Category: English

I was the “accident” my parents had when they were too young and too reckless. They dropped me off with my grandparents and disappeared, each starting a new life, a new family, without me. Eighteen years later, I was the state’s top scholarship recipient. They fought through a crowd of reporters to reach me. “See?” my father said, beaming. “If I hadn’t been tough on you, you never would have learned to be so independent.” My other relatives showed up with bags of bruised, overripe fruit from the discount grocery store. “Poppy,” they cooed, “don’t you forget who your family is.” I smiled and looked them straight in their eager, guilty eyes. “The ‘family’ you’re talking about? I stopped needing it a long time ago.” 1 I was different. The other kids had moms and dads, sometimes in the same house. All I had was Grandpa and Grandma. One day, after Grandpa came home from a long shift at the factory, I tugged on his sleeve. “Grandpa, where are my mom and dad? Why don’t they even come for Christmas?” My voice was small. “Is it because I’m not good? Is that why they don’t come back?” He pulled me onto his lap, his calloused hands wiping away my tears. “Don’t you cry, Poppy. You’re Grandpa’s treasure.” “Your mom and dad just went somewhere far away, and it’s hard to get back. Nobody could ever not want our Poppy.” But Grandpa, you were lying. I asked Mrs. Gable down the street. She sat on her porch swing, cracking sunflower seeds and spitting the shells into a coffee can. “Oh, honey, you came to the right place,” she said, her voice raspy. “My Jim and your grandpa were the ones who drove out to get you and your folks after you were born. You were just a little thing, three months old.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Your mom and dad, they had the reception all planned at the VFW hall. Then, couple weeks later, poof! Your mom took off. Your dad followed soon after.” I didn’t wait to hear the rest. I ran home, my chest tight with a secret I couldn’t understand. The next day, I told my best friend, Tina. Our small town elementary school didn’t have a cafeteria, so we’d eat our packed lunches under the big oak tree by the playground. “It’s a secret,” I whispered, after I’d told her everything. “I only told you. You can’t tell anyone.” She put down her sandwich and hugged me. “I won’t, Poppy. I promise.” The very next day, I was taking out the classroom trash with a boy named Kevin. He shoved me, and I fell onto the dusty floor. “Teacher!” he yelled. “I don’t want to take out the trash with an orphan.” Every head in the class swiveled to look at me. I looked at Tina. She was staring intently at a hangnail on her thumb. Our teacher just sighed. “Kevin, that’s not nice. Fine, someone else go with Poppy.” From then on, I was the class orphan. Every look felt like it was laced with pity or disgust. At lunchtime, the student helper in charge of doling out the hot lunch always gave me the smallest, soggiest piece of pizza. After two months of being hungry, I finally worked up the courage to tell the teacher. The next day, the lunch helper, a boy named Mark, shot me a hateful glare. When it was my turn, he loaded up my tray with three slices of pizza, burying them under a mountain of tater tots. “That’s too much,” I whispered. “I can’t eat all that.” He slammed the serving spoon down. “What’s the matter? Weren’t you complaining to the teacher you were starving? Today, I’m gonna make sure you’re full.” His friends surrounded me, laughing, and started shoving food into my mouth. I started to gag. He stood over me, arms crossed. “Learned your lesson, Poppy? You gonna go snitching again?” My throat was clogged, but I stared right at him, forcing back the tears that burned my eyes. I didn’t cry. I didn’t beg. “You’re a nobody,” he sneered. “Who do you think you are, tattling to a teacher?” “Get on your knees and apologize, and maybe we’ll leave you alone.” As they tried to force me down, I locked my knees and braced my neck, my forehead hovering an inch from the grimy linoleum floor. I wouldn’t let it touch. In my peripheral vision, I saw Tina watching. When they finally let me up, I touched my forehead. It was cold and sticky. Red. Then, everything went black. 2 I woke up at home. Grandma was sitting by my bed with a bowl of warm soup. Grandpa didn’t come home until late that night. I found out later he had taken his old pickup truck into the city and driven straight to the district superintendent’s office. He got back on the third morning. The truck had a flat, and he’d had to walk the last five miles, his pants caked in mud. I watched from the window as he bent over the tire, his spine curved like a fishing rod under a heavy catch. “Grandpa.” I opened the door. The bandage on my forehead scraped against the frame, and I flinched. He whipped his head around. His eyes were shot with red. “What are you doing up? Doctor said you need to rest.” “Grandpa, where did you go?” His hands tightened on the tire iron, the veins standing out. “Next time someone at that school lays a hand on you,” he said, his voice a low growl, “you fight back. You hear me? You fight back like your life depends on it. I’ll handle the rest.” That afternoon, the principal came to our house with a new teacher. The new teacher’s name was Ms. Liu. She had a kind smile and a gentle way about her. “Poppy,” she said, “I’m so sorry. I should have been paying closer attention.” She pulled a small, tin pencil box out of her tote bag. “This is for you. If you ever need anything, you come to me.” I stared at the little rabbit painted on the lid but didn’t take it. Grandma wrung her hands. “She’s just shy, Ms. Liu. Thank you.” When I went back to school, Grandpa drove me in his newly-repaired truck. I saw him in the rearview mirror; there were new streaks of gray in his hair. As we pulled up, I saw Mark’s father yelling at him by the flagpole. Ms. Liu moved my desk to the front row. There was a little sticky note on the corner that said, “You got this.” But I was still scared. Tina slipped a piece of candy onto my desk between classes. The wrapper was crinkled, like she’d been holding it for a long time. “I’m sorry, Poppy,” she whispered. I didn’t answer. At the end of fourth grade, I got the highest test scores in the class. Ms. Liu gave me a certificate in front of everyone. When Grandpa picked me up, he folded it carefully and put it in his breast pocket, patting it every few minutes all the way home. Just when I thought things were getting better, a new girl transferred from the city. Her name was Nicole. Our small town had so few students in the upper grades that we sometimes had to board at the school during the week. One morning, I went to grab my washbasin from under my bunk, and it was full of pee. Nicole was watching me, a smirk on her face. “Wow,” she snickered. “No wonder you don’t have parents. You’re so gross you have to pee in a bucket.” It had to be her. I thought of Grandpa’s words. I wasn’t going to take it anymore. I picked up the basin and threw its contents all over her. “You peed in my basin,” I said calmly. “I figured you must want to wash your face with it.” She shrieked, sputtering and spitting. As she ran off, she screamed, “You are so going to regret this!” My stomach dropped. Nicole was the mayor’s granddaughter. 3 The walk home felt like wading through cement. The setting sun stretched the shadow of the old sycamore tree across the road. I heard Grandma’s panicked voice before I even reached the yard. “Please, ma’am, she’s just a little girl, she didn’t mean any harm…” “A little girl?” a sharp voice shot back. “She threw urine on my Nicole! My daughter has never had a harsh word said to her, let alone this!” I peered through a gap in the fence. The mayor’s wife was standing in the middle of our small living room, hands on her hips. Nicole was hiding behind her. Grandpa was squatting by the cold wood stove, a cigarette burning down to his fingers. “Grandpa.” Everyone turned. The mayor’s wife glared at me. “There you are, you little savage!” Grandpa shot to his feet, the cigarette dropping from his lips. “You talk to me,” he said, stepping between us. His back seemed even more bent than before. “Talk to you? Your granddaughter is a menace! My Nicole is a delicate flower from the city, and she was assaulted!” “Either she gets down on her knees and apologizes, or you pay us five thousand dollars for emotional distress!” Five thousand dollars. My breath caught. Grandpa made maybe a hundred dollars on a good day at the factory. “I won’t,” I said, my voice shaking. “I threw it. But she peed in my basin first.” “You little liar!” the woman shrieked, raising her hand to slap me. Grandpa caught her wrist. “The girl said your granddaughter started it.” “You old fool, you’re defending her? This isn’t over! I’ll have her expelled by tomorrow!” She stormed out, Nicole making a face at me over her shoulder. Grandma helped Grandpa sit down. “Why do you have to fight them? We can’t afford to make an enemy of the mayor.” Grandpa didn’t answer. In the dim light, his eyes glowed. “Poppy, come here,” he said, his rough hand stroking my hair. “You did the right thing.” “But…” “We’re poor, girl. But we don’t let people walk all over us.” He knocked the ash from his pipe. “I’ll go to the school tomorrow.” 4 The next morning, Grandpa walked me to school. As we passed the mayor’s house, I saw a curtain twitch. In the classroom, Nicole was sobbing at her desk. Ms. Liu looked exhausted. “Poppy, my office. Now.” Grandpa followed. The mayor was sitting there, sipping coffee from a mug. “Well, Bill,” he said to my grandpa, “your granddaughter has caused quite a stir.” Grandpa pulled a small paper bag from his coat. “Mr. Mayor, the kids had a spat. Here are some fresh eggs from our hens for Nicole.” “We don’t want your charity eggs!” the mayor’s wife snapped, snatching the bag and throwing it on the floor. Yolks splattered across Grandpa’s worn work boots. I ran in front of him. “She peed in my basin first!” “I did not!” Nicole wailed. “I saw her,” a small voice said from the doorway. It was Tina. “I saw Nicole take Poppy’s basin into the bathroom this morning.” A stunned silence filled the room. Nicole went pale. Ms. Liu sighed. “Everyone just go home. I’ll handle this.” As we left, Tina tugged on my sleeve. “Poppy, I’m sorry. Before…” “It’s okay,” I said, watching Grandpa bend down to pick up the broken eggshells. That afternoon, Nicole was transferred to another school. The mayor never bothered us again, but the looks we got in town were colder. Some said Grandpa was stubborn; others said I was trouble. “Grandpa,” I said on the way home, “maybe I should just quit school and help you work.” He stopped and knelt to tie my shoelace. “Don’t be silly, girl. You stay in school until the day you can be your own boss.” That fall, during the harvest festival, I saw Grandpa crying behind the barn. Grandma told me the mayor had cut our family from the town’s heating assistance program. “It’s fine,” Grandpa said, wiping his eyes. “Poppy, don’t you worry.” That night, I scrubbed the dried egg yolk from his boots. The moonlight was bright. I suddenly understood that Grandpa’s spine wasn’t bent from a lifetime of hard labor. It was bent from the effort of holding up the sky for me. On my final report card, I had the highest grades in the county. Ms. Liu pulled me aside. “There’s a scholarship spot at the county high school,” she said. “I put your name in for it.” I clutched my report card and saw Grandpa waiting for me by the curb. The wind blew his graying hair into a messy halo. “Grandpa,” I said, running to him, “I’m going to high school.” He grinned, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling. “That’s my girl,” he said. “That’s my Poppy.” 5 For the first time, it felt like things were really looking up. The mayor was investigated for corruption and lost his office, and the county scholarship covered my tuition. The high school dorm was a cramped room with four bunk beds. On move-in day, Grandpa carried my bedding in a huge plaid duffel bag, stopping twice on the stairs to catch his breath. “Wow, Poppy,” he panted, “this building’s as tall as a skyscraper.” The other parents wore new-looking shoes and carried brand-name luggage. Grandpa was in his worn-out work boots. I saw some of them glance at him. I pulled him over to my bunk and said loudly, “Grandpa, look! I got the top bunk by the window!” The bus ride from our town to the county seat was over an hour. One Sunday, as Grandpa was driving me back to the dorm in his truck, I watched his gray hair flutter in the wind. “Grandpa,” I said softly, “thank you.” His shoulders tensed. “Poppy, we’re family. No need for thanks.” “I’m going to study hard, Grandpa. I’m going to make enough money so you and Grandma can have a good life.” His voice was thick when he answered. “I’ll be waiting for that day, Poppy. You can bet I’ll live to see it.” “You better,” I said, my own voice catching. “You’re going to be the oldest, most stubborn old man in the whole county.” 6 During my sophomore winter break, I went with Grandpa to the recycling center. The bed of his truck was overflowing with cardboard he’d collected. A bitter wind whipped snow into our faces. He stomped on aluminum cans, crushing them flat with an efficiency born of long practice. “You stand back, Poppy,” he said. “Don’t want you getting dirty.” When he straightened up, his back cracked audibly. He pulled a baked potato from his coat pocket. “Got this from the vendor on the corner. Still warm.” I broke it in half and offered him a piece, but he waved it away. “You eat. I’m not hungry.” I found out later he’d only had a piece of dry bread for breakfast that morning, to save enough money to buy me a new textbook. In my junior year, a boy asked me out. I found a pink envelope in my locker. The whole class was watching me. A boy from the basketball team, Ryan, was leaning against the wall, his face red. “Well?” he said. “You gonna read it?” I walked over and pushed the envelope back into his hands. “Ryan,” I said quietly, “I’m sorry. I’m focused on my studies right now.” He stared at me, clearly not used to being rejected. “I can wait until after finals,” he said. “Don’t,” I said, turning back to my locker. “I don’t have time for this.” During gym class that day, Ryan, who was the team captain, made me run extra laps. “What’s the matter, Poppy?” he taunted. “Can’t keep up?” I was never a great athlete, but I could endure. But on the second lap, a sharp pain shot through my ankle. Someone had thrown a rock onto the track. I stumbled. Ryan just blew his whistle. “Last one to finish runs three more!” My ankle swelled up like a softball. I ran the three laps, my teeth clenched against the pain. I didn’t say a word. 7 The next day, during the school’s “service period,” Ryan assigned me the filthiest job: cleaning behind the dumpsters. He threw a broom into a puddle of muddy water. “That’s your area. Don’t come back ’til it’s spotless.” I was picking up slimy garbage when a piece of broken glass sliced my finger. Ryan and his friends were playing basketball nearby, occasionally yelling insults in my direction. When I finally finished, I walked back into the classroom covered in grime. “Whoa,” Ryan shouted, “did someone forget to flush?” The boys roared with laughter. A quiet girl in the back of the class stood up. “The only thing that stinks in here is you, Ryan.” She gave me a small, conspiratorial wink. Just then, the principal and my guidance counselor walked in. My grades were too good for them to let this kind of thing slide. I limped home that weekend and told Grandpa everything. For the first time, he got angry with me. “Poppy, why didn’t you tell a teacher sooner? Why do you always wait until you’re hurt?” He insisted on carrying me on his back to the town’s small clinic. I could feel the thin fabric of his shirt, damp with sweat, and the frailness of his frame. The stars were bright that night. Grandpa’s laughter echoed in the quiet street. “Well,” he said, “I better hang on. I’ve got to live to see that good life you promised me.” 8 But you broke your promise, Grandpa. The last day of my final exams, I walked out into the sunshine, scanning the crowd for his old truck. He wasn’t there. My guidance counselor ran up to me, her face pale. “Poppy, there was an accident. Your grandfather… he’s at the hospital.” The world tilted. The trees lining the road blurred into a green smear, just like they did from the window of Grandpa’s truck. “After he dropped you off this morning,” she explained, her voice trembling, “I think your father called him, asking for money. He was on his way to meet him when a truck ran a red light…” The word “father” was a ghost from a forgotten language. I didn’t hear the rest. All I could see was Grandpa that morning, waking up at 5 a.m. to boil me two eggs for good luck. He’d waved as I went into the school. “When you’re done,” he’d said, “we’ll take these bottles to the recycling center and get you a new pen to celebrate.” The hospital smelled of antiseptic and fear. I changed into scrubs and went into the ICU. He looked so small in the big bed, like a fallen tree. I choked out his name. “Grandpa, it’s Poppy. I’m finished with my tests. Wake up, Grandpa…” He didn’t move. For the first time, there was no one to wipe away my tears. The steady beep of the heart monitor was the only sound, a dull, rhythmic torture. On the third morning, it became a single, piercing drone. I lunged for his hand, but for the first time, he didn’t squeeze back.

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It was the seventh time in a year that Lucas Kane’s childhood sweetheart, Daphne, had been hospitalized. And he was finally asking me for the one thing I couldn’t give. “I want to give Daphne a wedding first. It’s just a formality, Claire. I hope you can understand.” This was the seventh time he had postponed our own wedding. A bitter smile touched my lips. I nodded calmly. As I was leaving, I heard his precious Daphne ask him in a small, careful voice, “Lucas, we’re already legally married now. She’s not going to make a scene when she finds out, is she?” Lucas stroked her hair, his voice a low chuckle. “She’s easy. A few sweet words and she’ll be fine.” He was so sure. So certain that even after he was a married man, I would still cling to him like a loyal puppy. Waiting for him to get a divorce so I could eagerly take his hand in marriage. I looked down at the photo that had just appeared on my phone screen. I smiled and typed back a reply. 【He’s handsome. Are you free to get married? Like, right now?】 1 The person on the other end was silent for a long time. Finally, a message came through. 【Don’t you want to get to know me a little better first?】 My mother already did. She wouldn’t set me up for failure, would she? I, on the other hand, had spent seven years getting to know Lucas Kane. And all it took was one childhood sweetheart returning from abroad to turn it all to ash. I replied with three words. 【No, I’m good.】 I glanced up at the private hospital suite. Daphne was gazing up at Lucas, her face a picture of innocent, girlish charm. “Thank you, Lucas, for making my wish come true. One month is enough.” “After a month, we’ll get a divorce.” A wave of pain washed over Lucas’s eyes. “Don’t rush it. We’ll talk after you’re better.” “How can this body of mine ever get better? But I don’t want to get in the way of you and Claire.” She didn’t want to get in our way, yet she’d wasted no time getting a marriage certificate with him. But that’s not how Lucas saw it. He shut down her suggestion with a tone that bordered on harsh. “You don’t need to worry about her.” His voice was laced with a casual, almost contemptuous certainty. “I could forget about her for twenty years, and the second I called, she’d come running.” “Oh, good,” Daphne said, a satisfied smile spreading across her face. The warm afternoon sun illuminated their faces, making them glow. Standing outside the door, I clenched my fists, a bitter sting in my nose. I don’t know how I managed to escape the hospital. All I knew was that the moment I breathed in the fresh air, a tearing, shattering pain ripped through my chest. The entrance was bustling with people coming and going. Only I stood frozen, completely lost. A year ago, Lucas’s childhood sweetheart had returned. Not with a roar, but with a whimper. She was sick—an illness they couldn’t cure, but that wouldn’t kill her either. She was kept alive by medication. Lucas was heartbroken. He moved Daphne into a new villa he’d bought, hiring a team of four or five people to care for her around the clock. Daphne had loved tennis before she got sick, so Lucas bought out the villas on either side, tore down the walls, and built her a private tennis court. At first, she wouldn’t accept it, disappearing from time to time. “Lucas, I don’t want to be a burden,” she would say, her brow furrowed with sorrow. “Just let me go.” He would get furious, but he always found her and brought her back. Then came the hospitalizations. Seven of them. And seven times, Lucas stayed by her side, day and night. I used to think he was just a naturally reserved person, that his patience with me was a sign of affection. His profile picture had always been a generic landscape photo, something an old man would use. It took me a month of coaxing just to get him to change it to a matching one with me. The first time Daphne was hospitalized, she mentioned she liked a popular cartoon puppy. Lucas immediately changed his profile picture and his entire social media background to it. The CEO of the Kane Corporation, with a cartoon dog as his avatar. It was so jarringly out of character that our mutual friends all messaged me, asking if I’d forced him to do it again. I couldn’t bring myself to reply. This time, it wasn’t me. It was for her. Each time Daphne was hospitalized, our wedding was postponed. The fifth time, he announced he was going to do a wedding photoshoot with her. It was every girl’s dream, he’d said. And he might be the only one who could ever grant her that wish. He hoped I would understand. I understood. The sixth time, he gave her the engagement ring meant for me. Daphne happened to like that design, he explained. He promised he’d get me a better one later, and hoped I could be generous. I didn’t stop him. The seventh time, he told me he was going to have a wedding ceremony with her. And somewhere along the line, without my knowledge, they had already gotten legally married. He came to inform me, lying that it was all just for show. If that was the case, then all I could do was wish them a lifetime of happiness. I would never, ever be the other woman. Tears blurred my vision. A black sedan pulled up silently in front of me. The rear window rolled down, revealing a face so handsome it made my heart skip a beat. “Ms. Cheng. Get in.” I froze, wiping away my tears. “What are you doing here?” The man’s voice was deep and magnetic. “Weren’t you the one who wanted to get married immediately?” He glanced at the luxurious watch on his wrist. “If we hurry, we can still make it today.” 2 That evening, Christopher Ensler’s car dropped me off at my apartment building. We hadn’t spoken a word the entire ride. I stole a few glances at him. He sat with his hands clasped in his lap, his gaze fixed on the scenery outside the window. His expression was as placid as still water, impossible to read. I figured he was probably being pressured by his family to get married, too. My family background was clean, our parents were old acquaintances, and I wasn’t hard on the eyes. So he didn’t overthink it. He just took me straight to City Hall. I didn’t care if he liked me or not. My mother had vetted him; he had to be reliable. And honestly, I was tired. I didn’t have the energy to go through the whole process of falling in love again. All I wanted was a decent, suitable person to settle down with, to finally give my parents some peace. Lucas’s constant delays had already pushed my parents to their breaking point. They said I was chasing after him and disgracing the family. My father declared that even if Lucas became the richest man in the world, he would never approve. He even threatened that if I insisted on being with Lucas, the family business would go entirely to my younger brother, and I wouldn’t see a dime. My mother, frantic, started setting me up on blind dates, desperate for me to see reason. At the time, I was dead set on marrying Lucas. I ignored every single one of her suggestions. Christopher was the last one she introduced. She told me that if I didn’t take this one seriously, she was done. She would consider herself daughterless. That was right around the time Lucas told me he was doing a wedding photoshoot with Daphne. I had already lost the war in love. I couldn’t afford to lose my family and my career, too. 3 Just as I was about to get out of the car, Christopher, who had been silent the whole way, suddenly spoke. “Take your time packing. I’ll come get you when you’re ready.” My breath hitched. Did he mean he wanted me to move in with him? His chiseled profile was like something carved from marble. My heart skipped a beat. Seeing me stare blankly, he turned to look at me, his tone matter-of-fact. “You should move in with me.” I nodded. I had no reason to refuse. As I opened the door, he called out to me again. “Open up your social media profile.” It took me a second to understand. I had never let him see my posts since we connected. I fumbled with my phone, my fingers clumsy under his gaze, and finally showed him my profile page. “There.” He pressed his lips together, nodded, and let me go. After Christopher drove away, I stared at the red marriage certificate in my hand, feeling a sense of surreal displacement. This little red book, the one I had dreamed of having with Lucas, was now so easily in my possession. The groom wasn’t Lucas. But somehow, it didn’t feel all that different. I opened the door to my apartment and was surprised to see Lucas there. He hadn’t stayed here in a long time, choosing to spend his nights at the new villa with Daphne. This penthouse he’d bought had become my solitary home. He seemed to be in a good mood, a smile playing on his lips. When he saw me, he walked over and handed me an elegant card. I knew it instantly. It was the wedding invitation I had designed for us. When I had excitedly shown it to him before, he had tossed it aside dismissively. “It’s just an invitation. Whatever.” But now, his handwriting was on it. 【Groom: Lucas Kane & Bride: Daphne Ji】 “It actually turned out quite nice,” he murmured, his fingers gently caressing the two names on the cover. “The date is set for next week. It’s short notice, so we’ll just use this design.” He paused, then added, “When we get married, I’ll have a new one designed.” I stared at the invitation. Even though my heart was already dead to him, a familiar sting pricked my eyes. Seeing my silence, Lucas’s good mood began to fade. “What, you’re not happy? If you’re not happy, then just don’t come to the ceremony.” He actually expected me to attend his wedding to another woman. I clutched the invitation, biting my lip hard. A profound sense of helplessness washed over me. “Look, I promise, it’s a fake marriage,” he said impatiently, seeing my stubborn silence. “As soon as Daphne’s wish is fulfilled, we’ll go and register our marriage.” His tone was like he was bestowing a great favor upon me. I kept my head down, not responding to his monologue. Lucas reached for my arm, pulling me toward the living room. “Come on, help me decide on the decor for the venue.” As I jerked my arm away, the paper bag I was holding tore. A stack of documents and a bright red booklet slid out. Lucas’s eyes flickered to the red certificate. The calm mask on his face cracked for a fleeting second. He immediately bent down, snatched up the marriage certificate, and clutched it tightly in his hand. “You found out,” he said. It was a statement, not a question. If he had bothered to open it, he would have known. This wasn’t his marriage certificate with Daphne. But he was too busy watching my reaction to even look. I gave a small, bitter laugh and nodded. “I know. You two are legally married.” Lucas’s lips thinned. There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but his voice remained calm. “Well, since we’re already having the wedding, the certificate doesn’t really change anything. You have to go all in, right? You don’t mind, do you?” I said nothing. “We’ll get divorced in a month,” he rushed to explain. “It won’t delay our wedding.” I doubt even he believed that. After the wedding would come the once-in-a-lifetime honeymoon. Then pregnancy, childbirth, raising a child… whatever Daphne wanted, he would give her. I was too tired to argue. I just held out my hand. “Give it to me.” He hesitated, rubbing the cover of the certificate before reluctantly handing it over. “Put it back where you found it. I’ll need it for the divorce.” I ignored him, took the certificate, and walked toward the study. Just before I closed the door, I saw him beaming as he sent a voice message. “See? I told you. She found out and it’s fine. A little sweet talk is all it takes.” I looked down at the invitation in my hand. A mocking smile crossed my face. I tore it to shreds and threw it in the trash. My phone vibrated. A message from Christopher. 【Can you move tomorrow morning?】 【I have a lot of stuff. Why the rush?】 Just a little while ago, he’d told me to take my time. The “typing” bubble appeared for a long time before his message came through. 【Move in the morning. Maldives in the afternoon.】 【For what?】 I asked. He replied: 【Honeymoon.】 4 Around midnight, Lucas left again, summoned by a call from Daphne. I knew he wouldn’t be back until long after their wedding, if ever. I began to pack, sorting through my belongings one by one. I had known Lucas for seven years, been with him for five, and lived with him for four. Every object in this apartment was etched with our memories. The sapphire necklace in my hand was the first gift he ever bought me. My favorite piece of jewelry. I stared at it for a long time before slowly closing the box and placing it on his bedside table. When I first met Lucas, he was a gentleman, but with a sharp, predatory edge. I had just returned from studying abroad and started working at my family’s company. He was my first major business partner. He was three years my senior and already at the helm of the Kane Corporation, while I was still shaking off my student awkwardness. Having seen my share of flashy, arrogant rich kids abroad, I was utterly defenseless against his mature charm. “Ms. Cheng, I’ve reviewed your proposal, but I’d much rather you discuss it with me in person.” “Ms. Cheng, that sapphire is lovely on you. But your eyes are more beautiful.” “Ms. Cheng, relax your wrist when you swing. You’re so tense. Are you nervous?” “Are you nervous because of me?” He was attentive and incredibly perceptive. He knew I loved spicy food and would always book a Sichuan restaurant for our team dinners, except for the times I had canker sores. Then, he’d switch to a Cantonese place so I could eat comfortably. When a disgruntled business partner cornered me in a parking garage, threatening to ruin my reputation, it was Lucas who appeared out of nowhere, saving me and getting me out of there safely. I never found out what he did, but I never saw that man in the industry again. For a long time after, I was terrified to go out alone. He drove me everywhere, dropping everything to accompany me, even waiting patiently for hours while I got my hair cut. He pursued me relentlessly, and I fell fast. He guided me in my career, helping me become a capable executive in my own right. He consumed my thoughts, keeping me up at night. There were so many nights he’d look at me, his eyes dark with desire, and no one could have resisted the man he was then. He told me he didn’t fall easily, but once he loved someone, he would never let go. I didn’t understand what that really meant back then. I later learned that the person he would never let go of was never me. Our story after that was a cliché. The deeper I fell in love, the colder he became. Eventually, everyone was saying that I was the one who couldn’t live without him. I didn’t sleep a wink that night, packing away my life. I sat on the soft carpet, leaning against the bed, scrolling through my phone. I came across a post from Daphne from a few hours earlier. She was wearing a face mask, flashing a peace sign at the camera. 【Trying on wedding dresses tomorrow, but I’m missing a sapphire necklace. What to do?】 Another post meant for me to see. Just as I was about to scroll past, a call from Lucas came in. I stared at the screen for a long moment before answering. “Claire, Daphne is trying on dresses today and she wants to wear a sapphire necklace. Bring yours over now.” A silent, cold laugh escaped me. The memories that had been replaying in my mind all night suddenly felt like a cruel joke. The things you treasure are meaningless to others. I glanced at the green velvet jewelry box on the nightstand. “It’s on the bedside table,” I said coolly. “Come and get it yourself.” I hung up before he could reply. I don’t know why I felt such a sudden urgency, a surge of defiant energy. Without hesitating, I dialed Christopher’s number. He sounded like he was still half-asleep, his voice a low, lazy drawl. “What’s wrong, babe?” I froze. Babe? Did he call the wrong person? “This is Claire Cheng,” I reminded him. His voice was clearer this time. “I know it’s you.” I didn’t press the issue. “Can you come pick me up now?”

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My husband Grant and I had an arrangement. We played our own games on our own time. Until the day he brought home a pregnant woman, and I brought home a five-year-old boy. “Grant, this is my son. He was… lost to me for a while,” I said, my voice soft as I stroked the child’s face, a face that was a near-perfect miniature of my own. “He’s so young. He needs his mother.” The demure, innocent expression on the woman behind Grant froze, cracking like porcelain. Grant’s face went dark. 1 I was about to make a saffron risotto for the “son” I’d just brought back from a bar when the doorbell rang. I went to answer it, spatula in hand, apron tied around my waist, my mood already sour. “Who the hell—” The words died on my lips. Grant stood there, his eyes filled with a familiar disgust, his arm wrapped around a woman with skin like snow and a doll-like face. Her belly was gently rounded. The look she gave me was a cocktail of contempt and triumph. I held my breath for a moment, then let it out in a single, sharp word. “Seriously?” “Sloane, watch your tone,” Grant said, his voice as cold as steel. I pointed a finger at the woman, my question a deliberate performance. “What is this?” Grant’s gaze dropped. “She’s pregnant,” he said flatly. “It’s mine. I can’t let them suffer.” A laugh, sharp and bitter, almost escaped me. The depth of my love for him in the past was matched only by the intensity of my hatred now. I hated him for the sweet nothings of our youth, for the gentle romance, for the solemn vow of “I will never fail you.” And I hated him for shattering that beautiful illusion just a few years later. I still remember the day Grant came home, his collar and neck smeared with lipstick. He’d stopped hiding it, parading his infidelity in front of me as if it were a trophy. I screamed at him, my voice raw and cracking. He just loosened his tie, his expression clouded with weariness. “Sloane, can you stop being so dramatic? Business is business. These things happen.” “If you can’t be a supportive wife, at least don’t make my life harder,” he’d added. “Look at you. Do you even remember how to act like the woman I married?” Then came the night I went to pick him up from a private club. I found him in a booth, his arm around a girl who couldn’t have been more than twenty-two. The way the low light caught the tenderness in his eyes—a look I once thought was reserved only for me—was now being given away so freely to someone else. That was the night he laid out the new rules. “Sloane, let’s just do our own thing,” he’d said. “Hire an escort, find a boy toy, I don’t care what you do. But you don’t get to interfere with my life, either.” He’d offered a final, hollow assurance. “Don’t worry. You’ll always be Mrs. Harrison. I won’t bring these flings home. Your position is secure.” And now, here he was. “She’s pregnant. I can’t let them suffer.” A noble excuse, delivered without a hint of shame, as he brought his affair to my doorstep. The promises of men are ghosts. For the longest time, I thought seeing this would feel like a knife in my heart. After all, I had loved him so fiercely. But now, I was surprised by the profound, unnerving calm that settled over me. The woman spoke, her voice a soft purr. “Sloane… Grant didn’t want this to happen. But a child needs his father. You’re a generous woman. Surely you can find it in your heart to make room for us? Grant and I… we’re in love.” As she spoke, a single, perfect tear traced a path down her cheek. A masterclass in calculated fragility. Grant, of course, bought it completely. His expression hardened, his gaze condescending as he warned me, “Sloane, whether you accept this or not, Layla is a good person. Don’t you dare try to hurt her.” I stared at him. “…Are you fucking kidding me?” 2 “Mommy?” A small, clear voice piped up from behind the sofa. A moment later, a handsome little boy with my eyes and my mouth peeked out. It was only then that I remembered what I’d forgotten. All my melancholy and anger evaporated in a rush of panic. “Oh, shit! My risotto!” I sprinted back to the kitchen. It was too late. The creamy rice was a burnt, sticky mess at the bottom of the pan. Goddammit. Just then, I felt a gentle tug on my finger. “It’s okay, Mommy,” the little boy said, his wide, earnest eyes looking up at me. “I’m not that hungry anyway.” His perfect face, his soft little hand clutching mine… my heart melted. I knelt down and planted a loud kiss on his cheek. “I’ll let myself starve before I let my sweet boy go hungry,” I murmured. “Mommy will make something else. Mommy makes the best grilled cheese in the world.” The toxic couple in my foyer was completely forgotten. My universe had shrunk to this adorable “son” of mine. I could feel Grant’s unease from across the room. He had been married to me for nine years. He knew damn well that in all that time, I had never been pregnant. His voice trembled slightly. “Sloane… who is he?” Only then did I seem to remember they were still there. I lifted my gaze lazily. “Grant, this is my son. He was lost to me for a while.” I looked down at the boy, my voice laced with manufactured pity. “As you can see, he’s very young. A boy needs his mother.” The weak, innocent facade on Layla’s face shattered. Grant’s face went black with rage. “Sloane!” he roared, his eyes turning red, a storm of fury gathering around him. He couldn’t accept it. It was as if he could sleep with the entire city, but the thought of me being with someone else was unforgivable. The little boy pouted, his brow furrowed. “Mister, you’re scary.” Then, he turned to me, his expression melting into a soft, angelic smile. He wrapped his little arms around my legs and hugged me tight. “You shouldn’t be mean to my mommy. I would never be mean to my mommy.” 3 My heart skipped a beat, then began to hammer against my ribs like a drum. Adorable! How could he deliver that line with such devastating cuteness? I wanted to scoop him up and never let go. But I restrained myself. There were still two pieces of trash to take out. I gently covered the boy’s ears and shot Grant a mocking look. “What are you so angry about? Weren’t these your rules? We don’t interfere with each other.” A vein pulsed in Grant’s temple. He ground his teeth, struggling to contain his rage. His voice was a low, furious growl. “Play around all you want, Sloane, but who the fuck gave you permission to have another man’s child?” “Permission?” I shot back, my voice dripping with scorn. “You bring your pregnant mistress to my home and tell me you can’t let them suffer, but I can’t have another man’s child? Do you really think you have the right to ask me that?” I let out a cold laugh. “Grant, don’t be such a goddamn hypocrite.” He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling. Then, a sneer twisted his lips as if he’d figured it all out. “Sloane, are you jealous? Did you really grab one of your cousin’s kids just to get my attention? This little game of yours… it’s not going to work on me anymore.” “…” I honestly couldn’t comprehend how the bright, handsome boy I’d fallen in love with had devolved into this greasy, arrogant, and utterly delusional man. Was I blind back then, or just stupid? He looked down at the boy with contempt. “Sloane, get rid of this little bastard right now, and I’ll pretend this never happened.” CRACK! The sound of my palm connecting with his cheek echoed in the kitchen. He stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief. I flexed my stinging hand. The last thing I wanted was to be violent in front of a child, but the moment he said “little bastard,” I couldn’t stop myself. “Mr. Harrison!” Layla shrieked, glaring at me. “How could you do that to him?” CRACK! I slapped her too, right in front of Grant. Layla was stunned. “You hit me…” she stammered, and then, forgetting her delicate act, lunged at me. I calmly lifted my foot, my voice flat. “Do you want to keep the baby in your belly, or not?” She froze, instinctively clutching her stomach, her eyes pleading with Grant. “Sloane, she…” “Both of you, get out,” I cut her off, my patience gone. I turned my cold gaze back to Grant. “You cheated. I moved on. You’re about to have a child. I already have one. I’d say that makes us even.” With that, I pulled a folded document from my apron pocket and threw it at his chest. A DNA report. I didn’t want him indulging in any more fantasies that this was all a joke. “He is my son,” I said, my voice like ice. “And I am his biological mother.” The words on the report—”The probability of maternity is 99.999%”—seemed to burn into his eyes. “Are you done looking? If you are, get the hell out of my house. Now. Don’t keep me from making dinner for my son.”

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n his last life, Asher Pei, an orphan adopted into a wealthy family, married his childhood sweetheart from the foster system, Elara Vance. He thought their shared lonely pasts would allow them to find warmth in each other. He was wrong. After twenty years, he discovered she had always been in love with his best friend, Julian Thorne. Crushed by the betrayal and public humiliation, Asher died by suicide. He is reborn, given a second chance by a mysterious “System.” This time, when his now-famous friend Julian proposes to Elara—knowing she’s destined to become a world-renowned architect—Asher sidesteps his previous fate. He instead marries Seraphina Wilde, a beautiful actress who, in the last life, also met a tragic end. With a seemingly perfect marriage and a thriving career, Asher believes he’s finally found happiness. He is wrong again. * 1. Asher Pei died of depression. The final days of his life were a torturous haze of rage and confusion. The internet was a cacophony of mockery, a global chorus laughing at the man who couldn’t even hold on to his own wife’s heart. His wife of nearly twenty years, the girl he’d known for forty, had been in love with another man all along. Asher couldn’t take it. He climbed over the railing of his fifteenth-floor balcony and let go. He was dead before he hit the pavement. A cold, mechanical voice buzzed in his mind. [Congratulations, Host. You have unlocked the “Rainy Night Truth” storyline.] *What truth?* Asher’s arm twitched. That voice again. It would pop up out of nowhere every time he hit some kind of narrative milestone, announcing a new plot point as if his life were a game. “Mr. Pei? Asher? It’s time for the investor dinner.” A heavy hand landed on his left shoulder, startling him. He turned to see his assistant’s smiling face. “You alright? You look like you didn’t sleep well last night.” Asher rubbed his temples. Why did he keep having that dream? Elara’s voice still echoed in his ears, sharp and cruel. *“I never loved you! It was always Julian! Always!”* He took a deep breath. “Let’s go. My father is probably getting impatient.” In his past life, just before he died, the System had asked him if he was filled with regret. He’d said yes. A vortex of light had swallowed him, and he’d woken up at eighteen, the day after Elara had rejected his first clumsy confession of love. He was lost in thought again, and by the time he snapped out of it, he was already seated at a large, circular table in an exclusive private club. The atmosphere was convivial. Asher dutifully stood to refill his father’s wine glass throughout the evening. The lead investor was a Mr. Tang, a man in his fifties with the constitution of an ox. He’d poured drink after drink for Asher’s father, who was now slumped in his chair, flushed and incoherent. Asher swirled the wine in his own glass, his eyes dark and empty, watching the bubbles rise and pop. The dinner didn’t end until nearly midnight. It was April in New York, but the air still held a wintery bite. The city, however, was a galaxy of light, the distant glow of skyscrapers and neon signs bleeding into the black sky. His father, emboldened by the alcohol, lectured him the entire ride home. “I know you’re worried about that Wilde girl, but you need to think bigger. You just need to manage that foundation project in Vermont for a couple of years. It’ll look incredible on your resume, silence any talk of nepotism when you take over as Chairman.” His father coughed, and Asher silently handed him a thermos of warm water. Sometime during the drive, it began to rain. As they crossed the bridge, the driver slammed on the brakes. The screech of tires on wet asphalt was deafening. Asher lurched forward, barely stopping himself from hitting the partition. “Looks like there’s been an accident up ahead. We’re not getting through.” The piercing wail of sirens sliced through the night. A police barricade was already in place. A moment later, a sharp rap on the window. A police officer was asking them to step out to give a statement. The moment Asher opened the door, a cold, wet wind whipped at his neck. He opened a black umbrella, shielding his face. He hated scenes like this—too loud, too chaotic. He followed the officer, but before they even reached the police tape, he heard a familiar voice cut through the rain. “Is it true? That you and Elara Vance are married? When did it happen? They said you pursued her for years, that it was love at first sight. Is that true?” The questions came in a rapid-fire burst, the last few words swallowed by a clap of thunder. He froze. That voice… Asher’s grip tightened on the umbrella handle. The alcohol still lingered in his system, slowing his thoughts. It had to be a hallucination. His wife, Seraphina, had just texted him saying she was going to bed. But the voice was identical. A sharp, inexplicable pain lanced through his chest, making it hard to breathe. He looked ahead, his eyes searching desperately through the flashing lights. There she was. A woman in an eight-centimeter heel, her body wrapped in a sleek, grey cashmere dress that clung to her curves. Her skin looked impossibly white against the dress’s sparkling trim. “Answer me, Julian!” she cried, her voice breaking. “You told me if I stayed married to Asher for three years, you’d leave her and marry me! Why did you break your promise?” The man across from her ground out his cigarette with the heel of his shoe. “When did I break my promise?” Julian Thorne’s voice was a low, lazy drawl, yet every word landed like a hammer blow. “You and Asher haven’t been married for three years yet, have you?” “This was just a means to an end!” The woman—his wife, Seraphina—was staring at Julian with such intensity she didn’t even notice Asher standing just a few yards away. “A means to an end? You married Elara! How is this just a means to an end?” she pleaded. “Julian, she’s from the foster system! What can she possibly do for your career? I’m one of the biggest stars in the country! Why won’t you just look at me!” His assistant, noticing Asher’s strange stillness, whispered his name. “Mr. Pei… isn’t that… isn’t that Mrs. Pei?” Asher had been married to Seraphina Wilde for nearly three years. And only now, in this rain-soaked nightmare, did he understand why she had agreed to their marriage so readily. It was because of Julian. He’d never seen the famously poised and elegant Seraphina look so desperate. Suddenly, the electronic voice echoed in his head. [Warning, Host. If you die of depression in this life, you will be permanently erased.] In a flash, it all came back. The agony of his past life, the horrific end. He had already been reborn once. Why was he being forced to live through this kind of hell again? “Mr. Pei, are you okay?” Asher snapped back to reality. He walked over to the officer, gave a brief statement, and left. He couldn’t bear to stay. He tilted his umbrella up slightly, stealing one last look. Julian had lit another cigarette, blowing the smoke directly into Seraphina’s face. She coughed but didn’t seem angry. Instead, she playfully tapped his arm. “Stop it, Julian. You still haven’t answered me.” Julian tipped her chin up with his finger. “Who ever said you have to marry the one you like the most?” he purred. “Sometimes, the favorite isn’t the one you keep at home.” Julian Thorne. Asher’s high school classmate. His college roommate. A lightning flash illuminated Asher’s face, turning it a ghostly white. He turned and walked away. By the time he got back to the car, his father was asleep. The assistant glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Back to the family estate, Mr. Pei?” Asher just grunted in affirmation. He was exhausted. He’d pulled an all-nighter finishing a proposal, spent all day in meetings, and endured the dinner. Now this. Another word and he felt like his head would split open. The house was empty when he got there. Seraphina wasn’t home yet. A message pinged on his phone. It was from his old university professor. He squatted on the floor for a long moment before opening it. It was a long text. “Asher, have you made a decision about the director position for the foundation’s rural development project? I know it’s a hardship post, but it would be a phenomenal addition to your resume and would silence any critics when you join the Sterling board. The decision needs to be made today. This is a rare opportunity, and I personally hope you’ll take it. Of course, if you have personal reasons not to, I respect your choice.” A tear fell onto the screen, blurring the words. Asher wiped it away with his sleeve and replied. “I’ve thought it over, Professor. I want to go. Thank you for the opportunity.” He’d been considering it for a while. As an adopted son, a direct entry into the Sterling family business would be met with resistance from the board. This was a way to earn his place. He’d only hesitated because of Seraphina, worried that the distance would cause problems. He was dozing on the sofa when he heard a key in the lock. He sat up, his mind clearing, just as Seraphina walked in. “You’re still awake,” she said, kicking off her heels. She tossed her coat onto the floor. “I was asleep. A work issue came up. Then on the way back, there was that awful accident. The police held me for questioning, that’s why I’m so late.” Her story was seamless. Except for the part where she was meeting Julian. Asher could smell the lingering scent of her perfume mixed with the faint, acrid smell of tobacco. “Someone said they saw you with Julian Thorne,” he said, his voice flat. Seraphina froze, her jaw tightening. “Oh, right. I ran into him. He and Elara just got married, you know. Such big news, and we didn’t even get to congratulate them. Especially since you and Elara grew up together.” Asher took off his glasses, his eyes narrowing. “Is that right? Seraphina, why did you marry me?” She was already on edge, and his question pushed her over. “Why did I marry you? For nothing! What could I possibly want? My fame? The publicity my name brings to yours?” “Seraphina, all I ever wanted was a heart that was true to me!” A wave of bitterness rose in his throat. Before he could say more, she cut him off. “Did you drink too much at your dinner? Are you even thinking straight? Talk to me when you’re sober. I’m exhausted.” The bedroom door slammed shut. The house fell silent. The clock read 3 a.m. Asher stepped onto the balcony, the cold air a shock to his system. He lit a cigarette, his mind racing. If Seraphina and Julian were in love, why did she die of depression in the last life? He remembered her final moments: imprisoned by Julian, her body decaying, her eyes wide with unseeing horror. And if Elara and Julian were in love, why was he stringing Seraphina along? None of it made sense. The wind, the distant rain, the vast, empty silence of the city—it felt like shards of glass in his heart. He absurdly called out to the System, hoping for an answer. There was none. He didn’t know when he finally fell asleep. When he woke, the apartment was empty. Seraphina was already at a photo shoot. The doorbell rang. He ignored it. It rang again, patiently. “Delivery for Ms. Wilde. We have the gift she ordered.” *A gift? For whom?* Asher opened the door. The box contained an expensive, beautiful watch and a blue-and-black silk tie. “Ms. Wilde has exquisite taste,” the delivery person gushed. “Mr. Pei is a lucky man to have such a thoughtful wife.” The man’s smile faltered as he noticed the veins standing out on the back of Asher’s hand. “Mr. Pei?” “Today isn’t my birthday,” Asher said quietly. If he remembered correctly, today was Julian’s birthday. “My birthday was yesterday.” He hadn’t planned on celebrating. He’d told himself Seraphina was just too busy with work. But now he knew the truth. She hadn’t forgotten. She had remembered Julian’s. A bitter smile touched his lips. “Thank you for bringing this by.” He was calm, eerily so. He changed into a suit and prepared to leave for the office. His phone buzzed. Seraphina: Darling, I forgot to change the delivery address. That’s Julian’s birthday present. Dinner is at S Hotel tonight. Come with me. Asher’s fingers tapped the screen. Asher: No. 2. The “typing…” bubble appeared and disappeared for minutes. No message came. It wasn’t until Asher was pulling into his office garage that she finally replied. Seraphina: Darling, you and Julian were classmates, roommates. You didn’t even go to his wedding. Now you’re going to skip his 30th birthday? He’ll be offended. And you can’t expect me to go alone, can you? Elara will be there. You haven’t seen her in years. It would be too awkward if you didn’t come. Just hearing her name made it hard to breathe. He didn’t want to go, but Seraphina’s relentless texts wore him down. He finally sent back a single word: Fine. S Hotel was in a trendy downtown district. He was late due to rush hour traffic. As he reached for the door to the private room, he heard Seraphina’s voice. “Julian, getting married without even telling us? That’s not very friendly.” A chorus of laughter followed. Asher paused. Through the crack in the door, he heard Julian’s lazy reply. “I wasn’t marrying you. Why would you need to know?” Julian was leaning back in his chair, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, radiating a roguish charm that defied his tailored suit. Asher’s hand, clutching the gift bag, trembled. His gaze fell on Elara. She stood beside Julian, wrapped in a trench coat, looking as elegant and serene as a pale blossom. She offered everyone a polite, gentle smile. A wave of painful memories washed over him. In the last life, she had used that same gentle smile to deliver the cruelest words. He pushed the door open. “Gentlemen, it’s been too long. Julian, you’re as charming as ever.” Julian’s cool eyes widened for a fraction of a second before returning to normal. He jumped up, a wide smile on his face, and shook Asher’s hand. The atmosphere was thick with tension. Seraphina broke the silence, linking her arm through Asher’s. “Darling, what took you so long?” Her voice was a sweet, drawn-out purr. Asher laughed softly, raising her hand to his lips for a kiss, his eyes full of adoration. “Traffic was a nightmare. Did I delay you from giving your gift?” He handed her the black bag. Her smile faltered, but she recovered quickly. Waitstaff arrived with the first course, and the group gratefully returned to their seats. Asher gently removed his arm from Seraphina’s and took a seat across the large table. She followed, her smile never wavering. Later, Seraphina raised her glass to Julian. “To Julian. Happy birthday. A toast?” “Of course. After you, beautiful.” As she poured, her hand trembled, and wine sloshed over the rim, spilling onto Asher’s suit. He reached out, his cold fingers closing around her wrist. He stood. “Let’s toast the birthday boy together, shall we?” Seraphina smiled and grabbed a new bottle from the table, walking towards Julian. As she poured, she stumbled, and the wine splashed onto a decorative candle on the lazy Susan. The glass holder exploded with a loud pop. “Look out!” Seraphina screamed, instinctively grabbing Julian’s wrist and pulling him back. Shards of glass flew through the air. Asher threw his arm up, shielding Elara’s face. A large piece sliced deep into his forearm. Someone doused the small flame with water. “Are you okay?” Elara asked. It was the first time she had spoken all night. Blood snaked down Asher’s arm, staining the red string bracelet he always wore, before dripping onto the floor. He stared at it for a moment before lowering his arm. Seraphina rushed over. “Darling, are you alright? It’s all my fault. Let’s go to the hospital.” Asher’s eyes were dark with a self-mocking pain. A person’s first instinct never lies. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. A deep, cold sorrow enveloped him. He felt like he was submerged in ice water, shivering uncontrollably. He turned and walked out of the room. A second later, the door was thrown open again. “Darling, let me take you to the hospital! Julian was just closer, and I was holding the bottle! I never would have let you get hurt!” Asher looked at her and laughed, a hollow, empty sound. “Is that so? Don’t bother explaining. Seraphina, let’s get a divorce.” 3. “You’re in love with Julian, aren’t you? Why?” Asher couldn’t understand. Was he destined to repeat this nightmare? Last life, Elara loved Julian. This life, Seraphina loved Julian. Was there no escaping this cycle of pain? He pressed his hand to the gushing wound on his arm. “Just because I grabbed Julian’s arm, you want to divorce me? I don’t love him! How could I? He’s a married man, and so am I!” Seraphina’s explanation was a frantic tumble of words. “Let’s just go to the hospital, okay?” Asher’s hand was ice-cold. He was shivering violently. “Seraphina! Do you even remember my birthday? You’re not even trying to hide it anymore, are you?” Her eyes widened in realization. She’d forgotten. “Because you care more about Julian, my birthday doesn’t matter! Seraphina, he’s a married man! You’re a massive celebrity! What do you think will happen if the two of you end up on the cover of every tabloid? Do you have any idea what the breach of contract fees on your endorsement deals will be? Everything you’ve worked for will be gone!” She licked her dry lips. “I know, but we’re just friends. I remembered his birthday because he sent me an invitation weeks ago. I’ve just been so busy with work…” Asher turned his head, wiping a tear from his eye. “The personal shopper said you ordered his gift two months ago. It was a limited edition. You had them fly it in from Paris.” “Whether you’re just friends or not, you know the truth in your heart.” The room began to spin. Without another word, he collapsed. As he fell, someone rushed forward and caught him. “Asher!” a voice cried out. Her hand was sticky with his blood. Then, everything went black. He woke up to a bright room. “You’re awake. Are you feeling any discomfort?” a nurse asked, adjusting his IV drip. Asher glanced at Seraphina, who was dozing in a chair by the window. She woke with a start and rushed to his bedside, her face flushed, wringing her hands. “You’re awake.” Asher coughed, turning his head away from her. All he could see was the image of her from his past life—terrified, alone, decaying. The doctors had told him then that she’d been diagnosed with severe depression two years prior. “The divorce papers,” he said, his voice raspy. “I’ll have my lawyer draft them. You can ask for whatever you want.” The morning sun filtered through the leaves outside the window, dappling the room in a soft light. He raised his heavily bandaged arm to block it. “Why? Why are you talking about divorce again?” She’d thought he was joking last night. “You can’t just throw that word around!” “The rainy night,” he said, his voice cold. “I heard you and Julian. You only married me to get to him. Something about three years. Something about a broken promise. I heard everything, Seraphina.” She stared at him, her face a mask of disbelief. “How could you have heard? Were you testing me this whole time?” Her fingers grew cold. Her dress strap slipped off her shoulder. Tears began to stream down her face. “But you helped me so much. My career… I owe it all to you. We can’t get divorced. Your father… isn’t he pushing for a grandchild? Asher, let’s have a baby.” “The doctors said it would be difficult for me to conceive, but we could try IVF!” Asher closed his eyes in despair. “No,” he sighed. Then his voice rose, filled with a pained fury. “NO! IVF? Do you have any idea what that would do to you? Seraphina, just get out. I don’t want to see you again.” “Asher, are you really determined to do this? I admitted I made a promise to Julian, but you’re a good man! You’ve been so good to me!” “Get out,” he repeated, his voice like steel. “Asher, I am not agreeing to a divorce!” she declared. He just stared at her, a storm of emotions raging in his eyes. Her phone buzzed, and she finally left. Asher leaned back against the pillows, drenched in sweat. He called his lawyer. “Draft the divorce papers. And don’t hide it from my father.” There was a stunned silence on the other end. “Is this regarding Mrs. Pei?” “Yes. Settle the property division. Anything in her name, she keeps.” He had just hung up when the door opened again. It was Elara. He and Elara were both orphans, survivors of the same foster care system. He remembered her as a quiet, smiling girl who endured the other children’s taunts without complaint. He remembered the day he found her crying, her small face streaked with dirt and tears. They were the same, abandoned and bullied. He would never forget the day she’d stood in the sun and refused a wealthy family’s adoption offer. “No, I don’t want to go. I’m not leaving yet.” Her smile was like the spring breeze on a lake. They had been chosen by two different families on the same day. The night before they left, she had crept into his room, crying. “I don’t want to leave you, Asher. Will we ever see each other again?” He had promised her they would. Two lifetimes, and it felt like they were always just missing each other. He watched her walk in with a fruit basket and a bouquet of flowers, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. “Are you feeling better? Thank you, for last night. If it weren’t for you…” “I would have done it for anyone,” he said coolly. She just smiled her gentle smile. “Still, thank you.” He looked at her, his eyes filled with a universe of complicated emotions. “Why did you marry Julian?” She was quiet for a moment. “He saved my life. I had nothing to offer him in return, so he asked me to marry him.” “On the George Washington Bridge? A mugger snatched your purse and shoved you, and you almost went over the railing.” Her body went rigid. “How did you know that?” How did Julian know she would be on that bridge, at that exact time? There was only one explanation. Had Julian been reborn, too? Asher dismissed the thought. Impossible. “It was all over the news,” he lied. “Oh, right. It all happened so fast. I should have told you.” He remembered being quarantined in the hospital with a high fever as a teenager. He’d woken several times to see Elara there, asleep in a chair by his bed, her face tear-stained, completely unafraid of catching whatever he had. That memory was why, for years, he had forgiven her for everything. 4. Asher’s arm was healing slowly. Most of his work was moved to the hospital. One day, his assistant was sighed dramatically every few minutes. “What is it?” Asher finally asked. “Mr. Pei… there’s something I think you should know.” “Then don’t say it.” “Mr. Pei, your wife… she’s started the IVF process. She’s checked into the hospital.” “What? That’s insane! Which room?” “316.” It was a VIP suite, one floor below his. A nurse tried to stop him, but he brushed past her. “I’m her husband!” He threw the door open, and the sight before him made him want to faint. “Seraphina! Are you insane? Are you really going to throw everything away for that man?” Her dignity, her career, her health—she was sacrificing it all. It wasn’t hatred he felt, but a profound, agonizing pity. “Stop this! Stop it right now! Seraphina, you’re gambling with your life! What has Julian done to you?” Love was a terrifying, maddening thing. “I can’t stop. It’s the last step. Asher, please, just forgive me.” He collapsed onto the sofa. “Seraphina, if you could just remember your past, you would never love him.” If she could remember how he had imprisoned her, beaten her, used her. “He’ll be good to me this time. Asher, I just want a child of my own. Please, let me have this.” He laughed, a bitter, broken sound. “Fine. I’ll let you have this. I’ll let you have him.” He stumbled out of the room. In the hallway, he ran into Julian, who was returning with a cup of hot water, smelling of stale smoke. Asher snapped. He lunged, his hands closing around Julian’s throat. “I’m going to kill you! What did you do to her?” Julian just smiled, even as Asher’s fists rained down on him. Asher’s wound reopened, blood soaking through his bandages. It took two security guards to pull them apart. “Julian, you have a wife! Why are you doing this?” Julian spat out a mouthful of blood and grinned. “What are you going to do about it?” A nurse intervened. “Mr. Pei, you need to have your arm looked at.” Before he could say more, the System’s voice cut in. [Congratulations, Host. You have unlocked the “Difficult Labor” storyline.] *Another one about Seraphina.* He gave her room one last, long look and went back upstairs. The fight set his recovery back by another ten days. He didn’t even know when Seraphina was discharged. The divorce papers arrived; he signed them and had his assistant deliver them to her personally. After that, he fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. Outside, the world was exploding. Seraphina was living with Julian in a downtown loft, their every move documented by paparazzi. They were photographed holding hands at the farmer’s market, kissing in the park. The photos would appear online and then be swiftly taken down. Seraphina didn’t seem to care. One day, Julian’s mother showed up at the loft. She was a frail woman with short, graying hair and glasses. “Mom? What are you doing here?” Julian asked, his body tense. His mother ignored him, her eyes fixated on the single queen-sized bed in the apartment. “The tabloids were right,” she whispered, her voice hollow. “It’s true.” She suddenly lunged at Seraphina, her hand connecting with a loud crack. “You have a family! How could you do something so shameless? Did you seduce my son?” Seraphina stumbled back, a red handprint blooming on her cheek. “I’m carrying Julian’s child!” she cried out. Julian tried to stop her, but it was too late. “Mom, listen to me, Seraphina—my mother has a history of mental illness, you can’t provoke her like this!” “I’m not provoking her! It’s the truth!” His mother stared at Seraphina’s stomach. “A child?” Her eyes turned a terrifying, bloodshot red. She snatched a fruit knife from the counter and plunged it into Seraphina’s abdomen. “This child is an abomination! It can’t be born!” she screamed, stabbing again and again. Seraphina was too shocked to even scream. She stared down at her stomach, at the sticky, wet warmth spreading across her hands. Two days. She had only known she was pregnant for two days. Tears streamed down her face as she collapsed. “Seraphina!” Julian screamed, finally snapping out of his shock. He pushed his mother away and fell to his knees beside Seraphina, pressing his hands to the wounds. He fumbled for his phone and called 911. His mother, looking at her blood-soaked hands, let out a piercing shriek and fainted. By the time the ambulance arrived at the hospital, Seraphina’s face was a deathly blue. Asher, who had been on his way out, saw the paramedics wheeling her in and froze. “Make way!” “Get the blood bank on the line, massive hemorrhaging! And prep for an emergency D&C, the fetus is gone!” Every word was a poisoned blade in Asher’s heart. He stumbled, catching himself on the wall. He saw Julian trailing behind the gurney, his face a mask of horror, and lunged at him. “What did you do?” In the last life, it had been Elara who had been wheeled in, covered in blood. Julian looked at him, his eyes empty. “Is this inevitable? Is there no escaping it?” Asher’s mind reeled. The storyline had changed. The System was silent. “Escaping what? Your fate of having women die for you?” Julian’s head snapped up. “What did you say?” “Last life, it was my wife your mother stabbed. This life, it’s my wife again!” “You were reborn, too?” The air crackled between them. It was a dual rebirth. “Since you were given a second chance,” Asher said, his voice raw with pain, “why didn’t you leave her alone? If you love Elara, why did you have to drag Seraphina into this? What do you want, Julian? Money? Was her death in the last life not enough for you?” The red light above the operating room door stayed on all night. Julian’s mother was sedated and moved to a psychiatric ward. Her Alzheimer’s had progressed; she had already forgotten the life she had just taken. When the surgeon finally came out, he had grim news. “We saved her, but the baby is gone. And… she’ll never be able to carry a child again. Not even with IVF.” Asher stood by the railing, watching, muttering to himself. *Julian was reborn, too.* It all made sense now. A blood-curdling scream erupted from the recovery room. “My baby! Julian, give me back my baby!” Seraphina was hysterical, slapping him, tearing the IV from her arm. Her eyes were hollow, filled with a terrifying, numb despair. “The nurse said I can’t have children anymore. Not ever.” “The baby is gone, Seraphina,” Julian said, his patience wearing thin. “Are you going to lose me, too?” “When are you divorcing Elara?” she shot back. “Were all your promises lies?” “I didn’t want this to happen! I didn’t know my mother would be there! If you hadn’t told her you were pregnant, she wouldn’t have snapped!” The accusation was a physical blow. Seraphina clutched her chest, doubling over in pain. “Get out! I never want to see you again!” Julian stormed out. Asher had his discharge papers processed. He went to Seraphina’s room, intending to get the signed divorce papers, but she was asleep, sedated and still. He left without a word. He packed his bags and called his father. “Dad, don’t worry about the rumors online. Don’t say anything. I’ll handle it when I get back from the foundation project.” “Go,” his father said. He thought it was all finally over. 5. Two days later, Seraphina was back at work. “Money is the only thing that matters now,” she told her agent. That morning, her eyelids had been twitching. A bad omen. After a taping, her agent approached her, his face grim. “I have some news. Don’t panic.” “What is it?” “Asher Pei is dead. He committed suicide.” She laughed. “That’s not possible.” “It’s true. It was instant. He drove his car off a cliff.” Her phone was blowing up. The headline was everywhere: “Sole Heir to Sterling Fortune Dies by Suicide.” The police had confirmed it. The rumors started immediately: his wife had cheated, she was pregnant with another man’s child. The most outrageous rumors are often the truth. “Didn’t someone see Seraphina Wilde covered in blood at the hospital a few weeks ago?” “It’s true. He was a billionaire. He must have been betrayed.” She didn’t care about the rumors. All she could hear was that he was dead. Really dead. She raced to the scene. The police had cordoned off the area. Rescue teams were searching the ocean below, but they couldn’t even find a body. His supercar was parked at the cliff’s edge, hazard lights blinking. It was clearly a suicide. Her hands trembled. She had driven him to this. The online hate was relentless. Her fans turned on Julian, demanding he be blacklisted. He lost his job and went into hiding. Seraphina completely fell apart. “This can’t be happening!” she wailed, curled into a ball in the corner of her apartment. Her agent brought a doctor. “Give her a sedative. Let her sleep.” She didn’t resist. She was so, so tired. When Asher saw the news, he was already in the small mountain village in Vermont. The air was clean, the scenery beautiful. The locals welcomed their new project director with a potluck dinner. Afterward, he scrolled through the news on his phone: Seraphina swarmed by paparazzi, Seraphina weeping at the cliff’s edge. He watched it all with a blank expression and then put his phone away. [Congratulations, Host. Ultimate objective achieved. The rest is up to you.] Asher smiled. “Thank you, System.” He had told himself he would not repeat the mistakes of the past.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385531”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’m a 30% owner and co-founder of our company. On dividend day, my account was credited just $25. I stormed into finance, but the new CFO, Lana Fumero, blinked innocently. “Terry, the company lost money this year. Be grateful for the $25! The CEO said tech partners are on stock options, not for cash dividends.” I slammed the financial statement on her desk—$670,000 net profit, clear as day. She snatched and shredded it, screaming, “This is confidential!” My other partner, Mark Chen, rushed in and shoved me. “Laying hands on a woman? Stick to coding! Why meddle in finances?” Furious, I demanded my dividend. He sneered, “I’m the one drinking with clients till dawn. You just write code. Why should you get the same as me? If $25 isn’t enough, go find your own clients!” My father’s surgery required an 18,000 deposit. My15,000 loan was due today. I’d invested everything in this company, relying on that dividend. My balance: $25. My entire body trembled as I raced to the hospital. My father’s name had already been crossed off the surgical schedule. He grabbed my hand, his smile weak and papery. “Son,” he rasped, “is the company in trouble again?” “It’s okay,” he whispered, his grip slackening. “Don’t worry about me. This old bag of bones… has had a good run…” I collapsed to my knees by his bedside, sobbing uncontrollably. Five days later, my father was gone. At the funeral, Mark arrived with the entire company in tow. Lana had even thoughtfully prepared a funeral wreath. Emblazoned across it in large, gold letters were the words: “Here’s to the Old Man’s Grand Promotion to the Underworld.” A black wave of dizziness washed over me. I confronted her, my voice shaking. Lana’s eyes filled with tears, her lower lip trembling. “Oh, Terry, I’m so sorry! I thought… I thought it was a cool, edgy way of saying he’s in a better place!” Mark immediately stepped in to smooth things over. “Terry, don’t be like that. Lana meant well. I heard you were short on cash lately. I can give you a personal loan. Don’t take it out on her.” A loan? After three years of my life, my entire life savings, countless sleepless nights, all for my thirty percent stake… he was offering me a loan? A sharp, crushing pain seized my chest. As someone with a congenital heart defect, extreme emotional distress was the one thing I had to avoid. But in that moment, I couldn’t even reach for my medication. Mark’s voice began to fade, as if coming from the end of a long tunnel. “Quick! Call an ambulance!” “Lana, don’t be scared,” I heard him say. “It’s not your fault. Terry’s had a bad heart his whole life…” In the last second before my eyes closed, I saw Lana fall into Mark’s arms. They looked at each other, and the corners of their mouths curled into triumphant smiles. Then I opened my eyes again. I was back on the morning of the dividend payout. 1 I shot upright in bed. A glance at the clock told me I had two hours until that damned $25 landed in my account. I took a deep, shuddering breath. It was real. I had been reborn. And my father was still alive. The thought brought a hot sting of tears to my eyes. This time, I would not make the same mistakes. I grabbed my jacket and bolted out the door, making a beeline for the bank downstairs from our office. It was a familiar route. “Good morning, sir. How can I help you?” the teller asked. “A home equity loan,” I said, my voice steady and firm. “I need eighteen thousand dollars. As fast as possible.” The teller blinked. “Sir, that requires an appraisal. The fastest we could possibly…” “I know the process,” I cut her off, slapping the deed to my condo on the counter. It was a document I’d prepared long ago, just in case. “I bought it in cash. No mortgage history. You can verify it in your system.” My gaze was intense, unwavering. “I’ll pay extra to expedite the appraisal. I need that money in my account before the end of the day. It’s a matter of life and death.” My tone left no room for argument. The teller looked from my face to the documents, then nodded. “Okay, sir. I’ll get on it right away.” The two hours I spent waiting felt like an eternity. I sat in the bank’s stiff chair, my mind racing. In my last life, I was a fool. I thought partners were brothers, that contracts were ironclad, that hard work would be rewarded. What a joke. Mark had systematically isolated me, turning me into nothing more than a coding machine for his company. Lana cooked the books and funneled profits into her own pockets, all while playing the part of a sweet, naive girl so convincingly she could have won an Oscar. This time, they would pay. “Mr. North, your loan has been approved. The $18,000 has been transferred to your account.” I leaped to my feet. “Thank you!” I didn’t run, I flew out of the bank and straight to the hospital. My father’s room was on the third floor. When I pushed the door open, he was lying in bed, his face pale and drawn. “Dad!” His head turned, and a flicker of surprise lit his tired eyes. “Terry? What are you doing here? Isn’t it busy at the office?” “It’s fine. I came to see you.” I walked to his bedside and took his hand. It felt so much stronger than I remembered. “Dad, I have the money for the surgery. All eighteen thousand. You don’t have to worry about a thing.” My father’s eyes welled up. “Son… this money…” “Don’t ask where it came from,” I said gently. “Just focus on getting better.” I found his doctor and paid the deposit in full. “Mr. North,” the doctor said, looking at me with professional calm, “your father’s surgery is scheduled for 8 a.m. tomorrow. The success rate is very high. You can rest easy.” I nodded, a massive weight lifting from my soul. Back in the room, my father gripped my hand. “Terry, the company dividend… is everything alright?” I paused. My father had never been a businessman, but he was far from stupid. “There might be a little trouble, Dad. But it’s nothing I can’t handle.” “Son,” he said, his gaze serious, “in business, the most important things are honesty and fairness. You three started that company together. Whatever you agreed on, that’s how it should be.” He paused, his grip tightening. “If someone starts playing games… they’re no longer a brother.” A lump formed in my throat. He was right. Mark, you showed no mercy. Don’t expect any from me. After settling things at the hospital, I returned to the office. It was already two in the afternoon. I opened my banking app. Sure enough, a new transaction had appeared. A deposit of $25. The irony was so bitter it tasted like ash. Two hundred thousand dollars, reduced to twenty-five. A cold smile touched my lips as I kicked open the door to Mark’s office. “Terry?” Mark was in a meeting with Lana. He looked surprised. “What are you doing here? I thought you took the day off.” “I’m here about the dividend, Mark,” I said, my eyes locked on his. “Why did I only receive twenty-five dollars?” A flicker of unease crossed his face, but he quickly composed himself. “Oh, that. Terry, you know how it is. It’s been a tough year. Profits are down.” “So everyone’s dividend is a little smaller this year.” “Is that so?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. “Then tell me, Mark. How much was your dividend?” He frowned. “Terry, what are you trying to say?” “It’s simple,” I said, taking a step closer. “The financial statement showed a net profit of $670,000 this year. My thirty percent stake means my share should be $201,000.” “So how did that become twenty-five dollars?” Lana suddenly jumped in. “Terry, you’re the tech partner! Your compensation is primarily in stock options.” Her voice was sickly sweet. “The cash dividends are for the operations partners. That was the agreement!” The agreement? I stared at her innocent, perfectly made-up face and felt a primal urge to rip the mask away. “Lana, the original partnership agreement is right here.” I pulled out my phone and displayed the document. “Would you like to read the clause that says, and I quote, ‘All three founding partners shall participate in profit-sharing dividends proportional to their equity stake, with no exceptions’?” Lana’s face went pale. Mark’s expression hardened. “Terry, what the hell is this? Lana is new, she doesn’t know the history. Why are you yelling at her? If you have a problem, take it up with me!” I turned to him. “Fine. Then I’ll ask you. Where is my $201,000?” Mark was silent for a moment before letting out a theatrical sigh. “Terry, you don’t understand the complexities of running a business. Yes, on paper the profit is $670,000. But we have outstanding receivables, we have to reinvest in R&D, we have marketing expenses…” He spread his hands wide. “Giving you $25 was already a stretch for us!” I almost laughed out loud. He’d used the exact same lines on me in my past life. And I had believed him. Not this time. “Mark, are you seriously asking me to believe that a company with a net profit of $670,000 can’t afford a $201,000 payout?” I pressed. “What about the other shareholders? Did they get their dividends?” His eyes shifted. “I… I’m not sure about the specifics. You’d have to ask finance.” “Great,” I said, turning to Lana. “Lana, I’d like to see the complete, unabridged financial records.” My gaze was a physical force. “As a shareholder, I have the right to audit the books, don’t I?” Lana stammered, “Well… I… I need Mark’s approval for that…” “Then approve it,” I said, my eyes boring into Mark. “You wouldn’t deny me that, would you, partner?” Mark’s face was a thundercloud. After a long, tense silence, he finally spoke. “Terry, do you have a problem with me?” His voice took on a wounded tone. “We’re brothers. We were college roommates. We built this company from nothing! What are you trying to do, coming at me like this?” Brothers. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. At my father’s funeral, that’s not what he was saying. “Mark, I just want what I’m owed,” I said, enunciating every word. “Two hundred and one thousand dollars. Not a penny less. If the company truly can’t afford it, then you can use assets as collateral. Or transfer a portion of your shares to me.” The friendly mask finally dropped. Mark’s face turned to stone. “Terry, are you insane?” “I’m not the one who’s insane,” I shot back. “You’re just the ones who got too greedy.” I turned and walked out. Mark’s roar echoed behind me. “Terry! You get back here!” I didn’t stop. Back at my desk, I powered on my computer. As the CTO, I held the highest-level administrative privileges for all our systems. Including the financial software. Lana had tried to lock me out, but she was an amateur. She had no idea I’d built a backdoor into the system from day one. My fingers flew across the keyboard. A few moments later, I was inside the core database. Lines of raw data scrolled across the screen. And then I saw it. My pupils contracted. The net profit wasn’t $670,000. It was $1.2 million. Mark had cooked the books. He had created two sets of financials. One for show, and one for reality. So where did the extra $530,000 go? I kept digging. And there it was. A wire transfer for $500,000. The recipient: Lana Fumero. The memo: Dividend. Another transfer, for $30,000, to Mark’s personal account. The memo: Annual Bonus. My hands were shaking. It all made sense. Mark and Lana were in this together. They hadn’t just stolen my dividend; they had stolen from everyone. We had two other small-stake investors from our early days, Lee and Anna, who each held ten percent. Based on the real numbers, they should have each received $120,000. The books showed they’d only gotten a few thousand each. I took a deep breath. Stay calm. Stay focused. Confronting them now would be pointless. I needed more. I needed irrefutable proof. I downloaded a copy of the entire database, encrypted it, and saved it to a thumb drive. Then I scrubbed all traces of my access. Leaning back in my chair, I let the cold fury settle in my bones. Mark. Lana. This time, you’re going down. 2 The next morning, I was at the hospital before sunrise. My father’s surgery was a success. When the doctor emerged from the OR and removed his mask, he gave me a tired smile. “Family of Terry North? The procedure went very well. The patient is stable and in recovery.” I nearly collapsed with relief. “Thank you. Doctor, thank you so much!” When the nurses wheeled my father out, his face was pale but peaceful. Tears streamed down my face. He managed a weak smile. “Son, don’t cry… I’m okay…” I held his hand, my voice thick with emotion. “Dad, you just rest. I promise, I’m going to give you a good life.” He patted my hand, his eyes filled with a quiet trust and pride that spoke more than words. This time, I had saved him. This time, I wouldn’t let anyone harm the people I loved. When I got to the office, Mark was waiting for me. “Terry,” he said, his expression a carefully crafted mask of sincerity, “I’ve been thinking about what happened yesterday. You’re right. The company has been unfair to you.” He put on his best ‘big brother’ face. “How about this? I’ll personally loan you fifty thousand dollars to help you with your immediate needs. Once the company’s cash flow improves, we’ll get you the rest.” A loan. Always a loan. I laughed, a cold, sharp sound. “No thank you, Mark. I don’t need a loan.” My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “I just want what’s mine. Paid out, clean and simple.” Mark’s friendly facade twitched. “Terry, what is it you really want?” “I want to see the complete, unabridged books,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “Lana, please provide me with all financial statements for this fiscal year.” Lana shrank behind Mark. “Terry… that requires board approval…” “Then call a board meeting!” I raised my voice, making sure everyone in the open-plan office could hear. “Let’s get all the shareholders in a room, lay the books on the table, and have a look together!” Mark’s face turned an ugly shade of red. “Terry, you don’t trust me?” “This isn’t about trust. This is about exercising my legal rights as a shareholder.” I turned to leave. “Terry!” Mark yelled after me. “If you try to pull something, don’t blame me for getting nasty!” Getting nasty? I stopped and looked back at him over my shoulder. “Mark, who do you think started this fight?” The office was dead silent. Every employee was staring at us. Mark stood there, humiliated and fuming. I ignored him and went back to my desk. I opened my personal email and sent a message to our two other investors. “Lee, Anna, I’m writing about this year’s dividend. How much did you each receive? If the number seems wrong to you, perhaps we should approach Mark for clarification together. Best, Terry.” I hit send. Less than ten minutes later, Lee replied. “Terry, I only got $5k. I thought it should be more, but Mark said the company was losing money, so I didn’t want to make a fuss…” Five minutes after that, Anna’s email came through. “Terry, I got $5k too. I asked Mark about it, and he said it was a tough market and asked us to be understanding. I don’t really get the numbers, so I let it go. Do you think something is wrong?” Wrong? It was a goddamn heist. I replied immediately. “Lee, Anna, I have evidence that the company’s actual profits far exceed what’s on the official statements. Mark and our new CFO have created a second set of books and embezzled our dividends. If you’re with me, we can fight this together and get back what’s ours.” This time, the replies were instantaneous. Lee: “Are you serious? You have hard proof? If that’s true, I’m in. I want what I’m owed!” Anna: “Terry, I trust you. Tell me what to do. I’m on your side.” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. I had allies. Now, I needed some heavy artillery. I scrolled through my contacts to a number I hadn’t called in years. Arthur Vance. Our company’s angel investor. In the beginning, it was Arthur who had believed in us, investing $100,000 for a twenty percent stake. He’d been a silent partner ever since, content to let us run the show as long as his dividend checks arrived on time. I hesitated for a second, then dialed. “Hello?” Arthur’s voice was as booming and confident as ever. “Arthur, it’s Terry North.” “Terry!” he exclaimed, his tone warm. “It’s been too long! How are things at the company?” “Arthur, I need to see you. There’s something I need to discuss in person.” There was a pause on the other end. “Is the company in trouble?” “You could say that,” I said with a humorless laugh. “It’s a financial matter.” “I understand,” Arthur said, his voice turning serious. “Tonight. Seven o’clock. The usual place.” Hanging up, I felt a sliver of the weight on my shoulders lift. Arthur was a man of integrity. He invested in us because he believed in our passion. If he knew what Mark had done, he wouldn’t stand for it. At seven, I arrived at the quiet lounge we used to frequent. Arthur was already there, a pot of tea steaming between them. “Terry, sit,” he said, pouring me a cup. “Tell me everything.” I laid it all out: the $25 dividend, my investigation, the two sets of books, everything. As I spoke, Arthur’s jovial face grew harder and colder. “You’re telling me,” he said, his voice a low growl, “that Mark created a fake P&L? That the real profit was $1.2 million, but he only paid out dividends on $670,000?” “That’s right. And I suspect that $500,000 transfer to Lana wasn’t a ‘dividend’ at all. It was…” “Theft,” Arthur finished, slamming his fist on the table, rattling the teacups. “That little son of a bitch. He’s got some nerve.” I nodded. “Arthur, I want to call an emergency shareholder meeting and confront them. But I’m worried Mark will destroy the evidence.” Arthur thought for a moment. “Send me your backup of the data. I also have friends at a top forensic accounting firm. We can bring them in.” His eyes were like steel. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. We’ll tear his books apart, piece by piece.” I looked at him, overcome with gratitude. “Thank you, Arthur.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t thank me. This is my investment he’s messing with. I backed you boys because I saw your drive—your technical genius and Mark’s salesmanship. I never imagined his ambition would curdle into pure greed.” “I’ll have my lawyer send an official notice tomorrow morning,” he declared. “We’re calling an emergency shareholder meeting. As a twenty-percent stakeholder, it’s my right.” I took a deep breath. This time, Mark, there’s nowhere to run. I got home late, my mind buzzing. Lying in bed, I couldn’t stop replaying the events of my past life: my father’s death, my own, the smug, smiling faces of those two vipers. My fists clenched at my sides. The next morning, the office exploded. A letter from Arthur’s law firm arrived by courier, formally demanding an emergency shareholder meeting in three days to review the company’s financial status. Mark’s face was ashen. He stormed into my office. “Terry! It was you! You went to Arthur!” “And what if I did?” I said, looking up from my screen, my gaze cold. “As a shareholder, I have the right to request an audit.” “You…!” he sputtered, pointing a shaking finger at me, speechless with rage. Lana followed him in, wringing her hands. “Terry, isn’t this a little extreme? We’re a startup family. Things are hard enough without you trying to tear us apart.” I stood up and walked right up to her. “Lana, that five hundred thousand dollars in your bank account. What’s your explanation for that?” The color drained from her face. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about…” “You don’t?” I smirked. “Don’t worry. You’ll have a chance to explain it at the meeting in three days.” Mark lunged forward and grabbed my collar. “Terry, are you trying to destroy this company?!” “Destroy it?” I shoved him back. “Mark, you’re the one who’s destroying it! You’re the one who cooked the books! You’re the one who stole from your own partners! That’s how you destroy a company!” He froze, a flash of panic in his eyes before he replaced it with bluster. “That’s slander! I never cooked any books!” “The proof,” I said calmly, “will be presented in three days.” I walked past him and out of the office, his furious shouts echoing behind me. “Terry! You’re going to regret this!” Regret? In my last life, I had plenty of regrets. I regretted trusting him. I regretted being naive. I regretted not being able to protect my father. But this life? I would have no regrets. The next two days at the office were thick with tension. Mark and Lana were constantly locked away in his office, whispering conspiracies. I knew they were trying to cover their tracks, to erase the evidence. It was useless. I had the backups. And Arthur’s auditors had already been granted access to the company’s bank records by court order. The net was closing. On the third day, the shareholder meeting convened. All five of us were present. Mark, with his 30%, sat at the head of the table. I, with my 30%, sat directly opposite him. Arthur, holding 20%, sat beside me. Lee and Anna, with 10% each, flanked us. Arthur’s lawyer and the lead forensic accountant sat quietly to the side. The air in the room was electric. Mark spoke first. “Since everyone is here, let’s begin. The agenda for today is a financial review, requested by Arthur. Now, I don’t know who has been spreading rumors that there are problems with our finances,” he said, shooting a dark look at me, “but I want to state for the record that this company’s books are clean, legal, and can withstand any scrutiny.” Arthur spoke without looking at him. “That’s wonderful news. Mr. Accountant, your report, please.” The accountant opened his briefcase. “Good morning. After a two-day review, our team has identified several discrepancies. First, the company’s actual revenue for the fiscal year was $2.8 million. With costs and expenses totaling $1.6 million, the net profit should be $1.2 million. However, the official financial statements provided to shareholders reported a net profit of only $670,000. There is a discrepancy of $530,000 that is currently unaccounted for.” The room erupted. Lee slammed his hand on the table. “What? $1.2 million? Mark, you told us we barely broke even!” Anna was frantic. “Where is my hundred and twenty thousand dollars?!” Mark’s face was granite. “This… this must be a mistake! Our reports were professionally audited!” The accountant continued, unfazed. “Second, we traced a wire transfer of $500,000 from the corporate account to the personal account of CFO Lana Fumero. The transaction was noted as a ‘dividend.’ According to the company’s articles of incorporation, Ms. Fumero is not a shareholder and is not entitled to dividends.” Lana shot to her feet. “That’s not true! That was… that was a bonus! For my performance!” “A bonus?” I scoffed. “A five-hundred-thousand-dollar bonus? Lana, your annual salary is sixty thousand dollars. On what planet do you get a bonus eight times your salary?” “I… I…” she stammered, unable to form a sentence. “Third,” the accountant said, “we identified a transfer of $30,000 to Mr. Mark Chen’s personal account, noted as ‘Annual Bonus.’ According to company policy, the CEO’s bonus must be approved by the board. We could find no record of such an approval.” Arthur’s voice was low and dangerous. “Mark. Explain.” Sweat beaded on Mark’s forehead. He glanced from Lana, to me, and back again, before suddenly rising. “Alright, I admit it! Some of our practices were… unorthodox!” He was grasping at straws. “But it was all for the good of the company! That $500,000 was a loan to Lana to secure a major client! It was for schmoozing! And my bonus was because of the insane hours I put in this year!” His voice rose to a desperate shout. “These funds were all used for the company, not embezzled!”

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Leo Song had a girlfriend. I watched them hold hands, watched them fight, watched them break up. It wasn’t until we got to college that I finally decided to tell him how I felt. We were in a private karaoke room, and our friends were all trying to set us up. I stood outside the door for a second, catching my breath, and heard Leo’s easy laugh float through the wood. “Nah, it wouldn’t work,” he said. “We’re just bros.” In that single moment, my years-long crush finally withered and died. Fine. It was better to just be friends, anyway. Except, one day, much later, someone asked me, “You haven’t noticed that Leo Song is trying to ask you out?” I just laughed. “Nah, it wouldn’t work. We’re just bros.” 1 Senior year of high school, Leo Song became my deskmate. The logic was simple: he was a motormouth, and I was quiet. We were supposed to balance each other out. It was AP Lit. Mr. Henderson was droning on about symbolism in The Great Gatsby. Leo’s mouth, however, never stopped moving. “Should I be writing this down?” he whispered. I didn’t answer. “Wait, what page are we on?” “…” Our desks were pushed together, a two-person island. And like every other tall, long-legged guy in our class, Leo had a tendency to invade his neighbor’s territory. His knee kept brushing against mine, a light, almost-not-there touch that sent a jolt up my spine. My back went ramrod straight. “If you cross that line one more time,” I hissed, my teeth clenched, “I’m telling Mr. Henderson.” Cowards like me always use irritation and a holier-than-thou attitude to hide what’s really going on. Things like a secret crush. Things like a crippling lack of self-esteem. Leo just leaned back in his chair, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he looked at me. He did, however, pull his leg back. “My bad,” he murmured. “I’ll schedule the amputation for tomorrow.” Just then, a piece of chalk flew through the air. Leo ducked it like a pro and slowly sat up straight. Right on cue, the bell shrieked, signaling the end of class. Once our teacher left, I glanced up, just in time to see Leo getting out of his seat. A chorus of whoops and hollers followed him as he walked to the classroom door. His girlfriend was standing there. Her hair was long and straight, her skin was pale like porcelain, and when she saw him, a perfect pair of dimples appeared in her cheeks. I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I just saw Leo’s lips curve into a smile as he reached out and ruffled the top of her hair. The noise of the hallway faded into the background. One tall, one short. The perfect couple. I didn’t look away until their backs disappeared down the hall. Then, my eyes dropped numbly to my textbook. A sour, bitter taste flooded my mouth. 2 I’d known Leo since freshman year. Back then, the thought of confessing my feelings never even crossed my mind. Not until the end of the semester, when Leo brought his girlfriend, Isabelle, to a group hangout so everyone could meet her. Our friends cheered, offered their congratulations. I don’t remember much else from that day. All I remember is the sight of their hands, laced together. I always wondered, if I had just been a little braver, would things have turned out differently? I was lost in thought when Leo came back, slinging his jacket over his chair before dropping into his seat. A classmate came over to ask him about a calculus problem. He draped his jacket over his lap and started scribbling out the solution. Then he glanced at my desk. “My girlfriend loves that stuff too. Is it really that good?” I was holding the jasmine milk tea I’d brought to school that morning. My fingers tightened around the plastic cup. “It’s okay, I guess.” Someone else chimed in. “Dude, if you like it, just say you like it. Why you gotta rub it in the faces of us single people?” The guy who said it was Caleb. My dad is his uncle, which makes us cousins. He’s the reason I met Leo in the first place. After a bit more teasing, Caleb asked, “Hey, I’m crashing at my uncle’s place for dinner this weekend. You wanna come, Leo? Your parents are out of town anyway.” Leo glanced at his watch. “Can’t. Gotta help Isabelle study.” “Wow, what a dedicated boyfriend. Her GPA is so borderline, getting into Northwood University is a long shot. You guys planning on doing the long-distance thing?” “We’re trying to end up in the same city.” “Damn, Romeo. You’re really going all in.” “…” The same city. That meant one of them would have to compromise. I listened from the side, blinking slowly. I was still quiet when the final bell rang. Leo looked over at me. “What’s up, Mia?” He always had that polite, considerate way of noticing when a friend was down. Caleb chimed in too. “Yeah, what’s wrong? You can tell your big bro.” I looked up, my eyes meeting Leo’s for just a second. I panicked, looking away. I had to come up with something. “I’m just bummed about my class rank.” Caleb scoffed. “Dude, you’re at the bottom of the AP track. That’s still, like, top 100 in the entire school. Besides, the top science student is your deskmate. What are you worried about?” Leo swung his backpack over his shoulder, a gentle smile on his face. “Yeah, if you ever get stuck, just ask me.” I knew. He saw me as a little sister, too. By the time I surfaced from my thoughts, Leo was already gone. I didn’t need to guess who he was rushing off to see. Through the window, I watched his retreating figure. It’s wrong to spy on someone else’s boyfriend. I told myself that over and over. But my eyes followed him anyway. I figured as long as I never said the words out loud, it would be okay. Thank God I never said them out loud. 3 The countdown to the SATs was ticking away, day by day. Lately, though, Leo had been showing up late a lot. The reason was Isabelle. She’d made him bring her breakfast every morning. Today, for some reason, they’d had a fight about it. He didn’t say a word during our morning vocabulary drills, his mood clearly foul. When Mr. Henderson called him up to the whiteboard to write out the definitions, I was surprised to see he got every single one right. Sometimes I just didn’t get it. How could someone who paid so little attention in class, who had a girlfriend, still get such good grades? During our last study hall, Leo was asleep, his head pillowed on his arms. When the final bell rang, I instinctively turned to look at him. He was still slumped over, but his head was turned, and he was looking right at me. The afternoon light slanted across his face, highlighting his sharp, clean features. My reflection was trapped in his dark eyes. “Mia.” His voice was low and gravelly from sleep. A flush crept up my neck. I tried to sound casual. “What’s up?” “Would you fight with your boyfriend if he couldn’t buy you your favorite snack?” “I don’t have a boyfriend.” It was a stupid question. Leo sighed. “You know, when you do start dating, you should run the guy by me or Caleb first. You’re so naive, you’re gonna get scammed.” I rolled my eyes at him. “Okay, I’ll find two. One for each of you to approve.” Leo laughed. “Make it three. You’ll need one for yourself.” It was a dumb, pointless joke. I stopped talking and just offered a small smile. He didn’t seem to be in a chatty mood either. He leaned back against his chair, a silent, withdrawn energy radiating from him. He was probably thinking about Isabelle again. A familiar sourness rose in my throat. I grabbed my backpack and stood up, but a hand suddenly shot out and tugged on my sleeve. I froze, my gaze falling on the long, well-defined fingers wrapped around the fabric. Leo let go, a hint of awkwardness on his face. “Hey, just… sit tight for a minute. Don’t go anywhere.” I had no idea what he was talking about, but he was already gone. A few minutes later, his girlfriend showed up. It was only when she pointed it out that I realized I’d gotten my period. A small, dark red stain had blossomed on the back of my white school-uniform pants. Leo probably didn’t come back because he didn’t want to embarrass me. When I came out of the bathroom, Isabelle was still waiting. She handed me a sweatshirt. I instinctively tried to refuse. “Oh, no, it’s fine. Thanks, though.” Isabelle’s eyes crinkled into a warm, friendly smile. “It’s Leo’s. It’s big enough to cover everything, and it’ll keep you warm. Don’t be shy, Mia.” A strange wave of guilt washed over me. I couldn’t meet her eyes, terrified she’d see right through me. “Tell him I said thanks.” We walked out of the school together. Isabelle looped her arm through mine, her affectionate gesture making me feel even worse. “Don’t mention it! I heard Leo used to crash at your place for dinner all the time. That practically makes you my sister-in-law!” I didn’t know how to respond. “Do you know why we fought?” she asked, not waiting for an answer. “I told him to get me the tomato-basil chips, but he said they were sold out and if he waited twenty minutes for them to restock, he’d be late for school. I mean, love is in the details, right? If he knew they’d sell out, couldn’t he have gone a little earlier? If he wasn’t so handsome, I never would have chased him. He’s so thoughtless and never has time for me.” She was a talker, just like Leo. She went on and on. I couldn’t imagine how chaotic their fights must be. And I never thought I’d be the one comforting her. “College applications are coming up,” I said. “You should both try to be a little more understanding.” Isabelle pouted, then a proud little smile appeared. “But then I remember that the most popular guy at Northwood High is my boyfriend, and I could literally smile in my sleep. Don’t you think I’m lucky?” My mind went blank for a second. “Yeah,” I heard myself say. “A lot of girls like him.” Isabelle started humming a little tune. Suddenly, she leaned in close and unzipped her jacket. On her chest was a tattoo of two butterflies. She had a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’m planning on giving him a surprise on graduation night. What do you think? Is it pretty?” In that moment, a thousand images flooded my mind. Leo holding her, kissing her. My thoughts went further, and my heart clenched so tight it felt like it was bleeding. “It’s beautiful.” “Do you want to come out for New Year’s Eve with us? Ah, whatever, we’ll figure it out later.” “Okay.” I was just a robot, saying the right things, smiling the right way. The sky above was a heavy, starless black. 4 New Year’s Eve was on a Sunday. We got out of school at 3:30. When I got to the rooftop barbecue, I could tell something was wrong. Leo and Isabelle were giving each other the silent treatment. It hadn’t been long since their last fight. This time, it was because Isabelle had joined some online group for hiking enthusiasts and wanted to go to a lookout point to watch the New Year’s fireworks. Leo thought it was unsafe with so many strangers. Isabelle loved meeting new people and thought a big crowd would be more fun. They were at a stalemate until Leo finally caved and said he’d go with her. But I guess he didn’t sound enthusiastic enough, because Isabelle exploded and started another fight. At first, Leo was patiently trying to calm her down. But Isabelle wasn’t having it. She pushed away the cup of water he offered her. “I’m not thirsty. Don’t be a hypocrite. Who needs your fake concern?” Leo looked at her, his voice tight. “I said it was unsafe because I was worried about you. And I already said I’d go with you.” Isabelle scoffed. “What century are you living in? What’s so unsafe about it? You don’t really want to go with me, you just want to ruin my fun. You just can’t stand it when I go out and have a good time. All you ever do is tell me to study. I wanted a boyfriend, not a dad. Who are you to control me?” People who know they can get away with anything are often the cruelest. Leo’s brow furrowed. “Can we just stick to the point and not make this personal?” “Why are you getting so annoyed? If you want to break up, just say it! It’s not like I won’t agree.” The air got colder than the winter night. I’d been busy grilling skewers, trying my best not to listen, not to care. But now I couldn’t help but glance at Leo. He was the epitome of teenage pride—impulsive and arrogant, his thoughts straightforward. He didn’t understand the complicated twists and turns of a girl’s mind. To him, this was all just baffling. Seeing things were getting tense, Caleb awkwardly tried to change the subject. It didn’t work. Bringing up a breakup during every fight. Leo seemed used to it. “You’ve thought this through?” he asked, his voice low. “You want to break up?” Isabelle shot up from her seat, her eyes red. She turned and ran. The rooftop fell silent again. Leo didn’t move. He was wearing a black hoodie, the sharp line of his jaw tense. He tilted his head back, staring at the empty sky. After a long moment, he got up and followed her. Caleb let out a breath. “Only Leo has the patience to put up with this,” he muttered to our other friends. “We only get a few hours off a week, and she puts him through this. I feel bad for the guy.” I put down my skewer and walked over to the railing. Down below, under a streetlight, Isabelle’s shoulders were shaking. She petulantly slapped away the hand that was trying to wipe her tears. I saw Leo’s shoulders slump in defeat before he pulled her into his arms. The wind was relentless, blowing straight into my eyes. When I went back to the table, my friends had started a drinking game. There was beer. I chugged a mouthful. Suddenly, fireworks exploded in the night sky, their brilliant colors seeming to bloom just for the bickering couple down below. Caleb scrambled to hand me a napkin. “Why are you crying on New Year’s? Who upset you? I’ll go beat them up for you.” I wiped my eyes and managed a laugh. “I just feel like I’m getting old.” Caleb paused, then gently touched my cheek. “Mia, you’re not old at all. Our lives are just getting started.” I was crying and laughing at the same time, letting the tears stream down my face. He was right. Our lives were just getting started. I couldn’t spend my whole life in love with Leo Song. 5 The New Year’s Eve drama ended with Leo catching a nasty cold. He showed up to school the next day with a voice like a rusty hinge and dark circles under his eyes. I silently pushed my thermos across the desk to him. It was filled with the hot tea and honey my mom always made for me when I was sick. Leo glanced at it, didn’t say anything, but twisted it open and took a sip. “Thanks,” he rasped. “Don’t mention it.” He was listless all day. He didn’t say Isabelle’s name once. I figured trying to soothe someone in the middle of the night while standing in the freezing cold would knock anyone out. Caleb came over during break, his face a mask of gossip. “So? What happened last night? Did you guys make up?” Leo ignored him, burying his face in his arms to catch up on sleep. Caleb nudged me with his elbow. “Mia, do you know?” I shook my head. How would I know? I was just a bystander, not even important enough to be named in their story. That afternoon, Isabelle showed up. She was carrying a thermos, a look of guilt and apology on her face. She placed it on Leo’s desk, her voice soft and sweet. “Leo, I made you some ginger soup. Please drink a little. I’m so sorry about yesterday. It was my fault.” Leo didn’t even lift his head. Isabelle was left standing there awkwardly. She shot a pleading look in my direction. I pretended to be intensely focused on my textbook, not a single word registering in my brain. After a few minutes of tense silence, the bell rang. Isabelle had no choice but to leave the thermos and walk away, looking miserable. Only then did Leo sit up. Without a single glance at the soup, he pushed it to the far corner of his desk. I felt a strange mix of emotions. Part of me hoped they would just break up for good, but another part of me felt sorry for Leo. It must be exhausting, loving someone like that. The pressure of college applications mounted with each passing day, one practice exam after another. Leo and Isabelle’s fights became more frequent. Most of them were about Isabelle feeling like Leo didn’t spend enough time with her, or Leo nagging her to focus more on her studies. With every argument, Leo grew quieter. And I, somehow, became the silent receptacle for his unspoken frustrations. He’d ask me out of the blue, “Do you think people in a relationship have to be stuck to each other 24/7?” Or, “If two people have completely different goals, can they really make it in the long run?” I never knew how to answer. All I could say was, “I’ve never been in a relationship. I wouldn’t know.” He would just laugh, a bitter, self-deprecating sound. “Right. Why am I even asking you?” Then he’d go back to his practice tests. For that whole period, that was the extent of our conversations. We were like two trapped animals, fumbling in the dark, each licking our own wounds. 6 The day our final exams ended, the entire senior class went insane. Tearing up textbooks, screaming at the top of our lungs, hugging anyone in sight. The after-party was at a karaoke bar. Everyone drank too much and sang way off-key. Leo got his fair share of drinks forced on him, too. He sat in a corner, quiet and subdued, not the shining star he usually was. Isabelle was beside him, carefully pouring him water and peeling orange slices for him, as if trying to make up for the past few months of turmoil. Near the end of the night, Isabelle stood up and clapped her hands. “Hey everyone, quiet down! I have a surprise for Leo.” All eyes turned to her. Isabelle took a deep breath, and right there, in front of everyone, she yanked down the zipper of her jacket. Underneath, she was wearing a tight tank top. The butterfly tattoo on her chest looked almost sinister in the dim, colorful lights of the karaoke room. “Leo Song, congratulations on graduating! This is my gift to you!” she announced, a proud, innocent smile on her face, as if she were showing off a priceless work of art. The room was silent for three seconds. Then it erupted in a wave of laughter and catcalls. I saw Leo’s face. In an instant, it went completely white. He shot up, grabbed a jacket from a nearby chair, and threw it over Isabelle’s shoulders. His movements were rough, devoid of any tenderness. “Are you insane?!” he hissed, his voice a low growl, thick with suppressed rage. The smile froze on Isabelle’s face. “I… I just wanted to surprise you…” “This is your idea of a surprise? In front of all these people?” Leo’s eyes were as cold as ice. “Isabelle, we’re done.” Without another word, he turned and walked out of the room. Isabelle stood frozen, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. Caleb rushed over to comfort her. I sat where I was, a cold can of beer still clutched in my hand. The butterfly’s wings had failed to carry it into Leo Song’s heart. The long, drawn-out war of attrition had finally ended, in a way I could never have imagined. I didn’t feel happy. I just felt that youth was like a spectacular firework show—dazzling for a moment, then leaving behind nothing but smoke and debris.

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1 On my wedding day, Adrian Mantzoukas’s childhood sweetheart, Isabelle Shaw, threatened to jump off a roof. He ignored her and continued with our ceremony. It wasn’t until she actually leaped that he finally panicked. From that day forward, Adrian sought refuge in a monastery, becoming known as the city’s ascetic heir. In the name of atonement, he forced me to copy a thousand holy texts and kneel on a hundred meters of cold stone steps, tormenting me until I lost our child. The day I miscarried, I asked for a divorce. He refused, claiming we both owed Isabelle a debt that could only be paid through a lifetime of shared penance. He threatened my family, shackling me to his side and grinding my soul to dust for the rest of my life. I opened my eyes and was back on my wedding day. This time, I decided to push him toward Isabelle. And I would become the one that got away—the ghost he’d chase into a life of solitude. … “Tell Isabelle if she wants to die, she can go right ahead. I’m not going to play her games!” Adrian’s cold voice cut through the haze. I jolted awake, my eyes focusing on my own reflection in the mirror, a stranger in a white wedding gown. I was reborn. Back in the moment I once believed was the happiest of my life. Behind me, Adrian’s face was a mask of stone, his tone sharp with impatience. In my past life, I had felt a surge of triumph in this moment, so sure that he had chosen me, definitively, over Isabelle. But now, I could see the truth. His impatience was laced with a frantic, gnawing anxiety. His heart had likely surrendered to Isabelle’s obsessive love long ago. He was only marrying me to avoid the scandal of infidelity. It took her death for him to realize the truth of his own feelings, and it drove him mad. To atone for the loss of his true love, he had trapped me in a cage of his grief. He found religion for her, but there was no mercy in his heart. He had methodically destroyed me, and our unborn child with me. The world praised his unwavering devotion to his first love and condemned me as the vicious other woman who had stood in their way. I deserved, they said, to die unloved. But it was Adrian who had pursued me for four years. He had been gentle, persistent, relentless. I only agreed to marry him because I thought his love was real. He was the one who came after me. What was my crime? This time, I wouldn’t have him. I reached out and gently tugged on his sleeve. “Adrian,” I said, my voice soft, “you should go to her. Please.” He froze, staring at me in disbelief. In the past, whenever Isabelle crashed one of our dates, I would fly into a rage. I saw her for what she was: a two-faced, spoiled brat, a childish drama queen who used her family’s power to get what she wanted. Any contact between them sent me into a spiral. Why the sudden change of heart? Seeing the seriousness in my eyes, his face hardened. “You want me to leave you at the altar to go see another woman? Stella, do you have any idea what the tabloids will do to you if I walk out of here?” I laughed silently. The tabloids couldn’t kill me. But he could. I feigned a generous smile. “I don’t care what anyone says, Adrian, as long as I know your heart is with me. Besides, we can postpone the wedding. She’s your childhood friend. If something really happened to her, I know you’d regret it for the rest of your life. And I would blame myself.” I added, for effect, “This is a human life we’re talking about. Even if she were a stranger, I would ask you to pause our wedding to save her.” My words had the desired effect. The guests murmured their approval, praising my compassion and grace. Even Adrian’s parents, who had never thought much of me, gave me a look of grudging respect. Adrian pulled me into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I knew I chose the right person,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Stella, wait for me. I’ll get Isabelle down, and then we’ll finish our wedding.” I nodded, giving him a gentle push. “Go. Saving her is what’s important.” He didn’t hesitate again, turning and bolting towards the elevators that led to the rooftop. I watched him go, my hands clenching the fabric of my dress so tightly my knuckles turned white, the only way to stop them from shaking with exhilaration. Adrian, in our last life, you hated me for a lifetime because of Isabelle. In this life, I’m setting you free. May you and your precious Isabelle have a long, long time together. To sell my performance, I stood on the stage in my heavy gown for a full hour, waiting. The guests below gossiped about the drama unfolding on the roof while casting sympathetic glances my way. Soon, Adrian returned. But he wasn’t alone. On his arm, also in a wedding dress, was Isabelle. I had almost forgotten. In my past life, she had worn a wedding gown to jump. Now, she clung to Adrian’s arm, her eyes locking with mine in a look of pure, triumphant malice. The entire ballroom erupted in whispers, the pity in their eyes now thick and suffocating. Adrian looked at me, his expression pained. “Stella, Isabelle said… she’s loved me for years. She just wants to have a wedding with me, to fulfill her one wish. She promised that if I do this one thing for her, she’ll never bother us again. So… can we just let her have today’s ceremony?” His words detonated in the hall. No one could believe it. I had selflessly paused my own wedding for him to save another woman, and he had returned with this ludicrous request. Even his mother, who had never approved of me, was appalled. “Adrian, this is absurd!” she hissed. “A marriage is not a game. You can’t just swap out the bride!” His father frowned but remained silent, his mind clearly already calculating a new angle. Adrian looked at me, his eyes pleading. “I know I’m asking the impossible. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” The guests were a sea of shocked faces, their pity now mixed with sneering contempt for the magnanimous fool who had been hoisted by her own petard. I didn’t care. I arranged my face into a mask of deep humiliation, tempered by a noble forbearance for the sake of his family’s reputation. Tears welled in my eyes. “It’s alright,” I choked out. “The moment I chose to save Ms. Shaw’s life, I decided that her well-being should be our top priority.” Isabelle immediately bristled. “It was Adrian who saved me! If he hadn’t agreed to marry me today, I would have jumped. What does it have to do with you?” Her callous words only made the crowd more sympathetic towards me. As their murmurs grew louder, Isabelle slowly realized it was my urging that had sent Adrian to her in the first place. A flush of embarrassment crossed her face, quickly replaced by her usual arrogance. “If Adrian didn’t want to save me, no one could have convinced him. It just proves that his heart was always with me.” Adrian, exposed, exploded with rage. “Isabelle! If it weren’t for our families’ friendship, I wouldn’t have given a damn! Stella has suffered enough because of you. If you say one more word to undermine our relationship, you can go right back to that roof!” Isabelle’s eyes filled with tears of frustration. Seeing that no one in the room was on her side, she lowered her head. “I’m sorry, Adrian,” she mumbled. “I just love you so much. Since… since Stella is willing to give us the wedding, let’s just get started. We shouldn’t keep the guests waiting.” Adrian looked at me, hesitating. I gave him a small, sad smile and stepped off the stage, heading for the dressing room. Before I even reached the door, the wedding march began to play. By the time I was inside, I could hear Isabelle’s deeply emotional vows. I had just finished removing my makeup and changing back into my own clothes when one of the hotel staff burst in, saying there was a commotion in the main hall. I rushed back out. The first thing I saw was Adrian pinning my nephew, Leo, to the ground, punching him. Isabelle stood nearby, her wedding dress splattered with what looked like juice. She was shrieking, “Kill the little bastard! Beat him to death!” Rage, hot and blinding, surged through me. I ran forward, grabbing at Adrian’s arm. “Adrian, let him go! Stop it!” Leo saw me, his eyes red and swollen. “Aunt Stella!” he cried. He was my sister’s only child, the one person left in the world who was my blood. In my last life, he was the leverage Adrian had used to control me. Consumed by guilt for being my weakness, Leo had thrown himself from a building, ending his young life. The grief had shattered me, and I fell into a sickness from which I never recovered. To see him here, alive and whole, brought tears to my eyes. But Adrian ignored me. With a single, powerful shrug, he threw me to the ground. A split second later, a deep, pulling pain shot through my lower abdomen. An icy dread washed over me. I had almost forgotten. At this exact moment in my previous life, I was already pregnant. Seeing me on the floor finally made Adrian stop. He rushed over, trying to help me up. I shoved him away, my eyes burning with hatred. At the same time, Leo scrambled to my side. “Aunt Stella, are you okay?” he asked, his voice filled with worry as he helped me sit up. I shook my head, hugging him tight. “I’m fine, Leo.” But I wasn’t. The pain in my stomach was intense. I had a terrible feeling that I was losing this baby. And it was exactly what I wanted. I was sorry for this child, but I couldn’t bring it into a loveless world. I couldn’t let it be born with his vile blood in its veins. While I was lost in thought, Isabelle’s mother stormed over. “Stella!” she snapped. “Your nephew threw juice all over my daughter! If Adrian hadn’t taught him a lesson, the Shaw family would have ruined him!” Adrian quickly added, “Stella, I only did it to appease them! I was holding back, I swear. He’s not really hurt.” I glared at him. Leo’s lip was split and bleeding, his cheek already swelling. This was him “holding back”? Adrian wilted under my hateful stare, looking down in shame. I turned to Isabelle’s mother, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Mrs. Shaw, half an hour ago, your daughter was on a rooftop, threatening to end her life. I was the one who convinced my groom to go and save her. That would make me her rescuer, would it not? My nephew, rushing here from school, saw a different bride at the altar and assumed his aunt was being humiliated. He acted rashly to defend my honor. Don’t you think my act of saving her life might just outweigh his act of spilling some juice?” Mrs. Shaw’s brow furrowed. She wanted to argue, but seeing the eyes of the crowd on her, she just snorted and fell silent. With Leo’s help, I slowly got to my feet. “Stella, you look so pale,” Adrian said, his voice laced with concern. I ignored him and turned to Leo. “Call an ambulance.” Leo immediately pulled out his phone. Adrian was frantic. “What? Why an ambulance? I just pushed you lightly. It can’t be that bad, can it?” Isabelle sneered. “She’s probably just trying to get your attention, Adrian.” Adrian’s brow furrowed. “Is that true, Stella? I don’t like it when you play these kinds of manipulative games.” Leo was so angry he looked ready to lunge at him again, but I held him back. “Help me to the entrance,” I whispered. Leo supported me as I clutched my stomach, fighting waves of pain, and made my way towards the hotel lobby. Adrian moved to stop me, but someone suddenly shouted, “Ms. Shaw has fainted!” His attention snapped to Isabelle. He swept her up in his arms. “We need a doctor!” I turned back to watch him, his face etched with worry as he held another woman. A dull ache spread through my chest. Even during our most loving moments, his choice had always, always been her. If I had only seen it sooner, my last life would not have ended in such misery. “Aunt Stella,” Leo said, his voice thick with sympathy, “you still have me. Don’t be sad. I’ll always be here for you.” I squeezed his hand, a small warmth spreading through me. “Don’t worry, Leo. I’m not sad.” He didn’t believe me. “When I grow up,” he said, his voice fierce, “I’ll never let anyone bully you again.” We had reached the hotel entrance. The hospital was nearby, so the ambulance arrived quickly. But before I could say a word, Mrs. Shaw rushed out. “Help! My daughter has fainted! Please, you have to help her!” Someone shoved me hard. If Leo hadn’t been holding me, I would have fallen. I looked up angrily to see Adrian carrying Isabelle out. He saw me, but there was no guilt in his eyes, only a sense of righteous justification. “Stella, you just took a small fall. Isabelle is unconscious. We need to find out why. Give her the ambulance. I’ll have my driver take you home.” The pain in my abdomen was getting worse. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I have to go to the hospital. Now.” I knew Isabelle was faking. I couldn’t risk my own life. Mrs. Shaw stormed up to me and slapped me hard across the face. “You bitch! Who do you think you are, competing with my daughter?” Leo tried to fight back, but her bodyguards pinned him to the ground. I crumpled to the pavement, the impact sending a fresh wave of agony through me. I looked to Adrian for help. He avoided my eyes. “Aunt Carol is just worried about Isabelle,” he said. “And this is a matter of life and death, Stella. This is not the time to be jealous.” The crowd started to turn on me, muttering that my earlier compassion had all been an act. Adrian walked right past me, carrying Isabelle, and climbed into the ambulance. Before the doors closed, he looked back at me. “Stella, you’ve always been so kind. You understand why I have to do this, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. As the ambulance sped away, I screamed his name, my voice raw with fury. “Adrian Mantzoukas, you are a monster!” A moment later, someone in the crowd pointed at my legs and shrieked. “Oh my God! Blood! She’s bleeding!”

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After my secret crush, Harrison, was forced to marry me. Anytime I was the slightest bit unhappy, I took it out on him. “Every time your little goddess pisses me off, I’m going to take it out on you. Do we have an understanding?” Harrison gritted his teeth, glaring at me, his voice a raw rasp. “Josephine, you’re going to regret this.” I didn’t take him seriously. But later, his goddess started provoking me so often that I was getting a little… worn out in the bedroom. I started avoiding him. That’s when I accidentally overheard Harrison talking to her. “My wife has been a little distant lately. Could you maybe go and make an appearance in front of her again?” His heartbroken goddess: ? The streaming comments, which had been championing him: [Bro, what???] 1 On the eve of my engagement party, my fiancé received a sonogram. It was from the substitute he’d been keeping on the side, a girl who looked about sixty percent like me. He panicked and caught a red-eye flight, launching into the groveling, win-her-back tour he was apparently destined for. And me? Because of my missing groom, I became the laughingstock of the party, a complete joke. All of this was fed to me by a stream of comments that had suddenly appeared in my vision, like captions to my own life. I didn’t believe it. I called him, several times. All I got in return was a terse text message informing me the engagement party was “postponed.” I was stunned. The text floating in front of my eyes kept scrolling: [Why doesn’t the male lead just cancel the engagement and go win back the female lead already!] [Because he can’t let go of his ‘one that got away.’ He’ll string them both along until he loses the female lead to the second male lead and regrets it for the rest of his life.] [Please, the second male lead, Harrison, is a hundred times better than that scumbag! You can’t beat the ‘saved me when I was at my lowest’ trope!] Seeing the second male lead’s name, my eyes went wide. Are you telling me the man I couldn’t get to give me the time of day is in love with my doppelgänger? The absolute nerve. The man the comments were calling the “second male lead” was the same man I had chased for months in London, and failed to conquer. My dating history was a curated collection: the stoic types, the ice kings, the refined intellectuals, the sunshine boys, the loyal puppies. But Harrison… he seemed to be all of those things at once, and it somehow worked. When he rejected me, he was polite but distant. When he fed a stray cat, bathed in the soft glow of sunset, the corner of his mouth would curl into a faint, gentle smile. He was like a fog, luring travelers in, daring them to find their way through. And not just his personality. So when the comments said he was in love with my replacement, I completely lost it. I called him on the spot. He picked up on the first ring. I didn’t waste any time. “What, exactly, is your relationship with Leah?” [Uh? What kind of plot twist is this?] [How does the ‘one that got away’ already know about the female lead!!!] [Oh, it’s over. She’s definitely going to make trouble.] You got that right, sweetie. Just you wait. Harrison was silent for a moment before his cool, pleasant voice came through the phone. “She saved me once.” Oh, please. So you fall for anyone who saves you? A doctor cures you of a disease; why don’t you fall in love with him? I scoffed internally, then cleared my throat, my tone dripping with condescension. “My fiancé is having an affair with your savior. In fact, he just ditched me to go running after her. What do you think we should do about that?” The comment stream blanked for two seconds, then exploded. [Ahhh, she knows! The idealized ‘one that got away’ knows! She’s going to ruin the female lead!] [It’s fine, it’s fine. Both the main guy and the second lead will protect her.] [What kind of ‘one that got away’ is she? She’s so harsh and arrogant. Can she just get written out of the story already?] [I mean… from her perspective, isn’t she the victim here???] [I’m with you. So far, the ‘one that got away’ has done exactly 0 things wrong.] After another stretch of silence, I heard Harrison ask, “What do you want to do?” A slow smile spread across my face. “My fiancé is gone. You’re going to have to replace him. The consequences of me being publicly humiliated could be very… severe.” [Wait, since when do you two even know each other?] [This girl is hilarious. He’s the female lead’s soulmate. As if you’d even have a chance.] [She’s just shamelessly using the female lead to threaten him. How pathetic!] [If he actually agrees, I’ll stream myself eating a shoe.] A second later, he replied, “Okay.” … [I’m afraid to open my eyes. Please let this be a hallucination…] [Haha, where’s that guy who was gonna eat a shoe?] [Probably prepping his footwear. I’ve already got my screen recorder ready.] 2 To avoid any complications, I took Harrison straight to City Hall and we got married before anyone could object. Fortunately, the Sinclairs were an old-money family that Harrison had successfully modernized after taking the helm, reversing their decline and sparking rapid growth. Business is business. Our families looked at the bottom line, saw no loss, and accepted the new reality. In fact, they used it as leverage against Landon’s family, the Pierces, determined to at least carve out a pound of flesh for the insult. How the tables turn. On my and Harrison’s wedding night, Landon called me dozens of times. I could feel his rage through the screen. The second I answered, his voice came through, tight with fury. “Josephine, I never said we were calling it off. What gives you the right to make a decision like that!” I was genuinely puzzled. “You ran off to chase your little girlfriend the night before our engagement party. I assumed you were madly in love and couldn’t live without her. Am I wrong for helping you two get your happy ending?” He stammered, his tone finally softening. “She’s just a stand-in for you, Josie. She could never replace you. Why are you being so petty?” “I’ll be back, and I’ll explain everything. Just stop this nonsense. The merger between our families isn’t a game. Be good.” I raised an eyebrow. He clearly hadn’t grasped the new situation. “Landon, who the hell do you think you are to tell me to ‘be good’?” “You were just the convenient choice for a family merger. You didn’t actually think I was so desperately in love with you that I’d beg to be your long-suffering wife, did you?” “If you’ve got a savior complex, see a therapist.” He was furious. “Josephine!” I hung up. [Okay, not gonna lie, watching her rip into him was satisfying!] [He wants to have his cake and eat it too. What a piece of work.] [Am I the only one who thinks that lace slip she’s wearing is insanely hot? Wait, how did this collar get around my neck!] [Hold on, so we’re just supposed to forget she’s the villain? You’re all just going to ignore how she tortures the female lead later?] [Dude, so far she hasn’t done anything. From her point of view, some random girl who looks like her just popped up and stole her fiancé. Who wouldn’t go a little crazy?] If it weren’t for the comments, I never would have known I was his unrequited love, the “one that got away” he’d been obsessed with for years. During my years studying abroad, he found an underground lover who bore a resemblance to me. But what he saw as a simple way to pass the time ended up stirring real feelings. And so began his dramatic, messy, will-they-won’t-they saga of winning her back. So I was just a prop in their little psychodrama? I’d been blessed with good looks and a multitude of talents since I was a child. Suitors were like weeds in a garden; I could harvest a new batch every week. I barely even remembered Landon. He was chosen as my fiancé simply because our family fortunes were compatible. Did he really think he was irreplaceable? I looked up. Harrison had already entered the bedroom. He’d just showered and was wearing a deep charcoal silk robe, the tie cinching his firm waist. His features were exquisitely sculpted. Every movement he made carried an air of casual, aristocratic grace. I knew how to pick them. Damn. But Harrison didn’t even seem to bother glancing my way. “Get some rest. I’ll sleep in the guest room.” Me: ??? I’m about to take my dress off and you say that to me? I called his name just as his phone started ringing. Unsurprisingly, it was Leah. The comments went into a frenzy. [So what if she forced him to marry her? He’ll still stay faithful to the female lead!] [Are you sure? He looks a little… excited to me.] [Damn, that’s… very noticeable. That girl is eating well!] [Okay, let’s get a little spicy.] [Josephine, I never said a bad word about you, I swear. Please, I’m begging you, just force him. Do it for all of us chickens… bok bok bok…] I… was speechless.

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I was working a summer job at a KFC. After my shift, I was still in my uniform when I went to the noodle shop next door and ordered a bowl of wontons. I was about to add some of the free toppings from the self-serve bar when the owner blocked my path. “The $5 promotional bowl doesn’t include the free toppings.” Wanting to avoid trouble, I didn’t argue and went back to my seat. But when I reached for the vinegar on the table, she snatched it away. “This bottle of vinegar costs thirty dollars. It’s not for poor people like you to drink.” “You’re a service worker yourself, you should know these things.” “Tomorrow, I’m going to talk to your manager and have you fired.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I flipped the table. The bowl, chopsticks, and condiment bottles shattered on the floor. The owner, seeing my fury, threatened me. “I’m warning you, my son-in-law is from one of the richest families on the East Coast. If you mess with me, I’ll make sure your whole family pays!” She pulled out her phone to make a call, but I suddenly froze. That emerald bracelet on her wrist… why did it look exactly like the one I gave my girlfriend last week? 1 I was exhausted and starving. Luckily, with all the delivery apps in a price war, I’d gotten a $30 bowl of wonton soup for a $5 promotional price. The shop’s self-serve bar had a huge “Free Toppings” sign, with all sorts of garnishes and an extra soup pot. But as I reached for the chili oil, the owner stopped me. “The $5 promo doesn’t get free toppings.” I pointed to the sign. “But it says ‘Free Toppings’ right there.” She sneered. “Not for promo customers. I’m already losing money on a $5 bowl. You think I can let you take toppings, too? How am I supposed to stay in business?” Fine. I’ve always been easygoing, and I could even see her point. I went back to my table, deciding to just eat the plain wontons. I saw the bottle of black vinegar and figured adding a splash wouldn’t be a problem. The second I picked it up, she rushed over and grabbed it out of my hand. “That vinegar costs thirty dollars. It’s not for poor people on a $5 promo.” I started to get angry. “You’re the one who set up the promotion. Now I can’t even use the table vinegar?” She looked me up and down, sizing up my KFC uniform. Her spittle nearly landed in my bowl. “Do you know how hard it is to run a business? You’re just a service worker, you should understand! In fact, I don’t think you should be a service worker at all. Tomorrow, I’m going to your manager and getting you fired!” Stepping back only makes you angrier. I was done being patient. I stood up and, with a loud crash, flipped the entire table over. “If you’re so cheap you have to guard a bottle of vinegar, why are you even running a restaurant? You should be begging on the street!” “And you’re going to pull rank on me? We’re both service workers. The second I clock out, I’m a customer. You’re the one who can’t afford to honor your own promotion. You’re pathetic. You deserve to fail.” She was stunned by my outburst and staggered back. “I’m warning you! My son-in-law is an heir to the Gu family! If you trash my store, I’ll have your entire family ruined!” Hilarious. My family is the Gu family. The only reason I was working at a KFC was because I’d made a bet with my older brother. If I could hold a normal job for two months, he’d pay for my trip to Barcelona. I had no idea this kind of blatant class discrimination still existed. She was dialing her phone, furious. I was about to call my own backup, but my eyes locked onto her wrist. That bracelet. Why did it look exactly like the one I gave my girlfriend, Jessica, last week? 2 I frowned. I remembered Jessica asking for it, saying her mom’s birthday was coming up and she wanted to get her something nice. She said her mom worked so hard running a small restaurant. I sympathized, so I bought her the $300,000 emerald bracelet. To make it special, I had a master engraver carve her mother’s initials on the inside. I remembered the letters: “S.Z.Y.” The owner’s call didn’t go through. She glared at me. “My daughter is busy right now. You just wait. You better start thinking about how you’re going to pay for this!” I ignored her, stepped forward, and grabbed her wrist to see the inside of the bracelet. She shoved me off. “Don’t you touch my bracelet with your filthy hands! This was a gift from my son-in-law!” “Do you know how much this cost? $300,000! You could sell yourself and not afford it!” What a coincidence. Also $300,000? “What’s your daughter’s name?” She looked at my uniform and sneered. “None of your business. Even if I told you, my daughter would never look at a broke loser like you.” Me? Broke? I had to laugh. That was a first. Our argument had drawn a crowd. People were filming, some were even live-streaming. The owner saw her audience and immediately burst into tears, wailing. “Everyone, look! This young man is attacking a 60-year-old woman! He smashed my store, and now he’s trying to rob me! He tried to steal my bracelet! Is there any justice in the world?” The crowd started murmuring. “Kid, what’s wrong with you? Attacking an old lady?” “Young people are so impulsive. Just smashing things up. I’d never hire someone like that…” I was done arguing. I just looked at the owner. “Fine. How much for the damages? I’ll pay.” Her tears vanished. A smug smile spread across her face. She started counting on her fingers. “This is a solid rosewood table. That’s $8,000.” “The bowl was high-grade porcelain. That’s $200.” “The vinegar, chili oil, and napkins… $30.” “And all the toppings you wasted at the bar… let’s call it $500.” “Total: $8,730. How do you want to pay?” I frowned. “That table is ‘solid wood’? I flipped it with one hand. I run a 10-minute mile and you think I’m Hercules?” She crossed her arms. “I don’t care. You owe me at least $8,000!” “And I haven’t even added my mental distress! If you can’t pay, you can go to jail!” A regular customer at a nearby table finally spoke up. “Come on, Susan. That table isn’t worth that much. He’s just a kid working a summer job. Don’t be so hard on him.” The owner turned on him, spitting fire. “Are you blind? I’m the victim here! If you feel so sorry for him, you pay for it!” She turned back to me. “If you really can’t pay, that’s fine. Get on your knees, kowtow three times, and apologize. I’ll forgive you. My son-in-law is rich. I don’t need the money.” I didn’t say anything. I just pulled out my phone. Someone in the crowd whispered, “Kid, just apologize. It’s not worth it.” I shook my head and smiled calmly. “No need.” “$8,000? That’s not enough.” “I’ll give you three million. I’m buying this restaurant.” 3 The crowd went silent. The owner stared, then burst out laughing. “You? Three million? Are you insane?” People in the crowd started whispering again. “Kid, don’t do something crazy. It’s not worth it.” I sighed and opened my banking app, showing them the balance. Just over $3 million. “My brother has a limit on my main accounts. This is just what’s in my checking.” If I hadn’t just bought that bracelet for Jessica, it would have been more. The silence was deafening. The owner’s face went pale, then red, then pale again. “Th-three million isn’t enough! This is prime real estate! It’s worth eight million!” The customer who had spoken up before scoffed. “Susan, you bought this place thirty years ago for eighty thousand, tops. Eight million?” “You shut up! Property values are through the roof! I say it’s eight million!” But my attention was on what the customer had called her. Susan. Jessica’s mother’s name is Susan Zhang. She’s “Susan,” she has a $300,000 emerald bracelet, and a daughter… The coincidences were piling up. I asked, “Ma’am, is your name Susan Zhang?” “None of your business!” she snapped. I kept going. “Is your daughter’s name Jessica Jiang?” She suddenly sneered. “What? Are you one of her pathetic admirers?” “You look decent enough. If you’re really that obsessed with my daughter, I guess I could let you be her side-piece.” I couldn’t believe it. This woman was actually my future mother-in-law. I wasn’t even married to Jessica, and her mom was already calling some other guy “son-in-law.” “Side-piece? Ma’am, I’m your daughter’s boyfriend.” She looked at me like I was something she’d scraped off her shoe. “Kid, if you’re crazy, go get help! My daughter’s boyfriend is the heiress to the Gu family, a real big shot. Not some loser in a KFC uniform.” Note: The user’s original text has a gender-swap for the girlfriend/boyfriend. I will stick to the original’s final intention: The protagonist is male, the girlfriend (Jiang Ruyan) is female. The owner’s line about “Gu family heiress” (顾家大小姐) seems to be a mistake in the original text, as the protagonist (顾清风) is male. I will correct this in the adaptation to “heir.” I sighed and crossed my arms. “I am the Gu family heir, Alex Gu. Want to see my ID?” “Plenty of people have the same name! Stop trying to fool me! My son-in-law is probably on a date with my daughter right now!” I shrugged. “Why don’t you call her and ask?” “Fine, I will!” She dialed again. This time, it connected. Jessica’s voice came through the speaker. “Mom, what’s up? I’m on a date with my boyfriend!” 4 My stomach dropped. I frowned. Susan shot me a triumphant look, then put on a tearful voice. “Honey, my restaurant got smashed! This guy came in, he was totally crazy, said he was going to buy the whole place just to smash it!” “Who?! Who would dare! Mom, you wait, I’m coming over right now!” “It’s some service worker from the KFC next door. He even said he was your boyfriend!” Then, a man’s low voice came from the phone. “Jess, what’s wrong? Someone messing with your mom?” My blood went cold. I knew that voice. It was Leo Shang. Jessica’s ex. When we first started dating, I found a bunch of saved voice memos in her phone from a strange guy. It was a bucket of ice water on our new relationship. I froze her credit cards and we fought. She kneeled outside my apartment for three days in the rain until she collapsed with a fever. I finally caved and let her in. She cried, explaining he was just an ex, that they were done, she’d just forgotten to delete the messages. Her phone was clean otherwise. She begged, and I forgave her. But I never forgot that voice. And the man on the phone with her was Leo. She had been lying to me. She was cheating on me. My mind went blank. I stalked forward and snatched the phone from Susan’s hand. “Jessica, you dare cheat on me?” The line went dead. She’d hung up. Susan tried to get her phone back, but I was so furious I just shoved her. She stumbled and fell, and the bracelet on her wrist hit the tile floor and shattered. She let out a piercing scream. “My bracelet! You broke my bracelet!” “You little bastard! That was a gift from my son-in-law!” She scrambled up and lunged at me, raking her nails across my face and pulling my hair. My scalp and cheek were on fire. I wasn’t going to just take it. I kicked her hard in the stomach. The crowd surged forward to pull us apart. I collapsed onto the floor, the anger, humiliation, and betrayal hitting me all at once. I was exhausted, starving, and now I’d been insulted, cheated on, and assaulted. I pulled out my phone and sent a text to my brother, Damien. [Bro, someone’s beating me up. Help.] His reply was instant. [Address.] He was supposed to be slammed with work. That’s why I had to do this stupid KFC bet in the first place. How was he replying so fast? The wave of self-pity got stronger. I sent him the address, along with a picture of my scratched face. [? On my way.] I put my phone away and took a tissue from a bystander. “Kid, you’re just a worker, you can’t win this. Just apologize.” Before I could answer, Susan shrieked again. “Apologize? I’m not accepting an apology!” She stalked over to me, looking down. “You smashed my store. You broke my bracelet. You’re not leaving. When my daughter gets here, she’s going to teach you how to be a human being!” I just laughed. “Your bracelet? You mean the one with the ‘S.Z.Y.’ engraving on the inside, from the master carver Fang?” Susan frowned. “How did you know that?” “Because your daughter begged me for it last week, as a birthday present for her mother!” Susan paused, then sneered. “You just saw the engraving on the broken pieces. Nice try. You really want to be the Gu family heir, don’t you? Look at yourself. You’re not worthy.” I was done talking. My brother would be here soon. A car screeched to a halt outside. It was my family’s Maybach. But before I could stand, Susan was already rushing to the door. A man in an expensive designer suit stepped out. With him, a woman carrying a Birkin. It was Jessica and Leo. Susan was crying. “Honey! Son-in-law! You’re finally here!” She held up the broken bracelet. “I’m sorry, Jessica, the store was smashed, and this guy attacked me… he broke the bracelet you gave me…” Leo put his arm around Susan. “It’s okay, Mom. I’ll just buy you a new one.” Jessica’s eyes scanned the room, landing on me. She stormed over. “Who did this? I’m going to skin them alive!” Susan pointed at me, still sitting on the floor. The crowd parted. “It was him! That little bastard attacked me!” The moment Jessica saw me, her face went white.

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My parents gave my brother all three of the family properties. A week before Thanksgiving, my younger brother, Leo, called. He wanted to bring over a pie from his company’s holiday gift basket. I said no. I tried to keep my voice steady, but I refused everything he offered. He was confused. “Chloe, what’s the deal? I gave you one last year. Why the change of heart?” Leo couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t just let things be, why I had to rock the boat and make Mom and Dad upset. I didn’t answer him. For years, family togetherness felt like a Thanksgiving pie that was sickeningly sweet. And I was always the one who had to break off a piece and swallow my half, bitterness and all. 1 After I’d turned down his company’s free pecan pie for the third time on the phone, he showed up at my apartment building anyway. My phone buzzed. A text from Leo. “Hey, you home? I’m downstairs with the pie.” As if he knew I was about to say no again, he followed up with a barrage of texts: “Mom and Dad are getting older, they can’t handle all this sugar.” “Jessica’s on a health kick, so it’ll just sit around at my place.” “And it’s that fancy one from the downtown bakery you love. You said it was your favorite last year.” I stood at my living room window, watching two autumn leaves detach from a branch. A gust of wind blew them in opposite directions. “Just take it back, Leo. I told you, I don’t want it.” I texted back. “Chloe, what is going on with you? Just take it. If I go home empty-handed, Dad’s going to say I don’t care about my big sister.” Even from five floors up, I could see my brother—all six feet of him—pacing on the sidewalk like a kid waiting to be picked up from school. He looked anxious. It reminded me of the year he graduated high school. That was the year Dad got hurt at the construction site and Mom had a major health scare. We didn’t have the money to send him to the state university he’d gotten into. I quietly gave up my spot in a fully-funded grad program and got a job right after graduation. Leo had paced outside my bedroom door back then, too. “Chloe, you can’t do this. Your major is one of those where you need an advanced degree to get a good job, right?” My mom, who couldn’t stand to see her son distressed, barged into my room. “You tell your father’s side of the family that you chose to do this,” she’d ordered. “I don’t want them thinking we sacrificed our daughter just to pay the bills.” Leo, bless his heart, stood up for me like he always did. “Mom, lay off. She’s already been sending me money from her part-time jobs. Giving up on her dream is hard enough.” Seeing him being so sweet made me swallow the bitterness I felt. I forced a smile. “Don’t overthink it. That’s what big sisters are for, right?” I told myself it was okay. So Mom played favorites a little. But Dad always said he’d work his fingers to the bone to make sure I finished college. And Leo and I had been close since we were kids. We were a happy family. I had my little room in their house, a place I dreamed of whenever I was homesick at college. But the three properties—all of them—shattered that balance I’d so carefully maintained. Suddenly, I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. I couldn’t pretend we were still that close-knit family. 2 I dug in my heels. Leo, who was usually so easygoing, finally got frustrated. “Fine. I’m texting Mark. I’ll leave it with the doorman.” He left. When my husband, Mark, came home, he was carrying the festive-looking bakery box. The words “Happy Thanksgiving” printed on the side felt like a cruel joke. He saw my red-rimmed eyes, didn’t say a word, just put on an apron and went into the kitchen to make my favorite dinner: seared salmon with roasted asparagus and lemon pasta. I could barely manage a few bites. There was a giant lump in my throat. Mark didn’t push. He just covered the leftovers and put them in the fridge. “It’ll be here if you get hungry later.” I stared out the window at the crisp, bright moon and felt a chill that had nothing to do with the November air. What was I so upset about, really? Everything I did for them, I did willingly. After Dad’s accident, his old injuries flared up constantly, and he couldn’t work anymore. After Mom’s surgery, her back was never the same; she was always crying about her bad luck. Whenever they needed money for a hospital stay, or when they started collecting cans to help with Leo’s tuition, I stepped in. I was used to giving without expecting anything in return. When Mark and I got married, his parents gave us a generous check for eighteen thousand dollars to help us get started. My mom, who was usually so domineering, sat me down, her voice uncharacteristically soft, and asked if they could use it to pay off my dad’s lingering medical debts. My father, who had always been my rock, looked at me with such shame in his eyes, his shoulders slumped. I held back tears and talked it over with Mark. We gave them all of it. Thankfully, Leo made us proud. He didn’t have a fancy degree, but he landed a stable job right out of college and married Jessica, a wonderful girl from a well-off family. My parents sold our childhood home and used the money, plus their savings, to buy Leo and Jessica a new condo. I didn’t complain. I even chipped in five thousand dollars for their closing costs. Leo was grateful. He took on the responsibility of looking after our parents. He always sent me thoughtful gifts for my birthday and Christmas. They weren’t expensive, but it was the thought that counted. But now, with the reality of the three properties—the two rentals and my grandparents’ old house—all signed over to Leo, I woke up. I realized I couldn’t let myself be pacified by a pecan pie anymore. 3 That night, I tossed and turned. I remembered when the news came that our old neighborhood was being bought out by developers. My mom, who usually called me for the smallest things, suddenly became a master of bureaucracy, spending days in the city planning office, getting all the transfer paperwork done. My dad, who always preached that “you’re both my kids,” signed the agreement without a moment’s hesitation, putting Leo’s name on every single line. They never even thought about telling me. I found out by accident, when Jessica let it slip during a family dinner. The shock and hurt on my face must have been obvious. It felt like my own family had stabbed me in the heart. Jessica knew she’d messed up and kept apologizing. Leo pulled her into the other room to calm her down. What did my mom say then? I remember it clearly. “Chloe, you’re a married woman now. You have your own family with Mark. It’s tradition that the family assets stay with the son.” “Your brother is about to have a baby,” she continued. “That child will need a good school, a future. I have to plan for that.” I looked at my dad, pleadingly. Just a month before, he had fallen and broken his hip. Leo was swamped at work, trying to get a promotion. Jessica was pregnant, and Mom was hovering over her 24/7. It was me who stayed at the hospital day and night, who dealt with the doctors, who paid all the bills. But in that moment, my dad just lit a cigarette and took a long drag. “Chloe, you’re the successful one in this family,” he said, avoiding my eyes. “You already bought your own place. You’ll have no problem buying another one.” I don’t even remember how I walked out of their house that day. Leo ran after me. “Chloe, don’t be upset. Mom and Dad must have had their reasons for not telling you. But listen, no matter what, wherever I am, you always have a home with us.” A dull knife hurts the most. Now I understood what that meant. 4 The evening before Thanksgiving, my phone rang. It was Leo. “Hey, so, same plan as usual? Dinner at Mom and Dad’s tomorrow around noon?” I was about to say no when my mom snatched the phone. “Chloe, are you done with this childish tantrum? It’s a holiday!” she snapped. “Your cousins dropped off pies three days ago! Your brother is more thoughtful than you are—the first thing he did when he got his gift basket was think of you. He’s about to become a father, and you, his sister, haven’t shown an ounce of interest.” Mark and I both get nice holiday bonuses from our jobs. In past years, I’d take the gift cards and stock my parents’ pantry with organic groceries and fancy olive oil. I’d go to the specialty market and buy a case of craft beer for Leo and a box of artisanal cheeses for Jessica and drop them off. But this year… I was just so tired. A deep, bone-weary exhaustion had settled over me. My mother-in-law, who has been a saint helping us with our daughter ever since my father-in-law passed, always tells me to save things for my own family, that she doesn’t need much. This year, I had Mark take everything to her house. She kept saying, “Oh, this is too much, we’ll never eat all this!” But the genuine gratitude in her eyes didn’t lie. It turns out, everyone likes to feel chosen. I was the fool for listening to my mother for so long, for believing that my parents’ house was my only true home. The slap of reality stung. So, I took a breath and said to my mom, “Mom, when you gave the houses to Leo, you told me that a married daughter has her own family. I think you were right. So from now on, I need to focus on my husband’s family. The holiday bonus, the gifts, I gave them all to Mark’s mom this year. She’s worked so hard helping us with our daughter. Tomorrow, I’m taking her for a spa day to thank her. So we won’t be coming over.” The other end of the line was dead silent. Feeling a sudden drain of energy, I hung up. 5 A second later, my phone screen lit up. It was a flood of messages from Leo. “Chloe, Mom’s been helping Jessica so much with the pregnancy, she’s so stressed her blood pressure is through the roof. Did you have to provoke her?” “You know Mom has always been a little insecure that Mark’s mom was a teacher with a good pension. Why would you rub it in her face that you’re doing nice things for her?” “It’s just a few houses! Don’t you think they had their reasons for the decision? Are you really going to cut us all off over this?” I felt too exhausted to even argue. I typed back one sentence. “Leo, stop. I don’t want to hear a single word of it.” I didn’t know what else to say. Mark came over and handed me a glass of warm milk. “Drink this. Get some sleep tonight. I have a feeling you’re going to need your strength for the battle ahead.” “A battle? Don’t be so dramatic.” He gave me a wry smile. “Do you remember our wedding day?” I did. I remembered my mother practically on her knees, begging me to let them keep the eighteen-thousand-dollar wedding gift from his parents. I hadn’t wanted to, but she brought in an army of relatives to pressure me. My own mother-in-law, not wanting to see me torn, told Mark to respect my decision. I glanced at my phone. The screen lit up again. And again. Looking at the string of angry, accusatory messages, you’d think I’d just committed a federal crime.

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