Category: English

1 During our worst arguments, my hearing-impaired husband had a habit of ripping out his hearing aid. He would stand there in absolute silence, leaving me to scream and cry like a hysterical lunatic, entirely ignored. But this time, I froze. I had finally realized that he never treated his childhood sweetheart this way. I remembered a time when he had upset Lydia. In a fit of temper, she had accidentally slapped his hearing aid off, sending it shattering onto the pavement. Instead of getting angry, he had dropped to his knees, frantically searching the ground. “Lydia, please don’t be mad,” he had pleaded, his voice trembling as he groped in the dark. “Please don’t shut me out.” His first instinct wasn’t anger; it was sheer, suffocating anxiety. He was terrified of being locked out of her world. He was desperate to hear her voice, her sighs, her anger. He couldn’t bear to miss a single second of her response. The moment the device was repaired, he had rushed straight back to her, just so she could repeat the harsh words she had yelled at him. Seven years of built-up grief suddenly crashed over me. Looking at Oliver, I finally understood that I had never truly been allowed inside his world. Seeing that I had quieted down, Oliver calmly slid his hearing aid back into place. His expression was completely detached. “Since you’ve calmed down, go make dinner. Cook some sweet and sour ribs. Lydia is coming over later, and they’re her favorite.” My voice was flat when I spoke. “Oliver, let’s get a divorce.” He froze for a fraction of a second, his hand hovering over his ear. “What did you say? My hearing aid static was acting up.” “I said,” I began, but the doorbell cut me off. At the same time, his phone chimed with a custom ringtone. He glanced at the screen, a genuine smile instantly softening his features. “Lydia is off her shift. I’m going to pick her up,” he said, turning toward the door. “Don’t forget about dinner. And remember, no green onions. Lydia hates them.” With that, he hurried out. In our seven years of marriage, he had memorized every single one of Lydia’s preferences. For me, he only ever had one excuse: If you don’t tell me what you want, how am I supposed to know? Yet Lydia never had to say a word. A single crease of her brow was enough to send him into hours of anxious worry. I didn’t make the ribs. Instead, I cooked a table full of spicy, heavy dishes that I loved. Both Oliver and Lydia preferred bland, mild food. To accommodate them, I hadn’t eaten a proper, sweat-inducing spicy meal in years. Just as I plated the last dish, the front lock clicked. Oliver walked in, his arm gently guiding Lydia through the doorway. They were carrying several shopping bags. Oliver set them down and handed me a small, elegant box of red bean pastries from the Crescent Bakery. It was a famous, expensive shop. And those pastries were the one sweet I genuinely loved. Whenever Oliver upset me, he would bring a box home, and my anger would immediately dissolve at the sight of it. But this time, I didn’t reach for it. I simply pointed toward the coffee table. “Put it there.” When Oliver saw the bright red, chili-laden dishes on the dining table, his face darkened. “Bridget, did you do this on purpose? Lydia can’t handle spicy food. What is she supposed to eat?” Lydia quickly grabbed his sleeve, her voice soft and sweet. “Oliver, it’s fine. I can manage. Today is Bridget’s special day, after all.” The anger in Oliver’s eyes melted instantly. He looked at her like a protective dog being patted on the head. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered, leaning down. Lydia nodded, a sweet smile on her face. They were standing so close. It was only then that I noticed the matching cartoon rabbit stickers pasted onto their identical hearing aids. I remembered our seventh anniversary. I had begged Oliver to use matching cartoon profile pictures with me on social media, wanting some small, public acknowledgment of our marriage. Don’t be so childish, he had said. Yet, the matching rabbits on his hearing aid apparently weren’t childish at all. I lowered my head, blinking back the hot tears stinging my eyes. Across the table, Oliver set a glass of plain water next to his plate. Every time he picked up a piece of food, he would carefully rinse it in the water before placing it gently into Lydia’s bowl. The lump in my throat grew tighter. I bit my lower lip, fighting to keep my composure as I sat across from them. Suddenly, Oliver placed a piece of rinsed beef into my bowl. I stared at it, caught off guard. This was the first time in our marriage he had ever served me. “I can get it myself,” I muttered. He didn’t look up. “Lydia is still recovering from her ear surgery. She can’t have beef right now. She’s eating this spicy food just to make you happy, so you should thank her.” My chest felt like it was being crushed by a boulder. I had accommodated them for seven years, and not once had anyone thanked me. Why did I have to thank Lydia for tolerating one meal? I slammed my chopsticks onto the table. “If you don’t like it, cook your own damn food.” 2 I had always been mild-tempered, rarely raising my voice, so my sudden outburst shocked them. Lydia scrambled to her feet, looking terrified. In her haste, she choked on a piece of chili, her face turning bright red as she began to cough violently. Oliver reacted as if a bomb had gone off. He slammed his fist on the table and stood up. “Bridget, Lydia came all this way to celebrate your birthday! You made this spicy food specifically to exclude her, and now you’re throwing a tantrum?” A cold, sharp pain pierced my heart. So he did know. He knew today was my birthday. Lydia shook her head frantically, her hands moving in rapid, fluid sign language that I couldn’t understand. Oliver replied to her in the same silent language. I stood there like an intruder, completely shut out of their conversation. Finally, Oliver let out a frustrated growl. “Why should you be the one suffering? Come on, I’m taking you out to eat.” He grabbed Lydia’s hand and marched out of the apartment, slamming the door behind them. The tears I had held back for so long finally spilled over. I sat down alone and began stuffing the spicy food into my mouth, chewing through my sobs. The spice burned my throat until I had to run to the bathroom to throw up, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t understand how the food I used to love so much had turned into pure poison. By the time the plates were empty, my lips were swollen and my eyes were red. I wiped my face and pulled a black bank card from my wallet. It held the savings I had scraped together over the last seven years. Seven years ago, Oliver had a chance to undergo a surgery that could have restored his hearing. But he had jumped in to save me from a group of thugs, and his ear bones were shattered in the fight, permanently destroying any chance of recovery. That guilt had been a phantom ache in my heart for years. I felt like I had ruined his life. To repay him, I spent three months nursing him day and night, eventually marrying him and spending seven years acting as his servant. A dull pain throbbed in my left leg. A year ago, when Lydia had broken his hearing aid, Oliver had wandered into the street without it and was nearly hit by a speeding truck. I had thrown myself in front of the vehicle to push him out of the way, shattering my leg. Even now, I walked with a permanent, slight limp. I had paid my debt. I owed him nothing more. I opened my phone, booked a consultation at a rehabilitation clinic in my hometown, and bought a one-way train ticket for the next morning. Whether Oliver agreed to the divorce or not, I was leaving. As I closed the travel app, my phone rang. It was the Crescent Bakery. Because I loved their pastries, Oliver had signed up for a VIP membership under my phone number. “Hello, is this Mrs. Cross?” the clerk asked politely. “Yes, speaking.” “Your husband ordered our exclusive ‘Four Seasons’ gift set, and it has just arrived. We tried calling his number, but he isn’t answering. Would you be able to pick it up?” “Of course,” I said, my heart fluttering with a tiny, fragile hope. The Four Seasons gift set was incredibly expensive and required booking months in advance. Perhaps, in some hidden corner of his heart, Oliver still cared about me. When I arrived at the bakery, the clerk handed over the beautifully wrapped box. I signed the receipt, my fingers trembling. But as I reached for the handle, the clerk stopped. “Wait, let me double-check. I think the greeting card in the system was addressed to a Ms. Mercer… Let me verify the name.” I froze, the warmth draining from my body. It wasn’t for me. After a few agonizing minutes, the clerk returned with an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Cross. The name on the order doesn’t match. I can’t let you take this package.” My hands clenched into tight fists. I forced a polite, empty smile onto my face. “Oh, I see. No worries. I’ll have him pick it up himself.” I practically fled the shop, only to run straight into Oliver at the entrance. 3 I stumbled and fell onto the concrete, a sharp pain shooting through my bad leg. Oliver didn’t even look down at me. He muttered a quick, distracted apology to the air and pushed past me into the bakery. “Hi, is my gift set ready? I saw a missed call.” The clerk smiled and handed the elegant box to him. The transaction went smoothly, without a single hitch. As he turned to leave, the clerk called out, “Mr. Cross, would you like to add a small box of red bean pastries today? I noticed you always buy one whenever you pick up a gift for Ms. Mercer.” Oliver paused, then nodded. “Yes, the usual small box is fine.” I sat on the cold pavement, laughing until tears slipped down my face. I had always thought Oliver, who was usually so careless, bought those pastries because he kept my favorite treat close to his heart. It turned out I was nothing more than a afterthought, a cheap buy-one-get-one-free bonus to soothe his guilt while he spoiled Lydia. I watched his hurried figure disappear down the street. I didn’t call after him. I dragged myself to a bench in a nearby park, staring up at the gray sky. There had been a time, very early on, when we were happy. He would fill a basin with warm water to massage my feet after a long shift, and he would surprise me with small gifts. When did it all change? It was when Lydia returned from her studies abroad. They shared a childhood, and they shared a silent world of hearing loss. They had an endless supply of secrets and a language I could never speak. Sometimes, I couldn’t help but think that if Lydia hadn’t left for her treatment years ago, she would have been the one standing beside him at the altar. The sky grew dark. My phone remained silent. I scolded myself for still hoping he would call, for still wishing he would care. Suddenly, the phone vibrated in my palm. The screen flashed with the contact name: Husband. My heart leaped against my ribs, and I answered quickly. “Oliver, I’m—” “Bridget, did you put that trash on the internet?” his voice cut in, cold and accusatory. I went numb. “What trash?” Oliver let out a disgusted sneer. “Stop acting innocent. You make me sick.” I hung up and quickly opened my social media apps. At the very top of the trending list was a headline in bold letters: Lydia Mercer, prominent jewelry designer, exposed as a homewrecker. Clicking on the tag, the first image was a candid photo of Lydia and Oliver dining at a candlelit restaurant, sitting close enough that their lips seemed to touch. The captions were vicious, pointing out that Oliver was married and that they were out celebrating on his wife’s birthday. Lydia’s tearful voice echoed from the background of the call. “Bridget, I know you hate me, but how could you destroy my career? No one else knew about our dinner except the three of us. If it wasn’t you, who else would buy these rumors to ruin me?” My throat felt tight. I couldn’t find the words to defend myself, even though I was entirely innocent. Oliver snatched the phone back. “Don’t worry, Lydia. I’ll handle this.” He hung up. Within minutes, the trending tag about Lydia began to drop rapidly. But my relief was short-lived. My best friend sent me a frantic text: Bridget, why would you post about what happened seven years ago? Didn’t you swear to carry that secret to your grave? My hands began to shake violently. I clicked back to the trending page. When I saw the new headline at the very top of the list, my knees buckled, and I sank to the ground.

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01 After exposing Debbie’s emotional affair online, the court ordered me to post a video apology every day for fifteen consecutive days. “I should not have publicized your explicit chat logs with Mr. Gary without blurring his name.” “I should not have secretly recorded your suggestive voice notes with Mr. Gary and shared them publicly.” To show my utter sincerity, I included their uncensored photos and full legal names in every post. Furious and humiliated by the public exposure, Debbie picked a massive fight with me after every single upload. By the time the thirteenth video went live, I tagged her assistant, Gary, to offer a solemn, targeted apology. Although she stormed out of the house in a rage, she surprisingly did not throw her usual tantrum afterward. I was naive enough to think she had finally recognized her wrongs and decided to save our marriage. The next day, I spent hours cooking her favorite meal and drove to her office to surprise her. The moment I pushed the heavy office door open, a suffocating wave of heavy breathing and whispered moans hit me. Debbie was pinning her flustered assistant to the couch, a cruel, mocking smile playing on her lips as he tried to pull away. “Since he already thinks we are doing it, we might as well go all the way, otherwise we are losing out, aren’t we?” She caught sight of my bloodshot, tear-filled eyes and let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Who else can you blame, Tristan? You forced my hand.” I stood frozen, paralyzed by the sheer betrayal. Debbie was defiled, and with her, our seven-year marriage lay in ruins. The glass container slipped from my numb fingers, shattering on the hardwood floor. The hot soup I had spent all night simmering splashed over my bare ankles, the searing pain making me break into a cold sweat. “Why did you make me watch this?” My voice shook so violently I could barely form the words. She had specifically demanded that I bring her lunch today, all just to orchestrate this cruel spectacle. Debbie only smirked at my accusation, refusing to shift from her suggestive position over Gary. “You already dragged our names through the mud online. If we do not make it real, Gary here would have suffered all that slander for nothing.” He was the one suffering? In our seven years of marriage, her text replies to me never exceeded a single word. Yet, she could send endless, soft-voiced audio recordings to Gary, reading him bedtime stories. When I was burning with a hundred-and-four-degree fever, she was on the phone giggling, telling Gary how adorable his new silk pajamas looked. When I was bleeding out after a car accident, she claimed she was too busy to sign my emergency consent form, only for me to find out she had rushed across town to tend to Gary’s sick puppy, a delay that nearly cost me my right leg. The tension in the office grew suffocatingly thick. Debbie finally, reluctantly, let Gary stand up. She reached over to adjust his belt before tossing a used wrapper into the wastebasket. “Yesterday, you tagged his name under the company’s official public page and called him all those disgusting things. Did you really think I would let that slide?” I stared at the dark red mark on her collarbone, my heart hammering in my chest. “What do you want from me?” Debbie casually picked up a pair of discarded underwear from the sofa and threw them directly at my chest. “I want you to wash his clothes right here, and apologize to Gary while you do it.” With a quick flick of her wrist, she opened the blinds facing the main office floor. Dozens of employees immediately gathered outside the glass wall, whispering and pointing at the drama unfolding inside. The fabric brushed against my bare arm, and a wave of intense nausea hit me, making my stomach churn. Debbie scoffed, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “You think this is dirty? When those thugs took ninety-nine private photos of you, you were a hundred times filthier than this.” I clamped a hand over my mouth, looking up at her in absolute shock. Years ago, when kidnappers took those compromising photos of me, Debbie had nearly lost her life trying to hunt them down and retrieve the film. She had held my shivering, suicidal body back then, whispering over and over, “You are not dirty, Tristan. My sweet Tristan is not dirty at all.” The exact same person, using the exact same mouth, was now ripping my old wounds open with words that made it hard to breathe. Staring at the bucket of soapy water she had her assistant bring in, I swallowed my remaining pride and knelt on the floor, rubbing the fabric together. Outside the glass, the spectators watched with looks of morbid curiosity and disgust. Driven to the edge by Debbie’s relentless mocking, I pulled out my phone and aimed the camera straight at her and Gary. “I formally apologize to Mr. Gary. I should not have barged in while he was sleeping with my wife in her office, ruining their fun.” With a sharp bang, Debbie kicked the bucket over, sending soapy water splashing across the floor, before grabbing my phone and throwing it against the wall. “Tristan, are you ever going to stop!” Soaked from head to toe, I sat on the wet floor as Debbie’s fury flared. “Is this your idea of an apology? Fine. You brought this on yourself!” She marched over to her desk, yanked open a bottom drawer, and threw a massive stack of glossy papers into the air. A single photo fluttered down, landing right beside my knee. My heart stopped. It was one of the intimate photos from my kidnapping, the very ones she had sworn to me she had burned years ago. Outside the office, the employees scrambled to pick them up, their eyes scanning the explicit images with greedy, mocking curiosity. I lunged forward, tearing the photos on the floor to shreds, screaming at the top of my lungs, “Debbie, you are an absolute monster!” For a split second, guilt flickered in her eyes, but she quickly masked it, turning to her security guards. “Take him home. He clearly needs to calm down.” They dragged me away and locked me in the dark basement of our house, plunging me into a panic. Years ago, on my way to the International Steinway Competition, I had been intercepted and locked away in a dark room. It was in that windowless room that those monsters took those ninety-nine humiliating photos, triggering the severe claustrophobia that had plagued me ever since. I clawed desperately at the heavy basement door, my nails tearing and bleeding as I screamed until my voice turned to gravel. Finally, the door swung open, and Debbie stood there, her face dark with anger. “I thought you would have learned your lesson by now, but you still posted that video!” On her phone screen, the final apology video was trending online, the very clip of me exposing their office tryst. I opened my mouth to explain that I hadn’t posted it, that I hadn’t even had the chance to press upload before the phone was snatched away. But before I could speak, she slammed the door shut again, letting out a cold sneer. “I am going to make you pay for this.” Minutes later, muffled groans and the creaking of weight filtered through the door, accompanied by the chaotic, jarring sounds of piano keys being struck in rhythmic succession. That piano was the last remaining heirloom of my parents, left to me before their tragic accident. On the eve of the grand competition, they had flown in from Europe just to watch me perform. But that very night, they received copies of those horrific photos from an anonymous sender, and in their panic-stricken rush to find me, their car spun out of control. I missed the competition I had trained my whole life for, and lost the two most important people in the world. And now, their sacred legacy was being used as a crude prop for Debbie and Gary’s twisted games. Gary’s breathy voice carried through the thin walls. “He is right in the basement, Debbie. What if he posts another video about this? It would be so embarrassing.” “Let him,” Debbie gasped. “Doesn’t knowing he is listening make it so much more thrilling?” The discordant, pounding notes of the piano battered my eardrums. I curled into a tight ball on the cold floor, the intense psychological trauma causing my stomach to heave as I dry-heaved repeatedly in the dark. The noise outside went on for hours. Finally, a notification buzzed on my phone, containing an old video link. It was the broadcast of that fateful piano competition years ago. On the screen, Gary stood on the grand stage, tears shining in his eyes as he held the golden trophy. “If my main competitor had not suffered an unfortunate incident right before the finals, I doubt I would be standing here today.” He blew a kiss to the camera. “I owe everything to my wonderful sponsor. She promised me she would secure the first-place spot for me, and she kept her word!” Every drop of blood in my veins ran cold. My sole rival in that competition had been Gary. When the kidnappers threatened me, they had warned, “If you dare step onto that stage, these photos go viral.” They were working for him. And the sponsor he spoke of was none other than Debbie. Before I could convince myself it was a coincidence, the camera panned to the VIP seats, revealing Debbie’s adoring, proud face. The phone felt like a hot coal in my palm, and I dropped it, shaking uncontrollably. When I was taken, Debbie had arrived with the police seemingly out of nowhere, saving me from those thugs in a flurry of violence and blood. I had spent years worshiping her as my guardian angel, believing our deep bond was the only reason she had found me so quickly. Now, the pieces fell into place. That was why she had those photos. That was why they were never destroyed. The savior who had pulled me from the abyss was the very person who had pushed me into it. Unable to bear the crushing weight of the truth, my vision faded, and I collapsed into unconsciousness. When I finally opened my eyes, the harsh white light of a hospital room greeted me. Debbie was sitting by my bedside, dark circles underscoring her tired eyes. Seeing that I lay quiet, without screaming or crying, she assumed I had finally been tamed. But she was in for a bitter disappointment. “The kidnapping, the photos, the threats… it was all you, wasn’t it?” I asked, my voice flat, every word carved from ice. Debbie’s eyes flickered, but there was no trace of remorse on her face. Instead, her expression hardened. “Have you been digging into my past?” “So you really used that old story to threaten Gary and drive him to a breakdown?” Gary suddenly burst into the room, tears streaming down his face as he sobbed dramatically. “Everyone online is saying my trophy was bought, and that I am responsible for your parents’ deaths! I didn’t know anything about the kidnapping, Tristan, I swear I didn’t!” He shrank back, looking at me with theatrical terror. Seeing her lover in distress, Debbie panicked. When she turned to me, her voice was soft, but her words were lethal. “Tristan, just release a statement. Tell the public you traded your body to the competition judges, got cold feet, and missed the finals, which led to your parents’ fatal accident. Today is the anniversary of their passing anyway. It is the perfect time to go to their graves and beg for their forgiveness.” I stared at her, my mind reeling. When my parents died and I had stood on the ledge of our apartment building ready to jump, she was the one who had pulled me back. “Your parents would want you to live, Tristan. I promise I will take care of you for the rest of my life.” It turned out her definition of a lifetime was incredibly short. A cold, hysterical laugh escaped my throat. “Never. Debbie, let’s get a divorce.” Her chest rose and fell as she struggled for breath, her jaw tightening. “Is our seven-year marriage so worthless to you that you would throw it away over a minor dispute?” Gary rushed forward, his eyes red and theatrical. “Please, Tristan, do not divorce her because of me. If you do not care about her feelings, I do! If it makes you happy, I will take the blame for your parents’ deaths, even if the public tears me to pieces!” He played the martyr perfectly, making me look like the heartless villain. Debbie immediately began to soothe him, then pulled up a live camera feed on her phone, showing a group of burly men holding shovels, standing directly in front of my parents’ graves. “You do not want a divorce, Tristan. You are just trying to destroy Gary’s life,” she said coldly. “If you do not post the statement, your parents’ resting place will be razed to the ground.” My pupils dilated in sheer terror. On screen, a heavy metal shovel slammed into the marble headstone, shattering my parents’ porcelain portraits into a web of cracks. My mind fractured. Forgetting all remaining dignity, I threw myself from the bed onto the floor, screaming in despair. “Stop! Tell them to stop! I will do whatever you want!” The tension left Debbie’s brow, and she smiled with her usual artificial warmth. “I knew you would make the right choice, Tristan.” She helped me off the floor and into her car, a convoy of reporters trailing closely behind us as we drove to the cemetery. At the cemetery, a barrage of flashing cameras blinded me, dragging me back into the nightmare of my past humiliation. I curled into myself, unable to look at my parents’ ruined headstone, biting my lip until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. Like a hollow puppet, I read the script they had prepared for me. “I willingly took those intimate photos to generate publicity for the competition. My own greed and foolishness led to the distraction that caused my parents’ fatal accident…” Debbie stood slightly off to the side, her arms crossed, while Gary stood nearby, his winner’s medal catching the light as a smirk played at the edge of his lips. The moment I finished reading, the gathered crowd surged forward, shouting insults. “Disgusting pig, trying to frame others for your own filth!” “The photos are already circulating online anyway, he got exactly what he wanted!” “Who knew the CEO’s husband was such a cheap tramp? Did you see the photos? He actually has a six-pack!” They began taping copies of my private photos onto my parents’ shattered tombstone, spitting on the ground in disgust. I lunged forward to tear them down, but Debbie’s security guards pinned my arms behind my back. Debbie hesitated for a brief second, but chose to stand her ground. “It is just a few promotional videos for the media, Tristan. We can clean the headstone once they leave. I have already tolerated enough of your outbursts. As my husband, you should try to maintain some basic dignity.” With that, she stepped away to answer a ringing phone. The second she was out of earshot, Gary’s mask slipped, exposing his true, sinister nature. He leaned in, whispering in my ear, “I have seen every single one of those photos, Tristan. Debbie and I actually use them to get in the mood. It is a shame your parents didn’t appreciate the art. When they were driving to your venue, I kindly texted them the images to enjoy. I guess they panicked, lost control, and slammed right into that semi-truck.” His mocking face twisted in front of me. I summoned every ounce of my remaining strength, I raised my hand to strike his face, but before my palm could connect, Debbie rushed back and shoved me hard to the ground. “Tristan, how dare you! Gary has done nothing but try to keep the peace, and you are acting like a lunatic!” I lay in the dirt, gasping for air. “He killed my parents! He sent them the photos!” Debbie froze, but before she could process my words, Gary let out a theatrical gasp of pain. “My chest… Tristan hit me so hard…” Without another glance in my direction, she wrapped her arm around him and helped him walk away. The moment their luxury sedan cleared the cemetery gates, the hired thugs returned with their shovels, systematically pulverizing my parents’ headstone into gravel. I dragged myself forward, throwing my body over the ruins to shield them from the heavy iron tools. “Please, stop! I beg you!” A heavy boot slammed into my ribs, knocking me back into the dirt, the impact leaving me gasping for air. The more I struggled, the harder they pinned me down, forcing me to watch as my parents’ graves were reduced to dust, their portraits scattered and trampled. And today was the anniversary of their deaths. They pried open the concrete vault, dragging my parents’ urns out of the earth and pouring the gray ashes onto the ground. One of them grabbed a handful and shoved it toward my mouth. “Gary’s orders. You eat this, or you don’t leave here alive.” The dry dust filled my nostrils and mouth, choking me as I thrashed wildly against their grip, tears of blood leaking from my eyes. “No! Stop! Give them back to me!” A heavy stone collided with the back of my skull. A cold trickle of blood ran down my neck, and the world faded to black. Back in the city, after confirming Gary didn’t have a single scratch on his body, a strange, suffocating anxiety began to gnaw at Debbie. Ignoring his complaints, she grabbed her car keys and drove back to the cemetery as fast as her vehicle could go. But the moment she stepped through the iron gates, the scene before her drained every drop of color from her face.

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1 On the night I secured a fifty-million-dollar profit margin for the company, my year-end bonus finally cleared: $250. In the memo line, there were only two words: Dog food. At that exact moment, Scarlett, the HR director who barely knew how to open an Excel sheet, posted a photo of a Porsche key fob on her social media feed. Her caption read: “My favorite cousin spoils me the most! Seven-figure year-end bonus!” The entire office waited for me to lose my mind or quit on the spot. Instead, I smiled and sent a polite text to my boss: “Thank you, sir.” Then I turned around and knocked on the door of his wife’s penthouse. I laid a thick stack of hotel check-in records and falsified accounting ledgers on the glass table in front of her. Elizabeth Croft looked at me, a dangerous smile touching her lips. “How do you want to play this, Nate?” I loosened my tie, taking a slow step toward her. “I want to be the man sitting right beside you,” I said, my voice low. “In the boardroom, and in your life.” … I stared at the three-digit deposit notification on my screen, momentarily stunned by the sheer audacity of it. “Oh, look. Nate, did your bonus finally hit?” Scarlett stepped up to my desk, her ten-inch stiletto heels clicking sharply against the linoleum. She lazily twirled her new Porsche key ring around a finger adorned with glittering, diamond-encrusted acrylic nails. I locked my phone and looked up. “Is there something you need, Scarlett?” She giggled, covering her mouth in mock innocence. “Not really. It’s just that my cousin, I mean, Richard, wanted me to ask if you were satisfied with your reward.” She bent down, leaning close enough for her heavy perfume to clog my senses. “I was the one who told payroll to send you that two-fifty, Nate. A stray like you doesn’t deserve a penny more.” “The company had a tough year. We all have to make sacrifices,” I replied, my voice dry and empty of emotion. My lack of reaction seemed to bore her. “Ugh, look at you. No spine at all,” she sneered. She stood up straight and raised her voice so the entire open-plan office could hear. “Listen up, everyone! Richard is treating the whole team to dinner tonight to celebrate our record-breaking year. Make sure you all show up!” The room erupted into cheers and sycophantic applause. Just then, my desk phone buzzed. It was Richard Cross, the CEO. “Get in here,” his voice grunted through the receiver. I grabbed my notebook and walked into his corner office. Richard was reclined in his high-back leather chair, his feet propped up on the mahogany desk. “Have a seat.” He jerked his chin toward the stiff wooden chair across from him. “I assume you got the text?” He exhaled a thick cloud of cigar smoke, looking at me like I was a joke he had already heard. “I did. Thank you, Richard.” He let out a sharp chuckle, flicking his cigar ash onto the plush carpet. “Don’t go thinking it’s too little. You know what the market is like right now. It’s a miracle the company is even afloat. Sure, your project brought in fifty million, but our overhead is astronomical. That two-fifty might seem like pocket change, but money is money. Go buy yourself a nice dinner.” Our net profit had tripled this year, yet here he was, crying poverty. I simply nodded. “I understand, Richard. Thank you for the perspective.” He blinked, clearly surprised by my submissiveness. The contempt in his eyes deepened. “Good. Since you’re being so reasonable, there’s one more thing.” He slid a manila folder across the desk. “The Apex Group account. You don’t need to worry about the follow-up. Hand all the files over to Scarlett.” My eyes snapped up. The Apex account was a massive deal I had nurtured for three long years. It was set to be our primary revenue stream for the next five years. Now that the hard part was done and the harvest was here, he was giving it to his mistress on a silver platter. “Richard, Scarlett doesn’t know the technical specifications, nor does she have any experience in high-level negotiations. The team at Apex—” “Enough!” Richard slammed his palm on the desk, cutting me off. “What is that tone, Nate? Do you own this company? I put whoever I want on my accounts!” He leaned forward, his face red. “Scarlett is young talent. She needs to be tested. As a senior executive, you need to show some leadership. Unless, of course, you’ve been hoarding these client relationships to start your own little agency?” He was setting the stage to freeze me out entirely. I didn’t argue. I stood up, pulled out my pen, and signed the transfer agreement with a smooth, unbroken stroke. Richard stared at my signature, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Now that’s what I call a team player. Make sure you come to the party tonight. Buy Scarlett a drink; she’s your boss now.” I walked back to my desk. Scarlett was already ordering a couple of interns to clear out my files. “Oh, Nate, this archive box is so heavy,” she said, pointing a manicured finger at a plastic tub on the floor. “Be a dear and carry it into my new office, will you?” Without a word, I bent down, picked up the heavy box, and carried it in. “My pleasure, Scarlett.” The rest of the office watched the humiliation unfold like vultures waiting for a carcass. I ignored them all. Back at my computer, I opened the main directory for the Apex project and ran a hidden script I had embedded months ago. On the surface, the data looked perfectly intact. But I had set a twenty-four-hour timer. If I didn’t log into the secure server from my personal gateway within that window, the entire database would corrupt into useless code. I shut my laptop, took out my burner phone, and sent a message to a contact saved only as S. “The fish took the bait. See you tonight.” The reply came instantly. “Perfect.” 2 Seven PM, the grand ballroom of the Hilton. Richard had rented out the entire top floor to celebrate the company’s record year. I stood at the entrance wearing the same gray suit I had worn for three years. The hostess checked my badge, her polite smile instantly freezing. “Mr. Harrison, your table is… over there.” She pointed toward a dim corner of the ballroom, right next to the service corridor and the restrooms. The table didn’t even have a tablecloth. Just a couple of chipped plates and a plastic pitcher of water. “It’s an overflow table,” she added dismissively. “I’m sure you don’t mind.” “Not at all,” I said, walking over. At the center table, Richard and Scarlett were surrounded by a crowd of adoring managers. Scarlett was wearing a backless crimson designer gown, her neck draped in a diamond necklace. I knew the price of that necklace. It was exactly the amount of the commission Richard had cut from my bonus. “Quiet down, everyone!” Richard shouted into a wireless microphone, his face flush with alcohol. “This year’s success belongs to all of us! But we owe a special round of applause to our new director, Scarlett! She’s young, she’s ambitious, and she just secured the Apex Group account! To celebrate, I’m personally awarding her a two-million-dollar cash bonus!” The room erupted into thunderous applause. “To Scarlett!” someone yelled. “Brilliant leadership!” another chimed in. Scarlett leaned into Richard’s side, her eyes finding me in the dark corner. “Oh, I didn’t do much,” she purred into the microphone, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “I just had a great mentor. I’m not like some people who spend years dragging their feet only to end up worth two hundred and fifty bucks.” A wave of cruel laughter rippled through the room. “Man, Nate really took a beating today.” “He always acted like he was indispensable. Turns out he’s just a placeholder.” “Can’t even compare to Scarlett.” I sat quietly, raising my teacup to my lips, blowing gently on the steam. The heavy double doors of the ballroom swung open again, and the laughter died down. A woman in a simple, elegant slate-gray dress walked in. Her dark hair was pinned up loosely, and she carried herself with a quiet, undeniable authority that made the room feel suddenly small. Elizabeth Croft. She was Richard’s wife on paper, the co-founder of the firm, and the person whose family trust actually funded the entire operation. But over the last few years, Richard had systematically pushed her out of the day-to-day operations, keeping her isolated at home. Richard’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered his mask. “Elizabeth! Darling, what are you doing here? You should be resting at home.” Scarlett quickly let go of Richard’s arm, taking a cautious step back. Elizabeth ignored her husband entirely, walking toward the head table. As she passed my dark corner, her gaze flicked to me for a brief instant. I gave her a subtle, polite nod. She kept walking, but that split-second exchange hadn’t escaped Scarlett’s sharp eyes. Scarlett’s expression darkened. She grabbed a full glass of Cabernet from a passing waiter and marched over to my table. “Nate, what are you doing sitting all the way back here?” she asked loudly, drawing the attention of the surrounding tables. “Richard is so forgetful. How could he put our star employee next to the toilets?” She offered a sweet, patronizing smile, but as she reached out to set the glass down, her wrist gave a sudden, deliberate jerk. The dark red wine splashed squarely across my face and down the front of my white shirt. “Oh my gosh! I am so, so sorry!” Scarlett shrieked, grabbing a single napkin and frantically dabbing at my chest, smearing the stain further. “My hand slipped! You aren’t mad at me, are you, Nate?” Nobody offered me a napkin. They just grinned, enjoying the free entertainment. Richard called out from the stage, his tone annoyed. “Nate! What is wrong with you? You can’t even hold a drink? Go clean yourself up in the restroom. Stop embarrassing us.” I pushed Scarlett’s hand away. The cold wine dripped from my chin onto my tie. “No need,” I said calmly. I stood up, unclipped my security badge, and let it drop directly into Scarlett’s half-empty wine glass. “Richard, this wine is too expensive for a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar employee,” I said, my voice carrying clearly through the quiet room. “You’ll have my resignation in your inbox tomorrow morning.” I turned and walked out. Richard’s furious roar followed me down the hall. “Nate! You walk out that door, and you’re finished in this town! I will blacklist you from every firm in New York!” I didn’t slow my pace. As I reached the elevator, I looked back. Elizabeth was still sitting at the main table, swirling her wine. She caught my eye, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips. Then she set her glass down and stood up. “I’m tired,” she told her husband. “I’m going home.” 3 Eleven PM. The rain was coming down in sheets outside Elizabeth’s luxury townhouse overlooking the East River. The heavy oak door swung open, revealing Elizabeth in a flowing silk emerald robe, a thin cigarette smoldering between her fingers. She stepped aside. “Come in.” I took off my wet coat and walked into the living room, placing my leather briefcase on the marble coffee table. “Here is the paper trail showing Richard and Scarlett shifting twenty-three million dollars into offshore accounts over the last eighteen months,” I said, opening the case. “Here are the hotel records from their weekend trips. And these are copies of the fake invoices Scarlett approved.” Elizabeth sat on the velvet sofa opposite me. She didn’t look at the files. She just watched me through the rising curls of smoke. “How long have you been gathering this?” she asked. “Since the day he told me to write Scarlett’s proposals for her because she didn’t know how to use PowerPoint,” I replied. “That was two years ago.” Elizabeth laughed, though her eyes remained ice cold. “You’re a dangerous man, Nate. You could easily use this to blackmail Richard for enough money to retire comfortably.” She leaned forward, her silk robe parting slightly at the collar. “Why bring it to me?” I met her gaze. “Because I don’t like being treated like garbage. And I hate seeing thieves live in luxury while the people who built the foundation get discarded.” I unbuttoned my cuffs, revealing a small, faint scar on my wrist. “I nearly died of a stomach ulcer trying to keep his clients happy while he was taking vacations with his mistress. I want what’s mine. And I think you deserve a better partner than a man who is robbing you blind.” Elizabeth’s eyes softened as she looked at the scar. She reached out, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of the files. “I want him gone with nothing,” she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “I want Scarlett to pay back every single cent she took. And I want sole control of the firm.” “Done.” I pulled one final document from my briefcase. “This is a restructuring agreement. Once Richard signs his shares over to you, the company is yours.” Elizabeth’s fingers trembled slightly as she looked at the paper. She stood up and walked over to me, stopping only inches away. I could smell the faint scent of jasmine and rain on her skin. She reached up, her fingernail gently brushing the dry wine stain on my collar. “You’re messy,” she murmured. “I don’t mind getting dirty if it gets the job done,” I said. Just then, my phone began to vibrate violently on the coffee table. The caller ID showed Arthur, our IT director. A second later, another call came in from Richard. I didn’t answer. I just let them ring. Elizabeth smiled, taking a sip of her wine. “It seems your little present just went off.” I picked up the phone and pressed the speaker button. Richard’s voice screamed through the speaker so loudly the audio distorted. “Nate! You son of a bitch! What did you do to the Apex servers? Everything is scrambled! The client is threatening to sue us! Get back here and fix this right now, or I swear to God I’ll have you arrested!” I listened to him panting on the other end before I spoke. “I don’t work for you anymore, Richard. And as far as I know, the Apex project belongs to Scarlett now. Let her handle it.” “Nate—” I hung up and tossed the phone back on the table. “Tomorrow is going to be a very long day,” I said. Elizabeth raised her glass to mine. “Let’s make sure we enjoy the show.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “452543”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

At three in the morning, my sister boarded her flight. The baby was shoved into my arms, still smelling faintly of copper and fresh birth. Mom dragged me by the arm, sobbing, “Just raise him as yours. You can’t let your sister’s life be ruined.” I opened my mouth to scream at her. Then my phone buzzed with a text from my sister. “The father is Alfredo Davenport. Don’t look for him. He is too dangerous to cross.” I unlocked my phone and searched his name. Davenport Holdings. A multi-billion-dollar empire. I shut off my phone and pulled the tiny bundle closer. Dangerous? We would see about that. The next morning, I stood in Alfredo Davenport’s penthouse office, holding the baby. He spared me a cold glance. “Who are you?” I placed the baby directly on his mahogany desk. “Special delivery. Sign here.” 01 The phone rang just as I finally closed my eyes. After working forty-eight hours of overtime, my eyelids felt like lead. I fumbled in the dark for my phone and squinted at the screen. It was Mom. A call at three in the morning made my stomach drop. I picked up. Her hysterical sobbing flooded the receiver before I could even say hello. “Get to the hospital right now! Your sister… she had the baby!” My sleep-deprived brain refused to process the words. “A baby? What baby?” Mom’s voice hitched, her breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. “Fiona had a baby! Hurry! Mercy Hospital, maternity ward!” Fiona had a baby. My sister, Fiona, was twenty-eight. She was single, had no partner, at least as far as I knew. I threw a coat over my shoulders and bolted out the door. By the time my cab pulled up to the hospital, the clinical white lights of the maternity ward were blinding. Mom was huddled at the far end of the corridor, clutching a tiny bundle wrapped in a cheap hospital blanket. The infant was minuscule and wrinkled. Fiona was nowhere to be seen. “Where is she?” I demanded. Mom didn’t answer. She just wept. I scanned the quiet hallway. The delivery room doors were shut, and the nearby recovery rooms were completely empty. “Mom, where is Fiona?” Mom raised her head, her eyes swollen to the size of walnuts. “She left.” “What do you mean, she left? Where did she go?” “She boarded her flight.” Mom shoved the baby into my arms. “She bought a ticket to London. The flight departed at one-thirty. The moment the baby was out, she walked out of the hospital.” I looked down at the newborn in my arms. The clamp on his umbilical cord was still fresh, and he carried that distinct, metallic smell of birth mixed with formula. The baby’s eyes were squeezed shut, his tiny mouth twitching open and close. My head spun. “Call her,” I said, my voice trembling. “I tried. The number is disconnected.” I pulled out my own phone and opened my chat history with Fiona. Her profile picture was still there, but when I tapped into it, a red exclamation point appeared next to my message. You are no longer connected with this user. I dialed her number. “The number you have dialed is no longer in service.” Standing in that sterile hallway with a hours-old infant in my arms, I listened to that automated recording repeat three times. Mom grabbed my sleeve, her grip tight and desperate. “Just raise him as yours, Gemma. You cannot let your sister’s life be ruined over this.” “She dumps a newborn on me to save her own life, but what about mine?” “You are different. You are still young, you haven’t…” “I’m twenty-four, Mom. I can barely afford my own rent.” Mom ignored my words, her tears flowing freely. “Fiona said we cannot let anyone find out about this. The father… he is too dangerous to cross.” Before I could reply, my phone vibrated. It was a text from an unknown number. It read: “The father is Alfredo Davenport. Don’t look for him. He is too dangerous to cross.” I tried calling the number back immediately, but it was already disconnected. I stared at the name Alfredo Davenport. I opened my browser and typed it into the search bar. Davenport Holdings. Real estate, venture capital, healthcare. A conglomerate worth hundreds of billions. Alfredo Davenport, the current CEO, thirty years old. The man in the official photos wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. His jawline was razor-sharp, his gaze detached and piercing. I closed my phone. The baby in my arms whimpered, a tiny fist escaping the blanket to clutch at my collar. I looked down at him. Dangerous? We would see. I held him tighter. The next morning, I called in sick to work. I walked to the corner store and bought a small tin of formula, a pack of newborn diapers, and a single bottle. Back in my cramped apartment, I fed the baby and changed his diaper. Once full, he drifted off to sleep, quieter than I expected a newborn to be. I searched through the belongings Fiona had left behind at the hospital. The nurse had handed me a manila folder before I checked the baby out. Inside was the hospital birth record. The mother’s name was listed as Fiona. The father’s line was blank. There was also a handwritten note. The handwriting was unmistakably Fiona’s, sharp and hurried. “Gemma, I’m sorry. I can’t keep this baby, and I can’t face Alfredo. You have always been tougher than me, so I know he’ll be safe with you. I’ve already talked to Mom. Don’t hate me.” I folded the note and shoved it back into the folder. Don’t hate her. She had booked her flight a month in advance, deactivated her phone, deleted her social media, and fled the delivery room within an hour of giving birth. That wasn’t a desperate mistake. That was a calculated escape. I scooped up the baby and walked out the door to hail a cab. “Take me to Davenport Holdings headquarters.” 02 The Davenport Holdings tower dominated the financial district, a sixty-eight-story monolith of steel and reflective glass. I stood in the sweeping marble lobby, surrounded by sharp suits and clicking heels. I was wearing a faded hoodie, my hair was unwashed, and my sneakers were scuffed with dirt. The baby was wrapped in a twenty-dollar blanket I had grabbed in a rush. The two receptionists behind the polished desk looked at me like I was a delivery courier who had wandered onto the wrong floor. “Good morning. How can I help you?” “I’m here to see Alfredo Davenport.” The two women exchanged a brief, telling look. “Do you have an appointment?” “No.” “I’m sorry, Mr. Davenport doesn’t accept unscheduled visitors. You can leave your—” “Tell him someone is here to deliver his baby.” The receptionist’s polite smile froze. “Ma’am, we don’t appreciate jokes—” “Just pass the message along. Tell him his son has arrived.” Without waiting for their reaction, I walked over to the lobby’s leather sofas and sat down. The baby began to fuss. I cradled him with one arm while reaching into my bag for the bottle. The receptionists whispered urgently to each other before one of them picked up the phone. Five minutes later, the elevator doors slid open. A woman in a sharp grey pantsuit stepped out. She was in her early thirties, wore gold-rimmed glasses, and walked with brisk authority. “Hello, I’m Ms. Ward, Mr. Davenport’s executive assistant. And you are?” “Gemma.” “Gemma, regarding this… baby situation. Could you explain?” “No. I will only explain to Alfredo.” Ms. Ward frowned. “Mr. Davenport is currently in a board meeting—” “I can wait.” I leaned down to feed the baby. He drank too quickly, coughing slightly on the formula. I gently patted his back until his breathing evened out. Ms. Ward stood there, watching us for a moment, before stepping aside to make another call. When she walked back, her professional composure had returned, though her eyes were guarded. “Follow me.” The private elevator took us directly to the sixty-second floor. The doors opened to a carpeted hallway so quiet you could hear the faint hum of the climate control. Ms. Ward led me to a heavy double door at the end of the hall and motioned for me to enter. The office was massive, flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. Alfredo Davenport sat behind a sprawling mahogany desk. He looked exactly like his photos, but the reality was colder, sharper. His dark eyes locked onto me, completely unreadable, as if he were reviewing a minor legal dispute. He looked at me, then down at the bundle. “Who are you?” I walked straight to his desk and placed the baby gently on the dark wood, right over a stack of financial reports. The infant lay there, his tiny face wrinkled, a smear of white formula at the corner of his mouth. “Special delivery. Sign here.” Alfredo didn’t move. He looked at the baby, then back up at me. “Explain.” “Do you know Fiona?” His brow twitched. It was barely perceptible, but I caught it. “Who are you to her?” “Her sister.” “Where is she?” “London. She boarded a flight yesterday at midnight. Left right after giving birth, cut her phone, deleted her accounts, and vanished.” I tossed the manila folder onto his desk. “The birth certificate is in there. Mother is Fiona. The father’s name is blank, but she told me it’s yours. If you don’t believe me, we can run a paternity test.” Alfredo didn’t touch the folder. He leaned back in his leather chair, staring at the infant. The baby stirred, his tiny hand flitting outward until his fingers brushed Alfredo’s silver pen. “What is it you want, Gemma?” “Nothing. The baby is yours, so he’s your responsibility. I have no obligation to raise my sister’s child.” “And if I say this child has nothing to do with me?” “Then we do the DNA test. It takes three days. When the results are in, call me.” I pulled a slip of paper from my pocket with my phone number and apartment address, slapping it onto his desk. “Three days.” I turned on my heel and walked toward the exit. Just as my hand touched the brass handle, a sound echoed through the vast office. The baby started to cry. It was a thin, high-pitched wail that bounced off the glass walls. My footsteps faltered for a fraction of a second. But I didn’t turn around. I pushed the door open and let it click shut behind me. 03 I had barely reached the elevators when Ms. Ward caught up with me. “Gemma, you can’t just leave a newborn on—” “On Alfredo’s desk? Yes, I can.” “You can’t—” “I just did. Davenport Holdings is a multi-billion-dollar company. I think you can afford a nanny.” The elevator doors slid open. I stepped in and pressed the button for the lobby. Ms. Ward stood in the hallway, her expression a mix of shock and utter disbelief. Before the doors fully closed, I could still hear the distant, rising wail of the baby from the end of the hall. When I stepped out of the tower, the midday sun was blinding. I stood on the sidewalk, feeling dazed. My hands felt incredibly light. For the past thirty hours, those hands had been constantly holding that baby. Now that they were empty, a strange, hollow sensation settled over me. My phone rang. It was Mom. “Gemma! Where did you take the baby?!” “To his father.” The line went dead quiet for several seconds. “Are you insane?! Fiona told you not to look for Alfredo Davenport! You—” “Mom, you believe everything Fiona says. You believed her when she said she had no choice, and you believed her when she said he was too dangerous. She abandoned her own child. Why do you still trust a word out of her mouth?” “Your sister did what she had to—” “To save herself. Mom, I have to go. I’m late for work.” I hung up. When I got back to the office, my manager was cold about my half-day absence. I sat at my cubicle, staring at the monitor, but the spreadsheets blurred together. All I could see was the baby’s tiny, wrinkled face. And the sound of his cry. He had started crying the second I walked away. I rubbed my temples hard, forcing myself to focus on my emails. I dragged myself through the day until six-thirty. The moment I stepped out of the building, my phone buzzed. It wasn’t Mom. It was an unknown number. “Gemma?” The voice was deep, smooth, and entirely devoid of warmth. I recognized it instantly. It was the same voice that had asked Who are you? this morning. “Alfredo.” “Come get the baby.” “He’s not my baby.” “He isn’t mine either until the DNA results are back. Until then, you will take care of him.” “I don’t have the space or the money to raise him.” “That is your problem.” “Actually, he’s your problem too. You know exactly what kind of relationship you had with Fiona.” Silence stretched over the line. “I will have my driver deliver him to your address.” “Send him, and I won’t open the door.” “Gemma,” Alfredo’s voice dropped, laced with a quiet, dangerous edge. “You barged into my office and dumped an infant on my desk in front of my staff. Do you have any idea what that means?” “It means you have to face reality.” He didn’t reply. I continued, “Do the DNA test. In three days, when the results come back, if he’s yours, he’s your responsibility. If he isn’t, I will apologize and take him back. But until those three days are up, do not call me.” I hung up the phone. Standing on the bustling street corner as the evening wind picked up, I realized my hands were shaking. It wasn’t from fear. It was sheer exhaustion. I hadn’t slept a single minute since Fiona went into labor. When I finally reached my apartment building, someone was crouching by my door. It was Mom. She was holding a insulated food container, her eyes red and puffy. The moment she saw me, she scrambled to her feet. “Gemma, I brought you some soup—” “Mom, how do you know my address?” She hesitated. “Your sister told me.” Fiona had blocked my number and deleted me from her life, but she had made sure to give Mom my address. She had planned every single detail. “Mom, go home.” “Just listen to me—” “No,” I said, sliding the key into the lock. “I know exactly what you’re going to say. You want me to take the baby, stay away from Alfredo, and keep Fiona’s name out of it. I’m not doing it.” “Gemma!” She grabbed my arm. “Your sister worked so hard to get where she is. Her education, her career, her entire future cannot be ruined by a child!” “And what about my future?” “You’re different…” “How? Because my grades weren’t as perfect? Because my job isn’t as prestigious? So my life is just a safety net for her mistakes?” Mom’s mouth opened, but no words came out. I gently but firmly pulled her hand off my arm. “Go home, Mom. I’m handling this. But I’m doing it my way, not yours.” I stepped inside and shut the door, leaning my back against the wood. Outside, I could hear Mom starting to cry again. She cried for a long time. I didn’t open the door. My phone vibrated. A text message from Alfredo. “DNA swab collected. Results in three days. He stays with me tonight.” I stared at the screen for a long time. He hadn’t sent the baby back. He had kept him. I wasn’t sure if that was a victory or not, but at least for tonight, I could finally sleep. 04 Saturday morning. I slept until noon, the first real rest I had gotten in days. I washed my face and put the kettle on to boil, but before the water could heat up, the buzzer rang. I assumed it was Mom again. But when I opened the door, four people were standing in the narrow hallway. Aunt Jane, Uncle Thomas, Aunt Martha, and my cousin Lily. Aunt Jane led the charge, pushing her way forward before I could even greet them. “Gemma, your mother cried the entire night. Do you have any heart at all?” I blocked the doorway, refusing to let them step inside. “Aunt Jane, what are you all doing here?” “Your mother called us. She said you—” “She said what?” Uncle Thomas shoved his way to the front. “She said you dumped your sister’s baby with some random man! Gemma, are you out of your mind? That is your own nephew!” “He is Fiona’s child, and she abandoned him.” “Your sister had her reasons—” “What reasons? Do any of you actually know? Did she tell you?” They exchanged quick, uncomfortable glances. No one answered. Aunt Martha peered past my shoulder into the apartment. “You live here alone? This place is tiny. There’s barely enough room for a crib, let alone—” “Exactly. Which is why I can’t raise him.” Aunt Jane sighed, softening her tone as she reached out to grab my hand. “Gemma, we know you feel slighted. But think about how hard Fiona worked. Your mother took out so many loans to put her through school. She finally has a life—” “Aunt Jane,” I said, pulling my hand back. “Do you know when Fiona bought her plane ticket?” “What?” “A month ago. While the baby was still in her womb, she had already booked her flight to London. She deactivated her phone, cleared her bank accounts, and deleted her social media weeks in advance. She planned this entire thing.” The hallway fell dead silent. “She wasn’t forced into anything. She planned to give birth, dump the baby on me, and have Mom guilt-trip me into keeping quiet so she could run away scot-free.” Aunt Jane’s expression hardened, but Uncle Thomas snapped first. “She is still your sister! Blood is thicker than—” “Uncle Thomas, my blood is fine, but Fiona is the one who bled me dry.” Uncle Thomas’s face turned red. “How dare you speak to your family like that!” “I’m speaking the truth. If you all care so much about this baby, which one of you is going to take him home? Any takers?” No one spoke. Cousin Lily, who had remained silent the entire time, pulled on Aunt Jane’s sleeve. “Let’s go, Mom. Stop it.” Aunt Jane wanted to say more, but Lily tugged her again, harder this time. Finally, they turned and walked toward the stairs. Uncle Thomas glared back at me before leaving. “You haven’t heard the end of this. Your mother isn’t letting this go.” I shut the door and locked it. The kettle on the stove was whistling furiously. I poured myself a cup of tea and sat on the edge of my bed, staring into the steam. My phone rang. It was Ms. Ward. “Gemma, the DNA results came back early. Mr. Davenport wants you to come to the office this afternoon if you’re available.” “What are the results?” There was a pause on the other end. “It’s better if Mr. Davenport discusses this with you in person. Can you make it?” I checked the time. It was one in the afternoon. “I’ll be there at two.” I hung up, changed into clean clothes, and caught a glance of myself in the mirror. Dark circles under my eyes, dry lips, pale face. It didn’t matter. I walked out the door. 05 When I arrived at Davenport Holdings, the receptionists didn’t stop me this time. Ms. Ward was waiting for me in the lobby, using her keycard to take me straight up to the sixty-second floor. The moment the elevator doors opened, I heard it. The sound of a baby crying. It was coming from the executive office. Ms. Ward’s professional facade was cracking slightly. “The baby has been crying on and off since last night. We brought in a professional nanny, but… it hasn’t been easy.” She pushed open the office door, and I saw Alfredo. He looked entirely different from our first meeting. His charcoal jacket was draped over the back of his chair, his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his silk tie was loosened. The neat piles of documents on his desk had been pushed aside to make room for a baby carrier. The infant was inside, wailing until his little face was purple, his voice already hoarse. A middle-aged nanny in a neat uniform stood nearby, looking completely helpless as she held a bottle. “I tried feeding him, but he won’t take it. His diaper is clean, and I’ve tried burping him—” I walked past them without saying a word and lifted the baby out of the carrier. He was tiny, barely four days old, but his little body was stiff with distress. I cradled his head with one hand and pressed my other palm flat against his back, patting him gently. It wasn’t the rigid, textbook patting the nanny had been doing. It was a slow, rhythmic movement I had figured out during our first night together, my palm warm against his spine. The crying immediately softened to a whimper. After a few more pats, he let out a tiny, wet burp, then buried his face into my shoulder and fell silent. The massive office became perfectly quiet. The nanny stared at me, dumbfounded. Alfredo watched me, his dark eyes fixed on the baby. I ignored them both and looked down at the infant. His nose was red, his eyes closed, his mouth twitching as he drifted off to sleep from sheer exhaustion. “He’s not refusing the bottle,” I said quietly. “He has gas. A four-day-old baby’s stomach is the size of a walnut. If your nipple flow is too fast, he swallows air. What size nipple are you using?” The nanny stammered, “An extra-slow flow—” “Switch to the slowest round-hole nipple, and make sure to hold the bottle upright to clear any air bubbles before feeding him.” The nanny nodded quickly and began sorting through the baby bags. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, rocking the baby until he was deeply asleep. Alfredo hadn’t said a word. Once the nanny left the room, he spoke. “Sit down.” I sat on the leather sofa, still holding the baby close. Alfredo picked up a thick manila folder from his desk, walked over, and sat on the opposite sofa. “The DNA results.” He slid the folder across the marble coffee table. “Paternity is confirmed.” I didn’t open it. “And?” “And I acknowledge that this child is biologically mine.” “What happens next?” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a slip of paper, and placed it on the table. A cashier’s check. I glanced down at the number. Two million dollars. “This is for you,” Alfredo said. “A gesture of appreciation for looking after him these past few days. I will handle the baby’s future arrangements.” “What kind of arrangements?” “I will find a reputable private care facility or a suitable adoptive family.” “You want to give him away?” “I do not have the lifestyle or the environment to raise a child.” “You have billions of dollars, and you’re telling me you don’t have the means?” “I do not have the desire.” I stared into his cold, unblinking eyes. His expression remained entirely flat, as if he were discussing quarterly earnings rather than the fate of his own son. I looked down at the baby. He was sleeping soundly, his tiny fingers still clutching my collar with surprising strength. I reached out, picked up the check, and ripped it down the middle. I tore the pieces again, letting the four scraps of paper flutter onto the table. For the first time, Alfredo’s icy composure cracked. “You can walk away from your son, but I don’t take hush money.” “Then what do you want?” “I want you to tell me, straight to my face. Are you going to be his father, or are you washing your hands of him?” He didn’t answer. I stood up, adjusting my grip on the sleeping baby. “Think about it. When you have an answer, call me.” I walked toward the door. “Leave the baby,” Alfredo called out behind me. “You just said you had no desire to raise him.” “I said I need to think.” “Then think fast. When you’re ready to be a father, come get him.” I didn’t stop. I pushed the door open and walked out. Ms. Ward was waiting in the hallway. Seeing me with the baby, her mouth opened slightly, but she glanced toward the office and decided not to stop me. In the elevator, the baby opened his dark, clear eyes and stared up at me without crying. “Let’s go,” I whispered to him. “You’re coming back with me for now.” 06 By the time we got back to my apartment, dusk had fallen. I laid him in the middle of my bed, propping pillows on either side to keep him secure, then warmed some formula and changed his diaper. Just as I finished, the buzzer rang. I braced myself for Mom again. I opened the door. It was Alfredo. He stood in the dim hallway, still wearing his tailored shirt, though his tie was completely gone. No assistant, no driver. Just him. He glanced at the peeling paint on my door frame, then at the cluttered hallway filled with my neighbors’ storage boxes. “Let’s talk inside,” I said, stepping aside. As he walked in, I saw his eyes take in the entire space. A forty-square-meter studio. A single bed, a wardrobe, a folding table cluttered with my laptop and work documents. The kitchen was a makeshift setup on the enclosed balcony, the range hood yellowed with age. The baby lay in the center of the bed, kicking his tiny legs in contentment after his feed. Alfredo stood in the middle of the room, looking absurdly tall and entirely out of place. “You live here?” “Yes.” “And you’ve been taking care of him alone?” “From the moment he was born until now, yes.” He didn’t respond. He walked over to the bed and looked down at the infant. The baby looked up, their gazes locking. A newborn doesn’t know strangers yet. He simply stared back with wide, unblinking dark eyes. Alfredo reached out a hand, hesitated for a second, then let his fingers hover near the baby. “He looks like Fiona,” he murmured. “He has your nose.” He glanced at me. I didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Have you made up your mind?” He pulled out the plastic folding chair by my desk and sat down. The cheap plastic groaned under his weight. “I had my security team look into Fiona’s travel records,” he said. I waited. “She booked her ticket a month ago. One-way. She traveled on a tourist visa, but she went straight to a friend’s apartment in London. The lease was signed weeks in advance.” “And?” “This wasn’t a sudden panic. She planned to abandon him from the very beginning.” “I know.” “You knew, and yet you…” He paused, searching for the words. “You’re cleaning up her mess.” “I’m not doing it for her. I’m doing it for him. He didn’t ask to be born into this.” On the bed, the baby let out a tiny yawn. Alfredo watched him, silent for a long moment. “I only knew Fiona for six months,” he said quietly. “Four months ago, she told me she was pregnant. I told her to keep the baby, that I would take full responsibility. She agreed. Then she changed her number, moved out of her apartment, and vanished.” I stared at him. This was not the story Fiona had painted. “You looked for her?” “For two months. When I finally reached her through an old acquaintance, she told me she had terminated the pregnancy.” “She lied to you.” “I see that now.” His hands tightened slightly over his knees. “She didn’t want me to know about the child,” he said, “yet she kept him anyway, just to dump him on you.” “Because she knew I wouldn’t leave him to die.” “You could have. You have no legal obligation to this child.” “And where would he go? He’s four days old. His umbilical cord hasn’t even fallen off.” Alfredo raised his eyes to meet mine. It was the first time he truly looked at me. Not with the cold, assessing gaze of a CEO, but with genuine curiosity. “What is it you want from me, Gemma?” That was the third time he had asked. First in his office, then on the phone, and now in my cramped room. “I want you to take responsibility.” “How?” “Not to me. To him.” I pointed at the baby on the bed. “He needs a father. Not a check, not an agency. A real, present father.” “I don’t know how to raise a child.” “Neither do I. I’ve been learning on the fly for the last four days.” He fell silent. The baby began to squirm and whimper. I walked over and checked his diaper. Wet. I grabbed a clean diaper from the nightstand, slid my hand under his lower back to lift him, and quickly swapped it out. My movements weren’t perfect, but they were twice as fast as they had been on day one. I turned back to Alfredo. “You can start by learning how to change a diaper.” He stared at the soiled diaper in my hand, his expression a mix of amusement and mild horror. “I will send some people tomorrow,” he said, rising to his feet. “What kind of people?” “A night nanny and a housekeeper. This place is too small. I’ll arrange a proper apartment for you.” “I’m not moving.” “You don’t even have room for a crib.” “Then buy a crib and send it here.” We stared at each other, neither of us backing down. Finally, he stepped toward the bed and looked down at the baby one last time. The baby, comfortable in his dry diaper, was kicking his legs and making soft, cooing noises. Alfredo reached down. This time, he didn’t hesitate. He touched his index finger to the baby’s tiny palm. The baby’s reflex kicked in instantly, his tiny fingers curling around Alfredo’s finger, holding on tight. Alfredo didn’t pull away. He stood there, bent over the bed, anchored by a four-day-old infant, completely still. After a long silence, he said, “I’ll have a crib delivered tomorrow morning.” “Good.” “And a nanny.” “Fine.” He straightened up and looked at me. “He needs a name.” “You name him. You’re his father.” He thought for a moment. “Let me think about it.” He walked to the door, opened it, and paused. He didn’t look at me. His gaze lingered on the baby in the middle of the bed. Then, the door clicked shut. I sat on the edge of the mattress. My phone vibrated with a contact request. The name read: Alfredo Davenport. I accepted it. A message popped up immediately: Let me know if he needs anything. I typed back: We’re almost out of formula. Newborn diapers. Baby wipes. They will be there tomorrow morning, he replied. I put the phone down and looked at the baby, who had drifted back to sleep. His tiny hand was still curled into a fist, as if he were still holding onto his father’s finger. I tucked the blanket around him. My phone vibrated again. I looked at the screen. It wasn’t Alfredo. It was an international number. There was no text, only a single image: a screenshot of a flight confirmation from London to Chicago for next Wednesday. The passenger name: Fiona Davenport. My sister was coming back.

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Five years later, in a chaotic emergency room, I crossed paths with my ex-husband, Tristan Sinclair. His new wife was on the brink of death from a stray bullet, yet he stood there, demanding to know why I refused to perform the surgery myself. “Are you still holding a grudge against me?” Facing his interrogation, I looked down at my trembling hands. His words echoed the exact tone he had used five years ago when he handed me the divorce papers. “Nora, I don’t love you anymore. I don’t even have a shred of pity left for you.” I whispered those words back to myself, turned on my heel, and walked out of the consultation room. He would never know that the woman once hailed as a surgical prodigy could no longer even hold a scalpel. 1 I stood silently in the sterile chill of the operating room, watching the lead surgeon apply the final, precise sutures. The steady beep of the heart monitor was the only sound bridging the gap between life and death. When the last knot was tied, I quietly slipped out, shedding my bloody scrubs. Pushing through the double doors of the surgical ward, the first thing I saw was Tristan Sinclair. He was sitting on the hard plastic bench in the hallway, his head buried in his hands. At the sound of the doors swinging shut, he looked up. His bloodshot eyes locked onto me instantly. I pulled down my surgical mask, keeping my voice flat and professional. “The surgery was a success. She is out of danger.” I took a step to walk past him, but his voice stopped me. “Nora,” he rasped, his voice rough and dry. I halted, but I did not turn around to face him. “Amman is practically a war zone right now,” he said, his footsteps echoing slightly as he took a step closer. “What on earth are you doing here?” Why was I here? I looked down the long, dim hallway. This was a place where the rattle of gunfire was more common than fireworks, where human life was treated as cheaply as dust. When I didn’t answer, he closed the distance between us. The familiar scent of woodsmoke and expensive cologne washed over me, a ghost from a past life. “Does your family even know you’re in Jordan?” My entire body went rigid. I turned slowly, staring at him in utter disbelief. A wave of cold, dark absurdity washed over me. He didn’t know. He actually had no idea that my parents were gone. But then, why would he? I took two steps back, deliberately re-establishing the boundary between us. “I like it here,” I said, my voice steady. “Saving lives doesn’t require a passport. I think my parents would be proud of the life I’m living now.” Tristan’s dark brows drew together, his eyes darkening to a stormy gray. I knew that look all too well. It was the warning sign before his temper flared. But what was he even angry about? Was he mad because of my lack of deference, or was he simply furious that I was no longer under his control? Either way, it didn’t matter. I had no desire to entangle myself in his web again. Before he could speak, I walked away. The moment I stepped back into my clinic, my colleague Jane followed me in. A mischievous grin played on her lips. “Well, well. Who is the handsome stranger, Dr. Prescott? He looked like he wanted to swallow you whole.” The air in the room grew heavy. I sat down at my desk, trying to ignore her. “He was just asking about his wife’s condition. Nothing more.” “Really?” Jane leaned against the doorframe, clearly not buying it. Before she could pry further, the muffled vibration of Tristan’s phone echoed from the hallway. We heard him answer in a low, clipped tone as his footsteps faded down the corridor. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. When I looked up, Jane was sitting across from me, her chin resting in her hands. “Nora, spill it,” she demanded, her eyes bright with curiosity. “What’s the real story between you two?” I buried my face in a stack of patient charts, keeping my tone indifferent. “If you have this much free time, you should go monitor the aortic dissection patient in ward four.” Jane laughed, waving her phone in front of my face. “Oh, come on. If you don’t tell me, I’ll just go ask him myself. I already looked him up. Tristan Sinclair, the king of New York’s financial district. Ruthless in business, a daredevil in his private life. A total mystery, though. There isn’t a single photo of his wife online. He keeps her completely hidden from the press.” My fingers tightened around the edge of the chart, crumpling the paper. He had protected her so well. He had spared no expense to keep Vivian Mercer safe from the prying eyes of the world. I let out a soft, humorless laugh. Jane was stubborn enough to actually go confront him. After a long silence, I finally spoke. “He’s my ex-husband.” Jane’s jaw dropped. “What?!” 2 My mind drifted back to the first time I saw Tristan. He was the star alumnus invited to speak at my medical school graduation. On that stage, he was magnetic, brilliant, and completely out of reach. He moved with a quiet confidence that made it seem like the spotlight had been invented just for him. I fell for him instantly, a silent, hopeless crush. I knew a girl like me stood no chance with a man destined for the stratosphere. So when my father came home one evening and told me that the Sinclair family had selected me for an arranged marriage, I locked myself in my room and cried tears of pure joy. I thought I was the luckiest woman in the world. And in the beginning, our marriage felt like a dream. Tristan remembered every anniversary. He showered me with thoughtful gifts and brought home the random things I mentioned liking. For a couple of years, I was the envied Mrs. Sinclair, blessed with a loving husband and a thriving career as a rising star in cardiothoracic surgery. I pulled my lips into a bitter smile. But then, Vivian Mercer returned. She was loud, vibrant, and lived life on the edge. She chased adrenaline and radiated a wild, infectious energy. Tristan, the stoic man I had always thought of as an unshakeable pillar, was instantly drawn into her orbit. The first time, he missed my birthday dinner because he was skydiving with Vivian. The second time, he forgot our wedding anniversary entirely to help her photograph a sandstorm in the desert. It happened again and again, until it became a routine. By the time I reached this part of the story, Jane’s face was red with anger. “What an absolute, cold-blooded bastard,” she spat. I took a slow breath and continued. Eventually, I had reached my breaking point. I found Vivian and slid a check for five million dollars across the table. Leave him, I had told her. I am his wife. She had smiled and accepted the money. But that very night, Tristan stormed into our house and threw the check in my face. The sharp paper cut my cheek, but the look in his eyes hurt far worse. It was a cold, vicious fury I had never seen before. “Nora, don’t you dare use your dirty family money to insult Vivian,” he snarled. “As long as you stay quiet and behave, you will remain the respected Mrs. Sinclair. Don’t ruin it.” Jane was practically shaking. “Respected? Was he blind?” Apparently, he was. And back then, so was I. After that night, Tristan stopped hiding. He flaunted Vivian at social events and joined her in every dangerous stunt he had once called foolish. Skydiving, wingsuit flying, deep-sea diving. Until the night they went street racing, and their sports car wrapped around a concrete barrier. Vivian was rushed to my hospital. Her uterus was ruptured, her abdomen was filled with blood, and her vitals were flatlining. I was the chief surgeon on call that night. Jane held her breath, waiting. I hated Vivian, but my oath as a doctor was sacred. I blocked out my personal feelings and fought for hours to save her. In the end, to stop the catastrophic bleeding and keep her alive, I had no choice but to perform a hysterectomy. But when she woke up, they blamed me. “You did this on purpose!” Vivian screamed from her recovery bed, her face contorted with rage. “You wanted to make sure I could never have Tristan’s children!” I tried to explain the medical necessity, but she wouldn’t listen. In a fit of rage, she grabbed her heavy metal water flask and hurled it at my face. It struck my forehead. Blood poured into my eyes, hot and blinding. Exhausted and hurt, I walked out of her room. But there was no apology waiting for me. Instead, the hospital administration suspended me pending an investigation. A week later, I was quietly fired. And the day after Vivian was discharged, Tristan handed me the divorce papers. I begged. I cried. I made a fool of myself trying to claw back any shred of the man who had once held me gently. But he was hollow. “Nora, I don’t love you,” he said, his voice completely devoid of warmth. “I don’t even pity you anymore. Just sign it.” 3 Looking at Jane’s tear-stained face, a strange calmness settled over me. I reached out and patted her hand. “So you signed them and came straight to Jordan?” she asked, wiping her eyes. “No,” I whispered. “I didn’t.” Back then, the rejection had driven me mad. I grabbed the papers and tore them to shreds right in front of him. “I will never sign these, Tristan! Not unless I’m dead!” From that day on, Tristan never set foot in our home again. Instead, he used his massive financial influence to systematically dismantle my family’s business, trying to starve me into submission. In my desperation, I did the stupidest thing of my life. I leaked intimate photos of him and Vivian to the press. Overnight, Vivian was branded a homewrecker. The public backlash was vicious. But that act of retaliation triggered my absolute ruin. Within twelve hours, the internet was flooded with highly realistic, AI-generated nude photos and explicit videos with my face on them. No matter how much I screamed that they were fake, nobody believed me. Furious, I drove to the Sinclair headquarters. Every employee I passed whispered and pointed, their eyes filled with disgust. Tristan’s assistant tried to block me, but I shoved past him and threw open the office door. Tristan and Vivian were wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing passionately. The sight made my stomach turn. I lost control. I ran forward and slapped Vivian across the face. The next second, a heavy blow struck my own cheek, sending me crashing to the floor. My face went numb. Tristan stood over me, his eyes icy. “Nora, I’ve tolerated your tantrums for too long. It seems your family has no reason to exist in this city anymore.” As I lay on the floor, cradling my bruising face, my phone rang. It was my father. His voice sounded incredibly fragile. He told me that my mother’s heart had failed after seeing the horrific things written about me online. She was in the ICU. A week later, my family went completely bankrupt. My parents had to sell everything, including their home, just to settle the debts. They aged ten years in a matter of days. On the day they prepared to leave New York, my father hugged me tightly. His shoulders were stooped, his spirit broken. “Let him go, Nora,” he wept into my hair. “Tristan is not a good man. Come home with us.” Looking at my broken parents, the fog of my obsession finally cleared. I realized my stubbornness had destroyed the only people who truly loved me. “I will, Dad,” I sobbed. “Let me just finalize the paperwork, and I’ll join you.” I went back to my empty apartment to pack my things, waiting for Tristan’s lawyers to bring the new papers. But as I was wrapping up a box, the world spun, and I collapsed. I woke up in a hospital bed. The doctor delivered the news with a gentle smile. I was two months pregnant. That tiny heartbeat threw everything into chaos. I wanted to divorce him and raise the child alone, but the Sinclair family refused to let their bloodline be raised outside their household. For a brief moment, Tristan and I reached a tense, fragile truce. Until the afternoon I was kidnapped. I woke up tied to a chair in a damp, abandoned warehouse. Vivian stood over me, looking down at my bound hands with a smug grin. “Nora, let’s play a game. Who do you think Tristan will choose? You, or me?” I closed my eyes, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing my fear. When Tristan finally burst through the door, my heart leaped. “Tristan, please,” I begged, tears streaming down my face. “Save the baby! Vivian set this whole thing up!” But my pleas only made his face harden with disgust. He looked at me as if I were a monster, a crazy woman who would stage her own kidnapping just to win him back. Without a second thought, he untied Vivian, scooped her into his arms, and walked out. He left me behind, bound and pregnant, in the dark. Once Tristan was gone, the men Vivian hired stepped out of the shadows. Under her parting instructions, they beat me until the floor was slick with my blood. They left me there to rot. But I couldn’t die. I had to get back to my parents. I dragged my broken body across the concrete floor, inch by inch, crawling toward the light. I crawled for an entire day and night before someone finally found me. By the time I woke up in the hospital, the baby was gone. And my heart died that day, buried alongside my unborn child.

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There are two famous good-for-nothings in New York’s high society. One is me, Celine, who only knows how to eat, drink, and have fun. The other is my childhood friend Tony, the heir to a fortune who has autism and congenital heart failure. But my eldest brother is the mafia boss that strikes fear into everyone’s hearts, and my second brother is the wealthiest billionaire in New York. Tony’s eldest sister is the undefeated queen of the legal world, and his second sister is a medical genius who can bring people back from the brink of death. During a casual conversation: “Raising one waste is still raising, might as well pair them up—easier to take care of.” So Tony and I got married just like that. Until my eldest brother asked us to attend a banquet on his behalf. At the banquet, the heiress Eve Blanchett insisted, based on a similar silhouette photo, that I was the mistress who wrecked her relationship. I explained good-naturedly: “You’ve got the wrong person. I’m married. This is my husband.” Eve exploded instantly, raising her hand to hit me. “Married and still out here hooking men?” Tony instinctively blocked me, taking the slap for me. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. She sneered: “Oh, and he’s an idiot too? Can’t even tell his wife’s cheating, and he’s still protecting her?” “A shameless woman and an idiot—what a perfect match.” She waved her hand, and several bodyguards lunged at us. “Beat them both!” I looked at Tony with distress and immediately called my eldest brother. “Someone’s bullying me.” After all, they didn’t know that messing with us two wastes could be fatal.

“Still making phone calls? I bet whoever you’re calling is just another man you’re sleeping with!” Eve snatched my phone and smashed it hard on the ground. “What, one idiot husband isn’t enough for you? How many sugar daddies have you taken on behind his back?” I stared at my phone on the floor and took a deep breath. “Miss Blanchett, I’ll say this one last time.” “You have the wrong person.” “Leave now with your people, and I can pretend nothing happened.” Eve burst out laughing. She turned to look at the guests watching the spectacle. “Did you all hear that? A mistress who sells herself is telling me to leave?” Laughter rippled through the crowd. “Miss Blanchett, mistresses are pretty arrogant these days.” “Exactly! Even brought an idiot husband as cover. Now I’ve seen everything.” Eve stepped closer in her four-inch heels. She raised her hand, her nails nearly poking my nose. “In New York, I am the law.” “Beat them!” The bodyguards clenched their fists and charged at me. I instinctively closed my eyes. The expected pain never came. Tony was holding me tightly in his arms. “Don’t… hit Celine.” He spoke slowly, his words unclear. He had severe autism and didn’t know what was happening. But he only knew he couldn’t let me get hurt, so he held me tight. The bodyguards’ fists kept landing on his back. Thud! Thud! Each muffled sound hammered at my heart. “Tony!” I struggled desperately to break free from his embrace. “Let go of me! You have a bad heart, you can’t take hits!” Tony stubbornly shook his head. His face turned deathly pale, but his arms around me didn’t loosen even a fraction. “Celine… doesn’t hurt.” “Won’t let Celine hurt. I’ll block it.” He forced out a smile to comfort me. This idiot! He was trembling from pain himself, yet he was still worried about whether I was hurting! “Stop! Stop it!” He had a heart condition and couldn’t withstand this kind of beating. My eyes turned red as I whipped around to glare at Eve. “Stop! If you keep hitting him, he’ll die.” The servants around us whispered among themselves. “Those clothes look real. This girl’s demeanor doesn’t seem like a mistress either.” “Shh, do you have a death wish? Miss Blanchett is furious right now. Who dares cross her?” Eve’s butler wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and reminded her quietly. “Miss Blanchett, that gentleman’s complexion doesn’t look good. He seems to have a heart condition.” “If someone actually dies…” Eve backhanded the butler with a slap. “Shut up!” “An idiot pretending to be precious?” She pointed at Tony, her eyes contemptuous. “Forget one life—even if there were ten more, I could afford the compensation!” “Drag this pair of adulterers to the main hall!” “I want all of New York to see what happens when you try to steal from me!” The bodyguards roughly dragged Tony and me toward the main hall. Tony gripped my hand tightly, his fingers ice cold. His chest heaved violently, fine beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead. I struggled desperately, my heels scraping harsh sounds across the floor. “Don’t touch him! He has a heart condition!” “You’ll kill him!” Eve walked ahead without even turning her head. “Then let him die.”

Tony and I were thrown onto the red carpet of the banquet hall. Eve walked toward the stage in the center of the hall. “Everyone, quiet please.” The entire venue fell silent instantly. All eyes focused on Tony and me. Eve snapped her fingers. The massive LED screen behind her lit up instantly. On the screen was a blurry photo of someone’s back. The woman in the photo wore a white haute couture dress. She was getting into a black Maybach. Eve pointed at the screen, then at me. “This woman is the slut who seduced my husband in this photo!” “Married and still out hooking up with men, using an idiot husband as a shield.” “Does she think everyone in New York is blind?” “Everyone look—does she look like her?” I happened to be wearing a white dress today too. But anyone with any sense could tell that the fabric and tailoring of my dress were leagues above the one in the photo. My second brother Henry had it specially air-shipped from Paris for me. But in this hall, no one dared tell the truth. “That dress is identical, even the hairstyle is similar. It must be her.” “Truly shameless times we live in. Looks pure on the outside, but so slutty inside.” “That idiot is pitiful too. Getting cuckolded and still counting money for someone else.” Those vicious comments flooded over me. Tony was already extremely sensitive to bright lights and noise. The surrounding clamor and stares made him cover his ears in pain. “Celine…” He curled up on the ground, his breathing growing more rapid. His lip color visibly drained away, turning blue-purple. I broke down emotionally and threw myself over to him, holding him in my arms. “Tony! Look at me! Deep breaths!” My hands trembled as I searched his pockets. He always carried his emergency medication and portable oxygen pump. The oxygen pump was a device that my second sister Wendy personally developed specifically for Tony’s heart condition. Just as my fingers touched the medicine bottle. Eve had already walked down from the stage and stomped hard on the back of my hand with her heel. She snatched away the medicine and oxygen pump. “Want this to save his life?” Eve tossed the oxygen pump in her hand. “Beg me.” “Get on your knees and admit you’re a mistress, and I’ll give it to you.” “Celine… don’t beg her…” He struggled to get out a few words. “Eve Blanchett!” I raised my head and stared hard at her. “My eldest brother is Theodore Brown, New York’s most famous mafia boss!” “If you dare touch a hair on his head, the Brown family will never let you go!” Eve froze for a moment, then burst into hysterical laughter. “Theodore Brown?” She laughed until tears came out. “Have you been reading too many novels?” “If you’re Theodore’s sister, then I’m God’s daughter!” “You don’t even do your research before lying! No one from the Brown family is here tonight!” True, my eldest brother hadn’t originally planned to attend the banquet tonight. I was just bored playing around New York and heard the Blanchett family banquet would be lively, so I brought Tony along to join the fun and get a free meal. Seeing my silence, Eve laughed even more mockingly. “What? Can’t keep up the lie anymore?” She tilted her chin up. “If the Brown family were really here, my father would have cleared the venue to welcome them!” The butler looked at Tony’s increasingly terrible condition and couldn’t help stepping forward. “Miss Blanchett, the oxygen pump can’t be interrupted. He really doesn’t look good.” Eve’s smile vanished instantly. She glared viciously at the butler. “I said if he dies, I’ll pay!” Right in front of everyone, she smashed the oxygen pump hard on the ground. With a loud crash, it shattered to pieces. “No!” I broke down emotionally and lunged forward, but two other bodyguards held me down firmly. Eve grabbed my hair and forced me to look up. “Does it hurt?” “Then be good and kneel down. Apologize to all of New York on livestream!” “Admit you’re a shameless mistress. Admit you seduced my husband!” “As long as you kowtow and admit your mistake, I’ll be merciful and have someone send this idiot to the hospital.” Tony struggled to open his eyes. He shook his head at me. “Celine… don’t kneel.” But how could I not kneel? This was Tony, who I’d grown up with since childhood. Just as I was about to kneel. Outside the tightly closed heavy mahogany doors of the banquet hall, there was suddenly a deep, muffled bang.

Bang! Bang! One after another. “Miss Celine, are you in there?” Everyone stared at the door in terror. My eyes lit up instantly. It was my eldest brother’s agents planted in New York. They’d come! I struggled free from the bodyguards’ grip and screamed toward the door at the top of my lungs. “I’m here!” My heart leaped with joy as I shouted hoarsely. “I’m here! Save Tony! Save him quickly!” Eve’s expression changed, then she showed even more contempt. “Your lover actually has some backbone? He really came?” She straightened her wrinkled skirt, laughing coldly. “But a bunch of underground thugs who can’t see the light of day dare to crash my Blanchett family’s party?” “They really don’t know what’s good for them!” She picked up her walkie-talkie, her voice low. “Security team! Riot squad! Everyone mobilize!” “Beat those thugs outside to death! Break their legs!” “Activate Level One lockdown protocol. Lock down all electromagnetic doors!” “Not even a fly gets in today!” With her command, metal shutters around the banquet hall crashed down. Completely sealing off all sounds from outside. The heavy doors were locked tight with several steel chains. The sounds of fighting and door-breaking from outside gradually became faint. The hope that had just ignited in me was ruthlessly crushed by these doors. “No! Open the door! Open it!” I rushed frantically toward the door, pounding on the shutters with my fists. My knuckles scraped raw, blood dripping, but I felt no pain. “Tony can’t wait!” “Open the door!” Eve walked up behind me, grabbed my collar, and threw me to the ground. “Scream! Keep screaming!” She looked down at me from above, savoring my despair. “See that?” “This is your backup? Pretty weak~” “In New York, if I don’t want someone to get in, they’ll have to kneel outside no matter who they are!” She pointed at Tony, who had fallen into semi-consciousness on the ground. “He’s dying, isn’t he?” “This is all your fault!” “If you’d just admitted you were a mistress earlier, if you’d just kowtowed and admitted your mistake, how would he be suffering like this?” “Now the door’s sealed. Your kneeling is useless!” I looked at Tony’s purple lips, tears bursting from my eyes. I had never hated anyone this much. Even when I encountered those passive-aggressive socialites before, I just laughed it off. Because I had four siblings protecting me. I didn’t need to fight or compete. I just needed to be a happy little princess. But now my most important Tony was about to die in front of me. And I was powerless. “Eve…” I stared hard at her, my voice hoarse. “If anything happens to him today, I’ll make your entire Blanchett family pay with their lives.” Eve laughed loudly. “Oh my, I’m so scared~” Just then, the butler rushed in. He looked somewhat panicked, lowering his voice to say something in Eve’s ear. Eve’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Aiden’s here?” Hearing that name, a glimmer of hope ignited in my heart. As long as he came forward to clarify, to prove I didn’t know him, to prove the person in the photo wasn’t me. The misunderstanding could be cleared up! Tony could go to the hospital! “Aiden!” Eve immediately went to greet him, her eyes reddening. “Look at this woman. She actually dared to come to my banquet and cause trouble!” “She even brought an idiot to disgust me!” Aiden’s gaze swept across the entire venue, finally landing on me. I forced myself to stand up and pointed at the photo on the big screen. “Mr. Aiden!” “Tell her quickly that I don’t know you at all!” “The person in the photo isn’t me!”

Aiden pushed up his glasses. His gaze swept back and forth between me and the big screen. As long as he said he didn’t know me, this farce could end. However, Aiden remained silent. He lowered his eyes, avoiding my gaze. When he looked up again, his face wore an expression of pained heartbreak. “Miss Celine.” He sighed, his voice gentle yet cutting. “I already told you we could never be together.” “Why do you keep pestering me?” “Even… even chasing me to my wife’s banquet to cause a scene?” My eyes widened, my whole body turning cold. “What did you say?” My voice trembled. “Are you insane? I’ve never even seen you before!” But Aiden no longer looked at me. He turned around and held Eve’s hand. “Eve, I’m sorry.” “She kept pestering me. I was soft-hearted and didn’t completely reject her.” “But I swear, you’re the only one in my heart.” “I’ll handle this. Please don’t be angry, okay?” Eve’s face twisted with rage. “Bitch!” Eve whirled around and kicked me hard in the stomach. Caught off guard, I was sent flying and crashed heavily to the ground. My internal organs screamed with pain, making me convulse. “What else do you have to say?” Eve shrieked, completely losing her mind. “My husband admitted it! You still dare argue!” I clutched my stomach, cold sweat pouring down. I looked at Aiden’s evasive eyes and finally understood. Of course he knew I wasn’t the woman in the photo. Because he wanted to protect the woman he loved. So he didn’t hesitate to push me out as a scapegoat! “Aiden… you’ll die a horrible death…” I stared hard at him. A flash of guilt crossed Aiden’s eyes, but he quickly recovered his cold indifference. “Pick her up.” Eve’s voice was ice cold. “Make her kneel!” Several bodyguards immediately rushed forward, pressed me to the ground, and forced me to kneel toward the big screen. Eve pointed at Tony, who lay motionless on the ground. “Drag him to that display platform!” That platform had an extremely strong electromagnetic field set up to display floating jewelry. “No!” My eyes widened as I shouted and struggled. “He has an implanted defibrillator in his heart! Strong magnets will cause cardiac arrest!” “Please! Spare him!” Eve turned a deaf ear. The bodyguards dragged Tony next to the display platform. As soon as he got close to the platform, the monitoring patch on Tony’s chest emitted a piercing alarm. His body began to convulse violently, his eyes rolling back. “Tony!” I screamed with all my might, my voice breaking instantly. Eve walked up to me and raised her hand. Slap! A resounding slap landed on my face. My cheek swelled instantly, and I tasted blood at the corner of my mouth. Eve rubbed her wrist, her eyes vicious. “This slap is to teach you how to be human.” She raised her hand again. Slap! “This slap is for your shamelessness.” The monitoring patch’s alarm grew more and more shrill. I watched Tony’s face gradually lose its vitality, my heart turning to ash. I bit my lip hard, staring at her intently. “You’d better pray you can kill me today. Otherwise, you’ll regret being born into this world.” Eve laughed loudly. “Regret? I don’t know if I’ll regret it, but I’ll make you regret being a mistress.” “Let’s see what you’ll use to seduce men without this face.” As she spoke, she took a knife from a bodyguard. The blade gleamed with cold light, aimed straight at my cheek. Just as the knife was about to cut my skin, I closed my eyes. Bang! The shutters were torn apart by force. “You dare touch my sister?”

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In my last life, my coworker Leslie begged me to switch shifts with her. “Olivia, I have a date with my boyfriend tomorrow. Let me work today, and you cover for me tomorrow!” I nodded and agreed. I just never expected that Leslie would give the wrong medication that very night, causing the patient in Room 3 to die from respiratory failure. The next day when I covered her shift, the family of the patient in Room 3 suddenly burst into our office. Before I could react, Leslie shoved me into the crowd. She held up the shift schedule in her hand. “She was on duty yesterday. The patient died because of her mistake!” The furious family members tore at my clothes and struck my head. I died on the spot. After I died, I learned that the boyfriend she mentioned was actually my husband! They even took the compensation money the hospital gave me and chose to travel abroad. When I opened my eyes again, Leslie was clinging pitifully to my arm. “Olivia, I have something I need to discuss with you.”

The warmth on my arm made me shudder instantly. I couldn’t help but let my gaze fall on Leslie. She shook my arm and acted cute toward me. “Olivia, please do me this favor.” “Tomorrow is my one-year anniversary with my boyfriend. We already made plans.” She blinked her eyes, looking very innocent. “I know you’re the nicest person in our department. You definitely won’t refuse me, right?” I suppressed the hatred in my heart and gently pushed her hand away. “I’ll agree to it.” “That’s great, Olivia! I knew you were the best.” “But I have one condition.” I interrupted her words rather coldly. In an instant, the enthusiasm on her face vanished completely. Her voice even became somewhat dissatisfied. “What condition, Olivia?” As I spoke, I turned and took out a piece of paper and a pen from the drawer. “I need you to write down the specific time, the reason for switching shifts with me, and then sign your name.” “Then you need to hold this paper and let me take a photo of you.” As soon as I finished speaking, Leslie screamed. “Olivia! You’re going too far!” She bit her lip tightly, her tears threatening to fall. “We’re coworkers. I just want to switch shifts!” “Do you really need to make things so difficult for me?” I raised my eyebrows and pretended to put the paper away. “Since you don’t want to switch, then forget it.” As I said this, I deliberately glanced at her. She became visibly anxious. Seeing that I really didn’t intend to switch shifts, she hurriedly came over again. She gritted her teeth. “Fine, I’ll write it.” Without another word, I handed the paper to her. “Then write it.” The moment she spoke, I knew she absolutely had to switch this shift with me. After all, this was the only way she could get me killed. In my last life, Leslie came to me near the end of my shift asking me to switch with her. Looking at her harmless appearance, I agreed without hesitation. “Okay, I’ll cover for you the day after tomorrow.” I just never expected that my casual agreement would bring disaster upon me! The next day when Leslie covered my shift, she carelessly gave the wrong medication to the patient in Room 3. The patient immediately went into respiratory failure, but she just stood there helplessly at first, not even pressing the emergency bell. Only when the patient was on the brink of death did she pretend to perform a few chest compressions. The person died in the hospital, but she hid it from the family and lied to the hospital until the next day when the patient’s family came and discovered the abnormality. I had just entered the office when a large group of people suddenly rushed through the door. They angrily asked, “Which one of you was on duty yesterday?” I was confused and looked at Leslie beside me. I never expected her to quickly pull out our shift schedule from the drawer. Then she viciously pointed at me. “It was her! She was on duty yesterday.” “This is our shift schedule. You can look at it if you don’t believe me.” I didn’t even have a chance to speak before a man grabbed my hair. “You killed my father. I’ll beat you to death!” Everyone rushed forward, pushing me to the ground, stomping on my head with their feet one after another. “Olivia?” “I’m done writing. Take a look.” Leslie’s voice pulled me back from my thoughts. I took the paper from her. It clearly stated the reason she wanted to switch shifts, the date, and her name. I nodded with some satisfaction. “Okay, now hold up that paper and stand over there so I can take a photo.” Leslie’s face looked somewhat unpleasant, and her tone became much colder. “Olivia, you’re going a bit too far.” “I already wrote it out for you, and now you want me to take a photo. Don’t you trust me?” I laughed coldly. “Yes. If you don’t want to switch shifts, then you don’t need to take the photo.” “I’m going home now.” As I spoke, I started putting on my coat. She quickly came over to pull me back. “Okay, okay, don’t be angry, Olivia. I’ll let you take the photo.” She held up the paper with a resentful expression and stood in the distance, letting me take that photo. I looked at my phone with satisfaction. “Okay, then I’ll leave tomorrow to you.”

When I got home, my husband Manuel had made a whole table full of food. He thoughtfully took my coat from me. “Olivia, it must have been a hard day. Hurry and eat, the food’s getting cold.” I sat down without ceremony and forked a piece of meat into my bowl. “Why did you make such a feast today? Is there some good news?” Manuel, who was about to sit down, showed a flash of unnaturalness on his face. He licked his lips. “I just felt you’ve been working too hard lately, and since I had the day off today, I wanted to reward you.” Then he laughed dryly twice. “How is it? Does it taste good?” I played along with him. “It’s delicious. I really hope I can eat your cooking every day from now on.” His fork paused slightly as he picked up food, not daring to respond. This meal was eaten with both of us harboring our own thoughts. “I’m going to take a shower first.” As I spoke, I left my phone on the table, gave Manuel a few instructions, and went into the bathroom. When I came out, the dining table had been cleaned up. He was also dressed and ready to go. Seeing my confused expression, he spoke with frustration. “The company called in the middle of the night saying there’s a problem with a contract. They want me to go redo it now.” Then he came over, hugged me, and kissed me. “Olivia, you’ll have to sleep alone again tonight.” I smiled and teased him. It wasn’t until the door closed that I could no longer hold back that nauseating feeling and ran straight to the toilet to vomit. If I didn’t know his true face, I would have been moved to tears by his affectionate act long ago. We’d been married for a year and a half. He’d been cheating for a year. In my last life, he was the one who orchestrated Leslie switching shifts with me. “I know that patient in Room 3 you’re watching over.” “His son is a famous hothead in this area. A maniac.” “Do you want to be with me?” Just a few short sentences made Leslie kill someone. And I took the blame for them. After I died, the hospital downplayed the incident. As compensation, they gave Manuel a large sum of money. As soon as Manuel got the money, Leslie quit her job. Later, the two of them sold our marital home, got their visas, and went abroad. Thinking about how the two of them lived the good life with my blood money, my hatred completely erupted. Early the next morning, I went to the bank. To show his sincerity, Manuel had given me his bank card. “Olivia, now that you’re marrying me, I need to give you a complete sense of security.” “You can see all the spending on this bank card.” I trusted him one hundred percent. In all our time married, I never once looked at his phone or checked his transaction records. He also knew I was someone who didn’t like prying into others’ privacy, so he dared to say such things. Looking at the spending records printed out by the bank, I almost laughed until I cried. In just one month, he’d checked into the Harmony Hotel near the hospital fifteen times. The most recent time was last night. There were also purchases of lingerie and various sex toys. Looking at the spending records, I logged into his cloud storage with my phone. Inside, I found a large number of intimate photos of him and Leslie. I downloaded these photos one by one. Everything was ready. I just had to wait until tomorrow! In the evening, Manuel called me. “Olivia, the company has overtime again. I won’t be coming home today.” “Okay.” Compared to him, I didn’t want to see his disgusting face even more.

Early the next morning, I got ready and went to the hospital. Just like in my last life, as soon as I took off my coat, a large group of people gathered at the office door. And Leslie emerged from the back door of the office with a completely unconcerned expression. She raised her eyebrows at me, but her eyes held deep hatred. The patient’s family members were shouting for us nurses to pay with our lives. “You bitches killed my father!” “Who was on duty yesterday?” I quickly spoke up. “Leslie, what’s going on?” “Did something happen during your shift yesterday?” As I spoke, I stared directly at Leslie. The family members naturally heard my words. They followed my gaze and grabbed Leslie. “Was it you, you bitch, who was on duty?” Leslie panicked a bit but still shouted, “It wasn’t me! It wasn’t me!” “We have a shift schedule!” A woman in the crowd spoke up. “If it wasn’t you, then who was it?” “Since you weren’t on duty, then who was?” Leslie quickly broke free from the crowd and then suddenly pushed me. “Her! She was on duty.” She quickly pulled open the drawer and took out the shift schedule. “If you don’t believe me, you can look!” “Look at whether it was Leslie or Olivia on duty yesterday!” Because she was too frightened, her speech became somewhat garbled. The lead man looked at the shift schedule, read out the time, and then read out my name. He angrily threw the shift schedule in my face. “You bitch, how dare you frame someone else!” I covered my head and shouted that it wasn’t me. “It really wasn’t me! Leslie switched shifts with me yesterday!” “I have evidence, evidence that can prove it!” My voice was shrill and piercing. The entire office instantly became quiet. The man was breathing heavily. “Fine, what evidence do you have?” Just as I was about to take out my phone, Leslie suddenly knelt down before me. “Olivia, why are you framing me?” As she spoke, tears fell from her eyes. “Is it because I came here and stole all your spotlight?” I was completely confused by her words. “What are you talking about?” She apologized to me. “I know it was a mistake for me to come here as an intern.” “You’ve been targeting me at work, mocking me openly and secretly.” “I can let all of that go!” She turned and pointed. “But now you’re indirectly responsible for killing a patient!” “Do I have to take the blame for this kind of mistake too?” People always sympathize with the underdog, including the angry family members now. My breathing became rapid, and then I quickly pulled out my phone. “I also have a photo of you begging me to switch shifts yesterday. I don’t understand why you’re trying to frame me now!” The patient’s family members glared at me menacingly. There was even a man in the crowd holding a fruit knife. Just as I took out my phone to prove my innocence, I was shocked to discover that the photo on my phone was gone! “How can this be?” I muttered helplessly. At this moment, Leslie, who was kneeling on the ground, looked arrogant. At an angle only I could see, she mouthed words to me. “Wait to die.” The family members lost patience. “Do you have the damn photo or not?” “Don’t try to deceive us! If I find out you’re lying to us, you better prepare to die!”

I became somewhat panicked, and the sweat on my forehead increased. Leslie had already stood up from the ground. “Olivia, when you make a mistake, you need to admit it.” “You can’t keep using me as your shield!” As soon as she finished speaking, I laughed. Then I showed my phone to the group of fierce-looking people across from me. “I found it.” I found it on my Instagram. “Look, isn’t this her in this photo?” “If you can’t see clearly, I have a close-up of what she wrote.” As I spoke, I swiped left. “Look.” “It’s true that my name is Olivia, but Leslie switched shifts with me yesterday.” “The reason she gave was that she wanted to go on a date with her boyfriend.” “It’s all written here, clear as day.” The man with the knife could no longer contain his emotions. He pushed through the crowd and grabbed Leslie to his side. He casually patted Leslie’s face with the knife. “Damn bitch, I fucking hate it when people lie to me.” With that, he put away the knife and punched Leslie in the stomach. Leslie cried out in pain, and tears fell from her eyes. Looking at her pained expression, my mind was filled with my experiences from my last life. A group of them surrounded me, punching me again and again. When I fell to the ground, they even stepped on me with their feet to vent their anger. Just as the man was about to strike again, the man holding my phone shouted, “Wait, don’t hit her yet.” I felt uneasy. I saw him glaring at me ominously. “This person just said you often bully her.” “How do we know you didn’t force her to write this?” At this moment, Leslie grabbed onto this lifeline and desperately shouted, “Yes, she forced me to write it.” The man seemed to have decided I was the bad person and pressed me step by step. Until I had no way to retreat and was hiding in the corner. “Tell me, what reason do you have that we should believe you?” Another man punched Leslie again. “Don’t waste words with this woman.” “Just beat them both to death!” Just as the man’s fist was about to come down, I quickly cried out. “I have a witness!” “I was home yesterday! My husband can vouch for me!” As I said this, I inadvertently glanced at Leslie in the distance. Her eyes suddenly brightened. But the man was unmoved. “Why should we believe you?” “You’re not trying to stall for time and secretly call the police, are you?” At this time of day, everyone in the hospital was busy with their own tasks. Plus, my office was in the most inconspicuous location, which is what caused the tragedy in my last life. I quickly shook my head. “No.” As soon as I finished speaking, the office door was pushed open. Standing in the doorway was Manuel. He looked at the room full of people and couldn’t help but panic. The man standing in front of me also recognized him. “Manuel, we’ve known each other for quite a while. She’s your wife?” Manuel walked over quickly. “What’s going on here? She’s my wife, Olivia.” “I’m just going to ask you one question. Was she home yesterday?” he asked again. Manuel didn’t dare make eye contact with me for a long time. He hesitated for a long while before finally saying, “No, I didn’t see her at home yesterday.”

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For generations, my family has produced high-ranking females who bring good fortune and bear top-tier beast cubs. But after marrying Lion King Emmett for seven years, I showed no signs of pregnancy. During those seven years, his mother treated me like a slave, and the entire tribe mocked me as a useless woman who couldn’t produce an heir. Until that day when Emmett brought back a delicate white rabbit female. He drained a bowl of my heart’s blood in front of everyone and kicked me off Sin Beast Cliff, where bodies are never recovered. “You’re useless trash occupying the Chief’s wife position. Go feed the vultures!” I thought I was dead. But when I opened my eyes, I found myself staring into a pair of dark green, sinister vertical pupils. The legendary bloodthirsty, one-legged psychotic Leopard King was coldly watching me. Later, when divine punishment struck the Lion Tribe and decimated their numbers, Emmett knelt at the cliff’s edge, begging me to return. I looked down at him from above, my pregnant belly protruding: “Get lost. Don’t wake the little black leopard in my belly.”

Wind swept across the Beast Platform like knives. Two strong lion males pinned me against the sacrificial post. My wrists were slashed open, blood dripping down the rough stone grooves into the stone bowl below. Drip. Drip. My blood was almost drained. My whole body trembled from the cold. “Emmett…” My cracked lips moved as I looked toward the man standing on the high platform. The man I’d loved for seven years, served for seven years, and even sacrificed my heart’s blood to cure. He wore the crimson tiger fur I’d sewn with my own hands, looking majestic and imposing. But in his arms, he held a petite, delicate white rabbit female. “Don’t call my name. It disgusts me.” Emmett looked down at me with only revulsion in his eyes. His mother, the tribe’s old witch doctor, hobbled over with her cane and picked up the stone bowl filled with my blood. “Bah! Useless trash who can’t bear children!” The old witch doctor spat a thick glob of phlegm at my feet. “Seven years! Eating our Lion Tribe’s food, drinking our Lion Tribe’s water, and not even a shadow of a cub! Today, draining a bowl of your blood to nourish Grace’s bloodline is the last bit of value you have!” Grace leaned against Emmett’s chest, saying timidly, “Emmett, she’s lost so much blood. Will she die? I’m scared.” Emmett tenderly covered her eyes. “Good girl, don’t look at this filthy thing. Trash like her isn’t worth pitying even if she dies.” Filthy thing. I laughed. Seven years ago, he knelt before my father, swearing he’d treasure me like his own eyes for life. Seven years later, I’d become the filthy thing in his mouth. “Emmett, what did you promise my brother?” I gritted my teeth, staring at him intently. When I mentioned my brother, Emmett’s expression changed, guilt flashing in his eyes before quickly turning to anger. “You dare mention your brother? If he hadn’t traded his eye to make me marry you, you think I’d want a useless woman who can’t bear cubs?” Emmett suddenly drew the bone knife from his waist, pointing it at my nose. “Today, I announce before the entire tribe — I’m stripping Sophia of her position as Chief’s wife! From now on, whether she lives or dies has nothing to do with our Lion Tribe!” The entire crowd cheered. “Should’ve gotten rid of her long ago!” “Exactly! Occupying the position without producing cubs, she’s caused our Lion Tribe’s fortune to decline!” “Throw her off Sin Beast Cliff! Let her die!” Sin Beast Cliff. The tribe’s forbidden land, where poisonous mist lingered year-round at the bottom, filled with disabled, crazed beasts abandoned by the tribe. Fall down there, and not even bone fragments would remain. Emmett walked up to me, his gaze as cold as if looking at a corpse. “Sophia, for old times’ sake, I’ll personally send you off.” With that, he lifted his foot and kicked hard into my chest. Searing pain struck. My body flew like a kite with a cut string, plummeting straight into the bottomless abyss. Wind howled in my ears. I closed my eyes. If there’s a next life, I’ll never be anyone’s stepping stone again.

Pain. Piercing pain. I thought I’d be smashed to pulp or poisoned to death by the toxic mist at the cliff’s bottom. But I wasn’t. I hung on a massive dead tree, its branches piercing through my thigh, blood gushing out. Everything around was dark, the air thick with pungent rot and intense wild beast scent. This was the bottom of Sin Beast Cliff. I gritted my teeth and pulled my thigh off the branch bit by bit. “Hiss–” I gasped in pain and fell heavily onto moss-covered rocks. Before I could catch my breath, several pairs of eerie green eyes suddenly lit up in the darkness. Hyenas. The lowest scavengers at the cliff’s bottom. They’d caught the scent of blood and were drooling as they closed in on me. I fumbled for a rock and gripped it tightly, staring them down. Even if I die, I’m taking one with me. Just as the lead hyena prepared to pounce — “ROAR!” A low, hoarse beast roar carrying terrifying pressure came from nearby. The pack of hyenas fled whimpering with their tails between their legs, as if they’d seen some terrible monster. I looked toward the sound. A tall shadow emerged from the thick fog. It was a man. Or rather, a half-beast. His upper body was bare, muscles coiled, covered with horrifying crisscrossing scars. Most striking was his right leg — below the knee, empty. He leaned on a crude black bone crutch, approaching me step by step. He walked up to me, looking down from above. In the faint light, I finally saw his face clearly. An extremely wild, handsome face, but with a claw mark on his left cheek so deep bone showed through, destroying the beauty and making it exceptionally fierce. He had dark green vertical pupils. A black panther. I recognized him. Dante Blackwood. Once the greatest warrior of Beast Mountain, chief of the Black Panther Tribe. Five years ago, while resisting the beast tide, he lost a leg and his face was ruined. Betrayed by his tribesmen, he was pushed off Sin Beast Cliff. Everyone thought he was dead. I never expected he’d survived and become the overlord of this cliff bottom. “Lion Tribe scent.” He spoke, his voice like sandpaper, ice-cold. He lifted my chin with his crutch, looking at me like garbage. “Are those above throwing down trash like you now?” I bit my lip and said nothing. I didn’t want to explain or beg for mercy. He stared at me for a few seconds, seeming to find me uninteresting. He withdrew his crutch and turned to leave. “Wait!” I don’t know where I found the strength, but I lunged forward and grabbed his good leg. His body stiffened. He looked down at me, killing intent flashing in his eyes. “Let go.” “No.” I held on tight. “Take me with you. I can work. I know herbs. I can sew beast hides.” I knew that at this cliff bottom, an injured female like me wouldn’t survive the night. Dante was my only chance at survival. He sneered. “I don’t need trash.” “I’m not trash!” I raised my head, looking straight into those terrifying vertical pupils. “I just can’t bear children, but I can help you live better at this cliff bottom!” He narrowed his eyes, seeming to assess my value. After a long while, he kicked me away. “If you can keep up, come. Die halfway, and it’s your bad luck.” With that, he walked away without looking back. I gritted my teeth, covered my bleeding thigh, and limped after him.

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Before the school stage play performance, my daughter Betty came home clutching a dingy cardboard costume, secretly wiping tears in the corner. I asked her what role she was playing. She mumbled quietly, “A trash can.” Her teacher posted the program schedule in the group chat, explaining: “Every child is important. Trash cans are also part of urban civilization.” But when I clicked on it, I discovered that the school board chairman’s daughter was playing the princess, and the PTA president’s son was playing the prince. And my daughter’s name was placed at the very bottom of the “Background Props Group.” My daughter’s teacher messaged me privately: “Mrs. James, don’t be too fussy. Your family hasn’t really contributed much to the class.” I looked at the contract on the table that I’d just signed and smiled. That cardboard costume was hastily thrown together from delivery boxes. Square and boxy, painted with a layer of gray, with the words “Trash Can” crookedly stuck on the chest. My daughter Betty stood in the entryway, fingers twisting the hem of her clothes, eyes red as if she’d just been crying. She’s seven years old this year. Usually she’d feel bad for half a day if her dress hem got a little muddy, but now she clutched that dirty cardboard costume, trying hard to act like it didn’t matter. “Mom, Samantha said this role is important too.” Her voice got smaller and smaller. “Everyone needs to protect the environment, so we need trash cans.” I crouched down and took the cardboard costume from her arms. The gray paint wasn’t completely dry yet and got all over my hands. I suppressed my anger and asked her, “Didn’t you say before that you were going to play the little artist with a paintbrush?” Half a month ago, she practiced her lines in front of the mirror every night. “I’m going to paint the sky blue and paint every child into springtime.” One line, she’d practice seriously more than ten times. She even showed me her sketch. Rainbows, stages, balloons, and a group of children standing in the center. She said the teacher praised her drawing as the best and would let her be the opening little artist for Children’s Day. Betty lowered her head. “Samantha said Christiana is more suitable for the little artist.” “Her dad is the school board chairman. The principal said she has to stand in the center.” I picked up my phone and opened the class group chat. The program schedule had just been posted: “Childlike Hearts Toward the Future.” Princess: Christiana. Prince: Mendez. Little Artist: Christiana. Flower Team: PTA members’ children. Background Props Group: Betty, Trash Can. I stared at that line for a long time. My phone buzzed again. Teacher Samantha sent me a private message. “Mrs. James, I know you might feel a bit uncomfortable, but children need to adapt to the group.” “Many parents contributed money and effort for our class’s Children’s Day activity this time.” “You’re usually busy with work, don’t participate in the PTA, and don’t really contribute to the class. The teacher can only consider everything comprehensively.” “The trash can role also has great educational significance. Please don’t let your child misunderstand.” I looked at the words “contribute” and almost laughed out loud. Three hours ago, SUN School had just sent someone to my office to sign the sponsorship contract for the entire Children’s Day event with me. Stage, lighting, live streaming, photography, balloons, interactive gifts. Total price: eight hundred sixty thousand dollars. The contract’s Party A was James Entertainment under my name. The school representative had nodded and bowed, saying this Children’s Day gala was an important window for showcasing the school’s arts education achievements, and hoped we could cooperate long-term. I only made one request at the time. Make sure all the children happily celebrate Children’s Day. The representative smiled and said, “Don’t worry, Ms. James. Our school has always put children first.” Now it seemed they valued not children, but the parents behind the children. I didn’t immediately reply to Samantha. I placed the cardboard costume on the table and asked Betty, “Did anyone laugh at you during rehearsal today?” Tears immediately fell from her eyes. “Mendez said I was just there on stage for them to throw waste paper at.” “He also stuffed his finished yogurt box into my costume.” “Samantha saw it and said it was part of the performance effect.” My fingers clenched bit by bit. Betty hurriedly wiped her tears. “Mom, can I not go tomorrow?” I hugged her. “Go.” Her body stiffened. I gently stroked her head. “But not to be a trash can.”

Early the next morning, I took Betty to school. The stage had already been set up on the playground. The main backdrop featured the rainbow and balloons from Betty’s drawing. Even the little sun in the lower right corner that was slightly crooked was exactly the same as in her draft. But the signature on the backdrop read: Christiana. I stood at the edge of the playground, staring at those words, and suddenly understood. Betty hadn’t just had her role stolen—her artwork had been stolen too. Samantha saw me, and a flash of impatience crossed her face. “Mrs. James, parent viewing doesn’t start until this afternoon. You can’t go backstage right now.” I smiled. “I’m here to help my child change clothes.” Samantha glanced at the clean white jacket in my hands. “Didn’t we already distribute the costumes?” As she spoke, she pointed to the cardboard on the ground nearby. That gray trash can costume had been carelessly thrown in a corner, with footprints from several children next to it. Betty instinctively hid behind me. Samantha frowned. “Betty, what are you hiding from? Didn’t you agree yesterday that you’d cooperate with the teacher today?” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was enough for several nearby parents to hear. PTA president Rachel walked over. She wore a champagne-colored suit with a volunteer badge pinned to her chest. “Samantha, you can’t spoil children. If they don’t understand, you have to teach them.” She glanced at me and smiled lightly. “So many of us parents have been working tirelessly. Which child hasn’t followed the arrangements? Some people don’t contribute money or effort, but when it’s time to go on stage, they complain about the role.” “How can there be such a good deal?” Her son Mendez was standing nearby wearing his prince costume. Hearing his mother backing him up, he immediately made a face at Betty. “The trash can is here.” “Later I’ll throw paper balls at you. You’d better catch them.” Betty’s face went pale. I turned to look at Mendez. “Who taught you to talk like that?” Rachel’s expression darkened as she pulled her son behind her. “A child making a joke, and you, an adult, have to make a big deal of it?” Samantha also spoke up. “Mrs. James, today is Children’s Day. Everyone’s happy. Please don’t make the atmosphere awkward.” I asked her, “Can a child be happy being called a trash can?” Samantha’s brow twitched. “It’s just a role name.” “Besides, environmental protection themes need someone to play the trash can. Betty has a quiet personality, so she’s more suitable.” I took out my phone and opened a screenshot of the original program schedule Betty had shown me last night. “Then why did it originally say Betty would play the little artist?” Samantha’s expression changed. “Program adjustments are normal.” Rachel crossed her arms and sneered. “Mrs. James, I advise you not to make a scene.” “This school isn’t run by whoever has the loudest voice.” “Christiana’s father is the school board chairman. Our family handled the gift procurement for this Children’s Day. Other parents also contributed to class activity fees.” She looked me up and down. “And you?” “Besides dropping off and picking up your child on time, what else have you done?” “You don’t contribute resources but want your child to have center stage. Isn’t that teaching your child to freeload?” I suddenly laughed. “So children’s roles are assigned based on parent contributions.” Samantha immediately interrupted. “I didn’t say that.” But Rachel didn’t think she’d said anything wrong. “Pretty much.” “That’s how society works. Letting children understand early isn’t a bad thing.” “Children with resources get more opportunities. Children without resources learn to cooperate. When she grows up, she’ll thank us for letting her adapt to society early.” She said it so righteously. Although Samantha didn’t respond, she didn’t refute it either. I looked down at Betty. She was clutching my hand, her little face deathly pale. I crouched down and smoothed the stray hair from her forehead. “Did you hear that?” “It’s not that you’re not good enough.” “It’s that they’re dirty themselves and call their disgustingness ‘reality.’” Betty stared at me blankly. Rachel’s expression turned ugly. “Who are you calling dirty?” I stood up. “Whoever feels guilty knows who I’m talking about!”

Samantha, probably afraid I’d keep making a scene, reached out to pull Betty. “Go change first. The performance is about to start.” Betty took a step back. “Teacher, I don’t want to play the trash can.” Samantha’s expression completely turned cold. “Betty, what did the teacher tell you yesterday?” “Group activities can’t have problems because of one person.” “Your mother doesn’t understand, so you have to not understand too?” Tears welled up in Betty’s eyes. Mendez quietly laughed nearby. “If you don’t perform, you won’t get a Children’s Day gift.” Rachel lightly patted Mendez’s head. “Mendez, don’t talk nonsense.” But her face clearly showed indulgence. Just then, the backstage curtain was pulled open and a little girl in a white gauze dress ran out. Wearing a crown on her head and holding a paintbrush in her hand—it was the school board chairman’s daughter, Christiana. She saw Betty and wrinkled her nose. “Samantha, why hasn’t she changed into the trash can yet?” “After I finish painting the rainbow at the opening, I need to throw the waste paper in.” “If she doesn’t stand there, where am I supposed to throw it?” Children speak without restraint, but some children’s malice never grows from nothing. Samantha quickly coaxed her. “Christiana, don’t worry. It’ll be ready soon.” She turned to look at me and lowered her voice. “Mrs. James, please don’t make this difficult for me.” “The school board chairman and principal will be here soon. We can’t mess up the program.” I asked, “Who set the program?” Samantha didn’t answer. Rachel clicked her tongue impatiently. “What exactly do you want?” “It’s just a role. If you’re dissatisfied, why didn’t you join the PTA in the first place?” “Our family alone advanced tens of thousands for gift procurement for this Children’s Day.” “Christiana’s family donated a dance studio to the school.” “What right does your child have to compete with them?” Just as I was about to retort, Principal Antoine walked over with several administrators. He was all smiles. “Why is everyone gathered here?” Rachel immediately went up to him. “Principal Antoine, it’s nothing serious.” “A parent is dissatisfied with her child’s role assignment and is making a scene here.” Samantha also added in a low voice. “Mrs. James isn’t cooperating with the school’s work and is interfering with the program.” Principal Antoine looked at me, his smile fading a bit. “Parent, today is the school-wide Children’s Day performance. City officials will also be here.” “If you have any issues, we can communicate after the event.” “Please don’t disrupt normal order right now.” I looked at him. “What if the problem is your order itself?” Principal Antoine’s face darkened. “Parents need to watch what they say.” “Our SUN School has been running for many years. We prioritize children’s comprehensive development above all.” Rachel sneered nearby. “Principal Antoine, don’t waste words on her.” “Some parents are like this—they don’t support the school normally, but make a big deal out of everything.” “We can’t indulge this kind of attitude.” Samantha, as if finding a backer, reached for the trash can costume on the ground. “Betty, go change.” Betty didn’t move. Samantha’s voice rose. “Betty!” “If you don’t change, today’s entire class program will be delayed because of you.” “When your classmates blame you, don’t come crying to the teacher.” Betty was so scared she trembled. I gripped her shoulder. “No need to change.” Principal Antoine frowned. “Security, please escort this parent to the waiting room.” Two security guards were about to step forward. My phone rang. The caller was my assistant. “Ms. James, the lighting team has completed final testing, and the live streaming link is also set up.” “The school is urging us to send the final payment confirmation.” I looked at Principal Antoine and pressed speakerphone. “Don’t send it yet.” My assistant paused. “What do you mean?” I said, “Notify the on-site execution team. James Entertainment is withdrawing all stage, lighting, live streaming, photography, and gift sponsorship for this Children’s Day performance. Now!”

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In the fifth year of our marriage, Lucas knelt in the pouring rain, begging me to save him. He said his company had lost a financial gamble and owed five hundred million dollars. If I mortgaged the century-old manor my parents left me, it would save his life. To avoid dragging me down, he proposed a fake divorce. My heart ached so much my whole body trembled. J ust as I was about to sign with the property deed in hand, I accidentally saw a message he sent to his first love: “That idiot Sophia has taken the bait. Once I get my hands on the manor, I’ll tear it down and build a French château with a rose garden as our wedding house.” So there was no bankruptcy, no desperate situation. He just wanted to bleed me dry to pave the way for his first love. I let out a cold laugh, turned around, and knocked on the door of his uncle—the terrifying billionaire of the Blackwood family: “Mr. Blackwood, I heard you need a legitimate Mrs. Blackwood?” Lucas knelt in the pouring rain for three full hours. Lightning tore through the night sky, illuminating his pale, haggard yet still handsome face. I rushed out with an umbrella, my body trembling with heartache as I desperately tried to pull him up from the mud. “Lucas, have you lost your mind? Your stomach condition can’t handle getting soaked in the rain!” He gripped my hand tightly in return, his eyes bloodshot, his voice so hoarse it seemed to be dripping blood: “Sophia, I’m finished.” “The company’s financial agreement failed, and the cash flow is completely broken. A five-hundred-million-dollar hole—if I can’t fill it within three days, I’ll face criminal charges for economic crimes. I’ll go to prison!” I felt like I’d been struck by lightning, my mind going blank. Five hundred million? Lucas only owned a subsidiary under the Blackwood Group. How could he suddenly owe such a staggering debt? He suddenly pulled me into his embrace. Rain mixed with his tears fell ice-cold onto my neck. “Sophia, I’m sorry. I’m useless. I couldn’t protect our home.” “The lawyer said the safest option is for us to divorce immediately. I’ll bear all the debts alone and absolutely won’t drag you down.” He lifted his head, his eyes filled with heartbreaking despair and deep affection. “But Sophia, I don’t want to go to prison… Can you help me? If you just temporarily mortgage that century-old manor your parents left you to the bank, we can get the last bit of lifesaving money. Once this blows over, I swear I’ll redeem it!” I froze. That century-old manor on the hillside was the last keepsake my parents left me before they died in a car accident. It held all my childhood memories, every tree and blade of grass, and the shrine with my parents’ ashes. Five years ago, when Lucas proposed to me, he swore in the manor’s rose garden that he would spend his life protecting me and the manor. But now, he was asking me to mortgage it. “Lucas, that’s where my parents…” My voice trembled. “I know! I know it’s your life!” He suddenly broke down, pounding the ground as muddy water splattered. “If there were any other way, I’d rather die than ask you this! Sophia, are you going to watch me die?” Seeing him in such pain, my heart softened. Five years of marriage—he had always been gentle and considerate toward me. How could I watch him go to prison? “Alright.” My eyes reddened as I nodded through tears. “I’ll mortgage it. We’ll go handle the paperwork tomorrow.” Lucas’s body shook violently. He pulled me into a tight embrace, the force nearly breaking my ribs. “Sophia, thank you, thank you… I’ll repay you for the rest of my life, even if it means working like a slave.” In that moment, I truly believed we were going through a life-and-death trial together. Until that night. Lucas developed a high fever from the rain and fell into a deep sleep after taking fever medicine. His phone slipped into the gap between the bed and the wall, the screen constantly lighting up. Worried it might be an urgent matter from company executives, I picked it up to check. Just one glance made me feel like I’d fallen into an ice pit. On the screen was a message from “Victoria White.” “Lucas, did you sign the divorce papers? That manor from the Hayes family has such a great location. I want to tear it down and build a French château with a rose garden as our wedding gift. You promised me that once I returned to the country, you’d give me the best of everything.” I stared at those lines of text, my blood instantly freezing, my whole body cold as ice. Victoria White. Lucas’s first love who went abroad and whom he could never forget. My fingers trembling, I opened their chat history. I scrolled up. The more I scrolled, the more my heart felt like it was being sliced apart, shattered into fragments on the ground. “That idiot Sophia has already taken the bait. Tomorrow we’ll handle the divorce and mortgage.” “I made the fake five-hundred-million account very clean. Damien won’t notice. Once the money is laundered into the offshore account, I’ll take you far away.” “I’m sorry you had to wait so many years, Victoria. Once I get the manor, that plain-Jane Sophia will have no more use.” Every sentence, every word was like a poisoned blade stabbing viciously into my heart. So there was no failed gamble. No five-hundred-million-dollar debt. No desperate situation. This was a carefully planned scam from beginning to end! He not only wanted to trick me into leaving with nothing, but he also wanted to take my parents’ last legacy to build a new house for his first love! I didn’t cry. When the pain reaches its extreme, tears won’t flow. I calmly took out my own phone and photographed these chat records, page by page, all of them. Then I put the phone back in its place and turned to look at Lucas sleeping peacefully on the bed. His brow was relaxed, and the corners of his mouth even carried a faint smile. He was probably dreaming about marrying Victoria White in a French château. I tugged at the corner of my mouth, revealing a cold smile uglier than a ghost’s. Lucas, you want to use my life to please another woman? Fine. I’ll see who ends up dead with nowhere to be buried.

The next morning when Lucas woke up, I was already sitting on the sofa, holding the divorce agreement in my hands. He froze for a moment. Wild joy flashed in his eyes, but he quickly covered it with guilt and pain. “Sophia, you didn’t sleep all night?” He walked over, wanting to touch my face with concern. I turned my head to avoid him and said flatly, “Let’s go to the law firm. The sooner we finish, the sooner you can deal with the debt.” Lucas’s hand froze in midair, then he sighed. “I’m sorry for putting you through this, Sophia. Once I get through this crisis, I’ll definitely remarry you in a grand ceremony.” I looked at his deeply affectionate face, my stomach churning with nausea. At ten in the morning, we went to the law firm and signed the divorce agreement. As we walked out of the law firm entrance, Lucas’s mother, my former mother-in-law Dorothy Lane, was already waiting beside a black Maybach. The moment she saw me, she immediately put on an anxious expression and rushed over to grab my hand. “Sophia, I know you’ve been wronged! But Lucas is at a critical moment of life and death. Did you bring the property deed for that manor? Quick, let’s go to the bank right now to handle the mortgage!” The greed in her eyes was practically overflowing. I pulled my hand back and looked calmly at this mother-son pair. “Dorothy, I can’t mortgage the manor today.” Dorothy’s expression changed instantly, her voice rising sharply: “Why not?! Sophia Hayes, are you going back on your word? Do you want to watch Lucas die?!” Lucas panicked too, grabbing my shoulder: “Sophia, what’s going on? Didn’t we agree?” I watched their frantic expressions, sneering inwardly. “Lucas, you forgot—that manor is a national first-class historical protected building. According to the latest regulations, this level of asset mortgage requires a thirty-day public notice period and review by a third-party asset evaluation agency. Otherwise, the bank simply won’t approve it.” This was the policy I’d looked up last night. Lucas froze, his face turning pale: “Thirty days? Why does it take so long? I can’t wait thirty days!” “There’s no way around it. That’s the regulation.” I looked at him innocently. “Unless you can find someone with special privileges to smooth things over at the bank. But I’m a woman without power or connections. I can’t do that.” Dorothy stamped her feet in frustration: “What are we going to do! Lucas, don’t you know a lot of people?” Lucas gritted his teeth, his eyes flickering. Of course he knew people, but he didn’t dare use the Blackwood family’s connections. Because the five-hundred-million debt was fake to begin with—if it alerted the real power holder of the Blackwood family, he’d be finished. “Fine, thirty days it is.” Lucas took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the darkness in his eyes. “Sophia, during this time you must cooperate with the evaluation agency. Don’t let anything go wrong.” “Don’t worry.” I smiled faintly. Not only would I cooperate, I’d prepare a big gift for them. After parting with them, I took a cab directly to a top-tier private investigation agency. I had just walked into the lobby when I stopped in my tracks. In front of the floor-to-ceiling window of the VIP reception room stood a man. He wore an impeccably tailored black haute couture suit, his tall figure upright like an unsheathed sword. His hand casually toyed with an antique watch. His profile was as cold and chiseled as a sculpture, radiating an aura of authority that warned people to stay away. Damien Blackwood. Lucas’s uncle, the true helmsman of the Blackwood Group. In the entire business world, no one didn’t fear the name Damien Blackwood. He was ruthless and decisive. At twenty-five, he took over Blackwood Industries and within just five years doubled its empire. Lucas didn’t even dare breathe loudly in front of him. I hadn’t expected to run into him here. As if sensing my gaze, Damien turned his head slightly. Those deep, cold black eyes locked precisely onto my face. He showed no surprise, merely stopped toying with his watch. “Sophia Hayes.” He spoke, his voice low and magnetic, carrying an inexplicable pressure. I took a deep breath and walked forward: “Damien.” “You and Lucas are divorced.” He used a statement, not a question. My heart skipped a beat. How did he know? We’d only finished the paperwork less than two hours ago. Damien looked at me, the corner of his mouth curving into an extremely faint cold smile: “For his fake five-hundred-million account, you’re even planning to hand over your parents’ legacy. Sophia Hayes, is your brain filled with water?” I jerked my head up, staring at him in shock. He knew! He actually knew everything! Damien strode toward me on his long legs. He was a full head taller than me, his aggressive presence instantly enveloping me. He leaned down slightly, his eyes sharp as they bored into mine: “What, got sold out and you’re still planning to help count the money?” I bit my lower lip hard, meeting his gaze, my voice cold and hard: “Since Damien knew it was a fake account, why didn’t you expose him?” “The Blackwood family has too many branch families. Occasionally we need a few clever fools to liven things up.” Damien’s tone was casual, as if discussing trash. “Besides, that’s your husband, your money. Why should I care?” Yes, why should he care? In Damien Blackwood’s eyes, Lucas and I were nothing but insignificant ants. I took a deep breath, suppressing the bitterness and anger in my heart, looking at him without backing down. “What if I don’t want to be the fool who gets sold?” Damien raised an eyebrow slightly, seemingly interested in my response. He pulled a black gold business card from his pocket, his slender fingers holding it as he handed it to me. “Tonight at nine, penthouse suite. Figure out what you want, then come knock on my door.” With that, he turned and left, leaving only a cold, retreating figure. I looked down at the business card in my hand. Its edge was sharp, almost cutting my finger. I knew this was a dangerous transaction. But to get revenge on Lucas and Victoria, to protect my parents’ manor, I had no other choice.

At nine o’clock that evening, I stood punctually at the door of Damien Blackwood’s suite. Taking a deep breath, I pressed the doorbell. The door opened quickly. Damien had just showered. He wore a black silk robe, the collar slightly open, revealing a large expanse of firm, hard chest muscles. Water droplets slid down his sharp jawline and disappeared into the depths of his robe, exuding a fatally sexy and dangerous aura. He held a glass of whiskey in his hand, his deep gaze sweeping over me. “Come in.” The suite’s main lights weren’t on. Only the city’s neon lights from outside the floor-to-ceiling windows filtered in, light and shadow interweaving. I stood nervously in the center of the living room, watching as he walked to the bar, poured another glass of liquor, and pushed it toward me. “Want a drink?” “No.” I got straight to the point. “Damien, what do you need me to do for you to help me?” Damien let out a soft laugh, carrying his glass as he walked up to me, looking down at me from his superior height. “Sophia Hayes, what makes you think I’ll help you?” “Because Lucas touched the Blackwood family’s money.” I looked directly into his eyes. “Although his three-billion-dollar hole is fake, he misappropriated project funds from Blackwood subsidiaries to set up his scheme. Damien hates most when people play tricks under your nose. You need an excuse to legitimately clean house.” A flash of appreciation appeared in Damien’s eyes, but it vanished in an instant. He suddenly reached out, gripping my chin and forcing my head up. The man’s fingers carried an icy temperature, the force immense, making it hurt. “You’re a bit smarter than I expected.” His voice was low, carrying dangerous allure. “But to clean house, I have a hundred methods. Why would I choose the most troublesome one to cooperate with your revenge game?” I was forced to tilt my head back, breathing rapidly. His breath completely enveloped me. That intense male hormones and superior’s authority made me almost unable to think. “Because…” I gritted my teeth and steeled myself. “Because you hate Victoria White.” Damien’s eyes instantly turned cold, the surrounding air seeming to freeze. I’d bet correctly. Victoria White’s father had once been a senior executive at Blackwood Group. He was sent to prison by Damien himself for embezzling company funds. Victoria had been abroad these years, constantly using the Blackwood family name to swindle and deceive. Damien extremely detested this woman. “Continue.” He released his grip, coolly uttering one word. I rubbed my reddened chin and quickly said: “Lucas plans to officially announce his takeover as CEO at next month’s Blackwood subsidiary anniversary gala, and simultaneously announce his engagement to Victoria White. If on that day he’s thoroughly disgraced in front of all the city’s elite, Victoria will also become a complete laughingstock. Isn’t that the scene Damien most wants to see?” Damien looked at me quietly, emotions I couldn’t understand surging in those unfathomable black eyes. After a long while, he suddenly smiled. That smile was cold, cruel, yet carried a trace of fatal attraction. “Sophia Hayes, when a dog bites you, not only do you want to kill the dog, you want to skin it, pull out its tendons, make it into a specimen for exhibition.” He turned and walked to the desk, picked up a thick document, and tossed it in front of me. “This is all the evidence of Lucas misappropriating public funds, forging debts, and purchasing private islands abroad for Victoria White.” My whole body shook. I immediately rushed over and opened the file. Every transfer, every forged contract—all clear and shocking. Lucas, how ruthless you are. For one woman, you not only wanted me to lose everything, but you also wanted to climb up by stepping on my bones and blood. “This is just a deposit.” Damien walked behind me, his warm breath spraying on my ear. “To get the more lethal cards, you need to pay a price.” “What price?” I turned my head, but unexpectedly crashed into his deep eyes. We were extremely close—so close I could see each of his distinct eyelashes. Damien’s gaze slowly moved down, landing on my lips, his voice hoarse beyond measure. “Become my woman.” My pupils contracted sharply. I instinctively stepped back. “Damien, what kind of joke is this?” “I never joke.” Damien pressed forward step by step, pinning me against the cold floor-to-ceiling window. “Sophia Hayes, if you want to trample Lucas underfoot, you need someone who stands higher and more stable than him. And I am your only choice.” He reached out, his slender fingers gently caressing my cheek, his eyes deep as the sea. “What’s wrong? Unwilling? Or do you still have lingering feelings for that waste?” “No!” I blurted out, my eyes full of hatred. “I wish he were dead!” “Very good.” Damien’s lips curved with satisfaction. He lowered his head, his thin lips brushing past my earlobe. “Then prove it to me. Go back and continue playing your devoted ex-wife. Keep them stable. When the time is right, I’ll personally bring you out of the game.” I leaned against the glass, my heart pounding like thunder. I knew I was making a deal with the devil. But as long as I could send Lucas and Victoria to hell, I was willing to fall into the abyss. For the next two weeks, I displayed astonishing acting skills. Every day I made soup for Lucas, showed concern about his “debt” progress, and even proactively contacted the evaluation agency, appearing eager to mortgage the manor. Lucas believed me completely and became increasingly gentle and considerate toward me, as if we’d returned to our honeymoon phase. Until that afternoon when I went back to our former marital home to retrieve some forgotten documents. Just as I unlocked the door with my fingerprint, I heard flirtatious laughter coming from the living room. “Dorothy, this sofa set is too dark. I want to change it to cream white. And those floor-to-ceiling window

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