Category: English

I came home early from a business trip, only to find a purple nightgown on my bed. Slinky. Sexy. Definitely not mine. I demanded my husband give me an explanation. Jake exploded, slapping me hard across the face. “You’re questioning me? I’ll kill you, you bitch!” His parents, Robert and Judy, glared at me with disgust. “How did Jake ever marry a woman like you? Get out of our house, now!” Stunned, my cheek burning, I stumbled away and called my parents, sobbing. “Jake cheated! I found a purple nightgown. I’m going to find its owner and take Jake for everything !” The line went quiet. Then, my always-doting father’s voice came through, icy and final.”Don’t you dare dig into this. Forget the purple nightgown, or you’re no longer part of this family.” I was heartbroken and utterly bewildered. Why did the mere mention of a purple nightgown turn everyone I knew into a stranger? Just who the hell was Jake’s mistress? A sharp, stinging heat bloomed across my cheek. Then, a wave of pure rage. Clutching my cheek, my voice trembled with white-hot fury. “You cheat. You lie. And now you raise your hand to me?” Jake’s face was cold. “You’re accusing me? Where’s your proof?” I snatched the sexy purple nightgown from the the sheets and flung it at him. “That’s my proof! I hate purple! I have never, ever worn anything like that in my life!” Jake merely glanced at it, and his expression instantly turned furious. “You bitch! You shouldn’t have touched that!” His body coiled, and he lunged. The noise finally crashed through the door. Robert and Judy burst in, their faces going slack with horror at the scene. Robert lunged forward, hauling Jake back by the shoulders. Judy threw herself between us, her body a shield in front of mine. “Jake, what are you doing?!” Judy’s voice was filled with absolute fury. I’d been married to Jake for three years, and they had always treated me like their own daughter. The tears I’d been choking on poured out in ragged sobs. Judy hugged me, constantly reassuring me. “Maya, don’t worry. We’ll make sure you get justice.” Robert also angrily declared, “You have one chance, Jake. Explain yourself. Or I will deal with you myself!” Jake looked at me with pure disgust. “This is all her fault.” I wiped my tears, my gaze locking onto Jake’s with pure hate. “You’re the one who cheated! And when I caught you, you hit me!” I picked up the purple nightgown and showed it to them. “This is the proof. That mistress left her clothes on our bed.If my flight hadn’t been moved up, I’d still be living in his lie.” Their eyes fell on the purple nightgown. And something in the air shattered. Judy violently shoved me to the floor. Her gentle demeanor vanished, and she pointed at me, screaming. “We must have been blind to let a scourge like you into our family!” Robert also loomed over me, his expression cold and utterly disgusted. “Jake, divorce Maya right now and get her out of here!” I was completely dumbfounded. Jake was the one who cheated, so how dare they treat me like this? It was clear their act as loving in-laws was just that-an act. Now their true colors were showing. My hands trembled with anger. “Fine, divorce then! I’ll make sure that scum, Jake, leaves with absolutely nothing!” Jake’s expression was dismissive. “We’ll see who leaves with nothing.” His parents also looked at me like I was a clown. Embarrassed, I clenched my fists. My phone suddenly rang. It was a FaceTime call from my mom. My parents, David and Brenda, were known everywhere as incredibly doting parents. They had loved me fiercely since I was little. If they knew Jake cheated and hit me, they’d be furious enough to come over and tear him apart. “Maya, are you and Jake coming over this weekend? Mom will make your favorite steak.” My eyes welled up, and tears began to fall again. “Mom, I’m divorcing Jake!” The next second, my dad snatched the phone, his voice anxious and furious. “Did Jake hurt you? Don’t cry, Maya! Dad will make things right!” I choked back tears. “Jake cheated and hit me, Dad, Mom. I have to divorce him.” A sudden silence fell on the other end of the video call. My dad’s expression instantly turned cold and distant. “No, you can’t divorce Jake!”

My breath hitched in my throat. “Jake cheated! I found a purple nightgown on his bed-” My mom quickly cut me off before I could finish. “Maybe that nightgown is yours, and you just forgot. You’ve always been so forgetful, buying clothes and never wearing them.” “Alright, Maya, let’s not talk about this anymore. Jake is so good to you, he couldn’t possibly cheat. Stop making a fuss.” Across from me, Jake and his parents looked at me with increasingly mocking eyes. I desperately tried to explain, “But you know I hate purple! That nightgown absolutely cannot be mine-” “Enough!” My mom, usually so gentle and who had never said a harsh word to me, suddenly erupted. “Have I not been clear enough?” Her eyes were sharp, brittle with disappointment. “ Stop talking about that nightgown!” I fell silent, the words dying in my throat.A sickening cocktail of panic, helplessness, and betrayal churned inside me. I could only watch as my dad forced a fawning smile, speaking in a somewhat servile tone to Jake and his parents. “Please, forgive Maya’s nonsense. Young couples… they fight. It’s their business. We shouldn’t meddle.” Robert and Judy scoffed imperiously. “‘Their business’? Our son was gracious enough to marry her. And this is her repayment? Threatening to take him for everything? The only problem here is your daughter’s shameless greed.” My dad repeatedly apologized. “We’re really sorry about that. Maya, apologize to your in-laws and Jake right now.” I snapped my head up, staring at them in disbelief. “You want me to apologize? Why should I apologize?!” Jake was clearly the one who cheated. It was bad enough that Robert and Judy were biased towards Jake, but why were my incredibly loving parents not standing up for me? Why were they forcing me to apologize to Jake’s family? They were the ones in the wrong! I was furious and heartbroken, my rage almost burning away my reason. On the other end of the phone, my mom’s face suddenly darkened. “Maya, be sensible. We are doing this for your own good. You’re just being paranoid and misunderstanding Jake. Apologize now.” I felt as if someone had choked me, my heart sinking straight to the bottom. I struggled to utter a few words. “I didn’t do anything wrong.” Both my mom and dad looked deeply disappointed, as if I had done something utterly outrageous. “We’ll come by this weekend to apologize properly. Maya is still young and impulsive. We ask for your understanding.” The video call ended, but I couldn’t snap out of it for a long time. Jake and his parents seemed to want nothing to do with me, slamming doors as they left. Judy even gave me a warning as she walked out. “Throw that nightgown away! If it’s still there when I get back, this divorce is happening, even if your parents beg us on their knees!” My chest felt tight with indignation and anger, so I called my best friend, Chloe. When she heard I was upset, she took time off work without a second thought to be with me. After I told her everything, Chloe was fuming. “Why aren’t your parents letting you divorce him? That scum, Jake, should absolutely be stripped of everything! Maya, I support you. You *have* to divorce him!” “By the way, how did you find out Jake was cheating?” I frowned, about to mention the purple nightgown, when my in-laws’ and parents’ strange reactions suddenly flashed through my mind. The words died in my throat. “Come on, tell me! Are you going to keep secrets from me too?” Meeting Chloe’s expectant gaze, I drew a shaky breath and began. “Because I found a purple nightgown on my bed.” Instantly, all the color drained from Chloe’s face.

Her eyes flickered, and her earlier righteous anger vanished without a trace. “Purple?” She forced an awkward laugh. “Could you be mistaken? Jake is a good husband; how could he possibly cheat? Hahaha, you must be joking with me, right?” I grabbed her shoulders, both angry and frustrated. “I’m not joking! Jake really cheated, how could I lie to you about something like this?” “Why won’t any of you believe me? I have to find out who Jake’s mistress is, and I *will* divorce him!” Chloe fell silent. After a long moment, she lowered her head and began to persuade me, her voice low. “Let it go, Maya. This nightgown might just be a misunderstanding. Live happily with Jake, and don’t investigate whose purple nightgown it is anymore.” I stared at her, stunned. Chloe was someone with zero tolerance for emotional betrayal. Just a month ago, her childhood sweetheart of ten years, Daniel, had flirted online with an influencer, and she broke up with him without a word when she found out. No matter how much Daniel knelt, apologized, and swore never to do it again, she refused to turn back. At the time, I even tried to reason with her. “It was just online flirting, Daniel didn’t actually cheat. You’ve been together for ten years and even discussed marriage. Are you really not going to give Daniel a single chance?” Chloe, though sad, had shaken her head firmly. “Emotional cheating is as disgusting as physical cheating, Maya. Don’t believe those tears and apologies from cheaters, it’s all an act.” But in just one short month, she was now urging me to pretend I didn’t know Jake had physically cheated and to continue living happily with him. I took a deep breath. “Why? Why does everyone’s attitude change so drastically when they hear about the purple nightgown? Do you know who Jake’s mistress is?” Chloe’s eyes darted around, looking even more guilty. “How would I know? But Maya, trust me, your parents and I are doing this for your own good. Can you please just drop this?” A hint of pleading even entered Chloe’s eyes. I brushed her hand away directly. “I misjudged you. Just leave.” Chloe looked like she wanted to say more, but eventually left, looking worried. I picked up the unfamiliar purple nightgown again, staring at it for a long time. My inner doubts grew stronger, gradually overwhelming my burgeoning anger. Whose purple nightgown was this? Why was everyone so tight-lipped about it? I made a firm decision in my heart: I had to personally find the owner of this purple nightgown. Then, I didn’t believe my parents would continue to oppose my divorce from Jake. While everyone was out, I immediately contacted someone to secretly install cameras in the house. And, using the excuse of a cold shoulder, I checked into a hotel, giving Jake space for his affair. That night, I lay in the hotel bed, opening the surveillance video on my phone. A woman in a sexy purple nightgown was intimately with Jake on my marital bed. My eyes instantly widened.

I tried my best to see the woman’s face, but Jake kept blocking her. I could only see that hateful shade of purple. But that was enough. With this surveillance video, Jake’s infidelity was undeniable. This weekend, I would throw this video in Jake’s and his parents’ faces. My anticipated weekend quickly arrived. Jake and my in-laws still glared at me. The three of them even put on an arrogant front when my parents arrived, sitting haughtily on the sofa, waiting for my parents’ “apology.” My parents came bearing expensive gifts. Though clearly embarrassed by the blatant humiliation, they forced smiles. “Everything before was Maya being foolish. We apologize on her behalf.” Seeing my parents’ humble demeanor, my eyes instantly welled up, and I pulled them both up. “I’m not wrong! Why should we apologize? Jake is the one at fault, they should be the ones apologizing to us!” As I spoke, I pulled out my phone and started playing the surveillance footage. “I have surveillance video here. Now can you believe that Jake cheated with the woman in the purple nightgown?” The video began to play, and suggestive moans echoed through the living room. Everyone in the room’s face changed drastically. I smirked at Jake, about to speak, when a sharp pain shot through my wrist. My phone was snatched and slammed to the ground. The screen instantly went black, and the moans stopped abruptly. Before I could even react, my dad suddenly raised his hand and slapped me hard. “Filming such a video, have you no shame?!” He stormed into the bedroom like a raging bull and smashed the camera I had installed to pieces. “Dad, why?” I clutched my cheek, filled with disbelief. My mom gripped my shoulders tightly, her eyes filled with disappointment and agonizing struggle. “Why didn’t you listen? Why did you insist on investigating that purple nightgown? Now look, our entire family will become a laughingstock because of you!” “You are not to investigate this any further! If you don’t repent, your dad and I will disown you!” In that moment, they both stood on the same side as Jake and his parents. The air solidified, and I felt like I was suffocating. My head throbbed with a thousand tiny needles. I bent down, picked up my phone from the floor, and stumbled out of that suffocating cage. After getting my phone restored, I discovered the truth. They’d installed not just one camera in the bedroom, but several. The harder they tried to stop me, the more I was determined to dig up the truth! I tapped open the surveillance video and immediately saw the woman in the purple nightgown on my bed. From that angle, her face remained unseen. I frantically fast forwarded, freezing the video the second her face came into view. I jammed pause and pinched to zoom. The woman’s face filled the screen. My pupils dilated violently the moment I recognized her. The woman in the purple nightgown.. was…

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The day before our wedding, my fiancé, Julian, threw my medical report in my face. “You filthy whore. You’ve got HIV. And you hid it from me!” “That’s impossible! There has to be a mistake!” I tried to explain, but he kicked me away, as if I carried a plague he desperately feared catching. After that, I spent three years in a psych ward. When I was finally released, news was everywhere: Julian was getting married. The bride smiling in his arms was Vanessa, the same woman who had done my medical exam three years ago. Vanessa’s triumphant smile blazed from my phone screen, a brand of pure victory. Her wedding dress was a replica of the one Julian had commissioned in Paris for me three years ago. He’d said only a woman as pure and talented as I was deserved something so uniquely white. I had never tried it on. The day before our wedding, a single sheet of paper declared me “HIV Positive.” The media exploded with headlines: “Brilliant Doctor’s Promiscuous Lifestyle Exposed: Diagnosed with HIV, Goes Mad, Attacks People!” “Billionaire Julian’s Fiancée Diagnosed with HIV!” … Even now, you could find photos online of me pinned to the hospital floor by security guards, my face covered in blood. Back then, all I’d wanted was to run to the lab and demand a new test. Instead, I was treated as a violent, rabid thing to be contained. My hands and feet were ice cold, my stomach cramping, making me want to throw up. It was ridiculous. Socially isolated, biologically impossible. In seven years with Julian, I had no vector for infection.. But for three years, I just told myself it was sample contamination or a misdiagnosis. Only now did it all click. There was no misdiagnosis. Vanessa had set me up. No wonder when I tried to get re-tested, Vanessa was the first to scream, claiming I was trying to infect her with HIV! She even twisted the knife in front of the media. “I’d seen Dr. Ava getting cozy with male patients before, and I warned her to uphold medical ethics.” Fist clenched, I thought of all the humiliation I’d endured. My phone vibrated suddenly in my palm. The screen lit up with an unfamiliar text. “Ava, I heard you’re out?” It was Julian. The man who once promised to protect me for life, only to deem me “dirty” and personally send me to a mental asylum. I didn’t reply. I just deleted the message. Outside, the wail of a siren pierced the air. Instinctively, I clutched my head, curling into a ball under the counter, trembling uncontrollably. It was a lingering gift from the psych ward. Even back in the light of day, that sound still triggered me like a terrified animal.

Three years ago, I was St. Jude Medical Center’s prodigy. A twenty-six-year-old attending physician, a candidate for a prestigious overseas fellowship, and engaged to a fiancé everyone envied. My fiancé, Julian, was the Dean’s son, the youngest star surgeon. We were the hospital’s golden couple, praised by everyone. As part of the pre-departure protocol, I underwent the standard battery of tests. The day the results came back, Vanessa, the head nurse, walked into my office. She didn’t offer it. Instead, she fixed me with a look I couldn’t decipher-a fleeting, performative pity drowning in a sea of cold, triumphant scorn. “Dr. Ava, your results… there’s a problem.” I smiled, taking the report. “What problem could there be? I’m perfectly healthy.” Until I saw that line of red text. HIV Antibody: Positive. I stared at the words. I knew them, but my brain couldn’t process their meaning. “This can’t be.” My hand shook, and the report fluttered to the floor. Julian pushed the door open just then. He bent down to pick it up, a smile still on his face. “What’s wrong? Not healthy enough to go abroad?” But when his eyes landed on that line of text, he recoiled three steps, as if burned. His face contorted with a horror and disgust I’d never seen before. The way he looked at me… it was like I was a pile of rotting garbage. “Julian, listen to me, this must be a misdiagnosis, I don’t have…” I instinctively reached out to grab his sleeve. “Don’t touch me!” He violently yanked his arm away, so hard I slammed into the corner of the table. All eyes in the vicinity turned to us. I watched him pull out a disinfectant wipe from his pocket, scrubbing at the spot on his sleeve I’d almost touched. Once, twice, three times. As if it had been contaminated by the filthiest thing on earth. “Julian!” I screamed his name, my voice cracking. He finally stopped, lifting his head. His handsome face was cold and resolute, a look I’d never seen. “Ava, our engagement is off.” “Effective today, you are no longer a member of St. Jude Medical Center’s medical team.” “The hospital’s reputation cannot be stained.” He signed my death warrant in front of everyone. I was kicked out of the hospital, utterly humiliated, like a whipped dog. I fled home like a coward, hoping to grasp my last hope. But my home didn’t want me either. I pushed the key into the lock, but it wouldn’t turn. My parents considered me a disgrace to the family name. They’d changed the locks overnight and tossed my luggage onto the street. No one listened to my explanations. No one believed me. That night, it poured. Homeless, I fell from grace into the mud. I developed a high fever, curled up in a cold alley, my consciousness fading. That’s when Vanessa appeared. She stood over me, holding an umbrella, dressed in a pristine white dress, looking down. “Dr. Ava, how pathetic.” Her lips said ‘pathetic,’ but her eyes glittered with malicious glee. She didn’t help me up. Instead, she took out her phone and snapped several photos of me. The next day, my story was all over the internet. Those photos, paired with sensational headlines like “Brilliant Doctor’s Promiscuous Lifestyle” and “STD Infection from Promiscuity,” nailed me to the pillar of shame. Every denial I made only became desperate, self-incriminating excuses. In despair, I thought of the most drastic way to prove my innocence. In front of everyone, I took a scalpel and deeply slashed my wrist. If my blood was clean, wouldn’t that prove my innocence? Blood stained the white coat Julian had given me. I thought death would clear my name. But Julian just stood there, coldly telling a nurse: “Clean up the blood. Don’t let it infect anyone.”

I didn’t die. I woke up encased in padded walls. No window. Just a single, heavy steel door. Julian had me committed to a psych ward. His reason: severe “persecutory delusions,” marked by “suicidal ideation and violent impulses. A forged diagnostic report was even more damaging than that HIV report. It stripped me of my last bit of agency as a normal person. Every morning at six, I was dragged out of bed. Ice-cold water was sprayed directly onto my face. They called it “physical cooling to eliminate viruses.” I’d huddle in a corner, teeth chattering from the cold. Julian never visited, but he sent boxes and boxes of antiviral drugs. They were HIV post-exposure prophylaxis (PEP). The side effects were brutal. He’d given a strict order: they had to watch me swallow them. Three times a day. The medication made me vomit violently, my hair falling out in clumps. I cried, I screamed, I begged them. “I’m not sick! I really don’t have it! Please, just one re-test!” My pleas, in the doctor’s notes, became another cold, impersonal line: “Patient’s condition is unstable, experiencing hallucinations, and resisting treatment.” Then came the electroshock therapy. As the current surged through my temples, my muscles spasmed uncontrollably. I started losing control of my bladder, drooling, convulsing like a true madwoman. But I still held onto a sliver of hope. I thought, Julian is a germaphobe so he’s just terrified. If only I could see him, if only I could explain… Three months later, Vanessa came. Through the thick glass of the visitation window, she showed me photos on her phone. They were her and Julian’s wedding photos. In the pictures, she wore the exclusive wedding dress I’d dreamed of countless times, smiling sweetly and triumphantly. “Ava, isn’t it beautiful?” “Julian said only someone clean in body and soul deserves to wear this dress.” “And you,” she gestured at my baggy patient gown, “deserve to rot in here.” I lunged at the glass like a madwoman, pounding it with all my might. “I’m not sick, it was a misdiagnosis! Vanessa, please, beg Julian to take me for a re-test!” Vanessa looked at me with pity, like I was a dying ant. “So what if it was a misdiagnosis?” “Ava, do you really think the truth matters?” “The whole world believes that report, and Julian only thinks you’re dirty. Do you think you have any chance of turning things around?” At that moment, I saw a familiar figure at the end of the hallway. Julian had arrived. I desperately pounded the glass, screaming his name. “Julian! Please, take me for a re-test! I’m really not sick!” Julian glanced at me from a distance. He frowned, then turned and walked away. Vanessa turned back to me, mouthing words: “He doesn’t want to see anything dirty.” In that moment, the light in my heart went out.

From that day on, I stopped fighting. I knew that here, being lucid was a crime. I wanted to survive. I stopped crying, stopped trying to explain. Whatever the orderlies told me to do, I did. When the doctors gave me medication, I swallowed it obediently. They all thought I had finally been “cured,” transformed into an obedient, soulless puppet. But they didn’t know. Every time I took my medication, I’d hide in a blind spot from the cameras, stick my fingers down my throat, and throw it all back up. To keep myself from going mad, I replayed surgical procedures in my mind, over and over again. Every incision, every stitch. I had to live. Live and walk out of this place. Then, I would uncover everything and clear my name. Three years. Over a thousand days and nights. I endured the withdrawal symptoms, the psychological torture. The hospital eventually declared me “stable, no longer aggressive.” I was finally “recovered” and discharged. No one came to pick me up on discharge day. I just thought I was unlucky, a victim of misdiagnosis and betrayal. … “Mommy!” A child’s innocent voice pulled me back to reality. Leo, with his little backpack, charged into the flower shop like a cannonball and hugged my leg. He was the son of a fellow patient I’d met in the psych ward. His mother had taken her own life, leaving him an orphan. I adopted him. Two people abandoned by the world, finding warmth together in this small flower shop. On a weekend, during the kindergarten’s parent-child event, Leo whispered excitedly in my ear, waiting for the activities to begin. The host’s voice rang out, full of enthusiasm: “And now, let’s give our warmest welcome to today’s special guest – St. Jude Medical Center’s youngest surgical authority, Dr. Julian, who will be giving a lecture on pediatric first aid!” Under the spotlight, Julian and Vanessa walked onto the stage hand-in-hand. Vanessa’s gaze swept through the crowd, and her eyes widened when she saw me. The next second, as if she’d spotted a monster, she deliberately raised her voice. “Oh, my… am I seeing things right?” She raised a perfectly manicured finger, pointing directly at me, her tone a masterful blend of false concern and pure malice. “Isn’t that… Dr. Ava? The one our hospital had to let go… after that whole nasty business with her lifestyle choices?” The entire auditorium fell silent instantly. Parents immediately pulled their children away, scurrying from Leo and me as if we carried a plague. Instinct took over. I pulled Leo firmly behind me, shielding him with my body. Julian also looked our way. When he saw Leo, his face instantly darkened, enough to drip ice. He strode over, directly blocking my path. “Whose kid is that?”

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My Judge Husband Favored His First Love, Only to Learn the Shocking Truth After My Death After my husband lost his memory, he fell for another woman. He saw me as nothing but a nuisance. As a judge, he even sentenced me to death with his own lips when his mistress framed me. “Avery Shaw, don’t blame me for being heartless. You refused to divorce me, insisted on clinging to me, and stood in the way of me and Serena being together.” Then, I really died. But my husband, his memory restored, went insane. I died in a cold prison cell, brutally tortured to death by the other inmates. My body was a wreck of broken bones and fractures, covered in so many bruises and bloodstains that there wasn’t an inch of unmarked skin left. Someone was trying to reach my husband, Gaylen Hayes, to inform him to collect my body. Over the phone, I heard his voice – mocking, filled with disgust: “Avery Shaw probably put you up to this, trying to trick me. That woman never changes, always scheming, even in prison.” “I sentenced her to death, yes, but it was suspended for two years. As long as she behaves well in prison, there’s still hope for a reduced sentence, maybe even life imprisonment, or getting out!” “I already gave her a chance, what more does she want from me?” “Tell Avery Shaw to stop bothering me!” Gaylen impatiently hung up. A bitter, humorless laugh escaped me. Why, even after I’d died, after I’d become a mere soul, did I still have to hear such cruel, heartless words? Gaylen himself had put me in here. Did he truly believe I’d ever see the light of day again? Didn’t he know I was specifically placed in a cell with a group of hardened, vicious inmates? It was as if they were acting on someone’s orders, subjecting me to unspeakable abuse every single day. For me, death wasn’t a punishment; it was a release. I found Gaylen in a high-end French restaurant. I had just died, yet he was enjoying a candlelit dinner with a charming, graceful woman. Lost in a haze of sweet affection, they were sharing intimate sips of red wine, their eyes locked in adoration. “This restaurant is excellent. You truly have good taste,” Gaylen praised softly, his face alight with tenderness. That scene made me recall the last time I took Gaylen out. He would always complain that my chosen restaurants weren’t elegant or stylish enough. Even when I meticulously picked places that perfectly matched his aesthetic and preferences, he’d still nitpick and find fault. “Avery Shaw, what kind of dump is this? The food is awful, and the service is terrible!” “Just like you – terrible!” Our meals always ended in arguments and resentment. Now, thinking back, it probably wasn’t the restaurant’s fault at all. The real issue was *who* he was dining with. The woman sitting opposite him was Serena Thorne, Gaylen’s new mistress. Serena thoughtfully cut Gaylen’s steak for him and even raised a silver fork to his lips. Gaylen happily opened his mouth and ate. “Gaylen,” Serena glanced at the watch on her wrist, then looked up, her gaze full of suggestive meaning, “Want to come over to my place tonight?” “Oh, I don’t think that’s appropriate.” Serena cajoled, “It doesn’t matter, she’s already… gone.” Gaylen’s face immediately darkened, and he scowled in disgust. “Don’t mention that nauseating name.” “You wouldn’t believe it, she even bribed the prison staff to lie and tell me to collect her body. All she wants is an excuse to see me.” “Hmph, don’t I know her? I have no idea where she gets the nerve to keep pestering me. She’s like a persistent leech, absolutely sickening.” Hearing that, my chest ached with a bitter pang, yet I still tried to console myself. *It’s okay.* Gaylen was just suffering from amnesia. He once loved me dearly.

When Gaylen first mentioned the prison, a flicker of unease, a hint of guilt, danced in Serena’s eyes. Gaylen didn’t notice. That very night, he brought Serena back to the home *we* once shared. As they entered, Gaylen opened the shoe cabinet and glanced at my pink slippers. Those were the matching slippers Gaylen and I bought together at the supermarket years ago. Mine were pink, his gray. The designs, when put together, formed a heart. Gaylen pulled out my slippers, and I expected him to offer them to Serena. But to my shock, he tossed them outside, an unconcealed look of disgust on his face. “Belongings of a criminal. They’re tainted.” I had thought that after death, I wouldn’t feel pain anymore. Yet, in that moment, a thousand tiny needles pricked my chest. He took his own gray slippers and handed them to Serena. “Let’s go to the supermarket tomorrow. We can buy two new pairs of slippers, and some other essentials. Everything in this house needs replacing.” I understood Gaylen’s implication. It wasn’t just the things in the house that needed replacing; the mistress of the house had already been replaced. Gaylen went to shower first, while Serena wandered through the house. Her warm smile had vanished, replaced by a cold, sneering expression. A contemptuous smirk played on her lips as she looked at the row of gold trophies displayed in the glass cabinet. I was a professional race car driver, a global champion. Each of those trophies was earned by risking my life, trading heartbeat for victory, racing on the edge of death. But Serena, without a blink, smiled and pushed the cabinet. With a sickening crash! The cabinet toppled, glass shattered everywhere, and the trophies broke in half. No—!! My phantom self screamed and lunged, wanting to stop her, but it was utterly futile. Hearing the commotion, Gaylen, wrapped in a towel after his shower, rushed out. He stared at the wreckage, momentarily stunned, then quickly walked over, his expression tense. A sliver of hope flickered within me. Gaylen knew how much those trophies meant to me. He had even been present at a few of my races, witnessing firsthand the danger and thrill of the sport, knowing how incredibly hard I fought to win those awards. More importantly, the first thing I did after winning a championship was to hold the trophy and propose to him! He had laughed so happily back then. Those were *our* most precious, shared memories. Would Gaylen show any displeasure? Even a simple word? Gaylen walked past me, his eyes seemingly only seeing Serena. “Oh my god, are you okay? What happened? Are you hurt?” He took Serena’s hand, examining her carefully, and still not satisfied, asked, “Should I take you to the hospital right now for a check-up?” My spirit sank, heavy with sorrow. Right. Gaylen had forgotten everything about me. He only remembered Serena. He would never remember me again. “I’m fine,” Serena said, feigning guilt. “I was just curious about these trophies and wanted to pick one up, but I accidentally knocked the cabinet over. I’m so sorry, Gaylen.” Gaylen shook his head. “You don’t need to apologize to me. They’re not my things anyway, they’re unimportant.” “Oh, I see.” How could Serena not know they were mine? My name was still engraved on the base of each trophy! But she acted innocent, and Gaylen didn’t suspect a thing. Serena continued to pretend remorse. “So they were hers. It’s all my fault for breaking her things.” “What if she’s unhappy when she gets out of prison?” Gaylen wouldn’t dream of blaming her. “Don’t worry about that scumbag, Avery Shaw.” “She was so jealous of our relationship, she drove and killed your patient and even tried to frame you. I must have been blind to ever be with her.” Serena was a therapist. Her patient, the so-called victim, had severe mental health issues and depressive tendencies. He was a vulnerable young patient abandoned by his parents, which was why Serena represented him in court.

She was also the sole eyewitness at the scene of the accident. This was why Gaylen, blatantly disregarding the law, was completely biased in her favor. Yet, everyone else thought Gaylen was upholding justice. It was bitterly ironic. I knew that after his amnesia, Gaylen utterly detested me, believing I had deceived him years ago. He had tried every possible means to force me to divorce him, wanting me to let him be with Serena. I never agreed to sign the divorce papers because I still held onto a sliver of hope. Maybe one day, he would regain his memory. But I never imagined Gaylen would go to such extremes for Serena! When I was accused of the crime, I explained countless times to Gaylen that I was innocent, that Serena was the real killer. All the evidence pointing to me was fabricated by Serena herself. Of course, Gaylen didn’t believe me. He threw a pre-drafted divorce agreement at me, sneering, “Avery Shaw, I warned you to let go, but you wouldn’t listen. You just had to stand in the way of me and Serena.” “Now look what you’ve done, committing such a disgusting act.” “Don’t worry, I won’t show you an ounce of mercy.” He was true to his word. In court, the moment Gaylen brought down the gavel, my heart turned to ash. The last words I left for him in this world were— “I accept the verdict.” I watched, helpless, as Gaylen deliberately stepped on my trophies, crushing them further. “Cars, cars, cars. All day, she obsessed over her worthless cars. It wasn’t enough that she ruined my life back then, now she’s even involved in a hit-and-run.” “Have Mrs. Davis clean up these broken pieces tomorrow.” He looked around, his eyes filled with profound disgust. “This house really needs a deep clean.” “Being married to a person like her is the greatest stain on my life, my eternal shame.” The next day, Mrs. Davis arrived with her team. Gaylen coldly instructed, “Throw away all the contaminated junk Avery Shaw left behind!” My clothes, my shoes, my used cups and towels… Everything I owned, he treated as trash. Until he found an old, yellowed journal in the study. Because it was with my things, he initially intended to throw it away too. His eyes inadvertently fell upon the name written on it – his own. Gaylen paused, picked up the journal, and hesitantly opened the first page. From outside the study, Serena’s voice called out, “Gaylen, aren’t you done yet?” “…I’ll be right there!” Hearing Serena’s impatient call, Gaylen didn’t bother to read further, casually tossing the journal back into the drawer. He had only taken a fleeting glance, not clearly seeing the content. After having all my belongings packed up and discarded, Gaylen and Serena went to the supermarket together. Like a newlywed couple, they began to furnish their home. Serena pushed the cart ahead. Gaylen walked beside her, his arm linked through hers. As they walked, he suddenly frowned. Perhaps, this scene felt strangely familiar to him. We used to be like this, walking hand-in-hand through the supermarket. I would always fill our cart with all his favorite foods. Then, Gaylen would lean in close, kiss me, and sweetly tease, “You’re so good to me, my love.” This supermarket was the closest to our neighborhood. Whenever we passed by after work, if we had time, we would always stop in. But after that accident, Gaylen no longer wanted to go grocery shopping with me. Serena turned around and saw Gaylen clutching his forehead, his face showing a hint of pain. She quickly asked, “Gaylen, what’s wrong?” “Nothing, I just suddenly thought of… that person.” Gaylen pursed his lips. “I wonder if she’s learned her lesson in prison.” “Never mind. Since she wants me to visit her so badly.” “If I ever have time, I might begrudgingly go for a conjugal visit. I’m not that heartless, you know.” The tone Gaylen used when he said that… It was as if he was granting me a great favor, his eyes and brow radiating self-satisfaction. I wondered if he’d still be smiling when that day came.

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My boyfriend was absolutely crazy about his cars, practically calling them his ‘wifey’. I respected his passion and rarely interfered. Until one day, I overheard him and his friends playing a twisted game of ‘sharing their prized possessions.’ On the huge screen in front of them, my most private videos were playing, a rotating loop of every angle, posture, and expression imaginable. His friend scoffed, “Ryan, Celeste’s shy little act was novel for a bit, but honestly, it’s getting stale.” Ryan just shrugged it off, a dismissive smirk on his face, clearly unbothered. “Just a girl, right? Nowhere near as thrilling as a sports car. Whatever.” But the moment Jake suggested he record some private footage of Tiffany, Ryan instantly snapped, throwing a punch. The private room was filled with my moans, and outside the door, my face went ghost-white. Ryan’s friend picked at his teeth with a toothpick, bored. “Dude, Celeste is so boring. It’s the same few positions over and over, like a plank of wood.” “Honestly, this ‘holier-than-thou’ act gets old fast. Even I couldn’t get it up watching this, which is saying something.” A chorus of derisive laughter filled the room, their contempt blatant. Ryan didn’t argue. He just grinned, utterly unbothered, not refuting a word they said. “Alright, alright, at least you got something to watch. Don’t say I’m not good to you guys. If it weren’t for this game, I wouldn’t even touch her. She’s just a plain-looking, ordinary girl, not even as exciting as my car.” His friend raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “You haven’t been ‘active’ in ages, yet you’ve got this hot bombshell always around. Aren’t you tempted? If you ask me, you and Tiffany should give it a shot. You could even record some videos and share some ‘perks’ with us guys, spice things up a bit!” Ryan, who had been so nonchalant moments before, suddenly stiffened when he heard Tiffany’s name. His face darkened like a storm cloud. He didn’t even think, just lunged forward and landed a punch square on his friend’s face. The force was so great that a tooth went flying. “Don’t you dare come up with anything twisted for our own friends! If I catch any of you with those disgusting thoughts again, don’t blame me when I lose it!” The other friends were startled and quickly tried to smooth things over. “Hey, calm down. They’re just girls, right? You weren’t even this mad when you shared your *own* girlfriend’s videos. He just mentioned it, no need to ruin our friendship.” Ryan shook his hand out, his voice laced with menace. “Are good friends and girlfriends the same thing? If you can’t even stick up for your own, what kind of friends are you? I’m warning you, when it comes to me, Tiffany ranks above all of you!” His friends immediately sobered up, nodding frantically and promising to behave. Ryan then reverted to his usual rogueish demeanor. “My girlfriend’s coming to pick me up soon. Shut those videos off, and don’t say anything stupid! She’s super innocent, she wouldn’t understand this kind of game.” I gasped for air, like I was drowning, tears streaming uncontrollably down my face. Even digging my nails into my palms until they bled couldn’t alleviate an ounce of the searing pain in my heart. I could only clutch my rapidly constricting chest, leaning on the wall as I stumbled away. Veins popped out on my neck, barely visible beneath my skin. The distinctive red mole at the corner of my eye, a symbol of my family, pulsed a deeper crimson. Ryan didn’t know I wasn’t some ordinary girl. I was born into a notorious family of troublemakers. Everyone in my family was drop-dead gorgeous, naturally born with a touch of darkness—cold, ruthless, and utterly insane. I was the only anomaly in the family, born sweet and gentle, with a delicate, understated beauty. My bloodline would only awaken under extreme stress or shock. My family, hoping I’d eventually embrace their nature, sent me out into the world from a young age to toughen me up. Ryan was the one I chose. He was famous for loving cars more than women. So, in a way, I deliberately put myself through this challenge. But after spending so much time with him, I genuinely fell in love. I even thought, maybe I wouldn’t go home. I could stay like this, with my current looks and identity, and be with him forever. But in the end, he broke my heart. I found that old, dusty phone number, my fingers trembling. “Julian, I’m coming home. Give me three days.”

Turning around, I saw Tiffany running towards Ryan, kicking his car. “Dork, you always have your get-togethers here and never invite me! I’m gonna find out what kind of trouble you’re brewing!” Ryan’s face changed. I thought he’d lash out at Tiffany for touching his car. But he just sighed. “Don’t take it out on my car, doesn’t your foot hurt?” “I didn’t deliberately exclude you. These are guy-only gatherings, stinky and not really your scene.” “Hmph.” Tiffany snorted. “I’m nothing like your little girlfriend!” “I have to punish this idiot!” Tiffany swung her bag, and its chain instantly scraped a line across Ryan’s car. She then planted her foot on his car, leaving two dirty black footprints, but that wasn’t enough. “What are you standing around for? Help your queen up! Today I’m going to stomp a bunch of footprints all over your car and post them as trophies on Ins!” Ryan, who would usually throw a fit if anyone so much as brushed against his car, only offered a helpless smile when faced with Tiffany’s unreasonable demands. He indulgently wrapped his hands around Tiffany’s waist, lifting her onto the hood of the car. He let Tiffany stomp countless footprints all over his car, then took photos with these “trophies” and posted them on Ins. In the comments, all their mutual friends were marveling. “Seriously, you’re probably the only person in the world who can touch his car!” “Totally! Anyone else would get their wrist broken! You’re clearly different, mighty queen!” Ryan jokingly called Tiffany “Childish!” Then he commented below: “It’s just a car; of course, she’s more important.” It was a stark contrast to his earlier “Just a girl, right? Nowhere near as thrilling as a sports car.” Tiffany gloated inwardly, but feigned annoyance. “Hey, idiot. Don’t you think my feet are too small? Not cool at all. What if people see these footprints and think they belong to some other girl?” To tease her, Ryan nodded. “They are a little small.” Tiffany slapped him on the forehead. “You moron, looking down on your queen, are you?!” A mischievous idea sparked in her mind. She pulled out her phone and started recording Ryan. “Repeat after me! My queen Tiffany’s size 6 feet are the cutest! My girlfriend Celeste’s size 8 feet are giant clown shoes!” Seeing Ryan hesitate, Tiffany got impatient. “What’s that look for? You don’t want to do a simple little punishment, huh? You idiot, you get a girlfriend and forget your queen!” Ryan, who was initially reluctant, immediately gave in. “Alright, alright, I’ll say it! I’d rather offend my incredibly understanding girlfriend than you, my little terror.” I watched them with cold eyes, waiting until they were done messing around before I finally appeared.

Seeing me, Ryan told Tiffany to get in the car first, and she just plopped herself into the passenger seat. I didn’t say anything, automatically reaching for the back door handle. My fingertips had barely touched the car door when Ryan, reacting instinctively, grabbed my arm and violently shoved me away. Caught off guard, I slammed into a utility pole, and a nail sticking out from it sliced a gash across my forehead, leaving a bloody trail. I remembered the first time we met. I had accidentally brushed against his car. He’d kicked me away, snapping, “Your hands are filthy! Never seen a car before? Don’t touch what’s not yours!” Later, when he pursued me, he sent me a month’s worth of flowers in a convoy of luxury cars to win me over. He even promised to change his habit of reacting aggressively whenever anyone touched his car and to always put me first. But a year had passed, and he hadn’t changed. I thought he treated everyone the same. Turns out, Tiffany was the special one, the exception. And I? I was nothing. Still just an outsider who couldn’t even get close to his car. I pressed my hand against my bleeding forehead, bowing to him in apology. Ryan froze for a second, then realized he’d gone too far and looked flustered. “I’m sorry, I overreacted. You know I’m a car freak, I can’t control myself. Please don’t be mad at me.” “I’ll take you to the hospital first. You’ve been scratched by a nail, you need a tetanus shot.” I nodded, assuming that out of guilt, he’d finally let me ride in his car. But to my surprise, as I took a step forward, he stopped me. He led me to the trunk, where a pink scooter was conspicuously parked. “You know my car is for racing, not for passengers. So I bought you a scooter. Look, all the decorations are things you like, and I personally stuck on all the little ribbons.” “From now on, you can ride your scooter behind my car, and I’ll clear the way for you on your commute to work.” A blissful smile, imagining our future, spread across Ryan’s face. My heart, however, was colder than ice. So, he still thought we had a future. But I didn’t want one anymore. I glanced at Tiffany in the passenger seat, who was watching the show, and a bitter taste filled my mouth. Ryan noticed my expression and actually started to explain himself. “Don’t misunderstand. Tiffany is different from you; she’s been clumsy since she was little, can’t even navigate a straight line. I don’t trust her to go home alone, so I can only inconvenience myself and take her.” Normally, I would have swallowed my hurt and just complied. But today, a surge of uncontrollable fury suddenly ignited within me. I struggled to suppress the impulse to smash his car, speaking mechanically. “No, thanks. My wound hurts, I don’t have the strength to ride. You take her home, I’ll take the subway.” To my surprise, Ryan actually nodded, perfectly at ease. “Alright, I’d actually feel better if you took the subway. It’s too late for Tiffany to go home alone, so I’ll drop her off first.” I watched him drive off with a roar, my heart still aching. He was worried about Tiffany going home late, but perfectly fine with me taking the subway alone late at night? I gave a self-deprecating laugh, collapsing weakly to the ground. A luxury car pulled up beside me, and a cold, unfeeling voice came from inside. “Get in.” I sat in the passenger seat, a little flustered. “Julian, why are you here? I said three days.” My family, though outwardly cold, was fiercely loyal to its own. As long as I was one of them, they would protect me unconditionally. “Mom and Dad are very pleased you’re coming home. You said your bloodline was awakening, yet you’re crying by the roadside because of some nobody?” I rubbed the distinctive red mole beneath my eye. “Almost. I feel like my temper’s starting to fray. Next time, I might just smash his car to pieces. Our family can afford to replace it anyway.” Julian rarely showed emotion, but a slight curve touched his lips. “Good. And,” he added after a moment, “I’ll fund your car-smashing spree. Take as many as you want.”

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Seven years after I vanished, my brother found me. Not through some private investigator, but on the organ donor registry. “Where is this person?” He asked the nurse. “On the 12th floor, in the palliative care ward. She’s scheduled for surgery tomorrow.” His face a thundercloud, he stormed upstairs and burst into my room. “Aurora!” I looked up at him and smiled calmly. “You must have the wrong person, Adrian. My name is Serena, not Aurora.” He walked closer to the bed, his voice stiff. “Come home with me. Apologize to Willow, and I’ll get you the best doctors money can buy…” “No need. I haven’t done anything wrong, and I don’t need to apologize to anyone.” I didn’t even lift my head, signing the last letter on the donation agreement. After a long, chilling silence, he sneered, “Quite the act. Seven years, and you’re still playing the innocent victim.” “You’re sick? What’s wrong? Why are you having surgery?” I chuckled. “Late-stage glioblastoma. Not long now.” “Might as well give my organs away. Better use for them than just decaying underground, right? At least I can save a few people.” Adrian’s face flickered, but quickly reverted to cold indifference. “Cut the crap. You think I’m going to fall for your pathetic act?” He swept his gaze across the sparsely furnished room, his tone mocking. “Things not going so well for you out here all these years? If you hadn’t pulled those stunts back then, you wouldn’t be in this mess.” I looked down at my emaciated hands, saying nothing. “Aurora…” He suddenly called my name, a flicker of struggle in his voice. “Are you really… that sick?” I looked up at him, my eyes terrifyingly calm. “Does it concern you, Adrian?” “I’m your brother!” “Your sister… she died seven years ago.” His face turned ashen, staring intently at me. “You hate me that much? What happened back then, Aurora, wasn’t it your own fault—” “Enough,” I cut him off. “Adrian, you’re not here just to taunt me, are you? If there’s something you need, just say it.” He opened his mouth, but found himself speechless. “Let me guess,” I said slowly. “Does she… need *another* liver?” Adrian didn’t answer. But his evasive gaze said it all. I leaned against the headboard and let out a light laugh. “So that’s it.” “Seven years, and she finally remembers she has a sister.” “So you’re here today, on her behalf, to demand my liver?” “Not ‘demand,’” he corrected. “It’s your duty. You volunteered your liver back then. Now Willow needs another, and you’re still her sister. It’s your responsibility.” I leaned against the headboard, finding it all utterly absurd. “Adrian, seven years ago, when you threw me out of the house, why didn’t you mention I was her sister then?” “You deserved it!” His voice suddenly rose. “If you hadn’t done all those malicious things back then, if you hadn’t framed Willow, why would I have kicked you out? You’re still lying. Still playing the innocent victim.” I closed my eyes, my heart turned to ash. He never doubted her, it seemed. He always believed I was in the wrong. “Just leave,” I said wearily. “I need to rest.” “Aurora!” He roughly grabbed my shoulder. “You listen to me! Willow needs your liver!” I opened my eyes and looked at him calmly. “Then let her wait for a donor,” I said, my voice flat. “Because my organs? They’re already pledged to strangers.” “You—” He was trembling with rage. “You’re truly that heartless?! Willow saved my life back then! Without her, the Sutton name wouldn’t be where it is today! And you, you ungrateful wretch!” I said nothing, simply turning my head to look out the window. “Aurora, I’m making myself clear today,” he released me, his voice icy. “If you don’t save Willow, I swear I won’t let you die so easily.” “I will use every resource the Sutton family has to treat you, to keep you alive. Living a life worse than death itself.” I listened to his threats, my heart utterly calm. “Whatever.” He gave me a deep look, then turned and left. The door slammed shut behind him. I lay on the hospital bed, tears silently streaming down my face.

My mind drifted back fourteen years. I was thirteen then, Adrian twenty-one. Our parents died in a car accident, leaving behind our sprawling estate and a horde of relatives hungry for the family fortune. Back then, Adrian was like a wolf protecting its cub. He kept me safe behind him, shouldering everything by himself. At the funeral, a drunk relative pointed at me and cursed. “You little menace! If it wasn’t for you, your parents wouldn’t be dead!” Adrian punched him, sending blood spurting across his face. “Anyone who dares lay a finger on my sister, I’ll make them wish they were never born.” That night, he held me as I sobbed, repeating over and over. “Don’t be scared, I’m here.” “I’ll protect you my whole life, Aurora.” I believed him. I thought we would always be like that, dependent on each other. But everything changed when my half-sister, Willow, came into our lives. She wasn’t well, so Adrian gave her *my* room, claiming it had the best sunlight. She didn’t like the food our housekeeper made, so Adrian took her out to eat every single day. She was scared to sleep alone, so Adrian would stay in her room until she drifted off. A month before I was supposed to start college, Willow was diagnosed with a rare liver disease, her life hanging by a thread. Adrian went frantic. He took her to the best hospitals across the country, sought out every specialist. Finally, the doctors gave them two options. Wait for a donor liver, or a living donor transplant. Waiting for a donor could take one or two years, time she didn’t have. A living donor transplant required a blood-type-matched direct relative. And in the entire Sutton family, only she and I had compatible blood types. Adrian came to talk to me when I was doing my final revisions for my college entrance exams. “Aurora,” his voice was gentler than it had been in years. “You know about Willow, right?” I didn’t respond. “The doctors say your liver has the highest chance of a match.” I turned a page in my textbook. “Aurora, she’s going to die.” His voice trembled slightly. “Please, I’m begging you, save her.” I finally looked up at him. “Adrian, do you remember what you were doing the last time *I* was sick?” He froze. “I had a fever of one hundred and four degrees Fahrenheit, lay alone in my room for two days, and no one checked on me.” “And you? You were out shopping with Willow. Because she said she was in a bad mood.” He opened his mouth. “Aurora, I was wrong that time…” “And,” I cut him off. “Do you remember that time I was pushed down the stairs?” “I told you Willow did it, and what did you say? You said I wasn’t watching where I was going, trying to pin the blame on poor Willow.” His face went pale. “Aurora…” “Adrian, you want me to save her?” I stood up, facing him. “Fine.” “But after this, we’re done. Our slate is clean. I’m no longer a Sutton, and you’re no longer my brother!”

He flinched. “What did you say?” “I said, I’m willing to donate my liver to her.” “But after the surgery, I’m leaving the Sutton estate.” “You can all pretend I’m dead.” He was silent for a long time. Finally, he nodded. On the day of the surgery, I was wheeled into the operating room. Before I went in, I saw Adrian standing at the doorway. His lips trembled, as if he wanted to say something. But ultimately, he said nothing. The surgery was a success. Willow lived. I, however, lost a third of my liver and never returned to the Sutton estate. That afternoon, Adrian came again. This time, Willow was with him. Seven years had passed, and she had grown even more beautiful, her dark eyes still sparkling. Adrian sat by the bed. “Aurora, Willow came to see you.” “Sister,” Willow walked closer, her eyes red. “I heard you were sick, I was so worried…” “Cut the act,” I interrupted. “It’s just the three of us. Who are you performing for?” Willow’s face went white, tears spilling from her eyes. “Sister, why do you hate me so much? What happened back then wasn’t my fault…” “Not your fault?” I scoffed. “Willow, you hacked into my SnapChat account to trash-talk yourself in the class group, wasn’t that you? You peeked at my test papers, wasn’t that you? You pushed me down the stairs, wasn’t that you?” “Enough!” Adrian suddenly stood up. “Aurora, it’s been seven years, and you’re still spreading those lies!” “All the evidence back then proved it was *your* doing! How long are you going to keep slandering Willow?!” “Just because you were jealous that Willow was better than you, just because you couldn’t stand her, that’s why you concocted all these lies!” Every word was like a knife twisting in my heart. “Adrian, are you truly so certain that I’m the one lying?” “And aren’t you?” he said coldly. “Everyone at school, teachers and students, saw what you did back then. You were always bullying Willow, always jealous of her!” I closed my eyes, not wanting to argue anymore. It was useless. He never believed me. “Sister,” Willow walked over and took my hand. “I know you hate me. But Adrian said you’re sick, and I’m truly upset about it…” “If you need money for treatment, I can give you all my savings…” I yanked my hand away from her. “Willow, cut out your games!” I looked at Adrian. “Alright, I know what you both want. But no. I won’t donate my liver to her.” “I’d rather give it to a stranger than save her again.” Adrian’s face turned livid. “Aurora, you’re really that heartless?!” “Yes, I am that heartless,” I looked at him. “Seven years ago I gave her a third of my liver, and what did I get in return? You kicked me out of our home!” “And now you come back for me, on what grounds?!” “You deserved it!” “Fine, good,” I nodded. “Then my not saving her now, she deserves it too.” “After all, I’m a cruel woman.” Adrian was shaking with fury. He suddenly grabbed my collar. “Aurora, don’t push me!” “What do you want to do?” I met his gaze. “Hit me? Or kill me?” “I’m dying anyway, so feel free.” His hand trembled. After a moment, he released me, taking a deep breath. “Aurora, I’m asking you one last time. Are you going to save Willow?” “No.” “Fine, good,” he sneered. “Then don’t blame me for what happens next.” He took out his phone and dialed a number. “Execute it. Just like I told you.”

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On my eighteenth birthday, I was kicked out of the Davies mansion. The true heiress, Tiffany, smugly watched me, her arm linked with the parents who once showered me with affection. Mrs. Davies scoffed, “Stella, the DNA results are in. You’re Maria, the nanny’s, daughter. Tiffany’s back now, so get lost. You make me sick.” I stood at the villa gates, soaked to the bone. Tiffany ripped off my jacket, a cruel smile playing on her lips as her fingernail dragged across my cheek. “Fake is fake, always will be. I’d rather shred this jacket and use it as bedding for a stray dog than let you wear it.” Right after I was thrown out, Maria, the nanny, casually took off her apron, got into a luxury car, and drove up to me. “Sweetie, don’t you dare be sad! The business empire I built? It’s all yours now!” The surrounding guests burst into laughter, but I turned my head to a corner. There, crouched low, was a middle-aged woman in a filthy apron, her hair matted with grease. That was my biological mother, Maria, the Davies’ lowest-ranking housekeeper. She’d worked for the Davies family for twenty years, notorious for her greed, crude manners, and constant scheming. At this very moment, she was clinging desperately to Mr. Davies’ leg, weeping hysterically, snot and tears streaming down her face. “Sir! Ma’am! You can kick this good-for-nothing out, but why fire me too?!” “I haven’t even gotten this month’s pay! And what about the five bucks overtime from last month, for washing her undies?!” “You can’t be this heartless! Twenty years, even if I didn’t contribute, I put in the hard work!” Mr. Davies shoved her away with a disgusted kick. “Get lost! Take your bastard with you! Or I’ll unleash the dogs!” Maria was sent sprawling, tumbling twice on the ground like a greasy bowling ball. Watching this, my heart felt utterly dead. This was my biological mother. During my twenty years as Miss Davies, she never once gave me a kind look. Whenever no one was watching, she’d viciously pinch my arm. She chopped off my beloved long hair and forced me into boyish shorts. I wanted to learn piano, but she’d secretly scatter thumbtacks on the keys, forcing me instead into grueling financial calculations. I dreamt of dancing, but she’d beat my legs with a feather duster, pushing me to learn combat from a retired security guard. I always thought she was jealous of my good fortune, trying to ruin me. Now that I was tossed out, all she cared about was a few measly bucks of overtime pay. A tidal wave of shame washed over me. I walked over and forcefully pulled Maria up from her pathetic display on the ground. “Stop begging! Can’t you leave me some dignity?!” Maria wiped the snot from her face, then slapped me across the cheek. “Dignity?! What good is dignity?! Can it buy food?! That’s three hundred bucks! Enough for how many loaves of bread?!” I covered my face, tears mingling with the rain streaming down. Tiffany stood on the steps, a triumphant smirk plastered across her face. “Oh, what a show! Like dogs fighting over scraps, tearing each other to pieces.” “Maria, take your useless daughter and get out! Don’t you dare dirty our property!” The security guards roughly shoved us, tossing us out of the ornate iron gates like garbage. The heavy gate slammed shut. It sealed off the glittering party lights, and with it, twenty years of my life. I collapsed into the muddy puddle by the roadside, sobbing uncontrollably. I hated the Davies family’s cold cruelty, but I hated Maria’s humiliation even more. My future felt pitch black, like my life was utterly over. Maria was still pounding on the iron gate, cursing incessantly. “Mr. Davies, you bastard!” I yelled at her, “Stop cursing! Haven’t you embarrassed us enough?!” Maria stopped. She turned, looking at me. The rain was still falling, but I noticed her eyes had changed. It was a gaze I’d never seen before—deep, icy, and full of mocking amusement. Slowly, deliberately, she straightened her perpetually hunched back. Her meek, submissive demeanor vanished in an instant. She reached out, tore off her filthy apron, and casually tossed it into a nearby trash can. Then, she ran a hand through her rain-matted hair, a scornful smile playing on her lips. “Alright, stop bawling. There’s a three-hundred-billion-dollar empire waiting for you to inherit. What’s there to cry about?”

I froze, even forgetting how to cry. Rainwater dripped from my chin. I wondered if I’d misheard, or if grief had conjured some auditory hallucination. “What did you say?” I asked foolishly. Maria shot a disgusted glance at the brightly lit mansion, then spat. “I said, this wretched Davies place? Too small, too stingy. I was sick of it ages ago.” From the inner pocket of her shabby cotton jacket, she pulled out a sleek walkie-talkie. Her movements were practiced, her tone cold. “Jenkins, bring the cars around.” I hadn’t even registered who Jenkins was. Eight black Maybachs materialized from the rain-swept darkness, gliding silently like specters before us. In the center was an extended Rolls-Royce Phantom, its pure silver Spirit of Ecstasy gleaming with an icy cold light in the rainy night. The car doors opened. A dozen burly men in black suits and white gloves poured out, moving with chilling precision. They lined up in two perfect rows in the mud, bowing at a sharp ninety degrees. Their voices, loud and resonant, sliced through the rainy night. “Miss Stella! Please, enter the vehicle!” The sheer display of power made me stumble back, nearly tripping into a mud puddle. A hand steadied me. It was Maria. Her hand, though rough, was now firm and full of an undeniable power. The brawling shrew who’d thrown herself on the ground for three hundred bucks? Gone. In her place stood a queen, her aura so commanding it was impossible to meet her gaze. An elderly, silver-haired butler approached, holding a black umbrella, respectfully offering Maria a trench coat. Maria slipped on the trench coat, her presence absolutely dominating the scene. She looked at me, wide-eyed and dumbfounded, and flashed a brilliant white smile. “Sweetie, let me properly reintroduce myself.” “I am Maria, founder of Stellar Capital, and, as the rumors go… the richest person in the world.” My mind exploded with a deafening roar. Stellar Capital? The enigmatic conglomerate that controlled half the world’s shipping and wielded unparalleled power in global finance? I stammered, “You… you were a nanny, right? Just now, you were begging for five bucks overtime…” Maria rolled her eyes, pulling me into the Rolls-Royce. Inside, it was warm as spring, the leather seats exuding a subtle, luxurious scent. The butler offered warm towels and ginger tea. Maria crossed her legs, took a wine glass, and swirled the ruby liquid within. “That was my persona, got it?” “If I didn’t play the part perfectly, how could I have infiltrated the Davies family’s den of vipers for two decades?” “As for those five bucks…” She let out a cold laugh, taking a sip of wine. “Mr. Davies owes me that. Forget five bucks; even a single cent, he’d have to cough up.” I held the ginger tea, feeling like I was dreaming. “Mom… what exactly is going on?” Maria glanced at me, her gaze finally softening slightly. From her limited-edition Hermes bag, she pulled out a black card and tossed it into my lap. “There’s twenty billion in here. Consider it pocket money from your mom. Go buy yourself something nice, calm your nerves.” Twenty billion? Pocket money? The three-hundred-dollar pay stub was still swirling in my mind. “The Davies kicking you out? That’s the biggest mistake they’ll ever make.” “They thought you were some unwanted bastard.” “Little did they know, their precious Tiffany? She’s not even fit to tie your shoes.” Maria reached out, gently touching the scratches Tiffany had left on my face. A flash of pure murder flickered in her eyes. “Does it hurt?” I instinctively nodded, then shook my head. “Mom, why were you a nanny at the Davies’? And why… why were you so incredibly mean to me?” This was the knot in my heart, the biggest question. If she was so rich, why did she let me suffer for twenty years? Why cut my hair? Why force me to learn things I hated? Maria sighed, looking out at the rainy night. “Sweetie, I was saving your life.” “Mr. Davies is a monster. He’s the one who killed your father, Arthur, all those years ago.” “If I hadn’t played the fool, if I hadn’t forged you into an unbreakable warrior, we’d both be dead in that basement right now.” “As for everything I forced you to learn…” She turned, her gaze burning into mine. “Starting tomorrow, you’ll realize every single thing I pushed you to learn? They were all weapons, sharpened just for you to take over this empire.”

The motorcade swept into Stellar Tower’s private underground vault. A private elevator whisked us straight to the top-floor penthouse, overlooking the city lights. I stood at the huge picture window. Beneath my feet lay a Persian rug, and in my hand, I still clutched that twenty-billion-dollar black card. The reality of it all was utterly dizzying. Maria had already changed into a sleek, casual outfit. She tossed a file onto my lap. “This is Stellar Group’s share transfer agreement. Just sign it, and tomorrow, you’re the Chairwoman.” I was so startled my hand shook. “Mom, I don’t know how to run a company! I’m only a sophomore!” Maria lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag. “Who said you couldn’t?” “Third grade, all those ‘boring numbers’ I made you memorize? They were actually real stock market charts from back then.” “In middle school, I sent you to the farmer’s market to haggle prices for me. That was teaching you business negotiation and psychological warfare.” “And all those complex accounts I made you balance in high school? That was the group’s foundational financial logic.” “As for the combat skills that retired security guard taught you…” She blew a smoke ring, her eyes sharp as blades. “The business world is a battlefield. Sometimes, fists speak louder than words.” I froze. My memories flashed back in a frantic rush. As a child, I cried, wanting to play the piano, but she’d cut me off with a slap: “What are you doing playing a tune?! Focus on these ledgers! No food until you get them right!” I felt wronged, I hated her. I thought it was abuse. Turns out, she was leveling me up. “And Tiffany, from the Davies family? What did she learn? Flower arranging, tea ceremonies, etiquette, piano.” Maria scoffed dismissively, “That’s how you raise a golden cage canary, meant to be married off for a good price.” “But I raised you to be an eagle, soaring through the heavens. I raised you to devour.” I looked at my hands. My fingers had thin calluses, souvenirs from combat training. In my mind, those financial models that once tortured me were now crystal clear. A strange sensation washed over me. Was I… actually a maxed-out character? “Tomorrow, Mr. Davies will come begging Stellar Group for financing.” Maria stamped out her cigarette and stood up. “The Davies’ funds have dried up. Tiffany, the fake heiress, only came back to bring in capital herself.” “Too bad her connections didn’t care for a family on the brink of bankruptcy. Stellar Group is their only lifeline.” Maria walked over to me and adjusted my collar. “Sweetie, tomorrow you’ll be sitting in the Chairwoman’s seat.” “Let them see who the ‘bastard’ they threw out really is.” That night, I didn’t sleep a wink. Not from excitement, but from the boiling revenge coursing through my veins. I remembered Tiffany’s sneering face as she ripped my clothes. I remembered Mr. Davies’ disgusted kick. I remembered how, for twenty years, I’d acted like a foolish people-pleaser, begging for a shred of affection that never truly existed. Since you showed no mercy, don’t expect any from me. The next morning. I donned the bespoke suit Maria had prepared for me. Its sharp cut exuded an intimidating aura. Looking at myself in the mirror, the timid, uncertain Stella was gone. In her place stood the new helmswoman of Stellar Group. Maria didn’t come to the office with me; she said she had ‘private matters to attend to,’ but I knew she was gathering evidence from all those years ago. I arrived at the company in the Rolls-Royce. Two rows of executives were already waiting. “Good morning, Stella!” Their voices boomed. I took a deep breath, strode on my heels, and entered through the revolving doors. The receptionist stared for a moment, then immediately lowered her gaze. “Stella, Mr. Davies and Miss Tiffany from Davies Group have been waiting in the conference room for an hour.” A cold smirk played on my lips. “Let them wait. Turn the AC down ten degrees. And no one gives them a drop of water without my permission.” The receptionist’s eyes widened, and she immediately responded, “Yes, ma’am!”

In the conference room. Mr. Davies paced nervously, his forehead beaded with cold sweat. Tiffany, meanwhile, impatiently touched up her makeup, grumbling incessantly. “Dad, the boss of Stellar Group has way too much nerve, doesn’t she? Making us wait this long!” “This miserable conference room is freezing! They won’t even offer water? What kind of service is that?!” Mrs. Davies was fanning herself beside them. “Exactly! Tiffany is a delicate flower; what if she catches a cold?” “Once we get the financing, we’ll teach this arrogant company a lesson it won’t forget!” From behind the one-way glass, I coldly observed the grotesque display of this pathetic trio. Yesterday, they’d been so high and mighty, kicking me out. Today, they were here, practically wagging their tails like stray dogs, begging for scraps. “Mr. Davies, long time no see.” I pushed the door open and strode in. My secretary swiftly pulled out the chair at the head of the table. I settled into the chair calmly, my fingers interlocked on the tabletop. The conference room instantly fell silent; you could have heard a pin drop. Mr. Davies’ eyes bulged, almost popping out of his skull. Mrs. Davies’ fan clattered to the floor. Tiffany, as if seeing a ghost, shrieked, pointing at me: “Stella?! What are YOU doing here?!” “Are you here to clean toilets?! Security! How did you let this trash in?!” She lunged at me, trying to grab me. “Get out! What makes you think you belong here?! This is a multi-billion-dollar business meeting! If you dirty the carpet, can you even pay for it?!” I remained still, merely tilting my head slightly. The bodyguard beside me simply raised a hand, seizing Tiffany’s wrist and twisting it hard. “AHH—!” Tiffany shrieked, stumbled back, and landed in an undignified heap on the floor. “Tiffany!” Mrs. Davies shrieked, rushing to her side. Mr. Davies’ face turned ashen, and he roared, pointing at me: “Stella! You ungrateful wretch! Did you follow us here?! Get out, now! Don’t you dare humiliate us any further!” I leaned back in my chair, a faint smirk playing on my lips. “Humiliate you?” “Mr. Davies, I think you’ve got two things wrong.” “First, this is Stellar Group, and I am the Chairwoman.” “Second, you’re the one begging me, not the other way around.” Mr. Davies stared, his face a mask of utter disbelief. “You’re… the Chairwoman? What kind of sick joke is this?! Your mother was a toilet-scrubbing nanny!” “Whose ID did you steal? Or did some old sugar daddy pay for you to be here?” Tiffany scrambled up from the floor, her face twisted with fury: “She definitely did! Dad, she must have sold herself to get here, just to cause trouble! There’s nothing a lowlife like her wouldn’t do!” I didn’t speak, merely gestured to my secretary. My secretary slammed a document onto the table in front of Mr. Davies. “Open your pathetic eyes and see for yourself.” Mr. Davies’ trembling hand picked up the document, his fingers fumbling as he turned to the first page. Shareholder Structure. Largest Shareholder: Stella. Holding: 100%. In that instant, Mr. Davies’ face went utterly ashen, like death itself. His body went limp, and he collapsed back into the chair. “This… this can’t be… Maria… Maria, she…” “My mother’s name is Maria, and she was the previous helmswoman of Stellar Group.” I stood up, bracing my hands on the table, looking down at Mr. Davies. “Mr. Davies, that precious Davies Group you’re so proud of? In my mother’s eyes, it’s less than nothing.” “For twenty years, my mother slaved away in your house, not because she was pathetic.” “It was because she was watching you, slowly but surely, dig your own graves.” “Now, I’m giving you two choices.” “First, get on your knees, kowtow to my mother three times, and cough up that five bucks of overtime pay you swallowed yesterday, with interest.” “Second, Davies Group goes into bankruptcy liquidation, and you three can go sleep under a bridge, covered in newspapers.”

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My pregnant wife posted photos with her ex and implied her child was not mine. She spent my money, trashed my name online, and expected me to keep supporting her lies. Her family pushed harder, demanding I pay for everything while she vacationed with another man. I finally stopped protecting her reputation and ended the marriage, cut off every benefit, and exposed the truth she tried to bury. For the first time, I get to walk away while she’s the one begging. My pregnant wife ignored my protests and went on an overseas trip with her high school sweetheart. She posted on Facebook, “Travis, even if we can’t be together as husband and wife, I’ll still give birth to your child.” The picture? The two of them were holding hands and snuggled up together. I commented under the post, “If you’re this in love, isn’t it time to divorce me and be with him instead?” After posting my comment, I didn’t waste any time. I contacted the Postpartum Care Center, where I’d previously booked and canceled the reservation. I also called Summit Ridge Women’s Clinic and canceled the appointments I had set up there. For the countless baby supplies I’d bought in advance, I either returned what I could or gave away the rest. When I was done, I let out a long breath of relief. I called up a few close friends and invited them out for drinks. I needed the distraction. We were laughing and enjoying ourselves when my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen, and my smile disappeared. It was Madeline Harper. The room grew quiet as my friends noticed my shift in mood. One suggested, “Ethan, is that Madeline calling? Maybe you should head home before she gets upset. ” “Yeah, we can call it a night here,” chimed another. They meant well. Since marrying Madeline, I haven’t spent much time with my friends. Whenever I did, Madeline would call them my “useless drinking buddies” and blame them for anything that went wrong. Everyone knew how overbearing she could be. But I hit the decline button right before them and forced a smile onto my face. “Forget about her. Let’s keep going.” “Ethan, maybe you should—” Dex started, concern in his voice. I cut him off, “I know you’re all looking out for me, but I’ll tell you this now: once Madeline returns, I’m divorcing her. She’s not going to be your sister-in-law anymore.” The group fell silent, exchanging uneasy glances but not saying another word. My phone buzzed again. After hesitating, I answered this time. Madeline’s sharp voice came through on the other end of the line, furious. “Ethan Vaughn! Who do you think you are ignoring my calls? If this happens again, you’ll sleep on the couch for a month!” I stayed silent as she launched into another tirade. “Tell me this, Ethan,” she demanded. “Why did you cancel the Postpartum Care Center? If they hadn’t called me, I’d still be in the dark! Are you even planning to be this baby’s father? If you’re not, don’t worry—plenty of men love to step up. The line of guys wanting to date me back in the day could’ve stretched to France!” When Madeline first got pregnant, I’d treated her like a queen. Whatever she asked for, I made it happen. I booked the best Postpartum Care Center in Napa Valley for $10,000 a month without a second thought. I loved her. I wanted her to feel cherished. But she used my devotion as a license to trample all over me. “Hey, are you listening?” Her shrill voice pulled me from my thoughts. “Yeah, I’m listening. What’s the problem?” I asked calmly. “The problem is, you’re going to fix this,” she snapped. “Rebook the Care Center. And send me another $10,000. Travis and I want to stay here for a couple more days.” Her words made me laugh out loud. “Madeline, have you lost your damn mind?” Chapter

The moment those words left my mouth, Madeline’s fury erupted. “Ethan Vaughn, what did you just say? Repeat it, I dare you! Do you want me to divorce you?” This wasn’t the first time she’d used divorce as a threat. It was her go-to move, no matter how small the argument. In the past, I always caved. I’d apologize, take the blame, and do whatever it took to smooth things. I thought that if I compromised enough, we’d eventually find happiness. But things never worked out that way. I took a deep breath, lifted my drink, and said calmly, “Alright. Let’s get divorced.” Then I hung up and turned off my phone. My friends stared at me, stunned. “Why are you all frozen? Let’s toast—to my freedom!” That broke the tension. Laughter filled the room as they raised their glasses with me. The drinks flowed, and I felt truly happy for the first time in years. Back at home, I collapsed into bed, the buzz of alcohol and freedom making me smile. For years, my life revolved around Madeline’s demands. She controlled everything, and I let her. I gave up smoking and drinking for her. I handed over my entire paycheck every month. I cooked, cleaned, and ran our household so she could play “princess.” But somewhere along the way, she forgot she wasn’t royalty. When I woke up the following day, loud banging echoed through the apartment. At first, I thought someone was renovating. But as the sound continued, I realized someone was at my door. I didn’t need to guess who. I took my time, pouring a glass of water as the voices outside grew louder. “Ethan Vaughn, open this door right now!” Dolly Carter’s sharp tone cut through the noise. “How dare you cancel the Postpartum Care Center and the hospital appointments? Are you even human?” Her voice grated on my nerves, but I was used to it. Whenever Madeline and I had even the slightest fight, her parents would rush over to scold me. When I finally opened the door, I was greeted by their furious faces. Without waiting for an invitation, they pushed past me into the apartment. “You better fix this immediately!” Dolly demanded. “Madeline’s coming home tonight, and everything needs to be in place.” “Is she bringing Travis Reese back with her?” I asked coolly. “What are you implying? Madeline’s coming back alone. Stop spreading nonsense!” Dolly shot back defensively. “Oh, and I heard you got a $15,000 bonus at work,” Walt added. “When’s Madeline getting that?” I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. It was going to be a long day. Chapter

I chuckled to myself. My father-in-law, Walt Carter, sure had his ear to the ground—he even knew about the bonus I’d received from my latest project. “So, when are you giving that money to my daughter?” Dolly, my mother-in-law, chimed in, her tone dripping with entitlement. “You must have misunderstood,” I replied flatly. “I’m filing for divorce from Madeline.” “Divorce?!” Dolly’s face twisted in shock. “Your darling daughter announced on Facebook that the baby she’s carrying belongs to her high school sweetheart, Travis. Whoever the father is, let him handle the hospital bills and the Postpartum Care Center,” I said, my tone cold. “You’re talking nonsense! That baby is yours!” Walt snapped, his voice rising in anger. Dolly, of course, doubled down. “Even if the baby isn’t yours, so what? You’re the one who married Madeline. If you truly love her, you should accept everything about her!” “And besides,” she added, crossing her arms, “that baby will take your last name anyway. So what exactly is your problem?” Listening to their absurd arguments, I realized trying to reason with them wastes time. I grabbed my car keys and left the house, ignoring their shouts as they trailed behind me. When they caught up in the driveway, I sighed and told them what they wanted to hear: “I’m going to sort out the Postpartum Care Center now.” That finally got them to back off. “You’d better,” Dolly said smugly. “After all, Madeline’s been carrying this baby for nine months. You can’t drop the ball now.” I didn’t bother responding and drove off. Once I was clear of the house, I called my former college classmate, Autumn Quinn, who now lived in Asheville, North Carolina. When she picked up, her voice lit up with excitement. “Ethan! You finally agreed! We’ve been waiting for the perfect leader for this project, and you’re it. The salary and benefits package we can offer you is top-notch!” Autumn had been trying to recruit me for months, but I’d always turned her down. I’d stayed because I thought Madeline and I were happy—and because she was pregnant. But now, I had no reason to stay. “Count me in,” I said decisively. She paused, catching something in my tone. “Ethan, is everything okay? Do you need help with something?” I chuckled softly. “No, nothing like that.” She didn’t push, but her excitement returned as she promised to arrange an interview. “Let me know if you need anything else,” she added warmly. “Thanks, Autumn.” We met in college when I was a junior and she was a freshman. We belonged to the same college society, and over time, we became good friends. After I got married, though, we drifted apart. With the interview set up, I turned my attention to the next step: consulting a lawyer to draft a divorce agreement. It was evening by the time everything was arranged, and I was ready to grab dinner when my phone rang again. It was Madeline. “Where the hell have you been?!” she demanded. “I’ve called you a dozen times, and you didn’t answer. I had to take a cab home, Ethan—a cab! Do you know how mad that makes me?” Chapter

Madeline’s voice dripped with anger as if taking a cab home was the most significant hardship she’d ever faced. Looking back, I realized I’d spoiled her too much. She wasn’t born into wealth or privilege, but I treated her like a princess, and over time, she began to believe she was one. “Sorry,” I said calmly. “I was busy and forgot.” “Busy? What’s your excuse? You don’t care about me at all! Get your ass home and apologize right now!” “Oh, and don’t forget to transfer the $10,000. My mom said you already withdrew it,” she added. I murmured an acknowledgment and hung up without another word. When I got home, Madeline was sitting on the couch, her pregnant belly prominent. But she wasn’t alone. Sitting next to her was Travis Reese, her high school sweetheart. Across the room, Dolly and Walt sat like they owned the place. “Ah, everyone’s here,” I said, stepping inside. All eyes turned to me, but Madeline was the first to speak. “If Travis hadn’t been kind enough to bring me home, I don’t know what would’ve happened,” she said, her voice laced with accusation. “Do you even care about the baby I’m carrying?” “Travis brought the baby’s father home. Isn’t that what he’s supposed to do?” I replied evenly, looking directly at Travis. His eyes widened in shock. “What are you talking about? What do you mean ‘the baby’s father’?” I handed him a stack of invoices. “Postpartum Care Center: $10,000. Summit Ridge Women’s Clinic VIP delivery package: $8,000. Baby supplies: $5,000. Total: $23,000. You’ll need to make those payments at the hospital soon.” Everyone froze, the weight of my words sinking in. “What’s that supposed to mean, Ethan?” Madeline finally asked, her voice rising. “It means I’m divorcing you. And whoever got you pregnant can handle the rest,” I said, pulling out the divorce papers I’d prepared. “Divorce?!” Madeline’s eyes blazed. “You think you can just leave me like this? If anyone’s divorcing anyone, it’s me! Travis’s better than you’ll ever be, Ethan. Once we’re done, I’ll marry him.” She smiled sweetly at Travis, oblivious to the horrified expression on his face. “Madeline, are you out of your mind?!” Travis blurted out, taking a step back. “Travis, don’t be shy,” she said, still grinning. “We’ve been waiting for this. Now’s our chance to finally be together.” Even Dolly jumped in. “Travis, you’re getting a wonderful girl here. My Madeline is one of a kind!” “And the baby will have your name, of course,” Walt added. But Travis’s expression darkened. “Madeline,” he said firmly, “we were just having fun. I’m not marrying you.” Madeline’s jaw dropped. “What? You’re joking, right?” He shook his head, stepping further away. “You thought I was serious? Madeline, you’re married! And honestly, who knows who else you’ve been with?” The color drained from her face, and her parents stared in stunned silence. I watched the scene unfold, saying nothing, a cold smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

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The moment the mistress appeared on my husband’s screen, the world treated me like the problem. She mocked me. Strangers harassed me. My husband defended her at every turn. So I stopped trying to save the marriage they had already burned down. I cleared my name, exposed their tactics, and dismantled every lie they used against me. They thought I would collapse under pressure. Instead, I rose—and now they’re the ones scrambling to survive the fallout. During the company’s video conference, a different girl’s face appeared on Byron Adams’ screen. The girl, seemingly innocent, was playing with his computer, completely oblivious to the fact that the camera was on. It wasn’t until Byron returned from the bathroom that she said in a sweet tone, “I didn’t know you were in a meeting. You promised to spend three days with me, but now you’ve been in meetings for days. How annoying.” The colleagues who had been speaking earlier fell silent. Everyone waited to see how I would react. After all, they had witnessed more than a few of our arguments in the office before. But this time, I didn’t make a scene. Instead, I coldly told the colleague, “Please continue, don’t mind the irrelevant things.” I watched as the room became quiet, and my eyes focused on Byron’s screen where the girl was still playfully cuddling him. I ignored it and asked the colleague to continue. If this had happened at another time, I would have probably snapped and confronted Byron, but today, I was calm. After all, Byron never let me, his wife, touch his computer. The way the girl was interacting with it seemed so familiar, and their closeness was undeniable. I had never seen him like this before. Every time I tried to be affectionate with him, he would coldly push me away, saying, “Lydia, don’t you have your own things to do? We’re adults. Just don’t do this.” Even when I wanted to use his computer, he would immediately take it away, saying he didn’t like anyone touching it. As the meeting continued, my mind kept returning to these thoughts until Byron called me and asked, “Did you see what happened just now?” I replied, my tone calm, “See what? I don’t have time to pay attention to things that aren’t work-related.” I could almost hear him sigh with relief on the other end of the line. Then, I added, “Did you do anything?” He quickly explained himself, and after listening, I nodded and hung up the phone. For the first time, I didn’t argue with him.

He probably didn’t expect me to hang up, so he sent a follow-up message explaining again. I ignored it, replying with a simple “OK”. His dissatisfaction with my indifferent attitude was clear. [Byron, I don’t want to argue with you.] I replied and then turned on the “Do Not Disturb” mode for his chat. Just then, a friend request notification popped up. It was from a girl with a little bunny profile photo. I accepted her application. She didn’t say anything after adding me. When I clicked on her recent photo, I understood everything. It was a fresh selfie of the same girl who had appeared on Byron’s screen earlier. She was holding his computer, and it captioned: [Oops, I disturbed baby during his meeting, but he didn’t get mad at me.] Her post and friend request were clearly intended to provoke me, but I didn’t delete her. Instead, I let it linger, observing in silence. The post that caught my attention the most was one from my birthday. Byron, who was supposed to be on a business trip, was in a photo with her. They were seated at the center of the table, and the girl was wearing a crown, looking incredibly happy. Byron’s friend commented under the photo: [You two look so happy. Byron has abandoned me.] Byron replied: [Shut up, man.] I could feel the joy in his words through the screen. I suddenly remembered how, on my birthday, I had waited at home for him to return, only for him to ignore my many calls. When he finally picked up, his voice was impatient, and he only told me to sleep early. My call must have interrupted his good mood. I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly at myself.

I scrolled through more of the girl’s posts but found them uninteresting. After washing up, I went to bed, intending to sleep. But Byron returned just as I was about to drift off. I heard his footsteps upstairs and pretended to close my eyes. Then I heard him undressing. After a while, I felt the bed dip as he sat down and pulled me into his arms. His body carried the scent of the cologne I bought him, mingled with a faint fragrance of gardenias. It wasn’t my scent. I couldn’t help but think, was she also wrapped in his arms like this? Was she leaving her scent on him too? The thought made me feel nauseous. Without making a sound, I pulled away from his embrace and resisted his intimacy for the first time. In the past, I would have snuggled closer to him the moment he lay down. I would have buried my head in his arms, greedily inhaling his scent. But now, I couldn’t stand it. He stiffened behind me, seemingly confused, and tried to pull me closer again. “Don’t hold me. It’s uncomfortable,” I said, my eyes still closed. He sat up, suddenly irritated. “What’s wrong with you? Did you hear something? Or is there something I’ve done wrong to upset you?” I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. What could I ask him? Who was that girl? Did he love me? Right now, those questions didn’t matter anymore. “I’ve worked all day and stayed up late to revise the proposal. I’m really tired,” I replied, my voice devoid of emotion. “Please, stop making this a big deal. I just want to rest.” He exploded. “You’re insane! I just wanted to hug you, and now I’m wrong?” With that, he slammed the door and stormed off, leaving me with his cold back. In the past, I would have chased after him, clinging to his hand, begging him not to be angry. But now, I just silently pulled the blanket back over myself and tried to sleep. My rest was more important than anything else. The wall between us felt thicker now, and neither of us reached out to the other. We stayed like that in a strange silence. For the next week, Byron didn’t come home for dinner or send me any messages. When he saw me at work, he only gave me a brief, indifferent glance. Colleagues whispered about whether we had fought, or if it was because of the events that day. But the girl kept posting frequently on her social media. I thought the cold war would continue indefinitely, until one evening, I received a message from home about a family dinner. I realized I had to reach out to Byron, but my message was met with complete silence. Reluctantly, I went to the house he had lived in before we got married. It was where he always went after our arguments, and this time was no different.

I stood at the door, listening to the laughter coming from inside the villa, and couldn’t help but frown. The familiar, coquettish voice sounded exactly like the one I had heard coming from Byron’s computer that day. With a scowl on my face, I pushed the villa’s door open. Suddenly, something white and fluffy pounced at me, knocking me to the ground. My back scraped against some small stones, and I winced in pain. I looked up to see a dog. Completely unsure of how to react, I froze. “Where did this dog come from? Get it off me!” I shouted. I had been terrified of dogs since childhood after being chased by a neighbor’s large dog. Now, with a big dog pinning me down, I couldn’t stop shaking. Just then, the dog was pulled off me. Byron’s hand reached out in front of me, his face filled with confusion. I ignored him, got up, and moved away to put some distance between myself and the dog. I took a good look at the dog. Its fur was well-groomed, and it even had a cute little butterfly ornament on its ear. When it saw me standing, it tried to pounce again. I instinctively stepped back a couple of steps. “Why are you here?” Byron said softly and squatted down to pet the dog. “Didn’t you see…?” “Byron, what happened? Where’s Peach?” A high-pitched, girlish voice called out, and the figure of the girl I had seen in the photos appeared before me. Seeing her face in person made my heart ache with bitterness, especially the way Byron looked at her—his gaze was full of warmth. He quickly stepped in front of the girl, blocking her from my view, and his soft expression disappeared immediately. “What’s wrong, Byron? Why are you standing in front of me? Did Peach have an accident?” The girl slipped from behind him, and as soon as she saw me, her smile faltered. She froze when she saw me standing there. As she came closer, I couldn’t help but feel drawn to her vibrant energy. “Who is she?” the girl asked, her voice filled with confusion as she looked up at Byron. But when her gaze shifted to me, there was an unmistakable hint of challenge in her eyes. She knew who I was, and after adding me on social media, she probably knew about me long before this. “She is…” “I’m his wife, legally his wife.” I interrupted Byron’s attempt to explain and smiled at the girl in front of me. As I expected, her expression faltered for a moment before she tried to regain her composure. Her little act only made me laugh. She took a few steps back, looking uncomfortable, and struggled to pull the large dog back inside. “Well, since your wife is here, you two can have a talk. I’ll go give Peach some water.” Her fake, sad demeanor made even me feel a little sorry for her. But Byron, of course, was completely captivated by her. After she left, Byron glared at me with clear frustration. “What are you even doing here?” he asked, his voice cold. “Your family invited us for dinner, and you didn’t respond to any of my messages, so I came.” I answered calmly, indifferent to his anger, as though I didn’t even feel it. My response shut him down, leaving him speechless. I ignored him completely and walked confidently inside the house. I sat down on the sofa and looked at Byron as he followed me in. “You have 20 minutes to get ready. We need to leave on time,” I said, my tone firm. As soon as I finished speaking, the same large dog that had tackled me earlier charged toward me, as if triggered by something. It viciously bit at my clothes. “Get off me!” I shouted, grabbing my handbag and swinging it at the dog. It hit the dog on the head, leaving a small cut. I called out for Byron, but by the time I was knocked down, he was already over by the girl, shielding her in his arms. Seeing that, my heart sank completely.

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For seven years, Adrian Foster and I lived in a marriage without touch. He would lean close, speak softly, brush past me as if something pulled him in, only to withdraw the second I tried to reach back. But when he publicly shamed me to defend another woman, the tension between us finally snapped. Those lingering glances no longer mattered. I’m done waiting for warmth from a man who only offers cold. This time, I walk away. To outsiders, marrying into the Foster family was like winning the lottery. As one of the most prestigious old-money families in the city, they usually opted for business alliances in marriage. And I was just an orphan living on others’ charity. I was only six when my parents died. More than grief, I felt terror about the future. My uncles fought bitterly over the inheritance, and none of them wanted to take care of me, claiming I brought bad luck. They decided to send me to an orphanage. I didn’t want to go to the orphanage. I’d heard stories about how terrible those places were. So I found my mom’s old phone and tried calling my uncle – it was my first time contacting my mother’s side of the family. Mom had been from a wealthy family too, but she’d cut ties with them to marry my father. When Uncle Jack heard my plea, he hung up without a word. I told myself he was just hurt by my mother’s actions and it was natural for him not to want anything to do with me. But I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. The next day, I woke up early, packed my little backpack, and prepared to run away. I’d rather go hungry and sleep under a bridge than end up in that orphanage. But just as I slipped out of my room, I bumped into a man. I recognized him as my uncle immediately – he looked so much like my mom. Uncle Jack patted my head and asked if I’d had breakfast. When I said no, he picked me up and took me to his home. My grandparents had already passed away. Aunt Lisa frowned when she saw how skinny I was. “I have to take care of Noah and Emma. I don’t have time for her. You brought this trouble home, you deal with it,” she told Uncle Jack. “Don’t worry, she’s a good kid. Just give her food, and she’ll take care of everything else,” he replied. To prove Uncle Jack right, I learned to feed myself, dress myself, go to school, and sleep on my own. I even helped look after my cousins. Emma was only two months younger than me, a proud little princess. She never called me ‘sister’, instead treating me like a servant. But I didn’t mind. We all have our own destinies, and she had reasons to be proud. As for me, I was just grateful to grow up safe and healthy. After high school graduation, Uncle Jack wanted to send Emma and me to study in England together. But Adrian’s appearance disrupted all those plans.

He came with Mrs. Foster to propose marriage. Apparently, our grandfathers had once jokingly arranged a marriage between their children over drinks. No one expected Mrs. Foster to take it seriously. The atmosphere was awkward. Adrian, who had been silent the whole time, suddenly stood up and walked towards the backyard. Aunt Lisa quickly told me to follow him and take care of him. At first, I didn’t know he had autism. I just thought this young heir was being rude. It was late spring, and the roses in the garden were in full bloom. Adrian took out a sketchpad from his backpack as if by magic and started drawing intently. Not wanting to disturb him, I stood behind him, watching silently. Without exaggeration, Adrian was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. He had perfect bone structure and skin as fair as jade. His deep, soul-stirring eyes exuded an air of nobility. Just as I was secretly marveling at the lottery of birth, things took a sudden turn. Adrian seemed dissatisfied with his drawing and crumpled the paper in frustration. I wanted to comfort him, but he suddenly reached out and gripped a thorny rose stem tightly. Blood immediately started flowing, but he didn’t seem to feel any pain. Instead, he tilted his head, looking thoughtful. “Let go! Quick, let go!” I panicked like an ant on a hot pan. Young Mr. Foster was an important guest, and I didn’t know what trouble it would cause Uncle Jack if he got hurt under my watch. I called out loudly, but he had no reaction. Left with no choice, I reached out to pull his arm. The moment I touched his sleeve, he suddenly became enraged and pushed me to the ground. I was terrified. His expression was so frightening that I thought he might hit me. But he didn’t. He just turned back to continue drawing. Mrs. Foster heard the commotion and hurried over. She seemed used to such incidents and quickly left with her son. After they left, Emma burst into tears. “I don’t want to get married! I want to go to England! If you force me, I’ll kill myself!” Uncle Jack was heartbroken but also helpless. Most of the family’s business relied on the Fosters. Offending Mrs. Foster would have unthinkable consequences. Aunt Lisa comforted her daughter while secretly glancing at me. “The Thompsons don’t just have one daughter. Why do you keep focusing on Emma?” Emma nodded vigorously. “That’s right, let Aria marry him. You’ve raised her for so many years, it can’t be for nothing.” “What are you saying? Adrian is autistic. How could I push Aria into such a difficult situation?” Uncle Jack protested. “So you’d rather push your own daughter into the fire…” Aunt Lisa retorted.

Uncle Jack and Aunt Lisa argued all night. I hid in my room, listening silently, and made my decision. The next day, I told Uncle Jack that I was willing to marry into the Foster family in Emma’s place. “Emma is right. You and Aunt Lisa have been so good to me. It’s time for me to repay your kindness,” I said. Uncle Jack’s eyes turned red as he held my hand, wanting to say something. But in the end, he couldn’t get the words out. Because of Adrian’s condition, the wedding was very simple. I thought his willingness to marry meant he was prepared to live with me. But I was wrong. On our wedding night, as soon as I stepped into our room, his face darkened. “Get out!” “This is my room too,” I said. “You’re not allowed to sleep here.” I tried to reason with him, to explain the meaning of marriage. But he wouldn’t listen. Instead, he tore up all the red ‘double happiness’ decorations in the room. Helpless, I turned to leave. Mrs. Foster saw this and sighed, calling me to her study. She told me that Adrian wasn’t a bad person by nature, just socially withdrawn and unwilling to interact with others. Since I had married him, it was my responsibility to take care of him. She believed that if I tried hard enough, I could eventually open Adrian’s heart and make him accept me. I decided to give it a try. Taking care of someone with autism is both mentally and physically exhausting. Every day, I personally prepared his meals, reminded him to take his medicine, and took him for medical check-ups. To understand him better, I bought all the books I could find about autism and studied them late into the night. My efforts gradually paid off. Adrian slowly got used to my presence and no longer rejected me as he had at first. I was allowed to ride in the same car with him or sit at the same table for meals. Knowing I liked fruit, he would personally prepare beautiful fruit platters for me. When I caught a cold due to my weak immune system, he would force me to drink ginger tea. Time passed, and we both got used to this life. The only one unsatisfied was Mrs. Foster. She talked to me every other day, always with the same purpose: urging me to have a child. Forced into a corner, I had to tell her the truth. Adrian hadn’t shown any interest in physical intimacy and wouldn’t even allow me to sleep in the same bed. Mrs. Foster was anxious and angry. She took Adrian for a medical examination. The doctor said there was nothing wrong with his physical functions; he just couldn’t overcome his psychological barriers and accept such an intimate relationship. “When it comes down to it, it’s your problem,” Mrs. Foster told me. “Can’t you find a way to make him fall in love with you?” I was at a loss. I didn’t even know what love was myself, let alone Adrian.

In our seventh year of marriage, Mrs. Foster gave me an ultimatum. “The Foster family has only had one child for three generations. We can’t let the line end here. If you can have a child, do it. If you can’t, I’ll find someone else who can. But then I won’t have time to care about the Thompson family’s business!” Faced with such a blatant threat, I had no choice but to give in. That night, I found a romantic movie and invited Adrian to watch it with me. He agreed but left halfway through, saying it was boring. After my shower, I changed into the lingerie Mrs. Foster had specially made for me and nervously knocked on Adrian’s door. “I’m going to sleep,” he said. “We can talk tomorrow.” Adrian blocked the door, not letting me in. “I’ve painted a new picture of birds. I was hoping you could take a look,” I said. That’s right, to please Adrian, I had even taken up painting classes. Adrian finally agreed to let me in, but his expression remained cold and he wouldn’t look at me. “Where’s the painting?” he asked. “Don’t rush. The paper is quite large, we need to spread it out on the bed.” I tried my best to overcome my embarrassment and acted seductively, like in the movies. The nearly see-through nightgown left little to the imagination. But Adrian still had no reaction. His gaze was focused entirely on the non-existent painting. “Stop painting,” he said suddenly. “What?” “I said, stop painting from now on. Your brushwork is weak, you have no talent. Even a three-year-old could paint better than you.” I blushed, feeling extremely embarrassed. “If I’m not good, you could teach me. I’d be the most obedient student,” I said, reaching out to touch him. He pushed me away roughly. At that moment, the strap of my nightgown snapped. I stood there naked in front of Adrian, like a peeled egg. “Get out! Get out of here!” he shouted. “You filthy woman! Disgusting woman!” “Painting is the most sacred thing. How dare you desecrate it!” I had never seen Adrian so angry before. His bloodshot eyes stared at me as if I had committed some unforgivable sin. In the past, I would have run out immediately, terrified. But not today. Trembling, I wrapped myself in a blanket. “Adrian, we need to have a child. Otherwise, I won’t be able to stay here anymore.” “Who wants you to stay here?” he spat. “Look in the mirror. See how disgusting you are!” “I hate you. It would be best if you never appeared in front of me again!” “Do you really mean that?” I asked. Even though I knew he was ill, these words still hurt me deeply. After seven years of companionship, even a pet cat or dog would have developed some affection. Adrian nodded firmly, ignoring the tears in my eyes as he roughly pushed me out of the room.

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My husband gave another woman my birthday gift. Rachel Quinn posted the robot he and my son built for her, smiling like it belonged to her life. When I liked the post, he exploded, accusing me of starting drama. That was the moment the truth slammed into me: he defended her more fiercely than he ever defended me. Now the betrayal is undeniable—and so is the ending of our marriage. On my birthday, my husband’s childhood friend, Rachel Quinn, posted pictures on social media of the brand-new robot my husband and son had built for her. I casually gave it a thumbs-up. Not long after, my husband called to scold me: “We gave you one too, didn’t we? And Max even made you a cake himself. What else could you possibly want?” But Rachel’s robot was obviously the latest model. Even the cake my son made for her was bigger than mine. When my husband and son got home, the clock had just struck midnight. The untouched cake still sat on the table. The card read: “Happy Birthday, Mom!” “Why didn’t you eat the cake? Were you waiting for us to come home and celebrate?” My husband forced a smile as he and Max lit the candles and sang me a birthday song. But instead of feeling touched, I felt suffocated. I waved them off. “I’m not hungry. You two eat.” My husband’s expression immediately darkened. “I know you’re upset about Rachel. But can’t you understand her situation? She doesn’t have any family here. She had a tough day at work today, so Max and I just went to cheer her up. That’s all. Stop overthinking it.” Max chimed in, “Yeah, Mom. Rachel’s all alone. Can’t you be a little more understanding?” Looking at the father and son tag-teaming me, my heart felt colder than an ice cavern. It was my birthday, yet they left me to comfort someone else. Every time I got angry about how they prioritized Rachel over me, they’d trot out this same excuse. It always made me feel like I was the unreasonable one, like I was the villain. And every time, I’d end up crying alone late at night. But the next day, all it took was a kind word, or a small gift, and I’d forgive them. I’d go right back to being the mom and wife they took for granted. This time, though, I was tired of playing along. “You’re right,” I said calmly. “You should go spend time with her. I’ll celebrate with my friends instead.” I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. The two of them were stunned, frozen in place, clearly not expecting this response. When my husband finally realized I was serious, he quickly rushed over to grab my arm. “You’re forty years old. Can you stop acting like a child? I’m busy with work, and Max is swamped with school. We still made time to celebrate with you, but it’s never enough, is it? We’re exhausted, you know?” Exhausted? I stared at them coldly. They weren’t too tired to build Rachel a cutting-edge robot. They weren’t too tired to bake her a cake the size of a serving platter. But for me? They handed me an outdated model and a cake made from scraps, and that was somehow too much effort. “You’re overthinking it,” I said, voice icy. “I’m not upset. I just want to spend my birthday with my friends for a change. I haven’t done that in years.” “Mom! Enough with the drama!” Max suddenly snapped, slamming his hand down on the table. The cake tipped over, and the candles nearly set the tablecloth on fire. Lately, Max had been under a lot of pressure at school, and his temper was always on edge. Every time he lashed out, I’d patiently comfort him, no matter how much it hurt. But this time, I stayed silent. Seeing my lack of reaction, his anger flared even more. He started punching the furniture, kicking over chairs. “What do you want from us? Why can’t you just leave me and Dad alone? You’ve been emotionally manipulating us for years. Is it not enough? Do you want to drive us insane before you’re satisfied?” Watching him scream and destroy the living room, I felt nothing but a deep, hollow sadness. All these years, I’d poured my heart into this family. And now, on my fortieth birthday, just because I wanted a little bit of extra attention, I was branded a control freak. What a failure I’d become. I laughed bitterly, tears stinging my eyes, as my husband rushed to comfort Max. He turned to me with a grim look, his voice cold. “Look at what you’ve done to him. Do you even deserve to be a mother? If you’re so unhappy, why don’t we just get a divorce?” Every time I argued with him, he’d throw that line at me. And every time, I’d back down out of fear. But this time, I didn’t care anymore. “Fine,” I said. Their shocked faces were the last thing I saw before walking out the door.

Even though it was late, my friends agreed to meet me. We gathered at a food truck, drinking beer and eating greasy snacks. They teased me for disappearing after getting married, saying I’d practically forgotten they existed. The alcohol dulled my brain, and for a moment, it felt like we were back in college, laughing in our dorm room. Looking back, I’d sacrificed so much for my husband and son. And for what? After saying goodbye to my friends, I checked my phone. There were dozens of missed calls and messages, most from my husband. I was about to ignore them when one from Rachel caught my eye: “I’m so sorry, Lauren. There’s nothing going on between me and Tom, I swear. I just had a bad day and needed someone to talk to. I completely forgot it was your birthday. Please forgive me!” The alcohol churned in my stomach. I leaned against a streetlamp and vomited until my throat burned. Finally, I replied: “Don’t worry about it. I don’t care.” She started typing a response, but I didn’t bother waiting for it. When I got home, the house was a disaster zone—worse than when I’d left. I ignored it and headed for the bathroom to wash up. My husband emerged from the bedroom, his face scrunched in irritation. “You’re finally back? And drunk, no less. Clean this place up before you go to bed.” “Whoever made the mess can clean it up.” I flopped onto the couch, exhausted. Something hard jabbed into my hip. It was my husband’s phone, unlocked. On the screen was a chat with Rachel. “Tom, I shouldn’t have made Lauren upset. It’s my fault. Let’s not meet up so often anymore.” “Don’t blame yourself. She’s just petty and jealous. It’s just a birthday—it’s not like we can’t celebrate later. She’s so dramatic, acting like a spoiled brat.” “Don’t say that. She has every right to be upset. You should go make up with her.” “Thanks, Rachel. If only Lauren were half as understanding as you.” My husband snatched the phone from my hand, his face red with anger. “Why do you always have to invade my privacy? There’s nothing going on with us!” “Whatever,” I said, too tired to fight. “I’m going to sleep.” He was taken aback by my indifference but quickly recovered. “Oh, by the way,” he said, as if trying to change the subject. “I’ll show you how to use that robot we got you. It’ll make things easier for you.” I opened my eyes and looked at him coldly. “Tom, did you forget? I helped design that model.” He froze, glancing at the robot. Then he let out a sheepish laugh. “Oh, right. Well, never mind then.” Before we got married, we’d both worked as engineers at the same tech company. But after Max was born, I quit my job to stay home and raise him. Now, all I felt was regret for everything I’d given up. The room was silent, except for the faint hum of the robot vacuuming the floor. “I’m sleeping on the couch tonight,” I said. “You can go to bed.” “Fine,” he muttered. “Oh, and I’m working late tomorrow. Don’t wait up.” “Got it.” And with that, I closed my eyes.

My husband lingered in the hallway for a moment before retreating to the bedroom. I hadn’t been asleep long when I felt someone shaking me awake. Groggily, I opened my eyes to find Max standing over me, already dressed in his school uniform, looking thoroughly annoyed. “Why didn’t you wake me up? I’m going to be late! And where’s breakfast? You didn’t make anything?” Every morning, without fail, I’d sacrifice my own rest to wake him up on time and prepare a full, warm breakfast. The price of this routine was dark circles under my eyes and skin that had lost its luster. At forty, I looked closer to fifty. But not today. “You can set your own alarm from now on. As for breakfast, grab something on the way. Got money? I’ll send you some if you don’t.” Max stared at me, stunned, as if he couldn’t believe this was coming from me—the mom who used to do everything for him without complaint. “I don’t need your money,” he muttered, his voice heavy with disdain. Then, under his breath, he added, “Rachel would never be this lazy…” Though he mumbled it quietly, I heard every word. But strangely, it didn’t hurt. Max stormed out, slamming the door so hard the shoe rack rattled, and a small object tumbled to the floor. Curious, I walked over and picked it up. It was a toy car—one I’d modified years ago. With the push of a button, it could transform into a robot and even play theme songs from cartoons. When Max was little, he was often sick. Those days, he rarely smiled—until I showed him this car. The way his face lit up, the pure joy in his laughter, had inspired me to submit a proposal at work: a line of toys designed to bring emotional comfort to children. But Tom, my husband, had dismissed the idea outright. He argued that robots should be practical, useful tools—not frivolous “toys” that just transformed and played music. In the end, the proposal was shelved, and Max grew up, leaving behind the little car he once adored. I stared at the toy for a long moment before pressing its button. It still worked. An idea struck me, so I grabbed the car and went to find my neighbor’s child, Danny. Danny was just five, a lonely boy whose parents had divorced and left him in the care of his grandmother. He spent most of his days playing alone in the dirt outside our building. When I handed him the toy, his eyes lit up, and he clutched it tightly, turning it over and over in his small hands. “Wow!” he exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face as he began playing with it. Seeing his joy, I couldn’t help but think of Max as a little boy—and of the proposal I’d given up on all those years ago. Before I realized it, I had my phone in hand and was dialing my old manager’s number. Halfway through the call, I panicked and almost hung up, but it was too late. “Lauren? Wow, it’s been forever! What’s up?” “Oh, um…” I hesitated, nervously rubbing my nose. “I was just wondering… Are you hiring?” It felt absurd. After nearly a decade as a stay-at-home mom, I was trying to reenter a high-tech industry that had undoubtedly moved on without me. But to my surprise, my former manager sounded thrilled. “Are you serious? We’d love to have you back! Honestly, someone with your skills is exactly what my new company needs. That said… you’ve been out of the game for a while. You’d have to start from the ground up.” “I don’t mind!” I said quickly. “I’ll prove myself.” After hanging up, I was so excited I nearly jumped for joy. I ended up spending the rest of the day playing with Danny and his new toy. “You’re the best, Miss Lauren,” Danny said, looking up at me with wide, hopeful eyes. “I wish you were my mom.” I froze, unsure how to respond. All I could do was gently pat his head. Chaos Unfolds Just then, I heard the front door slam open. A man staggered in, reeking of alcohol, his face twisted with anger. “Who the hell are you? Where’s my mom?” he demanded, his voice slurred. Before I could respond, Danny’s grandmother hurried out of the kitchen, panic etched on her face. “What are you doing here?” she shouted, her voice trembling. “I’m not giving you another penny!” “You’re my mother! Your money is my money!” he snapped. “And if you don’t hand it over, I swear I’ll—” His eyes darted to Danny. “I’ll take that little brat with me. Maybe sell him off somewhere!” He pulled out a knife, waving it wildly as he stumbled toward Danny. Time seemed to slow as I threw myself between them, shielding Danny with my body. The blade sliced into me, and pain exploded in my side. Warm blood seeped through my clothes, pooling on the floor beneath me. Danny’s terrified cries echoed in my ears as everything around me faded to black.

The man was subdued by the neighbors and handed over to the police. Meanwhile, I was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance. The knife had cut deep into my shoulder, leaving a gaping wound. The pain was excruciating, and cold sweat soaked my back. Everything had happened so fast that I was still trembling, my body locked in fear. At that moment, I desperately needed comfort—just a little would have been enough. So, I called my husband. “Tom, I’m at the hospital. You need to come right away.” “What’s going on? I’m working overtime right now.” His tone carried an edge of impatience, and the noise in the background didn’t sound like an office; it sounded more like a busy restaurant. “I was attacked. Someone stabbed me. There’s blood everywhere, and it hurts so much. Please, just come.” The moment I heard my own voice, my tears spilled over, cascading down my cheeks and carrying with them all the fear and frustration I’d been holding inside. But his next words threw me into a bottomless abyss. “Lauren, can you stop joking around? You’re at home all day—who would just show up and stab you? You’re forty years old. Can you stop being so childish?” “I’m not joking!” I shouted, my voice cracking with desperation. “I’m in the hospital right now. This is real!” But to him, my panic only sounded like another one of my so-called “tantrums.” “Look, I get it. You’re still mad about your birthday and how we didn’t celebrate with you. But making up a story like this is too much. I’m tired, Lauren. If you keep this up, I don’t think our marriage is going to last.” “Fine,” I whispered, my voice hollow. “Forget it. Pretend I didn’t call. You can go back to work.” And with that, he hung up. I stood there, frozen in place, before shakily dialing my son’s number. “Max, sweetie, it’s Mom. I’m in the hospital. Can you—” Before I could finish, he cut me off, his voice dripping with irritation. “Dad told me you made up some crazy story about getting stabbed. I didn’t believe him, but wow, you really went there. Mom, can you just stop? Please? Just leave us alone!” “What? Wait. You’re with Dad? Isn’t he supposed to be working overtime?” But before I could get an answer, Max hung up. At that moment, I felt like a lone leaf adrift in a vast, merciless ocean. Then, a thought struck me. My hands trembled as I opened Rachel’s social media profile. Sure enough, there it was—a new video. She was all dolled up, pouting playfully at the camera. Behind her was the unmistakable decor of an upscale restaurant. The caption read: “Grateful to have you by my side in this unfamiliar city.” I recognized the restaurant immediately. It was where Tom and I had gone on our first date. I’d wanted to revisit it several times after we got married, but Tom always said it was too expensive. The video only showed Rachel, but I caught a fleeting sound in the background—a voice I knew better than my own. “Mom,” it said. Tears blurred my vision as I set my phone down. There was no mistaking it. That voice belonged to Max. The tears came harder now, falling in heavy drops onto my lap. The husband I had stood by through thick and thin. The son I had raised with endless love and sacrifice. Both of them had turned away from me, only to offer their care and attention to someone else. I wanted to convince myself it didn’t matter, but the ache in my chest was unbearable. Even breathing felt like a monumental effort. “Lauren? Isn’t Tom and Max coming to see you?” Danny’s small, hesitant voice pulled me out of my spiraling thoughts. He had been sitting quietly by my bedside, worry etched across his tiny face. “No,” I said softly. “But it’s okay. Will you stay with me for a while?” He nodded quickly, his little head bobbing like a woodpecker. “Of course! I’ll stay as long as you need me. But…” His voice faltered, and he looked down. “Aren’t you mad? You know, because… it was my dad who hurt you.” Seeing his guilt-stricken expression, my heart ached. I reached out and gently ruffled his hair. “No, Danny. It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. Neither did I.” I pulled him into a hug, both of us clinging to each other in search of comfort. For years, I had poured my entire heart and soul into loving my husband and son. That love had become the foundation of my world. But now, I realized that love couldn’t sustain me anymore. It was time to let go. There were other people—other things—more deserving of my time and affection. Starting today, I would rebuild my life, one piece at a time.

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