’t there to back him up. He turned and ran, disappearing into an alley before anyone could get their phone out. I gasped, catching my breath, and ran in the opposite direction. I blacklisted their numbers. I knew they’d wait at the bus station, so I found a cab and paid him to take me to the next county over. After three different buses, I was finally back in my college city. My luggage was gone, but it was just clothes. I didn’t care. I cleared out my dorm room, called my friend Jenna, and went to her place. They’d be back. They’d come to the school. But I was mostly done with my classes. I could file for an internship waiver and finish my credits off-campus. I just needed to find a job. They couldn’t wait at the school forever.

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For six years, I was in love with Leo. And for six years, we were just friends. When I was hospitalized with pneumonia, he was the one who paid for the private room and sat by my bedside, more attentive than anyone. When my cousin got engaged, he was my date, charming my entire family and leaving a gift so generous it made my aunt’s eyes water. Everyone thought it was only a matter of time. Finally, I worked up the courage to tell him. He just gave me a lazy, sideways glance, a smirk playing on his lips as he flicked a silver Zippo open and closed. He let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “I think of you as my best friend, Audrey. And you… you want to date me? “Come on. Don’t be ridiculous. Be good.” I was silent for a long time before I managed a single, choked word. “Okay.” We didn’t speak after that. The next time he called, two months had passed. “What have you been up to?” he asked, his voice casual, as if no time had passed at all. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” I glanced at the handsome, reserved man sitting across the table from me and answered truthfully. “Oh. I’m on a date.” The line went dead, but not before I heard the distinct, shattering sound of a phone hitting a wall. 1 I never imagined Leo and I would end up here. He was leaning against the balcony railing, his expression loose and amused. That handsome mouth, which I knew so well, was tilted in a slight smile, as if I’d just told him the world’s funniest joke. “So, tell me,” he said. “What is it you like about me?” My palms were slick with sweat. “You… you’re good to me.” Better than anyone. For six years, he had been a constant, unwavering presence in my life. For my birthday, he’d rent out that rooftop bar I loved, the one with the view of the city lights, and he’d bake the cake himself—a lopsided chocolate monstrosity that was always the best thing I’d ever tasted. He would gather everyone around, placing me in the very center of it all before lighting the candles with that lazy grin of his. “Make a wish, Audrey. Anything heaven can’t handle, I’ll take care of it for you.” He owned a house on Seaview Drive, a sprawling modern thing with a garden overlooking the ocean. He had it filled with roses, just because I’d once said I liked them. He never used to live there. He bought it right after I graduated, when I was a nervous wreck at my first job. I was new, overworked, and constantly on the verge of tears from the pressure. One night, I finally broke down in front of him. Not long after, he moved in. He gave me a spare key. “Next time you feel like the world is ending,” he’d said with a soft sigh, “just come over. I’m right here. Who else are you going to call?” I was too busy to eat, too stressed to remember lunch. So Leo, a man born with a trust fund who’d probably never touched a raw vegetable in his life, learned to cook. He’d show up at my office building every day with a container still warm from his kitchen. The first dish he perfected was my favorite spicy rigatoni. He came from old money, but he never acted like it. The line of women trying to get his attention could have wrapped around the city twice. One of them managed to get my number and tried to use me to arrange a dinner date. I was young then, not yet skilled at saying no. I set it up, and that night, the girl called me. “He seems so warm,” she’d said, “but underneath, he’s ice cold. I don’t think I have a chance.” She told me Leo was the most well-mannered man she’d ever met. Even after realizing he’d been tricked, he wasn’t angry. He sat through the entire dinner with her, patient and polite. But at the end, he’d said, “Audrey’s just starting her career. She’s already stretched thin. You might not care about her time, but I do. “So, if it’s all the same to you, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bother her again. Understood, Miss Davies?” Back then, everything felt golden. The world was quiet and full of promise. Everyone who saw us together thought it was inevitable. I thought so, too. But I never stopped to ask myself the most important question: What if he didn’t love me back? 2 Leo raised an eyebrow. He stared at me for a long moment, his gaze dropping to the floor before he looked up and said my name, his voice suddenly serious. “Audrey.” “You’re twenty-five. How many people have you really met? You’re going to find someone who treats you better than I do.” My body went rigid. I knew what this was. This was the end. A sob caught in my throat. I’d ruined everything. I had seen him reject people before. Beautiful girls would stand before him, tears streaming down their perfect faces, telling him how much they loved him. He wouldn’t even flinch. If anything, he’d take a subconscious step back, his indifference so complete it was chilling. I just thought… I thought I was different. It was clear now that I wasn’t. It was all in my head. He saw the tears welling in my eyes and lifted his hand, an instinct to wipe them away, just like he always did. But halfway there, he seemed to remember himself. He dropped his arm, snatching the Zippo from the table and clicking it restlessly. A desperate sliver of hope made me push. “But for all these years… there’s been no one else. Just me. Can’t we… can’t we at least try? I love you, Leo. I really, really love you.” The words tumbled out of me, a messy, incoherent plea. His expression only grew colder. A hot wave of shame washed over me. I knew him better than anyone. I knew that look. He was losing his patience with me. The next sound he made was a soft chuckle. It was careless, dismissive. It was the sound of a final judgment. “I see you as my best friend, Audrey. And you… you want to date me?” “Does that seem right to you?” “Come on. Don’t be ridiculous. Be good.” I stayed silent for a very long time. I knew, in that moment, that this was the end. We wouldn’t even be friends anymore. But I asked myself, will I ever find someone like him again? Someone who would care for me more, who would arrange my entire life with such effortless thought? I covered my face with my hands and began to sob. He sighed, his gaze heavy on me. He didn’t say a word, which somehow said everything. He waited for me to finish crying before helping me to my feet. He used only his fingertips, and the second I was steady, he pulled his hand back as if he’d been burned, shoving it deep into his pocket. He gestured with his chin toward two large shopping bags by the door. “I brought you those from my business trip. You should take them with you.” I looked over. They were filled with boxes from Chanel, Hermès—things that would cost me years of salary. He’d given me gifts like this before. To him, no matter how expensive, it was just pocket change. He could always find an excuse: a promotion, a raise, or just because I was wearing a nice dress and the sun was shining. If I refused, he’d get moody. Over time, I’d learned his tells. I started giving him gifts in return—sweaters and scarves I’d knitted, ties and cufflinks I’d spent weeks picking out. He always smiled when he received them. A friend once told me, “The way you two are, what’s the difference between that and dating? If he told me he wasn’t in love with you, I’d call him a liar.” She was wrong. I was wrong. Leo only ever saw me as a friend. “I don’t want them,” I said. He just nodded. “Okay,” he said, not pressing the issue. As I walked toward the door, I glanced back at him. He was sitting quietly on the sofa, a cigarette between his fingers, his expression unreadable in the dim light. He looked… melancholic. A thought seized me, stopping me in my tracks. I could try again. I could be patient, I could pursue him, show him I was sincere. What if… But before I could speak, his voice cut through the silence. “The key to the house. Do you have it with you?” “Can I have it back?” I had carried that key for years. I had never once used it. Never stayed the night. But I was always terrified he’d forget his own, or that something would happen to him when he was alone. No matter where I went, I always had it with me. Today, it finally had a use. I don’t know how I managed to fish it out of my purse and place it on the coffee table in front of him. I only know that I must have looked utterly pathetic. Because when he took it, he looked at me and froze for a second. Then his voice turned cool, laced with a distinct disappointment. “Audrey,” he said, his tone almost detached. “I always thought you were different from the other girls.”

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The new transfer student set her sights on my fiancé the moment she arrived. In the weeks leading up to Christmas break, she was everywhere—engineering “accidental” run-ins, asking for help with homework, trying way too hard. But only I know the truth about my fiancé, Silas. He’s dangerously possessive. And he has severe, crippling germaphobia. So, when she faked a stumble in front of him again, trying to look fragile and fall into his arms, Silas didn’t hesitate. He recoiled, letting her plunge straight into the swimming pool. As she resurfaced, sputtering and humiliated, his voice cut through the air, cold as ice. “If you’re done living, find a quiet place to die.” 1 My fiancé, Silas, is a possessive germaphobe. I’m the only person he can stand to have touch him. At his worst, he couldn’t even let his own parents get near. And as the only “leash” that could control this particular “wild dog,” I, the housekeeper’s daughter, started attending the same elite prep school as the young heir back in eighth grade. My first day, I was walking past a classroom in my new uniform skirt. Some idiot whistled at me. Silas grabbed a chair and threw it at him. Even at a prep school full of entitled rich kids, Silas was on another level. As he lunged forward, eyes red like a rabid dog, I just stood there. I called his name. Softly, just once. He froze. He turned, and the fury in his eyes melted into a look of pure, wounded grievance. The mad dog instantly became an obedient one. That day, the rumor that the “psycho campus king” had been tamed spread like wildfire. Soon, a new saying made the rounds: “Mess with Silas, and Hana might save you. Mess with Hana, and you’re dead.” It was a bit dramatic, but it was accurate. That rumor held true from middle school all the way through high school. Until our junior year, when some girl who clearly had a death wish decided to test it. 2 Our junior year, a new transfer student joined our class. Long hair, “pure” features. The moment she walked in, all eyes were on her. Not because she was stunning, but because she looked almost exactly like me. She even had the same brand of detached, cool aura. Silas stared at her for a long moment. As the girl, Bianca, walked past our desks, she brushed her hair back, shooting me a look that was pure challenge. A shame she didn’t see what I did. As Silas watched her, his brow furrowed by just a few pixels. After first period, I, as class president, was called to the office. The gist was: “Please take care of the new student.” I nodded, and when I got back to the classroom, Silas was waiting for me at the door, arms crossed. His face lit up when he saw me, and he started walking over. At that exact moment, Bianca, who was “passing by,” suddenly twisted her ankle on the perfectly flat floor, aiming herself precisely at Silas’s chest. Silas’s brow snapped down. He took one sharp step back. With a loud thud, Bianca hit the linoleum. Silas didn’t even give her a glance. He just walked straight to me, a small smile playing on his lips. 3 “What’s up? What did the teacher want?” From the floor, Bianca shot me a look of pure venom. Remembering the teacher’s request, I sighed and offered her my hand. The instant my fingers brushed hers, she yanked her hand back and flopped back onto the floor, hard. Her eyes filled with tears. “Hana,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I just got here. I don’t think I did anything to offend you… Why are you treating me like this?” She lowered her gaze, showing off her long, graceful neck. The tears glistening on her lashes were a nice touch. The other students milling about the hallway all turned to look. She thought she’d scored an easy moral victory. What she didn’t realize was that they were all just watching a train wreck. I’m known for being fair and kind at school. I don’t use my “mad dog” to bite people; in fact, I’m usually the one helping everyone else. It’s why they elected me president. Silas moved to my side, a protective, menacing aura rolling off him. The irritation was practically vibrating from his skin. The noisy hallway went silent. People slowly backed away, not wanting to be in the splash zone. But Bianca couldn’t read the room. She pointed at me, appealing to Silas. “Silas, look at her…” Before the psycho could fully emerge, I grabbed his hand. “Let’s go. It looks like some people don’t want any help.” In an instant, Silas’s world narrowed. The only things that existed were me and our joined hands. 4 We get a two-hour lunch break at our school, so most students go back to their dorms for a nap. I had to double back to the classroom to grab a textbook. As I passed the courtyard behind the cafeteria, I heard voices. The rich kids at this school can get into some pretty wild stuff. I’m not curious. I sped up, trying to ignore it. Then I heard my own name. “That bitch Hana is always in the way! Can’t you think of a way to get rid of her?” I glanced over. I saw Bianca, sitting on a stone bench, picking at a lunchbox. She wasn’t talking. Then I heard another voice, one that didn’t seem to have a source. “Then earn more conquest points. Once your points are high enough, you can have whatever you want.” It was a mature male voice, and it sounded close. But I scanned the entire courtyard and saw no one else. That, combined with the phrase “conquest points,” made a nasty little theory start to form in my mind. “You said this face was Silas’s favorite type!” Bianca complained. “Why doesn’t he seem to feel anything for me?” “How do you know he feels nothing?” the voice replied. “The conquest points went up by one.” I was… surprised. That psycho could actually be “conquered”? “So what now?” Bianca whined. “He’s not falling for the innocent, ‘green tea’ act.” “Then change tactics. Men like novelty. Hana is so aloof, she probably never gives him the time of day. You should try being more enthusiastic.” “Fine. I’ll do it your way.” … I slipped away without making a sound.

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The seventh time Blake asked me to marry him, he told me to wear the dress. The white one. And the ring. I waited from sunrise to sunset at City Hall, a bride with no groom, only to find my humiliation broadcast across the city by a swarm of drones. I saw him then, his arm slung around Chloe, his childhood friend. He gestured back at me, a smirk playing on his lips as he addressed their friends. “See? Told you she’d do whatever I say. Pay up. A hundred bucks each.” Then his eyes, full of a familiar, malicious glint, found mine. “Ava, it’s just a joke. You’re not mad, are you?” he called out, his voice dripping with false concern. “Chloe needed an idea for a story, a little social experiment. We just wanted to see what would happen.” He let out a low chuckle. “I didn’t realize you were this desperate to get married. But then again, with your family bankrupt, who else is going to take you?” The group erupted in laughter and began to drift away. I managed a small, tight smile and raised my phone, dialing the number of his sworn enemy. “City Hall closes in an hour. Feel like getting married?” 1 The breath on the other end of the line hitched. A moment later, a low, masculine voice, laced with amusement, rumbled through the speaker. “You sure you have the right number? Little Ava, this is Ethan Grant. Not your precious Blake.” I glanced over at Blake, who was now laughing, utterly delighted with himself as Chloe clung to his arm. The pain in my chest was so sharp it had become a dull, constant ache. Ever since Chloe had moved back from her overseas assignment three years ago, the Blake I knew—the one whose world once revolved around me—had vanished, replaced by this cruel stranger. He used her career as an excuse, a shield for his increasingly twisted games. This was the seventh time. It would be the last. This time, I was the one leaving. “I know who you are. Are you in, or not?” “Fine,” he said, a note of finality in his tone. “Stay put.” The moment I hung up, a drone zipped down, its camera lens hovering inches from my face. The sound of Blake and his friends’ jeering laughter washed over me like a tidal wave. “Oh, look, she’s still keeping up the act!” “Get the camera right on her. Let’s see how good her performance is.” “Wow, she’s a natural.” Blake sauntered over, feigning annoyance as he stepped between me and the camera. “Alright guys, that’s enough.” He turned to me, his voice a stage whisper. “I mean, she’s wearing the dress and everything. It’d be a shame not to let her finish the scene, right?” The group roared. I stared at him, my body trembling with a rage so profound it left me speechless. He had insisted I wear this dress, and now he was using it as the punchline to his joke. His gaze dropped to my hand, and he snorted. “No way, Ava. You actually bought a ring? God, you’re desperate.” He grinned. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. We can make you famous today. We’ll call you the ‘Desperate Bride.’ You should thank Chloe. Without her story, you’d never get this kind of exposure.” Chloe linked her arm through mine, her expression a mask of gentle reprimand. “Oh, Blake, stop it. Don’t tease her. There’s nothing wrong with Ava wanting to marry the man she loves.” She gave my arm a squeeze. “Ava, don’t mind them. They’re just boys being boys.” “This was all for my story, you see,” she continued, her voice soft and earnest. “Just a social experiment. I told him it might be hard on you, but he insisted my work was more important. There was nothing I could do.” With a few placid words, she absolved herself, framing my public humiliation as a necessary sacrifice for her career. Blake hadn’t just played me for a fool at City Hall; he’d turned it into a city-wide spectacle, complete with a live drone feed. The old Blake—the boy who once tore through the city in the dead of winter to find me a specific kind of candy from our childhood that they didn’t make anymore—was gone. He’d been gone for three years. I pulled my arm from Chloe’s grasp. “I just never said I was here to marry him.” “Oh, Ava, stop trying to save face,” Blake sneered. “Your father’s in jail. You’re not a princess anymore.” 2 “You know what? I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” Blake continued, a cruel grin spreading across his face. “Gus can marry you. Yeah. That way, we can all still hang out sometimes. Keep you from going crazy when you can’t see me.” He shoved a short, heavyset guy with a face full of acne forward. “He’s a man, isn’t he? You should be grateful anyone wants you. Stop pretending you have options.” He watched me then, his eyes alight with a sick curiosity, waiting for my reaction. So, he knew. He knew how I felt, and he was using it to wound me. I recognized the man—Gus. One of Blake’s sycophants. He’d just gotten out of jail a few days ago, served a few years for what he did to that girl from state college. And Blake, in some twisted attempt to prove his loyalty to Chloe, was trying to pawn me off on him. My fists clenched at my sides. “No, thank you. My fiancé is on his way.” For a second, they were all stunned into silence. Then, a wave of derisive laughter broke over the plaza. Gus laughed so hard that tears streamed down his pimpled cheeks, looking at me like I was a lunatic. Blake waved the drones closer, directing them to focus tightly on my face. “Everyone get a good look! Remember this face. This is our city’s one and only Desperate Bride.” He shook his head, feigning pity. “Ava, are you delusional? Has wanting to get married finally broken your brain?” I saw Gus holding up his phone, the camera pointed at me. A live chat was scrolling rapidly on his screen, a torrent of digital venom. [OMG, this is so cringe. Showing up in a dress and ring to force a guy’s hand?] [Anyone in the chat wanna claim her? If you like ‘em easy, here’s your chance.] [This kind of girl is too much drama. Pass. Maybe for 100 bucks a night to help her out since her family’s broke lol. Support small business!] Gus grinned, flashing a set of yellowed teeth as he read the comments aloud. The humiliation was so public that even my father saw the news from the county jail. He called, his voice a furious rasp through the phone. “Our family would rather starve to death than pull a stunt like this! What is wrong with you, going to City Hall and making a spectacle of yourself? Have you lost your mind?” he yelled. “Chloe has a real, respectable career! What do you have? How dare you even think you can compete with her!” I’ll admit it. At first, my reason for wanting to marry Blake was tied to my family’s situation. That’s why I had let him humiliate me, time and time again. Even when I knew his marriage proposals were just ploys to appease Chloe and give her material for her sensationalist stories, I kept showing up. In the beginning, I would get angry. “It’s just a joke, Ava,” he’d say, his eyes cold. “Don’t be so sensitive.” Eventually, I just went numb. I always knew his friends looked down on me, saw me as a desperate clinger. In the past, Blake would have defended me, ready to fight anyone who said a bad word. Now, he was the one leading the charge, orchestrating my mockery for Chloe’s amusement. And this time, as if the private cruelty wasn’t enough, he’d invited the whole city to watch. The irony was, I’d known Blake longer than he’d known Chloe. The three of us grew up together, and for years, Blake couldn’t stand her. He used to say she was a phony, too calculating. But somewhere along the line, that changed. He started choosing her, over and over again, leaving me behind. Last year, for his birthday, I took time off work and flew in from out of state to surprise him. I spent three days and three nights in the freezing cold, setting up a huge outdoor party. My hands were swollen and raw by the end of it. But then, in the middle of the party, Blake got down on one knee in front of Chloe and declared his undying love for her. I stood in the snow, the tears freezing on my cheeks. Everyone cheered for them, a happy, roaring crowd. I was just outside the circle of their warmth, a lonely joke on the edge of their joy. 3 It felt just like that now. Except this time, I was certain I wouldn’t be standing alone. I took a deep breath, faced the cameras, and smiled. “Thank you all for coming to my wedding. My fiancé will be here shortly. Please be patient.” My words were a stone tossed into a still pond, sending ripples of shock and mockery through the crowd. “I’m dying! Is this woman for real? She’s completely delusional.” “Who’s gonna marry you? Someone from the livestream? Alright boys, hit ‘1’ in the chat if you want to marry her.” The chat feed flooded with a stream of ‘hell no’ and ‘run away.’ Blake crossed his arms, a smirk playing on his lips. “Ava, this act has gone on long enough. It’s going to be pretty embarrassing when no one shows up.” “Why don’t you tell us who this fiancé of yours is?” he taunted. “Did you hire an actor? How much does he charge an hour that he thinks he can keep us all waiting?” He was pretending to be annoyed at my non-existent fiancé, but his real target was me. The group behind him howled with laughter. I let my own smile widen. “Ethan Grant. Head of Grant Corporation.” Blake’s expression flickered, then he threw his head back and laughed, louder than before. “How many drinks have you had today? Ava, even if I gift-wrapped you and handed you to him, he wouldn’t look twice. Not after everything between us.” Chloe, ever the gentle mediator, wore a look of helpless concern. “Ava, please stop. Is it really that hard to just apologize to Blake? We were just running a test for my article. Now… now you’re just wasting everyone’s time.” Her sentiment was echoed by the others. “Yeah, is it so hard to admit that nobody wants you?” “Just get on your knees and beg Blake to call it off. Either that or marry Gus. I think it’s a great match, he knows how to handle women…” The men snickered, nudging each other. I squeezed my fists, my nails digging into my palms. “I told you. My fiancé will be here.” Blake waved a hand dismissively and had someone bring a chair for Chloe. “Alright then,” he said, settling in for the show. “Don’t blame me for what happens next.” He lit a cigarette and blew a plume of smoke directly in my face. Chloe coughed delicately, and Blake immediately panicked, crushing the cigarette under his heel. “Chloe, I’m so sorry, I forgot you hate the smell. I’ll quit, I swear. I’ll quit right now.” He frantically sent someone for wet wipes and breath spray, cleaning himself up as if he’d committed a cardinal sin. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I’m allergic to cigarette smoke. A severe, throat-closing allergy. The kind that has landed me in the emergency room, coughing up blood. Blake knew this. He never cared. When I first asked him not to smoke around me, he had exploded. “It’s my only vice, are you going to control that too? You think you’re my girlfriend or my warden?” he had snarled. “If you don’t like it, you can leave.” After that, I never mentioned it again. He seemed to find my silent suffering amusing, often blowing smoke rings in my face on purpose. Once, he and his friends locked me in a room, sealed the windows, and chain-smoked around me, calling it a “Smoke-Tasting Party.” They made me rank the brands from best to worst. When I pointed out the one that made my lungs burn the most, he made everyone smoke that kind for the rest of the night. My eyes were red and swollen, and later that evening, my throat and tongue went numb from the allergic reaction. I ended up in the ER. Twenty minutes had passed since my call with Ethan. He was always punctual, pathologically so. If he said he’d be there, he would. I wasn’t worried. They, however, were convinced I was bluffing. “She’s really committed to the bit, isn’t she? Does she actually think Ethan Grant is coming?” “‘My fiancé,’” one of them mimicked in a high-pitched voice. “God, how embarrassing.” “Hey Ava, there’s a 50-year-old bachelor back in my hometown who needs a wife. You should marry him. You’re not picky, right? As long as it’s a man.” “Oh, she’s picky!” another chimed in. “She brought the dress and the ring for Blake, didn’t she?” 4 I ignored their cackling, my brow furrowing in genuine confusion. “My dress and ring were for my fiancé. Is Blake my fiancé?” “Hahaha, you wish! But he’s got to want you first!” “Hey Blake, she’s asking you a question! You gonna marry her or what?” Blake held up his hands in mock surrender. “Whoa, no thanks! Pass! Not just anyone can walk through the doors of my house, you know!” A fresh wave of laughter. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. In that moment, any lingering trace of affection I might have had for him evaporated completely. The crowd of onlookers was getting restless. “I thought her fiancé was coming! Is she just messing with us? I have to pick up my grandson from school!” “Yeah, what a waste of time. Does she think we have nothing better to do?” A staff member from City Hall approached me. “Miss, are you getting a license or not? If not, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’re holding up the line.” “Just five more minutes, please. He’s almost here.” Chloe seemed to finally take pity on me, shooting Blake a disapproving glare. He immediately deflated. She sighed and walked over to me, her voice soft with sympathy. “Ava, just stop. There’s no point in dragging this out. You’re only going to humiliate yourself further.” Her eyes were wide and earnest. “I know you’ve always wanted to marry Blake, but he doesn’t feel that way about you. Why are you trying to force him?” She placed a gentle hand on my arm. “A woman needs to have self-respect, Ava. You need your own ambition, your own career. What man could possibly handle this kind of desperation?” Every word was carefully crafted to sound like advice from a concerned friend, but the subtext was clear: I was a pathetic leech, incapable of standing on my own two feet. The crowd and the online viewers exploded. The narrative shifted instantly. I was now the other woman, the homewrecker, using manipulative tactics to trap a man who clearly loved someone else. [She’s a classic psycho ex. Can’t stand to see him happy with someone else.] [For the love of God, will some man just take this trainwreck off the market? So embarrassing! Didn’t her dad go to jail? Why didn’t they take her too?] [Chloe is a true class act. A real role model. It’s trash like this that makes things harder for all women!] Suddenly, Chloe was the icon of the modern, independent woman. I was the clinging vine, a disgrace to my gender. The commotion had grown so large that local news crews had arrived. A reporter shoved a microphone in my face. “Do you feel that your actions today are setting a bad example for women?” I knew that saying anything would only make it worse. All I had to do was wait for Ethan, get the license, and end this nightmare. But they weren’t going to let me go that easily. They started bringing up my family’s bankruptcy, spinning new lies about my father, demanding a full investigation into his taxes, insisting he should never be released. I couldn’t take it anymore. I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could, a raw egg sailed through the air and splattered across the bodice of my white dress. Then a second, and a third. My gown was streaked with foul-smelling, yellow ooze. The next thing I knew, an old man was charging at me with a bucket of sludgy water. “You made my grandson late for his own wedding registration!” he screamed, and heaved the contents of the bucket toward my head. Blake’s only reaction was to pull Chloe back, shielding her from the spectacle. I braced for the impact, but it never came. A warm, solid body pressed against mine, shielding me, absorbing the filthy deluge. I looked up into the sharp, stoic face of Ethan Grant. “I dare anyone to touch her,” he said, his voice a low growl that cut through the chaos. “Ethan.” “It’s okay,” he murmured, his arms a fortress around me. “I’m here now.”

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I lost a game of Truth or Dare, and my penalty was to text Julian Thorne. I typed out the dare: [You’re the one who forced me into this twisted relationship—not quite an adopted son, not quite a lover.] The second it sent, I panicked and hit “unsend.” [Sorry, wrong person.] One second later, my phone rang. It was Julian. Beside me, my roommate yelled, “Hey Sawyer, where are the condoms?” Over the phone, Julian’s voice dropped to sub-zero temperatures. “What are you doing?” I looked around the room. My roommates had cleared the mahjong table and replaced it with enough snacks and drinks to fuel a small army. They were clearly pulling an all-nighter. I smirked into the receiver. “Getting a room.” A few hours later, I found Julian standing outside my dorm building. 1 I lost at mahjong. The punishment was a dare. The dare was to send a line of dialogue from a soap opera to the person pinned at the top of my chat list. [You’re the one who forced me into this twisted relationship—not quite an adopted son, not quite a lover.] I stared at the pinned contact: Julian Thorne. My throat went dry. Can I really send this? This is playing with fire. My roommates were jeering, making sure I didn’t chicken out. I took a deep breath, steeled my nerves, and hit send. Three seconds later, I unsent it. But I watched as the little “Typing…” bubble appeared. Then it vanished. Then my screen lit up with an incoming call. My hand shook so hard I almost threw my phone across the room. My roommate, Leo, winked at me. “Who’d you text? They called back fast.” I ignored his teasing and bolted for the balcony. When I pressed answer, my heart was pounding like a drum solo. This was our first conversation since we parted on bad terms three months ago. “Julian,” I said, my voice dry. There was a pause on the other end. “I’m your elder. You should call me Uncle Julian.” He’s not my uncle. He’s barely older than me—definitely younger than my dad would have been. He just insists on the title because he and my late father were “brothers.” Julian was clearly hung up on the text. “Just now, you…” Before he could finish, my dorm president, Greg, yelled from inside the room: “Sawyer! Where are the condoms?” Greg had just lost a round of Truth or Dare and had to make everyone’s bed. He was asking for the duvet covers, but in his slang, it sounded… suggestive. Greg has a voice that carries. I guarantee Julian heard it. Because the line went dead silent. I couldn’t even hear him breathing. After a long pause, his voice came through, colder than liquid nitrogen. “Sawyer. What are you doing?” I looked back at the mahjong table, the scattered chip bags, the beer cans, and my roommates’ excited faces ready for a night of debauchery. I let the devil take the wheel. I chuckled. “Getting a room. What else?” Julian laughed. It was a dry, angry sound. “Stop messing around.” Damn man. When I confessed to you, you said I was too young and didn’t understand my feelings. Now you care? I hung up on him. Click. The phone rang again. And again. I put it on silent. I went back inside and told everyone to keep playing. Julian sent one last text. [Sawyer, don’t make me come get you.] I scoffed. Like he’d drive all the way to campus in the middle of the night just to catch me. 2 Turns out, you shouldn’t tempt fate. We played for another two hours. It was only 11 PM. We ran out of snacks and beer. I volunteered to go on a run. I needed a breather anyway. Walking downstairs, I checked my phone. Julian had blown it up with messages. I couldn’t deny the twisted satisfaction I felt. He cares so much, yet he keeps pushing me away. The thought made me frustrated. I ran a hand through my hair and fished a cigarette out of my pocket. Just as I lit it, I saw a figure standing under the streetlamp outside the dorm. The light was dim, but I knew that silhouette. Julian. He saw me, too. He started walking toward me. My stomach dropped. Instinctively, I hid the cigarette in my palm. Julian hates smoking. He doesn’t even know I smoke. I stammered, “W-what are you doing here?” “You know why.” Julian grabbed my wrist and pried my fingers open, taking the cigarette. Only then did I feel the sting. In my panic, I’d burned my palm. “Since when do you smoke?” I opened my mouth and lied. “Just started a few days ago.” Actually, I’ve smoked for years. I just played the good boy whenever he was around. Julian hummed but didn’t press it. He walked to his car and gestured. “Get in.” Sitting in the passenger seat, I noticed his hair was a little messy. There were shadows under his eyes. Guilt washed over me. His company has been swamped lately. And he drove all this way, late at night, just for me. I wanted to explain the text, but I wanted something else more. I wanted to know why he was so panicked. I wanted him to admit he cared. That he liked me. “Julian, you care about me, don’t you? You’re afraid I’ll hook up with someone else, right?” Julian rubbed his temples, looking exhausted. He took off his coat and tossed it aside, his movements agitated. “Sawyer, this is an elder worrying about a junior. If your parents were here, they’d be worried too.” My chest tightened. That excuse again. I lowered my head, not wanting to look at him, but I explained anyway. “I wasn’t messing around. I lost a game of Truth or Dare. I sent it randomly.” Julian sighed at my silence. He reached over and ruffled my hair. “You’ll understand the difference eventually. Stop throwing tantrums, okay?” We hadn’t had a real conversation in three months. Ever since I impulsively confessed after high school graduation, he’d put up a wall. He started sleeping at the office, avoiding coming home. I’d never been treated like that by him. So I gave him the cold shoulder right back. I missed him. I didn’t want to fight anymore. “It’s late. Stay here tonight. Drive back tomorrow.” Julian nodded. “You go back to the dorm. I’ll get a hotel.” “Curfew’s passed.” A lie. But I wanted to be with him. Julian looked at me. Finally, he said nothing and drove us to a hotel. 3 Back at the hotel, Julian went out again. When he came back, he was holding a pharmacy bag. He beckoned. “Come here.” I sat next to him obediently. He took out a tube of burn ointment and gestured for my hand. I gave him my right hand. He applied the ointment carefully. His fingertips brushed against my palm, sending shivers up my arm. I watched his lowered eyelashes. Like I was possessed, I leaned in. My lips barely grazed his eyelid before he dodged. He pushed me away. Just like that night three months ago. After my graduation party, I was riding a high. Julian took the day off just to be with me. That night, I got a little tipsy. Julian asked what I wanted for a graduation gift. I stared into his eyes, unable to stop myself from hugging him. “Uncle Julian, will you give me anything I want?” Julian hugged me back, laughing. “Of course. Whatever you want, Uncle will get it for you.” The feelings I’d buried for years exploded. I cupped his face. And I kissed him. The moment our lips touched, he shoved me away. I fell back onto the sofa. “Uncle, I like you. Can I have you?” Julian stood up abruptly. His face was tight. His fists were clenched and shaking. “Sawyer, you’re drunk.” I shook my head frantically. “No, I’m not! I like you. I like you in the way that I want to be with you…” I tried to take his hand, but he avoided me. My heart ached. Julian wasn’t comforting me like he used to. He stood there, cold and distant, telling me my feelings were an illusion. That I couldn’t tell the difference between dependence and love. I was hearing the same lecture for the second time. The pain in my hand traveled to my chest. “I know the difference, Julian. I’m not a kid. I know what love is.” But Julian is stubborn. Especially with me. He set the ointment down and stood up to leave. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I forced an ugly smile. “Julian, I don’t get hard for people I don’t like.” Julian paused. Then he walked out without looking back. I barely slept. The next morning, I met him with dark circles under my eyes. He didn’t ask. He drove me back to campus. When the car stopped, I realized we were parting ways again. I didn’t move. I just wanted a few more minutes. Julian didn’t rush me. He leaned back in his seat. “Sawyer, your parents are gone. They entrusted me to raise you. You call me Uncle, so I am your elder.” “I don’t want you wasting your time on me. I’m ten years older than you. You have youth and potential. Go look at other people.” I stayed silent, protesting without words. Finally, Julian said: “Go. I have to leave too.” 4 After that, we entered a weird “Cold War.” He’d show appropriate concern, like an elder. But he stopped replying to my endless texts about my day. Like he was constantly reminding me: We are impossible. I knew how decisive Julian could be. But I was stubborn too. I threw myself into my studies, trying to numb the pain. My roommates thought I’d lost my mind. College freshman, grinding like a Ph.D. candidate. This went on for a month until Fall Break approached. Greg asked, “Sawyer, did you buy your ticket home?” I paused. Shook my head. “No. I’m not going back.” There was a competition coming up. I planned to stay and prep. But mostly, I didn’t know how to face Julian. I knew this drift was my fault. I pushed too hard. I was greedy. If I could do it over, maybe I wouldn’t have been so impulsive. Then, even if Julian stayed my “Uncle” forever, he wouldn’t push me away. I could still hug him, be his closest family. Greg patted my shoulder. “Alright. I’ll bring you some local specialties when I get back.” “Thanks,” I smiled. I opened Julian’s chat. Just a few sporadic messages over the last month. I stared at the screen. Maybe he heard me thinking about him, because the phone rang. It was Julian. I answered instantly. “Hello?” “Sawyer.” His voice made my heart tremble. “Did you buy a ticket? If not, I’ll have the driver pick you up…” For the first time in my life, I interrupted him. “Julian, I’m not coming back.” Silence. He hadn’t expected that. He paused for a few seconds, said a few polite words of concern, and hung up. I stared at the two-minute call log, feeling incredibly wronged. I say I’m not coming back, and you just let it go? For the next few days, I don’t know if I was mad at Julian or myself. I focused entirely on the competition. Zero communication with him. Once, I even missed his call. Finally, on a break, I got a call from Driver Wang. “Hello, Uncle Wang?” His voice was frantic. “Sawyer! Mr. Thorne… he’s been drinking all night. His stomach is acting up, but he won’t go to the hospital, and he won’t let anyone help him. I can’t talk sense into him. I had to call you.” Uncle Wang used to drive me to school. We were close. He knew to call me if anything happened to Julian. I frowned immediately. “Where is he?” “At home.” I hung up and dialed Julian. It rang and rang. No answer. My anxiety spiked. I told Uncle Wang to watch him and call an ambulance if it got bad. Then I bought the next ticket home. 5 I got home after 10 PM. Uncle Wang had checked on him a few times. Stubborn as a mule. I don’t know what got into him. No one forces Julian Thorne to drink these days. The house was dark. I fumbled for the light switch and saw Julian lying on the sofa. He eyes were closed. Asleep or passed out from pain? I walked over and squatted down, whispering. “Julian?” I touched his face. Hot. Worried he had a fever, I shook him. “Hey, don’t sleep yet. Let me take your temperature. Take some medicine first.” Julian opened his eyes and stared at me blankly. He looked pale. I’d never seen him this fragile. It broke my heart. I helped him sit up, grumbling, “Who pissed you off? Why drink so much? Don’t you know your stomach is bad?” Julian leaned into me, taking the thermometer. “Why are you back?” I draped a blanket over him. “If I didn’t come back, you’d die of pain.” He didn’t speak. I assumed he was still hurting. I stood up to make him honey water. Julian grabbed my wrist. “What?” He opened his mouth, then whispered, “Stomach hurts.” I frowned and sat back down, gently rubbing his stomach. I used to do this when he came home drunk from business dinners. Maybe because of the alcohol, he didn’t push me away. When he looked a bit better, I said, “Rest a bit, don’t sleep. I’ll make the water, then take the meds.” Julian nodded. “Okay.” By the time everything was done, it was late. I herded him to his bedroom and tucked him in. “Rest properly. You really don’t care about your body.” I was sleepy too. I turned to go to my room. “Sawyer,” Julian called out. “When… are you going back to school?” My drowsiness vanished. I turned around, looking at him in disbelief. I run all the way back here, nurse him back to health, and all he cares about is when I leave? Am I an eyesore now? But seeing him sick and pale, I couldn’t get angry. I glared at him, suffocating on my own frustration. “I’m leaving tomorrow.” I slammed the door and left.

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Five years after I’d successfully completed the conquest, the System suddenly pinged. [The other player, Seraphina, is dead.] The teacup in my hand slipped, shattering on the floor. Seraphina was my best friend. To pull me out of this medieval world, she had voluntarily bound herself to the System, agreeing to help me conquer the two main targets: the Archmage and the Crown Prince. When we won, I chose to go home. She, however, had fallen in love with the Archmage. She chose to stay. That was five years ago. How… how was she dead? I finally heard my own voice, shaking. “Send me back.” “I’m going to drag that useless woman back home.” 1 The world spun. When I opened my eyes, I was back on the familiar, foreign streets of Avaloria. But in the bustling crowd, there was no one to grab my hand and say, “Don’t be afraid, Luna. I’m right here with you.” I found a horse and galloped toward the High Temple. The System said her body was still there. In the temple’s back hills, I found it: a single coffin, covered in fresh snow. I stumbled from my horse, running toward it. When I brushed the snow off the lid, I saw the dark, spattered stains. Blood. My chest tightened. My hands were shaking. “Frost… what did they do to you…” I pushed the lid. It grated open. The stench of rot hit me. I held my breath and looked inside. She was just… lying there. Her face was paper-white. Her beautiful hair had been hacked off, left in ragged clumps. Her body was a roadmap of injuries, and her right sleeve… her right sleeve was empty, the stump at her shoulder horribly clean. They had cut off her arm. I saw it, and my legs gave out. I collapsed. A thought, cold and sharp, cut through the grief. Where was Kaelen? The Archmage? When I left, they were disgustingly in love. She was pregnant. How could she be here, and he… he hadn’t even come to claim her body? I forced myself up and rode for the Archmage’s Tower. The wind was a blade against my skin, but it was nothing compared to the ice in my heart. The tower was… decorated. Red banners and lanterns. It was a celebration. It was so wrong. I stood there, frozen, thinking I’d gone to the wrong place. “What is this?” I grabbed a passing servant. He yelped. “The… the Archmage is getting married! It’s his wedding day!” Married? All the blood rushed to my head. Seraphina’s body wasn’t even cold, and he was getting married? I shoved the servant aside and kicked the doors open. Kaelen was there, in ceremonial robes, standing before a strange woman. He was smiling. I saw his smile, and all I could see was Frost’s empty sleeve. I lost it. I stormed the altar and slapped him. Hard. The woman in red screamed, “Who are you? How dare you strike the Archmage!” I backhanded her, too. “Don’t worry. There’s plenty for you.” She stared, her eyes filling with tears. She grabbed Kaelen’s sleeve. “Kaelen…” He shielded her, his expression a complex mess. “Luna? How… why are you back?” “Did she send you?” he snarled. “Did Seraphina send you to ruin my wedding to Lyra?” You son of a bitch. He moves on, and he dares to slander her name? I hit him again. “You don’t get to say her name, you bastard!” “She’s dead! She’s lying in a box on the mountain, and you’re here getting married!” Kaelen froze, his face draining of color. “What… what did you say? Frost… she’s dead?” 2 My hand stopped, hovering. He… he didn’t even know? Before I could speak, the new bride, Lyra, whispered, “Kaelen, don’t listen to her. You know how Seraphina lies.” “She… she cut up her own dresses last month, just to blame me.” Kaelen’s eyes sparked. He believed her. “That… that woman,” he seethed. “I never knew how manipulative she was. She’s faking her own death just to stop me from marrying Lyra?” I was shaking with rage. When Kaelen had overused his magic, shattering his own life-force, it was Frost who saved him. She’d traded her own life-source, her system points, for his. She had been wasting away ever since. She made me promise not to tell him. She didn’t want him to feel “burdened.” And this… this was his gratitude. I hit him again. “Say her name one more time, and I’ll rip your tongue out.” Lyra shrieked and lunged at me. “You witch! You’re just doing her dirty work!” I dodged, grabbed her wrist, and twisted. She screamed. A small body shot past me like a cannonball, tackling me at the knees. “You hurt my mommy! Get out, you bad woman!” A little boy. Five, maybe six years old. He was beautiful. And he looked… he looked just like Seraphina. Her son. Kaelen’s son. And he was protecting this other woman. “Frost… what kind of hell were you living in?” My heart shattered. I looked at the boy. “You’re Frost’s son. Why are you calling her ‘Mommy’?” The boy’s face twisted with a hatred far too old for him. “Don’t say that! She’s not my mother! Lyra is my mother! You can’t hurt her!” Oh, Frost. Do you see this? I laughed. A horrible, broken sound. I grabbed the kid, my whip lashing out, and tied him to my side. “Frost was too soft to teach you. I’ll do it for her.” If he were my kid, I’d have abandoned him. But this was Frost’s. I had to at least try to save him. Lyra was hysterical. “Kaelen, she’s taking Ash! Stop her!” Kaelen was furious. “Let him go, Luna! This is between us! He’s just a child!” I pulled the rope tighter. “He became ‘between us’ the moment you let him call another woman his mother. Do you even remember what Frost went through to give you this child?” We weren’t supposed to be able to get pregnant here. She had to trade more of her life, endure a blood-magic ritual… just to have his baby. She was so happy. “I’m not just saving you, Moon,” she’d said, “I’m finding my true love.” Now she was a corpse with one arm. Kaelen flinched, but his voice was hard. “She’s a thief. I will not let my son be raised by a thief.” “She stole what?” “She stole Lyra’s title! She stole her power, her credit, everything!” 3 I stared. This world never had a “Goddess.” Frost and I, we used the System to predict disasters, to stop famines, to change the weather. We created the “Goddess” myth. If Lyra was the Goddess, it was a lie they had built. “Proof. Now.” The boy, Ash, spat at me. “That bitch stole it! I saw Mommy Lyra bleed for the rain spell! And that bad woman took the credit!” “He’s a child,” Kaelen said. “He wouldn’t lie.” The two people who should have been her world were speaking of her like she was poison. A snowflake landed on my cheek. It was snowing. Hard. I remembered Frost, alone in her coffin. I left the tower. I had to bury her. The cold had preserved her, but… not perfectly. Her face, at least. Her face was still beautiful. I brushed her mangled hair back. My hand was shaking. “I’m sorry, Frost. I shouldn’t have let you stay. If it wasn’t for me, you never would have met this bastard…” The first scoop of dirt hit the wood. The sound was so final. My throat closed. I tried to scream, but only a choked sob came out. I was about to jump into the grave with her when a golden light threw me back. A familiar, mechanical voice. [Player Luna, do not self-terminate. Seraphina left a file for you.] “What? What is it?” A letter appeared in my hand. [Moon, I have no one left here. Take me home. Just me. Don’t let anyone else come. They’ll just dirty the path. -Frost] She must have been so broken. “I’ll get you justice, Frost. I promise. And then we’ll go home.” I asked the System to show me her final moments. [ACCESS DENIED. INSUFFICIENT PERMISSIONS.] 4 I put the burial on hold. I used the System to freeze her body. The snow fell for five days. The city was panicking. On the sixth day, Lyra arrived at the High Temple in a wave of incense and bells, dressed in white, looking every bit the divine. She lit the incense. “In three days,” she announced, “the snow will stop.” The people cheered. She walked into the back room, her face pale. “Seraphina. In three days, you have to…” She saw me. “Who are you? Where is Seraphina?” “You’re the Goddess,” I sneered. “Why are you asking me?” She looked panicked. “Just… just tell that bitch to get out here!” I slapped her. “The bitch? You’re talking about yourself.” “Frost is dead. Your little show is over.” “Dead?” she shrieked, panicked. “She can’t be dead! You’re lying, get her out here!” The door crashed open. Kaelen and Ash. Lyra immediately crumpled, running to him. “Kaelen! This woman… she hit me! And she’s saying… saying awful lies about Seraphina…” “Luna, that’s enough!” he yelled. “Where is she? Tell her to stop this ridiculous game!” “Are you deaf? She’s DEAD.” “Liar! The High Priest saw her just yesterday! You’re just jealous I married Lyra, so you cooked up this ‘fake death’ plot! I’m not falling for it!” I laughed. I grabbed him, my magic flaring, and teleported us to the back hills. I threw him at the frozen casket. “Open it. See for yourself.” He kicked the lid off. “This is pathetic. If she was really… really…” His voice died. The coffin was open. Frost’s pale, mutilated body was lying there. He just stared. The anger, the denial… it all shattered. 5 Kaelen fell to his knees. He reached out a trembling hand, then snatched it back, like her skin was fire. “No… no, it was just… I just sent her here to reflect… I was just teaching her a lesson…” Lyra and Ash ran up. She saw the body and her face went white. Ash ran up and started hitting the corpse. “Bad woman! You made Daddy leave Mommy!” Kaelen turned and struck his son. “She… she is your mother!” Ash wailed. I threw Frost’s last letter at Kaelen. He read the six words. I have no one left here. He howled. A raw, animal sound of grief. Lyra saw him breaking. She tried to touch him. “Kaelen, she’s gone, but…” He lunged, his hands wrapping around her throat. “YOU! This is your fault! You did this!” She choked, clawing at him. “Kaelen… no… I’m the… the Emperor’s Goddess… I saved… I saved your life…” The Emperor? My blood went cold. Rhys. My target. The only other person who knew we were Players. Did Rhys do this? Kaelen’s grip loosened. “If you hadn’t saved me… I’d kill you right now.” He threw her to the ground. He turned back to the coffin… and he saw the empty sleeve. His breath hitched. “Luna… her… her arm…” “Now you believe me.” His voice was a broken whisper. “It’s my fault… I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have…” “Moon.” A new voice. I turned. Rhys. The Emperor. In his full golden armor.

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Three years. Three years of trying to win over Evelyn Reed. And I was still listening to the system drone, “Affinity: one percent.” I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. “There are so many amazing women around me. Why am I stuck on Evelyn?” I grumbled to the void. “It’s like staring at a feast I’m not allowed to touch.” To my surprise, the system sounded even more shocked than I was. “You can scroll through the target list, you know.” “You… didn’t know that?” 1 I stared blankly at the system interface. “Are you kidding me? Why didn’t you say so sooner?” “You never asked. I just figured Evelyn was your type.” A bitter taste filled my mouth. Evelyn Reed was the youngest attending physician at the hospital. Stunningly beautiful, with an aura as cold and distant as a winter morning. She was a glacier, gorgeous and unthawable. In the three years we’d been “dating,” I doubt she’d said more than fifty words to me in total. My fingers scrambled to swipe on the target list. It scrolled. And scrolled. There were over twenty more pages. For three years, I had turned what was supposed to be a harem-building game into a painfully slow-burn, one-sided romance. Anyone watching would have thought I was her number one, die-hard fan. It all started when I was on my deathbed. The system bonded with me, giving me a new lease on life, but I started with only a hundred dollars to my name. “Every affinity point translates directly to cash in your account,” the system had explained. “One point is a thousand dollars.” The cap was ten thousand points. Three years! My bank account had never broken a thousand bucks. God only knows how I survived. My phone buzzed, the screen flashing “Evelyn.” Her voice, cool and clipped, came through the speaker. “Working late.” My response was pure reflex. “Should I bring you dinner?” The moment the words left my mouth, I wanted to slap myself. Old habits die hard. I expected a swift rejection, but after a pause, she replied, “If you want.” So, of course, I went. I bought her favorite meal and headed to the hospital. I had held onto hope for Evelyn so many times, just like this. And every time, I told myself this would be the last chance I gave her. I could find Evelyn’s office with my eyes closed. As a senior physician, she had her own. But when I got there, the room was empty. I spotted one of the nurses at the duty station. “Excuse me, is Dr. Reed in surgery?” I was a familiar face on this floor, a regular delivery boy for Evelyn. But today, the nurse’s expression was… awkward. She tried to hide it, but I could see the pity in her eyes. “N-no, she’s not.” She subtly pointed down the adjacent hallway. “Dr. Reed might be on her rounds. Maybe you could check there?” I did a full circuit of the floor, meal container in hand, but Evelyn was nowhere to be found. Just as I was about to call her, a clear voice drifted from the nearby stairwell. “Dr. Reed, when can I finally call you my boyfriend?” The name froze me in my tracks. Evelyn’s reply was muffled by the door. “That depends on your performance.” The stairwell door was cracked open just enough for me to see. Evelyn was leaning lazily against the wall, a picture of casual indifference. Standing before her was a young male nurse, his head bowed as he leaned in to kiss her. One of Evelyn’s hands was tucked into the pocket of her white coat; the other rested lightly on the nurse’s waist. She watched him, neither responding nor pulling away. “Dr. Reed,” the nurse murmured against her lips, “won’t your boyfriend be angry?” Evelyn’s gaze drifted up, and her eyes met mine through the crack in the door. Her reply was meant for him, but her words were aimed squarely at me. “Would he dare?” My knuckles whitened around the bag’s handle. I pushed the door open. The nurse jumped back, startled, and tried to hide behind Evelyn. I ignored him, my eyes locked on her. Evelyn met my gaze without a flicker of emotion. “Evelyn,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Is this why you called me here? For a show?” She pulled out a cigarette and lit it, the tip glowing in the dim light. She took a long drag, then flicked the ash to the floor before letting the cigarette dangle from her lips. The ash drifted down, and my heart sank with it. It finally hit me. Not with the cold, digital finality of a system notification, but with a raw, gut-wrenching certainty. She didn’t love me. It had all been in my head. “This is boring.” She exhaled a cloud of smoke in my face, her voice flat. “Leo, you’re just so incredibly boring.” She finished the cigarette, stubbed it out in a nearby bin, and slung an arm around the nurse’s shoulders, moving to brush past me. “Evelyn,” I called out, stopping her. “This is the last meal I’ll ever bring you.” I added, with a bitter laugh, “Not that you’d ever eat it, anyway.” I dropped the food container into the trash can, right next to her dead cigarette. A fitting goodbye. This time, I didn’t watch her leave. I turned my back first. Evelyn’s brow furrowed. She stepped in front of me, blocking the door. “Where are you going?” I pushed her hand away. “We’re done. It’s none of your business.” She let out a short, sharp scoff. As I walked away, I heard the nurse ask her, “Aren’t you going to go after him, Dr. Reed?” And Evelyn’s voice, draped in its usual icy calm: “He’ll come crawling back when he’s done with his tantrum.” Like hell, I thought. I never go back. Just then, a message popped up on my phone. [Hey, Leo! Are you free tonight? There’s some lab data I could really use your help with.] It was from Lily, a junior in my department. I typed back: [Give me half an hour. I’m on my way.] Half an hour later, I was in the lab. Lily peeked out from behind a computer monitor. “Leo! You made it!” She had an innocent, puppy-dog face, framed by wavy chestnut hair. Every word she spoke seemed to end with a cheerful lilt. I walked over. “What’s the problem?” She pointed at a string of figures on the screen, looking utterly defeated. “I’ve run the calculations a dozen times, and it’s still not working.” I scanned the data. “You’re using the wrong constant here. You can’t just plug that one in directly.” Lily’s eyes widened in realization. “Oh! That explains everything! You’re amazing, Leo. You saw it right away.” I chuckled. “I’ve just worked with this experiment a lot.” She blinked her big, doe-like eyes at me. “Still, you saved me! As a thank you, let me buy you dinner?” I hesitated for a second, but then the system’s voice chimed in. 【New Target: Lily.】 【Affinity: 100.】 【First-time 100 Affinity achievement unlocked. System Reward: Five Million Dollars.】 Simultaneously, my phone pinged with a bank alert: [Deposit: $5,100,000.00. Current Balance: $5,100,012.50.] My eyes nearly popped out of my head. Three years. The floodgates had finally opened. To hesitate now would be a profound disrespect to money itself. “Sure,” I said, my voice smoother than I felt. “Let’s go. I haven’t eaten yet.” Lily’s face lit up, surprised by my quick agreement. “There’s a new Sichuan place that just opened near campus. How about we try that?” “Sounds good.” As I turned to leave, I didn’t see her flip over the lab report she’d had sitting face-down on the desk. The data on it was identical to the corrected version I had just given her. Fueled by a newfound sense of civic duty—taking from the rich (the system) and giving to the people (local restaurants)—I had fully intended to pay. But Lily had sneakily settled the bill while I wasn’t looking. During the meal, I noticed she had a dimple that appeared whenever she smiled at me. It was ridiculously sweet. The food was great, and by the end of it, my affinity with her had netted me a few hundred thousand more. I’d almost forgotten what it felt to have money. The last three years with Evelyn had been a miserable, penny-pinching existence. “Oh, this table is free! Dr. Reed, let’s sit here.” Speak of the devil. A few feet away, the same male nurse was holding Evelyn’s hand, guiding her to a table. Her gaze was locked on me, heavy and dark. “What’s wrong, Leo?” Lily asked, looking up from her bowl like a curious hamster. I tore my eyes away from Evelyn, shrugging nonchalantly. “Nothing. Just some nobody.” I tried to ignore them, but Evelyn couldn’t stand it. She stalked over to our table, her usual calm facade cracking to reveal a simmering anger beneath. She stood beside me, her voice sharp. “Leo, is this what your ‘love’ for me looks like? One thing to my face, another behind my back? Don’t tell me you were secretly seeing other women the entire time we were together.”

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For five years, the woman who hijacked my body played house. In the fifth year, she finally got bored. She and her “System” bailed, leaving this world without a backward glance. What they left me was a son spoiled into a tyrant and a husband who was a stranger in his own home. Before I could even begin to process the temporal whiplash, a stream of text, like a live comment feed, scrolled across my vision. 【What a dumpster fire of a starting point. I’ve never seen a dumber transmigrator. She gets a five-year head start and just makes a bigger mess for the original to clean up.】 【Seriously. Her mission was to straighten out the mini-villain and warm up the big villain so the family wouldn’t bother the main characters. Instead, besides dodging her own death plot point, she just spent five years maxing out a credit card.】 【The kid’s a nightmare, the husband’s been pushed away. I’m so sick of this family. Honestly, they should all just die.】 So. It turned out I was the disposable side character, the one who dies early in the novel. And my husband and my son? They were the villains. 1 The ghostly commentary continued to scroll, listing the sins of my son, the “mini-villain.” No manners, bad temper, selfish, a bully. Before I could organize the chaos in my mind, a thudding sound echoed from the grand staircase. A little boy, round as a beach ball, was thundering his way down. A strange, primal instinct flared to life. I knew, instantly, that this was my child. He saw me sitting in the living room but looked right through me, making a beeline for the kitchen, for the stainless-steel refrigerator. The nanny hurried after him. “Oh, Leo, my sweet boy, you’ve already had three ice cream bars today! If you get a tummy ache, your father will have my head when he gets back.” The little boy—Leo—paid her no mind. The nanny shot a helpless, pleading look in my direction. 【What’s the point of looking at her? She’s the biological mom, sure, but she’s been gone for five years. She’ll just spoil him more out of guilt.】 【Honestly, did anyone else think the transmigrator was a total phony? Her idea of ‘motherly love’ was just endless indulgence. The kid is worse off now than he was in the original story. He’s so overweight he’s lost the one thing he had going for him—his looks.】 【You can see his whole future from here. He’ll grow up to be a degenerate who gambles and blows his inheritance, probably curses out his parents too.】 【If that little butterball dropped dead, I wouldn’t shed a tear.】 That was it. I couldn’t take any more. “Leo Harrison. Put the ice cream down.” I remembered settling on that name with Cole when I was eight months pregnant. Leo. For a boy or a girl. A name full of light and strength. Leo shot me a look of pure disdain. “You’re so annoying. You can’t tell me what to do!” Then, as if to challenge me, he shoved a huge bite of vanilla ice cream into his mouth. The white cream smeared around his lips, and his eyes, already narrowed by his chubby cheeks, squeezed into happy little slits. He saw me still staring, and with a defiant glare, he raised a small, pudgy hand and flipped me two middle fingers. In that instant, a switch flipped inside me. A cold, quiet rage. Spoil him? Not on my watch. I shot up from the sofa and clamped a hand down on his shoulder. My little wild boar. “Who taught you to do that? Hmm? Where did you learn it?” “Let go of me! Let go! If you don’t let go, you’ll be sorry when my dad gets home.” Hah. After letting our son turn into this, Cole would be lucky if he didn’t get a piece of my mind himself when he got home. 2 I directed the stunned-looking nanny to fetch me a roll of packing tape. Then I took Leo’s hand, singled out his middle finger, and began to wrap the tape around his fist, leaving only that one digit standing at attention. He liked giving the finger so much? Fine. He could hold the pose for a while. To his credit, he didn’t cry. He just stood there, his two taped-up fists held out like a tiny crab, glaring daggers at me. “When Dad gets back, I’m gonna tell him you bullied me! You won’t get your allowance this month! You won’t be able to buy any more of your tacky jewelry.” “When is your father coming home?” Leo jutted out his lower lip, refusing to answer. I glanced at the nanny. “Mr. Harrison is on a business trip in Chicago. He should be back in about a week.” “Is he always like this?” I asked quietly. The nanny looked uncomfortable. “He’s… a little better when his father is around.” I nodded. I told her not to remove the tape for any reason, then turned and walked upstairs. I was surprised to find that, after all these years, the decor of the house hadn’t changed at all. Even the little ceramic horse statue, the one I’d chipped an ear off of during a clumsy moment, was still in its place on the console table. 3 Five years ago, I’d lost consciousness right after giving birth. What followed was the sensation of being trapped in a dream I couldn’t wake from. I could feel my body moving, speaking, living a life, but it was all through a hazy, third-person fog. I thought I’d just been asleep for a long, long time. It wasn’t until I saw the spectral commentary that I realized five years had passed. I walked from memory toward the master bedroom. A sleek, digital keypad lock I’d never seen before blocked the door. 【LOL, the OG has no idea. That lock was installed specifically to keep her—well, the transmigrator—out.】 【Hey, has anyone figured out the password? The transmigrator tried to sneak in once for a surprise attack, but she failed every time.】 【Nope. She tried the kid’s birthday, her birthday, Cole’s birthday. She tried so many wrong codes she triggered the entire house alarm system. The look on her face was priceless, I almost died laughing.】 【Forget the transmigrator, even we’ve never seen inside Cole’s room.】 Reading this, I raised an eyebrow. My fingers moved automatically, typing in a sequence of numbers I knew as well as my own name. Ignoring the flood of shocked comments scrolling past my eyes, I pushed the handle down. The door clicked open. Sure enough, the bedroom was unchanged. Even the color of the duvet cover was the same slate gray it had been the day I left for the hospital. The only difference was a small stack of locked journals on the nightstand. It seemed that in the last few years, Cole had gotten into the habit of locking away anything important. I picked one up. The pages of a few of the journals were warped and wrinkled, as if they’d been soaked through with water and then left to dry. The comment-feed was buzzing, begging me to pick the locks, to uncover Cole’s secrets. I ignored it. I placed the journal back exactly where I found it. 4 At dinner, the nanny was about to prepare a meal based on Leo’s usual demands when I stopped her. “Don’t go to the trouble. Starting today, he’s on a diet.” I glanced at his still-taped fists. “Let’s start with a veggie sandwich for tonight.” “Why! Just because I flipped you off, you’re going to abuse me?” Leo protested loudly. I shook my head and met his angry gaze. “See? Even you know that flipping someone off is a bad thing to do, especially to your own mother. But you haven’t apologized to me. And the diet isn’t a punishment. It’s for your health.” Leo’s cheeks puffed out. He didn’t argue for a long moment, then just mumbled something under his breath. “You’re not my…” The rest was too quiet to hear, but I could guess it wasn’t a compliment. When it was time to eat, Leo gestured for me to take the tape off. “Are you going to do it again?” He wouldn’t look at me, his little lip pushed out. “No.” He was quiet for another moment. “I’m sorry…” 【Okay, I have to admit, the original knows how to handle a brat.】 【This is killing me. If the mini-villain didn’t apologize, his fingers would’ve gone numb. LMAO.】 【More of this, please. I love it.】 【Wait, is she not thinking about the consequences? This isn’t five years ago. The transmigrator completely eroded Cole’s feelings for her. He could genuinely flip out when he gets back… If my favorite tragic romance turns into a bitter divorce, I swear I’m gonna riot.】 Cole, flipping out at me? I had to admit, a small part of me was looking forward to it. 5 Whether Cole would lose his temper remained to be seen. Leo, however, was the first to lose it at the dinner table. His eyes went red as he pointed at the sandwich, which contained only lettuce and a fried egg. “This is all I get to eat?” I nodded. I’d even allowed the egg to be fried instead of boiled, as a small concession. “I’m not eating this! I want sweet and sour ribs!” “Then don’t eat.” Leo’s eyes darted around. With a huff, he hopped off his chair and ran out of the room. I sighed. I hadn’t wanted to go scorched-earth, but the kid was pushing his luck. I put down my fork, called the nanny, and grabbed a trash bag. It was time to raid Leo’s hidden snack stashes. We caught him red-handed, crouched by his bed, butt in the air, happily munching on a bag of potato chips. As he watched his precious snacks disappear one by one into the black trash bag, his little hands trembled. “You’re fighting dirty!” I ignored him. Seeing that resistance was futile, Leo frantically shoved the last of the chips in his hand into his mouth, chewing for dear life. He breathed a sigh of relief when I left his room. He didn’t expect me to head straight for the media room and his small study. The kid was clever, I’ll give him that. He knew not to keep all his eggs in one basket. But I’d pulled the same tricks when I was his age. This time, Leo completely fell apart. “Waaaah, spare my snacks, I’m begging you!” “My limited-edition snack box! I saved my allowance for so long to buy it, I hadn’t even opened it yet!” “Take my life, but don’t take my snacks!” “My snacks! How will I live without you, my snacks!” The tears were real now. He wiped his eyes, his cries turning into small, hitching sobs. 【Hahahaha, watching the little fatty cry is kind of fun. He’s actually cute.】 【I usually hate it when kids cry, but Leo’s sobs are quiet, not like those ear-splitting shrieks other kids do. I would have bailed by now otherwise.】 【Replying to the above: Kids wail like that to get sympathy from adults. Is it possible that Leo subconsciously knows the transmigrator wasn’t his real mom…】 【Whoa, upstairs. That’s dark when you think about it.】 I knelt and pulled him into a hug, patting his back gently. I explained that I was just confiscating the snacks for safekeeping, not throwing them away. If he ate his meals properly, he could have them back eventually. He instantly stopped crying. He leaned his head against my shoulder, his little hand clutching the hem of my shirt. In a tiny voice, he whispered, “Mommy?” I felt my heart squeeze. I answered him softly. “Yes. I’m here, baby.” 6 After the Great Snack Confiscation, Leo became surprisingly obedient. But he couldn’t seem to kick the habit of trying to sneak treats. In just two days, we engaged in a silent war of wits that felt like it had three hundred rounds. Finally, I brought out my secret weapon. I proposed a new deal to Leo. If he really wanted to eat a snack, he could. But for every calorie he consumed, he had to burn it off. At first, Leo was unfazed and readily agreed. That evening, during our walk, I wheeled out a wiggle car. Leo thought I’d bought it for him and excitedly thanked me. His face fell when he saw me sit on it myself. Then he magnanimously declared that it was okay, Mommy could play with it first. I just smiled, taking a belt and a length of rope and fastening a makeshift harness around his little body. Leo looked at me, confused. “Today,” I said sweetly, “you ate two bags of chips, one ice cream bar, a bag of Takis, two pieces of chocolate, and a cupcake. I did the math, and a simple walk isn’t going to burn all that off. So, how about we engage in a fun and loving parent-child activity?” That’s right. The parent-child activity was me, sitting on the wiggle car, while Leo pulled me from the front. “But I’m just a kid!” “Hmm. Well, it’s either the fun activity or the snacks. Your choice.” Leo said nothing. Leo put his head down and started pulling. Leo’s face became a living emoji of exhaustion. 7 After the weekend, the nanny took Leo to kindergarten. With some time to myself, I logged on to check the company’s financial status. It was a tech firm Cole and I had started together. He was the genius behind the code; I handled public relations and marketing. Cole was a classic introvert, never comfortable with networking or schmoozing. I was surprised to see that in the past five years, he had managed to grow the company exponentially. Even the dividends from my own shares had multiplied several times over. A wave of relief washed over me. It meant that even if things between us went to the worst-case scenario, I had the capital to start over on my own terms. I spent the morning catching up on five years of market changes, researching potential investment opportunities. Just then, my phone rang. “Leo Harrison’s parent?” “Leo assaulted another child at school. The other parent is already here. Please come to the school immediately.” The comments flared to life. 【Here we go, here we go! The classic face-slapping plot point, part one.】 【Could it be a misunderstanding? After all the work she’s put in, would Leo really act out like that again?】 【No misunderstanding. I saw the whole thing. Leo did it on purpose. He’s just a bad seed.】 【When is this whole family going to be written out of the story? They’re so annoying. But I guess having him bully the female lead’s daughter is one way to get him into real trouble.】 【That fat little punk thinks his family’s money makes him hot stuff. He has no idea the male lead is an heir to a New York fortune. The second he comes looking for his girl, he’ll bankrupt their little company in a heartbeat.】 My eyebrows shot up. I quietly filed that last piece of information away. 8 When I arrived, Leo was standing in a corner, head bowed. Across the room, a graceful woman was holding a little girl, comforting her in a soft voice. To prevent any arguments, the teacher immediately played the security footage. “Assault” was a strong word, but Leo had definitely pushed the girl. I crouched down in front of my son. “Did this little girl say something mean to you?” Leo looked at me and shook his head. “Did she do something to hurt you where the teachers couldn’t see?” He thought for a moment, then shook his head again. 【Don’t bother asking, lady. The female lead’s daughter was just playing with her toys. Your fat kid went over to talk to her, she ignored him, so he pushed her. That kind of kid is just… ugh.】 【Does anyone else feel that helpless frustration of wanting to slap someone through the screen?】 【Kid’s got a father but no mother to raise him right. If he were my kid, I’d give him a couple of smacks right here to let off some steam.】 Even though the ghostly commentators were laying out the entire story for me, I insisted on asking him myself. “Why did you push her?” Leo turned his head away, refusing to look at me. I gently stroked his hair and didn’t press him further. Instead, I walked over to the other mother. I apologized sincerely and said that we would cover all the medical expenses, any related costs, and compensate her for her missed work. The woman, who had seemed ready for a fight, visibly relaxed. She probably assumed that a child with his reputation would have an equally difficult parent. My earnest apology seemed to disarm her. 9 I signed Leo out of school for the afternoon. Before we left, the teacher pulled me aside. “Mrs. Harrison, I’m not trying to be a tattletale, but this isn’t the first time Leo has been aggressive with other children. In the past, it was always with other boys, and you know how they can be. A few bumps and bruises are normal. You’d send the nanny, and I’d let it go. But this time he’s moved on to bullying a little girl. And as you saw, the poor thing didn’t do anything to provoke him.” She sighed, her expression a mix of frustration and pity. “I know you parents are busy, but once you have a child, you have to be responsible for them.” … When I came out of the office, Leo was waiting for me, his lower lip caught between his teeth. He probably expected me to yell at him, but I said nothing. Even when we got home, I acted as if nothing had happened. It was Leo who was a wreck, full of nervous energy. Every few minutes, he would run over to where I was sitting just to look at me. At dinner, there was no more fighting. He dutifully ate his food in the proper order: vegetables, protein, then carbs. During our evening walk, he offered meekly to pull the wiggle car again. I refused. I told him his calorie intake for the day wasn’t over the limit, so no strenuous exercise was needed. He just hung his head and mumbled, “Oh.” Seeing him like this, I felt a sense of relief. It proved that my son was not a lost cause. 10 Sure enough, a little while later, he came over and tugged on my sleeve. “You… you’re not going to yell at me? About today.” I looked at him and spoke softly. “I believe in my son. I don’t want to wrongly accuse you before I know the reason. Even if everyone else says it was your fault, I still want to hear your side of the story. With me, at least, you will always have the first right to explain.” The moment the words left my mouth, Leo burst into tears. He threw himself into my arms, sobbing apologies. He told me he really didn’t mean to do it, that he just wanted the little girl, Lily, to notice him and play with him. He confessed that the other kids at school all called him names. They said he was fat and mean, like Dudley Dursley from Harry Potter. Only Lily never called him that. Through his tears, Leo choked out the story. “I’m not Dudley. I didn’t hit anyone. They started it by calling me names. I just wanted them to stop, so I tried to act tough. I just wanted to play with Lily, I didn’t know she would fall… I was wrong. I’m sorry, I’m sorry to Lily.” The comments reappeared. 【Just like the heroine’s daughter! So sweet and kind! A true little angel!】 【Hahahaha, Dudley! That’s perfect. His classmates are brutal.】 【You think that’s funny?… Calling names is bullying. People who haven’t been through it just don’t get that feeling of powerlessness, where the more you tell them to stop, the more they do it.】 【I actually get it. This is like that ‘broken plate’ test. The moment Leo got provoked, he confirmed their narrative that he was just a fat bully. Sometimes, little kids are the cruelest people of all.】 11 A dull ache spread through my chest. I waited until Leo’s sobs subsided before I started to reason with him. I explained that whether Lily wanted to play with him or not was her choice, her freedom. He shouldn’t have tried to get her attention by pushing her after she ignored him. Seeing his confused expression, I tried a different approach. “It’s like when the other kids call you Dudley. You told them you don’t like it, but they didn’t listen. They even turned it into a joke and tried to force you to accept it. That made you unhappy. It made you feel like they were being mean, right?” I continued, “That’s the feeling of not being respected.” “Did you, without meaning to, do the same thing to Lily today that those kids did to you?” Leo was quiet for a long time, thinking. A sad, guilty look crossed his face as he nodded. He promised he wouldn’t do it again. I gently pushed on. “So, what should you do tomorrow?” “I’ll go apologize to Lily.” “And what if she doesn’t accept your apology?” He looked up at me, his expression certain. “It’s her choice not to accept my apology. I won’t bother her anymore. I’ll just try my best to be better, and wait for her to forgive me.” As I stroked his head, he bit his lip and added in a small voice, “Mommy, I feel really bad about what I did to Lily. I want to make it up to her. Can I?” 12 The next day, for the first time ever, I agreed to let Leo take his limited-edition snack box to kindergarten. Just as he was about to leave, I called him back. I told him that if anyone called him Dudley again, he needed to tell them, clearly and seriously, that he didn’t like it. And then he needed to tell the teacher that their words were hurting his feelings. He looked down at his shoes. “What if they don’t listen to me?” “You will have done everything you needed to do. The rest is their problem. Their parents’ problem. Don’t ever look for fault in yourself because of someone else’s bad behavior. That’s a fool’s game.” The commentary feed approved. 【YES! That’s exactly it. You call me a name, I tell you I don’t like it, you do it again? That means you’re the one who’s stupid and has no manners. It has nothing to do with me.】 【What a great way to separate the issues. No internalizing. I love it.】 【I’m kind of jealous of the mini-villain. The original is such a gentle mom…】 【Am I the only one who thinks Leo is just scamming her for snacks?】 ……… As Leo walked into his classroom, he kept looking back at me over his shoulder. I gave him an encouraging smile. I watched him hand the snack box to Lily, then take two steps back and offer a formal, little bow of apology. Then, I turned and walked toward the administrative office. My son had done his part. The rest was up to his mother. ……… In the weeks that followed, the smiles on Leo’s face became much more frequent. Even his temper seemed to have mellowed. He told me the teacher had spoken sternly to the children who were calling names. Now, no one in the class did it anymore. Lily had forgiven him. She even gave him a small bag of homemade cookies as a thank-you gift. 13 Before I knew it, the day of Cole’s return arrived. That night, I was asleep in my room—our room. In the deep darkness, a pair of hands suddenly clamped around my throat. A low, furious voice hissed in my ear. “How did you get in here? Did your System crack the code? Didn’t I tell you never to come near my room?” I recognized Cole’s voice instantly. Without thinking, my hand flew up and I slapped him across the face. The sharp crack echoed in the silent room.

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1 Six years ago, Patrick Percy—the prodigal son my parents had just found after he’d been lost for years—cornered a girl in an alley. A predator driven by a sudden, vicious impulse. She didn’t survive. But under my parents’ protection, Patrick pinned the entire crime on me, his adopted brother. The victim’s family hurled cans of red paint at our front door, screaming for my life in return for hers. My parents and my younger sister, Leah, knelt before me, begging me to confess. “Patrick just got into Westwood University. His future can’t be ruined by a prison sentence.” “You’ve lived his life, enjoyed his privileges for over a decade. It’s time you paid his price.” I refused. I fought back, screaming that I would call the police, but they beat me unconscious and handed me over themselves. The case became a media sensation. My provisional acceptance to Oxford was revoked, my name given to someone else. The school expelled me. And Seraphina Blackwood—my girlfriend, the sole heiress to the Blackwood Corporation—took the stand and pointed her finger right at me. After I was sentenced, she visited me in prison, her voice a soft promise. “Evan, I know this is unfair. Just endure these six years. When you get out, I’ll keep my word. I’ll marry you.” … Six years later, a guard unlocked the heavy steel gates. “Go out there and be a good man. No more trouble.” He handed me a small slice of angel food cake, a tradition for a clean slate. “Eat this. A fresh start.” I took the cake, my hand numb, and bowed my head in thanks. I had barely turned to leave when a hand grabbed the collar of my shirt and yanked me backward. I was shoved into a battered old Jeep. The cake tumbled from my grasp, its pristine white surface splattering against the ground. A heavy boot immediately ground it into the mud. “Mr. Percy sends his regards, kid,” the driver sneered. “Today’s a big day for the young master, he’s receiving an award. Your showing up would be bad luck. I’m here to take you back home.” The whole city was erupting in applause for Patrick Percy, the nation’s youngest scientific prodigy. Not a single soul remembered me, the one who had rotted in a cell for his crime for six long years. We were just hitting the outer ring road when a custom supercar, shimmering as if dusted with diamonds, cut us off. A woman in a limited-edition designer suit stepped out. It was Seraphina. She opened the Jeep’s door with a look of distaste, her brow furrowed as she looked at me. Her voice was cool, detached. “You’ve had a rough six years. The wedding is next week. I’m a woman of my word; I said I’d marry you when you got out.” I stared at her, my face a mask of indifference. Then, without a word, I pushed myself out of the Jeep. My right leg buckled, and I moved with a pronounced limp. “You don’t mind that I’m a cripple? Then let’s get married.” Seraphina froze, her eyes fixed on my leg. “Evan, your leg…” Before she could finish, her phone rang. “Sera, you have to come quick! My brother just collapsed!” It was my sister, Leah, on the other end. Seraphina’s face filled with panic. “I’m sorry, Evan. Patrick’s not well. I have to get to the hospital.” She rushed out an explanation. “He’s been under so much pressure. When he heard you were coming home yesterday, he felt so guilty he cried all night. Your parents and Leah are with him now.” She turned to leave, then hesitated, her gaze falling back to my leg. “Go on to the Percy estate. I’ll find the best orthopedic surgeon in the city to fix your leg.” I watched her supercar speed away, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. This leg was destroyed on my first day in prison six years ago. The agony was blinding, and my desperate cries for help only seemed to fuel the sadism of the inmates. What followed was a new level of torture. Every beating, every slur I endured over those six years was a brutal, relentless reminder that no one had ever truly loved me. My parents, my sister, my fiancée—the person they truly cared about was Patrick. Twenty years ago, my parents chose me from an orphanage. They wept as they held me, saying I looked just like the son they had just lost. I became their medicine, a balm for their grief. But I never felt their love. I was constantly scolded, constantly reminded of how I fell short of their perfect, lost son. I pushed myself to be flawless, desperate for a single word of praise. My room was wallpapered with awards and certificates. I was the star student, the one teachers adored. But at home, I was invisible. The day they found Patrick, their faces lit up with a joy so pure and ecstatic it took my breath away. It was a look I had never seen, and never would receive, in my entire life. … “Second Young Master, the utility closet at the end of the hall on the first floor has been cleared out for you,” the driver said as we arrived. “Mr. Percy said what happened six years ago was a huge scandal. He wants you to stay out of sight, so you don’t embarrass the family in front of guests.” My hands clenched into fists. I had served six years for Patrick’s crime, and my parents were still determined to brand me a murderer? A familiar, dull ache settled in my chest. I locked myself in the cramped, dusty room and let the tears I had held back for six years finally fall. I woke in the middle of the night, my stomach cramping with hunger. I realized no one had called me for dinner. With a hollow laugh, I crept toward the kitchen, hoping to find some scraps. As I neared the living room, I heard Leah’s voice, sharp with complaint. “Mom, Dad, why did you even bring Evan back? You know he stole Patrick’s place. He should have died in prison for all I care!” My mother sighed. “We were afraid he’d start talking, that he might ruin Patrick’s career.” “I don’t want to see him,” Leah pouted. “He was never one of us. I just want it to be the four of us: you, Dad, and Patrick.” Her words were daggers in my heart. My limbs went cold. The little sister I had adored and protected for so many years… she hated me this much. I knew they didn’t love me, but hearing it spoken so plainly still felt like my lungs were being crushed. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was my old university professor, the head of my lab. “Evan. I’ve waited six years for this call. I’m finally able to reach you. I’m so sorry, son. I did everything I could, but my influence was limited. I couldn’t get you out.” Hearing his voice, a fresh wave of tears streamed down my face. On the day of the murder, I had an alibi. I was in the lab with my professor, working late. After the Percys forced me into prison, he had fought for me, appealing to the courts, presenting our evidence. But every attempt was blocked, every piece of evidence buried by the Blackwood family’s lawyers, all orchestrated by Seraphina. My professor was the only person in the world who still remembered me, who still cared. I immediately accepted his offer. I agreed to release the patent for the technology I’d developed six years ago for use in the top-secret “Project Chimera,” a national research initiative. “That’s wonderful news! Evan, with you on board, Project Chimera will be unstoppable.” His voice was filled with excitement. “In ten days, I’ll come to pick you up and take you to the facility. You’re about to send shockwaves through the entire scientific community!” Six years. After six years of being buried in darkness, I could finally step back into the light. Ten days. I clenched my fists, my jaw tight. Just ten more days. Then I could finally leave this cold, loveless house for good. This time, I was the one leaving them. The next morning, the sudden crackle of fireworks outside jolted me awake. I fell from my makeshift bed, scrambling into a corner, trembling uncontrollably. A maid pushed the door open and saw me huddled there, her eyes filled with contempt. The fireworks… they brought it all back. In prison, they’d stuffed firecrackers into my bedding. The explosion, the searing flames engulfing my body. I had survived, but with burns covering over half my body, leaving behind a tapestry of hideous, permanent scars. “The Young Master is in a good mood. He wants you to come out for a meal. Stop dragging your feet and get a move on!” she snapped. I forced myself to calm down and stepped out of the utility closet. The lavishly decorated living room buzzed with energy. Patrick stood in the center, dressed in a bespoke suit, a golden party crown perched on his head like some pampered prince. My parents, Leah, and my fiancée, Seraphina, all gathered around him, celebrating his birthday. My parents presented him with the keys to a new sports car. “Our son, you’re brilliant! Chosen for Project Chimera! You make us so proud!” Leah gave him a pair of diamond cufflinks. “Big brother, I’ll miss you so much when you’re at the facility!” Seraphina handed him a portfolio. “Patrick, my parents are thrilled about you joining the project. This is a birthday gift from them—half the shares of the Blackwood Corporation.” Patrick accepted it all with a gracious smile, then his eyes found me, standing alone and disheveled at the edge of the room. “Evan, you’re awake! I’m so sorry I didn’t get to welcome you yesterday, I collapsed so suddenly. You’re not mad at your big brother, are you?” Before I could answer, Seraphina spoke for me. “Of course he’s not. He’s your brother, after all.” “Good. Evan, come have some cake! Mom and Dad got my favorite—mango.” I remained frozen in place. My father’s face darkened. “What an ungrateful brat,” he muttered. “Can’t even wish his own brother a happy birthday.” A bitter laugh escaped me. They had forgotten. They had all forgotten that I’m deathly allergic to mangoes. One bite could kill me. Patrick, ever the ‘caring’ brother, spoke up. “Dad, Mom, don’t be so hard on him. If it weren’t for Evan taking the fall for me, I’d never have had the chance to join Project Chimera. You know, back in the day, he was the real genius. It’s amazing how much can change in six years.” He cut a large slice of the cake and walked toward me. “Evan, it’s my birthday. Just one bite, for me. Please?” The sickly-sweet scent of mango flooded my senses. My throat began to tighten, my vision swam with red. And then I saw it—a wicked, triumphant smile on Patrick’s face, a private little show just for me. My heart hammered against my ribs. In a flash of cold dread, I realized he was trying to kill me, right here, in front of everyone. My hand shot out, swatting the plate from his hand. It clattered to the floor. “You bastard!” My father’s hand cracked across my face. “Your brother offers you cake out of the kindness of his heart, and you throw it on the floor? Have you lost your mind?” My mother rushed to Patrick’s side, shielding him as if I were a monster. “You ungrateful wolf! We should have never brought you into our home! How dare you lay a hand on my son!” Leah, in her sharp high heels, kicked me twice in my good leg. “You useless cripple! Why didn’t you just die in prison? What are you even doing here?” Their words rained down on me, each one a physical blow. I collapsed, too broken to stand. I looked up and met Seraphina’s cold, disappointed gaze. “Evan, I can’t believe what you’ve become. You’ve lost even the most basic sense of respect. I’m so disappointed in you.” I looked at their furious, accusing faces, at Patrick’s smug, victorious expression, and a ragged laugh tore from my throat. If they didn’t want me here, fine. I would leave. I hauled myself up from the floor, wiping the blood from the corner of my mouth. “I think I’ll go for a walk. I don’t want to spoil the party.” “Then don’t come back! This family has no place for a coward like you!” my father roared. As I stepped out of the Percy estate, I took a deep breath. Nine days. Nine more days and I would be free of them forever. As for Seraphina… if I was such a disappointment to her, then there was no need for a wedding. Growing up under the Percys’ harsh, loveless rule had taught me how to survive on my own. I found a job at a small diner—serving tea, clearing tables, washing dishes. It was mindless work, but it was honest. The owner knew about my prison record but didn’t care. It was a place to rest my head. That night, the familiar ache returned, sharp and insistent. Six years ago, Seraphina was in a car accident. To save her, I had willingly donated my left eye and one of my kidneys. The recovery should have been smooth, but the years of abuse in prison had ravaged my body. The internal damage was severe. I swallowed a painkiller, but the agony was too much. I blacked out. … A few days later, I saw it on the news. Seraphina Blackwood and Patrick Percy were announcing their engagement. Stunned, I answered a call from her. Her voice was hesitant. “Evan… Patrick is very sick. The doctors say his prognosis is poor. He wants to marry me. I can’t say no.” “You need to give me some time,” she continued, her voice pleading. “I have to help him through this. After all… he was the one who donated his eye and kidney to me after the accident. I wouldn’t be alive today if it weren’t for him.” The world tilted on its axis. It was me. I was the one who saved her. How had it become Patrick? “Fine,” I said, my voice hollow. “I wish you both happiness.” I didn’t argue. I didn’t explain. As I hung up, I could still hear her promising to find a doctor for my leg, still insisting that our wedding would happen, that she just needed a little more time… On the day of their wedding, the entire city’s elite turned out. The ceremony was broadcast live, a lavish, fairytale spectacle. I sent Seraphina one last text message: I wish you happiness. From this moment on, we are strangers. I attached the digital file of the organ donation consent form I had signed six years ago. My signature and thumbprint were clearly visible. After that, I snapped my SIM card in half and threw it in the trash. I said goodbye to the diner owner, then walked out to the curb where my professor was waiting. Without a second’s hesitation, I got in his car. Goodbye, Seraphina. Goodbye, Mom, Dad, and Leah. This time, I was the one who didn’t want you.

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After Claire came back home, I stumbled across an anonymous poll online. [When a woman cheats, who does she feel guiltier about: her husband or her lover?] A staggering 99% voted for the lover. I turned and asked Claire, “Do you feel that way, too?” She set down her book, her gaze distant, veiled with a weariness she couldn’t put into words. “Eason, I’m back now.” Her voice was flat. “What more do you want from me?” 1 With a heavy brow, Claire rose and went to the balcony, pouring herself a glass of water to cool down. I watched her. Against the glittering backdrop of the city lights, her slender silhouette melted into the soft darkness, a picture of lonely elegance. Half an hour later, she returned, her face fixed in a strained, placating smile. “The company’s having its annual Family Day. You should come with me. I’m free this weekend, so we can go shopping and get you something to wear.” Claire’s company held these events from time to time, but she’d never invited me before. When I’d asked about it once, she had just frowned, her face a mask of impatience. “That’s just a perk for the junior staff, Eason. The spots are limited. As a department head, I have to be considerate. It’s not worth fighting them for a spot.” Right now, I desperately wanted to ask her, So you don’t have to be considerate this time? But I didn’t. Ever since Claire moved back in, a suffocating, sticky tension had settled between us. Yes, sticky. Like a lump of phlegm caught in your throat—it won’t go up, it won’t go down, but it’s always there, a constant, disgusting reminder of its presence. “Okay,” I said. She smiled, as if she were pleased. But the moment she turned away, the smile vanished, replaced by a sigh so faint it was almost silent. Later that night, as I turned off the lights to sleep, the door creaked open. It was Claire. “Are you asleep?” We slept in separate rooms now. She had taken the guest room. The day she chose to “return to the family,” she had stood by the door with her suitcase and said, “Eason, we both need time and space to heal. Let’s not share a room for a while.” Back then, I was still drowning in a chaotic sea of extreme emotions. The searing pain of betrayal by the one person I trusted most; the self-loathing for my own unhinged actions after everything blew up; the bitter satisfaction of holding the moral high ground… Every expression, every gesture felt twisted and magnified. I had tilted my chin up, sneering at her. “What are you thinking, Claire? Did you really believe I let you come back just to sleep with you? Do you assume everyone’s mind is as filthy as yours?” “As you wish,” she’d replied, her voice flat, not a flicker of defiance in her eyes as she dragged her suitcase into the guest room. … Now, she stood by my bed, watching me in the darkness for a long moment. Then, with a soft rustle of sheets, she lay down beside me. “Eason, we’re still husband and wife.” Her voice was thick with moisture. It was strange. It was just a simple sentence, and I couldn’t see her face, but I could feel the reluctant submission in her words, the resigned sigh behind them. It was as if she were offering herself to me. As if she were finally bowing to fate. A surrender to the marriage that still, technically, existed. A gift of mercy bestowed upon me, her partner of ten years. Outside, the moon hung tired and cold, looking down on the world with indifference. I couldn’t stop myself. I finally said the name I hadn’t uttered in three months. “What about Leo?” “Isn’t he the only husband you acknowledge in your heart?” The air in the room froze solid. In the darkness, the woman behind me erupted, her voice sharp and furious. “Why are you bringing him up? Why would you say his name?” “I’m back! We’ve both paid the price! You got everything you wanted!” “Eason, what in God’s name do you still want from me?!” 2 I didn’t want anything. I just couldn’t help it. I felt so damn wronged. I just wanted to rip apart the fake, fragile veneer that had been stretched over my life. Claire and I met in college. We fell in love during a campus event, married the year after graduation, and had our son, Rory, the year after that. Everything felt so natural, so right. I was the extrovert—sunny, outgoing, a people person. She was the introvert, a brilliant researcher whose career had stalled because she hated networking. I felt her talent was being wasted, so I used my own PR skills, leveraging a connection through my boss to get an introduction to the director of her research institute. For weeks, I got up at the crack of dawn to bake pastries and drive them across town to the director’s mother, who had a notorious sweet tooth. Claire was disdainful of my efforts. After all, I was a grown man doing something she considered demeaning. “My abilities speak for themselves,” she’d said. “Why do I need you to stoop to such cheap tricks? You’ll just end up with nothing, and I’ll be the one who looks like a fool.” I carefully protected her academic pride, admitting my approach was clumsy, but I smiled and said, “Even if it fails, it’s no big deal. Think of it as just being kind to an old woman. Besides, knowing a director like him could help my own career, too.” The director was impressed by my persistence, and given that Claire’s work was genuinely outstanding, he endorsed her during a critical promotion review. After five years of being overlooked, Claire finally got the advancement she deserved. Her salary and bonuses soared, but with one hand in research and the other in management, her workload became immense. With no one to look after the house and Rory at a crucial age, we talked it over and decided I would step back from my demanding role at my job and take a less stressful position. That would give me more time for our family and allow me to fully support her career. I always thought I was the lucky one. When I picked Rory up from kindergarten, the other moms would chat, and they all agreed our family was the model of modern happiness: a college-sweetheart marriage with a strong foundation, a successful wife, a full-time “super dad” with a relaxed job, and a bright, adorable son. I felt happy and fulfilled. Sure, I’d feel a pang of regret seeing former colleagues who were less competent than me get promotions and raises, but I told myself that a family is a single economic unit, a shared destiny. What I gave up was for the greater good of us all. And that was enough. The first time I saw the name “Leo,” it was on a research paper on her desk. The authors were listed as: Claire White, Leo Vance. I handed her a mug of herbal wellness tea I’d brewed and joked, “Your names actually sound good together. Just reading them, I can imagine some epic, star-crossed love story.” At the time, I was blissfully ignorant, wrapped in the comfortable lie of my life. I didn’t notice the fleeting tenderness in her eyes as her gaze fell on his name. “He’s a single colleague, Eason. Don’t make jokes like that.” She looked down, pushing the report aside, her tone a soft warning. 3 The next time I saw the name “Leo Vance” was six months later. I was making a PowerPoint for Rory’s presentation as class representative, but my laptop died. Claire was out at a department dinner, so I went into her study and used her computer. While searching for templates in her cloud drive, I accidentally clicked on a shared folder. It was titled: [My Love]. Claire was an impeccably organized person. Inside, there were 27 subfolders, all neatly labeled by year and month. Intuition is a strange, terrifying thing. Before I saw that folder, it had never once crossed my mind—not for a single second—that Claire could be hiding something. But in that moment, as I moved the cursor to click on one of the files, I realized my hand was shaking. I sat there and read for two hours. The [My Love] folder documented the secret, blazing two-year-and-three-month emotional journey of a woman and a man. They had been colleagues in different departments, brought together on a research project. In the endless days and nights that followed, they engaged in exhilarating intellectual discussions, a meeting of souls. Slowly, one’s heart stirred, and the other’s feelings ignited. They were acutely aware that their connection was forbidden by morality, by the world. They made a pact: their love would be pure, platonic. They would never touch, never succumb to base human desire. Perhaps shielded by this hypocritical cloak of “moral responsibility,” they allowed themselves to pour out their hearts, to unleash their love in this private Eden. Claire called Leo “my one true husband.” “You walked past me today, and I caught the unique, intoxicating scent of your body. My heart leaped.” “So many men in this world are tainted, but you… you are a pure, untainted sanctuary for my soul. Thank you for cleansing my life.” “I fall asleep thinking of your face, repeating your name in my mind over and over.” “I used to mourn my thirty-three wasted years, but then you appeared like a silent savior. Suddenly, all my past suffering became worthwhile.” Leo called Claire “my angel.” “Angel! My love! My wife!” “This morning, I found a few of my long hairs and gently placed them on your desk. In a way, we’ve now shared a bond, like tying the knot.” “In the meeting minutes, our names were printed one above the other. I felt a secret thrill. The two most beautiful names in the world, dancing together, intertwined.” “Angel, I had a dream last night… an unspeakable dream. I was crying out your name. When I woke up, there was only emptiness, my soul adrift.” “I think about you day and night. My performance reviews are tanking, but it was old Mrs. Henderson who got the pink slip. Angel, you pulled strings for me, didn’t you? I feel so guilty and so grateful at the same time. How can I ever repay you?” Below that entry was Claire’s tender reply: “Don’t feel guilty, my love. A wife is happy to bend the rules for her husband. I’ve never cared for power or position, but in this moment, I’m so glad to have it.” … 27 folders. 30 documents in each. A total of 810 entries. For 810 days and nights, they had shared and edited this digital Eden, baring their souls to one another. It was early September, and the last dregs of summer heat still clung to the city. But sitting in that study, an icy chill spread through my entire body, as if I’d been plunged into a freezer. 4 I stormed out of the house in a daze. A part of me still refused to believe it. It had to be fake. A cruel prank, a setup, someone trying to frame her. I called her phone. No answer. She said it was a department dinner. I went from restaurant to restaurant, searching for her. I had to confront her, right then and there. I had to know the truth. I finally found her in a loud, steamy Korean BBQ joint. A large group was laughing and talking around a long table. Claire sat at the head, a faint, polite smile on her lips. She looked exactly as she always did: elegant, poised, a successful woman in her prime. To her right sat a man in a white hoodie. He seemed shy, but his smile was radiant. My feet froze to the floor. I couldn’t bring myself to take another step. I could hear the younger employees joking around. “Claire, we admire everything about you, except for how much of a hard-ass your husband is! We’ll just have to admire that from a distance!” “Yeah, seriously! You’re so cool and collected, a true genius. Why do you listen to an outsider like your husband and run your team like a drill sergeant?” It took me a second to process what they were saying. Claire wasn’t a natural manager. Her method was to do everything herself because she felt it was a waste of time to teach others. As a result, she was the most overworked person in her own department, with no time left for her own son. I had suggested she needed to be a stricter boss, to delegate and hold her team accountable, otherwise their performance would always be at the bottom. I never knew what she’d told them, but it was clear they’d laid the blame squarely at my feet. But I didn’t care about that right now. My eyes were locked on the young man. He sat there, a gentle smile playing on his lips, graceful and composed amidst the chaos of the restaurant. He had an almost ethereal quality. He smiled and said softly, “Alright, alright, stop teasing Claire. From now on, if any of you are swamped, I’ll help out.” The others roared with laughter. “If only Claire’s husband were like you, Leo! Our lives would be a dream! What a shame!” My heart sank into a black pit. Of course. It was him. Leo Vance. The group started toasting him, and he blushed like a peach blossom, his smile radiant. Suddenly, Claire stood up, took the glass from his hand, and downed it in one gulp. “We don’t pressure people to drink in my department. Don’t pick on him. I’ll drink for him!” Leo’s lips curled into a soft smile as their eyes met. The others cheered and refilled her glass. With a flourish, she drained that one, too. I watched from afar, my body shaking violently. Claire had a sensitive stomach. The slightest thing could trigger agonizing pain. For years, besides caring for Rory, nursing her stomach back to health had been my top priority. I’d searched for folk remedies, brewed bitter medicines, made special herbal teas. Nothing cold, spicy, or harsh ever touched her lips. I loved spicy food, but I never used a single chili when I cooked for us. I’d even take the watermelon out of the fridge an hour before she got home so it wouldn’t be too cold for her. And alcohol? She was never to touch a drop. All my painstaking effort, all my care, to heal her stomach. And now, to win a smile from her “one true love,” she was throwing it all away, pouring glass after glass of poison down her throat. Something inside me snapped. In a moment of pure, blinding rage, there is no logic, no rational thought, no weighing of consequences. With a roar in my ears, I charged forward. I snatched the glass from her hand and smashed it on the floor. “You bitch!” I screamed. Claire stared at me, her face a mask of shock. “Ah—!” Leo scrambled back, stumbling and knocking over a cart with a sizzling hot plate. The scalding oil splattered across his face and forehead. He screamed. Claire gasped, crying out his name. “Leo!” Everyone rushed toward him. Suddenly, a powerful force shoved me from behind. I lost my balance and crashed to the floor, my head striking the corner of a table. One of the young employees glared down at me. “Where did this psycho come from? You’re not getting away with this!” I clutched my head, a wave of hot liquid flowing down, blurring my vision. Through a red haze, I saw Claire rushing toward me in a panic. I didn’t care. I just screamed, my voice raw and broken. “I saw it! I saw the whole damn folder!” “You two are disgusting! A pair of filthy animals!” 5 The events that followed feel like a dream when I look back on them now, three months later. A nightmare. A hideous, twisted nightmare. The shock and the blow to my head were too much. After my furious outburst, the world went black. I woke up in a hospital room. Claire was sitting beside me, her head bowed low. My voice was a weak croak. “Get out.” “Don’t let me see you. You make me sick.” Her body flinched. She looked up, her face gaunt, and spoke in a raspy whisper. “Eason, please don’t get agitated. It’s not what you think.” I grabbed the thermos on the bedside table and threw it at her. She didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. It hit her with a dull thud before clattering to the floor. She closed her eyes for a moment, then bent down, picked it up, and placed it back on the table. “You can hit me, you can scream at me, I don’t care,” she sighed. “At this point, I’m not going to make excuses. I just want to say one thing: I swear, we never crossed that line.” I glared at her, my teeth clenched. “And? Am I supposed to praise you for your moral fortitude? Thank you for not stooping to a disgusting physical affair?” A pained expression crossed her face. “Do you have to be so vulgar?” I dug my nails into the mattress, trying to control the trembling in my hands. “You think my words are disgusting? What about what you did? Every time I think about the crap you two wrote, I want to vomit! Pretending to be some tragic, star-crossed lovers. What a load of bullshit! It’s not platonic, it’s just plain sleazy!” I used to watch movies and TV shows where a husband would have a complete meltdown after his wife cheated, and I’d always thought it was so pathetic, so undignified. It’s just a woman, I’d think. If she’s tainted, just let her go. But now, with it happening to me, I found I couldn’t control myself at all. I was consumed by rage and betrayal, a pressure building in my chest like it was about to explode. I wanted to hurl the vilest, most poisonous words at them. I wanted to drag them both down into the abyss with me. In an instant, I had transformed from the cheerful, friendly Eason into a bitter, violent madman. And the way Claire was looking at me now, she saw a madman, too. That only fueled my rage. I grabbed a pillow and threw it at her face. “Get out!” Claire slowly smoothed her messy hair, her voice calm now as she stood up. “You’re too emotional to have a rational conversation right now. I should go.” She continued, her tone detached. “That junior colleague, Matt, who pushed you? He came and apologized to me. You can’t blame him. He didn’t know who you were, and you came out of nowhere and scared Leo, causing him to get hurt. He was just defending his friend.” “Leo has some burns on his forehead that might scar, but he’s not going to press charges, so you don’t have to worry about that.” “Look, this whole situation isn’t as sordid as you think. Just calm down. If you really can’t get over this, then whatever punishment you decide on, I’ll accept it without a word of complaint.” She bent down, picked up the pillow, placed it back on the bed, and walked out of the room. 6 I was in the hospital for three days, my mind a fog. I drifted in and out of a restless sleep, and each time I woke, it took a few seconds to separate the nightmares from reality. My dad came to visit. He said Claire had called him and explained everything, worried that I’d be alone. He sighed. “She was very sincere. She admitted her mistake but swore nothing physical ever happened with that man. Remember when you were obsessed with that basketball player? You wrote a whole notebook full of letters to him. Just think of it like that.” I shook my head. “It’s not the same.” “But is it worth wrecking your health over? If not for yourself, you have to think about Rory.” My father-in-law and sister-in-law came next. They sat on either side of my bed. My father-in-law chuckled. “Technically, Claire was in the wrong here. But you know, she’s always been a magnet for men, and now that she’s so successful, it’s inevitable that some wolf would try to snatch her up. It’s good this happened. It’s a wake-up call before things went too far.” My sister-in-law, sipping an iced Americano, added, “Look, Eason, I’m not just defending my sister, but she’s a person of principle. She has integrity. I bet she was set up. Besides, this isn’t even really cheating. It’s… flirting. And barely even that. She’d never say anything truly out of line.” As my father-in-law was leaving, he looked at me with a grave expression. “The fact that Claire was willing to tell us everything shows that her conscience is clear. Of course, you have a right to be upset, but it’s time to let it go. She’s up for the Associate Director position soon, and if people see you two fighting, it could hurt her chances.” … Honestly, I had no idea what to do. Get a divorce? Over a decade of history, the home I had so carefully built, Rory’s future, the perfect image we had in the eyes of the world… My dad, my father-in-law, my sister-in-law—they were all telling me not to ruin my health, not to disrupt the family harmony. It was as if divorce wasn’t even on the table. In their minds, this was nowhere near serious enough for that. But my heart felt like it was clogged with concrete. Claire came every day with a thermos of soup. When I ignored her, she would place it gently on the table and leave in silence. Rory called me a few times, crying, asking when I was coming home. He said Mommy’s cooking was terrible. I truly didn’t know what to do. The day before I was discharged, I went down to the small hospital garden for some fresh air. And I saw them. Leo and Claire. Leo was in a patient gown, and Claire was holding two thermoses. They were talking in low voices. They stood face to face, and a gentle breeze lifted Claire’s long hair, letting it dance across Leo’s face, his lips. He stood perfectly still, letting her hair caress him. It was a silent, intimate moment. After a while, she looked down and handed him one of the thermoses. The wind carried Leo’s soft voice to me. “Angel.” A roar filled my head, and I charged. The moment Claire saw me, her eyes widened in terror. I grabbed Leo by the collar of his gown, dragged him to the ground, and screamed, “How dare you! How dare you show your face again!” Leo yelped, clutching at his collar. A few of their younger colleagues came running over. Seeing the scene, they tried to pull me off him, pleading, “Eason, you’ve got it all wrong! We just came to visit Leo and ran into Claire!” As I raised my fist to punch him, someone stepped between us. I heard Claire’s voice, cold as ice. “That’s enough!” The young colleagues awkwardly tried to pry my hands off Leo, but my grip was like steel. A crowd of onlookers had gathered, pointing and whispering. Leo’s shoulders were slumped, a wounded look on his face. Claire glanced at him with pity, then turned her cold eyes on me and shouted, her voice ringing through the garden. “I swear on our son Rory’s life, nothing happened between us! We never slept together! We never kissed! We never even hugged!” “Eason, you keep pushing this, again and again. First, you scarred his face, and now you’re humiliating him in public. If you keep acting like a lunatic, then let’s just get a divorce!” My body went rigid. I stared at her in shock. “What did you say? Divorce?” “On what grounds are you threatening divorce?” The crowd started murmuring. “Wow, she swore on her own kid’s life. She must be telling the truth. I thought he was catching a cheater, but it looks like the husband’s just a psycho.” “And he scarred that poor guy’s face? Look how vicious he is. No wonder she wants a divorce.” “That woman looks so gentle and quiet. He must have really pushed her to the edge.” In my stunned silence, my grip on Leo’s collar loosened. His friends quickly pulled him away from me. Through the crowd, Leo slowly lifted his head and met my gaze. His eyes were filled with mockery, contempt, and even a hint of pity. And suddenly, I was calm. For the first time since I discovered that folder, for the very first time, I was completely and utterly calm. I turned to Claire and spoke slowly. “No. I don’t agree to a divorce.” At least… not yet.

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