Category: English

The day Christopher screwed his assistant, I went online and posted a tweet: “Urgently seeking a new husband. Must be handsome, a sweet-talker, squeaky clean, with 10/10 loyalty. $100k/month allowance, full benefits package included. First come, first served.” That night, the internet exploded. “Award-Winning Actor Brawls with Male Models for a 401(k)!” “Famed Screenwriter and A-List Director Trade Blows for Pocket Money!” … A week later, Christopher returned from a business trip abroad. I was at home, playing cards with a few A-listers, my face covered in lipstick marks from losing a round. His eyes were bloodshot. “Clara, don’t you love me anymore?” I glanced at him, a wild smile spreading across my face. “Christopher, it’s not that I don’t love you anymore.” “It’s that the Clara who loved you is already dead.” “She died the night you and your little assistant were kissing and groping in your office, ignoring her desperate calls for help.” 1. After I got sick, I left the entertainment industry. I rarely left the house, except for appointments with my therapist. Friends slowly drifted away. Nothing held my interest anymore. But today, a sudden, sharp longing to see Christopher hit me. So, for the first time in ages, I went to his company. Standing outside his office, I saw a young woman lying on the sofa across from his desk, her face deathly pale. Christopher handed her a cup of hot ginger tea, then leaned over to tuck a blanket around her stomach. “If you feel this bad, why don’t I give you the day off? Go home and rest.” She took the cup, her voice firm despite her condition. “A good assistant doesn’t let her boss work all alone.” Christopher gestured with his chin toward his private lounge. “Then at least go lie down in there for a while.” The assistant took a sip of the tea, a playful glint in her eyes. “I can’t do that, Professor. You’re a married man now. I have to keep my distance.” Christopher let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head in fond exasperation. And then, his eyes lifted and met mine. The smile on his lips froze. I stood there, momentarily stunned. I was still processing that smile—the one he’d just given his assistant. My illness had dulled my senses, but as I replayed the moment, it hit me. It had been a long, long time since he’d smiled that freely, that easily, in front of me. But the moment passed. His expression shifted back to the familiar, composed mask he always wore around me. He walked toward me. “Clara, what are you doing here?” He reached for my hand, but I flinched back, a pure reflex. Christopher’s hand hovered in the air, suspended. “Well, well, a surprise inspection from the boss’s wife,” the young assistant chirped, holding the cup Christopher had given her. She stood beside him, beaming, and extended a hand to me. “My name is Chloe. I graduated from Axton University, too. Do you remember me?” Chloe… Chloe… I studied her face. After a few seconds, it came back to me. This wasn’t the first time I’d seen her. She had been in the same department as Christopher at university, a few years behind him. She’d fallen for him the moment she saw him during her freshman orientation. She was bright and energetic, a little sunbeam, and she pursued him with a fiery passion. Back then, I was already in the industry. Christopher and I were deeply in love, but my schedule meant I couldn’t always be by his side. He, however, was meticulous about shutting down any interaction that might threaten our relationship. He told her flat-out that he had a girlfriend and completely ignored her advances. Naturally, she didn’t believe him. A girlfriend you’ve never seen is like Schrödinger’s girlfriend. She thought it was just an excuse. It wasn’t until I finished a shoot and returned to campus that she finally accepted the truth. I remember the look on her face—pure dejection, her eyes welling with tears. She gave me a pathetic glance and asked, “Can I at least get his number? For school stuff? The romance is dead, but my GPA can’t be!” Before I could answer, she turned to Christopher, pleading, “Professor, if I can’t win your heart, can you at least let me be a regular classmate? You’re a legend in our department. I’ll definitely have questions about coursework later on. You have to lend a hand!” She sounded so innocent, so open. But how did Christopher respond back then? He’d said, “Sorry.” “That’s not necessary.” “You can ask the professors if you have questions about your studies.” I won’t deny it; I was ecstatic. Standing by my side, he had given me all the security in the world. Now, all these years later, Chloe was still the same person—a sunbeam, warming everyone around her. And I… I had lost all joy for life. I was a black hole, swallowing any light that dared to come near. 2. In the end, Christopher gave Chloe a half-day off to go home and rest. I spent the entire afternoon in his office, waiting for him to finish work. He was in meetings. I just stared at the half-empty cup of ginger tea Chloe had left on the coffee table. After work, I sat in the passenger seat of his car. As he leaned over to fasten my seatbelt, my eyes landed on a small figurine on the dashboard. It was a soft, adorable little white rabbit. It wasn’t the kind of thing you’d expect a man as stoic as Christopher to have. The rabbit’s sweet, plush face seemed to smile at me, but a thick, heavy gloom settled over my heart. I stared at it for a long time before I finally spoke. “So, Chloe graduated.” “Yeah,” Christopher replied, then quickly explained, “Last year. She sent her resume to our company right after graduation. We were short-staffed, and I saw her potential, so I hired her.” He sounded like he was trying to soothe me, but the more he said, the more it felt like he was digging a hole. He eventually fell silent. The flicker of energy and interest I’d felt earlier that day had completely vanished. I didn’t have the strength to ask any more questions. I just leaned my head against the window, watching the city blur past. Maybe, for the sick person I had become, it wouldn’t have mattered. Even if he had said “that’s not necessary” today, just like he did all those years ago, even if he had given me all the security in the world, I still wouldn’t have been able to feel any happiness. 3. After seeing his smile in the office that day, I started paying more attention to him. It seemed he was always being patient with me, always accommodating me. Perhaps it was because of my illness. He used to share funny stories from his startup days, finding humor in the struggle. He used to text me during work, saying he missed the coffee I made for him, the chicken soup I cooked. He used to listen patiently as I chattered on about the bizarre drama of the entertainment world. He used to share his joys, his sorrows, his every thought. Now, the only emotion he ever showed me was a gentle, careful tenderness. It was as if, without realizing it, I had lost the desire to share anything but my unhappiness. And in doing so, I had dragged him into my black hole. We still held each other as we fell asleep. We still ate breakfast facing each other. On the surface, nothing had changed. But there was a chasm between us, unspoken and deep. The image of Christopher’s easy smile in front of Chloe haunted me. It had been so long since he’d looked that relaxed around me. I was the one making him unhappy. I had to change. Our wedding anniversary was just a few days away. Maybe a bouquet of flowers, a cake, or the coffee and chicken soup he used to crave could help pull me out of this state, help us tear down the wall between us. So, on the day of our anniversary, I called him. “Christopher,” I said, “I bought roses today, and a cake. I made chicken soup, and I brewed some fresh coffee.” So, will you come home early for dinner? Christopher was probably surprised by my sudden burst of enthusiasm. He was silent for a moment before replying, “I have an urgent project tonight, I have to work late. But I’ll be home before midnight.” “I got you a gift. Wait for me, Clara.” “Okay. I’ll wait.” I hung up and sat alone in the dim candlelight. The vibrant roses, the sweet cake, the fragrant soup on the table—none of it could bring me an ounce of joy. There was only an endless darkness, threatening to swallow me whole. Finally, I packed up the soup and the cake, grabbed the roses, and walked out the door. I’ll go to him. Maybe if I go to him, I can escape the darkness, escape the silence, escape this crushing, suffocating helplessness. By the time I drove through the night and reached the underground parking garage of his office building, I saw him rushing out of the elevator. Before I could even get out of my car, he was in his, engine roaring as he sped away. He was in a hurry. He had abandoned his “urgent project.” There was something more important. Was he coming home? Home to drink my soup, eat cake with me, and celebrate our anniversary? Or… I followed him. I told myself that if he was going home, I couldn’t let him wait too long. But five minutes later, I knew he wasn’t heading home. As the night grew darker, so did the storm clouds in my heart. Subconsciously, I already knew the truth, but a part of me was still fighting, still desperately clawing for another explanation. Maybe… maybe it’s just my illness making me paranoid. I kept my foot on the gas, tailing him. Staring at his taillights, a dark, extreme impulse surged through me. What if I just crash into him? End it all, right here, together. Then nothing I feared could ever happen. As we approached an intersection, the light turned yellow. I didn’t slow down. A large truck was approaching from the right. If I ran the red light, maybe I could push both our cars under its wheels. Then we would die. And I would never have to face the bloody reality that was waiting for me. A deafening BLARE from the truck’s horn jolted me back to my senses. I slammed on the brakes. “What the hell is wrong with you? You wanna die?! Don’t take the rest of us with you!” a driver yelled from his window. I was awake now. My heart hammered against my ribs. I slumped over the steering wheel, drenched in a cold sweat, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. I really was sick. So sick that even my desire for death had become this venomous. The light turned green. I suppressed all the horrifying thoughts and followed Christopher. He pulled up to an apartment complex and got out of his car in a flash. He ran right past me without a second glance. He was on the phone, his voice urgent as he rushed into a residential building. “I’m almost there!” I sat in my car, staring at the building for a while, before I finally followed him inside. The elevator was broken, surrounded by yellow “Under Maintenance” signs. But the voice-activated lights in the stairwell were on. Christopher must have taken the emergency stairs. I stood at the entrance, looking at the dimly lit steps that seemed to lead into the maw of some great beast, ready to devour me. But I went in anyway. One step, two steps… One floor, two floors… I followed the sound of his running footsteps, trailing in the wake of the lights his presence activated, climbing step by step, all the way to the thirteenth floor. The lights on the fourteenth floor didn’t turn on. His destination was here, on the thirteenth. I climbed a few more stairs and sat down on the landing between the thirteenth and fourteenth floors. Then, I heard frantic footsteps. Christopher’s voice was laced with panic. “Hang on, I’m taking you to the hospital right now.” I slowly peeked around the corner. I saw Christopher, carrying a moaning Chloe in his arms, rushing out of her apartment and down the stairs. He was so worried, so desperate. His entire focus was on the pale, fragile woman in his arms. He didn’t see me. The voice-activated lights flickered on one by one as he descended, and then winked out behind him, plunging the stairwell back into darkness. Only the faint green glow of the “EXIT” sign remained. I sat there, letting the darkness swallow me whole. Something had changed, long before I ever realized it. In Christopher’s heart, there was now something more important than his company, more important than me. My phone alarm went off. It was midnight. “Happy anniversary, Clara,” I whispered to myself. 4. Going down those thirteen flights of stairs felt infinitely harder than climbing them. Each step was a descent deeper into a personal hell that seemed to have no end. Below me, a dizzying sea of concrete steps. Ahead, the terrifying, gaping mouth of the darkened stairwell. A vicious, self-destructive whisper echoed in my mind. Just fall. Just throw yourself down the stairs. It would be so easy to die, to stop this lonely, arduous journey. When Christopher came back from taking his precious assistant home, he could find my body on his way out. What a shame, though, about the cake, the roses, and the chicken soup. I closed my eyes and lifted my foot. All I had to do was step into the emptiness… Ding. The sound of a notification on my phone was jarringly loud in the empty stairwell. I froze. I stood there in the dark for a long time before I finally opened my eyes and looked at my phone. It was a message from Christopher. Clara, something urgent came up. Can’t make it back. Sorry. I stared at the name—Clara—and finally, step by step, I made my way down. I found a homeless man on the street and gave him the cake, the flowers, and the soup. Then I drove home, alone. Insomnia was my constant companion. I was used to it. I lay with my eyes open until two in the morning, when Christopher finally came home. He went straight to the bathroom. When he slipped into bed and wrapped his arms around me from behind, he whispered, “I’m sorry.” Sorry for what? For not making it home before midnight? Or for finding someone more important, for abandoning me to climb thirteen flights of stairs for her? I never found the answer, not even as the first light of dawn broke through the window. I just turned to him as he got out of bed and said, “Christopher, I don’t want Chloe to be your assistant anymore. Can you let her go? Make her leave the company.” Christopher’s hands, busy with his tie, paused. After a long moment, he finally said, “Okay.” It was an unspoken understanding. I didn’t even need to give him a reason. 5. Christopher agreed, but I felt no joy. After he left for work, I sat by the floor-to-ceiling window, staring at the sycamore tree in the yard for the entire morning. A phone alarm finally jolted me back to reality; it was already noon. I’d given last night’s soup to a stranger, but a stubborn part of me still wanted Christopher to have it, as if that simple act could somehow mend the cracks between us. So, I made a new batch and took it to his office. But he wasn’t there. The office was empty. His secretary stammered something about him stepping out for an urgent matter and being back soon. I nodded and sat down in his chair to wait. My medication was running low; it was almost time to see my therapist again. The pills weren’t doing much, anyway. My mind just felt foggier. I was lost in thought when the door opened. I looked up, and my eyes met the visitor’s. “Clara?” It took me a moment to recognize him. He was Leo, Christopher’s college roommate, his best friend, and his business partner. He was looking for Christopher. “He’s not here.” Leo nodded but didn’t leave. He sat down on the sofa across from the desk. “I know. He’s at the hospital.” “Chloe was admitted last night. Stomach hemorrhage. He went to see her.” My hand, resting on the desk, trembled slightly. It felt like another tear had been ripped into my heart. But Leo kept talking. “Our company’s grown so fast, and with more deals come more dinners, more drinking. Chloe’s had to come with us to a lot of those functions. She’s so young, and her stomach is already a wreck.” He sighed. “Man, with her in the hospital, you can really feel something’s missing. After a grueling morning, Christopher and I would have lunch with her, and it was like we were instantly recharged. Her personality… she’s so full of life. A total firecracker, a little sunbeam. I love having her around.” So that was it. That was why Christopher smiled so freely around Chloe. She was his firecracker, his sunbeam. She was his light. I thought my heart was so numb, so scarred, that it couldn’t feel pain anymore. But those words—firecracker, sunbeam—sent fresh waves of agony through me, leaving my already mangled heart a bloody mess. All I had now was a black hole of emotion. The one thing I could never be was a light. “If she left,” I heard myself whisper, as if asking Christopher himself, “if that sunbeam left the company, what would happen to you?” “People are drawn to light, Clara.” Leo looked at me, his expression complicated. “I know you and Christopher have been together for years. I’ve watched it all. You sacrificed so much for him. You worked yourself to the bone taking roles to fund his business. You lost your first child for him. You missed your father’s last moments because he couldn’t get back in time.” “But I don’t think those things should be chains, binding you both.” He spoke with such sincerity; I could tell he’d wanted to say this to me for a long time. Every word was another stab to my heart. Back then, to make more money, I took on so many acting jobs. I always got too deep into my roles, unable to shake them off. The emotions of a hundred different characters lived inside me for so long that I eventually got sick. Then came the miscarriage, my father’s death… one blow after another, and my illness worsened. I only ever knew my own pain. I never realized that, to others, he was suffering in this prison with me. “After you got sick, he had to manage the company and take care of you,” Leo continued. “I’m his friend. I’ve watched him run himself ragged between work and home. I’ve seen him grow more and more withdrawn. I know how hard this has been on him. I honestly thought he was going to collapse. And then Chloe showed up…” He looked me straight in the eye. “Do you get it? With you, you’re the one who needs to be taken care of. With Chloe, he’s the one being admired and supported. She’s a huge asset to him at work, and in life, she’s a constant source of positive energy. For a while now, the only time he genuinely smiles is when he’s around her.” “I know what you’re thinking. They’re too close, so you want Christopher to fire her. But there’s really nothing going on between them. It’s always the three of us together. I’m always there.” “If something was going to happen, it would have happened back in college when she was chasing him so hard. Why now? You know how much Christopher loves you.” “But if you take away the one positive thing in his life right now… are you trying to drive him insane? Turn him into you?” “Clara, the truth hurts. Just… think about it.” Long after Leo left, his last words echoed in my head. Are you trying to drive him insane? Turn him into you? I am a burden. I was the one making everyone miserable. Christopher had to take care of me, so all he could offer was a mask of gentle concern. I pulled the bottle of pills from my pocket and swallowed them all. So, this is all my fault? 6. In the end, Christopher never got his soup. He didn’t return to the office that afternoon. His phone went straight to voicemail. Instead, I was summoned to the old family estate by Christopher’s mother. The moment I walked in, she pointed at my thermal container. “Pour that out and fill it with the soup I made. Take it to Christopher. I made it specially for him, hoping he’d come for dinner, but he called this afternoon and said he’s catching a flight abroad for business tonight. If you hurry, he can have some before he leaves.” A heavy rain had started to fall. It had taken me two hours to get here from the office; there was no guarantee I’d make it back in time. But I knew his mother had never liked me, had always looked down on me. Staying would just mean more of her passive-aggressive torment. I didn’t argue. She rushed me out the door. As I was changing my shoes in the entryway, I heard her say to a nearby maid, her voice dripping with disdain, “Finally, she’s gone. I’ve been watching Christopher for a while now. It’s obvious he has a thing for that little assistant.” “He’s just clinging to some misplaced guilt for that jinx. The assistant ending up in the hospital is the perfect catalyst. I bet Christopher is rolling around in bed with her right now. If that little jinx walks in on them, all the better.” “I want her to know that feelings are the most unreliable thing in this world! Once the love she clings to as her only saving grace is tainted, we’ll see if she still refuses to get a divorce!” I stood frozen at the door, the container heavy in my hand. I don’t remember getting into my car or how I ended up on the highway. All I remember is being blinded by a pair of high beams. I swerved to avoid a truck, and the car tumbled, flipping over the edge of a cliff. It came to a jarring halt halfway down, stopped by a cluster of trees. A thick branch had punched through the car and straight through my shoulder. The searing pain jolted me back to my senses. Leo’s words, his mother’s words… they all came flooding back. Suddenly, I had no will to live. I was a burden. My only foundation was gone. It was better this way. Isn’t this what I’d been wanting? But a voice seemed to whisper my name. Clara. Clara. So annoying. But she sounded like she really cared. She didn’t want me to die. Clara. Clara. With a sigh, I slowly opened my eyes and dialed 911. But I’d lost too much blood. My consciousness was fading. It was pitch black, and I had no idea where I was. I couldn’t give them my location. The operator was getting impatient. Forget it. I hung up and dialed Christopher. The phone rang and rang until it automatically disconnected. No answer. My phone had three bars of battery left. In this rain, it could die any second. My vision was blurring. In a daze, I dialed his number again, but my mind suddenly drifted away, back to his office. It was empty, but I could hear sounds coming from the private lounge. I floated through the door. What I saw inside made me freeze. I had always believed that nothing and no one could ever come between Christopher and me. Not even Chloe. I had even tried to deceive myself with Leo’s words, telling myself that Christopher would never cross that final line. But there they were. Christopher and Chloe, fingers intertwined, lost in a passionate kiss. On the nightstand, an open box of Durex. His phone lay on the carpet by the bed, vibrating, the screen lit up with my name: Clara. It vibrated until the screen went black. “Haha…” I covered my face with my hands, a laugh bubbling up from my chest. It was hilarious. Utterly hilarious. My phone was dead. And in my current state, I was probably dead too. I had gambled my last breath on Christopher, the person I trusted most in the world, and I had lost. They had finally crossed the line. Just like on our anniversary, when faced with a choice between me and Chloe, he chose her. Last time, she was sick, and he chose her. This time, I was dying, and he still chose her. He chose to lose himself in bed with her, deaf to my cries for help. Now, I was dead. He was free. I was no longer his burden. But if I’m dead, why does my heart still ache like this? As if it’s being shredded by a thousand knives. A sudden gust of wind blew through the window, knocking over a lamp. The room plunged into darkness, and the sounds they were making became even more piercing. The only mercy was that I was suddenly back in my own body. I was lying alone in the wilderness as the rain poured down on me. I stared up at the oppressive, black sky and slowly closed my eyes. Maybe it was better to die like this, quietly, alone. I would no longer be a burden to anyone. “Clara?” A voice called my name again. But I had no strength left to answer. “Clara?” The voice persisted, unwilling to give up. But I could feel my soul dissipating. My last conscious thought was a question: If I had never gotten sick, if I had let Christopher go, let myself go, how would I have lived? And then, in the vast, desolate wilderness, I dissolved into the biting wind and the cold, unforgiving rain. 7. When I regained consciousness, I was in a hospital. A police officer handed me my phone. He said I had dragged my broken body from the bottom of the ravine to the side of the road and flagged down a passing car. That’s how I got here. I had no memory of it. The doctors said my wounds had healed at a miraculous rate; otherwise, I never would have made it. I couldn’t explain it either. After everyone had left, I held my shattered phone and plugged it in. It was surprisingly resilient; it turned on. But there were no missed calls from Christopher. My desperate plea for help from the night before had vanished without a trace. But this time, I felt no sadness. I could even let out a small, derisive laugh. It was as if after dying once, the illness that had haunted me for so long was just… gone. The memories with Christopher felt like they belonged to another lifetime. I was no longer a participant in our story, but an observer. There was a dull ache, a suffocation, but no heartbreak. And that ache wasn’t for our love, but for the person I used to be. I felt sorry for her. The old me, the me before the illness, the me whose parents were still alive, the me who wasn’t trapped in a cage with Christopher—that me could have lived more fiercely than anyone. I loved him, and sacrificing for him wasn’t my mistake. Getting sick wasn’t my mistake. My illness was not an excuse for Christopher and Chloe to get together. He could have divorced me to free himself. But he shouldn’t have used my sickness as a justification to let his heart wander, to end up kissing and groping her in his office before our marriage was even over. Clara, you wanted to know how you would have lived without the illness, without Christopher, didn’t you? Watch closely. Without these chains, you can be happy. You can be the sunbeam, the firecracker. You can be a black hole of emotion. But you will never, ever be anyone’s burden again. 8. I checked myself out of the hospital that night and found my old phone. After I got sick, I had cut myself off from the world, unwilling to interact with anyone. Every word of concern felt like another source of pain. So I got a new phone, a new number, and sealed away all my old friends, family, and the millions of fans on my social media accounts. I left myself with only one person: Christopher. Perhaps the old me had clung to him as my only support, my only light in the darkness. But I didn’t need that light anymore. I turned on the old phone, and the first thing I did was block and delete Christopher’s number, kicking him out of my life for good. Then I found a lawyer in my contacts and asked her to draft a divorce agreement for me. My friend, either fearing I’d change my mind or having anticipated this for a while, drew it up and sent it over in record time. “Damn, Clara! We’ve been calling you for a year, showing up at your door, and nothing. I honestly thought you were going to be stuck on Christopher for the rest of your life.” I saved the divorce agreement, forwarded it to Christopher’s email, then printed out a few copies, signed them, and replied to my friend with a smile. “How boring would that be? Why give up an entire forest for one rotten tree?” I couldn’t believe those words came out of my mouth. My friend seemed just as surprised. The chat bubble showed her typing for a long time, but no message came through. After all, the old me—even the pre-illness me—would never have said something so audacious. But who cares? I’d died once. Now, I was going to live freely. The pain, the constraints, the conventions, the love, the suffering—I was done with all of it. I placed a signed copy of the divorce agreement on the table just inside the front door, where he couldn’t miss it. There was nothing else I wanted to take. Holding my old phone, I walked out of the home Christopher and I had once shared. I logged into the social media account that had fifty million followers but had been dormant for over a year. I typed out a post and hit send. “Urgently seeking a new husband. Must be handsome, a sweet-talker, squeaky clean, with 10/10 loyalty. $100k/month allowance, full benefits package included. First come, first served.”

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The daughter of my husband’s one true love was kidnapped. Kneeling before me, Elara slammed her forehead against the floor until blood streamed down her face. “Lily is just a child! If you want to kill someone, take me instead!” Eight months pregnant, I had no idea what she was talking about. But my husband’s face darkened with a terrifying fury. “Have I been too lenient with you? How could you orchestrate something so vile?” Adrian, the man who had always cherished me, wrapped his hands around my neck. As my vision blurred and the world faded to black, I finally understood. They thought I had hired the kidnappers. When the ransom wasn’t delivered on time, the kidnappers killed their hostage. Elara, clutching the small, broken body of her daughter, was driven to the brink of suicide. My husband, his eyes bloodshot with grief, hired the world’s top geneticists. They worked around the clock for a month and finally succeeded in creating a viable clone of Lily’s cells. But Elara had suffered complications during childbirth; she could never carry a child again. And so, his gaze fell upon my pregnant belly. 1 “No…” I shook my head in terror, backing away while clutching my stomach. “Adrian, I feel for what Elara is going through, I truly do. But I didn’t kidnap Lily. You can’t do this to me.” “Talia,” he said, his voice cold as ice, “Elara’s husband died years ago. Lily was her only reason to live. Your jealousy has gone too far. You should have never touched her child.” “You owe Lily this.” He ignored my desperate pleas and forced an induction. Our son was full-term; he was big enough to cry when he was born, only to be smothered to death before my very eyes. I never even got to see his face, this child conceived in love and anticipation. Before I could even process the loss, I was being strapped to an operating table. I had just lost my baby, and now they were going to force me to carry the flesh and blood of my enemy. I fought wildly, thrashing on the table, resisting the heavy dose of anesthesia, willing myself to stay awake. Because I wouldn’t cooperate, the procedure couldn’t begin. The precious cloned cells were on the verge of losing viability. That’s when Adrian walked in, carrying the body of our son. His eyes were closed, his tiny face so peaceful, as if he were only sleeping. A pain so sharp it felt like my heart was bleeding tore through me. Adrian’s hand tightened around our baby’s neck. “If you don’t cooperate and this surgery fails,” he hissed, “don’t expect to bury your son in one piece.” “Adrian! He’s your son, too!” I shrieked, my voice raw with agony, but my body was growing heavy, leaden. “You’re a mother, Talia. How could you have been so cruel to Lily?” he asked, his voice thick with disappointment. It wasn’t me. But no one believed me. My body finally lost its battle with the anesthetic. Consumed by a grief that swallowed the world, I let my eyes fall shut. When I woke, my wrists and ankles were bound to the bed. I looked down at my now-flat stomach, and the reality crashed over me: my baby was gone. Truly gone. And the warm cradle where he had grown was now nurturing the bloodline of his murderer. The will to live evaporated. I bit down hard, aiming for my own tongue. The door flew open. Adrian saw me, saw the pristine white sheets stained with the blood pouring from my mouth. He rushed to my side, prying my jaw open. I clenched my teeth, a broken, gurgling laugh escaping my lips. His eyes were blazing red. He called in a team of doctors. For a moment, I thought he was worried about me. But after they saved me, he slapped me so hard across the face that my head snapped to the side. “I’m warning you, Talia. You won’t get to escape your guilt by killing yourself. Not until Lily is born safe and sound.” He loomed over me, a figure of pure judgment. I stared at the canine tooth that had been knocked out, lying on the floor. My heart was a barren wasteland. To prevent another suicide attempt, they fitted me with a bite guard. I’d lost part of my tongue and could no longer speak clearly, but it didn’t matter. No one listened to me anyway. After my tongue healed, I could finally eat solid food again. Adrian himself brought me a bowl of nourishing soup. He sat beside me in silence, gently removing the bite guard. I was too weak to resist, a lifeless doll in his hands. He lifted a spoonful of broth, blowing on it carefully, his movements as tender as they had been when I was first pregnant with our son. “Carrying Lily is your punishment, Talia,” he murmured. “Once she is born, Elara has agreed not to press charges.” He continued speaking, but I offered no response. “I had to take our son from you to teach you a lesson. Life is not a game. If you admit your mistake, we can have another child. We can start over.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned my head to face him, ready to scream, but my eyes froze on the contents of the bowl. It was my own placenta. 2 A violent wave of nausea hit me, and I retched. Adrian calmly wiped my mouth with a napkin. The next second, he clamped his hand over my jaw, forcing the horrid concoction down my throat. “It’s good for you, Talia. Full of nutrients. For you, and for Lily.” I tried to struggle, but my head and limbs were restrained. I could only lie there as the boiled remains of my own body slid down my esophagus. When the bowl was empty, he let me go. “Elara is still not well. I’m taking her abroad to recover. You will stay here and take care of yourself. No more trouble.” He stood to leave, his voice dropping to a threatening whisper. “Behave, and I’ll find a proper burial place for our son. But if anything happens to Lily, you will never see even a speck of his ashes.” “Wasn’t he your son, too?” The question escaped my lips, a broken whisper. Salty tears traced a path to my mouth, a bitterness that paled in comparison to the one in my heart. He paused at the door but didn’t turn back. “With a mother like you, he would have grown up to be a curse on this world.” The door clicked shut, and the last flicker of love I held for Adrian Vance was extinguished forever. He was gone. For nine whole months. In that time, Lily grew inside me, and I slowly ceased to be a person. She seemed to sense my hatred for her; my morning sickness was relentless, a constant torment that lasted the entire pregnancy. My body withered away, but my belly swelled to a grotesque size. Adrian called every day. Not to see me, but to gaze at my stomach, to coo at the daughter growing within. Elara would even conduct prenatal classes for Lily over the video call. To ensure I couldn’t harm the baby, my hands and feet remained shackled for all nine months. The raw wounds from my struggling had long since fused with the metal cuffs. Bedsores festered, rotting the skin on my back. But no one cared. As long as Lily was healthy, my suffering was irrelevant. In the final month, Adrian and Elara returned, their vacation over. “You’re so thin.” That was the first thing he said to me after nine months. His brow furrowed with concern. “Will Lily be malnourished?” He seemed satisfied when the doctors assured him she was perfectly healthy. “After Lily is born, I’ll get you the best care. We’ll get you healthy again.” Elara’s eyes were soft and loving as she gazed at my stomach. “Lily, my sweet girl. Mommy is finally here to see you again. I’ll never let you out of my sight. I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again.” She turned to Adrian. “Darling, could you give me a moment alone with Lily?” Adrian’s eyes immediately shot to me, full of suspicion. After a moment, he determined that in my emaciated, near-death state, I posed no threat. He left the room, glancing back nervously every few steps. The instant he was gone, the warmth in Elara’s eyes vanished, replaced by a chilling cold. “I was the one who arranged Lily’s kidnapping.” 3 A smile played on her lips, but it never reached her eyes. “Do you want to know why?” Elara leaned in close, her face inches from mine. She smelled of the unique, woody cologne Adrian wore—the same one I had picked out for him before I was pregnant with our son. My eyes were empty. I gave her nothing. “Five years ago,” she began, her voice turning sharp, “Adrian’s mother tried to break us up. She hired a man to pose as my husband, to trap me, and had me sent abroad. Adrian promised me he would never marry anyone else. But when I finally escaped his mother’s influence and rushed back to find him, I learned he had been married to you for over a year.” Her expression twisted into a snarl. “I suffered so much overseas, and he never once tried to contact me. I thought his mother was controlling him, but no! He had completely forgotten about me!” “He was mine first! What right did you have to steal him from me? I thought you must have been some heiress from a powerful family, someone who could match his status. But you’re just an orphan, with a background even worse than mine!” Her fury escalated, and she slapped me hard across the face. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I spat it directly in her face. She recoiled, shocked that I would dare. She wiped her cheek, the smear of blood making her face look even more demonic. “You’d sacrifice your own flesh and blood just to win back a man who doesn’t want you?” I rasped. She froze. Then, a slow, cruel smile spread across her face. “An illegitimate life isn’t worth much, is it? Since she was useless, I thought I’d gamble with her. My original plan was just to use her to get rid of you and the bastard in your belly. I had no idea Adrian cared so much. Cloning her? Bringing her back to life? Even I couldn’t have predicted he would go to such lengths for us.” Her voice dropped to a triumphant whisper. “The ‘man who doesn’t want me’ has the power to resurrect the dead. Do you still think I made a bad bet?” Her fingertips brushed against my swollen belly. “You know, if you had just been a little more cooperative, Adrian might have kept a lock of your son’s hair, or his fingernails. But he was in such a hurry… he had the entire body incinerated immediately.” At the mention of my baby boy, the fragile control I had shattered. I lunged, snarling, trying to bite her. She jumped back with a laugh, but then a theatrical, terrified scream tore from her throat. “Elara!” From outside, I heard Adrian’s frantic footsteps approaching. Without a moment’s hesitation, Elara bit down hard on her own hand. My breath hitched. My abdomen tightened in a sharp, painful contraction. Elara’s taunts had sent me into premature labor. BAM! Adrian kicked the door open and rushed in. Elara, her hand now bleeding profusely, put on a flawless performance of a terrified, tear-stricken victim. But Adrian’s worried gaze only lingered on her hand for a second before it snapped to me. 4 I didn’t need to look down to know my water had broken. Adrian wasn’t worried about me. He was worried about Lily. Even so, a look of pure venom flashed across Elara’s face. This woman was so monstrous she was jealous of her own daughter. Adrian summoned the best obstetrician in record time, but as he glanced at the wound on Elara’s hand, his voice turned to steel. “A C-section. No anesthesia. I want her wide awake to see her child born safely.” “I’m sorry, Mrs. Vance,” the doctor whispered to me with pity in his eyes after Adrian had led a sobbing Elara from the room. He pulled on his gloves. “Don’t blame me. I’ll be as quick as I can. To make it easier on you.” The moment the cold scalpel sliced into my belly, a pain so absolute, so profound, shot through me that my very soul felt like it was being torn apart. I never knew a human could be butchered like a piece of meat, stripped of all dignity. I screamed until my throat bled, fainting several times. They gave me shots of adrenaline to keep me conscious. By the end, I had lost all sense of self. I forgot I was even human. Lily’s first cry was like a pardon. The moment she was lifted from my body, a female doctor on the team quickly gave me an injection. “It’s all over, Mrs. Vance. Get some sleep now.” As my eyes closed, the all-consuming pain vanished. I thought it was the painkiller taking effect. My body felt light, and I relaxed, a sense of peace washing over me. But then I realized I was floating, rising up uncontrollably. When I opened my eyes again, I was looking down at my own mutilated body on the operating table. I was dead. If I hadn’t been alone in the room, I wouldn’t have even recognized the corpse as myself. I hadn’t looked in a mirror since I lost my son. The chubby cheeks of my pregnancy were now gaunt, hollowed-out pits. The stomach I had so carefully moisturized, once smooth and perfect, was now a shriveled, blackened peel of a fruit, crisscrossed with deep, jagged ravines. My limbs were skeletal, my wrists and ankles bearing the permanent, grotesque scars where the shackles had fused with my flesh. I stared at my own broken form for a long time. The door opened. It was Adrian. Even as a ghost, my soul trembled. What was he doing here? Wasn’t my punishment complete? If he found me dead, would he feel sorrow? Or would he be angry that I had died too soon, that my penance for Lily was incomplete? He brought in a basin and a kettle of hot water. Was he going to scald me awake for daring to sleep instead of nursing Lily? He poured the steaming water into the basin, then began adding cold, testing the temperature with his hand again and again. I didn’t understand. When the water was just right, he submerged a soft towel, wrung it out, and then lifted one of my arms. Gently, meticulously, he began to wipe my skin. He was washing my body. A laugh, empty and disbelieving, escaped my spectral form. He had tortured me to death for a crime I didn’t commit, and now he was playing the part of a caring husband? I couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he realized I was gone for good. But to my utter shock, the next second, my corpse’s eyes fluttered open.

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On the set of the dating show, my rival decided to get physical and slapped me. Just then, two options flashed in my mind. A. Slap her back. B. Kiss her. A wicked grin spread across my face. I chose B. The next second, my body moved on its own, and I pressed my lips against hers. Later that night, the guy I was crushing on blushed and stammered, “You know… I wouldn’t mind… uh, cross-dressing… if that’s what you’re into.” 1 I was a Z-list actress, so obscure my agent had literally ghosted me. Out of options and desperate for cash, I sent my application to the hit dating show, Sparks Fly. Less than ten minutes later, a friend request popped up on my phone. It was the producer. He asked if I was willing to play the part of the designated simp for Male Guest Number One. Are you kidding me? For the right price, I’d simp for a telephone pole. The moment I electronically signed the contract, several lines of golden text materialized before my eyes. I blinked hard, but they wouldn’t disappear. Panic set in. I forced myself to focus on the words. 「Please make a choice within ten seconds, or you will lose your eyebrows.」 「A. Demand your character be changed to ‘The Beloved.’」 「B. Demand your character be changed to ‘The Despised.’」 Before I could even process what was happening, the text vanished. In the makeup mirror before me, a browless demon stared back. It was me. What the hell?! 「You failed to make a choice within the allotted time. The audience’s desires were not met. As a warning, the System has automatically removed your eyebrows.」 Audience? What audience? 「The System originates from Planet 233, located 233 light-years away. Every choice you make will be globally broadcasted.」 「If you make choices during Sparks Fly that excite the planetary audience, you will receive handsome rewards. Otherwise, you will be punished.」 A cold, mechanical voice echoed in my ears. I only had one question. “Handsome rewards? How handsome are we talking? I mean, you can’t just invade someone’s body like this…” 「One billion dollars.」 “My alien overlords, my body is yours to command!” 2 Sparks Fly was an eight-episode series, kicking off with four men and four women. Its main gimmick was that the entire season was live-streamed from a deserted island. The cast was supposedly a fifty-fifty split of celebrities and ordinary people. To maximize the drama, no one was given the cast list beforehand. I figured it would be a gathering of fellow nobodies. No real A-lister would ever stoop to a dating show. I was so, so wrong. The moment I set foot on the island, my jaw dropped. Aside from me, the other “celebrity” guests were genuine superstars—the kind of people who could trend worldwide for losing a single strand of hair. The two guys standing right in front of me were enough to shake the entertainment industry to its core. One was Kai, a pop idol whose every breath could trend online. The other was Julian, an award-sweeping actor who had won every major film accolade. If I remembered correctly, this was his first-ever reality show. And Kai… he was the man I’d had a hopeless crush on for eight years. I was about to drag my suitcase over when someone bumped into me from behind. It was Leo from the wardrobe department, his arms piled so high with clothes he couldn’t see a thing. I quickly dropped my luggage to help him. “Thanks, thanks! Holly, I was just looking for you! Quick, pick an outfit. This episode’s theme is a beach party.” Each episode of Sparks Fly had a theme, and the cast had to dress accordingly. “Have Kai and the others already picked?” “The wardrobe selection is only for the non-celebrity guests.” I could have coughed up blood. I’d been in the business for half my life, and I was still considered a “non-celebrity.” As I was about to browse, the golden text floated before my eyes again. 「A. A sexy, floral bikini with flip-flops.」 「B. A loud, garish tracksuit with tacky loafers.」 Logically, any sane person would choose A. But my audience wasn’t sane people. They were aliens. And they were about to witness true fashion. I’m choosing B! The thought had barely formed when my hand shot out, grabbing the tracksuit and loafers as if possessed. Then, under Leo’s stunned gaze, I marched into the changing tent. 3 Sparks Fly was officially live. The production team had set up a ten-meter-long red carpet on the sand, and the guests were making their grand entrances like runway models. The first two female celebrities appeared. Lina, a talented young actress who had just won the prestigious Golden Stallion award. Rumor had it she and Julian were spotted leaving the same apartment complex the day before the show. Were they here to make their relationship official? “Excuse me.” I turned to see Julian himself striding past me. He wore nothing but a pair of designer swim trunks that, on closer inspection, seemed to be a matching set with Lina’s bikini. He found the perfect spot, crouched down without a care for his celebrity image, and started snapping pictures of her like a man possessed, a giddy smile plastered on his face. So this is what new love looked like. Next up was Seraphina, a pop idol who had debuted as the winner of a massive talent competition. She practically walked with her own background music. I heard she’d just landed a global ambassadorship for a top luxury brand. Watching her glitter and gleam, I shed a single, envious tear. Then came the two “regular” female guests. Of course, they weren’t entirely regular. The first one to step onto the beach was Jessica, a beauty influencer with ten million followers. Her fiery red hair whipped around in the sea breeze, and her flawless makeup was mesmerizing. Finally, all eyes turned to me. I had specially requested a theme song from the director and bribed one of the production assistants to read my handwritten entrance speech. “And now, striding toward us, is the woman who has graced the screen for a grand total of 3,500 seconds across a hundred unpaid roles! The woman who single-handedly bankrupted 17 street food carts just by being their brand ambassador! The aspiring, destined superstar of 2023—Holly!” And so, to the thunderous beat of the Radetzky March, I emerged. Wearing tacky loafers and a bright red tracksuit with the word “VICTORY” emblazoned in gold, I shuffled and grooved my way onto the beach. A dead silence fell over the set. Then, I heard a faint clapping from behind me. The source of the applause walked toward me. It was Kai. He took the floral lei from his own neck and placed it around mine, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “You are so cool! Can I get a picture with you?” This was the exact scenario I had replayed in my dreams a million times, and it was actually happening. I was about to answer when the System’s mechanical voice buzzed in my head. 「Congratulations, Miss Holly. Your choice has excited 88.8% of the planetary audience. As a reward for your continued excellence, you are gifted the Eyes of Love at First Sight.」 What did that mean? 「The next person to meet your gaze will fall in love with you at first sight.」 Instinctively, I looked up at Kai. His eyes, suddenly soft and deep, shimmered like a spring lake as he gazed back at me. He leaned closer… and closer… He was going to kiss me! No! Not like this! I wasn’t ready! I shoved him away. He stumbled back, rubbing his eyes for a moment before turning back to the camera, casually slinging an arm over my shoulder. Click! I stared, mesmerized, at the photo in my hand—a picture with the man I’d been crushing on for eight years. I had completely forgotten the director’s instruction to be the obsessive simp for Male Guest Number One. It wasn’t until all the male guests had made their entrances that I remembered my job. Male Guest Number One was a top-tier university student, five years younger than me. He seemed shy in front of the cameras, clutching a pool floatie to his chest. My phone buzzed with instructions from the director. With a sigh, I plastered on a smile and sat down next to him. 4 “So, what’s your major?” I asked, trying to break the ice. He was about to answer when he glanced at me and his face turned beet red. I followed his gaze down and realized that my earlier, enthusiastic shuffling had unzipped my tracksuit. And underneath, I was only wearing a bra. I yanked the zipper up so fast it nearly choked me, but hey, V-I-C-T-O-R-Y is indivisible! “Com… Computer Science,” he stammered, his voice so quiet I had to lean in to hear him. I got a little too close, and my cheek brushed against his collarbone. His skin was impossibly smooth, flawless. I’d never seen anything like it on a man. “Too close,” he whispered. I straightened up. He wore a pair of simple, black-framed glasses and had the awkward air of a socially anxious tech nerd, a stark contrast to the other outgoing guests. 「Please make a choice within 10 seconds.」 「A. Take off his glasses and hold his gaze for ten seconds.」 「B. Grab his pool floatie and touch what he’s hiding.」 A regular guy’s stomach? What’s there to see? I chose A. “Don’t move,” I said softly. He obeyed, freezing in place. I slowly reached out and removed his glasses. I was expecting to see the timid eyes of a frightened deer. Instead, I was met with a pair of sharp, commanding eyes—the kind that could make a general surrender an army with a single glance. We held eye contact for ten seconds. His gaze was so intense, so full of righteous power, I felt like we were about to recite the Pledge of Allegiance together. There wasn’t a flicker of romance, only a strange, overwhelming sense of awe. “Kian, Holly, meet in the yellow tent in half an hour. I’ll be taking this floatie now,” a crew member said, snatching the floatie from Kian’s grasp. My eyes widened at the sight of his perfectly sculpted eight-pack abs. I deeply, deeply regretted my choice. 「Congratulations, Miss Holly! 99.9% of the planetary audience was captivated by those eyes. They bear a striking resemblance to our deceased former Commander.」 Wait, you guys look like humans? 「We exist in a higher dimension. You could consider us an evolved form of human.」 This was getting too complicated. All I wanted to know was my reward. 「You are rewarded with a body that feels no pain for seven Earth days.」 Oh? So I could get hit by a car and not get hurt? 「Please read the terms carefully. You will not feel pain, but the damage will still occur.」 Got it. Still, I was hoping for something a little more… explosive next time. “Holly, let’s go together,” Kian said, standing up. I only just realized how tall he was—nearly a foot taller than me. He looked like he could carry me away with one arm. As I started to stand, a flash of bright red appeared. It was Jessica, holding out a cup of coffee to Kian. “You’ll need this to get through the day,” she said, then turned to me. “You go on ahead to the tent. I need a word with Holly.” Kian gave me a worried look before he left. I couldn’t figure out why. Jessica led me around a corner. It was secluded, but there was still a drone camera hovering nearby. A bad feeling washed over me. My premonition was right. The next second, a sharp, stinging slap echoed in the quiet space. “Stay away from Kian,” she hissed. “He’s mine.” The blow was vicious. My ears rang, and I could feel my cheek swelling instantly. But thanks to my new pain-free body, it felt like nothing more than the brush of a feather. 「Please make a choice.」 「A. Slap her back.」 「B. Kiss her.」 Well, if my audience wants a show, a show is what they’ll get. I’m choosing B! In the next moment, my body lurched forward on its own, and I pressed my lips directly onto her crimson-stained mouth. And standing right behind me, watching it all, were Kai and Kian.

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The night before I found out I was the long-lost daughter of a wealthy family, my adoptive mother crept into my room with a kitchen cleaver, ready to end my life. Too bad for her, I wasn’t in my bed. I was under it. When I first arrived at the Ashton estate, the entire family looked like they’d seen a ghost. Which made sense. They had just received news that the car sent to pick me up had exploded. The fake heiress, their darling Olivia, asked me with a gentle, honey-sweet voice, “Sophie, why weren’t you in the car?” I answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Why would I ever get into a car with a stranger?” “A stranger could kill me. A car could kill me.” I scanned the opulent room and the stunned faces before me. “And for the record, I’m still convinced you all want to kill me, too.” Later, my mother, Eleanor, thinking I was being overly cautious, personally ladled a bowl of soup for me. I smiled, then produced a silver needle and dipped it into the broth. The needle turned black. Eleanor stopped smiling. 1 When I walked into the Ashton family’s grand living room, everyone’s eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. My birth mother, Eleanor, was a mess of tears and snot, wailing about how tragic my fate was. Seeing their state, I cleared my throat. The butler had led me in, and I stood before them, my worn-out backpack and duffel bags a stark contrast to the marble floors. “Hello,” I said. “I’m Sophie.” The three of them—my mother, my father, and their son—just stared, frozen. After all, not ten minutes earlier, they had received confirmation of my death. The car sent to retrieve me had exploded en route. There were no survivors. It was the fake daughter, Olivia, who recovered first. Her voice was as soft as silk. “Sophie, why weren’t you in the car?” I gave a slight shrug. “Why would I get into a car with a stranger?” I said flatly. “Strangers are dangerous. What if he decided to pull out a knife and gut me? And cars are dangerous. What if we got into an accident? A stranger and a car? I can think of at least a hundred ways to die.” I let my gaze drift over each of them, my expression blank. “Of course,” I added, “I’m still convinced you people want to hurt me, too.” My parents, Richard and Eleanor, exchanged a look, utterly lost for words. My brother, Ethan, stepped forward. “What are you talking about? You’re our family. Why would we want to hurt you?” “Is that so? Good,” I replied, my eyes already mapping the layout of the mansion, plotting fire escape routes. The rooms were too big, with too many places for someone to hide. The house was crawling with butlers and maids; keeping a safe distance would be a chore. Eleanor must have noticed the tension in my posture. She spoke in a soft, soothing tone. “Don’t worry, Sophie. You’re home now. We won’t let you suffer anymore.” As she spoke, she reached out, intending to stroke my hair. Her hand was halfway to my head when I instinctively recoiled, putting a good ten feet between us. From this distance, if she lunged, I’d have a head start. Eleanor froze, awkwardly retracting her hand. “It’s alright,” she said, her smile a little strained. “We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other.” I just stared at her, saying nothing. Ethan couldn’t hold back his frustration. “Sophie, Mom is just trying to be nice to you! She’s not going to attack you.” Olivia seized the opportunity, her voice dripping with manufactured concern. “Sophie… don’t you want to be here with us?” “That’s right,” I said, my directness wiping the sweet expression right off her face. “I don’t. I never wanted to come back.” “What… what do you mean?” she stammered. I smirked and pointed a finger at her. “What do I mean? I mean, you can thank your precious birth mother for that.” I let the words hang in the air. “Last night, she came at me with a kitchen cleaver. If I hadn’t already been hiding under the bed, I’d be dead right now.” A dead silence fell over the room. I turned my gaze to my biological parents. “As for why I came here,” I continued, “it’s because you’re civilized people. I assume your methods of murder will be a little more… sophisticated. Physical attacks test my reflexes, and frankly, I’m too malnourished to outrun anyone.” 2 Ethan’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about? Olivia’s birth mother is your adoptive mother. Why would she try to kill you?” Olivia’s face went pale, and her voice cracked. “Yes, Sophie, how could you say that about Mom? She raised you for over a decade.” Watching their little performance, I reached into my backpack, pulled out the official police report receipt, and tossed it onto the mahogany coffee table. Then I took out my phone and played a video. On the screen, a middle-aged woman hacked at an empty bed with a cleaver, striking it over and over again. When she realized no one was there, she began frantically searching the room. The next clip was shaky footage of her chasing me down the street, cleaver in hand, for block after block. When the video ended, Eleanor’s eyes were welling up again, but this time, she kept her distance. My father, Richard, just frowned, lost in thought. Olivia sat on the sofa, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. “Is that… real? Not from a movie?” Ethan exclaimed. “It’s real,” I said calmly. “So, if you two are feeling charitable, could you get me a lawyer?” Richard finally spoke, his voice raspy. “Yes. I’ll hire the best. Is there anything else you need?” I thought for a moment. “I want you to let me stay here, safely, until I finish my final exams.” “Done,” he said without hesitation. “And rest assured, we will protect you. You are our daughter. You can ask for anything.” I put my phone away, my voice devoid of emotion. “That won’t be necessary. I have no expectations of you.” Eleanor’s lips parted as if to say something, but she just offered me a gentle, sad smile instead. Ethan looked like he was about to argue, but a sharp glance from his father silenced him. Richard changed the subject, suggesting he show me to my room. When we got there, Eleanor looked at me expectantly. “Sophie, I had a designer decorate this room just for you, based on what we thought you might like. It has great light and a small balcony. What do you think?” I ignored her and the view she was pointing to. The moment the door opened, I started methodically searching the entire space. The smile on Eleanor’s face froze. “Sophie, what are you looking for?” “Just checking to see if anyone’s tampered with anything.” “Sophie, are you insane?” Ethan had followed us in and was now scowling as he watched me take apart an electrical socket. “This is our home! Who would bother trying to harm you here?!” I ignored him, continuing my sweep, checking every corner, every fixture. Ethan kept muttering under his breath until I placed the three pinhole cameras I’d found on the pristine white bedspread. He fell silent, his eyes wide with shock. “What… what are those?” “Cameras.” Eleanor’s face paled. “That’s impossible,” she stammered. “How could there be cameras in here?” “Can I have a different room?” I asked, looking around at the overly lavish decor, wondering what else was hidden within the walls. Richard arrived a moment later. He took one look at the cameras, didn’t ask a single question, and told me to pick any room I wanted. I did a full circuit of the mansion and chose a modest room on the ground floor, right next to the main entrance. 3 After I’d settled in, the butler called me for dinner. I grabbed my backpack and went to the dining room. Olivia smiled sweetly as I approached. “Sophie, you’re finally here.” I didn’t answer. First, I walked a full circle around the massive dining table. I checked my chair for any strange liquids and glanced up to ensure there were no precariously hanging chandeliers directly overhead. Only then did I sit, placing my backpack on my lap where I could easily reach inside. Eleanor offered me a bowl of rice. I shook my head and pulled two cans of beef stew and a vacuum-sealed sausage from my bag. “No, thank you. I brought my own.” A troubled look crossed her face. “You don’t like rice?” “It’s not that. This just feels safer.” I inspected the seals on the cans before popping one open. Canned food was infinitely more trustworthy than anything on this table. Eleanor leaned closer, her eyes filled with concern. “But you’re a growing girl. You can’t live on canned food.” “Unhealthy is better than dead,” I said without looking up, scooping a spoonful of stew into my mouth. Ethan slammed his chopsticks down. “Sophie, don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?” he snapped. “The staff prepared this food. What could possibly be wrong with it? You’re acting like a cornered animal. Isn’t it exhausting?” I ignored him and continued eating my stew. Eleanor, her heart clearly aching for me, personally ladled a bowl of chicken soup. “Sophie, I made this myself. Just have one sip, please? I promise, there’s nothing in it.” I stared at the bowl for a two full seconds, then reached into my backpack and pulled out a long, thin silver needle. Pinching the end, I slowly dipped the tip into the soup. “Sophie, what are you doing?” Olivia put her chopsticks down, her eyes fixed on me. “Surely you don’t think your own mother would poison you?” Ethan was about to chime in, but before he could, the tip of the silver needle turned a deep, unmistakable black. Eleanor stared, her eyes wide with disbelief. Before I could speak, Richard said soothingly, “Silver needles aren’t always accurate. The soup might just contain some natural sulfides.” Eleanor nodded eagerly. “That’s right, Sophie! It’s probably just a mistake.” “We’ll see if it’s a mistake,” I said, cutting her off. I reached deep into my backpack and pulled out a small, palm-sized wire cage. Cowering inside was a small gray mouse I had caught specifically for this purpose. I’d been keeping it in my bag for poison testing. “Where did you get a mouse?!” Ethan shot up from his chair, his face contorted in disgust. “Sophie, have you lost your mind? You brought a rodent into the house!” I ignored him, used a small spoon to scoop up a bit of the chicken soup, and offered it to the mouse through the bars of the cage. The mouse crept forward, licked the spoon twice, and then, a few seconds later, it began to twitch violently before falling over, stiff as a board. 4 The air at the table froze solid. Eleanor’s face went chalk-white, her lips trembling too much to form words. Olivia, sitting beside her, showed a brief flash of panic before her expression returned to normal. “Dad, Mom… maybe the mouse was already sick.” Ethan, staring at the dead rodent, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, maybe Sophie is just trying to scare us.” I looked up at my brother and gave him a pitying smile. Then, I reached back into my bag and pulled out another, perfectly healthy, wriggling mouse. “You have another one?” Ethan stared at my backpack as if it were a portal to another dimension. I picked up the spoon and offered another taste of the soup. Soon, there was a second dead mouse on the table, its demise as swift and silent as the first. This time, nobody said a word. Richard’s face was like thunder. He ordered the butler to clear the table and throw everything out. I went back to my canned stew, silently contemplating the fact that this pristine mansion was probably devoid of wild mice for me to catch. Maybe I’d have to start breeding my own. They seemed easy enough to raise. Later that afternoon, I was hungry again. I took out a self-heating pack to boil water for some instant noodles. Ethan walked in and scoffed at the sight. “Are you serious, Sophie? There’s a gas stove and an electric kettle right there, and you’re using that little contraption to cook?” He shook his head. “So inefficient.” “It’s safe,” I said without turning around, sprinkling the seasoning packet over the dry noodles. “Safe my ass. I think you just don’t know how to use a real kitchen, so you’re putting on a show.” He came over and snatched the self-heating container from my hands, placing it on the counter. “The noodles that thing makes are barely edible. Just wait. I’ll make you a proper bowl. It’ll take ten minutes and taste a hundred times better.” “I don’t need you to,” I said, reaching for the container, but he pulled it away. He raised an eyebrow, full of misplaced confidence. “I’m your brother. You think I’m going to hurt you?” I frowned, looking at him seriously. “I just don’t think the kitchen is safe. What if someone tampered with the gas line? What if it explodes?” “You think way too much. I bet the soup thing was just a weird fluke. I had two bowls of it at lunch and I’m fine.” He turned and headed for the kitchen. As I watched him go, alarm bells screamed in my head. I quickly backed away to a safe distance. “Will you stop it already?” he said, glancing back and rolling his eyes at me. “I’m just making instant noodles. Wait right there.” I watched him walk into the kitchen. A second later, there was a deafening BOOM. By the time the butler and my parents came running, black smoke was already billowing out of the kitchen doorway. The ambulance arrived quickly. As they loaded Ethan onto a stretcher, he looked over at me, his face smudged with soot, and mumbled, “It must have been… an accident. When I get back… I’ll make you those noodles…” I watched the ambulance drive away, then quietly went back to making my noodles with the self-heating pack.

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After I Woke Up in a Novel, I Discovered I Had the Same Name as the Heroine It was a safe assumption, I thought, that I was the heroine. So, leaning on the impenetrable shield of plot armor, I found the male lead back when he was still broke and living in a shithole apartment, and I completely forced myself on him. Even when he looked at me with red-rimmed eyes and told me he hated me, I thought it was just part of the game. It wasn’t until the real heroine showed up that I realized he wasn’t playing. He really, truly hated me. Heartbroken, I packed my bags to run for my life. The next second, he had me pinned against the wall. “Running so soon?” he murmured, his voice a low growl. “Tired of playing with me already, baby?” 1 The bed in the cramped studio apartment was never meant for two people. It forced me to sleep pressed right up against Caleb, which, secretly, I loved. It was the perfect excuse to feel the hard lines of his muscles under my hands, to tuck myself into the curve of his body. There was, however, one drawback. The cheap wooden frame was old, and any significant movement would make it groan and squeak in protest. Like right now. My vision was blurred with tears as he held me tight against him, the sound of the squeaking bed and his ragged breaths filling my ears. Sweat plastered the dark hair to his forehead, and his black, fathomless eyes were locked on mine. With the slightest shift, a drop of sweat would fall from his temple to my neck, and he would follow it with his lips, kissing it away. It should have been a tender gesture. But right now, I was so exhausted I just wanted to curse him out. Wasn’t the male lead in the book supposed to be gentle?! Where the hell did Caleb get this kind of raw, relentless strength? It’s been two years since I woke up in this romance novel, a story about a beloved small-town girl and the man who builds an empire for her. The good news was, my name was the same as the heroine’s. According to the unwritten laws of transmigrating into novels, that had to mean I was her. In the book, the male lead starts from nothing, creates a business empire, and falls for the heroine at first sight. When I arrived, they weren’t supposed to have met yet. This version of Caleb was still just a broke kid working construction. But I didn’t want to wait. It was supposed to be love at first sight anyway, right? So I found Caleb’s rundown apartment and launched a full-blown, relentless campaign of seduction. Bolstered by my supposed status as the cherished female lead, I was demanding and difficult, making him cater to my every whim. I even convinced myself that when I’d first pushed him down onto this very bed and he’d looked at me, eyes red with something I couldn’t decipher, and told me he hated me… it was just foreplay. And now, two years later, I had successfully worn him down. We were living together. My mind was drifting when a sharp sting on my lip pulled me back. Caleb was watching me, his expression laced with displeasure. “What are you thinking about?” Before I could answer, a look of dawning comprehension crossed his face, followed by a cold sneer. “Oh, right. The milk. That explains why you’re burning up. You put something in it again, didn’t you?” “Ava,” he said, his voice flat. “It’s been two years. Is this still the only trick you know?” I couldn’t argue. He was right. Back when he didn’t fall for me at first sight—when he was, in fact, cold to the point of cruelty—I had resorted to desperation. I’d slipped something into his drink. It was the only way I finally got him into my bed. But arguing about it now was pointless. I gave his calf a weak kick. “How much longer? I’m so tired.” I don’t know how much time passed, but through a drowsy haze, I felt myself being lifted, carried to the tiny bathroom, washed gently, and then placed softly back in bed. Yawning, I mumbled an explanation. “I didn’t put anything in the milk.” Caleb’s movements stilled. He raised an eyebrow. “Then why do I feel so hot?” I thought about it for a second. “Well… it was hot milk.” Caleb just stared at me. I wrapped my arms around his neck, calling his bluff without a shred of mercy. “Just admit you like me in this silk slip.” “But you ripped it the very first time I wore it,” I pouted. “That was real silk, you know. It’s totally in style right now.” He turned his head away, avoiding my gaze, but not before I saw the tips of his ears turn a suspicious shade of red. “Who… who said I liked you in a slip?” Too tired to argue, I closed my eyes and let sleep pull me under. After a long moment, I felt him shift, adjusting his body so I could rest more comfortably in his arms. “Fine,” he whispered into the darkness. “I’ll buy you a new one.” 2 Caleb worked construction during the day, which left me with nothing to do. I eventually found a boring bookkeeping job in a warehouse office to kill time. The pay was terrible, but it wasn’t demanding, and I could chat with the other girls. During a lull, one of them, Sarah, leaned over her desk. “Ava, you’re still with your boyfriend?” I nodded. “Yep.” Her face scrunched up in pity. “A girl as pretty as you… why are you wasting your time on a construction worker? You could find someone with so much more money.” I just shook my head. “He’s a good person. We’re happy.” Aside from Caleb’s infuriating habit of saying the opposite of what he meant, everything really was good. The day dragged on until evening. I was buried in a mountain of ledgers, pretending to work while waiting for the clock to hit five, when our manager walked in with a new girl. “Everyone,” he announced with a wide grin, “I’d like you to meet our new colleague, Eva. She’ll be starting with us tomorrow.” For a second, I thought I’d misheard. “…What’s her name?” “Eva,” the girl said, her voice bright. “E-V-A.” Her eyes sparkled, and she had this magnetic warmth that made you want to be near her. She instantly charmed everyone, blending in with the group as if she’d always been there. The rest of the office staff crowded around her, welcoming her enthusiastically. Watching my usually grumpy manager and my cynical colleagues suddenly turn so warm and friendly, a cold, dawning horror crept over me. This was the “beloved” female lead. Eva looked over at me, her smile genuine and kind. “Hi there! What’s your name?” I forced a laugh that sounded like a strangled cough. “Ha, Ava. A-V-A.” Her eyes widened in surprise. “Wow, our names sound so much alike! What a coincidence.” Yeah. A real coincidence. Especially since, up until thirty seconds ago, I thought I was you. 3 I was screwed. It was all over. I stumbled home from work in a daze, my mind a chaotic mess. Once inside the apartment, I started pacing, waiting anxiously for Caleb to get back. I’d listened to the book on audio, so I never knew how the heroine’s name was spelled. I’d just heard the sound and assumed. Who could have imagined my name was just a homophone of the real heroine’s? I thought I’d finally gotten to be the main character, only to find out I was just some random, insignificant side character. And what had I done for the past two years? Wielding my nonexistent plot armor, I’d made the male lead serve me hand and foot. I’d created a list of ridiculous rules for him: a good morning kiss was required upon waking, a goodbye kiss before he left for work. I’d forced him to call me all sorts of embarrassing pet names—baby, darling, sweetheart. I wasn’t just a side character. I had actively written myself into the role of the villain. So when Caleb had looked at me with those red-rimmed eyes and told me he hated me… …it was because he really, truly hated me. And what happens to the villain in these stories? I didn’t dare to think about it. All I knew was that when the male lead finally rose to power, the first person he would crush would be me. 4 Click. The lock on the door turned. Caleb walked in, shrugging off his dusty work jacket. He was wearing a plain black tank top underneath. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, a strong, solid back. The muscles in his arms were lean and powerful. He caught me staring, and his dark eyes met mine. I looked at the coiled strength in his body and had a terrifying thought: I probably didn’t have to wait for him to get rich to get his revenge. With his physique, he could probably take out ten of me with a single punch. The next second, the fresh scent of soap mixed with something purely masculine washed over me. Caleb stopped right in front of me, his hand cupping the back of my neck as he leaned down to kiss me. It was too deep, too hard. I was too stunned to react. His other hand tightened on my waist, pulling me closer, and just as he tried to deepen the kiss, my brain finally rebooted. I shoved him away, scrambling back to put some distance between us. The charged atmosphere evaporated instantly. Caleb slowly lifted his head, his voice still rough with desire. “What are you hiding for? You’re the one who told me we have to kiss the second I get home.” His tone shifted, becoming a low, coaxing murmur. “Come here. We’re not finished.” A cold sweat broke out on my skin. “Let’s… let’s not kiss today,” I stammered. He noticed my resistance, and his voice went cold. “Not kiss?” He let out a harsh laugh. “So you get to kiss me whenever you want, and push me away when you don’t? Am I a dog you’re training, Ava?” I scrambled for an excuse. “I have a canker sore, so we shouldn’t—” Before I could finish, he closed the distance between us, his fingers gripping my chin. His thumb pressed against my lips, forcing my mouth open. “Where? Let me see.” I never expected him to call my bluff like that. I jerked my head away. His hand froze in mid-air. The warmth in his expression vanished, replaced by an icy fury. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Fine. You’ve learned how to lie to me now, too. Good for you, Ava. That’s just great.” The book described him as a gentle, devoted husband. But looking into his eyes, simmering with rage, I finally understood. His gentleness was always reserved for the real heroine. And I was just an imposter who had stolen her place. 5 I’ve always been two things: selfish and a coward. From the moment I was inexplicably dropped into this book, my only goal has been survival. So, when I realized the male lead would probably want to destroy me, my first instinct was to run. If I could run fast enough, hide somewhere he could never find me, maybe he’d forget all about revenge once he finally met the real heroine. I immediately started planning my escape. “What are you spacing out for? Come and eat.” Caleb’s anger hadn’t subsided. His face was a thundercloud as he served a simple dinner of three dishes and a soup. Say what you will about him, but the man could cook. My stomach rumbled traitorously. I swallowed and crept over to the table. Normally, I would have directed him to pick out the best pieces of food for me, to blow on my rice until it was cool enough to eat. But tonight, I didn’t dare act up. I just meekly picked up my chopsticks and started eating, silently cursing my past self for being such a brat. As we ate, I could feel the atmospheric pressure in the room dropping even lower. Huh? Why did he seem even angrier now? I thought about it for a frantic second and decided to try and leave a good impression before I disappeared forever. I sidled up next to him and poked his arm. Poke, poke. “Dinner was delicious! Thank you for making it.” He ignored me. I kept poking. “I shouldn’t have lied to you earlier. Please don’t be mad, okay?” God, how the tables have turned. He used to be the one coaxing me. I’d never been this subservient in my life. The icy tension in the room finally thawed a little. The hard line of his jaw relaxed, and he glanced down at me. “Why are you being so obedient all of a sudden?” he asked, his voice suspicious. “Alright, what is it you want to buy this time?” What?! Was that really how he saw me? As some materialistic leech? I thought, defeated: Forget trying to redeem myself. Just run. 6 Caleb eventually calmed down. His good mood made him much more agreeable. He even consented when I told him I just wanted to sleep, no funny business. The next morning, he gave me my mandatory good morning kiss and made breakfast, just like always. The second the door closed behind him, I leaped out of bed and started putting my escape plan into action. Even though I’d been in this world for two years, I had never really left Caleb’s side. I didn’t know anywhere else. I had to call a friend I trusted for advice. The cell phone from this era was clunky, with limited functions, and incredibly expensive. Caleb had saved for a long time to buy it for me. With my friend’s suggestions, I quickly picked a destination and started packing. There wasn’t much to take—just a few changes of clothes and enough cash for a bus ticket. The most valuable thing I owned was the phone. I could probably get a good amount of money if I sold it. I thought about it, then placed it on the most conspicuous spot on the table, with a short goodbye note tucked underneath. And just like that, I said farewell to the apartment I’d lived in for two years. It all happened so fast; it wasn’t even noon yet. Our building opened onto a dilapidated back alley. To avoid being seen, I decided to leave through the rear exit instead of the main street. The alley twisted and turned. I walked faster and faster, trying to catch the earliest bus out of the city. The doors of the houses were all shut tight. The lane was silent and desolate. The thought of my successful escape, of saving my own skin, put a spring in my step. I rounded another corner. And then I looked up, my cheerful mood evaporating. Leaning casually against the wall was Caleb, a cigarette glowing between his fingers. He was tall and imposing, even when he was just standing there. He looked up calmly, smoke blurring the sharp lines of his face, and his cold gaze landed on me. I had no idea how long he’d been waiting. 7 Before I could even process what was happening, a figure darted out from behind Caleb. “See, Caleb? I told you! She was just going to take your money and run!” I looked closer. It was the “friend” I had called for advice just this morning. My vision went black for a second. “That’s not true! I didn’t!” I tried to defend myself. She wasn’t listening, just piling on the accusations. “I warned you, Caleb! Ava just uses her pretty face. Did you really think she would settle down and build a life with you?” “She’s the type to just take your money and leave!” she spat, reaching out to grab my bag. Even though I was running away, I hadn’t stolen any money! My guilt warred with my indignation as I clutched the bag to my chest. “I didn’t take any money! You have no proof, you’re just slandering me!” “Then open your bag and let us check!” “Shut up,” Caleb said, his voice dangerously low. My heart sank. He wasn’t even going to let me explain. My friend looked at me triumphantly. “You heard him. Open the bag.” “I was talking to you,” Caleb clarified, his voice dropping another ten degrees. “Caleb?” His eyes narrowed, and his gaze, sharp and dismissive, fell on my so-called friend. “You can go now.” She was furious. “Caleb, I’m trying to help you! Don’t be an ungrateful idiot!” She wanted to say more, but one look at the thunderous expression on Caleb’s face sent her scurrying away. Suddenly, it was just the two of us in the alley. My mind was still reeling from the accusation. I had to clear my name. “Caleb, I swear I didn’t steal your money. You know me better than that, right? You can check if you don’t believe me—” “Why were you running?” he cut me off, his voice like ice. “…What?” He didn’t even glance at my bag. He just backed me up against the grimy brick wall, his presence overwhelming, and asked again. “Why were you running?” His voice dropped to a husky whisper, laced with something I couldn’t identify. “Tired of playing with me already, baby?”

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You know the type—the titan of industry, the kind of man who could make the stock market shudder with a single phone call? The kind they write sensational biographies about? I’m his daughter. And from what I can tell, I’m the girl in the story who’s destined to lose. The childhood sweetheart who never stood a chance against the new, exciting girl who falls into the hero’s life like a lightning strike. Case in point: when my fiancé and his new favorite person were kidnapped, and the kidnappers told him he could only save one of us. “Let her die,” he said. Without a moment’s hesitation, he pointed at me, ready to send me to my death. And in that instant, something inside me snapped. I went dark. 1 I was kidnapped. But I was surprisingly calm about it. This sort of thing had a way of happening at least once a year. It’s one of the delightful perks of being the daughter of Magnus Sterling, a man whose favorite pastime is hostile takeovers. This time, however, I had company. Chloe, the precious new secretary of my fiancé, Liam. The two kidnappers had found some clean plastic forks and were trying to get us to eat something out of Styrofoam containers. Chloe was crying, turning her head away in a theatrical display of defiance. By comparison, I was a model hostage. The taller of the two goons didn’t even have to try hard with me. “Well, look at this. The little princess knows how to behave.” “Of course,” I mumbled around a mouthful of lukewarm rice and beans. “Survival of the fittest, right? You adapt, or you die.” 2 After what felt like an eternity, Liam finally arrived, his face a mask of practiced distress. “What do you want?” he demanded, clenching his fists. “Name your price. I’ll pay anything.” “We don’t want your money!” the shorter kidnapper yelled, his voice cracking. “We want a choice! You pick one. The one who stays behind dies!” “Her,” Liam said, pointing a finger straight at me. “Let her die.” He didn’t even blink. He just pushed me forward, an offering to save his own skin. I said nothing. But in the frozen silence of that warehouse, I broke. 3 The tall kidnapper gave Chloe a little shove. She stumbled toward Liam, collapsing into his arms like a damsel in a silent film. He immediately started cooing over her, stroking her hair, whispering sweet nothings. What a touching reunion. If you could ignore the fact that the man holding her was my childhood friend, my fiancé, and had just sentenced me to death. I spat the gag out of my mouth and yelled at the kidnappers behind me. “Hey! You gonna untie me, or what?” Then I turned my attention back to Liam, and the floodgates opened. “You sanctimonious, two-timing cliché! You’re juggling a fiancée your family approved of while playing footsie with your secretary under the desk? Even an octopus doesn’t have that many legs to stand on! “You feed me lines about how much you care, blurring every boundary we have, then you turn around and whisper the same tired poetry to her? God, your mouth must be exhausted, running two different scripts at once. It’s a masterclass in hypocrisy! “What, did she suck out your spine? Put a hex on you? If you had hesitated for even one second, I wouldn’t feel this overwhelming urge to send your entire family a flaming bag of dog shit! “Come on, get over here!” I snarled. “I want a closer look at that shameless face of yours!” I tried to lunge forward, only to be reminded of the ropes binding my wrists. I whipped my head around to face my captors, my expression murderous. “What are you waiting for? Get these things off me!” The shorter one flinched and scrambled to untie me. The second my hands were free, I marched straight up to Liam and slapped him hard across the face. The sound echoed in the cavernous space. Perfect. A perfect ten. “And you,” I jabbed a finger at Chloe, who was cowering behind him. “Stop hiding. Do you really think you can solve every problem by crying? The second I open my mouth, you turn on the waterworks. What were you in a past life, a sprinkler system?” I went on like that, a non-stop, creative tirade of insults, for a solid ten minutes. Every time Liam tried to leave, I’d grab his arm, haul him back, and slap him again. He didn’t seem to know how I’d gotten so strong. But he also didn’t dare try to leave again. He just stood there, his face turning a blotchy red, and took it. “God, I’m thirsty!” I fanned my face with my hand and then stuck it out behind me. “Water? A little help here?” The tall kidnapper respectfully placed a bottle of water in my hand. He clearly didn’t dare direct his anger at me, so he turned on Liam and Chloe instead. “Look what you two did! You got her all worked up!” 4 I kept the verbal assault going for another twenty minutes. Finally, I was out of breath. “Tired?” a low voice spoke from directly behind me. I hadn’t even heard him approach. A man wearing a dark, simple half-mask that covered one side of his face stood there. “Have some more water.” He put a hand on the small of my back, his body close to mine. He leaned in, his voice a murmur against my ear, like a lover sharing a secret. “Need me to make them disappear for you?” I actually had to think about it for a second. “Could you… not kill them?” The man raised an eyebrow. “Why not?” “Murder is a felony,” I said with a shrug. “But making their lives a living hell? I’m open to that.” A low chuckle escaped him. “Consider it done.” Liam’s face had turned a sickly shade of green. “Ava, don’t you dare go too far!” “Are you barking at me?” I flipped him the bird. “I think we both know who went too far. Now get out. The sight of you is ruining my mood.” “You’ll regret this, Ava!” he shouted. I kicked off one of my heels and hurled it at his head. “Regret what? Not dying for you? Get lost!” Liam grabbed Chloe’s hand and they practically sprinted out of the warehouse. The masked man gently touched my hair. “Shall I take you home?” “Sure,” I said, patting his shoulder. “Thanks, man.” It wasn’t until he pulled his sleek, black car up to the gates of my family’s estate that the absurdity of the situation hit me. Is this the new standard for hostage situations? No ransom, and a personal chauffeur service home? “Okay, what’s your angle?” I asked, my brow furrowed. “This whole kidnapping felt like a joke.” “Then maybe you should—” The man’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the steering wheel. “—think of it as a game.” A psycho. Great. I rolled my eyes. Whatever. It’s not like I lost anything today. In fact, I felt like I’d gained something. “Goodbye,” I said, shutting the car door. He lowered the window. “We’ll see each other again, Ava.” 5 I walked into the house to a familiar scene. She runs, he chases, and their dramatic love knows no bounds. My mother, Catherine, was dragging a suitcase toward the front door as I entered. “Hey,” I said with a wave. She nodded, then did a double-take, the theatricality draining from her face. She dropped the suitcase with a thud. “Ava, darling! What happened to you? You’re filthy!” My father, Magnus, stormed out from his study, right on cue. “Catherine Sterling, if you dare take one step out of this house…” His line was cut short by my mother kicking him sharply in the shin. “Magnus, can’t you see our daughter is in distress?” Dad’s demeanor shifted instantly. He rushed over, his face etched with concern. “Sweetheart, what is it? Who hurt you? I’ll ruin them.” “It’s fine,” I said, giving them the condensed version of events. “I already yelled at them.” “Don’t you worry, sweetheart,” my father soothed. “That Liam Prescott wanted the best of both worlds, did he? We’ll see how he likes having no world at all. Don’t worry, Dad will find you someone a hundred times better. I think it’s about time for a hostile takeover. The Prescott Group is about to go bankrupt.” A week passed. The Prescott Group was fine. Two weeks passed. Still fine. Three weeks passed. Annoyingly, stubbornly, fine. “Daddy,” I whined, grabbing his arm. “Don’t you love your little girl anymore?” A smile spread across his face, a deeply unsettling, “benevolent” smile that made my skin crawl. He patted my head. “There, there, sweetheart. The engagement is still on. There’s a big surprise waiting for you.” In his dreams. I played the part of the dutiful daughter, but secretly, I was planning my great escape. One dark and stormy night, I was halfway over the garden wall when my father, who had apparently been waiting for me, had his security team nab me. They bundled me into a car and drove me straight to a wedding venue. I spat out the cloth they’d stuffed in my mouth for dramatic effect and screamed at the heavens. “Dad, you have no honor!” 6 I got married. But the groom wasn’t Liam. It was a man I’d never seen before. I tugged on my dad’s arm while he was chatting with the stranger at the altar. “Dad, who is this?” “Your husband,” he said, slinging an arm around the man’s shoulders like they were old college buddies. “Handsome, right? Your dad has great taste.” The man looked like he was about to be strangled. I quickly intervened. “Hi, I’m Ava Sterling.” He coughed, straightening his tie. “Ethan Cole. A pleasure.” I leaned in close, lowering my voice. “How much is my dad paying you?” “Excuse me?” Ethan looked genuinely confused. “What do you mean?” “Oh, come on, I get it. My dad strong-armed you with a pile of cash to stand in for the groom and save face, right?” “What makes you so sure I wasn’t a willing participant?” he asked, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. There was something familiar in that smile. I shook my head. A man who looked like that? I would have remembered. I glanced to the side and saw my father practically leaning on top of us, shamelessly eavesdropping. “Dad!” He didn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. He just straightened his suit jacket. “I’ll just… go check on the guests. You two kids talk.” Before he walked away, he leaned in and whispered, “He’s the sole heir to the Cole fortune. He doesn’t need my money.” I froze. If he didn’t need money, and he looked like a movie star, what could he possibly want from marrying me? My charming personality? My talent for creative insults? “What I want isn’t important.” I slapped a hand over my mouth. Damn it. Did I say that out loud? “The real question,” Ethan continued, his voice low and persuasive, “is what you want. Don’t you want to see that man utterly humiliated? I have to say, my credentials are… significantly better than his. “Don’t you want to see Liam Prescott become the laughingstock of the entire city?” he pressed on. “Don’t you want to join forces, crush his company, and watch him lose everything?” “I do!” I blurted out, grabbing his arm and linking it with mine. “Honey!” Either way, I came out on top. Only a fool would turn down a deal that good. Years later, I would look back on this day and want to scream at the sky. “Ethan Cole, you magnificent liar!” 7 Halfway through the ceremony, Liam and his parents walked in. No one had bothered to inform the Prescott family about the change in grooms. The smile on Liam’s face froze, then curdled. “Ava, what is the meaning of this?” I rolled my eyes. “Are those two things above your nose just for decoration? Use your eyes.” Liam’s father, his face turning a furious shade of purple, confronted my dad. “Magnus! This is hardly appropriate!” “Hold on,” my father said, his voice dangerously calm. “Are you sure you want to talk to me about what’s appropriate? Because I have a list of your son’s dirty little secrets. We can discuss them right here, in front of everyone, if you’d like.” Liam’s face flushed. “You’re lying!” “How dare you speak to my father that way!” I snapped. “Look at you, you pathetic excuse for a man. I must have been blind to ever put up with you. Not only were you cheating on me, but you were ready to let me die to save your little girlfriend!” “Say whatever you want,” Liam sneered, trying to regain some composure. “You’re the ones who broke the engagement and switched grooms at the altar.” “Enough,” Ethan’s voice cut through the tension. It was quiet, but it carried the weight of absolute authority. The room fell silent. He took a thick envelope from his pocket and tossed it onto the floor in front of Liam. A cascade of glossy photographs spilled out—candid shots of Liam and Chloe, their arms around each other, kissing, looking far too intimate. “You can’t hide what’s done in the dark, Prescott,” Ethan said, his smile laced with ice. Liam’s face went white. He lunged for the photos, but my father casually kicked them, sending them scattering across the marble floor. A few of the guests picked them up, their eyes widening. Suddenly, my accusations carried a lot more weight. Ethan was still smiling that cold smile. “Now, if security could please remove the irrelevant parties, I have a wedding to get back to.” My father signaled his security team, and a few large men efficiently escorted the sputtering Prescotts out of the hall. The ceremony continued. Ethan and I exchanged rings. “The groom may now kiss the bride,” the officiant announced. My toes curled in my shoes. This was mortifying. I didn’t know this man. “Don’t be nervous,” Ethan whispered, leaning in. “We’ll just angle it for the cameras.” As he turned his head, his profile silhouetted against the light, something clicked in my brain. A flash of memory. The half-mask. The low voice. The car. “It was you, wasn’t it?” I gasped, grabbing the lapels of his suit. “You were the one who kidnapped me.” A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. “You finally remember,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear. “Wife.”

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In a fiery car crash, I threw myself in front of Jacob Vance and saved his life. In doing so, I fell into a coma, becoming the untouchable saint in his memory, the ghost he could never let go of. But when I woke up, I found a fiancée by his side—a woman who shared my eyes, my smile. That’s when I learned the truth: I was living in a dark romance novel, a world designed for my suffering. Jacob was destined to waver between us, torturing me with his indecision. After a series of heart-wrenching and brutal events, I would finally die of cancer. Only then would Jacob have his grand epiphany, casting aside his fiancée to live a life of lonely regret. The Laws of this World whispered, “This is the greatest punishment for him.” And I thought, To hell with that. 1 It didn’t take long for the news of my awakening to reach Jacob. He was overseas at a critical summit, but the moment he heard, he dropped everything and chartered the first flight back. That evening, I saw him, haggard and travel-worn. He burst through the door to my private room, the usually stoic, reserved man stumbling as he collapsed by my bedside. He seized my hand, his grip desperate, as if I were a priceless treasure he’d almost lost forever. “Chloe… Chloe! You’re really awake. I thought they were lying to me…” Jacob pulled me into a fierce embrace, his hot tears searing my neck. “Why did you do it?” he choked out. “Why did you push me out of the way? If I had known you’d end up like this, lying here for years… I would rather it had been me who died.” The nurses in the room were already wiping their eyes, captivated by what they saw as a beautiful, tragic love story. If I hadn’t dreamt of the brutal future awaiting me, a premonition of all the pain to come, I might have been moved, too. He held me for a long moment. When I remained still and silent, he pulled back slightly, his voice soft with concern. “Chloe, why aren’t you saying anything?” I moistened my lips, gesturing to my throat, which felt like sandpaper. He was on his feet in an instant, pouring a glass of lukewarm water and helping me take small, careful sips. Once the soothing water eased the rasp in my throat, I spoke, my voice a fragile whisper. “I saved you?” He froze, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “You did. You shoved me so hard… before I even knew what was happening, the car hit you. It sent you flying.” Jacob clutched his head, a wave of pain washing over his face as he relived the memory. “Chloe, don’t you ever do something so foolish again. You’re the most important person in my life. If anything had happened to you… I would have lost my mind.” I said nothing. Because in my memory, that wasn’t how I ended up in a coma. Not at all. But as he spoke, his expression was utterly sincere, and the faces of his assistant and the nurses showed no hint of surprise. It confirmed my suspicion: this novel-world had a self-correcting mechanism, capable of rewriting reality to fit its plot. But… My fingers traced the line of his jaw, up to his perfect, sculpted features. There, just at the edge of his eyelid, was a tiny, faint brown scar. According to the script, my selfless sacrifice should have left him completely unharmed. Yet, here was proof—a flaw in the narrative. The car crash had left its mark on him, however small. It meant the plot wasn’t entirely absolute. It could be bent. I suppressed the storm of emotions rising within me, forcing myself into the role I was meant to play. “Jacob,” I whispered, my eyes welling with tears. “I’ve missed you so much…” I threw my arms around him and began to sob, just as the girl in the story would have. 2 After I woke up, no matter how demanding his schedule, Jacob made time to visit me at the hospital every single day. He always brought me flowers. Not the extravagant, air-freighted bouquets of a billionaire, but simple arrangements he’d chosen himself from a small florist down the street. Today, he brought a spray of fragrant lilies, their white petals nestled against dark green eucalyptus leaves. A gentle breeze drifted through the open window, filling the room with a sense of serene beauty. As he gently combed my hair, he smiled. “Don’t you like them, Chloe? I remember you made a list once, full of all the places you dreamed of seeing.” He held me, his voice a low murmur against my ear. “You’re still recovering, so for now, I can only bring the world to you in pieces. But get better soon, my love. After we’re married, I’ll take you to every single one of those places. I promise.” Just as the words left his lips, his phone buzzed, a sharp, intrusive sound. Jacob pulled it from his pocket, turning away slightly as he glanced at the screen. His posture stiffened. “Chloe, it’s a work call. I’ll just be a moment.” He didn’t even wait for my reply, stepping over to the window to answer. I felt a cold, bitter laugh rise in my throat. If I didn’t know that was Isabelle Croft on the other end, calling to discuss the final details of their engagement party, his tender words might have actually melted my heart. In the days that followed, I threw myself into physical therapy. Years in a coma had left my body withered and weak; the road to recovery was more arduous than I could have imagined. There were moments when the pain was so intense I wanted to scream, to give up, but the memory of the nightmares that plagued my unconsciousness was a relentless whip, driving me forward. I had to be strong. I had to be ready before the next major plot point unfolded. It was the only way to seize control, to prevent that dream from becoming my reality. My efforts paid off. One week before Jacob’s engagement party, I was discharged from the hospital and moved into the Vance estate. He settled me into a sun-drenched room on the second floor. After the staff had unpacked my things, I asked to explore the house. They must have been given instructions by Jacob, because no one stopped me. The estate was immense. It took me three full days to map out every corner, every hallway, every hidden door. And through it all, Jacob and I were the picture of a loving couple, just like we used to be, before the crash, before the lies. 3 But as the day of the engagement party drew closer, a palpable tension began to radiate from Jacob. He was growing anxious. With me living under his roof, he needed a reason, a solid excuse, to get me out of the house on the day of the party. In the original story, I was still in the hospital, conveniently out of sight. But now, here I was, a living, breathing complication nestled in his arms. I reached up, gently smoothing the worry lines forming between his brows. “What’s wrong? You look so stressed, even at home.” He flinched, his eyes clouded with conflict. After a moment of hesitation, he began, “Chloe, in a few days…” I cut him off, playing the part of the understanding lover. “There’s a traveling art exhibition opening downtown in a few days,” I said, my voice bright. “I’d love to see it. Can I go?” I leaned into him, my tone playful and coaxing. The relief that washed over his face was immediate. “Of course,” he said, his smile returning. “I’ll have my assistant get you tickets. I have a major meeting that day, so I’ll have Davies drive you.” I smiled and nodded. The engagement party was on a Friday night. Jacob saw me off early that morning, his affection a mask for his relief. Davies, his ever-polite assistant, drove me to the gallery. His conversation was pleasant, but he kept dropping hints about all the other wonderful places to visit nearby—boutiques, cafes, parks. Jacob’s orders were clear: keep me occupied for as long as possible. I spent the morning wandering through the exhibition, then had a late lunch at a nearby bistro. By early evening, I found a high-end spa. “Mr. Davies,” I said with an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, but would you mind if I just popped in here for a bit? A friend gave me a gift card, and I haven’t had a proper spa day since… well, since before. It seems like the perfect chance.” His smile widened, all too happy to oblige. “Of course, Ms. Sutton. Take all the time you need.” But I wasn’t there for a massage. I was there for the back exit. It was the perfect way to slip away while keeping Davies pinned in place. Once outside, I hailed a cab and gave the driver the one address that had been burning in my mind. The Vance estate. 4 Standing outside the towering gates of the Vance estate, I took a deep, steadying breath. As dusk settled, the mansion began to glow, light spilling from every window, turning the colossal building into a glittering jewel against the darkening sky. I slipped away from the main entrance, hiding in the shadows of a side path. From my vantage point, I watched as a parade of luxury cars delivered the city’s elite—politicians, tycoons, celebrities—all arriving for the grand celebration. In my nightmare, the dream that was my future, this was the day I finally completed my physical therapy. Filled with joy and hope, I had returned to the Vance estate, only to walk into the scene of my beloved’s engagement party with another woman. The shock had shattered me. I had stared at Jacob’s stunned face, turned without a word, and walked away, setting in motion the tragic story of our love. This world’s plot had a way of healing itself. Even if I avoided Isabelle tonight, the story would conspire to reveal her to me eventually. But I had learned something crucial: the plot’s self-correction took time. And in that window of time, I had to do something drastic to ensure I never walked that tragic path again. The Vances were a pillar of society; I had no invitation. Walking through the front door was impossible. In the story, the original me had forced her way in, a scene of humiliating, desperate chaos. I wouldn’t make the same mistake. During my three days exploring the estate, I’d found it: a small, seldom-used service gate, overgrown with ivy. I slipped the key I’d copied into the lock. It turned with a quiet click. I was in. The backyard had been transformed. To impress the Croft family, Jacob had spared no expense. Crates of exotic ingredients flown in from overseas, dozens of renowned chefs, and tables groaning under the weight of a lavish feast. Society’s finest mingled, champagne in hand, their polite smiles hiding shrewd, calculating eyes. I was dressed in a simple, pearl-white silk dress. I looked elegant enough to blend in, and in the bustling crowd, no one noticed the uninvited guest in their midst. My gaze swept across the garden, past the laughing guests, and up towards the mansion. There, on the second-floor balcony, stood a solitary figure. She wore a stunning designer gown, her long hair elegantly pinned with a pearl clip. Even from this distance, I couldn’t see her face clearly, but I knew. I knew with absolute certainty that she was the one I was looking for. Isabelle Croft. 5 I navigated the crowds, slipping inside the mansion and making my way to the second-floor balcony. Isabelle stood with her back to me, swirling a glass of champagne, lost in thought. She turned at the sound of my footsteps. When her eyes landed on my face—a face so strikingly similar to her own—she gasped. “You… it’s you? You’re Chloe Sutton? The one who saved Jacob?” I gave a slight nod. A bitter, self-deprecating laugh escaped her lips. “So it’s true. I wondered why he would ever agree to an arranged marriage with my family. They were all right…” She stepped closer, her eyes scanning my features, searching for the resemblance. “We really do… look alike.” Her family had built their empire on the East Coast, only expanding to Veridia City two years ago. To gain a foothold in a new city’s competitive business world, an alliance with a family like the Vances was the fastest way. Her father had proposed the marriage. “Everyone told my father not to bother,” she continued, her voice laced with irony. “Veridia has no shortage of eligible heiresses. If Jacob Vance wanted a wife, he could have had his pick from here to Paris. So why was he still single?” Isabelle took a sip of her champagne. “My father had given up hope. But then, Jacob saw my picture. And he agreed.” Her eyes, shadowed with a strange mix of clarity and disillusionment, met mine. “I thought it was love at first sight. I never imagined it was because, as everyone whispered, I looked so much like you.” I remained silent. This wasn’t the Isabelle I knew from the story. The novel painted her as a one-dimensional, brainless antagonist, a mere tool to create conflict between Jacob and me. But the woman standing before me was self-aware, her pain palpable. She was no mere plot device. Just as I was about to speak, reality slapped me in the face. Isabelle’s eyes flickered to something over my shoulder. Suddenly, her body lurched forward. The champagne glass in her hand tilted precariously, the golden liquid about to spill all over her expensive gown. I recognized the scene instantly. It was a moment from later in the story, at another party. Isabelle would accuse me of deliberately spilling wine on her. Jacob, refusing to believe my denials, would force me to kneel on broken glass and apologize to her, all to appease the Croft family. The author had tried to frame it as a twisted act of protection—by humiliating me himself, he was preventing the Crofts from seeking further revenge. But pain was pain. Whether it came from Jacob or the Crofts, it made no difference. And it all stemmed from one source: his own weakness. His inability to be alone while I was in a coma, his selfish need for a substitute. How could the author ever label a man like that devoted? In that split second, I saw her intent. I moved first. My hand shot out, clamping down on the rim of the glass. I used so much force that the fragile stem should have snapped, but it held firm. The champagne sloshed, but not a single drop touched my skin. Isabelle stared at me, her eyes wide with shock. Her heel wobbled, and she started to fall. Before she could hit the ground in a dramatic heap, my other hand snaked out, grabbing her arm and wrenching her upright. I clapped a hand over her mouth, dragging her from the brightly lit balcony into the deep shadows of an alcove. A moment later, Jacob and a group of guests passed by, their laughter echoing in the hall. They heard nothing. They saw nothing. 6 Once they were gone, I released her. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demanded, my voice a low hiss. Isabelle seemed to snap out of a trance, her eyes slowly regaining focus. She looked at me, her expression bewildered. “I… I don’t know,” she whispered. “It’s like, ever since I met Jacob, my body just does these… strange things on its own.” “Sometimes I’m clinging to him, acting like a spoiled child. Other times I’m cruel, sneering at other women who have a crush on him,” she said, her gaze intense. “I was never like this back home. Never.” But until this moment, no one had ever called her out on it. Her own mind had simply accepted these actions as normal, never questioning the bizarre impulses. “Ms. Sutton,” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. “Do you believe me?” I studied her face, searching for any sign of deception. I found none. “Isabelle,” I asked softly, “are you in love with Jacob?” She hesitated, her hand pressing against her chest as if to feel her own heartbeat. The strange compulsions might not be hers, but the affection for Jacob… that was real. She gave a slow, deliberate nod. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. If her love was just another part of the script, I would have had no way to convince her to help me. I chose my words carefully. “I’m not here by choice. Jacob is keeping me here, against my will. I don’t love him.” Isabelle looked skeptical. “But the stories… everyone says you were inseparable. That you even took a bullet for him, metaphorically speaking.” “There was a car crash, yes,” I countered, “but it wasn’t to save him. He’s the one spinning that story, making sure everyone believes I’m here because I want to be.” I poured every ounce of sincerity I could muster into my expression, praying she would believe me. And she did. Whether it was my performance or her own innate decency, she finally accepted my words. After a long pause, she asked quietly, “What do you want me to do?” A spark of hope ignited within me. I grabbed her hand. “Your brother,” I said urgently. “I hear he’s in the military, Special Forces?” She hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Please,” I pressed, “can you introduce me to him? Jacob has connections everywhere. If I’m going to escape him, I need help from someone he can’t control, someone he fears.” Isabelle’s expression, once sympathetic, suddenly turned cynical. “So that’s it. You’re just using me to get to my brother.” I knew what she was thinking. She saw me as just another woman trying to climb the social ladder by latching onto her powerful brother. I couldn’t let her walk away. As she turned to leave, I stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “Believe me or not, I’m telling you the truth.” My voice was desperate, earnest. “Even if you don’t trust me, trust your brother’s judgment. Just make the introduction. He’ll be able to see for himself whether I’m a social climber or someone who genuinely needs his help.” She stared at me for a long, tense moment, her eyes searching mine. Finally, she relented. “Fine,” she sighed. “I’ll set up a meeting. But after that, you’re on your own.” She was about to leave, but paused at the door. She turned back, a thoughtful look on her face. “Chloe Sutton… I did some research on you. Don’t you have a sister? Where is she now?” 7 After striking the deal with Isabelle, I slipped out through the same side gate I’d used to enter, melting back into the night. I took a cab back to the spa, reappearing just as a real customer would, feigning relaxation and offering my apologies to a waiting Davies. He waved it off, his relief palpable, and drove me back to the Vance estate. When we arrived, the mansion was pristine. The staff had worked with chilling efficiency; there wasn’t a single trace of the lavish party that had just ended. Jacob was waiting for me. He pulled me into his arms, his voice a soft murmur against my hair. “Chloe, you’re finally back. I missed you like crazy.” He tilted my head up to kiss me. I didn’t resist, letting him take what he wanted. After a moment, he pulled away, his voice thick with desire. “I got ahead of myself,” he rasped. “I almost forgot you’re still recovering.” He took a deep breath, stroking my hair. “Go on up to bed. I need a cold shower.” I nodded obediently and left him standing there. Upstairs, I collapsed onto the plush bed, my body aching with a day’s worth of tension and exhaustion. Sleep claimed me almost instantly. 8 That night, for the first time in years, I dreamed of my sister, Lily. In the grand, tragic novel of my life, Lily was barely a footnote, a single line in my backstory. But to me, she was everything. Our father was a pilot. He died in a crash when we were young, a fiery end to a life lived in the sky. Our mother, a gentle soul, did something that seemed both insane and incredibly brave: she followed him, leaving my sister and me orphaned. We were sent to live with our grandmother in the countryside. But she was a woman broken by grief, having lost her husband and then her daughter. In truth, we took care of her more than she ever took care of us. Those years of shared hardship forged an unbreakable bond between Lily and me. We had the same dreams. In college, we were dirt poor, living from one meager paycheck to the next. We worked and studied constantly, but in our rare moments of peace, we’d huddle together, watching documentaries. Our favorite was a series about the ancient Silk Road. The names of those faraway places—the Gobi Desert, the whispering poplar forests—they were like magic spells to us. We made a pact: one day, when we had money, we would see them all. I can still see her so clearly, scribbling on a notepad while gnawing on a piece of stale bread. She’d look up at me, a mischievous grin on her face, revealing a single, endearing crooked tooth. “Chloe,” she’d say, “you’re so frail. When we’re out there in the wild, don’t you dare ask me to carry you when you get tired.” I was about to retort, to say something back to her, when the dream dissolved into a blinding white light, and I was awake. Sunlight streamed through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, warming the hardwood floors. I stood barefoot in the center of the room, running a hand through my tangled hair in frustration. If Isabelle hadn’t mentioned her, I might have never realized. How long had it been since I’d even thought about Lily? The most important person in my entire world. 9 Isabelle was true to her word. Less than a week after she agreed to help, I received a text from her with a time and place. At this early stage of the story, Jacob hadn’t yet become the possessive jailer he would later be. So, on a day he was occupied at the office, I arranged to meet her brother, Leo Croft, at a café near the city’s landmark Twin Towers. The meeting was set for noon. I arrived half an hour early. I slipped into the restroom to touch up my makeup, deliberately making myself look paler, more fragile. I stared at my reflection: a woman in a cream-colored cashmere sweater and a long, flowing chiffon skirt. I looked delicate, ethereal, breakable. I didn’t know if this performance would earn Leo’s sympathy, but I was playing the long game. In the future I had dreamed of, the one where Jacob held me captive, it was a righteous, justice-driven Leo who noticed my plight and tried to rescue me. His attempt had failed, and Jacob had dragged me back. But he was the only person I knew of, the only character in this twisted story, with the power to help me break free. 10 When I returned to my table, a man was already sitting there. He was tall and lean, with sun-kissed skin that contrasted sharply with his fierce, handsome features. He had the unsettling stillness of a predator, the kind of man who moved like the wind. I walked over and sat down opposite him. “You must be Leo Croft.” He glanced up, his expression unreadable, and gave a curt nod for me to speak. I ordered two coffees—an iced Americano for him, a cappuccino for me. When they arrived, he took a sip of his, and we sat in a heavy silence. Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. My eyes fell on his untouched coffee, his stoic face, and then on the corner of a pamphlet sticking out of his jacket pocket. It was for a nature photography exhibition, right next door in the Twin Towers. I decided to take a risk. I invited him to see the exhibit with me. His expression remained cool, but I saw the tension in his brow ease ever so slightly. We walked into the gallery side-by-side, greeted by a stunning photograph of a lioness nursing her cubs. “The Ethiopian savanna, during the dry season,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Most of the herd animals migrate toward water, and the predators follow. This was a lioness who fell behind, her cubs starving.” I listened without comment. He didn’t seem to mind, leading me to the second floor. In the center of the room hung the exhibition’s masterpiece: a breathtaking shot of a whale breaching the surface of the ocean. It was taken in the Arctic Circle, under the rare and magical glow of the aurora borealis. The sky was a canvas of surreal, vibrant colors, transforming the already majestic scene into something otherworldly. A giant rising from the deep to roar its existence at the heavens. “This is—” “Taken three years ago, off the coast of Iceland,” I finished for him, my voice quiet. He turned to look at me, surprised. “The photographer was on a fishing trawler, hoping for a good catch of cod. He stumbled upon this by accident.” I moved to a nearby display, a series of photos documenting the cod fishing industry. I couldn’t help but smile. “Hard to believe the UK and Iceland almost went to war over these things, isn’t it?” My finger traced the glass case. Leo looked at me, confused. “What?” “You don’t know? The Cod Wars,” I explained, glancing at him to gauge his reaction. He didn’t seem annoyed; if anything, he looked intrigued. I pressed on. “After World War II, Iceland repeatedly expanded its territorial waters to protect its fishing industry. Britain, of course, wasn’t happy and sent the Royal Navy to escort their trawlers. But Iceland was clever. Because of a loophole in the NATO agreement, Britain couldn’t engage militarily, but Iceland’s coast guard was free to fire in ‘self-defense.’ They harassed the British fleets until Britain finally gave up the territory. A classic David and Goliath story.” I finished with a small smile, then looked at him, my heart sinking. His face was as impassive as ever. I was sure I had failed, that my attempt to connect with him had been a disaster. Just as I was about to give up, a slow smile spread across Leo’s face. “Ms. Sutton,” he said, his eyes glinting with a newfound respect. “You are not at all what I expected.”

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I was having dinner with my best friend, Alex, who had just gotten back to the country, when I noticed the small hair tie around his wrist. I glanced at the matching one on my own wrist and gave him a knowing nudge. “So when did this happen? Keeping secrets from me now?” Alex just smiled and didn’t say a word, so I dropped it. We were halfway through our meal when Sophia, my childhood sweetheart and soon-to-be fiancée, texted to ask where I was. She was out shopping and hungry. I sent her the address without a second thought. Later, as Sophia leaned over to grab a piece of food, her long hair fell into her plate. I was about to reach over and tie it back for her, but Alex was faster. He deftly gathered her hair and secured it with the tie from his wrist. Noticing my stare, he quickly explained, “Force of habit from having dinner with my girlfriend so much. Don’t mind me.” I said nothing. That night, when we got home, I told Sophia, “Let’s call off the engagement.” She rubbed her temples in irritation. “Just because he tied my hair?” 1. “A man with a hair tie on his wrist is taken,” I said, looking at the pink band on my own arm. The words felt like a bitter joke. I looked up at her. “It’s not because he tied your hair.” “It’s because I suddenly realized that you and I don’t even have that ‘force of habit’.” Sophia stared at me, her brow furrowed. “Tim, stop messing around,” she warned. “This merger was arranged by our grandfathers. You can’t just call it off.” “Alex tying your hair today looked more natural than anything I’ve ever done for you.” Her face darkened. “He’s your best friend. You know what he’s like. He’s a player; he’s smooth with everyone. He’s not like that with me because there’s something between us; he’s like that with all women. Can you please be a little more mature and not blow this out of proportion?” The air in the room grew thick with tension. I loosened my tie. “I know exactly how many girlfriends Alex has had. But I also know he would never cross a line like that with someone else’s partner. Do you think I’m blind?” Sophia’s face flushed a deep red, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. “That’s not fair, Tim! He just saw my hair was in my face and helped out. Why are you making such a big deal out of it? Only someone with a dirty mind would see it that way.” The accusation stunned me. After a moment, I gave a humorless laugh. “Is that really how you see me?” She looked away, a flicker of guilt in her eyes, and quickly changed the subject. “We’re supposed to be talking about the merger. Our families arranged this for the good of the companies. Don’t be so emotional.” “In our world, plenty of couples have their own lives after getting married. It’s a business alliance. Feelings don’t have to be part of the deal.” Her magnanimity made me feel small and petty, like I was the one making unreasonable demands. Suddenly, the whole conversation felt pointless. I had been in love with Sophia for over a decade. This marriage may have been arranged, but it couldn’t have happened without our consent. I thought her agreeing meant she had some feelings for me, too. Now I saw I had just been fooling myself. Sophia rubbed her forehead. “My birthday is the day after tomorrow. Both our families are getting together for dinner. If you’re in a bad mood, you don’t have to come into the office for the next couple of days. Just rest at home.” I didn’t answer. The next morning, I was woken by my phone ringing. I stared at her name on the screen for a long moment before finally answering. “Tim, where are you?” Her voice was its usual sweet, playful tone, as if our fight had never happened. “I left an urgent file in the study at home. I need it for a client meeting soon. Can you bring it to me?” My fingers tightened around the phone. I didn’t speak. She sighed softly, her voice softening. “I can’t get away from the office, and my driver called in sick. You’re the only person I can ask.” The silence stretched between us until I heard the faint rustle of papers on her end. Finally, I heard my own dry voice say, “Address.” Half an hour later, I arrived at her office. The door was slightly ajar. I was about to knock when I heard Alex’s voice from inside. 2. “Your hair’s a mess again,” he said, his tone light and teasing, far more intimate than it had been at dinner. “I thought you said it was easier to work with it tied up.” “You’re the one who messed it up when you snatched that file from me,” Sophia retorted playfully. I froze, my hand hovering in the air. Through the crack in the door, I could see Sophia sitting at her desk and Alex standing behind her. He reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture impossibly intimate and natural. Then, as if he’d just noticed me, his voice rose in perfectly feigned surprise. “Tim? What are you doing here?” He pulled the door open, a look of pure innocence on his face. Sophia looked up, saw the file in my hand, and immediately stood. “You brought it? Quick, give it to me.” I didn’t move. My eyes were fixed on the stray hairs behind her ear. They were held in place by a small, silver clip. It wasn’t her style. “I was just helping Sophia organize some documents. Her hair kept getting in the way,” Alex explained, his tone casual, but his eyes held a glint of challenge. Sophia took the file from my hand. “Good thing you got here when you did. This would have been a disaster.” I looked at her, my voice devoid of emotion. “Well, I hope…” I paused, my gaze sweeping over her disheveled blouse, “…that your appearance won’t be a disaster for your next meeting.” Sophia noticed my stare and nervously smoothed her clothes. “I’ve just been so swamped with work.” It was a clumsy, obvious lie. Alex leaned against the desk, his arms crossed. “Don’t worry, Tim. Sophia is a professional. She never lets personal matters get in the way of business.” His words were a clear, smug insinuation. “The file’s here. I’m leaving,” I said flatly. As I turned, I heard Sophia say something under her breath, probably asking me to wait, but I didn’t look back. My phone vibrated in my pocket. A text from Alex. Tim, don’t take it the wrong way. There’s nothing going on between me and Sophia. After I left her office, my phone didn’t stop buzzing. The messages from Sophia started as angry demands, then shifted to soft, probing questions. I ignored them all. Around eleven that night, my phone began to vibrate violently. Sophia’s name flashed on the screen, the shrill ringtone cutting through the silence of my apartment. I stared at it until the last possible second before swiping to answer. “Tim…” Her voice was thick and slurred with alcohol. “Why didn’t you come find me…?” The background was loud—clinking glasses, muffled music, and laughter. “Where are you?” I asked, my brow furrowed. “At… at a bar… you have to come… they’re all picking on me…” Her words were jumbled, laced with the same coy flirtatiousness she’d used on the phone that morning. It was a world away from the cool, powerful woman in the office. I pinched the bridge of my nose, but I grabbed my car keys anyway. I spotted her the moment I walked in, slumped in a corner booth. Empty glasses littered the table in front of her. She was leaning over, mumbling something to the person next to her. And the person next to her was Alex. I stopped in my tracks. Whatever small, pathetic flicker of concern I’d felt when she called died instantly. I was about to turn and leave when her voice rose above the din, carrying clearly to where I stood. “…you guys have no idea how boring Tim is…” Her drunken complaint was like a physical blow. “Being with him is a total drag. All he ever talks about is work, family, responsibility… there’s no romance, no fun…” Someone at the table laughed. “What about Alex? He just got back. I bet he’s more romantic than Tim.” 3. At the mention of Alex, a giddy, lovesick quality entered her voice. “Oh, definitely! Alex is different…” “He knows what kind of flowers I like, he knows which restaurants have the best desserts, he even knows whether I’m tired or just annoyed by the way I frown…” She paused, took another drink, and her words became even more slurred, and even more honest. “Honestly, if it weren’t for our grandfathers insisting on this merger, if it weren’t for the business… I would have told him the truth a long time ago…” The table erupted in teasing. “Oh? Told him what? That you’re ready to make it official with Alex?” “Shhh…” Sophia slurred, holding a finger to her lips. “Be quiet… don’t talk nonsense…” “Even if I… make it official… we have to get married first…” “Besides, Tim… he doesn’t know anything. He trusts us so much…” Alex’s lazy, indulgent laugh cut in. “Alright, you’re drunk. Stop talking nonsense.” He was technically telling her to stop, but there was no real force behind it. He was enjoying it, basking in their secret flirtation. I stood there, feeling the blood turn to ice in my veins. The hair tie. Sophia had once told me it was a way of “staking a claim,” of telling the world, “This man is taken.” But she had never been staking a claim on me. She had been using that cheap symbol to trap me, the trusting fool who “didn’t know anything,” so she could carry on her affair and laugh behind my back about how boring and predictable I was. I finally understood why we had no “force of habit.” It wasn’t a lack of familiarity. It was a lack of heart. Her heart had never been with me. The merger, the family responsibilities—they were all just excuses. A smokescreen to hide the fact that she was happy to accept my love but unwilling to offer any of her own in return. I turned to leave, and crashed right into a server. The tray went flying, and a sticky concoction of cocktails drenched my shirt. “Sir! Are you okay? I am so sorry, I’ll get that cleaned up for you right away!” I was about to wave him off when I heard Sophia’s voice. “Tim…? What are you doing here?” For a second, I thought she must be hallucinating from the alcohol. “Weren’t you the one who invited me here to watch this little show?” The booze hadn’t worn off. Her face was flushed as she mumbled, “I… I invited you? Did I… I…” Before she could finish, she retched, vomiting all over the table. Alex jumped back, a look of pure disgust on his face. She reached for him, trying to steady herself, but he deftly sidestepped her. “Sophia, I’m… I’m gonna go get cleaned up. I’ll be right back to take care of you.” He practically ran from the booth, his hand over his nose. With nothing to hold onto, Sophia began to crumple to the floor. On pure instinct, I lunged forward and caught her. “Careful!” She sagged against me, still heaving, the acrid smell of alcohol and bile washing over me. I grimaced but held her steady, one hand on her back, patting it gently. I’ve always hated the smell of vomit, but Sophia loved to drink. Over the years, I had gotten used to it. The rest of the table had fallen silent, staring at us. The same friends who had been teasing her moments before now looked away, embarrassed. I ignored them and half-carried her out of the bar. 4. The cool night air seemed to sober her up a little. She leaned against my shoulder, whimpering, “Tim… I feel sick…” That small, dependent sound would have melted my heart before. Now, it just left me cold. I put her in the passenger seat, buckled her in, and drove to her apartment. Getting her inside was a struggle. She was a dead weight, her clothes were a mess, and her hair was matted to her face. I found a wet towel and awkwardly began to clean her up. Her eyes fluttered open, and she watched me for a moment before her hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. “Tim… don’t be mad at me…” I froze, her words from the bar echoing in my head. Boring. No fun. If it weren’t for the merger… My chest tightened, a dull ache spreading through it. It was the middle of the night by the time I finally got her settled. The apartment reeked of alcohol. I opened a window and sat in the dark, unable to sleep. The next day was Sophia’s birthday party, held at my family’s estate. By the time I arrived, both our families were already there, chatting amiably in the living room. Sophia looked radiant, with no trace of the previous night’s drunken mess. She was laughing with her mother, but her eyes flickered toward me when I walked in. She didn’t greet me. I had just sat down when the doorbell rang. The butler opened it to reveal Alex, holding a beautifully wrapped gift. “Sophia, happy birthday,” he said with a charming smile. Sophia’s parents’ expressions stiffened. My own grandfather frowned. Alex was an outsider. His presence at an intimate family gathering was a major breach of etiquette. But before anyone could say anything, Sophia had already taken the gift. “Thank you, Alex! I’m so glad you could make it.” Her tone was warm and familiar, completely ignoring the tense atmosphere in the room.

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1 The day I landed a nine-figure deal, my CEO boyfriend—who’d delayed marriage for years—finally agreed to meet me at City Hall. I rushed over, my heart soaring. But Nathan never came. Instead, a notification popped up: a post from his assistant. A provocative photo showed her hand clasped in Nathan’s, a new marriage certificate vivid against her dress. The caption read: He saved me from an arranged marriage… now he’s my husband! Colleagues buzzed in the comments, anticipating my meltdown. I liked the post and commented coldly: “Married already? When’s the wedding? I’ll send a generous check.” Nathan called instantly, his voice icy. “This marriage to Heather is fake—just to stop her parents from making her quit. It’s not real. Must you be so petty? Delete the comment and apologize. Once this is over, I’ll marry you as planned.” My reply was frosty. “Don’t bother. We’re done.” There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line before Nathan’s voice exploded with anger. “Monica, how many times do I have to explain this? It was a fake ceremony with Heather! Just paperwork to fool her parents. Is that really worth tearing us apart?” “I already promised I’d marry you,” he raged on. “What more do you want? There’s a limit to these tantrums. You don’t just throw the word ‘breakup’ around like a joke!” I clutched my phone, the cavernous, empty hall of the registrar’s office mocking me. A bitter smile twisted my lips. For ten years, marrying Nathan had been my only dream. I’d spent countless nights imagining our happy life together. I had the wedding favors and invitations ready to go. I’d picked out the photographer, our outfits, even the venue. All I needed was for him to say yes. But every time I brought it up, he’d use the company as an excuse. It was a “critical growth period,” he’d say. “Just wait until things are stable.” So I threw myself into stabilizing it for him. I took on every thankless job, every grueling project, working myself to the bone. When the company was finally stable, he said he “wasn’t ready.” He told me to wait a little longer. I waited for ten years. Then yesterday, after I secured the massive project that would set us up for life, he finally relented. He called it my “reward.” I was so ecstatic I couldn’t sleep, thinking my years of waiting had finally paid off. I took the whole day off, got here first thing in the morning, and waited. And waited. Until his assistant, Heather, posted that picture. They’d even driven to the next state over to get the license, just to avoid me. The stark red of the certificate seared itself into my memory. He wasn’t “not ready.” He just wasn’t ready to marry me. For the first time, I didn’t swallow the hurt. “You’re right,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “It’s just paperwork. The whole process, from taking a number to walking out with the certificate, takes less than ten minutes. A ten-minute process you couldn’t find the time for in ten years with me, but you managed it for her.” I took a breath. “And let’s not forget, you were the one who suggested we do this today. You left me hanging all day. Don’t I have a right to be angry?” My firmness seemed to catch him off guard. When he finally spoke, his voice was laced with condescending fury. “Can you stop being so unreasonable, Monica? I told you it was an emergency! Was I supposed to just stand by and watch her parents ruin her life? Do you have any idea how much the company has invested in training her? I was protecting an asset! Was that so wrong?” I almost laughed. As if. The company was full of people whose parents were pressuring them. Why didn’t he “protect” them? What kind of “asset” was Heather, anyway? She had zero competence, couldn’t even use the basic Microsoft Office Suite, and hadn’t closed a single deal in six months. Any other employee would have been fired without a second thought. But in Nathan’s eyes, Heather was a diamond in the rough, a secret weapon who was only “letting us have the sales” to be kind. He was convinced that if a real crisis hit, she would be the one to save us all. In reality, the only thing saving her from termination was Nathan constantly reassigning my successful projects to her name. He probably didn’t even realize how deep his bias ran, how instinctively he protected her, how tenderly he cared for her. “You’re not wrong,” I said, a cold smile in my voice. “I am.” He took the bait, his tone instantly shifting to one of smug satisfaction. “Well, since you know you’re wrong, hurry up and delete the comment. And apologize to Heather. You’re making her look bad in front of the whole company…” “My biggest mistake,” I cut him off, “was not breaking up with you sooner.” “Monica, you’re being impossible! You want to be stubborn? Fine! You just wait!” He hung up. A moment later, my phone buzzed with notifications. He had unlinked all our shared accounts and changed his profile picture, erasing me from his digital life. It was his classic move, his way of punishing me into submission. But this time, I was just tired. Too tired to play his games. As I was about to turn off my screen, a notification popped up from the company group chat. It was Heather, tagging me. “Monica, please don’t misunderstand! Nathan was just helping me out of a tough spot with my parents. It’s rare to find a boss as kind and humane as him these days!” “If I had known you’d be so upset, I never would have posted it. It’s all my fault, I’m so sorry…” Nathan replied immediately. “Heather, you did nothing wrong. You don’t need to apologize. The person who needs to apologize is the one making snide, malicious comments.” The rest of the vultures in the office quickly chimed in. [Yeah, Heather, it’s not your fault! Monica’s just being petty! She’s jealous that you’re young and beautiful and have the CEO’s favor!] [Nathan is such a good guy. For a girlfriend, Monica is so cold and heartless. She deserved to be stood up! Serves her right!] I was used to their backstabbing. Ever since Heather had arrived and become Nathan’s favorite, they’d been kissing up to her and whispering behind my back. Their words couldn’t hurt me anymore. I turned off my phone. The registrar’s clerk looked at me with pity. “Ma’am, you’ve been here all day. Is… is the person you’re waiting for not coming?” “We’re about to close. Perhaps you could come back tomorrow?” I shook my head, my eyes fixed on the floor. “He’s already married someone else. He’s not coming. And neither am I.” I looked down at the ticket in my hand. Number one. The first to arrive, the last to leave. What a joke. With a short, sharp laugh, I tore the paper into pieces and dropped it into the trash can. The man who would never show, the wedding that would never happen—I was done waiting. The love that was never returned—I was done wanting it. I walked towards the exit. Just as I reached the door, my phone rang. It was Nathan. He had unblocked me. 2 My first instinct was to hang up, but muscle memory took over, and I answered. Nathan’s arrogant voice immediately filled my ear. “Monica. Have you learned your lesson?” He didn’t wait for me to speak. “Here’s a chance to make it up to me. Heather is exhausted after the long day, and she’s feeling a bit of a chill. She needs to rest. You’ll take her place at the client dinner tonight.” “If you handle it well, I might be willing to forgive your little tantrum from earlier…” The way he spoke, as if ordering a servant, made me laugh out loud. Had he forgotten that I had also spent the entire day waiting, exposed to the same cold wind? There was a time when a single sneeze from me would have had him draping his coat over my shoulders, fussing over me with hot ginger tea and medicine, terrified I might fall ill. Now, he spoke to me as if I were a tool, my feelings an irrelevant inconvenience. More importantly, had he forgotten that I was severely allergic to alcohol? In the early years of our startup, schmoozing with clients was a necessary evil. But back then, Nathan had shielded me. He would turn down any event with drinking, and if it was unavoidable, he would drink for the both of us. He’d come home staggering drunk, hugging the toilet bowl, but still find the strength to reassure me, telling me not to worry, to get some sleep. That man, the one whose world had once revolved around me, was gone. This time, I didn’t crumble. I didn’t compromise for the sake of our crumbling relationship. My voice was steel. “I can’t go, Nathan. I’m allergic to alcohol. And besides, that’s Heather’s responsibility, not mine.” His stunned silence was followed by a roar of fury. “I’m trying to be nice to you, and you’re going to pull this crap? I pay your salary! That means you are on call for me 24/7. That is your obligation!” A calm smile spread across my face. “Then I quit.” Before he could respond, I hung up and dialed a number I hadn’t called in a long time. “Mr. Sterling, it’s Monica. I’m accepting your offer.” The company was a major international design firm, a global leader in the industry. I’d met Leo Sterling a year ago on a collaboration. Just before signing the deal, I’d noticed a structural flaw in their new product—a design choice made for aesthetics that would have led to frequent malfunctions and a PR nightmare. After I pointed it out, he immediately halted production, saving the company tens of millions of dollars. He’d become one of my few friends. After learning about the way I was being treated at Nathan’s company, he had flown out more than once, trying to recruit me. He’d offered me the position of Design Director and eight figures in stock options. But Nathan, haunted by his childhood, refused to leave the country. So, for him, I had turned it down, sacrificing my own future to stay by his side. I thought my devotion would be returned in kind. Instead, I had lost everything. I had given him my youth, my health, ten years of my life, and in return, I didn’t even get his name. It wasn’t worth it. It was time to start thinking about myself. Leo’s joyful voice pulled me back to the present. “Monica, really?! We’re ready for you anytime. But what happened? The last time we spoke, you were planning a wedding.” I managed a wry laugh. “Nothing much. We just broke up.” There was a pause on his end, then his voice softened with sympathy. “Monica, I don’t know the details, but I know you. It’s his loss. It’s definitely his loss.” A moment later, a notification popped up on my phone. A fifty-thousand-dollar wire transfer. “A little something to help you get settled, Monica. We’ll be waiting for you.” I smiled, and after a brief chat about logistics, I hung up. Just as I accepted the transfer, Nathan updated his social media. 3 It was a photo of him and Heather at a trendy new steakhouse, all sleek decor and Western cuisine. The caption read: “Love at first sight, and still falling for you every day.” In the picture, Nathan was smiling, actually smiling, as Heather fed him a piece of steak. The irony was so thick I could have choked on it. Nathan hated Western food. He’d told me it was his least favorite thing in the world. His father had been seduced by a foreign woman and had abandoned him and his mother when he was just three. The trauma had left deep scars. He avoided anything and everything foreign, even turning down lucrative overseas business deals. On our first date, I had no idea. Wanting to do something special, I’d spent a month’s savings to take him to the fanciest steakhouse in the city. The moment the expensive steaks arrived, his face had darkened. He flipped the table, sending the scorching hot steak sliding onto my lap, and stormed out without a word, leaving me to be stared at and ridiculed by the entire restaurant. He gave me the silent treatment for a week. The incident was only “forgiven” after I knelt on the living room floor for half a day and transferred him a small fortune as an apology. And now, here he was, happily eating a cheap, frozen-and-reheated steak from Heather’s fork, without a hint of disgust. I guess love really is the best medicine. It can even cure deep-seated trauma. Our colleagues were fawning all over the post. Usually, it was just Heather dropping ambiguous hints, but now that Nathan had made it official, they were all tripping over themselves to offer blessings and pledge their loyalty. And Nathan, usually so stern and formal, was actually replying to them with smiling emojis. I knew he was doing it to get to me, to provoke me into begging for his forgiveness like I always had. But this time, I just smiled and closed the app. My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten all day. I sent a text to my best friend, Maya. [Late-night grill spot?] Her reply was instantaneous: [I’m there!] … At the restaurant, Maya was halfway through a skewer when she glanced at her watch. “Hey, doesn’t your control-freak boyfriend have a 10 PM curfew for you? It’s getting late, aren’t you going to head out?” It was laughable, really. Early in our relationship, Nathan had claimed he was insecure and paranoid about me cheating. He’d imposed a strict set of rules. I had to be home by ten, reply to his texts instantly, and answer his calls within three rings. If he video-called to check up on me, even if I was in the middle of a client meeting, I wasn’t allowed to decline. I’d put up with it, telling myself it was because of the trauma from his childhood. But the rules never applied to him. He would disappear for days, sometimes not even coming home at night. Once, worried for his safety, I’d video-called him. He had exploded, sending me a barrage of texts accusing me of being a controlling psycho who didn’t respect his privacy. He’d frozen me out for a month after that. He thought he was being so clever. But I already knew the truth, thanks to the “accidental” photos Heather would send me. His late nights weren’t for work. They were for her. And I, like an idiot, had played along, strictly adhering to his curfew, turning down countless nights out with friends until they just stopped asking. My world had shrunk until he was the only thing in it. What a waste. I bit into a piece of grilled meat with a vengeance. “Don’t worry about him. He can’t tell me what to do anymore. We broke up.” Maya stared at me for a second, then broke into a huge grin, clapping me on the back. “Monica! It’s about damn time! That guy never deserved you. Tonight’s on me. We’re not leaving until you’re good and happy!” I smiled, and we ordered two more platters, eating and talking until the early hours of the morning. When I finally got home and opened the door, a pillow flew through the air and hit me square in the face. Nathan’s cold voice followed it. “What time do you call this? Did you decide to come home, finally?” 4 I was surprised to see him. Usually, after a “night out with a client,” which was code for a night with Heather, he wouldn’t roll in until the next afternoon. The pillow had hit my glasses, the nose pad digging painfully into the bridge of my nose. A warm trickle of blood ran down my face. Nathan froze, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. He reached for a tissue, about to get up, but then seemed to think better of it. He sank back onto the sofa, his voice hard. “Why are you so late? You know the rule. Where have you been?” I ignored him, rummaging through a drawer for some antiseptic and cotton swabs. My silence seemed to infuriate him even more. “Monica, I’m talking to you! Are you deaf? Or did you do something you’re ashamed of and now you don’t have the guts to tell me?” I let out a cold laugh and finally met his eyes. “And you? Why are you home so early? Weren’t you supposed to be keeping Heather company?” His expression faltered. He wasn’t used to me calling him out on his lies. He quickly composed himself, his brow furrowing. “What are you talking about? I didn’t have a client dinner tonight. After I helped Heather, I came straight home. And all those other times were just business trips. Stop letting your imagination run wild.” He tried to sound wounded. “I came back because I was worried about you. I know I was wrong to stand you up today, but that’s no excuse to ignore my calls and stay out all night. I was about to call the police!” He gestured to the coffee table. “I even brought you some of your favorite seafood porridge. I was worried you’d be hungry.” I glanced at the container of congealed, cold porridge and felt a wave of nausea. After all these years, he still hadn’t realized. This was his peace offering, the thing he always brought me right before he was about to ask me to compromise on something related to Heather. The smell alone was enough to make me sick. “No, thanks. I already ate.” He missed the ice in my tone completely, assuming he had already placated me. “Oh, by the way,” he said, “Heather was telling me her parents are still suspicious. They won’t be satisfied until they see wedding photos. So, we’re going to get some taken tomorrow.” He looked at me expectantly. “I remember you did a lot of research on this stuff. Could you recommend a good studio? One that’s quick and has nice dresses?” The hopeful, excited look in his eyes as he planned his wedding photos with another woman was grotesque. He knew I had done all that research for our wedding. “You’re on your own,” I said flatly. “I can’t help you.” His face fell. The seafood porridge had failed. His go-to tactic was useless. Then, his frustration boiled over into anger. “Monica, it’s just an act! Why are you being so dramatic about this?” “Whether it’s an act or you’ve actually fallen for her,” I said, my voice cutting, “you know the truth in your own heart.” The way his eyes had lit up when he mentioned wedding photos… even a blind man could see it was real. Cornered, he stomped his foot like a petulant child. It was the first time he hadn’t gotten his way with me. “You… you’re being ridiculous!” I was done arguing. I turned to go to the bedroom. But he darted in front of me, grabbed my pillow from the bed, and threw it into the hallway. “You’re not sleeping in here with me! You can sleep in the study tonight and think about what you’ve done!” He slammed the door, and I heard the key turn in the lock. Twice. He was treating me like a burglar in my own home. He thought he could break me. He had no idea he was doing me a favor. I hadn’t wanted to sleep next to him anyway. I just needed to pack my things. I looked around the living room. Everything in this apartment was his. I had nothing here but a few old dresses in the closet. I shook my head, grabbed my suitcase from the corner, and went to the study. The first thing I saw was the gift I had given him for our seventh anniversary. It was a string art portrait of us on our first date at an amusement park. I had spent a month of sleepless nights painstakingly winding tens of thousands of threads around hundreds of nails to create it. I remembered that day. He hadn’t wanted to go. He thought amusement parks were childish and a waste of money. He only agreed to take a single photo with me after I promised to cover all of Heather’s work for the next quarter. It was our first and last trip there. That’s why I had turned the photo into a piece of art, to preserve that one happy memory. I had cared for it meticulously, just as I had cared for our relationship. What a fool I’d been. You can’t force a man to love you. I took the portrait off the wall, picked up a pair of scissors, and with a single touch to the taut threads, the entire image unraveled. It looked perfect on the surface, but the slightest pressure shattered it. Just like our love. I swept the tangled mess of thread into the trash. As I was packing up some documents from the desk, I knocked over a loose folder. Hundreds of handwritten letters spilled onto the floor. I froze. 5 They were the love letters I had written to him five years ago. He had caught a bad flu that season, his fever spiking so high he had to be rushed to the hospital. Delirious, he thought he was dying. He had clung to my hand, whispering that he hadn’t heard enough of my love letters. He made me promise to keep writing and reading them to him, so that if he died, I could burn them at his grave and he wouldn’t be so lonely in the afterlife. To keep him conscious for the doctors, I had agreed through my tears. I wrote and wrote, filling page after page with every little memory of our life together, my voice growing hoarse as I read them aloud. By the time his fever broke, I had gone through ten pens. My index finger was raw and bleeding, spattering drops of blood onto the tear-soaked pages. When he finally woke up and saw my hand, cramped and deformed from holding the pen for so long, he had wept. He held me tight and promised he would be good to me for the rest of our lives, that he would never let me be hurt again. And now, there was Heather. And for her, he had hurt me again and again. He had broken his promise. I took a deep breath and swept the letters into the trash can. His promises had expired. Keeping these mementos would only be a form of self-torture. As I finished packing, I looked at the nearly empty study and the suitcase that wasn’t even half full, and I had to laugh. Nathan was always complaining about how tight money was, telling me to save every penny for our future wedding. He painted a grand picture of the ceremony, the rings, the new house… all the things we would have. I had believed him. I’d worn the same cheap, nine-dollar sneakers year-round, through scorching summers and freezing winters. I’d spent hours hunting for online coupons just to save a dollar on a pre-packaged meal. Every cent I saved, I gave to him. And he had used that money to buy himself the latest gaming console, a watch worth tens of thousands of dollars, and a life that looked perfect on social media. I had been so blinded by the promise of marriage that I had let him exploit me, ruin my health, and for what? A man who didn’t love me. I shook my head, dragging my suitcase toward the door. As I turned, it bumped into a small metal safe tucked away in the corner. It was Nathan’s most prized possession. I remembered during a typhoon, when the windows of our apartment had shattered, he had risked his life to drag that safe to a secure spot. No one knew what was inside. I had tried to guess the four-digit code countless times: our anniversary, my birthday, his birthday, his mother’s birthday. Nothing worked. Once, I’d even hired a locksmith. The man took one look at the safe, packed up his tools, and refused to even try, no matter how much money I offered. He finally told me it wasn’t just any safe. The lock was a state-of-the-art nanotechnology from abroad, and the box itself was made of aerospace-grade materials. It was practically indestructible. I had given up. For all our years together, its contents remained a mystery. But now, as I was leaving, a final, nagging thought entered my mind. A test. I keyed in a date I wasn’t supposed to know. The date Nathan had broken up with his previous girlfriend. I didn’t expect anything. He never spoke of her. I only knew she existed because one of his friends had let it slip during a drunken conversation. Beep. The lock clicked open. I stared. Who was this woman, that he cherished the memory of their breakup more than anything else in his life? Then I opened the safe. And my world stopped.

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The year I turned twenty-eight, Sienna became the uncrowned queen of Port City. She had eliminated the last of the men who’d ever laid a hand on me. She commanded thirty-seven of the city’s docks and eighteen satellite casinos. Millions flowed into her coffers every day. She held the city in the palm of her hand. It was also the year I found our son, Leo, who had been missing for a decade. Our family, our empire—it was all finally coming together. But just as I was about to share the good news with Sienna, I got a call from the flagship casino in the middle of the night. “Nate,” her manager’s voice was strained. “Can you come down here?” “There’s… someone making a scene. He’s telling everyone the boss… that she forced herself on him.” I assumed it was a rival trying to stir up trouble and rushed over. But when I arrived, the only person I saw was a beautiful young man. He wore a wedding band on his finger—the exact same design as mine. But his face held an arrogance I’d never possessed. When he saw me, he shot me a defiant look and then deliberately ground the memorial photo of my daughter, Lily, under his heel. “Sienna was supposed to be here at midnight for my birthday,” he pouted. “If she’s not, then I’m going to make a scene. I’ll make a huge scene!” 1. The memorial table was a disaster. Lily’s photo was covered in shoe prints, and the offerings were scattered across the floor. The once-deafening roar of the casino floor had fallen silent. Even Sienna’s most seasoned capos didn’t dare breathe too loudly. They were all bowing and scraping, trying to placate this petulant boy. “Who is he?” I asked. The manager hesitated, stammering for a moment before he finally managed to get the words out. The young man’s name was Julian. He was a college student, not even twenty, and Sienna was… very fond of him. I was about to ask what “fond of him” meant when a shoulder slammed into mine, shoving me aside. When I looked up, Sienna was already showing me the answer. She draped her own coat over Julian’s shoulders, her face melting into a fond, indulgent smile. “My little trouble, what are you doing out here in the cold?” she murmured. “I wanted to be with you, but today is the anniversary of Lily’s death…” She sighed, stroking his hair. “Okay, okay, it’s all my fault. You can hit me, you can scream at me, just don’t catch a cold.” When they called, I’d been terrified something had happened to Sienna. I’d run out of the house in just a thin shirt. Now, the night wind cut through the fabric, a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. I hesitated, then finally called her name. “Sienna.” She flinched, only then realizing it was me she had shoved. But the flicker of recognition lasted only a second before it was replaced by a careless smile. “Nathan? What are you doing here?” she asked. “Did our little troublemaker call you? Don’t mind him. He’s young, just loves to cause drama.” She gave Julian a playful pat on the backside. “Go back to the room and wait for me,” she whispered, then turned back to me. “You go home, too. I’ll be back in the morning.” She said it so casually, as if betrayal was the most natural thing in the world. When I didn’t move, Sienna stepped forward and brushed a few snowflakes from my shoulder. “Be good, Nate. Don’t stoop to his level.” The light overhead flickered, and for a moment, I was thrown back in time. To the year we were most in love, when Sienna had grabbed my hand under these same city lights and sworn an oath. Till death do us part. I will never betray you. If I do, may I die a dog’s death. My lips tightened. I snatched a heavy crystal vase from a nearby table and smashed it over her head. A collective gasp filled the room, punctuated by Julian’s shrill scream. He scrambled into Sienna’s arms like a startled fawn, whimpering that he was scared. Blood was trickling down Sienna’s temple, but her first instinct was to shield Julian’s face, to protect him from the sight of her own weakness. Her voice, when she spoke to me, was sharp with annoyance. “Julian is sensitive. He can’t handle things like this,” she said. “Go home, Nathan. Don’t make this any uglier than it has to be.” I looked at the blood-stained shard of glass in my hand and laughed, a cold, empty sound. Then I hurled it at her again. “You think this is ugly?” I snarled. “Remember the time I took eighteen stab wounds for you? My intestines were spilling out. You held them in with one hand and carried me on your back for miles, leaving a trail of blood the whole way. That was ugly.” At the mention of our bloody past, the boy in her arms trembled. Sienna immediately covered his ears, her brow furrowed. “That’s enough! Don’t talk about that in front of him,” she snapped. “He’s not like you. If he gets scared, he won’t be able to sleep.” Of course, he wasn’t like me. At his age, if I had seen someone lay a hand on Sienna, I would have grabbed the nearest blade and fought to the death. Perhaps worried about what other secrets I might reveal, Sienna sighed and waved her men over to escort Julian away. The boy was clingy, clutching her jacket, refusing to let go until Sienna cooed and promised him the world. Only when we were completely alone did she finally sit down across from me. She lit a cigarette, the smoke veiling her face. All I could hear was her voice, steady and devoid of any emotion. 2. “You’re a grown man, Nathan. Why are you picking a fight with a kid?” “I’ve told you, you’re the only one I love. But I’m still human. I have needs.” Sienna casually tapped the ash from her cigarette. Her gaze lingered for a second on the raw, red skin of my chest, chapped from the cold, before quickly looking away. “Look at those scars on your body. They’re terrifying,” she said. “Every time you take your clothes off, I see them… all of them… and I just feel… so…” She paused, then delivered the final blow with chilling precision. “Disgusted.” With that, she stood up. She took the signet ring from her finger—the one she’d killed for, the symbol of her power—and pressed it into my hand. “But don’t worry,” she said, her voice softening into a hollow imitation of comfort. “No matter what, I’ll always love you. No matter who I’m with, no one will ever take your place.” “It’s just… I’ve fought and bled my whole life to get here. Now that things are finally stable, I just want to enjoy myself.” For years, that’s what she’d always told me. Just wait, Nate. Wait until I control all the docks. Wait until I’m at the very top. Then I’ll go straight, and we can finally have a real life. For that promise, I had been beaten, cursed, and stabbed until my body was a roadmap of scars. I never thought of letting go. But my idea of a “real life” was a quiet home with our two children. Hers, apparently, was keeping a pretty young boy on the side. I took a deep breath, looking at the woman before me. She was so familiar, yet a complete stranger. The Sienna who swore she’d paint the city red for me was gone. The Sienna who found me in an alley, a street kid digging through trash, and promised me a home… she was a ghost. My thumb traced the cool steel of the gun tucked in my waistband. I took one last look at her and said, “Let’s get a divorce.” If I were nineteen again, I would have burned this place to the ground. I would have carved up this cheating pair and thrown them into the harbor for the sharks. But now… I touched the locket I wore, a picture of my children inside. A bitter wave of grief washed over me. It was in this very casino, a decade ago, that Sienna and I were hiding from our enemies with our children. Our son, Leo, was lost in the chaos. And our daughter, Lily… I smothered her with my own hands. We were crammed into a shipping crate, trying to escape. To stop her cries from giving us away, I held my hand over her mouth. I held it there until she stopped breathing. The sound of Sienna’s screams that day could be heard across the entire city. She cut off her own pinky finger, swearing an oath on Lily’s body that she would avenge our child. And I prayed. I swore that if Lily could ever forgive me, if Leo ever came back to me, I would dedicate my life to peace. I would never kill again. Now, Sienna was the queen of Port City, the master of this casino. She could reattach her finger and forget her vows. She could let her lover desecrate our daughter’s memory. But I couldn’t. I had to live for my children now. I had to leave this life of blood and betrayal behind. And take my son somewhere safe, somewhere we could finally live in peace. 3. Sienna didn’t agree to the divorce. Not because she couldn’t bear to let me go. It was because her new boy toy called, whimpering that he was afraid of the dark. She rushed out so quickly she didn’t even hear what I’d said. That impatient little brat couldn’t wait to rub it in my face. A video message popped up on my phone. In a penthouse apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows, Sienna was kneeling on the floor, washing his feet. I knew that building. When we first came to Port City, broke and dreaming, we used to stand on the street below and stare up at it. We promised each other that one day, we’d stand together in one of those windows, looking out at the city we’d conquered. A life with my love, sharing that view… it was all I ever wanted. Now, Sienna could afford to buy the entire building. But the person living there with her wasn’t me. Decades of shared blood and battle couldn’t compete with a pretty face and a gentle touch. I tried to let it go. I really tried. But I couldn’t. I carefully cleaned Lily’s photograph, lit a stick of incense, and made a phone call. The next morning, a gift box was delivered to Sienna’s desk. Inside, resting on a bed of silk, was Julian’s severed finger. The blood was still wet, a shocking crimson against the sparkle of his wedding band. Sienna was livid. She had the man who did the job dragged before me, his face a bloody pulp. “Nathan, you’ve gone too far,” she said, her voice dangerously low. “Julian is just a kid.” A kid? The word was a dagger in my heart. I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. Our Lily was buried in the cold earth. Our Leo was still lost somewhere in this cruel world. Every night I spent missing them, every night Sienna was gone, I was sick with worry. Worried our enemies would find me. Worried Sienna was in danger. Worried I would lose her the same way I lost my children. And where was she? In Julian’s arms, probably laughing at the pathetic fool who loved her so much it made him weak. I clenched my fists. “Sign the divorce papers,” I said, my voice hoarse. “And I’ll leave your little lover alone. Otherwise, I don’t care where you hide him. I will find him.” “I’ll cut off his fingers, his ears, his nose. One by one,” I promised. “Let’s see what you run out of first: his body parts, or your time.” Sienna just smiled, radiating absolute confidence. “You won’t,” she said. “I know you, Nathan. You love me too much. You’d never tear us apart over some outsider.” Before she could finish, a soft moan came from the phone she was holding. Her face softened, her thoughts already with Julian. With a swift, clean motion, she slit the throat of the man kneeling on the floor. Then she left, hurrying back to her lover. After that, Sienna kept Julian under even tighter guard. So I went after her empire instead. In seven days, I hit all thirty-seven docks and eighteen satellite casinos. Every single place Julian had ever set foot in, I tore it apart. One afternoon, as I was personally wrecking the main casino floor, one of my men called. “Nate, it’s bad! Someone’s at the cemetery! They’re trying to dig up Lily’s grave!” “What?” My blood ran cold. I floored it, racing towards the cemetery. As I neared the entrance, a car, driving recklessly on the wrong side of the road, slammed directly into me. 4. In the split second before the pain hit, I saw the license plate. A-927. The date Lily died. There was only one person in Port City who would dare use that plate. Sienna. Sure enough, I heard Julian’s cloying voice drift from the other car. “Oh no, Sienna! I hit someone! Are they going to arrest me? I’m so scared! I don’t want to leave you!” Sienna kissed his cheek, her voice a soothing murmur. She didn’t even glance in my direction. She just had one of her men toss a stack of cash onto my crumpled car. Using the power I helped her build to trample on my dignity. A white-hot pain tore through my abdomen, spreading like fire. I clutched my stomach, gritting my teeth as I looked up. Through the shattered windshield, I could see them. Sienna’s men were digging up Lily’s grave. Julian snuggled against Sienna, looking up with wide, innocent eyes. “Sienna, do you think Nathan will be mad about this? What if he comes after me again? He’s so scary…” Sienna stroked his hair, unconcerned. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’m here to protect you. I own this city now.” Julian, emboldened by her devotion, pouted. “Really? Then after all I’ve been through for you, just giving me that theme park isn’t enough. I want you to get on all fours and let me ride you like a horse!” Sienna just smiled and nodded. He pressed his advantage. “And I want you to bake me a birthday cake. And watch the stars with me. And set off fireworks.” “And, and! I want us to have lots and lots of babies together!” Sienna’s smile grew wider. This woman, who had clawed her way to the top through a sea of blood, was now simpering like a lovesick girl. She pulled Julian into a tight hug, nodding again and again. “Yes, yes, of course. Anything you want, my love. Anything!” No matter how outrageous his demands, she agreed without hesitation, that doting smile never leaving her face. The roar of the excavator was the symphony to their love story. And the small body buried in the ground was just a prop. The prayer beads on my wrist were stained with my own blood. The last shred of mercy in my heart burned away, leaving only a pure, cold need for vengeance. I pulled out my gun and, without a second’s hesitation, fired. The moment the shot rang out, Sienna instinctively threw her body over Julian, shielding him. In the next instant, dozens of guns were pointed at me. The pain in my gut intensified. It was as if Lily herself was crying out from her disturbed grave. I stared at Sienna, my voice a venomous hiss. “You’d disturb our daughter’s eternal rest for this… this piece of trash? Sienna, you are no mother.” Sienna frowned. “Calm down, Nathan. Our child is dead. The living are more important.” The living are more important? No. The new toy is more important than the old love. I fought through the waves of pain and raised my gun again. But before I could pull the trigger, Julian stepped out from behind Sienna. He was holding Lily’s urn. With a smirk, he hurled it to the ground. The container shattered. The ashes, everything that was left of my daughter, scattered in the wind. Lily was gone. Again. “LILY!” I lunged forward, a raw, animalistic scream tearing from my throat. The rage was so immense it completely eclipsed the pain. Only after I had desperately scooped what little I could of the ashes into my arms did I realize. My old wounds had torn open. My pants were soaked through with fresh blood. The world tilted, and I fell. I woke up in a hospital. One of my men was pacing by the bed, looking at me with an expression of pure agony. He opened his mouth to speak several times, but couldn’t. Finally, Dr. Evans came in and told me. “Nathan… your son, Leo… he’s gone.” “Someone leaked his location. By the time your men got there, our rivals had already… they’d already taken him apart.” I closed my eyes, a profound, soul-crushing despair washing over me. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. My daughter, her ashes scattered to the winds. My son, dismembered by my enemies. Ten years ago, I was too late. Ten years later, I was still too late. Seeing the utter devastation on my face, the doctor sighed. “Sienna… she thought you were faking it. She refused to leave Julian’s side to come here. She still doesn’t know about Leo.” I said nothing. My grief was hardening into a cold, unbreakable resolve. There was no point in sorrow. Every single person who had a hand in my children’s deaths would pay. In blood. When I returned to the villa, it was in chaos. Julian was directing the staff to throw all of my belongings into the street. He smirked when he saw me. “Thanks for that bullet, Nathan. Sienna said I was so traumatized that I needed to move in here to recover.” Sienna shook her head and called him a little devil, but there was no anger in her voice. She just waved a dismissive hand. “Julian didn’t mean to break the urn. I’ve already hired a master to find a new, better burial plot. Let him stay here for a while. He’ll be good, he won’t get in your way. And he’ll never take your place.” No one in Port City could take my place. Not even Sienna. I ignored them both. I took the ashes of my children and went straight to the airport. As the plane climbed high above Port City, the timers on the bombs in the villa reached zero. I looked down at the glittering, familiar landscape below and whispered, “You once made a vow, Sienna.” “If you ever betrayed me, you would die a dog’s death.” You couldn’t keep your promise. So I’m keeping it for you. … In the villa, just as Sienna was about to tumble into bed with Julian, she got a call from Dr. Evans. The doctor’s voice was sharp with blame. “Sienna, Nathan has suffered so much for you over the years. I can understand you not showing up when he was in the hospital. But Leo… how could you not even ask about Leo? He was your son, too!” “Lily is gone. And now Leo is dead.” “If Nathan ever finds out the truth about what happened back then… he will never, ever forgive you.” Leo is dead? When? A shiver went down Sienna’s spine. Nathan’s pale, bloodless face flashed in her mind. A deep unease settled in her gut. She glanced in the direction he had gone. Before she could ask another question, the world exploded.

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