Category: English

When our love was pure, Sloane crippled the man hurting me. Though not jailed, she was disowned. We lived in a grimy basement. At our lowest, I asked if she regretted it. She smiled. “Your safety means more than my life. I’m your shield. I’d endure anything for you.” She lifted me up, clawing to the top. Everyone knew not to touch me—the one person she protected. But on our anniversary, I found hidden documents: pregnancy reports, a kindergarten letter. Years ago, after I was ambushed, she claimed to hunt those responsible—but secretly had another man’s child. Without explanation, she cut off a bodyguard’s hand. It dropped at my feet. “What use is a hand that can’t keep watch?” I threw the divorce papers. “Just sign.” She smiled coldly. “We don’t divorce till one of us is dead. Want to leave? Kill me first.” 1 Together in life, together in the grave. That was the oath we swore to each other when we were eighteen. Only today did I learn that even the purest love can turn toxic, that even the most sacred vows have an expiration date. And expired things deserve to be destroyed. I pulled the knife hidden under the sofa cushions and lunged, aiming for her throat. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t even move. Instead, she leaned into the blade. At the very last second, I twisted my wrist. The knife sank deep into her shoulder. She smiled, but the hand clutching the embedded blade trembled slightly. “What’s wrong? Can’t bring yourself to do it?” she taunted. “Flynn, we’ve fought our way through hell to get here. Don’t let a little thing like this tear us apart.” “The child was an accident,” she continued, her voice softening. “If you don’t like him, I’ll have him sent abroad in a few days. He’ll disappear.” A little thing? An accident? Five years ago, her enemies came for her. I was the one who took three knife wounds meant for her. One to the chest, one in my thigh. And the third… it struck lower. I was bleeding out. To give me a transfusion, she aborted the three-month-old fetus in her womb without a second thought. When I woke up, the doctor told me I could never be a father. I didn’t cry, but Sloane’s eyes were bloodshot and raw. She fell to her knees at my bedside, sobbing, slamming her head against the cold tile floor until her face was swollen and bruised. “Flynn, I’m so useless,” she wept, her voice cracking. “I let this happen to you!” She clung to me, her forehead bleeding, the drops of her blood mingling with my tears on my face. Even as her body shook with pain, her grip on my hand never loosened. “Flynn, I don’t need children. I don’t need anything but you!” she vowed, her voice raw with desperation. “We will never be separated. I, Sloane Jiang, would rather die than ever betray you!” Every word was a solemn promise. But now, her casual tone shredded the last scrap of my dignity. I let out another cold laugh and pulled a photograph from my pocket, flinging it at her. “Don’t trouble yourself. I’ve already taken care of your ‘accident’.” “I paid a visit to his kindergarten. Nice place. A shame the security was so sloppy.” The photo showed her son, his face streaked with tears, a gun pressed to his temple as he knelt on the floor. I watched, stone-faced, as the veins in her forehead bulged, one by one. In ten years together, she had never, not for any reason, turned her anger on me. But today, for another man’s child, her eyes were filled with pure, unadulterated murder. She slammed me against the wall, reached up, and ripped the knife from her own shoulder. She reversed the blade, pressing the cold tip against my neck. “How dare you touch a child!” she seethed, her voice a low growl. “Flynn, have I been too good to you? Have you forgotten who you are?” “Without me, you’d be long dead! Now your wings have grown? You can’t have children of your own, so you go after someone else’s? You make me sick.” Every word was a fresh wound, a new humiliation. But my smile was unnervingly calm. “You always said the only way we’d separate is if one of us was dead, right?” “No one else has the guts to do it. So it looks like it’s up to you, Sloane.” “Go on. Kill me. Because if I walk out of here alive, I promise you, their lives are over.” The blood-slicked blade didn’t pierce my skin. She stared into my defiant eyes, and her expression softened into a chillingly gentle smile. “Flynn, I told you, it doesn’t have to end with one of us dead.” “The child… you can do whatever you want with him. I won’t ask if he’s alive or dead.” “But this ends now. We never speak of it again. Do you understand?” As cold-blooded as ever. Just like me. Sloane didn’t spare me another glance. She didn’t sign the papers. She just turned and stormed out the door. For ten years, I had never seen her back. In my memories, she was always charging toward me through a storm of blood and violence, shielding me with her own body. Her back was just as resolute as I’d imagined. But I could see something else, something subtle. A flicker of panic. A mocking smile touched my lips. I turned and dialed my man. “Let the kid go. I’m not a monster who hurts children.” “But I want everything you can find on his father. On my desk in ten minutes.” 2 My team found nothing. With Sloane’s resources, making someone disappear was child’s play. Even for me, all I could uncover was a single, threadbare clue. But that one thread was enough to unravel the last of my composure. Five years ago, on the night I almost died, Sloane wasn’t there. I thought she was out there with our men, hunting down my attackers. She wasn’t. She was just a few steps away, tangled in the sheets with another man. So the betrayal had started that long ago. Even as she was swearing she would never be untrue to me, her body and her heart had already strayed. I fought back the sudden, sharp agony that seized my chest, tightened my grip on the bloody knife, and plunged it through the screen of the tablet displaying the report. If our love was dead, then all that was left between us was hate. The child hadn’t even made it home before his father, losing his nerve, showed up at my door. The second I opened it, he lunged, a dagger aimed straight for my heart. “You bastard! You touched my son, I’ll kill you!” I twisted away on instinct, avoiding a fatal blow. But the blade sliced clean across my arm, opening a long, deep gash. Flesh parted, blood welled. I felt nothing. I grabbed his head and slammed it into the doorframe. Again and again. My men dragged him inside, forcing him to his knees before me. He didn’t cry. He just glared at me, his eyes burning with a fierce hatred. He was handsome, I’ll give him that, with an innocence in his eyes that reminded me of myself, long ago. Even the ferocity in his gaze mirrored my own now. But he didn’t understand. A little bit of grit wasn’t going to get him out of this alive. I picked up the baseball bat leaning against the wall and brought it down hard on his leg. The sickening crack of bone echoed through the room, followed by his agonized scream. It stirred nothing in me. No pity, no remorse. I savored his pain, a perverse tribute to my murdered love. Just as I raised the bat for a second swing, the door was kicked open. A gust of cold wind swept in, carrying with it a wave of pure fury. The dark, round mouth of a gun was aimed squarely at my head. Sloane’s voice was as cold as ice. “Flynn, let him go. Don’t make this ugly.” She held the gun with one hand, while the other wrapped around the man, pulling him into a protective embrace. Her eyes softened, her voice a gentle murmur only he could hear. “Don’t be scared. I’m here.” The same words. Ten years ago, she had stepped over a floor slick with blood, walked toward me as I stood there, clothes torn, and said those exact same words. Tears of laughter spilled from my eyes. “And what if I say no?” She laughed too, a hollow sound. “You took his son. That’s enough. Let him go, and we can pretend this never happened. It’s the best ending for both of us.” I knew her too well. I could see the killing intent hidden behind that smile. She was actually thinking of killing me. After all these years, after we had pulled each other through hell, she had given me all her tenderness. And it had made me forget. It had made me forget how many bodies she’d stepped over to get to where she was today. I wasn’t angry anymore. I was just… humiliated. I reached out, took her hand, and pressed the muzzle of her gun against my own forehead. “Go on. Do it.” “Sloane, you know me. If I walk out of this room alive today, you’d better be ready to bury this pretty boy of yours.” The click of the safety being released was deafening. Sloane’s eyes turned crimson as she grabbed my throat. “You think I won’t?” “I can forgive what you did to the child. But him… you don’t touch him.” “Don’t push me, Flynn.” I stared back at her, my face a mask of indifference. The stalemate was broken by the sharp ring of a phone. Sloane released her grip and answered. 3 After she hung up, Sloane’s smile was gentle again. She ruffled the other man’s hair, her eyes full of affection. “The boy’s fine. You’ve made your point. Go now. Don’t come back here again.” His name was Brown. He stared at me, his eyes red-rimmed, and limped toward the door. To end this whole farce with a few soft words? It wasn’t going to be that easy. I tilted my chin, and my bodyguard immediately blocked Brown’s path. Sloane shot me a cold look. We had been together so long, we could read each other’s minds with a single glance. A faint smile played on her lips. She beckoned to Brown. “Come here. Apologize to Flynn before you leave.” He froze, his face a mixture of disbelief and wounded pride. But he obeyed. He shuffled back in front of me and bowed stiffly. “Mr. Hayes. I was reckless. I came here without knowing the full story.” “It was my fault for hurting you. But… you’ve lost a child, too. Surely you can understand how I feel?” “A father who can’t even protect his own son… what is he but a waste of space?” He called it an apology, but every word was a needle. I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. “The last person who spoke to me like that,” I said, my voice dangerously low, “is probably nothing but dust by now.” “How many lives do you have to spare, that you feel brave enough to provoke me?” Brown clutched his cheek, his eyes welling up with tears like a cornered animal. I sneered and swung my hand back for another blow. The sharp crack of a slap echoed in the room. But it wasn’t Brown who felt it. I was the one who went down, sprawling on the floor. Sloane stood over me, her heel pressing down on my hand, her expression so cold it made her a stranger. “I told you,” she said, her voice like chips of ice. “Don’t touch him.” “Flynn, why do you have to keep dragging innocent people into this?” My face throbbed, my mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. My smile was stained red. Over the years, dozens, maybe hundreds, had died by my hand. She knew I wasn’t the type to let things go. But she also knew I would never harm a truly innocent person. Sloane didn’t give me a chance to speak. She kicked me aside and scooped Brown into her arms, carrying him out. When my bodyguard rushed over to help me up, my entire body was shaking with pain. He looked at me, confused. I just gave him a weary smile. It was only when I turned that he saw the handle of the dagger protruding from my back. A single slap wouldn’t have felled me. Of course not. But when I fell, I had landed right on the dagger that had been knocked to the floor. The doctor said the wound was inches from my heart. A little closer, and I would have died right there, in front of her. After they stitched me up, I refused their recommendation to stay in the hospital. I’d survived three stabbings before; living on the edge of a blade was second nature to me. When I returned to the villa, Sloane was waiting for me on the living room sofa. She lit a cigarette and motioned for me to sit opposite her. After a long drag, she looked at me with a humorless smile. “My son came home with three broken fingers.” I glanced at my bodyguard. He lowered his head, unable to meet my eyes. I laughed, a sound devoid of any emotion. “My men can be careless. What, does the great Sloane Jiang want me to pay him back with three of my own fingers?” Sloane smiled back, but her eyes were sharp as daggers. “Brown was so distraught he tried to jump off a building. While I was stopping him, I fell down the stairs. The baby’s gone.” “Flynn, that was my second child. You killed him. Don’t you think you owe Brown an apology?” I snatched the cigarette from her fingers and lit one for myself. Through the swirling smoke, my smile held no trace of remorse. “You should know that the fact I didn’t do it myself was me showing mercy.” “It was just a bastard child. It’s gone. So what? Don’t tell me you want my life in return?” I had my man bring the divorce papers again and placed them in front of her. “Either you sign these.” “Or one of you dies. You or him. Your choice, Sloane. I don’t think I need to tell you what to do.” Sloane laughed as she ripped the papers to shreds. She then took out her phone and tossed it onto the table in front of me. “I knew you wouldn’t apologize.” “It’s fine. I’ve prepared a gift for you, too.” “Flynn… I had someone pull the plug on your brother.”

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At the altar, my own wedding altar, Jack Hayes held Mia Clark in his arms and made his announcement to the world. “Mia and I… we’re the ones who are truly in love. The woman I intend to marry today is her.” A collective gasp swept through the chapel. Every eye, filled with shock and pity, turned to me. But I didn’t scream. I didn’t cause a scene. In front of all our guests, I moved with a grace that felt foreign even to myself. I walked toward him, my couture gown rustling softly, and executed a perfect, polite curtsy. “My affection for you ends here, Jack.” “I wish you a happy marriage.” And, I added silently, this time, I wouldn’t let my own foolish heart lead my family to ruin. 1. The moment Jack’s resonant voice faded, the air crackled with the guests’ sharp inhales. I was, without a doubt, the tragic centerpiece of this spectacle. “Genevieve, it wasn’t until I met Mia that I understood what love truly is,” he continued, his voice thick with performative sincerity. “She’s taught me so much. My heart belongs only to Mia, and she’s the only one I want to marry.” “So please, I’m asking you to grant us your blessing.” The two of them gazed at each other, their eyes brimming with a love so profound it was almost theatrical. It was a perfect portrait, casting me as the wicked witch trying to tear two star-crossed lovers apart. Buoyed by Jack’s support, Mia found her courage. “Miss Sinclair,” she began, her voice trembling just so, “Jack doesn’t love you. Why force him into this? You can’t force happiness. A marriage without love is a prison. Jack and I are truly in love… please, I’m begging you, let us be together.” Her plea hung in the air, thick with manufactured desperation. I looked at them, clinging to each other on the stage that should have been mine, and a faint smile touched my lips. From the age of ten, I knew I would marry Jack Hayes. To become a woman worthy of standing by his side, I had sacrificed my childhood. While other girls played with dolls, I was studying wine tasting and art appreciation. While they compared pretty dresses, I had committed to memory the lineage and ledgers of every influential family in Crestwood. While they fretted over getting a perfect score on a final exam, I was mastering the delicate art of social politics, all to become the perfect partner for him. I knew that the woman beside Jack Hayes could never be a mere ornament. Perhaps it was that lifelong obsession that had twisted me into something unrecognizable. Marrying him, becoming the matriarch of the Hayes family, had become my sole purpose. I couldn’t even tell if it was love or a desperate need for possession. But in my past life, the title I had fought tooth and nail for became the very sword Jack used to destroy my family’s company, Sinclair Industries. This time, I had no intention of sinking into the toxic mire of the Hayes family. I gathered the skirt of my custom-made gown and walked, step by deliberate step, toward the stage. My family’s bodyguards trailed behind me, their bodies tense, ready to tackle me to the ground at the slightest hint of a scene. But I simply stopped, a good ten feet from Jack. I curtsied again, my form flawless, my posture elegant. “My affection for you ends here, Jack.” “And again, I wish you a happy marriage.” Jack stared, clearly stunned. He had obviously braced himself for a fight, a tantrum, anything but this quiet, swift acceptance. The next second, his mother, Mrs. Hayes, stormed the stage. She lunged for Mia, her hand raised to strike, but Jack intercepted her, shielding Mia with his own body. Forgetting all decorum, his mother unleashed a torrent of fury. “You worthless, ungrateful boy! Casting aside a perfect match from a fine family for this… this nobody from nowhere! You’ve shamed us all! What can she do besides play the victim and manipulate your pity?” Mia’s face flushed a deep crimson, but Jack only held her tighter, as if she were a priceless treasure. “Genevieve has everything and everyone,” he declared, his voice ringing with conviction. “But Mia… she only has me. Genevieve and I grew up together. If a spark was ever going to happen, it would have happened by now. I don’t love her! Why does everyone keep trying to force us together? There’s no happiness in a loveless marriage. I want the world to know that Mia is the only one I love, and I want to give her the best of everything!” His impassioned, self-righteous speech earned a few muffled snickers from the guests. Marriages among the elite were never so simple. Then, Jack turned his righteous anger on me. “You don’t love me either, do you? A business merger like us would never be happy.” I didn’t answer. Instead, I silently slipped the engagement ring from my finger. I was about to return it when I noticed a dazzling, expensive-looking diamond already gracing Mia’s ring finger. A humorless smile played on my lips. I turned to the bodyguard beside me, took his gloved hand, and placed my ring in his palm. “Return to sender.” Mrs. Hayes grabbed my arm, her eyes pleading with me to stay. But my father stepped in, firmly removing her hand. “Since the Hayes family has clearly made other arrangements, we will not impose any longer.” With that, he took my arm and led me away, his back ramrod straight with fury. Because of a careless joke made by our parents years ago, I had spent eighteen years loving Jack Hayes. I’d endured the sneers of our social circle, who called me his lapdog, and I had simply smiled through it. Their laughter meant nothing because I knew that, in the end, I would be the one marrying into the Hayes family. It was only when I had finally clawed my way to that position that I realized my foolishness had dragged me, and my parents, into an abyss. This time, I was done playing their game. That den of vipers? They could have it. 2. The moment we were in the car, my father’s rage erupted. “That bastard Jack Hayes! To abandon my daughter at the altar… Unbelievable! First thing tomorrow, I’m telling my secretary to halt all joint ventures with the Hayes corporation!” he thundered, his voice bouncing off the leather interior. “If it weren’t for my respect for his father, who would ever want to marry their daughter to that piece of trash! My Genevieve is brilliant, accomplished! The line of suitors is a mile long, and he dares to humiliate her like this? I need to hire someone to teach that punk a lesson he’ll never forget.” My mother tried to soothe him, but it was no use. If my father had a machine gun right now, I was certain he’d level the entire Hayes estate. A small laugh escaped my lips. My father stopped his tirade, looking at me with concern. “Honey, have you been shocked into a daze?” I squeezed my parents’ hands, feeling the warmth of their skin against mine. It wasn’t the cold, lifeless touch I remembered. The raw emotion of it all made my eyes well up. Thinking I was heartbroken, my dad immediately ordered the driver to turn back around to confront Jack. I quickly stopped him. “Dad, even if Jack hadn’t pulled this stunt today, I was going to call off the wedding.” My father’s mouth opened, but he swallowed his curiosity, afraid of upsetting me further. I watched the city lights streak past the window before turning to face my parents, my expression serious. “Here, at home, I’m the apple of your eye, cherished and protected. But if I went to the Hayes family, I’d be nothing more than a pawn to secure their business, a vessel for producing an heir.” They stared at me, completely bewildered. In my previous life, when Jack had brought Mia to crash our wedding, I had fought back with the ferocity of a cornered animal. I was determined to marry him, even if it meant turning our wedding into a battlefield. The dress was torn, champagne glasses shattered, and the beautifully decorated venue was reduced to rubble. In the end, under pressure from all sides, Jack had relented. He married me, his heart full of resentment, and thus began the tragic second act of my life. To punish me for “stealing” Mia’s place, Jack was cold and distant. He began a hostile takeover of my family’s company as his ultimate revenge. My mother-in-law, blaming me for failing to secure her son’s heart, grew more critical by the day. “You’ve been married into this family for how long now, and still no sign of a pregnancy?” she would sneer. I could only offer a bitter smile in return. Because of Jack’s disdain, the entire Hayes clan treated me with contempt. Eventually, Sinclair Industries was fully acquired. My parents, broken and defeated, jumped from their office building. I was left with nothing, a pathetic dependent living on the scraps of the Hayes family’s charity. The final straw was the news of Mia giving birth to Jack’s child. I looked my parents in the eyes, my voice steady. “That kind of life… it would be a living hell. An agony I couldn’t bear.” A gilded cage like that was its own special kind of torture. No identity, no joy. A world where even I couldn’t protect myself—and yet, it was the very world Mia was desperate to enter. Perhaps with Jack protecting her, things would be different. But none of that mattered to me anymore. After hearing me out, my parents’ brows were deeply furrowed as they processed the weight of my words. Finally, my father’s gaze softened. “Then what do you want to do now, my dear?” “I’m going to go back to school. Get my master’s.” Then, I let myself be a child again, burrowing into my mother’s arms. “Sinclair Industries is my future, after all. I’m going to make it stronger than ever before.” The heavy atmosphere in the car was shattered by my father’s booming laugh. “Hahaha! That’s my girl! The daughter of Robert Sinclair! I’ll have my assistant make the arrangements immediately.” Within days, all the paperwork for my studies abroad was complete. The day I left, I told no one. A heavy snow was falling, blanketing the city in white, just like it had on New Year’s Eve all those years ago. A younger Jack had proudly taken my hand in front of our families, announcing with childish bravado, “This is my girl!”—sending the adults into peals of laughter. It was all just a misunderstanding in the end. I scrolled through the news on my phone before boarding. A headline caught my eye, accompanied by a picture of Jack and Mia: Cinderella and Prince Charming Finally Get Their Happily Ever After. I smiled softly. I switched off my phone, picked up my boarding pass, and walked away without a backward glance. 3. Three years later, I returned with a master’s degree, ready to officially take the reins of the company. To celebrate my homecoming, my friends in our social circle threw me a welcome-back party. I’d developed a taste for fine liquor during my years away, so my best friend, Chelsea, had chosen a chic, upscale bar. The moment I walked in, however, my eyes landed on Jack, sitting alone in a dim corner. He saw me at the same time. Our gazes met, and I frowned involuntarily. “What’s he doing here?” Chelsea shrugged. “You know how it is. Our circle isn’t that big. The second news of your return broke, it spread like wildfire. Of course, the Hayes family heard about it.” I nodded. In our world, the slightest whisper could become public knowledge in minutes. Especially with my parents, who were prone to bragging about me. I glanced back at Jack. He was radiating a “do not approach” vibe. “Is Mia not with him?” I asked. Chelsea leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t even get me started! She’s the walking punchline of our entire social circle. Anyone who gets associated with her ends up being ostracized. It’s like she’s cursed. So everyone keeps their distance.” I gave her a questioning look, but she just shook her head, not wanting to elaborate further. Instead, she pushed me toward the crowd with a grin. “Alright everyone! Tonight, if our girl Genevieve walks out of here sober, it’s on every single one of you!” That was all the encouragement they needed. One by one, they came up to toast me, and I graciously accepted each drink with a smile. For three years, I had poured every ounce of my energy into my studies, wishing I had eight brains to absorb all the information. Now that I was back, I deserved to let loose. I’d only had a few drinks when a hand closed over my glass, pulling it away. It was Jack. “You’re a lightweight. Don’t drink so much.” I was not in the mood for his unsolicited concern. I simply took the glass back. He tried to grab it again, but I sidestepped him easily. “Don’t be a spoilsport, Mr. Hayes,” I said, my tone light but firm. God, I hated men who thought they could make decisions for me. My playful rebuke clearly caught him off guard. He just stood there, stunned. I had always navigated these social scenes with ease, and now, my skills were even sharper. I didn’t need a knight, and I certainly didn’t need a prince to protect me. Turning my back on him, I clinked glasses with the handsome son of a real estate tycoon. Jack remained half a step behind me for the rest of the night, a silent, brooding shadow. I didn’t give him another glance. Suddenly, someone shouted, “Look, fireworks!” I turned toward the large window. The night sky had erupted in a dazzling display of color. Brilliant bursts of white, red, and yellow painted the darkness. Jack moved to stand beside me, holding his drink. He leaned in close, his voice a low murmur in my ear. “Do you like them?” When I didn’t respond, he smiled faintly. “I promised I’d give you a spectacular fireworks show one day. It’s a shame you were abroad all these years. I never got the chance.” I watched the vibrant explosions silently. He had said that once, a long time ago. But childish promises fade with time, lost to the river of years. And I no longer needed them. I pulled myself back to the present and gently tapped my glass against his. I offered him a perfect, practiced smile. “Thank you for the gift, Mr. Hayes.” My detached, formal reply seemed to throw him. “You’ve changed,” he murmured, his voice low.

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The A-list actor killed himself, and then the world found out he’d been in love with me for years. The hashtag #UnrequitedLoveGoesViral exploded online. Swarms of paparazzi camped outside my apartment, demanding I give him a response, even in death. When I refused to comment, an obsessive fan plunged a knife into my heart. I died in the dead of winter, taking my three-month-old unborn child with me. When my husband returned from his trip abroad, all that was left for him to see was my cold, lifeless body. 1 The day I died, the first snow of the season began to fall over the city. The little girl I had just saved from a mugging pulled a fruit knife from her bag. Before I could even react, she drove it straight into my heart. She was a horrifying mix of tears and laughter. “He’s dead! What gives you the right to be alive?” “It’s all your fault! He killed himself because of his depression, and it’s all because of you! Why wouldn’t you look at him? Why couldn’t you just love him?!” She ripped the knife out. My blood mingled with her tears until you couldn’t tell them apart. “You bitch! You took the best man in the world away from us!” Her sobbing stopped abruptly. With a desolate cry, she raised the knife and slashed again. This time, at my neck. 2 My spirit hovered in the air. The killer sat on my corpse, her eyes gleaming with a sick, triumphant joy. She pulled out her phone and opened up her social media app. A group chat was exploding with messages, scrolling by in a blur. I drifted closer, my spectral eyes catching the keywords. [MiaMustDie] [ThatBitchMia] [KillMia]… Mia. That’s me. In their minds, I was the one who drove their idol, Mike Vance, to suicide. There were viler words, too, carefully crafted to bypass the app’s filters, spat out by people hiding behind their screens. The venom bled through the display, so toxic it felt like it could suffocate even a dead woman like me. The girl’s hands were trembling as she typed. Not with guilt, not with fear, but with pure, ecstatic excitement. [SISTERS!!!! I GOT REVENGE FOR MIKE!!! I sent the bitch who killed him straight to hell! I think she was pregnant, too. She was clutching her stomach, begging me to spare her. What an actress. No wonder Mike was fooled by her.] The moment she hit send, the thousand-member group chat fell silent. She frowned, checking her signal. “Did my internet cut out? Why isn’t anyone saying anything?” she muttered. A few seconds crawled by before the first hesitant reply appeared. [What do you mean, you got revenge?] A smug grin spread across the girl’s face. She started a voice memo while snapping a photo, centering the frame on my down jacket, which she’d torn open to reveal my slightly rounded belly. “I killed her. See? Her stomach’s all swollen. Definitely pregnant. What a slut. God knows who knocked her up.” The chat went dead silent. But she didn’t seem to notice, rambling on, recounting every gruesome detail of my murder. When she finally finished her story, a user with Mike Vance’s face as their profile picture replied. [Rose, turn yourself in.] 3 Rose didn’t turn herself in. A passerby called the police. By the time the yellow tape cordoned off my body, Rose was long gone. She’d taken my ID, but she forgot one crucial thing. Thanks to Mike Vance, I’d already been doxxed a hundred times over. Traces of my personal information were scattered across the internet like snowflakes in the sky. You didn’t have to look up to find them. The hashtag #MiaAndMikeVance started trending again, climbing even higher than #MikeVanceFanStabsWomanOnStreet. An actor who takes his own life at the peak of his career is bound to be romanticized, turned into the nation’s tragic sweetheart, an icon of impossible love. [I don’t care, a double death is a HE (Happy Ending)!] [Even heaven couldn’t stand his decade of silent love. The universe itself married them off! So sweet, I’m crying.] [Mike must be so happy, watching this from above.] His fans danced on my grave. At the police station, a female officer scrolled through the unhinged comments with a weary sigh. She gently closed my eyelids, then turned to the junior officer next to her. “Any luck contacting her husband?” The young officer shook her head. “His phone’s going straight to voicemail. I sent him a text.” “Other than him, Ms. Reed is an orphan. She has no other family.” I wasn’t surprised. My soul managed a faint smile. I couldn’t see a mirror, so I had no idea if the expression was beautiful or grotesque. “Her husband’s unreachable? It’s been five hours since it happened. Five hours and still no word?” The flight from New York to Crestview City crosses the international date line; it’s a thirteen-hour journey. And my husband, Liam Hayes, has a habit of catching up on sleep during flights. When he’s resting, he’s not to be disturbed. It was normal that they couldn’t reach him. Besides… We had a child by accident. The Hayes family has a sterling reputation; they would never allow their bloodline to be abandoned. He married me out of duty. There wasn’t much love between us. Even if he got the news, he’d probably just send his assistant to handle it. I floated over to the police officer who was still tirelessly dialing his number. “You can stop calling,” I whispered to her. “I don’t have any family.” But the living and the dead are separated by an uncrossable river. She couldn’t hear me. She just kept dialing, over and over, for my sake. Her eyes welled up with frustration. “Why won’t he pick up, why won’t he pick up…” She was a complete stranger, yet she was grieving for me. There are still good people in the world, after all. I drifted to the station window and watched the day bleed into dusk. The setting sun cast a golden glow on every person walking below. Children bounced in the park, and elderly couples, their hair white as snow, held onto each other as they navigated the city streets. Only one car broke the rules of the road, speeding so fast I figured the driver was trying to lose his license in a single go. Thank God he didn’t hit anyone. The car screeched to a halt in front of the station. I stretched my spectral neck, curious to see what kind of reckless person was behind the wheel. And then I saw a figure step out—a man both familiar and foreign. The sunset stretched his shadow long and thin, but its warm light couldn’t melt the icy chill clinging to his shoulders. He strode towards the entrance, covering the distance in what felt like a single, impossible leap. Was the path from the curb to the lobby always that short? I floated slowly after him. Just in time to hear his first words. “I’m here to take my wife home.” 4 Liam knelt beside me, his head bowed in silence. He was a man who wore his emotions like a mask; I never really knew him well enough to see what was behind it. I turned my head away and looked at my own body instead. A dead woman’s pallor, a zombie’s vacant face. The fruit knife had been removed from my neck, leaving a gruesome, gaping wound. It’s truly hideous, seeing yourself from a third-person view. “Mia.” Liam’s voice was a whisper. His large, warm hand gently cupped my cold, pale cheek. He repeated the words he’d said when he first walked in, but this time, he was speaking to me. “I’m here to take you home.” Such a simple sentence. How could it steal the air from your lungs? The kind-hearted female officer’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. They spilled over, splashing onto the linoleum floor. She fumbled for a tissue to wipe them away. I instinctively reached for the corner of my own eye. My fingertips met nothing but dry, empty air. Of course. The dead can’t cry. Liam lifted me into his arms and carried me toward the door. I turned back and tried to comfort the officer. “Don’t cry, miss. He’s taking me home. This is a good thing.” Then I laughed at my own foolishness. She couldn’t hear me. No one could. A wandering soul, forever looking at the living from across the river of death. The river is too wide, the current too strong. No one can ever reach the other side. 5 Liam placed me in the back of the car. The suffocating atmosphere from the station intensified in the enclosed space. He was a man of few words, and this moment was no exception. As the last light of dusk faded, night began to cloak the earth. The city’s neon lights blinked on, one by one. He didn’t let me go. In the spacious back seat, it was just one man and one corpse, an arrangement so empty it felt absurdly tragic. I floated in front of him. The comforting words I could so easily offer a stranger were lodged in my throat. I couldn’t say a thing to him. The car drove on, through the bustling downtown, past the rivers of people. We arrived at a brightly lit villa, where he laid me down on the sofa. The living room television turned on automatically. He sat down beside me. As if I were still alive. On the screen, the guests on a comedy show were laughing. In the living room, the audience of two watched with blank faces. Suddenly, Liam complained, “Why do you like watching this stuff? It’s so boring.” “It is not boring! It’s hilarious,” I retorted. “Wait, how did you know I liked this show?” “Mia, why aren’t you answering me?” “I am answering you.” “Are you ignoring me?” “I’m not! I’m talking to you!” “If you don’t say something, I’m changing the channel.” “Don’t you dare! How can you blame me when you’re the one who can’t hear me? That’s so rude!” Liam turned his head, his gaze falling on my stiff, dead face. He froze. The glare from the LCD screen was blinding. The background noise from the TV was deafening. I almost missed the sheen of moisture that gathered in his eyes, and the single, whispered word that followed. “Sorry.” What was he apologizing for? I raised my hand, covering my eyes as my soul drowned in a flood of memories, shattering my thoughts into a million pieces. 6 Liam had never done anything to wrong me. We had known each other for three months, and in that time, we’d only met five times. The first time was when I found out I was pregnant. The second was when he came to discuss our marriage arrangements. The third was on our wedding day. After the ceremony, he gave me a slight nod, his voice gentle. “I’ll be staying in the guest room next door. You can find me if you need anything.” I breathed a sigh of relief. A marriage born from an accident wasn’t about love; it was about responsibility. He was willing to be responsible, and I agreed. That was all there was to it. As for any further… marital duties, I wasn’t ready. After the wedding, before we even had a chance to get to know each other, my company assigned me to an overseas project. I asked for Liam’s opinion. “It’s your job,” he said. “You can make your own decision.” With his blessing, I left. When I returned from my business trip, he left for his. The last time I saw him alive was three nights ago. He was leaning against the kitchen island, a glass of red wine filled to the brim. The air was thick with its intoxicating aroma. His eyes were hazy as he looked at me. “You’re back.” He slid off the barstool, swaying slightly. I wondered what he was doing, but then I saw him take a clean glass and pour me a glass of warm milk. “You can’t drink while you’re pregnant. Milk instead?” I blinked and took the glass. It was the closest I’d ever been to him. He gently placed the needle on an old record player, and the soft, scratchy notes of Mozart filled the room. The atmosphere grew thick with unspoken things. He leaned in closer. The scent of wine mingled with a sweet, citrusy fragrance. The perfume didn’t quite seem to suit him. The thought had barely formed in my mind when I heard him say, “Mia, you have no heart.” I looked up, stunned, ready to ask him why he was insulting me, when he cupped the back of my head and lowered his lips to mine. It was my first sober kiss. And my last. The next morning, he left a note saying he was going on a business trip and rushed out of the city. I chalked the kiss up to another accident, planning to ask him about his vision for our marriage when he returned. We were married, after all. Even if there was no love, we could build it. We had a baby on the way, a long, long future to live together. But I would never get to ask him my question. A kiss goodbye had become a final farewell. 7 I hugged my knees, sitting on the sofa next to my own corpse. Thankfully, the sofa was long enough for one man, one body, and one ghost. A ringing phone pulled me from my reverie. Liam answered. The vulnerability I thought I’d seen in him vanished in an instant, erased completely. His voice, usually deep and carrying a cold, imposing weight, was back to normal. I couldn’t hear what the person on the other end was saying, but his hand resting on the sofa clenched into a fist. The veins under his skin pulsed, betraying his anger. “Bring her to me,” he commanded coldly. “Bring who?” I asked instinctively. But with only that one line, I couldn’t figure it out. I never liked to dwell on things I couldn’t solve, so I pushed the question aside and went back to watching my favorite show. If someone had told me before that you could still watch TV after you die, I would have thought they were insane. But here I was. Liam hadn’t changed the channel. As I was getting lost in the program, he spoke out of nowhere. “Rose.” “Huh?” I paused. Wasn’t that the name of the girl who killed me? Why would Liam suddenly say her name? But after that one word, he fell silent again. I floated around to his side and leaned over his shoulder, blowing a puff of air at him. I remembered some meme I’d seen online and whispered, “You know, there are two types of people I can’t stand in this world. The first is people who stop talking mid-sentence.” Liam didn’t move a muscle. Disappointed, I floated back to my spot. He can’t hear me, so of course he wouldn’t be curious. From the corner of my eye, I noticed his posture was ramrod straight. Such good manners, to sit so properly even while watching TV. How annoying. 8 Someone even more annoying showed up half an hour later. When Rose was dragged into the villa’s living room, I felt a strange sense of inevitability. So that’s who Liam meant. He was bringing her here. It was almost as if… he was answering my unspoken question. He really was a good person. I sat on the arm of the sofa, swinging my spectral legs. Rose was flanked by two bodyguards, forced to her knees in the center of the room, facing my direction. Facing my corpse. Her face was flushed, showing no hint of guilt or remorse. Instead, her eyes shone with a disturbing excitement. “She’s dead. She’s really dead. This is great, this is great, this is great…” she chanted under her breath. I circled her, the sound of her voice grating on me. “You’re so loud!” Apparently, Liam couldn’t stand it either. A bodyguard quickly stepped forward and clamped a hand over her mouth, turning her repetitive mantra into muffled sobs. It was a long time before she fell quiet. I crouched down beside her. Rose wasn’t old. You could tell from the blue and white uniform she was still wearing. She was just a student. The crest of Crestview High was stitched onto her chest. The moment I recognized that symbol, a flood of unwelcome memories washed over me. Rose’s shriek broke my train of thought. “This is kidnapping! It’s illegal!” The toe of Liam’s shoe appeared in my field of vision. He let out a cold laugh and grabbed her by the chin. Her young, delicate face twisted in his grip, pain replacing her earlier smugness. The chill radiating from him was as bitter as the snowstorm outside, which was only growing worse as night fell. “Illegal?” Liam chuckled softly. “So you do know the law.” He took a sanitized wipe from someone’s hand and meticulously cleaned his fingers, the ones that had touched her. Then he casually tossed the used wipe onto her face. Liam hadn’t even started to do anything, but she was already terrified. Rose’s voice trembled. “What… what’s your relationship with Mia? She was a whore! She was selling herself in high school, every guy has had a piece of her. You were just conned! I knew her, I can tell you all about her past. Please, just let me go!” I slumped to the floor, a wave of sadness washing over me. I looked at her. “Why is it always ‘whore’? Why is slut-shaming always the go-to insult for a woman? I could almost understand it from Mike, he was a guy, spreading those disgusting rumors about me. But why are you saying it too?” I poked her cheek with a spectral finger. “Oh, right. I forgot. You’re his fan. Like master, like follower. You’re all just garbage.” The smile on Liam’s face deepened. His voice dropped to a gentle, almost seductive murmur. “Her past?” Those two words validated Rose’s existence. And she began to talk, spilling everything like a broken dam—about me, about Mike. About those three years in high school. 9 Rose was a year below me. Her knowledge of me was pieced together from campus gossip. Crestview High was one of the best schools in the city, an alma mater to countless prominent figures, from scientists to entertainers. The former required years of dedication; the latter, just one lucky break. Mike Vance was Crestview High’s most famous student in recent memory. He shot to fame as a teenager, playing the second male lead in a fantasy epic that became a cultural phenomenon, making him the nation’s beloved tragic hero. His stellar grades made him stand out in an industry full of high school dropouts, earning him legions of fans. None of this had anything to do with me. What did have to do with me was that, in high school, Mike Vance sat behind me. The shy, respectful boy he played on screen was just an act. In private, he was a psycho. He’d play with my hair in class and snap my bra strap during breaks. When I’d whirl around to tell him to stop, he’d report me to the teacher for harassing him. He was already famous back then, so the teacher automatically assumed I was a starstruck fan. She advised me to focus on my studies and not get distracted by celebrities. There were no security cameras in classrooms back then, and my classmates, enamored with the popular star, didn’t care about my side of the story. The teacher meant well, so I couldn’t get mad at her. I just swallowed my anger and requested a seat change. The girl who switched with me was one of Mike’s biggest fans. She was so thrilled to be his new deskmate that she gave me a huge bag of snacks. Poor girl, I thought. You’re about to be harassed and you’re this happy about it. But it turned out she wasn’t the one being harassed. It was still me. When Mike couldn’t reach my hair anymore, he found other ways to torment me. He’d hide my homework, pour soda on my textbooks. Once, I found a dead rat in my desk, blood trickling from its eyes and mouth. So, the unlucky one had always been me. Furious, I poked a hole in my test paper, picked up the rat by its tail, and marched to the teacher’s office. She was horrified. After hearing my story, she thought for a moment and transferred me to the class next door. After that, I had a period of peace. The only annoyance was that Mike would always hang around the window of my new classroom during breaks, laughing and joking with his friends. Just seeing him pissed me off. If only it had ended there. We probably would both still be alive today. His secret crush would have remained a secret. He wouldn’t have fallen into a depression and killed himself, and I wouldn’t have been caught in this disaster. “If only.” It’s a magical phrase. It lets you imagine a past that never was, and dream of a future that could have been. But in the real world, there are no “if onlys.” 10 The turning point came at the end of my sophomore year. Crestview was a fairly liberal school; students having phones wasn’t a big deal. One day, my phone started vibrating uncontrollably. A storm of calls from unknown numbers, one after another. I’d hang up, and another would immediately come through. During study hall, my classmates kept looking at me. I was confused. My phone was on silent, no vibration. How could it be disturbing them? Then, my deskmate tapped my shoulder. She pointed me toward the internet. A post on the school’s online forum. The first thing I saw was my picture. The text was a self-introduction, a list of prices, and my phone number. The post had been pushed to the homepage; even students from other schools were seeing it. I stared, stunned, and then answered the next call. A middle-aged man’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Mia Reed, right? I saw your post. I’m flying into town for two days. How much, flight included?” I glanced down at my deskmate’s phone, the meaning of his words sinking in with a bizarre clarity. I couldn’t stop myself. “Fuck off, you creep!” 11 The rumor spread like wildfire. Soon, the way my classmates looked at me changed. Boys started approaching me with offers, following me, saying they could hook me up with clients. It was the first time I realized that the people around me, my peers, could be like this. That period is a blur. The human brain has a way of forgetting things it doesn’t want to remember. I only recall one day, someone broke into our apartment. My mom died protecting me. For a while after that, I was in a daze, completely lost in depression. Later, the first person to publicly defend me was my deskmate. The second… was Mike Vance. He declared that it had to be a malicious rumor, that Mia would never do something like that. My deskmate was a bookworm; she didn’t have the influence that Mike did. After he spoke up, many of the students who had been suspicious started to show me sympathy. How strange. I was trying to solve a math problem, but my mind drifted. A line from somewhere I’d read popped into my head. “The person who slanders you knows your innocence better than anyone else.” Even though Mike had helped me, I just couldn’t stand him. There was no logical reason for it. Maybe our energies just clashed. My gut feeling about him turned out to be right. At our graduation party, one of his friends got blackout drunk and let it slip that Mike was the one who posted the ad. I overheard it in the hallway. When I went back into the private room, I walked right into his public confession of love. To be fair, after that incident, Mike, probably on someone’s advice, started trying to be my friend. He was nice to me. The bullying tactics were put away, as if they’d never happened. He had a crush on me. I wasn’t an idiot. I could see it in our daily interactions. An unrequited love stays hidden not because it’s well-concealed, but because the object of affection pretends not to see. I had been playing blind for two years, but he was determined to force my eyes open. Students from both our classes were cheering, congratulating us. I just tilted my head and asked him, “You say you like me. Do you even deserve to?” At eighteen, he couldn’t handle the blow. His face went pale. He asked me why. He didn’t understand. I understood even less. “Do I look like I have some kind of victim complex? That I’d fall for the guy who bullied me and spread rumors that I was a prostitute? Mike, nobody could ever love a piece of trash like you.” He swayed on his feet, looking like he was about to collapse. I walked past him and went back to my seat. And that was the end of my high school story. To use a term that’s been run into the ground now, I suppose I was Mike’s “one that got away.” He never forgot about me, sending me messages every so often to update me on his life, asking me out to dinner. I blocked his number. Out of sight, out of mind. The last time we spoke was a few days ago, when he called me from a new number. The wind was howling on his end of the line. His calm voice was nearly swallowed by it. “Mia, if you make one mistake, does that mean you can never be forgiven?” I knew what he was talking about. “Yes,” I said. His voice grew quieter. “If I died, would you forgive me then?” I blinked. “You could always try it. Maybe I’d forgive you then.” A rush of wind screamed through the phone. I hung up. I was lying. Even if he died, I would never forgive him. 12 “…and that’s the story. Everyone in high school knew Mia was a prostitute. For the right price, even a beggar could have her. You need to see that woman for who she really is!” Rose sobbed, embellishing her story as she pleaded with Liam. “And I have proof on my phone!” she said, her voice rising with excitement. “My phone! It’s on my phone!” Liam looked down, his expression unreadable. “Oh? What kind of proof?” Sensing hesitation, Rose eagerly demanded her phone back. Once it was unlocked, she found a saved recording. “This is the last call Mike ever made to her. She’s a vicious, evil woman!” The recording was clear. It was indeed my conversation with Mike. “If I died, would you forgive me then?” “You could always try it. Maybe I’d forgive you then.” Rose was practically vibrating with righteousness. “See?! She was goading him into it! A woman like that deserved to die!” Liam’s expression turned focused, deadly serious. “Is there more?” he asked, his tone flat. Rose froze for a second, then frantically scrolled through her gallery. Finally, she found a video. The moment she pressed play, the sounds of a woman’s cries and a man’s lewd laughter filled the villa. Listening closely, both voices were sickeningly familiar. “I paid a lot of money for this,” Rose said, holding the phone up to Liam as if presenting a trophy. Liam’s face looked as if it had been swept by a Siberian blizzard, frozen so solid he couldn’t even raise his eyebrows. He held out his hand to Rose. “Give it to me.” For the first time, Rose hesitated. Liam snatched the phone from her. My heart, or whatever passed for it now, seized. I knew what video that was. Those distant memories, the ones I had deliberately buried, came rushing back. I lifted a spectral hand to my face. It felt… damp.

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The night before our engagement, I found transaction records on Eason’s phone — monthly transfers of half his salary to his fallen squadmate’s widow. Her messages were delicately sorrowful. I showed him the phone and demanded an explanation. He stayed on the balcony all night. At dawn, he came in and said: “I feel a sense of duty toward her. That’s all.” I had waited eight years for him. I wasn’t giving him up over money. So I put on the dress and let the party continue. But during the ceremony, his childhood friend rushed in, yelling: “Eason! Julia — Alex’s wife — she tried to kill herself!” The engagement ring fell and clattered to the floor. Eason bolted out like lightning. Tears burning, I screamed after him: “If you leave today, I’ll consider you married to her in your friend’s place!” He paused for one heart-stopping moment — then left. I stood frozen, the champagne flute still in my hand, ready for a toast that would never happen. The joyful noise of the party faded into a dull roar in my ears. The emcee stood awkwardly with his microphone, utterly lost for words. Eason’s parents, their faces pale with fury, rushed to my side. “Nina, that bastard! I’ll drag him back here right now!” his father seethed, grabbing my arm. I shook my head, setting the glass down on a table. “Mr. and Mrs. Hayes, just let him go.” My own parents looked even more devastated. My mother burst into tears. “What is this? An engagement party! How could he humiliate our family like this?” I stepped off the small stage. “Mom, Dad, I’ll take you home.” The room was a swirling chaos of confused guests. Leo, Eason’s friend who’d delivered the news, stood wringing his hands, his face a mask of guilt. “Nina… I’m so sorry. It was an emergency with Julia.” I just looked at him, saying nothing. Leo had grown up with Eason. He knew the fallen squadmate, Alex, too. They all treated Alex’s widow, Julia, like family. But family doesn’t try to kill themselves on the day you’re getting engaged. I picked up my purse and walked out of the farcical reception hall. My phone vibrated in my bag, again and again. I didn’t answer. I knew it was Eason. He would explain, apologize, tell me how critical Julia’s condition was, how he had no choice but to go. After eight years together, I knew him too well. He was a man of deep loyalties, and his bond with his fellow soldiers was sacred. Alex had died shielding him. The guilt from that day had been crushing him for three long years. I used to think it was right for him to take care of Julia. It wasn’t until today that I realized some duties cross a line. Back home, I peeled off the elaborate gown and changed into my everyday clothes. I’m a nurse at the Main Military Medical Center. If Julia had tried to kill herself, that’s where she would have been taken. I grabbed my keys and drove to the hospital. In the emergency room, Eason was sitting vigil by a hospital bed. Julia lay there, her wrist wrapped in thick gauze, her face a ghostly white. Her eyes were closed, her lashes still wet with tears. Eason was holding her uninjured hand, his brow furrowed in a tight knot. I walked in. He saw me and shot to his feet, his eyes filled with apology. “Nina, you’re here. I’m so sorry, about today…” “How is she?” I cut him off, my gaze fixed on Julia. “The doctor said the cut isn’t deep. She’s not in any danger, just very… emotional.” I nodded. “Good.” With that, I turned to leave. Eason grabbed my arm. “Nina, don’t be angry. Alex died because of me. I can’t just abandon Julia. She’s all alone, she’s so fragile.” I yanked my hand away. “Eason, I’m not angry. I just find it interesting that our engagement party is apparently less important than a woman you’ve known for three years.” “That’s not it! Nina, you’re the most important person in the world to me! But she was dying!” “The doctor said she wasn’t,” I stated, my voice flat as I met his gaze. Eason’s lips parted, but no words came out. Just then, Julia stirred on the bed. When she saw me, her eyes immediately filled with tears. “Nina… I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault. I didn’t mean to… I just… I just miss Alex so much.” She started sobbing, her body trembling. “When I saw you two getting engaged, all I could think about was me and Alex… I couldn’t control myself. I’m sorry, I ruined your special day.” Eason immediately sat back down, murmuring soothing words to her. “It’s okay, it’s over now. Don’t think about it. Just rest.” He looked up at me, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “See? Look how broken she is. Can’t you have a little compassion?” I didn’t say another word. I just turned and walked away. As the cold night air hit my face outside the hospital doors, I finally noticed that my hands had been shaking the entire time. The next morning, Eason showed up at my apartment with breakfast. I opened the door but didn’t let him in. He held out the bag. “Nina, I’m here to apologize on Julia’s behalf. She had an emotional breakdown yesterday, she didn’t mean any harm.” “Can’t she apologize for herself?” Eason flinched. “She’s still very weak.” “Eason, let’s not talk about her for a minute. Let’s talk about us. What happens now? What do we tell our friends and family?” He was silent for a moment. “We’ll wait a while, let things blow over, and then we’ll have another party.” “Another party?” I looked at him incredulously. “You think this is something you can just… redo?” “What else can we do? It’s already happened. Nina, I know you’re hurt, but Julia just lost her husband, and she almost lost her own life. Can’t we just be a little more understanding?” There was that word again. Understanding. I took the breakfast bag and set it on the shoe cabinet by the door. “Fine. I get it. You should go back. She’s alone at the hospital, she needs you.” Eason let out a sigh of relief, thinking I had given in. “You’ve always had a soft heart. Don’t worry, as soon as she’s discharged, I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” He left. I picked up the breakfast and threw the entire bag into the trash. Then I went to work. On my way through the inpatient wing, I stopped by Julia’s room. She was propped up in bed, peeling an apple and chatting with the woman in the next bed. She was laughing, her color was good. The moment she saw me, her smile froze, then instantly morphed into a look of fragile vulnerability. “Nina, you came.” I nodded. “Just checking in.” I picked up her chart and flipped through it. “Wound’s healing nicely. You should be able to go home tomorrow.” “Yes,” she said, looking down. “Thank you for visiting.” “Don’t mention it. Just don’t do anything foolish again. Your health is your own responsibility.” She bit her lip, her eyes reddening again. “I know, but sometimes I just… I can’t take it anymore.” I didn’t respond. I put the chart back and left the room. That afternoon, I found my friend who works in the ER. “Hey, Sarah, do you remember that patient who came in for a suicide attempt yesterday? Julia Hayes?” Sarah thought for a second. “Oh, yeah, her. I remember. The pilot who brought her in was frantic.” “How were the wounds?” “Please,” she scoffed. “It was a scratch. Seriously, I’ve gotten worse cuts chopping onions. She lost less blood than a heavy period. It was all for show. We see it all the time.” My heart sank like a stone. That evening, Eason picked me up from work. He was in a great mood, telling me Julia had been discharged and he had gotten her settled. “I booked a table at our favorite place. We’re going to have a nice dinner.” In the car, he held my hand tightly. “Nina, I know this has been hard on you. I know I owe you a perfect engagement party. Just wait, I will make it up to you.” I stared out the window. “Eason, how much money do you give Julia every month?” He stiffened. “Not much. Just… half of my salary.” Eason was an ace pilot in the Air Force. His pay was substantial. Half was not a small amount. “Does she not have a job?” “She used to be a clerk at some company. After Alex died, she quit. Her health hasn’t been good, and she can’t find anything suitable.” “So you’ve just been supporting her?” Eason’s brow furrowed. “Nina, what kind of question is that? I’m not ‘supporting’ her. I’m fulfilling my duty to Alex!” His voice rose. “He gave his life for me! Is it wrong for me to make sure his widow is taken care of for the rest of her life?” I said nothing. The air in the car turned frigid. We ate our dinner in absolute silence. On the way home, Eason’s phone rang. It was Julia. His tone instantly softened. “What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?” “A lightbulb burned out? Don’t you move, I’m on my way over right now!” He hung up and forced a smile at me. “Nina, I’ll drop you at home, then I have to run over to Julia’s. She’s all alone, and she’s scared.” I just looked at him. “Eason, what is she to you?” The smile on his face froze. “She’s Alex’s widow. She’s my squadmate’s family.” “So you’re responsible for her every need for the rest of her life, including changing her lightbulbs?” “Nina!” He was getting angry now. “Why are you being so unreasonable? She’s a single woman, she just got out of the hospital, and her apartment is dark. I can’t just ignore that, can I?” “You could call building management for her. Or have a handyman service deliver a bulb.” “It’s not the same! She doesn’t trust strangers!” I laughed, a short, bitter sound. “Right. She only trusts you.” I opened the car door. “You don’t have to take me home. I can get back myself. You should go. Your duty is waiting.” I got out and slammed the door. Eason’s car idled behind me for a moment, and then, it drove off. In the direction of Julia’s house. After that, we entered a cold war. Eason didn’t contact me. I didn’t contact him. The new house the military had allocated for us was already furnished, just waiting for us to move in after the engagement. I went there alone. The space was huge, and empty. Every piece of furniture was something we had picked out together. I sat on the sofa for a long, long time. A week later, Eason called. His voice was thick with exhaustion. “Nina, we need to talk.” We met at the new house. He looked thinner, with dark circles under his eyes. “Nina, I’m sorry. I haven’t been fair to you lately,” he began. “Julia’s been really unstable. I’ve had to spend more time with her.” I waited for him to continue. “I know you’re upset. But Nina, we’ve been together for eight years. You know me better than anyone. I only feel responsibility and guilt for Julia. Nothing else.” “I know,” I said. He breathed a sigh of relief. “I knew you’d understand.” He moved to embrace me. I stepped away. “Eason, I came here today to tell you… I don’t want this house.” He froze. “What do you mean?” “It’s a military allocation, but the title is in your name until we’re married. I don’t want it anymore.” “Why? This is our home!” “Because I’m afraid that one day, when Miss Julia’s lightbulb burns out again, or her drain gets clogged, you’ll decide that she needs a home more than I do.” Eason’s face changed. “Nina, do you have to talk like that? Do you have to twist the knife?” “Am I not telling the truth?” “That was just a small favor!” “Was running out of our engagement party a small favor? Giving her half your salary, is that a small favor? Eason, you do a lot of ‘small favors.’” He was speechless. Finally, he took a deep breath. “Fine, Nina. If that’s what you think, then I’ll prove you wrong.” He looked me straight in the eye, his words sharp and deliberate. “In a few days, I’m moving Julia in here. She can have the guest room.” For a moment, my mind went completely blank. “What did you say?” “I said, I’m moving Julia in here!” he repeated, his voice rising as if trying to convince both me and himself. “I can’t trust her living alone! She’s always having some kind of crisis! If she’s under our roof, I can keep an eye on her, and you won’t have to worry! See? It solves everything!” I stared at him as if he were a complete stranger. “Eason, you’re insane!” “I’m not insane! I’m thinking clearly! I will not let Alex’s widow be abandoned!” Each word was heavy, deliberate. A profound weariness settled into my bones. “Fine,” I said. “Move her in.” Eason seemed stunned that I’d agreed so easily. I took my key from my purse and placed it on the coffee table. “Here’s your key back.” “From now on, this is the home you share with your squadmate’s widow.” “I hope you’ll be very happy together.” I stood up and walked out of the house that I had once filled with so many dreams. As the door clicked shut behind me, I thought I heard the sound of something shattering inside. My tears finally fell. Eight years. It was over. Just like that.

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1 The company announced massive layoffs. As a senior executive, my wife, Kathy, was given one protected slot to save someone. Everyone assumed she would give it to me. But when the final list was posted, my name was at the very top. Meanwhile, Kathy’s bumbling little assistant, the one who couldn’t file a report without a dozen errors, wasn’t just safe—he was promoted three levels, straight into my old position. Later, Kathy held me and tried to explain. “Asher comes from nothing, Stewart. His entire family is counting on this salary. He needs this job more than you do.” She smiled, as if she’d solved everything. “Besides, Asher already found you a new position, right here in this building. The pay isn’t quite as good, but we can still commute together. It’s not like we need your salary anyway, so there’s no pressure.” I let out a cold laugh. She thought she had it all figured out, but she had no idea. The job Asher had “arranged” for me was as a security guard in the lobby. My colleagues were furious on my behalf, urging me to file a complaint. But I only came to this company for Kathy in the first place. With the love gone, there was no point in fighting. … The moment my resume went live, my inbox exploded with messages from headhunters. “Oh my god, I’ve been waiting for you to become available for years. I thought you were ride-or-die for your wife and would never leave. Can’t believe my lucky day has finally come.” “I’m drawing up a contract right now. Name your price. Wait for me, you HAVE to wait for me.” “Is this a prank? The grand champion of the Global Robotics Competition is looking for a job? This isn’t some kind of elaborate scam, is it?” I chose a company on the opposite coast, as far from Bayview as I could get. Soon after, my new employer called. “Mr. Hayes, we’re thrilled to have you join us. We’ll be sending a private jet to pick you up in one week.” “Great. See you in a week.” “Where are you going in a week?” Kathy’s voice came from right behind me. “Nowhere special,” I said smoothly. “Just a trip with some friends. Finally have some time off.” She bought it, simply reminding me that the celebration dinner was about to start and I needed to get ready. When we arrived at the banquet hall, a massive banner was stretched across the entrance: “CONGRATULATIONS TO ASHER REID, GRAND CHAMPION ENGINEER OF THE GLOBAL ROBOTICS COMPETITION.” I turned to Kathy, bewildered. She nervously touched her nose. “Asher’s new to the role. He needed a major award to establish his credibility.” “You were leaving anyway,” she added, “so that title was useless to you. I was just putting it to good use.” I took a deep breath, fighting down the rage building in my chest. “Putting it to good use? Kathy, have you forgotten the last three years? How much of ourselves we poured into that robot?” “You said it was like our child. Is this how you treat our child? Just give it away?” Her face hardened with impatience. “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s a product. Asher needed it more, so I gave it to him. It’s that simple.” “Stewart, why do you have to be so cruel to a poor kid who’s had a hard life? I’ve explained this. I hired him, so of course I’m going to look out for him.” “Right,” I sneered. “A high school graduate landing a job at a Fortune 500 tech giant. Perfectly normal.” Kathy was about to retort when a soft, melodic voice interrupted. “Stewart? Kathy? Are you two fighting?” I turned. It was Asher, wearing the very designer suit jacket Kathy had bought me for my birthday this year. It was even a matching set with the dress she was wearing tonight. The moment she saw him, the tension melted from her face. “Why are you waiting out here? You should be inside,” she said, her voice softening to a caress. “I wanted to wait for you,” the boy said, his eyes sparkling as he gazed at her. A smile bloomed on her lips. I ignored them and started to walk into the hall. Asher’s voice, now laced with mock surprise, stopped me. “Stewart, why aren’t you in a suit for the celebration? We have major clients here tonight. It’s not a good look for the company.” My eyes shot to him, cold as ice. “You’re wearing my suit. What else am I supposed to wear?” Asher froze. He’d clearly expected me to swallow my pride for the sake of appearances. He never imagined I’d stopped caring. He quickly started shrugging off the jacket, his voice thick with tears. “I’m so sorry, Stewart. Back home, my brothers and I all had to share one set of nice clothes. I didn’t know you city people were so… particular. I’ve just never worn anything this beautiful before.” As he spoke, he looked at Kathy, his eyes welling up with perfectly crafted hurt. Kathy’s brow furrowed. She placed a hand on his arm to stop him. “Asher didn’t have anything to wear tonight, so I lent him your jacket. There’s no need to be like this.” She sighed and turned to take my hand. “Come on, don’t be angry. My husband looks handsome in anything. He doesn’t need a stuffy suit.” It was her classic move. A slap, followed by a sweet. Problem solved. I was about to speak when Asher’s choked voice cut in. “Kathy, I’m so sorry. I think I made Stewart angry. I really didn’t know he cared so much. I should just… I’ll buy him a new one to replace it.” Kathy immediately dropped my hand and ran a comforting hand through his hair. “Oh, stop it. You’re going to cry over something so small? Your brother isn’t that petty. Now get inside, this is your big night.” And just like that, as if I no longer existed, she took his arm and led him inside to find a table. As he followed, Asher shot me a look over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming with triumph. At the table, Kathy sat next to me, but her attention was glued to Asher. Every time a new dish was brought out, she’d have the waiter place it in front of him first, urging him to try it. If he liked it, he’d puff out his cheeks and shake his head in a display of pure bliss, and she would giggle, telling the kitchen to make him another portion. Later, on my way back from the restroom, I overheard someone ask her, “Director, aren’t you worried Stewart will just walk out after you put him on the layoff list? He seems pretty down tonight.” Kathy was ladling soup into Asher’s bowl, her voice casual. “Let me put it this way. Even if I slept with Asher tonight, Stewart wouldn’t leave me. You believe that, don’t you?” Asher’s face flushed crimson from his neck to his ears. Kathy pushed the soup toward him and continued with a soft laugh. “He’s just sulking. Give him a few days. He’ll get over it.” The group around her immediately praised her for having me so well-trained. When it came time for toasts, Kathy completely abandoned me, her actual husband. She took Asher from table to table, introducing him to major clients, drinking on his behalf toast after toast. She had a terrible stomach. The slightest bit of alcohol could leave her doubled over in pain for hours. Yet for Asher, she could do this. A bitter, familiar ache tightened in my chest. In the past, I would have rushed to her side, taking the glasses from her hand. Tonight, I didn’t move an inch. Halfway through the dinner, a young female employee approached Asher’s table, holding a beautifully wrapped box of chocolates and a handwritten letter. Her cheeks were flushed as she tremblingly offered them to him as a congratulatory gift. Kathy, who was normally the picture of calm professionalism, stood up and snatched the gifts from the girl’s hands. She threw them into a nearby trash can, her voice sharp with fury. “Instead of doing your job, you’re playing these little games? You don’t have enough work to do? Fine. I’ll tell your manager to give you more. For the next month, you’re not to leave before 11 PM.” No one had ever seen Kathy lose control like that. The entire hall fell silent. The young woman ran out, sobbing. Kathy had lost control for me once, a long time ago. We met as rivals. In high school, she was the undisputed queen, number one in our year for two years straight. Then I transferred in, and on my very first exam, I took her top spot. From that day on, I became her sworn enemy. Finally, after another exam, we tied for first place. She brandished her test paper at me. “Not bad. You can almost keep up.” I rolled my eyes. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Next time, it’s a one-man show.” We became each other’s only competition. “Stewart, what’d you get for the last question?” “Like I’d tell you.” “Jerk.” … “Kathy, how did you translate that sentence in the English essay?” “Call me ‘big sister’ and I’ll think about it.” “Get lost.” … “Stewart, are you applying to Stanford or MIT?” “What about you?” “MIT.” “Then I’m going to MIT too.” In college, we both majored in artificial intelligence. We were inseparable, still bickering every single day. Until one day, a senior confessed her feelings for me. When Kathy heard the news, she came running, still in her pajamas, one slipper missing. She stormed up to us, snatched the love letter from the girl’s hand, and threw it on the ground. Her eyes were red as she turned to me. “Stewart Hayes, will you be my boyfriend?” From that day on, we were the power couple, a perfect match. But now, all these years later, seeing her lose control like that again—but for another boy—it was like all the fight, all the energy, had been siphoned out of me. The whole thing just felt so… pointless. I stood up and walked out of the banquet hall. Kathy followed me. “Why are you angry again?” “Am I? Why would I be angry?” “It’s because I helped Asher, isn’t it?” she said. “He’s too soft. He doesn’t know how to turn girls down. I was just helping him out. You don’t have to be so petty.” “Were you helping him, or helping yourself? You know the truth. If your conscience was clear, you wouldn’t have chased me out here to explain.” I stared at her. “Kathy, even you can’t say you have no feelings for Asher without feeling like a liar.” She opened her mouth to argue, but Asher rushed out, bowing repeatedly in a frantic apology. “Stewart, this is all my fault! Please don’t fight with Kathy because of me!” “Someone like me shouldn’t have come to a place like this. Here’s your jacket. I’m leaving.” He tore off the jacket, shoved it into my hands, and then wrapped his arms around himself, his body trembling as he turned to leave. His thin shirt clung to his frail frame, making him look utterly pitiful in the cold night wind. Kathy immediately ran to his side, taking off her own coat and draping it over his shoulders. She looked back at me. “Asher lives far out. I’m going to drive him home. I’ll be back to pick you up.” She had stood me up for Asher more times than I could count. I had no expectations left. I took a cab home myself. At three in the morning, her call finally came. “Stewart? Are you still at the hotel? I’m so sorry, I had too much to drink, I forgot to…” “Kathy? Who are you calling?” Asher’s sleepy voice mumbled from the other end. “You’re restless even in your sleep. Stop it and go back to bed.” The line went dead. I laughed, a hollow, bitter sound, and hung up, refusing to let my mind wander. The next day, I went to the office to finalize my resignation. I was in Kathy’s office, waiting for her final signature, when Asher burst in. He was a complete mess, and he fell to his knees in front of me. “Stewart, if you think I stole your job, you can have it back! Just please, please tell everyone to stop isolating me!” “I was bullied my whole life,” he sobbed. “I can’t take it anymore.” He cried so pathetically. If it weren’t for the fact that there wasn’t a single bruise or scratch on him—only a strategically ripped, soaking wet shirt that clung to his abs—I might have actually believed him. But as ridiculous as the lie was, Kathy bought it. “Stewart. Apologize,” she said, her face cold. “I didn’t do anything. Why should I apologize?” Asher flinched as if I’d struck him and scurried behind Kathy. “If you didn’t do anything,” he whimpered, “then why was I disqualified from the International Robotics Competition?” “Everyone knows how you got first place anyway. It’s because you know the judges.” “But just because you have connections, does that give you the right to destroy the only chance a poor kid like me has to make it?” Kathy’s brow tightened. She turned on me. “Did you have Asher’s qualification revoked?” We had been married for over a decade, and this is what she thought of me. I met her gaze, my own eyes like chips of ice. “Before the competition, you altered the program code without authorization, causing our company’s robot to malfunction and grope a judge on stage.” “The judge gave you a low score, so you threw a tantrum in the middle of the arena, disrupting the entire event. If I hadn’t had security drag you away and then salvaged our score in the later rounds, would our company have won first place at all? For someone who so blatantly disregards the rules, being disqualified is the bare minimum.” Asher was speechless. He could only bite his lip and twist the hem of his shirt, resorting to his usual tactic. “Stewart, not everyone is as sharp and brave as you,” he choked out. “I’m just a boy from the mountains. I’m not good with words, I’ve never been to a competition that big, and I don’t know how to talk to those important people. But I do know that everyone is equal. Even if you have privilege and can take shortcuts, you can’t just block my path.” “I know you look down on me, but you can’t keep using my weaknesses to mock and humiliate me!” Kathy was furious. She signed the resignation form and threw it on the floor. Her voice rose. “Get out. Our company has no need for someone who wins through dirty tricks and maliciously suppresses new talent.” I thought I no longer cared. But hearing those words from her was like a physical blow, a heavy weight slamming into my chest. A dull ache spread through my veins, making it hard to breathe. The same woman who used to stay up all night with me, developing our projects, looking at me with awe and calling me the next star of the AI world, was now accusing me of cheating. I didn’t bother arguing. I picked up the papers from the floor, turned, and slammed the door behind me. That night, I met up with a good friend for a farewell drink. As I was looking for our private room, I heard a familiar voice. “Mom, Dad, I promise I’ll take good care of Asher.” I followed the sound and saw Kathy, locked in a deep kiss with Asher. She was dressed elegantly, clearly making a good impression on her future in-laws. So this was a family dinner for them to meet. It wasn’t that I hadn’t imagined this moment. But seeing it happen for real… it didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. Our eyes met. Kathy’s hand trembled, and the glass of wine she was raising for a toast slipped, spilling all over the floor. Seeing her so flustered, Asher’s relatives grew even more skeptical. “Does Asher really work at a Fortune 500 company? I just don’t believe it.” “Are their standards really that low now? A high school graduate can just walk in?” Asher’s face was beet red, but no matter how he tried to explain, they wouldn’t listen. I had no desire to get involved. I turned to leave, but Kathy called out to me. “Stewart, come over here. As the junior assistant who was fired to make way for Asher, you can help verify his position.” I stared at her in disbelief. It wasn’t enough that she broke company rules to fire me; now she wanted to humiliate me like this? Meeting my gaze, a flicker of guilt crossed her face. She leaned in close, whispering in my ear. “Asher’s parents are pressuring him to get married. I’m just helping him put on a show. Please, just play along.” “If you do this, I promise… we can have a baby this year.” Her words froze me to the spot. My own parents had begged us for a grandchild for years. No matter how much they pleaded, she had always been adamant about being child-free. I wanted kids, but I respected her choice. I thought it was an ironclad rule for her. But for Asher, that rule could be so easily broken. It was then I understood. Rules only apply to the people you don’t love enough. Realizing this, I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Kathy, do you dare tell them what our relationship really is?” “Do you dare tell them that Asher is nothing but a gigolo who sleeps his way to the top?” Before I could finish, her palm cracked across my face. She had never, ever shamed me like this in public. A defiant rage surged through me. I had to tell them the truth. “Asher is nothing but a little home—” SLAP. Another one. After three or four hard slaps, my mouth was swollen and numb. I couldn’t form words anymore. Blood filled my mouth, trickling from the corner of my lips. Kathy finally seemed to register the horrific state of my face and started to step toward me. But a single, heartbroken sob from Asher made her turn back to him. She began desperately explaining things to his family, completely oblivious to me by her side, gasping for air as a full-blown asthma attack took hold. It had been years since my last attack. The accumulated stress, exhaustion, and now the force of her blows had triggered it again. It felt like a band was tightening around my lungs, squeezing the air out. I desperately tried to breathe, but it was useless. Cold sweat soaked through my shirt. The sounds of the argument around me faded into a dull roar. I tried to reach for Kathy, to get her to take me to a hospital, but she didn’t even see me. In the end, it was my friend who found me, passed out in the hallway, after I’d been gone for too long. When I woke up in the hospital, Kathy was clutching my hand, her eyes filled with guilt. “Stewart, why didn’t you call for help? If something had happened to you, what would I do?” I looked at her, my voice cold. “You were the first person I tried to get help from. But you were too busy saving Asher to even notice me.” Kathy froze, the memory of the scene flooding back. Guilt washed over her face. “I’m sorry. I was careless. It’s my fault.” “If you had seen me,” I asked, “would you really have left Asher in his predicament to save me?” She hesitated for a fraction of a second before forcing a smile. “Of course.” I gave a bitter laugh. That single moment of hesitation was the real answer. Years ago, when my asthma was at its worst, she would panic at the slightest wheeze, forcing me to get full check-ups. She carried an inhaler for me, and I carried one. One for me, and one for backup. But now, whether or not to even save my life was a question she had to pause and consider. Her choice couldn’t have been clearer. Just then, her phone rang. Asher’s tearful voice came through the speaker. “Kathy… Kathy, my parents found out the truth. They’re forcing me to quit my job and go back home. What do I do?” Kathy shot to her feet, a panic in her eyes I had never seen before. She took a step toward the door, then her gaze fell on me, and she actually hesitated. I smiled. “Go ahead.” “But you…” “Didn’t you hire a nurse for me?” Hearing that, an unmistakable look of relief and joy spread across her face. She leaned down, pressed a firm kiss on my forehead, and smiled. “I’ll be back soon.” I watched her leave, wanting to say something more, but in the end, the words wouldn’t come. The easy conversations, the unbreakable intimacy we once shared… all that was left was silence. The next day, I went home to get the divorce papers we had signed years ago out of the safe. But when I opened it, they were gone. At the same time, I received a call from the new company. “Hello, Mr. Hayes. We just need to verify a few details on your file.” “Your employment form lists your marital status as ‘married,’ but our background check shows that you were recently divorced.” The voice on the other end was polite and clear.

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The toasts were underway at the reception when my husband, Reg, and I made our way to the head table, champagne flutes in hand. His parents smiled, sharing heartfelt words that warmed me to my core. A soft, happy murmur rippled through the guests. But when it was my mother’s turn, she set her glass down. Her eyes swept across our friends and family, and she sighed dramatically. “It’s a shame, really. If only this were Aria’s wedding today.” A sudden, sharp silence fell over the table. My father nudged her, a flicker of panic in his eyes. She seemed to snap back to reality, her gaze finally landing on me. “Oh, Claire is wonderful too, of course. Just a bit… dull. Always has been.” In that moment, every eye in the room was on me. All I could do was stand there, champagne flute held aloft, and force a smile that felt more painful than tears. 1 “That dress just doesn’t work.” Standing before the full-length mirror, I felt my mother’s critical gaze rake over me. The makeup artist, who was busy arranging the train of my gown, froze for a beat. She recovered quickly, trying to smooth things over. “It might just be her makeup, ma’am. We did it this morning to match her ceremony gown. Once I touch it up for the reception, the whole look will come together beautifully.” “No, that’s not it,” my mother said, shaking her head with an air of absolute authority. “I mean the dress looks bad on her.” She circled me like a predator, her hands gesturing wildly. “She’s too tall for a mermaid cut. It doesn’t flatter her at all.” Her voice grew brighter. “Now Aria, she has the perfect figure for it. A dress like this would look stunning on her.” The makeup artist had no idea who ‘Aria’ was. She shot me a confused, sympathetic glance, clearly baffled as to why a mother would tear down her own daughter on her wedding day. My fingers tightened on the delicate fabric of my skirt. Honestly, I didn’t understand it either. Why? Why on the most important day of my life, did she still have to tear me down just to build my sister up? I opened my mouth to protest, to beg her to stop, but then I remembered the room full of guests just outside, and my mother’s temper—a powder keg waiting for a spark. I swallowed the words and the bitterness that came with them. On a day this beautiful, the last thing I wanted was for Reg’s family and our friends, who had traveled so far, to witness a screaming match between my mother and me. Thankfully, after a few more minutes of pointed glaring, she grew bored and swept out of the dressing room. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The makeup artist did the same. “Claire,” she said softly, her voice full of warmth. “You look absolutely breathtaking in this dress. Our photographer was just telling me you’re a natural. He said every shot is perfect, you don’t even need to pose.” “Thank you,” I murmured, managing a small, real smile. I knew she was just trying to make me feel better, and I was grateful for it. The small incident was soon forgotten as the pivotal moment of the ceremony arrived. On the stage, under the warm lights, Reg and I faced each other to exchange our rings. A cheer went up from our guests as the cool metal slid onto my finger, a perfect, gleaming circle meant to seal our happiness. Just then, my mother stepped forward, her voice cutting through the joyful noise. “You know, you’re a rather ugly crier.” She didn’t stop there. “Not like your sister. Aria was always the pretty one, and today is no exception.” 2 A single tear escaped and traced a hot path down my cheek. I stood frozen, staring at my mother in disbelief. Reg was stunned, but he recovered in an instant. He grabbed my hand, raised it high, and shouted to the crowd, his voice ringing with love, “I love you, my wife!” The opening chords of our song swelled through the speakers, bathing the entire venue in a wave of romance that pushed back against the ugliness. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother shoot me a glare before sticking her tongue out, a childish, mocking gesture. I took a deep, shaky breath, fighting to shove the hurt down. I pulled my lips into the biggest, brightest smile I could manage. Nothing was going to ruin this day. I repeated it to myself like a mantra. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it after the wedding. But I underestimated her. My mother wasn’t going to let me have even one perfect day. During the part of the reception for the parents’ speeches, Reg’s parents spoke with such sincerity that the room erupted in heartfelt applause. When it was my father’s turn, he’d barely managed two sentences before my mother snatched the microphone from his hand. She beamed at the audience. “Thank you all so much for coming today to celebrate my daughter’s wedding.” I felt a sliver of relief. She was being… normal. But after a few brief pleasantries, her tone shifted. She pivoted, making my younger sister the star of my wedding. “For those of you who don’t know, Aria is my youngest daughter. Claire’s little sister.” She puffed out her chest, her face glowing with pride. “And she just opened a wonderful art gallery, right near this very hotel! It’s filled with the most incredible pieces, something for every taste. You should all stop by and have a look.” Reg and I exchanged a nervous glance. I could see the same alarm in his eyes that I felt in my own chest. I quickly moved toward the stage, intending to take back the microphone. But as I got close, my mother shot out her hand and shoved me, hard. I stumbled back, nearly falling. “What do you think you’re doing, grabbing the mic like that? Have you no manners? I’m not finished!” My father waved me away, gesturing for me to just let her speak. Across the room, I could see Reg’s parents’ smiles had tightened, their faces hardening. Trapped, and desperate to maintain some semblance of order, I retreated, forced to listen. “Aria has always been such a lively, considerate child,” my mother gushed on. “She opened her gallery so close to home specifically to take care of her father and me. That girl’s heart is pure gold.” She rambled on, sharing one cutesy story after another from Aria’s childhood. The guests sat in polite, stony silence, but she didn’t seem to notice, giggling to herself as she continued her one-woman show. Finally, the wedding planner, her brow furrowed in frustration, approached the stage. “Ma’am,” she whispered, “this is Claire’s wedding. Perhaps you could say a few words about Claire?” My mother looked put out, but she reluctantly changed the subject. “Her? Oh, she was always so boring. Such a gloomy, withdrawn child. Honestly, if she hadn’t gotten into a good college, I doubt anyone would have ever paid her any mind.” The words landed, and the entire room fell dead silent. 3 Every single guest turned to look at me. In that instant, the dam of my composure broke. A tidal wave of humiliation and fury surged through me, so powerful I thought I might actually explode. Reg’s hand found mine, his fingers gently tapping against my palm. “I’ll talk to her,” he whispered. “Don’t worry.” I nodded, blinking back a fresh flood of tears. Reg signaled to the planner, who retrieved the microphone. He leaned in and spoke quietly into my mother’s ear. She pouted, seeming to finally grasp that her behavior was wildly inappropriate, and fell silent. The rest of the wedding passed in a blur, the planner expertly guiding us through the remaining schedule. After making the rounds and toasting with our guests, I was physically and emotionally drained. I hadn’t eaten a bite. I told Reg I needed to slip away to the dressing room for a moment. He offered to come with me, but many of his friends had flown in from across the country to celebrate with us. I didn’t want to drag him away from them. I insisted he stay. As I reached the dressing room door, I heard familiar voices from inside. I paused, my hand hovering over the doorknob. “Mom, this is Claire’s bridal jewelry set. I really shouldn’t…” “Oh, don’t be silly. What’s hers is yours. This bracelet was made for you. And look at this necklace! It’s perfect for you, with your elegant swan neck.” A pause. “Your sister’s neck is so thick and short. It would just look clumsy on her.” My whole body started to shake. I threw the door open. The scene that greeted me was my mother, a wide smile on her face, fastening my diamond necklace around my sister’s neck. My brand new wedding jewelry. “Claire!” Aria jumped, startled. Her smile vanished, replaced by a flush of guilt. “I—I just thought your necklace was pretty, so I was looking at it. Don’t get the wrong idea!” “What wrong idea could there be?” my mother snapped, physically stopping Aria from unclasping the necklace. Her voice dripped with disdain. “Getting married is one thing, but this whole five-piece jewelry set is just wasteful. A wedding band is plenty.” Her eyes narrowed. “This extra necklace and bracelet suit your sister perfectly. I think she should have them. They look much better on her anyway.” Without waiting for a response, she grabbed the velvet jewelry box and started shoving the remaining pieces into Aria’s handbag. The rage that had been simmering inside me finally boiled over. Words tumbled out of my mouth, fast and sharp. “Mom! In your world, is there a single good thing that doesn’t belong exclusively to Aria?” “You don’t care who anything belongs to, do you? My wedding dress, my bridal jewelry, even a stupid tube of lipstick I own—you’d rip it all away from me just to hand it to her, wouldn’t you?!” My outburst stunned them both into silence. But my mother recovered quickly. Her brows drew together, her eyes locking onto mine with pure venom. “Aria is your sister! Shouldn’t she be able to use your things?” she shrieked, advancing on me. Her voice echoed in the small room, a hysterical, wounded cry. “Do you have to be so selfish?” 4 Selfish? My nails dug so deep into my palms I was sure I’d drawn blood. If I was angry before, now I was drowning in a sea of utter despair. For as long as I can remember, the word ‘selfish’ has been my shadow. When we were kids, if Aria cried because she lost a toy to another child, and I couldn’t console her, my mother called me selfish for not protecting her. When I tried to teach her to write, and she threw a tantrum because she wanted to play outside, I was selfish for not controlling her. In middle school, I was always one of the top students. My good grades made Aria moody and sullen. It was her jealousy, plain and simple, but my mother still called me selfish for not considering my sister’s feelings, for stressing her out. Later, when Reg and I started dating, we were all having dinner. I cooked, but I forgot to make Aria’s favorite garlic shrimp. She pouted and refused to eat a single bite, no matter how my father coaxed her. And again, my mother accused me of being selfish, this time for neglecting my sister’s health. Year after year, I’ve been buried under the weight of these baseless accusations. It’s not that I never fought back. But every attempt to defend myself was dismissed as an excuse, a lie. No matter who was at fault, my mother always, always took Aria’s side. She saw the world only through Aria’s eyes. It was as if Aria was her real daughter, and I was just some stray she’d been forced to take in. Her voice was shrill now, her face contorted with rage as she pointed a trembling finger at me. “You’ve been this way since you were a child! Cold, secretive, hoarding every little thing for yourself. You never share. I should have known you’d never change. You’re just a bitter, selfish…”

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The new intern, Vivian, was an expert at milking the company for all it was worth. Every day, she’d serve our department colleagues meager, 100-gram portions of food while she packed up 200 of the company’s free boxed lunches to sell to the construction crew next door. When I tried to stop her, she turned the entire office against me. “Seriously, lady? I can’t believe there are people who still sympathize with the capitalists. They exploit you, and you get off on it. You’re a total corporate bootlicker, a real slave to the system!” My own boyfriend scolded me. “Vivian’s family is struggling. She’s selling the lunches to help them out. It’s for a good cause. Why do you have to be so selfish?” My colleagues complained. “You’re so petty, Phoebe. At least when Vivian sells the lunches, it helps us lose weight. All you do is order us high-calorie afternoon snacks.” They were united against me, as if I were the villain. I was so furious I washed my hands of the whole affair. Later, at the negotiation table for a billion-dollar contract, they were so famished they started dropping like flies, one by one, right onto the conference table. 1 Something strange had been happening at the office lately. The cafeteria food was vanishing at an alarming rate. By the time I ever got there, all that was left were scraps you wouldn’t even feed to a chicken. When I asked the kitchen staff, they just stammered. “Well, Phoebe… it’s a long story…” I’d been on a business trip for two weeks. Had everyone turned into a ravenous wolf pack in my absence? As I stood there puzzled, a young woman burst into the kitchen. “Hey, Mark! You got the lunches saved for me? Let’s get them over to the site, the guys are waiting!” The construction site? I peeked behind the counter and my jaw dropped. The same head chef who’d just told me they were out of food had two hundred boxed lunches stacked neatly in the back. Each one, meant to be a free employee perk, was now being sold for twenty-five dollars a pop. So this is where all the food was going. The company provided free meals for employees, but this was on another level. They were brazenly reselling company property. I frowned, my eyes landing on the woman’s ID badge. [Marketing Intern: Vivian Shaw.] She was an intern in my own department. How did someone so shamelessly opportunistic ever get past my discerning boyfriend, Matt, who did the hiring? Watching Vivian grab a stack of boxes as if she owned the place, I stepped forward and blocked her path. “Hold on. Did no one tell you that reselling company meals is against policy?” Caught off guard, Vivian’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Against policy? I’m an employee. This is my employee meal. What’s wrong with that?” “There’s nothing wrong with an employee taking their meal. But you’ve taken far more than your share.” At that, Vivian scoffed as if I’d told the world’s worst joke. She looked me up and down with contempt. “Oh my god, lady, are you for real? I can’t believe there are people who still suck up to the corporate overlords. They exploit you, and you love it. A true corporate slave.” “And sorry, but even if you are my boss, I have to be blunt. We, Gen Z, are here to fix the workplace, not kiss corporate ass!” Her logic was completely twisted. I was stating a simple fact, and she’d slapped me with the label of a bootlicker. “Fixing the workplace doesn’t mean screwing over your colleagues,” I said, my voice firm. Our department was in the final stages of a massive project. We were all working overtime, burning the midnight oil. A tiny 100-gram serving of food wasn’t nearly enough to sustain an adult through that kind of workload. “You’re right about that,” Vivian said, rolling her eyes dramatically. “But the whole company knows I’m selling the lunches. They all agreed to it. You don’t have the authority to speak for everyone, do you?” The whole company agreed? I was stunned. Had my team lost their minds from overwork? Vivian’s smirk widened. “Everyone’s on my new diet plan. I suggest you cut back a little, too. I mean, once a woman hits thirty, it’s all downhill. And if you’re old and fat… well, no one’s going to want you, right?” As it happened, I had just celebrated my thirtieth birthday. The jab was clearly intentional. I, for one, preferred my healthy, curvy figure to the skeletal look she was promoting. Our eyes met. She stuck her tongue out playfully. “Sorry, Phoebe. I just graduated, so I’m a little blunt. Please don’t take it personally.” She had an answer for everything. Arguing with her was like punching a cloud. “The company has no obligation to let you profit off its resources,” I said, my patience wearing thin. “Vivian, either you stop this immediately, or I’m reporting you to upper management.” “You—!” Seeing that her free lunch train was about to be derailed, Vivian’s face crumpled. She covered her face with her hands and ran out, sobbing. That afternoon, the entire office was in an uproar. The first person to knock on my door was my boyfriend, Matt. Before I could even smile, he launched into a tirade. “Phoebe! Vivian’s family is poor! She’s selling those lunches to help them out and do some charity on the side. How could you be so selfish as to try and get her fired?” Fired? When had I said anything about firing her? I was baffled. All I’d done was give her a verbal warning. Even stranger was Matt’s reaction. He had never been this impulsive or hot-headed. I explained what had happened and pointed out that Vivian’s diet plan was dangerously unhealthy. Matt just laughed. “We’ve all been eating just fine for the two weeks you were gone. It’s just a few lunches. It’s not like you own the company. Why are you so worked up about it?” He lowered his voice, but I still heard his next words clearly. “I guess Vivian was right. The higher you climb, the more you turn into a good little corporate dog…” Ever since I’d been chosen over him for that business trip to the States two weeks ago, Matt’s words had been laced with a subtle venom. But I had earned that trip. In the workplace, we weren’t a couple; we were competitors. We had a huge fight, right there in my office. I’d never heard someone defend such blatant freeloading as a noble act. Vivian, doing charity? How was selling free food for a profit charity? Later, in the breakroom, I ran into some colleagues. I couldn’t help but vent. “I’m not just fighting for my own meal, you know. This isn’t healthy for any of you. Forget work, you’re going to ruin your health!” They just exchanged awkward glances. Then, one of them spoke up, her tone dripping with passive aggression. “Honestly, Phoebe, you’re being a little petty. Vivian’s diet plan is helping us lose weight. All you do is order us afternoon snacks.” What? I couldn’t believe my ears. To help them through the high-stress project, I’d been regularly treating the department to high-end afternoon tea, paying for it out of my own pocket. I’d thought it was a nice gesture. I never imagined it would be used as a weapon against me. “It’s always Starbucks or some fancy pastry. My face has gotten so puffy. Are you trying to make sure I end up single like you?” “Yeah, you make thirty grand a month, so you can afford to buy us expensive snacks. Vivian only makes three thousand, but she bought us all thirty-dollar whole-wheat bread.” “Seriously, Phoebe, you’re the one being unreasonable. We’re all worried about gaining weight from stress-eating at our desks. Vivian is actually looking out for our health. You just want to sabotage us with cake…” The complaints started pouring in from all sides. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Every single time I ordered snacks, I asked for their preferences and dietary restrictions. They never had a problem then. They always ate with gusto. And now, they were turning it all back on me. Fine. No good deed goes unpunished. I never ate in the cafeteria anyway. If they wanted to live on a hundred grams of rice a day, they could knock themselves out. Vivian, emboldened by her success, declared she was on a mission to “disrupt the workplace” and “beat the capitalists at their own game.” Soon, every free perk the company offered was under attack. “I propose we clear out the breakroom snacks!” she announced one day, her voice ringing with righteous indignation. “They say it’s a free perk, but we all know they just deduct it from our salaries! We Gen Z will not be corporate pawns!” She was young and charismatic, and in just a few weeks, she had become the office darling. The other employees hung on her every word. So, under the guise of “sustainability,” she started taking home entire boxes of office supplies. When the company provided a watermelon for afternoon tea, others would take a slice; she’d take the entire platter. The freezer, once stocked with ice cream and cakes, was now perpetually empty. “These are all high-sugar foods that are bad for you!” she’d proclaim. “It’s a capitalist trap to make you sick so you have to spend your hard-earned money at the hospital. I’m just getting rid of them for your own good.” The nerve of this woman. She made freeloading sound like a public service. “And by ‘getting rid of them,’ you mean selling them to the construction crew next door?” I interjected, cutting through her charade. A flicker of embarrassment crossed her face, but she recovered quickly. “I’m just putting resources where they’re needed most, Phoebe. Giving them away for free would just create other problems.” “The workers need them, so I sell to them. I’m completely transparent about earning money, and I always use it to buy little gifts for my colleagues. I may be poor, but I have my pride. You don’t need to be so sarcastic. My conscience is clear!” At this, my colleagues’ eyes welled up with tears. “Thank you so much, Vivian! You’re saving us from ourselves! We’ll finally lose this awful desk-job weight!” “Vivian’s the only one who actually cares about us. The company just sees us as workhorses, but she’s looking out for our health.” “Phoebe, have you forgotten what it’s like to be one of us now that you’ve been promoted? The managers aren’t even here. You don’t have to suck up so hard.” She had twisted everything. I was so angry I just turned and walked away. She even started a side hustle using the office’s free printer, and soon our workspace was littered with tacky, colorful flyers that made my skin crawl. When I confronted her, she was defiant. “The rich get richer while the poor starve. It costs three dollars a page to print outside. I only charge one. Think of what they can do with those extra two dollars!” she preached. “You might not care about two dollars, but you’re so worried about the corporation’s bottom line. Honestly, Phoebe, I really look down on people like you.” She was using her “disruptor” persona to shamelessly exploit company resources for personal gain. I decided to stop engaging. There was no point in arguing with someone so delusional. I would just wait for her to self-destruct. The company’s headquarters sent a team for a quarterly review every three months. The next one was in a week. Her little empire would come crashing down then. But I underestimated her audacity. She had apparently decided that any item left in the office for more than three days was trash. My brand-new designer handbag went missing. I searched everywhere, only to find it listed on Vivian’s Poshmark account. Status: Sold. “Vivian,” I said, my voice shaking with rage, “why is my handbag on your resale site?” She just gave me a sly smile. “Oh, Phoebe, you don’t have to thank me for helping you declutter.” “I got a whole $500 for that fake bag, you know. I used the money to buy gifts for the office. Yours is on your desk.” Five hundred dollars? My vision went black. It was a new-season bag from a luxury brand. It was worth five thousand. “How dare you sell my things without asking? That’s stealing!” Vivian just shrugged. “Don’t be so dramatic, Phoebe. The office has a rule: anything left on the floor for more than three days is considered trash. You should be thanking me, not accusing me.” What office rule? I’d worked here for three years and never heard of such a thing. It was just another one of her self-serving fabrications. Five thousand dollars was enough to file a police report. I was done arguing. I pulled out my phone to call the police. Vivian burst into tears. “It was just a fake bag! Is it really that big of a deal? It’s not like I can’t pay you back the five hundred. I may be poor, but I have my pride. I guess I just won’t eat for the next week!” Her outburst immediately rallied the troops. “Vivian was just trying to be helpful! It was a fake bag, just let it go. Why are you bullying her like this, Phoebe?” “Wow, some people have no shame. You accepted her expensive gift and now you’re still shaking her down for money.” Gift? I suddenly remembered the new skincare set that had appeared on my desk yesterday. I used that brand and had noticed a subtle difference in the logo. Suspecting it was a knockoff, I’d set it aside. I never imagined that was the gift she was talking about. “Taking something without asking is stealing. You can have the fake skincare back. My bag was worth five thousand dollars, and I want it back. Today.” I started to dial 911. The next thing I knew, my phone was smacked out of my hand and clattered to the floor. Matt’s voice was cold as ice. “Phoebe, have you made enough of a scene? Don’t push it.” “How much was the bag? I’ll pay you for it.” “Matt!” This wasn’t about the money. It was about basic human decency. I stared in disbelief at the man I had been with for six years. We were supposed to be getting engaged soon. But right now, all he cared about was comforting a crying Vivian. “It’s okay, Vivi. I’m here now,” he said, his voice softer than I’d heard it in years. I hadn’t seen him look at anyone with such tenderness in a long, long time. Vivian had been hired by Matt directly. They’d gone to the same university, and he was her senior. The office had been buzzing with rumors about them for weeks. I’d ignored them, but seeing them together now, a sour knot formed in my stomach. Company policy forbade office romances. My relationship with Matt had always been a secret. I never thought I’d have to stand by and watch my own boyfriend be so intimate with another woman. “Vivian is new to the corporate world,” Matt said, his brow furrowed in disapproval. “She’s sensitive and shy. How could you humiliate her in front of everyone?” “It was just a bag. When did you become so petty?” In his eyes, my defending my own property was an act of aggression. I fought back tears. “Fine. Your ‘sensitive’ Vivian is so wonderful. Why don’t you just spend the rest of your life with her?” “That’s not what I mean… She’s just my junior from school. Her family’s not well-off, so it’s only natural for me to look out for her.” Seeing my tears, Matt sighed and pulled me into a hug. “And you, Phoebe… you’ve been with me for six years. You’ve been by my side as I climbed to this position. You know I only love you…” He loved me. I knew he did. The brilliant, ambitious son of a well-to-do family, a top graduate, who, for me, was willing to agree to my family’s demanding terms for our marriage. His love had always felt certain. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my own spiraling emotions. But then, I noticed something. The small, worn elastic hair tie that he always wore on his wrist was gone. “Where’s the hair tie I gave you?” “Oh, I lost it during a client meeting. Phoebe, I hope you don’t mind…” As he spoke, he pulled a small, red agate bead bracelet from behind his back with a flourish. “Don’t be sad, baby. Just give me another one to wear. It breaks my heart to see you cry.” He was so smooth. My anger dissipated. I put on the bracelet and went back to my desk. But as I approached, I saw my colleagues gathered around Vivian, cooing over her. “Don’t cry, Vivian. Wow, that gold bracelet is gorgeous! It makes your skin look so pale and beautiful. Who’s the secret admirer?” Vivian blushed. “Don’t be silly. I don’t have any admirers.” “Oh, stop being modest! I saw you at the mall the other day. Matt picked it out for you himself! A two-thousand-dollar gold bracelet, just like that.” “Hehe, don’t worry, we won’t tell anyone. Just remember to invite us to the wedding!” They chattered excitedly. Vivian looked shyly toward Matt’s office. “Okay, okay… I was just in a bad mood that day, and Matt said gold looks pretty on a girl, so he bought it to cheer me up.” “Honestly, I told him it was too expensive, but he insisted. He said only gold was good enough for me…”

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The A-list actor Aaron Brown was going to be my son’s “Dad for a Day.” The entire internet was holding its breath for him. But when the live camera finally landed on my son, the chat exploded. 【Be honest, Aaron. Did you make a donation to a sperm bank a few years back?】 【OMG, what an adorable little marshmallow! He’s literally a miniature Aaron Brown.】 Thanks to his cute face and impossibly calm demeanor, my son and the movie star became the internet’s new favorite duo. I was in the middle of haggling with the production team over my son’s appearance fee when he suddenly toddled over to me—just another staff member in the crowd—wrapped his arms around my legs, and chirped in his sweet, milky voice: “Mama!” Across the room, Aaron Brown, the man I’d ghosted three years ago, looked like he’d been struck by lightning. 1 Backstage, the production team was scrambling. It was the first day of the reboot for the reality show Dad for a Day, and for the first time ever, it was being broadcast live. But the child star they had booked was a no-show, and the program was minutes away from a disastrous dead-air debut. After hearing the automated message, “The number you have dialed is currently unavailable,” for the hundredth time, the director slammed his script on the floor in a fit of rage. The impact was so forceful it sent the tower of building blocks my son, Finn, had just finished constructing, tumbling to the ground. The clatter of plastic drew everyone’s attention. Based on years of experience with child-centric reality shows, they all braced for the inevitable—a high-pitched, ear-splitting scream from a toddler in his sensitive phase for order, turning the already chaotic backstage into a living nightmare. But Finn just blinked his big, curious eyes, stunned for a single second. Then, he picked up the fallen script from the floor, wobbled over to the director, handed it back to him, and calmly returned to his blocks to start rebuilding his castle. No tears. No tantrums. Just pure, unadulterated chill. The director looked as if he’d found his savior. He dropped to his knees in front of me, where I was busy applying foundation to an actress. “Leah, I’m begging you! You have to help us out!” To reassure me, he promised, “The camera angles and the tasks will be super kid-friendly, I swear. No malicious editing, no online hate mobs. We’ll protect him.” That wasn’t what I was worried about. Finn’s emotional stability rivaled that of a capybara. Even if the producers had the guts to try and stir up drama, they wouldn’t be able to get a single negative clip of him. As for his looks, I was even less concerned. I occasionally posted photos of him online, and the comments were always a flood of excitement: 【OP, just ask me the question! You know the one!】 【YES! Your kid can absolutely be a child model!】 … What I was worried about was running into a certain someone who was also scheduled to be on this show. 2 I never thought Aaron Brown would accept an offer from our network. Traditional media had been on the decline for years, and Dad for a Day was the only show our station had that was still worth anything. But last year, the director had gotten a taste for controversy. The show became a cycle of malicious editing and deliberately casting difficult children to create viral clips of celebrities having meltdowns. The backlash was so severe that the show was temporarily canceled. Aaron had just won a prestigious acting award for his latest film. He was the hottest star in the industry. The production team had sent him an offer as a long shot, never dreaming he would actually say yes. After endless pleading from the director, I finally relented and agreed to let Finn be a backup guest. Besides, he could barely talk yet. Even if he did run into Aaron, it wouldn’t be a big deal. More importantly, the one running into him right now was me. I stood in Aaron Brown’s private dressing room, my head bowed, staring at the floor. I’d been roped in at the last minute to do his makeup. “Your assistant said you were bringing your own makeup artist, so the station didn’t assign anyone…” “Aren’t you someone?” Aaron’s deep, velvety voice washed over me from above. “Leah. Raines.” He read the name on my staff ID, a name that was both familiar and strange on his lips, and let out a cold, humorless laugh. A wave of guilt sent a tingling numbness across my face. “I… I don’t know how to do makeup for men.” It was a lie, of course. Aaron’s face was so perfectly sculpted that he could have gone on camera without a drop of makeup and still looked flawless. “Haha, Leah’s just being modest! She’s the best makeup artist at our station!” the director chimed in, pulling me aside. He lowered his voice. “I’ve already hyped you up. You know what to do.” He leaned in closer. “There’s only one Aaron Brown, but the station can hire a new makeup artist anytime. And there aren’t many places that will let you bring your kid to work, are there?” I had no choice but to bite the bullet. Aaron’s skin was pale, and it took me a while to find the right shade of foundation. Just as I was about to start, his assistant stopped me with a frown. “Is that a used makeup brush?” I was a staff makeup artist. Of course, my tools were shared. “Aaron is allergic to other people’s… residual skin cells. Didn’t you do your research?” “…” “They’ve all been sanitized,” I mumbled. “And his allergic reaction isn’t that severe. It’s usually just a little sensitive around his lips.” She reacted like a cat whose tail had just been stepped on. “Can you take responsibility for that statement? If something happens to Aaron’s face, do you know how many projects it will affect? Can a little makeup artist like you afford to pay for that?” The live broadcast was about to start; the director was already counting down the seconds. I glanced at my personal makeup bag next to my suitcase and sighed. “This is all I have on hand… unless you want me to use my personal kit.” “Then use yours.” I froze. Aaron glanced at me, his tone strictly professional. “There’s no other choice, is there?” The director, terrified of being held responsible, scurried over. “Leah rarely wears makeup, but she must have used her tools a few times, right? Isn’t there still a risk of an allergic reaction?” “It’s fine,” Aaron said, his voice casual. “I’ve built up a tolerance.” His words landed like a torpedo in the small backstage room. Every single pair of eyes swiveled to look at me. My heart hammered against my ribs, threatening to leap out of my throat. Terrified of being assassinated by his fans at the station, I stammered, “We… we’re not a thing…” The air hung thick and still for a second. Then, Aaron’s expression turned icy. “I meant, I took my allergy medication.” Someone in the room snickered. “Leah, who asked you? As if Aaron Brown would ever look twice at you!” 3 She was right. Why would Aaron Brown ever look twice at me? He was now the Aaron Brown, the award-winning actor whose live broadcast could attract over a million viewers in the first minute. The live chat was already overflowing with sympathy for him having to appear on this show. 【His garbage agency is really pimping him out for views. Making him go on this trashy show… I still have PTSD from that screaming kid last season.】 【Some of these kids just throw things when they don’t get their way. Aaron, honey, make sure you hide your favorite guitar somewhere safe!】 【Oh god, the doorbell’s about to ring and my child-hating instincts are already kicking in.】 The camera followed Aaron as he moved. He was so tall that he completely blocked the cameraman’s view, leaving only a corner of a butter-yellow suitcase visible in the shot. It was a matching parent-child set with the one I used for my makeup tools. Aaron seemed to pause, lost in thought for a moment, before shaking his head with a self-deprecating smile. He knelt down to talk to Finn. “Hey there, little guy.” His smile was warm and inviting, but this was Finn’s first time interacting with a stranger all by himself. He was a little scared. His little mouth puckered, and his eyes welled up with tears. The director, watching from the sidelines, started freaking out into his walkie-talkie. “You’ve got to be kidding me! Is this kid gonna work out? Crying the second he’s on camera is going to kill our viewership!” “If it gets bad, just keep the camera locked on Aaron’s face.” But the cameraman didn’t seem to hear him. After a close-up on Aaron, he panned the camera directly onto Finn’s tear-streaked face. The director was about to unleash a torrent of curses when he noticed the live chat’s tone had suddenly shifted. 【HOLY S***!!! Aaron, be honest, did you make a donation to a sperm bank a few years back?】 【OMG, what an adorable little marshmallow! He’s literally a miniature Aaron Brown.】 【Did he just make a little ‘maa’ sound? Was that for Mama? Baby, your auntie is right here!】 【This is the first time I’ve ever heard a baby cry without it being ear-splitting. I want one. Can someone just leave one on my doorstep?】 In the blink of an eye, the number of online viewers soared past ten million. The director started to panic. Worried about offending Aaron, he had planned a series of simple, easy tasks. It was fine for the fans, but he was afraid it wouldn’t be enough to keep casual viewers interested. “Should we… maybe increase the difficulty?” he mused. The moment he spoke, I raised my eyebrow razor and made a sharp, throat-slitting gesture. I was the station’s resident pushover, someone anyone could boss around. But when it came to my son, I would not yield an inch. Finn was still sniffling softly, and Aaron, who had zero experience with kids, was completely overwhelmed. He grabbed his guitar from the side, hoping to distract him. Even though Finn desperately wanted me, he sat attentively and listened to the entire song. He even provided ample emotional support, letting out happy little coos since he couldn’t speak. But the moment the song ended, it was as if his main quest objective reloaded. He started whimpering again. “Mama…” Thankfully, the popcorn I had prepared was finally passed to Aaron. The instant the sweet kernel touched his tongue, Finn’s eyes lit up. After finishing one piece, he immediately started scheming for more. He squeezed his eyes shut, and two perfect teardrops rolled down his cheeks. In front of the monitor, the entire crew melted into adoring smiles. Aaron couldn’t help but laugh. “Nope. Little guys can’t have too many sweets.” He placed the popcorn bowl in a high cabinet. Based on past experiences, everyone braced for a full-blown meltdown. But Finn simply wiped his tears with the back of his hand and sat quietly on the sofa like a perfect little doll. His soft, pale skin and slightly pink nose made him look like a delicate, translucent shrimp dumpling. The live chat went into a frenzy. 【This is officially the easiest parenting challenge in the show’s history. Can we get this kid a global tour?】 【As a professional babysitter, I can confirm this child is an angel. He doesn’t scream, and he doesn’t throw a fit when you take away his snacks.】 【Forget a smooth delivery, I want a smooth pickup. I’ll take this one!】 Aaron was completely smitten. He tried to ask for his name, but Finn didn’t know how to say his own name yet. All he could say was “Mama.” I was busy arguing with the director about the appearance fee, not noticing the door had been left slightly ajar. Finn spotted my pink sweater, toddled over, and hugged my leg, his voice sweet and clear. “Mama!” Three years ago, Aaron Brown, the man I’d ghosted, stared at me, his face a thundercloud. “How old is he?” 4 The word “one” was still caught in my throat when the director jumped in. “He’s two and a half, I think. I remember seeing it on the forms.” I suddenly remembered that when I was job hunting last year, I’d intentionally aged Finn up by a year so potential employers wouldn’t see me as a liability on maternity leave. But I really didn’t want to get entangled with Aaron again. I had to correct him. “He’s not two and a half. He’s one and a half.” The director scratched his head, completely oblivious. “Oh, is that right? My mistake then.” And just like that, the light that had just begun to dawn in Aaron’s eyes was extinguished, leaving behind the wreckage of a storm. “…” “You’re lying to me, aren’t you?” he asked later, during a commercial break. I tried to keep my distance, busying myself with tidying up and placing a large box between us. But he was tall and imposing, casting a long, dark shadow over me that made the cramped storage room feel even more claustrophobic. “Why would I lie to you?” I forced a casual smile. “I’m just stating a fact.” “Besides,” I added, “have you ever seen a two-and-a-half-year-old who can only say ‘mama’? If that were the case, I’d be the one crying my eyes out.” “But—” Aaron pulled out his phone and showed me the trending topics. The top three were all about him and Finn. “Then how do you explain this? The internet doesn’t lie! They’re all saying he’s my spitting image. How could he not be my son?” For a moment, I was tempted to pull out Finn’s birth certificate to prove it. But as my eyes moved away from the screen, I caught sight of his “suggested for you” search history. 【Is it normal for a two-and-a-half-year-old not to be able to talk?】 【Is it possible to be pregnant for a year and a half?】 【What are the chances of getting back together after a brutal breakup?】 What an idiot. But that was exactly what I’d fallen for—that unguarded, all-in passion. The problem was, the “me” he had fallen for wasn’t the real me. Back then, betrayed by both my boyfriend and my own family, I was afraid I was losing my mind. I dropped everything and escaped to a rustic ranch retreat in the countryside. I adopted a new name, a new personality, and surrounded myself with people who knew nothing about my past. The Leah I was there was sunny, confident, and radiant, capable of creating her own happiness. The real me was plain, insecure, and timid, constantly plagued by self-doubt. So, on the train ride back to the city, terrified that Aaron would eventually fall for someone else, I broke up with him over a text message. Though we had met again by a twist of fate, since he had forgotten, I had no intention of bringing it up. I curved my stiff lips into what I hoped was a relaxed smile. “My son doesn’t just look like you.” I casually let my phone screen light up, showing an incoming call from “Arthur Brown.” Aaron’s uncle. 5 Arthur Brown did not approve of me. But the moment he heard that the only heir of his late older brother wanted to get back together with me, he drove thirty miles straight to the TV station. The entire studio held its breath as he strode onto the set. It was almost jarring to see another face as handsome as Aaron’s. Years as a titan of industry had given Arthur a refined, aristocratic air that was uniquely his own. The online viewership numbers hit a new record. 【Did the show change formats? What other surprises are they hiding from us?】 【I don’t mind watching two handsome men raise a baby together. This is the kind of content we women need to get through the day!】 【So which one of them is the donor? The government wants us to have more kids, can we just get them to do a global donation tour?】 The director, who had been annoyed by the unexpected interruption, was now grinning so wide the wrinkles on his face could trap flies. “The ratings are secured!” His smile vanished a second later. Arthur’s assistant was ordering him to shut down the live stream. “On what grounds?” “On the grounds that eighty-five percent of your station’s advertising revenue for the past two years has come from the Brown Corporation.” The Brown Corporation’s sponsorship had started last year, right after I joined the station. Finn had been seriously ill, and I was desperate for money, but the struggling station was asking us to take a pay cut. At my lowest point, Arthur had suddenly appeared. He paid for all of Finn’s medical bills and then tried to give me hush money. I refused it. I never had any intention of telling Aaron about the child. But Arthur was cautious. He kept in touch, always finding some pretext to check in on me. “So the baby is yours, Uncle Arthur?” “When did you two get together? Are you married? How come I never knew?” Aaron fired off a volley of questions, grinding his teeth so hard I thought they might crack. “We’re not married. It was just a one-night stand.” I stirred my juice with a straw, wanting to end this entanglement as quickly as possible. The words slipped out, light and careless. Beside me, Arthur seemed to turn to stone. He was only five years older than Aaron and had been a strict, paternal figure to his nephew ever since his brother passed away. He was meticulous about his reputation, terrified of setting a bad example. In that single moment, the dignified, reserved image he had cultivated for years crumbled into dust. After a long pause, he finally picked up where I left off. “Heh, that’s right.” “Miss Raines and I will handle the child’s affairs together. Since you two have already broken up, it’s best you keep your distance.” “Keep my distance?” Aaron scoffed, his eyes filled with undisguised contempt. “Shouldn’t I be the one saying that to you, Uncle?” “Bringing a child into the world and then abandoning him, not even giving his mother a proper title…” He caught himself, quickly backtracking. “No, that’s not right. Anyway, since you two have no feelings for each other, I think it would be best if I raised the child. A proper moral upbringing is important, after all.” Arthur nudged me with his elbow. I thought he was annoyed at my reckless comment. Instead, he pulled out a diamond ring the size of a pigeon’s egg. “You’re right. Which is why I’ve been considering giving the child a complete family.” “Miss Raines, will you marry me?” Me: ? Aaron: !!!

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My father sent me to my husband’s company to test him. A surprise inspection, he’d called it. I thought it would be a formality. I wasn’t even five steps inside the office when I saw her: a woman dressed in a look of curated innocence, staring at an industrial shredder as if it were magic. “Wow, this thing is so cool,” she breathed, and then, without a second thought, she picked up a contract from a nearby desk and started to feed it in. A colleague next to her went pale. “Lexi, for God’s sake, stop!” he yelped, diving to snatch it back. “Weren’t you in Carter’s office playing video games? Why are you out here?” She just giggled. “Hehe, I got thirsty.” As if on cue, her hand, holding a full cup of water, jerked. The entire contents splashed directly onto the main power switch on the wall. The office went dark, followed by a collective cry of despair from every cubicle. I grabbed the arm of a young intern. “Who in the hell hired that woman?” He immediately put a finger to his lips. “Keep your voice down,” he whispered, his eyes wide with fear. “That’s our boss’s wife. Mr. Hayes’s wife. I heard this whole division is technically hers.” He gave me a weary look. “Are you new? You get used to it. She usually just stays in his office and doesn’t bother anyone.” A sharp, pulsing pain started in my temples. If she was Carter’s wife… then what was I? I pulled out my phone and dialed my father. “Dad,” I said, my voice cold and clear. “Cancel the evaluation. Just tell Carter to bring the divorce papers to the office.” 1 The official story was a routine divisional review. A surprise audit, my father had called it, telling me not to feel any pressure, to just consider it a chance to get familiar with the assets. The real story? He was sending me to test my husband. I figured it would be a simple in-and-out. A formality. I badged in with the credentials the front desk provided, the frosted glass doors to the main office floor hissing open before me. The first thing I saw was a woman. She was dressed in a white sundress that screamed calculated innocence, crouched in front of a heavy-duty office shredder, her expression one of childlike wonder. “Wow, this machine is so cool,” she murmured, her voice a breathy whisper. “Does it just… eat anything?” Before anyone could answer, she reached over to a nearby desk and picked up a thick, bound document. From my angle, I could clearly see the cover sheet, stamped in bold red letters: ACQUISITION AGREEMENT. Without a moment’s hesitation, she started feeding it into the machine’s hungry maw. A man in glasses nearby went white as a sheet. “Lexi, no!” He launched himself across the short distance between them, a desperate dive that was more of a controlled fall, snatching the contract from the shredder’s teeth just in time. He collided with her, but she barely seemed to notice. “My God, Lexi, what are you doing?” he gasped, his voice thin with terror. “I thought you were in Carter’s office playing on your Switch. This contract has to be signed this afternoon!” The woman—Lexi—didn’t seem the least bit offended by the collision. She just giggled, a light, airy sound, and held up an empty tumbler. “Got bored. And thirsty.” The man with the glasses clutched the rescued document to his chest like it was a newborn baby. He let out a shaky breath, forcing a pained smile onto his face. “Right. Thirsty,” he said, his voice dropping to a near-beg. “Please, can you just… go back to his office to get a drink? He has that filtered water cooler in there, remember?” She pouted. “The water in there tastes weird. I like the water out here better.” Ignoring the man’s look of pure, unadulterated despair, she skipped off toward the break room. I watched the whole insane spectacle, a sharp, pulsing pain starting in my right temple. I caught the sleeve of a young guy who looked like an intern, his ID badge still shiny and new. “Who is she?” I asked, keeping my voice low. The intern’s eyes flickered from me to the woman’s retreating back, a flicker of raw fear in them. He brought a finger to his lips in a universal sign to be quiet. “Keep it down, ma’am.” He leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. “That’s Lexi. She’s… she’s Mr. Hayes’s wife. Carter’s wife.” The floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet. In that single moment, all of Carter’s recent strangeness—the late nights he claimed were spent at the office, the way his phone was always face down on the nightstand, the vague, distant look in his eyes—it all clicked into place with a sickening finality. The intern, oblivious, kept whispering. “The rumor is, this whole division is technically hers, so she’s the real boss, you know? You must be new. You’ll get used to it.” He sighed, a sound of weary resignation that didn’t belong on someone so young. “She usually just stays in his office, watches Netflix or whatever. Doesn’t bother us. Carter must be out for that summit today, so there’s no one to babysit her. That’s when she… explores.” His words faded into a dull roar in my ears. She’s Carter’s wife. Then what in God’s name was I? “Ma’am? Are you okay?” the intern asked, his brow furrowed with concern. “You look really pale.” I forced a smile that felt like cracking glass. “Fine. Just… surprised.” I looked out at the open-plan office. “I’m just surprised a place like this would have someone like that on staff. It’s… an eye-opener.” The intern gave a bitter little shrug. “Like I said, you get used to it. As long as she doesn’t actually break anything, we just try to survive until she gets bored and goes back in his office.” I didn’t say anything else. Doesn’t actually break anything? If that contract had been shredded, a multi-million-dollar acquisition would have imploded. The fallout, the financial loss… who would have answered for that? I watched Lexi’s silhouette in the break room. She was humming to herself, her body swaying to a rhythm only she could hear. My hand went to my phone, my thumb hovering over my father’s contact. But then I stopped. Just leaving now would be letting Carter off too easy. My father sent me here to evaluate his performance. And from what I’d just seen, it wasn’t just his performance that was in question. It was his judgment. His character. His integrity. I needed to see just how deep the rot went. I smoothed down the front of my blazer and walked back to the reception desk. “Hi, my name is Audrey Sterling. I’m from the corporate headquarters, here for the divisional review.” My voice was calm, even. “I’ll need a temporary workstation, preferably somewhere quiet. And one more thing—this is an internal audit. I don’t want Mr. Hayes to be aware of my presence.” The receptionist nodded, her professional smile unwavering. I found a quiet desk in a far corner of the office, settling in behind the monitor. My eyes, however, were fixed on Lexi. She had emerged from the break room and was now staring intently at the fire alarm pull station on the wall, a dangerous curiosity gleaming in her eyes. 2 With Carter out for the day, Lexi’s boredom quickly reached its peak. She drifted out of the general manager’s office again, a ghost of chaos haunting the cubicles. She floated through the office, a walking, talking disruption. One moment she was poking at a designer’s freshly rendered graphic, leaving a smudge on the monitor. The next, she was leaning on a programmer’s keyboard, inserting a string of gibberish into a line of code. You could feel the collective tension rise wherever she went. People held their breath as she approached, only to exhale in a rush of relief and frantic damage control after she’d passed. Her tour eventually led her back to the break room kitchenette. She was apparently thirsty again. She picked up a disposable cup and held it under the water cooler spigot. I don’t know if her hand slipped or if it was intentional. But she jerked. A full cup of water flew sideways, arcing through the air in a perfect, shimmering wave. It crashed directly against the wall beside the cooler. Right where the main circuit breaker for the entire floor was housed. There was a loud, wet CRACKLE, a flash of angry blue sparks, and then… nothing. The overhead lights died. Every computer monitor went black. For a few seconds, there was absolute silence. Then, the silence was shattered by a tidal wave of anguish and despair. “MY CODE! I’ve been working on that script all morning! I hadn’t saved!” “The pitch deck! The client presentation is in two hours! It’s gone!” “The quarterly reports… they’re due at two… Oh my God, it’s all gone!” The head of IT, a perpetually stressed man named David, was the first one out of his office. He saw Lexi standing there, a look of pure, unblemished innocence on her face, and his own face turned a shade of mottled purple. His lips moved, but no sound came out. He clenched and unclenched his fists, a silent, internal battle against screaming. Lexi, of course, spoke first, her voice dripping with wronged fragility. “What happened? Is the power out?” She gestured at the smoking, blackened panel. “That switch must be really cheap. It shouldn’t break just from a little water, right? Why is our equipment so terrible?” The sheer audacity of it, the masterful way she shifted blame, was almost breathtaking. The office manager, a man named Paul, came scurrying over. He took one look at the smoldering breaker, one look at Lexi, and immediately pasted a sycophantic smile on his face. “Lexi, are you hurt? Did it scare you?” he asked, his voice oozing false concern. “Don’t you worry about a thing. It’s not your fault. It was probably just some old wiring. We’ll get it fixed right away. I’ll call maintenance, have them put in a new one, a waterproof one! You just go back to the office and relax. We’ll handle this.” Lexi pouted, clearly not entirely satisfied, but she turned and sauntered back toward Carter’s office without another word. As soon as she was gone, Paul wiped a sleeve across his sweating forehead and started barking orders at the IT department. As he passed my desk, I stopped him. “Excuse me,” I said quietly. “Does this kind of thing happen often?” He looked at me, recognized the visitor’s badge, and a look of profound bitterness crossed his face. He motioned for me to follow him into the fire-exit stairwell. The heavy door clicked shut behind us. “You’re from corporate, right? The auditor?” he asked, his voice low and conspiratorial. “Look, I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but after today…” He sighed, the sound echoing in the concrete well. “She’s Carter’s… well, you know. She’s his whole world. We can’t touch her.” “Carter’s out of town today, so the queen has the run of the castle,” he continued, his face a mask of helpless frustration. “When he’s here, at least he keeps her contained in his office…” He leaned against the railing. “Last month? She ‘accidentally’ spilled a Venti latte. A very large, very hot latte. Right on top of our primary server rack.” My stomach clenched. “The entire company’s data was corrupted. It took the IT guys a week of working around the clock just to restore it from backups. An entire week of productivity for the whole division, just… gone.” “And the consequences?” I asked. A humorless laugh escaped his lips. “The consequences? Carter said our IT department was negligent. That the servers were in an unsecured location. He docked the entire department’s quarterly bonus. Said it was an ‘object lesson’ in data security.” My heart, which had been sinking all morning, finally hit the floor. This was Carter’s management style. Let a walking disaster area run wild, and then punish the hardworking employees who had to clean up her mess. Bravo, Carter. Just bravo. Just then, the door to the GM’s office opened again, and Lexi poked her head out. “Ugh, it’s so boring in here! Is the power back on yet? My phone is about to die! Are there any good snacks in the break room?” No one answered. The only response was the deep, oppressive silence of a hundred people pushed beyond their breaking point. 3 Just as the engineering team finally restored power, my phone rang. It was my father. He needed a hard copy of the latest core data from the marketing department. It was for the main board meeting that afternoon, he said, and it was critical. He told me to handle it personally and ensure there were no mistakes. I got the data on a flash drive from the head of marketing and went to the copy room. I had just finished printing the last page, compiling the thick stack of paper and clamping it neatly in a binder clip, when the door swung open. It was Lexi, holding a large bubble tea. Her eyes immediately landed on the heavy-duty stapler on the counter beside me. “Ooh, can I borrow that? My bag of chips opened up in my purse.” Without waiting for an answer, she reached for it, her movements careless and entitled. Instinctively, I shifted the stack of documents and the stapler away from her grasp. These papers were confidential. Her hand closed on empty air. Thrown off balance, her foot caught on a power cord snaking across the floor. She stumbled forward, and the bubble tea flew from her hand. The milky brown liquid sailed through the air in a perfect, tragic arc, landing squarely on my freshly printed, absolutely critical, confidential report. The thick stack of A4 paper absorbed the sugary drink instantly, the dark stain spreading through the pages, warping them into a useless, sticky brick. For a moment, I just stared at the ruined report. The calm, detached observer I had been all morning finally evaporated. I lifted my head and met Lexi’s eyes. There was no apology in them. Not a shred of remorse. Just a flash of annoyance that I hadn’t given her the stapler. My voice, when it came out, was dangerously quiet. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? Can you possibly afford to take responsibility for this?” Lexi was clearly unaccustomed to being addressed with anything other than deference. She blinked, momentarily stunned. Then, her shock curdled into indignation. “How dare you talk to me like that?” she snapped. “Do you have any idea who I am?” She drew herself up, her chest puffing out. “I am Mr. Hayes’s wife!” I looked at her, my expression flat. A small, cold laugh almost escaped my lips. “Oh?” I asked, my voice still level. “And does being Mr. Hayes’s wife give you the right to destroy company property? Does it exempt you from every rule of professional conduct?” My challenge seemed to ignite a fuse. Her face flushed with rage. She jabbed a finger at my nose. “Of course it does! This company belongs to Carter, which means it belongs to me! I can do whatever I want!” Her voice rose, becoming shrill. “Who the hell do you think you are, anyway? Some new girl, trying to lecture me?” A few people had drifted over, drawn by the noise. They saw the scene—the ruined documents, my cold fury, Lexi’s tantrum—and froze, their eyes wide with fear. A couple of women from the admin team tugged gently at my sleeve, their expressions pleading with me to just apologize and de-escalate. I didn’t move. I just held her gaze. Seeing my refusal to back down, Lexi’s rage morphed into a smug, triumphant cruelty. She pulled out her phone. “Okay. You want to be tough?” she sneered. “You think I can’t handle you?” A malicious smile spread across her face. “I’m going to let Carter tell you exactly who I am. And who you are.” She stabbed at the screen and initiated a video call.

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The system tasked me with romancing the innocent male lead. I gave Damien Blackwood my all—relentless, whispering sweet nothings by day, curling up beside him at night. Each morning, I demanded a kiss before letting him rise, his face flushed crimson. My passionate assault quickly ensnared the innocent lamb. We confessed, dated, and became engaged in a whirlwind romance. But at our engagement party, the system screamed back to life: “I said romance the innocent lead, so why seduce the psycho villain?!” “What part of him seems innocent? Every time you flirted, he bought a new ‘toy,’ saving them for tonight—for you.” “He’s about to go nuclear, and you’re humming nursery rhymes!” Panic seized me. I spun to flee, only to crash into a solid chest. Damien’s arms locked around me, his smile gentle but his grip unbreakable. “Darling,” he purred, “we missed our morning kiss. How about we spend all night making it up?” 1 “Mmm…” The first thing I registered upon waking was the sound of ragged, urgent breathing. I lifted my head. A man was slumped against the wall, his handsome face flushed, his shirt torn open to reveal a wide expanse of toned chest. He looked like the textbook definition of a male lead who’d just been drugged. My jaw dropped. My name is Nina, and I’m a ‘transmigrator.’ Just moments ago, my system had thrown me into this novel. It had only managed to spit out, “Your mission is to romance the pure, innocent male lead, Damien Blackwood…” before the connection fizzled out. But it had failed to mention that this innocent little flower was this… intense. My eyes lit up. I couldn’t stop myself from walking toward him. If the innocent lamb was in trouble, then who was I to deny him a proper rescue? But I’d barely taken two steps when a brutal force clamped down on my wrist. The world spun, and the next thing I knew, I was slammed against the wall, my arm twisted behind me. Damien’s eyes were dark and stormy. “Who are you?” he growled. “What are you trying to do to me?” The words should have been terrifying. But in his drugged state, his voice was breathy, the ends of his words trembling ever so slightly. He sounded less threatening and more… adorable. A wicked grin spread across my face. “What do you think?” I purred. “I’m here to help you with your little… problem.” Damien’s brow furrowed, his grip on my wrist tightening. “Looking for a death wish?” But before he could do anything else, another wave of the drug hit him. His strength vanished, leaving him paralyzed. He could only watch, his eyes wide with a mixture of anger and confusion, as I slung his arm over my shoulder, half-carrying, half-dragging him. With a final, decisive shove— SPLASH! A huge plume of water erupted as we both tumbled into the oversized bathtub, plunging into the icy water. 2 Damien was soaked to the bone. He broke the surface, gasping for air, his voice dripping with fury. “What. Are. You. Doing?” Each word was a dagger. He was genuinely furious. But I was too busy enjoying the moment to notice. I tilted my head back, a triumphant smile on my face. “Like I said, I’m helping you with your problem.” I gestured around us. “See? You’re not even trembling anymore. It’s working, isn’t it?” Damien froze. He seemed to realize, for the first time, that the burning heat that had been consuming him was now mostly gone, extinguished by the cold water. His mind felt clearer. A complex expression crossed his face. “…You really were just trying to help?” Well, not just. I had my own selfish reasons. Pretending to wipe water from my eyes, I secretly peeked at him. His white dress shirt was now semi-transparent, clinging to his body and outlining the sharp, defined muscles beneath. It was a subtle, tantalizing kind of temptation. My face grew warm. Nina, you’re terrible, I scolded myself. Taking advantage of a poor, innocent man like this. But Damien hadn’t noticed my leering. He was lost in thought. “Why didn’t you kill me?” he finally asked. I blinked. What? “I don’t know if you were sent by the old family or our rivals from the port,” he continued, his voice low and serious. “But either way, you should have been here for my life. Why didn’t you kill me when I was vulnerable?” Okay, what was happening? I wasn’t that terrible. And why was an innocent romance protagonist talking about assassins and rival gangs? Anyone overhearing this would think he was some kind of mafia boss, not the hero of a love story. After a moment of silent mental facepalming, I finally explained, “What are you talking about? I’m here to win you over. I don’t want your life. I want you.” Damien went completely still. He stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief, as if he hadn’t heard me correctly. “…What?” The system had told me that with pure, innocent guys, the key was to be bold, passionate, and direct. So, I gazed at him with all the affection I could muster and repeated myself. “I said, I’m here to pursue you. To date you. To make you fall in love with me. To—” “Enough,” he cut me off with a short, humorless laugh. “I get it. A honey trap.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a cynical smirk, his eyes turning cold and distant. “The people who sent you must be fools. I grew up surrounded by blood and death. Did they really think they could entice me with something as childish as love?” I was completely lost. What on earth was he talking about? None of this made any sense. But one sentence did stick out. “I grew up surrounded by blood and death.” His childhood must have been horrifying. Witnessing such things from a young age… what kind of brutal family had he grown up in? A wave of sympathy washed over me. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him into a hug. “Don’t be sad, sweetheart,” I murmured, my voice soft. “You’ve been so strong, surviving all this on your own. Let me walk with you from now on. I’ll protect you. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.” Damien’s breath caught in his throat. For a long moment, he was silent. Then, slowly, he rested his head on my shoulder. “Really?” he whispered. “Then… I’ll be in your care.” Finally! The innocent male lead was acting normal! I was so relieved that I patted his back reassuringly. I didn’t see the way his eyes, hidden from my view, darkened with a dangerous, predatory light. He stared at my neck, his lips forming silent words. “It doesn’t matter if you’re lying. Now that you’ve made your move—” “Don’t even think about running away.” 3 After Damien recovered, we drove to his home. As we pulled up, my eyes went wide. Before me stretched a sprawling estate of modern mansions, each one oozing luxury. A line of bodyguards in sharp black suits stood at attention, their presence an intimidating wall of silent power. This was the real deal. This was the life of a novel’s male lead! As I gaped at my surroundings, a man approached and bowed to Damien. “Mr. Blackwood, we’ve caught the traitor who drugged you. How would you like to deal with them?” Damien answered without a second thought. “Feed them to the sharks, of course.” I froze solid. Wait a second. Was this really the pure, innocent hero? The way he talked about “blood and death”… was he the one causing it? Damien glanced at my petrified expression and seemed to realize something. “Don’t misunderstand,” he said smoothly. “I have a pet shark. ‘The Traitor Who Drugged Me’ is just the name of its fish food.” The man who had reported to him blinked, then immediately turned to me with a strained smile. “That’s right, miss. I’m in charge of feeding the young master’s shark. To keep things organized, I give the different food pellets… creative names. Like ‘The Traitor Who Drugged Me,’ or ‘The Enemy Who Signed His Death Warrant,’ or ‘The Uncooperative Business Partner.’” He paused. “All of these people… I mean, pellets… end up as fish food.” Though he was trying his best to smile, his eyes held a chilling, untamed ferocity. You’re a very strange man, I thought. You know that, right? I met more of his staff, and they were all the same—tough, intimidating, and looking like they could snap a man in half. And the strangest part? As soon as they finished speaking with Damien, they would immediately retreat, keeping a distance of at least thirty feet. It was as if they were all deliberately… shunning him. Ostracizing him. My heart ached. “Do you work with these people every day?” I asked quietly. “They all look so mean, and they clearly don’t like you. Do they… bully you?” Damien paused. He slowly lowered his gaze, a sad, vulnerable smile gracing his lips. “They do,” he said softly. “They’re supposed to be my subordinates, but they never listen. They bully me behind my back. I feel… scared, and very lonely, every day.” My heart shattered. No wonder Damien was so pure and delicate. Not only had he suffered a tragic childhood, but now he was being bullied by this gang of thugs. A fierce protectiveness surged through me. I took his hand. “Hey, don’t be sad anymore. From now on, I’ll come to work with you every day. I’ll stand up for you. I promise, no one will dare to bully you again, okay?” I could have sworn that as I said this, the faces of several nearby guards twitched, their expressions a mixture of confusion and disbelief. But before I could get a better look, Damien’s lips curved into a breathtaking smile. The light in his eyes was like the spring sun dancing on a lake, sending ripples through my soul. “That would be wonderful,” he said, his voice warm. “With you by my side, I’ll feel so much safer.” The sudden flash of his perfect smile hit me like a physical blow. I blushed and quickly looked away, completely flustered. And so, I missed it. I missed the way Damien turned his head slightly, catching the eyes of the guards who looked like they wanted to speak. He raised a single, elegant finger to his lips. “Shhh.” In an instant, the world fell back into absolute, unnerving silence. 4 That night, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. The room Damien had prepared for me was undeniably luxurious. The furniture, the lighting, the massive bed—everything whispered of immense wealth. But I couldn’t bring myself to like it. Everything was black. There was no warmth, no life—only a cold, oppressive atmosphere that made my chest feel tight. It didn’t feel like a place for rest. It felt like a cage. As I lay there, my thoughts drifted to Damien. If even I felt suffocated here, how could a gentle soul like him have endured it for over twenty years? And he’d said it himself: “I feel scared, and very lonely, every day…” The thought spurred me into action. I slipped out of bed and tiptoed into his room, determined to offer some comfort. The room was pitch black. I couldn’t tell if he was asleep. I moved silently toward the bed, careful not to make a sound. One step, two steps, three… Suddenly, my wrist was seized in a grip of iron. An immense force pulled me forward, and I tumbled onto the soft mattress. Before I could even process what was happening, I was pinned down. Damien loomed over me, his voice sharp and cold. “Who is it?” “Ow, that hurts!” I yelped instinctively. Hearing my voice, Damien froze. The pressure on me eased. His tone shifted, becoming low and husky. “It’s you? What are you doing in my room in the middle of the night?” I rubbed my sore wrist, pouting. “I wasn’t planning anything bad,” I mumbled. “I was just worried you’d be lonely all by yourself, so I came to… help.” The word “help” seemed to change the air in the room. Damien’s gaze intensified, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “And how… were you planning on helping me?” Under his heated gaze, I reached up, wrapped my arms around his neck, and burrowed into his broad chest. And then… I closed my eyes and promptly fell asleep. Damien waited. And waited. But nothing else happened. He let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Nina,” he said, his voice tight with a mix of frustration and amusement, “are you messing with me?” I was already half-asleep after the day’s events, but I managed a sleepy shake of my head. “No… not messing with you. Just keeping you company.” My words were slurred. “You were bullied all day… sleeping all alone at night… I thought you might be lonely, so I came to stay with you…” Damien went completely still. A long silence stretched between us. I yawned, fighting to keep my eyes open. “Do you… not want me here? If you don’t, I can go…” Before I could finish, his arms wrapped around me, pulling me tight against him—a silent answer. Listening to the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat, I finally lost the battle with sleep and drifted off. The next morning, when I opened my eyes, Damien was already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed and getting dressed. The morning light sculpted the powerful lines of his back, each muscle perfectly defined. My inner flirt stirred. It was time to tease my innocent little lamb again. I reached out and threw my arms around him from behind, hugging him tight. His breath hitched. “…Don’t,” he said, his voice strained. “Let go.” But I just snuggled closer, my voice a playful whine. “Nope! The only way I’ll let you go is if…” I leaned in, my lips brushing against his ear as I whispered, “you give me a good morning kiss.” The tips of his ears instantly turned bright red. Oh my god, I thought, stunned. He’s so pure! Just the mention of a kiss made him blush like that? But to my surprise, he didn’t push me away. He quickly turned and planted a soft, fleeting kiss on my cheek. “There. Can I go now?” I finally released him. The moment I did, he shot up and hurried into the bathroom, the red on his ears still visible. A moment later, I heard the sound of the shower running. I was baffled. Didn’t he shower last night? Why was he showering again this morning? Was this… the legendary germaphobia of a novel’s male lead? … In the days that followed, I stuck to Damien like glue. I whispered sweet nothings to him during the day and held him tight at night. I made him give me a good morning kiss every single day, or I wouldn’t let him get out of bed. And just as I’d planned, the innocent little lamb couldn’t resist my relentless affection. The way he looked at me slowly filled with a deep, overwhelming love. He indulged my every whim, his patience seemingly endless. Soon, we confessed our feelings. He proposed. We got engaged. Everything was moving along perfectly. On the day of our engagement party, after greeting an endless stream of distinguished guests, I was exhausted. Damien, ever the gentleman, told me to go rest while he handled the remaining pleasantries. I went back to his room alone, took a quick shower, and threw on a fluffy bathrobe before collapsing onto the bed. Honestly, I would never be this casual in anyone else’s room. But this was Damien’s room. Pure, innocent Damien. We had slept in the same bed for weeks, and all we ever did was talk. It was the very definition of chaste. I’d come to believe that Damien just wasn’t interested in that side of a relationship. Perhaps he preferred a more platonic kind of love… As I was pondering this, a shaky, electronic voice echoed in my mind. “H-Host… why are you lying on… Damien Blackwood’s bed?” It was my system, back from the dead! My spirits soared. “Because of the mission, of course!” I bragged. “See? I’ve already captured the innocent male lead’s heart. He’s completely in love with me. He even proposed!” Before I could continue, the system let out a deafening, panicked shriek. “WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, YOU FOOL?!” “WHAT PART OF DAMIEN BLACKWOOD SCREAMS ‘INNOCENT’ TO YOU?!” “HE’S NOT THE MALE LEAD! HE’S THE VILLAIN! THE PSYCHOTIC, MANIPULATIVE, ARCH-VILLAIN!”

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