Category: English

I found a new streamer to watch. I’d spend my nights helping him win donation battles and boosting his subscriber count. He had a great voice. The only problem was, there was this one song I really wanted to hear, and he wouldn’t sing it. He wouldn’t even learn it. I dropped a “Lion” (the top-tier gift) in his chat. He just nodded at the camera. “Thanks, Lyra. But I have my principles. I don’t sing songs I don’t like.” I figured he was just one of those ‘serious artist’ types. Until I accidentally overheard him on a hot mic, cooing to his second-biggest donor: “Baby Bear, you know I’d learn anything for you… just one ‘Sports Car’ gift and it’s all yours~” So, he has principles. They just don’t apply to me. Got it. I took my money next door. I dropped a Lion in a random new streamer’s chat, and through the cascade of celebratory animations, I heard the new guy gasp, “Oh my god—sister, hold on! Give me thirty minutes, I’ll learn this song right now!” At the same time, my phone buzzed. A DM from my “principled” streamer. He was… not happy. 1 Anyone who knows me knows I’m a sucker for a good voice. It’s a chemical reaction. A cat with catnip. My brain just shuts off. So, when “Rhys,” the streamer I’d been simping for, refused to sing “Princess,” I was annoyed, but not that annoyed. He seemed to sense my vibe shift and quickly explained, “I have my principles, Lyra. I don’t sing songs I don’t like. It feels fake.” On screen, his face was all sharp angles and artistically messy hair. He had that detached, too-cool-for-this vibe. I just stared at my screen. My status as his #1 donor suddenly felt… awkward. He must have felt the tension, because his voice softened. “I’m not trying to be a jerk. I see you as a friend, not just a wallet. I’d rather be honest with you than just… perform. Please don’t be mad. It makes me feel like crap.” It worked. I melted. He was right. He was different. He wasn’t like those other streamers who would do anything for a donation. He was authentic. I dropped a few more Lions to show there were no hard feelings. Rhys just gave a small “Mhm” of acknowledgment, as if the $1,500 in animations was just… expected. I was about to type that he could just sing whatever he wanted, when a flashy entrance notification rolled across the screen: [—Monthly #2 Donor ‘BabyBear’ has entered the chat—] “Hey, Bear!” Rhys’s voice instantly changed. It was warmer. “I learned that song you asked for. Want to hear it?” I’d noticed this before. He was always… friendlier… to BabyBear. When I’d asked him about it, he’d said, “Because I see you as a real friend. She’s just a ‘client.’” I watched her “Bear” emoji pop up in the chat, and I quietly logged off. He was just working. I get it. To make sure I didn’t accidentally click back into his stream, I swapped to an old alt account I barely used. The account had five unread DMs. All from someone named “Ren.” Ren: [Thank you so much for the follow, sister! (#^.^#) This is Ren, I’m a singer! Welcome!] Ren: [Signing off! Thanks again for the support tonight, I’ll work really hard! (#bow#)] Ren: [Hey, sister, been busy? I learned some new songs if you want to come listen!] Ren: [Good morning! Another great day to practice singing!] The most recent one was from one minute ago. Ren: [Long time no see, sister! Welcome back anytime! ~] It took me a second to remember who “Ren” was. A month ago, I was trying to help Rhys win a “Hype War.” The platform rules said one account could only contribute 100 “Hype” points. I’d made this alt account to give him an extra 100. While searching for Rhys’s stream, I’d misclicked and ended up in Ren’s. “Welcome, ‘CocoaMilk’! Welcome, ‘New-Sister-Who-Just-Joined’!” his voice had said. It was… different. Clear, warm, like a mountain stream. It wasn’t the gravelly, “trying-too-hard” baritone Rhys used. Ren’s voice was natural, and a little nervous. I’d hit “follow” and tossed him a few cheap gifts. He’d completely frozen. “Oh—wow—thank you! Thank you so much! I… wow!” The joy in his voice was so genuine it almost made me uncomfortable. I left after a minute and went to Rhys’s stream. I’d forgotten Ren, and this account, entirely. I never realized that, in the corner I’d forgotten, someone had been this grateful for a random, throwaway click. 2 I clicked into Ren’s stream. He had his camera on this time. He was just a kid, maybe college-aged, in a plain white t-shirt. He had fluffy hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a look of… pure, unfiltered himbo. When he saw my username, his eyes lit up. “Sister! You’re back! Good evening!” He smiled, and he had dimples. I typed: [You remember me?] He blushed. “Of course! You were the first person who ever gave me a gift on this platform. It sounds cheesy, but… you’re like, my original patron. Thank you for taking a chance on me.” I glanced at his stats. “Viewers: 7.” His contribution list was… sad. The top three combined didn’t break $20. I felt a pang of pity. I sent him a few “Hype” gifts. He looked shocked. “Thank you! Oh, wow, thank you. Sister, is there anything I can do? A song? A voice line? Anything?” [No, it’s fine. You’re doing great. Keep it up.] I left. I figured the Lions I’d sent to Rhys earlier were probably pulling in new traffic for him. I might as well go help him secure his ranking. I clicked on Rhys’s channel. And I froze. He was singing “Princess.” The song I’d begged for. The song he’d refused to learn. He finished with a flourish, his voice dropping into that fake-intimate register. “That was a song someone asked for a long time ago. I never sang it. But I’m singing it now… just for you, my Princess Bear.” A “Sports Car” animation ($100) immediately filled the screen. BabyBear: [If you already knew it, why didn’t you sing it for Lyra? She’s your #1. She would have dropped a ton of Lions.] Rhys let out a short, ugly laugh. “Her? God, no. I wish she’d leave. She’s so needy. ‘Emotional value,’ ‘reciprocation’… she thinks just because she throws money at me, she owns me. So desperate.” BabyBear: [Aren’t you afraid she’ll stop paying?] “Please. She’s easy. If she gets mad, I just ignore her for a few days. She always comes crawling back, apologizing. Total simp.” BabyBear: [Wow. My King.] Rhys chuckled. “Anyway… anyone else want a song? A ‘Hot Air Balloon’ for a request, a ‘Sports Car’ to learn a new one. Invest in Rhys. You won’t regret it.” My… my streamer. He’d… collapsed. I thought I was his patron. He thought I was his doormat. And his “principles?” What a joke. I was so angry, I typed in the chat: [Talking shit about your #1 donor? Bold move. What if she finds out?] A red message appeared. [You have been permanently banned from this channel.] Rhys looked at the camera with a sneer. “Some random alt account, trying to start drama. Get out of here. My fans and I know our vibe.” A second later: [You have been kicked from the channel.] I… I just started to laugh.

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On my wedding day, my enemy Silas Blackwood hung my fiancé Joey’s head from the cathedral spire. As blood dripped down the cross, Silas approached and whispered that a traitor never deserved me. The guests fled, but I smiled. Three years ago, Joey had sworn to protect me after my family took him in. But last week, I learned he was betraying me with my cousin Maya and leaking company secrets. I’d planned to expose him today—but Silas acted first. We married right there in the bloodshed. He treated me like a queen, until my birthday, when I found his secret house filled with photos of him and Maya. That night, he asked what I wanted. I looked straight at him and said, “I want you to kill Maya for me.” 1 The moment the words “kill Maya” left my lips, the smile on Silas Blackwood’s face froze. “Seraphina, don’t be ridiculous.” He stepped forward to take my hand, but I snatched it away the instant his fingers brushed my wrist. “Ridiculous?” A bitter smile twisted my lips. I pulled a stack of printed photographs from my purse and threw them at his feet. In the pictures, Maya was lounging in his study’s leather armchair, wearing his favorite silk nightgown. “Silas, look closely,” I hissed. “Does this look ridiculous to you?” He bent to pick them up, his movements suddenly hesitant. “She must have snuck in and taken those when I wasn’t home. I only found out today, I swear…” “Oh?” I cut him off, unlocking my phone and shoving the screen in his face. It displayed the address of a secluded villa on the outskirts of the city. “And what about this? The security code is my birthday, yet the walls inside are covered with her pictures. Her clothes are in the closets. Are you going to tell me she picked the lock and moved herself in?” The color finally drained from his face. He lunged for my phone. I took a step back, my back hitting the cold wall. “Silas, you’ve always been so good at playing the devoted husband, haven’t you?” I opened up the social media app. The top trending topic was already exploding. #SilasBlackwoodSecretVilla #TheRealMrsBlackwoodMaya, followed by a bright red “VIRAL” tag. Beneath it was the nine-photo grid I had posted that afternoon. The caption was simple: “Happy birthday to me.” “Look. The whole world knows now. Your perfect, loving husband act? It’s shattered. There’s not even dust left.” He ripped the phone from my hand, his fingers flying as he dialed his PR team. His voice was laced with a panic I had never heard before. “Kill the story! Now! Delete every single photo! If anyone posts it again, I’ll make sure they never work in this city again!” He hung up and turned to me, his eyes a maelstrom of conflict. “Seraphina, there’s nothing between me and Maya. The photos are a misunderstanding, you have to believe me…” “A misunderstanding?” I laughed, but the sound was choked by a sudden surge of tears. “Three years ago, when Joey betrayed me, you killed him for me. I thought you were the one person who would never betray me. But you? You played me for a fool! Tell me, Silas, can’t you bring yourself to kill her?” “Is it because she’s my cousin? Or is it because… you’ve fallen in love with her?” He opened his mouth, but no defense came. Seeing him stand there, utterly speechless, the last flicker of warmth in my heart went cold. All these years, everything he had done was a lie. The devotion, the passion… it was all a performance. 2 That night, I locked myself in the guest room. Sleep wouldn’t come. My mind was a whirlwind of the past. Three years ago, before the Preston family’s ruin. Joey Preston was known as the darling of Veridia City. He brought me breakfast every morning. He would brew me ginger tea when I had my period, holding my hands and whispering, “Seraphina, the day I graduate, I’m going to make you my wife.” Back then, Silas Blackwood was the monster no one dared to cross. He was the Blackwood family’s illegitimate son, raised abroad, a dark secret. When he returned, he carried an air of brutal intensity. I first met him at a Preston family gala. He beat a trust-fund brat who was harassing me half to death, then strode over to me, looking down his nose at me. “Seraphina Meng,” he’d said, his voice laced with contempt. “Joey Preston can’t protect you. You’d be better off with me.” I despised him then. I saw him as a brute who solved every problem with his fists. Until the Prestons fell. Joey’s father was investigated for embezzlement, and their empire collapsed overnight. Looking back, the “evidence” was almost laughably obvious. The signature on the ledger was a clumsy scrawl, nothing like the elder Mr. Preston’s elegant script. But I was blinded by grief and chaos, desperate to salvage what little was left of their family. I never stopped to question the convenient timing or the glaring inconsistencies. It never occurred to me that Joey’s family had been framed. And that was when Silas started circling me, relentlessly, telling me to forget Joey, to marry him instead. But I was devoted to Joey. Watching him fall from grace into ruin broke my heart. I begged my grandfather to have the Sterling family step in, to offer him a lifeline. He knelt before me, his forehead pressed to the toe of my shoe, his voice thick with emotion. “Seraphina, thank you. I’ll never forget this. I’ll protect you for the rest of my life.” And I believed him. I never imagined that he would immediately turn around and fall into bed with my cousin, Maya. I was overseas for a business deal when I discovered their affair. It was a video. Joey was holding Maya, their faces close, about to kiss. “Once I get the Sterling data,” Joey was saying, “I’ll ditch that fool Seraphina. Then we can finally be together, out in the open.” Maya smiled and kissed him. “Don’t go soft on me, Joey,” she purred. “That bitch should have been dead years ago.” In that moment, I was consumed by a tidal wave of betrayal and rage. I booked the first flight back, planning to confront him at the altar. If it was true, I would kill him with my own hands. But Silas beat me to it. He hung Joey’s head from the cathedral spire. Then he came to me, his voice as gentle as if he were soothing a child. “Seraphina, a traitor like that doesn’t deserve you.” I thought then that he and I were the same. We were both monsters. We both had no tolerance for betrayal. Now, I see how catastrophically wrong I was. Joey’s affair had driven me mad with rage, and I had blindly accepted the “evidence” Silas and others had fed me. Only now do I realize it. The affair, the evidence, the seduction… It was all a meticulously crafted trap, set by Silas and Maya. Thinking back, Silas’s intentions were never pure. He didn’t want me; he wanted the Sterling family’s resources and influence. And Maya… she had been jealous of me her whole life. She always whined about how unfair it was that I was born the Sterling heiress, that everyone seemed to love me so effortlessly. Seducing Joey wasn’t just about hurting me. It was about using him to get her hands on Sterling Corp’s core data. To help Silas seize control of my family’s empire even faster. They were in it together from the start. A perfectly orchestrated performance, slowly devouring the foundations of the Sterling legacy. He took personal control of our most important projects. He replaced the heads of our core departments with his own people. Even my personal assistant became his spy. I was a figurehead, a puppet queen in my own kingdom, about to lose any real power I had left. The more I thought about it, the more the hatred burned. Hatred for my own stupidity, for being deceived by his charade for so long. But there was no turning back. Maya and Silas… they would pay for what they had done. 3 The next morning, I checked my phone. The trending topic had been pushed down, but the story was still spreading like wildfire. #SilasBlackwoodPRDisaster #MayaTheMistress #SeraphinaTheScornedWife. The headlines dominated the top twenty. The comment sections were a warzone. Some called me a bitter, scorned wife, posting pictures for sympathy. Others called Maya a conniving snake who had been with Silas all along. Someone even dug up the story about Joey Preston from three years ago, claiming the Blackwoods were nothing but a crime family who treated human life as disposable. Silas’s PR team issued a statement. They claimed the photos were doctored, that the villa was a business investment, and that Maya was simply helping manage the property. They even produced so-called “evidence.” A purchase contract for the villa, and a work contract for Maya. But the public wasn’t buying it. Someone unearthed security footage of Maya coming and going from the villa at all hours. Another noticed that the jewelry Maya was wearing in her own social media posts was identical to a set Silas had gifted me. The most laughable part? Maya posted on her own account. A picture of herself with red, tear-swollen eyes. The caption read: “Silas and I are just friends. Seraphina, why would you spread such vicious lies? I know you’re still upset about Joey, but you can’t take it out on me.” That post poured gasoline on the fire. The comments turned on me. I was petty. I was cruel. Poor, innocent Maya. I stared at the screen, a mixture of fury and derisive laughter bubbling in my chest. She had perfected the art of playing the victim. Just then, the door opened. Silas came in. His eyes were shot with red; he clearly hadn’t slept. “Seraphina, stop this. The PR team is handling it. If this continues, it will damage the Blackwood family’s reputation.” He came to my side, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Stop this?” I looked up at him. “Am I the one who started this, Silas? You and Maya betrayed me first! Now she’s playing the victim to win public sympathy, and you’re not only failing to defend me, you’re blaming me for making a scene?” “That’s not what I meant,” he sighed. “Maya is still your cousin. Blowing this up doesn’t do anyone any good.” “No good for who?” I sneered. “It’s good for you. It’s good for Maya. It’s only me who gets hurt! Silas, have you forgotten? I am your wife!” He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled a black credit card from his pocket and placed it on the table in front of me. “Seraphina, don’t be angry. Take this. Buy whatever you want. Or if you want to go abroad for a while to clear your head, I’ll arrange it immediately.” I looked at the card, the irony a bitter taste in my mouth. Did he really think he could buy my silence? My forgiveness? “Silas, I don’t want your money. I want Maya dead.” I pushed the card back toward him, my gaze unwavering. “If you can’t bring yourself to do it, then stay out of my way.” His face hardened. “Seraphina, don’t push me.” “You’re the one pushing me.” I stood and walked to the door. “From this day forward, I’m done with you and Maya. But don’t you dare try to interfere with me.” With that, I slammed the door and left. As I walked out of the villa, I saw Maya’s car parked at the gate.

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01 The bet was a penthouse apartment in downtown Manhattan. The target was me, the scholarship kid from the slums. The objective, set by Kaden Thorne, the king of Heston University’s trust-fund elite, was to get me into his bed within thirty days. So, after his very loud, very public declaration of “love” in the middle of the quad, I took the ridiculously large bouquet of roses he was holding, and dumped it in the nearest trash can. Then, I started lying. “Sorry, Kaden. One of your ‘brothers’ already told me the truth about the bet.” I saw his face tighten. “And honestly?” I added, “If you spent less time being mad that a ‘charity case’ like me stole your spot on the Dean’s List, maybe you’d actually pass a class.” Then, I turned to the circle of smirking heirs watching the show. “And as for the rest of you… I know you were just trying to get on my good side, telling me all those nasty secrets about him behind his back, but…” I shrugged. “I’m just not into men who sell out their friends. Sorry.” As I walked away, I watched the chaos erupt. Every single one of them, who had been laughing a second before, was now looking at his “brothers” with pure, unadulterated suspicion. I smiled to myself. Oh, you privileged little boys. You think you’re the players? You just walked into my game. 02 The truth is, I noticed them long before they ever noticed me. You can’t not notice them. Their entire lives are a performance of being rich. I’d spend hours hate-stalking their Instagrams, getting physically ill from the casual display of wealth, just writhing in my cheap dorm bed, consumed by pure, uncut jealousy. So, when Kaden Thorne himself, the king of the pricks, suddenly approached me, fresh off his McLaren, saying he was “in love” with me? That I was the “one pure, untouched, beautiful thing” in his world? My deep-seated hatred of the rich kept me perfectly clear-headed. I knew it was a scam. And digging through their social media, I figured it out pretty fast. These arrogant, spoiled brats weren’t just playing with my feelings. They weren’t even planning on spending any money to do it. That, more than anything, was what pissed me off. Fine. You want to be cheap? Then you can’t blame me for turning your “brotherhood” into a public dogfight. 03 Unfortunately, being right doesn’t pay the bills. I didn’t have time to savor the victory. I had to run to my shift at the diner. I was halfway through wiping tables when one of them found me. Alex Chen. The one who’d just publicly declared I was a “filthy scholarship rat.” He was furious, demanding I go to Kaden and clear his name. I just looked at him and shook my head. “No.” “I never spoke to you,” he snapped. “Why can’t you just tell him that?” I wiped the sweat off my forehead with my sleeve, my expression flat. “Because we ‘filthy rats’ have pride, too. Why would I ever help someone who insults me?” “Ha,” he sneered. “Pride. How much is your pride worth?” I gave him a look. “More than you can afford.” He scoffed and pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen and shoved it in my face. It was his banking app. The balance had eight figures. “Go clear my name,” he said, “and you can have whatever you want from that account.” I stared at the numbers. I’d never even seen that many zeroes in one place. My mind went blank, filled with visions of…central heating. Of a new laptop. Of three meals a day. Then I heard his laugh. A low, contemptuous sound. “Pride’s pretty expensive, huh?” he mocked. “Thought you said I couldn’t afford it.” I snapped back to reality. Back to the plan. “You can’t,” I said, turning back to my tables. “Fine,” he said, his voice casual. “The owner of this diner is my dad’s golf buddy. You’re fired.” I froze. I turned back to him. “You’re disgusting.” “I just hate fakes,” he shrugged. “I’m giving you one more chance. Take the money, do the job. Yes or no?” I was silent for a long time. Then I nodded. “Okay. I don’t know how this works. You can just… Venmo me. I just need forty-five hundred.” Alex looked at me like I was an alien. “What, are you afraid I’ll report you for extortion? Forty-five hundred? What the hell is that?” I met his eyes for the first time. “It’s for a hearing aid for my grandmother. I was saving up from this job. But since I’m fired, I guess I have no other way.” He stared at me, his arrogant expression faltering. I kept going. “My grandma raised me. She used to collect cans to pay for my schoolbooks. One of my classmates saw her and told everyone. This kid, this real asshole, brought a bag of chips to school. He held it out and told me I could have it if I barked like a dog. I didn’t, of course… but I was so hungry. I’d never had barbecue chips before. I couldn’t help but swallow, just once. He saw it. He and his friends laughed so hard…” “I’ve never, ever forgotten that. That feeling of… shame.” I took a shaky breath, forcing down the fake tears, making my voice tremble just right. “I thought if I just worked hard, if I got the scholarship, it would all be different. But here I am, all these years later, and you’re doing the same thing. You’re right. I am fake. I’m just a pathetic, hungry girl, always swallowing my pride over things I can’t have.” “But please… just send the money. My grandma doesn’t have much time left. I just want her to hear my voice one more time.” Alex was completely thrown. “I… wait… I’m not…” I just let the tears fall, big, silent drops. I wiped them away, my expression still, looking at him with red, swollen eyes. “I’m sorry I’m ‘fake.’ Please, just leave me alone.” I bowed my head slightly and walked out of the diner, leaving my apron on the counter. 04 I walked out, turned the corner, and went straight to McDonald’s for a McFlurry. Mmm. Delicious. That $4,500 was going straight into my savings. My grandma, bless her heart, has been dead for thirty years. She doesn’t need a hearing aid. Alex Chen. You want to play mind games with me? You’re an amateur. You know that kid who tried to make me bark for chips? By the time we were in high school, he was so obsessed with me he asked me to prom by kneeling in the cafeteria. He’s still in my DMs, using burner accounts. I am a master of this game.

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My family is perfect. My dad is a computer science Ph.D. from Harvard. My mom is a professor of medicine at Stanford. My older brother is an International Math Olympiad champion. And then there’s me. I scored a 60 on my math final. My brother was so furious he stayed up all night writing three mock math exams just for me. “You are such an idiot,” he spat. “You’re a disgrace to me and Mom and Dad!” “Until you finish these tests, don’t even think about leaving this house. You’re not going out there to embarrass us again!” Mom shoved a “Smart Pill” she’d developed down my throat, ignoring how I gagged and my eyes rolled back. “Don’t give me any excuses about being tired or sleepy,” she snapped. “This pill will keep you awake for twenty-four hours. That’s plenty of time to finish the tests!” Then Dad activated “Strict Mode” on the smart home system he built. “Don’t even think about sneaking out or calling for help,” he said coldly. “I’m locking the house down and jamming the signal. If you don’t finish those tests, no one will come for you, even if you die in here!” With that, the three of them left for their vacation in Hawaii. As the front door slammed shut, a vase full of water on the shelf rattled and crashed onto the smart home control panel. I was choking on the pill, gasping for air, pounding on the door for help. The malfunctioning panel just repeated, over and over: “Student, please complete your exam on time. Study hard. Be a good child.” “Study hard. Be a good child…” “Study hard. Be a good child…” I clutched the exam paper in my hand, pain searing through my chest. My last thought was: Is this answer good enough for you? Is my life enough? 1 The pill Mom fed me was lodged in my windpipe. I couldn’t cough. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe! The smart home Dad built had sealed every exit. I pounded on the door until I felt the bones in my hand crack, but it didn’t budge. It felt like a boulder was crushing my chest. Soon, my strength gave out, and I slid to the floor by the door. As my consciousness faded, I prayed silently. Mom, Dad, please come back and save me! I’m scared. Nina is dying. Nina doesn’t want to die all alone. Please don’t leave me! Hot tears rolled down my cheeks, answered only by the cold, mechanical voice. “Student, please study hard. Be a good child.” “Be a good child…” But Nina is about to be a dead child. I’ll never be good again. I closed my eyes in despair. Just then, the smart speaker crackled to life, broadcasting a voice call from Mom. “Nina, have you started the test?” “Hmm? Why aren’t you answering? Oh, so you’re giving us the silent treatment now?” I shook my head weakly. No, Mom! Think! If Nina isn’t talking, something is wrong! Your Nina is dying! But Dad’s cold voice cut in. “Whatever. I set the Smart Butler. If she doesn’t finish the test, the kitchen and fridge stay locked. No food for her!” “She wants to be stubborn? Let’s see how long she lasts!” Tears streamed down my face. The mirror reflected my turning blue, the life draining from my eyes. No, I’m not being stubborn! Nina is a good girl. You told me to take the test, and I was going to take the test. My brother’s impatient voice chimed in. “Come on, get in the car. Let’s go have fun in Hawaii. Stupid Nina can just stay home and be jealous!” The car door slammed shut. Silence. I listened to my own heartbeat slowing down. Thump… thump… Until finally… Thump! My heart sank like a stone into a frozen lake. No more echoes. … When I opened my eyes again, I was in a bustling airport terminal. Mom and Dad were chatting and laughing. My brother was playing a game on his phone. I used to want to play with him, but he’d always tell me to get lost and go do my homework. He said playing was a privilege for honor students. But now, I floated over to watch him play, and he didn’t chase me away. It was nice. As if sensing something, my brother suddenly put down his phone. “Nina is so dumb. She got a 60 in math. She won’t cause trouble at home, will she?” Mom’s smile instantly vanished. “What trouble can she cause? Just throwing a tantrum! That dead child, never studies properly, always up to no good!” She bit her lip. “Fine, I’ll bring her back some cookies from Hawaii. She loves junk food anyway.” “Honey, you tell her. Only good children get rewards!” Dad pulled up the home surveillance feed on his phone. But the camera showed the last frame before the smart panel malfunctioned—me, choking, clutching the exam paper in agony. Dad flew into a rage. “She tore the test! That little brat, does she think she can fight us?” He immediately called the Smart Butler. “Smarty, change of plans. No food for Nina Bell for three days. If she’s thirsty, she can drink from the toilet!” Mom was furious too. “We’re an Ivy League Ph.D. and a Professor! Do you know how much effort we put into raising that little piece of trash? And she doesn’t even try! She makes me a laughingstock among my colleagues!” I tried to grab them, to explain, but my brother told them to stop. “Quit yelling, people are staring. Honestly, you guys shouldn’t have had a second kid. She’s the shame of this family. She should have just died at birth!” My fingers passed right through their arms. I watched them nod in agreement. They regretted having me. I smiled bitterly. Okay then. Now that I’m really dead and can’t embarrass you anymore, will you and Alex be happier? 2 I watched them fly to Hawaii. I watched Mom and Dad put on wetsuits, and Alex wax his surfboard. The sun warmed the sandy beach. My body was still lying on the cold floor back home. Dad looked in the direction of home and gripped his phone. “That little waste of space is probably crying from hunger by now.” Mom smirked. “Good! Unless she copies that torn test a hundred times, I’m not letting her off the hook!” But Mom, dead kids can’t write tests. I’m sorry… Alex clicked his tongue in annoyance, just like always. “Guys, you forget she’s an idiot! If she gets too hungry and dizzy, I’m worried she might accidentally burn the house down. Ugh, so annoying! Better check on her.” Dad must have thought I was an idiot too, because he quickly opened the app. Mom frowned at the screen. She looked ready to scream. I panicked and tried to block the screen. If they saw the glitch, they’d know Nina was dead! If I died and made a mess of the house, Mom and Dad would hate me even more! I was sobbing, trembling all over. Dad gasped at the screen. “What?!” The feed glitched and switched to the living room. It was a disaster zone! Trash everywhere! It’s all because Nina didn’t study properly. And she fell on the floor and got in the way. The Smart Butler had decided Nina was “trash” that needed to be removed. It was controlling the Roomba, which was ramming into everything. Vases shattered. Chairs were overturned. Dad was livid. “Nina Bell! You dare trash the house?! You stupid, evil thing, why don’t you just go die!” Mom screamed, “You think throwing a fit will get you out of this? Three days isn’t enough? Fine, ten days! I’ll lock you in there until you learn!” “Buzzkill… Smarty! Clean up the living room!” Dad threw his phone aside in disgust. He didn’t see the Roomba crashing into the walls. Its casing shattered, becoming sharp and jagged. It picked up porcelain shards from the floor and charged at my body. Like a knife, cutting into flesh. My body became a bloody mess. I cried and threw myself at their feet, begging them to stop it. I’m already dead. Why do you have to destroy the last chance for us to see each other? I looked pleadingly at Alex. He sneered. “That damn idiot touched my stuff?” I realized with horror that there were pieces of a model on the floor. Alex’s battleship model that took him a month to build! I shook my head frantically. [Alex, believe me!] Nina is dumb, but she knows to protect Alex’s things. Nina held onto the test Alex wrote until she died. I’m waiting for you to come back. When you see it… You’ll forgive me, right? Suddenly, a cheerful voice piped up. “Alex! You guys are vacationing here too?” It was Chloe, my desk mate and neighbor. The “good kid” Mom and Dad always compared me to. The one who put gum in my hair. The one who told boys to put a dead rat in my backpack. Because I had bad grades, because I was a “bad student,” she said the teachers wouldn’t listen even if I told on her. She feigned surprise. “Where’s Nina?” Alex, blinded by anger, snapped, “Why would we bring a retard? Chloe, I really wish you were my sister!” My heart seized. A heart that should have been dead hurt so much I couldn’t breathe. They can hit me, scold me, but please, don’t throw me away! But Mom and Dad laughed. “Chloe, your grades are so good. We wish we could trade our trash for you.” “Exactly. You’re much easier on the eyes than that idiot!” I watched helplessly. My parents praised the bully who tormented me. My brother told me to learn from her. 3 Chloe looked at them like they were idiots. But why? My parents and brother are geniuses. Nina was so proud of them. That’s why I never let anyone bully them! I tried to push her away, but Mom spoke up, her voice sickeningly sweet. “Chloe, are you hungry? Have some cookies…” But Mom, those were the cookies you promised me! Even though I can’t eat them anymore. How could you reward the bad person who hurt your daughter? Tears fell from my eyes. It felt like a hole had been punched in my chest, bleeding endlessly. Someone spoke up. “Who wants your cookies? Your crazy daughter will just get mad and say Chloe bullied her again!” It was Principal Tao, Chloe’s dad. He stood protectively in front of her, looking smug. When I tried to report the bullying, he was the one who threatened to expel me! But Mom bowed her head and apologized! “I’m sorry. It’s all because that little liar makes things up!” She took off her jade Guan Yin necklace and shoved it into Chloe’s hands. “Take this as an apology. My idiot daughter has been eyeing this for ages. Chloe, you wear it. Let her be jealous!” I stared at the pendant Mom put on Chloe. Grandma gave that to Mom. Mom said she would give it to me one day. She said the Goddess of Mercy would protect Nina and keep her healthy and happy forever! But Nina is dead. The necklace is gone. Mom’s love is gone too. Principal Tao huffed, satisfied. “Your daughter is rotten! Slandering me, saying I’m biased? You better put out a statement clearing this up!” My furious parents didn’t hesitate. They posted on Facebook and Twitter, saying I was jealous of my classmate and made up lies! They were fair and just parents. Only Nina was the bad child! Relatives commented, criticizing me. [I always wondered why her parents are so smart but she’s so dumb. Turns out she spends all her energy being devious!] [A leopard can’t change its spots. This kid has no future!] Suffocation washed over me again. But Mom and Dad played happily with Chloe’s family. My parents, who were always “too busy with work,” went snorkeling with Chloe to see the coral reefs. My brother, who “hated idiots,” patiently taught her how to surf. Tired from playing, Chloe snuggled into my mother’s arms. She faked sweetness. “Auntie, you guys are so nice to me! If my mom was still alive, I bet she’d be just like you…” Mom hugged her tight, heartbroken. “From now on, you can be my daughter!” Then what am I? Dad laughed. “Why don’t you come stay with us for a while, Chloe? Let me think which room…” Alex suggested, “Kick the idiot out of her room. Send her to a boarding cram school. Don’t want her upsetting Chloe!” I listened as my family planned how to abandon me. To make room for my bully. For the next five days, they didn’t think of me once. Until a neighbor called. “Mr. Bell? I called the police.” “I noticed the three of you left for vacation, but I haven’t seen your youngest daughter. And now… there’s a terrible smell coming from your house. Like… something dead.”

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I was in my third month at the hospital when, in a rush, I accidentally sent a photo of my car meant for the dealership to my work group chat instead. The new intern, a sharp-tongued girl named Dabby, immediately called me out. “Dr. Hayes, why are you posting a picture of my car? Are you that desperate for clout?” Stunned, I asked if she was mistaken. It was my car. But she just spammed the chat with a series of photos and videos of herself driving a G-Wagon, her hand casually on the wheel, proving it was hers. Her messages dripped with condescension. “Some people are just shameless. They’ll do anything to feel important. You think posting one sneaky picture of a car makes you the new Mrs. Fuchs?” I frowned and turned to my husband, who was sitting beside me. “Is there a second Mrs. Fuchs I should know about?” 1 In my haste to get to work, I’d sent the photo to the group chat for the interns I was supervising. Before I could delete it, they saw it, and the chat exploded. “Whoa! A G-Wagon with a starlight headliner? The customization alone must have cost a fortune! Dr. Hayes is loaded!” “I had no idea our supervising doctor was a secret heiress! My apologies for ever thinking otherwise!” “Dr. Hayes, what do your parents do? That car must be worth half a million, easy.” Dozens of messages flooded in, all prying into my family’s business. A few of the male interns even slid into my DMs, asking me out to dinner. I sighed. “I’m not an heiress,” I typed back. “It was just a birthday gift from my husband. Now, can we please focus on work…” Before I could finish, the new intern, Dabby, jumped in. “Dr. Hayes, why are you posting a picture of my car? Are you that jealous you have to leech off my life for attention?” “‘A gift from your husband’? Don’t tell me you’re trying to pass yourself off as some billionaire’s wife.” “I knew I shouldn’t have driven it to the hospital. Now I have people like you taking pictures of it to flex online. So tacky.” The barrage of accusations left me speechless. “Are you talking to me?” I typed, confused. “Dabby, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. Maybe our cars just look similar?” She went silent for a few seconds, then began flooding the chat with selfies in and around the G-Wagon, including videos of her behind the wheel. Her tone grew even more mocking. “This G-Wagon, with this starlight headliner, is a one-of-a-kind custom job. How could a broke doctor like you possibly have one that looks ‘similar’?” “You snap one photo of my car and claim it’s yours? Why don’t you go take a selfie in front of the White House and claim you own that, too?” Her blatant ridicule instantly swayed the other interns. Their tone shifted on a dime. “Uh, Dr. Hayes, this is a little cringe… So awkward.” “It’s okay if you don’t have a nice car. No one would’ve said anything. But this is just… low. And getting called out by Dabby like this? Yikes.” “Wow, I didn’t know we had such a poser at this hospital. And she’s supposed to be teaching us? Hope she doesn’t teach us all how to be pathological liars, lmao.” Another flood of snide comments followed. Someone even tagged me, telling me to apologize to Dabby. I frowned and tagged her directly. “What is going on? Why are you in my car? And when did you take those videos?” I had helped design the starlight headliner myself. It was unique. The second I saw her pictures, I knew it was my car. Dabby shot back: Have you no shame? Still trying to lie your way out of this? Do I have to drive the car right up to you and rub your face in it before you finally give up? “If it’s really your car,” I typed, “tell me what color the interior is right now.” “Gray,” I said to myself, confident. I’d just had the dealership change it a few days ago. A second later, Dabby posted a new selfie from inside the car. The interior was now a vibrant, custom pink. She laughed triumphantly in the chat. “Spoken like a true wannabe! You’re caught! The interior was gray when you took your little spy photo, but I had it changed to pink yesterday!” “What’s wrong? Couldn’t steal a new picture in time, Dr. Poser?” That sealed it for the rest of the group. They were convinced the car was Dabby’s and began dogpiling on me. “She acts so aloof, but she’s just as obsessed with status as anyone. We’re so unlucky to have her as our supervisor.” “Seriously. Seeing someone else’s luxury car and trying to pass it off as your own? Getting exposed like this is just pathetic.” “She lies so easily. Makes you wonder if her academic achievements are fake, too. You hear about female doctors sleeping their way to the top, trading favors with old professors to get published…” The rumors grew wilder, escalating into outright slander. I was furious and about to fire back when a colleague burst in. There was an emergency surgery, and they needed me immediately. There was no time to deal with a bunch of interns. I dropped my phone and ran. 2 It was late afternoon by the time I scrubbed out of surgery. As I walked through the main lobby, a delivery guy came in carrying a massive bouquet of yellow roses. “I have a delivery for a Mrs. Fuchs!” he called out. “From a Mr. Fuchs!” A smile tugged at my lips. My husband, Julian, and I had a small argument that morning as I was leaving. We’d been giving each other the silent treatment all day. But yellow roses were his way of apologizing. Trying to hide my grin, I stepped forward. “Those are for me. I’m Mrs. Van—” “Don’t you touch my flowers!” Before I could take the bouquet, Dabby darted out from across the lobby, shoved me aside, and glared at me with pure contempt. “Ava, do you have any self-respect? First, you try to claim my car, and now you’re trying to steal my flowers? Have you no shame?” I stumbled back, the last of my patience evaporating. “Are you out of your mind?” I snapped. “Those are my flowers!” “Hahahaha!” The little clique of interns standing with Dabby burst out laughing. “Dr. Hayes, you really need to give up the act,” one of them sneered. “A bouquet this huge? Only a man from a family like Dabby’s fiancé could afford this. Who do you think would send something like this to a nobody like you?” “Exactly! I’ve never seen someone so desperate. It’s physically painful to watch you embarrass yourself over a bunch of flowers!” “You’re lucky Dabby is so classy and forgiving. If it were me, I’d have called security by now!” Dabby, meanwhile, put on a show of blushing modesty. “Oh, stop it, you guys! I told you I wanted to keep my identity a secret. You weren’t supposed to tell everyone!” She preened under their fawning. “My fiancé is the heir to a massive fortune. His family is incredibly powerful. So many people are trying to get his attention, and I just don’t want to deal with all that drama every day.” The others cooed, showering her with praise and envious looks. I was so dumbfounded by their performance I could barely think straight. “Your amazing fiancé lets you drive other people’s cars and steal other people’s flowers?” I scoffed. “And if you’re such a wealthy heiress, why are you even working as an intern? Shouldn’t you be at home, lounging by a pool?” “It’s called being self-sufficient! Something you wouldn’t understand!” Dabby shot back, her face flushing, clearly hitting a nerve. “I could say my fiancé’s name and it would blow your mind. He’s the heir to the Fuchs Corporation!” I blinked, processing what she’d just said. I frowned. “You don’t mean… Julian Fuchs, do you?” “Excuse me? You don’t get to use his first name!” Dabby snapped, her eyes flashing with arrogance. I was completely baffled. “Did Julian Fuchs marry you in your dreams?” “How dare you insult me?” Her face twisted in rage. “My fiancé will not let you get away with this—” I held up a hand, cutting her off. “I don’t know about your fiancé, but I can tell you this: the real Julian Fuchs will not let you get away with parading around town, impersonating his wife.” I’d never seen someone so bold as to impersonate me, to my face. It was a new level of audacity. Dabby’s face turned crimson. “How dare you say I’m an imposter? I am Julian Fuchs’s wife!” “Prove it,” I said, my gaze steady. “Talk is cheap. Why should I believe you’re Mrs. Fuchs?” “I’ll… I’ll call my fiancé right now! I’ll have him come down here and deal with you!” She whipped out her phone and dialed, her voice instantly turning sugary sweet. “Honey, you have to come to the hospital! There’s this crazy bitch here who doesn’t believe who you are, and she won’t stop bullying me…” A man’s voice, recognizably Julian’s, came through the speaker. “Who has the nerve to bully Julian Fuchs’s woman? I’m on my way.” Hearing this, Dabby’s confidence surged. She shot a triumphant look at the crowd. “Nobody leave! Just you wait until my fiancé gets here. He’s going to destroy this pathetic liar!” I stared at her, utterly bewildered by her conviction. If her husband was Julian Fuchs, then who was mine? Taking my chance, I sent a quick text to my Julian, asking him to pick me up from the hospital. He replied almost instantly with a simple “OK.” That settled my nerves. In fact, I started to look forward to the coming showdown: The Real vs. Fake Julian Fuchs. 3 While we waited, Dabby grew more and more smug. She hugged the yellow roses to her chest and sneered at me. “Ava, I get it. You come from nothing, so you’re desperate to feel important. But I can’t just let you get away with slandering me like this.” “You’re going to get on your knees and apologize,” she declared. “And you’ll promise to never try to ride my coattails again. Otherwise, I’ll have my fiancé ruin you.” I almost laughed in her face. Before I could speak, her sycophants chimed in. “Dabby, you’re too kind! After all the lies she’s told about you, all you’re asking for is an apology!” “Ava, the heir to the Fuchs Corporation is not a man to be trifled with. You should take her offer and get on your knees now, before he gets here and decides to make a real example out of you.” “Seriously! I heard Mr. Fuchs is extremely private and hates public appearances. The fact that he’s coming here today just for Dabby shows how serious this is. Do you have any idea the trouble you’re in?” It was true that Julian disliked the spotlight, but that was just his personality. It was absurd that they were twisting it into another weapon to use against me. A cold smile touched my lips. “We’ll see who ruins who.” This woman was out there impersonating me, driving my car, even changing its interior. I needed to get to the bottom of it. I couldn’t let her tarnish my name any longer. Dabby snorted. “Keep up the tough act. You’ll be singing a different tune when you see what my fiancé can do.” Just as she spoke, a commotion erupted at the hospital entrance. The hospital director and other senior staff were rushing to greet someone. “Mr. Fuchs! What a delightful surprise! If you had told us you were coming, I would have met you at the door myself!” “Mr. Fuchs, those three million dollars in medical equipment you donated solved so many of our problems. The entire hospital is eternally grateful to you!” I looked over and, sure enough, it was Julian. He was striding towards us, his expression calm and unreadable. One of Dabby’s friends, Tina, was the first to run up to him, a fawning smile on her face. “Mr. Fuchs, you’re such a devoted husband. Coming here the second you heard your wife was in trouble.” “Look, Mrs. Fuchs has been waiting for you!” she said, gesturing dramatically toward Dabby. Julian glanced at Dabby, then his gaze found mine. He spoke in a low, intimate voice that cut through the silence. “Honey, come over here.” The entire lobby seemed to hold its breath. Everyone’s eyes swiveled to Dabby, filled with envy and excitement.

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In the third year of my marriage to Audrey, my uncle came home. He was, and perhaps always had been, the one that got away. I saw the current that still flowed between them, saw the way Audrey’s eyes clung to him when she thought no one was looking. This time, I decided to let go. The marriage between the Prescotts and her family was only ever on the table because my uncle, Grayson, didn’t want it. It fell to me. I packed my bags, erased my presence from our home, and chose a bright, clear day to leave. Audrey called. “Ethan, once I’m done showing your uncle around, I’ll be home to celebrate your birthday.” I watched the white contrail of a jet score the blue sky and said softly, “Don’t worry about it. I’m not really celebrating this year.” 1. The Prescott family has a standing dinner every month. My wife, Audrey, is a busy woman, and she rarely attended with me. When I showed up alone at the family estate, I was an easy target for their casual disdain. After years of the same remarks, you build a kind of immunity. So when my Aunt Carol started in again about my lack of ambition, about my inability to hold Audrey’s interest, I simply let my mind drift, outlining the next chapter of my novel. “Well, it’s one thing for you to be useless,” she said, her voice cutting through my thoughts, “but thank God Grayson is back today. He and Audrey were always so close. From now on, we should just let him spend more time with her.” Let Grayson do what with Audrey? My focus snapped back to the dining room. I felt a surge of disbelief. “Aunt Carol, Audrey is my wife. What are you trying to say?” She set down her fork with an impatient clatter. “What do you think I mean? They were good together. If Grayson hadn’t been so stubborn about going abroad for his doctorate, you never would have had the chance to pick up the scraps.” “Audrey is my wife,” I repeated, my voice tight. “We’ve been married for three years.” I pushed myself up, gripping the edge of the heavy mahogany table. The sudden emotion brought on a wracking cough, a familiar betrayal by my own body. Every eye at the table turned to me, their expressions dripping with contempt. I clenched my fists at my sides. I’ve always been the invisible Prescott son. Frail and prone to illness since childhood, I spent more time in bed than out of it, easily overlooked. When my mother was alive, she watched over me, even from her own sickbed. But after she died, I became a ghost in my own home, trailing behind my cousins, taking whatever they didn’t want. It wasn’t until I started earning my own money as a writer that I found any semblance of peace. Their scorn, their dismissal of me—I could live with that. But Audrey, my wife… that was the one thing I couldn’t concede. I couldn’t just play deaf and dumb while they plotted to push the woman I loved into another man’s arms. Why in God’s name should my uncle be the one to “spend time” with my wife? “I’ve lost my appetite. Please, enjoy the rest of your meal. Excuse me.” I turned to leave. “You stop right there! Who taught you to speak to your elders that way? Have you no manners?” My father’s voice boomed, his palm slamming the table. “It would make sense if I didn’t,” I said, turning back to face him, my gaze unflinching. “After all, you never taught me any.” The standoff was broken by a voice I hadn’t heard in three years. “Ethan, what’s all the fuss? Don’t ruin a perfectly good family dinner.” It was my uncle, Grayson. He sounded the same as ever—his words feigning concern while every syllable dripped with condescension, painting me as the petulant child. He hadn’t been in the house for five minutes, knew nothing of the situation, and had already laid the blame at my feet. I turned, an irritable retort on my lips, but it died when I saw who was standing beside him. A person who was supposed to be working late at her firm. “Audrey? What are you doing here?” 2. I hurried over to Audrey, my feet carrying me before my mind caught up. By the time I reached her, the reason for her presence was painfully obvious. Grayson explained with a wide, charming smile. “Today’s the family dinner, isn’t it? I was worried I wouldn’t make it in time from the airport, so I mentioned it to Audrey. Next thing I know, she’s insisting on picking me up herself.” I heard a quiet snicker from the dinner table. Before the meal, my father had asked why Audrey was absent again. I’d told them she was swamped with work. Yet one word from Grayson had her racing across the city to the airport and then all the way out to the family estate. The hierarchy was crystal clear. I forced a smile, looking at Grayson. “Uncle, if you needed a ride, you could have called a car service. You didn’t have to bother Audrey.” “We’re old friends from school,” Grayson said, draping an arm around Audrey’s shoulders in a theatrically familiar gesture. “What’s the big deal if she comes to get me? Right, Audrey?” Audrey slipped off her scarf and coat with practiced ease and handed them to me. “Ethan, don’t overthink it. Let’s just sit down and eat. Your uncle is finally back. It’s a reunion for everyone.” A sudden sting filled my eyes. She had already turned away from me, finding a seat next to Grayson. They sat shoulder to shoulder, their heads bent toward each other in conversation, looking for all the world like the high school sweethearts they once were. Anyone would say they were a perfect match. After all these years, it was like no time had passed for them. And me? After three years of marriage, was I just her convenient valet? A bitter smile touched my lips. Leaving now would only cause a bigger scene. I retreated to my original seat, directly across from them. Grayson’s presence lit up the room. He handled the relatives’ questions with the effortless grace he’d always possessed. For as long as I could remember, he was the center of attention, the golden child. I had once admired him, even tried to emulate him. Then, I grew to despise him. And Audrey… she still watched him with that same unwavering focus. My heart seized. I knew that look. It was the exact same way she used to watch him in high school. She was forever the salutatorian to his valedictorian. While Grayson worked on problem sets, Audrey would rest her chin on her desk and just stare at him, completely captivated. It never surprised me that she fell for him. Grayson was perfection on the surface. Before we were married, I had even wished them well. But now we were married. If she still held a flame for him, what did that make me, her husband? I picked at my food, the taste of it lost on me. On the drive home, Audrey said she was tired and asked me to drive. She sat in the passenger seat, eyes closed. I decided to test the waters. “Audrey, you do know that we’re married, right?” She frowned, her eyes still shut. “If you’re ever unsure, you can always look at the certificate in the filing cabinet.” I let out a breath, laughing at my own paranoia. But her next sentence plunged me right back into the ice. “By the way, Grayson’s just getting resettled. There’s a lot he’s not up to speed on here. I’m going to spend the next few days showing him the ropes.” 3. Audrey took Grayson to a corporate gala. When I said I wanted to go, she waved me off while selecting a gown. “I don’t need you there. One escort is enough. You should stay home and work on your novel.” Before I could ask why she was taking him instead of me, her husband, she offered a placating smile. “You can come pick me up when it’s over.” So I swallowed the words that might have started a fight and simply said, “Okay.” I didn’t want to fight with Audrey. Around eight o’clock, guessing the event was winding down, I packed a thermos of the ginger tea I’d brewed for her—it always helped settle her stomach after drinking—and grabbed a cashmere wrap in case she got cold. I parked near the hotel entrance, rolling down my window so I wouldn’t miss her, and waited, a sense of hopeful anticipation fluttering in my chest. At nine, she and Grayson emerged, arm in arm, and were immediately swarmed by a throng of reporters and photographers. I got out of the car and started pushing through the crowd, wanting to get her out of there quickly. She always hated the noise and flashing lights after a few glasses of champagne. But before I could reach her, I heard a reporter’s question cut through the din. “Ms. Hale, you’ve never made a public appearance with a date since your marriage. Is the gentleman with you tonight your husband?” I froze, looking up at Audrey from the edge of the crowd. She leaned into Grayson’s embrace, giggling at the question. “This is… this is the man I’ve loved for years.” In that moment, Grayson, perfectly sober, met my eyes over the heads of the press. After the reporters dispersed, Grayson and I helped a stumbling Audrey into the back seat of my car. “She’s had a bit too much to drink,” he began, a lecture forming on his lips. “Remember to get some of that tea into her when you get home. Take good care of her, Ethan, her tolerance isn’t what it used to be, you’ll have to be patient…” “Are you finished?” I cut him off. He looked at me, surprised, then clapped me on the shoulder with a reassuring, patronizing smile. “Ethan, I know they say ‘in vino veritas,’ but don’t take it to heart. Don’t fight with Audrey over this.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “She said she loved me for years. Past tense. She didn’t say she still does.” “Is that right? You really think so? That’s great. I was worried you might get the wrong idea.” The night air was cool, but a hot, frustrated anger burned in my chest. From the back seat, Audrey mumbled. “Ethan… I think I’m gonna be sick…” I shot Grayson a glare and drove home.

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Yesterday, I spent eight hours on the phone with a girl who wanted to die. I talked her down, pinpointed her location, and saved her life. The next day, my request for comp time was denied, and the 200 hours of overtime I’d logged for the month were zeroed out. When I saw the internal memo that defined my work—the act of saving a human being—as ‘ineffective’ and ‘unauthorized overtime,’ I just had to laugh. My supervisor chewed me out in front of the entire team. “We’re an emergency line, not a crisis hotline! Stop wasting public resources!” I lowered my head and took it. Three days later, the city’s biggest investor called in a panic. His daughter had locked herself in their corporate data center and was threatening to wipe the servers clean. He demanded to speak with one person: “the dispatcher who saved my daughter’s life.” The alternative? He’d pull every dollar of his investment out of the city. The assignment popped up on my screen. I clicked ‘Decline.’ “Sorry. The company doesn’t approve that kind of overtime. I can’t take the assignment.” 1 The last words I said into my headset were, “Don’t be afraid. Our people are at the door now. They’ll protect you.” A faint sob came through the line from the other side, followed by the splintering crack of a door being forced open. The call, which had been my entire world for eight straight hours, was finally over. I pulled off the headset and the world tilted, a dizzying spin cycle of fluorescent lights and gray cubicle walls. An oxygen-starved ache throbbed behind my eyes. My name is Stella, and I’m a dispatcher at the Metro 911 Dispatch center. Eight hours ago, a girl named Millie Pierce had called, intent on ending her life. I had thrown every piece of training, every ounce of empathy I possessed, into that call—soothing, guiding, listening. Finally, in a moment when her emotional walls crumbled, I got the key piece of information, the address that allowed us to pinpoint her location. When the green “Rescue Successful” flag lit up on my screen, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding for half a day. I slumped forward onto my desk, too exhausted to even lift a finger. At nine in the morning, after handing off my station, I dragged my lead-filled legs to my supervisor’s office and knocked on the door. “Report,” I said, my voice a croak. No answer. But I could clearly hear her voice from inside. Brenda, my supervisor, was on the phone, her tone light and breezy. “Oh my God, I finally snagged that new shade of nail polish. We should celebrate at that new Italian place downtown tonight, what do you say?” I stood there, waiting. A colleague walking by paused, shot me a look of pure pity, and then hurried away. Ten minutes later, the call ended. The door swung open and Brenda’s face, on seeing me, immediately soured, her eyebrows pinching together. “What is it? Don’t you know how busy I am? You need to make an appointment next time.” Her eyes radiated impatience. A tremor ran through my exhausted body. I placed a thick stack of overtime logs on her desk. “Brenda, I’ve logged over 200 hours of overtime this month,” I said, my voice flat. “I was on a call all night for eight hours. I’d like to request two comp days.” That stack of paper was a testament to a month of late nights and early mornings, a monument to my dedication. Brenda picked up the stack with two perfectly manicured fingers, as if it were something foul. Her face was a mask of disgust. “Two hundred hours? Stella, you’re supposed to be one of my top dispatchers. Is your efficiency really that low?” “These are all system-logged effective call times,” I said calmly. “They meet the requirements for overtime.” She let out a short, sharp laugh and flipped open the first page. “Let’s see. This one from last night. Call duration: eight hours and twenty-three minutes. For one case?” “Yes. A girl with active suicidal ideations. The situation was critical.” Brenda’s acrylic nails tapped a sharp rhythm on the desk, her expression dripping with disdain. “Eight hours? Stella, were you saving a life, or catching up with your long-distance boyfriend? We’re an emergency hotline, not a therapy clinic!” “You occupy a line for eight hours—do you have any idea how many real emergencies, people needing an ambulance or a fire truck, couldn’t get through because of you?” I tried to explain. “Brenda, saving a life, a person who is actively trying to die, is also our duty…” “Duty?” she cut me off, her voice rising sharply. “Your duty is to complete ‘information gathering’ and ‘dispatch assignment’ with maximum efficiency! Fifteen minutes per case, max! That’s your KPI!” She snatched a red pen and, right in front of me, began to scrawl across my logs. Next to the eight-hour entry, she wrote in piercing red ink: 【Serious violation. Ineffective communication. Creates risk of resource bottleneck.】 She flipped through a few more pages. “Consoling the family of a lost child, call duration 45 minutes?” 【Exceeded scope of work. Not your job.】 “Handling a caller panicking about a gas leak, call duration 1 hour 10 minutes?” 【Induced panic. Lacks capability.】 With every annotation, she would look up at me, the contempt in her eyes raw and undisguised. Finally, holding the stack of papers now covered in insulting red ink, she stood up. I thought she was going to throw it in the trash. No, she did something worse. She walked to her office door, grabbed a stapler, and with a loud thwack, she pinned my 200 hours of heart and soul to the bulletin board outside her office—the one reserved for displaying disciplinary cases. The “Notice Board of Shame,” as we called it. A public testament to my supposed failures for every single person to see. My heart sank with the percussive sound. She returned to her desk and pulled up my monthly timesheet on her monitor. In the “Overtime Hours” column, she typed a single, clean number. “0”. The digit felt like a physical blow. I clenched my fists, my nails digging so deep into my palms I thought I might draw blood. “Brenda, you can’t do this! This is real work I did!” Brenda crossed her arms, a smug, “what-can-you-do-about-it” smile spreading across her face. “On what grounds? On the grounds that I’m your supervisor, and I’m the one who signs off on your KPIs.” “Stella, don’t be so petty. You’re young. You need to have some dedication, stop thinking only about yourself! Surely you don’t just come to work for the money, do you?” 2 Before I could even process the humiliation of that “0,” the intercom crackled to life. “Attention all staff, attention all staff. There will be an emergency team meeting in Conference Room One in ten minutes. Attendance is mandatory.” It was Brenda’s voice, sharp and absolute. I walked into the conference room on heavy feet. It was already full. My colleagues’ eyes fell on me, a mixture of emotions I couldn’t quite decipher: pity, curiosity, and a few glints of malicious glee. Tiffany, who was usually friendly with me, was now sitting as far away as possible, pointedly avoiding my gaze. Brenda strode in on her high heels, her eyes like lasers as they scanned the room and locked onto me. “I’ve called this meeting today for a very specific reason.” She paused for dramatic effect, her voice turning severe. “We are an emergency response center. Every single second of our public resources is invaluable.” “However, we have a member on our team whose priorities have become… misguided.” Every head in the room swiveled towards me. I dropped my gaze to the worn toes of my shoes. “One of our dispatchers seems to think this is an emotional chat line. She can spend eight hours on a single call!” Brenda’s tone was thick with sarcasm, drawing a few stifled snickers from the room. “Eight hours! Do you all understand what that means?” she continued, her voice rising. “It means a critical emergency line was rendered useless for eight hours! In that time, a heart attack victim, a child trapped in a fire, could have died because they couldn’t get through!” In her version of the story, I hadn’t saved a person who wanted to die; I had become a criminal who endangered countless others. My chest heaved, and I fought the urge to leap to my feet and scream. Just then, Tiffany raised her hand and stood up, an expression of earnest sincerity on her face. “Brenda, I think you’re absolutely right. We have to prioritize the greater good.” She turned to me, her face a mask of concern, but her words were daggers. “Stella, I know you have a good heart, but we’re professional dispatchers, not neighborhood gossips. Your actions, objectively, caused a massive waste of resources. That’s irresponsible to the rest of the city’s residents.” This “big picture” speech earned a nod of approval from Brenda. “Well said, Tiffany! That’s the kind of perspective and strategic thinking we need from a top dispatcher!” Brenda’s attention snapped back to me. “Stella, as a senior employee, for you to make such a rookie mistake is inexcusable. You should be severely disciplined.” “But, considering you put in the effort, even if it was useless, I’ll give you one chance to redeem yourself.” She looked down at me, her expression imperious. “Now, stand up, and give everyone here a thorough self-criticism. Promise it will never happen again.” All the blood in my body rushed to my head. A self-criticism? For doing my job, for meticulously saving a human life? I clenched my jaw and said nothing. The room was utterly silent. The tension was thick enough to choke on. Brenda’s face darkened. “What? Still defiant? Let me tell you something, Stella. Rules are rules!” She sneered. “And to ensure this serves as a lesson for everyone, I’m announcing a new regulation.” “Starting today, any non-dispatch-oriented call exceeding 30 minutes will be directly tied to your monthly performance review. For every minute over the limit, ten dollars will be deducted from your pay. No upper limit.” “Furthermore, any such call will be classified as an ‘Invalid Call’ and will not count towards your logged work hours!” She finished, her eyes fixed on me in a clear challenge. “Stella. Did you understand this new rule?” 3 The conference room door closed behind me, shutting out the storm of complicated stares. I walked back to my station feeling drained, my spirit hollowed out. Just then, a call came in. I took a deep breath, put on my headset, and forced myself back into work mode. “Metro 911, what’s your emergency?” “Help! My apartment’s on fire! The address is… Maple Creek Condos, Building 3…” As I started typing, Tiffany, at the next station, began talking loudly to another colleague. “You have to see the new purse I bought! It’s gorgeous! I’ll show you a picture in a sec!” Her voice was shrill, deliberately distracting. I frowned, pressing my hand over my free ear to block her out as I tried to confirm the details. “Sir, stay calm. Is that Maple Creek Condos, Building 3, apartment 203?” “What 203! It’s 302! 302!” the man on the other end screamed, frantic. A jolt of alarm shot through me, but before I could apologize, Tiffany had snatched the headset right off my head and put it on her own. “Sir, this is Dispatcher Tiffany. I’ve confirmed the address as Maple Creek Condos, Building 3, apartment 302. The fire department is on its way. Please remain calm.” She cooed a few more sweet, standard reassurances and then ended the call. Taking off the headset, she looked at me with a sickeningly fake expression of concern. “Stella, are you okay? You seem exhausted. Mishearing such crucial information… you almost sent the trucks to the wrong address. What if I hadn’t been listening? Could you handle that responsibility?” Without waiting for my response, she spun on her heel and marched straight toward Brenda’s office. I could hear her exaggerated voice loud and clear. “Brenda, I need to report something. Stella’s really not in a good state. We almost had a major incident…” That kind of backstabbing felt worse than if she had screamed a hundred insults at my face. I sat frozen at my desk, a cold dread washing over me. I don’t know how much time passed before I looked up to see a carton of warm milk and a small granola bar sitting on my desk. I blinked, confused. My eyes scanned the room and met the gaze of an older dispatcher from another team, a quiet man who rarely spoke. He gave me a silent, almost imperceptible nod before quickly looking away. That small, unspoken gesture of solidarity, as faint as it was, was a flicker of warmth in the suffocating darkness. I wasn’t completely alone. I couldn’t let them break me. I picked up the milk, and as I did, the name of the girl from last night flashed in my mind. Millie Pierce. I distinctly remembered a moment during our eight-hour marathon when she had screamed, sobbing hysterically. “My dad’s company is Veridian Dynamics! All he cares about is his stupid investments! He’s never cared if I live or die!” Veridian Dynamics… Arthur Pierce… A name clicked into place. I quickly grabbed my phone, opened the browser, and typed in the keywords. The headline that popped onto the screen made my breath catch in my throat. Billion-Dollar Investment Secured! Veridian Dynamics CEO Arthur Pierce Signs Strategic Partnership with City. In the accompanying photo, the man beaming at the signing table was the city’s biggest new investor. His project was tied to tens of thousands of jobs, a keystone for the entire region’s economic future. I had saved his daughter. My fingertips slid across the cold glass of the screen. A plan began to take shape, cold and clear, in the back of my mind. Brenda. Tiffany. You value KPIs and efficiency above all else, don’t you? You think my work is “ineffective”? Soon, you’re going to find out just how valuable my “ineffective” work really is. 4 For the next three days, I became a machine. An unfeeling dispatch automaton. Every call, I adhered strictly to the “15-minute” principle. My call-time records became flawlessly, brutally “efficient.” My average handling time plummeted from my usual 25 minutes to just under 8. Brenda praised me by name in the daily briefing, commending my “rapid improvement” and noting that I was “teachable after all.” Tiffany chimed in with a saccharine, backhanded compliment: “Looks like Stella’s finally figured out the secret to success.” I accepted it all with a blank expression. My heart grew harder and colder with every premature, impersonal disconnection. And then it happened. A piercing, urgent alarm blared through the entire dispatch center. Every monitor was instantly flooded with a flashing, blood-red pop-up. 【PRIORITY ONE ALERT: A-LEVEL URBAN PARTNERSHIP CRISIS】 My heart hammered against my ribs as I read the details. Millie Pierce, daughter of Arthur Pierce, had locked herself inside the central server room at the Veridian Dynamics headquarters. The very server room that housed the digital infrastructure for the city’s entire development plan for the second half of the year. The alert included a direct quote from a frantic Arthur Pierce: “Right now! Get the dispatcher who saved my daughter three days ago on the line with her! Only her! If you don’t, I will pull every dollar of my investment from this city and call a press conference to tell the world exactly why!” The entire hall fell into a dead, shocked silence. Every single eye in the room was fixed on me. A second later, a new window popped up on my personal terminal. It was bordered in gold, the color code for a non-negotiable, top-level directive. 【ASSIGNMENT: Immediately establish communication with target individual Millie Pierce and provide emotional support.】 Below the text, two large, flashing buttons pulsed. 【ACCEPT】 【DECLINE】 Slowly, deliberately, I moved my mouse cursor over the button on the right. And I clicked. On the screen, two words exploded in stark, crimson letters. 【ASSIGNMENT DECLINED】 In the exact same instant, my personal cell phone began to vibrate violently on my desk. The caller ID displayed a name I knew all too well. Brenda.

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My brother, Leo, got into a car accident and woke up insisting he was a time traveler from the future. This would have been fine, if he hadn’t stormed into my office, pointed at my ice-cold, intimidating boss, and yelled, “Brother-in-law!” My blood ran cold. I had just been chewed out by Kian for a work mistake. If Leo pissed him off, I wouldn’t just be embarrassed; I’d be unemployed. I tried to drag Leo out of the building, but he did the unthinkable. He grabbed Kian by the waistband. “Dude, you haven’t asked her out yet? Are you a monk?!” Leo shouted. “You’ve already got my sister’s name tattooed on your lower back! What the hell are you waiting for?” The kid was spouting pure, weapons-grade insanity. I didn’t understand a word. Kian looked like he was about to short-circuit. His face was beet-red. That night, I sat at my laptop, mournfully drafting my resignation letter, when I accidentally saw a chat window open. It was Leo’s account, and Kian had just messaged him. “How many kids do we have in the future?” “Do they look like her or me?” “A divorce crisis?!” “Is someone hitting on her? WHO IS THE BASTARD?!” 1 I had just walked out of my boss’s office, still stinging from the lecture, when my mom called. “Mom, is Leo awake?” Leo’s my little brother, a high school senior. He was riding his bike home late from school two nights ago and got hit by a car. He’d been unconscious for two days. If I hadn’t been so worried about him, I probably wouldn’t have sent a text meant for a client directly to my boss, earning me that 30-minute dressing-down. “He’s awake! He’s awake!” Mom sounded relieved. “The doctors are checking him now.” “How is he?” I pressed. “Can he see? Can he hear? Does he recognize you?” Mom paused for two long seconds. I panicked. “Is he blind? Is he deaf?!” “No, neither,” she said slowly. “He’s just… saying the weirdest things.” I heard a commotion in the background. It was Leo, shouting triumphantly, “I knew it! I’m the chosen one!” “Mom! Is that Chloe?! Put her on the phone! PUT ME ON!” A few seconds of rustling, then: “Chloe! You won’t believe this! I’m from 2035! I time-traveled! Listen to me, I can make us rich…!” I hung up, my face completely blank. Does that little idiot think I have time for this? Our company, Apex Solutions, was having cash-flow problems. Our boss was in a foul mood, and a storm cloud hung over the entire office. When I walked back to my desk, my colleagues gave me looks of pity. “Chloe, you okay?” one of them whispered. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She gave me a thumbs-up. “You’ve got guts. ‘The Ice King’ reamed you out for half an hour and you look totally unfazed.” “The Ice King.” That’s what we called our boss, Kian. As she said it, her eyes darted to something behind me and she immediately shut her mouth. Kian was walking out of his office. He was tall, with broad shoulders and long legs, and features so sharp they looked precision-cut. He was wearing a boring gray suit, but on him, it somehow looked intimidatingly attractive. He was on the phone as he walked into the elevator. The moment the doors closed, the office vibe instantly relaxed. “Looks like the Ice King solved the cash-flow problem.” “He’s intense, man.” “Tell me about it. He doesn’t just work us to the bone; he works himself to the bone.” “Hey, Chloe, didn’t you go to the same college as Kian? Wasn’t he a senior when you were a freshman?” The topic suddenly veered to me. I nodded. “Was he like this back then, too?” I blinked. “Like what?” My coworker searched for the word. “So… inhuman.” 2 Kian was my senior in college. He was the president of the Volunteer Committee I joined. We didn’t interact much, and I definitely wouldn’t call us “friends.” I didn’t feel comfortable gossiping about his past. I just laughed and dodged the question, heading to the breakroom. The chatter continued behind me, but my mind drifted. The answer to her question had actually popped into my head immediately. Was Kian inhuman in college? I didn’t think so. Not then… and not now. I glanced around the breakroom. Our company was a startup, new and scrappy. But this room was always stocked. After an intern almost fainted from low blood sugar, a special basket of chocolates and candies appeared and was never allowed to empty. The women’s restroom was always stocked with emergency tampons and pads. When it came to client dinners, Kian always went himself. If he absolutely couldn’t, he’d only ask the guys on the team to go… They were small things. So small, nobody really noticed. Kian was actually trying his best to carry all the pressure himself. 3 Kian returned just before 5 PM, looking relaxed. My coworker whispered, “He fixed it. We don’t have to work late tonight.” We didn’t just get to avoid overtime. A moment later, a company-wide email landed: “Project secured. Please take tomorrow as a paid day off.” The office was silent for two seconds, then erupted. “I LOVE THIS COMPANY!” “I LOVE APEX SOLUTIONS!” “I LOVE THE ICE KING!” The last shout rang out just as Kian walked out of his office. The guy who yelled it froze, then slowly buried his head in a stack of files. Kian didn’t even get mad. He just gave us a mild look. “Go home early.” His gaze lingered on me for a second. I nodded quickly. “Yes, boss.” If the boss was leaving, what were we wage-slaves sticking around for? I started packing my bag immediately. I was standing behind Kian waiting for the elevator when my mom called again. “Your brother’s been discharged. He said he’s going to your office to pick you up. This kid…” “Pick me up?” I frowned. “Where is he now?” “He must be close. He snuck out while I was handling the paperwork.” My vision went black for a second. “Okay, I got it. I’ll bring him home.” I hung up just as the elevator arrived. I followed Kian inside. The elevator was small. We stood on opposite corners, as far apart as possible, but it still felt cramped. I was staring at the back of his head when he suddenly spoke. “Is… your boyfriend picking you up?” Boyfriend? I blinked, then realized what he’d overheard. “Oh! No. That was my mom. It’s my brother.” Kian’s brow, which had been slightly furrowed, visibly relaxed. “Ah. My mistake.” Silence again. I watched the floor numbers creep down to 1. The doors opened, and I immediately spotted a guy with a bandaged head, looking lost in the lobby. “Leo!” I hurried over. “What are you doing here?!” “Chloe! Chloe!” Leo looked ecstatic. “It’s so weird seeing you this young again!” I stared at him. “…Are you high?” “Sis, I have to tell you a secret.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I’m from the year 2035.” I studied him seriously. “Did the doctor not recommend a psych evaluation?” They just let him walk out? When he saw I didn’t believe him, he started getting agitated. His eyes scanned the lobby and landed on Kian, who was talking to the receptionist. Leo’s eyes lit up. “Wait… isn’t that…?” He pointed at Kian, stammering. I grabbed his hand. “Don’t point. That’s my boss!” My words were drowned out by the loudest shout I’d ever heard. “BROTHER-IN-LAW!” Leo ripped his arm from my grasp and ran at Kian. He threw his arms around my boss and slapped him on the back several times. “Kian! We got in the crash together! Did you time-travel back to 2025 with me?!” “I was so scared, man! Thank God you’re here!” And then, Leo cupped Kian’s face and planted a loud, wet kiss on his cheek. I turned to stone. My coworkers, who had just gotten off the next elevator, also turned to stone. Kian looked stunned. He looked at Leo, then at me. He finally shoved Leo off. Maintaining the last shred of his dignity, he ground out, “Can you please tell me who you are?” “It’s me! Leo!” Leo pointed back at me. “Your wife’s brother! Your favorite brother-in-law!” Every single person in that lobby turned to stare at me. 4 My face was burning as I grabbed the back of Leo’s hospital gown and tried to drag him away. But he’s seventeen and a lot stronger than me. He broke free, sat down on the floor, and wrapped his arms around Kian’s legs. My coworkers’ jaws were on the floor. A few had their phones out, filming. I’d had enough. “Leo! What the hell is wrong with you?!” “You don’t get it!” he yelled back, his eyes actually turning red. He looked more victimized than I did. “I get sent back in time, three months before finals! Do you think I understand any of that crap anymore?! They want me to take tests! It’s killing me!” “Mom doesn’t believe me! You don’t believe me! Nobody believes me!” “You have no idea how much I’m freaking out!” Leo wailed, then turned back to Kian. “Brother-in-law, you really don’t recognize me? How come we were in the same crash, but I’m the only one who time-traveled?” Kian finally seemed to piece together what was happening. He looked at me, then at Leo, his expression unreadable. Then he asked the one question everyone in the lobby was thinking. “What… did you call me?” “Brother-in-law,” Leo said. “You and Chloe get married in 2031. Your daughter, Kayla, is born in 2032. Oh, man, speaking of Kayla, that little demon is… mmmph!” I slapped my hand over his mouth. “Shut up. If you say one more word, we’re both dying here.” Leo shut up. Apparently, the will to live was stronger than his desire to rant. I felt like I was losing my mind. I mumbled a frantic apology to Kian and turned to leave. Leo scrambled up to follow me. He must have been dizzy from the accident, because he stumbled and grabbed the closest thing to steady himself— Kian’s belt. He also managed to rip Kian’s dress shirt out of his pants.

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Chapter 1 When I married Ethan, I knew about the woman in his past. The one he grew up with. The one who wouldn’t let go. She’d plastered his photos all over the city, publicly confessing her love. She’d stormed into his office wearing lingerie, begging him. She’d even livestreamed herself on a rooftop, wrist bleeding, threatening to jump if he didn’t marry her. But Ethan never wavered. He gave me absolute security. Or so I thought. One year into our marriage, she showed up at our door, pregnant. I was shocked. Heartbroken. I couldn’t fathom how the man who loved me so fiercely could betray me. Everyone knew our story. Ethan fell in love with me at first sight and pursued me relentlessly. At every piano recital, he was in the front row. Afterward, he’d be waiting backstage with a bouquet of roses. He rented billboards across the city, playing loops of my silhouette at the piano with the caption: Evelyn, I like you. For ninety-nine days straight, he hand-delivered a love letter to me. But back then, I only cared about my music. I turned him down. Until that day. A rival pianist, bitter over losing to me, came at me with a knife. In that split second, Ethan stepped in front of me without hesitation. The blade pierced his abdomen. Blood soaked his expensive white suit. The crimson stain burned into my retinas. My body went cold, my mind blank, as I watched the color drain from his face. But Ethan held my trembling hand tight. His voice was weak but steady, repeating: “Evelyn, I’m here. Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid…” Even as he lost consciousness, his grip never loosened. In that moment, looking at the wound in his stomach and feeling his hand holding mine, I fell for him. Not long after, we were married. After the wedding, Ethan treated me like a queen. He built me a private piano room that rivaled concert halls. He bid an astronomical sum at an auction for a manuscript by a master composer simply because I mentioned I liked it. Tone-deaf Ethan secretly practiced for months until his fingers blistered, just to play “Für Elise” for me on my birthday. And now… he had betrayed me. I asked for a divorce. Ethan knelt in the pouring rain for three days and three nights. Pale, voice hoarse, he begged: “Evelyn, I was drugged. I thought it was you… It was an accident. I can’t live without you. I’ll make her get rid of it. I’ll send her abroad immediately! Please, don’t leave me. I can’t live without you!” Watching his swaying figure in the rain, remembering his years of devotion, I softened. Six months later, I ran into him at the mall. With her. And a baby. Ethan’s face went white when he saw me. He ran over, grabbing my wrist in a panic, babbling: “Evelyn! Listen to me! The doctor said she couldn’t have the procedure! It’s true! As soon as she recovers, I’ll send them away!” His parents found out about the grandson. They were adamant: “A Song family child cannot be raised outside the family!” Ethan insisted on sending them away. For this, he took ninety-nine lashes from his father’s whip. His back was a bloody mess. He knelt before me, eyes full of desperate pleading. “Evelyn, trust me one last time. I will send them away.” I cleaned his wounds, tears streaming down my face, my heart bleeding with his. I chose to believe him again. After that, Ethan was even more careful with me. If the maid said I had a slight fever, he would drop a multi-billion dollar deal, fly back from overseas overnight, and sit by my bedside till dawn. My heart softened again. I tried to forget them. Until three years later. A woman’s screams and a child’s crying shattered our peace. “Ethan! I didn’t want to disturb you, but Liam has leukemia! The doctor says only cord blood from a sibling with the same parents can save him! Please, save our son!” Chloe knelt outside our villa, holding the child, banging her head on the pavement until blood stained the ground. Ethan’s parents rushed over. His mother, eyes red, took the child from Chloe. Weeping, she threatened Ethan with her life: “Ethan, this is your son! If you don’t help, I’ll die right here with him!” Ethan’s face turned gray. He fell silent. He surrendered. Chloe and the child moved into our home. Ethan held me tight, his voice trembling. “Evelyn, it’s a life… he’s my son. I can’t ignore him. Don’t worry! I’ll only do IVF. I won’t touch her! As soon as the boy is cured, I’ll send them away. Please… don’t leave me. I can’t live without you…” I couldn’t watch a child die. I nodded numbly. At first, Ethan kept his distance. But slowly, the child’s cries, his mother’s nagging, Chloe’s weak, pleading eyes… they wove a net that trapped him. Mornings, I’d walk into the dining room to see a happy family of three: Ethan clumsily feeding Liam. Chloe watching tenderly, wiping the child’s mouth. Nights, I’d hear Ethan reading bedtime stories from the next room. Chloe’s soft agreement. The child’s innocent laughter… Like poisoned needles, piercing my heart a thousand times. I felt like an outsider in my own home. I prayed for it to end. One afternoon, Liam ate a dessert I had left on the table. Soon, red spots covered his body. He gasped for air, convulsing in pain. Chloe rushed at me, hysterical, eyes bulging with rage: “Evelyn, I know you hate me! I accepted my fate, I only wanted to take Liam away forever! If he wasn’t sick, I never would have come back! You want revenge, take it out on me! He’s just a child, he’s innocent! How could you be so cruel?!” I was shocked. “I didn’t! How could I hurt a child?!” I looked at Ethan, face ashen, hoping for support. “Ethan, believe me. I didn’t do this.” Ethan avoided my gaze. He glanced at the pastry on the table, sighing with suspicion. “Evelyn… I remember… you never eat mangoes.” I felt like I’d fallen into an ice cave. I held up my phone frantically: “It was a gift from a client! I don’t eat them, that’s why I left them there, look…” “Enough!” Ethan slapped my phone away. “Does that matter now?! Saving him matters! I told you a million times, it’s just for the treatment! They’ll leave when he’s well! Can’t you be sensible?!” His mother rushed in, glaring at me like I was a viper. “What a vicious woman! Can’t bear a child for four years, so you try to kill my only grandson! Trying to kill him with allergies? Then you taste it too!” She screamed at the servants: “Hold her down! Pour the peanut butter down her throat!” I struggled desperately, looking at Ethan in despair. “It wasn’t me! Ethan! Help me!” Ethan didn’t respond. He picked up the child and rushed out with Chloe, not looking back once. I heard his anxious voice fading: “Driver? To the hospital! Now!” Peanut butter was forced down my throat. My breath caught. Darkness crept in. In my last moment of consciousness, I remembered how he used to kiss a papercut on my finger, heartbroken. Now, knowing his mother was killing me, he didn’t even turn his head. Chapter 2 I woke up to the sharp smell of disinfectant. Through blurred vision, I saw Ethan’s bloodshot eyes and haggard face. He was sitting by my bed. Seeing me move, he grabbed my hand tight, voice trembling with fear: “Evelyn! You’re awake! You scared me to death… Mom… she was too impulsive. She just loves the kid too much, she was confused… she just wanted to teach you a lesson… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” He leaned in to kiss my forehead. I turned my head away. “A lesson?” “I almost died…” I looked at him, eyes empty. Tears slid silently down my pale cheeks. My tears stung him. He promised frantically: “It was an accident! I swear! It won’t happen again! When you’re better, I’ll take you to the auction. Whatever you want, I’ll buy it for you. To make it up to you, okay? Anything you want!” Compensation? My near-death experience was just a “lesson” he could pay off? I closed my eyes. My heart was dead ash. A shrill ringtone cut through the air. “Ethan! Liam is awake! He’s crying for his daddy, he keeps calling for you! Come quick!” Chloe’s sobbing voice came through the phone, mixed with the child’s heart-wrenching screams. Ethan’s face changed instantly. He looked at me, eyes full of cautious probing and anxiety: “Evelyn, Liam is awake, he’s crying really bad. I have to go check on him. I’ll be right back to keep you company… you rest well, wait for me.” I kept my eyes closed. I didn’t answer. I just listened to his hurried footsteps fading away. He never came back. I didn’t see him again until the day I was discharged. “Evelyn, come on. Let’s go to the auction. It’ll cheer you up.” Ethan looked at me with a pleasing smile. I got into the car silently. The whole way, he tried to make conversation. I barely responded. As the car pulled up to the auction house, I saw Chloe waiting there with Liam, smiling expectantly. Ethan paused, then explained awkwardly: “Liam was throwing a fit at home, insisted on coming… kids, you know, they’re curious.” In the private box, I sat next to Ethan. But his attention was entirely on the child and Chloe on his other side. He patiently explained the auction process to the boy, smiling indulgently. He whispered with Chloe. A warm, cozy atmosphere flowed between the three of them, shutting me out completely. That gentleness used to be mine. Now, sitting right next to him, I was invisible. Like I was air. When a ruby necklace came up, Chloe’s eyes lit up with blatant desire. Liam shook Ethan’s arm, his baby voice stabbing my heart: “Daddy! Mommy likes the shiny thing! Buy it for Mommy, please?” Ethan patted his head, voice warm: “Of course.” He bid without hesitation, winning it for an astronomical price. When the auction ended, Ethan seemed to remember I existed. He looked at me apologetically: “Evelyn, sorry, I was busy with Liam. Is there anything you want?” I looked up slowly. I stared at him. The last light in my eyes went out. The only thing I wanted was to leave him. To leave this suffocating place. I forced a pale smile, my voice light as a sigh: “Yes. I’ll tell you… when we get home.” Ethan thought I was finally accepting his “compensation.” He relaxed instantly, promising: “Don’t worry, Evelyn! Anything you want! I’ll pluck the stars from the sky for you!” Back home, I walked straight to the study. I opened a drawer and took out the divorce agreement that had been gathering dust for three years. When I found out Chloe was pregnant back then, I was devastated. I prepared to leave. But in the end, I couldn’t do it. I gave our marriage another chance. I don’t know why I didn’t destroy this paper. I just hid it. Maybe subconsciously, I knew this day would come. I put the agreement in front of him. “What is it you want?” he asked casually. I didn’t answer. As he reached for the document, his phone rang. He answered immediately, voice gentle and concerned: “Chloe? What is it?” “Ethan, the clinic is ready! Come quick!” Chloe’s voice. Ethan glanced at me. I was expressionless. I flipped the document to the last page, to the signature line. “Evelyn, I…” he tried to explain. “She’s waiting.” My voice was flat. No emotion. Ethan didn’t hesitate. He picked up the pen, signed his name quickly, and turned to leave. I watched his eager back disappear. My lips curled in a mocking smile, but tears flooded my face, falling onto the paper. Ethan, do you know what you just signed? Maybe it doesn’t matter. What matters is that by signing it, you can run to her. I looked down at the bold characters of “Ethan Song.” Even his handwriting looked rushed. I laughed at myself. Then, stroke by stroke, I signed my name next to his. Chapter 3 I went back to the bedroom and opened the nightstand drawer. I took out two red booklets. Our marriage certificates. When we got them, Ethan looked at them over and over, grinning like an idiot. He pressed them to his chest, voice full of happiness: “I’m going to carry this every day! It’s my lucky charm!” Now, they lay silent in the corner. Just like our love, silently ending. With the signed agreement and the certificates, I drove alone to the Civil Affairs Bureau. Last time, I came here with Ethan. I was full of hope and sweetness then. Now, I was alone. Here to put a cold period on a marriage riddled with holes. “You can pick up the divorce certificate in thirty days.” The clerk’s official voice woke me from my memories. I whispered thanks and left. I opened my phone and bought a ticket to Vienna for the day the divorce would be final. That was where my dreams used to be. Before I met Ethan. Before I gave up everything for him. Now that it was ending, it was time to find myself again. Back at the villa. A knock on the door. Chloe walked in. Her face was apologetic, but her eyes were triumphant. “Miss Lin,” she said softly. “I know recent events have upset you. But really, it’s just to save Liam… Between me and Ethan… it’s just for the child. Nothing else.” She walked closer, voice earnest. “Please understand a mother’s heart. I promise, once the baby is born and Liam is saved, I’ll disappear!” She bowed deeply to me. Her hair slipped, revealing a fresh, red mark on her neck. My pupils shrank. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an icy hand. It stopped beating. “I’ll only do IVF. I won’t touch her!” Ethan’s firm promise echoed in my ears. Now, it was a cruel joke. Chloe saw my face change. She smiled a victor’s smile and left. The moment the door closed, I pulled out my phone. My hands shook as I dialed a private investigator. “Find out everything about Ethan and Chloe’s recent movements. Money is no object. I need it fast!” An hour later, my phone buzzed. An email. I stared at it. Hesitated. Clicked. High-definition photos filled the screen. Ethan holding Chloe’s waist, intimate. Chloe leaning into his chest, smiling shyly, sweetly… I stared at the photos. My eyes burned. I forced myself to look at every single one. Then I started laughing. Laughing until tears streamed down my face. Ethan Song. You lied to me again. Every promise was a lie! And your love? Was that just a lie too? Chapter 4 In the following days, I quietly packed my life away. I was erasing Ethan from my heart, bit by bit. Ethan was busy with Chloe and their “IVF.” He just repeated on the phone: “It’ll be over soon,” “Wait for me, Evelyn.” I was sick of his empty words. I would never believe him again. The day before the divorce was finalized, the villa was unusually lively. Ethan’s parents sat on the sofa, faces glowing. His mother held Chloe’s hand, grinning ear to ear. Chloe leaned against Ethan, gently stroking her flat stomach. She couldn’t hide her shy happiness. I stopped. I felt sick. I turned to leave. “Evelyn!” Ethan saw me. He rushed over and hugged me, voice bursting with joy: “Chloe is pregnant! Evelyn! As soon as the baby is born and we get the cord blood for Liam, it’s over! She’ll take both kids and leave! We can go back to how we were!” It felt absurd. The last time I saw him this happy was our wedding day. He trembled as he put the ring on my finger, voice cracking with emotion, eyes full of love: “Evelyn, marrying you is the happiest thing in my life!” Now, he was ecstatic about another woman carrying his child. He wanted to share that joy with me… I pushed him away. I looked at his confused face and spoke calmly, without emotion: “Congratulations.” The next day was his mother’s birthday party. The house was decorated, festive. His mother stood in the center of the hall, holding Chloe’s hand, voice loud with pride and favoritism: “Chloe is the hero of the Song family! She gave us Liam, and now she’s pregnant again! This is the best birthday present ever!” Then she glared at me in the corner, voice sharp as a knife. “Unlike some people. Been here for years, and nothing happening! Useless thing! How can you compare to our Chloe!” Her words stabbed my ears. I walked to the backyard. By the pool, the water shimmered. It reflected my pale face. Footsteps behind me. Chloe walked up slowly. Her voice was soft but provocative: “Miss Lin, hiding here all alone? Is it too loud inside? Or… too bright? Can’t stand the sight?” I didn’t turn around. “Stay away from me.” She laughed lightly. She walked to my side, stroking her stomach, showing off. “You know… to get this baby, Ethan and I worked very hard.” She emphasized “hard,” her tone suggestive. The hotel photos flashed in my mind. My stomach churned. I didn’t want to deal with her. I turned to leave. “Can’t take it?” She grabbed my wrist. Her grip was shockingly strong, nails digging into my skin. “Let go!” I tried to shake her off. But she pulled me. Without hesitation, she fell backward, toward the pool. Splash! “Help! Help me! Save my baby!” Her screams pierced the air. Panic and terror. Ethan was the first to run out. He saw Chloe struggling in the water and jumped in without a second thought. He didn’t even glance at me, also in the water, choking. He swam to Chloe, lifted her out, voice anxious and soft: “Don’t be scared! I’m here! You and the baby are safe.” I watched him hugging her, comforting her. My heart felt like it was being pierced by a thousand needles. The cold water filled my lungs, and my heart. My body felt heavy. Once, if I just choked on water while drinking, he would be terrified. He would hold me, pat my back, comfort me. I struggled, barely managing to climb out. I was soaked, shivering. My eyes were full of sorrow. “Ethan! She pushed me!” Chloe leaned into him, crying. “She said I deserve to die! She said I stole you! She said Liam shouldn’t have been born!” Ethan looked up at me. His eyes were ice cold. Disappointment and anger radiated from him. “Evelyn! You pushed her?” My voice was hoarse. “I didn’t! She jumped! She pulled me in!” “She jumped? And pulled you?!” Ethan looked like he heard a joke. “Why would she do that?! That baby means more to her than her life! It’s Liam’s only hope! Evelyn, when did you become so vicious?” Vicious? His word was a knife in my heart. Is that what I am to him now? Suddenly, a small figure cannonballed into me! Liam. His face full of hate. He pointed at me, screaming: “Bad woman! You’re a bad woman! You pushed my mommy! You want to kill her! You’re evil!” He rammed into me with all his might! I was caught off guard. My ankle twisted with sharp pain. I lost my balance. Splash! I fell back into the freezing water. It went over my head. The pain in my ankle drained my strength. I tried to swim, but I kept sinking. “Help… Ethan! Help me!” I struggled, terrified. Ethan held the shivering Chloe. He looked at me struggling in the water. His voice was dead. “Leave her. She’s acting. She’ll come up when she’s done.” He turned and walked away with Chloe. Despair filled me along with the water. He taught me to swim. Once, I held my breath for thirty seconds and he pulled me out, terrified I was drowning. Now, my cry for help was just “acting.” Darkness swallowed me.

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On the victory cruise in the Grenadines, my wife watched as her assistant kicked me into the sea. My crime? I wouldn’t give up my spot next to her for a photo. “You reek of mediocrity,” the assistant, Dylan, sneered down at me from the railing. “Why don’t you swim back to shore? If you can’t make it, the sharks need to eat too.” Two weeks later, watching a news report about pirates taking hostages in the Gulf of Aden, she finally remembered I existed. “It’s been two weeks,” she said, annoyed. “Hasn’t he sulked enough? Does he plan on living in the ocean forever?” Her executive aide hesitated. “Ma’am… Mr. Pierce… his body has been recovered.” “Impossible,” she snapped. “I was just angry! I had a private maritime rescue team on 24-hour standby! How could he possibly be dead?” The aide looked pained. “Ms. Vance, Dylan canceled all rescue operations. He said it was on your authority.” He paused, then added, “Also, Ma’am… we found a manuscript among your husband’s personal effects. The core code for the hundred-million-dollar Meridian Project… he wrote it. Not Dylan.” 1 The project manuscript hit the polished floor of her office, pages scattering like fallen leaves. “You’ve gotten bold lately,” Victoria said, her voice dangerously low. “You think you can fool me with a forged document?” The aide’s face went white. “Ms. Vance, I swear, this was found among his things. It’s the absolute truth.” Victoria’s stiletto heel pinned a page of code to the floor. She pointed a trembling finger at the man. “He can claim anything he wants to get my sympathy, but he will not steal Dylan’s credit. Not this.” “Dylan poured his soul into this project! Do you know how many all-nighters he pulled? He worked until he was literally coughing up blood from stomach ulcers. Did you see that? No.” Her voice rose to a furious shout. “What does Ethan Pierce know about code? He’s a burnout who does nothing but play video games! Does he deserve to put his name on the monumental work of a better man? Does he?!” The aide’s shoulders trembled. My soul, hovering somewhere over the other side of the planet, let out a hollow laugh. Even now, she still believed it was Dylan—a man who couldn’t write a single line of Python—who was the genius that had saved her company. The aide knew it was pointless to argue. But he couldn’t stand to see his boss so thoroughly deceived. With a shaking hand, he held up another document. “Ms. Vance… this is an email from the International Patent Office. The core patent for ‘Project Meridian’ was registered three years ago by an individual under the codename ‘S’. And ‘S’… it’s the first letter of his surname, Pierce.” “Oh?” Victoria’s laugh was exhausted. “So he’s been planning this little fantasy for a while. Very thorough.” She turned, her back rigid. “Well, since he’s gone to all the trouble of setting the stage, tell him he can just stay on it. Forever.” Without a backward glance, she walked out, her heels crunching over the scattered pages of my life’s work. 2 Victoria Vance stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of her penthouse office. The setting sun stabbed at her eyes, and with an uncharacteristic surge of irritation, she snapped the blinds shut. She kept replaying the words from the patent email. “‘S’…” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. She raised a glass of Bordeaux, the crimson liquid staining her mouth. Her expression was one of pure disgust. “Ethan, oh, Ethan,” she whispered to the empty room. “You really have no shame, do you?” Suddenly, the office’s projector wall hummed to life, displaying an international breaking news alert: [PIRATE SYNDICATE IN GULF OF ADEN DISMANTLED. SOURCES CONFIRM THE CRITICAL BREAKTHROUGH IN THE OPERATION CAME FROM AN AMERICAN ENGINEER TAKEN HOSTAGE.] [DURING HIS CAPTIVITY, THE ENGINEER REPORTEDLY CRACKED THE PIRATES’ SECURE COMMUNICATIONS NETWORK AND TRANSMITTED THEIR PRECISE COORDINATES TO INTERNATIONAL NAVAL FORCES.] [TO COVER THE ESCAPE OF THE OTHER HOSTAGES, HE THEN DETONATED THE SHIP’S RESERVE FUEL SUPPLY, PERISHING ALONG WITH THE PIRATE LEADER.] [WE PAY OUR HIGHEST TRIBUTES TO THIS FALLEN HERO.] Victoria stared, her hand frozen in mid-air. She reached for the remote and clicked the screen off. Swirling the wine in her glass, she sighed. “He probably did it for his family on the boat,” she murmured. “Or someone he was with…” My fragmented soul wept in the skies over the Indian Ocean. No, Victoria. I did it because I couldn’t watch them execute the young couple on their honeymoon in front of me. I did it because I figured it was better for one person to die than for innocent people to die with me. I hacked their system, sent the coordinates, and then blew the fuel tanks. I thought I could make the jump into the water, that I could escape, too. But the blast wave… it was too strong. My body just couldn’t take it. Victoria’s hand, holding the wine glass, paused. “The Gulf of Aden…” she whispered, a frown creasing her brow. That was on the shipping route, not far from where she’d left me. She drained the glass in one swallow, then pulled the blinds open with a sharp, dismissive snap. “Impossible,” she scoffed at the sunset. “A man like him? It would be a miracle if he didn’t join the pirates just to save his own skin.” 3 Two weeks, and still no word from me. Victoria was at a gala, celebrating a new deal Dylan had supposedly secured, when it finally hit her. I hadn’t bothered her in a very long time. “So,” she mused to her aide, “is he really planning on making a career out of fishing?” She waved a dismissive hand. “Tell him the act is getting old. I have a rescue team shadowing him; he’s not going to die. There are better ways to get my attention than this childish stunt.” The aide hesitated, then decided to risk it. “Ms. Vance… that day… Dylan dismissed the entire rescue team. He said it was on your orders.” “Oh?” Victoria’s smile was glacial. “Are you implying Dylan would joke about a direct order from me?” The aide swallowed hard. It seemed Victoria had forgotten. Her private rescue network, a state-of-the-art emergency service, could be activated by only two people. Her, and one other person to whom she had granted emergency override authority. It wasn’t me, her husband. It was Dylan. “That’s not possible,” she said, her tone flat but final. “Only Ethan would stoop to something so low, trying to sling mud at Dylan like this.” “I gave Dylan the authority precisely because I was worried Ethan might use his position to bully him, to take advantage of his inexperience at sea.” Her eyes darkened. “But Dylan… Dylan would never be the kind of man who would stand by and watch someone die.” She fixed the aide with a warning glare. “Tell Ethan to spend less time plotting against you all and more time learning how to write a decent line of code.” “Ms. Vance!” the aide pleaded, his voice cracking. “He really hasn’t contacted us! Not once!” Victoria held up a hand, cutting him off. “You’ve been with me for a long time. You should know what’s appropriate to say and what isn’t. Think very carefully.” A single drop of cold sweat traced its way down the aide’s temple. 4 Back in her hotel suite, Victoria called my satellite phone. Of course, I couldn’t answer. After a dozen calls went straight to the digital void, she left a message. “This little pity party of yours needs to end. The Meridian Project was Dylan’s masterpiece. He deserves to be the star of the celebration. That is non-negotiable.” “This is business, Ethan, not a stage for your jealousy. Stop being so unreasonable.” “You’re a grown man. Try thinking about the people who actually contribute to this company for once.” She paused before hanging up, her voice softening almost imperceptibly. “Ethan… you’ve taken this too far.” Putting the phone down, she walked onto the suite’s terrace and gazed up at the brilliant tapestry of stars over the equator. Her hand rested on the cool metal railing. For a second, it was like we were back on the roof of our university dorm, seven years ago. She was in a crisp blazer, fresh from a grueling pitch competition. I was dreaming out loud about renting out the planetarium for a whole night if we ever made enough money, just so we could watch the stars without any city lights. We were side-by-side then. We were in love. Then Dylan came into her life. And the distance between us grew like the expanding universe. She must have remembered. That I loved the stars. And that my birthday was next week. She called the concierge, about to reserve the powerful telescope on the observation deck, planning for us to watch the stars together that night. But then her phone rang. It was Dylan. “Victoria… my head is killing me. I feel awful.” Victoria’s expression hardened instantly. “Don’t move. I’m on my way.” 5 In his hotel suite, Dylan was slumped weakly on the couch. Victoria was gently massaging his temples, trying to ease the stress-induced headaches he claimed were from his tireless work on the project. “Thank you, Victoria. I never knew the ruthless queen of the tech world had such a gentle side.” Her hands didn’t stop, but her voice was laced with genuine concern. “That depends on who’s willing to sacrifice everything, even their health, for the company.” My soul, already dead, still felt a phantom pang of heartache. Because that man wasn’t me. Dylan’s gaze fell on a beautifully wrapped box on the coffee table. He smiled. “I heard this vintage handheld is the birthday present you got for Ethan. Are you sure it’s okay to give it to me?” Victoria’s massaging fingers paused for only a fraction of a second. Then she smiled back. “Well, he’s not here, is he? Besides, you like it too.” I had to laugh. Victoria, she despised pixelated games. She thought they were a colossal waste of time. He only claimed to like it after he heard it was meant for me. Don’t you see that, Victoria? I closed my spectral eyes. I was just a ghost with no place to rest. I couldn’t do anything. All I could pray for was a swift reincarnation, for a bowl of Meng Po’s soup to make me forget. Then I wouldn’t have to watch my wife cooing over another man. 6 The story of the hero engineer became an international sensation. The International Maritime Organization held a memorial of the highest honor and invited key figures from the tech industry. Victoria, as a leading voice, was on the guest list. She accepted without a second thought. Speaking as a representative of the industry, she even announced the unilateral creation of a hero’s fund, endowed solely by her company, to compensate the families of all the victims from the incident. No cap on the funding. All to honor the greatness of a fallen peer. On the day of the memorial, she stood before the tribute wall. The words “In Memory of the Brave American Engineer” scrolled across a large screen. Her expression was distant. “An American…” she murmured. She gave a wry, sad smile. “If only Ethan had half of this hero’s courage, we wouldn’t be in such an ugly place.” It was just a photo op, she thought. Why did he have to make such a scene about where he stood? She couldn’t understand it. After bowing before a wreath of white lilies, the event organizer approached her, the primary donor. “Regarding the hero’s remains,” he began nervously, “a request was submitted for identity verification, suggesting a need for a DNA comparison. Ms. Vance, what are your thoughts?” “Who proposed it?” Victoria’s brow furrowed. The organizer hesitated. “Well, it’s…” Victoria’s patience snapped. “The hero’s body was subjected to an explosion and weeks in the ocean. It’s already disfigured. Who, and for what possible reason, would want to put him through that all over again? What a profound disrespect to a hero.” The organizer wiped sweat from his forehead. I let out another silent, bitter laugh. Victoria still had no idea. It was precisely because she refused to believe the initial coroner’s report that her own loyal aide had desperately proposed this one last method of verification. In the sterile quiet of the morgue, Victoria gave the order. “Cremate him. Let the hero rest in peace.” “Ma’am, are you sure we don’t need to double-check?” “It’s not necessary.” Victoria’s voice was soft with a strange sort of pity. “No hero would want their broken body examined over and over. Grant him this final dignity.” My body was pushed into the incinerator. After paying her final respects, Victoria walked out of the hall. “Are there any interesting new retro gaming consoles out?” she asked her aide. The aide blinked, then quickly recovered. “Dylan has been very into the latest VR setups, the immersion is incredible…” “I was talking about Ethan.” He froze again. “You’re buying a gift for Mr. Pierce?” “Mm,” Victoria sighed. “Things have been… tense between us lately. A misunderstanding.” “It’s not just for his birthday,” she added, patting the aide’s shoulder. “It’s also… an apology.” “I’m putting you in charge of this. The budget is unlimited. Make it special.” “Yes, Ms. Vance!” Behind her, my ashes were being carefully scooped into a small, cold box. 7 The aide managed to track down an ultra-rare, first-edition handheld console from a collector. The problem was, the device wouldn’t turn on, and a thin crack spiderwebbed across the screen. “Ms. Vance, I know Mr. Pierce likes retro games, but this one… it’s too damaged. Perhaps I could commission a custom, top-of-the-line gaming PC for him instead?” “No.” Victoria stared at the scuffed and scratched machine. “Anything you can buy with money is just an object. This, the world’s first handheld gaming system… this is priceless. Ethan will love it.” She took the device from him. “Leave it. I’ll fix it myself.” “Ms. Vance?!” The aide’s eyes widened. Victoria was more than capable. Because Ethan loved to tinker with electronics. Back when she had loved him most, she had studied electrical engineering just to share his hobbies. For five days, Victoria did not leave her workshop. When she finally emerged, the console’s screen was lit up, and the familiar 8-bit startup music chimed through the air. It looked as pristine as the day it left the factory. “When he hears this,” she whispered, a faint smile on her lips, “he’ll probably come home.” Just then, her phone rang. It was Dylan, his voice weak and strained. “Victoria… my head… I think it’s splitting open…” 8 Victoria found Dylan huddled in the corner of a cold, concrete parking garage. Blood was trickling from a cut on his forehead. He was trembling, clutching at the hem of her jacket like a frightened child. “E… Ethan… he tried to kill me…” My soul recoiled. Theatrical, even for him. Dylan, his eyes red and swollen, pointed to a fresh bruise blooming around his eye. “I knew Ethan was upset with you because of me,” he stammered. “I saw how you weren’t eating or sleeping, worrying about his birthday… I couldn’t stand seeing you so sad. I thought… I thought I had to convince him to come back, to make things right with you.” “I spent a fortune to track him down. He’s been holed up in the presidential suite of a private club.” “But when I got there… I pushed open the door and saw him… with some strange, rich woman. They were… they were naked, all over each other…” He choked on a sob. Victoria gripped the fabric of his shirt. “And then what?” Dylan shook his head, his voice trembling violently. “I begged him to come home. I told him you were waiting… but he… he treated me like I was garbage. He started hitting me, screaming at me for getting in the way of his new ‘gold mine’…” Victoria’s pupils contracted to pinpricks. “He said… if I dared to tell you a single word, he would make me disappear from the face of the earth.” “Victoria, look at my face… I was terrified… if I hadn’t run, I don’t think I would have ever seen you again…” He collapsed into her arms, holding her tight. I watched, my spectral form taut with tension. Victoria… Victoria, you know me. Don’t you? Victoria, I’m not that person. You know that. Right? He embezzled company funds! He got caught, that’s why he’s so desperate! He’s terrified of you finding out the truth! Victoria gently pushed Dylan away, her thumb brushing against the swollen skin around his eye. “Just rest. Get well.” She turned and left, driving straight home. In her workshop, she stood before the perfectly restored game console. She dialed my satellite phone. Ten times. Twenty. Thirty. One hundred calls. No answer. The corners of her eyes began to burn red. The blisters on her fingers from the soldering iron throbbed with a dull pain. CRASH! The console shattered against the wall. “ETHAN PIERCE, YOU BASTARD!” The machine lay in pieces. The force of the throw had torn open the blisters on her hand, and tiny beads of blood welled up. A single drop fell onto the broken screen. She was panting, her chest heaving. She wrenched the door open. Her aides, waiting anxiously outside, stared at her. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with sweat. “Make a public announcement,” she commanded, her voice ragged. “I’m marrying Dylan.” “A city-wide broadcast. Spare no expense.” Her knuckles were white as she gripped the doorknob, almost crushing it in her hand. 9 The wedding of the century was the talk of the tech world. It was even being live-streamed on international forums. The comments sections were filled with a mix of awe and pity. The last time a wedding was this spectacular, one user wrote, was when Victoria Vance married the genius programmer Ethan Pierce. Such a shame about Mr. Pierce. To be so brilliant and still manage to drive a woman like her away… what a waste. Victoria read the comments, heard the whispers. Dressed in a couture wedding gown, just moments before the ceremony was to begin, she dialed my number one last time. As always, it went unanswered. Smack! The phone hit the vanity table. Her chest rose and fell in a shallow, rapid rhythm. “Ethan,” she seethed, “you showed me no mercy. Don’t expect any from me.” She walked to the door, ready for Dylan to escort her. But before the ribbon-adorned lead car could even start its engine, a solemn procession of vehicles, each marked with a black ribbon, pulled up slowly. Victoria frowned. “Who dares to bring such bad luck here on this day?” “Ms. Vance,” her wedding planner whispered, “it’s the funeral procession for that American hero engineer. The chairman of Global Shipping is on that ship he saved—it was his sister. The chairman arranged it personally. He said today was the most auspicious day.” Victoria paused. The hard lines of her face softened slightly. “Fine. The hero goes first.” The wedding cars parted, making way for the funeral procession. As the lead car passed, Victoria glanced up casually. And froze. “Stop!” she cried, rushing forward and blocking the lead driver. Her eyes were locked on the rolling slideshow of photos on the car’s large LED screen. Because it was a slideshow of my face. 10 “What is his connection to Global Shipping?” Victoria’s hand was trembling as she pointed at the screen. “You’re honoring a hero! Why are you using my husband’s picture?” “Your husband?” The woman leading the procession, impeccably dressed in black, let out a cold, humorless laugh. “If Mr. Pierce is your husband, then who, exactly, are you about to marry?” Victoria stared at the woman, her mind reeling. “Isabelle… it’s you!” She gritted her teeth. Isabelle Ross. Her biggest rival in business. In the past, they had always maintained a veneer of professional courtesy. But now, all of Victoria’s composure was gone. “How dare you use my husband’s photograph without permission!” Isabelle’s face hardened. “Mr. Pierce is dead. He has no need for ‘permission’.” “Shut up!” Victoria lunged forward, only to be restrained by her own security detail. Her eyes were wild. “Take that picture down, or I swear to God, I will burn my own company to the ground just to see you ruined!” Isabelle simply raised her hand. A worn, old arcade token dangled from her fingertips. In an instant, all the air left Victoria’s lungs. “Where did you get that?” Isabelle let it drop. Victoria dove, catching the metal coin just before it hit the pavement. She turned it over and over in her palm. It was the one. The one she had hand-engraved with their initials. He had said it was their lucky charm, from the day they met. He said he’d carry it forever. There wasn’t another one like it in the world. Except this one… the grooves of the engraving were filled with something dark and crusted. It was blood. “Where,” Victoria looked up, her eyes flooding with tears, “did you find this?” “Victoria, I never knew you were this blind.” Isabelle looked down on her with utter contempt. “Your own husband dies a hero, and you need your business rival to collect his remains.” An official death certificate from Interpol was tossed at her feet. Her hands shook as she picked it up. The moment she saw the name—Ethan S. Pierce—she began to tremble uncontrollably. She hadn’t paid close attention at the memorial service. She’d assumed it was just some noble act by a fellow professional. How could it have been Ethan? He was the man who would argue over a spot in a photograph. How could he possibly sacrifice himself for strangers? “Impossible…” Victoria clutched the certificate. “I am his legal wife. If something happened to him, the embassy would have contacted me, and only me!” “If I recall correctly,” Isabelle said coolly, “there’s one other person who has access to your private email and emergency contact protocols, isn’t there?” A sudden, deranged laugh escaped my soul. Even Isabelle Ross knew. Only Dylan had the clearance to manage Victoria’s most sensitive communications. “You’re saying… Dylan intercepted the notifications?” Isabelle didn’t have to answer. Victoria whipped her head around, her mind racing. She remembered her aide’s frantic warnings, the things he had tried to tell her. That same aide now stepped forward, his face a mask of grim duty. He held out an evidence bag. After Victoria had threatened him, he hadn’t dared mention my name again. Not even when the authorities had recovered my satellite phone and turned it over to him. He was too afraid of being accused of conspiring with me in another one of my “stunts.” Now, the phone, its screen shattered, was in Victoria’s hand. She knew my passcode. She unlocked it. The first thing she saw was the call log from the day I went into the water. Thirty-seven missed calls. All to her.

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