Category: English

My roommate’s livestreamed confession to the campus belle was a total train wreck. To save face, he swiped my phone and confessed to her again. Her reply came in a flood: 【Babe, I’m already head over heels for you. How much more do you want me to like you?】 【Can we go public? Please? I’m so tired of sneaking around.】 【Some other loser just confessed to me, and I shut him down so fast!】 【You’re the only one for me, babe. The only one!】 My roommate stared, dumbfounded. The live chat went into meltdown. And I just froze. 1 My roommate, Ian, was live again. He’s a minor influencer, with a couple hundred thousand followers on a popular streaming platform. To keep them engaged, he spends a few nights a week live, just hanging out. For him, it’s just business. For me and our other two roommates, it’s a nightmare. A dorm room is supposed to be a private space. In the sweltering summer heat, walking around shirtless isn’t exactly a rare occurrence. But after we accidentally wandered into his stream once, we all started dressing like we were heading into a blizzard, even in our own room. But even fully clothed, you can’t avoid pajamas. And no one wants to be an unintentional background character in someone else’s content. The three of us sat Ian down and gently suggested he be a little more careful. He got all self-righteous. “Come on, guys. My whole brand is the ‘college guy’ lifestyle. My fans watch me for an authentic look at my life, you know?” “If I stream from behind my bed curtain, what’s the point? Are you guys going to cover the ad revenue I lose?” “Besides,” he added, “I’m doing you a favor. Do you have any idea how much I make a month from this? A little screen time could make you guys famous, too.” My other two roommates and I just stood there, speechless. Then he turned on me. “And you, Leo!” “You were wearing those gray sweatpants and walking behind me on purpose last time, weren’t you? Do you know how many DMs I get asking for your number? Seriously, if you’re that desperate for clout, just say so. Don’t pull cheap tricks like that.” I was about to lose it. The next day, he had the nerve to go on stream and complain to his fans that his roommates were bullying him. He even worked up some tears, his eyes red as he sobbed about being an outcast. His fans, of course, went on the attack. In that unhinged comment section, I was called things I’d never even heard before. A regular person’s voice is no match for an influencer’s. We were branded as bullies overnight. Our new motto became: If you can’t beat him, avoid him. Today, the other two guys were out. But I was stuck with a last-minute group project, forced to sit at my desk, a prisoner in my own room. Even with noise-canceling headphones on, Ian’s voice cut through. “Two hundred thousand followers! You guys asked for a special stream, and the number one request was to watch me confess to my crush.” He feigned a blush. “So, I guess today’s the day. I’m going to confess to Miss C.” “And yes, it’ll be live. This is a huge moment for me, and I want all of you to be here for it!” Ian was a master at crafting his online persona. He was cute, and he filled his feed with photos of himself paired with angsty captions about his secret crush. It had a very old-school, sentimental vibe. The contrast of a good-looking guy nursing a secret love was catnip for his audience, and he quickly became a minor celebrity in the online romance niche. A live confession was guaranteed to pull massive numbers. I had to admit, the guy would do anything for views. Ian added, almost shyly, “And I guess I can stop calling her Miss C. Her name… it’s Chloe Reed. Yeah, the Chloe Reed.” He smiled into the camera. “So, yeah. I’m about to confess to Chloe Reed.” My head snapped up. What the hell?! The girl he’s confessing to is my girlfriend? 2 Even though she’s not a celebrity, Chloe has her own online following. Unlike Ian, who meticulously curated his content, Chloe’s fame was a complete accident. It started with a campus news interview. A breakfast spot near the university was embroiled in a scandal—someone claimed they found a dead rat in a meat bun. To salvage their reputation, the shop arranged for a reporter to interview customers out front. By sheer luck, they flagged down Chloe. She was half-asleep, a carton of soy milk dangling from her lips, holding a massive bag of meat buns. The reporter was thrilled. “You bought so many! These buns must be amazing, right?” “Nope,” Chloe said, deadpan. “We’ve got a mouse problem in our dorm. I heard these buns are so bad they could kill a rat. Figured I’d buy a few and see if the rumors are true.” The reporter started sweating. “Haha, well, you don’t need that many, do you?” Chloe replied, “My roommate said she wanted to taste the legendary bun that could take down a rodent. I’m getting some for her.” Desperate, the reporter changed tactics, pointing to her soy milk. “You seem to be enjoying that! Their soy milk must be delicious, at least?” Chloe paused for a beat, then delivered the final blow. “I got this from the place next door.” The interview ended there. Someone uploaded the clip, and it went viral. Chloe’s stunning looks, her status as a student at a top university, and her dry, deadpan humor earned her a legion of fans overnight. Her actual social media account was incredibly boring. A few everyday videos, a couple of photos. Normally, an account that inactive would fade into obscurity. But then, on a popular talk show, the award-winning actress Claire Reed casually mentioned that the viral “rat-bun girl” was her little sister. Her actual, biological sister. And just like that, Chloe Reed was a name everyone on the internet knew. I discreetly opened Ian’s stream. The viewer count was already over ten thousand, a massive jump from his usual numbers, and it was still climbing fast. Ian was beaming. “Yes, I’m really doing it! No clickbait. If you want to see it happen, stick around.” The chat was exploding with comments about Chloe. 【Is he really confessing to her? Why am I so excited about this!】 【Claire Reed’s fan here! This guy is cute, hope it works out!】 【Our new brother-in-law, lol. Our new brother-in-law, lol. Our new brother-in-law, lol.】 【Hey, back off my man!】 【Chloe’s fan reporting in! I love a gorgeous girl with a deadpan sense of humor!】 【Is it just me, or does Chloe seem totally different from the ‘Miss C’ Ian always talks about? I pictured Miss C being more of an ice queen.】 【@ a few comments up, you know Chloe personally? Maybe she is an ice queen in private.】 【The interview proves she can’t be an ice queen!】 【Who knows her better, Ian or you guys? You all act like one viral video is the gospel truth.】 【But Claire also said her sister is a total goofball…】 Ian bit his lip, pretending to be nervous. “She is a little cold to me sometimes. Maybe I shouldn’t do this?” His fans rushed to comfort him. 【NOOOO! Ian, all your stories about Miss C are so sweet! There’s no way she doesn’t like you!】 【And you guys have ‘run into each other’ so many times! That’s not a coincidence. I’ll eat my hat if she wasn’t doing it on purpose!】 【I bet you a bag of chips she’s just playing hard to get in front of the guy she likes.】 【That fits the ice queen persona perfectly, lol.】 【So the little minx was leading our Ian on this whole time, just to make him confess publicly? What a schemer!】 【Go for it, Ian! You got this!】 Buoyed by his fans’ encouragement, Ian pumped his fist. “Okay!” 3 I scrolled through Ian’s profile, skeptical. He had a whole series of videos about “Miss C.” Ian had a knack for making ordinary events sound magical, which was probably how he’d gotten so many followers in the first place. But the more I watched, the more I doubted this “Miss C” was actually Chloe. It wasn’t that I blindly trusted my girlfriend not to cheat. It was that the Chloe he described was a complete stranger to me. My Chloe was childish. She was proud, immature, incredibly competitive and possessive, loved to be coddled, and was super clingy. Ian’s “Miss C,” on the other hand, was a character straight out of a romance novel. Giving him an umbrella in the rain, a hand-warmer in the winter, guiding him through a library blackout, a shared, meaningful glance across a crowded concert hall… even the stories sounded like fiction. I frowned and went back to the stream. The viewer count had skyrocketed past one hundred thousand. They were all here for Chloe. 【I wish he was doing a video call. I want to see her face again.】 【Didn’t her student ID photo leak a while back? Still gorgeous.】 【This has to be a publicity stunt, right? Are they going to launch a couple’s channel next?】 【Please, Chloe doesn’t even ride her own sister’s coattails for clout. Why would she care about some streamer’s numbers?】 【She’s not even active online.】 【Conspiracy theory: what if he’s the one using her for clout?】 【Anyone saying he’s clout-chasing needs to go watch his ‘Miss C’ series! It’s so obvious they both have feelings!】 On screen, Ian opened his contacts list, found the profile picture labeled “Chloe Reed,” and tapped it. As if to prove it was really her, he even scrolled through her feed for the camera. I was stunned that they were even connected. And since Claire had posted a few chat screenshots with her sister before, Chloe’s profile picture was instantly recognizable to her fans. The entire chat held its breath. For some reason, I felt a knot of anxiety tighten in my stomach. Just then, my phone buzzed with a message from the source of all this chaos. 【Babe, are you still mad at me?】 【Please don’t be mad?】 【I really didn’t mean it, I just lost control for a second…】 【Babe, please answer me. You’re scaring me.】 【Leo, I’m begging you.】 【{Crying}{Kneeling}.jpg】 【Hubby hubby hubby hubby hubby hubby hubby hubby!】 I meant to just hide the notification, but my thumb slipped and hit “Delete and Clear History.” The entire chat log vanished. Even more annoyed, I tossed my phone aside. But I couldn’t just ignore the live confession. My roommate was broadcasting from five feet away. Even with my headphones cranked up, his voice bled through between songs. He was telling the story of how they first met. I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed my pajamas and headed for the shower. I had no idea that when I came back out, my entire world would be turned upside down. 4 Ian was still streaming. And it seemed to have gone well. He was grinning from ear to ear, thanking viewer after viewer for sending him expensive virtual gifts. The donations were pouring in. I was confused. A live confession, and people were sending him this much? Did Chloe actually say yes? No way, I thought, as I started searching my desk for my phone. It had been right there before my shower, but now it was gone, as if it had grown legs and walked away. I checked my bed, my closet, even the trash can. Nothing. A drop of water from my wet hair trickled down my neck. Ian’s triumphant laughter echoed in the room. I forced myself to calm down. The phone was gone, but then I remembered: I was logged into my messaging app on my laptop. I clicked it open. The number of unread messages made my heart pound. From my roommate, Sam: 【Leo, is that your phone Ian is holding?】 【Why did you let him use your phone?】 【HOLY SHIT! You and Chloe are dating???】 From my other roommate, Mark: 【You finish that group project yet?】 【Man, Ian is really making a big deal out of this. I heard about his live confession to Chloe all the way over at the library.】 【LMAO of course he failed. Serves him right!】 【Wait, why did he just grab your phone?】 【DUDE, get your phone back! Why did you give it to him?!】 【WTF!】 【You’re dating Chloe Reed?】 【And she’s your secret, lovesick girlfriend?!】 A wave of panic washed over me. It wasn’t until I clicked on my chat with Chloe that I understood what had happened. The chat log I’d accidentally erased was now filled with new messages. The first two were even from “me.” 【I like you.】 【Do you like me?】 Chloe’s reply was instantaneous. 【Babe, I’m already head over heels for you. How much more do you want me to like you?】 【Can I just rip my heart out and show you? I love you so much! Mwah mwah mwah~】 【Can we go public? Please?】 【I’m so tired of sneaking around.】 【Sometimes I feel like your dirty little secret, crying QAQ】 【Some other loser just confessed to me, and I shut him down so fast!】 【You’re the only one for me, babe. The only one!】 Ian had finished his stream at some point. With a loud clatter, he threw my long-lost phone onto my desk. He leaned against his bedpost, arms crossed, a smug look on his face. “Thanks for the help.” 5 “You used my phone to confess to her?” I asked, my voice shaking with disbelief. Ian shrugged, the picture of innocence. “Hey, as long as it makes for a good stream, right? Everyone thinks it’s my phone now anyway.” He flashed me a grin. “Why didn’t you tell me you and Chloe were dating? If I’d known, I wouldn’t have wasted all that time trying to get her number.” “I thought you guys were just acquaintances. Turns out it’s a little more than that, huh?” “That was my phone!” I yelled, my anger boiling over. He rolled his eyes. “I know, I know. It’s yours. So what? The entire internet thinks it’s mine. Are you going to go out and correct them?” Ian took a step closer. “Besides, you’re the one who wanted to keep it a secret, right? Now her public boyfriend is me. Isn’t that exactly what you wanted?” He clapped me on the shoulder. “You should be thanking me.” I slapped his hand away. Just then, the door opened and our other two roommates walked in. Sam took one look at the scene, immediately stepped in front of me, and glared at Ian. “Your own confession failed, so you stole Leo’s phone to do it again? How can you be so shameless?” Mark backed him up. “We’ve put up with enough of your crap! You think you’re so special just because you have a few followers?” Ian just smirked. “Actually, yeah. Having followers is pretty special.” He casually checked his phone. “And thanks to tonight’s stream, I’m up to three hundred thousand. So, Leo… how about you let me have your girlfriend?” I stared him down. “You’re not afraid I’ll expose you online?” He looked completely unfazed. “Go ahead. Let’s see who they believe. You, or me.” “Have you already forgotten what happened last time?” he said. “You tried to clear your names. Did anyone listen? Did anyone care? But all I have to do is cry a little, and my fans will believe anything I say. So go on, trash me online. My three hundred and forty thousand followers are ready for a fight.” He glanced at his phone again. “Oh, wait. Make that three hundred and fifty.” My fists clenched. My other roommates were stunned into silence by his sheer audacity. They looked at me, their eyes asking, What now? The false bullying accusation had been a painful lesson. I still remembered how helpless we’d felt. All Ian had to do was cry on camera, and we were suddenly the villains. The online hate from strangers was one thing, but the looks we got from other students on campus were worse. I took a deep breath. Just as I was about to retort, my phone lit up on the desk. The caller ID read: Chloe Reed. I met Ian’s triumphant gaze. “You’re right. No one will listen to me. No one will believe me,” I said, picking up the phone. “But what about Chloe?” The color drained from Ian’s face.

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My sister and I woke up on the same day: the day we were chosen from the group home by New York’s wealthiest titan. She pointed right at me. “Mr. Harrison, you’re my sister’s hero.” Her voice was pure, manufactured innocence. “It would mean the world to her if you picked her. I don’t matter.” And just like that, I was adopted by Marcus Harrison. As I left, my sister Chloe smiled. “Have fun, Anna. This time, you can enjoy the living hell of being a Harrison.” “And I,” she whispered, “am finally going to get everything I deserve.” In our first life, Chloe was the one adopted by the Harrisons. She became the city’s most infamous “It Girl,” a beautiful, tragic mess passed around by old-money monsters. I was adopted by a struggling couple in Queens. But I clawed my way up and built a tech empire from nothing. When we met again, she chose to swap lives with me. She dragged me to a rooftop gala, screaming, “You have no idea what they did to me! They trained me, sold me! And you, my sister, you had everything and you never saved me!” Then she pushed me off the roof. And I pulled her down with me. Now, she thinks she’s won. She thinks she’s dodged the bullet and stolen my “lucky” path. But oh, my sweet, stupid sister. The Harrison family’s resources? Their name? Their connections? That doesn’t create a living hell. It just makes the climb faster. She stole the wrong life. Because the asset wasn’t the poor family. It was, and always has been, my brain. 1 “You’re my sister’s hero…” The moment I heard those words, I knew. She remembered, too. In our first life, she’d locked me in a closet during the adoption visit to make sure I couldn’t even be seen. She got the billionaire. I got the couple from Queens. And as soon as I was in their house, their luck changed. Because I changed it. Their small investments, guided by me, grew. Their struggling business, restructured by me, flourished. By the time I saw Chloe again, I was the new-money titan, and they were the wealthy family she thought she’d missed out on. She was right about one thing. Her life was hell. At that gala, she was drunk, wearing a dress that was practically transparent, fending off hands from men three times her age. The moment she saw me, poised and powerful, she shattered. She blamed me. She killed me. And now, reborn, she thinks she’s pulling a fast one. Marcus Harrison, the mogul himself, was charmed by her “selflessness.” He agreed to adopt me. Chloe’s eyes were electric with triumph. “This time, you get to be the family puppet,” she mouthed, blowing me a kiss. “Enjoy the torture.” I paused, my hand on my small suitcase. “What was that, Chloe?” “Goodbye, sister,” she sang, already turning toward the couple from Queens, who were waiting in the next room. She’s running toward them, convinced she’s captured the golden goose. But she doesn’t get it. She’s swapping lives, not minds. How can she possibly steal what’s inside my head? 2 Before taking me to their penthouse on Park Avenue, Marcus and his wife, Eliza, took me for a full medical and psychological evaluation. They were… pleased with the results. “Welcome home, Anna,” Eliza finally said, taking my hand. Her smile was genuine, but her eyes were analytical. In the Bentley on the way home, Marcus asked, “So, I’m your hero, huh? In what way?” I clicked into the role. I was eight years old. I looked at him with carefully calibrated awe. “I read an article about you in Forbes at the library. I admire how you built your empire. The way you handle the markets. I want to build my own empire just like you someday.” This deeply pleased him. “You read Forbes? At your age?” “I’ve always been interested in business.” He and Eliza exchanged a look. It was the look of investors who’ve just found a unicorn. So, they didn’t treat me like a child. They treated me like a project. My schedule was packed: Etiquette. Art History. Piano. French. Equestrian. They even had a specialist come in to teach me “social dynamics.” And every night, I had to watch one hour of Bloomberg with Marcus. This was an elite education, designed to forge a successor. A month in, they were more than pleased. They were proud. Their affection was becoming less of an act. One night, Eliza took me into her legendary walk-in closet. It was a vault. “Anna,” she said, gesturing to the glittering shelves, “pick anything you like.” “Thank you, Mom,” I said, using the word deliberately. I then looked at the jewels. “I can identify most of these. Cartier, Harry Winston, the Bulgari heritage pieces. But… I don’t really like them.” I am not Chloe. Chloe’s downfall, I realized, wasn’t just that they wanted a socialite. It’s that she wanted to be one. She was lazy, shallow, and addicted to luxury. She had no other skills, so they used the only one she had. Eliza’s smile faltered. A complex emotion passed through her eyes. “What… what do you like, then?” I looked up at her, making my eyes wide. “Mom? If I ask for something, will you give it to me?” She paused, the calculation fading, replaced by something softer. “Of course, Anna. Tell me.” “The books say… books say moms read their kids bedtime stories. I know I’m eight, but… I’ve never had one.” “Mom,” I whispered, “could you read to me tonight?” 3 Eliza’s mask finally broke. She knelt and stroked my hair, her eyes suddenly, genuinely warm. “Yes,” she said, her voice thick. “Every night.” There is nothing more powerful than a mother’s devotion. And I had just created it. That night, she held me and read Cinderella. “Do you envy her, Anna?” she asked. “One day, you’ll meet your prince.” I looked up. “Mom? Did you meet your prince?” Her gaze went distant. A bitter shadow crossed her mouth. “No,” she said, smiling. “I didn’t.” She recovered. “Anna, are the lessons too much? If you don’t want to learn all this, you don’t have to. You’re our daughter now. You can just… be a child.” “When you grow up,” she continued, “I’ll find you a wonderful man from a good family. You can marry him and be happy and safe forever.” I knew, in that moment, that she truly saw me as her daughter. And I knew she must have given Chloe the exact same offer in our first life. Chloe would have taken it. I shook my head, pressing it into her shoulder. “I don’t want to marry a prince, Mom. I want to be like you.” She laughed. “Like me? And what am I?” “You’re powerful. You’re brilliant. You’re on the board. I want to be a strong woman, just like you.” I added, “And I hope I’m as beautiful as you when I grow up.” Marcus and Eliza Harrison were a power couple. They’d built their empire together from nothing. But as I’d learned from my financial research, a man who can endure poverty with you can’t always endure wealth. Marcus was drowning in his own vices, and the tabloids loved it. Eliza, I sensed, was lonely. She missed the fight. “My path was very, very difficult, Anna,” she said softly. “I’m not afraid,” I said, my voice steel. “You did it. I can, too. I want to be just as amazing as you.” She kissed my forehead. “Okay, baby girl. Mom will help you.” From then on, Eliza didn’t just train me. She forged me. She poured every ounce of her strategic brilliance into me. She was a legend on Wall Street before she’d stepped back, and she was going to make sure I was, too. “I never want you to suffer what I did,” she’d say. “I won’t,” I’d promise, hugging her. “When I grow up, I’ll protect you.” 4 Six months later. At breakfast, Eliza dropped a bomb. “Marcus, it’s time to make Anna’s position official.” “I’m planning an announcement gala for next month.” She sipped her tea. “And we’ll be transferring 2% of our personal shares in Harrison Group to her name. Each.” Marcus, reading the Wall Street Journal, froze. “Eliza, don’t you think that’s… premature? She’s still a child.” Eliza’s voice was ice. “Premature? Or are you waiting for one of your other children to come of age?” Marcus shot me a nervous glance. “Anna’s right here. Don’t be ridiculous.” “She’s our daughter,” Eliza shot back. “And she’s not an idiot. The shares, Marcus. And the title. It’s non-negotiable.” He was still terrified of her. “Fine, fine. Whatever you want.” He turned to me, forcing a smile. “Well, Anna, this means I’ll have to be even stricter with your training. You can’t let me down.” I sat up straight. “I won’t, Dad. I promise.” The gala was a media frenzy. I was introduced as Anna Harrison. Marcus announced the 4% stock transfer. And then Eliza, standing beside me, took the microphone. “And,” she smiled, “we are so thrilled to officially name Anna as the sole heir to the Harrison Group.” The room exploded. Marcus looked like he’d been slapped. But he couldn’t object. Not in public. Later, I heard them fighting. “You had no right!” he yelled. “An heir? Without consulting me?” “She’s our only daughter, Marcus. Who else would it be? Or… did you have another candidate in mind?” “She’s not our blood!” “Neither are your bastards, dear. And tell me, are any of them half as smart as she is?” He had no answer. I went back to my room. It was time to prove my “genius.”

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I went to the bank to withdraw $75,000. The teller must have misread the slip, because she gave me $750,000. An extra $675,000. I told customer service the amount was wrong. She said once I left the counter, it wasn’t their problem. You don’t say? That night, the branch manager called me. “Sir, you took $1,200,000 from our bank this afternoon. $75,000 was yours. Please return the $1,125,000 immediately.” I said: “?!” 1 Today, I went to the bank for a cash withdrawal. The teller was half-asleep and mistook $75,000 for $750,000. She handed me several heavy cash bags. I hesitated. I don’t have $750,000 in my account. I had $75,000 and maybe a few grand in change. Looking at the extra $675,000, my DNA lit up. My throat went dry. Nobody dislikes money, especially a windfall of this size. The teller snapped me out of it. “Please count your cash. Per bank policy, once you leave the counter, we are not responsible.” I nodded. I took the money and walked straight out of the bank. As soon as I was on the sidewalk, I pulled out my phone and hit “record.” With the camera rolling, I used my other phone to call the bank’s 800-number. “Hi, my name is Kevin Zhang. At 3:33 PM, I made a withdrawal at your Springfield branch. I’ve just realized the amount is incorrect. I need to schedule a time to come back and correct this.” I made sure to enunciate withdrawal clearly. I hate dealing with this bank. If it weren’t such a hassle, I’d have closed my accounts years ago. The lobby is always palatial, with a dozen teller windows. But only one is ever open. The others all have “Next Window Please” signs, even as the line snakes out the door. The staff mills around, chatting, like the customers are just scenery. I’ve complained before. They just stare through you. And God forbid you want to withdraw your own money. They treat you like a suspect, grilling you. But if you want to deposit? Oh, then it’s a full-court press trying to sell you high-fee insurance products or managed funds you don’t need. 2 The customer service rep on the phone was clearly bored. “Mr. Zhang, our policy clearly states that once you leave the counter, we are not responsible. I understand your frustration, but there is nothing I can do. I’m sorry.” “Are you kidding me? What’s your employee ID? I’m trying to do you a favor.” “A favor for us?” She actually laughed. She’d heard this script a million times—from people who were shorted money and found out too late. She rattled off her employee ID and then went back to the script. “Sir, I really can’t help you with this. The ‘leave the counter’ policy protects both parties. You confirmed the amount at the window. We consider the transaction closed. Have a nice day!” She hung up. A second later, a text message pinged: Please rate your recent service. I gave her five stars. She had given me exactly what I needed. I’ve had it with these people. I’m not the one who makes their job difficult. But they’re always trying to trick customers. I’d come in to make a simple deposit, and they’d try to “upgrade” my savings account into some garbage insurance plan. “Better returns,” they’d say. Better commissions, they meant. When I needed to withdraw, they’d act like I was robbing them. “What is the purpose of this withdrawal?” As if I needed their permission. If I was vague, they’d cite “fraud risk” and refuse the transaction. The internet is full of these stories. Your own withdrawal for $5,000 gets your account frozen. Meanwhile, some scammer in another country drains $500,000 without a single flag. Don’t even get me started on inheritance. My wife’s mother passed, and they told her a death certificate and a will weren’t enough. They said “the name on the utility bill doesn’t perfectly match the will.” It’s impossible. Thinking about it, I opened my banking app and transferred the last few thousand dollars out of my account. 3 The sun set. The workday ended. But at the First National Springfield branch, the panic was just beginning. They close to the public at 5 PM, but the staff stays late to balance the books. Tonight, the books weren’t balancing. They were short. Hundreds of thousands of dollars short. Everyone was going to be held responsible. Soon, they found the error. A customer, Kevin Zhang, requested $75,000. The teller, in a daze, paid out $750,000. The worst part? They checked my account. It was now at $0. They couldn’t even claw the money back. It looked organized. Premeditated. They pulled the teller into the manager’s office, grilling her. Was she my relative? An accomplice? After confirming she was just incompetent, the supervisor went to the Branch Manager’s office, his face pale. “Mr. Henderson, what do we do? We’ve checked. The teller doesn’t know him. It was a genuine mistake.” “And I’ve checked his file. This is the same Kevin Zhang who’s been suing us for the last year. The odds of him returning this willingly are zero.” The branch manager, Henderson, stared at my customer file for a long time. He finished his cigarette. “We can’t hide this,” he said. “It has to go up to corporate. We’ll report it. We’ll take the heat. We’ll do our due diligence to recover the funds from Zhang.” He took a long drag. “But nobody takes our money. If he wants to play, he better be ready to lose everything.” “When you report it to corporate, say he took $1,200,000. Say he’s shorting us $1,125,000.” 4 Late that night, my phone rang. “Is this Kevin Zhang? You made an unauthorized withdrawal from our bank today. It has created a significant financial loss. This is your official notice.” The voice was cold and arrogant. “The issue was a teller error, but it resulted in you taking several hundred thousand dollars. We will be dispatching agents to your home tonight to retrieve the funds. Please cooperate, or we will be forced to pursue legal action. Any additional losses incurred will be your responsibility.” This was a clever script. Even if I argued about them coming over, I’d be implicitly admitting I had their “several hundred thousand.” And “unjust enrichment” is a real legal concept. I just don’t get these guys. In this situation, shouldn’t the first call be… nice? “Mr. Zhang, we’re so sorry, we made a huge mistake, a ‘beautiful mistake’ as they say, haha. Our teller is new. We’d be so grateful if you could help us correct this.” Then, offer a $500 gift card and a bottle of wine. I’d have brought the $675,000 back tomorrow. But no. It’s their mistake, and they’re calling to threaten me? After a year of their nonsense, my patience was gone. “Several hundred thousand? What are you talking about? I don’t know anything about that.” “And besides, your own customer service rep told me: ‘Once you leave the counter, you’re not responsible.’” “Err… yes. About that policy. The final interpretation of that rule rests with the bank.” “Under that rule, if you fail to count your money, you are not protected. If we overpay you, that is unjust enrichment, which is illegal.”

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My wife sent her assistant to accompany me to a business dinner at a high-end restaurant. But at the table, the assistant, Kevin, seemed determined to make my life hell, egging on the client to force me to drink. I cited a severe alcohol allergy and tried to leave, but Kevin physically blocked my path. “Ethan, you’re nothing but a kept man living off your wife. When you’re told to drink, you drink. Got it?” I gave him a slow, cold smile, tore the contract in half right there, and dialed my wife’s number. “According to your assistant, the Vance family doesn’t need me anymore. Is that right?” 01 “You’re just a pretty boy. You think crying to Ms. Vance is going to help you?” Before Zoe could even speak, Kevin snatched the phone from my hand. “Let me make one thing clear. You’re drinking tonight, whether you want to or not.” I shot him a look that could freeze fire. “And if I don’t?” “You know, in all my life, I’ve never been threatened like this. You’re breaking new ground, Kevin.” The line was still open. My wife’s voice, tinny and annoyed, crackled through the speaker. “Ethan, can you stop making a scene? Kevin is just doing what’s best for the company. Just listen to him.” Zoe’s words were so absurd I almost laughed. Since when did I need a junior assistant telling me how to close a deal? The client hadn’t even named his terms, yet Kevin had preemptively offered a twenty percent profit cut. Even then, the client wasn’t satisfied, demanding I down a whole bottle of Macallan before he’d sign. The fact that everyone in the company knew about my life-threatening allergy was one thing, but this contract was already a disaster. I was about to lay into her, but Kevin ended the call. “You hear that? Even your own wife says to listen to me. What more do you have to say?” I slowly lifted my head, my voice devoid of any warmth. “Who ever told you I have to listen to her?” The moment the words left my mouth, the client, Mr. Lee, shot to his feet. “If I’m not mistaken, you must be the man who married into the Vance family fortune, right?” He sized me up, his eyes gleaming with derision. “You ask me, some people just aren’t cut out for business,” he sneered. “I ask you to have a single drink, and you tear up the contract. If your wife finds out about this, she’ll probably divorce you on the spot.” Hearing this, a slow, predatory smile spread across my face. “Mr. Lee, you and Kevin are in this together, aren’t you?” A sharp sense of observation is a prerequisite for any good businessman. I’d noticed the exchanged glances, the subtle nods between them from the moment I walked in. Kevin, the chairman’s assistant, wasn’t fighting for his company’s interests; he was colluding with the other party to corner me. It was clear this dinner was a trap, and I was the target. Mr. Lee’s eyes darted away for a second before he regained his composure. “What are you talking about? I’m just calling it like I see it,” he blustered. “Everyone at this table worked their asses off to get where they are. You’re the only one living off a woman.” “As for qualifications, I’m your company’s client. When I tell you to drink, you drink. Is that clear enough for you?” The table erupted in another round of sycophantic laughter. I swept my gaze across the room, my voice dropping to a dangerous low. “Mr. Lee, I admit I’m a handsome man, but I’m not fond of the term ‘pretty boy.’ I suggest you don’t use it again.” My eyes narrowed. “Otherwise, I might actually get angry. And if I get angry, I promise you, no one in this room is going to have a good night.” Before the threat could even settle, Kevin shot up from his seat. “Ethan, I’m right here! Who the hell do you think you’re trying to scare?” he spat. “Others might not know your deal, but I do. Ms. Vance told me everything. You’re only married into the Vance family because of some old promise between your parents. She never wanted you. Not from the start.” My eyes narrowed to slits, my focus locked on him. “Oh, really? Is that what Zoe told you?” A triumphant, almost giddy look crossed Kevin’s face as he nodded. “Of course. She’s been wanting to divorce you for ages. You’re the one who won’t let go, clinging to her family like a leech.” His words hit me with the force of a physical blow. For a moment, I couldn’t tell what was a lie and what was the truth. But one thing was certain: a mere assistant wouldn’t dare challenge me so openly without someone powerful backing him. I needed to get back to the office, to confront Zoe and find out what was really going on. But as I stood up, a heavy hand slammed down on my shoulder, forcing me back into my chair. “The party’s not over. Where do you think you’re going?” 02 I slowly tilted my head back, raising an eyebrow. “Where I go is my business. It’s certainly not for a junior assistant to decide.” Kevin scoffed, his eyes boring into me. “Not while I’m here, it isn’t. You’re not going anywhere.” I stared at him, genuinely baffled by his audacity. Where was this courage coming from? “Kevin, consider this your official notice. You’re fired.” My words only seemed to fuel his arrogance. “You? Fire me?” He laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “Do you even have that authority? Look at yourself. You’re a nobody making empty threats.” I shoved him back, the chair scraping against the floor as I rose to my full height. “Kevin, you’ve provoked me again and again. Do you really think I’m that easy to push around?” My voice was low, but it cut through the noise in the room. His face darkened, and he lunged forward, grabbing the collar of my shirt. “You’re just the Vances’ charity case, you bastard. Don’t you dare raise your voice to me. In the entire Vance Corporation, nobody can fire me except Ms. Vance herself.” If I hadn’t been sober, I would’ve thought I was hallucinating. I didn’t even hold the mighty Vance family in high regard, yet here was a mere assistant, barking in my face. It seemed I’d been keeping too low a profile these past few years. “Kevin, I’m warning you. Let go of my shirt right now,” I said, my voice dangerously calm, reining in the fury coiling in my gut. “Or I promise you, no one will be able to save you tonight.” But some people are just too stubborn for their own good. His eyes were bloodshot, his face contorted with rage. “I’m not letting go. What are you gonna do about it? I’m the assistant to the Chairman of the Vance Corporation. Everyone in this city shows me respect. Who the hell do you think you are?” Before I could answer, the clients around the table started chiming in, eager to curry favor. “He’s right. Everyone in Havenwood knows the Vance Corporation’s success is largely thanks to Kevin’s hard work.” “This guy’s only here because he married into the family. What’s so special about him? Just another pretty boy.” “Exactly. Some people get a taste of the good life and forget their place.” The message was clear. In their eyes, I, a department manager, was less important than an assistant. I had no idea where they found the nerve. Kevin basked in their flattery, his chin tilting higher with every comment. “Listen to me, Ethan. If I were you, I’d just drink the damn wine. It’ll save you a lot of trouble when you have to explain this to your wife.” I stared at him, my expression unreadable. “Kevin, this is your last warning. Do not test my limits. The very woman you keep bringing up, your precious Ms. Vance, only has her position today because of me. The reasons for that are far beyond your comprehension.” I was throwing them a lifeline, a hint that they should back off. More than dealing with Kevin’s pathetic provocations, I wanted to unmask the puppet master pulling the strings. If my own wife, Zoe, was part of this… well, that would make things interesting. I thought back to three years ago. The Vance family was a third-rate name, teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. One day, Zoe’s father, Arthur Vance, found me. His first words were a request for me to marry his daughter, explaining it was a promise made by our fathers long ago. I’ve always been a filial son. To honor my father’s last wish, I reluctantly agreed. On the surface, I was the man who married into the Vance family. In reality, their rise to power was entirely orchestrated by me, from the shadows. But now, it seemed, someone had grown wings and decided they were ready to fly solo, kicking me out of the nest in the process. Kevin surveyed the room and sneered. “Did you all hear that? This pretty boy just claimed the Vance family owes its success to him. That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all year. The Vances are one of the four founding families of Havenwood! And you? You’re a useless piece of trash. To be blunt, they’d probably be even more successful without you holding them back. They might have even broken into the Capital City scene by now.” And just like that, it all clicked into place. This dinner was a setup. These so-called business tycoons were just actors, hired for a little stage play designed to force a divorce between Zoe and me. Whoever was behind this had to have some serious influence. 03 Despite their relentless provocations, I held my ground, choosing patience over confrontation. These were, after all, influential figures in the city’s business circle, and I preferred not to create a public spectacle. But my restraint was met only with more derision. “Enough!” I shot to my feet, my gaze sweeping across every face in the room. “This deal is clearly off the table. So now, I’m giving all of you a choice.” My voice was quiet, but it commanded attention. “The smart ones will get out of my sight right now. Anyone who remains, I will consider an enemy of mine. And I show my enemies no mercy.” The room filled with laughter. “Did you hear him, everyone? The pretty boy is giving us a choice! This is rich!” “Ethan, you really think you’re somebody, don’t you?” “Every single person in this room is worth millions. What are you going to do, scare us away?” I turned slowly, the effort to control my temper a visible strain. “Have any of you ever heard the saying, ‘There’s always a bigger fish’?” I warned. “I suggest you choose wisely. You won’t get a second chance to regret it.” A sneer twisted Kevin’s lips. “A bigger fish? You? Kid, don’t think you can hide behind the Vance name forever. You probably don’t even know, do you? Ms. Vance is about to divorce you!” Hearing this, the other men at the table visibly relaxed, their mockery growing louder. I looked at their laughing faces, a profound sense of disappointment washing over me. Was this the best of Havenwood’s business world? All this, just because I couldn’t have a drink? Call me a kept man, call me a pretty boy—I couldn’t care less. But to find I couldn’t even command respect from an employee of my own company… was this the price of my discretion? Because of my unique circumstances, I had spent the past few years largely out of the public eye. If I overheard employees gossiping about me, I would just smile and walk away. I never imagined that my laid-back attitude would be mistaken for weakness, becoming the very fuel for their arrogance. Seeing my silence, Kevin assumed I’d lost my nerve. He slid a tray of ten full shot glasses in front of me. “Ethan, ten shots. Drink them all, and you can walk out of here. We’ll forget any of this ever happened, and you can go back to being a trophy husband. But if you refuse… I’m sorry, but you won’t be leaving this room tonight.” I fought to keep the rage from my voice, my eyes locked on his. “Kevin, are you forgetting I have a severe alcohol allergy?” He shot me a dismissive look. “A few drinks won’t kill you. I’ve laid out the terms. It’s your choice.” His words were so utterly preposterous I almost had to laugh. Not even Zoe’s father would dare speak to me like this. Where did this assistant find such gall? My curiosity about the person backing him intensified. “Kevin, I’m done talking to you. It’s pointless,” I said calmly. “Tell your master to come out. What kind of coward hides in the shadows and sends a dog to do his dirty work? Or does he not have the courage to face me himself?” The words had barely left my lips when the doors to the private room swung open. A man, roughly my age, strolled in with an air of unearned superiority. “Mr. Stone,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “It seems the rumors of your stupidity were greatly exaggerated.” 04 “Th-Thorne? Mr. Caden Thorne? What are you doing here?” Kevin’s exclamation sent a ripple of shock through the room. Everyone, to a man, scrambled to their feet to welcome the scion from Capital City. “So, you must be the one pulling Kevin’s strings,” I said, remaining seated. The man who called himself Thorne ignored the others and took the seat directly across from me. “You’re a quick study. I am indeed Kevin’s boss,” he confirmed. “The name’s Caden Thorne. You can call me Thorne, like everyone else. If the Vance family wants to expand into Capital City, they need my support.” His arrogance was a cut above even Kevin’s. I gave him a single, dismissive glance before looking away. “You’re here for my wife, I presume.” Caden nodded, a look of mock pity on his face. “Mr. Stone, I’m told you’ve been married to Ms. Vance for three years. Have you even held her hand? What a terrible waste.” He paused, lighting a cigarette and letting it dangle from his fingers, a smirk playing on his lips. “After today, your wife will be my woman.” His words drew no reaction from me, only a sigh of relief. “Is that so? Well, then I understand completely,” I said with a shrug. “Since you have your eye on my wife, Mr. Thorne, she’s all yours.” My nonchalance seemed to throw him off balance. “Aren’t you even a little bit angry?” I waved a hand dismissively. “What’s there to be angry about? In fact, I should thank you. If you hadn’t shown up, I wasn’t sure how I was going to break things off with her family. But I will offer you a piece of advice: anyone, and I mean anyone, who crosses me ends up regretting it.” Caden, perhaps not expecting me to match his bravado, turned a shade of purple with rage. He snapped his fingers. “Kevin, what are you waiting for? Teach him a lesson!” In a flash, Kevin grabbed a heavy liquor bottle from the table and brought it crashing down on my head. The world exploded in a shower of glass and pain. Before I could even process it, I was on the floor. Eager to impress his new master, Kevin descended on me with a storm of kicks and punches until my body was a canvas of agony. “That’s enough. Don’t kill him,” Caden finally said. He walked over and crouched down beside me. “Kid, consider this a lesson. Remember it well,” he whispered, his voice laced with menace. “Don’t ever try to act tough in front of me again. Or next time, I’ll kill you.” I pushed myself up, my body screaming in protest, and met his gaze. My voice was steady, unbroken. “The Thornes of Capital City. You’re not as impressive as I thought.” His face went black. This time, he picked up a chair himself. But just as he raised it, a collective gasp rippled through the room. Caden and the others turned in unison toward the door. “Ms. Vance! What are you doing here?”

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My deskmate handed me a throat lozenge. I turned around and dissolved it into the massive vat of “Good Luck Oatmeal” in the cafeteria, sharing it with all four thousand students in the school. Why? Because I’ve been reborn. In my past life, my deskmate, Gwen, was bound to a “Plunder System.” As long as I ate something she gave me, my test scores would automatically transfer to her. She was a trust-fund baby with her path to the Ivy League already paved with gold. Stealing my SAT scores was just a twisted prank to her. I was the scholarship kid. The charity case. The State Exams were my only rope to climb out of poverty. But in that life, my mock exam scores plummeted one after another, and I couldn’t find the cause. In the end, I failed the exams. Dispirited and broken, I wandered into traffic and was struck by a car. After I died, my spirit hovered in mid-air, forcing me to listen to Gwen laughing with her best friend, Lexi. “I can’t believe Tara actually scored the highest in the state!” Gwen cackled. “Too bad that title belongs to me now! A broke loser like her belongs in the mud, not at a top university.” Now, I’m back. She likes stealing scores for fun? Stealing from just me is too boring. This time, the entire school’s exam scores will be her little “surprise.” 1. The day before the third Mock Exam, I was burning up with a fever from days of over-studying. I was slumped over my desk, dizzy and shivering, when a box of cold medicine appeared in my peripheral vision. “Tara, hurry up and take this. It’ll help,” Gwen said. I froze, looking up to meet Gwen’s eyes. In my past life, it was this exact box of medicine that she traded for my future. Instinctively, I pushed it away. But our classmates immediately swarmed around us. “Gwen is so sweet. She’s beautiful and kind-hearted, looking out for her deskmate like that.” “Seriously. Tara is a scholarship student; she can’t afford a doctor, and she has no one to take care of her. She’s lucky to sit next to an heiress like Gwen who actually cares.” Hearing the praise, Gwen’s smile widened. She tore open the foil packaging. “Come on, take it! My dad brought this back from Europe. It’s a special formula; you can’t even buy it in the States.” I remembered now. It was right before the third Mock Exam that I took her medicine. That was the moment my life derailed. I came from nothing. I relied on financial aid just to attend this prep school. The State Exams were the only way someone from the bottom tier like me could change their destiny. Before senior year, I consistently ranked in the top three. I was a lock for Harvard or Yale. I studied day and night, terrified of slackening for even a second, dreaming of that acceptance letter. But starting with the third Mock Exam, my grades fell off a cliff. The final exam became my eternal nightmare. On the day scores were released, the pathetic number on the screen stabbed me like a poisoned knife. I went crazy requesting a regrade. The results showed that those ridiculous mistakes were indeed written by my own hand. Even more terrifying, the security footage showed that during the math section, I walked out after only thirty minutes! But I clearly remembered answering every single question carefully, checking my work until the last second! The proctors, the students around me—everyone insisted they saw me leave early. My memory and reality had split into two terrifyingly different paths. I wasn’t willing to give up. I appealed again and again. But nothing changed. Eventually, the teachers looked at me with pity, and the police spoke to me with impatience. They started hinting that maybe the pressure was too much, that maybe I was having a “mental break”… It wasn’t until I died that I learned the truth: it was all because of Gwen’s Score Plunder System. Thinking of my stolen scores, my face went cold. I pushed the medicine back toward her. “I already took some meds. If I take yours now, the interactions might make me sicker.” As soon as the words left my mouth, Gwen’s best friend, Lexi, let out a loud scoff. “Wow, Miss Valedictorian. Really? Gwen saw you were sick and pathetic and went out of her way to get you meds, and you think it’s going to stop you from getting into Harvard?” Her sarcasm was thick, and the surrounding students laughed along. “Breaking news: Experts say taking cold medicine prevents you from getting into the Ivy League!” “What is she pretending for? She can’t even afford a clinic visit. Where did she get the money for meds? I think the charity case is just jealous of Gwen and feels inferior.” Gwen didn’t stop them. She just kept that saintly smile plastered on her face, acting magnanimous as she shoved the medicine back into my hand. “Come on, Tara. The Mock Exam is tomorrow. Just take it.” Holding the box, a chill ran down my spine. The big exam wasn’t here yet. I couldn’t tear off her mask now. The enemy was in the dark, and I was in the light. If I exposed her now, who knew what other dirty tricks she’d use before the finals? I clenched my fist, fighting the urge to throw the box in her face. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something red fluttering downstairs in the quad. I turned to look. It was a banner the school had hung to encourage the seniors: “Thousands of Soldiers on the March, One Paper Decides Your Destiny.” A bold idea exploded in my brain. If these “thousands of soldiers”—my classmates—all ate what Gwen provided, would their scores be plundered too? I held the medicine box up. “Thanks, Gwen. But honestly, my throat hurts so bad right now, and I’m nauseous. I physically can’t swallow pills.” “But this is your kindness, and I can’t let it go to waste!” I turned to Chloe, the girl sitting across the aisle, who had been coughing all morning. “Chloe, do you want this? Gwen brought it from Europe. Supposed to be miraculous.” Chloe’s dad was the Dean of Students. She was currently ranked number one in the grade. Her family was full of politicians; she had serious backing. Chloe looked at the packaging and reached out to take it. “NO!” Gwen shrieked. Her voice was so loud it startled everyone in the room. Gwen met my shocked gaze and quickly scrambled for an excuse. “Tara… I think Chloe has allergies! What if she has a reaction?” Chloe leaned in and read the label. “I’m fine. I’m only allergic to penicillin. This doesn’t have any.” Gwen looked panicked. Lexi snatched the box from my hand, furious. “Gwen saved this for you. If you want to be a brat and not eat it, fine, but who are you to give it away?” She was rude enough that Chloe’s face darkened. She turned around and ignored us. But I had the answer I needed. Whatever Gwen gave out had to be consumed by the target for the theft to work. If that was the case, I was going to play a bigger game. What was the fun in just my score? Giving her the entire school’s GPA seemed like a much better gift for someone who loved surprises. I made a move to take the medicine back, but Gwen was now terrified I’d share it again. She dug into her pocket and pulled out a lozenge. “Tara, if you’re worried about drug interactions, don’t take the pills. Here, I have a throat lozenge. Eat this.” The crowd swooned at her thoughtfulness. “Gwen is too nice. She’s so prepared for her deskmate.” “Tara must have saved a country in her past life to get a deskmate like Gwen.” Gwen laughed, playing the part. “I just thought, being sick must be uncomfortable, and we can’t let it affect her test state.” “Tara is the pride of our class. Of course I have to be prepared.” I looked at her fake smile and remembered the conversation I heard as a ghost. Lexi had been envying her title as the State Top Scorer. Gwen had laughed and waved her hand dismissively. “I’m going abroad anyway. I don’t actually care about the grades. The title just sounds nice. It’s useless to me.” “I just wanted to toy with that broke loser. She always acts so studious and superior. It annoyed me!” “Now look at her. Let’s see how she pretends now! Trash should stay in the dumpster.” I almost laughed out loud. She did all this just to toy with me? This time, I didn’t refuse. I took the lozenge and shoved it into my pocket. Gwen frowned, clearly unhappy. “Tara, doesn’t your throat hurt? Why aren’t you eating it?” I yawned. “I’m a little sleepy. I want to nap first. I’ll eat it later.” Gwen got anxious. A single candy was small; if it stayed in my pocket, she’d never know if I actually consumed it. “Your voice is raspy. You should eat it now.” “Plus, you have a cold. You need the sugar, or you might pass out.” She furrowed her brows, acting so concerned. The classmates bought it hook, line, and sinker. Whispers drifted from the back row. “It’s just a candy. Is it going to kill her?” “She’s just got an ugly heart. She can’t accept kindness.” “Someone is nice to her and she acts stuck up. For a charity case, she sure is ungrateful.” The words pricked like needles. giving me a piece of candy counts as kindness? I’m supposed to wag my tail and eat it with tears of gratitude? Does the gap between a trust fund kid and a scholarship kid justify this blind moral kidnapping? My fingertips trembled, but I kept my face calm. Lexi played the bad cop. “You won’t take the meds, you won’t eat the candy. Do you just hate Gwen? Are you bullying her?” Her aggressive tone turned the whole class against me. After weighing my options, I pulled the candy out, unwrapped it, and popped it into my mouth. A cooling sensation spread through my mouth. The peppermint stung my tongue. Gwen’s smile turned radiant. “See? Isn’t that better?” I forced the corners of my mouth up. “Thanks. My throat does feel a lot better!” Watching me swallow, Gwen finally walked away satisfied. I pretended to sleep, burying my head in my arms. Carefully, I touched my pocket. Inside was the actual lozenge Gwen gave me. I had bought a pack of cheap, strong throat lozenges earlier to help with my cold. Luckily, the school store only sold this one brand. The packaging was identical. I had swapped them using a sleight of hand I’d seen in movies. During a bathroom break, I hid the special lozenge in a secure spot before returning to the classroom. As I walked in, I saw Gwen sitting at my desk. My empty tin of lozenges—the ones I had bought myself—was sitting on the table. My heart skipped a beat. Lexi looked up, saw me at the back door, and immediately signaled Gwen.

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In the grand finale of the story, the hero and heroine both lost their memories of each other and started new lives. The hero fell in love with me—a background character, a nobody. We got married, had a child, and built a life. Six years later, on an ordinary Tuesday, my husband suddenly remembered everything. Glowing text floated across my vision like a glitched livestream: [ OMG, is this the sequel to that angsty romance novel? ] [ Finally! The leads got their memories back! Happy Ending incoming! ] [ But wait, they’re both married to other people now. What happens? ] [ Easy. They divorce the extras and get back together. True love wins! ] That evening, I was walking down the street, dazed and heartbroken, when I locked eyes with a man who looked as wrecked as I felt. He was holding a cigarette in one hand, a phone in the other. The voice on the other end of the line was loud enough for me to hear: “Sir, your wife says she has her memory back. She wants a divorce to find her first love. Are you going to agree?” I froze in my tracks. 1 According to the floating comments only I could see, I was just an NPC—a background character in a tragic romance novel. After the leads lost their memories, the male lead, Ethan, fell for me. Meanwhile, the female lead, Chloe, married the “Second Male Lead.” Standing on the busy sidewalk, I stared at the neon text hovering in the air until my eyes burned. I wandered aimlessly until I bumped into him. The man standing in the shadows of the alleyway looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. As I passed him, the voice on his phone cut through the evening noise. “Sir, the Madam says the marriage was a sham. She remembers her soulmate now. She wants out. Are you signing the papers?” The man lowered his eyes, the ember of his cigarette glowing and fading. I couldn’t see his expression clearly. I stopped. This sounded exactly like the “Second Male Lead” the comments were talking about. I didn’t want to be caught staring, so I ducked behind a brick pillar, heart pounding. I needed to hear his answer. If he refused to divorce her, then Chloe couldn’t come looking for my husband, Ethan. And maybe… just maybe, Ethan would stay with me. It was a pathetic, desperate hope. I waited, but the man didn’t speak. Curiosity got the better of me. I peeked around the corner. A pair of polished Italian leather shoes stepped into my field of vision. The man looked down at me, phone still in hand, a cynical smirk playing on his lips. “Enjoying the show, miss?” I jumped. The voice on his phone was still rambling: “Sir, if your grandmother finds out you’re divorced and there’s still no great-grandson, she might actually have a heart attack…” He frowned, clearly annoyed, and hung up without a word. I stood there, mortified. “I… I’m sorry.” He stared at me for two seconds, then lost interest. He turned to leave. Panic surged. I didn’t get the answer I needed. I reached out and grabbed his sleeve. He stopped, forced to look back at me with cold, impatient eyes. I knew I was crossing a line, but I had to know. “So… will you agree to the divorce?” He paused, genuinely surprised that a stranger would have the audacity to ask. He yanked his arm away, sneering. “Lady, you really need to mind your own business.” He walked away without looking back. 2 I took a deep breath before opening the front door. “Mommy! You’re home!” My five-year-old daughter, Lily, slammed into my legs. Ethan walked out of the kitchen carrying a steaming dish, looking as perfect as ever. “You’re back? Wash up, dinner’s ready.” Lily ran to him. “Daddy, let me help!” Ethan smiled, bending down to her level. “No need, sweetie. Go show Mommy to the sink.” “Okay!” She grabbed my hand. Everything felt normal. Ethan picked Lily up from school, cooked dinner, and asked about my day. That night, he pulled me into his arms like he always did, whispering “Goodnight.” It felt like any other day. Like he was still the man who loved me, not the protagonist of some epic tragedy waiting to leave. The floating text, however, was screaming: [ This is so heartbreaking… The leads made eye contact on the street today. They both remembered. ] [ But they just walked past each other! It hurts! ] [ Well, it’s been six years. They have families now. ] [ I don’t buy it. They loved each other too much to just let go. ] [ The Male Lead is so calm though… maybe he loves the extra now? Six years is a long time. ] I lay still in Ethan’s arms, staring at the dark ceiling. Does he love me more? I didn’t know. All I knew was that Ethan had forgotten today was our sixth wedding anniversary. 3 I must have dozed off. I woke up in the middle of the night and reached for the warm body beside me. Cold sheets. I sat up. Ethan was gone. The floating comments were going berserk: [ AHHH! I knew it! They haven’t moved on! ] [ Chloe is so bold, she came straight to his house! ] [ The angst is killing me! ] It was autumn, and a light rain was falling. I walked to the window and looked down. There, standing under the streetlamp in the rain, was a woman looking at Ethan with a mix of defiance and desperation. I couldn’t hear them, but the comments provided the subtitles. Tears—or maybe rain—streamed down her face. “Ethan, is this really it for us?” My husband remained silent. She grabbed his hand. “I was supposed to marry you! I was supposed to have your children! She took my life, Ethan! Everything is wrong!” Ethan’s back was to me. I couldn’t see his face. After a long silence, he took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. “Don’t catch a cold,” he said simply. She gripped the lapels of the coat, staring at him. Then, suddenly, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. Ethan flinched, like he wanted to push her away. But she wrapped her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss, mixing rain and tears. “We used to do this all the time… are you sure you want to push me away?” Ethan stood rigid. But he didn’t push her away. He didn’t dodge. [ My heart is breaking… please just be together already! ] [ It’s so sad. They lost six years because of amnesia. ] [ Fate is so cruel to them. ] I watched my husband kiss another woman in our driveway. Their story was tragic, sure. A grand romance interrupted. But as I stood by the window, numb, I wondered: What about me? From twenty-two to twenty-eight. My youth. The six years I gave him. What happens to the background character when the story ends? 4 Just then, a mechanical voice echoed in my head. It called itself “The System.” [ Greetings, Host. I manage this world. ] [ Would you be willing to accept a mission? Success comes with a substantial financial reward. ] I blinked. “What mission?” [ To satisfy reader demand, we need to push the Male and Female Leads toward a Happy Ending. ] [ You need to facilitate their reunion. ] I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “You want me to personally push my husband into another woman’s arms? Don’t you think that’s a bit cruel?” The System paused. Then, a rush of data flooded my brain. I saw it all. Ethan and Chloe’s history. From their first meeting to their passionate romance. They fought the world to be together. It was epic. It was undeniable. [ No one forgets a love like that, ] the System said coolly. [ They belong together. ] I understood. Even if I didn’t help, Ethan would eventually leave me. Their love was “destiny.” I was just a placeholder. I was just speeding up the inevitable. [ If you succeed, you will receive 50 million dollars. Enough to ensure you and your daughter never worry about money again. ] I looked down at the driveway. Ethan and Chloe were still standing there. I thought about the last six years. He was a good husband. A good father. But remembering those six years took me only five minutes. He was a great partner—provided he didn’t have his memories. I took a deep breath. “Fine. What do I have to do?” [ First objective: Convince the Second Male Lead to divorce the Female Lead. ]

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I’ve always had a special talent for being despised. So, after my engagement was broken off, my legion of lifelong rivals descended like vultures, eager to gloat. “Well, well, if it isn’t Miss Vance, finally getting what she deserves.” “How’s bankruptcy feel? Your fiancé won’t lift a finger for you, but if you beg me, I might consider helping you out.” “Good thing he called it off. Marrying you would have been the end of him.” A cold smile spread across my face. I opened my contacts and sent a group text designed to make them all sick: “I guess you haven’t heard your parents approached mine about a proposal. Well, I said yes. The engagement party is after the holidays :)” Thirty seconds later, the replies started flooding in. “Seriously?” “What kind of wedding dress do you like? No reason, just curious.” My face: “?” 1 My engagement was over. Rosen Hugh’s mother came to deliver the news herself. Her smile was painfully pleasant, her manners impeccable. She prattled on about how children should be free to make their own choices, putting on a grand show of civility. I sat sipping a glass of freshly squeezed juice, placing a restraining hand on my father’s arm just as he was about to erupt. “Oh, it’s fine,” I said, my voice bored. “I don’t like Rosen anyway.” It was a childhood betrothal, nothing more. Arranged marriages are a relic of the past. Good riddance. Mrs. Hugh’s smile faltered. “But Rosen cared for you so deeply, and you actually…” She bit back the rest of her accusation, remembering she was the one breaking things off. This was supposed to be a win for her. She forced another smile. “Well then, Helen, I wish you the best of luck in finding someone else.” I took another sip of juice and tilted my head. “And I wish Rosen the best of luck in landing the heiress to Apex Holdings.” Never mind that the Hughs had been kissing up to Apex for ages with nothing to show for it. But who knew? Maybe their pretty-boy strategy would actually work this time. Maybe Rosen’s handsome face would be enough to make the Apex heiress lose her mind and let the insignificant Hughs latch onto her family’s empire. It wasn’t impossible. Mrs. Hugh’s face went stiff. She read the mockery in my expression and shot me a venomous glare. I glared right back. Muttering a string of clichés under her breath—“a fallen queen is no better than a peasant,” “we’ll see how long that pride lasts,” “don’t come crying to us,” “acting high and mighty when you’re about to be bankrupt”—she finally swept out the door. 2 Mrs. Hugh’s tirade of a bitter, wannabe matriarch didn’t affect me in the slightest. I went back to directing the movers. My father, who had been simmering in silence, finally slammed his hand on the table. “She couldn’t wait a single day to call it off! She must have heard those vicious rumors about us going bankrupt!” “They’re not exactly rumors,” I said, rummaging through a drawer for the emergency cash I’d stashed over the years. “We’re broke.” The news of the Vance family’s impending financial collapse had been the talk of the town. The truth was, our company’s capital flow was frozen. I knew the money had been diverted for another purpose and would be back soon, but the details were confidential, so we remained silent. For now, we were genuinely tight on cash—so tight that we had to move out of our mansion in the Compound temporarily. The Hughs must have heard we were moving and taken it as confirmation of our ruin, which sent them scrambling to cut ties. Social climbing is human nature. My father, however, was far less composed than I was. “Helen,” he fretted, “you’ve never been popular, and your people skills are… lacking. Now that we’re out of money, those boys in the Compound are going to make your life a living hell.” His choice of words was, as always, infuriating. I shot him a look, but after confirming he was being his usual clueless self and not actually insulting me, I just rolled my eyes. “Them? If any of them tries to bully me, I’ll take them down with me.” 3 I grew up in the Compound, a gilded cage filled with a pack of boys who were, by societal standards, my childhood friends. We were neighbors, forced to see each other constantly. But the animosity was mutual and intense. We’d been at each other’s throats since we could walk. Because they all looked like Prince Charming and knew how to act the part, our clueless elders were always singing their praises, calling them “fine young gentlemen” and “men of character.” It was enough to make you gag. My father used to tell me I should try to make friends with them. But who in their right mind would want to be friends with those arrogant jerks? I’d scoffed at the very idea. 4 There are no secrets in the Compound. The second Rosen’s mother left, my phone lit up. It was a group chat named “The Compound’s Finest (13).” And it was currently on fire. “@HelenVance, just saw the Hughs leaving your place. What happened, get dumped? Looks like the ice princess is finally melting.” “@HelenVance, how’s bankruptcy feel? If you beg me, maybe I’ll consider helping you out.” Someone had even added Rosen to the chat. The group count ticked up to (14). “@RosenHugh, man, Helen never even liked you. It was an arranged thing. You’re better off.” “@RosenHugh, thank God you dumped her. Marrying her would’ve been the end of you.” … A cold smirk touched my lips as I swiped open a private message. Then, I selected all of them and sent a group text designed to ruin their day. “I guess you haven’t heard your parents approached mine about a proposal. Well, I said yes. The engagement party is after the holidays :)” The chat, which had been scrolling nonstop, froze. Dead silence. All I could see was a string of “…” bubbles as they typed and deleted their replies. Picturing the looks of pure disgust on their faces brought me a profound sense of satisfaction. 5 Rosen didn’t reply. He was at an academic conference overseas. He’d apologized yesterday, telling me he was the keynote speaker and would be offline all day. I didn’t think a day without texting was a big deal, but I sent back an “Okay” to let him know I’d gotten the message. Given the time difference, his last message had been a “good morning,” followed by photos of several designer bags with the question, “Which one do you like?” Before I could reply, his mother had shown up. Honestly, Rosen wasn’t a bad guy. The Hughs were new money, having only moved into the Compound a couple of years ago. It wasn’t until Mrs. Hugh showed up, beaming and holding the family heirlooms that symbolized our betrothal, that my father even remembered my grandfather had drunkenly arranged the whole thing years ago. When the Hughs lived in another state, the engagement was a forgotten joke. Now that they were neighbors, we had to decide if it was still on. My father asked for my opinion. I told him I’d wait and see. The Hughs didn’t push, but Rosen naturally started spending more time with me. He had a gentle demeanor that masked a certain distance from the world, but he was always attentive to me. He remembered all my preferences, brought me gifts from his travels, and planned surprises for every holiday. He was diligently playing the part of a perfect fiancé. So, despite my initial annoyance with the whole arrangement, after spending so much time with him, I had grudgingly come to accept the fact that I would one day marry him. We could always get divorced if it didn’t work out. But now, it was over. I stared at the devastatingly handsome photo on Rosen’s profile for a few seconds, felt a brief pang of regret, and then blocked him. He was nice to look at, but he wasn’t mine anymore. Out of sight, out of mind. 6 The older generation in the Compound had always been kind to me. Even though their offspring were insufferable, I was genuinely fond of the aunts and uncles. Since we were moving out tomorrow, I decided to go say my goodbyes. My phone buzzed as I was heading out the door. My dear rivals had replied. “Seriously?” “What kind of wedding dress do you like? No reason, just curious.” “Tsk, fine. My parents have always liked you. Might as well make them happy.” “After the holidays? That’s too long. Let’s move it up. You’re welcome.” My face: “?” I felt like one of those confused old men staring at their phones on the subway. They were all insane. I had to admit, their counter-attack was brilliant. The boomerang effect of their replies left me thoroughly disgusted. I resisted the urge to block them all, but only because I was about to visit their parents. Instead, I sent a single, unified reply: “Sent to the wrong person :)”. 7 My first stop was the Warrens’ house. Rhys Warren opened the door. He was tall, with dark, intense eyes that made you feel small when he looked down at you. We had nothing to say to each other. Which was a shame, because we’d actually gotten along as kids. Mr. Warren was a fantastic cook, and whenever he made something special, he’d invite me over. Rhys would silently push my favorite dishes closer to me. But we grew to despise each other as teenagers. It happened one day when I was visiting and nearly tripped. He caught me, his arms wrapping around me in an accidental hug. The next second, he recoiled like he’d been burned, shoving me away as if I were radioactive. With a look of pure horror on his face, he stormed into the bathroom and started showering. For a solid hour! When he finally came out, I confronted him, incredulous. “What, do I have some kind of infectious disease?” All Rhys said was, “…Stay away from me from now on.” From that day on, our relationship turned glacial. We barely spoke. So, I moved to walk past him without a word, as usual. But this time, a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. “‘Wrong person?’” A humorless smirk twisted Rhys’s lips. “Who was it meant for?”

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The designer bag in my hands was a perfect replica, a beautiful lie, and a death sentence. My roommate, the queen bee of campus, gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday. I thanked her, and then I immediately engineered a swap for the real one owned by the wealthiest heiress in the country. I could do this because, for me, this wasn’t the first time. I’ve lived this before. In my last life, that fake bag was my undoing. Veronica, my roommate, had somehow linked herself to a “Spending-Split System”—a kind of financial curse. As long as I carried the counterfeit bag she gave me, every single dollar she spent, anywhere in the world, was split evenly between us. She was the daughter of a millionaire, a girl who treated shopping sprees in Paris and Milan like a part-time job. I was a scholarship kid who spent her nights in the library, the fake bag sitting on the floor next to me as I studied. With every swipe of her credit card, the money my parents had scrimped and saved for my future vanished from my account. Eventually, the debt became a tidal wave. It dragged me under, and the loan sharks she was unknowingly connected to made sure I never came up for air. They filled my pockets with stones and threw me in the river. So, this time, I knew the game. Veronica loves splitting the bill, does she? Well, dragging a broke student down with her is small-time. Let’s see how she likes splitting the tab with a billionaire. 1 My fingers tightened around the faux-leather handle of the bag, a flawless imitation of the season’s most coveted luxury satchel. This was my eighteenth birthday. Again. The only people who remembered were Veronica Thorne and her lapdog, Ashley. No, that’s not right. They didn’t remember my birthday. They remembered the day their trap was supposed to be set. Veronica’s arm was linked through mine, her touch a proprietary gesture disguised as friendship. “Happy birthday, Josie,” she cooed, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “This bag is just so you. You have to promise me you’ll wear it every single day.” It sounded like a gift, but it felt like a command. Ashley, ever the hype woman, immediately started her performance. Her voice was loud enough to echo down the dorm hallway. “Oh my god, Ronnie! You are the best friend ever! Josie, do you know how much that costs? That’s like, a five-thousand-dollar bag!” Her tone was a masterclass in exaggerated envy. Thirty percent praise for her queen, seventy percent a spotlight on the chasm between their wealth and my lack of it. I clutched the bag, my knuckles white. The memories washed over me like icy water, a phantom current pulling me under. I saw myself carrying this exact bag, its counterfeit gleam a constant reminder of my own inadequacy. I saw Veronica laughing on a yacht in the Mediterranean, swiping her card for another case of champagne. And I saw myself in the university library, my phone buzzing with one bank notification after another, each one a death knell for my savings. The money my parents left me, my scholarships… all of it siphoned away by that parasitic system until there was nothing left. She lived in luxury while I drowned in debt. The loan sharks, the final, brutal chapter. The cold water closing over my head. My heart seized, a knot of pure terror in my chest, and I had to fight to draw a breath. A chill snaked up my spine, the ghostly embrace of a predator. Veronica, smiling at me, wasn’t my roommate. She was a demon in Dior, a harbinger of a fate I had already suffered. I forced down the bile of hatred rising in my throat. My voice, when I finally found it, was so devoid of emotion it scared even me. “Thanks.” That was all I said. No gushing, no tears of gratitude. Just a single, flat word. The smile on Ashley’s face froze, then curdled into a scowl. “What is wrong with you, Josie?” she snapped, her voice sharp with indignation. “Veronica gets you a gift that costs more than your entire wardrobe, and that’s all you have to say? Have you ever heard of the words ‘thank you’?” Veronica, ever the benevolent martyr, raised a hand to silence her attack dog. “Ash, stop it,” she said, feigning kindness. “She’s probably just in shock. It’s okay, Josie. As long as you love it, that’s all that matters.” Her words were honeyed, but her eyes held a triumphant glint. She was certain she had me. She was sure that the poor little scholarship girl would treasure this fake status symbol, carrying it like a holy relic until it destroyed me. She was already waiting for the punchline. I lowered my head, pretending to admire the bag’s craftsmanship, but really, I was hiding the murder in my eyes. Just then, my phone screen lit up. A news notification. Heiress Seraphina Monroe to Attend Northwood University’s Charity Art Gala as Guest of Honor this Weekend. My heart began to hammer against my ribs like a drumbeat. Seraphina Monroe. The only daughter of the richest man in America. The article featured a photo of her at a recent event. She was wearing a couture gown, and on her arm was a bag. The exact same brand, the same limited-edition model, as the fake one in my hands. The real one. A plan, audacious and terrifying, began to crystallize in my mind. My breath hitched. What was the point of dragging me, a nobody, into the abyss? This time, let’s see how Veronica Thorne enjoys splitting the bill with a true one-percenter. I looked up and offered Veronica a small, hesitant smile. She took it as the gratitude she so desperately craved. I tightened my grip, making a silent vow. This time, I wouldn’t be the one to break. 2 The next day, I brought the bag back to our dorm room. Veronica and Ashley were in the middle of their elaborate makeup rituals, whispering conspiratorially. The moment I walked in, they exchanged a smug, knowing glance. I ignored them and walked over to our third roommate’s desk. Brianna was sweet, but hopelessly obsessed with status, constantly fawning over Veronica’s designer everything in a desperate bid to be accepted into their circle. I casually set the bag down on her textbook. “Brianna,” I said. She looked up, her eyes wide with a gossip-hungry curiosity. “You like this, right?” My voice was even. “You can borrow it for the day.” Brianna’s jaw dropped. She reached for it instantly, her fingers twitching with excitement as if she were about to hold the Holy Grail. But before her hand could even graze the strap, Veronica’s entire demeanor shifted. The sunny facade vanished, replaced by a dark, thunderous scowl. She shot up from her vanity chair, moving with a speed I’d never seen before, and snatched the bag off Brianna’s desk. “This was a gift for Josie,” she said, clutching the bag to her chest as if it were a life raft. “It’s not something you just pass around.” Her voice was glacial. Her over-the-top reaction confirmed everything. The system wasn’t bound to a person. It was bound to the object. She was scared. Terrified that if Brianna carried the bag, the system would activate and her secret would be exposed. Ashley quickly jumped in, her tone dripping with passive aggression. “Seriously, Josie. That’s so tacky. This was a meaningful gift from Veronica. You’re supposed to treasure it.” Veronica hugged the bag tighter, her eyes locking onto mine with a venomous glare. It was a clear warning: don’t screw this up. My heart stuttered, but I kept my face a blank mask and simply lowered my gaze. It was all crystal clear now. I had to act fast. I couldn’t afford to wait. My plan to switch my fake bag with Seraphina Monroe’s real one at the charity gala had to work. I pulled out my phone and went straight to the university website, looking up the event details. I needed a legitimate reason to get close to Seraphina. Without a second’s hesitation, I signed up to be a student volunteer. That afternoon, I got a call. It was Veronica. Her voice was practically singing with smug satisfaction. “Hey, Josie. I heard you signed up to volunteer at the gala,” she began, the sound of magnanimous charity oozing from her words. “I actually pulled a few strings for you. I got you assigned to the main VIP lounge. You’ll just be directing guests. It’s super easy, and you’ll get to see all the important people up close.” I had to stop myself from laughing. She wasn’t helping me; she was fast-tracking her own demise. She wanted me in a high-traffic area, guaranteeing that I’d be carrying her cursed bag all weekend. She wanted the system to start billing me the second the gala began. I pitched my voice to sound overwhelmed, on the verge of tears. “Ronnie… that’s… that’s so nice of you. Thank you.” Then, for the final, gut-wrenching twist of the knife, I added, “I’ll make sure to carry the bag you gave me. I won’t let you down.” The performance was so convincing, I almost believed it myself. Veronica hung up, clearly satisfied, and I could hear her derisive chuckle just before the line went dead. A moment later, a notification lit up my phone’s lock screen. A text from Veronica, clearly meant for Ashley, that I caught just before it disappeared. Can’t wait to watch her go broke by Monday. A peasant like her won’t even know what hit her. My hand balled into a fist, my nails digging into my palm. Rage, pure and hot, churned in my stomach. My legs felt weak. She was still dreaming of my destruction, completely unaware of the hell that was about to break loose. Just then, the dorm room door opened and Veronica walked in. She saw me and strolled over, tapping a perfectly manicured nail on the bag I was holding. “Wear this on Saturday,” she said, her voice a low, menacing purr. “I’ll be checking.” I nodded meekly, my voice catching in a sob. “I will.” As she turned away, a triumphant smirk on her face, the corner of my mouth twisted into a smile that was anything but grateful. 3 On Saturday, the day of the art gala, I walked into the grand hall with the counterfeit bag slung over my shoulder. Just as I expected, Veronica and Ashley were already there, lurking in a corner. Their eyes, like those of twin vipers, were locked on me, tracking my every move. When they saw the bag on my shoulder, they exchanged a look of pure, malicious glee, already imagining my financial ruin. But I was prepared. Before leaving the dorm, I had gone to an ATM and withdrawn every cent from my bank account, leaving only a single, crisp $100 bill in my pocket. My debit card, Venmo, PayPal—all of it was at a zero balance. I had even proactively blocked my own access to any cash advance apps. Veronica’s first test of the system was going to be a spectacular failure. She didn’t wait long. I saw her tapping away on her phone, a sly grin on her face. A few minutes later, an expensive-looking afternoon tea delivery from a five-star hotel arrived at the VIP lounge. It was a test, a probe to see if the spending-split had begun. But for her, there was no satisfying “ding” of a successful transaction. My bank account balance was zero. Veronica’s smile faltered. A frown creased her brow, and her face grew dark. I saw her shoot a questioning text to Ashley. Ashley understood immediately. She “happened” to wander past my station. “Josie, you look exhausted!” she said, her voice loud and performative. “You should go buy yourself a bottle of water or something. Take a break before you burn out!” She was trying to bait me into making a purchase, any purchase, no matter how small. My heart jumped into my throat, but my plan was already in motion. I put a hand to my throat and shook my head, looking flustered. “I’m okay, really,” I mumbled, my voice low and timid. “Besides, I left my phone in my locker. Didn’t want it to be a distraction.” Ashley was momentarily stumped, an annoyed look flashing across her face. Veronica, however, was done with subtlety. She stormed over to me, her patience clearly gone. “I saw you with your phone when you left the dorm!” she seethed. She opened her Venmo app and, right in front of me, sent me $500. Her voice was sharp, an undisguised command. “There. Go buy drinks for all the volunteers,” she ordered. “Now. I’ll cover it.” The $500 was an ultimatum. She was trying to force my hand. My pulse hammered in my ears. With a look of reluctant defeat, I pulled my phone from my pocket. The screen was black. “Oh, no, Ronnie, I’m so sorry,” I said, my voice trembling with manufactured distress. “It must have died. I can’t accept the money.” I turned to another volunteer nearby, my expression pleading. “Hey, could I possibly borrow a hundred dollars in cash? I’ll pay you back as soon as I can charge my phone. It’s to buy water for everyone.” I used the borrowed cash to make the purchase, successfully avoiding any transaction linked to my own accounts. Veronica never got the notification. Her face was a mask of thunderous fury. She stared at me, her eyes filled with suspicion. She knew something was wrong. A wave of triumphant satisfaction washed over me. Carrying the tray of water bottles, I walked into the VIP lounge. Seraphina Monroe was there, engaged in conversation, radiating an aura of effortless power. And there, resting on the plush velvet sofa next to her, was my target. The real bag. This was it. I placed the water on a nearby table and pretended to straighten some pamphlets, my gaze locked on that bag. I had one shot at this. My entire future depended on it. Through the lounge doors, I could see Veronica peering in, her expression growing more furious by the second when she saw I hadn’t used the bag to go shopping. 4 Veronica’s patience finally snapped. With no split-spending notifications to soothe her predatory instincts, she stormed into the VIP lounge, her face a mask of rage poorly concealed by a phony smile. “Josie, you must be exhausted!” she chirped, walking toward me. She said a few more meaningless things, then suddenly “tripped,” her body lurching forward. The full glass of red wine in her hand flew through the air, splashing in a perfect, bloody arc across my chest. “Oh my God, Josie, I am so sorry!” she shrieked, her voice high and piercing. “You’re soaked! Go! There’s a designer boutique next to the gallery. Run over there and buy yourself a new outfit, quickly!” Her panic was entirely theatrical. Her words were a command. “The money’s on me! We can’t have you looking like that in front of these people!” Her plan was transparently desperate. She was going to force a transaction, even if it was just a few hundred dollars on a new shirt, to trigger the system. The force of her “stumble” sent me staggering backward. I let my body fall onto the sofa. Right next to Seraphina Monroe’s handbag. My heart felt like it was going to beat its way out of my chest. My eyes were wide, fixed in a look of horror at my wine-stained shirt. Every eye in the room was on me. It was now or never. As people rushed toward me, clucking with sympathy, my trembling fingers found their purpose. In one swift, fluid motion, hidden by the chaos, I shoved my own fake bag deep into the crevice between the sofa cushions. And my hand closed around the cool, buttery leather of the real one. I held my breath, my entire world narrowing to that single, silent exchange. I scrambled to my feet, clutching Seraphina’s bag. My face was a picture of frantic embarrassment. “O-okay, Veronica,” I stammered, my voice thick with unshed tears. “I’ll go change. I’ll be right back.” Veronica and Ashley exchanged a look of triumphant, venomous glee. They thought they had won. Clutching the real bag, I didn’t go anywhere near the boutique. I ducked into the nearest restroom, locked myself in a stall, and pulled a plain t-shirt I’d hidden in the bag that morning from its depths. After a quick change, I slipped out a service exit, unseen. Back in the lounge, Seraphina Monroe finished her conversation. As she stood to leave, her assistant dutifully retrieved the bag from the sofa—the fake one I had planted—and handed it to her. Seraphina took it without a second glance. “That antique vase from the auction earlier,” she said casually to her assistant. “I’ve decided I want it.” “Go ahead and settle the final payment. It should be around two million.” My heart stopped. The fuse had just been lit. Across the room, Veronica was still fuming that I hadn’t returned with a shopping bag. Her phone buzzed violently in her hand. DING. A text message from her bank appeared on the screen. [CITIBANK ALERT: Your card ending in xxxx has been charged $1,000,000.00.] 5 Veronica stared at her phone, her mind refusing to process the numbers. [CITIBANK ALERT: Card balance is insufficient. Funds have been withdrawn from your linked savings account. Current available balance: $15,350.00.] A million-dollar charge. She couldn’t connect that astronomical sum to me, the pathetic charity case. “A… a million?” A strangled gasp escaped her lips. Her head snapped toward Ashley, her eyes wild with disbelief and fury. “Where is Josie?” Veronica’s voice was a low, dangerous growl. “She was supposed to be changing! What the hell did she buy?” Ashley’s face was chalk-white. “Ronnie, calm down,” she stammered. “It can’t be Josie. She’s broke. Her phone was dead, remember?” Veronica’s eyes were wide with dawning horror, as if she’d been struck by lightning. “It’s impossible,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “My Venmo transfer didn’t even go through. She only had a hundred dollars cash on her!” Her phone buzzed again with a news alert. Headline: Seraphina Monroe Acquires Rare Dynasty Vase at Charity Auction. Ashley’s breath hitched. “Oh my god, Ronnie. That vase is worth two million! Do you think…?” “Shut up!” Veronica screamed, cutting her off. “The bag is with her. The system is linked to her!” She gripped her phone so tightly the screen threatened to crack. But before the shock could even settle, Seraphina had apparently decided to do some light shopping. A blizzard of text messages began to fly in. [CITIBANK ALERT: A shared charge of $150,000.00 has been processed.] [CITIBANK ALERT: A shared charge of $320,000.00 has been processed.] [CITIBANK ALERT: A shared charge of $288,000.00 has been processed.] Veronica clapped a hand over her mouth, a silent scream trapped in her throat. Her account balance was plummeting like a stone. Within minutes, every one of her cards was maxed out, tipping into massive overdrafts. Her phone began ringing incessantly—automated fraud alerts from her bank. Her mind was a maelstrom of white noise and panic. A cold sweat broke out across her forehead, and her knees buckled, sending her crumpling to the floor. “No, no, no,” she whimpered, rocking back and forth. “I didn’t buy anything! I didn’t spend any money!” Then came the call she truly dreaded. Her father. His voice, usually a booming sound of authority, was a furious, confused roar over the line. “Dad, I swear, it wasn’t me!” she sobbed into the phone. “I didn’t spend it!” But her parents, having just received a series of frantic calls from their bank manager about a daughter who had seemingly lost her mind, weren’t listening. With a few furious clicks, they froze every single one of her accounts.

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I was reincarnated as the villain’s mother, the one who dies young. In the book, his father dies in an accident, leaving his mother a vulnerable young woman, alone. The settlement money from his death was a lure for predators. A thief broke in one night, stabbed the mother to death, and stole the money and the child. This thief was a degenerate gambler, a drunk, a waste of a man. The boy’s life with him was a litany of beatings and curses. A system tasked me with saving him, with redeeming his soul. It offered me a selection of roles to play in his life. “I want to be his mother,” I said. The system responded with what felt like a digital screech of confusion. 【???】 I just smiled. “If the goal is redemption, isn’t it better to make sure the suffering never happens in the first place?” This time, he would be a happy kid. This time, he would have a mother. 1 On a day that felt no different from any other, a system calling itself “Redemption & Rehabilitation” locked onto me, insisting I had to save a villain who’d been reborn with the memories of his dark past. 【He will be volatile,】 it warned, its synthesized voice buzzing in my mind. 【He trusts no one. There will be times he will sacrifice you for his own goals, and he will inevitably misunderstand you because of other women. But if you persevere, you will win his heart and achieve a perfect ending.】 I stared at the image it projected into my mind: a young man with eyes like chips of ice and a long, jagged scar that cleaved his face in two. He looked less like a romantic hero and more like a cornered wolf. I had my doubts. 【Now, let’s select your identity,】 the system continued, its tone brightening. 【You could be the sweet girl-next-door, his childhood friend! Or perhaps the beautiful but vicious subordinate who eventually becomes his most trusted ally…】 It paused, puffing up with digital pride. 【Basically, any female role that can get close to him. We can do it all. Pretty impressive, right?】 I nodded slowly. “Okay. In that case, I’ll be his mother.” 【……..】 “Boyfriends are fleeting,” I said. “But a son is forever.” And just like that, I became Alice, the mother of Liam. He was a newborn, just days old. His father had just died in a workplace accident, leaving the original Alice a grieving, vulnerable widow. In the original story, the settlement money was a curse. It drew the attention of a local degenerate named Bucky. One night, he broke in, killed her, took the cash, and snatched the baby. Bucky was a lifelong bachelor and a drunk; he figured he’d raise the kid to take care of him in his old age. This was an era before doorbell cameras and widespread surveillance. The crime was never solved. But Bucky didn’t raise Liam; he brutalized him. The boy grew up with fists and curses, never setting foot in a school. Years later, during a drunken stupor, Bucky let the truth of his parentage slip. Liam killed him, ran away, and clawed his way into the criminal underworld, surviving on pure, unadulterated rage. I looked again at the mental image of the man he would become. That scar on his face, a permanent reminder of Bucky’s cruelty, was a roadmap of his pain. He looked like a wolf, I thought. And the world had given him nothing but reasons to bite. 2 Liam’s father had been an orphan with no living relatives. So, I took the fifty-thousand-dollar settlement check and went home. Back to the small, rural town where I’d grown up. In this day and age, it was a small fortune, enough to make you a target. I arranged for a friend to keep an eye on our small house in the city; it would be there for Liam when he was old enough for better schools. The original Alice was an orphan, too, raised by the generosity of the entire town—a little bit of this neighbor’s pot roast, a little bit of that one’s garden vegetables. It was a place where, while not everyone was a saint, the roots of community ran deep. People looked out for one another. It wasn’t like the anonymous city apartments, where you could die and not be found for days. The townsfolk were shocked when I returned with a baby in my arms. But money talks, and after a donation to the town fund, the mayor, Mr. Henderson, approved a plot of land for me to build on. I paid good wages, bought the best cuts of meat for the community barbecue I threw, and quickly had a crew of volunteers ready to raise a house. While it was being built, I stayed with the Hendersons. Technically, I was still in the delicate postpartum weeks. Mr. Henderson’s wife, a kind, bustling woman everyone called Aunt Carol, took care of me, while their daughter-in-law, Brenda, helped with Liam. Liam was already reborn. His dark, knowing eyes held no emotion, and their stillness was unnerving. But no matter how old his soul was, his body was still an infant’s. His life was a simple loop of eating and sleeping. He had an incredible sense of dignity for a baby; he never cried. Only when he was painfully hungry would he let out a few soft grunts. He also flat-out refused to breastfeed. When Aunt Carol laid him in my arms, he just turned his head away, sticking his tongue out. I was relieved, to be honest. I’d never been a mother, and the whole process felt deeply awkward. I’d bought formula and fortified cereal in the city—luxury items out here. Brenda would mix it for him, patiently feeding him with a tiny spoon. But a baby’s bladder is small. Not long after a feeding, he’d wiggle his legs and grunt. Brenda would change him, patting his little bottom with a smile. “Going to be a stoic one, aren’t you?” she’d coo at him. “So serious, even from the start.” Liam’s tiny hands would flail as if trying to cover his face. Then, two tiny, frustrated sounds escaped his lips, and he reached for me. I smiled and took him into my arms. He stared at me, his gaze intense and curious. “I’m your mom,” I whispered, my voice soft. And this time, you’re going to have a wonderful life. 3 The new house was finished quickly, and with a little help from the system to expedite furniture delivery, Liam and I moved in. His favorite activity quickly became staring at me with those unnervingly intelligent eyes. Whenever he did, I’d swoop in and smother him with kisses and raspberries on his belly, laughing at his indignant little squirms. He’d wave his tiny fists in fury, but the moment a bottle was slipped into his mouth, his anger would melt away, and he’d be fast asleep before he finished it. And just like that, Liam turned three. He was a homebody, but my cooking was becoming locally famous, which meant a steady stream of neighborhood kids showing up at our door. He never lacked for playmates, even if he usually sat among them with a grumpy little frown on his face, earning him the nickname “Little Old Man.” Today, I dressed him up. A little sun hat, bright yellow overalls with a bunch of candies tucked into the pocket, and a small water bottle slung over his shoulder. “Go on, go play with your friends.” Liam, ever the cool customer, clung to my leg and started to climb, his voice a sweet murmur. “No, Mama. Stay.” I knelt down to his level, my voice gentle. “Today is a little warrior’s adventure. I’ll be right here waiting for you when you get back. I promise.” 4 I gently nudged Liam out the door. The system, for all its melodrama, had a useful real-time viewing function. I watched as he stood on the porch for a long moment, a pained expression on his little face. Finally, with a sigh that seemed too big for his body, his little legs started moving. He was heading for the haystacks at the edge of the village, a popular spot for hide-and-seek. I’d taken him there a few times. Several adults saw him on his way and called out. “Hey there, Liam! Where are you off to?” He took two more steps, then stopped and slowly tilted his head back. “Out to play,” he finally replied. They chuckled. “Alright then, have fun! Don’t wander too far!” He hated talking to strangers. Usually, when we were out, he’d bury his face in my shoulder. But I’d told him it was polite to answer when someone spoke to you. He gave a tiny nod, his voice muffled. “Thank you. I know.” The adults ruffled his hair. He shook his head, annoyed, and scurried off, adjusting the little blue hat I’d put on him. It had a little tiger embroidered on the front. He’d once called it “childish,” with all the disdain a three-year-old could muster. But I knew he secretly loved it. I’d catch him tracing the tiger with his finger when he thought I wasn’t looking. It’s why I started embroidering little animals on all his clothes. 5 It took him a while, but he finally reached the haystacks. The moment the other kids saw him, they swarmed. “Liam! You came out to play all by yourself?” “Where’s your mom?” A little girl pointed to the tiny yellow duck on his overalls. “Your clothes are so pretty.” Her voice was full of envy. In those days, new clothes were a rarity for kids; most wore hand-me-downs from older siblings or altered adult clothes. The boys gathered around, pointing at the tiger on his hat. Liam clutched his head and wobbled. “Don’t touch me!” he yelled. “If you touch me, you don’t get any candy.” The word “candy” worked like a magic spell. “Candy! He has candy!” Instantly, they all stood at attention, perfectly still. Liam sighed again, that world-weary sigh, and pointed a chubby finger at them. “You have to sit in a row to get a treat.” They nodded eagerly and sat down. Liam reached into his pocket and started distributing the sweets. One of the kids was so happy he started licking the wrapper after he finished his piece. “Your mom is the best,” he said. “She gives you new clothes and candy. And she cooks the best food. I wish your mom was my mom.” That opened the floodgates. “Yeah, me too! I wish she was my mom!” Another kid puffed out his chest. “She wouldn’t like you, you’re lazy.” “Well, she wouldn’t like you either, you’re too naughty!” Suddenly, Liam’s face clouded over with anger. He lunged forward, trying to snatch the candy back. “She’s my mom!” he yelled, his voice trembling. “She wouldn’t like any of you! Not a single one!” The kids clamped their hands over their mouths, protecting their treasure. Liam glared at them, but it was no use. Defeated, he turned and ran. 6 He didn’t run far. He tired out and squatted by the side of the road, opening his little water bottle for a drink. After a moment’s hesitation, he unwrapped a creamy caramel and popped it in his mouth. His cheeks puffed out immediately. He looked like a little chipmunk. I couldn’t help but smile. Just then, a sparrow landed a few feet in front of him. It tilted its head, fearless. Liam watched it for a moment, then reached into his pocket, pulled out a small cracker, and crumbled it on the ground. The sparrow, with its bright, beady eyes, watched him for another long moment before hopping forward to peck at the crumbs. The system’s voice hummed in my mind. 【Who would believe this was the same ruthless villain from the original story?】 My Liam was soft and pale, even a little chubby compared to the other kids. His hands were dimpled, his face round. A little ball of dough. “Of course,” I sent back. “Beautiful flowers grow in well-tended gardens. It’s only natural.” The system did a digital equivalent of fawning. 【His affection rating for you is already at sixty percent! This is incredible! Normally, a target this difficult would take ten, even twenty years to crack!】 I felt a surge of pride. “It’s also natural for a child to love the person who cares for them every single day.” 【Show-off,】 it grumbled. I ignored it and scooped a cup of flour into a bowl, starting on a batch of butter cookies. On the system’s screen, I saw Liam approaching the large oak tree in our front yard. I quickly wiped my hands and stepped outside, holding a caramel apple I’d made earlier. I tried to limit his sugar, which made treats like this extra special. I stood on the porch in my yellow sundress. The moment he came into view, I called his name. “Liam!” He had been walking, but at the sound of my voice, his little legs started pumping. He broke into a run, a huge, wobbly grin spreading across his face, revealing a few tiny baby teeth. It was the first time I had ever seen him smile with such pure, unadulterated joy. I opened my arms, and he crashed into them. I held him tight. “Did you have a good time today?” I asked, my voice bright. He rubbed his face against my neck, nodding vigorously. “Mmhmm.” I kissed his forehead and set him down, presenting him with the caramel apple. “A reward for my brave little warrior.” Liam’s eyes went wide. He stuck out his tongue and gave the sticky coating a tentative lick, then closed his eyes in bliss. The system zipped around him in frantic, glowing circles. 【The villain has become a little foodie!】 7 After that day, something in Liam seemed to shift. He became a little more outgoing. He still preferred being at home, but when friends came knocking, he was willing to go on adventures with them. The kids, in turn, all puffed out their chests and swore to protect him—a fair trade for the steady supply of snacks I provided. Life fell into a peaceful rhythm, punctuated only by the town gossips trying to set me up with eligible bachelors or speculate on just how much money I really had. Then one day, there was a knock at the door. Given the friendly but sometimes intrusive nature of small-town life, I usually kept the main gate latched. Who could that be? I was halfway to the gate when the system’s voice screeched in my head. 【Host, don’t open it! That’s him! That’s the thief who killed the original Alice!】 My hand froze on the latch. Then, deliberately, I slid it open. “It’s fine,” I thought back. “I know how to handle myself.” 【Oh. Right. I forgot.】 A widow living alone attracts a certain kind of trouble. The peace I enjoyed was largely thanks to the fact that I had, on a few occasions, made it clear that my fists were harder than some of the local troublemakers’ heads. The word had gotten around: the woman who’d moved back was not just wealthy, she was tough. I opened the door. A man in a clean-looking, but cheap, button-down shirt stood there. He’d clearly tried to clean himself up, but he couldn’t scrub away the stale odor of cheap cigarettes and booze that clung to him. I offered a polite smile. “Can I help you?” His eyes darted around the yard, a flicker of greed in them. “Hey there,” he said, forcing a grin. “Name’s Bucky. Been working out of state for a few years, just got back. Heard we had a new face in town, thought I’d come say hi.” I kept my smile in place. “Hello. I’m Alice. And I’m not really new, I grew up here. Just moved back home. I don’t think I remember you, though. Are you from around here?” Bucky laughed, a dry, awkward sound. “Moved here later on. Basically a local now.” Just then, a small voice called out from behind me. “Mama!” 8 I turned to see Liam, awake from his nap, standing in the doorway of the house. I beckoned him over. “Liam, come here. This is a new… uncle. Bucky.” Liam trotted over, his eyes, sharp and focused, locked onto Bucky. His whole body went rigid. He pressed himself against my leg and refused to say a word. Bucky chuckled again, the sound even more strained. He dug into his pocket and pulled out two slightly crushed cookies. “Hey there, kiddo. Ever seen one of these before? Go on, take ’em.” A few years ago, a store-bought cookie would have been a real treat for a kid in this town. But now? Liam was practically sick of them. He used his to feed the sparrows. Even the other children weren’t that easily impressed anymore. Liam looked at Bucky, then at the cookies. He reached out his little hand. Bucky’s face broke into a triumphant smile. But Liam didn’t take the cookies. He smacked them out of Bucky’s hand, sending them flying into the dirt. A flash of raw fury crossed Bucky’s face before he caught himself, plastering on another fake smile. “Ha. Haha. Kid’s got no manners, huh?” My own expression hardened. I scooped Liam up into my arms. “He’s just a child, and he doesn’t like being teased by strangers. If you’ll excuse me.” I shut the door in his face. Through the system’s feed, I saw him scratch his head in frustration, muttering under his breath. “Little brat.” He took a step, glanced at the cookies on the ground as if to retrieve them, then saw my neighbor, Patty, peering over the fence. Cursing, he stomped away. A moment later, Patty was at my door, clutching the dirt-covered cookies. She slipped inside, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Alice, honey, you’ve hit the jackpot! That Bucky’s come back with a fortune, and it looks like he’s got his eyes on you!”

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Chapter 1 So, I just found out that the online boyfriend I flirt with every night—the one who calls me “Baby” and begs for bedtime stories—is actually my boss. The same boss who nitpicks my work during the day with the cold precision of a serial killer. I was in the middle of a department presentation when I realized it. My hand shook so hard I accidentally cut the screen share. My boss, Ethan Blackwood, sat at the head of the table, frowning. He tapped his knuckles on the mahogany surface, clearly unimpressed by my lack of professionalism. Just moments before, I’d accidentally connected to his laptop instead of mine. And there it was, plastered on the giant conference room screen: my cat. Not just any cat picture. A specific, heavily photoshopped glamour shot of my stray rescue, Mittens. I remembered the conversation vividly. [Y-Man]: Baby, do you have any cat pics? [Me]: ?? [Me]: My cat was ugly when I found him, but he’s super cute now! [Y-Man]: Let me see? I spent thirty minutes editing that photo to get the lighting just right. I knew for a fact that only two people in the world had that image: me, and my mysterious online boyfriend, “Y-Man.” Unless he shared it? Right. That had to be it. Calm down, Sarah, I told myself. You’ve been watching too many K-dramas. There’s no way. Ethan Blackwood is the terrifying new VP who parachuted into HQ three months ago. A man with a tongue so sharp it could cut glass. How could he be my clingy, sweet, digital boyfriend? It’s impossible. Those cheesy, sticky, cringe-worthy lines couldn’t possibly come from those thin, cruel lips. My brain went blank. “You have five minutes. Start now or we adjourn. Don’t waste everyone’s time,” a cold, deep voice cut through my panic. “Sorry, starting now,” I mumbled, head down, clicking open my PowerPoint. I didn’t dare look at the man at the head of the table. Chapter 2 “Sarah, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Want to take the afternoon off?” The meeting ended. My team lead, Mark, stayed behind to help me pack up. He noticed my shirt was soaked with sweat and my face was pale. I shook my head. “Just nervous.” “I get it. Presenting to the Big Demon is terrifying. But you did great!” Mark was two years ahead of me in college and my mentor at work. He always looked out for me. “Let’s grab dinner tonight. On me. You need to recharge.” He reached out to pat my head. Normally, I’d never say no to a free meal. But right now… I dodged his hand instinctively. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tall figure pause behind Mark. I winked frantically at Mark. “Uh, Mark, I really need to revise the proposal based on Mr. Blackwood’s feedback. Rain check?” “You gotta eat! You always complain the cafeteria food makes you want to quit,” Mark laughed. The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. “So, it’s the cafeteria’s fault Ms. Jenkins can’t produce a decent proposal?” Ethan Blackwood’s voice was light, teasing, but his eyes were dark pools of judgment. Caught bad-mouthing the company? Mark froze, standing at attention like a soldier. Ethan walked past us, dropping a final command: “Ms. Jenkins, bring the revised proposal directly to my office.” Me: “Yes, sir…” Chapter 3 Back at my desk, my phone was exploding with messages from Y-Man. [Y-Man]: Baby, forecast says rain. Go home early tonight. [Transfer: $500] [Y-Man]: For an Uber. Don’t take the subway. [Y-Man]: I learned a new song on guitar. I’ll play it for you tonight. [Y-Man]: This meeting is so boring. I just want to call you… … [Y-Man]: Baby must be busy. Your boss is a slave driver! Won’t even let you text back. [Y-Man]: Text me when you’re free~ KissKiss~ ( ˘ ³˘)♥ Reading these sweet nothings didn’t give me butterflies. It gave me a heart attack. The more I read, the colder I felt. If Ethan really is my online boyfriend… Your “Baby” is working overtime because of YOU! That “boring meeting” was MY presentation you tore apart! Yes! You ARE a slave driver! I typed, deleted, and retyped: [Are you my boss?] If he is, I’m fired. We talked about everything. If he’s not… well, that’s just embarrassing. I felt defeated. Y-Man and I had been hot and heavy for three months. We planned to meet before the holidays. My chat background was a photo he sent—a close-up of his hand. Long fingers, elegant knuckles, clean nails. It was hand-model quality. As a sucker for nice voices and nice hands, I fell hard. We met on a mobile game. I was solo queuing, matched with a trio of friends and him, the silent jungler. The trio played terribly and blamed the jungler. They were toxic on mic. He said nothing. I couldn’t stand it. I turned on my mic and roasted them. They shut up. After the game, I got a friend request from the jungler. He invited me to duo. I told him I was voice-banned. He typed: Add me on WeChat? We went from gaming buddies to chat buddies. One night I was pulling an all-nighter for work. He stayed on voice call with me, saying he was jet-lagged in Europe. The next morning he asked for my address. Thirty minutes later, a hot gourmet breakfast arrived. My lonely corporate heart melted. We started voice calling every night. He sang to me, told stories, told dad jokes to help me sleep. After three months of ambiguity, I asked to meet. He sent a voice message, sounding like he was crying with joy: [Baby, really? You mean it? No take-backs!] [I promise. I work at Riverside Tower. Let’s grab lunch nearby?] He went silent. Looking back, the vibe was great until I mentioned the location. Riverside Tower is owned by the Blackwood Group. He must have realized I was an employee. So he bailed. If Y-Man is Ethan Blackwood, he’s the heir to a billion-dollar empire. He wouldn’t get serious with a grunt like me. Our chat logs alone could tank the company stock if leaked. I felt a sudden loss. He didn’t want to meet because of who I was. My friend said online dating fails because people are ugly in person. I almost wished he was just ugly. Being rejected for my status hurt more. But wait. Ethan doesn’t know I’m his “Baby.” He just thinks I’m an incompetent employee. He’s in the light. I’m in the dark. This could be fun. I picked up my phone. Revenge time. [Me]: Hubby, I can’t voice chat tonight. My evil boss is making us redo the proposal overnight. Five minutes later, a notification popped up in the work group chat: [Proposal deadline extended by 24 hours.] [Me]: Hubby, the cafeteria food is slop. Too much work, too little pay. Maybe I should quit! At lunch, the cafeteria announced a menu upgrade—free of charge. That afternoon, Mark ran in, beaming. “Bonus pool doubled this month!” I sat there eating my premium lunch, calculating my new bonus, feeling like a genius. Until I heard office gossip. A coworker’s friend broke up with her boyfriend, and he sent her an itemized spreadsheet of every dime he spent on her. Rent, travel, even gaming skins. He demanded repayment or he wouldn’t break up. A chill ran down my spine. I had milked “Hubby” for a lot of perks lately. I needed to cut the cord before we met. I asked Y-Man one last time if we could meet. He used the “busy with work” excuse again. Perfect. I sent the draft I had prepared: [Hubby, you won’t see me. I can’t hug you, I can’t kiss you. Let’s break up.] Block. Delete. Chapter 4 After the breakup, my sleep quality tanked. No one to sing me lullabies. I had nightmares. In the dream, the secretary dragged me to the CEO’s office. Heavy doors. Darkness. “If I let you hug me… and kiss me… will you stay?” a voice sobbed in the dark. … But I didn’t have time for feelings. The project deadline was looming. The whole team was running on caffeine and desperation. The only upside was passing out from exhaustion the second my head hit the pillow. Finally, the proposal was perfect. Even God couldn’t find a typo. I marched to the 36th floor. The beautiful secretary, Lisa, stopped me. “Mr. Blackwood isn’t in.” He didn’t come in the next day either. Or the third. I started to worry. Was he hurt? I unblocked Y-Man. Immediately, a location pin popped up. And three words: [I miss you.] It was a bar in the city center. Famous for expensive drinks and rich clientele. At the same time, Lisa texted me the exact same address. [Lisa]: Word is Little Boss has been drinking there every night. If you need him urgently, try your luck. I grabbed my laptop and headed to the bar. It wasn’t a loud club; it was a quiet, upscale lounge. Ethan had the VIP booth to himself. He was slumped on the sofa, surrounded by empty bottles. He was drunk. His eyes were misty, cheeks flushed, corners of his eyes red. His shirt was unbuttoned, revealing… well, let’s just say the reality was better than the photos Y-Man sent. He was clutching something tightly to his chest. A phone? I tiptoed over. “Mr. Blackwood?” He lifted heavy eyelids. Suddenly, he grabbed my hand. His gaze sharpened… then fell to the laptop in my other arm. Disappointment washed over his face. He let go. “Did Lisa send you?” I stared at him blankly. Playing dumb is a survival skill. He didn’t press it. He looked down at his drink. “Leave the proposal. I’ll read it.” Dismissed. At least he’s alive. I turned to leave. “Wait,” he said. “On your way in… did you see a girl? About your age?” “It’s a bar, sir. Lots of young people.” He toyed with his phone, the light in his eyes dying out. “Right. Go home.” “Yes, sir. See you tomorrow~” I ran for it. Behind me, I thought I heard a low sob.

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