Category: English

When Adrian proposed to me, everyone said it was a blessing I’d earned in a past life. But five years of his cold indifference eventually wore down every ounce of my love and passion. His first love, Serena, returned with amnesia. He was so worried about her, spending his days watching the snow and the moon with her, reliving their sweet past. Meanwhile, I was relentlessly trashed online, forced to abandon the acting career I loved. I threw a divorce agreement at him, then turned my back and left the country with my childhood best friend for a show. Who would’ve thought that the usually aloof Adrian would lose his composure, chasing after me, his eyes red, begging me to come back? When the video of Adrian saving Serena went viral, I was in the makeup room, waiting for the next scene of my TV show. In the video, Serena was clinging to Adrian, tears streaming down her face, a picture of pure misery. The comments were full of heart emojis and sympathy. “Seriously, I can’t watch this.” “After losing her memory, she finds out her beloved is already married to someone else. They’re still in love but can’t be together. Ugh, it’s literally killing me!” “If it weren’t for that witch, Skylar, would those two soulmates have been torn apart?” “Look at Mr. Adrian’s heartbroken expression, my eyes are watering like crazy, boo hoo.” “Damn! Someone needs to send this video to Skylar!” “All I can say is, true love doesn’t lie. Skylar just doesn’t get that.” Ms. Davies, my agent, stood beside me, anxious. “Why did this topic have to trend now? You finally got this supporting role based on your talent, and if it gets canceled again because of all this, no one will dare to hire you anymore…” “What if…” She stood up, frantic. “You go talk to Adrian and ask him to take these trending topics down?” I shook my head, my voice calm. “It’s no use. He won’t do anything.” Ms. Davies listened, silent for a moment, then slumped back down. She knew it, too. Adrian wouldn’t lift a finger for me. After all, there had been worse words, more vicious attacks in the past, and he never once intervened. Back then, I cherished my acting career fiercely. Those hateful words would keep me up at night, making me miserable, almost pushing me into depression. I used to hold onto foolish hope, expecting him to speak up for me, even just a single word. But what did he say? “Trending topics only last a few days. We should just live our own lives, why bother with what others say?” “I can’t use company resources for personal matters.” “Skylar, you’re an actress. Don’t be so dramatic.”

I waited another half hour in the makeup room. The director’s team arrived late, full of apologies. “Sorry, Ms. Skylar. We had some equipment issues today. How about you head home for now? We’ll let you know when we reschedule the shoot.” I nodded. “Okay.” The online trending topic had turned a deep purple, signifying peak virality. The more people pitied Serena, the more they hated me. Having been through this too many times, Ms. Davies knew exactly what it meant. This show would likely be canceled. Ms. Davies’ eyes turned red with anger. She scrolled through her phone. “How can people be so blind to the truth? You only got together with him after they broke up! Why have you had to bear all this hate for years? I refuse to believe there isn’t a single sane person online… Huh?” She stared blankly at her phone. “A major influencer just spoke up for you!” I leaned over to look. Indeed, a verified account had posted. His name was “Leo,” and his public persona was known for speaking out against injustice. “Mr. Adrian got together with Skylar *after* he broke up with Serena, right? Given Mr. Adrian’s family background, no one could force him to marry if he didn’t want to.” “Now they’ve been married for five years. Serena just has amnesia, she’s not brain-damaged. Anyone with an ounce of common sense and decency would know to keep their distance from an ex who’s married.” “In my opinion, Serena is the real homewrecker.” Leo had a lot of influence. He’d supported me more than once before, and he had a significant following. Instantly, the internet exploded into a heated debate. Ms. Davies was thrilled. “Thanks to Leo’s post, a lot of people are supporting you online now. If this keeps up… Oh, Adrian’s company just posted an official statement on Ins! Could it be Adrian himself? This is great, this is how it should be! How could he just let his own wife be trashed like this? If he speaks up for you, it’ll be better than anything…” Before she could finish her sentence, her expression froze, and the joy on her face vanished. I opened my phone. Adrian’s company had indeed posted, but not in my defense. “Ms. Serena was never the other woman. Any further false statements will be pursued legally by Adrian’s company.”

The company’s statement was a huge boost of confidence for those shipping Adrian and Serena. It silenced my supporters. Ms. Davies was disappointed but still tried to comfort me. “It’s okay,” I said, shaking my head calmly. “I knew this would be the outcome the moment Serena returned. Besides, even if she hadn’t come back, I was already planning to divorce Adrian.” Ms. Davies’ mouth dropped open in shock. “What did you say?” I knew why she was surprised. After all, I’d endured much worse online attacks in the past and never mentioned divorce. That was because back then, I still held onto hope for this marriage. The old me always thought I wasn’t doing enough. He called me dramatic, so I stopped being dramatic and made myself strong. He said I should let my talent speak for itself, so I worked hard to hone my acting skills. But countless facts over these five years had woken me up. The one who needed to change was never me. Hope had gradually turned into disappointment, and now, even the disappointment had completely faded. Of course, I should also thank Adrian. I truly wasn’t “dramatic” anymore. Even I, who used to tear up easily as a child, now felt completely unfazed by the most venomous insults.

This twisted fate of ours, between Adrian and me, began five years ago. Five years ago, my Grandpa Leo fell ill, and Adrian’s company’s medical technology introduction program saved his life. Later, as a patient’s family member, I met Adrian. I had just graduated from film school and was still a newbie. Serena was a senior from my school, having acted in a few shows that never quite hit it big, but she was a frequent topic on Ins. Some called her the “fallen heiress.” Although her mother wasn’t the legitimate wife of a big CEO, her rumored boyfriend was the heir to Adrian’s company. High-society drama tied to the entertainment industry always made for hot gossip. Later, for some unknown reason, Serena suddenly broke up with Adrian and went abroad. Soon, another man’s silhouette frequently appeared on her social media. Back then, I often delivered some home-grown organic produce from my Grandpa Leo’s garden to Adrian’s company. My grandpa was stubborn, insisting that if we received kindness, we must repay it. He was adamant that I bring him some of his pesticide-free fruits and vegetables every month. Usually, I’d just leave them with his secretary and go. But that one time, I was already in the elevator when Adrian called. “Leaving already? Want to grab a bite?” he asked. It would be a lie to say I wasn’t happy to hear that. After all, I couldn’t help but be like other young girls, adoring Adrian like a celebrity. He took over the family business at a young age and wasn’t frivolous like many trust-fund kids. What’s more, he had a cool, detached aura and that intense, unsmiling profile. At dinner, I sensed he wasn’t in a good mood. I wracked my brain, foolishly telling him jokes and even made a complete fool of myself, just wanting to make him happy. Finally, he smiled. He said, “Skylar, you have such a great personality.” After that, he started contacting me more frequently. Sometimes it was just a simple meal, sometimes we’d go see a movie I was in, sometimes we’d attend a concert. I could feel that he was quite lonely. I thought, he saved my grandpa’s life, and if my clumsy jokes could make him happy, it would be a small way of repaying that kindness. Being friends would be enough. Until one evening, he got drunk and called me. I rushed over. He was sitting alone by the river, surrounded by countless beer bottles. I tried to pull him up, but he was strong and unreasonable, pulling me into his arms. When his hot lips descended, I was completely stunned. And, unfortunately, the paparazzi captured photos of him pulling me into that embrace, and they were all over Ins the next day. I had just won a newcomer award, but I was instantly slammed as a manipulative gold-digger trying to climb the social ladder. The online attacks began, with some even suspecting I had set Adrian up, deliberately arranging for the photos to leak. I panicked and called Adrian, explaining I hadn’t done anything. He was silent for a long time on the other end of the line, then asked me one question: “Skylar, do you want to get married?”

Adrian said it was the best way to immediately stop the rumors. I stood there, stunned for a long time, until a tear dropped to the ground, and I belatedly realized something. I actually really liked him. It was just that this feeling was buried so deep, I never dared to acknowledge it. And people in love always fantasize. I foolishly believed he wanted to protect me, that he might have felt bad for me because of those rumors, and that he wanted to marry me because he liked me too. So, I agreed. But it wasn’t like that at all. Much later, after facing countless insults and rumors, I learned he married me only because Serena had gotten married abroad. He needed a replacement to force himself to forget her. He also needed to give his family elders a definitive answer to stop their constant nagging about marriage. I was well-behaved and never caused trouble. Perhaps I could even entertain him occasionally like a clown, making me the most suitable candidate. After marriage, I, completely unaware of the truth, tried my best to be a good wife, Mrs. Adrian. I tried to blend into unfamiliar circles, learning new things. Just memorizing the names and preferences of all those high-society wives often kept me up until midnight. I transformed myself into a qualified Mrs. Adrian. My clothes, makeup, speech, and manners were all impeccable. I took care of his daily life, knew his tastes and preferences, and even Adrian’s always-critical mother praised me. But apart from sleeping in the same bed, we weren’t like a real couple. He never tried to understand me, or why I, despite marrying into wealth, was so dedicated to acting. He also said he liked quiet, and even after marriage, he needed his personal space. So, I put away my lively side. If he was busy, I never bothered him, even turning down the TV volume. But later, I found out he didn’t actually like quiet. When Serena returned with amnesia, he accompanied her shopping, ice skating, to stand-up comedy shows, and even to nightclubs. He clearly didn’t mind all that excitement. He just didn’t like me. Of course, I didn’t care anymore. The old me would send a concerned message if he came home late. I continued that habit, though I no longer cared for him, it was just routine. But in the days since Serena returned, I hadn’t asked him anything.

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My wife had been on a business trip for two days. I was cleaning up, and I casually told our smart speaker, “Aura, play some music.” Instead, a male voice, completely unfamiliar, replied. “Alright, my little Moonbeam. And a reminder for Camilla, don’t forget Leo’s birthday surprise tonight~” My entire body froze, the music instantly jarring. My wife’s name is Camilla. Who the hell is Leo? I immediately called my wife. “Did you do something with our smart speaker?” On the other end, her voice paused for a beat, then she laughed, nonchalantly. “Oh, a friend came over a few days ago, maybe they linked their account? Why?” I smiled and said it was nothing. After hanging up, I pulled up the speaker’s login history, then hailed a cab directly to the company listed under that unfamiliar account. The taxi pulled up in front of “Starry Design.” I looked up. Its glass facade shimmered, almost blinding in the sunlight, reflecting its aggressive rise in the industry over the past two years. Our main rival, Dream Weaver Design. The receptionist was highly professional. She didn’t bat an eye despite me being the owner of a rival company, simply making an internal call as a matter of routine. A few minutes later, a young man in a crisp white t-shirt hurried out, looking utterly clean and innocent. Leo Hayes. The moment he saw me, his eyes visibly flickered with panic, but he quickly composed himself, forcing a shy smile. “Hello, may I help you?” “The smart speaker,” I said, getting straight to the point, my gaze calm as I looked at him. “The login history shows your account.” “Oh, *that* speaker!” He feigned realization, then scratched his head awkwardly. “That’s my roommate’s. She used my phone to log in a few days ago, said her premium membership expired and wanted to use mine. Did it cause you any trouble? I’m so sorry!” He delivered his lines perfectly, deflecting any suspicion while appearing completely innocent and naive. If I didn’t know Camilla’s personality, I might have actually believed him. She was arrogant and fiercely private; there was no way she’d let some random intern use a personal account on our home devices. My gaze slowly shifted from his seemingly innocent face to his wrist. On it was a silver bracelet. Two irregular circles intertwined, and on one of them, a tiny letter ‘C’ was engraved. It was a gift I’d designed myself and had a craftsman friend make for Camilla last year for our wedding anniversary. ‘C’ for Camilla. There was only one in the world. Leo noticed my gaze and instinctively tried to hide his hand behind his back. But I smiled, stepping closer, my voice almost gentle. “That bracelet is quite unique. A gift from your girlfriend? She has excellent taste.” His face went ghost-white in an instant, his lips trembling, utterly speechless. That was enough. I didn’t look at him again, turning to leave. As soon as I was in the cab, I called my friend Marcus Bell, the best divorce lawyer in the business. The moment he picked up, his loud voice boomed through. “Well, well, Julian, to what do I owe the pleasure? Did hell freeze over?” “I need your help,” I said, watching the streetlights blur outside the window, my voice unnaturally calm. “I need you to dig into someone: Leo Hayes, an intern at Starry Design. And I want every single financial transaction and hotel booking record for Camilla from the last six months. Don’t miss a thing.” Marcus was silent for two seconds, then dropped his joking tone. “…Are you planning to burn her to the ground?” “Worse than that.” I hung up, the car falling into a dead silence. Not long after, Camilla’s call came through. I stared at the name “Wife” on the screen, feeling an immense irony, and took a deep breath before answering. “Julian, what’s wrong?” Her usual gentle, refined voice came through the phone, laced with just the right amount of concern. “Marcus mentioned you asked him to dig into something. Are you having trouble at work?” See? She’d already planted her little spy. I pushed down the swirling emotions and said in my most normal voice, “Nothing. I just suddenly missed you.” On the other end, she seemed to relax, then chuckled softly. “Silly goose, I miss you too. As soon as I finish this project, I’ll fly right back to be with you, my little Moonbeam.” Those three words, “little Moonbeam,” drilled into my ear, crystal clear. My grip on the phone tightened abruptly. So, I wasn’t her only Moonbeam. Or maybe, I’d never been.

Marcus was alarmingly efficient. Barely half an hour later, my phone vibrated. A link, accompanied by a message: “Your award-winning master manipulator, brought to you by yours truly. The evidence is so airtight, I almost feel bad charging you full price. Enjoy the show.” I clicked it open. It was Leo’s social media account, set to public. The latest post was a close-up of a wrist, adorned with that all-too-familiar ‘C’ bracelet. The caption read: “My Moonbeam comes for you, Ms. C.” My pet name, “little Moonbeam,” my ‘C’ bracelet—now both trophies for another man. I scrolled down expressionlessly. One photo showed our home library in the background. Leo was holding his face, smiling with a faux innocence, behind him the rare architecture books I’d brought back from Italy. The caption: “Soaking up wisdom in Ms. C’s study. Feeling myself getting smarter already!” Another photo, he was holding a fountain pen, sketching on a drawing. It was a limited-edition collaboration piece I’d given Camilla for her thirtieth birthday. Caption: “Ms. C’s pen is amazing to write with. She said my hands deserve the best.” And one more, at that private restaurant we always frequented, featuring my go-to dishes. Caption: “My secret hideaway with Ms. C. She says I’m the only one who truly makes her relax.” Every photo, every word, was like a precise scalpel, carving into my most vulnerable memories, one incision at a time. Until I scrolled to a post from three days ago. In the photo, Leo was holding a printed design draft, a look of triumph on his face. The caption: “Ms. C stayed up all night helping me refine this design. She said I’m the most inspired designer she’s ever met, and I’ll definitely win the ‘Skyline Center’ project. Go me!” “Skyline Center.” That was the project Dream Weaver had poured our hearts and souls into, preparing for a full six months. It was the most crucial milestone of my career. I shot up from the couch, grabbed my car keys, and stormed out of the house. The office was empty late at night. I unlocked the door with my fingerprint and headed straight to Camilla’s office. Her computer screen saver was still on: our wedding photo. She was smiling, so tender and fond. I felt a wave of nausea. I tapped the keyboard, the screen lit up, showing a password prompt. I tried my birthday—incorrect. Our wedding anniversary—still incorrect. I gave a bitter laugh and typed in Leo’s birthday. “Welcome.” The desktop was clean and tidy, and my eyes immediately landed on an encrypted folder. I clicked it open. Inside was the final proposal for “Skyline Center,” every detail a culmination of months of my team’s and my own hard work. And right beside it, glaringly obvious, lay another folder, named with a single letter – ‘L’. I opened it. The proposal inside was almost identical to ours, only with subtle adjustments to a few critical load-bearing structures and design highlights, cleverly sidestepping our core patents while retaining the essence of the design. The signature at the bottom was in two neat characters: Leo. Not only was she cheating, but she was stealing my hard work, my company’s future, to pave a golden path for her little toyboy. My stomach violently churned. I gripped the cold desk, barely keeping myself from collapsing. So, jealousy and betrayal could truly warp a woman into something unrecognizable.

The bidding conference for the “Skyline Center” project was packed and buzzing. I found an inconspicuous corner and sat down, watching the representative from Starry Design walk onto the stage. It was Leo. Today, he wore a tailored professional suit, looking more like a seasoned executive. He took a deep breath and began to explain his design concept. “My design inspiration comes from ‘The Eye of the City.’ We hope it won’t just be a cold structure, but a living entity that breathes with the city, witnessing its growth…” Every single word of that speech, I had spoken to Camilla countless nights, fueled by coffee, my eyes bloodshot from exhaustion. I once thought that was the most perfect soul connection between us. Now I knew it was just my own solo performance, and she, the most patient thief. Even more ironic, Camilla was sitting in the special guest section of the judging panel. She listened intently, nodding occasionally, her gaze on Leo filled with a brilliance I’d never seen before, a possessive pride that regarded him as a treasure she couldn’t wait to flaunt to the world. She completely ignored me in the corner, as if I were nothing more than an irrelevant backdrop. My phone vibrated in my palm. It was a message from Marcus. “Need me to show up with a baseball bat and crash the party?” I looked at the screen, a slight curve forming on my tightly drawn lips. I texted back two words: “Stand by.” On stage, Leo’s presentation reached its climax, the final rendering—the very one stolen from my computer—displayed on the projector. A low gasp rippled through the audience. The presentation ended, and applause thundered. The host stepped onto the stage. “Thank you, Mr. Hayes, for your brilliant presentation. Next, we invite our special guest judge, a highly respected veteran in our industry, Ms. Camilla Thorne from Dream Weaver Design, to offer her comments on this proposal.” The microphone was handed to Camilla. She cleared her throat, her gaze gently resting on Leo as she began. “Frankly, I’m genuinely surprised.” “Mr. Hayes’s design perfectly balances artistic aesthetics with practical function, especially the subtle adjustments to several critical load-bearing structures. It’s incredibly bold, incredibly inspired.” She used the word “inspired.” The same word she used to describe Leo, to wound me. She paused, her gaze sweeping across the room. “I believe this work is, without a doubt, the best of today.” Applause erupted again, louder than before. In that moment, my world went silent, save for the dull thudding of my heart in my chest. The host smiled, taking the microphone. “Thank you, Ms. Thorne, for your high praise! It seems Starry Design is poised for victory this time! Now, are there any other guests or judges who would like to ask Mr. Hayes a question?” The room fell silent. With Camilla’s “expert” seal of approval, there seemed to be nothing left to ask. Leo bowed on stage, his face alight with barely concealed triumph and joy. I put my phone away and, in the brief lull before everyone prepared to applaud again, stood up. My movement was slight, but it instantly drew everyone’s attention. The host blinked, a little flustered. “Sir, may I ask who you are?” Camilla’s smile froze.

Leo’s gaze, too, became wary and scrutinizing. I ignored the host, walking directly to the podium. The host on stage looked flustered, instinctively trying to block me, but one look from me made her retract her hand. I took the microphone from her hand. The cold metal against my palm only sharpened my focus. “Good afternoon, everyone.” My voice, amplified by the sound system, filled the hall, clear and steady. “I am Julian Thorne, founder of Dream Weaver Design.” A small murmur rippled through the audience; my colleagues all recognized me. I paused, my gaze sweeping over everyone, then landed precisely on the woman in the judging panel whose face had already begun to pale. I added the latter half of my sentence. “And also, Ms. Camilla Thorne’s husband.” *Boom!* The entire hall erupted in chaos. Countless eyes darted between Camilla and me, scrutinizing, shocked, gossiping. It was like thousands of tiny needles, puncturing the carefully maintained facade of her composure. I ignored the whispers, turning to plug the USB drive I’d brought into the computer. On the large screen behind me, Leo’s exquisite final rendering instantly vanished, replaced by the raw files from my own computer. Folder after folder, neatly organized by date. “Mr. Hayes’s proposal is indeed very ‘inspired’,” I said, a faint smile in my voice, as I clicked open the earliest folder. Inside were my first sketches, drawn on a digital tablet three months ago—rough, but brimming with my original concepts. “And it’s almost identical to my drafts from three months ago.” On the screen, I opened the file properties: creation date, modification date, timestamps accurate to the second, all displayed clearly on the large screen for everyone to see. Leo’s face went white. I continued clicking, opening one detailed drawing after another, structural analysis diagrams, 3D renderings… With each one I opened, Leo’s face grew whiter. Finally, I revealed a hidden layer. It was an anti-counterfeiting watermark I’d deliberately embedded to prevent commercial leaks—my initials, “JT,” cleverly integrated into the building’s shadows. “As for the core load-bearing structure in Mr. Hayes’s proposal, so highly praised by Director Thorne,” I brought up a mechanical model filled with dense data and formulas. “Here is the complete data calculation process. I wonder if Mr. Hayes could explain the application principle of the fifth parameter to everyone?” All eyes in the room instantly shot to Leo. He stood there, his lips trembling, utterly speechless. He understood none of it. Then, with a sudden wail, he burst into tears, rushing towards the judging panel and grabbing Camilla’s sleeve, sobbing. “Camilla, I didn’t… I don’t know what this is about! He’s bullying me, I didn’t plagiarize…” Camilla finally couldn’t sit still. She quickly stormed onto the stage, glaring fiercely at me, her voice low, a furious whisper only we could hear. “Julian Thorne! Haven’t you made enough of a scene?! Must you humiliate us both here?!” I found myself chuckling. “Humiliate?” I scoffed softly, removing her hand that was pointing at me. I took a step closer, leaning into her ear, speaking in a voice only she could hear. “Camilla, don’t rush. This is just an appetizer.” I stepped back, gripping the microphone again, my gaze sweeping over all the judges and guests. My voice wasn’t loud, but it was clear enough for the entire hall to hear. “The real humiliation isn’t mine. It belongs to certain people who, while stealing their husband’s hard work, also try to elevate their lover, praising a plagiarized work as a stroke of genius, right in front of the entire industry.” “Director Thorne,” I looked at her, smiling sweetly. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

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My sister called, battered and bruised, begging for help. Protecting her, I accidentally killed her husband. But in court, she refused to testify for me. She blamed me for taking Leo’s father away. Mom and Dad joined in, accusing me of ruining Brooke’s life. I was convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to ten years in prison. They tormented me day and night, until I died of depression behind bars. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the moment Brooke called for help… “Cassidy, save me!” Brooke’s heartbroken scream tore through the phone, a wild, beast-like roar echoing behind her. “I’ll kill you! I’ll absolutely kill you!” Julian’s enraged voice mixed with Brooke’s pleas, followed by a series of brutal thuds against a door. One, two… I froze. This scene, I’d lived through it before! And it was just six months before I died. I took a deep breath, my mind reeling back to that night. Six months ago, Julian had come home dead drunk. Brooke had simply asked where he’d been, and he’d grabbed her, slapping her a dozen times. She’d cried, begging for mercy, but he wouldn’t let up. He’d sworn she dared to meddle in his business and that he was going to kill her that night. She’d shrieked, fleeing into the bathroom, locking herself inside, and risking everything to call me, her voice trembling. When I’d arrived, I was greeted by a scene from hell, unlike anything I’d ever witnessed: Julian stood amidst shattered glass and broken things, a cleaver raised in his hand, furiously hacking at the bathroom door. One, two… His eyes were bloodshot, like a wild animal’s, roaring that he’d smash the door down and hack Brooke to death. Brooke’s cries, Julian’s roars, the brutal thuds of the cleaver against the door, the hissing, spitting sound of something boiling over on the stove… All sounds mashed together, instantly igniting something primal in me. No! He couldn’t kill my sister! My first instinct was to charge, to wrench the knife from his grasp. I didn’t even stop to consider if I’d become another casualty in his rampage. I’d never felt death so close. I stared into those bloodshot eyes, the eyes of a grim reaper. He held the knife in an iron grip, and I desperately clung to his wrist, fighting to stop him from bringing it down. Blood began to drip, drop by agonizing drop. My strength was draining away, little by little. And my *dear* sister? She stayed locked behind that bathroom door, utterly still. I don’t remember what happened next. When I regained consciousness, Julian was lying in a pool of blood, and Brooke was crying, shaking him. Then, the piercing wail of ambulances and the blare of police sirens filled the air. One phrase echoed relentlessly in my mind: “It was her! *She* did it! She killed my husband! Arrest this murderer!” Just then, Brooke wailed again: “Cassidy, hurry, save me! He’s gone crazy!” Cassidy? She still knew my name. But when she’d been ‘grieving’ her precious husband, she hadn’t called me that. She’d not only screamed “murderer” at the police, demanding I pay for murder with my life. She’d also adamantly refused to testify for me in court. Her reasoning? She argued that the charge wasn’t severe enough. Manslaughter? No, she insisted it should be premeditated murder. Because if it was only manslaughter, the chance of me getting the death penalty would be far too low. Even after I was sentenced to ten years, she’d visited me in prison, staring at me coldly, asking how I dared to still be alive. “You monster! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You made me a widow! You took Leo’s father away! How dare you only get ten years? Is this what our tax dollars are for? To keep *you* alive? You’re depressed? Will your depression bring my husband back? What will you give to atone for this? You murderer! Murderer!” I’d heard those words countless times in prison. “Cassidy, why aren’t you saying anything? Cassidy?” I took a deep breath. From start to finish, she was only desperate for me to rescue *her*. But she’d never once considered if *I* might be killed by him. Nor had she ever suggested I call the police to arrest her husband. She just wanted me to ‘make peace,’ so she could reconcile with Julian, *after* he’d had his fill of hitting her, and go back to her ‘happy’ life. How could I have been so blind to such selfish thoughts in my previous life? But this time, I wouldn’t interfere with her “happiness” ever again.

I held my phone, my voice flat, almost devoid of emotion. “I’m busy right now, I can’t make it back. You’ve always had a choice. If you don’t want a divorce but you want to *live*, then figure it out on your own. And by the way, if you encounter a murderer, call the police. Calling me won’t do anything.” With that, I hung up. I knew she must be utterly stunned. From childhood, I had always indulged her, never letting her suffer even the slightest slight. In school, she was the enviable goody-two-shoes, while I was the tough-as-nails girl everyone feared. Whenever she was bullied by the queen bees, I would step out and challenge them to square off against me. “Cassidy, you saved me! You’re the best sister ever!” Each time, she’d look at me with tear-filled eyes. But who knew? Turns out, a ‘good sister’ was easily disposable when a ‘good husband’ was on the line. The most ironic part was, when I was in prison, one of my cellmates was one of those very queen bees from back then. When she heard the full story, she was furious on my behalf: “Seriously, is Brooke out of her mind? Giving up her own sister for *that* kind of man? You did so much for her back then, and this is what you get? It’s not worth it, Cassidy.” No, of course it wasn’t worth it. Lost in thought, I walked back home. The moment I opened the door, I was hit by a full-blown verbal assault from Mom and Dad. “You ungrateful girl! Where the hell have you been? Do you have any idea your sister almost *died* just now?” I thought they were mad at me for being indifferent, but their next words nearly made my jaw drop: “And you had the nerve to tell your sister to call the police? Are you insane?” “If the police take Julian away, how do you expect to make it up to Brooke and her family?” “Doesn’t Leo need his father? Doesn’t Brooke need her husband? Are you just jealous that your sister has a family?” They went on and on, their faces red with fury, all condemning me for speaking without thinking, for trying to break up the family. It was laughable. They’re retired educators, for crying out loud, yet their minds are still so stubbornly stuck in the past. Why hadn’t I noticed their bizarre behavior in my previous life? Back then, after I was jailed, the old couple would visit me every visiting day, just to scream at me. They accused me of ruining Brooke’s home, of destroying their precious Leo. Eventually, I refused to see them anymore. But their emotional abuse, it was relentless. It seeped into every corner of my mind. I couldn’t understand why, after I had protected them and accidentally killed that piece of trash, they still considered *him* the source of their happiness. And me? The killer who destroyed it all? I didn’t get it. I tossed and turned every night, consumed by sorrow. Even Raven kept telling me it was my family who had problems, not me, but I couldn’t accept that the family I’d protected and loved with all my might for a lifetime would collectively turn on me so cruelly. In the end, I had a mental breakdown and bit off my tongue, dying by suicide. No one came to see me, even at the very end. Since you care so much about that man, and so highly value the ‘integrity’ of the family, Then this life, I’ll grant your wish. I sneered. “I didn’t tell her to call the police. I just said if she’s in danger, she should know to call them. What’s wrong with that? Besides, she still had enough strength to complain to you, so she’s clearly fine, isn’t she? Why are you two so worked up about it now?” “Fine?” My dad’s temper flared again. “She’s only ‘fine’ because *we* went and knelt before him! You child, how can you be so cold-blooded and selfish!” “Alright, alright, Leo’s asleep, everyone quiet down.” Just then, Brooke’s bedroom door opened, and she walked out, dark circles under her swollen eyes. Her face was still bruised and puffy; she’d clearly taken a beating. The moment Leo’s name was mentioned, my parents instantly fell silent, as if their grandchild was royalty in this house. Ridiculous. I rolled my eyes. I’m not trying to be dark, but that kid of Brooke’s? Mark my words, he’s going to end up in serious trouble, probably get himself killed.

Leo was the most annoying kid I’d ever met. If Mom and Dad hadn’t brought Brooke and him to my place without my permission this time, I would never have allowed that little brat to set foot in my house. He inherited all of Julian’s worst habits, and with my parents’ endless spoiling, he was utterly lawless. The most malicious incident happened at a wedding, where he deliberately ran into a pregnant woman’s stomach, just because he thought it would be ‘fun’ to see if her belly would flatten. He was already in second grade; he knew exactly what a flattened belly meant. Yet this little monster was treated like gold by the whole family. Brooke refused to divorce, partly because she was hopelessly in love, but also because she couldn’t bear to lose her son. She was the quintessential doting wife and ‘boy-mom,’ it had to be said. But people like her never feel like *they* are suffering; only those around her, like me, suffer. In my last life, I’d urged her to let go, to abandon both father and son. Instead, I got a three-on-one tongue-lashing from her and my parents. Sure enough, his arrival this time meant more trouble for me. That night, everyone was asleep, but I faintly heard some rustling in the living room. I opened my door to find that little monster using a utility knife to scratch something on the windowsill. Sleepy-eyed, I flipped on the light, and the sight before me instantly made my scalp crawl. On the windowsill, my four pet guinea pigs were splayed open, gutted, lying in a row, blood pooled all over the floor. “Ah!!!” I shut my eyes and let out the most piercing scream of my life. The sound seemed to hit some twisted pleasure center in his brain; Leo immediately burst into maniacal laughter. “What are you doing?! Why did you kill the guinea pigs?!” I erupted, fear, rage, and grief clenching my heart. I didn’t even know if I was speaking to a person or a demon. “It was fun.” He said, then picked one up and started walking towards me, as if trying to provoke me further. “Get away!” I shrieked, backing away. I was terrified of him, and I dared not scold him, because I truly didn’t know what he was capable of.

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For nine years, after we got married, Scarlett Hayes had an endless stream of admirers. She reveled in having young, impressionable guys fall head over heels for her. I pretended to be understanding and tolerant, letting her enjoy herself. We maintained this unspoken understanding for nine years. Until I was strong enough, I walked away without a second glance. That night, Scarlett smashed everything in the house, grabbing my collar and screaming: “So, all these years, you never loved me!” Love? No. What I truly loved, what I truly wanted, was power and wealth. Nothing else. I was experimenting with a new way to brew tea when the doorbell rang late one evening. Slipping on my house shoes, I went to open it. A drunken Scarlett stumbled straight into me. Behind her, the young man supporting her stepped forward, smiling. “Julian,” he chirped, “Ms. Hayes had too much to drink, so I brought her home.” The guy, Leo Stone, was young, vibrant, and his smile radiated sunshine, utterly devoid of any aggression. He was Scarlett’s standard “boy toy” type. I gently pushed Scarlett back into his arms, my voice even. “There are fresh pajamas in the bottom drawer of the closet. Feel free to pick any style you like.” I paused, then added, “I’m a light sleeper. Keep the noise down tonight.” Leo probably hadn’t expected me to be so… magnanimous, in the face of his affair with my wife. His eyes widened, and his words came out in a stutter. “J-J-Julian, I’m not staying the night—” He carefully helped Scarlett onto the sofa, his movements gentle, full of affection. Then, he flashed a shy smile at me. “Julian, thanks for taking care of Ms. Hayes.” He deliberately stressed the word ‘thanks,’ acting like he was the one in charge. It was almost comical. I found myself mildly amused. The young man’s attempt to stake his claim was rather clumsy. “When it comes to taking care of people, our housekeeper is far more adept.” Leo’s face fell, and he went silent. I couldn’t be bothered to say more. After seeing him out, I turned back to the kitchen. “He’s just a kid brother. Why are you getting so worked up?” Scarlett’s voice drifted from behind me, without a hint of the drunken slur she’d had earlier. She walked up, wrapping her arms around me from behind. “Don’t worry, he won’t threaten your position.” I calmly poured out the tea from my cup, offering no reply. Scarlett always loved to bring up “position” when she was around me. As if that word alone. Should make me wag my tail, begging for her favor, eternally grateful for being her husband. But that position, I *did* care about it. Not because I loved her. But because of the advantages it brought me.

At the dinner table, Scarlett, still reeking of alcohol, leaned into me. “Leo just graduated. I’m thinking of making him my assistant.” That actually surprised me a little. Over the years, men had come and gone in her life. The longest any of them lasted was three months. Scarlett was naturally fickle, always chasing novelty. She usually hated getting entangled, yet she was willing to keep Leo close. It seemed she genuinely liked this “boy toy.” I lowered my gaze, asking calmly, “Do you need me to arrange anything for him?” Scarlett lifted her eyelids, glancing at me, a teasing smirk on her lips. “So generous? What if he tries to push you out and become the Hayes family’s son-in-law?” I replied, expressionless, “Whatever you wish. Anything is fine.” “Julian, stop it. I’m not in the mood to coddle you right now.” As she spoke, Scarlett looked languid, her eyelids slightly drooped. As if she was certain I was just acting jealous and speaking in a huff. Seeing my silence, Scarlett slowly sat up straight. “Are you serious?” I was a little confused. “Don’t you just want me to be obedient and sensible? “If he wants my position, I’ll let him have it. Isn’t that good?” The soothing soup I’d prepared for her stomach was suddenly thrown to the floor. She erupted in a sudden fit of rage. “Julian Blackwood, what the hell are you doing?” Soup and ceramic shards scattered everywhere. I paused, my gaze shifting from the mess on the floor to her face. “Is there something you’re unhappy with?” The next second, my chin was grasped tightly in her hand. Scarlett looked down at me, every word bitten out through clenched teeth. “Leo won’t affect your status. Don’t play games with me.” “Julian Blackwood, stay in your place as the Hayes family’s son-in-law.”

Scarlett stormed out, probably to find Leo. Not long after, she sent me a SnapChat message. “Julian Blackwood, once you’ve reflected enough, come apologize to me.” I stared blankly at the shattered ceramic, my mind drifting back to the past. After high school graduation, Scarlett had cautiously shuffled closer to me. Just so she could be nearer in the photo. There was only a shoulder’s width between us. But I could feel the fiery, intense crush of a teenage girl back then. The summer wind carried a lingering heat from the day. Close to her, my chest felt warm. Even now, I remember. The sparkle and exhilaration in Scarlett’s eyes when I accepted her confession. She said she’d be the most perfect girlfriend in the world. That she’d treat me well forever. Wrapped in a young girl’s sincere, passionate love, I naturally believed her. I didn’t doubt her sincerity, but sincerity is fleeting. In college, I started working and building my own business. Most of my time was dedicated to academics and my ventures. Despite this, I still prepared plenty of surprises for every date. The emotional support and validation she needed were always there. But Scarlett was still dissatisfied. She wanted me to spend more time traveling and exploring with her. Yet years of relentless academic grind had been too tough; I couldn’t afford a single misstep. We started fighting frequently. Until the business I built collapsed due to cutthroat competition. That day, Scarlett accompanied me to close down the shop. All the way there, she seemed unusually excited. “I told you not to bother. Just settle down and be the Hayes family’s son-in-law after graduation.” A compliant, thoughtless machine—that was the future she envisioned for me. Like a kept man, existing solely for her pleasure and command. “I have nothing to reflect on.” Scarlett seemed to have been waiting for my reply. Almost the instant my message went out, she replied. “Julian Blackwood, I’m waiting for the day you come begging me.”

Our wedding anniversary was at the end of the month. We had already planned to celebrate it with a formal dinner. In reality, this was no simple party. With prominent business figures attending, it was a crucial opportunity for Hayes Group. In the past two years, with rapid digital advancement, even leading corporations were feeling the impact. Hayes Group, having lagged in innovation, was hit the hardest. I had worked day and night with my team to develop new products. We were just waiting for this banquet to officially launch them. This was Hayes Group’s best chance to attract investment and support. At this critical juncture. Neither internal affairs nor potential investors could tolerate any mishap. I repeatedly emphasized to Scarlett that she absolutely could not miss it. Because Hayes Group needed to not only demonstrate the commercial value of its new products. But also project an image of a united and harmonious front between its CEO and her husband to the observing partners. Only then could we avoid any scandal impacting the stock market. But Scarlett seemed to think this occasion was just like any other. A mere show, something to be done whenever. So, when Leo faked an illness and begged her to keep him company, she didn’t hesitate. I also knew full well. There was another reason she agreed. She wanted to teach me a lesson, a payback for making her unhappy that day. I stared numbly at the countless unanswered calls on my phone. The partner next to me already looked extremely displeased. Around me, eyes full of amusement studied me. It was then that a message popped up on my phone. “Julian, Ms. Hayes is with me.” The next second, a photo flashed across the grand screen at the banquet. The two in the picture were intimately posed. Scarlett leaned on Leo’s shoulder, her lipstick smudged, cheeks flushed. Just one photo. That single photo. The carefully cultivated image of a perfect, harmonious marriage was instantly shattered, revealing its cracks. No one would bet their money on a new product that could implode at any moment. The surrounding murmurs were too loud. So loud that my mind buzzed, and I couldn’t hear anything clearly. The dazzling lights overhead, the clinking of glasses, the mocking laughter echoed, one after another. For a moment, I couldn’t even tell if I was dreaming or awake. It wasn’t until deep into the night. When scattered stars twinkled, that the guests began to disperse, one by one.

In the dead of night, a heavy rain began to fall. When Scarlett arrived at the hotel, the banquet had long since ended. She found me sitting expressionless amidst the wreckage on the floor. “Julian—” I heard her voice and slowly lifted my head, my eyes hollow. “Are you satisfied now?” “Everything’s ruined. All the team’s efforts, down the drain.” “Ms. Hayes, are you satisfied with this lesson?” Scarlett’s face paled at my words, her voice trembling slightly. “Julian, I didn’t know this banquet was so important. “Why did you make me unhappy that day? I just wanted you to admit you were wrong—” Scarlett’s voice grew softer and softer, until it completely faded. I stared at the wine glass by my feet. The leftover red wine reflected the hazy overhead lights, making me dizzy. “Scarlett.” My emotions gradually steadied, followed by a profound weariness. “Nine years, you played around for nine years, and I never thought of leaving you. “I always thought you just hadn’t grown up, that you were still childish. “But today, you publicly humiliated me, made all my efforts for you utterly useless—” I slipped off my wedding ring and placed it in Scarlett’s hand. “Scarlett, let’s get a divorce.” Hearing that, Scarlett actually laughed. “Is this your ultimate goal? “I thought, a mere new product launch, why would you be so distraught? “Turns out you just want to threaten me into settling down for you.” Ah, the spoiled rich girl, raised with endless indulgence. Sometimes, her stupidity was truly laughable. “Julian Blackwood, you’ll always be the Hayes family’s son-in-law. Stay in your place.” Scarlett had no patience. Her breath, light and ticklish, grazed my ear. “It’s fine to make a fuss sometimes, but overdoing it makes people dislike you.” “Leo poses no threat to your position.” Scarlett picked up the ring and put it back on my finger. Even now, she still believed I was just making a scene. I took the ring off again, twirled it between my fingers in front of her, then loosened my grip. The ring spun in the air, landing on the floor with a crisp clink. “This isn’t a game of playing hard to get, as you seem to think.” “Scarlett.” I looked up at her. “Let’s get a divorce.”

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I stayed because of a single sentence from Seraphina after my mission was complete. But three years into our marriage, her heart changed. The system told me I was here *for* Seraphina. The moment she no longer needed me, I would be forced to leave this world. Later, The system asked me how I wanted to die. I said, “On the overpass where we first met.” What I never expected was that the person who hit me would be her, too. The accident report, Perhaps my last “gift” to her. The day I found out Seraphina’s heart had changed was on the night of our third wedding anniversary. I’d specially cooked her favorite Honey-Glazed Salmon with Roasted Asparagus. It was then I learned that a table full of warm home-cooked dishes could turn stone cold in just three hours. I waited from eight o’clock until eleven that night. All I got was a dismissive SnapChat reply from Seraphina. “Something came up at the office. Won’t be home tonight.” I only replied: “What kind of thing?” She sent a voice message back. “You wouldn’t understand office stuff, so can you please stop acting like some clingy, jealous husband, always prying and asking questions?” Her tone was irritable, full of impatience. And a hint of entitlement. She sounded like she had a point. I’d promised to take care of the home after we married, and it probably made me seem out of touch with today’s society. All I saw around me were the mundane trivialities of daily life. Everyone envied me for being a kept man at such a young age. My wife was beautiful, and she was willing to support us. But they forgot that in the company’s early days, I was the one who helped Seraphina build it up, step by step. I was the one who drank so much I got a stomach hemorrhage, and I was the one who ended up in the hospital. It should have been a real power couple setup, a win-win for both of us. But because of one sentence from Seraphina, I willingly stepped back to be the man behind her success. “My Ash, will you take care of me from now on? I don’t want a cold, empty house. You cook so well, will you cook for me for the rest of my life, please?” Back then, our love was passionate. She clung to me, whispering sweet nothings. She looked utterly devoted to me. *Home* – what a beautiful word. Because of that sentence, I chose to stay in this world and spend my life with my girl. But she broke her promise. Somewhere along the way, the “home” we talked about became a joke, just for me. She started coming home late, and her attitude towards me worsened daily. Sometimes, she even brought back the smell of another man’s cigarette smoke. A woman’s love, or lack thereof, is brutally obvious. She no longer snuggled into my arms, sweetly calling me “My Ash.” She grew cold, speaking sharply, using my full name as if I were a servant, telling me to do this and that. I wasn’t an idiot. I could clearly see her coldness. But I refused to believe the woman who’d once promised to build a home with me would change her heart. Then, the long-absent system voice in my head shattered my last illusion.

[Target subject Seraphina Thorne has changed her heart. Host’s existence has become an emotional burden. You will soon be forced to leave this world.] “Not annihilation?” I blinked, surprised by the system’s mercy. After all, in my memory, it had always been utterly ruthless. [Host has one hour to choose your method of death. Do not waste time.] Hearing that cold, mechanical voice in my head, I surprisingly felt a flicker of warmth after so long. No expectations, no pain. I stood up, looking at the untouched meal, and in a fit of bitter defiance, dumped it all into the trash. Then I opened my phone and started scrolling through Ins. When I saw that intimate photo, a sharp, familiar pain still bloomed deep inside me. Seraphina’s strange behavior tonight now had the most logical explanation. Blake Sterling was back in the country. The playboy who once considered Seraphina a mere bet had returned. And Seraphina’s absence tonight was simply to welcome Blake Sterling back. They were celebrating in a private room. And Seraphina was looking at Blake Sterling, who stood in the center of the crowd, her eyes sparkling like stars. My fingers trembled as they grazed over those radiant eyes in the photo; I almost dropped my phone. My vision blurred, but my heart swelled with a frustrating helplessness. Had she forgotten Blake Sterling’s past cruelty? I had thought my arrival could change Seraphina’s fate, but now it seemed I was just deluding myself. The system had told me Seraphina was supposed to be the main character of a dark romance novel, a real tear-jerker. But because readers deeply resented the male lead, Blake Sterling, A gentle man was needed to save her. Someone who wouldn’t be with an arrogant, disrespectful man. And so, I appeared in Seraphina’s world. Just like her, I entered the elite private school as a scholarship student. When Seraphina was targeted by other girls, I would purposefully raise my voice and warn them that the dean was coming, making the bullies back off. When Seraphina was used as a bet by those rich kids, I risked Blake Sterling’s retaliation to personally hand her the recording. That was the first time I saw Seraphina cry. She cried and asked me *why*. At the time, I thought Seraphina was asking me why I was so good to her. But looking at that photo on Ins, that “why” sounded more like an accusation towards me. An accusation for shattering her few precious dreams. Blake Sterling’s pursuit had given the overlooked Seraphina some of the only attention she’d ever received. But I had ruined it for her. The realization hit me, and I laughed and cried at the same time, finally understanding that her gradual coldness over the years was nothing more than her revenge against me.

From a timid girl to the capable CEO she was today, I had watched her grow, step by step. The first warm pumpkin spice latte of autumn, the first roasted chestnut of winter – these few small moments of warmth left me like a drowning man grasping at straws, desperately searching for traces of Seraphina’s love in the tiniest things. [System, Seraphina loved me once, she just doesn’t anymore, right?] I humbly sought an answer from the system. [Host, you have forty minutes left.] The system’s evasiveness made me feel like a stray, utterly lost and pathetic. It was ridiculous. I wiped the tears from my face and called Seraphina. She rejected the call. But I was persistent, calling more than twenty times. Finally, she decided to acknowledge me. “Asher Hayes, are you *annoying*? Didn’t I say I was busy?” Through her impatient voice, I heard the raucous celebration of a bar, followed by an unfamiliar yet familiar male voice. “Sera, who is it? Is it your spouse checking in on you?” His tone was flirtatious, laced with casual indifference. Like it was just an idle question. “No, Asher and I… our relationship is just, you know. Just a temporary arrangement, a practical partnership.” Her voice grew flustered, as if she was worried Blake Sterling would ignore her. “Oh, if the passion’s gone, then just cut ties, right? I seem to recall you and Blake having some unfinished business back in the day.” Someone started to egg them on, shouting, “Get together! Get together!” I don’t know how Seraphina faced those taunts. All I had, Was the cold silence after the call disconnected. My hands and feet were icy. I slid down the wall to the floor, asking the system in my head in a hoarse voice: “As a strategist, was I a complete failure? I couldn’t save Seraphina, and instead, I sacrificed myself.” The system was silent for a long time. It seemed unable to bear my miserable state and finally spoke the only somewhat human-sounding sentence. [Host, this merely indicates a strong attraction between the male and female leads. Furthermore, you have taught the female lead self-reliance and confidence. Even if she ends up with the male lead, she will not fall into the passive situation of the original plot. After your death, I will send you back to your original world.] While comforting me, it still didn’t forget to urge me to die quickly. To have the system care about me before I died, It was a pretty new feeling.

I put on my coat and grabbed my car keys, heading out. The late autumn night carried a biting chill. The streetlights behind me flickered on, their dim yellow glow offering no warmth. I stood on the path, originally intending to go to the beach, but suddenly changed my mind. Within moments, I arrived at the place where Seraphina and I first met. The overpass was bustling with traffic, like this busy society, full of diverse people and situations that always made one feel out of place. When I first arrived, I hadn’t even fully registered my transmigration when I was thrown into a panic by the girl crying her eyes out in front of me. In real life, I wasn’t good with words. Seeing the girl’s pathetic state, I couldn’t help but offer her a tissue. She snatched it awkwardly, her back to me, curled into a ball, not speaking. After the system’s introduction, I realized that this tear-stained mess of a girl was the person I needed to save. The legendary protagonist of a dark romance novel, a real tear-jerker. Her mother died when she was three, and her father was sentenced to ten years in prison for theft when she was seven. She worked hard to get into an elite private school but unexpectedly met Blake Sterling due to a bet. After a series of events like campus bullying, being mistaken for the other woman, pregnancy and miscarriage, divorce, and remarriage, she would live happily ever after with the male lead. Hearing this, my face was a mask of utter disbelief, completely speechless. My mission was to make the female lead self-loving and independent, no longer living for a heartless man. In this world, my family background was the same as in my real world. No parents, no one to rely on. Looking at the silently sobbing girl, and remembering how she would later debase herself for a man, I couldn’t resist poking her shoulder. “Hey, don’t do anything foolish. There’s always hope in life.” It was cheesy advice, but I’d always comforted myself with it when facing a failed grad school application, a public service job slot being stolen, or being laid off from a company. As long as you’re alive, there’s always a way out. But my words seemed to infuriate the girl. A rare flash of annoyance crossed her face. “What do you know? You have no idea how exhausting my life is!” Perhaps because I was a complete stranger, she poured out all her teenage troubles to me. I knew she didn’t need my comfort. She was just too overwhelmed and needed someone to vent to. I listened silently, offering her a bottle of water when she got thirsty. We talked from dawn till dusk, and the resentment on Seraphina’s face gradually faded, her expression softening. “I’m sorry for wasting so much of your time listening to my rambling.” She stood up, brushed the dust off her skirt, waved to me, and shouted cheerfully, “Kind stranger, until we meet again!” She was vibrant and full of life, not at all the emaciated person described in the later parts of the novel. I suddenly felt that the mission the system had given me truly had meaning.

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My sister gave up studying to work in a factory, all for a man. In my past life, I became a billionaire because of that very man. She wanted to copy me, but ended up getting sold for marriage money instead. She never anticipated that this life, we’d have a little brother. “Our family is poor. We can only afford to send one of you to college. You two draw lots to decide.” Dad held two wooden sticks, his face etched with what looked like pain. “Whoever draws the shorter stick gets to continue their studies. Lily, you’re the younger sister, you go first!” This familiar scene hit me like a ton of bricks. I had been reborn! My gaze locked onto the wooden sticks, fragments of memories flashing through my mind. The terror as my sister pushed me down, the agonizing pain when I hit the ground. But my thoughts quickly snapped back to the moment of decision in my previous life. Last time, I chose the stick on the right. From that day on, my schooling ended. Yet, my grades were far better than Blair’s. I had even been accepted into the city’s top high school, known for its incredible college acceptance rates. Blair’s grades? Even if she pushed herself to the limit in high school, she’d be lucky to get into a mid-level university. Given our family’s poverty, letting me continue my education was clearly the most beneficial path for everyone. But my parents, for some reason, chose to decide with a draw. Because they favored Blair! I’d always known it, so even getting the chance to draw felt like a small victory. Since childhood, they’d buy Blair new clothes, but never me. Every time, they’d say, “Blair’s clothes are too small for her, but they’re perfect for you. Buying you new clothes would just be a waste of money.” As the second child, and a girl at that, I had always been on the receiving end of their coldness. Blair was their first, the fruit of their love, so they loved her. As for me? Grandma had wanted a grandson, so they risked financial strain to have a second child. But in the end, they got me, another girl. My birth cost the family thousands of dollars in unexpected expenses! Grandma despised me, and that resentment extended to Mom too. So, after I was born, Mom had a really tough recovery period. She couldn’t hate Grandma, or Dad. She could only resent me. She felt it was all my fault. In those days, a second child was a significant financial burden, and a third even more so. They couldn’t afford to try for a third child, hoping for a son! So, they believed I had blocked their path to having a son. They saw me as bad luck. Mom wanted to name me “Superfluous.” Grandma said to name me “Short-Lived,” hoping I’d die young. If I died, they could have another child, and it would still be considered their second, avoiding the even higher costs of a third. In the end, Dad was afraid the villagers would laugh, so my name became something mundane, signifying my insignificant existence.

My sister’s name was Blair, because they hoped her future would be bright and successful, with every road leading to prosperity. In my past life, after middle school, I followed other villagers to a clothing factory. At fifteen, most legitimate factories wouldn’t hire me, and the pay was pitiful. I often worked night shifts, at least 12 hours a day. Most of my meager monthly wages had to be sent home for Blair’s schooling. That first month at the factory, I didn’t even have money to buy a blanket. My parents had only paid for my bus fare, nothing else. Thankfully, the southern summer was scorching, and I barely made it until my first paycheck. My life only started to improve when I began dating the factory owner’s son. Later, riding the e-commerce boom, the factory made tens of millions, and I became a wealthy woman. Blair, though she eventually got into a mid-level university, found that as life improved and more people graduated, her degree wasn’t as valuable. The moment Blair got into college was the most glorious in her past life. After graduation, she discovered that finding a job was hard, and the pay wasn’t good. Later, Blair married her college boyfriend, Mark. They both worked in his hometown’s small town, earning a combined total of just over $5,000 a month. Money problems poisoned their marriage, and their conflicts grew. Meanwhile, every time I came home, I drove a luxury car, carrying bags full of expensive gifts. Blair’s heart twisted with resentment. After Mark cheated on her, she finally snapped, blaming everything on me. 2 Blair’s face was contorted with rage as she pushed me. “How dare you be so rich! You, who never even went to college, how dare you live a more glamorous life than me? Just die!” In my panic, I instinctively pulled her down with me. We both fell off the cliff. My thoughts snapped back to the present. My eyes were fixed on the left wooden stick. Last life, I chose the right stick and missed out on school. This life, I’m choosing the left! This time, I’ll be the one who gets to go to school! Suppressing my excitement, I quickly pulled out the left stick, a thrill surging through me. “Dad! My stick is short…” My words died in my throat as Dad opened his hand. But the result, once again, defied my expectations… The stick in Dad’s hand was visibly shorter than mine. His voice was just as regretful as last time. “Lily, it seems your luck isn’t good. You picked the long one. The chance to study will have to go to your sister. From now on, work hard and earn money for your sister’s tuition! When Blair makes something of herself, she can help you out.” How was this possible?! I snatched both sticks, disbelief flooding me. Last life, I chose the right one, and it was long. This life, I chose the left one, and it was *still* long. Staring at the two sticks for several long minutes, everything finally clicked into place. Anger and betrayal surged through my chest! No wonder they insisted I go first this time. They had already made their choice. No matter what I picked, Blair was destined to be the one to go to school! Because they could snap off the longer stick at any time! Just like they were snapping my wings, keeping me forever trapped in their grasp. They had fabricated this charade of a fair choice, forcing me to swallow my resentment, to work and pay for Blair’s education. They would drink my blood while mocking my bad luck. In my past life, no matter how hard I worked, I never blamed them for not letting me go to school. Because *I* had chosen that stick. I didn’t blame my fate; I just worked harder. But now… I saw Mom visibly relax after Dad announced the result. They exchanged a quick, knowing glance, their eyes gleaming with the triumph of a successful scheme. I was just too young and naive in my past life to see it. Suddenly, nothing else seemed to matter. Fine. If I can’t go to school, I can’t go to school. With my past life’s experience, making money this time around will be easy. But before I could even fully process it, Blair rushed forward, frantic.

“No! Let Lily go to school! *I’ll* go to work!” Blair’s eyes shone with uncontrollable joy and excitement. She clutched Dad’s arm so tightly his shirt nearly ripped. “Don’t be ridiculous!” Mom snapped at Blair, her brows furrowed in displeasure, shooting her sister meaningful glances. “What future do you have if you don’t study? You’ll just end up working in a factory, earning meager wages, and never amount to anything!” I gave a bitter laugh. So, Mom knew all along. But last life, when I was chosen to go to the factory, all they said was: “Lily, your sister needs to study hard. It’s so much better for you to be out earning money!” Blair looked at Mom, disagreeing, her gaze sweeping over me, a calculating glint in her eyes. “Mom, studying isn’t that useful anymore. There are so many college graduates now; their degrees aren’t worth much. It’s better to go out and work early, then marry a rich man. A woman’s ultimate success depends on who she marries! If I go to work, with my looks, who knows? Maybe I’ll end up with the boss’s son! Then I’ll be the boss’s wife!” The moment Blair said this, I knew she had been reborn too. But her words sounded nothing like a teenage girl. Dad’s brows knitted together in a frown. “You’re too young. What do you know?” Mom continued to persuade her: “Blair, you shouldn’t say such things. There’s a big difference between having a degree and not. With a degree, you can marry someone from the city, and your in-laws will look up to you.” The more she spoke, the more sarcastic I felt. “Mom! By the time I finish college, I’ll be older. Rich men prefer younger women!” Blair retorted anxiously. Mom seemed to find some truth in what she said, but she still thought Blair was too impulsive. “Are you really decided? You don’t want to go?” “Yes!” Blair’s tone was firm. She walked over to me, a smirk playing on her lips. “Alright, if you don’t want to study, then you two sisters can go work in the factory together. At least you’ll have company!” Mom declared. “What?!” I couldn’t sit still anymore! When Blair was studying, I couldn’t. Now she wasn’t studying, and I *still* couldn’t. No matter how you sliced it, they just didn’t want to spend any more money on me. I was about to argue, but Blair cut me off and solved the problem herself. She said, with feigned sincerity: “Mom, Lily still needs to go to school. Our family needs to produce at least one college student, otherwise, the villagers will laugh at us!” At Blair’s suggestion, Mom and Dad finally agreed to let me continue my education. However, her situation was completely different from mine in the past life. Last life, when I left home, they said: “Don’t cause trouble out there. Be patient with everything, don’t waste money, and transfer your wages back as soon as you get them.” But for Blair, Mom and Dad gave her thousands of dollars, terrified she’d be uncomfortable away from home. “Take this money. Buy anything you need, don’t skimp on yourself. Don’t worry about home. Spend your own money on whatever you want!” Then they turned to me: “Your sister gave up her chance to study for you. When you get into college, you must never forget your sister. She is your benefactor!” I remained silent. I had already given up on these biased parents. This life, I wouldn’t spend another dime on them! “Alright, alright, I get it!” Blair said impatiently. The next day, Blair left for the factory in the southern city with some other villagers. As she was leaving, she suddenly leaned in and whispered to me: “This life, it’s my turn to be the rich lady!” I pretended not to understand, lowering my gaze and fawning over her: “Oh, Sister, I’m sure you’ll be a rich lady.” Blair saw no unusual reaction on my face, snorted dismissively, and left. But in less than three months, Blair came running back.

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My Sicilian crime boss boyfriend, Dante Volkov, and I had been together for ten years. I shielded him from blades ninety-nine times. On the hundredth time, he was finally moved. He decided to go straight and immigrate to the US to marry me. But on the day we were supposed to leave, he suddenly tore up the immigration papers. He wanted to stay with that woman who always timidly clung to his side, Willow. One of his men cautiously asked: “What about Sera?” “Didn’t you two agree to go to the US and start fresh, under new identities, after you went straight?” It was as if he’d just remembered, he slowly flicked ash from his cigarette, saying casually: “So what? Her life belongs to me.” “Without me, she would have been torn apart by rivals long ago. She’ll come around once she knows I’ve changed my mind. She’ll have no choice but to stay.” My nails dug deep into my palms, barely stopping myself from crying. That night, I destroyed all the secret codes and signals related to him, as if I had never known him. I didn’t stop my plans to immigrate. He didn’t know. I had walked through a decade of blood and chaos with him, But going straight, going overseas, was the only path I had chosen for myself to survive. He used to be my whole world, but now, I didn’t want him anymore.

One of his men saw me to the car, asking my destination several times, but I didn’t hear him. I remembered earlier, how I had excitedly gone to Dante, lunchbox in hand, ready to tell him our flight was booked. Instead, I overheard his conversation with Leo, his subordinate. “Are you really not going to the US, boss? What about Sera?” Dante glanced at him lazily. “Go subtly hint at it.” “What if Sera ignores me?” The tip of his cigarette glowed on and off; he flicked the ash impatiently. “A woman who constantly worries about my safety, who even personally makes me something as simple as porridge – how could she bear to miss your hint?” “A woman like Sera, I just have to beckon, and she’ll come running.” As he spoke, he couldn’t help but chuckle. Leo joked: “Boss, you’re amazing. You can even train a woman like Sera to be like a puppy. You should teach me your dating skills.” Dante crossed his long legs, his impatience growing. “A woman like Sera is too much drama. If you date someone like that, you’ll have hell to pay.” I looked at the two blisters on my hand from the scorching rice cooker and couldn’t help but laugh out loud. He rubbed the old-fashioned lighter in his hand, his expression somewhat strained. “Leo, Willow’s condition requires very specific care, resources for which aren’t easily found in the US. If I leave, she’ll be all alone. I can’t bear to abandon her.” In that instant, I felt like I’d fallen into an ice cavern. I turned off my phone, the flight information still on the screen, and walked away. It took me a while to find my voice again. “Take me home.” Volkov Enterprises’ towering headquarters sped past the car window, but my heart felt like it was still back there. In my mind, I made countless excuses for him: it was just a trick to fool his men, to keep our travel plans secret and avoid rivals. I locked myself in my room for four days straight. I blocked all of his men’s contacts, pretending nothing had happened. He hadn’t come home either. Until today, when Dante suddenly asked me to meet him at the cigar lounge where we first met. I thought, I had shielded him from the indiscriminate blades a hundred times; if he would just be honest, I would forgive him. After following him through life-and-death situations for ten years, I wasn’t ready to let go. The cigar lounge was filled with the scent of various tobaccos. When I realized something was wrong, a man in a black coat had been staring at me for a long time, the cold gleam of a blade flickering from his sleeve. It was only thanks to my hundred experiences with injury and a strong survival instinct that I managed to escape alive. When I staggered back to Dante’s office door, clutching my bleeding right arm, I saw my crime boss boyfriend sitting behind his desk, allowing Willow to playfully mess with him. He was smiling gently as she pulled at his meticulously tailored black suit. His long, well-defined fingers lovingly stroked Willow’s hair. Outside, blades flashed and blood stained the streets, but inside, it was peaceful and tender. The girl’s face was flushed with an unnatural color. “Dante, I’m scared. You gave up going to the US for me. Is it really worth it?” “If Sera finds out, will she hate me?” she whimpered, her voice shaky with worry. Unable to take it anymore, I twisted the doorknob, intending to storm in and confront him. Dante’s voice, nonchalant yet chillingly cruel, was colder than snow: “Sera? She’s just an accountant for my family. What difference does it make where she goes? She’ll still be crunching numbers.” “Willow, your health isn’t good. The US doesn’t have the specific resources for your treatment. How could I bear to leave you here alone?” I froze, my heart feeling as if a dagger had been plunged straight through it, a cold wind sweeping through my limbs, making me tremble with pain. Watching Dante bring the cigarette to Willow’s lips, a wave of nausea suddenly rose in my stomach.

I first met Dante at that cigar lounge. I’d once asked him for a cigarette. He flicked his expensive lighter, the flame dancing between his fingers. He gave me a nonchalant glance, pulled one from his pocket, and handed it to me. I held it, smiling as I leaned toward his fingers. “Lend me a light.” Watching the smoke curl from my lips, he chuckled, then took the cigarette from my mouth, took a drag himself. Through the haze of smoke, he asked, “What’s your name?” At the time, I was just a young accountant. I had no idea what price this impulsive attraction would demand, nor did I know that question would lead to a hundred scars on my body. Later, he considered sharing a cigarette to be a form of foreplay. When we were lost in those intimate moments, he’d hold me on his lap, kissing me deeply, nicotine acting as the perfect aphrodisiac. But that was actually my first time smoking. I hated tobacco, but because it was him, I was willing to endure it. Willow’s delicate cough pulled me back to reality. She was choking, her face flushed, coughing so hard she couldn’t stand straight. “Willow, how can you be my woman if you can’t even handle a little smoke?” Dante’s eyes were full of tenderness and amusement, completely devoid of any coldness or anger. What was this? What I saw as unique and irreplaceable, Dante offered casually to anyone. What I painstakingly strove for and couldn’t attain, Willow received effortlessly. Watching Willow’s playful, pouting antics, I suddenly felt that this never-equal relationship could finally end. On my way home, I received a call from the airline. “Mr. Volkov’s flight information hasn’t been confirmed yet. Ms. Sera, do you plan to board alone?” I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” Dante and his men all believed that I had been with him through thick and thin for ten years, loved him for ten years, and could never leave him. But they didn’t know that going straight and moving to the US wasn’t just about starting over with him. I had two other, non-negotiable reasons to go. Since he had already made his choice, embarking on a different path from me, why should I insist on walking with him? That night, a strong pair of arms pulled me into a hard, warm embrace. “Sera, I had a document to sign this evening. You… you didn’t wait too long, did you?” Seeing I didn’t speak, he sighed, lifting his hand to trace my lips. “Baby, I knew you wouldn’t have the patience to wait for me.” “The first time I saw you, I knew you weren’t the easy-going type, you were impulsive.” He leaned closer, his unique scent filling my nostrils. I couldn’t take it anymore and pushed him away. “Were you there? How do you know I didn’t wait?” I turned on the light, revealing the still-bleeding scar on my arm. “Dante, this is the 101st scar I’ve gotten because of you.” He glanced at it, the tenderness in his eyes fading as he explained, exasperated: “I received intel, and I was actually planning to come find you, but Willow arrived. I couldn’t let them know about Willow’s existence; her body is weak, she couldn’t handle an assassination attempt.” “So I *could* handle it, is that what you’re saying?” That man today was clearly well-prepared. Your movements were leaked, and to protect the pure happiness of the girl you loved, I was the one who paid the price. “Do you have any idea, if Leo hadn’t arrived today, I would have lost an arm there!” He froze, clearly not expecting me to lash out at him. His voice turned cold. “Sera, that’s enough.” “You’ve already shielded me from a hundred assassination attempts, and you’re perfectly fine, aren’t you?” His shamelessness left me speechless.

Dante once said that Willow was like a pristine jasmine in the mountains, different from people like us who live by the blade. As the Volkov family’s accountant, I knew too many things that couldn’t be discussed openly. Constantly by Dante’s side, dangers were countless, and injuries were commonplace. I shielded Dante from blades, and gradually, I shielded Willow from blades too. My scars healed, only to be replaced by new ones. The longest scar stretched from my waist to my shoulder. Dante was finally moved by me and promised to get engaged. “As a Sicilian crime boss, I am absolutely loyal to my family and my woman. Willow isn’t a threat to you. Why are you being so dramatic?” “Dante, do we even *have* a family?” He frowned in annoyance. “Sera, isn’t our engagement party next month? What are you playing at?” He seemed to have forgotten that the prerequisite for our engagement was him going straight and moving to the US with me. “Me playing? Dante, you must have forgotten…” The phone rang abruptly, a sweet female voice coming from the receiver. “Big Brother Dante, I can’t sleep.” Dante slowly lifted his eyes to look at me, then gently coaxed her. I scoffed and got out of bed. But he hung up the phone and grabbed my arm. “Where are you going?” I shook his hand off. “Can you even keep track?” His face darkened further, his cold eyes sweeping over me. “Don’t forget the family gathering tomorrow night.” The sprawling Volkov family’s annual gathering. In previous years, I had always been by his side. Unwilling to stay with him, I turned and went into the guest room, locking the door. At the greedy, power-hungry event, Dante was an hour late. Leaving me alone to face the predatory Volkov family elders. After following Dante for ten years, no matter how outstanding my abilities, I was never truly accepted by them. Instead, because I held so many of Volkov Enterprises’ secret ledgers, I was viewed with deep suspicion. Under the spotlight, Dante held Willow’s hand. Her white dress was blindingly bright. Among a sea of somber black, Willow was the only clear, bright jasmine. Looking at my own dull black evening gown, I remembered Dante’s words. “Sera, don’t wear white anymore.” Only later did I understand: white made blood visible, and only black, which disguised wounds, would make him feel safe letting me shield him from blades. Willow saw me, first freezing slightly, then nervously hiding behind Dante. “Sister Sera, please don’t misunderstand. Big Brother Dante just felt sorry that I haven’t seen much of the world, so he brought me. I didn’t mean to be an eyesore.” I couldn’t help but scoff softly. “If you know you’re an eyesore, then stay out of my sight.” Willow immediately cowered behind Dante, tears welling in her eyes. “Big Brother Dante, I knew Sister Sera would mind. Maybe I should just leave?” She said she would leave, but her legs made no move. Dante gave me a cold glance, his brows furrowed with impatience. “My family is not yours to control.” He sat down with Willow in front of all the elders, completely disregarding my situation. Numerous suspicious and malicious gazes turned to me. My heart grew cold, and I stood up with my bag to leave. As I passed Willow, she suddenly “slipped,” and a cup of scalding hot water crashed to the floor. In an instant, shards of glass mixed with hot water splashed onto my ankle. Willow frantically crouched down, anxiously reaching out to touch my ankle. “Sister Sera, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Sharp pain shot through me. “Get lost.” I lifted my foot, intending to walk away, but before I could even touch her, she shrieked and fell to the floor. Dante immediately grabbed my wrist, his voice burning with anger. “Sera! Haven’t you caused enough trouble?!” Trouble? I looked at him, deeply disappointed. This act was so clumsy; I couldn’t believe he, who constantly navigated the murky waters of both legal and illegal worlds, couldn’t see through it. “Apologize or kneel, choose one.” I was incredulous. I forcefully yanked my arm away. “What if I choose neither?” Before Dante could speak, an elder behind him immediately chimed in, “Sera, you’ve been with Dante for so many years, don’t you understand the rules? When you’re wrong, you apologize.” “Are we supposed to beg you?” I looked at Dante, foolishly still hoping he would say a few words in my defense. I had been with him for ten years, risked my life dozens of times, yet I couldn’t earn a single good word from him within his family. Willow had only been here for a year, and with a few drops of her tears, I was being criticized and insulted by everyone. Why?

I turned and strode out of the banquet. My heart felt like it was being fiercely squeezed, a sharp pain radiating through me. I shamefully recalled the first time Dante had publicly rebuked me for Willow. Dante’s office had a resting room specifically for me, filled with our personal belongings. One afternoon, I went to rest and found him fresh out of the shower, toweling his damp hair. And Willow emerged from the bedroom, wearing my sexy silk negligee. That negligee was Dante’s favorite. Anger surged through me, and I lashed out at her. Dante watched me with a faint smile, not offering a single explanation, shielding Willow behind him. “Sister Sera, I spilled coffee on my clothes, and Big Brother Dante brought me here to change. Nothing happened between us…” I slapped Willow, then looked at Dante. “Aren’t you going to explain?” His expression turned cold. He looked at Willow, who was crying and running out, then roughly grabbed my arm and dragged me out. He made me apologize to Willow in front of everyone. Because of this, the authority I had painstakingly built up within the family was completely ruined, turning me into a joke among his men. Afterward, when he finally explained, it was just a light, dismissive remark: “Willow is sensitive. If you don’t apologize, how will she be able to stay by my side?” “And nothing really happened between us.” I dared not dig deeper into whether nothing had happened or if nothing *had time* to happen. I was too deeply immersed in the illusion of tenderness he could create. Now, looking back, perhaps it was just my own stubborn refusal to give up. Unwilling to admit my failure; my career and love life all became a joke because of Willow. When I got home, before I could even turn on the light, I saw the glowing tip of a cigarette in the darkness on the sofa. I frowned, my first act was to open a window for ventilation. I used to find him incredibly captivating when he smoked; now, the scent made me sick. I tried to ignore him. But he pulled me into his arms, and I clumsily landed on his lap, forced to face him. “Sera, can you stop making a scene about Willow in public? She’s just a clumsy young woman, not a threat to you.” I looked at him flatly. “No, I can’t.” He stared at me, his face darker. “My men manage all aspects of the family’s operations, legal and illegal. Your endless drama just makes me feel exhausted, you know that?” I said seriously, “If you’re tired, then let’s end it.” I had loved him genuinely; even now, confronting him defiantly, I still found his features handsome and sharp, just as they were when I first met him. And my love for him was genuinely gone. Once enough disappointment accumulated, my heart no longer stirred for him. After a long pause, he avoided my gaze, pulled out his lighter, and fretfully rubbed it back and forth. “Sera, let’s both calm down.” I got up and walked into the bedroom, hearing the click of his lighter and the igniting of tobacco behind me. Dante said, “What Leo, my man, told you, think about it carefully. Don’t… wander off aimlessly these days.” I scoffed internally. He thought I’d understood his hint, that I’d seen he tore up the papers and would inevitably compromise and stay, just as I had countless times before. Leo had hinted, but did I *have* to understand? That day, I had managed to hack into the family’s network and discovered a chilling piece of information—a hit order from the Volkov family elders against me. They believed I might betray them at any moment and wanted to eliminate me quickly. Dante had suppressed this hit order, which meant he clearly knew that if I stayed, I would be facing hell. Yet, he still tore up the papers. For Willow, he disregarded my safety. Perhaps this relationship was never worth it. No matter how unwilling I was to let go, it was time to move on completely. After packing my bags, the suitcase was light. I only took simple clothes and documents, leaving everything else behind. This included all the limited-edition bags and jewelry Dante had given me over the years, which I had no intention of taking. Just as I was about to head to the airport, I realized I was missing one crucial item.

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I secretly joined my husband Wesley Murphy’s group chat using a fake account. That day, an announcement was posted in the group: [We’re organizing a mountain biking activity this weekend. Overnight accommodation will be arranged, with two people per room. To add mystery to the event, room assignments will be determined by drawing lots.] I didn’t understand what the announcement meant, so I curiously asked in the group: [What happens if a man and woman draw the same room?] Someone quickly replied: [You must be new here, right?] [Well, we’d have to congratulate that lucky pair!] [Isn’t that kind of thrill exactly why people join these activities?] Then the group members started getting more explicit, even describing details from the last event. [FarAhead’s condom broke last time, and he came knocking on my door to borrow one. I thought to myself, they must really be going at it hard.] [I’m so jealous of you guys who get to room with the opposite sex. Last time I roomed with another guy, and hearing all the action from the rooms on both sides made me so envious. Before the drawing this time, I’m definitely washing my hands thoroughly to try and draw someone of the opposite sex!] Someone even suggested to the admin: [I propose we separate the drawing by gender this time, ensuring every room has one man and one woman. After all, that’s what everyone’s here for.] Watching the group chat, my face turned pale and my hands trembled as I held my phone. Because Wesley had also participated in the last biking event. When he came back, he vividly told me how well-organized the activity was and how enthusiastic the biking buddies were. No wonder he seemed so satisfied and eager to continue at the time. Turns out their “enthusiasm” went that far! Just then, Wesley asked someone called “EunoiaCat” in the group. He asked: [EunoiaCat, are you going to this event?] Wesley even sent a shy emoji, clearly hoping she would participate. “EunoiaCat” immediately replied: [Don’t even mention it. My husband insists on doing some parent-child bonding activity this weekend, dragging me to go mountain climbing with our son. I just don’t get it. My kid is already 8 years old, why does he still need to take up my personal time?] I was about to say she was an irresponsible mother. But then Wesley replied: [Ugh, that’s so unfortunate. Besides being a mother, women should live for themselves too.] “EunoiaCat” instantly sent back a crying emoji. Seeing Wesley suddenly being so considerate, I was furious. Just moments ago, we had argued about who would take our daughter Olivia Murphy to her extracurricular classes. The argument started because my good friend Emily Miller, who had been away for several Christmases, finally came back. I wanted to have dinner with Emily and catch up. But Wesley looked unhappy and said, “Chloe, are your friends more important than Olivia’s education?” Chloe Turner is my name. After a pause, he continued, “You’re already a mother. How can you just think about going out with Emily all the time? Can’t you put important things first?” I asked him back then, “You’re Olivia’s father. Why won’t you ever take Olivia yourself?” Wesley looked at me incredulously and said, “Are you crazy? Me, a man, taking Olivia to dance class? That place is full of moms. What would people think of me?” Now seeing Wesley’s double standards, I was furious. At that moment, the group started taking sign-ups for the activity. Wesley quickly registered. “EunoiaCat” sent him a pouting emoji and questioned: [Wesley, you’re so heartless. Didn’t you say last time that you hoped to draw the same room as me again? Why are you still so eager even when I’m not going?] Wesley sent a kissing emoji and replied: [EunoiaCat, don’t be mad. When you have time, we’ll meet up privately.] Their interaction prompted teasing from others in the group. [EunoiaCat, looks like Wesley really satisfied you last time!] Reading the group chat, I fought back tears and steadied my breathing, my hands shaking as I also signed up for the event.

The group admin immediately asked me: [SkySiren, this is your first time joining this kind of overnight cycling event, right?] I replied coolly: [Yes.] Admin: [You’re so cold. I like that.] Someone chimed in: [What good does it do that you like her? You’d have to get picked first.] Wesley joined in the teasing: [Don’t rush. You guys don’t understand the ‘ice queen’ type. How about I ‘break her in’ first, and then…] He even sent a lewd smirking emoji. Everyone in the group chimed in: [Right, let Wesley test the waters first.] It seemed that in this cycling group, Wesley was the acknowledged “veteran.” After all, with all those nights he didn’t come home, even relying on random draws, he must have encountered all kinds of women. No wonder he would refuse to be intimate with me for several days after each cycling trip. Turns out he’d been having too many inappropriate encounters outside. The bitter emotions in my heart finally couldn’t be suppressed, and tears dripped onto my phone screen. Just then, Wesley strolled out of the bathroom. He looked at me with disdain: “What are you looking at now? Are those people teaching you how to tell if your husband loves you again? “I really don’t get it. I give you living expenses on time – where do all these grievances come from? “Whatever, I don’t want to talk to you. I’m going cycling tomorrow, so you stay home and take good care of Olivia.” I wiped away my tears and looked directly at him: “Do you absolutely have to go?” I was asking him, but also asking myself. Should I continue participating in this messy, dirty business? Wesley froze for a moment, then immediately roared in disgust: “What’s wrong with you now? “I don’t visit prostitutes, I don’t gamble – cycling is my only healthy hobby, and you’re still not satisfied? You’re an unreasonable control freak!” I stared blankly at Wesley’s twisted face, feeling like that shy 18-year-old boy who used to smile at me had shattered in an instant. I clenched my fists, using the pain of my nails digging into my palms to remind myself to stay calm, then said coldly: “Then you’d better stay ‘healthy’ forever.” “I’ll definitely outlive you!” Wesley pointed his finger at me and cursed, “If you want to be with me, we’ll continue. If not, let’s get divorced – stop giving me trouble every day!” With that, he viciously kicked over the nearby trash can: “What rotten luck, marrying such an unreasonable woman like you!” How ironic! Six years ago at our wedding, he wore a suit, held a microphone, and said he’d used up several lifetimes’ worth of luck to marry the person who’d made his heart flutter since childhood. Just then, Olivia came out of her room clutching a pillow, trembling. She looked at the garbage scattered on the floor in terror and asked in a shaky voice: “Mommy, are you fighting again?” I quickly wiped away my tears, forced a smile, and got up to pull Olivia into my arms. I said: “No, we were just rehearsing a play.”

Wesley didn’t continue his outburst. Instead, he shot me a warning glare before turning and heading to his study. With my eyes red and swollen, I quickly packed a few clothes, preparing to take Olivia to my parents’ house. As we were about to leave, Wesley saw me. He glanced dismissively at the luggage in my hands and sneered, “Running back to your parents’ again? How many days this time? Don’t you find all this back-and-forth exhausting? You’re a married woman now. Having such an immature daughter must really upset your parents.” I didn’t want to argue with him in front of Olivia. So I gripped Olivia’s hand tightly and walked out without looking back. Wesley’s mocking laughter followed me. He said, “Perfect. Saves me the trouble of keeping you updated on my whereabouts. I really don’t know where you picked up all these bad habits.” That evening, the group chat was unusually active. Everyone was excited about the next day’s activities. Someone asked Wesley: [Wesley, how come you have so much free time to chat today? Isn’t your wife nagging you?] Wesley was in a great mood and quickly replied: [You guys should learn from me. I just pick a random fight with her, and that stupid woman runs back to her parents’ with Olivia, just like always. This time I found the perfect excuse – no way she can complain about it.] I was struck by the realization that it only takes a few years for someone to go from being “my beloved” to “that woman.” Then “EunoiaCat” said to Wesley in the group chat: [Wesley, we’re really on the same wavelength. My son got taken to his grandma’s by his dad. I just brought up everything his mom did a few years ago, and then I didn’t follow them.] Someone in the chat stirred things up: [What are you two implying? Are you publicly telling each other that tonight’s convenient for a date?] Wesley and “EunoiaCat” stopped responding in the group chat. They’d obviously moved to private messages. I quietly took screenshots of the chat conversation, then opened our home security system, waiting patiently like a cat watching for a mouse to enter its trap. Sure enough, half an hour later, Wesley happily left the house. Five minutes after that, he walked in with a woman in his arms. My stomach churned, and I couldn’t help but dry heave. She actually delivered herself right to my doorstep and dared to come into my home! From the moment they entered, they were urgently embracing and kissing, then quickly tearing off each other’s clothes. A blouse and underwear scattered on the floor. Finally, the two of them walked into the master bedroom in each other’s arms. I bit my lower lip until it bled, suppressing the urge to rush home. I saved the security footage and sent the screenshots to Emily as well. I texted her: [Emily, cancel everything you have tomorrow. I’ve got exclusive news for you.] After all, catching just one dead mouse was never what a cat really wanted. The next day, I arrived early at the cycling group’s meeting point. Using sun protection as an excuse, I covered my entire body from head to toe, not leaving even a bit of facial skin exposed. The moment Wesley saw me, a flash of surprise crossed his face. But his attention was quickly drawn to how my cycling outfit hugged my figure. Wesley extended his hand toward me and said, “SkySiren? I’m Wesley.” The desire in his eyes was practically overflowing. This scene overlapped with what I’d seen in yesterday’s surveillance footage, making me feel nauseous again. Wesley quickly pulled out his water bottle and handed it to me, asking with concern, “Are you okay? If you can’t keep up later, just signal me.” I let out a cold laugh, thinking to myself: “First meeting and he’s already comfortable sharing a water bottle with a woman. Disgusting.” Someone came over to stir things up: “Wesley, you’re starting already? What if you two don’t get drawn for the same room later? Won’t all this effort be wasted?” Another person chimed in: “You’ve got it wrong. Wesley’s playing the ’emotional card.’ If they don’t get matched, he can ask her out privately later.” That person gave Wesley a knowing look. Wesley pretended to scold him: “Don’t scare the newcomer.” But the guy didn’t care: “Everyone knows what mindset we’re all here with. What’s the point of hiding it? I don’t have your skills, so I can only rely on luck. But honestly, that uncertainty and mystery is pretty addictive.” Everyone was excited throughout the ride, and we quickly reached the mountain lodge, then eagerly began today’s room drawing. Those drawing numbers only knew their own room numbers. The key cards would be split into two. Under the team leader’s direction, men and women would enter the rooms in separate groups. I heard that initially, women went in first to create a sense of “anticipation” for the men. Later they changed it so women went in second, saying it was more thrilling that way. Anyway, in these people’s eyes, women were just tools for entertainment. And yet, plenty of women willingly accepted all of this. I walked down the hallway with my key card and noticed several mountain bikes leaning against doorways. The surroundings were very quiet. I pulled out my phone and texted Emily: [Emily, how’s your preparation going?] Emily replied: [OK.] Just then, an explosive dance track suddenly blared from downstairs. A group of elderly folks were arguing with the front desk staff. One man said: “What gives you the right to stop us from dancing? We’re guests here too. Since we paid money, you have to serve us. If you keep giving us trouble, we’ll trash your place!” Someone in the group chat started complaining: [Damn! Where did this bunch of hicks come from? I was just getting in the mood when that music scared the hell out of me.] Someone joked: [That’s because you’re no good. Who’s rooming with you tonight? She’s so unlucky.] That person angrily replied: [Bullsh*t! Does yours even work? Without pills, you’d just be staring at her all night!] Someone else asked: [Who’s rooming with SkySiren? She’s new, so she must be excited.] Then Wesley suddenly sent a message: [Don’t even mention it. My roommate still hasn’t come in. Who the hell drew room 2115?] Reading their chat, I couldn’t help but smile. What perfect timing today turned out to be.

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My girlfriend Nora Nelson’s childhood friend Miles Brooks and I got bound by some kind of “transfer system.” Everything he eats gets transferred to my stomach. Miles started a livestream account and made tons of money by eating nonstop for twelve hours straight, while I ended up in the hospital with acute pancreatitis. When I told Nora what was happening, she looked at me like I was an idiot and said, “There’s no such weird thing in this world. If food could transfer like that, nobody would ever starve to death. I think you’re just jealous that Miles is making money from livestreaming.” After that, every time Miles went live, I’d end up hospitalized with pancreatitis, each episode so severe I could’ve died. I went to the hospital for tests, but the doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong. They even wanted to commit me to a psychiatric ward. Later, to compete with another streamer, Miles devoured 10 pounds of whole wheat spaghetti in one go, and I died from a ruptured spleen and internal bleeding. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back at the moment when Miles first started livestreaming. This time, I got ahead of him and ordered twenty takeout meals. Then I said, “This time, I’m eating first.” On my phone screen, Miles had just finished a whole fried chicken, and I immediately felt full in my stomach. But I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything all day. Looks like I was right. Even though I’d been reborn, nothing had changed. Everything Miles ate would still end up in my stomach. While I was panicking, Miles brought out a huge bowl of spaghetti with a large bottle of Coke beside it. Looking at the screen, he said, “That chicken was just an appetizer. Now I’m starting on the main course.” A voice from off-screen kept exclaiming, “Oh my God, Miles, you’re incredible! I couldn’t finish all that food in three days and nights!” Seeing Miles about to bury his face in that bowl bigger than his head and start wolfing it down, I immediately grabbed my car keys and rushed out. I absolutely couldn’t let him keep eating. Otherwise, I’d die again. On the way, I used my phone to order another twenty takeout meals. This time, I was going to figure out what the hell he was up to. My car quickly pulled up downstairs at Nora’s place. The takeout arrived around the same time I did. I grabbed the food and rushed upstairs, knocking on Nora’s door. When she saw me, Nora looked annoyed. “What are you doing here? Are you spying on me again? Miles is livestreaming right now. Don’t cause trouble! “Just leave. Miles is having a great time eating. If you scare away the viewers, I won’t forgive you!” In my previous life, after graduation, Miles moved straight into Nora’s place, making excuses like, “Just staying temporarily until I find a job and have money to move out.” I thought it was inappropriate, but Nora argued back, “I’ve known him since we were kids. If there was something between us, how could I possibly be with you?” Later, Miles decided to start livestreaming online. To support him, I followed his account too. But that’s when strange things started happening. Every time he went live, my stomach felt like it was stuffed full, swelling to the point of bursting. Eventually, I ended up hospitalized with pancreatitis. Pancreatitis is caused by eating too much, and severe cases can be fatal on the spot. I told Nora about this, but she didn’t believe me at all. She said I was just jealous of Miles. Since she was helping Miles run his account, she wouldn’t let me get close afterward, afraid I’d interfere with their money-making. Meanwhile, I was suffering terribly at home, getting taken away by ambulances multiple times. The doctors kept advising me not to risk my life over food. Later, Miles competed with another streamer. They both had to eat 10 pounds of whole wheat spaghetti at the same time, and whoever finished first would win. As a result, I died from a ruptured spleen and massive internal bleeding. After I died, I saw Miles beat the other streamer, become the most popular streamer, and embrace Nora happily. Even in death, I couldn’t understand why this was happening. So this time, even if it meant dying together with him, I wouldn’t let him succeed.

I appeared directly in the livestream, interrupting Miles’ ongoing competitive eating broadcast. I held up the twenty takeout orders in my hands and said to him, “Miles, you can’t keep eating like this. Too much food is bad for your health. Let me help you eat some of this while you take a break.” Miles looked up from his food container, completely bewildered. “Nolan, I’m livestreaming right now. Can you please not mess around?” Nolan Martin is my name. I squeezed in front of the camera, putting my face fully in view. I’d dressed up specially before coming, and I was already much better-looking than Miles anyway. Miles was still just a small-time streamer with no real fame, so his stream didn’t have many loyal fans. When everyone saw me, they started commenting in the chat that they wanted to watch me do the eating broadcast instead. Miles couldn’t curse me out on camera, so he had no choice but to get up and give me his spot. I first pulled out a box of fruit that was mostly mangoes. Miles was allergic to mangoes and couldn’t eat them at all. I bought this specifically to test whether this “transfer system” worked both ways. If I ate something he couldn’t eat, would he have an allergic reaction? I finished the entire box of mangoes, and the chat was praising how good I looked while eating. Some people even sent big gifts. I smiled at Miles. “Looks like the audience prefers watching me eat. But don’t worry, I just suddenly felt like trying this today. All these gifts are yours – I don’t want a penny.” Miles was annoyed about being upstaged. But I kept staring at his face, watching for any allergic reaction. Except for looking a bit angry, he showed no abnormal symptoms at all. Maybe one box of fruit wasn’t enough. I pulled out a mango smoothie and a huge mango cake. Miles tried to win back the audience, saying, “Nolan, my streaming career is just getting started. If you want to livestream, use your own account. Why do you have to take over my stream? Just step aside and let me eat. If that doesn’t work, we can both eat and compete to see who can eat more.” As he spoke, he reached for the spaghetti to continue stuffing it in his mouth. I snatched the spaghetti away and showed it to the camera. “I’m doing this for your own good. This spaghetti has so much chili pepper – it’s definitely going to hurt your stomach. And you want to wash it down with ice-cold Coke? Do you know how many stomach problems start exactly like this? If you want to eat something, have some clam chowder instead. That’s much healthier.” I found a container of clam chowder from the takeout and handed it over. Seeing how thoughtful I was, the audience praised me for being not only handsome but also kind. They sent more gifts and told Miles to rest, saying they all wanted to watch me eat instead. Miles wanted to ask Nora for help, but she was staring at the gift revenue on the backend, grinning happily. As far as she was concerned, as long as money was coming in, anyone could do the streaming – especially since I was earning more than Miles. I forced myself through the stomach discomfort and finished both the mango smoothie and the mango cake, but Miles still showed no reaction whatsoever. In the past, if he had even taken one bite of mango, he would immediately break out in a full-body rash and his face would swell up. Damn it! I hadn’t expected this “transfer” to be one-way only. Everything Miles ate would transfer to me, but what I ate wouldn’t transfer to him. I felt my stomach was completely full and couldn’t eat another bite, so I waved my phone at the camera. “It’s getting really late now, everyone should go to sleep. Staying up late is bad for your health. Hope to see you all again sometime!” After saying goodbye to the audience, I turned off the livestream directly. Back in my car, I pulled out a plastic bag and threw up everything I had just eaten.

By the time I drove home, it was already late at night, but I couldn’t sleep at all. If I couldn’t figure out what was causing this within a day, my life would be in constant danger. As I lay in bed tossing and turning, a sudden wave of intense discomfort hit my stomach. I dry-heaved desperately, but nothing came up. The feeling was just like being forced to eat food I hated as a kid. I rushed to the fridge and grabbed some ice cream, hoping to ease the nausea. But after eating the ice cream, I found it had no effect whatsoever. That’s when something suddenly occurred to me, and I quickly opened my phone. Sure enough, Miles was streaming again! He said to the camera, “I’m going to eat some big chunks of bacon for you guys. Hope you’ll send some gifts.” Miles held a piece of bacon in his hand, eating it with obvious enjoyment. Even through the phone screen, I felt sick to my stomach. I angrily typed in the live chat: [Stop eating! Just watching you makes me nauseous!] Seeing my comment, Miles flashed a smug smile: “Who do you think you are? Just because you tell me to stop, I have to stop? Let me see your sincerity first.” The uncomfortable feeling grew stronger and stronger. I quickly sent several super car gifts, hoping to make him stop. But after taking my gifts, Miles didn’t stop at all. Instead, he pulled out a large bowl of mayonnaise. He said, “Since you don’t like me eating bacon, I’ll have something sweet instead.” Mayonnaise was pure fat—no different from eating straight lard. He scooped it into his mouth with a big spoon while I felt so nauseous I nearly threw up blood. I couldn’t help but comment: [What the hell did you do? Why are you the one eating, but I’m the one suffering? Stop eating! Don’t eat anything else!] Seeing my anguished comments, Miles laughed even more maniacally. My stomach suddenly cramped with excruciating pain. With my last bit of strength, I dialed 911. Fortunately, the ambulance arrived in time and pulled me back from hell-like agony. Just like in my previous life, I ended up with acute pancreatitis from overeating. Looking at my medical records, the doctor said in confusion, “How could you possibly eat that much food?” I didn’t answer. I had the doctor process my discharge papers, then immediately rushed to Miles’ house. The moment the door opened, I pulled out a knife and held it to Miles’ throat. Miles jumped in shock: “Nolan, what are you doing? Calm down!” I didn’t want to waste words with him, glaring at him viciously: “I don’t have the patience to waste time with you. Tell me honestly—why are you the one eating, but I’m the one suffering?” Miles put on an innocent expression: “What are you talking about? I have no idea what you mean.” I pressed the knife a little harder: “Stop playing dumb! Talk!” Miles’ face went pale with fear: “Calm down! I’ll talk, I’ll talk!” But the next second, he suddenly screamed: “Nora, help me!” It turned out Nora had quietly snuck up behind me. She kicked me to the ground and snatched the knife from my hand. She said angrily, “What the hell is wrong with you?” Then Nora immediately started a live stream and placed thirty hamburgers on the table. She said, “You claim that everything Miles eats gets transferred to your stomach, right? Let’s have the viewers witness whether what you’re saying is true.” The viewers didn’t know what was happening and flooded the live chat with questions. Nora explained: “My boyfriend has lost his mind. He says everything Miles eats gets transferred to his stomach. I’m asking everyone to witness this today. If he keeps acting crazy, I’m breaking up with him.” Miles picked up a hamburger and bit into it without hesitation. That familiar feeling of fullness immediately hit me—my stomach couldn’t take this kind of torture anymore. The pain grew more intense, and I couldn’t hold on. I collapsed on the floor, convulsing. Someone in the live chat reminded Nora: [I think this guy is faking it. Slap him a couple times and he’ll cut it out!] Nora looked at me coldly: “If you keep up this act, I’m breaking up with you!” I clenched my fists and slowly stood up against the wall, forcing a smile as I said, “I’m not faking it. It’s just gastroenteritis acting up—stomach pain, that’s all. Don’t I have the right to get sick?” With Nora right here conducting her livestream, there was nothing I could do but leave. But Nora wouldn’t let me go and made Miles finish all the remaining burgers. She said, “Don’t deliberately cause trouble again. Consider this a lesson.” Back at the hospital, the doctor angrily asked why I was eating recklessly again, wondering if I had developed binge eating disorder, and mentioned arranging psychological treatment. I smiled bitterly. Truth was, I hadn’t eaten properly in days, yet my stomach always felt bloated. This time the doctor wouldn’t discharge me, insisting I stay for treatment. I followed the doctor’s advice and stayed put in the hospital. But within a few days, I felt Miles binge eating again. I opened his livestream and saw Nora taking him to dine out, ordering everything on the menu. Then my phone buzzed with a WhatsApp message from Miles: [Nolan, Nora took me out of town this time. There’s so much good food here. I don’t want to waste it, so I’m going to finish everything.] I was furious—I wanted to fly there immediately and kill Miles. Just then, I suddenly noticed the medication the doctor had prescribed me. In that instant, I understood the truth behind everything. The moment I figured it out, I was so thrilled I jumped right out of the hospital bed. Over the next few days, Miles livestreamed from various restaurants, causing quite a stir online. His appetite was incredible—he never purged, yet maintained his figure perfectly. Other streamers weren’t having it and challenged him one after another. Miles accepted the challenges and decided to compete against a streamer with millions of followers in an eating contest in a few days. In my previous life, I died at home right after this competition. But this time, I lay leisurely in my hospital bed, peacefully recovering and waiting for discharge. Soon came the day of the competition. Miles’s livestream instantly drew over ten thousand viewers. Ten large bowls sat before him, each filled with whole wheat pasta. When he was about to start eating, his expression turned pained, and he unconsciously put down his fork. Seeing his opponent already eating, Nora grew anxious and urged, “Miles, hurry up! He’s already started.” Miles nodded through his discomfort, preparing to eat again. But suddenly he clutched his stomach and doubled over. Just as Nora was about to ask what was wrong, Miles let out an incredibly loud fart in front of over ten thousand livestream viewers. The next second, a foul stench filled the air. Miles collapsed. Watching this scene, I couldn’t stop grinning. Soon, Nora’s call came through. She demanded, “What did you do?” I smiled slightly and said, “Take a guess.”

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I was reborn on the day my husband Matthew Roberts cheated on me, and the first thing I did was ask my colleague Parker Clark to switch shifts with me. In my previous life, Matthew had an affair with my best friend Sophie Baker in a car behind my back. They suddenly got into a car accident and were both rushed to the hospital. When I received the news and hurried to the hospital, I saw that due to the crash, Matthew and Sophie’s bodies had become stuck together. Later, Parker performed surgery on Matthew and Sophie. Both of them were fine, but I couldn’t handle the shock and fainted on the spot. When I woke up, Matthew sent me divorce papers. The agreement demanded that I couldn’t take any property with me and had to leave empty-handed. I used Matthew’s infidelity as grounds to demand we split the assets fifty-fifty. Matthew just sneered and said, “You’re saying I cheated? Where’s your proof?” Only then did I realize that because I was too shocked and had fainted, I hadn’t taken any evidence of Matthew’s affair. Plus, the hospital’s surveillance cameras happened to be broken. In the end, without proof of Matthew’s infidelity, I lost the case in court and got nothing. On the day of the divorce, I walked out of the courthouse with nothing, completely dazed. While crossing the street, I was hit by a car and died. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day Matthew and Sophie were rushed to the hospital together. At the hospital, Parker, who had started working here the same time as me, was both surprised and delighted. After all, nobody wanted to work the night shift. He asked me, “Dr. Phillips, are you sure you want to switch shifts with me? If there’s surgery, it’s going to be really tough on you.” My name is Elizabeth Phillips. I smiled and nodded, “It’s fine. I’m feeling really energetic today. Even if there’s surgery, I can handle it.” Hearing this, Parker immediately packed up his things happily and left for the day. I turned around, dropped my smile, put on my mask, and prepared for surgery. Because I knew that in twenty minutes, Matthew and Sophie would be rushed to the hospital after a car accident caused by having an affair in the car, their bodies stuck together. In my previous life, Parker had performed this surgery. When I received the news and rushed to the hospital, I saw that scene and fainted immediately. Later, after Matthew and Sophie’s surgery went fine, they asked me for a divorce and demanded I leave without taking any property. This time, I was going to make sure this pair of bastards lost everything. Sure enough, after about ten minutes, chaotic sounds came from the emergency room lobby. Then Matthew’s familiar, vicious screaming rang out. He shouted, “Sophie, don’t move! You’re going to break me! Help me! Where are the doctors? Where are the nurses? Get out here and save us!” I peeked through the door crack. Sophie was lying on top of Matthew in an extremely awkward position. They were both naked, covered only by a bedsheet. All the colleagues present couldn’t help but give them disgusted looks and whisper among themselves. A male doctor said, “What the hell is this situation? How did they end up like this? Coming to the hospital naked – don’t they feel any shame?” A female nurse said, “They’re obviously not in a proper relationship. They were just yelling about not letting anyone take photos – probably afraid it’ll get out.” Sophie kept screaming too, then suddenly seemed to remember something. She lowered her voice and said, “Matthew, keep it down. Elizabeth works at this hospital. If she finds out about us, she’ll definitely raise hell.” Matthew heard this and snorted coldly. He said, “Don’t worry. Elizabeth isn’t on shift today. Besides, that idiot only cares about work and nothing else. What could she possibly figure out? If it weren’t for her good family background, I would’ve divorced her ages ago. And with that haggard look of hers, I have zero interest when I see her – she’s nothing like you. Ow!” Even in this situation, Matthew kept staring at Sophie’s body. I couldn’t watch anymore. Fighting back my disgust, I put on my cap and mask properly, then suited up in full protective gear before walking out. I said directly, “Prepare for surgery immediately! If we delay any longer, these two are going to have more problems. Don’t you dare dirty our hospital beds.”

Hearing this, my assistants and nurses couldn’t help but laugh, their dissatisfaction even more obvious in their eyes. They could only push Matthew and Sophie into the operating room. I brought the medical camera into the operating room ahead of time, then instructed the nurses to take photos from every angle. Matthew heard the sound and turned his head to look over while lying on the bed. He said, “What are you doing? Why are you taking photos in the operating room? This is an invasion of our privacy. I’ll sue you, believe it or not?” I sneered inwardly, but remained calm on the surface. I replied evenly, “Every angle on the operating table needs to be documented. This way we can better consult with professors and develop a reasonable surgical plan. If you’re unwilling, then forget it.” I deliberately put away the camera and turned to walk out. “Wait! We didn’t say we were unwilling.” Seeing me about to leave, Sophie hurriedly called out anxiously. She was lying on top of Matthew in a particularly awkward position. Even in this situation, she still lowered her head to persuade Matthew: “Matthew, the most important thing now is to get us separated quickly. We can’t delay until Elizabeth comes to work tomorrow. If she finds out, things will be terrible.” Matthew was still being stubborn. He roared, “How is that possible? All my family’s assets are in my name. When the time comes, I’ll just tell Elizabeth to get lost. But wait, why does your voice sound so much like Elizabeth’s?” Halfway through speaking, he turned his head to stare at me. His body was still stuck and couldn’t move, but his mouth wouldn’t stay quiet, looking at me with suspicious eyes. I froze. To change my voice and body shape, I had deliberately put cotton balls in my mouth, wore a mask, and even put on several extra lab coats to alter my figure. Could he still recognize me like this? Before I could think of a countermeasure, Matthew smiled smugly again. He said, “But looking at your reaction, you’re definitely not Elizabeth. Elizabeth is the type who gets carried away by emotions – she goes crazy and fights with me just from discovering I’m chatting with other women. If she really saw me like this now, she’d probably have fainted already.” Hearing his words, Sophie immediately burst into laughter. She said, “Yes, Matthew. Do you remember when I deliberately left a piece of underwear in your car last time? Elizabeth’s reaction was absolutely devastating. She called me crying in the middle of the night, not knowing that you were with me at that time.” Matthew couldn’t help but laugh too after hearing this, but after just a few laughs, his movements were too big and pulled at his body, making him cry out in pain again. The nurse nearby couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She said quietly, “You’re cheating and you’re actually proud of it. Your wife is so unlucky. You two are really a pair of bastards!” The nurses responsible for this surgery were all transferred from other departments. They didn’t recognize me, so naturally they didn’t know I was the Elizabeth they were talking about. Matthew endured the pain, his face flushed red. He said, “What do you know? Sophie and I share true love. Otherwise, how would we end up like this here? A man only gets like this for the woman he truly loves – he can’t get hard for women he doesn’t love. Just like me, I never touch Elizabeth!” Hearing his words, I felt nothing but disgust. Without the memories from my previous life, I never would have imagined that Matthew, who had always been so compliant with me and said I was the person he loved most in this lifetime, had actually been scheming for my assets from the very beginning. As for that pair of underwear, Matthew later explained to me that it belonged to his mother, but I never thought that was also a lie. This pair of bastards was truly disgusting! Thinking of this, the hatred in my heart grew even stronger. I took a deep breath and said, “Please lie still. I’ve already thought of the most reasonable surgical plan.” With that, I picked up the scalpel and walked directly toward where their bodies were stuck together.

“What are you doing? What do you need that scalpel for?” Matthew shouted. Seeing my actions, his face instantly changed. Terrified, he tried to sit up to stop me, but the movement aggravated Sophie’s injury. Sophie immediately screamed: “It hurts! Matthew, what are you doing?” Matthew was in agony too, letting out several cries of pain before steadying himself. He looked at me and said: “What exactly is this surgical procedure you’re talking about? Will it hurt me? And why is your scalpel so sharp? Don’t touch me with it!” I knew exactly what Matthew was worried about. So I deliberately said: “Your current situation is very dangerous. If you can’t be separated quickly, it will affect your blood circulation and cause increased intracranial pressure. Both of you could be in mortal danger.” “What?” “How is that possible?” Both of them questioned simultaneously, staring at me with wide eyes, their faces full of disbelief. I shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant: “Don’t you even know this basic medical fact? To completely separate two people who are stuck together, you have to sacrifice certain parts of one of them.” “What do you mean by that?” Matthew asked. His face changed instantly, and he pointed at me excitedly: “I’m a man! If you dare touch my manhood, I’ll never forgive you!” I spread my hands: “You should be saying that to your ‘true love.’” Sophie’s face also completely changed at this point. She turned to look at Matthew: “Matthew, I’m a woman. If something gets cut off me, how can I still be a woman?” After hearing this, Matthew immediately started sweet-talking Sophie. He said: “Don’t worry, Sophie. As soon as the surgery is over, I’ll divorce Elizabeth and marry you. No matter what you look like, I’ll still want you.” Sophie’s face looked terrible. She clenched her hands into fists: “But…” “Doctor, prepare for surgery immediately!” Matthew shouted. He glared up at me, his eyes full of threats. Matthew said: “If you can’t even perform such a simple surgery properly, I’ll file a complaint against you. Ah!” Before he could finish speaking, Sophie had already grabbed the anesthesia needle nearby and jabbed it directly into Matthew. Matthew cried out once and quickly lost consciousness. Only then did I remember that Sophie was also a nursing major, so using an anesthesia needle was child’s play for her. After administering the injection, Sophie looked at me. She said: “He’s unconscious now. I’m the only conscious patient, so you have to listen to me. I demand that the surgical procedure prioritize my health completely. If something has to be removed, then remove his.” Sophie was both anxious and uneasy, urging me to agree. I shrugged and had the nurse bring over the surgical consent form. I said: “Fine. Then sign this consent form. So you won’t regret it after the surgery is over.” Sophie quickly signed. I didn’t say anything more and soon had the anesthesiologist inject Sophie with anesthesia as well, then began the surgery. Several hours passed quickly, and the surgery was finally nearing its end. With a “plop,” I threw the removed item into the surgical tray. The surgery was officially over. At this point, Matthew’s anesthesia was also wearing off. He groggily opened his eyes and asked: “My important parts are intact, right?” I raised an eyebrow and said with a cold smile: “Of course they are.” Matthew breathed a sigh of relief and said smugly in his dazed state: “Good. Sophie loves my manhood the most.” Loves it the most? How should I tell him that it was Sophie who personally signed the consent form for me to remove his “manhood”? Just thinking about Matthew’s reaction when he fully woke up and learned this news made me want to laugh. I quickly finished the post-surgical procedures and had the nurses take them back to their room. Before long, Matthew was fully conscious. Upon opening his eyes and seeing the nurse, his first reaction was to ask: “Was the surgery successful? Am I okay? Is my manhood completely intact?” The nurse, knowing the surgical procedure, thought he was being sarcastic. So she rolled her eyes: “Your life is obviously saved, otherwise how would you still be here talking?” Matthew breathed another sigh of relief, then raised his hand to touch the wound. But the nurse stopped him: “Don’t move around! Your wound was just stitched up. You can’t touch it with your hands or it’ll get infected.” Matthew smiled: “What do you know? That’s my manhood. I have to see it with my own eyes to feel at ease.” The nurse was stunned for a moment: “See what? Didn’t your girlfriend already sign the consent form agreeing to have it removed?” “What?” Matthew’s face went pale with shock.

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