Category: English

I found it in a dusty corner of the attic: a wedding photo of my wife and my arch-rival. In the picture, their faces were pressed together intimately, a world away from the bitter, teeth-gritted tension that always crackled between them whenever they met. It turned out they had been living a secret love story behind my back for nearly a decade. I took a picture of the photo with my phone, then placed it exactly where I’d found it. I drafted the divorce papers, signed my name, and prepared to walk away from the life I thought I knew. 1 The wedding photo was immaculate, a single pristine object in the dusty, forgotten attic. It was obvious someone came up here often to look at it. For years, it had just been the two of us in this house. There was no question who that someone was. Back in college, my wife, Maya, had been the top student in the physics department. The man in the photo with her was David, the guy everyone jokingly called “perennial number two.” On campus, they were famous for their rivalry. Neither would ever concede an inch to the other. They were in the same program, yet when they passed each other in the halls, they were like strangers. But it was all a lie. In private, they had skipped past friendship, past dating, and straight to a bond more intimate than marriage. My gaze fell to the date stamped in the bottom-left corner of the photo. July 27, 2015. The second year of our marriage. I scrolled through my text history with Maya. Of course. Every year, on July 27th, like clockwork, she would send me the same message. “Hey babe, working late tonight. Don’t wait up for dinner. Love you.” Every time, she would come home late, head straight for the shower, and then crawl into bed to curl up against me, complaining about what a long day it had been. I never once doubted her. She had promised me she would never lie. Now I saw it for what it was: the perfect cover. Tomorrow was July 27th again. I had no doubt she was planning to go out. Taking a few deep breaths to steady my hands, I snapped a photo of their wedding picture, then carefully put the frame back in its place. Downstairs, I drew up a divorce agreement. After signing my name, I tucked it into my nightstand drawer. I cooked dinner, just like any other night, and waited for Maya to come home. At the table, she chattered about her day, the small, meaningless details, but then she noticed my silence. “Quinn? What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?” she asked, her voice laced with concern. I calmly set down my chopsticks, my bowl of rice barely touched, and met her eyes. “I heard they renovated the old track at State University. I was thinking of going back to see it.” State was our alma mater. It was where we had met, where we had fallen in love. Maya visibly relaxed, a smile blooming on her face. “Is that all? And here you are, a million miles away. Of course we can go. When do you want to see it? I’ll go with you.” “Tomorrow,” I said softly. The smile froze on her face. “Is that a problem? Or… are you working late tomorrow?” My voice was flat, betraying no emotion. But I saw it—the way her eyes darted away, the flicker of discomfort. Tomorrow was a Saturday. Her usual excuse would be some last-minute work emergency, but she couldn’t know that yet. She was trapped. She finally forced a smile. “Okay. Tomorrow it is.” That night, Maya was on edge, tapping away at her phone for hours. I pretended not to notice. I resisted the urge to pull out the divorce papers and make her sign them right then and there. The next morning, she was gone. A note was left on the kitchen table: “Babe, a critical dataset is corrupted. My boss called me in the middle of the night to fix it. I’ll come find you as soon as I’m done.” The paper trembled in my hand. I sent her a text. [I’m waiting for you at the main gate of the university.] Maya, who always replied to me in seconds, was silent. I stood at that gate for two hours. Then, the sky opened up. A torrential downpour started. I called her again and again. Each call went straight to voicemail. Then, finally, it didn’t even ring. The subscriber you have dialed has been powered off. In that moment, a cold, painful clarity washed over me. I took out my phone and sent her one last message. [Maya. Let’s get a divorce.] 2 I don’t remember how I got home that day. I just remember stumbling through the door, soaking wet and burning up with fever, collapsing onto the sofa, and then… nothing. When I woke up, I was in our bed, wearing clean clothes. Maya was sitting beside me, holding my hand tightly, her eyes filled with worry. “Quinn! You’re awake!” She sounded genuinely relieved. “You’ve been out for a day and a night. I was so scared. Thank God it’s just a fever. The medicine is working.” She squeezed my hand. “It was my fault. I got so caught up in work, I didn’t even look at my phone. But you shouldn’t joke about divorce like that. Here, look what I got you.” Like a magician, she produced two tickets from behind her back. “You’ve been wanting to see an MK match forever, right? I pulled some strings and got us front-row seats. I even took next week off so we can go together.” It was my favorite soccer team. Tickets were impossible to get. And a week of Maya’s time was even rarer. But I felt nothing. No joy, no excitement. I pushed the tickets away and reached into the nightstand, pulling out the folded divorce papers. I handed them to her. “I wasn’t joking yesterday.” Maya stared at me for a few seconds, then slammed the tickets down on the table. “Quinn, is this a game to you? Just because I had a work emergency and missed one date, you’re ready to throw away eight years of marriage?” Her voice cracked. “Do you have any idea how much it hurt to hear you say that?” I looked at her, at the tears welling in her eyes, and I couldn’t find a single trace of deceit. She was a brilliant actress. I was too tired for this. I didn’t want to play her games anymore. “Were you really at the office yesterday? Your boss has never, not once, called you in on a weekend. He knows you have a family.” My voice was quiet, weary. “Let’s just be honest, Maya.” “Where were you and David yesterday? Let me guess… a hotel?” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. The hotel was a wild guess. It had been pouring rain all day. Where else could they go? Her reaction told me everything I needed to know. “You had me followed?” she gasped. Then, she realized her mistake. She bit her lip, then took a deep breath, as if deciding to finally come clean. “Quinn, back in college, I hated David. I thought he was arrogant and stubborn, not a real man. But then, during a research exchange our junior year, I saw a different side of him. He was… earnest. Dedicated. I admit, my feelings for him started to change then. We started talking more, in secret.” She looked me straight in the eye, her expression pleading. “But the only man I have ever seen as my husband is you, Quinn! I would never, ever divorce you for him.” Her grand, romantic confession felt like a knife twisting in my gut. All this time, her heart had been divided. And I had been the fool who believed it belonged entirely to me. “I’ll cut him off completely, Quinn. I promise. Just give us one more chance. I’ll fix this.” After her heartfelt speech, she stood up, saying she would go make me some soup. I remained silent. My head, already aching from the fever, felt like it was splitting in two. The world swam around me, and I fell back into a deep, restless sleep. I don’t know how much time passed, but I was jolted awake by the acrid smell of smoke. Through the half-open bedroom door, I could see thick, black smoke billowing from the kitchen. “Maya! Maya, are you there?” I called out, my voice weak and raspy. No answer. I had to get out. I struggled to my feet, but my legs, numb from lying down for so long, gave out from under me. I collapsed onto the floor. I fumbled for my phone and tried to call her. It rang twice, then the call was disconnected. She was hanging up on me. 3 “Quinn! Quinn, can you hear us?” My parents’ anxious voices pulled me back to consciousness. When they saw my eyes open, they both burst into tears of relief. “Thank God the neighbors called 911 in time. Any later, and we would have lost you…” My mother sobbed, stroking my forehead. My father shook his head. “How could you be so careless, son? Leaving a pot on the stove and falling asleep? You could have been killed!” My throat was raw. “Wasn’t Maya home?” I rasped. My parents exchanged a confused look. “The firefighters said you were the only one in the house when they broke down the door. If Maya had been there, this never would have happened. She’s always so careful.” Her words twisted the knife in my heart. Maya was careful. Meticulously so. For eight years, she knew my chronic stomach issues better than I did. She knew exactly what I could and couldn’t eat. The moment I felt sick, she’d have the medicine ready, a pot of hot soup already simmering. It was impossible to believe that a woman so precise, so detail-oriented, would just leave a stove on and walk out of the house. Whatever, or whoever, she had left for had to be incredibly important. Just then, the hospital room door flew open. Maya rushed in, breathless, and ran straight to my bedside. “Quinn! Are you okay?” Without waiting for an answer, she slapped herself hard across the face. “This is all my fault. I can’t believe I put you in such danger…” She had come in such a hurry. She hadn’t noticed the dark, tell-tale love bite on her neck, just peeking out from the collar of her shirt.

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The new intern, on a crusade to “fix the workplace,” decided to make me his first target. To get back at him, my CEO girlfriend—who loved me more than life itself—devised a plan to destroy him by setting him up for a fall. She kicked me out of my VP position and promoted him instead. She bought him a luxury car for his commute and a villa for a “dorm,” insisting it was all part of the trap, begging me to be patient. Then my sister’s heart condition worsened. I begged my girlfriend for an adMarshall on my salary to cover the surgery. She agreed instantly. But on the day of the operation, I waited at the hospital from dawn until dusk. The money never came. The only thing that did was a notification—a social media post from the intern, dripping with mockery: “My CEO is too nice for her own good. An employee asked for a salary adMarshall… what if he just quits without paying it back? I rejected it on her behalf! PS: Next time you want to scam someone, at least come up with a believable excuse!” My sister died. Only then did my girlfriend finally call, her voice syrupy and sweet. “Don’t be mad, honey. We’ll just delay Annie’s surgery for a couple more days. I have to endure this humiliation. The higher I build Leo up, the harder he’ll fall. Don’t worry, his birthday is in two days. I’m going to publicly humiliate him, make him lose everything. Then, we’ll have a lavish wedding to make Annie happy!” But I already knew the truth. Her so-called “setup” was just an excuse for her blatant favoritism. I was done with her. 1 “Owen, are you sure you want to join us? This is fantastic! We leave in two days!” On the other end of the line, the HR manager from the European tech giant was ecstatic. They’d been trying to recruit me for seven years, even setting up a local branch office just to make it easier to poach me. “I’m sure,” I said. The morgue was so silent I could hear my own voice echo. I took one last look at my ten-year-old sister, Annie, her small face tinged with a deathly blue. I signed the death certificate and found the coroner. He said the cremation fee was two thousand dollars, payable in adMarshall. After Annie’s health took a nosedive, my years of savings had vanished. My life had revolved entirely around my girlfriend, Stella, leaving me with no friends to turn to. After she demoted me from my VP role, even my colleagues kept their distance. Now, I couldn’t find a single person willing to lend me money. My eyes fell instinctively to the watch on my right wrist. It was the first gift Stella had ever given me, a token of our love that had cost her three months’ salary. She’d told me I was priceless to her. I had tried to sell it earlier today, but the appraisal was only $3,000—nowhere near the $30,000 needed for the surgery. A drop in the ocean. I couldn’t bring myself to part with it then. Perhaps it was fate telling me to let it go now. I listed it online for a low price of $2,000, and a local buyer contacted me almost immediately. As I rushed out to make the exchange, I was knocked to the ground by a black-suited bodyguard. My phone skittered across the pavement, the screen cracking. When I looked up, I saw Stella pushing a wheelchair-bound Leo into the hospital, flanked by an entourage of doctors, nurses, and more bodyguards. Her face was etched with worry, a fine sheen of sweat on her forehead. Our eyes met for a fleeting second before she looked away. A nurse helped me up, sighing under her breath. “Talk about different fates. That CEO’s boyfriend just sprains his ankle and the entire hospital staff is on call. Meanwhile, there’s a little girl with a heart defect who can’t even afford her surgery fee…” I shook my head, telling her I was fine. A moment later, Stella strode back towards me, her expression grim. She grabbed my arm and pulled me down to the underground parking garage. Inside her car, with no one else around, she scowled. “Are you so desperate for money you’d follow me here?!” Realizing her tone was too harsh, her features softened slightly. “Leo twisted his ankle coming down the stairs. He’s being such a drama queen, refusing to get it checked unless I’m with him.” “I know you’re still angry about him rejecting your salary adMarshall. Here, take this and go,” she said, her voice dropping. “Don’t let Leo see you. He’ll get the wrong idea.” She didn’t even realize that while her words called him a drama queen, her eyes held an unmistakable, melting fondness. She used to look at me that way. When I had a simple stomachache, she’d sit by my hospital bed all day, personally making me congee until her hands were covered in blisters. Stella took out her phone. A second later, mine buzzed. A transfer of $200. She smiled, a little too brightly. “Leo likes to check my phone. He’d be upset if he knew I was giving you too much money privately. Use this to buy Annie some nice supplements. Cheer her up, okay?” I clenched my phone. We were supposed to be the real couple, yet here we were, sneaking around like criminals. A bitter, self-mocking laugh escaped me, and I transferred the $200 right back to her. She froze, halfway out of the car, finally sensing something was wrong. She turned back, patting my hand. “Owen, I know you’ve been wronged. But to make Leo fall, we have to let him have everything first. The pain will be unbearable when he loses it all. That’s how we’ll get your revenge!” But the one who was losing everything, the one whose pain was unbearable… that was me. A year ago, when Leo first joined the company, he’d swaggered in, vowing to “rectify the workplace,” and made me, the VP, his first victim. I asked him to print a document; he said he was hired to work, not be an errand boy. I asked my assistant for coffee; he snatched it and threw it in my face, telling me to do my own chores. Later, when I was on the verge of closing a multi-million-dollar deal, he refused to release the company seal, accusing me of trying to embezzle corporate assets. The client walked, and a month of sleepless nights went down the drain. I mentioned it to Stella, and she decided to get even for me, orchestrating this grand “setup.” To destroy a man, first let him swell with pride. In the beginning, whenever Stella praised Leo with backhanded compliments, she’d always shoot me a conspiratorial wink. I’d stifle a laugh and play along, pretending to be crushed, which only fueled Leo’s ego. But slowly, the act became real. Stella’s praise for Leo started to sound like genuine admiration. Her indifference and dismissiveness towards me felt less and less like a performance. A year ago, I lost my VP position. A week ago, my sister had a heart attack, triggered by the stress of seeing her future sister-in-law buying a house for another man. The surgery had a 100% success rate, but she died because her useless brother couldn’t scrape together the fee. And now, the woman in front of me, my girlfriend, had changed somewhere along the way. A wave of utter desolation washed over me. “Stella, we—” The words should break up were on the tip of my tongue when her phone rang. The caller ID read “My Dearest Leo.” Stella opened the car door, stepping outside to take the call. She never used to hide her calls from me; she’d put them on speaker to avoid any misunderstanding. Afterwards, she’d mock Leo’s arrogance and swear she only loved me. Now, she leaned against the car door, her fingers toying with the hem of her blouse, a sweet smile on her face. Then, her voice rose in feigned surprise. “Your foot is still injured! Don’t come looking for me!” The next moment, I saw a tall, thin figure limping into the parking garage. Stella rushed to meet him, catching him in her arms. Leo’s eyes found me in the passenger seat, and a cruel, triumphant smile spread across his face. He quickened his pace and yanked me out of the car. “Owen, who said you could sit in Stella’s car? Can you afford to replace the leather seats if you get them dirty? Don’t tell me you were trying to borrow money from her again. Sucking your ex-girlfriend dry… are you even a man?” As if to assert his dominance, he expertly slipped his hand into Stella’s pocket, pulled out her phone, and unlocked it. Seeing the reversed transaction, he threw the phone to the ground. “Stella! I try to be considerate of you, but you’re still hung up on your ex! Forget it, you don’t have to take me to the doctor. I’d rather my leg just break!” He turned to leave in a huff. Stella, the decisive, formidable CEO, stood there, unable to argue. She started to chase after him, then stopped abruptly. She turned back, took my hand, and gave it a gentle shake, her voice earnest. “Owen, just two more days. Please, just bear with it for two more days. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” It was her favorite way to get what she wanted from me, a display of vulnerability that used to fill my heart with tenderness. Now, it only filled me with disgust. Before I could pull my hand away, she was already gone, chasing after Leo. I stood there, motionless, wiping the back of my hand on my shirt. But Stella, in two days, I’ll be gone. And I’m not taking you with me. 2 After leaving the garage, I quickly met the buyer and got the money for Annie’s cremation. By the time I carried her ashes home, night had fallen. Stella wasn’t there. But for the first time in months, she sent me a message, telling me she was staying at the hospital to take care of Leo because his leg was hurting too much. The last time she’d bothered to tell me her whereabouts was ages ago. For the first time, I didn’t feel a pang of jealousy or demand compensation. I just opened my work software and submitted my resignation. It sat there, pending approval. I put my phone down and ignored it. With only two days left, I needed to pack. I’d go to the office tomorrow to tie up loose ends. Seven years of my life, condensed into a single 20-inch suitcase. The next morning, I was still asleep when a sharp knock woke me. It was Stella’s assistant. She saw the packed suitcase and paused. “Mr. Hayes, are you going on a trip?” “Yes.” She didn’t press further. “Ms. Marshall would like you to come with me.” I wanted to refuse, but the bodyguards behind her made it clear it wasn’t a request. Our destination was a bridal boutique. Stella greeted me with a beaming smile, pulling me into a fitting room. She held up a custom-tailored suit and began to dress me, her head bowed as she fastened my tie. Looking down at the top of her head, I felt a strange sense of detachment. To make her “setup” convincing, she had maintained a physical distance from me, claiming she had to fool herself before she could fool others. As she fastened my cufflinks, she suddenly stopped. “Where’s your watch?” Before I could answer, she chuckled lightly. “Oh, right. You probably put it back in its box for safekeeping.” “My handsome Owen looks so dashing in a suit like this!” she cooed. “I’ve already had our wedding designed. It’s a seaside ceremony, just like you always wanted, with a flower arch for Annie. She can be our flower girl, how does that sound?” Her words were soft and gentle, but they pierced my ears like needles. I clenched my fists, remembering Annie’s last moments, her tear-filled eyes as she asked me, “Brother, why hasn’t sister-in-law come to save me yet?” I remembered how Stella used to adore Annie, fussing over her health, telling her bedtime stories for hours without a hint of fatigue. Marrying Stella had once been my ultimate dream. A dream that would now never come true. “Stella, the wedding—” She smiled sweetly, placing a finger on my lips. “Our plan is almost complete. Tomorrow is Leo’s birthday. I’m going to announce his termination in front of everyone. The house, the car—all of it will be reclaimed through legal action. He’s gotten used to a life of luxury; he won’t even eat at a restaurant that isn’t five-star. I can’t wait to see what he does when he has nothing, when anyone can step on him. Let’s see him try to ‘rectify the workplace’ then!”

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I got together with Adrian when I was eighteen. At twenty-two, I moved to the bustling city for him. But all I got in return was him saying, “I never planned on marrying her, you guys are just messing around.” After eight years with no commitment, I gave up. I was gone for three years. The day I returned, a friend asked me, “It’s been three years. You two must have made up by now, right?” They all thought I was back to beg for him back. But what they didn’t know was, I was back to get married. 1 “You’re getting married?” I was sorting through the guest list. “Yeah,” I replied. “The wedding is next week.” My friend was silent on the other end of the line for a moment, then asked, “What about Adrian?” Hearing his name after three years felt strange, like a ghost from a past life. But he and I had ended things three years ago. I was the one who broke up with him. It was his birthday. I had come back early from a business trip to surprise him, but instead, I overheard him talking to his friends. One of them asked, “You’re twenty-six, man. When are you gonna pop the question to Clara?” Adrian leaned back, a lazy, half-mocking smile on his face. “I never planned on marrying her. Don’t start that.” His friend was stunned. “You’ve been together for years. If you’re not marrying her, who are you gonna marry?” “Like you said,” Adrian replied, “we’ve been together for years. Where’s the excitement in that?” Honestly, in that moment, I couldn’t believe my ears. We had just been on the phone half an hour earlier. He had been so sweet, whispering and coaxing me to come back and celebrate a belated birthday with him. But now, I couldn’t even picture that tenderness. The thought of breaking up hit me right then. That night, I didn’t push open the door to confront him. I turned around, went home, and calmly packed my bags. Adrian came home at two in the morning. He walked in and stopped short, seeing me with my suitcase. He was only stunned for a second before he rushed forward, pulling me into his arms and nuzzling my neck affectionately. “Surprise? I love it.” I pushed him away. “Adrian.” “Hmm?” “Let’s break up.” We had threatened to break up before, but it was always me who caved first. Our mutual friends used to say, “Adrian is an insecure guy. He needs a partner who will never leave him. If you really want to be with him long-term, you have to be more patient with him.” Back then, I really did love him. So I was willing to soothe him, to put his feelings first. From eighteen to twenty-six, I loved him fiercely and without reservation. And all I got in return was, “I’m not going to marry her.” 2 “What are you talking about? You’re breaking up with me just because I didn’t spend my birthday with you?” Adrian’s voice pulled me back to the present. He wrapped his arms around me again. “Come on, I’m not mad. We’re not breaking up.” My friends were wrong. Adrian wasn’t a difficult partner. On the contrary, when he wanted to, he could be incredibly charming. On the surface, our breakups were always his doing, and our reconciliations were always mine. But no one knew that in the dead of night, he would use a mix of tenderness and pressure to win me back. He knew exactly how to find my softest spots, making me forgive him willingly. And now, he was trying the same trick again. As he leaned in to kiss me, I shoved him away with all my strength. Caught off guard, he stumbled back a few steps. Before he could regain his balance, I said, “I’m serious. I’m not joking.” In an instant, his expression turned icy, his eyes dark and menacing. “Say that again.” I couldn’t blame him for being angry. In eight years, this was the first time I had initiated a breakup. Everyone, including Adrian himself, thought I would never leave him. But this time, I was truly tired. My gaze lingered on his handsome profile for a few seconds, then I looked away without hesitation and started to wheel my suitcase towards the door. I had only taken a few steps when the suitcase stopped moving. Adrian was holding onto it, his eyes locked on me. “Why?” He had beautiful eyes. Deep and intense, they had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world. I avoided his gaze. “If we don’t break up, will you marry me?” In eight years, he had been rational, ambitious, and had meticulously planned his future. But I was never a part of that plan. The silence in the room was deafening. After what felt like an eternity, he finally asked, “Do we have to get married? Can’t we just keep dating?” I met his gaze. His eyes were like black holes, pulling you in. Even though I was reluctant to let go of our eight years together, a relationship with no future felt pointless. Looking into those bottomless eyes, I managed a small smile. “It gets a little old after a while.” The veins on his hand, gripping the suitcase handle, bulged. He practically spat the words out. “You’re tired of it?” “Yes.” He said “Fine” three times, his eyes turning red by the end. I didn’t dare look at him anymore, afraid I would break down first. I turned and continued to walk away. The only sound in the quiet night was the dull rumble of the suitcase wheels on the floor. As I reached the entryway, his cold voice came from behind me. “If you walk out that door today, don’t ever come back!” I paused, my throat dry. After a moment, I said, “Fine,” and left without a backward glance. 3 We saw each other one more time after that. It was the night before I left the city. I had realized I’d left an important document in his study. I called him before I went over. The living room was empty, so I headed straight for the study. As I passed the master bedroom, I heard voices. I glanced inside and saw Adrian lying on the bed, a woman gently wiping his face. I recognized her. Sophia. The daughter of his father’s close friend. The woman his family had arranged for him to marry. When she saw me, Sophia blushed and explained, “Clara, don’t get the wrong idea. Adrian drank too much, we… nothing happened.” I nodded, not wanting to chat, and went to the study. When I came back, the bedroom door was closed. But even so, I could clearly hear Adrian’s voice, soft and intimate, cooing, “Babe~” Even though we were broken up, a wave of bitterness washed over me. I couldn’t bear to listen, so I quickened my pace. As I reached the door, Adrian called out to me. “Don’t come over anymore. Sophia will mind.” He was leaning against the bedroom door, looking lazy. The top three buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a lipstick mark on his collarbone. My eyes lingered there for a few seconds before I nodded. “Okay.” The moment I stepped outside, I heard the sound of a vase shattering, followed by Sophia’s alarmed cry, “You’re bleeding!” I didn’t turn back. I walked away as fast as I could. That was the last time we saw each other. For three years, we had no contact. So, he had no idea I was getting married. 4 When the news of my wedding got out, the first person to call me was Liam. A mutual friend of Adrian and me. “Clara, I heard you’re getting married?” “The wedding is next week,” I told him honestly. “I won’t be sending you guys invitations.” My fiancé had already sent them invitations; it would be inappropriate for me to send another set. As soon as I said that, I heard laughter and jeers from the other end of the line. “See? I told you. If she was really getting married, she’d invite you. It’s obviously just an excuse to come back to the city.” “What else can she do? Adrian’s engagement is at the end of the month. She has to make a last-ditch effort, right?” “Exactly! They were together for eight years. How could she just watch him marry someone else?” I was taken aback for a moment, then I realized all of Adrian’s friends were there. They were waiting to see how I would try to win him back. It was their usual game. Every time Adrian and I fought, they would place bets on how long it would take for me to come crawling back. They were certain I couldn’t let him go. Not just because of his family’s wealth, but because of our eight-year history. No one could just walk away from that. This time was probably no different. Just as I had that thought, someone shouted, “Adrian, if she begs you to take her back, are you gonna do it?” After a long pause, Adrian’s voice, cool and unconcerned, came through. “I’m getting engaged. Why are we even talking about this?” Someone laughed. “You think Adrian is stupid? He’s not gonna pass up the daughter of the Song family for some girl with no background. Would you?” Amid the laughter, I remembered something. When I first moved to the city, Adrian’s friends were all very polite to me. I thought they had accepted me. Then, at Liam’s birthday party, Sophia lost a priceless necklace. Her friends surrounded me, demanding I give it back. By the time Adrian arrived, I was a disheveled mess. Sophia said to him, “Adrian, don’t be mad. They were just trying to help me find my necklace, that’s why they were a little rough…” “Once we find it, I’ll apologize to Clara, okay?” Adrian smiled, walked over to me, and patted my head affectionately. “It’s not a big deal.” I clutched his shirt, all the hurt and humiliation bubbling up inside me. I was about to tell him what had happened when he said, “If you wanted it, you could have just asked me. Why did you have to do this?” My mind went blank. I looked at him in disbelief. “You don’t believe me?” He didn’t say a word, but the mockery in his eyes said it all. I started to tremble, my hands and feet turning to ice. We had been together for so long; I thought he knew me. But he hadn’t even asked a single question before taking their side. Everyone was looking at me. With contempt, with ridicule, with indifference. No one believed me. For some reason, I thought of what my grandfather had said to me before I left: “My dear, I won’t stop you from pursuing your dreams. But remember, social classes are not so easily crossed. Even if he loves you, will his family and friends truly accept you?” I had confidently promised him, “Don’t worry, Grandpa. Adrian won’t disappoint you or me.” I was young and naive then, I didn’t understand the invisible chasm that lay between us. It was only when I was cornered and alone that I truly understood. 5 The laughter on the other end of the line continued for a long time. Someone shouted, “Liam, ask her where the wedding is. We’re friends, after all. We should at least send a gift.” After a moment, Liam’s voice came through. “Clara, which church are you getting married in?” “The one on the island.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, someone else piped up. “See? I told you she was delusional. The Rogen family’s wedding is next week, also on the island. Is she going to claim she’s marrying Caleb Rogen next?” The group erupted in laughter. Even Liam couldn’t help but whisper a warning, “Clara, you remember Caleb, right? His wedding is also next week…” “Liam,” I interrupted. “It’s my wedding to Caleb.” The line went dead silent. Then, an explosion of laughter. “Has she lost her mind? Now she’s dragging Caleb Rogen into it.” “She’s really desperate to make Adrian jealous.” “Adrian, just take pity on her and meet with her. She’s clearly not well after the breakup…” I didn’t listen to the rest. I hung up the phone. A text from an unknown number immediately followed. 【Add me back.】 The familiar tone, the familiar attitude. I knew instantly it was Adrian. I deleted the message without a change in expression, turned off my phone, and went to sleep. The next morning, I had a video from Liam. It was from after I’d hung up. Adrian was sitting on a sofa, a cigarette glowing in the dark, illuminating his cold, handsome features. He let out a low chuckle. “Plenty of people have broken up with me. Am I supposed to meet with every single one of them?” “That’s our Adrian! But if you don’t meet with Clara, are you just going to let her leave empty-handed?” Someone else retorted, “She’s the one who broke up with him! Now she regrets it and wants him back after three years? She’s got some nerve!” “Exactly. Look at her, making up stories about marrying Caleb Rogen. Adrian was too good to her.” Adrian didn’t speak, just played with his phone, lost in thought. Then, Liam spoke up. “Clara’s not a liar. Maybe she’s telling the truth.” “What’s with you, Liam? Are you getting paid to defend her? Or do you have a thing for her?” Liam gave the speaker a long, hard look. “Have you all forgotten about the necklace incident? She suffered so much because of your prejudice.” The room was silent for a moment. Then someone said, “It’s easy to find out if she’s lying. You all got invitations to the Rogen wedding, right? I’ll call home and have someone send me a picture of the invitation.” After about a minute, the person laughed. “See? I told you. There’s no way Caleb Rogen is marrying Clara. The bride’s last name is also Kane, but her first name is Claire.” “Don’t worry, Adrian. She’s definitely back to get you back.” … The video ended there. They were right. Caleb’s bride’s name was Claire Kane. What they didn’t know was that Claire was me. Three years ago, my grandfather had a fortune teller read my chart. He said I was in for a bout of bad luck, and changing my name could ward off evil spirits. So, he gave me a new name: Claire. 6 I knew I would run into Adrian eventually. I just didn’t expect it to be so soon. The day of my wedding dress fitting, Caleb had a last-minute emergency and said he’d be late. When I arrived at the bridal shop, Adrian was sitting in the VIP area. Our eyes met. I gave a polite nod and followed the consultant to the dressing room. While I was waiting for the stylist, Adrian walked in and locked the door behind him. Before I could react, he was standing behind me. The dressing table mirror reflected his handsome face. “Why did you block me?” he asked, his tone as familiar as if we had never been apart. He was actually the one who had blocked and deleted me first. The day I left the city three years ago. How did I know? I didn’t, not at first. Liam let it slip. He had called me to ask for a photo of Adrian. I told him I would send it to Adrian directly. “You can’t,” Liam had said. “He blocked you. Just send it to me.” I was stunned. Adrian and I had an unspoken rule: no matter how bad the fight, we would never block or delete each other. That was the first time the rule had been broken. And he was the one who broke it. After I sent the photo to Liam, I opened my own phone, deleted every picture, every memory of Adrian, and blocked all of his contact information. And now, the one who started it all was questioning me. I warily put some distance between us. “Adrian, we’ve broken up. And we’re both about to get married. There’s no need for us to be in contact.” A slow, meaningful smile spread across his face. “There’s no one else here. You can drop the act.” I frowned. “What act?” “You’re only saying you’re getting married to get my attention, to make me come back to you.” Honestly, I was shocked that even after three years, he was still so certain I would come back. And I finally understood that my endless patience and tolerance over the past eight years had given him this unwavering confidence. “Adrian,” I said, “no matter what you think, I’m back to get married. As soon as the wedding is over, I’m leaving. If I’ve done anything to give you the impression that I want to get back together, I apologize.” He was silent, studying me. After a long moment, he asked, “Is it because of my arranged marriage?” “It has nothing to do with that, Adrian. I’m getting married…” He cut me off. “Okay, okay, I get it. You’re still mad.” He ignored the last part of my sentence and softened his tone. “It’s been three years. Are you still not over it?” He raised his hand, as if to pat my head like he used to. I moved away, avoiding his touch. “Can’t you understand English? I’m here to marry Caleb. It has nothing to do with you.” His hand froze in mid-air. His eyes grew cold, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. “Clara, if you wanted to find someone to make me jealous, why did you have to pick Caleb? The Rogens are out of your league.” Just like before, he didn’t believe me. The prejudice was ingrained in him. He was convinced I could never reach someone like Caleb, could never marry into a family like the Rogens. For some reason, I started to laugh. “In your eyes, am I really that worthless?” His brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?” He sighed. “Fine. If you want to come back, then come back.” “Come back to where? Your new home? And what role am I supposed to play?” His expression darkened. “Clara, I’m already backing down. What more do you want?” “I don’t need anything from you.” I didn’t want to get into another pointless argument with him. I tried to walk past him. As I turned, he grabbed my wrist. His voice was low. “If you really want to get married that badly, I can marry you.” I turned back, a sarcastic smile on my face. “Marry me? I thought you never planned on marrying me.” His face went pale. “Who… who told you that?” “You did,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. “That day. I was right outside the door.” His expression shifted from confusion to shock, then to understanding. “So you broke up with me because you heard that?” “Yes!” If I hadn’t decided on a whim to go back and surprise him for his birthday, I would still be in the dark, desperately holding onto a relationship that was never going to go anywhere. The atmosphere in the small room became tense. His lips were pressed into a thin, cold line. “Why didn’t you ask me?” he asked, his voice strained. “Would it have made a difference?” He was about to say something else when a knock on the door interrupted him. It was the consultant. “Miss Kane, do you need any help?” “No, I’m coming out now.” I took advantage of his distraction, pulled my hand free, and walked out. But I stopped short when I saw who was standing outside the door. 7 Sophia was standing outside the dressing room in a wedding dress. I didn’t know how long she had been there, or how much she had heard. “Clara,” she said. “Long time no see.” I gave a slight nod in acknowledgement. “Can I talk to you alone for a minute?” “No, I’m busy.” I turned to the consultant. “Could you please find me another dressing room?” “Of course. This way, please.” “Wait.” Sophia walked over, holding up her dress. “I heard you’re getting married. Congratulations.” “Thank you.” “Adrian and I are having our engagement party at the end of the month. Can you come? I think Adrian would be very happy to have your blessing.” Sophia was pretty in a delicate, quiet way. Anyone would think she was a sweet, innocent girl. But I just found her annoying. After the necklace incident, she never apologized to me. Instead, she said to Adrian, “It’s all my fault. I should have checked my bag more carefully, then things wouldn’t have gotten so out of hand.” Adrian had laughed. “Everyone knows you’re a little scatterbrained. We’re used to it.” Then she had turned to Liam. “I’m so sorry. I almost ruined your birthday party.” They were all laughing and talking, but no one thought to apologize to me. I was the victim, but they were all comforting the perpetrator. “Don’t come to our engagement party.” Adrian’s voice pulled me back to the present. He had walked out of the dressing room as if he owned the place. The moment he appeared, Sophia’s face went pale. But she quickly forced a smile and said sweetly, “Adrian, I was just looking for you. I didn’t realize you were catching up with Clara.” She walked over and linked her arm through his. “I wasn’t thinking. I forgot Clara has her own wedding to prepare for. Do you have time tomorrow? I’m planning a birthday celebration for Adrian. You haven’t been back in a while, it would be a good chance to catch up with old friends.” I shook my head. “I have plans tomorrow night.” Caleb was taking me to meet his friends. And even if I were free, I wouldn’t go to their party. But I never expected that we would run into each other anyway. 8 During a break at the dinner party, I went to the restroom. On my way back, I ran into Adrian coming out of the private room next to ours. The moment our eyes met, I saw a flicker of mockery in his. “I thought you said you were busy.”

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At my own engagement party, the wide-eyed heroine whispered to her System. “If I splash wine on the male lead, won’t he just throw me out?” The System’s voice was chipper and confident. “Relax. You’re the main character. So what if he’s engaged? Even if he were married, he’d fall so head-over-heels for you he wouldn’t know what hit him.” This was my engagement party. The man I had carefully chosen as my fiancé, Bernard Croft, was the so-called “male lead” she was talking about? That was impossible. Bernard was the heir to a dynasty, schooled for over twenty years in the art of putting profits before anything else. He would never toss aside a multi-billion dollar merger for some doe-eyed ingenue. Unless, of course, he’d completely lost his mind. It wasn’t until my family’s corporation teetered on the brink of bankruptcy that I finally understood. The plot they were weaving wasn’t about love—it was about forcing the male lead to abandon me for the sake of his bottom line. 01 My engagement to Bernard was a strategic alliance, a merger of two corporate titans destined to send both our stock prices soaring. But here, at our engagement party, I was eavesdropping on a conversation between a waitress and her invisible System. The waitress, an innocent-looking girl, was psyching herself up to “accidentally” spill her drink on Bernard to get his attention. The System’s voice echoed in my mind. “You’re the heroine! You’ll have him wrapped around your finger. Go on, be bold! Aim for the suit! Ruin his engagement party!” I glanced at Bernard beside me. He was breathtaking in a pristine, custom-tailored white suit with a seven-figure price tag. The thought of that masterpiece being ruined by cheap wine made my own wallet ache. Bernard noticed my stare and leaned in, his voice a low murmur. “What is it?” “Nothing,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Just wondering… would you ever call off our wedding for another woman?” A smirk played on his lips as he tapped his temple. “Sophia, darling, have you been reading too many romance novels? Lost your mind? Marrying you is like acquiring a billion-dollar asset. What reason would I have to throw away a billion dollars?” His logic was so sound it made me feel foolish. I wouldn’t have believed it either, if I hadn’t heard the waitress and her System with my own two ears. My eyes kept drifting back to her, following her every move. Bernard squeezed my hand, a silent warning. He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. “We’re about to be married and you’re already distracted? Thinking about some other guy?” I shot back, “Not another guy. But I have a feeling your past might be about to catch up with you.” He scoffed. “Hardly.” The next second, it happened. The waitress stumbled, and a cascade of crimson wine arced through the air, drenching the front of Bernard’s immaculate white suit. 02 “Are you insane?! What the hell was that?” Bernard’s voice was ice. The polite, gentlemanly mask he wore for the public cracked, revealing the fury simmering beneath. I’d known him since we were kids; I knew this was him on the verge of exploding. The waitress, this Lily, looked like a startled rabbit. “I-I’m so, so sorry…” she stammered, tears welling in her eyes as she fumbled with a napkin, trying to dab at the stain. The hotel manager rushed over, his face pale. “Lily, what is wrong with you? You’re supposed to be in the back with the catering staff! What are you doing out here?” Lily sobbed, her voice thick with manufactured innocence. “I just wanted to pour Mr. Croft a glass of wine.” It was a convincing performance, a simple, tragic mistake. Normally, I would have smoothed things over, eager to keep our engagement party running without a hitch. But tonight, I was intensely curious. How was Bernard going to handle this? His eyes were cold, his jaw tight as he deliberately looked away from Lily. “My assistant will send you the bill for the suit. You will pay for it, or I’ll sue. Consider yourself lucky I’m in a good mood today.” With that, he grabbed my hand and turned on his heel, not giving Lily a single backward glance. His movements were clipped, almost unnaturally fast. “What a disaster,” he muttered as we walked away. “Sophia, that suit was one of a kind! Ruined by some clumsy waitress… it’s completely soaked. Thank God I had the foresight to bring a backup.” He stalked towards the changing rooms, leaving the manager to tear into the still-sobbing Lily. Did she really think soiling a suit was enough to derail our engagement? How simplistic. I edged a little closer to Lily, my curiosity piqued. I needed to hear what her next move was. 03 While Bernard was changing, I tuned back into Lily’s frantic conversation with her System. “What do I do? What do I do?” she panicked. “Where am I going to get that kind of money? Three million dollars? I won’t earn that in a lifetime!” The System was unbothered. “It’s only three million. Once you marry him, you’ll have access to three hundred million. What’s the difference? You can’t pay? Fine. Go apologize again. Sooner or later, he’ll see your pure heart and inner beauty.” Lily’s voice was small. “My inner beauty? Are you sure he’s into the sweet, innocent type?” “Positive,” the System insisted. “Bernard fought his way to the top of the Croft family hierarchy. Dynasties like his are starved for genuine warmth. Someone like you is exactly what he needs to let his guard down.” “Look at him with his fiancée,” it continued. “That smile is so fake. He doesn’t love her at all.” Lily seemed to absorb this, nodding to herself. When Bernard reappeared, I found myself scrutinizing his face, searching for the fakeness the System had mentioned. He caught me staring and bent down again. “What is with you tonight?” “Are you unhappy?” I asked bluntly. “Is that smile fake?” He rubbed his own cheeks, which did look a little stiff. “You think anyone can hold a smile like this all day? My God, Sophia, you must be a saint.” I ignored his backhanded compliment and pulled him along to mingle. An engagement party like this was a networking goldmine; deals that would make us millions were being brokered over cocktails. There was no time to slack off. Still, a sense of unease lingered. Bernard had never been short of female attention, but this “heroine”… my gut told me she was different. 04 By the end of the night, Bernard and I were exhausted. As I sank into the plush leather of the back seat of my car, he was just about to get in beside me. “Mr. Croft!” A panicked voice called out. It was Lily, rushing out of the hotel. Bernard paused, his annoyance clear. “Are you here with the money?” Lily’s face flushed a deeper red. From my angle, she looked even more like a cornered animal. “No… I was just thinking… I could take the suit home and wash it. I promise I can make it look brand new… I really don’t have the money… please.” So fragile. It looked like a strong gust of wind could knock her over. Was this what Bernard secretly wanted? A woman he needed to protect? The thought sent a chill down my spine. It reminded me of my own father, who had left my mother for a woman who was just as fragile, just as seemingly helpless. Suddenly, my interest in the game waned. I said nothing, just watched Bernard, trying to read the thoughts behind his guarded expression. He let out a short, sharp laugh. “This is a bespoke designer suit. And you want to ‘take it home and wash it’?” He shook his head. “Unbelievably naive.” As the car door clicked shut, I heard Lily’s desperate whisper to her System. “He’s angry! What do I do now?” “Don’t worry,” the System soothed. “You’ve already piqued his interest. All the data I gave you was tailored to his exact preferences. Tomorrow, you’ll start as his new secretary. I’ll create an opportunity for you.” “As for Sophia,” it added dismissively, “you don’t need to worry about her at all. Her family is about to go bankrupt. When that happens, her engagement to Bernard will naturally be dissolved.” “Their relationship is built on pure business. How could that ever compete with true love?” Lily was convinced. My heart stopped. My family… bankrupt? I was completely and utterly stunned by the revelation. 05 My family, one of the city’s upper-echelon elites… bankrupt? It seemed impossible. But the System had gotten one thing right. My relationship with Bernard was a contract, a fusion of assets. If my family’s fortune vanished, he would have every reason to walk away. But would he walk away… for her? I decided to test the waters. “She seems quite pitiful,” I murmured. “There’s no way she can afford three million dollars.” Bernard leaned over, resting his head on my shoulder, his voice laced with amusement. “Darling, the stray cats and dogs on the street are pitiful too. If you feed them once, they’ll just keep coming back for more. Sometimes, it’s better not to feed them at all.” “Doesn’t a girl like that awaken your protective instincts?” I pressed, remembering the System’s certainty that Lily was his “type.” He mumbled, his voice drowsy. “I have no interest in a clinging vine that needs protecting. I told you that a long time ago. You chose me, Sophia. I have no intention of letting you down.” He sounded like a model reciting a script. I reached up and touched his face. “I hope you never forget what our partnership is built on.” Business. That was the only thing that lasted. Until this moment, I had believed that with every fiber of my being. So what if Lily had a System? If Bernard could be won over that easily, then I didn’t want him anyway. 06 Bernard was nothing if not perceptive. He cracked open an eye, his gaze sharp. “Sophia, have you been wanting to run off with some other guy for a while now? You’re acting very strange tonight.” Always turning it back on me. I massaged my temples. Tonight had been surreal. The System’s chatter had clearly gotten under my skin, making me doubt not only my family’s stability but Bernard himself. He was my carefully selected partner. Perfect in every way, except for that brutally sharp tongue. “It’s not me that’s strange,” I retorted. “It’s her. Aren’t you curious? The security at our engagement party was iron-clad. How did she manage to get close enough to drench you in wine?” The fact that I could hear her cosmic cheerleader was too bizarre to explain. Bernard’s gaze shifted from his phone to my face, intense and focused. He didn’t answer my question directly. “So you are jealous. That A-list actress was all over me last month and you didn’t bat an eye. Why are you getting worked up over a waitress? You must have a very low opinion of my taste.” I pushed his head away. “You wish.” 07 I spent the next few days poring over my family’s financials, searching for any hidden vulnerability, any sign of the impending doom Lily’s System had predicted. And then, as if her words were a curse, it began. A series of small, nagging problems started cropping up at Vanderbilt Corp. My phone buzzed constantly with calls from assistants and department heads. None of the issues were catastrophic on their own, but they were persistent, and we couldn’t trace the source. It was like death by a thousand paper cuts. The System’s words haunted me: “Her family is about to go bankrupt.” I had to see Bernard. I had to know if the System’s other prediction—that Lily would become his secretary—was true. Could this System really be powerful enough to fabricate a resume and bypass the extensive background checks of a company like Croft Industries? I drove to his office building. The receptionist knew me, of course, and waved me right through. I was escorted straight to the executive floor, to the doors of Bernard’s office. When the door opened, I froze. There she was. Lily. Standing so close to Bernard that from my angle, it looked like they were in an embrace. So the System really was that powerful. He was already taking the sweet, innocent girl into his arms. I stood there, stunned into silence. My escort, one of his senior secretaries, quickly recovered. “Mr. Croft, Ms. Vanderbilt is here.” Bernard immediately pushed Lily away. She stumbled backward, nearly falling. “I asked you to get coffee, not throw yourself at me! Get out!” he snapped. Lily looked wounded. Her eyes darted from Bernard’s furious face to mine. “But… I was just pouring the coffee.” “Pouring coffee? It looked like you were about to pour it all over me again! You already owe me millions, Ms. Evans!” As Lily was hustled out by a flustered assistant, I heard her frantic whisper. “System, are you sure your intel is right? I really don’t think he’s into me at all!” The mechanical voice replied, tinny and certain. “Impossible. The data is clear: Bernard Croft likes innocent, sweet girls with no ulterior motives. This is only your second meeting. I will create another opportunity for you soon.” “The data never lies,” it continued. “He despises people who are obsessed with money and power. The only way to win his heart is to show him that you care nothing for material things.” Lily sighed. “Alright, maybe it’s just…” I wanted to hear more, but the assistant had already shown her out and discreetly closed the heavy office door. The vast office was silent, leaving just me and Bernard. He was already rushing to explain. “I swear, Sophia, it’s like she has some kind of dark magic. I’m calling HR right now to have her fired. This day has been an absolute nightmare.” This world, I thought, was becoming a nightmare.

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My best friend is in love with my uncle. She’s also paying me a small fortune to play Cupid. When I delivered the scarf she knitted for him, my uncle’s jaw tightened. A notification pinged on my phone. “Ten thousand dollars,” he said, his voice flat. “Consider your services purchased.” When I passed along her handwritten love letter, he didn’t even glance at it. His face darkened as he tapped on his phone. “Twenty thousand,” he bit out. “Don’t ever do this again.” I was getting paid by both of them. Life was good. Until the day before his birthday. I walked in carrying a massive bouquet of ninety-nine red roses, courtesy of my very determined best friend. He exploded. His face was a mask of cold fury as he ripped the flowers from my arms and smashed them on the floor. “I thought you knew the line, Ava,” he seethed, his voice dangerously low. “But I see you’ve learned to be shameless.” He took a step closer, towering over me. “Stop fantasizing. I could never, ever feel that way about you. Not in this lifetime.” I just stared, stunned. But past the anger, I saw it clear as day: the desperate, agonizing conflict in his eyes. Hold on a second, buddy. Let’s get something straight. I see you as my uncle. So why are you acting like you want to be my husband? 1 Tomorrow is Connor’s thirtieth birthday. Every year, I give him a small, handmade gift. Nothing expensive or flashy, just something thoughtful. Tonight, like always, he was sitting in the living room, waiting for me to get home. But the moment he saw the massive bouquet of red roses in my arms, something in him snapped. His face, usually so composed, went cold. I instantly knew what he was thinking, what he’d misunderstood, and opened my mouth to explain. But before I could, he ripped the bouquet from my hands and slammed it onto the marble floor. The petals scattered like droplets of blood. His brow was furrowed, his eyes filled with a deep, crushing disappointment. “Have you no shame, Ava?” His voice was low, cutting. “Even if we’re not blood, I’m still your guardian. I’m your uncle.” He took a step closer, his shadow falling over me. “All these years, you’ve given me these… suggestive little gifts. I let it slide because I thought you knew the line. But now this? Are you really pushing it this far?” I was speechless for a second, then found my voice. “This is from Chloe,” I explained, my tone steady despite the tremor inside me. “She just asked me to give it to you.” Chloe is my best friend and, out of all the women vying for Connor’s attention, the only one I actually like. She has a great personality, she’s gorgeous, and even Connor seems to enjoy her company. She wanted to surprise him for his birthday. The plan was for me to be the advance guard with the roses. She was hiding outside, waiting for the right moment to come in and confess her feelings. As her designated wingwoman and paid consultant, I was happy to play my part in her slightly cheesy, rom-com-worthy plan. But when I pulled open the front door to prove I was telling the truth, the porch was empty. *What the hell? Where did she go?* Way to flake out at the crucial moment, Chloe. Now what do I do? I turned back to Connor, my mind racing, but meeting his gaze made the words die in my throat. His expression was a storm of conflict. Disappointment, yes, but also a raw, painful longing. The rest of it, the part that twisted my stomach into a knot, I refused to acknowledge. He grabbed my arm, his grip tight, and pulled me onto the porch, forcing me to look at the empty, manicured lawn. The night air was cold against my skin. His voice was laced with an arctic chill I’d never heard before. “I’ve raised you for over a decade, Ava. I didn’t do it so you could learn to lie to my face like this.” He gestured vaguely at the darkness. “Stop using Chloe as a shield. You’re not worthy of even mentioning her name in the same breath. She’s a decent, reserved girl. She would never be so… shameless.” In all the years I’d lived with him, he had never spoken to me with such contempt. It was humiliating. Utterly, profoundly humiliating. I clutched at the sleeve of his cashmere sweater. “It’s not like that…” He shook me off like I was a piece of dirt, pulling out his phone. His fingers moved across the screen with grim familiarity. A notification pinged on my phone. “I just sent you ten thousand dollars,” he said, his voice flat. “Consider the flowers bought. And consider whatever pathetic fantasy you’ve cooked up in your head bought and paid for, too.” He met my eyes, his own now hard as granite. “From now on, I don’t want to see this kind of trash in my house again. Get rid of your disgusting little crush. I could never, ever feel that way about you. This lifetime or the next.” He brushed past me and walked out into the night, leaving me standing there amid the ruined flowers. My eyes burned, tears welling up until my vision blurred. Just then, my phone buzzed again. A text from Chloe. *OMG I’m so sorry babe, I totally chickened out…* A second message appeared. *Can you buy another bouquet for tomorrow?? I’ll try again! I promise I’ll go through with it this time!* Then, a third notification. *Venmo: Chloe sent you $20,000.* Followed by: *Please??* Wait. How much? Twenty. Thousand. Dollars. I sniffled, blinked, and counted the zeroes after the two. One, two, three, four. It was real. I pocketed my phone, a sense of calm satisfaction washing over me. The tears of wounded pride instantly retreated. I knelt, methodically gathering the scattered petals from the floor. Then, my face a perfect mask of composure, I opened an app and ordered a new bouquet of roses for delivery tomorrow morning. Sorry, Connor. Her offer was just too good to refuse. 2 It wasn’t always this tense between us. Before I turned eighteen, things were different. The Reeds and my family, the Martins, were inseparable. After my parents died in a car crash, I was sent to live with Connor. He was my dad’s best friend, my designated guardian. By convention, I called him Uncle Connor. He earned the title. Even though we shared no blood, he treated me like a princess. He took me on trips to broaden my horizons, bought me ridiculously expensive dresses for school dances, and once, when a new housekeeper accidentally gave me regular milk and triggered my lactose allergy, he lost his notoriously unshakable cool and fired her on the spot. Having lost my own father, I came to see him as a father figure, someone I loved and respected deeply. For every holiday, every birthday, I would make him a gift. A hand-knit scarf or gloves when it got cold. A pitcher of his favorite sun tea when summer arrived. To me, these were just simple, ordinary gestures of affection. My mother was crafty, and I’d picked it up from her. I used to make the same kinds of things for my dad. But somewhere along the way, as I grew from a girl into a woman, things changed. Or maybe he changed. My simple gifts started taking on meanings he invented, and with each one, he grew more distant. Finally, whether to create distance or for some other reason, he started paying me. For the scarf I gave him on my eighteenth birthday, he didn’t even look at it. He just offered a thin smile and picked up his phone. “Thanks for the effort, Ava. I just sent you ten thousand. Consider it a purchase.” The sun tea got the same treatment. He took a single, perfunctory sip. “Tastes good. You worked hard.” Another ping from my phone. “That’s five hundred dollars. For the pitcher.” Five hundred dollars. Not for the sentiment. For the product. He never used many words. The wire transfers were his way of rejecting the feeling behind the gift. His deliberate distance hurt, but it also lit a fire under me. Five hundred bucks for a pitcher of tea? Where else was I going to find a patron that generous and clueless? He said he was buying my gifts, but he never said I had to stop giving them. So I doubled down. My gift-giving became more frequent, more… creative. I gave him presents for absurd holidays like National Left-Handers Day. Worried he’d get the wrong idea again, I started choosing the most impersonal things I could think of: designer sunglasses, artisanal teas, fancy imported milk, and even a bag of Nescafé instant I tried to pass off as hand-ground artisanal coffee. And as he grew colder, I took on a side hustle: running point for the legion of women trying to date him, delivering their gifts and messages. Getting paid on both ends of the deal isn’t shameful, it’s smart. I thought for sure this would get the message through his thick skull. That my interest was purely familial—and, now, financial. Apparently, I’d underestimated the complexity of his wiring. All my efforts, and I still ended up with, “I could never feel that way about you.” Sigh. Re-education program: failed. 3 Connor came home late, staggering drunk. Seeing him stumble, I instinctively moved to help him. The moment my hand touched his arm, he flinched like he’d been burned. He shoved me away, his eyes wild. I lost my balance and fell to the floor. “I told you to get away from me!” he snarled, his words slurring. “Stay the hell away! I don’t like you, don’t you get it?” *Dude,* I thought, rubbing my hip. *I never said I liked you.* He ignored me, lurching toward the staircase. He made it two steps before his legs gave out and he tumbled right back down, landing in a heap near my feet. Okay. Deep breaths. You’re turning thirty, my friend. Tomorrow, you officially begin your journey toward forty. In a few years, I could legitimately call you an old man. Can we please stop pretending we’re invincible? I pushed myself up, massaging my temples, and hauled him back to his bedroom. His consciousness was flickering, but he still knew who I was. As I pulled the covers over him, his hand fumbled for his phone on the nightstand. “Two thousand…” he mumbled. “For… for your help. The service fee. Don’t get any ideas.” I should have let him fall a few more times. Maybe the price would have gone up. For the sake of the money, I ignored the drunkard’s ramblings. I tucked him in and turned to leave. But before I could take a step, a pair of arms wrapped around me from behind, hot and heavy. The smell of whiskey and smoke mixed with his signature cedarwood cologne filled my senses. Connor’s lips, feverish and rough, brushed against my ear. “Why?” he whispered, his voice thick and raw. “Why won’t you just go away?” Before I could process it, his hand was at the back of my neck, turning my head. I was trapped, looking into his eyes—eyes that were no longer just conflicted, but filled with a dark, terrifying desire. That snapped me out of it. I shoved him hard, stumbling back. “You need to figure out who’s pushing who away!” I shot back, my voice sharp. Then, without waiting for a reply, I fled to my room. My heart hammered against my ribs. I leaned against my door, trying to get my thoughts in order. Suddenly, an idea struck. I grabbed my phone and opened my chat with Chloe. *Chloe, Connor’s trashed. Perfect opportunity. Get over here. Now.*

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The first time I died, it was pathetic. I’d stormed out of my marriage in a blaze of righteous fury, only to discover that pride doesn’t pay the rent. I ended up broke, sick, and utterly alone, wasting away in a sterile hospital room. The final irony? It was my ex-husband, Liam, who claimed my ashes. While my life fizzled out, his ignited. He made partner at his law firm, pulling in seven figures a year. And, of course, he got the girl—his great lost love, the one that got away. A perfect, inspiring life. A perfect middle finger to my memory. When I open my eyes again, I’m back. Back on the very day I threw it all away. Liam is sitting across from me, his face an unreadable mask of indifference. “Your family’s about to go bankrupt, Audrey. You really want to do this now? Are you planning on starving?” His words are a splash of ice water. The first time around, I was too proud, too wounded to hear the truth in them. I’d just screamed, demanded he sign the papers, and walked away with nothing but my “dignity.” I left him the five-million-dollar house, the closets full of designer clothes, everything. A grand gesture to prove my nobility wasn’t for sale. What a fucking idiot I was. 1 After years of scrubbing dishes in the dead of winter for minimum wage, my hands cracking and bleeding for a three-thousand-dollar paycheck, those material things suddenly look a lot more than just cute. They look like survival. They look like warmth. Love? Love without a safety net isn’t romantic. It’s just garbage. A slow, sweet smile spreads across my face. I let my eyes soften as I look at him. “Oh, honey. Liam. I was just talking nonsense. Why would I ever want to divorce you? I love you so much.” I stand, my voice dripping with manufactured warmth. “That was all just… a moment. You must be exhausted. Let me run you a bath. You can just soak and relax.” Before he can react, I snatch the divorce agreement off the table and make a run for it. In the master bathroom, I tear the damn thing to shreds, flushing the pieces down the toilet with a visceral sense of satisfaction. The whirring sound of the state-of-the-art, fully automated commode is the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard. I can’t help but press my cheek against its heated lid, soaking in the gentle warmth. Oh my God, I think, a wave of relief so powerful it’s almost painful washing over me. I’ll never have a frozen ass in the winter again. No more gnawing hunger. No more choosing between my father’s medical bills and my own groceries. No more breaking my body for a pittance. I don’t know what I was so hung up on in my past life. Obsessing over whether Liam loved me, picking apart a few ambiguous text messages on his phone, even after he’d handed me his entire life on a silver platter. It took hitting rock bottom to finally understand the gospel truth: the only thing that truly matters is the almighty dollar. I’ve seen the light. And this time, I’m never leaving its warm, comforting embrace. I draw Liam’s bath, setting the temperature to a precise 96.4 degrees, just how he likes it. I lay out a fresh set of pajamas for him. When he walks into the bathroom, I’m still standing by the door, beaming at him. He gives me a long, searching look, then silently reaches out and clicks the lock on the door. I… right. As if I’m thirsty for that. I shrug it off and head to our bedroom to take stock of my personal finances. 2 To be fair, for the first twenty-five years of my life, I really was a princess. My parents ran a successful manufacturing business, clearing nearly eight figures a year. As their only child, I was the center of their universe. My grades were average, but I was pretty and, more importantly, lucky. I scraped my way into a top-tier school, and that’s where I met Liam. He was brilliant, intense, and dirt-poor. It was a story straight out of a novel. I fell head over heels. I begged my parents to cover his tuition, to give him the seed money to start his own firm after graduation. He was grateful. To repay me, he proposed the day we got our diplomas. What followed were two years of a picture-perfect marriage that was, behind closed doors, as cold as a morgue. Liam was a good man, but a good man isn’t immune to the laws of attraction. He felt gratitude for me, not desire. Even in bed, he was never truly lost in the moment. He was busy, driven. Saturday nights, he would mechanically set aside one hour for “us.” Any other time, if I wanted so much as a kiss, I felt like I had to schedule it with his assistant. Living in that emotional deep freeze, my romantic soul started to wither, and then to act out. Looking back now, I can’t blame him for finding me boring. After college, I slid right into the role of a housewife. My days were a blur of reality TV and video games. We had nothing to talk about. He’d accuse me of having my brain melted by social media; I’d accuse him of being less charming and attentive than the husbands I saw on those same screens. Our marriage was on a collision course with a brick wall. Lying on the plush king-sized bed, I let out a long sigh. Audrey, you don’t know how good you have it. For a useless, spoiled woman like you, getting a second chance is like winning the lottery. Your ancestors must be smiling down on you. This is your do-over. Use it. You don’t need to be some hero who single-handedly saves the family business. You just need to be smart enough to build a lifeboat, for yourself and for them. Just then, Liam walks in, rubbing his hair with a towel. He glances at me, still in my day clothes, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. Right. It’s Saturday. My night to perform my wifely duties. Unlike the cold shoulder I would have given him before, I jump up and dash into the bathroom. I take what could only be described as a combat shower and slip into a piece of lingerie I’d buried at the back of my drawer. I’d bought it for our honeymoon, hoping for a night of passion, but he’d been called away on an urgent case before I ever got to wear it. Well, no time like the present. It’s for our mutual pleasure, after all. Why not enjoy it? The moment I step out, I see Liam’s breath catch in his throat. His eyes widen with a mix of shock and something else, something I can’t quite decipher. His voice is a low rasp. “Audrey, you…” I silence him with a kiss. “Shhh,” I whisper against his lips. “Don’t talk. We’re wasting precious time.” 3 It’s amazing what a change in perspective can do. Before, I was desperate for his love, so I scrutinized his every move. A furrowed brow from him would send my heart into a panic, terrified I’d done something to displease him. A strained groan and I’d spiral, convinced I was failing. But now? Now he’s just a tool. A very handsome, very effective tool. My only concerns are his speed, the angle, and whether he’s putting in enough effort. After the third round, Liam’s face is pale. I lean in for another kiss, but he gently pushes me away. “I have a court appearance tomorrow. I can’t be exhausted.” Oh. Okay, then. I suppose it’s normal to be a little overzealous after a twenty-year drought. I don’t argue. I just slip out of bed and start putting my clothes back on. Liam rolls over, his expression pure shock. “Where are you going?” “To the guest room. It’s a mess in here.” The sheets are… damp. It’s uncomfortable, and probably bad for my joints. In my old life, I would have endured it just to cuddle with him. Now, I value my own comfort. If he wants to sleep in a wet spot, that’s his problem. I shut the door with a soft click, leaving him with a look of utter bewilderment on his face. The next morning, I sleep until ten. As expected, he’s already gone. A note is left on the nightstand: [Out of town for a week. Chicago.] Tucked underneath it is a thick stack of cash. Liam has this weird habit of giving me my allowance in cash. I could never decide if it was meant to be insulting or just eccentric. I count it. Ten thousand dollars. Generous as always. I get dressed, take the money, and head straight for the bank. The moment I walk in, I’m overwhelmed. It’s one of the quirks of being a spoiled princess: I have no practical skills. Complex environments make my head spin. I finally flag down an employee who guides me to a teller. I exchange Liam’s cash for gold bars and move my own savings into a new, separate account. With my finances secured, I grab a taxi to my parents’ house. If my memory serves me right, this is right around the time their business started showing cracks, though they were still trying to shield me from it. 4 The air in my parents’ home is thick with gloom. My father is chain-smoking on the sofa, and my mother is staring blankly at a spreadsheet on her laptop. When they see me, they share a panicked glance and force brittle smiles onto their faces. My mom starts to speak, but I hold up a hand. “Don’t pretend. I know the business is in trouble.” They run a traditional manufacturing company, and the internet age has hit them like a freight train. In a desperate final gambit, they’d sunk all their remaining capital into one big project, and that project was now imploding. The company’s credit line is about to be severed, leaving them with two choices. One: Double down, take out more loans, and bet everything on one last miracle. Two: Liquidate everything, pay off the debts, and shut the doors for good. In my last life, my parents, bless their stubborn hearts, chose to gamble. They lost everything. The stress, the constant smoking… it eventually gave my father lung cancer. My mother tried to rebuild, but every penny she earned was immediately seized by creditors. They could barely afford to live. This time, I’m taking charge. “Dad, Mom. Stop fighting it. You’re behind the times. The factory isn’t coming back.” AI and automation are developing at a terrifying pace. The tidal wave is coming for traditional industries, and my parents can’t even see the storm clouds. They didn’t die from failure; they died from obsolescence. They both bristle at my words. “What do you know? You’ve never paid attention to the business.” “Exactly,” my mom adds. “I’ve spoken to your Uncle Mark and Uncle David. They both said they’d back us if we want to try again.” Yes, they did. And they both later became regulars at our door, demanding repayment. I let out a bitter laugh. “Come on, sit down. Let me tell you exactly why I know what I’m talking about.” I curl up on the sofa and tell them everything. My whole, pathetic, miserable past life. With the two people I trust most in the world, there’s no reason to hide. When I finish, they’re both shaken. My father’s eyes are filled with tears. “So… for all those years… you were washing dishes to pay our debts? And you died… you died alone in a hospital because you couldn’t afford treatment?” He clutches my hand, his whole body trembling. My mother is silent, her head bowed. After a long moment, she looks up, her face a mess of tears and a strange, broken smile. “Okay,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “Okay, sweetheart. This time, we’ll listen to you. We’re done fighting.” 5 My parents began the slow, painful process of dismantling their life’s work. Thanks to decades of experience, they were savvy negotiators. After paying off all the debts and liquidating the assets, they were left with a few hundred thousand dollars and the family home, free and clear. After signing the final sale contract, my parents stood in the empty factory lobby, looking lost. “A whole lifetime of work,” my dad said, his voice hollow. “And it’s all gone. This factory, this land, all of it… it all belongs to someone else now.” I link my arms through theirs. “Dad, Mom, it’s okay. We’re all alive. That’s what matters.” Getting out now means they only lost a few million. If they’d held on, they would have been buried under a mountain of debt with no hope of escape. With no jobs to go to, my parents seemed to drift. They were aimless, their energy gone. So I took the nest egg I’d been building—a couple million from savings and savvy investments I remembered from my past life—and put it in their hands. “Mom, Dad, this is all my savings from… forever. It’s yours now.” They stared at the bank statement, speechless. “In my other life, I was miserable, but I also saw how fast the world was changing. The factory failed because you were both so busy working in the business that you never had time to see what was happening outside of it. If you try to jump into a new venture now, you’ll just be guessing.” I took a deep breath. “So here’s the plan. Take this money, and go back to school. Enroll in an executive MBA program. Learn about the new economy. And when you’re ready, when you see a real opportunity, we’ll start over. The right way.” My parents looked from the statement to me, their eyes wide with astonishment. Then, slowly, they both began to smile. “Wow,” my dad said, shaking his head in wonder. “Audrey, you’ve really grown up. That’s… that’s a brilliant idea.” “She’s right,” my mom agreed. “Your father and I will go back to school.” Striking while the iron was hot, I spent the rest of the night researching the top business programs in the country. Two days later, my parents were on a flight to Boston for an intensive course at Harvard. After arranging for better security at their now-empty house and letting go of the extra staff, I finally returned to the home I shared with Liam. He was already back, sitting on the sofa, reading through a case file. He looked up as I came in, then closed the file and tucked it into his briefcase. He stood, about to head into his study. I ignored him, went upstairs, took a shower, and started watching video tutorials on film editing. A friend of mine, Zoe, is a huge influencer. She told me the creator economy is exploding. I don’t have many marketable skills, but I know how to perform the role of a wealthy, carefree wife. I figured I could start a vlog. If it took off, great. If not, what did I have to lose? I was deep into a lesson on color grading when Liam pushed the bedroom door open and stood behind me. He asked, his voice low, “It’s Saturday.” 6 I almost choked on my water. I instinctively glanced at the calendar on my phone. Oh. So it is. I closed my laptop, walked over to him, and stood on my toes to kiss him. He caught me, his hand cupping the back of my neck. He paused. “Wear the one from last time.” …Excuse me? Oh. That one. Four rounds later, I was the one begging for mercy. As Liam rolled off me, I made a move to get out of bed. He grabbed my wrist. My eyes fluttered open. “Hmm?” He hesitated, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Sleep here.” “It’s wet.” He immediately leaned over to the linen closet, pulled out a fresh set of sheets, and expertly spread them over the mess. “Not anymore.” Fine. I settled back onto the pillow. He shifted, pulling me against his chest and wrapping his arms around me. I mumbled, confused, “What now?” “I’m cold.” Whatever. I was too exhausted to argue. I fell asleep almost instantly. I had no idea that the man beside me lay awake for hours, just watching me. I had a long, long dream about the days when I used to chase him. From his first day on campus, Liam was a star. The law school lecture halls were always packed, with dozens of students craning their necks just to get a look at him. He was cool, distant, never letting anyone get too close. The only person in his orbit was a girl from his hometown, Claire. They were inseparable. When I first set my sights on Liam, I tried to figure out if they were a couple. But before I could get a clear answer, Claire abruptly left the country to study abroad. Not long after, Liam’s mother was diagnosed with cancer. Pancreatic cancer. The king of them all. Treatment or not, the outcome was usually the same. But with money, you could buy comfort. You could buy dignity. Liam was tormented, unable to sleep, consumed by worry. I went to my parents and asked them for a million dollars to cover his mother’s medical expenses. With the bills paid, his mother could finally rest without pain. Liam found me the next day. “Thank you,” he said, his voice raw. “Don’t thank me,” I replied, my voice bold and clear. “Just marry me.” I was brazen, shameless in my pursuit. Liam looked at me, a soft, complicated smile touching his lips for the first time. I didn’t understand what that smile meant then. It took me two years of a cold marriage and a whole other lifetime to finally get it. It was the smile of surrender. The reluctant acknowledgment of a debt that could only be paid with his body, with his future. 7 The next morning, Liam was still home, a rare occurrence. He was setting out breakfast as I came downstairs. “I have some free time today,” he said. “I thought we could go see your parents.” “They’re not home,” I replied, not looking up from my oatmeal. “They’re in Boston.” He paused. “Boston?” “Mmmhmm. I signed them up for an MBA program. They’re taking classes.” “What about the factory? The business?” “It’s done. We sold it.” He watched me quietly for a moment. “Was that your idea?” “Yep. I figured there was no point in bleeding out slowly. Better to just rip the bandage off.” I wiped my mouth, grabbed my purse, and headed for the door to put on my shoes. “I’m meeting a friend. I might be late. See ya.” Liam started to say something, but the door was already closing behind me. I was meeting Zoe, my influencer friend, to pick her brain. She was a lifesaver, walking me through everything from setting up my accounts and writing a compelling bio to finding my target audience and boosting engagement. She talked a mile a minute, and I struggled to keep up with my notes. “God, your handwriting is atrocious,” she said, peering over my shoulder. “It looks like a chicken just had a seizure on your notepad.” I grinned. “What do you expect? I was a C-student, remember?” She laughed and playfully tried to shove me, but her eyes suddenly fixed on something over my shoulder. “Oh, shit.” I followed her gaze. Across the street, a handsome couple was walking side-by-side. A car sped past, and the man instinctively pulled the woman into the shelter of his arms. It was Liam. And Claire. When did she get back in town? And why didn’t Liam say anything? A flicker of the old hurt sparked in my chest, but I quickly snuffed it out. No. Do not go down that rabbit hole. You are not that girl anymore. I refocused on my notes. Zoe, who’d been at college with the three of us, knew the whole sordid history. She nudged me with her elbow. “Uh, hello? Your husband’s high school sweetheart just materialized. You’re not worried?” What was there to be afraid of? I already knew how this movie ended. In three years, Liam would make partner at his firm and he and Claire would get back together. He would propose to her with a fireworks display that lit up the entire city. While the sky exploded with light for them, I would be cowering in a dark restaurant kitchen, getting screamed at by my manager for dropping a stack of plates. “You can’t even wash a dish properly! What are you good for?” “That’s two hundred dollars out of your paycheck. Maybe next time you’ll be more careful.” 8 I didn’t know that as Liam pulled Claire into his arms, he looked up and saw me turn my head away. When I got home that evening, he was standing by the living room window, lost in thought. I was mentally fried from my info-dump session with Zoe, so I walked right past him and headed for the shower. A moment later, the bathroom door opened, and he stepped inside. He was wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, but he carried an aura of command that filled the small space. His handsome, chiseled face was an intense mask of inquiry. “You saw me today.” It wasn’t a question. I rinsed the shampoo from my hair. “Yep.” “Don’t you have anything you want to ask me?” I shook my head. He took a sharp breath, a flicker of anger in his eyes. “Why not?” I looked at him, genuinely perplexed. “Why would I?” What was there to ask? Whether I asked or not, she was still the one. The ghost of what could have been. Suddenly, he was furious. He crossed the space between us in two strides, pinning me against the tiled wall. His mouth crashed down on mine, a kiss that was more of an assault than an act of affection. His hands roamed, slick with soap and steam, igniting fires everywhere they touched. A tremor ran through me, a mix of arousal and simmering resentment. “It’s Sunday,” I managed to gasp out. It wasn’t his goddamn designated day. My protest seemed to enrage him further. He grunted, lifted me into his arms, and carried me out of the bathroom. “I don’t give a damn what day it is. I want you.” Money is hard to earn, I thought, as he threw me onto the bed. And some jobs are messier than others. The bastard went at it all night. The next morning, I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. The man responsible, of course, was already at the office. There was a new friend request on my phone. The profile picture was of Claire, looking sharp in a business suit. The message read: Hey, it’s Claire. Do you have a minute to talk? 9 Claire could dream on. I wasn’t about to let her mess with my mojo. I blocked her number without a second thought, then went to the mall and bought a new laptop and a GoPro. Under Zoe’s expert guidance, I filmed my first-ever vlog. I was under no illusions about who I was. I couldn’t fake being some intellectual powerhouse or a refined high-society lady. So I went with what I knew: “The Useless Princess’s Guide to Getting Her Life Together.” My angle was to let my followers in on the secret that not all rich people have their act together. Thanks to my brutally honest self-deprecation and a clearly defined niche, I gained 3,000 followers overnight. Seeing the “99+” notifications in my inbox gave me a thrill I’d never felt before. It was proof. Proof that I could actually be good at something. I was excitedly texting Zoe the news when Liam came home. He wasn’t alone. He’d brought Claire into our house. His expression was perfectly neutral. “Claire had a little accident at a dinner party, spilled soup on her dress. She lives across town, so I was wondering if she could borrow something of yours.” Saying no would make me look petty. I went into the bedroom and pulled out a casual designer tracksuit Liam had bought me when we were first married. As if by cosmic coincidence, it looked stunning on her. She offered a small, polite smile. “You know, it’s funny. Audrey and I seem to have similar taste. I used to love this brand before I moved abroad.” Her compliment was a little too sweet. I met it with blunt honesty. “Liam bought it. I’ve never worn it.” I smiled back. “If you like it so much, you can have it.” Claire’s smile became a little more genuine, the hint of rivalry in her eyes softening. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly… though I do really love it.” I gave her my best eight-teeth-baring, pageant-winner smile. It seemed to have the opposite effect on Liam, whose face had darkened considerably. His brow furrowed, his composure finally cracking. “I’m sorry, my wife is joking. That outfit isn’t for you. Let me find you something else.” And to my astonishment, he actually went back into the closet and picked out a different outfit for her to change into. Claire stared at him for a long, tense moment before snatching the clothes and disappearing into the bathroom with a huff. I thought for sure this was it. The big showdown. The timeline was a little accelerated, and my new career hadn’t taken off yet, but my family was debt-free. I wouldn’t starve. If Claire stayed the night, if they slept together, I could use it as leverage to get a bigger settlement. The house, definitely. A car, for convenience. And the savings… how much did we have in our joint account again? Lost in thought, I pulled out my phone and opened my banking app, trying to count the zeros. I didn’t notice that Liam had already shown Claire out and changed his clothes. He was standing in front of me, his face a thundercloud. “What are you doing?” “Seeing how much I stand to get.” …I probably shouldn’t have said that out loud. He yanked me to my feet. With a sweep of his arm, my brand-new laptop went flying, crashing to the floor. Before I could even register the loss, he lifted me onto the dining table, his mouth devouring mine in a rough, punishing kiss. His right hand tore at my collar while his left fumbled in a nearby drawer. His temper was getting more and more unpredictable. And this time, it hurt. Just when I thought he was about to go further, he stopped. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his breath hot and ragged against my skin. His whole body shuddered with a frustration I couldn’t comprehend. “Why aren’t you angry?” he whispered, his voice choked with despair. “Audrey… don’t you love me anymore?”

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1 During my second year as CEO of Sterling Corp, my high school group chat suddenly blew up. Class president Jason spammed me: “Helen Sterling, Vivian was just joking back then. How can you miss her reunion? Trying to make her feel guilty?” I checked the history. Vivian Vanderbilt, my former bully, had found her biological parents and was celebrating. “Not interested,” I replied. My refusal sparked wild guesses: “Stuck in a dead-end job with no days off?” “I’ll lend you $300—that’s like two days’ pay for you, right?” Vivian jumped in, fake-sweet: “It was just a joke. I dropped out anyway. Can’t you let it go?” I replied coldly: “Only scum call bullying a joke.” The chat erupted: “How dare you? She’s an heiress now. You’re not in her league. Poor people are so petty.” Vivian played victim: “It’s fine. Today’s my new beginning—I want you there, Helen. We were classmates. I won’t blame you for making me drop out. Need money? I’ll ask my dad to hire you.” She posted a screenshot with her father. I instantly recognized the profile picture: my mother’s greedy ex-husband, Edward. But I’m my mother’s twin, and Vivian’s two months younger. A cold smile spread on my face. “Alright. I’ll be there.” … She sent the address moments later. It was sickeningly familiar. Hillcrest Manor, one of the eighteenth birthday gifts my mother had given me. Edward had “borrowed” it last month for an “event.” If I’d only been suspicious before, I was certain now. Vivian was my father’s illegitimate daughter. Just a few days ago, Edward had sent me a gushing text: “Sweetheart, good news! Your mother’s finally agreed to remarry me tomorrow! We’re going to be a happy family again.” My parents had divorced when I was in elementary school. For years, he’d played the part of the devoted ex, constantly trying to win my mother back, showering me with gifts and messages of fatherly concern. I had actually believed he loved my mother, that their split was just a tragic incompatibility. Now I saw the truth. He never gave a damn about either of us. Using a gift from my mother to me, to throw a lavish party for his bastard daughter. Classy. I delegated my work for the evening and drove to the manor. The elegant cream façade had been slathered in a nauseating shade of Pepto-Bismol pink that I despised. Stepping inside, I saw Vivian standing center stage, holding court in my favorite couture gown, one I’d left in the manor’s closet. She was surrounded by a fawning crowd of our old high school classmates and a polished, middle-aged woman who must have been her mother. “I always knew you were special, Vivian,” someone gushed. “I can’t believe you’re a real-life heiress!” “Yeah! I heard the man who bought this estate said it was a coming-of-age gift for his daughter. Your dad must adore you, thinking of you all those years even when he couldn’t find you.” “Vivian, you’re set for life now! Don’t forget about us little people!” Even Chris, the star quarterback who’d barely given Vivian the time of day in high school, was now speaking to her with a gentle, honeyed tone. “Vivian, you’ve finally gotten what you deserve. We all saw how much you suffered back then.” He shot a venomous glare in my direction as I approached. “So when Helen gets here, we’ll make sure you get the justice you deserve. I can’t believe I was ever fooled by her innocent act. I never knew she was so vicious she’d force you to drop out of school.” Vivian lowered her head, a mask of perfect, calculated sorrow on her face. Her eyes, however, glinted with malice as she “defended” me. “Back then… even the principal…” She sighed dramatically. “Oh, let’s just forget it. I can take it. We’re all classmates, after all.” Her unfinished sentence was a masterstroke, letting their imaginations run wild. Immediately, someone piped up, indignant on her behalf. “Helen Sterling is so shameless, using her family’s influence to bully our Vivian.” “Influence? What influence could she have?” another scoffed. “She wore off-brand trash all through high school.” “Then why would the principal help her bully Vivian? Unless…” “Ew, that’s disgusting. Doing that stuff in high school? She probably said she was ‘busy’ tonight because she’s with some sugar daddy.” My arrival silenced them, but only for a moment. They exchanged smirks and looks of disgust. A few even covered their noses as if I were something foul that had crawled in from the gutter. Jason eyed my outfit, a simple but impeccably tailored suit, and sneered. “Helen, I know times are tough, but you could’ve at least worn something decent.” A wave of laughter rippled through the group. “Hilarious. To think I was in the same class as trash like you. I’d rather die than wear something so cheap.” “Wait a second,” someone else chimed in, squinting. “My boss has a suit like that. I think it’s custom-made.” “You’re dreaming,” another shot back. “It’s probably a knock-off from some cheap website.” “Or maybe she stole it from her employer to look important. How pathetic, trying to punch above your weight.” I ignored their jeers, my voice flat and calm. “I don’t wear other people’s clothes. And this suit is bespoke, not some ‘off-brand trash’.” As the words left my mouth, Vivian’s mother, Eleanor, stormed toward me. Her fingers, like claws, snatched the necklace from my throat. The chain bit into my skin, cold and sharp, leaving a fiery sting. CRACK. A vicious slap cracked across my face. “Of course it’s custom-made,” she spat, her voice laced with venom. “It was paid for with my husband’s money!” She held up my necklace for everyone to see. “Your homewrecker mother has been bleeding my husband dry for years, and now you, her bastard child, have the nerve to bully my daughter? You vile creature! How dare you show your face at my daughter’s party? Wasn’t it enough to steal her identity for all these years? Now you’ve come to provoke us? You’re just like your mother—a common whore!” Eleanor’s words were like gasoline on a fire. “Ma’am, are you saying Helen is… illegitimate? Seriously?” someone asked. Eleanor’s face was a mask of fury. She fumbled with the pendant on my necklace, popping open a hidden locket. Inside was a tiny family photo—of me as a child with my parents. “Here’s the proof! Do you think I’m lying?” she shrieked. “I always knew he had a bastard child somewhere, but I never imagined she’d have the audacity to show up on my doorstep!” “This suit,” she continued, gesturing wildly at me, “was Vivian’s! She tried it on once, said it was a little big, and left it at home. I was cleaning a few days ago and noticed it was gone. I thought it was lost, but he gave it to her!” She pulled out her phone, showing everyone a picture of Vivian wearing a suit that was, admittedly, very similar. But in her photo, the details and the unique cuff monogram were crystal clear—it obviously wasn’t the same garment I was wearing. No one noticed. A chorus of gasps went through the crowd. “Wow, they look identical! It really must be Vivian’s suit. No wonder the craftsmanship is so amazing.” Vivian, feeding off her mother’s rage, sneered at me. “So that’s why your mother never came to parent-teacher conferences. She was afraid someone would recognize her as the other woman.” The floodgates opened. “A homewrecker mother probably raised a homewrecker daughter,” one of them said. “I never liked her in high school. So what if she got good grades? She always had that sour look on her face, like everyone owed her money.” “Exactly! She had boys from the class next door fighting over her. I used to think she was some kind of siren. Turns out she just inherited her mother’s slutty genes.” “Don’t you know? Helen looks all prim and proper, but she’s a total slut in private. I heard she used to check into hotels every day after school. I even saw her slip a room key to some middle-aged guy once!” “Oh my god, seriously? She was that wild in high school? Figures. If she was already bullying the legitimate daughter back then, there’s nothing she wouldn’t do.” Even Hannah, my desk mate, the one person I’d considered a friend, looked at me with pure disgust. “Helen, you’re morally bankrupt. I hate cheaters and their bastards more than anything in the world. I can’t believe you’re both.” Her voice dripped with loathing. “Don’t you ever say we were friends. The thought of what you’ve done makes me sick.” The commotion drew more guests over. Soon, I was surrounded, a spectacle for a pointing, whispering crowd. I scanned the faces. Not a single person I recognized. Was Edward’s social circle really this pathetic? Then it hit me—he’d intentionally invited nobodies. He was terrified my mother would find out about his dirty little secret. The crowd pressed in, a sea of glowing phone screens. Flashes popped in my eyes, sharp and blinding. I raised a hand to shield my face and walked straight up to Eleanor. “First you slander my mother, then you assault me without a shred of proof. Do you think the law is a joke?” Seeing me challenge her mother, Vivian lost it. She shoved me hard, sending me stumbling to the floor. Her voice was high and arrogant. “So what if my mom slapped you? My family’s name is all the justification I need. Who would dare touch me?” She loomed over me. “You think I’m still that same girl you forced out of school? Today, I could beat you to a pulp, and your homewrecker mother wouldn’t be able to say a single word.” She snatched a glass of red wine from a passing waiter’s tray and poured it directly over my head. “In fact, she’d probably have to get on her knees and beg my father for money to pay your medical bills. This is expensive stuff,” she added with a smirk. “Consider it a free wash for the dress.” Vivian’s little crony cackled. “One glass isn’t enough! Who knows how filthy she is? We should all help clean her up!” She grabbed another glass and flung its contents at me. It became a free-for-all. “Hahaha, yeah, wash that tramp stench off her!” “Look at her! She’s probably loving this. This much wine is probably worth a few nights’ work for her and her mom.” Chris, wanting to impress everyone, grabbed a full bottle of champagne. He shook it violently, foam erupting, and aimed the neck right at my face. “Here, here! Open wide and drink up! Let’s give you a good cleaning from the inside out! Hahaha!” My ankle had twisted when I fell; I could barely move. As the bottle flew toward my face, I threw up my hands to protect myself. It smashed against the back of my hand, sending a shockwave of pain up my arm and leaving a dark, swelling bruise. “Alright, that’s enough,” Vivian finally said, her voice bored. “This is my party, after all. We can’t have a real scene.” She looked down at me, a queen surveying a peasant. “Helen, as your former classmate, I’m willing to forgive you for everything you’ve done—and for what you are. But remember this: after today, whenever you see me, you will lower your head.” I pushed myself up, my body aching. I tore off my drenched jacket and roughly wiped the sticky wine from my face. My gaze, ice-cold, swept over every single person who had laid a hand on me. Then, I pulled out my phone and dialed my mother. “Mom,” I said, my voice shaking slightly. “I’m at Hillcrest Manor. I’m in trouble.” Before I could say another word, Eleanor snatched the phone from my hand. She held it to her ear and shrieked into it, “Well, as the real wife, I’m very curious to see what kind of homewrecker raises such a promiscuous, whorish daughter!” Then she threw my phone to the ground, where it shattered on the marble floor. “Look how confident she is,” someone snickered. “Maybe her mom has a whole stable of sugar daddies.” “Let her mom come! There are plenty of wealthy wives here tonight. It’ll be a great show when her mom and her clients all end up in the same room.” “What a joke. Does she think her mom is some kind of superhero? Vivian is a true heiress now, a legitimate daughter. Why would she be afraid of some mistress?” “Ooooh, I’m so scared,” another mocked in a high-pitched voice. Their words were a vicious, baseless assault. I looked at the ugly, sneering faces of my old classmates and the other guests, and my voice was deadly calm. “I hope you’re all still laughing at the end of this.” My words spurred Vivian into another rage. She lunged, trying to grab my hair. I sidestepped and shoved her away with all my strength. My eyes locked onto Eleanor, the woman who had orchestrated this whole thing. “You keep calling me a bastard and my mother a homewrecker. But the only proof you have is a childhood photo of me.” My voice grew sharper. “I have a question for you. Do you have a marriage certificate? Or was there ever a proper wedding?” I took a step closer. “Or could it be that you know perfectly well who the real mistress is, and you’re just using me to vent your own pathetic frustration on me and my mother?” With every word I spoke, the color drained from Eleanor’s face. Vivian sensed something was wrong and grabbed me by the collar. “You bitch! You still dare to provoke us? Where in the world is there an illegitimate child as lawless as you?” She shook me. “I would know if my mother was the rightful wife or not! And if you’re not the bastard, why isn’t your last name Vanderbilt?” Her last point swayed the wavering crowd. It was a fair question. Most children took their father’s name. “Vivian’s right. I almost fell for her bluff.” “Helen is so malicious. It’s bad enough her mom wrecked a family, but now she’s questioning the real wife’s status.” As they murmured, Hannah suddenly stepped forward. “Oh, Helen! I remember you wore that earring all through high school. It must be very expensive, right?” At her words, Vivian’s gaze fell on the delicate diamond stud in my left ear. “That earring looks pricey,” Vivian said, her eyes narrowing. “Your mother couldn’t have afforded that. Did you use my father’s money for this, too?” A chill went down my spine. I instinctively reached up to cover my ear. Seeing my protective gesture, a vicious light gleamed in Vivian’s eyes. “Nervous? Did I hit the nail on the head?” she purred. “Since my father paid for it, then as his rightful daughter, I have the right to take it back.” I slapped her hand away as she reached for me. “My mother had this custom-made to protect me.” My voice was a low warning. “If this earring is removed, it automatically sends an alert to the police. I suggest you back off.” After a kidnapping attempt when I was younger, my mother had commissioned it. The moment it was forcibly removed from my ear, it would trigger a silent alarm and transmit my exact location. The only way to disable it was through an app on my phone—my phone, which was now in pieces on the floor. Vivian let out a short, ugly laugh. “You really think I’d believe that? And what does a bastard like you need protection from? Besides, even if it is as magical as you say, it still belongs to me. All of your mother’s money came from my father.” Seeing that reasoning with her was pointless, I decided to take it off myself. But Vivian saw my movement and barked an order to the jocks in the crowd. “Hold her down! I’m going to take it off her myself.” Instantly, several guys grabbed my arms and legs. I was dragged before Vivian like a prisoner, helpless. The disgust in her eyes was raw and undisguised, far more blatant than it had ever been in high school. Her fingers closed around the stud, twisting it hard. The sharp edges of the setting dug into my earlobe, sending a spike of agony through me. She was trying to rip it straight out of the piercing. I have a bleeding disorder. If she did this, the consequences could be life-threatening. “Vivian, stop!” I gasped. “You know I have a bleeding disorder!” A sharp slap answered me, the force of it snapping my head back. “You used that lie to get me expelled in high school, Helen,” Vivian hissed. “You really think I’m going to fall for it again? I’m going to expose your pathetic lies once and for all.” Before I could react, she gave one final, brutal yank. “Ah!” A searing pain, as if my very bone was being carved out, exploded in my ear. My earlobe felt swollen and on fire, and a hot, slick stream of blood began to run down my neck. Vivian casually tossed the bloody earring to the floor and ground it under her heel. Her voice was pure arrogance. “Let’s just see,” she sneered, “if our delicate little bastard really bleeds to death.” I could feel the blood soaking into my collar, a terrifying, unstoppable flow. Panic and fury surged through me. “You’re insane,” I choked out. I lunged at her, intent on tearing her apart, but someone stepped in front of me, blocking my path. It was Hannah. My only friend from high school. Seeing who had stopped me, Vivian’s face split into a triumphant, mocking grin. “Want to hit me? Hahaha, look around, Helen. Who here is on your side?” She stepped forward deliberately, tapping her own cheek. “I’m a real heiress now. Go on, I dare you to touch me, you worthless piece of trash.” I gritted my teeth, staring at Hannah, who couldn’t even meet my eyes. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “You’re all cut from the same cloth!” I seethed. “You will all regret this.” “Regret? That’s hilarious. I’ll never have regrets. But you? That’s another story.” Vivian waved a hand at our former classmates, her tone playful and cruel. “Beat her. Whoever does the best job, I’ll have my dad give them a business opportunity.” A wicked smile played on her lips. “Oh, and by the way, our little princess here has a bleeding disorder. I’ll give ten thousand dollars to anyone who makes her bleed.” That was all it took. Instantly, they were on me, a pack of wolves, regardless of whether we’d ever spoken before. Fists and feet rained down on me. “You thought you could hit Vivian for taking one earring? She’s the real daughter, you bastard! You don’t deserve to breathe the same air!” “A bleeding disorder? Good! I hope you don’t die too quickly. A vicious bitch like you should have been strangled at birth.” “Trash is trash. Hit her harder, guys! Look, she’s still glaring at us!” “Hahaha, look at her! Pathetic! Someone get a video! Post it online! ‘Rightful Family Teaches Homewrecker’s Bastard a Lesson!’ This is so satisfying!” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hannah pull out a small, sharp nail tool. She plunged it into my thigh, pulled it out, and stabbed again. “You can’t blame me, Helen,” she whispered, her voice frantic. “I need the money to get an in at Sterling Corp. You understand, right? You have to understand.” Vivian stood to the side, watching the brutal spectacle with an air of detached superiority. “Do you regret it now? Tsk, tsk. So pathetic. Like a stray dog.” She leaned in close. “Remember this, Helen. This is the difference between us. Some people are just born better. You should have known not to cross me.” Her words were met with a chorus of agreement. “Stray dogs at least have a home to be stray from. She’s just a dirty secret who shouldn’t exist.” “Exactly. I heard even illegitimate children have inheritance rights now. I hope she dies right here, right now, so she can’t steal from Vivian’s family later.” “Don’t worry about that,” Chris chimed in with a lewd grin. “My neighbor just divorced his wife. After the party, I’ll ‘gift’ her to him. I hear the guy’s got some… special tastes.” “Hahahaha! Great idea, Chris! Trash belongs with trash!” “You know, you gotta admit, for a bitch, Helen’s got a pretty good…” Their foul words swirled in my head as darkness began to creep in at the edges of my vision. The blood loss was making me weak. Vivian’s high heel clicked on the blood-slicked floor. She grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at her. Her voice was a cold whisper. “How does it feel? You said your earring would call the police, that it had GPS. So where is everyone? Where are the heroes coming to save you?” Just as her words faded, the roar of engines shattered the night.

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1 In New York’s elite circles, everyone knew Erica Vance was devoted to me—despite her icy demeanor. Marrying her was seen as the Foster family’s blessing of the century. But at our engagement party, a call came from her childhood friend Johnny, who struggled with depression. “I can’t watch you marry someone else,” he whispered desperately. “Let me be your first husband.” I grabbed the phone, furious. “Have some self-respect.” Erica shoved me away. “He’s depressed—what if you trigger him?” Then Johnny threatened: “If you don’t come, I’ll kill myself.” Erica turned pale, ignored our guests, and ran out in her gown to his hotel. I became the city’s laughingstock. That night, I saw the photo Johnny sent—of them in bed together. I called Mr. Vance Sr., voice cold: “I’m not breaking the contract. The wedding proceeds in two weeks.” The hotel room was a disaster. The fabric of her engagement dress, torn to shreds, was strewn across the floor like confetti at a funeral. A garish crimson stain marred the white sheets. The air was thick with the cloying, metallic scent of sex, a smell so raw it made me want to gag. Erica glanced towards the bathroom, where the sound of the shower was running, and hissed at me in a low voice. “Johnny’s still in the shower. Watch what you say when he comes out.” Her brow was furrowed with blame. “If you hadn’t said those things to him, he never would have had an episode! I just managed to calm him down. Don’t you dare set him off again!” A bitter, humorless smile twisted my lips. “Does ‘calming him down’ involve fucking him in a hotel bed?!” I spat. “Erica, I never realized you were so completely shameless.” Her face flushed a deep, angry red, and her voice shot up. “That’s enough, Liam! Johnny has had a hard life. He’s sick! Are you really going to pick a fight with a sick man?!” Just then, the water in the bathroom cut off. Johnny burst out, a single towel slung low on his hips. His chest was a canvas of fresh, angry-red hickeys. His voice was a trembling, wounded whisper. “Erica… why is he here?” I almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. “My fiancée runs out of our engagement party to shack up with another man. Why do you think I’m here?” “Shut up!” Erica snapped, cutting me off. “No! I don’t want you to go, Erica!” Johnny immediately clung to her, burying his face in her chest like a child. “He’s here to drag you back! I won’t let you go back to him!” Erica sighed, a deep, weary sound, and stroked his hair with a tenderness I’d never seen. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay with you forever, Johnny, okay?” That gentle, doting tone… it was so foreign, it sent a chill straight to my heart. This wasn’t the Erica I knew. She was always so reserved, so distant. Even five years ago, when she’d agreed to our families’ merger and our subsequent marriage, her expression had been impassive. For five years, I had done everything to win her affection. I’d lit up the Hudson with fireworks for her birthday. I’d driven across the city in the middle of the night to bring her warm soup when her stomach ached. I’d even tolerated Johnny’s increasingly reckless stunts, like the times he’d “accidentally” totaled my brand-new Maybach in a fit of manic driving. I’d accepted it all, for her sake. Five long years, and she had finally, willingly, agreed to be my wife. But one phone call from Johnny had turned my five years of devotion into a pathetic joke. Seeing them about to tumble back into bed, I spoke, my voice sharp and cold. “The whole city is watching the Vance-Foster merger. The engagement party was a disaster. We need a story.” Erica’s body went rigid. Johnny, however, smirked with triumph. “What story do you need? She doesn’t love you. Why are you forcing her? Her first husband was me! And if we ever have kids, they’ll be mine, not yours!” Erica frantically clamped a hand over his mouth, her cheeks burning with a mixture of shame and fury. “Johnny, stop it!” I stared at the two of them, tangled together, my face an emotionless mask. “Fine. If you two are so inseparable, I’ll grant you your wish. The engagement is off—” Before I could finish, Erica’s expression changed completely. She tore herself from Johnny’s arms. “Liam, I’ve always seen Johnny as a little brother. Don’t misunderstand. I’ll come back with you. This merger is too important to let a small misunderstanding ruin our families’ harmony.” I nearly choked on a laugh at her ridiculous excuse. “A ‘small misunderstanding’? When you fled our engagement party, did you forget how important the merger was then? The Foster family name is mud all over town because of you!” I turned away, fighting to control the inferno raging in my chest. “Our families are in damage control right now. They sent me to get you. As for him,” I gestured dismissively at Johnny, “the Vances have arranged for the country’s top psychiatric team to meet him. If he’s sick, he needs to get treated.” With a flick of my wrist, several medics waiting outside the door entered the room. They quickly subdued the still-shouting Johnny and escorted him toward a waiting ambulance. His face was ashen as he screamed and struggled. “Erica! They’re taking me! Help me!” Erica clutched at her dress, her knuckles white, but she didn’t dare move a muscle. The room fell into a dead silence. She whipped her head around to face me and slapped me hard across the cheek. “I’m warning you, Liam Foster,” she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. “If anything happens to Johnny, I’ll hold you personally responsible.” With that, she turned on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind her. I watched her go, the last embers of hope in my heart turning to cold ash. That night, the lights of the Vance estate burned bright. Erica knelt in the center of the grand living room, her eyes red-rimmed and defiant. Mr. Vance Sr., trembling with rage, brought his cane down hard on her back. “You disgraceful girl! How dare you pull a stunt like this?!” She flinched in pain but bit her lip and straightened her spine. A cold smile touched her lips as she shot back, “I did nothing wrong. If it weren’t for me, today’s headline would have been ‘Foster Heir Drives Croft Scion to Suicide for Merger.’ How would your precious family have handled that?” Her twisted logic was so outrageous I could only laugh. “So I should thank you for the horns you’ve so generously placed on my head?” Erica’s chest heaved with indignation, but her voice was self-righteous. “I worked so hard to calm Johnny down! And what did you do? You had him thrown into a mental hospital! How could you be so cruel?” I looked at this woman I had once loved with everything I had, and a sharp, tearing pain spread through me. “Since you find me so cruel, Miss Vance, it would be foolish of me to impose any further. Let’s cancel the wedding.” I nodded to my lawyer, who stepped forward and laid out the original prenuptial agreement on the table. When I had agreed to this union, I had insisted on iron-clad penalty clauses. If I could raise her to the heavens, I could also ensure she had a long way to fall. The room fell silent. Erica’s father swayed on his feet, nearly collapsing. “My dear Liam, surely you’re joking!” I offered a bland smile, my voice devoid of any emotion. “Miss Vance was willing to abandon her own engagement for true love. Since she and Johnny have already consummated their relationship, why not let them marry? I would be doing them a favor.” The color drained from Erica’s face, leaving it a ghostly white. “Liam! I told you, I was saving his life! We’re adults! Why are you making such a big deal out of this? It’s disgusting!” “Silence!” Mr. Vance Sr. roared, his cane cracking against her back once more. Her words were like a dull blade twisting in my chest. Five years ago, I had gone to an old monastery on the outskirts of the city to pray for my ailing mother. On my way down the mountain, I saw Erica crouched before a small, injured stray cat, her face etched with concern. In that moment, I was struck by what I thought was pure, unadulterated kindness. So I saved the cat. And at her desperate pleading, I used all my resources to save the Vance Corporation from the brink of bankruptcy. But now, the tattered remains of her engagement dress mocked me, a silent testament to my own self-deception. The stalemate was thick with tension. Erica’s parents looked like they were about to drop to their knees and beg. “Liam, Johnny’s parents died when he was young. He’s always seen Erica as an older sister! She just got confused this time, she did something foolish! But our families, our years of partnership…” Erica just scoffed, her eyes glinting with cold hatred. “First you blackmail me with our engagement, now you’re threatening my parents with the company! Is that all you know, Liam? Pathetic, underhanded tactics?” A wave of pure rage washed over me, and I laughed. “Threats? Five years ago, who was it that came to me, begging me to marry their daughter? Who begged me to save a stray cat? And who knelt before me, pleading for me to save their company?” “You—” Erica began, trembling with fury. But she was cut off by the shrill ring of her phone. She listened for a moment, and her entire demeanor changed. She lunged at me, grabbing my collar, her eyes wild. “Johnny slit his wrists at the hospital! If anything happens to him, I’ll burn your entire family to the ground!” She shoved me aside and ran for the door. The room descended into a tomb-like silence. Mr. Vance Sr. looked at me, his expression unreadable. “Liam, a word in my study.” In the study, the old man seemed to have aged a decade, his back more stooped than ever. “Liam, I failed to raise my granddaughter properly. On behalf of the Vance family, I apologize.” He took a deep breath, his tone shifting. “But the Foster and Vance enterprises are intertwined. We are two sides of the same coin. If one falls, the other suffers. The marriage must go on.” … Half an hour later, I walked out of the Vance estate without a backward glance. The moment I got in my car, my phone began vibrating violently. I answered, my face a stone mask. “Liam Foster! Where are you?! Get your ass to City General Hospital right now!” Erica’s voice was a shrill shriek, punctuated by the faint sound of Johnny’s hysterical sobbing in the background. “Johnny would never have tried to kill himself if you hadn’t provoked him! You have to come here and apologize to him personally! If you don’t, I will hate you for the rest of my life!” I ended the call and started the engine. Some performances, you just have to see for yourself before you can truly let go. The hospital room was a stage. Johnny, clad in a patient’s gown, had his head buried in the crook of Erica’s neck. Her own clothes were disheveled, and a fresh constellation of hickies decorated her pale skin. When they saw me, there was no shame, no embarrassment. Instead, Johnny’s provocations became even more blatant. “What took you so long? Erica, hurry up and tell him. You’re mine. Everything about you is mine!” Erica looked at me, her chin held high, and spoke as if giving an order. “Can’t you see how unstable he is? Apologize to him. Now.” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “Apologize? For what? For interrupting you two lovebirds before you could screw again?” “Liam!” she shrieked, as if I had mortally wounded her. “Johnny is a patient! Can’t you show a little compassion? What’s so hard about swallowing your pride to give him some peace of mind?” Johnny immediately played along, his arms tightening around her waist. “Exactly! Don’t be scared, Erica. Didn’t your grandfather say it? The marriage is still on! From now on, you’ll be Mrs. Foster in name, but your body and soul belong to me! He won’t ever get to touch you!” A flicker of unease crossed Erica’s face, but the words “the marriage is still on” clearly bolstered her confidence. “You heard him, Liam. The wedding is happening. But on my terms. You will apologize to Johnny, and you will agree to a few conditions.” She smirked. “Otherwise, even after we’re married, you won’t touch a single hair on my head.” “Oh?” I raised an eyebrow. “What conditions?” Thinking I had finally caved, her triumphant expression intensified. “First, you will transfer five percent of your personal shares to Johnny as compensation for his emotional distress. Second, that penthouse apartment of yours overlooking the river—it gets signed over to him. Third, your new limited-edition supercar—he likes it. Hand over the keys. Fourth…” The demands grew more ridiculous, more greedy, with each breath. I listened in silence, my heart slowly turning to a block of ice. Seeing my lack of response, she shoved me hard. “Stop playing dead! Did you hear the ten conditions I just listed or not?!” I was done arguing. I turned to leave. “Liam!” she screamed at my back, a raw, hysterical sound. “If you don’t agree, I’ll… I’ll make sure the Foster line ends with you!” My footsteps paused. I didn’t turn around. My voice was a frozen shard of sound. “I’ll give it some thought.” For the next two weeks, the city’s elite circles were buzzing. The news that the Foster-Vance merger was deepening and the wedding would proceed as scheduled sent shockwaves through high society. At the same time, whispers of the younger Miss Vance’s pre-wedding affair spread like wildfire in private conversations. Many were waiting, eager to see me made a fool. I ignored it all, focusing solely on the wedding preparations. Erica didn’t contact me once. She and Johnny were too busy, carrying on their shameless affair at the hospital, getting themselves kicked out, and even getting photographed by the paparazzi. She was scrambling to kill the story. It wasn’t until the night before the wedding that she sent me a single, magnanimous text. “Liam, I will marry you as promised tomorrow. But don’t you forget the conditions you agreed to.” I glanced at the message, deleted it, and turned off my phone. … On the day of the wedding, the city’s elite gathered in force. A wall of media waited outside, their cameras like cannons ready to fire. The solemn wedding march began, and the grand doors of the cathedral swung open. At the end of the aisle, bathed in light, the bride walked toward me on her grandfather’s arm. A subtle ripple of confusion and whispers moved through the guests. Soon, the officiant began the vows. “Liam Foster, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in—” Suddenly, a sharp, familiar voice cut through the sacred silence. Erica, her hair a mess, her wedding dress clutched in her fists, stormed onto the altar. When her eyes finally focused on the bride standing beside me, she froze, struck as if by lightning. A violent tremor ran through her body. “Liam, how could you!” she shrieked, her voice cracking. “I object! I, Erica Vance, am the bride today!”

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I’m on a family reality show with my pop-star brother, and the producers want us to “open our hearts” and resolve our deepest issues on camera. Suddenly, my brother, who’s usually a literal ray of sunshine, buries his face in his hands and starts sobbing, accusing me of being cold and distant our entire childhood. As the cameras zoom in and I can feel the tidal wave of online hate about to crash over me, I try to explain, my face a mask of pure exasperation. “You spent your days setting off firecrackers in cow pies with Jay-Jay from next door, then came home wanting to cuddle. How exactly was I supposed to get close to you?!” My brother blinks, stunned for a second. “But you gave away Snowflake, my favorite dog…” That leaves me even more speechless. “You used to French-kiss that dog! You insisted she was a girl and that you were going to marry her. What, does every female on the planet have to marry you?” Leo: “…” The A-list star beside me is doubled over with laughter. I shoot him a glare. “Don’t act like you weren’t part of it, Jay-Jay.” 1 I was in the middle of signing a multi-million dollar contract when my brother’s frantic call came through. “Vivian!” “What is it?” A nerve in my temple twitched. Anytime Leo actually called me by my name instead of some ridiculous nickname, it meant trouble. His voice turned syrupy sweet. “So, next week I’m supposed to be on this reality show about family bonds, but Mom and Dad are off on their European tour, so I was hoping my favorite big sister could fill in…” After Leo started college, he was scouted by an agency and became a pop star. I never expected the little brat who used to drive me insane would actually carve out a niche for himself in the entertainment industry with some serious talent. I gestured for my assistant to close the office door and shut him down flat. “No. I’m busy.” “Wait, wait, wait! Viv, you remember Everett, right? Everett Song?” “Everett?” “Yeah. He’s the main investor behind the show, and he’s also a special guest. They only asked me to join last minute because another guest dropped out. Come on, Viv, can’t you just spare a few days? For old times’ sake? He’s helped me out a few times in the industry, you know.” Everett Song was our neighbor when we were kids. We lost touch after he moved abroad for school, only keeping up with the occasional text. All I knew was that he was now an A-list star. Listening to Leo’s relentless pleading, I realized I wasn’t getting out of this. My eyes drifted to the file on my desk. I raised an eyebrow. “Fine, I’ll do it. On one condition. You get me Everett Song for my company’s new product launch.” “What? You want Everett to be the face of a new lipstick line?” A small smile played on my lips. “We’re not exactly close anymore. If I ask him, he could say no. So, I’m leaving it to you.” Leo went quiet for a moment before muttering under his breath, “He’d probably be more likely to say yes if you asked him…” “What was that?” “I said, ‘Consider it done!’” His voice was dripping with fake enthusiasm. “See you at the show, Viv!” After he hung up, I tapped my fingers on the tabletop. A few days on a reality show in exchange for an endorsement from an A-list star? That was a hell of a deal. 2 When the day came, I cleared my schedule and headed straight for the studio. The show was a live broadcast featuring three pairs of family members, plus Everett as a special guest. The premise was simple: play some games, do some activities, and strengthen their bonds. With an A-lister like Everett on board, the online hype was through the roof. [OMG, Everett’s first solo project as a producer! I’m so here for it!] [I heard Leo Wen is bringing his sister. Is this the one he said used to beat him up all the time? LOL.] [Evan Chen, the award-winning actor, is bringing his daughter on a show for the first time! I can’t wait!] The studio was massive, and I couldn’t find Leo anywhere. “Ms. Wen?” a sugary voice called out. I turned. Oh, Meagen Kane. Another one of the guests. Her eyes curved into a crescent shape. “I can’t believe I’m running into you here. What a coincidence.” “Hmm,” I said, sliding off my sunglasses. “My name is Vivian. And yes, quite the coincidence.” “I heard Vivida Cosmetics is looking for a new face for your latest campaign,” she said, her smile never wavering as she pulled a delicate-looking boy to her side. “This is my brother, Caleb. He’s a rising pop star too. If you have an opportunity, you should really keep us in mind.” I looked Meagen up and down, tucking my sunglasses into the collar of my blouse. The irony was almost suffocating. Three years ago, I had just spun off from my family’s corporation to launch Vivida Cosmetics. The face I wanted for my brand, more than anyone, was the up-and-coming starlet Meagen Kane. She had an innocent look, a sweet-girl-next-door vibe. Her fame wasn’t at its peak, but I believed the brand and the ambassador could grow together. To show how serious I was, I went to meet her myself, armed with a detailed brand proposal and a full set of samples. She’d taken one look at them and tossed the samples on the floor, her face twisted in a sneer. “Are you kidding me? Every no-name brand thinks they can get an endorsement now? Who knows if this junk will make my face break out. Get lost. Don’t waste my time.” Three years later, Vivida went from an unknown startup to a household name in cosmetics. Meagen Kane? Still a B-list starlet, treading water. But I had to give her credit for her nerve. A small laugh escaped me. “A no-name brand like ours couldn’t possibly afford stars of your caliber.” Meagen’s smile froze. Before I could turn to leave, she grabbed my arm, her eyes welling up. “You might have misunderstood me back then. I never meant to—” “Vivian.” A cool, magnetic voice cut her off. Everett Song was standing there in a loose white button-down, his broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. His handsome, almost aloof features were softened by a hint of a smile. “There you are.” For a second, my mind went blank. He was so much more striking in person than on screen. I found my voice. “I just got here. I was looking for—” “Mr. Song,” Meagen interrupted, a single tear clinging to her lashes. “I’m so happy to be a part of your show. Thank you so much for this opportunity.” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Everett glanced at her and gave a curt nod. “The dressing rooms are over there. The AC is on if you need to cool down.” “Oh?” He ignored her, his eyes finding mine again, a genuine warmth in them. “Long time no see.” 3 Everett led me to where Leo was waiting, and after a few brief pleasantries, the show began. The lineup was set: Leo and me, Meagen and Caleb Kane, and the veteran actor Evan Chen with his four-year-old daughter, Lily. And, of course, our special guest, Everett. The host kicked things off with a beaming smile. “Welcome to our first segment—‘The Unspoken Word’! This is a chance for our families to open their hearts and share things they’ve never been able to say.” “First up, let’s welcome Meagen and Caleb Kane!” It was a classic, tear-jerking setup. Meagen and Caleb held hands, gazing at each other with tear-filled eyes as they recounted their journey from a difficult childhood to their careers. One moment, the brother was talking about his sister’s sacrifices; the next, the sister was weeping over the hardships he’d endured. The sentimental background music swelled, and they broke into full-blown sobs. I propped my chin on my hand, stifling a yawn. Leo, munching on a bag of sunflower seeds beside me, whispered, “So fake.” I nodded in agreement. “They’re really laying it on thick. I bet she beat the crap out of him when they were kids.” Leo choked on a seed. The live comments, however, were a waterfall of emotion. [I’m crying. Seriously, their bond is so touching. They’ve had it so tough in this industry, always supporting each other…] [Did you see the camera pan to Vivian and Leo? Their expressions are priceless, lol.] [Forget them, has anyone noticed Everett? Why does he keep looking to his right? Who’s sitting there?] A poke on my left arm. I turned to meet Everett’s clear, light-brown eyes. “What?” A corner of his mouth lifted. He leaned in, his voice a low murmur. “I heard you want me to be the face of your new product line.” On stage, Meagen was still in the middle of a dramatic, tear-stained monologue. I blinked, caught off guard by the question. Recovering quickly, I leaned closer too. “That’s right. It’s a new lipstick collection called ‘First Love.’ I think you’d be perfect for it.” “And why is that?” He was so close I could see the natural curve of his eyelashes. “You’ve got the star power, and your public image is basically America’s sweetheart,” I said, all business. “But most importantly, you’re incredibly handsome. You’re the perfect fit.” And your fans have incredible purchasing power. He let out a soft chuckle, the sound vibrating in his chest. “Then why not ask me to be the brand ambassador for the whole company?” I was momentarily speechless. “Can’t afford you.” There were better ways to spend that kind of money, like on R&D. “I’ll give you a discount.” “What?” As I stared, stunned, his hand, all long fingers and elegant knuckles, reached for my collar. For a split second I froze, then instinctively flinched away. The stool I was on wobbled, and I felt myself tipping backward, but his hand shot out and grabbed my arm, steadying me. Everett held up the sunglasses he’d plucked from my collar. “These were about to fall.” “…” I’d forgotten they were even there. “Thanks,” I mumbled, reaching for them. “I’ll hold on to them for you,” he said, smoothly tucking them into the pocket of his shirt. “You’re up next.” “Huh?” 4 I glanced at the stage and saw Meagen and Caleb back in their seats. Leo was already up there, microphone in hand. He had just finished introducing himself and was now introducing me. “My sister is three years older than me. She runs her own company and is usually swamped with work. We actually haven’t seen each other in three months, so I’m grateful to this show for giving us a chance to finally talk.” I watched him on stage—so confident and bright, a far cry from the goofy kid I grew up with. A small smile touched my lips as I focused on what he was saying. “When we were little, our parents were always busy, so my sister and I spent most of our childhood at our grandparents’ house. We were together for eight or nine years… I really miss those days.” “I love my sister so, so much. Even if…” His voice cracked, and his eyes instantly reddened. “Even if she doesn’t love me that much, I’ll always love her.” A hush fell over the set. I was dumbfounded. I turned to Everett. “Is this… part of the show? His acting is pretty convincing.” Everett looked just as surprised. “No. This show is completely unscripted.” Me: “???” The host guided me onto the stage. By now, Leo had gone through several tissues, his eyes puffy and red. He looked like a kicked puppy. The online comments were flooded with messages of sympathy. And I just stood there, completely lost. “What is going on?” “I didn’t want to say any of this, but once that sappy music started playing…” Leo’s crying escalated into a high-pitched wail. “I just couldn’t hold it in!” “I feel like I’ve been the only one putting in any effort our whole lives! You never wanted to be close to me, and I was always chasing after you like a lost puppy, but you couldn’t stand me! You didn’t like me, you ignored me…” The host rushed over with a whole box of tissues, and Leo grabbed it, letting out a series of heart-wrenching sobs. The viewers online were in an uproar. [My heart is breaking for Leo! I wish I were his sister!] [What kind of sister is she?! If my brother were Leo Wen, I’d spoil him rotten!] [So what if she owns a company?! Just cut ties with her! A sister like that is worse than no sister at all!] I was speechless. Seriously? Leo sniffled a few more times. “But I never blamed you, Vivian. Really.” I looked at him, my expression a mixture of confusion and pity. Yep, my brother was a certified idiot. “You know, I think your memory might be a little fuzzy. Why don’t I jog it for you?” My brows knitted together in disgust. “When you were a kid, you spent all day with Jay-Jay from next door, setting off firecrackers in cow pies. Then you’d come home, not even showered, and try to hug me. How exactly was I supposed to get close to you?!” “What?” Leo’s tears stopped mid-stream. I continued without mercy. “You chased me around like a maniac every single day. Was I not allowed to run away?” The sentimental music screeched to a halt. The live chat froze. Leo, momentarily stunned, tried to defend himself. “But… you gave away Snowflake, my favorite dog! I raised her from a puppy!” That just made me even more exasperated. “You used to French-kiss that dog! And you kept insisting she was a girl and that you were going to marry her. What, does every female on the planet have to marry you?” “Snowflake would take off running the second she saw you. You didn’t just chase me; you chased the dog too.” “Have you forgotten about the three rounds of rabies shots?!” At that, Leo fell completely silent, his face blank. The memories were clearly flooding back. Meanwhile, thinking about our childhood was just making me angrier. He was nothing but trouble! Just as I was about to really let him have it, a low chuckle cut through the tension, clear as a bell. 5 I froze, my gaze snapping over to Everett. His lips were curved into a wide, unrestrained grin. I’d almost forgotten. He was the real mastermind behind all of it! He was the one who supplied my brother with firecrackers for the cow pies, acting as his military strategist. He was the one who encouraged Leo to bring home tadpoles, which turned into a house full of toads just to scare me. He’d corrupted my brother, then conveniently disappeared overseas. It took me years to beat some sense back into Leo. And now Everett had the nerve to laugh? I shot him a look, mouthing silently, “As if I wasn’t talking about you, Jay-Jay?” His smile faltered. He cleared his throat, raising a fist to his lips to cover a cough. The sound drew everyone’s attention, and a camera swiveled right to him. Everett put on his best official smile and delivered a summary. “It just goes to show, no childhood punishment is ever wasted.” The live comments exploded. [I am on my KNEES! I’m so sorry, I completely misjudged Vivian!] [LMAO, Vivian is literally me. I couldn’t stand my little brother when we were kids, and he was so clingy!] [Compared to this, the Kanes’ whole teary-eyed act feels so scripted now…] Leo and I returned to our seats, his eyes now shining with a newfound innocence. “Hehe, Viv, I really thought you hated me all this time…” “You’re an idiot.” Next up were Evan Chen and his daughter. Little Lily, in her sweet, piping voice, asked if she could watch an extra thirty minutes of cartoons every day. Evan lovingly agreed, telling her all he wanted was for her to grow up happy. The heartwarming scene melted everyone’s hearts. “And now, for our second segment—‘A Change of Heart’!” the host announced. “Each guest will draw a colored card. Those with matching colors will become a new ‘family’ for this challenge and complete a task together!” Now that sounded interesting. I drew a blue card and scanned the room to see who my partner would be. Suddenly, Leo grabbed my arm, holding up a rainbow-colored card like it was a bomb. “Vivian! Help me!” I saw Caleb Kane holding a matching rainbow card and looked back at my brother, confused. “Isn’t Caleb from your agency? You already know him. What’s the big deal?” “No, no, no,” Leo whispered frantically, shaking his head. “He’s gay.” Me: “???” 6 My eyes widened as I looked from the delicate-featured Caleb back to my goofy brother. Gay?! Leo ducked behind me, hiding his card. “You don’t follow the gossip, Viv, you wouldn’t know. He’s always trying to queerbait with me for the cameras, and I want no part of it.” “The agency sent us on a travel show together once, and it was a nightmare. He’d ‘accidentally’ fall into my arms or ‘unintentionally’ brush his hand against my butt. At first, I just thought he was being friendly…” “Then I saw the fan edits of us online.” Leo’s face contorted in disgust. “The way they cut those clips… I almost thought we were actually dating.” “The man is a menace!” I was shocked, but also a little amused. I gave Leo a long, scrutinizing look. “And you’re…?” “A hundred percent straight! I can’t be on a team with him again. My reputation will never recover!” Seeing my brother so genuinely repulsed was actually kind of hilarious. Poor guy. Leo started wheedling again. “Please, Viv, switch with me. Please, please, please…” Sighing, I gave in. “Fine, give me your card—” Before I could finish, I felt a tug on my sleeve. I looked down to see a small hand holding up a blue card. Lily Chen blinked her big, innocent eyes up at me. “Aunty, I want to be on your team. Can you please not switch with that uncle?” Leo froze, offended. “Uncle? Me? And she’s ‘Aunty’?” Lily just blinked again and hid behind me. “I just want to be with this aunty. Uncle, can you please let me?” On one hand, my own flesh and blood. On the other, a completely adorable little girl I’d just met. The choice was obvious. The adorable little girl, of course! I couldn’t hide my grin as I scooped Lily into my arms. “Of course, sweetie. I’d love to be on your team. Sorry, Leo. You’re on your own.” Leo: “???” Another card appeared in front of me, this one also blue, followed by Everett’s handsome face. He raised an eyebrow. “Looks like I drew blue too. Mind if I join?” I stared for a moment, momentarily captivated. That face was truly flawless. Everett patted Leo’s shoulder. “Good luck.” Leo turned away, his voice filled with despair. “That’s it, I’m disowning all of you.”

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My brand-new projector screen was being targeted daily by the kid from the apartment upstairs, using a laser pointer. When I went up to talk to his dad about it, he just shrugged. “He’s just a kid playing. How much can that raggedy old cloth of yours be worth?” The next day, the kid used an infrared pen to burn several holes right through my screen. I didn’t call the police. Instead, I quietly replaced the expensive screen with a mirror, adjusted the angle precisely, and aimed it right back at their window. Now, his son can play with laser reflections in his own home. All day, every day. 1 At six in the evening, I drew the living room curtains, ready to start my workday. I’m a film colorist who works from home, and my living room doubles as my studio. To achieve the most accurate color reproduction possible, I had spent three thousand dollars on a top-of-the-line, professional-grade screen imported from Germany. For me, this screen was my livelihood. I turned on the projector and my computer, preparing to fine-tune a new batch of film footage. Suddenly, a glaring red dot appeared out of nowhere, right in the center of the image. It danced around the lead actress’s face like an annoying mosquito, completely wrecking the color balance I had so carefully calibrated. My blood pressure shot up instantly. I walked to the window and peeked through a crack in the curtains. In the window of apartment 602, directly above mine, a small head was bobbing furtively. In his hand was a laser pointer. I knew the kid. It was the upstairs neighbors’ son, Leo, a nine-year-old with a reputation as the neighborhood’s number one terror. A surge of anger flared in my chest. I shut down my equipment, swallowed my rage, and marched upstairs to knock on 602’s door. Leo’s father, Mark, answered. He was a man in his forties with a prominent beer belly and the stale smell of alcohol clinging to him. I tried to keep my tone civil. “Hey, Mark. I’m your downstairs neighbor.” “Could you please ask your son to stop shining that laser pointer at my window?” I continued. “I have a very expensive, professional screen set up, and it’s interfering with my work. It could also damage the equipment.” Mark looked me up and down, his face a mask of undisguised contempt. He yelled into the apartment, “Leo, stop playing with that thing!” Then he turned back to me with a dismissive smirk. “He’s just a kid, having a bit of fun. What’s the big deal?” He clapped me on the shoulder, his greasy sense of superiority washing over me. “Besides, it’s just a piece of cloth, right? How much could it possibly be worth? If it gets damaged, I’ll just pay you for it.” In that moment, I felt my fists clench. Looking at his face, a canvas of indifference and condescension, I knew that saying anything more would be a waste of breath. I took a deep breath, turned, and walked back downstairs. Back in my apartment, I stared at the faint red afterglow on my screen. It didn’t feel like a spot of light. It felt like a stinging slap across my face. 2 My visit did nothing to stop the harassment. In fact, it made it worse. From the next day on, the red dot would appear like clockwork the moment I drew my curtains to work. It was no longer a random flicker; it had become a targeted provocation. It would settle precisely on the face of the character I was trying to color-correct, or trace circles around the names in the rolling credits. It was as if Leo had discovered a new, more engaging video game. My work efficiency plummeted. I had to redo several projects because the constant distraction caused me to misjudge the colors. I tried messaging Mark, but he either ignored me or replied with a curt “got it” and nothing more. Finally, at my wits’ end, I decided to take the issue to the building’s residents’ group chat. In the 500-member “Harmony Homes Community” chat, I typed out a message, trying my best to remain polite and restrained. “@Mark_602, hi Mark, just wanted to bring this up again. Your son has been continuously shining a laser pointer into my apartment, and it’s seriously affecting my work and daily life. I would appreciate it if you could address this and supervise your child. Thank you.” Silence descended on the group chat for a few seconds. Then, a familiar profile picture popped up. It was Mark’s wife, Karen. She didn’t type. She sent a 60-second voice message, her voice shrill and dripping with manufactured victimhood. “Hey, downstairs! Are you for real? A grown man picking on a little boy?” “My son was just curious! He pointed a little light at your window! What’s the big deal?” “First you come knocking on our door, and now you’re trying to shame us in the group chat? Are you trying to bully a poor widow and her orphan child?” I blinked. Mark was a burly, six-foot man. How had he suddenly become a widow’s orphan? But her performance wasn’t over. “You keep your curtains drawn so tight all day. Who knows what kind of shady business you’re up to in there? Our Leo is just an innocent child! Don’t you dare project your filthy adult world onto him!” “And anyway, he just shined a light at it! Is that raggedy old cloth of yours made of gold or something? Why are you so petty!” The words “raggedy old cloth” were like needles in my ears. Her tirade of lies and accusations successfully stirred the pot. A few of her “sisters” from her morning workout group immediately jumped to her defense. “Exactly, Karen, sweetie. Don’t listen to him. People are so narrow-minded these days.” “A grown man, arguing with a child. So pathetic.” “Come on, young man, no need to be so aggressive. Being good neighbors is the most important thing.” I stared at the screen, my hands trembling with rage. A simple attempt to protect my property had somehow turned into a public shaming session. For the first time, I understood what it felt like to be completely and utterly defenseless against a torrent of lies. I didn’t reply. I turned off my phone and sat in the darkness, listening to the heavy thud of my own heart. I realized then that reasoning with this family was a lost cause. 3 I decided to retreat. For now. If reasoning wouldn’t work, I’d resort to the simplest solution: a physical barrier. I spent over a hundred dollars on the thickest, double-layered blackout curtains I could find online, advertised to block 99.9% of all light. The curtains were installed quickly. I drew both the new and old layers, and my living room was plunged into absolute darkness. You couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. Finally, I thought, some peace and quiet. The first two days were blissfully silent. The annoying red dot was gone. A sliver of hope even flickered within me. Maybe they had gotten bored and given up. But I was too naive. I had underestimated a brat’s capacity for destruction, and his parents’ willingness to enable it. On the third afternoon, I was in the kitchen making dinner when a strange, acrid smell drifted in from the living room. It was a peculiar scent, like burning plastic mixed with a chemical tang. My stomach dropped. I rushed into the living room and threw open the heavy curtains. The sight before me made my blood run cold. My pristine, perfectly smooth German screen was now marred by five or six black holes, each the size of a pea. The edges were scorched yellow, and thin wisps of smoke were still curling up from them. My three-thousand-dollar screen was ruined. I ran to the window and looked up. The curtains in 602 were drawn. I couldn’t see anything. But I knew. I knew it was them. A regular laser pointer couldn’t have done this. This had to be an industrial-grade laser, something much more powerful. Maybe even one of those illegal, high-powered “laser cannons” you could find online. I immediately checked the feed from the micro-camera I had installed in the corner of the living room for security purposes. It was aimed directly at my screen and the window. I rewound the footage. It didn’t take long to find the evidence. In the video, a beam of light, almost invisible to the naked eye but infinitely more powerful than before, shot down from the upstairs window. It remained fixed on the screen. A few seconds later, the spot began to smoke, then turned black, and finally, burned through. The entire process lasted for nearly a minute. This was a deliberate, malicious act of destruction. I watched the devastating beam of light in the video, then looked at the ugly scars on my screen. My body began to tremble with an uncontrollable rage. A volcano of fury erupted in my chest, incinerating the last shred of my reason. I didn’t storm upstairs to confront them. I didn’t call the police. Because I knew, with people like this, the police would just mediate. They’d be forced to pay for the damages, and that would be it. But I wanted more than just money. I wanted them to pay a real, unforgettable price for their actions. I calmly turned off the camera and removed the memory card. Then, I opened my web browser and typed, slowly and deliberately, into the search bar. “Large, high-reflectivity, optical mirror.” The game was about to change. 4 I didn’t confront the family again. I didn’t say another word in the group chat. I went about my life as if nothing had happened. My uncharacteristic silence seemed to unnerve Karen. She even tried to prod me in the group chat. “Haven’t heard from downstairs in a few days. Hope he’s not cooking up some nasty scheme.” I ignored her. All my energy was focused on my plan for revenge. First, I carefully took down the burned screen. I rolled it up, wrapped it in protective film, and stored it away. It was my most crucial piece of evidence. Next, I meticulously measured the screen’s dimensions: 2.2 meters long, 1.25 meters wide. Now, I needed to find the perfect “weapon” to replace it. My initial idea was simple: buy a regular mirror and hang it up. But I quickly dismissed that. A standard mirror wouldn’t have a high enough reflectivity, and it could shatter, which was a safety risk. I needed a weapon of mass reflection, something that could bounce back the laser’s energy with almost no loss. Just when I was about to give up, I thought of someone. Mr. Peterson, who lived on the 17th floor. He was a retired high school physics teacher who had taught optics his entire life. He was a tech geek who loved to tinker with gadgets. I’d run into him in the elevator a few times. Seeing that I was a young guy who also wore glasses, he’d struck up a conversation about anti-blue-light lenses. He’d left a strong impression on me. With a “what have I got to lose” attitude, I brought a box of tea and knocked on his door. Mr. Peterson’s apartment was like a mini science museum. A telescope stood in the living room, and the bookshelves were crammed with technical manuals. I told him everything, from the initial laser harassment to the destruction of my screen. When I finished, he slammed his fist on his thigh. “Unbelievable! That family has been a menace to this building for years!” he fumed. “This isn’t just a prank anymore. This is intentional destruction of property! It’s a crime!” When I laid out my “mirror revenge” plan, Mr. Peterson’s eyes lit up. He pushed his glasses up his nose, a scholar’s excitement spreading across his face. “My boy, that is a brilliant idea!” he exclaimed. “It’s a perfect application of ‘an eye for an eye.’ A physics-based version, no less!” He immediately pulled me over to his desk, spread out a large sheet of paper, and began to sketch. “See, a regular mirror won’t do. We need a ‘first surface mirror,’ also known as an ‘optical mirror.’ The reflective coating is on the front of the glass, so it doesn’t create a double image. Its reflectivity can be over 95%!” “And the angle,” he continued, “you’re on the fifth floor, they’re on the sixth. The height difference is about 2.8 meters. You’ll need to get a precise horizontal measurement.” “According to the law of reflection, the angle of incidence equals the angle of reflection. We can calculate the exact tilt of the mirror to ensure the laser beam is returned along its original path, right back to their window!” The more Mr. Peterson talked, the more excited he became. It was as if this wasn’t an act of revenge, but a rigorous scientific experiment. Under his expert guidance, my plan became clearer, more refined. What I needed was a custom-made, large-format, high-reflectivity, precisely angled instrument of perfect revenge.

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