Category: English

The day the baby was born, I was so hollowed out I didn’t even have the breath to speak. Connor, however, looked like a man who had finally set down a heavy burden. He leaned in, his voice casual, and confessed everything. He told me that the person who had spent the last year destroying my life was my best friend. “We just got back from the motel. She’s still sleeping it off,” he said, not a trace of guilt in his eyes. “This past six months, you having her ‘keep an eye’ on me? It just made things easier for us.” But the blow that truly shattered me was his next admission: my own mother had known all along. “She didn’t want you to lose it while you were pregnant. We did it for your own good, Paige,” he murmured, his attention already shifting to the squirming infant in his arms. He poked at the baby’s cheek with a callous indifference. “Actually, Tiffany deserves some credit. Without her, I’m not sure this kid would have made it to full term.” Then, he threw out a choice so cruel it felt like a serrated blade to the throat: “So, you decide. Does she become the godmother, or do I just make her the legal mother?” My mind flashed back to the moment I first suspected him. He was away on that high-security engineering project, and I’d found the evidence of another woman. I hadn’t screamed. I hadn’t made a scene. I had simply handed him the positive pregnancy test and gave him two options: we get a divorce, or he cuts her out of his life forever. He had stared at the two pink lines for a long time before choosing us. Or so I thought. From that day on, he was the perfect husband. He reported his every move. Even Tiffany, my closest confidante, spent every lunch break telling me how lucky I was that he’d changed. I had let my guard down. I had chosen to believe in the redemption of our marriage. I never could have imagined it was all an elaborate, coordinated performance. … As the epidural began to wear off, a searing, white-hot pain radiated from my lower body. But no physical agony could compare to the rot spreading through my chest. I gripped the hospital sheets until my knuckles turned white, forcing the words out through a constricted throat. “Why… why did you wait until the baby was here to tell me?” Before he could answer, the door swung open. A group of Connor’s colleagues and former frat brothers burst in, laughing and smelling of cheap beer. “You lost the bet, Tiff! Paige didn’t cry!” one of them shouted. “That means the ‘work wife’ gets a victory kiss from the Lead Engineer!” “Come on!” another chimed in. “Tiffany spent time in London—those Europeans are way more open-minded. Show him what he’s been missing!” Tiffany laughed, a light, melodic sound that used to bring me comfort. She feigned a blush, swatting at them. “Shut up, guys. If HR hears you talking like that, they’ll have my head for being the ‘other woman’ before I even get my desk nameplate changed.” My pupils contracted. The term “work wife”—the way they said it—sounded like a title she’d already officially claimed. Seeing the raw horror on my face, Connor offered a flat, clinical explanation. “We had a wager. If you cried when you found out about Tiffany and me, I’d have to post a public apology on the company bulletin board. If you stayed stoic, Tiffany and I get to go public without the drama.” He spoke as if he were discussing a project deadline. He tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips. “Oh, I guess you didn’t know. Tiffany and I are actually the ones with the valid marriage license.” “Then what was our wedding?” my voice cracked, tears finally spilling over. “What was that ceremony? The papers we signed?” In an instant, the room went quiet, but it wasn’t a respectful silence. It was the silence of people watching a car crash. “Paige, sweetie, you really didn’t realize?” one of the guys whispered, his eyes dancing with malice. “The license you signed with Connor was a prop. He filed the real paperwork with Tiffany months ago.” Tiffany stepped toward the bed, reaching out to take my hand with a mock-sympathetic smile. “Paige, we didn’t tell you for your own sake. We wanted the baby to have a stress-free environment.” It was the exact same script Connor had used. My blood turned to ice. Ten months ago, when I ran to my mother with my suspicions, she had looked me in the eye and said, “If you leave now, you’re just handing him to the other woman. Men stray, Paige. It’s what they do. But I can tell, Connor truly loves you.” She had talked me into staying. She had talked me into silence. And Tiffany… my best friend. She had volunteered to be my informant. She told me every detail of Connor’s schedule. She even “complained” to me about how tired she was from working late nights at the office with him. I felt so bad for her that I’d buy her expensive coffee and give her my spa gift cards, thinking she was burning the candle at both ends for our family’s future. Even last week, she’d sat by my bed and told me that after the baby was born, I needed to “reclaim my power” and be an independent woman. Now I realized she was the woman I’d been hunting. While I was struggling through every night of pregnancy—the nausea, the swollen ankles, the crushing loneliness—they were together. They were laughing at me. I began to shake so violently that the IV in my arm dislodged. Blood began to bloom across the white tape, dripping onto the linoleum floor. I didn’t care. Suddenly, every cold look from my mother-in-law made sense. Every time Connor’s students treated me like an outsider while doting on Tiffany like she was the Queen of the Department. I was the only one who didn’t know the joke was on me. The sight of my own blood finally jolted me back to reality. “What are you doing? You’re in recovery, you need to be careful,” Connor said, his voice suddenly shifting back to that terrifyingly gentle husband-persona. He pressed a hand over the puncture wound in my arm while holding a cup of lukewarm broth to my lips. I looked at him, my eyes burning. “Connor, why?” “Why the lies? The fake marriage? The career? What part of us was real?” My chest heaved. I was spiraling. Connor set the broth down, his eyes—the eyes I used to think were full of warmth—turning to cold, hard flint. “You might have forgotten five years ago, Paige. But I didn’t.” He stood up, looking down at me with a dark sense of triumph. “Five years ago, when the company went under and I was facing that federal investigation, when I was sick and broke and losing everything… Tiffany was the one who sold her car and took a night job to pay for my legal defense and my meds. You? You were too busy trying to distance yourself so your ‘reputation’ wouldn’t be tarnished.” He leaned in closer, his voice a lethal whisper. “But you didn’t get away clean, did you? You got exactly what you deserved that night in the city.” I froze. A chill that had nothing to do with the hospital AC settled in my marrow. Five years ago, Tiffany was the one who had been terrified of the scandal. She was the one who told me she knew some “investors” who could help Connor, but they were dangerous men. She had lured me to that hotel, promising they had the evidence to clear his name. I went there for him. I endured three hours of hell at the hands of those men because I thought it was the only way to save Connor’s life. When I finally escaped and found Connor, I was covered in bruises, clutching the “files” Tiffany said would help. But instead of a savior, I found him with the police and his lawyers. “Paige, what have you been doing?” he had spat back then, looking at my torn clothes with pure disgust. “You’re out here sleeping with low-lifes while I’m fighting for my life?” He had never let me explain. He told me he never wanted to hear about that night again. But he actually believed Tiffany was the one who saved him. “If you think I’m such a coward,” I whispered, “then why stay? Why the five years of pretending?” Connor wiped a stray drop of blood from my arm, his gaze drifting toward Tiffany, who was laughing by the door. “Tiffany can’t have children because of the ‘stress’ she went through helping me back then,” he said, his voice hardening. “I owed her a child. And you? You owed me a debt.” He paused, his expression curdling into loathing. “I tried to move past it. But every time I looked at you, I thought about Tiffany’s sacrifice and then I thought about you… getting caught in a hotel with those thugs. It made me sick. You made me sick.” I started to laugh. It was a jagged, hysterical sound that tore at my stitches. For five years, I had subjected myself to every experimental fertility treatment, every painful hormone injection, every “miracle” diet, all because I thought I was difficult to impregnate. I had scarred my body and my mind to give a child to the man I loved. And the whole time, I was just a surrogate for a lie. Connor reached out to wipe my tears, his touch clinical. “Don’t cry. It’s not like I’m going to stop supporting you. You can stay in the guest house. You’ll still be the ‘Mrs. Sterling’ everyone sees at the charity galas. Just… give the baby to Tiffany. Let her raise him.” The dam finally broke. I sat up, ignoring the agonizing pull in my abdomen, and screamed. “In your dreams! This is fraud, Connor! I will take this to the board! I will go to the police! I will ruin both of you!” Connor didn’t even flinch. He just looked at me with pity. “Go ahead. Report me. But just know, if you do, you’ll never see that baby again. I have the resources, Paige. You have nothing.” I didn’t believe him. Not at first. I tried to reach out to our “friends” in the gated community, people who had toasted to our happiness for years. But one by one, the doors closed. Some said they were too busy; others told me flat out they didn’t want to get involved in “Connor’s private business.” By that afternoon, I was moved out of my private suite and onto a gurney in a crowded, noisy hallway. Connor’s doing. I could handle the humiliation, but the baby couldn’t. He cried incessantly for an hour. People walking by glared at me, muttering about “irresponsible mothers.” One woman, frustrated by the noise, actually knocked a cup of hot coffee onto my bed and told me to “shut that brat up or get out.” When Connor finally returned, he saw me slumped over the edge of the bed, my gown soaked in blood and cold coffee. “The regional board is coming through the hospital today for an inspection,” he said, adjusting his tie. “I’ll be introducing Tiffany as my wife to the directors. Stay quiet, Paige. Don’t make a scene.” He gave me a perfunctory pat on the shoulder, promised he’d “keep me safe” if I cooperated, and then took the baby away to be fed. I collapsed. My entire life had been a carefully constructed trap. Connor was the brilliant “Golden Boy” of the tech world. To marry me, he’d supposedly defied his wealthy parents, enduring their disapproval for years. He’d bought me the designer bags, the Volvo, the house in the suburbs. He’d used his influence to get me a position at the city’s top arts foundation. At every gala, he’d bragged about my talent. When I’d had a health scare a few years back, he’d stayed by my side, crying, telling the doctors he’d give everything he owned to save me. It was all a lie. Five years of a meticulously crafted fiction designed to keep me in place until I could produce a child for Tiffany. But they weren’t just taking the baby. They were stripping me of my dignity, my career, and my sanity to make room for her. Connor eventually brought the baby back, seemingly wanting to watch me suffer a little longer. I gritted my teeth. I needed money. I needed to get to the Foundation and withdraw my year-end bonus so I could run. But when I called the office, they told me I’d been replaced. My bonus and my seat on the board for the upcoming gala had been handed to Tiffany. I was blacklisted. The baby started crying again. I begged Connor’s aunt, who was passing by, to help me soothe him. She just looked at me with cold eyes. “Paige, your ‘services’ aren’t worth a tenth of what Connor brings to this family. I’m not lifting a finger.” Desperate, I tried to check back into a room, but the nurse just shook her head. “Mr. Sterling withdrew the payment. If you want a bed, you’ll have to pay the private rate upfront.” I had thirty dollars in my pocket. With my legs shaking and my body still reeling from the birth, I tucked the baby into his carrier and began the long walk home. The front door to our house was ajar. My heart hammered against my ribs—I thought we’d been robbed. But then I heard the voices coming from the master bedroom. “Connor… what if Paige finds us?” It was Tiffany. I pushed the door open. They were on the bed—our bed. Tiffany was beneath him, the rhythmic creak of the mattress a sickening metronome. When they saw me standing there, pale and trembling, Connor didn’t pull away. He just looked over his shoulder and smirked. “What’s the matter, Paige? You’ve been watching for a while. Want to join in?” I felt the bile rise in my throat. I shielded the baby’s eyes, but Tiffany just laughed. “Paige, your own mother told me… she said I was your best friend, and if I could satisfy Connor’s needs while you were ‘out of commission,’ it was better than him going to a stranger. She’s the one who pushed us together.” The room spun. I turned and ran out of the house, screaming at the top of my lungs for the neighbors to hear. “Everyone! Look at him! Look at the great Connor Sterling! He’s a fraud! He’s been married to this woman the whole time! They’ve been lying to everyone! He’s using his position to threaten me and take my child!” I was hysterical, my face flushed with a desperate, suicidal rage. “Have you had enough?” Connor asked, stepping onto the porch with Tiffany, both of them fully dressed now. “You’re making a fool of yourself in front of the whole neighborhood.” I didn’t care. If I was going down, I was taking them with me. But before I could speak again, Tiffany stepped forward and slapped me across the face so hard my ears rang. “Paige! I treated you like a sister, and you’re trying to seduce my husband?” she cried, her eyes instantly welling with fake tears. “The board members are on their way here! Everyone knows how hard Connor works for this community, and you’re trying to destroy him because you’re mentally unstable?” The neighbors, people I’d hosted for dinner parties, started to gather. “She’s always been trouble,” one woman hissed. “I heard about what happened five years ago. Once a tramp, always a tramp.” “Connor is a saint for putting up with her,” another added. “Get her out of here! She’s a disgrace to the neighborhood!” Connor sighed, playing the part of the grieving, exhausted husband. “Everyone, I didn’t want it to come to this. But for the sake of the truth… I swear, I have never been unfaithful to the values of this community. Paige’s claims are the delusions of a woman who’s been obsessed with me since I tried to help her out of the gutter.” My heart shattered. I looked at the crowd. I saw the woman whose son I’d helped find when he got lost at the mall. I saw the kids I’d bought expensive chocolates for. They were all looking at me with disgust. “Slut!” someone yelled. A stone—or maybe a piece of gravel—caught me in the forehead. The physical assault began. Not with fists at first, but with shoves. My hair was pulled. I felt my postpartum bandages shift, the scent of blood and sweat filling the air. Tiffany looked at me with pure revulsion. “Oh my god, Paige. Did you just leak on the driveway? That’s disgusting.” The crowd backed away as if I were a leper. “Keep that filth away from us!” I curled around the baby, shielding him with my broken body. I don’t know how long it lasted. I felt my clothes tear, felt the sting of spit on my skin. Connor finally walked over, looking down at me with mock pity. “I’ll give you one last chance, Paige. Admit who you really are. Admit the truth.” I looked at my shoes, my vision blurring. Suddenly, Tiffany lunged forward and snatched the baby from my arms. “Are you even a mother? The baby is choking and you’re just sitting there!” “Give him back!” I shrieked, reaching for my son. Tiffany put her hand around the baby’s neck, her eyes cold as a snake’s. “Stay back, or I swear, you’ll watch him take his last breath.” I froze. My heart stopped beating. I watched, paralyzed, as Tiffany told the crowd that I had been abusing the child, that I had attacked her. “Paige, you’re insane! You’d hurt your own son just to get back at me?” Connor shouted. He kicked me in the side, sending me sprawling into the dirt, before picking Tiffany up and carrying her into the house. I tried to crawl after them, but someone grabbed my collar. A sharp pain exploded at the back of my head. The world went black. When I opened my eyes, I was lying in a secluded patch of woods on the edge of town. My clothes were rags. Panic surged through me. “Who’s there? Where’s Connor?” A group of men—the kind of men Connor’s “security” team usually handled—were standing around me. One of them reached out and touched my leg, his eyes gleaming with a sick hunger. “You don’t know? Your man sold you to us. Said we could have our way as long as you didn’t come back.” Sold? My body began to convulse with tremors. “No. Connor… he wouldn’t. Not even him…” But then, the truth hit me like a freight train.

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I accidentally stumbled upon my husband’s search history on his phone. The top query read: “How to make your wife die accidentally during childbirth?” I touched my seven-month pregnant belly, a cold sweat breaking out across my back. 01 It was evening, and my husband was taking a shower. I was in the living room, putting together my hospital bag. My phone was dead, so I instinctively picked up his to look up some labor preparation tips. But I accidentally swiped into his search history. Two queries instantly grabbed my attention: “How to make a pregnant woman die accidentally during childbirth?” “Inheritance order after the accidental death of a spouse?” I froze on the spot, thinking my eyes were playing tricks on me. I checked again and again, but it was real. He had actually searched for this. But why? Why would he search for something like this? I rubbed my seven-month pregnant belly, a chilling wave creeping up my spine. “Honey, I forgot my towel! It’s in the cabinet, can you grab it for me?” my husband yelled from the bathroom. I hesitated for a second, then quickly deleted those two search queries before setting his phone down. I got up and fetched his towel. The moment he stepped out of the bathroom, he immediately picked up his phone and checked it. I saw a visible wave of relief wash over his face. He rubbed his hair with the towel and asked, “Honey, are you washing your hair tonight? I can help you.” “N-no… no thanks,” I cleared my throat. “I feel a little chilled. I think I’m just going to go to bed.” With that, I got up and walked toward the bedroom. Hearing that I felt chilled, he immediately followed me, asking a dozen concerned questions. He reminded me that I was in my third trimester and needed to be extra careful with my health. Looking at this incredibly attentive, thoughtful man in front of me, I couldn’t possibly connect him to the horrifying search history on his phone… 02 My name is Chloe, and I’ve been married to Mark for almost two years. It’s his second marriage; he has a six-year-old son from his previous marriage who lives with his ex-wife. This is my first marriage, and I’m currently seven months pregnant. Perhaps because it was his second marriage, he treated me exceptionally well. He never let me do any chores; he even hand-washed my underwear. Since I got pregnant, he’s taken care of me meticulously. Now that I’m in my third trimester, my whole body is swollen, and I can’t even bend over. Every day, he brings me a basin of warm water to wash my face and feet. All our friends and relatives envy me for finding such a good husband. He even insisted on scheduling a C-section for my delivery because he was terrified of me being in pain, and he already booked a luxury postpartum care center for me… I couldn’t understand it. Why would a universally praised “perfect husband” secretly search for something so sinister? I couldn’t sleep at all that night. Once I was absolutely certain he was in a deep sleep, I slipped his phone out from under his pillow. I opened the browser again, only to find that his entire search history had been wiped clean, and the browser was now set to incognito mode. When I used his phone earlier, it definitely wasn’t in incognito mode. He must have changed the settings right after his shower. I combed through all his social media apps, transaction histories, emails, photo albums, and even his food delivery apps. I found absolutely nothing suspicious. It was too clean. It was as clean as a brand-new phone. The cleaner it was, the more paranoid I became. As I put his phone down, I suddenly remembered an article I read a few days ago about how many modern smartphones have a “Dual Space” or hidden operating system feature. I quickly grabbed my own phone and searched for his specific phone model. Following the online tutorial, I typed in the shortcut, and sure enough, a completely different operating system login screen appeared. But it required a password. 03 Mark and I had always shared the same phone passcode. He always said husband and wife shouldn’t have secrets. And I had always believed him. But right now, staring at the hidden system on his phone, I felt completely helpless. I didn’t know the password. I tried his birthday, my birthday, our anniversary… all incorrect. One more wrong attempt and it would lock me out for half an hour. Suddenly, a string of numbers flashed through my mind. I typed them in, and to my shock, it worked. With a soft ding, the phone unlocked. And I saw a completely different Mark. This system looked like the one he actually used every day. It was filled with traces of his real life: photos, texts, social media chats… I saw that he was still in constant contact with his ex-wife, frequently transferring money to her. His ex-wife kept reminding him to make absolutely sure I had a C-section, because once I was on the operating table, they could easily manipulate the situation… I saw his chat logs with an online lawyer, asking to confirm that if a wife dies, the husband is the primary inheritor of her estate… I saw him sending pictures of the massive life insurance policy he bought for me a year ago, calculating exactly how much payout he would get when I died… In an instant, everything made sense. A year ago, Mark suddenly bought two massive life insurance policies—one for him, one for me, naming each other as the sole beneficiaries. He said at the time, “Honey, I’m always on the road for sales, constantly taking flights and trains. I need to make sure you’re protected.” I remember crying and stopping him, telling him not to say such stupid things, that we would be together forever, for a long, long time. Tears blurred my vision. With trembling hands, I scrolled further down. Finally, his ex-wife asked him: [What if the baby in her stomach survives the birth? Are you going to get soft-hearted?] He swore up and down that absolutely wouldn’t happen, claiming that his only child in this lifetime would be Leo. Leo. His six-year-old son with his ex-wife. The password I just used to unlock this hidden system was Leo’s birthday. They were the real family of three. And I? I was just their stepping stone to a wealthy life in the city. I had a house, a car, and premium urban residency status… “Honey, what are you looking at?” Just as I was completely absorbed in the messages, the person next to me shifted. Mark was awake. 04 He propped himself up on his elbow, instinctively leaning over to see my screen. In that split second, a million horrifying scenarios flashed through my mind. If he realized I had discovered his secret, would he snap and try to kill me right here, right now? I was heavily pregnant; I stood absolutely zero chance against him in a physical fight. Over the two years of our marriage, he had meticulously won the absolute trust of all my friends and family, building an impenetrable “perfect husband” persona. If I died tonight, no one would even suspect him. “Honey, my stomach is really acting up,” I said, putting one hand on my belly while my other hand quickly held down the power button on his phone to shut it off. “Your phone died. Can you help me find mine?” As long as his phone was off, he wouldn’t know I had accessed the hidden system. He pulled my phone out from under my pillow. “Why is your stomach hurting? You’re only seven months along. Did you eat something bad?” “I need to go to the bathroom,” I said, snatching my phone from him and waddling as fast as I could to the master bathroom. I quickly locked the door. Trembling, I sent a text to my younger brother: “Come pick me up right now. Don’t ask questions. Don’t call me. Just come. NOW.” Just as I hit send, a knock sounded on the bathroom door. “Honey, are you okay? Does it still hurt?” I wiped the cold sweat from my forehead and tried to sound as normal as possible. “Honey, I suddenly have a huge craving for those spring rolls from that 24-hour diner outside the neighborhood. Could you go buy some for me?” It was a diner we used to sneak out to for late-night snacks all the time. He hesitated for a second, but agreed. I listened to him rustling around, putting on his clothes, and then heard the distinct sound of the front door closing. I didn’t leave the bathroom immediately. I waited another minute to make sure he was gone, then stood on my tiptoes to peek out the frosted bathroom window. I saw him wearing a baseball cap, jogging toward the neighborhood entrance. I let out a massive breath of relief, unlocked the door, and hurried out. I called my brother while riding the elevator down. But the moment I stepped out of the elevator into the lobby, a tall shadow blocked my path. “Honey, where are you going?” It was Mark. He hadn’t left at all. He had been waiting for me in the lobby the whole time. 05 It was dead silent. Even the streetlights outside had flickered off. I took a deep breath and carefully studied his expression. I didn’t see any obvious hostility or suspicion. I forced myself to smile, walking up and looping my arm through his, just like I normally would. “Honey, I was so hungry, and you were taking forever, so I just came down to find you.” He looked at me with a helpless, doting smile. “You little glutton. Who told you to skip dinner? I forgot my wallet upstairs, I was just about to go back up and get it.” “I brought my phone, I can pay. Let’s go,” I said, steering us toward the neighborhood gate. The diner owner greeted us warmly, just like usual. While we were waiting for the spring rolls, my brother, Tyler, pulled up in his truck. I rushed over to him before Mark could react. “Is Dad okay? Is his heart acting up again? I’ll come home with you right now.” Tyler looked at me, completely confused. Mark had already walked over. “What’s wrong? What happened to your dad?” I answered quickly, “It’s nothing serious, just his old chronic issue acting up again. Honey, I’m gonna go stay at my parents’ house with my brother tonight. You go home and get some sleep, you have work tomorrow.” Saying that, I quickly climbed into the passenger seat of Tyler’s truck. “Honey, it’s so late, let me come with you,” Mark said, reaching for the door handle. I quickly stopped him. “It’s fine! It’s just Dad’s usual flair-up, I just need to check on him. Tyler’s driving, what are you worried about?” Mark thought for a second, then nodded. “Alright. I’ll come pick you up after work tomorrow.” As the truck pulled away, I watched Mark’s figure shrink in the rearview mirror. Only then did I finally let myself breathe. 06 On the drive, Tyler demanded to know what the hell was going on. Calling him in the middle of the night, telling him not to speak… I hesitated, but finally told him everything I had found in Mark’s hidden phone system. Hearing it all, Tyler instinctively slammed on the brakes, pulling over to the side of the road. “Chloe, are you sure you’re not mistaken? Mark treats you like a queen. How could he possibly do something like this? Is there a misunderstanding?” See? Even my own brother didn’t believe it. Mark’s “perfect husband” facade was flawless. If I died, absolutely no one would suspect him. “Do you think I’d joke about my own life?” I asked him. Tyler looked at my face, finally realizing the gravity of the situation. He gripped the steering wheel tight. “I’m going to go find that bastard right now and beat him half to death.” I quickly stopped him. “Tyler, don’t be stupid! We don’t have any hard evidence right now. The chat logs are in his phone, he can delete them the second he suspects anything.” “Then what do we do? We go to the cops.” “It’s useless. Without proof, they won’t believe a pregnant woman claiming her husband is plotting to kill her. Tyler, take me home first. We need to plan this out carefully, and we can’t tell Mom and Dad yet.” Tyler agreed and drove me to my parents’ house. Early the next morning, he sent me a link. It was a fake online legal consultation website he had a programmer friend build overnight. “Doesn’t Mark love consulting lawyers online? Find a way to get him to visit this site. As long as he uses it, I can track his keystrokes and secure the evidence.” I was impressed by my brother’s speed. Using my marketing background, I ran a targeted ad for the website, then anonymously emailed the link to Mark’s private inbox. Then, I had Tyler take me to my current hospital. I requested copies of all my prenatal records and immediately booked my delivery at a different, private hospital across town. Just as I finished the paperwork, I saw Mark’s ex-wife, Sarah, walking into the hospital. She was holding Leo’s hand as the kid skipped along happily. Behind them was a middle-aged man I didn’t recognize. 07 Mark’s ex-wife, Sarah, was actually a moderately famous mommy vlogger. She gained a massive following by documenting her daily life raising her son. Her son supposedly suffered from congenital heart disease, and she built her entire brand around the persona of a “strong, independent single mother holding up the sky for her sick child.” If I hadn’t seen those monstrous chat logs with my own eyes last night, I probably would have been moved by her brave, resilient mother persona too. Thinking of this, I instinctively pulled out my phone and recorded a video of the three of them walking into the pediatrics wing together. I followed them discreetly. They left shortly after getting Leo a routine check-up. Once they were gone, Tyler and I slipped a nurse a hundred bucks to get a copy of Leo’s medical report. The report showed he was perfectly healthy. Leo didn’t have any heart condition whatsoever. I tucked the report into my bag, planning to post it anonymously online later. When I got back to my parents’ house, Mark was already there. He looked like he had just gotten off work, still wearing his company polo, carrying two expensive gift boxes. He looked like the picture of a polite, respectful son-in-law. That was exactly how he had fooled me. That polished, gentlemanly facade. I had demanded no ring, no house, and no car, marrying this divorced man purely out of love. When he walked in, he greeted my dad warmly, then pulled a bag of spring rolls from his pocket. “Honey, I know you were craving these last night, so I brought you some fresh ones.” Then, he smoothly rolled up his sleeves and went into the kitchen to help my mom cook. Tyler was glaring at him with such intense hatred I had to drag him into a bedroom. I pulled two bottles of expensive liquor from my dad’s cabinet. “Whether we get the evidence today depends entirely on you.” Tyler immediately understood the assignment. During dinner, Tyler relentlessly poured drinks for Mark. Tyler works in corporate sales; his alcohol tolerance is legendary. He once drank an entire table of clients under the table. Under Tyler’s relentless assault, Mark quickly surrendered, passing out face-down on the dining table. I grabbed his phone, unlocked the hidden system, and quickly AirDropped all the evidence files to my laptop. Just as I was about to put the phone back, Tyler snatched it from me. “Just getting his chat logs isn’t enough. Let me leave him a little present.” He typed furiously on Mark’s phone, handed it back to me, and then installed an app on my phone. When I opened the app, I could see a live mirror of Mark’s phone screen. He had installed spyware. 08 “A buddy of mine developed it. Just leave him a five-star review on the app store when this is over,” Tyler explained. While we were doing all this, my parents were in the living room, completely unaware of what we were up to, so they didn’t ask any questions. With everything secured, I compiled the medical report I got today, along with a covert audio recording of a pediatric cardiologist confirming the kid was healthy, into a video. I posted it anonymously to a gossip forum. Sarah was a well-known influencer. A video exposing her fake “sick child” grift instantly went viral. People started digging through her old videos, pointing out massive inconsistencies. The backlash was brutal. People accused her of being a sociopathic scammer, cursing her own child just for engagement and donations… Customers who bought the products she promoted started demanding refunds, threatening to sue her for fraud… In a matter of hours, her comment section became an absolute warzone. I sat in my old bedroom, scrolling through the comments and waiting. Sure enough, in the middle of the night, Mark’s phone lit up in the guest room. It was Sarah. She was crying hysterically, begging him to look at the trending topics and asking what she should do. Mark panicked. He told her not to worry and that he was coming over immediately. The second Mark left my parents’ house, I woke Tyler up, wanting him to drive me to follow Mark. “Chloe, you’re heavily pregnant. It’s too dangerous. I’ll go alone. You stay here and monitor his phone screen.” With that, Tyler grabbed his keys and rushed out the door. I went back to my room, my eyes glued to the phone screen. Aside from Mark opening his chat app to scroll through his old messages with me, he didn’t do anything suspicious. As dawn approached, I still hadn’t heard from Tyler. I was starting to get worried and was just about to call him when I heard a heavy thud from the living room. It sounded like something large had collapsed onto the floor. I threw my door open and gasped. My dad was lying flat on his back on the hardwood floor. His eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling, his limbs twitching sporadically. “Dad! Dad, what’s wrong?!” I screamed, rushing over to him. My dad’s eyes darted toward the phone lying next to his hand. His trembling finger pointed at the screen. It was playing Sarah’s newest video. She looked pitiful, tears streaming down her face, holding up a stack of (forged) medical documents. She claimed she never lied, that Leo really did have a severe heart condition when he was younger, and that it had only recently been cured through surgery. She then claimed she knew exactly who was behind the “vicious smear campaign.” And then, she displayed a photo of Mark and me. She stated that I was the homewrecker who destroyed her family, stole her husband, and now, jealous of her success online, was trying to ruin her life. She even leaked heavily edited chat logs between Mark and me from back when she and Mark were still legally married… Finally. She sobbed into the camera: [Chloe, you’re younger than me, you’re prettier than me. When you stole my husband and destroyed my family, I knew I couldn’t compete. I wanted to die. Leo was the only reason I kept living. I only have him left. I don’t have an education, I don’t know how to speak eloquently, I just make silly little videos to earn enough to feed my son. Why won’t you let us go? Chloe, I’m begging you, for the love of God, please spare us. I’ll get on my knees for you, I’ll beg you…] She literally got on her knees and bowed to the camera, crying hysterically, painting me as a demonic, sociopathic villain… The internet mob instantly turned on me. They cursed me for being a shameless homewrecker, wishing death on me and my unborn child… My dad had seen the video, suffered a massive stroke from the shock, and collapsed. “Dad, it’s a lie, it’s not what you think. Please don’t panic, I’m calling an ambulance right now.” I cried, grabbing my phone to dial 911. Just then, the front door clicked open. I thought it was Tyler coming back. I looked up, asking for help, but froze. Standing in the doorway was Mark. His face was darker than I had ever seen it. His pitch-black eyes churned with a terrifying, murderous rage. “You posted the video exposing Leo, didn’t you?” he asked, stepping inside and locking the front door behind him. 09 “I don’t know what you’re talking about! My dad just had a stroke because of the video your ex-wife posted! I have to get him to the hospital!” I yelled, trying to support my dad’s head while dialing 911. But Mark violently snatched the phone from my hand. “I asked you a question, Chloe. I want an explanation. Why are you framing Sarah?” He towered over me, looking down with cold, dead eyes. His gentle, caring husband persona was completely gone, replaced by the face of a violent stranger. I could clearly see the murderous intent in his eyes… Thinking about the chat logs where they plotted my death, I scrambled backward in sheer terror. “M-Mark…” “What’s going on? Chloe, what happened?” My mom heard the commotion and hurried out of the master bedroom, pulling a cardigan over her shoulders. When she saw my dad twitching on the floor, her legs gave out. “Oh my god! Honey! What happened to you?!” Seeing my mom, the demonic look on Mark’s face instantly vanished, replaced by his usual calm demeanor. He cleared his throat. “It looks like a stroke. Let’s get him to the hospital.” He stepped forward, reaching out to help lift my dad, but I subtly blocked his hands. “N-no need. I already called an ambulance.” The paramedics arrived quickly, and my dad was rushed to the ER. Thank God we got him there in time. After emergency treatment, he was stabilized, but he remained paralyzed on his right side and needed to stay in the ICU for observation. Mark stayed by my side the entire time. He ran around paying the hospital fees, handling the paperwork, and comforting my weeping mother. Watching him, I almost convinced myself that the terrifying monster I saw in the apartment was just a hallucination. But only almost. I knew exactly how terrifying this man truly was. Tyler rushed into the hospital shortly after. When he saw Mark, he froze for a second. “How’s Dad? He was perfectly fine yesterday, how did he suddenly have a stroke?” he asked me. “He’s stabilized, but the doctor said the recovery will be brutal. He might be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life,” I sobbed, unable to hold back the tears. Tyler swayed on his feet. He shot a dark glare at Mark, then asked me, “What caused it?” I didn’t hold back. I told him everything about Sarah’s retaliation video. The moment Tyler heard the full story, he spun around and delivered a brutal right hook directly to Mark’s jaw. “You son of a bitch! Is this how you treat my sister?! Are you and your psycho ex-wife ever going to stop?!” Mark stumbled backward from the force of the punch. “Tyler, what gives you the right to hit me?! You framed Leo first! Sarah was just giving you a taste of your own medicine!” “Whether your ‘son’ is sick or not, or whether your ex-wife is a scamming fraud, YOU fucking know the truth better than anyone! You absolute piece of garbage! My sister was blind to ever marry you!” Tyler roared, launching a vicious kick at Mark’s ribs. Mark hit the floor hard. He scrambled up, raising his fists to fight back, but I quickly grabbed Tyler’s arm. “Stop it. Go home, Mark. Tyler is furious right now, don’t push him.” Tyler shoved Mark toward the elevator. “Get the hell out of here before I kill you.” Mark cursed under his breath, wiped the blood from his lip, and stormed off. Once he was completely gone, Tyler pulled a thick stack of printed documents from his jacket. “This is what I found today.” He explained that after he left the house at dawn, he tailed Mark all the way to Sarah’s luxury apartment complex. But because he didn’t have a resident pass, security wouldn’t let him in. While he was pacing outside taking photos, trying to figure out how to sneak in, he spotted a middle-aged man pacing near the gate too. It was the same man we had seen with Sarah at the hospital. The man was clearly trying to see Sarah, but he was also being blocked by security. Tyler used his connections to run a background check on the guy. The man’s last name was Miller. He was a wealthy real estate contractor. Turns out, he had been sleeping with Sarah long before she ever married Mark. Even after Sarah married Mark, she never broke it off with Miller. They had been carrying on an affair the entire time. After Sarah and Mark divorced, she and Miller practically moved in together. And Mark? He had absolutely zero clue this man even existed. “Leo’s paternity is highly questionable,” I blurted out instinctively.

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I had been married to Pierce for five years, and for five years, he had been as cold as a tomb. When his mother pulled me aside that afternoon and pressed a small, discreet package into my hand—a “little help” to spark the fire, she’d whispered—I actually felt a flicker of hope. That night, when he was “sent” to my room by her decree, I was naive enough to believe our hollow marriage was finally turning a corner. I was wrong. I found the pinhole camera while I was showering, tucked into a dark corner of the marble tiles, its tiny lens shimmering like a predatory eye. By the next morning, the footage was everywhere. It wasn’t just leaked; it was being auctioned off as a “Mystery Box” on a private, high-stakes streaming site. I stood outside his study, the door cracked just enough for the bile-slicked laughter of his friends to pour out. They were crowded around a monitor, their words a jagged edge against my skin. “Damn, Pierce,” one of them chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re really putting Norma up as a public service? First the shower show, and now a raffle? You’re actually going to let some random stranger have a go at her?” Pierce leaned back, a cloud of expensive cigar smoke curling around his head. His lip curled in a smirk that tasted of pure disdain. “I promised Mallory years ago I’d never touch Norma. It’s her own fault for being desperate enough to crawl into my bed last night. If she wants to be ‘satisfied’ so badly, I’m just letting her enjoy the experience.” … The roar of laughter that followed nearly took the roof off. “The Ice Queen is actually a closet slut! Who knew?” “But for real, Pierce—when the ‘Mystery Box’ winner shows up to claim the prize, it’s going to be full contact. You’re not worried she’ll make a scene?” Pierce flicked an ash, his expression bored. “She brought this on herself. If she hadn’t forced this marriage on me, Mallory wouldn’t have fled to Paris in a heartbreak. Mallory hasn’t called me once in five years because of her.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a confidential, cruel conspiratorial tone. “And you guys don’t see it. I’ve caught her taking matters into her own hands more than once. She’s like a parched garden; she’ll take whatever water she can get. A woman that hungry won’t fight. She’ll probably thank us.” The room erupted again, a chorus of predatory agreement. “Serves her right for thinking she could replace Mallory. Now that Mallory’s back from her ‘exile,’ it’s time Norma learned where she actually fits in the food chain.” I felt like I was drowning in a wave of cold, black ink. Since our wedding night, Pierce and I had been strangers in the same house. We slept in separate wings. I had watched the other women in our social circle announce pregnancies, throw lavish baby showers, and build lives. I had tried to fight for us once. I had demanded to know why he wouldn’t even look at me. He had unbuckled his belt in front of me that night, his eyes burning with a terrifying, icy rage. “Look at me, Norma,” he’d spat. “I feel absolutely nothing when I look at you. Not even a spark. Have some self-respect and stay in your own room.” He’d practically thrown me out of the master suite, naked and shivering, while the house staff pretended not to hear my humilation. I spent years thinking I was the problem. I took hormones that made me sick; I underwent countless tests until my arms were a roadmap of needle bruises. I carried the reputation of the “Cold Wife,” the woman who couldn’t keep her husband’s interest. And all this time, his “low libido” was just a shrine he’d built for Mallory. The absurdity of it was staggering. My mind drifted back to our wedding night, when his mother, Margaret, had sat me down in the library. “He and Mallory are just childhood friends, Norma. Give it time. Once you’re married, his heart will open to you.” Seeing my hesitation, she had offered a deal. A five-year contract. If, after five years, Pierce still hadn’t accepted me as his wife, I could leave with my dignity and a settlement. I hadn’t cared about the money. I had cared about him. But after five years of pouring myself into a void, he was selling me to the highest bidder. My heart felt like it was being crushed by a phantom hand. My phone buzzed incessantly in my pocket—notifications from the dark corners of the internet, comments tearing my dignity to shreds. With trembling fingers, I dialed Margaret. “The five-year mark is up,” I whispered into the receiver. “Please. Let me go.” I returned to the house in a daze. For the first time in years, Pierce was waiting for me. He handed me a glass of milk, his eyes uncharacteristically soft. He pointed to the bed, which was covered in a collection of silk ties and adult toys that made my blood run cold. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, his breath hot against my ear. “I’ve been too distant, Norma,” he murmured. “Let’s start slow. Just us and some toys. Don’t you want that?” I drank the milk, my brain fuddled by exhaustion and grief. But as his hands moved over me, I remembered the laughter in his study. I pushed him away. “Not tonight. I’m tired.” His face transformed instantly, the mask of affection slipping to reveal the jagged stone beneath. “You’ve been begging for a child for five years, Norma. Now that I’m offering to ‘help’ you, you’re playing hard to get?” He stripped me and shoved me onto the bed, but he didn’t stay. He took a call and walked out, locking the door behind him. I tried to get up, but my limbs felt like lead. My vision blurred. Through the haze, I saw the door open. Two figures entered—Pierce and Mallory. “You’re a genius,” Mallory giggled, her voice like wind chimes. “Drugged and surrounded by toys… the photos will be way more lucrative than the shower video. The ‘Mystery Box’ sales are going to skyrocket.” “I promised you, Mal,” Pierce said, his voice tender in a way it never was with me. “I’ll never touch her. She’s just the product.” I lay there, paralyzed, as hired “security” posed my limp body for the camera. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t move. I could only watch the flashes of light explode against my skin like tiny, silent bombs. “I’ve always wondered what the Ice Queen looked like under those silk suits,” one of the guards muttered, his hand lingering too long on my hip. “Easy there,” another laughed. “Save it for the raffle. Buy a ticket like everyone else. I hear they’re even using that ‘compliance’ serum for the winner. It’s going to be a hell of a show.” Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, the only part of me still under my control. Eventually, the room went dark. I don’t know how much time passed before Pierce kicked my foot with his designer shoe to wake me. “I told you to wait for me,” he said, his voice thick with feigned annoyance. “You fell asleep.” My body ached with a deep, systemic throb. Looking at his calm, handsome face, I almost doubted my own memory. He tossed my clothes at me as if touching them would contaminate him. Even after I layered up in a heavy sweater, the chill wouldn’t leave my bones. Pierce checked his phone, a frown creasing his brow. “My mother is flying back early. I wonder what’s up.” I looked away. “Maybe it’s just business.” He grunted, satisfied with that, and set his phone on the nightstand while he went to get a glass of water. The phone exploded with notifications. I reached for it. The group chat was a nightmare of scrolling text. “Those shots are filthier than I expected. Everyone knows she’s a total wreck now.” “The stream sales just cleared three hundred thousand. People are going to go feral for the raffle!” “The ‘Wife’ is still a looker, but after tonight, she’ll be too broken for anyone to want, even for free. Haha!” My mind went white. I looked toward the wastebasket. There, resting on top, were several used wrappers. The memory wasn’t a hallucination. While I was drifting in and out of a drug-induced stupor, Pierce and Mallory had used my bedroom—and my presence—as a backdrop for their own reunion. Pierce walked back in, seeing my tears. He rushed over, his face a mask of concern. “Norma? Baby, what’s wrong?” As he “comforted” me with one hand, I saw him glance at the phone with the other, a smirk ghosting across his lips before he hid it. He handed me the water, his voice casual. “You know Mallory is back, right? We’re throwing her a ‘Welcome Home’ dinner tomorrow at The Gilded Lily. You should come. Wear something… revealing.” At the mention of her name, my hand shook. The glass shattered on the floor. “I’m not going. I need to rest.” Pierce’s expression turned venomous. “I married you, and it drove her away for five years. Don’t you feel a shred of guilt? You’re going. I’m not letting you embarrass me by moping at home. It’s settled.” He didn’t see me as a person. I was a scapegoat, a product, and a prop. The next night, the VIP lounge at The Gilded Lily was packed with his “brothers” and Mallory. They looked like the elite of the city, all tailored suits and expensive watches, but their eyes were hungry as they tracked me. “Norma! Come sit over here,” one of the guys said, grabbing my arm and trying to pull me onto his lap. I recoiled as if he were a leper, terror vibrating through my marrow. Mallory let out a performative pout. “Stop it, you guys. Norma’s a ‘virtuous’ wife. I heard she only just ‘found herself’ recently. She’s sensitive.” The table erupted in knowing smirks. Pierce sat on the velvet sofa, sipping bourbon, looking at Mallory with pure adoration. “I’m leaving,” I whispered, my throat tight. “My friends are being nice to you,” Pierce’s voice cut through the air, cold as a razor. “Don’t be a ‘dead fish.’ Sit down.” I gritted my teeth. “Pierce, I am your wife.” He didn’t even blink. Mallory stood up, her silk dress shimmering, and draped an arm around my shoulders. “Norma, honey, sit with me. Pierce is just grumpy. He’s got a… sharp tongue… but he doesn’t mean it.” She and Pierce exchanged a look that dripped with a foul, shared secret. Mallory picked up a glass of champagne. “Look, I was immature before I left. I almost ruined your wedding. Let me apologize. Drink this, and let’s be friends.” I saw the bubbles dancing in the glass. My skin crawled. “I don’t drink.” Pierce sat up, his eyes darkening. “Don’t be ungrateful. She’s trying to be the bigger person. Drink it.” I stared him down, refusing to touch the glass. “Oh, don’t scare her, Pierce!” Mallory chirped. She swapped the champagne for a cup of steaming tea. “Just some hot water, then? For the nerves?” She winked at me, a playful, terrifying gesture. I looked at the expectant faces around the table. “I don’t want anything.” As I pushed the cup back, Mallory “tripped.” The hot water splashed onto the floor, and she let out a piercing shriek, clutching her arm and collapsing into Pierce’s chest. “Norma! I know you hate me, but you didn’t have to scald me!” she sobbed. Pierce lost it. “That is enough!” He gave a sharp nod. Before I could move, a heavy, wet cloth was clamped over my mouth and nose from behind. “Thought she might be jumpy,” a voice hissed in my ear. “Good thing we had the backup ready. The ‘Mystery Box’ event is live in ten minutes.” The chemical scent filled my lungs. My insides felt like they were being eaten by ants. I looked at Pierce, trying to scream through the fabric. Pierce, what are you doing? He avoided my eyes, stroking Mallory’s hair. “You love being touched, don’t you? As your husband, I’m just making sure you get exactly what you want tonight. Enjoy yourself, Norma.” The world began to tilt. “The participants are waiting,” Pierce told the men, checking his watch. “Move fast.” Hands began to roam over me. “Don’t worry, Boss. The penthouse suite is ready. It’s going to be a show they’ll never forget.” They threw me over a shoulder like a sack of grain. As they carried me toward the elevator, I glared at Pierce with every ounce of soul I had left. “You… will… regret… this,” I croaked. The elevator doors hissed shut. In the penthouse, they forced a pill down my throat. I thrashed on the floor, my screams turning into ragged gasps. Outside the door, I heard muffled footsteps. Pierce’s voice sounded momentarily hesitant. “I gave her the ‘compliance’ drop,” his friend said. “She won’t remember a single thing that happens tonight. Relax.” I lay on the floor, a broken doll waiting for the storm. Suddenly, the door burst open. Not a raffle winner. Not a stranger. “Pierce, you absolute monster! How could you do this to your own wife?” Margaret stood there, her face a mask of cold fury. I sobbed, a broken, visceral sound. With the last of my strength, I reached for the legal folder she held out. I signed the contract. Margaret’s security team swarmed the room, shielding me. They whisked me out through the service entrance. Back in the lounge, Pierce gave the signal to start the stream. “We’ve got thirty million viewers in the lobby!” his friend shouted. “The ‘Wife’ is the biggest draw we’ve ever had! Let’s see who wins the prize!” The chat was a blur of filth. The “draw” button was clicked. Pierce watched the screen, waiting for the feed from the penthouse to go live. But the room on the monitor was empty. “Where is she?” Pierce demanded. A voice like a whip-crack came from behind him. “Don’t bother looking, Pierce. Norma is no longer your wife.”

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Determined to study hard for my grad school entrance exams, I posted: [I’m dying. Quitting the game. Don’t look for me.] A few days later, I heard that a famous actor went crazy, mistaking a netizen for the love of his life. Later, by some twist of fate, I ended up in the entertainment industry. To steal resources, a two-faced actress intentionally set me up on a live reality show to disrespect the actor’s “dead” love. But it seems that “dead” love is… me? I’m still alive. What do I do now… 01 It was exam prep season again, and once more, I was screaming in frustration at my own laziness. My best friend, Chloe, rolled her eyes at me. “Audrey, if you don’t quit that game, you can forget about grad school. Keep dreaming.” I threw my phone down and started sulking. “What, still waiting for your gaming buddy?” Chloe patted my back. I stayed silent, just being stubborn. Even though my gaming buddy hadn’t been online for days, I wasn’t going to admit it. “Let it go. You’re just a random netizen to him. Focusing on your exams is what’s important,” she said. Ouch… This girl’s ability to stab me right in the heart is as strong as ever. Stabbing me right where it hurts the most. But I’m known for being stubborn to the bitter end. So I said, “It’s not because of him. I’m just addicted to the game.” “Fine, I’ll help you quit,” she said with an eye roll. I laughed. “Alright, if you can make it so I never log into that game again, I’ll admit you’re the boss.” “You said it, Audrey,” she said, grabbing my phone and frantically tapping away. A moment later, she tossed the phone back to me. “Done. I guarantee you’ll never dare log into this account again.” I had a bad feeling about this. I looked at the screen. My gaming profile had a new status update: AudreyA: [I’m dying. Quitting the game. Don’t look for me.] Then, all my cosmetic items—except for one limited-edition skin and the ones bound to my gaming buddy that couldn’t be gifted—were given away (mostly to Chloe herself, of course). My virtual pet, the cute little thing I always called my “daughter,” was transferred to my gaming buddy. She even left a message: [Take good care of our daughter.] Watching the DMs popping up one after another, my vision went dark, and I immediately logged off. She was right. I’d never dare log into this account again. Just pretend I’m dead. Socially dead. Later, I heard a rumor that a rising star, an actor who was quickly becoming an A-lister, suddenly went crazy. He completely abandoned his “single and available” image, risking his entire career, to search the world for the love of his life. And that love was a netizen he had never even met. Of course, I only heard passing mentions of this and didn’t know the details. At that time, I had already moved back to my hometown. A family member had fallen seriously ill. I was overwhelmed and had no time for anything else. Eventually, my family member recovered. I didn’t end up taking the grad school exams. Instead, through a bizarre twist of fate, I entered the entertainment industry, becoming an absolute nobody. Right now, I’m on my way to a live reality show. The famous actor, Liam Hayes, will also be there. A couple of days ago, a talented fan editor created a romantic montage of Liam and me, and a lot of netizens thought it was amazing. Liam’s team even reached out to my agency to discuss a potential collaboration. This reality show is basically a warm-up and a test run. Liam Hayes is that same rising star who went “crazy” before. He successfully became an A-lister. 02 “Audrey, remember, Liam is easy to talk to, but he has one absolute taboo: his dead first love.” In the car, my manager, Sarah, twisted my ear and lectured me. Liam’s “first love” stayed with him through his darkest times before he became famous. Back then, Liam had offended someone and was suppressed at every turn. He had no acting jobs; it was the darkest period of his life. But just when he finally achieved success, she died. Over the past year or so, countless women have tried to capitalize on his “first love” story, and they all met terrible ends. “This is your chance to make it big. Don’t screw it up,” Sarah said, poking my forehead. I nodded like a woodpecker and said, “Mission understood!” “Oh, and that two-faced Mia is also going to be there. Be careful,” Sarah added as I was getting out of the car. That woman, Mia, has been targeting me ever since I entered the industry. She’s stolen countless opportunities from me, pretended to be my best friend only to “accidentally” say things that got me tons of hate, and even paid for smear campaigns against me. She’s like gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe—annoying and impossible to get rid of. Thinking about her, I made a gagging face and got out of the car. … What I didn’t know was that a few hours ago… Mia was clinging to someone’s arm, saying, “David, you promised me. You have to make this happen.” “David” kissed her and said, “Don’t worry, it’s a done deal. Tonight, there will be an after-dinner game segment. I’ve arranged for Liam to draw the prompt to play ‘Elysium,’ the game he used to play with his dead first love.” “I’ve checked, and Audrey said she’s never played Elysium. Since her name is Audrey, I’ll have someone subtly suggest she use the username ‘Audrey.’ We’ll manipulate her into doing something that looks like she’s copying his first love’s old username, ‘AudreyA.’ I guarantee Liam will have her blacklisted from the industry by tomorrow.” “Also, you’ll play Elysium too. Remember, your persona in Elysium is the ‘skilled gamer.’ You need to criticize Audrey at the right moment. That way, both Liam and his fans will like you, and you can step over Audrey to get the collaboration opportunity.” Mia beamed with joy and sweetly said, “David~ You’re the best~” And then… … Of course, I knew none of this. Right now, I had just stepped out of the car, and the first person I saw was Liam. He is incredibly handsome. Perhaps because I knew about his tragic love story, he seemed to carry a unique, melancholic beauty. He stood there, casually waving hello. His dark eyes seemed filled with an impenetrable mist. For some reason, I suddenly felt a sense of familiarity. I shook my head. Am I crazy? I’ve only been in the industry for six months, and this is the first time I’ve met him. What familiarity? Audrey, you can’t just look at a handsome guy and think you knew him in a past life. With that thought, I adjusted my attitude and walked up to him with a bright smile. I said, “Hello, Liam. I’m Audrey Miller. You can just call me Audrey.” For some reason, he seemed to think of something and paused for a moment. I looked at him curiously. After about a second, he slightly lowered his eyes, his gaze focusing on me. He nodded, his voice clean and clear: “Hello.” 03 His voice also felt very familiar, but I figured I must have heard it on TV before. Totally normal. Audrey, keep it together. Just as I was thinking this, Mia’s voice called out from behind, “Liam, Audrey, wait for me!” I immediately rolled my eyes. What a buzzkill. Whatever, focus on the mission first. Today’s main objective: successfully cling to Liam’s coattails! So, during the live reality show, I worked incredibly hard. When Liam needed water, I was the first to pour it— “Water for you, Liam. If you need anything, just call for Audrey. I’m at your beck and call, guaranteed~” When it was time for tasks, I took the lead, rushing forward to grab all the chores— “I got this, Liam. My specialty is being physically fit. I’ve hardly ever been sick since I was a kid!” When we failed a mini-game and had to face a penalty, I stepped right up— “Don’t panic, I’m Liam’s designated stunt double. I’ll take the penalty. Our goal is: protect Liam from any harm!” … Sucking up, that’s what I do! Kissing ass, that’s my game! Kiss enough ass, and eventually, you’ll have it all! Slurp~ Let’s go, let’s go! Mia was also trying hard, but she cared too much about her image to compete with me. So, she resorted to passive-aggressive remarks from the sidelines: “Audrey, aren’t you afraid Liam’s fans will hate you for clinging to him like this?” I replied nonchalantly, “It’s fine, right? I’m not trying to push a romantic angle.” She’s the one trying to force a romantic narrative with Liam. When her first plan failed, she tried another: “But the way you’re acting, it looks like you’re just kissing his ass…” I chuckled: “No need to doubt it, I am kissing his ass. I want to be Liam’s right-hand man!” Saying this, I even looked directly at the camera: “Main quest: cling to Liam’s coattails, strive to be his most loyal sidekick, and pledge unwavering loyalty to Liam!” I finished with a fist pump. Then, ignoring Mia’s almost broken expression, I walked away with swagger. Netizens clipped this segment together with all my other kiss-ass moments from the day, and paired it with Mia’s almost broken expression. It instantly skyrocketed to the top of the trending list. [Hahaha, Mia’s expression, I’m dying of laughter.] [I don’t care, I want to be Liam’s most loyal sidekick too!] [Pledge unwavering loyalty to Liam!] … [Don’t laugh too soon. Audrey isn’t innocent. I actually think Mia is right, Audrey is clinging to Liam. There have been other female celebrities who played the ‘bro/sidekick’ card before, and they all ended up trying to leech off Liam’s fame later. Disgusting.] [+1 to the comment above.] [+My bank account number.] … My phone had been confiscated, so I didn’t know about the heated debates online. I only knew that this busy day was finally coming to an end. While shoveling food into my mouth, I sneaked glances at Liam. When his water glass was empty, I refilled it. Whatever he needed, I provided. Seeing him smile from time to time, I figured he must be pretty satisfied. Of course he is. Even I’m impressed by my level of service. Audrey, you’re the best! But when I suddenly looked up, I caught Mia’s sinister glare. It startled me so much I almost choked. Too scary. Just eat, ignore her. After dinner came the final activity before bed: drawing lots for a mini-game. I glanced at the crumpled pieces of paper. Singing, hide-and-seek, things like that were all there. I didn’t see all of them before a staff member put them into a box. “Liam, why don’t you draw?” the staff member said. “Whatever you pick, everyone will definitely be happy with.” Liam nodded modestly, reached in, and pulled out a piece of paper. The moment he opened it, he froze, his lips pressed tightly together. Little Qin, standing next to him, leaned over while talking: “What did you get? Liam, your expression is haha…” But before he could finish his “haha,” his expression changed drastically. He went completely silent. His eyes wide as saucers. Everyone was very curious, and so was I, but I didn’t dare look. Finally, Little Qin said, “Why don’t you draw another one?” But Liam said, “No need, this one is fine.” Then he flattened the piece of paper on the table. I took a look— “Elysium Map Race.” 04 The corners of my mouth twitched slightly. Dead memories suddenly attacked me. Oh no, this feels like heartburn. I was reminded of what my best friend did over a year ago. From that day until now, I haven’t played Elysium once. For some reason, besides my awkwardness, no one else spoke either. The atmosphere was incredibly weird. And everyone kept stealing glances at Liam. I was the least famous person there, so I didn’t dare make a sound. Right then, Mia suddenly spoke up: “Audrey, you’ve never played Elysium, right? Whoever teams up with you this time is going to suffer, haha.” She paused slightly, then looked at Liam and said, “Liam, I’m super good at Elysium. Let’s team up.” I instantly went on high alert. This two-faced Mia was waiting for this! She wants to show off her gaming skills to win Liam over and steal my opportunities again? Impossible! Absolutely impossible! I’ve been kissing up to Liam all day; I refuse to let someone else steal the fruit of my labor! Thinking this, I patted my chest and looked at Liam: “No, I’m super good. Liam, let’s team up!” I am a recognized pro at Elysium. Back in the day, I carried my gaming buddy across the map, flying through the skies and exploring every corner. Before Liam could say anything, Mia’s mocking voice came again— “Audrey, if you don’t know how to play, just admit it. You can’t lie just to team up with Liam. It wouldn’t be good if you dragged him down.” What I didn’t know was that online, someone had dug up an interview video of me from a month ago. In that video, the host asked me— “Audrey, have you played the popular game Elysium recently?” And the me on screen shook my head frantically: “No, absolutely not. I don’t know how to play that game at all.” The live chat had already exploded— [A month ago she said she’s never played, doesn’t know how, absolutely not. Now she dares to say she’s a pro? Is this a joke!] [Yeah, she probably hasn’t even leveled up much in a month. So funny. I used to think she was genuine, but now it seems she’s no different from the other women.] [Disgusting. Audrey, stay away from our Liam! Audrey get out of the entertainment industry!] … While the internet was blowing up, back at the reality show set. I’m someone who can’t stand a challenge, especially when Mia is being specifically malicious. Combining old grudges with new resentment, I had to win. “The game hasn’t even started, why are you already talking trash?” I said, instantly changing my expression and looking at Liam with a flattering smile. “Liam, pick me, pick me! Your loyal sidekick is your most reliable teammate! If you like this game, we can play it together all the time! I’m super good!” I even impressed myself with how fast I could change my tune. After all, with my skills, I could definitely carry Liam and make the game a breeze for him. Liam looked at my eager expression and, for some reason, seemed a bit stunned. He looked at me, but his dark eyes lacked focus. It was as if he was looking at something through me. Is there a problem? I used to act like this in the game when begging high-level players to carry me. Back then, I had another “sidekick” with me, and the high-level players were always happy to carry us. “Audrey, look, Liam hasn’t even said anything. He…” “Okay.” Before Mia could finish her mocking sentence, Liam agreed. Everyone around us was stunned. The internet exploded even more, because for the past year or so, Liam hadn’t teamed up with any female players. On the islands of Elysium, people often saw Liam taking a cute, pink virtual pet to travel across mountains, rivers, and oceans. Rumor had it that the virtual pet was the “daughter” previously raised by “AudreyA.” More and more people were hating on me online, but I didn’t know. I was happily taking a phone from a staff member. Create a new account or log into my old one? Definitely the old one. A new account wouldn’t have any levels; how could I beat anyone? If I want to carry the boss, I need to bring my absolute peak skills! Clenching fists.jpg Besides, that happened a year and a half ago. Surely no one remembers it anymore… Surely… Thinking this, I expertly entered my ID and password. After logging in, the familiar colorful interface washed over me. Long time no see.

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I am a ghost from ten years ago, anchored to this timeline by a single, desperate mission: save Alexander West. If I can win him back—if I can make him love me again—his younger self will be spared the tragedy that broke him. The accident that left the man before me paralyzed in a wheelchair will be erased from history. But if I fail, he vanishes. In every timeline, in every memory, Alexander West will simply cease to exist. This is my final shot. It’s why I’ve endured his venom, his public humiliations, and the way he sneers at me as if I’m something he found on the bottom of his shoe. To everyone else, I’m the toxic ex who doesn’t know when to quit. A social climber trying to claw her way back into the life of the man she once threw away. They don’t understand that I’m fighting for his life. Last night, the cruelty hit a new peak. During a high-stakes “Truth or Dare” at a charity gala, we were locked in a “Pulse Room”—a sensory-deprivation chamber where the door only unlocks if you whisper the name of the person you love and your heart rate hits a specific, undeniable frequency. Alexander didn’t hesitate. Without a glance in my direction, he breathed a single name: “Lydia.” Lydia. The bright, bubbly pharmaceutical rep who treats him like a wounded bird. His “Little Sunshine.” The door buzzed open. I stared at him, my chest aching as if he’d physically struck me. He just leaned back in his wheelchair, a mocking glint in his dark eyes. “It’s just a game, Iris,” he’d said. “Don’t tell me you actually took it to heart.” Then, his voice dropped, turning into a low, dangerous velvet. He told me that if I stayed in that dark room alone all night as a ‘penalty,’ he’d grant me one minute of being his girlfriend again. A sixty-second consolation prize. I just looked at him, feeling the last fraying thread of my hope snap. “Don’t bother, Alexander,” I whispered. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” 1 “Think carefully, Iris. This might be the only chance you have left to—” Alexander cut himself off, his jaw tightening as he processed my words. For a fleeting second, a crack appeared in his icy mask. “What did you just say? You’re turning it down?” He narrowed his eyes, searching my face for the lie. “What’s the angle this time? Playing hard to get? Trying to make me chase you?” I met his gaze, forcing down the acidic burn in my throat. I kept my voice flat, devoid of the desperation that usually defined us. “I’ll take the penalty. I’ll stay the night.” I took a breath, the air in the room feeling thin. “But the rest of it? The ‘getting back together’ thing? There’s no point.” The smirk he’d been wearing froze. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the armrests of his wheelchair, his frame tense with a sudden, inexplicable fury. “Fine,” he spat, his voice trembling with a dark, suppressed emotion. “What’s the catch? What’s the new price?” “Do you want me to take you back to that trailer park in Haven Cove? Or do you have some new, pathetic excuse for why you vanished ten years ago?” He leaned forward, his eyes burning. “I don’t get it, Iris. You’re the one who walked out. You’re the one who left me bleeding out in the rain. Why do you always act like the goddamn martyr?” I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper, staring at the ceiling to force back the tears. This was my third life. My third attempt to fix this. In the first life, I tried to prove my devotion by literally throwing myself into the line of fire for him. When he stood over my hospital bed, he didn’t weep. He just said, “You always were dramatic.” In the second life, I brought him to my old professors, showed him the records, tried to explain that I never went to Europe for a better life—that I left to protect him. He didn’t believe me. Instead, he used his influence to ruin the people who tried to speak for me. In this life, I told him the truth from day one. I told him that our reconciliation was the only thing that could heal his legs, the only thing that could save his soul. He just laughed. He pointed to the miracle drugs Lydia was developing for him. “I’m not the naive kid from the docks anymore, Iris. You think your ‘love’ is going to make me walk? Listen to yourself. It’s pathetic.” Looking at the sheer loathing in his eyes now, I felt a bone-deep exhaustion settle over me. But then I looked at his legs, and the memory of him at eighteen flashed through my mind—how he’d worked three jobs to pay for my tuition, how he’d taken a lead pipe to the knees from a debt collector just so I wouldn’t have to worry. My eyes drifted to the EKG monitor on the wall of the Pulse Room. Even though he claimed to find Lydia annoying, his heart rate had spiked the moment her name left his lips. I gave a small, bitter laugh. “I don’t want anything from you anymore, Alexander,” I said. “For the last time: I never abandoned you. I never wanted the money. I was trying to save you. Truly.” I wiped a stray tear away before it could fall. Alexander looked stunned, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. The tension was shattered when the door was flung open. A figure blurred through the light, throwing herself into Alexander’s lap. “Are you okay?” Lydia asked, her voice trembling with manufactured concern. She looked up at him with wide, watery eyes. “You know you hate the dark. Why did you let her drag you into this stupid game?” “Let’s go home,” she whispered, then threw a sharp, territorial glare in my direction. She looked exactly the way I used to—standing as a shield between Alexander and the world. When the wheelchair didn’t move immediately, Lydia followed Alexander’s gaze to the EKG monitor. Seeing the recorded spike in his heart rate from earlier, she beamed. “She’ll be fine, Alexander,” Lydia said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “She’s not that scared little girl who used to hide in your arms anymore. She’s tougher than she looks.” The cold aura around Alexander seemed to soften slightly at her touch. He looked at me one last time, as if trying to convince himself of something. “One night, Iris,” he muttered. “Survive the night, and maybe I’ll give you one more chance to explain yourself tomorrow.” I watched Lydia wheel him away, the heavy steel door groaning shut behind them. The darkness rushed in, thick and suffocating. The old, familiar terror began to claw at my throat. He’d forgotten. Or maybe he just didn’t care anymore. He was the one who pulled me out of the darkness all those years ago when my parents locked me away. He knew the dark was my cage. I curled into a ball on the cold floor, burying my face in my knees. The tears came then, hot and heavy. My mind drifted back to the eighteen-year-old Alexander—the boy who was still waiting for me to come home in the past. Then, the cold, mechanical chime of the Directive echoed in my mind. [Warning: Host’s will to continue is critically low. Abandonment detected. Calculating failure parameters.] 2 [Confirmation required: Does the Host wish to forfeit the mission?] I bit my lip until the metallic tang of blood filled my mouth. I was ready to nod. I was ready to let the void take me. Suddenly, the last dim light in the room died with a sharp pop. Total darkness. The air felt like wet wool. I could hear the echoes of my father’s drunken shouting from my childhood, the sound of the cellar door locking. I tried to cover my ears, my breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. I opened my mouth to scream the word Yes to the Directive, to end it all— BANG. The door was kicked off its hinges. A silhouette stood framed in the blinding light of the hallway. For a second, the outline of the man matched the lean, hungry shape of the boy I loved. A smile broke through my terror. He came back. He still cares. The Directive’s question faded into the back of my mind. I must have fainted, because when I opened my eyes, I was dreaming. In the dream, I was back in Haven Cove. We were kids. Alexander was the town’s stray, the orphan everyone whispered about. The first time I ever spoke to him was after a group of local bullies had cracked his forehead open with a rock. I’d saved my lunch money for weeks. I used it to take him to the small clinic in town. I remembered him sitting on the exam table, his ribs showing through his skin, looking away from me. “I’ll pay you back,” he’d said, his voice a gravelly rasp. I’d just shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. Just… next time you go to the city, can you take me with you?” I wanted to learn. I wanted to see the world. My parents wouldn’t pay for school, so I had to be smart. I had to find a way out. We became inseparable. By the time I was eighteen, I held an acceptance letter to a university in the city, but my parents tore it into confetti. They wanted to marry me off to a man three times my age to settle a gambling debt. I tried to run, but Haven Cove was a trap. They caught me. They locked me in the shed behind the house for three months. No light. Barely any food. Alexander was the one who found me. He nearly died pulling me out of there, taking a beating that should have killed him. After we escaped, he worked two shifts at the docks to put me through school. When I tried to tell him no, he just pinched my cheek and laughed. “Just graduate, Iris. Then we’ll get married. You’re the only reason I want a better life.” That Alexander loved me with every fiber of his being. So when the Directive appeared to me ten years ago, offering a deal—go to the future, save the man he becomes, and fix the tragedy of his accident—I didn’t hesitate. Even the eighteen-year-old Alexander had encouraged me. “The future me won’t need a mission to love you,” he’d joked. But as I left, he’d gripped my hand, his eyes serious. “Iris, if the man I become ever breaks your heart… just walk away. I’m promising you right now, I’d rather die than be the reason you cry.” The dream started to dissolve. I reached out for his hand, screaming his name as I lurched awake. But I wasn’t in Alexander’s arms. I was in a hospital bed, and Lydia was standing over me with a smirk that made my skin crawl. “You really thought it was him, didn’t you?” she asked, her voice dripping with mockery. She pulled out her phone and played a video. It was security footage of the Pulse Room. It wasn’t Alexander who had kicked the door in; it was a panicked security guard. “The staff didn’t want a lawsuit,” Lydia laughed. “Did you really think a little ‘damsel in distress’ act would work on him? Alexander has spent ten years hating you. You think a dark room changes that?” She leaned in closer, her voice a sharp whisper. “I’m the leading lady of this story now, Iris. Why did you have to come back? You’re a ghost. Stay dead.” Before I could respond, she let out a piercing scream and threw herself onto the floor. The tray of hot soup she’d brought—supposedly as a peace offering—shattered, the scalding liquid splashing over her arms. Right on cue, Alexander rolled into the room. Lydia looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. “Iris, I only came here to check on you! Why would you do this?” She sobbed, clutching Alexander’s hand. “It’s my fault, really. I just told her that the new treatment was working, that you were going to walk again… and she snapped. She kept saying that only she could save you.” I watched her performance with a cold, hollow feeling in my chest. I looked past her, straight into Alexander’s eyes. “You were standing right outside the door,” I said quietly. “You saw what happened. Didn’t you?” 3 Lydia’s eyes widened in fake terror. “Alexander, no, she’s lying…” I waited. I waited for the man who used to know my soul to look at the physics of the spill, to see the calculation in Lydia’s eyes. I waited for him to protect me. Instead, his voice was like dry ice. “I could call the police, Iris. I could have you charged with assault.” He looked at me as if I were a stranger—a nuisance to be cleared away. Lydia pressed closer to his side, her face glowing with triumph. “Can’t take it?” Alexander sneered, his lip curling. “This is a fraction of the pain I’ve lived with for a decade. I was building a life for us in Everglade City. I was finally making it. And then you vanished without a word.” “Now I’m the man everyone wants to know. I’m the ‘New Money’ king of the coast. And suddenly, you’re back, crawling around, trying to get a piece of it.” His eyes were bloodshot, his voice trembling with a decade of fermented rage. “What makes you think I’d wait for you? What makes you think your ‘devotion’ means anything to me now?” The silence in the room was heavy, suffocating. The dam finally broke. “I didn’t leave because I wanted to!” I screamed, the words tearing out of me. “Then why?” Alexander yelled back. “Give me one reason! Tell me why you let me think you were dead!” I opened my mouth, but the Directive’s invisible weight clamped down on my vocal cords. I couldn’t speak the truth of the system. I couldn’t explain the time-slip. I closed my eyes, my shoulders slumping. “I can’t tell you the ‘why.’ But Alexander, I never stopped trying to get back to you. Everything I’ve done was to make sure you’d walk again.” I saw the flicker of “Here we go again” in his eyes. He didn’t believe a word. He pulled out his phone to dial the police. Suddenly, the door swung open again. A young woman with a round, friendly face froze at the sight of the chaos. “Iris? Oh my god, Iris! It is you!” She rushed in, ignoring Alexander. “Where have you been? When you turned down the Fulbright scholarship and disappeared from campus, the Dean was devastated! We all thought something terrible happened. You left everything behind—your clothes, your books… it was like you just evaporated.” The room went silent. Alexander’s hand froze on his phone. He turned his chair toward the girl, his voice a low growl. “She didn’t go to Europe?” The girl frowned. “Europe? No. She never even picked up her plane tickets. She vanished the night before the flight.” Lydia tried to cut in, her voice frantic. “Alexander, this is obviously an actress. Iris is just trying to manipulate you—” Alexander ignored her. He grabbed my wrist, his grip bruising. “Is she telling the truth? You never left the country?” I pulled my arm back, my heart feeling like lead. I looked at Lydia, then back at Alexander. “I’ll look into this,” Alexander muttered, his voice shaken. He turned to Lydia, his tone turning sharp. “Get out, Lydia. You’ve overstepped.” “But Alexander—” “Go,” he barked. Lydia scrambled to grab her bag and fled, her face pale. I didn’t say a word. I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling a strange numbness. I looked down at my hands and gasped. My fingertips were becoming translucent. I was starting to fade. I looked up, wanting to call out to him, but Alexander was already rolling out the door, his mind clearly miles away. I let out a long, shaky sigh. “Whatever,” I whispered to the empty room. Three days later, Alexander appeared at my door. He looked exhausted. He rolled to my bedside and pulled a small, velvet box from his pocket. Inside was a ring—a simple gold band, worn and slightly tarnished. “I bought this ten years ago,” he said, his voice raw. “I carried it every day for a year. Iris… if I asked you now, would it be too late?” I looked at the ring, then at him. “What about Lydia?” He didn’t answer. He just took my hand and slid the ring onto my finger. 4 After that day, Lydia’s name was never mentioned. It was as if she’d been erased from our lives. But the “proposal” didn’t lead to a wedding. It didn’t lead to anything. We just fell back into a hollow version of our old rhythm. He would kiss my forehead, he would bring me flowers, he would act like the man I used to know. One afternoon, I couldn’t take it anymore. “Are we actually together, Alexander? Does this mean I succeeded?” He didn’t look at me. “Just focus on getting better, Iris. We’ll talk about the rest later.” That evening, he brought me a vanilla cone—my favorite treat from Haven Cove. I reached out to take it, but my hand passed right through the wafer. The cone hit the floor, splattering across the tiles. I stared at my hand in horror. It was almost completely see-through now. Alexander didn’t say a word. He just quietly leaned down, cleaning the mess with a paper towel. “It’s okay,” he whispered. He looked so sad, so devoted. If I hadn’t seen the photos Lydia had DM’d me an hour earlier—photos of him and her at a bridal boutique, picking out her gown—I might have believed him. “I guess people’s tastes change over ten years,” Alexander said, his voice laced with a strange, hidden meaning. The anger finally surged, hot and blinding. “Stop it!” I grabbed my phone and shoved the wedding photos in his face. “Enough with the mind games, Alexander! Why the ring? Why the fake affection? Why pretend we’re okay while you’re planning a wedding with her?” Alexander went still. Then, he began to laugh. A cold, dry sound that had no joy in it. He looked at me, his eyes twin pits of ice. “You finally caught on. I was wondering how long you’d let me play with you.” Then, to my absolute shock, he gripped the arms of his wheelchair and stood up. He rose slowly, towering over me, his legs steady and strong. “That ‘actress’ you hired? The one who said you never went to Europe? Nice touch, Iris. But it wasn’t enough.” “You said only you could save me. But look at me. I’m standing. I’m fine.” He sneered, looking down at me. “Are you disappointed? Is your little ‘mission’ ruined because I didn’t need you to be whole?” I couldn’t breathe. “I did it on purpose,” he whispered. “Lydia’s company developed the treatment that put me back on my feet. I’m marrying her because she actually gave me a future, while you just gave me a decade of ghosts.” He sat back down, checking his watch. His phone buzzed—a call from Lydia. “If you want to come to the wedding and make a scene, go for it,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “Maybe I’ll give you a severance check for your time.” He looked at his legs with pride. “I’m going to my engagement party now. To start my real life.” “Alexander, wait!” I cried as he reached the door. “If you marry her, you’ll die! The mission—if it fails, you disappear!” He didn’t even turn around. The door clicked shut. Then, the Directive’s voice boomed in my skull. [Mission Failure Confirmed. Commencing Host Extraction. Returning to Year Zero.] [Host will remain in this timeline until physical transparency reaches 100%.] Across town, in the middle of a grand ballroom, Alexander West stood up from his wheelchair to the roar of applause. He held Lydia in his arms, his eyes scanning the crowd, looking for a face he claimed to hate. But I wasn’t there. As the music swelled, a sudden, violent jolt racked his body. His legs buckled. He collapsed, the world spinning into a blur of screams and camera flashes. As he lay on the floor, he felt his heart stutter, his very life force being pulled out of him like water through a sieve. In the darkness of his closing eyes, a single line of crimson text burned: [WARNING: TARGET TERMINATION IN PROGRESS. MISSION FORFEITED BY IRIS.]

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I am a 911 dispatcher. Eight years ago, I took a frantic call from a little girl begging for help. She said she was being kidnapped, but over the phone, an adult took the receiver and explained it was just a prank. I believed them and hung up the phone. The very next day, the little girl’s body was found. Eight years later, my headset chimed, and I heard that exact same plea for help: “Help me… I’ve been kidnapped.” 01 On my very first day on the job, I received a strange call. There was nothing but faint, shallow panting on the other end of the line. I repeatedly asked if there was a medical emergency, if they needed an ambulance. After a long silence, a tiny, breathless voice finally whispered through the static. “Help me. I’ve been kidnapped.” I panicked, scrambling to pull up the trace, but my senior colleague next to me brushed it off. “Just another kid playing with a cell phone. We’ve been getting a ton of these lately. Clear it quick, don’t tie up the lines.” The little girl said her name was Ducky, and she was seven years old. When I pressed for details, she stammered, her words disjointed and nonsensical. “Ducky really wants to go home, but I don’t know which way to swim.” “Miss, please help me!” It sounded exactly like a kid making up a story. My tone turned stern. “Sweetheart, faking a 911 call is wrong. It stops us from helping people who are in real danger. Do you understand?” That night, a massive blackout had hit the Eastside District. Police units were stretched incredibly thin, and emergency calls were flooding the switchboard. In the last ten seconds of the call, the person on the other end changed. An adult took the phone, immediately lowering their voice in apology. “I am so, so sorry, officer! The kid was just messing around. I’ll make sure to teach her a lesson.” At the dispatch center, over 60% of our daily calls are accidental dials or pranks. After a brief reprimand, I hung up the phone and threw myself back into the overwhelming workload. But the next day, a body floated to the surface of the Eastside Reservoir. The victim was a seven-year-old girl. Her waterlogged face was swollen beyond recognition. On the strap of her little red overalls, a name was faintly embroidered. Darcy. 02 Ducky. Darcy. The little girl hadn’t been lying. It really was a desperate cry for help. The call connected at 11:43 PM. The coroner estimated the time of death around 1:00 AM. Shortly after I hung up that phone, she was brutally murdered. And I was the only person who had heard the killer’s voice. In the missing person flyers, the girl had big, bright eyes and cute braided pigtails. Now, lying on the cold autopsy table, her face was disfigured, her joints shattered into pieces. The horrific sight made even hardened veteran detectives tear up. “That absolute monster. They shattered her bones so she couldn’t swim, then tossed her in the water!” If I had made the right judgment call. If I had initiated a GPS ping in time. If… But death doesn’t care about “ifs.” Regret and guilt swallowed me whole. A million “ifs” shredded my conscience. I attended the little girl’s funeral. The moment she saw me, the mother—who had lost so much weight she looked like a skeleton—lunged at me, screaming with a shattered voice. “Why didn’t you send a squad car?! Why?! You heard her begging for help!” Every single word slammed into my heart like a sledgehammer. “You killed my daughter!” “Darcy had a congenital cognitive disability. She went to a special education school,” my captain comforted me later. “She couldn’t even go to the bathroom without a teacher reminding her. She couldn’t articulate sentences properly. Danielle, this is not your fault.” “It is,” I shook my head in agony. “Even though the killer disguised their voice, if you listen closely, their accent doesn’t match the child’s.” Darcy and her parents had a thick, distinct Southern drawl. But the killer spoke in perfectly neutral, standard American English. “If Darcy had sneaked a phone to call 911 and was caught, the killer rushing over to snatch the phone would have experienced an adrenaline spike. Their heart rate would have skyrocketed, and their speech would be rushed and panicked.” But this killer wasn’t. [Don’t worry, officer. I’ll make sure to teach her a lesson.] The voice was calm. Controlled. Exactly as if everything was going according to plan. While Darcy was on the phone, hidden in the static background noise, there were faint metallic clinks. After consulting audio experts, I confirmed it was the sound of heavy pliers being loaded and adjusted. Which meant, while the child was begging for her life on the phone, the killer was standing right next to her, preparing their weapon. “They enjoyed it. Giving the child a sliver of hope, just to personally crush it.” I looked up at the photo of the smiling girl on the wall, my eyes brimming with tears. “The killer deliberately forced Darcy to make that 911 call.” 03 The case went cold. The police poured massive resources into the investigation, but turned up almost nothing. There were security cameras outside her school, but because of the blackout and the torrential rain, the footage was completely useless. We never saw who took Darcy. Two months later, Darcy’s mother committed suicide. The rumor mill had been vicious. People started suspecting the parents had done it. Neighbors claimed they heard them arguing about the crushing medical debt from Darcy’s special needs treatments the day she went missing. Teachers at the school testified that although Darcy was cognitively impaired, she was fiercely resistant to strangers. She wouldn’t have gone with someone she didn’t know. When Darcy died, her life insurance paid out a massive settlement. “They bought all those policies this year, right when she got pregnant with her second child.” “Tsk. Cashing out their daughter’s life to pay for their brand-new baby boy.” Unable to bear the horrific gossip, Darcy’s mother jumped from a building. I didn’t understand. Why is it always the innocent, kind-hearted people who have to bleed to prove their innocence? Where was the real monster hiding? Every night I closed my eyes, that tiny, desperate voice echoed in my head. “Ducky wants to go home.” And I had answered so gently: “Sweetheart, is there a grown-up with you?” “Yes! Right here!” The girl had giggled through her stammer. That was the exact sentence that made me assume it was a prank. If this was a kidnapping for ransom or revenge, why not call the parents? Why would the killer risk getting caught just to force Darcy to call 911? That single phone call completely altered the trajectory of my life. I enrolled in the police academy, specializing in audio forensics and voice biometrics. After graduation, I requested to be stationed right back at the 911 dispatch center. Over the years, I insisted on taking the night shifts. I relentlessly studied new audio technologies and helped crack multiple major cases. State bureaus tried to recruit me multiple times, but I turned them all down. My captain tried to talk sense into me. “Danielle, you have to learn to let it go. You were a rookie on your first day. We can’t judge our past selves with the hindsight we have today.” I just smiled faintly. “But that monster will strike again.” I told myself that my only job was to wait. And I waited for eight long years. On the exact night of the eighth anniversary of Darcy’s death, the emergency hotline on my console lit up. Same date. Same time. My heart slammed violently against my ribs. A profound, terrifying premonition washed over me. It felt like all my grueling effort, all my sleepless nights, had been preparing me for this exact second. I grabbed my headset. “911, what is your emergency?” 04 On the other end, a trembling teenage girl’s voice answered— “Help me… I’ve been kidnapped.” 05 “I’ve been kidnapped, please help me…” The girl’s name was Chloe. She had been abducted walking home after a late-night study hall. She had been ambushed from behind, completely overpowered, and dragged into a van. When she woke up, her wrists and ankles were bound with heavy industrial wire. She managed to blindly dig her phone out of her pocket and immediately dialed 911. “Don’t panic. I am right here with you.” “Where did the person who took you go? Did you see their face?” My voice was gentle but steady, carrying an authoritative calm. Chloe’s hyperventilating breath instinctively slowed to match my rhythm, and her memory began to sharpen. “I couldn’t see. He grabbed me from behind. He had a mask and a hat on. He… he was really strong. He just threw me over his shoulder and tossed me into a van.” The girl’s voice cracked with tears. “When are you getting here? I’m so scared… Can’t you just track my phone’s GPS?” “The kidnapper installed an anti-tracking blocker on your phone. It takes time for our tech team to crack it.” I softened my tone. “Chloe, can you see any landmarks nearby? Describe everything around you. The smell, the colors, the temperature, the sounds—anything helps.” Chloe knew that every second, every detail, was a matter of life and death. Enduring the excruciating pain of the steel wire cutting into her flesh, she dragged herself toward a small, grimy window. Her vision was blurry. The trees outside thrashed in the heavy rain. She strained her eyes. “It smells like mold in here. The air is really damp, and it’s raining outside… but I can’t see the color of the walls…” Suddenly, a streak of light flashed in the distant, dark hills. Her breathing hitched. “A train just went by! But it wasn’t a long one—it felt like a freight train!” “You’re doing incredible, Chloe.” My fingers flew across the keyboard, cross-referencing data. “You went missing from Lincoln High on Elm Street. You were taken in a van. Based on standard driving speeds and tonight’s traffic and weather, you’re still within city limits. It’s currently raining in four districts. “Based on the acoustics echoing around your voice, you’re in a room with fully tiled walls. Those are typically used in meatpacking or food processing plants. “Combined with the freight train tracks, I have pinpointed your location to one of the abandoned factories in the Kingspoint Industrial Park. “The fastest squad car will be there in 17 minutes. “Until then, I am going to stay on the line with you. Okay?” It might have just been comfort, but Chloe felt a genuine surge of hope. She wasn’t fighting alone in the dark anymore. The silence around her was deafening. Her teeth chattered. “But… where did the kidnapper go?” “If he was smart enough to install a tracking blocker, why would he leave my phone in my pocket to let me call 911?” The line went silent for a fraction of a second. Me: “From now on, I need you to only answer my questions with a ‘yes’ or ‘no’. You cannot react visibly to anything I say. Can you do that?” “…Yes.” I spoke clearly, emphasizing every single word. “The killer hasn’t gone anywhere.” “He is currently inside that exact same room with you.” 06 How is that possible? Chloe’s entire body shook like a leaf in a hurricane. Her heart felt like it was going to explode out of her chest. There was nowhere to hide in this room… No, wait. There was. She held her breath, every hair on her body standing on end, desperately fighting the urge to turn around. Right behind her, leaning against the wall, was a large, rotting metal cabinet. Not too big. Not too small. Just big enough to fit a person inside. 07 The killer had never left the room. I strained my ears, hyper-focusing on every single frequency beneath the static on the call. Hidden in the white noise, I caught the distinct, metallic clink of heavy tools scraping together. The monster who murdered Darcy was standing right there. I told Chloe: “He deliberately left your phone so he could play a sick game with you. Right now, you need to pretend you don’t know he’s there. Find a way to slip out of the wire, walk out the door, and look for a way out.” “Delay him as long as physically possible. Keep yourself alive until my officers breach that building.” “Chloe, I will stay with you until you are safe. Trust me.” I wasn’t the terrified, helpless rookie from eight years ago. Tonight, I was putting everything on the line to bring this girl home. Chloe pushed every ounce of her strength into her ankles, trying to slide them out of the wire loops. Every inch she pulled scraped off a layer of skin. Gasping through the agonizing pain, she bit down hard on her lip and violently yanked her bloody feet free. Limping heavily, she twisted the doorknob. Outside was a pitch-black corridor. It looked endless, like a pathway straight into hell. Chloe’s nerves were pulled to the absolute snapping point. Her heart was in her throat. Just as she stood in the hallway clutching her phone, unsure of where to go, the metal cabinet inside the room behind her let out a faint creak. Thud. Someone stepped out. Through the earpiece, I dropped a single, heavy command: “Run!” 08 She ran. Pushing her legs harder than she ever had in her entire life. It felt like her lungs were going to rupture. Her body went completely numb, operating purely on survival instinct as she blindly stumbled through the dark corridors. The attacker followed her leisurely, like a hunter enjoying a casual stroll behind wounded prey. He paused to pick up a blood-stained sneaker she had lost in the scramble. He let out a dark, amused chuckle. “Fast little thing, aren’t you?” Chloe hid behind the door of a utility closet, pressing her back flat against the concrete wall. Her chest heaved violently. She clamped both hands over her mouth, waiting until the heavy footsteps slowly faded down the hall before finally daring to inhale. “He thinks I went downstairs. What do I do now?” Before she could turn the knob to leave, I instructed her: “You need to create a diversion. Is your other shoe still on? Take it off. Throw it down the stairs or at the end of the hallway to make him think you went in that direction.” Chloe hurled her shoe as far as she could and immediately sprinted back in the opposite direction. Exhausting every last drop of her adrenaline, tripping and falling over debris, she kept crawling forward. I praised her over the radio. In the dark, Chloe bit her lip and whispered softly, “My mom used to be a 911 dispatcher too… She taught me some of these tricks… If I don’t make it out. Officer, can you tell her… I really tried my best?” Wait, her mother was a dispatcher? A massive, terrifying wave of confusion crashed through my brain. But before I could ask for details… The phone signal cut out.

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My daughter’s body is a minefield. She was born with a hyper-sensitive system—allergies to everything from certain proteins to common pollen. It’s a constant state of high alert. Because of an emergency business trip, I had no choice but to leave her with my mother. During my lunch break, I did what I always do: I opened the nursery cam app on my phone. On the screen, my daughter was clutching a massive, vibrant bouquet of lilies. My mother was standing right there, hovering over her with a beaming smile, snapping photos. “Rosie, honey, smell the flowers. Aren’t they pretty?” my mother’s voice crackled through the tiny speaker. She knew. She knew exactly how severe Rosie’s reactions were. This wasn’t just a mistake. This was a death sentence. 1 The second I saw the monitor, my world tilted. Rosie was holding a spray of blooming lilies, their yellow pollen dusting her tiny hands. She was smiling, that sweet, innocent toddler grin. My mother, Martha, was crouched on the floor, waving her phone around like a frantic director. “Rosie is prettier than any flower. Just a little closer, sweetie. Let Nana get one more shot.” My heart stopped as Rosie buried her face into the petals. She took a deep, lung-filling breath of the very thing that could kill her. Black spots danced in my vision. Before I left, I had spent hours—literal hours—going over the protocols. I’d warned Martha about the spring bloom. I told her the neighborhood was a danger zone right now. I told her Rosie needed a mask if she went near the garden. I told her to stay inside. Martha had nodded. She’d promised. And then, the moment my back was turned, she’d gone out and brought the poison inside. Rosie isn’t “sensitive.” She’s anaphylactic. She’s been hospitalized before for accidentally eating a trace of peanut. This wasn’t a game. I fumbled with my phone, dialing my mother’s cell. In the corner of the monitor, I saw her phone light up. She looked at it, saw my name, and with a cold, practiced flick of her thumb, she declined the call. Then, as if nothing had happened, she went back to the camera app. “So pretty, Rosie. Give Nana a different pose.” I screamed at the monitor, my voice raw. “Mom! Get those flowers away from her! Rosie’s going to stop breathing!” Nothing. The audio only went one way unless I hit the intercom button. I slammed my thumb onto the “talk” icon. “Mom! I said get the flowers out! Now!” “Open the windows! Wash her hands! Wash her face! She’s going to have a reaction!” Martha didn’t flinch. The camera was brand new; I knew the speakers were loud. There was only one explanation for the silence. She was ignoring me on purpose. But Rosie’s face was already starting to flush. The skin around her eyes was puffing up. My chest tightened. I was hundreds of miles away, trapped in a glass office building, watching my child’s throat close in real-time. “Mom! I know you can hear me! Throw those flowers out! You’re going to kill her!” “Please! Look at her face! She’s turning red!” My words were pebbles thrown into a canyon. Martha just kept snapping photos, lost in her own little world of “perfect” memories. Rosie’s skin was becoming a blotchy, angry crimson. My hands were shaking so hard I nearly dropped the phone. I pressed my pen into my palm, the metal tip digging deep into my skin, but I couldn’t feel the pain. The panic was a physical weight, crushing the air out of me. In a final, desperate act, I softened my voice, trying to reach my daughter directly. “Rosie. Rosie, baby, listen to Mommy. Drop the flowers, okay? Drop them right now.” Rosie looked toward the camera, her expression confused and dazed. “Mommy… flowers.” She’s only two. She barely has the vocabulary to describe a stomachache, let alone understand the concept of a fatal allergen. I lost my temper. I used my “scary” voice, the one I hated using. “Rosie! Drop the flowers! Now!” Rosie flinched. The bouquet hit the floor with a soft thud. I exhaled, a ragged, shaky sound. “Rosie, get away from the flowers. Go to your room. Right now!” The moment the lilies hit the hardwood, the smile vanished from Martha’s face. She shot a look of pure venom toward the camera lens. “Nag, nag, nag. You’re so loud, Joyce.” She grabbed Rosie’s tiny wrist, pulling her back before she could run to her room. “Pick them up, Rosie. Nana wants to get a few more of you looking like a little princess.” 2 I felt like I was losing my mind. “Mom, you can hear me! I’ve been screaming for five minutes and you didn’t say a word!” “I’m not deaf, Joyce. Of course I heard you.” The breath left my lungs. It was like punching a cloud. This was my mother’s specialty: selective hearing. If she didn’t like what you were saying, it simply didn’t exist. She would steamroll over anyone’s life just to prove she was right. I’d spent my entire childhood being flattened by that steamroller. The only reason she was even in my house was because Dan was working double shifts, his mother had just broken her hip, and my firm had forced this trip on me. I thought I had accounted for every variable. I’d thrown out every suspicious item in the pantry. I’d stocked the fridge. I’d begged her to stay indoors. I had planned for everything except my mother’s ego. Martha saw Rosie hesitating. She picked up the lilies and thrust them back into the toddler’s arms. “Come on, sweetie. Just one more. You look so beautiful with the flowers. Other little girls would be so jealous.” Children thrive on praise. Rosie looked at the camera, then at the bright yellow centers of the lilies, and reached out her hand. A flicker of triumph crossed Martha’s face. Just as Rosie’s fingers were about to brush the pollen, I took a gamble. “Rosie! If you touch those, Mommy won’t come home! Mommy won’t love you anymore!” It was a horrible, manipulative thing to say. But it worked. Rosie burst into tears, her face crumbling. She wailed, backing away from the flowers as if they were made of fire. I slumped in my office chair, the adrenaline leaving me hollow. As long as she stayed away, she might be okay. I immediately switched from the monitor to a FaceTime call. Martha answered, her face a mask of annoyance. Before I could get a word out, she went on the offensive. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Scaring the poor thing like that. Ruining a perfectly good photo. You’re a mean mommy, aren’t you, Rosie?” She took Rosie’s hand and used it to playfully “smack” the phone screen. I gritted my teeth. I hated the way she used my daughter as a pawn in her petty emotional games. Rosie was still sobbing, her chest heaving. My heart broke for her. “Mom, it’s not about being mean,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. “She is allergic. Deeply, dangerously allergic.” “Oh, stop with that nonsense. Children need to be exposed to nature. That’s how they build an immune system. You’re raising her in a bubble.” “It’s not a bubble, Mom! It’s a medical fact!” Martha rolled her eyes. She practically tossed Rosie onto the sofa. “Fine. Whatever. Your daughter is made of glass. I was just trying to give her a nice childhood, but I guess I’m just a villain. If I’m such a terrible grandmother, find someone else. I’m done.” She turned toward the door. 3 My heart plummeted. Was she seriously going to leave a two-year-old alone in the house? Rosie’s cries grew louder, her little voice calling out for “Nana.” Just as Martha’s hand touched the doorknob, I broke. “I’m sorry, Mom… I shouldn’t have yelled. Please, just stay. Just take care of her, okay?” I couldn’t see her face, but I knew she was smirking. “That’s more like it. You kids think you know everything because you read a few books. Allergies… in my day, we just called it being a picky eater. She just needs to get used to things.” “But she really is—” I started, then stopped myself. It was useless. “Just… please. Keep her safe.” “Fine, fine. I’m staying. I’m not a monster.” She closed the door and, to my immense relief, she picked up the lilies and threw them onto the porch. I leaned back, realizing my shirt was soaked with cold sweat. My palm was bleeding where the pen had punctured it. I went to the breakroom, grabbed some antiseptic, and went back to my desk. I kept the monitor app open in a small window. I watched Martha feed Rosie lunch. They were sitting at the kitchen island. Martha was playing “airplane” with a spoon, and Rosie seemed to be calming down. My pulse finally started to slow. Then, Rosie started to cough. It wasn’t a normal cough. It was a harsh, barking sound. “Mom? What’s going on? Is she okay?” Silence. One second. Five seconds. My skin began to crawl. “Mom! Talk to me! What happened?” Finally, Martha’s voice came through the app. Just two words. “She just choked.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Okay. Just a swallow of water down the wrong pipe. Martha was patting Rosie’s back, her body blocking the camera’s view of the toddler. The coughing stopped. But a cold dread began to pool in my stomach. Why was it so quiet? Rosie was a chatterbox. If she was okay, she’d be whining or talking about her juice. “Rosie? Baby, can you hear Mommy?” Nothing. “Rosie? Say something for me, sweetie.” The silence was deafening. This wasn’t right. Rosie always responded to my voice. She’d usually run to the camera and press her nose against the lens. “Mom! Move! I need to see her face!” Martha didn’t move. She held Rosie tightly, her back to the camera, as still as a statue. I stood up so fast my chair flipped over. I ripped my badge off my lanyard and threw it on the desk. “Call the partners,” I told my startled cubicle neighbor. “My daughter. Something’s wrong. I have to go.” The moment I mentioned leaving work, I heard Martha “tsk” over the monitor. She slowly turned around. “Honestly, Joyce, you’re so dramatic. You’ll get fired if you keep walking out like this.” “Let me see her!” I screamed. “Look, she’s fine. She just fell asleep.” Martha tilted Rosie toward the camera. Rosie’s face was still flushed, but her eyes were shut tight. Her mouth was slightly open. Martha rolled her eyes. “Always looking for a reason to panic…” But something was wrong. Very wrong. Rosie had been full of energy two minutes ago. Kids don’t just “fall asleep” in the middle of a meal while they’re crying. Before I could get a better look, Martha carried her out of the camera’s frame. I ran for the elevator, my fingers fumbling to call an Uber. My brain was a mess of jagged thoughts. Why would she just go to sleep? Then, a memory hit me like a physical blow. Last year. Rosie was barely one. We were trying out new foods. I’d given her a tiny bit of almond butter. She hadn’t cried. She hadn’t coughed. She had simply gone limp in my arms. The realization shattered me. Rosie hadn’t “fallen asleep.” She was in anaphylactic shock. 4 The memory of that hospital room—the machines, the needles, the way the doctor looked at me—sent a surge of nausea through me. I was in the back of the Uber, my legs shaking so hard I couldn’t keep my feet flat on the floor. I messaged Dan, my thumbs tripping over the screen. Get home now. Rosie. I think she’s having a reaction. Hurry. He replied instantly. Just leaving the site. I’m ten minutes away. I’m going. But ten minutes is an eternity when someone isn’t breathing. On my phone, Martha reappeared in the living room. She was rocking Rosie, humming a soft, cheerful lullaby. She looked so peaceful. It was horrifying. I felt like I was watching a horror movie where I was the only one who knew the killer was in the house. “Mom,” I said, my voice trembling, forced into a whisper. “Rosie is in shock. You need to get her out of the house. Dan is coming to take you to the ER. Get her shoes. Now.” Martha actually laughed. “The ER? For a nap? You’re losing your mind, Joyce.” She shifted her position, and for a split second, Rosie’s face came into clear view. Her lips weren’t pink anymore. They were a terrifying shade of bruised purple. And her arms—the skin that was visible was covered in angry, raised red welts. My blood turned to ice. “Martha! What did you give her?” My mother stiffened. “Is that how you address me? I’m your mother. Where is your respect?” I didn’t care about respect. I didn’t care about anything but the ticking clock. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay? Just tell me! What did she eat?” “Nothing special… just a little bit of peanut butter on her crackers. She liked it.” The world went black for a second. “Wake her up! Mom! There’s an EpiPen in the fridge! The red case! Stab her in the thigh and call 911! Do it now!” I was hysterical, sobbing into the phone. But Martha just kept rocking. “I’m not doing that. You’re being cruel. Let the child sleep.” “She isn’t sleeping! She’s dying! That medicine is the only thing that will save her!” I tried to explain the science, the constriction of the airway, but she just tuned me out. “She’s fine. Look at how peaceful she is…” I clawed at my hair. I was drowning in regret. Why did I take this job? Why did I trust her? On the screen, Rosie’s little body gave a sudden, violent jerk. A seizure. I screamed Dan’s name into the phone as I called him again. “Dan! Please! Faster!”

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I married my murderer. After the wedding, I played the perfect, subservient wife. I always took off my makeup after he fell asleep and put it back on before he woke up. My husband bragged about it on his livestream, saying this is the self-awareness every woman should have. A viewer warned him in the chat: [Run. Only skinwalkers put on makeup in the middle of the night. The more their stolen skin rots, the thicker the makeup. It won’t be long before she changes skins and eats you!] I covered my face and smirked. Oops, forgot the concealer. The livor mortis is showing. 01 My husband is my murderer, but I don’t care. I was ten minutes late getting home from the grocery store. In front of tens of thousands of viewers on his livestream, Caleb roared at me, “Where the hell have you been? Go kneel in the corner!” As I obediently knelt, the viewers who used to be outraged had become numb. [A gorgeous girl with an abusive guy, and she even paid him a massive dowry just to marry him. What is wrong with the world!] [Making his wife dance in the snow in a swimsuit just for views. He’s the king of scumbags.] [Give up trying to save her. Lawyers have contacted her, but she won’t listen. She said she’s committed to this man for life. They’re locked in.] Caleb’s livestream was dedicated to filming me serving his entire family, finding new ways to humiliate me to farm views. By the time he allowed me to stand up, the foundation on my knees had rubbed off, exposing the terrifying, purplish-red livor mortis. Oops. I quickly covered it with my purse. Foundation meant for the living just doesn’t have the staying power. It rubs off easily, especially in the summer. Luckily, the camera didn’t catch it, and I calmly changed into a maxi skirt. On camera, my makeup was flawless, rivaling any influencer. Combined with my tireless, uncomplaining demeanor, the male viewers were bursting with envy, begging Caleb to share his “wife-taming” secrets. My husband shamelessly bragged, “Dealing with women, the key is to never give them an inch.” “I told her I like pretty women, and she’s never dared to be bare-faced in front of me! She always takes her makeup off after I’m asleep and puts it on before I wake up.” “As a wife, satisfying your husband’s visual needs is the most basic virtue!” Amidst the viewers’ praise and condemnation. A conspicuous message scrolled across the chat. [Your wife is a skinwalker. Only the dead put on makeup in the middle of the night.] [Does she only do her makeup at 3 AM? Because that’s when the yin energy is heaviest, making the makeup hold best!] 02 Caleb laughed uproariously. What kind of nonsense was this? The account was named “Mystic Fish,” and the bio said he was a novice occultist. The guy was persistent, continuing to type despite being mocked. [You’ve been married for three years, right? That’s a skinwalker’s limit. She’s been taking longer and longer to do her makeup lately, hasn’t she?] [Skinwalkers need human vitality to sustain themselves. Is she clinging to you 24/7, refusing to leave your side? Every time you’re intimate, you get sick right after.] This made Caleb pause. It was true. He was strong and healthy before the wedding, but since getting married, he’s been constantly dealing with minor illnesses. His wife was obsessed with his skin; once, when he burned himself with a cigarette, she almost cried in distress. [Almost cried, but no tears fell. Corpses can’t produce tears. Have you ever actually seen her cry?] No, he hadn’t. Caleb suddenly panicked a little. “Why should I believe you?” [Put a few drops of mugwort extract into her makeup remover tonight. Mugwort has strong yang energy. If a skinwalker uses it, their face will rot.] [Whether she’s human or a corpse, one test will tell.] 03 I gratefully accepted the makeup remover my husband gave me. Caleb stared at me for a long time before letting out a sigh of relief. “Look at this pathetic, desperate look. A skinwalker?” The young occultist remained dead serious. [The three of you—you, your wife, and your father—all have birthdays in the same month. That’s a rare aligned fate. If a skinwalker consumes you, it’s a massive power boost.] [In three days, on your birthday, that’s when the skinwalker will start the slaughter.] Caleb was an only child. After we married, we lived in his family’s custom-built house on the outskirts of town. My mother-in-law was famously cheap in the surrounding area. Any takeout Caleb couldn’t finish, she’d let it sit until it smelled sour before giving it to me. Every day, she’d “thoughtfully” leave me two small dishes: one plain boiled cabbage, one pickled radishes. “This is for your own good. Too much grease and you’ll get fat, and my son will definitely cheat on you!” I thanked her. After all, skinwalkers don’t have metabolisms, and our stomachs don’t digest. Eating too much meat makes the stench of death stronger. On Caleb’s last birthday, he surprisingly gave me a small piece of BBQ pork. I suppressed my disgust and ate it, then spent half the day throwing up, losing six months of my cultivation. While gnawing on the pickled radishes, I personally served the delicious food and drinks to my mother-in-law. Watching her increasingly plump figure, I felt a deep satisfaction. Fantasizing about the texture of her skin and flesh when harvest time comes, I swallowed hard to hold back my drool. “As long as you eat well, drink well, and are happy, that’s my greatest wish.” Mood directly affects the pH level of the meat, after all. In the middle of the night, after my husband fell asleep and started snoring, I tiptoed to the bathroom to remove my makeup. Girls, even dead ones, care about their appearance. My makeup routine takes a long time. After removing the patchy, caked-on foundation, fake eyelashes, and colored contacts, I have to do basic moisturizing to make the makeup last longer. After concealing the livor mortis, I use the “sandwich method” to set it. The moment the makeup wipe touched my face, a burning sensation hit me. Right then, I felt a chilling gaze staring at my back. I jerked my head around. The door, which I had locked, had been pushed open at some point. Caleb stood in the doorway, his face dark and menacing. “Audrey, turn around. Let me see your face.” 04 Skinwalkers lack the five senses. But I felt a faint sweat seeping from my pores all over my body. Before coming in, the occultist had DM’d Caleb. [Rub ox tears on your phone’s camera lens. It will let everyone see ghosts and monsters, forcing her to reveal her true form so she can’t hide!] Caleb didn’t really believe the occultist, but seeing the viewer count skyrocketing on his livestream… And the constant stream of digital gifts being thrown at him, he immediately stepped toward me, raising his voice: “Making a fuss every night! Is your bare face really that hideous?” Wearing my pajamas, I covered my face and sobbed, looking so wronged I might pass out. Many people in the chat told him to let it go, saying the occultist was definitely just making things up for clout. Caleb grabbed my cold wrist and roughly yanked my chin up. “The viewers paid! Even if I tell you to strip naked, you have to strip! Disobey me, and I’ll beat you to death right now!” Helpless, I slowly poured out the makeup remover. The moment I wiped it off, Caleb, and everyone in the livestream, held their breath. But the skin under the foundation remained flawlessly smooth and supple. Caleb’s tense expression instantly relaxed, and he started cursing the occultist for being a fraud. The chat joined in. [Tormenting people in the middle of the night, hasn’t the poor girl suffered enough!] [I bet the three of them are in on it together. Traffic is higher at 3 AM than during the day!] The young occultist pondered for three seconds, then realization struck. [I get it! Today is February 29th, a leap day! It’s hard to distinguish between yin and yang energies today. The skinwalker’s body will become no different from a normal human’s!] I was actually quite surprised. I didn’t know who this occultist’s master was, but he had some skills. He actually figured out my origins. [She’s not an ordinary skinwalker. She’s a vengeful corpse fueled by extreme resentment, so ordinary mugwort is useless against her.] His tone became deadly serious. [What exactly did you do to her to create such immense resentment?!] 05 Furious and embarrassed, Caleb blocked the occultist. To give himself an out, he feigned disgust at my bare face and warned me not to go out without makeup and scare people. I smiled and said, “Of course.” See, he had long forgotten this face. Forgotten the girl he strangled with his own hands four years ago. Well, it makes sense. That night was pitch black, it was raining in the woods, and I was beaten bloody and bruised during my struggle. My face was ruined. All four of my limbs were broken. When he was finally satisfied with his assault and locked his hands tightly around my neck… I was still begging pathetically: “Don’t kill me. I swear I won’t tell anyone… Please, my grandma is waiting for me…” Please, I’m a senior in college, and I just got accepted into a top grad program. I haven’t even told my grandma the good news yet. That little old lady scrimped and saved to put me through school. She ruined her eyes working but wouldn’t spend a dime to see a doctor. She hasn’t enjoyed a single day of comfort from her granddaughter. She really can’t afford to lose me. But Caleb just smirked lewdly and tightened his grip on my throat. My body convulsed uncontrollably, tears streamed down my face, and a sharp crack echoed from my cervical vertebrae. And just like that, I died. Right before I died, I thought I saw my grandma. Wearing her faded, washed-out thin coat, sitting eagerly at the yard gate, while my favorite beef and vermicelli buns steamed in the kitchen. She’d reheat them endlessly, always wanting her good granddaughter to have a hot meal the moment she got home. She didn’t know I had been discarded deep in the woods. Stripped of my dignity, my future, and my life. In the rotting stench, my resentment refused to dissipate, turning me into a monster that was neither human nor ghost—a skinwalker. When I used a new face to ask the matchmaker to arrange a marriage, she asked me what I was after. I smiled gently, acting shy, and said I just wanted him. I wanted him for this unending— Blood debt. 06 The Caleb family’s death day… no, birthdays were approaching. When I presented the family of three with clothes I tailored myself, Caleb’s face fell slightly. Because before the occultist was blocked, he had warned him. [If the skinwalker gives you clothes, do absolutely NOT wear them. They do that to make skinning you easier!] I didn’t move my eyes, just slowly turned my head, a smile forming on my lips: “Honey, why aren’t you trying it on?” Caleb secretly unblocked the occultist. [She’s giving you burial clothes! The cranes embroidered on clothes for the living have their wings folded down. Only burial clothes have cranes with open wings, symbolizing the soul flying to heaven!] The fans in the livestream were rolling their eyes: [Please, it’s called ‘modern vintage’. It’s super trendy right now.] Seeing that no one believed him, the young occultist got anxious: [Count the buttons! Burial clothes use an odd number of buttons. The satin material symbolizes the end of the bloodline. Burial clothes require the hands to be covered, and every single piece of clothing she gave you has sleeves longer than your hands. No, the skinwalker is about to become a demon. I’m taking a bus to save you right now!] Caleb compared the clothes, and it was true. He was originally only half-believing, but seeing the massive influx of viewers, an idea sparked. He deliberately acted as if he believed completely and immediately sent a deposit to the occultist. He even hyped it up: “Fam, if you want to see an occultist battle a beautiful skinwalker, remember to tip and subscribe!” Who knew that on Caleb’s birthday, a murder would actually happen in the house. Only, the person who died was my father-in-law. 07 My father-in-law’s body was torn to pieces, a gruesome sight. On his way home from sneaking around with his old flame, he got drunk and tumbled down a slope, where wild wolves ate more than half his body. But strangely, his lower half was completely gone, and most of the skin and flesh on his head had been gnawed off. Yet, the clothes I had sewn for him remained perfectly intact on his body. Now, the new clothes really had become burial clothes. Caleb knelt before his father’s corpse, bewildered: “Why him first… Wait, didn’t you say it would go in order of our birthdays? Damn it, that occultist lied to me again!” As I wailed and cried alongside my mother-in-law, I couldn’t help but curl my lips into an eerie smile. Yes, my father-in-law could have lived a few more days. But who told him to discover my secret. That day, I had secretly gone to see my grandma. The little old lady’s legs had gone bad again. Ever since I disappeared, she had been running around with my photo every day for the past four years, looking for me. When someone mocked her, saying the college student she raised didn’t respect herself and must have run off with a rich guy, my grandma went crazy, grabbed a hoe, and almost fought them to the death. “You goddamn filthy scumbag! Say one more word about my granddaughter, and I’ll show you what this old woman is capable of!” The police found my missing backpack and bloodstains in the woods, concluding that I had been murdered. But my grandma stubbornly believed that without a body, her granddaughter was fine. “The fortune teller said my granddaughter is destined to live to a hundred!” For four years, she went to the county police station every single week without fail to ask for updates. Even the police didn’t know what to do with this stubborn old woman. The mountain roads were tough; a round trip took four hours. How could her legs hold up? I stood outside the yard, watching her burn up with a fever, her mouth still murmuring my childhood nickname. She was so weak she couldn’t even lift her hand, couldn’t even get a sip of hot water. A corpse shouldn’t have a heart, but pain rooted itself in my chest. A dense, inescapable ache. I chopped wood, boiled water, and while she slept, refilled her cup, placing it right where she could reach it. I didn’t dare stay long. Skinwalkers can’t stay around the living for too long. Corpse energy is toxic. I lived day and night with the Caleb family of three, and the corpse poison had long invaded their organs. I was just waiting for the perfect, auspicious day to gut them and feast. But as soon as I got home, my father-in-law cornered me at the door, giving me a creepy smile. “I finally figured out where you sneak off to every afternoon before grocery shopping!” Seeing me play dumb, he dragged me in front of a mirror, looking triumphant. “Keep playing dumb. Look at what’s on your neck!” That’s when I realized the steam from boiling the water had melted the foundation on my neck. The dark red livor mortis underneath was fully exposed. My chest stopped moving, and my eyes narrowed dangerously. That was the sign a skinwalker was about to feast. But my father-in-law didn’t notice. He grabbed my waist, a lecherous smile on his face. “Cheating on my son, huh? Tell me, which bastard left those hickeys on your neck?” 08 My father-in-law was a creep. He had stolen my underwear several times. He would also quickly grab my waist when walking past me. My mother-in-law knew all this. She played blind and even encouraged it: “It’s nice having free eye candy at home. Don’t go wasting money on hussies outside!” That night, I was taking a shower when the bathroom light suddenly went out. Accompanied by heavy panting, my father-in-law slipped in and roughly pinned me to the floor. I faked a cry for help. “Stop pretending. I got rid of Caleb and his mother earlier. Now it’s just the two of us!” He grinned maliciously, lowering his voice: “What’s so great about my son? He yells at you all the time. Be with me, and I guarantee I’ll treat you right…” He couldn’t wait and grabbed my shoulders. As he rubbed, a whole patch of skin on my shoulder peeled off like soft tofu skin. My father-in-law realized something was wrong. The light flickered back on. He instinctively raised his hand and finally saw that he was holding a wet, wrinkled piece of human skin. Then, with a crack, my head twisted ninety degrees. The moment our eyes met, his gaze trembled, and he was so terrified he forgot to breathe. I smiled, my voice stiff and slow. “Just the two of us? Then I guess it’s time to dig in.”

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I used to believe Robert was the man who pulled me from the wreckage of the world. He told me he possessed a “Directive”—a neurological interface that granted him foresight and power. He promised that in this frozen hellscape, he would be my sanctuary. He promised we would survive the Great Freeze together. Instead, I became a prisoner. I watched as they methodically broke my limbs, and then, like a bag of refuse, they tossed me into the permafrost to be used and discarded. As the light in my eyes began to flicker, I remembered the activation code he had once whispered in a moment of feigned intimacy. With a trembling breath, I forced the words out. A cold, synthesized voice echoed in my mind, stripping away the final layers of my delusions. “Directive: Host, how could you trade June’s life to satisfy those monsters?” Robert’s voice replied, devoid of any warmth. It was the sound of a man discussing a business transaction. “Macy is too fragile for this. June… June is a fighter. She’s built to endure.” He paused, and the next words were a serrated blade across my heart. “Macy is my Life-Tether. The Protocol is clear: I must ensure her survival at any cost. Once this deal is closed and the Credits are secured, I’ll find a way to make it up to June.” Every agony I had suffered—every snap of bone and sting of ice—had been a calculated sacrifice. He hadn’t failed to protect me. He had orchestrated my destruction. As the stench of a starving, infected hound filled my nostrils, I finally stopped fighting. I let go. 1 “This one’s a statue. Not a single scream.” A jagged shard of ice was driven through my palm. My body jerked, a white-hot flare of agony pulling me back from the brink of unconsciousness. My eyes drifted open, unfocused and heavy, and that’s when I heard Robert’s voice again through the thin walls of the basement. “How much longer?” The synthesized voice of the Directive sounded almost human, its tone wavering with something like mechanical grief. “Three hours. But Host… her limbs are shattered. She has twelve puncture wounds. They used a brand on her tongue. Should we not… intervene?” “No,” Robert snapped, his voice brittle. “The agreement was twenty-four hours. Not a minute less.” I felt a ghost of a smile touch my cracked lips. I closed my eyes again. It was the seventh year of the Permafrost. I was the one who had cracked the code, the one who had synthesized the vaccine that could finally grant humanity immunity to the Necro-virus. When I had ventured out to find the final chemical reagents, Robert had insisted on being my lead guard. He said he couldn’t bear to let me out of his sight. I thought it was love. I thought he was risking his life for mine. Now I knew the truth. He had struck a deal with the Insurgents long before we left the Bastion. A searing heat pressed against my chest. The sizzle of my own flesh and the cloying, metallic scent of burnt skin filled the cramped basement. The scream I had been holding back finally tore through my throat, raw and jagged. The men surrounding me erupted into a chorus of guttural laughter. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to retreat into the only place they couldn’t touch: my memories. Robert and I had been childhood sweethearts. After we married, in the quiet, desperate nights of the apocalypse, he would hold me and whisper about the future. He wanted a family. A real home. He didn’t want to be alone in the dark anymore. For that dream, I survived everything. I scavenged through ruins, I fought off the infected with nothing but a rusted pipe, I starved so he could eat. And finally, I had succeeded. I was carrying our child. But now, I wasn’t even a person anymore. And my child was already a cold, still weight inside me. “Host, they’re bringing in the hounds! June can’t take anymore. She’s losing too much blood, and the fetal heartbeat is—” “Shut up!” Robert’s voice was frayed, irritable. For a heartbeat, a foolish, dying spark of hope flickered in my chest. I thought he might remember our years together. I thought he might remember the way I looked at him on our wedding day. Then, he pushed me into the abyss. “She’s tough,” he said, cold as the wind outside. “She won’t die.” Even the Directive seemed horrified. “Robert, look at yourself. She is your wife, not your enemy. Why must she endure this for your gain?” “Because she is my wife!” Robert roared, his voice thick with a twisted sense of martyrdom. “In the life before this one, Macy died saving us. My ‘Rebirth’ was paid for with Macy’s blood. If she dies, the Directive shuts down, and I die with her. Just a little longer. Once the main forces arrive, I’ll go in and ‘rescue’ her. She’ll understand.” I had thought the Insurgents kidnapped me for the vaccine. I was wrong. Everything—the blood, the pain, the loss of my child—it was all for Macy. The “Guardian Angel” he claimed had traded her life for his second chance. 2 That was why he was always there for her. Why he used his position in the Bastion to shield her from every hardship while I worked myself to the bone in the labs. We had fought about it, of course. Every time, Robert would pull me close, his breath warm against my ear, and say, “June, you’re the one I love. Macy… she’s just a debt I have to pay. It’s a responsibility, nothing more.” And every time, I had backed down. I had chosen to believe him because the alternative was too terrifying to face. But he hadn’t just chosen her. He had sentenced me to death. As the three infected hounds were dragged into the room, their eyes milky and their jaws snapping, I closed my eyes and waited for the end. I don’t know how much time passed before the sound of Robert’s sobbing pulled me back. His eyes were bloodshot, his face a mask of performative grief. “I’m so sorry,” he choked out, his voice trembling. “It’s all my fault. I didn’t get here in time.” The smell of him—the expensive soap from the Bastion’s private stores—made my stomach churn. I stared at him, my gaze fixed on his throat, imagining my hands—my broken, useless hands—tearing the life from him. I bit into the inside of my cheek, using the sharp sting of pain to find my voice. “Why… why were you so late, Robert?” He flinched, his eyes darting away from mine. “There was a complication with the perimeter. I failed you, June. I let those animals get to you.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. “But listen to me. It doesn’t matter what they did. I still love you. I’m going to make you whole again. I promise.” He wrapped me in a heavy, fur-lined coat and carried me to a temporary camp. My colleagues, hardened by the world, turned pale when they saw me. I had over a hundred wounds, some shallow, some deep and weeping. We lacked proper medical supplies; they had to use primitive cauterization just to stop the bleeding. I spiraled back into the darkness. When I woke again, Robert was clutching my hand, weeping silently. “Those monsters… June, I swear, I will protect you. I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.” I closed my eyes, refusing to look at him. Every word out of his mouth felt like another shard of ice driven into my skin. A moment later, the door to the medical tent swung open. A silhouette I loathed stepped into the light. “Robbie? Why are you still in here?” Macy was dressed in a pristine white parka, a pink ribbon tied neatly in her hair. She looked like a creature from another world—a world that hadn’t seen blood or hunger. She skipped toward him, then let out a sharp, theatrical gasp when she saw me. “Oh! June! You look… oh, that’s terrifying!” She immediately buried her face in Robert’s chest, trembling. “Robbie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, I’m just… I’m so shaken. You aren’t mad at me, are you?” I watched as Robert smoothed her hair, his touch infinitely more tender than it had been with me. “It’s okay, Macy. You’re sensitive. I know.” I wanted to laugh. I was the one who had been mutilated, yet she was the one who needed comforting. Robert claimed he only felt “duty” toward her. But he gave me logic and excuses, while he gave her everything she asked for. The distinction was finally, brutally clear. Robert eventually left to “coordinate the transport,” leaving me alone with Macy. She sat on the edge of the cot, leaning in close. She sniffed the air and immediately made a face of pure disgust. “You smell like rot. Look at you. You aren’t even a woman anymore. You’re barely a person. Why are you still hanging on?” She smiled, a cold, sharp expression that never reached her eyes. “If I were you, I’d find a way to end it. You’re just an eyesore now.” I forced a dry, rasping laugh. “If I’m an eyesore to you… then staying alive is worth it.” I knew she wanted him. But even in this ruined world, our marriage was recognized by the Bastion’s Council. As long as I was his wife, she was nothing but a shadow. Macy’s face twisted into something demonic. She reached out and pressed her thumb directly into one of my open wounds. I gasped, my vision swimming. “Do you know what Robbie says about you behind closed doors?” she hissed. “He says you’re pathetic. He says he’s disgusted that you won’t just die and let him move on. As the woman who actually loves him, I think it’s time I helped him out.” 3 She pulled a small syringe from her pocket, filled with a pale yellow fluid. My heart hammered against my ribs. “What is that?” “You’ve been exposed to the Necro-virus,” she whispered. “A couple of vaccine shots would fix you right up, but honestly? It’s such a waste to use the good stuff on a lost cause like you.” She leaned in closer, her breath smelling of peppermint. “This is a Thermal-Toxin. Robbie was worried you’d be too cold out here in the snow, so he asked me to give you a little ‘warmth.’ It’ll make your exit very… memorable. And once you’re gone, I’ll be the one who ‘discovered’ the vaccine. I’ll be the hero. And you’ll just be a tragic memory.” I couldn’t breathe. Seven years of my life—seven years of sleepless nights and frozen fingers in the lab—and they were going to steal it all. They were going to kill me with the very thing I had died a thousand deaths to create. I had already been infected by the hounds. Without the second stage of the vaccine, I would turn. But the Thermal-Toxin… for someone already fighting the virus, it was a recipe for a slow, agonizing internal combustion of the nervous system. “You… wouldn’t…” I gasped. I tried to struggle, but she shoved me off the cot. My broken bones shrieked in protest as I hit the floor. “Look at you,” she sneered. “You think you can compete with me? I’m going to have the world at my feet. I’m going to have Robbie’s children. And you? You’re going to burn from the inside out in the dirt.” She plunged the needle into my neck and emptied the syringe. I blacked out from the sheer shock of the chemical burn. When I woke, the world was a haze of fire. Every nerve ending felt like it was being scorched by a blowtorch. I screamed for Robert, but the camp was empty. A lone colleague remained, looking at me with pity and terror. “They’re gone, June. They took the last transport. They said you were too far gone to move.” My mind went blank. “The vaccine… did they leave the vaccine?” “They took it all back to the Bastion for the ‘official launch.’” I begged him. I pleaded until my voice broke. Finally, the colleague, a man named Sam, put on his hazmat suit and helped me into an old rover. We chased the transport through a blizzard for two days. When we finally caught up to them at the secondary airfield, I didn’t care about pride. I didn’t care about the betrayal. I just wanted to live. I crawled through the snow, dragging my broken body toward Robert as he stood by the helicopter. “Robert! Please!” I shrieked. “Just one dose! I’m turning! Please!” Robert looked down at me, and I saw only irritation and embarrassment in his eyes. “June, for God’s sake. This shipment belongs to the future of humanity. Not a single drop can be wasted on a personal whim. I have a mission to protect Macy and the serum. Stop being so dramatic.” The other scientists stood frozen. Sam yelled out, “She’s infected, Robert! If she doesn’t get the shot, she’ll turn in hours! She’s your wife!” Robert let out a sharp, dismissive scoff. “I know you’re jealous of Macy, June, but this is pathetic. Macy already gave you the booster shot back at the camp. Stop lying to get attention. I don’t have time for your theatrics.” He turned his back on me. The helicopter blades began to roar, kicking up a blinding cloud of snow. I lunged forward, grabbing at his boot. “Robert, I’ll go! I’ll leave! I won’t ever see you again! Just give me the shot! I want to live!” He didn’t even look back. He just kicked my hand away, his face contorted in anger. “Enough! I’ll send a retrieval team once I’ve secured the Bastion. Just wait your turn!” He climbed into the cabin and pulled Macy in beside him. She looked down at me through the glass, a radiant, triumphant smile on her face. The helicopter rose into the gray sky. I slumped into the snow. The rage inside me surged, and I coughed up a spray of thick, black blood. “Oh god,” Sam whispered, backing away. “The transition… it’s starting.” He wanted to help, but the fear of the virus was too great. I didn’t blame him. I didn’t want to live through the transformation—to become a mindless, shuffling corpse. “Sam,” I wheezed. “Give me your sidearm.” He hesitated, then placed the heavy pistol in my mangled hand. I handed him a small data drive and a blood-stained journal I had kept hidden in my coat. “When I’m gone… give this to the Council. Not Robert. The Council.” As I pressed the barrel to my temple, a strange, calm clarity washed over me. At that exact moment, miles away in the air, a digital chime echoed in Robert’s mind. “Warning: Life-Tether terminated. Host lifespan: Final Countdown initiated.”

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I was with Caleb for ten years. I tattooed his favorite flower, a gardenia, on my collarbone. When he finally agreed to marry me, he was keeping an 18-year-old girl on the side. Before our wedding, he indulged in her “breakup countdown.” He took her bungee jumping, skiing, and flew her to Iceland to see the Northern Lights. But he didn’t know I was dying. I booked a flight out of the country, donated his entire net worth, and got my tattoos lasered off. While he was counting down the days to our wedding, I was planning my escape. 01 On the day I was diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer, the young girl Caleb was keeping on the side came to find me. “I know I’m the other woman.” The girl’s opening line was terrifyingly earnest. She bit her lip. “I know you guys are getting married soon, but—” “Caleb doesn’t love you anymore.” “I’ve been with him for a year. We’ve slept together seventy-eight times. Fifty-three times in hotels, twenty-one times at my place.” “And four times at your house, in your bed.” 她 looked at me bluntly. “If Caleb still loved you, I wouldn’t even exist.” I found it almost funny. I lit a cigarette, looking at her through the haze of smoke. “What else? Keep going.” So she pulled out her phone and played a video for me. The angle was hidden, like it was secretly recorded. The girl was curled up in Caleb’s arms, crying. “Even if you have to marry her out of responsibility, can you please not abandon me?” Caleb pushed her away gently and tossed a bank card onto the table. “Find a stable guy. Being with me is no good for you. It’s too dangerous.” “No!” She wrapped her arms around his waist, pouting. “I’m not afraid of danger.” “Can you please not throw me away?” “Caleb, I won’t be a burden to you. I swear.” Caleb froze for a second. His gaze swept across her face, and for a brief moment, he looked completely lost. Then, he leaned in and kissed her. 02 I stubbed out my cigarette. The girl was exactly eighteen. Her face was full of youthful collagen; she was genuinely pure and innocent. And, the very first time I saw her, I knew. She looked like me. She looked exactly like the eighteen-year-old Tara. “You’re right about one thing. If Caleb still loved me, you wouldn’t exist.” I stood up. My stomach was actually throbbing in pain. I leaned against the table, careful not to show it. “But I advise you not to fall too deep. Caleb has never loved you, nor does he love me.” “He only loves the Tara from his memories.” The pure, beautiful Tara who died years ago on the bloody path helping him rise to the top. “In a few years, he’ll find a new replacement, and you’ll end up even more miserable than me.” I was actually lying to her. I was about to die. How could she possibly end up more miserable than me? At worst, she’d just get dumped when Caleb got bored of her. 03 I gave myself to Caleb when I was eighteen. I grew up without parents. The grandmother who raised me passed away when I was fifteen. Caleb appeared right around then. He pursued me fiercely. He threw money around recklessly, wanting to lay the best of everything in the world at my feet. He was handsome, and he gave me a profound sense of security. I fell for him fast. On my nineteenth birthday, he coaxed me into tasting the forbidden fruit. That night. From pain to complete surrender. I became entirely his. The next day, Caleb took me to meet his crew. I had never been exposed to a scene like that. I timidly held onto his jacket, quietly greeting everyone as he introduced me. The way they looked at me was full of mockery. “Caleb, why’d you get yourself such a little girl?” “She’s too sweet. She’s gonna be a liability.” Back then, I didn’t know what “liability” meant to them. I couldn’t help but defend myself quietly, “I won’t be.” “I won’t be a burden to Caleb.” I swore it. But later, as I slowly integrated into his world, I realized exactly what kind of life he led. It was a life lived on the edge of a knife. To avoid being a burden, to be able to stand by his side, I forced myself to adapt to that brutal environment. Ten years. I cut my hair short. I dyed it. I started smoking. I got tattoos. I even collected countless scars across my body. Because I was ruthless enough, I helped Caleb climb to become the second-in-command of the Chicago underworld. But Caleb didn’t seem happy. Countless nights. He would hold me in his arms, his fingers tracing the scars on my body, leaning down to kiss them. “Tara.” He would bury his face in my chest and sigh. “I still prefer the way you used to be.” And after a moment of stunned silence, I would always push him away, light a cigarette, and laugh. “Caleb, saying that is a real dick move.” 04 It was past midnight when Caleb came home. I was lying in bed. I wasn’t asleep. I was just staring into the darkness. Until Caleb pulled me into his arms. “Not asleep yet?” He leaned down to kiss me, but I dodged. He froze for a second, then suppressed his temper and hugged me. “Who pissed you off? I’ll go chop them up right now, okay?” “Caleb.” “Yeah.” The room was so dark I couldn’t see his face. But I could smell the gardenia perfume lingering on his clothes. “Let’s break up.” Caleb stiffened. Then he let go, rolling over to lie on his back next to me. “What is it now?” He pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “You’re not a little girl anymore. Why are you acting so dramatic?” “Break up?” He chuckled. “Tara, you’re not young anymore. Who else is going to marry a woman who smokes, drinks, has tattoos, and handles business more ruthlessly than most men?” My chest seized. I pressed my hand hard against my heart, but I couldn’t suppress the dense, agonizing pain. Last year, when my arm got sliced open, I was allergic to the local anesthesia. Twelve stitches, completely raw, and I gritted my teeth without making a single sound. But Caleb’s drunken truths made my eyes burn with tears. “Caleb,” I couldn’t help but ask, “if I got a terminal illness, would you…” “Tara.” He cut me off, irritation clear in his voice. “Stop asking stupid questions.” “If you get a terminal illness, I’ll commit suicide with you. Happy?” He rubbed his temples. “I’m busy with the wedding and business lately. I don’t have the energy to coax you. Stop throwing tantrums.” Just then, his phone rang. Caleb rejected the call in frustration. But the person called back again. After a few rounds of this, Caleb got out of bed with his phone. “Speak.” A girl’s crying voice filtered through the receiver, muffled but audible. Caleb cursed under his breath. “So fucking annoying.” Despite saying that, he quickly grabbed his coat and headed for the door. “There’s a problem with the business. I have to go handle it.” “Go to sleep. Don’t wait up for me.” 05 Caleb and I set our wedding date for the third of next month. A simple ceremony. I never told Caleb about my illness. Late-stage. Basically incurable. I also never told him that I had zero intention of marrying him. I could accept everything about Caleb. Everything except betrayal. Just thinking about him holding another woman, kissing her face, searching for the shadow of my youth in her… it made my stomach churn. It made me sick. I gave myself to him at eighteen. It had been exactly ten years. Now, the doctors said I had about six months left to live. Looking back, I wasted the best years of my life on him. For the little time I had left, I just wanted to be Tara. I booked a flight out of the country. I wanted to use whatever strength I had left to see the world I loved but had never actually explored. And I booked that flight for the third of next month. 06 Early in the morning, I crossed out another day on the calendar. Ten days left until my flight. The sound of the front door opening came from behind me. Caleb walked in, bringing the winter chill with him. He took off his coat and walked over to hug me. He still didn’t like my short hair. His eyes followed mine to the calendar. Seeing the date heavily circled on the third, he chuckled and gently pinched my cheek. “Can’t wait to marry me?” He counted. “Ten days left.” He buried his face in my neck. “I’ll make time in the next couple of days to go with you to dye your hair black again, maybe get extensions?” “You’ll look beautiful at the wedding.” “No need.” I looked at the calendar blankly. “There’s not much time left.” “Short hair is fine.” Caleb stayed silent for a long moment. “Alright.” He let go, picking up the coat he had draped over the chair. “There’s a lot to do for the wedding. Mack’s turf got smashed up yesterday. I’m busy, so I won’t be coming home for a while.” Caleb stared at me as he spoke. Like he was waiting for me to yield. Waiting for me to say, Okay, come with me to dye my hair. Let’s get extensions. But I just stared back at him indifferently. “Go.” “Anyway, it’s only ten days.” Caleb didn’t say another word. He turned and walked back out into the dark. He never looked back. 07 With seven days left until the wedding, I went to a tattoo parlor on the outskirts of the city. The owner was a woman in her thirties, well-maintained but with eyes full of deep weariness. She glanced at me. “What are we doing?” I rolled up my sleeve, pointing to the “CS” on my wrist, and then exposed the gardenia below my collarbone. “Remove both of them.” She took a look. “Laser removal hurts. And it’ll scar.” I smiled. “I’m not afraid.” Pain was the last thing I was afraid of right now. As for scarring— I had so many scars all over my body, two more wouldn’t make a difference. Besides, in six months, this body would probably just be a pile of ash anyway. The owner chatted with me as she prepped. “Breakup?” I smiled. “Yeah. Soon.” “Seven days left.” She clicked her tongue. “So ceremonial. A breakup with a countdown?” Maybe the shop was just quiet, or maybe we just clicked, but the moment I saw her, I felt like we were the same kind of people. We talked about the past. When Caleb first pursued me, I gave him a deadline. Three hundred days. If he could stick it out, I’d be his. So, every single morning, Caleb would show up in front of me and count the days. “One hundred and seventy-nine days left.” “Tara, ninety-six days until you’re my girlfriend.” “One day left, future girlfriend.” … The boy who relentlessly pursued me for three hundred days through rain and shine… Had slowly grown tired of me over the next ten years. I hit it off with the owner. As she lasered off the ink, I told her the meaning behind the two tattoos. The “CS” on my wrist was done on our one-year anniversary. I had been kidnapped by a rival gang to threaten him. Caleb went to the drop alone to save me. He knew it was a suicide mission, but he went without hesitation. He was almost hacked to death that day. When he was discharged from the hospital, I went to a parlor and got his initials on my wrist. Back then, I naively thought I was locked in with Caleb for life. But that night, when I proudly showed Caleb my still-red, swollen wrist, he just froze. He didn’t give me the touched reaction I expected. He frowned, asked me why I did it, and asked if it hurt. Finally, he pulled me into his arms. “Don’t do this again. I don’t like it.” “I don’t like it when you hurt yourself.” “You’re perfect just the way you are. You don’t need to change. I love a clean, flawless Tara.” I was young then, and I just thought he was worried about me. I didn’t realize Caleb had actually spoken his true feelings. And the gardenia on my chest was tattooed the day Caleb swore he would marry me by the time I was twenty-eight. Caleb loved gardenias. He loved their pure, flawless white. So I tattooed one on my chest. Waiting for Caleb to marry me. Now, Caleb had finally set the wedding date for my twenty-eighth year. He was busy planning the wedding seven days away. While I was planning how to leave him. Even though my body was ruined, I still didn’t want to leave this world bearing any mark of him. I pointed to the other side of my collarbone and told the owner. “Tattoo a trumpet vine right here.” Caleb loved gardenias. But I preferred the trumpet vine. He wanted me pure and flawless. But in my final days, I insisted on being the wild, untamed vine climbing over the high walls.

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