Category: English

The day before my wedding, my mother found my fiancée, Amber, tangled up with my best friend. The shock sent her into cardiac arrest. The doctors said her heart was failing, fast. She needed a transplant. Luckily, my mom and I had been tested for compatibility ages ago, a precaution due to our family’s medical history. We were a perfect match. The decision was simple. I’d give her my heart; I’d take the artificial one. The mountain of medical bills was staggering. When I pleaded with Amber for help, she claimed her cash was tied up. The next day, she married him. His name was Stellan. That’s when Dr. Evelyn Reed stepped in. She covered every last cent, and as the top cardiothoracic surgeon in the state, she personally scrubbed in to perform both of our surgeries. When I woke up, the first thing I saw was Evelyn’s face, etched with a sorrow so profound it seemed to carve new lines into her skin. She told me there had been a complication. My mother’s body had violently rejected the transplant. The surgery failed. She was gone. Evelyn held me as I fell apart, her arms a strange comfort in the sterile white room. She whispered that she had fallen for me, that she wanted to spend the rest of her life taking care of me. Seven years later, I overheard her talking to her best friend, Chloe, through the half-closed door of her study. “The fact that you swapped Leo’s heart into Stellan, right in front of his mother… Evelyn, that’s a different level of cold.” “I didn’t have a choice,” Evelyn’s voice was low, smoky. “His heart was the only one that matched Stellan’s.” “That’s not true! They found another donor. Stellan would have had to wait, what, half a day? You were that impatient?” Evelyn sighed, a sound heavy with something I couldn’t name. “I couldn’t stand to see him suffer. Not for a second.” 1 Inside her study, a curl of smoke rose from her lips. Her voice was a raw whisper. “The world won’t let me have him. The least I can do is make sure he lives a long, safe life.” Chloe’s tone was a mix of awe and horror. “But Leo… His blood type is so rare. Finding another match is nearly impossible. He’s spent years coughing up blood, dealing with that constant, stabbing pain in his chest.” She pressed on. “Don’t forget, that artificial heart of his has a one-month lifespan. It has to be replaced, again. Are you going to make him endure being cracked open for the rest of his life? He loves you, Evelyn. Give him his heart back. You’ve already got a dozen backup donors lined up for Stellan.” Evelyn’s reply was instant, sharp as a scalpel. “No. Every backup donor is another layer of security for Stellan. I will not gamble with his life.” Chloe’s voice rose in desperation. “What about Leo? I can still see his mother’s face, the bloody tears streaming down her cheeks as she died. Aren’t you afraid of what he’ll do when he finds out? Aren’t you afraid he’ll kill you?” A long silence. Then, a humorless laugh from Evelyn. “If he wants my life, he can have it. I was planning on taking care of him forever anyway.” Another drag of her cigarette. “As long as Stellan is happy, I can die with no regrets.” The doorknob felt slick with sweat in my hand. The veins on my skin stood out like ropes as an uncontrollable tremor shot through my arm. I raised my phone, hit record, and captured the rest of it. Then, before she could sense my presence, I stumbled back to our bedroom in a daze and slid to the floor. My body had never fully accepted the artificial heart. It left me perpetually weak, a prisoner to bouts of coughing that brought up blood and a piercing pain that felt like a hot poker being twisted in my chest. Evelyn had told me a reverse transplant was impossible. Since my mother had passed, there was no “living donor” to give the heart back to. The logic seemed sound at the time. It made sense, I thought. At least my heart could be with my mom forever. No wonder she had insisted I was too weak to get out of bed, too fragile to see my mother one last time. She had handled all the arrangements herself, a grieving angel by my side. It was all a lie. The salvation, the profound love—it was just dressing on an altar she’d built for someone else. She never even operated on my mother. My mom, and me… we were just offerings. Sacrifices for the man she truly loved. To ensure her plan went off without a hitch, she had wheeled my mother into the operating theater first. She made my mother watch as her own son’s heart was cut from his chest and placed into the body of another man. Powerless. Forced to watch until the agony, the betrayal, stopped her own failing heart for good. She died weeping tears of blood. Even without a real heart, the pain in my chest was so immense it stole my breath. I doubled over, spitting a fresh mouthful of blood onto the polished hardwood floor. “Leo?” Evelyn was there, suddenly. Her eyes widened at the sight of the blood. She rushed to my side, guiding me to the bed, her touch impossibly gentle as she wiped my lips. “I’m so sorry, Leo. I’m not taking good enough care of you. Don’t worry, I’ve already sourced the best new model for you. We’ll get you a new artificial heart in a few days.” Her eyes were red-rimmed with what I had always mistaken for guilt-ridden love. It was the same look she always gave me when the pain hit. I used to be the one comforting her, telling her it was okay, that I was strong enough. God, I was such a fool. “Evelyn,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “I’m so tired of the pain. Can I please… can I stop using the artificial hearts?” You have so many backups for Stellan, I wanted to scream. Can’t I just have my own back? She paused for only a fraction of a second before smiling, stroking my hair. “Leo, don’t say such silly things. We don’t have a donor for you. Without the artificial heart… you want me to just watch you die? You’d have to kill me first.” No donor? But the heart beating inside Stellan’s chest… it was mine. The blood in my veins turned to ice. I managed a weak smile. “You’re right. That was stupid of me.” Later, under the guise of drawing her a bath, I emptied an entire bottle of lavender sleep-inducing essential oil into the steaming water. She emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, and within minutes, she was dead to the world, lost in a deep sleep. She must have been dreaming of him. She murmured his name, a soft, longing sound. “Stellan… I’ll always protect you. Even if it kills me.” I looked at the woman I had loved with every fiber of my being for seven years, and for the first time, the tears came, hot and silent. I called Mark, my doctor friend from med school. He’d just returned to the States after years with Doctors Without Borders in Africa. “I need you to do a surgery for me.” “Yes, I’m sure. See you in three days.” What was there to be afraid of in dying? The real torment was being forced to live like this. After hanging up, I slipped Evelyn’s phone from her nightstand and went to her study. The password, unsurprisingly, was Stellan’s birthday. I discovered she had a second, private messaging profile I never knew existed. She must have forgotten to switch back to her main account. The profile picture was two elegantly intertwined letters: E.S. The meaning was as simple as it was brutal. Evelyn loves Stellan. I opened her photo gallery. It was a shrine to him. Hundreds of pictures of Stellan, each with a caption that was a veiled, yet blatant, declaration of her love. “First day at the Reed estate. I saw Stellan. And for the first time, I understood what it felt like to have my heart stop.” “Stellan’s getting married. I’m going insane with jealousy. I want to fold him up and put him in my pocket, where he’ll only ever belong to me.” “Took Leo three times tonight. I know his body can’t handle it, but I can’t help myself. I miss Stellan so much. All I could do was chant his name in my head, over and over, as if my will alone could turn the man in my arms into him…” And then there were the gifts. Receipts for extravagant jewelry, designer bags, luxury cars. She had even bought him a private, heart-shaped island in the Caribbean, all in his name. In seven years, the only thing Evelyn had ever given me was this artificial heart, this engine of my unending pain and torment. While I was grieving my mother, drowning in my own blood and agony, Stellan was sunbathing on the soft, white sands of an island bought with my life. My hand holding the phone trembled violently. A wave of nausea churned in my gut, and I lunged for the wastebasket, dry-heaving. My elbow knocked against a bookshelf, dislodging a thick, leather-bound volume. It wasn’t a book. It was a box, disguised. Inside were several signed “Voluntary Heart Donation” certificates and stacks of bank transfer receipts. Evelyn had been paying massive monthly sums to the families of these donors. The condition was simple: they were not allowed to donate their hearts to anyone else. They were on retainer, ready to be harvested the moment Stellan needed them. The last certificate in the stack was mine. But the recipient’s name wasn’t my mother. It was Stellan. I remembered that day in the hospital, a whirlwind of paperwork she’d said was standard procedure. All I could think about was getting my mom into surgery. I would have signed anything. She must have slipped this one into the pile. My mother’s form was probably ashes by now. Evelyn. For Stellan, you truly thought of everything. I printed out the divorce papers and sat on the sofa in the silent living room, a hollowed-out man watching the night bleed into a gray dawn. I didn’t sleep. The next morning, Evelyn saw me and just assumed I was up early. She suspected nothing. Perhaps feeling a pang of guilt over my episode the night before, she made breakfast herself, a perfectly balanced, nutritious spread. When I didn’t touch my food, her brow furrowed with concern. “Leo, what’s wrong? You’re not eating. Are you feeling down?” “It’s nothing. I was just thinking about my mom.” She sighed, her expression softening with practiced sympathy. “Oh, Leo. It’s not just you. I think about her all the time. She was such a kind, gentle soul. I feel so useless for not being able to save her. I can still hear her, you know, holding my hand, telling me she wanted us to be happy.” If my mother had had the strength to lift her hand, it would have been to wrap it around Evelyn’s throat. The hypocrisy was so thick I could taste it. I was about to bring up the divorce when she spoke, her tone deceptively casual. “Leo, you’ve been so down lately. Stellan is back in the country today, it’s his birthday. The family is having a dinner at the estate. Why don’t we go? It might cheer you up.” She paused, gauging my reaction. “I know you haven’t wanted to see him since… since what happened with your mom. But it’s been so many years, and it wasn’t his fault… We’re family, after all. Stellan has always been sensitive. If we don’t show up, I’m afraid it will hurt his feelings…” So that was her goal. All this effort, just for an excuse to see the man she loved. I cut her off. “Whatever you want.” Evelyn’s face lit up. “I knew you’d understand, Leo. You’re the best.” As soon as we stepped into the Reed family estate, I saw him. Stellan, dressed like a young prince, was clinging to the arm of Evelyn’s stepmother—the family matriarch—giggling as she fed him pieces of cut fruit. He was utterly adored. His eyes found me immediately. A smirk played on his lips. “Grandma,” he whined playfully, “you’re going to make me fat! My uncle Leo is here, you can give the rest to him. It’s not like he has a mom to spoil him anymore.” The matriarch’s gaze swept over me, her expression curdling with disdain as she took in my simple, worn clothes. “Who invited this invalid? Are you trying to infect us all with your bad luck?” she snapped. “We are a family of surgeons, of healers. And you walk around dressed like a beggar. You’re an embarrassment to my daughter. You’ve been married into this family for years and you still can’t even produce a child. You’re useless. Didn’t your dead mother teach you any manners?” Evelyn wasn’t the matriarch’s biological daughter; she was a child from her husband’s first marriage. The old woman had always resented her, pushing her to marry someone who could bring power to the family. It was only after a car accident killed her husband that Evelyn, already a celebrated surgeon with a ‘golden scalpel,’ inherited control of the family’s medical empire. The matriarch had been forced to consent to our marriage, and she’d hated me for it ever since. My inability to have children due to my health was just another reason for her to despise me. Before, Evelyn would have defended me. Now, her eyes were locked on Stellan, filled with a longing so raw it was painful to watch. Stellan bounced over to her, linking his arm through hers. “Auntie Evie,” he cooed, “did you bring me a birthday present?” Evelyn’s face melted into a look of pure adoration. She squeezed his cheek. “Of course I did.” On cue, assistants wheeled in racks carrying twenty-eight bespoke, high-fashion suits, each paired with an equally luxurious, diamond-encrusted watch. Twenty-eight. For his twenty-eighth birthday. He squealed with delight and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Wow, Auntie Evie, you’re the best! These watches are all limited edition! You spent so much. What if a certain someone gets jealous?” he asked, shooting a venomous look in my direction. Evelyn finally seemed to remember I was there. My faded jeans and t-shirt looked even more pathetic next to the opulent display. In all our years together, Evelyn had never once remembered my birthday, let alone bought me a single gift. She looked at me, a flicker of awkwardness in her eyes. She took my hand. “Leo, don’t overthink it. He’s my nephew. I just…” Stellan suddenly clutched his chest, his face scrunching up in pain. “Auntie Evie, my heart feels… fluttery. I hope it’s not acting up again…” Evelyn dropped my hand as if it were on fire. She spun around, wrapping her arms around him, her face a mask of panic. “What do you mean, fluttery? Does it hurt? That’s it, I need to examine you right now.” And with that, in front of everyone, she guided Stellan upstairs. The guests stared at me, their eyes filled with scorn and pity. “No wonder Evelyn buys Stellan all that but won’t even get him a decent shirt. A low-life like him doesn’t deserve to be a part of the Reed family.” “If it weren’t for the fact that she’s his aunt, do you really think she would have married him? I bet he used his mother’s death to guilt her into it. The shameless parasite. Climbing his own mother’s corpse to marry into money.” The whispers grew louder. The matriarch, her face flushed with embarrassment, hissed at me. “You pathetic thing, what are you still standing here for? Get upstairs! Haven’t you humiliated this family enough for one night?” She sneered. “It was a privilege for your dead mother to be operated on by my daughter. It’s her own damn fault her body gave out. You should be grateful, not trying to blackmail us. You’ll get what’s coming to you!” My fists clenched at my sides. A bitter, powerless laugh escaped my lips. She was right. Meeting Evelyn was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I remembered the divorce papers in my jacket pocket. Without a word, I turned and went upstairs to find her. I found them on the second-floor balcony. They were wrapped around each other. Evelyn was leaning against the railing, her hands tangled in Stellan’s hair. “Evie,” he purred, “listen to my heart. Is it still fluttering?” “Stellan, we can’t…” Evelyn’s voice was strained, a weak attempt at resistance, but the flush on her cheeks betrayed her. He silenced her with a kiss, his voice a seductive whisper against her lips. “Don’t you want me, Evie? I know you do. And you’re the only one I want. So you married someone else to avoid a scandal. Fine. But your body… your body belongs to me. Just this once, let’s stop pretending…” That was all it took. Evelyn’s control snapped. She grabbed the back of his head and kissed him back, a desperate, hungry passion that consumed them both. The sound of fabric ripping was followed by a soft, breathless moan that was unmistakably hers. I listened to the filthy, sweet nothings she whispered to him, words she had never once said to me. A sob tore from my throat. I clamped a hand over my mouth and ran, blindly, out of the villa and into the cold night. I don’t know how long I sat on the curb, numb. A splash of searing heat jolted me back to reality. A bowl of instant ramen had been dumped onto my chest, the hot broth scalding my skin. Stellan stood over me, a bottle of expensive whiskey in his hand. He’d changed his clothes. “Leo. Did you enjoy the show? That pathetic look on your face as you ran away… you looked just like a stray dog.” He had seen me. “I hear the artificial heart isn’t working out so well for you. The coughing, the chest pain… must be hard, right? Can’t even properly please your own wife.” He took a swig from the bottle. “Not a problem for me, though. I can go all night. You may be a useless piece of trash, but I have to admit, your heart is top-quality. I was feeling very comfortable a few minutes ago.” His eyes glittered with malice. “You really thought you could marry my Aunt Evie and steal her affection from me? Dream on. She only has eyes for me. You were just a walking, talking incubator for my new heart.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, that wasn’t the first time your mother caught me with your fiancée. The old hag had the nerve to call me shameless. So I tied her to a chair and had her watch while I screwed Amber right in front of her. That’s what really gave her the heart attack. And when you offered to give her your heart? All I had to do was pretend my chest hurt, and just like that, Aunt Evie couldn’t wait to rip it out of you and give it to me.” He grinned, a sickening, triumphant expression. “Oh, right, you were unconscious. You didn’t get to see your mother’s face. Her arms were stretched out, trying to reach you. Her eyes were bulging out of her head, like she wanted to strangle us. But all she could do was watch. The rage is what finally killed her. It was perfect. She called me shameless, so I took her life.” My eyes widened in horror. I couldn’t process it. This… this was the truth of how my mother died. My whole body began to shake. How could they? How could they destroy my mother’s life and speak of it so casually? I raised my hand, a primal scream building in my chest. But Stellan was faster. He upended the whiskey bottle over his own head and let out a piercing shriek. A split second later, a powerful force shoved me to the ground. Evelyn was cradling Stellan in her arms. She turned to me, her face contorted with rage, and screamed, “Leo, what the hell are you doing?!”

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The year I returned to New York, my life was a mess. I was passing out flyers and, exhausted, leaned against a luxury car parked on the street to catch my breath. Inside, a London-based investment banker was arguing with his trophy girlfriend. “It’s just an old picture frame!” the girl snapped, eyes red with anger. “I’m not apologizing. I’m just a replacement anyway. If you’re so upset, go find someone who looks even more like her!” Fuming, the man glanced out the window and pointed straight at me just as I pulled off my mascot head. Our eyes met, and he froze. Suddenly, floating text—like a livestream chat—appeared before my eyes. [LMAO. He accidentally points at the White Moonlight. The Ex-Wife must be secretly thrilled seeing the Male Lead hasn’t forgotten her after all these years.] [But our Substitute Sister has already healed his heart with her love. Will he still choose the villainess?] [After all, the Male Lead hates dirty things, and the Villainess… looks pretty cheap right now.] 1 “Hey, I’ll give you five million dollars. You won’t have to worry about money for three years. Will you be my mistress?” Julian shoved his hands in his pockets, looking at me with impatient, heavy-lidded eyes. Halfway through the sentence, he stopped. The casual arrogance on his face vanished, replaced by a look of profound complexity. I froze at “five million dollars.” Is the pay for being a stand-in really that good? My eyes darted around before landing on the iced americano in his hand. The new Starbucks brew, supposedly great for staying awake in this heat. Maybe the silence stretched too long. The girl in the Miu Miu dress puffed out her cheeks, turning to glare at me. “Why are you even asking her? She’s dying to say yes. Gold diggers are everywhere these days…” She stopped mid-sentence. “No way. Someone actually looks that much like her?” seeing Julian still staring at me, the girl felt a sudden pang of crisis. She looked me up and down. “But her style is tacky, she’s not as pretty as me, not as young, and her face is sweaty.” She stomped her stilettos. “Fine! Choose the flyer girl! I’m going to find another man!” “Tara.” Julian finally spoke. He tore his gaze away from me, frowned, and grabbed the girl throwing a tantrum. Tara was still muttering, aggrieved. “Let go.” “It’s just a yellowed picture frame. It broke, so what? You didn’t even yell at me when I secretly sold her apartment!” I paused. So the little apartment we lived in was sold long ago. People get sentimental as they age. I had been saving money, hoping to buy it back… As she spoke, tears welled up in the girl’s eyes. “And didn’t you say you hated it when people mentioned her name…” She tugged at the man’s sleeve, looking up at him. Julian rubbed his temples, about to scold her. But when he looked down, he froze again. I followed his gaze and froze too. It was uncanny. Or rather, it was exactly like 18-year-old me. Especially that look. Whenever I couldn’t finish my homework and cried in secret, I would look at him with that same bratty expression. After a long moment, Julian’s voice rasped. “Enough. Stop it. I’m not mad at you.” He paused. “And I don’t want to just find some random woman…” I slowly raised the flyer in my hand, interrupting him. “If you can help me hit my quota, sir, I’m willing.” The air went dead silent. Julian looked at me. In his dark eyes, I felt like I could see the reflection of my own fake smile. I had just taken off the mascot head. Hair stuck to my face. I was a mess. Reunions are so pathetic. After all these years, he still had that habit. Pursing his lips when he was in a bad mood. I blinked and changed my tune. “Sorry. Just joking.” Tara let out a breath of relief. Looking at me like I was an idiot, she pulled Julian a little further away. Pushing her luck, she asked, “So, can I never see that photo again?” Julian glanced indifferently at the shattered frame on the ground. “Mn.” He pulled a band-aid from his pocket and took the girl’s hand. “Stop talking. You scratched yourself.” 2 They drove off in the Rolls Royce. I stood there in a daze. The text barrage exploded in my vision. [LMAO. What is the Ex-Wife fantasizing about? Does she not remember who initiated the brutal breakup?] [She refused the arranged marriage and got suppressed hard. Then she got jealous and gave the Male Lead the cold shoulder. He spent a week abroad fixing the company mess.] [He came home and cooked immediately to surprise her, and she broke up with him because the fish was slightly burnt.] I gripped the flyer, my knuckles turning white. [The Male Lead was so good to her. Gave her his heart and soul. Stayed up late helping her with homework in high school, saved his allowance to buy her gifts.] [Exactly! She deserves it! Haven’t seen the Male Lead smile like that in ages. Thank god he met our little sunshine, the Substitute Sister.] [Whatever, let the Ex-Wife keep suffering. The Male Lead wasn’t supposed to throw that photo away until he was old, but the plot just sped up.] Oh, is that so? I sighed, looking at the lonely photo on the ground. It had been well protected. Not a hint of yellowing. I thought hard. This was taken a week before we broke up. The boy’s eyes were curved in a brilliant smile, holding the girl’s hand like a treasure. In contrast, the girl was expressionless, looking rather cold. My memories were hazy, and my head started to throb. Thinking of Dr. Lin’s warning, I blinked and decided not to think about it. Just as I bent down to pick up the photo… “Sarah! What are you doing standing there? Get back here!” I quickly grabbed my flyers and ran back. When the event ended, I went home. Key in hand, ready to open the door, I realized I forgot the photo. My memory is terrible. It’s so frustrating. I rode a shared bike back, but the photo was gone. A street cleaner had just finished sweeping the leaves. Under his puzzled gaze, I squatted and sifted through the pile of leaves. Nothing. Then, a familiar voice spoke beside me. “Sarah, you’re destined not to keep anything.” My heart gave a little ache. I turned my head. Dr. Lin squatted down too, handing me a tissue. A flash of complexity and pity crossed his eyes, but his smile was gentle. “Did you eat?” I shook my head, and he pulled me up. He scolded gently, “If I don’t watch you, you won’t eat on time, will you?” “Let’s go. Look at you, dust all over your clothes.” Knowing his tough-love nature, I smiled and trotted after him. “Okay, I’ll treat you to seafood hotpot. Wait, you’re allergic to seafood… no, wait, you hate carrots.” His expression dimmed. He draped his coat over me naturally. “You remembered wrong again. I’m not allergic to seafood, and I like carrots.” “Oh, right!” A long time later, a man in a dark trench coat walked out from behind a plane tree. He leaned against the tree, answering a call. The female voice on the other end was cheerful. “Julian, I found a really nice dress! But I like both the white and the red one…” Julian absently rubbed the old photo in his hand. The white dress on the girl in the picture shimmered. “Pick white. It suits you.” 3 Days passed uneventfully. I almost forgot about the encounter. Except for the chat barrage chattering in my brain every day. They said Julian casually gave my favorite plushie to Tara. They said Julian took down all my photos in his room. They said Julian stopped calling my name in his nightmares. … They were thrilled. [Thanks to the Ex-Wife, the Male Lead has finally let go of his obsession. The plot is moving to the sweet romance arc!] While they talked, I was pruning the flowers on the windowsill. The chat waited for me to get upset and cut my hand. I breathed out slowly. It’s actually better this way. It’s been so long. I only came back to the country to sneak a peek at him. Calculating the days, I’d be leaving in two months anyway. Boredom set in, so I took a few delivery orders. Purely because I was broke, and for some reason, certain orders paid ridiculously well. Wearing the yellow helmet, I sometimes remembered years ago, when business was bad. Julian ran deliveries just to buy me the prettiest white dress. Waiting at a red light, I looked left at an old apartment building. It was the little apartment we chose together. I wondered who owned it now. Ghost-guided, I took a detour, carrying the takeout up the stairs. Nothing had changed. The faded red couplets, the stickers I secretly cut out. Even the plants outside the door were clearly well-tended. Puzzled, I leaned my head against the door to listen. Suddenly, the door opened. I stumbled. Hands steadied me, deliberately keeping a small distance. “What a coincidence.” A familiar, deep voice. It was Julian… He still wore the scent of cedarwood. His eyes were dark. I stepped back awkwardly, frozen, not knowing how to greet him. Julian slowly sat back down by the tea table and brewed a pot of tea. “Come in and sit.” I widened my eyes, about to wave him off. He spoke calmly. “Long time no see. Is Miss Sarah unwilling to even say a word to me?” Julian remembered me. I pursed my lips, looking conflicted at the takeout in my hand. Whatever. Late is late. “I ordered it. If you’re hungry, eat it.” I paused. Looking at the receipt, it was the dumplings I used to love. A long-lost feeling surged in my heart. The decorations inside hadn’t changed. He was waiting for me. I didn’t say much and gently closed the door. My heart raced as I nervously sat opposite him. Julian handed me a cup of tea indifferently, not looking at me. I opened the box and took a tentative bite. It was spicy. So spicy tears welled up instantly. I grabbed the hot tea and gulped it down. My heart hurt too. Julian had forgotten I don’t eat spicy food. 4 The chat laughed. [The Male Lead didn’t say he ordered it for her. He was just being polite! The Ex-Wife is delusional.] [It’s just a coincidence that the Substitute Sister likes the same place, and she loves extra spicy!] [The Male Lead is only here because he fought with the Sister and needed space.] As I sat in silence, Julian frowned. He got up and gently patted my back, tossing the takeout into the trash. After I drank all the tea, he asked, lips pursed. “Sorry. I haven’t ordered from there in a long time.” “How do you feel now?” I couldn’t read him. Was he trying to mock me? But the worry on his face flashed by too quickly. I hesitated, then asked one last question. “Why didn’t you sell this apartment?” He paused. His face remained calm. “It’s listed. Maybe because it’s old, no one wants it yet.” “I come back occasionally to maintain it, see if I can get a better price.” I let out a slow “Oh.” I stood up to leave. “Mr. Thorne, I have things to do. I’ll be going.” He gave a soft “Mn.” Sipping his tea, he didn’t look up. I thought about it. This was probably the last time we’d see each other. But I couldn’t find the words. “Goodbye.” He didn’t reply. Maybe he didn’t hear. After finishing my deliveries, riding my scooter back, my phone rang. It was Dr. Lin. I picked up. I had something to tell him anyway. “You went to see Julian again?” I gave a weak “Mn.” “But I’m not curious anymore.” “Yeah. Like I said before, you’re just exes. You dated, it blew up, you broke up. Now he’s getting married.” “You should just come back to Norway with me.” Dr. Lin sighed on the other end, rambling about something. Suddenly, a car swerved in front of me. It was coming right at me. “Sarah!” A panicked shout made me flinch. My scooter wobbled and tipped over. I scraped my knee. The driver stepped out in high heels. “Ten thousand dollars. Is that enough to shut you up?” Coincidentally, it was Tara. I looked back and saw Julian. But his gaze swept over me indifferently as he politely helped me up. Then he frowned. “Tara, apologize.” The girl’s eyes reddened immediately. Julian paused, correcting himself. “I’m doing this for you. If the other party makes a scene, you’re in the wrong.” I spoke carefully. “Actually, I’m fine.” Tara glanced at the ridiculous yellow helmet on my head, her expression turning disdainful. She threw a card at me. “She loves money anyway. She won’t appreciate your kindness.” “Julian, let’s break up.” He said coolly, “Because of her?” “Hmph, no. I wouldn’t lower myself to be jealous of a woman like that. I just want to know one thing: why did you delay the engagement?” Julian hesitated for a long time. “Company issues.” “Liar! Was it because your mother didn’t like me today? Don’t think I didn’t notice.” She stepped closer, aggressive. Julian lowered his head, his smile strained. The chat cried. [Sister, don’t blame the Male Lead! He really tried! There was no choice.] [Old Lady Thorne is too powerful. If she disapproves, she’ll transfer the company shares. So sad!] I frowned slightly. A vague memory flashed. I recalled that six years ago, Julian’s mother opposed us just as vehemently. But it affected nothing. Julian never cared about his mother. “I want the wedding next Monday, or we break up!” Julian didn’t try to stop her. She drove off in a huff. I squatted, about to pick up the card. Julian pulled me up. His eyes returned to their usual indifference. He smiled. “Sarah, is this how you take care of yourself?” [The Male Lead must be so disappointed seeing his White Moonlight rotting away.] [Ugh, Male Lead, forget the Ex-Wife! Go chase the Sister! She’s stopped just up the road, regretting it!] Before the chat could gloat, his voice rasped. “I accept your offer.” “Five million. Don’t leave me again. Deal?” He reached out and hugged me. I froze. The chat went silent for a second. [WTF? Why is the plot going back to this conflict point? Die, villainess! Don’t agree!] [It’s fine, it’s fine. He’s just putting on a show to make the Sister jealous. Look how stiff his hands are.] [The Ex-Wife better have some self-awareness. Didn’t you see how emotional he got when the heroine was mentioned?] I lowered my eyes. If you didn’t pay close attention, Julian’s hug really was stiff and awkward. Like he was trying very hard to avoid something. He held me for too long. Just as I was about to push him away, my shoulder felt wet. I froze. He was crying. Actually, he didn’t need to act so convincingly for me. After all, he is Julian. I smiled and agreed readily. “Okay.”

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After I accidentally smudged the piano, my boyfriend, Adrian, flew into a rage. He overturned my wheelchair, his voice cracking with a choked sob as he yelled: “It’s your legs that are crippled, not your hands! Can’t you do one simple thing right?” I froze, the cleaning cloth still clutched in my hand. [OMG, I love a sharp-tongued hero. He says the cruelest things but regrets it instantly. He wants to apologize to our girl but is too proud.] [Well, it is his favorite piano. Who would want oil stains on it? Silly girl, hurry up and comfort him, he’s about to shatter.] [Talia, don’t be stubborn. It’s not shameful to back down for the one you love.] I stared at the live commentary scrolling across my vision, my eyes stinging with tears. I moved closer, wanting to hug him, but Adrian shoved me away violently. “Don’t touch me. You reek of cooking oil. Don’t get that stench on the piano.” I lowered my eyes, biting my lip. “I just finished making dinner. I really didn’t mean to…” “I’ve already given up music for you, isn’t that enough? You can’t even stand to let me have this one last thing, can you? Talia, I’m begging you, just let me go.” My nose burned. I felt like such a fool for being deceived by the commentary again. After a long silence, my voice came out a hoarse whisper. “Fine. I’ll let you go.” 1 “Let me go?” Adrian let out a cold, bitter laugh. “Easy for you to say. We’re past the point of keeping score.” A lump formed in my throat, choking off any words. My knee was scraped raw, beading with blood that smeared onto the floor, a startling red. Adrian’s jaw was clenched tight. He turned his head away, slammed the door on his way out, and returned moments later with a first-aid kit. “…Alright, let’s get this cleaned up.” [Aww, he feels so guilty. No matter how much he complains, he just can’t abandon our girl.] [A generational piano prodigy, his wings clipped. Forced to give up his dream to care for his disabled girlfriend, and he still has to coddle this burden. My heart aches for him.] [I don’t care, the ship is sailing! Even when he’s furious, he’s still worried about his wifey’s boo-boos.] The floating words blurred before my eyes. Five years ago, when that out-of-control truck barreled towards us, I had used all my strength to push Adrian out of the way. My own legs were crushed, the nerves severed, leaving them useless. While learning to use the wheelchair, I sank into a severe post-traumatic depression. It was Adrian who stayed by my side, refusing to leave. He gave up his brilliant music career, took me to countless doctors, and whispered to me, “Don’t be afraid. From now on, I’ll be your legs.” And from then on, I became a burden, dragging him down year after year. I had thought about ending it all, but the commentary pleaded with me: [Don’t do it, sweetie! If you’re gone, he’ll go mad and follow you!] So I stayed. I couldn’t bear to leave him. But now, it felt like there was nothing left to hold on to. Watching his practiced movements as he tended to my wound, I spoke. “Adrian, you should leave.” His hands paused. A flicker of mockery crossed his eyes, followed by a weary sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Talia, stop it. I’m exhausted today. I’m not in the mood to play these games.” A shrill ringtone cut through the tension. Adrian answered, annoyed. “I’m busy. Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow…” “Adrian, I have a piano duet competition tomorrow morning, but my partner got sick. Can you fill in for me, please, please, please?” The voice was playful and anxious, a young woman’s. I knew who it was. His favorite junior from the conservatory, Chloe. The one he once drunkenly whispered to me was his true soulmate, the only one who understood the voice of his music. Adrian’s knuckles turned white, then his hand trembled and relaxed. “I’m sorry, I have to take care of…” Chloe’s voice turned into a petulant accusation. “Are you really going to be shackled to that cripple for the rest of your life? Don’t you want to be on stage again? I’m right outside your door, Adrian. If you have the guts, come out and say no to my face.” Adrian’s pupils contracted. He hesitated for only two seconds before throwing down the first-aid kit and running out the door, not even bothering to help me back into my wheelchair. I struggled to pull myself up, just able to hear their voices through the door. Chloe seemed to sniffle. “Adrian, she’s going to be like this for the rest of her life. But what about you?” Adrian was silent for a long time before his voice came out, thick with emotion. “This is what I owe her.” “She’s a cripple, stuck here. Where am I supposed to go?” Chloe’s voice sharpened. “Then what about me?! We were supposed to achieve our dreams together! You promised me! You’re a liar, Adrian, and I’m done loving you!” [Oh man, poor Chloe. She and Adrian really are a perfect match, true artistic soulmates.] [The girlfriend is just a dead weight. She can’t give him what he needs; she only holds him back.] [But does anyone else get this tragic, fated-to-be-entangled-forever vibe? It’s so romantic.] [He’s so cute when he’s tsundere. He obviously can’t bear to leave her but calls it a debt.] I pressed my lips together. I didn’t want to understand. A moment later, I heard Adrian’s resolve crumble, his voice a mixture of resignation and a hint of indulgence. “Just for tomorrow. One time only.” Amidst Chloe’s cheers, Adrian left in a hurry, not even glancing back. The food on the table grew cold. I forced down a few bites alone. It tasted bitter and salty. After a long while, I dialed the number of my childhood friend. “That marriage pact we had… is it still on the table?” 2 “Of course it is. I’m the one who’s been the backup plan all this time, right? My dearest Talia, have you finally decided to kick Adrian to the curb?” I didn’t have the heart to tell him Adrian was the one tired of me. I just laughed, a self-deprecating sound. “Thank you… for being willing to marry me.” After my parents died and my family’s fortune dwindled, it was a rare kindness for him to still honor an old promise. The man on the other end paused, his playful tone replaced by a serious one. “Did he hurt you?” “No.” “Talia, give me a little time to wrap things up here. Tomorrow, I’m on the first flight back. I’ll be there for you.” After I hung up, the commentary exploded. [What’s happening? Is she cheating?] [No way, she’s so dramatic. He says a few harsh words and she runs off to another man? What a snowflake.] [Relax, this is just manufactured drama. The main couple will end up together. Our girl can’t survive without her Adrian.] I ignored them. Using my arms to steady myself, I began to pack. Everything in the apartment came in pairs. The couple’s slippers were scattered, one here, one there. Adrian had bought them on a trip to the supermarket, carrying me on his back. I remembered how the strange looks from others made me shrink, burying my face in his neck. “Adrian, put me down. I’m fine in the wheelchair.” He just chuckled and hitched me up higher. “My back is cold. You need to keep me warm.” “Look, these slippers are cute. Do you like them?” … Now, the red and blue slippers lay far apart, like two distant islands. Just like Adrian and me. I didn’t know when we had drifted so far apart. I tried to gather them together, a foolish, self-deceiving gesture. But as I leaned over, I lost my balance and crashed heavily to the floor. “Talia! Are you okay?” Before I could even register the pain, Adrian was there, rushing back in. His face was a mask of panic as he helped me up, his voice laced with anger. “I was gone for five minutes to see someone to their car, and you manage to do this to yourself?” [I can’t with this girl. I’m developing an allergy to incompetence. Can she do anything right?] [He’s so frustrated he’s about to cry. Talia, please stop torturing him. Just talk it out. Lovers’ quarrels are normal. Don’t be so petty.] Just looking at him sent a tremor through my heart, a pain so sharp it felt like I couldn’t breathe. I looked away, my voice hoarse. “Don’t worry about me. Go get some sleep. You don’t want to mess up the competition tomorrow.” Adrian’s body went rigid, his eyes turning cold. “Talia, is that what this is about? You overheard me, so you threw yourself on the floor for attention?” “No, I didn’t…” “Enough!” A glass shattered at my feet. Adrian was breathing heavily, his anger barely contained. “You’ve lived in this house for nearly a decade. How can you fall just by taking a few steps?” A bitter smile touched my lips. “You’re right. I’m useless.” “If you don’t believe me, then don’t.” Seeing my refusal to apologize, Adrian clenched his jaw. He pulled a pair of dusty crutches from a closet, grabbed me by the collar, and began dragging me outside. My scraped knee bumped against the steps, the friction sending a jolt of pain through me. “Let me go! Where are you taking me?” He stopped abruptly at the curb and threw the crutches at me. His voice was on the verge of breaking. “Talia, there are so many disabled people in the world. Why are you the only one who can’t learn to walk?” “Tonight, if you can’t learn to use these crutches, don’t even bother coming home!” 3 Adrian vanished into the night. Only the cold autumn wind was left, making me shiver. I limped over to a lamppost, trying to pull myself up, when the roar of an engine and a blaring horn shattered the silence. A motorcycle sped past, its side clipping my shoulder. The driver yelled back, his face dark with rage. “What the hell are you doing out here, you damn cripple? Get your insurance scamming ass out of the road!” I stumbled backward, my hands gripping the crutches, my palms slick with cold sweat. After the accident, I couldn’t accept the loss of my legs. I refused to do any physical therapy, hiding in my hospital room. Adrian stayed with me every day, forcing a smile through his tears. “It’s okay, Talia. You don’t have to do the exercises. I’ll be your crutch for the rest of your life.” That was also the first time I saw the commentary. [You have to pull yourself together, sweetie, or he’s going to break. He hasn’t slept in 72 hours, terrified you’ll leave him all alone.] [It’s true, you’re his whole world.] My eyes had filled with tears. After a long hesitation, I’d climbed into my wheelchair and kissed his cheek. “Okay. Take me for a walk.” I was naive enough to believe we would always be like that, supporting each other. But in the end, Adrian regretted it. The wind bit at my ears as I stumbled my way home. When I finally made it to the apartment building, the streetlights flickered and died. I fumbled my way forward in the dark but misstepped onto a loose manhole cover. The ground gave way beneath me. But the expected fall never came. A hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, yanking me back onto solid ground. Adrian was trembling all over, his lips a deathly white. “Talia, you’re a cripple, not an idiot! Why do you have to depend on me to survive?” “I swear to God… I wish I had just died in that car crash!” [OMG, he’s so pitiful. He left her because he went to buy a ring to apologize, and he comes back to find her causing more trouble.] [This idiotic, drama-queen of a protagonist. I can’t watch anymore. Can we just let Adrian be happy? He deserves so much better!] [Sigh. They fight, but he still remembers their anniversary and his promise.] I looked up, stunned, and saw his other hand hidden behind his back, clutching a small box. When we were seventeen, Adrian had proposed to me with a ring folded from an exam paper. “Talia, trust me.” “On the day of our tenth anniversary, no matter if we’re fighting or not speaking, I will ask you to marry me.” A wave of complex emotions washed over me, a sour ache in my chest. “You don’t have to…” You don’t have to force yourself. Before I could finish, Adrian let out a cold laugh and hurled the ring box into the open manhole. It vanished into the rushing sewage below. “Talia, you don’t deserve it.” My nails dug into my palms. I clenched my fists, lifted my chin, and met his red-rimmed eyes. “Then let’s break up, Adrian.” He froze, his eyes wide with disbelief. “…What did you say?” I tried to smile, to make it seem effortless, but my voice wavered, trembling in the cold air. “From now on, you don’t have to take care of me anymore. We’re even. No one owes anyone anything.” “I don’t want you to marry me. Tomorrow, you can go with your little protégée to her piano competition. And I’m going to marry someone else.” 4 Adrian was silent for a long time. Finally, the tension left his shoulders, and he spoke, his voice hoarse. “Alright, stop being childish. I was wrong, okay? Let’s go home.” [He has the patience of a saint. This girl is so ungrateful, ugh.] [Seriously. This could all be solved with one honest conversation, but she has to threaten to break up to get his attention. Being with someone like this must be exhausting.] I didn’t say anything. I let Adrian lift me onto his back. When didn’t I want to have an honest conversation? But every time we tried, he would end up leaving to teach Chloe piano or taking flowers to her competitions. Every look he gave me seemed to say, I have nothing in common with a burden like you. His dismissiveness, his growing indifference, the way his heart was closed to me but wide open for her—I saw it all. I had wanted to scream, to demand, “Why her and not me?” But that would have been so ugly. I had let myself become so small. But that was okay. Tomorrow, everything would be set right. Adrian carried me to bed. He noticed the suitcase I’d pulled out and frowned. “What are you packing for?” I didn’t look at him. “A trip,” I mumbled. “To clear my head.” Adrian visibly relaxed, his voice softening. “Okay. I remember you always wanted to go to the coast. After the competition, I’ll take you.” I lowered my eyes and shook my head. “You don’t have to. I’m going with someone else.” Our honeymoon destination. “What other friends do you have?” Adrian’s eyes went cold, a flicker of contempt in them. “Talia, if you take this too far, it won’t be easy to take back.” [Can she please stop dancing on her own grave? Why is she so angry? Does she think he owes her something?] [She’s poisoning herself with her own bitterness. Can’t she just talk normally?] [Just flirt with him, sweetie! This is something that a little apology and some charm could fix!] The accusations stung. I was too tired to even feel sad or argue back. All I felt was a profound sense of calm. Adrian was silent for a moment, then turned and slammed the door to the guest room. The day we moved in together, he had held me, my head nestled on his shoulder, and whispered, “Talia, even if we fight, we’re never sleeping in separate rooms.” Another broken promise. I guess some things are only true when you’re in love. I managed a small smile, checked my documents one last time, and confirmed the pickup time with my childhood friend for the next morning. Then, I went to sleep alone. At six-thirty, the sound of a door opening woke me. Chloe waltzed into the guest room, cheerfully rummaging through Adrian’s clothes without a hint of shame. “Time to get up, Adrian! We don’t want to be late for my competition. I’ll be really mad, you know.” Adrian chuckled, a tired but fond sound, and habitually patted her head. “I was up all night memorizing the score. You think I’d miss it?” So that’s why his light was on all night. A true meeting of artistic souls. A bitter taste filled my mouth. Chloe then came over to me, shoving a cat carrier into my lap. “Here, sis-in-law. I’m borrowing your man for a bit. If you get bored, Mittens can keep you company.” I instinctively recoiled, but somehow the cat shrieked, leaped out, and clawed my forearm. Chloe’s eyes immediately filled with tears. She hid behind Adrian, trembling. “I’m so sorry, Adrian… I didn’t mean to. Mittens is usually so sweet. I just wanted her to keep Talia company…” Adrian hesitated for half a second before stepping in front of her, a wary look in his eyes as he met mine. “Talia, Chloe meant well. The cat probably just doesn’t like you. Don’t give her a hard time. Her competition is about to start; she can’t afford any distractions.” But I hadn’t even had a chance to say a single word of blame. I looked at the scratches on my arm, already starting to break out in a red rash. “Adrian,” I asked, my voice flat. “Don’t you remember I’m allergic to cats?” Chloe gasped, and her tears flowed even faster. Adrian’s expression faltered, then his brows furrowed in annoyance. “Don’t be so dramatic. I’ll take you to the doctor when I get back. Right now, I have to get Chloe to her competition. Stop trying to upset her.” He put an arm around Chloe and shut the door. Before leaving, he remembered to top up the cat food bowl with the brand we always kept in the house. He never once looked back at me. [This is killing me. My heart breaks for him. He’s obviously worried sick about his wife, but he has to focus on what’s important right now.] [As a goal-oriented woman, I love this. A career-focused piano genius is so much more attractive. Talia should count her lucky stars. He’ll make it all up to her when he gets home.] I smiled faintly. I couldn’t bring myself to believe them anymore. I paid no more attention to the noisy commentary. Two loud honks from downstairs. I looked out the window. His Maybach was here.

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On my mother’s 39th birthday—the year I graduated high school—my father came home with his mistress, her son, and a single red rose. My mother took the rose from the boy. That night, she slit her wrists in the bathtub. So on our wedding day, I told my wife Rina, “If you ever want a divorce, just give me a red rose.” She held me tight. “Don’t worry, Jim. There will never be a single flower in our house.” She kept her word. Five years later, during a partner pitch, she noticed the man wore a rose boutonnière. She threw him out and blacklisted his firm instantly. That day, I believed our marriage was a sanctuary. Until six months later, when I finished my pharmaceutical research and stepped out of the lab. The corridor was a blood-red river of roses. Beside Rina stood the same man she’d expelled, smirking. My face went cold. Rina waved a hand. “It’s a surprise from Miles—for you,” she said lightly. “He’s your half-brother, Jim. He’s here to make amends.” I stared at her for two hollow seconds, then turned and walked away. I never had a brother. And from that day on, I no longer had a wife. 1. I stood before my mother’s grave for three hours. Today was her birthday, and the tenth anniversary of her death. Red roses. They were once the symbol of my parents’ love. Ten years ago, my father stood by and watched as Miles Croft placed that rose in my mother’s hand, shattering the last fragments of her spirit. The red rose. My trigger. My taboo. And today, ten years later, my own wife brought my mother’s killer back into my life, armed with the very symbol of my pain, to deliver the final, fatal blow. In the distance, a shower of fireworks lit up the evening sky. It was the celebration party Rina had thrown for the successful development of the new drug. My team and I had poured half a year into it—180 days of sleepless nights and skipped meals. And now, this moment felt like nothing more than a victory lap for Miles. I said my goodbyes to my mother and turned to leave. Just then, my phone rang. It was Rina. Her voice was thick with champagne. “The party’s almost over, where are you? It looks bad, you know, the head of R&D not even showing up.” I said nothing. Any other time, I would have feigned annoyance, let her coax me with sweet words, and then waited happily for her to come pick me up. But tonight, the words wouldn’t come. Rina’s voice sharpened. “Jim Ward, I’m talking to you! Where the hell did you go?!” “The cemetery.” Silence. A beat of it, as if the cogs in her wine-soaked brain were slowly turning. It seemed she finally remembered what day it was. Maybe she also remembered that I’d given up my own birthday celebration for this project. That I’d canceled our anniversary dinner. My only request had been for her to come with me today, to visit my mother. The silence stretched for another two seconds before she finally spoke, her voice strained. “I… I was just so excited today. I forgot.” “Wait for me there,” she added quickly. I hung up and walked away. But by the time I reached the parking lot, a text from her buzzed on my phone: Jim, it’s too late tonight. Let’s do it next time. Miles is drunk, I have to get him home first. Don’t worry, I promise I’ll make it up to you. I felt no surprise. Of course Miles would find a way to keep her occupied tonight. His manipulations were obvious. I could see them. And Rina, a veteran of the cutthroat business world, could certainly see them too. But Rina didn’t care. Because she enjoyed it. Because she didn’t give a damn about how I felt. It didn’t matter anymore. From now on, I wouldn’t have to care about her, either. 2. Rina didn’t come home that night. Not a single text. Not a single call. I didn’t check. I didn’t ask. The next morning, I arrived at the company early. Rina was the CEO; I was the Head of R&D. In five years, we’d moved our company from a garage to a skyscraper in the heart of the CBD. But our marriage had journeyed in the opposite direction. With the first phase of the new drug’s development complete, things were quiet for now. I was sipping my coffee, reviewing the divorce papers my lawyer had emailed me, when Rina walked into my office. “Miles twisted his ankle getting out of the car last night, so I stayed to look after him for a bit,” she began, a practiced explanation. “It got too late, so I just crashed at a hotel nearby.” I nodded, my eyes still scanning the legal document. “Right. Got it.” We were getting divorced. Who she slept with, where she slept—it was her business now. She didn’t need to report to me. Rina froze, looking like she wanted to say more but held back. “Let’s do dinner tonight. You’re the hero behind this new drug. You deserve a proper celebration.” She paused, glancing at me. “Should we invite Miles? I think you two should talk. He was just a kid when your mother passed away, after all.” Hearing her try to whitewash Miles’s actions made my hand freeze for a fraction of a second. Rage, cold and sharp, coiled in my gut. I wanted to ask her, And I wasn’t a child when my mother died? I forced the anger down with a sip of bitter coffee. “My business is my own,” I said softly. “Tonight, let’s just make it the two of us.” It’s hard to discuss a divorce with an audience. As for a brother? My mother only had one son. I didn’t have a brother. Rina stared at me, then a slow smirk played on her lips, as if she thought I was jealous. She was about to say something when her phone buzzed, cutting her off. The name ‘Miles’ lit up the screen. A genuine smile touched her face as she answered and hurried out of my office. Near the end of the workday, I received a text from her: a reservation confirmation for an exclusive private restaurant. Her way of making amends, I knew. I printed the divorce papers, tucked them into my briefcase, and prepared to meet her. As I left the building, her car purred to a stop beside me. She rolled down the window. “You head home and get ready. I’m just meeting a client quickly, I’ll be there soon.” The car was already pulling away before she finished the sentence. In the past, I would have spent two hours getting ready for a date with Rina. I was clumsy with styling my hair and picking out clothes, a process that was both a chore and a joy. This time, there was no point. I found a nearby spa and treated myself to a deep-tissue massage, letting the tension from months of overtime melt away from my exhausted body. When I arrived at the restaurant, Rina wasn’t there yet. I sent her a text. No reply. I shook my head. Instead of waiting like I always did, I ordered for myself. The restaurant’s ambiance was serene, the food exquisite. A universe away from the takeout boxes I’d been eating at the office. So when Rina never showed up, I wasn’t angry. She had already betrayed seven years of our life together. What was one missed dinner? She didn’t know it, but her signature on those divorce papers would be the only compensation I needed. 3. After dinner, I took a slow walk home. The endless cycle of work had left me feeling disconnected from the world, but the simple, lively energy of the streets breathed a little life back into me. Suddenly, I stopped. I was on a familiar street. I realized the garage where Rina and I had started our company had been torn down long ago. And the little bakery where we used to buy cheap buns to save a dollar a day was now a fancy pastry shop. The world had moved on, and so had we. Even the memories I once cherished had been eroded by time. My phone rang, pulling me from my thoughts. It was my old professor. His voice was hesitant. “Jim, your application to join the secret research for Project Chimera… the board approved it yesterday.” He paused. “But I have to ask you one last time, are you absolutely sure about this?” “This mission will take at least five years. Without you, your company with your wife could collapse.” “Will she agree to this?” I started walking again, leaving the street of ghosts behind me. My voice was firm. “Professor, I’m getting a divorce.” … The project was starting immediately, and I was eager to leave this life behind. I arranged for the professor’s team to pick me up the next day. With no desire to wander any longer, I hailed a cab home. The living room lights were on. Rina was on the sofa, texting. The moment she saw me, the frown on her face vanished. She rushed over, grabbing my hand. “Why didn’t you wait for me at the restaurant? I got there and you were gone. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?” I was momentarily stunned that she’d actually gone. But her entitled indignation was almost laughable. Then again, it was normal for her. She was used to me waiting. I pulled my hand from her grasp. “I was done eating. Why would I stay?” Perhaps sensing she was in the wrong, she reined in her frustration and handed me a gift box. “I bought this especially for you today. Open it.” I wasn’t surprised. After standing me up twice, she had to offer some form of compensation. This was Rina’s pattern. Every time she messed up, she’d toss me a small treat afterward. And I, like a fool, would always be waiting, hoping the treat would be bigger this time—maybe a little more of her time. I took the gift box and casually tossed it onto the sofa. “You shouldn’t have,” I said, my tone polite but distant. The smile froze on her face. For the first time, she seemed to register my indifference. A flicker of panic crossed her eyes, and she reached for my hand again. Just then, Miles’s voice drifted down from the second floor. “Rina, maybe I should just go home. I wouldn’t want Jim to get the wrong idea when he gets back…” He appeared at the top of the stairs, and upon seeing me, his feigned surprise was betrayed by the triumph in his eyes. Rina rushed to explain. “Miles hurt his ankle yesterday, so I took him for a check-up today. That’s why I was so late for dinner.” “He can’t move around much, so I told him he could stay in the guest room for the night.” She watched me intently, as if expecting an explosion. I just nodded. “Fine. Then I’ll go to a hotel. I won’t sleep under the same roof as him.” Rina was speechless, clearly not expecting this reaction. “If you really don’t want Miles here, I’ll send him…” Before she could finish, Miles let out a yelp, tumbling down the last few steps and clutching his ankle in agony. Rina gasped and rushed to help him back to his room, fussing over him. As I was dragging my suitcase to the door, Rina reappeared in the living room. She bit her lip, her hand clamping around my wrist, refusing to let go. The guilt in her eyes deepened with every passing second. Finally, spurred by another pained groan from Miles’s room, she spoke. “Tomorrow,” she pleaded. “I’ll go with you to see your mother. We can talk, really talk, in front of her.” My face was a mask of indifference. I turned and left. Talk? She could talk to my lawyer. The moment Miles Croft was in my house, the conversation was over. There was nothing left to discuss, not even a divorce. 4. The next morning, the car from the institute arrived right on time. But before I left, I had one last stop to make. I had to go to the office and get the photo of my mother from my desk. I would not let that picture fall into Miles Croft’s hands. The moment I stepped into the company, I was met with strange looks from my colleagues. When I reached my office, I understood why. Miles was sitting in my chair, a smug, provocative look on his face. “Jim, my dear brother,” he began. “Looks like we’ll be working together from now on.” When I didn’t respond, his smirk widened. “Dad invested in the company. The Crofts are majority shareholders now.” “I’m the new Vice President. Which means, from now on, you report to me.” My eyes narrowed. “An investment? The Croft family assets are nowhere near enough to become a majority shareholder in this company.” Miles scoffed. “Don’t you worry about that. We have our ways.” “I like this office, by the way. I’m taking it. This is where you’ll be giving me your reports.” I looked at him, a cold smile touching my lips. “It seems you and your mother both have a taste for other people’s things.” “But you’re not as smart as she is. At least she knew when to be patient.” With that, I picked up my mother’s photograph and turned to leave. Rina appeared in the doorway just as I was walking out. Her face tightened when she saw the photo in my hand. “Where are you going?” “I’m just—” Miles cut me off, his voice dripping with arrogance. “He’s clearing out his office for me. I like this one.” Rina grabbed my arm as I tried to move past her. “No,” she said firmly. “This has always been your office. No one is taking—” I cut her off. “If he wants it, he can have it.” My resignation was already submitted. If she approved it, I was gone. If she didn’t, it didn’t matter. It was a notification, not a request. Just like she hadn’t notified me before letting Miles into our company. Rina stood frozen, her expression unreadable. She only snapped out of it when my back had disappeared down the hall. She stormed into the office where Miles was humming and rearranging the furniture. She grabbed him, dragged him out into the open workspace, and, in front of everyone, slapped him hard across the face. “I warned you,” she hissed, her voice dangerously low. “You are here to support Jim’s work. To serve him.” “He is the Head of R&D. The entire next phase of this drug depends on him. Who the hell gave you the idea you could run your mouth at him?” Down in the lobby, my phone buzzed with a series of texts from her. 【If you don’t like Miles, I’ll make him leave. I’ll fire him right now.】 【The Philharmonic is in town tonight, your favorite. I got us two front-row seats.】 【We’ll go see your mother first, and then we can have the whole night to ourselves.】 【I’ll meet you at the cemetery. 5 PM. Don’t be late.】 I shook my head, popped the SIM card out of my phone, snapped it in two, and dropped it into the nearest trash can. Don’t insult my intelligence. I got into the waiting car and headed for the airport. At five o’clock that evening, Rina Ward stood at the gates of the cemetery, dressed in somber black.

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Every night after my livestream, I slowly peel off my silk stockings in front of the mirror. I know there’s a camera hidden behind the glass. But the man watching doesn’t know my secret: this delicate, alluring cam-girl is actually a man. 1 “Thanks for hanging out, fam! See you next time!” I blew a kiss to the camera and ended the stream. Standing up from my gaming chair, I stretched, my back popping satisfyingly. To cater to my audience’s tastes, I was wearing a pleated schoolgirl skirt and black silk stockings. The cropped top rode up with every movement, exposing a stretch of pale skin. I sat on the sofa, facing the mirror, admiring my own long legs as I slowly peeled off the stockings. Why the sofa? Because it’s the perfect triangulation point between the mirror, the computer, and the smoke detector on the wall. All three contain hidden pinhole cameras. I’ve known about them for a while. I also know they were planted by three different men. Every night, I deliberately undress here to tease them. But I never take off too much. Because if I reveal too much, they’ll discover my secret: I’m a man. 2 I was born with fair skin and a soft voice. Add in my slender frame and small bone structure, and when I dress as a woman, I’m a knockout. Men lose their minds over me. Since moving into this apartment complex, three men have targeted me. The camera in the mirror was installed by my landlord. He’s in his forties, chubby, with a perpetually friendly face. You’d never guess he was a voyeur. My computer has remote control software installed. It can turn my machine on and off and access the webcam. Even when I shut down the stream, the person on the other end can turn the camera back on. The culprit is the guy next door. He’s a freelancer with thick black-rimmed glasses, very quiet and polite. One day, my computer got a “virus” (which he planted), and he “fixed” it for me, installing the spyware in the process. The last camera is hidden inside the smoke detector. I bought it from the guy who delivers my bottled water. The first time he delivered, he wouldn’t shut up about fire safety. I played the concerned girl and let him install the detector. These three cameras monitor every inch of my living room and my daily life. Why haven’t I called the police? Because I planned this. These three men are essential pieces in my game. 3 I tossed the stockings onto the sofa and slowly unbuttoned my top. Underneath, I wore a loose camisole. I knew that behind those three lenses were three pairs of hungry eyes and three flushed faces. A smirk played on my lips as I walked into the bathroom. Watching but not touching must be torture. How long can they hold out? After all, they’ve had copies of my house key for a long time. 4 The landlord had the first key. He claimed he didn’t keep spares, but I knew he was lying. He has a history of letting himself into female tenants’ apartments. But with me, he’s still observing, biding his time. When I go out, I leave a spare key under the doormat. My neighbor and the water delivery guy didn’t miss the opportunity; they took it, copied it, and put it back. But none of them have dared to enter while I’m home. Looks like I need to add some fuel to the fire. I picked up my phone and spoke loudly, pretending to be on a call. “Yeah, this place isn’t working out.” “I’ll probably move soon.” “When? Not sure yet, maybe next week…” I put the phone down, smiling. The bait is set; now I just wait for the fish to bite. Time ticked by. At 4:00 AM, I heard a soft click at the door. Who would it be? The lock turned, and the door pushed open silently. Light footsteps approached the bedroom. The door creaked open, and I saw his face in the dim light. It was the neighbor, the freelancer. He stood by my bed, his glasses reflecting a predatory gleam. His hand reached out, trembling, hovering inches from my face before pulling back. Instead of touching me, he pulled out a camera and started taking pictures from every angle. I imagine my photos will soon be added to his wall of trophies. Among his collection, I’m sure I’m the crown jewel. He took photos for a full thirty minutes. He stared at my exposed arm for a long time before finally leaving. Once he was gone, I finally let myself sleep. I slept until noon. After washing up, I went out for lunch. While eating, I pulled up the live feed of my apartment on my phone. Hehe. They don’t know that I have way more cameras hidden in my house than they do. The landlord appeared on the screen. He seemed impatient. He’d entered shortly after I left. He marched into the bathroom, grabbed my underwear, and… relieved himself. I watched with interest, my lunch forgotten. Soon, he groaned and closed his eyes in ecstasy. When he was done, he put the underwear back and left. I finished my meal and strolled back. On the stairs, I ran into Julian. Julian lives upstairs. He’s a writer. He always wears turtlenecks and silver-rimmed glasses—very clean-cut and handsome. I know Julian likes me. Every time he sees me, he gets this shy smile. If I hold eye contact too long, he blushes. He knows my schedule and manufactures “chance encounters.” He knows I’m a streamer; he’s my top moderator, “SimpleJay,” always tipping and chatting. He even brings me homemade red date soup, claiming he “made too much.” Honestly, I kinda like him too. Unlike the three creeps with their cameras, Julian looks at me with pure affection, no lust. In this society, a pure boy like him is rare. So, I flirt back. I nurture the relationship. After all, killing him will be so much more satisfying when he’s deeply in love with me.

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On our wedding day, my fiancée Molly stood by the limousine, refusing to get in. “I’m not marrying you, Noah.” Stunned, I watched as her bridesmaids laughed: “Game over—I won! You really tamed this unattainable prize, Molly. Pay up—bets and gifts, transfer everything, no shortcuts.” Then my brother Jason Sterling stepped out of another car, in the same suit as me. He took Molly’s hand and led her into the limo. As it sped off, my family surrounded me. My A-list sister Claire blocked my way: “Molly loves Jason—today’s their wedding. Behave.” My Oscar-winning mother gripped my hand: “Noah, Jason has severe depression, even suicidal thoughts. Molly’s the only one who calms him. Let him have this.” My father, one of the nation’s richest men, snorted: “He’s already lived Jason’s first 18 years. Giving up one woman is nothing.” They had security lock me in the house to stop me from ruining the hotel wedding. I didn’t cry or scream. In fact, I could barely hold back a smile. 1 As the bodyguards shoved me into the villa, a system notification chimed in my mind. Host, do you confirm you wish to exit this world via death? Confirm. Please select a method of death. I’ll jump from a building. I want to die right in front of Molly and the Sterlings. To haunt them forever. Generating death method… Method confirmed. Upon successful completion, the Host will receive a system reward of one hundred million dollars. This selection cannot be changed. Confirm. This was my twenty-first year in this world, and the third year since Jason Sterling had been found. I was a transmigrator. My current identity was that of the fake young master of a billionaire family. My brother, Jason, was the true heir, switched at birth. Having been an orphan in my previous life, I felt incredibly lucky when I first arrived here. I had a mother, a father, and a sister who loved and protected me. But everything changed on my eighteenth birthday, the day my father brought Jason home. The doors and windows of the villa were locked from the outside. They had several people watching me. “Second Young Master, you’d best stay put, or you’ll regret it.” Mrs. Petrova, the head housekeeper, stood before me, brandishing a baseball bat. Her expression was that of a cruel prison warden. I took two steps toward the door, and the bat cracked against my shin. The pain was so sharp I collapsed to my knees. “The Young Master specifically told me,” she sneered, “if you dare to disobey, I’m to break your legs.” Suddenly, she shrieked, “The Second Young Master is trying to escape to ruin the wedding! Stop him!” Several bodyguards immediately grabbed their own batons and advanced on me. 2 I scrambled backward in terror. “What are you doing? I wasn’t running! You can’t just attack me!” “Oh, we know what you’re thinking, Second Young Master. Even if you’re not running now, who’s to say you won’t in a minute?” a guard said. “It’s safer to just break your legs now and be done with it. As long as I’m here, you won’t be ruining the Young Master’s wedding!” “Do you think I won’t tell my parents?” I gasped. “And what if you do?” Mrs. Petrova laughed. “I’ll just say you were so desperate to escape you jumped from the second-floor window and broke them yourself. They won’t do a thing!” “Do it!” They swarmed me, their clubs and batons rising and falling. I could hear the sickening crunch of my own bones. My white shirt was stained crimson, and even my black suit jacket was dark with a damp, sticky sheen. But they didn’t stop, as if determined to beat me to death. “If I die here today, the Sterlings will not spare you!” I choked out. “You still think you’re the precious young master? You’re just some bastard they found! If they didn’t pity you, they’d have thrown you out long ago!” one of them spat. “When the real young master came back, they wanted to send you away. If Miss Claire hadn’t begged them, saying they could just keep you ‘like a stray dog’, you think you’d still be in this house?” “And you dare to compete with the Young Master for his wife? In your dreams!” A horrifying realization dawned on me, and I started to laugh. “So, you’re not just trying to stop me from ruining the wedding… you’re trying to kill me!” “It’s not impossible for you to have ‘fallen to your death during an escape attempt’, is it, Second Young Master?” Panic seized me. I was ready to die, but not like this. This wasn’t the method I had chosen. What if I couldn’t go back? I don’t know where the strength came from, but I lunged forward, tackling the man in front of me. We crashed into a high table, knocking over a large memorial candle my mother had lit for Jason’s good fortune. The candle fell to the floor, its flame instantly igniting the heavy velvet curtains. The villa erupted in fire. “You damned little bastard! How dare you set a fire!” In their moment of panic, I dragged my broken leg and scrambled out of the house. The entire villa district was covered in security cameras; they wouldn’t dare chase me outside. Dressed in a blood-soaked suit, I limped onto the main road, trying to hail a taxi to the hotel. My appearance was so ghastly that car after car swerved around me. Finally, a kind young man pulled over and asked if I needed help. I begged him to take me to the hotel. The hotel was one of my father’s properties, and the staff all knew me. Even seeing my horrific state, the security guards and front desk staff didn’t dare stop me. When I reached the entrance to the grand ballroom, my sister and parents were there, warmly greeting the wedding guests, their faces beaming with happiness. The moment they saw me, their smiles froze. 3 This was the wedding of the year, and media outlets from across the country were present. When they saw me stumble in, a frenzy of flashing cameras swarmed me like vultures. Claire marched up to me, her face a mask of fury. “What are you doing here?” She muttered under her breath, “A bunch of useless fools, can’t even watch one person!” Then she hissed at me, “Look at the state of you! Did you do this to yourself on purpose, just to bring bad luck to this day?” “Are you that desperate for the headlines? Is this what you’ll do to be famous?” My mother rushed over, her eyes wide with what looked like concern. “Noah, what happened? Is that blood on your suit?” “Yes, it’s blood. My blood. The men Jason hired beat me half to death. I barely escaped.” My father’s hand cracked across my face. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. “You shameless liar! Can’t you stand to see your brother happy for one single day?” My mother grabbed my hand. “Noah, you said Jason’s men beat you?” Claire pulled her away. “Mom, don’t be ridiculous! It’s obviously paint. He loves pulling these stunts for the media!” She grabbed my wrist and tried to drag me away. I stumbled and fell to the floor. My broken leg was now exposed for everyone to see. A collective gasp went through the hall. The bone of my shin had pierced through the skin, stark white against the blood. I had dragged myself here on that leg. Any normal person would have passed out from the pain long ago. Thankfully, the system had taken pity on me and activated a pain-dampening feature. I couldn’t feel a thing. My mother covered her mouth, tears streaming down her face. “Noah, how did you get so hurt?” Even my father’s eyes flickered with a hint of pain. “How could you do this to yourself?” Even Claire, who had been so hostile just moments before, was speechless. Molly pushed through the crowd and saw me lying on the floor. “Noah?” I lifted my blood-streaked face to look at her. “Good, you’re here. I have a few questions for you.” Jason rushed to her side, his handsome face tear-stained, his posture a picture of saintly sorrow. “Noah, today is the most important day of my life. Must you destroy it?” he cried, his body trembling. “Why are you always targeting me? You’ve already stolen everything that was mine! All I wanted was Molly! Can’t you just let us be happy?” Claire reached for me. “I’ll take you to the hospital.” “Claire!” Jason’s voice cracked with a sob. “The ceremony is about to start. Are you leaving?” He looked at me with wounded eyes. “This is just one of his sick games, isn’t it? Do you really believe I would have my own brother beaten like this?” Claire snatched her hand back. “Noah Sterling, you are truly twisted. To frame your own brother, you would inflict this kind of harm on yourself.” Her voice was cold. “Go to the hospital on your own. And don’t worry, the Sterling family won’t tolerate a cripple. We’ll find the best doctors to fix your leg.” I knew nothing I said would matter. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to stand. “I just have a few things to say. Then I’ll leave.” I looked straight at Molly. “From the very beginning, our entire relationship was just a bet between you and your friends. You never had any real feelings for me, did you?” 4 “That’s right,” she said without hesitation. Tears streamed down my face. I once thought I was the luckiest person in the world, with a loving family and a partner who cherished me. It was all an illusion, a reflection on water, shattered with a single touch. I could have chosen to stay in this world forever, with this family. But now, my resolve to go back was absolute. “One last question,” I said, my voice hoarse. “You had already won the bet. Why did you wait until our wedding day to tell me the truth?” “Because Jason was afraid you wouldn’t be able to handle it,” she replied. “He asked me to keep it from you.” I laughed, a loud, ragged sound. “How kind of him! My dear brother, so worried about my feelings that he waited until my wedding day to reveal it was all a game. Making me stand here in a suit like a fool, watching you two get married… that wasn’t meant to humiliate me at all, was it?” “Nonsense!” Claire snapped. “Jason is not that manipulative!” “Not that manipulative?” I shot back with a bitter smile. “Since he came home, he’s faked suicide attempts no less than a hundred times. And how many of those times did he actually die? Someone who truly wants to die doesn’t need to be rescued!” “Shut your mouth! How dare you speak about your brother that way!” My father raised his hand to strike me again, but my mother stopped him. “That’s enough! Noah is badly hurt, don’t hit him!” “Dad,” I cried out, “I’m your son too! The son you raised and doted on for eighteen years. Just because I’m not your biological child, does that mean I don’t deserve your trust?” “You stand there and claim your brother had you beaten! Do you expect me to believe such a ridiculous lie?” At the accusation, Jason immediately had one of his “episodes.” He clutched his chest and stumbled backward. “Noah, how could you slander me like this? Are you trying to drive me to my death?”

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I’m a stay-at-home dad. I had no idea the teacher’s home visit was being livestreamed to the entire school community, a camera pinned discreetly to her collar. The lens panned across our living room, a space where every available inch of wall was a shrine to the nation’s sweetheart, Catherine Shaw—autographed photos, posters, and magazine covers. The teacher and the top student’s mother exchanged a look of cold disdain. “So, you’re a Catherine Shaw fan?” “Catherine Shaw,” I said, “is my wife.” The live chat immediately blew up. 【No wonder their kid is failing. The dad’s a delusional shut-in! And he dares to claim our goddess?】 Just then, the front door opened. Catherine Shaw, known to the world for her elegant and cool demeanor, stepped inside. Her voice, however, was a warm, gentle melody meant only for me. “Honey, do we have guests?” 1 A few months ago, our daughter’s school sent home a consent form for a livestreamed home visit series. The teacher assured us it was just a project comparing the home environments of a top-performing student and a struggling one. I signed it without a second thought and promptly forgot about it. A struggling student? What did that have to do with my daughter? She wasn’t a genius, but she was hardly at the bottom of her class. I was in the middle of preparing dinner when the doorbell rang. “Who is it?” My daughter, Sophie, usually just burst in on her own. I had just set a dish down when the front door swung open. Sophie skipped in and started changing into her slippers. Still in my apron, I swept her up into a big hug, lifting her high into the air. “Sophie-bear! Did you have a good day at school? Eat lots of yummy food? Did you get your money’s worth out of that school lunch?” Because this was a mandated school viewing, the live chat was still sparse, filled mostly with skeptical parents who weren’t expecting much from the “underachiever’s” family. 【Ah, so this is the struggling student’s home. Figures.】 【They call it ‘positive reinforcement parenting.’ I call it not giving a damn about grades.】 【Sophie is so cute, though. Who cares if she can’t read? She can just…】 【Whoa, someone should check that last comment. Doesn’t sound like they’re joking.】 I was so focused on my daughter that I didn’t even notice the teacher and another family standing awkwardly in the doorway. Sophie’s sweet, soft voice finally broke through my bubble. “Daddy, the teacher is here.” I hoisted her onto my hip and turned. A flustered-looking woman stood by the door, next to a stern-faced mother and her son. “Ms. Evans, please, come in,” I said calmly. “Don’t worry about your shoes.” Ms. Evans hesitated, her eyes darting around the spacious, open-plan apartment before landing on the mother and son beside her. “This is Sophie’s classmate, Julian, who placed first on the last exam, and his mother, Diana.” I gave them a slight nod, still holding Sophie. “Nice to meet you. You’re here for the…” 【Seriously? This guy doesn’t even know to offer his kid’s teacher a drink? What terrible manners.】 【No wonder the kid’s grades are in the toilet. The father has zero social skills.】 Ms. Evans finally stepped inside, looking uncomfortable. “Mr… uh, Sophie’s dad. Are you aware of Sophie’s score on the last exam?” As if just remembering, I put Sophie down and gestured to the sofa. “Please, make yourselves comfortable! I’ve got something on the stove. My wife will be home any minute, and she gets a little grumpy if dinner isn’t hot and ready when she walks in.” 2 I disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving Sophie alone with our guests. Diana’s eyes, filled with undisguised contempt, scanned the apartment. Her voice was sharp, dripping with condescension. “So, a house husband. The woman is the breadwinner, and the man stays home. How… pathetic.” Ms. Evans said nothing. She, too, was taken aback by the situation. It explained why Sophie always talked about her dad at school, but never her mom. Still, this apartment was in one of the most expensive school districts in the city. A place like this had to be worth millions. The dad was handsome enough; maybe he was a kept man, a trophy husband. She wondered about the age gap between him and Sophie’s mother. A sudden, nasty thought seemed to occur to Diana. “Wait a minute. Is he some boy toy she keeps on the side? Is the little girl… illegitimate?” She made two loud, disgusted “tsk” sounds. Ms. Evans quickly tried to change the subject. She scooped Sophie into her lap. “Sophie, all these pictures of Catherine Shaw… is she your daddy’s favorite actress?” Sophie beamed, her smile pure sunshine. “She’s my mommy!” The live chat erupted in outrage. 【What? They’re even poisoning the kid’s mind?】 【What kind of values are they teaching her? Letting a child this young get obsessed with celebrity culture? Is that even legal?】 I emerged from the kitchen carrying a platter of food just in time to hear Sophie’s proud declaration. I smiled. “That’s right, sweetie. She’s your mommy.” To protect Catherine’s career, we’d always been careful about letting Sophie call her “mommy” in public. But here, in our own home, it should have been fine. Ms. Evans looked at me, her expression a mixture of disbelief and disapproval. “What are you talking about? She’s just a child. Saying things like that will have a terrible impact on her development. And it’s incredibly unfair to her real mother. The woman is out there working hard to support this family, and you’re not just erasing her contribution, you’re stealing her very title.” I let out a soft laugh, guessing exactly what they were thinking. With a touch of theatrical flair, I said, “No, you don’t understand. Catherine Shaw really is my wife.” The three of them stared at me. After a long pause, Ms. Evans asked hesitantly, “She… isn’t?” It was clear they still didn’t believe a word of it. I looked at my daughter. “Sophie, can you entertain Ms. Evans and our guests for a minute? I’ll be right back with our marriage certificate.” 3 I went into our bedroom. The marriage certificate was locked away in a safe, the combination being the date we officially tied the knot. I never imagined that even with the document in my hands, they would still refuse to believe me. I placed it on the coffee table. Ms. Evans’s eyes widened, and she quickly covered the certificate with her hand. “Mr… uh, Sophie’s dad. You know that forging official documents is a felony, right?” Diana picked it up, scrutinizing the paper. “Wow, this is a pretty convincing fake. Looks almost identical to ours.” Even with physical proof, the online audience remained convinced I was a liar. 【This guy is walking a thin line. He’s certifiably insane.】 【LOL, this freeloader probably has no idea this is being broadcast to thousands of people.】 【Already called the cops. Can’t wait to see him get arrested live on air.】 【You sure about that? What if you’re the one filing a false report?】 【Come on. You really think our goddess would marry some deadbeat stay-at-home dad? That’s the stuff of cheap romance novels!】 I couldn’t help but chuckle at Ms. Evans’s accusation. “It’s real.” I grabbed a tablet lying on the end table and pulled up the official government services portal. “Here, let’s take a look. The national database doesn’t lie…” Before I could finish, the soft click of the front door was followed by the beep of the keypad. A warm, familiar voice, tinged with exhaustion, floated into the room. “Honey, do we have guests?” I set the tablet down, a wave of relief washing over me. “Well, the woman herself is here. I guess we don’t need any more proof.” The moment she heard her mother’s voice, Sophie shot up and sprinted towards the door. The pitter-patter of her little feet was followed by a squeal of “Mommy!” that could melt the coldest of hearts. The voice was familiar to the viewers, but Catherine’s public persona was so cool and composed that no one recognized this soft, gentle tone. 【Aww, her dad might be a lost cause, but that little girl is an absolute angel.】 【My goddess? Are you kidding me? Everyone knows she’s the epitome of ice-cold elegance. That sweet, syrupy voice? No way!】 【Ugh, this loser. What gives him the right to even dream? He’s not worthy of breathing the same air as her.】 Ms. Evans’s chest-mounted camera was still angled down, so the viewers could only see the lower half of Catherine’s face. But the palpable shock on the faces of the teacher and Diana told the whole story. “You… you two are…” Ms. Evans shot up from the sofa. In that instant, the camera jerked upwards, and the full picture came into view: Catherine Shaw, the nation’s sweetheart, holding little Sophie in her arms. The live chat froze for a split second, then exploded. 【!!!!!!!!】 【WAIT. MY GODDESS IS MARRIED?!】 【NO, CATHERINE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! What do you see in him? Is it his poverty? His ugliness?】 A tidal wave of comments flooded the screen. The world had gone mad. This was supposed to be a simple school documentary. Most of the parents watching were married themselves, but this revelation hit them like a freight train. Simultaneously, on every social media platform, the hashtag #CatherineShawMarried shot to the top of the trending charts. Millions of fans refused to believe the devastating news. But they followed the links, flooding the educational channel’s livestream. And there she was. The stream’s viewership skyrocketed, growing exponentially until it hit the server’s maximum capacity. The moment she saw Catherine, Ms. Evans panicked. She spoke into her earpiece, her voice trembling. “We have a situation. Should I cut the feed?” Before anyone could answer, Catherine gently set Sophie down. She walked over to Ms. Evans and gave a slight shake of her head. Then, she extended her hand. “Hello. I’m Sophie’s mother, Catherine Shaw.”

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After graduation, the whole family went on a trip to the coast. My sister, having forgotten her favorite bikini, demanded I make the two-hour drive back home to get it. When I refused, my father slapped me so hard my lip split. My mother blamed me for not reminding my sister, insisting I had to be the one to go back. Humiliated and heartbroken, I broke down sobbing. My parents, calling me a disgrace, locked me in the vacation condo to “think about what I’d done.” When the three-hundred-foot tsunami came, I had no way to escape. I was swallowed alive by the wave. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in that moment, with my sister demanding I go home and get her bikini. I nodded meekly. “Of course. I’ll go get it. You guys have fun at the beach.” 1 “Sadie, are you listening? Get in the car and go get my bikini. The blue one. I need it if I’m going to get in the water!” The familiar, imperious voice snapped me back to reality. A tremor went through my entire body. I stared, breathless, at my sister, Brooke. She was tearing through her suitcase, frustration etched on her perfect face. She couldn’t find the designer bikini she’d bought specifically for this trip. My parents were fluttering around her, trying to help, their words a useless balm. They urged me to just go, to make the drive before Brooke started to cry. This was… My head whipped around to look at the window, at the calm, sapphire-blue ocean. A sharp, phantom pain prickled my skin. It became hard to breathe, as if a giant hand were squeezing my lungs shut. Down below, on the street, a little girl on her father’s shoulders was squealing with delight. “The ocean is so pretty, Daddy!” It was all too familiar. Frighteningly familiar. I was back. I had been reborn into the first day of our family vacation. Reborn four hours before a three-hundred-foot tsunami would obliterate everything. We had only been in the condo for ten minutes when Brooke started her tantrum about the bikini. I get carsick. I’d already thrown up twice on the way here. The thought of another four hours in a car, alone, was a special kind of hell. In my first life, I had refused. I told them I felt sick, that we could just buy her a new one at any of the countless shops lining the boardwalk. After all, the swimsuit they’d bought for me was a twenty-dollar afterthought from a roadside stand. My refusal was met with a barrage of parental fury. “Do you have any idea what the material in those cheap suits could do to your sister’s skin? What if she has an allergic reaction?” “You’re the older sister, Sadie. Is it so hard for you to help her out for once? I swear, you’re just selfish, always in a rush to have your own fun. You’re eighteen years old, act like it!” The usual lecture. The usual comparisons. Brooke was bubbly and adored; I was quiet and withdrawn. Brooke could talk her way into anything; I was silent and sullen. I could only stand there, my jaw tight, saying nothing. “Look at you with that dead-fish expression,” my father had sneered. “No wonder you only got into community college. “Your sister is going to Duke. She has a real future. And you? What’s the point of you? Running an errand is the most useful thing you can do, and you can’t even do that without complaining!” My silence always enraged my father. His words grew sharper, more venomous. He had conveniently forgotten why I was only going to community college. Or maybe he hadn’t forgotten. Maybe he just didn’t care that he’d ended up in the hospital from a drinking binge the week before my SATs. My mother and Brooke had both claimed they were too exhausted to deal with him, so I was the one who spent my nights in a hospital chair instead of studying. Running on no sleep, I bombed the exams. My family refused to even consider letting me retake them or apply again next year. They wanted me in a two-year program, out, and earning money as soon as possible. They all remembered. They just thought it was perfectly reasonable. As long as Brooke got into a good school, that’s all that mattered. As long as Brooke was happy. When Brooke wanted a beach vacation after graduation, my parents booked it instantly. I was just lucky enough to be brought along. The first real vacation they’d ever taken me on in my nineteen years of life. Of course, I was the one who had to carry almost all the luggage up three flights of stairs. And now, I was supposed to drive two hours back to get a bikini. 2 “Sadie, are you deaf? I told you to go get my bikini!” Brooke’s voice turned shrill, slicing through my daze. I pulled back from the window, a cold dread washing over me. The peaceful, sun-drenched ocean outside might as well have been a monster baring its teeth. Who could possibly imagine that in four hours, a terrifying wave would surge from the deep and destroy everything in its path? “Sadie, this is your fault for not reminding her. You know how she gets. Now go!” my mother snapped, glaring at me. I took a deep breath, trying to push away the paralyzing fear of the wave. I looked at my mother. Why would I remind her? I didn’t know she’d forget. And why is it my job to remember for her? The last time, I had dared to ask that question out loud. In response, my father had lunged, the back of his hand catching my mouth. The blow sent me sprawling to the floor. “When I tell you to do something, you do it! Can’t you see your sister is upset?” he had roared, ignoring the blood trickling from my lip. That slap had shattered me. For nineteen years, I had tried to understand what I had done wrong, why my own family treated me with such disdain. The injustice of it all finally broke me, and I started to wail, a raw, hysterical sound that I couldn’t control, sobbing until I nearly passed out. This only annoyed Brooke more. She stormed out of the condo, shouting that she was going to the beach and I had better have her bikini ready when she got back. They were staying for three days; if she couldn’t wear it today, she would wear it tomorrow. My parents, looking disgusted, kicked me a few times for good measure before locking me in the room. “Crying won’t solve anything,” they’d spat. “You stay in here and think about your attitude. You can come out when you’re ready to go get the damn swimsuit.” Then they left, the sound of the lock clicking shut echoing in the silent room. As if I were a piece of luggage to be left behind. I had huddled on the floor, my arms wrapped around my knees, my body shaking with silent, soul-crushing sobs. Hours later, as dusk began to fall, the calm ocean suddenly churned. The tide pulled back with an unnatural speed, and then, the water began to boil. By the time I realized what was happening, a colossal, three-hundred-foot wave was charging toward the shore like an avenging god. I screamed, throwing myself at the door, twisting the locked knob until my skin was raw. It wouldn’t budge. I ran to the window, shouting for help, just in time to see my parents dragging Brooke to the car. They glanced up. I know they did. We were only on the third floor. They saw me. But they didn’t hesitate. They jumped in the car and sped away without a backward glance, disappearing in seconds. I died in a tsunami that felt like the end of the world. 3 “Sadie, are you mute? I’m asking you one last time. Are you going to get my bikini or not?” This was Brooke’s third demand. She was officially furious, her face flushed and blotchy. Because I hadn’t said a word. My father was already moving toward me, his hand raised to strike. The scene was about to repeat itself. I would be beaten, locked up, and left to die. I quickly sidestepped, forcing a smile onto my face. “Brooke, don’t be mad. This trip is all about you. I’ll do whatever you want.” I turned to my father. “Dad, while I’m home, should I grab that bottle of Maker’s Mark you like? You could have some with dinner tonight.” My father’s hand froze mid-air. The anger on his face lessened. “That’s more like it. Go on, then. Four hours round trip. You’ll be back before dark, plenty of time to have some fun.” He lowered his arm and turned to Brooke. “Don’t you worry, sweetie. Dad will take you out on the jet skis.” “I want to go on the helicopter tour, too. For pictures,” Brooke demanded. I knew about the helicopter tour. Eight hundred dollars for ten minutes. If I had ever asked for something like that, my father would have kicked me out of the room. But for Brooke, he agreed instantly. My mother beamed, giving Brooke a thumbs-up. “Look at you, so brave! A helicopter ride!” Brooke shot me a triumphant, smug glance. She was showing off, flaunting the love that was reserved only for her. The only thing I had ever received was a slap or a shove. A familiar pang of pain twisted in my chest, but it was quickly replaced by an icy numbness. A person who has already died once has no time to mourn the love they never had. “Mom, Dad, Brooke, you guys have a great time at the beach. I’m leaving now to get the swimsuit.” I turned and walked away, the picture of obedience. They were satisfied. They would wait for me, expecting me to return in four hours. But they didn’t know that in four hours, the tide would recede with a horrifying silence, only to return with the force of a thousand storms. Maybe it was an undersea earthquake, or a volcanic eruption. Whatever the cause, an unprecedented tsunami was about to descend upon this entire resort town. I remembered it clearly. The wave was taller than our hotel building. At least three hundred feet. A wave that high was almost unheard of in human history. The 2004 Indonesian tsunami that shocked the world, devastating 14 countries and leaving over 270,000 dead or missing, had a maximum height of just over 150 feet. Of course, terrain and elevation play a huge role. But this wave… this wave was three hundred feet tall. Even if our town, Seabrook, was situated on higher ground, with hills and forests to break the impact… I couldn’t let myself think about it. The image of the apocalypse was already burned into my mind. I had to hurry. Four hours. How was I going to survive? 4 I had seen the tsunami with my own eyes. I knew what that monstrous wall of water was capable of. I had to assume the worst-case scenario: that the entire city of Seabrook and the neighboring coastal towns would be wiped out. Ideally, I would get on a plane and fly a thousand miles away. But there wasn’t time. It would be a miracle if I could even get out of Seabrook itself. It was the day after high school graduation; the roads were choked with tourists. We’d been stuck in traffic for half the drive here. Driving back to my house in two hours was a fantasy. So, escape wasn’t the answer. I had to think about immediate shelter. A high-rise building? I dismissed the thought instantly. In the face of that apocalyptic wave, any man-made structure was a joke. The tallest skyscraper would crumble like a sandcastle. No, the shelter had to be solid. It had to be high. A mountain. On the east side of Seabrook was Shepherd’s Peak State Park. Its highest point was over four thousand feet above sea level. It had well-maintained infrastructure, and at the summit, there was an old stone lodge that could serve as a shelter. I’d volunteered there once for a park cleanup day; I knew the layout. Better yet, it was only a forty-minute drive from here, and I could take the highway. It was 2:00 PM now. If I could get to the base of Shepherd’s Peak, I’d still have time to stock up on supplies and get to the top. There was enough time. That was the plan. As I walked out of the condo complex, I saw a maintenance worker passing by, carrying a large tool bag. A box of roofing nails was visible inside. I stopped him. Ten dollars later, I had a pocketful of nails. I walked to the ground-level parking lot and found our family’s SUV. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, I scattered the nails on the ground behind all four tires, points facing up. The second the car moved, the tires would be shredded. I imagined my family frantically trying to escape, the hiss of the tires deflating. The image was almost beautiful. I dusted off my hands and hurried away. Time was wasting. I had to get to Shepherd’s Peak, get supplies, and get up that mountain. 5 The Uber I called sped along the highway. I had hoped it would be clearer than the local roads, but it was still bumper-to-bumper in places. A drive that should have taken forty minutes dragged on for an hour and a half. Panic clawed at my throat. I could only pray for the traffic to move faster, just a little faster. Finally, we got off the highway. From here, it was only five minutes to the park entrance. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. It was 3:35 PM. The tsunami would hit around 6:00 PM. I had two and a half hours. I didn’t need much. Just enough food and water for a week. A tsunami, for all its destructive power, is fast. Once the initial surge passed, I just had to wait for the national guard and rescue teams. It wasn’t ideal—if I had more time and help, I’d stockpile for a month—but I was alone. Carrying a week’s worth of supplies up a mountain was the absolute limit of my strength. As the car passed a small residential area, I had the driver pull over. I ran into the local grocery store. I filled a backpack with high-energy, low-volume foods: canned goods, beef jerky, protein bars. Then, I grabbed two reusable shopping bags and loaded them with self-heating meals, dried fruit, and nuts. The last stop was a pharmacy for a basic first-aid kit: ibuprofen, antibiotics, band-aids. By the time I was done, the backpack was a dead weight on my shoulders and the bags were cutting into my hands. My back ached. But this was enough to last me a while if I was careful. The most important thing was water, but it was too heavy. I only bought three bottles. I remembered there was a natural spring-fed waterfall near the summit of Shepherd’s Peak. I wouldn’t be without water. I checked my supplies one last time, called another Uber, and gave the driver the address for the park. It was now 4:36 PM. One hour and twenty-four minutes until the tsunami. My phone rang. It was Brooke. I answered. She didn’t even say hello. “Are you home yet? I need you to bring my white sun hat, too. If you’ve already left, turn around and go back. I have to have that hat.” 6 Listening to Brooke’s commanding tone, I couldn’t help but laugh. It was a bitter, exhausted laugh. For my entire life, she had treated me like a servant. I was so used to it, so conditioned to cater to her every whim, to placate her, to do anything to avoid her anger and the punishment that would follow. If I hadn’t already died once, her voice would still fill me with a familiar dread. But Brooke couldn’t scare me anymore. Still, I didn’t argue. Not yet. There was still over an hour until the wave. If I provoked her now, knowing her temper, she might throw a fit, decide she didn’t want to be at the beach anymore, and start heading home to confront me. That would give my family a much better chance of survival. “Okay, Brooke. I’ll turn around and get your hat. It might just take me a little longer to get back to the beach,” I said, my voice dripping with false compliance. I could hear her sneer through the phone. “I love how pathetic you sound. Keep it up.” In the background, my mother’s voice chimed in. “Sadie, since you’re making another trip anyway, you might as well bring my makeup bag. I was going to bring it but it was too much of a hassle.” A cold smile touched my lips. “Of course, Mom. I’ll get it. See you soon.” “That’s a good girl,” my father added. “See? When you’re not difficult, everyone’s happy.” It was the closest thing to praise I’d heard from him in years. I hung up the phone. The car pulled up to Shepherd’s Peak State Park. I didn’t have the driver drop me at the main entrance, but at a service gate on the west side. It led to an employee access trail. I remembered it from my volunteer days. I looked up at the towering peak, a profound sense of safety washing over me. There was no safer place in the world right now. I took a deep breath and started up the trail with my supplies. The ranger in the gatehouse was napping, oblivious. The heat was oppressive, easily over 90 degrees. Only a fool would be hiking in the middle of the afternoon. As a result, the trail was completely deserted. There were probably other tourists in the park, but they’d be on the main trails, near the visitor center. I was panting, my lungs burning. I had to stop every twenty feet. My vision started to swim. Finally, dizzy and exhausted, I reached the halfway point. There was a large plaza here and a station for the cable car that ran to the summit. The plaza was empty, but the cable car was running. I got in, wiping sweat from my forehead, and checked the time on my phone. 5:26 PM. Thirty-four minutes until the tsunami. The sun was still beating down. There was no wind. No sign at all of the impending doom. But my heart was starting to pound, the memory of that apocalyptic day wrapping around me like a shroud. I closed my eyes and breathed deep, feeling the small breeze created by the moving cable car. I could almost smell it—a strange, metallic tang in the air. The wave was already forming, out in the deep ocean, still miles away. At 5:47 PM, the cable car reached the summit. Before me stood the old stone lodge, its slate roof shimmering in the heat. It was just as deserted as the trail had been. I didn’t waste time looking for anyone else. I found a small, unused chapel off the main hall and slipped inside. It was dedicated to some forgotten local saint. I remembered dusting the pews during my volunteer work. I offered a silent nod to the statue, then sat down heavily on a bench. My head was spinning, my limbs felt like lead. The climb, the heat, the stress—it had all taken its toll. But I was here. I was safe. I was in a stone building, four thousand feet above sea level. It was 5:52 PM. Eight minutes to go. I twisted the cap off a bottle of water and began to chug it. My phone rang again. It was Brooke. 7 The moment I answered, she started screaming. “Did you lose a leg? What is taking so long? I want to wear my bikini and my hat and take pictures in the ocean! I’m dying of boredom here!” My parents were in the background, their voices adding to the chorus. “The sun is about to set! We want to get pictures of Brooke in the golden hour! Get back here now!” A cold, sharp smile spread across my face. The sunset? Pictures? In a few minutes, you’re all going to be dead. All my caution vanished, replaced by a liberating rush of adrenaline. “I’m not coming back to the beach,” I said, my voice calm. “I’m at home, enjoying the air conditioning.” “What?” Brooke was stunned into silence for a second, before erupting. “Sadie, are you messing with me? If you’re not coming back, who’s going to bring me my bikini and my hat?” “Are you disabled? Do you need me to do everything for you? You’re eighteen years old, but you have the brain of a spoiled toddler.” “What?” Brooke sounded genuinely confused. The line went quiet. I could practically hear the gears grinding in her head. Then, a roar of pure fury. “Sadie, what did you just say? Did you call me disabled? Did you say I have the brain of a toddler?” Her shriek brought my parents into the conversation. My father snatched the phone, his voice a low growl. “Sadie. You dare talk to your sister like that? Have you lost your mind?” My mother’s voice, shrill and panicked, joined in. “Sadie, what did you say about your sister? Say it again! I dare you!” “Your sister is a spoiled, helpless child. A spoiled, helpless child. A spoiled, helpless child…” I repeated it, over and over. “You… you… Sadie!” My mother was hysterical. The precious angel she had coddled for eighteen years had never been criticized, let alone by the family slave. My father bellowed, “Sadie, you just wait. I’m going to come home and I’m going to chop you into pieces and feed you to the dogs!” Click. I hung up. I wasn’t going to listen to any more of that. I waited for the final three minutes to pass. 5:57 PM.

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The TMZ headline blew up my phone: [MEGASTAR FINN WILDER’S STOLEN ID USED IN SHAM MARRIAGE]. That’s how I found out Finn Wilder had forgotten we got married three years ago. The entire internet started digging. They found me, a single mom, and our son, Leo. Finn Wilder himself tagged me in a public statement: [@AnnaHayes I get that fans are passionate, but this is next level. Can we get this annulled, like, yesterday?] I replied: [Okay.] But we scheduled the divorce three times, and Finn never showed. The first time, his assistant called. “Mr. Wilder was held up on set. Pyrotechnics issue. We’ll have to reschedule.” The second time, his publicist texted me. “Mr. Wilder was rushed to the hospital with a high fever. We’re rescheduling.” The third time, my son Leo brought me his iPad, pointing at a news alert. “Mommy, Daddy got a booboo. He hit his head in a car.” 1 Before Finn Wilder was Finn Wilder, we dated. We were young, stupid, and in love. He dragged me to a 24-hour chapel in Las Vegas. His eyes were brighter than the neon strip. “This way, you’re stuck with me,” he’d said, his hands framing my face. “Not even God can tear us apart now.” He’d kissed me, smug, like he’d just conquered the world. “You’re mine. Next life, too.” That same day, he got in a car accident. And he forgot me. His family, who always hated me, saw their chance. They erased every trace of me from his life. So when the [SHAM MARRIAGE] headline dropped, I wasn’t surprised. It had his family’s fingerprints all over it. Since he’d forgotten, his family could write whatever history they wanted. I was recast as a delusional, psycho fan who’d “found” his lost wallet and somehow, magically, married him. It was a clean, believable narrative. I stared at the blurry screenshot of the marriage certificate on the gossip blogs. The ID number was magnified. The internet did its work. Within hours, my crappy apartment building, my name, and grainy photos of me struggling with a stroller were plastered all over Twitter. I’d found out I was pregnant right after he lost his memory. Leo is two and a half. He looks just like me. No one, not even Finn, suspected he was the father. The whole world was waiting for me to break down, to start screaming, to fight for him. My DMs were a dumpster fire of 99+ messages. They called me a psycho. They called me a gold-digging whore. They said I was trash trying to cling to a god. I’ve watched his movies. I watched the reckless, beautiful boy I knew turn into “The Finn Wilder,” an untouchable megastar. I know how this business works. A secret wife and a toddler don’t help that brand. I’d waited three years for him to remember. I gave up hope a long time ago. I stared at his public post for five minutes, then typed: [Okay.] My heart had died three years ago. It was time to bury it. 2 I actually met his older brother, Julian, first. I was the “swapped at birth” cliché. The true heiress to the Landry fortune, raised in a trailer park, and “rescued” at seventeen. I was a country bumpkin who only knew how to get good grades. I didn’t fit in with the prep school kids. To make it worse, I was part of an old “family arrangement” to marry Julian Wilder. Everyone laughed at me. But Julian pulled me aside at one of those awful garden parties. “This arrangement,” he said, “I intend to honor it. Get your grades up. You’ll come to New York with me.” I didn’t have a single friend. His words were a lifeline. My new “parents” were so embarrassed by me they wouldn’t even publicly acknowledge me. The fake heiress, Sierra, told everyone at school I was the new maid’s daughter. My parents didn’t deny it. The whole school treated me like a charity case. They isolated me, they whispered about me. I finally snapped. “I’m not the maid’s daughter. I’m Anna Landry. Sierra is the fake one!” A group of girls cornered me in the bathroom. They slapped me, hard. “You trash. Just because Sierra’s too nice to put you in your place doesn’t mean we are.” The leader pulled my hair, forcing me to my knees. “Look at yourself. You’ll never be one of us.” I went to the principal. He just sighed. “Why do they only bully you, Anna? Maybe you should look at your own behavior. Stop spreading these fantasies. The Landrys are paying your tuition. You should be grateful.” I cried myself to sleep every night. And I studied. I was going to get out. I was going to go to New York with Julian. My SAT scores were high enough. Julian himself flew back and convinced my parents. He was the one who brought me to NewY ork. He was how I met Finn. 3 Julian set me up in a quiet apartment near my new school. He was always the perfect gentleman. “Is the money enough?” “Are you keeping up with your classes?” “Is anyone giving you trouble?” He was five years older. He was at Columbia; I was finishing high school. He was a guardian, a big brother. One evening, he was on my tiny balcony, watching the sunset. “I brought you here to show you a bigger world, Anna,” he said. “Not to trap you with some outdated promise. They laugh at you? Then you become so successful they can’t ignore you. As for the arrangement… it’s a responsibility I take seriously, not a romance. You understand?” I understood. He didn’t love me. He would never marry me. But he was my savior. He’d pulled me out of the mud. I was just grateful. I never expected his brother. Finn Wilder was a hurricane. He blew into my quiet, lonely life and tore it apart. We lived together for four years. 4 It started because I could cook. It was a Saturday, pouring rain. A knock. He was in a baseball cap, trying to hide that ridiculously beautiful face. His arm was in a cast. He looked like a stray wolf, soaked and starving. “My brother says you can cook. I need food. Pot roast. And something spicy. Like, really spicy.” “Who’s your brother?” I asked. “Julian. My actual brother.” He pushed past me, dripping, and started opening cabinets. He was like a raccoon. “I’m calling Julian,” I said. Julian just sighed on the phone. “He escaped from the hospital. I’m on my way.” By the time Julian arrived, Finn was inhaling a plate of my spicy Kung Pao Chicken, practically vibrating. He ate the whole thing, then obediently followed Julian out. Before he left, he grabbed my phone and added his number. That night, he texted: [Tomorrow. I want ribs.] He moved in. His school (NYU) was an hour downtown, but he made the commute every day, just for my cooking. He was loud. He was obnoxious. But he also sat on the couch playing video games while I studied, just so I wouldn’t be alone. “I’m here, what are you scared of?” He was the one who went, mortified, to the drugstore to buy me tampons. “This is so embarrassing, Anna.” And then, one night, everything changed. Julian showed up. He wanted to talk about the “family arrangement” again. “It’s time,” he said. “We’re going home to announce our engagement.”

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“$28,000 a month. Sign it, or get out.” My landlady was certain I was trapped. I’d sunk over a million into renovating this place; moving was out of the question. I looked at her triumphant face as my phone buzzed quietly in my pocket. It was a text from my husband: Honey, I nailed it. The new place is $3,500 a month. Signed for eight years. A slow smile spread across my face. “Patrice,” I said, my voice full of carefully crafted hesitation, “this is a big decision. I need to talk it over with my husband.” 1 “Let me be perfectly clear, Clara,” my landlady, Patrice, announced, her voice dripping with finality. “Four storefronts, $28,000 a month. Not a penny less.” She daintily flicked a piece of non-existent lint from her mink coat, her gaze refusing to meet mine. “Either you sign the new lease, or I want you and all your junk cleared out by the end of the month.” Behind her stood the embodiment of my life’s work for the past three years: four connected storefronts, now a single, sprawling space. It was a beacon of light and activity, the undeniable jewel of this otherwise forgotten stretch of downtown. Her audacity was so extreme it was almost funny. “Patrice, our contract explicitly states that after three years, the rent will be adjusted to the market rate,” I said, keeping my voice even. “The rates on this entire street are dropping. Mr. Henderson next door, who has an even better location, just lowered his rent from $5,000 to $4,000.” I pushed a proposal across the table. “I’m offering to renew at the original $15,000, plus a ten percent increase. That’s $16,500. I think that’s more than fair.” “Market rate?” Patrice let out a theatrical laugh, as if I’d just told the world’s most hilarious joke. “Clara, darling, get a clue. Who do you think set the market rate on this street?” She pointed a perfectly manicured, blood-red nail towards the bustling street outside. “What did this place look like three years ago? A mud path with barely a working streetlight!” A hot, sour wave of anger rose in my chest. “I remember exactly what it looked like! It was me, Clara, who took over these four leaking, dilapidated shacks and sank a million dollars into turning them into what they are today!” I retorted, my voice rising. “And now that the street is thriving, you want to kick me to the curb?” “Oh, listen to you, Saint Clara the Developer,” she sneered, her eyes filled with undisguised contempt. “You think you brought this street back to life? Fine. Try leaving. Let’s see where you stack all this inventory without my property. Let’s see how many of your precious customers can even find you then.” Her words were a poison-tipped dagger, and they found their mark. Just six months ago, I’d poured another huge sum into a complete renovation, confident in the future of this location. Now, with the holiday season approaching—the busiest time of year for my business—the timing couldn’t be worse. Move? Find a new location? Renovate all over again? I couldn’t afford to lose the time, the money, or the energy. She knew it. She knew my million-dollar investment had me nailed to this spot. That’s why she felt bold enough to jack up the rent from a reasonable $3,800 per unit to a predatory $7,000. For the past two weeks, she’d ignored my calls, replying to my texts with cold, dismissive phrases: If you can afford it, rent it. If not, plenty of others can. I could practically see her smug face through the screen. “Clara, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Patrice said, rising to her feet and looking down at me. “You’ve put so much money into this place. It would all be for nothing if you had to move. It’s tough for a woman to run a business. Don’t let your pride get in the way of a few thousand dollars. Sign for twenty-eight, and I guarantee your business will be better than ever.” Looking at her face, a canvas of greed and arrogance, the last flicker of hope I had for a reasonable compromise died. I said nothing, just met her gaze with a calm, steady look. She mistook my silence for the final struggle before surrender. A victorious, cat-and-mouse smile played on her lips. Just then, my phone vibrated gently in my pocket. That faint buzz was like an electric shock straight to my heart. I pulled out my phone. A text from my husband, Thomas. Honey, I nailed it. The property exchange unit in the South End. 19-foot ceilings, same square footage as your current place. I’ve already got a designer on it. We can build a four-story mezzanine. Double the usable space, and a bigger outdoor area. And guess what the rent is? My heart skipped a beat. I held my breath. $3,500 a month. The landlord, Mr. Harrison, is a great guy. Signed for eight years, no rent increase for the first five. He said he’s moving abroad to be with his daughter and told us to do whatever we want with the place. He even said to ignore any local busybodies. My fingers trembled slightly as I typed a single word back: Perfect. Then, I slowly lifted my head and met Patrice’s triumphant gaze. I smiled, a warm, harmless smile. “Patrice, this is a really big decision. I have to go home and discuss it with my husband.” I furrowed my brow, injecting the perfect amount of hesitation into my voice. “Could you give me… three days?” “Fine,” she said with a magnanimous wave of her hand, as if bestowing upon me a great favor. “But you’d better think carefully. An opportunity like this doesn’t come around twice.” She swayed out of the store, her back radiating smug satisfaction. She had no idea. It wasn’t an opportunity I was about to miss. It was her. She was about to become a part of my past. In this high-stakes game she thought she’d already won, she had just revealed her hand. And in doing so, she had already lost everything. 2 The moment Patrice was gone, I called Thomas. “How is it? Is this Mr. Harrison for real?” I whispered, hurrying into the stockroom and closing the door behind me. “Relax, honey,” Thomas’s voice crackled with suppressed excitement. “I had someone check him out. He’s an old-timer who got a massive payout from a city development deal. He owns several commercial properties; he’s not hurting for cash. His daughter is settled overseas, and he’s moving to be with her permanently. Probably won’t be back for years.” He continued, “I had my friend in the legal department look over the contract. It’s iron-clad. He even added me on social media before he left and told me if anyone gives us trouble, just block them and focus on the business.” The knot of anxiety in my stomach finally loosened. “You’re amazing, Thomas!” “Of course, I am. I’m your husband, aren’t I?” he said, his voice beaming with pride. “This Patrice… she really thinks we’re just a couple of pushovers she can squeeze for every last drop. I’ve been sick of her for years! When we first came here, those storefronts were like pigsties, leaking and moldy. She practically begged us to take them.” “And now that we’ve made a success of it, she thinks she can bleed us dry. Not a chance.” He was right. Three years ago, we were just starting out, counting every penny. This street was a forgotten corner of the city, plagued by poor planning. Patrice’s four storefronts had been vacant for almost two years, the walls peeling, the windows broken. But I saw its potential, its unique position connecting the old city with the new developments. I was the one who convinced a hesitant Thomas to take the plunge. We did the work ourselves, clearing mountains of trash, painting walls in old clothes, learning how to lay electrical wiring from online videos. We transformed that ruin into our dream. For the first three years, business was slow. We barely broke even. But we persevered, building a reputation for quality and service, slowly but surely drawing people back to the street. The number of shops grew from just ours to ten, then twenty. You could say that this street was our baby, a child Thomas and I had raised from nothing. And Patrice was the bully trying to snatch it away now that it was all grown up. “So, what’s the plan, honey? Do we tell her to shove it?” Thomas asked. “No,” I said, my eyes catching the bustling scene outside the window, a cold glint in them. “That’s too easy.” “She thinks I can’t survive without her? I’m going to show her that not only can I survive, I can thrive beyond her wildest imagination. I just told her I need three days. Those three days are her last moments of delusion. Her last shred of dignity.” “And for us,” I continued, “it’s time to launch the Lightning Plan.” “The Lightning Plan?” “Exactly.” I took a deep breath, my mind racing, every neuron firing with adrenaline. “Get the most reliable construction crew you can find for the new place. I want them working in two shifts, 24/7. You already have the designs. Electrical, mezzanine, interior finishing—I want the best materials and the fastest possible speed. Money is no object; I have two million in our business account ready to go. I have only one requirement: in twenty days, it has to be ready to open.” Thomas gasped on the other end of the line. “Twenty days? Clara, that’s… that’s insane. It’s a military operation.” “It’s because it’s insane that she’ll never see it coming,” I said, my voice firm and unwavering. “Right now, she’s at home, feet up, waiting for us to come crawling back in three days, begging to sign her ridiculous lease. The more certain she is of that, the bigger the ‘surprise’ will be.” “For the next twenty days, it’s business as usual here. In fact, we’ll do even better, so her spies see that we’re too busy making money to think about anything else. You oversee the new construction. I’ll handle the daily operations here and keep Patrice on the hook. We’re going to pull off the ultimate deception.” Thomas was silent for a few seconds. Then, his voice came back, filled with the same fierce excitement that I felt. “Alright. Let’s do it. Let’s blow her mind.” After hanging up, I stepped out of the stockroom, my face a mask of calm, friendly professionalism once more. Mia, one of my employees, saw me and asked with concern, “Clara, that… that landlady. She didn’t give you too hard of a time, did she? She looked furious.” I smiled and patted her shoulder. “It’s fine. Just business negotiations. Don’t worry about her. Everyone, let’s focus. We hit our targets this month, and I’m giving out double bonuses!” “Yes! Thank you, Clara!” A cheer went through the store, shattering the tense atmosphere Patrice had left behind. Seeing the renewed energy in my team, my own resolve hardened into steel. Just you wait, Patrice, I thought. You’re about to learn the true meaning of regret.

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