Category: English

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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After we got back together, I changed. I fixed all the “bad habits” Alex hated. No more constant check-in texts, no more irrational jealousy, no more picking fights over stupid things. I even found a tube of lipstick in the passenger seat—one that wasn’t mine—and I just quietly tucked it into the glove compartment for him. But instead of being pleased, Alex’s face darkened, and he slammed on the brakes. 1 Alex’s features were sharp and defined, projecting the kind of intimidating pressure that came naturally to powerful men. But right now, he was pinching the bridge of his nose, looking exhausted. “That lipstick belongs to Renee,” he said. “The work dinner last night went late. She drank too much covering for me, and she couldn’t drive, so I gave her a ride home.” He looked at me, forcing himself to give an explanation, something he usually considered beneath him. “I’ve told you a million times, I only put up with her because her father is my mentor. I have to look out for her.” His gaze was intense. “Past, present, and future—there is nothing between us.” When I didn’t respond, a crack appeared in his usually composed expression, revealing a flicker of something I’d never seen on his face before: helplessness. “What do I have to do for you to believe me?” I looked at him calmly. “I do believe you. I’m not mad.” It was like punching a pillow. Alex’s face went blank for a second. “…Then why have you been silent this whole ride?” I glanced at my watch, my mind on getting to the airport. “You used to say you hated pointless chatter,” I said, offering a weak excuse. “I’m going to be late for work. Maybe you can just drop me at this corner?” My attention was on the traffic, and I completely missed the way his expression soured. “You always get out at the next light,” he said, his voice flat. “The office is still over a mile from here.” I hadn’t thought of that. I was forced to meet his scrutinizing gaze. “If you’re not going to the office, where are you going?” Just as the suspicion in his eyes started to deepen… Ring—! The custom ringtone. It was Renee. Alex’s sharp gaze softened, his eyes darting away guiltily. “It’s a work call. I have to take it.” All his suspicion about me vanished. He unlocked the doors. “You can get out here, then.” I nodded and quickly unbuckled my seatbelt, but he stopped me. “Don’t be so clumsy. Watch where you’re going.” His voice lowered, taking on a gentler, more placating tone. “I made a reservation at that restaurant you wanted to try.” He looked at me, his expression softening. “I promised you I would never miss another anniversary.” “Happy seven years, Chloe.” “I’ll see you tonight.” My hand froze on the door handle. On our last anniversary, he’d stood me up for Renee. The memory, which had once felt like a knife in my gut, now barely registered. “You should get that,” I said softly, my voice even. “Don’t keep her waiting.” After all, Renee couldn’t wait. And neither could my flight. As for our anniversary—this year, next year, and every year after—I’d be missing it. 2 I made it onto the plane just before they closed the gate. After I found my seat, a wave of dizziness washed over me. I hadn’t had time for breakfast. I automatically reached into my coat pocket and, sure enough, found three small pieces of chocolate. Ever since I fainted from low blood sugar years ago, Alex had made it a habit to slip a few pieces of chocolate into my pocket every morning. The sweetness melted on my tongue, and the dizziness faded. But it was quickly replaced by a familiar, lingering bitterness. Seven years together. How did we end up here? At first, I really believed him when he said Renee was just the daughter of a family friend, someone he was forced to hire as a favor. I told myself that’s why he had to be so “professional” with me at the office while giving her special treatment. My department head gave me hell for months, and Alex did nothing. But when that same manager spoke to Renee in a slightly harsh tone, he was fired the next day. The office gossip was brutal. Behind my back, they didn’t call me Alex’s secret girlfriend. They called Renee the “boss’s girl.” I forced myself to believe his excuses. But the “special treatment” started bleeding into our life at home. He’d cancel our plans over and over again because of a call from her. The breaking point came one night when I saw a photo in a group chat with some coworkers. Alex, who had told me he was working late, was at a midnight movie screening with Renee. It was the same movie I had begged him to see with me, the one he’d dismissed without a second thought. “Babe, everyone’s saying you have to see Forever with the person you love most! Let’s go!” I’d pleaded, playfully tugging on his sleeve. He hadn’t even looked up from his laptop. “Watching a cheesy rom-com like that is a waste of a life.” But in the photo, he looked charming, smiling, not a hint of boredom on his face. The messages in the chat flew by, a blur in front of my tear-filled eyes. When he got home, I asked, my voice devoid of emotion, “How was Forever?” A flicker of surprise, or maybe guilt, crossed his face. Or maybe I imagined it. A second later, his expression was unreadable. “Were you following me?” My chest felt tight, like a wet, heavy towel was wrapped around my heart, squeezing the air out. “Do I need to?” I shot back, my voice trembling. “Pictures of you two are all over the office group chat!” My voice rose, shaking with a rage I couldn’t contain. “Alex, if you want to break up, just say it! You don’t have to lie to me like this!” His expression didn’t change. He was as calm as if we were discussing the weather. “If you don’t have the basic decency to trust me, then there’s nothing more to say. Chloe, I’ve had a long day. I don’t have the energy to fight with you.” No apology. No explanation. Compared to my messy, emotional state, he was the picture of composure. He even carefully placed a small paper bag he was holding onto the counter. The two words printed on the bag—Forever Chocolates—were like shards of ice piercing my heart. All the emotions I’d been suppressing—the hurt, the jealousy, the humiliation—crashed over me in a tidal wave, and my sanity finally snapped. I snatched the bag and threw it on the floor. The top wasn’t sealed, and its contents scattered across the tile with a series of soft thuds. I didn’t look. I just stared at him, my eyes burning. It was a standoff. After a long, silent moment, he turned and slammed the door behind him. I stood there, frozen, like a statue. It wasn’t until something small and round rolled to a stop at my feet that I finally looked down. It was a piece of chocolate. The floor was covered in them. Dozens of handmade, artisan chocolates. 3 My anger faded, leaving only a hollow ache. I still wanted to talk to him, to fix this. But for three days, he didn’t answer my calls. He didn’t come home. I swallowed my pride and sent him a text. I shouldn’t have lost my temper without talking to you first. But you did lie about working late. Tonight is our sixth anniversary. I’ll be waiting for you at home. Can we please just talk? I waited all day. The sun went down. The hours ticked by. He never came. At eleven, I gave up waiting and decided to go to his office. On my way, I ran into my old department head, the one Alex had fired. He was drunk. He grabbed me, dragging me into a dark alley. “So, you think you’re hot stuff, huh? Can’t touch the boss’s girl, but I can sure as hell touch you.” My frantic calls to Alex went straight to voicemail. My screams for help were swallowed by the night. If a passerby hadn’t heard the struggle and scared him off, I would have been more than just bruised and terrified. When my phone finally rang, I screamed, a raw, primal sound of fear. Seeing Alex’s name on the screen, the dam of composure I’d been holding back all night finally broke. I was about to sob his name into the phone, a wave of relief washing over me— “Hello?” It was Renee’s voice. Soft, sweet, and laced with triumph. “Alex is in the shower,” she purred. “I saw you’ve been calling a lot. Who is this? Is it important?” It felt like someone had shoved a hot coal down my throat. The pain was so intense I wanted to claw out my own vocal cords. Hanging up the phone felt like lifting a thousand-pound weight. I limped, battered and broken, to the nearest police station to file a report. When it was all over, my phone’s clock read 12:01 AM. Our anniversary was officially over. That’s when Alex finally called. His voice was cold, condescending. “Learned your lesson?” And in that moment, I understood. He had done it on purpose. All those unanswered calls on our anniversary… it was my punishment for not trusting him. Tears streamed down my swollen face, stinging like acid on open wounds. My voice came out as a ragged, broken whisper. “Alex,” I said. “Let’s break up.” There was a single beat of silence on the other end. Then, a cold laugh. “Fine. Don’t come crawling back.” He hung up. Just like that. No hesitation. No regret. 4 At first, I just couldn’t sleep. I’d lie awake for hours, replaying every moment of our relationship, terrified I had made a mistake, that I had judged him too harshly. I’d scroll through our old text messages, searching for clues, for proof. But the more I looked, the angrier I became. I started to hate him. Six years. An entire chapter of my life. I hated him for throwing it all away so easily, for treating me like I was disposable. At 4 AM one morning, I deleted him from everything. I got out of bed and, in a fit of rage, gathered all of his belongings, stuffed them into trash bags, and hurled them into the dumpster behind my building. I thought I would feel better, relieved. But it was like squashing a mosquito that had been tormenting me, only to find it was my own blood that splattered on the wall. I went to work, pretending everything was fine. But I could feel the gaping hole in my chest where my heart used to be. It had been rotting for a while, a part of me that was attached to Alex. To save myself, I had to cut it out. But the wound was too big. I was bleeding out. The final blow came when I saw him at a company-wide meeting. He was the same as always—composed, confident, in control. In fact, he looked better than ever. Losing me hadn’t affected him at all. I saw Renee catch his eye from across the room, a faint blush on her cheeks. That night, the insomnia came back with a vengeance. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. Alex wasn’t on social media, so I started obsessively stalking Renee’s accounts, dissecting every post, every caption, for any hidden meaning, any clue about him. It all came to a head when I collapsed at work from low blood sugar and was rushed to the hospital. Alex deigned to visit me. It was the twenty-ninth day since our breakup. He sat by my bed, casually spinning the matching ring we used to wear on his finger. “You’ve lost weight, Chloe.” I stared at him, my eyes vacant. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. A triumphant, self-satisfied smile spread across his face. We got back together. 5 They say it’s better to rip off a band-aid quickly. But for someone like me, someone with no willpower left, that wasn’t an option. The only way out was a slow, quiet withdrawal. I would keep him in my life, but I would slowly, methodically, stop expecting anything from him. It was like boiling my own heart in lukewarm water. The process wouldn’t be painless, but at least the end wouldn’t be a violent shock. At first, pretending to be okay, pretending not to care, still hurt. But Alex seemed pleased with the new me. He’d smile, pat my head like I was a well-behaved pet. “You’re finally growing up, Chloe.” After six months of this self-imposed therapy, it started to work. I really was becoming the person he wanted me to be. He’d stay out all night, and I wouldn’t send a single text. I stopped asking about Renee. And then, one day, I realized it was over. The rotten part of my heart, the part that belonged to him, had finally detached. It fell away without a sound. I stood there for a moment, stunned. Then, I smiled. I immediately sent my resume to a company in France that had tried to recruit me a year earlier. I’d turned them down then, to stay with Alex. They offered me the job. My flight was in two weeks. I didn’t plan on telling him. Our relationship was already an afterthought to him. My leaving would be a non-event. I became more understanding, more accommodating. But as I grew more detached, Alex seemed to grow more agitated. I thought I was imagining it. I came home late from work one night, and as I was about to get in the shower, he stopped me. He looked at me, his eyes narrowed. “Is there anything you want to talk to me about?” I yawned, genuinely confused. “No? Why?” “Nothing,” he said, his voice flat. “Go ahead.” But something was definitely wrong. Later that night, in bed, his touch was harder, more demanding than it had been in months. He held me from behind, his hot breath on my neck. His whispers were soft, but his movements were rough, almost punishing. “Renee has been giving you a hard time at work, making you work late. Why didn’t you tell me?” he murmured. My stomach cramped. I couldn’t understand what he was so angry about. All I could do was gasp for air and plead with him. “It’s… work. I was being… professional. Like you wanted.” I was remembering the time my old boss, the one who’d assaulted me, had set me up to take the fall for a huge mistake. Alex had publicly humiliated me in front of the entire company. “Even an intern wouldn’t make a mistake this stupid,” he’d said. Later that night, I’d tried to defend myself. “You could have at least let me explain.” “Business is business, Chloe,” he’d said, his face as cold as it had been in the boardroom. “I only look at results. At the office, I’m your boss, not your boyfriend. It’s not my job to protect you.” Two days later, my boss was fired for being rude to Renee. Everyone assumed I would be promoted. But Renee, who hadn’t even finished her probationary period, was given the job. She became my boss. … And now, here I was, finally playing by his rules. Being professional. Not causing drama. And he was angry. He suddenly flipped me over onto my back. The light from the lamp was too bright. I shielded my eyes, a single tear escaping and rolling down my temple. He tried to pull my hand away. I resisted, my voice weak. “What are you doing?” He pried my hand from my face. He stared into my eyes, his own expression intense, almost desperate. “You used to look at me,” he said, his voice raw. I didn’t know what kind of game this was. I just wanted it to be over. I forced myself to meet his gaze. In that instant, a flicker of panic crossed his face. He quickly covered my eyes with his hand, as if he couldn’t bear to look at them anymore. He kissed me, murmuring my name over and over again. “Chloe. Chloe.” 6 The next day, Alex called an emergency meeting and asked Renee for a project update. All the work had been done by me. Renee stammered, unable to answer a single question. “If you can’t even be bothered to understand your own projects,” Alex said, his voice dangerously quiet, “then perhaps you shouldn’t be in this position.” The entire conference room was silent. You could have heard a pin drop. Renee burst into tears and ran out of the room. After the meeting, the office break room was buzzing. “Did you see the look on his face?” “Is the ‘boss’s girl’ finally getting fired?” I was quietly making a cup of instant coffee when someone nudged me. “Chloe, what do you think?” “I have to say, you’re tough,” another coworker chimed in. “I would have cried if Alex had yelled at me like he yelled at you.” I had no interest in their drama. But in an office, silence can be mistaken for betrayal. So I played along. “Hey, I’m just a worker bee,” I said with a laugh. “What do I know? It’s probably just a lovers’ quarrel. You know how it is. It’ll all be fine by tomorrow.” I took a sip of my coffee. “Besides, they look good together. Honestly? I kind of ship it.” As I said the words, I realized the break room had gone completely silent. I looked up. Alex was standing in the doorway, his face like a thundercloud. The pitying looks from my coworkers followed me as I was summoned to his top-floor office. The second the door closed, he was behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist. I jumped. He was always so careful about us being seen together at the office. I was always forced to get out of the car two blocks away. But now, the door was unlocked. Any of his seven assistants could walk in at any moment. “Someone will see us!” I hissed, trying to push him away. He ignored me, turning me around to face him. He searched my eyes again, looking for something I no longer had to give. After a long moment, he dropped his hands. “Chloe,” he said, his voice low. “There’s nothing between me and Renee.” He started to say something else, then stopped. “Forget it. I know you’re still mad. But I’m going to prove it to you. With my actions.” I stared at him, stunned. The commitment I had begged and cried for before was now being handed to me on a silver platter. But my flight was in seven days. And I didn’t want it anymore.

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