Category: English

I stirred up trouble in the incoming freshmen group chat: [I’m so pretty, won’t you guys feel insecure when you see me?] [Does the school have a helipad? Can I park my helicopter there?] [No way, no way, you guys applied for this major and don’t even know how to manufacture chips?] Soon, I was being flamed by the entire group chat. Some angry students even made me trend on social media, getting me dragged by the entire internet. But I just smirked because I was bound to the “Get Flamed to Get Stronger” system. If they keep flaming me, this beautiful girl is going to be flying a helicopter into school with 5-nanometer chip manufacturing technology! 01 College was about to start, and various show-offs started appearing in the incoming freshmen group chat for Stanford. Nate: [Could some kind upperclassman send the location of the parking lot? I’m planning to drive my Porsche to school. Ugh, I really can’t get used to driving left-hand drive cars in the US; I always drove right-hand drive abroad.] Chloe: [Ah, you’re driving yourself? My international driver’s license doesn’t work here, so I had to have my family’s chauffeur drive me.] I got excited seeing these two familiar names. Nate was a classmate from my AP Physics class, and Chloe was the popular girl from my high school. Stanford was right in our state, yet they were making such a big scene. Weren’t they just trolling? Since it was people I knew trolling, as a chronic troll myself, how could I not join in the fun? So, I also jumped out and asked: [Does the school have a helipad? Just got my pilot’s license, planning to fly my family’s helicopter to school.] Who knew that right after I spoke, Nate sent a picture of himself driving a Porsche with one hand. Damn, my former classmate is actually a rich kid? Immediately, people in the chat started kissing up: [Young master! Can this humble servant ride shotgun in the Porsche!] Nate replied quickly: [Don’t call me young master. My dad’s business partners used to like calling me that. I believe in an egalitarian world; I’m just an ordinary rich person.] [Yes, young master.] Not to be outdone, Chloe also sent a picture of the luxurious interior of a stretch limo. Wait, isn’t she the popular girl who did art in the other class? How does she actually have a luxury car? At this moment, I was struck silent. But Nate singled me out and asked: [Audrey Miller, what does your helicopter look like? Send a picture.] Me: […] What’s going on, are you guys flexing for real? Am I the only one actually just BSing? 02 Because I couldn’t produce a picture of a helicopter, the group chat started mocking me: [Hahaha, there really is a fake mixed in.] [A helicopter? You really want to fly to the heavens, huh?] Nate and Chloe also aimed their guns at me. Nate mocked: [I hate you broke people the most. No money in your pockets, no brains in your heads, and full of hot air.] I clutched my burning red face, increasingly embarrassed. We had been classmates for a few years, how could he talk to me so ruthlessly? Chloe also chimed in: [Unbelievable! Cheap people do cheap things, so cheap~] I had never heard of Chloe going abroad, but I didn’t expect her to be throwing around English like that now. But the worst part was me, because I had truly become a joke. Even hiding behind the screen, I felt so embarrassed I was about to combust. But while the people in the chat were flaming me, I suddenly heard a robotic voice: [Congratulations, you have successfully bound the “Get Flamed to Get Stronger” system!] [The harsher the flames, the stronger you become!] [Detected that ten people are currently flaming you. Wealth +10.] At the same time, I heard a pleasant voice— “CashApp transfer received: $10,000.” I jumped up like a carp, totally energized again! Other people go wait in line at temples to pray for wealth; I get flamed a couple of times and it just falls into my lap. What’s there to be embarrassed or ashamed of! Flame me! Flame me as hard as you can! 03 I was just about to show off my skills in the freshman group chat. But my mom called me to go out and buy groceries at that moment. I ran an extra block to buy fresh meat and vegetables. Just as I was walking back, a flashy-colored Porsche pulled up next to me. The window rolled down, revealing Nate’s mocking face. He looked at me dismissively: “It’s Audrey Miller. I thought I saw wrong. Even my family’s nanny drives a Mercedes to buy groceries, why are you walking to buy groceries? It’s fine if you don’t have a helicopter, but does your family not even have a Mercedes?” I gripped my grocery basket tightly. To be honest, we really didn’t. This was the first time someone had mocked me to my face. Even with the system, I was still a bit terrified and helpless. Nate, seeing my expression, mocked me again: “Next time you don’t have money, don’t pretend to be rich. You really drag down the class of us truly rich people.” And he didn’t forget to throw in one last insult at me—”Broke ass.” I was so angry that I suddenly burst out laughing. Because I heard the system voice: [Detected that you are being flamed. Wealth +5.] And the sound of money rustling: “CashApp transfer received: $5,000.” Nate was taken aback by my laughter, then he looked me up and down and gave a wicked smile: “Heh, you really are a glutton for punishment. Are you smiling at me to seduce me? After all, only by being my woman can you truly sit in luxury cars and fly in helicopters. I hadn’t looked closely before, but actually, with this face of yours—I wouldn’t totally rule it out.” As soon as he finished speaking, the system chimed in: [Wealth +10.] Ptooi! This sentence was even dirtier than the last one! I finally summoned the courage, and the anger I had accumulated burst forth at this moment: “I wanted to say this earlier, the color of this Porsche is absolutely hideous!!!” After saying that, I turned around and ran amidst his astonishment. In my ears was the continuous robotic voice: [Wealth +1.] [Wealth +1.] [Wealth +1.]… I ran, hearing “CashApp transfer received: $50,000,” feeling exceptionally exhilarated! 04 I got home and opened my phone. The freshman group chat was still buzzing. First, Nate spammed the group with pictures of his flashy Porsche. He also asked in the group: [Does this color really not look good? Is this color really ugly? Surely no one actually thinks this color Porsche looks bad, right?] He actually has moments of self-doubt? Of course, the people in the chat praised him; this was the real rich kid driving a Porsche, after all. Nate quickly regained his confidence: [I knew some people just don’t have taste, but the audience has a discerning eye!] Next, someone posted in the group: [Anyone want to post selfies for fun! Opportunity to get priority mating rights~] Chloe was the first to jump out. She posted a heavily photoshopped selfie. Legs ten feet long, heavily edited with filters, even the floor tiles next to her were warped. This was followed by a voice message, speaking in a cutesy anime voice completely different from her usual way of speaking: “Oops~ My hand slipped and I sent the wrong one~~~ By the time I noticed, I couldn’t unsend it~~~” Yeah, right. It hadn’t even been two minutes since the photo was sent. Even after two minutes, no one had said anything. I don’t know if Chloe was embarrassed, but I definitely laughed out loud. Just past the two-minute mark, Nate appeared. He posted a selfie of himself sitting in the Porsche. The photo was taken from a tricky angle that captured his bulging biceps and the Porsche logo reflected in his eyes. He really nailed the details, I’m dying. Nate also sent a voice message, using a deep, raspy voice he probably practiced for God knows how long: “Does the school have a gym? I have to bench press 200 pounds; if I don’t bench for a day, my whole body aches.” 05 Right after Nate finished showing off, someone in the chat recognized the Porsche reflection in his eyes. And so, the flattery began again. But Nate messaged me privately at this moment: [Audrey Miller, I know you only said my car was ugly because you didn’t get to ride in it. It’s okay, I won’t hold what happened earlier against you. Look at me, handsome and rich; if you get with me, won’t you have whatever you want!] While talking, he also sent transfers: [Transfer $520.] [Transfer $1314.] Nate added: [Transfers with special meaning numbers like these, even if we break up, I won’t ask for them back. Since you like pretending to be rich so much, why not get with me and become truly rich.] I was so silent I wanted to beat his dog head in. Where does he get this confidence, help!!! Of course I couldn’t accept this kind of money, so I decisively chose to return it! This money was dirtier than his insults! 06 That wasn’t the end of it. Nate publicly called me out in the main chat again: [Audrey Miller, how could we miss out on our Audrey for something as fun as posting selfies? I like Audrey’s looks, she’s totally my type.] These ambiguous words instantly excited the people in the chat. [Really? Really? Is Audrey Miller a huge beauty too? How beautiful, more beautiful than Chloe?] [Chloe is the school’s popular girl, but I haven’t heard that Audrey Miller is.] Of course I’m not as pretty as Chloe! I have self-awareness! Chloe has naturally cool-toned pale skin. I studied pretty hard in high school, so I was constantly sleep-deprived, and my skin was a bit rough and sallow. Chloe wasn’t happy hearing this either: [Audrey Miller, post a picture and let us see. I heard you’re also from our high school, but I’ve never heard that you were pretty.] Everyone was curious about what the girl Nate liked looked like. Nate even messaged me privately: [Audrey, quickly post a pretty selfie of yourself! Let them know that my, Nate’s, taste is the absolute best!] Could I give him what he wanted? I thought about it and whipped out a video from two years ago. It was taken when I participated in the Global Youth Fishing Tournament. In the video, I was tanned as dark as a shadow, holding the championship trophy and yelling in broken English: “China~” Thinking about the system rewards, I added on a whim: [I’m so pretty, won’t you guys feel insecure when you see me?] Sure enough, this blew up all the lurkers in the chat. 07 [Hahahahaha so this is the aesthetic of rich people, so unique!] [I tolerated the muscles, I drank the fake tea, but seeing this dark-skinned girl confidently participating in a beauty pageant, I can’t hold it in anymore!] [Your mating rights for the next four years of college are gone, but if you enter the popular girl contest, I will definitely vote for you!] [The main vibe is real, reliable, no filters, and honest. What a precious quality on the internet.] [She really is something, I’m dying. Even through the screen, she wants to show her truest beauty!] They don’t say you’re at the peak of your IQ right after high school graduation for nothing. The group members were all flaming me like mean girls, serving high-class shade. The system spoke up again: [Detected that you are being flamed. Beauty +10.] Flexing wealth and getting flamed makes me rich; flexing looks and getting flamed makes me truly beautiful. Amidst their chorus of “praise,” my face flushed red behind the screen. You wouldn’t guess it, but as a troll, I’m actually quite shy. But soon the blush faded from my face because I realized I really had gotten prettier. I saw myself in the mirror: my sallow little face from late-night studying in senior year had become fair and radiant, and my large pores had shrunk until they were invisible. At this rate, I won’t ever need cosmetic procedures in my life. I instantly got excited, and even felt that everyone was still being too restrained. The people in the freshman chat are all civilized; their insults aren’t harsh enough. Only Nate messaged me fiercely in private: [Audrey Miller, you did that on purpose! If you want to embarrass yourself, why drag me down with you! Let me tell you, I will never like you now!] Oh my god, thank you so much for that. 08 Nate’s love came fast and left fast. Soon he turned around and hooked up with Chloe. Rumor had it that within half a day, they made it official in the group chat. Someone asked him in the chat: [Nate, why didn’t you get with Audrey Miller? Is it just because of her dark skin? Can’t you see her simple and honest, excellent qualities?] The chat had not only show-offs but also kiss-asses. And mostly people who just loved watching the drama unfold. Nate got anxious and dropped an image. It was a screenshot of him transferring money to me: [Don’t slander me! I’m not that kind of person! Look at Audrey Miller, she was just after my money!] I frowned as I read it. What a sinister motive. That screenshot was taken the very second after the transfer was made. If he had waited even half a minute longer to take the screenshot, it would have shown the “Transfer Returned” screen. I immediately typed a reply: [Nate, don’t play the victim. I didn’t accept a single cent of the transfers you sent, nor did I ever ask for your money.] Nate replied: [Do you have proof? This screenshot of my transfer is solid evidence!] My fingers froze on the keyboard. I really didn’t have proof. Because I had deleted him a long time ago, and all the chat history had been cleared. I felt incredibly angry. I actually let him exploit a loophole! Now wasn’t it just whatever he said went! Sure enough, everyone started flaming me again: [Audrey Miller, I thought you were an honest girl, I didn’t expect you to be a gold digger!] [Look at you. If you looked like Chloe and were a gold digger, whatever. But with your pitch-black face where you can’t even see your features clearly, you sure have the nerve to be a gold digger!] I pursed my lips and listened to the system voice in my ear: [Wealth +1.] [Wealth +1.] [Wealth +1.]… For the first time, I felt this money was a bit hard to swallow.

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Dorian Thorne belonged to me for two years. In those two years, he went from an untouchable, elite golden boy to a man who knew exactly how to please me. Our breakup was incredibly messy; the news of him kneeling to win me back caused a massive uproar in our social circle. When we met again, he was my prospective fiancé’s uncle. The corporate marriage between the Kensington and Thorne families was just waiting for his nod. From beginning to end, he only said two words: “Not worthy.” Later, he pinned me against the door, shutting out the desperate calls of my prospective fiancé from the hallway. “Vera, he’s not nearly as fun to play with as I am.” 01 The youngest son of the Thorne family had somehow taken a liking to me. Everyone knew he was pursuing me. My best friend, Blair, advised: “Just give in. He’s totally obedient to you anyway.” Before I could even nod, someone else made the decision for me. The marriage between the Kensingtons and the Thornes was a massive social climb for the Kensingtons. My dad couldn’t have asked for anything better. The two families sat together, chatting enthusiastically. Preston Thorne whispered his confession beside me. “Vera, after we’re married, I’ll listen to you in everything.” My inner annoyance steadily climbed. I suddenly craved a cigarette. Preston was great—gentle, polite, rich, and handsome. But unfortunately, he really wasn’t my type. “Then in the future, I get to be on top every time. Is that okay?” 02 Preston’s face turned incredibly ugly. Right after I said that, someone sat down in the empty seat at the head of the table. The first thing that caught my eye was that pair of pale, long, elegant hands. The mole on his index finger was so familiar it sent a jolt of terror through me. In that split second, panic boiled up from the bottom of my heart. I subconsciously grabbed my phone. But I must have accidentally tapped something. A low, hoarse voice played from the phone’s speaker. “Vera, let me kiss you… breathe first… don’t touch me there.” I stiffly raised my eyes and met the gaze of the man at the head of the table. Honestly, I wanted to die. 03 During that dinner, I couldn’t taste a thing. I had imagined ten thousand ways of reuniting with Dorian. But never like this. That audio came from a video sent in a group chat by a friend—a secretly recorded video from an after-party five years ago. In the video, Dorian was pinned down and kissed by me. His ears were impossibly red. Among my group of rich, idle friends, Dorian was a well-known existence. I loved seeing men cry. In the two years Dorian was with me, he shed quite a few tears. Once, after making him cry, I took a picture, posted it on Instagram, and captioned it: [Such a good boy. I love him so much.] The comments section exploded. Then everyone knew I was keeping a “boy toy.” 6-foot-2, six-pack abs, incredibly obedient, and he only called me “Mistress.” A friend left a harsh comment: [Are you even treating him like a human being? Huh? You absolute psycho!] 04 I am a psycho. I have to admit it. Dorian was with me for two years. In those two years, he went from the highly praised, untouchable elite to someone who was very good at pleasing me. With me, most of the time he didn’t have to suffer financially. But when I went crazy, my methods of tormenting him came one after another. He often had red marks on his wrists from being restrained. His lips often had cuts. Some people did try to stand up for him. A suitor of Dorian’s. His face was so handsome it looked like a top-tier 3D modeler’s most perfect creation. There were quite a few people who liked him. “If you really like Dorian, you shouldn’t treat him this way. “His reputation is going to be completely ruined by someone like you. “I hope you break up with him sooner rather than later.” I sat on the balcony railing, swinging my legs. After hearing her out, I smiled kindly. “Yeah, I think you’re right.” Dorian was sitting at the other end of the corridor. His long legs spread apart, his arm resting on the back of the chair, propping up his chin as he looked at me. He radiated an aura of laziness and exhaustion. I swayed my body. In my peripheral vision, he abruptly stood up. That laid-back demeanor vanished completely. If I fell from here, I wouldn’t die, but injuries were unavoidable. He was terrified. “But there’s one thing I need to clarify. “I don’t like Dorian.” The shadows on the ground stretched long. The footsteps rushing toward me suddenly stopped. The setting sun behind Dorian was as red as blood. 05 At this dinner, Dorian only said two words from start to finish: “Not worthy.” My dad’s face looked terrible. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud: “Huh? How are we not worthy?” “Uncle~” I followed Preston’s seniority and called him that: “Preston and I are deeply in love.” The man at the head of the table looked up at me. His face was just too top-tier. My gaze shifted downward, resting on his lips. A very beautiful lip shape, one I had bitten open many times. “Veronica.” Not Vera, but Veronica. Or at the very least, it should have been Ms. Kensington. In the past, no matter how terribly I behaved, he never called me by my full name. I understood him. Dorian was angry. Because of what I just said. Which word in that sentence? Uncle? Preston? Or deeply in love? My hand was grasped by someone; it was Preston. “Uncle.” His voice was gentle: “Vera is straightforward, please don’t be hard on her. She means no harm.” I tried to pull away, but couldn’t. “Preston, let go.” This was said by Dorian. There was no specific tone, but it inexplicably made one’s heart tremble. Preston immediately withdrew his hand. “Grandpa said I’ll be the one to decide if this marriage happens or not. “Ms. Kensington, being deeply in love is useless. You’d be better off figuring out how to convince me.” “Convince you how?” Silence. No answer. The dinner ended abruptly. 06 A long road. The car took a sharp turn into a dark alley. Dorian and I were not heading the same way. When we parted, my dad pushed me into his car. My dad whispered a warning behind me: “No matter what method you use, make him agree.” Preston wanted to tag along. Dorian commanded: “Sit in the passenger seat.” So Preston closed the back door. Just as he walked to the passenger side, the car sped off. A closed-off road, the car stopped at the end of the alley. Dorian’s voice was very low: “Get out.” I reached for the door; it was locked. I frowned: “It’s locked, how am I supposed to get out?” The driver in the front seat unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car. Me: “…” Only the two of us were left in the car. The person beside me clearly sighed. The next second, a strong force grabbed my waist, forcefully hauling me onto his lap. Dorian’s hand wrapped around my wrist. He pressed my hand against the knot of his tie. In the dim car, his crimson lips parted. “Untie it.” I did as told. “Buttons.” I undid the top two buttons of his dress shirt. “Keep going.” So I rested both hands on his neck. Slowly, inch by inch, moving up to his jawline. Cupping his face, I tilted my head back to look at him. His voice was husky: “Vera, not enough.” I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around his neck. Dorian trembled slightly and smiled. “Deeply in love? “Heh, Vera, what are you doing to your prospective fiancé’s uncle right now? Hmm?” I rested my chin on his shoulder and smiled too. “Uncle. “Is this convincing enough? “My dad told me to use every possible method to make you agree.” Between Dorian and me, from the past to the present, I always believed I held the initiative. Even now that he was the future head of the Thorne family. Even though I had gone from being the true heiress to the fake one. However, as time passed, many things were indeed unpredictable. The moment Dorian opened his mouth, I became the passive one. “Want to be Mrs. Thorne? “Vera, be mine.” 07 At night, I sat in the study. On the desk lay an old relationship contract. The phone next to it kept vibrating. Calls were pouring in. From my dad, my mom, Blair, and Preston. I opened the first page of the contract. In the Party B column, the name “Dorian Thorne” was eye-catching. After a long while, I called Blair back. The topic cut straight to the point. She spoke first: “Did it work?” “No, Blair. Dorian is back.” She didn’t care: “Oh, and then? You still miss him and want to get back with your ex? “Wake up, sis. Men are never as important as your career.” I chuckled softly: “They both have the last name Thorne, what do you think?” Finally, the other end of the line went silent. “Why have I never heard of him in the news about the Thorne Corporation?” “I don’t know. I only found out today that he’s the Thorne heir.” I asked: “In the past, was I…” “Vera, run. I have a little money, I can support you.” “Was I… really that terrible back then?” Blair cursed: “What do you think? You absolute psycho! And he’s a psycho too! Being tortured like that and still not leaving.” “He was just…” I rubbed my nose guiltily. “You put a dog collar with a bell on him. You only allowed him to wear bespoke suits from that one specific brand because you thought he looked best kneeling in them. You should burn incense thanking God he’s not retaliating against you right now.” Me: “…” Put that way. The days back then were quite wild. 08 When I was 20, Dorian and I signed a relationship contract. No other reason. We both got what we needed. That year, the long-lost biological daughter of the Kensington family was found. Many things that belonged to me were subtly being transferred to her name. The sense of loss made me irritable. As for Dorian. He had a very rare condition—touch starvation. Not only that, his skin was allergic to others’ touch. When I met him, it was so severe he relied on medication every day to control it. I was his exception. How much of a psycho was I, exactly? Dorian was a year older than me, but he had to call me “Mistress.” When kissing him, I liked to bite his lip until it bled. Usually, when it was over, he would remain expressionless, raising a hand to wipe the blood off his lips. “It doesn’t hurt. I like it a lot.” This was my demand; I needed him to provide me with good emotional value. No matter how much it hurt, he had to endure it. When his symptoms flared up, he knelt on the expensive suit I bought him. With his hands tied behind his back, eyes red, begging me. “Please, help me.” I sat leisurely, my posture noble, the tip of my stiletto lifting his chin. “Hmm? How should I help?” “Hold my hand, or… anything… just physical contact…” Just as he was about to break down, I leaned over and cupped his face. Dorian’s body trembled, his jawline taut. The symptoms eased, but clearly not enough. “Vera…” I shook my head: “Wrong.” “Mistress…” I pushed further: “Dorian, you know what I like.” So he looked at me. After a long time, his eyes reddened, and finally, a tear fell. Finally, I hugged him just as he wished. “So impressive. What are you thinking about to be able to cry so quickly?” I always asked this every time Dorian cried. “Thinking about… the day you won’t want me anymore.” I rested on his shoulder and laughed. “What a great actor.” 09 The reason for the breakup was also simple. The contract expired. It ended very unpleasantly. He tried to win me back; I refused. That night, I found myself literally handcuffed in a basement. Dorian sat to the side. The dark circles under his eyes were prominent. He didn’t say a word. His face was just too stunning. So much so that my first reaction wasn’t even disgust. “Baby, this is illegal.” Dorian ignored that statement and brought a piece of watermelon to my lips. “Open.” I chewed twice: “It’s a bit bitter.” He chuckled: “So delicate. How can watermelon be bitter.” He put the half-eaten watermelon from my mouth into his own. “Why don’t you untie me? What if you feel sick? If I’m locked up, I can’t help you.” “I can take medicine.” Me: “…” Understood. No room for negotiation. Dorian pinched my chin. Forcing me to look him in the eye. His eyes were bottomless, truly validating that saying. He was too good at acting normally. “Vera, I should have just kept you locked up like this. “From morning till night, handcuffed here. “Pleasing me. Kissing, hugging, doing delightful things, and then I’ll grant you brief moments of freedom.” I shook my head: “I don’t like begging.” “It’s not up to you.” On the third day of being locked up, I hadn’t had a drop of water. Dorian couldn’t pry my mouth open no matter what. “Open your mouth. Otherwise, I’m giving you a nutrient IV.” He sounded fierce. I leaned against his shoulder. My entire body was weak. “Dorian, my stomach hurts.” The “pain” tactic usually only works on those who care about you. Those few words sent Dorian into a panic. He scooped me up and carried me out. His footsteps were frantic. The one thing Dorian hid the worst—was his love for me. Later, Blair came to pick me up, and I didn’t say a word about the details. “What happened to you two?” “Nothing.” “Dorian asked me to pass on a message to you.” “Hmm?” “He said, ‘Ms. Kensington, I hope you have smooth sailing from now on. Don’t ever let yourself fall into my hands one day.’” A prophecy fulfilled. What goes around comes around. 10 Preston was waiting downstairs early the next morning. Overnight, the situation became clear. Dorian gave the nod. The Kensington-Thorne marriage was set in stone. “Vera, you’re amazing. You even managed to persuade my uncle.” I kept my head down. Wondering how to phrase my words to minimize the damage and loss. “I was angry yesterday and told your uncle we were deeply in love. Sorry, actually I…” Preston interrupted me: “My uncle said you’re quite suitable to be a part of the Thorne family.” I paused. “Don’t be in a rush to reject me. Vera, haven’t you been fighting for the Boston Harbor project?” I started looking at Preston seriously. Objectively speaking, as a son-in-law for the Kensingtons, he was the most suitable. Why not Dorian? Because if it came to a capital game, Dorian was completely capable of turning the Kensington Corporation into a mere shell. And Preston wouldn’t. No, he couldn’t. Naturally, my dad preferred him. “How are you going to help me?” “I’ll take you to meet a few people.” I said: “Your condition?” “None. Just casting a brick to attract a jade, trying to win your favor.” I had learned a truth very early on. Resources don’t just flow into your hands because you try your hardest. On the way to the Thorne family’s summer resort. Blair sent me a message. Her intelligence network was always formidable. [Dorian’s exact words: Veronica Kensington is quite suitable to be a part of the Thorne family.] [Does this mean you and Preston are a done deal?] I rubbed my temples: [Dorian’s exact words: Want to be Mrs. Thorne? Be his.] [HOLY SHIT!!!] Three exclamation marks to show her shock: [What are you thinking now?] [Right now, I’m in Preston’s car.] User is typing… A long pause: [That’s so fucking wild. Are you two-timing? [If Dorian finds out you’re secretly meeting Preston…] I replied: [Watch your phrasing. It’s not a secret meeting. Besides, Dorian isn’t that idle.] 11 Dorian was very idle. He was sitting with several executives of the Boston Harbor project. Someone saw me before he did. He sneered. Then instructed the people around him: “Hey, put out your cigarettes.” I knew this guy. Last name Cole, Griffin Cole. I had met him a few times in college with Dorian. His punchable voice rang out: “Put ’em out, put ’em out, or someone’s going to get anxious in a minute.” Only then did Dorian look up. His eyes collided with mine. His index finger tapped the table slowly. He smirked: “You should put them out.” No one listened to Griffin. But as soon as Dorian spoke, the others swiftly extinguished their cigarettes. Preston greeted him. He nodded: “Have you eaten breakfast?” Preston quickly answered: “Yes.” “And Ms. Kensington?” I had stomach issues; I couldn’t go hungry. Preston had picked me up early, so I hadn’t had time for breakfast. “Not yet.” Preston looked apologetic: “I’m so sorry, I forgot. What do you want to eat? I’ll have someone…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. Dorian cut him off. “Have someone prepare a bowl of clear broth noodles for Ms. Kensington. No cilantro, a soft-boiled egg, and extra greens.” Griffin scoffed: “How many years has it been? You still remember?” A simple, brief exchange. No matter how dense Preston was, he should have understood by now. In today’s gathering, the one casting a brick to attract jade was someone else. All sorts of clumsy tricks. Luring me into the trap. “It truly is hard to forget. Unlike some people… completely heartless.” Me: “…” The Boston Harbor project was worth billions. Dorian offered a springboard. There was no reason for me not to jump. I chatted with Griffin and the others from morning till night. When the contract was signed, I breathed a sigh of relief. Griffin looked at me with admiration: “Ms. Kensington, you’ve got skills.” “You flatter me, Director Cole.” Another person changed the subject. “I heard the Kensingtons and Thornes are arranging a marriage. With Preston Thorne?” Griffin laughed heartily: “Ms. Kensington is highly ambitious; Preston probably isn’t a match for her.” “Then who else in the Thorne family is around Ms. Kensington’s age and is a good match?” Griffin raised an eyebrow, deciding not to answer for me this time. “Dorian.” You could hear a pin drop in the room. I repeated: “Dorian Thorne.” 12 I heard a similar conversation again that night. I swear. I wasn’t intentionally eavesdropping. I was dozing on the balcony. The heavy curtains hid me. The door opened outside. Dorian and Preston’s voices drifted in. “Uncle, you used me.” Dorian’s voice was cold: “Hardly.” I peeked through the gap in the curtains. I decided not to make a sound for now. “You clearly knew I liked her, and the Kensington family preferred me.” “Does it matter?” Dorian narrowed his eyes: “You even need my approval to marry her.” That was brutal. In my line of sight, Preston swayed on his feet. “Besides…” Dorian paused. He turned his head and glanced toward the balcony. Fine. He knew I was here. “Besides, I like her quite a bit too.” Dorian finished his sentence: “Preston, what do you have to compete with? “Vera securing the Boston Harbor project was seventy percent skill and thirty percent favor. Do you think Griffin Cole gave that favor because of you?” Every word pierced the heart. Preston was left speechless. Dorian’s move was ruthless. Killing two birds with one stone. Taking down Preston and striking at me. “Veronica is ambitious, and I have power and influence. We’re a match made in heaven.” Me: “…” I was just about to speak up. An audio recording echoed in the empty room. It was a past interview of mine. A deleted segment. The host asked: “Ms. Kensington, you’re successful in business, what about your love life?” “I have no expectations for romance.” “Not even when you were younger?” How did I answer back then? I said: “No.” “But I heard Ms. Kensington dated in college.” After a long pause, I opened my mouth: “Just playing around.”

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My boyfriend sent my roommate a selfie. He didn’t know that her laptop was hooked up to the big screen in the college auditorium. The entire audience got a front-row seat to the photo. My classmates told me they’d stick by my side and help me put on the ultimate revenge show. 01 For tonight’s campus talent show, I was on music duty, but my laptop suddenly died. In a panic, I sprinted back to the dorm, grabbed my roommate’s MacBook, and made a mad dash back to the auditorium. Because I had helped this roommate submit assignments before, I knew her password. Once I logged in, I saw her Mac Messages app was still open. The host was supposed to go on stage in one minute. She was giving me desperate looks, so in my frantic rush, I quickly connected the projector and loaded up the slides. Just as everything was ready and I was about to close out my roommate’s messages, a new text popped up. The sender was Carter Hayes, my boyfriend. My hand trembled, and muscle memory made me click the chat window. “When are you getting here? I’m itching to see you.” Our college wasn’t massive; everyone pretty much knew everyone. At that exact moment, the chat box was projected clearly onto the giant screen. The previously noisy, buzzing auditorium instantly went dead silent. The host stood frozen on the sidelines, completely forgetting to walk on stage. My roommate’s reply synced to the big screen in real-time. “I’ll be there soon, what’s the rush?” “I’m dying to see you, babe.” “Chloe won’t find out, right?” “Nah, she’s got her drama club performance tonight.” The entire audience turned to look at me with overwhelming pity. Pretty much everyone knew me. They knew I was Chloe, the unlucky girlfriend in question. Immediately, the laptop chimed again. Carter sent a photo. In the picture, he looked like he had just stepped out of the shower. His hair was still dripping wet, and he was flexing in the mirror with a smarmy “I know you can’t resist this” smirk on his face. On the massive projector screen, every single detail was blown up for the world to see. How should I put it… the audience’s gaze somehow grew even more pitiful. I stood completely still, a tidal wave of shock and rage rising higher and higher in my chest. Carter and I had been dating for a long time. Just last week, I went to his house for dinner and met his parents. His parents owned a small local business. To my face, they kept praising me for being smart and capable. But when his mom pulled Carter into the kitchen to whisper, I overheard her. “This Chloe girl is too ambitious. She’s got a stubborn streak. Might be hard to keep her in line later on.” It wasn’t until Carter mentioned that my family was going to buy us a house in cash that his mom’s tone finally softened: “Well, that’s good then. Just make sure your name gets put on the deed. And remember, the man is the head of the household. You have to make sure you keep her on a tight leash.” That conversation had been a thorn in my side ever since it happened. I had planned to sit down and have a serious talk with Carter about it, but I never expected he’d already be actively looking for his next target. The host standing off to the side was Zoey Miller, my absolute best friend. After a moment of silence, Zoey walked out onto the stage. She tossed her cue cards aside and brought the microphone to her lips: “First of all, thank you all for coming. “Tonight’s event was supposed to be a play carefully put together by our drama club. But given the… technical difficulties we just witnessed, I’m afraid the show can’t go on as planned.” A collective sigh of disappointment rippled through the crowd, though everyone clearly understood why. “However,” Zoey announced loudly, “we’ve just discovered that real life is way more dramatic than any script. Since you’re all here for a show, why don’t we play one out in reality?” The room was quiet for a split second before erupting into wild applause and whistles. This auditorium full of theater kids was absolutely thrilled by Zoey’s proposal. “Don’t worry, Chloe!” “We’ll help you get payback!” “Let’s play this cheating trash and his side piece!” I looked out at the crowd, the warmth in my chest evaporating the chill of betrayal. With so many people standing by my side, I realized I had nothing to be afraid of. 02 My roommate had a thing for Carter. I had sensed it for a long time. Whenever Carter and I went for a walk, we’d magically bump into her. She was always twisting her ankle or feeling faint, begging Carter to walk her to the campus clinic. Back then, Carter barely gave her the time of day. It was obvious he genuinely wasn’t interested. So why the sudden switch to acting like her absolute lapdog? My gut told me there was more to this story. I shared my suspicions with Zoey. By now, Zoey had fully embraced her role as the executive director of this revenge plot, and she immediately started giving out orders. The vanguard consisted of Carter’s three roommates. They were dispatched to gather intel. The three frat guys coordinated perfectly and quickly got results. They noticed that Fall Campus Recruiting was right around the corner, and Carter hadn’t sent out a single resume. So, two of the guys played bad cop. They relentlessly mocked Carter, saying he only ever passed his classes because his girlfriend did his homework, and since he didn’t actually know anything, he probably gave up on job hunting altogether. The third guy played good cop. When Carter was fuming mad, he dragged him out to a college bar for some beers. A few drinks in, Carter took the bait. Tipsy and visibly smug, he leaned in and bragged to his roommate: “Do you know who Mia Evans is? She’s the daughter of the CEO of Apex Innovations!” Mia Evans is my roommate. We happen to share the same last name. The roommate immediately reported this intel back to base. When Zoey and I heard the news, we looked at each other in dead silence. After a long pause, Zoey patted me heavily on the shoulder: “Chloe, Chloe, Chloe… How many times have I told you? Being low-key is fine, but being too low-key is a problem.” “Look at this! Mia isn’t just trying to steal your boyfriend, she’s trying to steal your dad!” Zoey grabbed her phone, ready to figure out a plan to publicly clarify that I was the actual daughter of the Apex Innovations CEO. I thought about it for a second, then reached out and pressed my hand over hers. “Don’t,” I said quietly. “If Mia wants to play the rich heiress so badly, let’s play along. Let’s let her really enjoy the fantasy.” Zoey froze, then caught my drift, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Damn, Chloe. You’re evil. I love it.” 03 Mia had been practically invisible for her first three years of college, but lately, she had become the hottest commodity on campus. Guys were showing up early to lecture halls just to save her a seat, hoping to chat her up between classes. Guys were sliding into her DMs, asking if she wanted to catch a movie, offering to buy the tickets in advance. She started receiving a steady stream of little gifts: anonymous flowers, surprise coffees, expensive snacks. Mia’s ego went straight to her head. She walked into the dorm carrying a massive pile of imported snacks, dropping loud hints: “Ugh, I don’t even know who keeps sending me all this. It’s so annoying, I’m going to get so fat if I eat all this.” One of our other roommates chimed in: “You can share with us! We can all get fat together.” “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly do that,” Mia flatly refused. “These are heartfelt gifts from those sweet boys. If I gave them to someone else, it would break their hearts.” I rolled my eyes so hard internally I practically saw my own brain. Back when Carter was pursuing me, he’d buy me fruit and pastries. Every single time, Mia would insist on “sharing the wealth” and snatch away a huge portion. Funny how she lacked all that empathy back then. Maybe sensing my coldness, Mia deliberately provoked me: “Sigh, Valentine’s Day is coming up. I have no idea how many gifts I’m going to get. I finally understand what a ‘sweet burden’ really is.” “Unlike some people. Even with a boyfriend, they probably won’t get a single thing.” She was clearly banking on the fact that Carter wouldn’t buy me anything, so she was preemptively rubbing it in my face. Normally, I would have clapped back immediately. But for the sake of the upcoming show, I instantly contorted my face into a look of deep, wounded insecurity. “Y-you don’t know what you’re talking about,” I defended Carter with a pale, shaky voice. “Carter was just really stressed with midterms before, so he forgot. He’ll definitely get me something this year.” Mia laughed out loud. “Oh, really?” She was fully expecting to watch me humiliate myself. But to her shock, on Valentine’s Day, Carter actually did give me a gift. And it was way more expensive than anything he’d ever bought me. When I walked back into the dorm wearing the necklace Carter gave me, Mia’s face cycled through shades of red, white, and green. I let out a soft, internal scoff. Mia still didn’t understand men. Or at least, she didn’t understand Carter. She thought that just because they had hooked up, Carter had already chosen her over me. But Carter was far more calculating than Mia realized. Yes, Mia was supposedly the daughter of the Apex Tech CEO, but she hadn’t actually done anything concrete for his career yet. Meanwhile, I was his long-term girlfriend, practically a fiancée, and the actual local girl whose family promised to buy him a house in cash. It made no sense for him to drop me just yet. And because he felt guilty for cheating, even though he skipped gifts in the past, he made damn sure to buy me one this year. I never liked showing off my relationship, but for the sake of dramatic effect, I immediately touched the pendant, putting on my best “I’m the luckiest girl in the world” face, and gushed to the room: “I only mentioned this necklace in passing once, and Carter actually remembered!” “He went to three different mall boutiques just to find it.” My other roommates were absolute Oscar-worthy actors. Every single one of them plastered a look of pure envy on their faces. “Wow, I saw that on TikTok! It’s this year’s exclusive Valentine’s edition, right?” “That’s so expensive! But our Chloe deserves the best.” The roommate assigned to play the “mean girl” stepped up on cue. She shot a sideways glance in Mia’s direction and said snarkily: “Unlike some people, who just get bought off with cheap grocery store candy and a bag of chips.” Mia completely lost her mind. Honestly, a gift is about the thought, regardless of the price tag. But that was a concept Mia’s vanity could never grasp. Deeply stung, she practically tore the dorm door off its hinges as she stormed out. My roommates and I exchanged a look. I casually tossed Carter’s expensive necklace onto my desk, pulled out my phone, and texted Zoey: “Mia just bailed. Knowing her, she’s headed straight to Carter.” Zoey replied instantly: “Copy that!” In the ‘Revenge Alliance’ group chat, Director Zoey pinned an announcement: “Who shares a lecture with Carter right now?” Soon, the boots on the ground reported back with live intel— Carter was sitting in a lecture hall. Mia was spamming his phone with back-to-back calls. Visibly annoyed, Carter slipped out the back door and met Mia in the woods behind the science building. The very first words out of Mia’s mouth were: “Break up with Chloe.” Carter looked frustrated. “Babe, didn’t I tell you? We have to take this slow…” He had probably used that excuse a dozen times by now. Mia cut him off impatiently: “No more taking it slow. Do it tomorrow!” Carter wasn’t happy. He considered himself a big man on campus—handsome, smooth-talking, always popular with the ladies. No girl had ever ordered him around so aggressively. “Mia, you’re crossing a line,” Carter frowned. Of course, Mia wasn’t listening. She had been jealous of me for way too long. The second she thought she had the upper hand, it was ruined by Carter’s Valentine’s gift to me. This was the absolute peak of her humiliation. She had already taken the first step of lying about her identity. Now, we were guiding her right into taking the second step. And exactly as predicted, she took it. “Carter, if you don’t break up with Chloe immediately, I won’t lift a finger to help you during campus recruiting.” Carter’s eyes lit up instantly. He grabbed Mia’s hands: “You agreed to help me? You’ll talk to Mr. Evans and get me straight into the core engineering team?” Mia nodded haughtily. “Obviously. He’s my dad. It’s literally just one sentence from me.” Carter was so thrilled he picked Mia up and spun her around in circles: “Thank you, Mia. Thank you so much.” Listening to the live-streamed audio, a mocking smile crept onto my face. Thank her while you can, Carter. Because soon enough, you’ll be thanking her whole damn family. 04 The next day, Carter came over to dump me. His roommates texted our group chat, letting us know he had left the building. Zoey immediately whipped out a sliced onion and shoved it near my eyes. I was furious. “You don’t trust my crying skills?!” Zoey patted my back. “I trust you, I trust you! You’re the star of the drama club! The problem is Carter is such an idiot, I’m terrified you’ll start laughing in his face…” That made me even madder. “That still means you don’t trust my acting!!” Mid-argument, a knock sounded at the door. I opened it. Carter stood there. “Chloe.” He wore a perfectly calculated look of regret. “I’m here to break up with you.” I snapped into character in less than a second, my face falling into a mask of pure, devastated disbelief. “What? What are you saying?” Behind Carter, Zoey and my roommates were silently giving my performance a standing ovation. “I thought about it a lot, and I just don’t think we’re a good match.” I played the desperate, clinging girlfriend: “Why? We literally just met each other’s parents…” “My family doesn’t think we’re a good fit either.” Carter let out a heavy, solemn sigh. What a textbook manipulator—even while dumping me, he left a breadcrumb. “I still love you, Chloe. But I’m afraid we just don’t have a future. If we don’t end it now, it’ll only hurt more later. So I’d rather be the bad guy and do it today.” You are the bad guy, you pretentious prick. I sobbed and pleaded a bit more. Carter’s heart remained made of stone, so I finally, agonizingly, agreed. I thought he was going to leave, but then he said: “Since that’s settled, I’m going to take back the things I left with you.” He picked up the expensive necklace from my desk and asked: “Where’s the rest of it?” Oh my god. I practically barked out a laugh. This was the first time in my life I’d seen someone refer to gifts they gave as “things I left with you.” Zoey, predicting I might break character, lunged forward and grabbed my face. Her hands still had onion juice on them. The tears started flowing instantly. “Are you really not going to leave me with a single memory of us?” I wept. Seeing me cry so tragically must have softened his ego a little bit. “You can keep this one.” He picked through the pile of gifts and placed something in my hand. I looked down and almost broke character again. It was a cheap, scribbled Christmas card he gave me freshman year. Taking back the expensive jewelry and leaving me his worthless autograph? How generous. Zoey, seeing my mouth twitching into a smile, viciously wiped my face with the onion again. When Carter looked back at me, I was clutching his freshman year Christmas card, tears streaming down my face, sobbing uncontrollably. He definitely walked away thinking: Wow, this girl is so deeply in love with me. Meanwhile, I was thinking: Wow, this onion is incredibly spicy. 05 The second Carter’s footsteps faded, my roommates started tearing him apart. The group chat was blowing up with people raging on my behalf. One roommate argued that I shouldn’t have let him take the gifts back so easily. I couldn’t care less. All the gifts he ever gave me added up to barely a thousand bucks. What I saved was the million-dollar cash payment my family would have blown on his future house. Besides, I had a feeling the upcoming acts of this play would be more than enough to cover the price of admission. After dumping me, Carter’s relationship with Mia didn’t go as smoothly as he planned. Riding the high of having a roster of campus orbiters, Mia started playing hard to get. She dropped hints that she had plenty of options now and didn’t necessarily need Carter. Furious, Carter stormed back to his dorm, grabbed his roommate Liam by the collar, and screamed: “Did you leak Mia’s real identity?! Where else would all these guys be coming from?!” Liam obviously knew the exact truth, but his acting chops were top-tier. He stared back at Carter with wide, innocent eyes. “I didn’t say a damn thing! Think about it man, the source of the rumor is Mia herself. She probably told all those guys to flex on everyone!” Carter had no way to verify it, and he was terrified that pushing Liam too hard would cause him to blab to the whole campus. He just gritted his teeth: “Just keep your mouth shut.” At this point, Carter was already harboring some resentment toward Mia, feeling like she was stringing him along. But since he’d already burned the bridge with me, he swallowed his pride and resorted to aggressively sucking up to her. Carter clearly studied the rom-com male lead playbook. He brought her coffee in the morning, carried her bags in the evening, and even pulled the classic move of giving her a piggyback ride over a puddle on a rainy day. Watching this unfold with the Revenge Alliance chat, we all marveled at how deeply Carter had deluded himself into thinking he was the star of a movie. I have to admit, his handsome face was a pretty good smokescreen. After weeks of relentless rom-com stunts, Mia finally agreed to make it official. They posted a massive photo dump on Instagram to soft-launch the relationship. In every picture, Carter was smiling like he’d won the lottery. He absolutely believed his life as a wealthy, pampered son-in-law was just beginning, and every step from here on out would be bathed in gold. You’re overthinking it, Carter. Right here? This is your peak. Next up, you’re going to find out exactly how deep of a hole you’ve dug for yourself. 06 Carter submitted his resume to Apex Innovations. His interview was scheduled for a week later. That week was the absolute highlight of Mia’s life. Not only was Carter at her beck and call, but our dorm roommates—having “heard” she was the Apex heiress—seemingly betrayed me and flocked to her side. In the past, Mia’s hygiene was terrible. She’d constantly make excuses to skip chore duty, and our Neat-Freak roommate would always tear into her. But now? Neat-Freak completely ignored the mountain of Amazon boxes and takeout bags piling up on Mia’s desk. She even cooed softly: “Mia is a high-class girl. How could she possibly concern herself with trivial things like taking out the trash? Just leave it there.” In the past, Mia slept through lectures, skipped homework, and tried to get our Valedictorian roommate to help her cheat on finals. The Valedictorian used to roll her eyes and look at Mia with blatant disgust. But now? Valedictorian pulled a full 180. She practically bowed to Mia, saying: “Us try-hard scholarship kids only know how to read books. One day, we’ll all just be working for you anyway.” (In the group chat, Neat-Freak told Valedictorian she was overacting and sounded entirely too sarcastic). In the past, Mia loved playing the fragile damsel in distress. Our D1 Athlete roommate couldn’t stand it, constantly telling her to hit the gym instead of trying to fit into that toxic, stick-thin influencer vibe. But now? Athlete praised Mia’s looks daily, insisting that an heiress like Mia was supposed to be pale and fragile, and that’s exactly why boys loved her. Mia was still the exact same Mia. Not a single one of her flaws had changed. Yet, entirely because of her supposed “Dad,” everyone around her completely changed their attitude, treating her like absolute royalty. Shortcuts like that can make anyone lose their mind. Mia completely lost herself. Drowning in endless flattery, she fully sank into the role. Subconsciously, she genuinely started believing she was the daughter of the Apex Tech CEO. This delusion bled into her relationship with Carter. When he nervously asked her if he was guaranteed to pass the interview, Mia boldly declared: “My dad owns the company. You just go in there and say you’re my boyfriend. Who would dare reject you?” Carter was so ecstatic he picked her up and spun her around three times. The day of the Apex Innovations interview finally arrived. Zoey and I got there early and slipped into the building’s security room. Zoey aimed her phone at the CCTV monitors, live-streaming the feed to the group chat. Wearing a crisp, tailored suit and clutching his resume, Carter strutted up to the front desk like he owned the place. While he was signing in, a group of executives walked out from the hallway. Leading the pack was CEO Evans. He was heading out to a meeting. For context, I hadn’t formally introduced Carter to my parents yet. My dad didn’t know him from Adam. But Carter had definitely stalked the company’s website and recognized CEO Evans’s photo. Believing he was finally meeting his future father-in-law, Carter puffed out his chest, desperate to flex his “insider status.” He practically leaped forward and loudly announced: “Good morning, Uncle!” He was so loud that everyone in the lobby turned to look. Seeing the audience, Carter puffed up even more. By pure coincidence, the HR Recruiter scheduled to interview him walked out at that exact moment. Eager to show the HR rep that he had serious connections, Carter smoothly asked CEO Evans: “I hope you’ve been doing well, Uncle. We were thinking about getting together for dinner next week.” CEO Evans: “?” Carter, assuming my dad’s stunned silence was just him rushing to his meeting, quickly played the understanding son-in-law: “I see you’re busy, Uncle. We’ll chat later.” Carter gave a suave smile and turned to head toward the interview rooms. The HR Recruiter, sensing something bizarre, hurried over to my dad: “That’s the intern candidate I’m about to interview. Do you know him, sir?” CEO Evans looked baffled. “Never seen him in my life.” The Recruiter tried to jog his memory: “Based on the way he called you ‘Uncle,’ could he be Chloe’s boyfriend?” “Impossible,” CEO Evans stated flatly. “Chloe just went through a breakup.” Relieved, the HR Recruiter decided to do things strictly by the book. She would evaluate Carter based entirely on his actual merits. Walking into the conference room, the HR rep began the interview. After a few standard behavioral questions, she pivoted to the technical portion. “What is the difference between a mutex and a semaphore?” “Can you explain multi-threading programming?” “Suppose you have a single-threaded standard C application that keeps crashing, but it never crashes in the exact same place. What do you think could be causing this?” Guys, if Carter knew the answers to any of these, would he be spending all his energy trying to marry into a trust fund? So, after ten agonizingly awkward minutes of dead silence, Carter raised his hand, stopping the HR rep from asking the next question. He gestured confidently: “I think you need to take another look at my resume.” The HR rep was entirely confused. “I already reviewed your resume when you applied online.” Giving her a highly suggestive wink, Carter pushed his freshly printed physical resume across the table. “I highly suggest you look at it again.” The HR rep must have been questioning her reality, wondering what massive secret was hiding in this kid’s painfully mediocre resume. But given his immense confidence, she opened the folder. Page one: normal. “Look at page two,” Carter smiled knowingly. The HR rep flipped to the second page. In the security room, Zoey and I let out a scream of laughter. For his second page, Carter had printed out a massive, full-color selfie of him and Mia cuddling. The HR rep stared at the giant, glossy faces of these two college kids, then slowly looked up at Carter. Carter flashed her a blinding, “Now you get it” smile. I am absolutely certain that in her entire professional career, this HR rep had never encountered something so profoundly unhinged. She sat in absolute silence for two full minutes. Finally, maintaining peak professionalism, she told Carter: “I think we can conclude the interview here.” The HR rep just wanted to get this insane person out of her building. But Carter, convinced that the HR rep had finally understood his VIP status and was “fast-tracking” him, stood up and excitedly shook her hand. “Excellent. I look forward to receiving my offer letter. Oh, by the way, the standard entry-level package is around $100k, right? Since it’s me, is there any way we can make a special exception and bump that up?” This time, the HR rep was silent for five full minutes. Zoey and I were laughing so hard in the security room we couldn’t breathe. When we finally left the security room, we bumped right into Carter in the lobby. Carter looked us up and down, a smug smirk twisting his lips. “Here for an interview?” Zoey had been laughing so hard that she hadn’t managed to reset her facial expressions yet. The look on her face screamed ‘I am looking at a clinically insane person’. Carter noticed. His smile dropped into a cold sneer. “You’d better watch your tone with me. Because whether you get hired here or not is entirely up to me.” Zoey scoffed, “Aren’t you just here for an interview too?” Carter sneered, “Do I look like I’m in the same league as you?” He slung his backpack over his shoulder and strutted out the glass doors. Zoey and I watched him leave, sharing a knowing look. Well, the setup was done. It was about time for the climax.

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My new roommate leaves early and comes back late, always like a ghost. Thinking she worked too hard, I took extra care of her. Me: [Hey babe, I left some pot roast in the fridge for you.] Her: […Thanks.] Me: [Baby, scarfs were buy-one-get-one-free, got you one.] Her: […Okay.] Until one day. Me: [Ahhh baby help, do you have any overnight pads?] Ten minutes later, an incredibly handsome, cold-looking guy knocked on my bedroom door, holding a massive bag of overnight pads. “Are these enough? I can go buy more.” Guys, my world is collapsing! How did my cute girl roommate instantly turn into a 6’2″ hottie??? 01 My previous roommate was an absolute nightmare. He’d leave fruit in the fridge until it rotted and never clean it up. He’d pile dirty socks in the bathroom sink, then retreat to his room to play video games. We fought constantly. So, when he moved out, I specifically asked the landlord if I could get a female roommate. The landlord agreed without hesitation. Soon, the new roommate added me on Instagram. Her name was Summer, and her profile picture was a smiling Samoyed with its head tilted. She only had one post—a picture of a fluffy dog sitting on the grass, sticking its tongue out happily. My heart instantly melted. How bad could someone who loves Samoyeds be? Our subsequent messages confirmed my theory. Before moving in, she specifically texted me: [Hello, I’ll be moving in around 10:00 AM to 1:00 PM next Wednesday. Please let me know if this is an inconvenience.] Now, I’m the type of person who mirrors the energy I receive. Since the new roommate was so polite, I immediately became super friendly. I quickly replied: [No worries, baby! I’ll be at work then, so the place is yours. Take your time moving in~] She replied: […Okay, thank you.] I didn’t know why she added the ellipsis, but I didn’t think much of it and went back to work. 02 On the day the new roommate moved in, the apartment didn’t become a mess; instead, it was even cleaner. The dust on the crystal chandelier was wiped completely clean, and a broken lightbulb had been replaced. A beautiful enamel vase appeared in the corner, holding a tastefully arranged bouquet of fresh flowers. When the evening breeze blew, a lovely fragrance drifted through the room. The whole place looked warm and bright. Without a doubt, this was the new roommate’s doing. I felt incredibly emotional. The day my last roommate moved in, the living room was covered in footprints and drywall dust, the rug was ruined, and I had to clean it all up myself. How could my new roommate be such an angel? It must be because I’ve been a good person lately, and the universe is rewarding me! While marveling at this, I walked toward my room and noticed a gift box at my door. A sticky note was attached to it, with neat, elegant handwriting: [Hello, I’m glad to be your roommate. A small gift to show my appreciation. Hope we get along well. —Summer.] I opened the box and found a reed diffuser. The scent was sweet and lingering, like milk candy. I originally wanted to knock on her door and welcome her in person. But considering I had worked overtime and it was almost 11 PM, she was probably already asleep. So, I just texted her. Me: [Babe!! Thank you for the gift!] Me: [I love the scent so much! Mwah mwah mwah! /Heart/ /Heart/ /Kiss/ /Kiss/] Me: [Here’s to a great time living together!] A few minutes later, Summer replied. […I’m glad you like it.] But she clearly had more to say. The “typing…” indicator stayed at the top of the chat for a long time. It showed for a full ten minutes, but she still hadn’t sent anything. What could be so hard to say? After I took a shower, I saw she had finally sent a new message. Three minutes ago, from Summer. [Um… just to correct you. We’re not living together as a couple, we’re just roommates.] 03 A massive project our team was working on finally wrapped up. Our manager generously gave us a day off. So, that day, I bought a ton of groceries, cracked my knuckles, and prepared to cook a feast to reward myself. Mac and cheese for the princess. Lobster bisque for the princess. Pan-seared halibut for the princess. Truffle risotto for the princess. I accidentally made too much. Looking at the table full of food, I thought it over, portioned some out, and left half for Summer. I noticed she always left early and came back late, and never used the kitchen. She was probably surviving on takeout, poor thing. I wrapped the reserved food in plastic wrap and put it in Tupperware. Then I texted Summer: [Babe, I made too much food today, so I saved half for you. Try my cooking! /Heart/ /Heart/] She quickly replied: […Thank you.] I added: [Also also, my company gave us a box of peaches, and I can’t finish them. Help me eat some!] She: […Okay, thank you.] I put down my phone and started eating like a starving person. Almost an hour later, I was finally full and satisfied. My phone lit up; it was a message from Summer. [This might be a bit forward, but I wanted to ask, do you call everyone ‘babe’?] I immediately typed: [Of course not! I only call people I like ‘babe’! I like you a lot, so you’re my babe!] Summer: […We haven’t even met, and you like me?] Me: [Of course! Don’t doubt my judge of character!] Summer: [Alright.] Me: [Hey, do you not like being called ‘babe’? If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.] The chat showed “typing…” Again, for a full ten minutes. Summer finally replied: [It’s fine, you can call me that.] Me: [/Kiss/ /Kiss/ /Kiss/] 04 My best friend’s online boutique went out of business. She shipped me two huge boxes of inventory. Lace ones, ones with cat ears, ones with bunny tails… Operating on the principle of never wasting anything, I washed them all. Before, I had to consider that my roommate was a guy, so I could only dry my underwear in my own small room. Now it didn’t matter. My roommate was a girl like me, so I casually hung them out on the balcony. That day I was working overtime again, stuck in meetings until my eyes blurred. While making coffee, I saw a severe thunderstorm warning. I suddenly remembered! I still had clothes drying on the balcony! So I quickly texted Summer: [BABE!! Emergency! Are you home?] Summer: [Yes. What’s wrong?] Me: [It looks like it’s going to rain, and I forgot to bring my clothes in. Could you bring them in for me?] Summer: [No problem.] Me: [Thank you babe, you’re the best! /Heart/ /Heart/ /Heart/] I put down my phone and went back to work. After another discussion meeting, I finally had time to check my phone and saw several messages from Summer. 9:27 PM, Summer: [You didn’t say it was these kinds of clothes.] 9:28 PM, Summer: [Are you sure you want me to bring them in?] 9:56 PM, Summer: [Are you there?] 10:46 PM, Summer: […] 10:49 PM, Summer: [Brought them in for you.] I quickly replied: [Ahhh thank you baby! I was working and didn’t see my phone, sorry sorry.] I scrolled up and replied: [Hey, what’s wrong with these clothes? Do you not like them?] Summer: […] Me: [You prefer classic styles?] Summer: [That’s not what I meant.] Me: [Then which one is your favorite?] Summer: […] Me: [Animated sticker /Puppy tilting head/] Me: [Animated sticker /Puppy looking anxious/] Me: [Animated sticker /Puppy running/] Summer: […The one with the bunny tail.] Me: [Great taste! That’s my favorite too! I have two sets, want me to give you one?] Summer: [No need.] Me: [Don’t be shy~~] Summer: [I can’t wear it.] Me: [Huh? Is your size too big?] Summer: […] Summer: [You could understand it that way.] Me: [Ahhh I’m so jealous!!!] Me: [Animated sticker /Reaching out to squish/ Baby is so soft and sweet, baby makes my overtime better, let me squish!] Summer: [Please don’t do this. We’ve only known each other for a month.] Me: [Sorry baby, I won’t do it again.] Summer: [That’s not what I meant.] Me: [Then what do you mean? When we’re closer, I can squish?] Summer: […It depends.] 05 Summer went on a business trip last week. When she came back, she gave me a pearl necklace. A sticky note was attached to the outside of the box, again with her elegant handwriting: [Saw this necklace and felt it would suit you perfectly. Hope you like it. —Summer.] I didn’t know much about pearls, but I happily put it on. The next day at work, my colleagues immediately surrounded me. “Are these Akoya pearls? The luster is amazing.” “What’s rare is that every single one is large, perfectly round, and flawless.” “Audrey, where did you buy this necklace? Do you have a link?” I told them the truth: “My roommate brought it back for me from her business trip. I don’t think there’s a link.” A senior colleague said, “Your roommate is so generous! This must cost at least a few thousand dollars. Is your roommate a guy or a girl?” I touched the pearls, smiled goofily, and said, “A girl! She’s super nice, really clean. She basically does all the cleaning in the apartment; there’s not a single hair on the floor. And every time she goes on a business trip, she brings me a gift. Ahhh, she’s really the best! I really hit the jackpot!” My colleagues started chatting about pearls. I pulled out my phone and secretly texted Summer: [Babe! Miss you miss you miss you!] Summer: [What’s wrong?] Me: [Nothing, just feel so lucky to have you. T_T] Summer: [Mhm. When are you coming back?] Me: [Don’t know yet, looks like I have to work late again today.] Summer: [Okay.] Me: [Did you need something?] Summer: [No.] Me: [Animated sticker /Puppy collapsed in exhaustion/] Summer: [The landlord remodeled the bathroom and installed a bathtub. Text me when you get off work, I’ll draw the water for you.] Me: [WHAT!!!!! The landlord is too nice!!!! How did she know I wanted a bathtub!!!!! I only told my cactus!!!] Summer: [Who knows.] Me: [Oh right, baby, could you get the bunny tail out for me? It’s in the third drawer of the closet.] Summer: [You’re going to wear it?] Me: [Mhm.] Summer: […For who?] System notification: The other person recalled a message. Summer: [Sorry, that was out of line. It’s your freedom, I shouldn’t have asked.] Me: [Baby, you’re not allowed to say sorry! We don’t have to be so careful with each other!! I’m not wearing it for anyone, just for my own enjoyment, hehe.] Summer: [Your own enjoyment?] Me: [Hehehe, do you want to see? My body is super gorgeous! I possess the most beautiful body in the world!] Summer: [I believe you.] Summer: [But, I’ll pass for now.] Me: [Next time then! I’m a living masterpiece! /Twirls/] Summer: [Come home early, Ms. Masterpiece.]

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After our parents divorced, my sister chose to live with our wealthy father. I moved into my mother’s cramped rental apartment. A few years later, my father squandered his fortune on partying, gambling, and women. Meanwhile, my mother became a massive live-streaming influencer and a famous female entrepreneur. My sister’s life was turned upside down, so she came crying to me. But when I wasn’t looking, she slipped poison into my cup. “We are both their biological daughters! Why do you get to live so well while I’m out on the streets?” “It’s my turn to live the good life!” When I opened my eyes again, we were back on the day of our parents’ divorce. This time, she beat me to it and threw her arms around our mother. “I want to live with Mom. I don’t care how hard it gets, I’m willing to endure it.” But she didn’t know—our mother was far more terrifying than our father. 01 My sister, Lily, always had a sweet mouth and knew exactly how to charm people. Because of that, she was favored much more than I was. Naturally, when our parents decided to get a divorce, they asked Lily first. They asked her who she wanted to stay with. Our dad, Richard, was a trust-fund kid from a very wealthy family. Our mom, Evelyn, was a stay-at-home mother who would have absolutely nothing to her name after the divorce, destined to struggle just to make ends meet. So, without a second thought, Lily obediently threw her arms around our dad. “I love Daddy the most! I can’t live without you, I want to grow up with you!” Dad beamed with joy, lifting Lily high into the air. “My sweet girl, you stay with Daddy, and you’ll be a little princess for the rest of your life!” Lily smiled sweetly. But in a blind spot where our parents couldn’t see, she shot me a smug, triumphant look. Yes, she had been like this since we were kids. She always had to compete with me. As long as she could “beat” me, she was perfectly willing to do things that didn’t even benefit her, just to see me lose. Dad and Lily were laughing happily. Mom stood off to the side, looking heartbroken and gloomy. I stayed silent for a moment, then walked over and took Mom’s hand. “Mom, I’m willing to live with you.” She gave me a deep, unreadable look and said nothing. 02 A few years later, through a stroke of luck, Mom’s live-streaming career exploded. We moved from a rundown rental into a nice apartment complex. Then from that apartment into a gated mansion community. Mom’s used scooter was traded in for a Mercedes. And then the Mercedes was traded in for a Porsche. One day, Mom was driving me out to run errands when we happened to witness a traffic accident. An e-bike rider was driving the wrong way down the street and crashed into a luxury car. The owner of the luxury car got out and started screaming, while the e-bike rider just stood there, meekly apologizing. His teenage daughter was standing to the side, crying her eyes out. Embarrassed by her tears, the man actually kicked his own daughter. Heartbroken, the girl turned her head, and her eyes met mine through the tinted window of the Porsche. It was my sister, Lily. I looked closer at the pathetic, apologizing e-bike rider—it was my dad! Lily saw Mom and me. Her eyes lit up, and she started chasing after our car like a madwoman. But Mom just stepped on the gas, driving forward as if nothing had happened. I hesitated before speaking up: “Mom, that was Lily.” Mom replied coldly: “I saw her. What, do you want to help her?” I didn’t dare make a sound. Mom let out a cold laugh. “She was so cute when she was little, wasn’t she? Now that she’s grown up, she’s just as ugly as her father. Ungrateful little backstabber. This is karma.” I shut my mouth completely. Not long after, Lily managed to find my contact info and asked me to meet her. Sitting in a coffee shop, she cried a river of tears. “Chloe, you have no idea. Dad is—” Lily told me that our dad was an absolute fool. He was incompetent, yet incredibly greedy. A few years ago, listening to the nonsense of his sketchy friends, he ignored our Grandpa’s strict warnings and invested tens of millions into a startup. The company was a complete scam designed to drain his money. Just like that, millions vanished into thin air. Grandpa was furiously disappointed and kicked him out of the family. “I thought Dad would learn his lesson, but all he did was party, drink, and sleep around.” After being cut off, Dad spent his nights clubbing. Taking the terrible advice of his various girlfriends, he went to Las Vegas and threw cash around like water. Within a few months, whatever millions he had left in his bank account were gone. Worse, he racked up over six million dollars in casino debt. Grandpa was entirely done with him and refused to give him a single dime. Out of options, Dad had to start doing DoorDash deliveries just to survive. But he was a man who had been pampered his entire life. He used to have a private chauffeur; he didn’t even know basic traffic laws. Not long after he started delivering food, he drove the wrong way down a street and crashed into a luxury car—the exact scene I had witnessed. In the coffee shop, Lily threw herself into my arms, weeping bitterly. “Chloe, I saw Mom driving a Porsche and wearing Chanel. Your purse is Dior. You guys must be living such a good life.” “Chloe, can you please go back and talk to Mom? I’m her daughter too. I don’t want to live with Dad anymore, I want to live with her.” “She must miss me so much, right? In those first few years after the divorce, she called me all the time, begging me to come back.” Her eyes were full of desperate hope. But just thinking about my mother made a violent shudder run down my spine. Finally, I said, “It’s best if you don’t live with Mom. But… I can give you some money.” Lily snapped her head up, a flash of pure, venomous resentment crossing her face. But just as quickly, she masked it with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Chloe. I knew you loved me the most.” 03 The next day, I transferred ten thousand dollars to Lily. She eagerly offered to invite me over to her rental apartment for dinner. Inside the dingy apartment, Lily handed me a cup of tea. “Chloe, I remember you always loved sweet peach tea since we were kids. I picked this out just for you. Tell me if it tastes good.” My guard was down, so I drank it. But soon, the room started spinning. My final memory was Lily holding a knife, slashing my face to pieces. “Chloe, we’re both their biological daughters! Why do you get to live so well while I’m out on the streets?!” “You have so much money, but you only gave me this pathetic amount?! And you won’t even let me go back to Mom?! You selfish, greedy bitch!” An endless darkness washed over me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of my parents’ divorce. Faced with Dad’s question about who we wanted to live with… This time, Lily didn’t even hesitate. She turned and threw her arms around Mom. “I can’t live without Mom! I want to live with Mom! I don’t care how hard it gets, I’m not afraid!” Mom was so moved she hugged Lily tightly. Buried in Mom’s embrace, Lily flashed a cunning, wicked smile. In a blind spot where no one else could see, Lily silently mouthed the words to me: “Sister, this time, it’s my turn to fly high.” So, she was reborn too. But she didn’t know—Mom was far more terrifying than Dad. 04 Lily happily skipped off to the cramped rental apartment. I stayed behind in the sprawling mansion. Dad was as unreliable as ever. He had just finalized his divorce, yet that very night, he was getting ready to hit the clubs. On the phone, some mistress was speaking to him in a sickly-sweet voice. It cheered him up instantly. He grabbed his designer jacket, ready to walk out the door. Right as he was about to leave, I stopped him. I asked: “Dad, who’s going to eat dinner with me?” He answered like it was obvious: “Isn’t the nanny here? Just have her eat with you.” I bit my lip and said, “I haven’t seen Grandpa in a long time, and I miss him. Dad, can you drop me off at his house?” Dad hesitated. Seeing this, I added: “Auntie’s son, Liam, went to see Grandpa a couple of days ago. I don’t know what he said, but Grandpa bought Auntie a brand-new car. Did you know about that, Dad?” Hearing this, Dad’s hesitation vanished instantly. “That family just knows how to leech off my side of the family! Pathetic!” “Chloe, I’ll have the driver take you over right now. Remember, you have to put in a good word for me in front of Grandpa, understand?” Saying that, he practically shoved me into the back of a black SUV. Grandpa lived in a quiet, secluded lakehouse estate. In his eyes, my mother was a manipulative gold digger who used every trick in the book to climb the social ladder and marry my dad. He thought she was deeply scheming and venomous. Because of that, he always despised my mom, and by extension, he didn’t like Lily or me either. In my past life, after the divorce, Lily also tried to suck up to Grandpa. But she was a spoiled little princess who had been coddled at home. Her head was empty, and her only skill was pretending to be cute and innocent. At Grandpa’s house, all her little tricks failed miserably. No matter how much she cried or threw tantrums, all she got was Grandpa’s cold indifference. Unlike her, our aunt’s son, my cousin Liam Carter, was Grandpa’s absolute favorite. No matter what Liam said or did, he always earned Grandpa’s praise. Over time, Lily grew incredibly resentful. During a family gathering, she deliberately smashed an antique vase and framed Liam for it. She thought it would ruin Liam’s standing in the family. Instead, she was met with security footage from a hidden camera. Liam’s status remained unshaken. Lily, on the other hand, faced the absolute wrath of the family’s strict discipline. Grandpa accused her of being “scheming, venomous, and willing to do anything for personal gain—just like your mother.” He strictly ordered my dad to never bring her to the estate again. From that day on, Lily harbored a deep hatred for Grandpa. On his birthday, she even posted a twisted comic on social media, depicting the Grim Reaper using various horrific methods to take an old man’s life. Grandpa definitely saw it, but he ignored her completely. Later, when Dad went bankrupt and Lily’s life hit rock bottom, she finally remembered Grandpa. She knelt outside the gates of the lakehouse, begging him for forgiveness and a place to stay. Grandpa didn’t even show his face. The security guards just dragged her away. This time, time had rewound. Lily ran off to chase her dream of a luxurious new life. And the person standing outside the lakehouse, about to visit Grandpa, was me. I took a few deep breaths and pressed the doorbell. 05 Even though Dad had called ahead to say I wanted to visit, Grandpa’s expression in the study was still freezing cold. After I politely greeted him, he showed no intention of entertaining me. I didn’t get upset. I just found a quiet corner and sat down. Living with my mother in my past life, I had endured humiliations hundreds and thousands of times worse than this. This was nothing. In the study, Grandpa was quizzing Liam on his studies. Liam was seventeen this year. He was an academic genius with a deep interest in finance and economics. Grandpa was a self-made billionaire, but unfortunately, all of his own children were mediocre at best. Therefore, he genuinely admired this driven, grounded grandson. He would often pull Liam aside to analyze famous domestic and international business mergers and acquisitions. The questions Grandpa asked were extremely difficult. Liam answered the first few perfectly. But the next one was different. Liam fell into a long, deep silence. Grandpa wasn’t in a rush, patiently waiting for his answer. I timidly raised my hand. “Grandpa, can I share my thoughts on this?” Grandpa glanced at me, his expression full of doubt. “You? You’re not even in high school yet. What could you possibly know?” “If you can’t sit still, go wait outside. Don’t try to play smart with me.” I didn’t get angry. I just smiled and said, “If you aren’t satisfied with my answer, I’ll go stand in the corner outside. How about that?” Grandpa scoffed. But Liam chimed in: “Grandpa, why not let Chloe give it a try?” Grandpa didn’t say anything, which was a silent yes. I shot Liam a grateful smile and began to speak: “The initial capital for this specific group of entrepreneurs wasn’t exactly clean. In the early days, they acted as exclusive import distributors, helping foreign corporations open up the local market. By monopolizing information gaps, they extracted massive, exorbitant profit margins.” Grandpa looked at me in surprise and kept grilling: “Then tell me, what was their natural advantage, and what was their fatal flaw?” I thought for a second and replied: “They built close ties with foreign entities early on and adapted to the market quickly. That was their advantage. But it was a double-edged sword. Their fatal flaw was becoming entirely dependent on the first-mover advantage provided by those foreign companies. They never developed their own core competencies. So, once the market became regulated and standardized, their competitive edge vanished.” Grandpa stared at me for a long time. His expression was complicated. There was doubt. There was scrutiny. But there was no longer any contempt. After a moment, he asked, “You’re only fourteen. Where did you hear all this?” I said, “The public library has a lot of books. I love to read.” But that wasn’t true. In my past life, a massive portion of my mother’s “clients” were exactly those men who profited from those very distribution monopolies. They exploited loopholes, built wealth through cronyism and information gaps, and yet attributed all their success to their own sheer brilliance. And on drunken afternoons, holding a young girl in their arms, they couldn’t wait to brag about their past business conquests. Thinking about this, I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them again, I was still sitting in Grandpa’s solemn, antique study. I wasn’t in a dim, suffocating bedroom bathed in cheap pink lighting. Clap, clap, clap— Liam began to clap softly. He said, “Chloe is only fourteen, but her reading comprehension and analytical skills are incredibly sharp. That deserves recognition.” He looked at me, his expression gentle and sincere. “I concede. I couldn’t have answered it better.” I quickly shook my head. “It was just a lucky guess. I don’t know any of the complex financial and economic terms you were talking about earlier. I still have a lot to learn.” After a brief silence, Liam asked me, “Chloe, do you want to study with me?” 06 At Liam’s suggestion, Grandpa allowed me to audit his lessons. But he was still suspicious of me. He suspected this was just a creative new strategy to con money out of him. So, he ordered Liam to give him regular reports on my behavior. In truth, I didn’t need Liam to monitor me, and I didn’t need anyone to force me to work. Every single day, I went to class, came home, and whenever I had a day off, I was either practicing the piano or buried in the library. This was the normal life I had begged for but never had in my past life. How could I not cherish it? Months went by. In Grandpa’s study, I was no longer just a listener. Often, when Grandpa threw out a debate topic, Liam and I would argue until we were red in the face. Until Grandpa finally called a halt to it. I don’t know exactly which day it happened. But Grandpa stopped looking at me with defensive, guarded eyes. And Liam stopped reporting my behavior to Grandpa. He complained that paying too much attention to me was wasting his own study time, which was exactly why he had lost to me on a recent pop quiz. Grandpa just roared with laughter at that. I pretended not to notice any of it, quietly continuing to work on my practice exams. At school, my intense studying brought massive rewards. I won first place in the State Math Championship. My homeroom teacher said she was going to call me out for special praise at the upcoming parent-teacher conference. But my dad was as useless as ever. He promised he would attend, but half an hour before it started, he called to say he couldn’t make it. He said, “Chloe, Dad has a very important business meeting. Just let the nanny go to the conference for you, okay? Be a good girl.” But over the phone, I could clearly hear the giggling of several women in the background. I didn’t expose his lie; I just calmly hung up the phone. Then, I took a picture of the Math Championship honor roll hanging on the classroom whiteboard and texted it to Grandpa. On the list, my name and Liam’s name sat at the absolute top of the middle school and high school divisions respectively. Both carrying our family’s legacy, sparkling in the sunlight. I added a message: [Grandpa, Dad had a last-minute emergency and can’t make it to my parent-teacher conference. But my teacher really wants to talk to my guardian about my future academic track. Could you come?] Grandpa personally showed up at the school. This was a privilege not even Liam had ever received. My homeroom teacher was terrified but honored, and the principal rushed down just to greet him. Grandpa sat completely at ease in the principal’s office and asked, “How is my granddaughter’s academic performance? Are there areas where she needs to improve?” He knew the answer perfectly well, but he asked anyway. The homeroom teacher quickly piled on the praise, confirming that I was the absolute top student in every possible metric. Only then did Grandpa nod in satisfaction. After the conference, he hesitated for a moment, then surprisingly ordered his driver to take us to the high-end shopping mall. He said, “I saw the other little girls in your class dressing so brightly. Why are you dressed so plain? Is your father neglecting you?” In the end, he bought me six or seven tailored outfits. And several designer bags. Looking at the numbers on the receipt, I felt a wave of anxiety. “Grandpa, aren’t you worried I’m just after your money now?” He let out a booming laugh. “Go ahead and be after it! I’d be more worried if you weren’t!” I froze for a second, then laughed along with him. Lily thought that to please Grandpa, she had to rely on being cute, providing superficial emotional value, and acting like a spoiled princess. But she didn’t understand. Grandpa was a ruthless, self-made entrepreneur who built an empire from the ground up. He had seen countless sugar-coated bullets and witnessed the darkest sides of human nature. He didn’t need, nor did he respect, flattery and whining from someone useless. An aging titan holding the reins of an empire… The thing he most desperately wants to see is a vibrant, fiercely capable successor. And as long as I kept proving my competence, it was only a matter of time before I became the second Liam. Grandpa’s favorite.

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When an A-list actor adjusted my microphone, he unconsciously kissed my hair. We both froze. Because this was a reality show about divorce. And we were from two different former couples. 01 After my divorce from Ethan Vance, everyone assumed I would cling to him. He had publicly announced our marriage at the peak of his career. After tying the knot, he successfully transitioned from a teen idol to a serious actor. When he finally won his first major award, people still brought me up. “What gives her the right? She’s so lucky.” I was the one who asked for the divorce. But it was what he had been waiting for all along. While he was playing house on set with Chloe Sterling, his co-star in his new drama—wearing his jackets, using his phone case… I was still at home, flipping through the calendar, waiting for him. Time and again, he hung up my calls, using work as an excuse. Until one day, I ran into Chloe in first class. She greeted me warmly, a bright smile on her face. “Did you know?” she whispered in my ear. “I bought this ticket using his credit card.” She did it on purpose. Trying to force me into a divorce. I gave her exactly what she wanted. I went home and packed my bags in half an hour. I don’t want something that someone else has already dirtied. Thank god we didn’t have kids. Ethan leaned against the doorframe, watching me. His reaction was flat. He only asked one question: “What else do you want?” “Your phone.” He paused for a second, but then handed it straight to me. During the years he loved me most—when I stayed by his side from D-list obscurity to A-list stardom—I was always his only pinned contact. Now, I had been replaced. I was relegated to “Do Not Disturb.” An uncontested divorce. He gave me everything he earned over those years, asking only that I let him go as quickly as possible. He told me he truly loved Chloe. After signing the non-disclosure agreement, I thought we would never speak again. Until he called me one last time. “Let’s meet up.” It was the first month after our divorce. “We can’t let my fans know I cheated. The new drama is about to air.” I arrived early. In the break room, I overheard Ethan’s manager trying to persuade him. “Even after a divorce, you’re still an A-list actor. And her? Just an absolute nobody waiting to be laughed at. “She’s definitely not over it. “Just trick her. Tell her you want to go on a divorce reality show with her. “Make her think there’s a chance to win you back, and she’ll do everything to please you. “Then, we’ll edit the show to make the audience find her annoying, and you can maintain your ‘devoted ex-husband’ persona.” The manager nudged him. “Are you even listening?” Ethan had his legs propped up on a low table, lazily playing a game on his phone. He gave a noncommittal “Yeah.” “Trust me, you crook your finger, and she’ll come running back like a dog, grateful for the attention.” In the meeting room. Ethan was playing with his phone with one hand. He only said a few words. And I agreed. “I’ll do the show.” He stared into my eyes, pausing for a moment. “Are you really… that desperate for me?” He was too confident, too easy to fool. I lowered my eyelashes. “Yes. “Ethan, is there still a chance for us?” His gaze turned cold. He looked away and said softly, “Depends on your behavior.” “But,” he added, “the script for this show isn’t what you think.” This divorce reality show. It was scheduled to air while his new drama with Chloe was broadcasting. To drum up publicity for their on-screen romance. The theme of the show was “Seeing Marital Problems by Changing Lifestyles.” Chloe would be sharing a room with him. And I would be sharing a room with Chloe’s ex-husband. That guy, Carter Hayes, who skyrocketed to fame at nineteen with a single drama, won a grand slam of awards, and then abruptly retired to get married. Ethan was just the guy who picked up the scraps Carter left behind. He became famous because his face looked seventy percent like Carter’s. Rumor had it that Chloe and Carter lived apart after getting married. That she loved him, but couldn’t have him. 02 A hot spring resort. Two rooms, separated by a single wall. The show was broadcast live. There was an observation room on set and live comments from the audience online. [Ethan Vance and Chloe Sterling on a divorce show, sharing a room? They’re playing hard!!!] [Their chemistry is insane! So perfect together.] [Told you Ethan and his wife had no feelings left. No one likes the one holding them back.] [I’ve been waiting for them to divorce for so long!] [Was he blind? He loved her so much back then…] The staff strapped heart rate monitors on Ethan and Chloe. “If your heart rate reaches 70, you can leave the room.” [They’ll break that in seconds, right?] To everyone’s surprise, both of their heart rates stalled at 68. They had done everything together off-camera. They were too familiar with each other, afraid of slipping up and showing it. So they ended up acting overly cautious on the show. [Chloe is so polite, she doesn’t even dare get too close.] [Ethan, stop holding back! We support you!] Chloe sat by the door. Ethan stood on the balcony for some fresh air. From a certain angle, he could see into my room. Carter hadn’t arrived yet. I was sitting alone on the edge of the bed, wearing my heart rate monitor. Someone knocked on the door. It was a tall, slender man. A baseball cap hid half his face, and his damp bangs were dusted with mist from the hot springs. It was drizzling outside. He carried the crisp, cold scent of a foggy midnight. [MY FIRST LOVE IS BACK!!!] [How should I put this, Ethan… comparison is the thief of joy.] [Let’s not pit them against each other.] “You have to put this on.” I handed the other heart rate monitor to Carter. Ethan always hated it when people said he looked like Carter. In our first year of marriage, we were taking a walk on the street late at night. I froze, staring at a massive luxury billboard featuring Carter. Ethan pulled a beanie over my head, blocking my view, and muttered sourly: “I knew you liked this type of face.” And now. In the other room, Ethan was on the balcony. Watching clearly. Watching Carter walk into the room and close the door behind him. Putting on the monitor. Ethan didn’t care. He had known since that night that the man he could never catch up to, the man he was insanely jealous of—Carter—was only married to Chloe out of a contractual obligation. Carter didn’t even like Chloe. Naturally, it was even more impossible for him to like someone as incredibly ordinary and divorced as me, someone Ethan himself looked down on. Ethan scoffed lightly, completely unbothered. Yet, he scrutinized my reaction without missing a single detail. “Hello, I’m Audrey Miller.” My heart rate was resting at 50 as I held out my hand to Carter. “Hello, I’m Carter Hayes.” He took my hand. A few seconds later, a sharp, piercing beep came from the monitor. Carter’s heart rate had skyrocketed, breaking the limit. But the man himself was calmer than anyone else. He said, “The monitor is broken.” I said, “Oh.” 03 They changed the monitor, and sure enough, it was normal. After a few cooperative games, Ethan and Chloe’s heart rates surpassed 70, and they left their room early. But on my end. Carter’s heart rate remained stubbornly stuck at 25. Pathetically low. “If it never goes over,” I asked the staff, “do we have to spend the night in the room?” Carter heard that. His shoulders were broad, his back straight. He was wearing a thin black hoodie, his gaze empty and distant. The staff replied, “It counts as a failed mission. You can come out in an hour.” Carter and I were the last to come out. [That was such a fail.] [Zero chemistry between those two.] [Take her away, can we please not show her? I only want to watch Chloe and Ethan.] The live comments were dismal until the broadcast ended. Post-interviews were held in the various rooms. Cameramen, lighting crew, people everywhere. Ethan stood in a corner, watching Chloe getting interviewed, his gaze accidentally sweeping over me. “Excited?” He asked me out of nowhere. “Did you think for even a second that Carter might actually be interested in you?” I ignored him and tried to leave. But he blocked me. “What to do, Audrey,” he put his hands in his pockets and tilted his head to look at me. “I’m starting to feel that divorcing you was the best decision I ever made.” Someone walked past, and Ethan straightened up. Back to his gentle, affectionate, yet broken persona. As if I was the one who had hurt him the most. After Chloe finished her interview, she walked up to me under everyone’s gaze and grabbed my hand. “Audrey,” she had a worn red string tied around her wrist, “you really need to cherish Ethan. He truly loves you.” That red string. I had seen it before. For our anniversary last year, Ethan was tailed by a stalker fan and got into a minor car accident. He was fine. I dragged him up a mountain to pray at a temple, closing my eyes and filling my heart with prayers for his safety. When I opened my eyes, I saw him buying that red string. I thought he was going to give it to me. But he said he bought it for himself, to put my mind at ease. And now, it was on Chloe’s wrist. “Stop being unreasonable,” Chloe was still talking for the cameras. “I want you two to be happy more than anyone.” I didn’t say a single word. Ethan didn’t know. And Chloe didn’t know either. Actually, there was another, hidden reason I agreed to participate in this show, a reason I couldn’t tell anyone. When I closed my eyes that day at the temple, it wasn’t Ethan in my heart. 04 The reality show was filmed on weekends. The concept was “Weekend Spouses.” During the weekdays. I picked up my old career, wanting to return to my previous entertainment agency as a talent manager. “Carter and Chloe are divorced.” My former boss told me. “He signed a ten-year contract with Chloe’s dad’s company, and now he can finally terminate it. “He’s restructuring his studio, and I recommended you to him.” Following the address he gave me, I saw Carter at a photo studio. His profile was backlit, his features sharp and rebellious. It was indeed a face made for the silver screen. He was even harder to approach than I imagined. I waited outside for a long time. Until his assistant ran out and told me. “I’m sorry, Ms. Miller. We probably can’t meet today.” On the way back, my car broke down. At 11 PM, in the middle of nowhere, and it was raining. I held an umbrella, waiting for the tow truck. Watching the cars drive past from afar, like phantoms moving through the night. Not a single one was coming to pick me up. Headlights flashed in front of me. The window of a black SUV rolled down, and Carter’s assistant said to me: “Ms. Miller, get in the car first.” Carter sat in the very back, a baseball cap pulled over his eyes, fast asleep. His breathing was shallow, his long legs slightly bent. The space was a bit cramped for him. There was a lot of clutter in the car, and two suit jackets were hanging by the window. A crisp scent of pine. The smell of his hand when he shook mine that day. “Ms. Miller, I’m going to buy a bottle of water at the gas station up ahead. Do you want anything?” the assistant asked me quietly. “Just call me Audrey. I’ll go with you.” “Ah,” he waved his hand and got out of the car. “I’ll go. I’ll be right back.” The door closed, leaving only Carter and me in the car. No one else. And no cameras. The headlights flickered slightly; the interior of the car was dim. Even though there was a row of seats between us, his breathing felt as close as if it were right in my ear. I stared out the window at the blue glow of a convenience store not far away, where the assistant was wandering near a shelf. I remembered once, while grocery shopping, I saw a billboard with Chloe on it. “She’s so pretty.” I said to Ethan back then. His reaction was flat. “She’s alright.” I didn’t know. That “alright” was the reason he stopped coming home, time and time again. Later, I found out from others that Chloe was his first love. They broke up when he couldn’t catch a break in his career. He never forgot her. But back then, in the grocery store, he smoothly changed the subject and asked me: “Baby, did you ever date anyone before me?” “No.” At least, that’s what I told him, and what I told the world. In the car, someone was kicking my calf. The long leg stretching from the back seat wasn’t an accident. It was deliberate, mischievous, childish, and rhythmic. I pulled my leg back out of his reach. I didn’t speak, nor did I turn around. I maintained my previous posture, as if nothing had happened. “Audrey Miller.” He spoke up, perhaps just waking up, carrying a trace of reckless, youthful energy: “Long time no see.” It had been so many years. Why did he still like calling my full name like that? Just like in that cramped, hot, and humid rented apartment… Drowning again and again… In his gentle yet unrestrained, uncontrolled hands. 05 After that day, Carter and I had no further contact. Until the new weekend arrived. The live broadcasts for the show operated on a rotation system. This weekend, we were supposed to switch back to our original couples. “Director.” Chloe sounded incredibly understanding, looking like she was thinking only of the show. “The audience loves Ethan and me together. If you switch us back now, you’ll get backlash.” The director thought for a few seconds: “But—” “Ethan,” Chloe turned around, “what do you think?” Right in front of me, she asked Ethan: “Who do you choose tonight?” She had been waiting for this moment for a long time. The more something is kept in the dark, the more it craves to be chosen in front of everyone. Ethan understood her intentions. He deliberately let his gaze sweep over my face, then leaned back in his chair. “Is that even a choice? “The audience doesn’t want to see her.” Chloe got the answer she wanted and looked at me again. “Audrey, you won’t mind, will you? “But, you’ve been a housewife for so long, you don’t have much work experience, so you probably don’t know this… the audience’s preference is the most important thing. You should think of the bigger picture…” “Okay.” My tone was crisp. Hearing this, Ethan looked up at me. They all thought I was going to throw a fit. That way, they could edit my reaction into the bonus episodes to highlight Chloe’s thoughtfulness and understanding. They didn’t expect me to be so agreeable. Chloe, having finally memorized her lines for the morning, had nowhere to use them. After a long pause, she managed to squeeze out: “That’s good. No backing out now.” I said: “Let’s keep it like this from now on.” Her smile stiffened. Then, breaking into a smile, she tucked her hair behind her ear and whispered: “Are you trying to make Ethan jealous? “Who doesn’t know you came on this show to win him back? “What a shame, not only is he not jealous, but you can only watch helplessly as he walks into my room.” Over there, the production team called out. They decided to stick with last week’s setup. Before leaving, Ethan asked Chloe a question with a teasing undertone: “Aren’t you afraid of her being in the same room as Carter?” At the mention of that name, Chloe’s reaction was a bit exaggerated. She acted as if she had heard the funniest joke in the world. “I’ve never seen him like anyone. “Her? “You could lock them together for a year, and he still wouldn’t look twice at her.” The two exchanged glances and shared a knowing smile. Ethan purposely took off his coat and draped it over Chloe right in front of me. “Audrey, if you want to win me back, these little tricks aren’t going to cut it.” He wanted to provoke me. Make me break down and go crazy in public, so he could logically play the victim. Ethan and Chloe were taken to a luxurious mansion. That was the reward for the couple with the highest heart rate from last week. Chloe posted a picture of a candlelit dinner on Instagram. The comments were flooded with people shipping them. I saw all of this on my phone while riding in the production team’s van. The van was heading toward the older part of the city. [If their heart rates don’t go up today, they’ll be eliminated, right?] [They wouldn’t eliminate Carter. He’s too big of a star. They’ll probably just swap his partner.] [This is boring. Why would Carter even agree to a show like this?] [The weirder it gets, the more I ship it. I have a feeling something is going to happen.] [The person above is delusional!!! If something actually happens, I’ll do a handstand and eat shit!!!] I put my phone away and asked the staff: “Where are Carter and I staying tonight?” “Your heart rates were the lowest, so you have to accept the punishment. Tonight you’re staying in…” The van stopped. He lifted his chin, pointing at the old residential building in front of me. “There,” he said. “A cheap rental apartment.” We got out. There was only one camera inside the vehicle filming me. It was far away, only capturing my back. It couldn’t pick up audio. I stood at the door. My mind went blank for a few seconds. I took out my phone and called my former boss, who also happened to be my long-suffering best friend. “Carter said ‘long time no see’ to me.” Right now, I desperately needed her to pour a bucket of cold water on me. “So what? “What else is he supposed to say besides that?” My best friend responded exactly as I expected. “To put it bluntly, everyone has an ex. “He has so many options, why would he choose a divorced woman like you? “Just because of the few months you relied on each other? Be honest, that was the absolute lowest point of his life. Who would be nostalgic for that?” She was right. I hung up the phone. I turned the doorknob. Carter was on a ladder, fixing a ceiling light. As he reached up, his movements casually revealed the flex of his lean muscles and smooth lines. Just like back then. Except now he wore a bandage wrapped around his waist from doing wirework on a movie set. The old tungsten bulb flickered in his hands. Going out, then coming back on. It was too familiar. So much so that I stood in the doorway, unable to step inside for a long time. “Time to eat.” He saw me. Simple words, devoid of extra emotion. It made my unease seem exceptionally strange. I was the one overthinking it. To him, this show was probably just a safe PR move to wrap up his marriage. Outside, it was snowing. Tall, with sharp features, he stood by the counter preparing a hot pot with one hand. He radiated a very domestic, “husband material” vibe. I took a picture of his back and posted it on Instagram. Considered it fulfilling the production team’s task. After we ate, he didn’t let me wash the dishes. He moved swiftly, washed his hands, and then, inexplicably and automatically, started making the bed for me. There was only one bed. He said he would sleep on the floor. “The injury on your waist, do you need to change the bandages?” I asked him. “I can do it myself,” he said. When I finished my shower and came out of the bathroom, a thin quilt was already laid out on the floor. He was pulling a long roll of bandages out of his suitcase. I instinctively looked away and picked up my phone. Ethan had sent me a voice message. My hands were wet, and I accidentally played it on speaker. Ethan had seen my Instagram post. “Are you even used to eating hot pot? “Last time at home, you said you wanted a cake from that one bakery. I bought it for you on my way.” That cake was the one I said I wanted for my birthday last year. He never bought it for me. After waiting all this time, him buying it now was only to solidify his “devoted” persona for the show. I looked at my phone. The overhead light was blocked by Carter. “Can you help me?” In his hands was the roll of bandages. Didn’t he just say he could do it himself? Changing the dressing, wrapping the bandage. My arms weren’t long enough; I had to loosely encircle him with both arms. In this rental apartment in the north. The heating was inadequate, and the smell of snow mixed with rain seeped through the cracks of the old building. It was clearly very cold. But he and I maintained our distance. My fingertips only touched the bandage. His face could only turn to look elsewhere. Unlike that year, in that rental apartment in the south. Stiflingly hot and dark. It was clearly very hot. Yet, time and time again, as if there were no tomorrow, we possessively claimed each other. Click. The tungsten light flickered on. He and I stood beneath the light at this moment. In the year we were so poor and destitute we had no hope, we couldn’t even bear to replace a single lightbulb. We just made do. That old tungsten bulb was repaired over and over again. It would always flicker in the middle of the night. At the time, an eighteen-year-old Carter told me: “Every time it flickers, it means I’m thinking of you.” Tonight. At an age where we lacked for nothing. The tungsten light flickered countless times. I looked up and said to Carter, “Did you not fix it properly just now?” He froze, looking down straight into my eyes. “Yeah. “I did it on purpose.” I asked him, “Why?” “If I fixed it, you wouldn’t hear it flicker.” I was stunned. He took the bandage from my hand and swiftly, expertly wrapped it around himself with his other hand. “Audrey Miller.” He called my name. “Hmm?” “Do you prefer hot pot, or cake?” One must always answer questions about food honestly. “Hot pot.”

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My fiancé chased his kept canary all the way to New York. Coincidentally, I was in New York, too. The young girl dropped to her knees in front of me, crying a river of tears. She told me that true love is the only truth. Truth? What a coincidence. I happened to have a few pieces of “truth” right in my hands. 01 My fiancé back in the States made a fool of himself again. To chase down his runaway canary, he locked down an entire private airport. It was a small airfield, and it was late at night. The Vance family’s PR team quickly squashed any media leaks before they could spread. Unfortunately for him, he was still too late. The canary flew to New York one step ahead of him. I originally couldn’t have cared less. Cleaning up his mistresses was Preston Vance’s own problem. But when a stunningly beautiful Asian girl dropped to her knees in front of me, crying a river of picture-perfect tears, it naturally drew the stares of passersby. I stood at the top of the steps, frowning as I looked her up and down: “What was your name again? ‘Miss Innocent’ or something?” The girl froze, her tears hesitating on her lashes. She offered a stiff rebuttal: “It’s Aria.” I had a vague impression of this mistress who had been with Preston the longest. But that didn’t mean she was worth remembering. Over the years, I knew Preston constantly surrounded himself with women because he resented our arranged engagement. But causing a scene right to my face. She was the first. My expression gradually shifted to impatience: “What do you want from me?” She really was a professional actress. The paused tears immediately started flowing again, dropping like broken strings of pearls. “Ms. Sterling, Preston loves me. Please, I’m begging you, let him go. Stop clinging to him.” I raised an eyebrow. Clinging? I let out a cold laugh, looking down at her: “Ms. Montgomery, is that something a homewrecker should really be saying out loud?” “Preston and I knew each other long before you came along! You’re the real third wheel here!” Her face twisted in sudden anger, and she lunged up the steps, trying to grab me. My bodyguards, naturally quick on their feet, intercepted her immediately. In the chaos, she twisted her ankle and tumbled down the concrete steps. Gasps erupted from the crowd. In the surging sea of people, I could see the flashes of paparazzi cameras hiding in the shadows. The company I held a controlling stake in was about to go public on the US stock market, and I couldn’t afford any scandals right now. I scanned the area, and right on cue, I saw Preston wearing a black trench coat, shoving his way through the crowd. He had lost all of his usual aristocratic composure. His dark eyes were filled with panic and heartache. He took off his coat and draped it over Aria’s exposed long legs. Then he pinched her chin, and kissed her fiercely. His eyes were burning with an intense, undeniable possessiveness. The man’s voice was hoarse and restrained: “Run again, and I’ll break your legs.” Aria tilted her chin up stubbornly: “If I can’t have all of you, I’d rather die.” After their intense public display, they turned to look at me in perfect unison. Preston’s dark eyes were furious: “Serena Sterling, didn’t I warn you not to mess with Aria? “You actually dared to push her. Who gave you the nerve?” My eyebrow twitched violently. Who was messing with who here? With her backer present, Aria looked triumphant: “Sister, you’re a bit older, so maybe you don’t understand. In today’s society, the woman who isn’t loved is the real mistress. “True love is the only truth.” Her tone was incredibly provocative. What a perfect, dramatic scene straight out of a billionaire romance novel. The glass windows nearby reflected my face. With my long, straight black hair and cold, indifferent expression, I really did look like the evil second female lead trying to tear the star-crossed lovers apart. Beautiful, rich, and completely wicked. But I wasn’t an idiot. And real life wasn’t a movie. I smiled at her: “Truth? “What a coincidence. I happen to hold a few pieces of ‘truth’ right in my hands.” The sharp, metallic clicks of guns cocking echoed from behind me. I ground my teeth. How dare they threaten me on American soil? Did these two morons forget that it’s perfectly legal to carry firearms here? Aria shrank into Preston’s arms like a terrified rabbit, looking pathetic. But no matter how tough Preston liked to talk, he wasn’t going to argue with a bullet. “Preston, when you said you wanted to play around, I let it slide. But if you try to put your dirty laundry on the table, don’t blame me for flipping the table over.” I narrowed my eyes at him, my tone utterly merciless. He had been preparing to scoop Aria up and leave. Hearing my words, he let out a cold scoff: “Serena, do you honestly still think you’re the untouchable sole heiress of the Sterling family? “Stop hiding out overseas and daydreaming. Next time we meet, you might have already been kicked off the board.” The fact that the Sterling family had an illegitimate son was no longer a secret. It was currently the biggest gossip back in Chicago high society, and had even made the front page of the local financial journals. Preston left under the escort of his own bodyguards. My assistant stood by my side, her expression grim: “Ms. Sterling, the domestic headquarters just suspended all joint projects with us.” I squinted into the distance: “Prepare to fly back to the States.” Preston, did you really think that bastard could beat me? You backed the wrong side. 02 The Sterling and Vance families practically built their empires on the same boat decades ago. The Sterlings spent decades in heavy manufacturing. The Vances rode the wave of the economic boom. One manufactured, one exported. Together, they carved out an empire. But later, the Sterling family transitioned from factories to a massive corporate conglomerate, developing its own global brands. Our reliance on the Vance family grew smaller and smaller. But my engagement to Preston was settled by my grandmother’s generation. The old lady was born in the post-war era. She was iron-willed, decisive, and had a thunderous personality. In her youth, she was a legendary female entrepreneur and the absolute authority of the Sterling family. Beatrice Sterling’s word was the absolute law in the Sterling family. Even after her death, no one dared to disobey her. Beatrice was steadfast her entire life, changing her own decision only once when I was eight years old. She changed the name of the company from Sterling Global to Serena Global. That day, she was as strict as ever, staring at me with her eagle-like eyes. She said seriously, word by word: “Serena, remember this. From now on, the ‘Serena’ in Serena Global is your name. “You must ensure that this empire always belongs to the Sterlings.” Upon returning to the States, I went straight home. The mansion felt a bit emptier than it had when I left the country two years ago. My mother sat elegantly on the sofa, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, reading the newspaper. I poured myself a cup of tea and asked casually: “Did you clean everything out?” “Yes. The trash man and his trash belongings have all been thrown out.” I frowned: “You didn’t let him take half the assets, did you?” My mother looked up at me. “Do you think your mother signed a prenup for nothing?” Then she let out a long sigh: “Ah, back then I was so resentful. But now it proves your grandmother was an excellent judge of character. You are much more steady than I am.” I smiled helplessly: “Did you hit them?” My mother’s expression was somewhat proud: “Robert Cole, that little homewrecker, and their bastard son. I slapped all three of them.” I gave her a thumbs-up. “Next Wednesday is the Sinclair family’s golden anniversary gala. Go in my place.” She suddenly turned dead serious: “We absolutely cannot lose that partnership with the Sinclairs.” I swirled the tea in my cup, speaking lazily: “Of course.” 03 The Sinclairs were an incredibly deep-rooted family in Chicago. The elder Sinclairs were generous, low-key, and had vast connections. So it wasn’t surprising to see Preston at the golden anniversary gala. And standing right beside him was Aria. The radiant woman looked over at me, raising her red wine glass from afar and shooting me a provocative smile. I could barely make out her mouthed words: “I’m the winner, loser.” I was slightly displeased. After all, the Vance family and I hadn’t formally broken off the engagement yet. Preston blatantly bringing his mistress to a major high-society gala was a direct slap to my face. People around us were already waiting to see me become a laughingstock. Harper Sinclair appeared beside me, flashing a triumphant grin: “How is it, babe? I personally invited Aria here.” I pinched her cheek: “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” “How could I bear to kill you? I’m obviously giving you a chance to vent.” She blinked her cunning eyes: “Do you know why Aria is acting so arrogant right now?” I replied calmly: “It’s nothing more than her thinking she’s secured her spot on the Vance family ship, and the Vances are backing my dad’s illegitimate son.” Robert Cole had put on a brilliant act all these years. My mother’s health had always been poor. For years, he was the one managing the corporate affairs. Not only did he hide an illegitimate son older than me from everyone, but he also made the outside world believe he held the real power in Serena Global, even quietly placing his bastard son in the Vice President seat of a subsidiary. Preston was currently chatting happily with that illegitimate son, Jackson Cole. The people around them were subtly trying to suck up and join their circle. In contrast, my side was empty. No one dared to approach me. I had only been out of the country for two years, and these people had already forgotten who owned the Sterling name. Harper’s face suddenly turned cold: “Today, I’m going to show these people who really deserves to sit at the table.” She set down her wine glass and walked toward the center of the banquet with a bright smile: “Tonight, I specially invited Ms. Aria Montgomery to celebrate my grandparents’ golden anniversary. I heard that before Ms. Montgomery got into acting, she graduated from Juilliard. Why don’t you grace us with a dance?” Aria’s face instantly froze. Asking a guest to perform for the room was tantamount to public humiliation. Harper asked coldly: “What’s wrong? Is Ms. Montgomery unwilling? Or do you think our Sinclair family isn’t worthy?” The elder Sinclairs looked over as well. This caused Preston, who was about to step in, to halt his movements. Gritting her teeth, Aria performed a short routine. Because she hadn’t practiced in so long, she nearly tripped and fell several times in the middle of it. Harper walked up and patted her shoulder: “Asking you to dance was doing you a favor. Too bad your skills are so awful it ruined the mood.” Aria’s eyes turned red with anger, and she ran out crying. As she passed me, she didn’t forget to drop a harsh threat: “Serena Sterling, I’m not going to let you get away with this. Your days of being happy are numbered.” And from beginning to end, I didn’t even grant her a single direct glance. Harper returned to my side, fishing for credit: “How was that? Satisfying?” I nodded honestly. “So… about that European market expansion project?” Her eyes sparkled. I smiled fondly: “It was always yours. But are you sure you can keep your brother in check?” “Relax. You’ve been abroad for two years, do you think I was just sitting around? When Grandpa called Mason home to handle this project, that idiot was probably still panting in some random woman’s bed. He made Grandpa so mad he almost ended up in the hospital, which let me swoop in and steal the deal. “If Mason is useless, the Sinclairs will naturally have someone else step up for him.” The woman’s face was painted with inevitable ambition. I looked across the room at Preston, who was clinking glasses with Mason while absentmindedly glancing toward the exit, and I let out a mocking laugh. My fiancé… your taste is consistently terrible. 04 Shortly after the banquet ended, a video of a drunk Preston kissing Aria was sent to my phone. The exclusive private VIP lounge was mostly empty. They were surrounded by just a handful of Preston’s rich, trust-fund frat brothers. The lighting was dim and hazy. Aria’s eyes were still slightly red, making the seductive look in her eyes even more pitiful. “Preston, who do you really like? Serena or me?” Preston lay back on the black leather sofa, his collar undone, his arm wrapped around the woman’s slender waist as he narrowed his eyes: “Who the hell is Serena Sterling? Does she even deserve to be compared to you?” With that, they started making out as if no one else was in the room. Was this a direct warning right to my face? Who gave these trust-fund idiots the nerve? My gaze landed on the table in front of Preston. Printed on it was a logo I was intimately familiar with. I made a phone call: “Kill the main breaker for the entire lounge. And lock the doors.” The manager on the other end answered nervously: “Ms. Sterling, there are still VIPs inside. Mr. Vance is still here.” “If he wasn’t there, why would I tell you to cut the power?” The manager shut his mouth. “If he dares to come smash up the place tomorrow, call the police immediately, and contact the corporate legal department.” I heard that Preston and his little mistress spent the entire night playing a real-life “escape room.” When he finally saw the lounge’s logo and realized what had happened, he was so furious he kicked the doors several times. Preston hated me even more after that. He called me the very next day to drop a threat: “Serena Sterling, you just wait. The entire Sterling family is going to pay the price for your stupidity.” 05 Speaking of which, Preston and I did try legitimately dating for two months. On the day of our engagement, he was so happy he almost forgot himself. Even every time he saw me, there was a bit more tenderness in his eyes. Of course, it wasn’t because he loved me so much. But because he felt like he had finally won once. Preston and I were born in the same year. When we were born, the Sterling and Vance families were still in their honeymoon phase. But as the sole son and daughter of both families, we inevitably got compared. From who walked first, to who talked first, to our grades, and extracurriculars, both families were secretly competing. And I completely crushed him every time. I was even better at throwing a punch than he was. But Preston’s parents had a surprisingly great attitude about it. Every time they saw me, they still liked me very much. Until one time in the courtyard, when no one else was around. Mrs. Vance held my hand, smiling warmly: “My future daughter-in-law is so capable. You’ll definitely be able to help Preston run the company well in the future.” After she said that, she let out a faux-sympathetic sigh: “It’s just a pity your mother’s health was poor since childhood. She had a girl and couldn’t have any more.” It was only then that I realized that the Vance family’s ultimate trump card was simply the fact that their family heir had male anatomy. This was a concept my brain, born into the Sterling family, couldn’t comprehend. After all, my mother had aborted two male fetuses just for my sake. When Preston grew up, he naturally inherited his parents’ ideology. He wanted a bird in a cage, a submissive housewife. He believed that in a marriage, a wife was naturally supposed to submit. So he was happy to marry me. He could only win in marriage, and he only needed to win in marriage. Unfortunately, by the second month after our engagement, he couldn’t control himself. At a yacht party, he was kissing a girl on each arm. I only used one slap to make him see reality clearly. Then I had someone throw him into the ocean. I remember that day was Christmas. The seawater was freezing, the winter night bitterly cold. He was in the hospital for a full week. Preston’s parents came to our door to cause a scene. My mother refused to even see them. She only asked me one sentence: “As long as you want, the engagement can be canceled at any time.” I laughed lightly and comforted her: “As long as I want, I have ten thousand ways to make them actively cancel the engagement. “But not right now.” The Vance family was no longer suitable as an ally, but their foundation was still there. “But don’t worry, Mom. This kind of man is not entering the Sterling family’s door.” And since then, Preston completely hated me. Now that the conflict had intensified again, I figured it was time for the Vance family to make their move. 06 The public opinion attacks against Serena Global came faster than I imagined. Firing the first shot was the video of me pushing Aria down the steps in New York. Aria was a rising star; she had plenty of fans willing to charge the front lines for her. In less than a day, it pushed me to the top trending spots on all major social media platforms. Under every related video, there were long essays detailing the epic romance between the billionaire heir and the beautiful starlet, from childhood sweethearts to star-crossed lovers. The so-called “childhood sweethearts” was nothing more than Aria’s childhood dance troupe performing at the Vance estate. A blurry video where you couldn’t even clearly see eyes, noses, or mouths was dug up as “proof,” paired with emotional background music, making it look almost real. As for the descriptions of me, they claimed I was morally bankrupt. Soon, the news of my US-controlled company preparing to go public was also pushed into the spotlight. Financial media and bloggers intentionally or unintentionally hinted that the Sterling family was suspected of transferring assets offshore. The Sterling family was branded as unpatriotic. The stock plummeted for three days. I scrolled through the vicious comments on a stock trading app, calmly sipping my tea. At the other end of the table, the wealthy wives sat close together, occasionally covering their mouths to laugh at something Aria said to amuse them. This was a gathering hosted by Mrs. Davis. I never liked these types of gatherings that revolved around cheating husbands, kids studying abroad, comparing whose husband came home for dinner more often, and who had hidden more secret funds. But my mother wasn’t feeling well, so I could only take her place. One wife, egged on by the others, came over with malicious intent: “Oh, Serena, I heard the Sterling family stock dropped quite a bit. If you’re short on funds, don’t hide it in your heart. Tell us, maybe everyone can help you think of a solution.” I set down my teacup and smiled faintly: “It’s true that the Sterling family stock market evaporated tens of billions these past few days. I just wonder if Mrs. Davis’s secret slush fund is enough to cover it?” Mrs. Davis’s face was completely embarrassed. The other wives, who didn’t know much about the stock market, were all startled. Another woman spoke up: “Is your Sterling family going to go bankrupt? What about my husband’s contract with you guys?” “Mrs. King, please relax. Your husband was just doing a three-way battle at a hotel recently. He’s not worried, so you shouldn’t be either.” Mrs. King’s face turned black as well: “Young girls nowadays are just so sharp-tongued and impulsive. Not like my son studying in the US. He’s mature and steady, just waiting to graduate from Harvard and come back to take over the family business.” I spun the teacup, speaking with a faint smile: “Your son is indeed a handsome young man. And his boyfriend is quite dashing as well. The last time I saw them in New York, I was kind enough to remind them that HIV is still quite serious in the States.” Mrs. Wright clutched her heart and frantically started dialing her phone. Aria let out a cold laugh: “What’s the use of only being good with your mouth? You’re offending so many powerful wives. Are you complaining that the Sterling family isn’t dying fast enough? “Serena Sterling, Preston is mine now, and the Sterling family is finished. I really want to see what you’ll use to prop up your stupidity and arrogance when you lose everything you used to rely on.” Preston walked into the courtyard wearing a black coat. He lovingly took Aria’s outstretched hand and put it into his pocket. He completely ignored my existence as his fiancée. Was it just because of catching him cheating a few years ago and slapping him a few times? He was holding a grudge for this long? I thought to myself, completely unbothered. While keeping my eyes on the notification sent to my phone. In fifteen days, Serena Global would hold an emergency board of directors meeting.

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My phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with a notification from my banking app. I was in the middle of packing, surrounded by half-taped cardboard boxes and the lingering scent of dust. I was finally moving out, heading to a small studio I’d rented on the edge of the city. I swiped the notification open. My heart didn’t just skip a beat; it seemed to stop entirely. A transfer of exactly $100,000 had been debited from my savings account ending in 3692. My current balance: $0.38. That money was my life. It was four years of grueling academic scholarships, competition prize money, and every cent I’d scraped together from three different part-time jobs. Now, it was gone. I stared at the screen for three long seconds. I closed the app, refreshed it, and logged back in. The number remained the same. “Naomi? Where’s your card? I need to borrow it for a sec.” Kaylee’s voice drifted in from the living room, breezy and entitled, as if she were asking for a stick of gum. When I didn’t answer, she raised her voice. “Naomi? You there? Where’d you put the card?” I gripped the phone so hard my knuckles turned white. I didn’t say a word. My heart was racing, a frantic drumming in my chest, but then, slowly, a cold, sharp clarity washed over me. 1. I didn’t confront Kaylee that night. When she asked for the card again, I simply told her I had an errand to run and left. She didn’t even look up from her phone; she just waved a hand, dismissing me like a servant. We had been roommates for four years, and this had always been the dynamic. I was the “boring” one, the one who lived in the library, while she was the social butterfly who treated my things as her own. I had let it happen. I had called it friendship. My new place was a cramped studio in a run-down part of town. After paying the security deposit and the first three months’ rent, I should have had over ninety thousand dollars left—enough to cover my first year of law school and my living expenses. Now, I had thirty-eight cents. The next evening, my new landlord knocked on the door. I was sitting on a packing crate, eating a bowl of instant noodles. It was my third meal of the same thing. “Naomi, about the rent for next month…” “Mrs. Gable, could you give me forty-eight hours?” I set my chopsticks down, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m waiting for a wire transfer to clear.” She looked at my meager meal, then at the empty apartment, and sighed. “Fine. Two days. But after that, I have to charge a late fee.” The door clicked shut. I went back to my noodles. They were tasteless, but they filled the hole in my stomach. Later that night, lying on a thin mattress on the floor, I began scrolling through my text history with Kaylee. It spanned four years, a digital trail of small erosions. “Naomi, can I borrow fifty? I’ll Venmo you next month.” “Hey, grab me a salad on your way back? I’ll pay you later!” “Naomi, things are a little tight this month. Can that two thousand wait?” I scrolled and scrolled, the fog in my brain lifting. Freshman year: $3,000 borrowed, one year later she paid back $2,000, saying, “Let’s just call the rest even since I bought you all those drinks at that one party.” Sophomore year: $5,000 for a “professional development” course she never took. She paid back $3,000. “I’ll get the rest to you once we’re working.” Junior and senior year: a thousand here, five hundred there. I opened a note on my phone and started a spreadsheet. The final number: $18,300. She had never once initiated a repayment. Every cent I’d gotten back had been like pulling teeth, and every time, there was a new excuse, a new drama that made her the victim. “I thought we were sisters,” I whispered to the dark ceiling. I felt like the punchline to a very long, very cruel joke. On the third day, I went to the university’s financial aid office to check my scholarship disbursement records. “Naomi Vance, right?” The clerk tapped at her keyboard. “Your merit scholarship was disbursed last month. You requested an early release of funds. Don’t you remember?” “Early release?” “Yes. Right here.” She turned the monitor toward me. “You signed for it in person.” I looked at the digital signature. It was a clever imitation, but I knew it wasn’t mine. The strokes were too soft, the tail of the ‘V’ too flared. I’d practiced calligraphy for a decade; my signature was precise, sharp. This was a doodle. I didn’t argue. “Could I get a copy of that request form?” I asked. The clerk gave me a strange look. “A copy? What for?” “For my tax records,” I lied smoothly. She shrugged and printed it out. I folded the paper carefully and tucked it into my bag. As I walked out into the bright afternoon sun, a memory surfaced. Last winter, we were sitting in our old dorm, sharing a bottle of wine. Kaylee was complaining about forgetting her banking PINs. She’d asked me how I remembered mine. “I just use my birthday,” I’d said. “Simple. Hard to forget.” She’d laughed, a soft, musical sound. “That’s way too easy, Naomi. Someone could rob you blind.” I hadn’t thought anything of it then. Now, I realized the look in her eyes hadn’t been concern. It had been an observation. 2. At 7:00 PM, I sent Kaylee a text. “Kaylee, something’s wrong with my scholarship fund. Do you know anything about it?” Five minutes later, she replied: “Huh? What do you mean? How would I know?” “The school said someone requested an early payout. The signature on the form isn’t mine.” My phone immediately rang. “Naomi, what the hell are you implying?” Kaylee’s voice was an octave higher than usual, sharp with indignation. “Are you actually accusing me of something?” I stayed silent. “We’ve been best friends for four years! And now you’re treating me like a criminal over some bank error?” “I never said it was you, Kaylee.” “Then why are you asking me? Your tone is disgusting. I’m honestly heartbroken, Naomi. Does four years of friendship really mean so little to you compared to a hundred grand?” She hung up. I looked at the “Call Ended” screen and let out a dry, hollow laugh. I hadn’t mentioned the amount. I hadn’t told anyone exactly how much was in that account. How did she know it was a hundred grand? The next morning, I opened Instagram. Kaylee had posted a story. It was a black background with white text, the classic “vague-post” of a victim. “It’s crazy how some people let paranoia ruin everything. Four years of being there for someone, and they turn on you the second things get weird. I guess you never really know people. Just glad I see the truth now.” The comments were already piling up from our mutual friends. “What happened, babe? Who’s bothering you?” “Some people are just small-minded, Kaylee. Don’t let them get to you.” “Ignore the haters. You’re too good for that drama.” I saw familiar names in the likes. Even Phoebe, who I’d helped pass her Bar Prep, had commented a heart emoji. I put the phone down. I didn’t respond. Two days later, in our old college group chat, Tyler—my boyfriend of two years—posted a photo. It was a picture of him and Kaylee. They were standing close, her head on his shoulder, and on her finger was a diamond that caught the light like a miniature sun. Tyler’s caption read: “She said yes. To forever with my soulmate.” I stared at the photo until the image burned into my retinas. Tyler and I had started dating sophomore year. We’d been long-distance for the last year while he moved to New York for an internship and I stayed back to finish my degree and prep for law school. In that year, we’d FaceTime’d maybe ten times. He was always “exhausted” or “swamped with work.” I’d been the one to call, the one to send care packages, the one to fly out to see him. I thought he was just building a career for us. Now I realized he’d been busy, alright. He’d been building a life with my best friend. The group chat exploded. “Tyler! Engaged?! Congrats!” “Wait, Kaylee? When did this happen?!” “OMG so happy for you guys! Power couple!” I quietly left the group. That night, Tyler called me. 3. “Hey, Naomi.” Tyler’s voice was tentative, lacking its usual bravado. “So… I’m guessing you saw the news.” “I did.” “Look, with Kaylee… it’s just one of those things. You can’t help who you fall for. Don’t be bitter, okay?” I said nothing. “I wanted to tell you sooner, but there was never a good time. And honestly, Naomi, you’re so focused on your books all the time. There’s no spark. With Kaylee, it’s just… easy. It was inevitable.” “Inevitable,” I repeated. The word felt like lead in my mouth. “Exactly. So don’t blame me. It’s about chemistry. Besides being a straight-A student, what else is there? Kaylee is warm, she’s fun. She actually knows how to live.” I listened to him talk, and I felt a strange, chilling peace. “I understand.” “That’s it?” He sounded disappointed, like he’d been bracing for a screaming match. “You’re not going to yell?” “What would be the point, Tyler?” “Right. Well… no hard feelings. Let’s be adults about this. We can still be friends down the road.” I hung up. Friends? My boyfriend of two years was engaged to my roommate of four. And they called it “inevitable.” I lay back on my mattress and began to piece the last year together. The times Tyler was “too busy” to talk, he’d been on the phone with Kaylee. The times he “forgot” my birthday but sent Kaylee a massive floral arrangement for her “half-birthday” because she was feeling down. The weekly FaceTimes they had while I was in the library, sometimes talking for hours. I had been so blind, lost in the “quiet moments” of my own loyalty, while they were laughing at me in the dark. The next day, Kaylee posted a new photo. A close-up of the ring. It was a three-carat oval cut, Platinum band. The caption: “Thank you to my incredible fiancé for the $100,000 engagement gift. The best decision of my life was saying yes to you.” One hundred thousand. I looked at the date of the post: April 15th. My scholarship funds had been drained on March 20th. I knew Tyler’s job. He was a junior developer at a mid-sized firm. He made $80,000 a year and lived in an expensive apartment in Brooklyn. There was no way he had $100,000 in cash for a ring. And I knew Kaylee’s family. Her parents were working-class people who had struggled just to pay her tuition. Where did the money come from? The answer was screaming at me. I took a screenshot. The date, the amount, the caption. Everything aligned. That money was my sweat and blood. Four years of sleep deprivation, of missing parties to study, of working through holidays. And now, it was a sparkling trophy on the finger of the woman who had spent four years pretending to love me. It was her “gift” from the man who had spent two years pretending to be mine. 4. I couldn’t sleep that night. Not because I was angry, but because I was calculating. I had known Kaylee for four years. I’d held her hair back when she was sick. I’d lent her money when she was short on rent. I thought we were a team. In reality, I was just her ATM with a heartbeat. At 2:00 AM, I got up and opened my laptop. I was a top-tier law student. Rank #1 in my class, winner of the National Mock Trial, and I’d passed the MPRE with a near-perfect score. I already had an offer from Stonebridge & Associates, one of the most prestigious firms in the country. I’d never bragged to Kaylee about these things. I didn’t think I needed to. To her, I was just “the girl who studies law.” She didn’t realize my specialty was white-collar crime and forensic accounting. I opened a new document and began organizing my “Case.” First: The forged signature on the scholarship form. I could hire a handwriting expert to verify the discrepancy. Second: The bank statements. The timestamp of the $100k transfer from my account matched the timeline of Tyler’s “sudden” ability to buy a ring. Third: The social media evidence. Her own words—the “hundred thousand dollar gift.” Fourth: The four-year ledger of unpaid loans. I had every Venmo request she’d ignored, every text where she promised to pay me back. $18,300 in small-scale theft. By sunrise, I had a comprehensive evidence binder. My phone rang. It was my mom. “Naomi, honey, I saw Kaylee’s post…” Her voice was cautious. “Isn’t that the boy you were seeing?” “Yeah, Mom. Was.” “Are you… are you okay?” “I’m fine.” Mom hesitated. “Kaylee actually called me. She said you’ve been acting erratic, accusing her of stealing? Naomi, honey, are you sure? Kaylee always seemed like such a sweet girl. Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding?” I felt a wave of exhaustion hit me. “Mom, do you trust her or me?” “I trust you, of course! But these are serious accusations. Without proof, it could really hurt her reputation. You don’t want to be that person.” I smiled to myself, a cold, hard expression. “I know, Mom. I’ll handle it.” I hung up and looked out the window. The sun was fully up now, casting long shadows across the city. That afternoon, I received a digital invitation in my inbox. A flurry of red and gold. “Dearest Naomi: We would be honored to have you join us for the engagement party of Kaylee Miller and Tyler Bennett. You’ve been such a huge part of our journey—we need you there to witness our happiness! Date: May 1st. Location: The Grand Carlyle Hotel.” Kaylee even tagged me in the group chat she’d made for the party: “Naomi, you HAVE to come. You’re my bestie, I couldn’t do this without you!~” I stared at the message for a long time. Then, I typed three words: “I’ll be there.” And added: “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 5. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I put the phone down and took a deep breath. May 1st. Twelve days away. Twelve days was more than enough time to burn a bridge properly. That afternoon, I went to Stonebridge & Associates. Even though my start date was months away, my mentor, Isabel, had always told me her door was open. Isabel was thirty-five, a partner in the criminal defense department, and a shark in a Chanel suit. She was exactly who I wanted to be. “Naomi? I thought you were taking the month off to move,” Isabel said, looking up from a stack of depositions. “Isabel, I need your professional opinion.” I laid it all out. The scholarship, the forgery, the roommate, the boyfriend. Isabel listened in silence for several minutes. When I finished, she looked at the folder I’d brought. “You have the evidence?” I handed it over. The forged form, the bank logs, the screenshots. Isabel flipped through the pages, her brow furrowing. “The handwriting is a dead giveaway. Any expert could tear that apart in ten minutes.” She looked up at me. “What’s the play, Naomi?” “I want to file a police report.” “You can. But you know as well as I do that once you trigger the legal system, there’s no going back. This is felony-level grand larceny and fraud.” I nodded. “I know.” Isabel looked at the papers again, then leaned back in her chair. “Your uncle works at the local news station, doesn’t he? Lead producer for the investigative unit?” “He does.” “Good.” Isabel handed the folder back. “File the report. Once it’s logged, if they don’t cooperate, we look into media pressure. Economic fraud plus identity theft—this isn’t just a spat between roommates. It’s a criminal case.” I took the folder. “Thanks, Isabel.” She smiled at me, a sharp, appreciative glint in her eyes. “Naomi, you’re the calmest intern I’ve ever seen. Most girls your age would be in tears right now.” “Do tears pay the rent?” “No,” Isabel said, patting my shoulder. “They don’t. Go get them. Call me if you need a reference for the D.A.” As I left the office, the city lights were flickering on. My phone buzzed. It was Kaylee. “Naomi? Are you really coming to the party?” Her voice was smaller now, missing the aggressive edge from before. “I said I would.” “Listen… about the money stuff. You’re not going to make a scene, are you? It would really ruin the night.” “What money stuff, Kaylee?” “You know… you saying I took your money. Just don’t bring it up. It’s my big night.” I gripped my phone, a small, cold smile playing on my lips. “Kaylee, when did I ever say you stole my money?” “Well, you said—” “I just asked if you knew what happened. You were the one who said our friendship was worth more than a hundred grand.” The line went quiet. “I never told anyone the amount was a hundred grand,” I said softly. “So, how did you know?”

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After Gavin changed the keypad code to our apartment, he sent me the new one via text. It took two tries for the lock to click, the heavy door finally swinging open. The moment I stepped inside, the air felt wrong. The crisp, woody scent of the home I’d built had been smothered by a cloying, synthetic gardenia—a fabric softener I never used. In the laundry room, the dryer had finished its cycle. I pulled the clothes out. There was one of his work shirts, and then there was a floral sunshirt, size small. I wear a large. I folded the clothes neatly and set them on the arm of the sofa, my eyes drifting to the trash can in the kitchen. Inside were two takeout containers from a high-end bistro and two empty boba cups. One was marked Regular Sugar; the other, 30% Sweet. Gavin knew I only drank mine unsweetened. Neither of those drinks belonged to me. I didn’t fly into a rage. I simply sat on the sofa and waited. Thirty minutes later, the door hummed. Gavin walked in, freezing for a split second when he saw me. He kicked off his shoes, his voice casual, almost rehearsed. “You’re home early.” I pointed to the dress on the sofa. “Who did you do laundry for?” “A colleague,” he said, not looking at me. “Someone spilled wine on her at the mixer.” “A colleague who wears a small, likes her drinks a quarter-sweet, and uses gardenia-scented Downy?” I pressed. He didn’t answer. I grabbed my bag and walked to the door. “I’m only using this new code once,” I said, my voice steady despite the roar in my ears. “Change it again. And don’t bother sending me the next one.” 1 “It’s too late. I’ll come get you in the morning.” The text flashed on my phone at 1:47 AM. I was at my studio, the only light coming from the spotlight over my compounding table. The base notes of sandalwood and cedarwood clung to me—cold, clean, sharp. Nothing like gardenias. A second message followed immediately: “Macy just had too much to drink and ruined her dress. She just came over to shower and change. Don’t let your mind go to the darkest place possible, Diana.” Macy. He’d given her a name. At the apartment, she was a “colleague.” Now, she was Macy. I didn’t reply. Instead, I twisted open a bottle of bitter orange essential oil and inhaled. The scent was a grounding wire for my racing heart. A scent profile like that gardenia softener doesn’t just “happen” after one shower. Those molecules bond to fibers; you have to use it for two or three weeks straight for it to linger like that. I’d spent eight years training as a perfumer. My nose was far more honest than his mouth. I typed back: “She’s a size small, she uses gardenia softener, and she drinks 30% sweet boba. All three of these things appeared in your life during the two weeks you changed the locks. Gavin, I don’t own gardenia softener.” The “typing…” bubble flickered six times. Finally, a voice note. I tapped play. Two seconds of silence, then a long, weary sigh. “Work has been hell with the new product launch. She’s been helping me with the distributors, staying late to handle the logistics. She’s just been… looking after things for a bit. It’s temporary. It won’t happen again.” Looking after things. Changing his detergent. Ordering his tea. Washing her floral dresses in his machine. He called it a convenience. I recorded a reply, my voice sounding flatter than I expected. “So, you’re admitting it?” “Admitting what?” He was faster at typing than speaking. “Diana, can you stop obsessing over the details? Maybe I handled the boundaries poorly, but you can’t throw away three years of ‘us’ over a bottle of laundry soap.” Three years. He had the nerve to bring up the time. Three years ago, when he wanted to start his fragrance house, he had exactly six thousand dollars in his bank account. I sold three of my private formulas—the ones my mother left me in her estate—to raise the hundred thousand he needed for seed money. Those formulas were my inheritance, my soul. On a folding table in our old studio, he’d signed a napkin with a shaky hand: You own half this company, and the door code will always be your birthday. Always. Back then, it was always. Now, it was “it won’t happen again.” I typed: “Three years. You mean the three years where I provided the capital and the intellectual property?” “There you go, keeping score again,” he shot back instantly. “I’m trying to talk about feelings, and you’re talking about money. This is exactly your problem.” My problem. I stared at those words until they blurred. I turned off my phone and flipped it face down on the stainless steel table. As dawn broke, I went back to the apartment to get the rest of my things. I opened the fridge and stopped, my hand hovering in the cold air. The shelf was lined with boba cups. All of them “30% Sweet.” Small, round sticky notes were attached to the sides with bubbly handwriting and little smiley faces. Special sweetness for Mr. CEO! Keep up the hard work! —M. Macy. She had nicknamed herself in my fridge. I took them out, one by one. Eight cups. I moved to the closet. My coats and sweaters were still there, but in the bottom drawer, there was a new pink organizer. A keychain with a little bear hung from the zipper. Inside were two pairs of leggings, folded neatly. Size small. In the bathroom, a pink ceramic mug sat on the counter. It said: SMALL BUT MIGHTY. I took my toothbrush. I left her mug where it was. Finally, I opened my jewelry box. The engagement ring sat in the top velvet slot. A one-carat diamond Gavin said he bought with his first “real profit.” But the formula for that order had been mine. In the end, I had bought that ring for myself. I walked back to the kitchen. In the trash, the eight boba cups were beginning to sweat, the brown liquid leaking out. I dropped the ring into the bin. It sank to the bottom, wedged between a plastic lid and a sticky note that said M. My phone buzzed. Gavin: “Are you coming home today? Let’s talk in person. Don’t just sit there overthinking.” I grabbed my suitcase and took one last look at the place. Twelve hundred square feet, south-facing, a lease I’d negotiated, a space I’d curated. Now, it smelled like someone else’s life. I sent one final text: “The fridge is cleared out. The trash is full. Don’t forget to take it out.” 2 “We need to talk about your equity. In person.” A week later, Gavin sent the message along with a pin for a high-end Italian restaurant downtown. My friend Rebecca was fuming on the other end of the line. “Don’t go. He’s definitely up to something.” “I have to sign the buyout papers eventually,” I said. “Dragging it out doesn’t help me.” “Then I’m coming with you.” “No. If there are people there, he’ll use it as an excuse to dodge the real conversation.” When I pulled up to the restaurant, I saw his suit first. A dark charcoal bespoke piece with subtle pinstripes. I’d given it to him for his birthday two years ago. He’d told me then that the cut was too traditional and had never worn it once. He was wearing it today. Buttons done up to the top, a perfect Windsor knot in his tie. He stood up to pull out my chair. “Sit. I ordered the steamed clams you like.” “I’m here for the papers, Gavin.” “Eat first,” he said, pushing the menu toward me. “You’ve been staying at the studio, haven’t you? The water heater there is broken. How are you even showering?” “Does that have anything to do with my shares?” He stiffened, then pulled a folder from his briefcase. “I’m willing to settle the buyout, but the company valuation is currently in a transition phase. We have to wait until after the Series C funding—” “Gavin.” I cut him off because I saw her. She was walking through the front door in a floral sunshirt, size small, her waist so thin it looked fragile. The scent hit me before she even reached the table—gardenia. Not the real, heady flower, but the cheap, synthetic gardenia aldehyde used in industrial soaps. Cloying, flat, and sickly sweet. Macy. The moment she “noticed” us, her expression shifted with practiced ease—first surprise, then embarrassment, then a smile that was 80% sweet and 20% innocent. “Oh, Gavin! You’re here? What a coincidence.” And then, she sat down. She pulled out the chair next to Gavin as if it were her assigned seat. “Hi, Diana,” she said, nodding at me. Her smile was calibrated to the millimeter. I put my fork down and said nothing. She turned to Gavin immediately. “Gavin, your stomach has been acting up lately, you shouldn’t have anything spicy. Let me order you something lighter.” She reached for the menu, her arm brushing his sleeve. It was a natural movement, one performed a hundred times before. Gavin didn’t flinch. “You don’t mind me being a busybody, do you, Diana?” she asked, her eyes wide and performatively thoughtful. “After the last company party, Gavin was in so much pain. I just can’t stand to see him suffer.” The last company party. The last time his stomach hurt. She knew the schedule of his physical ailments better than I did now. “I don’t mind,” I said, signaling the waiter. “In fact, get him the spicy arrabbiata. Extra chili flakes.” Macy blinked. “Diana, really, he can’t—” “He used to get sick after every gala,” I said, my voice level. “I was the one who stayed up making ginger tea to settle his stomach. You know his stomach is sensitive, but do you know why it’s ruined? Do you know about the three years of stress and whiskey it took to build the company you’re currently sitting on?” She had no answer for that. Gavin frowned, his voice dropping an octave. “Diana, is this necessary? She’s just a kid. Don’t take it out on her.” A kid. The size small dresses, the boba, the gardenia softener, the “Special Sweetness” notes, the pink mug in my bathroom. To him, it was just three words: She’s a kid. “The papers, Gavin,” I said, bringing the focus back. “Like I said, after the Series C funding—” “How long?” “Three to six months.” “I need a date.” He pulled the folder back toward his side of the table. “What’s the rush? It’s not like we’re getting a divorce. Just… take some time to cool off. Go away for a bit, get some perspective, and when you’re ready, we can move past this.” Cool off. He thought I was negotiating my heart. I was negotiating my exit. Macy spoke up then, her voice soft and airy. “Diana, Gavin has been under so much pressure. I’ve been overseeing the entire R&D line for the new launch. We’re in the lab until midnight every night. If it makes you feel better, I can keep my distance from him from now on.” It was a brilliant move. A public concession, a show of weakness, and a subtle reminder that she was the one with him “until midnight” every night. I stood up. Gavin clamped his hand over the folder. “Are you going to sign?” “You wore that suit today because you thought wearing something I gave you would make me soft,” I said, picking up my bag. “You took something you ignored for two years, polished it up, and used it as a tool for an emergency. It’s exactly what you did to me.” His fingers tightened on the table. Beside him, Macy looked down, stirring her coffee, her shoulders hunched as if she were the victim of a great cruelty. As I walked out of the restaurant, I heard her voice behind me, clear through the closing glass door. “Gavin, does she hate me? Maybe I shouldn’t have come.” “It’s not you,” Gavin replied. “She’s always been like this. High-strung.” She’s always been like this. 3 “Diana? Are you here for your things?” The receptionist, Sarah, sounded nervous. Her eyes kept darting toward the main office area. “Yes. Just picking up my personal files.” Gavin’s company was located in a sleek glass building in the tech corridor. I was the one who had picked the space. I was the one who negotiated the lease down. I bought the plants in the lobby. I designed the scent diffusion system in the hallways. But today, when the elevator doors opened, I smelled gardenias. The scent stones in the corridor had been replaced. I didn’t stop. I walked straight into Gavin’s office. The door was ajar. His desk looked the same, but the bottom drawer where I kept my most precious items—a leather-bound A5 notebook, cognac-colored, with worn edges—was open. My mother’s recipe book. The complete compositions for thirty-seven perfumes. Every note, every trial, every raw material ratio. It was the only thing she’d left me. The drawer was empty. The book was gone. I turned around and looked at the workstation directly facing Gavin’s office. The desk was covered in pink organizers and a laptop with a glittery shell. My mother’s notebook was sitting there. It was being used as a coaster for a greasy takeout box and a half-finished boba tea. There was a massive brown ring on the leather cover. I flipped it open. Oil and milk tea had soaked through the parchment, blurring my mother’s elegant script. On page seventeen—the formula for an Osmanthus Absolute that existed nowhere else in the world—the pages were stuck together. She was using my mother’s legacy as a placemat. “Oh, hey, Diana.” Macy appeared, holding two more boba teas. She saw me standing at her desk and slowed her pace. “Gavin asked me to organize that,” she said, her tone suggesting this was the most natural thing in the world. “Some of those formulas need to be digitized for the company’s core assets.” “This is my private property.” “But Gavin said these formulas belong to the firm—” I reached for the book. She jerked back, her chair wheels skidding. In the scramble, her elbow hit the boba cup. Freshly brewed hot tea. The scalding liquid splashed directly onto my outstretched right hand. The pain was immediate—a searing, white-hot iron pressed against my skin. My hand swelled instantly, turning a violent red before the blisters began to rise, clear and bubbling over my knuckles. My right hand. My dominant hand. The hand I used to grind resins, to dip test strips, to feel the weight of a pipette. My livelihood. Macy let out a shrill scream, but she wasn’t looking at my hand. She was looking at her leggings. Gavin came charging out of his office. He ran right past me. He went straight to Macy, kneeling down to check her legs. “Are you okay? Did it burn you? Let me see.” Then he looked up at me, his brow furrowed in annoyance as if I were the one causing trouble. “You know she’s clumsy, Diana. Why are you fighting her over a damn notebook?” A damn notebook. I clutched the tea-soaked leather book with my right hand. The blisters broke under the pressure, the clear fluid mixing with the brown tea stains. “Gavin,” I said, my voice shaking. “The hundred thousand dollars you used to start this company? That ‘damn notebook’ paid for it.” The look on his face finally fractured. “Don’t bother with the door code,” I whispered. “Everything about you feels filthy to me now.” I walked out, clutching the book to my chest. In the elevator, my hand started to shake uncontrollably. The pain had moved past searing into a rhythmic, nauseating throb. Sarah, the receptionist, ran out and handed me a bottle of cold water. She looked at my hand and winced. “Diana… do you want me to call an Uber? You need a hospital.” “Call me one for St. Jude’s.” “Okay.” She hesitated, then whispered, “Diana… Macy took that book herself. Gavin didn’t ask her to. She’s been taking photos of the pages and sending them to outside suppliers all week.” My grip on the notebook tightened. The pain didn’t matter anymore. “Thank you, Sarah.” She nodded, her eyes welling with tears. As the car pulled up, I looked back at the third-floor window. The lights were still on. “Let’s go,” I told the driver. 4 “Second-degree burns. Some deep partial-thickness areas.” The doctor snapped off his gloves and looked at me. “What do you do for a living?” “I’m a perfumer.” He paused, the motion of throwing the gloves away slowing down. “The deep burns on the knuckles might leave scarring. We need to monitor for infection. We can’t rule out a skin graft later if the mobility is compromised.” “Will I be able to use my fingers?” “It’s hard to say. If the scar tissue contracts, your range of motion will be limited.” Rebecca burst into the exam room just as they were wrapping my hand in gauze. “Diana! Are you insane? Why didn’t you call me? Your hand—” “I need you to do a few things for me.” She stopped mid-rant, her eyes red. “First, block Gavin everywhere. Phone, email, socials. Everything.” “Done.” “Second, find me a flight to Oregon. Tomorrow morning.” “You’re leaving?” “There’s a botanical estate in the Willamette Valley. I’ve been talking to the owner about a private R&D residency. I need to go.” “Wait, your hand is like this and you’re—” “Rebecca.” She went quiet. I looked down at the thick white cocoon of gauze. Beneath it was a ruin of broken skin and shattered dreams. A perfumer’s hand. “Buy the ticket,” I said. “The earliest one.” She didn’t argue. She pulled out her phone and started tapping. Blocking, deleting, clearing the history. Then, she stopped. “Diana… you need to see this.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “439660”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I still can’t believe I’m losing my mind over a mediocre, thirty-something man in my office. Derek is married. He has a stay-at-home wife who has made raising their children and managing his existence her sole, holy crusade. Every day at 5:00 PM, he clocks out and walks into a life he doesn’t have to orchestrate. Dinner is hot. The bath is drawn. His version of fatherhood consists of tossing a toddler in the air for fifteen minutes before claiming exhaustion. He hasn’t touched a sponge or scheduled a pediatrician appointment in his life. He lives with the blissful, unburdened ignorance of a college freshman. Then there’s me. I finish a grueling fourteen-hour day and unlock the door to my three-thousand-square-foot luxury penthouse. It’s breathtaking. It’s architectural perfection. And it is completely, suffocatingly empty. I actually love children. Biologically, logistically, having a child wouldn’t be impossible—I’d just need to carve out a year. But I am at the absolute precipice of my career. I’m terrified that stepping back to give birth will derail my trajectory, so I stay frozen. Derek and I are gunning for the same promotion. If this were a fair, one-on-one fight? I’d obliterate him. But it’s not fair. I’m not competing against Derek; I’m competing against Derek and the invisible infrastructure of his wife. We both work a grueling day, but he goes home to recharge in a sanctuary built entirely for his comfort, while I go home to an echo chamber. Thinking about it makes my blood boil. I realized something fundamental: I don’t need a husband. I need a wife. Just imagine it. If I had someone managing my life the way Derek’s wife manages his… God, I would be unstoppable. 1 Fueled by caffeine and spite, I immediately registered with Elite Connections, the most exclusive matchmaking agency in the city. My consultant, Diane, was thrilled with my profile. Within days, she had a lineup of weekend dates. I showed up to the boutique coffee shop looking flawless—a silk slip dress, a sharp blazer, and my favorite stilettos. Whether I found a match or not, I was going to exude absolute, weaponized confidence. Diane had vetted them “according to my standards.” Candidate One sat down, looked me up and down like a used car, and sneered. “When we’re together, I don’t want my woman dressing so… flashy. You’ll need to tone that down.” I practically felt my eyes roll into the back of my skull. Bold of you to assume we’re getting together, considering I don’t date men who dress like substitute math teachers. Candidate Two had clearly put effort into his appearance. His eyes lit up when he saw me. “When we get married, you won’t even have to work. I’ll take care of you.” I plastered on a painfully polite smile. “And what is your annual salary?” He puffed out his chest. “I make sixty thousand a year. Full benefits, 401k match. It’s a great setup. You can quit, stay home with the kids, and I’ll give you five hundred dollars a month as a personal allowance.” My smile splintered. I looked down at my two-thousand-dollar Jimmy Choos and seriously considered taking one off and embedding the heel in his forehead. 2 Candidate Three looked the part of a finance bro. We actually had a decent rapport, speaking the same corporate language. Finally, we pivoted to the future. A calculated glint flashed behind his designer frames. “I assume, Jocelyn, that as a modern woman, you’re open to modern financial arrangements?” “I’m listening.” “Would you be open to going fifty-fifty on all household expenses?” Split the bills? Wait, I get a domestic partner without taking on his financial burden? I nodded enthusiastically. He smiled, leaning in. “And cohabitation before marriage?” A trial run without the legal mess? I kept nodding. “Great,” he said. “My mother always says that women these days have so many fertility issues. Would you be open to having a child before we officially sign the marriage certificate, just to be sure?” My jaw twitched. The polite facade evaporated. “Tell you what,” I said, voice dropping to a deadly calm. “Would you be open to adopting? Would you be open to quitting your job, staying home full-time, and managing my household? Don’t worry, I can match whatever salary you’re making right now.” His face flushed a violent, blotchy red. “I make a hundred and fifty grand a year! You want me to be a house-husband? Scrub floors? And you won’t even give me a biological kid?” He scoffed, eyeing me with sudden disgust. “You might be gorgeous, but if you’re not going to breed, what use are you to me?” It took every ounce of my Wall Street restraint not to laugh in his face. A hundred and fifty grand? I thought. Honey, I make five times that on a bad year. He stormed off. I sat there, lazily stirring my iced latte, waiting for Candidate Four. He arrived. Visually, he passed. I decided to skip the dance and cut straight to the chase. “I will give you a five-thousand-dollar monthly allowance—pure disposable income—with all living expenses covered by me. In exchange, you stay home full-time and manage the household. Can you handle that?” His eyes went wide like saucers. “Yes! Absolutely. I hate working anyway; I’m a total homebody. I don’t really know how to clean, though. Oh, and when we get together, my parents are going to move in with us.” My smile shattered into a million pieces. He was still talking. “We don’t own a place, so we’ll have to live at yours. Do you rent or own?” I was looking for a partner, not a parasite. A stay-at-home husband who doesn’t do chores? What is the point of that? 3 After Number Four left, I slumped back against the velvet booth, staring blankly at the ceiling. Why was it so impossibly hard to find a wife? Diane slid into the seat across from me, looking apologetic. “Jocelyn, you’re asking a man to stay home, do the housework, and you’re not offering him a biological child. What kind of man is going to accept that? Maybe you need to lower your expectations. Compromise on something.” I stared at her. I was the one with the money. Why should I compromise? “Upgrade my membership,” I said flatly. “Put me in the Diamond tier.” A bigger pool meant better fish. Diane’s face instantly lit up with the promise of a commission, and she stood up to leave. Suddenly, from the booth just behind the half-wall next to me, a woman’s sharp, condescending voice cut through the café chatter. “You deliver food for a living. How exactly do you plan to support me? This manicure alone cost me two hundred bucks—how many deliveries do you have to make just to pay for my nails? And I heard you have a kid. Is it yours? Because I am not playing stepmom.” A man’s voice answered. It was a beautiful voice—low, quiet, and incredibly melodic. “I can give you my entire paycheck. I just need someone to play the role of a mother for Theo. Just until he’s a little older and doesn’t need that maternal figure as desperately. We can sign a prenuptial agreement. We can divorce after.” The woman scoffed loudly. “You want me to waste my best years for whatever pennies you scrape together? That wouldn’t even cover my shopping habit.” The sharp clack of her heels echoed as she stormed toward the exit. My curiosity was piqued. I stood up, walked around the partition, and looked at the source of that beautiful voice. When I saw him, I swear, my cold, corporate heart skipped a beat. An angel? 4 He was sitting in the booth, looking down at his hands. His hair fell effortlessly across his forehead, casting shadows over ridiculously long eyelashes. A straight nose, soft lips, and a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He was wearing a simple, inexpensive linen shirt, but it was immaculately pressed. Not a single wrinkle. Sensing my unapologetic stare, the young man looked up. His eyes were a stunning, translucent amber. They looked like they were catching the light from within. I didn’t hesitate. I slid directly into the seat across from him. “Jocelyn Pierce. Twenty-seven. High-level finance. What do you think of me?” He blinked, stunned, before the implication landed. A faint, gorgeous flush crept up his neck. “I’m Rowan,” he said, his voice dropping so low I had to lean in. “Rowan Gallagher. Twenty-two. And right now… I’m a delivery driver.” “Twenty-two?” I arched an eyebrow. “Fresh out of college?” He nodded. I tapped my manicured nails against the table, the gears in my head turning. A younger man. My friends always joked about the sheer, unbridled stamina of a man in his early twenties. I had spent my twenties ruthlessly climbing the corporate ladder; I had zero romantic history. But honestly? As long as he could run a house, I didn’t care if he was younger. “Can you clean?” I asked. “Can you do laundry? Cook?” Rowan looked utterly confused, but he slowly nodded. My heart soared. Was the universe actually handing me exactly what I wanted? But I remembered the horrible woman mentioning a child. I needed to clear that up. I don’t do messy entanglements or baby-mama drama. 5 “You have a child?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral. Rowan bit his lower lip. He nodded, then shook his head. “Is that a yes or a no?” “He’s not biologically mine,” Rowan said softly, his amber eyes dropping to the table. “He’s my sister’s. She and her husband… they passed away.” The profound grief in his voice hit me like a physical blow. God, I had just stomped right onto a landmine. “I’m so sorry.” “How old is the baby? You’re raising him on your own?” I asked, my curiosity softening into something closer to empathy. He nodded again. “He’s two.” Two years old. Past the newborn nightmare phase, able to communicate, peak cute-stage. Child acquired. Check. I leaned back, flashing him my most practiced, devastating smile, and ran a hand through my hair. “Would you be opposed to an older woman?” Rowan’s face went violently, beautifully red. I leaned forward, dropping into negotiation mode. “I’ll give you a five-thousand-dollar monthly cash allowance, with all household and living expenses on a separate card. All you have to do is manage the house and take care of the boy.” Rowan swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. “I… I couldn’t do that.” “Why not? Are you making five grand a month on a bike in the heat? You could make that from the comfort of a luxury apartment, without having to brave the weather.” He dropped his head, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “I’m… I’m not an escort. I don’t want a sugar mommy—” I burst out laughing, the sound ringing through the quiet café. “Who said anything about buying an escort? I’m legitimately looking for a hus—” I caught myself. The word wife had almost slipped out. “A husband,” I corrected smoothly. God, I really just wanted a wife. 6 At the word “husband,” the tips of Rowan’s ears turned crimson. I couldn’t help but tease him. “You were just pitching a marriage of convenience to that awful woman. Why so shy now?” He peeked up at me through his lashes, then quickly looked away. “It… it’s different. I was just trying to find Theo a mother figure. A contract marriage. But you…” He glanced at me again, the blush spreading to his pale cheeks. My god. Were all recent college grads this devastatingly sweet? Diane, having noticed my extended absence, trotted over to our booth, a customer-service smile plastered on her face. “Jocelyn! About that Diamond tier upgrade—” I waved a hand dismissively. “Cancel it. And don’t worry about refunding my initial fee.” The candidates she brought me were trash, but if she hadn’t set up the appointments, I wouldn’t have been in this café to find my angel. Consider the fee a finder’s tip. Diane’s smile froze when I canceled the upgrade, but the promise of keeping the non-refundable deposit thawed it quickly. She looked between me and Rowan. “Well… I wish you both a lifetime of happiness!” She practically sprinted away, probably terrified I’d ask for my money back. I turned my attention back to the boy across from me. “Let’s be absolutely clear,” I said, my tone shifting to purely professional. “You move into my place. You stay home full-time and raise the boy. Are you absolutely sure you can handle that?” Rowan looked into my eyes, held my gaze for a fraction of a second, then lowered his lashes and nodded. Gorgeous, domestic husband acquired. Check. 7 Looking at his flushed face, I decided the first order of business was a full medical workup. I needed a healthy partner. Since it was getting late, I took Rowan to a high-end restaurant nearby. After ordering, I noticed the seafood spread and added a plate of chilled jumbo shrimp. While we waited for the food, we laid out our histories. I learned that his parents had died when he was young, and his older sister had practically raised him. Shortly after he graduated college, his sister and brother-in-law were killed in a car accident, leaving him alone with a toddler. He was juggling food delivery gigs just to keep food in the baby’s mouth. Listening to him, my chest tightened. It felt like the universe had a sick sense of humor when it came to good people. I gave him the abbreviated version of my life: former Wall Street shark, currently a senior executive at a major financial firm. When the food arrived, it was plated like modern art. I did what any millennial woman would do—took aesthetic photos of every dish and posted them to my Instagram story. Almost immediately, my phone started buzzing with notifications from colleagues and friends. I absentmindedly fired off a few replies. Rowan sat perfectly still, waiting for me to finish. The longer I looked at him, the more pleased I felt. I picked up my fork and placed a piece of fish on his plate. “Don’t be polite. Eat.” “Thank you, Jocelyn,” he murmured, his face pinking again. I rested my chin on my hand, watching him. He ate the food I gave him, then cast a quick, hesitant glance at my long, manicured nails. Slowly, he put on a pair of plastic gloves from the table caddy and reached for the shrimp. He peeled them methodically. When he was done, a neat row of pristine, pink shrimp sat perfectly arranged on a small plate. He pushed the plate across the table toward me. The subtext was loud and clear. I couldn’t hide my smile. “For me?” He nodded, gesturing slightly toward my hands. “Your nails. I didn’t want you to ruin them.” Oh, wow. We weren’t even married yet, and I was already reaping the benefits of a wife. I didn’t hesitate. I speared a shrimp with my fork, dragged it through the cocktail sauce, and ate it. It tasted like absolute victory. 8 After lunch, I drove Rowan straight to a premier private clinic. He looked utterly bewildered. I kept my face blank, entirely composed. “Corporate life is stressful. I’m getting a routine physical to make sure I’m holding up. Figured you should get one too.” I quietly slipped a comprehensive reproductive and sexual health screening into his package and marked it as a priority. When he emerged from the examination rooms hours later, his face, ears, and neck were burning bright red. I pulled out my phone. “Give me your number. I’ll text you when the results come in.” He fumbled with his phone, clearly flustered, and we exchanged contacts. “Is there anywhere you want to go right now?” I asked. He shook his head, looking hesitant. Did I intimidate him that much? I sighed, softening my voice. “Rowan, just say what’s on your mind. We’re going to be family soon.” He looked at me, his amber eyes earnest. “Theo is the only family I have left. He has to live with me. But I promise, I won’t play favorites. I’ll take care of your children exactly the way I take care of Theo.” Wait. What? My kids? Looking at the absolute sincerity in his eyes, I was momentarily speechless. A laugh bubbled up in my throat. “My… children?” He bit his lip. “This morning… you said my job would be staying home and taking care of the kids…” The realization hit me. He thought I was a single mother hiring him to raise my secret offspring. “Oh my god.” I threw my head back and laughed until my ribs ached. When I finally caught my breath, I stepped into his space, went up on my tiptoes, and gently pinched his cheek. “I don’t have any kids, Rowan. When I said ‘take care of the child,’ I meant yours.” God, he was tall. Over six-two, easily. And his skin was incredibly soft. He stared down at me, looking even more profoundly confused. It was too cute. I pinched his cheek again. “I don’t plan on having biological children,” I explained softly. “You bringing Theo into the mix is perfect. It saves me the trouble of adopting. Your only job is to raise him well.” I grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward my Porsche. “Send me your address. Let’s go meet the kid.” 9 As we navigated toward his neighborhood, Rowan shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat. “The streets get really narrow up ahead. You won’t be able to park this.” I had to pull the Porsche to the curb a few blocks away. Stepping out into the neighborhood, I immediately understood his hesitation. It was… gritty. I felt an absurd flash of a savior complex—like I was Richard Gere in Pretty Woman, but with a much worse zip code. But looking at the beautiful, gentle man walking beside me, I firmly shut that thought down. A husband without a ring was just a boyfriend, and I wasn’t here to do charity; I was here to secure my future. We dodged overflowing dumpsters and stopped in front of a crumbling apartment building. My heels echoed sharply in the concrete stairwell, the sound grating on my nerves by the third flight. By the time we hit the sixth floor, I was genuinely out of breath. Rowan unlocked the door. The apartment was tiny—the entire place was probably smaller than my living room. But the moment I stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted. It was a classic two-bedroom, but it was incredibly warm. Spotless. Everything had its place. I glanced at the shoe rack, looking for guest slippers. Rowan noticed. “You don’t need to take off your shoes,” he said quickly. I stepped into the living room. The walls were decorated with inexpensive but beautifully composed prints. Toys were neatly corralled in a woven basket. I mentally checked another box. He really did know how to keep a house. “Where’s the baby?” I asked. “I left him with the neighbor across the hall when I went to the café. Let me go grab him.” He slipped out the door. I barely had time to take a sip of the water he’d poured me before he was back, carrying a toddler on his hip. I stood up and leaned in. Theo was soft and pale, with massive, dark eyes like polished obsidian. I let out an internal sigh of relief. He was a beautiful baby. Those big eyes stared at me with pure, unadulterated curiosity. He was so cute I had the sudden, violent urge to squish his cheeks. Breathe, Jocelyn, I told myself. Wait for the medical results. Once the ink on the marriage license is dry, this kid is officially yours. I had seen the baby. It was time to go. Rowan carried Theo downstairs to walk me to my car. Standing by the Porsche, I reached into my console, pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills I kept for emergencies, and tucked it into Theo’s little hands. “I didn’t have time to stop for a gift. Buy him some toys.” Rowan’s eyes widened in panic. “Jocelyn, no, I can’t take this.” He tried to hand it back, but I smoothly ducked into the driver’s seat. I liked spending money on my things. I rolled the window down halfway. “Wait for my text.” I pulled away without giving him a chance to argue. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I watched Rowan standing on the curb, holding the baby. The thought that soon, someone would be standing at the door seeing me off every morning… God, it felt amazing. 10 I walked into my three-thousand-square-foot penthouse. The silence was deafening. It was cold, vast, and utterly devoid of life. No one asking about my day. No hot shower running. No dinner on the stove. I sighed, dropping my keys on the counter. I thought of Rowan, and a spark of hope flared in my chest. Stay healthy, kid, I thought to the universe. I need a healthy wife. I looked around. My blazer was slung carelessly over the back of the sofa. A stained coffee mug sat on the glass coffee table. My shoes were kicked off in two entirely different time zones. I collapsed onto the sofa, wincing when the hardware of a forgotten handbag dug into my spine. I wanted to cry. I absolutely loathed housework. I used to employ a housekeeper, Martha. At first, she was great. But as she got comfortable, the matriarchal entitlement crept in. She started making passive-aggressive comments. Girls shouldn’t spend money so recklessly. It doesn’t matter how much a woman makes, she just needs a good husband. It’s such a waste for a single girl to live in a place this big. I tolerated it because she kept the house spotless and left me hot meals. Then, one evening, I came home to find a strange man sitting on my custom Italian leather sofa. Martha smiled proudly. “This is my nephew. He’s single. A woman your age, Jocelyn, if you don’t settle down soon, you’ll be stuck with divorced men. My nephew doesn’t mind that you’re a bit older. Older women know how to take care of a man.” I didn’t even yell. I just walked into my bedroom, called the agency, and had her removed from my property within the hour. After that, the parade of housekeepers all followed the same arc: they started fine, then eventually tried to mother me or critique my lifestyle. I was paying them a premium; why did I feel like I was hiring a mother-in-law? I stopped using full-time help, relying on a weekly cleaning service just to keep the place sanitary. Thinking about it exhausted me. I sat up and pulled up a delivery app to see what sad, lukewarm meal I was going to eat for dinner. 11 Monday morning. Business as usual. The moment I walked into the bullpen, Derek Larsen intercepted me, holding out a pink bakery box. “Jocelyn, try one of my wife’s homemade cupcakes. The VP already had two. Said they were fantastic.” Derek. My sworn nemesis. The firm was currently debating who would lead our newest, highest-stakes acquisition project—me or Derek. The mention of his wife’s domestic perfection was a calculated strike. I felt that familiar, ugly spike of jealousy. I took the box with a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Thanks, Derek. When I get the lead on the new project, I’ll be sure to treat you to dinner.” Derek’s smile stiffened. “Don’t count your chickens, Jocelyn.” The air between us practically crackled with hostility. I gave a dismissive little hum and walked past him. I didn’t have time to participate in a staring contest with a man who peaked in high school; I had pitch decks to review. Back in my office, my assistant, Chloe—wait, no, let’s call her Sarah. No, Sarah’s banned too. My assistant, Emily, walked in with a stack of folders. “Ms. Pierce, these need your signature.” I pointed to the edge of my desk. “Leave them.” I pushed the pink bakery box toward her. “Take this to the breakroom. Let the interns have it.” I wasn’t about to eat anything Derek Larsen handed me. I blazed through the documents, signing where needed, kicking back the ones with sloppy formatting. When I finally looked up at the clock, it was 10:55 AM. Two emails pinged in my inbox. The clinic results. I opened mine first. Perfect health. All those 5:00 AM Pilates classes were paying off. I opened Rowan’s. I scoured the PDF, checking every single metric, right down to the STI panel. He was in perfect, pristine health. A thrill shot through me. He was healthy. It was time to bring him home. My era of coming home to a hot meal and a warm house was officially beginning. 12 I FaceTimed Rowan. It rang for a long time before he finally answered. “Jocelyn?” I stared at the screen. He was wearing a bright neon delivery helmet, his face flushed and glistening with sweat. My chest tightened. “Are you out on a delivery right now?” He nodded, a bead of sweat rolling down his jawline. Oh my god. My internal monologue was screaming. It’s been one day and my beautiful angel is out here suffering in the trenches. “Where’s Theo?” Rowan angled the camera down. Theo was strapped into a makeshift child seat on the front of the electric bike. His little cheeks were flushed dark red from the heat, though his dark eyes were still bright. Silence hung between us. Two beautiful, miserable souls baking in the sun. “Drop your location,” I ordered. “I’m coming to get you. Find some shade.” God, I was getting soft in my old age. My maternal instinct was apparently highly susceptible to pretty faces. When I pulled the Porsche up to the GPS pin, the two of them were huddled under a meager tree, looking like a tragic Dickens illustration. I rolled down the window. “Get in.” Rowan hesitated, looking at his electric bike. “I can just ride behind you—” “Get in the car, Rowan. I’ll pay someone to come pick up the bike later.” He didn’t argue. He clutched Theo to his chest and slid into the leather passenger seat. We weren’t going to the courthouse looking like this. I threw the car into drive and headed straight for the nearest Ritz-Carlton. 13 I glanced over at him as we pulled into the valet line. “Do you have your ID on you?” Rowan looked up at the towering luxury hotel, his throat bobbing. “Is this… is this really okay?” I caught the deep, frantic blush rising up his neck and instantly realized what he was thinking. I barked a laugh. “What exactly is going through your head? I booked a room so you two can take a shower. We’re going to City Hall this afternoon to get married.” Rowan realized his mistake, and the blush violently overtook his entire face. He buried his chin into Theo’s hair, mortified. I couldn’t stop smiling. He was so incredibly pure. Up in the suite, Rowan disappeared into the marble bathroom to shower, leaving me alone with the toddler. We stared at each other. Theo was sitting on the plush carpet. I glanced toward the bathroom door, then reached out a finger and gently poked his soft, chubby cheek. Theo tilted his head, looking at me with profound confusion. God, he is so cute. I couldn’t help myself. I leaned in and planted a loud kiss right on his cheek. Theo’s eyes went wide as saucers, and he slapped his little hands over the spot I’d kissed. Even cuter. I scooped him up into my lap and peppered his face with kisses. I tried to soften my voice so I didn’t sound like a corporate shark about to eat a seal. “What’s your name, baby?” Theo went completely rigid in my arms, terrified to move. I sighed internally. Was my aura that intimidating? I was just about to put him down when a tiny, bird-like voice chirped against my collarbone. “Theo.” I looked down. He was peering up at me through his lashes. The moment we made eye contact, he shoved his face back into my chest. A shy kid? My heart completely melted. I hoisted him up so we were face to face. I looked into those massive, dark eyes, then buried my face in his neck and took a deep breath. He smelled like baby lotion and sunshine. 14 Right in the middle of my aggressive baby-snuggling, the bathroom door clicked open. Rowan stepped out. He was wearing the hotel’s plush, deep-V bathrobe, aggressively towel-drying his hair. Every step he took offered a distracting glimpse of a pale, heavily muscled chest. Damn it, I thought. Why is it only noon? I set Theo down on the sofa, stood up, and crossed the room. I reached out, grabbed the lapels of his robe, and yanked them firmly together—allowing my hands to linger just a second longer than necessary. He was definitely in shape. “Careful. Don’t catch a cold. We have important paperwork to sign this afternoon,” I said, trying desperately to sound authoritative. The sliver of exposed skin at his throat flushed pink. My eyes were having a field day. I looked up at his face. His cheeks were flushed from the steam, and his amber eyes looked wet and luminous. Who could possibly resist this? I couldn’t. I reached up, framed his face with my hands, and kissed him. Right on the lips. Forgive my lack of willpower. He was going to be my husband in three hours anyway; I was just taking an advance. Remembering there was a toddler in the room, I pulled back before I did something completely unhinged, like drag him into the king-sized bed. The doorbell rang. Room service had arrived, along with the bellhop carrying the clothes I’d had a concierge go out and buy. Rowan, his face practically glowing red, practically sprinted back into the bathroom to change. I set up Theo’s food on the coffee table. When Rowan emerged, the seductive bathrobe was gone, replaced by crisp dark denim and a perfectly fitted white button-down. He looked like the poster boy for ivy-league youth. I thought of Derek Larsen again. Derek liked to act like he was still a hotshot frat boy, but at thirty-five, it was just sad. A guy in his thirties pretending to be a kid is tragic; an actual twenty-two-year-old is a masterpiece. Thinking about Derek annoyed me, but looking back at my beautiful, young fiancé instantly fixed my mood. After lunch, we took an Uber straight to the courthouse. When the three of us walked out an hour later, it was official. We were a legally binding family unit. I had a wife. And a kid. Check and mate. 15 That afternoon, we moved their meager belongings from the rundown apartment into my penthouse. Rowan stood in the massive, echoing foyer, holding Theo, looking completely overwhelmed. I grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. “This is your home now. Don’t act like a guest.” Remembering our agreement, I pulled a sleek black debit card from my wallet and handed it to him. “Your five grand allowance will hit this on the first of every month.” Then I pulled out my Amex Platinum. “This is for the household. Groceries, clothes, whatever you need. Don’t check the price tags.” Rowan stared at the plastic like it was radioactive. I wanted to stay and ease him into it, but my phone started buzzing violently. The office. They were calling an emergency meeting. I had to go. A true mogul doesn’t let domestic bliss delay a hostile takeover. I patted Rowan’s shoulder. “Take the afternoon to get acquainted with the layout. I have to go secure the bag.” I arrived at the office just in time. The boardroom was packed. The agenda: deciding who would lead the $400 million merger project. The board openly analyzed Derek and me. “Derek’s home life is stable,” one VP noted. “He has no domestic distractions. He can dedicate one hundred percent of his mental bandwidth to the merger.” “But Jocelyn’s pedigree is flawless,” another countered. “Ivy League, Wall Street background. Her track record here is brutal but effective.” It came down to a vote. A dead tie. The CEO held the tiebreaker, and I could see his eyes drifting toward Derek. I cleared my throat, the sound cutting through the tension. “Richard. Give me the project. If I miss the Q3 targets, I will submit my resignation. You won’t even have to fire me. Does Derek want to match that wager?” The entire room pivoted to look at Derek. Derek’s face went rigid. Of course he couldn’t take that bet. His entire family survived on his paycheck; he couldn’t risk his mortgage on a game of corporate chicken. The CEO saw Derek’s hesitation. The energy shifted immediately. I got the project. Was I terrified of betting my job? A little. But a headhunter had offered me a VP role at a rival firm three days ago. I knew my worth. When you have a parachute, you can afford to jump. I took my core team out to a high-end steakhouse to celebrate the win. 16 Dinner transitioned into drinks at an upscale lounge. Fortunately, I inherited my father’s iron liver. I wouldn’t say I never got drunk, but I could put away neat scotch while my colleagues were slurring their words. I called a luxury town car to take me home. When I unlocked my front door, I genuinely thought the alcohol had hit me, because the glare coming off the hardwood floors nearly blinded me. I backed up and checked the unit number. Yes. My apartment. I stepped inside. The floors looked like glass. In the entryway closet, my scattered stilettos were meticulously aligned. My handbags were displayed on the upper shelves, organized by size and color gradient. I stood frozen in the foyer for a solid ten seconds, convinced I had broken into a model home. Before today, coming home meant stepping into a cold, chaotic void. Tonight, it was brilliantly lit, immaculate, and smelled faintly of expensive citrus and cedar. I swapped my heels for slippers and walked further in. The living room was transformed. The cashmere throw on the sofa was folded with military precision. The decorative pillows were arranged symmetrically. The towering stack of industry magazines th

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