Category: English

In my past life, my sister adopted a boy, and I adopted a girl. She wanted a stranglehold on the family fortune and sneered at me, “What’s a pretty face going to do for the family business?” But later, the boy she adopted got into a fight at school that turned fatal, costing her every penny she had. And the girl I adopted was discovered by a director and became a child star, a veritable goldmine. My sister couldn’t stomach it. She goaded her adopted son into murdering me. When I opened my eyes again, we were back at the orphanage. This time, my sister lunged for the girl, scooping her into her arms. “Sweetheart, from now on, I’m your mommy.” I looked at the boy, his head bowed in silence, and smiled as I took his hand. My sister had lived two lives and still hadn’t learned a simple truth: you reap what you sow. 1 My sister Olivia and I were both reborn, finding ourselves back on the day we went to St. Jude’s Home for Children to adopt. Just like last time, the director brought out Leo and Ayla. Leo was covered in scrapes, his face a stoic mask, but his eyes were wary, guarded. Ayla was nervously twisting the hem of her dress, looking small and pitiful. Both were only six years old, yet they lacked the carefree innocence of other children their age. This time, before I could speak, Olivia snatched the girl into a hug. “Sweetheart, from now on, I’m your mommy.” Ayla flinched, instinctively trying to pull away, but she seemed to catch herself, nodding with a look of stunned disbelief. Olivia smiled, satisfied, then shot a disgusted glance at Leo. The memory of the last life must have surfaced, because she frowned. “This one… so much anger in such a little kid.” “It’s just his nature. If he’s like this now, imagine what he’ll be when he grows up…” Leo felt the sting of her malice. He looked like he wanted to argue but couldn’t, so he just lowered his head and bit his lip. “He’ll grow up to be decisive, a real force to be reckoned with,” I said, cutting my sister off as I gently took Leo’s hand. The staff smiled kindly, though their looks toward Olivia were tinged with confusion. As we walked out of the office, I faintly heard them talking behind us. “Didn’t Olivia Sterling specifically ask for a smart, independent boy?” “Why’d she end up taking little Ayla?” “Eh, who cares? The two biggest troublemakers are gone. Makes our lives easier.” “Speaking of which, her sister, Daisy, seems so gentle. That little Leo is going to give her a world of headaches…” Watching Olivia coo over Ayla as she bundled her into the car, I couldn’t help but let out a cold laugh. Did she really think that in our past life, Ayla became “America’s Sweetheart” on pure luck alone? 2 My name is Daisy Sterling. My sister, Olivia, is two years older. Our parents only had the two of us, and both of us were committed to a child-free, career-focused life. After failing to pressure us into marriage, and to ensure the sprawling Sterling empire wouldn’t be left without an heir, our father ordered us each to adopt a child. His meaning was crystal clear: whichever child proved more capable would grant their mother more power and a larger share of the company stock. Even clearer than our father’s intentions was Olivia’s ambition. She had specifically told the orphanage director she wanted a sharp, independent boy—the perfect raw material to mold into a future corporate shark. The director picked Leo only because he was constantly getting into fights, so much so that even the older kids knew not to mess with him. As for Ayla, she was the prettiest girl at St. Jude’s, but also the most timid. She was bullied relentlessly and, at such a young age, was already showing signs of depression and withdrawal. The director, worried the two would cause a major incident and tarnish the orphanage’s reputation, pushed them on us. In our past life, Olivia had taken Leo without a second thought, mocking me. “What’s a pretty face good for? She’s nice to look at, but she can’t even speak up for herself. What do you expect her to accomplish?” She thought she had victory in the bag. What she didn’t expect was that under her permissive parenting, Leo’s aggression festered. Eventually, he bullied a classmate with fatal consequences. At the time, Leo was not yet fourteen and escaped serious legal punishment. But Olivia nearly exhausted her savings on settlements and legal fees to keep him out of juvenile detention. Our father was beyond disappointed. He refused to help financially and revoked Olivia’s inheritance rights on the spot. Meanwhile, under my guidance, Ayla blossomed into a confident, charming young girl. She was discovered by a director for a role in a hit series, which launched her into stardom as “America’s Sweetheart.” When our father prepared to hand the company over to me, a resentful Olivia incited Leo to kill me. “Leo’s a minor,” she’d said. “He won’t do hard time. What’s the difference between one life and two?” “Oh, little sister,” she whispered as I bled out, “if you want to compete with me, you’ll have to wait for the next life.” “And by the way, thanks for leaving me such a profitable little daughter.” I didn’t hear the rest. Stabbed repeatedly, I died right in front of her. Now, reborn, she wore the same smug look on her face. “Well, well, little sister. Looks like there really is a next life.” “The tables have turned. This time, it’s my turn to sit back and enjoy the good life.” “You can have the little murderer. Now you get a taste of what I went through.” “He’s a real handful, you know.” 3 She wasn’t wrong. On his very first day of school, trouble found him. When I went to pick him up, I saw him pinning another boy to the ground, raining down punches. By the time a teacher pulled him off, the other boy was a mess of bruises and tears. Leo had a few cuts on his own hands and face. He stood stubbornly to the side, ignoring the scolding adults, saying nothing. An apology was out of the question. The other boy’s parents arrived, furious. If the police officer hadn’t been there, the father looked ready to beat Leo himself. I quickly pulled Leo behind me, bowing and apologizing profusely. “Sorry? Is that all?” the father roared. “How about I beat you up and then just say sorry?” “Like mother, like son. What kind of trash raises a little bastard who dares to touch my boy!” “Where’s the principal? A student like this needs to be expelled, now!” His voice echoed across the schoolyard, drawing a crowd. Olivia was there to pick up Ayla. Seeing the scene, she looked as if she’d been waiting for this all day, a smirk playing on her lips. “My, my, what a vicious little monster. Doesn’t seem like a child at all…” she stage-whispered. “And on the first day, too. Well, you’re in for a rough ride.” With that, she turned away, pulling Ayla with her. “Come on, sweetie, Mommy’s taking you shopping for pretty dresses.” “Homework? What homework! You’re going to be a star…” “Don’t look back. Why are you staring at that little hooligan?” I ignored Olivia and handed my business card to the angry father, promising to cover all medical expenses and offer financial compensation. The police officer, seeing my cooperative attitude, helped mediate. Perhaps the Sterling name still carried some weight. After glancing at the card, the father’s expression, while still hostile, lost some of its edge. He grudgingly accepted the wire transfer and stormed off, still muttering insults under his breath. I pretended not to hear and led Leo to the car, wanting to avoid any more drama. He remained silent, his head down. I didn’t press him. It wasn’t until he noticed we were driving in the direction of the orphanage that a flicker of panic crossed his face. He shot a furtive glance at me, his mouth opening and closing as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. 4 I pulled over at an urgent care clinic and had his cuts treated. “We’re running late. The housekeeper’s dinner is probably cold by now.” “What do you feel like eating? My treat.” I looked at the small bandage on his forehead and smiled. “You earned yourself a battle wound today. We need to refuel.” Leo stared at me. “I… I caused so much trouble. Aren’t you going to punish me?” He paused, then glanced nervously toward the intersection again, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I thought… I thought you were taking me back.” “No one sends their son back to the orphanage. Don’t be silly,” I said gently. “As for what happened today, I’m sure you had your reasons.” “You can tell me if you want, or you can keep it to yourself. It’s over and done with.” Leo looked up, a flicker of light in his dark eyes. “He was bullying my deskmate,” he mumbled. “And he told me to mind my own business, so… I hit him.” “I know it was wrong… From now on, I’ll try…” I smiled and finished his sentence for him. “From now on, you’ll make sure to protect yourself first, my little hero, my brave boy.” A real smile, bright and genuine, finally broke through his tough exterior. He touched the bandage on his head, embarrassed. “Okay.” I couldn’t help but remember the last life. Olivia hadn’t bothered to ask Leo why he fought. She’d just thrown money at the other parents and threatened them with the Sterling family name. Back home, she had praised him. “That’s my boy! Making a name for yourself on the first day.” “That’s the spirit. Anyone messes with you, you let your fists do the talking. The Sterlings will clean up any mess you make.” “You’re the future heir to this family. That little girl Daisy adopted? She doesn’t stand a chance.” “Your grandfather loves a man with a killer instinct.” Young Leo didn’t understand what a “killer instinct” was. All he knew was that he’d hit someone and been rewarded for it. Perhaps that was the moment the first seed of evil was planted in his heart. This life, I would never let it bloom. 5 Leo was, indeed, incredibly smart and a diligent student. Ayla had been the same way in our past life. But this time, under Olivia’s care, Ayla barely had time for school. Olivia claimed that studying was useless. Ayla was destined to be a star. Why waste time on books when she could be building her brand? So she enrolled Ayla in an endless series of lessons. Piano, dance, vocals, modeling… Every day, Olivia pulled Ayla out of school early to shuttle her from one class to another. Her wardrobe became shockingly mature for an elementary schooler. Ayla’s teachers called for meetings several times, but Olivia arrogantly ignored them. I happened to witness one of these confrontations. “My daughter is going to be in show business. Could you please stop wasting her time?” Olivia said, her voice dripping with condescension. “We’re not doing the homework, and we don’t care about test scores.” “Look, Ms. Davison, have you said your piece? One of her piano lessons costs a few hundred dollars. Are you going to reimburse me for the time you’re wasting?” Olivia was a brick wall. Ayla’s homeroom teacher eventually gave up. Freed from any oversight, Olivia grew bolder, often making Ayla skip school for modeling gigs and fashion shows, all while building up her social media presence to cultivate a following. Soon, Ayla started booking commercials for children’s clothing brands and began earning money. Olivia was ecstatic. But I was consumed with worry. This was the child I had poured my heart into for eight years in a past life. Even if she wasn’t my daughter this time, the affection remained. Ayla was so young, her worldview still fragile. Under Olivia’s influence, there was no telling what kind of person she would become. But Olivia and I lived separately, and I rarely got a chance to see Ayla. At a family dinner, Olivia couldn’t stop bragging to our father about Ayla’s follower count and how much she earned per ad. I couldn’t stand it any longer and tried to gently intervene. “She’s still so young. There’s no rush to make money. It’s more important to focus on her studies for now, and then later…” Olivia cut me off with a cold laugh before I could finish. “Oh, listen to you. Sour grapes, much? You’re just jealous my daughter is so successful!” “Is it because your son is busy getting into fights every other day that you can’t stand to see my daughter thriving?” “Instead of worrying about our Ayla, you should keep a closer eye on your own son. Wouldn’t want him to actually kill someone this time!” Since adopting Ayla, Olivia had been so obsessed with creating a “star” that she paid no attention to Leo. She had no idea that the little troublemaker from our past life was transforming into a responsible, considerate, and honorable young man under my care. And Ayla… “Ayla, you really should keep up with your studies…” I couldn’t help myself, patting her shoulder as they were leaving. “Leave me alone!” Ayla violently shrugged off my hand and shoved me. Her face was set in a defiant pout I’d never seen before. Just then, Olivia emerged from the other room and saw the exchange. She shot me a triumphant, venomous look and lowered her voice. “Daisy, don’t you forget, that little murderer is your son now.” “Stay away from my Ayla. She doesn’t want anything to do with you.” I lowered my eyes, my face impassive. After Olivia and Ayla left, I went back to my room. Clutched in my palm was a small, folded piece of paper Ayla had pressed into it when she shoved me. “Mom, don’t worry.” The four words, written in the delicate script she had practiced for eight years in our past life, hit me like a lightning bolt. I stood frozen in place. Ayla… she was reborn, too.

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Julian Thorne is the crown prince of Manhattan, and he is a certified psycho. He is also obsessively in love with me. On our wedding day, my sister, Chloe, showed up in her own wedding gown to crash it. She screamed that she was a “Protagonist” and that if she didn’t marry my fiancé, she would die. Julian, without blinking, just said, “Then die.” His security team dragged her to the rooftop of the hotel. She looked down once and fainted clean away. 1 Julian Thorne is New York royalty—reckless, ruthless, and completely ungovernable. And for one year, he was my quiet, secret boyfriend. The “secret” part was my idea. Julian hated it, but I always managed to put him off, saying the relationship was “too new” or “not stable enough.” On our first anniversary, I came home from a shoot, and Julian suddenly presented me with a stack of binders. “Elara,” he said, “these are my companies, my properties, my cars, my private equity holdings…” He had so many assets it was absurd. He even owned a few small islands. It took him over thirty minutes to list everything. Goddamn capital. My eyes were burning with the sheer, blinding injustice of it all. “Julian, what is this?” “Elara, we’ve been dating for a year. We’re stable. Marry me. When you do, I’m transferring everything into your name.” With that, he got on one knee and produced a ring. I finally understood. This was a proposal. The theme of this proposal, to summarize, was: “What’s mine is yours, and what’s yours is still yours.” This kind of deal doesn’t just happen. I didn’t trust it. “You’re just saying that.” “No,” he said, his face dead serious. “You won’t go public because you don’t feel secure. They say men turn bad when they get rich. If I give you all my money, you won’t have to worry about me turning bad.” “That’s not a guarantee.” My sister, Chloe, has a thing for taking what’s mine. In high school, in college… anytime a guy showed interest in me, Chloe would appear. And just like that, those guys would only have eyes for her. It proved that a man’s loyalty has nothing to do with his bank account. This was the real reason I’d kept Julian a secret. I was terrified that if I brought him to a family dinner, he’d be instantly, magically charmed by Chloe. I’d finally found someone who chose me. I wanted it to last. “If I ever cheat on you,” Julian said, his voice flat, “you have my full permission to confiscate my… assets.” “Confiscate your… assets?” He coughed. “Castrate me.” I was drinking water. I choked, sputtering and coughing. He rubbed my back, all concern. “Slow down.” His deep-set eyes were full of genuine worry. I ended up saying yes. A man who was willing to bet his family jewels on his own fidelity… how could I not trust him? I mean, it definitely wasn’t about the billions of dollars. Absolutely not. Ugh, this box of deeds is surprisingly heavy. 2 The first thing Julian did after I said yes was post on Instagram. A picture of the ring. The caption: Mine. I thought that would be the end of it. I was wrong. He started posting three times a day, more reliably than he ate. 【Wife is at work. Miss her.】 【Three days until I see my wife.】 【Woke up to this. #blessed #nofilter】 The captions were so sappy I couldn’t even read them. He’s Julian Thorne. The comments section was just a sea of fawning “omg goals.” I was embarrassed. He was defensive. “I’m making up for a year of lost time.” I texted back: 【Whatever makes you happy.】 Because of Julian’s reputation, everyone in his circle knows not to leak his personal life to the press. So, despite his non-stop posting, not a word of it hit Page Six. He didn’t stop at Instagram. He gave his entire company a three-day paid holiday. His employees were ecstatic. The company-wide Slack channel blew up. “Thank you, Julian’s girlfriend!” “Julian’s girlfriend is a national hero.” “May Julian and his girlfriend live long and prosper.” “A happy CEO is a blessing upon us all.” When I still hadn’t told my family, Julian cornered me. “Elara. Is it me? Am I not handsome enough? Not rich enough? Or… am I not good enough?” As the heir to the Thorne empire, his status was untouchable. His face was better than 90% of the actors I worked with. As for “not good enough”… I shot him a look and rubbed my lower back. He had the nerve to ask. “I just want to tell my family in person,” I said. “Before we make a public announcement.” “In person?” He blinked, and then a slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. “You’re taking me home? I didn’t realize you were this serious about me.” He’d misunderstood. I wasn’t taking him home to introduce him. I was taking him home to test him. If he, like all the others, took one look at Chloe and was instantly bewitched, then this relationship didn’t need to be announced. It needed to be terminated. But if he passed… if he could withstand her… then it was real. The monthly family dinner was on the 15th. 3 We’d just stepped inside the front door when I heard voices from the living room. “Chloe, honey, you’re saying your sister slept with an investor? And then she had the nerve to steal your role?” It was my mother. Chloe’s voice was a pathetic little sob. “Yes. The director promised me the part. He said it was mine. Then, right before signing, he said a new, massive investor came on board… and that he and Elara were… involved. The investor made him give her the part.” That was not what happened. The director and writer had approached me from the beginning. They said they’d written the script with me in mind. The day before I was supposed to sign, my sister heard about the film, met with the director, and suddenly, he changed his mind. He told me Chloe just “had the right energy.” If she was right for the role, I wouldn’t have cared. But the character was a cold, cynical detective. My sister has the face of a cartoon chipmunk. Chloe just has this… magic. She makes people adore her, makes them want to give her whatever she wants. And the thing she wants most… is whatever I have. I should have been used to it. But it still hurt. I’d been in a funk for days. Julian, seeing me upset, found out why. To “cheer me up,” he invested an obscene amount of money in the film on the non-negotiable condition that I was cast. I learned that day that my sister’s magic charm was no match for a nine-figure check. She was furious. So she ran straight to our parents. My mother’s voice was sharp. “How did I raise such a shameless, disgusting thing? We gave her everything, and she repays us by becoming some investor’s whore? And to do it to her own sister!” “Mom, Dad, don’t be mad at her,” Chloe said, her voice dripping with fake concern. “She’s just… lost. This industry is so toxic. If you just talk to her, I’m sure she’ll see the error of her ways.” My father sighed. “Chloe, if only your sister were half as decent as you.” My mother snarled. “I regret the day she was born.” Julian’s face went dark. His entire posture shifted, radiating a cold fury. I was… calm. I’d seen this show a hundred times. It was always my fault. I was always the one who had to apologize, to give my things to Chloe. I’d stopped being sad about it years ago. I’d given up on them. Julian started to step forward, and I squeezed his hand. Wait. I needed him to see this. To see my sister for what she really was. Maybe then, he wouldn’t fall for her. A moment later, the housekeeper saw us. “Oh, Ms. Elara, you’re here!” My parents hadn’t seen Julian, who was slightly hidden by a large plant. My mother stormed over. “Elara! You have the nerve to show your face? We don’t have a daughter who sells her body! Get out!” She pointed a finger at me. “But before you go, you will call that director, give the role back to your sister, and apologize.” I kept my voice level. “I’m not sleeping with anyone. That investor is my boyfriend. And the movie was written for me.” “Sister, I heard you’ve been ‘dating’ for over a year,” Chloe said sweetly. “If he’s really your boyfriend, why haven’t you ever brought him home? The director was clearly just making an excuse for you.” My mother was even angrier. “You ungrateful brat! Chloe is defending you, and you’re still lying! You break up with that sugar daddy now, or you are no daughter of mine!” Julian had heard enough. He stepped out from behind the plant, his voice like ice. “Who, exactly, are you telling her to break up with? She doesn’t have a sugar daddy. I’m her boyfriend.” “Sister… this is your… boyfriend?” Chloe’s eyes locked onto Julian. I saw a flicker in them. A bright, hungry spark. She was interested. 4 Julian Thorne is a big deal. Even my social-climbing parents knew who he was. “You’re… Julian Thorne?” my father stammered. Julian gave a curt, cold nod. My parents’ entire world revolved around climbing a ladder that Julian’s family had built. They looked from me to Julian, and their faces instantly melted into grotesque, fawning smiles. My mother grabbed my arm, her grip suddenly affectionate. “Elara, darling! Why didn’t you tell us you were dating someone so… wonderful?” Chloe composed herself and glided over to Julian, tilting her head to show off the line of her neck. “Mr. Thorne, hello. I’m Chloe, Elara’s sister.” Her voice was soft, harmless, and impossibly sweet. Julian said nothing. He just… stared at her. For a solid ten seconds. Chloe’s lips curved in a tiny, satisfied smile. Here it is, I thought. She was thinking, Elara, you lose again. I glanced at Julian. I was strangely calm. I’d prepared for this. I’d brought him here for this. If he was this easy to steal, he wasn’t really mine. Better to know now. I have my career. I don’t need a man. Still… it stung. I thought he was different. I started to pull my hand from his, but he gripped it tighter. What happened next, I was not prepared for. “Mr. Thorne?” Julian sneered. “Is ‘brother-in-law’ too complicated for you? Don’t be so familiar. We’re not friends.” Chloe’s smile froze. In her entire life, I don’t think a single male had ever spoken to her like that. My heart, which had been sinking, slowly started to rise. He… he was different. Chloe tried to pivot, her voice turning wounded, flirty. “Julian… brother-in-law… I just thought it was friendlier. Why are you being so mean?” Julian laughed, a cold, sharp sound. “And how should I be? ‘Oh, Chloe, thank you so much for slandering my fiancée, you must be exhausted, please have a seat’?” Chloe’s face went from white to red. She’d never been humiliated like this. She immediately went to her signature move: she looked down, her eyes filling with tears, her shoulders trembling. The “I’m just a poor, fragile girl” routine. “I… I’m so sorry, sister. The director… he implied… I just misunderstood…” I sighed. Even now, she was trying to throw the director under the bus. Julian had already told the director exactly who he was. The director wouldn’t dare slander me. Chloe knew my parents would believe any lie she told. Julian watched her “fragile” act, and his eyes just got colder. Chloe was stunned. This wasn’t working. Why wasn’t it working? The air was thick. My mother finally jumped in. “It’s Chloe’s fault, yes, but she didn’t mean any harm! Elara, don’t be mad at her. She was just worried about you!” “Sister, please forgive me?” Chloe looked at me, her eyes brimming, as if I’d be a monster to say no. Oh, she wants to play. I put on my best “heartbroken” expression. “It’s okay, Chloe. I’m… I’m used to it.” Julian’s aura turned arctic. “A hell of a way to show ‘concern’,” he snapped. “You hear a rumor from a stranger and you immediately, viciously, attack your own daughter? Do you even see Elara as family?” He had shattered the thin veneer of our “happy family.” My parents looked horrified. My father, especially, had been dreaming of an alliance with the Thornes. Finally, my grandmother, the only person in this house who ever loved me, came down the stairs. “Elara, you’re here! And this must be your young man! My, what a handsome couple. Why are you all standing at the door? Come in, come in!” Julian, seeing the genuine love in her eyes, relaxed. I nodded at him. “Let’s go in.” “Okay.” He held my hand and led me inside. I could feel Chloe’s jealous, hateful glare burning into my back. This was not over.

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1 A notification pinged from the parents’ group chat for my daughter’s elementary school. The teacher, Ms. Albright, had posted a photo and tagged me. “Mr. Green, Sophia was attacked by another student. You need to come to the school immediately!” I clicked open the image. My daughter’s face was a mess of bruises, her clothes torn to shreds. My blood ran cold. “Who did this?” I typed, my fingers trembling with rage. A contact saved as ‘Leo’s Dad’ replied with blatant arrogance. “I told my son to do it.” Then, he posted two more pictures. The first was a wedding photo of him and my wife, Claire. The second was a family portrait: me, my daughter, and Claire. “You shameless leech,” he wrote. “You think you can steal my wife and raise your bastard daughter on my dime? I should have had my son beat the little mongrel to death!” The group chat erupted. A flood of messages poured in, all of them condemning me and my daughter. I floored it, racing toward the school while firing off a text to my company’s legal department. “Draft the divorce papers. Enforce the pre-nup. Claire leaves with nothing.” “And one more thing,” I added. “My daughter was assaulted at her school. Get a team over there now. I want them to pay.” To think she’d use my money to support her lover and his son. She’s got some nerve. When I pulled up to the elementary school, I saw him immediately: Leo’s dad, Ethan, standing by the gate. A circle of other parents from our class surrounded him, fawning over him. “Ethan, you’re so modest! If it weren’t for this, we’d never have known the Apex Group was your family’s company.” “Exactly! I knew there was something different about you. It’s the natural confidence of the truly wealthy!” “We’re here to support you today. We’re decent people. We can’t let some low-life home-wrecker bully you.” “Right! What good can come from a freeloader’s genes? Leo is a true credit to the Apex Group. He’s already doing a public service at his age! A real chip off the old block!” Even Sophia’s teacher, Ms. Albright, was bowing and scraping before him. “Mr. Hayes, I had no idea your wife was the CEO of the Apex Group. I almost blamed Leo for this… You have my deepest apologies. Rest assured, I will handle this to your complete satisfaction.” Ethan puffed out his chest like a proud rooster, basking in the praise. After Claire and I married, she told me she wanted to build a career of her own. I funded a luxury boutique for her, then a beauty salon, a yoga studio… one after another, they all failed. But each failure only fueled her ambition. When the shops went under, she declared she wanted to be an entrepreneur, a CEO. So I handed her the reins to the Apex Group, the smallest of my corporations. I never imagined it would become the source of this man’s pride and the reason for this sycophantic display. The moment the parents saw me, their fawning smiles vanished, replaced by glares of pure disgust, as if I were something vile they’d scraped off their shoe. Ms. Albright marched straight up to me, her face a cold mask. “Mr. Green, the principal has asked me to inform you that, effective immediately, Sophia is expelled.” I stared at her, my voice dangerously low. “My daughter was beaten in your school, and instead of finding her justice, you’re expelling her?” She scoffed. “This is an elite academy. Every child who studies here comes from a family of wealth and influence. To allow an illegitimate child like Sophia to remain would only tarnish our reputation!” My expression darkened. “I suggest you do your homework before you start throwing around words like ‘illegitimate’.” Before she could respond, Ethan stepped in front of me and a fist slammed into my face. “You think a kept man, a home-wrecker, has the right to stand here and talk tough to me?” he snarled. “Did you really think having a bastard daughter would give you a claim on my family’s fortune?” The blow stunned me for a second. The other parents seized the opportunity to hurl insults. “Look at him, all dressed up, but he’s just a parasite. Couldn’t you find a better way to make a living than latching onto a rich woman?” “Some guys look so clean-cut, but deep down, they’re just scum. The second they see a wealthy woman, they’re ready to get on their knees.” “Men like him are a disgrace. His kid deserves even worse!” A crowd had started to gather, drawn by the commotion. People were pointing, whispering. Some pulled out their phones, recording, while others spat in my direction. I took off my jacket—a custom piece worth a small fortune—and tossed it into a nearby trash can. Then I faced Ethan. “First, you incite your son to attack my daughter. Now, you assault me. Do you have no fear of the law?” Ethan sneered, his arrogance boundless. “The law? The only one who should be punished here is a low-life leech like you! I’m serving justice. What’s there to be afraid of? You only seduced my wife because you knew she was the CEO of the Apex Group. But I am her husband! I could beat you and your bastard daughter to a pulp, and she wouldn’t even bat an eye!” The other parents chimed in. “If you hadn’t wrecked their marriage, would any of this have happened? You brought this on yourself.” “A kept man like you should know his place. When you see the real husband, you’re supposed to tuck your tail between your legs, not provoke him. You’re lucky all you got was a punch.” “He’s probably addicted to seducing women. Look at him, playing the victim. Who does he think he’s fooling? We’re not as naive as the women he preys on!” Even the onlookers were shouting insults, each crueler than the last. Their support only fueled Ethan’s rage. He pointed a trembling finger at my car parked by the curb. “You animal! Spending my wife’s money without a second thought, huh? A Rolls-Royce? Is a freeloader like you worthy of driving this car?” He spat on the ground. “I despise home-wreckers more than anything in this world. They all deserve to die!” With that, he pulled out a key and dragged it viciously across the glossy black paint, carving a single word into the door. LEECH. My eyes narrowed at the ugly scratch. “You’re going to realize very soon,” I said, my voice ice, “just how ironic that word is.” My calm defiance sent him over the edge. “You bastard! You live off my wife’s money and you still have the gall to act high and mighty? I’m going to make you spit out every penny you’ve scammed from her!” He snatched a loose brick from the edge of the sidewalk and began smashing my car with frenzied rage. The headlights shattered, the windshield spiderwebbed, the hood crumpled under the repeated blows. Inspired, the other parents grabbed whatever they could find—rocks, branches—and joined the demolition. After breaking the windows, they climbed inside, slashing the leather seats and destroying the interior. In moments, my pristine luxury car was a mangled wreck. I watched the mob, my gaze hardening. “I hope you all find this just as satisfying when the bill comes.” No one paid me any mind. Suddenly, one of the parents pried open the trunk. “Hey, look at this! He’s got a bunch of fancy stuff in here!” Ethan strode over and pulled out a rolled-up canvas. “A leech who lives by kissing up to a woman dares to play the part of a refined art collector? How pathetic.” A warning bell went off in my head. “Be careful,” I said, my tone sharp. “Everything in there is worth far more than the car. That painting especially. I wouldn’t touch it if I were you.” I had just come from an auction. Ms. Albright’s message had arrived before I’d even had a chance to drop off my new acquisitions. Ethan sneered. “For a piece of art to be in the hands of a low-life animal like you is a desecration,” he declared. “Trash like you only deserves trash!” And with a savage rip, he tore the ancient canvas in two. Not satisfied, he threw the pieces to the ground and stomped on them with his muddy shoes. An onlooker who knew something about art gasped. “Was that… was that a genuine Rembrandt? I heard one of those went for over a hundred million at auction!” Ethan was unfazed. “A hundred million? So what? It was all bought with my wife’s money! And my wife’s money is my money. What’s wrong with me destroying my own property?” The sheer stupidity of his statement left me speechless. Claire was a spendthrift who bled money. Her failed businesses were one thing, but since taking over the Apex Group, her mismanagement had nearly halved the company’s market value. If she weren’t my wife, I would have fired her long ago. Yet here were these fools, worshipping her as some brilliant CEO. With Ethan setting the example, the other parents descended on the trunk like vultures, tearing, smashing, and destroying everything inside. It’s no use reasoning with fools bent on their own destruction. Right now, my only concern was my daughter. Ignoring the frenzy, I turned and walked toward the school entrance. The principal stepped out, blocking my path. His face was twisted in contempt. “Do you really think a parasite like you is worthy of setting foot in our school?” “I want to see my daughter,” I said, my voice flat and cold. He snorted. “Your daughter has been expelled. A teacher will bring her out shortly.” Just as he spoke, the school gates opened and Sophia was thrown out, her and her backpack tumbling onto the pavement. She landed hard, the air knocked out of her, and burst into terrified sobs. I rushed forward and swept her into my arms, my eyes blazing as I turned back to the principal. “Is this how your school treats its students?” He looked at me with utter disdain. “A freeloader’s bastard child? She’s not a student here. We were simply disposing of a piece of social garbage. Is there a problem?” The other parents applauded. “Well said, Principal! Fair and just, straight to the point!” “Exactly. This is an elite academy, not a place for any riff-raff to sneak into.” One of them turned to me, a cruel smirk on her face. “Does a home-wrecker’s daughter even need an education? Just teach her how to sell her body and seduce men. That’s how you make a living, right? Maybe she’ll be even better at it than you and land an even richer target!” Ethan was practically glowing with triumph. “See that? This is the fate of a kept man. You and your bastard daughter are destined to live at the bottom of society, despised by everyone!” The air was thick with insults, the crowd jeering and taunting. The more they vilified me, the wider Ethan’s smile grew. The principal seized the moment to curry favor. “Mr. Hayes, if my handling of this situation meets your approval, I was hoping you might do us a small favor. As you know, we’re planning to expand, but the surrounding land is owned by the Apex Group. Perhaps you could…” Ethan crossed his arms, looking down his nose at the world. “Don’t worry. I was very pleased with your performance today. I’ll have a word with my wife. She’ll gift the land to the school.” The principal beamed. “Thank you, Mr. Hayes! Thank you!” This set off another wave of sycophancy. “Ethan, my husband has done business with Apex Group before. Perhaps you could give our bids preferential consideration in the future?” “My company is looking to pivot. I would be honored to explore a partnership with Apex.” “Mr. Hayes, please, take this. It’s an unlimited gift card for my family’s department store. A small token, in the hopes that our families can become closer…” They swarmed him, showering him with praise and gifts, some even stuffing credit cards into his pockets. Ethan savored every moment, his arrogance swelling. He swaggered over to me. “You see this?” he gloated. “This is the power of money and influence. A low-life like you will spend his entire life serving women, waiting for them to toss you scraps. Meanwhile, I, her true husband, enjoy a status you can only dream of.” He leaned in closer, his voice a venomous whisper. “You have twenty-four hours. Take your little mongrel and get the hell out of this city. If I ever see you near my wife again, I’ll bury that little bastard of yours alive.” At his words, Sophia burrowed deeper into my arms, trembling. “Daddy,” she whimpered, “I’m scared… It hurts…” Her voice was choked with terror and pain. I looked closer and saw something that made my blood freeze. Peeking from under the torn collar of her shirt were thin, red lines—a dense network of cuts, clearly made by a small blade. The sight of those vicious wounds sent a surge of pure fury through me. My vision went red. I glared at Ethan, my voice shaking with rage. “Did your son do this too?” He glanced over, indifferent. “What’s the big deal? You should be grateful I didn’t have him kill the little mutt.” The moment the words left his mouth, I snapped. My fist connected with his jaw, powered by all the rage and pain coiling in my gut. He staggered back, stunned. Before I could strike again, another parent kicked me from the side. Then they were all on me, a frenzied mob of fists and feet. “You worthless leech! You dare touch Mr. Hayes? You must have a death wish!” “Your little bastard isn’t even dead yet. Are you in such a hurry to join her?” “It’s an honor for that mongrel to be disciplined by young Leo. What good could come from your defective genes? She’d deserve it even if she were beaten to death.” Even the principal landed a vicious kick to my ribs. “Don’t hurt my daddy!” Sophia cried, trying to pull them off me. A chubby little boy—Leo—shoved her hard, sending her sprawling to the ground. The principal saw this and patted Leo on the head with a proud smile. “Excellent work, Leo. Punishing evil and promoting good at such a young age. I’m going to commend you in front of the whole school tomorrow and give you an award!” Leo grinned, his eyes vanishing into slits of flesh. “Hmph. It was my duty. I’ll beat that little bastard every time I see her!” I was pinned to the ground, shaking with helpless fury. “You will all regret this,” I snarled through gritted teeth. They roared with laughter, as if I’d just told the funniest joke in the world. “Did I hear that right? A kept man is making threats?” “Hilarious! This loser actually thinks he’s someone important? Mr. Hayes controls the entire Apex Group. Crushing this guy would be as easy as stepping on an ant.” “He can’t do anything to us, so all he has left is impotent rage. Hahaha!” “How pathetic. If I were him, I’d have thrown myself under a bus by now.” They held me down, their mockery and contempt raining down on me. Onlookers spat and jeered. Ethan, buoyed by his adoring crowd, stepped forward and planted his foot on my face, grinding it into the dirt. “Regret?” he hissed. “I’ve never regretted a thing in my life. I’m waiting. Let’s see how a pathetic loser like you is going to make me regret anything!” Just as the words left his mouth, a fleet of black luxury sedans purred to a stop at the curb, one after another, forming a long, imposing line. Doors opened in perfect unison, and men in sharp, tailored suits stepped out, moving with silent, coordinated purpose…

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I was married for six years, and my stoic, predictable husband suddenly became very, very strange. He started spending an hour getting dressed, two hours at the gym, and three hours in the middle of the workday “coincidentally” bringing me lunch, glaring at any man under 30 who walked past my desk. I had no idea what was wrong with him, until I found his diary. “She didn’t wear her wedding ring to work today. Was it an oversight, or is this the beginning of the end? I can’t think straight. I’m too scared to ask. I’m going insane…” “She liked that intern’s post on Instagram. Is she trying to kill me? It’s his fault. That pretty-boy asshole, posting his stupid gym selfies…” “The man in the mirror is aging. He’s decaying. He’s getting ugly. No. I have to perfect this vessel. It’s the only way she won’t leave me.” “I’m so helpless. I’m five years older than her. I’m not young anymore. My looks will fade, and when they do, her love will, too. This is how it ends…” 1 My marriage to Arthur was, by all accounts, perfect. He was handsome, successful, and treated me with a gentle, respectful courtesy. A model husband. But only I knew how suffocating that perfection was. During my lunch break, my colleague, Sarah, was leaning against the counter in the breakroom, complaining. “I got home at 8 PM,” she vented, “and he was just… pouting. I had to spend an hour apologizing before he’d even talk to me. And now I’m banned from wearing skirts above the knee. Can you believe the nerve?” She turned to me, a sly grin on her face. “Eliza, you’re lucky. Arthur is so buttoned-up in the boardroom. I bet he’s an absolute control freak in private, right? Super possessive?” I just smiled and sipped my tea. The truth, and the bitter irony, was the exact opposite. In six years, Arthur had never been possessive. He was a robot, programmed for politeness. He never asked who I was with, never cared what time I came home, and would probably sooner die than touch my phone. My colleagues always said love requires a little jealousy. That a lack of possession means a lack of love. So, did Arthur… not love me? Was I the only one who had actually fallen? My fingers tightened around the warm mug. It was the chamomile tea Arthur had made for me that morning before he left. He’d silently placed it in my tote bag, then disappeared into the walk-in closet. Lately, he’d been obsessed with his appearance. He was even wearing cologne, a scent he used to hate. A dark, unwelcome thought crept into my mind. On impulse, I opened the security app for our apartment. The living room camera was active. And there was Arthur, on the yoga mat, directly in front of the camera. He was shirtless. His throat worked as he counted reps. The sunlight from the penthouse window hit the sweat on his abs, highlighting every defined muscle. His low-rise joggers were slung dangerously low on his hips, shifting with every crunch. It felt… staged. Like a dangerous, private invitation. My throat went tight. My finger hovered over the “zoom” icon. The screen abruptly went black, replaced by my boss’s face. A video call. The spell shattered. I slammed my laptop shut, my heart hammering. 2 The call was to announce a last-minute team dinner. Annoyed, I reached up to twist my wedding ring… and my finger was bare. I froze. I remembered the night before last. Things had gotten… athletic. I’d been afraid of scratching him, so I’d taken it off. It was still on the nightstand. My colleagues were all texting their partners. I sighed and stepped into the hallway to call Arthur. He picked up on the first ring, his voice low and smooth. “Eliza.” My face warmed. “Hey. I have a work dinner tonight. I might be late.” The line went dead silent. Not even the sound of him breathing. I pulled the phone away from my ear. “Arthur? Are you there?” “I’m here,” he said. His voice was rough, like gravel, and there was a tremor I’d never heard before. “Do you… do you have to go?” I was about to say yes, obviously, when he cut me off, his voice cracking. “Will you… will you be coming home? Tonight? Eliza, are you coming back?” “Of course I am,” I said, completely baffled. “You are?!” His relief was so loud it was almost desperate. He cleared his throat. “I mean, good. That’s good. I’ll wait up. Whatever time you get home… just… as long as you come home. I’ll be here.” I was starting to get worried. “Okay… Can you leave the light on for me?” “Yes,” he said, instantly. “I will.” 3 My boss is a notorious cheapskate. The “team dinner” was at a grimy dive bar with an outdoor patio. By the time I’d wrangled my drunk VP into an Uber, my neck, my ankles, and my hands were covered in itchy, red mosquito bites. It was 10 PM when I finally got home. The apartment was dark. The entry light flickered on, illuminating an empty living room. Arthur wasn’t home. I pulled out my phone to call him, just as the front door opened behind me. Arthur. He was soaked to the bone. Rainwater dripped from his hair onto the marble floor. His perfectly tailored white shirt was plastered to his chest, his suit jacket and tie gone. He wasn’t the composed executive. He looked like a stray dog, lost and broken. We stared at each other. “You’re home,” he said. His voice was flat, dead. “I… yeah. What happened to you? Get inside.” He stepped in, and his eyes scanned my face, my mouth, my neck. When his gaze hit my neck, he froze. I caught a whiff of him. Under the rain and his expensive cologne, there was… cheap beer and fried onions. The smell of the exact dive bar I’d just left. “Arthur, were you… were you there? I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you, I was…” “I don’t want to know!” he snapped, his voice sharp. He wouldn’t look at me. “I mean… no. I wasn’t. I just… went for a walk.” “Okay, well, I should tell you, tonight…” His jaw tensed. “Stop. I’m… I’m tired. I’m going to take a shower.” He practically ran, slamming the bathroom door. 4 I stood in the living room, confused. Over the sound of the shower, I heard it. A small, choked sound. He was crying. “Arthur?” I knocked. “Are you okay? I heard… are you crying?” A long pause. The water shut off. “You misheard,” he said, his voice flat. “I’m fine.” I gave up and curled up on the sofa. When he came out, he was wrapped in a robe. He went to his dresser and started… getting dressed. He was meticulously choosing a tie. “You have an early meeting?” I mumbled, “It’s Friday night.” His hands froze on the silk tie. His knuckles were white. “This one… it’s a little dated, don’t you think?” I said, trying to make conversation. “We should get you some new ones.” He didn’t speak. His hands dropped. The tie fell to the floor. “Dated,” he whispered, so quietly I almost didn’t hear it. “Is it… is it just the tie?” “What?” I sat up, and the scent of him hit me. He turned around. His eyes were red-rimmed. His lip was trembling. And he was wearing… oh my god. He was wearing the ridiculous, black lace-trimmed silk boxers I’d bought him as a gag gift our first year of marriage. He’d been horrified. He’d sworn he’d burned them. And now… he was wearing them. I couldn’t help it. My breath hitched. “Wow,” I said, my face burning. “You, uh… you’ve still got it, old man.” His face crumpled. “Old?” “No, I just meant…” I stood up, reaching for him. “It’s late. Why don’t we…” He flinched away from my hand like I’d burned him. “I… I have work to do,” he stammered, his voice thick. “In the study. You go to bed.”

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I was an hour deep into a late-night webcomic binge, blush-reading a scene I definitely wouldn’t want anyone to see over my shoulder, when I hit the last panel. And instead of “Next Episode,” it just said: On indefinite hiatus. I felt a primal scream build in my chest. No. No. He couldn’t stop there. Not when the male lead was finally about to trick the heroine into confessing! I was desperate. I scrambled to the author’s DMs. Me: Bawk bawk! Please, author-nim, just a few crumbs? We’re starving out here! Just pretend you’re feeding the chickens! Bawk bawk! To my shock, he actually replied. Author (Handle: “Chickadee”): I’m so sorry. The comic’s inspiration came from my wife. But she’s been so cold to me lately. She keeps talking about this other man… telling me to “know my place.” I’m terrified she’s going to leave me. I’m so depressed I can’t even pick up my pen. Oh. Oh. This was… juicy. But more importantly, it was a problem. My problem. I needed that update. Time to work some magic. Me: That’s rough. But you know, it just so happens I’m a certified relationship coach. I’m amazing at this stuff. Why don’t you send me your number? We can text, I’ll give you a few pointers. Pro-bono, of course. He sent his number instantly, thanking me like I’d just saved his life. I punched the digits into my phone. And my contacts list helpfully pulled up an existing entry: Julian. …Julian. My husband. My fake, cold, “let’s-keep-our-distance-and-never-interfere-in-each-other’s-lives” husband. The man I married three months ago in a panic to get my mother to stop trying to set me up with her dentist’s weird son. That Julian. Which means… I’m the cold wife. And… wait, what “other man”? Oh, god. He must mean my new boss, Mark, the one I’d been complaining about nonstop. This was a disaster. But… my webcomic… That night, I knocked on his bedroom door (on the opposite side of the apartment). He opened it, looking startled. He was already in his pajamas. I put on my best damsel-in-distress face. “It’s… it’s kinda cold tonight. My room is freezing. Could you maybe… come warm up my bed for me?” The normally stoic man stared, and the tips of his ears turned a fascinating, brilliant shade of red. 1 I got home from work, exhausted. The smell of garlic and soy hit me as I opened the door. Julian was in the kitchen, his back to me, untying an apron. Wide shoulders, narrow waist… not half-bad. I quickly looked away and made a beeline for my room. The food smelled incredible, but it wasn’t for me. Our agreement was clear: we were roommates who shared a marriage certificate. Separate lives. Separate everything. “You’re home late again,” his voice, surprisingly, came from the living room. “Have you eaten?” I stopped. “Just a long day. I was going to order a delivery. Did I bother you?” “No,” he said. He was standing there, looking awkward. “It’s just… I made way too much. If you want some, there’s plenty.” I raised an eyebrow. He immediately backpedaled. “Don’t misread this. I just hate wasting food.” “Got it, got it. We’re not a real couple. I won’t get any ideas.” There were five dishes on the table, including my absolute favorite—spicy kung pao chicken. Since he offered, I wasn’t going to argue. A long, pale-skinned hand reached over and picked up the ladle. “I’ll get you some soup.” “Oh. Thanks.” In three months, this was the first time we’d ever eaten together. And damn, he could cook. I kept my head down, shoveling rice, my mind flashing back to when I’d begged him to marry me. I’d overheard him complaining to a friend about his own family’s marriage pressure. I was desperate. He was… convenient. I hadn’t expected him to be gorgeous. Six-foot-one, sharp nose, and pale skin that seemed to glow. When he’d first looked at me, I’d blushed like a total moron. He’d laid down the law immediately. “We only act like a couple in front of our parents. I’m a programmer, I’m busy, and I’m not interested in marriage. Don’t interfere in my life, and I won’t interfere in yours.” When my lease was up, he’d even let me move into his spare bedroom, rent-free. I’d been so grateful, I spent the first month trying to be nice to him. He misinterpreted it as a crush and got even colder, finally telling me, “Mia, if you cross this line again, our contract is terminated.” I’d apologized profusely. “Got it, Julian! Won’t happen again.” 2 So, I ate this meal in total, anxious silence. Then my phone rang. I scrambled to the balcony to take it. It was Mark, my new boss, asking why my progress report wasn’t in his inbox before the deadline. I went back to the table, my mood ruined. Between my job from hell and my favorite webcomic being dead, life just felt bleak. To my absolute horror, my nose started to sting. I was going to cry. Right here. “Mia? Are you okay?” Julian looked terrified. He shot up, grabbed a box of tissues, and sat in the chair next to me. I sniffled. “Can I… can I vent? You won’t find it annoying?” “Of course not. Go ahead.” He looked a little guilty, probably remembering his “don’t talk to me” rule. I took a deep breath. “It’s that bastard, Mark! He’s awful! He calls me into his office for ‘updates’ ten times a day, and then he texts me after hours. I swear, my entire life is just reporting to him. I told him he should spend more time with his wife, and you know what he said? ‘I’m single.’” I was sobbing now, and I didn’t notice Julian’s expression hardening. “Is he young?” he asked, out of nowhere. I wiped my eyes. “Uh, yeah. Not yet thirty.” “Younger than me?” I froze. Oh, crap. I had no idea how old Julian was. I’d been so nervous at the courthouse I forgot to even look at the license. He saw me hesitating and said, “I’m twenty-six.” “Oh! Then he’s older. He just turned twenty-nine,” I blurted out. I only knew because my work friend Chloe and I had just been gossiping about him. Julian didn’t say anything. The air got weird. “I… I didn’t mean you’re young. I mean, he’s old. And annoying. You’re… you’re great. Age-wise.” I was babbling. I shut up. He looked down, his voice going flat. Back to the cold stranger from day one. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” It was 8:15 PM. “The dishes can wait,” he said. “Goodnight.” “Oh. ‘Night.” I’d screwed it up. I’d made dinner weird. 3 Back in my room, I couldn’t sleep. I just kept staring at the last panel of “Chickadee’s” webcomic. It was so good. The male lead was this perfect, sly, green-tea type, always subtly manipulating the oblivious heroine, and the cliffhanger was him this close to finally getting her to confess. I DMed him again on my main account. Me: Bawk bawk! Just one more page? I’ll give you my firstborn! And he replied. Chickadee: Sorry. I just can’t. My wife… she mentioned that other man again. I’m in agony. My heart throbbed for my comic. This poor, lovesick, secretly-talented man. My brain kicked into gear. I had one year of experience as a volunteer community mediator. I knew how to handle domestic disputes. This guy was a hopeless romantic. He was a project. Me: You know, this app is terrible for giving real advice. I’m actually a certified relationship coach. Add me on this burner number. We’ll get your wife back. He sent his info immediately. 4 I typed the number in. Contact “Julian” already exists. I stared. I searched again. And again. The profile picture: a fluffy white Samoyed. Julian’s profile picture. No. My stoic, boring, programmer husband… was “Chickadee”? The author of the spiciest, sweetest romance comic on the internet? And I was his “cold, cruel wife” who was “leaving him for another man”? I wanted to die. But I really wanted that update. I created a new burner account and sent him a message.

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My husband could see everyone’s death countdown. The day he found out, he immediately told me that I only had two years left to live. To ensure I left this world with no regrets, he quit his high six-figure job to take me on a trip around the world. I didn’t believe him at first. Not until my father became the first person to die exactly as he’d predicted. When I died the following year in a bungee jumping accident, I finally understood. He hadn’t been lying. When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn. And this time, it seemed I had the same ability to see the countdowns. But as I stared at the number floating above my own head, indicating eighty years of life remaining, I fell into a deep, cold confusion. If I was supposed to live for eighty years… why did I die in the second? 1 “Honey, please just let me spend these last two years with you, okay?” “You’ve always wanted to travel the world, haven’t you? We could leave tomorrow.” My husband, Adrian, gazed at me, his face a mask of profound love, his eyes hiding a deep, unspeakable sorrow. I opened my mouth to answer, but my gaze was snagged by a string of red numbers floating above his head. Time Remaining: 2 years. I froze, a knot of confusion tightening in my gut. How could that be? In my past life, he had lived to be a hundred before dying of old age. His soft murmurs faded into a dull buzz in my ears. I shot up from the sofa and bolted to the bathroom. In the mirror, I saw my own countdown: a staggering eighty years. But in my previous life, I only lived for two. What was going on? And why did Adrian tell me I only had two years left? Seeing my strange behavior, Adrian followed me into the bathroom, his voice a soothing balm. “Sienna, is it that you don’t believe me?” “But Dad’s death… it proved I was right, didn’t it?” “I know it’s hard to accept, but this day was always coming.” I took a deep breath, pushing down the swirling vortex of questions in my mind, and forced a shaky smile. “No, I believe you.” I paused, then asked again, my voice trembling with feigned uncertainty. “Is it true? I really only have two years?” A flicker of something—guilt? triumph?—darted across his eyes before it was gone, replaced by a look of solemn conviction. “Of course, Sienna. I would never lie to you.” I masked the cold dread in my own eyes and asked casually, “What about you? How long do you have?” He didn’t even hesitate. “Three years.” The answer hit me like a physical blow. He was lying. As if sensing my doubt, he added with a pained smile, “Heaven must not want you to be lonely down there. It’s arranged for me to settle your affairs and then come join you.” They were the exact same words he’d used in my past life. The difference was, this time, I knew they were a lie. Back then, I had believed him without question. But now, it was clear that the man I slept next to every night was not the sincere, loving husband he appeared to be. And there was one question that I had to answer, a question that screamed in my mind. Why, if I had eighty years, did I die in two? And why, if he only had two, did he live for so many decades? The endless questions made my head spin. After I managed a weak “Okay,” Adrian immediately got on the phone to finalize his resignation. The moment he hung up, he began planning our trip. In no time, he had our first destination. “Sienna, how about we go surfing first? You’ve always wanted to go to Tahiti, right?” I frowned. I hadn’t thought about it in my past life, but it was strange. Adrian had always been so frugal, so meticulous with our finances. A trip to Tahiti would cost a fortune. Noticing my silence, he elaborated, “You used to talk about it all the time. It’s expensive, but it doesn’t matter. I just want you to be happy in the time you have left.” The words felt like ash in my mouth. They reeked of hypocrisy. Our combined income was well into the high six-figures. Aside from helping our parents, we had very few expenses. Over the years, we’d saved a small fortune, thanks in large part to his penny-pinching. I’d mentioned Tahiti countless times, and every single time, he’d shut it down. Now that I was “dying,” he was suddenly generous. I couldn’t tell if it was guilt or a sudden pang of conscience. The next day, he booked the tickets, and we were off. The moment we landed, he was practically dragging me to the beach. His behavior was bizarrely urgent. I pulled my hand from his grip, my annoyance showing. “What’s the rush? We just got here. Can’t we rest for a minute?” He wasn’t this desperate in my past life. It was strange. Deeply, unsettlingly strange. He blinked, then put on a wounded expression. “Sienna, it’s not that I’m rushing. It’s just… this tide is a once-in-a-century event. The waves are perfect. You love a thrill, don’t you?” He glanced at me, then quickly added, “But if you don’t want to go now, that’s fine. We can go another day.” I hesitated for a moment, then agreed. I needed to see what game he was playing. We dumped our luggage at the hotel and headed straight for the surf break. The waves were massive, powerful enough to swallow a person whole. It was already dusk, and the beach was mostly empty. The water was bone-chillingly cold. Without another word, Adrian grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the water, his eagerness palpable. His behavior was beyond strange, but I went along with it, determined to find out why. Yet, as we surfed, nothing unusual happened. I started to wonder if I had misjudged him. Was this all in my head? As I was lost in thought, Adrian paddled over. No small talk. He got right to the point. “Sienna, we’ve had our fun with the surfing. How about we leave tomorrow?” “You mentioned wanting to go bungee jumping, didn’t you? We could head out in the morning. I can book the flights to Switzerland right now.” I said nothing. Adrian was rushing, moving so fast I couldn’t get a read on his motives. This was completely different from my last life. I took a breath and met his gaze, my voice casual. “But we just got here. Are we really leaving after only one night?” He seemed to finally realize how frantic he was acting. After a brief pause, he quickly changed his tune, sidestepping my question entirely. “You’re right. We should stay a couple more days. We’re already here, after all. I’ll go down and extend our reservation.” With that, he practically fled the room. I was exhausted from the long day and had no energy left for guessing games. I collapsed onto the bed. I woke up the next day around noon. He was gone. As I got up to splash some water on my face, I glanced in the mirror and my blood ran cold. The number above my head had changed. An entire year was gone. My mind flashed back to the day before, to his desperate rush to get me into the water. A monstrous, unbelievable thought began to form in my mind. He was swapping our lives. To test my theory, I frantically grabbed my phone and called him. It rang and rang. On the fifth call, he finally picked up, his breathing slow and even. But before I could say a word, he hung up. A second later, the hotel room door opened. It was Adrian. My eyes immediately locked on the numbers above his head. They had changed to three. It was exactly as I’d suspected. So, Adrian Monroe, that’s why you were so generous. That’s why you brought me to Tahiti. It was all a goddamn trap. He stood in the doorway, holding up his phone, his face a mask of concern. He was panting, as if he’d run all the way back. A strange, acrid smell clung to him, like ash and dust. “Sienna, why did you call so many times? Is something wrong?” “I was just downstairs. I thought something had happened to you, so I ran back.” I realized my panic had almost given me away. I couldn’t let him know I was onto him. I forced down my fury and put on a fake smile. “It’s nothing. I just wanted to ask where we’re going next.” He eyed me with suspicion. “Really? You called me five times just to ask that?” His questioning grated on my nerves. My voice was sharp when I replied. “What else would it be?” That seemed to satisfy him. He let out a relieved laugh and came over, ruffling my hair. “Okay, okay, I was just asking. The next stop I planned was bungee jumping in Switzerland. Since you’re so eager to know, how about we leave tomorrow?” I scoffed internally. He was the one who was eager. This had nothing to do with me. He wanted to go so badly because he wanted my life. “Fine,” I said, my voice flat. “Book the tickets.” I agreed easily. But I wasn’t going to be his sacrifice again. I wasn’t going bungee jumping. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to Switzerland. The next morning at the airport, I used the excuse of having left my ID at the hotel to turn back. Adrian immediately grabbed my arm, insisting on coming with me. But I wasn’t about to let him. I wrenched my arm free and took a step back. “Don’t come with me. You get on this flight. I’ll just buy a ticket for the next one.” “The change fees for two people would be ridiculous. I’ll be right back. The next flight isn’t that much later.” To make my act convincing, I even pulled out my phone and scrolled through the flight schedules. Adrian, not wanting to let his golden goose out of his sight, hesitated. I didn’t give him a chance to argue. “We’ve already spent a fortune on this trip. We need to save where we can. I’ll be on a flight by tomorrow at the latest.” Before he could protest further, I grabbed my suitcase and walked away. I had never lied to him before, so he believed me. He didn’t follow. He sent me a text: “I’ll be waiting for you in Switzerland.” I didn’t reply. That same day, he flew to Switzerland. I flew back home. The next day, I casually texted him that I wasn’t really in the mood for Switzerland anymore and had gone home. As expected, my phone was immediately flooded with his furious calls. I gave him a few dismissive answers, then put my phone on silent and went to sleep. But when I woke up the next morning, another year of my life was gone. What was happening? I didn’t go with him. How was my lifespan still decreasing? At that moment, a text from Adrian came through. “I expect an explanation.” My head was spinning. I couldn’t figure out why I was still losing time. A little while later, the front door slammed open. Adrian stood there, radiating a cold fury. The same burnt, ashy smell clung to his clothes, just like in Tahiti. As I stared at him, he stared at me. The number above his head had indeed increased by a year. But how? The more I thought about it, the more confusing it became. What was I missing? “Sienna. Your explanation? We were supposed to go to Switzerland together.” He cut through my thoughts, his eyes sharp and probing. “Oh, that,” I said, sticking to my original excuse. “I just didn’t feel like it. There’s no big reason.” I looked him straight in the eye. “But you seem awfully desperate for me to go. Is there something special about it? What happens if I don’t go?” He was silent for a moment, realizing he’d been too aggressive. His expression softened, returning to its usual gentle warmth. “You’re right. Nothing happens if you don’t go. I was just being impatient.” His words were a double-edged sword, and I understood his meaning instantly. Nothing happens if I don’t go… which meant my lifespan would decrease even if I just stayed home. Was there really no way to stop it?

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After adding my campus crush on social, I spent every day sending him the thirstiest, most unhinged messages imaginable. “I can’t sleep because I’m not sleeping with you.” “Life isn’t crushing me, but I wish you were.” “Six feet apart? Nah, I want zero distance. Skin on skin.” Then, one day, I overheard someone ask him about it. “What did you do about that girl who keeps harassing you?” “Oh, her? I pawned her off on Liam. Let him deal with it.” Liam. His roommate. The cold, sarcastic, impossible-to-read Liam. I turned around, right as Liam walked past me, his face completely expressionless. I smirked, pulled out my phone, and hit send on my latest masterpiece: “Gold is great, silver is fine, but nothing beats feeling your chest muscles.” Hey, a chase is a chase. If this guy doesn’t want me, I’ll just take the upgrade. 1 My crush, Carter, sprained his ankle playing basketball. Naturally, I rushed to the hospital, planning to surprise him with a get-well visit. Before I could even push the door open, I heard laughter from inside the room. “Dude, that’s brutal. You know Liam’s got a tongue like a razor blade. He’s gonna make her cry.” “Seriously, you gave her Liam’s number? Aren’t you afraid he’ll actually kill you?” Through the crack in the door, I saw Carter, leg in a cast, looking smug. “Liam knows I’m a softie,” Carter said. “Swapping places was actually his idea.” His other roommate leaned forward, excited. “No way. Liam volunteered? Carter, are you for real?” That’s when I noticed the third guy in the room. He was wearing a black hoodie, head down, focused intently on his phone. At the mention of his name, he glanced up lazily, his expression bored. “Yeah.” “So… are you guys still texting?” the roommate asked. Before Liam could answer, Carter rolled his eyes. “Please. He probably blocked her ages ago. Why would Liam waste time on a girl chasing me? Is he sick?” Just as Carter finished speaking, Liam suddenly stood up, walked over to the bed, and snapped a photo of Carter’s cast. “What are you doing?” Carter asked. “RA asked for proof,” Liam deadpanned. Carter didn’t suspect a thing. “Oh, okay.” He went back to chatting. A second later, my phone buzzed in my pocket. “It hurts. I need wifey to kiss it better.” I tapped the notification. The photo on my screen was the exact same angle Liam had just taken. 2 I had added “Carter” two months ago. Or rather, I thought I added Carter. Turns out, I’d been sexting Liam for eight weeks. Back then, I confessed to Carter. He didn’t reject me, but he didn’t say yes either. Just gave me a vague “let’s see later.” I took that as a green light. After getting the number, I unleashed my inner demon. I sent him the most unhinged pick-up lines. And he didn’t hold back. Three days a week, I got ab pics. He knew exactly what buttons to push. We went to different colleges, so we hadn’t met up since the texting started. I never suspected a thing. Until a few days ago. My school was hosting the city-wide basketball league, and I heard Carter’s team was playing. I signed up as a volunteer, excited to finally see “my man.” And now, here I was, standing outside a hospital room, realizing I’d been catfished by the hottest guy on campus. My phone buzzed again. Liam was spamming me. “Guess I can’t see you today, babe.” “Rain check until my leg heals?” “Hello? You mad?” My hands were cold, but my brain was weirdly calm. Whatever. A hot guy is a hot guy. If the chemistry is there, who cares about the name tag? “Yeah, I’m mad.” “I need to see Daddy’s abs to feel better.” Inside the room, Liam seemed to let out a breath he’d been holding. “Be good. I’ll show you tonight.” “No. Now.” I watched through the crack as Liam’s face twisted in a momentary struggle. Then, he stood up, face blank as ever. “Where you going, Liam?” “Bathroom.” Two minutes later, a photo of rock-hard abs popped up on my screen. It was chilly today. If I zoomed in, I could see the goosebumps on his skin. “Happy now, princess?” “It’ll do.” A beat later, he replied: “Next time I see you, I’m going to handle you.” The weekend of the league rolled around. Even though “Carter” was out with an injury, I had committed to volunteering. So, I braved the cold wind and headed to the gym. As soon as I arrived, a group of girls in red volunteer vests were freaking out. “OMG, Liam is here today!” “I thought he wasn’t playing?” “Someone got hurt, so he’s subbing in.” “Bless that injured guy, seriously. We get to see the God of Basketball in action!” I was still wondering who this “God” was when the gym erupted in screams. The team from A-State walked in. I looked up, and my eyes locked straight onto the guy at the end of the line. Liam. The moment he saw me, his lazy, bored eyes sharpened. I pretended not to know him and looked away. Turns out, Liam was a bigger deal than Carter ever was. The whole game was basically The Liam Show. Even his teammates on the bench were whispering. “Liam is playing like a beast today. He’s on fire.” “Who was the one saying he was ‘too lazy’ for this tournament last week? He’s playing like his life depends on it.” On the court, Liam sank another three-pointer. After the shot, his eyes scanned the sidelines, looking for something. Or someone. His teammate leaned over. “Something’s up. Liam is preening like a peacock. You think he’s eyeing a girl?” “No way. My dad will remarry before Liam gets a girlfriend.” The second quarter buzzer sounded. A swarm of people rushed over to hand Liam water. He ignored them all. He walked straight past them, toward his teammates… no, toward me. “You’re a volunteer?” he asked, voice low. “Yeah.” “I’m thirsty. Can you get me a water?” Before I could move, his teammate shoved a bottle forward. “Here, Liam, I got you.” Liam ignored him. He stared at me, waiting. The silence was thick. Finally, I grabbed a bottle and handed it to him. Behind him, I heard his teammate whisper, “Holy sh*t. My dad might actually be getting remarried.” 3 Unsurprisingly, Liam got MVP. During the award ceremony, I snapped a blurry photo of him. And sent it to “Carter.” Me: “This guy goes to your school too?” “Carter”: “Yeah.” “Carter”: “Why?” Me: “Nothing. Just think he’s kinda hot.” “Carter”: “You like that type?” Me: “It’s a vibe.” I paused, then typed out a lie that felt a little too true. Me: “If I met him earlier, I might not be chasing you.” He didn’t reply immediately. I looked up at the podium. Liam looked conflicted. He was biting his lip, staring at his phone screen like it was a bomb defusal manual. Someone called his name, and he snapped out of it. He tapped out a reply. My phone buzzed. “Carter”: “It’s not too late now.” I looked up again. Liam was looking right at me. Our eyes met across the crowded gym. The air crackled. This time, I didn’t look away. I gave him a small, secret smile. Then I typed: “Not too late, but I won’t chase. I have you. That’s enough.” 4 A few days later, I had an interview for a French tutoring gig. Funny enough, “Carter” had set it up. He said it was for a friend’s kid. A teenage boy, apparently well-behaved. The pay was insane, so I took it seriously. Before the interview, “Carter” was blowing up my phone with advice. “Be safe on the way. Don’t worry if you’re late.” “Help yourself to snacks during the lesson. Don’t be shy.” “If you need anything else, just ask. They’ll say yes.” It was weirdly specific. Like he was the one hiring me. I was nervous on the way there, so I brushed it off. But when the door opened, my brain short-circuited. Liam stood there in grey sweatpants and a tee, looking effortlessly good. “We meet again, volunteer.” “You… you’re the parent?” “Is it possible I’m the student?” I blinked. “What?” Who sets up their own tutoring gig through a fake identity? While he went to the kitchen to get water, I texted “Carter.” Me: “The student you referred is Liam?” A pause. “Carter”: “Yeah.” Me: “Why didn’t you tell me?” “Carter”: “You said he was hot. Thought it would be a nice surprise.” Me: “Aren’t you afraid I’ll fall for him?” “Carter”: “I trust you won’t. And if you do, it means I wasn’t good enough. I wouldn’t blame you.” I snorted. This guy. Liam walked back in with a tray of fruit. He looked totally composed, like he hadn’t just sent me a text dripping with fake insecurity. I stood up. “Sorry, there’s been a misunderstanding. I don’t think I can be your tutor.” Liam raised an eyebrow. “Why not?” “I thought I was teaching a teenager…” “I’m nineteen.” Okay, fair point. “That’s not what I meant,” I laughed. “Then what?” “You’re too hot. I’m afraid I won’t be able to control myself.” “That’s a reason?” “A pretty good one.” He looked at me, eyes intense. “What if I said… I don’t mind?” “I mind. You know about me and Carter, right?” At the mention of Carter’s name, Liam’s jaw tightened slightly. “What about him?” “I’m chasing him.” “Right…” Liam took a step closer. He was close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. He lowered his voice, husky and tempting. “What if we just… don’t tell him?”

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I ordered a male escort at a bar. Big chest, tight ass, the whole package. In the VIP room, I eyed his handsome face, feeling a little nervous. “So… uh… you wanna, like, do a little something to relax? I’ve got the good stuff.” His expression shifted slightly. “You have stuff?” I nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! What kind do you like? Strong? Or mild?” He took a deep breath. “Give me the strong stuff.” “You got it.” Five minutes later, I kicked the VIP room door open, excited—only to find a gun pressed against my forehead the next second. The escort stared at me, eyes dark. “Suspected possession of narcotics, caught red-handed. Anything you want to say?” I stood there, clutching my prized bottle of ’82 Lafite, completely dumbfounded. “Ch-cheers?” 1 Silence. The room went dead silent. I stared at the gun. He stared at the wine. We both gritted our teeth in unison. After a solid ten seconds, he hissed through his teeth, “This is your ‘good stuff’?” I looked at him, terrified and wronged. “Of course! It’s an ’82 Lafite! Do you know how much this costs?” His handsome face twisted. “Don’t play dumb! What does wine have to do with ‘strong’ or ‘mild’?” I felt even more wronged. “Officer, have you never had a drink? Alcohol has strength, right? What else has strength?” “Here, try it!” I pushed the bottle toward him. “I’m not lying! Just take a sip, Officer, you’ll see!” “Behave!” He took a deep breath. “I ask, you answer. No nonsense.” I nodded obediently. He stared me down. “Name, occupation, purpose here. Spill it!” I pouted. “Luna Evans. College grad. Came to order a guy for fun… seriously, Officer, I’m just a civilian! Maybe I come to bars a lot, but I’m not a criminal!” “Is that so…” He narrowed his eyes. “Since you’re a regular, do you know if there’s any other substance here besides alcohol? Something strong, abused, and addictive?” I thought for two seconds, then gasped. Actually… there was. 2 Outside, the bar was chaos. I led the “escort”—Officer Leo—carefully through the crowd toward the back. “Where are we going?” He frowned. “Don’t try anything.” “I wouldn’t dare!” The gun pressed against my lower back was very convincing. “Officer, can you stop poking me? I’m scared it’ll go off.” Leo scoffed. “Behave and it won’t.” I shut up and kept walking. We bypassed the dance floor and went deep into the back corridor. At the end, I stopped in front of a black door. “This is it.” Leo’s face was grim. He gestured with his chin. “Open it.” “Okay.” “Wait.” He exhaled. “Forget it. Stand next to me. Since you reported this, I’ll try to keep you safe if things go south.” “Huh?” I scratched my head. “It shouldn’t be… that dangerous, right?” Leo was insistent. “People who deal this stuff are ruthless. They don’t care about human life.” I immediately hid behind him. “You open it.” Leo took a breath. The next second, he kicked the iron door open, gun raised. “Freeze—What the hell is this??” 3 What else could it be? The kitchen! I peeked out from behind him, relieved to see it empty. “See? Not dangerous. Not meal time, so no staff.” Leo turned green. “Are you messing with me?!” “No! I’m not!” I waved my hands frantically. “Officer, you don’t understand! This bar serves food, specifically spicy hot pot! And this hot pot… it’s unreasonably good! Like, if you don’t eat it for a day, you crave it. Two days, you go crazy. Three days, you’re climbing the walls!” “So I suspect they put something in it! Maybe that illegal stuff you mentioned!” My suspicion wasn’t baseless. My friend used to work here part-time and saw the chef adding unknown powder to the broth! I looked at Leo’s face. He looked sick. “Officer… did you order the hot pot too?” “I ordered you—” He closed his eyes, then opened them. “Fine. Search. Let’s see what ‘contraband’ you find.” I rubbed my hands together, eager. I lifted the lid of the nearest chest freezer— And froze. “Well? Find your special ingredient?” Leo sneered. “Tell me, what kind of harmful additive is it?” My hand shook. The lid slammed open, revealing the twisted, frozen human face inside. “Harmful additive… no…” “But there is… a body…” 4 Twenty minutes later, the dark bar was blazing with lights. Police sirens wailed outside. I sat in a booth, wrapped in Leo’s jacket, shaking like a leaf. “You okay?” Leo walked in, lips pressed into a thin line. “Sorry. Didn’t expect that.” I waved a weak hand. He put something on the table. Hot milk tea and pastries. “Sugar helps with shock,” he muttered, rubbing his nose. “Apology for being rash earlier.” I tried to stick the straw in, but my hands were trembling too hard to open the wrapper. Leo sighed, did it for me, and held the cup to my lips. “Drink.” I took a sip. Another officer walked in. “Detective Thorne, you done?” So his name was Leo Thorne. Leo made sure I was holding the cup steady before turning. “What is it?” “Victim ID confirmed. It’s the bar owner.” “Primary crime scene is the kitchen. We found blood residue.” I knew that face in the freezer. Hearing it confirmed made my stomach drop. Leo noticed. “Sick?” I bit my lip. “No. Just… I knew the owner pretty well.” He patted my shoulder. The other officer spoke up. “Ms. Evans, can you elaborate on ‘pretty well’?” Leo frowned. “Meaning?” The officer held up an evidence bag. “We found this red bracelet on the victim. Staff say the last time they saw it, it was on Ms. Evans.” “Ms. Evans, care to explain why your property was on the dead body?” 5 WTF? That old guy stole my bracelet?? Wait. I touched my wrist. “My bracelet is right here!” Leo grabbed my wrist. “Let me see.” Comparing the two, the difference was obvious. “Yours has a gold ingot charm. The victim’s has a peach blossom,” Leo noted. “Significance?” I looked closely. Same braiding style. “I got this at the temple uptown. I prayed for wealth. He probably prayed for love.” “Wait,” I frowned. “The owner has a girlfriend. Long-term. Why would he pray for love?” “Maybe they’re a couple’s set,” Leo suggested. I shook my head. “No, these are wishing bracelets. Once the wish is granted, you take them off.” Leo looked at my wrist again. “So your gold ingot…” I blushed. “Shut up!” Yeah, I hadn’t gotten rich yet. Don’t rub it in. Leo suppressed a smile and told the officer to contact the girlfriend. “Any other clues?” Leo asked. “There’s no camera in the kitchen. The owner was a person of interest in our investigation. His death complicates things.” “Person of interest?” I blinked. “Related to the illegal stuff?” Leo grunted. “Yes. So think. And stop talking about hot pot.” I realized something weird. “The owner was a massive germaphobe.” Leo paused. “And?” “So why die in the kitchen?” I asked. “Why would a germaphobe go into a greasy kitchen?” 6 As far as I knew, the owner never went back there. He stuck to his office or the bar. Leo was stumped too. Driving me home, he was still thinking. “Green light,” I nudged him. He hit the gas. “Still thinking?” I yawned. “Work-life balance, Officer.” He glanced at me. “What are you gonna do at home? Sleep?” “What else? It’s almost dawn.” He poked my side. “Don’t sleep. Stay awake.” “Hey!” I swatted his hand. “Don’t sleep for eight hours after a shock. Bad for the nerves.” “Really?” I blinked. “So what do I do?” I looked him up and down. “Need some stimulation to keep me awake, Officer~” His eyes darkened. “What kind of stimulation?” I looked at his chest. “Obviously—” My phone rang. Mood killer. Leo exhaled slowly. He answered his own phone. His face went serious. He spun the wheel and U-turned. “Where are we going?” He looked at me. “You wanted stimulation? Here it is.” “We got a tip. Someone saw a suspect. The description… sounds a lot like you.”

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1 On maternity leave at home, I was suddenly tagged by a rival starlet on social media:“Clara, I’ve forgiven you for the past! I’m getting married today—honored if you’d witness my happiness!~” While fans praised her kindness, I replied politely: “Sorry, I have a prior commitment, but wish you all the best.” Her fans flooded me with hate: “What commitment? You’ve been jobless for half a year!” “You pushed Amber into the water to steal her role! She’s kind to invite you, yet you act arrogant!” Amber joined the comments: “Let’s drop the past—my husband will protect me now. Clara’d be jealous if she knew who he is!” I snapped back: “Sorry, I don’t care about your husband.” Her fans mocked: “He’s a film industry tycoon! Her career will surpass yours!” “You’re secretly dying of jealousy—ten years in the business and still a nobody!” As abuse worsened, Amber tagged me again, feigning generosity: “Really hope you come—we’re from the same agency. My husband’ll give you supporting roles.” She then DM’d a wedding photo of her and her husband. I froze. It was my stay-at-home husband, Owen. I typed back: “Alright, count on me—I’ll be there with sincere congratulations!” … The second I closed the chat, a message from my husband popped up. “Honey, my new film is about to start shooting, so I have to go abroad for a bit. I made a batch of your favorite dumplings and put them in the freezer. Just boil them when you’re hungry.” “Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon!” Reading Owen’s usual thoughtful message, a sharp pain lanced through my heart. Owen and I had been married for five years. He wasn’t particularly successful—every film he directed was a box office bomb—but he was gentle, kind, and incredibly attentive. Even when we were apart, he always kept me updated and made sure I had everything I needed. I used to think this was true love, a quiet, steady stream. But reality had just slapped me across the face. I packed a bag, and following the wedding location Amber had sent me, I boarded a flight. When I arrived at the hotel, the entrance to the venue was overflowing with congratulatory flower baskets from luxury brands and fans. The banners read, “Congratulations to Mr. Owen, CEO of Crestwood Pictures, on his marriage!” Beside the flowers, Amber, in a custom-made wedding gown, was demurely giving interviews to the media, surrounded by a throng of reporters. “Miss Amber, after marrying Mr. Owen, will you be retiring to focus on your family, or will you continue your acting career?” Before Amber could answer, one of her bridesmaids, also an actress, chimed in. “Mr. Owen is a billionaire CEO! Of course Amber is going to be a lady of leisure! With a husband like that, who would want to work?” “Seriously, Amber, you’re so lucky! Marrying a man who’s rich, handsome, and powerful!” “Once you’re a billionaire’s wife, don’t forget to throw some resources our way! We’ll be counting on you!” The crowd laughed and joked, and even the head of our agency was fawning over her. “Amber, my dear, the first time I saw you, I knew you were destined for greatness! That’s why I gave you all the best resources from the start and invested so much in your marketing. You have a star quality that doesn’t even need acting talent!” Amber basked in the adoration, her nose in the air. When I first met Owen, he was a nobody, a small-time director with big dreams. I was drawn to his drive, and after we got married, I used my family’s influence to secure funding for his films. Unfortunately, every single one of them failed. But he remained optimistic. He said if directing didn’t work out, he would study arts management to better understand the market. So, I gave him control of Crestwood Pictures, the smallest of my family’s media companies, to practice with. I never imagined it would become the source of Amber’s bragging rights. When they spotted me, the fawning bridesmaids went silent, their faces twisting into expressions of disgust. Chloe, an actress known as Amber’s best friend, was the first to speak, her eyes fixed on my necklace. “Clara, you actually dared to show up? And you rented a Heart of the Ocean necklace to make a statement? How pathetic.” Her words ignited the crowd. “So that’s why she came! To show off! That necklace is a one-of-a-kind piece, the brand never loans it out. She probably had to beg some sugar daddy for it.” “Some people are so calculating. If she hadn’t pushed Amber in the water and stolen her role, that hit drama would have made Amber a star!” “Exactly! She was always jealous of Amber, and now she’s green with envy that she landed a rich husband. She’s just here to compete!” I remained calm amidst the accusations. “For your information, I bought this necklace myself.” The words were barely out of my mouth when a sharp slap cracked across my face. Amber, in her high heels, was standing in front of me. “You bought it? This was a gift from my husband!” “I always suspected he was keeping a mistress on the side. I just never thought it would be you, you bitch!” “You home-wrecking slut! How dare you wear the anniversary gift my husband gave me to taunt his actual wife!” The slap was so unexpected I could only cup my stinging cheek. The onlookers gasped. “Amber, your husband bought you that necklace? Really?” Amber scoffed. “Why would I lie?” She pulled out her phone and showed them several photos of her wearing the necklace while on vacation with Owen. The Heart of the Ocean was unique; its cut was so complex that fakes were easily spotted. More importantly, this one had a custom engraving, clearly visible in the photos. The one around my neck was identical. A wave of whispers and jeers went through the crowd. “It really is the one Amber’s husband bought! So Clara must be the mistress!” Amber shot me a venomous look. “No wonder you haven’t had any work. You’ve been hiding away as some rich man’s mistress!” The other actors from our agency joined in. “And she always used to act so high and mighty, telling us to have self-respect. Turns out she was a mistress the whole time!” “Hah, some ‘ice queen.’ It was all an act. I bet she’s been licking sponsors’ boots behind the scenes.” “Shameless homewrecker! Amber was kind enough to invite her, and she shows up wearing that necklace to deliberately provoke the wife!” “Disgusting! Sluts like her who break up families should be drowned!” Even the head of our agency scowled at me. “Clara, don’t bother coming back to the agency. You’re done!” “We don’t have room for morally corrupt artists like you!” The barrage of accusations drew in more reporters, who started live-streaming the drama. One of them even threw a glass of red wine at me. As the wine stained my designer gown, I fought back my anger. “You can slander me, you can assault me in public, but is there no law in this country?!” Amber sneered. “The law? I’m slapping a shameless homewrecker! My husband is a billionaire CEO. There’s nothing in this world he can’t solve with money!” Her eyes fell to the necklace around my neck, and she snarled, “I hate sluts like you! It’s bad enough you seduce men, but you scam them out of their money too! You deserve to be beaten to death!” She lunged at me, grabbing my hair and ripping the necklace from my neck. “This is my husband’s and my property! What right do you, a mistress, have to wear it?!” I looked at the furious Amber and said calmly, “You’ll find out soon enough who really has no right.” My words sent her into a rage. “What did you say, you bitch? You’re trying to shame me, the real wife?” “Let me tell you something, Amber doesn’t do sloppy seconds. Especially not after they’ve been worn by a shameless slut like you. The sight of it makes me sick!” She ordered someone to bring her a hammer and began smashing the necklace. Diamonds, though hard, are brittle. Cracks soon appeared. “Amber is going to be the lady of Crestwood Pictures. We can’t let her be bullied by some low-life like Clara,” her friend Chloe yelled. The other onlookers, caught up in the frenzy, grabbed whatever they could find and joined in, smashing the priceless gems into dust. The once-dazzling Heart of the Ocean was reduced to a pile of glittering debris. I watched the mob with cold eyes and pointed to a live-streaming camera. “That necklace is worth two billion. When it’s time to pay up, not a single one of you will get away.” My words earned me another hard slap. “Who do you think you are, threatening me? You’re just a mistress who can’t be seen in public. Do you really think you’re some kind of tycoon’s wife?” “So what if it’s two billion? It’s all my husband’s money, and his money is my money! I can smash my own things if I want to!” I stared at the arrogant Amber and laughed. Owen was a useless freeloader who relied on my family for everything. Even with Crestwood Pictures under his management, his incompetence had turned it from profitable to loss-making in just a year. If he weren’t my husband, my family would have kicked him out long ago. But to Amber and her sycophants, he was a brilliant billionaire CEO they were all desperate to please. Encouraged by Amber’s attitude, the others chimed in. Chloe pointed at me and screamed, “This slut dared to show up in a designer dress! Let’s strip her naked and throw her in the street, see if she dares to seduce men after that!” As the mob advanced on me, I quickly pulled out my phone. “Get people to the Grand Hotel, now!” Before the person on the other end could reply, Chloe snatched my phone and smashed it on the ground. “Calling for backup? You’re a homewrecker! Even if we beat you to death today, you’d deserve it!” “Who do you think you are? We’re all in the same industry. Everyone knows you sleep with sponsors for roles.” “What, you’re going to call your sugar daddies to come save you? Take a look around. None of those old men can compare to Mr. Owen!” “Exactly! If you’re going to act tough, pick the right audience. You messed with the wrong people this time, hahaha!” With that, the bridesmaids swarmed me, tearing at my clothes. I struggled, screaming for them to stop, but I was helpless. The onlookers did nothing, just pointed their cameras at me, recording my humiliation. The live-stream comments were a blur of vicious curses. “Let go! Let me go!” I screamed, forced to my knees. My clothes were ripped to shreds, and I could only use my hands to cover myself. As the gown was torn away, my pregnant belly was exposed. Someone shouted, “Look at her stomach! She’s pregnant!” Amber looked down, and her face changed. Owen was thirty-five and childless, which meant Crestwood Pictures had no heir. If I gave birth to his child, the position of CEO’s wife and all future wealth would be mine. Chloe said nervously, “Even if Mr. Owen likes Amber, he wouldn’t ignore the child, would he? Did we go too far?” But Amber just smirked. “It’s just a bastard child. I’m the real wife. Owen and I can have as many children as we want. Why would he care about this one?” I instinctively covered my stomach and shoved Amber away. “You evil woman, don’t you dare touch my child!” But in my pregnant state, I was clumsy. Amber easily dodged me. As I tried to escape, Chloe ran forward and kicked me in the stomach. The other actresses grabbed me, punching and kicking. “How dare you touch Amber? You must have a death wish! She’s a billionaire’s wife now, who do you think you are?” “Don’t think we won’t hit you just because you’re pregnant! That thing in your belly is just a bastard anyway. Amber could have you both killed with a single word!” “Shameless slut! Seducing another woman’s husband and getting pregnant with a bastard! We’ll beat you to death today!” Even the agency head snuck in a few kicks. I was beaten until I was bleeding, curled up on the floor, trying to protect my child. I couldn’t take it anymore. I spit at Amber and snarled, “You’ll all pay for this!” But the crowd just laughed. “Still acting tough when you’re about to die? You’ll make us pay? That’s hilarious.” “A scheming mistress trying to get one over on Amber? Look at you, you’re not even worthy of polishing her shoes!” “‘Make us pay’? Hahaha, I’m so scared! A mistress who licks sponsors’ boots really thinks she has money and power.” The reporters and live-stream audience joined in the mockery. Amber, seeing that everyone was on her side, stepped on my face. “Since we’ve come this far, let’s take it a step further. I’d like to see how this bitch is going to make me pay.” The crowd looked at each other. “Amber, what do you mean?” Amber picked up the cake knife and smiled a crazed smile. “I mean, let’s cut the baby out of her.” As the knife came closer, I scrambled backward, screaming for help. The next second, hundreds of luxury cars screeched to a halt in front of the hotel. A man in an expensive suit, surrounded by an entourage, stepped out. The noisy venue fell silent. The people who had been about to attack me froze, staring at the entrance. Even Amber retracted the knife and smoothed down her dress. The hotel manager, seeing the commotion, rushed to the entrance with his staff and rolled out the finest red carpet.

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He was forced to step down after being declared sterile. Today, his family is holding a press conference to announce that his illegitimate half-brother will inherit the empire. A courier arrives at the press conference, holding a baby high in the air. “Who’s Marcus Davenport? I’ve got a special delivery for you: your son.” “Someone sign for this, please. I’ve got another order to run.” 1 I asked a courier to help me deliver a son. The courier asked, “To who?” I said, “The sterile CEO, Marcus Davenport.” He was forced to step down after being declared sterile. Today, his family is holding a press conference to announce that his illegitimate half-brother will inherit the empire. The courier arrives at the press conference, holding a baby high in the air. “Who’s Marcus Davenport? I’ve got a special delivery for you: your son.” “Someone sign for this, please. I’ve got another order to run.” The press conference was a sea of flashing cameras and hushed whispers. Suddenly, a single voice cut through the noise, and every journalist in the room pricked up their ears. “Is he serious? I thought Marcus Davenport couldn’t have kids. Wasn’t that the whole reason the Chairman is ousting him? To put that other son on the throne?” “It was that earthquake three years ago. He was saving a kid from the rubble during an aftershock and got impaled by a piece of rebar. Lost the ability to have children, just like that. Became the ‘Sterile CEO.’ The Chairman immediately announced he had another son studying abroad, that the family line wasn’t broken. He said he’d be grooming the illegitimate one to take over.” Three years had passed. Derek, the son who was once a dirty secret, was now the golden boy. The moment he returned to the States, he moved to force Marcus, the only legitimate heir, to abdicate his position as CEO of Davenport Industries. In a quiet moment before the press conference, I overheard Derek taunting Marcus. I was in the next bathroom stall. “I almost feel bad for you, my dear brother,” Derek sneered, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “But really, who can I blame? You?” “Who told you to be a hero? An earthquake hits, and any sane person runs. You run toward it, join a damn rescue team. Haven’t you ever heard the saying? No good deed goes unpunished.” “You saved one kid and lost the ability to ever have your own. Tragic, really. I almost want to pity you. How does it feel to have been dealt such a perfect hand and just… fumble it all away?” “I honestly thought I’d spend my whole life as the dirty little secret, living in your shadow. But look at this. A total win, and I didn’t even have to lift a finger. Hilarious, isn’t it?” I happened to be at the adjoining mall, working a miserable gig in a furry mascot costume to make money for formula. I’d just ducked into the restroom and was on my way out when I heard that smug bastard’s voice mocking the father of my child. A switch flipped inside me. I decided then and there to do something big. I found out Davenport Industries was holding the press conference today. I found a courier waiting for a pickup nearby. “I’ll Venmo you fifty bucks,” I said, my voice muffled by the giant cartoon rabbit head I was still wearing. “I need you to make an express delivery to the Davenport Industries press conference. Right now. Can you do it?” He eyed my costume. “What are you delivering?” I pulled a warm, pink, impossibly tiny baby from the oversized pouch of my costume. “Deliver him to the sterile CEO, Marcus Davenport.” “Tell him this is his biological son.” “And if he doesn’t believe it, tell him to run a paternity test.” The courier’s eyes went wide. “For real? You’re not kidding me, right? You didn’t, like, kidnap this kid?” “Everyone knows Marcus Davenport is sterile,” he added, his voice a whisper. I didn’t know how to explain the whole… situation. But then, his expression shifted. “I’ll do it,” he said, a grin spreading across his face. “I can’t stand seeing these bastards take what’s not theirs. Let’s do something big.” Ten minutes later, just as Chairman Davenport was on stage announcing that Marcus would be taking an extended leave of absence to “rest and recuperate,” and that the title of CEO would be transferred to Derek, the courier burst in. He held my son aloft like a tiny, squirming trophy and bellowed: “Who’s Marcus Davenport? Got a special delivery for ya—your son.” He scanned the shocked faces. “C’mon, somebody sign for this. I’m on the clock here, I’ve got another order to run.” The room erupted. It was pure chaos. Every reporter spun around, their cameras refocusing on the courier and the baby. One journalist shoved a microphone in his face. “Could you repeat that? What are you delivering?” The courier’s voice boomed. “Marcus Davenport’s son.” “Don’t interview me, man. I’m just the delivery guy. I don’t know anything else. Where is he?” He raised his voice again. “Mr. Davenport! Your son is here! Can you come sign for him, please? Chop chop, I’m in a hurry.” 2 I was watching a livestream from my phone just outside the venue, practically rolling on the floor with laughter. I could only imagine the looks on everyone’s faces, especially that arrogant prick, Derek. And Marcus. The father of my child. It all started a year ago. I’m a shifter. A Scottish Fold bunny shifter, to be exact. That night, my monthly cycle was hitting me hard. The hormones were a wildfire in my veins. I was tossing and turning in my little burrow of a den, unable to sleep. Finally, I shifted to my human form. I jumped on my beat-up Vespa to go to the pharmacy for suppressants. The heat was already making my head swim. I got distracted, forgot I was colorblind, and blew right through a red light. A Maybach swerved violently to avoid hitting me, careening into the path of an oncoming semi-truck. The impact was horrific; the Maybach was sent flying. The truck driver, seeing no witnesses, panicked and sped off. I immediately ditched the Vespa and ran to the mangled car. Inside, I found Marcus Davenport, slumped over the steering wheel, barely breathing. “Hey,” I whispered, shaking his shoulder. “Don’t you fall asleep.” It took every ounce of my strength, but I managed to pull him from the wreckage. I checked for a pulse. It was faint, thready. He was fading fast. He wouldn’t make it by the time an ambulance arrived. And this was my fault. He crashed because of me. In a moment of pure desperation, I let my two front teeth extend. I bit down. Hard. On his neck. Lucky for him, during our cycle, we bunny shifters have a temporary, super-charged healing ability. “Ngh… what are you doing? Let go,” he groaned, his body trembling from the pain. “Shut up if you don’t want to die,” I growled, my voice rough. “Or I’ll really give you something to complain about.” He went quiet. After biting him, the heat raging through me got even worse. This man… he was a work of art. That face, that chest, that waist, those legs… Every inch of him was intoxicating. It was enough to make a good bunny go bad. It was a dark and moonless night. The perfect setting for a crime of passion. The stars had aligned. It was too perfect an opportunity to pass up. And he was barely conscious. Completely at my mercy. I remembered a comment I’d seen online once: [So what if he’s a genius in the boardroom? The guy’s equipment is busted. What high-society woman wants an empty suit?] I licked my dry lips. The internet might not want him, but the hormone-crazed shifter in me definitely did. Besides, his “equipment” might be broken, but mine was working just fine. All he had to do was lie there. I could handle the rest. 3 The hormones were taking over. I couldn’t fight it. I dragged him back into the relative privacy of the wrecked Maybach. What happened next was a blur of chaotic, primal energy. “What… what are you doing?” “Stop it. Who said you could touch me?” “How dare you… are you still touching me?!” He was making too much noise. I ripped off his silk tie with a satisfying tearing sound. I used it to blindfold him. Then I leaned in, my lips brushing against the frantic pulse in his throat, and whispered, my voice a low, dangerous purr. “Be quiet. I saved your life. Now you’re mine for the night.” When it was all over, I could hear the faint wail of sirens in the distance. I scrambled to pull myself together and ran. Before hopping on my Vespa and disappearing into the night, I turned back, struck by a sudden, ridiculous impulse. I threw a line at him, my best attempt at an alpha-male declaration: “Remember this. You’ve been marked by me. So even if you are sterile, you better stay faithful.” “And in return,” I added, my voice softening just a little, “this bunny will protect you for life.” He probably thought I was insane. But I meant it. And I never expected I’d have to make good on that promise so soon. Honestly, I hadn’t expected any of this. I thought sleeping with him was consequence-free. The internet said he was sterile. No need to worry about birth control. Then came the morning sickness. You have got to be kidding me. So much for “unable to have children.” Well, once I was pregnant, there was only one thing to do: have the babies. A strong, independent woman raising kids on her own? It sounded kind of perfect. So I gave birth to a litter. A litter of seven. Six of them were born in their bunny forms. Fluffy, pink, and impossibly cute. Only the seventh, my little Seven, stubbornly held onto his human baby form. He must take after his father. I never planned on using my son to claim a spot in the Davenport dynasty. But then that bastard, Derek, had the audacity to bully the father of my children. The man I marked. He was my man. And if I have one weakness, it’s that I’m fiercely protective of my own. My second weakness? I absolutely live for chaos. 4 The press conference was in shambles. Only Marcus remained in his seat, perfectly still. He clearly didn’t believe the child was his. But his mother, Eleanor Davenport, was already on her feet. She strode purposefully toward the courier, took the baby from his arms, and burst into tears of pure joy. “My god,” she gasped, her voice thick with emotion. “He… he looks exactly like Marcus did as a baby. This is my grandson. There’s no doubt.” She turned, her eyes blazing, and fixed her stare on her husband. “Richard! Do you see this? I have a grandson! Are you still going to tell me Marcus isn’t fit to be the heir?” This was her counter-attack. First, Eleanor had to face the public humiliation of her son’s infertility. Then, the sting of her husband’s betrayal, his illegitimate son brought out of the shadows. And finally, the indignity of watching that same son try to usurp her own child. She was done being a victim. At that moment, she didn’t care if the baby was truly her grandson or not. She held Seven aloft like a shield and a sword, ready for war. Chairman Davenport hurried down from the stage to see the baby. “What… Marcus, what is the meaning of this?” Marcus remained silent, a statue amidst the storm. Reporters swarmed him, shouting questions. “Mr. Davenport, is this really your son?” “We were told you were unable to have children!” “Who is the mother?” “Mr. Davenport, is this just a stunt to disrupt the press conference and protect your position?” “What does it feel like to be sterile, Mr. Davenport?” Marcus didn’t answer a single question. It was Derek who broke the silence, his voice high and frantic. “Dad, you can’t believe this! The baby came from nowhere! For all we know, they hired some woman to bring a random baby here just to stir up trouble!” “It’s pathetic, but is it going to work? No! One DNA test and this whole charade falls apart.” “Just make the announcement,” he pleaded. “Announce that I’m taking over as CEO of Davenport Industries.” Eleanor, still clutching the baby, walked right up to Derek. She raised her hand and slapped him, hard, across the face. The sound cracked through the room like a whip. “A DNA test? This is my grandson. I don’t need a test to know my own flesh and blood.” Derek flinched, his hand rising as if to strike back, but he caught himself. In front of all these cameras, he held back. “Dad, do you see this? They’re panicking. They know they can’t do a DNA test. That baby is not my brother’s.” Suddenly, Marcus stood up. He ignored everyone—his mother, his father, his brother, the reporters. He walked away from the chaos, his shoulders slumped. He didn’t look back. He looked broken, defeated, and my heart ached for him. The cameras followed his retreat until he was escorted out a side door by his security team, vanishing from sight.

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