Category: English

The night I got married, my wife’s best friend kept her out drinking on a rooftop until dawn, leaving me alone in our wedding suite. When I finally went to find them, her friend was gloriously drunk. She grabbed my arm and launched into a detailed account of all the ways Olivia’s ex-boyfriend was perfect for her, and all the ways I wasn’t. And Olivia, my wife, just sat there and said nothing. … It was two in the morning when I found them on the roof of the hotel. Olivia and Maya were still drunk, empty beer bottles scattered around their feet like fallen soldiers. Maya saw me and let out a slurred, theatrical laugh. “Ethan’s here! Perfect timing for a trip down memory lane.” She offered me a bottle. I gently pushed it away. “Sorry, I don’t drink.” She giggled, and I couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or malice. “Ethan, you’re probably not going to like what I have to say, but for both your sakes, it needs to be said.” Her tone shifted, becoming unnervingly serious. “You know, Leo was Olivia’s ex,” she began, her words heavy. “Back when they were together, we did everything as a pack. Dinner, drinks… hell, we’d run a five-stack in Valorant until the sun came up.” She gestured vaguely toward Olivia. “Since you two got together, Liv never has time for us anymore. Can’t call her out for late-night food runs. She has to sneak out to pull an all-nighter with us, then rush back to be awake and perky for your morning chat, and then she has to be on a call with you while she falls asleep.” “I just don’t get it,” she said, rolling up her sleeves as if preparing for a fight. “Why are you so high-maintenance? I’ve never seen a guy demand so much.” She leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but all of us girls… we feel sorry for Olivia. We don’t say it to her face, but none of us thought you two would last.” “We all thought she’d get back with Leo. I mean, who could possibly be a better match for her? And then, suddenly, you’re married.” She sighed dramatically. “But hey, you’re together now, so I genuinely wish you the best. Consider everything I just said a fart in the wind. And I don’t care what you think of me after this. I’d do anything for my best friend.” My gaze shifted to Olivia. She was silent, her eyes fixed on the tips of her shoes. A humorless laugh escaped my lips. This was the “best friend” Olivia always talked about. Suddenly, everything clicked into place. At the wedding reception earlier, during the maid of honor speech, while everyone else wished us a lifetime of happiness, Maya had smirked into the microphone and said, “Even though you’re married, you better still show up for game nights.” The emcee had laughed it off. “Sounds like the bride’s got a strict warden at home!” I didn’t find it funny then. I certainly didn’t find it funny now. 2 I remember the first time Olivia was supposed to introduce me to her “best friends.” It was early in our relationship. I’d made an effort, picked out a nice shirt. While we were waiting at the restaurant, Olivia took a call. “What’s taking you guys so long?” she asked, her voice hushed. “I told you, my boyfriend is with me.” I couldn’t hear the other side, just the faint, sharp spike of Maya’s voice through the receiver: “It’s our girls’ night, what’s he doing here?” Olivia’s back went rigid. She walked out of the private dining room, phone pressed to her ear. When she returned, she avoided my eyes and reached for her coat. “They had something come up last minute. We have to cancel.” Only a fool would have believed that. “Your friends don’t want to meet me, do they?” “No, of course not.” “Then why did you have to take the call outside?” “The signal was bad,” she said, a little too quickly. “Look, don’t be so sensitive. They’re my best friends. They don’t have a problem with you. You’ll see once you get to know them.” I was skeptical, but her words put a strange pressure on me. It felt like an audition. If they were so great, and they didn’t like me, then the problem must be mine. When the formal introduction finally happened, there were four of them. Three women—Maya, and another named Chloe—and one guy, Leo. They were already seated when Olivia and I arrived. There were curt nods and a round of brief hellos before they immediately resumed their previous conversation, as if we hadn’t walked in. “Another round?” someone asked. “Please, you’re always the first one under the table.” I tried to slide into the easy, cheerful atmosphere. “So what does everyone usually like to drink?” The laughter died instantly. The room, which had been buzzing with energy, fell silent. The quick, darting glances they exchanged made my skin prickle. Leo finally spoke, without looking at me. “Nothing special. Whatever’s on tap.” He then turned to Maya. “I’m not in the mood for Bud Light. Get something else.” Maya grinned. “Yes, sir, your highness.” As Leo stood up, he knocked over a glass of water. It splashed across the table, soaking the front of his shirt. I was closest to him and held out a napkin. He didn’t even glance at it. He completely ignored me, turning to Maya. “Seriously? My favorite white shirt,” he complained. “Anybody got a napkin?” People scrambled to help. I gently tugged on his sleeve, holding the napkin out again. It was like I was a ghost. He didn’t react, just called out toward Maya, “Hurry up, I’m dying over here.” My hand hung awkwardly in the air before I slowly pulled it back. Under the table, Olivia patted my knee. “He didn’t hear you,” she whispered. “Don’t take it personally.” After the drinks arrived, the conversation turned to a new TV show everyone was watching. Coincidentally, it was one I’d been following, too. We started chatting, and for a moment, I felt myself connecting with the others, especially Chloe. “Oh my god, you watch it too? You’re one of us!” she said excitedly. “Give me your number, I’ll add you to our fan group chat.” I was about to pull out my phone when Leo set his glass down on the table. It wasn’t a slam, but the clink was sharp and deliberate, cutting through the chatter. Everyone instinctively looked at him. He was frowning, studying his hands. “This is so annoying,” he muttered. The air froze. All attention snapped back to him. The words I was about to say were caught in my throat. “Uh oh, what’s wrong with our pretty boy today?” Maya teased. “Who pissed you off?” Leo just turned his head, giving her a cold shoulder. “Come on, what is it?” Chloe nudged him. “Tell us.” Finally, bathed in the spotlight of their collective gaze, he spoke, his voice laced with a theatrical mix of annoyance and a subtle, preening pride. “You guys are so nosy. It’s nothing, really. Just this new girl at my office. She’s asked me out seven times this month.” “Whoa, persistent!” Maya slapped the table. “Who is this chick? We’ll take care of her for you.” “Nah, it’s fine. She’ll give up eventually.” “Maybe Olivia can help?” someone suggested, glancing at her slyly. “Your offices are in the same building. Super convenient.” Olivia’s hand, holding her water glass, paused for a fraction of a second. She didn’t reply. Leo’s eyes finally flickered toward Olivia, then floated over to me, a feather-light touch. A faint smirk played on his lips. “No need. Besides, someone might get jealous now.” He sighed dramatically. “You all promised you’d stay single with me until I found a girlfriend, and then Olivia had to go and bail on us.” And in that moment, I understood. He didn’t give a damn about the girl from his office. He just couldn’t stand it, not even for a few minutes, when he wasn’t the center of attention. My very existence was the problem. Seeing my silence, Leo laughed it off. “Just kidding, man. This is just how we are. Don’t take it so seriously.” He then turned to Olivia, speaking to her directly for the first time all night. “How’s the ankle?” Olivia was in the middle of placing a piece of short rib on my plate. She didn’t stop, just gave a noncommittal “Mm,” as she finished. Her eyes stayed on my plate, her voice as neutral as if discussing the weather. “It’s fine. Doesn’t hurt to walk anymore.” It was only later that I learned to read the knowing, subtle expressions that passed between them. Leo’s question was a thread, and he pulled it. “Did Olivia ever tell you about our hiking trip?” I shook my head. Olivia and I had our own lives; we trusted each other enough to have separate experiences. Chloe jumped in. “We weren’t even an hour in when we hit this stream. Leo didn’t want to get his new sneakers wet, so we tried to find another way around.” “But you know those canyon trails, they twist and turn. Going off-path is a bad idea,” she continued. “We were trying to find a shallower crossing, but the stream just got wider and we all got separated. We were lost until after dark.” “Leo ended up twisting his ankle,” she finished. “And Olivia basically had to carry him out of there.” “It wasn’t until they got to the ER that we realized Liv’s ankle was sprained too. She never said a word.” A faint, self-satisfied smile hung on Leo’s lips. I turned to Olivia. “I was on that business trip then. Why didn’t you tell me?” She smiled gently. “And do what? Make you worry from a thousand miles away? It was nothing, just a minor sprain.” “But when I burned my hand last month, you changed your flight, took a red-eye, and sat with me all night. Why is it different when it’s you?” Chloe chimed in playfully. “Aww, stop it, you two! Boyfriends get special treatment, I guess.” Clack. The sharp sound of chopsticks hitting a plate. It was Leo. He stared down at his dish, his expression unreadable. Maya saw it and quickly clapped her hands. “Alright, alright, enough of the lovey-dovey stuff. Let’s play a game!” At her suggestion, we started a round of Truth or Dare, spinning a beer bottle. As if guided by fate, the first spin landed on Olivia. Leo asked the question. “Simple one.” He paused for effect. “Everyone at this table falls into a river. Who do you save first?” The air grew thick. Olivia’s brow furrowed slightly. She squeezed my hand under the table. Her voice was perfectly level. “Ethan.” The smile on Leo’s face froze for a split second. Later, it was his turn to spin. The bottle pointed to Olivia again. He was drunk now, his words slurring. “Olivia,” he started, his voice trembling with an emotion I couldn’t place. “Do you… do you ever miss…” Even an idiot could feel the shift in the room. Maya shot to her feet. “Okay, he’s wasted. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. I think we’re done for the night. We’ll get him home.” She and Chloe scrambled to pull a limp Leo to his feet. He sagged against them, all the energy drained from his body. Olivia didn’t look at him. She stood up silently. I took her coat from the back of her chair and draped it over her shoulders. The gesture was careful, deliberate, as if the tense interrogation had never happened. “Let’s go home,” she said to me, her voice flat. The room was a mess of dirty plates and the silent, lingering smoke of a battle just fought. The earlier noise felt like a dream. Now, only a cold quiet remained. The other two friends gave me a quick, tight smile and hurried out. We walked to the restaurant’s entrance in silence. The night air was cool. Maya and the others left without so much as a proper goodbye. As their taillights vanished around the corner, Olivia let out a nearly inaudible sigh and squeezed my hand. “Home,” she said. 3 In the car, I broke the silence. “I don’t think your friends like me. Especially Leo.” Olivia, key in the ignition, paused. “He was just drunk and talking nonsense. They all like you, don’t overthink it.” “This was our first time meeting. Don’t jump to conclusions. You’ll see.” “I don’t want to see them again.” She looked at me, her expression softening. “Ethan, I’ve known them for years. We’ve only been together for one. I can’t just cut them out of my life because we’re a couple.” “That’s just Leo’s personality,” she added. “He’s not a bad guy. You just have to get used to him.” “I’m not trying to isolate you from your friends, Olivia. But you have a group where one guy is the center of the universe, and all the women cater to him. My presence makes him uncomfortable, and it makes everyone else uncomfortable.” She was quiet for a long moment. “Okay,” she finally said. “Let’s not rush to judgment. If you don’t like it, we won’t see them for a while. Let’s just put it on hold.” At that moment, her phone buzzed. It was a group chat notification from Maya. I couldn’t help but see the message preview on the screen. “Tomorrow is Leo’s birthday. Come alone.” 4 But I didn’t know about the party then. The morning of Leo’s birthday, Olivia was up early. When I woke up, she had already come back from somewhere and made breakfast. A green smoothie and avocado toast, my favorite. The plate was still warm; she must have timed it perfectly. My internal clock was regular, and she always managed to have breakfast ready just as I was getting up. But this time, she wasn’t in the apartment. I checked my phone. No new messages. Nothing from her. I finished eating and still, she wasn’t back. I found myself staring at the empty plate, my mind racing, until I finally decided to just clear my head. My approach to relationships has always been simple: focus on the feeling, not the speculation. And on the whole, Olivia was a wonderful girlfriend. She was good to me. I took my plate to the sink. Just then, the door opened and Olivia came in, still in her workout clothes. She immediately put on an apron and walked over. “The florist just got a new shipment of Sunrich sunflowers and Juliet roses. They’re in the living room. If you don’t get them in water soon, they’ll wilt.” Her tone was pointedly casual. It was quite a detour for her to go all the way to that specific flower shop after her morning run. I was about to say something when her phone started buzzing incessantly with notifications. “Your phone’s blowing up. Don’t you want to get that?” She slipped it into her pocket and leaned in to give me a quick, soft kiss. “It’s nothing important.” The sound of the faucet turning on filled the kitchen. “Dishes are my job, flowers are yours.” I went to the living room and gathered the bouquet, then headed to the entryway closet to find the shears. Inside, a high-end designer shopping bag was tucked away on the shelf. “What’s this?” I called out, holding up the bag. There was no answer from the kitchen. The silence stretched on for so long I started to wonder if I’d even spoken aloud. When Olivia came out, drying her hands, she saw me on the sofa with the bag on the coffee table. She was completely composed. The running water must have drowned out my question. “I was going to give it to you tomorrow for the first day of autumn,” she said, glancing at the bag. “You found it early.” I looked up at her. “Autumn?” “Everyone on Instagram is posting their ‘first pumpkin spice latte of the season.’ You don’t like sweet coffee, so I bought you a bracelet instead.” I opened the bag and the box inside. Two identical men’s chain bracelets lay nestled side-by-side. I paused, then couldn’t help but smile. “Was it a buy-one-get-one-free sale?” I teased. “Or did you buy one for someone else and forget to take it out?” Olivia feigned a look of annoyed frustration. “Oh, you found me out. Now what am I going to do?” “Olivia!” I shot her a look. She laughed and pulled out her phone, showing me a screenshot from the sales associate. Two delicate chains were layered on a model’s wrist in a stylish, overlapping fashion. The caption from the salesperson read: “Ma’am, I recommend getting two for a stacked look. It’s the new trend this year.” She took one of the bracelets and carefully fastened it around my wrist. “Do you like it?” she asked, her thumb gently stroking the metal. I nodded, satisfied. “I do.” As for the incessant calls that morning, I found out later they were from Maya, on behalf of Leo. He always seemed to have some “not important” reason that required Olivia’s immediate attention. But in the end, Olivia didn’t go. That evening, when Maya showed up at our door, she was practically radiating anger. Olivia stood in the doorway, making no move to invite her in. “Why weren’t you there today?” Maya demanded. “Isn’t it obvious? I was with my boyfriend.” Maya’s brow furrowed. “Are you kidding me? Do you know what day it is? He didn’t say anything, but he was waiting for you all day.” “I don’t care what you have going on, you are coming with me right now.” Olivia didn’t budge. “Is Ethan forcing you to stay? Is he not letting you go out?” “It’s a special day, Maya. You two can be attached at the hip every other day of the year, I don’t care. But today, you have to come.” Olivia’s expression remained unchanged. “Did he ask you to come get me?” “No. But you know what he’s like. Are you really going to make him ask? You’re the girl. What’s the big deal if you give in a little?” A small, wry smile touched Olivia’s lips. “The only person I make concessions for is my partner. That was true then, and it’s true now.” “How long have you known us? And how long have you known him? I’ll pass along your message, Olivia. But don’t come crying to me when you regret this.” Maya turned and left, slamming the door behind her. Olivia said nothing. She just went back to the kitchen and continued making dinner. After that night, I rarely saw her friends. But I knew that in her heart, Maya and the others were still the most important people in the world to her. 5 Getting married to Olivia felt like the natural next step. My decision was a rational one. She was financially independent, had strong morals, treated me with kindness, and was beautiful. And, of course, we loved each other. At my age, I’d long since abandoned the fairy tale of a flawless, all-consuming love. To me, marriage was more like a pragmatic partnership. As long as certain lines weren’t crossed, I could overlook a lot. As long as the drama wasn’t brought to my doorstep, I was happy to stay out of it. My priority has always been my own peace of mind. Right now, Maya’s drunken monologue was a direct assault on that peace. But what bothered me more was Olivia’s silence. A decent partner, at the very least, defends their spouse in front of others. Her quiet acquiescence was a form of permission, and it was colder and more cutting than any of Maya’s slurred insults. I’m not a confrontational person by nature. My instinct is to create distance, to simply remove myself from people I don’t connect with. Those who truly know me would never dare to be so brazen. This was, without a doubt, a first. I let out a soft laugh, the sound surprisingly sharp in the night air. “Maya.” I finally spoke, my voice devoid of emotion, holding only a cool, detached curiosity. “Listening to you, one would think you were the one in love with Leo, fighting for his lost honor.” She froze, her mouth hanging open, speechless. My gaze drifted slowly to Olivia, who remained silent. A smile without warmth touched my lips. “Olivia, it seems your male best friend is deeply devoted to you.” My tone was even, but every word was a needle. “Why don’t you make a choice? You can go with her, finish this melodrama of undying friendship…” I paused, my eyes snapping back to Maya, the last trace of feigned politeness gone, replaced by pure, glacial impatience. “Or, you can make her disappear from my sight. Immediately.” I turned to leave without looking at either of them again, my final words landing squarely in Olivia’s ear. “Think carefully. Decide if you want to keep being someone else’s best friend, or if you want to be my wife. And once you’ve decided, don’t ever let these messy people and their messy lives stain mine again.” With that, I walked away without a backward glance. I didn’t go home. I found a hotel near my office and checked in.

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1 Everyone noticed I wasn’t chasing Mark anymore. Including Mark himself. After school, he blocked my path, his face a cold mask. “About standing you up the other day—I’m only explaining this once. Believe it or not, it’s up to you.” “Clara was cornered by some drunk. I went to help her.” “I was wrong not to call you. I forgot.” That day was his birthday. He was in a fight for Clara, while I was left stranded at the amusement park for the entire day. So, he thought I was just sulking about that. I gave a slight shake of my head. “It’s okay.” Then, under his shadowed, unreadable gaze, I quietly stepped around him and walked away. He didn’t know. He didn’t know that because he’d abandoned me yet again, the system had declared my mission a failure. In one month, I would be erased and sent back to my own world. And this body would be reclaimed by its original owner. 2 “Morgan, let’s go home.” The system’s voice sighed in my mind as an amusement park attendant reminded me for the third time that they were closing. “Mark’s not coming. He’s with Clara. He’s completely forgotten he was supposed to meet you here today.” My feet ached. I stomped them lightly on the pavement, picked up the cake box, and turned toward the exit. “Okay.” The hopeful anticipation I’d felt that morning had been worn down to nothing. All that was left was a hollow calm. Even when the system announced my failure. “In one month, you will be in a fatal car accident.” “This is the penalty for your failure.” “During the moment of impact, I will extract your consciousness and return you to your world. As for this body, its original owner will regain control.” After delivering the notice, the system vanished. I pulled out my phone to call a ride, only to see the battery icon flash red before the screen went black. I didn’t have any cash for a cab. Finally accepting my fate, I started the long walk home along the edge of the road. Failure had always been a possibility, I knew that. But in this moment, a profound exhaustion seeped into my bones, making every step feel impossibly heavy. 3 The route from the amusement park back to my house passed by our school. On a Saturday, the campus should have been deserted. But tonight, on a bench just outside the school gates, sat two figures I knew all too well. Clara was holding a small cupcake with a single matchstick stuck in it, flickering like a tiny, pathetic candle. “I’m so sorry, Mark…” she said, her voice soft. “I only just found out it was your birthday. I didn’t have time to get a proper cake.” “This was all I could find. I hope you don’t mind…” The boy across from her had a few fresh cuts on his cheekbone, a bandage wrapped around his forehead, half-hidden by his dark, messy hair. It gave him a kind of reckless, boyish charm. He didn’t seem to find the makeshift birthday cupcake ridiculous at all. He even took out his lighter and lit the match for her. “I don’t.” His voice, usually so cool and distant, held a gentle, coaxing note I’d never heard before. “I think it’s great.” I couldn’t help but remember the previous afternoon. I was in the school’s Home Ec room, presenting him with the birthday cake I’d perfected after countless attempts. “Isn’t it beautiful?” He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. His eyes flickered to my hand, where a fresh blister from the oven was already forming. His tone was sharp with impatience. “Just looking at your hand is enough to make me lose my appetite.” Embarrassed, I tried to hide my hand in the sleeve of my uniform. His expression was weary. He walked over, grabbed my wrist, and started dragging me towards the pharmacy down the street. “What are you hiding?” he snapped. “You get a burn and you don’t even think to put something on it? Do you have a brain?” He sounded annoyed, but his touch was surprisingly gentle as he carefully applied the ointment. My courage returned. I had to ask again. “Mark… do you like the cake?” He stared at the blister on my hand, his brow furrowed. “It’s ugly as sin.” Back then, the system had tried to comfort me. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just mad you hurt yourself making it. He’s just bad at showing he cares, that’s all.” My thoughts snapped back to the present. I stood across the street, a silent observer, watching Mark soothe Clara, assuring her that her simple cupcake was more than enough. And I finally understood. Even for someone as guarded and difficult as Mark, when he truly liked someone, he could be gentle. He would pull in all his thorns. He would protect her pride and couldn’t bear to see her disappointed. I didn’t know what Mark felt for me. But it definitely wasn’t love. 4 I pulled my gaze away, ready to leave. But then Clara spotted me. “Summer? What are you doing here?” Mark turned, his eyes landing on the cake box in my hand. He froze for a split second, and I saw the flicker of realization in his eyes. He remembered. Clara saw the box too. “Oh, you must be looking for Mark, right?” she said, a little too brightly. “I heard you were supposed to celebrate his birthday at the park today. I’m so sorry. You got stood up because of me.” Her apology was a thin veil, a performance she’d perfected over time. It was as if she was used to Mark dropping everything and everyone for her, especially me. And I was just supposed to take it. Maybe throw a little tantrum for a day or two, then go right back to chasing him like a lost puppy. I shook my head, denying her first question. “I was just passing by.” Mark’s jaw was tight, his gaze fixed on me. Clara just smiled, clearly thinking my words were a pathetic attempt to save face. She gestured towards the box. “Well, since you brought the cake anyway, we can celebrate now. It’s not too late.” As she reached for the box, I stepped back, shaking my head again. “It’s gone bad. You can’t eat it.” I pressed my lips together, my voice quiet. “It’s… it’s getting late. I should go home.” “Bye.” Clara looked genuinely surprised. In the past, I would have used any excuse to stick to Mark’s side. Now, I was willingly giving them their space. I took a few steps, clutching the ruined cake, then remembered something. I turned back, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment as I looked at Clara. “Excuse me, but… could I borrow twenty bucks? My phone’s dead and I can’t call a cab.” “I’ll take you.” The words shot out of Mark’s mouth the second I finished my sentence, fast and tight with some unreadable tension. I acted as if I hadn’t heard him. Clara stammered, “Uh… yeah, sure.” She fumbled in her purse and handed me a bill. “Thanks. I’ll pay you back at school on Monday.” I took the money and left. The entire time, I never once looked at Mark. 5 Maybe it was because I knew I was going home soon. That night, I dreamed of my life in the real world. I was in the college library during a break between classes, crying my eyes out over a novel. My roommate looked over, confused. “Isn’t that supposed to be a rom-com?” I sobbed, my words catching in my throat. “Not for him… not for Mark, the second male lead.” “His life is just so tragic.” “He’s been in love with the main character, Clara, since high school. But he came from nothing, so he was too proud and insecure to ever tell her. He becomes this huge business mogul by the end, but he never confesses. He just… watches over her from a distance.” “And the worst part? In high school, he was constantly bullied by the story’s vicious, spoiled rich girl, Summer.” My roommate handed me a tissue. “Your name is Morgan, and her name is Summer. Kinda close.” I slammed my hand on the table. “And I am deeply ashamed of that fact.” That very night, I woke up inside the book, in the body of the character I despised most. The system’s directive was simple: Win over Mark. That year, I was the person he hated most in the world. Mission difficulty: SSS. The system scanned my ecstatic expression. “The difficulty is off the charts, and you’re this happy?” “Because I can change his story! I can fix his miserable youth!” I bounced on my toes, my bangs flying. “I’m going to give him all the best things in the world. I won’t let him suffer for one more second.” The system had no faith in my mission. It said it would just wait for the clock to run out and send me back. I spent two years trying to melt Mark’s icy exterior. Eventually, his affection meter climbed so high that even the system thought victory was within reach. But in the end, I still failed. And really, I had no right to blame him. He was always in love with Clara. It was only natural that he would do anything for her, that he would put her first, always. It’s a simple truth I only managed to grasp now that I was no longer in love with him myself. 6 After spending the entire previous day out in the wind, it was no surprise when I woke up with a cold. I’d just taken some medicine when my phone rang. It was one of Mark’s friends. “Hey, Summer. Mark’s doing a do-over for his birthday today. At the amusement park, the one you guys were supposed to go to. You coming?” Mark never cared about things like birthdays. I knew what this was—an attempt to make up for what happened. My voice was thick with congestion when I spoke. “You guys have fun. I’m heading to the library today.” I heard the guy’s voice get farther from the receiver. “Yo, Mark, Summer says she’s not coming.” A few seconds passed. Then, I heard a short, sharp laugh, laced with mockery. “Her loss.” His reaction wasn’t a surprise. Mark had never been patient with me. This half-assed birthday party was the most he was willing to bend. I couldn’t stop a few coughs from escaping. The guy on the phone noticed. “Whoa, Summer, you sick? Okay, okay, never mind then. You just rest up.” Right before he hung up, I heard him ask someone else, “Hey, where’d Mark go?” Another voice replied, “Looked like he was heading to the pharmacy.” “Pharmacy? Why? Didn’t he just get his cuts looked at?” “Beats me.” 7 I went to the library with Leo. Leo. The original Summer’s childhood best friend. He was also the only person in this world who knew I wasn’t who I seemed. Not long after I arrived, he saw right through my act. He’d cornered me, studying my face with a smirk. “Don’t even try to lie. You can’t fool me. No one knows Summer better than I do.” After I confessed everything about the mission, he was only surprised for a moment before accepting it. Maybe it was because I was wearing his best friend’s face. For the past two years, he’d been incredibly good to me. He was one of my most important friends in this world. On the way to the library, I told him about my failed mission. “So you’re saying you’re leaving? In a month?” “Yep. The real Summer is coming back. You’ll be reunited with your childhood sweetheart.” The canvas messenger bag slung over Leo’s shoulder swayed with his steps, tapping rhythmically against his back. He just smiled, not responding, his eyes holding a flat, unreadable emotion. 8 We didn’t leave until the library was closing. Leo’s house was right next to mine. I stopped at his gate, about to say goodbye. But he was staring straight ahead, his gaze fixed on my front door. I followed his line of sight. And met Mark’s dark, intense stare. He was wearing a black windbreaker that made his pale face seem even colder. The cuts on his cheekbone and jaw added a hint of untamed aggression to his look. In his hand was a small plastic bag from a pharmacy. I snapped back to the present and turned to Leo. “Well, you’re home. I’ll see you later. Bye.” He understood I didn’t want him involved. He didn’t ask any questions, just nodded. “Call me if you need anything.” The click of Leo’s front door closing echoed in the quiet street. Mark’s gaze slowly tracked me as I walked toward him, my fingers clutching the strap of my book bag. “Did you need something?” He ignored my question. “Aren’t you sick?” he countered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You seemed perfectly fine, laughing it up with him.” As if on cue, a tickle in my throat forced a pair of coughs out of me. The mockery in his eyes faded slightly. I sniffled. “If there’s nothing else, I’m going inside.” He shifted his body, blocking my way. A chill radiated off him, making my shoulders tremble. I wondered how long he’d been standing out here in the cold for his clothes to feel like ice. “Why are you running all over town with him when you’re sick?” He shoved the pharmacy bag into my arms, his face a grim mask. “And about the other day. Standing you up.” “I’m only saying this once, so you can believe it or not.” He wasn’t one for apologies, so his explanation was clipped and concise. “Clara was getting harassed by a drunk. I went to help her. But I forgot to call and let you know, and I made you wait. That was my fault.” I couldn’t remember Mark ever bothering to explain himself to anyone. I was surprised he’d come looking for me, but that was it. No other emotion stirred. I held the bag of medicine back out to him, tilting my head up to meet his eyes. “Thank you, but I can’t take this. I can buy my own medicine.” “As for the other day, I accept your apology.” “Is there anything else? I really need to go home.” Mark’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes locked on mine as if silently demanding, What the hell is wrong with you? After a moment of silence, I took it as my cue to leave. I murmured a quiet goodbye and slipped past him into the house. Once I was back in my room, I peeked through the window. He was still standing there, motionless. Then, as if a bitter realization had finally dawned on him, he let out a cold, humorless scoff. He tossed the bag of medicine into the nearby trash can and walked away without a backward glance. I guess he finally got the message. This wasn’t me sulking. This was me giving up. For good. 9 Maybe because I’d been the most persistent and the most public of all his admirers, no one seemed to notice when I suddenly, quietly, gave up on him. During gym class, the guys were playing basketball. Both Mark and Leo got injured in the same play. The second I heard, I rushed to the nurse’s office. Mark wasn’t just a brutal fighter; he was a skilled one. He almost never lost. In the last two years, his reputation had grown to the point where it kept the local troublemakers at bay. It also earned him a legion of followers who admired his strength. In the nurse’s office, a crowd of guys swarmed Mark. Leo, on the other hand, was practically alone, with only the gym captain offering a few half-hearted words of concern. One of Mark’s friends saw me and grinned. “Whoa, whoa, Summer. Mark’s fine, you don’t have to look so panicked. Don’t you have any faith in your crush?” Mark’s expression was tense. He didn’t even look up. I couldn’t believe that even his closest friends hadn’t noticed that I’d stopped hovering around him. I pretended not to hear them and walked past the group, straight to Leo. “Is it bad? Should I get a pass for you to go to the hospital?” After all, Leo had taken care of me plenty of times when I was sick. The silence in the room wasn’t peaceful. It was thick with a tense, strained energy that suffocated all other sound. Leo glanced dismissively at Mark’s back. “It’s nothing. Just hurts a bit.” He offered a small smile, looking at me helplessly. “But I don’t think I can get back to class on my own. Could you help me out, Summer?” I nodded. Leo slung his arm over my shoulders, and I helped him limp out of the room. 10 After that, it seemed like everyone finally got the hint. The jokes about me and Mark stopped. A few days later, the system reappeared without warning, bringing a new mission. “I pulled some strings to get this for you,” it said. “If you succeed, the car accident you’re scheduled to have will be completely painless.” The system continued, “Your senior Graduation Showcase is next week, right?” To avoid interfering with final exams, our school held the event early in the second semester. “I hear each homeroom is only allowed to submit one act. Morgan, all you have to do is secure that performance slot for your class. That’s it. Mission complete.” The next day, I saw the sign-up sheet. Besides me, three other people had put their names down. Clara was doing a piano performance. The arts committee representative was singing a solo. And another guy was planning to do a stand-up comedy routine. Like the arts rep, I signed up for a solo performance. It was the only real talent I had. To be fair, the class president announced that the four of us had to record our full performances. We would play them for the entire class during homeroom, and they would vote for who would represent them at the showcase. 11 The vote ended in a stalemate. Clara and I were tied for first place. The class president wrung his hands. “Is there anyone who hasn’t voted yet?” Someone piped up, “Mark hasn’t. He’s absent today.” So, the president decided we’d hold a re-vote in three days between just me and Clara. Leo was fuming. “The class is split right down the middle between you two. The only person left to vote is Mark. And do we even need to guess who he’s going to pick? It’s obviously Clara.” We were sitting by the large glass window of a boba tea shop. Outside, cars sped through the intersection, their force a palpable blur. The thought of my impending “accident” sent a shiver down my spine. It would be a lie to say I wasn’t scared. I clutched the warm cup in my hands. “I want to try.” “Try what?” “To convince Mark to vote for me.” 12 Back when I was in love with Mark, trying to please him was second nature. Now, just initiating a conversation felt awkward and strange. The day before the final vote, as soon as the bell rang, I gathered my courage and walked to his desk. “Uh… do you have a minute?” He was leaning back in his chair. He slowly lifted his gaze to mine. “You need something?” I nodded twice. Just then, a light, cheerful set of footsteps approached. “Mark!” It was Clara. “Will you come with me to feed the stray cats after school tonight?” A wave of disappointment washed over me. I lowered my head, ready to walk away. “Can’t tonight,” Mark said, his voice flat. Clara seemed genuinely taken aback by his refusal. It was a rare sight. She quickly recovered, her lips curving into a smile. “Oh, okay then… I’ll just go by myself.” Soon, the classroom emptied out. Mark stared ahead, not looking at me. “Spit it out. What is it?” I quickly pulled a tube of ointment from my bag. “I saw the cuts on your face haven’t healed yet, so I bought this…” It was a clumsy attempt at bribery. My motive was so transparent that I squeezed my eyes shut after I said it, bracing for his mockery. But his expression didn’t change. He took the tube, turning it over in his hands. An idea struck me. “I could… I could put it on for you?” His response was to hand the ointment back to me. I pulled a chair over and sat beside him. Dabbing a cotton swab with the cream, I carefully applied it to his cuts. The only sound in the classroom was our quiet exchange. “Mark, turn your head a little.” “Is this a cut here, too?” “Yeah.” “This one hasn’t scabbed over yet. Is it going to sting?” “No.” After I finished, I tried to figure out how to bring up the vote. He cut right to the chase. “Just say it. What do you want from me?” Caught, my face flushed with heat. I took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. “The vote tomorrow… can you vote for me? Getting that spot is really, really important to me.” I was terrible at this. “Are you… hungry?” I stammered. “I can, uh, I can buy you dinner.” As I rambled on about buying him a new computer or a gaming console, he cut me off. “Summer.” He stared at me, and after a long moment, his deep voice resonated beside my ear. “You want my vote? Answer one question.” “What is it?” “Do you like Leo?” I shook my head. “We’ve only ever been friends. Does that have anything to do with your vote?” He didn’t answer, but the chill in his eyes seemed to thaw. He stood up, looking like he was ready to leave. I bit my lip. “So… will you vote for me tomorrow?” Mark stretched his neck, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and strolled out of the classroom. “Yeah,” he said, his voice a low drawl. 13 Before homeroom, my deskmate looked at me, bewildered. “Why are you so happy? You’re practically buzzing.” I just smiled, not saying a word. Because I’m going home, pain-free. The bell rang. The class president walked to the front to count the votes. “Oh, right,” he said. “Before I start, Mark, you voted this time, right?” I turned to look at him, my eyes crinkling with a smile I couldn’t contain. Our gazes met for a split second before he abruptly looked away. “I voted.” A terrible feeling started to bloom in my chest. The president counted the ballots, one by one. Every second stretched into an eternity of torment. “Okay, that’s all of them. The votes are in.” “With one more vote, Clara wins.” A radiant smile spread across the girl’s face. “Thank you all so much for your support.” The president nodded. “I’ll go submit your act after class.” My fingers went slack. The pen I was holding clattered to the floor, the sharp sound drawing a few glances. In the quiet room, a sudden snort of laughter broke the silence. “Are you kidding me? Look at her face. What is she so shocked about?” “It was always going to be Clara. It was a sure thing.” “I know, right? She’s been chasing him for two years. Does she seriously still think she means more to Mark than Clara does?” “It’s actually pathetic. I could die laughing.”

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My “dearest” brother and my fiancé said I bullied their precious savior. To punish me for my “spoiled arrogance,” my fiancé called me a shameless slut on our wedding night, and my brother planned to leak the “news” to every media outlet. I completely snapped. If I was going down, I was taking them all with me. I set the whole place on fire. But somehow, I got a second chance. I woke up, alive. Lily Greene was holding a pair of scissors to her own vixen face, smiling cruelly at me. “If they see my face scarred, Sera, how do you think they’ll torture you?” I snatched the scissors from her hand, kicked her to the floor, and pressed her down with my heel. Then, I carved a dozen, deep, bloody gashes into her perfect skin. “Oh, honey,” I cooed, “a tiny scratch isn’t enough to go crying to them. This… this is how you make a statement. So much better, don’t you think? Just beautiful.” 1 I died on the night that was supposed to be the happiest of my life. At our wedding reception, my new husband, Julian Chenworth, barely glanced at me. He just took the microphone and addressed our guests. “This,” he announced, “is a slut who’s been cheating on me. Just last night, she was with four different men and didn’t come home. I can’t possibly marry such a depraved, disgusting woman.” The ballroom exploded. “She always looked so innocent, but I guess she’s a total freak…” “Well, she is the Vance heiress… maybe that’s what they’re into…” “How did the Vance family produce scum like you?” That last voice was my brother, Marcus. “I’m alerting the press. As of today, Seraphina Vance is disowned!” When I saw Lily Greene peek out from behind him, a triumphant smirk on her face, I understood everything. While the doors were still locked, I cut the power, plunging the room into darkness. Then I grabbed a lit candelabra and threw it at the propane tanks for the catering truck parked just outside the terrace. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Four years earlier. Lily was in my villa, pressing a pair of scissors to her own cheek, creating a tiny red mark. She smiled. “Sera, what do you think Marcus will say when he sees my face is hurt? He’ll probably make you kneel and beg for my forgiveness, won’t he?” The familiar scene hit me like a truck. I was reborn. When I didn’t react, Lily pushed further. “But… if you give me that new diamond necklace Marcus bought at the auction, maybe I’ll be merciful and let you kneel for a little less time.” All the hatred from my past life surged through me. I snatched the scissors from her hand and kicked her legs out from under her. I pinned her to the expensive rug with my stiletto. Amidst her shrieks and cries, I dragged the sharp blades across her face, over and over, leaving a dozen crisscrossing, bloody gashes. “Oh, honey,” I laughed, tossing the bloody scissors aside. “A tiny scratch? That’s not good enough to go crying to them. You need to be bleeding. See? So much better.” Lily scrambled away like a cornered animal, screaming, “Get a doctor! Someone, call a doctor! NOW!” I leaned against the doorframe, feigning boredom. “Call a doctor? Why? This bloody mess is perfect for playing the victim for Marcus, isn’t it?” This was my villa. From the butler to the security, every single person here worked for me. I walked out the front door. “Keep an eye on her,” I told my security team. “Don’t let so much as a fly leave this house.” Lily threw herself against the reinforced glass, pounding and screaming. “You can’t do this to me! Marcus and Julian will destroy you!” “You love this house so much, Lily?” I called back. “Then you can spend the rest of your life here!” I got in my car and drove off. In my past life, I was Seraphina Vance, the perfect heiress: generous, dignified, and tolerant. That included being tolerant of Lily Greene, the “savior” my brother Marcus brought home. But she was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a master manipulator who framed me time and time again. She’d cry to Marcus that I, the spoiled heiress, couldn’t stand a “poor girl” like her. No matter how I tried to explain, Marcus never believed me. Even my childhood fiancé, Julian, always took her side. I drove to our family’s main estate. When I pulled up, I saw Julian in the garden, nervously fiddling with his collar, clearly waiting for someone. He looked shocked when he saw me. “Sera? What are you doing here?” I smirked. “Not your precious Lily, I’m afraid. Are you disappointed?” Julian’s eyes darted away. “She’s Marcus’s savior, Seraphina. Are you misunderstanding something?” He’d used that exact line on me a thousand times in our last life, every time I suspected they were too close. He always blamed it on me being “jealous.” I only found out right before I died that Lily hadn’t just saved Marcus. She’d saved Julian, too. What a coincidence. She just happened to be in the right place at the right time to save the heirs to the two biggest fortunes in the city. How convenient for her. Of course, Julian was just using me, the Vance heiress, to stage a coup and oust his older brother at his own family’s company. Once he was the sole heir, he had no more use for me and turned on me at the wedding. I smiled, took a deep breath, and screamed at the top of my lungs. “SECURITY! HELP! THERE’S AN INTRUDER ON THE ESTATE!” The nearby security team and the head butler were on him in an instant, pinning him to the ground. 2 “Wait! It’s all a misunderstanding!” Julian sputtered, his face pressed into the manicured lawn. “I’m Marcus’s friend! Sera invited me!” I thought about him pouring champagne on my wedding dress while calling me a whore. I walked over calmly. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! I hit him three times, hard. He staggered, clutching his face. A flicker of darkness crossed his eyes, but he quickly replaced it with a placating smile. “Sera, darling, are you upset about something? You can take it all out on me.” “But,” he added, his voice dropping, “I am your fiancé. You shouldn’t embarrass me in front of the staff.” “Oh, right,” I said, nodding as if I’d just realized. “In that case, our engagement is off.” “Wh… what?” He looked genuinely stunned, clutching his chest. “But… we’re childhood sweethearts! Our families arranged this… You can’t just… cancel it.” “Childhood sweethearts? Don’t flatter yourself,” I said coldly. I nodded to the guards. “This man is a trespasser. Teach him a lesson, then throw him out.” I stayed and watched. Only when Julian was curled on the ground, beaten and gasping for air, did I finally turn and walk away. Getting even felt good. That evening, I was summoned to Marcus’s penthouse. Lily, her face wrapped in bandages, was curled up in his arms, weeping. Julian, his suit now rumpled, was standing stiffly to the side. They had clearly been waiting for me. I ignored them both and smiled brightly at my brother. “Marcus, darling! Did you call me here to give me my allowance?” Marcus’s face was like ice. “Kneel.” “Why the hell should I?” The smile vanished. “You ordered your men to beat the heir to the Chenworth family. You viciously mutilated my savior, nearly disfiguring her for life. You tell me if you should kneel!” His voice boomed, trying to intimidate me. I just raised my voice louder than his. “I am Seraphina Vance! Who the hell are they? Their status doesn’t compare to mine. If I want to bully them, I bully them. Do I need a reason?” My blatant arrogance left him speechless for a moment. Then, his face contorted in rage. “You are an embarrassment! You have no class, no upbringing!” he roared. “You scarred Lily’s face and you had Julian beaten. For that, you’ll take thirty slaps to the face. Now! Do it!” Two of his personal bodyguards started to move toward me. From Marcus’s arms, Lily looked at me with pure, venomous triumph. “Sera,” Julian pleaded, “you made a mistake, and you need to face the consequences. Just accept the punishment.” I wasn’t about to let them touch me. I pulled a sharp, pearl-handled letter opener from my boot. “Anyone who comes near me,” I hissed, “gets this in their throat.” I turned my disgusted gaze back to Marcus. “Honestly, if you love Lily so much, why don’t you just marry her? You’re already acting like a married couple without the ring, hiding her in your penthouse. You’re the one with no shame here, brother.” Lily immediately burst from his arms, tears streaming. “Miss Vance! You can hate me, I can take it… but Marcus is your brother! How can you slander him like that?” Julian chimed in, pretending to defend me but twisting the knife. “Sera, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but this… this behavior is really disappointing me…” “This is the Vance family home,” I snapped. “Who gave you permission to speak?” “Seraphina!” Marcus shot to his feet, his eyes boring into me. “Have you no decency at all!” 3 I saw the flash of pure disgust in his eyes and had to laugh. “As they say, ‘the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’ Isn’t my ‘upbringing’ your responsibility?” In my past life, he was always cold. I thought that was just his personality. I thought if I was just perfect, just proper, he would finally be proud of me. Then I saw how he doted on Lily, and I realized the truth. He wasn’t a “stern older brother.” He was just an asshole. The stalemate finally broke when my mother arrived. Lily immediately started in, “Mrs. Vance…” My mother silenced her with a single, icy glare. “It’s late,” she said to Julian and Lily. “You should both leave.” Once they were gone, it was just the three of us. My mother looked at me and Marcus with profound disappointment. “Your father’s 60th birthday gala is coming up. Do not make this family look bad.” Ah, yes. Her precious “image.” I was just like her in my past life. But this life, I didn’t give a damn about appearances. So I doubled down. I used my status as the Vance heiress to make Lily’s life a living hell. Throwing her in the estate’s lake at midnight became a regular occurrence. I had cockroaches put in her food. Finally, during a public class we both attended, I ripped the medical mask off her face. “Everyone, look!” I shouted. “It’s the freak!” Tears streamed down her scarred face, her eyes filled with a hatred that finally matched my own. She was no longer the calm, collected victim. She dropped to her knees. “Miss Vance! Please, I’m begging you, spare me!” “In your dreams!” I slapped her hard across the face, aggravating the healing wounds. I expected her to run to Marcus again, but for days, there was nothing. Then I found out why. They were waiting. I was lounging in my villa when Marcus showed up. “What are you getting Father for his birthday?” he asked. In my past life, I spent half a month hand-embroidering a massive tapestry: “Golden Prosperity.” I wanted to wish my father success. But Marcus took it from me. He said he was the heir, so his success was the family’s success. It was only right that he give it. Then he turned around and gave it to Lily. At the gala, Lily presented the tapestry as her own. My father was so impressed he gave her a manager-level position at Vance Consolidated. I, having had my gift stolen, presented a simple painting. It was the beginning of the end for me and my father. The memory of my own stupidity made me sick. “I don’t have a gift,” I told Marcus flatly. “I am the gift.” He was speechless, but he regrouped. He knew I was skilled at embroidery. “You know, I’ve been so stressed with the company, I can barely sleep. Maybe… maybe you could embroider a ‘Golden Prosperity’ tapestry for me?” “Sounds like a you problem.” His face darkened. “Fine. But you’ll regret this.” On the day of the gala, just as the sun was setting, I found out what he meant. As I was heading to the event, Julian blocked my car. My entire security detail had been mysteriously reassigned. My heart hammered. I tried to run, but he grabbed me. He gripped my wrist, his voice sickeningly gentle. “Don’t blame me, Sera. You’re the Vance heiress. You have everything. Lily has nothing. Just let her have this.” Then I heard a sickening SNAP! The pain was so intense I almost blacked out. My wrist was broken. As I gasped, he reached into my bag and pulled out the finished “Golden Prosperity” tapestry, which I’d been hiding. He handed it to Lily, who had just walked up. I had hidden it, only working on it in the dead of night. They still found out. Lily’s eyes were full of malice. “So what if you’re the heiress? Your fiancé doesn’t love you. Your brother doesn’t protect you. You can be arrogant now, but what happens when Marcus is in charge?” She leaned in close. “I’ll be Mrs. Vance. And you? You’ll be nothing but dirt under my shoe.” 4 I stared at the two of them, my vision blurring with pain and rage. “Bitch!” I swung my good left hand and slapped her across the face. SLAP! Her mask fell off. Her scars were already mostly healed. Marcus must have spent a fortune on her recovery. She clutched her cheek, laughing at my “powerless” rage. “You just stay here and cry. I wonder what Chairman Vance will think when his eldest daughter doesn’t even show up to his own birthday party?” She sauntered off, tapestry in hand, ready to claim her manager job and start her corporate takeover. I tried to follow, but Julian blocked me. He was protecting her. I remembered what he’d told me in my last life, when I complained about this very moment: “Lily is Marcus’s savior. You’re his sister. You should be grateful to her, too. If you expose this, you’ll humiliate Lily and your brother. And you know… I really don’t like girls who hold grudges.” This time, I just screamed the truth in his face. “You’ve known all along, haven’t you! This bitch didn’t just save Marcus, she saved you, too! You’re both in on it, working together to destroy me! Do you think Father won’t find out?” Lily’s little speech had given me an idea. Marcus… the heir… Even with her mask of innocence torn away, Julian still defended her. He knew exactly what she was. “Yes, she saved my life,” he admitted, trying to look sincere. “So please, just… let this go. Just this once. After this, I promise, I’ll marry you in the most lavish wedding anyone has ever seen.” He grabbed my broken wrist, his voice a gentle caress. “Go to the hospital and get this set. Otherwise, it’ll be permanent.” He stroked my throbbing hand. “And as for Mr. Vance… you wouldn’t want your own brother to take the fall for this, would you?” His words were poison, his touch was agony. This was a setup. My “good” brother had arranged all of it. I started to laugh, a wild, painful sound. “Am I supposed to be grateful? Am I in her debt? You two owe her, so I have to pay?” “And who the hell wants to marry you?” I spat. “I’m the Vance heiress. Do you think you’re my only option? I wouldn’t marry a piece of trash like you if you were the last man on earth!” Hatred cleared my mind. “You’re all disgusting! Go to hell!” With my good hand, I yanked the long, sharp hairpin from my purse and stabbed it directly into Julian’s eye. He let out a bloodcurdling howl, clutching his face as he staggered backward. He stared at me with his one good eye, which was wide with shock and a new, deep-seated hatred. “If you don’t get to a hospital, you’re going to be blind,” I said, my voice suddenly calm. Blood streamed between his fingers. “Seraphina,” he hissed, “you vicious, heartless bitch!” “Am I? And you, blocking me from my father’s party? What were the consequences for me?” I asked. “But you’re right, you should go. If you stay here, you’ll definitely lose that eye.” “Then we’ll go to the hospital together,” he snarled, trying to grab me. I raised the bloody hairpin again, aiming for his other eye. He flinched. “Like you said,” I taunted, “my hand is broken, but I’m still the Vance heiress. But you? A blind son-in-law? Who’s going to want you now? Especially one who’s on my bad side.” He hesitated. That’s all I needed. I bolted, running full-speed toward the gala. He was blind in one eye, and I had a broken hand. He stumbled and fell several times trying to catch me. I didn’t look back. The gala was being held at our corporate headquarters. It was a massive event. As I burst through the doors, I saw her. Lily was on stage, presenting the tapestry. My father was beaming, clearly loving the “hand-crafted” gift. “FATHER! THAT’S MY GIFT!” I shouted, stalking down the aisle. I shoved Lily so hard she fell off the stage. The entire hall went silent. I pointed a trembling, unbroken finger at my brother. “He did this! My own brother… stole from his sister for his mistress!” “That ‘Golden Prosperity’ tapestry,” I cried, “it took me half a month to embroider! The calluses on my fingers are proof! I can do it again, right here, right now! Can she? No! She’s a thief, and he’s her accomplice!” The silence was deafening. My father’s face was unreadable. “Seraphina,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet. “What happened to you? Your clothes… your…” I held up my grotesquely swollen, broken wrist. “Ask him!” I shouted, pointing to Julian’s father, Mr. Chenworth, who was sitting at the head table. “It was his son! Julian! He blocked my path, tried to stop me from coming! And when I fought back, he broke my wrist to steal my gift for that… that whore!” My hand was trembling so violently, it was obvious I wasn’t faking. “What!” Mr. Chenworth shot to his feet, his face pale. “He… he broke…?” He staggered, grabbing the table. “That monster! That ungrateful monster! Mr. Vance… I am so, so sorry… Whatever the Vances want… any punishment… it’s yours to name!” My mother, sitting beside my father, looked furious. I had embarrassed the family. “A broken wrist can be fixed,” she said smoothly, trying to control the damage. “My daughter is… forgiving. Mr. Chenworth, there’s no need for such dramatics.” “Oh, no need to apologize,” I said brightly, cutting her off. “We’re even. I already blinded him in one eye.” Mr. Chenworth grabbed his chest and collapsed into his chair. “And,” I continued, “now that your son has permanently injured me, and I have permanently blinded him, we’re basically mortal enemies. This whole engagement is a joke. I’d like to end it. Tonight.”

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The blue crabs from home arrived on a Tuesday, a dozen of the heaviest, fattest ones my mom could find, shipped overnight from Maryland. A taste of home, just for me. That evening, I steamed them perfectly, the scent of Old Bay seasoning filling the kitchen, and arranged them on our largest platter. With the five of us, it was a perfect two apiece. But by the time I brought the last of the side dishes to the dining room, the platter was already ravaged. Empty. My in-laws and my son, Leo, were happily working on their second crab each. And Ethan, my husband—a man who claims to have a crippling aversion to messes—was patiently, meticulously picking crabmeat for Aubrey, his childhood sweetheart who had just moved back from London. He saw me and, without missing a beat, issued a familiar command. “Aubrey’s crazy about these crabs, Sophie. Tell your mom to send more.” He gestured with his chin towards the kitchen. “And go make some ginger tea. Too much crab isn’t good for you, and Aubrey’s always been delicate.” I looked at the mountain of discarded shells next to Aubrey’s plate—four of them, a bright orange graveyard—and a bitter smile touched my lips. I untied my apron. “Ethan, I want a divorce.” 1 The words dropped into the cheerful chatter like a stone, sinking all the sound to the bottom of the room. Ethan didn’t even look up. He was using a small fork to pry the last, sweet morsels of backfin meat from a shell, placing them carefully onto Aubrey’s plate. Only when he was finished did he bother to glance at me, his eyes cool and distant. “What is it this time? Did I not text you back fast enough? Wear a shirt you don’t like?” The casual, practiced nature of his dismissal, laced with a faint, almost imperceptible note of mockery, sent a sharp pang through my chest. It was true, I had threatened divorce over small things before. But he never understood that it wasn’t about the small things; it was about the crushing weight of his indifference that each small thing revealed. It was the same now. He knew I was upset, but he couldn’t be bothered to understand why. And I was just so tired. “I’m serious, Ethan.” At this, Aubrey set down her fork, her eyes welling up instantly. “Sophie,” she began, her voice trembling slightly, “is this because he was helping me with my crab? I’m so sorry, it’s just… it’s a habit. I always forgot how, and Ethan was always there to do the tricky parts for me.” She was apologizing, but the glint of triumph in her eyes was unmistakable. Ethan looked at me as if I were a toddler throwing a tantrum. “This is really what it’s about?” he asked, incredulous. “Sophie, she’s not like you. She’s never had to do this kind of stuff. She doesn’t know how.” He didn’t even hear the thick, syrupy fondness dripping from his own words. He’d forgotten all the times I’d playfully asked him to peel a shrimp for me, only to be met with a look of disgust. “I have a thing about messes, you know that. You can do it yourself.” I glanced down at my own hands, the nails short and practical, the skin rough from years of housework. Then I looked at Aubrey’s—perfectly manicured, pale, and delicate. Before I married Ethan, my hands had looked like that, too. The bitterness rose in my throat like bile. I bit my lip, forcing my voice to remain steady. “It’s your choice to take care of her, Ethan. But those crabs… my mother sent those for me.” He let out a short, dismissive laugh. “Over a few crabs? You don’t even like them that much. Aubrey loves them, so I gave them to her. What’s the problem?” I’ve adored crabs since I was a child. My parents bought a share in a local fishery just to make sure I always had the best. I had told Ethan this story countless times. I had just shared my excitement with him over text two days ago. “Honey, Mom says the crabs are perfect this year, she’s sending the biggest ones for us. You know they’re my absolute favorite.” “Two for each of us.” “I’ll make sure to have ginger tea ready. They’re too ‘cold’ for Mom and Dad and Leo, you know how they get.” His only reply at the time was “Ok.” I had assumed he was busy with work. Now I realize he probably never even read the messages. He couldn’t remember my favorite food in the world, but he remembered, without prompting, that Aubrey was “delicate.” Aubrey, ever the actress, pushed her plate forward with a show of magnanimity. “Sophie, if you want them this badly, you can have mine. It’s okay. I don’t want you to make things hard for Ethan.” My six-year-old son, Leo, his hands and face glistening with butter and crabmeat, pouted. “Mommy, you can’t have Auntie Aubrey’s crabs. Daddy peeled those special for her.” My mother-in-law’s face hardened. “Aubrey is a guest. It’s only right that she gets them. If you’re that desperate, go to the market and buy some tomorrow. It’s hardly something to threaten a divorce over. Who do you think you’re scaring?” I looked around the table at their faces, each one a mask of righteous indignation, and felt my heart sink into a cold, dark place. This time, I didn’t back down. My eyes burned, but I repeated my point. “My mother sent them. For me.” Ethan rubbed his temples, a rare flicker of compromise in his expression. “Alright, that’s enough. Stop making a scene. If you want crabs, I’ll buy you more another day. But Aubrey is here. Don’t ruin the evening.” He looked at me, his voice softening into the tone one uses to placate a child. “Go make the ginger tea for Aubrey. And this talk about divorce… I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear it.” He thought this was just another tantrum, a childish fight over a piece of food. No one understood. That empty platter wasn’t the problem. It was the final straw. My voice came out quiet, possessed by a calm that felt foreign even to me. “I’m not making a scene, Ethan. And this stopped being about a few crabs a long time ago.” “Tomorrow morning, I’m calling a lawyer.” Without another glance at any of them, I turned and walked to our bedroom. 2 I lay on the bed, the door closed, and listened to the muffled sounds of their conversation from the living room. Aubrey’s fragile, weeping voice drifted through the wood. “Ethan, Sophie doesn’t want me here. I should go.” Then Ethan’s, patient and soothing. “Aubrey, sit down. This has nothing to do with you.” And then, when he spoke of me, his voice was sharp with irritation. “She just gets these ideas in her head. It’s ridiculous. You just got back to the country, you don’t have any friends here yet. I’m just looking out for you, like any old friend would.” “Old friend?” I whispered the words to the ceiling. A reel of images flickered through my mind. The framed photo of him and Aubrey on his bookshelf, polished and dust-free, while he couldn’t remember where we kept our own wedding album. The time Aubrey texted a list of American foods she missed, and he had me cook every single one. Our anniversary dinner, when he’d left me stranded in a car on the side of the highway because Aubrey called him, crying about something trivial. Aubrey was a splinter, lodged deep in the heart of our marriage. And Ethan was the one who kept pushing it deeper. Now, here I was, bleeding out from a thousand tiny wounds, and all he could say was, “We’re just old friends.” Leo’s petulant voice piped up from the living room. “Yeah, Mommy is so mean. She’s not nice and gentle like Auntie Aubrey. I wish Auntie Aubrey could be my mommy.” Then came my father-in-law’s angry growl, clear as day. “Just leave her be! She’s addicted to the drama. Throwing a fit like this over a few damn crabs. It’s embarrassing.” I stared at the ceiling, a vast and desolate emptiness spreading through my chest. After I married Ethan, I gave up my career. I devoted myself to this family, to caring for his parents, to raising our son. And in the end, not a single one of them would speak a word in my defense. My phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was a text from my mom. “Sweetie, did the crabs get there okay? How were they? I made sure to pick out the biggest, fattest ones for you. I know you love them.” My eyes instantly flooded with tears. How could I possibly answer her? How could I tell her that I hadn’t tasted a single bite of the gift she’d so lovingly sent? That more than half of them had ended up in the stomach of my husband’s “old friend”? My fingers trembled as I typed out a reply. “They were delicious, Mom. The best yet. Thank you.” I closed the message thread and opened a browser. I booked the first flight back to Maryland for the next morning. Outside, the front door opened and closed. Ethan was taking Aubrey home. A long time passed before he returned. I heard his footsteps go down the hall, not to our bedroom, but to the guest room. He was giving me the silent treatment, waiting for me to come to my senses and crawl back to him with an apology. It was how these things always ended. But then my phone lit up again. A text from an unknown number. It was Aubrey. “Thanks for taking care of Ethan for me these last seven years.” I ignored it. A moment later, another message came through. It was a picture of her and Ethan, their arms wrapped around each other. Then another, of them holding hands. And a third, a soft-focus kiss, his eyes closed. The photos were time-stamped. Most were from the last few weeks, since she’d been back. “Don’t you get it, Sophie? He’s always loved me. If I hadn’t gone to London, you would have never even been in the picture.” “Do yourself a favor and get out before he has to kick you out. That would be so humiliating for you.” I didn’t reply to her taunts. I just calmly saved every single photo. If this was going to court, they would be Exhibit A. 3 The next morning, I walked out of the bedroom into a disaster zone. The dining table was still littered with the dirty dishes and crab shell debris from the night before. My father-in-law, dressed in his workout clothes, saw me and scowled. “What are you standing there for? Clean this place up. All you do is cause trouble, never anything useful. You expect us to live in this filth?” I didn’t move. He was about to launch into another tirade when Ethan emerged from the guest room. He looked frantic, pulling on a jacket as he rushed toward the door. I stepped in front of him. “You said we’d see the lawyers today.” He brushed my arm away, his brow furrowed with annoyance. “I don’t have time for that today.” “It won’t take long,” I insisted. He suddenly exploded, his voice a raw shout. “Enough! Sophie, when are you going to stop this? Aubrey was so distraught over what you did last night that she fell down the stairs this morning. She broke her leg. And you still have the nerve to pull this stunt?” His words were a signal. His parents immediately crowded around him, their faces etched with concern. “Oh my god, is it serious?” “Is she at the hospital? She’s all alone here, no family. We should go see her.” Even Leo, now awake, started clamoring to go with them. Ethan shot me one last venomous glare before ushering the three of them out the door, leaving me alone in the silent, cavernous living room. I couldn’t help but remember the time I was hit by a car in the grocery store parking lot. Terrified, I had called Ethan ten times in a row, each call going straight to voicemail. When he finally picked up, his voice was a blade of impatience. “Sophie, I’m not a doctor. If you’re hurt, go to the hospital. Calling me isn’t going to do anything.” Not wanting to worry his parents or Leo, I had dragged myself to the emergency room alone, my leg throbbing with pain. I checked myself out after only one night, anxious to get home. But when I walked through the door, there was no concern, only cold, hard blame. “Are you blind? How do you even manage to get hit by a car?” “So now you’re injured? Who’s going to do the housework? Who’s going to take Leo to school?” I shook the memory away and started to pack. I had just zipped my suitcase when my phone rang. It was Ethan. I answered, and his voice came through the line, dripping with entitlement. “Sophie, Aubrey’s leg is going to take a while to heal, and I can’t get away from work. You need to come to the hospital and take care of her for a few days.” He continued without taking a breath. “And before you come, clear out the guest room. When Aubrey’s discharged, she’ll stay with us for a while to recover. That way you can make her some of that bone broth she likes every day.” “No,” I said, my voice flat. “I’m not doing that.” His voice rose to a shout on the other end. “Sophie! You’ve gone too far!” “If you hadn’t thrown your little fit, none of this would have happened! You caused this mess, and now you have to take responsibility for it.” He hung up before I could respond. I picked up my suitcase and walked out the door. I wasn’t going to the hospital. I was going to see my best friend, Jenna. She was a lawyer. When Jenna heard I was finally filing for divorce, she didn’t seem surprised at all. In fact, she clapped her hands in delight. “It’s about damn time! I never could stand that jerk Ethan. Let him and that snake Aubrey have each other.” She paused, her expression turning serious. “But what about Leo? Are you going for full custody?” My heart clenched. I thought of my son, wishing another woman was his mother. For the first time, the fog of maternal obligation cleared, and I saw the situation with a cold, sharp clarity. “No,” I said. “He can have him.” 4 When I returned to the house to pick up the last of my things, they were all back. And so was Aubrey, the woman with the supposedly severe leg injury. She was reclining on the sofa like a tragic queen, surrounded by her court of three adults and one child, all fussing over her. The moment he saw me, Ethan’s gentle expression vanished, replaced by a dark scowl. “Where have you been? The house is a wreck, you didn’t clean up, and you ignored me when I told you to go to the hospital.” “I had things to do,” I said vaguely. He narrowed his eyes. “What could you possibly have to do?” He waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever. You’re back now. Since you wouldn’t go to the hospital, I brought Aubrey here.” He said it as if he’d done me a great favor. “You can take care of her here at home. It’ll save you the trip.” Before I could form a response, he bent down and scooped Aubrey into his arms, heading toward the master bedroom. “I’ll get her settled,” he announced. Aubrey shot me a triumphant look over his shoulder, then clutched at his collar with a feigned panic. “Oh, Ethan, I couldn’t possibly stay in the master bedroom…” Ethan turned his head and looked at me. “The master is bigger, and it gets better sunlight. It’s better for her recovery. Aubrey will stay in here for the time being. You can move into the guest room.” I just stood there, stunned. He had completely erased me from the equation. “Well, what are you waiting for?” my mother-in-law snapped, her voice sharp with impatience. “Get in the kitchen and start making dinner. We’re all starving.” My father-in-law and Leo sat amidst the mess, not moving a muscle, waiting with the placid entitlement of men who have never had to lift a finger in their own home. But this time, I didn’t obey. “I’ve already eaten,” I said, turning and walking toward the guest room. “If you’re hungry, you can make it yourselves.” Behind me, I heard my father-in-law begin to shout and my mother-in-law launch into a long, whining complaint. I had just texted my parents to let them know I was on my way when the guest room door swung open. It was Ethan. He saw me lying on the bed and his face darkened with rage. “Mom burned her hand trying to cook. And you can just lie here without a shred of guilt?” I didn’t even look at him. “Oh,” I said softly. “Tell her to be more careful next time.” After all, she had a lifetime of cooking ahead of her. He was speechless with anger. It took him a long moment to find his voice again. “Sophie, it was just a few crabs. Are you ever going to let this go? The house is falling apart. Can you please stop this nonsense?” He tried a different tactic, his voice softening slightly. “Look, I’ll buy you more crabs tomorrow, okay? Just get up and make dinner, then make some soup for Aubrey. She said yours is her favorite.” I rolled over, turning my back to him. He let out a cold snort. “Fine, Sophie. Don’t think for a second the world can’t turn without you.” He slammed the door on his way out. For the rest of the evening, I could hear the chaotic sounds of their attempts to run the household. For the first time in years, I fell asleep early. When I came out the next morning, only Aubrey was home. The pretense was gone. She stood up from the sofa without a hint of a limp and walked right up to me, her smile dripping with venom. “Ethan stayed up with me all night,” she purred. “Then he got up at the crack of dawn to drive downtown and get me croissants from that little French bakery I love. Leo went with him.” She gestured vaguely. “And his parents went out to the butcher to get bones. They’re going to make me bone broth themselves.” I ignored her and walked past, heading into the master bedroom to grab my suitcase. She followed me in, relentless. “You’re just a pathetic little joke, Sophie. No one loves you. Your husband, your son… they both love me.” Just as the words left her mouth, we heard the sound of a key in the front door lock. In an instant, Aubrey’s entire demeanor changed. Her triumphant smirk vanished. She raised her hand and slapped herself hard across the face, twice, then crumpled to the floor with a theatrical sob. “Sophie, I’m sorry!” she cried, her voice choked with fake tears. “I was wrong! I shouldn’t still have feelings for Ethan! Please, don’t hit me!” She began to crawl away from me, weeping. “I’ll leave, I promise! I’ll never get in your way again!” Before I could even process what was happening, a paper bag flew through the air and hit me square in the face. Ethan’s roar of fury followed a split second later. “SOPHIE! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” Something sharp on the bag’s contents had cut my forehead; I felt a trickle of blood run down my temple. On the floor where the bag had fallen lay a scattered handful of large, uncooked blue crabs. Ethan was already on the floor, cradling Aubrey in his arms, looking at me with the pure, unadulterated hatred one reserves for an enemy. “I can’t believe you’ve become this vicious,” he spat. “And to think I went out of my way to buy you those damn crabs this morning. You don’t deserve a single thing.” Leo ran over and shoved me, hard. “Bad mommy! You hurt Auntie Aubrey! I’m gonna hit you!” My hip slammed against the door handle, sending a sharp, radiating pain through my side. I winced, but neither of them noticed or cared. Aubrey let out a small cry that her leg hurt, and in an instant, Ethan was sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her out the door. Leo trailed after them, his small face a mask of worry. I looked down at the crabs scattered on the floor, then picked up my suitcase. Without looking back, I walked out of the house and took a taxi to the airport.

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After being roasted by my professor, I was so disheartened I broke up with my online boyfriend right there in class. The physics professor, who had just lectured us on “less romance, more studying,” suddenly looked panicked. “That’s all for today,” he announced abruptly. The class gasped. “No extra homework? No detention? Is this the same Demon Professor?” Meanwhile, my phone was vibrating like crazy. [Babe, I don’t want to break up.] [What did I do wrong? Tell me, I’ll change.] I sighed, deciding to be honest for once. [It’s not you, it’s me. If I keep dating, I’m going to fail Physics 101.] The professor was right. If my grades didn’t improve, I could kiss grad school goodbye. Suddenly, he sent a photo of a faculty ID card. [Babe, I can tutor you. I’m pretty good at physics.] My phone slipped from my hand, falling at 9.8 m/s². 1 My best friend, Tasha, was more dramatic than I was. “Chloe! You dropped your brand new iPhone 17 Pro Max!” I ignored the phone and grabbed Tasha by the shoulders, my voice trembling. “Tash, I have a friend… who is facing a life crisis, and she doesn’t know what to do!” Tasha looked confused. “What crisis?” “Hypothetically, I mean hypothetically… say my friend was online dating someone, broke up with him, and then found out his true identity. What should she do?” “How ‘true’ is this identity? Elon Musk’s son? A celebrity?” “No, it’s… more awkward. Like if you were online dating your gaming carry, and it turned out to be your mortal enemy.” Tasha backed away. “Don’t even joke about that!” “So… what do I do? Does he know who… your friend is?” “I don’t think so… maybe?” “Then who cares! You broke up online, never met, never kissed. What can he do to you?” “You’re right.” I exhaled a long breath, patting my chest. “Ugh, I’m scaring myself.” “Okay. Who is it? You look like you saw a ghost. Confess now, or I’ll—” “Oh my god, your cat is giving birth! I have to go deliver kittens!” “My cat was neutered eight years ago!” 2 Here’s the backstory. I met my online boyfriend, “Brand,” in a fan group. I couldn’t get tickets to see the singer Ash, so I joined his fan club hoping for a resale. Brand was the one who sold me his ticket. At the time, VIP tickets were impossible to get and were scalping for triple the price. He sold it to me at face value. I thought it was a scam until the physical ticket arrived via FedEx. He said his friend bailed last minute, and since I’d been begging in the group chat for a week, he decided to help me out. I was so touched. I even brought a gift to the concert to thank my fellow fan. But the seat next to me remained empty all night. Brand later told me he had an emergency at work. I felt bad for him, so I mailed him the concert merch I bought. He was surprised and insisted on paying me back. I laughed, “What kind of person do you think I am?” We started talking. We shared everything—daily life, Ash’s new songs, movies. Sometimes he’d send voice notes singing Ash’s songs. His voice was incredible—low, magnetic, husky. I saved every single one. One sleepless night, I confessed my feelings. [Typing…] appeared for a long time. Just when I thought he was drafting a rejection letter, a voice message popped up. He sounded nervous. [Sorry. I should have said it first.] I asked, “You haven’t even seen my photo. Aren’t you afraid I’m ugly?” He chuckled, a sound that plucked at my heartstrings. “I’ve imagined what you look like, but knowing it’s you behind the screen makes the rest irrelevant.” My heart skipped a beat. My face burned. I tried to change the subject. “Well… confessing is a young person’s game.” Whenever I mentioned our six-year age gap, he’d get defensive. “Fine, fine. I’m robbing the cradle.” “And I’m respecting my el—” “Babe, I miss you.” “I miss you too~” Okay, “elder” was a banned word. Got it. It wasn’t until I broke up with him in physics class that I realized… No wonder we always had the same weather, same sleep schedule, even the same winter and summer breaks. I thought he was a grad student at my university. I didn’t realize he was the professor. Mom, I think I’m in big trouble. 3 Strictly speaking, Professor Shen isn’t a tenured faculty member at our school. He’s a visiting scholar from MIT, the kind with multiple papers in Nature. The original professor for this elective was his former classmate. She went on maternity leave, and Shen stepped in to cover for her. Teaching undergrad physics was overkill for him. He was just doing a favor. At first, his classes were packed. People were standing in the aisles. Rumor had it the Physics Department got a top-tier hottie who looked like a movie star. After a few lectures, Professor Shen’s Socratic method—randomly calling on people and grilling them—scared off 90% of the eye-candy seekers. The ones left were people like me, who needed the credits and couldn’t afford to fail. I’ve always loved physics, thanks to sci-fi movies. Especially astrophysics. Professor Shen was strict about attendance, but his lectures were engaging. He made complex theories easy to understand. He treated an elective like a core major course. Some loved it; some hated it. When I realized Brand was him, I went through the five stages of grief in about ten seconds: Shock → Panic → Fear → Denial → Acceptance → Recklessness. Since I asked to break up, Shen’s texts hadn’t stopped. When he sent the photo of his ID: [MIT Physics Visiting Scholar: Shen Xiuming], I had to face a dilemma: Is it scarier to dump a professor and then have him find out you’re his student? Or to date a professor and then have him find out you’re his student? I think the first one is worse. With the second one… maybe I can kiss my way to forgiveness? I thought of Shen’s handsome, ascetic face calling me “babe” in voice notes. I thought of his long, elegant hands spinning a globe… and Venmo-ing me cash. My ears burned. I poked my head out from under the covers and opened the chat with Brand. [We don’t have to break up. But I have a condition.] He replied instantly: [Name it, babe. Anything.] I hesitated, then typed slowly: [That offer to tutor me in physics… does it still stand?] 4 To keep Shen from realizing I was his student, I only asked questions from my other physics classes. My breakup threat must have traumatized him because he was walking on eggshells. [If you don’t understand, it’s because I didn’t explain it well.] [You got this wrong because I haven’t covered that topic yet.] [Rest if you’re tired. We can continue tomorrow night.] This gentle Brand and the icy Professor Shen in class… the cognitive dissonance was real. Tasha nudged me. “Chloe, do you think Professor Shen has been… nicer lately?” I looked down, guilty. “Really?” “Yes! Today someone answered roll call for their roommate—usually a death sentence! He just made them write a reflection paper!” I once complained to Brand that 8 AM and 2 PM classes were torture. He had laughed then. I thought Mr. Self-Discipline couldn’t relate. “And! He stays 10 minutes after class to answer questions now. He used to just tell people to read the textbook!” I couldn’t listen anymore. Yesterday, he solved a problem I’d been stuck on for weeks. He asked why I didn’t ask my own professor. I said I was afraid of exposing my stupidity. Hehe. He paused, his voice soft as water. “You won’t. If you’re scared, it must mean your teacher is too cold and unapproachable.” AHHHHH! This subtle change was killing me! The desire to meet him in real life was reigniting!

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In the kidnapper’s game of “choose one,” my parents chose my sister. I was the one they let die. When I opened my eyes again, I was in a stranger’s body. She had a paralyzed grandmother and a disabled mom. Their life was appallingly poor, but it was filled with the warmth I had craved my entire life. One day, I ran into a frantic, disheveled woman. She asked if I had seen her daughter. I looked at the familiar face, stripped of all its former privilege, now just a mask of hollow grief. I calmly shook my head. “No, I haven’t.” Her daughter died in a warehouse five years ago. She was the one who chose it. 1 In the dilapidated warehouse, my sister and I were bound with rope, our mouths stuffed with rags. A camera was pointed at us. Behind us, the kidnapper was tearing at a piece of chicken, laughing. “Made your choice, Michael? Which one of your precious daughters are you sending to hell?” My sister, Erin, was whimpering, her whole body shaking. I just stared calmly at the monitor. On it, I could see my parents’ faces. The couple that was always so composed and noble looked like they had aged ten years overnight. They were exhausted, pleading. “Don’t hurt my girls! Please, whatever you want, we’ll pay it!” “Don’t hurt them!” “Please!” A bottle shattered behind us. I instinctively threw myself in front of Erin. Shards of glass sprayed across my face, and I felt the sting of blood welling up. “Michael Lin! So you can beg,” the kidnapper sneered. “When my company went bankrupt, when I begged you for a life raft, did you even listen?” “Money’s useless! I want you to feel what I felt. I want one of your daughters as payment!” “I’m giving you three minutes. The older one or the younger one. If you don’t choose… they both die.” A digital timer started beeping. Each tick was a countdown to my death. Erin was trembling so hard I could feel the heat of her tears soaking into my shoulder. My own eyes started to burn. The countdown hadn’t even hit thirty seconds when I heard my mother’s sharp, desperate voice. “Save the younger one! Save Erin!” “Please, don’t hurt my Erin, please!” Just like that. No hesitation. I was the one they abandoned. I knew this would be the outcome, but hearing my parents make the choice, my heart just… collapsed. My mom and dad… they really didn’t love me. All the strength left my body. I slumped to the side, the world going quiet and dark. The kidnapper dragged Erin to the other side of the room, then came back and ripped the rag from my mouth. “Kid, you’ve got one minute. Last words.” The beeping started again. The last minute of my life. I was shaking, my lips moving, but no sound came out. “20 seconds,” the kidnapper’s voice said. It was right next to me but sounded a million miles away. My hearing suddenly rushed back. My mother’s hysterical sobs filled my ears, so loud they pierced my skull. I stared at the monitor, trying to speak, trying to say… something. But all that came out were silent tears. The next second, a cold blade opened my throat. I saw my own blood spray. I lay on the concrete, watching my life drain away. Like a small, weak candle flame, flickering… and then, extinguished. 2 I fell into a long dream. My life flashing by. My name was Cara Lin. Until I was ten, I thought I had two mothers. One in real life, and one on the phone. I learned later the one in real life was my aunt. When I was three, my parents’ business almost went under. They were drowning in debt, scrambling. They had no time for a child. So they sent me to live with my aunt. Aunt Claire was young, unmarried, with no kids. She made coffee every morning, sat by the window, and painted. All day. I was a light sleeper. Nightmares always woke me. She would hold me, tell me stories, and hum until I fell back asleep. She always smelled like vanilla and turpentine. I always felt safe. She wasn’t like my mother. Claire smiled. She wore makeup. She dressed me up. She loved buying me new dresses, would braid my hair, and take me out for cupcakes. “A girl deserves to feel pretty,” she’d say. One night, I had a raging fever. My whole body ached. I cried for my “mommy.” I fell into a soft, fragrant embrace, a hand rubbing my back. When I woke up, Aunt Claire was asleep in the chair next to my bed, dark circles under her eyes. I hugged her and called her “Mommy.” She was quiet for a moment. Then she told me I had to call her “Aunt Claire.” The woman who called every week, she was my mother. I didn’t understand. The other kids at preschool had moms who picked them up, who held their hands, who dressed them. Like Claire. The woman on the phone… she never visited. She never told me stories. Sometimes, she forgot to call at all. I asked Claire if she could be my mom, and the phone lady could be my aunt. She was quiet for a long time. She stroked my hair and said my mother loved me very much, she was just… busy. I didn’t understand. I just thought Claire didn’t want to be my mom. I threw a tantrum. She finally gave in, telling me I could call her “Mommy,” but only when we were alone. I was so happy. She was my mom. Like the other kids’ moms. She was there, every day, at the preschool gate, rain or shine. The other kids said my mom was the prettiest. I was so proud. I lived like that until I was seven. One day, she told me my mother had given birth to a baby sister, and they were coming to take me back. She had her back to me, washing vegetables. Her voice was bright, like she was happy for me. She said their business was better, they could give me a better life. It took me a minute to even realize which “mother” she meant. The phone-mom hadn’t called in six months. I finally understood. I wasn’t going to live here forever. I had to leave. That night, I barely ate. I asked her, “If I eat less, can I stay?” I didn’t need a “better life.” This was good enough. Claire just froze. She didn’t say anything. She just turned around, her eyes red, and hugged me. I spent the next few days sick with worry. Then I overheard her on the phone. My parents were saying the new baby was a handful, they couldn’t manage me, too. Could Claire keep me for a few more years? I was so happy. Claire didn’t say it, but I knew she was happy, too. She made my two favorite dishes for dinner. But I forgot. I wasn’t her daughter. I couldn’t stay. Life with her was so easy. The days just… flowed. And then, suddenly, it was over. I was ten. I came home from school. “Mom! I’m home!” Two voices answered. The phone-mom was there. 3 The room was instantly awkward. My mother’s face was tight. Aunt Claire tried to smooth it over. “Oh, she must have meant ‘Aunt Mom’!” That night, my mother packed my things. I refused to go. I clung to Claire, asking if she didn’t want me anymore. Claire’s eyes were red. She was trying to smile, but it was just a pained grimace. She peeled my arms off her and pushed me toward my mother. “Don’t mind her, sister-in-law. Cara’s just not used to you yet. She loves the gifts you send. She’s always dreaming about you.” “It’s getting late. You should go. Drive safe.” She wouldn’t look at my pleading eyes. She just pushed me away. My mother took me to the car. I left all my things. My mother said they’d bought me all new, better things. Aunt Claire stood on the porch until we turned the corner. I knew. I wasn’t going to see her for a long, long time. I cried silently in the back seat. My mother tried to talk to me. About my new “princess room,” the new dresses, all the toys. I just stared out the window. Eventually, she stopped talking. I didn’t hate her. I knew she was busy. Claire always told me they loved me, that they sent me away so I wouldn’t have to struggle with them. I knew all that. I just… I just wanted Claire to be my mom. She was the one who raised me. I never found the answer. The car stopped at a beautiful house. A mansion. Gardens, a swing set. “This is our home now,” she said. I was scared. I followed her. A little girl ran out the front door and flew into her arms, yelling, “Mommy!” I watched my mother’s stern face just… melt. She knelt, listening to this little girl babble about her day. I remembered Aunt Claire, holding my hand, listening to me babble about preschool. I watched them. They were a family. I was an outsider. And I was supposed to live here now. My throat burned. I just dug my fingernails into my palms. After a long time, the little girl pointed at me. “Who’s that?” My mother finally remembered me. “Erin, this is your big sister, Cara.” Erin wasn’t shy. She grabbed my hand. “Cara! Come see my toys!” She was still wobbly on her feet. My mother walked behind her, her hands hovering, her eyes full of a tenderness I’d never seen. Did she ever look at me like that? I didn’t know. In my memory, that look only ever came from Claire. That first night, I went to bed early. The blankets were soft, but I felt safer wrapped up in them. My mother came in. She said she was worried I’d be scared in a new bed. She’d sleep with me. She’d just sat down when Erin started crying from the next room, “Mommy! Story!” My mother looked torn. I just turned my face to the wall and said it was okay. She looked relieved and rushed out. It wasn’t that I was “understanding.” I was just… I was already past the age of needing bedtime stories. When I was that age, she wasn’t there. Now, I didn’t need her. I picked up my phone to call Claire. It went straight to voicemail. Again. And again. I figured she was busy. I’d wait. I listened to the sounds of my mother and Erin laughing next door, and eventually, I fell asleep. A week later, my dad came home. He brought us both dresses. Erin’s fit perfectly. Mine was too small. And bright yellow. I hate yellow. He looked embarrassed. He’d take it back. I just shook my head. Of course he knew Erin’s size. He’d watched her grow. He only ever saw me on a screen. To celebrate, he booked out an entire restaurant. It looked like a fairytale. Erin was used to it. My mother carefully ordered for Erin, listing her allergies. Then she ordered me the shrimp platter. She didn’t know I was allergic to shellfish. Claire had told her. She’d written it down. She’d texted her. But she forgot. I wasn’t even sad. I just… I really missed Aunt Claire. They said she was “traveling.” They told me not to “bother” her. Her phone number was disconnected. They didn’t want me talking to her. They were afraid I’d never bond with them. That “Mommy” I’d accidentally called her… it was a thorn in their side. They forgot. They were the ones who sent me away. They were the ones who never called, who never visited. They pushed me away first. They tried. They gave me things. A private school, a driver, new clothes every season, a private chef. But we were never close. Erin would cuddle up with them. I would sit on the other end of the sofa. Erin was loud and funny. She made them laugh. She’d throw tantrums, and they’d rush to comfort her. I was just… quiet. They’d ask about my grades. If my allowance was enough. Like I was a guest. It was okay. You can’t force feelings. But I was sad. You just… you want your parents to love you. Erin was the one who held us together. She adored me. She’d follow me everywhere, shouting, “Don’t put shrimp on that! My sister is allergic!” She didn’t get that a hot dog wasn’t going to have shrimp. She just… remembered. She was the glue. So, when she was kidnapped at fourteen, the family didn’t just crack. It shattered. 4 It was New Year’s Eve. My parents had promised to take us to see the fireworks. Erin had been excited all day. Then the call came. An emergency at the office. Erin threw a full-blown tantrum. I figured, what’s the big deal? The park was only ten minutes away. I told the butler to drive us. I was young. I wasn’t thinking about human traffickers. The butler stepped away to take a call. A van pulled up. That was it. We woke up in the back of a truck, with other kids. Erin was terrified. I was, too. But I couldn’t show it. Our phones were gone. The truck was stopped. This was our only chance. I saw a boy, my age, bruised but with sharp eyes. I whispered the plan. I started screaming that I was sick. When the guard opened the door, I threw my coat over his head and shoved him, screaming, “RUN!” The kids scrambled. It was chaos. But they were on us in seconds. I was thrown back in. They rounded up the others. They did a head count. One was missing. They beat me. Erin tried to shield me. I held her, turning my back to the blows. She was so small. I don’t know how long it lasted. Erin was crying into my chest. I told her it was okay. “I got word out. They’re coming for us.” I was lying. The boy hadn’t gotten away. I knew he couldn’t. My “distraction” was just to get the guards out of the truck. So he could steal one of their phones. He was hiding under the chassis. 5 They couldn’t find him. They beat me again, then decided to move out. I was fading. I woke up in a hospital, tubes everywhere. My mother was screaming. They told me later… they thought I was dead. They’d dumped my body on the side of the road. Erin was still in the van. The boy… he’d found me. He’d carried me. He flagged down the police. I was in the ICU for a long time. My parents visited twice. They were so thin. They were pouring everything into finding Erin. By the time I was discharged, she was still gone. The police had the plate, but the traffickers were smart. They’d switched vehicles. Erin was… gone. My parents were ghosts. Dad worked constantly. Mom started drinking. But the quiet was worse. One night, she got drunk. The real, ugly truth came out. She smashed a vase. “It’s your fault! If you hadn’t taken her…!” She screamed at me, “Why wasn’t it you? Why did she have to be the one?” “Did you do it on purpose? Are you jealous? Is that why you’re the one who came back?” I couldn’t answer. The next day, she was sober, crying, apologizing. “I didn’t mean it.” But I couldn’t forget. Her eyes… the hate was real. Mom, I would have traded places with her. I would have. In this house, I was the stranger. Erin was the only one who loved me. She was the only one who remembered my allergy. She’d sneak into my bed during thunderstorms. “You’re the best sister, Cara.” And I couldn’t protect her. If it had been me… maybe they wouldn’t be in so much pain.

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1 It was my twentieth New Year’s Eve, and like every year before, my parents were too busy with work to celebrate with me. I went to watch the fireworks alone, and that’s when I saw them. With another girl. They took her to a lavish seafood dinner. They bought her a million-dollar necklace. They gifted her a brand-new Lamborghini. And the way they looked at her—it was pure, unadulterated adoration. I heard them cooing, “Crystal, you’re more our daughter than our own flesh and blood.” “You’re the child we love the most.” Then, she turned and her eyes met mine across the crowd. A provocative smirk played on her lips. The simple warmth of the roasted sweet potato in my hands turned to ash. I looked down at my own outfit, a collection of thrift-store finds that probably cost less than ten dollars, and a bitter, acidic feeling churned in my stomach. … I ran home like a fugitive, burrowing under my covers and sobbing into my pillow. In a fit of grief, I hurled the only teddy bear I owned across the room. It was a gift for my eighth birthday—the only gift I’d received in twenty years. I cherished it, holding it every night as I slept, because my mother had sewn it by hand. I remembered that time. She had stayed up late every night, her fingers pricked and bleeding, sometimes even skipping meals to finish it. Seeing her sacrifice hurt me, so I learned to be a good, undemanding daughter. Ever since elementary school, I’d collected bottles after class to make a little extra money. In college, I lived on a diet of plain rice and water, my clothes a patchwork of repairs. I ignored the whispers and the jokes from other students. I held my parents’ words in my heart like a mantra: “We’re a poor family, Ava. Every penny counts.” But tonight, I learned the truth. My parents weren’t poor. They were supporting a secret princess, showering her with a life of endless luxury. I didn’t sleep at all, my tears soaking through my pillow. My mind reeled, unable to make sense of any of it. “Ava, time to get up.” “The sun’s already high in the sky, sleepyhead.” I heard my parents’ voices from the living room. I wiped my eyes and walked out of my room. Seeing them back in their usual faded, worn-out clothes felt surreal, like I was in a dream. “Ava, we brought you something from the company dinner last night. It’s all shrimp and crab.” My mother handed me a takeout container. Any other time, I would have danced with joy, thrown my arms around her neck, and rushed to heat up the food. This time, I didn’t move. I remembered the seafood restaurant. I remembered Crystal. It hit me like a punch to the gut. Every New Year’s Day, the special meal my mother brought me was probably Crystal’s leftovers. Who was their real daughter? “And I’ve got cookies and candy for you,” my father said, pulling a handful from his coat pocket. “Just as sweet as my best girl.” Crystal’s rejects, no doubt. And I was the fool who had treasured these crumbs every year, basking in the glow of their fake warmth. Noticing my unusual silence, my mother pulled me into a hug, studying my face. “Ava, you seem off today.” “Your eyes are so red, and you look pale. Are you getting sick?” How could my eyes not be red after crying all night? My vision was still blurry. “Come on, Ava, I’m taking you to the doctor,” my father said, already on his feet. He hadn’t even had a sip of water, yet he was frantic with worry. They were always so gentle. They had always cared for me so deeply. I remembered a winter night when I had a high fever. It was pouring rain outside. My father wrapped me in a blanket, held me tight, and ran all the way to the hospital. Not a single drop of rain touched me. He was soaked to the bone, shivering violently from the cold, but his only concern was for me. And this same loving father had been lying to me for twenty years. Raising me in poverty. Showering Crystal with wealth. The thought made a fresh wave of grief wash over me, and I started crying again. My parents panicked, asking what was wrong, if someone had bullied me. I shook my head and said, deliberately, “I went to see the fireworks by myself last night. I saw a beautiful girl with her parents. They bought her so many wonderful things.” My voice broke. “But I was all alone. I’ve been all alone for so many years.” My parents exchanged a look. A flicker of panic crossed their faces. It was gone in an instant, but I saw it. My mother’s eyes reddened, and she squeezed out a few tears, pulling me tighter. “Oh, Ava,” she said, her voice thick with guilt. “It’s our fault. We’re useless. We can’t give you a life of luxury, and we’re always too busy with work to be with you.” Before, her tears would have made me rush to comfort her. Now, all I saw was a masterful performance, one that had fooled me for two decades. Too busy with work? Or too busy taking care of Crystal? “Ava.” My father took on his familiar role as the wise educator. “We may be poor, but we have our pride. There’s no need to be envious of others.” I wasn’t envious of others. I was envious of Crystal—the adopted daughter who was treated better than their own. “Okay, okay, let’s not talk about this. I’ll go heat up your food,” my mother said, changing the subject. She warmed up the seafood, but even though it was a delicacy I’d never had before, I couldn’t bring myself to touch it. I just picked at my plain rice. “Ava, why aren’t you eating the shrimp and crab?” “You’re still growing! You need proper nutrition.” They started shelling the shrimp and picking out the crab meat for me, filling my bowl. But the food tasted like cardboard. Their hypocrisy was suffocating. They preached about nutrition while spending all their money on Crystal. The irony was sickening. After the meal, I took a deep breath. “I want a new computer.” It was the first time I had ever asked for anything. The laptop I used for my university classes was a second-hand clunker I’d bought for fifty dollars. It froze every time I tried to open a document. But I’d never dared to ask for a new one, terrified of adding to our financial burden. In fact, any money I made from part-time jobs, I gave to my mother to help pay off our supposed “debts.” My father sighed heavily. “Ava, can you just make do with the one you have? We still haven’t paid off all our debts.” “Yes, Ava, please don’t be difficult. Once you graduate and get a job, you can save up and buy one yourself,” my mother added, her face a mask of weary concern. Of course. This was exactly what I expected. A chill crept through me as the scene from last night replayed in my mind. A sports car, a diamond necklace, millions of dollars spent without a second thought. But a computer for their own daughter, a simple tool for her education, was too much to ask. Sensing my despair, my father sat down beside me, forcing a smile. “Hey, honey, how about we all go to the movies tonight?” “Yes, that’s a great idea! We’ll even get you a big bucket of popcorn,” my mother chimed in brightly. “Okay,” I said after a moment’s hesitation. Spending a holiday with my parents had always been my deepest wish. They both let out a visible sigh of relief. Just then, my father’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and his expression shifted. He exchanged another one of those looks with my mother. “Oh, shoot. That’s Mr. Henderson. He wants to meet to discuss a work issue.” “Ava, you stay here, okay? And don’t go out. There are a lot of strange people around during the holidays.” With that hurried instruction, they rushed out the door. A work issue? Really? A knot of suspicion tightened in my gut. I slipped out of the house and followed them, just in time to see that familiar Lamborghini pull up. Crystal got out and threw herself into my mother’s arms. The gesture was so practiced, so much more natural than my own hugs ever were. A doting smile spread across my mother’s face. My father, however, put on a stern expression. “I told you not to come here! Why did you disobey me?” Too late. The secret was already out. “But I missed you!” Crystal whined, pulling out a set of movie tickets. “Mom, Dad, please come to the movies with me tonight? The last time we went was two months ago.” My parents hesitated, glancing at each other. Sensing their reluctance, Crystal pouted. “Daddy, Mommy, am I not your favorite daughter anymore?” “Of course you are! You will always be our favorite,” my mother said instantly. “Is it because Ava wanted you to spend time with her?” Crystal asked, blinking her big, innocent eyes. “If so, that’s okay, you should go. I don’t mind.” Her saccharine, manipulative tone made my skin crawl. “That’s not it at all,” my mother denied quickly. “We have a client meeting today. You go home first, and we’ll see if we have time tonight.” “That’s right,” my father added. “If we’re free, I’ll call you.” “Okay, then,” Crystal said, her lip trembling as she disappeared back into her car. I felt sick to my stomach, but I didn’t confront them. I went back home and pretended nothing had happened. I wanted to see who they would choose tonight. I didn’t even bother to fix myself up. Usually, when I went out with them, I would wash my hair, maybe put on a little perfume. That evening, my father came to me. “Ava, the company just called. Your mom and I have to go in and work overtime tonight, so…” “It’s fine. You should go,” I said, cutting him off. “Okay, then. Be a good girl and go to bed early.” “There are some noodles in the kitchen. If you get hungry, you can make some for yourself.” They breathed another sigh of relief and hurried away. I watched them go, tears streaming down my face. In the end, they chose their adopted daughter over their real one. All I wanted was one evening. Just one. Was that too much to ask? Why were they doing this to me? I stormed into my room and pulled out the box of birthday cards they had given me over the years. “Ava, we hope your new year is filled with joy. We love you!” “Ava, another year older! Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. Health and happiness are what matter most.” “Our Ava is the most beautiful, most thoughtful girl in the world! You’re our little angel.” These cards were my only birthday presents. I had treasured them because they were filled with their love for me. But it was all fake. I tore the cards to shreds. Then I tore up every academic award, every certificate of achievement I had ever earned. I had worked so hard, spending every spare moment in the library, even turning down a chance to study abroad just so I could stay close to them, find a good job, and improve our family’s life. Now, all that effort felt like a bitter joke. Another sleepless night. Another night spent crying. But somewhere in the darkness, a thought crystallized in my mind. I needed to live for myself. The next morning, I called my academic advisor. “Professor Davis, is that spot for the overseas study program still available?” “Yes, yes! We were hoping you’d say yes!” Professor Davis sounded thrilled. “You’re my most brilliant student, Ava. This opportunity will open so many doors for you.” “And don’t worry about tuition or living expenses,” he added. “The university will take care of everything.” Hearing his words, a wave of genuine warmth washed over me. “Thank you, Professor,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. Just as I hung up, my parents returned. “Ava, come and see what we brought you!” I walked out of my bedroom. It was a caramel apple, my childhood favorite. “Ava, we’re so sorry about last night,” my mother said, placing the apple in my hand and stroking my hair. “We have to go on a business trip, but when we get back, I promise we’ll take you to the movies.” “And we’ll buy you two buckets of popcorn!” my father added. “Okay,” I replied, my voice flat. They didn’t seem to notice my detachment, assuming I was being my usual, understanding self. They packed their bags, left me twenty dollars, and rushed out again. “Oh, by the way,” my mother said, popping her head back in the door a minute later. “If any packages arrive while we’re gone, don’t open them, okay?” In the past, I would have been heartbroken to see them leave. This time, I barely noticed. I was too busy filling out my study abroad application. That evening, a local courier delivered a package. I signed for it, but instead of putting it in my parents’ room like I always did, I looked at the sender’s address. Since my mother had specifically warned me not to open it, it was almost certainly from Crystal. After all, she wasn’t allowed to come to our house directly. Before I left, there was one question I needed answered. I had to see this “Crystal” my parents had adopted, to understand what made her so much better than me, so worthy of their love. I went to the address on the package. It was a standalone villa with two bodyguards stationed outside. The main gate was open, and I could clearly see Crystal inside, playing a grand piano. She was dressed in designer clothes, the picture of elegance. The contrast between her and my own shabby appearance was stark. Even the bodyguards looked at me like I was a beggar. “Go beg somewhere else.” “This isn’t the place for you! Get lost!” they snarled, trying to shoo me away. But I stood my ground, my eyes fixed on the scene inside. Crystal noticed me. Her hands lifted from the keys, and she rose gracefully. “It’s alright,” she told the guards. “Let her in.” I stepped into the villa. The opulent decor, the soaring ceilings—I thought of my own tiny room, barely big enough for a single bed, and a fresh wave of bitterness washed over me. “You’ve always thought you lived a happy life, haven’t you?” Crystal began, her voice dripping with condescension. “Your teachers, your classmates—they all probably told you what loving parents you have.” It was true. My whole life, up until a few days ago, I had believed I was the luckiest girl in the world. “But from where I stand, your happiness is a joke.” A smirk played on her lips. “Look at this house. This piano. Look at the clothes I’m wearing, the jewelry I own.” “Everything is custom-made. And what have they given you? Scraps. Leftovers.” “Oh, and by the way,” she added, twisting the knife. “Every time they had to ‘work overtime,’ they were with me.” Her words were like daggers, piercing my heart. My eyes started to burn. “But… I’m a good student. I’m a good daughter,” I stammered, looking at her, lost. “Why… why…” “Because you’re plain and you have no class!” she laughed out loud. “You’re not beautiful and sophisticated like me. I’m the kind of daughter who makes them proud, who reflects well on them.” Her voice turned pitying. “The only reason they even keep you around is because they feel sorry for you. Guilt.” “I remember them saying you were born all wrinkled and ugly. You never really grew out of it, did you? A lost cause.” “They also said you have no social skills and a weak personality.” Her words hit me like physical blows. I stumbled backward, nearly falling. It was true. I was ordinary-looking, thin and unassuming. I was awkward in conversation, lacking her effortless grace. But my professor once told me: when you lose in life, do not lose your composure. I choked back my tears. “Fine. If they love you so much, I won’t fight for them anymore.” “I don’t care about being their precious heiress.” I turned and walked away. Behind me, I could hear Crystal’s triumphant laughter, but it couldn’t touch me anymore. With my parents gone for the next few days, I finalized my travel arrangements. Before I left, I wrote a farewell letter. It was the last act of a dutiful daughter. Two weeks later, my parents returned from their trip. They changed back into their old clothes and pushed open the front door with cheerful smiles. “Ava, my sweet girl, Mommy’s home!” “Daddy brought you some snacks! I know my little foodie will love them.” But there was no reply. I wasn’t there to run into their arms, shouting, “Welcome home! You must be tired!” I wasn’t there to bring them water or massage their shoulders. There was only a letter, lying silently on the table. My father frowned as he picked it up and tore it open. “By the time you read this, I will be far away.” “Crystal is beautiful and elegant. She can be the face of your family, and I understand why you would favor her. But I don’t think I’m worthless.” “So, I am going to pursue my own dreams.” “Don’t worry about me. And don’t try to find me.” I didn’t list my grievances. When you’ve been hurt enough, you stop feeling the need to complain. My father’s face went white. “Oh, no.” “Ava’s gone!” “She knows about Crystal…”

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At the graduation ceremony, the girl I grew up with confessed her love to me in front of everyone. The crowd erupted in cheers and whistles. I was the only one who looked completely lost. “But… I already have a girlfriend.” The entire auditorium fell silent. Sophie’s eyes instantly welled with tears. “Ethan,” she choked out, her voice trembling. “Haven’t you been in love with me for years?” 1 The giant screen behind the stage was playing a slideshow of photos of me and Sophie. A timeline of our lives, from diapers to dorm rooms, some of just her, some of just me, but mostly of us together. The backing track was “Wonderwall” by Oasis. You could tell she had planned this meticulously. She was on stage as the valedictorian, the star of the show. Halfway through what was supposed to be a perfectly normal speech, it turned into this. A public declaration of love. Under the watch of thousands, the silence was deafening. My roommate, Mark, nudged me hard in the ribs. “Dude, haven’t you been obsessed with Sophie for, like, ever?” he hissed. “This is your shot. Don’t blow this because you’re trying to be difficult.” His words just made me more confused. It was true, I’d had a massive crush on Sophie. But hadn’t she always been disgusted by me? She told me to stop following her around like some “pathetic, spineless puppy.” She told me that even if every other man on the planet dropped dead, she would never, ever choose me. So, I’d given up on her a long, long time ago. 2 My mom and Sophie’s mom, Penny, are best friends. Growing up, the one thing I heard constantly from Aunt Penny was that she was “reserving me” to be Sophie’s future husband. When I was little and didn’t know any better, I’d grin and agree, even promising I’d have a whole bunch of kids with my “Sophie-girl.” When I got older, I’d just scratch the back of my neck and blush, my ears burning hot. We were always together, a package deal, and Sophie never publicly contradicted the assumption about our relationship. It made me believe that maybe, someday, Sophie and I really would get married. That belief lasted right up until high school graduation. When it was time to apply for college, my first choice was a university that had the best program for my major. When Sophie’s parents found out, they immediately started pressuring her to give up her dream school. “If you and Ethan go to the same school, you can look after your future husband,” her dad said over dinner one night. “Exactly,” Aunt Penny chimed in. “It’s good for you two to have each other for support.” “So, does this mean I should start saving for the wedding?” my mom joked. The conversation around the dinner table was spiraling into fantasy. I kept my head down, my face flushed, completely missing the fact that Sophie’s expression was growing darker and darker by the second. Suddenly, she slammed her hands on the table and shot to her feet. “Can’t you see I don’t like him?” she yelled, her voice shaking with rage. “He follows me everywhere, so damn needy! Have some self-respect!” Her outburst froze me in my seat. Humiliation, shame, a crushing sense of inadequacy—a storm of emotions I couldn’t name washed over me. I clenched my fists under the table, my knuckles white. I looked at Sophie’s face, at the undisguised disgust in her eyes, and my heart felt like it was being scraped raw with a dull knife, over and over again. Crack. Sophie’s dad slapped her across the face and ordered her to apologize to me. “What is this nonsense you’re spouting! You don’t like Ethan? It’s a miracle a boy like Ethan would even look at you!” The mood was ruined. Everyone’s face was grim. But Sophie was defiant. “I’m going to Princeton, and you better not follow me!” she snarled, her eyes locked on mine, as if I were some kind of criminal. Being stared at like that by the person you love… it physically hurt. 3 In the end, Sophie didn’t get into Princeton. She ended up at my school, Northwood University. I didn’t see her again until move-in day, when I spotted her dragging a suitcase across the freshman quad. We hadn’t spoken all summer. When she saw me, a flicker of anxiety crossed her face. It was only after Aunt Penny nudged her that she reluctantly came over to help with my bags. “I got stuck at this crappy school with you,” she muttered under her breath, so only I could hear. “Are you happy now?” It felt like a punch to the gut. I sidestepped her, moving away from her reach. She froze, her hand hovering awkwardly in mid-air. Aunt Penny quickly smoothed things over and offered to walk me to my dorm. On the way, she apologized. “Ethan, honey, Sophie’s just being immature. I’m so sorry for what she said back then. I’ll speak to her.” I dragged my suitcase along the pavement. Sophie was already long gone. “It’s okay, Aunt Penny. It’s in the past,” I said, my voice muffled. “We’re adults now. We don’t like those childhood jokes anymore. I’ll keep my distance from Sophie from now on.” I had thought it through. Childhood fantasies aren’t real. A childhood crush can’t be forced. But Aunt Penny grabbed my arm, her face full of disapproval. “What do you mean, keep your distance? You and Sophie grew up together. You know each other inside and out. That girl just doesn’t know what’s good for her…” “In my heart,” she declared, “you will always be the only son-in-law I’ll ever want.” I didn’t know how to respond. Aunt Penny had always been incredibly kind to me. She didn’t have a son, but whenever she saw cool sneakers or athletic gear, she’d buy it for me. She always joked with my mom that she was just “buttering up her future son-in-law.” Seeing my silence, she just smiled and patted my shoulder. “Ethan, you’re at the same university now. I know that girl’s temperament. Just take care of her, be patient with her. She responds to a gentle touch, not a firm hand…” I felt like I was going to be sick. I liked Sophie, yes. But I couldn’t just swallow my pride and chase after her after she’d rejected me so cruelly. I gently pulled my arm from her grasp. “I can get to my room from here, Aunt Penny.” 4 Sophie was beautiful, with fair skin and classic features. It didn’t take long for her to become the unofficial queen of the freshman class, attracting a swarm of admirers. And, just as she wanted, I kept my distance. A few months later, I saw her post on Instagram. It was a picture of her with a guy, their arms wrapped around each other. He was handsome, holding her and smiling brilliantly for the camera. They looked perfect together. Her feed, which used to be so sterile, suddenly came alive. She started asking for advice on what to get your boyfriend for his birthday, posting pictures of them holding hands, and even screenshots of their text conversations. In those texts… He was sometimes moody, and they had their little arguments, but she always handled it with a gentle grace. That’s when I realized Sophie had this soft, delicate side to her. That in front of someone she truly liked, she could be patient, thoughtful, and forgiving. In that moment, whatever was left of my crush finally withered and died. I decided it was time to close the book on that unrequited love story. Then, about halfway through the school year, she texted me out of the blue. I’m downstairs. I went down and found her waiting impatiently by the dorm entrance. She shoved a gift box into my hands. “My mom made me bring this for you.” I took it and opened it. A pair of limited-edition sneakers. I tried to refuse, but Sophie was already turning to leave. “Is this seriously how you operate now? Trying these little tricks? It’s never going to happen between us.” I didn’t even get a word out. Seeing her treat me like I was something to be avoided, even after I’d already moved on… it still stung. I looked down at the box in my hands, a lump forming in my throat. I deleted her number and Venmo’d the money for the shoes to Aunt Penny. She called me immediately, asking if Sophie had been causing trouble again. I sighed and explained that we were both adults now, and things like this could cause misunderstandings and problems in her relationship. Aunt Penny was silent for a few seconds before hanging up. I thought that was the end of it. A few days later, on my way back to my dorm, some guy I’d never seen before ran up and punched me in the face, screaming that I was trying to steal his girlfriend. 5 The whole mess ended up in the Dean of Students’ office. That’s when I found out the guy was Sophie’s boyfriend. Sophie arrived a few minutes later. The guy immediately started complaining to her, emotionally accusing me of starting the fight. Sophie soothed him with a soft voice, but her eyes kept flicking over to me, her brow furrowed in a tight knot. “I heard everything!” he yelled. “You want to break up with me for him!” Sophie’s expression was complicated. From their conversation, I pieced it together. Aunt Penny had never known Sophie had a boyfriend. After my call, she had phoned Sophie directly and ordered her to break up with him. Somehow, her roommate overheard and the story got back to the boyfriend. After asking around, he tracked down the guy Sophie had just given a gift to… me. Finally, after I showed him the Venmo transaction and Sophie swore up and down she wouldn’t break up with him, the guy grudgingly believed us and backed off. But his hostility towards me was still thick in the air. As if trying to salvage some pride after his baseless attack, he shot me a dirty look and sneered. “You should know to keep your distance when a girl has a boyfriend.” I can’t even describe the feeling in my gut at that moment. Watching Sophie protectively coddle this guy, whispering affectionately to him, I said nothing. I just walked up and slapped them both, one after the other, across the face. “I’m not interested in being a pawn in your little drama.” 6 Since the boyfriend threw the first punch, the incident was written off as mutual combat. We both got a stern warning, and that was that. But my roommates now knew about my history with Sophie, and the gossip mill started turning. “Ethan, man, it’s been half a semester. How did you keep your connection to Sophie a secret for so long?” “You and the campus queen are childhood friends? So when you said you worked your ass off in high school to get into the same college as a girl you liked…” “That girl… was Sophie?” It was awkward. During a welcome week party, I’d had a few too many beers and confessed the story of my high school motivations. After all, back then, every late night I spent studying was genuinely so I could be worthy of standing next to someone like her. I explained that there was absolutely nothing between us now, but my roommates didn’t buy it. They looked like they’d just discovered the juiciest secret, going on about how we were like a real-life romance movie. At the start of sophomore year, I heard that Sophie and that guy had broken up. That afternoon, Mark came into our room, wiggling his eyebrows. “There’s a beautiful woman downstairs looking for you.” I went down, and to my surprise, it was Sophie again. Even in a crowd, Sophie was impossible to miss. In the few minutes she’d been standing there, she had already turned a dozen heads. Another semester had passed since we’d last spoken. When she saw me, her expression was a mix of emotions. “You blocked my number?” was the first thing she said. Her accusatory tone inexplicably pissed me off. “What do you want?” I asked, ignoring her question and taking a step back. My defensiveness and cold demeanor clearly got to her. Sophie’s face fell. After a moment of silence, she bit her lip and said, with a hint of resentment, “I broke up with him!” I froze. For the past six months, I had done an excellent job of avoiding her. If I saw her from a distance, I’d change my route. When my roommates brought her up in conversation, I’d stay quiet, doing everything I could to project an image of complete unfamiliarity. I just shook my head, not wanting to waste any more time with her. It was like… she was this person I had admired for years, and then one day, the light around her just vanished. Sophie just wasn’t that amazing to me anymore. Suddenly, I just didn’t like her. She sensed my indifference and ran a frustrated hand through her hair, looking more and more uncomfortable. “My mom found out he hit you. We fought about it for months because of her. I know my mom likes you, she was never happy about me having a boyfriend!” Sophie went on and on. About her struggles. About Aunt Penny’s interference. After a minute, I couldn’t listen anymore. “Does this have anything to do with me?” I interrupted. Sophie pursed her lips, avoiding my eyes. Her voice lost its confidence. “You know how my mom is…” “I’ll talk to Aunt Penny and make things clear.” I didn’t want to stay there a second longer. I turned to leave, fully intending to draw a clear line between myself and their entire family from now on. But as I walked away, Sophie called out my name again. She hesitated. “Ethan… can you tell my mom… that you have a girlfriend? If she thinks you’ve moved on, it would be better for both of us…”

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The day I found out I was pregnant, the 60-year-old billionaire who kept me, Arthur Howard, was at the hospital with his son and daughter-in-law for their prenatal check-up. When he saw me, he showed no concern. Instead, he told me to get rid of the baby. For the sake of the Howard family’s rightful heir, he said, the bloodline couldn’t be tainted. I didn’t cry or protest. I simply walked into the clinic for the procedure. I did it because in my past life, I fought tooth and nail to keep this child, and Arthur hated me for it. The day before he died, he even demanded I be buried with him. His descendants treated my son like a workhorse, a slave. In the end, I died at the foot of his cold, granite tombstone. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on that very day, the day he told me to have an abortion. This time, I was the one who brought it up first. “Don’t you worry,” I said with a placid smile. “I’ll take the best care of your son.” 1 As I died, I finally saw the truth. Charles Howard had never loved me. He loved only himself, and the heir who carried on his corrupted legacy. “Anna, darling,” Arthur had said in my past life, his voice smooth as aged whiskey. “I won’t be able to come with you for the procedure. My precious grandson needs me, you see. And a man of my standing… well, it wouldn’t do to be seen. You’re so understanding. You’ll get it, won’t you?” It was always the same. In public, Arthur Howard and I never appeared in the same frame. I suppressed the tsunami of hatred rising in my chest and replied with the practiced gentleness he expected. “I can go by myself. You should take care of yourself, too.” He nodded, pleased. He had always prized my obedience. “Anna, keep this quiet, won’t you? Don’t let a soul know, especially not my son. If he were to get the wrong idea… it wouldn’t be good for you. After all, you’re the one who’s going to be with me for the rest of my life.” “After my grandson is born,” he’d added, “I’ll marry you.” After six years together, it was the first time he’d ever mentioned marriage. But this time, I didn’t want it. In three days, I would be done with him forever. On my way to work, I stopped by a service and hired a private nurse to assist me post-procedure. The moment I stepped into the office, I saw Arthur bustling in with bags of fresh vegetables and prime cuts of meat. In my last life, when I was burning up with a fever and begged for a simple bowl of soup, he never once stepped into the kitchen for me. “I’m sixty years old,” he’d scoffed. “You really expect me to wait on a thirty-year-old woman?” I ended up dragging my limp body to the hospital alone. My hands were so weak that I spilled the scalding soup all over my hand, leaving a nasty scar that never faded. But seeing him today, I realized the truth. It wasn’t that he couldn’t cook for someone. He just wouldn’t cook for me. Swallowing down my bitterness and the gnawing hunger in my stomach, I pushed open the door to the CEO’s office. There, on the plush sofa, sat Arthur’s daughter-in-law, Victoria. Her belly was barely showing, yet she was delicately nibbling on exotic, imported fruit. And here I was, summoned back to the office on a weekend without even having had breakfast. “Oh, Anna! I’m so sorry to drag you back here on your day off,” Victoria chirped, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. Arthur poked his head out from the kitchenette, his expression all business as he looked at me, but his voice softened as he turned to Victoria. “This company will belong to my darling grandson one day. Forget a weekend, if she were on her deathbed, she’d have to crawl here for him.” Victoria shot me a triumphant smirk, clutching her stomach and whining that she was hungry. But for all his effort, Arthur could only make broth. He was completely lost when it came to actual cooking. The billionaire tycoon was sweating, utterly flustered. He saw me and immediately barked an order. “Make lunch. My grandson is hungry.” I glanced at the beautiful sea bass in his hands—my favorite. I said nothing. 2 I simply took the fish into the small office kitchenette and transformed it into a fiery, sour fish stew, along with an entire spread of tart and tangy dishes. When I brought the food out, Arthur and Victoria were already seated at the table, waiting for me to set out the plates and silverware. I brought out three sets from the kitchen, carefully placing one in front of each of them. Then, I sat down and started ravenously eating the sour and spicy fish myself. Arthur stared, dumbfounded. He pointed a trembling finger at me. “Anna! What the hell do you think you’re doing? I told you to cook, not to sit here and feast!” “And what is this garbage?” he snarled, gesturing at the table. “It’s all either sour or spicy. How is Victoria supposed to eat this?” I just smiled. How could she not? In my past life, I was their unpaid maid. I knew everyone’s tastes down to the last detail. It was because I catered to their every whim that when I was eight months pregnant, I weighed less than a hundred and ten pounds. I’m five-foot-five. This life, I would eat what I wanted. I would never again starve myself for these people. I finished my plate in minutes, patting my stomach in satisfaction. Then, I casually reached over and polished off all the fruit Arthur had so carefully prepared for Victoria. Victoria finally lost it. “Dad! What am I supposed to eat? Your precious grandson is starving!” Arthur, fuming, spun around and stormed back to the kitchen to whip up something else. But there was nothing left. I had used every last ingredient for my sour feast. In my past life, I was their doormat. In this one, I was still the company’s top salesperson. I wasn’t going to coddle them anymore. “You know the old wives’ tale,” I said nonchalantly. “‘Sour for a boy, spicy for a girl.’ I wonder which one the missus is having?” Arthur’s eyes lit up. He pushed all the sour dishes in front of Victoria. “Victoria, dear, eat up! These are all your favorites.” Victoria’s face was a mask of disgust, but she choked down the sour fish, the sweet and sour ribs, and the sour plum pork. I had to stifle a laugh. I knew for a fact she despised fish and anything sour. In the end, I was the only one who enjoyed the meal. Wiping my mouth, I walked straight up to Arthur. “Mr. Howard, I’ll be expecting my overtime pay for today.” His face went dark. “I’ll have accounting wire it to you.” I discreetly hit the record button on my phone, then waved it at him with a bright smile. “Thank you, Mr. Howard!” I called out loudly. As for the dishes, they could wash their own damn selves. Stepping out of the building, I looked back at the glass-and-steel tower that had been my cage for half my life. It had imprisoned not just my body, but my youth and my talent. The moment I was hired as a junior sales rep, Arthur had set his sights on me. For him, I abandoned my childhood sweetheart, Leo, who was waiting for me back home. I chose to become Arthur’s dirty little secret. When Leo came to the city to beg me to come back, Arthur had his men break his leg. I was so blinded by his counterfeit love back then. This life, I would repay every debt. An eye for an eye. Just as I made my vow, my phone rang. It was Arthur. “Anna, that was my daughter-in-law. She’s pregnant. I know you’re upset, but your behavior today was a profound disappointment.” “Tomorrow,” he continued, his voice cold, “you will hand over that five-million-dollar account to Victoria. And we will pretend this never happened.” As he spoke, I looked up. There, on the fifteenth floor, framed by the floor-to-ceiling window, was Victoria, looking down at me with an air of smug satisfaction. I laughed out loud. 3 “I have a hospital appointment tomorrow. I’m busy.” “And Arthur,” I added, my voice turning to ice, “don’t forget my bonus. The abortion isn’t free, you know.” “If I don’t have the money… well, you might just end up with another son.” The next morning, I treated myself to a lavish brunch at a high-end restaurant and charged it to the company account. In my past life, I was always so careful with Arthur’s money, trying to save every penny. This time, I refused to be the fool. When I arrived at the hospital, I ran right into Victoria, who was there for a check-up. Her eyes gleamed with triumph when she saw me. “Anna, you really are pathetic.” “You work yourself to the bone landing deals for the company, and in the end, you’re just paving the way for me.” Victoria was the sales manager, but she was utterly incompetent. There was no way she could handle the millions in business the company generated each year. In my past life, I was the fool who drank glass after glass of liquor, drinking until I got a stomach ulcer just to close a ten-million-dollar deal. The credit, of course, went to Victoria. Looking back, Arthur knew. He knew and he let it happen. Because Victoria was his daughter-in-law, his family. And I was just an outsider. Seeing me lost in thought, Victoria glanced down at her stomach. “Arthur specifically told me not to overwork myself. No drinking, nothing stressful. He said you could handle everything. All I have to do is focus on carrying Charles’s child.” “Sooner or later, this company will belong to me and Charles,” she sneered. “And you? You’re just a tool.” Victoria had always resented me for outshining her at work, taking every opportunity to put me down. Her taunts didn’t surprise me. What did surprise me was a stray thought: how could a woman who had been on fertility medication for years suddenly get pregnant after three or four years of marriage? Who really had the problem? If Victoria was the one who couldn’t conceive, would Arthur, who was so obsessed with having a grandson, have treated her so well all this time? Could it be… Charles? I suddenly remembered a time when Arthur was discreetly researching male infertility, and the lab report for a low sperm count that I’d found in his pants pocket. If Charles had fertility problems, it all made sense. In my last life, Victoria’s pregnancy was high-risk from the start. But Arthur blamed me for not taking proper care of her, claiming it was my fault his grandson was born frail. He was so terrified I would try to claim a piece of the Howard fortune that he ordered me to be buried with him. My mind snapped back to the present when Victoria’s expression shifted. She realized why I, a single, childless woman, was in the obstetrics wing. “You’re pregnant?” she gasped. “You’re pregnant out of wedlock!” “Hah! I’m telling everyone in the company!” she shrieked, whipping out her phone, ready to destroy my reputation. I couldn’t leave the company yet. If this got out, Arthur would have no choice but to fire me. I lunged for her phone. Suddenly, Victoria screamed, “Help! She’s attacking a pregnant woman!” I froze, furious. She was pregnant, but so was I. Then, behind me, I heard the voices of Arthur and his son, Charles. Charles shoved me hard. I stumbled backward and fell as he rushed to Victoria’s side, shielding her. Arthur’s face was a mask of panic. “Victoria, are you alright? Is the baby okay?” “We should get you to a doctor, right now.” Then he turned to me, his face filled with crushing disappointment. “Anna, I thought you were better than this. I never imagined you could be so venomous, to try and harm my grandson. Go to HR tomorrow. You’re fired.” When I fell, my stomach slammed against the hard, tiled floor. Pain, sharp and blinding, shot through me. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. Charles looked terrified, taking a hesitant step towards me to check if I was okay. But Arthur’s voice cut through the air. “Charles, forget her! Look at Victoria, she’s clutching her stomach! She’s in pain!” Victoria’s weak cry came right on cue. “Charles, it hurts… the baby… our baby.” Charles turned to leave. I grit my teeth against the pain and saw Arthur standing there, watching me with cold, detached eyes. He saw me bleeding on the floor, and he chose to do nothing. I clawed my way forward, my blood-smeared hand grabbing the cuff of Charles’s pants. I looked up at his face, which still held a flicker of innocence. “Help… my baby,” I choked out. Charles froze. His eyes widened as he saw the crimson tide soaking through my dress, staining the white floor tiles red. But the urgent calls from Arthur and Victoria pulled him away. He scooped Victoria into his arms and sprinted towards the doctor’s office. The commotion finally drew a crowd of doctors and nurses. They gasped, shouting as they lifted me onto a gurney… As they wheeled me into the operating room, a nurse leaned close to my ear. “Ma’am? Ma’am, do you have any family here? We need them to sign the consent forms.” Through waves of agony, I stammered, “No… I have no one.” The nurse looked at my blood-soaked clothes, her expression full of pity. “But we need a signature for the surgery… what are we going to do?” “I’ll… sign.” The moment my name was on the dotted line, the anesthesiologist began to push the drug into my veins. Arthur Howard! I silently screamed. I will make you pay for this in blood. 4 The procedure was done ahead of schedule. The private nurse I’d hired never showed up. I was alone, lying on a cold hospital bed. But thank God for modern technology; at least I could order food and wouldn’t starve. The next day, as I was leaving, I went to get the official certificate for the procedure. Walking past a room, I saw Victoria surrounded by Arthur and Charles. And my hired nurse was in there with them. They were in the room right next to mine. On a morbid impulse, I pressed my ear to the door. “I’m telling you, she’s perfectly fine,” the doctor was saying, exasperated. “You can all go home.” Charles was packing Victoria’s things while Arthur followed the doctor into his office. I trailed them, listening from the hallway. “Doctor, are you absolutely sure the baby is okay?” Arthur pressed. Faced with the undeniable power of money, the doctor was exceedingly patient. “Mr. Charles Howard’s sperm quality is admittedly low, but the mother is healthy. As long as you’re careful, the baby will be fine.” So I was right. Charles Howard did have fertility problems. No wonder Arthur, the ruthless tycoon, treated his daughter-in-law like a precious treasure. Since he showed me no mercy, he could expect none from me. On the way home, I got a text from my landlord reminding me that rent was due. I spun the car around and headed straight for the office to get my money. The moment I stepped into the lobby, the whispers started. “How dare she show her face? After a scandal like that.” “No wonder she’s thirty and still single. God knows how she really got all those clients.” 5 “Exactly.” … I didn’t have to guess. Victoria must have spread the news about my pregnancy while I was unconscious, using it as an opportunity to snatch all my clients. What a beautiful dream. Ignoring the jeers, I walked into my office, only to find Victoria sitting behind my desk. All of my personal belongings were dumped in a pathetic pile on the floor. “Anna, your morals are a disgrace,” she said, looking up at me with an arrogant smirk. “Arthur said you should leave on your own. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll resign and get out.” In this life and the last, she’d stolen countless clients and bonuses from me. Now she wanted me to just roll over and quit? Not a chance. I threw the office door wide open and burst into loud, theatrical sobs. “This company is just using me and throwing me away!” I wailed for all to hear. “I just closed a massive deal, and now they want to steal my bonus and kick me out! This is inhuman!” The word “bonus” is a sensitive topic in any office. Instantly, every eye in the department was on me and Victoria. Victoria’s face cycled through shades of red and white. She was trembling with rage. “You’re the one who lost a major client because of your messy private life! I was being kind by letting you resign quietly, and you have the audacity to ask for a bonus? You’re delusional!” “Now get out, you slut!” I collapsed to my knees, my face a mask of pale misery. “Everyone, please listen to me! I bring in millions of dollars in business for this company every month, and my salary is only five thousand dollars! Is that fair?” “I work endless overtime, 364 days a year, with no extra pay!” “And now I find out that the chairman and the CEO gave my one-million-dollar bonus to Victoria!” My colleagues were stunned. A few of them immediately rushed to the finance department to check their own pay stubs. Those who couldn’t get in started muttering amongst themselves. “She’s the CEO’s wife, and she’s stealing bonuses from us regular workers? How are we supposed to survive? I wonder how much of our money she’s pocketed.” “Seriously. She’s the sales manager, but she doesn’t know a thing about sales. How does she get a million-dollar bonus every year? Meanwhile, Anna works herself to the bone for a measly five grand.” The head of finance, an older woman who knew everything, confirmed the story. That was all it took. Everyone believed me. Victoria panicked. “She’s lying! For key employees, we have a stock-option plan! The money is vested and paid out after ten years to protect the company’s interests!” “Not only does she have a depraved personal life, but she’s also undermining our company’s entire compensation structure! We can’t have someone like her here! Anna, go to finance and get your money!” Swallowing her pride, Victoria immediately transferred two million dollars into my account. I cheerfully packed my things and left. But the show was just getting started. In the chaos, HR forgot to revoke my access card. At 8 PM, I went back to the office and walked to the executive suite. In my past life, every night I worked late, there was one person who always stayed later: Charles. I knocked on his office door and walked right in. “Charles, your father’s mistress is pregnant.”

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The first time I took a client out, the dinner bill was $200. Finance would only reimburse me for $100. The finance director sneered, “Personal expenses are to be paid out of pocket.” I was so furious I couldn’t even eat. The next time I hosted the client, I didn’t touch a single bite. The client was confused. My boss was furious. Three days later, the ten-million-dollar deal was dead. My boss stormed into the finance department, his face a mask of thunder. “Tell me,” he roared, “why did you cut her reimbursement?” 01 The city lights began to twinkle, painting the heart of the metropolis in strokes of neon and gold below. I raised my glass, its crystalline surface reflecting the smiling face of Mr. Davies, and my own, flush with ambition. “To a successful partnership, Mr. Davies.” The crisp clink of our glasses was like the opening note of a symphony, heralding a grand new beginning. This was the project I’d been chasing for three months—a deal worth ten million dollars. The client was a titan in the industry, and their Director of Procurement was the man sitting across from me, Adrian Davies. Landing this account would completely change my standing in the company. The atmosphere was perfect. We moved seamlessly from industry trends to personal hobbies, and I could feel the flag of victory waving just within my reach. My heart pounded with a raw hunger for success, for the brilliant future I saw laid out before me. When the evening concluded, the bill came to $200. I paid with my personal card without a second thought, my mind consumed with the imminent victory and the absolute necessity of showing our client the utmost respect. Compared to a ten-million-dollar deal, two hundred dollars was a drop in the ocean. The next day, I submitted my expense report, the receipt neatly attached, to the Finance Department. I considered it a routine formality, nothing more. What I was met with, however, was the eternally frosty face of the Director of Finance, Miranda Vance. She picked up my report and scrutinized it like a cheap forgery, her eyes darting between my face and the paper. The only sound in the office was the rhythmic hum of the printer, an oppressive noise that made the air thick and hard to breathe. Slap. The flimsy piece of paper was thrown back onto my desk. It landed with a soft thud, but it felt like a silent, stinging slap across the face. “Rejected.” Her voice was utterly devoid of warmth, as if it had been dredged up from a frozen cellar. “Personal expenses are to be paid out of pocket.” Her tone was steeped in an unassailable arrogance, as if I were a common thief trying to swindle the company. My mind went completely blank. “Ms. Vance,” I managed, trying to keep my voice steady, though my fingertips were already going cold. “This was for hosting Mr. Davies. It’s all clearly itemized on the receipt.” Miranda let out a short, sharp laugh, a sound laced with venom. “You ate half of it, so you can pay for half of it. One hundred dollars, out of your own pocket.” She leaned forward slightly, each word a deliberate strike against my nerves. “Linda, don’t think I don’t know how you sales people operate—wining and dining on the company’s dime to make yourselves look important.” Her words dripped with condescending stereotypes and unconcealed contempt for my entire department. My face flushed a deep crimson, blood rushing to my head. “This wasn’t a personal expense. It was a business dinner, for the company’s—” “For the company?” she cut me off, her voice suddenly sharp and high. “Then why didn’t you just book out a Michelin three-star restaurant? Would you have submitted that bill too, expecting the company to foot it?” She added, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “You’re young. Don’t pick up those shady habits so early in your career. Trying to line your pockets with company money won’t fly with me.” “Line your pockets.” Those words were like four red-hot pokers driven straight into my heart. I felt a wave of humiliation and rage wash over me, so intense it felt like my blood had frozen in my veins. The few other employees in the finance department shot me glances of either pity or amusement, and their eyes felt like daggers in my back. I just stood there, my hands and feet ice-cold, the words of my defense caught in my throat. In the face of her authority, any explanation was useless. Finally, I clenched my fists, my nails digging deep into my palms, and forced out a single word through gritted teeth. “Fine.” I picked up the condemned expense report and filled out a new one for only $100. As I accepted the outcome, a violent cramp seized my stomach. A heavy, indigestible stone seemed to have lodged itself in my chest, making every breath a burning effort. That $100 wasn’t much, but it felt like a mountain, crushing every last ounce of my professional dignity. I couldn’t sleep that night. Lying in bed, I watched the shifting patterns of neon lights dance across my ceiling, a reflection of my own chaotic thoughts. I kept replaying Miranda’s disdainful eyes, her cutting words echoing in my mind like a broken record. The intertwining feelings of injustice and fury burned through me, making my insides ache. It wasn’t about the money. It was about my professionalism, my hard work, my dedication to this company—all of it being so casually and cruelly trampled under her heel. No. I sat up in bed and told myself this would not happen again. I would not let something so petty undermine my professional self-worth. A stubborn resentment began to smolder within me. I swore I would prove myself with my results, prove that I, Linda Sterling, was not the person she made me out to be. I swore I would never again let my personal feelings interfere with my work. I thought this was a sign of mature restraint. I never imagined it was just the dangerous calm before another, far more destructive storm. 02 A week later, I hosted Mr. Davies for a second time. This was the crucial meeting to finalize the contract details. I arrived early at the upscale restaurant I had booked. The private room was elegant, with a stunning view of the glittering river. But my mind was heavy, Miranda’s words echoing in my head: “Don’t think I don’t know how you sales people eat and drink.” That sentence was a thorn in my side. Fine, I told myself. I’ll show you. I’ll show you whether or not I’m “lining my pockets.” Mr. Davies arrived on time, as gracious and amiable as ever. The dishes were brought out, one after another, each one plated like a work of art. I smiled, served him portions, refilled his tea, and engaged in lively conversation about every clause in the contract. I appeared professional, poised. But from beginning to end, the plate in front of me remained empty. I was on edge the entire time, only taking a few token sips of water. The aroma of the exquisite food filled the air, but the scent alone made my stomach churn. I didn’t touch a single bite. My gaze would occasionally drift, my entire being radiating a tense, distracted energy. Mr. Davies was a perceptive man. He quickly noticed my unusual behavior. He asked with concern several times, “Linda, is the food not to your liking today?” “Why are you only drinking water? Are you not feeling well?” Each time, I forced a smile and brushed it off. “Oh, no, not at all. I’ve just been a bit tired lately, not much of an appetite. It’s nothing, please, you enjoy.” My smile must have been painfully stiff; I could feel the muscles in my face twitching. The concern in his eyes slowly gave way to a subtle, yet noticeable, confusion. Eventually, he stopped asking. He just ate in silence, and the once-warm atmosphere between us became tinged with a delicate awkwardness. When the dinner ended, Mr. Davies’s smile was much more strained than the last time. As he shook my hand goodbye, his eyes held a flicker of something I couldn’t quite decipher—disappointment. He said a polite, “Let’s be in touch,” but unlike before, he didn’t mention setting up our next meeting. My heart sank. I dragged my exhausted body back to the office. The moment I stepped inside, I knew something was wrong. My colleagues in the sales department were all at their desks, heads down, silent. The door to my supervisor Mark’s office was shut. The next second, the door was wrenched open. Mark stood in the doorway, his face dark, his eyes shooting daggers at me. “Linda! In my office, now!” He practically roared it. My stomach dropped. I followed him inside. Bang! He slammed the door behind us, the sound making my heart jump. “What the hell was that tonight?!” Mark demanded, his hands braced on his desk as he leaned forward, his presence overwhelming. “The client just called me to complain! He asked if our company has a problem with him. Said you hosted him for dinner and didn’t eat a single bite, that you looked miserable the whole time. He thinks we’re slighting him!” Every word was like a whip cracking against my nerves. His voice was filled with accusation, with profound disappointment in my supposed lack of professionalism and my childish “tantrum.” An overwhelming sense of injustice tightened its grip around my chest, making it hard to breathe. I wanted to explain. I wanted to tell him about the finance department, about the humiliation over that $100. But the words died on my lips. I was afraid that if I told him the truth, I would sound petty, like I was making a big deal out of nothing. Risking a multi-million-dollar deal over a hundred-dollar expense? Who would believe that? Who wouldn’t think I was overreacting? All I could do was lower my head and silently endure it, my eyes instantly burning with tears. “Well? Cat got your tongue?” Mark’s anger was still blazing. Seeing my silence, he seemed to grow even more furious, slamming his hand on the desk. “Linda, I had the highest hopes for you! I thought you were sensible, that you had judgment! Do you have any idea what level of client Mr. Davies is? There’s a time and a place to be moody, and this was not it!” I bit my lip, hard, fighting to keep the tears from falling. He had no idea what had happened. In his eyes, I was just an emotional subordinate who had screwed up a critical dinner. Mark took a ragged breath, trying to calm himself, but his next words struck me like a bolt of lightning, leaving me completely stunned. “He also mentioned,” Mark said, his voice grave, “that he sensed a poor internal atmosphere and chaotic management within our company. He now has serious doubts about our future partnership. Do you understand how serious this is?!” Those words froze me in place. The blood ran cold in my veins. I finally understood the disappointment I had seen in Mr. Davies’s eyes. He didn’t just see a woman with no appetite. He saw a company that was harsh and unsupportive of its own employees. He saw the glaring evidence of a major internal conflict. How could a company that wouldn’t even support its own sales manager’s basic client entertainment, a company whose employees carried their resentment into client meetings, be trusted to execute a multi-million-dollar contract? I finally realized. It was all because of that $100. Because of Miranda’s dismissive “personal expense” and her high-and-mighty arrogance. I wanted to scream, to shout, to pour out all the injustice I felt. But my throat felt like it was filled with cement. I couldn’t make a sound. For the first time, I understood how, in the corporate world, a seemingly insignificant personal emotion could, through silence, inflict such catastrophic professional damage. An all-encompassing sense of powerlessness washed over me like an icy tide, submerging me completely. I’m finished. The thought surfaced in my mind with terrifying clarity. 03 The next morning, I was jolted awake by the shrill ringing of my phone. The name “Mark” flashed on the screen. My heart lurched. A deep, ominous feeling gripped me. With a trembling hand, I answered the call. Mark’s voice on the other end was heavier than I had ever heard it, laced with a raw hoarseness. “Linda… I just got the official email. Davies is canceling the deal.” His tone was a mixture of barely suppressed rage and, more than anything, a profound, weary disappointment. Boom. My mind went completely blank. The world suddenly muted, all sound fading into nothing. The phone slipped from my nerveless grasp and hit the floor with a dull thud. Ten million dollars. The project my team and I had poured months of our lives into. My hopes for a promotion, my career blueprint, all my effort and anticipation… Gone. Like a giant soap bubble, pricked and vanishing into thin air. The world was suddenly devoid of color. I don’t know how I managed to get to the office. The atmosphere was strange. Colleagues were gathered in small groups, whispering amongst themselves. Their voices were low, but they felt like a thousand tiny needles, pricking my ears, stabbing at my back. I could hear them clearly: “Did you hear? The big Davies deal is dead. Because of Linda.” “Seriously? I thought she was Mark’s star player.” “Well, I heard she gave the client a major attitude at dinner, threw a fit. Pissed him right off. A multi-million-dollar deal, gone just like that. Some people.” “Jeez, so unprofessional. Great, now the whole department’s year-end bonus is probably shot.” I felt the blood in my veins turn to ice. I hadn’t just lost the most important deal of my career; I was being branded as “unprofessional,” “moody,” and “a liability to the team.” In everyone’s eyes, I was the villain. My career had just been publicly sentenced to death. I walked numbly toward my desk, each step feeling like I was walking on broken glass. Just then, the door to Mark’s office was once again flung open. He strode past me, radiating a thunderous fury, and marched straight toward the finance department at the end of the hall. A moment later, a furious roar echoed through the entire floor. “Miranda! Get out here!” The office fell instantly silent. Everyone looked up in shock. I couldn’t make out the specifics of their argument, only the sound of Mark’s rage, which seemed powerful enough to tear the roof off, and Miranda’s sharp, unyielding replies. A faint flicker of hope ignited within me. My boss… does he finally know the truth? Is he standing up for me? But that hope was quickly drowned by a wave of despair. So what if he argues with her? The deal is gone. The client’s trust is lost. I’ve already been crucified. It’s too late. This whole incident made me deeply question my trust in the company, in the very idea of fairness in the workplace. A finance director who wielded regulations like a weapon, completely ignoring the realities of the front-line business. A manager who, when a problem arose, only blamed his subordinate without first trying to understand the full story. Was this company really worth my dedication? I sat down in my cold chair and opened my laptop. On the screen was the draft of the contract, on which I had typed in red letters: “VOID.” The word burned my eyes. Tears, which I had held back for so long, finally began to fall, silent drops splashing onto my keyboard. I felt like I had been abandoned by the entire world. Despair, like a ferocious tide, completely swallowed me whole. 04 Mark’s fight with Miranda ended in a stalemate. A colleague who was there later told me Miranda’s defense was simple: “I followed company policy to the letter. My process is rigorous and flawless. If the sales deal fell through, it’s because of incompetence in the sales department. Don’t try to pin that on Finance!” She used company policy as an impenetrable shield, and Mark had no comeback. Ultimately, the issue escalated to senior management. The result? Mark was officially reprimanded for “ineffective management of subordinates, resulting in a significant loss for the company.” He emerged from the meeting looking defeated. And I, Linda Sterling, as the one directly responsible, became the epicenter of the storm. What made my heart sink even further was hearing that Miranda, at a subsequent internal meeting, had made a pointed remark about “certain employees who lack a sense of responsibility and professional competence, yet attempt to challenge the authority of company policy with petty tricks.” Everyone knew she was talking about me. From that day on, Miranda’s retaliation began. It wasn’t a sudden storm, but a slow, creeping death, like being a frog in a pot of slowly boiling water. Every single one of my expense reports was blocked. From a few dollars for printing costs to several hundred for a travel allowance, nothing was spared. The reasons were always varied and absurd: “improperly formatted receipt,” “purpose of expense not detailed enough,” or simply, “this month’s budget is tight, try again next month.” Any document I submitted that required her approval would be intentionally delayed. An urgent request could sit on her desk for a week. This caused serious delays for the smaller projects I was managing. The clients were demanding updates, my team was anxious, and I was caught in the middle, overwhelmed. Mark spoke to me a few times. His tone was much softer now, his eyes holding a hint of guilt, but his words still conveyed his anxiety about the project timelines. He was clearly feeling the heat as well. Gossip circulated through the office that I had “pissed off the money god and was getting what I deserved.” My colleagues began to distance themselves from me, subtly at first, then more obviously. No one wanted to be seen as too close to me, afraid that their own expense reports would get the same treatment. I was like a walking plague, shunned by everyone. I always ate lunch alone. When I walked into the breakroom, any lively chatter would immediately cease. I felt a profound sense of helplessness and rage, as if I were trapped in a transparent glass cage—observed, judged, and isolated by everyone, with no way out. I tried to fight back. I got a copy of the company policy manual and studied the reimbursement rules, word for word. And there, buried in the dense text, I found it: “The final determination of what constitutes a personal expense for entertainment purposes rests solely with the discretion of the Finance Department.” It was a massive loophole, giving her absolute power. In other words, if Miranda Vance said it was a personal expense, it was. There was no appeal. Those cold, clinical words were her fortress and her sharpest weapon. At a company-wide weekly project meeting, with all the department heads and senior executives present, it was my turn to report on my project’s progress. As I was speaking, Miranda slowly, deliberately, cut in. “Linda, since everyone is here, I have a question for you.”

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