Category: English

Caldwell crushed his cigarette butt on my dining table, looking at me with a lecherous grin. “Juliet, rent’s going up 50% starting next month. Unless you don’t want it to go up.” He leaned close to my ear, his hand landing on my shoulder. “Come to my place this weekend. We’ll have a nice little chat.” I pushed him away and grabbed my phone. “What did you just say? I didn’t catch that. Say it again?” He sneered and pointed at my nose. “What are you acting so high and mighty for? I’ve seen plenty of people like you from poor countries.” “Spend one night with me, and I’ll waive a year’s rent. That’s not a bad deal, is it?” I held up my phone. “Mr. Caldwell, say that again.” Caldwell slapped my phone out of my hand. He stepped on my phone. “Record this, bitch.” He grabbed my collar and shoved me against the wall. The back of my head hit the tile, making my ears ring. “Juliet, let me tell you something. I control the rent in this area. You’re just an immigrant working in America, making pennies a month. Without me looking out for you, you would’ve been kicked out of the country ages ago.” I stared hard at him. “Mr. Caldwell, the contract says a one-year lease. It’s only been four months. You can’t unilaterally raise the rent by 50%. That’s illegal.” “Illegal?” Caldwell laughed. He released me and pulled a stack of cash from his bag, throwing it in my face. “Here’s your deposit. Take it and get lost. If you don’t move out by tomorrow, I’ll have people help you move.” Bills scattered across the floor. I crouched down and picked them up one by one. “Fine. I’ll move.” I folded the money and put it in my pocket. Caldwell patted my face. “That’s more like it. Don’t refuse a toast only to drink a forfeit. If you change your mind, come to my place this weekend. I’ll treat you to dinner.” He turned and left. I closed the door and slid down to the floor. There was a knock on the next door. “Juliet, are you okay?” It was my roommate, Mary, who worked as a programmer at an internet company. She saw the red marks on my neck and her eyes went wide. “That old bastard came again?” “Yeah.” “Call the police!” “It won’t help. He didn’t hit me. There are no cameras, and audio recordings can’t directly convict him.” I grabbed her hand. “Mary, how long have you lived in this complex?” “Two years.” “Has Caldwell ever harassed you?” Mary lowered her head and clenched her fists. “Once. He said he wouldn’t raise my rent if I came to his place for dinner on the weekend. I bought pepper spray the next day.” “Anyone else?” “The nurse on the third floor, Niles. She moved out crying last month. I heard Caldwell knocked on her door in the middle of the night saying he was checking the water meter.” I went back to my room, opened my computer, and created a new WhatsApp group chat. Group name: Victims of Caldwell Alliance. I pulled Mary in, then added several other girls who rented from Caldwell. My phone buzzed. It was Caldwell. “Juliet, don’t take what happened earlier to heart. I was just joking with you. Come over for dinner tomorrow. I’ll make you something delicious.” I took a screenshot, then replied: “Okay.” The next evening at seven, I stood outside Caldwell’s door. I took a deep breath and knocked. Caldwell opened the door wearing a robe, reeking of alcohol. “Oh, Juliet’s here. Come in, come in.” His hand went to my waist, guiding me inside. I didn’t dodge. “Mr. Caldwell, I’ve thought it over. About the rent, can we talk about it some more?” “Talk? Of course we can talk.”

He closed the door and locked it. “Let’s eat first. We’ll chat while we eat.” The living room table was set with dinner and an open bottle of red wine. He poured me a glass, then poured one for himself. “Come on, cheers.” I clinked glasses but didn’t drink. He took a big gulp. “Juliet, you’re so pretty. You could’ve married a rich guy back home. Why come to New York to suffer?” “Mr. Caldwell, about the rent increase…” “What’s the rush?” He sat down on the sofa and patted the seat next to him. “Come, sit here. Uncle will have a good talk with you.” I didn’t move. His expression darkened. “What? Not giving me face?” “Mr. Caldwell, I have a boyfriend.” “A boyfriend?” He laughed, stood up, and walked toward me. “How much does your boyfriend make a month? Can he buy you a house? Can he get you a green card?” He reached me and lifted my chin with his finger. “I’m different. If you’re with me, you can live in this house however you want, rent-free. I’ll give you five thousand a month for spending money.” I took a step back. He followed. “Don’t run away. You came all the way to my place just for this, didn’t you? Stop pretending.” I reached into my pocket and pressed the record button on my phone. “Mr. Caldwell, you’ve had too much to drink.” “I haven’t had too much.” He suddenly grabbed me, his mouth coming toward mine. I couldn’t hold back. I slapped him across the face. “Smack…” He froze, then flew into a rage. “How dare you hit me?!” He grabbed my hair and slammed me against the wall. “Ungrateful bitch! You should be honored that I want you!” The back of my head hit the wall. Everything went dark. “Caldwell, let me go.” “No! You’re not leaving this place tonight unless you sleep with me!” He tore at my clothes. Buttons scattered everywhere. Just then, the door was pounded. “Open up! Police!” Caldwell froze. I pushed him away and ran to the door, unlocking it. Two police officers stood outside, along with Mary and the other girls. They held up their phones, recording everything. The officer saw the bruises on my neck and my torn clothes. His expression changed. “What happened here?” I took a deep breath. Finally, tears fell. “He tried to rape me.” Caldwell panicked. “No! She seduced me! She came to my place on her own!” I pulled out my phone and played the recording. After listening, the officer looked at Caldwell. “Come with us.” “No! Let me explain!” “You can explain at the station.” As Caldwell was being taken away, he looked back at me with pure hatred in his eyes. “Juliet, just you wait. When I get out, I’ll kill you.” I leaned against the wall, trembling all over. Mary hugged me. “It’s okay now. It’s okay.” I shook my head. “No. This is just the beginning.” My phone buzzed. It was the “Victims of Caldwell Alliance” group. Someone with the name “Niles” sent a message. “I just saw Caldwell being taken away downstairs. Do you know? This building of his is illegal.” “Every room’s fire safety doesn’t meet code at all. I took photos before.” She sent over a dozen photos. Partition walls, illegally wired electricity, sealed fire exits. Looking at these photos, a thought flashed through my mind. It wasn’t about sending him to jail. It was about bankrupting him.

Caldwell was released from the police station after just one night. The reason: “Insufficient evidence, does not constitute rape.” “Insufficient evidence.” Mary slammed the table in fury. “He almost raped you! And that’s insufficient evidence?!” I said nothing, because I knew this would happen. No surveillance, no witnesses. He insisted it was “consensual.” The police could only classify it as a “civil dispute.” The first thing Caldwell did after getting out was come curse at my door. “Juliet! You bitch! How dare you call the police on me?!” He kicked the door three times. The security door dented inward. “I’m telling you, you can forget about living in this place! Get out tomorrow!” “Deposit? Not refunding a penny! Go ahead and sue me! Let’s see who wins!” A neighbor opened their door, took one look, and quickly shut it again. No one dared speak. I sat inside, listening to his cursing, my hands shaking. My phone rang. My mom was calling. “Juliet, did that Caldwell come after you again?” “Mom, it’s fine.” “What do you mean fine! I saw the bruises on your neck in our video call! Just wait, I’m coming to New York next week.” “Mom, you don’t need to come. I can handle it myself.” “How will you handle it? You’re a twenty-four-year-old girl fighting against a property owner?” I was silent for three seconds. “Mom, didn’t you teach me? When you strike a snake, strike at its vital point.” “Where’s his vital point?” “His building.” My mom’s a lawyer. She’s handled many property dispute cases. She knows these property owners’ weak spots better than anyone. “Juliet, have you checked the property rights for his building?” “I’m checking now.” “After you finish, call me. I’ll help you contact a lawyer.” I hung up and opened my computer, logging into the New York City planning and natural resources website. I searched for records on Caldwell’s building. Ten minutes later, I found it. This building had no rental registration at all. Not only that, its designated use was “commercial,” not “residential.” Converting a commercial building into partitioned rentals was illegal in itself. I screenshotted the page and saved it to a folder. My phone buzzed again. Mary sent a message. “Juliet, I just saw in the tenants’ group that Caldwell’s looking for a renovation crew to tear down all the partitions on the third floor.” “Why?” “Someone said Immigration has been checking illegal immigrants and illegal rentals lately. He might have gotten word.” A lightbulb went off in my head. This meant he knew his building had problems. I opened the “Victims Alliance” group. There were seventeen people now, all tenants screwed over by Caldwell. Girls and guys. Some had their deposits withheld, some had their rent raised, some were harassed. I sent a message in the group. “I found a way to send Caldwell to prison and make him pay up.” “What way?” “Report him for illegal rentals. Fire code violations, no rental registration.” “Then what?” “Then we collectively sue him. Those who didn’t get deposits back, those who were overcharged rent, those who were harassed—everyone can get back what’s rightfully theirs.” The group went silent for ten seconds, then exploded. “Count me in!” “I’m suing him too!” “I have evidence of him taking cash without giving receipts!” “I have chat records of his sexual harassment!” Messages came one after another, flooding the screen.

I typed the last line. “Tomorrow at 2 PM, Starbucks on Highway 1. Let’s meet and talk.” Everyone replied: “Got it.” I shut off my phone and looked out the window. Caldwell’s car was still parked downstairs. He sat in it, staring at my window. I pulled the curtains closed. Tomorrow would be the real beginning. The next day at 2 PM, Starbucks on Highway 1. Seventeen people sat in a corner on the second floor. The entire “Victims of Caldwell Alliance” was present. I stood up and looked at them. Programmers, nurses, delivery drivers, salespeople, receptionists, designers… All immigrants working in America who’d been screwed over by Caldwell. “My name is Juliet. I live in 302…” “I’m Mary, 303…” One by one, they shared their experiences. I opened my computer and projected the evidence of Caldwell’s building violations onto the screen for everyone to see. I held up three fingers. “First, everyone organize your evidence—transfer records, chat screenshots, audio and video recordings. The more detailed, the better.” “Second, collectively report to Immigration and the fire department. The more people, the more seriously they’ll take it.” “Third, find a lawyer and collectively sue Caldwell, demanding deposit refunds and compensation for damages.” Niles raised her hand. “Are lawyer fees expensive?” “My mom’s a lawyer. She helped us contact a firm that does public interest litigation. They don’t charge upfront. If we win, they take fifteen percent of the compensation.” Wallace said, “I agree. Even if we don’t get money back, I want to make him miserable.” Everyone raised their hands in agreement. After the meeting, I returned to the complex. As soon as I entered the hallway, I smelled paint. On the door to 302, someone had spray-painted “BITCH” in red. I took out my phone to photograph it, then went to property management to check the surveillance. The property manager said, “The cameras are broken.” “When did they break?” “Yesterday.” Yesterday, the day Caldwell got out of the police station. I smiled. “Right. The cameras are broken. I’ll fix them myself.” I called Mary. “Mary, do you know how to install cameras?” “Yeah. I took an elective in electronic engineering in college.” “Do me a favor.” Half an hour later, I installed a pinhole camera in the hallway fire exit. The angle was aimed right at my door. That night, Caldwell came again. He stood outside my door and cursed for ten minutes. Then he pulled out a key from his pocket. He opened the door and went inside. I was next door at Mary’s place, watching the surveillance footage on my phone. My hands were shaking, but I didn’t move. Five minutes later, he came out holding my laptop. That was my work computer. It had all my social media accounts, client information, and unpublished articles. I held back. Didn’t go out. Didn’t call the police. After Caldwell left, I returned to my room. Drawers had been rifled through, closets opened, cigarette ash on the bedsheets. My underwear was thrown on the floor. I crouched down and picked them up one by one. Mary stood in the doorway, her eyes red. “Juliet, let’s call the police.” “Not yet.” “What do you mean not yet? He took your computer! Your work is on there!” I looked at Mary and smiled. “That computer—I just replaced the hard drive yesterday. The current hard drive only has one thing on it.” “What?” “Full video footage of Caldwell breaking into my place and stealing things.” I pulled out a USB drive from my pocket. “The pinhole camera is connected to this. Him opening the door, entering, taking the computer—it’s all recorded.”

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My husband’s mistress is pregnant. My mother-in-law Mrs. Gibson urged me to be understanding: “Men will be men. It’s normal for them to stray.” My husband Calvin even ordered me to vacate the master bedroom to welcome his mistress: “If you dare hurt her or my son, I’ll kill you!” I didn’t make a scene. Instead, I smiled gently: “Sure, I even bought her new sheets.” The next day, they came home excitedly after shopping for baby supplies, only to find a pregnant stranger sitting on the sofa. Mrs. Gibson froze: “Who is this woman?” I smiled as I introduced her: “Mom, this is Dad Anderson’s mistress. You might not know this, but she’s the one who’s pregnant.” While cleaning under the master bedroom bed, I swept out a positive pregnancy test. Looking at the two red lines, I fell into deep thought. Calvin and I hadn’t had sex in over half a year. This pregnancy test wasn’t mine. Before I could throw this cursed thing into the trash, Mrs. Gibson pushed the door open. She spotted the pregnancy test immediately. First she froze, then she lunged forward and snatched it from my hand, her presbyopic eyes bulging wider than saucers: “Oh my goodness, someone’s pregnant?” I was about to explain when she shot me a look of utter disdain: “What are you looking at? I know it’s not yours. You’re a hen that hasn’t laid an egg in three years. You’d never be so lucky!” I laughed in anger: “If it’s not mine, then why are you so excited?” “Don’t be stupid! If it’s not yours, then it must belong to Calvin’s mistress!” Mrs. Gibson beamed with joy. “Men will be men. Which one doesn’t stray? As long as she can bear an heir for the Peters family, she’s done us a great service!” Just then, Calvin pushed the door open. Mrs. Gibson immediately rushed to him, holding up the pregnancy test like a treasure: “Calvin, be honest with me. Is your mistress Margaret pregnant?” Calvin glanced at me guiltily. But when he saw I wasn’t making a scene and Mrs. Gibson looked overjoyed, his spine suddenly stiffened. He nodded confidently: “Mom, since you already know, I won’t hide it. Margaret is indeed pregnant. We just found out.” Standing to the side, I almost laughed out loud. “Well done, you make me so proud!” Mrs. Gibson slapped her thigh excitedly. “Since Margaret is carrying a child, we must bring her home to enjoy her rightful status!” Calvin’s eyes reddened with emotion: “Mom, you’re so understanding! Margaret said she doesn’t need a title, she just wants the baby to be healthy.” “The poor girl.” Mrs. Gibson turned to look at me, her expression instantly changing. “Elliot, since you can’t give birth yourself, don’t be jealous of Margaret. Clear out the master bedroom right now. We’re bringing her home tomorrow to rest during her pregnancy!” Calvin chimed in: “That’s right, Elliot. Move to the guest room. The master bedroom gets better sunlight. Let Margaret have it. She’s pregnant and needs the calcium from sunshine.” He paused, then warned me viciously: “You better behave yourself. If you dare lay a finger on Margaret or touch a single hair on my son’s head, I’ll kill you!” I stared expressionlessly at this pair of despicable mother and son, hands in my pockets, quietly pressing the record button on my phone. “So what you’re saying is, as long as a mistress is pregnant with a Peters family child, she must be brought home and taken care of, never left to fend for herself?” Mrs. Gibson lifted her chin: “Naturally!” I continued: “And this child, even if illegitimate, must enjoy exactly the same inheritance rights as a legitimate child?” Calvin stated firmly: “Obviously! He’s Peters family blood. Who dares mistreat him?” “Alright, I understand.” I nodded, the corners of my mouth curving into a gentle smile. “Of course. Since she’s carrying a Peters heir, naturally we must treat her well with good food and drink.”

Mrs. Gibson snorted coldly: “Good that you know your place. Hurry up and pack your things, move all your junk out. Don’t bring us bad luck!” For the next two hours, I leaned against the doorframe like an idle bystander, watching Calvin and Mrs. Gibson gleefully throw my belongings out. “Change these sheets. Margaret likes pink!” “Move this vanity too. Make room for the baby crib!” Calvin was all smiles. “Mom, let’s go to the mall tomorrow and buy Margaret the best bird’s nest soup!” Mrs. Gibson grinned from ear to ear: “Yes, I’ll pay! As long as her belly delivers, I’ll buy her anything!” I watched their busy backs, nearly laughing myself to tears. Oh Calvin, since you’re so happy, I won’t show you the azoospermia diagnosis report I just picked up from the hospital. Let you enjoy yourselves for a couple more days. Early the next morning, Mrs. Gibson and Calvin left the house in high spirits. They said they were going to upscale baby boutiques to stock up, preparing to welcome the “great contributor” Margaret home. Before leaving, Calvin didn’t forget to warn me viciously to clear out the last bits of trash from the master bedroom so it wouldn’t offend Margaret’s eyes. After the door closed, I unhurriedly took out my phone and dialed a number. “Hello? Is this Ms. Hill? Yes, I’m Calvin’s wife, Elliot. I saw the pregnancy test you left under our master bedroom bed yesterday.” There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. I laughed lightly, my tone gentle. “Don’t be afraid. Mrs. Gibson and Calvin have spoken. Since you’re carrying Peters family blood, you absolutely cannot be left to fend for yourself. Pack your bags. I’m sending a car to bring you to the villa to rest during your pregnancy.”

At three in the afternoon, the villa gates opened. Mrs. Gibson and Calvin walked in carrying bags of imported bird’s nest, luxury baby cribs, and a mountain of other baby supplies, their faces beaming. “Margaret said she’s suffering from morning sickness today and needs to wait a couple more days before moving in. I feel so bad for her.” Mrs. Gibson muttered as she changed her shoes. Calvin agreed: “Mom, Margaret is carrying a boy. It’s normal for him to be demanding. Please take extra care of her, and I’ll make sure she treats you well later.” The two were chatting and laughing as they turned into the living room, then the smiles on their faces instantly froze. On the leather sofa sat a woman in her thirties, still attractive and well-maintained. She wore loose maternity clothes and was using a toothpick to eat the strawberries I had just washed. Seeing the mother and son laden with packages, the woman also froze, somewhat awkwardly putting down the fruit plate. “Who, who is this?” Mrs. Gibson’s eyes widened as she looked the woman on the sofa up and down. “Elliot, what are you playing at? Why are strangers coming into the house? Is this some poor relative of yours?” Calvin also frowned: “Elliot, are you sick? I told you to make room for Margaret, and you invite your relatives over? Get her out of here now!” I walked out of the kitchen carrying a glass of warm milk, handed it to the woman on the sofa, then turned around with a beaming smile. “Please don’t be angry. If you get upset, how will you take care of the pregnant woman?” I walked to the woman’s side and patted her shoulder affectionately, introducing her with great ceremony: “This is definitely not my poor relative. What’s in her belly is genuine Peters family blood.” Mrs. Gibson’s mind hadn’t caught up yet. She thought it was another of Calvin’s affairs. “Calvin, besides Margaret you got another woman pregnant? This woman looks well into her thirties. You could actually bring yourself to sleep with her?” Calvin’s face turned green, frantically waving his hands: “Mom, I don’t know her! I swear I’ve never touched even a finger of hers! Why would I have a lover this old?” I pretended to be shocked, covering my mouth. “Calvin, that’s not right. How can you shout at your elders like that?” I looked at the two confused people with a smile. “Oh my, did I forget to tell you? The pregnancy test swept out yesterday really wasn’t mine, but it wasn’t Calvin’s mistress’s either.” “Mrs. Gibson, let me formally introduce you. This is Ms. Hill, the mistress Anderson keeps on the side. Yesterday, while you were out, Anderson brought her home to get something and accidentally dropped the pregnancy test under the bed.” “Originally, I wanted to pretend nothing happened. But yesterday, you swore that Peters family blood couldn’t be left outside, that illegitimate children must also enjoy inheritance rights. So I brought Ms. Hill home.” “You won’t mind, will you?”

The air froze in that instant. Mrs. Gibson’s face, which had been glowing with health just moments ago, visibly turned the color of liver. Her lips trembled as she pointed at the woman on the sofa, unable to squeeze out a word for a long time: “You, what did you say?” I blinked innocently and took out my phone, pressing play on yesterday’s saved recording. Mrs. Gibson and Calvin’s full-throated voices immediately rang out: “As long as she’s carrying Peters seed, she absolutely cannot be left outside!” “Even if it’s an illegitimate child, they must enjoy exactly the same inheritance rights!” “We must bring her home and treat her well! If you dare touch a hair on their head, I’ll kill you!” After the recording finished, I spread my hands, smiling virtuously. “Mom, Calvin, your words yesterday really opened my eyes. Our Peters family values bloodline. Since Ms. Hill is carrying Anderson’s child, that makes it Calvin’s little brother or sister!” “Such precious Peters family offspring, how could they be left outside? So I immediately brought her home to take good care of her.” I pointed at the pile of upscale baby supplies on the floor, full of admiration: “You two were so thoughtful, even buying bird’s nest and maternity clothes. Ms. Hill, see how much they care about you!” Mrs. Gibson stood stunned for a full half minute before suddenly erupting in a piercing shriek. “That’s bullshit! Elliot, you bitch, stop trying to drive a wedge between us!” She pointed at the woman on the sofa, trembling all over. “Her? Anderson is well into his fifties. How could he do something so disgusting outside! Anderson would never be that kind of person!” “That’s such an ugly thing to say.” Ms. Hill, who had been silent until now, timidly put down the cherries in her hand, her eyes watery and full of grievance: “Anderson said he’s most annoyed by the old woman at home nagging about everything. He said I’m gentle and understanding, that I know his heart best. If he hadn’t insisted on dragging me to the bedroom yesterday for some excitement, the pregnancy test wouldn’t have fallen under the bed.”

“Ahh! You shameless slut, I’ll tear you apart!” Mrs. Gibson completely lost it. The woman who had been putting on airs as a wealthy matriarch just moments ago now lunged at the woman with her teeth bared and claws out. I reacted quickly, grabbing her and pushing her back into Calvin’s arms. “Mrs. Gibson, please calm down!” I urged her. “Didn’t you just teach me yesterday that men will be men. Which one doesn’t stray? Anderson is in his prime. It’s perfectly normal for him to have affairs. This shows Anderson has charisma. You should be more understanding!” “Shut your mouth. How is that the same?” Mrs. Gibson’s chest heaved violently, nearly coughing up blood. “How is it different?” I widened my eyes in feigned confusion. “Oh right, you also said yesterday that as long as it’s a Peters child, they absolutely cannot be left outside. Look, I’m just following your orders, bringing Anderson’s true love home to treat her well with good food and drink.” I turned to look at Calvin, who was still in a daze: “Calvin, you personally made a vow yesterday. If anyone dared touch a pregnant woman’s hair, you’d kill me. Now your mom wants to attack her. Are you going to do something about it?” Calvin finally snapped back to reality. But what concerned him wasn’t Anderson’s affair, but something far more critical. “Wait!” Calvin’s face turned deathly pale as he stared at Ms. Hill’s belly, his voice cracking. “The baby in your belly is my dad’s? Then, then won’t he have to split our family fortune?” I nearly laughed out loud. This scumbag’s thought process was truly refreshingly unique, always fixated on money. I clapped my hands in loud praise: “Calvin, you’re so smart! Yesterday you said emphatically that even illegitimate children must enjoy exactly the same inheritance rights!” I walked to Ms. Hill’s side and raised an eyebrow at Calvin: “Since your mistress’s child can split your fortune, naturally Anderson’s mistress’s child should also split Anderson’s fortune. By calculation, whether Ms. Hill’s baby is a boy or girl, they can split away exactly half the family assets!” “No way! Absolutely not!” Calvin completely broke down, stamping his feet and cursing. “My dad’s money is all mine. Why should it go to this bastard child from who knows where! Elliot, get her out of here right now!” I crossed my arms, took a step back, and watched coldly as this mother-son pair jumped around anxiously. “Get her out? Too late.” I spread my hands. “When Ms. Hill came in, I already sent Anderson a message saying I brought his sweetheart home to rest during her pregnancy. By my calculation, he should be arriving home any minute now.” As soon as I finished speaking, the sound of urgent car brakes came from outside the villa. Then the front door was pushed open. Anderson, usually stern and rigid, rushed in breathlessly. As soon as he entered, his gaze fell on the woman on the sofa. His usually stern face instantly softened with tenderness: “How did you end up here? Did anything happen to the baby?” In the living room, Mrs. Gibson’s face finally changed from liver-colored to deathly pale. And Calvin looked like he had swallowed a live fly.

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After my roommates found out I was the daughter of the richest man in the country, their attitudes toward me changed. Every month when my dad transferred me a hundred thousand dollars for living expenses, my roommate would make snide remarks. “Why does a girl need so much money?” “The company will end up in your brother’s hands anyway. With how recklessly you spend now, don’t be surprised when they kick you out of the family!” As everyone knew, my dad only had one daughter—me. When she demanded I hand over my allowance yet again, I finally snapped: “Are you insane? I’ll spend my money however I want. It’s none of your business!” Who knew my roommate would smirk with contempt. “Of course I can tell you what to do. After all, I’m pregnant with your dad’s child. By family standing, you should obey me!” But my dad had a testicular removal surgery two years ago. How could she possibly be pregnant with his child?! The hundred thousand dollars in living expenses had just hit my account, and I went straight to the boutique to buy their limited edition handbag. I was in a pretty good mood until I got back to the dorm and heard my roommate Yasmin’s sarcastic voice. “Oh, Sophia’s back. What nice things did you buy today?” Ever since finding out I was the daughter of the richest man in the country, Yasmin’s attitude toward me had completely changed. She constantly took the lead in isolating and ostracizing me. When I went to the cafeteria to eat, she would deliberately start trouble. “How can the daughter of the richest man sit and eat with us commoners!” When I returned to the dorm to rest, she would force the other roommates to act like servants. “Don’t you guys have any sense? The princess is back. Everyone better serve her carefully!” At first, I would try to explain, but every time Yasmin would jump out to sabotage me. Over time, everyone avoided me like the plague. Only Yasmin, the instigator of it all, put on the act of being my savior. “See? I’m the only one who can tolerate your bad temper.” But I couldn’t stand her petty behavior. I ignored her and walked straight past. To my surprise, Yasmin snatched the bag from my hand and examined it carefully. “So this is what a designer bag looks like. The texture really is different.” Seeing the greedy look on her face, I said irritably, “Give it back!” “You already have so many bags. You don’t need this one. Why don’t you just give it to me?” Before, I just thought Yasmin had no sense of boundaries. Now I realized she not only had no boundaries, but was also incredibly shameless. “If you want one, buy it yourself. Why should I give you my stuff!” I snatched it back from her hands. Yasmin’s expression darkened frighteningly. She glared at me. “Does having money make you so great? Don’t think that just because you have some money you can insult people however you want!” Her eyes suddenly reddened, and she collapsed on the desk crying. I was completely bewildered when my roommates came back from outside. They must have heard what was just said, because they looked at me disapprovingly. “Sophia, we know your family is rich, but you can’t use your wealth to trample on others’ dignity.” I almost laughed from anger. “She didn’t want to pay a cent and tried to take my bag. What, should I have gotten on my knees to thank her?” I pulled out the recording from earlier and exposed Yasmin’s true face. The roommates realized they’d been deceived and immediately distanced themselves from her. After being set up by her so many times, I’d finally won one back. Seeing her lie exposed, Yasmin dropped the act. “Was I wrong? Can you even use all those bags? I was helping you lighten your load!” “No need to worry about me. If I can’t use them all, I can sell them for charity. Either way, I’m not giving them to you!” Yasmin’s face turned livid with rage. She couldn’t say a word. After suffering in silence for so long, it felt great to finally see her lose. After this incident, I figured she wouldn’t dare provoke me again!

Yasmin seemed frightened by the recording incident. She stopped making sarcastic remarks and even deliberately kept her distance from me. Without her interference, the air felt much fresher. I gradually let my guard down, thinking she had finally learned about boundaries and stopped looking for trouble. The month passed peacefully. Until the day of the holiday, I packed my suitcase and walked out of school to find William’s black Bentley already parked at the school gate. He wore a pressed dark suit, his posture upright. He looked nothing like a driver. “Sophia, let me take that for you.” William smiled as he took the suitcase from my hand and expertly placed it in the trunk. Just as I pulled open the car door to get in, Yasmin’s voice suddenly called from behind. “Sophia, wait!” I turned around to see Yasmin pulling her suitcase, jogging toward me. Her eyes glanced at William and the car, and she was still catching her breath. “My parents are working overtime on a construction project and can’t pick me up. Plus, I bought a lot of study materials this month, so I don’t have enough money for a cab.” “Sophia, could you give me a ride?” She looked at me expectantly, her tone cautious. I frowned. Honestly, I didn’t want any more entanglement with her, but seeing those yellowed canvas shoes on her feet, and considering she really hadn’t bothered me this past month. I couldn’t help but relent. “Get in.” “Thank you so much! Sophia, you’re the best!” Before I could react, she had already walked to the passenger side, opened the door, and got in. Her movements were so natural, as if it were her designated seat. I froze for a moment, frowning. Usually when William picked me up, I put my bag or files in the passenger seat. No one else ever sat there. But then I thought, it was just a seat. No need to make a big deal out of it. So I opened the back door. As soon as the car started moving, Yasmin began chatting with William. “Sir, this car is so comfortable. It must be expensive, right?” Her voice was sickeningly sweet, completely different from her sharp and bitter tone in the dorm. William smiled politely. “It’s alright. Just for transportation.” “You look so young, sir. You must take really good care of yourself, right?” Yasmin rested her chin on one hand, staring straight at William. “Do you focus a lot on health maintenance? My mom always says men need to take care of themselves as they get older, or they’ll age fast…” She babbled on and on, every topic somehow circling back to William, every word dripping with deliberate flattery. One moment she’d praise his suit fabric, the next she’d say his voice was magnetic, and she even meaningfully mentioned: “My dad works construction year-round. His hands are covered in calluses. Not like you, sir. You look like someone who does important things. Even your fingers are so long and elegant.” I got goosebumps listening to her and couldn’t help glancing at her. But she acted as if she didn’t notice my gaze and continued chatting animatedly with William. William clearly sensed something was off and his responses became increasingly perfunctory, mostly just “Mm” and “I suppose” to brush her off. But not only did Yasmin not hold back, she intensified her efforts. As we passed a dessert shop, she suddenly exclaimed, “Oh! This place has such famous mousse cake! I’ve always wanted to try it, but it’s too expensive…” As she spoke, her eyes drifted toward William, her tone taking on a wheedling quality. “Sir, have you tried it? I heard rich people have personal pastry chefs at home. Is that true?” “I’m not rich…” “You’re too modest, sir. If you don’t count as rich, then what are we? Beggars?” Yasmin chattered nonstop the entire way. It was incredibly annoying. I tried to interrupt her several times, telling her to stop. But she’d stay quiet for less than a minute before finding another topic to discuss with William. Thoroughly irritated, I simply put in my Bluetooth earbuds to block out her voice. It was just a short ride anyway. Once we dropped her at the subway station, we’d never cross paths again. No point getting into another conflict over such a small thing. However, when the car approached the subway station, Yasmin suddenly said: “Sir, actually my home isn’t near the subway station. It’s in the suburbs. Could you drive me a bit further?” Then she turned to wink at me. “Sophia, you don’t mind, right?”

Before I could answer, she had already turned back to William. “My parents are working overtime today. I’m a girl carrying luggage and walking alone at night—it’s kind of scary…” William didn’t respond this time. He looked at me through the rearview mirror, waiting for my decision. Looking at Yasmin’s entitled expression, that uncomfortable feeling finally crystallized into clear disgust. Give her an inch and she’ll take a mile—that was her true nature! My patience finally ran out. When she emphasized taking her home yet again, I refused sharply. “No! We agreed on the subway station, so it’s only to the subway station.” The smile on Yasmin’s face instantly froze. She hadn’t expected me to reject her so firmly. She paused for two seconds, then her eyes suddenly reddened and her voice became choked with sobs. “Sophia, I shouldn’t be so demanding, but my home really is far away. Even after getting off the subway, I still have to walk for over two hours. By the time I get home, it’ll be dark.” “My parents work so hard to save money. They haul bricks during the day and watch warehouses at night. They won’t even buy themselves decent clothes. I really don’t want to trouble them to pick me up.” She cried while wiping her tears. “I’m not afraid of walking alone at night for any other reason, just afraid of running into bad people… If something happens to me, how will my parents survive…” The atmosphere in the car grew heavy. William glanced at me through the rearview mirror, his eyes showing some sympathy. “The suburbs aren’t that far by car. Maybe we should…” I cut him off. “This isn’t about distance.” But Yasmin grabbed onto it like a lifeline. “Sir, you’re such a good person! Sophia, I know you’re still angry about before. I’ll apologize, okay?” “I promise, this is the last time I’ll trouble you. After this, I’ll stay far away from you!” “She’s just a young girl. It really isn’t easy for her. Let me take her.” Seeing the sincerity in William’s eyes, and glancing at Yasmin’s pitiful tear-streaked face, I finally closed my eyes. “Take me home first, then you can drive her.” Yasmin immediately broke into a smile through her tears. “Thank you, Sophia! Thank you, sir! You’re both such good people!” For the rest of the drive, she was much more subdued, only occasionally glancing at William with a smile she couldn’t quite hide. When we arrived at my villa, William was about to get out to help with my luggage, but Yasmin had already jumped out first and eagerly opened the trunk. “Let me, let me! Sophia, you live here? This house is gorgeous!” Her eyes were filled with undisguised envy, and her attitude became much more fawning. I ignored her and took the bag William handed me. “Drive safely.” “Don’t worry.” As the car started up again, I looked back. Yasmin was sitting in the passenger seat, saying something to William that made her face flush with shyness. I felt an uneasy feeling, but quickly dismissed the thought. I must be overthinking it. After all, William was old enough to be her father. Yasmin had such high standards. How could she possibly be interested in William?

After the holiday ended, Yasmin had visibly changed. She no longer wore faded T-shirts, but had switched to designer clothes. Within a few days, she’d gotten the latest iPhone. Someone who used to be too stingy to even buy a cup of iced latte was now treating the other roommates to upscale Japanese restaurants averaging over a hundred dollars per person every few days. Roommate Lily couldn’t help asking curiously, “Yasmin, did you win the lottery? You’ve been so generous lately.” Yasmin smiled with pursed lips. “It’s nothing. Just my boyfriend’s gifts. He’s worried I won’t eat well at school, so he gave me some spending money.” “Your boyfriend must be rich! He’s so generous.” When asked about her boyfriend’s identity, Yasmin became evasive. “I’ll introduce you to him when there’s a chance.” I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination, but when Yasmin said this, her eyes seemed to deliberately glance at me. I had no interest in other people’s private lives, especially Yasmin’s. Where her money came from, who she was dating—none of it concerned me. My phone suddenly vibrated. It was the hundred thousand dollars in living expenses my dad had transferred. I had just opened my phone to look when Yasmin immediately leaned over. “Did your dad transfer your living expenses? He’s really generous.” I turned my phone face-down on the desk and gave a noncommittal hum. “Sophia, don’t you think it’s unsafe for a girl to keep so much money on hand?” I frowned. “What do you mean?” Yasmin smiled very sincerely. “Look, this hundred thousand dollars—you’ll spend it all in no time. Why don’t you let me hold onto it for you? I’ll save it.” “If you want to buy something, just tell me. I’ll check it for you, so you don’t waste money.” This was absolutely absurd. I couldn’t help but snap. “Yasmin, who do you think you are? My money is none of your business!” The smile on her face froze, and a flash of resentment appeared in her eyes, but she quickly suppressed it. “Sophia, how can you say that? I’m doing this for your own good.” “Do I need you to teach me?” I cut her off. “My dad is happy to give me money to spend. I’ll spend it however I want. You have no right to tell me what to do!” Yasmin’s face turned red and white. Just when I thought she’d explode with anger, she suddenly showed a strange smile. “Sophia, you’re so arrogant now just because you’re the only child of the Sterling family. But have you ever thought about what happens if your dad has a son?” I frowned, completely unable to follow her logic. “What nonsense are you talking about? My dad only has one daughter—me. Where would a son come from!” “Why not?” Yasmin raised an eyebrow. “Men, you know, they always have that old-fashioned thinking. No matter how big the family business, there has to be a son to inherit it. Your dad treats you well now because he has no other choice.” She paused, then continued, “Once your dad has a son, do you think you’ll still get a hundred thousand dollars a month in allowance?” This made me furious. Forget that my dad couldn’t have more children. Even if he could, why shouldn’t I inherit my family’s business? “Yasmin, have you been watching too many TV dramas? My dad’s company will definitely be left to me in the future. Stop worrying about things that don’t concern you!”

I’d said as much, and I thought Yasmin would finally know to back off and stop bothering me. But that evening, I was studying in the dorm when Yasmin suddenly ran up to me and opened with: “Sophia, where’s your living expenses?” I looked up at her. “How is my living expenses any of your business?” Yasmin raised her voice. “Of course it’s my business. Didn’t I tell you last time? From now on, hand all your living expenses to me. When you need to spend money, submit an application. Once it’s approved, I’ll transfer it to you.” “Of course, if you behave well, I’ll give you an extra five hundred dollars each month as a reward.” Watching her get more and more excited, I almost thought there was something wrong with my ears. My fingers tightened slightly around my phone. I looked up at her, my eyes cold enough to freeze: “Yasmin, what did you just say? I didn’t hear you clearly.” “I said, hand over the hundred thousand your dad gave you. I’ll manage it. If you behave well, I’ll reward you with an extra five hundred each month.” I laughed coldly. “Yasmin, who do you think you are to demand my money over and over again!” Yasmin’s voice suddenly rose. “Of course I’m qualified.” She gently caressed her abdomen. “Because I’m pregnant with your dad’s child. Once I marry into the Sterling family on the strength of my child, by family standing, you’ll have to obey me.” At those words, the dorm fell instantly silent. The roommates’ gazes bounced between me and Yasmin, too shocked to speak. Yasmin looked at me triumphantly, as if certain I would break down over this. But I just looked at her calmly. Yasmin pregnant with my dad’s child? That had to be the most ridiculous joke I’d ever heard. Two years ago, Dad was diagnosed with a testicular tumor. For complete treatment, he’d already had testicular removal surgery. The doctor had explicitly stated that he had zero chance of having children after the procedure. This was kept strictly confidential within the family. Almost no one besides Dad and me knew about it. If Yasmin had really investigated my family, she would never have fabricated such a flawed lie. I could guess what Yasmin was thinking. After finding out I was the daughter of the richest man, she’d gotten greedy ideas, even trying to use pregnancy to latch onto a wealthy family, and wanted to manipulate me in the process. How stupid and greedy! “Sophia, be smart and hand over the money.” Yasmin threatened in a low voice. “Otherwise, once I marry into the family, you’ll regret it. By then, forget a hundred thousand in living expenses—whether you can even stay in the Sterling family will be questionable!” Watching her spittle fly everywhere, I suddenly had a new idea. Since she wanted to put on a show, I’d play along!

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On our tenth wedding anniversary, my husband took me to see the ocean. We were caught in a maritime disaster. In my dying moments, he used his last bit of strength to hold my hand. “Thank you. I’m so lucky to have you.” Through tears, I squeezed back the hand of my dying husband. A few breaths later, I followed him into death. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my junior year of high school, studying day and night. All so I could go to Harvard with him and make up for the regrets of my past life. At the post-SAT party, he walked toward me holding roses, just like in my previous life. “I want to tell you—I like you.” My heart swelled with sweetness as I stood up, about to say: I like you too. But he walked past me and handed the roses to Mia, who stood beside me. Suddenly, I understood. He had been reborn too. He had always loved Mia. In this life, he wanted a different future. I decided to grant him that wish. When applying to colleges, I chose Stanford University, three thousand miles away from him, to pursue my own dreams.

Everyone in the private room was looking at me. I forced my voice to sound light and natural. “I was just about to say—you came so late, I almost couldn’t help but tell Mia early.” The atmosphere relaxed instantly. Everyone started cheering. “Kiss! Kiss!” Ethan lowered his head, gazing at Mia with tender seriousness. “May I, Mia?” Mia nodded, her joy overflowing. I turned my face away, retreating to a corner, slowly drinking my iced Coke, trying to keep my breathing steady. Someone from the table in front leaned over. “Don’t you like Ethan? You two walk to and from school together every day. Everyone thought you’d end up together.” I forced a smile, acting as naturally as possible. “We’re neighbors, of course we walk together. He’s like my brother.” Even though this “brother” had hooked pinkies with me just yesterday, promising to go to Crystal Lake together. He wanted to make eternal vows under the witness of snow-capped mountains and sacred lakes—promises for this life and the next. I could feel an oppressive gaze falling on me. He wasn’t the eighteen-year-old Ethan whose eyes held only me. He was the forty-eight-year-old Ethan, also reborn. So I instinctively applied the social rules of forty-eight-year-old Rebecca Lynn. As the wife of the CEO of Wright Corporation, no matter how humiliating the situation, I had to maintain dignity first and not affect the company’s stock price. My hand gripping the cup suddenly tightened. I snapped back to reality. Damn it. I’m broke right now. What Wright Corporation stock price? The person in front was about to say more when Ethan walked over with his arm around Mia. He smiled brightly, but his eyes held no warmth when he looked at me. “Becca, from now on, when you see Mia, remember to call her Mia.” “Mia wants to go to Alaska for her graduation trip. I have to go with her. You’ll have to go to the plateau by yourself.” I stared at the rose pinned in Mia’s hair, saying nothing. Mia playfully swatted him, her eyes full of disdain and triumph as she looked at me. “Aren’t you worried about Becca going so far alone?” “How about I introduce her to some of my childhood friends as boyfriends? They’re all rich kids.” Of course she was triumphant. A year ago, she cornered Ethan to confess, but he publicly rejected her, citing his studies. She could see that he and I were always together. She’d planned to come tonight to ruin Ethan’s confession to me. She never expected the confession would suddenly be directed at her instead. What she didn’t know was that in my past life, tonight, she had burned the roses Ethan gave me. If I hadn’t stopped him, the furious Ethan would have nearly slapped her across the face. Later, she pursued Ethan for eight years, only to be coldly rejected each time. I once nestled in his arms and asked: “Mia is so beautiful, and her dad is a major shareholder in your company. Aren’t you even a little tempted?” He snorted. “I can’t afford to mess with that kind of princess.”

Later, he went to Germany on a business trip. The next day, Mia followed him there and was caught in a plane crash. When I heard the news, my heart tightened. I instinctively looked at Ethan. His face was pale. He said nothing. But that night, he cried in his sleep. “If I had said yes to you, you would have flown with me and wouldn’t have died. It’s my fault…” After waking, he never mentioned it again. I thought it was just guilt. Until now. Looking at the pain and tenderness he couldn’t hide in his eyes, I finally realized belatedly that it wasn’t guilt that night—it was love. Ethan tucked a strand of hair behind Mia’s ear, not even glancing at me. “What’s there to worry about? She’s an adult. She won’t get lost.” “If your friends like her, Mia, that’s her good fortune. Just send them her Snapchat.” He turned to me, his tone commanding as if it were obvious. “Mia and I are going to Harvard together. With your grades, just apply to a community college nearby.” Mia and the others looked at him in surprise, but he remained oblivious, still arrogant. “You’re a good cook and attentive. Help me take care of Mia, and later she’ll introduce you to a good boyfriend.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted to tell him things had changed. Then I heard him add casually: “Come to think of it, you took good care of your dad’s health. You do have experience in that area.” I looked at him in disbelief. In my past life, my dad was diagnosed with idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis five years later, surviving each day on expensive imported medication. All my salary went to medical bills. He accompanied me between home and the hospital, never complaining even when important clients were stolen by colleagues. Everyone said I was dragging him down. He held me as I cried and broke down, gently patting my back. “He’s my dad too. Without them raising me all those years, there would be no Ethan today.” His parents had gone to work elsewhere and started new families. His grandmother died when he was twelve. My parents raised their neighbor as their own son, always cutting him the biggest piece of steak. But now, he was using my dad’s illness as leverage, forcing me—his wife from a previous life—to care for his new love. My throat tightened. Looking at his familiar yet strange face, I suddenly found it absurd. Was he really the Ethan who had shared my bed for thirty years? Meeting his cold eyes, I took a deep breath. “My mom wants me home early. I’m leaving.” As I passed him, I turned my head slightly to look at him. “By the way, that thing you asked me to hold for you last time—come get it sometime.” There was no such thing. It was just the usual social phrase for “let’s talk privately.” If he really was the forty-eight-year-old Ethan, with years of marital understanding, he would get my meaning. When I got home, Dad frowned seeing only me. “Why didn’t Ethan walk you back?” I stared at him. “Did you go for your physical today?” He waved his hand. “What’s the point? It’s a waste of money. I ranked 48th in the state on the SAT. The school gave me a hundred thousand dollars. I have money.” He was silent for a moment, his rough hand touching my head. “Alright. Our Rebecca has grown up. I’ll go tomorrow.” I leaned against Dad watching TV, so happy I nearly cried. 2 In my past life, he ultimately suffocated to death. His last words were that with Ethan taking care of me, he could rest in peace. Back then, Ethan and I were known as a loving couple. Childhood sweethearts, from school uniforms to wedding dress. In the morning, he needed a hug from me before leaving for work. After work, he always brought me a rose. When it was hot and we took walks, he fanned me. When it was cold and I was weak, he warmed my feet. After his business grew, beauties swarmed around him, but he never gave them a glance. “My wife is waiting for me at home.” He was afraid childbirth would hurt me, so he suggested we not have children. “Just the two of us, living our whole lives together. Is that okay?” But why, after being reborn, did he cast me aside like trash? The more I thought about it, the less I understood. Did Mia say something? Remembering the truth about Mia’s death that I’d uncovered in my past life, I decided to wait for Ethan to return and have it out with him. At midnight, I finally heard the sound of keys turning next door, then my phone vibrated. [Ethan: Come over.] I closed my eyes. He really was the reborn Ethan. I went next door and got straight to the point. “Why?” He was silent for a moment. “I think of you as family.” I laughed through my tears. “You slept with me for thirty years and now you call me a sister? Are you crazy? What are you yelling about? Mom and Dad are sleeping next door.” He released his hand, stepped back, and looked me up and down with disgust. “Let me be honest. I’ve slept with you for thirty years. I’m really sick of it! Kissing you is like kissing myself.” “Look at you. Average intelligence, no ambition, going to community college.” “After I became successful, you did nothing but beauty treatments with the other wives and stayed home like a parasite. You can’t do anything.” His eyes suddenly lit up, filled with ambition and longing. “But Mia is different. You know who her dad is. With her, I can cut ten years off my struggle!” “I’m choosing her not because you’re bad, but because—” He paused, his eyes shifting away for a moment as if he couldn’t bear it, then immediately returning to casual arrogance. “You’re not good enough. You can’t help me. It’s not your fault, but it’s the truth.” He grabbed my hand, his expression sincere. “I know you love me and can’t leave me. I love you too.” “But not right now. Let’s be just friends for now.” “You obediently take care of Mia, and when I succeed, I’ll give you a better life than the last one.” “You help my future now, and I’ll secure yours. Okay, Becca?” Shock, anger, humiliation, disgust… Even though I’d been reborn for a year, I felt like I was suddenly plunged back into the day of the maritime disaster. Countless emotions surged at me. I struggled desperately, but could only let myself be swallowed. His hand gripping mine was as cold as it had been on the day of the disaster. I quietly heard my own heartbeat pounding frantically, then gradually weakening, falling into deathly silence. He didn’t love me anymore, but he didn’t want to let me go either. Those promises of eternal devotion in the next life were just my one-sided joke. Rebecca Lynn, you’re such a fool! I swallowed the truth about Mia’s death and laughed coldly as I slammed the door on my way out. “Fine. I wish you both a hundred years of happiness and good health.” When filling out college applications, I directly chose Stanford University. It had the best game design program—my dream that I’d discovered at age forty-five in my past life. And it was a full three thousand miles away from Ethan. As soon as I finished, Ethan’s message came. [Did you finish filling it out?] [Yeah.] [Good job.] 4 He immediately followed up with several instructions. [Mia said you ignored her friends. Good job.] [But you’re not Mrs. Wright anymore, your grades are mediocre, and your background is ordinary.] [When you meet those rich boys, don’t give them attitude. Be polite to them and don’t make me worry.] I sneered. Seems like his precious Mia never mentioned my grades to him. 48th in the state on the SAT—my phone had just been bombarded with calls from admissions offices, promising scholarships up to five hundred thousand dollars. Where would I have time to deal with those shady friends? Exiting the chat, I opened my friend requests. [Heard from Mia that you’re obedient? I happen to need an obedient follower. Let’s chat.] [Your boyfriend’s sister? What kind of sister?] [You look decent in your photos. Want to have some fun with me? I’ll make it worth your while.] I frowned in disgust. Ethan’s message popped up again. [Mia and I are going to Alaska in a few days. Those cookies you brought back last time were delicious. Where did you buy them? I’ll get you some.] Get them for me, or take Mia to eat them? [Mrs. Lynn’s exclusive recipe. Not for sale.] After a while, he replied: [Okay, I trust you.] I gripped my phone, anger rushing to the top of my head. [Believe whatever you want!] Before sending, I deleted it. Forget it. Talking to a deaf person is just a waste of time. I got up and started packing the things he’d given me over the years. Pens, bookmarks, notebooks, snow globes… Odds and ends filled an entire box—childish and cheap. But it was a box full of what was once sincerity. Ethan, how did you become so unrecognizable? I carried the box next door and threw it in a corner of the storage room, turning to leave. Draft papers on the desk were blown everywhere by the wind. I sighed and picked them up one by one to put back. But on the open notebook, I saw a few words pressed hard into the paper: [Whisper Bay, Sacrifice True Heart, Start Over] All the blood in my body instantly turned cold. Whisper Bay was where we encountered the maritime disaster. Sacrifice—what did that mean? Was our rebirth his arrangement? My hair stood on end. I carefully restored the room to its original state and took the box back, pretending I’d never been there. During the five days of college application submissions, Ethan and I didn’t see each other. He was busy dating Mia, fantasizing about traveling around the country together during their four years of college. I was busy searching online and at the library… looking everywhere for legends about Whisper Bay. Every day he shared dating stories with me, subtly mocking my dullness, and ordered me to plan their travel itinerary. Unwilling to alert him, I did everything he asked. He grew increasingly entitled. July 7, 4:54 PM. I finally saw a post on an obscure forum. [Want to restart your life? Welcome to my hometown. We have a sea called Reincarnation Sea.] [It swallows several people every year, but my grandma says they don’t die—they’re reborn.] [Long ago, there was a fisherwoman whose husband went to sea and never returned. She waited thirty years.] [Then one full moon night, she rowed out alone and never came back.] [After that, people passing by that sea at night heard a woman crying and a man answering.] [My grandma said that as long as you truly love someone and are willing to die for them, Reincarnation Sea will send you both back to the past.] The replies below were all mocking: [I love money above all else. Let me memorize lottery numbers and I’ll find the poster.] [Too cliche. Why not say going there together lets you cycle through ten lives together? Better for tricking people in love to travel, right?] I stared at the screen, trembling uncontrollably.

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After being reborn, I burned every photo I had with Ethan Rivers. I also tore up the love letters Lucas Knight had written for three years. Because in my previous life, I became a complete joke between these two men. Ethan said he loved me, but after I gave up my study abroad opportunity for him, he left the country with Willow Hayes. Before leaving, he left me a letter: “She needs me more than you do.” I cried for three months. Lucas stayed by my side and said, “I’ve waited eight years for you.” After marrying him, he came home on time every night and never got involved with any other women. I thought I’d finally made the right bet. Until that winter when I got into a car accident. I was unconscious in the ICU for seven days, and he never came once. But I heard the nurses talking: “Her husband comes every day, but he goes to the room next door to take care of a patient named Willow Hayes.” Later I learned that Ethan took Willow abroad to treat her illness, and Lucas paid for everything. In this life, I sold my house early and took my grandmother abroad to study.

“The patient in Room 12 is so pitiful. Her husband comes every day but never goes in to see her.” “Yeah, he goes straight to the next room to visit that patient named Willow Hayes.” The nurses’ voices drifted in from outside the door. After the car accident, I had multiple fractures and had been lying in the ICU for seven days. Though unconscious, my mind was clear. I heard the nurses call Lucas Knight over and over. But he never came to see me. He was with someone more important. The salvation I thought I’d found was just another lie. I used all my strength trying to open my eyes, but my vision filled only with a flat line on the heart monitor. When I opened my eyes again, the sunlight was blinding. I sat at my familiar desk. The calendar showed three months before I would give up my study abroad spot for Ethan Rivers. This time, I answered the call from the school’s international exchange office: “Professor, I confirm I’m participating in this year’s exchange program. Thank you for giving me this opportunity.” The professor’s voice was pleased: “I’m glad you’ve thought it through. It would be such a waste to give up such a good opportunity.” Yes, such a waste. Giving up my own life for a man was the stupidest thing I’d ever done. After hanging up, I contacted a real estate agent and listed the house my parents left me. I had only one requirement: full payment, as soon as possible. Once that was done, Ethan called. His voice was cold: “Anna, Willow’s graduation project hit a snag. You’re good at this stuff, go help her.” Willow again. Her business always came between us. In my previous life, I stayed up three nights straight because of that one sentence, revising her design from rough draft to final product. The award-winning work bore only her name. Ethan’s explanation was: “Willow’s health is poor. She needs this award for her resume.” I actually believed him back then. I gripped my phone and said softly, “Okay, send me the materials.” Ethan’s voice came through the phone: “Good girl.” One word, and he thought he could dismiss me. I looked out the window, thinking back to my past life, and felt nothing but absurdity. Before long, Lucas Knight knocked on my door carrying macarons from my favorite shop. His tone was gentle: “I know you’ve been stressed about Ethan and Willow. Don’t wear yourself out.” He always appeared when Ethan hurt me, coming to care for me. Then he would casually mention: “That project is pretty important for Willow. Ethan doesn’t have much choice. That girl’s been frail since childhood, can’t handle it alone.” See, they always had a thousand reasons. Willow’s health was poor, so everything she did was justified. I bit into a macaron and smiled at him: “I know. I won’t make things difficult for Ethan.” Lucas smiled with relief. They all thought I was still that Anna Sullivan who would compromise endlessly for Ethan Rivers. The next day, I took my laptop to the library to prepare my study abroad application materials. I was searching for references in the materials section when I looked up and saw Ethan and Willow not far away. Willow was leaning against Ethan, her face rosy, looking nothing like someone with poor health. She was laughing, saying to Ethan: “Ethan, thank goodness for you. I really wouldn’t know what to do otherwise.” Ethan looked down at her with a tenderness I’d never heard in his voice: “Silly girl.” Ethan turned to buy water, and when he looked back, he saw me. His expression froze for a moment, then quickly turned to a frown. My presence disturbed them. I didn’t rush up to confront them like in my previous life. I just gave him a slight smile from afar. Then I turned back to continue searching for my books on the shelf. The gaze from behind made me uncomfortable all over. I didn’t care. Anyway, these days would be over soon.

I didn’t touch a single word of Willow’s graduation project. Two days later, Ethan found me in the library. He yanked the book from my hands and slammed it on the table with a bang. Students around us all looked over. “Anna Sullivan, I told you to help Willow, and you’re here reading boring books?” I looked up at him, and at Willow standing behind him with an innocent expression. “I was just researching some materials,” I answered. “What research could be more important than Willow’s graduation project?” Ethan demanded, pulling Willow in front of him. “She hasn’t slept well for days because of this design, and you don’t care at all.” Willow tugged at his sleeve right on cue, saying softly: “Ethan, don’t be like this. Anna must have her own things to deal with. I’ll figure something out myself.” Her words made Ethan think I was even more unreasonable. “Listen to that!” He pointed at Willow. “Willow is more sensible than you! Anna Sullivan, I’m saying this one last time: within a week, I want to see a complete proposal.” I watched them perform their duet and looked away. I nodded: “Got it.” Ethan thought I’d given in. His expression softened slightly as he pulled Willow away. I took in all the strange looks from the surrounding students. It didn’t matter. This was the last time anyway. Ethan finally couldn’t hold back. His voice was sharp on the phone: “Anna Sullivan, what are you playing at? It’s due in a week and you haven’t done anything?” “I’m sorry, my grandmother hasn’t been feeling well lately. I’ve been at the hospital taking care of her, so I fell behind,” I lied. “Willow’s graduation project is very important to her. Put your family stuff aside and finish her work first.” Listen to how entitled he sounded. My grandmother meant less to him than Willow’s homework. “But…” I pretended to hesitate. “No buts.” Ethan cut me off. “Anna Sullivan, don’t be childish. If Willow can’t graduate, you’ll regret it.” He hung up forcefully. I turned off the faucet and looked at myself in the mirror, unable to understand how I’d been so desperate over such a man in my previous life. Fortunately, I could start over in this life. The agent called at just the right time to tell me the house had found a buyer who agreed to full payment and could sign the contract today. I replied with a simple “okay.” To make the house sale more convincing, I needed to move out some of the old furniture my parents left behind. Those things were heavy. I couldn’t move them alone. The first person I thought of was Lucas Knight, who had always played the role of reliable friend. I called him: “Lucas, are you free? I have some old furniture at home I want to get rid of. Could you help me?” There was a few seconds of silence on the other end, then Lucas’s voice came through: “Anna, really bad timing. I can’t get away right now.” In the background, I clearly heard Willow’s delicate coughing. “Willow has a bit of a fever. I need to stay here and look after her,” Lucas explained. “Try to figure something out yourself, or call a moving company? I’ll transfer you some money later.” Willow again. I laughed softly: “No need. Take good care of her. I can manage.” After hanging up, I didn’t hesitate for a second and immediately found a paid moving service online. Why beg people for help when money could solve the problem? After hanging up, I clutched my stomach and called Lucas in a weak voice: “I have terrible stomach pain. I’m at City Central Hospital right now.” Lucas immediately answered: “Don’t move, I’ll be right there!” I sat on the cold bench in the hospital emergency hall, watching people come and go. Half an hour later, I saw Lucas. He was running fast, looking hurried, but didn’t glance in my direction at all. Lucas ran right past me, heading straight for the orthopedic clinic on the other side. I stood up and followed. Outside the clinic, Willow sat in a wheelchair with her ankle wrapped in bandages, crying. Lucas crouched in front of her, coaxing her in a soft voice: “Come on, don’t cry. The doctor said it’s just a minor sprain, right? It’ll heal in a few days.” “But it hurts so much…” Willow whined coquettishly. Lucas frowned, reaching out to touch her ankle but afraid of hurting her, his movements cautious. That look was more genuine than any performance he’d put on at my bedside in my previous life. I stood behind them watching. So the rumors I’d heard in the ICU in my previous life had started even earlier. My appearance changed the atmosphere between them. Lucas suddenly turned and saw me, freezing completely. “Anna… what are you doing here?” His eyes were panicked. Willow saw me too. The tears in her eyes instantly disappeared, replaced by a challenging look. “I have stomach pain. I came to get some medicine,” I pointed at myself. “Are you… how are you?” Lucas stood up, looking flustered. “Nothing serious, just an old problem.” “You go ahead with what you’re doing. I’ll head home after I get my prescription.” I didn’t give him any chance to explain and turned to leave. I knew my unhesitating departure would make them even more convinced that I was still that jealous but helpless Anna Sullivan.

The day I signed the house sale contract and received the full payment, the weather was beautiful. I transferred the money to a bank card, then went to school to complete my leave of absence and study abroad procedures. That weekend, a mutual friend organized a bar gathering and invited me. I knew Ethan and the others would be there. To avoid raising suspicion, I agreed. In the private room, everyone started playing Truth or Dare. After a few rounds, Willow suddenly shook the dice in her hand and suggested with a smile: “Let’s play King’s Game! Whoever draws the king can order any two people to do anything!” The suggestion immediately got everyone’s approval, including Ethan and Lucas. Sure enough, in the first round, Willow became the king. She announced her command: “I order Number 2 and Number 5 to recreate the classic bow embrace from Titanic!” After she spoke, everyone started checking their cards. I opened my palm. Number 2. And Ethan, frowning, revealed his Number 5 card. The room erupted immediately with whistles and cheering. “Anna, this is your chance!” “Ethan, don’t just stand there, give her a hug!” I was pushed by the crowd onto the coffee table, not knowing what to do with my hands and feet. Ethan was pushed in front of me, his face full of unwillingness. Lucas was still laughing nearby: “Ethan, hurry up, don’t keep everyone waiting. Anna, spread your arms.” I stiffly spread my arms and closed my eyes, not daring to look at Ethan’s expression. I didn’t wait for an embrace. Instead, a strong force came from behind. It was Willow. She hugged me from behind with a laugh, shouting to Ethan: “Ethan, look, isn’t this the same?” The moment she grabbed me, my foot slipped and I fell backward uncontrollably. A loud bang. I crashed heavily to the ground, the back of my head hitting the hard corner of the coffee table. The pain made my vision go dark. Drinks and fruit on the table tipped over from the impact, pouring ice-cold liquid all over me. The world went silent for a second. Then I heard Ethan’s undisguised mocking laugh. Ethan didn’t even glance at me. He just said to someone nearby: “What a buzzkill.” Lucas only frowned slightly. “Anna, how could you be so careless? It’s just a game.” Not one person came to help me up. All their attention was focused on Willow, who had pushed me and now had red-rimmed eyes. Ethan immediately pulled her to his side, comforting her gently: “It’s okay, it’s not your fault. She just didn’t stand steady.” The sharp pain from the back of my head spread through me as I lay on the cold floor, soaking wet and utterly disheveled. Without a word, I got up from the floor and walked out of that noisy room. In that moment, I was only grateful I’d already sold the house and completed my study abroad procedures. Only three days left until I could leave. The third day was my birthday. Perhaps because of the bar incident, Lucas sent a text: “Anna, happy birthday. Tonight at 7 PM, Cloud Summit Restaurant. I booked the best table for you. See you there.” Soon after, Ethan also sent a text: “Happy birthday. Willow didn’t mean it last time, don’t take it to heart. We’ll celebrate together tonight.” Looking at these two messages, I felt nothing. Consider it a final goodbye. I replied “okay” to both. That evening, I took a cab to the restaurant. Still that window seat with a view overlooking half the city’s nightscape. This scene was identical to my previous life. On this day in my previous life, at this very place, wearing the dress he gave me, they left before we even ordered, called away by Willow’s phone call. I waited from seven o’clock until the restaurant was about to close. They never came back. Calls went unanswered. Messages unreturned. The pitying looks from other diners, the hesitant inquiries from waiters, made me uncomfortable all over. Until I saw a photo on a friend’s social media. In the photo, she wore a princess dress, holding a cake and smiling. Ethan and Lucas stood on either side of her, looking at her adoringly. The caption read: “Grabbed two knights last minute to eat cake. Sure, it’s not my birthday, but who says you can only eat cake on birthdays!” So my birthday meant less than her impromptu celebration.

“Anna? What are you thinking about?” Lucas’s voice pulled me from my memories. Lucas and Ethan had arrived and sat across from me. The food was quickly served. No one spoke. The atmosphere was stiff. Lucas raised his glass first: “Anna, I was wrong the other day. I’ll punish myself with a drink. Happy birthday.” Ethan also rarely dropped his stern expression, though his eyes remained complicated. Just then, Lucas’s phone rang. He glanced at the caller and immediately answered, his voice changing: “What? How could she suddenly faint? Which hospital?” He hung up and looked at me apologetically: “Anna, I’m sorry. Willow… she fainted from acute hypoglycemia. She’s at the hospital now. I need to go check on her.” Before I could speak, Ethan had already stood up, coat in hand, saying to Lucas: “Let’s go together. One person might not be enough.” Just like in my previous life, they abandoned me for Willow once again. Lucas assured me: “Anna, you eat first. We’ll come back as soon as we settle her in. Very quickly!” They hurried out. The door to the private room closed, shutting out the noise outside. The world instantly quieted. I looked at the table full of food and didn’t wait a single second longer. I grabbed my coat and called the waiter. “Check, please.” Walking out of the restaurant, the night wind hit my face. It was cold, but I felt more clearheaded than ever. I took out my phone and blocked and deleted both Ethan and Lucas’s contacts. This time, I wouldn’t wait anymore. I hailed a taxi and went straight home. When I opened the door, the house was empty. Except for a few suitcases for my grandmother and me, there was no trace of life lived here. I took off that dirty dress and threw it straight into the trash without thinking. Along with that dress, I threw away the last bit of feeling I had for Ethan Rivers. I walked into my grandmother’s room. She was already asleep, breathing steadily. I tucked in her blanket and kissed her forehead. Grandma, this time I’ll take you away from this place that broke your heart. In the latter half of the night, I barely slept. I checked and rechecked the documents and luggage, making sure everything was perfect. At dawn, I woke my grandmother. “Grandma, we’re going to a faraway, wonderful place. Okay?” Though my grandmother’s memory was a bit fuzzy, she loved me most. She looked at me and nodded with a smile: “Okay. Wherever Anna goes, Grandma goes.” The morning light at the airport shone through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It was warm. I held my grandmother’s hand, walking step by step toward the boarding gate. Goodbye, Ethan Rivers. Goodbye, Lucas Knight. And Willow Hayes. May your love last forever.

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On the day the college acceptance letters arrived, my mom made three phone calls in a row. The first was to my grandmother: “Did the Carter family tombstone explode yet? …Ah, it didn’t? Then it must be emitting holy light! Go check it out right now!” The second was to my dad: “My daughter got into Columbia University! Near perfect SATs! Did your son even graduate? Oh, I almost forgot, your son couldn’t even get into a decent high school, he’s graduating from some trade school this year, right? Found a job yet? Ahahahaha.” The third was to the town mayor, asking him to hang 100 banners across Main Street and broadcast the news over the town’s radio system for three days and three nights. She also told him we were coming back to our hometown in a few days to throw a massive block party for everyone. Right now, I’m watching the town dogs feast on the leftovers from the party. I take a photo, post it on Facebook, and tag my half-brother. “Who says girls are worse than boys?” 1 My dad and mom came from the same small, rural town in the Midwest. They didn’t have much education. First, they worked on an assembly line in a factory for two years—he was screwing in bolts, she was welding parts. Later, they started working on construction sites, installing aluminum windows. They had to find their own clients. Whether it was the scorching heat of July or the freezing cold of January, my mom and dad were always out on construction sites. It was exhausting. But those were the years they loved each other the most. They had goals. They had a shared future. They agreed that once they opened their own shop, they would start a family. A few years later, they saved up some money, opened a shop in a booming commercial district, and finally owned something of their own. My mom didn’t care about skincare. She thought carrying an umbrella was a hassle, and she was too frugal to buy sunscreen. You know how it is. UV rays severely damage the skin. When other people look 19 at 24, my mom looked 30 at 24. When her skin looked 31 at the age of 24, she had me. The whole family was thrilled. My grandpa and grandma even came up with over 100 names for my parents to choose from. Unfortunately, they were all boys’ names. My dad’s favorite name was Hunter. Hunter Carter. He said he didn’t have an education, so he wanted a son who would be an educated man. Nine months later, my mom gave birth to me. My grandpa and grandma’s faces fell lower than a mule’s. They stayed at the hospital for less than half a day before leaving. Before they left, they even took the roast chicken they had brought as a gift. My dad sighed heavily and stood on the hospital balcony, chain-smoking. When my mom told me this part of the story, she choked up several times. She said she suggested giving me the name Hunter anyway, that a girl could use that name too. My dad refused. 2 When did my mom realize my dad had a problem? Maybe it was when he started coming home very late, or not coming home at all. Maybe it was when he brought his buddies over, and every single one of them brought a mistress, but none of them brought their wives. Maybe it was when the wives of other construction bosses hinted, “That group of guys, not a single one is decent.” In my memory, from a very young age, my mom was always depressed. She was a shrewd businesswoman, knowing exactly what to say to different people, always keeping clients happy. But when it came to her marriage, she was insecure yet fierce. The only times she and my dad could have a normal conversation were when they were doing the books and making money. At all other times, they couldn’t stand the sight of each other. My dad complained that my mom wasn’t feminine enough, her voice was too loud, she wasn’t gentle, she liked making her own decisions, and she had an “old” face. My mom called my dad a cheating bastard who messed around outside and would eventually get what was coming to him. The conflict finally erupted when I was 5. One night, I suddenly ran a high fever, burning up until I started convulsing. My dad wasn’t home, and he had taken the car. My mom called him, wanting him to come back and take me to the hospital, but he didn’t pick up. Back then, Uber didn’t exist. To get around at night, you had to rely on cabs. But the area we lived in was an undeveloped suburb; it was desolate at night, and you couldn’t flag down a cab to save your life. Eventually, my mom had to call her friend. The friend and her husband drove over and took me to the ER. My mom didn’t give up. She stayed by my hospital bed, calling my dad off and on all night. It was as if my dad was dead. Every call disappeared into the void. The next morning, my mom finally gave up. She put her phone down, grabbed her purse, and went to buy breakfast. Coincidentally, as soon as she left, her phone rang. The caller ID showed my dad. I answered the phone. Before I could even say “Dad,” a female voice on the other end unleashed a torrent of rage: “Over a hundred calls in one night!” “Mary, will you die without a man?! What the hell are you calling for?” “Your husband didn’t even answer your calls, don’t you get the message? Let go already, honey. Forcing it won’t make you happy!” I frowned, considering my words: “Ma’am, I’m sick.” The other side froze for a second, then continued the barrage: “Oh, it’s the money-losing mistake! Where’s your mom? Did she jump off a building because your dad didn’t answer her calls?” “Let me tell you something! Your dad stopped loving your mom a long time ago, and he doesn’t love you either!” “Right now, he only loves me and your little brother. All the money, the houses, the cars in your family—they all belong to me and your brother now.” I was young, I didn’t fully understand, and I spoke with the unfiltered innocence of a child. “So, Ma’am, are you a robber?” “Only robbers steal other people’s things, and robbers get beaten up by superheroes!” She sneered: “Where in the world are there superheroes?” I cried: “But there are police officers! You’re a bad lady, the police will lock you up!” … Later, my mom came back. Seeing me sulking, and noticing the call log showing my dad’s number had called back, she asked me several times what happened. I burst out crying. “There’s a bad lady who said Daddy doesn’t love us anymore!” “She said Daddy only loves her and my little brother, and she said everything in our family belongs to her!” I cried so hard I couldn’t catch my breath. My mom hugged me, patting my back, and stayed silent for a long time. “Mommy is going to divorce Daddy. Sweetie, will you stay with Mommy?” “Yes.” 3 During the few days I was in the hospital, my dad didn’t come to see me once. My mom called him often. Although she deliberately avoided me, when she couldn’t suppress her temper, phrases like “bastard,” “I’m taking two-thirds of the assets or I’ll drag this out until you die,” and “you’re worse than a dog, go to hell” still reached my ears. I secretly cried. How could a child my age understand a mother’s pain? I was terrified of not having a father anymore. This was the first time I experienced loss, but I didn’t tell my mom, and I certainly didn’t cry in front of her. I vaguely knew what divorce meant, knew that between my dad and mom, I could only choose one, and knew that my mom loved me more. I don’t know what my mom and dad discussed, but she was always fuming. Seven days later. My mom discharged me from the hospital. She marched out proudly, like a warrior… but we could never return to our old home. My grandma was standing on the balcony. Seeing us walking up to the building, she threw open the window. “Sarah, come here quick!” My mom froze and looked up. A few seconds later, a familiar woman appeared in our line of sight. It was my mom’s cousin! She smirked triumphantly at my mom, then joined my grandma to haul two unzipped duffel bags and throw them down. Toothbrushes, slippers, clothes, bras, sanitary pads… Clattering and fluttering down, scattering everywhere. I saw my mom’s jaw clench tight, her face flushed with embarrassment. A moment later— Her anger overpowered her embarrassment. She put her hands on her hips and screamed up at the balcony: “Sarah, are you even human? Are all the men in the world dead? You actually stole your own cousin’s husband!” “Robert and I haven’t even signed the divorce papers yet! And you just couldn’t wait! Shameless! Spit!” “When I go back, I’m telling your mother! I’m telling the whole town! You homewrecker!”… Sarah and my grandma tag-teamed their response: “Ugly bitch, look at your face! Robert says he wants to puke just looking at you!” “You useless cow who can’t even produce a son! Get the hell out! If it weren’t for Sarah, our Carter family bloodline would have ended with a jinx like you!” “Someone like you still has the nerve to talk about going back to the town?! Go back and ask around, if you can’t have a son, shouldn’t you be dumped?!”… Amidst the screaming match, a little boy about my age ran out of the living room. Holding a toy submachine gun, he stood on a small stool and fired a barrage of pellets right at us. Back then, the bullets in toy guns weren’t water beads; they were hard plastic BBs that hurt like hell when they hit you. My arms and neck were hit several times. My mom shielded me and we ducked under a low tree. “Where are they? Where did they go?” “Over there!” “I see them! Old hag! Money-losing mistake! I’m gonna shoot you dead!”… With the leaves buffering the impact, the bullets didn’t hurt as much. The leaves rustled and fell. My mom ground her teeth in rage. “You little bastard, if you’ve got the guts, get a real gun and shoot us!” The toy gun could only hold so many bullets. When the magazine was empty, it had to be reloaded. My mom took advantage of the reloading time upstairs, grabbed a rock from the ground, and charged upstairs like a hurricane. I copied her, picking up a rock and following right on her heels. 4 The front door was a heavy security door. Made of steel. That bastard of a dad had actually changed the locks. My mom couldn’t open the door with her key. She dropped the rock, hitched up her skirt, and delivered a vicious kick right at the lock. The steel door let out a deafening “CLANG.” Then came the second kick, the third… The clanging echoed endlessly, feeling like an earthquake. My grandma and Sarah were cursing from inside; my mom was kicking from outside. Neighbors upstairs and downstairs kept opening their doors, asking loudly, “What’s going on? What’s going on? Are you going to let people live in peace?” “Nobody’s living in peace today! The older cousin stole the younger cousin’s husband and brought him right into the house! They even changed the locks! Have they no shame?” “That is shameless,” someone upstairs agreed. Eventually, the local police arrived. My mom tearfully complained to the officers. After calming her down and ensuring she was stable, the police knocked on the door. My mom was fierce. The moment the door cracked open, she bolted inside, grabbed a stool, and smashed it right at Sarah. “BANG!” The plastic stool shattered, and a jagged gash appeared on Sarah’s arm. Blood dripped down onto the floor. Everyone froze. A second later, Sarah bent down, snatched up a heavy glass ashtray, and charged at my mom, screaming “Go to hell!” My mom swung the stool again. The police officers quickly split up—half restraining my mom, half holding back Sarah. I took advantage of the chaos, grabbed the rock I had picked up, and charged at the little boy. That little brat had just shot me, and it still hurt! I was covered in welts! Desperate to protect her grandson, my grandma shoved the boy aside, snatched his toy gun, grabbed me with one hand, and swung the heavy plastic gun down hard on my arm with the other. “Smack! Smack! Smack!” The violent impact on my arm knocked the magazine loose, sending BBs scattering all over the floor. My arm felt like it was broken. My grandma struck me three times in the exact same spot. It hurt so much I could only inhale, forgetting how to exhale. My face spasmed, and it took a long time before I could finally cry out. I don’t know where my mom found the strength, but she broke free from the cops, shoved my grandma aside, rushed over, grabbed me, and carefully checked my arm. “Sweetie, are you okay? Can you move it? How about this? How about this?” “It hurts…” I burst out crying, “Mommy, it hurts so much!” The police told my mom to stop moving my arm. Without professional training, she might make the injury worse. Getting to the hospital immediately was the priority. My mom’s eyes were like daggers, violently glaring at my grandma. “Martha! She’s your own granddaughter! If there’s any permanent damage, I’ll kill you!” My grandma had never seen my mom like this. She involuntarily shivered, then stiffened her neck: “She deserved it! She started it! She was trying to hit my precious baby!” “A grandson is a precious baby, and a daughter is just weeds?! Martha, you’re a woman yourself, why don’t you go jump off a bridge?! You better pray she’s okay, otherwise…” Before my mom could finish her threat, the police urged, “Enough talking. Get to the hospital first. We’ll give you a ride!” 5 In just one day, I had left the hospital only to return to it. My bone wasn’t completely broken, but it was fractured. The doctor put a cast on my arm and told me to rest. My dad still hadn’t shown up. My mom was furious, crying and cursing over the phone. I kept hearing the word “animal.” My mom couldn’t understand how a man could be so ruthless. His own biological daughter had suffered such a severe injury, and he completely ignored it, refusing to even come take a look. “Mommy, our clothes and shoes are still downstairs at the apartment. Should we go get them?” “Yes,” my mom said. “If we don’t, people will scavenge them or throw them away as trash.” As she spoke, her eyes reddened. A mix of stubbornness and grievance wove into suppressed anger. “We’re poor now. We don’t have extra money to buy everything new. You stay here in the hospital and be good. I’ll get our things and come right back.” I nodded, telling her not to worry. My mom was gone for a long time that day. Or maybe it just felt like a long time because I was alone in the hospital. I was terrified… Terrified she would go looking for my grandma for revenge, terrified she couldn’t fight them all off alone, terrified she’d be at a disadvantage, terrified she’d get hurt. I was also terrified she didn’t want me anymore… If I hadn’t tried to hit that little boy, my arm wouldn’t have been fractured, we wouldn’t have had to spend money. I was afraid she’d think I was a burden and just leave me in the hospital alone. The massive anxiety made my whole body tense up. Like a frightened quail, my eyes stayed glued to the hospital room door. If only I were a boy. Then my grandparents wouldn’t despise me, my dad wouldn’t find another woman to have kids with, my mom wouldn’t be abandoned… We’d be like the happy families on TV. Thankfully, my mom finally returned, carrying two large duffel bags. The bags were filthy, and the things inside were dirty too. My mom said we lost some things, but it didn’t matter. Being able to salvage most of it was lucky enough. I noticed my mom’s eyes were much redder than when she left. I guessed she had cried outside. “Mommy, I’ll be good.” I said it out of nowhere, but my mom understood. She walked over to the bed and hugged me. “Things will get better.” “We won’t live like stray dogs forever!” From that day on, my mom changed. She stopped calling my dad, stopped screaming hysterically. She took a pen and paper and calmly calculated all of our family’s assets. She started smoking. In the dark, I often saw her standing on the hospital balcony, her hair blowing in the night breeze, the ember of her cigarette glowing and fading between her fingers. Her loneliness was just like the cigarette in her hand. 6 In those days, in the eyes of rural country folk, divorce was a disgraceful thing. “Don’t wash your dirty linen in public.” If someone had to divorce, the best option was to do it quietly. The couple would quietly sign the papers, and no one besides their parents would know. My mom insisted on suing for a contested divorce. She demanded that the husband leave with nothing, and she gets full custody of the daughter. My dad completely lost his mind. Previously, he wouldn’t call for weeks; now, he called several times a day. He played the good cop, talking about the bond they shared over the years, telling my mom not to go too far, that everything was negotiable. He even said he wanted to come see us and asked where my mom was staying. My grandma played the bad cop. She called my mom a shameless bitch, saying she couldn’t give birth to a son, couldn’t keep her man, and was useless! She asked if my mom was trying to take my dad’s money to find another man. She said all the money in the family was earned by my dad, implying my mom would do anything for cash… My mom unleashed her fury: “Son, son, all you care about is a son! Are you running a royal dynasty?” “Your ancestors worked the dirt for generations, your family is dirt poor, and you still want multiple wives and a male heir! Let me tell you, the 1800s are over!” “The government has been saying for decades that boys and girls are equal. Are you deaf? Monogamy is written into the law! Are you trying to break the law?” “Every cent Robert Carter owns is marital property! Every cent he spent on Sarah is also marital property!” “Robert is the at-fault party in this marriage, and he deserves to be punished! The money, the house, they’re all mine! If you dare harass me again, don’t blame me for going after every single dime he spent on Sarah!” My mom used to act very submissive in the Carter family. Though she had stood up for herself once, it always seemed forced. This time was different. With the law backing her up, my mom spoke on the phone with incredible confidence. I was young and barely understood, but I thought my mom was shining brightly. My grandma was probably terrified by my mom. She stopped calling and instead reached out to my great-uncle and great-aunt. Sarah’s parents. They kept emphasizing that we were all relatives, telling my mom not to be so ruthless! They said my maternal grandparents still lived in the same town, and everyone saw everyone else eventually, their words carrying a veiled threat. My mom sat on a folding stool on the balcony, took a drag from her cigarette, and slowly exhaled the smoke: “Sure. Have Sarah write a 10,000-word apology detailing exactly how she seduced her cousin’s husband, how she got pregnant with a married man’s child, and how she used her status as a mistress to kick the legal wife out of her own home…” “When she’s done, show it to me. If I’m satisfied, have her go to the town’s radio station and read it ten times a day for a whole month. If she does that, I won’t go after the money Robert spent on her!” My great-uncle and his wife had no idea that “reclaiming marital assets” was a legal possibility. On the other end of the line, they screamed in panic: “What?!” “You want the money Robert already spent? You love money so much, why don’t you just go rob a bank?” “Sarah is the hero who gave the Carter family an heir! All the Carter family’s money belongs to her! We earn our living with honest work, why should we do whatever you say?” “You can’t even keep your own man, and you have the nerve to fight for the assets? How did our family produce such a disgrace like you?” My mom laughed coldly: “Exactly. How did our family produce disgraces like you? You act like thieves and homewreckers, and you’re proud of it!” “Let me tell you, I won’t give up a single cent that belongs to me! Your daughter and grandson can prepare to sleep under a bridge!” 7 To win this lawsuit, my mom hired a lawyer and prepared meticulously. This included recording their phone calls over the past few weeks, gathering evidence of my dad’s long-term infidelity, and documenting my grandma assaulting me and kicking us out of the house… On my dad’s side, whether it was overconfidence or just no lawyer wanting to take their case, they represented themselves the entire time. Their core argument was singular: Everyone in the country town does this. Assets should go to the son. Continuing the family line is more important than anything else. They caused a huge scene in the courtroom. One minute they were calling my mom a jinx, saying she didn’t dress up or look pretty, ruining my dad’s luck, so she deserved to be thrown out. The next minute, they called me a money-losing mistake, demanding to know why I should get any of the money my dad earned. My dad was legally the at-fault party to begin with, their arguments were completely absurd, and on top of that, the judge that day was female, and the court clerk was also female. The outcome of the lawsuit was obvious. Whether it was the business, the real estate, or the savings, it was all awarded to my mom. My grandma refused to accept it. She threw herself onto the floor, kicked her legs out, and rolled around like a dying bug. “This is an outrage! The judge was bribed! Where can an old woman like me find justice?” “My son worked hard his whole life, and now he doesn’t get a single penny. Aren’t you trying to kill us?” “Waaah, if you don’t change the verdict, I’ll never get up! I’m going to stay right here!”… The judge stopped, gave her a long look, and walked right out. A few moments later, the bailiffs “escorted” my grandma out. She howled the whole way, vowing to protest outside the courthouse every single day. My mom and her lawyer were talking nearby, looking at my grandma like she was an absolute idiot. “You jinx! Don’t think just because you won the lawsuit that the house is yours! If you want that house, you’ll have to step over my dead body!” My mom smiled and said she wouldn’t dare. My grandma felt triumphant again and threw another tantrum right outside the courthouse doors. After the bailiffs gave her another stern lecture on the law, she stopped causing a scene, dragged my dad over, puffed out her cheeks, and sat right in the middle of the main entrance in silent protest. “What do you plan to do?” the lawyer asked my mom. “Help her out, of course,” my mom said, still smiling, her eyes filled with an emotion I couldn’t read. “The old lady has it tough.”

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When the billionaire found me, my adoptive parents were in the middle of a drunken rage, lashing out at me with a belt. I didn’t run. I didn’t cry. I looked at the man in the expensive suit with eyes that were three parts innocent and seven parts hollow. I looked exactly like a broken porcelain doll. I knew the truth: I was a replacement. Or rather, I was the original they had lost. In my past life, I told them the truth immediately. I begged for their love. In return, I was framed, my reputation ruined, and I was eventually burned alive in a “tragic” gas explosion. This time, I decided to play the role of the girl who knew nothing. I would become the perfect, tragic daughter of the Sterling empire. “My foster parents only hit me because they loved my brother more,” I whispered. “If you love your ‘other’ daughter more than me, what will happen to me?” “I just can’t take any more hits.” Three sentences. That was all it took to push the billionaire’s guilt to the breaking point. I smiled inwardly. The stage was set. Now, the real show begins. 1 When my biological parents found me, I was in the middle of a “lesson.” My foster mother had pulled a metal poker from the fireplace. It was glowing orange-red. She was swinging it toward my back, screaming about some chores I hadn’t finished. In the air, I could almost smell the faint, sickening scent of charred skin. That was the exact moment the Sterlings burst through the door. “Stop! How dare you lay a hand on my daughter!” My foster mother was far gone in her rage. She didn’t stop. My biological mother, desperate to intervene, took a hit to her arm while trying to shield me. She let out a sharp cry, her eyes instantly welling with tears. I watched them, my expression completely blank. Does it hurt? I’m sure it did. But it didn’t hurt nearly as much as being burned alive in a basement while my family watched from the lawn. 2 My biological mother and I were both rushed to the hospital. By the time we arrived, my biological father—a man whose face was on the cover of every business magazine—and his two children had arrived. The hospital bed was surrounded by people. “Mom, how could that woman be so vicious? What did she use to hit you?” I didn’t need to open my eyes to know who was speaking. That was my “big brother,” Caleb. In my last life, he was one of the people who helped pour the gasoline. “Mom, does it hurt? If I had known, I would have gone with you. I would have protected you.” That was Brooke. She was sobbing, sounding as if she were the one who had lost a mother. Brooke was the Sterling’s “foundling” daughter. The girl they adopted to replace me. Actually, she was the biological daughter of my abusive foster parents. All the beatings I took for eighteen years? They were meant for her. I shifted slightly. A sharp, stinging pain radiated from my back, making me gasp. The sound was loud in the quiet VIP suite. The family finally remembered I was there. My biological mother looked over, her expression awkward. “Avery… are you okay?” I wasn’t okay. But I wouldn’t die. Not yet. I looked down, a self-deprecating smile touching my lips. “I’m used to it. But you… your skin is so delicate. That burn must be excruciating.” I made sure to emphasize the word “excruciating.” My biological father finally walked to my bedside to check my injuries. I didn’t hide. I let the gown slip just enough to show the horrific patchwork of scars on my back. 3 The moment they saw the damage, a collective gasp filled the room. Brooke turned away, hiding her face in Caleb’s chest as if she couldn’t bear the sight. “Oh my God,” Caleb whispered. “How can a human being have a back like that?” He acted like a protective older brother, covering Brooke’s eyes so she wouldn’t be “traumatized.” Is it really that scary? I couldn’t see it, but I knew. It was a map of every mistake my foster father made while drunk, and every bad mood my foster mother had. My mother ignored her own burn. she practically threw herself at my side. Warm tears fell onto the back of my neck, sliding into the raw wounds and making them sting. “Avery, come home with us. We’re never going back to those monsters. They aren’t human. How could they do this to you?” My father looked shaken. “Come home. We’ll get you the best doctors. We’ll make you whole again.” I let my eyes fill with a desperate, fragile hope. I stared at them for a long moment, then slowly shook my head. “My foster parents only hit me because they loved my brother more,” I whispered. “If you love Brooke more than me, what will happen to me?” “I just can’t take any more hits.” The room went silent. The guilt radiating from my parents was palpable. I lowered my gaze, hiding the cold glint in my eyes. In my last life, I was submissive. I was a “good girl.” And I died like a dog. This life? I’m going to make Brooke feel every single thing I went through. 4 Despite their pleas, I didn’t go home with them immediately. I knew that something given too easily is never cherished. I retreated to my tiny, cramped studio apartment. It was barely two hundred square feet, but it was mine. The only problem was reaching my back to apply the ointment. It didn’t matter. I was used to sleeping on my stomach. Just as I was drifting off, my phone rang. It was my biological father. I knew exactly why he was calling. I let the phone ring seven or eight times before answering with a voice thick with feigned sleep. “Avery, we’ve already retained a team of lawyers. We’re filing criminal charges against those people. We need you to come in tomorrow to give a statement.” I yawned silently. A lawsuit. Typical. But… I wouldn’t allow it. If they were behind bars, how would Brooke experience the “quality of life” I had endured? “Sue my parents? I… I don’t think I can.” “A child without a mother is like a blade of grass in the wind. They hit me, yes, but at least I had a home.” “I don’t want to lose my family.” “Avery…” There was a long, heavy silence on the other end. “If that’s all, I’m going to hang up. Please don’t bring this up again. I don’t want to be an orphan.” Click. If I guessed correctly, that billionaire couple wouldn’t be getting a wink of sleep tonight. But what did that have to do with me? In my last life, they weren’t the ones who lit the match, but they were the ones who handed Brooke the gasoline. 5 The next morning, at 7:00 AM sharp, my biological parents were at my door. Their eyes were bloodshot. They looked at me with pure desperation. “Avery, please. Come home.” “You silly girl, what were you saying last night? We are your family. We are your blood! You will never be an orphan as long as we breathe.” To show their sincerity, they brought two maids and three massive suitcases full of designer clothes. But my apartment was too small. With all of them inside, you couldn’t even turn around without bumping into someone. My eyes welled with tears. I looked at them like a kicked puppy. “Really?” “Will you… will you love Brooke more? She’s been with you for twenty years.” My parents shook their heads in unison, their faces firm. In my last life, I didn’t know how to fight. I let Brooke’s “sweetness” win them over. They lectured me. They scolded me. Eventually, they loathed me. This time, I’m making sure they stay on my side forever. 6 Coming home this time was much more lucrative than before. My father called a family meeting. In front of everyone, he produced two black credit cards and a deed to a property in the city. “Avery, you’ve suffered too much.” “There is ten million dollars in this account for your ‘pocket money.’” “This penthouse is in your name. You can move in whenever you want. We are never going back to that tiny apartment again.” I acted panicked. “This is too much… I… I’m not worth this.” The more I refused, the more distressed they became. They practically forced the cards into my hand. “Avery, take it. This is yours. Eventually, we will transfer your share of the company stock as well…” I bit my lip. “Then… thank you, Dad. Thank you, Mom.” Hearing those words, the two of them were moved to tears again. I joined them, letting my own tears fall. It was a picture of domestic bliss. But Brooke wasn’t happy. She sat on the edge of the velvet sofa, her knuckles white as she gripped her skirt. She was staring at me with a gaze that could kill. I flashed her a tiny, secret smile and slid over to sit next to her. I handed her one of the cards. “Brooke, let me share half with you. I’ve been through a lot of trauma, and sometimes my emotions might get a little… out of control. You won’t be mad at me, right?” The keyword: out of control. My parents didn’t catch the threat. They only saw a sister being “generous.” My father spoke up. “Avery is right. She’s been through hell because of those monsters.” “From now on, nobody is allowed to bully Avery!” Brooke forced a smile but didn’t speak. Caleb’s brow was furrowed, his gaze on me cold and suspicious. I didn’t care. I’m smart. I’ll wait. Once these “fake” siblings reach their breaking point, that’s when I’ll really start my rampage. 7 My mother wanted to show me around the estate, but Brooke cut in. “Mom, I know the house best. Let me show Avery around.” “You should go rest. You usually take your nap at this time. I already put your warm milk on your nightstand.” I smiled. Milk on the nightstand? I lived here for years in my last life. I knew for a fact my mother didn’t have a “milk before bed” habit. Brooke was marking her territory. She was showing me she knew our mother’s “habits” better than I did. My mother blinked, a bit surprised, but she looked touched. She patted Brooke’s hand. “Thank you, Brooke. I am quite exhausted today.” “You’re such a thoughtful girl. I’m so lucky to have you…” Before she could finish, I spoke up, my voice full of longing. “Mom… is the milk sweet?” “Back at my other house, only my brother was allowed to have milk.” I licked my lips. It worked. My mother’s hand dropped from Brooke’s. Her eyes turned red again. “Brooke, go… go warm a glass for Avery too. Bring it to her room.” I shook my head obediently. “No, Mom. I’ll go learn how to do it. I’ll warm a glass for Brooke. I’m the big sister. I should take care of her.” Three minutes later, under our mother’s watchful eye, Brooke was forced to choke down a glass of warm milk she clearly didn’t want. I looked down, hiding my smile. Drink it. The more you drink, the easier it is for my plan to work. I looked up, my expression innocent. “Mom, from now on, I’ll warm the milk for you and Brooke every day.” Brooke looked like she wanted to scream, but my mother just stroked my hair and smiled weakly. “Okay.” Brooke’s face turned ugly for a split second. She glared at me. Angry already? I almost laughed. In my last life, I never had this kind of intimacy with my parents. I was timid and small. I just wanted peace. In less than a week, I had fallen into every one of Brooke’s traps. My parents tried to defend me at first. But after Brooke framed me over and over, they looked at me with nothing but disappointment. Then came the fire. The mansion burned. It was only because of their “pity” that they sifted through the ashes and found a few pieces of my bones. We’re even now. I don’t love these parents, but I don’t quite hate them either. But Caleb? He was the one who made sure the doors were locked from the outside. 8 Without the siblings’ interference, my relationship with my parents was actually quite stable. My mother, trying to make up for eighteen years of lost time, insisted on tucking me in every night. This seemed to drive Brooke insane. That night, Brooke called my mother, sobbing. “Mom, I feel so sick. I think I have a fever.” “Mom, can you come stay with me? Like you used to when I was little…” My mother’s brow furrowed. She didn’t even put on her slippers before running to Brooke’s room. I followed at a leisurely pace. This was Brooke’s show, after all. She was performing for me. If I didn’t show up, who would appreciate her acting? By the time I got there, Caleb was already in Brooke’s room. The family doctor was packing his bag. “Mrs. Sterling, Brooke is just suffering from ’emotional stress.’ She’s probably been overworking herself lately. That’s why the fever hit her so suddenly.” I let out a soft chuckle. Overworking herself? More like she was fuming because I’ve been hogging our mother’s attention. Brooke’s face was flushed red, her eyes watery and pathetic. My parents were devastated. They hovered at her bedside. “Brooke, why are you so stressed? What’s bothering you?” “Are you in a lot of pain?” Brooke’s voice was weak, sounding as if she were about to draw her last breath. “Mom, I’m fine. Go take care of Avery.” Classic. She used this same trick in my last life. And just as expected, Caleb shot me a cold, venomous look. “Brooke was always perfectly healthy. She never got fevers. How ‘coincidental’ that the moment you show up, she falls ill.” I leaned against the doorframe, listening. This was nothing. In my last life, Caleb accused me of stealing Brooke’s necklace and nearly broke my hand “interrogating” me. My father barked, “Watch your tone with your sister!” A simple scolding. Meaningless. I took a step back. “It’s okay. Mom should stay with Brooke.” My mother looked torn, but she also looked relieved. I turned to go back to my room. “But Mom, you should probably keep your distance. The flu has been going around lately.” My parents looked confused. Caleb growled, “Why are you so dramatic?” I turned back and explained seriously, “The doctor said I’m malnourished and my immune system is weak. He told me to avoid ‘sources of infection’ whenever possible.” To prove my point, I shook my sleeve. The pajamas were the smallest size available, but they still hung off my skeletal frame. My parents’ eyes filled with pity. Caleb gritted his teeth. “You’re just trying to compete with her!” “I’m sick too. Is it wrong to want my own mother?” I said softly. “If I’m in the way, I’ll just go. Each daughter can just go back to her own mother.” 9 Brooke’s eyes flickered when she heard that. I knew that was her greatest fear. She had tasted the high life. Who would ever want to go back to being beaten in a trailer park? Caleb took two long strides toward me, using his height to loom over me. “You’re so vicious. You just want an excuse to kick Brooke out, don’t you?” I took a half-step back. Remembering my last life, my gaze toward Caleb turned icy. “Vicious? If life were fair, she would be the one with the scars on her back, not me.” Caleb’s jaw tightened. He pointed at me, looking at our parents. “Is this the daughter you fought so hard to find?” “She comes back and immediately starts trying to push Brooke out. She’s just like those monsters who raised her—pure trash!” I laughed out loud. I am vicious. When did I ever claim to be a saint? But Brooke and I are two of a kind. I just wondered which would win: the nature of my bloodline, or the nurture of her upbringing. In the end, my mother chose me. She followed me back to my room. She tucked me in, but her face was full of worry. “If you want to go to her, just go. I’m fine.” “No, honey. Mom is staying here with you…” I gave her a sweet, fake smile and closed my eyes. I needed my rest. Knowing Brooke, tomorrow was going to be an even bigger headache.

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On my twentieth birthday, my supposed best friend gave me a bottle of perfume. She was notoriously cheap, so seeing her hand over a designer bottle with a price tag that required a payment plan took me by surprise. I was just about to spritz it on my wrists when a stream of glowing, scrolling text suddenly materialized in the air before my eyes, like a glitch in the universe. The floating text said this was a magic perfume. It said my best friend wanted to use it to swap bodies with me, to steal my life, and to get her hands on my incredibly wealthy boyfriend. I read the words hovering in the air. Then, I turned the nozzle toward myself and sprayed it. Hard. Three times. Another line of text drifted past my vision, warning me that according to the “rules,” all it took was another spray of the perfume to swap us back. No big deal, the text noted. Is that right? I thought. I immediately pivoted on my heel, walked into the bathroom, unscrewed the cap, and dumped the rest of the expensive liquid straight down the toilet. I flushed twice for good measure. 1. Earlier that day, my best friend, Tara Foster, had been standing outside my off-campus apartment, clutching a gift bag. We had gotten into a screaming match a few days prior, and the ice hadn’t thawed. My dad had been rushed to the hospital for an emergency appendectomy, and my family had called me three or four times demanding I go see him. I didn’t go. Not once. When Tara found out, she cornered me in front of everyone at our university’s art studio. She pointed her finger right in my face and called me an ungrateful bitch. She said if she had parents like mine, she’d give them the world. She called me cold-blooded. Spoiled. It had been a month since we last spoke. I genuinely didn’t expect her to remember my birthday, let alone show up to keep me company. In an instant, the bad blood seemed to evaporate. I dragged her to the most expensive omakase spot downtown, ordering all the premium sashimi she always drooled over but could never justify buying. Across the table, she slid a gift box stamped with a high-end designer logo toward me. Her voice was uncharacteristically tight. “Happy birthday, Mia. This… this is for you.” I opened it. It was a perfume I had owned before. The scent was cloying, sickly sweet—definitely not my vibe—but the price tag was absurd. My heart softened. For a girl who counted every penny, she must have skipped lunches for months to afford this. Tara came from a single-parent household. Her dad died in a car crash when she was in high school, and her mom had taken every cent of the settlement money and given it to Tara’s older brother, David, to study at Cornell. Her mom worked as a cashier at a grocery store, a tough life that made her hardened and bitter. Tara complained constantly that her mother would fight a vendor over a bruised apple and that she only had eyes for her golden-boy son, leaving Tara to fend for herself. I saw how hard her life was. I really did. “This is too much. You should return it,” I said, pushing the box back. “Just get me a card or something. I love whatever you get me.” She slammed her hand over mine, her tone suddenly frantic. “No! I bought it specifically for you. Try it. Just put it on, I swear you’ll love it.” As I hesitated, a line of glowing text floated across my line of sight: [Oh my god, is this another bleeding-heart protagonist? Getting sold out and still thanking the person doing it…] Excuse me? While I sat frozen, Tara aggressively tore the cellophane off the box, yanked the bottle out, and shoved it into my palm. A bizarre, manic excitement danced in her eyes. “Can’t return it now! Try it on!” Was I imagining things? She was looking at me the way a starving dog looks at a bone. And why was she so violently insistent that I use this exact perfume? Thinking back to that floating text, my thumb hovered over the atomizer. It froze. More text materialized: [No, no, no, don’t do it! It’s a body-swap perfume! She wants to steal your trust fund life and sleep with your billionaire boyfriend…] I knew Tara had a thing for my boyfriend, Norton. Norton was the textbook definition of an East Coast elite catch. Handsome, ridiculously wealthy, and lavish with his gifts. My closets were practically bursting with designer bags he’d bought me. When he saw I was running out of space, he leased me a luxury penthouse downtown, casually mentioning it was “better for storage.” On the day I moved in, Tara stood in the center of the marble foyer, her voice dripping with acid. “God, Mia. You have the best life.” A few days later, Norton and I got into a massive fight. Without even asking what happened, Tara took his side. She called me dramatic. She loudly proclaimed that if she were his girlfriend, she would never treat him like that, and that I didn’t know how lucky I was. Well then… let her have my luck. I pressed the nozzle down. Once. Twice. Three times. The corners of Tara’s mouth twitched upward into a grotesque, triumphant smile. Her breathing hitched with excitement. [Ahhh! The evil best friend won! Oh my god, the MC is about to get dragged into the trenches…] Another line drifted past: [Chill out! Didn’t you read the lore? She just has to spray it again later and they swap back. It’s fine…] Ah. I see. Thanks for the tip. I made an excuse to use the restaurant bathroom, poured the entire bottle into the toilet, and flushed my old life away. 2. When I woke up, I was staring at a popcorn ceiling. I was lying in a cramped, twin-sized bed. The room was tiny and cluttered. Sketchbooks were piled haphazardly on a chipped desk; an easel and cheap acrylic paints littered the floor. I instinctively raised my hand to rub my eyes. What came into focus was a pair of slender but heavily calloused hands. The skin was a healthy, sun-baked olive, and there was a distinct, reddish birthmark on the index finger. Tara’s hands. My heart hammered against my ribs. I threw the covers off and lunged for the cheap mirror pinned to the back of the door. The girl staring back at me had a warm, olive complexion, though her hair was dry and brittle from an obvious lack of nutrition. She was painfully thin, but her eyes—they were striking. Brilliant and alive. I… I was Tara Foster. Staring at my new reflection, a genuine, bubbling laugh escaped my throat. I smiled, revealing a pair of slightly crooked, cute front teeth. The glowing text flashed in the mirror: [Poor MC. She can never go back. Trapped in a life of poverty forever…] [She’s literally an idiot. Even if she didn’t like the scent, why did she pour it down the toilet?!] [Exactly. She’s gonna be crying herself to sleep when reality hits.] A cheap, older-model smartphone chimed on the nightstand. I picked up Tara’s phone. There was a text message from “Mia Smith”—my old name, my old phone. Don’t even try it, the text read. No one is going to believe you about a soul swap. If you dare open your mouth and spout some crazy bullshit, I’ll use the Smith family’s connections to have you committed to a psych ward. I read it, tapped the screen, deleted the thread, and blocked the number. The text feed in the air went wild: [Holy shit! This girl is 100 pounds, and 90 pounds of it is pure spite!] [Am I the only one who thinks she’s being way too calm?] [She’s probably in shock! Dropping from heaven straight to hell would break anyone’s brain…] Hell? I just crawled my way out of it. The phone chimed again. A text from “Mom.” This would be Tara’s mother. No. As of today, my mother. The message was simple: Tara, there’s whole-wheat bread and low-fat milk in the fridge. Make sure you eat before class. I read online that whole wheat doesn’t make you gain weight, so please don’t secretly starve yourself again. The nagging was laced with a deep, tangible anxiety. It didn’t sound at all like the “toxic, son-obsessed monster” Tara had always complained about. I opened the bedroom door and took in the apartment. It was an older walk-up building. The paint on the walls was chipping in places, and the furniture looked like it was from a thrift store a decade ago, but the place was spotless. Not a speck of dust. Out on the tiny balcony, several potted pothos plants thrived. The morning sun spilled through the glass doors, painting the worn carpet in a wash of gold. It was incredibly warm. It felt like a home. I walked over to the humming refrigerator, opened it, and found exactly what the text promised. I ate my breakfast in absolute contentment, packed up Tara’s art supplies, and headed out. At this moment, I was profoundly grateful that when I paid my own tuition for the university’s private sketching seminar last week, I had casually paid Tara’s fee too. At least I had a solid semester of art classes secured. The floating text buzzed: [She’s heading to the studio! She’s definitely going to corner the fake friend and demand her body back…] [Too late for that. Who wouldn’t want to keep that supermodel body and rich life?] Um… thanks for the compliment, I guess. As I walked down the street toward campus, a cherry-red Ferrari tore down the asphalt. A second later, the tires screeched, and the car aggressively swerved to block my path. “What the hell are you doing here?!” a voice snapped. It was a voice I knew intimately, yet it sounded entirely foreign. I turned my head and was instantly blinded by the girl in the driver’s seat. It was a delicate, heart-shaped face. Features sculpted to absolute perfection. Sleek, meticulously styled raven-black hair. It was a stunning face. But paired with the heavy, garish makeup smeared across it, it looked incredibly cheap. It was my face. 3. This was the first time I had ever looked at myself from an outsider’s perspective. I had to admit, the face was breathtaking, even if the eyes staring back at me were currently burning with malice. I took a few seconds to silently appreciate my own bone structure, then pulled my gaze away, expression totally blank, and kept walking. Tara wasn’t going to let it go. She put the Ferrari in drive and crept along the curb, keeping pace with me. She rolled down the passenger window, her voice dripping with gloating venom. “Mia Smith, your life really was a joke of privilege. A Ferrari just for turning twenty? Well, guess what? It’s all mine now. Oh, and your parents? They called me like four times yesterday. So worried about me. Wired me a ton of cash, terrified I might suffer even the slightest inconvenience…” The feed: [Ugh! The MC messed up so bad. Without the perfume, she can never go back.] [Thank god Tara doesn’t know she flushed it. She’s clearly a little scared Mia knows a loophole to swap back. If she knew the truth, she’d destroy Mia…] I ignored her completely and kept walking until I reached the art building. Tara and I had met in a summer prep class for this very program five years ago, back in high school. I was naturally quiet. I liked peace. She was a live wire. After every class, she’d gravitate toward me, talking my ear off, dragging me to lunch, to the mall, to the movies. Sometimes female friendship is just that simple. You do the holy trinity of hanging out—eating, shopping, watching movies—and suddenly you’re “best friends.” But I always knew she was difficult. I would buy her beautiful dresses, and she would leave them crumpled in a corner, claiming I was flaunting my wealth to humiliate her. I’d treat her to Michelin-starred dinners, and she’d accuse me of trying to make her fat so I’d look better by comparison. I knew that until the dust fully settled, she wouldn’t leave me alone. Luckily, Norton arrived. And he brought a wildly ostentatious spectacle with him. His household staff rolled up in a catering van. They hauled out designer bistro tables, fine china, and massive floral arrangements, spending half an hour transforming the overgrown, neglected courtyard outside the art studio into a high-end Parisian café. Professional pastry chefs and baristas set up stations. The smell of fresh espresso and butter croissants filled the air. My classmates poured out of the studio, their eyes wide with envy, swarming “Mia” with breathless compliments. “Oh my god, Mia, your boyfriend is insane!” “He is literally perfect. Rich, obsessed with you… I’m so jealous!” “You guys are like royalty. You belong together.” Every fawning comment acted like oxygen to Tara’s ego. She laughed, tossing her hair, leaning into Norton’s side with practiced, coy shyness. “I really am the luckiest girl in the world.” I stood on the fringe of the crowd. I wasn’t about to miss out on free food. I grabbed a slice of tiramisu and an iced coconut milk latte. Halfway through my cake, I felt a heavy gaze pinning me down. I looked up. Norton was staring directly at me through the crowd. Was I overthinking it? Why did the look in his eyes feel so… strange? The text feed exploded: [Did the male lead figure it out?!] [Yes! Go MC, go! Tell him you’re the real Mia! Omg I’m dying of anxiety…] 4. Tara seemed to notice Norton’s distraction. The smug smile froze on her face. She immediately put on an act of sisterly affection and marched over to me. Dropping her voice to a vicious hiss, she warned, “Back the hell off, Tara. Stay away from Norton. He’s my boyfriend now…” I ignored her, finished my latte, and turned to head home. I hadn’t taken two steps before Norton’s arm shot out, blocking my path. His expression was glacial. The doting, perfect boyfriend from two minutes ago had vanished entirely. The feed: [Oh my god! The male lead is coming through! He totally knows! True love sees the soul, not the face…] [I’m crying. The MC flushed the perfume because she trusted he would recognize her spirit…] My stomach dropped. Wait. Did he actually figure it out? “Tara,” Norton said, his voice dripping with disgust. “I’ve told you a hundred times. I don’t want you. I only love Mia. Stop sending me those pathetic, desperate texts. Your little schemes are as repulsive as you are.” He kept talking, tearing her down with a barrage of insults. I stood there, completely stunned. I had no idea Tara had been secretly messaging Norton. It suddenly made sense why Norton would casually drop hints, telling me not to get too close to her, saying she had ulterior motives. Right on cue, “Mia” rushed over. Her eyes were red, her voice thick with fake tears. “Tara… I am so disappointed in you. I considered you my sister. I can’t believe you were trying to steal my boyfriend behind my back. How could you do this to me?” The courtyard erupted. The murmurs turned into a loud, vicious chorus. “Wow, I can’t believe Tara is like that! Mia paid her tuition, bought her clothes, fed her, and she tries to steal her man?” “Seriously! Talk about biting the hand that feeds you. She’s so basic-looking, too. The audacity!” “What a literal parasite.” The feed: [Wait, isn’t this supposed to be a satisfying revenge plot? The MC is getting slaughtered out here…] [Why won’t she just open her mouth?! Speak! Tell him you’re Mia! He’ll protect you!] I looked at the circus unfolding in front of me. A dry, humorless chuckle escaped my lips. I decided to just play along with her script. “My bad. Sent those to the wrong number. Sorry for the drama, won’t happen again.” I just wanted to get away from them. I needed to be as far from this toxic wasteland as possible. They weren’t worth a second of my time. I hitched my bag onto my shoulder and started walking away. As I turned, I saw “Mia” holding up a white dress. She looked thrilled, throwing her arms around Norton’s neck, kissing him deeply in front of everyone. A white dress. My breath caught in my throat. The blood in my veins turned to ice. A violent wave of nausea hit my stomach, rising up my throat. I couldn’t hold it back. I dropped to my knees by the brick wall and violently threw up everything I had just eaten. Trembling, I braced my hand against the rough brick and slowly pulled myself up. I just needed to go home. Behind me, Tara’s exaggerated, theatrical laugh echoed across the courtyard. “I love you so much! Norton, how does a man as perfect as you exist? I feel so lucky. This is literally heaven…” Yeah, right. You just checked into hell. 5. I pushed open the door to the apartment, and the rich, savory smell of home-cooked food washed over me. I followed the scent to the tiny kitchen. A young man with thick, black-rimmed glasses was standing at the stove, stirring a pan. David. I had seen photos of him before. Tara used to scroll through her camera roll and point him out, sneering about her “deadbeat, cold-blooded” older brother. The feed flickered: [Wait, isn’t he supposed to be studying in the US? Why is he back?] [Flights are so expensive. Typical deadbeat son, blowing his dead dad’s money and abandoning his mom and sister.] Tara had complained about him relentlessly. She said she and her mom lived in poverty, saving every dime to send him to the States. She claimed he was ungrateful, that he treated them like burdens, that he was always irritated on the phone and never once asked how they were doing. I had always pictured a lazy, entitled frat bro draining his family dry. But the David standing in front of me was entirely different. He wasn’t particularly handsome, but he had a grounded, quiet strength about him. He moved around the kitchen with the practiced ease of someone who had cooked for himself for years—not someone pampered and spoiled. He heard my footsteps and glanced over his shoulder. The stern lines of his face softened instantly. “You’re back. Go wash your hands. I made your favorite, tomato beef stew.” “Okay.” I was starving after throwing up. This was perfect. “Mom is still at the grocery store. I packed some up for her for later, so we can eat now,” David said, carrying the dishes to a small folding table. It was a simple, humble meal. Beef stew, sautéed greens, and a bowl of egg drop soup. As we ate, we made idle conversation. I couldn’t help but ask why he was back in the country. David set his chopsticks down, his tone perfectly even. “I’m finishing up my Master’s at Cornell. I flew back because a major biotech firm here flew me out for an interview for a director-level position. Base salary is a million a year, plus equity. I just got the offer this morning. Once I officially graduate, I’m moving back to start.” “Pfft—” I choked, spitting rice into my napkin, coughing violently. “You… you’re that smart? Cornell? A million a year?” “I’m a bio-engineer, Tara. Did you hit your head?” He gave me a look. “But… what about your tuition?” “I’m on a full-ride fellowship. They pay for my tuition and give me a living stipend. Mom was paranoid I’d run into an emergency abroad, so she forced me to take Dad’s settlement money. Honestly, it wasn’t even that much. Twenty grand. I haven’t touched a single cent of it. It’s sitting in a high-yield account. It’s for Mom’s retirement, and for you, if you ever get into trouble.” Wait. An Ivy League education cost easily eighty grand a year. Tara had sworn he took millions from a wrongful death suit and blew it on partying. Twenty grand. A full-ride scholarship. A million-dollar salary out of the gate. He wasn’t a deadbeat; he was a literal prodigy. This was a golden ticket, and I was going to hold onto it with both hands. I looked him dead in the eye, my voice entirely sincere. “David. You are my favorite brother in the world.” “I’m your only brother,” he said drily, scooping a massive spoonful of beef into my bowl. “How have you been? I know you’ve been doing the art thing, but is that what you really want? Do you have other plans?” I put my chopsticks down. A heavy silence fell over me. When I applied to college, I had secretly sent my portfolio to a prestigious art institute. But my parents—the Smiths—had used their connections to hack into the portal and change my major to English Literature. They told me: “A girl should just be a teacher. It’s respectable. It gives you time to manage a household. You need to focus on taking care of Norton so you can marry into his family…” “I want to be a makeup artist,” I said quietly. “I want to help people feel beautiful.” David didn’t say a word. He reached into his messenger bag, pulled out a thick envelope, and slid it across the table. “Do it. Go enroll in a cosmetology school. Getting a trade is a smart move. If you need more money, tell me. Whatever you want to do, I’ve got your back.” My nose stung. The room blurred as tears welled in my eyes. David panicked, awkwardly grabbing a napkin to wipe my face. “You’ve really grown up. A year ago, if Mom or I tried to give you advice, you would have thrown a chair and locked yourself in your room. We were terrified to talk to you. From now on, whatever happens, you tell me. I’m here.” “Thanks, David,” I sniffled, obediently gathering the empty bowls to help him wash up. Just as we finished, the doorbell rang. I opened it to find a striking guy standing in the hallway. He was wearing a crisp white button-down. His smile was polite, his demeanor effortless. “Hi. I’m Wesley, David’s friend from grad school. I’m here to give him a ride to the airport.” Hearing his voice, David dragged his suitcase to the door and nodded at Wesley. “Let’s go.” Before stepping out, David turned back to me. “Take care of yourself. Take care of Mom. Call me if anything happens. If you need cash, tell me. Don’t let anyone walk all over you.” I nodded fiercely, my eyes burning again. The feed: [Oh my god, a protective older brother! I want one!] [Don’t be shallow. A little chump change isn’t going to win the MC over. Her real brother, Blake, is actual old money. On her 18th birthday, he rented out a whole five-star resort for her…] My 18th birthday. A phantom weight slammed into my chest, suffocating me. That night… was the absolute worst nightmare of my entire life. The feed kept scrolling: [Exactly. The MC took a massive L here. I can’t even imagine how much fun the fake friend is having right now. Literally winning at life…] Is she? She’s not going to be smiling for long.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “436735”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On the day of our family gathering, the naive, innocent-looking female protagonist arrived at the Sterling estate, clutching a DNA paternity test. She declared she was the true heiress and demanded I be thrown out. But what she didn’t know was that a powerful, old-money family never casually abandons the heir they’ve spent years grooming for an outsider who just showed up out of nowhere. 1. When Serena showed up at the door with the DNA report, the Sterlings were having their monthly family gathering. Tearfully, she accused me of being a cuckoo in the nest, claiming she was the real daughter of the Sterling family and I was just an imposter who had stolen her place. Everyone was silent. The atmosphere was nothing like the warm, tearful reunion she had clearly imagined. “This is the proof. I really am the Sterling family’s daughter,” Serena said, a hint of panic creeping into her voice. She placed the DNA report on the coffee table, but no one reached for it. Grandpa, the highly respected patriarch of the family, didn’t say a word. Naturally, none of the other Sterlings spoke up either. Finally, just as she was about to crack under the oppressive silence, Grandpa deigned to glance at the document on the table and nodded slightly. Only then did the others begin to speak. “Serena, is it? It’s good you’re back.” Serena’s feigned expression of being moved froze on her face. This development was completely different from what she had anticipated. No one asked about the hardships she had suffered while living outside the family. There was no comfort, not even any extra pleasantries. And certainly no mention of disposing of me, the imposter heiress. 2. “Grandpa, she’s the one who stole my identity and caused me to live out there, suffering all those hardships!” Serena stood up abruptly, pointing at me with a hateful glare. That was the confidence being a biological Sterling gave her. Grandpa didn’t respond; he didn’t even bother to lift his eyes. The rest of the Sterling family certainly wasn’t going to chime in and agree. Serena hadn’t seemed to realize how isolated she was. Even her biological parents just looked at her with detached indifference, showing neither joy nor sorrow. “Take Miss Serena away,” my older brother suddenly spoke up beside me. He clearly had no interest in watching this boring farce play out. Soon, someone stepped forward to escort her out. “Why! She’s the one who should be leaving this place!” Hearing no response, Serena was incredulous. It was only then she realized that not a single person was speaking up for her. Her gaze swept around the room. Everyone was calm and composed, exuding an aristocratic grace completely different from hers, even me—the fake heiress. She wanted to say more, but a light, chilling glance from me silenced her. A girl raised in wealth and privilege is fundamentally different from her. Moreover, for this scene today, she had deliberately made herself look particularly disheveled. Her intention was to make her blood relatives pity her, but standing here now, she just looked incredibly out of place. I watched the rapidly changing expressions on her face, guessing her inner thoughts. Suddenly, I felt a nudge on my arm. It was Lucas, the one who had just ordered Serena to be taken away. 3. I turned to look at him. “She’s an idiot. Don’t let it bother you.” His expression was cold, as if he weren’t talking about his own biological sister. “Of course not.” I had enough confidence to say those words. The Sterling family wouldn’t abandon me—the heir they had spent years grooming—for a biological daughter who appeared halfway through. “Maya, come with me.” Grandpa stood up from the sofa, pushing away the person trying to help him, and turned to look at me. “Yes, Grandpa,” I nodded, stepping forward to assist him. That night, the lights in the study stayed on for a long time. Everyone knew that the family’s hierarchy wouldn’t be undergoing any major changes. Serena’s appearance didn’t cause much of a ripple. Although the Sterlings acknowledged her identity, it had no impact on me whatsoever. I remained the most highly regarded heir of the Sterling family, the golden child. However, she did have some tricks up her sleeve. The Sterlings are generally very emotionally detached, valuing profit and usefulness above all else. Emotions are just a leisure activity to them. Yet, since her return, she frequently managed to bring a smile to Mrs. Sterling’s face. Acting sweet and spoiled in front of family members—she was certainly much better at making people like her than I was. It seemed that after the initial conflict on her first day back, she behaved very properly. Because of her docility, the Sterling family treated her much more kindly. Until one early morning, a commotion in the stairwell woke everyone up. The girl in the white dress lay on the broken pieces of a vase at the bottom of the stairs, looking in pain, blood seeping from beneath her. I stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at her expressionlessly… 4. “Mom, it hurts so much.” She didn’t immediately try to frame me. Instead, she looked at the people rushing out at the noise, teary-eyed and pitiful. Only then did everyone snap back to reality and hurriedly call for a doctor. “A setup?” Lucas stood beside me, yawning, and asked with a raised eyebrow. The scene just now would seem suspicious to anyone. I pressed my lips together, watching Serena lying there covered in injuries, and shook my head. At least she hadn’t directly framed me or condemned me. She just “accidentally” fell down the stairs as I walked past. There are security cameras here; she wouldn’t be stupid enough to say I pushed her. “What’s going on? How is it this serious?” Mrs. Sterling, Eleanor, rushed to her side, frowning. She didn’t know where to start—there were broken vase pieces everywhere, some embedded in Serena’s skin, and blood was staining the carpet. Serena’s face was growing paler by the second. Eleanor didn’t know where she was hurt or how serious it was, so she didn’t dare move her before the doctor arrived. But Serena didn’t care. Now was the best time to elicit sympathy. She struggled to lift her hand to grasp Eleanor’s hem. Eleanor frowned slightly, almost imperceptibly. “Mom…” “Don’t speak. The doctor will be here in a minute,” Eleanor stopped her, forcing Serena to swallow her unspoken words. “Should we go take a look?” Lucas, who had been watching, suggested. I nodded. “Don’t come over!” “Don’t come over.” Two simultaneous voices rang out. One from Serena, the other from Eleanor. Serena’s tone was agitated, clearly showing her extreme wariness of me. My footsteps halted. Lucas, however, walked over fearlessly. “Tsk, I’m over here now. What’s the problem?” He bent down slightly, his mocking gaze meeting Serena’s eyes. Finally, just as Serena was about to break, the ambulance arrived. 5. “Be careful of the glass shards. Wait for the housekeeper to clean it up before you come down.” Before Eleanor left, she suddenly turned and added this. It felt like an explanation for why she had stopped me earlier. I was a little stunned, unsure of how to react. Despite being mother and daughter for so many years, there hadn’t really been much warmth between us. I was raised by Grandpa, personally trained as his heir. The Sterlings were always emotionally distant; we only gathered for routine family dinners or major decisions. I rarely spent time with them, and there was no deep emotional bond. Our interactions were mostly just polite formalities. “What’s wrong? Are you dumbfounded?” Lucas bumped my shoulder, leaning over. “You’re very loud,” I said, looking up at him, my tone extremely serious. The smile froze on Lucas’s face, and he coughed awkwardly. He composed himself, then suddenly patted my shoulder, acting very mature: “Maya, this family is going to have to rely on you from now on.” I shot him a slightly disgusted look but didn’t contradict him. 6. After Serena got hurt, Eleanor stayed at the hospital to take care of her. It was only then that the rest of the Sterling family began to feel the reality of the situation. The Sterling family had an extra biological daughter, and she clearly wasn’t here with good intentions. The accidental injury, although inconclusive, raised a question: regardless of whether I hurt Serena out of jealousy, or she framed me out of resentment, it was clear we couldn’t get along. How would the Sterling family balance the relationship between the adopted daughter and the biological daughter? Although my position seemed unchanged for now, when it came to bloodlines versus capability, who could truly guess the intentions of those in power? For a time, there was a lot of hidden tension. Some were waiting for an opportunity, anticipating a major conflict. 7. “What are you doing here?” Serena sat up in her hospital bed, scoffing dismissively as she saw me walk in alone. I pulled up a chair and sat down, completely unfazed by her cold reception. “You must be feeling pretty proud of yourself, stealing everything that was mine, and still having the nerve to show your face here,” she said, her eyes filled with malice. “I didn’t steal anything from anyone. At least what I have now, I’ve earned,” I said, meeting her gaze. She was incredibly dismissive. “Earned? The identity of a Sterling daughter? The position of the heir? Maya, have you no shame?! Those things belong to me! You have no Sterling blood in you, how can you claim you earned them?!” She grabbed an apple from the bedside table and threw it at me. I dodged it, stood up, and looked at her for a long time. “You will always owe me! I will never let you have it easy, Maya!” Her face was contorted with intense bitterness. 8. The atmosphere was tense. Suddenly, there was a noise at the door; someone had arrived. Serena’s demeanor changed instantly. Her aggrieved, cautious voice filled the room: “Sister, I just wanted an apple. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you to help me.” Eleanor pushed the door open just then. She glanced at Serena, who was biting her lip with tears in her eyes, then at the apple on the floor, and finally turned her gaze to me. “Your grandfather is looking for you. You should go back,” Eleanor said calmly, acting as if she hadn’t heard Serena. “Okay,” I nodded, turning to leave. Serena tightened her grip on the blanket, struggling to maintain her composure. “What else would you like to eat?” Before I left, I heard Eleanor’s soft, gentle inquiry. 9. In the Sterling estate’s garden, Serena was happily swinging on the swing set. Ever since she was discharged from the hospital, she had undergone a massive shift, at least in front of others, hiding her hostility toward me. I watched her through the window, an aura of freedom about her, and felt a pang of inexplicable envy. “Maya, it’s your turn.” With the click of a piece on the board, Grandpa’s deep voice sounded from across the table. I looked at the chessboard before me; my hand holding the white piece hovered, unable to make a move. There was nowhere to place it. It was a dead end. “Grandpa, I’ve lost,” I said, my voice hoarse. Under his gaze, all my emotions were laid bare. “Maya, you are different from the others. You should have known that from the day I took you in.” My mind wasn’t in the game, and he lost interest in starting another round. “…” I remained silent, offering no response. “The heir I choose will only ever be you. You carry the honor of the entire Sterling family.” He delivered this statement casually, settling the uncertain future. “But I don’t have Sterling blood, as you well know.” I looked up, confusion and bewilderment in my expression. Although I always answered confidently when facing others’ doubts, that deep-seated insecurity had always been suppressed at the very bottom of my heart. “I used to think bloodlines were the most important thing too. But Maya, I found out I was wrong.” He was looking right at me, yet his gaze felt distant, as if he were recalling something through me. The conversation ended there. Grandpa had long since left, but I sat there for a long time. At the time, I didn’t understand why he said that. 10. Actually, I had known for a long time that I wasn’t a Sterling. Or rather, Grandpa knew before I did. He told me himself when I was still too young to understand. He even took me to meet my biological parents and the little girl who was swapped with me—Serena. Unlike a typical baby swap scenario, my biological parents were also from a wealthy, established family, and they doted on Serena. To me, the biological daughter who suddenly appeared out of nowhere, they seemed a bit awkward. Aside from the biological connection, we were practically strangers. Love is built through time spent together. They favored the girl they had watched grow up, the one they saw every day. I didn’t know what kind of deal Grandpa made with them. My identity and Serena’s weren’t swapped back. But this secret was only known to Grandpa and me. No one else in the Sterling family knew. Back then, Grandpa frequently took me to visit the other family in secret. When I was young, Serena and I knew each other. Whenever I was with her, Grandpa would always watch us with a complex, hard-to-read expression. Until one time, I overheard him murmuring “Unfit for great things” while looking at Serena in the distance. I think I knew why Grandpa chose me. It was because I was smarter and more valuable, capable of becoming the qualified assistant he was grooming. I stayed smart because my biological parents didn’t choose me, and I couldn’t afford to lose Grandpa too. Later, Grandpa fell seriously ill. We didn’t go to that other family’s house for a long time. The next time I heard about them was from the rest of the Sterling family. 11. “The other company collapsed. Fate is truly unpredictable.” At a family gathering, they were discussing the fate of that other family. The parents had died in a sudden accident, and the opportunistic predators swarmed in. The empire crumbled overnight. I stood up abruptly from my seat, startling them. However, meeting Grandpa’s authoritative gaze, I swallowed the words I was about to say. I went to their funeral. They were my biological parents, yet I attended as a guest to pay my respects. “Grandpa, I don’t have a mom and dad anymore,” I said, staring blankly at the black-and-white photos, using a title I hadn’t been permitted to use. “You still have Grandpa.” He patted my head, his expression more affectionate than usual. I looked at him numbly, feeling an emptiness inside. Serena disappeared after the funeral. Grandpa changed his mind and didn’t bring her back to the Sterling family. He never brought up this biological granddaughter who was wandering the world again. Until many years later, a strange girl showed up at our door with a DNA report. This time, she seemed to have a completely different personality. 12. “Sister, look at the swing I just built!” I had just walked downstairs when Serena ran over, her face brimming with joy. Before she could take my arm, Lucas suddenly appeared. He blocked her path and sneered, “Do you have a split personality?” The sarcasm was ruthless. “No, I don’t. I just want to play with my sister.” Serena paled slightly. She was a little afraid of Lucas. “Our family doesn’t buy that act, understand? “If you have a problem with Maya, be upfront about it. Put it out in the open, and I can respect that. Stop playing these little games in the dark, pretending to be loving sisters. You’re not that close.” Lucas didn’t necessarily hate Serena; it was just his personality. He had always despised people who were devious and manipulative. The Sterling family had already acknowledged Serena’s bloodline. If she had maintained her firm stance from when she first returned and openly opposed me, he wouldn’t have taken sides later on. But she was always so fickle—one minute full of suspicion and deep resentment, the next, incredibly docile and sisterly. “I didn’t…” Her eyes suddenly turned red, and tears fell like pearls off a broken string. “You!” Seeing her cry on command, Lucas was about to say more but I tugged his arm to stop him. “What’s going on with you two?” It was Eleanor’s voice. 13. It turned out a maid had noticed the tension. Fearing she wouldn’t be able to explain if the young master and misses got into a fight, she had called Eleanor over. “N-nothing,” Serena said, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Her eyes were slightly red, and she offered a faint smile. She looked so carefully fragile it made your heart ache. “Lucas, behave yourself,” Eleanor said, rubbing her temples. They were all her children, whether biological or adopted. She didn’t demand they get along perfectly. But she also didn’t want to see a minor spat every three days and a major blowout every five. “I am behaving. Mom, don’t be biased. If she doesn’t get in my face, I won’t go looking for trouble with her,” Lucas said dismissively. “Alright, that’s enough. If you don’t get along, try to avoid each other. Serena, pack your things this afternoon; we’re leaving.” Eleanor came up with the best solution. They didn’t always live at the main estate; it was only because of the recent succession of events that they had stayed longer than usual. “Mom, do you not want me anymore? I’ll be good. I’m sorry, Sister. I won’t bother you anymore.” Serena misinterpreted her meaning, thinking this was an eviction. A flash of irritation crossed her eyes, but her face looked incredibly pitiful, terrified of being abandoned by her family. 14. “That’s not what I meant. We don’t usually live at the main estate. If you want to stay here, Maya can come back with us.” Eleanor frowned, observing her reaction. In the end, Serena left with Eleanor. Grandpa clearly didn’t value this granddaughter, and her staying wouldn’t change much. On the other hand, the rest of the Sterling family’s stance wasn’t as firm. Shortly after Serena went back with Eleanor, the news that the Sterling heir was an imposter, a cuckoo in the nest, began to circulate among the elite circles. Those who believed it hid in the shadows, waiting to see me fail, while those who didn’t treated it as a joke. At Grandpa’s birthday banquet, guests gathered in droves. The usually haughty heiresses gathered together to gossip about the true and fake heiress drama. “What? Is it true? Maya is just a stray bird?” “She’s always so arrogant. Turns out she’s a fake. That’s hilarious.” “You couldn’t tell before. She hid it well. Her methods must be ruthless. My parents were always praising her, and now her true colors are about to be exposed.” “I heard the real heiress suffered a lot wandering out there, but the Sterlings are refusing to acknowledge her to protect Maya.” “No way! Who would choose an outsider over their own blood to hand the family business to? Is old man Sterling losing his mind?” “You have to admit, Maya is capable. Even if you’re not biologically related, your parents would probably be willing to leave the business to you.” … That last sentence cut through the malicious speculations. A capable adopted daughter is far more reliable than a useless trust-fund baby. Moreover, this adopted daughter had been raised by his side since childhood. Aside from blood, there was no difference between her and a biological child. 15. The crowd’s expressions stiffened upon hearing this. Indeed, even for an only child, if they had no capability, parents wouldn’t hand over their hard-earned empire for them to ruin. “Julian, you’re engaged to the Sterling family’s biological daughter. It doesn’t look good for you to be defending Maya like this,” someone sneered at him, clearly displeased. “Mind your own business.” Julian gently swirled the red wine in his glass, his demeanor lazy, barely sparing them a glance. I leaned against the railing, watching the scene unfold. Whether it was slander, mockery, or defense, none of it stirred any emotion in me. “So here you are,” a familiar voice chimed in. Serena was dressed like a princess today, beautiful and innocent. Her dress had been custom-made by Eleanor herself. So, standing before me, she once again possessed the superiority of being the favored one. “That’s the heir of the Vance family, right? Do you like him? But I heard… he’s supposed to be my fiancé.” She glanced in Julian’s direction. She spoke with feigned distress. “Serena, you don’t need to come here and provoke me. What’s yours is yours; I can’t take it. What’s mine is mine, and the same applies to you.” I was long accustomed to her sudden shifts in demeanor. “Tsk, I hope you still have this much confidence when everyone abandons you.” She scoffed and turned away. When I looked back, I caught Julian’s eye from afar. He gave a slight smirk and raised his glass to me. I calmly looked away.

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Here we are again. Tim is asking for a divorce. The excuse this time? His newest little pet is throwing a tantrum for a ring and a title. She’s young, he tells me, his tone practically bleeding with faux sympathy. Too fragile to be kept in the shadows. He strokes my arm, soothing me with promises that as soon as he gets bored of her, we’ll remarry. I just need to be a good girl and sign the papers. He says it with the casual ease of a man asking me to pick up dry cleaning, completely untroubled, as if dismantling our marriage is just a minor administrative hiccup. I put on my best performance, my voice trembling just the right amount as I ask if he truly means it this time. He barely glances at me. “I never lie, Cora.” He follows it up with a smug, self-assured smirk, reminding me that no one else has ever lasted more than six months by his side. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. I carefully scan the divorce settlement, letting my eyes drop to the very bottom of the page, tracing the delightfully long string of zeros next to my name. The heavy, suffocating knot in my chest finally unravels. This is the one-hundredth time my husband has asked me for a divorce. For the previous ninety-nine times, he put on grand, theatrical shows to appease whatever little sugar baby he was keeping in a gilded cage. And every single time the ink dried on the final decree, the alimony hit my offshore accounts with the precision of a Swiss watch. What Tim doesn’t know is that my greatest, most paralyzing fear is that one day, he might stop being so impulsive. 1 Tim stepped out of the en-suite, aggressively towel-drying his damp hair. “Cora, don’t forget. We need to file the papers with the city clerk tomorrow morning.” I stood by the doorframe, the freshly signed separation agreement clutched to my chest. He opened his mouth to add something, but his phone buzzed. “…Relax, babe. I won’t even touch her. You know you’re the only one I want…” His voice dropped an octave, dripping with a sickening kind of intimacy. “Little brat. I’ll deal with you later…” I thoughtfully pulled the bathroom door shut to give him privacy and wandered out onto the balcony of the Hamptons estate. The night was thick and dark. Out here, the silence of the sprawling, isolated grounds felt almost melancholic. A few minutes later, Tim emerged, car keys jingling in his hand. He caught sight of my desolate silhouette against the moonlight, and his footsteps faltered. For a second, I thought he might actually possess the patience to comfort me. “Can’t bear to let me go?” he murmured, coming up behind me. “I know, I know. But this one… she’s a headache. Be good for me, Cora. This is the last time. I swear it. The absolute last time.” My eyes went wide in the dark. A cold sweat broke out along my spine. The last time? What does he mean, the last time? No, no, no. Please, keep your terrible habits. I quickly molded my face into an expression of pathetic dependency, turning to look up at him. “You’re so good to me, Tim.” My voice broke perfectly. “I never want you to be unhappy. I’d do anything for you.” He leaned down, his eyes searching mine. “I love you, Cora. We promised each other forever. These girls? They’re just playtime. You are the real Mrs. Vanderbilt. You always will be.” He straightened up, his gaze sweeping over the oceanfront property. “Standard protocol. This house is yours now.” My hands began to tremble. Truly tremble. He paused midway through buttoning his tailored coat, reaching out to pat my cheek. “Do whatever you want with it. Just don’t be sad.” His thumb brushed my cheekbone. “Be at City Hall on time tomorrow.” The front door clicked shut. He was gone. I collapsed onto the plush velvet sofa, all the feigned weakness draining from my bones as I looked around the magnificent estate with deep, unadulterated satisfaction. During our previous ninety-nine divorces, I had liquidated every single property he had ever signed over to me. The first time he found out I had sold our actual marital home, he was furious. He demanded to know why. I remember looking at him with trembling lips and eyes swimming in fabricated agony. “Tim, you don’t understand. Every time I looked at those walls, I just saw the moment you told me you were leaving me. I… I couldn’t breathe in there…” I had let the sentence hang, choking on an imaginary sob. He had pulled me into his arms, the guilt in his eyes entirely genuine. “I get it. Shh, don’t say another word, Cora. It was too painful.” From that day on, every time we inevitably reconciled and moved into a new place, he made sure the deed was solely in my name. When the divorce cycle repeated, the house was mine to do with as I pleased. For the first ninety-eight times, I played it safe. I never chose properties that were too obscenely expensive, terrified he might see through my facade and decide not to remarry me. But this Hamptons estate? He picked this one himself. It was easily worth nine figures. I didn’t even wait for the sun to rise. I called my luxury real estate brokers immediately. When they arrived, they took one look at me and smiled. We were old friends by now. Regulars. They weren’t just familiar with me; they knew Tim’s habits inside out. After all, I used them to sell the properties, and whenever Tim wanted to buy a new one to woo me back, he used them too, purely for convenience. They moved through the house with practiced efficiency, snapping photos, recording video walkthroughs, and taking inventory of the designer furniture. I sat curled up on the sofa, clutching my phone to my chest, my eyes rubbed raw and red. Tim called one of the brokers. “How is she? Is she crying?” He did this every time. Whenever he initiated a divorce, he obsessively checked in with the people around me, needing to know if I was falling apart. As if it proved the depth of his love. “Mrs. Vanderbilt is…” The broker caught herself, likely responding to whatever correction he barked on the other end. “Yes, Mr. Vanderbilt. Miss Su looks entirely devastated. Her eyes are so red.” I had been reading a particularly tragic romance novel on my phone for the last hour. The female lead’s misery was practically infectious. The broker hung up and looked at me with genuine pity. “He is such a toxic bastard.” I gave a pathetic little sniffle. “No, you don’t understand him. Deep down, he has a good heart.” The team of women looked at me like I was a hopeless, brainwashed relic. But business was business. As they packed up their lighting equipment, the lead broker winked. “Next time you need to buy, you know who to call. Loyalty discount. Twenty percent off the commission.” I didn’t say a word. They didn’t know. There wasn’t going to be a next time. 2 Tim and I had barely stepped out of the courthouse in downtown Manhattan when my phone began to ring. It was Margot, his adopted sister. She had harbored a borderline obsessive crush on him since childhood. The moment I answered, her voice was a sharp, interrogating whip. “Cora. Did you actually sign the papers? Tell me it’s real this time.” Margot had been waiting like a vulture in the wings for ninety-nine divorces, desperate to claim him. But Tim was the kind of man who would flirt with a passing shadow, yet he flat-out refused to look at his adopted sister that way. It drove her absolutely insane. I held the phone a few inches from my ear to save my eardrums. “We just filed the petition. The cooling-off period is a month. We get the final decree after that. Margot, have I ever lied to you?” If we were being entirely honest, Margot was essentially my third-biggest financial backer. Every time Tim and I reconciled, she would track me down, slam a terrifyingly large check on the table, and demand I leave him. And every time, I nodded, took the money, and agreed. “Who is that?” Tim demanded, his eyes narrowing. Usually, the second the paperwork was filed, Tim was already in his sports car, peeling away to his newest conquest. But today, he seemed oddly reluctant. We were supposed to file yesterday, but he dragged his feet for three days until I finally had to gently nag him into coming. “It’s Margot.” His face instantly relaxed. “She’s just a spoiled kid throwing a tantrum. Don’t let her get to you, babe.” Whenever Margot crossed a line, Tim always expected me to be the bigger person. I nodded, offering him a frail, tragic smile. “I know, Tim. I know she’s just acting out.” My compliance instantly irritated him. “You do know she’s in love with me, right? Does that seriously not make you jealous?” I let the tears well up in my eyes, letting them hover right on the brim without falling. My chin quivered. “How can you say that to me? It’s not that I’m not jealous. It’s that… I have no choice.” I looked utterly, profoundly broken. A flash of genuine pain crossed Tim’s features. He reached out, his thumb brushing my jaw. “Shh, babe, I’m sorry. I know. It’s the last time. Once I get this out of my system, I’m coming right back to you. No more drama, okay?” I nodded helplessly. What else could I do? He opened his mouth to say something more, but his phone rang. He answered it, his expression hardening into annoyance, before walking back over to me. “The little birds are getting restless. I’ve got to go. Call an Uber, alright?” That’s right. This time, he didn’t just have one sugar baby. He had a pair. Sisters. He didn’t even wait for my response before turning on his heel and striding toward his waiting driver. I let out a long, shuddering breath. Thank god. 3 The truth is, the very first time I found out Tim was cheating on me—the first time he demanded a divorce so he could marry his mistress—I fought it. I fought hard. Tim was the one who chased me. He didn’t care that I was an orphan with nothing to my name. He didn’t care that I didn’t come from a legacy family. He spent four years of college pursuing me relentlessly. After graduation, to prove he wanted to marry me, he knelt outside his mother’s study in their Upper East Side townhouse for three entire days. Eventually, his mother called me in for a meeting. She didn’t mince words. “The Vanderbilt men,” she said, her voice like chilled glass, “are incapable of fidelity. It is a genetic rot. He has his father’s exact temperament. I am not refusing this marriage to protect him. I am doing it to protect you.” Her gaze drifted to the antique, centuries-old molding of the study. Her tone grew heavy with the ghosts of the women who came before us. “Girl… I do not want to watch another flower wither away inside the walls of this house.” She was sincere. But I was young, and I was so incredibly stupid. I thought my love was the exception. How could Tim be like them? This was the boy who would wake up at dawn just to bring me hot coffee in bed. The man who abandoned multi-million-dollar board meetings just to sit with me because I had a mild fever. Young girls are so easily snared by those fleeting moments of intense, cinematic devotion. We mistake grand gestures for a safe harbor, and by the time we realize we’re drowning, we’re too far from the shore. I wasn’t lying to the realtors earlier. That first divorce destroyed me. Standing in the middle of the penthouse we had decorated together, my heart felt like it was being ripped through my ribcage. I knew, even then, that even if it was just a phase, even if we eventually found our way back to each other, the betrayal had carved a canyon in my chest. It was a wound that would never fully close. One touch, and I would bleed out all over again. You can’t just tie a severed string back together and pretend the knot isn’t there. But knowing the truth doesn’t make leaving any easier. I couldn’t let go. On the night he proposed to his first mistress, I snapped. I took a blade to my wrists in our marble bathroom. Watching the crimson pool on the pristine white tiles, a sudden, pathetic wave of desperation hit me. I just wanted a crumb of affection from the man who had discarded me. I reached for my phone with bloody fingers and dialed his number. It rang and rang and rang before he finally picked up. “Cora. Didn’t I tell you not to contact me until the papers are finalized?” His voice was thick with annoyance. “Stop causing scenes. Just be a good girl. I’ll come find you when the novelty wears off.” “Don’t make me angry, Cora, or I really will leave you for good.” “Tim… I…” My voice was a ragged, wet whisper. I wanted to beg him not to leave me behind. I wanted him to come home. He caught the terrifying weakness in my breath. He paused. Then, his voice dropped to a glacial sneer. “What now? Faking an illness to guilt-trip me? Stop being so damn pathetic, Cora.” The line went dead. I lay there, the cold seeping into my bones, and in that agonizing silence, something inside me crystallized. I didn’t want to die. I wasn’t the one who broke our vows. I wasn’t the one who threw away our life. Why the hell should I be the one bleeding out on a bathroom floor? I managed to dial 911. When I woke up in the stark, sterile hospital room, the space beside my bed was empty and cold. That was the moment my love for Tim Vanderbilt finally died. I decided, right then and there, that I would leave him and never, ever look back. But that was also the moment it happened. As I hovered in that liminal space between life and death, a voice—cold, mechanical, and entirely divorced from reality—echoed in my skull. It called itself the 100-Divorce Protocol. It laid out a cosmic, inescapable bargain: Survive, but only if I completed one hundred divorces from Tim. If I failed, if I walked away before the quota was met, the death I had just escaped would reclaim me. I tried to refuse. I had just accepted death, hadn’t I? Why should I be afraid? “Because the death I give you will not be a quiet fading,” the voice had whispered in my mind. “It will be violent. It will be agonizing. And there will be nothing left of your beauty.” It knew my vanity. I could accept dying. I couldn’t accept being butchered. So, I made the deal. 4 I stood on the steps of the courthouse, raising a hand to shield my eyes from the glaring afternoon sun. “Get in.” Margot’s perfectly contoured face appeared from the rolled-down window of a sleek black Maybach. She never trusted me. Every time I came to file the papers, she had to see it with her own eyes. I didn’t argue. I slid into the rich leather interior. “Where am I staying this time?” She rolled her eyes, her lips pressing into a thin line of disgust. She didn’t even want to waste her breath on me. I understood. The pure, unadulterated arrogance of a legacy heiress. This was the ninety-ninth time. Margot was always paranoid that I would refuse to leave the marital home, so the moment I stepped out of City Hall with her brother, she would have a team of movers pack up my life and dump it into whatever condo she had purchased for me as a parting gift. “If you really have nowhere to go, I guess you’d just keep clinging to my brother,” she scoffed. “Giving you a condo is just charity.” “Drop the starving-artist act. I know exactly what kind of parasite you are,” she sneered, looking out the window. “All that ‘I don’t care about the money’ nonsense. You’re just playing the long game. Reeling him in for the big payout. Too bad my idiot brother is entirely blind to it.” Honestly? Margot was incredibly perceptive. I wasn’t playing the starving artist. Every time Tim and I got back together, I quietly listed the condo she had “gifted” me, sold it to the highest bidder, and wired the cash straight to my offshore accounts. But today, Margot didn’t take me straight to the new apartment. She directed her driver to Fifth Avenue. “This one. That one. And this entire rack. Wrap it all up.” She stood half a head taller than me, her eyes raking over my outfit with unfiltered disdain. To play the perfect, devoted “trad-wife,” my wardrobe consisted entirely of soft pastels, modest hemlines, and sensible flats. Low-profile. Submissive. Economical. Under the envious, wide-eyed stares of the luxury boutique staff, I watched a mountain of garment bags pile up. Next, she dragged me to an ultra-exclusive med-spa and salon, ordering a top-to-bottom overhaul. When it was over, I found myself staring at a stranger in the full-length mirror. I was entirely captivated by my own reflection. A champagne silk slip dress draped perfectly over my curves, the asymmetrical neckline highlighting my collarbones. A heavy collar of pink and blue sapphires rested against my skin, paired with a matching, brilliantly cut sapphire bracelet on my wrist. I looked lethal. Radiant and breathtakingly expensive. I swallowed hard, pushing down the intoxicating surge of vanity, and gently touched the cold stones. I looked at Margot nervously. “You aren’t going to make me give these back after I wear them, are you?” Margot inhaled deeply, looking at me like I was a peasant who had just crawled out of a sewer. “Who the hell would want to wear jewelry you’ve sweated on? If I put it on you, it’s yours. Shut up and stop being so embarrassing.” …Her temper really was atrocious. But god, I loved her. 5 Margot dragged me to an invite-only jewelry auction. I quickly pieced together the situation: This was the premier social event of the season. Tim had originally promised to be Margot’s escort, but those two little birds of his had kept him tied up in bed, forcing him to cancel on his sister. Margot was furious. She wanted blood. She wanted to force his new toys into a room with his “devastated” ex-wife and watch the fireworks. We arrived fashionably late. The moment we stepped into the gilded ballroom, the air shifted. A hundred pairs of eyes locked onto me. Shock. Pity. Predatory intrigue. In the past, whenever news leaked that Tim had initiated a divorce, I vanished. I became a ghost, refusing to be seen in the same zip code as him. The socialites in the room couldn’t hide their ravenous excitement. The quiet, long-suffering Mrs. Vanderbilt is finally going to bare her teeth. Tim heard the murmurs. He was seated in the VIP front row. He turned his head, and his eyes landed on me. His broad shoulders went rigid. A dark, stormy shadow crossed his face, his brows knitting together in a heavy scowl. The sheer weight of his stare was suffocating. I played my part perfectly. I shrank under his gaze, lowering my eyes, looking utterly miserable and out of place as I meekly followed Margot to our seats. “Um, Margot… I don’t have the kind of money for—” She didn’t even look at me. Her eyes were laser-focused on Tim, who was currently whispering sweet nothings to his two little accessories in the front row. “Shut up.” I clamped my mouth shut. Hey, don’t blame me when the bill comes due. I knew exactly what I was doing. She was using me as a human shield to humiliate the new girls. Right on cue, the older of the two sisters gasped at a pair of flawless emerald drop earrings displayed on the stage. Tim raised his paddle. Margot glanced sideways at me. “You want them?” Before I could even open my mouth, she nodded to herself. “You want them.” She raised her paddle. The room erupted into hushed, electrified whispers. “Oh, this is going to be good.” “Tim has been so brazen lately. Didn’t they say his wife was a doormat who never fought back?” “What is going on? And why did he bring Margot?” “You idiot, Margot brought her to use her as a weapon against the mistresses.” “I mean, Tim really crossed the line this time. Buying them penthouses is one thing, but didn’t he basically propose in public? That’s a slap in the face to his actual wife.” “No woman could tolerate that.” “Please. What can she do? She’ll throw a little fit, and then she’ll go right back to wagging her tail for him. She’s pathetic.” “Quiet, the bidding is starting.”

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